by Paige Toon
‘I might see what’s on the telly.’
‘Dinner will be ready in half an hour,’ she calls after me.
‘You beauty, Cindy,’ I hear Michael say as I leave the room. ‘It’s so great coming home to you today.’
My mum only ever cooks for the men in her life. Not for me. Never for me. Oh, sure, she’s made me beans on toast, but even I’m capable of rustling that one up. And I have done. Often.
‘Hey,’ Josh says when I appear in the living room. He’s wearing dark-blue and white Bermuda shorts and a light-blue T-shirt. His tanned legs are projecting halfway across the coffee table.
‘Alright?’ I respond, slumping down on the sofa and staring at the television. ‘What are you watching?’
‘The footie.’
My day is steadily going downhill.
‘Did you have a good time last night?’ I try to make conversation.
He shrugs. ‘It was okay.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Stirling.’
‘Where’s Stirling?’
‘Five Ks that way.’ He points towards the front door, but doesn’t take his eyes off the telly, so I give up. He hasn’t bothered to ask me how my day went and I don’t want to talk about it to him, my mum or anyone, so as soon as I’ve eaten dinner, I make my excuses and go to bed.
Chapter 3
I’m showered and dressed and have my camera bag at the ready when Michael appears for breakfast. The question bursts out of my mouth before his bum even hits his seat.
‘Could I come with you again today?’
‘Well, of course,’ he replies, surprise written all over his face. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to so soon, but—’
‘Are you sure it’s okay?’ I chip in, desperate for him to say yes.
‘Absolutely, darl, but have you checked with your mum?’
‘She won’t care.’
‘She might want to spend some time with you.’
‘She won’t. Honest,’ I plead.
‘It’s fine by me if it’s fine by her.’
‘Wicked!’ I jump up.
My mum knows better than to pour water over my protected-species-rare enthusiasm, so she’s practically pushing me out of the door an hour later. I join Michael in the staffroom for the requisite cuppa, then head off in the direction of the kangaroos. I never got a chance to feed them the pellets Ben gave to me yesterday.
I find Roy lying in the shade of the same tree.
‘Hey you,’ I say softly as I approach him. ‘I brought some food for you today.’
At the sound of the rustling paper bag, he lazily gets to his feet. The tiny whiskers around his mouth tickle my outstretched palm as he gently eats the pellets one by one until they’re all gone. I wipe my hands on my jeans and, on a whim, settle down on the crisp, dry grass. Now towering above me, but not menacingly, Roy puts one paw on my forearm so I open up the bag and feed him another handful from my sitting position. After a while he loses interest, but doesn’t hop away. I put my arm around his soft, furry back and pat him, contentment washing over me. This is nice. I could stay here all day in the shade of this tree.
I glance up. Those hefty branches could hold a good-sized tree-house. I could stay here for weeks, in fact. I wouldn’t mind this, living here with the roos. Just then, I see something move out of the corner of my eye and spy two emus stalking the boundary fence. I couldn’t live with them though. Roy turns to me and sniffs at my nose before looking away again. I giggle. I hear the grass rustling behind me and warily turn around, praying it isn’t the feathered fiends. I sigh with relief as I see Ben approaching.
‘You look pretty cosy there,’ he calls as he gets nearer. Roy slowly hops towards him. Traitor. ‘Hello, Freddie,’ Ben says affectionately, rubbing the kangaroo’s neck.
‘Freddie?’ I say. ‘I thought he was called Roy.’
‘Roy?’ Ben looks confused as he reaches me. ‘Who told you that?’
‘I kind of named him that myself,’ I admit.
He chuckles and sits down on the grass next to me. ‘Roy suits him better.’
‘Who was Freddie? That is, assuming he was named after someone.’
‘Yep, you’re right. Freddie was a German exchange student doing work experience here a few years ago. Before my time.’
‘Oh, right. How long have you worked here?’
‘Two years in January.’
‘And before that?’
‘Sydney Zoo.’
‘You lived in Sydney?’
‘No, I commuted from Adelaide. It’s only a two-and-a-half-hour flight.’
I stare at him in confusion.
‘I’m joking.’ He playfully punches my arm. ‘Yes, I used to live in Sydney.’
I tut. ‘Okay, so that was a stupid question. What’s Sydney like?’
‘It’s great.’
‘Better than Adelaide?’
‘Just different. It’s got a good vibe, but Adelaide’s home.’
‘Is this where you grew up?’
‘Yep. Mount Barker Primary School followed by Mount Barker High, then Adelaide University. I’m a local boy through and through.’
‘Why did you move to Sydney?’ I continue my interrogation.
‘Felt like a change after uni.’
‘Then why did you come back?’ I persist.
‘My nan fell ill. My mum lives in Perth. She doesn’t get along with her mum anyway so I got a job here and came back to keep Nan company.’
‘That was nice of you.’
He shrugs. ‘I liked my nan. A whole lot more than I like my mum, in any case.’
‘Why don’t you like your mum?’
‘She’s a very selfish woman. Always has been. She didn’t want kids. I was a mistake and she made sure I knew it.’
‘That’s awful.’ His tone is flippant, but I still feel on edge. ‘What about your dad?’ I ask hopefully.
‘Who knows?’ He laughs a brittle laugh. ‘Never knew him. I sometimes wonder if my mum even knows who he is.’
I stare at him, shocked. And I thought I had it bad. He gives me a wry smile.
‘Is your nan still around?’ I ask quietly.
‘Nope.’ He gets to his feet. ‘She passed away in the winter.’
‘I’m sorry.’ It sounds weak, but no other words come to mind.
‘Thanks,’ he replies. Then: ‘I have to check over the roos. Want to help me?’
‘I’d love to.’ I quickly stand and dust myself off. ‘What do I have to do?’
‘Check them over for any swellings, lameness, drooling, weepy eyes . . . We’re mostly monitoring for lumpy jaw.’
‘What’s lumpy jaw?’
‘A condition that causes abscesses on or near the jaw. It’s caused by an infection.’
‘Is it serious?’
‘Usually we can remove an infected tooth and give them antibiotics. It’s very important not to feed them any soft fruit. No bananas or pears. They need crunchy carrots and sweet potatoes, that sort of thing.’
‘Interesting,’ I comment and he smiles at me.
‘You can help me with the headcount,’ he says.
One, two, three . . . I silently count them in my head. ‘Twenty-five,’ I determine as Ben gets on with checking over the roos.
‘There should be twenty-six,’ he says.
‘Twenty-six?’ My eyes scan the paddock.
‘Closer,’ Ben says. He’s staring pointedly at a kangaroo sprawled out on the ground about ten metres away. I watch inquisitively as he slowly ventures towards it. ‘You’re alright, old girl,’ he says soothingly as the kangaroo visibly tenses. I spy two legs poking out of her front pouch and my eyes widen as I belatedly realise that the twenty-sixth kangaroo is a baby – or ‘joey’, as I remember hearing them called on a wildlife documentary. The mother gets to her feet, her pouch bulging as the legs disappear and a tiny face appears in their place. I hold my breath as Ben quickly and efficiently checks over both kangaroos before the mother hops away. He looks across at
me.
‘What are you waiting for? You can start with Freddie. Or Roy, if you prefer.’ He winks.
It vaguely occurs to me as I work that it should feel strange that Ben opened up to me about his life like that. But it doesn’t feel strange at all.
‘Why are you doing the kangaroos today?’ I ask Ben as we walk back across the paddock.
‘Colleague called in sick.’
‘Are you heading over to the koalas now?’
‘Yep. Want to come with me?’
‘Yes, please. Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘You can help me weigh them, if you like?’
‘Cool.’
And just like that, I make my first friend in Australia. A friend called Ben. I reckon Michael Jackson would have approved.
My first few days fly by. I barely see Josh. He’s never up when his dad and I leave in the mornings, as the garage where he works in Mount Barker doesn’t open until nine, and he’s either tied to the television or out with his mates by the time we get home. Mum seems happy enough to let me do my own thing, and she spends her days cooking up a storm in the kitchen or doing God knows what around the house. We came home yesterday to find her making apricot jam using the fruit in the garden. I think Michael fell more in love with her than ever at that point. Last night he took her for dinner in the city and Josh went out with his mates. I’ve spent every evening this week around the house, practising with my new camera, watching telly and gradually getting over my jetlag, so I was well up for a night out, but an invitation never came. For the first time since we arrived, it bothered me.
Now it’s Saturday morning and I’ve been sitting in the kitchen for half an hour with no sign of anyone. I check my watch again, wondering if I should wake Michael. At this rate we’re going to be late. I drum my fingers on the tabletop and decide to give it a few more minutes.
Yesterday, Ben let me put Cindy back into her loft. He had to hold onto her while I clambered over the wall because I’m only five foot six and couldn’t quite manage it with a koala in my arms, but I carried her all the way there after her Meet the Tourists session and put her back on her perch. She clutched hold of my arm and held on tight around my neck, just like a small child would. She reminded me of Olivia, and that thought made me smile instead of cry.
Ben told me afterwards that some idiots have been known to climb over the wall and try to pick up a koala, but they don’t know how to handle them properly and usually get bitten. I’m glad he waited until after I put her on her perch, otherwise I would have been nervous. I can’t wait to see the animals again today.
Right, that’s it, I’m waking him.
I stand up and stride purposefully out of the kitchen and down the corridor. I reach Michael’s bedroom door and stop in my tracks when I hear voices inside. I quickly retreat to the kitchen and sit back down at the table.
‘Good morning!’ Michael booms when he appears a moment later. ‘You’re up bright and early.’
‘It’s seven-thirty,’ I say cautiously. ‘Shouldn’t we be setting off soon?’
‘Oh.’ He claps a hand to his head. ‘Sorry, darl, I thought I told you – I’m not working today.’
My stomach falls flat. ‘You’re not working today?’
‘No. So you’ve got the day off.’
But I don’t want the day off. I want to go to the conservation park. Maybe I could go with Ben?
‘Is Ben at work today?’ I ask hopefully as Michael sets about making tea.
‘No, he’s off today too, I’m afraid. You sure do like it there, don’t you?’
I’m so disappointed I can barely speak so I nod my reply.
‘We’ll have to start paying you at this rate,’ Michael continues. ‘Ben said you’ve really been pulling your weight.’
It’s true. I’ve been helping him a lot. At first I thought he was just being nice to me, keeping me company because Michael always seems to be in demand by everyone else, but I think I’ve been useful. I’m glad he said so to Michael.
‘Hmm,’ Michael muses. ‘I might have to speak to Trudy about that.’
‘Trudy in the front office? About what?’ I ask.
‘If we can get you a little summer job.’
My heart soars. ‘Really?’
‘I don’t see why not. I’ll see what I can do.’
‘That would be amazing,’ I enthuse. That would mean I could go there every day. Well, almost every day. ‘Are you back at work tomorrow?’ I ask brightly.
‘No, Monday.’ He chuckles when he sees my face. I try to perk up because I don’t want to seem ungrateful. ‘Why don’t you take a trip into the city today?’ he suggests. ‘Go shopping, see the sights. I’m sure your mum would let you borrow her car. Or you could even use the truck, for that matter.’
‘What, and drive myself?’
He claps his hand over his forehead for the second time this morning, saying, ‘I forgot, you can’t drive.’
I shake my head, wryly.
‘When’s your birthday? This coming week, isn’t it?’
‘Wednesday.’
‘Won’t be long, then.’
‘I’ll only be sixteen,’ I remind him.
‘That’s right,’ he replies cheerfully.
‘But you have to be seventeen to drive.’
‘Not in Australia.’
‘Seriously?’ Why didn’t somebody tell me this? I’ve been wanting my independence behind the wheel for donkey’s years! This would have made the move Down Under far more palatable.
‘You’ll have to do your paper test first, but after that you can climb into the driver’s seat.’
‘No way!’
‘As for today,’ Michael continues, delighted at my reaction, ‘there’s a bus service which leaves from Crafers that takes you direct into the city. I’ll give you a lift to the bus stop, if you like.’
‘Okay!’
He scratches his head in bemusement. ‘You have got the prettiest face when you smile.’
And instead of scowling like I usually would at hearing a comment like that, I actually find myself laughing.
Adelaide is a sprawling city, its suburbs reaching far and wide, but the centre is not that big – certainly not by London standards. I hop off the bus and walk in the direction of East Terrace. Michael explained earlier that the main part of the city is surrounded by four roads: North, East, West and South Terrace, with the streets within laid out as a simple grid system, so it’s easy to find my way around.
It’s only nine o’clock in the morning and the shops don’t open until nine-thirty, but Michael told me the Botanic Gardens would be the perfect setting to practise my photography. I still have half a roll of film to finish off before I can get my first photographs developed, and apparently there’s a one-hour place in the mall. I’m quietly excited about seeing the results of my efforts.
The main entrance to the Botanic Gardens is on the corner of East and North Terrace. I pass through the gates and after a little while, turn right along a path lined with trees and shrubs. A short way off there’s a medium-sized pond covered in its entirety by large, lime-green leaves. A dark-grey statue of a cherub clutching onto a swan sits in the middle. I walk across neatly-mown grass towards the pond and take in the sight of a multitude of tall pink flowers bursting upwards away from the foliage. Lilies. Eagerly I unzip the bag and pull out my camera, stepping away from the pond to survey the scene. Then I zoom in and focus on one bright pink flower, clicking off a single shot. I walk around the pond and dither for a moment before fiddling with the settings on the camera and attempting another shot. I don’t have the confidence yet to take lots of photos in one go. Nor do I have the money to waste on film or developing either, for that matter. But I might do if Michael comes good on his promise.
It’s another hot day, and the morning sun is bright. Not the best light for taking photographs, I muse. Get me, thinking like a photographer already . . . Perhaps I’ll come back later.
I wander in
leisurely fashion through the lush green gardens, over tiny bridges and underneath the tallest of trees with the widest of trunks, until eventually I decide to leave the Botanic Gardens and check out the shops.
The pavements are crowded with tables spilling out of dozens of cafés and restaurants, and the chink of cappuccino cups against saucers greets my ears as countless people enjoy lazy breakfasts in the sun. I suddenly wish I was sitting at a table gossiping with a girlfriend, and at that thought, I feel a sharp pang. I don’t have any friends. And I certainly don’t have any here. Not yet, anyway, and for a brief moment the thought of starting at a new school in a few weeks doesn’t seem quite so bad.
Later that day I walk back along the same street, pausing at an Italian café to buy two scoops of lemon and chocolate gelati, then returning to the Botanic Gardens as quickly as possible before the hot sun melts the ice-cream away. After a few mouthfuls, I dig around in one of my shopping bags and check out my purchases. I have bought a new film for my camera, a couple of cushion covers and a purple throw for my bed, plus a poster of my favourite band, Fence. I fancy their lead singer Johnny Jefferson like mad, so if anything can improve the state of my new bedroom, I reckon his gorgeous face can. I also bought my mum a nice candle and some perfume for Christmas. I suppose I need to get something for Michael and Josh, too, but I have no idea what, yet. Finally I take out the photos that I’ve had developed. I couldn’t resist having a quick look when I got them back, but now I want to scrutinise them in more detail.
The first photograph I pull out is of Roy the kangaroo, propped up on one elbow and looking straight into the camera. There’s something quite funny about it. I think my dad would find it amusing. Oh. I can just see the tail of another kangaroo in the background. Bugger, I should have framed it better. I sigh and put the photo to the back of the pile before turning my attention to the next shot. Cindy! She instantly makes me smile. Hmm. I think I might quite like the way I’ve used the focus in this one, with the leaves blurring behind the koala. Not bad. Right, next!
I go through the whole set like this, peering at each shot with a super-critical eye until I’m either kicking myself or feeling mildly pleased. Once I’m done, I install the new film and then I start to go through the set again until I remember my gelati and turn to see that it’s melted away into a syrupy mess.
