I’ve always been able to boss Fern.
‘I am going to be busy,’ she said. ‘I’m going to the basketball game with Lynton.’
‘Looks like we’re all going, then,’ says Lynton as the Cokes and nachos roll up.
‘Maybe Darren would like to come too?’ I suggest.
‘Okay. I’ll ask him.’
Good. I’ll make sure I pair with Lynton and Fern can have Dog’s Breath Darren. I slide a smile at Fern and she glares back.
‘You’re no friend of mine, Leanne,’ she hisses, as Lynton excuses himself and goes over to another table where there’s a heap of guys, including Dog’s Breath Darren.
‘No loss to me,’ I say. ‘You were the one who spaded Lynton: you’re just getting what you deserve.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah!’
‘Hi, girls.’
It’s Darren standing beside Lynton, who’s grinning like a laughing clown. A waft of his breath tugs at my nostrils, and I widen my eyes. He smells … breath-fresh! Darren smiles at me and I gasp. He looks … gorgeous. Darren with pearly white capped teeth is quite a hunk!
‘Darren, we have a small problem,’ says Lynton. ‘I can’t handle two gorgeous babes at the basketball on Sunday afternoon on my own.’
(Oh, please! I’m gonna spew!)
‘I’ll take Leanne,’ says Darren.
‘I thought I’d take Leanne and you can take Fern,’ says Lynton, leering at me.
How did I ever think he was a hunk?
‘I’ll have to see how I feel after the wedding,’ I reply. ‘My mum’s getting married on Saturday, you know. I might be too tired on Sunday to go anywhere.’
Now I’ve got two of them after me I don’t want either of them. There must be something seriously wrong with me. I guess I want Danny and he’s in the middle of Australia somewhere doing Aboriginal stuff.
‘I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Fern.’
‘Not if I see you first,’ she says. She’s still mad at me.
‘I’ll ring you,’ I go.
‘Don’t bother,’ she says, as I walk off.
Great. Now I’ve got two guys I don’t want and I’m fighting with my best friend, I’ve got a gooba for a brother and my mother’s marrying a cop. What else can go wrong?
I go out into the street and it’s raining. Great. I’m going to get soaked and I’ve just had my hair done. Not a bus in sight.
Over it. I’ll have to hitch. Mum’s always raving about the dangers of hitch-hiking but this is an emergency. I stand under a shop verandah and when I see a car approaching I slightly raise my thumb. I don’t want to look too obvious in case some maniac pulls up.
The first car that stops is driven by Dracula’s grandfather. No way will I get in this car.
‘You want a lift?’ he says, leaning across and opening the passenger door.
‘No thanks.’
‘Why did you signal, then?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You had your thumb up.’
‘You need your glasses changing, Grandpa.’
He swears at me and shuts the door with a bang. Creep. I wouldn’t get in his car if it was the last one on earth.
The next two cars don’t stop. Then a white panel van pulls up.
Oh, no. It’s Steve the Super Cop. He leans across and winds down the window.
‘What are you doing, Leanne?’
‘Cleaning my teeth,’ I go.
He waits. Mum’d be yelling and screaming by now. Steve drums his fingers on the steering wheel.
‘Okay, okay, I’m waiting for a bus.’
Steve raises his eyebrows then looks pointedly at the bus stop ten metres down the street.
‘Get in, Leanne.’
Well, it’s a free ride, but.
‘You were hitch-hiking!’ he says as I pile in beside him. ‘How many times has your mother told you never to hitch-hike?’
‘Millions.’
‘Well?’
‘Well what? I wasn’t hitch-hiking. I was … er … biding time.’
(I heard that expression on an old movie. Biding time. I like it. I’m going to use it a lot from now on, especially when Mum wants to know why I’m not zooming round helping her clean the house. “I’m biding time, Mum.” It sounds cool.)
Steve sighs as he changes gears. I glance sideways at him. I don’t know what Mum sees in him really. Okay, so he’s nice enough, but he’s got grey hair going slightly bald at the back, a fat stomach, wrinkles that’d make a tortoise look like it was using expensive collagen cream to good effect, and age spots all over his hands. He does have nice eyes, a sort of greenish grey. But otherwise, forget it. Mr Universe, not.
But then Mum’s not exactly Elle McPherson, either. She’s short and dumpy, even though she’s been on this massive pre-wedding diet. I hope my genes don’t make me take after Mum. No, I couldn’t, I’ve got long legs up to my armpits and Mum’s a short-arse, close to the ground. I’d hate to look like Mum in twenty years’ time.
‘Getting nervous about the wedding?’ I ask Steve as we barrel along.
‘No. Are you?’
‘Me? No, why should I?’
‘Your mother’s starting to get a bit edgy,’ says Steve. ‘Wonders if she’s doing the right thing. I just had a call from her, something about a smashed cake and Sam doesn’t like her wedding dress.’
‘Sam didn’t say anything about not liking her dress,’ I snap. ‘He said she looked lovely. And you should be glad the cake got smashed up: it was gross.’
‘She’s upset about something, that’s why I’m going to see her.’
‘Pre-wedding nerves.’
I’ve read about them in magazines. We should’ve gone ahead and given her a hens’ party with a male stripper, to take her mind off getting married. I wanted to, but she went psycho and said she’d lock herself in the dunny if we did. I would’ve liked a male stripper.
Fern’s cousin Cordelia had a hens’ party and male stripper. Fern said it was a disaster but it sounded a full-on rage to me. It was the stripper’s first job because he’d just got out of jail the week before, and when he drank a few beers he went berserk. He heaved a chair through the window (with Fern’s Aunty Lil on it) and kicked in Cordelia’s car because she wouldn’t go out with him. Then some of Cordelia’s friends gave her heaps of Cointreau and shoved her on a plane: when she got her head together she’d found she was in Brisbane! I thought it was a hoot, but when I told Mum it made her even more determined not to have a party.
Steve pulls up outside our house. We both get out and walk round to the back door. Mum’s still in the kitchen, slumped at the table drinking this erky green health drink which is supposed to stop her wanting to eat. Just the look of it makes me want to throw up.
She raises her head and looks with red-rimmed eyes at Steve. She looks like she’s been on skunk for a week!
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she says. ‘I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anyone!’
She starts bawling her eyes out. Steve pats her comfortingly on the shoulder.
‘Good one, Mum. What are we supposed to do with the dresses, the reception, the presents?’ I yell.
‘Not to mention the groom,’ says Steve calmly, massaging Mum’s neck.
‘Where’s Sam?’ I snap. If that little worm’s been putting crazy ideas into Mum’s head I’ll kill him.
‘Gone to Strapper.’
‘This late?’
‘That’s where he said he was going.’
Steve puts his arms around Mum and gives her a cop cuddle.
‘What if I make you a nice cup of tea and we talk about this?’ he says quietly.
‘You can’t talk me round, Steve. I … I …’
She sobs and sobs. Steve fills up the kettle and rattles round getting out the mugs and a plate for the biscuits. I just sit there, gazing at Mum. For once in my life I don’t know what to say. How can she jilt Steve right before the wedding? Okay, like I
said, he’s not Mr Macho but he’s all right, he’s not dead ugly, and he seems to love Mum. I mean, when you’re her age blokes aren’t exactly battering on the door. You have to take what you can get.
Plus now I’m sort of used to the idea of having Steve round. Not living with us, mind. But if Mum marries him, I won’t have to look after her in her old age. Fern’s sister has their grannie living in a flat in the back yard. She’s always griping and grizzling. I couldn’t stand it.
‘Come on, Mum,’ I soothe. ‘It’ll be fine. Steve will make a wonderful, kind husband.’
Steve sits at the head of the table, drinking his tea. I stare around, wishing I wasn’t part of this nightmare. Same familiar kitchen, cream walls and ceiling, pine table and chairs, blue and white plates on the dresser, blue and white checked curtains on the window over the sink. Fridge chugging away in the corner. Mum can’t be jilting Steve in our comfy kitchen.
Mum suddenly raises her head and looks straight at me. ‘Answer me honestly, Leanne, do you really want Steve to live here as your stepdad? You don’t really mind?’ snuffles Mum.
‘No,’ I go, crossing my fingers. I don’t really want to be living anywhere with Steve, especially Snobsville where they’d planned to get a big house only I wouldn’t move there, but at the same time I do want Mum to get married to him.
Mum looks at Steve as he puts down a steaming mug of tea in front of her.
‘Do you really want to marry me, Steve?’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ he says.
‘And you really want to live here with Leanne and Sam?’
‘Of course I do.’
I see him cross his fingers behind his back. Ah. So he doesn’t really want Sam and me as part of the package deal. I open my mouth to tell him to get lost when I realise that Mum’s stopped blubbering and she’s gazing at him as if he’s Ra the Sun God or something.
I decide to keep my mouth shut. Somehow this’ll all work out for the best, so long as the whole city doesn’t find out I’ve got a cop as a stepdad living with me.
‘Maybe you should spend tomorrow in bed resting,’ says Steve to Mum. ‘I think the strain’s getting to you. Leanne can look after things.’
‘Sure,’ I go. ‘I’ll wheel the stove in so’s you can cook.’
Steve gives me this look.
‘Only joking,’ I go.
There’s a crashing noise outside.
‘What’s that?’ says Steve, going immediately into Cop Crouch position.
‘Just Sam accidentally running into the garbage bin on his bike,’ says Mum. ‘He does it all the time. You’d think after all these years he’d know where the bin is, wouldn’t you?’
Sam comes into the kitchen.
‘So where were you?’ I ask. ‘You didn’t go to Strapper.’
‘Nope. I rode down to the mall.’
‘In the dark? No lights?’ goes Mum.
Steve looks stern. If he goes into cop mode and fines Sam right here in our kitchen, the wedding’ll be off for sure!
‘I wanted to get you guys a wedding present,’ Sam says, all the Big Eyed Innocent Child. He does it so well!
What a suck.
‘Here you are,’ he says, and drags out a parcel wrapped in wedding paper from his jacket pocket.
‘Oh, how lovely of you, Sam,’ Mum gushes. ‘Isn’t he sweet, Steve?’
Mum unwraps it. A plain brown box.
‘Nice box,’ I go.
Mum opens it. Inside there’s a china mug with flowers on it. Big deal.
‘It’s a Loving Cup,’ says Sam.
Oh, per-lease!
‘In ya dreams,’ I go. ‘It’s an ordinary, everyday “Made in Macau” mug, you mug.’
‘LEANNE!’ says Mum, glaring at me.
‘It’s not,’ says Sam. ‘See? It’s written on the side. “Loving Cup”. And what you’re supposed to do is make a cup of tea or coffee and each have a sip from it. It stops you fighting and brings you good luck. It’s all written here on this paper.’
He drags out the instructions from the box and passes it over for me to read. So I do.
What a load of crap!
But Mum goes all misty-eyed and pours her tea from the old mug into it. We all have to take a sip from her new Loving Cup. I don’t feel loving; I feel like wringing Sam’s scrawny neck. But then …
‘I think I’ll borrow it,’ I say. ‘Fern seriously needs to use this mug!’
But Mum isn’t listening. She’s gazing at Steve. He’s looking at her. Oh, mush, mush, mush, I can’t stand it.
‘Come on, Sam, let’s watch some wicked TV,’ I say.
‘But I …’
‘Don’t you know when two’s company and four’s a crowd?’
I drag him down the passage. He stops dead in the doorway of the lounge room.
‘Leanne.’
‘What?’
‘Do you think Mum should marry Steve?’
‘Why not?’ I go, switching on the set. ‘We all need someone special in our lives, don’t we?’
I sprawl on the sofa. Sam stands gazing at the TV, but his eyes have that “nobody home” look he gets when he’s gearing up to think. Then he flops down beside me on the sofa. He taps his knee, which means he is thinking. I can almost hear his brain cells scraping together like sandpaper.
Someone special. Someone special for Sam. He’s probably thinking of Chani. Or maybe Mel. He’s over Bin, that’s for sure.
Someone special. For me, Leanne Long Legs Studley. But who?
I go out into the passage and call Fern. The phone rings for a while then she answers.
‘Just wanted to say sorry for being a bitch,’ I say.
‘Yeah? Go jump off a tall building into a small safety net with a large hole in it, Leanne Studley!’ She slams down the phone.
I wonder how long it took her to make up that line. Probably been practising for hours! Usually Fern’s not quick on the comeback.
You can’t say I didn’t try to fix up our fight. I’ll have to wait and see what happens on Sunday.
But first I’ve got to survive tomorrow.
And Saturday!
SAM
I’m at home. It’s the night before the wedding and Mum, Steve, Leanne and I are watching TV. I look at Steve. He’s got his arm along the back of the sofa, and he keeps stroking Mum’s hair.
It suddenly hits me. I’m not going to be the man of the house any more. Steve is. After tomorrow we’re supposed to be one big, happy family. They’re not going on a honeymoon, either. Steve can’t get time off work, yet. I’m going to have to sit here, night after night, watching Steve paw my mum, watching him be boss of the TV. Watching him be boss of this house!
I do what I usually do when I’m feeling bad. I act stupid and tell this corny joke. No one laughs.
‘Grow a brain, man,’ says Leanne.
‘Grow one yourself,’ I go.
Which is stupid. She’s one of the brainiest kids in the school. Leanne raises her eyebrows. I feel like thumping her.
‘Quiet,’ goes Steve. ‘The ad’s over.’
We’re all watching this dumb late night movie. I want to watch something else, but never mind. I plonk myself down on the sofa. This movie just might improve.
‘Have you done your homework?’ says Mum without taking her eyes off the TV.
‘What? This late? On the night before the wedding? Give me a break. Anyway, what’s the use? I’m never gonna get more than a “C” unless you pay for a brain transplant. I …’
‘You’d pass if you bothered to go to school,’ says Leanne smugly.
‘Look who’s talking,’ I yell. ‘Look who ran away from home. Have you forgotten that, Leanne?’
‘What are you raving about?’ goes Mum, swivelling her eyeballs from the box.
‘Fern saw him yesterday jiggin’ school. Roller bladin’ in the mall at eleven ay em …’
Great. You just dumped me in it up to my neck, Leanne Studley, I think, as Mum starts crackin’ the sads.
>
‘Why weren’t you at school?’
‘I only took a few hours off,’ I say.
She goes crazy. ‘How’ll you ever get anywhere? How’ll you ever be anything?’
‘Leave me alone,’ I yell. ‘You’ve got Wonder Woman, Miss Leanne Studley. You don’t need another brain. And I …’
‘Go to your room,’ bellows Mum.
‘I won’t. Why should I?’
‘Do as you’re told, Sam,’ says Steve quietly.
‘Stay out of it. You’re not married to Mum yet,’ I say shortly.
‘Sam! Apologise to Steve.’
I feel bad. I like Steve. But the hassle of this wedding’s getting to me.
‘Sorry, Steve,’ I go. ‘It’s just that …’
‘Aw. Get lost,’ says Leanne. ‘All you do is moan and moan. The surf’s not up, the sun’s not up, your life’s not up … you go on and on.’
‘I’ll get lost all right. Permanently, if that’s what you want.’
‘Good,’ says Leanne. ‘Hurry up. Then we might get some peace.’
I storm out, banging the door. Why do I let Leanne get to me? She’ll probably end up a space scientist making rocket fuel out of lupins, and I’ll end up a dole queue scientist. I’m not dumb. I’m seriously average. But I’m not real brainy and I never will be!
I leave the house, fuming. Why can’t they understand? Why is Leanne such a pain? It wouldn’t hurt her to be nice for a change.
I walk and walk the streets till I’m almost frozen, and decide it’s stupid, and start walking back again. But I don’t want to go home. Too late to go to Cooja’s. And it’s too cold to sleep outside.
Our house is in darkness when I get back. Nice of them to care enough to wait up for me.
Steve’s panel van’s still parked in our driveway. Has he stayed the night? Then I remember that he’s going to put his van in our garage when Mum moves the Falcon out, so that his cop mates don’t graffiti it. He’s probably taken a taxi back to his flat. But maybe he hasn’t. Maybe he’s jumping all over Mum’s pre-wedding bones. If they’ve had sex before in his flat, that’s different. But not before he’s married her, not in our house. Just who does he think he is?
They all must’ve gone to bed. I try the door and it’s not locked. Well, that was nice of them, big deal, but I’m not spending the night under the same roof as Steve. And Leanne. No way. Tomorrow I’m moving out, round to Cooja’s place. But where will I sleep tonight?
Pulling the Moves Page 3
