Have You Seen Ally Queen?

by Deb Fitzpatrick

  The doctor leans forward towards Jerry. ‘Your mum feels bad because she saw the accident happen in front of her but couldn’t do anything to stop it. That can be as traumatic as actually being in an accident like that—especially under the circumstances, with the driver at fault choosing not to stop.’

  Jerry and Dad nod, almost in time.

  I guess bad things affect more than just the people who are directly involved. I mean, I wonder if anyone else saw that accident and has ended up feeling like Mum? Maybe someone else’s mother was walking home from the shops that day and saw the whole thing and it ruined her life as well. A bit like Rel’s cousin, Livvy. When she died, it didn’t just affect her mum and dad, it affected Rel, and his mum and dad, and their prawning trips—forever. They’ll never go prawning without thinking about her, will they?

  Then I remember something else, and before I’ve really thought it through I say, ‘But what’s all that got to do with capitalism and those other things Mum talks about?’

  ‘Ally.’ Mum leans forward in her chair. ‘Yes, I know, I know.’ She shakes her head. Tears well up heavily in her eyes but don’t spill over. ‘The short answer is: nothing. The two things aren’t related at all; I just got them mixed up somewhere along the way. When you’re not well, things get wound up with other things until you have a big, overwhelming ball of problems rather than a few completely separate smaller problems. I’m sorry, it must have been very confusing for you that day.’

  ‘No, no, that’s all right,’ I say, relieved. She seems almost back to normal, I reckon. Almost. Something’s still not quite right—she’s not cheerful; she’s kind of quiet, subdued. And she hasn’t smiled at all—for ages, actually, come to think of it. She’s usually full of smiles. But she does seem more clear-headed. And she’s definitely stronger than when she was first sick. She was so crumpled then, that first day in her room.

  She’s talking again, Ally, so listen—stop thinking, for once!

  ‘I do believe what I said to you, though—about materialism and happiness,’ Mum’s saying. ‘It’s just that those ideas are more to do with us being down here, down south, than this problem that I’m having at the moment. And I know that this move has been very hard for you, and I understand why. I suppose I was trying to explain to you some of the reasons your dad and I decided to move us all down here. I really do appreciate how hard it is for you, Ally. Perhaps we should have discussed it more with you kids before we did it.’

  She and Dad look at each other for a moment before Jerry kind of squeaks, ‘So when can you come home, then, Mum?’

  She reaches over to him and squeezes his thigh. ‘Really soon, Jez, I promise. But I want to be in tip-top shape for you all, so if you can be patient a little longer, I’d really appreciate it.’

  ‘We can do that,’ says Dad, casting an eye over the two of us to suppress any comments to the contrary.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say half-heartedly, thinking, Why can’t you just come now? Can’t we all go from here? But I say, ‘Yeah, of course we can, Mum. You just ... take the time you need. But come home as soon as you can,’ I add.

  McJerry nods hard.

  The psych looks around the room at all of us and smiles. The moon sliver is right there beside her face, almost the same shape as her smile. ‘It was great that we could do this. Thanks to you all for coming.’ She turns to Mum. ‘Well done, Annie,’ she nods, looking right into her. ‘Well done.’

  It’s very weird to hear the doctor say that, like Mum’s a kid or something. Like Mum needs that approval. It makes me realise that she’s still got a way to go before Jerry’s wish—and mine—comes true.

  MCBLABBER

  Dad’s grinning annoyingly at me. It’s nice to see him being a bit silly, after yesterday’s heaviness with Mum. Still annoying, though.

  ‘School camp, eh?’

  Shite. How does he know about that?

  ‘Mm-hmm. What about it?’

  Jerry’s scuttling off into his bedroom, the little shit.

  ‘Blabber!’ I call out.

  ‘Aren’t you going to give me a note from school about it, or something? Presumably, students do still have to get their parents’ permission before they can run amok.’

  I pretend to concentrate on my homework. ‘Yeah, but I lost it.’

  ‘Was it the dog?’

  I look at him with my yeah, funny look. ‘Do we have a dog, Dad?’

  ‘Well, bring another note home from school tomorrow and I’ll sign it—if you want to go, that is.’

  ‘I don’t give a toss about school camp,’ I say. Except that Rel’s going. ‘It sounds boring. They’re pretty poxy, normally.’

  Dad spins his mug around and around on the spot for so long that the sky shifts a few notches of blue before he finally speaks. ‘I think you should go—just for a break. Things haven’t been ... much fun around here lately. Go on, Ally. It’s only a few days, in any case.’

  ‘But what about you and Jerry?’

  ‘What about us?’

  ‘Will you be ... okay?’

  Dad laughs. ‘Ally! Who does the best barbies this side of the Equator?’

  ‘Yeah ... you do,’ I mumble. He really does do a mean barbie, even if he can’t do a risotto to save his life.

  ‘So what’s the problem? Jez and I’ll have heaps of fun, just the boys, won’t we, Jez? Bring the note home and I’ll sign it and write you a cheque, or whatever. Okay?’

  ‘It’s not too ... expensive?’

  Dad does a double-take. ‘Expensive? Ally, no, it’s not. Don’t you give that side of things another thought.’ He leans forward. ‘I’d love you to go. Bring the note home, okay?’

  Jerry walks back in looking ridiculously innocent. I direct my reply to him, even though he pretends not to notice. ‘May be,’ I say, but something rushes in my stomach.

  WHITE STARS

  I can’t sleep. I open my door as quietly as I can, trying to lift it on its hinges slightly to stop the groan it does midway. Doesn’t make any difference. There’s light glowing from under the shed door, like a scene from CSI. I squint at my watch for the longest time before I can actually see it: 2.30 am. Psycho hour.

  I tap Dad’s door and push my head in. He’s writing. He’s at one of his workbenches, with a vice in the way, a power drill next to his elbow and wood shavings all over the joint. I’m telling you, Dad never writes anything, except tea or cheese on the shopping list, so this is unusual, to say the least.

  ‘I’d get told off if I did my homework at a desk like that,’ I whisper, trying to grin but knowing this is all part of our life at the moment, all this odd nocturnal activity.

  He swings around, reaches out an arm to me. I feel like I’m about five again, and want to go and sit on his lap, sit quietly, just be with him while he goes on with what he was doing. But I can’t, because I’m fifteen, and so I shuffle over there blearily and lean against his chair instead.

  ‘Whatcha doin?’

  ‘Not much,’ he sighs. ‘Can’t sleep?’

  ‘Nup.’

  He looks tired. His face is kind of slack.

  I’m embarrassed, but I manage, ‘Wanna hug?’

  He reaches over and squeezes me to him. My arms are pinned down against my sides, so I can’t hug him back, but I just press into him instead.

  ‘There might be a good sky tonight,’ he says, letting me go. His voice sounds funny. ‘Let’s go and get some fresh air, hey?’

  He swings open the door onto the night.

  It’s perfect. I love that. Windy all day, then, when no one’s around, it’s still and black and the stars are awesome. You can see the sky any night, but mostly we’re asleep then. What a waste. Standing out here, there’s something about the whole scene that makes me feel better—and Dad, too, I think—but I don’t know what it is, or how it’s working.

  There’s no sound except the gravel when we move our feet, and the odd rustling in the bushes. We stay standing there for a while, Dad and me.

&
nbsp; SAD CATS

  Rel’s Mum and I are picking mulberries, dropping the chubby black things into a big glass bowl. We’re not saying much, just moving around to the best berry positions and slowly filling that bowl. Rel’s inside, making us a mango juice.

  When I’m not rustling the tree too much, I listen for the surf, that over and over sound that’s there somewhere in the background. Sometimes you don’t even notice it. One thing I’ve decided I do like about being down here is that you can’t hear any cars where we live. Only the beach, the wind, the birds.

  Mrs Anderson breaks into my thoughts.

  ‘So, are you going on this camp Rel’s been talking about, Alison?’

  I must look about as thrilled as I feel.

  ‘Not that excited by it?’

  ‘Nah. Well, no, it’ll be okay. I don’t get into group stuff much. A lot of the kids are pretty poxy, you know.’

  She seems to get what I mean, so I say, ‘But Dad really wants me to go, so I might.’

  She nods slowly, plops a handful of berries in the bowl. ‘And your mum?’

  I’m proud of myself: while I blanch inside, I’m a cool, smooth cucumber on the outside. ‘Well, yeah, Mum too, of course,’ I say, jumping off the chair I’ve been using. ‘They both always agree about stuff like that.’ Yeah, sure, Ally, I think.

  ‘Well, Rel will be there, too. If everyone else is boring, at least you can hang out with each other.’

  Man, how cool is she? It’s true—if Rel wasn’t going, I just wouldn’t go, full stop.

  I’m holding the bowl of wine-dark mulberries in my lap, looking down into them. They’re hairy, like old men’s chins.

  ‘Where did you get all your cats from?’ I say.

  She looks surprised. ‘My cats?’

  I nod.

  ‘Well, Rel’s dad and I loved to travel when we were younger—before we had Rel, you know. I’ve always loved cats and it seemed that everywhere we went, there were groovy cats to take home as a souvenir. Then it became a kind of collection—we’d look for them, you know, the way people collect teapots or stamps or butterflies. I just like cats.’

  ‘My mum and dad travelled a lot, too,’ I tell her. ‘In Latin America.’

  She looks interested and nods and says, ‘Really? We never made it there. We decided to stop and have kids.’ She looks towards the house. ‘We’re so lucky to have Rel. The doctors didn’t think we could have any children at all, so Rellard was just a blessing.’

  The clouds are thinning back, flat as the sea. They reflect on her face, or she reflects the tint of the water—I don’t know which. She looks sad but peaceful. Kind of calm. She keeps picking the mulberries. Rel makes glass-chinking noises in the kitchen.

  Maybe everyone’s sad, I think, for something different.

  SCHMUCKSVILLE

  At least he does it when no one else is around. Well, no one who counts, anyway. You’re never really on your own at school; there’s always some schmuck hanging around like a bad smell. He (Mr Tosser, er, sorry, MrTaylor) comes up to me and asks me to ‘drop by’ his office this arvo.

  ‘We can pick up where we left off last week.’

  ‘I’m too busy,’ I say.

  ‘You’ve got a double period of English in 6 and 7, haven’t you?’

  How does he know this shit? What is he, the FBI?

  ‘I’ve spoken to Ms Carey. Come at the start of period 6,’ he says, and then he smiles and heads off down the corridor.

  I’m left feeling kind of limp. My bag fairly scrapes on the ground as I walk to my locker and wonder just what I’ve done or said to deserve this guy hassling me all the time. And this many heavy talks with mental health professionals, all of a sudden.

  All through maths, I think about what I can say to Mr Taylor to get him off my back. I mean, can I just say, Idon’t want to see you, okay? I’m not coming anymore. Or do kids have to see him when they’re summoned? I wonder what Dad’d think about this, given all the other stuff that’s going down right now. He said it, the other day: things haven’t exactly been cool lately—that’s why he wants me to go on camp. I might tell him, I reckon, that this dickfeatures is on my case and I just don’t need it. He’ll know what to do.

  ‘Okay, Alison, I want to do some role-playing with you today, so it’s gunna be a bit more active than last week.’

  Role-playing? I did that in drama in Grade 7! That’s it, that’s it! I think. I can feel the blood flooding into my face and I just wanna let rip at this guy.

  I push my chair back, way back—it slides right back into his door. ‘There’s no way I’m doing role-playing with you. I don’t even know what I’m doing here and I definitely don’t want to be here, okay?’

  I pick up my bag. These deep-and-meaningful doctor types are like vultures, just waiting for people like me to trip up, and then boom, they’re there, picking over the scraps. ‘I’m going back to class.’

  ‘Okay. Fine.’

  I spin back to him. ‘Fine? If it’s fine, then why make me come here in the first place?’

  He leans back in his chair in that patronising teacher way that makes me want to really chuck something at him.

  ‘The school has a counsellor to help students who are having difficulties in any areas of their lives, Alison. But I know from experience that there’s no point insisting that students come to me when they don’t want to. I’m only of use to kids who want to help themselves. That’s all.’

  I can’t believe this whole thing. ‘But ... what am I meant to be helping myself do, exactly?’

  ‘Just get through a hard time.’

  I nearly say WHAT hard time? but realise there’s no point.

  I take a breath then. I don’t know how the school knows this stuff but somehow they’re on to me. It’s just that I don’t think I need professional help to get through this. I stop moving towards the door and turn back to him.

  ‘Everyone has problems, Mr Taylor—everyone, right? I reckon we just have to get on with them, do our best. Whatever problems you think I’m having ... well, I’ll take a guess that they’re totally insignificant compared with other people’s dramas.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ he says, looking interested.

  ‘Well, like that Toby kid in Year 9. I’ve heard his folks punch each other up most nights. Apparently, he’s got a little brother, too—I reckon they could do with some of your help more than I could. And what about Jason, who gets the shit kicked out of him every lunchtime out on the oval?’

  I’m surprised he’s not taking notes, or something. He might actually be of some use if he did.

  ‘Oh, don’t you know about him? Maybe you should look harder for your lost puppies, Mr Taylor. Some of us aren’t lost at all, if you really want to know.’

  There’s a loud silence then.

  That was possibly a tad harsh of me. A tad LAM.

  ‘Well, now I know, don’t I?’ He purses his lips and looks at a file on his desk. ‘I won’t interfere where I’m not needed.’

  I force out, ‘Thanks for ... you know, offering. I guess I know where to come if...’ and I nod at the gap.

  He nods. He looks at me. ‘Just make me a promise that you will come by my office if you want to talk about any thing, okay? While you may not think that sitting around talking is “helping”, it really is true that just getting things off your chest can relieve a lot of pressure.’

  It’s not a smile, not even nearly, but my lips pull into a straight line. I hoist my bag over my shoulder and walk out of his office for the last time. I hope.

  THREE TYPES OF PEOPLE

  No one escapes my mood this afternoon.

  ‘How did it go with Mr Taylor yesterday?’ Ms Carey asks as I’m heading out to the bus stop.

  ‘I told him where to go,’ I say, and regret it straight away.

  Angelgirl strikes again. Surprise, surprise: you can’t even keep that up for one hour, Ally, let alone twenty-four.

  She raises an eyebrow. ‘That’s a little
unfair, seeing as he was trying to help.’

  I really don’t want to go over this. I had the cliquey chicks from English gossiping about me in the canteen at recess this morning—a great way to start the day. One of them was Frizz-ball. I was lining up to buy a Vegemite scroll and they were in the next aisle. When they saw me getting closer, they went all quiet and slunk off, smirking. It made me feel nauseous. I chucked my scroll into the bin after that; I just couldn’t face it.

  I turn away from Ms Carey, back to the groups of kids hanging out by the bus stops and getting into cars. He’s not helping, I want to yell . He’s only making it worse!