“I can handle it.”
She talked about getting bullied at school for her cheap stationery and mismatched uniform, of having a bad day then Googling her father to see he’d taken his whole family to Barcelona.
“He has a daughter who’s my age. We look exactly the same. Like, exactly. I used to get scared we’d run into each other, and she’d think I was her evil twin.”
Then she told him about her mum. When Cheryl was fourteen, her mother started to have aches and pains. She thought it was from standing on her feet at a checkout all day, but no matter how much time off she had, it only got worse.
“It took months, but eventually the doctors diagnosed her with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. ALS. Like, what Stephen Hawking had. It’s so rare, no one knew how fast it would take hold, but they knew it could never get better. And it’s only a matter of time before she can’t walk, can’t talk; can’t do anything.”
She swiped a tear from under her eyes. “My mum’s the sweetest person and she’d already had the most terrible, difficult life. It felt like a joke, her getting sick. It’s the Walker Curse. Everything that can go bad, does.”
“I know why you’d feel that way,” Patrick said, holding her hand as tight as he could without hurting her.
“I got a job,” Cheryl continued. “One of Mum’s friends owned a café and he let me work even though I wasn’t fifteen, but we still had no money. Mum’s disability payments were even less than what she made at Coles. We had to move into a one-bedroom apartment.”
“One bedroom?”
“Yup. I slept on a blow-up mattress in the living room for three years.”
Patrick thought of his teenage bedroom with its desk, flat screen TV and a king-sized bed to accommodate his ever-expanding body. “Jesus, KitKat, I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.” She swallowed. “No one knew. I told anyone who’d believe me that my mum was in real estate, and we lived in Croydon.”
He kissed her hand. “You’re like something out of a movie.”
“A cheap movie.” She hesitated. “That’s when I started hooking up with guys…”
Patrick’s gut knotted but he knew she needed him to listen. To hold her feelings without judgement, like he’d learned a million times during his degree. “You can tell me. You’re safe. I’m taking the blame, just like I promised.”
She gave him a watery smile. “Okay… I was with older guys mostly, but I went with a bunch of idiots from the boys’ school across the road too. Anyone who liked me. I got a really bad reputation, but as long as the bitches at school didn’t know I was poor and my mum was sick, I didn’t care. It felt good sometimes. Like if I had to have a bad reputation, I’d rather be a slut than a povvo sad case.”
“Right.” He wondered who the ‘older guys’ who’d picked up a fourteen-year-old were, and if he could get away with smashing their knees with a pipe wrench.
Cheryl pulled her hand from his, her face tight. “It’s okay if you’re upset. I know it’s a lot.”
“Huh?” Patrick said, still thinking about busting kneecaps.
“Me, sleeping around. I know it’s not what you want to hear.”
He gaped at her. “What? Who gives a shit about that?”
“You’re not mad?”
“KitKat, If I was in your position, I’d have started… I dunno… smoking crack through a hosepipe or something.”
She touched a hand to her lips. “You don’t think I’m gross?”
“No! Jesus! I fucking hate anyone who took advantage of you and I hate that you got picked on, but if you were just blowing off steam and trying to have fun, who gives a fuck?”
Her face shone. “You really mean it, don’t you?”
“Of course. Whatever you did when you were just a kid trying to survive… it doesn’t matter. And it brought you here, so how could I ever be angry?”
She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and when she looked at him, it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. “I love you, Patrick.”
And he knew, for the first time, that she meant it the way he meant it. The way you were supposed to mean it. His whole body lit up. “God, KitKat, I love you too. I love you so fucking much.”
They kissed and it was like homecoming, although their mouths were so dry after a few minutes, he felt like he’d eaten sand. Giggling, Cheryl pulled away. “I’ll get us some more soda water.”
