How To Save A Life (9 page)

I
don't go straight to the scout hall, no matter how much I want to. Instead, I sing with Mum until she falls asleep. We don't talk about Smith, and I don't ask her where she was before the WhitneyFest started again, or what brought it on. Instead, I cover her with the same blanket as always and pack up the photos, stashing them in the cupboard.

Standing above her in the living room, her tiny body curled up on the couch, she looks so frail, and I'm struck by this protective instinct. I have to keep her safe. To help her get through it all.

Is leaving going to do that?

I banish the voice to the back of my mind. I still have 144 days to deal with that. To help her become self-sufficient. And hell, with her newly promised pledge to go to the doctors with me again this week, and Smith around, perhaps she will get there much sooner than I dread.

I have to look after my mother. Even if it kills me.

In the hall, I slide some coins off the side table, scooping them into my palm. Funds in the bank account are low, and Mum's government assistance won't kick in till Thursday.

It's always a scary time of the fortnight, the Tuesday and Wednesday before payday. It's when she's at her most desperate, and I'm most on edge.

Before I leave, I check what's in the cupboard, and make a few frugal decisions on what to get from the store on the way home. We should have enough for something cheap—perhaps some mince. I muster up a smile, shaking my head. Maybe if the piano stuff doesn't work out, I could write a cookbook.
One Hundred Ways With Beef Mince
.

I stop smiling when I remember that I don't have a job, and don't know how I'll get to Melbourne unless I make some cash, fast. All of a sudden, the cookbook doesn't seem like such a terrible idea.

That's all it takes for the memories of yesterday to wash over me in a tidal wave. No job. No boyfriend.
No escape.

I bite my lip until the mental pain becomes physical, too, and salt coats my mouth. Blood pumps through my body at a too-fast speed, and I feel it in my pulse. My mind whirls. I need a solution. I need answers. I’m going to explode. I can't just—

I need to play.

Slowly, I pull the door to and make my way to my car, then drive to the scout hall. It's earlier than normal, but thankfully, no one seems to have their name listed next to midday on the hire chart, so I quickly scribble mine in and then make a mental note to increase my hire fees when I transfer the money across at the end of the month.

I throw my calico bag on the floor, and place some sheet music in front of me. It's something new, a sonata I've never attempted before, and I'm hoping it'll be just what I need to take my mind off what's happening at home. Everywhere.

My fingers start working the keys, and I play the opening page over and over perhaps twenty times, stumbling over a transition at the end that's timed with a particularly tricky scale run over the top. It requires you to move your hands at lightning speeds, and soon my fingers ache, grow heavy with the weight of overuse, but I keep going, keep pushing, because what else do I have?

“Lia?”

I look up. Kat leans against the doorframe, the afternoon sun silhouetting around her hair, making it glow golden. Like a halo.

Huh
.

A fresh wave of pain stabs me in the gut, because reality is sinking in. Not only have I lost my boyfriend, I’ve lost my best friend. The one I was supposed to be able to trust.

“Lia, I’m so sorry.”

I stare at the keys in front of me. If I don’t look at her, maybe it will stop the tears from falling.

“I never meant for it to happen.” Her voice wobbles over the last word. “I just … I won’t see him again. I’m so, so sorry.”

A splash of liquid lands next to the key I’m staring at. It’s glassy against the ivory below it. I wish I could have held it in.

“I’ll never even—I won’t speak to him again if you want. I’ll do anything, whatever it takes.” Footsteps thud across the hall, and my heart leaps to my throat. Because I can’t do this right now, and I hate that I want to tell her that it’s all okay, that things can go back to the way they used to be because they
can’t
. She betrayed me.

She took away my
safe
.

“Stop.” One word. It’s almost a whisper.

“Lia, I’ll do anything,” she says, but the footsteps don’t sound further and I know she’s obeyed my request. “I want to … I want to be there for you. Especially since you’ll be leaving soon, and with your mum the way she is, you might need someone to—”

I whip my head around to meet her gaze. “You don’t know anything about us.”

Kat’s hands fly up in an offensive stance. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to—”

“Just don’t.” We stare at each other. Hurt flares in her eyes, and I sure as shit know it’s mirrored in my own. Because this aches. Losing someone you loves aches.

And I know way too much about that.

“I’ll go.” She backs away, her eyes never leaving mine.

When she’s finally out of the hall, that stupid lump that’s been welling in my throat since she entered breaks free, and I gulp, tears streaking down my cheeks.

“Play,” I cough out. It’s always helped me before.

Music always sets me free.

I hover my hands over the keys, deciding on one of my application pieces, then I launch into the song. My hands shake, and I think of how I hate her, but I don’t hate her, and how I’m going to have to see
them
at school, and how Mum isn’t getting better, and how I don’t have a job and will need to earn some money so I can move to Melbourne and—

I hit a wrong note, and fist my hand into the lower keys.

"Shit!" I yell.

It feels so good.

So good that I do it again.

"Shiiiiiiiiiit!" I yell, and it echoes around the empty room, the tired walls resounding my sentiment.

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" This one is punctuated by several dramatic fists to the keys, and my little fingers smart, and my throat tears from too much crying and screaming, but in those two seconds, I feel free, because it's not the sort of thing ladylike Lia does at home, or at school. This Lia is different. She's honest. Raw.

"Is everything okay?"

Sprung.

I whip my head left and of course it's the bar owner from next door, because that's how the world works. "Fine," I reply curtly, then turn back to the piano.

"I know you don't like people to stalk you while you play, so I'm gonna leave you to it. Just wanted to make sure you're not letting those keys get nasty on you."

My eyes remain glued to the keys, but I can practically see him backing up, hands high in the air in a
don't shoot
style gesture.

I huff air out my nose, then slump down in my seat, my hands over my head. When did I become such a mess?

It's then that I let it all out and cry again, cry for this horrid uncertainty. And hope like hell I have the strength to pull through it.

***

It's a tiny independent supermarket just down the road from the hall. The prices are slightly higher than at the chain store on the main drag, but I like the anonymity. There, I could run into anyone.

And I don't need to run into anyone today.

It's so close to the hall that I decide to walk, strolling along the lake. In the distance, waves crash, the angry sound of high tide thudding against the shore. Seagulls have long since abandoned their mission of flying overhead, and instead, my trip is orchestrated by lonely insects buzzing out repetitive tunes. It's perfect for my mood.

By the time I hit the store, it's dark, and bright white fluros bring the grocery aisles to life. I blitz through the fresh food section, the tune of some 80s dance number playing over the supermarket speakers in direct contrast to my mood. I just make it to the meat section as Billy from upfront yells that they're closing up soon. I turn the corner, and reach down for the last packet of mince—

And then I hear it.

That voice.

"So there really isn't any more to the story?"

Mrs Finnegan.

I drop the mince and duck back into the aisle I came from, taking light footsteps all the way to the front of the store so I can hover behind the nuts display.

"Nope. We're just ... over."

Duke.

Hearing his voice is like a knife to a wound.

A punch to a bruise.

A break to a fracture.

It all becomes real and my world crashes down around me as I think about school tomorrow, and how the hell I'm going to cope. I shake so much the nut tower wobbles, and I grab either side of the pop-up display, steadying it.

"Are you sad?"

"Mu-um," he chastises, and I know from his tone that he’s rolling his eyes. It makes me smile, and it makes me frown. Knowing him that well means hurting that bad.

"I mean upset. You know. You did date for a year. You even said you'd considered moving to Melbourne to be with her."

Those words. Ow.

A painful reminder that maybe it could have worked.

"Yeah, but whatever. She wasn't willing to stay. Or if she was, she didn't show it."

I press my eyes shut tight, thankful that they can't see me, that this assortment of almonds and walnuts and cashews and yes, even mixed nuts, are stopping these tears from being witnessed by the boy who caused them.

I shake my head, no. The person who caused this was me.

"Well, I'm glad you're happy, Son."

The voices are getting close, dangerously so, and I look left and right for somewhere else to hide. The way the store is laid out, the fruit and veg section I'm in is to the left of the registers.

I have a fifty/fifty chance, here. Either they'll reach the end of the meat aisle, and turn back up the tinned goods aisle. Or, they'll head to the registers. It doesn't definitely mean they'll see me.

It just means there's a pretty good chance.

"Yeah."

I steel myself, ready for the run of my life—

"She was a little bit nuts though, anyway. Always coming over at weird times. And her mum I think had some serious issues …"

"Duke!"

The words shock me to the core. Maybe because deep down, I worry that they're true.

I run, but my foot snags on the bottom of the nut display, and then I'm sliding across the glossy white floor, plastic packets of nuts raining down over me, the large cardboard display crashing on my back.

Wow.

I'm lying in the middle of the supermarket, and no doubt Duke and his mother have both witnessed my humiliation.

And then, because God likes to screw with me, the stereo speakers crackle, and "I Will Always Love You" comes on, and I know that this all has to be some colossal practical joke, because
really? Really, God?

"You okay?" Pimple-faced Billy crouches on his hands and knees in front of me, and I do the only thing I can do.

I laugh.

Because if I don't, I'm going to cry.

"Duke, isn't that—"

"Shut up!"

I laugh louder, my ribs expanding and contracting against the cold floor beneath me. Now even Billy is looking at me as if I might have a screw loose, and I can't really blame him.

He pulls the stand upright and I push to my feet, shaking packets of nuts off my body, trying to wipe what I'm sure is almost a permanent tattoo the shape of a walnut from my cheek.

Duke turns around. His mother's handing the other clerk her credit card, their items bagged and ready to go. I can see that last packet of mince sticking out the top of their shopping bag.
Figures.

Sorry,
he mouths. He truly does look as if he feels bad, and I want to rush over and hug him, gaze into those beautiful eyes, and tell him it's all better. That we can move to Melbourne and be together.

Then I think of him and Kat.

And I know we never, ever can.

I turn on my heel and with my head held as high as one with a walnut impression on her face can, I march back down the meat aisle, picking up the dubiously flavoured sausages, and grabbing some pasta and tinned tomatoes from the aisle next door. I whiz through the shop, collecting a few toiletries, then add the collection to my existing pile of three bananas and a bunch of spinach I decided to leave where I fell after NutGate.

Thankfully, and most likely just because he wanted to make sure he could leave on time, Billy has picked the spilled packets up and placed my dropped groceries in a bag at the register already, pre-empting my exit. He takes my carefully counted out coins, and I collect my bag, leaving the store as Whitney begins her final "I will always love you" chorus, and that one super high, passion-inducing, running-across-an-airfield-for-that-last-embrace note echoes across the lake and into the darkness as I walk back to my car.

When I reach it, the light is on in the bar again. A big pallet of what looks like some kind of green-bottled booze delivery is parked out the front, a logo of a tall ship printed on the side of it, and I give a wan smile at the thought that my life might be kinda sucking right now, but that right across from me is a guy who is following his dreams.