You Belong Here Read online

  ‘Are you coming back?’ said Jay.

  ‘No,’ said Anais.

  ‘Can I come see you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I love you,’ said Jay.

  ‘I love you too,’ said Anais. They kissed and her hair smelled like strawberries.

  On the day that she left, Anais gave Jay a daisy. He threw it away, but it didn’t matter because there were daisies all over the oval. There were heaps in their spot behind the football field, which wasn’t really their spot, not anymore, so he tore out the daisies, one by one, smushed the petals till his fingers hurt.

  His mum and dad used to kiss. Now his dad was taking leave and his mum had stayed at Sophie’s for the last few days because of a fair, or at least that’s what Alex had said.

  Alex saw Jay at the door to their parents’ room, his hand on the handle.

  ‘Come on mate, let’s go and kick the footy,’ said Alex.

  They headed to the back garden and played kick-to-kick, but Jay kept kicking it the wrong way.

  At school, Mrs Patterson-Kane said Jay had to write a report about his favourite thing in the world. After class, he told her he didn’t have a favourite thing. She said, ‘Write about your family.’ He said he could, but he might get sad. She said, ‘Why would you get sad?’ and he felt like crying. He asked if he could please go outside. She asked him why, and he started to cry.

  It was his mother’s idea to make his project like a cassette tape. Every year, Dad bought one for the family at Christmas—this thing that they did. To most, nothing special, but to Jay it was the sound of the ice-cream truck.

  He worked on the project like an eager beaver, which is a funny way to say that he worked hard, which he did, and he knew he had worked hard because his Mum had said, I love you, Jelly Jay, and she only said that when she was super proud. On Friday, Dad brought Hot Wheels home for the Commodore 64. Jay played it for hours until the room grew dark. Mum said, ‘Tea’s up,’ Dad said, ‘Great!’ and then they ate their dinner like a normal family.

  Emily said they were a normal family, but sometimes it was hard. Jay knew she believed that because he had read her diary, which said, Blah blah blah ponies, blah blah blah dolls, blah blah blah Simon Le Bon, blah, bad person. Jay asked why she thought she was bad, but she stayed quiet, so he ate Milo from the tin until his mouth went dry.

  ‘Why are you sad?’ Jay sucked the spoon. ‘Are you an emotional rollercoaster?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Emily.

  ‘I mean you’re a girl,’ he said, scooping another spoonful. ‘And that you love stuff and people.’

  ‘Brilliant.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You think Mum and Dad are okay?’ said Emily.

  ‘I think they’re the best,’ said Jay.

  ‘No, I mean, are they going to be okay?’

  ‘Are they sick?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. God, you always have to be so silly,’ said Emily, and ran off, crying.

  Jay found his favourite song. He knew it was his favourite song, but he didn’t know why. It was called ‘Say You, Say Me.’ He and Alex made up a game. Jay said, ‘Alex, say you and I’ll say me,’ then Alex said, ‘You,’ and Jay said, ‘Me,’ and Alex said, ‘You,’ and then Jay laughed hard, and Alex laughed too, and he would grab his little brother, spin Jay round and round until his head was dizzy being Jay.

  Jay hadn’t expected it to be a sad day. The sun was high and bright. Snails slid along his windowsill, this thing that they did, and when the mailman came he put loads of letters in the mailbox. Jay had the TV to himself. He wondered if he’d stay in the living room until Fat Cat went to sleep on the telly, which was something that he’d heard about but had never actually seen.

  Eventually, he went into the kitchen. Emily was hiding her face and his mother said, ‘Give us a minute.’

  Alex was playing footy in the back garden, kicked the ball up against the asbestos fence. Jay went to say hello, but Alex ignored him, which was weird because he never ignored Jay. He tried to tell Mum, but she said, ‘Not now, Jay.’ He decided to list his favourite games of all time in his blue exercise book and came up with Impossible Mission, Bruce Lee, Bomb Jack, and what was that other game, the one where you drive on the moon?

  He played Impossible Mission, and Dad came home just as he was about to die in the game. At first he was glad to see Dad, but then everything went quiet. Emily went to her room, and Alex bounced the footy down the driveway on his way out, and then it was Dad, Mum, and Jay.

  Jay stopped playing. Dad gripped his hands tight. Like he was mad, but Jay couldn’t work out why.

  ‘Go to your room,’ said Dad.

  ‘Why?’ said Jay.

  ‘Just do it, Jay!’ yelled Dad.

  And he did it, but it wasn’t like Jay ran straight to his room. He walked slowly, hoping to hear his father’s voice, only softer, saying, Sorry, baby Jay, I didn’t mean to scare you.

  His dad kept yelling, his mum kept crying, and in the end Jay put his head under the pillow, because it was the end of Side One, and all he wanted to do was rewind the tape.

  Side Two

  Dad went away on Side Two. It was funny in a way, because where was he going to go? Jay told Alex it was funny. Alex said, ‘It’s not funny, it’s fucked,’ and punched Jay’s arm.

  Jay told Mum that Dad was probably in space, because they needed brave spacemen, and it’s cold, but Dad has a belly so he’ll be okay. They sat for a while and then, once Mum had veered from the planet of sad and drifted back to earth, they made biscuits in the shape of stars.

  Later, they went through the boxes in the living room. She said she wanted to find photos from when they were little. Jay found some letters in one of the boxes, but she took them away. Put them in a canvas bag, tied the handles, and held it by the loops.

  ‘Are they from Dad?’ said Jay.

  ‘No,’ said Mum.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She stood up quickly and walked away, the bag of letters swaying back and forth. Jay didn’t see her for a bit, and Sophie came around an hour or so later with an Arnott’s cream assortment, which was like a biscuit’s greatest hits. Jay told her she could have all the orange creams, and then he took the Kingstons, prised them apart and licked at the chocolate.

  Sophie didn’t stay long. When she left, she took the bag and said, ‘Thanks for keeping these for me,’ really loud, and then the door closed, and Mum said, ‘That was lucky,’ and Jay sat there thinking, What a bunch of sillies.

  In the end, it was okay without Dad around. They wouldn’t have chosen it had they been given the choice of three doors, but they’d only been given the one, and when you were only given one door there’s not much else to do but go through it.

  Jay got to play video games whenever he wanted. He played and played, while his Mum worked the reception at Laurie Potter’s, a gym in Tuart Hill. The information booklet, which Jay had picked up and read—although it wasn’t exactly Danny, the Champion of the World—said that it was different from most gyms in that it offered lifetime memberships, a bit like the lifetime warranty he’d seen stuck on the underside of the family piano.

  Sometimes he’d play with Alex, but mostly he played on his own, and he usually had the run of the biscuit tin. Alex sometimes fought for the last Monte Carlo, but often said, Just have it, I don’t care, and so Jay ate it in front of him, jamming the biscuit into his mouth.

  Alex won the Coaches’ Trophy at football, a trophy for people who weren’t very good but tried hard. Emily quit piano, but she wouldn’t say why, even when Jay promised, honest to God, that he’d never tell.

  Mum and Emily went to get some shelves from WA Salvage one day, to put up in the house, and, Christ, it couldn’t be that hard, and so it was Jay, Alex, and Walker at home. Jay pretended to read because he’d learned how easy it was to pretend. Walker and Alex sat on the couch like they always did, an army of two, talk, talk, talk, and though their closeness was not something easily
relayed, this was the gist of what they said:

  Alex: Do Slimer!

  Walker: (Pulls a face).

  And then they cracked up laughing.

  Mum was back before the milk truck came but was sadder than a dog that had been kicked, and in the end she washed dishes.

  Side Two had been a bit of a downer, but then one day Jay, Alex, and Emily were waiting to be picked up from holiday camp. They were ready to go home.

  It had been fun to bark like a seal as part of a kid clock, and to play the tuba on one side of a lake as kids played guitars on the other side, but Jay didn’t really like the flying fox, so he just let out a ‘woo!’ whenever someone splashed in the water.

  They waited on a wooden bench, while the other kids went home. It was hot outside, so Brody, their camp leader, gave them icy poles. Jay had lemonade, Emily had raspberry, and Alex had this weird one, it was blue. They finished their icy poles quickly because they were bored, and a little bit sad, although they weren’t sure why. Jay broke his stick; Alex kept his in his mouth. He thought he looked cool but he looked like a wally.

  ‘Mum’s not coming,’ said Alex.

  ‘Maybe she’s been held up?’ said Emily.

  ‘What, with Peter?’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘You shut up. Why couldn’t you just shut your mouth?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Emily.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Jay, but they ignored him.

  They waited for a while. Jay counted ants: five, ten, twenty.

  ‘Alex,’ said Jay.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Say you, and I’ll say me.’

  Alex stopped. Laughed, as if he remembered that once he had been the best big brother in the world.

  ‘You,’ said Alex.

  ‘Me,’ said Jay, and then, ‘Say it again!’

  Alex was about to say, ‘You,’ when a van turned in to the camp and parked.

  It was a silver van, with windows in the roof and a sliding side door. It was Dad’s. The last time they had seen the van, Dad had been driving away.

  Their father hopped out of the van and the world exploded. They ran up, climbed all over him. He laughed, and Jay said, ‘Dad, where did you go?’ He said it again; he wasn’t sure his dad had heard because Alex was talking really fast, and so was Emily. At one point, Jay’s feet weren’t even on the ground. It felt as if he was flying, and then his dad scooped him up into his arms.

  They drove for a long time. Jay looked over at Alex, who kept staring at their father. Confused, guessed Jay, or maybe he was thinking, which is what Alex did when he was angry. Like when he failed a test or on nights when his father was too busy to come out of his study.

  Emily sat up the front. Jay didn’t mind because it wasn’t often she was happy. Dad said, ‘Guys, I bought you a tape,’ and Jay almost jumped out of his skin. Pressed play and this low hum started.

  Jay said, ‘Oh my God, Alex, it’s Just Hits ’85,’ and they could tell it was a big deal because this voice kept singing, ‘I want my, I want my MTV,’ and they were scared the stereo would blow up, because it was such a good song.

  They stayed quiet until Alex said, ‘Why did you come home, Dad? Are you going to stay?’

  Dad said, ‘Let’s just enjoy Christmas, hey?’ and kept driving.

  Jay wasn’t sure if there would ever be a better year than 1985. Well, maybe one day, but for now it was the end of Side Two, and if you ever feel like you can’t remember your happy times, it’s okay, just play the tape and maybe you’ll remember, just like Jay did.

  Eternians

  ‘So, what happened?’ said Adam. ‘Did he stay?’

  ‘Who?’ said Jen.

  ‘Steven.’

  ‘You’re the psych,’ said Jen. ‘What do you think?’

  Adam smiled. While he’d expected a response, he was surprised at what had come. Even at the point of trauma, she could still shift focus.

  It was unfair to expect a client to understand the machinations of therapy, at least not in the way that he did. Every pause and every question were designed to elicit a response, a specific thought or level of introspection. Breakthroughs like breakdowns, tissues crumpled, fists balled tight enough to whiten knuckles, tears choked back for so long that when they finally came, they were so ill formed, so guttural that his clients would temporarily lose all forms of speech.

  ‘He said he’d be there,’ said Jen. ‘He promised early on. Said “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it.” Who goes back on something like that? How is it fair that he lied and I never lied to him?’

  ‘What about Peter?’

  ‘I didn’t lie,’ she said, and from the look on her face, it was clear they were done. He was surprised by the wave of empathy that rushed in. For a while it had been difficult to talk to or, more accurately, break through with Jen; it seemed infinitely more challenging to think like her; to see things as fears, to make right what might otherwise be construed as wrong.

  Jen not wanting to come, but encouraged to by her friend Sophie, who’d been seeing Adam for three years, although you couldn’t have found two more different people. Sophie arrived on time, every time, spoke slower, softer. Knew as much, if not more, about Jen’s kids than she did. A bit too much in her head at times, struggling with the consequences of coming out to the old guard, who’d sooner have you shoot a dog than be attracted to a person of the same sex.

  Sophie stressed the importance of honesty. Said that, while it broke her heart to lose her parents, she’d rather the truth than for them to pretend, to feign love when inside they’d found only resentment.

  ‘You didn’t lie,’ said Adam. ‘And yet, it’s over. So what happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. We’ve covered the main stuff, there’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘No, not nothing, but the session’s almost up.’

  ‘I’d like to hear your story. But only if you’re ready.’

  Jen put her tissue, now near shredded, inside her handbag. ‘He’d been staying with a friend on Hillview Road. We’d been going through a rough time since things came to a head. I asked if he wanted to come back for Christmas, said it wouldn’t be the same without him. So he came back, picked the kids up from camp.

  ‘We opened the presents, carved the ham. Steven made bubble and squeak, which he makes every year. I left the back door open. I wanted the neighbours to hear. For one night, I wanted us to be that family.

  ‘Alex wanted to go to Walker’s, as his dad had died a few months before. They’d been inseparable. Not that Walker seemed sad, just anxious.’

  ‘What happened?’ said Adam.

  ‘Hard to tell,’ said Jen. ‘Can’t imagine it was easy for his mother, losing her husband.’

  ‘Like you lost your husband?’

  ‘It’s a bit different.’

  He waited, gave her space to continue. ‘Fair enough,’ he said, finally. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Any other Christmas I would have let him go, but not this one. I had to prove to Steven that he was wanted. That we missed him, every day.

  ‘Even setting the places at the table, I thought, It’s probably our last night. Alex sensed it, too, I think. He asked to be excused as soon as he finished his dinner.

  ‘He brought out his Castle Grayskull—an early present from his father—and laid it on the living room floor. He took out all his figures, lined the good guys up on one side: He-Man, Moss Man, Man-At-Arms, and Ram Man, bloody doorstopper of a thing, I nearly did my ankle on it one night, but Alex seemed to like him, kept him next to his pillow.

  ‘He picked Ram Man up. Swung him hard at the bad guys, cleaned them up, sent them scattering across the carpet. Went to toss Ram Man aside, but then looked at Steven. He was talking with Emily, the two of them laughing, smiling.

  ‘Alex said “Dad.” Steven said, “In a minute, mate.” He waited a second, two at most, and said, “Dad.” Steven said, “I’m talking to Emily. Wait your turn.”
r />   ‘Alex pitched the figure at Steven and took the castle out with his arm. The figure bounced off the wall, barely missed Steven’s head.’

  ‘And then?’ said Adam.

  ‘Alex ran into his room. I followed, heard a crunch. I’d stood on the castle. I knew it, straight away.’

  ‘Knew what?’

  ‘That I’d wrecked it, ruined everything. I hated myself. Felt sick, and sorry, hoped Steven wasn’t mad, that Alex wouldn’t make a scene.

  ‘I opened his door. He was facedown in his pillow, totally distraught, but it wasn’t like I was doing any better. Kept thinking, Of all the nights, he has to do this now. I walked to the side of his bed, said, “You need to stop crying”.’

  Jen took another tissue, crushed it in her hand.

  She continued. ‘Steven stood at the doorway. He watched us, silent. Said, “You okay, pal?”

  ‘I lost it, said, “Oh, now you care?” I hadn’t meant to say it, but I’d wanted to. Not then, but before. On days when I had bought a new perfume, or a bra and knickers set, the string up my bum, just to get us in the mood for another bub. He never noticed, or he did, but by then I was pregnant with Jay. The times I made him lunch for work, buttered Sunblest, thick-sliced honey leg ham, and he’d eat it, come back silent, leave the Tupperware on the counter to be washed, as if to say, “You did good, woman”.’

  ‘You resented him?’

  ‘He hadn’t been there for months, Adam. I never thought that I’d be here, three kids, and it’s not like they pulled their heads in once their father left.

  ‘I apologised. Said, “Let’s talk it out. We’ll put the kids to bed, have some wine and talk”.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He went into the other kids’ rooms. Hugged Emily and Jay, both of them scared and confused. I headed to the hall to see if I could hear. He walked out, straight to the linen cupboard, pulled out pillows and a sleeping bag, night on the couch, and all I could think was tomorrow, when I’d sit them down, saying, Your father’s gone.’