by Sue Lawson
‘It’s just there’s this stuff happening at home and…’
‘What stuff?’
Sas shot me a look that was hard to read. ‘Personal stuff.’
Khaden shifted positions.
‘With … look, it’s complicated.’
Her face was sad, no tortured. I fought the urge to hug her, like I would have a couple of months ago.
She didn’t look up from her towel. ‘I’m trying to say I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you.’
I could feel Khaden’s stare and knew what he wanted, but it stuck in my throat. ‘So are we going to the pool?’ I said, standing.
‘Sure,’ said Khaden, his voice bright against the tension.
As I grabbed my bag and hat from the bench, my determination to be cool crumbled like Mum’s biscuits. ‘Hey, did I tell you Harrison was here when I came back that day?’
‘Oh no,’ said Sas, sounding more like herself. ‘What did you say?’
‘That I’d been to buy tampons.’
Sas’s laugh was deep as Khaden grimaced.
I shrugged. ‘Well, it was the first thing I thought of.’
‘Did he believe it?’ Sas led the way out the back door.
‘Yeah, but Dad still did his full-on “we trust you” speech, then came home three times the next day, first because he’d “forgotten” his memory stick, then because he needed some file, and the last time, a phone number.’ I pulled a face. ‘Like he trusts me.’
Khaden laughed. ‘Can’t blame him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, aren’t you still grounded?’
‘Yeah, but still…’ I pulled the gate shut.
‘I’m with Ruby, Khaden. I mean why go on about it, if you clearly don’t trust the person,’ said Sas. ‘Parents make no sense.’
Khaden, walking between us, placed his arms around our shoulders. ‘So everything’s back to normal then?’
‘What’s normal?’ asked Sas, which made me laugh.
While we walked, Khaden raved about this guitar he wanted for Christmas. The thing had about ten names. After hearing about it for two years, it wasn’t hard to remember a few of them. Gisbon, Les, Paul, Mick and Jones.
‘Khaden, give up. Where’s your dad going to find the money for that?’ I asked.
I could feel the change in Khaden’s stride.
My shoulders slumped. ‘Hey, I didn’t mean … it’s just my parents would never spend about eight grand on me for Christmas.’
‘Costs nothing to dream, Ruby,’ snapped Sas.
Nobody spoke for the rest of the block.
‘Traffic’s heavy,’ I said, when we reached the main road. I cringed at how lame it sounded. ‘Reckon I can make it across without stopping?’ I asked, trying to claw back the calm I’d smashed.
Sas stepped onto the gutter. ‘Bet you go before me.’
My heart somersaulted. ‘You’re on.’
‘You’ll both go before me,’ said Khaden, watching the traffic.
‘Are we stopping on the tram tracks, or going all the way?’ asked Sas.
I didn’t take my eyes off the road. ‘All the way.’
Khaden stepped back from the gutter. ‘No way, Ruby—three lanes is enough. We stop on the tram tracks.’
Sas and I tensed again. A gap opened between a van and bus, but we didn’t run. The lights changed from green to red and the traffic thinned.
‘Right,’ said Khaden. ‘This is stupid. We run when I say so, otherwise, we’ll be here all day.’
Sas nodded, her face set like an athlete waiting for the starter’s pistol.
‘Okay.’
The lights changed and the traffic surged over the hill like stampeding elephants.
‘Now!’ bellowed Khaden.
I ran, eyes focused on the tram tracks. Horns blared and a driver yelled. I skidded to a halt between the tracks. Sas bumped into me.
‘I didn’t think you’d do it,’ she said, laughing.
I wiggled my eyebrows and nodded at the other side of the road. ‘Rest of the way?’
‘Hey, Ruby, did you shut your back gate?’ asked Khaden.
‘Yeah, why?’
‘That dog looks like Mojo,’ said Sas, pointing back to my street.
I turned to look over my shoulder. Mojo charged towards us, pink tongue hanging out. The gate hadn’t snibbed. I had to stop her.
‘Stay, Mojo!’ I screamed but a supermarket truck swallowed my voice.
‘I’ll try to grab her,’ said Khaden.
‘No!’ I clutched his T-shirt. ‘She’ll just run to you.’ I yelled, ‘Sit. Stay. Stop.’
She slowed on the nature strip and I released Khaden’s T-shirt.
‘Good girl, Mojo,’ called Sas.
Mojo had always figured ‘good girl’ meant ‘do what you like.’ She tilted her head and galloped onto the road, tail wagging.
A Kia blasted its horn. Mojo picked up speed. Somehow, she ran between the front and back tyres of a truck carrying sheets of glass. One lane to go. There was a gap between a Toyota and Magna. Every muscle tensed. Should I call her so she’d run faster? Or did I bellow ‘sit’?
‘Come on Moj!’ I yelled. ‘Faster!’
Mojo sped up; her eyes alight, as though we were playing a game.
But the Magna increased speed too.
Its wheel barreled into Mojo’s shoulder.
Her high-pitched yelp tore at my heart. I screamed. Khaden and Sas held me to stop me running onto the road to her.
Still yelping, eyes now wide with terror, Mojo staggered forward and collapsed at my feet. Her body shook.
I knelt and reached out a shaky hand to touch her.
A dual cab, the back filled with ladders and pipes, pulled up beside us. A guy in a blue shirt hung out the open window. ‘That your dog?’ he asked.
‘What’s it to you?’ asked Sas, stepping between him and Mojo.
‘Is it okay?’ asked the guy.
‘I don’t think so.’ I stroked Mojo’s back.
A tram bell sounded.
‘Ruby. Tram,’ said Khaden, his voice urgent. He scooped up Mojo, who yelped and whimpered.
‘There’s a vet back that way. Jump in, I’ll give you a lift.’
I shook my head. ‘No, we’ll…’
‘Thanks.’ Sas flung open the door. ‘Come on, Ruby.’
Sas lay her beach towel across my lap. Khaden placed Mojo on it and ran around to the passenger seat. As the guy eased the ute forward, I noticed the blood streaming from Mojo’s nostrils and mouth and her fast, rattly breathing. Fear wrapped around my chest and squeezed.
‘Want me to come in with you?’ asked the guy, pulling up outside the vet clinic.
‘You’ve done enough, thanks.’ Khaden shook the guy’s hand.
‘Yeah, really, thanks.’ Sas came around to my door and opened it. Mojo whimpered as I eased out of the car.
‘Hey,’ I said looking over my shoulder to the driver. ‘Thank you. Very much.’
He tapped the door of the ute. ‘Hope your dog’s okay.’
Everything from then on was a blur.
Concerned faces. Mojo being taken from me and carried down a corridor. Waiting on hard seats. A dog yapping and straining on its lead. A ferret biting cage wire. The vet nurse, Michael, leading us to an examination room. A tall woman, the vet, drawing fluid into a syringe. Khaden speaking for me. Sas holding my hand.
Words— internal bleeding, serious, operate, parents.
Wondering why Michael gave me directions to a bathroom, then seeing my reflection in a glass door. Blood on my arms, smeared across my face and T-shirt. Sas helping me wash it off.
When Sas and I returned to the waiting room, everything came into sharp focus. Mum was there, talking to Khaden. I braced for an attack, but instead she held out her arms and hugged me. I broke free, my chin quivering.
While we waited, Sas scooted toy cars around the carpet with a blond kid whose Dad took their puppy for injections. Khaden
leant back in his seat, eyes shut, and Mum flicked through a magazine, foot tapping. I stared at the carpet.
The clinic doors opened and the air became colder. Without looking up, I knew Dad had arrived.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he asked, standing over Mum and me.
‘It’s not the time or the place, Stuart,’ said Mum, moving her bag from the seat beside her and motioning for him to sit. ‘Mojo is in surgery.’
Dad didn’t move. ‘What are you doing here, Ruby? You’re grounded.’
‘Guess you didn’t snib the gate either,’ I said, my voice flat.
Sas froze. Mum’s fingers bit into my knee.
‘I have better things to do than chase my out-of-control daughter,’ snarled Dad.
‘Yeah, like what? Lunch?’
Dad’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Behind his anger, I saw a glimmer of fear.
‘Ruby?’
Michael, now wearing one of those blue pyjama things that TV doctors wear, stood in the middle of the corridor. He motioned for me to follow him.
I didn’t move.
Mum placed her hand on my shoulder. ‘Come on.’
‘But…’
Sas and Khaden stood either side of me. Together we followed Michael. With each step, my heart sank further into the pit of my stomach. We crowded into a small examination room.
Mum and Dad hissed at each other, but I couldn’t be bothered trying to work out what they were saying.
‘Zia will be with you in a moment,’ said Michael.
‘Who’s Zia?’ asked Dad.
‘The vet,’ said Michael.
Before he left, I found my voice. ‘Michael? Mojo? Is she…’
He smiled. ‘Zia won’t be long.’
It was in Michael’s eyes and voice. Mojo was dead.
‘I forgot to ask his name,’ I whispered.
‘Michael,’ snapped Dad. ‘You just said it.’
‘Not him, the guy who drove us here,’ said Khaden, pulling a business card from his pocket and handing it to me. ‘I figured you might want to call him. Later.’
I nodded.
‘What guy drove you here?’ bellowed Dad. ‘I want answers now.’
Zia glided into the room, wearing the same blue pyjama things. She introduced herself to Mum and Dad and then turned to me, Mojo’s horrible, irresponsible owner.
‘Ruby…’
The walls closed in on me. I folded my arms. ‘Just tell me,’ I said, my voice shaky.
She nodded. ‘Mojo’s injuries were too severe.’
My nails dug into my biceps. ‘I want to see her.’
‘For God’s sake, Ruby, can we just leave?’ said Dad.
Zia glared at him.
‘Follow me, Ruby.’ The way she said it made it clear Dad wasn’t invited.
‘Can we…?’ asked Khaden. ‘If it’s okay, Ruby.’
All I could do was nod. An icy feeling gripped me and squeezed out the sadness, replacing it with fear. I wanted to run, but my legs refused and instead they followed Zia. Thoughts tumbled around my head. What if there’s blood? What if it smelt bad? Zia stopped outside the door at the end of the corridor.
‘Ruby, you’ll see where we shaved Mojo for surgery, but there isn’t any blood or anything.’
I nodded. I could feel the warmth of Sas and Khaden behind me. For a second, I didn’t want them here, then Zia opened the door. Under the window, on a steel table draped with a green cloth, lay Mojo. I rushed forward, a sob squeezing through my tight throat. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Moj.’
Who knows how long I stood there, crying and patting Mojo’s lifeless body. After a while, Michael came in and asked if I wanted to take Mojo home, which I did. When I returned to the waiting room, holding Mojo wrapped in a cloth, Dad had gone. Mum said he had to finish up at work. She ignored my scoff.
As Mum drove Sas and Khaden to Sas’s place, she chatted about Christmas and holiday plans. I sat wedged against the passenger door, Mojo wrapped on my lap. After Mum dropped off Sas and Khaden, we drove home in silence. She parked in our driveway and cleared her throat. ‘Ruby, what are you going to do with…’
‘Bury her. Under the lilypilly. She liked to sleep there when it was hot.’ I couldn’t take my eyes from the open side gate.
Mum pulled her keys from the ignition. ‘Why don’t you wait for your brothers and Dad to—’
‘No.’ My voice echoed off the car windows. ‘She’s my dog and this is my fault. I’ll bury her.’
‘They might want to be here for you.’
‘I don’t want them here.’
Mum nodded. ‘Can I help?’
I shook my head.
‘I’ll be inside. If you need me.’
Khaden
Khaden stared out the open window at the clear blue sky. Since Ginny had dropped them off at Sas’s place, they’d been listening to music. He tried to concentrate on the Train Wreck song, hoping it would fade the memory of Mojo’s yelps. So far, nothing else had.
Sas, sprawled in the beanbag in front of the fan, groaned. ‘It’s hotter in here, than it is outside.’
‘So, let’s go outside,’ said Khaden.
‘Could be a breeze out the back, I guess,’ said Sas, wriggling out of the beanbag. ‘Meet you out there. Gotta go to the bathroom.’
The air in the corridor was so still and heavy, Khaden felt he was cutting a path through something solid. On the back step, he looked across the yard, taking in the sandpit by the back fence and the blackboard nailed to the palings.
A memory flashed through his head, of him and Taj at home, helping their dad build a sandpit under the golden ash. He must have been about four. Khaden could hear the hammer and feel the weight of the nails in his hands. After Mike had finished, he, Taj and Khaden had driven to a garden supply place to buy sand. Khaden remembered the smell of the damp sand as the backhoe tipped it into the ute tray.
Khaden, Taj and Mike had built cities, castles and dinosaur landscapes in that sandpit. Now the golden sand was dirty, the plastic dinosaurs, spades and buckets long gone.
Sas handed him a tall glass of iced water. ‘Is it better out here?’
‘How about under the lemon tree,’ said Khaden. As he walked across the grass, gripping the cold drink, he tried to remember the last time he, Mike and Taj had mucked around together in the back yard.
Ruby
Stuff the water restrictions. I took the longest shower of all time, letting the water wash the dirt, sorrow and tears down the drain. After I’d dressed I lay on my bed, cuddling Milly, my toy dog, which, according to Mum, I’d carted everywhere since I was one. Through the window I could see the dirt under the lilypilly. The whirr of the ceiling fan was the only noise in my room.
Dad’s Land Rover rumbled into the drive. One-fifteen. I wondered if cancelling lunch had been the ‘thing’ he had to sort out at work. Mum and Dad’s low voices rolled like an ocean beneath me. I didn’t strain to make out their words. I didn’t need to. I knew they’d be talking about me. And Mojo.
I closed my eyes, letting the draft from the ceiling fan settle on my skin.
‘Ruby. Down here. Now!’ Dad’s voice blasted up the stairs and battered my closed door.
It had only taken them ten minutes to decide my fate. With a groan, I stood, placed the stuffed dog on my pillow, checked my reflection and headed downstairs.
Dad sat at the head of the table, mouth a thin line. Mum was beside him, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. I slumped in the seat opposite.
My bum had just hit the seat when Dad started. Words smashed into me—disgrace, irresponsible, idiotic, out of control. One word exploded in my brain. Dishonest.
I fought to stop my own words spraying at him like machine gun fire.
‘Don’t scowl at me,’ he bellowed.
Mum uncrossed her legs and pulled her seat closer to the table. ‘Stuart, yelling isn’t going to achieve anything.’ Her voice was calm and soothing.
‘Well, what will?’ Dad
asked. He glared at me and sucked in his lips. Something pulsed above his right eye. ‘That poor little dog.’ He drew out each word.
A sob lurched into my throat and I hung my head.
‘You can tell the boys what happened to Mojo.’
I nodded. The tears in my eyes made the world sparkle.
‘Oh, and Ruby,’ he added, his voice even harder. ‘You’re grounded, absolutely not to leave the house except to go to work, for the rest of the holidays, and—’
‘Stuart—’
‘Don’t Stuart me, Ginny. I’m over her!’ He was yelling. ‘It’s time she pulled her head in.’ He leaned forward, leering. ‘And,’ he repeated, his eyes narrowing. ‘I’m confiscating your phone and iPod, plus you’re banned from the computer until school goes back.’
‘Oh, come on.’ I leant back in my chair. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘Neither is what happened to Mojo.’
Two words— tell him—slithered through the black hate clogging my mind.
The phone rang. Mum pushed back from the table.
‘Leave it,’ snapped Dad.
‘What if it’s Archie’s school?’
Dad sighed.
As Mum answered the phone, a rushing sound filled my head and my vision cleared. The wrinkles on Dad’s face were sharper, the greys sprinkled through his hair, brighter. ‘Do you remember my Economics excursion? The one to the law courts?’
Dad frowned. ‘What the hell does that have to do with Mojo?’
‘I saw you in a café in a lane off Lonsdale Street.’
At first, his frown deepened. Then a look I couldn’t describe flashed across his face. Fear? Confusion? Maybe guilt. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ he said, staring at his hands.
His face paled and my courage grew. ‘The bus dropped us in Little Lonsdale Street and we had to walk through this lane to the courts.’
‘Ruby, you must have been mistaken,’ he said, smiling as if I was a three-year-old. ‘There are no cafés around there.’
I leant forward. ‘There’s a car park on one side of the street and a florist, a bakery and all these cafés on the other, and I saw you. You were sitting in the window and you both had coffees in glasses, lattes. She had a bowl of something, soup or salad and you had a focaccia or maybe a Turkish roll. There was a bunch of red gerberas on the table, wrapped in purple plastic.’ I leaned back from the table. ‘Mum loves red gerberas.’
