Ash Mountain

by Helen FitzGerald

  Vonny put her phone on silent. ‘Can I be excused?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Vincent.

  They’d not finished the meal, and Vincent knew it was a family rule to stay until everyone was done. Fran was angry enough to almost look him in the eye.

  ‘Can I go to Rosie’s?’ said Vonny.

  ‘Sure,’ said Fran.

  Vincent was mad now. He didn’t know this Rosie girl, or her family.

  ‘Ring and I’ll collect you,’ Fran said, excited that she might see The Captain tonight. A moment later, when her mobile vibrated in her pocket, she jumped in her chair with excitement. As hoped, it was The Captain:

  Thanks for the cheese! Amy is doing the smelliest farts. DO NOT LIGHT A MATCH!

  OMG sorry, she replied, my plan failed. Sitting here with Dante’s new gf. I am the mother-in-law!

  Excellent, you can be a rude bitch. Mother-in-laws are allowed, it’s the perk.

  Already coming naturally … 40 tomorrow.

  I know. We’ll be at the pool at 12, staying all day. Bring some shade with you x

  He’d put an x!

  Will do, Fran typed, smiling to herself the way Vonny just had, then adding an x of her own.

  When she finally looked up, she accidentally caught Vincent in the eye, but her mood was so high that he only made a dent in it.

  ‘I’ll see you to the door,’ she said.

  Fran and Vincent’s bad moods never lasted more than an hour or so, during which time they tended to remain silent and avoid each other, which was what they were doing now.

  ‘We’ll never get enough time together to get over tiffs,’ she said.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You can’t be my best friend anymore. Constance won’t allow it.’

  ‘Sure she will.’

  ‘No she won’t. No woman would. I wouldn’t.’

  ‘You’re being daft.’ Vincent hugged her. ‘I love you. I’ll always be here for you.’

  He left for Melbourne a minute later.

  She waved Dante and Tiffany off in the four-wheel drive at 9.30 pm, then remembered she’d offered to collect Vonny. Bugger. She was about to text when she walked in the door with Rosie. ‘Do you mind if we have a sleepover tonight?’ Vonny asked.

  ‘Dad’s learning the flute,’ Rosie explained.

  Fran watched as they headed to her old bedroom and closed the door. She wondered what the rules should be, and whether she should check with The Captain. She’d let Dante’s girlfriend sleep over at sixteen (after he promised to use protection). Decision made – intervening would be discriminatory. Anyway, they might just be friends. She hoped so, for selfish reasons. She was not keen on an incestuous Brady Bunch situation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Two Days before the Fire

  No Spitting, No Swearing, No Running, No Diving, No Bombing.

  The sign had been at the deep end for as long as Fran could remember. With so many petty rules to spoil the fun, no wonder more serious offences had happened here.

  She’d taken her time loading the wheelbarrow – several items were packed into the makeshift ice bucket on wheels and then retrieved. The bottle of Prosecco, for example, which she decided would appear very flirty on ice, and so hid in her food backpack to consider later. In the end, the wheelbarrow was a work of genius organisation. She’d wheeled it down the driveway, right along Ryan’s Lane, then skirted the fence separating the ostriches and South 1. She was boiling when she reached the playing fields, and thankful that the college and its surrounds appeared to be abandoned.

  The no-frills seventies rectangle was mostly surrounded by concrete. Fran parked her barrow under the only trees at the western end, and began unloading onto the small grass area. Her T-shirt was dripping with sweat. She peeled her clothes off and jumped into the pool. Ah, the relief, already, and it was only noon.

  Sari and Speedo dripping, Fran erected three sun tents and two umbrellas. She placed two armchairs in the area most likely to receive afternoon shade and was about to jump in the pool again when Amy and Harriet raced in.

  ‘You poisoned us!’ said Amy.

  ‘She shat her pants,’ said Harriet.

  ‘I did not,’ said Amy.

  ‘Did so,’ said Harriet.

  ‘Did not!’ Amy looked like she might break one or more of the pool rules.

  Her dad arrived just in time. ‘First in wins!’

  The twins jumped in.

  (Fran would have checked what the prize was first.)

  Thirteen-year-old Cathy, who was carrying a cabin-sized suitcase on wheels, walked purposefully to one of Fran’s tents, and zipped herself and her luggage inside.

  ‘Oi, that’s not yours, Cathy,’ said The Captain, whose load rivalled Fran’s. ‘This place is gonna look like Woodstock,’ he said. He had four sun tents – and (despite Fran’s protestations that she could stay put) installed Cathy into one of them. He also had three umbrellas, two loungers, two Eskies, and a dinky set of speakers. ‘What do you want to feel? Happy, sad, excited?’

  It took her a moment to realise he was referring to song choice. Her instinct was to say ‘excited’, but that’d be up there with Prosecco on ice. Also, she was already excited, and could probably do with bringing it down a notch. ‘Gentle at first? We can build up to the ACDC.’ Damn, that was way worse than ‘excited’.

  The Captain chose to shuffle his country-and-western playlist, and the first song was as gentle as can be. Even so, Fran was getting more keyed up by the second.

  A moment later, they did bombs in the deep end. He swam underwater to scare his ragamuffin twins, hurling them in the air one at a time, then swam up to Fran, who was in the shallow end: ‘Would you like some tea ma’am?’

  ‘Do you have any Earl Grey?’ she said, diving down and joining him cross-legged on the floor of the pool, raising her little finger to take a sip.

  The next hour was idyllic. Cathy exited her tent with earplugs and swim cap and did at least a hundred lengths, Aussie crawl, then zipped herself back in to read. The twins splashed about in their full-body swimwear, wet hats covering neck and ears, popping out for more sun cream and a sip from one of Fran’s frozen bottles, which were a hit – yay. By 1.00 pm, Fran felt confident enough to choose songs that made her excited, and to put the Prosecco in the barrow among the icy bottles.

  Then Vonny and Rosie arrived. They’d been down the street, hangin’ around. Neither was willing to waste time offering more information than that. They picked up a tent and an umbrella and set up camp on the grass as far away as possible.

  ‘Take it your dad didn’t want to come?’ said The Captain.

  ‘Said he’d rather be paralysed. It’d be a bit dodgy, too, don’t you think – an old man’s head on a stick watching over the kiddies in the yellow end?’

  Vonny and Rosie were now zipped inside their tent, laughing.

  ‘Listen, I let them stay in the same room last night. Are you okay with that?’

  ‘I think so,’ he said.

  ‘I think so, too.’

  ‘They might just be friends,’ he said.

  Vonny and Rosie had stopped laughing. Their tent had gone silent.

  ‘Zippers open everyone!’ Fran yelled.

  ‘Zippers open NOW!’ The Captain clapped.

  ‘Jeez,’ Vonny said as she unzipped. The girls had an earphone in each, and were listening to something on Rosie’s iPhone. They unplugged and moved their camp onto the concrete at the very edge of the deep end. With the mouth of the tent open, they dangled their feet in the pool, a true crime podcast playing quietly from the iPhone.

  The zipper incident changed the mood, and it took a further turn when two boarders arrived, neither of whom Fran had seen around town. Boarder #6 dived straight in the shallow end, nothing with him to shed before doing so. Boarder #7, weedier than his friend, followed suit. They had a tennis ball, which they tossed to each other, eyeing the tent at the other end of the pool every so often. There were tw
o girls up there around the same age as them.

  ‘Can you see what’s happening?’ Fran said. She and The Captain were lying on their tummies under the shade of an umbrella, their faces to the pool, life-guarding.

  Boarder #6 threw the ball to Boarder #7.

  ‘Yeah, they’re zig-zagging, gradually moving towards the other end … I can’t tell you how happy I am Rosie’s not into boys.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Fran.

  The boys’ throws were becoming more obvious. They would soon need to tread water.

  The mouth of the girls’ tent seemed ominous, especially with four feet coming out of it, ten toes dipping the water.

  ‘It’s like we’re watching Jaws,’ said Fran.

  The boys were splashing, moving closer to the gaping mouth at the end of the pool.

  ‘Duunnn dunn…’ said The Captain.

  ‘But who’s the shark? The girls or the boys?’

  The boys were now treading water and finding it more difficult to throw and catch the tennis ball. They were flailing a tad, splashing, vulnerable, just tiny bobbing heads. Yet somehow, they were still managing to move in the right direction.

  The Captain rolled onto his side and faced Fran. Intimate, sudden, like what he then said: ‘So Maz suggested we should use her pool.’

  Oh Lord. Maz.

  ‘It’s going to be impossible to sleep tomorrow night. I was thinking…’

  ‘Look, look,’ she said. The boys were nearly at the very end. Soon they would lean their elbows on the edge of the pool and ask the girls a question. For instance: G’day, want a root?

  He touched her arm to get her attention. ‘So it’s so hot tomorrow night, maybe we could do that, go to the pub, then have a swim at Maz’s.’

  ‘Just you and me?’ she said. His hand was still on her arm. ‘Under the stars, a little intoxicated, having a swim?’

  A definite beat.

  ‘I need to get in the pool!’ he said, running off and diving in.

  She sat up and smiled. The power! Then she heard Boarder #7.

  ‘Hey girls,’ he said to Vonny and Rosie. ‘What are you doing in there?’

  Fran ran over and bombed the boarders, almost skimming #7’s shoulder. Her splash was impressive, certainly scared them off.

  The afternoon heat took care of the bad energy. The two lethargic boarders came and went, last time with some beers they did not try to hide. The kids jumped in and out of the pool to cool themselves. They ate sandwiches, drank cordial (no longer frozen) and slept in their tents.

  Meanwhile, Fran and her new lover boy drank Prosecco and checked over each other’s bodies without even trying to hide it.

  ‘You don’t have man boobs,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t either,’ he said.

  At around 4.30 pm, Boarders #7 and #8 returned for the fourth time, bringing #1, #2 and #3, last spotted at the monument, with them. The gang staked their claim beside the girls’ tent, drinking tinnies on the concrete at the deep end.

  ‘We should go,’ said Fran.

  ‘Why should we?’ said The Captain. ‘I’m not moving in this heat.’

  Fran kept a very close eye for the next hour. The boys didn’t seem to be trying to interact. Thank God. She was about to close her eyes for a snooze when they started shouting and laughing. All five of them had jumped in the pool, and were treading water as they looked into the girls’ tent.

  Fran dived in to see what they were laughing at – the girls were kissing passionately. Jesus Christ, why was her daughter such a shit-stirrer? The Captain had seen the girls too and when Fran got out of the pool, he shrugged.

  Apart from everything else, their daughters were more than friends, which meant the parents could never be.

  The boarders were getting rowdy. Three of them were out of the pool now, poking at the fabric of the tent. Their comments floated round the rectangle like the ghosts of bigots past: ‘Lezzies! Can I come in for a threesome?’ ‘I’ll turn you if you give me a shot.’ ‘Hey, Mountain Dykes, let us in!’

  Vonny and Rosie managed to get out of the tent and race across to the family camp.

  ‘What dickheads,’ Vonny said.

  ‘Why did you provoke them?’ said Fran.

  ‘How did we provoke them?’ said Vonny.

  She was right. Was she right?

  ‘I’ll get your things, move you back here,’ said The Captain.

  ‘No, no way,’ said Rosie. ‘We’ll get our own things.’

  She and Vonny, obviously firmly attached at the hip forevermore, stormed off hand in hand to gather their tent and belongings, neither of them remotely intimidated by the boarders, the third of whom greeted Rosie with:

  ‘I reckon you could do better than her.’

  Rosie ignored him, tried to grab her towel, but Boarder #3 was standing on it. She pulled harder, and won. The tent wasn’t so easy. Both girls were pulling at it, but at least three boys were holding it back. They were one-trick arseholes.

  ‘Let go dickwads,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Aw c’mon, no need to get nasty, we just want to play. Stay,’ said Boarder #6.

  Making the most of a lapse in attention, the girls yanked the tent and walked away with their belongings.

  ‘The redhead’s basic anyway,’ said Boarder #1.

  ‘The other one’s a truck,’ said Boarder #7.

  ‘Aw, don’t be mean,’ said Boarder #3, ‘she’s not bad looking for an Abo.’

  Vonny and Rosie froze, their tent between them.

  Keep walking Vonny, Fran was thinking. Remember what your dad always tells you and not what your mum always tells you.

  It was Rosie, actually, who turned around and said: ‘What did you say?’ She then walked up to Boarder #3 and said it again. ‘What did you say?’

  Rosie and Boarder #3 were nose to nose. Everyone else froze.

  ‘I said,’ said Boarder #3, edging a millimetre closer, ‘she’s not bad looking for an Abo.’

  Fran wasn’t fast enough, nor was Vonny, nor was The Captain. Rosie had punched Boarder #3 so hard that he stumbled backwards into the pool and disappeared into the body of the deep end.

  Fran raced over to the girls. ‘Are you all right?’

  Boarder #3 bobbed up out of the water, his nose bleeding. ‘Are they all right?’

  The other boarders were already fleeing the scene.

  Boarder #3’s lip may have quivered a little when he noticed his friends had abandoned him. He left a pink trail as he side-stroked to the middle of the pool, then water-walked all the way to the ladder at the other end, sobbing as he staggered out the pool gate, leaving drops of nose blood in his wake.

  They packed their things quickly.

  The Captain’s mood had turned. ‘Hurry,’ he kept saying to his girls.

  They were about to part ways at the gate when Father Frank marched towards them, five towelled boarders in tow.

  ‘I hear there’s been an incident.’ Father Frank stopped two metres before reaching them, his flock behind him, theirs behind them.

  ‘She punched me,’ said Boarder #3, pointing at Rosie.

  Father Frank looked at Rosie, who was hiding behind her dad, and seemed to have shrunk. ‘What kind of wuss are you, Bagshaw?’ said the priest to Boarder #3.

  ‘But they were kissing, her and her, in the tent.’

  Father Frank turned his head slowly. He needed to hear this again. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Those two, they were winding us up, putting on a show, tongue kissing in the tent. They’re lesbians.’

  Father Frank paused before delivering his decision: ‘I won’t call the police about the assault if you leave immediately, all of you. We do not approve of that kind of behaviour here.’

  ‘You mean kissing? What’s the big deal?’ Rosie said.

  Father Frank could barely contain his rage: ‘It’s a big deal to God, a very big deal.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Fran said. ‘Don’t listen to a word he’s saying, girls.’ />
  ‘Did you not hear me?’ said Father Frank. ‘Leave immediately. And if I ever see one of you on this property without permission again, I will make that call to the police.’

  The families parted in silence – the Ryans heading to their car out front, the Collins womenfolk and their wheelbarrow towards the playing fields.

  ‘Oi,’ Father Frank yelled when they had almost reached the grandstand. ‘Where do you think you’re going? You’re trespassing on college property. You go the other way, using the exit.’

  When Fran and Vonny reached the carpark, the Ryans had disappeared, and they had to wheel that wheelbarrow all the way home. At the convent, Fran spotted the nun staring at her from a window. She was dressed in her full habit, as ever. It was forty-one degrees.

  ‘That woman must stink,’ said Vonny.

  She was still staring. Awkward. Fran waved, and the nun nodded back.

  ‘She is creepy as all fuck,’ said Vonny.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Day of the Fire

  SISTER MARY MARGARET

  Sister Mary Margaret was Eliza Winterton once upon a time, and had decided to be her again today. She was even wearing the sixties floral maxi she’d last worn for her graduation.

  Her habit was in the fireplace. She had built a pretty stick pyramid and placed it on top. She’d get off the sofa and light it shortly, but this was a solemn ritual, there was no hurry.

  When she first put the habit on, she remembered she felt safe for the first time in her life. She believed it was a magic cloak. She soon discovered that the habit didn’t make her invisible to predators, it made her an accessory.

  Never again.

  She was drenched in sweat from the heat already, and yet staggered over to the hearth and lit the fire. She watched as the paper and kindling took off, and smiled as it began to lick at her old uniform.