Posse (12 page)

I'm never going back to Mum. How could she have surrounded me with so many lies for so many years? I think – and this is the most terrifying thing – that Mum actually believes the drivel she spouts. I suppose that's why it's so convincing. She's already convinced herself of it. Is there a more odious type of lying than that?

I'm never going back.

D
AD'S HOUSE IS QUAINT
– small and wooden, with big windows. The cottage garden is English-style with lots of colourful flowers and vines. There's a little fruit orchard behind the house and beyond that the paddocks and sheds where Lizzie keeps her horses. I love it. I would have loved it when I was little if Mum had let me.

We pull up in the crushed sandstone driveway and Lizzie helps me carry my stuff into the house. She puts me in the spare room, which has a lot of
her things in it – law books and old computers. We move them into the study.

‘Sorry about the mess. The last thing I was expecting when I left for work this morning,' she says, ‘was a phone call from you telling me you were coming to stay.'

I have a shower while Lizzie prepares lunch. It turns out to be a welcome change from camp slop – sandwiches with lettuce, tomato and crispy bacon. When it's ready, we take our plates and drinks out onto the verandah and settle down. I tell Lizzie how delicious my lunch is about a hundred times. I'm not just trying to suck up. I want her to know that I'm not the same hostile ingrate who sat on this verandah five years ago.

But Lizzie wants to get down to business.

‘Amy, I think I can get you back into school. I was thinking about it while you were in the shower.'

‘You want me to sign the statement?'

‘No, of course not. I don't think you have to go
as far as retracting everything in writing. But you'd have to reassure the headmistress that you're not going to take things any further. And, of course, you have to consider whether you want to take things further. You could probably get this guy charged, you know. If that's what you wanted. I mean, maybe you should. He could be off fiddling with some other girl as we speak.'

Lizzie has a point, but I don't want Bevan in trouble with the police. I know I'm partly responsible for the incident in the hut; if Clare and I hadn't been fighting, none of it would ever have happened. Bevan's not entirely to blame. We put him in that situation, and we'd probably be laughing the whole thing off if Clare hadn't gone blabbing to the teachers.

‘I don't want to get him into any more trouble,' I say. ‘I just want to get myself out of trouble. But Mrs Sproule seems to be on a mission.'

‘I'm sure I can get her to see it your way, Amy. I'll contact her on your behalf. I'll tell her that
you'll agree to be discreet if she lets you back into school. And if she doesn't play the game we'll threaten to go to the media. I'm sure the media would be interested – a high-profile private girls' school hushes complaints of sexual assault. When Mrs Sproule realises what's at stake, if she doesn't already, she'll be only too happy to undo what she's done.'

‘I don't know …'

‘Well, do you want to go back to school or not?'

‘I don't want to give Mrs Sproule the satisfaction, but I do have some good friends there. Especially this one friend … can I use your telephone later?'

‘Of course.'

If there's one thing this disaster's made me realise, it's that the Methodist School for Girls is where I want to be. It may be a lunatic asylum, but I've come to love some of the patients. It won't be the same with Jo on the outer, but I'm beginning
to think it might be better that she's revealed herself. It's a tough way of thinking, but it makes me feel better.

Do I want to go back to school? Yes. I'd give nearly anything to be back with the posse right now, wallowing in the duck-poo sludge. I'd love to go back to school on Monday and see Marina. I can just see us hoofing it down to the tuckshop together when the recess bell rings, elbowing smaller girls out of the queue.

Let's face it – I'm dying to go back. I've found my groove there.

‘What exactly would I have to do?' I ask.

‘I guess I won't know until I've contacted the headmistress. Probably you'd have to shut up and agree not to take any action.'

‘So everything that's already been said, what happens to that? I mean, where does all this stuff go to die?'

‘Well, who else knows?'

‘Just me and my friends.'

‘You'd all have to go on as if it never happened, I suppose.'

I shrug and look away. I'm not sure what she's asking me to do. Can something so big be rubbed out so easily? It sounds simple, and I'm confident that Lizzie could pull it off, but there's still something niggling at me. Is it just a desire to dig my heels in? Am I standing up to Mrs Sproule for the sake of it, like Mum would? Is there something larger at stake?

‘I want to tell the truth,' I say. ‘I'm honest. If something's not right, I have to say so. That's the way I am.'

‘And telling the truth is the right thing to do. It's admirable.' She pauses, clearing her throat. ‘Sometimes, though, to keep things on an even keel, you have to keep quiet, or put a slant on the truth.'

‘It just doesn't seem right. Why should I have to twist things for Mrs Sproule? I'm not the one who's done the wrong thing.'

‘Amy, you've got yourself into this situation – I'm not saying it's your fault – but the fact is, you're here. Now, we could have an exit strategy, but it's not going to be perfect.'

‘What do you mean?' I push my plate in front of me. I can't eat any more.

‘I mean you can't have it both ways. You can't wiggle out of a tight spot
and
start kicking arse and taking names.'

‘That's exactly what Mrs Sproule is doing.'

‘She's in a position of power. You're a sixteen-year-old girl.'

‘Well, it should be the same for everyone.' I'm really starting to seethe now.

‘That's not the way the world works. But I'm going to get in touch with her and do my best to negotiate something …'

Aware that I'm spitting the dummy but unable to control myself, I get up and go inside, leaving half my lunch on the table. I know I look like a baby, but I can't help it.

‘Think about it, Amy!' Lizzie yells after me as I walk to my room. I'm careful not to slam the door behind me. Door-slamming is something only a mother would put up with. I'm lucky Lizzie doesn't throw me out on the street, or worse, deliver me promptly to Nanna's house.

I consider going back out to the verandah to apologise and listen to the rest of her poxy lecture about how the world works, but I'm too tired. Tired and emotional, as Mum would say.

I stretch out on the double bed next to my bags, and look out the floor-to-ceiling window. I can't see any other houses from here, or any people or cars. There's just lawn and garden and paddock as far as I can see. It's beautiful here. I want to stay.

I think about my room at Nanna's house. It's on the second storey and has a pokey little window that looks onto the neighbour's wall. I think about the bathroom that Mum and I share. Mum locks the door when she's in there so I don't walk in and see her naked. And she runs the tap while she's
going to the toilet so that I don't hear her wee, poo and fart. How can I go back to that house and Mum's weird little routines and obsessions? Even thinking about them irritates me. If Dad doesn't want me living here with him and Lizzie, he's going to have to fork out for boarding school.

I think about ways of getting my stuff over here without having to go back to Nanna's. I don't need much, just my clothes, computer and hockey gear. I could ask Mum to send it over. She'd probably send it with a bill for my upbringing. Just like Nanna did to her when she graduated from medicine. It's all in her diary.

I close my eyes to clear my mind and fall asleep quickly.

I must have been exhausted, because I sleep for about six hours. When I wake, vague thoughts of Marina are hanging in my mind, the residue of sexy dreams. I'm conscious that various parts of my body are erect and engorged. I haven't seen Marina for four days. I need to touch her and be touched.

I check that the door's still closed, then reach under the sheet and take care of things myself. In less than a minute I've plunged over the edge. It's just as well that it doesn't take any longer than that because as I'm wiping my fingers on the sheets, I hear Lizzie's voice in the hallway.

‘She's been asleep since twelve-thirty …'

The door opens and Lizzie and Dad are standing there.

‘Oh, you're awake …'

‘I just woke up then.'

Dad and I look at each other, not quite sure what to say. I'm not all that moved by the sight of him. He looks the same as he did five years ago – tall and handsome with a big nose and a floppy fringe. I'm the one who's changed.

‘What happened to your lip?' he asks. I reach up and touch it. I don't want him to make a fuss about it. But then, why would he? He doesn't know that a hockey ball took half my head off in Year Eight. That's one of the worst things that's ever happened
to me, and he doesn't even know. In my letters I only drip-fed unimportant details. Because of what Mum said about him, I didn't think he deserved the significant bits. God, we've got some catching up to do.

‘Just a hockey accident.'

‘So you didn't get it snagged on some old minister's dentures?'

‘Brian!' says Lizzie, sniggering a bit herself. I'd forgotten what a tease Dad can be.

I get out of bed and stand up so he can see how tall I am. He walks over and hugs me tight to his chest. I can't say I don't enjoy it. His smell brings back a trickle of memories.

‘You
goose
,' he whispers into my ear. ‘We'd better go and talk about this.'

I'm glad he's not on my case about what's happened. I hope Lizzie's brought him up to date so I don't have to.

With his arm around my shoulders, Dad leads me through the house and onto the verandah. We
sit and look out. It's not yet sunset, but the sun is getting low and the shadows cast by the fruit trees are long and dappled. It's like a fairy's garden.

Lizzie brings me a bottle of soft drink and Dad a bottle of beer and then disappears back into the kitchen. Mum would never have waited on him like this.

‘So the school camp this year was quite a catastrophe,' he says. ‘I think we had two students and a teacher through the emergency room at Nepean. And you were the next casualty …'

He nods his head slowly and takes a deep swig of Stella. I can't help thinking how cool he looks. I'm not kidding. When I was little, I thought he was the coolest dad around.

‘So what are we going to do with you, Amy?'

I shrug.

‘Do you want to stay at that school?'

‘I don't want to be expelled.'

‘It wouldn't look good on your record.'

‘And I don't deserve to be expelled. I haven't really done anything wrong. Except get involved with that … man.'

‘You know, Amy, given your upbringing, given the psychopathology of the women who raised you, I'm surprised you're even interested in men.'

I sit there completely still, my embarrassment growing as Dad's gaze fixes on me. God, can he tell just by looking at me? Is it
that
obvious?

I cross my legs.

‘I'm not like Mum,' I say. I want to tell him that I'm a lesbian, if he hasn't already realised, but not tonight. ‘I didn't really like him. It's complicated.'

‘Did he hurt you? Am I going to have to track him down and kill him?'

I shake my head, but I'm sure that if Dad knew what happened with Bevan, he'd be loading his shotgun. The way I told the story to Lizzie, it sounded like Bevan had just flashed me. I'm playing it down because I feel guilty. Well, what's the difference? It's all the same to me.

‘So what do you want to do?' asks Dad.

‘I want to go back to school.'

‘You're going to have to go quietly then, aren't you? Lizzie mentioned that you have a problem smoothing things over with your headmistress.'

‘I don't want to kiss up to her. One of my friends has already signed a statement full of absolute lies, but I didn't. Lizzie said I did the right thing.'

‘Of course, of course. But that's not what we're talking about here, is it?'

I shrug. If it's not, then I don't really know what we're talking about.

Dad sighs heavily, stroking the neck of his bottle with two fingers. Then he starts picking at the label. I can remember him doing that when I was little. He was always stroking objects, handling them, keeping his hands busy. It used to drive Mum crazy.

‘Amy, as you know, I once got myself into a … a situation. With a woman. I've been in love with
a few women in my life, but I want to tell you about this woman in particular. She was a patient of mine …'

‘I know all this.'

‘No, Amy, you don't. Forget about what your mother's told you and listen.'

Annoyed, he pushes his bottle across the table and starts peeling the label off mine.

‘I fell in love with this patient, Georgina. I used to see her in my consulting rooms at Castle Hill. She was having some problems in her marriage – and you know what my relationship with your mother was like – and we started talking. We had a lot in common and we seemed to understand one another. At that point in my life, I'd never felt that way about another woman. Georgina and I just seemed to fit together perfectly.'

I know exactly what he means.

‘Then one night she had a huge blue with her husband and she told him about our affair, just to hurt him. He hit the roof and complained about
me to the Medical Board. So I had to go to the Medical Board and explain myself. And I had to decide whether to run away with Georgina, which is what she wanted to do, what both of us wanted to do, really, or to deny the relationship altogether.'

‘And you denied it.'

‘Yes.'

‘And you never saw her again.'

‘That's right. And the complaint went away. Eventually. If I'd run off with her I would have been deregistered and unable to earn an income. I'd have had a woman and a baby by another man to look after and no way of supporting them. I don't regret the choice I made, even though it hurt at the time.'