Girl Next Door (11 page)

On the inside, the caravan is not as burnt as I imagined, but it still leaves a hollow feeling in my gut. Everything stinks like an old ashtray. There's also the acrid odour of melted plastic, and some kind of fuel. Not petrol, but maybe paint thinner, or kerosene. Someone came in here to wreck our stuff. Why would they do that? Why do they hate us so much? They don't even know us.

The beds are soggy. There are beads of sooty water leaving trails down the wall and in pools on the uneven floor. My green shopping bag is damp. My dirty clothes on the top are sooty and smell really bad, so I take them out.

You'd expect that people would be milling around, and maybe there was excitement a while ago, but by the time we came back it was old news.

The guy from the neighbouring van seems disappointed that we weren't in there at the time. 'Yeah, I told the firies that I hadn't seen yous, and they went in there just in case. Then they washed it down, and that.'

Nobody saw who lit it.

'But your mum smokes, eh,' the neighbour says. 'Yeah, I told the firies that.'

The woman from reception says there aren't any other vans available, and she gives us a look, as if we were the ones who lit the fire – as if we're trouble.

So now I have the chlorine-smelling clothes I'm standing in, my Dad's daggy old t-shirt and the stupid pinch pot.

Bryce Cole knows a pub where we can stay for thirty-seven dollars. It's called the Plough and Peanut. I know where that is. As the crow flies, it's not that far from our house. We used to drive past the Plough and Peanut to get to the swimming centre where Will and I used to go to for lessons.

He parks at the back and goes into the bar. We wait in the car. A couple come stumbling down the laneway. They stand in the corner of the car park right next to our car. They're giggling, murmuring and tearing at each other's clothes. I'm trying to pretend I can't hear what he's saying to her. He hitches up her skirt. She wraps a leg around his waist. She's trying to undo his belt.

Mum leans across the driver's seat and turns on the headlights. The couple stare into the light, stunned for a moment, and then they laugh as they scamper back down the driveway the way they have come, hand in hand.

Soon Bryce Cole returns with a set of keys. We climb the rear stairs. There is what looks like a heavy duffel bag draped across one of the lower treads, but as I step over it I realise it's a sleeping man.

Classy place, the Plough and Peanut.

At the top Bryce unlocks a door and we walk into a hallway that smells pretty similar to the caravan we just left. We take the third doorway on the left and then we're in a narrow room with two sets of bunk beds. The sound of the crowd is louder here. There's a set of French doors covered in dusty lace curtains at the far end of the room. I unlock the doors and peek out. There's a throng of drinkers on the verandah outside the doors – some standing against the rail, some sitting around tables. The bloke nearest the doors holds up his beer to me, and slurs, 'Hey, ho! Whaddya know?' I shut the doors again.

'They're right outside!' I say to Bryce Cole.

Mum sits on the edge of the bunk bed, holding a pillow up to her face and sniffing it experimentally. She puts it down and straightens the slip.

'We have a roof over our heads,' she tells us, but I can tell she's trying to convince herself. When I sit next to her she picks lint off my collar, and runs her hand down my arm, straightening my cuff. 'This is a great colour for you, darling.'

I blink at her because it's the same outfit I've been wearing for almost three days now.

'We could go for a quick drink downstairs,' Bryce Cole suggests to Mum.

'I'm not really dressed for it.' She smoothes down the front of her 'blouse'.

'Rubbish! You look like a princess,' he tells her with a wide smile.

'Where are the toilets?' I ask. I can feel the chlorine on my skin. I'm looking forward to a hot shower. I'll sleep in my Dad's old t-shirt, which is still clean, if a bit smoky.

'Down the end of the hall,' Bryce Cole says. He throws me the keys. I slip them into my pocket and walk down the hall and around the corner. I see the bathroom. It has a sign on the door that says 'Room Guests Only'. It turns out I don't need the keys after all. There's a line of women coming out the door and down the corridor.

I join the queue. The woman in front of me turns around and grins. Her make-up is smeared across her face. Her lipstick has come off and she has a ring of dark lip-liner around her mouth. Her eyes are bloodshot.

'How's your night going?' she asks me.

'I've had better,' I tell her.

'Really? I'm having the best time. I've just met this guy. His name's Trevor and he's really hot!'

We shuffle forward. I can see into the bathroom. There are women at the mirrors powdering their faces and fluffing their hair. One woman rearranges her boobs. Right there in front of everybody!

There's only one toilet cubicle, and next to it what I guess is a shower, since it's covered by a curtain. I'm not going to have a shower, not with all those people, but at least I can get changed in there. I leave the queue and pull the curtain back. I quickly take off my top and slip Dad's shirt over my head.

All of a sudden the curtain whips back and a woman stares at me. Her face looks kind of green, or it may be the light. Then her cheeks billow out. I have just enough time to think,
Oh, no!
and stagger backwards, and then she chucks all over me. It soaks through the shirt, and I pluck it away from my chest. It's warm and it stinks. I reef the shirt over my head, even though everyone can see me standing there in my bra.

The woman is at my feet. Her back arches as she chucks again. I shuffle back from her as far as I can. She tries to push chunks of spew into the drain.

'Are you right? Do you need me to hold your hair back?' asks a dark-haired lady.

'Pooey!' says the woman behind her, waving her hand in front of her nose. 'You can smell it, eh?'

I put my old chloriney shirt back on and take Dad's shirt to the sink. I rinse it as much as I can, and then I hang it up on the shower rail. I don't think anyone is going to steal it. I wash my face and my arms up to the elbows. Running my tongue over my teeth, I realise that I haven't brushed my teeth for two days. How disgusting.

The loo flushes and a woman comes out. After she washes her hands she looks around for a towel, sees Dad's shirt and dries her hands on it.

Fabulous.

When I get back to our room Will is on his own. He's picked the bottom bunk. He's on his back with his hands under his head.

'Don't get under the covers. I did a minute ago, but I got itchy. I think there might be lice,' he warns me.

It gets better and better. I climb up to the top bunk and lie on top of the covers. We can hear the blokes outside the door. I pick out one voice among the hubbub. He's right outside the door. It might be the Hey Ho man.

'You're such a good mate to me, and I never say this, right? I mean, we could all die tomorrow, right? I never tell you that you are
such
a good mate. I love you, man. No, truly.'

'They've been going on like that for the last five minutes,' Will tells me.

We listen to them in silence. Then Will says, 'Did you throw up?'

'No.'

I think again about Tanner Hamrick-Gough and her yacht club. She always used to say that she was going to borrow her sister's ID and go out clubbing. I thought it sounded cool, but now I wonder if it's just drunk blokes talking crap, lining up for the toilet for ages and then having people vomit everywhere. Why would you want to do that?

I close my eyes. I can almost feel the tiny little insects crawling on my skin. I'm itchy but it could be my imagination. It could just be the chlorine, or the spew. My teeth are furry, I need to pee and I'm getting hungry again.

When I used to get nervous before an exam, or when those Finsbury girls were being horrible and I was having trouble sleeping, I used to imagine yellow flowers bobbing in the sunlight. That's what I'm doing now. Sunflowers, daisies, daffodils. Bright yellow. Bobbing in a breeze. Blue sky. I can feel the gentle paralysis of sleep washing over me.

And then the French doors fling open. They bang as they hit the walls and I sit up so fast my head spins. The Hey Ho man sprawls across the floor. I mustn't have locked the door properly. Hey Ho has leaned on it, and it's given way.

'Christ on a bike!' he shouts. 'I fell right through the bastard!' He turns to see us staring at him. 'Sorry, man,' he says in a stage whisper. Hey Ho's on his knees, but he's still holding onto his beer, which is slopping on the carpet. 'Sorry!' He pauses to take a slurp. 'It's still good.' He heads back to the verandah on unsteady feet.

Will shuts the door behind him. He shoots the bolt home and shakes the handle to make sure it's fastened. He lies down again and we listen to Hey Ho recounting his adventure to his mates. 'Straight through the bastard! Didn't spill me beer, though.' Laughter.

I fall asleep.

When I stir, it's not the sound of drinkers, but a rattling snore from the next room. Someone, I'm guessing an old man, is drawing his breath in three parts –
eck, eck, eck.
There's a long pause, and then he lets it out in one long whistling
phew!

It's driving me mad. I put the pillow over my head, but I'm still listening through the fabric. I wish he would just shut up.

Then it does stop.
Eck, eck, eck
. . . Nothing. I wait for ages. Thank God!

I close my eyes again. The next time I wake up it's to softer voices. Bryce Cole is in the doorway. A shaft of light crosses his face, leaving half in shadow. There's a woman with him, but it's not my mum. I look across and see Mum asleep in the top bunk opposite.

The woman is squinting into the gloom. Her skirt is too short and her heels are too high. She trips a little and giggles into his shoulder. 'Oh look! There
are
children in here. I thought you were joking. Let's go back downstairs.' She takes his hand.

'The bar's closed,' he whispers. 'I've got to get some sleep.'

'The Railway Hotel will still be open. We've got at least an hour.'

Bryce Cole extracts his hand from hers. 'Maybe some other time.'

'C'mon. Just one drink. It'll be fun!'

He hesitates.

'It's just at the end of the block. I'm buying.' She takes his hand again and he steps out of the doorway. The door shuts quietly behind them. I hear the woman giggle again as they head down the corridor.

I hate the Plough and Peanut. I hate that old man next door. I hate the tarty woman and I hate Bryce Cole.

It must be some poor bugger's job to clean the bathrooms because in the morning it's orderly and stinks of bleach. There's no little bar of soap in a cardboard box like you get at a hotel, so I jump out of the shower halfway through and nick a handful from the dispenser over the sink. Willem must have done the same thing in the men's, because when I sit next to him at the table downstairs afterwards I notice that he smells like toilet cleaner too.

We have a big fry-up breakfast in the saloon. There are three bain-maries along the bar and one of those toaster machines with the conveyer belt. It's all greasy, the cold eggs float in a mysterious grey liquid, and I don't know how fresh their oil is, but the bacon is good.

The barman turns on the racing channel. He's literally hosing down the floor behind the bar. Bryce Cole is staring at the screen, watching the racing from overseas that was on overnight, so it's just race after race after race, with no lead-up or talking or anything. In the ad break Bryce Cole takes the race guide out of the paper.

It rattles as he flicks it, making the page stand up straight. Then suddenly he holds it up close to his nose, frowning. He puts the paper down on the table.

'Romance Me is running today,' he begins.

Will helps himself to another serve. I'm quite worried about how many baked beans he's having. He's chanting 'protein for my body' in an Arnold Schwarzenegger accent. It's ten o'clock already. I'm not sure what we're doing for the rest of the day, but I make a mental note not to sit next to Will.

Bryce Cole continues. 'The sire was a colt named New Romance – this must have been about six, maybe seven years ago now. Sensational animal. Incredible breeding. He sold for a record amount as a yearling at the Magic Millions. Everyone was watching him. Then he falls in his first race and fractures his shoulder. Tragic! So the owner rests him for twelve months. Complete rest. Hand-walked every day, bathed in milk and rose petals, the whole bit. Then after a year he's declared fit to serve. He covers his first mare. The fracture's not healed. He dies on the job. Can you believe it?' Bryce Cole shakes his head. 'Everyone's in uproar. But!' Bryce Cole holds up his finger. 'The mare's in foal.' He taps the race guide. 'This is the filly. Romance Me. Started slowly. They didn't even barrier trial her until she was three. Everyone's forgotten about the whole thing, but this is it!
This
is the big one.'

I shake my head. They're
all
'the big one', aren't they? I turn to Will to roll my eyes, but he's standing there, silent, with his plate of
prrrotein for hiss bardy
and he's buying it!

'How much money do you have left, Mum?' Will asks.

She's rifling through her wallet. 'A little over four hundred. You really think it will win?'

'I've been waiting for this horse for seven years!' Bryce Cole says, his eyes alight.

'And how much would we get if we put the whole lot on?' Will asks.

Bryce Cole scratches his chin. 'Let me see . . . times by . . . hmm – six thousand four hundred.'

'Okay. And how much will we get if this horse loses?' I ask. 'Zero. Zilch. Doughnut.'

The cleaning man saunters in. He has a rag over his shoulder, an apron with a bottle of Ajax poking out the top of the pocket and he's rubbing his hands with a Chux. He's a million years old and bow-legged.

'We got oursells a dead-un,' he tells the barman in a drawl.

I dig Will in the ribs. 'Did you hear that?' I whisper. 'Did he say a
dead-un?
He said a dead-un! Oh my God! It's the eck, eck, eck man!'

I can't believe I actually heard someone die.

I saw a dead person once on the side of the road. There had been an accident, and there was a body on an ambulance gurney all wrapped up in a white sheet. We were all in the car together – our whole family – and nobody said anything. Mum was driving. She had to concentrate, because they'd set out witches' hats and three lanes were all merging into one.

If Tanner and Sapph were here they'd want to hold a seance. They were so big on supernatural stuff. Sapph was in love with John Edward, even though when he talks it looks as though somebody else's lips have been superimposed on his face.

'Six
thousand?'
Mum repeats. She starts flipping notes onto the table.

'What shall we do in the meantime?' Bryce Cole glances towards the poker machines in the corner.

'No way!' I say, standing up. 'Did you hear what he said? Somebody
died.
I can't stay here!'

'We can go to the park,' Bryce Cole suggests.

Around the corner there is a park next to the railway line. It has massive palm trees in a row and a cement path winding through the middle. A few of those dirty, grey birds with the long beaks slouch around the bin. Bryce Cole lays out overlapping sheets of his newspaper on the ground and we sit on them as though it's a picnic rug. Mum has her legs curled up under her. She lifts up her face to drink in the sun and she has a little smile on her face as if she's on some beach holiday. Bryce Cole lies down. He interlinks his fingers over his chest and dozes.

To pass the time I send texts to Declan, explaining how somebody died and we left the scene, which will look suspicious, and now we're waiting in the park till it's time to spend our very last money in one go on a stupid horse, and when we get back to the pub all the CSI guys will be there, and we'll be taken away for questioning.

Come over,
he texts.

Yeah, right, how am I going to do that? Walk?

Remembering my domino theory from last night, I ask Declan if he's talked to his mum yet. That will work even better! If Declan tells her about the affair, she can run screaming from the house, and then after my mum loses all our money we can go over there to stay, and I won't even be the messenger. Not that Declan's mother can have a much lower opinion of me. Assuming we don't get arrested for killing the old man.

Declan hasn't talked to her. That's too bad.

I watch Bryce Cole lying there on the newspaper. I wonder what will happen to him after this is over, because he's not coming with us to our new life. I can't see Declan's dad wanting Bryce Cole around. Besides, there is no way Mum would be friends with him if she wasn't desperate. He's like the friend you make when you're on holidays and never see again. He's the girl you sit next to when you picked a dumb elective class. He's the opposite of a fair-weather friend. He's a cyclone-weather friend.

Half an hour before the race we go back to the Plough and Peanut. There are no CSI guys. Mum lays out all her fifties on the table. I'm relieved to see the corners of a red and a blue note still in her wallet as she slips it back into her handbag.

Bryce Cole places the bet with the barman. Then we wait. Mum orders a glass of wine. Everyone's staring at the television. The car keys are in the middle of the table. I place my hand over them.

A guy in an ambulance uniform comes in the front door of the pub with a gurney. He's here to pick up the body.

'Oh my God, he's going to bring a dead body right through here!' I say. 'A dead body!'

I assume that it will be wrapped up like the body on the side of the road. I kind of hope that it isn't, because I want to see it. I tell myself that I want to pay my respects, given that I was probably the last person who ever had a thought about Eck Eck Man, even if it was a mean thought, but really I'm just a busybody. Also, I want to tell Declan that I saw the dead body, and I know he'll ask very detailed questions.

As the guy pulls the gurney up the stairs it makes a clinking, rattling noise. I lean back on my stool, but I can't see it.

'Shh! Here we go,' Bryce Cole says. The barman turns up the volume. They're pushing the horses into the starting gates. Mum wriggles on her stool. Her eyes are glittery.

On the television the starting gates swing open and the horses bound out.

'Away. Chan Caesar out quickly, Suziewantsa Grey up near the fence, then Go Bravo, Romance Me getting in behind them, Chinchilli Tilly, Bikabunda, Miss Linky and here comes Furious George as they settle in. Romance Me tucks into the rail.'

'Go, you bastard!' Bryce Cole shouts.

'Run!' shouts Mum.

I wrap my fingers around the keys and slide them into my lap. Nobody notices.

'They come around the turn, Bikabunda down the outside, Suziewantsa Grey has broken through, Furious George stays with him. Romance Me forced wide. Then Bikabunda, Go Bravo, and Chan Caesar drops to the tail of the field. Romance Me leaps forward and takes the lead.'

'Run!' Mum has her fists bunched up as if she's a boxer.

I stand up and edge towards the door, pushing it open.

'Across the back of the course they go. Romance Me two lengths ahead but Furious George is catching her. Then Suziewantsa Grey. Bikabunda, Go Bravo presses on, goes around the outside, Romance Me still leads but Suziewantsa Grey is . . .'

The door swings closed behind me. I jog to the car park. There's an ambulance in the driveway but I'm sure I can squeeze past it.

In the car my heart is hammering in my chest. I practise the stop and go pedals before I start the car. I turn the key and sit there for a moment chanting inside my head.
Right go. Left stop.

It's easy. I can do this. I did it before. I probably drove further before.

Will opens the passenger door, startling me. 'Where are you going?'

I haven't had a chance to tell him about Mum and Declan's dad. I quickly fill him in.

'Shit!' he says. 'What did she say?'

'She didn't say anything.'

'So it might not be true.'

'Are you coming or not?'

Will slides into the passenger seat and slams the door.

'Don't you think it makes sense? You know, the whole car-pooling thing? How they were always home late?' I ask Will.

I haven't had a chance to be mad about that yet, but I am now. Before we were even povvos Mum stopped cooking for us – or at least collecting our takeaway orders. As far as I'm concerned, feeding your children really is the least you can do for them. Telling them that their hair is shiny and that they have a pleasant singing voice doesn't really make up for that.

Will sets his jaw. He wants the dad of Mum's baby to be our dad. He wants everything to go back to the way it was before.

I put the car into reverse.

'Don't you think I should be driving?' Will says.

There are no other cars in the car park, so it's easy to swing around, although as we head towards the ambulance Will feels the need to direct me. 'You're right. Heaps of room on this side.' I inch the car down the driveway.

'Wait, wait, WAIT!' Will screams. 'There's a pole.'

'Why didn't you say before?'

'I didn't see it before. You need to go right, go right. More. More.'

I'm looking out Will's window, looking for the pole. I can't see it because it's below the window. I stretch up, trying to look over the side and when I turn around I'm nose in to the ambulance. I thump my foot on the brake.

'You're going to have to get out,' I tell Will.

He climbs out and squeezes around the front of the car. 'Okay, go back, go back!'

I put the car in R and creep backwards.

'STOP!'

Now I'm nose in to the ambulance and bumper in to the wall of the Plough and Peanut. 'Dammit!'

'Where are we going anyway?' he asks.

I explain to Will about my plan to tell Declan's mum and how she will run screaming from the house.

'You think they're still in a relationship?'

I remember the spider-look on Declan's dad's face when she hugged him after he brought her home from hospital. But that face he pulled didn't necessarily mean it was over between them, did it? Maybe she was stepping on his toe? She could have had bad breath.

Around the corner comes the gurney with the dead body strapped to it. The ambo can't get to the back of his ambulance with the dead body because Bryce Cole's car is in the way. 'Is she stuck, mate?' he asks.

'Yeah,' Will says in his deep, old-enough-to-drive voice. 'Dunno what she was trying to do.'

Traitorous mofo!

'Do you want me to have a go, love?' The ambo calls out to me.

'Thanks.' I take my foot off the brake and open the door. The car is still in reverse. The car hits the Plough and Peanut. 'Oops!'

The ambo thinks I'm an idiot. He pushes the gurney towards Will. Will holds it by the rail on the side. He's holding on to a dead body and he's not even looking at it.

The ambo gets in. He does about a hundred-point turn. He's got it straight and then he drives forward, smiling at me. The ambo thinks I'm hot. A hot idiot.

'Stop, stop, STOP!' Will calls out, but it's too late. There's a loud crunch as the ambo hits the pole with Bryce Cole's car. He rolls the car back a bit. He's sitting up high in the driver's seat, trying to see what he's hit. Will lets go of the gurney and it rolls forward, down the other side of Bryce Cole's car. I can hear the metallic screech as it slides along the metal.

'Oops!' I say, grabbing the gurney. It's heavier than I imagined. I can't help myself. I poke the body through the sheet. It's cool, and firm, but at the same time rubbery, like a big ham.

'Geez! I'm sorry, sweetheart!' The ambo climbs out of the car to inspect the damage.

'That's fine!' I tell him, smiling back. 'I really am in a bit of a hurry, so I'll take over now.'

As I slip into the driver's side, I hear a voice from the back door of the Plough and Peanut.

'JB? Are you guys out here?' Then a pause. 'Where the hell is my car?'

'Get in, Will!' I hiss.

'I should give you my number – for insurance,' the ambo says.

From the thumping sound I can tell Bryce Cole is taking the steps two at a time.

I carefully put the car in D and head down the driveway.

'Jenna-Belle!' Bryce Cole hurtles down the driveway behind us. His face is purple.

There's a gap in the traffic. 'Go! Go! Go!' Will shouts.

I press the accelerator and the car bursts forward, ka-thumping over the kerb. I swing the steering wheel wildly and the tyres squeal. Once I get the car straight I punch Will in the arm. 'Don't yell stuff!'