The only television show that Mandy and Jo sometimes watched together — except the football when the Dogs were playing — was Australian Idol. During the early auditions at the beginning of each series, there were numerous overly confident young people who couldn’t sing. Mandy squirmed during that part of the show. ‘See what happens when people lie to their children about their talents? Those parents should’ve told their children that they can’t sing. Save us all the embarrassment,’ Mandy said.
‘Maybe his mother likes his singing.’
‘Only if she’s tone deaf too. It’s so cruel.’
‘Are you for real, Mum? People will kill for five minutes of fame — no matter what. Don’t take it so seriously.’
But she did. She often found it so excruciating she had to leave the room.
It was after 8.30 by the time Ash and Jo were ready to go out.
‘You need to eat if you’re going to keep drinking,’ Mandy said.
‘They’ll be food at the party,’ Jo said. ‘We need to go. We’re already late.’
‘I’ve made eggs, bacon, and toast. It’s ready.’
‘Thanks, Mandy,’ Ash sang out and then whispered to Jo, ‘Let’s have a quick bite.’
‘Okay,’ Jo relented.
‘And let’s have some champagne with dinner,’ Ash said, going over to the freezer.
‘What are you girls celebrating?’ Mandy asked.
‘Almost done with school,’ Ash said as she popped the champagne and poured three glasses. ‘To us,’ she cheered.
While Ash had gone to pick up her clothes, Jo had rehearsed several possible conversations she could have with Ash about their friendship, about what was going on: Why are you pulling away from me? What have I done? What did I do wrong? Why are you behaving like such an arsehole? But now they were laughing and giggling and making faces at each other when Mandy wasn’t looking. It felt like they were back to being best friends. Was she being stupid? Maybe there was nothing going on. Maybe she didn’t appear in the journal because she was so much a part of Ash’s life there was nothing to question, there was nothing for Ash to write about, to mull over. Maybe she was imagining problems where there weren’t any. Listening too much to the annoying voices in her head, spinning doubts and anxieties, like the monsters in children’s stories who stir up trouble while everyone is asleep.
‘You girls look so beautiful and so grown up,’ Mandy said.
They rolled their eyes and winked at each other.
‘Oh God, Mum,’ Jo said. ‘We are grown up.’
Mandy smiled. ‘It’s lovely to see you together and having fun.’
‘Thanks, Mandy,’ Ash said. ‘Great eggs.’
‘You’re welcome.’
When they’d finished eating, Jo said, ‘We better go.’
‘How are you getting there?’ Mandy asked.
‘I’m going to drive,’ Jo said. Jo was the only one in her group with a car, an ancient secondhand Toyota that Pop Jack, David’s father, left to her in his will, along with money for driving lessons and a sad letter apologising for not sticking around to teach her to drive, as if getting sick and dying were his fault. When she was only little, Pop Jack let her sit in the front seat while Mary, her grandmother, sat in the back. He fancied himself a good defensive driver. As they drove, he annotated his every move. Look in the rearview mirror before slowing down. See how I’m gentle on the clutch. The car will last forever if you are careful.
Mary kept the car in the garage for the two years between Pop’s death and Jo’s sixteenth birthday. Neither Mary nor Mandy drove, so occasionally Mary’s next-door neighbour Elena drove the car around the block to keep the battery alive.
‘Okay… but…’
‘What? It’s just down the road in Willy.’
‘Okay. Have a good time, girls. Be careful, and keep an eye out for each other.’
‘Chill, Mum. Really, you’d think we were ten.’
They skipped and giggled down the path to the car. Jo drove around the corner while Ash sent Laura a text message. By the time they pulled up outside the row of townhouses where Mani lived, Laura, long blonde hair straightened, in a short, strapless, and very tight lemon dress, was waving at them from the front gate. Mani, cropped dark hair, in a vintage navy dress and cowboy boots, came out the front door. Ash jumped out of the car. ‘Let me take a photo of you two,’ she said. ‘You look like you come from two different planets.’
Mani and Laura wrapped their arms around each other’s waists as Ash snapped several photographs. Once they were in the car, Mani told them about Laura’s boyfriend putting pressure on Laura to hang out with him all the time and how he’d sent her twenty text messages in the last hour.
‘He hasn’t sent twenty messages,’ Laura said. ‘God, you exaggerate.’
‘Okay, give me over the phone and I’ll count them,’ Mani said, snatching the phone out of Laura’s hand and sending it soaring across the back seat.
‘Stop squabbling, you two,’ Ash exclaimed. ‘I feel like a parent with naughty toddlers in the back.’
‘Okay,’ Laura said, giggling, ‘maybe he did send twenty messages. But he’s crazy in love with me, and who wouldn’t be? But now he’s saying things like, “When we’re married…”’
‘As if,’ Mani said. ‘Why exactly haven’t you dropped him yet?’
‘I’m not wearing one of those tacky bridesmaid dresses,’ Ash said.
‘Who said I’m gonna have you guys in my wedding,’ Laura replied, laughing.
‘Marriage — you’re a baby,’ Jo said. Laura was the baby, the youngest of the group, only seventeen.
Laura responded in a soft, sexy voice. ‘But he’s so, so cute, I can’t keep my hands off him.’
‘Give me a break,’ Mani shouted. ‘If I was your mother, I’d lock you up.’
‘Hell. You’d be a dictator mother. When you have kids, I’ll have to be there to make sure they have a life.’
When the banter stopped, Ash asked if they had finished their English essay and the conversation moved to homework and study, to the relief of having a night off, to parents and their lectures on VCE and how it was one year and if they were just nuns for the next few weeks, everything would work out.
‘Did your mother actually say “nuns”?’ Laura asked.
‘No.’ Ash shook her head. ‘It’s one of my grandmother’s sayings: When we were young girls we had to behave like nuns.’
Jo joined in the laughter, but she was thinking about the nuns that she’d seen at St Augustine’s when she was a child, in their long black habits, their hair hidden behind their veils, and only their faces showing. What would it be like to be a nun? To know your whole life was mapped, your future was someone else’s responsibility to manage and organise?
Rosie’s party was at Sirens, on the Esplanade in Williamstown. Rosie’s parents had booked out the waterfront restaurant, and by the time Jo and her friends arrived the party was spilling off the deck and onto the sand. The guests included Rosie’s extended family (Greek on her father’s side — enough cousins to a fill soccer stadium — and Irish on her mother’s) and most of their class from school, as well as Rosie’s friends from tennis and choir.
There was a band playing seventies pop and disco covers. Rosie was a big retro music fan: her bedroom walls were covered with images of David Bowie, Queen, and ABBA. On the dance floor, a couple of Rosie’s older relatives and family friends, men and women in their forties, were showing off their disco moves. Generous, half-decimated platters of finger food sat on each of the tables. Waiters offered up trays with champagne and wine and mixed drinks. On the beach, a group of their classmates were sitting on deckchairs around a camp fire. Most of the girls had matching blankets wrapped around their shoulders.