Nona and Me (22 page)

I thought it would feel like I was starting again.

But Nona's not here, and I don't and it doesn't.

37.

2007

Selena's voice sounds tinny on the phone. “You
coming to Nick's party on Saturday?”

“I don't know.”

She tries to wheedle me into it. “You have to. Everyone's going.” She takes a guess at my hesitation. “You're not mad at Nick for taking Tiffany to the formal, are you?”

I think about it for a moment and realise I'm not. I'm really not.

Selena continues, “I swear, they hardly hung out at all. Nick was with his mates all night.”

I say, “It's not that. I'm just not sure I'm ready for a party, you know, because of the funeral.”

I feel like I've been living in another world. The dancing. The stories. The sense of family. The contrast of life and death. It makes this party seem frivolous. Of course I can't say that to Selena.

She says, “I thought Nick said you were coming back to school.”

“I am. On Monday.”

“So that's perfect. You can ease back into things on Friday night. Catch up on the goss.”

I'm silent.

“Come on, Rosie. This is a big deal, Nick finishing Year 12. He really wants you to be at this party. I mean, he hasn't wanted to pressure you, but it means a lot to him, I can tell.”

I know she's right. Nick has been amazing. He hasn't pushed me at all about coming, just let me know the option is there. I want to go, for him, but I'm scared. Scared of what, I don't know. My mind flip-flops between yes and no, stay home or go. I say, “I'll think about it.”

*

Mum leans against my bedroom door. I'm brushing my hair, starting to get ready.

She says, “You look beautiful.”

“I don't feel beautiful.”

She hesitates, then says, “I'm sure Nick would understand if you didn't feel up to going.”

“I know. This is my decision.” For the first time ever, I add, “Pick me up at eleven?”

Mum laughs. “Someone scrape my jaw off the floor! No arguments, then? No negotiating?”

“Nope.”

She fiddles with some flaking paint on my doorframe, trying to look disinterested. “I didn't know if you and Nick were still together …”

Irritation flares. “Well, we are, Mum. And tonight is a big deal. He's finished school forever. And I've already missed so much. The least I can do is go to his party.”

Mum raises her hands in surrender. “Okay. Fair enough. I just thought –”

“Well, don't.”

She reaches out to hand me something she's had clenched in one fist. I take it and hold it up. It's a dress of plain calico, adorned with bells and colourful tassles. I try not to gag or laugh. “When did you get time to make this?”

“I didn't make it. It used to be mine, when I was young. Can you believe it?”

I pretend to admire it, as she continues: “Talking to your Dad about the old times reminded me I still had it. I don't have much from those days, but I kept this for you. Try it on.”

I slip the dress on, over the top of my singlet top and shorts. It fits perfectly.

“Wow. If your dad could see you now …”

He flew out this morning.

Mum is beaming. “Lucky the '70s are back in.”

“Are they?”

Her face falls. “Oh, you don't have to wear it. I mean, if you don't like it. I just thought … I know you love it when I make you clothes. You have ever since I made those matching pants for you and Nona when you were little … but, as you know, I haven't had time. It's been so exhausting with the funeral and your dad staying and work …” She looks suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry, you don't need to hear all this.” She starts again. “I thought you might want something special to wear.”

She's trying so hard I can't bear to say no.

I say, “Thanks, Mum.”

I hug her.

She hugs me back, squeezing like she doesn't want to let go.

*

I arrive at the party feeling conspicuous, and not just because of what I'm wearing.

Mrs Bell ushers me in, exclaiming loudly, “Wow, would you look at that dress! It reminds me of when I was a girl.”

I try to sound upbeat. “Yep, it's original '70s.”

She looks impressed and thrusts a party pie into my hand as I follow her through the lounge room and out to the back garden. They've gone to a lot of effort. The trees are smothered in fairy lights and citronella torches smoulder, keeping mosquitos at bay. The pool glows translucent blue. Girls wearing bikinis splash in and out. Most of the boys are near the bar. The line for drinks looks about three bodies deep. Daft Punk is pumping from speakers strategically placed around the yard.

Mrs Bell weaves through the crowd, to where Nick and his dad are setting up a keg in the back corner. “Nick. Look who's here!”

His face lights up. “Hello, stranger.” He kisses me on the lips.

Selena appears from nowhere. “Oh my God. Do you want to come to my room and get changed? You should've texted. I could've met you out the front.” She drags me off to her room before too many people see me. “I can't believe your mum made that …”

I don't bother correcting her.

She opens her wardrobe, and designer dresses bulge out. She indicates for me to have a look, but my heart's not in it. What I wear doesn't seem important. I'm waiting for her to ask me about the funeral or how I've been or what I'm feeling. But she doesn't. She just asks, “Do you want sexy or sophisticated?”

“You choose something.” I feel numb, as if I'm not really here.

She claps her hands like an excited kid. “Oh good. I love it when you let me choose.”

She selects a low-cut dress in pale pink. It's something out of a David Jones catalogue, something I would never usually wear, but I can't be bothered arguing. I slip it on.

Selena says, “Did you see who's behind the bar?”

“I didn't get a chance –”

“The Elites.”

I don't get it. Selena's hated the Elites ever since they kicked her out.

“Steph was hinting that they wanted to come. Like, major big fat hints. She even offered to be in charge of making cocktails. So I relented and invited them.”

“Since when is it ‘Steph'?”

Selena shrugs and grabs my hand. “Come on. You look wicked. Let's get us a margarita.” She drags me back outside into the crowd.

I feel myself swallowed up by the music and noisy chatter.

*

I drink. Selena's right. The margaritas are good. I stand sipping as she giggles and gossips with the Elites by the bar. “Steph” and her followers are all dressed immaculately in short skirts, singlet tops and fake tans. They flirt with the Year 12 boys and laugh a bit too loudly.

I look around for Nick and spot him near the now-set-up keg. He told me a few nights ago that his dad was buying this especially for the occasion, like some kind of strange male peace offering. A sign that he's proud, despite Nick not going to uni.

I make my way over, hoping we'll get a moment alone, but Nick is mid-conversation with Reggie and Matt. Some Year 11 girls stand next to them, hanging off their every word. I think they're the same ones from Libby's party, so long ago.

Reggie is smirking. “Some dickhead broke into our house today.”

“Yeah? What'd they take?”

“Petrol from the mower and a pair of thongs.” Laughter from the girls as Reggie says, “Yolŋu for sure. Left my iPod just sitting there.”

Matt chuckles. “Too funny.”

Nick throws me a nervous glance. “Guys …”

Reggie just looks at him. “What? It was sniffers. They cut the hose too – right in the middle. That's the part that gave Dad the shits. You should've heard him. ‘Why couldn't they take it from the end so I could still use the damn hose? Fifty-dollar hose, that.'”

Nick says, “It's not like he can't afford a new one.” He's trying to move the conversation on, but Reggie doesn't take the hint.

He looks straight at Nick. “It's like you were saying about the lookout – they just do whatever the hell they want, like they have some supreme right. Someone should tell them how the world really works.”

Nick looks frozen to the spot. He doesn't meet my eyes. I want to feel surprised that he said this, but I don't. I just feel sad. I pull on his hand. “You got a moment?”

He lets me lead him away from the group, looking guilty as he asks, “What's up?”

I don't want to get into an argument, so I try to keep it simple. “My head's not in party mode. Sorry. I might call Mum, ask her to pick me up.”

His body sags. “You can't be serious.”

“I just … with the funeral …”

“I told you, you didn't have to come.”

“I wanted to be here. It's just that, now that I am … I don't know.”

His face softens. He pulls me into his arms. “At least let me drive you home. I've barely seen you.”

“It's your party. You can't leave.”

“It won't take long.”

“Are you okay to drive?”

“I'm fine. Let's go.”

I hesitate, then nod. I want to tell him everything that's happened. I want to make him understand. I want to feel his arms around me, hear him say everything's okay.

I follow him back into the house to get his keys.

Reggie is stuffing his face with chips from the snack table. He sees us pass. “Nicko, where you going?”

“Just a quick drive out to Yirrkala.”

Reggie looks interested. “Yeah? Maybe we'll come.” He calls across the room. “Matty boy, you up for that little mission?”

“What – now?”

“Why not?”

“I'm a bit pissed to drive.”

“Nick's giving us a lift, aren't you, mate?”

I shoot Nick an uneasy look. What are they talking about? Why do they want to come? I just want to be with him. I want to block the world out. I want to block us in.

We're on the front lawn now. Nick turns back to them. “Fellas. Another time. I've got to drop Rosie home.”

“So drop her, then we'll do it.”

I ask, “Do what?”

There's steel in Nick's voice. “Not now. We want to be alone. Rosie's been away –”

“For the two-week funeral? What a bludge. I might need to go to one of those.”

“Shut up, Reggie.”

Reggie sees he's serious and stops walking. “Bloody lovebirds.”

Matt says, “Piker.”

“Later, then, okay?”

Nick ignores them, and presses the central-locking button on his key. The Hilux doors snap open. I climb in. The boys are still beside the ute, watching us leave. Through my closed window, I hear Reggie start singing. “Bah, bah, bah.” I recognise the tune to “Another One Bites the Dust”.

My body tenses up. Nick pulls away from the kerb. We leave them behind us.

“Why was he singing that?”

Nick shrugs. “I don't know. They're morons.”

“I know they're morons, but why that song?”

“Probably some reference to me being pussy-whipped or something.”

“Have you ever sung it?”

“I don't know.”

We're on the main road now. It's a sixty zone but he picks up speed.

“Did you sing it when that guy died? You know, the one in the car crash?”

He looks at me, not understanding. I say, “We had a meeting about it at school. Do you remember? A young guy – died a few months ago. Did you sing that song after the meeting?”

I see a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “I don't know. If I did it was just to get a laugh.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I wouldn't have meant it, Rosie.”

I stare ahead of me, silent. We turn left towards Yirrkala and the street lights of town disappear behind us. Nick speeds up to one hundred, flicking his high beams on. The red and white reflectors either side of the road glare back at us. Behind them, the scrub is dark and shadowy. I see Lomu swinging from a branch. Nona keening as he's lowered into the ground. Kaneisha screaming,
My daddy can't breathe
.

Nick mutters, “I knew this would happen.”

My voice is sharp. “What?”

“Your bloody dad.”

“This has nothing to do with him.”

“Doesn't it?”

“He didn't say anything about you –”

“Bullshit. He hated me, Rosie. And if you want the truth, I didn't like him either. He's so ‘save the world', ‘be politically correct'.”

“And you think there's something wrong with that?”

Nick shakes his head. “He can say whatever the hell he wants. He's out there living that. At least he's not a hypocrite –”

I can't believe what I'm hearing. “You think I'm a hypocrite?”

“You act like you're so connected to ‘the community' but you're not. Selena told me what you said about that girl, your so-called sister … that it meant nothing. You haven't hung out with that family in years. But then someone dies and you're all involved. And your dad shows up and you start talking about how great the culture is, and how much they know about nature … so yeah, I'd say that's hypocritical.”

We're hurtling along now. Margaritas swirl in my stomach. I lean against the window, propping myself up. The glass is cold from the air con. It forces me to focus. I am here. This is real. I'm really hearing this. What Nick thinks. What I haven't wanted to hear.

We pass through a section of bush illuminated by flames. More burning off. I smell smoke and see Nick's face in the dim orange glow. His lips are set in a grimace. His eyes are hard. I suddenly feel like I don't know him at all. I'm breathing heavily. I try to stay in control. “Nick … maybe you're a bit drunk –”

“I'm not.”

“You're obviously angry –”

“Well, seriously, Rosie … I've tried to understand … but don't lecture me about it when, underneath it all, you think what I do. You just don't say it. At least I'm honest about it!”