The Hollywood Effect (2 page)

I shut the gate firmly behind me and started walking down the overgrown path to the front door. The remnants of the once immaculate garden made me sigh. This garden had once been my father’s pride and joy. Now it was neglected and weed-strewn, and stood out in the street for all the wrong reasons.
 

I knocked quickly on the door, then pushed it open.
 

“Dad? It’s me.”

“In here, love,” Dad’s voice called out from the direction of the living room.
 

I walked down the dark hallway, banging my foot on a pile of god-knows what. I went into the lounge room. It was dark in there as well, with the only light coming from the TV. I leaned over and gave Dad a quick kiss on the cheek. He didn’t smell very good.
 

“I brought you some groceries. I’ll just put them in the kitchen,” I said.
 

“Oh thanks, love. You didn’t need to do that.”
 

“It’s all right, Dad.”
 

The kitchen was dim. The bright sunshine tried in vain to seep through the wooden blinds. I sighed again and strode over to open the blinds. Movement caught my eye and I watched with exasperation and mounting anger as a scruffy man clambered up the old oak tree that straddled our backyard and the Burns’. Our old cubby house was up there. I contemplated calling the police. They’d realise soon enough that the famous Liam Burns wasn’t in town though and leave. There was nothing else in Tarang, or the entire Western Districts for that matter, to keep them occupied, that was for sure. Not unless they wanted to go climb a (very small) extinct volcano, or go out paddling on the lake.
 

Still, I really didn’t like the idea of some stranger sitting in my cubby house. I opened the kitchen window and leaned out.
 

“Oi! You in the tree! You have one minute to get out of there and off our property before I call the police!” The scruffy man gave me a startled look and began to climb down.
 

I returned my attention to the kitchen and my heart sank. For a few weeks there, Dad had seemed to be getting better, but lately…
 

The piles of dishes had grown, rather than shrunk since I’d dropped by two days ago. The pile of mail remained exactly where I’d placed it on the counter, still unopened.
 

I put the food away and replaced the rotting vegetables in the fridge with fresh versions, and picked through the fruit bowl to remove the older pieces that were starting to go brown. At least the chooks would be happy. I held my breath as I emptied the tray into the chook bucket.
 

“Dad, can you take this down to the chooks?” I called out.
 

“What’s that, love?”

“The chook bucket. It’s full. And pretty smelly.”
 

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. In a minute.”
 

I sighed. Yeah. In a minute…

I flicked through the mail. Red letters caught my eye. I ripped open the envelope.
 

“Dad! You need to pay your electricity bill!”

“What’s that?”
 

I picked up a few more envelopes and went into the living room. I could barely see Dad. Irritated, I stalked over to the big bay window and opened the curtains. Dad blinked in the sudden light.
 

“What did you do that for? I like it dark. Too much glare on the telly otherwise.”

“Dad, you need to pay your electricity bill. They’re about to cut you off. You haven’t paid for months.”
 

“I will, I will. Don’t worry about it, Jen.”
 

“And your insurance? Have you paid that?”
 

“I said don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”
 

“Dad…”
 

“Enough, Jennifer. I said it’s fine.”
 

I sighed again and slipped the bills into my handbag. When Mum had died, a part of Dad seemed to go with her. He barely left the house anymore, and I doubted that he would eat anything other than sardines on toast or baked beans if I didn’t come over and cook for him every second night. I wanted to come every night, but he flat out refused. Mum had been gone for almost two years now. I hadn’t realised how bad Dad was at first. I mean, of course, we were all pretty bad at the start. You don’t exactly expect your healthy, fit mother to drop dead at the age of fifty three. My older sister, Steph, had come out for the funeral and stayed with Dad for two months before flying back to her life in Vancouver. I wished she wasn’t so far away. She’d probably be able to bully Dad into actually going to his counselling sessions and opening his mail.
 

I started cutting up an onion and some garlic. The smell of the butter, garlic and onions all simmering away in the pan finally lured Dad away from the TV.
 

“What are you cooking?”
 

“Just spaghetti.”

“Ah. Good.”

We stood in silence for a few minutes. I stirred the saucepan and chopped up some mushrooms. Dad fiddled with the corner of the counter, where the laminate was starting to come off. I could feel him watching me for a few moments before he let out a deep breath and helped himself to a beer from the fridge.
 

“Do
 
you want one?” He held up a can of VB to me.
 

I shook my head. “No thanks. I’m gonna grab a drink later with some of the other teachers.”
 

Dad shrugged, as if to say ‘your loss’ and cracked the can open. He took a big gulp.
 

“How was your day?” Dad asked.
 

I shrugged. “All right. Survived the first week. Learned more names. Have you noticed all the paparazzi around?”
 

Dad frowned and shook his head.
 

“Yeah, there was one up the back oak tree as well. I told him to bugger off.” I nodded towards the window.
 

“Liam back, is he?”
 

“No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
 

“They seem to think so.” Dad came over to the kitchen window and peered out. “I don’t see anything.”
 

“They’re there. Trust me. Most of them are out the front, but I wouldn’t put it past them to be lurking in the hydrangeas or something.”

“Why would they think he’s here if he’s not?”
 

“Dunno. I don’t really follow the tabloids these days, Dad. My Year 8’s told me that apparently Liam and Holly have broken up again and Liam was seen boarding a flight to Australia. I suppose they’re just covering all bases.”
 

“Oh, that’s a pity. Poor Liam. I like Holly. She was in a movie I watched this morning. Got some good acting chops, that girl.”
 

I rolled my eyes. “Everyone likes Holly Monroe. And don’t worry, Dad. It’s probably not even true.”
 

Once it was cooked, I served up the spaghetti and ate with Dad in near silence. I wrapped up the leftovers.
 

“Dad, there’s plenty left here for you to eat tomorrow,” I said while I put the bowl in the fridge. I hoped he’d actually eat it. He used to make spaghetti for us all the time when we were kids. It was Steph’s favourite. I’d always loved his risotto more.
 

“Okay, Dad. I’m off. I’ll come over on Sunday, yeah?”
 

Dad just nodded absentmindedly, obviously thinking about something - or someone - else. I stopped by his chair and leaned down to give him a kiss. He reached up and squeezed my hand.
 

“You’re a good girl, Jen.”
 

“Thanks, Dad.”
 

Half the paparazzi out the front had gone when I came out to my car. Smarmy Matt Rivers was one of the absent ones, thankfully. The ones left just watched me idly as I climbed into my trusty old Astra. Maybe they’d gotten wind of Liam’s real whereabouts - or, even better, something more interesting to write about and photograph than peoples private lives.
 

I drove around to my rented house. One nice thing about living back in the countryside was rental prices. I could maybe get a teeny tiny studio apartment in Melbourne for the same price I was paying for this 3 bedroom house. Not that I needed 3 bedrooms with it just being me of course, but it was nice to have space after years of sharing apartments in the city. I could have my own study. And a music room! I could play my drums at whatever time I liked. I really should finish unpacking this weekend. I wasn’t planning on staying here long term, but the teaching contract was for ten months. No point in living out of my suitcase and boxes for that long.
 

I parked the car, but didn’t bother going inside. I looked down at my clothes. They’d do. I grabbed my jacket off the backseat, and set off at a brisk walk to the pub. It was only two blocks away. Another good thing about Tarang. No excuse for drink driving here! I think everyone in the entire town must be within walking distance of a pub. We had four. For twelve hundred people. I didn’t want to think about what that ratio meant.
 

The Wheatsheaf was its usual bustling self. It hadn’t changed much since I’d turned 18 and started coming here. Friday nights were good for business. I smiled and waved at Nikki, the bartender, when she looked my way. She’d been a year ahead of me at school and we’d had a few classes together.
 

“How’s it going, Jen? What can I get you?”

“Yeah good thanks, Nikki. Ummm.” I scanned the taps. For a small country pub, they had a pretty good selection I had to admit. “I’ll just have a pot of cider for now, thanks.”
 

“No worries. Did you want to start a tab?”
 

I grinned. “Yeah sure.” I glanced around at some of the familiar, vaguely familiar and not so familiar faces. “Are Jacinta and Veronica here?”
 

“Yeah, I think they’re in the dining room.” Nikki placed the cider in front of me.
 

“Awesome, thanks.” I picked up my mug, and careful not to spill any, made my way through the crowd around the bar and into the dining room. It was a little bit quieter in there, but not much.
Must be someone’s birthday
, I thought, looking at the long table that had been pushed together and the crowds of people surrounding it. A lot of them looked alike. Some of them I vaguely recognised from the Catholic school. We saw a lot of them at school sports, and they caught the same school buses us state school kids did, so they were often hanging around out the front of our school, waiting for their bus.
 

I spotted Jacinta, Veronica and Simon huddled in the far corner of the room. Jacinta looked up and waved to me.
 

I ambled over, nodding to Mr O’Connor, the local green grocer. Veronica pulled out the seat next to her.
 

Truth be told, I’d had a vague girly-crush on Veronica when I was a student. She’d started teaching at the school when I was in Year 11; she was my biology teacher. She was gorgeous, with her bright blue eyes, sleek black hair and high cheek bones. Her fashion sense stood out amongst our compulsory, daggy, school uniforms (Dan had feigned shock when he’d seen me in a bikini when we were 16 - claimed he’d always thought I was a scrawny boy under the baggy school jumper I was forced to wear everyday) and the older teachers drab clothes. I’d gotten to know her better after she joined the local netball team, and some of the mystique faded away, although I still
 
respected her a lot. I’d been her best student in Year 12, and we’d caught up a few times in the intervening years. It was nice to have a friendly face in the staffroom that didn’t just see me as a former student, but as an adult in my own right. Some of the other teachers seemed to be struggling with that part…
 

“So, you survived your first week then!” Veronica throatily laughed. Simon, her husband (a primary school teacher) smiled warmly at me.
 

“Yeah, just.”

“Well, cheers to that!” Veronica raised her glass and we all clinked.
 

“Have you eaten yet, Jen?” Jacinta asked, passing me a menu.
 

“Yeah, actually. I had a bite to eat with Dad.”
 

“Good, ‘cause we already ordered.”
 

I grinned, and then groaned as Matt Rivers came waltzing into the dining room. Thankfully he ignored me and just headed to a table, followed closely by a blonde woman who I thought I saw at the house, and an older man I hadn’t seen before.
 

“What?” Jacinta demanded, looking over her shoulder at where I was staring. I broke my gaze away and shook myself.
 

“Nothing. Just one of those paparazzi vultures that was stalking Liam’s parents’ house this afternoon. He tried asking me if I knew Liam.”
 

Jacinta turned in her seat so she could get a proper look at him. Veronica just shrugged.
 

“Bound to happen, Jen. I’m surprised they didn’t knock on your dad’s door to be honest. Some of them were poking around at the high school.”

“What?” I asked, startled.
 

“Mmm. Gillian was complaining about it. They came into the office and started asking her questions about Liam’s school record, if he’d had girlfriends, who his friends were,” Veronica said as she looked at the reporters.
 

I spluttered on my cider.
 

“Why? It’s not like anything’s changed in the past three years since he first got famous.”
 

Veronica shrugged. “I don’t know. Gillian was pretty short and annoyed with them though.”
 

“Good,” I said and attempted to drink my cider again. Gillian was the school office lady. You had to go through her before you could access anyone in the school and she took her responsibilities very seriously, and she’d been there forever. I remembered when I was a kid, and had to call Mum who was filling in for the French teacher, because Steph had had a bad panic attack. It had taken quite a while to get past Gillian the Gatekeeper.