Page 109 of Begin Again Again

Christmas approached in a haze of fried ham, tinsel, and Mariah Carey. Angus dragged a cold home from playgroup, taking down first Nathan, then Lara and finally Beth. None of them could taste anything, let alone the huge Christmas lunch Lara’s mum was preparing, and Beth wanted—and thought it might be medically prudent—to stay home. But nothing short of a lockdown was going to keep Glen and Marty from seeing their grandson. And nothing short of death was going to keep Lara from dragging Beth along with her.

Beth was no stranger to dogshit Christmases—the year she and Stephen had a huge fight and he uttered the immortal phrase ‘fuck you, Merry Christmas’ being just one example—but this was a dogshit Christmas for the ages.

On the drive up to Lara’s parents’ house, Beth got a message saying she hadn’t been approved for a room at the flat she liked. She made the mistake of telling the Nugent family this over pre-lunch cocktails.

“You’d better hurry up and find another place,” Marty said. “You can’t keep freeloading forever, can you?”

Beth was so shocked by the sheer meanness of this statement, she was speechless.

“Mum!” Lara gasped. “Beth isn’t—”

“You should go interstate, Bethany,” her dad said, cracking open another Great Northern. “Plenty of jobs on the coast.”

“No, there aren’t,” Marty snapped. “The jobs are in Adelaide and Ballarat. Satellite towns.”

“Like fuck they are.”

“Dad!” Lara gave her father a despairing look. “Please! It’s Christmas!”

“Therearemore jobs on the coast,” Glen muttered, swigging his beer. Marty sniffed. Lara’s parents, unless Beth was wildly mistaken, didn’t have a happy marriage.

And it was all downhill from that incredibly low bar. Lara’s brother Murphy showed up shitfaced and when Lara had a go at him for drink driving, he hollered that his ex-girlfriend had just had an abortion. Lara’s other brother Duncan and his fiancée, Stephanie, arrived late. They made out all through plum pudding, only separating their mouths to talk about their Instagram-based wedding plans.

“We’re hoping it’ll get Steph from, like, pretty influential tofull oninfluencer,” Duncan said.

Had she been drinking, Beth probably would have encouraged them—asked them what hashtags they were going to use, maybe suggest they sing their vows in front of a ring light. But Lara’s horror and Marty’s dark hints that being married wasn’t all it was cracked up to be helped keep her mouth shut. Nathan fell asleep. Lara’s dad dropped the antique gravy boat on his foot and broke it. Angus, sleep deprived and congested, screamed for hours. The perfect soundtrack to the worst Christmas ever.

At five, when it became clear they weren’t going to call her, Beth went outside and rang her parents. She got a single ‘hello’ in before her mum demanded to know why she hadn’t flown home and quarantined.

“I’m sorry, Mum, but it would have cost me, like, three thousand dollars! The government only pays if you’re coming home for good.”

There was a frosty silence. “Well, I hope you’re having a nice time without us. I’m going to go turn the roast.”

Her dad cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Okay then, Bethy. Merry Christmas.”

“Wait, can I say hi to Ruben or Brad or Daphne?”

“Well… Daph’s having a nap, and Ruben and Clara have gone for a walk, and Brad’s at Keryn’s place.”

Beth’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh.”

Gerard Myers cleared his throat again. “Okay then, Bethy. I’ll let you go.”

“Bye Dad,” Beth whispered. “Merry Christmas.”

He hung up.

Beth didn’t go back inside the Nugent house. Instead, she walked to the paddock where Lara’s old grey horse grazed. Gandalf ignored her and Beth ignored him. She checked for horse shit and then lay down and stared at the wide blue sky. Her body ached, but it felt only vaguely connected to her mind. She was two machines joined by a cord of blood.

She cried on her back, looking up at the sky. She cried and cried and cried. And as her nose filled with snot and her eyes burned, her sadness throbbed away. She kicked off her gold sandals and dug her toes into the soft, sweet earth. She was miserable, but at least she knew why. Her days of working so hard, so fruitlessly, to get her parents to like her were over. She was free to cry on Christmas. She was free to do whatever she liked. Her phone buzzed and her heart kicked into high gear the way it always did these days. But it wasn’t Byron, of course. It was a message from Dolly.

Merry Christmas, you cute little thing. I miss you. I fucking miss the show too. If we were still doing it I’d have so many anecdotes. Call me tomorrow and discuss this asshole day?

Beth smiled, her eyes brimming with tears again. There was a loud crash and she leapt to her feet in time to see Murphy stagger out of the house. He was barefoot with a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand. Beth would have bet a million dollars that someone—probably Lara—had taken his keys. She crouched in the tall grass like a lioness and watched him sway to the front gate. He unlocked it, then turned and flipped off the house. “Fuck you! Fuck youuuu aaallll!”

Beth pressed both hands to her mouth, trying to suppress her giggles. Murphy took a vicious swing at the letterbox and missed. Swearing at the top of his lungs, he picked his way across the gravel driveway to the road.

“Watch out for broken glass,” Beth whispered.

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