Girl Next Door (13 page)

When the club closes we find ourselves on the footpath of a main street lined with closed shops. We walk past a saddlery and a shop that advertises 'Bait and Ammo'. We must be way, way west. Perhaps Wyoming . . . in 1868.

There are some kids on the other side of the street. They have a wheelbarrow, and are taking it in turns to pitch each other out of it. The three of us bunch up together and walk faster. Around the corner is a KFC. We walk towards the light, but it's closed too.

We walk past a knick-knack shop. There's a pile of dirt and wilting potted flowers strewn on the ground out the front, which explains the wheelbarrow.

Up ahead there's a bus shelter. Inside, I lean my head against the poster, crossing my arms over my chest against the cold.

Willem walks backwards into the empty street. He's watching for a bus.

'Where will we . . .?' I start.

'Into the city,' Mum interrupts. 'There'll be more places open there.'

I take out Declan's phone and stare at it. 'There must be someone we can ring. What about those friends of yours who lived in Paddington? The Fredricks? Was that their name? Or the Perrys in Balmain.'

'I called everyone there was to call long, long before this,' Mum says quietly.

I close my eyes, trying not to shiver. My toes are going to sleep, so I stomp my feet. What is it about forever and buses?

'Let's play Joke Jeopardy,' I suggest. 'I'll start. The punch line is "a carrot".'

'What's orange and sounds like a parrot?' Will guesses. We've played that one before. 'Okay, "To get to the other slide".'

'Why did the chicken cross the . . . playground?' I ask.

'That's an easy one.' Will grins. 'I know! "Because they'd be bagels".'

I'm thinking. Something to do with dogs? I hear an engine and open my eyes, but it's just a truck. 'I give in.'

'Why don't seagulls go to the bay?' He laughs.

'That's dumb,' I say, yawning. 'All right . . .'

'"Burple!"' Will interrupts. He bounces up and down on the spot, probably to keep warm, but also because he's really getting into it.

'I don't know – what colour is my brother?' I suggest.

'"A private tooter",' he says, chuckling.

'That makes no sense!' I complain.

'No, it's a new one. You were being too slow. Can you guess it?'

A man walks towards us in the gloom. He has his hands thrust deep in his pockets and his chin dipped into his jacket. We stay silent until he has passed. A taxi creeps along the road. The driver looks at us through the passenger window, but Will shakes his head, and the taxi speeds away.

'You want to have a go, Mum?' I ask.

'I'm thinking.' She leans her head back against the Perspex with her eyes closed. 'Okay. The punch line is "Only one, but it takes ten visits".'

'What is a . . .' I start.

'No, it's a light bulb one,' Will says. 'How many somethings to change a light bulb.'

'Something about a doctor?' I offer. 'I give up.'

'How many light bulbs does it take to change a chiropractor,' Mum says.

Will and I giggle. 'Don't you mean the other way around?'

'I said it the other way around,' she says.

'No, you didn't!'

'What are you talking about? I know how to play this game.'

'Never mind,' I say.

Finally a bus pulls in. It's empty. Will and I climb the steps and choose a seat. Mum pays the driver with a handful of small change.

'Okay, one more. The answer is, "I didn't".'

Neither Will nor Mum says anything for ages. I think they've stopped playing when Will says, 'That's not fair. It's too open. There's no way we can get it.' He's sitting with his back against the window and his legs stretched out across the seat.

'Wanna hear the joke?' I ask, smiling.

'Tell us,' Mum says. She's closed her eyes again. Her head rocks gently from side to side as the bus moves. The driver slows down, swerving in towards the kerb, but none of the passengers at the stop wave it in, so he turns back into the road without stopping.

'Okay, there's this vampire bat, right? And he's been out hunting and he comes in late and he has blood all over his face, and the other bats come over and they say, "Where did you get all that blood?" and he says, "Rack off! I just want to go to sleep." They keep hounding him, "Where did you get it? Where did you get it?" So eventually he takes them out and they fly along for ages, and then the bat says to the others, "Do you see that tree over there?"'

Will looks at me, waiting, and then he starts to laugh. '"I didn't." Ha! Ha! That's a good one, JB.'

No one ever called me JB before Bryce Cole. I wonder if it's going to stick?

We head down the ramp and onto the motorway. I remember this part from when I caught the bus before. There are big concrete slabs on either side of the road. Ahead there are concrete overpasses crisscrossing the way. I'm so tired that my bones ache, and my eyes are scratchy.

I pull out Declan's mobile and turn it on to check the time. Ten past two. The phone beeps, telling me I have a message. I dial the message retrieve number and listen.

Jenna-Belle, this is your father. I spoke to Declan just now. I was hoping you would be here. I wanted to . . .
Then there is a gap where the message breaks up . . .
See me in school holidays if I moved there. Well, it's . . .
More breakup.
Your mother would have to . . .
Another gap . . .
And neither of you are going to like that, but I think we can make it work. It's probably best if we don't live together, given the circumstances, but . . .
Static
. . . To give back the rental car this afternoon, so I'll be catching a train . . .
Another break
. . . We can talk about it in person.
There is another gap, but this time it's Dad, because his nose whistles. Finally he says,
I
made a mistake, sweetheart. Please forgive me.

It's just after three when we climb off the bus on George Street. We walk a few blocks until we find a coffee shop that's open. We slide into a booth at the back.

'How much money do you have left?' I ask. Mum reaches into her pocket. She pulls out a handful of notes and coins. She's making little piles on the tabletop.

Watching her, I decide that you should never have to count out all the money you have in the world in small change.

'Thirty-eight dollars seventy-five.'

The coffee boy comes over with his notepad. Mum orders a tea for herself and two hot chocolates. After I drink mine I have trouble keeping my eyes open. We take it in turns to lie along the far side of the booth and nap. It feels so good to close my eyes. I'm sure I won't be able to sleep with the hissing of the coffee machine, the cars outside, and people talking so loudly as they walk past, but next thing Mum is nudging me under the table with her foot. I sit up just as the coffee boy comes over.

'Something else?' he asks. Behind him the light through the doorway is greying.

Mum orders another tea.

It's Will's turn to sleep. I sit next to Mum, spinning my pinch pot on the tabletop.

Mum grabs it. 'Stop it. Or you'll drop it and then . . .'

Then I will have nothing in the whole world except the clothes that I'm standing in – and they stink.

I slide out and collect a newspaper from the table by the door. Mum and I split it. I've managed to get the employment section. I turn the pages half-heartedly until I see Mum has the section with the crossword and the sudoku, so I abandon my half and read over her shoulder.

The coffee boy brings us a pen. He slides two cappuccinos across the table.

'We didn't order these,' Mum tells him.

He waves his hand dismissively. 'It's on the house.'

'You are too kind,' Mum says. I think she's going to burst into tears, but she holds it together.

I scoop the chocolate off the top with the spoon and Mum drinks the coffee.

When the streetlights turn off it gets busier. A woman with her hair braided into two long plaits rushes in, hangs up her coat and wraps an apron around her waist. She pushes through the saloon doors behind the coffee machine, and soon plates of bacon and eggs, and toasted sandwiches appear. The waiter takes them to the tables. It smells great and my stomach rumbles.

A lady sits in the booth next to us with a plate of Turkish toast and mushrooms. She sprinkles the top with cracked pepper and then cuts the toast into little wedges. She presses the mushrooms onto the wedges with her fork and then eats the toast with her hands. Some of the mushrooms spill over the edge. The woman lurches over her plate to catch the stray bits.

Mum elbows me. 'Stop staring!'

As soon as she says it I realise that I've been leaning over the table with my mouth hanging open.

Will stirs. When he sits up his hair is all sticky-up and he has a seam down his cheek from where he's been lying on the edge of the cushion.

We give up on the sudoku and Mum flicks through the rest of the paper.

'What time is it?' Mum asks.

I switch on Declan's phone. 'Just after eight.'

She heads off to the QVB to see if the toilets are open yet.

While she's gone, Will and I make up a game. When a new customer comes in we guess how much money they have left in the whole world.

'That guy took a redundancy package and his mother just died.' Will nods towards a paunchy middle-aged man in a navy suit. 'He paid off his house and bought himself an Audi. He still has thirty thousand to invest in shares, but he's waiting for the right moment.'

'No, he has a company car,' I say. 'He bought the Audi for his wife. His daughter started a double degree at Macquarie this year and he's paying for that up-front.'

I watch a woman in her twenties with straight brown hair and a funky dress. 'She's just finished her degree. She still lives in a share house, but she's earning real money for the first time. She's saving up for a new car. She has eight thousand already.'

'She
did
have eight thousand, but she went to Fiji over the summer with her uni girlfriends, and she spent the rest on shoes,' Will tells me. 'She has three hundred in her account, tops.'

'That guy still lives at home,' I whisper. The thin young man jingles change in his trouser pocket. He wears a tie and has his sleeves rolled up, but he's wearing red suede sneakers. 'He's single, but he's been in love with the same girl in the office for ages. He's too scared to ask her out. He goes out drinking with his mates all weekend. He has about three thousand in the bank.'

Will shakes his head. 'He doesn't drink. He wants to be a professional triathlete, but he's not quite good enough. He dreams of owning a yacht one day and doing a round-the-globe trip, but he has an old car that breaks down all the time and eats up all his savings.'

When Mum comes back she looks better. She's washed her face, but her eyes are still puffy. Then it dawns on me that she didn't sleep. She watched over us instead. In my head I see images from all the wildlife programs of mother big cats – leopards and cheetahs watching out while their kittens rest. It makes me teary just thinking about it.

My mum
is
quite cat-like. Even through all of this she's maintained her dignity. I have only seen inaction – a kind of numbing denial. But maybe she knew what was going on all along?

Maybe she was copping it on the chin?

I rub my eyes and pick up the paper that I abandoned before. I flick through, and then I see the ad. I can't believe it. I lay it down flat.

'Hey! Listen to this: "Long-term, live-in manager wanted for Wombat Crossing boutique holiday cabins. Check in and out, answer phone enquiries, take reservations, cleaning. Live on site, free accommodation. Would suit family or couple. Easy drive to local schools and shopping centre. Small remuneration package."' I stare at Mum and Will. 'It's perfect!'

Will snatches up the paper. 'Awesome! It would be like being on holiday all the time!'

Mum's wearing that face again. She would hate it. I know she would, but it would be a home, and we'd all get used to it. It would be quiet, and I could go to a normal school, and be a normal person with a roof. We could stay in one place and be a team.

'This is not the sort of job you take on a whim,' she begins.

I pull out Declan's phone and thrust it into her hand. 'Ring them!' I say. 'Ring them now!'

'They have long-drop toilets, Jenna-Belle. Remember?'

'But it's a place to stay!' Will argues. 'I'll help out, I promise. I could do stuff before school, and on weekends. It would be ace!'

'Tell them we can start now! Today!' I implore.

Mum looks at Declan's phone. Will and I have our eyes glued on her face.

She punches the number in. She licks her lips. 'Ah yes, good morning,' she says in her smooth phone voice. 'I was just reading the paper from . . .' She flicks to the cover, and winces. 'Ah. The important thing is that I saw your ad. It leapt out at me because our family have been to Wombat Crossing on a holiday, and it was so . . . memorable.' She pauses. 'Really? Is that so? Uh-huh. Thanks.'

She drops the phone back on the table.

'Well?' I ask.

She sighs. 'They found someone already.'

At nine a new waiter arrives. The coffee boy pulls a jacket on and leaves. Nobody has asked us to leave yet, or order something else, but they will. Then what? There's only so many things you can do in the city for free.

'We can go to the art gallery,' Mum says. She's been thinking about it too. 'Would you like that?'

Will nods, but not enthusiastically. 'Maybe we could sneak in to a movie? They only check your ticket once. After that we could see two, or even three, and it would be warm in there.'

'But it would be stealing,' Mum says. 'Besides, how are we going to sneak in? The art gallery might have a video installation, which is almost like a movie. It might even be better than a movie – more meaningful.'

The look on Will's face makes me stifle a chuckle.

The mobile rings. I look at the screen before I answer. It's Declan.

'Talk quick, I only have one bar left,' I say.

'You were weird afterwards,' he says, starting in the middle of a sentence, like we always do. 'And I think it might have been what I said. I was joking, you know. It was a stupid joke, but I didn't know what to say, because it was all my dreams come true. You're my dream girl, Jenna-Belle, and some days I can't believe that you even want to talk to me – that's how perfect you are.'

I don't say anything.

'Are you there?'

'I'm here.'

'I can't believe you're going to be in a whole other country.' He sighs.

'What? I'm not going to another country.'

He laughs. 'Yeah, it's just like here except they talk funny. Do you think you'll get an accent?'

I frown. 'I don't think so!'

'I suppose you're on the train now.'

'Train?' He's lost me.

'Hey, maybe your dad could give me a job too? I could help in the kitchen. Does the place even have a kitchen?' He laughs. 'I didn't even know they had wombats in New Zealand!'

'What?'

He pauses, like he's talking to a slow child. 'Your dad. He told me yesterday all about how he applied for that job ages ago at the Wombat Hotel, or whatever it's called, and they only just rang him to say he could start right away. And then you said, "Yeah, I know. In New Zealand." But I didn't know they had wombats in New Zealand.'

I can feel all the blood draining from my face. 'Declan, I've got to go.'

My fingers are trembling when I dial the retrieve messages number, so I have to do it three times. I hold the phone up to my ear. Now that I'm sitting still – not travelling under the concrete overpasses – Dad's message is clear.

Jenna-Belle, this is your father. I spoke to Declan just now. I was hoping you would be here. I wanted to tell you that I got a job managing that place Wombat Crossing, I don't know if you remember it. You kids were happy there and I thought maybe you wouldn't mind coming to see me in school holidays if I moved there.

Suddenly, I have a pain in my throat, as if I've swallowed a tennis ball. It must show on my face because Mum says, 'What is it?'

I put my finger on my lips. 'Shh!'

Well, it's a bigger job than I realised. But I hoped . . . maybe we could all do it together. Your mother would have to do room cleaning, and some book work. You kids would have to pitch in answering phones, working in the tuckshop, and neither of you are going to like that, but I think we can make it work.

The tears are running down my face now.

It's probably best if we don't live together, given the circumstances, but there are two cabins side by side. I thought that might do us for the first little while. I have to give back the rental car this afternoon, so I'll be catching a train down there tomorrow morning at nine-twenty from Central. Maybe the three of you could meet me there. We could all travel down together and then we can talk about it in person. I made a mistake, sweetheart. Please forgive me.

Beep. End of messages. Press 1 to listen to this message again, press 2 to save
. . .

I press 1 and hand the phone to Mum.

I watch Mum's face as she listens. Her face is red. She puts her hand over her mouth.

'I can't believe it,' she whispers.

'What is it?' Will yells. He leans in so he can hear too. His mouth is getting wider and wider. All of a sudden they stare at each other. Will grabs the phone out of Mum's hand and stares at the screen. 'Stupid thing's gone dead! What time is it?'

'It's after nine already!' I say.

We scramble out of our booth, pushing past customers on our way through the door. On the street the three of us run along the footpath. We have to skip and jump through the jostling pedestrians. At the traffic light Will hops up and down on the spot.

Two blocks down we can see the clock tower above Central Station. Ten past nine.

'We're never going to make it,' I moan.

We're lucky with the next lights. Will runs ahead on his long legs. Mum pants behind me.

'This is why you shouldn't smoke!' I say to her.

'I know, I know!' she puffs.

We run up the slope, past the tram. We're close to the entrance now. I tilt my head back, looking at the clock. Fourteen minutes past.

'We're not going to make it!' I gasp.

'Yes, we are!' Mum's got her second wind. She sprints past me up the hill and towards the front entrance. I lean forward and pelt after her. I haven't run so fast in years. I wonder when I stopped? My lungs are going to burst. It feels great!

Inside Mum races towards the ticket office. Out of breath she asks for one adult and two children for the nine-twenty southern train.

'There's no nine-twenty,' the man says.

'What are you talking about, you stupid man?' Mum shouts.

The ticket man shakes his head. 'I'm sorry, lady, there is no nine-twenty. There's one at twelve-ten. I can put you on that instead.'

'My husband is on that train! Don't you get it? We're in a hurry, you idiot!'

My mother is making a scene. Will and I stare at each other.

She goes on. 'It's quarter past already. You're making us miss it!'

A voice comes from behind us. It's Dad. 'Sue! I'm here. Sue!'

He has one of those tall, waxed cardboard cups with a domed plastic lid. He's standing there casually drinking from the straw.

Mum turns around. Her face goes white.

'It's my fault. I read the timetable wrong,' he says.

'Bastard!' Mum shoves him, and he has to take a step back to steady himself. 'How could you do that to me?'

Dad stares at her for a moment, then he offers her the cup. 'Slurpee?'