Little Bird (16 page)

‘So you don't know why the wedding got called off?' she asked.

‘Because of Dad's money, wasn't it?'

‘What? Oh
that
. Well, yeah, at first. But I would have gotten over that. No, Damien called it off.'

‘Damien?' I could hardly believe it. Damien had calmly put up with Shandra's histrionics for years, ever since they were in primary school, never rising to her bait. ‘Why?'

‘Well, I wasn't sure at first. One day we met for lunch and he was all moody and quiet. We were talking about the wedding – well, I was talking about the wedding – and then he stood up and said, I think we should call it off, and left.'

‘And that's it? Why?'

‘Yeah, I'm coming to that. It turned out that someone had told him about Christos.'

‘Christos from Sydney? But who — ?' A piece of caramel slice lodged in my throat. ‘Oh.' I forced myself to swallow it.

Shandra raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes. Oh.'

‘But Tegan swore she wouldn't tell anyone.'

‘She told Blake, of course. And Blake told Damien. You did remember that Blake and Damien play cricket together, didn't you, dummy?'

‘She promised she wouldn't tell Blake. She crossed her heart. She's been my best friend forever.' I wondered if that was why Tegan had written me that letter. All that bulldust about us growing apart, when really she was getting in first, before I found out what
she'd
done.

‘Take it from me,' Shandra said, wisely. ‘Girls always tell their boyfriends everything.'

‘So it was my fault? I wrecked
your
life too?'

‘Well, I thought you had.'

I stared at Shandra. All this time Shandra had been hating me, and I didn't even know. I thought she was being her usual bad-tempered, melodramatic self, but it was me she was angry with. And for good reason. I was like a wrecking ball. Tears pricked my eyes. I put my forehead down onto my forearms which were resting on the table. ‘I'm so sorry. You must hate me.'

‘Don't freak out. I told you, I've forgiven you. Look, to be honest, I don't even blame you that much anymore. I mean, it was me who kept it a secret in the first place –
I
should have been the one to tell Damien. And I'm kind of glad he knows about it. Well, now we've made up. I'd rather we started married life with everything out in the open. No secrets.'

I raised my head, wiping my eyes. ‘So Damien doesn't mind about Christos?'

Shandra sighed. ‘Ruby-lee, relationships can be messy. Sometimes I think there's love and then there's relationships, and they're actually two completely different things. Love comes naturally, whether you want it to or not, but the relationship you have to build. I don't think I can explain everything. It feels so fragile, like a house of cards. Remember we used to try and make those with Grandad at the farm? And as soon as one of us dared to say we'd done it, it would suddenly fall in on itself, and end up a mess all over the floor.'

‘But you and Damien love each other?'

‘Of course we do. We've always loved each other. It wouldn't have hurt so much if we didn't.'

‘And the wedding's back on?' I asked.

What would Shandra say when she found out she'd lost her first bridesmaid? Because surely Colette wouldn't have anything to do with the wedding now. And my dress! Fleetingly, I let myself mourn the dress, the dress that would have made me sparkle for a day. Now I'd have to wear some hideous pink taffeta number. It served me right. Another in my long line of punishments.

Shandra's eyes sparkled. ‘Sure is. But we'll talk about that later. Why aren't you at school? What's this about Colette? What other lives have you wrecked?'

Numbly I told her about Colette, Maisy and Spence.

Shandra listened and then said, with her characteristic bluntness, ‘Of course Colette is narky with you. You screwed up. But you can't help being stupid. She'll realise that eventually. Besides, it's not really your fault. Spence used you to get what he wanted. To have his cake and eat it too.'

‘I've never understood that saying,' I said. ‘If it's
your
cake, why
can't
you eat it?'

‘I dunno, Ruby-lee. You're the one with the deep thoughts.' I blinked. Was that how Shandra saw me? ‘What I mean is, he wanted to have the fun of seeing Maisy without the responsibility. He doesn't even pay child support.'

‘He did use me, I know. But he's sorry for it. He's changed.'

‘Men like Spence don't change.' Shandra looked at me in the eyes. ‘Are you and Spence . . . ? Did anything happen?'

‘No,' I said firmly.

Shandra read my eyes, looking from one to the other. ‘Good,' she said finally. She stood. ‘Let's go.'

‘Where are we going?'

‘You'll see.'

She found what she wanted in the first shop we went into. She came out of the changeroom looking flushed and pretty. It was a glossy white satin dress (marked down in the winter sales, an absolute bargain). It was short and though it wasn't tight-fitting, the soft shiny fabric clung sexily to Shandra's curves. The neckline was high and demure, in a straight line below her collar bone, and it had three-quarter length sleeves, no lace or frills or ruffles. The whole effect was somehow chaste enough to make it an acceptable wedding dress, while still being flirtatious and fun.

She walked a little way and then turned back. The satin rippled when she walked. I squinted and tried to imagine a veil and a bouquet. Then I realised it didn't matter what Shandra wore. On the day she got married, she would be a bride.

‘This is it,' she said, as she twisted around and considered her own bum in the mirror. She didn't look like she had that day in Brides on Bathurst, all those months ago. She wasn't a perfect magazine bride, all bound up in a white dress. She was confident, unrestrained, a bit brash. She looked like Shandra.

She winked at me. ‘What do you think? Cloud? Lamb's tail? Milk froth? Is it a cold white, or a warm white?'

I touched it and pulled my finger back quickly. ‘Ouch. It's burning hot.'

Shandra laughed. ‘Perfect. I want Damien to be in the mood on the wedding night.'

‘Ergh. Too much information.'

Her mobile rang just as she was paying for the dress.

‘Hello? Oh hi, Mum.' She made a face at me. ‘Mum, calm down. She's right here with me, we're shopping . . . She's fine . . . Don't worry . . . No, she hasn't run off with the music teacher . . . Ow, Ruby-lee! Geez, I'm joking, can't anyone in this family take a joke? . . . Who's been ringing? . . . No, Damien dropped us off at Eastlands, so . . . Okay. I will. I promise . . . Yes,
Damien
. See you then. Bye . . .
Bye
, Mum.'

She snapped her phone closed. ‘The school rang her. She says I have to keep you here. She's on her way. And some boy called Ed keeps ringing the house.'

19

Later I told Mum everything – well, almost everything, I left out the almost kiss that had never actually happened, partly because I still wasn't sure if I'd imagined it, and partly because it was too raw, too personal to share. It seemed like it had been months since it was just me and Mum like that. She stroked my hair as I talked, she found a knot and then another, unsnarling them with her fingers. In the end I gave her my brush and I sat on the floor while she pulled the bristles through my tangled brown hair.

‘You were right,' I said.

‘About what?'

‘Maisy. I was too attached. And now she's gone.'

‘Oh, darls. Sometimes mothers don't want to be right,' Mum said.

‘Can I ask you something else?'

‘Mmm?'

‘Why didn't you seem happy when I told you about the childcare traineeship? I thought you wanted me to make plans for the future.'

‘I do. It just made me a bit sad, that's all.'

‘Sad?'

‘It all seemed so sudden. First it was Shandra getting married. Then you talking about moving out of home, or going overseas. You're both in such a rush. I'm not ready to have all my birds leave the nest.'

That reminded me of the lullaby Spence had sung. I told Mum the story.

‘I don't want to stop you from flying, Rubes. I just want you to be ready when you go.'

It was nearly six weeks later that I sat in Ed's car on the street below Colette's flat.

‘Are you sure you don't want us to come?' Ed asked.

‘Yeah,' said Imogen. Ms Betts had assigned Imogen as my study partner (part of our agreement to stop me from failing), and aside from one haiku, I had almost caught up. ‘Strength in numbers and all that.'

‘No no. Let's stick to the plan,' I said. ‘I'll meet you in Cocos. I'll be ready for Death by Chocolate by then.'

I regretted it slightly when I watched Ed's car drive off.

It was a lonely climb up the stairs to Colette's flat. Under my arm was a neatly wrapped present for Maisy's first birthday. It was a book, called
Sing Little Bird
. The story was simple –
sing little bird, eat little bird, play little bird, practise little bird, wobble little bird, uh oh little bird, fly little bird!
– but the illustrations of the baby bird were perfect: at first tucked under its mother's wing, and then creeping further and further from the nest, attempting to fly and then being caught by the scruff of its neck in its mother's beak while it stretched out its wings.

I stood at the door and considered leaving the present and bolting. I steeled myself. I couldn't leave without seeing Maisy. I wondered if I should have rung ahead, but I had left a message once before, and Colette had never returned my call.

I'd seen Spence of course, at school, usually from a distance. Mum had called the school and said she was satisfied that nothing had happened between us, and the school had to be happy with that. It didn't ease my humiliation though – the rumour mill had done its work. I guess some people thought I was a stalker, some a victim and some people thought we were star-crossed lovers. Maybe if I hadn't already given him up that night, it would have been more traumatic. I'd already known that Spence and I were finished, really finished. There was no place for him in my life. Maybe one day, years from now, we might meet under different circumstances and be friends. Maybe. When we did pass in the hall, we'd glance at each other and keep walking.

Mum had been understanding about everything, except my English homework. I had been to see Ms Betts on the Wednesday morning after my outburst. (Mum had let me stay home on the Tuesday and lick my wounds and wallow in my embarrassment on the condition that I wrote my
Romeo and Juliet
essay.) Ms Betts – Karen – was surprisingly understanding, perhaps she'd been worded up on the Spence drama. She'd taken my late assignment without reprimand, given me a written extension for the ‘What is love?' piece and made me sit down and write out a homework schedule with her, so that I wouldn't fall behind again. And really, without Maisy, Spence and Colette in my life, there wasn't much else to do but homework.

And without Tegan either. Maybe Tegan had been right, maybe I had been immature. I'd certainly grown up a lot in the last few months, I'd learnt a lot about pain, and love, and respect. In fact, when I saw Tegan these days, hanging off Blake's arm, hovering on the periphery of Blake's group of friends, I felt like
I'd
outgrown
her
. She smiled at me sometimes in English class, and I'd smile quickly back and then sit with Imogen. I didn't catch the bus much anymore. Ed gave me a ride home from school most days.

I took a deep breath, knocked on Colette's door and waited, listening for movement inside the flat. All was quiet. I knocked again. No answer. I gave up and wandered slowly down the stairs, aching with disappointment. I knew Ed and Imogen weren't expecting me for a while. So I headed up the street in the thin spring sunlight. I walked mine and Maisy's old route, through the streets to the park. The air smelled like honeysuckle. I felt a rush of loss. I missed her so much.

The park was velvety green after all the spring rain, and filled with all different shapes of families. I kept walking. And, as if I'd somehow known they would be, there they were. Maisy's big pram was parked next to the slide. On the other side of the playground, Maisy was buckled into the swing. Every time Colette pushed her, peals of laughter erupted out of Maisy. Everyone within earshot was smiling benevolently at them both. Colette was oblivious, you could see she only had eyes for Maisy.

That was when it hit me, with such force it knocked the breath out of me. Colette was Maisy's mother. Like my mum was my mother. No matter what she did, how messy the flat was, or how tired and cranky or over it Colette got, Maisy was hers and she was Maisy's. Forever.

I walked up and put the present on the top of Maisy's pram.