~ CATHERINE ~
Monday the 26th of June, 1989
Mum pulled away, driving out of the school car park. I headed in the opposite direction, walking between the office building and a classroom, yelling out as someone grabbed me from behind. Before I knew what was happening, I was spun around and pushed up against the side of the classroom, getting the holy hell kissed out of me by Christopher. I shoved him away, stunned by what he’d done, not the kiss, but where he’d kissed me. Students were walking past, openly gawking at us. Not only that, he’d kissed me right across from the office, the principal’s window opening out onto the walkway. It was just lucky the man wasn’t in the room, because the curtains were pulled back.
“What the hell?” I said, gaping at Christopher like he’d lost the plot—and he looked it. His clothes were a wrinkled mess, his hair just as messy, while he had dark circles under his eyes. If his breath didn’t smell fresh, I would’ve thought he was drunk.
He went to kiss me again. Ducking, I grabbed his hand and yanked him around the corner, barking, “Come with me!” I pulled him through the crowded walkways and quads, ignoring the stifled giggles and stares, everyone probably having heard of what we’d done at Buckland’s Reserve, well, the Chinese Whispers version.
I let go of his hand as we rounded the English building, its windowless wall and the fence behind it giving us the privacy we needed.
I turned to him. “What has gotten into you?” I asked, surprised he was even talking to me, let alone kissing me.
He didn’t reply, just moved closer, planting another kiss on my lips.
A loud booming voice made him jump back, Mr. Stanton’s voice breaking the sound barrier. But I couldn’t see him, our form teacher obviously telling someone off around the corner. Christopher smiled and went in for another kiss. I placed a hand over his mouth to stop him.
“Quit doing that, Chris,” I hissed. “If we get caught, I’ll be grounded for months.”
He pushed my hand off, his expression now dead serious. “There’s a whole lot worse things than getting grounded. And we might as well live a little before it’s too late.”
“Not here, not now. We can meet up tomorrow night at seven. Thursday too.”
“So, you do love me?” he said, grabbing my hips.
I smacked his hands off with a growl. “I’m going to class before you ruin things by getting us caught.”
I sidestepped him and rounded the corner, making a beeline for the corridor that led to our form room. Christopher let out an ear-splitting wolf-whistle. I tensed up, his strange behaviour unnerving me. Now wondering whether he was high, I pushed between a couple of students and into the corridor, wanting to get to our form class as fast as possible, hoping he’d behave in there. I glanced back just before entering the room, his expression telling me otherwise.
Needing to get away from him, I rushed over to the seat next to Stephen, tensing further as Christopher followed me. Right at that moment, Mr. Stanton and his bell bottoms entered the classroom, his eyes zeroing in on Christopher’s back like he had a massive target painted on it.
“Christopher Laboure, move to the front of the class!” Mr. Stanton boomed in his overly loud monotone.
“No, I’m fine here,” Christopher responded, taking the seat in front of me, already having told the guy sitting there to move.
“It’s far from fine,” Mr. Stanton retorted. His cheeks were all puffed out, looking like he was going to huff and puff and blow Christopher down. “You can either come here now or you’ll be seating yourself outside the principal’s office again.”
Without a word, Christopher picked up his bag and headed to where the teacher had pulled out a chair. He sat down and leaned back in it. As soon as Mr. Stanton turned to the blackboard, Christopher looked over his shoulder and blew me a kiss.
The class broke out in laughter. But by the time Mr. Stanton turned to see what had happened, Christopher was facing forward as though he’d done nothing, his behaviour not boding well for me. I just hoped he behaved at the confirmation class tonight, especially since our parents would be there.
***
I pulled on my jeans, then tucked the Maris rosary under my shirt, annoyed that Janet kept on moving the confirmation classes. First it was on Sunday, then on Friday, now Monday. It was annoying to say the least. Or maybe I was annoyed because I didn’t want to be there, and especially not with both Mum and Christopher’s dad going. Grumbling about it, I picked up my brush and dragged it through my hair, also worried about seeing Christopher. I’d avoided him for the rest of the day, worried he was going to do something stupid—which he did. It was just lucky it was during art class, because at least Mr. Glenmore didn’t send him to the principal’s office. Though, he did send him to the small art room, because he wouldn’t do his work, more interested in chatting me up.
“Catherine!” Mum called out. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”
“Okay! Coming!” I dropped the brush, and was down the stairs and in the station wagon within seconds. Once I had my seatbelt on, Mum backed out and headed down the hill. Five minutes later, we were at Saint Dominic’s church. I spotted Christopher walking up the embankment to the little school behind it, his dad following him. Mum mumbled a gruff comment about him, then climbed out of the station wagon. I followed her to the classroom, sitting down next to Nicky and her mum. After everyone had said their hellos and how are yous, Janet launched into her agenda for the night.
“This is our last lesson before the rehearsal on Sunday,” she said, looking even more perkier than usual, her blonde hair a mass of newly permed curls. “So please be aware that you’ll need to give us your new Catholic name, if you have not done so already. As I said in our first class, you should choose the name from a saint that you feel a connection to.” She smiled in her overly fervent way. “Now, can every candidate and their sponsor please couple up with another pair, to discuss the questions that are printed on the handout.”
Before I could turn to Nicky and her mum, Christopher bolted out of his seat and was in front of my mum in the blink of an eye, startling a surprised yelp out of her.
“Sorry, Mrs. Lovich,” he said. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, I just wanted to see if you and Catherine would pair up with me and my father.”
She bit her lip, looking like she desperately wanted to say no, but instead nodded her head, my mum hating to appear rude.
Grabbing his chair, Christopher sat down right in front of me, while his dad sat in front of Mum, the two of them looking distinctly uncomfortable.
Mum shifted about in her seat. “I think it’s best if we move on from what has happened. There’s no need for all this tension.” She thrust a hand out for Christopher’s dad to shake.
He looked down at it, for a second making me worry that he wasn’t going to shake it, no one allowed to upset Mum. But thankfully, he seemed to change his mind, giving her hand a couple of shakes before letting go.
A smile crossed Mum’s face. She sat up straighter as though she’d solved all of our problems with one short handshake. “Well,” she said. “We should—”
Her sentence was cut off by Janet appearing by her side, holding out some sheets of paper. Mum took them and thanked Janet, who moved onto the next group.
Mum handed a sheet out to everyone in our group, then looked down at hers. “It says that we need to discuss about why Jesus died, and whether it was important for him to do this, in order to save us.”
“Everyone needs to die at some point or another,” Christopher’s dad piped up, staring directly at me. “And that was no different for Jesus, though in his case, he had to die to save others.”
“I agree,” Mum said, looking up from the piece of paper, not having seen the way Christopher’s dad had been looking at me. “And through his death, he defeated it, rising up, showing us that we can become immortal through our faith.”
Hearing Mum’s comment, Janet turned around to our group. “That’s a nice way of putting it, Mrs. Lovich,” she said, patting Mum on the shoulder. “Also, remember that he died so that our sins could be washed away.” Smiling widely, she turned back to Nicky’s group, which included Stephen and his mum, who was a drop-dead gorgeous blonde bombshell.
“Exactly right,” Christopher’s dad agreed, glancing at me.
Christopher threw a sidelong glare at him. “I think Jesus having to die for us was unfair. Why should someone die when it’s not them who caused the problem? The ones who committed the sins should be punished.”
His dad raised a brow, obviously picking up on the undertones. “You forget, figlio, that when we’re born we inherit the sins of Adam and Eve. Everyone is a sinner, no one is truly innocent. Jesus understood this, and sacrificed himself for our future.”
“What a load of bull crap!” Christopher snapped, bolting out of his chair, drawing everyone’s attention. They were looking at him like he was an alien with three heads.
I grabbed his hand, tugging at it. “Sit down, Chris, this is not the appropriate place to lose your temper.”
“Sì, figlio, it’s only a discussion,” his dad added. “No need for a heated debate.” He smiled apologetically at Mum, ignoring his son’s dark looks.
Janet clapped her hands together, thankfully drawing the attention away from Christopher. “Now, can everyone please move their chairs back into a circle?” she said. “I would like to discuss what each group has learned.” She apprehensively glanced at Christopher, obviously cutting the smaller group discussions short because of him.
The sounds of scraping chairs and shoes reigned while everyone formed a circle. Pulling my chair to Christopher’s side, I placed a hand on his back, trailing a finger up and down his lower spine, hoping it would comfort him. A small smile replaced his frown. Mum tapped my leg disapprovingly, but I didn’t stop, more concerned with keeping Christopher calm than what she thought was improper.
After the discussion had finished, Janet reminded everyone again about their name choices. When the group got up to leave, Christopher grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the classroom before our parents could react. He tugged me down the grass embankment and around the side of the church, stopping in front of the beautiful stained glass of Saint Dominic.
“I’m sorry for my father’s comments,” he said.
“He was saying that I had to sacrifice myself for your family’s future, wasn’t he?” I asked, pretty sure I was right.
Christopher glowered. “My famiglia won’t have a future if they harm you. I’ll make them pay if my grandfather raises a hand against you.”
I went to reply, but was cut off by Mum calling out my name on the other side of the church. “We better get back to our parents, or my mum will go ape and get all overprotective again.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gave me a quick kiss before disappearing around the corner.
I headed in the opposite direction, aiming for Mum’s station wagon, raised voices stopping me short. I looked over to see what was happening just as Mr. Laboure pushed Christopher roughly into their car. Slamming the door shut, Mr. Laboure stormed around to the driver’s side. Just before climbing in, he noticed me looking. Sneering at me, he slammed his door shut, then pulled out of the car park in a hurry.
Mum appeared by my side, shaking her head in disapproval. “That man is truly horrible.” She took hold of my arm and steered me towards our station wagon. “I know you like that boy, but he’s not good boyfriend material, even more so with a father like that.” She let go of my arm to unlock the station wagon.
I walked around to the passenger side. “Chris is nothing like his dad.” Or granddad. “You can’t blame him for that,” I said, climbing in.
She slipped in behind the wheel. “He seems pretty volatile to me, and right now, I’m not too happy with you for taking off with him. I don’t want to ground you again, but—”
“We didn’t do anything, and you can’t ground me just because he wanted a word in private. He was apologising for his dad.”
“Why should he apologise for him? The man was actually civil inside.”
“Not with the glares and undertones he was giving me. That’s why Christopher got mad. His dad still blames me for the reserve incident.”
She made a harrumphing sound. “Well, you did lack judgement, but if anyone’s to blame, it’s his son.”
“Mum.”
“It’s true!” She pulled on her seatbelt and started the engine, the ride home uncomfortably quiet.