Who We Were Page 8

  *

  Robbie tosses and turns in bed. Nick is sleeping in the room next door – Charlie is in with Sienna – and his snores can be heard through the plasterboard wall, and probably the entire house. Nick was a heavy snorer even as a kid. Robbie recalls throwing things at his brother in the dead of night, prompting him to turn on his side, from which position the snoring was never quite as bad. It was one of the downsides of sharing a bedroom. That and the fact that Nick could come crashing through the door at any minute; Robbie could never be sure how long he’d have on his own. He used to love and hate hearing the door crash open; love and hate the commotion that followed Nick around; love and hate his snoring, because even though it was irritating, at least it was there, like a one-way conversation he could listen to. Now Robbie wonders how one brother can be so vital and present (even when sound asleep), and the other so insipid and unessential. How one can be so engaged with life, and the other so adrift.

  Robbie is desperately tired but unable to sleep. Nick talked late into the night. Telling Robbie about his kids, his wife and his job. Finding photos on his phone of the children, his house and Megan, who is dark-haired, attractive and works as a dental nurse. Of course, he asked questions of Robbie. What places he’s lived. If there’s anyone special in his life. How he spends his time. But when Robbie’s replies were bare, Nick filled the gaps with even more information about himself.

  At some point after dinner, when Charlie and Sienna were in bed, Celia opened some bottles of beer. Robbie sipped on one – he is cautious with alcohol – while Nick knocked back several. Drinking, drinking, drinking. Talking, talking, talking. The more he drank, the more sentimental he became.

  ‘I missed you, bro. I missed you every single day. I looked for your face everywhere I went.’ He started crying again. Crying and laughing at himself. ‘Look at me ... I’m a big sook.’

  As the night progressed, and more alcohol was consumed, Nick’s sentimentality turned into self-recrimination.

  ‘I should have been watching out for you. I was your big brother, it was my job to see that you were struggling, it was my job to give you a helping hand ... I’m sorry that I didn’t do my job, that I let you down. I’m sorrier than you can ever know.’

  Nick is more subdued this morning. Hungover, not quite as talkative, but still able to laugh at himself.

  ‘Jeez, the old head isn’t good. Have you got anything I can take, Celia?’

  Celia gives him some Panadol, a glass of water and a telling-off. ‘You’re old enough to know better.’

  Nick grimaces. ‘That’s what Megan would say, too.’

  Robbie is mildly curious about Megan. Is she loud and unselfconscious too? Or a quieter personality, a foil to Nick’s brashness?

  ‘I’ve got to leave for work,’ Celia declares. ‘How long are you hanging around for, Nick?’

  ‘A few days. I can bunk down at Mum and Dad’s if Charlie wants his bedroom back.’

  ‘Never mind Charlie ... I’ll be home around five thirty.’

  Celia rounds up the children, there’s a flurry of goodbyes and hugs, and the bustle progresses down the hall and out the front door.

  The two brothers are left alone, sitting across from each other at the table. Nick leans forward, clears his throat.

  ‘Celia said there’s a school reunion. Is that why you came back?’

  ‘Don’t know. Maybe.’

  Nick is obviously perplexed. ‘I thought you’d never want to set eyes on that lot again.’

  Robbie averts his gaze from his brother to the window. For some reason this makes it easier to talk. ‘Might be the chance to put some ghosts to rest.’

  An extended silence. Nick is noticeably less frenetic this morning, less inclined to rush in with anecdotes to fill the pauses. Maybe some of yesterday’s bluster was due to nerves.

  ‘I suppose all teenagers can be cruel at times – my three are no angels by any stretch of the imagination. But to drive you away from home, away from your family for all this time ...’

  There’s a bird perched on the fence outside the window. Grey, nondescript, insubstantial, maybe a finch. It jerks its head from left to right, as though on the lookout for a companion, before staring straight ahead, obviously resigned to being alone.

  I’ve got more in common with that fucking bird than any human.

  ‘Nah, Nick, I can’t keep blaming them. There was something amiss in me, something not right. It’s still that way ... I’m as fucked up as ever.’

  12

  ANNABEL

  Annabel is wearing a knee-length floral dress. Her legs, tanned and bare, feel slightly chilly. She’s had her hair styled and her make-up done professionally. She’s the only one of the family who’s made an effort, except for Mia, of course, who looks adorable in her white lace dress and glittery, albeit slightly scuffed, communion shoes. Jarrod is noticeably underdressed in a polo shirt and chinos – most of the other fathers are wearing suits and ties! Jemma is wearing a hippie-style maxi dress and large white-rimmed sunglasses, and Daniel is wearing jeans, T-shirt and a scathing expression.

  ‘Why do I have to go?’ he had the audacity to ask when she went into his room this morning to rouse him.

  ‘Because it’s an important day for Mia.’

  ‘It’s a heap of bollocks. The bread of Christ ... How do you believe in that shit?’

  She sucked in her breath. She would not be taunted into losing her temper and then having him laugh in her face. Not today.

  ‘Come on, get up. Goodness, I remember your communion day like it was yesterday.’

  Daniel had worn a cute pinstripe suit and a white shirt. He’d looked so solemn and handsome, and she’d been so proud of him. The suit jacket was discarded straight after mass. She remembers him climbing the fig tree in the churchyard.

  In the end, due to Daniel’s lack of urgency getting ready and then the car keys becoming temporarily lost – causing Jarrod to swear, Annabel to admonish him, Mia to be upset and Daniel to snigger – they were slightly late to the church. Thankfully, Grace realised they were running behind and kept seats.

  Now, the formal proceedings are over and they’re standing in the churchyard for another set of photos. Mia with the priest. Mia with her classmates. Mia with both sets of grandparents. Mia with her brother and sister, Daniel unable to disguise his contempt, Jemma looking dreamy, lost behind those ridiculously enormous sunglasses. Mia and Grace, god-daughter and godmother beaming at the camera. Mia and her most favourite person in the world: her dad. Jarrod rests his hands on her shoulders, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes. It feels like a long time since Annabel has seen him smile like that.

  They go for lunch at a nearby restaurant, a Mediterranean place that used to be a family favourite, before Jemma moved out and Daniel started refusing to be seen with his parents. Annabel orders huge bowls of salad, and platters crammed with meat and garlicky potatoes.

  ‘I think you’ve ordered too much food, dear,’ her mother says.

  Her mother likes to find fault. If it wasn’t too much, it would be too little. Nothing is ever good enough.

  Grace laughs. ‘Oh, you haven’t seen how much my four eat.’

  It’s true. Grace’s children do eat a lot. Annabel sometimes wonders if they get enough at home. Now she is being downright mean.

  Annabel’s mother smiles at Grace. ‘Your children are just delightful. Isn’t it great they have healthy appetites?’

  Grace’s children are delightful. The four of them chat and giggle among themselves, as though they genuinely enjoy each other’s company. The older ones look after the younger ones, and they’re all protective of Lauren, who is such a skittish little thing. Tom, Grace’s husband, is very attentive; in fact, he converses more with the children than the adults at the table. Annabel finds this both admirable and slightly irritating. It occurs to her that perhaps Tom is using the children as a means to avoid conversation with her and Jarrod. Jarrod was reluctant about inviting the whol
e Coleman clan. ‘Do they all need to come to the restaurant? There are more of them than us!’

  ‘Of course they have to come,’ Annabel exclaimed. ‘Grace is Mia’s godmother. And I can’t leave out Tom or the children.’

  Jarrod’s father, Bernard, clinks a teaspoon against his glass and stands up: speech time. Bernard enjoys occasions like these: plenty of food, drink and family, and a bit of religion to balance things out. Annabel likes Jarrod’s parents; they’ve always been supportive and kind to her. In their minds, there was no question their son was going to marry the girl he ‘got in trouble’. Given recent events, Annabel has wondered if they made a mistake. What if they’d advised Jarrod not to rush into a commitment? What if she and Jarrod had only Jemma, and Mia and Daniel and their whole married life didn’t exist? How can she even ask herself these questions? She loves her children. All of them. And she loves Jarrod. Somewhere beneath the terseness and the stress, there is still some love, she is sure of it.

  Bernard clears his throat. ‘We’re gathered here today to celebrate Mia’s communion. A very special day for a very special girl, whom her family love very much indeed.’ He raises his glass to Mia and she raises hers in return, with a flourish and a giggle. ‘God bless you, Mia.’

  Annabel’s own upbringing was lacking when it came to formal religion. There was no weekly mass, and not even Christmas or Easter were religious celebrations. She is happy to have her children ensconced in the Catholic faith. She likes a lot of things about it, especially the idea of there being a clear line between right and wrong.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Jarrod hisses next to her.

  Daniel has his hand on one of the wine bottles. ‘Why?’

  How can he manage to inject so much insolence into just one word?

  ‘As if you don’t know,’ Jarrod shoots back.

  Conversation has petered out at the other end of the table, where Grace and her family are sitting. Everyone is listening intently and Daniel isn’t shy about giving them a show.

  ‘It’s only a glass. What’s the big deal?’

  Annabel hears Jarrod take a deep breath. He is trying, very hard, to remain calm. ‘The big deal is that you’re underage. Take your hands off it.’

  ‘Fuck you. You just enjoy telling me what to do.’

  Oh God, the F word, as Mia calls it. Annabel throws an apologetic glance towards the Colemans. What must they think? Tom is watching closely. Grace’s husband is a strict disciplinarian. Grace, too, is uninhibited about reprimanding children who are not her own: Daniel, Mia and even Jemma scolded for misbehaviour in the past. Just don’t say anything now, Annabel implores silently. Let Jarrod deal with this.

  ‘Watch your language, there are young children here. Now move your hand ... or I’ll move it for you.’

  A few seconds tick by. Finally, Daniel puts his hand back on his lap, defiance and hatred emanating from every pore. Bernard, bless him, starts a new conversation. Jemma, who has been quite disengaged until now, joins in with fervour. Everyone gets down to the business of eating and exclaiming how delicious the food is. Annabel sips her wine and tries to regain her equilibrium, tries to recover some enjoyment in the occasion, but she can’t seem to stop herself from analysing how they’ve got to this point. Tom’s firm yet close relationship with his children leads her to question whether Jarrod was close enough to Daniel when he started high school and began to form the toxic friendships that have led him into nothing but trouble. And what about her own part in this sorry state of affairs? She’s the one who played down the bong in Daniel’s bedroom, who failed to involve her husband at a crucial point. She knew Jarrod would go ballistic but what kind of lame excuse was that?

  The restaurant staff clear away the plates and it’s time for the special cake: lemon and raspberry with meringue topping. The cake designer delivered it directly to the restaurant, for a fee, of course. Jarrod would explode if he knew how much it cost. When did she start hiding the true cost of things from Jarrod? When did she start hiding anything from Jarrod? She regrets not telling him about the bong. Will regret it until the day she knows that Daniel is going to be okay. The day that he has a good job, a family of his own and a healthy lifestyle. She prays for that day; a heathen bargaining with God.

  There’s another toast to Mia – Annabel’s father does the honours this time – and the cake is cut and put on plates, which are then passed down the table. Lauren is the only one who doesn’t want any. So unusual for a child not to like cake. But then, there are lots of things Lauren doesn’t like: ice cream, pasta, balloons, loud noises and being apart from her mother. The restaurant has become quite busy, and the increasing noise levels are making her agitated. Her hands are over her ears and she’s rocking in her chair.

  ‘I want to go home.’ Despite the noise, Lauren can be clearly heard.

  Grace looks embarrassed. She catches Annabel’s eye and shrugs, as though to say, What can I do with her? Annabel shrugs back sympathetically. Lauren is a difficult child to get close to, to feel affection for. Annabel’s not sure if the anxiety is something she’ll grow out of or if it will become more pronounced as she gets older.

  Grace’s smile is resigned. ‘I think it’s time for us to go home. Thank you so much for inviting us. It was such a beautiful day.’

  Annabel’s mother and father also make their excuses, and that spurs Jarrod’s parents to stand up from their chairs too. Hugs and kisses and goodbyes are exchanged. Jarrod asks for the bill as soon as everyone is gone. He taps his VISA card against the table while he waits for the waiter to enter the correct amount in the machine. He looks like he can’t get home quickly enough. The transaction done, he pockets the receipt, and that’s when Annabel turns her eyes to her son and realises that Daniel is slugging back a glass of red wine.

  Her mouth opens and closes in shock. Somehow, in the flurry of departures and the settling of the bill, Daniel saw his opportunity and took it.

  ‘You little bastard,’ Jarrod roars, jumping up from his seat and knocking against the table in the process.

  Daniel smirks. ‘What’s the big deal?’

  Jarrod lunges for the glass in his hand. ‘Give it to me. Give it to me now.’

  Daniel manoeuvres it so it’s out of reach. ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Daniel used the F word again,’ Mia gasps.

  Annabel finds herself strangely devoid of words. She knows she should be saying something, chastising Daniel, beseeching Jarrod to calm down, asking Mia to cover her ears. But the right words are not forming.

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ Jarrod shakes his head in disbelief.

  ‘You’re wrong with me,’ Daniel says, getting slowly to his feet. Then he casts a scathing look at Annabel. ‘And she’s wrong with me. She’s been topping up her glass every few minutes. Fucking hypocrite.’

  At least he’s put the glass down.

  Jarrod takes a step closer to his son. Their faces are centimetres apart. ‘Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that.’

  Daniel pushes him in the chest. ‘Get away from me. Fuck the both of you.’

  ‘I’ve already told you to watch your language!’

  Daniel pushes his father again. Jarrod pushes him back. Who throws the first punch? Annabel can’t tell. Only that her husband and her son are suddenly trying to hit each other. Flying arms. Curled fists. Faces pulsing with fury. Finally, too late, she finds her voice.

  ‘Stop it!’ she screams.

  Jemma and Mia are screaming too. ‘Stop ... Don’t ... Dad ... Daniel ... Stop ... Stop!’

  A glass has been smashed. A chair knocked over. This is her family, brawling in a public place, in front of young children and other appalled spectators. This nightmare is her family. Then she has an insane thought – at least Grace is gone, at least her friend hasn’t borne witness to this, what must be the lowest moment of her life. For God’s sake, why is it so fucking important to save face in front of Grace?

  ‘Stop it!’ Mia cries. ‘Stop it, Daddy! St
op it, Daniel!’

  Annabel still isn’t sure who threw the first punch, but the last one comes from Daniel. He strikes his father on the jaw, pushing his lip into his teeth, blood spurting instantly. Annabel hears herself gasp. Someone starts bawling ... Mia? Daniel turns on his heel, charges out of the restaurant.

  ‘Go after him,’ Annabel shouts at Jemma. ‘Don’t let him out of your sight.’

  Jarrod sits on a chair, puts his head in his hands. The restaurant staff, with surprising calm, start putting furniture back in place. Their quiet efficiency implies that this isn’t the first time something like this has happened, which is both depressing and faintly consoling.

  ‘Daniel is out of control,’ Mia declares, a phrase she has heard her parents say far too often.

  Annabel turns on her angrily – it is not helpful to point out the obvious – then sees the white dress and is reminded that this is Mia’s communion day. A day that should have been a celebration, a joyous family occasion, a memory for everyone to fondly look back on. Instead it feels catastrophic, like they’ve hit rock bottom, because what could be worse than seeing your son punching his own father?

  ‘Come on, love. Let’s get Daddy home, and let’s try really, really hard not to let this ruin your special day.’

  13

  GRACE

  Grace doesn’t recognise Katy. Her hair is glossy brown; it’s impossible to tell that she’s naturally a redhead. She’s wearing tight jeans, a fitted T-shirt and a diamond stud in her nose. She looks young, fit, trendy. Grace feels frumpy by comparison.

  ‘Grace?’ Katy asks uncertainly as she catches her eye.

  Katy must not recognise her either. The reasons are probably less complimentary, but Grace is not going to dwell on that.

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Wow, Katy, you look fabulous!’

  Katy blushes and Grace remembers the blush. Annabel used to enjoy mocking it: Katy Buckley, your face is as hot as your hair.

  ‘Thanks for offering to come along today,’ Katy says, sounding slightly breathless. ‘I can’t believe the hotel double-booked.’