The Days of In Between

by Peter Valentine Fenton

  An Omnibus Book from Scholastic Australia

  For

  Grace, Eve, Jasper, Zoe and Harper

  The thought of heading to the beach for the holidays had electrified Toby for weeks. On his last day of primary school he had been chosen to ring the bell, chiming goodbye to the place he had spent half his life. And after a year spent in sturdy sensible shoes, the idea of leaving his daily classroom routine behind, followed by the promise of Christmas and long carefree days of barefoot freedom gave him goosebumps. He had marked off the dates on his calendar, his anticipation building, binding him tight in a summery spell of salty air and shining sun and fine golden sand caught between his toes.

  Mum had helped him pack the soft duffle bag that he now sat upon, ready and waiting on the kerb outside Dad’s new house. He corrected himself. Outside his house.

  He didn’t need to take much, just his things to swim in, a few freshly washed t-shirts, his favourite old shorts, a pair of thongs, sandshoes, a pair of jeans and his footy tracksuit top for warmth.

  He had carefully added the snorkelling set he’d got for his birthday, yet to be used, and his new book. At the last minute he threw in a cassette tape of songs he’d recorded from the radio.

  Earlier that morning he had woken to the sound of his tearaway ten-year-old brother Danny running up and down the hallway, raring to get outside and onto his new bike. Yesterday he and Danny had crept out in the first strain of morning light to find three dragsters resting on their stands beside the Christmas tree, gleaming with so much potential and fun that it had been difficult to be quiet and not disturb the rest of the sleeping house.

  This morning though, Danny wasn’t even trying.

  In the next room, his sister Emily had put the stylus down once again on the new record she had received. It would be another hour, Toby had guessed, until her best friend Maisie would arrive so they could spend hours crafting dance moves to their favourite ABBA songs.

  How he loved it here at Mum’s, with all its energy and constant action.

  He had lain on his old bed, with its familiar smells and comforting orange chenille bedspread, staring at the cheery sight of his smiley face wallpaper – a whole wall of floating yellow, brown and orange faces, all of them seemingly vying to push forward to be the first to greet him.

  It was then Toby heard Danny’s unmistakable tone of complaint from down the hall.

  ‘But, Mum, why does only Toby get to go? It’s just not fair!’

  Mum’s voice answered diplomatically. ‘Well, Danny, your dad wanted to take Judy to the coast this summer. And as Toby is living with them, he’s going too.’

  ‘But it’s our caravan!’ Danny insisted.

  Emily’s voice floated out into the hallway, over the triumphant repeating choruses from her record player. ‘It’s not our turn, Danny.’

  Danny had stomped back down the hall, passing by the open door of their shared room, shooting Toby a javelin-like, narrowed-eyed look, accompanied by a piercing, ‘Say hi to Dad and Quacko for us, then,’ both of which clearly told Toby that the attempts to explain the situation had been unsuccessful.

  Toby’s decision, last Christmas, to live with their father had taken his mother, but especially his brother and sister, by surprise. There was an unsaid understanding between them that Toby had made the choice for his father’s benefit more than his own, and this had, unexpectedly, brought the siblings closer together.

  But not today.

  After breakfast, Toby had tried to make peace with Danny by joining him on their new bikes.

  Danny, of course, had already fixed playing cards to the back wheel with clothes pegs so that the wheel whirred as it spun, making a sound similar to a motorbike engine.

  They circled around on the street outside their home with Danny pushing his new bike to the brink, jumping it off the kerb, his hands gripping the high handlebars as he brought it down on the back wheel, the front wheel still in the air, mimicking his stuntman hero Evel Knievel.

  Toby had watched Danny closely, always in readiness for the inevitable accident. Luckily, today, the worst of it was a simple slide on the front lawn, the soft summer grass cushioning his fall. Toby was off his own bike in a flash, helping his brother to his feet.

  ‘Take it easy, Danny,’ Toby said, straightening his brother’s handlebars as he held the front wheel between his knees. He wanted to tell him that it must’ve taken Mum ages to lay-by their presents. He decided against it, saying simply, ‘You don’t want to wreck it in the first week.’

  Still, the ride had done the trick, and his brother’s seething resentment had faded. Toby felt how hard it would be to say goodbye for the next three weeks. The reality of leaving his mum and younger brother and sister behind was beginning to sink in and his unrelenting excitement was beginning to wane, like a wave disappearing back to the sea. Despite now living with Dad, Toby had seen Danny and Emily almost every day at school, and spent every other weekend with them. He already missed his mum more than anything, but the changes brought about by his decision were starting to expand in unforeseen ways, and starting to bite. His dad had enrolled him in the high school near his new house on the other side of town, away from his siblings and his schoolmates.

  He hadn’t been prepared for that.

  A part of him wondered if he had made his choice too quickly. Another part reassured him that he had done the right thing. Dad needed him.

  There was the divorce, that was one thing, but even before that Toby had seen that his once fun and carefree father was struggling with burdens picked up while he was away at the war in Vietnam. He had hoped as the eldest son he could help lift the load, but now things had settled and his dad was so busy with Judy that Toby felt he barely saw him at all. So, the idea of spending the summer holidays in a much loved place of his most precious memories was a very welcome reset to all the disruption and change.

  Still, it seemed all too soon when Mum called out that it was time for Toby to leave. He had opened the back door of her small but trusty white Torana to place his duffle bag on the seat, finding space next to Danny’s discarded football boots, a Gumby figurine and several matchbox cars in various states of disrepair. Mum had driven him across town pulling up outside his dad’s with a smile and a sigh. ‘So long, little dugong,’ she said as she kissed his cheek. She had called him that for all of his twelve years.

  When he was younger, Mum and Dad would tell him the story that they got him from an advertisement in the back pages of a comic. They had ordered sea monkeys but had been sent a little dugong baby by mistake. Then they had fed and cared for him so much, he grew bigger and bigger each day into their own, not so little, dugong boy.

  Even though she said it to Toby all the time, it still made them laugh. Their eyes would twinkle together, except now he saw Mum’s eyes bloom into tears. ‘I’m going to miss you, you know,’ she said, blinking them away.

  Toby twisted his features into what he called his brave face. ‘See you soon, Mum.’ He grabbed his bag from the back seat and left it by the front door.

  With his first ever house key, bright and silver, he opened the door and let himself in.

  He was struck by how his new house felt in comparison to his old one. His mum kept a tidy house but it was layered with a blanket of his brother’s and sister’s toys, books, records and clothes. At Dad’s their absence echoed with an emptiness that he wished he could fill.

  His room was still so sparse it didn’t really feel like his own. It hosted a bed, a wardrobe, a beanbag and a study desk on which sat his prized globe. He had a few books and a cricket bat that had been signed by the visiting West Indies team. A radio cassette player sat on the windowsill. On the weekends he wasn’t
at Mum’s, he would spend a lot of time sitting in the beanbag winding the tuning dial through the short-wave radio band, if only to distract himself from the coral-painted wall that his new stepmother had insisted should match the rest of the house. Judy had read a report somewhere that proved the colour had a calming effect and could help his dad sleep. While Toby didn’t wish to disagree with her, he was quite sure he hadn’t yet gained any sense of peace from its pinkish hue – in fact, nearer to the opposite!

  Walking down the empty corridor, Toby had managed to work out pretty quickly that neither Dad nor Judy were nowhere to be found, the silence feeding his growing sense of deflation.

  With nothing to do but wait, he slowly picked up his bag and returned outside to sit on the kerb to watch as ordinary things played out around him. Families came and went, cars were lathered and washed, while sprinklers jutted and turned with robotic precision, sending out streams of water that ran along the gutter and under his legs. He whiled away some time dabbing his finger in it and drawing on the concrete, then marvelled as his artwork evaporated and disappeared in the sunlight.

  Down the street, some neighbours had the new Slip ‘N Slide he had seen advertised on TV: a long strip of bright yellow plastic that, when combined with dishwashing liquid and arcing spouts of water from the attached garden hose, sent you coasting from one sudsy end to the other. Most of the kids from the street were eagerly lined up, their soaking wet shorts clinging to their skinny legs, throwing themselves along it, to roars of approval from the others gathered on the lawn. One boy gestured for him to join them, but Toby waved him away, pointing at his bag, careful not to reveal the sinking feeling inside him.

  Eventually Dad’s new Ford Falcon pulled into the driveway.

  ‘Sorry, Toby,’ Dad nodded apologetically, hopping out and heading towards him. ‘I had no idea you were already here.’

  Toby blinked in surprise. He was sure that Dad had told him to be home by now, but he kept that to himself. He wanted everything to be as smooth as possible, so he could get down to the real business of this day – getting to the beach, a few hours’ drive away.

  ‘We’re all packed and ready to go,’ his dad continued. ‘Just stopped at the shops to pick up a few last-minute things. Luckily Judy said we should check that you weren’t waiting.’

  With that, Judy got out of the car and moved towards him, quickly sweeping Toby into an inescapable embrace. ‘Oh, Toby, you poor dear.’

  Toby felt a twinge of embarrassment. ‘It’s okay,’ he muttered, surrendering. He’d found that was the best way to deal with Judy’s well-meaning and unavoidable swoops, which had been happening ever since Dad had first introduced them, outside her consulting room.

  Dad picked up the duffle bag and packed it into the boot as Judy returned to the car and Toby climbed into the back seat. His dad got back into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  ‘Brian,’ Judy prompted, ‘remember you had something to give Toby?’

  The pair looked at each other for an awkward few moments. ‘Oh yes, Toby, I nearly forgot.’ He passed over a shopping bag. ‘Sorry it’s not wrapped, but it’s a little something for Chrissy from Jude and me.’

  Toby reached inside the bag and pulled out a black and white beach towel. He unfolded it, to see a large magpie printed in the middle. A price tag was still attached to the corner.

  ‘Oops!’ Judy deftly lunged at it and removed it. Toby pretended not to notice. ‘Your father said magpies were your favourite.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, that’s really nice. I can’t wait to use it.’

  Judy and his dad exchanged a ‘job well done’ nod and turned to face the journey ahead.

  They drew away from the house, past the neighbours mowing lawns, and out onto the main road. As they drove by the Slip’N Sliders, the same boy that had waved Toby over before stood with his hand up, a gesture frozen somewhere between hello and goodbye, which Toby returned.

  Before long, they were on the edge of town. He tried following the conversation between Dad and Judy but they were talking of people he didn’t know and places he hadn’t been. He was happy to sit silently, his spirits lifting as he dreamt of the summer adventures that would soon begin, while the brown vinyl seat formed patterns on the undersides of his legs. The scenery outside whooshed past like a moving train and Toby was drawn into the landscape around him – small country towns, fields of dry grass and gum trees filled with cockatoos, steep mountains with hairpin turns. Sheep and cows lazed in paddocks, finding shadows away from the biting sun. Occasionally, a kangaroo bounded away from them and into the distance.

  Suddenly, as they came over a rise in the road, the sky gave way to a glimpse of the magnificent ocean.

  Toby burst into a broad grin. Summer – its sights, its smells, the explosive sounds of squawking seagulls and crashing waves – was there, ready for him.

  Tara Jones. The girl who looked like a tulip. That’s what her mum always said. ‘Beautiful and fragile.’ With strawberry lips and hair, she had paler skin than anybody she knew, although Nan had once shown her photos of herself as a girl and she had been a tulip too, before her strawberry hair had succumbed to the silver whites.

  ‘We’re the “Tathra Tulips”, Nan used to say whenever Tara came to visit, like it was their very own secret society.

  Still, it made Tara feel strangely out of place. Even though she loved her small town and its pretty beach, she did think that she looked like someone more suited to living amidst the woods and the misty, snow-covered panoramas that formed the backdrop of the fairy tales she had grown up reading, than under the diamond-sharp sunlight of Australia.

  Perched on the warm concrete steps off the narrow porch of her grandmother’s house, the house her dad had grown up in, she watched the procession of dusty cars snake into the town, coming around the hill and passing under the lazily moving willow overhanging the road.

  She allowed her fingertips to lightly brush over the petals of the geraniums her mum had long ago planted in a large green ceramic pot.

  She had always spent summers at Nan’s, but being in the house now felt different.

  The three of them, she, her dad and her brother, had shifted south from the big town to the little town soon after they lost Mum, when Dad had lost his job. Without that, without Mum’s pay – without Mum – they just didn’t have much to stay for.

  The only money coming in now was her father’s seasonal work as a shark fisherman. He sold the sharks without their jaws, which he kept. He would then remove each tooth, drilling through it finely, stringing it with leather twine and selling the necklaces to the city kids who holidayed here.

  She looked forward to these times, when the rough black tar road carried expectant faces from their homes further inland, looking to catch that first glimpse of the sea.

  She imagined the cars stuffed full of togs and towels, thongs and hats, brightly coloured umbrellas and fishing rods. Some pulled along caravans, sometimes a dinghy was held aloft by roof racks and rope, others towed gleaming big fishing boats that sat on their own special trailers.

  It made her feel good about the little town, that others wanted to come to share it, that it was a place that created memories, that it could offer so much happiness.

  Tara had one final year of primary school before high school would mark yet another shift. The local school had been there for a hundred years, and Nan’s name was written in gold letters on the brown shield outside the school office: ‘Eve Grace, Dux of the School, 1928’.

  Tara’s teacher, Mrs Carey, and everyone really, had made her feel welcome when she first arrived. But their kindness held too much of something inside it that she couldn’t put her finger on. No matter how much time passed, Tara could never feel that anyone quite saw her as anything but a girl who had lost her mum.

  She was grateful that the warmer seasons brought a wave of new people into the town. People who knew nothing about her. Despite this, which sometimes felt like everything, she felt at ho
me here. But she longed for a friend.

  Behind her, without warning, the screen door opened with such force that it struck the house, rattling the large orange butterfly ornament on the wall so vigorously that Tara half expected it to crash down beside her. She turned, shaken from her quiet reverie, to see her father standing over her, his hands on his hips, dressed in his usual shorts and blue singlet, in a rush to go out, to be somewhere else.

  ‘How many times have I told you to stay out of the sun?’ The tone of his voice echoed the slam of the door.

  Tara had been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the morning sunlight creep up the steps and onto the porch.

  ‘It was shady before,’ she said, her voice small.

  Her father bit back. ‘I don’t care if it was shady before. It’s scorching hot now. I’ve told you not to sit in the sun and fry. Move it! Inside, now!’

  Tara stood slowly, her fingers softly saying goodbye to the flowers.

  The strict windows of time in which her father allowed her to venture outside were narrowing as she, and the summer, grew older. While her schoolmates spent holidays exploring and playing, she was expected to take on the role of carer and nurturer – washing clothes, making meals and keeping the house as tidy as she could. Dad wanted to know where she was at all times and what time she’d be home.

  He held on tight to her. Too tight.

  He used her fair skin as the always ready reason, keeping her close to the house, keeping her from going to the beach – the place she missed her mum the most, and felt her the strongest.

  There, and on their mountain.

  It rose up from behind the local caravan park and sat like a resting, wondrous giant, lush with green and intrigue, offering the town a home on the palm of its hand.

  Soon after her mum had gone, Nan had taken Tara up there, and in the soothing shadows on the mountain that both Tara and her mother had loved, Nan had dropped down to one knee, placed her hands flat on Tara’s shoulders and looked her right in the eye. ‘I know this difficult’, she had said. ‘But you must remember that you are lucky. You had that time with her. Precious time. She’s not gone. She lives inside you. In your thoughts, your actions, your memories. Always remember.’