Текст книги "Saving Francesca"

Автор книги: Melina Marchetta

Соавторы: Melina Marchetta
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

chapter 25

I CAN’T GET the Will Trombal kiss out of my mind. No. “Kiss” is not the word to describe it. The Will Trombal experience. The Will Trombal extravaganza.

“Up against a wall?” Siobhan whispers during class.

“Shhh. And I said there was a wall there, I didn’t put it in those words. You make it sound like a sex thing.”

“As if it’s not.”

“Shhh.”

“Can you stop shushing me?” she says, irritated.

Mr. Brolin is speaking totems and serpent rainbows like he has no idea.

“Don’t let him use you,” she whispers.

I look at her, not believing I’m getting this piece of advice from someone whose experiences are well documented on the wall of the boys’ toilets. She is offended by the look.

“I do not let them use me,” she says forcefully.

“You go out with so many guys and it never works out and then you end up crying in a bedroom at a party.”

“So what? I need to be on the lookout for ‘the One.’ ” She does the quotation-marks thing with her fingers.

“Well, my ‘One,’ ” I say, wiggling my fingers back, “has a girlfriend.”

“You don’t know ‘the One’s’ girlfriend, so there’s nothing unethical happening,” the Queen of Ethics explains.

Our fingers are beginning to hurt.

“That’s not true. Because teenage girls who steal boyfriends today will be stealing husbands in ten years’ time. I’m a home wrecker in training.”

“Oh please. The guy can’t keep his hands off you and you blame yourself.”

“If I had a boyfriend,” I tell her, “and I felt for Will what I think we both feel, I’d split up with my boyfriend. And he’s not doing that.”

“If he does, he might be losing a friend,” she explains. “The girl could have been a friend first.”

“So he and I don’t happen instead?”

She shrugs. “I went out with this guy once. Remember Nick Fox on my street? Best friends for years. We had the same taste in everything, and I just loved talking to him and making sense of everything with him. But I realized I just wasn’t interested in him romantically, so after an agonizing six months I broke it off with him, and he never spoke to me again. Very sad. Second time in my life that my best friend stopped talking to me.”

She gives me one of those meaningful looks.

“You’re the one who came back in Year Seven with the ‘you are so naïve’ attitude,” I argue.

“Yeah, but that didn’t mean you had to let the Body Snatchers invade you,” she snaps.

“Can you not call my friends the Body Snatchers?”

“Let’s not make them the point of this conversation,” she says with a sigh. “Let’s just focus on Will.”

Mr. Brolin stands in front of us.

“Twenty minutes, this afternoon,” he says coldly.

“Why?” asks Siobhan.

“Detention,” he says, putting it into quotation marks with his fingers.

As usual, Jimmy Hailler is on detention, as well as Thomas for listening to his Discman in class.

“Caught smoking today,” Jimmy tells us. “With Will Trombal.”

“What?” I so don’t believe him.

“That boy’s bad,” Jimmy continues. “B-b-b-bad to the bone.”

“Will Trombal and you were sharing a cigarette? Doubt it very much.”

“Go ahead, Thomas. Live up to your name.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” I ask.

“Why would he be?”

Jimmy speaking to Will is a dangerous thing. It makes me almost break out into a sweat.

“What were you discussing?” I ask.

“Weddings.”

I’m beginning to feel uneasy. I look at Siobhan, stricken.

Brolin pops his head in to see if we’re working, and then he’s gone.

“I love weddings,” Jimmy explains. “I don’t go to enough, and we were looking at it from a cultural standpoint and of course the music. Trombal feels that there aren’t enough Elvis impersonators in the world.”

“Did he mention Francesca?” Siobhan asks.

“No. The world doesn’t revolve around Francesca being felt up by Will Trombal against a wall outside a toilet.”

I look at Siobhan again, this time horrified.

“Who’s got the big mouth, Siobhan?”

“Oh, like I’d tell this little shit anything.”

“Why would Will want to talk to you?” I snap.

“I offered him my cigarette and said, ‘Let’s talk women, Will. How does one sustain two at the same time?’ ”

I’m seething and Brolin’s back. The moment he disappears I lean forward and whack Jimmy across the head.

“He’s making all this up,” Thomas says.

Jimmy shrugs, rubbing his head. “People tell me stuff, what can I say. Didn’t you once tell me that you get turned on whenever a certain someone—”

Thomas almost jumps over me to get to Jimmy before he says another word. Suddenly Siobhan and I are intrigued.

“You people need to take a chill pill,” Jimmy says. “That’s what I told Trombal as well. He told me something important, which I can’t for the life of me remember, but I remember what I said. I said, ‘Trombal, you need to loosen up, man.’ And then we got busted by Mr. Portell.”

“Busted smoking?”

“So we spoke cars. Trombal’s brothers are car hoons and have a Subaru WRX, which seemed to impress Portell, so by the time the mention of detention came along, Portell did the warning finger, confiscated the cigarettes, and is probably smoking them as we speak.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“Hanging out with you guys.”

I’m shaking my head. “You are not coming home with me, Jimmy.”

“Don’t be so cruel, woman.”

We stand packed on the bus with Tara and Justine, who waited for us. Justine is squashed, further down the bus, between two very large people, and she constantly waves to remind us that she’s there.

“You are not coming home with me, Jimmy,” I tell him for the fourth time.

“Trombal’s coming to camp,” Thomas tells me. “It’ll give him a chance to cheat on his girlfriend again.”

“Camp,” Jimmy explains, totally ignoring me for the fourth time, “is one of two things I hate most in the world. The other is role-plays. Sometimes it’s a double whammy. You go to camp and you have to do a role-play. ‘Role-play a scene with conflict, gentlemen,’ ” he says, adopting a teacher’s voice. “And then you have to sit through ten role-plays where a kid comes home drunk and his parents confront him at the front door.”

“I like the idea,” Thomas says. “I’ve never been to camp with chicks before.”

“Must you always refer to us as animals? If we’re not chicks, we’re birds or dogs,” Tara complains.

“Or cows,” Thomas adds.

Tara rings the bell with an exaggerated middle finger and prepares to get off the bus.

Siobhan looks at Tara. “If you were in her shoes and Will Trombal had kissed you twice and not committed, what would you do?” she asks.

“I’m not into relationship advice,” Tara explains.

“Based on the fact that she’s never had one,” Thomas scoffs.

“Neither have you, except for the one with your hand.”

I’m impressed. So is Siobhan.

“That was a great call, Tara,” Siobhan says.

Tara is pleased with herself and gets off the bus.

People start moving down the bus and we’re packed in more than ever.

“Oh my God,” I say, pushing Thomas out of the way. “It’s the tuba guy.”

“The what?”

“This guy that Justine likes. He’s in the same youth orchestra as her, but she’s never spoken to him. He looks at her at the bus stop every morning, but there’s no way that he’ll ever know her name because she’s so tongue-tied around him.”

“Those relationships go nowhere,” Thomas says. “Six years down the track you’re still referring to her as the ‘chick with the ponytail at the bus stop.’ Tell her to stay away from it. It’ll only end in heart-break.”

The tuba guy reaches us. Up close, he’s probably less attractive than from a distance, but there’s a lovely honesty to his face.

“Justine?” Thomas calls out to where she has just managed to escape being wedged against the door. She looks over at us, smiling, and the moment the smile disappears and is replaced by a stricken stunned-mullet look, I know she’s seen Tuba Guy.

“There’s room over here,” he says, pushing Tuba Guy. “Oh, sorry, mate.” The apology is so earnest that I actually believe for a moment that he did it accidentally.

“No worries,” Tuba Guy says, making room.

Justine reaches us, her face flaming red.

“You looked squashed over there, Justine,” Thomas says.

She doesn’t answer him. Thomas isn’t trustworthy material. He is uncomfortably nose to nose with Tuba Guy.

“Is that a Sydney Boys uniform?” he asks.

Tuba Guy nods slowly, trying to act cool.

“Do you know Chris Hudson in Year Eleven?”

“He’s in my biology class.”

“Tell him Thomas Mackee said to say hi. And Justine and Francesca,” he says, pointing to us.

“And Jimmy,” Jimmy says, shaking his hand. “What exactly is a tuba made out of … sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Francois.”

“Francois? French, I presume. Have you ever watched Queen Margot? There’s this fantastic St. Bartholomew Day’s massacre scene.”

Justine is pinching me on the hip and I try hard not to flinch.

“Jimmy?” I warn.

Then it’s their stop and Tuba Guy says the magical words.

“After you, Justine.”

Jimmy puts a hand to his heart and feigns an “isn’t this romantic” look. Thomas is making kissing sounds, and I can’t believe I’m stuck with them both.

“You’re not coming home with me, Jimmy.”

At home, Jimmy has a polite thing happening with my mother. She sits in the sunroom and he’s talking tea and fantasy fiction with her.

“I gave up caffeine when it started making me jittery,” he explains to her. “I’m a bit of an expert, Mia. My nan used to swear by chamomile and it helped her heaps.”

Jimmy never asks questions about Mia. Why she’s in her nightgown every time he comes over. Why she looks so thin and tired. He isn’t even curious. Just matter-of-fact and comfortable. Sometimes he has this yearning look on his face when he’s speaking to her, like a little boy.

“What can you recommend for the fantasy booklist?” she asks. She’s determined to hold on to the conferences, but the reading is hard work. Lately, I’ve taken to typing her notes out for her. She has a laptop from the university, and whatever she says I type. Then I take it to school and Tara reads it over, giving me suggestions. Siobhan, funnily enough, is the grammar queen and works on the style.

Luca sits on the arm of her chair and shows her his art portfolio.

“Eddings, obviously, and Irvine. Heard of him?” Jimmy asks. “And of course the Obernewtyn stuff.”

Mia looks up from the portfolio as I put some toast in front of her.

“Are you a fantasy reader, Rob?” Jimmy asks my dad, who’s been standing at the door, watching.

“I don’t have much time to read, Jim.”

I can see my mum’s mouth twitching and it gives me a bit of hope. My father always seems a bit tense when Jimmy is around. I don’t know whether it’s because Jimmy’s a guy or because Jimmy gets more of a reaction out of my mum than anyone else, but his coldness makes me feel on edge.

“I’d read fantasy if they had simple names like Jane and Bob from Wagga,” I say. “Why does it have to be Tehrana and Bihaad from the World of Sceehina?”

Jimmy looks at my mother and rolls his eyes. “No wonder they call her a bimbo behind her back.”

And my mum laughs.

And because of that, Mark Viduka, the soccer player, stops being my brother’s hero, and Luca and Pinocchio run after Jimmy like he’s their idol.

“Don’t you ever wonder why she’s always in her nightgown?” I ask Jimmy as I’m walking him up to the bus stop. He looks at me. Not like Will looks at me or the way Thomas perves. He just looks, and I don’t know why, but I get tears in my eyes.

“It just means she’s not going anywhere. What’s wrong with that?” he says with a shrug.

“Did your mum go somewhere?” I ask.

“Mine? She’s … just a loser, you know.”

I’ve never known someone with a loser mum.

“Does she live with you?” I ask.

“I’m with my grandpop these days.”

“Do you miss—”

“No.”

He shrugs again, as if he doesn’t give a shit.

I just stare at him. I want to ask him a thousand questions, but I can tell he doesn’t want to be asked.

“We make weird friends,” I say instead.

“I’ve never been into the f-word with people.”

“I’m privileged, then? Why me?”

He thinks for a moment and then shrugs again.

“You’re the realest person I’ve ever known.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s fucking awful. There’s not much room for bullshit, and you know how I thrive on it.”

We laugh for a moment and begin walking again.

“You girls are weird in a way. I would never have spoken to Trombal or Mackee or even Shaheen, whatever his name is. They would never have spoken to me. Everyone used to be so different to each other, but with you girls here, everyone kind of just hangs out.”

“Maybe it’s just Year Eleven or being somewhere new. I was the same with Justine and the girls.”

We sit at the bus stop for a while, just talking.

“I don’t miss her,” he says, thinking about my earlier question about his mum. “But I miss … I don’t know. Being held, you know?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a blush thing happening on his face.

“Do you want to hear something that will cheer you up?” he asks.

I shrug.

“Are you ready?”

I nod.

“I played Captain von Trapp in Year Four.”

“You did not.”

“Yeah, I did.”

The bus comes toward us, and as we stand up he breaks out into “Edelweiss” and he sings it loudly and dramatically, his voice wavering with mock emotion.

And I hug him, holding him tight. At first I think I’m doing it for him, but then I don’t want to let go, so he does the letting go.

He gets on, singing to the bus driver, and the doors shut and I can see him walking down the aisle serenading various people, who look on, bemused. He sits in the back row and opens the window.

“By the way, I just remembered what Trombal told me that was so important.”

The bus pulls away and I’m jogging beside it.

“He split up with his girlfriend,” he yells out.

He breaks out into song again and I stand there, hearing it all the way up the road. And then I bolt, straight home, my heart singing. Will Trombal has no longer got a girlfriend. I dance around the kids skating on their grind pole and race straight up to the house and I call Justine. Because we have men in our lives and there’s much to talk about.

chapter 26

MEMORY IS A funny thing. It tricks you into believing that you’ve forgotten important moments, and then when you’re racking your brain for a bit of information that might make sense of something else, it taps you on the head and says, “Remember when you told me to put that memory in the green rubbish bin? Well, I didn’t, I put it in the black recycling tub, and it’s coming your way again.”

Today I’m in the music room, waiting for Justine, watching her play a piece for her music teacher. The tune isn’t important, although I recognize it as one of the classical pieces from an advertisement, but it’s watching her that fascinates me. Her fingers are on keys and buttons, at the same time knowing exactly when to squeeze the accordion in and out, and for a moment I think she’s making it up, that all she’s doing is putting her fingers anywhere and yanking it back and forth, but then all of a sudden it works and it blows my mind. Her eyes are closed and there’s a look of absolute bliss on her face. When have I ever felt that peace?

It was the first week of Year Ten. Restless with my friends gossiping about the guys on the 8:00 a.m. 438 bus, I was walking past the drama room, where they were having tryouts for the Year Ten musical, Les Miserables . I stood at the door and watched as five musicians played an overture, and I remember Justine Kalinsky, her eyes closed, that look of bliss on her face, those fingers flying over the accordion keys.

When Mia came to pick me up from school that afternoon, there was something different in the air. It was two months after her father had died, and I remember how beautiful she looked that day. Not that I wasn’t used to her looking beautiful, but Nonno dying hit us hard for a while and I hadn’t seen her smile for ages.

It was like some fantastic aura was surrounding both of us. “So give me a rundown,” she said as I fastened my seat belt.

That’s what she always said, and I usually shrugged because I had nothing new to tell her. But that day I turned in my seat to face her as she drove through the suburbs, and I took a breath.

“I’m going to tell you something, but I don’t want you to get excited,” I said.

“I can’t promise lack of excitement, Frankie. You know that.”

“Okay, the school’s going to do Les Miserables and I’ve decided to go for the part of Eponine.”

She nodded approvingly. “Interesting.”

I was crushed. I stared at her, hardly believing her reaction.

“Aren’t you excited?” I asked her. “You’ve been nagging me for years to get involved in a musical.”

We stopped at the lights and she looked at me, laughing. “You told me not to get excited!”

“As if I mean it! You’ve ruined my moment.”

“I’m not excited, I’m ecstatic,” she said, pinching my cheek.

“It’s not as if I don’t know all the songs by heart,” I explained, getting the information out of my bag.

“Eponine is a big role.”

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“I’m petrified that you can and I’m going to be in the audience blubbering.”

I grinned, determined and so sure of myself.

“You know how Nonno used to sing those folk songs at all the parties? Well, it’s like he invaded my body. Do you know what I mean? Maybe this is his way of saying goodbye,” I said.

She looked at me for a moment, and there were tears in her eyes, and she nodded and then laughed.

“I know exactly what you mean.”

I looked at her knowingly. “So what’s your news?”

“What makes you think I have news?”

“I don’t know. You seem different. You have a glow.”

“What would you think if I told you that I’m not going to take the UTS job just yet?”

“How come?”

“I think I want to stay home for a while.”

I was a bit shocked. “Really! Since when?”

“Since I don’t see enough of you guys, and when I do I’m marking or tutoring.”

“As long as you don’t drive Daddy and us crazy.”

She laughed. I don’t know why, but I joined in, and we sang songs from Les Mis, dramatically, at the top of our voices, all the way home. The next day at school I told Michaela and the girls about the musical.

They did this thing where they looked at each other and their eyes did a bit of a roll.

“What?” I asked.

“The musical?”

“Yeah?”

“It’ll take up your afternoons,” they said. “What about our plans to play basketball at the Police Boys’ Club with the Burwood boys?”

“Maybe we can do that next term.”

“That’s a bit selfish, Francis. Postponing something we’ve planned with them just because of one person.”

“We desperately need you,” Laura said. “You’re our tallest player.”

“I’ll work around it,” I promised.

“Anyway, girls in the choir are going to go for the musical. They’ve got fantastic voices.”

“Mine’s not that bad, you know.”

I could see them looking over my head again, but I don’t know what look they were exchanging.

Three weeks later, I stood in line with my audition piece. If you’re going to audition for Eponine, you do “On My Own,” and luckily Luca and I have inherited good voices from my mum’s side of the family. I had hammered every note at home, and I felt confident. But I was also uneasy, and the idea of my friends coming to school with all the stories of playing against the boys, and all the fun I’d miss out on, made me feel sick. As I watched the competition, the pit inside my stomach grew bigger. I was better than these girls and I was going to get that part. I was more sure of that than anything else.

So I walked out.

At the door, I came face to face with Justine Kalinsky, holding her accordion.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

She clutched my hand. “You can’t.”

But I walked past her and stuffed my audition piece in my locker and met my friends and listened to them have a discussion about how gorgeous Natalia’s hair was, and that afternoon when I got into the car, it was as if Mia knew, because the mood was so different from three weeks before. I lied to her and told her that I didn’t get the part, but I don’t think she was listening.

“I’m going to take the university job,” she told me flatly.

“You don’t seem happy.”

“I’m just tired. A bit sad, you know.”

She was fighting back tears but tried to smile.

“I’m a bit sad too,” I told her.

And we cried all the way home. Just sobbing together, almost hysterically, and I pretended that I was crying because of my grandfather and because I didn’t get the role of Eponine, and she told me that she was crying because she was so torn about staying home and hanging out with us in the afternoons.

Both of us were pretending.

And I know why I was, but I can’t work out what her reason was.