Dad’s great, still waxes up the mal on Saturday mornings—it gets him out of doing yoga with Mum, he said to us once, which made even Mum grin. Rel was out there one morning recently and paddled out the back with Dad! I nearly choked when he told me. Rel said that the old man wasn’t too bad, but that he dropped in on some kid from maths. I gave Dad heaps about it when Rel told me. He got all embarrassed, just remembering it, said it was an accident and he felt like a complete schmuck, knocking a kid off his board down at the local break. He reckons he didn’t see him until it was too late.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, Dad, whatever. Whatever.
I’m cool this summer, I reckon. No more dramas, thanks. I’m just gunna chill out, lay low, and see what happens. What else can you do in a place like this?
‘Ally, Rel’s on the phone for you,’ Mum calls downstairs to me. He still refuses even to call me on my mobile.
‘Okay!’ I yell, and take the stairs two at a time and face a calm down look from Dad when I get to the top. He’s reading the paper. Again. How many papers can you read in one day? And then watch the news on TV—on two different channels. Honestly, the guy’s got issues.
‘Sorry,’ I grin at Dad, and grab the receiver. ‘King Python?’ I ask.
‘It is He.’
‘And what are today’s events?’
‘I dunno, anything,’ he says. ‘I’m bored out of my enormous mind.’
‘You wish.’
‘You do.’
‘I don’t need to.’
‘But of course,’ he says. ‘She of Brains-R-Us.’
‘And don’t be making that mistake again, thank you.’
‘So what do you wanna do?’
I think about it. I don’t want to go for another walk in the bush or on the beach—I’m sick of walking—but there’s not a hell of a lot else to do around here. ‘I feel like going out,’ I say. ‘Into town. Shopping.’
Rel says, ‘I don’t have any money.’
‘Nor do I.’
‘Well, that’s a stroke of genius, then, isn’t it?’
‘No: you don’t have to buy anything when you go shopping. I don’t mean spending. I just mean, let’s go into Mandurah or something and hang out.’
‘So not shopping at all.’
I sigh. ‘Are you gunna be like this all day?’
‘Yep.’
‘Great. At least you’ll provide the entertainment.’
He lets that go for now, but I know he’ll get me back later on. ‘Meet me at the bus stop,’ he says.
‘Okeydoke. Twenty minutes, okay?’
‘Yup.’
And he hangs up.
I love that guy. Well, you know what I mean. I don’t love him. I do not love him. He’s just a legend.
Well, maybe I do love him, just a little bit.
Or even slightly more than that.
CHEZ QUEEN
Mum is on the floor in a pair of Dad’s old shorts, with a yoga book next to her open at something called Uttanasana. There’s a picture of a person in a weird position that Mum’s trying to copy but she’s not even close. I pause in the doorway.
‘Alison,’ she groans, ‘come over here and help me, love.’
I try not to laugh. ‘Can’t you get up?’
Her face is beetroot. She’s sweating. ‘I can,’ she hisses, ‘but it would be a lot easier if you helped me.’
I grab her waist and pull gently. She comes up and then crumples to the floor.
‘That’s not how the guy in the book looks after he’s done it.’
She sets her mouth in a line that says, I don’t recallasking for your feedback.
‘But Mum,’ I go on, ‘if you want to be a yogi, you’re going to have to be able to stand up after doing one of those. And then do ten more.’
‘Yes, Ally, I’m aware of that. Would you like to try one?’
‘It’s not really my thing,’ I say, heading into the kitchen.
She lets me off the hook this time, but I think that’s because she’s still trying to catch her breath from the strain. She’s into all sorts of that stuff lately. I pray that Rel does not come over when she’s in the middle of some weird elastic body pose. She’s also been doing taichi with a woman in Mandurah. She goes there once a week—at five o’clock in the morning—for a session. Dad just runs his fingers over his forehead and says, At least she’s not into religion. If it weren’t for Dad, I’d be seriously concerned for the rest of us. But can you believe Mum, with this tai chi thing? I’m telling you, she’s getting worse.
I text Shel. Can’t wait 2cu next weekend!
Instant reply: Me neither. Can’t wait 2 c ur new world!
Day 1: am going 2 show u mulberry tree & seal spot ñand Rel (!). Day 2: eat Killer Pythons? xxx
‘What’s for dinner?’ I ask Mum.
‘Mushroom and spinach lasagne.’
I spin around. It is not.
‘Your favourite, I believe.’
As if she needs to remind me! ‘I know—oh, yum.’
Now I really feel bad. What can I say? Mum is such a great cook. Like, really great, if she forgets about foodmiles and moral consumerism for a minute. That’s what she calls making sure you buy Australian products, or products that haven’t exploited little kids in China, or somewhere: moral consumerism.
As for the lasagne, I say, ‘Thanks, Mum,’ and really mean it. ‘D’you wanna juice?’
‘No, thanks,’ she says, getting up like she might have sprained something.
I look at her. ‘Maybe you could try some of that ... pilates ... or whatever you call it? I mean, if you’ve hurt yourself.’
She nods at me as though I’m being sarcastic. ‘I might just try lying down for a while.’
‘No, Mum—I mean it. It might help.’
‘Righto, Ally.’
God.
I turn away for a moment, and let her be. The ocean stretches out before us, away from the house, shining promisingly.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My indebted thanks to Cate Sutherland, Children’s Publisher at Fremantle Press, for her patience and perseverance (which have spanned years in this instance), and her gentle editorial guidance.
For her unstinting commitment, thoroughness and care in editing this manuscript, I thank the wonderful Amanda Curtin. Her shady colleague, The Chronology Nazi, must also be thanked—if through gritted teeth.
Thank you to Claire Miller and Clive Newman at Fremantle Press, for their dedicated and strategic work. And to all the Freo Press staff: thank you for your warm welcomes and cheery helpfulness. Grateful thanks to Georgia Richter, who, back in the early days, gave me much needed feedback, ideas and confidence in the manuscript.
A very special thankyou to Tom Hungerford, who so generously encouraged the two runners-up in the 2006 TAG Hungerford Award. I directly attribute the publication of this book to my shortlisting in the 2006 Hungerford Award.
Stew: I hope this finally makes up for the crazy faxes and postcards from Buenos Aires and Santiago. Thank you, for this whole coastal thing.
To the beautiful Jerry and Pippa: thanks for telling everyone you meet about my next book and for not minding me beavering away on the computer while you were respectively playing with Lego and painting.
To Fiona Dallas, for so generously sharing Melros. And Deebs: you’d have liked this.
Thank you, finally, to my mum, dad and brother, for everything.
Have You Seen Ally Queen? Page 17
