Self-Portraits - 5. Hangover

In the morning, Dad’s back in the kitchen. I guess Saturday breakfasts with Dad are part of our new separated-parent routine.

Vicky is much less hostile this time. She digs into Dad’s bacon and eggs with vigour. She gloats about her detention.

“I still don’t think it’s wise to make enemies of the faculty,” Mum says.

“Yes, you still have two and a half years there,” Dad agrees. “You should play nice.”

“It’s people like you who allowed the Nazis to rise to power,” Vicky says. “In fact, you guys would both have been Nazis, let’s be honest. Well, not me. I’d be like the woman who brought Anne Frank food every day.”

“Miep Gies,” Mum says.

I eat half my breakfast and slide the rest to Vicky. I sip coffee and wonder if today’s the day Dad is going to confess about Maggie Silver.

“Selling tickets to a dance is hardly the same thing as the Holocaust,” Dad says.

“What would you even know about anything,” Vicky says. But this morning, it’s a friendly anger. “I’m a revolutionary now, like that black American woman who refused to sit at the back of the bus in the sixties.”

“Rosa Parks,” Mum says.

The conversation doesn’t go anywhere near the topic of Maggie Silver, never mind her unborn child. In fact, it sounds like Dad is eager to keep the subject as far away from her as possible.

He starts asking about the bikes in the garage.

“I hate biking,” Vicky says, because she still hasn’t learnt how. “I mean, what’s the point?”

“It’s good exercise,” Dad says.

“I think there are spider’s nests in some of the spokes,” Mum says. “The tyres will be as flat as pancakes.”

“I’ll take a look,” Dad says. He turns to me. “Rich, why don’t we have a look at the bikes?”

“Sure.”

We pull the bikes out of the garage, disrupting several spider communities in the process. Dad finds a pump and inflates the tyres.

“Let’s take them round the block,” he suggests.

I haven’t been on a bike in at least a year. I find I do enjoy it, even though I know Dad and I look ridiculous, our lanky bodies towering over the handlebars. We go around the block.

“Your back tyre is a bit wobbly,” Dad observes. “We’ll tighten it up.”

“Later,” I say. “Let’s keep going.”

We head down to the river, where there’s not another soul in sight. We bike along in silence. For a scary moment, I wonder whether now’s a good time to try coming out again. I try it under my breath, just to see how it sounds.

“I’m gay,” I whisper to myself. I realise I can’t simply say it like that. I’ll need to lead into it somehow. So I whisper to myself, “Hey Dad, can I tell you something? It’s not a big deal, but I thought you should know …”

Then I think, what if Dad’s thinking the exact same thing as me? What if he’s biking along behind me, whispering his own conversation.

Hey Rich, there’s something you should probably know. The place I’m staying, it’s with someone else. Her name’s Maggie … and, well …

Neither of us say a word until we reach the end of the bike path. We stop and turn our bikes around. There’s an odd pause, a moment where either of us could decide to be brave, to be honest, but neither of us say anything.

We both decide to keep our secrets, at least for now.

I guess cowardice runs in the family.

*

On Saturday night, Vicky goes to a party with her squeaky friends, and Mum goes out for dinner and daiquiris with Cheryl and Rosemary.

This time, I’m happy to be home alone on a Saturday night. Because tomorrow morning, I’ll have Nicholas all to myself.

I lay some shirts out on my bed, wondering which one to wear. I even choose a nice pair of socks. I’m in such a good mood that I play music and dance around my bedroom.

I have a long hot bath, then I get into bed and finish David Copperfield.

On Sunday morning, I get to Macy’s Café thirty minutes early. It’s empty, and I don’t want to sit by myself for thirty minutes, so I walk around. The whole town’s quiet, but it’s nice. I go into the bookstore, but I’m too excited to browse properly. Soon, I’ll have Nicholas back. His cute smile, his warm hands.

I go into the café five minutes early. There are a few people here now, husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, sitting happily with latte bowls and newspapers.

That’ll be Nicholas and me in a few minutes.

I wonder whether I should order something or wait for him. Lattes and chocolate log on me. That’s what he said. But maybe I should order it for him now, so it’s here waiting when he arrives.

Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

I go up to the counter and order it.

I check the time on my phone. Four minutes to go. I can hardly sit still. I want to look relaxed when he gets here. I try concentrating on breathing. In, two, three, four, out – no, I can’t, I’m too excited. My heart’s thumping, my hands are trembling.

Then it’s one minute to go, then it’s seconds, three, two, one – ten o’clock.

Right on cue, the café door swings open.

I sit up straight. I smile.

But it’s not Nicholas – it’s Stu. Sizzler Stu.

He sees me staring and smiling like an idiot. He’s wearing a red and white woollen hat and fingerless gloves. He looks like he should be playing guitar on a New York street. He grins at me, says, “One second,” then goes up to the counter.

“Latte to go, please, Steph,” he says. Of course he knows her name. He’s already made friends with the Macy’s girl I’ve been ordering from for years.

Then he comes over. “Sizzler Boy! How are ya?”

“Good thanks,” I say. I’m too nervous to joke with him.

Stu sniffs. “You smell good,” he says. He whispers, “Are you waiting for a date?”

“No!” I say in a high-pitched voice. “Just catching up with a friend.”

“Well, you’ve scrubbed up nice,” Stu says. “I’m about to go to my second-ever lunch shift at Sizzler’s. Kill me now.”

I give a wobbly smile. “Good luck,” I say, but one eye’s on the door.

It’s two minutes past. I don’t want Nicholas to walk in on me talking to another guy.

“I saw your sister last night,” Stu goes on. “I went to Lambchop Hill with Lisa Meadows and all of them. It’s so nice up there, with view, and the stars and stuff. But anyway, then Lisa got this guy to drive us all to some guy’s party – Michael or Matthew Something.”

“Marcus Cruikshank,” I say.

Stu clicks his fingers. “You do know everyone. But yeah, Vicky was there. She’s hilarious, I love her. You should’ve gone with her.”

“I don’t make a habit of partying with my sister,” I say. I sound snobby but I don’t care. I want him to go. Three minutes past.

“You should,” Stu says. “She’s fun. I’d give anything to have a cool sister. I’ve only got a brother, he’s eight years older, and we do not get along.”

“Oh, okay.”

“He’s an all-round dickhead. Always borrowing money off our parents and never paying it back. Like, thousands.”

Steph the waitress appears with my order. “Two lattes, and a chocolate log.” She has a takeaway coffee, too. “Here you go, Stu.”

“Thanks Steph,” Stu says to her. He grins at my order. “Breakfast of champions.”

“It’s not just for me,” I say. I can’t stop myself sounding irritable.

“Fair enough. Well, good to see you, Sizzler Boy. Catch ya tomorrow.”

Now that he’s leaving, I do feel bad about being rude, when he was only being friendly, so I attempt a genuine smile.

“Good luck today, Sizzler King,” I say.

By the time Stu has gone, it’s six minutes past ten, and there’s no sign of Nicholas. No text message about running late. I try to calm myself down. I remind myself that he’s always running late to things. It’s just been a long time since we met each other out somewhere. Usually, we go everywhere together, and so if he’s late, then we’re both late.

I force myself to relax, about ten per cent.

*

Another ten minutes pass. I’ve almost finished my coffee. His is going cold. The chocolate log sits in the middle of the table like an enormous poo. I’m not sure what to do with his coffee. Should I order another one for him now? Or should I wait for him to order it when he gets here?

What if he sees this coffee? He might insist on drinking the one I already bought for him – he’s too nice not to. So should I quickly finish his? If do that, I’ll have to order another one when he gets here, which will my third coffee, and they’re not small.

I don’t see any other option. I drink his lukewarm coffee then take the two empty mugs back to the counter. I feel even dizzier, light-headed, so I have a forkful of chocolate log. It makes a mess on my face, so I quickly wipe it off with a napkin.

It’s nearly ten-thirty. Nicholas is always late, but he’s never this late.

A cold trickle of dread begins to run down my spine.

He’s not coming.

Maybe I got the details wrong. Maybe he didn’t say Macy’s. Or maybe he didn’t say ten o’clock. Maybe he said ten thirty. In that case, if he’s running late for ten thirty, then he’ll be here in about five or ten minutes. Maybe he even said eleven.

If I send him a text message to check, I could end up looking like a complete idiot who can’t follow simple instructions. But what’s the alternative? Will I stay here all day? Will I just sit here ordering lattes for the next six hours?

I’m on the verge of a panic attack, when the door swings open, and in he walks. The relief crashes over me like a wave.

But straight away, I can see that he’s not his normal self. He’s wearing his oversized hoodie and his old jeans. His hair’s unwashed, his face is puffy and his eyes are bloodshot. There’s a string of dried spit on his chin.

“Fuck me sideways,” he groans. He drops into the chair opposite me. “I am dying. I am so fucking dying. I nearly couldn’t get out of bed. It took me ten minutes just to get my shoes on.”

“Oh my god, are you okay?” I ask.

“Coffee. I need coffee. Like, ten minutes ago.”

“Of course!” I jump up and order another two lattes.

When I get back, Nicholas is nibbling a bit of chocolate log on a fork. He makes a face and drops the fork back on the plate. “Nope. It’s too soon. Not ready for solids yet.”

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“Man, I don’t even know,” Nicholas says. “I remember beers around five o’clock. Then someone had a bottle of bourbon and we were drinking it at a playground. Then half the guys left because Lisa Meadows heard about some crappy thing up on Lambchop Hill, but the rest of us stayed. That’s all I remember. My knees are totally grazed.”

“Are you … hungover?” I whisper.

“So, so bad,” Nicholas nods. “But it was wild. I don’t even know how I got home.”

“Did your parents say anything?”

“I didn’t see them. They were out when I woke up, thank fuck.”

I guffaw like an idiot. I can’t help myself. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed his voice, his way of telling stories. I tell him I want to hear every detail about the night, but truthfully, I want to hear every detail of the last ten days. What’s it like being friends with Darren Park? What’s it like not being friends with me? Do you miss me?

But I don’t say much at all. He tells me about last night and I hang on every word, eating it all up. I laugh at his description drunk Lisa Meadows falling down a flight of stairs, her dress going over her head. I gasp at his story about getting into a car being driven by Darren Park’s drunk brother.

“They’re still saying some shit about us,” Nicholas says.

“What? Who’s saying what?”

“Just dumb jokes. Darren and all them. Sometimes they call you my boyfriend. Like, where’s your boyfriend, that kind of thing. Not as much as last week, but still a bit. But I think they don’t really believe it anymore, so that’s good.”

“Good,” I echo.

“Hey, are you going to the Year 11 Ball?” Nicholas says.

“Oh, um, I don’t know.” I try to sound casual but I’m squirming with hope. Now that nobody suspects anything anymore, maybe it’s safe for us to be seen together at the Ball.

“Lisa Meadows asked me last week,” Nicholas says.

My eyes go wide. “Really? Oh wow. She’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah, but I think she only asked me to fuck with Darren, so I don’t know. Georgia Johns and Carrie Green asked me too. I reckon Carrie would be the best to take. She’s fun, and might be having the After-Ball party at her parents’ house.”

Nicholas has just listed the three most popular, most beautiful girls at school, as if it was nothing. Of course they all asked him. He’s the best-looking boy at school by about a billion per cent. And I’m the one lucky enough to be sitting here with him now. He’s chosen me, this morning.

I’m in awe of him. I’ve always been in awe of him. “That’s amazing.”

“You should think about taking a girl, too,” Nicholas says. “I heard about Vicky’s detention after she fought with Mr Jane about it. Everyone’s calling her a dyke, and making jokes about both of you. She’s not doing you any favours, so it might be a good idea to ask a girl to go.”

“Oh. Well, maybe.”

Nicholas checks his watch and groans. “I’m still dying over here. I’ll have to crash.”

“Oh, yeah, of course – definitely. You had a rough night.”

“It was so much fun though. The bits I remember.”

“That’s so cool.” You’re so cool, is what I really mean. And this has been one of the happiest mornings I’ve had in weeks.

Outside Macy’s, Nicholas pulls his hood over his head and gives me the grin I’ve missed. “See ya when I see ya,” he says.

“See ya when I see ya!” I say. This time, I’ve got a feeling it’ll be soon.

*

I practically twirl and dance all the way home.

I find Mum playing the piano and Vicky lying in my bed drooling on my pillow again. After lunch, we sit in the living room and play Scrabble. Vicky loses game after game, and becomes angry, using every insulting name on us you could imagine. I’m in such a good mood that I try to let her win, but it doesn’t work. Nothing can go wrong for me today.

After lunch, the phone rings. It’s for me.

“It’s a girl,” Mum says, with a funny look on her face.

“A girl?” Vicky also has a funny look on her face.

I’ve probably got a funny look on my face too. I don’t really know any girls. I take the phone.

“Hello?”

“Penny said she saw you at Macy’s Café this morning,” says the girl on the other end.

Penny? Who’s Penny? And who is this?

“She said you were with a boy. She described him to me. It sounded like Nicholas. Was it Nicholas?”

I’m silent for a moment. Then I realise. “Harriet? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me,” she says impatiently. “Were you with Nicholas this morning at Macy’s?”

“Er, yes. What’s going on?”

“That’s what I’m calling to ask you,” Harriet asks.

“What?”

She sighs impatiently. “Two Wednesdays ago, I saw you talking to him before school and it looked like a break-up conversation. Since then, you’ve been at the library at lunchtime every day, walking home alone, reading ahead, and doing your homework. Naturally, I deduced that you and Nicholas had been dating but now you’re not. But this morning, you were seen together at Macy’s. If you’re back together, does this mean you’ll go back to not doing your homework like everyone else?” I could be imagining it, but she almost sounds hopeful.

“Um, no, I think he’ll still hang out with Darren Park and that group at school. We’re not … I mean, it’s not …” I trail off.

I’m not sure what to say. Harriet knows about me.

After a pause, Harriet asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

She sighs again. “About Nicholas, of course.”

Yes, I realise. I do. Of course I do. Nicholas is all I want to talk about.

*

I meet Harriet at an empty playground halfway between her house and mine. I’m still not used to seeing Harriet with her bushy hair down around her shoulders, and no glasses. She’s wearing jeans and a pink hoodie. She’s brought a packet of sour worms. We sit on the swings, chewing worms, and I tell her everything – the entire story of Nicholas and me, from the day we met, a pair of four-year-olds in the sandpit, all the way to this morning at Macy’s Café. I manage to squeeze the past eleven years into less than five minutes.

“So, this morning,” Harriet says, “he was an hour late? And he even didn’t send you a text?”

“Well, he nearly couldn’t come,” I say, “but he forced himself to get there, like he promised.”

Harriet swings thoughtfully.

“He’s scared,” she says. “You’re scared too, of what people will say or do if they find out, but you’re not so scared that you don’t want to be with him. Basically, for you, your love conquers your fear. Whereas for Nicholas, his fear’s winning. That’s probably why he’s drinking to oblivion with Darren and his merry band of idiots.”

“But he’s having fun, which is good,” I say. I feel defensive and protective of Nicholas.

“So, what now?” Harriet asks. “Are you going to get back together?”

“Well, I think so,” I say, “but it’ll have to be slow. To be honest, I’m just happy I’m talking to him again. This morning was just like old times, the two of us together.”

“Just promise me one thing,” Harriet says. “Don’t let yourself be a doormat.”

“Yeah, of course not,” I say. “We’ve been best friends for eleven years. He’d never treat me badly.”

“He’d just abandon you during the worst week of your life.”

“He didn’t know it was the worst week of my life,” I say, “because I didn’t tell him. And that was completely my fault.”

“Is it weird at home, with your Dad not there?” Harriet asks. “I’ve heard it can be really weird.”

“It’s not that weird,” I say. “Mum seems totally fine. It’s almost like she’s more relaxed, but mostly just the same.”

I deliberate for a few seconds, before deciding to go ahead and tell Harriet about Maggie Silver and the baby. She’s so shocked that she falls off the swingset.

Now Harriet Hayes knows all my secrets. She knows more about me than anyone else.

How did that happen?