‘You look fifteen going on a hundred-and-fifty,’ Caro told her.
Judy buried herself under the Alice bedspread. Reached for the perfume on the bedside table, sprayed a bit inside the bottle-cap, sniffed, and started sobbing.
‘Oh, god, Jude.’ Caro grimaced. ‘You’re a mess.’
‘Leave me alone.’
Instead, Caro got under the blankets with her. Caro’s arms were bony, her feet. ‘Shh,’ she whispered, stroking Judy’s hair until she fell asleep.
Caro was gone when Judy awoke. She could hear her shrill voice outside the room, though; and other voices — Vera, Rocky? Judy turned on the TV to drown them out; an evening news program. All news was bad. She switched to a gameshow, head-hurting glitz and buzzers.
It wasn’t long before Caro came to the door with a mug of Milo and more toast.
‘That woman seems to think Milo’s your preferred beverage,’ Caro sneered. ‘I guess it’s better than coffee, though, if you’re planning to sleep tonight. Just don’t take too many pills; you’ll get addicted. Do you want something proper to eat or are you still on your invalid’s diet? I had some fish and chips before; they weren’t bad, considering.’
‘Toast is fine,’ Judy murmured, watching the lights and laughter.
‘Anyway, if you’d rather be alone, alright. But there’s this boy here who’s saying he’s a friend of Paulina’s. He wants to meet you and — give his condolences, or something.’ Caro gave an impatient jerk of her shoulders. ‘I just thought, what the hell, every man’s a suspect. Maybe you’ll get some sort of vibe from him. Mother’s intuition blah-blah-blah.’
Judy didn’t feel intuitive, just groggy. She took a sip of Milo. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Should I tell him to rack off, then?’
‘I don’t know.’ Judy looked down. ‘I’m not even dressed.’
‘Have you seen the way they dress around here?’
‘Should I brush my hair or something?’
‘I’d embrace the hag look, personally.’
Judy raked her fingers through her hair.
‘Fine.’ She shook her head. ‘Bring in the suspect.’
FOODFOLK
Every morning around eight-thirty, nine, Paulina went to Foodfolk for Merle’s copy of the Fairfolk Daily, then hung around to beg for a job as a checkout chick.
‘Hey, it’s my birthday. Can I have a job?’
‘It’s your birthday?’ Flick looked up from her magazine. She was a mainie too, but Tasmanian, so she fit right in on Fairfolk. ‘How’re you celebrating?’
‘Looking for gainful employment, obviously.’ Paulina rolled her eyes. ‘Then either slitting my wrists or going to the beach. Haven’t decided yet. Wanna come to the beach?’
‘I’m here till six.’
Paulina fake-wept against the till. ‘But I don’t wanna be alone.’
Flick rung up Paulina’s purchase. ‘Ask Rita.’
‘To the beach? Fuck no!’
In the bakery section, Rita was spreading out the loaves so it’d look like there were more of them.
‘Hey, Rita.’ Paulina slipped her rolled-up Fairfolk Daily into her waistband and started helping. ‘Can I have a job? It’s my birthday.’
‘No it’s not.’
‘Wanna see my ID? It’s bloody depressing, but I’ll show you.’
‘Shouldn’t you be throwing yourself a party? Asking the boys at the bowls club for free drinks?’
‘I’d rather celebrate my new job, thanks.’
‘Well, as I said yesterday: no jobs. Ask me when the next supply ship arrives.’
Instead of asking when the ship was due, Paulina ducked into the fridge section.
She’d just seen Eddy’s wife.
As Paulina studied the label on a can of Diet Coke, a guy came up beside her, picked up a carton of choc-milk. ‘You’ll get fat,’ she muttered, since she was in that kind of mood, done with men. The guy looked at her and she changed her mind. He was wearing a Bauhaus T-shirt.
‘You like Bauhaus?’ Paulina grabbed his arm; it was tattooed and muscly and dark. ‘No way!’
‘Um …’
‘Hey, I was just joking about you getting fat.’ She led him away from the fridge; Eddy’s wife was rolling closer with her toddler and trolley. ‘You must work out loads. I like your tattoos, by the way. What’s that one, a Camel-cigarettes camel? Is that your brand? I just smoke rollies. Shit, I’m almost out. Let’s ask Flick if I can have some for my birthday.’
‘Um,’ the guy said as she steered him toward the checkout. ‘Happy birthday?’
‘Unhappy birthday.’ Paulina was too depressed to say her age. ‘Oi, Flick. Rita said I can have some ciggies for my birthday.’
As Flick went for the tobacco, Paulina moistened her lips, toyed with her rolled-up Fairfolk Daily.
‘I come here every morning. For the Fairfolk Daily.’
‘Oh,’ the guy said. ‘Cool.’
Flick handed over the tobacco, scanned his milk. ‘Hi Camel.’
‘“Camel”?’ Paulina grimaced.
‘Yeah.’ The guy got out his wallet. ‘It’s my nickname.’
‘No way am I calling you Camel. If you think that’s happening, you can get fucked. Ha-ha.’
‘Um.’ The guy passed Flick a handful of coins. ‘Okay, then.’
Then he walked out with his choc-milk.
After Foodfolk, and after installing Merle in the shade with his Fairfolk Daily, Paulina put on her exercise clothes and sunglasses and went for her walk. After her walk, she showered and changed into her beach clothes, then phoned her mum to say what a shithouse age twenty-eight was, and when was the supply ship with her birthday presents arriving? After that, she flung herself across the bed and cried her eyes out. Then she put her sunnies back on and sat in the shrinking shade with Merle.
‘Hey, Merle,’ she chirped, slathering sunscreen on her arms. ‘Did you know it’s my birthday?’
‘Birthday?’ He looked confused. ‘Whose birthday?’
‘Me!’ Paulina pointed at herself. ‘Twenty-eight. Almost as old as you.’
Somehow Merle heard this and found it hilarious. He stopped laughing, though, when she offered her sunscreen. ‘I’m not a mainie.’
‘Yeah, I know! Geez.’ Shaking her head, Paulina recapped the bottle. ‘Lunchtime?’
Merle squinted at his watch, at the sun, then gave her the thumbs-up.
At the bowls club, Paulina told Barry the bartender, ‘We’ll have our usual, only two “salads” today. It’s my birthday.’
Barry began pouring two pints of Pine Brew. ‘Happy birthday.’
‘Cheers.’ Paulina glanced at Merle, sitting under an umbrella outside. ‘Listen, do you have any jobs going yet?’
‘Sorry.’ Barry passed her the beers.
Paulina sighed. ‘Yeah. Me too. Don’t forget my receipt, okay?’
The first beer lasted her till Merle’s Hawaiian ham-steak and chips arrived. She didn’t like the smell, so she took her second beer over to where Woody and Kobby were playing bowls. ‘Guess what?’ she recited. ‘It’s my birthday.’
‘Happy birthday!’ the old men enthused, and looked at her like she was the sun, or the sexiest thing on earth. Then Kobby inclined his head in Merle’s direction. ‘Boyfriend taking you somewhere special?’
‘Nah, same old, same old.’
They guffawed. Paulina sipped her beer, slunk back into the shade to roll some ciggies.
It was boring in the shade. She went into the sun again, but it felt sleazy against her skin. The lawn’s edges were blurring, the ham’s stink still strong. She smoked a ciggie to cover it.
Her beer went warm.
Paulina gulped the beer down, cringed at the vomity taste. Then she walked back to Merle, trying not to let the booze show in her walk.
‘Hey, Merle, can I have a Fisherman’s Friend?’
Merle dug the packet from his pocket. She popped three lozenges in her mouth. ‘Thanks, Merle.’ Patted his bony shoulder. ‘See ya later, okay?’
Merle gave her the thumbs-up.
Around the corner from the Bowls Club, Paulina smoked and paced, re-tied her ponytail. Fanned her cheeks and told herself: don’t be shit. Stop being so shit.
‘Guess what?’ Paulina smiled like a flight attendant. ‘It’s my birthday.’
‘Oh really?’ Merlinda munched a handful of salt-and-vinegar chips, without glancing up from her notepad. ‘You should celebrate at the Fortuna fish-fry tonight. My nephew Tony “Tunes” Carlyle is performing.’
‘Can’t really afford it, hey.’ Paulina slipped her receipt across the desk. ‘Need help with the books? I was a financial advisor once upon a time.’
Merlinda shook her messy steel-grey bob. ‘I’m working on a poem for the new edition of the Fayrf’k Songbook. Not really your area of expertise, dear.’
‘Yeah … guess not.’ Paulina indicated her bikini-straps to Kymba, who was on the phone, and mouthed, ‘Beach?’
Kymba shook her head apologetically, cupped the phone closer to her mouth. ‘I’m really sorry. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.’
‘Geez, you’re still getting mainies calling?’ Paulina marvelled as Kymba hung up. ‘Beach, Kymba-lee? It’s my birthday.’
‘Birthday?’ Kymba looked horrified. ‘Why didn’t you say—?’
‘Twenty-eight. Big whoop. Should’ve joined the twenty-seven club when I had the chance.’
‘Is that like the mile-high club?’ Merlinda’s hand squeaked inside her chip packet.
‘Nah, it’s more exclusive.’ Paulina cringed at the scrunching packet. ‘Fuck, I may as well be thirty. Twenty-eight is so depressing.’
‘Watch your mouth.’ Merlinda smacked her lips. ‘I’d kill to be twenty-eight.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with twenty-eight. Or thirty,’ Kymba reassured her. ‘Simmo’s thirty.’
‘He’s a man. Doesn’t count.’
‘Well …’ Kymba toyed with her wedding band. ‘You’ve done much more with your life than me. I’d never quit a fancy big-city job and move to an island. You’re very brave.’
‘Brave enough to jump off a cliff, at this point. I’m so bored.’
‘You should go to the Fortuna fish-fry.’ Merlinda wiped her salty fingers off on her pants, pulled open a drawer. ‘Here. Birthday bonus!’
‘Yeah?’ Paulina peered at the tickets dubiously. ‘Drinks included?’
‘Beer, wine, and sparkling.’
Paulina smiled at Kymba.
‘I don’t know,’ Kymba started. ‘The kids—’
‘Aw, bring ’em. Bring Simmo. Bring his cute mates. C’mon, Kymba-leeee.’
‘Well …’
‘Beach?’ Paulina kept pestering. ‘Auntie Merlinda, can Kymba please come play on the beach? Pretty please? Look how pale she is! She looks like a mainie.’
Kymba opened her mouth in protest.
‘Go on, then, Miss Kymba,’ Merlinda cut her off. ‘Get some colour.’
There was no one else at Tombstone Beach. Paulina didn’t mind. It was nice being almost naked, with the sun on her skin and that clear water, cliffs and pines and cemetery view. ‘Fuck, it’s pretty here.’ She got out her ciggies. ‘I get so bored I wanna shoot myself and then it looks like this. What the hell.’
‘Yeah, it’s like that.’ Kymba shyly peeled off her shorts. ‘Swim?’
‘Nah. Sharks.’
‘They’re only on the north side of the island.’
‘You think Jaws can’t swim from there to here? It’s like ten k’s, tops.’
‘They never swim past the reef. Anyway, I thought you liked sharks? You’re so obsessed with Great-O’s.’
‘Yeah, cos it’s my great white whale.’ Paulina lit up. ‘Go be shark-bait, Kymba-lee. I’ll scream if I see any fins.’
Kymba tiptoed to the water’s edge, kept walking till she was belly-deep, then plunged. Paulina lay back and puffed smoke into the clouds.
‘You should swim. It’s beautiful.’ Kymba returned, dripping cold beads. ‘Oh, shit.’
‘What?’ Paulina perked up; Kymba didn’t swear often.
‘Oh … this pervert, Yooey Turner. He comes here sometimes. Oh, don’t look!’
‘That guy in the golf gear? Bloody right he’s a perv, dressing like that at the beach!’
‘Oh, don’t look.’ Kymba covered up with her towel. ‘Don’t, or he’ll come over.’
Paulina sat up. ‘Oi, perv! What’re you looking at?’
Just like Kymba predicted, the perv crept over like a beaten dog, hands deep in his pockets. He had that face a lot of Fairfolk men seemed to have: weather-beaten skin, wide lips, light eyes. He wasn’t looking her in the eye, though.
‘Oi!’ Paulina clapped her hands. ‘Up here! What’re you looking at?’
‘You’re pretty ladies,’ the perv mumbled, eyes drifting down again. ‘Will you go on a date with me?’
‘Who? Me? Her?’
‘One of you … pretty ladies.’ He looked her full in the face, curled his lip. ‘Please will you go on a date with me.’
‘Nah.’
He turned to Kymba. ‘Please will you go on a date with me?’
‘Not her either. She’s married with kids and stuff. Alright?’ Paulina clapped and pointed to the horizon. ‘Fuck off now.’
He did, somewhere further up the beach and out of sight.
‘Oh god!’ Kymba groaned. ‘He’s probably going to you-know-what now.’
‘Wank?’
‘Yeah. That.’
‘Well … better he gets it over with than keeps staring and ruining my birthday.’ Paulina nudged Kymba’s shoulder, wriggled under the towel with her. ‘You should show him Kimba, give him something for the spank-bank.’
‘Everything’s a joke to you.’ Kymba sighed heavily. ‘There’s a reason I married outside the gene pool, you know.’
‘Don’t let Gilligan King hear you say that.’ Paulina poked Kymba’s love handles. ‘Oi, show me Kimba. Please? It’s my birthday.’
‘No! Once is enough.’
‘Please? I’m so old, I don’t have many joys in life. Please?’
‘No.’
‘Please, please, pretty please?’ Paulina tickled her some more. ‘Kim-ba, the White Li-on! Kim-ba, the White Li-on! Kim-ba …’
‘Fine!’ Red-faced, Kymba tugged down her swimsuit just far enough to show off the little white cartoon lion tattooed on her big white tit. ‘Happy?’
‘Aw!’ Paulina cooed. ‘Kimba!’
Next morning, Paulina woke up with scum on her pillow, a concrete-headed horror about whatever she’d done the night before. She thought about staying in bed forever. Then she thought about Merle finding her body, or not finding it, just shuffling around as her stink got stronger. Eventually, her stink got so strong she had no choice but to get up and shower.
‘Morning, Merle,’ she mumbled, finding him waiting at the table. ‘Sorry I slept in.’
Foodfolk was busy, and only Flick and some teenagers were working. After fetching Merle’s Fairfolk Daily, Paulina cleaned up a milk-spill, then stuck around to bag while Flick scanned. ‘Was I bad last night?’ she asked quietly.
‘You kept saying Tony Tunes was a shit singer.’
‘Duh, he was.’ Paulina lowered her voice. ‘Was I slutty?’
Flick shrugged. ‘No more than usual.’
Paulina’s soul ached. ‘I’m never drinking again.’
She stuck to Diet Coke and water, the next few days. ‘Three days without booze or ciggies,’ she bragged to her mum. ‘Now I’m twenty-eight, it’s time I made some healthy lifestyl
e choices. Also, I’m growing out my fringe.’
‘Oh, don’t do that! You look so cute with your fringe.’
It was bad weather on Tuesday, though, and the temptation was strong, smelling the sweet, yeasty air inside the Bowls Club. Instead of hanging around, Paulina drove to the national park and took a walk among the pines and palms and ferns, then to the cliffs beyond them. But there was temptation there, too.
She was relieved when she saw some fishermen on the rocks. Even more relieved when she saw what they were looking and pointing at.
‘The supply ship’s here!’ Paulina practically sprinted into Foodfolk, car keys stabbing her sweaty palm. ‘Can I have a job now?’
‘We’ll start unpacking stock first thing Thursday.’ Rita smirked. ‘Come see me tomorrow, and we’ll talk.’
‘Why not now?’
‘Come see me tomorrow,’ Rita repeated. ‘When you’re presentable.’
Paulina looked down at her grubby fitness gear. ‘Oh! Ha ha.’
From Foodfolk, Paulina drove one block to the liquor store, bought herself a six-pack. Then she drove to King’s Pier to watch the supply ship unloading.
ULVINIS
It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room. Then it hit him, hard.
‘You look like her,’ he said.
‘Oh, no,’ murmured Paulina’s mum. ‘Not really.’
She sounded like her, too. Softer, politer. But like her. Fuck.
He knew it’d be a mind-fuck, coming here. He hadn’t wanted to. It was his dad who made him: you said you’d meet the mother, didn’t you? Plus, he had the present to give her — not that he could do it, right now. Right now, all he could do was stare.
‘Sorry.’ He dropped his gaze to the bedroom floor — but that was bad, too. It was littered with tissues, clothes, including a mumsy beige bra. He became conscious of the close smell of the room: toast, milk, body odour, and … perfume?
Paulina’s perfume. What the fuck!
‘Sorry to disturb you.’ He looked at the bedcovers. Alice in Wonderland. ‘You were sleeping?’
‘Judy’s been sleeping a lot,’ said the aunt, Caro, who was guarding the door with crossed arms.
The Newcomer Page 6
