by Emily Gale
Maisy shrugs. ‘Sure.’
‘Do you have a cookbook anywhere?’
‘No, we don’t. Just Google it.’
‘Google it?’
She wiggles her fingers in the air like she’s making them dance. I smile.
‘Look it up on Google. You know, on your laptop,’ she says slowly.
She must mean the silver thing that Lucy was using in English class. So I have one of those too. I wonder where it is. I want to ask her how a laptop knows things. Is it like a giant library in one small box? But I can’t risk any more of Maisy’s confused looks.
‘Where is your laptop, Cat? I haven’t seen it for a few days.’
‘Um…gone.’
Her eyes grow wide and worried, like that’s even worse than being slow in the pool. ‘What do you mean gone?’
‘I left it at Lucy’s,’ I tell her, hoping that if Ma ever learns of all my fibs she will forgive me.
‘What about your phone? It’s always beeping and I haven’t heard it.’
‘That’s at Lucy’s too,’ I say. ‘I left everything at Lucy’s! Even my brain.’ I try for a laugh, but Maisy is watching me suspiciously. Now I’m wondering where Cat has left these precious things.
‘Did you leave Aunt Rachel’s stopwatch there too? I haven’t seen it since the other night. I want to see if I can fix it,’ Maisy says.
‘Why, what happened to it?’ I ask.
‘You saw what happened! You don’t have to make me feel even worse!’
‘I’m not trying to, honest.’
‘Well, we both know I broke it, and that it’s probably a really old antique and Aunt Rachel will be upset. The timer hand started going anticlockwise after the button jammed.’
Anticlockwise? The hand unwinds. Whose voice did I hear in the pool? Was it Cat trying to tell me something? I have to find her missing things, especially the stopwatch.
I wipe the bench, trying to calm my racing heart and wring the cloth out in the sink.
Maisy is looking at me with narrowed eyes. ‘Are you okay, Cat?’
‘Yes,’ I tell her. Another lie. I fold the cloth and put it on the side of the sink, thinking about something I could say to stop Maisy focusing on me. ‘You’re fast in the pool, Maisy. Very fast.’
‘Really?’
‘Maybe better than me.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
She frowns like she doesn’t trust me, but I reply, ‘I won’t lie about swimming. Swimming is the most important thing of all. And you’re good. I promise.’
‘Thanks, Cat. That means—’ She stops, seeming to be struggling with the words.
Nodding, I say, ‘I know.’
‘Do you want to borrow my phone? You know, to Google it?’
Do I? ‘Okay.’
‘Here,’ she says, handing it to me. ‘Password’s lane 2.’
I take her phone in my hand and stare at it. This feels a little like pressing the wrong buttons on the overhead projector. I tentatively push the one near the bottom and things light up, but I have no idea how to get magic answers from it. I see numbers blinking and realise that’s the time. How does this thing know what time it is? What other secrets does it know? I slide it back on the bench. I’m not ready for this yet. My pie will have to be Google-free.
Cat
17
Note
I’m shopping in 1908 and dying to text Luce and Tam about it.
I’ve come to a chemist that looks like a potions lab: rows of bottles and jars up to the ceiling, smart glass cabinets, hundreds of little drawers and an intense whiff of wood-panelling. On the counter there’s a pestle and mortar like the one we have on our kitchen bench at home. Ours usually has keys and hairbands in it, though.
There’s one other customer: a woman with the largest pram I’ve ever seen. Behind the counter stands a man in a stiff suit, wearing small round glasses right at the end of his nose. The woman scoops her crying baby out of the pram and puts it into some large scales. While they have a boring chat about the baby, I take a look around. I can see a few combs but there’s nothing like the brush I broke. I don’t know what I can get any of the others in here but there’s a lolly shop next door.
It’s my turn—the woman leaves with a bright blue bottle, jiggling her cranky baby in the giant pram. I hope the potion works; that is a terrible noise.
‘Yes, Miss?’ says the man.
‘Hello, I need a hairbrush. Something pretty. It’s for my sister.’
‘We have a number of hairbrushes, Miss.’
He’s very serious. In a swift move he pulls out a tray. There are several hairbrushes and one of them looks exactly like the one I broke. I run my finger over it, thinking about the poor dead elephant whose tusks were stolen.
‘We have the full vanity set in that design, if Miss would care to see it.’
‘But it’s cruelty to animals,’ I say.
The man lets out a brittle laugh and when I look up he’s giving me a patronising glare.
‘Miss, it is resin. It merely looks like bone. Resin is far more affordable.’ He clears his throat. ‘Could Miss really afford ivory?’ He sniggers again. Can he tell that I’m not rich, then? Maybe it’s my accent, or my scruffy hat and boots. I think he’s rude and before I can stop myself I say, ‘I’ll take it. And the matching mirror. And I’d like some hand cream. Something that smells nice.’ Help, what am I doing? I have no idea how much this will cost.
The man wraps the mirror and brush in tissue paper, and then a bottle labelled Pond’s Angel Skin. He’s doing everything in slow motion. Sweat trickles down my spine as I worry that I won’t be able to pay for it. When he says the price I tip the contents of my purse onto the counter. He huffs and picks up four coins, leaving two. Phew!
I pick up the packages, still annoyed with the man.
‘Good-day, Sir,’ I say, forcefully.
Once I’m outside I get the giggles. I want to tell someone what just happened—my spectacularly cutting ‘Good-day, Sir’. I think I got that from a movie.
In the lolly shop, I hold out the coins and say, ‘Hello, what can I get with this?’
‘A bit of this, a bit of that,’ says a woman in a white apron. She’s very wrinkled with a wide smile and not many teeth.
‘Yes please.’ I put the last two coins in her hand. She fills a brown paper bag with liquorice straps and striped lollies, and when I ask for a few extra bags so I can make separate presents for my family, she calls me a lovely young lass. Lovely! Me!
I still feel lovely when I get back to the pub. Most of the family are in the kitchen, except for Da, Con and John. I give Ma her hand cream first.
She whacks me on the arm. ‘What did you get me this for?’ But straight afterwards she wraps her arms around me and squeezes tight. Then she whacks me again! And finally she opens the bottle for a sniff. I think she’s happy.
Mick and Frankie say they’re off to trade with their lollies. Mary and Kath suck on liquorice straps as I give the biggest package to Dewey. Her face lights up.
‘I can’t believe you got me these, Fan. They’re beautiful!’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘But how did you afford it?’
‘Oh, I had some money.’
‘But wasn’t that for your race entry tomorrow?’ says Kath. ‘From Da doing the whip-round in the pub. Where did you get more from?’
My smile sticks. I’m in trouble. It’s only just hit me that the coins weren’t really mine, even though I was trying to be kind. They’re all looking at me and I’ve got to come up with a reason for why I apparently had ‘extra’ money.
Brainwave—thank you, brain.
‘From Arthur.’
‘Arthur Gon?’ says Mary. ‘Con’s friend?’ Mary’s cheeks are pink. Maybe she’s got a crush on him.
‘The Chinese lad?’ says Ma, with an edge in her voice.
‘He’s nice,’ Mary says defensively. ‘Very proper manners. He’s studying to be
a doctor.’
‘A Chinese doctor in this fair country, that’ll be a first.’ Ma frowns.
They all start to discuss Arthur, his family and the Chinese people who live in Sydney, and it’s awful how judgmental and racist they sound. They feel like strangers again. I can’t just stand here, and I don’t care if I’m going to make them suspicious.
‘You can’t say things like that!’ I say. Everyone stops talking and looks at me.
‘Who can’t?’ says Ma. ‘Don’t tell me how to talk in my own kitchen, Sarah Francis Durack.’
‘Sorry, Ma, but I believe in equality.’ My voice wobbles; I want to be better at this. Then I remember something from a history lesson. ‘We’re Irish Catholics. There are people out there who think we’re lower than them but we know it’s not true. Same with Arthur. He can be anything he wants to be.’
It’s very, very quiet in the kitchen.
Dewey breaks it. ‘Typical Fan, biggest heart of us all.’
Kath and Mary look thoughtful.
Ma purses her lips. ‘I take everyone as I find them. Didn’t mean to upset you, Fanny. Now, what would Arthur Gon be giving you money for?’
‘Swimming lessons. He paid up front.’
‘That’s grand, Fan,’ says Kath. ‘Just remember not to wear the club badge when you’re swimming with Arthur—you know how the ladies feel about mixed bathing.’
‘Too right,’ Mary chips in. ‘You’ll never get to the Olympics if the committee finds out.’
I’m not sure if Mary’s being serious—is that really Fan’s ambition?
‘Girls in the Olympics, indeed,’ says Ma.
‘But they are, Ma,’ says Dewey. ‘Miss Reid told us about it at school. Sailing, tennis, golf, croquet, um…’
‘Archery,’ adds Kath.
‘That’s all very well, but you don’t get half-naked for any of those sports now, do you?’ says Ma, and the other girls seem to agree. They go back to sniffing Ma’s Angel Skin cream and eating lollies, while Dewey holds her hair close to her cheek and brushes it like it’s a treasured pet.
Soon I get swept into helping to cook dinner. I know one thing that feels cooked and that’s my brain. This life is too hard for me. The day is rapidly slipping away. Teatime is loud and lively. When it’s time to do the dishes I’m quick and efficient but every time I finish one chore there’s Ma with orders to start another.
‘Con, help Fanny take the rugs to the yard for beating!’ she barks.
We have to drag six of them down the stairs and hang them in twos along the washing line in the courtyard. I haven’t spent much time with Con, which is just as well because he’s really good looking and in this life he’s my brother: gross.
Con hands me a thing shaped like a squash racket. He walks around the other side of a rug and starts to thump it. I do the same and masses of dust flies into my face. I cough and splutter and accidentally blurt out, ‘Ugh, this life is so not me.’
Con’s beating stops over the other side of the rug.
‘Is everything all right, Fan?’
‘Erm, everything is’—quick, think of something old-fashioned—‘jolly good.’
He appears suddenly, frowning. ‘You seem different, lately.’
Half of me panics but the other half is happy that someone’s noticed. For a moment I’m tempted to tell him.
‘I’m fine. Just worried about the race. You know how I get.’
‘I do. Hey, I saw Arthur today. He was asking after you. I think he likes you.’
My cheeks burn. Arthur’s nice but he’s much older than me. And then there’s my fib about where I got the extra money from. What if everyone finds out? ‘I haven’t got time for boys.’
‘I know, swimming’s all you care about. I admire you, sister, I really do.’ He smiles and goes back to his side of the rug.
By the time we’ve finished all the chores it’s pitch black outside and I’m crushed: I had this idea that I could catch a tram to Coogee before the day was over. I found out from Dewey that Mr Wylie’s house is practically next to the baths and I was going to knock on the door and ask if I could borrow the stopwatch from him. It might even be the exact same one that Aunt Rachel had, and maybe the thing that made this happen. But it’s too late for that plan tonight. I’ll leave at dawn tomorrow because I definitely can’t be Fan for her races.
So I’m stuck here for another night with a new problem to solve: how to replace the money I used to buy all the gifts? If I make it back home and the real Fan returns, she won’t be able to enter the swimming carnival with no money left in her purse. I can’t do that to her. The way Mary was talking earlier about the Olympics, it’s obvious that Fan is as committed as you can be.
Later, when the house is dead quiet and my sisters are lightly snoring, I have an idea. But it’s complicated.
I take a candle and sneak down to the bar. The till will be empty but earlier I saw where Da keeps the takings.
Now that I’m here, looking at the money, it feels wrong. I pick up a couple of coins and weigh them in my hand. The Duracks work so hard and this money isn’t mine to take. But on the other hand, Da would want Fan to have it. And Fan wants to go all the way.
I can’t think how else to get the money for the race.
Upstairs, I pop the coins inside the purse and leave it on the dresser. Then by candlelight I write a note to Fan and stuff that in too. I want to leave one tiny trace of myself.
Hi, this is Cat. I was you! Were you me? Good luck in the race. I hope you win. And good luck with all your dreams, never give up. I love your family, especially Dewey. I didn’t love the chores, though. You can keep those! This was a weird and wonderful adventure. Cat x
I should say more but I’m stuck for what to write. A lot of my thoughts haven’t made it into words yet. But somehow I feel closer to Fanny after writing to her. I wish I had a sign that she’s in my life the way I’m in hers.
I can’t let myself fall asleep because I want to leave before everyone else gets up. I’ll lie next to Dewey and think about home. Then, when it’s time, I’ll creep out and go straight to Coogee.
Fan
18
Mum
The little blue lights on the clock say 2:00. That means I have to get up in three hours to swim. I keep thinking about what it means to be stuck here, away from everyone I love. I know I need to find Cat’s missing things, but I can’t do that in the wee hours of the morning. I wish I could sleep.
While the pie was cooking, Dad spoke to me in his sternest voice about being more responsible and catching the bus home with Maisy instead of going to Lucy’s without asking, and then he stopped because dinner smelled so delicious he couldn’t concentrate.
It was not my finest pie because I was missing ingredients like suet and I had no recipe, but there were onions and carrots and some flour and seasoning and apparently it was the best thing Dad had ever eaten. I smiled at the sight of him shovelling it in like Con and Da, and that was almost enough for a few minutes. But then I thought about Dewey and my body ached to see her.
How must the real Cat be feeling if she is in my place? How must she be coping with skinning rabbits and washing clothes for hours at a time? I think I have it easier here. There are machines to wash dishes, machines to wash clothes, ovens that cook without anyone needing to stoke a fire. The meat comes in a parcel from the shop and there is no skinning required. And when I couldn’t sleep, Dad poured some milk into a cup and then put it inside a box with a door and when the box dinged the milk was warm. Such wonderful magic to heat something in seconds.
I must have drifted off because the next thing I know, Maisy is shaking my shoulder.
I roll over and feel my feet hit the ground. In my dreams I’m still in Surry Hills with the sounds of the horse and cart trundling down the cobbled streets.
‘I’m up, Maise,’ I tell her.
‘Maise?’
Tired I look up and see the frown on her face.
‘Since when do you
call me Maise?’
I start making my bed because I’m not sure what to say. Obviously her real sister never shortens her name.
‘Since when do you make your bed? Or get up without complaining? Or cook dinner? Actually, who are you?’ she says.
Forcing a laugh, I turn around and grab my new sister by the shoulders. I give her a little friendly shake. ‘I’m me, silly. I’m just trying to be better.’
Maisy looks at me closely and finally nods, and I release her.
‘I like this version of you!’ she says.
Is this traitorous to the real Cat? Maybe I should tell Maisy the truth. Burst out with the reason I’m different. But she wouldn’t believe me anyway, because it sounds so ridiculous.
Just at that second our bedroom door creaks opens and a woman steps in. She’s wearing a little jacket and knee-length skirt like it’s a uniform and she’s smiling.
‘Mum!’ squeals Maisy as she throws herself at the woman.
‘Hello, girls. I’ve missed you,’ she says wrapping Maisy in a hug and holding her arms out for me to join in. I try to match my sister’s excitement but it doesn’t sound real when I say it. I lean in for a little hug, and then pull back letting Maisy have the moment. Hugging a mother who isn’t mine when I rarely hug my own doesn’t feel right.
‘Are you back for ages?’ Maisy asks, clinging on tight around the mother’s middle. Her hair is pulled back into a bun and she has a funny little hat on. Her lips are painted bright red; Ma would be most disapproving.
The mother nods. ‘I’m back for a little while.’ Then she peers around my sister and looks at me. ‘How are you, Cat?’
‘I’m very pleased to see you,’ I tell her in my finest voice.
She laughs softly reminding me of Dewey. ‘Well, that’s a relief.’
‘Cat’s changed, but she’s nicer than she was!’ Maisy tells her mother.
‘She was nice before, Maisy. Come on, leave your sister,’ she says in a quiet voice that makes me like her because she’s defending Cat.
