by Pip Harry
‘I was homeless for a while,’ Siena says. ‘At high school I lived in a tent in my friend’s backyard, trying to study for my HSC. Writing essays by torchlight.’
‘Serious?’ I say.
‘It’s one of the reasons I wanted this job. I used to get a Sydney Eats breakfast most mornings on my way to school.’
Siena is the company’s new operations manager. Big job for her age. Big job for anyone.
‘I wanted to return the favour. Maybe help a kid out of a bad situation. Someone like you?’
I shrug, and don’t answer her.
She doesn’t know my story. If she did she might not think I could be saved.
Siena pours tea into two delicate china cups in the staffroom as a guy stacks up food into plastic containers, ready to take. In the yellow T-shirt Siena gave me for the shift, I fit in. I’m part of a team.
I add three big spoons of white sugar to my brew.
‘Sweet tooth?’
‘Yeah.’
She grabs two brownies from the fridge. ‘Here.’ A door leads to a back courtyard and a couple of milk crates. We sit down and sip our tea.
Next door there’s Spanish music playing and a woman singing along passionately. ‘Why are you homeless?’ Siena asks.
‘It’s not drugs.’
‘I didn’t say it was,’ says Siena. ‘We’re not into clichés here.’
‘Why were you?’ I say.
‘Mum had a boyfriend who hated me. Kicked and punched me when she wasn’t watching. Verbal abuse, too. It was escalating, I was terrified what would happen next. I wasn’t safe in my own home. There was always a party, too. Strangers drunk and high, all over the house. I was trying to study for Year Twelve and I couldn’t hear myself think, so I went to a friend’s place and never went home.’
‘What did you do?’ I ask.
‘I couch surfed. Friends, mainly. They knew I was in a bad place and offered. Sometimes I stayed a night. Sometimes a couple of months. Until my welcome wore out. I tried a refuge, but it was hard to study, so I got myself a tent and a friend let me camp in her garden. It was quiet at least and when it got cold or I needed a computer, I went to the library.’
‘You finished school?’
‘Yeah. Took me two tries, but I passed. I went to uni, too. Got a degree in social services. Worked at a cafe, taught yoga and sold second-hand stuff at a market to pay my way. Are you on the waiting list for housing?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘But I heard it can take years.’ I don’t have years. I’ve got weeks.
‘You’re young and female so you’re high priority. But it might be a long wait. Hard to say. Lately it seems there’s more people struggling. More people on the streets. Fewer beds. It’s depressing.’
‘Do you ever see your mum?’
‘Sometimes. She got rid of the boyfriend but she’s still a bit of a nightmare. Is your mum a good one?’
‘Yeah. She is.’ Too good for me, I think.
I glance again at the ink on her forearm.
‘What’s that say?’ I ask.
She runs a finger across the tattoo.
I want to touch it, too. Maybe touching it I’ll soak up some of her togetherness.
‘It says, Never Broken. It’s in Sanskrit.’
Is it possible that some things are never completely broken?
‘I like that.’ I want a tattoo one day. I need to figure out what it will say.
Meeting Siena makes me realise I want to call home.
I kept my phone for the first few weeks after I left. Mum wouldn’t stop calling. Messages filling my inbox. I listened to one of them, but didn’t have the strength for any more, so I let the battery die. I was so attached to my phone before. It was always in my back pocket. Constantly beeping and vibrating. But on the street, it was junk. One morning I pawned it for a little cash. Nowhere near what it was worth, but I was glad to be rid of it.
I go to a payphone. One of the last relics left in the city. Eddie said I could use his phone, anytime, if I wanted to get back in touch with my family, but I don’t want to be traced back to anywhere. To anyone. I don’t want him caught in my sticky web. I knock on the graffitied glass. The woman inside ignores me and keeps talking. I’ve seen her at Hope Lane, usually wearing a pair of old headphones.
I wonder who she’s talking to. Then I realise there’s no one on the other end. She’s yakking too loud, making hand gestures. Like she’s in a bad play. There’s no money in the machine.
Probably there’s no music in her ears either.
She hangs up, puts her headphones back on and ignores me as she pushes past. If I wait any longer, my nerve will fizzle. As I stand in front of the phone I feel panicked. What will I say? Is he okay? Are you?
I put in some gold coins, dial the number I’ve known by heart since Year Three and listen to it ring.
It cuts to voicemail and there’s Mum’s voice. So familiar and so far away. I want to leave a message, but instead I hang up. I don’t want to fumble and drop this. I’ll make a better plan. Talk to Dr Robinson about the supervised visit. I need to see Charlie.
I want my mum.
I sit next to Ebony and Kara in assembly. Everyone is chatting while we wait for the hall to fill up and the dull weekly notices to get underway.
‘So Ebs, I was wondering what you’re doing on Friday after school?’ I ask.
She looks surprised and I realise how long it’s been since we hung out. I’ve been so caught up with other things and so has she.
‘Why? What’s on Friday?’
‘My writing group at the shelter is having an open mic at this homeless drop-in cafe called Rough. We’re allowed to invite people along. I thought we could go and then grab some dinner in Darlo after?’
‘Homeless cafe?’
‘Yeah, it serves free food and coffee to street people. Anyway, my group is going to perform some of their writing. I thought you might like it? Their stuff is pretty good.’
‘We can’t,’ says Ebony. ‘Kara and I have an open day at Sydney Uni in the afternoon, then we’re going out in the city.’
‘You get time off school to do that?’
‘Yes, but that’s not why we’re going. We want to tour the campus, check out the facilities and go to all the info sessions. I don’t want to choose any uni next year. I want it to be the best.’
‘Oh, I guess I should go to an open day.’
‘I guess you should. You’re coming to Sass & Sami on Thursday after school though, right? We’re all choosing our dresses together.’
‘Oh, sure, yeah, I’m coming.’
Mr J shushes us, and our principal starts talking into a microphone. Conversation over.
I don’t listen to an entire word of the hour-long assembly, the only thing I can think about is how I went to Ebony’s aged care choir performance, twice. And why didn’t she ask me to come to the uni open day?
I drop by the shelter after school. They’re doing an emergency winter clothes drive, and I’ve got a bag to donate. I’m also hoping to bump into Tiny. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her and I want to find out if Zak has come back. Because we don’t have instant messages, Snapchat, Facebook or school in common, the only way I can communicate with her is by finding her in person. Luckily she’s sitting out the front, reading a book, her chin wrapped in a scarf and a cap pulled down over her forehead. I throw my bulging garbage bag into the metal bin, wondering why I spent so much money and time buying all those clothes that I never even wear anymore.
‘Hey Tiny.’
‘Hey Nola.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Reading.’
She shows me the book cover – a sci-fi sequel that I’ve been eyeing off in the school library.
‘Is it good?’
‘Not as good as the first
one.’
She’s sitting on newspapers and she spreads some out for me too. I blow into my freezing hands and she holds my palms between her gloves.
‘You working today?’
‘I’ve got a dinner shift with Eddie, he should be here soon.’
Hearing Eddie’s name sends a small pulse of excitement around my body. I’ve composed a couple of texts since our walk around the city, but I haven’t had the guts to press send. Will I be able to stop my eyes laser-beaming my feelings directly into his brain? I’ve been thinking about him, a lot. He’s so different from the guys I’ve gone out with. So much more … substantial.
‘I have a confession,’ I say, lowering my voice. I want to say the words out loud.
‘What?’
‘I like Eddie.’
‘Of course you do,’ says Tiny.
‘What do you mean of course? Is it that obvious?’
‘It is to me, but then I hang out with you both. He talks about you all the time in the kitchen. Asks questions.’
‘Does he?’
‘He does.’
‘Like what?
‘About what sort of books you like, if you’re seeing anyone, and how great you are at volunteering. That sort of vibe. Reading between the lines, he thinks you’re really pretty and he wants to give you flowers and chocolates and make your body his wonderland.’
I laugh and pretend this isn’t one of the best moments of my entire year. Finding out that Eddie is maybe thinking about me, too.
‘Are you going to tell him how you feel or is this going to drag on for ages?’
‘I can’t make a move.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s, like, my supervisor here.’
Would something have happened on our night together if Eddie wasn’t trying to be professional? Would things have gone further? I think back to his arms around me when I was crying. The way his hand brushed against mine as we were walking.
‘Nah, Aimee is your boss … or she was before her mat leave.’
‘But he’s older. Shouldn’t he ask me out? What if I ask him and he doesn’t feel the same way?’
‘Trust me, he feels the same way.’
‘If he does, he’s good at playing a poker face.’
‘You’re not paying attention, if you did you’d see he gets a bit nervous around you. Clears his throat and stands up taller. He always looks at you, when he thinks you won’t catch him.’
I vow to observe Eddie more closely, and see if Tiny is right. I hope she is.
‘Speaking of looking, did you find Zak?’ I ask. ‘I’ve been searching for him. In my neighbourhood and trains. In the city, too.’
‘Nah. No one has seen him. He doesn’t want to be found. If he did, he would’ve shown up somewhere by now. I can’t get too pissed with him. I’d be the pot calling the kettle black, right? I haven’t seen my mum or Charlie for nearly a year. Actually, I called Mum a few days ago. I want to make it right with her if I can.’
‘What did she say? How’s Charlie?’ I ask.
‘She wasn’t there. Should I try again? I’m scared what she might say.’
‘Call her now. I bet she wants to see you. You could see Charlie again. Don’t you want that?’
‘I do. But … now? Right now? What if she hangs up?’
I decide to confess something not so wonderful about myself to Tiny. It feels important that she knows she’s not the only one to screw up.
‘I kept up this lie at school for years that really hurt my parents’ feelings.’
‘What lie?’
‘I told all my friends and my ex that my parents were straight when they’re gay.’
‘What, both of them?’
‘Yeah, it’s complicated. I’ll tell you another time. But they forgave me. Your mum will too.’
I hand Tiny my phone and swipe the lock.
‘She wants you to call. Trust me.’
‘Hello?’
‘Mum. It’s me.’
I wait for her to say something. Anything. I press the phone harder against my ear, praying she will take me back into her life. I don’t deserve her forgiveness, but I need to ask for it.
She pulls in a breath, like she’s stepped on something sharp.
‘Don’t hang up,’ she says. ‘Please god, don’t disappear again.’
‘I won’t,’ I say, relief pushing through my veins. ‘I’m here.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Sydney.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, Mum. I’m fine.’ I hear Charlie crying in the background and I force myself not to cry too.
‘Hang on,’ says Mum. I imagine her picking him up from the floor. He would be sitting on his own now. Crawling maybe. Playing with blocks and babbling.
‘He’s been fussy today. I think he might have a cold. He’s a little snotty.’
I feel a rush of guilt. I know nothing about Charlie now. I don’t even know what size nappy he fits. How many naps he takes a day. How many scoops of formula to mix into his bottle.
‘Mum, I’m sorry.’
She sighs. ‘That’s not enough.’
‘I’m getting help. I have a doctor. I’ve found a place to stay.’
‘You’re not on the street?’
‘I was but – no. I’ve got a bed. I’m safe.’
‘I thought terrible things. I’ve been trying to find you. I even came to the city, but I didn’t know where to go. Nobody knew you. I showed people in the city that picture of you from your seventeenth. You were wearing that dress you loved. The green one?’
I remember that night. My hair had been done at the salon, I’d had a spray tan and Mari did my make-up. No wonder no one recognised me. I wasn’t that girl anymore. I never would be again.
‘Mum, can I see him?’
‘No,’ she says flatly.
Why did I think one phone call could fix anything? I hold back tears, my throat aching.
‘Okay. I understand.’
I’ve given up all my rights to be Charlie’s mum. I can’t blame her for keeping him from me. He’s probably better off.
‘But you can see me,’ says Mum. ‘You and I have a lot to talk about.’
‘When?’
I wish I could see her right now. Have her walk over to me on the street, hug me and tell me it’s going to work out between us. We could be a family again.
‘Soon. Where are you living?’
I hesitate. The minute I tell her where I am, she will be able to come and get me and take me to Dubbo. I’m not ready to go back. I might never be ready. But it’s time I stopped hiding.
‘Hope Lane. It’s in Darlinghurst. You can call me there.’
We’re at Sass & Sami boutique in Double Bay. It’s a suburb known for its cashed-up residents, chi-chi wine bars and boutiques selling kaftans for three hundred bucks a pop. Mum says she wouldn’t be caught dead in Double Pay, as she calls it. Now that I’m here I understand why.
Ebony insists Sass & Sami is the best dress shop in Sydney. She’s reminded us, three times, that if we don’t buy a one-off design, we run the risk of rocking up in the same dress as someone else. One does not buy off the rack at H&M for the most important social event of our lives.
I touch the fabric of a print shift dress and lift up the tag: $1499. On sale.
‘That’s too much,’ I say a little louder than intended.
Lolly shows me the price of a dress she’s looking at: $2300. ‘I could buy a car for this,’ she whispers.
Ebony opens up a folder on her iPad that has photos of five different celebrities on the red carpet.
Each celeb is supposed to represent one of us. I’m Emma Stone wearing a chiffon shift dress the colour of a blue slurpee. The dress stops just short of the top of her thighs.
If she bent over, you’d see her undies.
‘Let’s stick as closely as possible to these colours and designs,’ Ebony says.
No one else seems to have a problem being dictated their wardrobe for the evening. I do.
‘I was thinking of wearing pale pink,’ I say.
The air seems to suck out of the room as everyone stares in disbelief at me for disobeying the Formal Queen.
‘Can’t I pick the colour of my own dress?’ Ebony gives Kara the look we’ve always used when someone is getting on our last nerve.
‘I hate this dress. It’ll make me look like a bluebottle jellyfish. It’s way too short for my legs.’
‘Maybe we can all wear different colours?’ suggests Lolly. ‘Like a rainbow?’ She’s the group peacemaker, but this is escalating into all-out war.
‘No,’ says Ebony. ‘Wearing the same colour will give us more impact. Think of the photos.’
‘I am thinking of the photos. The last time I wore matching clothes I was three,’ I say. With my cousins for a family Christmas photo.
‘Wear what you like, Nola,’ she says in a huff.
‘You know blue isn’t my colour, Ebs.’
‘And let’s not forget it’s all about you,’ she says, and twirls in the direction of the hovering sales assistant, who’s eagerly awaiting the commission on our group order.
‘Can I help you?’ she asks Ebony.
‘Yes. We want to try on dresses now. Well. Three of us do.’
‘You’re unsure?’ the sales assistant asks me.
‘Yes.’
About a lot of things. Mainly that my friends are spending more on dresses than it costs to rent an apartment for three months. An apartment that could get someone like Tiny a new life.
The assistant hands me a catalogue of their dresses in stock. None of them are the cream and pink vintage dress I’ve been dreaming of, with a pleated skirt, thin belt and capped sleeves. She waves me towards a nearby couch.
‘Have a flick through our Autumn/Winter line, perhaps you’ll change your mind.’
Everyone’s dresses are fitted down to the last curve and on order while I linger on the outskirts. The crack between Ebony and me has widened enough that it’s getting hard to jump over. Pretty soon we’ll need to be on belay.
