So naturally they decide to have a little conversation at the far end of the hallway, while I wait to stop my life’s precious fluids running out. From the sounds of traffic it seems like Poppa has the poor boy bailed up in the open doorway. I wish they were both dead, or at least a kilometer down the street.
“Oh, good evening...David,” my father says, with that pause while he hunts through the huge list of my known boyfriends. Ha. It’s the sort of thing that really puts David at his ease. To make things even better, Poppa adds, “Is it that late already?”
“Hi, Dr. Kanes. I’m not too early, am I?”
“Kane, dear boy,” my father chides him. “Like the fellow who slew his brother because he had a birthmark. Or was it the other way about?”
This is not the sort of test David does well at. “Huh?”
“Actually, David, my name is Kane, not Keynes. Don’t dawdle, come in. Jenny’s upstairs.”
I want to yell out “No I’m not, I’m three feet away dying of humiliation,” but I would die of humiliation.
“Sorry,” Davy says, deeply baffled. “I always thought it was ‘Kanes’.”
A diesel bus roars by. I smell the fumes. Poppa finally shuts the door. “Actually, no. Keynes was the celebrated economist.”
“Aren’t you an economist?”
Poppa sighs painfully. “Yes. Not, however, that one.”
They lumber past into the kitchen. I flush, wash my hands, and come out calling cheerily, to cover the noisy cistern, “Oh hi. Is that you, Davy?”
None of it fazes that boy. He probably didn’t notice. He looks gorgeous, as usual, like Matt Dillon in the video we saw last week at Louise’s. I wish I looked like Kelly Lynch, that’s all. But why bother trying when you don’t? “Hi, Jenny,” Davy yells. “Hey, they’ve got a great double bill on at the Valhalla.... Back to the Future III and Terminator II.”
“Seen ’em. Bor-ing. Come on up. Maddy, stop giggling like a child.” She’s leaning over the top of the banister and starts down as we start up, after Davy gives me a little squeeze and a light smooch around the mouth that we both make a mess of.
“Hi Maddy.”
“Hi David.”
Poppa is back in his study. He calls, “I really must put on a turn of speed. Enjoy the film, you three. I’ll be back from the lecture by eleven, Genevieve.” He puts his head around the door. He’s trying to look stern and parental. “Make sure you are too.”
“Aw, Poppa, the movies aren’t even out till then. Midnight?”
He pauses at the front door to muse on the reckless pace of modern life. I try to imagine what he’d been doing at midnight 20 or 30 years ago. Getting stoned, probably. Or arrested in a Vietnam demonstration outside some Embassy. Covered in hair. Wearing flares. Erk. “Eleven thirty and not a second later.” I pull a face and nod, and he shuts the door behind him. David instantly puts his hand up the back of my sweater and I let it stay for about three seconds, then run up the stairs very fast away from him. I say, “Maddy was just leaving, weren’t you Maddy?
Maddy looks baffled rather than crushed, which I would be. “Huh? I thought we were all going to the Valhalla.”
“Nah,” Davy says. “I’m babysitting. Jen and I thought we’d look at a video.”
“Aw yeah.” Madeleine can be very cynical. “I know what you’re going to do, you’re gunna—” I grab her and start to strangle her, but she says, “—fool around, aren’t you. You filthy things, you’re going to take off all your—”
“You hold her down,” I say loudly to David, “and I’ll put the pillow over her head till she’s dead.”
“Lively little thing, isn’t she? Maybe we should take off all her—”
Indignant, we both cry, “Day-vid!”
He doesn’t look very ashamed of himself. “Just messin’ with ya. Hey, is there anything to eat around here?” He opens the fridge and finds my last Mars bar.
“Jenny’s been getting these weird phone calls.”
“Oh yeah? Prob’ly creepy Bertram from the chess club, breathing all his snot down the phone—”
Revolted, we both cry, “Er, yuck!”
“We could get a pizza and eat it while we—”
“No pizza,” Maddy says, looking for another CD.
“No eating it,” I add. “I mean, Maddy, shouldn’t you be going home for tea? Your Mum’ll be wondering where you are.”
“No she won’t. I told her I was coming over here to study.”
Davy bugs his eyes. “Dressed like that?”
“What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed, nerd-features? First they tell me to go, then they insult me.”
“It’s usually the other way round, I know. Hey, actually I like your, um, dress. Could we discuss it some other time? Like next winter?”
The poor girl sighs long-sufferingly. “I can take a hint. I know when I’m not wanted. I know blazing passion when I see it. Listen, I read this booklet the other day about safe sex, would you like me to—”
“Let me show you the way to the door, Maddy.”
As she leaves, Madeleine sticks her nose in my ear and whispers, “Is this the night? Are you going to Do It?”
I push her onto the footpath. A kid on a skateboard nearly takes her left ankle with him. “Mad, I’m only fourteen,” I whisper crossly. “You’re only fourteen. Davy is only sixteen. Have you been watching too many episodes of Models, Inc. or what?”
“Well, Julie Blackford’s Done It, and she’s in the—”
“Good night, Maddy. Can I come over to your place tomorrow morning?”
“‘Course ya can. In fact you hafta promise to, especially if you’re gunna—”
“Hey Jenny,” David yells down the stairs, “where’s the Violator CD?”
“Under the bed. I’m sick of Braincase. Listen Mad, I’ve got to go.”
“What will you do about those phone calls?”
“Dunno. Tell the phone people, I suppose. Anyway, he hasn’t rung back so he’s probably got bored. See ya.”
“Bye.” She bops away down Rathdowne Street, in her own instant movie, happy as a tick. I shake my head with admiration and go back inside. That girl and I have been through a lot together.
FLASHBACK
Mum and Poppa split up over a year ago. I’d just turned thirteen, and I didn’t really know what was going on. Mum went to stay with her sister, my aunt Vicky. I told myself it was because something had gone wrong with Vicky’s marriage. I thought Mum had driven up to Ballarat to help her poor older sister Vicky get over some crisis in her life. Ha! Well, anyway, that’s what I wanted to believe, so that’s what I did believe.
Mum and Poppa are great ones for being honest and up front about family matters. Full and frank disclosure and all that. But the truth is: they’re not very good at it.
All that time Mum was at Vicky’s I thought she was going to come back home. I took it for granted. I mean, wouldn’t you? If Mum had gone storming out of the house after a screaming row, if she and Poppa had been throwing plates and glasses at each other, well, then, I’d have had a better idea what was going on. That’s how they’re supposed