Maeve imagined Ned on her knee, playing with her new laptop. She wouldn’t want him to break it, but she would so love to have him around. This was probably his best Christmas yet and she’d missed it. His first Christmas, he’d been too little to appreciate any of it and Maeve had unwrapped all his presents. Last year he was only getting the hang of it, and this year should have been perfect. She tried not to think of all the fun she could have had with him. Suddenly, the new laptop lost its appeal and Dancing Man didn’t interest her.
Gtg. Cya she signed off.
If only she could hear the sound of Ned’s voice, maybe Christmas wouldn’t feel so depressing. She listened for the sound of her grandparents in the next room. She knew they were in the living room but the apartment was as quiet as a chapel. She went out on the balcony and put her iPod on, spinning to a song by Ashley Ballard called ‘Don’t Get Lost in the Crowd’.
Slowly she started to dance, in smooth, melancholy movements. It felt like a good song for her mood. But when Ballard sang about ‘finding your own voice’ Maeve turned off the music. She stood on the balcony listening to the sound of the surf breaking on the white beach. From far away came the sound of a child laughing. More sharply than ever, Maeve knew her old life was lost. She drew a deep breath.
15
Kingfisher Creek
On Boxing Day morning, Por Por was up early.
‘Quickly, Siu Siu,’ she said. ‘We have to be in Brisbane for when the department stores open.’
Maeve sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes sleepily. ‘Why?’
‘The sales! The Boxing Day sales, silly girl,’ said Por Por.
Maeve had never met anyone who knew how to shop like Por Por. It was like an adventure, a sport, a fantastic sort of game where the aim was to get the most beautiful objects or clothes for as little money as possible. Por Por always found the best things for the tiniest prices.
Por Por turned onto the freeway and put her foot to the floor. Maeve caught her breath. Goong Goong drove with such measured patience, it was always a shock getting into the car when Por Por was behind the wheel.
‘Aren’t you speeding a bit, Por Por?’ asked Maeve, watching the speedometer needle tip past 120.
Por Por sighed and eased off the accelerator a little. ‘Mrs Annie Mahoney, the woman who taught me to drive, she had no patience for speed limits. If she were alive today, she’d think it’s crazy we have these beautiful roads and have to drive so slowly on them.’
‘I never want to learn to drive,’ said Maeve, looking out the window at the landscape flashing past. ‘Not after what happened to Mum.’
Maeve could feel the mood inside the car shift. ‘Perhaps you’ll feel differently when you’re older,’ Por Por said quietly.
They drove in silence for the rest of the trip. Maeve hadn’t meant to make Por Por sad. There were so many unspoken rules between them, rules about what they could talk about and what subjects were taboo. Talking about Sue was definitely a topic that was too hard for Por Por to handle. Sometimes Maeve felt exhausted trying to navigate her way through the complicated maze of silences.
Maeve and Por Por returned from their shopping spree late in the afternoon, laden with bags of new clothes. Goong Goong was standing by the door, waiting for them. He tapped his watch impatiently. He had a flight to catch and needed Por Por to drive him to the airport at Coolangatta.
Maeve took Por Por’s bags and let herself into the apartment, excited to have it all to herself. She put a CD of her favourite dance songs into the stereo and turned the sound up high. As soon as she heard George’s ‘Breathe in Now,’ her mood lifted. This is what she’d been missing, music that filled the room and hummed through the floor. She pushed the furniture out of the middle of the living room and made a space big enough to dance in, big enough for her to stretch every muscle.
Even though she swam every day in the apartment swimming pool, her body felt stiff after weeks away from dance class.
When Santana’s ‘Just Feel Better’ swelled near its finish, Maeve felt a surge of energy, an extra charge in her movements. She didn’t mean to kick so high. She didn’t mean to catch the edge of the dragon plinth with her foot. The timing couldn’t have been worse. As the dragon slid forward, Por Por opened the door of the apartment, just in time to watch her favourite ornament tumble onto the parquetry floor and smash into pieces. Maeve ran to the stereo and hit the Off button.
‘Oh Por Por, I’m so sorry. I was only dancing,’ she said, kneeling to gather up the fragments.
Por Por stood staring down at the shards of broken porcelain, her face stiff, her eyes glazed. ‘It’s not important,’ she said.
She walked past Maeve and sat down on the sofa.
‘When is all this going to stop? It’s one blow after another.’
‘I’m really sorry, Por Por. I didn’t mean to break it,’ said Maeve.
‘No, Siu Siu. It’s not you. There’s been a disaster. A tidal wave, a tsunami,’ said Por Por. ‘It will be on the news by now. It’s swept away thousands of homes and lives. At the airport, it was chaos. They were cancelling flights, people stranded, their plans all changed. I said to your Goong Goong, I said, stay, but he went to Singapore and left me alone.’
‘You’re not alone,’ said Maeve. ‘I’m here, Por Por.’
Maeve sat beside her grandmother, holding her hand as they watched the news. Por Por seemed to be shrinking into the pale yellow sofa. The lists of countries affected grew longer. Maeve put her arms around Por Por and hugged her tight.
‘You’re a good girl, Siu Siu,’ said her grandmother, patting Maeve on the hand. But Maeve could see that Por Por was far away, thinking of people she knew in South-East Asia, thinking of other times and wishing that Goong Goong was with her.
Maeve felt guilty but she couldn’t wait to escape the apartment. Knowing that Bianca and her mother were going to take her down to Byron on New Year’s Day was the only thing that had made the quiet night in the apartment bearable. She’d already packed her bag, folding her T-shirts, rolling up her jeans and tucking her spare bathers into the side pockets of her dance bag days in advance. Por Por had wanted to buy her a new suitcase, but Maeve liked her beat-up old bag, even if the zip was stubborn and the fabric worn and raggedy.
On the morning of her departure, Por Por was grumpy. She banged pots around in the kitchen and pretended to find fault with everything from the texture of the congee to the fact that Maeve didn’t want to eat it. Por Por always had congee for breakfast, white rice porridge with a sprinkling of fresh spring onions and crunchy fried shallots on the top. Maeve was too excited to eat more than tea and toast. She dipped her spoon into the honey pot and then into her teacup, watching the gold liquid melt into the pale green tea. After breakfast, she sat on the carved ornamental chair in the hallway, her hands folded in her lap, quietly waiting while Por Por padded around the apartment, complaining that the cleaner hadn’t dusted her collection of jade ornaments, that the house plants were looking weedy and that she really wasn’t in the mood to have her friends around to play mah jong that evening. Maeve knew it was all because Por Por didn’t want her to go.
At 10.30 Bianca pushed the intercom in the foyer. Maeve grabbed her bag and raced to the door.
‘Aren’t you going to invite them up for tea?’ asked Por Por. ‘They’ve driven all that way. They’ll want a cup of tea.’
‘I’ll put my bag in their car and ask them,’ said Maeve.
‘Don’t be silly, Maeve.’ Por Por pushed the buzzer and spoke into the intercom. ‘There. They’ll be right up.’
Maeve glared at her grandmother. She knew that Por Por wanted to check out Bianca’s mother to find an excuse to keep her prisoner in the apartment the whole of the summer. She was just working herself up for a good argument when the doorbell rang. Por Por opened the door and then suddenly, there was Bianca. And Steph!
‘Steph! I didn’t know you were coming too. When did you get here?’ She threw her arms around both her g
irlfriends. It was so good to have someone her own size to hug.
‘They picked me up from the airport on the way here. I couldn’t let you two live it up in Byron without me!’ said Steph.
Bianca’s mother Serena followed the girls into the flat. Maeve worried that she was looking particularly boho in layers of floaty blue Indian cotton and long strands of coppery beads. Her thick brown hair was streaked with blonde highlights and her scarf had little bells along its edge that tinkled as she crossed the living room. Maeve glanced at her grandmother anxiously. It would be a disaster if Por Por decided Serena was ‘unsuitable’ – she might change her mind about letting Maeve go. But Por Por treated Serena like a long-lost friend, insisting she sit on the sofa and enjoy a cup of her best green tea.
Once Maeve realised that Serena was safe, she dragged Steph and Bianca into her bedroom.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ she said, as Steph and Bianca looked around her room. ‘I’ve missed you guys so much.’
‘Can we help you pack?’ asked Bianca, sliding open the big mirrored wardrobe and eyeing Maeve’s clothes hungrily.
‘You mean can you borrow something,’ said Maeve, laughing.
‘It’s been a total drag since you left. Steph’s gear – well, you know it doesn’t add a lot of pizazz to the communal wardrobe.’
Steph rolled her eyes and walked over to the window to look out at the ocean. ‘Great view,’ she said. ‘Do you like living here?’
Maeve picked up her dance bag. ‘I don’t want to talk about it now,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘I’ll tell you later.’
Outside in the street, a mud-splattered four-wheel-drive stood waiting for them. Maeve flung her bag in through the back door beside Steph’s huge blue suitcase, which probably held enough clothes to last the whole summer.
‘It’s not all mine,’ said Steph, catching Maeve’s expression. ‘I had to bring up emergency supplies for Bunka.’
Once they were off the freeway, flat fields quickly gave way to folds of hills as they climbed into the hinterland behind Byron Bay.
‘You are so going to love Kingfisher Creek,’ said Bianca. ‘That’s where we’re going to stay. My uncle owns it but he’s overseas. It’s paradise.’
They turned up a steep, muddy track and drove higher into the misty hills.
‘Wow, it’s like something out of The Lord of the Rings,’ said Steph, putting her face against the window. ‘You can almost see Elijah Wood stepping out from between the trees.’
Maeve looked out at the thick, green forest. It was like something out of a fantasy novel. Vines hung from huge trees, birds flitted in and out of the dense, lush undergrowth. Serena parked the car outside a sprawling timber house and Bianca jumped out first, putting one hand forward for each of her friends.
‘All for one and one for all, guys. The Three Musketeers together again, at last!’
16
Written on the hand
Maeve, Steph and Bianca stretched out on their mattresses and stared at the rain. They each had unrolled their bedding on the polished wooden floor of the guest bungalow. There wasn’t much furniture in the room but the long French doors opening onto the garden and the high cathedral ceilings made the room feel like a private temple.
‘I can’t believe our bad luck,’ said Bianca. ‘It’s never rained here before.’
Maeve laughed. ‘Of course it rains here. How else did it get to be so tropical-looking?’
‘Yeah, I know. But not when I’m on holidays. Not when I’m in Byron. It never rains then. I wanted for us to go surfing and get great tans before we go back. It’s all right for you. You can walk across the road any time and you’re at that big beach at Surfers – full of spunkrats.’
‘I don’t think so!’ said Maeve. ‘My grandmother won’t let me go to the beach by myself. She thinks someone will kidnap me or a tsunami will drown me. I just hang around by the pool. And I don’t really want a great tan, anyway. I get all these freckles.’ She touched her nose and looked at it, going cross-eyed with the effort.
‘Your freckles are cute. Asian chicks with freckles look authentic. Not like me,’ said Bianca. ‘If I had freckles, I’d just look – I don’t know – spotty.’
‘I’m not Asian. I’m Aussie.’
‘Whatever,’ said Bianca. ‘I just wish this rain would stop.’
‘I don’t mind the rain,’ said Steph. ‘This place is like heaven, even if it is raining. I love it, Bunka. And your mum is such a great cook too. Lunch was fantastic. I think I want to be a vegetarian too.’
‘Don’t encourage her,’ said Bianca. ‘She’ll do the full hippy thing on us and we’ll wind up eating lentils and tofu and all that weird vego stuff every night.’
Maeve sat up and shrugged. ‘Hey, my granny cooks tofu all the time. And I like lentils way better than chicken feet, which is what Por Por would cook for you if you stayed with us. So chill. Steph’s right, this place is paradise. Look at this room. It’s like a dance studio or a party venue.’
‘I know!’ shouted Bianca. ‘I know just what we should do.’ She jumped up and dragged her mattress over to the wall, clearing the floor. ‘Kingfisher Creek Dance School is about to rock ’n’ roll.’ She flipped through her CD wallet and put a disc in the portable player on the floor. ‘C’mon, Musketeers. Time to ‘Lose Control’ with Missy Elliott. You missed this one, Maeve. Louise got us working on it the week after you went up to Surfers. It’s serious hip-hop. You’ll love it.’
It only took a couple of run-throughs for Maeve to perfect the moves. Sliding into the finale she could feel a rush of adrenalin. Then, finished with hip-hop, they moved on to their anthem, the Thunderbugs’ ‘Friends Forever’. They leapt and spun, using every inch of floor space in the bungalow. Maeve felt sweat trickling down her back and wanted to shout with happiness. Bianca and Steph looked into her eyes and, as if they read her mind, they laughed before shouting the chorus, ‘We’ll be, you’ll see, we’ll be friends forever!’
They were working their way through a jazz piece when Serena came running across from the main house under the cover of a big blue golf umbrella.
‘Just like the three Graces,’ she said, as she opened the doors of the bungalow. ‘I thought you lot might be sick of being inside. What do you think about an excursion?’
‘Mum, you’re scheming. I know that look.’
Serena smiled. ‘Steph and Maeve will love it, darling. You know they will.’
‘Not Crystal Castle!’ exclaimed Bianca.
Serena ignored her and turned to the others. ‘Pop your sandals on, girls. We’ll go in about five minutes, okay?’
‘What’s Crystal Castle?’ asked Maeve, after Serena had hurried back to the main house.
‘It’s this sort of hippy place with crystals and fortune-telling and stuff like that,’ said Bianca.
‘Sounds cool,’ said Steph.
Bianca tipped her head to one side and gave Steph a sly look. ‘You and Mum have already talked about this, haven’t you? I swear, she should be your mother, not mine! Just remember, we’re not going to do any more magic crap. Not after what happened with the ouija board.’
‘You just won’t give it a chance. Magic stuff can be fun!’ said Steph, pushing a handful of curly hair away from her face.
‘Look, you don’t like Omar. I don’t like fortune-telling.’
‘Do you really not want to go?’ asked Maeve.
‘It’s okay. Someone’s got to play with Mum or she’ll get lonely. At least it’s somewhere to shop!’
Steph laughed and Maeve looked from one friend to the other. Something had happened between Steph and Bianca while she was away, as if not having Maeve to sort out their differences had forced them to grow even closer. It made her dread having to go back to Queensland without them. Janet Jackson’s song ‘Together Again’ was playing in the background as they sat in a circle, strapping on their sandals. Maeve shut her eyes for a moment and made a silent wish that they could stay together
forever.
They drove to Mullumbimby through thick, lush forest. The man selling tickets at the entrance to Crystal Castle wore a green velvet cloak. When Steph told him he looked like a real wizard, he flung back the cloak with a dramatic gesture and winked at her. Bianca had a hard time fighting down a snicker but Steph blushed scarlet.
‘C’mon,’ she said, grabbing Bianca and Maeve by the hand. ‘Serena said the gardens have a really magic feel about them.’
‘You were going to say “vibe”,’ said Bianca.
‘No I wasn’t,’ snapped Steph.
Maeve linked her arms through both of theirs. It was good to be between them again, to think they might still need her, connecting them. They came to a pond with an elegant Indian sculpture standing serenely in the centre. The sound of frogs croaking was so loud Steph covered her ears.
‘I can’t see any frogs,’ said Bianca, as they drew closer to the pond. ‘I bet they have a tape playing behind those reeds.’
‘You are such a cynic,’ said Steph.
‘That’s why you’re so lucky I’m your friend. You need me, Steph, or you’d be swallowing all this mumbo-jumbo wholesale.’
Maeve steered her friends along the winding paths and into the first gallery, where there was an exhibition of Mardi Gras–style costumes. The girls moved among the models, exclaiming at the intricacies of the needlework. Maeve couldn’t help thinking that her mother would have loved the designs. She made a mental note to draw one of the outfits in the green notebook that night.
Inside the main building, sunlight cut through a glass display case of crystals and created rainbow prisms of light on the floor. Wind chimes tinkled and the air was heavy with incense. Bianca headed straight to the jewellery display, but Steph had other plans.
‘Hey, look,’ she said, ‘you can get your aura photographed here!’
Serena came up behind them. ‘Why don’t you get one each, girls? My treat.’
A young woman explained that they had to sit in a chair that was especially designed for aura photography and keep their hands on the metal arms.
The Secret Life of Maeve Lee Kwong Page 9
