Nancy Business

by R. W. R. McDonald

  ‘Should we get it changed?’ Devon asked Uncle Pike.

  ‘It doesn’t work like that,’ my uncle said.

  ‘But this street only has four houses. Surely we can ask the mayor for a new number? How about seven? I love seven.’

  Uncle Pike shook his head and walked off to the ute.

  Devon stood still, watching my uncle. I went and held his hand. He broke his stare and smiled at me. After we locked up Uncle Pike drove us across town to Mum’s to get dinner ready. I stared out the windscreen at the empty streets ahead of us. The town was dead. ‘No one’s around. It’s like a zombie apocalypse.’

  ‘Oh, I thought that was normal,’ Devon said.

  Down on the flat, Uncle Pike followed the detour signs and drove past our holiday rental.

  ‘Yuck,’ he said.

  We slowed down as we passed the barricade blocking off Main Street. I counted two fire engines and an ambulance. Police were still around the town hall, along with the bomb squad in their big padded suits. The jagged Founding Tree stump, the blackened buildings. My chest felt heavy. Two people dead, one fighting for her life. My town broken and unfixable. I hugged myself and held my breath as we crossed the bridge.

  I counted. Heading in this direction, leaving the destruction behind, I could pretend nothing had happened. Riverstone on the other side of the river was completely normal. Traffic slowed in front of us. I was at nine seconds, usually how long it took to get to the other side, but we had stopped on the bridge. I let out my breath and leaned forward.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Road works,’ Uncle Pike said.

  I remembered them from yesterday. ‘Wouldn’t they be more help on the other side of the river?’ We drove off the bridge and the man holding the stop-go sign gave us a wave.

  ‘Yuck,’ Uncle Pike said again and turned right, driving home. We wound up the hill, past the golf course to our cul-de-sac. He parked the twin-cab on the street and switched off the engine. That was when we heard the screaming.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mrs Brown’s screaming got louder when Devon and Uncle Pike stepped out of the truck. She waved her arms out her bedroom window, saying something high-pitched and laughing like a dolphin. Devon screamed back until he had to run to the bathroom. Mrs Brown rushed over and eventually calmed down enough to speak. She gripped my hands. ‘You got so tall,’ she said as we walked through the garage.

  ‘You saw me last week,’ I said.

  ‘She’s up to Devon’s nipples now,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Mrs Brown dropped my hands and slapped my uncle on the arm. ‘You.’

  ‘Ow.’

  ‘Serves you right,’ she said. ‘I brought you a surprise.’

  Melanie Brown came round the corner of the garage. ‘Kia ora, bitches.’ She wore a baseball cap, a baggy brown woollen jersey and black jeans.

  Uncle Pike beamed. ‘Anal-Lease! So good to see you.’

  ‘You too, Betty.’ She grinned. At Christmas they had nicknamed each other. They hugged, Melanie on her tiptoes being swallowed up by my uncle. ‘I’ve been thinking of you and your mum,’ he said. ‘How was the anniversary?’

  I nodded, glad that Uncle Pike had brought it up.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said to both of us. ‘You know when you’re grieving and everything seems like bullshit? Still like that.’

  Uncle Pike put his arm around her. ‘Come on, we’ve got lots to catch up on.’

  We went in the front door and headed up the hallway as Devon came out of the bathroom. Mrs Brown snaked her arm through his and followed us into the living room.

  ‘Yuck, hope you washed your hands,’ Melanie said to him.

  Devon’s smile dropped. He quickly checked them then frowned when he looked back at Melanie. ‘Who are you wearing?’

  ‘Like whose skin?’ Melanie asked.

  ‘I wasn’t going to mention your skin—’

  ‘She won’t listen to me,’ Mrs Brown said, rubbing his arm.

  Devon cocked his head. ‘But since you raised it …’

  ‘Meow!’ Melanie turned to Uncle Pike. ‘I swear, it’s like you two swapped bodies.’

  ‘Told you I was the nice one,’ my uncle said.

  Melanie snorted. ‘Then he must be really fucking horrible.’

  Uncle Pike burst out laughing.

  ‘Melanie!’ Mrs Brown said.

  ‘What?’ Melanie checked out Devon’s turban. ‘Nice cultural appropriation.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Devon leaned into Mrs Brown. ‘That was the name of my show, well “Cultural Approps”. It was Japanese-inspired.’

  ‘I know,’ Mrs Brown said to him. ‘You sent me those photos. So lovely, I don’t think the Japanese could’ve done it any better.’

  ‘Grandma!’ Melanie said. ‘That’s racist.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Mrs Brown said, patting Devon’s hand.

  ‘It is.’ Uncle Pike pulled off Melanie’s cap.

  ‘Hey!’ She tried to snatch it back but he hid it behind his back. ‘Rude!’

  My uncle’s eyebrows furrowed, checking out Melanie’s hat hair. All the extensions he had put in last summer for the show queen competition—which she had surprisingly won—had gone. It looked like she had been cutting it herself again. ‘Someone’s hair has taken the road less travelled.’

  She twisted around to grab her cap but he held it above her, out of reach.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said, lifting a strand of her hair to examine the ginger regrowth. ‘Have you been eating it again?’

  Melanie rolled her eyes.

  ‘You’ll let me do it?’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘Duh.’

  ‘You’ll have to come back to my stinky hole,’ my uncle said.

  ‘Eeew!’ Melanie said. ‘I bet your hole stinks, Betty Brown-Eye.’ She snatched her hat from Uncle Pike and shoved it back on her head.

  ‘That’s not what I meant …’ Uncle Pike said.

  Mrs Brown stared out the window at the town hall below. ‘I still can’t believe it.’ Her shoulders hitched as she suddenly sobbed. Devon side-hugged her and Melanie and I just looked at each other, not far from tears ourselves.

  ‘So fucked,’ Melanie said and I nodded.

  Mrs Brown dabbed her eyes with her hankie. ‘I went to school with them.’

  ‘Who?’ I said.

  ‘Will Jansen, and dear Raewyn. She was a year below us. I never would’ve picked him to do this,’ she said. ‘Never.’

  Devon led Mrs Brown to the table while Uncle Pike got them drinks. Melanie kissed her grandma on the head then helped me and Uncle Pike in the kitchen. He put on a roast chicken and we prepared whatever vegies we found in the fridge while Mrs Brown chatted with Devon over wine. If it wasn’t for the view out the lounge room window of the black hole in our town below, it could have been a normal evening.

  While dinner was cooking, I video-called NaiNai and she connected. She smiled then frowned when she spotted Uncle Pike waving behind me.

  ‘Terrible news about the bombing,’ my uncle yelled, holding the screen. I covered my ear closest to him. NaiNai looked at him blankly. I pulled the tablet away from him and wiped the screen with my sleeve. He left us alone and I translated in case she hadn’t heard him. Her eyes widened as I explained what had happened. She shook her head and clucked. I went out to the balcony to show her the view of the blast.

  When I finished chatting I joined everyone at the table.

  ‘I think your grandma hissed at me,’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘Probably,’ I replied, sitting down. Melanie was scrolling on her phone, while Devon refilled Mrs Brown’s wineglass.

  ‘What was Mr Tulips like?’ he asked.

  ‘Will?’ Mrs Brown shrugged and popped her hankie into her sleeve. ‘Very handsome. Well, I thought so.’ Devon nodded beside her. ‘Beautiful golden hair and thick lips. You would have loved him.’

  ‘Was he bi?’ Devon asked.

  Mrs Brown smiled and shook her head. ‘He might have experimented
once or twice, but he really loved the ladies.’

  ‘Oh,’ Devon said, disappointed.

  She gazed out the window. ‘Terrible at school, though.’

  ‘Was he always in trouble?’ I asked.

  ‘A bad seed, even then,’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘No, no, nothing like that. Just a sammie short of a picnic,’ Mrs Brown said. Devon scratched his head. She got up and patted his shoulder and went to the kitchen. ‘I’ll fix us a plate,’ she said. ‘Maths, science, you name it, he failed it. Left school as soon as he could and worked for his dad.’ She welled up. ‘It really is very sad.’

  I hopped up and passed her the tissue box in case her hankie was getting soggy.

  Mrs Brown grabbed my hand and squeezed it. She kept hold of it and with the other pulled out a tissue and dabbed her nose. ‘And dear Raewyn.’ She shuddered as if she was cold. ‘Also that lady cop … I just don’t understand it.’

  ‘None of us do,’ my uncle said. ‘I’m not sure we can.’

  I helped Mrs Brown put together a plate of pre-dinner snacks I didn’t know we had, on a blue and white dish I had never seen.

  ‘What was Raewyn like?’ I asked. I had decided we should be talking about her, not the man who did this.

  Melanie finger-stabbed her phone. ‘They need to start calling Raewyn Dalrymple by her name and not the “Councillor’s wife”.’ I watched her angry-typing. ‘“Wife”, like “misogynist”, is not a proper noun. Hashtag nothername.’

  ‘Who are you talking to dear?’ Mrs Brown called out, adding some olives to the platter.

  Melanie didn’t look up from her screen. ‘The patriarchy.’

  Mrs Brown smiled. ‘That’s nice,’ she said, coming into the living room. ‘It’s good to have friends.’

  Melanie scoffed as Mrs Brown put down the plate in the middle of the table. ‘Hornblower is the worst journalist,’ Melanie said, glaring at Uncle Pike. ‘He’s the one who started calling Raewyn Dalrymple the Councillor’s wife.’

  ‘Ow!’ My uncle bumped his leg under the table. ‘What was that for?’ he said to Devon, who glared at him as he drank his wine. Uncle Pike pushed his seat back and rubbed his leg.

  I was about to lean in and grab some cheese and crackers when Mum came in from work. She looked exhausted. I hugged her tight and she stroked my hair as everyone asked her how she was.

  Uncle Pike jumped up. ‘Drink, Lennie? Remember, it doesn’t count when it’s straight.’

  ‘In that case make mine a triple, thanks.’

  Mrs Brown queued up and gave Mum a hug after me. ‘Thank you, Helen. I heard what you and Devon did. So brave. If there’s anything you need or that we can do, please let me know.’

  ‘Thanks, Phyllis. A wine chaser would be spot on.’

  Mum didn’t last long. After dinner she fell asleep on the couch. I helped her to bed and we said goodbye to Mrs Brown and Melanie, before we drove to the Airbnb.

  On the porch, Uncle Pike and I waited in the cold while Devon unlocked the door to our stinky house. Down the street came a screeching of brakes and tooting. A white van with tinted windows pulled over and parked, facing the wrong side of the street.

  Something wasn’t right. The video of Mr Tulips’ van exploding popped in my head. The driver’s door opened and I flinched.

  ‘Not again,’ Uncle Pike groaned as a tall blond man jumped out.

  ‘Pickles!’ Hornblower said, then frowned. ‘Is this your house?’ He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head. ‘How festive … very “House of Usher”. Where’s the carved pumpkin?’

  Devon muttered something behind me.

  Hornblower banged on the van’s roof and the side door opened. ‘Quick, look!’ he called inside.

  A man hopped out with headphones around his neck, carrying a box thingy strapped to him, followed by a camerawoman, who I recognised from Christmas time.

  My uncle ran his hands through his hair and kept them on his head. ‘It’s not my place.’

  ‘Nonsense, dreary suits you. And on Hope Street, how witty.’ Hornblower turned to his crew. ‘See, this is how the real locals live. Brava.’ He did weird claps above his head. ‘So brave.’

  ‘Nice pedo-van,’ Uncle Pike said, dropping his arms.

  The camerawoman sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Can we go now?’

  Hornblower ignored her and came up the garden path.‘Children,’ he said to me and Devon, glaring down his nose at me, ‘don’t think I’ve forgotten that feisty little scene of yours at the pub.’ At Christmas, I had accused him of being a murderer and a fake old vampire.

  Devon stood with his arms folded. I could feel my uncle bristling beside me.

  I wasn’t scared of Hornblower. I thought about what Melanie had said about Raewyn Dalrymple, how Hornblower was always referring to her as the ‘Councillor’s wife’. ‘You’re a misogynist,’ I said.

  He stopped and gave me a fake smile. ‘Hardly, some of my best friends are underpaid.’ He waved at the camerawoman.

  ‘Not your friend,’ she called out as she climbed back into the van.

  ‘Wasn’t talking to you.’ He smiled and leaned in, stage whispering. ‘She’s paid way too much.’

  ‘He’s talking about his mum,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Hornblower winced and I could see that he’d lost his cool before he fake-smiled again. ‘Really, I can’t stop. You can invite me in for a drink next time. Sweet of you, really.’ He turned and walked towards the van as his crew got back in. Hornblower stopped. ‘Shit.’ He loped back and whispered. ‘Okay, don’t act weird. They watch everything I do.’ He pointed his thumb back to the van.

  ‘Isn’t that their job?’ I said.

  ‘Shh.’ Hornblower put his finger on Devon’s lips and leaned in like he was going to kiss him.

  Devon shook him off. ‘I didn’t say—’

  ‘This is embargoed.’ Hornblower slowly nodded at me and Devon. ‘That’s a big word, I know.’

  I really wanted to punch him in the teeth.

  ‘Spit it out,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Hornblower laughed. ‘Really? You want to go there in front of the kids?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ my uncle said.

  Hornblower glanced back at the van. ‘Some idiot has uploaded the emergency call and now there’s a new bomb threat. A photo of a note was emailed to the local police station. They traced the IP address and think it’s a hoax but just in case … don’t go near the bridge on Monday, 25 April.’

  ‘What?’ we all said together.

  ‘Shh.’ Hornblower grasped Uncle Pike’s arms. ‘Remember, embargoed.’ He gave my uncle a quick kiss on the lips then turned to Devon and me. ‘You kids ask Pickles what that word means. I need to run, remember: Anzac Day, no bridge.’ Hornblower pretended to zip up his mouth and jogged back to the van without looking back. He drove off like a dick, nearly hitting an oncoming car.

  Devon clenched his fists. ‘I can’t believe you were in love with that thing.’ He shouldered past Uncle Pike and went inside.

  ‘What? Wait,’ my uncle called after him. Then he looked at me. ‘The bridge?’

  I patted my uncle’s arm as I went inside. ‘Devon’s right. He is so gross.’

  We sat inside in the freezing gloom, Uncle Pike and Devon facing each other. At least when it was this cold I couldn’t smell the carpet. Or the rug.

  ‘Are we going to talk about the bridge?’ I asked.

  ‘Is he going to say sorry?’ Devon said.

  My uncle sighed. ‘What about this time?’

  ‘Your dick girlfriend.’

  ‘You’re not a dick, honey.’

  ‘You are,’ Devon said.

  No one else could die.‘Anzac Day is only six days away,’ I said. They weren’t listening. I raised my voice and said, ‘Mum uses the bridge.’

  They stopped arguing. ‘Oh, honey,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘It’s a hoax. Sometimes, after what’s happened, lonely people make things up for attention.’

  Devon nodded
, squatting in front of me. ‘Copycats. If it was real, they’d close the bridge.’

  ‘But didn’t Mr Tulips do it?’ I said. ‘And haven’t they checked for bombs already? Why would they …’ Shit. My heart began to race. ‘Unless he didn’t? Or he had help and there’s another bomber?’

  ‘Hey,’ Uncle Pike said, holding my hand. ‘No one’s saying any of that. Even if the police don’t believe the threat is real, they will have to check it out.’

  I looked up at them. ‘Promise?’

  ‘Of course,’ my uncle said. ‘You’re safe. We’re not going to lie to you.’

  Devon jumped up, scratching his head. ‘But Tippy is right. There could be another bomber still out there.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ my uncle said.

  Fear crept into my belly. I hadn’t thought about a second bomber since they gave the all clear and the police said it was Mr Tulips. What if they were wrong? What if this wasn’t a hoax and in six days they struck again?

  Later in bed I lay on my side and stared at the orange walls. I had forgotten my pillow again and the rough cotton towel was not getting any softer. Each time I closed my eyes, I pictured Mum driving her car over Riverstone Bridge, tapping her hands on the steering wheel to her favourite song by The Exponents, ‘Why Does Love Do This to Me’, then an explosion. In my mind I saw the split second of her shocked face before her car catapulted upwards in a fireball, in amongst concrete chunks and dust and billowing black smoke. The car hovering in the air like magic then plummeting into the river below, slabs of road and broken arches torpedoing after it, piling on top of Mum’s car, crushing the blackened roof and twisting the windowless metal frames, grinding it into the riverbed. Mum buried underwater inside a grey mangled mountain, her burnt hands still clutching the wheel.

  That night I didn’t sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The next morning the Airbnb Wi-Fi still wasn’t working, although it hadn’t actually had a signal the whole time we had been there. I yawned—two nights without sleep was a record for me. Devon didn’t look like he had slept either. I sat with him and finished my mug of Milo while Uncle Pike got dressed. Devon wore skinny black leather pants, which may have been leggings, and a teeny-tiny pale blue cardigan with one button done up. It stretched across his lean pecs and rib cage, showing his hairy six pack. He had wrapped a blue-and-white checked woollen blanket he’d found in a cupboard around him like a cape. It smelled a little musty.