True Blue

by Sasha Wasley

  Cheeks burning with anger, stomach sick with disgust, Free turned and left. When she got home, Finn’s front door was open, a light shining through the screen door. She would have liked to vent about Aidan’s unpleasantness to him, but that was impossible. Instead, she went inside her unit and tried Beth’s phone. It went to voicemail. Free hung up, sighing, and set to work making dinner. Maybe she could do a stir-fry? Or a curry? Dammit. Not enough vegetables – and no spices. Free groaned. Pasta, yet again. She could hear Finn humming and singing, and the sound made her heart ache.

  Seemed she could attract the worst sort of guy, while repelling the best ones.

  After that Thursday, Aidan’s unpleasant overtures ended, transforming into contempt and sarcasm. He only spoke to Free to disagree with her opinion or make a smart-arse remark about greenies. Or feminists. Or hippies. Nothing she said was correct, or even worth his attention. If he wasn’t ignoring her altogether, he was smirking to show how stupid he considered her opinion. It was a relief to go to work on Tuesday knowing it was Aidan’s day off.

  At least Free’s students continued to remind her how much she loved her job. Cameron was so confident that the Born and Bred theme would get approved, he’d already started planning his tile. He had spoken to his grandmother about Jamadji art techniques he might be able to use. His nanna wasn’t an artist, but she directed him to a local gallery that dealt exclusively in authentic Aboriginal art, and Cameron asked Free if they could visit as a class.

  ‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘I know Olly, the owner, from local art events. Exhibitions and so on. I wonder if we could take an excursion after school this week. Who else would like to come?’

  A number of the other Year Elevens were willing, so Free asked Jay if the outing was allowed. Jay gave Free permission slips the kids’ parents could sign and Free arranged a Friday afternoon visit with Olly.

  She succeeded in avoiding Finn for yet another week – until Friday morning. Free was on her way to school when blue and red flashing lights once again appeared in her rear-view mirror.

  ‘Ohhh no,’ she murmured, checking her speed as she pulled over on the quiet residential street. She looked down to see if she had a seatbelt on – she did. As an afterthought, she twisted around to check her boot was properly closed. Looked okay. Crap. What had she done this time?

  She climbed out and waited, gazing at the cop car. Oh good Lord. That was Finn in the vehicle with another police officer. They appeared to be having a heated discussion, and the female driver, at least a decade Finn’s senior, finally pointed at his door, her face stern.

  Reluctantly, Finn climbed out and approached Free’s car, sunglasses on. Free shrank against her car door a little, just like she had the first time she met him. Before he’d showed her his warm, wonderful eyes.

  Finn kept his sunglasses on. ‘Hi, Free. Didn’t mean to spook you. It’s just, well . . .’

  He gestured at her car and for the first time she noticed what was on the roof. Her handbag and a travel mug of coffee.

  ‘Oh!’ Free gave a slightly strangled giggle. ‘I’m so sorry! I’m such a moron.’

  He reached for the coffee and she went for her handbag, tossing it into the car. Their fingers touched briefly as Finn passed her the coffee cup and Free went hot with embarrassment.

  ‘Will I get a fine?’ she managed.

  ‘No, of course not,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t want you to lose your gear.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He nodded and headed back to join his partner in the car. After a few steps, he paused and turned back to her.

  ‘And you’re not a moron.’

  He went on his way.

  Free got back into her car and sipped her lukewarm coffee, hands shaking as tears started to prick her eyes. Damn him. Why did he have to be so infernally sweet – and yet not fancy her?

  Not bloody fair.

  Jay poked her head around the art-room door. ‘Free, we’re going to Mounties after work. You coming?’

  Free was balancing cleaned brushes in jars, bristles up. ‘I’ve got the excursion to the gallery but I’ll pop in for a drink afterwards, okay?’

  Jay gave her a thumbs up and Free resumed tidying the classroom. She loaded the oil-paint box onto a shelf in the art storeroom and the art assistant, Inga, edged past Free to place a box of lino-cutting tools on another shelf.

  ‘Hey, Inga, are you coming to Mounties?’

  ‘No, I think a quiet night’s in order for me.’ The older woman smiled. ‘A glass of wine and a nice dinner at home.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Free looked over the school’s collection of ceramic stains and glazes. ‘Are these all the glazes we have?’

  Inga glanced down. ‘Yep, as far as I know. It’s a decent range of underglaze colours. You’re not using oxides, I don’t think?’

  ‘No. And clear glaze?’

  Inga nudged a tin with her shoe. ‘Right here. Almost full. Most of the kids learned how to apply glaze suspension with an airbrush in Year Nine.’

  Free bent down to inspect the ceramic glazes more closely. She levered open a half-used bottle of underglaze and found it sitting in a stodgy mass at the bottom of the container.

  ‘Doesn’t look too good,’ Inga remarked.

  ‘No. That’s nasty.’

  Free opened each of the others until she unscrewed the white and was hit with the stench of sulphur. Free fumbled to get the lid back on, blinking, and Inga coughed.

  ‘That’s turned,’ she said.

  Free flapped a hand to clear the air. ‘Yeah. Most of these haven’t even been opened, but they’re old.’

  She paused to read the composition chart on the tin of clear glaze suspension. Aidan stepped into the storeroom, bumping past Free as though she were an unexpected obstacle. Inga manoeuvred her way out.

  ‘Causing a traffic jam,’ Aidan commented to no-one in particular.

  ‘What do you think about this glaze, Aidan?’ Free asked.

  He looked at the tin she was indicating. ‘It’s a clear glaze. It’s used to varnish ceramics.’

  She attempted to ignore his sarcasm. ‘I don’t have much respect for that brand.’

  ‘One brand’s much the same as another when it comes to glazing suspensions,’ he said. ‘I didn’t pick you as a brand snob. That’s not very egalitarian, is it?’ Aidan’s mouth pulled up on one side. He’d amused himself, it seemed.

  Free gave up on the discussion and resolved to do further research when she got home. She met her students as the final bell rang and herded them into the centre of town for their gallery visit. Olly, the owner, was a man in his fifties. A smile lit up his weathered face when he saw her, and Free leaned in for a hug.

  ‘Hey, Olly! Long time no see. Thanks for letting me bring this bunch here to visit you today.’

  ‘No problem.’ Olly examined her students. ‘You want to learn more about Aboriginal art, I hear.’

  ‘They’ve been introduced to the topic,’ Free told him. ‘Jay invited a visiting Whadjuk Noongar artist, Marjorie Crump, to come in and show them a few things in Year Ten.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I know Marj. Her art’s a bit different to our local Jamadji art, though.’

  Free nodded. ‘And now we’re doing the tile wall project on heritage – hopefully. So Cameron and maybe some others want to explore ways to tell their families’ stories. Right, Cam?’

  Cameron looked at Olly. ‘I’m Jamadji. My great-great-nanna was a servant on a cattle station and she had a baby to the station owner. Her daughter, my great-nan, she got taken away. Stolen generation.’

  Sadness tightened Free’s throat. ‘I didn’t know that, Cam.’

  He gave half a shrug. ‘Yeah. My nan told me herself. She’s one of the organisers for the Sorry Day march in Mount Clair every year. But her mum, and her mum’s mum, they didn’t like to talk about it. Great-Nan was five when they took her away, so she remembered it happening and everything. They stuck her in a home down south and she didn’t get to see her
mum again until she was nearly thirty.’

  One of the other girls in the class had a similar story. Something crossed Olly’s face that made Free think he had his own story, but he just indicated his gallery.

  ‘Some of these paintings tell stolen-generation stories. Come for a walk around with me.’

  He took them on a tour of the artworks, explaining some of the imagery, then let them have a go with the painting materials he kept in a large studio at the rear of the gallery. Olly took Cameron under his wing and talked him through the differences between male and female artistic styles used by the local nation so Cameron wouldn’t misrepresent the Jamadji tradition.

  ‘What about if I work on my tile designs with my nan, so that the women’s stories get told, too?’ Cameron asked. ‘Would that be against the rules?’

  ‘I reckon that might be okay, actually,’ Olly said. ‘As long as you’re not trying to tell people’s stories for them, or without permission, you know what I’m saying?’

  Free assisted the other students and tried out some of the techniques herself. They finished up around five.

  ‘You’ve cleaned me out,’ Olly said with a chuckle, checking his paint supplies as the kids were tidying up.

  Free felt dreadful. ‘I’ll replace them!’ she said hastily. ‘I can get acrylics just like that.’

  ‘I was only kidding,’ Olly assured her. ‘I’m almost out of lots of colours. We do workshops for aspiring indigenous artists in here, so we get through a lot of paint.’

  ‘Miss Patz has the best paints,’ Cameron chimed in.

  ‘Is that so?’ Olly eyed Free. ‘Where do you get your paints from?’

  ‘Online, from Bostons. You?’

  ‘I order most of mine in from the Carrolls catalogue but the range is bloody awful. And I have to use three separate wholesalers for ordering, so the shipping’s ridiculous.’

  ‘You should use Bostons,’ Free told him. ‘They sell everything in one place. I’ll drop by and show you the paints. You won’t believe the quality. And the cost – so cheap.’

  ‘Come in and show me. I’m here tomorrow if you’re not busy.’

  Free nodded. ‘I will.’

  ‘Miss Patz is getting in paints for the school now,’ Cameron added.

  ‘Are you going into distribution, Free?’ Olly asked with interest. ‘I’d love to have someone come around once a month to check what we’re low on and order it for us. I hate doing that job, and I’m shithouse at it.’

  ‘Oh!’ Free considered it. ‘I could probably do that.’

  ‘Good stuff! Let’s talk about it tomorrow. Now, I’ve gotta close up, so you mob’ll have to get out.’

  The kids called their thanks and piled outside onto the pavement. Free farewelled a couple of students who were going straight home, and walked the remaining three back to the school to wait for their lifts. When everyone had gone, Free hopped into her car and headed for Mounties. She would just have one drink and a short chat tonight, she decided, and then head home. She was knackered.

  Inside, she wound her way through the crowded hotel. A bunch of people she’d gone to school with were there, and they called out greetings. Free stopped and chatted for a couple of minutes but declined when they invited her to join them.

  ‘I’m going to sit with my teacher friends,’ she told them with a grin. ‘I’ve officially joined the dark side!’

  She found Jay, Max and several other staff members in the beer garden. Jay made room for her and whispered in Free’s ear. ‘Look who’s graced us with his presence tonight.’ She nodded across the table and Free saw Aidan, chatting with the sports teacher.

  Free pulled her gaze away before he could catch her looking. ‘I’m glad he’s trying a bit harder to fit in now.’

  ‘How did your gallery excursion go?’ Jay asked.

  ‘Great! Olly was fantastic. He let us try some of the techniques in his workshop space, and really helped Cameron a lot. I just hope the Born and Bred concept gets approved so they can actually use what they learned.’

  Jay finished off her wine with a shrug. ‘The kids’ll be able to use it no matter what.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Free munched peanuts from the bowl on the table. ‘Olly’s the best. Oh, Jay – Olly asked me about managing his art-supply ordering using Bostons, too! I might have to open a shopfront soon.’ She laughed.

  ‘Do you sell art supplies, Free?’ another teacher asked.

  ‘I’ve got an account with an online wholesaler, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ she said. ‘It’s just, I’ve got a couple of friends who run market stalls, selling their own crafts. They buy a lot of artsy stuff.’

  ‘If they want to order through me, they can,’ said Free. ‘But they could just do it directly.’

  ‘Cool, I’ll let them know.’

  Jay watched Free thoughtfully. ‘You know, we’ve got a busy arts community up here. This town needs an art store. Maybe you should look into that.’

  The other teacher looked appalled. ‘Art store! God, no, Jay. Online’s the way to go. Free could just have a web store and avoid the overheads of renting a business premises and all that crap.’

  ‘I think I’d prefer that,’ Free confessed, shooting Jay an apologetic look. ‘I could probably handle placing orders through Bostons and posting or delivering stuff to people. But I’m not reliable enough to turn up and open a shop every morning.’

  Jay shook her head with a half-smile. ‘You’ve been reliable enough to turn up to work every day for us.’

  Free remembered being pulled over before school and laughed weakly. ‘I almost didn’t this morning!’ She told them the story and her audience guffawed.

  ‘I did that with a full shopping bag once,’ said Jay. ‘But I wasn’t as lucky – I lost my cargo. I only realised what had happened when I went to get something I’d bought and noticed a whole bag was missing. Some lucky Mount Clair pedestrian scored some cornflakes, vegemite and tampons that day.’

  ‘Glad I’m not the only scatterbrain in town,’ Free told her, giggling.

  ‘You having a drink, Free?’ Jay asked. ‘I’m ready for another.’

  ‘I’ll get it for you.’ Free rose. ‘My shout.’

  But Jay pressed money firmly into her hand. Free headed for the heaving queue at the bar.

  ‘Free!’

  It came from behind her and Free twisted around, scanning the crowd until the call was repeated and she spotted Phoebe Challis standing a few bodies away. She manoeuvred her way through the throng to give Phoebe a hug.

  ‘You look pretty. I love your skirt,’ said Phoebe. ‘God, Mounties is packed tonight, isn’t it?’

  ‘You said it. You look nice too. Cute romper. I haven’t seen you for weeks. How’s things?’

  ‘Good! Crazy week at work. They keep gradually reducing the number of tellers, but the problem is it’s getting busier in Mount Clair with all the diversion dam workers flying in. It’s embarrassing how long the wait times are some days.’ Phoebe made a face. ‘Hello, angry customers.’

  ‘Ugh. I hate that banks don’t provide human service any more,’ Free sighed. ‘They seem to forget that sometimes people need to talk to someone about their money stuff.’

  ‘Highly automated banking doesn’t suit small towns,’ Phoebe agreed. ‘Come sit with us, Free?’

  ‘I’m here with the teachers but I might join you for a chat before I leave. Where are you sitting?’

  Phoebe pointed out the table and Free saw Kate, Hendo – and Finn. She turned back to the bar, an unpleasant warmth creeping up her neck and cheeks.

  ‘Briggsy not here tonight?’ she said, trying to sound carefree.

  ‘No, he’s working.’ Phoebe leaned in conspiratorially. ‘I finally gave in to his latest matchmaking strategy. I’m on a date with Finn Kelly tonight. You know him, I think? The new constable.’

  Free’s stomach flipped itself into a knot. ‘Yeah, I’ve met him.’ She hesitated, but made herself ask. ‘How’s the d
ate going?’

  Phoebe shrugged, a small frown touching her face. ‘Good, I think. Who knows? I’m not great at dating, to be honest. My track record with relationships is piss-poor. But Finn’s being sweet and attentive, and he hasn’t walked out in disgust yet, so it seems to be going well.’ She laughed. ‘Briggsy says Finn was falling all over himself to go on a date with me, so I figured, what the hell?’

  ‘Cool,’ Free said through a tight throat.

  The barman was ready to serve her at that moment, and she had to force her thoughts back into coherence so she could remember Jay’s request. She got herself a soft drink. Phoebe kept chatting brightly while Free waited for her drinks. When the barman finally handed her the order, she made an escape, keeping her eyes resolutely on the beer garden doorway. No way would she look at Finn . . . Finn, who was falling all over himself to date Phoebe. Bitter jealousy rose inside her as she thought about him telling her that he wanted to be ‘friends’. No wonder. He’d already met someone else.

  Well, that solves the big mystery.

  ‘You okay?’ Jay asked as she arrived back at their table, handing over the drink and Jay’s change.

  ‘Yep!’

  ‘You look a bit hot and bothered.’

  ‘It’s hot. Bloody hot. And that bothers me.’ Free forced a smile and Jay chuckled.

  Free’s phone buzzed and she checked it, finding a message from Beth.

  You home tonight? I got takeaway and have SO MUCH Indian food. Want to come over and share?

  Free could have wept with gratitude for Beth. Yes, she wanted to go and eat takeaway with her big sister and get away from the train-wreck this night had become! She downed her lemon squash in three gulps and jumped up.

  ‘My sister just reminded me I’m supposed to be somewhere else,’ she said. ‘I’m going to love you and leave you. Sorry, everyone!’

  There was general outcry and then some hugs, blown kisses and goodbyes. Aidan watched, expressionless. Free made for the closest exit, keeping her eyes carefully away from Phoebe’s group. Hopefully, she could sneak out unnoticed.