Girl Next Door (5 page)

It's after ten when Bryce Cole gets back.

'Did you actually go to China to collect this meal?' I ask him as he sets the plastic bags down on the bench.

He cocks an eyebrow at me. 'You should reserve your smart-alecking till after you've been fed, don't you think?'

My brother comes out of his room to eat. I imagine him being drawn by the Chinese food smell as if he's in a cartoon, where the scent is a grey, wafting line that grabs you by the nose.

Most nights we lean against the kitchen bench eating cereal, or something microwaved. Mum can't sell the microwave because it's actually built in to the cupboard. Tonight we stand around the dining room table. Mum sold the chairs. She would have sold the table too, but you have to take the legs off to get it out the door, and she's just not that handy. It feels almost as if we're a proper family except that it's Bryce Cole instead of Dad. Dad would be making us tell him about our day and then complaining about me talking with my mouth full, but Bryce Cole doesn't say anything, except after Will eyes the last spring roll, he says, 'I'll wrestle you for it.'

Will starts to size him up, and then all the lights go out.

Mum fumbles around in the kitchen drawers for a moment and then strikes a match. She stands a candle on the kitchen bench. Bryce Cole breaks up his six-pack of beer. He hands one to Mum, but she shakes her head and pats her tummy. He passes it to Will instead. Mum doesn't protest. He holds one out to me, but I wrinkle my nose. They take the beer and candles into the lounge room.

When I put the leftover Chinese in the fridge, the light doesn't come on, and I can't see, but it doesn't matter. I'm not going to knock anything over, because there's only milk, jam and margarine in there anyway.

After I've rinsed the plates I join them in the lounge room. We sit silently in a semicircle around the empty TV unit.

The last time we had a blackout was on a Saturday afternoon. Dad rang the electricity company. He said you should always be a squeaky wheel. He said to get what you want in this life you need to be proactive.

The lady from the electricity company said they had scheduled work to do and that it would only be a few hours. Dad got really mad, because he thought they should have let us know in advance. The lady from the company said that if you let people know then that just gives them something to complain about. He was purple with rage when he got off the phone and he marched around the house pointing out all the things we couldn't use.

Mum, Will and I had jumped in the pool. Dad came out every few minutes to report on the electricity not being on, but by the time we got out of the water the power was on again and Dad was flicking through the Foxtel channels, trying to pretend there was something important that he wanted to watch. He had it on BBC World News, but when he thought we weren't listening he switched over to
Everybody Loves Raymond.

Bryce Cole takes a sip of beer, and then he settles into his chair. He's not a squeaky wheel. He goes with the flow.

'Who knows a ghost story? Willem?' Mum prompts. She isn't a squeaky wheel either. She sees a glass half-full – even if it's actually an empty glass.

'I'm not telling any dumb story,' Will mumbles.

'Don't look at me,' I say quickly.

Bryce Cole is scratching the stubble on his chin again. 'Did you know there was a horse who carried almost seven kilos over his weight-for-age to win the Melbourne Cup? That was in 1930. In 1932 this same horse travelled from Australia to San Francisco by ship, and then by road eight hundred kilometres to Agua Calientes in the hot Mexican summer. Full winter coat. Runs on a dirt track, with a heel injury and steel bar shoes. Can you imagine it?'

Mum lies on the lounge listening. The candlelight makes wavering shadows on the walls. Will wraps his arms around his shins and rests his cheek on his knee. Bryce Cole takes another sip of his beer.

'This horse didn't just win. He came from last place to two lengths ahead, and clocked the track's best time.' Bryce Cole shook his head. 'Big, red thing bought for one hundred and sixty guineas. Must be the greatest athlete this country has ever seen. Can you see him in your mind's eye? Eating the track. Leaving the others in the dust. He wants to run. He'd burst his big old heart for you. Can you
imagine
it?'

I close my eyes. I can imagine the tall, ugly horse, chewing on his bit, ready to run, and it sends goose flesh up my arms.

'Yeah yeah, we learned about Phar Lap in year three,' Will says. 'That's not a ghost story.'

'Yes, it is,' Bryce Cole replies.

'How is it a ghost story?' Will scoffs.

'Phar Lap's dead, so he's a ghost,' I say.

It's gloomy inside the house. Outside there are puddles of light from the streetlights filtering through the trees, and glowing rectangles in our neighbour's houses. I sigh. The blackout is just our place, then.

After a while, Bryce Cole says, 'It's not enough to be dead. He also has to haunt us.'

Declan is sitting at his kitchen bench with his hands over his eyes. His parents are out, so I can show him the surprise I've been promising.

I'm rattling around in the fridge. It's so full that I have to take things out and rearrange them to fit it all back in again. It looks so fresh and good. I see so many things I want. I'm even eyeing off the leftovers. When I'm finished there are two tall glasses on the bench.

'Okay, you can open your eyes now.'

Declan stares at the glasses. He lifts one to his lips and takes a tiny sip. 'You mixed the beer with lemonade.'

'That, my friend,' I say with a flourish, 'is a shandy! It's a real drink that you can order at a bar. At the track today I was telling Bryce Cole about how we don't like beer and he bought me one of these. It's nice, isn't it? Nicer, anyway.'

'Yeah, but it's still the wuss's option, isn't it? It's like the grown-up version of a fire-engine.'

I stare at him and then I take the two glasses and tip them down the sink. 'You are so determined to ruin everything. You know something, Declan? You're a great big fun sponge – you suck all the good energy out of the room, and what leaks out of you is stinky, wallowing misery.'

'I'm SICK!' he yells. His hands are shaking with rage. He's blinking rapidly.

'Yeah? Well, I have some problems too, in case you hadn't noticed. Maybe once in a while
I
might be the one who needs some support!'

Declan thumps the bench with his hand. The tremor has moved up his arms. 'Okay, Jenna-Belle, how about I pay for everything when we go out somewhere? How about I just give you two or three meals a week for six months! Is that supportive enough for you?'

'It hasn't even been six months!' I shout. It probably has, though. 'Besides that's not the support I want from you. It's not money. There has to be emotions in it, or it doesn't count.'

'JUST SHUT YOUR . . .'

And then he falls off his chair onto the ground.

Of course he's faking it, but he hit his head really hard on the tiles.

'You can get up now,' I tell his fake-unconscious body. 'You think a shandy is a wussy option? Passing out to win a fight is way more pathetic than that. Declan?' He's not getting up. 'Declan? Now you're just trying to freak me out. I'm not biting.'

I take advantage of this distraction to make myself a sandwich – cheese, lettuce and pastrami. I was going to add tomato, but when I slice it I can smell that delicious sweet, acidy tomato smell, and I can't help myself. I eat it as if it was an apple.

I prop myself on the stool next to where Declan is lying and eat the sandwich. Declan's mum has bought proper bread from a bakery. It's soft in the middle and crusty on the edges.

It's the most amazing sandwich. I guess that's one good thing about being povvo. We've always had so much food in our house. I used to hang off the pantry door for ages and wouldn't see anything to eat in there unless all I had to do was open the packet. Now I can imagine a meal out of almost anything. Three months ago I wouldn't have eaten a tomato as if it was an apple. I wouldn't have considered a sandwich unless someone else made it for me. I'm beginning to wonder if Willem and I might have been a little spoilt that way.

I dig Declan in the side with my toe. He still doesn't move. Now he actually is freaking me out.

I kneel on the floor and shake him, but he's all floppy. I need to get my mum. I head for the door and in two seconds I'm through our back door. 'MUM!'

I can't find her. I run from room to room. I stop in the lounge room and look out the window. She's there on the lawn. Her hands are in her hair. There's a tow truck in the driveway, winching up Mum's car.

The screen door hits the wall as I push past it and bound down the steps.

Her face is wet with tears and her mouth is pulled into a grimace. 'They can't take my car,' she whispers. Her eyes are desperate and weary.

'Mum, I need you!' I say, shaking her arm. 'It's Declan. He's collapsed. He won't get up.'

'I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I just can't deal with this right now.' She clasps one hand over her mouth and the other rubs absently at her belly.

Bryce Cole is beside me. I didn't hear him approach. He's frowning. He has his hands on his hips. I grab his sleeve and drag him towards Declan's house.

In the kitchen he gathers Declan up in his arms as though Declan's just a little child. Bryce Cole is trying to run, but the weight drags him down so that he's hobbling. I hold the door open for him, then run ahead to his car. I open the car door and he drapes Declan across the back seat, and climbs into the driver's seat.

I'm shouting out the window as we drive away, 'Mum, ring Declan's parents! Mum!'

I can't tell if she's heard me. She's watching them tow her car away.

Grey's Anatomy
is my favourite show of all time. Everyone is gorgeous and they rush around removing bombs from people's abdomens, making love in tiny storerooms, delivering quintuplets, or doing brain surgery while exchanging witty banter and sexual innuendo. I had no idea just how many illnesses can be fixed with a quick brain operation until I watched that show. So I was looking forward to going to the hospital with Declan.

Even on
All Saints
stuff happens. But all the excitement must occur behind those big rubber doors hospitals have, because where I'm sitting nothing is happening – there's just a row of chairs in front of a TV, and a water cooler, and several old people and a few mums with toddlers. Nobody has a bomb in their abdomen. I don't see any conjoined twins. There's no amusing wordplay.

There's no shouting to be heard over the wailing of people with unusual medical conditions, or even over the storeroom lovemaking. I definitely don't see any of that. I don't think I would want to because there are no gorgeous doctors. The doctor who came to ask me about Declan was a short, Egyptian-looking, older guy with a little mo. He looked more like Hercule Poirot than McDreamy. Very disappointing.

Dr Poirot thinks that Declan is my brother and Bryce Cole is our dad. We fill in forms and he asks us some questions about Declan's collapse.

'And what had Declan been eating or drinking?'

I look at Bryce Cole, glad that my mother was too traumatised to come along. She still hasn't said anything about me going to the track, either. She's been distracted.

I tell Dr Poirot about the shandy.

He asks me if there were other symptoms that I know of, so I tell him about Declan's dry mouth, blurred vision, fatigue and weight loss. Dr Poirot nods and takes his clipboard away.

'What's wrong with him?' I call after him.

Dr Poirot stops. 'Looks like he had a hypo. Have you heard of hypoglycaemia? He would have been better off if he'd finished that shandy. I have to do more tests, but I strongly suspect your brother has diabetes.'

'Declan really is sick?'

He will be so thrilled. I'm glad it's not cancer.

Bryce Cole is reading a magazine. He looks happy. I'm wondering why he's so pleased with himself, so I ask. I shouldn't have. One of the things I liked about him the most was the fact that he didn't say anything.

Bryce Cole tells me that for his whole life what he's really wanted is to live in a big house with a beautiful wife and a pair of healthy kids. Then he shoots me this look, and it creeps me right out, because it's true. He's just slipped into Dad's place – except for the sleeping with Mum, which may come along in time. I don't know.

I turn to Bryce Cole when I'm in trouble. I hardly even think about my dad really. Bryce Cole is a hero because he gave me money to play with at the track, and he gave Mum that money to get the debt collectors off her back.

Bryce Cole has bought us.

Declan is beside himself with delight. He couldn't be happier if the doctors had told him he had Ebola. In fact, from Declan's point of view, diabetes is even better than Ebola.

I huff. 'Declan, you're not allowed to make yourself collapse all the time.'

He grins. 'Did you know I have to have injections every day?'

Declan will enjoy giving himself needles. It's painful and tragic, and at the same time a bit gross, which sums him up, really.

'Guess what else? I'm not allowed to drink beer, so I don't have to pretend to like it.'

'Goody for you.'

He wriggles in the bed, getting comfortable. He's wearing one of those blue hospital smocks and it suits him. I'm wondering if he'll be allowed to take it home. They've washed his guyliner off and he looks sicker.

Declan says, 'Now comes the part where you have to admit that you were always wrong and I was always right.'

My mouth drops open. 'That is so unfair! I have always supported you.'

He narrows his eyes. 'You humoured me, but you never truly believed. Get me some water, will you?' He holds out his plastic cup. There's a tag around his wrist with his name on it, and it freaks me out. It's a label in case he gets lost, like a dog, or in case they forget which patient he is and lop off his leg by mistake.

The water jug is on the wheelie table. Declan can reach it himself. He wiggles the cup at me anyway.

Be a doll,
I think to myself.

This is the beginning of the new era. Every day for the rest of our relationship I will have to fetch for him, and watch
Donnie Darko,
and listen to Dashboard Confessional, or Belle and Sebastian, probably all at the same time.

I fold my arms. 'What are you going to do – lapse into a coma?'

'I could, you know, at any minute.'

Bryce Cole ducks his head in through the doorway. 'C'mon, JB. Let's head off.'

'I have to go now,' I tell Declan, turning on my heel.

He wiggles his cup frantically. 'Don't forget it was your shandy that nearly killed me! Jenna-Belle? I'm really sick! Forever!'

'My shandy saved your life,' I say, and I flounce out the door. I'm new to flouncing. I like it. I'll do it more often.

On the way home Bryce Cole stops at the TAB. He leaves the radio on in the car for me to listen to.

'Five minutes,' he promises.

I wind down the window and watch him push open the glass door.

There are counters running down either side of the TAB for filling in forms, like a bank, and multiple television screens, the same as at the track. There's a betting booth behind metal bars at the end of the shop.

Bryce Cole scans the televisions for a minute and places a few bets. He leans against the bench and watches the screen. There are no chairs in there. I think that's a mistake. People would bet more if their feet weren't hurting.

I fiddle with the radio until I find a song that I like. I settle back on my headrest and close my eyes. After three songs, I look out the window again. Bryce Cole is watching the television with his arms folded. He refers to the newspaper that someone has left on the counter, then to his notebook. He fills in a betting slip, places the bet at the booth, and watches the screens.

It's weird having to wait without something to do. My dad's car had a DVD player, and before that we had Nintendo, and our iPods, and even before that Mum used to play us talking books.

The worst part was waiting in airports. Dad confiscated our iPods when we flew because Will didn't believe that an iPod would really interfere with the plane's navigation system, and so one time he did an experiment and hid it under his hoodie, and the flight attendant got on the microphone, all shirty, repeating the part of his speech about electronic devices. He said it three times before Dad realised it was Will. He was trying to make Will turn it off without anyone else seeing, but a fat, irritable businessman pressed his call-bell and dobbed. So then the whole plane watched while the flight attendant told Will off. Will smirked like a smart-arse and said, 'I couldn't hear you.'

For the rest of the flight everybody stared at Will when they walked past on their way to the loo, as if they were thinking,
That's the boy who tried to kill us all!

When we were smaller Mum used to keep us entertained by sending us into the tacky airport souvenir shop to pick out stickers. Once we landed at the other end, Will and I would collect our suitcases from the baggage carousel. When they were all collected together we were allowed to put our stickers on them. Now that I think about it, that was probably her way of getting us to do all the heavy lifting without whining.

There was this one time we went for a holiday in Mauritius, and in the resort they had an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet. You could select a platter of raw things and take it to these Mauritian dudes who would cook it for you in different marinades. It was so yum!

One of the chefs was particularly hot, and he whispered to me, 'Meet me on the tennis courts in half an hour,' and I did think about going, but instead I went to the beach and had a scalp massage. At the end the lady braided my hair into cornrows, and put a red bead on the end of each one. It looked really cool and I was going to wear it to school, but it was a bit ratty by the time we got home.

Anyway, I'd been eating seafood solidly for about four days, and then I decided to try something else. I picked this curry and I was eating it, going, 'Mmm. I'm not sure what this is, but the flesh is really tender. It's such an interesting texture.' I encouraged everyone to try it – even a South African couple at our table who we'd never met before, telling them it must be some special Mauritian delicacy. Then Willem tried it. He said to me, 'Der, Jenna-Belle, it's chicken.'

I'm blushing even now as I remember it.

Bryce Cole has been longer than five minutes. I take the keys out of the ignition and climb out of the car. I knock on the window. When he looks up I tap my wrist. He nods and holds up his hand. Five more minutes. He turns back to the television.

Slipping the keys into my pocket, I stroll up the street a little way. There's a takeaway shop, and I'd like to buy a drink, but I don't have any money. I look at the houses in the window of the real estate agent. When I reach the end of the strip of shops I head back to the TAB again. I wave at Bryce Cole through the window. He comes to the door.

'What?'

'What do you mean "what"? You said five minutes about forty-five minutes ago! I'm hungry. I want to go home.'

He tugs a crumpled twenty out of his hip pocket and hands it to me. 'Get yourself some hot chips or something.'

I go back to the takeaway shop and order enough chips for all of us, and a two-litre Coke. I sit on the little plastic chair and read a
Woman's Day
from the year I was born. There's an article about how Tom Cruise is a Scientologist. I double-check the date on the cover.

When the chips are cooked I walk back to the TAB and indicate to Bryce Cole that I'm waiting in the car. He nods.

After five more minutes I start eating the chips. They have chicken salt on them, so they're a weird artificial yellow colour. It must be addictive. They're crack-chips. I can't stop stuffing them into my mouth three at a time, and then washing them down with the cold fizzy Coke, which I drink straight from the bottle.

Fifteen minutes later I've eaten most of the chips that I ordered for four people and at least a litre of drink. I think I'm going to throw up, and now I'm busting to go to the loo too.

It's been two hours, at least. I head back across the road and rap on the window of the TAB again. Bryce Cole nods and holds up his hand. Five more minutes.

This time when I go back to the car I lay my hand on the horn.

Pwwwaaaarrrrrrrrrpppppp.

I startle an old lady who's walking past. People in the street are staring at me. The chip guy comes out of his shop to see what's going on, wiping his hands on his apron. Bryce Cole's car has a really loud, obnoxious horn. I grin.

Pwarp, pwarp, pwwwarrrrp, pwarpity, pwarp, pwarp, ppwwwaaarrrrrrppp.

Bryce Cole runs out of the TAB. 'What the hell are you doing?'

'I want to go home now!' I shout back.

He blinks. 'This is my living, Jenna-Belle. If I don't bet I don't win and if I don't win you don't eat. Okay?

'I already ate!' I complain. 'It's been a big day for me. My best friend is in hospital, remember?' I fold my arms. 'If I could drive I would have stolen your car about an hour ago.'

Bryce Cole looks back at the TAB wistfully, and then he opens my door. 'Get out then.'

'What do you mean, get out?'

'You can drive home. It's an auto. You just press and steer.'

I clamber across to the driver's side. 'I don't even have my Ls,' I tell him as I adjust my seat.

Bryce Cole drops into the passenger seat. 'We'll take the back streets. Driving is easy. The pedal on the right is go and the other one is stop. Put your foot on stop.'

I press the brake with my left foot.

'No, you only use the right foot. Keep that left one flat on the floor.'

He shows me P for park and D for drive and R for reverse. 'That's all you need to know. Okay, check your mirror. Flick the blinker down. Good. Anything coming? No? Put the car in drive. Here, I'll do it for you. Now take your foot off stop and hover it over go. Just hover!'

The car starts rolling forward. I twist the steering wheel away from the kerb and into the road.

'Stop, stop, STOP!' Bryce Cole is thumping his right foot where the brake would be on his side, if there was one.

I put my foot on the brake again, and then gasp as a car whizzes past from behind us.

'You need to look in all directions at once,' Bryce Cole tells me, as though that makes sense. 'Okay, off we go.'

I squeeze the accelerator and the car jerks forward. I can feel each lump and bump in the road through the steering wheel. My heart is beating really fast. I'm trying to look everywhere at once. A car comes along the other way and I hold my breath till it passes.

'Good, now turn right. Put your blinker on.'

'Right? Across the road? Are you insane? There's a car behind me!'

Bryce Cole watches as I drive straight past the right-hand turn. 'Okay, maybe we'll try the next one . . . Or the next one. Listen, Jenna-Belle, you will have to turn right eventually, or we'll end up in Alice Springs. Put your blinker on. The car behind will cope, I promise.'

'Okay, I'm doing it!' I say, flicking on the right blinker, and then putting my foot on the brake. We inch to a stop. I look in the rear-view mirror. My eyes get wider as the car behind me rushes up and then swerves around us. 'I can't believe people can actually talk to each other and drive at the same time!'

'You'll get used to it.'

I turn the wheel and the car swings around. This street is quieter and I relax.

'Give it some juice, JB! I could run home faster,' Bryce Cole says.

I look at the speedo. I'm doing 20 km/h, but at least I feel in control. 'Go on, then. Run home. I dare you!'

He opens the passenger door and I scream. He laughs at me.

I take a left turn and then a right. I drive through my first traffic lights, squealing. Bryce Cole thinks it's hysterical.

Soon we reach our street and I pull into the driveway, putting the car in P while Bryce Cole pulls on the handbrake.

Bryce Cole is looking at our house's dark windows. He's checking out the parked cars on our street. I guess he's hoping nobody saw him letting me drive.

'Actually, I've got some things to do. I might just drop you off, okay? Take those stinky chips with you.' He hands me the white paper package of cold chips.

We both climb out of the car. He walks around the bonnet and then settles into the driver's seat and I head towards the front door.

'Hey, JB,' he says through the open window, 'lock all the doors and windows, will you? And don't answer the door, unless you know who it is, okay? Look out the window first.'

'I'm not five years old. I know about stranger danger,' I scoff.

Still, when I get inside, the house seems very shadowy and hollow. We still have no power so the answering machine is dead. There's a note from Mum on the bench and I squint to read it in the gloom.

Gone to hosp.

She must have gone with Declan's parents. That's nice and neighbourly of her.

In the same spirit I head over to feed Chairman Meow, but Declan's house is locked. The cat appears from around the corner, whining, so I bring him back to our place instead.

I take my dad's old t-shirt out of the back of my cupboard and put it on over my clothes. I lie on the lounge in the dark and wonder what to do, while The Chairman kneads dough on my belly. I can't watch TV, or play on the computer. I can't go next door and see what Declan's up to. Will isn't here. Annie's not either.

Soon I'm bored, so I wander back down the hallway. I peek into Bryce Cole's room. He has one open cardboard box in the middle of the room, and a sleeping bag stretched out on the floor near the window. That's it. There's a built-in wardrobe in his room. I look in there, but there's nothing in it. One box of stuff – that's all he has. Except for his car.

The phone rings.

'Is this Jenna-Belle?'

'Yes.'

'I'm calling from the hospital. Your brother's here and he asked me to ring you.'

I'm about to explain that Declan isn't my brother, but the woman continues. 'Your mum has just come out of the operating theatre now.'

'My
mum?' This lady must have me confused with someone else.

'She's okay, but I'm afraid she's lost the baby.'