‘Who cares? It was a great day. What do you say?’
Tilly sighed. ‘Look, I can’t. I’m sorry. I really do have to finish this and it’s only three weeks to Marlee’s benefit so I’m pretty busy.’
He laughed loudly. ‘Yeah you look flat out. So are we going to do the food for Marlee’s night?’ Tilly didn’t answer. ‘We could barbecue satay sticks. Remember the first time we made them? You ate the whole kilo on your own.’ He pointed at her. ‘And then you blamed Marnie.’ He glanced at his dog, who was sitting at Tilly’s feet. ‘Look at her, she’s dumped me for you already.’ He nudged Marnie. ‘Traitor!’
Tilly carefully folded down the corner of the page, then closed her book. ‘I’m not sure. We really need some decorations too and when I mentioned it to Pink yesterday she loved the idea.’ Jamie nodded, scratched his chin, avoided looking at her. She added more gently, ‘I can’t do decorations and food, as well as all the stuff I need to do before the contest. Sorry.’
‘Aha, do you mean pro surfer kind of stuff?’
Tilly caught her breath at the teasing look in his eyes, the warmth of his smile as he lowered his voice, resting his arms along the railing. She resisted the urge to lean over and kiss him. ‘Yeah, it’s full on at the top,’ and smiled when he laughed. This is it, she thought. Just tell him. Put it out there and see what happens. But when she opened her mouth, a completely different thought emerged. ‘Maybe it’s best if we don’t hang out together so much,’ she heard herself say. ‘I really want to but it’s been hard trying to get everything done.
The pulse of the surf filled the silence that dipped and spun through the air. Jamie looked at Tilly for a long time, nodding slowly as though he totally understood. She kept her face expressionless but under that thin layer of skin mud slides were taking place, pouring from someplace she couldn’t quite fix on and collapsing into a big hole inside her body.
Jamie stopped nodding and pulled himself up straight, his fingers tightly gripping the railing. ‘Is this about me being friends with Pink?’
‘Of course not,’ Tilly lied.
Jamie half turned, then looked back once for final confirmation. ‘Okay, I get it. See you.’ Marnie scrambled off the veranda to catch him and together they walked home without looking back.
Tilly hugged her book, her throat thick with emotion, her eyes welling with tears. She curled up into a ball, pulling the rug over her head, wondering what kind of fool she was to lie to her best friend then watch him disappear from her life.
Pink proudly hung the framed initials Fran had drawn above her bed, thrilled with both the illustration and her handiwork. She’d never made a picture frame before but Tony had helped her after work and gradually the old fence posts morphed into something sturdy and attractive. She knew how to do it now, and if she made a couple more she could frame some old photos to thank Fran for the drawing. She raced into the spare room looking for the photos taken when they first met at the Surf School.
The musty smell of old paper seeped out of the wardrobe and Pink held her breath, slipping her hand through the silky fabrics of Christie’s expensive evening dresses to a box at the back. She dragged it towards her. It wasn’t the green box with her albums but a much older box with several albums she’d never seen. She picked up one with a thick blue cover with Christie Hanson written on the front.
Pink gasped with excitement. Her mother’s childhood album! Finally she’d have proof that her mother had braces and wore bad fashion like the rest of them. Quietly she closed the door, leaned against it, then opened the book.
Christie was sitting out the front of her parents’ old redbrick house. Pink chuckled at her mother in a shabby navy school uniform, sniggered at her wearing thongs and shorts, a roll of baby fat bulging over the waistband. And she had a mullet! Pink collapsed sideways, suppressing giggles as she slipped the photo out of its protective sleeve.
There were other photos of Christie as a chubby teenager. Pink gazed at them for a long time, unnerved by the physical similarities between them. So why, she wondered, hurt and confused, did she always make Pink feel like she’d failed because she was not a tiny dress size? She peered more closely. There was something else un-Christie-like about the image. This wasn’t the sleek Christie that Pink knew. There was a softness, an optimism she hadn’t seen before. She liked it. It made her mother look gentler, more approachable. What made her change? Pink wondered.
The photo on the next page cut through her body like a shockwave. In these photos her mother must have been about eighteen and Pink had never seen her look so beautiful. She still had a fuller shape, but her blonde hair was loose and flying everywhere and her smile was dazzlingly happy. She looked like a girl in love. And standing next to her, his arm around her waist, was not Pink’s dad, Mitch, but Marlee’s dad, Jack Finn, with the same skinny build as Marlee, the same straggly blond hair.
There were more photos, pages of them. All Christie and Jack. On the last page Pink looked at the date printed onto the corner of the photo, a flood of realisations clashing together. Pink lay back on the floor, legs up against the door, fingers knitted across her belly. The year she was going out with Jack was the same year that she married Mitch. It was also the same year that she was born. How could that be? Unless … Unless Mitch wasn’t her real dad. Pink rolled over, her face pushed into the carpet. No, she couldn’t believe that.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Later that afternoon Pink tapped on Fran’s shed door, almost falling into the room before Fran could fully open it. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, concerned. Pink opened her mouth but for once nothing came out. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Everything.’ Pink’s voice was tiny, lost. She turned her back to Fran, head against the window. ‘Do you ever have days when you feel like you’ve shrunk? You know, you look normal but inside half of you has disappeared and it’s a struggle to do anything?’
‘I’ve had days when I can’t show my paintings to anyone. I get that crawly scared feeling then. Is that what you mean?’
Pink turned back to Fran and nodded. ‘Kind of. My dad says I crash around like a bear through the undergrowth riding over everyone in my rush to make things happen, but some days, like today, I can’t even make a phone call. I’m not sure of anything.’
‘Are you worried about the party?’
‘Hmm, yep.’ Even thinking about it, Pink felt a rush of panic. ‘What was I thinking? I didn’t realise there’d be so much to do and I’ve got less than two weeks to pull it together. I should have done something less, less …’
‘Big?’ Fran smiled. Pink nodded, lapsing into silence. ‘Pink, do you realise that the whole beach is behind you on this? You’re making something amazing happen.’
Even though it cheered her up to hear Fran say that, Pink remained unconvinced. ‘But what if everyone turns up and it sucks? They’ll hate me.’
‘No they won’t. Besides, it’s up to them to make it a good time. That’s their part of the deal, so don’t worry about that.’
‘You think so?’ Pink rested her cheek on her hand, staring into the dusty reflection in the window. ‘Fran, do you think Marlee and I look alike?’
‘Er, no!’ Fran laughed. ‘That’s pretty random. Why are you asking that?’
Pink shook herself as though it’d quell the emotions boiling inside, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. ‘Ha, no reason,’ she hedged. ‘I just saw a photo of us as kids, that’s all.’ Even though she’d come to talk it over with Fran, she knew now that she couldn’t. The emotions attached to such a prospect were overwhelming, and if she put them out there now, she’d never cope with sorting out the party. She needed more time to think it through, then she would have to ask her mother, and maybe later she’d have the strength to deal with all of that.
Fran went to her table and leafed through sheets of paper. ‘This is finished.’ She held up an invitation.
‘Fantastic!’ Pink said, her mood picking up a little. She turned the invita
tion towards the light and it shone on Marlee’s footprints in the sand. ‘There’s a printer who comes into the hardware shop who said he’d give me a good price for printing. I can give this to him and then Jamie and I can deliver them to the shops.’
Fran handed Pink a large envelope for the invitation. ‘That reminds me. Do you remember we talked about Tilly a while ago? You know – about her, Jamie, you, being friends.’
‘Yeah,’ Pink said. ‘But we’re okay. We went to the warehouse together. We had fun.’
‘That’s good, but that’s not really what I was getting at,’ said Fran. ‘Do you know that Tilly likes Jamie – as more than a friend?’
The day kept getting more and more confusing and Pink was sure she detected a slightly accusing tone in Fran’s voice. ‘Well she kept that well and truly under wraps,’ said Pink, a little rattled. ‘How come I’m always the last one to find out these things? Whenever I see them they’re like brother and sister.’
‘They were but, I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I get,’ said Fran. ‘Yesterday I was shopping with Tilly and she stopped talking in the middle of a sentence, and when I turned around to see what she was staring at I saw Jamie collecting a trolley. By the time I’d turned back to Tilly she’d disappeared. You don’t look at a brother the way she looked at him.’
Pink dropped the envelope back onto the table. ‘So, is this leading up to being my fault somehow? First Tilly bites my head off because I mention that Marlee hasn’t any money; Marlee will probably be annoyed that we’re doing a fundraiser because she’s too proud to ask for some help; and now I’ve upset the balance again because I’ve come between Jamie and Tilly.’ Pink’s eyes welled in indignation. ‘I can’t do anything right, can I?’
‘I wasn’t implying that you’d done anything wrong.’ Fran rubbed her friend’s arm reassuringly.
‘Well what are you saying then, Fran, because you’re making me feel bad.’ Pink sniffed, her voice loud. ‘I came here because I already felt bad. And now I’m feeling bad bad.’
‘Shhh, calm down,’ said Fran, giving her a tissue. ‘I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just saying that I think Tilly really, really likes Jamie.’
‘Well, why doesn’t she tell him that?’ Pink blew her nose and sat down.
‘Maybe because she thinks you like each other and she wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt either of you.’
‘But I like someone else.’
‘Does Jamie know that?’
Pink paused. ‘I don’t know, but I’ve told him about Tony. I talk about him all the time. I figured he would’ve guessed.’ Pink looked at Fran for a long time. Finally she said, ‘I have to spell it out, don’t I?’
Fran nodded. ‘I think so. Hungry?’ Pink nodded, realising she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. ‘C’mon, let’s eat, then we’ll go through every single detail for the party. There are plenty of people who want to help so let’s do some delegating. Once it’s all on paper, you’ll feel a million times better.’
‘Morning, boys!’ Pink swung through the door just before opening time. She scanned the display area with a sense of satisfaction. The doors were arranged in a fan shape away from the window so the light poured in – especially now the windows were clean and the floor space had been reorganised to allow for easier traffic flow. Pink felt proud of the difference she’d made and liked the fact that more women were starting to use the store. Rod had commented on the improved atmosphere, crediting Pink at their last morning meeting, which now included freshly brewed coffee and a tea bun.
‘Afternoon!’ greeted Wayne.
‘Afternoon indeed, you cheeky devil. I’ll have you know I’ve been up since 6 am working on the fundraiser,’ Pink countered, but omitted to mention that she’d been awake since 4 am thinking about her mother going out with Jack Finn. Pink made her way to the rear of the shop, reappearing in her apron before collecting the order dockets for stock that had arrived earlier that morning.
‘Hey, Pink,’ called Rod. ‘When is that show of yours on?’
Pink pointed to the flyers on the counter. ‘Ten more sleeps. Been practising your hip hop?’ she teased.
‘Nah, don’t reckon I’ll be doing that, but a few more boys came in yesterday looking for you. Tony had told them about the party and they said they could help set up.’
‘Really? Wow, I can’t believe there’s been such a great response. Did they leave mobile numbers?’
Rod put a crumpled sheet of paper into her hand. ‘Here, I wrote them all down.’ There were a few snickers and Rod looked a tad embarrassed.
‘He’s a good secretary, isn’t he, Pink?’ joked Tony, peering around his grandfather’s broad shoulders.
‘The boys here think I’ve gone a bit soft in the head, doing errands for you.’
‘You’re so good to me. Thanks, Rod.’ She kissed his cheek.
‘Hey! What about me?’ said Tony. ‘I told them about the party. He just wrote down the phone numbers. Anyone could have done that.’
Pink pushed gently past him, waving a wad of dockets under his nose. ‘My mother told me never to kiss glockenspiel players.’
Tony laughed. ‘Where are you getting this list of instruments from? Did you buy a “Weird Orchestral Instruments” DVD?’
Pink dipped her chin, disappointed. ‘Look who’s making assumptions now, Anthony.’
‘Okay, okay, I’ll tell you what I play.’
‘Ah!’ Pink put a finger across his lips. ‘No. You won’t. I’ll guess. I told you that. There are only another twenty instruments on my list.’
Marlee got home late. She’d walked to the end of the beach and back watching the breeze lift a few whitecaps on an otherwise grey and nondescript ocean. All her money, including the notes from her father now changed into Australian notes, bulged in her pocket. There was enough for a flight to Shipwreck or to help her mother pay the bills. But no matter how badly she wanted to go to the contest, Marlee couldn’t go knowing her mother needed help.
The kitchen was warm from the heat of the iron, the air thick with starch spray and the baskets of crumpled shirts her mother ironed each week were neatly lined up against the wall. A row of ironed business shirts hung on a rack behind with folded washing stacked on the kitchen table. Trish hung up an ironed shirt and plucked up another in the same action. ‘Hello, love, you’re out late. Dinner’s in the oven.’
‘Sorry, went for a run and forgot the time.’ Marlee thrust a hand in her pocket and passed the crumpled envelope to her mother. ‘Here. This is for you.’
Her mother put down the iron and took the envelope, notes spilling out as she lay it onto the table. ‘There’s hundreds of dollars here! Where’d you get this from?’
‘My contest winnings, work and …’ She braced herself, not sure what her mother’s response would be. ‘… Dad.’
‘Your father?’ Trish looked shocked. ‘When?’
‘You know those letters he’s been sending me for years? Well I never opened them. Any of them. Until the other day. He’d sent us money in all of them. Sometimes his last ten dollars.’ Marlee carried her dinner to the table and slipped into her seat.
Her mother’s face softened. She sat quietly counting the money. ‘Marlee,’ she whispered, ‘this will clear all our debts. Thank you.’ She pushed a small pile of money across the table. ‘I don’t need this. Take it for the contest.’ Marlee felt like telling her there’d be no contest now, but didn’t want to spoil her mother’s good mood. ‘I’ll sleep like a baby tonight,’ Trish laughed, ‘and tomorrow I’ll pay the bills. I’ll put aside what money I can save over the next few weeks for you to go to the contest.’
Marlee shrugged, trying to look like it didn’t matter. ‘That’s okay. There’ll be other opportunities.’
‘There will.’ Trish hugged Marlee tightly. ‘There will. I know it. You’ve already achieved so much, Marlee.’ She went back to the ironing board, wiping a tear from her cheek. ‘Better keep going on these shirts, they’re being pick
ed up at 7 am.’ Trish opened the shirt collar, smoothing out the wrinkles. ‘So how is your father? I’ve often thought about him, wondered what he was up to.’
‘In his last letters he’d started up a business selling surf memorabilia.’ She smiled. ‘It must be going well because there was more money in his last few letters.’ Marlee washed her plate and put it on the draining board. ‘Do you think he’ll ever come back, Mum?’
Her mother hung the ironed shirt on a hanger. ‘If you asked him to I’m sure he would.’ Trish smiled sadly. ‘Jack didn’t leave you girls. He loved you. Maybe you should write and thank him for the money.’ She put another shirt onto the ironing board. ‘I think I will too.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
The computer slipped off Pink’s lap, waking her up. She put it on the couch then stood wearily, stretched her arms, rolling her shoulders backwards and forwards to get the circulation going. The spreadsheet on the screen displayed a row of ticks and Pink smiled with satisfaction. Fran’s help with sorting and delegating all the jobs had worked a treat, and they’d now secured the venue and set up a bank account. Jamie had sorted out the food, Tony the scaffolding and lights, Fizz the music, and a team of helpers were booked to set up. All they had to do was sell more tickets, thought Pink nervously. At this stage enough to break even would be good.
‘Jasmine!’ Mitch strode into the lounge room holding a bill. ‘Jas, have you been making a lot of calls this month?’
‘Hmm, no more than usual.’
‘You wouldn’t call a thousand dollars for this quarter more than usual?’ He read off the bill. ‘Calls to mobiles seven hundred dollars, local calls three hundred.’
‘Well maybe just …’ she held her thumb and finger close together so a split of light appeared, ‘… that much. But it’s for a good cause, Dad,’ she added hastily. ‘We’re holding a fundraiser to get Marlee to Shipwreck. It’s a surprise.’
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