The Void Page 12
“So the money was no longer a driving force?” he asked.
“Maybe it never was,” I said.
“Interesting,” he said as he wrote something down.
We spoke a bit more, but I soon asked to leave. This might be interesting to him, but every second with him was another reminder of my failure. Not that he seemed to mind. I’d managed to book a flight online, now that I was back with my blessed phone. Just having the phone in my hand again made me feel more connected to the world again. We stood to leave.
“What about…” I was surprised he hadn’t told me about the others. Was it because I was the only one out? I’d been so stuck in my own little bubble I’d forgotten about them. Did I even want to know? “What about the other contestants? How’s Jon?” I asked.
“He’s…they’re…they’re doing okay,” he said. “Jon is fine. Ryan came out a while ago.”
“He did?” I said with too much excitement.
“It’s tough in there,” Larry said in Ryan’s defence.
“It sure is.”
I perked up a little then, and as I made my way to the cab waiting for me outside, I couldn’t help but feel happy I wasn’t the first one out. The others would surely make it now, but none of that seemed so bad knowing that Ryan had come out first.
The first step inside my house was strange, as if I was coming home after being away for years rather than days. The air inside was damp and musty, and I rushed through the house to open everything up. Cool air mingled through the pungent smell, and it didn’t take long for everything to feel like home again. As I sat in the living room, I gazed around at a place I thought I loved but which no longer felt right for me. The house was big, and showy, and everything I had once thought to be impressive now seemed boastful. My big white wall was covered with huge block letters, the type you’d see up on stage: ELTON RIGBY. I groaned. I had never felt less like that guy. I got up onto the sofa, my body heavy from years of excess, and took down each letter. I lost my grip on the B which came crashing down to the floor and smashed into pieces, but I didn’t care. My cleaner would sort that on her return. I left the Y up. It seemed fitting. I sat back down and stared at my mostly bare wall. The white was so different to the cream I’d stared at for so long. I needed something else white now. A little pick me up to remind me who I was again. I pulled out my phone and called my dealer, the only number I knew by heart.
Chapter 22
Ryan
The familiarity of home was comforting. I lay on my beanbag, watching some ridiculous show about home improvement. A man with a face made for radio was weeping at the sight of his new kitchen, which had been revamped in two days. The presenter, who had a face for TV, had a hand to his heart as he watched the weeping man while knowing the camera was on him. It must’ve taken a team of at least twenty to get the place done in two days, but the only man to take the credit was the presenter. His name appeared on the screen, and under it were the words ‘Dream Maker’. I cringed but didn’t switch it off. I still hadn’t gone onto social media, which was an all-new record for me, but I spent an alarming amount of time watching the telly. I was like an addict who had cured one problem by replacing it with another. The other thing I kept doing was looking at my phone, which I kept as close to me as possible. The two weeks were up today, and seeing as though I still hadn’t heard from Jon or Keri, I knew they were going to make it. Part of me was desperate to hear from them, just to speak to someone who had been through the same thing as me, and another part of me wondered if I’d even pick up the phone if they called. Keri would be sympathetic; Jon would laugh. I imagined them telling me how easy it was, then putting the phone down and gazing pitifully at each other as they spoke at length about my failure. Keri would probably insist on still giving me some of the money, while Jon would insist it wasn’t part of the deal. Then I’d insist I was fine, when really I wasn’t. I almost wished they had failed, although I wouldn’t admit that to anyone, especially not to them. The man on the telly gazed into the camera, and launched into a monologue about how good it had been to help someone less fortunate. As if he had done it all by himself. I still didn’t switch it off. My phone rang and I almost tumbled off the beanbag, which would’ve been quite the feat considering how snug I was inside. It wasn’t Jon or Keri, but my mother, who assumed I was back from my ‘retreat’. Answer it. Don’t answer it. Answer it. Don’t answer it.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Darling! You’re back. I was just telling your father you might be back, but I couldn’t remember if it was today or tomorrow. You should’ve called us. How are you? How was it? How long have you been home?”
“Oh. Fine. Yes, very nice. Uh, I’ve not been back long. Just…”
“What’s wrong, Ryan?”
“What? Nothing’s wrong? Just a little tired, that’s all.”
“Darling, I know when you’re upset. Did something happen? Was it not as good as you were hoping?”
“No, it was fine. I’m just tired. I promise.” Damn her motherly instincts. My father would never have picked up on this.
“Why don’t you come over? I’ll make us tea and biccies, and you can tell us all about it. You can even sleep over if you don’t feel like the drive back.”
“It’s okay, Mum. I think I need a bit of rest.”
“We’ll come over then.”
“No. It’s fine. You don’t need to do that. It’s far, and I know Dad hates driving all this way.” I couldn’t think of anything worse than having my parents interrogate me in my own home. Especially since I hadn’t even done the dishes from the night before, and I still couldn’t locate the source of the odd smell coming from the kitchen.
“Nonsense, you’re not that far. I’ll speak to your father now, and we’ll come over as soon as we can. Just need to put the washing up and then I’m good to go.” Her tone was firm and I knew her well enough to know she would not let up on this.
“You know, maybe a drive will do me good.”
“That would be great, Ryan. While you drive here I can get the biccies ready,” she said. “They’ll be fresh out the oven as soon as you arrive.” I hated it when she used the word ‘biccies’ just as much as she hated it when I said ‘cookies’. She said I watched too much American TV, while I told her that biccies sounded like something a five-year-old would say. I decided now wasn’t the time for this argument, especially since the show I was currently watching was American.
I noticed she hadn’t insisted on coming here. Perhaps me going to see her was her plan all along. She was good.
“Okay. I’ll see you soon, Mum.”
The whole drive I thought about what I was going to say to my parents. I’d told them I was going on this two-week retreat without signal, and had always planned on wowing them with the truth when I got back. I figured they wouldn’t mind the lie when they knew that not only was their son going to be on a proper TV show, but that I’d made a whack of money in the process. Now I had to figure out whether I wanted to tell them the truth, or continue with the retreat story. What was the point? They’d find out soon enough. Knowing Jon he’d call them the moment he was out to make things worse for me. Why was I even friends with Jon? If it wasn’t for him I never would’ve done this stupid thing in the first place. I pulled up to their driveway still unsure about what I was going to say, and trudged up to their door as slowly as a man walking to his demise would. Thanks to my exhaust, my car announced my arrival before I did, and my mother opened the door before I had even had the chance to knock (or compose myself).
“Ryan, you’re so skinny. Didn’t they feed you in this place?” She pulled me in for a hug, and I wanted to say the same thing to her. Since when had she lost so much weight? Or had I just never noticed? Despite her tiny frame, her skinny arms wrapped around me with so much force I felt as if I’d been transported back to being a kid again. The smell of freshly baked goods coming from inside only added to the illusion.
“Smells so good in here, Mum.”
“What’s he making now?” I followed her inside. My father was always working on some new project or another. I was sure he took proper offense to the fact that I hadn’t turned out to be much of a handyman.
“Oh you know your father. He has a million things on the go. I’m sure he’ll tell you himself when he comes in.”
“I heard my name.” My father’s voice boomed behind me, and I jumped. He frowned when he saw me. “Don’t tell me you’re on another one of those silly diets are you? This wasn’t some hippie retreat, was it? Where you eat lettuce leaves all day?”
“Darling, let Ryan do what he wants to do. Anyway, I’m about to fatten him up,” she said as she opened the oven door.
The smell that hit me was so homely it almost made me cry. I steadied myself against the kitchen counter and tried not to look my father in the eye. It was bad enough that I wasn’t good with my hands, or that I had lost weight, but he’d lose it if he saw me crying over the smell of my mum’s baking.
“Hi, Dad,” I said casually.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
God, how bad did I look? “Nothing is wrong. I’m just tired. Good to see you, though. Uh, Mum tells me you’ve been in the shed. Whatcha working on?” Change the subject, change the subject.
Thankfully my question saved me, at least for a while, and my father spoke at length about some bookshelf he was building for my mum. We all made our way to the living room to eat (I ate lots to prove I was fine) and drink our tea, and I threw question after question at my father to keep the conversation away from me. It was inevitable that this couldn’t go on forever, especially since my mum had been eying me all through the exchange. She wasn’t a fool.
“Tell us all about this retreat,” she said and offered me a big smile to show she was not concerned, but curious.
“Yes, tell us,” my father added. “You’ve certainly come back looking very different.”
“Skinny. I know,” I said.
“No, not just skinny. You’re more…what’s the word?” He eyed me. “Disheveled.”
“Ah, way to feel welcome,” I mumbled.
“It’s a good thing. You know, other than the raccoon eyes and skinniness, it’s actually good to see you not looking so polished. I haven’t seen you without products in your hair in years.”
“Darling, leave him alone,” my mother said firmly.
“Why? I’m complimenting him. You look… well, you look good and bad at the same time,” he said then laughed. “This place must’ve been quite something to be your undoing in such a short space of time.”
I just stared at the two of them, wondering why I had bothered to come. They were meant to make me feel better, not worse. Wasn’t that their job? I must’ve stared at them a little too long, because the lines on my father’s forehead deepened as a look of concern formed on his face to match my mother’s.
“Uh, Ryan, are you okay, boy? I was only kiddin’, ya know. You look fine. You mustn’t take anything I say seriously. You know what I’m like. Your mother is always telling me to stop joking around, but I can’t help myself. If you want to talk, you can talk. You know that.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t speak or smile because any sudden movement would make me cry. I didn’t want to cry. My father was looking more and more uncomfortable. I turned to look at my mother but the small movement forced a tear. Once one came, the rest followed. I wiped them away while muttering my apologies, and my father jumped up and ran out of he room. I thought he was trying to get as far away from me as possible, but he was only getting me something I could use to wipe my face.
“Thanks.” I took the toilet roll from him.
“Toilet roll? We have face cloths,” my mother said.
“No, this is perfect,” I said as I tore off a piece and blew my nose. “Thanks, Dad. Sorry. Sorry about this.”
“Come on, darling. It’s time to tell us what’s going on. Is it drugs?” My mother’s voice was rife with concern. It reminded me of the time I’d told her I wasn’t going to college, and she’d been convinced I’d joined a gang.
I laughed. “I wish.”
“Worse than drugs? Oh no. You’ve made some girl pregnant, haven’t you?” my father contributed. He seemed unsure whether to sit or stand and hovered between both until he finally sat down.
I sighed. “No, I haven’t made any girl pregnant. There’s no girl.”
“Oh, come on, there’s surely a girl.”
“No, there’s not. Thanks for reminding me.” My voice was sharp. This was a such a stupid thing to fight about right now but the deflection was a relief.
“Darling, now is not the time,” my mother said and gave my father a look so hard it could break rocks.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just trying to figure out why he’s crying,” he said to my mother, as if I wasn’t in the room.
I sighed. My poor father was not equipped for anything emotional. “Sorry. I…I messed up.”
“Do you want some more tea? Then you can tell us everything.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
My parents both jumped up at the same time because apparently it took two people to make tea. I could hear them whispering to each other in the kitchen, and I was pretty sure I heard them talking about drugs again. They came back to the living room carrying a tray of tea and wearing big smiles, and after a bit of coaxing, they asked me to tell them what was going on. They listened with surprise as I told my story, which had nothing to do with drugs or girls, and clearly not what they had expected me to say. I couldn’t figure out what they were thinking while I spoke. My father kept nodding and my mother’s mouth had formed the shape of a tiny letter o.
“So, here I am,” I finished.
“And that’s why you’re upset?” my father asked, clearly relieved that I hadn’t become a heroin addict.
“I didn’t make the full two weeks. Hell Dad, I made six days. Or, as it was so kindly put to me, five and three quarter days. And, well, I wasn’t exactly doing well in there. So now, not only do I not get the money, but I’ll also have the whole world watching me fall apart within days. Days!”
“Do you need money? Is that the problem? Because we can help you—
“No,” I interrupted harshly. “Thanks, Mum,” I said more gently this time when I saw the look of surprise on her face. We may have our differences, but I had never raised my voice to them. “It’s not about the money. The money would’ve been nice, of course, but…I guess I’m ashamed.”
“But why? I suppose the point was to break you down. That’s the whole premise of the show, surely? What happened was normal.”
“Jon did fine,” I pointed out.
“Jon had Keri with him. You can’t compare yourself to him. Anyway, Jon was probably trying to prove a point. You know what he’s like. At least you were willing to show that you’re human.” My father had never been a big fan of Jon, and never bothered to hide that with me. My mother, being best friends with Jon’s mother, was always sticking up for him, even though I gained the impression she wasn’t his greatest fan either.
“I suppose.” I thought of the other two contestants but didn’t say anything. I didn’t mind Melanie beating me. But Elton? That frustrated me even more than Jon.
“Don’t worry about it. First, the whole world is not going to watch you. There are a million shows on the telly these days. Second, you’ll be famous for a little while before everyone moves onto someone else. You know how it goes.”
“He’s right, darling. I barely remember the contestants who left from Strictly and I watch that religiously. Some guy made the news the other day because he deliberately tripped someone up on stage, but already people have moved on. You’ll be fine. Why didn’t you tell us you were doing this?”
I shrugged. “We were told it was a secret. I guess
they don’t want the media talking about it until the show is officially released.”
“When does it come out?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Which company is it running through?”
“Uh, I’m not sure.”
“Do you know which channel it will be on?”
“Uh, no.”
“You weren’t told much, were you? What about the place? What was it like? Did you meet the producer? Ellie Thompson, you know, Hettie’s friend, well her cousin is a TV producer, or something like that. Maybe it’s him. You said you went to Queensland?”
“Yeah, Victoria Point,” I said.
“Viccie Point,” my father replied. “That’s an odd place for it. I would’ve thought it would’ve been in the city or something. So, who did you meet while you were there? Must’ve been quite overwhelming with all the cameras. I become a different man when a camera is pointed at me.”
My mother laughed. “It’s true. Your father had a few seconds of fame once, when some interviewer asked him a question in the mall. He went completely blank.”
“Really? I didn’t know that,” I said. A few seconds was nothing compared to what I had done, but I felt a sort of kinship with him anyway.
“I lost the ability to speak. Ever since then I’ve had a new respect for people on camera. Although I’m assuming it’s different with what you did. Those reality type shows don’t usually have the cameras shoved in your face. They’re hidden, aren’t they?”
“Well, there were cameras in the pod, and I was pretty aware of them unfortunately. They were hard to avoid in such a tiny place.”
“The pod. That’s what it’s called? The show?”
“No, that’s just what Larry called our small rooms. The show is going to be called The Void.”
“The Void,” my mother said. “Good name. How on earth did Jon come across this whole thing? I haven’t heard anything about a show like this.”
“I don’t know. He said he came across some advert for it online. I…well…I guess I never asked him much about it. He just gave me the email to apply.”