Elsewhere Girls

by Emily Gale

  ‘Stay calm and still now. Let the line do the work.’

  It feels wrong to stop swimming, trusting this person whose face I can’t even see, but then I feel us being dragged through the water. So I hold myself still, hold Frankie tight and focus on the sky.

  It’s over, and I’m alive. But what about Frankie? I whisper in his ear, ‘Please wake up.’

  In a whir of people and voices, finally we’re on the sand.

  ‘We need a doctor!’ a man yells.

  I’m kneeling by Frankie and there’s a crowd around us. There’s foam at Frankie’s mouth and his chest isn’t moving. I think that person screaming is Ma, but I’m not quite connected to the moment, dazed and out of breath.

  Mr Gon pushes his way to the front with Arthur. ‘My son is studying to be a doctor,’ he says.

  ‘There must be someone else,’ says another man, not even looking at Arthur and his dad. I think back to that argument in the kitchen and I know it’s because they’re Chinese.

  ‘Arthur can do it! Please!’ I shout.

  ‘Please, son,’ cries Da. ‘Help my boy.’

  The crowd gasps and jostles to watch as Arthur kneels at Frankie’s other side.

  Da, Con and John hold them back with their arms outstretched to give Arthur room.

  Arthur starts the kind of compressions we learnt in Health class, firm and even. He tilts Frankie’s head back to breathe into his mouth. More compressions. Hard, but steady. I hear a bone crack and the people behind me gasp.

  One of the men yells, ‘Get the boy a real doctor!’ and he yanks Arthur’s shoulder.

  Da grabs the man by the front of his shirt. ‘Touch him again and you’ll deal with me,’ he says fiercely.

  Arthur is back to the compressions, looking calm and sure.

  ‘A broken rib can heal. Let me continue,’ he says.

  When he next breathes into Frankie’s mouth, I see the little body convulse. Arthur turns him onto his side and a stream of foamy water comes out of Frankie’s mouth. He heaves and retches and coughs. Arthur strokes his back firmly and says, ‘Good boy. You’re all right, Frankie.’

  After that, an older man pushes his way forward and says he’s a doctor. Somehow the crowd swallows Arthur up and I can’t see him anymore.

  Fan

  30

  Protest

  Walking down the corridor, I hear, ‘Hey, Cat’ more than once. I smile as I walk past faces I recognise. I could belong here.

  As I get closer to my locker there’s a group of girls beneath a sign that reads: Dorothy Hill Was a Geologist. And a Woman!

  Could it be my Dorothy Hill? The Dorothy that Mina and I are always trying to beat? But how did she become a geologist when in 1908 she’s a swimmer like me? I don’t even know what a geologist is.

  It’s then that I hear Lucy’s voice, loud and clear and angry: ‘Women can be scientists too!’

  I push through the group to get to where Lucy stands in her white lab coat and big beautiful combed-out hair, waving her sign.

  Lucy sees me and lunges forward. ‘Cat, they told me to apply for the special science program over the summer, but all the places have already been filled with the boys from Merkham Grammar. There isn’t a single place for me, or any other girl. It’s so sexist!’

  ‘Oh no,’ I say. ‘Is there anything you can do?’

  The first bell goes and the others start to flutter away, leaving just Lucy and me in the corridor.

  ‘I worked so hard on my application. I really want it, Cat.’

  ‘So fight for it.’

  ‘That’s what I’m doing!’ she says, waving her banner.

  ‘I mean not just in school. You could go to the press.’

  She giggles, and it’s such a lovely, light sound. ‘The press? You mean newspapers?’

  I nod. ‘Yes. My friend Annette Kellerman did it…I mean, I read about her once. On the Google.’ I think of Annette’s defiant expression on page one as she stood in the bathing suit that got her arrested in America.

  ‘On the Google?’ Lucy giggles again. ‘And who’s thingy Kellerman?’

  ‘Annette Kellerman. A swimmer from a long time ago.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘It must have done. She was arguing for the right to wear a swimming costume.’ People swim in bathing suits tinier than anything Annette Kellerman could have ever dreamed of. And nobody cares. ‘So that’s what I’d do, Lucy. Tell your story and get the public on your side.’

  Lucy stands straighter as if her mind is churning with ideas.

  ‘I have to do something. Because if I can’t be a scientist, I’ll die.’

  ‘I know,’ I tell her. ‘But you will be a scientist. You already are one. You just have to get them to understand that you are the best possible person for that program.’

  She nods. ‘You’re right. I am a scientist. And I am going to get in.’ She grabs my shoulders and holds them tight. I can feel her passion for the life she wants pumping through her, like her body is tingling at the idea of fighting for something.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Lucy? Who is this Dorothy Hill on your sign? Was she a swimmer?’

  Lucy laughs. ‘No! She was a geologist and palaeontologist. Born in 1907. She was the first female university professor in Australia and a scholarship kid like us. She became a world expert on fossil corals and people still use her research today.’

  Born in 1907. So she’s not my Dorothy.

  ‘Ancient, I know,’ says Lucy. ‘But she changed the world.’

  ‘Not that ancient,’ I say, my voice sharp with a feeling I can’t explain to Lucy.

  ‘I just meant, imagine what she would have had to battle back then so she could be a geologist. If she did it, so can I.’ Lucy leans her sign up against the lockers.

  As she gets her books for class, I wonder if my Dorothy Hill ever became famous. I wonder about Mina Wylie, too. Most of all I wonder about myself. If I stay here, I’ll never know what Sarah Frances Durack could have been. If Cat is living my life, as I’ve imagined ever since I heard the words the hand unwinds in the swimming pool, will she fight for women to swim at the Olympics the way Mina and I have talked about? And would I want Cat to do that, when it’s my fight?

  I pull Lucy into the fiercest hug, trying to transfer all my fight into her. ‘I know what it’s like to have people telling you that you can’t do something. It’s up to us to make them let us.’

  She pulls away, giving me a strange look. ‘You’ve never been one for inspirational speeches, Cat, but thanks. Now come on, we have to get to class. Protesting is fine, but not if I have detention.’

  At lunch, I pull Lucy to a quiet spot on the grass near the art buildings. Talking to her this morning about Annette Kellerman, I realised I have an urge to tell her who I am.

  When Lucy thought something was strange, she kept asking me all these things I was supposed to know but didn’t. So maybe the proof is the opposite: everything I do know. Things I know that Cat wouldn’t. I can tell her the price of a loaf of bread, a quart of milk or a pound of butter in 1908. The weather on the day I left, who the prime minister is, and how girls get on with things every month when they’re on the rag. Things Cat has never thought about. (Things she might be thinking about a lot more now.)

  Lucy takes a bite of her sandwich and lies stretched out like a starfish on the grass.

  ‘It’s nice to have you back again, Cat,’ she says. ‘After you went all strange.’

  ‘Mm,’ I say, waiting for my moment to tell her.

  ‘It’s so good to have a friend who gets me. Maybe I can help you with your stuff, too. Just ask, okay? Anything.’

  Poor Lucy. I feel like her brain might break if I tell her about time travel. Is there a way I can get her help without scaring her too much?

  ‘Are you any good with watches, Lucy?’ I ask, reaching into my schoolbag. I dangle the stopwatch by the chain over her head and she reaches up for it. ‘I need help with this old one.’

 
‘I don’t know that much about them, but there’s an insect called Issus coleoptratus that has legs just like the cogs inside a clock. What needs fixing on this one? Looks perfect to me.’

  ‘That’s just it. It was broken and I need it to be broken again. Before, the long, thin hand which is the timer hand was going anticlockwise. I want it to do that.’

  Lucy frowns. ‘You want me to help you break an antique.’

  I nod and offer her a strawberry from my lunchbox. ‘Yes, please,’ I say. ‘As soon as possible.’

  Cat

  31

  Waiting

  I’m in a chair by the stove with a blanket around my shoulders. Mary puts another one over my legs and kisses the top of my head. Dewey sits at my feet, takes my hands into hers and rubs them. I’ve been dry and dressed for ages but I can’t seem to stop shaking or get warm.

  No one in the kitchen is talking much. Just because Arthur got Frankie to cough up some water and breathe again doesn’t mean it’s over. People can drown hours after being pulled out of the water if too much of it has got into their lungs. So Doctor Burke is here and the last thing we heard him say was I can’t make any promises.

  I watch Con take a teapot from the shelf. His hands are shaking so much that the lid is rattling—Kath takes it off him and, empty-handed, Con goes to stand by the doorway that leads down to the yard, with his back to the room. It’s easy to tell that he’s crying.

  Every time I glance at Da’s grey face, I picture Ma and Da this morning, so happy to be treating everyone to a day out. And I think of my own mum and dad, working to make our lives happy. I can feel hot tears on my cheeks too.

  John comes into the kitchen. ‘Da,’ he says in a strained voice. ‘Father Robert is here.’ The priest. Oh no, does that mean Frankie is going to die?

  We’re standing around Ma and Da’s bed. I’m closest to the door. I want to be here but a part of me thinks I shouldn’t be. This morning we were sitting in church listening to Father Robert talking about the joy of Sunday, and I wished time would speed up so we could get to the beach. Now all I want is for time to go back to the moment Frankie and Mick ran into the water.

  Of all people I should know that time isn’t something I can control. But is this my fault? Would the real Fan have reached him faster? Swimming isn’t just about the body you’re in; it’s your mind too.

  The priest is muttering prayers. Each face looking down at Frankie, who is swallowed up in the big bed, pale and still.

  Then there’s a little cough and a voice. ‘Ma?’

  His eyes open a little.

  ‘Oh, Frankie!’ Ma cries. Doctor Burke holds her back and checks Frankie’s chest, peels his eyelids back and feels around his throat.

  He takes Ma’s hands. ‘Mrs Durack, I believe now that he’ll pull through.’

  ‘Oh! Doctor!’ Ma’s voice rings out like a bell. ‘Really and truly?’

  ‘His fever has dropped, his breathing sounds good. As best as I can tell, yes.’ Doctor Burke nods and Ma flings her arms around him. The room comes to life with sound and movement as everyone hugs the person next to them. But I slink backwards through the doorway, breathing hard with relief and leftover shock. He’s okay. He’s really okay!

  Dewey follows me out and we grip each other’s hands. Silently we go into our bedroom and sit on the edge of our bed.

  ‘Cat,’ she whispers. ‘You and Arthur saved him.’

  I cry with relief but I can’t speak because it’s Fanny’s voice that will come out and I think now, more than ever, I need to hear the sound of my own. I need to be myself again, so much.

  ‘Cat, I just wish…’

  I nod and squeeze her hand. She doesn’t have to finish. She means that she needs her sister here. And I need mine! I’ve never wanted to hug that cheerful little cowpat more than I do right now. I even miss her stupid chicken alarm clock and the way she arranges her cozzie and shoes on the rug at night.

  I know what else I miss. I miss knowing exactly what I want and why. I haven’t felt that for such a long time, but it’s never been clearer than it is today. I want my own life back and I know what I want to do with it, too.

  It feels like the first big decision I’ve ever made by myself.

  ‘You really want to go home, don’t you?’ says Dewey. ‘I want to go and I want to give Fan back to you,’ I answer.

  Then as she puts her arms around me, we cry and laugh at the same time.

  ‘I wish I could have both of you,’ she sobs.

  ‘I’m really not a crier, you know.’

  Dewey laughs. ‘Fanny’s not a crier either.’

  As we break apart, we catch sight of ourselves in the mirror on top of the dresser and laugh at how red and puffy our faces are.

  ‘I need a handkerchief,’ says Dewey.

  ‘Oh, I’ve got one.’ I slide open the drawer next to our bed and find the crumpled handkerchief with A.G. embroidered on it.

  ‘Is this Arthur’s?’ Dewey gasps.

  ‘He gave it to me the first day I got here.’

  She holds it, feeling the fabric as if it’s something special. I’m sure we’re both picturing the scene on the beach when Frankie’s cold body was laid down on the sand and Arthur breathed life into him. And the next moment when Arthur was pushed aside, which was so unfair.

  ‘It was a sign, Arthur giving you this,’ says Dewey.

  ‘And now we need another,’ I add. ‘We need a sign from Fanny.’

  Fan

  32

  Relay

  After school, Maisy and I play Monopoly with Mum. It’s a strange game where people try to take each other’s money. Then all four of us catch the tram into the city and go to Chinatown. Mum orders us fat steaming dumplings that dribble juice down my chin as I bite into them.

  In my time, nobody from Irish stock would venture into a Chinese eating place and sit at tables alongside people speaking in foreign languages. I soak it up, keen to remember as much as I can. I can’t manage chopsticks but I eat twenty-three dumplings and only stop because Dad refuses to buy more, worried that I’ll burst.

  Maisy asks about Lucy’s protest and when I explain, Mum says Lucy is right to make a big deal about inclusion. It makes me wonder what Ma would say if I started to protest against girls and women being told that it’s not right to swim in major competitions just because men will see them in bathing suits. More than ever, I want to get back to 1908 and fight my own battles.

  ‘Put your phone away, Maisy,’ says Dad, when he catches her tapping on it with her thumbs in that lightning-fast way she does. ‘Cat, I’ve been meaning to say that it’s really nice to see that you’re not constantly glued to yours lately.’

  I smile.

  Maisy kicks me under the table.

  The next morning Dad drops us off at training at 5.45 am, which means we’re late. Rebecca is probably already in the pool. Maisy rushes through the turnstile in front of me. There’s a week to go before Saturday’s relay race.

  Maisy gets ready in record time and leaves the dressing room tucking her hair up inside her swimming cap, another modern revelation.

  ‘I’ll see you out there, Maisy,’ I tell her.

  ‘You’d better hurry. Coach won’t be happy!’

  At Wylie’s Baths, I’m the first in. This morning I’m stalling. I haven’t mastered freestyle and I don’t want to bring shame on Cat. As much as I could take Rebecca down a notch or two in breaststroke, something is stopping me.

  I pull on Cat’s bathing suit, loving the tight feel of it against my skin. Unlike baggy wool, this fabric doesn’t itch in places where it shouldn’t. I don’t bother with a cap. Cat’s hair is short enough and I’ve always liked the swampy feel of the water in my hair. On the way out, I stop at the mirror. I stare deep into Cat’s eyes, hoping she’s looking after things for me and that she’ll be ready to swap back when I am. A strange shiver of cold flushes through my body like someone has stepped across my grave. Ma would say I was coming down with something
, but it’s not like that. It’s a different sort of feeling. It’s like Cat is telling me that she’s ready.

  I push open the door to the pool.

  ‘Nice of you to join us, Cat,’ says Rebecca, bobbing up out of the water at the end of the lane. I ignore her because Kath taught me the power of that a long time ago. Rebecca sighs and swims away.

  Maisy is in the water already and I stand watching her arms draw perfectly through the water. I imagine what my coach Mr Wylie would say if he could see her. Her body arches and she comes up for a breath and then slides back under. Her stroke is perfect. She hits the end, turns gracefully beneath the water and glides for a few seconds before popping back up again.

  ‘She’s good,’ says a voice behind me.

  I turn to find Coach in her wheelchair.

  ‘She is,’ I say.

  ‘Better than you?’ she asks.

  ‘Today she is,’ I say, not quite willing to accept I couldn’t beat Maisy in my own body, in my own stroke.

  ‘Well, are you getting in or not, Cat?’

  Maisy touches the end and changes strokes. My heart is racing like it does before I swim, when my lungs are trying to take in all the air they can. I know what I have to do. I just hope that Cat forgives me.

  ‘Coach, I think you should put Maisy in the relay team instead of me. She’s faster than me at the moment, and she wants it more.’

  Coach comes closer and stares at me. It’s so intimidating. Here I was thinking Mr Wylie was a little frightening, but he has nothing on this coach.

  ‘What about your scholarship?’

  I haven’t thought this through. I’m not sure what Cat wants, but I do know that I would never pretend to be sick to miss training, and if my parents moved me to a new town and a new school so that I had a better shot of making the Olympics, I would take it in a flash. From everything Maisy has said, Cat wants something else.

  But what if I’m wrong? Or if I can’t go back to my time?

  ‘I need time to think. I’ll have all the answers soon. Please don’t say anything to my mother and father yet.’

  Coach frowns. ‘Last chance, Cat.’