by Emily Gale
‘Are you two training this morning?’
‘We could stay and have breakfast with you instead,’ says Maisy sounding hopeful. I know how much Maisy loves swimming so this is a big offer and it must mean she’s missed her mother very much.
Mother shakes her head. ‘I’ve been flying all night and I’m very tired, so I’m going to bed now. I’ll see you both after school, presents then,’ she says.
Maisy reluctantly lets her go, and I have so many questions for my sister, like what sort of mother goes to bed as her children are getting up? And what does she mean by flying?
‘I wonder what our presents are,’ says Maisy in an excited voice.
‘Why would we get presents?’ I can’t imagine being given presents for no reason. My treasured things at home are in an old tin under my bed. There’s a mirror chipped at one side, and a hair slide that Con gave me when I won my first ever race.
‘We always get presents when Mum’s been on a trip!’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ I lie. I risk a direct question. ‘Why did she go away?’
‘For work, Cat! Don’t give her a hard time. She can’t do anything about it.’
The idea of a woman leaving her children and husband to work is very strange indeed, but more thrilling than concerning. I try to imagine explaining this to my sisters, my real sisters. Kathleen would mock me and Dewey would laugh. In one way it is unthinkable not to go home—not to find Cat’s missing things and trace every clue back to her, and back to my own time. But this simple truth keeps tugging my sleeve: life is so much easier in 2021. There are swimming goggles to protect your eyes, bathing suits that are comfortable and not made of itchy wool and food can be heated in seconds. Not to mention those little teddy biscuits in a packet. I could get used to them.
Cat
19
Carnival
No no no no no!
I wasn’t meant to fall asleep! The sun is hot on my cheek and the noises of the household tell me everyone else is awake. I was meant to leave for Wylie’s Baths at dawn!
Dewey crash-lands on the bed and I turn over to bury my head.
‘Fanny, it’s race day.’
I reply with the enthusiasm of a cold wet cozzie. ‘Ugh.’
‘What’s wrong? We let you sleep in.’
Dewey touches my shoulder and I shrug her off. As her weight leaves the mattress it reminds me of something: Maisy being nice, me hating it. I don’t want to be like that. It’s just that I’m always curled up with frustration. I can’t believe I’ve missed the opportunity to sneak away before the race.
‘I’ll do you some porridge.’ Dewey’s voice sounds timid. ‘Then we’d better head to Coogee.’
I sit up and fling off the covers. ‘Coogee?’
‘Of course,’ she frowns.
‘The carnival is in Coogee?’ I say, louder, with a massive smile. It can’t be too far from Wylie’s. Talk about lucky! I can be in the carnival—I have to admit I’m curious—and then try to find the way back home.
Dewey is halfway out the door, giving me a look. ‘Will you make the bed?’
I skip clownishly around the room in my nightie, singing, ‘Make the bed, make the bed, woo-woo, make the bed!’
‘Oh, Fan,’ she giggles as she closes the door.
The four girls are ready to go to the carnival. Dewey is entered in a wading race—we do those for fun at school—and Kath and Mary are timekeepers. I wonder about the stopwatch they’ll use. I’ll have to get a look at it.
Da and the boys aren’t allowed to come, and Ma can’t spare the time, but everyone says something supportive when we leave. Frankie gives me his lucky rabbit’s foot and I manage not to gag. Next to Dewey he’s my favourite. I almost think I could be a good big sister to a funny boy like Frankie.
In my head I say a final goodbye. I don’t plan on coming back here.
But the further away we get, the more I can’t stop thinking about the money I took last night. In the past I’ve snitched fifty cents from the bowl of random stuff on our kitchen bench, but that’s from my own mum and dad. This is different. In my defence, though, I did it for Fan and her dreams. That makes it a lesser crime, surely. Dewey said something about carnival prizes. Hopefully I’ll win some money.
If I win, that is. Big if. I don’t even know which races I’m in. All this not knowing is tiring. With the number of stupid questions I’ve asked, the times I’ve ‘forgotten’ something, or suddenly become ‘distracted’ because I don’t know what someone’s talking about, it’s amazing that no one realises I’m not Fanny.
Then again, no matter how strange someone is being, who would ever suspect that they are someone else? I wonder what’s happening in my life. If Fanny is me, is she doing a good job? She’s probably fainted from the shock of everything that’s been invented since 1908. I hope she’s using deodorant.
We jump on the second tram carriage, where the wooden bench seats face outwards. It’s Kath and Mary at either end of the bench, Dewey and me in the middle. Kath leans forward, holding onto her hat. ‘Look at Fanny.’ She winks at Mary. ‘That serious face she gets.’
They’re making my nerves worse. I’ve got to find out what’s in store for me at this carnival.
‘So, there’ll be a few races today…’ I let the words trail off, hoping that one of the sisters will take the hint and talk about the day and my part in it.
Not one of them says a word.
‘I know this is strange, but it really helps me to… focus…if someone goes through which races I’m in.’
Mary splutters out a laugh. ‘You know which races you’re in, daft girl.’
‘Sure. But it helps when someone else says it out loud. Preparation.’ I tap my temple twice. ‘Like, “Fan, you’ve got the 100-metres freestyle first.”’
‘Metres? You mean yards,’ Kath says.
Oh dear, how long’s a yard? Is it like a backyard? They can be all sort of sizes!
‘And what’s freestyle?’ asks Mary. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’
This is getting worse. No one’s invented my best stroke yet! I briefly consider leaping off the moving tram.
Dewey comes to my rescue. ‘I’ll help you.’ She puts on a serious face and does a sort of commentator’s voice. ‘Fanny Durack, your first race is the 100-yards trudgen, followed by the 50-yards breaststroke, and finished off with the spectacular high dive. I predict you will come first in both races and dazzle the crowds with a daredevil dive!’ She smiles. ‘There, how was that?’
I laugh like a nervous horse. Because what on earth is trudgen?
We’ve arrived at Coogee Aquarium, a huge building with a domed roof that overlooks the beach. I know this place! Mum and Dad took us out for pizza in this exact spot after we’d been for a look at the school when we first moved to Sydney. Spooky.
Inside there’s a pool with a tall grandstand on each side. Kath and Mary go off to the judges’ area. I want to follow so I can get a look at the stopwatch but Dewey grabs my arm and steers me in the opposite direction. The place is filling up fast with women and girls. I can’t believe how many have come. Hundreds! When I race it’s only other swimmers’ families watching, but these random people have come for fun. I guess this is what people did before Netflix.
I can’t lie, I’ve got excited butterflies as well as a very real sense of dread. The adrenaline is coursing through me and I have to keep shaking out my hands and feet. Lots of people say hello to me and it’s a weird feeling, like all the strangers in a shopping centre knowing your name. I think Fanny Durack is a bit famous.
‘Hurry, Fan. My wading race is soon,’ says Dewey, pulling me towards the changing room. The cozzie I have to put on is navy blue wool. It’s loose and long, more like a romper, and the way to put it on is to undo some buttons on one shoulder and step through to the legs. I have a long gown to wear over the top and a baggy cap to keep my hair in place.
I’m getting used to my shape—these strong legs and arms—and I wonder what
racing will feel like.
At midday, the first gun goes off and Dewey starts her wading race. The crowd really gets into it, so it feels safe for me to yell out. ‘Dew-ey! Dew-ey!’ I can see Kath in the judges’ area holding a stopwatch but there’s no way for me to get closer.
Dewey comes second and I’ve literally never seen anyone so happy. I get a wet hug from her afterwards.
‘My friend Mabel is in the trudgen race before yours, do you fancy watching?’
‘Definitely,’ I say, clutching Dewey’s arm. She looks surprised but giggles and leads the way. This is perfect. I can see what trudgen looks like before I have to do it myself. On the way, a few girls say hello to me and I just smile and hurry past before they have the chance to chat. I just need to keep my head down during this carnival.
The gun goes off and four girls who look my real age start to swim.
What on earth…? They’re doing sidestroke, with scissor legs and freestyle arms, but their heads stay out of the water. I’m going to be so far out of my comfort zone. I’ve never done that combination in my life!
‘Good luck, Fanny. You can do it.’
If only Dewey knew the truth, but it’s too late now, the moment is here. It’s either get in the water or run out of the building in this strange cozzie. I haven’t even warmed up, and I have no idea how to swim in Fan’s body. She’s taller and stronger and curvier than I am, but my brain only knows how to work my own little self.
Six of us line up; the others look as serious as I feel. A woman wearing a huge hat and a velvet coat with long rows of buttons is in charge. She calls out in a booming voice: ‘The 100-yards Trudgen Race!’ and we step to the edge. I still don’t even know what one yard is, let alone 100!
BANG!
The crowd’s cheer melts away as soon as I hit the water. It takes me a few seconds to get the technique but then I find my rhythm. Five heads are bobbing in front of me—this isn’t where I like to be in a race. I push harder, but that ruins my technique. I badly want to slip into freestyle but I keep going, scissor-kicking and pumping my arms with all my strength. I have to think about every movement, like when you pat your head and rub your stomach in circles. But Fanny’s body is strong and I’m determined not to let her down.
Push, push, push!
The girl on my right stops at the end so I stop too; the race is over. Have I made a fool of myself? What will the sisters think? I climb up the steps, gasping for breath and unable to look at anyone.
‘Third place,’ says a woman, handing me a round token.
Third?
I came third! That’s not bad at all.
As the others wander off I break into a smile. I’ve been getting first or second place in every race since I was nine years old. But third here and now feels amazing.
After the races, we line up for prizes. The system is that you swap your race token for something—money, I hope! I have my fingers crossed that someone drops a few of those big brown coins in my hand. I got a cramp in the breaststroke race and came fourth, so no prize there. I never get cramp so I feel bad for not looking after this new body I’m in. The trouble is no one has a water bottle, or those nice electrolyte drinks that keep swimmers hydrated.
While we’re waiting, I realise I’m close to Kath now.
‘Psst, can I have a look at that?’ I ask, pointing at the stopwatch in her hand. She looks confused but gives it to me. Straightaway I know this isn’t the one Dewey used to time Fan at Wylie’s, the one I think is now Aunt Rachel’s. Yesterday Dewey told me that Mr Wylie’s one has something in French written on the clock face. And that’s the same as Aunt Rachel’s. It said kilomètres à l’heure, which I know means kilometres per hour because I do French at Victoria Grammar.
I hand it back to Kath. I need to find Mr Wylie.
‘Not as nice as my dad’s, is it?’ says a girl next to me. It’s one of the girls who beat me in the trudgen race. I wonder if she’s talking about Mr Wylie. Then her name is called and it’s Mina Wylie. Perfect! I aim a huge smile at her as if I’m happy for her that she was faster, but really it’s because she might help me get the stopwatch.
Here it comes, it’s my turn for a prize. A lady with white hair in a bun is coming towards me to present me with…
…a hairbrush! This could not be more tragic. Let me get this straight: I broke a hairbrush. So I used someone else’s money to buy a new hairbrush. I stole yet more money to replace the money I used to buy the hairbrush. And now I’ve won a hairbrush!
I wish I could tell someone how funny this is. Tam back in Orange, Lucy at school, or even my sister—yes, Maisy would love it. All I want is to see Maisy’s face in the crowd. To make her smile the way I seem to make Dewey smile. To cheer her in a race the way I cheered for Dewey. I even want to tell her where I hid her yellow Croc.
Fan
20
Training
My good mood lasts until we reach the pool. Maisy asks where my goggles are. I tell her a lion ate them and she rolls her eyes and dashes off to see if she can borrow some from lost property.
‘Here you go!’ She tosses me a bright pink pair. I pull them onto my head and they are so tiny they cut my face in half.
‘Oops!’ Maisy says laughing.
‘Thanks, sister,’ I say, moving the goggles down my face so they squash my nose. She giggles, and for a second I can pretend it’s Dewey with me.
When we walk into the steamy air, it’s my turn to giggle at the sight of Rebecca bent over and contorting her body like a circus performer.
‘Never seen anyone stretch before, Cat?’ she says sharply and I try to smile. If I have to swim in a relay team with her then it’s better for both of us if we get along.
‘I’m coming to your party!’ I tell her like that should cheer her up.
‘Oh, fantastic,’ she says in a flat, hard voice.
It makes me wonder why she’d invite me if she doesn’t like me. It’s all so confusing. In 1908, I don’t have time to worry about what someone thinks of me.
‘I’m expecting fast times today. You have State coming up and not one of you can take your place in the team for granted,’ says a woman rolling towards us in a chair. She moves it with a small lever and she can spin in a tight circle. I’ve never seen anything like it.
I’m trying to take all her words in. There’s State and there’s fast. Those words I live for. I can do this.
‘In the pool, girls. Start with four laps of breaststroke,’ she says.
The other girls scamper towards the pool. She is the coach. The coach is a she! A woman. I couldn’t be more delighted.
‘Cat!’ The woman barks at me.
‘Yes?’
‘Yes, what?’
‘Um…yes, Ma’am?’
Looking baffled, the woman shakes her head. ‘It’s yes, Coach!’
‘Yes, Coach. Sorry, Coach!’
I start taking off my clothes, trying to be as ladylike as I can, but knowing that everybody will see me in this skimpy material and there is little I can do about it. I dive into a lane and try to adjust my goggles so they are not cutting into my face, and then take off after the others. They are miles ahead of me. I’m swimming as hard as I can but Cat’s body is just not like mine. I just can’t catch up.
This coach is not like Mr Wylie. She yells from the side and times us with a black stopwatch that doesn’t look as fancy as Mr Wylie’s. Seeing it reminds me I’m supposed to be trying to find the stopwatch Maisy broke and the rest of Cat’s things.
Rebecca is much faster than me. She swims at the head of the pack while I trail along behind. From our brief conversation I know that I must usually be faster than her because I’m the fourth swimmer in the relay, so why am I so far behind?
I touch the end of the pool and stand to adjust my goggles and take a breath. This pool is longer than Wylie’s and swimming laps at this pace in someone else’s body is tiring.
Fingers slam into my back. I spin around.
‘What are
you doing? You’ve just messed up the times!’ Rebecca snaps at me. ‘Don’t stop.’
Coach blows her whistle and the other swimmers glide in behind Rebecca, one at a time. Coach wheels closer to the edge of the pool.
‘Coach, I should be swimming the fourth leg. Cat’s off,’ says Rebecca.
‘I’m not,’ I say.
‘You are,’ she says spinning back to me. ‘You just caused a traffic jam.’
‘Two hundred in your fastest stroke,’ barks Coach. ‘Rebecca, set pace.’
Rebecca glares at me as she glides away from the wall. The other swimmers follow, but I’m still fiddling with my goggles.
‘Where are your proper goggles?’ Coach asks.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Maybe Rebecca’s right,’ Coach says.
‘No. I’ll show you how fast I can be,’ I tell her, knowing that when I swim trudgen I’m fast enough to take Mina.
I push off the wall and start scissor-kicking my legs through the water. My muscles pull in strange places, but I can feel Cat’s body starting to speed up. I can’t let Rebecca take the fourth spot on the relay.
The whistle cuts across the noise of the swimmers as I touch the end. I look up and see Coach glaring down at me.
‘Out, Cat,’ she says sharply.
I’m not sure what I’ve done this time. Behind me the others keep lapping, and I grab my towel and wrap myself up as I walk across to where Coach is waiting.
‘What was that?’
Is she asking me honestly? ‘My best stroke.’
‘Are you joking?’
I shake my head. ‘No, I never joke about swimming.’
‘Turn around and take a look at the rest of your team,’ she says.
The others are all swimming in a stroke I’ve never seen before. Kicking feet and arms coming out of the water like I do with trudgen but their heads are down and they breathe every third stroke. They’re fast too. Much faster than trudgen.
‘What possible reason could you have for not swimming freestyle?’
I can’t tell her the real reason, so I don’t say a word.
