by Justin D'Ath
Something sparkles next to her bed. Zeelie steps gingerly over the tumbled brick wall and flips aside a cracked roof tile with the toe of one sneaker. Underneath is a little glass deer. Zeelie used to have a collection of miniature animal figurines lined up according to size and species along her bookshelf. She stoops to pick up the tiny deer, but all four legs are broken off and its once dainty head has melted into an ugly glass blob. Horrible, horrible fire!
When Zeelie hears a shuffling sound, she straightens up quickly. Lachy has appeared from behind a head-high section of wall where their parents’ ensuite used to be. He stops outside a window opening. He’s not alone – Zeelie can see the wagging tip of Fly’s tail above the scorched windowsill. Lachy is holding the puppy’s lead in one hand. In his other hand he grips a pair of blackened barbecue tongs. He hasn’t seen Zeelie yet. She stands very still as her brother leans into the wreckage and uses the tongs to pluck an opal-coloured disc from the ashes. He wipes the soot off it and now Zeelie can see what it is – the paua shell inlay from the back of their mother’s beautiful old hairbrush. Oh! Zeelie wishes she had put it in the suitcase when she packed her mother’s things. But it’s too late now. It’s too late to save anything they left behind – the fire has taken it all.
Lachy looks up and sees her. ‘What are you doing?’ he asks.
‘Nothing.’
Zeelie steps out of the house at her end and walks around the tumbled perimeter towards the shed and the Rodeo. Fly pulls in her direction as she passes, but Lachy holds him back. He points with the barbecue tongs. ‘What’s the bowl for?’
‘For a goldfish.’
‘What goldfish?’
Zeelie doesn’t answer this time. Her mother is hurrying towards her, approaching from the direction of Rimu’s paddock. Her father is still over there, but Zeelie pulls her eyes quickly away. She reaches the Rodeo before her mother.
There’s an almost-full bottle of water in the middle of the back seat – it could be Zeelie’s, it could be Lachy’s, who cares? She opens it, takes a sip and waits, trembling, for her mother to arrive.
‘Are you all right, sweetie?’
Zeelie knows immediately, from her mother’s careful voice, that Rimu isn’t all right. Of course he isn’t.
She has known it all along.
Trying to keep her voice steady, and avoiding her mother’s eyes, Zeelie says, ‘One of the Bialettis’ goldfish is still alive.’
‘Where is it?’ asks her mother.
‘Back in their pond. But it’ll die if we don’t help it. Will you come with me, Mum?’
Together, Zeelie and her mother walk over to the Bialettis’ to rescue the goldfish.
20
A NEW LIFE
‘Sweetie,’ Zeelie’s mother says. ‘I want to apologise.’
They are in the Rodeo, driving back towards Yea. Their mother and Lachy have swapped seats. Now she is in the back with Zeelie.
‘What for?’ asks Zeelie.
‘For taking this car instead of mine the other day,’ says her mother. ‘I feel really bad about it. It’s my fault you and Dad couldn’t take the horse trailer.’
‘Your car didn’t have enough petrol,’ Zeelie reminds her.
‘I could have filled up at Kinglake West.’
‘It was an emergency, Mum. Lachy broke his arm.’
‘Still. If I had taken the time to think about our fire plan, instead of leaving everything to your dad, I would have bought petrol on the way home from work the night before.’
Zeelie doesn’t say anything about her father’s fire plan. He tried his best. Everybody tried their best. She’s cradling Mrs Bialetti’s mixing bowl in her lap, and the goldfish is swimming in wobbly circles. He seems to be recovering.
‘It’s nobody’s fault,’ she says softly.
Her mother reaches over and gently strokes her hair. ‘You’re such a good kid.’
Zeelie pulls away a bit. She feels too old to be called a kid. And her hair is disgusting.
‘You know you can talk about it, if you want to, darling,’ her mother continues. She means Rimu.
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Okay.’
Zeelie stares out her window. They are halfway to Yea and it’s safe to look outside now. Maybe one day she will be able to talk about Rimu, but not yet.
Poor Cody and his family, she thinks. It must be so much worse for them.
‘Where are we going to live?’ she asks.
‘We aren’t sure yet,’ her mother answers.
Lachy twists around and peers back between the seats. ‘Can’t we stay in the tent? It’s really neat.’
Neat is one of their father’s expressions. They say it in New Zealand instead of cool. ‘Maybe for another week or so,’ he says. ‘Until Mum and I work out what we’re going to do.’
‘I am absolutely not going to live in New Zealand,’ Zeelie says.
Her father’s eyes find hers in the rear-vision mirror. They have a squinty look. ‘You’ll live wherever your mother and I decide, young lady.’
‘But, Dad! You promised!’
He’s watching the road again and his face no longer looks angry, just tired. ‘For the record, Zuls, New Zealand is not one of the options your mum and I are considering.’
‘Okay,’ she says.
Her mother sighs. ‘I know these last few days haven’t been easy for you, sweetie, but try to remember that they haven’t been easy for the rest of us, either.’
Zeelie nods. But it’s easi-er for you and Dad, she thinks. You get to make the decisions.
She asks, ‘What about school?’
Neither of her parents answer. Each seems to be waiting for the other to say something.
‘I’ve already missed two days,’ Zeelie adds.
‘So have I,’ says Lachy.
It’s their mother who finally speaks. ‘Dad and I have been talking about it. There are a couple of very good schools in Yea that –’
‘No.’ Zeelie shakes her head. ‘I want to go to the same school.’
‘So do I,’ says Lachy. ‘I’m going to let everyone write on my cast.’
‘You have only been there one week,’ their mother says to Zeelie, ignoring Lachy.
‘But I like it there, Mum. All my friends are there.’
Tahlia phoned her last night. Her house, like Cody’s, wasn’t destroyed in the fires and she went back to school yesterday. And Zeelie’s father got in touch with the Crawfords: Millie’s house is okay, too, and so is Juniper.
Other people are getting on with their lives.
‘I already lost my house and all my stuff,’ Zeelie continues. And Rimu. ‘I don’t want to lose all my friends, too.’
Her mother blinks three or four times in quick succession, like she does when she doesn’t know what to say.
Zeelie presses her advantage. ‘I heard you and Mrs Carrington talking on the phone yesterday. It’s so good that she’s okay. And you said you’re going to start back at work next week. Why can’t I come with you each morning and you can drop me at school?’
‘Me, too,’ says Lachy.
‘I’m only going to work three days a week for a while,’ their mother says. But Zeelie can tell she’s thinking about it.
‘We could move to Whittlesea, Mum,’ Zeelie suggests. ‘Then you’d be close to work, and I’d be close to school.’
‘What about me?’ asks annoying Lachy.
He goes to school in Flowerdale – went to school in Flowerdale, Zeelie thinks. He’s only in Year 3 – he’ll make new friends wherever he ends up. But it’s different when you’re in high school.
‘We’ll see,’ says their mother.
It isn’t a yes, but it isn’t a no, either. Zeelie takes a big breath and looks out her window. It’s safe to look out now. Instead of black hills, ex-houses and scorched paddocks, she sees whole houses with intact front fences, letterboxes without their numbers burned off, and trees everywhere – lovely green trees with leaves on them.
She even sees a bird – it looks like a New Holland honeyeater – perched on a branch.
‘Yay, we’re in Yea!’ cries Lachy.
‘Yay for Yea!’ both their parents respond.
Zeelie doesn’t join in. But she smiles. Returning to the relief centre isn’t exactly like going home, but it’s a hundred times better than where they have just come from. She uses her teeth to remove the yellow plastic bracelet from her wrist and drops it onto the floor where she’ll pick it up later.
They stop at an intersection to let two Red Cross trucks swish past.
‘I just remembered,’ Zeelie’s father says. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he passes something back between the seats.
Zeelie lets out a gasp of surprise. It’s her koru. The flaxen string is gone, but the hundred-year-old spirit stone looks as good as it did when Karani Taimana presented it to Zeelie on their last visit to New Zealand.
‘Where did you find it, Dad?’
‘I popped down to see how the creek pump had fared in the fire,’ he says. ‘The pump’s a write-off like just about everything else, but there was Karani’s little greenstone pendant sitting on a rock in the middle of the creek.’
‘Good on you, Dan, for spotting it!’ says Zeelie’s mother, who knows how much the koru means to their daughter. ‘It’s so small, I’m amazed you noticed it.’
‘You couldn’t have missed it,’ her husband says modestly, sounding proud of himself all the same. ‘It was the only green thing left in the whole place.’
Zeelie closes her fingers around her koru and presses it to her heart. Her great-grandmother explained to her that it was carved in the shape of a young fern frond, and it symbolises the beginning of a new life.
21
THANKFUL
Two mornings later, Zeelie’s parents are waiting for her in the tent when she returns from the newly installed women’s showers. As soon as she pushes in through the door flap, they both start singing ‘Happy Birthday’, and not quietly either. It’s embarrassing. All their neighbours will hear. Zeelie stands just inside the tent door, towelling her freshly shampooed and conditioned hair, as she waits for them to finish. At least Lachy isn’t here, she thinks. He must be out walking Fly. He would have added the verse comparing her to a monkey.
‘Thanks,’ Zeelie says, when at last the ordeal is over.
Now she sees the presents. They are laid out in a row on her stretcher bed. There are three of them, each wrapped in the same little-girl wrapping paper. Her father must have chosen it.
‘Which one do I open first?’
‘That’s up to you, sweetie,’ says her mother.
There’s a card, too. Zeelie starts with that. It has a large pink 13 on the front and a picture of a slim, jean-clad girl listening to music. Zeelie wonders if that’s a clue to one of the presents; she hopes so. Written in the card is a lovely message from her mother. Her father and Lachy have signed it as well. Her brother has drawn three cute little paw prints at the bottom, with Holly, Fly and Atticus written next to them, and a tiny drawing of a fish, signed Nemo.
‘Should we wait for Lachy?’ Zeelie asks, touching the largest of the presents. It’s a big boxy shape, not quite rectangular; she can’t imagine what it might be.
‘I’m sure he won’t mind,’ says her mother. ‘These three are from Dad and me. Lachy’s got his own present for you.’
Zeelie opens the big one first. It’s a fish tank. Inside the tank is a bag of coloured pebbles to go on the bottom and some live underwater plants wrapped in damp plastic film. There’s also a little pump thingy, with filters and hoses and a power cord to plug in.
‘Wow! Thanks!’ Zeelie gives both her parents a kiss. ‘Nemo will think it’s his birthday, too.’
By rights Nemo (unoriginally named by Lachy) belongs to the Bialettis, but Zeelie’s mother said she was sure they wouldn’t mind if she kept him. For the past day and a half, the goldfish has lived in a four-litre ice-cream container that one of the volunteer ladies in the kitchen found for her. Yesterday Zeelie wanted to go to the pet shop to look at tanks, but her mother took her clothes shopping in Seymour instead, and they didn’t get back till late. Now she wonders if her mother arranged the shopping expedition on purpose, just so Zeelie couldn’t buy her own fish tank. In any event, Zeelie has come out of it well: she’s ended up with a fish tank and a stack of new clothes.
The second largest present is a small MP3 player. So Zeelie was right about the clue on the card. There are three CDs as well, including one by Taylor Swift, who Zeelie hasn’t heard yet but Tahlia says is really good.
‘Who chose this?’
‘I did,’ says her mother. ‘I heard her on the radio and thought you might like her.’
Zeelie’s mother is pretty cool for someone her age.
The third present is a brand-new iPhone. Uh-oh! Zeelie feels her face turning red.
Her parents notice and look worried.
‘What’s the matter, darling?’ asks her mother. ‘Don’t you like it?’
‘Of course I do,’ she stammers. ‘But …’
Her father gives Zeelie a knowing grin. ‘But now you’ve got two phones. Poor you! What a terrible situation to be in!’
Zeelie’s eyes dart guiltily over to the far corner of the tent, where their suitcases are piled. Her father might be wrong – it’s possible Zeelie might have three phones!
‘Here’s the deal,’ he continues. ‘Since I’ve been using your old one for the last few days, I’m hoping that you might allow me to keep it.’
Zeelie nods. ‘Sure, you can have it, Dad. But there’s something I didn’t tell you guys.’
Going over to the suitcases, she opens hers and rummages beneath all the stupid riding gear she saved from the fire until she finds the mauve-wrapped package from her mother’s bedroom drawer. ‘I found this when I was packing your bag, Mum.’
‘My goodness! Well, aren’t you full of surprises!’ says her mother.
Zeelie’s face feels hot. ‘Should I … open it?’
‘It’s your birthday.’
Zeelie carefully peels open the mauve paper and discovers that her suspicions were right – it is an iPhone. Another one!
‘I’m really sorry,’ she says, avoiding her parents’ eyes. ‘I should have said something.’
Now her mother is laughing. ‘Why? And spoil the surprise?’
‘But I feel really bad. Now I’ve got three phones!’
‘Two,’ says her father. He’s holding up her old phone. ‘You said I could keep this one, remember?’
‘But I still don’t have one,’ says her mother, grinning.
Zeelie picks up one of the identical iPhones and hands it to her mother.
‘Why thank you, Zeelie. How generous of you!’
‘Now I’m jealous,’ Zeelie’s father says in a jokey voice. ‘I’m stuck with this old thing.’
‘What about me?’ asks Lachy. He has just pushed in sideways through the door flap, tugging on Fly’s lead. He must have heard their conversation from outside the tent. ‘I don’t have any sort of phone.’
‘Wait till your own birthday,’ says their mother.
Lachy’s face lights up. His birthday is less than a month away. ‘Promise?’ he says. ‘Will I really get a phone for my birthday?’
‘Wait and see.’
Zeelie is staring at Fly, who has just followed her brother in through the door flap. Frowning, she asks, ‘What have you done to him, Lachy?’
The puppy has a wide pink ribbon wrapped around his middle. The ribbon has been tied in an untidy bow, but the bow has slipped underneath Fly’s skinny body and one of his back legs is caught in it.
‘He keeps getting tangled.’ Lachy kneels and tries to free the caught leg; he’s having difficulty because his arm is in plaster. ‘Stay still, Fly!’
Zeelie goes to help. She asks, ‘What’s with the ribbon?’
‘Because he’s a present.’
‘A present?’
Lachy
stands up and passes Fly’s lead to her. ‘Happy birthday, Zeels.’
For a moment, she is speechless. He’s giving her his puppy. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for her.
‘Thank you, Lachy,’ she whispers.
Her brother shrugs. ‘He likes you better than me, anyway.’
Zeelie kneels on the crinkly tent floor and presses her face into Fly’s warm fur so nobody can see her tears.
It’s less than a week since the bushfires; she and her family have lost their house and almost everything they owned (including poor Rimu, who she will never forget). But in her heart Zeelie knows they have lots to be grateful for.
And everything will be okay in the end.
About the Author
Born in New Zealand, JUSTIN D’ATH was one of twelve children. He came to Australia in 1971 to study for missionary priesthood but after three years, left the seminary in the dead of night and spent two years roaming Australia on a motorbike! Whilst doing that he began his writing career contributing pieces for motorbike magazines.
He published his first novel for adults in 1989 and this was followed by numerous award-winning short stories, also for adults. Justin has worked in a sugar mill, on a cattle station, in a mine, on an island, in a laboratory, built cars, picked fruit, driven forklifts and taught writing for twelve years. He wrote his first children’s book in 1996’ and to date he has published over 50 books. He has two children, six grandchildren and two dogs.
justindath.com
A Note From Justin
On Black Saturday – 7 February 2009 – much of Victoria was devastated by the worst bushfires in recorded history. 173 people lost their lives that day, and more than 2000 houses burned down. Mine was one of those houses. Even so, I consider myself lucky – I might have lost my home and nearly all my possessions, but I lived to tell the tale.
This book is fiction. Zeelie and her family are products of my imagination. But much of what happens here is based on what happened to me. I have even included my house – only in these pages it’s not mine, it’s where Zeelie and her family live. The dogs are real too. Holly and Fly were part of my family, but for the purposes of this novel I placed them in Zeelie’s care. At the time of the bushfires we had a third dog, an old golden retriever whose owner was overseas; I put him in the book too. I also gave Zeelie a horse; and a father who, like me, had a fire plan that didn’t work when the wind changed, the power failed and the temperature soared to 47 degrees.
