Transformation of Minna Hargreaves, The

by Beale, Fleur

  I put the eggs in the fridge, took a deep breath and said, ‘Sorry, Mum. Shouldn’t have said all that.’

  She pushed herself up off the couch, teetered slightly, closed her eyes, did some deep breathing and tottered over to me. She hugged me and said, ‘Thank you, Min. And I’m sorry too. I know I’ve hurt you.’ She glanced at Noah and Dad. ‘All of you.’

  I did the good-daughter act and helped her back to the couch. None of any of that touched my heart. I’d had it with both of them and I couldn’t see that anything was going to change. Divorce looked like a fine and glorious solution — me from them, and what better time to tell them than now when we were all together playing happy families?

  ‘I’ve decided who I’m going to live with when this debacle is over,’ I said.

  ‘You’ll be living with me,’ said both my parents in unison.

  I walked to the table, taking my time. I pulled out a chair and sat on it. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not. I’m divorcing the pair of you. I’m going to live with the Aveson grands.’

  ‘No,’ said Dad. ‘Out of the question.’

  ‘No,’ said Mum. ‘Not an option.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, glaring at first one of them then the other, ‘it’s better than your solution, which looks to me as though you’ll have to cut me in half.’ I leaned over and prodded Noah. ‘You want your top half to live with Dad, or your bottom half?’

  He frowned. ‘Actually, I was thinking more of a vertical cut. You know, right side with Dad, left with Mum.’

  Dad snorted and then hit us with, ‘And you’ll both be staying on here after your mother leaves.’

  I waited for Mum to disagree but she said, ‘Yes. That’s going to be best.’

  Dad didn’t say anything, just left and slammed the door behind him.

  I didn’t say anything either but I thought plenty — mainly about how I would be heading off this island when Mum left and then I’d find somewhere to live. How old did you have to be before you could go flatting by yourself?

  twenty-six

  There was a storm that night — one put on by nature rather than the parents for a change. It started with the obligatory electrical display. Dad pulled back the curtains and we sat in the lounge and watched the sky. Mum drifted in. Dad glared but they both stayed put, probably because it was safe to not talk to each other, what with the lightning bursting through the sky and the thunder rolling after it and rocking the whole house. The wind blasted us on all sides and tore at the roof. Would we still be here in the morning? Noah and I lay on our stomachs and watched and listened and I loved it, being safe and warm and with my family while the entire world around us bellowed and snarled.

  Make the most of it. It might never happen again.

  In the morning it was over as if it had never happened except for the rubbish on the ground and in the fences. The bird bath overflowed and made a mud puddle of the dirt I’d dug out to build it.

  The cabbages in my garden were battered and the silver beet lay flat and shredded in the mud. When I moaned to Dad, he said, ‘Plant some more. There’s seeds in the greenhouse.’

  ‘Dad,’ I said, ‘I’ve got the general idea about weeding — you just blitz anything you don’t recognise. But how to turn a seed into a plant — dunno. Don’t wanna know.’

  He laughed, grabbed my hand and towed me off to the garden. ‘I’ll show you.’ He bellowed for Noah with the result that all three of us spent the day pottering around with potting mix in the potting shed, ha ha.

  The days moseyed on down the month but Monday could have been Thursday or Sunday for all the difference it made, seeing as how I’d given up on my calendar. The days were differentiated by the mood of the warring parents, by the weather and the wildlife. The fairy prions were in full courting mode and made a huge racket every night. Would we still be here when the poor old mummy and daddy birds flew in and out, in and out with gobs of food for their babies? Parenting was a seriously overrated occupation, but being a kid wasn’t all that crash hot either.

  I wanted to talk to Mum about Robert the Toy Boy but I was too scared to bring it up. But why worry? If he wanted to be part of the baby’s life, then I’d find out more than I needed to know about him sooner or later.

  ‘What are you going to call the baby?’ I asked one wet day when boredom had struck yet again.

  She shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Got any ideas?’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ I said.

  I discussed it with the chooks, but since they all agreed that Tizzie was the way to go, I sacked them as name-givers.

  An idea popped into my head one night when the wind woke me. I got up, turned the light on and wrote it down in case I forgot it by morning. Shayandra. I loved it.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Mum, but I managed to hold on until she was settled on the couch with her cup of tea and a slice of dry toast which she could now manage most mornings.

  Noah sat by the radio, doing the listening watch, but he turned around and laughed like a dork when I said, ‘Mum, I’ve got the name. Shayandra. Don’t you just adore it?’

  More laughter from Noah. ‘I say we call it Bob.’

  ‘After its father?’ I snapped back.

  He shrugged. ‘Fred then. Or Bill.’

  Mum just closed her eyes and said, ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

  ‘See,’ said Noah, ‘she hates it.’

  ‘And she likes Bob better?’

  ‘Kids. Enough,’ Mum said.

  Life was such a bundle of laughs — tripping over forbidden topics any old time of the day.

  Nobody talked about Afterwards, when we were all back home and off the island. Where would home be? Who would it be with? I thought a lot about divorcing them, but the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t see myself living contentedly with the grands — going to bed at nine o’clock, never playing my music above a whisper, having Gran fuss around any time my friends came over.

  I had a conversation with Noah about it.

  Me: You want to stay on after Mum goes?

  Noah: It’ll be sweet. I’ll miss the door slamming though.

  Me: Who do you want to live with? You know — when Dad gets off the island too.

  Noah: (shrugs) Not worried. I’ll be old enough to leave home just about.

  Me: I’ll come with you.

  Noah: (exits laughing)

  I stared after him. Had he factored in that Dad was going to be watching him like a cat watches a mouse for the next twenty or so years? Over my dead body will my son become a druggie. ‘Brother dearest,’ I muttered, ‘like it or not, you will be living with the father.’

  And me? I seriously doubted that Dad could spare attention for me while he had Noah chained to his soul. And did I want that sort of attention anyway?

  I gave up and went and talked to the chooks.

  We had a spell of wet, stormy weather during which Noah and I got a mountain of schoolwork done. I was slightly surprised at how much I accomplished when there was nobody to talk to and nothing else to do but, not even for a chance to go home right then, would I admit that in case a teacher heard and held it over me for the rest of my life.

  The weather cleared. December, and Mum’s departure loomed.

  In the days before the December chopper run, I began preparing the ground. I put the pizza I had made on to the table, let Dad get a waft of the fragrances of tomato, basil and cheese, then I said, ‘By the way, I’ve decided I am going back with Mum.’ I slid a generous slice on to Dad’s plate.

  He didn’t look at it. I got the eyeballing glare but he spoke quietly enough. ‘No, Minna. You’re not. It’ll be the holidays. There’ll be nothing for you to do.’

  He managed not to say except get into trouble but I’m not dumb.

  He picked up his pizza. ‘You’re staying here. Both of you. You’ve still got a lot of schoolwork to do and there will be fewer distractions here.’ He took a bite and grinned at me around it. ‘Good pizza.’

  This could be
harder than I’d thought. ‘Not me, Dad — I’m going back. I’ve had it up to here with this place.’ I chopped a hand across my throat.

  Dad said, ‘You’ll survive. You’ve made it this far. And it’s only for the holidays. You can go back for the start of school.’

  ‘Oh gee! Remind me to thank you,’ I said. I got up, leaving my dinner on the plate. It tasted dry and lonely — just the way another two months of this place would taste.

  I went outside to talk to the chooks. ‘He’s not going to budge, is he Fizzie?’

  She nodded her head. Drrrk took took took.

  I scritched her head. ‘What would you know? You’re a chook.’

  I sat back on my heels and watched them. A couple of them wandered over to chat and then wandered off again. I got up and found them a big juicy weed.

  Took took took.

  ‘Why did Mum do it?’ I asked. ‘Why did she agree to come here when she knew the whole country would find out what a whore she is?’

  But I knew. She’d done it to save Noah.

  And me.

  I kicked at the ground. I hadn’t needed saving. She was stupid. And a hypocrite because she’d already done what she’d been accusing me of doing. And how long had the affair gone on for, anyway?

  I left the chooks and walked to the edge of the world. It could be good to be away from her until February. Not that I had any choice.

  I went back to the house. Mum was lying on the sofa. She looked pale and sick and not in the mood for talking. Too bad. She’d be gone soon and could have all the peace she wanted. ‘Mum, how long did it go on?’

  She opened her eyes and just lifted her eyebrows in a question.

  ‘The affair. With what’s-his-face.’

  She sighed but didn’t open her eyes. ‘Wasn’t an affair. Just once.’ Her eyes flickered open. ‘That’s all it takes, Min.’

  I wanted to ask her why and where and when, and why hadn’t she had an abortion? But I couldn’t. She was too sick. She was my mother and I wanted to know all that, but I wanted to know without her having to tell me.

  Of course, I tried to get Dad to change his mind and let me leave the island when Mum went, although I didn’t tell him I intended not to stay with Mum. I was careful to be mature. I offered up reasoned arguments. All he did was tousle my hair, smile at me and say, ‘No, Min. It’s not an option. You’re staying.’

  Noah grinned in the background; told me to save my energy and how about we do another fishing expedition?

  That caught Dad’s attention, but didn’t rattle him enough to let me escape from the island.

  As the days rolled on towards Mum’s departure, I’d catch her staring out the window as I went about the daily routines. Then she’d straighten her back, press her lips together and give her shoulders a twitch.

  ‘Mum — you don’t want to go, do you?’ I said after the fourth twitch.

  She glanced at me, a rueful smile on her face. ‘It’s the chopper ride. I’m dreading it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And then there’ll be the fallout from all of this.’ I stopped what I was doing to listen, her voice was so quiet. She smiled at me. ‘I think it’s a good idea for you to stay, Min. The worst of the media interest will have died by the time you come back.’

  I stared at her. ‘What do you mean, media interest?’

  She sighed. ‘We’re going to be a nine-day wonder. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, Min. Really sorry.’

  I picked up a cloth and wiped at the table. Then I wiped the bench. Scenes of my less-than-perfect behaviour flitted through my head. Too bad. Couldn’t do anything about it now. I gave Mum a twisted grin. ‘Minna Hargreaves — media star.’ I would get so much grief at school.

  Over the next couple of days I packed Mum’s gear for her. I turned the pages of her sketchbook. There was the tuatara, a dead fairy prion, a weta and scraggly sheep, and there were sketches of Noah and me. She’d sketched me digging the bird bath. I stared at it. I looked happy — absorbed in what I was doing, and — happy.

  I was hoping the chopper day would be windy. I was going to miss her, my imperfect mother. But of course, sod’s law and all that, it was a beautiful day, still and calm.

  The chopper landed. Dad and Noah lugged in the supplies — thanks to the extra run today we’d be able to be carnivores for just about an entire month. Cara hadn’t come, but Dr Hunter had. ‘How is Liv?’ she asked as we walked to the house.

  ‘Still not brilliant,’ I said. ‘And she’s dreading the chopper ride.’

  Dr Hunter nodded. ‘With good reason. But she does need to leave the island. There’s really no choice.’

  Yes. We knew that.

  Mum stood up when we came in. She wiped her hands down her trousers and managed a smile. ‘Right. Let’s get this over with.’

  Dr Hunter held up a hand. ‘There’s something I need to tell you before we leave.’ She looked at Mum. ‘Two things, actually. The first is that Mrs Aveson rang Cara last night to tell her Mr Aveson had a fall and has broken his hip. She said she’s very sorry, but she won’t be able to have you to stay.’

  Mum’s wobbly legs gave out and she sat down plonk on the couch. ‘Oh! Is he all right?’

  Dr Hunter nodded. ‘He will be, but she said it’s made up their minds about moving to a retirement home.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mum, again.

  Noah said, ‘Well, if that’s one thing, what’s the other thing you’re going to hit us with?’

  Dad, I noted, hadn’t left the kitchen.

  Dr Hunter took a deep breath. ‘It’s the media interest. I’m very much afraid, Liv, that you’re going to be landing right in the middle of a feeding frenzy.’

  My legs gave out too, but Noah said, ‘Why? What’s so special about Mum?’

  Dr Hunter gave him an exceedingly dry look, ‘The programme about this family has caught the public imagination. You’re the talk of the country. Cara’s sold the programme to fifteen countries at last count and nobody goes out now on a Thursday night unless they can record it.’

  None of us said anything for ages. Then I groaned, Dad said something he would have yelled at me for saying, and Noah said, ‘I think I might stay here for the whole year.’

  Mum just shut her eyes, breathed a few times then stood up. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  She couldn’t do it — not by herself, not feeling sick and having nowhere to live. It wasn’t fair and Dad should do something. I jumped up. ‘Dad — I have to go with her. I have to. She’s too sick to do all this by herself.’

  I ran to him and shook his arm. He looked over my head at Dr Hunter. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I agree with Minna.’

  He shook me off, strode to the kitchen and stared out the window. Then he turned, strode the length of the family room, stopped and stared out through the ranch-sliders.

  The rest of us watched him and said nothing.

  I heard the huge breath he sucked in before he did the strides back to me. He wrapped both arms around me in a bear hug. ‘All right, chicken. You go.’ Then he grabbed my shoulders so he could look me in the face. ‘But I want you to promise something.’

  Uh oh, here it is — no sex till I’m a hundred and five. But I was wrong. ‘Promise me you’ll tell me if you need help. Okay?’

  ‘And you’ll come running?’ I seriously doubted it.

  He nodded. ‘Flying anyway. But I’ll come. I promise.’

  My eyes, nose, throat all went hot and teary. I hugged him. ‘I promise,’ I told his jersey.

  He patted my head. ‘Good girl. Now go and pack.’

  I went. How strange. I was getting my own way — leaving the island with Mum — but there was no sense of victory. Now I desperately wanted to stay; I wanted to hide out here until we were no longer flavour of the month.

  Then I laughed. Lizzie, eat your heart out. Her stupid white hair would turn green with envy. I’d make sure Addy and Jax got their share of the attention — if they wanted it. Ha, Lizzie — you’re last year�
�s story.

  I dragged my bags out to where the others waited. I handed Noah the camera. ‘Here. You are now the official cameraman on Isolation Island.’

  He filmed us all walking to the chopper. He filmed Dad hugging me. He kept the camera on me as he said, ‘Bye, sis. Don’t go fishing, will you?’

  I noticed though, that he didn’t film the hug he gave Mum.

  twenty-seven

  So just like that, I left the island. Dr Hunter settled Mum on to a stretcher strapped into the chopper. I sat in the seat by her head where I could reach out and hold her hand. We lifted off the ground. I waved to Dad and Noah and the chooks.

  Mum’s face went the colour of a fairy prion’s tummy. She shut her eyes but she didn’t spew.

  Halfway there, I said to Dr Hunter, ‘Are you sure? About the media, I mean.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. Very sure, Minna. But remember, just because somebody asks a question it doesn’t mean you have to answer it.’

  For the rest of the flight I thought about what questions I might get asked. And what I thought was that the answers to them were nobody’s damn business but mine and my family’s.

  A few moments later we were dipping down to land, back where we’d lifted off from a lifetime ago. I looked out the window and groaned. Why hadn’t I done my hair, put on make-up — changed my trackies for my jeans for god’s sake? The ground was awash with people waving cameras, people clutching microphones and people with gawping faces.

  We landed. ‘Ready?’ Dr Hunter asked.

  Mum closed her eyes. I wished I could do the same. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ I said, and jumped down from the chopper into a firestorm of camera flashes.

  I turned my back and hovered over the ambulance men who were lifting Mum from the chopper.

  ‘Minna! What do you think of what your mother did?’

  ‘Minna! Are you pleased about the baby?’

  ‘Meenna! Do you blame your father for what happened?’ That had to be an Aussie accent.