by Paige Toon
‘Tomorrow’s Sunday, so no,’ he replies bluntly.
‘I’m forgetting what day it is,’ I say quietly. ‘That tends to happen when your whole life is uprooted in such a short time.’
Josh glances at me and his face softens. ‘This is so unlike my dad,’ he comments.
‘This is exactly like my mum,’ I reply, my tone hardening as I pull the cardboard pizza box onto my lap. ‘Another advert break! How many ads do you have on here?’
Josh mutters something to himself and takes an enormous bite out of his pizza. He eats the rest of his meal in silence.
‘So when are you going back to England?’ he asks eventually.
I sweep my dark hair to one side. ‘As soon as I turn eighteen.’
He gives me a curious look. ‘How old are you now?’
‘Fifteen, nearly sixteen. You?’
‘Eighteen.’ Pause. ‘I thought you were older.’
‘Damn, you’ve rumbled me. I’m actually thirty-five.’
‘Is that right?’ He raises one eyebrow.
‘Yeah. Stuck in a fifteen-year-old’s body.’ I discard my half-eaten pizza and put my bare feet up on the coffee table, wishing I’d had the foresight to give myself a pedicure before I came away. Josh’s eyes skim over my legs and up to my breasts where they pause for a few seconds.
‘Lucky thirty-five-year-old,’ he murmurs.
‘Are you taking the piss?’ I immediately bite back. He snorts with derision as I take my feet down, cross them underneath myself on the sofa and fold my arms. He lazily gets to his feet.
‘I’m going out in Stirling tonight with some mates,’ he says, reaching backwards to scratch one of his shoulderblades. I catch a glimpse of his tanned, fit stomach.
‘Have fun.’ I look away and pray he doesn’t see me blushing.
‘Come if you want,’ he says casually.
‘No, thanks.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m knackered.’
‘Lightweight.’
‘Do you know what time it is in England right now?’ I ask hotly, my mind racing as I try to calculate the time difference in my head.
‘Suit yourself,’ is his reply as he saunters from the room.
It takes me about fifteen seconds to work out that it’s nine-thirty in the morning in the UK and, minus my little nap earlier, I’ve effectively stayed up all night. I’m on the verge of shouting this fact down the corridor to Josh, but realise in time that I’ll only sound like a tit. Getting to my feet, I pick up the takeaway boxes, switch off the television and go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. A car horn toots outside. Josh appears in the doorway as I’m filling my glass from the tap.
‘I wouldn’t drink that,’ he says. ‘There’s rainwater in the fridge.’
I glance down at my glass. ‘Oh, okay.’
‘That’s my ride,’ he says as the horn sounds again.
‘Who is it? Bruce? Sheila?’ Josh doesn’t look amused. Well, I thought it was funny.
‘See you later.’
‘Not if I see you first!’ I call after him, idiotically. The front door slams.
I pour the tapwater down the sink and sigh as I realise I’m alone in the house. Helping myself to water from the jug in the fridge, I pad barefoot down the corridor to my bedroom. I screw up my nose at the sight of the green and brown curtains and matching bedspread. Maybe I will do something about my bedroom, after all. I decided earlier that I’d leave it as it was because there’s no point customising it when this will never feel like my home. But on second thoughts, I don’t think I can live like this, even for a short time. Perhaps I’ll get a few posters or something, change the bedspread if I can find something cheap and cheerful.
I go to the window and look out. The view looks up into the hills. I notice for the first time what looks like a castle at the top. Weird. I pull the curtains closed.
My suitcase is still sitting on the floor by the window. It didn’t take long to unpack; I was only allowed to bring one case, which is something Mum and I fought tooth and nail over before we came away. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth and then I return to the bedroom and change into my PJs before pushing the suitcase under the bed so it’s out of the way.
‘AAAARGH!’
I let out a bloodcurdling scream and leap onto the bed as a freakishly huge spider shoots out from under it and scurries at breakneck speed in the direction of the door. As I wobble on top of the mattress, fear clutching my stomach, the horrible realisation sinks in that if I don’t get rid of it, I’ll have to sleep in the same room as it. Tensely I crane my head in the direction that it fled.
They’re more scared of us than we are of them, they’re more scared of us than we are of them, they’re more scared of us than we are of them . . . It’s a mantra that worked well enough back home, but here the spiders can kill you.
I tentatively step down from the bed and snatch up a nearby trainer to use as a weapon. Feeling hopelessly vulnerable in my bare feet, I tread carefully towards the door as I keep my eyes peeled for dark spidery legs pressed up against the skirting board.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I don’t know if it went out of the door or if it’s still lurking somewhere in the bedroom with me. The only thing I do know for certain, I think to myself as I climb uneasily into bed, is that I won’t be sleeping well tonight.
Chapter 2
Five a.m. That’s not too bad, all things considered. I did wake up at three, vaguely needing to go to the toilet, but I’ve managed to hang on because there was no way in hell I was going to go traipsing down the corridor in the dark when there are life-sucking arachnids lurking about. Now I climb out of bed and put on my trainers before making my way to the bathroom. Mum’s bedroom door is ajar. I wonder if she’s awake too? I push open the door and peer inside. The bed is empty, still neatly made in all its murky-orange and mustard-yellow bedspready glory.
So she slept with Michael on the first night. Am I surprised? I know I shouldn’t be, but I still take a deep breath and let out a loud sigh as I leave the room, pulling the door closed behind me.
After a trip to the bathroom, I head into the kitchen, standing there aimlessly as I wonder what to do to pass the time until everyone else wakes up. I didn’t even hear them all come back last night, so I must have been out cold, despite my spider trauma.
Maybe Mum didn’t come back at all? Maybe something happened to her? If she were dead, they’d have to make room for me at Dad’s place . . .
A nasty sensation spikes at my head as I realise that my first thought wasn’t for my mum’s welfare, but before the dark side of my imagination can present an evil scenario explaining her empty bed, I hear a door open down the corridor. Moments later, Michael appears in the kitchen.
‘Ah, Lily,’ he says warmly. ‘I wondered if it was you I could hear.’
‘Is Mum in your bedroom?’ I ask outright.
‘Er, yes,’ he replies, looking awkward. I exhale loudly and he gives me a funny look before clapping his hands together once with forced enthusiasm. ‘Righto, think I’ll put the kettle on. Want a cuppa? Huh . . .’ He glances down at my feet, safely encased in my trainers, before his eyes lift to take in my pyjamas. ‘Were you planning on going outside?’ he asks, baffled.
‘No, but I saw a spider in my room last night.’ I’m suddenly desperate to tell someone – anyone – about it.
His eyes widen. ‘You haven’t slept in your sneakers, have you?’
‘Sneakers? You mean trainers?’
‘Is that what you call ’em?’
‘Yeah. Anyway, no, I put them on to go to the bathroom.’
He nods. ‘I see. Spider give you a bit of a fright, did he?’
‘Yes, it was enormous. Brown and hairy.’ I shudder involuntarily.
He casually waves his hand. ‘Sounds like a huntsman. Don’t worry, darl, they’re not deadly. Saying that,’ he adds thoughtfully, ‘and I don’t know if this is fact or one of those urban legends you hear about, but appare
ntly huntsmans cause more deaths than any other spider.’
I give him a quizzical look and immediately regret it because he continues, aided by animated sign-language, ‘Imagine you’re driving your car down the road, minding your own business, when you pop down your sun visor and a huge spider lands on your lap. BAM!’ he shouts, making me jump. ‘You crash your car and that’s the end of you!’
I can’t drive yet, but I’m making a mental note to avoid sun visors when I learn.
‘Whoopsie, I’ve scared you again. All I’m saying is that hunts-mans don’t tend to bite. And if they do, they won’t kill you. You want to see some really venomous spiders, you should come to work with me one day.’ I smile feebly and he chuckles. ‘Or maybe cuddly koalas are more your scene.’
My mum appears at the kitchen door. ‘Good morning,’ she chirps, beaming at me. ‘Hey, there,’ she says huskily to Michael, stretching up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He glances my way and looks embarrassed.
‘Blast. I forgot the tea.’ He bounds over to the other side of the kitchen. ‘I got distracted telling Lily about spiders.’
‘I saw a massive one last night,’ I interject.
‘Ew,’ Mum says dismissively as he grabs the kettle and fills it with water.
‘Yeah, I said she should come to work with me one day and check ’em out,’ Michael goes on. ‘I think she’d rather see the koalas though.’
Mum nudges me. ‘You’d like to do that, wouldn’t you?’
I shrug. ‘Maybe.’
In fact, I’d secretly love to. The truth is, I’m dying to get up close to some real Australian wildlife. I adore animals. I once toyed with the idea of becoming a vet, but my grades were never good enough. And Mum wasn’t exaggerating when she said I didn’t want to go on holiday one year because my hamster was ill. I was twelve and I’d had Billy for two years, but the day before we were due to fly to Tenerife he started shivering and shaking. I was beside myself. I stayed up half the night watching over him and told Mum there was no way I was going on holiday and leaving him with our next-door neighbours if he wasn’t better by the morning. I couldn’t keep my eyes open after two a.m. though, and when I woke up at six, bleary-eyed and hopeful, little Billy was dead.
As Mum excuses herself to go to the bathroom, Michael puts three mugs of tea on the table and pushes one in my direction. I stir in a teaspoon of sugar and look across at him.
‘My mum said yesterday that one of the animals at the conservation park was ill. A Tasmanian Devil or something?’
‘Yeah, yeah, poor old Henry was looking a bit dodgy there for a while, but he’s going to be fine.’
‘Oh, good. What is a Tasmanian Devil, by the way?’
‘It’s a carnivorous marsupial which is only found in the wild in Tasmania. You know Tasmania, that island that hangs off the bottom of the mainland.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Yep, I know Tasmania, but what the hell does a carnivorous marsupial look like?
Mum re-enters the room before I can ask. Michael eyes me thoughtfully.
‘What did you and Josh get up to last night?’ Mum asks, pulling up a chair next to me and reaching for her tea.
‘Nothing,’ I mumble. ‘He went out with some mates.’
‘Have you got any plans for today?’
‘I don’t know, Mum.’ I can’t help but sound snappy. What does she think I’ve been doing all night while she’s been getting her rocks off? Going from door to door making friends with the neighbours? I get up, huffily. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’
‘What about your tea?’
‘I’ll take it with me.’ I pick up the steaming mug and try to block out the look of hurt on her face as I leave the room.
An hour and a half later I’m in my bedroom, aimlessly flicking through the pages of a magazine, when there’s a knock at the door. I close my eyes resignedly. I can’t be bothered to talk to Mum right now.
‘Come in,’ I call.
I’m surprised when Michael pokes his head around the door, saying, ‘I’m leaving for work in forty minutes. Do you fancy coming with me?’
‘Oh.’ I sit up, surprised.
‘No worries if not, there’ll be plenty of other opportunities.’
‘No, no, I’d . . . Well . . . is my mum coming too?’
‘Nah, she said she’d be happy unpacking and settling in at home.’
‘Okay, then. If you’re sure.’
‘Sure I’m sure.’
He turns to leave, but I call him back.
‘What should I wear?’
‘Anything you like. But it’s going to be hot today so bring a hat and a bottle of sunscreen.’
I climb off the bed and open the wardrobe. My only two skirts stare out at me, daring me to choose them over the jeans I’m already wearing, but I leave them where they are and even go one further by pulling on a hooded grey sweatshirt over my black T-shirt. I’ll regret my full-body cover-up decision if the temperature rises to the 35 degrees predicted on last night’s news, but I’m not yet ready to expose my pale white limbs to the world. I go to close the wardrobe doors and hesitate. Bending down, I drag a small black camera bag out. Do I want this today? Will I use it?
My dad gave me a Nikon F60 as an early birthday/leaving present before I left, making me promise to take lots of photos so he wouldn’t miss me too much. A stab of pain shoots through my heart and I carefully push the bag back into the wardrobe.
Josh is still in bed by the time we set off at seven forty-five. Michael drives a white pick-up truck, three seats wide at the front. He reverses down the gravel driveway and out onto the road. We turn left and drive in the opposite direction to the way Mum and I came in yesterday. Through the window I see white nets hanging loose over a multitude of trees in the neighbouring gardens, making me think of children dressed up as low-budget ghosts for Halloween.
‘Are they fruit trees?’ I ask Michael.
‘Yep. Cherries, nectarines, peaches . . . The nets keep the birds off. We’ve got an apricot tree in the back garden. Help yourself because the fruit always ends up rotting on the ground when no one eats it.’ He tuts. ‘Such a waste.’
He takes a left onto a dirt track and the road starts to climb steeply into the hills. My ears begin to pop and I have to keep swallowing. Michael winds down his window and I do the same. A fragrant scent, coupled with the aroma of early morning sunshine burning off the dew on the fern-covered banks immediately assaults my senses.
‘What’s that smell?’ I ask.
‘Eucalyptus,’ Michael replies, pointing out of the window. ‘From all the gum trees.’
I breathe in deeply and feel an unexpected burst of happiness. It takes me by surprise.
‘Do you usually work on Sundays?’ I ask Michael.
‘Sometimes,’ he replies. ‘We all have to work weekends occasionally.’
‘What do you do exactly?’
‘I’m a senior keeper. I look after the devils and the dingoes, among other things.’
‘Cool. Will anyone mind me tagging along today?’
‘Course not, sweetheart! Josh used to come all the time before his mum died.’
I wonder what it was about Josh’s mum dying that made him stop going to the conservation park. I wonder how his mum died at all. I want to ask, but it doesn’t feel right.
We take a left at the top, back onto the main road, and after a while turn right through some rusted wrought-iron gates into the conservation park. I can just make out a hazy view of the city beyond what I now recognise as eucalyptus trees. Eventually the road opens up into a large car park. Michael turns into the staff parking area and switches off the ignition. We both climb out of the truck and I nervously follow him through the gates. I’m starting to regret my impulsive decision to accompany him today when I could be back at the house with my bedroom door closed and not have to speak to anyone.
‘Morning, Jim,’ Michael calls, as a man dressed in identical clothes to him – beige shorts and a matching long-sleeved
shirt – approaches us.
‘Morning, Mike. Who’s this?’
‘Lily!’ Michael booms, then in a quieter aside, ‘Cindy’s daughter.’
‘Oh, okay!’ the man called Jim exclaims. ‘You arrived yesterday, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘How was your flight?’
‘Long,’ I reply as an annoying blowfly buzzes around my face.
‘I thought Lily might like to get out of the house,’ Michael explains.
‘Great stuff. And what’s your mum up to?’
I shrug. ‘She’s at, er, the house.’ I can’t quite bring myself to say ‘home’.
‘Well, we’ve all been dying to meet her. And you, of course. Better get on. Got to go see Trudy about my timesheet. Have a good one!’ he calls over his shoulder as he heads in the direction of the office off to our right.
‘Come on.’ Michael beckons.
‘Where are we going?’ I look around and can just make out stone-walled enclosures through the tree trunks.
‘First things first,’ he says, winking. ‘Let’s go and have a cuppa.’
This man drinks a lot of tea.
The staffroom has a basic kitchen, a couple of greeny-grey threadbare sofas and a table surrounded by six brown school-style chairs. There are a few people milling about and Michael introduces everyone individually. They’re all very welcoming and consequently my nerves start to fade.
‘Now, it’s up to you,’ Michael says to me after ten minutes of general chitchat and tea drinking. ‘I’ve got to muck out the wombats in a minute and you’re welcome to watch me shift the sh— poo, but I thought you might prefer to go for a wander instead. We open the doors to the general public at nine-thirty, but we don’t start feeding time until eleven, and that’s with the devils, so you’ve got a bit of time to kill. Maybe go see the roos. Hey, Janine, have you got a map handy?’
A plain woman with mousy hair tied back into a low ponytail rummages around in a rucksack and hands over a map. Michael unfolds it and pinpoints where the staffroom is.
‘This is where you are now. If you want to see those deadly spiders I told you about, you have to go to this building here.’
I grimace my reply.