‘It’s just you and me!’ He banged the table again.
‘Yes, just you and me.’ Cassian had had more than his fill of sitting here in the back garden, trying to interact with the man who was in repetition mode. He reached for his phone and fired a text off to Jake.
You around? I’m going a little crazy here. #familyoverload
Yep.
His best friend’s succinct reply. He felt his pulse settle a little. Jake was like an anchor that kept him steady while all around him was turbulent water. It wasn’t enough that his home life was in chaos; Cassian had his own shit to deal with too.
Aware of his parents’ situation, he had heard enough and seen enough over the last few months to figure that yet again they were in financial trouble. Mail whipped up from the floor the moment it plopped through the letterbox to be stashed away in drawers or shoved in the recycling bin. The phone left to ring, unanswered. The constant checking by his dad of messages and apps – detailing what, Cassian wasn’t sure, but it reduced his dad’s pupils to pinpricks and caused beads of sweat to form on his brow and top lip. The way his mum and dad argued, sniped, each harsh word they spat was a wounding to him, and it hurt. He lived with rising bile, swallowing the bitter taste of fear that yet again they would beforced to pack up and run. It had damaged him, leaving Australia like that, and he was only just starting to understand how much. It made no sense to him: why couldn’t his dad just be open with Nan and Grandad? Closing his eyes he pinched his nose.Easier said than done...
‘Secrets, eh, Cassie boy? Secrets.’ His grandad tapped the side of his nose.
His unease was complete – secrets were the last thing he wanted to discuss with his sloshed relative.
‘Just going to find Mum ...’ He let this trail as he sidled out from the wide wooden table and headed towards the house. He was startled by his dad coming up from the side garden and as he stepped up on to the deck, Cassian did a double take; it looked as if he’d been crying. It would have been hard to describe how the sight of the man in this state was simultaneously distressing and uplifting. Obviously, he didn’t want his dad to be in tears, but to know his dad was more in touch with his feelings than he let on, to see first-hand that he too wrestled with all that was about to befall them as a family was a relief of sorts. It felt good to know that the choices his dad made weren’t done flippantly and that there might actually be a plan after all.
‘You okay, Dad?’
‘Cass! Hey.’ He seemed surprised to see him and ran his hand over his face. ‘Am I okay?’ He repeated the question as he ran his tongue up under his top lip, hands on hips, taking his time. His manner was as odd as it was unnerving. When he eventually spoke, it was not what Cassian had expected to hear. ‘Do you think I’m a piece of shit?’
‘What?’ His dad’s question was alarming and distressing in equal measure. It was an odd thing for anyone to say, let alone his dad. The random and strange nature of it unsettled him. ‘No, of course I don’t.’
‘Right, thank you, thank you, son.’ He sniffed. ‘But I’ve let you down, haven’t I? You and Mum and Dom, I’ve let you all down.’
It was odd to hear him talk this way, strange to be having this kind of conversation for the first time ever. He had to remind himself of all the awkward chats when his dad wanted to talk football, while Cassian craved interactions such as this: open and honest discussions that might actually help them get to know each other. God, how he wished they could all just talk! And not the casual chitchat they exchanged daily about nothing much in particular, but a real, no-holds-barred conversation without the padding of an event or celebration and the protection of the wider family to verbally joust and joke with. Just the four of them, really talking – now that would be something.
How to proceed? With caution, he decided. ‘I don’t think you’ve let us down, but ...’
‘But what?’ Lawrence, unable to meet his gaze, urged, giving him permission of sorts.
‘But I think if you spoke to us more, gave us a heads-up, let us understand what to expect, or just gave us fair warning, that’d be ...’ He felt the swell of nerves – this was, after all, his dad he was talking to. ‘That’d be fairer.’
‘Fairer, yes.’ Lawrence nodded. ‘I find it hard, to, erm, to open up to you and your mum and sister. It’s like I need to be the one who deals with everything, keep it all in.’
‘But you’re not, Dad. You don’t need to be that person. It’s too much for you, too much for any one person. We’re a family and keeping it all in isn’t only hard on you, but it makes me feel excluded and nervous, like I don’t know what’s going to happen next.’Like the ground might fall away from under me at any moment and so I need to stay on high alert...
Cassian would never forget the day he got home from school in Melbourne to find his mum packing a case and sobbing so hard she found it difficult to take a breath.
‘Where are you going?’ he’d asked, worried of course, but also scared by her behaviour.
‘Cass ...’ She had abandoned the packing and held the top of his arms tightly. ‘Go ... go get your things together – not much, just what you need. Do it now, Cass, please! Dom is getting her things together. We haven’t much time.’
‘But why? What’s happening?’ He remembered his mouth felt sticky with nerves, his spit thick, as he tried to fathom the panic and suppress the urge to cry, because if his mum, who was always calm and in control, was panicking, then how bad must it be?
‘Please ... please don’t ask questions, not now, just go pack. We can talk later.’
‘But what should I take? Where are we going? I don’t know what you mean by “just what I need” – just what I need for what?’
‘For God’s sake, Cassian! Stop asking questions! How hard can it be? Just pack a bloody bag!’ she had screamed at him, and it shocked them both. This behaviour new and all the more unnerving for it.
He had done what she asked, walking up the oak open-tread staircase to the galleried landing and into his dressing room, quietly unzipping the leather weekender he used for sleepovers and mini-breaks and into it he folded his pyjamas, toothbrush, schoolbooks, his sketchpad, a pair of jeans, two t-shirts, his cricket pullover, bathers, the photograph of him captaining the First Eleven and his phone charger. It was only when they arrived at the poky motel in Geelong, where they stayed for a week or so while his dad made the arrangements to travel, that he’d opened the bag and laughed at the absurd selection. No trainers, no underwear, not one completeoutfit, no socks ... The list was endless. His laughter had quickly turned to tears when he realised all that he had left behind.
When they had boarded the flight back to the UK in silence, he had stopped crying, but strangely the sensation carried on and he felt that he was weeping on the inside, coming to terms with the fact they were going home ...Home.And to this day, Cassian had no idea where that was. He was wary of allowing complacency or even comfort to set in, knowing how much harder it would be if they had to uproot again. He now took solace from the thought that his next move would hopefully be to university, on his terms and a move of his choice.
His dad’s words drew him from that painful memory into the present.
‘When did you get so smart?’
