‘Let’s go to the dome,’ said Lizzy.
We raced down the glossy halls of our weird old home. Past Myer and Dymocks and JB Hi-Fi, and a dozen other places where we had spent so many days. We slowed as the corridor opened up before us. Crystal morning light radiated out from the dome ahead. It was ethereal and almost beautiful, the way it funnelled down and spread throughout the centre. The open dome meant that the outside world would always be a part of Carousel. It had seemed stupid for as long as I had known about it, but standing there with the Finns it suddenly made simple, perfect sense.
I looked at the Finns beside me and felt as grateful with the world as I had ever done. Taylor turned my way and was about to say something when a voice broke in.
‘What are you doing in here?’
We jumped and turned to see a middle-aged security guard walking towards us.
None of us said anything right away.
‘Hey?’ said the guy.
‘Hey, yeah sorry, we were just about to leave,’ said Lizzy.
The guy looked us over in a way that wasn’t super reassuring.
‘What’s in your bag?’ he asked me.
‘Nothing. Just some notepads,’ I replied.
He grunted and unclipped his radio.
‘You can wait here for the police,’ he said.
‘Whoa, it’s cool man,’ said Taylor. ‘We just came inside by mistake.’
‘Sure,’ he said.
It was pretty condescending. He lifted up his radio again.
‘What a dick,’ said Lizzy.
‘What did you say?’ asked the guy, stepping forward.
It wasn’t exactly the welcome home we had dreamt about.
‘She said you were a dick, arsehole.’
The four of us turned around to the source of the noise. Rachel was standing across the hall with a cleaning bucket and a face full of attitude.
‘Holy shit,’ whispered Taylor.
The security guard looked at her disdainfully.
‘They came in through the back door, which you fuckwits left open again after your smoko last night,’ said Rachel.
The guard hesitated. There was a noticeable shift in his demeanour.
‘You wanna radio that through?’ asked Rachel. ‘Go on. Tell them how the whole place has been open for half the night.’
‘Whatever,’ he replied, eventually.
The guard wandered past us and pretended like all of a sudden he didn’t give a crap. Rachel glared after him until he was lost from view.
The Finns were wide-eyed beside me. Lizzy mouthed what the hell! Taylor shrugged.
‘Hey Rachel,’ I said.
She looked us over.
‘Carrington was right, eh,’ she grunted.
‘I didn’t think you were coming back?’ I asked.
‘I wasn’t. Just ran outta shampoo,’ she replied.
‘Did you just make a joke, Rachel?’ asked Taylor.
‘Typical Artists. Think you’re the only ones in the world with ideas,’ replied Rachel.
Taylor and Lizzy broke into laughter.
‘What about your fisherman?’ I asked.
‘Didn’t show,’ she replied.
‘Shit. I’m sorry, Rachel,’ I said.
‘He’s a man. What do you expect,’ she replied.
I looked at her and tried to gauge her reaction to all that had happened over the past two years. As usual Rachel was either unreadable or unaffected. Or both.
She took a folded-up gossip magazine out of her sweater. It was open to a page where the Finns were pictured next to Kanye at some awards ceremony. She shoved it at a confused looking Taylor and Lizzy, along with a pen.
‘Make sure it’s neat. Nobody’s going to bid on some primary school scribble,’ said Rachel.
Taylor and Lizzy were on the edge of hysterics, but played along without a fuss. Rachel inspected the signatures and stuffed the magazine back in her jacket.
She picked up her bucket and headed back over to the toilets.
‘I would clear out of here if I was you. They’re not all as stupid as that last guy,’ she said over her shoulder.
‘Okay. Thanks Rachel,’ said Lizzy.
She disappeared into the toilets. The three of us were alone once again.
‘I mean, the lady just redefines weird, doesn’t she,’ said Taylor.
Lizzy sighed and nodded. I was still trying to figure out what had just happened.
Rachel’s presence in Carousel meant that Patrons had made it back also. I was stoked for her. She had kids here and I never totally bought into her happiness at the casino. Rachel deserved a shot at her old life as much as anyone. But it also meant that the writing in my bag hadn’t been what had saved me. It finally confirmed what I had suspected from the start. That people like Taylor and Lizzy, and all the other Artists I had met along the way, were different to me.
For a moment the gravity of this felt like it might swallow me completely.
Then I felt the weight of the backpack on my shoulders. And I remembered that it was heavy with words that I had written. I was confident that if I sat down and tried hard enough, I would be able to write more of these words. Maybe this didn’t qualify me as an Artist right away. Maybe it never would. But suddenly it felt like something that could be a part of my life. I had always thought of living and creating art as separate endeavours. But if my time in the Prix de Perth had proven anything it was that the two were irrevocably linked. Art alone wasn’t enough to sustain the world, that was clear. But life without art seemed equally impossible. I thought of Taylor and Lizzy funnelling their grief over Rocky into a brand new album. Of three lonely souls taking solace in a nightly lightshow over the city. A cleaner dealing with the loss of her children thanks to fantasy TV. A film student surviving peril after peril with only his camera to guide him. And of those days in the mini-mart when the world had closed over and I had nothing but my writing.
Suddenly all of the stuff that had been freaking me out for so long kind of drifted away. So long as I could write, I felt like I could live. And nothing else seemed to matter.
When I came to, Taylor and Lizzy were both looking at me.
‘You okay?’ asked Taylor, seriously.
I nodded.
Lizzy put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
‘Can we get out of this place?’ I asked.
‘Totally,’ replied Lizzy.
The three of us cut across the dome and made our way to the front doors. Lizzy took the handle and pushed it open dramatically. Taylor and I smiled and followed her out onto the walkway. We stopped and looked back through the glass at the quiet, empty centre. Beside the door were a neatly packaged stack of flyers. They looked out of place. Not the type of thing you would expect to see left at the front entrance of a shopping centre.
Taylor reached down and took one. Lizzy watched her curiously.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
Taylor held it up to us. In a simple, elegant font were the letters:
P
d
P
Beneath this it read An Exhibition. There was a venue and a date and everything.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ asked Lizzy.
Taylor nodded with a pretty wry smile. ‘Wow. This place,’ she sighed.
‘Do you think we will be able to play the album?’ asked Lizzy.
There was a hint of doubt in her gaze. As if she still wasn’t sure if Taylor would want to.
‘Are you kidding? We’re going to rock the hell outta that thing,’ replied Taylor.
Lizzy beamed and skipped over to the car park. Taylor held onto the flyer and we followed her out to the front of the building. A wash of strange noises filled the air around us. The hum of early-morning traffic. The beep and whirr of industry. The chatter of voices from a nearby park.
I could hear something else, too. A kind of clapping noise from somewhere behind us. I turned and looked back at the towering hulk of Carousel. In
the distance a silhouette shifted against the pastel white walls. A kid was flipping a skateboard around a ramp outside Target. I stood and watched him for a moment. He was tall and a little stooped, but the kid had some moves.
‘Holy hell,’ whispered Lizzy Finn beside me.
Acknowledgements
My wholehearted thanks to the following people who have enabled me to continue in this journey.
To everyone at Fremantle Press. Thank you for supporting my writing and working so hard to send it into the world. You are great people and I’m so lucky to have you on my side.
To my talented and tireless editor, Naama Amram. The web was wider this time around! Your ideas, enthusiasm and guidance even more crucial.
To my wife, Claire. Thank you for your love and lightness throughout a long 2015.
Thanks always to my family – larger now! – and ever the grounding fixture. I write for you as much as I do anyone.
A big thanks to friends and colleagues, with a special mention to Marcella Polain, for their seemingly endless solidarity and encouragement.
And to the readers of Carousel who have craved the very same answers I have. I hope you find all of them within these pages. Well, all of them except for a special few.
First published 2016 by
FREMANTLE PRESS
25 Quarry Street, Fremantle WA 6160
(PO Box 158, North Fremantle WA 6159)
www.fremantlepress.com.au
Copyright © Brendan Ritchie, 2016
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.
Consultant editor: Naama Amram
Cover design: Nada Backovic
Cover images: Rekha Garton/Arcangel Images and Alamy Stock Photo
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Ritchie, Brendan, 1981– author.
Beyond carousel / Brendan Ritchie.
For young adults.
A823.4
Fremantle Press is supported by the State Government through the Department of Culture and the Arts.
Publication of this title was assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
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