Then it occurs to me that they haven't actually done anything worth telling the police about yet, and if they do, I might not be in a position to give the description any more. Besides, these blokes might even be good mates of Bryce Cole's. School chums. Punting buddies. So I stop memorising.
The meaty man returns and shakes his head.
The gum-chewing frogman regards me for a moment. 'I didn't even know Coley had a kid,' he says.
Coley. See? Mates! They've probably got names like 'Bazza', 'Dazza', 'Wozza' or 'Macca'. I should be offering them a coffee, except there's no electricity to boil the jug.
'I've come to collect my car,' Frogman tells me. 'The bastard's not here. Again! Maybe I'll borrow something of his. See how he likes it.' He gets to his feet.
Meatyman says, 'Looks like someone's pretty much cleaned out the rest of the place already.'
'Figures,' Frogman replies. He points to the microwave. 'I'll have that.'
'You can't! It's inside the unit. It doesn't . . .'
Come out, was what I was going to say, but Meatyman looks around, takes the cleaver out of the knife block, and prises off the cabinet front. He hands the broken bit of timber and the cleaver to Frogman, then reaches behind the unit and pulls the microwave plug from the wall.
They're taking our microwave hostage. I'm glad they didn't think to take me, but still. 'Hey! What are you doing?' I shout. 'You can't take that! That's not Bryce Cole's anyway, it's ours! It's my mum's!'
Frogman sets the broken wood on the bench. He brushes the splintered bits of cupboard front off his hands. 'Runs on batteries, does it?' he sneers.
'Your elbows are gross! Haven't you ever heard of moisturiser?' I yell back at him.
'Haven't you heard of dermatitis?' he answers.
They traipse out the door. I follow.
'Hey!' I'm on the lawn, cupping my hands around my mouth. 'Help! Stealers! These guys are kidnapping our microwave!'
The men ignore me, discussing which is the best way to set the microwave on the back seat so it won't slip. 'Move that seat forward would you, Davo?'
'Help! Help!' I'm jumping, but no one even cares.
They get in the car and drive away. The plug from the microwave hangs out the bottom of the back door and drags along the road.
I go back inside and lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I remember Mum is in the hospital and I'm numb. There's nothing I can do. Chairman Meow stands on my chest, staring into my face. He's hungry, but we don't have anything for him to eat. I lie there trying not to think about anything. It's twilight. I see headlights arc across my bedroom wall as a car pulls into the driveway. I open the window and lean out. It's Bryce Cole.
'Where have you been?' I call down at him.
'Why is that any of your business?' he asks, slamming his car door.
'Because your mate Davo stole our microwave, and you better get it back!'
He slips the keys in his pocket. 'I'd better get it back, or what?'
'Or you can just move out! Mofo!'
'You listen here,' he says, narrowing his eyes and pointing at me. 'The reason Davo took your microwave is that I gave his money to your mother to pay your bills. And I was trying to make more money, but you got bored. You were tired. You wanted to go home. Remember? I told you not to open the door. If anyone lost your microwave it was you! You're the mofo!'
'Me?' I bluster. 'As if! And . . .' I'm searching. 'Betting is not a proper job!'
'Oh yeah? What money are you making?' he shouts back. 'Why don't you have a job?'
'Because . . .' Actually, I'm not sure. It used to be because I was concentrating on my studies. Well, when I was going to school anyway, but Sapph managed to do both. 'I'm not old enough!' I shout louder.
'Exactly!' he yells. 'So shut up, and stop telling me what to do!'
He presses his lips into a thin line.
'I don't have to put up with this rubbish,' I hear him mutter. He gets back in the car and reverses. He whips the car around and drives down the road with the tyres squealing.
I take off Dad's shirt and stuff it back in my cupboard. I lie down on my bed. Chairman Meow nags at me from the doorway. I put my arm around Albert Bear, my pillow over my head and start to cry stupid tears of frustration, because that's not what Bryce Cole was supposed to do. He was supposed to turn on the electricity, bring us some groceries and get a new microwave and maybe a telly too. He was supposed to fix it.
Somebody has to fix it.
12
A GOOD
QUESTION
Declan's dad brought Mum home from the hospital when he collected Declan. There was this awkward moment where he moved towards her to help her lie on the lounge, but she misread it and thought he was leaning in to hug her. She clutched at his neck, weeping, and over her shoulder I saw a look cross his face, as if he'd walked through a cobweb and was waiting for the spider to run over his cheek.
Now Mum's on the lounge staring at where the television used to be. Sometimes she gets up, gingerly, but most of the time she lies there with tears leaking out of her eyes.
I thought I was doing Mum a favour by going next door to call up her work and tell them she wouldn't be in. Her boss said that he didn't know she was pregnant. He's confused. I ask him if he's trying to tell me that he's giving her the sack. I mention Today Tonight and how they might feel about him sacking a pregnant woman who has just lost her baby, but he says she was already sacked. He tells me that they've filled her position with a very competent graduate who is happy to make the company his highest priority.
So where has Mum been going in the mornings? Does she get Declan's dad to drop her off and then just sit in the park all day?
We still have no power. I leave the room and come back later, and she's still there, but the room is darker. It's like time-lapse photography.
I squat next to her and take her hand. Her face is puffy and pink. She's tucked a tissue under her cheek to catch the tears. That's how tired Mum is. She can't even be bothered lifting her hand to wipe her face.
'Mum, why don't we just sell the house?'
I've suggested it a hundred times since Dad left. It makes sense to me and I don't understand why she won't do it. Every time I say it she turns away, as though I haven't said anything at all.
'We can rent. Make a fresh start.'
Mum smiles at me, and then her face scrunches up. She lets go of my hand and rolls over so she is facing the back of the couch, like Andy Capp. Will is standing in the doorway. We trade a glance and he beckons me over. I follow him to the backyard. Annie from the granny flat is folding washing from the line, so we head into the alleyway.
'We can't sell the house,' he whispers.
'Why not?'
'Because Mum and Dad bought it when the market peaked. Now it's in a trough. The house isn't worth what they owe on it, so even if they do sell it and give all that money to the bank they will still owe more money. Lots more.' He shakes his head. 'If we sell the house they will still have to pay for the mortgage, as well as pay rent wherever we live. And before you're allowed to move into a rental property you have to come up with a bond, and rent in advance. You have to get the phone and electricity connected. We don't have money to do that. Also, they'll do a credit check before they even give us a house to rent. We have bad credit. They won't give us a house to rent. Even people who have good credit can't find houses to rent.'
'So what do we do?' I ask.
Will shrugs. 'Hope they don't kick us out of here.'
'But what if they do? I mean, we were sent that letter. They said we had thirty days, and that was, like, two weeks ago!'
'We'll have to go to a shelter or something.' Will is still whispering.
'A shelter?' I repeat. 'Like homeless people?'
Will frowns as though I'm stupid. 'Yes, exactly like homeless people. We will be homeless people, Jenna-Belle.'
'How can they make us go? They can't pick us up and carry us out the door, can they? They'd have to let u
s go once we were outside and then we could run back inside again. Maybe we could build a fort or something?'
Will stares at me and then he walks away.
'What?' I say.
Will keeps walking.
'Hey, Will?' I call out.
He turns.
'Where's Dad?' I ask him.
His face flushes. 'Well, that's a good bloody question, isn't it?' he mumbles.
I head up to Declan's room and sit for a while watching him being diabetic. He is sighing and grumbling. He hasn't gone back to school yet so we've been watching DVDs and playing Skip-bo.
His mother came in the other day and asked why I wasn't at school. I wasn't sure what to say, and then Declan blurted, 'Bird lice. Finsbury is completely infested with them.'
'Isn't that convenient timing,' she commented. Then she attempted to flounce down the hallway, but of course a flounce needs to be accompanied by a bigger statement – something like my shandy saved your life – otherwise it's just a jig.
I'm shuffling the cards.
'I'm glad you're not going to the track any more,' Declan says primly. 'I think that man was a bad influence on you.'
'Bryce Cole is a bad influence?' I say. 'You're the one who makes me drink beer and let you grope me!'
He snorts. 'That was not a grope, and it was outside clothes. Besides, you know I can't have beer ever again, even if I wanted to.'
'Poor thing.'
Declan glares at me. 'I don't think you realise that I have to deal with this for the rest of my life, Jenna-Belle.'
'Yeah, well, I menstruate. Get over yourself.'
When I go back into the house Bryce Cole is squatting on the floor next to the lounge where Mum is lying. She's talking to him and her words are bursting out in stuttering staccato like typewriter keystrokes. I stand in the gloomy kitchen eavesdropping.
'I . . . I didn't want to do nappies again. The kids are old enough. To look after themselves. And the idea of starting all over. Again with. Broken sleep for years. Twenty-four-hour care. Again. And birth! God! From the beginning. Again.'
I peek around the corner. They don't see me.
Mum grimaces. 'It's like I wished it,' she whispers. 'It's as if I wished it to death.'
Bryce Cole rubs the tears from Mum's face with his thumb. They sit still for a long time, and then he says, 'You've got to keep running. Even though your heart is going to burst, you've got to get up and keep running.'
'Like Phar Lap,' she says.
'Like Phar Lap,' he repeats.
And after a few minutes Mum gets up.
13
THE OTHER
C-WORD
When I open the front door I recognise the figure standing on the step with his back to me as my father, and I think, Yes! All our problems are over. He's returned with the answer. We're saved! But when he turns around it's all wrong, because he's not supposed to knock on the door and wait. He's supposed to walk straight in, because he lives here, right? He's supposed to burst in, filthy from the gold mine or the oil well he's discovered, and sweep Mum up in his arms. Eureka!
It doesn't even look like him. He has a silly beard. He's wearing a spotty shirt that I've never seen before. He has a jumper draped over his shoulders as though he's in an ad for the pants he's wearing.
It's like when you return to a house that you haven't been to since you were little and it's not nearly as big and grand as you remember. I'm wondering how he could change so much in three months, or whether he's always looked like this and I never noticed because I saw him every day.
He has his hands on his hips, sunglasses on the top of his head and he's looking casual, as if he's been yachting in the Mediterranean. He's got a grin on his face as though he's trying to sell me a timeshare apartment.
'Er, hello, sweetheart.'
He's sweating. It's not hot. He's nervous. Why is he nervous?
'How was your holiday in the country?' I ask.
A slight frown crosses his brow. He decides not to go there. 'Is Willem at home? I thought the three of us might grab a burger.'
The three of us? So, Mum isn't invited? That's it? He's been gone for all this time and now he's going to buy us a burger? What the hell is going on here?
. . . Except I'm hungry, and I'm hopeful, so I find myself saying, 'Okay.'
'Dad!' Will yells. He pushes past me and throws his arms around Dad. 'Hey, man!' He's slapping Dad on the back.
Dad's wearing this weird expression. It's the look you have when you're trying to be pleased about a birthday present you hate. That look makes me feel bad all the way down in my guts, because this is wrong.
Standing in the doorway watching them hug in an awkward man way, all I can think about are the little good things about Dad. That time I was in the concert band and we were on last at the eisteddfod, after this tiny primary school from the bush whose bus broke down, so we didn't end up going on until after midnight, and most of the other parents went home. He didn't just stay; he also drove two other kids home afterwards. How when my karate group had a fundraiser, I was going to quit because I'd forgotten to sell my raffle tickets, and he took the whole book to work and said he sold them all, but I think he bought them all himself, and then he didn't complain when I quit anyway. And how whenever we shared a chocolate he would take the smaller half, and he always let me play my CDs in the car even though it was music he hated because he said it all sounded the same. But it's too late. I can feel it in my guts.
'Let me get Mum. She's sleeping,' says Will, grinning. He's so excited he's almost hopping up and down on the spot. 'She's still not feeling great after, you know . . . the miscarriage, or whatever.'
A wave of colour washes across Dad's face, but he plasters on a weird approximation of a sympathetic smile. He didn't know that Mum lost the baby.
They're not even talking to each other.
'Ah, no. I don't want to disturb her. How about we go, just the three of us, and I'll catch up with your mum later.' He tosses his keys in his hand, and I follow his gaze to the car at the kerb. It's not his car. It's a rental with a logo on the side.
I walk across the lawn with a weird buzzing in my ears. 'Your mum', so not, 'my wife', or even, 'Sue'. The knot in my gut tightens. He hasn't just gone away for a while. They've broken up. This whole time I've been assuming that this was all temporary. I'd thought it was like when there's a storm and the satellite is out. But that's not how it is. Our account has been cancelled.
'There's this guy, Bryce Cole, living here now,' Will tells Dad. He's got his elbow out the window and his foot on the dashboard. 'Nothing's going on, though. I just thought you'd want to know. And Annie's in the granny flat. Still. Mum must have told you about that.'
'Mm,' Dad grunts.
Will goes on. 'Did you know Jenna-Belle got kicked out of Finsbury? I got a scholarship.'
Dad nods but he doesn't say anything. He pretends to be concentrating on driving. I'm staring at the back of his head. We drive past the fish and chip shop. I'm expecting him to stop, but he drives on.
He takes us to McDonald's. We don't even eat in. He takes us to the drive-through, and then we pull up in the car park opposite the supermarket. Classy.
Girl Next Door Page 8
