Fake ID (8 page)

Fortuna fingered the tag. ‘Forty dollars…' she paused. ‘Here, let me buy it for Zaria's granddaughter.'

‘No, thanks. But I've got Gran's outfit in here.' I opened the backpack.

‘Then I'll buy it for myself. And lend it to you to wear with your grandmother's costume. She loved the rich colours. There's a changing room in here.'

‘I couldn't. I didn't come here to dance.' How could I dress up in a place like this?

Fortuna, in her trackie pants, wasn't dressed up.

‘Be brave, Zoe. Try new challenges. Live in the now.' Fortuna's eyes looked straight at me, so I took the challenge.

In the changing rooms, I took off my school uniform. I undid my school shoes. I pulled on the red harem-pants. Imagine an old lady of seventy wearing these! Then I wound the red scarf-thing around my shoulders. The gold coins clinked on the belt which slipped to my hips as Fortuna clipped it around my waist. Gold coins clinked on the bra, too.

I felt like someone else. Clink. Hard to walk in bare feet without the coins making a noise. It was no secret when a dancer was around.

‘ “Zoe” means life, you know,' said Fortuna thoughtfully. ‘The dance of life is what belly dancing is about, anyway. The female dances for herself, it is not for a male audience. In other dances you kick out, but in this dance you fold into yourself and it is a nurturing dance. Like a figure eight. In circles. You look after yourself and renew your body.' All this was said in Fortuna's slightly accented voice which I felt was vaguely comforting. Gran had sounded a little like this. Same village. Same accent. That kind of voice made sense when you thought about their backgrounds. I wondered in how many languages Gran's accent had been heard.

Weird. I watched my dressed-up self in the wall mirror, like someone else play acting in a colourful costume. The music continued to wail, with a strong beat from the drums. Gran's veil was wafting around my head.

‘Come, dance,' Fortuna put out her hand to me. ‘In your grandmother's costume, in memory of her life. Celebrate life.'

I shook my head. No way was I going to dance, in this weird place with this old lady watching.

‘Be brave, Zoe.'

But I wasn't. I started to undress.

Looking at my watch for an excuse, I said, ‘I have to go now, to play in a hockey match.' That was true. ‘The team will be waiting for me. I must go. Goodbye.'

As I hurried towards the astro turf, I felt as though I was running away.

* * * * * * * * *

That evening, we had a late hockey match against Street High B who were a pretty strong team. Ours is a mixed team, so Luke and I sometimes play together, like now. Jessica used to play mid-field, but now she's got an afternoon shift at Macca's. Luke plays centre-half and I am usually mid-field in Jessica's old spot, which means we both have to run a lot. Somehow I feel that I have to make sure I do as well if not better than Jessica. I didn't see her play, so I'm not sure how I measure up.

It was still light when we started, but as dusk came, they switched on the overheads. Shadows stretched across the pitch. Astro turf is OK for running on, and I can move fast if I have to. I've never been captain, or even vice captain, because Mum moves around so much and it takes a while for the others in the team to get to know you. Even when I played for a whole season, once before, and the coach asked if I'd like to captain, Mum told me we were moving again and that was the end of that. If I ever have kids, I'll stay in the one house for at least two hockey seasons.

Luke's dad used to coach him and even now he checks his gear. How lucky was that. His mum is the fan club whenever Just Couriers is in the area, or she's dropping us off for training. This team has a few players coming and going as they try out. Others can only play at certain times, because of their part-time jobs, so we don't always have a balanced team. But we play hard and I like that. Often there are substitutions to let others have a turn, so we don't always get a full run, but I think subbing is fairer. Otherwise I wouldn't have got into the team at all, because I only moved to this school after the season started last year.

‘Give Zoe a run now,' the coach instructed. ‘Ready, Zoe?'

‘Yes.' I grabbed my stick and checked my shin pads. My mouth guard tasted awful, but Luke's mum insisted on it. Then I ran onto the field feeling that familiar fizz of excitement.

Pa taught me to use a hockey stick when I was a really little kid. He made me a special cut-down one so it fitted my height when I was about six. He used to throw balls at me in the park. That's when I learned how to judge the distance. Luke's dad helped him when he was little, too. Relatives sort of point you in the direction of their hobbies, but I didn't mind about this one.

Hockey is straightforward. You just go after the ball, tackle if you need to and run. I like the feel of the wind in my hair and the full-on freedom of ‘running flat out. I can stop and swerve and turn and keep going. Not like belly dancing which may or may not be linked with your Gran's secret life, but I did like the dance music and the drums. They were the best part. And I felt guilty about leaving Fortuna in such a hurry. I know I'm not brave.

‘Is there any music especially for hockey?' I panted as I ran near Luke.

‘What? Music? You mean the crowd yelling?' Luke laughed and panted. ‘That's sports music.'

He lunged for the ball, cracked sticks with the opposition, and we lost it.

‘Lifting,' called the umpire.

Luke turned, his neck reddening and kept his mouth shut with an effort.

We were both trying out for the team, and being picked up by the umpire wouldn't help.

Not many clubs play mixed teams, which was why Mum insisted on this one for me.

She was keen on sport for girls and said about ninety-nine times, ‘If you play against guys you improve your skills.'

Mum played most sports because Pa had taught her when she was a kid, too. He loved any games and had a cupboard full of bats, sticks, balls and golf clubs and always gave us sporty things for birthday presents. When Mum told Pa they play golf in the Antarctic, he was thrilled. In Antarctica she'd played golf once, on Australia Day. The ball shot across the ice and they only had one hole. And they played cricket with a wicket stuck in the ice. Pa would have loved to hear about that, but he was gone by then. ‘To play in heaven,' said Mrs Donna, but Gran didn't think like that about Pa's death. Heaven wasn't part of what she believed.

All those thoughts fast-forwarded through my head as I ran across the hockey field.

What can you say about the dusk match against Street High B? We had most of the possession, we had most of the attack, we had most of the shots, they had all of the goals.

Street High B wiped us four to nil. It's a good thing they didn't send their A team. Luke reckons we just need more practice. So does the coach. And Luke's dad. And his fan club.

‘No goals in the last two games,' said Luke's mum. ‘But scoring goals isn't everything.'

‘Unfortunately it looks like you've hit a bit of a lean spot,' said Luke's dad.

‘We dominated the play, our build up was good and our short game has progressed beautifully,' chanted Luke as if he was making a report. In a way, he was, because his dad always asked for that sort of rundown if he couldn't get to the match because of a late job.

‘So have you found out what the problem is?' asked Luke's dad, examining Luke's stick which needed slight repairs.

‘Yeah,' said Luke. ‘The opposition is scoring more goals than us.'

‘Maybe the hockey goal fairy will visit next week,' said his dad with a grin.

‘Yeah,' said Luke. ‘So long as it's not with the tooth fairy. I don't want anyone knocking out my teeth, again.'

‘I agree,' said his mum. ‘That dentist smiles every time we pay your hockey subs. He can see the tooth business making more money. You're just a mouth full of money.'

‘Even the mouthguards have gone up,' Luke's dad said.

‘They're still worth it,' said Luke's mum. ‘And from what I overheard from the side lines, a few mouths should be a bit more guarded in what they say.'

‘Ha, ha,' said Luke but he didn't really mean it. I knew he was a bit fed up after that game, especially as he'd played full on.

‘Last time we played Street High B, Jessica stopped a few goals,' Luke said as he took his stick back and ran his hand along the wood.' I reckon I can fix this.'

Maybe if Jessica had been in the team instead of me, they would have done better?

I looked at the three of them. They were a family. I was just an extra. I was part of a fake family and I wasn't sure about my ID.

My turn to peel the vegetables. Sweet potatoes. Pumpkin. Carrots. Onions. In a way, I didn't mind, because it meant I was part of Luke's family roster. But while slicing the carrots, my knife slipped. My blood gushed over the carrots. I held out my hand and the blood dripped splat onto the floor.

‘Yuk! I'm turning vegie NOW!' said Luke.

‘Get Zoe a band-aid from the medicine kit,' said his mum.

I didn't think I had so much blood. Like your body has all these bits which keep on working, even when you're not thinking about them. Like skin to keep your insides in, blood cells and muscles. And then they stop dead, when you die, and you don't think about anything then. Your brain cells can't think either because they've stopped too. Unless you believe in heaven and stuff.

But I did sort of wonder where Gran was now. And it wasn't in that belly-dancing studio.

Later, as we ate a very late dinner, Luke said, ‘These steamed carrots look really red, like they've been murdered or something.'

‘Luke!' said his mum.

Afterwards, when Luke was feeding Puss, I brought out my backpack to show him the ‘
NOT TO BE OPENED UNTIL
' stuff. ‘Gran had some medical tests done a few months ago. A bio something or other. Do you reckon they would keep the samples at the doctor's? Or at the hospital?'

‘You mean that if they did, then there'd be DNA to compare with yours…or Kat's, or be different from Sandors…or…' Luke spooned the cat food into the dish. Puss was pretending not to be interested. Typical.

‘Something like that.' I opened my backpack and pulled out the love letters. I'd worked out the squiggle at the bottom as Tibor. If Tibor had been that important to Gran, maybe he was linked to me too? But the other writing was really hard to read and it was in a different language anyway.

‘Our freezer has a use-by date on food. Do you reckon cells would be the same and you can only keep them for so long?' That cat food smelled yuk, as if it had been open for ages. Maybe Puss would get food poisoning.

‘Shouldn't think so. Ask Mr Noel tomorrow.' Luke stamped on the empty can and threw it in the bin.

‘Kat had a blood test before she went to the Antarctic and her blood was different from Pa's.'

Luke poured some milk into the bowl marked
Puss the Wonder Cat.
‘So what? Mine's different from Mum.. But that happens. Come and drink this, Puss. Or you'll never be fit enough to run away from Bark when he comes to visit.'

‘If he comes to visit,' I added. Poor Bark hadn't been walked, unless Mrs Donna did it. And that wasn't likely.

Luke was
so
lucky. He knew who belonged in his family. Even that stupid cat, Puss.

‘D'you think Tibor might have been Kat's dad and my grandfather?' I asked Luke the question I'd been thinking about. ‘I can't test his DNA.' I'd been thinking about this since Fortuna didn't answer all my questions. ‘And I didn't…couldn't read these because they're in Hungarian.'

‘What difference would it make?' Luke squinted at the love letters bundle. ‘Your pa was here. He was the one who did things with you. He acted like a grandfather. What more do you want? ‘

***************************************************************

‘It's normal to feel down and a bit empty inside when a person you love dies,' said Luke's mum as she folded the washing. Their laundry area was unfinished, because their renovations were going on forever, in between their ‘real' jobs. The cupboards didn't have doors, so you could see how neatly the washing powders and cleaners were stacked. Their coats and hats were on pegs and the sports shoes were on racks waiting to be cleaned. Luke's dad's overalls hung on a hanger to drip dry in the shower. One night I blundered into them and thought they were a ghost and nearly freaked out. I'd offered to help fold the sheets in the laundry, because my hockey stuff was in the dryer with the Warne clothes. She turned my hockey socks into a thick ball.

‘Catch!'.

I caught my hockey socks. ‘Got them.'

Luke's mum was a good pitcher. She used to play softball before she had Luke.

‘Easier to do that than to catch your sad thoughts.' She had her back to me while she sorted dry clothes that smelled warm. ‘You can't always control what happens, but you can control your thoughts and how you react. Talking about it helps sometimes. Do you find that talking to Luke helps you?'

I was trying to brush the dust off my hockey shoes.

‘Yeah.' I wasn't sure about that. Gran's dying wasn't simple. I wasn't sure what to feel sorry about — the fact that she had gone, or that I wasn't sure which personality she'd been. Maybe Luke's mum was the one to tell? She was easier to talk with than my mum and she didn't gossip about you afterwards to other adults the way some parents did. You sort of knew things stopped with her.

‘Have you had anyone close to you die?' I asked as I opened the shoe cleaner box and pulled out another brush. Luke's mum believed in having discounted containers of every cleaner. She must have had a bulk buy to last for this century and the next. No wonder their laundry area was crammed.