Mama Killed A Man

“You know, this morning I thought you were another of Klaus’ projects, like Brookie.”

John and I had been walking down Gatsby for a little over five minutes before we came to a security gate that barred the way to another neatly kept, but much less extravagant street of houses. A tickle of cool breeze brushed past us and the air stirred with movement; I could hear the swoosh of the main road nearby.

I stumbled a little and shook my head, “Wow, that was this morning?” I gushed. So much had happened since then.

“Yep, it was” John chuckled. “I was hell confused when you said you didn’t know who Klaus was,” he swept a piece of hair from his eyes, “What’s up with that anyway?”

I looked up at John’s cautiously curious face, with its frame of sweeping brown mane and its deep set green eyes and contemplated on how much I should tell him. A shudder in my stomach and a quiver through my jaw line ensured that mum’s passing would stay out of the discussion. It was too raw.

“Well, today was the first time I met him,” I replied simply.

“He left you guys?” A frown creased his brow and he looked a little let down.

I sighed, “Well I assumed so, but I was told today that we left him when I was two.” His expectant silence hinted for elaboration, “Mum came over here from Australia during her gap year, met my dad at a gig, got pregnant and then left him and moved back to Australia when I was two. I don’t know why.”

I cast my eyes warily at John whose gaze was fixed on the bus stop ahead, forehead still crinkled in deliberation.

“So you’re telling me, that you didn’t know anything, anything at all, about your own father until today?”

I shook my head, “Mum never liked talking about him, so I learned to stop asking.”

“And then curiosity got the better of you?” John offered.

I shrugged and looked away, biting down on my lip, “I-I...just couldn’t live with her anymore,” I said carefully.

“Huh.”

We approached the bus stop and I slumped down on the worn wooden bench while John checked the bus schedule printed on the glass cover. A heavy lethargy weighed my shoulders and my calves pulsated with fatigue. I yawned and my bottom eyelids stung a little as my lashes twitched involuntarily. I checked the time on my phone and calculated the hour in Melbourne, and then assessed how long I’d been awake. The tally wasn’t healthy and for a moment I wished I’d declined John’s invitation and just gone to bed. Then I remembered the dark, lonely house on Gatsby and quickly turned to him, thanking him profusely for taking me out.

“No worries,” he grinned, “thanks for coming.”

My thirteenth birthday fell on a Tuesday, and I remember thinking it was the most horridly unfair thing to ever happen to anybody in the whole entire universe. So naturally, that morning I woke up with a splitting headache and without a voice. Mum called school and told them I wasn’t coming in because I was terribly ill. Then we got in the car and drove to Luna Park where we spent the entire day riding The Enterprise and The Scenic Railway. When the park shut mum and I wandered around St. Kilda and spent the evening eating fish and chips on the harbour, throwing greasy crumbs of potato cake at the sea gulls and bawling out songs by The Beatles. By then my headache had long since subsided and my voice had made a miraculous return.

That was the last time we went out together.

A day into being thirteen my mother must have decided I was old enough to look after myself because every morning after that she’d leave a twenty dollar note pinned to the fridge with a memo saying that she’d be working late. When Nora moved in mum started coming home later and later and I stopped coming home altogether.

After a short bus ride John and I arrived at Tempe Town Lake. The air felt balmy and smelled damp and clean and curiously burnt. My gaze wandered across the road and across the beach to the massive expanse of navy water swilling the quiet shore. I gaped at the regal bridge stretching across the lake and held my breath in awe at the brilliant white-gold light blazing from it. The way the water caught the harsh beams and expanded them into a shimmering brilliance over the waves was breathtaking.

John gently placed his hands on my shoulders and manoeuvred me across the road and onto the beach. A smoky, charcoal fragrance teased my nostrils as he steered me across the sand toward the bridge, beneath which I could see a small yet furious bonfire blazing and a few blackened figures gathered around. I pursed my lips and swallowed. As we approached John’s fingers loosened their grip and slowly his hands fell to his sides. My skin winced against the strange feeling they left behind.

One of the boys looked up from the fire, squinting through the hot haze it created, “Johnoh!” he exclaimed, tugging his hands from his pockets and beckoning us forward. His eyes switched to me and I felt them look me up and down. “Who’s this?”

The others looked up from the fire then too, giving me the same probing once over. I felt my insides pressing against my spine in retreat.

“This,” John said, placing a hand on the small of my back and encouraging me forward, “Is Amberlyn.” I opened my mouth, “-But you can call her Amber.”

The boy who spotted us nodded at me and introduced himself as Kennedy. I smiled and told him it was nice to meet him.

“Whoa,” one of the other boys said, hovering forward, “what accent is that?”

I felt my cheeks grow warm, “Um, Australian, I guess.”

He looked at John and raised his eyebrows with a suggestive grin and my face went ablaze. John fidgeted with the hem of his shirt before striding through them and taking a place around the fire. I followed, uncertainty clouding my thoughts. The sound of traffic whisked above like sharp exhalations of breath.

“I’m Garret by the way, and that’s Pat over there,” the other boy said. The one named Pat lifted his arm and made a friendly hand gesture. John shot me a look, eyes darting at Pat and then back to meet mine. I frowned in confusion.

“So, are you here on vacation?” Kennedy asked, grabbing a drink from a black bin liner and tossing it to me, “I hope you like Dr. Pepper, it’s all Garret likes so it’s all he bought,” he looked apologetic.

“Um, thanks, I’ve never tried it before,” I held up the can for examination, “What’s it like?”

“Like cat bile and putrid,” John grumbled.

Garret glared at him, “You buy the drinks next time!”

I opened the can and took a cautious sip, making a face before setting it down on the sand and hoping that someone would kick it over. John smirked before sneaking his foot in between mine and giving the can a little nudge. I smiled at him gratefully.

“Whoops.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kennedy cut in quickly before Garret had the chance to open his mouth, “Are you here on vacation?”

“Oh sorry, no,” again, I contemplated on how much I should tell them, “I just moved here to live with my dad.”

“So how’d you know John?” Garret piped in, skewering a hot dog onto a stick and thrusting it into the fire.

“He lives opposite me.”

I knew where I’d gone wrong as soon as the words left my mouth. Three bodies stilled, three sets of eyes widened and three jaws dropped a little.

“Opposite as in-“

“In front of?”

“As in your dad’s Klaus Hurley!?” Pat’s eyes sparkled and he looked a little giddy. I wondered if Dr. Pepper was alcoholic. John sighed, shaking his head.

“Yes, he is.”

The three boys looked as though they would wet themselves. Kennedy stopped blinking, Garret dropped his hot dog into the fire, and Pat’s face went puce. I think he’d stopped breathing.

I wondered if this was why mum left him.