‘Is she heaps angry?’ Maddy asks of Sufia.
‘Nah, no more than she normally is,’ I lie. Only because I know it’ll make her feel less shit. ‘And anyway, she’ll get over it. The Cedars are free and Daniel is exposed. What more could we want?’
I ponder my own question. We all wanted different things after the beach party that night. Some of us have got what we wanted, but some of us still have boxes to tick off.
‘I don’t envy Imogen right now,’ says Maddy, as though reading my mind. ‘Can’t imagine Mrs Meyer will let her off too easily. Makes me sorta grateful that my mum isn’t that crazy. I mean, she’s a bit crazy, but she’s alright.’
While I sense someone hovering around the kitchen entrance pretending not to eavesdrop, I figure I too might be lucky that my mum’s not that crazy, either.
‘So, do we go to the beach today or not? I mean, there could be a weird vibe . . .’
I’d been switched on all night, cursed with too many years of insomnia, thinking the same thing that George is now. She’s waiting patiently on the other end of the phone for my response.
‘Well, I have agreed to meet Imogen there. To, you know, find out what happened when she got home. With her mum.’
‘Oh, yeah. That. I’d forgotten, because so much was going on. Like, I keep remembering the biggest thing that went on.’
I go quiet.
‘Do you think Imogen will mind if I come along?’ she continues.
‘Probs not,’ I say, knowing she probably will.
‘Cool. I wonder who will turn up there today. It could go either way, couldn’t it – either it’s totally dead or everyone decides to show.’
We both assume it won’t be Daniel who decides to show. Whatever happened when he got home from the eventful event can’t have been good. I hope it wasn’t good. As for every other prying person we go to school with? I’m going with the latter. They’ll all be ready for the goss-gathering for sure.
Carina Campbell’s is the first prying face we come across when George and I arrive on the sand. She skips towards us at an alarming pace. ‘Have you heard . . .’ She looks over her shoulder to check no one else is in earshot. Even though she’s going to spread it, anyway. ‘That it was Shontel Meyer. She was spotted leaving with the Cedars afterwards, getting into your cousin’s WRX,’ she says, pointing a finger at me, while trying to cup one side of her mouth at the same time.
‘He’s not my cousin.’
‘Obviously she leaked the recording. Where she got it from is a whole other story. But, she clearly has other interests in the Cedar Army. Like with your cousin maybe . . .’
Carina gives an awkward style of wink.
‘He’s not —’
‘Anyway, gotta go.’
George and I stand, dumbfounded, as we watch her skip off. We shake our heads simultaneously and continue on through the crowded sandbank. The beach hasn’t been this packed since we had the longest number of consecutive days above forty degrees.
Once we pass the infamous boatshed, I can see Imogen standing on the boardwalk, waiting. I should have expected the look on her face that we see when we get closer. She gives it to George and then to me.
‘Hi, Georgia, didn’t know you were coming.’
‘Oh, um, I can totally —’
‘No.’ Imogen waves her hand and leans against the wooden railing, folding her arms and not looking at anyone in particular. ‘It’s fine, stay. I don’t have anything to say, anyway.’
‘Oh?’ I’m confused. So why then did she call me here?
‘Mum’s avoiding me. She didn’t come out of her office until late last night, then she was off somewhere early this morning. I’m sure she knows, but as usual, she just wants to stay blind to the truth. It’s easier that way, right? I don’t even know why I’m surprised.’
‘Well, that’s, um, kinda good, then . . . isn’t it?’ asks George. ‘It means you’re not in any trouble?’
Imogen directs her response to me. ‘It means she’s probably working on a way to cover it up.’
There’s a familiar fear in her eyes. I don’t envy her right now.
‘I’m done with this beach,’ says Imogen, turning to face the river. ‘Bring on term one of the new school year.’
George and I take it as a sign to leave her alone now. But as we start to walk off, George a few steps ahead of me, Imogen grabs hold of my arm. ‘Thanks again for your help, Layla,’ she says softly. ‘Obviously, I couldn’t have done it without you.’
CHAPTER 24
We walk silently back to the sandbank, George and me. I hope she didn’t hear that last part. Because if anyone will be disappointed about being left out of the plan it will be my oldest and most loyal friend.
‘Hey, um, I’m going to stop off here. I have to, er, tell Jordan . . . something, about the kiosk,’ I say, hoping I’m not being too suss. She shakes her head in a that-was-so-suss kinda way.
I spot him under the biggest tree on this part of the river. As George carries on to set up our spot for the day, I move towards Jordan. A few scattered twigs crack under the pressure of my thongs and he turns.
‘What’s doin’?’
‘I did something. And I need to tell someone. Well, someone who isn’t also involved.’
Jordan is wide-eyed. ‘You’re not going to make me an accomplice to your crime, are you?’
‘Nah, you’re safe. Well, some people might say you were . . .’ I watch him squint his sockets of blue. ‘But that doesn’t matter.’
‘So, are you going to tell me what does matter? What you did? I mean, you don’t have to . . .’
‘I helped Imogen. Steal the recording, play the recording. The whole thing with the recording.’ I pause. I’m surprised that he doesn’t look surprised. ‘You already suspected me, didn’t you? Guess I haven’t been that quiet with my opinions around here lately, have I?’
Jordan laughs. ‘Mate, you know I’m not as good a detective as you. More the counsellor type.’
He winks, and I laugh.
‘You don’t think I’m a bad person?’ I ask.
‘I’m sure you did what you felt you had to. Good for you.’
I did do what I had to, to make things right for myself and the Cedars. And for Shontel. #Brave4Shontel.
‘I’ve gotta head back in. But you’re welcome to come hang at the kiosk?’ He eyes off the queues with dread. That’s a feeling I’ve finally ditched.
‘Thanks,’ I say, peering out across the dark, deep river, ‘but I might just hang around here for a bit and enjoy the view.’
‘Welcome back to the real world!’ Maddy shouts as I’m coming towards them. Them being Maddy, George and Imogen. All together, not killing each other, at our spot. Doesn’t exactly feel like the real world. ‘Enjoy the daydreaming out there?’
‘About a certain blue-eyed kiosk worker?’ George adds. The trio of unlikely besties get all nudgy with each other. An uncomfortable nudging in my tummy travels all the way up to my face.
‘Ha, yeah, just soaking up the peace.’ Ignoring the digs. Ignoring the discovery that they’ve known this whole time. And that’s when I stop to really look around. At our towels, at the red gum, at the rest of Lame Beach. Maddy and George are sharing a box of Cheezels. Carina is directing a deathly stare at Imogen, who doesn’t seem to care. Sufia is not dancing to drums today, but is instead stretched out on the sunlit grass, breathing to the beat of satisfaction.
‘It’s kinda weird, isn’t it?’ says George, with a mouthful of Cheezels. She traces my gaze around the beach. ‘To not feel any hate in the air around here.’
‘Or insane humidity,’ Maddy adds, reaching a hand into the box tucked beside George and her. ‘My hair is so over this summer.’
I look down at George and we both crack up. Because we know Maddy’s hair will never look like Imogen’s does right now. Imogen, with her sleek blonde ponytail, who has been quiet all this time. Until she notices someone on the beach before the rest of us do.
‘What is he doing here?’ she asks, rising to stand beside me.
When we turn our heads, we see him, too. I sense Maddy freeze up.
Daniel Mason-Johnson is making his way to the boys. A couple of them get up to greet him, invite him to sit. He rejects their invitation and instead stands with his arms folded across his chest. There’s talking but no joking. No showing off or attention seeking. He’s had enough attention for one summer.
Maddy turns away, pale. ‘Oh, God, tell me if he comes this way.’
But he doesn’t. He gives those standing a quick embrace, salutes the sitting boys and walks off the beach, heading somewhere undetermined. Part of me wants to know where. But the other part? It knows that it’s not important anymore.
Mum has her feet up on the coffee table. I’ve never seen her disrespect a piece of furniture like this before. Or not be piling dinner onto the table at the same time I’m getting home from the beach. I mean, it is five thirty-seven pm.
‘Um, are you okay, Mum?’
‘Yes! Great! It’s lovely to finally get a break from the scorching temps, isn’t it?’
The windows are open and a warmish breeze is making the living room’s lace curtains jolt around.
‘I’ve just been considering your tayta’s situation,’ she says, shifting forward on the couch, a concentrated look on her face. ‘You know, Aunty Kath was telling me that her neighbour’s mother had the same thing. Her specialist was fantastic, the best apparently, extended her life by years! I could always find out if she’s free to see your tayta? What do you think?’
I think I’m going to fall sideways and land on this coffee table. ‘That’d be awesome, Mum. Great idea and thanks. Thanks heaps.’
She looks happy with herself. But probably not happy enough that she’ll allow my sand to trickle through the house and into my bedroom, so I head towards the laundry to empty my bag into the sink as per regulation rules.
‘Oh, and your father called . . .’ I hear her shout.
‘And left a message?’ I call back from the laundry. Without waiting for the inevitable confirmation, I’m in the kitchen staring down at the bench: See you soon.
CHAPTER 25
‘What are you doing today?’ I ask Sufia down the phone, while she makes clicking sounds with chewing gum on the other end. Something annoying she’s done since we were kids.
‘Depends.’
Click, click, click.
‘On what?’
Click, click.
‘If it involves cleaning an old woman’s house, then I’m so busy.’
Click.
‘Well, if you get un-busy there’s an old woman who would love to have us around, even if you don’t have any mad dishwashing skills . . .’
‘Hmm. I’ll call you later.’
I hang up from Sufia and keep walking. All the way through Tayta’s front door and into her living room. Into a safe house that’s been protected from the war raging around it.
My grandmother is sitting cross-legged on the tiles, with piles and piles of faded photos sprawled on the floor in front of her. Crouching down to greet her, I see lots of little faces. There’s me and Sufia and all our other cousins, posing in Tayta’s backyard. My aunties, posing with school awards. My dad, posing on the bonnet of cars.
I’m about to ask what the deal with all these photos is, when the doorbell rings. We give each other the same curious look. No one ever rings the doorbell at Tayta’s. Especially not Sufia. If it’s her who’s decided to turn up after all.
‘I’ll get it,’ I say, motioning for Tayta to stay on the floor.
I squint my eyes as I approach the screen door. Because I’m not sure if they’re working properly. Is that . . . ‘Imogen?’
‘So, I wanted you to be the first to know,’ she says, an unreadable expression on her face.
‘To know what?’
‘That my mum has withdrawn her campaign from the local election.’
‘Oh. Wow.’ I didn’t see that coming, even after recent eventful events. ‘So like, giving up politics?’
Imogen lets out a sigh. ‘Well, that’s the thing. She’s decided to go state instead.’
I raise my eyebrows.
‘I know, right. She thinks she can make a bigger difference there.’
‘Good luck to her . . . I guess.’ There’s no point wishing anyone bad luck now.
‘Anyway, I’ll go. I know you normally spend Tuesdays helping, cleaning, whatever.’
I would ask her to stay, to come in, but over her shoulder I’m watching Sufia stroll down the path. Probably from a covert parking spot Ricky P has dropped her off at.
Imogen might be an unexpected guest at Tayta’s door, but Sufia . . . I knew she would come.
‘This, habibi!’ exclaims Tayta as Sufia and I enter the living room together. ‘This photo!’
I look at the photo she’s waving around with her hand. It’s me as a baby, sitting on the lap of an unfamiliar woman.
‘I look for this every day! Now, I find it.’
‘Um, what’s so special about it?’ Sufia asks, taking a seat on the lounge behind her and leaning in for a better look. ‘Whoa, you had a lot of hair.’
My tongue pokes its way out of my mouth, in Sufia’s direction, without me even trying. ‘As if you can talk.’
‘This woman . . . she is the woman.’ Tayta brings our focus back to her by smacking her finger against the photo. Her almond eyes are wide.
I already know what she’s going to say . . .
‘My cousin Khalil’s first wife!’
I know what’s coming next . . .
‘She put it, she put the evil eye on Layla!’
Sufia bursts out laughing, sending spit flying onto the photo and Tayta’s headscarf. Tayta turns around to her, horrified. More as a response to Sufia’s scoffing than the spit. In fact, she pretty much spits back, something in Arabic that makes Sufia say, ‘Okay, if you say so,’ and then raise her hands in mock retreat.
‘You know what, Tayta?’ She looks up at me now, her mouth still gaping. ‘I think my evil-eye curse has maybe been broken.’
I look over at Sufia then. Out of Tayta’s sight, she performs what might be her greatest eyeroll yet.
Aunty Fatima has insisted that she, my uncle and Sufia will drive me to the airport. Today is the day my dad finally comes home. For now.
And for now, I’m happy the sun is hitting me while I wait at the end of my driveway instead of lazing on the sand. For now, I feel rested after a night of pure blacked-out sleep. I’m starting to feel lucky, for now anyway, to be a part of two crazy worlds.
‘Daydreaming on your feet, LK! You definitely developed some skills these hols.’ Jordan Michael’s chirpy voice brings my thoughts to a halt. I turn and watch him striding towards me with a cheeky-as grin on his face.
I must look like a total flake right now. ‘You know it!’ I pause until he reaches the driveway and is standing right in front of me before asking, ‘How’s your last day going?’
‘Oh, you know, said my goodbyes to the kiosk and the river. As you can imagine, it was pretty emotional.’ He pulls a silly sad face, placing a palm on his heart. ‘I thanked them for a disturbing but awesome summer.’
Disturbing. But awesome.
‘I couldn’t have done it without you, you know, my holiday counsellor.’ I nudge my elbow into him one last time. For now.
‘Done what?’ He shrugs, oblivious to his own effects. I wouldn’t expect anything else.
‘Oh, nothing major. Just absolutely smashing my curse.’ I wave my hand and squish up my face, trying not to laugh. ‘Like I said, no big deal.’
‘True. It’s not a big deal,’ says Jordan. My friend. ‘Because the way I see it is, aren’t we all cursed in some way?’
And he’s totally right. Just like he’s been all summer.
Imogen is cursed with parents she will never see eye to eye with.
Maddy is cursed with the kinda determination that’s alwa
ys served with a side of danger.
Even Sufia – although she’d never hold the evil eye responsible – has been cursed with the full-time job of protecting everyone around her.
I’ve been blessed with her protection. Whether I like it or not. And it’s pretty much the only truth that matters now.
I remember the promise I made to her earlier. When I was leaving Tayta’s and she hugged me so tight at the front door I thought her boobs would pop. She told me about an Arabic quote in her dining room that I’ve never been able to read: ‘You will never know the sweetness of good fortune until you taste the bitterness of misfortune.’
‘DO NOT tell anyone I go round repeating shit like that.’
I’d sworn not to. But secretly, I think those three extra hours of life must have given her some wisdom after all.
‘Now go and say goodbye to that white boy. You don’t need him anymore,’ she’d said. ‘Anyway, your dad will kill you if he sees him hanging around.’
It’s not the real reason I’m saying goodbye.
I was lucky to have a cheerleader like Jordan this summer. But I reckon I might need to start cheering for myself a little more – Dr Phil speeches and all – as gross as it will make me feel to do it.
Avoiding his face now, I instead look down at my shoes. It’s been a while since my feet have been wrapped in laces and not exposed in thongs. I lift my head to the bare power lines above us and then turn back to Jordan, nodding towards his own sneakers. ‘Should we?’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To my mum and Amy, who were there at the start of it all, guiding me into – and joining me in – the amazing world of stories and writing. Being an indoors kid has finally paid off.
To my dad, who once said to me, ‘You’re the girl who walked into ACP and got a job.’ I think he was trying to tell me I could do anything I put my mind to.
To Sarah, who persistently did tell me I could do anything I put my mind to. May her beautiful soul rest in peace.
To Grandma, who spent nights reading and re-reading us The Wind in the Willows.
Half My Luck Page 16