Gotta B Page 3

But Dr Stein wasn’t anything like Rick had expected. There was no white coat and no couch, just comfortable chairs. The psychiatrist wasn’t old, he didn’t have a grey beard, and he didn’t speak with a foreign accent. He was, in fact, a rather rumpled, round-faced man with a soft voice and eyes of such an intense blue that when he looked at Rick closely, it almost seemed that he could burn a hole right through Rick’s skull and into his brain.

  Rick was just ten years old the first time he saw Dr Stein. His memory of those sessions was vague and confusing. One thing he did recall clearly was how eventually the medication Dr Stein prescribed had worked. The smothering grey fog of depression had lifted enough for Rick to function somewhat like an ordinary person, although the drugs took the edge off everything, making him feel like a human robot living in an imitation world.

  Dr Stein urged him to continue with therapy, but Rick refused. He wanted to be totally normal again, and to him that meant no more sessions with Dr Stein and no more mind-numbing pills. The psychiatrist had reluctantly agreed, after seeking promises from Thelma and Les that they’d watch Rick carefully. He put Rick on a schedule to slowly wean him off the antidepressants. When he was entirely free of medication, Rick thought everything seemed more vivid – colours brighter, food more delicious, his feelings deeper.

  Sure, Rick had his ups and downs, but everything had been okay. Until last year.

  The dreadful grey cloud that Rick had hoped was gone forever swept in again, leaching colour from the world and eating away at hope and joy. And hidden in the greyness he sensed a dark pit yawning, waiting to swallow him up completely. He almost welcomed the idea of not existing anymore, so horrible was the despair that filled him.

  He’d felt useless, pathetic. When his grandparents had realised something was very wrong, they’d arranged for him to see Dr Stein again. Apart from putting on some weight and losing a little hair, the psychiatrist looked and sounded exactly as Rick had remembered him, including his disconcerting laser-blue eyes.

  Dr Stein smiled a welcome, acting as though it had been weeks, not years since Rick had last sat opposite him. At the end of the first session, Dr Stein had said, ‘When you go home, I want you to write a personal journal. Start with these words: “My name is Rick Lawrence and I …” Then continue with anything that occurs to you. Let it flow. And if you’ve got questions you don’t know the answers to, or particular worries, put them down.’

  Rick wriggled around in his chair. ‘Why am I doing this? What good is it?’

  ‘It should help you sort things out. Whatever you come up with is just for you to read. I don’t have to see a word unless you decide you want me to.’

  Rick baulked at first, but once he’d written the first line, the story started to unfold almost as if someone else’s hands were on the keyboard.

  My name is Rick Lawrence and I’m very ordinary looking – sort of average height, average weight, average everything. I’ve got straight dark-brown hair and brown eyes. I’m told I look like my dead dad. My grandparents took me in when I was ten because my mum, dad and my sister Ellen were all killed in a light plane crash – Dad was piloting and they were hit by a sudden storm. I wasn’t with them on the plane because I said I had a stomach ache and wanted to stay home with my grands. I don’t know now if I made this stomach ache up, or I really did feel sick. I can’t remember.

  What I can remember is the awful, cold loneliness I felt that day. I don’t think I’ll ever really get over their deaths. Thelma and Les (after the crash, my grandparents asked me to call them by their first names – I guess so I wouldn’t think of them as being so old) have done everything they possibly can for me and I’m truly grateful. I love them both and wish I wasn’t such a problem. It’s not their fault that I screw up and get so depressed. After the accident, and again last year, I was treated by Dr Stein and given heavy-duty psychiatric drugs. They sort of fried my brain, which was horrible, but at least I didn’t try to kill myself.

  Dr Stein says I’m feeling ‘survivor guilt’ because I lived and everyone else in my immediate family died. Maybe that’s true. Anyway, being one of the Five for most of my life has helped me a lot. We don’t talk about it, but the other four know about the accident and about Dr Stein. Nobody else does and I want to keep it that way.

  I do have one question: why was I the one to live when my family died? I can’t help feeling I don’t deserve to be the one who’s still here.

  And worries? There are so many things – doing well at school, making Thelma and Les proud of me. Also, what will I do if I’m sucked into the dark pit, and can’t get out?

  And what will happen if my grandparents die? They’re old. I’d be all alone. I couldn’t bear that.

  Now, sitting by his grandfather’s intensive care bed, he brooded over what he’d written in his journal. He’d been right about Les. He was an old man and had to be close to the end of his life even without the accident.

  Rick had gone with Thelma to visit Les at the hospital almost every afternoon since the accident. He’d watch over his grandfather’s limp body, hooked up to machines that beeped and gurgled self-importantly.

  Thelma would sit quietly holding her husband’s slack fingers. Then she’d lean forward and talk to him, mentioning things that had happened since she and Rick had last visited, as though at any moment he’d open his eyes and join in the conversation.

  It creeped Rick out, watching Thelma having a one-sided conversation with Les, who probably couldn’t hear a word. Rick would take out his iZod and log in to one of the sites where he could joke around with his friends and for a few moments push out of his mind the horrible thought that his grandfather might be slowly dying.

  When that didn’t work, and the insistent beeping of the hospital machines really got to him, he’d block out everything with loud music, filling his head with sound so there was no space for anything else. But the best escape of all was to lose himself in a video game.

  He really envied Allyx and Petra for getting into the game design class. He had dreams of becoming a game designer and was so disappointed when he missed out on the class. It would be awesome to create fantasy worlds that people couldn’t wait to enter.

  Once Thelma had asked Rick what he got out of games, and he’d tried to explain. ‘It’s magic. Playing a great game makes me think and feel differently. It pushes me to do things faster, smarter.’

  ‘What sort of things? Is it like an adventure story?’ she’d asked.

  ‘More than that. When I’m in the game I can be a galactic warrior, or an undersea explorer, or a hero saving the world, even the bad guy. I’m someone else and somewhere else.’

  Rick could see she didn’t really understand. ‘You’d have to play a game to get it,’ he’d said.

  He didn’t add, When I’m in a game, I’m not me anymore, and that’s wonderful.

  Now Rick stole a sideways look at Thelma. Since his grandfather’s fall, the light had gone from her eyes. Before, she’d bustled around, laughed a lot. Now sadness filled her face and she moved and spoke without her usual sparkling energy.

  She caught his glance and said, ‘I know this is boring for you, Rick. But I’m sure Les senses you’re here and it’s a great comfort to him. But you don’t have to just sit there. Play one of your games to fill in the time, or what do you call it? Twittering?’

  ‘I can’t do any of those things. I told you when I got home from school. My iZod’s dead – I can’t use it. I can’t do anything. I’ve been disconnected, and it’ll be days before I’m connected again.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said vaguely, ‘you did mention that. So how about one of the books on your English reading list? I’m sure you haven’t got through all of them yet.’

  Rick tried to smother his despairing sigh. ‘They’re all e-books on my iZod, so I can’t read them either. Everything’s dead.’

  ‘Oh, heavens,’ she said with a worried expression. ‘I hadn’t realised it was as bad as that. If there’s anyone you want to get in t
ouch with, I can send an email for you.’

  ‘No one emails anymore.’

  ‘I do, dear,’ his grandmother protested. ‘All the time. And friends email me back.’

  ‘Okay, no one my age uses email anymore. It’s for old people. Texting is much better and with IM you get an answer straightaway.’

  Thelma shook her head. ‘All this texting in the odd shorthand language you kids use – it beats me what you find to talk about.’

  ‘Things,’ Rick said.

  ‘Things? That’s vague.’

  ‘Like what people are doing. What’s cool.’

  He couldn’t explain why, but being able to check in with his friends was fun, even if they weren’t talking about anything in particular. It felt comfortable. He liked knowing that his friends thought the same kind of things he did. Now he was cut off from them, it was like he was missing out on something important.

  Talking about texting reminded Rick of Manda. She’d wonder why he was ignoring her. But what would she think if she found out he was a disconnect? Maybe he should ask Jennie or Petra to send a message that he’d be back soon. No, not Petra – she’d tease him about having a girlfriend.

  He must have sighed again, because he looked up to find Thelma gazing at him with concern. ‘Rick, it’s quite natural to feel blue because of Les, and let little things get you down.’

  ‘This is not a little thing. I’m shut out everywhere.’

  She put a hand over his. ‘If things get too much for you, there’s Dr Stein. He’s always been able to help you.’

  ‘I don’t need Dr Stein. I’m okay.’ When she looked doubtful he said quickly, ‘Really, I am. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.’

  ‘You sure? There’s no shame in it, Rick. I often think you feel as if being depressed is somehow your fault. But of course it isn’t. It’s a physical thing, a chemical imbalance in your brain. It could happen to anyone. And you know from the past it can be treated.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. Once I’m connected again, I’ll be fine.’

  FIVE

  Tal’s home was in a quiet corner of Braidworth. The two-storey house was far too big for two people, but Tal’s mother, Grace, refused to even consider moving. ‘Matt loved this place,’ she’d say when anyone suggested she might sell and move to a smaller house. ‘I could never leave – I’d feel I was deserting him.’

  Matt Blair had died of an unsuspected heart problem when Tal was five. Tal thought he could remember his father’s thick, sandy hair, broad smile and deep voice, but it was hard to tell how much Tal really recalled and how much his memory had been influenced by the many photos that filled the house, plus family movies his mother had so often shown him.

  This afternoon, Tal turned the corner to find his mother’s sleek silver top-of-the-line Mercedes parked in the driveway. He was surprised. She worked long hours at her job at Farront International and usually arrived home long after him.

  He found her in the kitchen, still wearing the severe navy blue suit she’d worn to work, but her hair was down, instead of being pulled back in a businesslike chignon, and she’d tied a frilly pink apron around her waist.

  ‘Why are you home so early, Mum? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Not a thing, it’s just that I’m thinking of cooking something special tonight.’ She looked up from the recipe book. ‘Rob will be here for dinner.’

  ‘Oh. I’ve already got plans. A bunch of us are having pizza at Petra’s place. We’re celebrating Allyx and Petra finishing BrawnBlasters.’

  ‘Cute title,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Allyx was telling me they were originally going to call the game Revenge of the Nerds.’

  ‘You know more than me, Mum. They’ve been keeping it all a big secret.’

  ‘The girls could have picked the weekend for their party, not a school night,’ she said, frowning.

  ‘I’ve got my homework covered and I won’t be back late, promise.’

  Obviously irritated, she said, ‘Don’t forget you’ve got to be at the track at six-thirty tomorrow morning.’

  Tal was training hard for an upcoming state athletics competition. ‘It’s okay, Mum, I’ll make it.’

  She slammed the recipe book shut. ‘You would spring this on me at the last minute, Tal. Rob is expecting you to be here.’

  He felt a silent alarm ring. Why would his mother’s boyfriend want to see him? ‘Tell him I’m sorry.’

  ‘Rob was hoping to discuss some important things with you.’

  This couldn’t be good. Tal got on okay with Rob Anderson. Sometimes he even quite liked the guy, and it was good that he made his mother happy. But no way was Tal into discussing anything important with him. With foreboding, he asked, ‘What sort of things?’

  His mother made a vague gesture. ‘Oh, things …’

  ‘You two won’t miss me, Mum. Haven’t you heard? Three’s a crowd.’

  ‘Three can be a family.’

  The alarm was ringing well and truly now. Tal had sensed for a while that Rob Anderson was pushing himself into Tal’s life. Now Tal was going to have to shove back.

  ‘Look, Mum, he’s your boyfriend. It’s got nothing to do with me.’

  ‘It’s everything to do with you.’

  Tal felt a sudden surge of anger. ‘You’re not going to tell me the guy’s moving in with us, are you?’

  She hesitated, then said carefully, ‘It’s a possibility.’

  ‘Do I get a say?’

  ‘Of course you do.’ She reached out to touch him, but he stepped back. ‘Tal, I know this is hard. You and I have been a team for so long, but I need more in my life and Rob is someone special.’

  His resentment boiling over, Tal snapped, ‘He’s not my father and he never will be.’

  ‘At least give him a chance. It’s hard for Rob too. Don’t you think he knows how you feel? But you were only five when Matt died and that’s a long time ago.’

  ‘Long enough for you to have forgotten Dad.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  With a shock he realised she had tears in her eyes. His mother never cried. He said with deliberate emphasis, ‘Rob Anderson is not my father.’

  She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. It was a characteristic gesture he’d seen her make a thousand times when she was puzzled or very tired. ‘I don’t know what to say to you.’

  ‘Say that you get it, Mum. Say you agree he can’t just walk in here and take over.’

  She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Rob has no intention of taking over.’

  ‘No? Lately he’s been trying to tell me what to do. Like he has the right!’

  ‘He takes an interest in you.’

  ‘Yeah, great.’ He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. ‘I’m outta here.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t give you more notice about tonight,’ she said, obviously peacemaking, ‘but you and Allyx will be here on Saturday, won’t you?’

  ‘For the barbecue? Sure.’

  ‘It’s important for my career. Vital.’

  ‘I know that, Mum.’

  For several years Grace Blair had done well in middle management at Farront International. Then she was chosen by Audrey Farront, the head of the company, to work in a new development department. Now Grace had an opportunity for promotion to a top managerial position being created specifically to concentrate on maximising the youth market. There were several people in the running for the job, and Audrey was assessing each candidate personally.

  ‘Don’t forget to remind Allyx that Audrey insists everyone call her by her first name,’ she said.

  ‘What’s that all about?’

  ‘Just one of Audrey’s little quirks.’ She gave him a worried frown. ‘Tal, I want you to make a special effort. It’s imperative that every impression Audrey gets at the barbecue be a positive one.’

  Tal grinned. ‘I’ll make a real effort not to pick my nose in public.’

  She didn’t smile in return. ‘I can’t tell you too often how important this is.�
��

  ‘No worries. Everything will be fine.’

  As he turned to leave the kitchen, he had a sudden thought. ‘Rick’s a disconnect. His iZod went dead this afternoon, and Commdat told him it’d be a whole week before the link can be restored. Because Rick uses a Farront comm, I was wondering if you could do something to get him connected sooner.’

  ‘That’s odd,’ said his mother. ‘I’ve been noticing an upswing in the number of Farront customers who’ve been disconnected. Young subscribers like Rick are disproportionately represented.’

  ‘Can you help him?’

  ‘I should be able to speed things up. Tell Rick I’m on it.’

  ‘That’s great. Thanks.’

  Tal had got to the door when she said, ‘About Rob – you can’t stick your head in the sand. The three of us will have to discuss it sooner or later.’

  Tal didn’t reply.

  SIX

  The principal assignment for video game design was to create an original game, but the teams were also required to make a short video detailing the steps involved in developing it.

  Allyx and Petra had decided that the first viewing of the video and then the downloading of BrawnBlasters would be restricted to the Five plus Mike, Petra’s long-term boyfriend, but then Allyx had suggested inviting the other students in the class too. Petra was sorry she’d gone along with this, because the class included Maryann Dodd, who was teamed with nerdy George Everett. Maryann’s smirking face was the last one Petra wanted to see this evening.

  She checked the twenty or so people talking at the top of their voices as they consumed soft drinks and slices of pizza. Maryann wasn’t in view. This didn’t mean she wasn’t coming – she liked to catch everyone’s attention by making a late entrance.

  Petra had been hoping no one would mention the avalanche of cyber hate messages she’d received, and so far nobody had, although she’d caught some curious looks coming her way. Perhaps they were waiting to see how she’d react, or they didn’t want to spoil the evening. Petra expected no such consideration from Maryann, who was probably gloating about the success of the attack.