Downfall by S.D. Wasley

  ****

  When my first day at college finally rolled around, I was apprehensive. I hadn’t sat in a classroom for over three years. With Brendan I’d had two hours of classes to get through each day, maximum. Even less when he was sneaking around with Vanessa. Now it was five hours a day of dedicated sessions on English, Ancient History, Commerce, Geography, and Math. I chose subjects I thought might help me get back onto the tour circuit as Dad’s PA and research assistant. If Starr continued to mess up the job, surely Dad would notice. Maybe he’d even get frustrated enough to give it back to me, whether it was this year or next.

  The day went fast; much faster than Brendan’s sessions had ever passed. The other students seemed okay and it was a pleasant novelty to learn through group discussion. There were a few older people who’d come back to get their high school certificates, a handful of people in their twenties who regretted not passing first time round, and the rest were kids like me. Flunkers. Most had simply goofed off but one girl had failed because her year got messed up when her father, a sheep farmer, committed suicide mid-year. She said she remembered me from school but I couldn’t remember her.

  I had homework. I spread my papers and books out around me on the lounge room floor. It was hot in the Old House, so Albion sat on the sofa with the air conditioning vent trained on him. His smartphone gave the occasional beep when a message arrived. When I finished I packed away my gear and looked up. He was watching me, glasses low on his sharp nose, with the look of someone who has been observing an interesting object for some time.

  “I had coffee with Vanessa today while you were at school,” he said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She’s not in a great place.”

  For a second sympathy tugged at my heart but then it all came back in a rush and I remembered that look on Dad’s face when Vanessa confessed she was pregnant. The shock, betrayal, and disappointment. She broke him that day, and now we were both suffering because of it.

  “She made her bed,” I said.

  Albion frowned. “Frankie, this is not like you. You used to be compassionate.”

  I avoided his eyes. “I have compassion.”

  “She feels very guilty. About the abortion.” Albion, a smug atheist, just didn’t get our religious guilt.

  “Yeah, well, that’s how it works. Especially when you’re raised Catholic and your dad’s Don Carver, big-name preacher.”

  “I thought you preferred ‘author’ for Uncle Don?” Albion’s eyes twinkled.

  I wasn’t in the mood to laugh. “Fact is, he’s a religious author. I’m calling a spade a spade.”

  “A religious author―slash preacher―who was willing to sneak his daughter in for a pregnancy termination.”

  “Starr arranged all that. Dad suggested Vanessa keep the baby but even Nessa knew that would be stupid.”

  “Do you judge her for that?” he asked.

  I sighed. “No. I just hate how she did the whole thing. The affair with Brendan, sneaking around, screwing up and getting pregnant, telling Dad like a dumbass when she could have just dealt with it herself―”

  “For real, Frankie?” he interrupted. “You expect Nessa to just go and sort out her own unplanned pregnancy without any support from her family? At twenty―a sheltered twenty―with hardly any life experience?”

  “If she’s mature enough to screw my tutor, she’s mature enough to solve her own problem,” I said.

  “Cold,” was Albion’s remark.

  That gave me another pang. “I’m sorry for her but it doesn’t stop me feeling angry.”

  His face lit up with triumph. “Christian forgiveness. That’s what you need to show Nessa.”

  I picked up my books and made for my bedroom. I didn’t like this conversation and I wanted to get to Gaunt House while it was still daylight. I could take a look around before the others arrived.

  “You going out again?” called Albion.

  “Yeah. Is it okay for me to use the car?”

  “Where’re you going?”

  I pretended not to hear, changing out of my college clothes―respectable skirt and top―and into some shorts and a tank top. Albion arrived in my doorway, his eyes narrowing as he watched me check my hair and slip on some sandals.

  “Where are you going, Frankie? Really?”

  “To hang out with Jude.” That wasn’t a lie.

  “Do you like him? Like, like-like him?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sure?” He stared. “Who says sure when they really like someone?”

  “It’s just a simple physical thing,” I said, hoping he’d get off my case. “Like you, Alby, all physical, no emotional entanglement. Easier.”

  The way he went still and silent made me look at him. He returned the gaze resentfully.

  “What?”

  “Listen to yourself. All physical, no emotional entanglement. Why don’t you tell me what you really think of me?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize how that sounded. It’s just, you like to play the field, right? And being interested in both boys and girls you have so many to choose from ...” I trailed off. I was digging myself into a deeper hole every moment and Albion didn’t usually look so serious.

  “I didn’t think you would ever label me, Frankie.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry!”

  He backed down a little. “I’m surprised.”

  “I only meant that with all that choice of beautiful boys and girls who’d want to fall in love?”

  “Plenty of people would.” Uh ... Albion? In love? “Didn’t you ever love anyone?” he asked before I could get in. “Anyone you met on tour, maybe?”

  “No. There was no opportunity, and anyway, I don’t believe in grand passions.”

  “Vanessa seemed to find an opportunity.”

  “Well, there wasn’t supposed to be any opportunity.”

  “How can you not believe in grand passions? One day you’ll get a good bite on the ass from one, and then you’ll believe.” He shut his mouth, frowning.

  “Albion?” My voice was more incredulous than I’d meant it to be. “You’ve been in love?”

  “Yes, I have, so it happens,” he said with dignity.

  I sank onto my bed, shocked. “Why didn’t you tell me? Who was it? Where is she ... he ... now?”

  “Not that I take great delight in telling you, you ruthless vixen, but he is, as far as I know, still around somewhere. Living in Revel City with his brother, perhaps in love with someone else, perhaps not―” He stopped and I listened hard, taking care not to look at him. “But anyway, I recovered.”

  “Like from an illness?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “Have you ... relapsed since then?”

  “Only in lesser degrees. Always temporarily. My lovers usually do something to snap me out of it. Giggle inanely ... or play silly games.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “It’s boring, Frankie. Conventional stuff. Met at a party, first date, sex, love, broke up.”

  “Why did it end? Did he play silly games or giggle inanely?”

  “Played games,” said Albion, then he peered at me. “Are you a game-player, Frankie? Are you playing Jude?”

  I stood and grabbed my purse. “I have no intention of hurting him. And anyway, it’s not serious between me and Jude. It’s just company.”