Transformation of Minna Hargreaves, The

by Beale, Fleur

  Okay — he could cook and I could look. Seemed like a fair bargain. I was still looking when he slid a plate of toast and eggs in front of me. ‘They’re not here — hang on, yes they are. Fairy prions. That’s what they are.’ I ate my breakfast and thought about it. ‘Cute name for pretty birds with bad, smelly burrows.’

  I kept eating. Had Dad remembered today was doctor day? I wasn’t going to ask him. He bustled about, dragged Noah out of bed, fed him till his temper moved up the scale from snarl to grunt and the two of them departed. ‘Come along, son,’ Dad said. ‘Our mission for the day is to work out how to do our washing.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with dirt,’ Noah muttered.

  They left, then Dad poked his head back in the door. ‘Do the listening watch, will you Min?’

  ‘Gee, thanks for reminding me,’ I said. ‘Shall I feed the chooks, make the bread, do the gardening and cook the dinner as well?’

  He just grinned and disappeared, which was Mum’s cue to appear. She didn’t want any food, she’d just have a cup of tea, thank you Min, darling daughter.

  I made it and carried it out to where she sat on the verandah, watching the birds hop around within centimetres of her — sparrows, waxeyes, fantails and a bunch I didn’t know but might look up later in the bird book. ‘Let’s make a bird bath, Min. I think they’d like that.’

  I gave her a hug. ‘Great idea. You work out how and what with, while I do the listening watch.’ Then I remembered wind speeds and anemometers. I grabbed it and ran to the landing patch (because no way could it be called a pad). The wind snatched at my hair as I left the shelter of the house. Damn wind, I hoped it wouldn’t be too strong for the chopper to land. How strong was too strong? I took the reading. Thirty-two kilometres.

  I ran back and switched the radio on. ‘Maritime Radio, this is Minna on Motutoka Island, Zulu, Mike, Lima, Tango. Over.’

  ‘Minna on Motutoka Island, this is Maritime Radio. Message from Cara: what is the current wind speed and she wants your list of supplies because today’s flight will also be the monthly supply run. Over.’

  Crap. We hadn’t even thought about a list. ‘Minna to Maritime Radio. Wind speed is thirty-two kilometres. List is non-existent right now. Over.’

  Maritime Radio chuckled but then told me the bad news. The wind speed was too high for the chopper to land. ‘Try again tomorrow.’

  I went and told Mum. I wanted to sit down and bawl my eyes out. She patted my knee. ‘Don’t be disappointed Min. They’ll come tomorrow, or the next day, and we do need to think about the supplies.’

  She was right, but disappointment sat like a lump in my throat and gut. I wandered down the path and on to where the land fell away to the cliffs. Out there, just across the water, was my old life. I turned around. And here was my current one of hungry chooks and unmade bread.

  I took the camera on the chook expedition. When I got back with the eggs, Mum was still sitting in the sun. She grinned at me. ‘Let’s go and raid the shed. I’m picking there’ll be cement and sand in there somewhere. We’ll mix it up, dig out a shallow hollow and make our bird bath in that.’

  There’s nothing like having your mother come back to life for cheering a girl up. She even ate a piece of dry toast while I put the yeast to rise for the bread. Was she feeling better? Well enough to leave? I was too scared to ask, but the words slipped out anyway.

  ‘Much better, but not better better. Not better enough to get back on that helicopter.’ She put her hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Min. I know it’s hard for you.’

  That would be right, and with her being up and around, Dad of course had gone all skittish and wouldn’t stay within a hundred metres of her unless it was to look at a tuatara that might take off if he didn’t seize the opportunity.

  The day passed and we had fun, stealing the cement and sand from under Dad’s and Noah’s noses.

  Dad: Min, what do you want that for?

  Me: (sweetly polite and reasonable) Ask Mum. It’s her idea.

  Dad: (grinds teeth and doesn’t answer)

  Noah: Why, Mum?

  Mum: (looking pointedly at Noah and not at Dad) We’re making a bird bath. Come and help, if you want.

  Noah: (looking at thundercloud Dad) Huh, she’s cool, Mum. We’re a bit busy here.

  I loaded sand and cement into a wheelbarrow and we left them to it. I have to say, it didn’t look much like a washing machine they were building but I could be wrong. Maybe they found it hiding in a cliff along with the tuatara. I glanced at the land yacht as we left the shed. Still having probs with the struts according to my expert eye.

  ‘What do you know about concrete?’ I asked Mum.

  ‘Not a lot,’ she said. She sat down on the edge of the verandah. ‘Sorry, Min, but I don’t feel up to digging. Can you do it?’

  Oh well, why not? Just one more skill to add to my list.

  ‘Make it about this big,’ said Mum holding out her arms. ‘And about so deep.’

  Which looked quite a bit deeper than I reckoned I’d want to dig. I was right. ‘Mum,’ I said somewhat later, ‘this is going to do.’

  She dragged her eyes back from the sea. ‘Three yachts, four fishing boats and something big have gone past since I’ve been sitting here,’ she said in a dreamy, artistic voice.

  Yes. Well. Nice that she was feeling better but there was a bird bath to build. ‘Shall we get this done before Dad comes back?’ I felt he might have something to say about holes in the lawn if he saw it in its current state, i.e. one ragged hollow chopped out of the ragged grass. But there was pride involved here — mine. Damned if I was going to hand him the chance to drop in a smart remark about how I should have waited for him to help me. Our — correct that, my — bird bath was going to be one hell of a lot better than his washing machine. ‘How do we mix up the concrete?’

  ‘Can’t be that hard,’ Mum murmured. ‘Just chuck stuff in till it looks right.’ She lay back on the verandah and closed her eyes.

  Did the Edmonds book have a recipe for concrete?

  In the end, I figured out that water must be involved in the process. I sloshed some into the barrow, poured in a bucket of sand and about the same amount of cement, stirred it all up and tipped it into the hollow. Smoothing it out was strangely soothing. I wished I could get down to the beach for some shells to stick into the wet concrete. Hmmm. No shells, but if I could retrieve it, I could have one very broken cup.

  One thing about an island is the lack of rubbish collection. The broken cup should be in the bag of stuff to be sent back to the mainland. I looked. It was. I picked out all the pieces bigger than my little fingernail. The concrete still looked okay when I got back to it. It hadn’t sagged or dissolved or whatever else mutant concrete might decide to do. I knelt down and pressed the pieces of cup into it.

  ‘There!’ I sat back and rubbed my hands on the grass to get rid of the concrete. Would Dad understand the symbolism of the broken cup being stuck together to make something new? I wouldn’t put money on it myself. ‘Hey, Mum! Come and look!’

  She woke up. ‘Oh, Min — you’ve finished. You are clever!’ She came over to look. ‘I love it! Where did you get that china? And I love the way you’ve done the M.’

  I did too, it had swirly curls. Who said I wasn’t artistic? Minna Hargreaves, maker of bird baths.

  Thus, by the end of the day the island was richer by one artistic bird bath and one non-artistic washing contrivance.

  ‘What is that?’ I asked as they lugged it into the back garden using the wheelbarrow they’d reclaimed.

  Dad rubbed his hands, satisfaction oozing out of him. He thumped a fist on a barrel that had been cut in half. ‘This is going to be the copper. We light a fire under it and chuck our clothes in. Boil them up, fish them out with this.’ He picked up a long chunk of wood. ‘And we deposit them into this half which will be full of clean water for rinsing.’

  I filmed them installing it. ‘Meet the Hargreaves’ fantastic washing machine,’ I
said. ‘Personally, I’m going to stick to hand washing.’

  But then again, I hadn’t washed my sheets ever since we’d been here (twenty-one days by my calendar). And the towels were a pain too.

  I put my stake in the ground right there and then. ‘I don’t do washing. I do cooking and cleaning and chooking and gardening and bread-making — but no washing. Understand?’

  Dad chuckled. ‘Poor Min — worried that the wet washing will be too heavy, are you?’

  I chuckled right back. ‘Got it in one, Father dear. Much too heavy for my delicate muscles to cope with.’ Where had he been all my life? That crass piece of psychology had stopped working on me some time around the turn of the century before last. I dragged him and Noah off to admire my bird bath. ‘Cool,’ said Noah.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Dad, his eyes fixed on the M and a thoughtful look on his face. ‘Very nice. Might even work. Well done, Min.’

  What a day of achievements. How long does it take for a bird bath to dry? How long do you boil washing for? How long will the wind blow for? How long is a tuatara? (Forty-nine centimetres.) How long is our incarceration on Isolation Island?

  I lay in bed that night listening to the wind and willing it to lie down and die. I fell asleep.

  twenty-one

  Miracles do happen. The morning was still and calm under a cloudy sky. Dad was up boiling a stinky brew of garments belonging to him and Noah. I would disinfect the barrel should I decide to wash my sheets in it. We had a supply list and, when I did the listening watch, it seemed we would be getting them before the day was out. ‘Anything else, Minna?’ Maritime Radio asked. ‘Over.’

  ‘Oh, Maritime Radio — I’d kill for some ice cream. Jaffa. Over.’

  A chuckle from Maritime Radio. ‘Can’t say I admire your taste, Minna on Motutoka, but I’ll pass on the message. Roger.’

  I bounced around the kitchen. ‘They’re coming! They’re coming! Today we’ll have company and people to talk to and ice cream.’

  Mum came in somewhere in the middle of all that. She smiled and drank a cup of tea — no food again. That calmed me down. She was still sick. We were still here.

  Dad shot in the door, tore through the kitchen, eyes straight ahead. He bashed on Noah’s door, dragged him into the world of wakefulness and hauled him out to heave wet washing around.

  The chopper arrived some time between breakfast and lunchtime. Noah raced me to the landing patch. ‘You eat all my ice cream and you’re dead!’ I bellowed.

  Cara jumped out first. ‘Hi, kids. How’s your mother?’ She aimed a camera at us as she spoke.

  ‘Much better thanks. She’s …’ I stopped right there, staring at the doorway of the chopper. Cara had the camera on my dropped-open jaw but I didn’t care. ‘Lizzie? Jax? Addy? Oh my god, you’re real! I can’t believe it!’ I screeched and hollered and raced towards them. All four of us tumbled on to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. ‘Lizzie! Addy! Jax! I still don’t believe it. Are you really real?’

  We sat in a circle, arms around each other and we laughed and probably cried a bit too. Dr Hunter stepped calmly over us. I heard her say, ‘That would seem to have been a popular idea.’

  Cara, still filming like crazy, said, ‘We’re only here for an hour. Make the most of it, girls.’

  I jumped up and tugged them to their feet. ‘Come on, I’ll show you the jail but you’ve got to talk to me. I’m starved for news and people and you guys and it’s so exciting to see you, you wouldn’t believe it.’ I’d ask them for everything they could tell me about Seb as soon as Cara took the camera off us.

  ‘Come on! I’ll show you the chooks and if you’re lucky there’ll be eggs to collect.’ God, listen to me! My world had shrunk to the size of a hen coop.

  But the girls were happy to look at chooks. Cara dribbled along behind, her camera never leaving us although why she wanted shots of our backs only she would know.

  Addy turned around, an egg in both hands, and said with impressive dignity, ‘We’d appreciate some privacy here, thank you, Cara. Would you please leave us alone?’

  Cara shook her chook-coloured hair. ‘Sorry girls. This is important footage. Ignore me.’

  Cow. I turned my back on her. ‘Come on. I’ll show you my bedroom. You’ll love the decor. I think somebody with the taste of a slime-dwelling invertebrate decorated it.’

  Lizzie turned and stared straight at Cara. ‘Anyone we know?’

  I laughed and ran for the house. Lizzie shoved her arm through mine but Addy and Jax made no attempt to grab my other arm, and now I thought about it, they hadn’t laughed at Lizzie’s jibe. My insides lurched. Had they moved on? Dumped me? I shoved the thought away. They wouldn’t do that. Isolation had made me oversensitive.

  From behind me, Jax asked, ‘Why’s the doctor seeing your Mum?’

  I slowed to turn and look at them. I’d forgotten they didn’t know — that the whole world didn’t know. Yet.

  Jax and Addy stared at me, their faces concerned. Lizzie squeezed my arm. It was all right. My friends were still my friends. I jerked my head in the direction of my room. ‘Tell you inside.’ It would be a squash, us four plus Cara and camera, but I didn’t intend making life easy for her.

  We piled inside. I shut the door on Cara. She opened it. We sat in a huddle on my bed, ignoring her as best we could. ‘Spill,’ ordered Lizzie.

  I gave them the succinct version. ‘Mum’s pregnant. The baby’s not Dad’s.’

  ‘Shhee-yit!’ Lizzie said, her eyes wide and her face angled just slightly towards the camera.

  ‘It would seem,’ said Addy, ‘that betrayal is the flavour of the month.’

  Jax nodded her head, just once.

  I glanced at her, at Addy and then at Lizzie. Jax and Addy watched Lizzie, who tossed her bright white curls — they suited her, but it must be costing her a fortune to keep the roots touched up. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Addy slid off the bed. ‘Lizzie has something to tell you. But I suggest we go outside. A run would be good.’

  Jax muffled a laugh. Lizzie, her face inscrutable, wriggled to the edge of the bed, stood up and said, ‘Why not?’

  I didn’t want to think about what might be going on with my friends. My mind skittered and my heart banged around in my chest but I wouldn’t think. ‘Come on. We’ll run to the top of the island.’

  We pushed out through my door and ran outside. ‘You’re welcome to follow,’ I called back over my shoulder to Cara as we belted up the pathway past the birds’ trees. ‘Watch the ground though. You wouldn’t want to drop the camera down a shitty bird burrow.’

  We left her behind. Ha! Cara the cow was seriously unfit.

  ‘Excellent idea,’ I told Jax once we were safely past the shed and heading up the steep slope behind it where we could see the enemy should she decide to approach.

  Addy stopped, pulling Jax to a halt beside her. They stared at Lizzie, their faces grim.

  This was it. Bad news time. Whatever it was I didn’t want to hear it.

  Addy eyeballed Lizzie. ‘Tell her.’

  Lizzie’s glance caught mine, then flicked away. She tossed her curls. ‘Oh, all right. But you two,’ she glared at them, ‘are being overly dramatic.’

  ‘We’ll let Minna be the judge of that,’ said Jax.

  My eyes flipped from one to the other, but I couldn’t speak. Didn’t want to think. Wanted to run back down the hill. Wanted … but Lizzie was talking.

  ‘You might as well know. I’m going out with Seb.’

  I stared at her, not understanding — or not wanting to. ‘With Seb? With my boyfriend?’

  Lizzie flounced but her eyes skidded away again. ‘Get with the picture, Min. He never was your boyfriend. Not really.’

  I stared at her. I had no breath left in my body. My legs wouldn’t work. I collapsed on to the ground.

  Jax and Addy crouched beside me. I heard their voices but not their words.

  Lizzie stood in fro
nt of us, pushing at her hair.

  I shook my head. ‘It’s not true. Seb loves me. Me.’ I twisted the ring round and round on my finger.

  Lizzie snapped out, ‘For goodness’ sake, Min! He was never going to stay with you! Think about it — a whole year apart and you hadn’t even really got together with him.’

  That did it. I jumped up. ‘And you have? Is that what you’re saying, Lizzie? That the minute I was safely far away you went out and shagged my boyfriend?’

  ‘That’s pretty much the story,’ Addy said, her voice hard.

  I raised my fists. Lizzie took a step back, her body tensed and ready to run. ‘I hope you get pregnant,’ I screamed. ‘I hope he dumps you. I hope you have triplets and I hope they’re all ugly like you! Bitch! Get out of my sight before I push you over a cliff.’

  I didn’t wait to see what she’d do. I took off and belted down the hill. I didn’t take the path to the house. I scrambled over the sheep-paddock fence and ran for the edge of the cliff.

  ‘Minna! Stop! Don’t!’ Jax and Addy yelled behind me.

  Oh god, they thought I was going to throw myself off the cliff. I waited for them and while I waited, the tears crashed to the surface. ‘Oh, Min! Don’t cry. Don’t … don’t …’

  I pulled away from their arms. ‘I wasn’t going to.’ There were a good few hiccups in with that lot. ‘I just want to chuck this goddamned lying cheating scuzzy ring into the sea.’

  They hugged me. ‘Come on then. What are we waiting for?’

  It felt good, lying on my stomach, my two staunch friends beside me, and the sea thundering below us and smashing against the cliff. I tugged the ring off my finger and threw it up, out and away. ‘Rot in hell!’

  Then I cried some more. Jax said, ‘I don’t want to be insensitive, but can we get away from this cliff?’

  We wriggled back then stood up. ‘Tell me everything,’ I said and my voice sounded like tarnished silver.

  Addy wrapped an arm around me, Jax did the same. They kept it brief.