‘I like it,’ I said.
‘Yeah, you would.’
I put the book down and rested it in my lap.
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You’re a girl, Lexie. And girls like fluffy romance.’
‘We do, do we?’
‘Yeah. Girls and single librarians, mostly.’
The fact that Davey thought he knew anything about girls was hilarious.
‘And you’d know, would you?’ I asked. ‘About what girls like, I mean?’
‘It’s a fact of life. I saw you do a face.’
‘A face?’
‘Yeah. I’m picking you just read the bit about Miranda and George under the bridge, that bit Miss McCormack read to us in the library.’
‘There was no face, Davey.’
‘No, it was definitely a face. You put your hand on your chest and made a face like someone just asked you out on a date or something.’
‘I see. And what’s the book you’re reading?’
Davey lifted the book in his right hand and showed me the cover.
‘Norton’s Book of Interesting Facts,’ he said.
‘Boring.’
‘It’s not boring.’
‘Really? Tell me the best fact you’ve read, then.’
‘Okay.’
Davey bent over in his chair and began to flip back through the pages in the book. When he found something he liked, he tapped his finger on the spot and smiled.
‘Here we go . . . Says here, that in Australia alone, one hundred people go missing every day. One hundred, can you believe that?’
‘That’s rubbish,’ I said.
‘No, it’s true. Nearly all of them just take off. Running away from things, they reckon. Imagine that, just taking off.’
I didn’t know I was staring until Davey pointed it out.
‘Are you looking at my eye again?’ he said.
‘No, Davey, I’m not . . . Actually, I might have been, I’m not sure.’
‘Well, stop.’
‘I can’t.’
‘What do you mean, you can’t?’
‘Shut up, will you? I’m thinking.’
‘I don’t care if you’re thinking. Look at something else.’
I couldn’t focus properly sitting still so I jumped from my chair and began to pace up and down in front of the garden. As my excitement grew I walked faster and faster then all of a sudden I just stopped, right in front of the chairs.
‘Let’s do it,’ I said.
The two of them looked at me like I was mad.
‘Do what?’ said Davey.
‘Take off.’
‘Take off where?’
‘Surfers Paradise,’ I said. ‘The three of us, like those people in your book.’
Davey turned his head to Mr Romanov then looked back.
‘Are you, serious?’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘What about school?’ asked Davey.
‘We’re on holidays,’ I said.
‘What about our mums, then?’
‘Mine won’t care. She won’t even know I’m gone.’
‘You’re right,’ said Davey. ‘Mine won’t either.’
The idea seemed to be gathering steam in Davey’s head. He shifted forward in his chair and got to his feet.
‘So . . . how would we get there?’ he said. ‘We can’t just hop on a plane. It’ll cost a fortune. The train too.’
‘I have car.’
Mr Romanov sat back in his chair, dog-eared a page in his book then rested it in his lap.
‘What do you mean, you have car?’ asked Davey.
‘I mean, I have car,’ said Mr Romanov.
‘You have car?’
‘He has car, Davey,’ I said. ‘He just told you that.’
Davey still wasn’t convinced.
‘What kind of car?’ he asked.
‘I have the Mercedes.’
‘You’ve got a Merc?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does it go?’
‘Of course,’ said Mr Romanov. ‘What is the use of a car if it does not go?’
‘And you can drive, yeah?’
‘Yes, I can drive.’
After the Pearl Harbor business the other day, I was worried that the talk might turn to engine specifics and cylinders and stuff, but when I looked across at Davey there was a spark in his face that was new.
‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘Surfers Paradise . . . that’s . . .’
He turned himself around as if he was trying to get his bearings.
‘It’s north,’ I said.
‘I know it’s north,’ he said. ‘But it’s straight up the Hume Highway, yeah?’
I wasn’t good with directions.
‘I s’pose so,’ I said. ‘But there’s probably more than one way to go.’
‘No, Lexie, there’s not. If we’re going to go to Surfers Paradise, we’re taking the Hume.’
‘Okay, Davey, we’ll take the Hume. God, what’s so important about the Hume, anyway?’
‘Nothing. I’m just saying we’re taking the Hume. I’ve never been on the Hume so that’s what we’ll be taking.’
Unlike Davey, I wasn’t fussed about the route. All that mattered was the destination.
‘So . . .’
I gave myself a moment, tried to make sense of the buzzing in my head.
‘What about the garden?’ I said.
‘The garden will be all right,’ said Mr Romanov. ‘It is finally done and it will still be here when we return.’
‘And you’re sure you want to go, Mr Romanov? I mean, Surfers Paradise is a long way, it’s a big ask for someone so . . .’
I gobbled up the word just in time but Mr Romanov said it for me.
‘Old?’ he said.
‘No, I didn’t . . .’
‘You are right, cowgirl. I am old but maybe that is the best reason to go.’ He pointed to the chairs behind him. ‘I will have all the time later to sit and rest.’
Everything was moving so quickly. A few minutes ago we were sitting in our chairs, reading, and now we were making plans to take off. It didn’t seem real. For as long as I can remember, Surfers Paradise had been a dream. It was a postcard above my bed and it was camping with my father under the blankets in my room. I looked at the others, thinking I might have somehow made it all up in my head, but they were standing now, looking at me, waiting. I was almost afraid to ask.
‘So . . . we’re going, yeah?’
‘We’re going,’ said Davey. ‘Up the Hume. And we leave tomorrow.’
I shut myself in my room that night and began preparing for the trip. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be away so I threw a few changes of clothes into the blue suitcase on the floor beside my bed. It was summer stuff mostly – shorts, bathers, t-shirts, a pair of jeans and a few long-sleeved tops, just in case the nights in Surfers Paradise were cool.
When I finished packing and saw my bundle of clothes, I began to worry that Mr Romanov might not have anything suitable in his wardrobe. As tempted as I was to pay him a visit, I decided against it and began to rack my brain for clothing ideas instead. It was too late to go shopping for bargains at the second-hand stores so I looked around the room and searched my piles of clothes for things that might fit him. Although we were probably about the same size, Mr Romanov and I, there was nothing I could find that was even remotely suitable, nothing that wasn’t going to make him look creepy anyway.
I was about to give up and move on to the toiletries section at the bottom of my list when I spotted my father’s black and white bandana tied around the handle on the back of my bedroom door. Seeing the paisley swirls again brought back memories of concerts in the park, sugary jam donuts and my father’s goofy barefoot dance. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the two of us there but something wouldn’t let me go. A different memory dragged me back to my room and when I opened my eyes I saw an image of my father’s cardboard box.
I sprang to my feet and
walked over to the door. I cracked it open a little and peered through the gap into the living room. Luckily my mother was asleep on the couch, so I crept out and paced quietly towards her room. When I got there, I opened her wardrobe door and found the cardboard box sitting on the middle shelf. I reached up and after dragging it towards me, I lifted it off the shelf and tiptoed back to the safety of my room.
I don’t remember much about my father’s funeral. I remember pieces – the bluestone church and the rain on my face as we followed the coffin down the steps to the hearse outside. But as sketchy as those things might be now, I still remember the box. Three days after the funeral when my mother packed my father’s clothes, I refused to let her take them. I kept the box beside my bed and each night before I went to sleep I drew a tiny love heart on the side, and when we moved to the commission I’d insisted the box had to come with us.
I hadn’t opened it for for months but looking at it now, the box seemed smaller than I remembered. When I placed it onto the floor and knelt beside it, the hundreds of tiny hearts looked like a galaxy of stars.
I took my time opening the box. I swept a hand over its dusty lid and when I finally lifted it up I saw my father’s favourite thing on the top of the pile – a black AC/DC t-shirt we’d bought on sale one day for ten dollars. I reached my hands in and after picking it up I buried my face in it and breathed him in.
There was a time when I wouldn’t have dreamed of taking my father’s clothes but it seemed like such a waste now, having them stored away in the dark, gathering dust. My father had been gone a year now. Giving them another life seemed like a good idea so I sorted through them one by one and tossed a few choice items into the suitcase with my own pile of clothes then carefully put the box back in my mother’s wardrobe.
The toiletries could wait until the morning so I closed my suitcase and pushed it under the bed. Last of all was the money. I shifted on my knees over to the wooden dresser and lifted up a section of loose carpet and found my yellow purse. I zipped it open and began to count my life savings inside. It hadn’t been easy putting money away. Most of it I got from my dad, but when he died I’d been forced to nick money from my mother instead. Thursday was the best day. On Thursday she cashed her welfare cheque and didn’t seem to notice when the odd five or ten dollar note went missing from her bag.
I was happy with the final count, even happier that I hadn’t dipped in when things were tough. In all, I had a total of one hundred and twenty dollars and seventy-five cents. I scooped the money back into the purse, zipped it up then shoved it under my pillow. I plucked the postcard from my wall and stared at the blonde meter maids in their cowgirl hats and heels. I tossed it onto my suitcase and spotted the snow dome on my bedside table. Seeing it again gave me an idea.
After listening for a while at my bedroom door, I pulled it open again and slipped quietly through. My mother was snoring soundly on the couch, so I shuffled past and grabbed the key.
It didn’t take long to get to the ground floor. Surprisingly, the elevator travelled express all the way down and soon enough I was walking across the grass, along the path towards the store. I didn’t often venture out at night and when I got to the door, a sign said it was closed. Luckily, I spotted Ramesh at the back of the store near the drinks fridge, pushing a mop across the lino floor. His wife Shanti was at the counter, bagging coins.
I wasn’t sure how to grab Ramesh’s attention. I thought about waiting a while until Shanti had gone but I couldn’t be sure how long that would be. Instead, I walked along the side of the shop and stopped at the window near the Streets Ice Cream sign at the back. I tapped lightly against the glass but Ramesh couldn’t hear. He was listening to something through a set of ancient earphones. I tried tapping a few more times but I was worried that Shanti might hear, so I waited until he made his way over to the window and started dancing about and waving my arms. Finally, Ramesh looked up and saw me. He looked to Shanti at the front of the shop and then turned back to me and mouthed a silent ‘what?’. In reply I made a hand puppet with my right hand and flapped my fingers up and down, as a sign I needed to talk. Funnily enough, it worked. Ramesh ducked his head a little and pointed to the far side of the shop, to the roller door where the stock was delivered and dropped off. I nodded my head and walked around.
After a few minutes of waiting, I heard a metal bucket clang against the floor inside, a gush of water from a tap and then the sound of footsteps getting louder. The roller door rose up and behind it appeared Ramesh, dressed elegantly in a splash of beautiful orange.
‘Hi Ramesh . . . nice shirt, by the way.’
‘Thank you, Miss Lexie. And to what do I be making the honour?’
‘Well, I um . . . I need a favour, actually.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, I do. And naturally I thought of you.’
Ramesh seemed happy with that.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘And what would this favour be?’
‘Before I ask, you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not to tell anyone anything I say.’
‘I promise, Miss Lexie.’
‘I mean it, Ramesh. I’m not just saying it . . . you know how some people just say they have a secret and don’t even mean it, well, this isn’t like that. This is serious. Life and death.’
‘I understand, Miss Lexie.’
‘Really? Do you promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘Okay, so I’m going away on a trip. To Surfers Paradise, actually.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. I am. I’m actually going.’
For some reason, Ramesh didn’t look all that happy. He seemed to be having doubts.
‘I’m going, Ramesh, it’s done, so you can forget about telling me it’s a bad idea.’
‘It is a good idea, Miss Lexie, but I will warn you that tomorrow they will be having showers and twenty-two degrees.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. But it will improve, I think. Do not fear.’
‘Right. Anyway, so you can’t tell anyone. Not even my mother, you got that?’
‘Yes. I have it.’
‘And I want you to look after something for me while I’m gone. It’s a garden.’
Ramesh seemed to be grinning.
‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.
‘Not funny, Miss Lexie.’
‘Why are you smiling, then?’
‘It was not a smile, Miss Lexie. It was a frown. Please, go on.’
‘Okay, so all you have to do is water it, but it’s a secret garden. You can’t let anyone see you going up.’
‘Up.’
‘Yes, Ramesh.’ I raised a hand up and pointed to the sky. ‘Up there. On top of the commission. The garden is up there.’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you mean, yes?’ I asked.
Ramesh began to panic. He looked up at the blackened sky and pointed to the top of the commission.
‘I mean, no,’ he said. ‘I mean, oh, what can a garden be doing up there. It is surely odd to have a garden so high. How can it be?’
Ramesh was acting weird. I took a step forward and sniffed.
‘Have you been drinking?’ I asked.
‘Ramesh does not drink, Miss Lexie. Only SevenUp.’
‘Well, you’re acting weird.’
All of a sudden the two of us jumped at the sound of Shanti’s booming voice.
‘Ramesh! Ramesh! It is time to go.’
There was no more time. Without thinking, I leaned in and hugged Ramesh.
‘Goodbye, Ramesh.’
‘Goodbye, Miss Lexie.’
I walked off slowly for a bit then I stopped a few metres along the path. When I turned back around, Ramesh was standing at the roller door. I trusted him with our secret more than anyone I knew.
‘Life and death,’ I called.
He raised his right hand up and waved.
‘Life and death, Miss Lexie. Good luck.’
I woke the next morning to a five o’
clock alarm and when I opened my eyes I couldn’t work out why. But then it hit me, and all of a sudden the grey didn’t seem so bad.
I sprang from my bed and dressed quickly in the jeans and t-shirt I’d laid out on the floor. I was too excited to think about breakfast so after some last-minute packing, I grabbed my cowgirl hat from the dresser, picked up my suitcase and sleeping bag, and headed into the living room.
I wasn’t sure about a note. I’d given it some thought the night before and although it seemed kind of mean not to write one, I decided I wouldn’t. I wasn’t sure about checking on my mother either but I’d been doing it for so long now, it had become a habit, a part of my morning routine like cleaning my teeth.
I didn’t linger in my mother’s room. She was lying on her bed, facing the other way so I watched for movement and saw the blankets rise up as she took a gentle breath. Normally, that would’ve been it. Normally I would’ve walked off, back into the grey and struggled through another day. But it wasn’t another day. This day was different. This day was mine and it belonged to me.
I stood in the living room and ran quickly through the checklist in my head.
‘It’s not a good idea, Lexie.’
‘Be quiet, Miranda, I’m thinking.’
‘I’m serious. You clearly haven’t thought this through. You’re thirteen years old.’
‘You were the one who suggested it.’
‘I was joking, Lexie. You’re just a kid. Who are you going with, anyway?’
‘No one.’
‘It’s that boy, isn’t it? Davey.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe? God, are you hearing yourself? You need to listen to me, Lexie.’
‘No, Miranda, I don’t.’
‘I see, so you know everything now, do you?’
‘I know enough.’
‘No, Lexie, you don’t. You’re living in la-la land. I hate to break it to you but Surfers Paradise is a dream, a useless, pathetic dream. Seriously, you should see yourself. You’re obsessed. Your dad left you, remember? And anyway, what do you think is going to happen? Even if you get there, even if it comes true, it won’t change anything. He went without you. You’ll still be the same Lexie when you come back. And trust me, you will come back.’
Mr Romanov's Garden in the Sky Page 7