'Something else?' he asks. Behind him the light through the doorway is greying.
Mum orders another tea.
It's Will's turn to sleep. I sit next to Mum, spinning my pinch pot on the tabletop.
Mum grabs it. 'Stop it. Or you'll drop it and then . . .'
Then I will have nothing in the whole world except the clothes that I'm standing in – and they stink.
I slide out and collect a newspaper from the table by the door. Mum and I split it. I've managed to get the employment section. I turn the pages half-heartedly until I see Mum has the section with the crossword and the sudoku, so I abandon my half and read over her shoulder.
The coffee boy brings us a pen. He slides two cappuccinos across the table.
'We didn't order these,' Mum tells him.
He waves his hand dismissively. 'It's on the house.'
'You are too kind,' Mum says. I think she's going to burst into tears, but she holds it together.
I scoop the chocolate off the top with the spoon and Mum drinks the coffee.
When the streetlights turn off it gets busier. A woman with her hair braided into two long plaits rushes in, hangs up her coat and wraps an apron around her waist. She pushes through the saloon doors behind the coffee machine, and soon plates of bacon and eggs, and toasted sandwiches appear. The waiter takes them to the tables. It smells great and my stomach rumbles.
A lady sits in the booth next to us with a plate of Turkish toast and mushrooms. She sprinkles the top with cracked pepper and then cuts the toast into little wedges. She presses the mushrooms onto the wedges with her fork and then eats the toast with her hands. Some of the mushrooms spill over the edge. The woman lurches over her plate to catch the stray bits.
Mum elbows me. 'Stop staring!'
As soon as she says it I realise that I've been leaning over the table with my mouth hanging open.
Will stirs. When he sits up his hair is all sticky-up and he has a seam down his cheek from where he's been lying on the edge of the cushion.
We give up on the sudoku and Mum flicks through the rest of the paper.
'What time is it?' Mum asks.
I switch on Declan's phone. 'Just after eight.'
She heads off to the QVB to see if the toilets are open yet.
While she's gone, Will and I make up a game. When a new customer comes in we guess how much money they have left in the whole world.
'That guy took a redundancy package and his mother just died.' Will nods towards a paunchy middle-aged man in a navy suit. 'He paid off his house and bought himself an Audi. He still has thirty thousand to invest in shares, but he's waiting for the right moment.'
'No, he has a company car,' I say. 'He bought the Audi for his wife. His daughter started a double degree at Macquarie this year and he's paying for that up-front.'
I watch a woman in her twenties with straight brown hair and a funky dress. 'She's just finished her degree. She still lives in a share house, but she's earning real money for the first time. She's saving up for a new car. She has eight thousand already.'
'She did have eight thousand, but she went to Fiji over the summer with her uni girlfriends, and she spent the rest on shoes,' Will tells me. 'She has three hundred in her account, tops.'
'That guy still lives at home,' I whisper. The thin young man jingles change in his trouser pocket. He wears a tie and has his sleeves rolled up, but he's wearing red suede sneakers. 'He's single, but he's been in love with the same girl in the office for ages. He's too scared to ask her out. He goes out drinking with his mates all weekend. He has about three thousand in the bank.'
Will shakes his head. 'He doesn't drink. He wants to be a professional triathlete, but he's not quite good enough. He dreams of owning a yacht one day and doing a round-the-globe trip, but he has an old car that breaks down all the time and eats up all his savings.'
When Mum comes back she looks better. She's washed her face, but her eyes are still puffy. Then it dawns on me that she didn't sleep. She watched over us instead. In my head I see images from all the wildlife programs of mother big cats – leopards and cheetahs watching out while their kittens rest. It makes me teary just thinking about it.
My mum is quite cat-like. Even through all of this she's maintained her dignity. I have only seen inaction – a kind of numbing denial. But maybe she knew what was going on all along?
Maybe she was copping it on the chin?
I rub my eyes and pick up the paper that I abandoned before. I flick through, and then I see the ad. I can't believe it. I lay it down flat.
'Hey! Listen to this: "Long-term, live-in manager wanted for Wombat Crossing boutique holiday cabins. Check in and out, answer phone enquiries, take reservations, cleaning. Live on site, free accommodation. Would suit family or couple. Easy drive to local schools and shopping centre. Small remuneration package."' I stare at Mum and Will. 'It's perfect!'
Will snatches up the paper. 'Awesome! It would be like being on holiday all the time!'
Mum's wearing that face again. She would hate it. I know she would, but it would be a home, and we'd all get used to it. It would be quiet, and I could go to a normal school, and be a normal person with a roof. We could stay in one place and be a team.
'This is not the sort of job you take on a whim,' she begins.
I pull out Declan's phone and thrust it into her hand. 'Ring them!' I say. 'Ring them now!'
'They have long-drop toilets, Jenna-Belle. Remember?'
'But it's a place to stay!' Will argues. 'I'll help out, I promise. I could do stuff before school, and on weekends. It would be ace!'
'Tell them we can start now! Today!' I implore.
Mum looks at Declan's phone. Will and I have our eyes glued on her face.
She punches the number in. She licks her lips. 'Ah yes, good morning,' she says in her smooth phone voice. 'I was just reading the paper from . . .' She flicks to the cover, and winces. 'Ah. The important thing is that I saw your ad. It leapt out at me because our family have been to Wombat Crossing on a holiday, and it was so . . . memorable.' She pauses. 'Really? Is that so? Uh-huh. Thanks.'
She drops the phone back on the table.
'Well?' I ask.
She sighs. 'They found someone already.'
28
TWENTY-FOUR
DOLLARS AND
FORTY-FIVE
CENTS
At nine a new waiter arrives. The coffee boy pulls a jacket on and leaves. Nobody has asked us to leave yet, or order something else, but they will. Then what? There's only so many things you can do in the city for free.
'We can go to the art gallery,' Mum says. She's been thinking about it too. 'Would you like that?'
Will nods, but not enthusiastically. 'Maybe we could sneak in to a movie? They only check your ticket once. After that we could see two, or even three, and it would be warm in there.'
'But it would be stealing,' Mum says. 'Besides, how are we going to sneak in? The art gallery might have a video installation, which is almost like a movie. It might even be better than a movie – more meaningful.'
The look on Will's face makes me stifle a chuckle.
The mobile rings. I look at the screen before I answer. It's Declan.
'Talk quick, I only have one bar left,' I say.
'You were weird afterwards,' he says, starting in the middle of a sentence, like we always do. 'And I think it might have been what I said. I was joking, you know. It was a stupid joke, but I didn't know what to say, because it was all my dreams come true. You're my dream girl, Jenna-Belle, and some days I can't believe that you even want to talk to me – that's how perfect you are.'
I don't say anything.
'Are you there?'
'I'm here.'
'I can't believe you're going to be in a whole other country.' He sighs.
'What? I'm not going to another country.'
He laughs. 'Yeah, it's just like here except they talk funny. Do you think you'll get an accent?'
&nbs
p; I frown. 'I don't think so!'
'I suppose you're on the train now.'
'Train?' He's lost me.
'Hey, maybe your dad could give me a job too? I could help in the kitchen. Does the place even have a kitchen?' He laughs. 'I didn't even know they had wombats in New Zealand!'
'What?'
He pauses, like he's talking to a slow child. 'Your dad. He told me yesterday all about how he applied for that job ages ago at the Wombat Hotel, or whatever it's called, and they only just rang him to say he could start right away. And then you said, "Yeah, I know. In New Zealand." But I didn't know they had wombats in New Zealand.'
I can feel all the blood draining from my face. 'Declan, I've got to go.'
My fingers are trembling when I dial the retrieve messages number, so I have to do it three times. I hold the phone up to my ear. Now that I'm sitting still – not travelling under the concrete overpasses – Dad's message is clear.
Jenna-Belle, this is your father. I spoke to Declan just now. I was hoping you would be here. I wanted to tell you that I got a job managing that place Wombat Crossing, I don't know if you remember it. You kids were happy there and I thought maybe you wouldn't mind coming to see me in school holidays if I moved there.
Suddenly, I have a pain in my throat, as if I've swallowed a tennis ball. It must show on my face because Mum says, 'What is it?'
I put my finger on my lips. 'Shh!'
Well, it's a bigger job than I realised. But I hoped . . . maybe we could all do it together. Your mother would have to do room cleaning, and some book work. You kids would have to pitch in answering phones, working in the tuckshop, and neither of you are going to like that, but I think we can make it work.
The tears are running down my face now.
It's probably best if we don't live together, given the circumstances, but there are two cabins side by side. I thought that might do us for the first little while. I have to give back the rental car this afternoon, so I'll be catching a train down there tomorrow morning at nine-twenty from Central. Maybe the three of you could meet me there. We could all travel down together and then we can talk about it in person. I made a mistake, sweetheart. Please forgive me.
Beep. End of messages. Press 1 to listen to this message again, press 2 to save. . .
I press 1 and hand the phone to Mum.
I watch Mum's face as she listens. Her face is red. She puts her hand over her mouth.
'I can't believe it,' she whispers.
'What is it?' Will yells. He leans in so he can hear too. His mouth is getting wider and wider. All of a sudden they stare at each other. Will grabs the phone out of Mum's hand and stares at the screen. 'Stupid thing's gone dead! What time is it?'
'It's after nine already!' I say.
We scramble out of our booth, pushing past customers on our way through the door. On the street the three of us run along the footpath. We have to skip and jump through the jostling pedestrians. At the traffic light Will hops up and down on the spot.
Two blocks down we can see the clock tower above Central Station. Ten past nine.
'We're never going to make it,' I moan.
We're lucky with the next lights. Will runs ahead on his long legs. Mum pants behind me.
'This is why you shouldn't smoke!' I say to her.
'I know, I know!' she puffs.
We run up the slope, past the tram. We're close to the entrance now. I tilt my head back, looking at the clock. Fourteen minutes past.
'We're not going to make it!' I gasp.
'Yes, we are!' Mum's got her second wind. She sprints past me up the hill and towards the front entrance. I lean forward and pelt after her. I haven't run so fast in years. I wonder when I stopped? My lungs are going to burst. It feels great!
Inside Mum races towards the ticket office. Out of breath she asks for one adult and two children for the nine-twenty southern train.
'There's no nine-twenty,' the man says.
'What are you talking about, you stupid man?' Mum shouts.
The ticket man shakes his head. 'I'm sorry, lady, there is no nine-twenty. There's one at twelve-ten. I can put you on that instead.'
'My husband is on that train! Don't you get it? We're in a hurry, you idiot!'
My mother is making a scene. Will and I stare at each other.
She goes on. 'It's quarter past already. You're making us miss it!'
A voice comes from behind us. It's Dad. 'Sue! I'm here. Sue!'
He has one of those tall, waxed cardboard cups with a domed plastic lid. He's standing there casually drinking from the straw.
Mum turns around. Her face goes white.
'It's my fault. I read the timetable wrong,' he says.
'Bastard!' Mum shoves him, and he has to take a step back to steady himself. 'How could you do that to me?'
Dad stares at her for a moment, then he offers her the cup. 'Slurpee?'
29
WOMBAT
CROSSING
The train pulls out of the station and we're on our way. I lean my forehead on the window and close my eyes. Alternate flashes of grey and vermilion cross my eyelids as the sunlight shines on my face through the trees. I turn the pinch pot over and over in my hand.
I know that I smell and my head's a bit fuzzy because I've had too much Slurpee, but I can put all those feelings of discomfort in a little box in my head and padlock it, because now we are going somewhere.
It's just overnight. We're coming back tomorrow to pack our stuff. We're not getting removalists this time. Dad said we have to hire a truck and do it ourselves.
I wonder if the caretaker's cottage at Wombat Crossing will have a flush toilet. The other cabins had lamps that you have to light with a match and a gas stove in the kitchen. I hope that if the shower is still a bucket, it's a bigger bucket than the one before. There won't be any television.
There used to be a common room where guests could play board games. It had a swap library system filled with dog-eared, trashy novels that I will enjoy. There was lots of sports equipment too.
Dad says my job will be to strip the beds and organise the linen service. Mum and I will mop and clean the bathrooms. Dad will split the wood and then take a big trailer around to the different cabins. Will can stand on the back and throw logs in piles near the fireplaces, and use the ride-on to mow around the cabins. Mum will do the accounts at night. Dad will take the bookings.
Dad says the owner is sending a National Parks and Wildlife officer to teach us how to catch snakes, herd goannas and safely move possums. Mum is going to hate that!
Dad said he'll stay in one of the empty cabins so we can have the caretaker's cottage, to be with Mum, except we haven't told the owner that. The owner thinks we are a normal family who live together.
I don't know how long we're going to stay at Wombat Crossing. I don't even know if I'm going to like it, but it's a good place to start again.
Maybe Declan could come and stay with us sometimes. He'll hate it, but if my mum can adjust then Declan can too. He'll get his licence soon. If he gets his own car then I can make him drive back home when he's annoying me.
Girl Next Door Page 18
