Those Pleasant Girls

by Lia Weston

  ‘Carnival was cool,’ said Mini D.

  Travis noticed Mary and Evie both gave a tiny, simultaneous twitch.

  ‘Did you have a good time, Evie?’ said Travis.

  ‘Yes,’ said Evie brightly. ‘Lots going on. Lots and lots.’

  ‘How did the face painting end up?’ said Mini D.

  ‘Fine.’ For some reason Mary reminded Travis of a bird watching a human approach, poised for flight.

  ‘How was the closing ceremony?’ said Mini D.

  ‘Fine.’ Evie’s knife hit the board with a crack.

  ‘Ooookay,’ said Mini D, giving Travis a look.

  ‘I thought you saw it,’ said Travis.

  ‘I had an assignation,’ said Mini D, looking superior.

  ‘With the fairy floss machine? You ate so much you looked like you’d been taxidermied,’ Travis said.

  ‘I believe,’ said Mini D haughtily, ‘that that is the whole point of a carnival. Oh, you missed the Sturns at lunch yesterday,’ he added to Mary. ‘Mr Sturn ate a whole corn cob. Like, the whole thing.’

  Mary sucked a marshmallow into her mouth. ‘Liar.’

  ‘I’m fairly sure Zach could eat an entire corn cob without chewing,’ said Travis.

  ‘He wasn’t there. Mr Sturn said something about rehearsing some nativity thing.’ Mini D briefly paused to look at his pad, then went back to sketching.

  ‘Nativity? That’s Christmas. That’s not for months,’ said Mary.

  ‘He’s going to need that long to learn his lines,’ said Mini D, flipping the page over. ‘They’ll have to make him flashcards. Phonetically spelled. Jeee-zus. Ayn-gel. Bay-bee.’

  Mary turned in her chair. ‘Mum, when’s the nativity play?’

  ‘Hmm?’ said Evie, looking around. There was a pile of miniscule multicoloured squares on the board in front of her. ‘Last week of November. It’s Quentin’s baby. Joy wants to “jazz it up”. I’m staying out of it.’

  Mary and Mini D immediately did jazz hands.

  ‘Do you think Zach’s band will be the support act?’ said Mary. ‘Baby Jesus’s first concert.’

  Travis poked a hole in his marshmallow layer. ‘At least the congregation is already deaf.’

  *

  By the time Mini D finished, the table looked like an art gallery. Violets, bluebells, lilies, roses, bumblebees, sparrows, doves, deer, and more, all reproduced in perfect detail. Evie touched the pictures one by one. Mini D had even drawn them from different angles to make them easier for her to model. Little bugger, he’d added some two-headed deer and a turtle with antlers.

  The artist was perched on the end of the table like a gargoyle, pencil still in hand. ‘I can change them if you don’t like them.’

  ‘They’re perfect.’ Evie gave him a hug.

  ‘Your ears are going re-e-e-d,’ Mary singsonged at Mini D. Her phone pinged. She glanced at the screen, and then looked again. ‘Oh my God.’ Her thumbs jabbed the keyboard. ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘What?’ said Travis.

  ‘My dad. My dad’s coming to visit!’

  ‘What?’ said Evie.

  ‘Will be heading down your way early November. Will come and give you a birthday hug,’ read Mary. Her whole face was turning pink. ‘Oh my God. You guys can meet my dad.’

  Gabe was coming to Sweet Meadow. Still holding the picture of the two-headed deer, Evie wondered why blood hadn’t started running out of the taps as a warning.

  The orchard was soaked in gold, the dying sun sinking to split and disappear. The ravens were there, as they always were, hidden in the branches, their voices echoing across the trees in harsh repeat.

  Zach was doing his best to drown them out.

  Mary sat in one of the double car seats, legs folded underneath.

  She would have liked to pretend that it had been a last-minute thing, a casual coincidence that culminated in her just happening to be in the area at the right time, but no one would have been fooled. She knew, and the guilty look she wore in the mirror knew, and Zach probably knew as well, that it was the result of too many hours spent in self-debate, and a final decision that not going would say more than going would. This way she was in control of the whole very weird situation.

  She also had to get out of the house. The kitchen looked like a cake supplies shop. You couldn’t move for rollers, spatulas, tubs, cutters, scrapers, smoothers and forty other things that Mary had no idea existed until they turned up next to the blender. Evie had spent three hours yesterday making leaves. How long did it take to make a leaf?

  Zach sat on the edge of the stage, eyes closed, strumming his acoustic guitar and bleating earnestly.

  ‘Wanna hear a song?’ he’d said when she first walked down the driveway. Mary didn’t really but didn’t know how to politely refuse. He was now three songs deep into his repertoire and she couldn’t figure out how to get him to stop. Only the feeling that he was trying to impress her saved her from bursting into flames of mortification.

  She had to give it to him, he really did emote a lot, even for an audience of one. Mary wasn’t sure whether it was cooler for her to look impressed or unimpressed. She settled for raising an eyebrow.

  In all honesty, most of the songs sounded the same. At first she thought perhaps she wasn’t sophisticated enough to understand them, but after half an hour of nonstop serenading she realised his music just wasn’t that great.

  Zach’s impromptu set finally ended. Mary’s claps sounded thin in the space before the stage. She decided against adding a ‘whoo’.

  He jumped off the stage and ambled over, leading with his hips. Mary had never understood the appeal of skinny jeans before. Now she understood. ‘What’d you think?’

  Mary had been working on something that was complimentary without exactly being a lie. ‘The third one was my favourite.’

  ‘Yeah?’ When he looked surprised, she wondered whether she had inadvertently picked the worst song. Or perhaps it was a trap and there was no third track; it was one long, long, long song with pauses.

  The car seat leather creaked as he sat down. He pushed his hair back off his face then shook it so it fell forward again. While Mary was registering the pointlessness of such an exercise, she tried not to be mesmerised by the shape of his lips. Or the fact that she could smell sweat, very faintly, and it smelled rather good.

  ‘You should put a CD out or something,’ said Mary, in lieu of more cerebral conversation.

  ‘Yeah, we’re doing a demo. Mrs Piece keeps hassling us about it.’

  And there it was by association, the very slim elephant in the room: Therese. Mary could practically see her sitting on the edge of the stage in micro shorts, giving Mary an Arctic stare.

  Mary looked at her fingernails, trying to think of something to say. She didn’t want to bring up the face-painting thing, just in case it turned out to be a practical joke.

  ‘You know, the face-painting thing, right?’ said Zach.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Mary, determinedly examining her fingernails.

  ‘Why’d you leave?’

  She had a reason to look at him now. Was he insane? No, he looked genuinely confused. Was he incredibly stupid?

  ‘Um, because of Therese.’

  ‘What about her?’

  Okay, he was either incredibly stupid or evil. ‘She’s your girlfriend.’

  Zach exhaled. ‘It’s kind of complicated.’

  ‘How?’

  He stretched his arms up. There was a trail of hair leading down from his bellybutton. Mary was surprised that Therese didn’t make him wax it.

  ‘Because of the band. Therese’s mum knows people in the industry.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Mary had assumed that she’d be rejected because she wasn’t pretty or cool enough; being shelved because her mum wasn’t enabling someone’s artistic dreams, however misguided, was a new one.

  ‘There’s one other problem.’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Mary, trying not to sound sulky.

>   ‘I like you.’

  He had moved over during her intense cuticle inspection. Up close, she could see stubble. Up very close, she could see that his eyes had a hazel ring around the pupil. Zach, of all people, being the one to like her.

  The sun finally dipped, taking its golden fingers with it.

  Mary did not notice, and as Zach moved in for the kill, she saw nothing but him.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It was one thing to draw a bluebell. It was another entirely to make one that didn’t look like four blue blobs stuck to a bigger green blob. Evie flattened the cobalt material and started again. The nest of containers next to her held multicoloured prisoners – fat globes of fondant and gum paste swaddled in cling wrap.

  Everything had been going so well. She had been in her element mapping out the construction, calculating the weights, how many boards, what size the layers could be. It was like building a tiny skyscraper. Her pencil nibs whistled down rulers and across graph paper. Her fingertips flew over the calculator keys. The plans grew, the theory of the cake took shape. It had seemed so easy, she had wondered why she didn’t do it all the time. Then she hit the decorating phase and knew why. The piles of rejected flowers, lopsided ruffles and wrinkled offcuts began to grow, a brittle heap of failures.

  The mirror this morning confirmed that she had spent the whole night frowning in her sleep. She had tried to smooth out the furrows on her forehead with her fingers, to no avail, and slapped more moisturiser on. Soon she wouldn’t have any pores left.

  Mary pulled a chair up to the table and poked the row of metal spikes. ‘What are these?’

  ‘Flower nails.’ Evie picked one up and showed her the flat disc on the other end. ‘If you’re piping roses, you use this bit as a platform.’

  ‘Can you make a Pompon de Bourgogne?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea what that is,’ said Evie.

  ‘It’s a really rare rose. It’s got like a million petals.’

  ‘Then, no.’ Evie stacked her tubs of Lustre Dust together and moved them out of the way. ‘But maybe ask me again in seven weeks.’

  Mary squished some green fondant. ‘Why are you making stuff now if you don’t need it until then?’

  ‘Because if you dry decorations properly, you can keep them for ages. And believe me, I need the time to practice. Look at this.’ She held up a lily which looked like two anaemic sea slugs stapled to a telegraph pole. ‘Speaking of practice, shouldn’t you be studying?’

  Mary stretched the fondant out until it snapped, then jammed it back together. ‘I’ve done heaps.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mary in an aggrieved tone.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Evie, noting the octave leap which always denoted that Mary was lying.

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Where were you on Sunday? You didn’t get home until after dark.’

  With almost academic detachment, Evie watched Mary mentally scroll through a handful of possible answers. ‘With Mini D.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ said Evie, selecting a textured roller, ‘as he came here looking for you.’

  Mary’s mouth opened and closed a few times. ‘I was at the church garden.’

  ‘So you weren’t with Mini D.’

  ‘I was,’ said Mary, flushing. Soon she’d match rosy Rosie and would have to wear a pink tracksuit. ‘Earlier.’

  Evie shook her head. ‘You know you’re really bad at this. At least have a story ready.’

  ‘Stop hassling me, okay?’ Mary flung the fondant down and stomped out of the kitchen to thump up the stairs.

  She was hunched over in the window seat, a book closed on her knees.

  ‘Truce?’ Evie knocked although the door was already open.

  Mary shrugged, looking out the window.

  Evie crossed the room to sit next to her. The front garden was studded with blooms. The lavender hedges were neater than Evie’s utensil drawers.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘S’alright.’

  ‘But you need to tell me when you’re going out, all right?’

  Mary made a noncommittal noise.

  ‘Is everything okay, babyduck?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Nothing you want to talk to me about?’

  Mary’s gaze traced an invisible path back and forth. ‘Nope.’

  ‘I’m just worried, honey. You’ve got exams coming up. I want you to do well.’

  Mary sat silently for a moment. ‘Dad says he’s going to take me out for my birthday.’

  ‘Great,’ said Evie, ‘he can take you to the Holy Father. Even when you’re not at work, you’ll be at work.’

  Mary turned incredulous eyes to her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Evie, putting an arm around her shoulder. ‘Blame the cake. It’s making me stressed.’

  ‘You don’t want Dad to come.’

  ‘I want you to be happy,’ said Evie. ‘That’s more important.’

  Mary’s mobile rang.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Evie got up.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Mary to her caller, and put the screen to her chest. ‘Mum?’

  Evie paused in the doorway.

  ‘Can you please be nice to Dad when he’s here?’

  Evie had a brief fantasy about stabbing Gabe with a giant piping nozzle. ‘Okay, honey.’

  Mary tugged her striped T-shirt a bit lower at the front and tried to look sexy. After a minute she gave up and pulled her bag strap across her chest.

  He had told her to meet him at the orchard, at the far gate. Mary crossed the road, fussing with her hair. She had spent the previous night dyeing her blonde roots jet black again. To counteract the ammonia aroma, she had doused herself in perfume. Now she just smelled like a pharmacy.

  A fierce wind howled down the street, tunnelled by the trees. It lifted her fringe perpendicular and threatened to do the same with her skirt. Mary clamped the material between her thighs and shuffled, vaguely aware that she was looking ridiculous. This whole idea was ridiculous. What was she doing?

  ‘You normally walk like that?’ Phil’s van drew up alongside.

  Mary glanced over and kept shuffling. ‘Only when it’s this windy.’

  ‘Where’re you headed?’

  She checked her phone. ‘Corner of Orchard Grove and Gloria’s Run.’

  Phil whistled. ‘Long way to walk.’

  ‘Orchard Grove isn’t far.’

  ‘Gloria’s Run is. I’ll give you a lift.’

  Mary was about to refuse until another gust of wind blew her jacket open. ‘Okay, okay.’

  There was a book on the passenger seat. ‘You’re reading Nigella?’

  ‘It’s not mine,’ said Phil quickly.

  ‘The cakes are bookmarked,’ said Mary, flipping through it.

  ‘Haven’t seen you at Mum’s for a bit,’ said Phil, ploughing through the subject like a P-plater through a stop sign. ‘She was asking about you.’

  ‘Been busy.’ Busy fumbling around buttons, watching the orchard sky between her fingers, inhaling Zach’s mix of salt water and warmth.

  ‘How’re exams going?’

  Her flush deepened. Between seeing Zach, texting Zach and daydreaming about Zach, exams were taking an unsatisfactory second place. ‘Could be better.’

  ‘Could be hitting the books today, maybe.’

  ‘Like you?’ Mary held up Nigella.

  On Main Street, the pub was surrounded by dust-encrusted four-wheel drives and utes with tarps in the back. There were more utes at the petrol station. A kelpie stood on a tray, eyes fixed on its owner inside at the service counter. Out the front of the chicken shop, a man sat on a metal stool, finishing his cigarette. The Rose Apothecary’s windows reflected the clouds rolling in from the south, black-bellied and big-shouldered.

  Mary checked the map on her phone again, watching the tracking dot of the van.

  ‘Meeting friends?’

  ‘A friend,’ said Mary, and immediately wished s
he hadn’t.

  ‘Interesting spot to choose,’ said Phil.

  Mary cleared her throat. ‘That’s okay, you can just drop me off up here.’

  ‘Still a way off,’ said Phil.

  The gum saplings flashed by the window. The apple sign with the turn-off to Mini D’s was miles back. Mary fought the urge to grab the steering wheel.

  ‘I’d like to walk the last bit,’ she said. ‘You know, it’s a nice afternoon, and I’m early now, so . . .’

  Something in her voice caught Phil’s attention. He gave her an odd look but obligingly pulled over. Before the wheels stopped turning she popped the handle and slid out onto the dirt shoulder.

  ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  Phil leaned over the console. His mouth was almost hidden in his stubble. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Fine. Why?’

  ‘Just checking.’ Phil’s cheek went sideways, as if he were chewing it. ‘Sure you don’t want me to take you further on?’

  ‘Sure. But thanks.’

  ‘Call me if you get stuck.’

  She waved at the van as it did a U-turn back towards the town.

  The clouds were still rolling forward, their swelling stomachs dark.

  Mary walked along the wall and looked for the green gate. She should have told Phil not to say anything to Evie. But then again, why? She wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  *

  He had waited almost an hour after Mary left the house. She hadn’t even glanced across the road, instead smelling her hair and frowning as she shuffled down the footpath. Travis stayed behind the swings, his library copy of 1984 shielding his face. The wind slipped its fingers underneath the hem of his jumper. He felt cold all the time at the moment, despite the warmer weather.

  When Evie answered the front door, she was wearing an apron with cherries on it, the red strings gift-wrapping her waist. He had lied, saying he thought Mary was home. He knew she would invite him in anyway.

  Zach led Mary through the almond trees, which were shedding the last of their pink blossom gowns. There was a treehouse hiding between the cotton-candy branches, its roof studded with fallen flowers.