Letters to Leonardo Read Free

We’ve been robbed. Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
    As if anyone could hurt me more than you have!
My laugh is dry like the crackle of sunburnt bracken. “I’m fine, Dave. Never been better.” The lie moves up through my body and collects in my throat in bubbles of hysteria. Suddenly, I burst out laughing and can’t stop: loud, high-pitched, hysterical giggles.
    “Matt, are you sure you’re all right?”
    It makes me laugh more. I’m angry and sad, confused and betrayed – and I can’t stop laughing.
    “For God’s sake, Matt, what’s wrong with you?”
    That’s the slap in the face I needed. “What’s wrong with
me
? That’s a joke.”
    I shove Dave out of the room and slam the door shut. I’d lock it but we don’t have locks on our doors. Dave always said we don’t need them – that we don’t have anything to hide from each other.
Huh! As if
.
    I push my double bed up against the door so he can’t get back in. I jam my finger between the bedhead and the wall. It’s the same finger I pricked with the Mayberry Girls’ Grammar pin. The pain brings me back to where all this started – with Dave’s lies.
    He knocks relentlessly on the door. “Talk to me, Matt.”
    I don’t answer.
    “You can’t stay in there forever.”
    Want to make a bet?
    Finally, his retreating footsteps clomp on the wooden floorboards. Now there’s no sound except my breaths coming in short angry wheezes. I know I need to calm down, but I can’t seem to help it. I’m fuelled with anger – it’s all that’s keeping me from breaking down.
    I refocus on my laptop screen. No answer from K Armain, no answers to any of this.
    The smell of pizza wafts under my door and I realise that I’m dizzy with hunger. I don’t think I can hold out any longer. I check my email one last time – still nothing! I push my bed back to its usual place and open the bedroom door.
    Dave eyes me off when I walk into the kitchen, as if he’s working out what sort of mood I’m in and how to handle me.
    He dumps a huge slab of ham and pineapple pizza in front of me and asks, “How was school, Matt?”
    He’s going for the “let’s pretend nothing has happened” approach. Why am I not surprised? Because I’ve just found out
that’s
what he’s been doing for most of my life.
    I snort. “I didn’t go to school. Didn’t feel like it.”
    Dave looks at me intently. I think he might have figured out who the burglar was. “Education is important, you know that,” he says, passing me a glass of lime cordial.
    So is being honest with your kid.
    I take a huge bite of pizza.
    We’re like two cows in a paddock; the only sound is the chewing of pizza. The food helps the nausea, but not the pounding anger. I want to confront him. Now. But I can’t stomach the thought of more lies.
    Dave takes his empty plate to the sink. “So, why didn’t you go to school?”
    I keep munching. Dave stands next to me. “Should I be calling the police, Matt? Were we burgled or do you know something about the mess in my room?”
    I shrug.
    Dave’s voice is firm. “Matt, what do you know?”
    I stand and shove my chair against the table, spilling my cordial.
    “What do
I
know about the mess?”
    Dave nods.
    “That it’s nowhere near as bad as the mess that is my life.”
    I’m only just keeping it together.
    “What’s wrong with you, Matt? What’s happened?”
    I can feel Dave’s breath on my face. I step away and press my lips together tight. I’m not ready to answer questions yet – or even to ask my own. I need to find out more about my mother first – from an authentic source. I need to know that what he tells me isn’t MORE LIES.
    Dave goes to the bookcase. I wait for him to pull down
Sons and the Single Parent
, by Frank Rosenbaum. It’s where he goes for advice when he’s under pressure. Dave’s always quoting from his “bible”. According to Rosenbaum, “A good father is his son’s best buddy.” Dave told someone