Inbetween Days (30 page)

‘I've run out of money,' I said.

‘I'm not worried about the money.'

‘I'm not worried about the ghosts.' I got out of the taxi and let the familiar pulsing beat settle into my bones. ‘People only disappear in Mobius if they want to.'

He crossed himself again. The taxi idled in the truck stop until I turned the bend, and even then I think he was still sitting there.

I trudged along Main Street, matching my steps to the familiar forest beat. A choppy breeze picked up dead leaves from the gutter and whipped them into whirlies; outside the bakery Barb Tuckey and Terri Walsh clutched menus and held on to their hats. Terri was the follower and Barb was the leader and together they were all shit and no sugar, so Ma said.

‘All right, Jacklin?' Terri said. ‘Don't you look like the weary traveller.'

‘I'm fine, thanks. I'm just headed back home.'

I went to leave but Barb Tuckey put her hand on my arm. ‘It's not right,' she said. ‘We've been spreading the word. Alby will not be getting our business until he sets things right. We look after our own.'

‘The sooner he comes to his senses, the better off we'll all be,' Terri agreed, and pointed her finger. ‘Since that one took over, the roadhouse has gone to hell.'

I stopped. ‘What do you mean?' I followed the finger and saw Astrid, all legs and billowing skirt, attempting to hold down items of stock as the wind peeled them away and tossed them onto the street. It looked as if she had half the store on the footpath. Even from where we were, we heard her swearing and spitting hair.

‘Hips like a harlot,' Terri said.

Barb nodded. ‘Mouth like a truckie.'

‘I have to go. I'll see you later.'

My bad temper returned. I realised you can't have a life-changing experience, waltz back into town and have folks notice, as if you were wearing a pair of new shoes. Ten years from now, Barb and Terri would be waiting for their scones and tea, waiting for their husbands to haul in from the paddock, waiting for the outsider to put a foot wrong.

I started to cross the street so I wouldn't have to pass Bent Bowl Spoon. I kept my head down. My toes were still crusted with fine sand and the tops of my feet were sunburnt. A couple of tiny, floaty white spheres got caught underfoot.

I looked up. More were coming, thousands, tumbling and dancing, spinning in flurries and taking flight over rooftops. I held out my hand and tried to catch them. A few stuck to my skin and dangled from my eyelashes. I felt like I was inside a Christmas snow dome. Astrid was emptying the flattened beanbags from the lunch room into the council bin next to the roadhouse. It was a styrofoam bean blizzard.

‘I hope you're going to clean that up,' Terri yelled.

‘Disgraceful,' Barb called. ‘It's littering. That would have to be a five hundred dollar fine.'

Mrs Gates came out of the salon and clapped her hand over her mouth. Down the street a few punters holding pints wandered out of the pub to watch the beans roll past.

Barb and Terri abandoned their table, marched up to Astrid and let loose a gobful of abuse.

Astrid opened her mouth to fire back but she couldn't get a word in.

I stood in the middle of the road—trying not to laugh at the two women, sprinkled with white beans, bristled up and spitting venom—willing Astrid to stand her ground. The wind blew, her skirt ballooned, but she didn't bother trying to push it down. She dropped the bag and put up her hands as if to protect herself.

The beans were almost all gone now, just a few stragglers trapped in the gutter or caught in the trees. The snowstorm had lasted less than a minute.

I crossed the street and stood on the opposite footpath, staring at the wreck of Bent Bowl Spoon, the leaning stacks of diamond tiles resting against the side of the building. I could count them all right now, if I wanted to. Or I could accept that I saw things differently now from how I had seen them seven years ago. I just got stuck. Jeremiah was right.

Mrs Gates shook her head and went back inside.

Barb plucked beans from her cleavage and threw them, along with some more choice words, at Astrid, as if they were stones.

‘Leave her alone,' I said.

Terri shot me a glance but Barb's mouth was still running and she didn't hear.

‘Shut up,' I said. My voice carried clear across the street but I was trying not to laugh. I wanted snow; I got snow. Nothing was turning out the way it was supposed to, but maybe I had to change my expectations or just go around being disappointed all the time.

Barb's head swivelled slowly. ‘What did you say?' she said, her eyes bulging.

‘I said shut up.' And some of the rage under my ribs was gone. ‘Let it snow.'

Alby opened the front door of Bent Bowl Spoon and stuck his head out. ‘What's going on?'

Barb and Terri retreated, muttering and shaking their heads.

Astrid lifted her chin. She bent down, picked up another beanbag and unzipped it. A slow, glorious smile spread across her face and she gave me a wink, snapped the bag like a wet sheet and let the beans loose on the wind. She kept shaking the bag, until it was empty.

I walked into the blizzard. ‘How's Adam?' I stopped in front of her.

‘He starts school next week.'

‘So you're staying in Mobius, then?'

Astrid looked uncomfortable. ‘I've said a lot of things I don't mean. And it's not like I have anyplace else to go.' She fixed me with a stare. ‘You're lucky, you know.'

‘Lucky?' I screwed up my nose.

‘Yeah. You belong.' She reached out and put her hand on my chest. ‘Dare I ask about this?'

‘Stricken. But still beating.'

‘Well…if you ever want to talk about it.' She folded the bag into a tight bundle. ‘Jack? What happened to us?'

I looked down at my feet. ‘I don't even know.'

‘Trudy told me to stop hanging out with you.'

My head jerked up. ‘She told you what? When?'

‘Back when you were still working in the roadhouse. Something about a special place in hell for me.' She smiled and held up her palms. ‘Don't get mad.'

I thought about how Ma had gone out of her way to say the same thing to Trudy, and I wasn't mad. I
did
belong.

‘Well, I'd better get back to work.' Astrid gestured at the mess on the street.

‘Still modernising, I see.'

‘Yeah. Sometimes you have to make a big fucking mess before you can start over,' she said.

Right then, I decided that Astrid was some kind of genius.

Homecoming. Coming home. I hadn't been gone that long or that far away, but I had an inkling of what Trudy must have felt the day she came back: a strange mixture of nerves and resignation. Home isn't where the heart is at all—it's where you can bunker down with your regrets without paying rent. I had nothing left to count but mistakes.

My tyre swing was dangling from one chain. The other chain lay in a snake on the ground. The second tyre was missing. Across the street, Meredith Jolley was sitting on her front verandah, her legs bare and her feet hanging over the edge. Jeremiah's Ford was parked in the driveway in front of the Barbie car. My stomach dropped away.

Using both hands, Meredith gestured for me to come over.

I crossed but stayed on the footpath, waiting for her to stop pretending and stab me through the heart.

‘How are you?' she said.

‘I'm good.'

‘Sit.' She moved over to make space. ‘Stay awhile. Let's talk.' She watched my expression carefully. ‘He's not here, Jack.'

I breathed out. And because it had been a long time since anyone had invited me to stay, I sat down.

‘I liked your eggs,' I said to avoid other talk.

She smiled dreamily. ‘I crochet now. Some might call it making knots but it keeps me busy.' She looked down at her hands and spread her fingers. They shook ever so slightly. ‘The medication keeps my mind still, but not these. They're always twitchy.'

‘So you feel better?'

She groaned. ‘What's better? Can I function? Can I cook a meal without forgetting there's a pot on the stove? Yes. I promised Jeremiah I'd keep taking the pills so he wouldn't worry and he wouldn't have to check up on me—not for a while at least.'

‘Why…?' I pointed at the car. ‘I don't…' I gulped. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘I know you are, Jack.' She put her hand on my arm. ‘Honestly? I think he left the car behind so he'd have a reason to come back. Other than the obvious reasons, I mean.'

‘I'm really, really sorry. I want to give you your watch back. And I wanted to talk to him but…'

‘No. It's good that you let him go.' She shushed me when I started to make excuses. ‘Jack, one of you had to make a choice and he couldn't do it. I thank you for that. I'm being selfish here, too—he needs me right now, when he's sad, and in turn that's exactly what I needed, to be needed, if that makes sense. We've been pushing each other away for years.'

I shook my head but at the same time I thought of Ma and the push-pull of our love. I was uncomfortable, being invited into this secret adult world of straight talk and confessions.

‘You must hate me,' I said.

‘Only a little bit.'

‘I hate me.'

Meredith waved my comment away. ‘Jack, the last thing I wanted was for my son to be the nice boy who turned into a good man who lives in his shed. Do you understand what I'm saying? Now, I've known your mother a long time. We were never friends, but when you grow up in a town this small you can't help brushing up against other people's business.'

‘Are you friends now?' I asked.

‘She's shown me kindness when I didn't deserve it and she helped me when I didn't know how to ask. We're both different now from when we were young.' She cocked her head as if she was listening to a whisper in her ear. ‘Yes. I think you could say we're friends.'

‘Do you think Jeremiah hates me?'

‘No. He loves you, Jack, and that's far worse. I've had to talk him out of calling you. He wants an ending of some kind. He needs to know there was nothing he could have done differently and that he's still worthy of love. We all need that.'

‘Will you give me his number?' I blurted. ‘I want to tell him I'm sorry.' I was the toxic part of our relationship. He deserved to hear that.

She shook her head. ‘Not yet. He's not ready. Give him some time.' She stood up and let go of my hand. ‘I want Jeremiah to love somebody who loves him back,' she said. ‘You did the right thing, but you did it the wrong way. I'm not telling you that I forgive you. I'm telling you that I understand.'

‘I know.'

Meredith nodded as if we'd made another deal. She opened her door. ‘Come back and see me. I mean that. When I think he's ready, I'll give you his number.'

‘I will.'

‘This is why we adults tell you not to grow up so fast,' she said, as I walked away. ‘You think we have all the answers. But the truth is that we just get better at avoiding the questions.'

Ma stood with her back to me, facing the kitchen sink. Her shoulders were tense. I heard the familiar clink of her gold bangle, the one she never took off, hitting the steel as she washed and rinsed a cup I'd barely finished using. A small suitcase stood in the corner near the dining table. I eyed it with a sick feeling in my stomach.

‘Trudy tells me you took yourself off on a little holiday. To the coast,' she said, without turning around. ‘That's nice.'

‘Nice' and ‘lovely' were words Ma used, I'd learned, in place of ‘selfish' or ‘ridiculous' or to indicate that she didn't understand or agree with your choices but didn't care enough anymore to say what she really thought.

‘I did. I caught the bus. I saw a whale.'

‘Lovely.'

That was it: I'd officially crossed over. She was done ranting, accusing, ignoring me or telling me how to live my life. It was the same cycle she'd gone through with Trudy, and Dad: separation, then bored, numb acceptance.

At that moment, the volume in the shed increased. The vibration rattled the trinkets above the sink. Ma steadied a crystal bell that was walking off the shelf, and stomped to the back door, shouting at Dad to turn the music down. While she was gone, I reached into my pocket and placed the driftwood and the cowrie shell in the empty space. I could see how Ma had to keep plugging spaces that we all left behind.

She came back, muttering. A crash near the front door made us both whip around.

‘Goddamn it,' she said, and went to investigate.

Ma picked up the splintered frame of her wedding picture. She slid the photo out and kicked at the glass on the floor. ‘That's it. That's the last one. Goddamn it,' she said again, curling her lip and shaking her fist in the direction of the shed. She ran her hands over the scarred wall.

I went to the laundry and got a dustpan and brush. Seeing the evidence—the picture falling and smashing, not being taken down in spite, as I had imagined—it made me want to hug her. But how did you hug someone like Ma? The woman was a stonefish, all murk and camouflage until you put your foot in the wrong place.

I cleaned up the glass and wrapped it in newspaper before stuffing it in the bin.

Ma got out the vacuum cleaner. She stabbed the carpet with the nozzle until the glass shards stopped clinking, then kicked the barrel of the vacuum back along the hallway. Flakes of plaster floured her hands.

‘Ma?'

‘Just let me put this thing away.'

I followed. ‘I could patch up the wall for you, if you like.'

Ma stopped and cocked her head as if it was a trick question.

‘I'll paint it, too, and glue the picture frames back together. Dad can put some new hooks up.' I was pretty sure, after watching Jeremiah, that I could do it. But she was right to be suspicious. How long since I'd done anything to please her?