The Pain, My Mother, Sir Tiffy, Cyber Boy & Me Read online

  Shoot me now.

  Please!

  13

  The invisible girl

  The Pain had breached the defences of CASTLE BUTT!

  What was going on? Had someone forgotten to raise the drawbridge? Was there a crack in the outer wall? Did someone leave the boiling oil off the stove? Had the moat dried up or the flesh-eating moat monsters suddenly turned vegan? Was I the only one still at my battle station with my sword and armour ready to defend Castle Butt with my last drop of blood?

  Whatever the explanation, I knew one thing for sure. If my first two brief meetings with The Pain were painful enough, an extended encounter was sure to be excruciating. Therefore, I had to be fully prepared. By the time Saturday morning arrived, my Detailed Pain Survival Strategy Plan was firmly in place. It consisted of this:

  1. Say ‘Hi’ to The Pain when he arrives followed quickly with ‘Bye!’

  2. Retreat immediately to the safety of my room.

  3. Stay there until he leaves. Genius!

  On the day itself, I managed the ‘Hi’/ ‘Bye’ and the ‘retreat to my room’ bits with no problem at all. But ‘staying in my room’, well, that wasn’t quite so simple. As I soon discovered, there were some details of my Detailed Survival Strategy Plan that I perhaps hadn’t considered carefully enough.

  The fact that there was no toilet in my room was one of those details. Plus, there was the little problem of food. (Or in my case, the BIG problem of LITTLE food.) You see, if I go too long without shoving something edible into my mouth, I have this tendency to turn ever so slightly mental. It’s not a pretty sight. Fortunately, I managed to solve the lunch problem without too much difficulty.

  After I had successfully completed my ‘greet and retreat’ manoeuvre with The Pain, he spent the rest of the morning with Mum in the garage fixing some problem with our car and giving it a bit of a home service. Apparently he was a mechanic or something before he became a nurse. Anyway, just before midday, with both of them still in the garage, I took the opportunity to sneak out of my room and use the bathroom.

  Too easy!

  And it got even better. On the return trip, I successfully raided the kitchen and grabbed an apple, a big tub of yoghurt, a handful of nuts, some squares of dark chocolate, a couple of muesli bars, a big scoop of cold leftover lasagne and some bottled water. Some healthy food, some junk food. A well-balanced diet! I smuggled the haul to my room.

  Mission accomplished!

  About an hour later when Mum poked her head into my room and asked me if I was coming out for lunch, I just handed her my plate (piled up with the apple core, the empty yoghurt container, the alfoil from the lasagne and the scrunched up muesli and chocolate bar wrappers) and said, ‘Oh, sorry, Mum. I’ve already eaten. Couldn’t wait. I was starving!’

  I don’t think my mother was impressed. In fact on a scale from one to ten where ten is ‘Extremely Impressed!’ and one is ‘Extremely Pissed Off!’ I suspect that Mum would have been about a minus five. I admit that I did feel a bit bad, I really did, but hey, Castle Butt had been breached and drastic measures were needed to repel the invader. At least I hadn’t poured boiling oil over him!

  So far the day had gone precisely to plan. I had relieved my complaining bowels and cleverly avoided a potentially painful and groan-worthy extended lunch encounter with The Pain.

  Maggie 2. The Pain 0.

  But by the late afternoon things were turning desperate again.

  To start with, I’d completely run out of bottled water and once again I was becoming a teeny bit peckish (i.e. ravenous). Also I was beginning to really feel the call (i.e. the shriek) of nature as all that bottled water I’d drunk was threatening to make a disturbing reappearance. Which is why, when I glanced out of my bedroom window and saw The Pain heading towards his car, I thought, ‘Woohoo, he’s leaving!’ and bolted straight for the bathroom.

  Via the kitchen.

  Where I ran into Mum.

  She was cutting up cheese into bite-sized pieces. Beside her on the bench I spotted two wine glasses and an unopened bottle of red. Apparently, I’d got it all wrong. The Pain wasn’t leaving at all, but just ‘popping out to get his jacket from the car’!

  Mum asked me if I wanted something to eat.

  And I did. I absolutely did. But I wanted to avoid The Pain even more.

  ‘No. I’m fine,’ I lied as I grabbed some cheese, stuffed it in my mouth and made a beeline (peeline?) for the bathroom.

  After narrowly avoiding a serious bladder meltdown, I left the bathroom and set off for The Pain-free safety of my room. But not before peeking into the kitchen. Mum was still alone in there. Time for one more brief detour while the coast was clear! I slipped in and stealthily scooped up some more cheese on my way through.

  And Mum went off. It was like I’d lifted the Crown Jewels!

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Maggie! Would you just stop. I’m never going to get this done if you keep wandering in and helping yourself whenever you feel like it.’

  Why was she so cheesed off? (Sorry.)

  Then I made another one of my famous dumb mistakes. I stood there stupidly wasting time debating the heinous nature of my crime with my mother. And before I knew it, The Pain had returned.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  Mum jabbed a thumb my way. (Rude!)

  ‘It’s this one. I offer to get her something to eat. I’m happy to do that but she says no, she’s fine. Then when I’m trying to put together a platter for us, every time she comes through here, she takes a fistful of cheese with her.’

  Every time? A fistful? You’d never exaggerate in a million years, would you, Mum? I’d only been through twice. And not once were my fists full. No way! I could have easily crammed another piece of cheese in there. Possibly two pieces.

  But Mum’s exaggeration I could handle. What I couldn’t handle was what The Pain did next.

  ‘It sounds like that old Paul Young song to me.’

  Now Mum and I were staring at The Pain just like I did that first night at the front door, until Mum said, ‘Paul Young song? What Paul Young song? What in the world are you talking about?’

  And even before I saw that sneaky look growing on his face, I knew from past experience that asking The Pain a question like that, particularly one involving songs from Before the Dawn of Time, was almost certainly a GIGANTIC ERROR OF JUDGMENT.

  ‘That song by Paul Young,’ The Pain repeated, as if it should be obvious what he’s talking about. ‘You know. The one that goes like this.’ And he picked up an egg flipper and a wooden spoon from our island bench and started drumming out a slow, thudding beat in the sink.

  Bash! Clunk. Bash! Clunk. Bash! Clunk. Bash! Clunk.

  Then it was like a recurring musical nightmare, because The Pain started to sing and he did a screwed-up, constipated face thing as well. But different words were coming out of his mouth this time as he closed his eyes and swayed back and forth singing to the beat:

  EV-RY-TIME-YOU-GO … A-WAY

  Bash! Clunk. Bash!

  YOU-TAKE-A-PIECE-OF-CHEESE … WITH-YOU!

  You see what he did there? He used ‘cheese’ instead of ‘me’. Genius!

  The Pain pointed right at my face when he sang those last words. And Mum threw back her head and laughed. I didn’t. But that didn’t stop The Pain. Not one little bit. He sang those same lines again accompanied by the same disturbing face. Not only was he The Pain, he looked like he could be in pain as well.

  But there was worse to come.

  After he finished singing the lines for a second time, he dropped the spoon and egg flipper in the sink and grabbed Mum by the hand and twirled her around. Now they were both dancing about the kitchen, grinning and laughing into each other’s face. And then they BOTH started singing.

  EV-RY-TIME-YOU-GO … A-WAY

  Dum! Dum! Dum! (Yes, they actually sang Dum! Dum! Dum!)

  YOU-TAKE-A-PIECE-OF-CHEESE … WITH-YOU!

  The Pain threw up his arms. ‘Come
on! Everybody! With feeling this time! Let me hear you!’ And they sang it all over again.

  And me?

  With my mother and The Pain still going full volume, I edged past the island bench and backed slowly out of the kitchen. And as I went away (Dum! Dum! Dum!) I took a piece of cheese with me.

  Wait. Make that a whole fistful of pieces!

  But it didn’t really matter. Because neither my mother nor The Pain noticed.

  Or appeared to care.

  14

  Some serious questions

  Thankfully the Pain had an early morning shift at the hospital so he didn’t hang around for tea that night. Instead Mum ordered in some pizzas and we downloaded a couple of scary movies to watch. I might have been acting a bit mopey, so it was probably Mum’s way of cheering me up and getting me talking.

  My mother can be devious like that.

  But it worked.

  It was fun stuffing our faces and hiding behind a blanket together. For a while there, it was just the two of us again. Like good old Castle Butt was fully repaired and restored to the way it always was before The Pain ever existed. But the truth was he did exist, and it was time for me to sit down with my mother and have a ‘serious’ talk about the kind of company she was keeping. After the first movie finished I made us some hot chocolate and brought it into the lounge room.

  My ‘serious’ talk came with some ‘serious’ questions.

  Serious question Number 1:

  ‘So, Mum … aaah, you and … this Danny guy. You’ve been seeing a bit of each other. It isn’t starting to get a little bit … you know … serious … is it?’

  I was watching her closely over the rim of my steamy chocolate.

  Say no. Go on, pull a face and laugh at my ridiculous suggestion and then say something like, ‘Serious? Me and him? Heavens above, Maggie. Absolutely not! What in the world gave you that idea? You know me. Once bitten, always shy.’

  But she didn’t say that. In fact she was taking far too long to say anything at all.

  ‘Mum!’

  It might have come out a little louder than I intended.

  ‘Is there a problem, Maggie?’

  And then it all sort of poured out of me before I could stop it.

  ‘Problem? Well, yeah. Remember Dad? You and Dad? Remember how well that worked out for you? For us? You wouldn’t want to go through that again, would you? All that awful … shittiness. Isn’t once enough?’

  Mum put her mug on the coffee table.

  ‘The part at the end was shitty, I’ll grant you that. And yes, once for that is definitely enough. But we had our moments. It wasn’t all bad, you know. How could it have been? It got me you, didn’t it?’

  She placed her hand on my knee.

  ‘Look, Maggie, I’m certainly not making any long-term plans. But I’m tired of walling up my heart and stopping myself from being happy because of what happened in the past. I’ve done that for long enough. I enjoy Danny’s company. And he’s a good person. What you see is what you get. No surprises. Except good ones. And he makes me laugh.’

  ‘If he’s so great, how come he isn’t married already? How come someone hasn’t snapped him up or something?’

  ‘He was married.’

  AHA!

  ‘So did he run out on his family too?’

  My mother didn’t look impressed with my line of enquiry.

  ‘They were only married a few years. There were no children. And his wife died of leukaemia. He cared for her. That’s why he eventually became a nurse.’

  Great. Thanks a lot, Mum. Way to make me feel like some sort of insensitive creep.

  Serious question Number 2:

  ‘Okay, fine, but he’s not going to be … moving in with us … with you … is he?’

  Mum looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Danny?’

  This was too much.

  ‘No, Mum. Ryan Gosling. See, I’ve been reading all about you two in Hollywood Hype magazine. The goss is that you and the Gos are a hot item.’

  Mum twisted up her mouth, frowned hard and stroked her chin like a really bad actor pretending to think.

  ‘Sorry, I’m just trying to remember something someone once told me about sarcasm and wit, but it’s slipped my mind. However, back to your question. I can assure you, Maggie, that despite all the ugly, unfounded rumours, Mr Gosling and I are merely good friends.’

  I folded my arms and turned away.

  ‘Well, if you can’t have a serious conversation …’

  A hand on my shoulder pulled me back around.

  ‘But … if you were referring to Danny, then no. He will not be moving in with us.’

  ‘Sleepovers?’

  ‘No! Can we move on now, please?’

  Definitely good!

  The Pain might be camped outside the walls of Castle Butt and might have gained occasional visiting rights, but at least the drawbridge was still in good working order and doing its job.

  Mum put down her chocolate and shuffled around on the couch to face me.

  ‘Look, Maggie. Danny is one of the nicest things that has happened to me in a very long time. And I am ‘serious’ in that I would never do anything to hurt him or lead him on. And he does tick some important boxes for me. But I’m certainly not about to rush into anything if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  Mum wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a big bear hug.

  ‘Come here. Cheer up, my Maggly-Poodles (!!!!!!!!!!!). The way things are going, you’ll probably end up being stuck with me for the rest of your life. Now there’s an excuse for another vodka binge, if ever I heard one!’

  Then she became more serious.

  ‘Maggie, I know that what your father did hurt you. Hurts you. But what I said just now applies to you just as much as to me. More so. I don’t want you hiding away your big beautiful heart either just because you’re scared you might experience that sort of pain again. It might make you feel safe, but it’s no way to live. You have to be brave. That heart of yours is far too precious and beautiful not to share with the world. At some point, you have to stop worrying about the consequences and just bite the bullet and let it out.’

  I managed to smile, but the mention of that vodka binge thing got me thinking about something that had been on my mind ever since I found out about The Pain being at St Vincent’s that night.

  Supplementary serious question:

  ‘Mum … you know at the Emergency Ward that night … you’ve never really talked much about it … in detail. Was it really awful? I mean … was I really awful?’

  My mother placed her hand on my cheek, looked me in the eyes and shook her head slowly at me.

  ‘Yes, dear. I’d say that it and you were about equal in your awfulness.’

  ‘Mum! I mean, apart from the blood and the spewing up everywhere, I just sort of lay around like a zombie most of the time, right? It’s not like I did anything totally embarrassing.’

  She shook her head again. Although not quite as convincingly as I would have liked.

  ‘Or said anything totally embarrassing?’

  The head shaking ground to a halt.

  Oh-oh. Not good.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Well, sweetie … it depends a lot on what you would consider “totally embarrassing”, doesn’t it? Different things embarrass different people. Some of the things I find terribly embarrassing don’t seem to bother you at all. Personally I’d say most of what you came out with that night was at best … marginally embarrassing.’

  Riiiiight. Okay. So far, so not-too-disastrous.

  ‘So give me an example of something that I said that you’d rate as marginally embarrassing.’

  Mum grabbed at her head.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sakes, Maggie! I don’t know. What does it matter now? It’s done and finished with. Put it behind you.’

  ‘Just tell me, Mum. Please.’

  She breathed out and closed her eyes.

  ‘T
here was the Robby Spears thing, I suppose.’

  Now ‘Not good’ didn’t seem to quite cover it.

  ‘Robby Spears from In Your Dreams? What Robby Spears thing are you talking about? Mum? What did I say?’

  She pulled a face.

  ‘That you and Robby were “soul mates” and that he was totally misunderstood and that you were the only person in the world who knew the “real Robby” and that you loved him and were going to have his babies. All eight of them apparently. You were quite adamant and specific about the number.’

  I watched my mother’s mouth closely. I was praying it would curl up at the ends and turn into one of those smiley things that people use to indicate that the words that had just come from their mouth were some kind of feeble attempt at humour.

  There was no curling.

  ‘Oh god, Mum, no. That can’t be true. I don’t even like Robby Spears. Okay, maybe I did. Once. A bit. But having his eight babies … how embar –’

  I was about to bury my face in my hands when something occurred to me. I grabbed at Mum’s wrists and pulled her close.

  ‘Wait a minute. You said that most of the things I came out with were marginally embarrassing? Most? Are you saying that I said some things that were more than marginally embarrassing? More than me being “Octo-Mum for Robby Spears” marginally embarrassing?’

  Mum just gave me a sickly smile and shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know, Maggie. Like I said before, it depends …’

  ‘Was he there when I said it?’

  ‘Ryan Gosling?’

  ‘MUM!’

  She sighed.

  ‘Yes.’

  I clamped a hand over my mouth and spoke through my fingers.

  ‘And it was worse than the Robby Spears thing? Oh god, what was it? Tell me. Tell me now. Wait! No, don’t. I don’t want to know. Ever. Or do I? Yeah, I do. I definitely do. Go on, tell me. I have to know. I think …’

  Mum drank down the last of her chocolate and picked up the remote control.

  ‘That’s it. I’m not telling you,’ she said. ‘And we will speak no more of this. Ever. It’s over. It’s the past. It doesn’t matter. Let it go and move forward. We Butt women are good at doing that. Time for our second creature feature.’