The Mag Hags

by Lollie Barr

  The girls gushed to Adrian about how much they’d like one at their houses and he explained that this was the prototype and worth a whopping four million dollars. One day, he hoped they’d be cheap enough for every kid to own but that was a long way off.

  ‘How about we do a review in the Mag Hag,’ suggested Mand who, by now, was always looking for a story. ‘We could all write a review of the game we played. What do you think?’

  ‘Any publicity is good publicity,’ said Adrian, beaming, and all the girls agreed, as every kid in school wanted to know aboout The Vultron.

  Just as they were wrapping up, the door to the movie room opened and in walked Reanne. ‘Hey, honey,’ she said, walking over and giving Adrian a shameless big wet sloppy kiss. ‘Hey, girls.’

  ‘Baby, have you met Belle’s friends?’ said Adrian.

  ‘Yes, I met them a few weeks back,’ said Reanne. ‘How’s your little magazine project coming along? Did I tell you about the time I entered a modelling competition in Chickie Babe magazine when I was fifteen? I came second. The girl who won, I’m sure was related to someone, because –’

  ‘Anyway, we’d better be getting back to the office to finish off,’ said Belle, cutting Reanne off dead.

  ‘I forgot to mention it, Reanne, but I’ve given the girls the study to finish their project,’ said Adrian.

  ‘Oh Adi, I wish you’d asked me,’ whined Reanne. ‘I was going to use the office to make the wedding plans.’

  ‘Honey,’ said Adrian. ‘I’m so sorry but I’ve promised the girls now. I’m sure there are plenty of places around the house you could use.’

  ‘But I wanted that room,’ said Reanne in the tone of a petulant child, before regaining her composure and smiling the fakest smile since the Mona Lisa. ‘But it’s okay, Corabelle can have it, Poo-Poo.’

  ‘Reanne, you’re all heart,’ said Belle, wanting to jump on Reanne and scratch her eyes out. Still, she knew Reanne would get her comeuppance – she just wasn’t sure how.

  There is nothing worse than when a parent says they want to have a ‘little talk’ with you, as Wanda’s father did while the Hongs scoffed down a breakfast of cereal, toast and tea. Warning bells started clanging like fire alarms in Wanda’s head and she had an overwhelming desire to run away to join the circus, anything to get away from a parental chat.

  A ‘little talk’ usually meant that Wanda had done something wrong. Which didn’t happen too often. Wanda was the sort of teenager every parent would be proud to call their own – there were no raging hormones that sent her moods skew-whiff, she studied hard, didn’t have any friends that could be described as ‘bad influences’, and she rarely, if ever, let her parents down.

  As the only child there had been no one to break the rules or pave the way, and so Wanda remained a teenage dream. Which bored her senseless. She wanted to be a wild girl; she dreamed of all-night parties and sneaking out at midnight, of being the kind of girl boys talked about in hushed tones, but she would never risk upsetting her parents. So she remained constrained by who she thought she should be instead of who she could be.

  And now her father wanted to have a little talk with her. Wanda knew what it would be about – her recent lack of interest in maths. Even the gorgeous Mattias Iberson couldn’t inspire her any more.

  ‘Oh, Wanda, yah,’ he’d said at their last session, in that deliciously singsong accent of his, ‘you seem to be going backwards instead of forwards. Make the numbers sing to you, yah, make them a tune.’

  But for Wanda, the numbers sounded like one of those novelty pop tunes – funny the first time you listen to it, but then it does your head in. It wasn’t just the hottie Mattias who had been blabbing to the Hongs, it was Mr Weinwitz, the other math’s teacher in Wanda’s life, who took great pride in Wanda being his prodigy. After a meeting to discuss tax loopholes, he had casually let drop that his prize student seemed distracted. Was there a problem at home perhaps? Hence the little talk.

  That evening Wanda retreated to the sanctity of her pink bedroom and started stitching tiny pink flowers all over a cheap blue hat she had picked up in a market stall, when she was called to her father’s study.

  Russ Hong peered at her from behind his imposing wooden desk. ‘Judging by your recent results and attitude (Wanda had gone from an A+ to a B in the last test) you’ve been spending too much time stitching and on this English project and not enough time on your maths.’

  ‘Oh come on, Dad, I’ve had so much to do,’ said Wanda, feeling an unfamiliar sense of anger rattling around her body.

  ‘That’s all well and good, Wanda, but your mother and I have been talking …’ Mr Hong pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. ‘We’ve decided to confiscate your sewing machine until you’ve finished this school term. You can make things once your exams are finished.’

  ‘Dad, that’s so unfair!’ cried Wanda, slamming her fist on her father’s desk – which startled Mr Hong. ‘What will I do with my spare time? Sewing is my release! It’s what keeps me sane in this insane world.’

  ‘Why not study? Look Wanda, it’s your future we’re talking about,’ said Mr Hong in his sternest ‘Daddy knows best’ voice. ‘I expect to see you back at the top of your class by next week’s maths test. I will be keeping an eye on your results, young lady. I want to see you represent your school at the Maths Inn next year. You’ll thank me for it one day.’

  ‘I’ll thank you for keeping out of my life,’ said Wanda, storming out of the room and slamming the door in a very un-Wanda-like fashion, which felt exhilarating and shameful at the same time.

  ‘Teenagers!’ muttered Mr Hong, scratching his head and completely forgetting that he was once one himself, full of his own hopes and dreams.

  The following day, while the Hongs raided Wanda’s room and took away her prized sewing machine and every last piece of cotton and thread, there were also dramas afoot in Maggie’s household.

  ‘Maggie, we need to have a little talk,’ said Caro, entering the bedroom Maggie shared with Lisa, and sitting on her cloud-covered doona. She patted the bed for Maggie to sit down.

  ‘What is it this time?’ said Maggie in that resigned voice she used when Caro was patronising her about the way she looked, dressed or acted, in a vain attempt to change her into a cool girl, a proper Jones sister.

  ‘The wedding,’ said Caro. ‘Maggie, you know I’d love you to be a bridesmaid but you tower over everyone and Roddie just isn’t that tall. Look, it’s not personal, it’s just for the photos, okay?’

  ‘Yeah, right, that’s not in the least bit personal,’ said Maggie incredulously. ‘Of course you don’t want your freak of a sister giraffing over everyone. That would be so terribly inconvenient for you, wouldn’t it? And you wonder why I hate being part of this family.’

  ‘Why do you have to make everything about you?’ said Caro, who had an uncanny ability of making everything about her. ‘I’m already having issues with Bet and now you’re trying to make me feel guilty. Why is everybody trying to ruin my wedding?’

  ‘Nobody’s trying to ruin your wedding,’ said Maggie in a conciliatory tone. There was no point in arguing with her sister – she was right, Maggie was a freak. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll just go and find my real family in the land of the giants, where I can be a bridesmaid without looking out of place.’

  ‘Thanks, Maggie,’ said Caro, leaving the room. ‘I knew you’d understand. You’re a star.’

  ‘From a far-off, distant galaxy,’ Maggie called out after her. She flopped down onto her bed feeling as though the pit of her stomach was being squeezed by a professional wrestler. How, she contemplated, could you be in a crowded house full of family and still feel like you were absolutely, horribly and desperately alone?

  In the midst of her melancholy, Maggie’s mobile buzzed and flashed three times. The text read: New info on Reanne. Hoolio’s 2.30 Today. Cat. While she felt for Belle having to deal with Reanne, secretly it was a relief for Maggie to have somethi
ng to distract her from her own feelings, even if it was only for a little while.

  By the time Maggie arrived at Hoolio’s, all the other girls were ensconced in a booth, heads together in deep discussion.

  ‘Hi girls,’ said Maggie slipping in next to Mand. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘We’ve got a lead on Reanne.’ Belle’s face was flushed with excitement. ‘Debs found out from Sol Stevens’s mother about Reanne. Apparently she thinks it’s marvellous that even though Reanne dumped Sol, he’s such a nice guy she can still go to his gym twice a week!’

  ‘God, that’s so suss. She’s obviously into him if she’s always at his house and then trains with him!’ said Mand.

  ‘We’re just talking about how we can infiltrate their private kickboxing sessions,’ said Belle. ‘Get some real dirt.’

  ‘It can’t look obvious,’ said Cat. ‘Debs has got the perfect excuse to go and lose weight. Why don’t I ask her if Shirley can hook her up a session with Sol, and I can go along, you know, being her supportive sister and all.’

  Just at the moment the Us Crew turned up, fronted by Kylie Mannigan wearing a neon-green boob tube that did absolutely nothing for her skin complexion. ‘Oh, how far the mighty tumble, hey Dean,’ said Kylie with a sneer, leaning right over into the booth. ‘One minute an Us, the next a –’

  ‘Get out of my face, Mannigan,’ said Cat sneering.

  ‘Yeah, you’re a tough bitch?’ said Mannigan, jerking backwards, sending a lime and soda spilling all over poor Wanda.

  ‘Hey!’ exclaimed Wanda.

  ‘That’s enough Mannigan,’ said Mand loudly enough for Hoolio to hear.

  ‘If you want to sort this out, come outside,’ said Mannigan, her piggy brown eyes squinting.

  At that moment Hoolio turned up. The man had a nose for teenage trouble, like his dog Casper had a nose for dogs’ butt holes.

  ‘Ladies, if I can call you that,’ he said, ‘there will be no fighting in my establishment. You can take it outside, but you’ll look as tacky as a piece of tacky Blu Tack and that’s pretty tacky.’

  ‘Better watch your back, Cat,’ said Kylie Mannigan in a voice that resembled a small yappy dog barking as she walked away. ‘Because you’re no longer top dog in this school.’

  ‘Woof, bloody woof,’ said Belle, standing up and flipping her the bird.

  ‘Now I’ve got Kylie Mannigan after me,’ said Cat, ‘I am officially having the worst time of my life!’

  ‘You’re not the only one,’ said Wanda, mopping down her skirt with a serviette. ‘My parents took all my sewing stuff off me. They’re forcing me to do extra study so I can go to the Maths Inn again. I’m starting to hate maths with a passion.’

  ‘That sucks,’ said Maggie slumping on the table. ‘I’ve got problems too. My sister got engaged and everyone in the family is part of the wedding party except for me because my sister doesn’t want me in the photos because I’m too tall. She makes me feel like I’m a circus freak or something.’

  ‘That is so unfair!’ exclaimed Belle indignantly.

  ‘You think that’s bad – my dad phoned this morning and said he’s coming to Baywood next weekend,’ said Mand.

  ‘And …’ said Cat. ‘What’s so wrong with that?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him for three years and he just expects me to drop everything and come and see him? That really sucks. My mother, as usual in a crisis, refers to the Baywood Chronicle horoscope page for advice.’

  ‘What star sign are you?’ Cat had taken an interest in star signs when she had started seeing Nate, who was, incidentally, a Cancer to her Leo. Apparently not a match made in heaven, according to an astrology website that Cat consulted and then quickly discounted.

  ‘Capricorn,’ replied Mand. ‘Anyway, this morning mine read that life is full of ups and downs, but it’s how you deal with them that counts.’

  ‘But how do you deal with them,’ said Cat, ‘without going insane?’

  ‘Do I look like Sigmund Freud?’ said Mand. ‘I’ve got no idea.’

  ‘You’ve got a choice, I guess,’ piped up Maggie. ‘You know, we can sit here and mope about how terrible our lives are, or get on with something positive, like making the most amazing magazine ever.’

  ‘Okay then, let’s go to my place,’ said Belle, jumping at the chance to avoid another misery session.

  ‘After all, we’ve got our own office,’ said Mand, cracking a big toothy smile. ‘How cool is that?’

  Mag Hag Central was soon a hive of activity. There was something reassuring about being able to direct their attention away from their problems and into the mag. Belle had constructed a thin line of wire with tiny little silver pegs that stretched across the back wall and had pegged up the pictures from the future formal photo shoot, as well as Wanda’s make-up feature. She had used a picture of a girl with a huge gappy smile, with the tips numbered and written in pink down the side of the page.

  ‘Wow! This is starting to look like a proper magazine,’ said Mand, impressed at Belle’s design skills. ‘Where did you get the photo?’

  ‘I downloaded it from a free site,’ said Belle.

  ‘Like your style, girl,’ grinned Cat.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent hard at work; only Mand was distracted, reading whole sections of her feature articles without taking anything in. She felt sick every time she thought that in just one day she would be seeing her father for the first time in three years.

  If only she hadn’t picked up the phone this morning. Mand was a great one for screening calls, usually to avoid having to be rude to third-world workers trying to sell her a mobile, but this morning she’d picked it up without thinking.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Mandy?’

  With that voice, Mand’s heart had stopped. ‘Dad?’ she’d said tentatively.

  ‘Yeah, Mandy babe, it’s me. I’m coming to Baywood – we got a last-minute booking. There’s this eighties revival thing happening. Slinky Joe’s Roadshow are cool again! Can you believe it? Your old man is cool! All these years on the road, and we’re getting the best gigs we’ve had in twenty years. Look babe, I really can’t wait to catch up.’

  ‘Er, yer, well, that’s, you know, like, um, er,’ said Mand. ‘Great?’

  ‘I’ll be there Friday, we’re gigging at the Old Muscat. Your mum knows it. See if she’ll bring you down. I’ll put you both on the guest list.’

  ‘Dad, um, I’m not sure that Mum …’

  ‘Okay Mandy, I’ll speak to you on Friday then,’ said Mand’s father, who had made an art of escaping difficult conversations.

  ‘Sure,’ said Mand, putting down the phone and feeling even more unsure of herself.

  Mand’s father, Peter, had left Baywood three years ago to go on tour with Slinky Joe’s Roadshow, and then had fallen in love with his backup singer, Sheryl. In the fallout, Lottie and Mand vowed never to speak to the man again. And they hadn’t. He hadn’t rung and neither had they. Mel had tried to get the girls to forgive him – she said he’d left her, not his children, and she was the one who should be angry with him, not them – but they’d point blank refused to call him until he called them.

  Now he was barrelling back into Mand’s life like nothing had happened. Like the last three years had been sucked into a giant wormhole. It wasn’t like Mand ever really knew him before her parents split anyway. He was always on tour, coming home for brief periods here and there, being attentive for a day or two before getting bored by the suburban realities, then buggering off back to the city for more boozing and jamming.

  Mand shook her head in frustration, trying to shake away any thoughts of her seeing her father again. Why did he have to turn up now? Just when she had convinced herself that she was actually better off without him?

  ‘You okay to sub Wanda’s piece, Mand?’ said Maggie, barely piercing Mand’s consciousness. ‘Mand?’

  ‘What? Sorry?’ said Mand, rubbing her eyes. ‘I was miles away’.

  ‘Can you su
b this?’ said Maggie handing Mand the story.

  ‘Sure,’ said Mand with a little half smile. ‘I could do with something else to think about’.

  By the time Friday afternoon arrived, Mand found herself anxiously hovering by the telephone like she was waiting for some boy to call her. But no, she was waiting for her dad. Mand had asked Lottie to come home from the city, but she’d categorically refused, and said she’d wait until hell froze over before listening to that old man’s dad rock again.

  So Mand had asked Mel to come with her. Her mother had reluctantly agreed, if only for the chance to gloat that Sheryl had left him after eighteen months for a country music star.

  Mand’s father finally rang at 5.18 pm to say that they had just finished sound-checking and that she and her mum should come around the back entrance before the gig, so they could ‘catch up’. Mand spent the next hour and a half trying to make herself as rock’n’roll as possible and finally settled on a red-and-black striped top, a pair of the tightest ever black jeans, and black-and-white checked sneakers.

  On the car ride on the way over, Mand could feel every one of her nerve endings jangle.

  ‘What am I going to say to him, Mum?’ said Mand. ‘Hi there, Dad, let’s forget the last three years ever happened. Oh and by the way, are you going to play “Rolling with the Punches” tonight?’

  ‘Say whatever you want, honey,’ said Mand’s mum. ‘He has to take responsibility for losing touch; after all, he is supposed to be the adult.’

  They drove into the car park of the Old Muscat, a pub with a big back room where bands played noisy gigs. It was one of those balmy spring evenings when the sun shone like it was still midday. Mand saw a rattly old white transit van with Slinky Joe’s Roadshow written along the side, and her stomach lurched. There was no getting out of this now; she was actually going to see her father.

  The backstage door was open, a single light bulb cast its glow along the dingy scuff-marked hallway. ‘Are you all right, love,’ asked Mel, putting her arm reassuringly around Mand’s waist.