Swimming on Dry Land

by Helen Blackhurst

  Mum came out of the kitchen once she heard our voices. She must have been flabbergasted too because she dropped her tea-towel, turned bright red, and stuttered a bit before she got her words out.

  ‘Eddie! What are you doing here? Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?’ All said in that high-pitched oh my goodness tone she puts on when she’s surprised.

  ‘Caroline!’ Uncle Eddie said, gripping Mum around her waist and spinning her. One of her sandals flew off and hit my head. Georgie giggled, until I kicked her in the shin. ‘What do you think?’ He plucked at his trousers and did a half-turn.

  Mum picked the grass out of my hair while she said, ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’

  ‘You’re even more beautiful.’ Uncle Eddie smiled; you could tell he had brushed his teeth.

  I showed Mum the limousine. ‘It’s got six doors,’ I said, trying to get a proper look at it – Uncle Eddie was in the way.

  ‘Some style you have,’ Mum said, eyeing Uncle Eddie up and down and peering over his shoulder on her tiptoes. ‘This isn’t Hollywood, you know.’ In his suit and tie and thin-striped shirt, he looked like a newsreader.

  ‘Had a meeting in London. Thought I’d drive up and collect you. Fly you back to Oz. Can’t seem to convince you on paper.’

  Mum put her sandal back on and said, ‘It’s not me you need to convince. You know what Michael’s like. Complains if I get a different brand of milk.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Same as ever. God, it’s good to see you.’

  The two of them carried on like this, ignoring me and Georgie. Mum took Uncle Eddie’s jacket and laid it on the dresser while he explained about these houses he was building. He went on and on about a place called Akarula. Then they walked off into the lounge arm in arm. I took the car keys from Uncle Eddie’s jacket pocket and went back outside.

  ‘Give them,’ Georgie whined.

  I opened the car and slipped into the driver’s seat. It took Georgie all of two seconds to get in beside me.

  That was some car. The back seat was practically a sofa, and there was a telly and curtains and a mini bar. I turned the wheel and we were off. We drove to America, India, Madagascar, and plenty of other places. I told Georgie about the animals we could see, pointing out the odd tree and high-rise building. We waved at passing cars, winding the window down because the weather was so hot. She added her own stuff, but mostly stuck to things in the town. Georgie even got car sick – that’s how real she thought our trip was – all over Uncle Eddie’s map. We had to get out in the end because the car stank. I slammed the door shut. It wasn’t my fault Georgie left her thumb in the way. She didn’t throw a wobbly; the shock of it took her voice away.

  After I’d put the keys back in Uncle Eddie’s jacket pocket, I washed Georgie’s face upstairs and strapped a plaster round her thumb. That’s when I promised that if anyone asked, I’d say it was me who got sick on the map. I think her thumb must have really hurt because her face turned see-through blue. Mum had to drive her down to Doctor Sutton’s later on. The thing with Georgie is, when she gets upset or ill, she stops breathing. That’s why she nearly died a hundred million times. So if she asks you to do something, you have to do it. She asked me to steal a fiver from Uncle Eddie’s wallet, so I did.

  Dad had woken up by then. All three of them were drinking wine in the lounge and laughing a lot. Well, Mum and Uncle Eddie were laughing. We all laughed in the three days Uncle Eddie stayed with us, even Georgie, who didn’t like visitors; she usually swelled up like a puffer fish until they went home. The thing I liked about Uncle Eddie was that he didn’t make a song and dance about Georgie. He didn’t know that any minute she could die and, if he wasn’t careful, it would be his fault. Nobody told him. Uncle Eddie kept picking me up and flying me around over his head, saying this is what the plane ride to Australia is like. He didn’t tell anyone about Georgie getting sick, or his missing money. I didn’t get in trouble about Georgie’s thumb either. Mum said, accidents happen, just like that, and didn’t even ask what we were doing in Uncle Eddie’s car. Usually Mum would want the whole story before deciding what to do with me. Instead she played her guitar and made up songs, something she hadn’t done in ages. They were good songs too. Me and Georgie danced around the lounge. I had my spinning skirt on. Dad watched us, and clicked his false tooth up and down to make us laugh. Uncle Eddie taped the whole thing on his brand new cine-camera.

  That week Dad was doing film reviews at the cinema, which meant we got free tickets. Dad could tell you who was in any film that was ever made, when it was made, how long it was, the whole lot. On the Friday night Uncle Eddie stayed with us, we walked into town to see E.T. I showed Uncle Eddie Wogan’s Bookshop as we went past; it was closed, so we didn’t go in. Uncle Eddie pretended he was a B52 bomber plane and flew down the street with his arms stretched out, shooting at me and Mum until we fell over, making this pa pa pa pa pa sound for the bullets. It was fun, although Dad’s games were better. Dad’s games were real games. With Uncle Eddie, everything was made up. Dad didn’t play much of anything now though; he was either too tired or too busy on his typewriter. Georgie didn’t want to play the plane game. When she saw Mum and me lying on the pavement, she started making this whirring noise like a fire engine. It took Mum ages to calm her down. Georgie must have thought we were dead. We walked normally after that.

  The cinema was packed because it was the first night of E.T. Dad had saved us the best seats, six rows back, right in the middle. He always got there early so that he could sit in his favourite seat – F14. In the interval, a woman in a paper hat and tinted glasses brought around ice-creams and drinks, the same woman who had ripped our tickets at the door.

  Georgie wouldn’t sit properly on her seat. She kept slipping onto the floor and rubbing her legs against the carpet until they were red sore. Which is why we didn’t have carpets at home. Mum had to keep pulling her up, but once the film got started, she just left her there. I loved that film. In the bit where they take E.T. to the science hospital, I stood up and shouted when E.T.’s heart glowed again. I was so glad he was alive. I don’t know what I shouted; I just wanted him to get away. Mum leaned over and pulled me back into my chair, handing me a liquorice allsort.

  ‘It’s just a story,’ she whispered. It’s not real.’ But it was real; it was happening right there in front of me. Uncle Eddie must have thought it was real too because at the end of the film he was crying. When I passed him my handkerchief, he said, ‘That was some film,’ and blew his nose twice.

  Dad had to stay behind to meet one of the newspaper men, so we said goodnight to him on the steps outside. On the way home, Uncle Eddie said he was going to build a cinema for Dad in Akarula. He was always saying things like that.

  I asked him where Akarula was on the world map. (I know the world map off by heart.)

  ‘A long way from here,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come and visit?’

  I said I would. Then Uncle Eddie made me promise. I had to spit on my hand and shake his hand three times, like the Red Indians do in Sworn Away. Mum was busy inspecting the carpet patterns on Georgie’s legs underneath the street lamp outside Woolworths, so she didn’t see me promise.

  The day before Uncle Eddie left, he took us out for lunch. We all got dressed up. Dad was wearing his wedding suit and Mum was in her best mauve dress. Me and Georgie wore the matching velvet skirts we got for Christmas, even though it was summer. As we were leaving, Uncle Eddie asked Dad to drive.

  ‘We’ll take the scenic route. There’s 400ccs of horse power in that little lady.’

  Dad was holding onto the coat stand. I knew he didn’t really want to go.

  Mum said, ‘I can drive,’ the way she always said I can drive, and snapped up the car keys from the bowl on the dresser before she went outside.

  ‘I might stay here,’ Dad said, resting one of his hands on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

  Uncle Eddie slapped Dad’s arm. ‘Come on, Mike. My
treat.’

  Mum came back in for Georgie’s shoes. She could see what was happening. ‘Don’t spoil it for everyone,’ she said to Dad, not quite looking at him. That meant he was in trouble.

  Dad heaved a sigh out of his chest and slowly shrank, like a punctured balloon. His hand went limp on my shoulder. I took hold of it and kissed it and held on to his fingers.

  ‘We’re going out for lunch. It’s booked. Let’s go. Come on, skunk.’ Uncle Eddie called me skunk sometimes. I didn’t really like it. He strode outside, and Mum and Georgie followed. I thought they were going to go without us, but Uncle Eddie marched back in and stood so close to Dad their noses nearly touched. ‘This isn’t fair, Mike,’ he said through his teeth. ‘Just get in the car.’

  Dad told me to go outside, and edged me towards the door, which Uncle Eddie closed behind me. I could still hear them talking though, as if they were trying to knock each other over with their voices. It was Dad’s voice that kept falling down. Eventually they both came out.

  Uncle Eddie said ‘Let’s cruise,’ as he caught the car keys Mum threw at him and slid into the driver’s seat. On the way to the restaurant, he told us about opal stones and how if you look at them for long enough, they turn into the sea. What he meant was, they look like the sea. The sea at Whitley Bay is grey, and in the winter it looks black. Most stones are grey or black anyway. I couldn’t see why Uncle Eddie thought opals were so special. Dad only spoke once, just as we went past the cinema. He said, ‘They’ve made this into a one-way street.’

  That restaurant wasn’t like the Berni Inn where we went for our birthdays. There were silver knives and forks, padded chairs, and a tablecloth which matched the napkins. Mum noticed that the napkins were the same colour as the carpet and the curtains. It was hard to decide what to eat. I ordered the third thing on the menu, which was basically fish and chips, only they’d written fillet of plaice with French fries. Georgie had the same. We all got green soup to start.

  The waiter was a tall skinny Frenchman who wore white gloves and a white apron and smiled a lot. He had the exact same smile as Uncle Eddie.

  ‘What will we drink to?’ Uncle Eddie said, raising his glass of champagne.

  ‘Australia?’ Mum said, looking at Dad with an upside-down grin. And then she chinked glasses with Uncle Eddie. Georgie held up her glass of orange juice and chinked too. Dad didn’t feel like chinking. Me neither.

  ‘How’s the writing?’ Uncle Eddie asked, passing Dad some bread. ‘I think you’re in the wrong game. What you bringing in? Twenty, thirty grand?’

  ‘Try halving it,’ Mum said into her napkin.

  Uncle Eddie carried on talking to Dad. ‘I’m not trying to tell my older brother what to do. But the property market in Oz is about to soar. All you need is a bit of savvy and a few contacts. I could set you up. Plus the fact that you’d love it out there.’ He took up his bread roll and ripped it in half as he turned to Mum. ‘Why don’t we all drive down to Whitley? Your folks wouldn’t mind a quick visit?’

  ‘They’d be delighted,’ Mum said. Her cheeks were pink from the champagne.

  ‘It’s too long a drive for Georgie,’ Dad said, laying his spoon down next to his bowl and wiping his mouth on the fancy napkin. ‘Can you pass me another roll, please?’

  Mum looked from Uncle Eddie to Dad and said, ‘We don’t all have to go.’

  ‘If you like,’ Dad said flatly. He filled up Uncle Eddie’s glass. The bubbles nearly spilt over.

  ‘Come to London with me?’ Uncle Eddie said to Dad, nearly jumping out of his chair with excitement. ‘You can check out the national papers, show them your articles, boost yourself up a bit.’ Uncle Eddie reminded me of next-door’s dog, the one that always tried to sniff your knickers.

  ‘Leave it, Eddie,’ Dad said, putting on a weak smile. ‘We don’t all want what you have.’

  Mum said something underneath her breath and then gulped down the rest of her drink. She had a lipstick smudge on her front tooth but I didn’t bother telling her.

  ‘Course not. I’d just love you to see it. Think about it. That’s all I’m asking. How’s Terry doing? Must call in while I’m here.’

  Terry was our next-door neighbour who owned the knicker-sniffing dog. He was pretty old and smelly, but he always gave us Fry’s chocolate mint bars, and there was a giant snow globe on his windowsill that he’d let you shake if you agreed to comb his hair. Georgie liked the globe. She never combed Terry’s hair though; it was always me who had to do that.

  ‘Is it like Disneyland?’ Georgie asked. We were all amazed because Georgie didn’t speak normally, not in public. She’d talk to me if we were on our own, or to Mum and Dad, if she wanted something, but I’d never heard her say anything when we were out. Most people thought she was deaf and dumb. Uncle Eddie didn’t even blink.

  ‘Akarula? You could say that.’ And then he went on about the town and the people and what they did and how many houses he had and how much we’d like the weather. He made everything sound so important. I imagined Australia to be black and white, like a newspaper: not many pictures, and that small neat print. Dad’s stories were always interesting.

  Georgie stopped listening to Uncle Eddie. Because she was twisting the buttons on her cardigan, Mum got cross and slapped her hand away; then she gave Georgie her gold wedding ring to play with so that Georgie wouldn’t cry.

  I asked Uncle Eddie what kinds of animals there were in Akarula. He gave me a whole list. Dad knew even more. I’d heard of kangaroos and wallabies. In my notebook I did a few sketches and wrote down most of the names while I was waiting for my main course.

  The food was served on plates the size of car wheels, and there wasn’t much of it. Georgie finished hers, which was the first time she’d ever finished a plate of food. She was in a great mood. We played ‘I Spy’ at the table; I won and she didn’t even try to win back. Only at the end, when the rest of us were eating our chocolate mousse, she slid off her chair and started doing her floor dance, rubbing her legs against the carpet, getting fluff all over her velvet skirt. That’s when Mum stood up and said it was time to go home. I had to look after Georgie until the waiter brought the bill. It came on a saucer with some chocolates, which Mum stuffed in her handbag. Dad took the bill and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

  Uncle Eddie said, ‘This is my shout, Mike,’ but Dad insisted. He said, ‘You don’t have to pay for everything.’

  Mum got all cockadoodled. ‘You can’t afford this,’ she said to Dad. ‘That’s more than a week’s wages.’ The waiter took Dad’s card and brought it back on the same saucer, only there were no chocolates this time. Uncle Eddie left a £10 note under the sugar bowl. He tried to slip Dad some money on the way out, but Dad got cross, so Uncle Eddie held the door open for him instead.

  Georgie let Uncle Eddie squeeze her hand on the way home while we were stopped at the traffic lights. He called her his Strawberry Girl, probably because her favourite fruit is strawberries, or at least one of her favourite fruits; she likes peaches too, but only if the skins are peeled off.

  ‘You’re privileged,’ Mum said.

  ‘She’s right to be choosy.’ Uncle Eddie winked at Mum in the rear-view mirror.

  Georgie told me later that Uncle Eddie was BLAST. I said I thought he was OK. When Uncle Eddie was around, everyone behaved differently; it was a bit like being on holiday. He came down to Wogan’s with me later that day. We found a book on Australian wildlife, a big hardback, and Uncle Eddie bought it for me. While Mrs Wogan was wrapping up the book, Uncle Eddie told her she had the smile of a movie star. She drew a sort of squiggle with her body and smiled even more. The next day, when I went in to spend Uncle Eddie’s fiver, she said: ‘Your Uncle’s very handsome.’ I told her that he wasn’t half as handsome as the lead singer of Showaddywaddy.

  Oh, and Mum went back to the restaurant to find her wedding ring, the one Georgie had been messing around with. She didn’t find it though.

  On the last night, Un
cle Eddie went with Mum to the country club to watch her sing and came back drunk, shouting out her songs at the top of his voice, waking us all up. In the morning he told Mum she was going to be a big hit, said he’d sort her out with a record deal as soon as he got back to Australia. Mum told him to stop talking nonsense, but she wasn’t cross. She reminded him of what Grandpa had told her (that was Mum’s dad): singers are either drug addicts or drunks. They both laughed. When Uncle Eddie asked her to sing his favourite song, she did, right there in the kitchen, in her quilted dressing gown.

  The next day Uncle Eddie drove Mum to Whitley Bay in the limousine. Mum thought it was best if I stayed and helped Dad with Georgie, so I wrote a letter to Granny and Grandpa instead. I could have gone, if it hadn’t been for Georgie.

  After Uncle Eddie flew back to Australia, Mum went on so much about Akarula and the sun and all the rest of it that Dad said we were going nowhere and if he heard another word he’d … he’d … he’d do something – he hadn’t worked out exactly what. That put an end to the talking. For at least a week Mum didn’t speak to Dad. And then the letter came. We were at the breakfast table. Georgie had a rash on her face and Mum was dabbing cream on with a cotton bud. Dad was reading the newspaper. He got up to answer the door: a special delivery that had to be signed for, a large brown envelope addressed to The Harvey Family. Dad stood by the sink with his mouth hanging open as he read through the papers inside. Somewhere between throwing them at Mum and sinking down into his chair, he let out a kind of wet dog-cry, and then with what was left of his voice said: ‘What the hell is this?’ holding up a cheque he’d obviously found in the envelope, waving it in front of Mum’s face like a pair of dirty knickers. Mum put down the cotton bud and took a few deep shaky breaths before she spoke.

  ‘I gave Eddie a call. If we don’t like it, we’ll just come back.’

  ‘Just come back?’

  Mum snatched the cheque from Dad’s hand and told him not to get worked up. His face and neck had patches of purple on and he was juddering as he said: ‘We’ll get the house, if that’s what you want. I’ll borrow some money until we get sorted.’ He pushed his hands against the table to steady himself. I thought he might need some pills so I got a box from the dresser in the hall and put them down in front of him while Mum carried on.