by Penni Russon
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Lou asked as she pulled the car into the kerb at the top of the school’s driveway.
‘No!’ Undine said quickly.
Lou pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, where they rested on the thick bouncy mat of her hair. She raised an eyebrow questioningly.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Undine. ‘Really. It’s not that I don’t want you. It’s just … well … it’s embarrassing enough.’
‘Oh that,’ said Lou. ‘The frumpy mum thing.’
‘You’re not frumpy,’ Undine said quietly. ‘I just—’
‘It’s all right. You’re a big girl, you can manage on your own.’
Undine opened the door and stepped out of the car. She wanted to take it back now, she did want Lou to come in with her, to hold her hand. She wanted to be five years old.
She bent in through the open door. ‘Why is it like this?’ she asked Lou. ‘Why are we like this?’
Lou looked ahead at the road. ‘You made this,’ Lou said. Then she shook her head and relented a little. ‘I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.’
‘What sort of mistakes?’
Lou shrugged. ‘Not finishing uni. Not finding my own path.’
Undine flinched. ‘Aren’t I a path? Isn’t Jasper?’
‘That’s not what I mean. Don’t do that. You twist …’ Lou gripped the steering wheel. ‘This isn’t the time.’ She flicked her sunnies down over her eyes and leaned forward to start the engine.
‘See ya,’ called Jasper from the back.
‘See ya,’ said Undine, and forced a smile. ‘Have fun building your nest.’
Jasper grinned and kicked his legs happily. Was it Undine’s imagination, or did he look a little fuller, a little brighter, rosier in the cheeks? If he did, Undine felt the opposite happening to her – the colour drained out of her as she entered the office building of her high school. Because school hadn’t started for the year, the school was almost deserted, just the odd staff member wandering sourly around the hallways. There was no one attending the administration office, so Undine poked her head into the teacher’s lounge.
‘Ugh, a child!’ someone said. It was Mr Anderson, the head of the maths department. ‘What’s it doing here?’
‘Do we just let them in willy-nilly now?’ said Ms Hague, who taught English and Soc. ‘What’s the world coming to?’
‘Hush, you’ll scare her away and they’re such delicate spirits,’ said a kindly art teacher, one Undine recognised but didn’t know. ‘Come in, little faun, and tell us what you need.’
‘Oh, it’s Undine Connelly!’ said Ms Hague. ‘You’re back?’
Even Mr Anderson wore a mild blend of curiosity and surprise on his usually impassive face. ‘Are you re-enrolling?’ he asked. ‘Because I fear that’s my department now. Someone has burdened me with vice-principalship. Apparently I smited someone important in a former life. Or is it smote?’ he asked Ms Hague.
‘That would be smote. Is everything okay, Undine? I’m afraid we heard very bad news here. Or the rumours were bad anyway.’
‘Everything’s fine,’ Undine said. ‘I’ve been … staying with my dad.’
‘Come on then, wild child,’ Mr Anderson said, standing up. ‘Welcome back to the Hotel California.’
‘Hotel California?’
The art teacher winked. ‘You can check out, but you can’t leave.’
‘Teachers are funny outside term time,’ Undine said as she followed Mr Anderson.
‘If there were no kids, school would be a hip and happening place,’ said Mr Anderson, leading her down the hall and into the administration office.
‘Well, I’m not technically a kid anymore,’ said Undine. ‘I can vote and everything.’
‘Ah, that must be why we didn’t transform instantly back into our usual, term-time, unamusing selves when you walked in.’
‘Am I going to be the oldest at school?’
‘You’re not the only one re-enrolling. Katie Jackson was in this morning, back from an exchange in Japan. And there’s a few repeats.’ Mr Anderson sat down at the computer and brought up her file. ‘But, yes, you’ll be one of the oldest.’ He squinted at the bright screen. ‘Same subjects as last year?’ he asked.
Undine shrugged. ‘I guess so.’ Mr Anderson stared at her for a moment, reminding Undine of Matilde’s scrutinising glare. ‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ Undine admitted.
Mr Anderson sighed. He began filling in the fields on the computer but as he did he spoke to Undine, and the jokiness wasn’t in his voice anymore. ‘Look, Undine, I don’t pretend to know your circumstances, but I gather things have been confusing for you. And as vice-principal, it’s part of my role to tell you you’ll only benefit from structure, and that without a Year Twelve qualification, you’re going nowhere. And for most people in today’s job market, that’s true. But you’re bright, resourceful, energetic. There are other options for you. Don’t just come to school to drift through another year. That’s not going to get you anywhere. Make a choice, a real grown-up decision. Don’t make a choice by not making a choice.’
He printed out the enrolment form and pushed his chair back to take it off the printer. He checked through it and, over his shoulder, Undine saw the subjects she’d already received her final marks for listed on the page. She could picture her final-year certificate so clearly. She remembered toasting her last day of school with champagne with Fran and Trout on the school oval, she remembered the bubbles of the champagne rising up to tickle her nose.
‘Thank you,’ she said as he handed her back her form without looking at her.
‘Don’t thank me,’ said Mr Anderson. ‘Good lord. Another year in this prison.’ He waved his hand around, dismissively. ‘You can change your subjects in the first three weeks of term. After that they’re locked in.’
‘Thank you,’ Undine said again and left his office. She stood in the hallway for a minute. She’d been here, at high school, since she was twelve. School had seemed so big, so busy and important then. But now, she felt like Alice in Wonderland, as though she had suddenly grown huge, all her limbs crowded in, and without any breathing space; her elbows were in danger of poking out the windows, her head might raise the roof. The school seemed small and so … beige. Had it always been so beige?
She felt wrong for it and it felt wrong for her, but what did that make her? A high school dropout? Weren’t they the kids who did burnouts on the soccer field and smoked pot in the resource cupboard in the art room? It was another identity, another possible Undine, who seemed so entirely not-Undine. By all the laws of the known universe, this one anyway, she expected a hole in the world to open up and swallow her and take her back to the crazy realm to which she really belonged.
The bus from the road above the school terminated on the hospital side of the city. She wandered down Collins Street towards it.
‘Undine!’
She stopped and turned around. Someone waved from the other side of the street.
‘Undine!’
Oh god. It was Dominic. Her … well technically, they’d never even broken up. When she went to Greece, they’d still been boyfriend and girlfriend.
He jogged over to her.
‘Hi,’ she said. He looked greenish, ill, as if she were a ghoul raised from the dead.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘But I thought you were … Wow.’
‘I know.’
‘Where were you?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Undine said wearily. Then she remembered what she’d told Ms Hague. ‘My dad … I went to live with him for a while.’
‘You never wrote. You didn’t call. People said you were …’
‘I know. I’m sorry. He lives … in a very remote place. It was … awkward …’
Dominic hugged her. ‘I missed you,’ he said. ‘If I’d known …’
Undine smiled weakly into his chest. She hadn’t thought much about Dominic at all. Which was part of her general awful
ness, she supposed. She was thinking about how to extricate herself when Dominic pulled back and regarded her worriedly. ‘I’ve got something important to tell you. I don’t want you to hear it from someone else. I’m engaged.’
‘You’re what?’ Undine asked. She was struck by a sudden impulse to laugh.
‘I’m getting married.’
‘You’re getting married? But you’re only eighteen years old!’
‘So?’
‘It’s so young!’
Dominic shrugged. He looked a little insulted. ‘My parents got married when they were eighteen and they’re still happy.’
‘But … when did you meet this person? Only six months ago you were going out with me.’ Undine shook her head in disbelief and said again. ‘You’re getting married?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.
‘Are you still going to be an architect?’
Dominic nodded. ‘Yes, I’m going to get married and be an architect. We’ve planned it all out. My fiancée is going to work in her father’s business until I’m qualified, and then we’ll think about having a family.’
‘A family? Fiancée? Who is she?’ Undine asked, fascinated. ‘Do I know her?’
Dominic looked at the footpath. ‘It’s Fran.’
‘What?’ Undine did laugh now. She couldn’t help it. She knew she was behaving dreadfully, but it just seemed so … so funny. ‘You and Fran are getting married? What about Duncan?’ Duncan and Fran had been going out forever.
Dominic blinked seriously. ‘We’re inviting him to the wedding. Of course, now we know you’re back, we’ll invite you too.’
It was so studiously adult of him. Undine stopped laughing though her shoulders still twitched. ‘Great,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’ Though she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. The idea of it was kind of depressing.
‘I thought you might be … hurt. I know Fran’s your friend. And we—’
‘No, no,’ Undine said firmly. ‘I’m happy for you. Really.’
‘Well, great. And I’m glad you’re back.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Join the club.’ The people who are glad to have me back but have moved on with their life club, Undine thought.
‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘But we’re sending out the invitations in a few weeks.’
‘Great,’ Undine said again. ‘So, good luck with that whole getting married thing.’
‘I’ll tell Fran to call you.’
Undine nodded. ‘Yeah. Do that.’
‘See you.’ Dominic leaned in and kissed her chastely on the cheek.
‘See you,’ Undine echoed. And she blinked as Dominic crossed the road and walked briskly away from her. And though she didn’t want to marry him – or anyone – she wondered, had she not gone away, if Dominic would have asked her.
Outside the hospital she stood on the footpath and stared up at the taller orange brick building. Which floor had Prospero been on, she wondered?
And then questions began to tumble into her head, things she’d been trying not to think about. Had he suffered at the end? Was he lonely? Had someone cared for him, some kind nurse or doctor? Had he died all of a sudden, or had he slowly faded away? Or worse, had he deteriorated, died by degrees, losing parts of his body in … in instalments …? Had he needed to be washed, fed, dressed? The things he had failed to do for her as a baby, had they been done for him?
Gradually she became aware that someone was standing beside her, mirroring her pose, with an exaggerated thoughtful expression on his face. When she looked at him, he looked back at her with a cartoon expression of surprise, his eyes bugging out, his jaw dropping open.
‘What do you want?’ Undine asked plaintively. ‘I don’t have the energy to deal with you today. Why are you following me?’
‘Ahem!’ Phoenix coughed. ‘Who is following whom?’
Undine blushed, and then was annoyed at herself for blushing. ‘I only followed you because you followed me.’ She could hear a petulant Jasperish whine in her voice. ‘You keep showing up everywhere where I am. That night at the docks. And then getting cosy with Lou and Jasper. You’re even in my dreams.’
‘Well, I can’t be held accountable for dreams.’
‘Really? I find that hard to believe.’
‘Inserted yourself into a few dreams, have you?’
‘No! That’s not what I meant. This isn’t about me!’
‘Not about you? Well, that must be a first. Has that ever happened to you before? Do you want to have a little lie-down?’ Phoenix’s voice was light, but Undine was surprised at the vitriole of his words.
‘Why are you being so mean to me?’ Undine asked.
‘Oh, there we go. Crisis averted. It is about you after all.’
‘Oh, for …!’ Undine felt anger spark in her.
‘Temper, temper,’ Phoenix cautioned. ‘You know what happens when you go off half-cocked.’
‘How would you know what happens when I go off half-cocked? And I’m not half-cocked.’ Undine glared at him. ‘Who are you?’
Phoenix shrugged. ‘No one you know.’ But he winked when he said it and again Undine felt that he was teasing her, that there was this great cosmic joke and it was on her.
Cars on the street flowed past, people too, other pedestrians moving around them without changing their pace, as if the street was a continuum that she and Phoenix were no longer a part of. Phoenix stroked his chin, looking at her thoughtfully, as an artist might look at a model – or as though she was art, something to be studied, judged on its merits and flaws.
‘All right, what?’ She threw her arms into the air. ‘What will make you leave me alone?’
Phoenix smiled, as if this had been his plan all along. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Undine rolled her eyes, furious that Phoenix had managed to trick her, but she followed him regardless as he led her back to that narrow crack between the buildings. It wasn’t just that this was what he wanted, she wanted it too. She was dying to ask him about the magic she had witnessed the night before, the whirling wheel of lights, his disappearance, but the words were thick in her throat.
She glanced at him surreptitiously as they edged down the opening. What had she seen in him last night? Was it Stephen he looked like? But examining him now so closely she thought maybe he didn’t really resemble Stephen after all, it was just that he had the same delicate bone structure, the same grey eyes …
What she really noticed now was a soft, distracted, almost lost look. In some ways he had the face of a child, though in other ways he seemed more grown-up than Undine. To her it seemed Phoenix was constantly changing, ever so slightly, so that she saw different things, different people, in him every time she looked.
She glanced around the small external space in the daylight. It was dwarfed on all four sides by the hospital buildings. It was such an odd, cramped space that it was hard to imagine what it had ever been used for. She looked up. Prospero had sat at one of those windows looking down at this courtyard, perhaps watching the busker and his wheel of light. Prospero, knowing he was dying, waiting for Undine to come back. So sure of her. The only one who had been, in the end. Trout wasn’t sure. Lou wasn’t sure. Not Jasper. Not even Undine herself. And yet Prospero hadn’t lived to see her come home.
‘What is this place?’ she asked Phoenix, forgetting she wasn’t talking to him.
‘It’s not anything at the moment. They’re going to refit that building—’ Phoenix pointed out a currently empty building. ‘The children’s ward will be in there. This will become a garden for the children. Until then, this is my place,’ Phoenix said.
‘You live here?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
‘Don’t you have a real home?’
Phoenix glanced around as if surprised by the question. ‘This is real.’ He was tossing something shiny in one hand. It looked to be a small silver coin, glinting in the sunlight.
‘So why am I here?’ Undine asked.
‘You brought me here. You said if I came with you now, you’d leave me alone.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes!’ Hadn’t he? ‘I mean … well, I think …’ Undine’s voice trailed off, confused.
‘You followed me,’ Phoenix said slowly, teasingly, as if he were speaking to a small child, ‘so I would leave you alone?’
‘No! You’re turning it around, twisting it …’
But suddenly Phoenix seemed to tire of the teasing. ‘You think I’m your enemy,’ said Phoenix, tilting his head and giving her a direct and disarming stare. ‘I’m not your enemy. You think I want to be here?’ He looked around the courtyard bitterly, as if it were a prison. ‘I want to be out there, in the Silver Moon Café, eating cake that tastes like her, like love. Peaches and almonds.’ He tossed the silver coin high in the air and caught it. He gave her a dazzling smile and said, ‘I don’t want to be with you any more than you want to be with me. But that doesn’t make me your enemy.’
Undine looked at him. Standing there with the sun illuminating his yellow straw hair, he didn’t look like anyone’s enemy. He looked more child than adult, not malicious, just playful. Suddenly, she realised that part of her wanted to like him. But just as she had that thought, ‘Here,’ said Phoenix, ‘catch!’ and he threw the coin to her. Suddenly the courtyard began to blur away.
‘No!’ she said, alarmed. ‘I don’t want this!’
She could feel the magic overcome her – Phoenix’s magic, not hers. It was different somehow, it had its own smell, as if Phoenix had been hanging around at the hospital too long. It smelt at once very human and frail but also metallic and sterile.
She fought it, tried to keep herself firmly in the world. She hadn’t come back, she hadn’t travelled the distance of worlds, simply to be expelled again, propelled somewhere else by Phoenix. But the magic had already seized her. She panicked as she felt herself losing her hold on the world. What was happening? Where was he sending her? ‘I don’t want to go,’ she pleaded. ‘Please, don’t do this.’ But Phoenix was a blurry figure, barely there.
