Mr Romanov's Garden in the Sky

by Robert Newton

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yeah, you. It’s what you do, Lexie, you carry on.’

  It was hard to be cross with Davey after what he’d said about how I was something worth living for. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said.

  ‘So, you still stroppy?’ I asked. ‘Has he been stroppy, Mr Romanov?’

  Mr Romanov glanced my way but seemed a little unsure of what to say.

  ‘Not so much,’ he said. ‘We . . . we were talking.’

  This was going to be interesting.

  ‘What about?’ I asked.

  ‘Stuff,’ said Davey.

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be interested, Lexie.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘It was guy stuff.’

  ‘So nothing important, then?’

  ‘See, this is exactly what I was talking about,’ said Davey. ‘I knew you’d carry on.’

  ‘I’m trying to take your mind off things, Davey.’

  ‘Yeah, well don’t bother. We’re nearly there. Turn left, please, Mr Romanov.’

  After swinging the Merc left, we drove for about ten minutes then pulled into a car park in front of a large modern looking building. On the grassed area in the foreground, a cross-shaped flagpole rose up from a collection of giant boulders, its trio of flags flapping gently in the breeze. At first glance, the place looked like some sort of health resort but as I scanned the front of the building, I found an inscription on the sandstone wall to the right of the entrance.

  ‘Beechworth Correctional Centre.’

  Suddenly everything made sense. I swivelled onto my knees and turned to Davey in the back.

  ‘Oh my God. Your dad.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘No wonder you wanted to take the Hume. You knew all along. It’s your wish. This is awesome.’

  Davey hadn’t moved since we’d stopped. He just sat there staring out the window, clutching a piece of white paper. The logo on the top looked official.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said. ‘I can’t do it.’

  ‘What?’

  I grabbed the back of my seat with two hands and pressed myself against it.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ he said again. ‘I think we should go.’

  ‘What are you talking about? We’ve come all this way, Davey. Mr Romanov, help me out here.’

  After killing the engine, Mr Romanov unbuckled his belt and sat back in his seat.

  ‘It is not for us to say, cowgirl.’

  It wasn’t the help I’d had in mind.

  ‘You’ll regret it,’ I said. ‘If we drive off now you’ll regret it as soon as we go.’

  ‘I haven’t seen him in five years, Lexie. What if . . .?’

  ‘He’s your dad, Davey.’

  ‘I know, but what if . . .?’

  ‘What if, what if, what if . . . There’s only one way to answer the what ifs and that’s to go in and talk to him. God, do you know what I’d give to be able to talk to my father again? I’d give anything.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Yeah, and that’s the point. I’ve got what ifs too, Davey, and I think about them every day and night. But the thing is, I’ll never get mine answered. I have to live with not knowing.’

  Davey looked up from the paper in his hands.

  ‘Maybe that’s not so bad,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, let’s say you were given a wish, like me. Let’s say you got to see your father again, got to talk to him and his answers were ones you didn’t want to hear. Maybe it’s better not knowing. You ever thought about that?’

  ‘Never.’

  It was the first time I’d spoken to Davey like that. I’m not sure if it helped, really, so when he gazed out the window to the prison on our left, I turned back to the front and sat quietly in my seat. Nothing happened for a while, no one said a word but then a door clicked open behind me.

  ‘I’ll see you soon then.’

  Davey was already out when I looked over my shoulder. I couldn’t let him go like that so I opened my door and joined him. Mr Romanov bundled out through the driver’s side door and soon the three of us were standing together by the side of the car.

  ‘So,’ said Davey. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Petrified,’ I said.

  ‘Good. That’s exactly the look I was going for.’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Really.’

  ‘Fine? What the hell am I going to say?’

  ‘You should probably start with, “Hi, Dad”. Hey, maybe you should take Delilah in?’

  ‘I’m not taking Delilah in, Lexie.’

  I took a few steps towards the car and after grabbing Delilah from the dash I handed her to Davey.

  ‘Put her in your pocket,’ I said. ‘You can show your dad how you’ve kept her all these years. She might be a good icebreaker.’

  Davey was too nervous to argue. A few cars began to motor up the driveway into the visitor car park. We watched the families get out, a collection of mums and kids, and as they headed for the prison entrance, Davey took a few deep breaths.

  ‘So, this is it then,’ he said. ‘Not sure how long I’ll be. I could be two minutes or I could be two hours. Maybe you should go into town or whatever, have a look around, grab something to eat. It’s not an allocated food stop, of course, I made that up, but you know, a snack would be okay. God, do you think they’ll strip search me? Do they do that still? I’m pretty sure they do in maximum-security places but this is pretty low-key here. Still, with my eye and all, they might think I’m on drugs and single me out for a random search. Hey, you know Ned Kelly was imprisoned here. Him and his mum, actually.’

  I never thought I’d ever say this, not in a million years but I think part of me fell in love with Davey Goodman in the car park of the Beechworth Correctional Centre. I don’t mean love in a boyfriend/girlfriend kind of way. At least it didn’t feel like that anyway. It was better than that. Something broke inside me, that thing I put up to keep people away and Davey came flooding in, all goofy and scared. I felt myself smile and I walked over. I wrapped my arms around him and whispered in his ear.

  ‘Just be yourself,’ I said. ‘Now go and see your dad.’

  It was hard watching Davey walk towards the prison doors alone. I went to go after him but Mr Romanov grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

  ‘Let him go, cowgirl,’ he said.

  He was right, of course. As hard as it was, it was something Davey had to do by himself so I stood quietly beside the car and followed him with my eyes. I lost him for a bit as he mingled with the other visitors and then I caught sight of his gangly frame just before he disappeared inside.

  I wasn’t sure what to do after that, so I turned to Mr Romanov beside me.

  ‘Fingers crossed, hey?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Fingers and toes. I need coffee.’

  Beechworth was a pretty town. The old buildings and the wide-open streets made you feel as if you’d stepped back in time. Being a Saturday, there were plenty of people about, but unlike Fitzroy, Beechworth didn’t feel crowded. There was space to breathe here, room to move, and as we drove slowly up Ford Street, we kept our eyes peeled for a cafe. Mr Romanov picked one out, the Beechworth Pantry, and steered the Merc into a vacant park by the side of the road. After grabbing some money from my purse, I put my cowgirl hat on and got out of the car. A few seconds later, Mr Romanov joined me on the footpath in his heavy grey coat.

  ‘Are you a cowboy?’ said a voice.

  The voice was singsong and loud and belonged to a little boy wearing a Spider-Man outfit and gumboots.

  ‘Ah, no,’ I said. ‘I’m actually a girl.’

  ‘You don’t look like a girl,’ he said. ‘You’ve got short hair. You look like a boy.’

  ‘Well, I’m not.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘No, I think I’d know if I was.’

  ‘Have you got a gun?’

  ‘No.’<
br />
  ‘What about a horse?’

  ‘No horse either, I’m afraid.’

  Spider-Man’s mum hadn’t yet told him it was rude to stare. He zeroed in on my flat boy-like chest then screwed up his face as if it was all too hard.

  ‘I can shoot webs out of my hands,’ he said. ‘Do you want to see?’

  Not before time, the little boy’s mother appeared. She stepped through the Pantry shop door and walked over carrying a cup of coffee and an enormous chocolate muffin.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘He’s Spider-Man crazy at the moment. Doing my head in, he is.’

  With her two hands full, she shifted up close to her son and tried to steer him away with her hip.

  ‘That’s enough, Blake,’ she said.

  ‘My name’s not Blake,’ said the boy.

  The mother rolled her eyes then looked back down at her son.

  ‘Apologies, Spider-Man,’ she said. ‘Come and eat your muffin and stop annoying people.’

  I’m not sure why he rattled me. I mean, he was a little kid after all, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t been mistaken for a boy before, but something about Spider-Man’s lingering stare and his not-quite-sure second glance had me feeling more than a little self-conscious. It brought back memories of starting at new schools, the playground jibes and the classroom jokes, and when I joined Mr Romanov at the cake display inside, it felt as if everyone in the cafe was looking my way. We stood in the queue for what seemed like forever and when we got to the front the lady behind the counter did nothing to make me feel any better. It was the pause that did it, the tiny moment of uncertainty in her eyes.

  ‘Hello . . . dear,’ she said. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘I’ll have three meat pies and two sausage rolls, please,’ I said. ‘All with sauce, thanks.’

  It didn’t take long to bag the food but Mr Romanov’s coffee was a different story. There was a mix up with the order and they’d forgotten him completely. When I eventually pointed it out to the bearded Ned Kelly look-alike barista, he gave us our money back and the two of us walked out the door with a complimentary cappuccino and two caramel slices.

  Spider-Man was up and about after his sugar hit, shooting webs at the steady stream of passers-by. I wasn’t sure I was up for any more superhero action, so I hurried for the Merc and jumped quickly into the front seat.

  It didn’t seem right to start on the food without Davey, so I placed the bags onto the seat beside me and waited for Mr Romanov to fire up the Merc. Five minutes later, I was still waiting.

  ‘We should go,’ I said. ‘I’d hate to not be there when Davey comes out.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mr Romanov reached a hand down to the ignition and after turning the key, the Merc roared to life.

  ‘Which way, cowgirl?’

  ‘Huh?’

  A thirty-minute pit stop, maybe forty, and already Mr Romanov had forgotten the way. I smiled like it was no big deal and pointed back down the road.

  ‘That way,’ I said.

  After slipping the gear stick into reverse, Mr Romanov edged the Merc out onto the road and soon we were heading back along Ford Street. A little way up, a teenage girl stepped cautiously onto the zebra crossing in front of us and waved politely when we stopped. She was dressed in a denim skirt and a pink chequered shirt and her shiny blonde hair seemed to bounce with every step she took. I didn’t mean to speak but as we continued on and drove over a bump, the words seemed to spill from my mouth.

  ‘Do I look like a boy?’ I said.

  Mr Romanov turned his head as if he wasn’t sure the question was meant for him.

  ‘A boy?’

  ‘Yeah, a boy,’ I said. ‘Be honest. Do you?’

  ‘No. I don’t think you look like a boy.’

  ‘So why does everyone think I look like one?’

  ‘Why do you worry what people think, cowgirl?’

  Mr Romanov raised a hand up and placed it over his heart.

  ‘In here,’ he said. ‘That is what matters.’

  ‘What if I grew my hair?’ I said.

  ‘And then you could be like everyone else, yes?’

  ‘Not everyone else. I’d still be me but with long hair.’

  ‘You are growing up, I think.’

  All of a sudden my mobile began to ring in the glove box in front of me. I opened it up and after checking the number on the screen, I turned it off, tossed it back in and slapped the glove box shut.

  ‘You do not answer?’ asked Mr Romanov.

  ‘It’s my mother,’ I said. ‘Knowing her, it’ll be something to do with money.’

  ‘You have not told her, then?’

  ‘Why would I tell her? She won’t even care where I’ve gone, that’s if she even notices. Hang on, turn left here.’

  A few kilometres further on, we turned right and headed up the road towards Beechworth Correctional Centre. We’d only been gone about forty minutes but I was busting to see Davey again. Still, I didn’t expect to see him any time soon. Six years was a long time to fill.

  ‘Maybe we should go for a walk?’ I said. ‘While we wait, I mean. Do you feel like a walk, Mr Romanov?’

  ‘If you promise to go slow, cowgirl.’

  ‘A stroll then. We could . . .’

  After veering left, the prison came into view and I spotted a solitary figure sitting on one of the boulders at the base of the flagpole. I sat up in my seat and peered through the window.

  ‘Is that . . . Davey?’

  Mr Romanov steered the Merc towards the grass section to the left of the prison and as we got closer Davey hauled himself up and got slowly to his feet. When we pulled up beside the kerb, I opened the door and walked towards him.

  He’d been crying.

  ‘Are you, okay?’ I asked.

  Davey looked shattered. He walked straight past me as if I wasn’t even there then he opened the Merc’s back door and climbed inside. When the door slammed shut, I dived into the front seat.

  ‘Davey, what’s . . .?’

  ‘Drive,’ he said. ‘Just drive.’

  Clearly, things hadn’t gone well with Davey’s dad and while I understood why he might be angry, it was torture just sitting there, not knowing what had happened. I filled in as navigator, managed to find our way back onto the Hume, and although I snuck looks over my shoulder, the silence began to mess with my head. It was as if silence was some hideous noise, wailing through the stereo speakers. Ten kilometres further on, I cracked and turned slowly around.

  ‘What happened, Davey?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t, Lexie.’

  ‘But you have to talk sooner or later. I know you’re upset but I think it might help if . . .’

  Davey cut me off with a frustrated groan then began to rummage through the bag beside him. He pulled out a red and blue beach towel and after unclipping his belt, he shifted forward in his seat and reached up to a tear in the upholstery roof directly above us. Bit by bit, he stuffed the end of the towel carefully into the tear and when he let it go it dropped like a curtain between us.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I asked.

  Davey didn’t reply.

  ‘I can’t even see you now. Come on, Davey.’

  Bach only made things worse. Halfway through the tape, my stomach began to growl so I tore open the paper bag beside me and picked up one of the pies from the cardboard holder inside. I reached back over the seat, through the tiny gap underneath the towel and felt the pie disappear from my hand. I gave one to Mr Romanov and had just finished squeezing his sauce when Davey spoke.

  ‘In future, you’ll need to say the password,’ he said.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘If you want to access the divider, you’ll need to say the password.’

  Directly in front of my face I noticed a small black stain on one of the red swirls.

  ‘Why can’t we just talk?’ I said.

  ‘Password,’ said Davey.

  ‘I have to say the password to talk?’ />
  ‘Correct.’

  ‘No, Davey, I won’t. You’re acting like a baby.’

  I sat up straight in my seat and peered through the front window at the swish looking caravan on the highway in front of us. When it began to slow halfway up a winding hill, Mr Romanov steered right into the overtaking lane and motored past it. A few minutes later, I caved in. I turned back around again and got a face full of towel.

  ‘Okay, then, what’s the password?’

  I could hear Davey chewing on his pie in the back seat.

  ‘I’m Lexie,’ he said, ‘and I’m the most annoying person on the planet . . .’

  ‘That’s not even a password.’

  ‘Don’t interrupt, I haven’t finished yet . . . and even though I think I know everything, the truth is I don’t know shit from clay.’

  Enough was enough. I grabbed a corner of the towel and pulled it down.

  ‘Tell me what happened, Davey,’ I said.

  ‘He’s not coming home is what happened.’

  ‘What do you mean he’s not coming home? I thought . . .’

  ‘Yeah, well you thought wrong. Him and Mum are over. Have been for a while, apparently. All that stuff in his letters, all the promises about being home for my birthday were nothing but lies.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry, Davey. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘He didn’t even ask how I was. He didn’t even care. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.’

  ‘That’s not true, Davey. The three of us matter.’

  ‘The three of us? Are you kidding? What, a demented old man, a bung-eyed spaz and a girl who . . .’

  All of sudden the words stopped coming. Davey turned his head and looked out the window to his left.

  ‘A girl who what?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘No, no, a girl who what, Davey?’

  ‘Like I said, it doesn’t matter.’

  Something grabbed hold of my heart and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘This trip matters,’ I said.

  ‘For you maybe, Lexie. I don’t care anymore.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘Yeah, I do. This stupid Surfers Paradise dream of yours is a joke. What do you think it’s going to achieve, anyway? Do you think it’s going to bring your dad back?’