Floundering (5 page)

We sit in Bert looking out. As it gets darker the candles are lit one by one. Faces turn bright and beautiful in the wavery candlelight. There are people clumped up against the stage now and streaming towards it. I look out my window and there is a lady and a man right there, squeezing past. The man has folding chairs in his hands and it’s a puzzle to get them through the small space. I look up at them, and the lady looks down. She’s old, she looks like Gran. I gasp – they’ve found us so quick. I open the door to try and get out but it slams into her legs.

She lets out a little scream and pulls her handbag tight under her arm. And it’s not Gran at all. It doesn’t even look like her one bit.

Sorry, I say. I slam the door shut.

Tom, Loretta turns around and hisses at me. What are you doing?

Nothing.

Don’t bring attention.

I’m not.

We watch the old couple walk away. The man still grappling with the chairs, the lady hanging on to his other arm as if for safety.

Why does it matter, anyway? says Jordy.

It doesn’t, she says.

The wind blows us the music and for a moment we hear ‘Silent Night’, loud like the kids was right here with us.

We’ll stay somewhere nice tonight, she says, by the beach. I can’t see in the dark, but I feel her give us a tight smile. Then she starts Bert and reverses out.

She goes to drive out of town, but then slows down, does a u-turn and heads back. She doesn’t go to the beach, but to the main street that’s quiet except for a pub at each end. She stops out the front of the first.

What are you doing? says Jordy.

I’ll just be a minute. Wait here, says Loretta.

You’re just going to leave us?

Jordy, it’s not like it’s a casino. You’re not going to die. I just need a moment.

She gets out of the car, closes her door. The light snaps off. She leans in Bert’s window and says, Be good. Walks away. She lights up when she opens the pub door, and then she’s gone.

I need to do a wee, Jordy.

What do you want me to do about it?

I need to go.

Well, do you want to follow her in?

No.

So, quit complaining then.

I look around at the street. There’s no trees or bushes to quickly go in. It’s wide-open, and every now and then someone slouches by. We sit there silently for a long time. Jordy drums his hands on the dashboard.

Shut up. You’re making it worse.

What? With what?

That noise.

Does this make it worse?

He starts making the sound of running water, a long
shhhhhhhhh.
Then he laughs. I can feel the pressure of the wee in my stomach that’s round and taut as a drum. He starts making the running water noise again.

I’m going to piss my pants, and the whole car will stink of piss. And then you’ll be sorry.

It’ll be worth it.

Jordy, I whine and clench myself tight.

Geez, he says, piss in this.

He throws me an empty chip packet. It’s the Twisties one from the first day.

In that?

Yes. Jesus.

Will it fit?

Why don’t you find out, dipshit.

Don’t look.

I’m not looking, retard.

I face the corner and undo my pants, lean over the packet. I try to breathe calmly and relax but nothing comes out. I whimper a little.

What? says Jordy.

Nothing, don’t turn around.

Why would I turn around?

I let go, and the wee feels hot as it squeezes out and streams into the bag. In the silence it makes a funny noise hitting the packet. I hold the edge of it very carefully, willing it to be big enough for all the wee. I can’t stop now that I have started. I wee until there’s just drips. I shake them into the bag, then try to do up my pants with one hand, and hold the bag full of wee with
the other, which is impossible. I just hold it, the warmth coming through the packet to my skin.

Jordy, what do I do with the bag now?

Are you serious?

I don’t know what to do.

Throw it away, idiot.

I look out at the street, and there is a bin not too far away. I try scrunch the top of the bag with one hand, open the door, slip out, keep my shorts up with my other hand. I have to shuffle old man-ish. I stumble and drop the bag. It lands on the concrete with a splat and splashes wee on my feet. I step back, try to run, remember my pants aren’t done up. Zip them up and run back to Bert.

What happened?

Nothing.

I wake up to Jordy tapping me on the forehead. Wake up, he says.

What? I can smell the wee on my feet.

We got to go in and get her.

But I don’t want to go in there.

Jordy gets out. My eyes feel sticky. I try pick the edges open. Wake myself up. I need a drink of water. I’ve got desert mouth. I find my thongs under the seat. Slip them on, get out.

I look at Bert, Should we lock it? I say.

No, we don’t have the key, we won’t be able to get back in.

Jordy pushes open the doors of the pub, and I walk closely behind him. I reach to hang on to his shirt, but my hand is in midair when I see Loretta. She is dancing alone in the middle of the room. She has her eyes closed and her arms out to balance
herself. The dress was pretty this morning. But it looks wrong in here, too short and the strap keeps falling off one shoulder. She shrugs it back up as part of her dance. She is mouthing the words to the song. There is no dance floor, just space between the tables and a jukebox in the corner. The light from the pool table gives the room a green tinge. A line of men leans up against the bar. I get a feeling that’s nothing I have ever felt. My face reddens and I guess this must be shame, or something there isn’t a name for.

Mum, Jordy says. She doesn’t pause in her dance, her dress floating around her legs. He says it again, Mum. The men are looking at us now, all in their line. One of them nudges another who turns his face and his beer towards us. They all look a little bit the same, not like they’re related, but that working the same jobs in the same sun has given them all the same hard faces. One of them adjusts his crotch, another laughs into his beer at us. If the floor opened up and inside the hole were poisonous snakes, I’d step into the hole and hope the ground closed over the top of me.

Loretta, Jordy says louder.

She opens her eyes, stops dancing. Walks over to us as if we are the only ones in the room. She puts her hands on my shoulders.

What’s up? she says and then looks up at Jordy too.

I can smell the booze on her breath, but I feel better with her there close. You guys want to go?

What do you reckon? says Jordy.

Alright, she says, like it’s nothing.

She stands up and twirls around. Jordy steps backwards, pulling me back with him. He doesn’t open the pub door,
waits for her. She stands in the middle of the room, missing something. The men at the bar holler at her but she ignores them. She walks to a table, picks up her bag and heads for the door.

You kids shouldn’t be in here, one of the men yells.

I look down, make sure not to look up at them. The floor is carpet, and it’s trodden down in a worn line from the door to the bar. I step away. I don’t want to be standing on their dirty path.

Loretta leans over us and opens the door. Out, she says.

Nice arse, I hear called from the bar and laughter dies as the door closes. Out in the street it smells of the ocean. I inhale great big breaths. Jordy’s already in the car.

I look up at Loretta and her face is real different to when we were inside. In the pub she looked serene, her face blank. Out here she looks craggy, older than she is by a million years. She stumbles as she walks, opens the front door of Bert and falls into the seat. I get in the back.

She’s got a cigarette clamped between her lips and she’s flicking her lighter, but it’s only sparking, no flame.

Shit, she says, shit. Jordy leans over the gearstick, takes the lighter from her hand and just like that, makes a flame. She leans in.

Thanks, she says. She fiddles with the bangles on her arm. Jordy throws the lighter to the floor.

I got these for you, she says. She reaches deep within her bag and pulls out two Violet Crumbles. She throws us one each.

I got them for you, she says as if she’s forgotten she’s already said it. She takes a long drag of her cigarette.

We got a long way to go tonight, she says and revs Bert. Let’s hit the road, Jack, she says.

I know she’s drunk, but I want to leave so bad I don’t care about the ad where everyone dies. We drive out of the town.

I bite through the chocolate and let my saliva melt the honeycomb. I look out at the night and a tear surprises me, just one, slipping down my cheek. I eat the chocolate bar very slowly. Loretta is driving fast. Every now and then she loses the road and drives onto gravel, but she always swerves back. I can just hear Jordy snoring in the front.

Loretta, I say.

Yes.

Are you awake?

Well, I’m driving, aren’t I?

Yeah.

Well, I’m awake.

Are we going to stop soon?

I wanna find somewhere nice to stop, I haven’t found anywhere nice.

It’s dark.

Yeah, it is.

How will you know if it’s a nice place?

We’ll be able to smell the ocean again.

I open the window and all I can smell is dust.

But we’ve been driving for ages.

I know honey bunch, but we’re on a road trip. This is what you do on a road trip. Keep talking, she says. Keep me awake.

My mind goes empty. I can’t think of anything to say. Bugs splatter against the windscreen. I hear their bodies cracking open on the glass.

I open Bert’s door when it’s still early and grey. Out in the ocean there are tankers lining the horizon. They look like Lego boats. I slide down a rocky cliff. The water’s got a sheen to it, a pretty rainbow. When I look back at Bert I can see Jordy standing there, looking out at me. There’s a grotty boat ramp. I go look at it. It looks slippery. I climb back up the little cliff. I’m careful of shards of rock.

Where’s Loretta? I say.

Jordy points to the car. Loretta’s still in the driver’s seat, but half in, half out, with her head hung in her hands. I go look at her. Blonde hair hanging over her face.

This is nice, I say.

She looks up, looks like she’s going to get angry. But it’s like she can’t decide whether I’m being serious or not, so she doesn’t
say anything. She scrapes her hair away from her face. She leans back in the seat and closes her eyes. I go stand at the edge of the little cliff, climb back down it and collect some pebbles. I throw them into the sea. They’re not flat enough to skim. They don’t make much of a splash. The water just swallows them up. Jordy comes, he starts throwing rocks too. His rocks all go further than mine, but they get swallowed up just the same. We hear Bert start and I turn quickly, my heart going, but she just beeps and I see her arm waving out the window for us to hurry up and get in.

We drive through this new town. The highway goes right through the middle of it. It doesn’t feel like a beachside town. It’s too early for any shops to be open, but the sun is up.

They all look the same, says Jordy. Even the Christmas decorations are the same as the last town. I look up at them hanging dull and faded from the streetlights.

We’re nearly there, says Loretta.

Where? says Jordy.

It’s a surprise, says Loretta.

Are we really nearly there? I say.

Yep. Then she laughs, like she can’t quite believe we’ve made it. She slaps the steering wheel. Then we still drive all day. The sun chases me across the back seat, burning one arm and then the other.

She is humming a song, every now and then singing a snatch of words, like she can’t remember the rest. There’s no radio reception, she’s humming to the beat of her fingers on the steering wheel. There’s a welcome sign to a new town. It’s pockmarked with bullet holes. The light shines through it.

Can you feel it? says Loretta. She leans over and pokes Jordy in the stomach. In your belly there, can you feel that feeling?

No, stop it, says Jordy. He pushes her hand away.

She sings louder now and it’s much more obvious that she doesn’t know any of the words, at all. As we drive into the town, I don’t feel anything.

Loretta pulls over. Wait here, she says back at us as she goes into a store. Each of the shops has Christmas greetings and decorations painted on the glass. They look like they’ve all been painted by the same person. Some are just holly, or Happy New Year, or Merry Christmas. This town has got a beach too, but it’s like the town’s ignoring the sea, turning its back towards it.

I open Bert and step out into the sun. It’s still hot, but a different type of afternoon bright. My legs wobble. My shirt is damp with sweat. I wipe my face on my sleeve.

Loretta walks back out through those flappy, coloured fly strips. She looks beautiful again. She smiles at me and I can’t help but smile back. She gets back in the front.

In ya pop, she says. And I get back in.

Here, she says and throws a giant bottle of lemonade back at me. I squeal with the cold of it on my legs. Jordy sniggers. I hold it between my knees and open the top. Lemonade spurts everywhere. I close the lid quick. It dribbles down the sides of the bottle onto my legs.

Loretta looks back at me. I look out the window. A rusted white truck drives past. The street is empty again. Loretta pulls the bottle from me, and opens it hanging her arms out the car window. She waits until it stops foaming before passing it in to Jordy.

The lemonade dries and sticks my legs together and to the
seat. Then dirt sticks to the lemonade. I try and shuffle out of the lemonade patch, but my skin’s already sticky and there’s no shuffling out of my skin. I sigh.

Can I have a sip? I say.

Jordy gives me a look, You forfeited your go, he says.

Loretta.

Give your brother a sip, Jesus, she says.

He hands me the giant bottle, letting go too soon so I almost drop it. I take a huge swig. It’s cold and bubbly down my throat. I feel it try to bubble up my nose.

Can I’ve a sip? Loretta says to me. I pass it back to her with a grin. See, she says, we’re almost there.

We cross a big bridge that looks like it’s made for flood, but there’s no water at all, just the silky sand of the riverbed exposed for anyone to have a look. I see the glitter of smashed beer bottles down there. We pass empty paddocks and a big roadhouse. We keep driving. There’s a turnoff to a gravel road with a faded sign. Loretta passes it, then brakes hard, pulls onto the side of the road. Bert hums and ticks.

This is it, I reckon, and gives us a wink, but I can hear a tremble in her voice.

Really? says Jordy, quietly, looking out the window.

We have to be quick, the light’s going, she says and does a u-turn. Drives back to the sign and turns onto the gravel road.

Out the window is red dirt and low silvery bushes. Here there are no real trees. We race the sun to the horizon. Everything rattles on the corrugated road. The back end of Bert swings out and Loretta has to spin the wheel hard back the other way.

Loretta, I feel sick, I say.

A kangaroo bounds out of the scrub. It stops and stands on the road. We are driving straight for it. I think it looks me in the eye. It’s as big as a man. I can see the muscles under kangaroo skin. Loretta brakes and my seatbelt catches me. Somehow Bert spins right the way around and we’re left facing the way we came, half off the road. I turn around and look out the back window. I see the kangaroo bound away through the dust. I can see kangaroos everywhere now, their heads taller than the scrub. The wind blows fumes from the car back at us.

Loretta is laughing maniacally, then she stops. If we hit one, she says, one of you has to go check its pouch.

What? says Jordy. No way.

One of you has got to, she says and squares me in her gaze. I can’t do it, she says.

I don’t want to, I say.

Do you wanna save a life?

Yes.

Well, you gotta check its pouch.

Why can’t you do it? says Jordy.

I can’t do it. You two are the men. You got to do it. She lifts her hand from the wheel and tucks her hair behind her ears.

Jordy pops the door open and tries to step out onto the road. The seatbelt pulls him back. He grabs for the buckle and unclicks it. His hand is shaking.

We didn’t hit that one, Jordy, he got away, I say.

He just sits there on the edge of the seat with his feet outside the car. Leaning out of my window I see his feet placed neatly in a corrugation, his hands are crossed over his knees and his too-long hair covers his face.

Jordy, I say, Jordy – real quiet like, so Loretta can’t hear.
I’m tired, I say. I wanna get there. I lean and tap him on the shoulder. He swings his legs back into the car and slams the door shut.

Loretta reverses and swings the car around, turning the steering wheel with her bony elbows in the air until we’re facing the right way again. With the last light shining right at us I can see fine hair on Loretta’s face. It’s lit up and golden.

Go slower, I say, or we’ll hit one.

I hang out the window of the car and watch the road get swallowed. There are so many kangaroos. Loretta drives slow for a while, but gets faster and faster until we’re swerving all over the road again. Under my breath I’m saying, Please don’t hit one, please don’t hit one, please don’t hit one, please don’t hit one, please don’t hit one. All the kangaroos turn their heads to look.

The ocean appears, the sun dipping into it. We’re high up on top of red cliffs. Loretta slows down heaps and I see a huge kangaroo with its chest puffed right out scratching its belly at us. Stay there, I say to it as the road turns along the edge of the cliff. Below us there is a bay and a beach with tents at one end, then caravans. From up above, the tents and caravans look like rubbish washed in with the tide. Further than that is the white lick of a dry river. A jetty sticks into the sea. Loretta accelerates and I lose my stomach as we drive down to the beach.

The road levels out again, and goes right through the middle of the tents. They are set up along the dunes, next to the beach, four-wheel drives nudged in beside them and there are tents on the desert side of the road too. A little boy with a round face waves at us as we pass. His whole family is there, out the front of a giant tent. For a second, I can see all the way into the tent,
with each of their beds made up neatly, neater than a bedroom. Some camps have their lanterns on already, casting circles of warm light swarming with bugs. There are people sitting in folding chairs, sipping wine out of plastic cups, or beer out of cans. The smell of sausages cooking. I can hear kids playing, it’s the sounds of screaming and laughing together. Guy ropes crisscrossing each other with towels and clothes hanging from them so they look like banners or flags.

Why is everyone staring at us? says Jordy.

They’re not, says Loretta.

Yes, they are.

It’s just because we’re new.

So they are staring at us? he says.

Yeah, ‘cos we’re new.

I’m staring at them, I say.

All the people look golden in the last afternoon light. As we drive further along the road the tents stop. There are caravans then. They’ve got iron sheds built around them and television antennas sticking way up high into the air, trying to catch something. They’re all rusted and falling down and look like they’ve been here forever, like they’ve grown from the ground and then died of thirst. Husks of them.

Some of the caravans are nestled in the dunes, with space between each one. Further down there are two caravans facing away from each other as if they’ve had an argument. And here I can’t see any people. They look lived in, though. There are towels hanging on washing lines, and light at the windows. But they’re closed off to the road, not like the tents with their doors like open mouths and everyone sitting outside in the open. Between each caravan I can see the beach and the choppy ocean.

Loretta stops beside a rusty white caravan with a blue stripe. It’s tucked in right behind the dune.

This it? she says and answers herself, Yep.

A cloud of dust floats from behind us and settles on Bert. None of us make any move to get out of the car.

Well, here we go, Loretta says and all three of us get out. Empty bottles tumble out around my feet. The air smells of seaweed and barbeque. I can still hear the tent kids squealing but I can’t see them. I stick close to Loretta, and when she stops at the door of the caravan I bump into her.

Hey, she says, jangling her keys in her hand.

This caravan doesn’t look lived in like the others do. There are thick cobwebs around the windows and doorframe, and beach grass has grown up around the step. The lock and handle are rusty. Loretta searches through the keys on her key ring, finds the one she’s looking for and tries it in the lock.

You have a key? Jordy says.

Yeah, says Loretta.

How do you have a key?

What does it matter, sweetie. I swiped it from Gran ages ago. They don’t come here anymore.

Loretta jiggles the key but the door stays shut. She jiggles it again and the handle makes a horrible scraping sound. Jordy and I are standing right behind her.

Shoo, she says, just shoo for a second. I look at Bert and three of his doors are wide-open. Loretta steps back, lights a cigarette and blows smoke at the door, with her back to us.

An old man walks up from a path through the dunes to the beach. He has a big fish on his fingertips and a bucket in his other hand. He smells of rotten guts. He stops when he sees us
there. He has wiry arms with old-man skin hanging off them.

Who are you? he says. I see Loretta jump and she turns, her cigarette burning close to her hand.

Nobody. Who are you? she says, not waiting for the answer. She turns her back on him with a flick of her hair. She bumps her shoulder on the door to open it. It makes the worst kind of noise. I see a flap of lino scraping up behind the door. She turns back to us. Triumph makes her face shine.

He says, You got water?

No, says Loretta.

You need water – there ain’t no water out here.

He shakes his head at us and walks to the caravan opposite. He goes around the side of it. When he comes back he has swapped the dead fish for a two-litre container of water, which he dumps in front of Loretta.

You’re going to have to drive back out in the morning and get water from the roadhouse. Then he says over the top of Jordy’s and my heads, I don’t like kids. Best if they stay away.

I stare up at him – he’s tall and skinny as a straw. His eyes are watery blue and fearful. I look at Jordy. The breeze blows his fringe away from his face and for a second he looks like someone else again. When I look back at the old man he’s looking at Jordy too. Jordy wraps his arms around himself. The old man shakes his head, shaking a thought, and turns his back on us.

O-kay, thanks, see ya,
says Loretta and rolls her eyes. I find myself waving to his back – even though he’s only walking to the other side of the road. Stoopid old coot, she says and steps into the dark caravan. The sun has gone. The old man must light a lantern ‘cos his windows are bright and I see him in there,
his white face through the rounded windows of his caravan. He’s looking out at us.

Come give me a hand, Loretta says from the dark. Jordy clumps in, banging on the metal step. I feel salt on my skin. The wind is cool. It tugs at my shirt. I go back to Bert and close two of his doors, sit half in him with my legs hanging out.

Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer had a very shiny nose – like a light bulb, I sing quietly under my breath, mumbling the words I can’t remember.