Sky

by Ondine Sherman

  Lorraine is still talking, ‘High tea at the Queen Victoria Building. And the Opera House, the opening night of the ballet, and shopping …’ she sighs, ‘I’d live there in a flash. Although West Creek does have some benefits, the community values that Sydney is sadly lacking. She stiffens. ‘I’m dedicated to ensuring that the P&C upholds those values, teaching these kids, what do they call them, millennials or something, some old-fashioned etiquette. The golf club has been re-done; have you been there yet?’

  Paula shakes her head, shifting uncomfortably.

  ‘You must!’ Lorraine says. ‘There’s a delightful new restaurant right on the green with marble imported from Italy. ‘Did Paula tell you about our end of year gala?’ Lorraine turns to me.

  Of course, I remember the girls talking about it at school.

  Paula shrugs. ‘Afraid I haven’t heard about it yet.’

  ‘We can’t have that. Let me tell you. It’s Friday 11th of December, the week after Presentation Day. The P&C, with my guidance, has been making the necessary arrangements. Quite a glamorous event.’ Lorraine almost smiles at me, ‘… all you lovely young ladies in formal gowns, letting your hair down or pinning it up.’

  My mind starts racing. A formal dress? I think back to my wardrobe. Apart from the black dress I wore at Mum’s funeral, I have nothing. I’ll have to buy something to avoid looking like a complete idiot. I’ll ask Paula for some money later.

  ‘I expect Marissa is already taking good care of you at school?’

  Marissa’s eyes widen.

  ‘She’s been great,’ I lie.

  Lorraine turns her attention back to Paula, ‘Still at the pharmacy? I didn’t see you there a few weeks ago when I picked up a prescription’.

  ‘Taking a couple of months of family leave,’ Paula says.

  ‘That’s generous of them to cover you,’ Lorraine says.

  ‘Just for a week, the rest is unpaid,’ Paula says, ‘it’s a little tight, I admit, but we’re managing.’

  I look at Paula and feel a rush of compassion. Not for a second did I think of what had happened to her job. I hadn’t even asked. Forget asking for money – I’ll have to win the competition at school. Taking me on would be expensive, extra food, bigger bills. They must be struggling. Shit.

  The dog, tired of sitting by my side, moves closer to Marissa to sniff the little dog in her arms. Marissa retreats a step and I pull the dog back to me gently.

  ‘And a new dog?’ Lorraine asks, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Found her wandering and we’re heading to the vet,’ Paula says.

  ‘What’s her name?’ Marissa pats her on the head.

  ‘I don’t know; she doesn’t have one,’ I say.

  ‘Let’s give her one,’ Marissa smiles, which makes me feel good, like we’re in this together.

  ‘Maybe …’ I start wracking my brain for inspiration.

  ‘Bella,’ Marissa says. ‘That was my second choice after Princess. It’s such a pretty name.’

  The ballet dog wiggles in Marissa’s arms.

  ‘Is this Princess?’ I ask Marissa, reaching out to stroke her dog. She has big googly eyes and long floppy ears.

  ‘Isn’t she adorable? She loves fashion, we have, like, a hundred different outfits, her own Instagram account, 2,000 followers, she even gets outfits sent to her for product placement. She loves it!’

  I’m trying not to laugh – the tutu is over the top. But Marissa’s my ticket to popularity, and the dog is pretty adorable.

  ‘Have you seen Bella Hadid’s dog, Hendrix?’

  I nod, although I haven’t. That’s obviously where she got the name. I make a note to google her when I get back home.

  ‘So adorable. I wanted a puppy just like Hendrix, but …’ she says.

  As Marissa’s talking, I hear Paula ask Lorraine how their farm is doing. Lorraine says they’re getting ready for a new batch of Cornish Cross.

  ‘… Mum insisted on a King Charles Spaniel,’ Marissa continues. ‘Finally, I got Dad to take my side. ‘She rolls her eyes, ‘but anyway, she’s, like, so expensive, came all the way from a breeder in Tasmania, by herself on the plane, poor baby.’ She kisses the dog dramatically.

  ‘I love animals, too,’ I say. Marissa smiles. ‘Cool.’ That makes me really happy, but is it enough for us to become friends?

  I hear Lorraine tell Paula that she has to rush. She turns to me. ‘Of course, Marissa is inviting you to her birthday party next week, aren’t you, darling? Sky’s exactly the kind of lovely girl who should be a part of your celebration.’

  I look at them both in disbelief.

  ‘My party? Mum, but …’ Marissa beckons her mother.

  Lorraine glares at Marissa.

  ‘Sure,’ Marissa shuffles her feet, dropping her eye contact.

  Lorraine waves goodbye to us. ‘Look forward to seeing you, Sky. Marissa, say goodbye to your new friend, quickly now darling, we’ll be late for your hair treatment.’

  Friend. The word makes me so happy I feel like dancing, even though I know Marissa didn’t say it herself. Will Marissa listen to her mum and really invite me?

  ‘Bye,’ Marissa says with her trademark hair flick, her blonde tresses catching the sunlight like a shampoo ad. She runs to catch up with her mother who is already powering down the pedestrian mall towards the hair salon.

  ‘Advice,’ Paula mumbles under her breath as we walk away, ‘that’s rich, coming from her.’ I’m not sure what she means and I’m about to ask when the dog pulls me ahead again. We have half an hour until the vet can see us so we do our errands, buying exercise books from the two-dollar shop and socks on discount. I make sure I thank Paula as I can’t take anything for granted anymore. The dog joins us, happily wagging her tail. She looks so delighted to be with us that even Paula can’t help but give her a little scratch behind the ears.

  The vet inspects the dog carefully for injuries or ailments. Instruments are lodged in her ears searching for parasites, and thermometers stuck up her bottom to measure her temperature. Finally, she’s declared to be in ‘perfectly good health’. He then brushes out the crusts of dirt, revealing a beautiful coat of fur. He scans her skin for an identity microchip with a special machine and checks an online database, but finds no identification or reports of lost dogs by her description.

  ‘The clinic can’t keep her,’ the vet tells Paula, ‘because our kennel’s full. The pound can take her. It’s about a twenty-minute drive. I’ll give you the address.’

  ‘Will they find her a good home?’ I ask. It’s only been an hour, but I'm already attached.

  ‘Sorry, re-homing is unlikely as these breeds aren’t so popular and the pound is full of unwanted dogs. Even the fancy breeds aren’t getting a look in. And, because she’s not a puppy, she will most probably be put down quickly.’

  ‘No!’ I say desperately, my eyes filling with tears. ‘She can’t die.’ My knees go weak and everything goes topsy-turvy until Paula sits me on a chair. I put my head in my hands, and suddenly I’m crying.

  The room goes quiet.

  I think of the dog, and then the image fades, turning into Mum. She’s really gone. And she’s never coming back. A wave of sadness crashes over me and I’m drowning. I miss her so much that I don’t know what to do. Even though I hate that Paula is seeing me so messy and vulnerable, I can’t stop.

  Paula’s hand is squeezing my shoulder, warm and heavy. ‘It won’t be painful,’ I hear the vet say. ‘We can’t save every dog; that’s just life.’

  But my tears keep flowing and I start hiccupping. Paula hands me a box of tissues she’s grabbed from the vet’s reception desk.

  ‘And if we take her?’ I hear Paula ask, ‘How much are we looking at?’

  I blow my nose and look at the vet hopefully.

  ‘She’ll need to be de-sexed, vaccinated and treated for worms, fleas and ticks,’ the vet says, ‘and then a large bag of dry food, some cans, let’s see …’ He punches in some numbers into a calculator. ‘Cl
ose to a grand.’

  I imagine that’s way too much for Paula and David. They’re already cash-strapped with me around.

  I put my head back in my hands.

  ‘And a payment plan for the treatments?’ Paula asks.

  I wait. I feel the vet’s gaze although I don’t look up. ‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ he says, ‘to break it up into a few lots.’

  ‘Hold on there, sweetie, I’ll be back in a sec.’ Paula takes her phone outside and my legs find the strength to stand me up. I position myself beside the door to listen. If only, if only, please Paula, please David, I whisper silently biting my nails.

  ‘But Dave …’ I hear Paula protest, ‘It would make a huge … I know we’re tight … that big horse ranch landscaping job won’t help? Please …’ I can’t believe she’s fighting for me, for the dog. Maybe I’ve been wrong about her?

  She comes back into the room. I can’t read her expression.

  ‘Dave and I …,’ Paula says, and I hold my breath. ‘She’ll be your responsibility,’ Paula says. ‘We want you to have her, to help you settle in.’

  My jaw drops. I put my hand over my mouth, trying to take it all in.

  It is too good to be true, a rainbow after a black storm, and definitely the best thing that has happened since Mum died.

  ‘Eleanor told me how much you loved animals, just like she did.’ Then Paula bursts into tears, too.

  But this time I don’t care she’s crying because I am too. ‘Thank you!’ I squeal, smiling ecstatically, and suddenly I’m hugging her for the first time. Not only is she spending a tonne of money she doesn’t have, but she’s also overcoming her fear of dogs. All for me. Paula does care about me after all.

  I think of how Mum was always saying, ‘One day we’ll get our own dog when I start my own bakery; we’ll buy a house with a garden and …’ I push these thoughts away. I have no time for memories.

  ‘Take good care of her,’ the poor vet tells me, probably sick of these crazy crying women and handing tissues to both of us, ‘she’s been through a tough time, I imagine’.

  ‘I will, promise,’ I say, stroking the dog’s ears and scratching her under the chin until she gives in and rolls onto her back for tummy tickles.

  ‘What’s her name?’ the vet asks, adding her to their computer database.

  ‘Bella,’ I say. Marissa will be happy and maybe this dog will not only be my friend but a weird kind of entry ticket into the popular group.

  On the way home I feel comfortable enough chat to Paula, and when her favourite cheesy song comes on the radio, we sing along together.

  A nice aunt, new dog and a party to look forward to. Things are looking up.

  Chapter 7

  The next day I’m at my school locker trying to stuff in my oversized bag.

  ‘Hey, new girl,’ Marissa says. Jules and Kristy are by her side like minions in a bad teen drama, ‘Sky, right?’

  My bag drops to the floor with a thud.

  Jules helps me gather my stuff, ‘Our lockers are too small.’ She sweeps her fringe sideways uncovering a pretty brown eye.

  ‘Yeah, my last one was way bigger,’ I say, instantly regretting the reference to my past.

  ‘Don’t you miss—’ Jules asks. I hold my breath for the dreaded question about Mum.

  Miss. I want to delete the word from the dictionary. How can you ‘miss’ something that’s essential to your survival, like Mum is to me? It’s like saying a tree misses its trunk or a neck misses its head. Just stupid.

  ‘… your other school?’ Jules finishes. I’m grateful she didn’t mention my mum.

  ‘No, this one’s great,’ I say. Well, it has potential. If only Marissa would listen to her mum and invite me to her party.

  ‘Hello?’ Marissa says getting my attention back. ‘My sixteenth birthday party is going to be totally awesome,’ she widens her eyes as she hands me an envelope. The writing is in silver calligraphy and I stare in disbelief.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, trying to hide my excitement.

  ‘Yeah,’ Jules says, ‘her mum makes the best mocktails. Like, ever.’

  Marissa smiles and drapes her arm over Jules’ shoulder.

  ‘You know what they are, right?’ Kristy asks, ‘Cocktails without the alcohol?’

  ‘Of course,’ I nod. I had no idea.

  ‘Although after dark, the mocktails will become a bit stronger,’ she giggles.

  ‘She has the biggest pool,’ Jules continues. ‘Water flows over the edge, like a fancy resort in Bali; Marissa went there last year.’

  ‘It was Fiji, Jules,’ Marissa says.

  ‘Feels like you’re swimming in the sky,’ Jules laughs. ‘Sky, like you!’

  I laugh too, partly because I’m so scared I will stuff this up, and partly because Jules’ laugh is loud and contagious.

  ‘You’re such a bogan, Jules,’ Marissa rolls her eyes and drops her arm from Jules’ shoulder. ‘Grow up.’

  Jules and I stop laughing.

  ‘So the party is—.’ Marissa stops abruptly to look at something behind me,

  ‘Hi, Oliver,’ she croons, smiling like an angel.

  ‘Hey, Marissa,’ he mumbles, continuing down the corridor. ‘See you later.’

  We all stare after him until Marissa turns back. Then I see Oliver look over his shoulder and he gives me the teensiest smile. My heart stops.

  ‘What was I saying?’ Marissa dabs on more lip gloss. ‘Big parties are so passé, sick to death of them. OMG, in boarding school it was all about the massive do – house parties, DJs, hordes of rugby boys pretending not to be smelly pigs, whatever, you know what I mean.’

  I didn’t. Parties, boys, not my world. The last party I enjoyed was a picnic at the park. My classmate’s mum made curry. And the only time I kissed a boy was on New Year's Eve. He was drunk and staggered off to hook up with someone else five minutes later. Not fun.

  ‘OMG,’ Kristy adds. ‘Stupid and boring.’ She twirls one wavy wayward lock of blonde hair.

  ‘Yeah, and shots and you-know-whats too,’ Jules says.

  ‘Shut up,’ Marissa glares before returning to her pretty smile. ‘This is an intimate celebration, a pool and spa day, sleepover, VIP, but you can come. We are a welcoming town.’ She now drapes an arm over Kristy, echoing the words of her mother and Mr Peterson. If Mum was here and saw me hanging out with a mean party girl like Marissa, she would not be impressed. But she’s not here and never will be. The thought makes me simultaneously furious and crazy-lonely.

  ‘Wow! Thanks!’ I blurt too quickly. ‘I mean. Yeah, sounds cool. You know, Marissa, so I got to keep that dog I found and I named her Bella.’

  ‘That brown mutt?’ she asks. ‘At least she has a pretty name, thanks to me. You’re welcome.’

  I return to my locker, holding the envelope, and even with Marissa’s insult about Bella, I’m grinning like a toddler with a lolly bag.

  I don’t have to wait long. A few days later Paula drives me to Marissa’s house. It’s so grand it looks like a page from an interiors style magazine.

  Two large columns loom over the entrance, rising from the backs of lions. I run my hand over their white marble faces, noting their sharp teeth.

  We ring the doorbell that is engraved with ‘Stevenson Family’ and I wipe some more gloss on my lips. I bought it in town yesterday for a dollar; it’s peach and I’m hoping the girls will approve.

  ‘Sky, isn’t it?’ Lorraine is dwarfed by the enormous front door. ‘And hello, Paula, did you get my P&C email?’

  Paula nods.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, darling, shoes off,’ Lorraine points to a silver rack by the front door. ‘Ancient Japanese tradition, did you know? In any case, the cream carpet’s a disaster waiting to happen.’ she says. ‘I need a team of cleaners,’ she looks to Paula for agreement, ‘literally, a team!’

  Paula nods sympathetically and we take in the spotless surroundings and gleaming furniture. I remove my high-tops, hiding their tattered sol
es at the back of the rack. It’s been a long while since I had new shoes.

  ‘Still cool for a pool party, and in any case, I don’t approve of sun exposure. I’ve insisted the girls lather themselves with the highest protection sunscreen, the UV rays age the skin terribly. Those lines, even with the newest beauty technology, are impossible to erase,’ Lorraine sighs. ‘But Marissa convinced her father, as usual. The beautician is coming soon; can’t have too many manis and pedis, got to keep the cuticles healthy.’

  ‘Goodbye, sweetie, see you tomorrow.’ Paula squeezes my shoulder giving me a funny wide-eyed look that says ‘good luck!’ instead.

  I’m scared like a little girl on her first day at kindergarten with so much pressure. I can’t fail and land in social Siberia. Suddenly I feel an urge to run after Paula and jump into her car that is reversing out of the driveway. If only school didn’t exist, popularity wasn’t important … what am I going to do if they hate me, or worse? I could home-school myself; I even saw a documentary on it, although the kids looked a little strange.

  ‘The girls are lying by the pool. Would you like to get changed first?’ Lorraine says, looking me up and down, taking in my board shorts and T-shirt. She’s not impressed. I changed clothes twice before I left home and now I wish I’d gone with the original outfit; at least it was a dress.

  I follow her past spotless white leather couches, a stainless steel coffee table and an enormous flat-screen TV. Her stride is quick but short, restricted by a beige pencil skirt.

  Lorraine shows me the laundry room and I quickly put on my one-piece, with 'Speedo' written boldly across the chest in burgundy. I hadn’t noticed how old it was, until now. I cross the slate tiles that surround a turquoise infinity pool, the scent of jasmine wafts towards me and I inhale deeply. I have to relax, or at least look like I don’t care.

  Why is everyone already here? The invitation said ten and I’m here five minutes early.

  I adjust the straps of my swimmers nervously, trying to ignore the Lycra peeling around my chest.

  The girls don’t notice me as they’re sitting on the far side of the pool, absorbed in a celebrity magazine. The journey feels long. I check my lip gloss, smooth the frizzy hair erupting at my temples and stop myself nibbling at my nails.