It's Not You, It's Me Read online

  She’d seen him come out of the house next door, skateboard in hand. Watched him set off as if he had a million places to be and a million people to see. Susie Sioux and April came over, and the three of them were sitting on the front lawn in the sunshine when he got back home. Of course they introduced themselves. ‘My stepdad got a job at Universal, so the whole family’s moved over,’ he told them in his cute Australian accent. Afterwards, the girls had joked that it was like Grease in reverse – the role of Sandy to be played by a blond, handsome blue-eyed Aussie guy instead of Olivia Newton-John. And don’t worry, there were plenty of girls itching to play the part of John Travolta. But Trinity had refused to have a crush on him because that would have been clichéd, and she was all about busting stereotypes, not slavishly following them. Although, okay sure, if he’d insisted… Except then he’d started going out with that girl Bridget from the Catholic school, and by the time he’d broken up with her a few months later the two of them, him and Trinity, had gone too far down the friendship route.

  The mom came into the kitchen. ‘Hi, Lewis,’ she said.

  ‘Hi, Mrs B.’

  ‘Don’t forget,’ she said, turning to Holly, ‘Dad’ll be picking you up from school and taking you for a driving lesson. Then get him to bring you to the hospital. We’ll grab some of your blood for that baby, and you can go back to his place for dinner after.’ Then she walked back out.

  Holly flipped from thinking about Lewis to thinking about the hugeness of changing the entire future of her baby-self. Her nerves rose like bees disturbed from their flowers.

  Her reason for being here. To fix her own life.

  Plus a driving lesson with the dad. Just the two of them in the car together.

  Every day there was some new chunk of enormousness to think about.

  Lewis intruded on her thoughts. ‘You put on such a tough act,’ he said, ‘and then you go and do something like that. Donate blood.’ And he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

  The surprisingly intimate move had Holly’s breath catching in her chest. She gave herself a mental shake. He was younger than her. Much younger. Besides, he didn’t even know her. She was a pretender. She wasn’t this person. ‘I’ve gotta go brush my teeth,’ she said and ran up the stairs, away from him.

  Or maybe she was running away from herself. She couldn’t quite decide.

  9.42 am

  Holly sat herself down in the front row – her GrimReaper-designated spot – and wondered how things would go at the hospital that afternoon. Technically, she was giving blood, no big deal, she’d done it plenty of times before. When you had Rhnull blood, you donated regularly, trying to keep some in reserve for yourself in case you ever needed it. But obviously this time was way bigger of a deal, way more significant.

  And suddenly a new thought fell into her brain. Frances would be at the hospital. Her mum. They might run into each other and get chatting, and Holly might say the magic words that would make Frances a better mum. It felt like a crazy thing to even contemplate, but if a butterfly in the Amazon could create a hurricane in Texas, then going back in time and turning up at the hospital where your baby-self had just been born had to have consequences.

  She needed to be prepared. Needed to have the exact right thing to say ready in her back pocket in case she ran into Frances. But what would she say? Holly sat with her chin in her palm and ran through a couple of scenarios.

  You can be a great mum to your little girl, but you need to be there with her, not leave her with her grannie. She doubted that would make a flea’s bit of a difference.

  Every baby needs their mum. You can make or break that little girl. Again, no.

  Something better. Something more inspiring and perfect. Something future-changing. Something …

  ‘Homework?’ she heard someone say at her elbow. Holly glanced up, then flopped her hand back down onto her desk.

  It was the Grim Reaper.

  She didn’t have any homework to hand in because she’d only got a couple of pages into Asher Lev. It had been impossible to concentrate on anything after hearing that she would be donating blood to her baby-self. She had nothing, and the Grim Reaper was standing there, looking down at her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Grimwade,’ Holly said, sucking in Trinity’s natural inclination for sarcasm. The best way to deal with a teacher like this was with politeness and honesty. That was what she’d done, all those years back when she was at school. Although, of course, she’d always read the books and done the homework, so maybe her experience didn’t quite relate. ‘I haven’t read the book yet. And I haven’t done my homework.’

  ‘Well,’ the Reaper said, arms folded. ‘I guess I should be pleased that you’re at least being honest for once.’

  See, it did work. Although the ‘for once’ was typically and unnecessarily snarky.

  ‘So what do you propose we do?’ the Reaper asked.

  Holly looked up at her. There was an obvious answer. ‘Well, I guess I need an extension.’

  Mrs Grimwade’s mouth pulled back into a tight approximation of a smile. ‘So everyone else in the class has managed to complete their homework and handed it in on time, but for you, I should make an exception and grant an extension?’

  ‘If that’s okay with you.’

  ‘And what if it’s not okay with me?’ the Reaper said, eyebrows raised.

  Holly looked up at this woman who was determined to play hardball, who wouldn’t give an inch. Who, when faced with plain, bare-faced honesty, still had to go for the nasty response.

  Holly had bigger fish to fry. She was going to be seeing Frances this afternoon. She was going to be donating blood to her very own baby-self. She didn’t have the brain space to think about this. Mrs Grimwade had no clue about the things she was up against. ‘I don’t know,’ Holly said. ‘What happens if it’s not okay with you?’ And the way not okay came out of her mouth, all sarcastic and stretched out, meant another Friday detention was inevitable.

  12.22 pm

  Holly couldn’t concentrate on what Susie Sioux was saying, something about band rehearsal for her party. April mentioned she’d bring her drum kit around. Her friends were talking, there was the thwock and yell of lunchtime sport on the oval, but everything everyone was saying sounded muffled and distant. Her mind was spinning.

  What would she say to Frances? How could she fix things here, in 1980, so that her own future would be happier? What sorts of things did she want to change? Obviously having Frances more involved would be a start. But she didn’t want Grannie Aileen to be less involved. Maybe the three of them could live together, with Frances not out all the time, as per usual.

  Holly put a hand on her knee to still the bouncing. She needed to move. Sitting around doing nothing wasn’t helping. A run had helped yesterday. ‘I’ll be back,’ she mumbled, and without waiting for a response, she got up from the bench and stepped down the bleachers towards the oval. As she walked the perimeter, she noticed some girls throwing a ball around. The softball team. Holly walked closer, unsure if she’d recognise the coach, but when she saw her, she knew exactly who it was.

  ‘Hey, coach,’ she said, coming to a stop next to her.

  The coach barely gave her a glance, instead keeping her gaze on the team. Classic Teacher Freezer pose. She was obviously annoyed with Trinity for ditching softball.

  Together, they watched the girls going through their paces, pitching balls, practising swings, running and sliding to base.

  It had been a good shot. She ran through first base, hesitating for a fraction of a moment before bolting for second. When she realised she risked being caught out, she turned back to first but caught her foot awkwardly and flipped down onto her shoulder. Pain burst along her collarbone. She lay there quietly, not moving, assessing whether she’d done any damage. She was quickly surrounded by her teammates, and Coach came on-field to check on her. As she went to stand up she fell slightly forward and put her arm out instinctively to catch herself. That was
when they all heard the crack, and searing pain ripped through Trinity’s shoulder. She looked down to see the broken bone poking up hard against the fabric of her skin.

  Holly touched her fingers up to the collarbone, the bump where Trinity’s bone had knitted together, the memory running parallel with another memory, a dual screen.

  She’d been playing footy and the girl from the Mount Waverley team had slung her to the ground in an illegal tackle. Suddenly, it was all searing pain and a broken bone poking at her skin. She was quickly surrounded by her teammates; Grannie Aileen ran out onto the ground. The operation kept her off the footy field for six weeks, and by the time she was due to go back she’d lost her nerve.

  She and Trinity had both broken their collarbone. Holly understood the reluctance Trinity felt at going back to it. The pain of the break, the feel of the bone against skin. Both memories caused a visceral body reaction in her. But Holly had always lived a scared kind of life, and she wasn’t going to let Trinity make the same mistake.

  Finally, after a few minutes watching the girls practise, the coach turned towards Holly. ‘You still here?’ she asked, teasing, an eyebrow raised.

  It wouldn’t have hurt her to ask how the collarbone was. ‘I was thinking I wouldn’t mind joining the team again,’ Holly said.

  Coach didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked back over at the girls, her face straight. Holly knew it: Coach’s old no-expression face. A dead giveaway that she was thrilled to have Trinity back on the team. ‘All right,’ Coach finally said. ‘We’ll see you Thursday for practice.’

  And just like that, Holly ticked the ‘Sport: Fixed’ box.

  You’re very welcome, Trinity. You can thank me later.

  3.07 pm

  Holly stood out the front of John Marshall High School, looking for the dad driving a car of some description. He wasn’t there, but then she remembered he always picked her up in Aloha Street. Around the corner in Aloha, a blue car with a white vinyl roof and GT stripe down the side was waiting for her. The dad was leaning against the passenger-side door, his arms folded across his chest, watching her as she walked towards him. He looked at her as if she was a little bit sparkly. Like he absolutely adored her. He gave her a casual kiss, as though this was perfectly normal, like he was her dad and she was his daughter.

  No, Holly felt like saying to him, this is major, this is amazing, this is not normal, you don’t understand how lucky this girl is.

  ‘You ready?’ he asked her.

  Holly nodded.

  She could hear Trinity’s regular response, Ready for nothin’, playing inside her head, but she couldn’t quite manage it. It wasn’t hers to say.

  The dad looked at her a moment, noticing the omission, then decided against saying anything. Instead he opened the passenger-side door (which was on the wrong side of the car, by the way) and hopped in. Holly remained standing next to the unfamiliar car, nervous.

  ‘Come on, slow coach,’ the dad called out, looking across at her through the driver’s-side window. ‘We haven’t got all day.’ And he honked the horn to make his point.

  Holly opened the door and settled herself into the driver’s seat (on the wrong side). Checked the rear-view mirror, cranked down the window. Turned the key in the ignition. The dad had his arm resting out the window, tapping against the doorframe in time to some unidentifiable song on the radio. She looked down and froze. A gearstick. The car was a manual. Her car, back in 2020, was an automatic. She’d never driven a manual in her life. But now, here she was, behind the wheel of a stick shift with no clue what to do next. How many lessons had Trinity had? How well did she know how to drive? Holly just had to trust that this body knew what it was doing.

  ‘Today,’ the dad said. ‘Be nice to get going sometime today.’

  Holly took a deep breath and tried to centre herself. She pushed the knob of the radio in, so she didn’t get distracted by the music.

  The dad side-glanced at her.

  ‘I don’t really remember how to put it in reverse,’ she said.

  The dad laughed. ‘You’re not exactly filling me with confidence,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah? Me neither.’

  ‘You got the clutch in?’

  Holly pushed the clutch all the way down to the floor with her left foot, and the dad put his hand over hers, pushing the gearstick down, then firmly into reverse. ‘Remember?’ he said.

  No, she didn’t. But yes, she did. There was a small degree of muscle memory built up in the body, but because she was still a learner driver, it wasn’t deep in the bones yet.

  They drove through the streets of Los Feliz. She went for the indicators on the wrong side, forgot to check the rear-view mirrors, took a corner too tightly, mounted the kerb, turned into oncoming traffic. All to a very measured commentary from the dad, the calmness of his voice betrayed by the fact that his foot kept pumping away at an imaginary brake pedal, and his hands kept bracing against the dashboard in self-protection mode every time they turned a corner.

  The dad suggested she turn into a half-empty carpark so she could practise her parking. Reverse-parking a monstrously long car when she was used to driving a Mazda 3 felt like she was sliding in mud with skis for wheels. After attempts of varying success, the dad got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side.

  ‘And that’s a wrap. Good job.’ He banged the roof of the car in over-enthusiastic emphasis. ‘You probably need a bit more work on your reversing, and a few times you were driving on the wrong side of the road, and the time you mounted the kerb wasn’t ideal, but otherwise it was all good. But it might be easier for me to drive you to the hospital. There’ll be traffic, and it could be hard to find a park.’

  Holly couldn’t have agreed more.

  3.56 pm

  The dad pulled over to drop her off at St Anne’s. ‘I expect you’ll be a while,’ he said, ‘so get Mom to give me a call at work once you’ve finished, and I’ll swing by and pick you back up.’ With a last wave and a last smile, he drove off.

  Holly felt tension rising in her shoulders as she walked up through the double front doors into the foyer. She went over to the woman sitting in reception, told her she was waiting for Nurse Byrne, then sat on one of the plastic chairs, waiting for the mom to come get her. Frances was somewhere in this building. Maybe Holly would see her wandering into the cafeteria, or going to the gift shop. Or perhaps heading out for some fresh air. Each time the lift dinged, Holly looked up. Each time the front doors were pushed open, she looked over. She couldn’t imagine how it would be to see Frances in this place. She cycled between not wanting to see her, being scared at the very thought of it, and feeling a desperate hunger to see her, to talk to her, to say the one perfect thing that would turn Frances into the mum Holly had always wished she’d be.

  A young couple came in through the front doors – the wife slim and neatly made up, the husband in a suit. A young girl, a teenager, came out of the lifts and nearly walked straight into them. Polite apologies ensued. A heavily pregnant teen girl came in with probably her mom.

  Another teenage girl came out of the lift and walked over to the public phone. Holly stared at her and felt her breath catch in her ribs. She wasn’t a teenager, she was twenty years old. Her hair was long, shaggy, mousy-coloured, the fringe flicking away from her face. A collection of fine gold chains hung around her neck. Her jeans were flared and she was wearing a Carter–Mondale T-shirt. There were shadows under her eyes. She looked drained, exhausted, emotional.

  Frances.

  Holly felt a hand on her arm. Startled, she turned to see the mom looking at her. Trinity’s mom.

  ‘You okay?’ the mom asked.

  Holly’s hand dropped back to her side like she’d been caught stealing something. She hadn’t even noticed until that moment that it was outstretched, reaching towards Frances. Holly stared over to where Frances was now talking to someone on the pay phone.

  The very few photos of her and Frances together had all been
framed and placed on the bookshelf in the front room at home. There was one of them in front of the lion enclosure at Melbourne Zoo. In another, a toddler-Holly was snuggled up on Frances’s lap at a table out in the sun. One last photo, this time showing Frances with her entire body covered with sand as Holly knelt beside her, grinning up at the camera, pleased with her work at burying her mum.

  Sometimes she’d been there – Holly had the framed photos to prove it. She wasn’t always absent. As per usual hadn’t always been the case.

  She should go over to Frances, say something to her. What if she never saw her again? This might be her only chance. This might be the opportunity the universe was putting in front of her. But what would she say? What would make Frances listen?

  Your name is Frances and I’m Holly. I’m your baby, up in the nursery, the one you had on Friday. You need to be a better mum to me. I missed out on you. You weren’t around enough. Yeah. No. That wouldn’t cut it.

  Trinity’s mom threaded her arm through Holly’s, and together they walked over to the lifts. Got in. The doors shut. Holly wanted to put the brakes on, insist she needed to go and speak to Frances. But how to explain to Trinity’s mom?

  The good news was, Holly had seen Frances. She was here. In this building. She would go find her straight after giving blood. She’d get her room number from reception. She’d sit down with her and they’d chat, and in the moment, Holly would find the exact right perfect thing to say.

  Of course, Holly had always known how young Frances had been, but she hadn’t really registered until this moment how very young she was. Twenty years old. There in the flesh, she looked like some of the seniors Trinity went to school with, some of the Year 12s Holly taught. No wonder she’d struggled. No wonder she’d preferred to go off for days at a time ‘partying’, as Grannie Aileen had put it. As per usual.