by Ilsa Evans
I momentarily cease my efforts to rip CJ off my leg and look up at the source of this slanderous comment. A small blonde female is staring equably back at me, secure within the encircling arms of her superior non-mean parent. Now that I have looked up, I notice that the changing room of the swimming centre has quietly filled with small females, most of them blonde, all in various stages of undress. And all are staring at me, and the snivelling limpet wrapped around my right leg.
‘Shh, Bethany, that’s not very polite.’
‘But –’
‘Bethany! I said shoosh.’ Bethany’s non-mean mother turns her child away from the spectacle of CJ and me and proceeds to undress her. Bethany, of course, holds her arms up without even being asked.
‘Come on, CJ, let’s go over here.’ I hop awkwardly over into the far corner of the changing room and turn my back on the other occupants. Then I bob down to CJ’s level, hold her head in my hands and make sure that my voice is kept low enough to dissuade the audience from listening in: ‘Look, I have every right to be annoyed with you. You know that you shouldn’t have eaten that food and trying to make up excuses doesn’t help matters at all. I would far rather you just admitted it and apologised. Trying to excuse it actually makes it worse. Just own up and take responsibility for your actions. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Mmm.’ CJ wipes her nose one last time and stops her fretful whimpering.
‘Okay then, what do you say?’
‘I was sooo hungry!’
‘CJ!’
‘I’m sorry.’ This last is said in such a mumble against my damp thigh that I’m hard put to decipher the actual words, but I’m pretty sure that it was an apology. I’m going to take it as one anyway.
‘All right then. That wasn’t so hard, was it?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Now, if we don’t get you changed in a jiffy, we’ll be late for your lesson.’ I give CJ a quick hug, because I simply can’t resist her, before disengaging her arms and sitting her up on the bench. Then I retrieve her possessions from our original spot and proceed to get her dressed in a pair of hot-pink Barbie bathers. Most of the other children are changed by now and there are just a few stragglers flinging assorted items of clothing around. I pack CJ’s bag with her clothing, wrap her towel around her shoulders and usher her outside.
As soon as we exit the changing rooms, the sound and the humidity increase one hundredfold. CJ has her lessons in an indoor swimming pool and the noise echoes as it bounces off the walls. The result is almost deafening – a continual barrage of high-pitched childish screams interspersed with yelled instructions from a variety of coaches, shrill encouragements from parents and, every so often, an ear-splitting screech from a whistle. Think positive, at least I don’t have a really bad hangover today. I take a deep breath and head towards the lane where CJ’s swimming lesson is conducted. On the way I smile and wave at a few of the other parents whom I usually sit with but shan’t today because I have Ben in tow. He is sitting morosely on a bench next to the lane where CJ’s swimming coach has already organised the other children in her group. They are halfway up the pool with their kick-boards, their flailing legs creating miniature tidal waves out of all proportion to their actual progression through the water.
‘Where did she get the Mars Bar?’ Ben points to a half-devoured chocolate bar firmly clenched in his little sister’s fist and then looks at me pointedly. ‘And where’s mine?’
‘I didn’t give it to her! CJ, where did you get it?’
‘A little girl gabe it to me,’ CJ replies around a mouthful of chocolate.
‘What little girl?’
‘The one getting changed. With the yellow hair. She said she was sorry I was starbing.’
‘Give it to me!’ I rip the Mars Bar out of her hands and roughly wipe her mouth clean with her towel. ‘You know you’re not supposed to take food from strangers!’
‘She wasn’t strange! She said hello to me!’
‘Look, just go and have your lesson.’
‘Well, mind my Mars Bar. And don’t let Ben eat it!’ CJ casts a mistrustful look at her brother and heads over to the side of the pool where she sits down.
‘As if.’ Ben slouches further down on the bench and stretches his legs out. Meanwhile, the other participants in CJ’s swimming class have enthusiastically fought their way back to the end of the lane where she sits waiting to join in. The instructor pushes her way through the water and over to the side.
‘Hello, CJ! Running a bit late today, are we?’ She picks up a foam bubble, straps it firmly around CJ’s waist and lifts her down into the water. CJ immediately dog paddles off to join her associates, who are milling around the end trying to beat each other’s brains in with their kick-boards.
I am left sitting on the bench with Ben, who does not want to be here anyway. After I pick him up from St John’s Ambulance I usually drop him off at home on my way to the swimming centre. But today there were a variety of forms to be signed when I collected him, so we ended up running so late that we had to come straight here. Much to his disgust. I would rather schedule CJ’s swimming lesson for Mondays, which is (or was) my day off, but Keith likes to take her when he has her for the weekend. And I can quite understand that, I just wish he’d pay for it as well. Anyway, so here we are and, not for the first time, I reflect that I should really book CJ’s swimming lesson in for before Weight-Watchers, not after. After all, it’s like a sauna in here and I’m sure that I’m always at least three kilos lighter by the time I leave.
The instructor has now got her arms around CJ’s waist and is attempting to assist her in her efforts to flail her way up the lane. If that is supposed to be a freestyle swimming stroke, then I’m a monkey’s uncle. It looks more like she is trying to beat the water into submission.
‘So. How was St John’s this morning?’
‘Yeah. Okay.’
‘Good, good. Um, anything interesting happen?’
‘The camp. You saw the papers.’
‘That’s right! When’s that happening?’
‘Dunno. Date’s on the papers.’
‘Fine. Okay.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, that’s good.’ I refuse to give up on this boy so I cast my mind around frantically for something that will tempt him into conversation. ‘Oh! How are all your sick animals going?’
‘Why?’
‘Just curious, and interested.’
‘But you never ask me how they’re going.’ Ben has turned and, his ultra-cool act forgotten, is now looking at me with genuine puzzlement. ‘Why ask now?’
‘Well, maybe I should ask more often. It’s not that I’m not ever interested, it’s just, I don’t know, time or something, I suppose. Anyway, I’m asking now. So, how are they all?’
‘All right,’ Ben says with enthusiasm. ‘Well, I had a sick possum yesterday but I got the Possum Lady’s phone number through the council and she came over and collected it. We think it was hit by a car or something. And Ariel – that’s the galah – she’s almost better so I’ll be letting her go in about a week, I reckon. And I’ve got this blue tongue that I found up the road, I think a cat got to that one, but he’s not too bad –’
‘Um, where are you keeping him?’
‘In the garage.’
‘Good, that’s good,’ I reply with feeling as I really don’t want to run across a blue tongue lizard sunning himself somewhere inside the house.
‘Do you like blue tongues?’
‘Well, um,’ I say slowly, ‘I suppose they’re all right.’
‘Cool! I’ll bring him in and show you!’
‘Great. Can’t wait.’
‘Anyway, then there’s the rabbits. They’re all fine but I’m thinking of breeding them for some extra money, you know. And of course, Golliwog’s out in the garage now.’
‘Golliwog is?’ I say with surprise. But then again, I hadn’t seen the cat lately.
‘Yeah. Don’t you remember? I told you
at the meeting yesterday that she was sick.’
‘That’s right. But I didn’t know she was that sick.’
‘I don’t know what it is, she just keeps spewing up. It’s really gross and it’s everywhere.’
‘Thank you for the graphic description. And please don’t use the word “spew” – it’s disgusting.’ I catch sight of Ben’s face and realise that our friendly little tête-à-tête is in imminent danger of ending on a less than friendly note. ‘But never mind, I told you that Aunt Elizabeth’s new boyfriend is a vet. And he’s coming over tomorrow so we’ll get a free consultation.’
‘That’s all you care about – money.’
‘That’s not fair. You pay for it if you’re so concerned!’
‘Humph.’ Ben turns away, slouches down even further and makes it quite clear that the conversation is now terminated. How unfair was that comment? Don’t I wish that money didn’t have to be a concern? If there’s anything that I should feel guilty about it’s not really noticing that the cat has been hospitalised for a couple of days. But then again, I have had a few other things on my mind. I make a mental note not to go anywhere near the garage until the cat has been cured and the garage has been cleaned.
CJ and the other four trainee fish are now on their backs with their kick-boards clutched somewhere underneath them. I wave enthusiastically as they pass by on their way down the pool. CJ waves back and promptly rolls off her kick-board into the water.
‘Good one, Mum,’ says Ben.
CJ splutters back up just as another backstroker passes and kicks her fair in the face with one flailing foot. She immediately opens her mouth as wide as it will go and the instructor plucks her expertly out of the water before said mouth can be filled with the wake of the other swimmers. She deposits the now wailing CJ on the side of the pool where she leaps to her feet and starts running blindly in my direction, water spraying liberally all around her.
‘Mummy! Mummy!’ She holds her arms out as she runs and I get up in an effort to hold her at a distance. I mean, she is soaking wet and I don’t have a change of clothes. But it’s a futile attempt because as she nears me, still running full-pelt, she trips over her brother’s outstretched legs and is suddenly launched smoothly into the air before hitting me full on and propelling me back down onto the bench with such force that my coccyx sends a shriek of complaint reverberating up my spine.
Water cascades down my back as she wraps her arms around me, and her wet hair sticks to my cheek. She pulls her legs up and wraps them around my waist and, as if there wasn’t enough water to go around, begins to sob damply against my chest. I sigh heavily and start to pat her back soothingly. A tiny rivulet of water finds its way down the neck of my windcheater and continues its relentless journey until it reaches the cleavage between my breasts. I look over CJ’s shoulder at her swimming instructor who is leaning against the side of the pool making a valiant effort to look concerned while racked by helpless laughter. Behind her the others have begun their spasmodic way back down the pool, totally oblivious to CJ’s absence. I sigh heavily again as CJ nestles herself in for an even closer encounter.
Well, what was my newest resolution? Always find the positives in any situation. As far as I can see, there is only one positive to be found at the moment – Ben is actually smiling.
SATURDAY
11.20 am
Apart from an irresistible gravitational pull to the back of lecture rooms, I also have an unerring gravitational pull towards the only supermarket trolley with retarded wheels and a suicidal sense of direction. I struggle with the latest specimen and force it to turn the corner I wish it to turn. I know from bitter experience that there is absolutely no use returning it for one which is slightly more malleable, because the chances are that I will end up with one which is actually worse. Just as I already know that when I finish the shopping, whichever aisle I line up in will automatically be the one with either a learner check-out operator (how hard is it to drag something across a counter and watch the numbers light up?), or the one with multiple price-checks and the elderly lady who has never used her EFTPOS card before but has decided that today’s the day.
My clothes have now almost dried off, and I have almost stopped shivering. But between the occasional uncontrollable quiver and the manic trolley, I come very close to wiping out an artistic display of winged sanitary napkins. CJ, dressed in nice, warm clothing, hangs on to the side of the trolley and maintains a running monologue of her swimming achievements.
‘… and I hope you were watching when I did that flip ober the board. And Judy said my backstroke was berry much better than anyone’s. But my face still hurts. And I’m going to be in the Olympics when I’m seben or eight. Because I can’t drown, you see. And when you come to –’
‘CJ?’
‘Yes, Mummy?’
‘Listen, honey, you just have to be good today because Mummy is vee-rry tired and we’ve got an awful lot to do.’
‘Poor Mummy.’
‘Yep, poor poor poor Mummy.’
‘Hab I got a bruise? On my face?’
‘Let me see.’ I bend down and take her face in my hands. ‘No, no marks at all. You’ll be fine. Now remember what I said about being very good for me, okay?’
‘Okay. C’n I be your helper?’
‘That would be lovely, thanks, CJ! I’ll tell you what to get.’ I wrest the trolley in the direction of the fruit and vegetable section and then park it where it can’t do anybody any harm. ‘First, here’s a bag. You can get a big lettuce and put it in the trolley. I’ll leave it here.’
I spend the next ten minutes checking out prices, working out what I need for the barbecue tomorrow, and filling the trolley with assorted salad makings. This would be easier if I had Benjamin in here actually helping me, but he has elected to sit in the car and stare out the windows at nothing in particular. Think positive, it’s probably saving me money not to have him assist with the grocery shopping.
I sigh heavily and then look around for CJ. I find the lettuces without much difficulty, but no small five-year-olds in sight. In fact, by standing on one of the empty fruit and vegetable crates I can see the whole section and she is definitely not here. A quick examination of the trolley also reveals the absence of a lettuce, so I absent-mindedly put one in while I continue scanning. I decide that she has probably spotted one of those ladies handing out free samples of something and is hanging around there, so I take my trolley and drag it behind me for a tour of the store. No CJ. I backtrack and do another tour in reverse. Still no CJ.
At this point, one always starts remembering every movie ever seen where a child has vanished while doing something perfectly innocuous, like choosing a lettuce. I hate the way my heart does cardiac aerobics whenever something like this happens. I abandon the trolley and do a rapid walk-through of the store. Still CJ-less, I sprint up to the enquiries counter and wait impatiently for the pimply-faced adolescent to finish serving the three people in front of me who are stocking up on nicotine for the week.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I’ve lost my daughter.’ I swallow and try to get my voice under control. ‘She’s five years old, about so high, shortish blonde hair in a bob, wearing denim overalls with a pink windcheater underneath, it’s got Spot on it – not a spot but Spot, the dog, you know – from the TV. Actually, he’s more a puppy than a dog and he’s yellow with a brown spot on him which is why he’s called Spot and he’s –’
‘Okay, okay. It’s okay, ma’am. I’ll just call it out over the intercom.’ The adolescent speaks to me in a soothing tone as if she thinks I’m nearing hysteria. ‘We’ll find her, don’t you worry. What’s her name?’
‘CJ – Christine Jain, that is, but she doesn’t get called that very often so she probably wouldn’t answer to that so CJ is better …’ I force myself to wind down while the assistant waits patiently. I suddenly feel like I am being totally condescended to by a girl not that much older than the one I have lost, but I don’t care at
the moment. I scan the crowd for a possible sighting as the intercom crackles to life.
‘There is a little lost girl in the store. She is five years old and answers to CJ. Because it’s her name. She is wearing denim overalls and a pink windcheater with a spot on it. Could anyone seeing CJ please bring her to the enquiries counter, her mother is very worried.’
Now everybody passing the enquiries counter pauses to give me the once-over (so that’s the very worried mother who not only dresses her strangely named child in soiled clothing but also manages to lose her into the bargain, how very careless). At least, with only about four hours’ sleep under my belt, I look suitably drawn and haggard.
‘What colour did you say her hair was?’ The acneed adolescent is leaning over the counter looking at me thoughtfully.
‘Blonde.’
‘In a bob?’
‘Yes, that’s right!’
‘With overalls and a pink windcheater?’
‘Yes, yes, yes!’
‘Like the one over there by that trolley?’
I whip around and there, by my abandoned trolley, stands CJ with a lettuce in each hand and an angelic smile on her face.
‘CJ, my god! Where have you been?’
‘Here.’
‘You have not! I’ve been looking everywhere!’ It’s funny how during the whole time that she was missing, all I wanted to do was hug her but now that’s she’s in front of me, it is taking all of my willpower not to slap her stupid.
‘We-ell, I thought you said get a loaf of bread so I went all the way ober there and then I thought you pro’bly said lettuce, so I walked all the way back. I saw Joel! From kinder! With his mum, ober there.’ She waves airily in the general direction of the frozen meats, which is incidentally nowhere near either lettuce or bread.
‘How could you think I said “loaf of bread” when I said “lettuce”!’ I grab her with one hand (and I am not letting go), the trolley with the other and turn to the adolescent, who appears to be vastly amused by this little vignette of parenthood: ‘Thanks for your help, I appreciate it.’
