Who We Were Page 7

  He sends Nerida his apologies. Feel ill. Sorry, love. Reindeers tomorrow, promise. Turning my phone off now so I can sleep. xxx

  Then he sends Aaron a message. Miss you. Wish you were here.

  The response is instantaneous: Me, too. What’s Sweden like?

  Can’t really tell. We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.

  Ha, ha. Hope you’re being good.

  Luke thinks hard about his response, then types: Let’s get married.

  He stares at the words for what feels like a long time. Then presses delete until each letter and then word disappears and screen is blank. He turns off his phone, burrows down under covers and is asleep within minutes.

  10

  KATY

  Katy is rattled. Who sent Luke that message? How on earth do they know she was working up the courage to ask him to father a child with her?

  Katy has a few different circles of friends. Her colleagues from work, including her best friend, Nina. The women from her running club, who she sees on Tuesday and Thursday nights. The old gang from university, who’re scattered across Sydney’s suburbia and manage a night out – usually of epic proportions – three or four times a year. It’s no news to most of her friends that she would like to meet someone and start a family; she hasn’t kept it secret. But she has kept quiet the idea of asking Luke. Because it didn’t make sense to discuss it with her girlfriends before discussing it with him. Because she’s still at the exploration phase and has lots to consider before asking such a momentous question.

  Yet someone, somehow, knows, and thanks to their interference Luke has declared it a terrible idea. She never imagined his reaction would be so unequivocally negative. He is one of her dearest and oldest friends, as well as holding the dubious honour of being her first love. At school, she adored everything about him: his lightning- fast wit, his brutal honesty, his fearlessness. The fact that he did his own thing, never followed the crowd, but people still liked him. The fact that he saw something in her that she couldn’t see at the time. In his eyes, boring carrot-haired Katy Buckley was just as worthwhile as the beautiful ultra-popular Annabel Moore.

  Luke announced that he was gay when he turned sixteen and Katy was broken-hearted at the news. They had never kissed or been together romantically but she’d been secretly in love with him for months. She cried herself to sleep for nights on end. She actually prayed (proper prayers, with her hands joined and eyes closed) that he would ‘change his mind’, which makes her laugh now. It took months to shut off her romantic feelings for him. Now he is one of her closest friends and confidantes. Someone who knows her of old. She’s still in love with him, an emotional love, not a physical one. What’s so terrible about him being the father of her child?

  Katy finishes her dinner, washes the dishes, and then sits down at her laptop. Three new emails waiting in the reunion account. The first one is from Robbie McGrath. Hooray, he’s been found.

  My sister sent me the details of the reunion. I am coming. Robbie.

  Well, Robbie won’t win any prizes for eloquence, but never mind that. At least she can put a tick next to his name. She shoots back a message.

  From: admin@yearbook.com.au

  Subject: RSVP

  That’s great, Robbie. I am still searching for David Hooper. I think you both did French together. Any idea where he is these days? And don’t forget to answer the questions for the new yearbook. Everyone will be very interested to hear what you’ve been doing.

  The next unread email is from Mike, Brigette’s husband. More success: Mike has attached the information for Brigette’s memorial entry.

  From: Mike1010@gmail.com

  Subject: Yearbook

  Sorry if the attached file is too long. I’ve realised how much I want Brigette to be remembered at your reunion. I want everyone to know how worthwhile her life was and how much she is missed by her family and friends.

  Katy opens the file. Mike’s response is long: three full pages. There are photos interspersed in the text. Brigette on her wedding day. Brigette cradling a newborn baby. Brigette, arms raised in victory, coming across a finish line. Brigette and a group of women holding up champagne flutes.

  Brigette Saunders: 1982-2018

  Greatest Achievements: Brigette was a semi-professional marathon runner as well as a volunteer running coach. She ran a total of fourteen marathons, including a few overseas in London, Boston and Hawaii. Brigette found it incredibly hard to give up running when she was ill. She would do shorter races or – if undergoing treatment – would convince someone (usually me) to push her wheelchair, so she could still be involved and soak up the race-day atmosphere. Even before she became ill, Brigette was an enthusiastic supporter of the Breast Cancer Foundation and other cancer charities. She raised more than $10,000 for breast cancer and almost the same again for ovarian cancer, which was the cancer that beat her in the end. There’s a race named in her honour: The Brigette Saunders Classic. The running community lobbied for this race. Hopefully, it will exist many years into the future and will be her greatest legacy of all.

  Tears smart in Katy’s eyes. What a remarkable woman. What courage, determination and defiance she showed. How wonderful to be so deeply loved and admired by her husband.

  She thinks for a while, then sends a response.

  This is beautiful, Mike. It made me cry. What a special woman your wife was. I’ll send a copy of the yearbook when complete.

  The last unread email in the inbox is from Zach Latham.

  From: zachandisabel@optusnet.com.au

  Subject: RSVP

  Dear Katy,

  Hope you are well. Please count me and my wife Isabel in for the reunion. Thank you for organising.

  Zach

  PS: answers for the yearbook are attached.

  Once again, Katy is surprised when she opens the attachment. Zach Latham is a doctor. A GP. Well, she didn’t see that coming. For a start, she doesn’t remember him as being particularly smart, and medicine requires top marks. Neither does she remember him as being all that caring. All that mattered to Zach was being the centre of attention, getting a laugh, usually at someone else’s expense: all too often, Robbie McGrath’s expense. The Zach Katy remembers wasn’t caring. He was cruel.

  Katy is going out tonight. Damien, one of her colleagues, is turning forty and has invited half the school. She has one final email to send before getting ready.

  From: admin@yearbook.com.au

  Subject: Not funny

  To the naughty person who is STILL sending fake yearbook updates: Please stop. Joke is well and truly over. People are getting upset.

  Thanks, K

  Then a left-field thought: It’s not Luke, is it? Could he have intuitively known what she was planning – he does read her mind at times – and forced the issue? Highly unlikely. Luke has no trouble speaking his mind, no hesitation in saying the word ‘no’, in telling her outright when he thinks she’s off her rocker. Besides, it doesn’t explain the messages to Grace and Annabel, both of whom wouldn’t cross his mind.

  Which brings her right back to where she started. Who sent that message to Luke? How did they know what she was contemplating? And if she can’t ask Luke to father a baby with her, then who can she ask?

  The party is in a private function room off the main bar. There are a lot of familiar faces.

  Damien greets her with arms wide open. ‘Katy, you made it.’

  She gives him the expected hug. ‘Happy birthday, Damo.’ Then hands him a bottle of red wine in a gift bag. ‘Something to ease the pain.’

  ‘What pain? I’m in my prime.’ He pulls on his wife’s arm. ‘Tell her, Suzy.’

  ‘Yeah, sure you are.’

  Suzy is a regular face at staff nights out, as are all the spouses. The vast majority of Katy’s colleagues are married.

  ‘He’s so pissed,’ Suzy whispers in Katy’s ear. ‘Everyone’s been buying him drinks. Any minute now, he’ll be on the dance floor.’

  Katy runs i
nto Nina at the bar. Her best friend is wearing a figure-hugging dress and very high heels.

  ‘Need a drink,’ she gasps, before Katy can issue a compliment on her outfit. ‘Barely arrived and already a call from the babysitter.’

  Nina’s little girls are aged four and six. When Katy visits, they fight to take turns to sit on her lap, stubby fingers exploring her hair and jewellery, peppering her with questions: have you got a boyfriend; what’s your favourite colour; which do you like the best: dogs or cats, ice cream or chocolate, winter or summer?

  ‘What’s up with the babysitter?’ Katy asks.

  ‘The girls are hyper. Playing dress-up instead of getting into pyjamas. Dragging out toys that haven’t been played with for years. Why does having a night out have to be so bloody hard?’ Nina catches the attention of the barman. ‘A bottle of the Sauvignon Blanc with three glasses, please.’

  The wine comes in a stainless-steel cooler bucket. Nina shoves a glass into Katy’s hand and pours far too generously.

  ‘Let’s hope you’re not as liberal as this with your chemistry measurements,’ Katy says drily.

  ‘My test tubes are the envy of the department,’ she retorts.

  Nina’s husband Philip appears, taking one of Nina’s overfull glasses and clinking it with Katy’s.

  ‘Hey, Katy. How’ve you been?’

  ‘Great. What’s this I hear about your little angels?’

  Philip has a slightly harried look that belies the fact that he is generally hard to ruffle. He’s a good father; he and Nina make a great team.

  He rolls his eyes. ‘Little devils, more like. It’s meant to get easier as they get older, not harder.’

  Katy’s stomach squeezes. Nina and Philip have each other, as well as their extended family. If Katy becomes a parent, she’ll be all on her own. Her parents retired up the coast a few years ago and her sister lives in Adelaide. Putting geographical distance to one side, Katy can’t imagine them approving: their ideas of family are too traditional. Night shifts, childcare logistics, babysitter problems, everything would rest on Katy’s shoulders alone.

  Is Luke right? Is it a crazy idea?

  One of the technology teachers comes over and strikes up a conversation with Nina and Philip. Katy half-listens as she sips her wine. Damien has made it on to the dance floor and is performing some kind of robot-inspired routine.

  ‘Hello, Katy.’

  The voice is behind her but she doesn’t need to turn around to identify who it is. She’d recognise those nasal tones anywhere.

  ‘Hello, William.’

  William teaches geography and commerce. He’s one of the few male teachers without a partner and it’s not hard to establish why. For a start, there’s his atrocious dress sense. There’s also the fact that he has the charisma of wet clay, a topic that features regularly in his geography classes.

  He nods at Katy’s still-full glass of wine. ‘Would you like another?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m fine for now.’

  Then, after a long obvious look in the direction of the dance floor, ‘Would you like to dance?’

  ‘Maybe later.’

  He shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, then starts talking at length about some changes to the syllabus.

  She fantasises about putting her hand up, stopping him mid-track to ask, ‘Would you like to father a child with me?’

  It would almost be worth it to see the look of shock on his face. Here’s the sad thing: he’d probably consider it. He’s made no secret of the fact that he likes her or that he’s on the lookout for a serious girlfriend. Maybe she could buy him an entire new wardrobe and the prospect would become more palatable. She tries to imagine what he would look like after an extreme makeover. But the problem is that you can’t make-over someone’s personality. You can’t make them more vibrant, more interesting, more compelling. You can’t create chemistry when there’s nothing to start with ... She’s a science teacher, she knows this for a fact.

  In the end, Katy dances with William. Because it makes him happy. Because she is essentially kind. Because Nina is talking on the phone and there is no one else to dance with. They dance to a DJ mix that has a strong rhythm. Her arms are in the air, fingers clicking. She knows some of the lyrics, shouts them out, and stays for another song, and then another.

  It’s the end of the party. The music has stopped. The lights have turned on. Nina and Philip are long gone. Damien is pissed and singing happy birthday to himself.

  ‘Happy birthday to ME. Happy birthday to ME. Happy birthday to ME-EE ...’

  William is hovering. Katy says a quick goodbye and shoots away, before he gets it into his head to follow her.

  She gets home in record time, the taxi driver dismissive of speed limits. The flat is dark and lonely. She grabs her laptop and takes it into bed with her. No new messages. She’d been hoping for something from Luke. Something like: Sorry for being so blunt. Or even better: I am actually thinking about this.

  She types a message to him.

  Why is it such a bad idea?

  Then presses SEND before she can think the better of it.

  Who sent Luke that message? How did they know what she was planning to ask of him? She hasn’t confided in anyone, not even Nina.

  Think. Think. Someone who went to Macquarie High, who went to school with both her and Luke. Did they spot her somewhere? At a doctor’s surgery? Looking at pamphlets or something like that? But she’s never picked up a pamphlet, never gone as far as being examined by a doctor or a specialist. All she has done – so far – is search the internet.

  Katy’s breath catches in her throat. She moves her mouse across the screen, clicks on browsing history, and it’s all there: fertility clinics, sperm donation, gay dad and single parent websites. Someone could easily piece two and two together if they were to see this.

  Has someone been in her flat? On her laptop?

  She shivers. Chides herself for being overly dramatic. But she’s spooked, because didn’t Grace think the exact same thing? That someone had been in her house and taken that photograph from her fridge? She changed her mind later on, when her husband found the photo. Still, what are the chances? Of someone breaking into Grace’s house and now Katy’s, on some weird crusade to upset everyone?

  Katy scrambles out of bed. Turns on all the lights. Double-checks that the front door, the balcony doors and all the windows are locked. Checks inside the wardrobe, the bathroom, the laundry.

  Five minutes later she’s back in bed. Her heart is beating erratically. Her mind’s racing.

  Who? How? Why?

  It takes a long, long time to fall asleep.

  11

  ROBBIE

  Robbie is seeing Nick today. His brother is flying up from Melbourne, and is expected to arrive any moment now.

  ‘He’s over the moon,’ Celia says. ‘Can’t wait to see you.’

  Nick, eighteen months older, was always a step ahead in school or sport or whatever they were into at the time. He’s a lot more than a step ahead now. He has a job in some big telecommunications company, although Celia can’t remember which one. There’s a wife and three teenage children in Melbourne. They’re nice kids, according to Celia. Well brought up and smart – they all do well in school.

  ‘Do you keep in touch much?’ Robbie asks with detached curiosity.

  ‘Nick’s in Sydney a few times a year with work. Sometimes he stays with Mum and Dad. Megan and the kids usually come in December or January, during the holidays.’

  ‘Has he changed?’ Robbie visualises his brother as a teenager: tall, gangly, gregarious.

  ‘Well, he’s bigger ... But aren’t we all?’

  Bigger? Does she mean fatter? Nick always liked his food; he ate as voraciously as he did everything else in life. Nick and Robbie were close as young children. They engaged in long extremely competitive games of backyard cricket, tore around the neighbourhood on their bikes, and traded football cards with each other before anyone else. Ni
ck pulled away as soon as he started high school. Overnight he became more independent, more confident, more out of reach. A year later, when Robbie started at Macquarie High, he thought the same would apply for him. New friends. New experiences. A whole new life. But it wasn’t like that at all. Robbie didn’t grow; he regressed.

  There’s a pounding on the door.

  ‘He’s here,’ Celia exclaims unnecessarily and races to answer it.

  Robbie waits in the kitchen. He examines his feelings one by one. Various psychologists have recommended this strategy to him. To look inward. To put a label on whatever he is feeling. Apparently, it helps to process things, to come to terms with whatever is happening, or about to change. Apparently, it prevents a blow-out or an extreme reaction. This morning he feels apprehensive, guilty and overwhelmed. Apprehensive about the man at the door and how he may be received by him. Guilty at the longterm upset he has caused Nick, Celia and his parents. But he has learned that it’s the last feeling – being overwhelmed – that is the most dangerous one.

  ‘Where is he hiding?’ a voice, a man’s voice, booms down the hall. The timbre, the resonance, are only vaguely familiar.

  A figure bursts into the kitchen. A big, burly figure to match the big voice. Nick stands at over six feet tall. His belly protrudes, straining the buttons of his business shirt. His face is quite boyish and his hair is darker than Robbie remembers. He envelops Robbie in a hug and Robbie fights a wave of claustrophobia. Nick pulls away before Robbie has to push him away.

  ‘Look at you.’ He has tears rolling down his face and doesn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by it. ‘Just look at you.’

  Robbie doesn’t know what to say in response. His conversational skills are poor at the best of times.

  ‘Jeez, it’s so good to see you.’ Nick pulls out a chair, plonks himself down. ‘Twenty years is a lot to catch up on. You better start talking, mate.’