Page 21 of Nothing Without You

When she got to her mother’s bedroom, she cast her eyes around. The curtains were drawn against the midday sun, only a few slivers of summer sunlight poking through a couple of small tears near the edges. She grimaced. The heavy, faded curtains were a typical floral fabric, reminiscent of the fifties. Their pattern matched the pillowslip on her mother’s double bed, which was pushed up against the wall, the quilt tucked in neatly as always, and one pillow centred in the middle, almost as if her mother was declaring that this was her bed, and only hers.

Leaning against the doorway, she popped another Jaffa into her mouth. The chocolate melted over her taste buds, the crunch of the coating giving way to the full burst of orange flavour. Jaffas were her absolute favourite, and she savoured every moment, letting the taste fill her mouth as she surveyed her surroundings. The room exuded femininity, with lace and frills everywhere. From the floral curtains to the ruffled valance on the bed, everything spoke of delicate beauty. A piece of white lace was draped across the top of the mirror on the dressing table, which was covered in makeup, brushes, jewellery, and a hand mirror. Evie took a step closer, picking up the elegant perfume labelled 'Charlie' in beautiful writing across the front of the bottle.

The perfume had been a present from her father last Christmas and, from her mum’s reaction, Evie knew her father had chosen well. She took the lid off. A few sprays of perfume landed behind her ears, and another spray was directed down her white school blouse, between her breasts. Inhaling deeply, she thought about her father. He had his own bedroom on the other side of the house – her parents had slept in separate rooms for as long as she could remember. It wasn’t really a bedroom though, more like a closed-in part of the veranda. Anyway, they both seemed happy with the arrangement.

Her reflection in the dressing table mirror caught her attention, and she studied herself intently. Her bright green eyes stared back at her as she pushed her eyebrows up with one finger. Licking another finger, she smoothed them down, flattening the thick lines that were the bane of her existence. She cursed her father's Italian heritage for giving her such heavy brows. Thankfully, she had mastered the art of plucking them to an acceptable thinness. Pushing the middle of both brows up, she decided they weren’t looking too bad at the moment.

She picked up the perfume bottle and lifted her school skirt. Her father often asked her where her skirt was. ‘Mamma Mia, it’s so short, Evie.’ She would remind him that it was the 1970s and miniskirts were in. Besides, her legs were the one part of her body that she was happy with, and she wanted to show them off. Her stomach twirled as she held her pants out and sprayed a tiny bit of perfume on the dark mound of hair between her legs. She pressed her hand down on her pants, a burning sensation engulfing her as she thought about Chris and how tonight she was going to finally lose her virginity.

Stop dreaming about it, she told herself. There was only a small window of time to get ready for tonight. She needed to shave her legs and underarms, and she was even going to try a tidy-up down below. She glanced at her mother’s clock radio, positioned on its lacy doily on the small table next to the bed. One thirty PM. She had two hours until her mother finished cleaning at the school. No one would notice Evie had not been there. The school was hopeless with keeping track of where everyone was, and wagging was just a weekly part of life.

Her father wasn’t arriving home from his Sydney trip until five in the afternoon. Not that he asked her much about school these days. He seemed to have other things on his mind. Every month, he flew south for meetings. It was all about the latest models and amazing technology in the world of vacuums about to hit the shelves. A couple of times she heard her parents arguing about his business trips. Her mother accused him of having affairs, and he laughed, talking in Italian, waving his hands around as he did when he was frustrated.

Although Evie hated the inheritance of thick eyebrows and hair on her legs that continually needed to be kept under control, her dad and his Italianisms were an important part of her life. A twinge of guilt ran through her, as she thought about all the secrets she kept from him—wagging school with Chris, going to the bush behind the school, and Chris’s hands on her body, touching where no one had touched before. And now tonight. She held her breath. She was going to finally let him do it. Make love as he called it, or screwing, fucking, or bonking as her friend Layla would have put it.

Her stomach rolled again, and she glanced down at her well-proportioned legs, her slender ankles unfortunately clad in very unglamorous gym boots covered in inked words, announcing her favourite bands and singers of the year. She scuffed her shoes across the floor, feeling determined. No gym boots tonight, she decided. Her outfit was meticulously organised, with Layla's help, of course. Layla's abundance of information and advice was carefully tucked away in Evie’s mind, ready for whatever was going to happen.

It would be romantic, sexy, the best night of her life. She and Chris would be together forever. He had told her last week that he loved her, and one day they’d get married. When he kissed her, her legs went weak and she wanted more of his hands on her body.

Moving away from the mirror, she walked towards the drawers next to her mother’s bed. Opening the middle one and shifting a couple of books and notepads to the side, she located what she knew were always hidden in the same spot. Alpine cigarettes. A pack of twenty. She lifted the packet out, the distinctive blue and white box with the mountain and logo as well as the words ‘Menthol Fresh’ cradled in her hand. There were about ten cigarettes in there. Perfect! Her mother went through a packet every couple of days, so a few cigarettes would not be missed. Half the time Mum bought new packets without even finishing the old ones. She peered down into the drawer, spotting a couple of older packets pushed to the back. Reaching down she shook the first packet. Only a couple in it, and she knew from the past the other packet would be the same. Today she needed fresh smokes, not the stale ones from those old packets.

Swapping some of the older ones into the newer packet, she took three of the new ones out. That would be enough. One for in the shower, and another while her mother was getting dinner. All she had to do was lean out of her window and make sure she hid the butts. Not flick them in the garden like Layla did last week. Biting her lip, she smiled when she thought about how they had giggled for so long after they jumped out the window. The smouldering dry leaves that were piled up in the garden under her bedroom window had caught fire, and they stomped on them until only ashes were left. ‘Could have burnt the house down,’ she said to Layla. ‘That’s why I have this old tin with water in it at the bottom of my wardrobe. No one ever looks in there, and I make sure I empty it every week.’

Layla had lit another cigarette and they’d taken turns smoking it, competing to see who could make the largest smoke rings.

Now she pushed three cigarettes into the pocket of her school skirt. Maybe after she did it tonight, she and Chris would lie together and share a smoke. She would be like the beautiful lady on TV with long blond hair, who wore a white dress and looked so elegant when she drew back on her Alpine cigarette.

Turning back to the mirror, Evie pulled out one of the cigarettes and pretended to smoke it. She pursed her lips and tilted her chin, the way the ladies did in the ads. Practising different ways to hold the smoke and pull her hand dramatically away from her mouth, she lifted her head to the ceiling, pretending she was blowing smoke out.

The mirror reflected her actions. The ladies in the ad always wore white. ‘Fresh is Alpine.’ That’s what the ad said. She mimicked the actions in the ad when the man lit the cigarette. Chris would lean over just like that and look deeply into her eyes as she held the smoke stylishly in her hand.

Popping the cigarette back in her pocket, she remembered that time was ticking by. In her other pocket were the Jaffas and she took the box out, holding it up and tipping the last one out. A sound outside drew her attention, and the Jaffa dropped from her hand. The round shape bounced once or twice before rolling under her mother’s bed. She listened hard, but there were no more noises outside. It was probably the cat trying to get in. He would know she was home, she thought. Dam, that was her last Jaffa. She got down on her knees and peered under the bed.

The Jaffa had rolled to the back near the wall, leaving a track through the dust that had accumulated underneath the bed. She bit her lip in annoyance; the lolly would now be covered in fluff and dirt, and not worth retrieving. A couple of old suitcases lay nearby, their surfaces also covered in what she guessed were years of dust. She squinted, trying to see further under the bed.

Still holding the empty packet, she started to pull her head back from under the valance. Every muscle in her body froze as she heard a sound from the front of the house.

Someone was unlocking the front door. Keys jangled and the squeaky wooden door swung open. Her father was in Sydney and not due home until five o’clock. Her mother should be at school, cleaning. Laughter sounded. It was her mother.

Pushing herself quickly under the bed, Evie wriggled further in until she lay adjacent to the wall. She stared in shock, firstly at the Jaffa that eyeballed her right next to where she lay, but mostly at the sound of voices that came in through the front door, and were now making their way towards the bedroom.

Her mother would ground her for weeks if she found out she was wagging. She always thought, because she worked at the school, she could keep closer tabs on Evie and make sure she was behaving. It was the bane of Evie’s life that Mum worked at the same school she attended; and to make matters worse, she had even become friendly with some of the teachers. She held her breath, trying to work out who the second voice belonged to. One was her mother’s but the other …

She froze, her mother’s words excited and now very close. ‘Come in. It’s safe. I promise. Evie’s at school and Carlo doesn’t get home until early tonight. We have at least two hours.’ Her voice changed and she spoke weirdly, like she was an actress in a romance movie. ‘Come to me. Come to my bed, my darling and we can talk.’ She ended her instructions with a giggle.

The man spoke again, a slight chuckle after his words causing Evie to scrunch her face up as she listened. The voice was familiar. ‘I thought we’d just talk, but if we have two hours. Just for the memory, the last time in your bed. Well, you sexy woman, come here.’

Her mother giggled again, and then there was a muffled sound as she murmured the man’s name. Evie put her hand over her mouth, suppressing a gasp. Oh, my God. The other person was David McIntosh. Her English teacher and—nausea burnt her throat—Chris’s father. A long silence filled the room, and she hoped they couldn’t hear her heart thudding against her chest. The valance didn’t come right to the floor, and through the narrow gap she could see the position of their feet. Further noises followed and a startling realisation hit her. They were kissing. Her mother’s leg lifted and wrapped around David’s legs as his deep voice filled the room. ‘I want you so bad. Your lips, your breasts, and down here.’ Evie put her fist in her mouth as her mother squealed in delight.

‘Yes, please. Touch me. Take me.’

Suddenly, the bed above her sagged and creaked as David and her mother flung themselves onto it. What followed was a lengthy time of movement. Evie pressed one ear to the hard wooden floor and pushed the dusty Jaffa into her other ear. It didn’t work though. She closed her eyes as the groans and grunts of David mixed with the calls of her mother to go harder, fill me up and …. Jesus, did her mother just say the ‘F’ word?

It was too much to take, but now it was too late for Evie to move and reveal herself. Pushing her hands hard over her face, she tried to think of other things; an AC/DC concert she attended with Chris last year, a fight at school the week before between two boys she knew, the records she was saving up for. She even tried to fill her mind with music and poetry, reciting a poem in her head and concentrating hard, thinking of the alphabet backwards. Nothing worked though. She lay on her side, hugging her knees, trying to predict how long she would have to remain under the bed.

Every so often, a sudden stronger movement above and a wild cry made her flinch. Time blurred and she pushed her hands harder over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut. Eventually, the movement of the mattress, which was only inches above her head, slowed, and the bed no longer rocked and squeaked. A tiny sense of relief washed over her. At one stage she had been terrified that the entire structure was going to come crashing down, and she would be killed by her mother and David, both of whom would be naked and probably still joined together.

Please, please stop, she willed them, but the noises started again. The sounds left her in no doubt that they had not stopped as she hoped, but rather picked up the pace, obviously both losing their minds and behaving like wild animals.

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