Rain May and Captain Daniel (3 page)

I thought that maybe when Dad got sick of Julia and executive stress he'd come up and like the house so much he'd move back in. He and Maggie would fall in love again and watch television at night holding hands and kiss in the commercial breaks like teenagers and that would be really sick. Maybe Daniel has an older, gorgeous brother who would fall in love with me when I turn fourteen and we'd get married and open a groovy Brunswick kind of pizza place in Clarkson and everyone would say it was a great day for Clarkson when Rain May Carr-Davies-Gill moved in to town.

Moving Day Fridge Poem

me
cleaned out
homeless
girl
everything about me
decay
I am haunted
and asking
why

Maggie's Reply

celebrate grass

tree

cloud

no concrete
every day
can laugh
and will heal
we are secretly feline
our slow rhythms
flower brilliantly

o crap
have a bath

The Captain's Log, Stardate 130901 —
Winter 's End, Alpha Quadrant

Counsellor Diana just informed Dr McGarvis to expect alien activity on Planet 7 tomorrow. New settlers are arriving. This is bad news as it means the back territory will be out of bounds again but good news as all change brings with it new potentials.

The people moving in actually own the place — the old woman's daughter, she said — rather than more tenants. The Ferengi at the supermarket told her. They know everything. I suspect young Mr Stewart has a link to the police computer equipment. He probably has his mobile phone tuned to their frequency. Not that I think the alien activity will be closely observed by our security officers.

I can't actually remember the old woman dying — well, that's not so surprising, is it? She died there — let me just check with Mum — yep, about four years ago. Planet 7 wasn't under surveillance by the USS
Endeavour
then. In fact, that was the year I collected stamps. Or was it the year I panned for gold? Anyway, sometime later the first aliens arrived. They didn't stay long. Too cold, they said, atmosphere hostile, nutrients expensive, company dismal, and they moved up the highway. Pity, they had a son who played chess, like me, and, like me, hated sport.

The next colonisers were a dead loss, too. A couple of girls, practically teenagers. All they did was sit out in the sun all day and paint their toenails and dry their hair. They were living away from the mother ship for the first time. Males of their species kept arriving in hotted-up starships and driving recklessly away long after my bedtime.

Then there was the strange alien, the one we simply had to place under surveillance because he was so unreadable. That's when Planet 7 got its name and that's when I started this Log. Despite all my efforts, I could find no reason why he shouldn't stay on Planet 7 and do his work. It turned out, after months of close watching, that he was an artist, that was all. Of course this rather shocked the larger population of Cosmos, but I'm afraid that's what Cosmos is like — a system occupied by the mediocre, the plain stupid, the incurious and the aged. Present company excepted, of course.

The Captain's Log, Stardate 140901

The aliens arrived. Both females. One is Counsellor Diana's age, the other is more my age. I climbed the observation tower knowing that the smaller female would eventually check out the back territory. I was not disappointed. First contact was friendly.

Her name's Rain, not after the astronomer in
Future's End, Star Trek, Voyager,
Season 3, but after a poem. She's heavily into poetry. She writes fridge poetry. I don't know anyone who writes poetry. They tried to make us do it at school but the Klingons wrote obscene limericks instead.

Counsellor Diana thought about taking them soup. The Doctor said they might think that strange, though. She should have gone ahead — Rain thought they could get home-delivered pizza! Boy, she will take some acclimatising to Cosmos.

I wonder if she plays chess? I wonder if she'll want to be friends, even though I'm a boy and younger?

Counsellor Diana said not to expect too much from the aliens. She said their ways may be different. She said they may not even stay. People do rather tend to leave Cosmos. I have noticed this. It could be the hostile environment, the lack of sufficient entertainment pods and employment for young colonisers.

I hope they do stay. I'd be friends with any kid next door within a reasonable age range. Their gender wouldn't worry me. Anyway, if she's as old as she said, why isn't she taller? And why hasn't she got female signs developing? She looked just like a boy. And she's not much taller than I am.

I think the alien lied about her age.

I hope the alien lied about her age. I hope she's not a snobby city girly girl. There are lots of things I could show her that might interest her — the platypus in the river, the best yabbying place, the McMaster alpacas and where Dad and I saw the echidna last month.

Two minutes until lights extinguished and sleep pod activated. Lights still burning on Ship 7. I wonder if she's up writing on the fridge? Poets work at night, I believe. One minute and Counsellor Diana is counting down. Yes, yes — good night, Mum. Good night, galaxy. Lights off.

The Captain's Log. Stardate 150901

Fridge poetry was frustrating. The words you want are not there. Maggie, that's Rain's commander-in-chief, said it didn't have to rhyme, but it sounds better when it does, I reckon. Anyway, what I think is that they've evolved it into a highly selective language of their own. There are hidden messages. A useful communication device that at first glance appears wanky.

Commander-in-chief Maggie talks to you as though you're nearly at her rank. That could be a sophisticated alien ploy — assimilate or die. It sounds like they are staying, though — she was pretty keen on getting the place painted and she wanted to know all about the Training Barracks. I didn't tell them it was like Hell, only noisier. What was the point. She'll find out soon enough.

Observations of Artefacts on Ship 7

1. Small
   visual entertainment unit — indicating a wider acceptance of printed material than generally regarded as normal on Cosmos.
   
2. No
   computer!
   
3. Many of the small female alien's printed visual stimuli match my own. And she's in the same year as me, so she did lie about her age.
   
4. Little or no evidence of girl artefacts such as nail polish, glitter gel etcetera.
   
5. CHESS SET! But pieces in an old jar and no board visible.
   

They didn't seem to mind me hanging round, observing. They didn't shoo me away or ask me whether I hadn't anything better to do. If they had, the answer would have been ‘no'. The Doctor is on hospital duty and Counsellor Diana is out doing good. It's her old-people day. She'll come home with a knitted vest for me from Mrs Gregor — some strange colour mix. Her eyesight's worse, the Doctor says. I'll have to wear it. What I want is one of those vests that are waterproof with lots of different pockets. That would be useful.

And she'll have a couple of jars of jam or pickles from Mrs Doherty — they'll be yummy and she dates all hers so you know if it's really too old to eat, not like Mr Wills'. He doesn't bother and he can never remember which year he made them. The last lot I reckon might have been made when his wife was still alive — and she's been dead three years. I told Mum not to bother — just throw them straight in the bin — but she will open them and there was mould, right over the whole top. Disgusting.

She'll be exhausted, too, and headachey. The Doctor will pour her a glass of wine. I saw him put a bottle in the fridge before he left this morning. He'll tell her she shouldn't visit them, it's not her responsibility. And they'll talk about the old days, when there was a proper community. Then she'll watch television and the Doctor and I will play chess.

There's the landing vehicle.

Later: 2000 hours

The Doctor narrowly checkmated me. I do not play a good defence game. It's a weakness. Also my openings are stale. I wish there was a chess club here so I could really practise. Can't wait until high school. They have a club there and play chess in the lunch hours when it's rainy. That could be a lot of chess in winter and spring. Age and strength don't matter with chess. Your mind is all. I do have a good mind. Otherwise the Upper Training Barracks would not have approved my early promotion. Depending on health evaluation, as the Counsellor and the Doctor remind me.

Sleep pod in ten minutes. Captain Daniel is retiring to revise chess strategies. Next week the championship returns to me!

The Dream House
Countdown

Making Granny's old place into the dream house wasn't easy. For a start we had to drive practically all the way back home to get the kind of paint we wanted. That took one whole day because Maggie insisted on doing a big grocery shop as well, then we had to check out the op shops, then she had to have a cup of coffee. It was all right for Maggie, but I was on a tight schedule. I wanted our house fixed up quickly, like they do on those television shows. The owners go away for the weekend and hey presto! your dumpy old backyard is now an outdoor Balinese temple.

The way I saw it was we'd blitz the house and when Dad came to pick me up on Friday for the weekend he'd stand there gaping at the work we'd done and remember all the reasons he shouldn't have left Mum. It's not that I don't like Julia, mind you, it's just that she really had no right to walk off with Dad. Of course, I couldn't tell Mum my plan, because she'd go off on one of her ‘embrace change' rants and stroke my hair in that way she does when she's telling me I'm a goose. So Mum was in no hurry at all.

She spent most of the second day reading a book on painted effects and asking me dumb questions like whether I thought the Tuscan look would enhance the kitchen or whether it would just look badly painted. I made her start on my room after lunch by threatening to paint it myself if she read for much longer.

I thought I'd like painting. I thought it would be a matter of whacking the paint on over the revolting dirty cream and, whammo, there would be my new purple bedroom looking gorgeous. No such luck. First of all we had to wash down the walls. Then we had to sand them back. Then Mum fussed around putting sheets over everything, as if we were going to really slop the paint around. Then we had to stir the paint one hundred and one times to make sure it was all mixed in. Only then did Mum fill the roller tray and let us start.

Once we started though, the room was done pretty quickly. The paint was Dream Rhapsody, a kind of purpley violet colour. I had wanted Violet Moon, but Mum said that was too dark and I'd feel as though I was living in a gothic cave. That sounded cool to me, but Mum said the one thing that would get you down in winter was living in a gloomy purple cave and that it would be simply impossible to paint over so I would be stuck with it forever and ever.

Dream Rhapsody was pretty good, though, and she was right, the room looked like the inside of a shell when we'd finished.

‘We'll have to do another coat tomorrow,' Maggie said, standing back to look at it, hands on her hips, ‘and then we'll do all the skirting boards and the picture rails that darker purple. It'll be great, Rain.'

Inspired by our success we checked out the grim front room with its dreadful carpet.

‘I think we should just pull the carpet up,' Maggie said. ‘I'll bet there are good floor boards underneath this. Can you find me a hammer?'

The carpet was so old it practically disintegrated as Maggie pulled up the strips of wood that held it in place along one wall. Underneath it was a pile of dirt and sand.

‘That's disgusting,' I said.

‘That's why people say that carpets give you asthma,' Maggie said. ‘Come on, you tug this bit out and then bring me a knife, a big one, and we'll see if we can't cut up some of the underlay.'

By the end of Day Two of the renovations, we had the first coat of my room done and the lounge-room carpet ripped up. We'd emptied the vacuum cleaner five times, and whenever I blew my nose, my snot came out black. Fortunately our gas bottles had been delivered so we could both have a hot bath. I didn't see Maggie's bath water, but mine was murky brown by the time I got out.

I was so exhausted that I didn't even hear the possum that night. When Maggie came out the next morning, though, practically the first thing she did was ring National Parks and Wildlife.

‘With the racket that thing is making,' she said, ‘it sounds as though it's having wild parties up there with all its possum friends.'

So the next day was spent discovering how to de-possum the roof. And it wasn't easy. You could get a cage, but relocation was tricky. You couldn't just take it out to the forest and hope it would survive. Other possums could attack it.

‘So what the hell do we do?' Maggie said. ‘I mean, I'm practically a vegetarian. I wouldn't want to hurt anything, really, but I can't endure another night of the jackbooted little bastards.'

Apparently there was nothing for it except to trap the possum to get it out of the roof, block the holes where it was getting in, and purchase a possum house to put in a tree in the garden which might, with some fruity inducements, provide an alternative shelter. That way the possum remained in its own territory and, providing your roof was properly fixed, wouldn't damage the wiring or keep you awake at night. We drove off to rent a possum trap and buy a possum house.

The trap was a large wire cage with a tricky door arrangement at one end. You stuck an apple on this bit and when the possum tugged at the apple the door shut behind it, neatly trapping it in the cage.

‘Or that's the theory,' Maggie said, looking at it with suspicion. ‘And that's if we can get the damn thing up in the roof.'

The possum houses were made by a skinny man with a pigtail and an earring in one ear.

‘So you've moved into your mum's house,' he said, coming out to greet us in the driveway. ‘Good solid little house that. My dad built the family room at the back.'

‘We want a possum house,' Maggie said.

‘Yeah, in the roof, are they? Once they're there it's a devil's job to get them out. But it's our fault, you know, felling trees in the Wombat State Forest, keeping these greedy wood-gulping slow combustion heaters going. People going out and picking up all the dead wood to save money — think they're doing the environment a good turn, too, but little creatures depend on that dead wood. Hollow logs, you see — all sorts of creatures live in them. Still, we do the best we can.'

‘Yes,' Maggie said, ‘yes we do. How much are they, please?'

The possum house looked like a tiny little house, complete with roof. The ‘doorway' though, was round, to imitate the hollow logs, I suppose.

‘Got a ladder?' Pete asked, leaning against the side of Maggie's car, as though the effort involved in selling us a possum house had exhausted him.

‘Yes,' Maggie said. She was not in a chatty mood.

Securing the possum house in the Japanese maple tree was impossible. First of all we tried to just wedge it between two branches, but that simply didn't work.

‘Well, I don't know,' Maggie said, looking at the beautiful little house on the ground at our feet. ‘I just can't work it out. The bloody thing will have to learn to live on the ground, that's all.'

‘Excuse me, excuse me,' a voice from Daniel's side of the fence called out, and Mum and I turned to see Daniel's mum looking at us.

‘Hi,' she said, ‘I'm sorry to intrude, although I believe Daniel already has. I do hope he wasn't a nuisance.'

‘Not at all.' Maggie smiled her meeting-other-mothers smile. ‘A delightful boy.'

‘Thank you. Look, about the possum house, I think I can help. You see, you build a platform first. I can see just the spot from here. If you wouldn't mind me coming over, I have tools.'

‘Mind?' Maggie said. ‘Oh, if only you would. I tell you, I'd buy this possum a unit on the Gold Coast if I thought I could get it to move out of my roof.'

‘Have you rung Bob about the roof?'

‘Bob?'

‘Your mother always used Bob, he's a very good handyman. Quite reasonable too. I'll get his number. Do you mind if Daniel comes over too? School holidays — well, of course, you know.'

‘No, of course not, please bring him.'

Within about five minutes Daniel and his mother were standing in our yard with planks of wood, a jar of nails and a small saw. Our mothers murmured names to each other and then shook hands. Over her slim jeans and blouse, Daniel's mother wore a professional carpenter's apron.

‘Mum built the tree-house,' Daniel said.

‘Gosh Diana, did you really. That's fantastic.'

Diana seemed to go a little pinker in her cheeks. When she smiled, her face changed completely. It was as though the smile chased away all the little worry lines from around her eyes and mouth.

‘I love mucking around with wood and nails,' she said. ‘Very unladylike. I built all our kitchen cupboards. They thought I was mad, but honestly, Maggie, those cupboards sing to me every day. The drawers slide in and out, there's no room behind anything for mice to nest, and the bench height is right where I need it.'

‘I know this is forward of me,' Maggie said, ‘but do you reckon we could have a look? We're renovating my mother's old house, Rain and I. Just checking out other people's places can be so helpful.'

‘Of course, of course, you must come in. Let's just get this dear little house up in the tree. You give Bob a ring and tell him Diana said he has to come today. He's not that busy in winter, anyway.'

Mum went off to see if she could locate Bob.

‘How's the poetry?' Daniel asked me.

‘The poetry?'

‘Yeah, your fridge poetry?'

‘Oh, good. I haven't done much lately. We've been painting and ripping up old carpet.'

‘Yes, I saw that. Counsellor Diana said they should be great floor boards under that old stuff. She wondered if you had an orbital sander or if you were getting someone in to do it?'

‘I don't think we've got a sander,' I said. ‘I don't know what Mum's going to do. We only ripped it up yesterday. We're trying to get as much as possible done to show Dad on the weekend.'

‘Oh, does he come up on the weekend?'

‘No. I go to his place. He and Mum don't live together at the moment.'

‘Oh. Do you miss him?'

‘Sort of.'

‘Pass me some nails, love,' Daniel's mum said. She had measured some wood up, cut it, and was now nailing a bottom slat on to keep the paling platform together. It was amazing how alike they were, Daniel and his mum. They both had gingery wavy hair, pale faces and freckles. Like Daniel, his mother was short and slight, her wrists so small they made the hammer look larger than it was.

By the time Maggie came back out, the possum house was up snugly on its little platform looking like a smaller version of Daniel's tree-house. I knew what Mum had been busy doing — washing up the breakfast dishes and generally tidying up. Sure enough, when we all trooped into the kitchen it was sparkly, as far as it could be with boxes of our stuff shoved up against one wall.

‘Oh, isn't it warm in here.' Diana immediately drew her chair up closer to the stove. ‘So how is the move going, Maggie?'

‘Slowly,' Maggie said. ‘So far we've painted Rain's room and ripped up the carpet. What I'd like to do is get rid of all the carpet while we're at it, before we settle in too much. Once you've got everything down, that's the end. You never get round to it.'

‘It must be hard doing it by yourself, too.' Diana looked around the kitchen.

Maggie frowned. ‘It is in some ways,' she said, ‘but I don't have to please anyone other than myself. And Rain, of course, but she's not that interested in kitchens.'

‘If there's anything I can do,' Diana said. ‘Really, I love this kind of thing and I'm home mostly.'

‘Mum likes projects,' Daniel said. ‘Can Rain come to our house? Mum's made chocolate cake.'

‘Daniel!'

‘Would you like a cup of tea?' Maggie said. ‘Or coffee?'

‘I'd love tea, if you've time, but otherwise, it's fine. Daniel, sweetie, why don't you take Rain to our place and have a piece of cake each. That way Rain's mother and I can get acquainted.'

Diana's chocolate cake was heaven in a slice. It was rich and crumbly and she'd iced it.

‘It's a wonder you're not fat,' I said to Daniel, my mouth wickedly full.

‘She doesn't cook like this all the time,' Daniel said. ‘You've got to make the most of it. Another slice?'

You could only eat two slices of Diana's chocolate cake. We tried to get up to three, but we could only manage a mouse bite of the third slices.

‘We'll just cut the corners off,' Daniel said, ‘and it'll look as though we had trouble cutting it.'

‘Which is your room?' I asked.

‘Come and I'll show you around.'

Daniel's house was huge, far bigger than ours. There was even an office at the front, with its own fireplace.

‘Dad works here,' Daniel whispered, pulling the door shut quickly, ‘and this is their bedroom.'

I had an impression of pale colours and extreme tidiness before that door, too, was closed.

‘And this is my room.' Daniel threw himself on the bed. I had to practically duck — every inch of ceiling space was taken up with hanging aeroplane models. ‘That's a Cessna,' he said, as one of them swung a little wildly and hit me in the head. ‘Watch out, they aren't that strong.'

‘They're great,' I said. ‘Do you make them?'

‘Counsellor Diana and I do. We're building up to a model of the
Enterprise
. I think we'll have to order one from the States though.'

‘Is that another
Star Trek
thing?'

‘That's their craft, stupid.'

‘Why doesn't your father make them with you?'

Daniel shrugged. ‘He doesn't do this kind of stuff. He doesn't have time. He's practically always on call and always rushing out in the night.'

‘My dad's pretty busy, too,' I said.

‘But he doesn't even live with you.'

‘No, but he was busy when he did. He'll probably move back, when he sees what we've done to the house.'

‘So what, he moved out so you could fix the house?' ‘Sort of,' I said.