Self-Portraits - 6. The Mad House

After school, I meet Harriet at the front gates. Her backpack is bulging with books. It’s nearly as big as she is.

“Have you checked out half the library?” I ask.

“I’m reading more about Charles Dickens for context,” she says. “There’s a biography about him that’s meant to be fascinating. He worked in a blacking factory when he was a child, while his father was in a debtor’s prison.”

“His father went to debtor’s prison? Just like—”

“Mr Micawber. Yes, exactly. So I’m starting to wonder if David Copperfield is actually Charles Dickens’ thinly-veiled autobiography. Think about it. The names have the same initials, just switched around.”

I gasp like she’s revealed a big twist in a TV show. Who would’ve thought that being geek could be fun?

When we get to Harriet’s house, I sniff the lavender bushes. “I love these,” I say dreamily.

“They’re my parents’ obsession.” Harriet rolls her eyes. “They need to try planting something else.”

Inside, Harriet lets the door slam shut and drops her backpack to the floor with a thud. She slips out of her school shoes and kicks them at the wall.

“Dad?” she calls out in a loud, very non-Harriet-Hayes-like voice. When there’s no answer, she bellows, “DAAAAAAD?”

A woman pokes her head through a door at the end of the hallway. She has short hair, dark like Harriet’s.

“Are you trying to shake the house off its foundations?” she asks.

“Sorry,” Harriet says in a very un-sorry voice. “Where’s Dad?”

“Outside, cleaning the barbeque.” Mrs Hayes smiles at me. “You must be this Richard we’ve heard so much about. Welcome to the mad house.”

“Hi, um, thanks.”

“Come with me,” Harriet commands.

I follow Harriet down a cluttered hallway. There are so many paintings on the walls that they’ve run out of wall-space, so some paintings are on the floor. They’re all bright chaotic patterns.

Harriet leads me outside. The back garden is huge, with even more lavender bushes than the front. Mr Hayes the teddy bear is standing next to the barbeque with a tall bespectacled man.

“Richard the Fifth!” Mr Hayes waves a scrubbing brush at me. “I’m so glad you came! Kevin, this is the boy I was telling you about.”

The tall bespectacled man, Kevin, smiles at me.

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian,” Mr Hayes says, pointing to platter of raw steaks and sausages. “We’re all carnivores here.”

“What time are people coming?” Harriet asks.

“We’re expecting guests from five. Now! Would you splendid children like a glass of wine?” Mr Hayes asks.

Kevin frowns. “I don’t know about offering alcohol to minors, Barry.”

“One glass can’t hurt. Besides, it’ll be under parental supervision.”

“And I can drink wine without acting like a buffoon,” Harriet tells her dad, “unlike you.” She turns to me. “Do you want one?”

Even Harriet drinks alcohol?

“Oh – no thanks,” I mumble.

It looks like I’m the least cool person at school after all.

*

I follow Harriet back inside, into the kitchen. Mrs Hayes is there, chopping veggies.

“How was school?” Mrs Hayes asks.

“It was a fount of useful information,” Harriet says sarcastically, as she pours herself a glass of red wine from a bottle on the countertop.

“Excuse me.” Mrs Hayes raises an eyebrow. “Who said you could help yourself to my merlot?”

“Dad, so get him to reimburse you.” To me, she asks, “What do you want?”

“Oh, um, I don’t mind. Just water’s fine.”

Harriet yanks open the fridge door. It’s covered in magnets and postcards from all over the world. I spot windmills, cherry blossoms, waterfalls, monkeys, and the Mona Lisa, only she’s cross-eyed with her tongue sticking out.

“You can choose from the following non-alcoholic options,” she says. “Water, apple juice, tomato juice, lemonade, ginger beer, soy milk, regular milk, or coke.”

“Coke, please.”

Then she leads me back down the hallway, to her bedroom. There’s a desk with a computer, surrounded by schoolbooks, and an enormous poster of the Periodic Table on the wall. In the centre, there’s a perfectly made Queen-sized bed. Then there’s an electric piano, with sheet music covered in pencil markings, and a poster of a band called Sleater-Kinney.

“What are Sleater-Kinney’s songs like?” I ask.

“I’ll play some.” Harriet taps her phone and music comes out of a speaker on her desk.

I sit on the bed, listening to Sleater-Kinney and sipping my coke. Harriet pulls her hair loose from her bun and runs a brush through it. It’s thick and curly. She takes her glasses off and drops them onto her desk with a clatter. She squirts some perfume on herself and undoes a button on her shirt. I hardly recognise this girl.

“You look so different,” I say.

“Well, I only need to wear my glasses at school,” Harriet explains. “For Mr Jane’s tiny writing on the blackboard.”

“You’re quite pretty,” I blurt out.

“Keep it in your trousers,” she says.

I turn the colour of her wine. “No – I just meant – um—”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I trust you to control yourself around me. Come on.” She pauses the music. “Let’s go back outside. We’ll want a front row seat to the circus.”

*

Harriet and I sit on the back porch with our drinks, as a series of adults arrives. There’s a white-haired man who swears more than anyone I’ve ever met, and his wife, who laughs more than anyone I’ve ever met. Then there’s a Samoan man I recognise from TV commercials. There’s a woman with a teardrop tattooed under her left eye. Harriet’s mother brings out the plates and a bowl of salad, then starts drinking wine like it’s water.

Harriet gives me a running commentary on each person as they arrive.

“That’s Matthias – he’s on his fourth marriage with Greta. We’re placing bets on how long it’ll last.”

“That’s Carlo. Last time he was here, the others persuaded him to put on a dress, but he couldn’t find his clothes afterwards, so he had to get a taxi home in a bright green ball-gown.”

Right before the food’s ready, two people my age turn up – a boy and girl, both skinny and giggly. They’re twins named Benny and Penny. Mr Hayes lets Benny have a light beer, but Penny has a coke too, so at least we can be equally uncool together.

“So, you’re at Crampton Collegiate too?” Penny says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Are you a genius?” she asks.

“No, definitely not.”

“I thought if you went to Crampton, you had to be a genius.”

I laugh. “Well, that’s definitely not true for me. Just ask Harriet.”

“Richard’s grasp of imaginary numbers was quite bad,” she agrees, “but it’s getting better.”

“Well, is your family really rich then?” Penny asks.

“You can’t ask that!” Benny says.

I laugh. “My family’s not really rich.”

Penny’s confused. “Well, how did you end up at Crampton, then?”

“My dad went there,” I say, “so I guess it’s a family tradition.”

Then Benny makes me stand up. “You’re kind of tall. You’re six feet, right?”

“Not quite,” I say.

“Really?” Benny frowns. “I think you are. Measure yourself again. I wish I was taller. I’d sell my right arm for another few inches.”

“And where would you put those inches?” Harriet asks.

Benny laughs. “Get your head out of the gutter!”

“Yeah,” Penny agrees, “you’ll frighten away our new friend.”

“You’re the one frightening him,” Benny says, “asking him how rich he is!”

I’m not used to strangers showing this much interest in me. Their interrogation is interrupted by Mr Hayes’ announcing that the food is ready. We load our plates with salad and sausages and I take the opportunity to ask the twins how they know Harriet.

“Music,” Benny says through a mouthful of sausage.

“Come to our concert next weekend,” Penny says.

“I’d love to!” I say.

“No,” Harriet says firmly. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yes,” I say firmly back. “I would.”

“It might not be your kind of music.”

“I like every type of music.” I pause. “Well, except heavy metal.”

“We’ve got a spare ticket,” Benny says. “Our cousin can’t make it.”

“He just doesn’t want to sit through it,” Penny says. “He probably thinks he’ll fall asleep.”

“I’ll come,” I insist. “I’d love to come!”

It gets darker and strings of fairy lights flicker on. The adults get very, very drunk. Matthias’s fourth wife Greta asks if she can put on some music. Within minutes, Mr and Mrs Hayes are dancing, very badly.

Harriet groans. “I hate it when they do this.”

Mr and Mrs Hayes are both too drunk to clear plates, so I help their friend Kevin carry things up into the kitchen.

“It’s good to see Harriet’s got a school friend,” Kevin says as we stack the dishwasher. “You must be something special to have cracked her school armour.”

“All I did was return her maths book,” I say.

“Her most prized possession,” Kevin says. “Now, Barry said there’s a tiramisu in the fridge. Can you bring it down? I’ll find some bowls.”

*

I lose track of time, talking to Harriet and the twins, and watching the adults behave like silly children. Before I know it, it’s ten thirty, and Benny and Penny’s dad have come to pick them up. They make him get out of the car to meet me.

“You’re tall,” he says. “You must be about six feet.”

“Ha!” Benny points at me. “I told you, you’re six feet!”

“I’m not,” I insist. “I promise.”

Back inside, Harriet and I empty the dishwasher. Through the kitchen window, the adults are still dancing under the fairy lights.

“I hope you liked your evening at the asylum,” Harriet says, as she selects forks.

“I’ve loved it,” I say honestly.

“They all get so drunk,” Harriet sighs. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Kevin’s sober, I think.”

“He is slightly more sensible,” Harriet says.

“Does he have a girlfriend or anything?”

Harriet looks at me like I’ve made a bad joke.

“What?”

“Kevin’s gay, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

Before Nicholas and I came out to each other, I’d never met another gay guy – and in one short day, there’s been both Stu and Kevin.

Harriet finishes depositing the utensils, then closes the drawer. She sees me standing still, like a deer in the headlights.

“Are you posing for a portrait?” she asks.

“Sorry.” My head’s spinning. “Um, should we rinse the bowls before we stack them?”

“We certainly should,” Harriet says, so that’s what we do.

*

I get home after eleven. The house is quiet. I try to close the front door gently behind me, but Mum hears it with her eagle ears and calls out. She’s sitting in bed with a book.

“Had a nice evening?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“How’s Nicholas?” She thinks that’s where I’ve been.

“Good,” I say.

“Is he with you?”

“No, we’re hanging out again on Sunday,” I say triumphantly.

“Lovely.” She puts down her book. “In other news, Mr Jane called me this morning ...”

I’d managed to forget about Vicky’s detentions until now. “Oh, God.”

“He told me what she said.” Mum sighs. “It could’ve been much worse, but of course I didn’t say that to him, or her. But I picked her up after her detention and we had a rather unproductive talk. An hour of scrubbing graffiti off the side of the school hall didn’t make her very contrite. She slammed her door straight after dinner and I haven’t seen her since.”

“I tried to stop her,” I promise.

“I’m sure you did.” Mum sighs again. “Well. I’m glad you had a nice evening. Sweet dreams and I’ll see you in the morning.”

In bed, I lie awake, thanks to all the cokes I drank. Different faces orbit my brain. They’re all in pairs, like diatomic molecules, but all linked in different ways. Penny and Benny, linked with a genetic bond. Mr and Mrs Hayes, married. Stu and Kevin, both gay. David Copperfield and Dora, in fictional love. Dad and Maggie da Silva, having a baby together, or so it seems ...

But they all become tiny molecules orbiting one bright burning nucleus: Nicholas. He’s at the centre of it all.