You couldn’t go in the darkroom if the little red light was on because you might ruin all the photos. You had to knock then, to make sure that Tom wasn’t in the middle of exposing them, when any extra light could mean disaster. He’d prefer his tea cold rather than risk losing photographs.
‘I’m sure he’ll take you to the basketball game. I’ll ask him for you, okay? Look, Millie, do you think that this top would be all right with those trousers? Because then I can just take that skirt which does go with that top.’
The phone rang before I could answer her.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Millie here.’
‘Hello, darling, how are you?’
‘Patrick! Mum, it’s Patrick! Yes, I’m fine, we’re all fine ... You’re what? ... Mum, Patrick’s coming to Sydney!’
‘He’s what?’ Mum snatched the phone from me. ‘When are you in Sydney, Patrick?’
‘Give me the phone back, Mum! I was talking to him first.’
‘Hold on for a sec, can you? Millie, just give me some time, okay. Then you can talk to him again. Patrick, how long are you over for? Are we going to see you? Oh, what a shame. No, I’ll be in Canberra. Millie? No, she’s staying with ... just hold on.’
Mum took the phone in to her bedroom, giving me a warning look I couldn’t misread. I had to wait my turn and I might as well be patient.
It was so unfair. Patrick was going to Sydney only – a science conference. Then he had to go straight back to England to start teaching again.
‘I can’t help it,’ he said, his voice all warm and close on the phone. ‘They won’t give me leave, Millie. I’ve a full teaching load. It’ll be lucky if your mum can come to Sydney after her conference.’
‘When will I see you?’
‘I’ll be back for Christmas this year, definitely. I couldn’t go for two years in a row without seeing my Millie. Now, tell me, how are things? What is this Tom like?’
‘It’s so unfair,’ I said to Mum. ‘He’s my father. He isn’t even related to you but you get to see him and I don’t.’
‘You can write him a long letter,’ Mum said, ‘and I can give it to him—that is, if Tom can mind you the extra day.’
‘I can email him if I want to,’ I pointed out, snappish.
‘Why don’t we get Tom to take some photos of you and Pavlov and I’ll take them up with me?’
‘Okay.’ It didn’t help that much but it was better than nothing, and Patrick had promised that this Christmas—which was ages away of course—he’d come back to Australia come hell or high water. That’s exactly what he said: ‘come hell or high water’. I liked the sound of that.
Tom came around the next afternoon and took photos of us, and Mum too. He fussed around with lights and reflections and Mum fussed around with make-up, scarves and even a hat.
‘It’s not for Patrick,’ she told Tom. ‘If I look okay in any of these and not like someone with early-onset dementia, I’ll use them for the next show catalogue. If you don’t mind.’
‘Of course I don’t mind, Kate. I’d be flattered. And I’m really happy to take shots of Millie for her dad to see, and to mind her for the extra time. Honestly, I’m delighted to be able to do that. It’s just ... I just feel ... I know you’re good friends and that’s important. It’s just that I feel...’
‘It’s okay.’ Mum went up and gave him a hug, awkwardly because he had cameras dangling around his neck. ‘It’s okay, Tom. We’ll talk later.’
Why do adults do that? I wasn’t stupid. I knew that Tom didn’t want to think about Mum meeting Patrick in Sydney, because they might fall into each other’s arms again after all these years and discover they really truly loved each other. As if.
I wanted to tell him that Mum and Patrick weren’t like that. As he took our photos he looked as if he was trying very hard not to be miserable. Mum did her best, but she was too excited about the conference and about seeing Patrick so she constantly put her foot in it.
We went over to Tom’s to have dinner so he could develop the photos in the dark room. Mum bought take-away pizza. I waited until Tom was ready to do the developing and then asked if I could help.
‘Sure,’ he said, ‘come on in. I can always use an assistant.’
While I jiggled photos around and peered through the enlarger and hung up the prints on the little clothes line, I told Tom about Patrick.
‘You know, you’re The Boyfriend,’ I said to Tom, ‘not Patrick. I mean, Mum does love him, of course. Because they are the best friends in the world. But it’s that friends kind of love, not the smoochy kind.’
‘I know,’ Tom said, in an unconvinced voice ‘It’s fine. Honestly. And we’ll have a good time together, I’m sure. We’ll keep the fort for your mum.’
When we got home later, with ten beautiful black and white photographs that made both Mum and me look like long-ago movie stars, I said to Mum, ‘He’s nice, Tom, even if he is The Boyfriend. I like him, you know.’
‘Mmm,’ Mum said. ‘So do I, Millie.’
‘You’ll ring him, won’t you, when you’re away?’
‘Well, of course I will.’
‘It’s just that sometimes you forget, you know. Like that time you and Sheri went to Queenscliff and didn’t ring May for three days?’
‘Oh Millie, that was different. Sheri and I were having a holiday. Or trying to. Honestly, the way May carried on you would have thought I’d abandoned you. Three days, that’s all. The nearest public phone wasn’t working. I told her that.’
‘I didn’t mean you to go over it all again,’ I said. ‘It’s just that I think you’ll have to ring Tom, that’s all.’
‘Tom’s old enough to look after himself. You’re the one I have to ring.’ And Mum gave me a quick grin.
‘And Tom,’ I insisted. ‘And take your mobile, Mum. I mean it. Don’t forget it again either.’
Mum’s mobile was the most immobile cell phone in the world. It often lived on the top of the bookshelf closest to the front door. It was there so she’d see it before she left the house. The trouble was, Mum was always leaving the house in a mad rush and the mobile stayed put.
‘I’ll take my mobile. Of course, I’ll take my mobile,’ Mum said crossly. ‘Honestly, Millie, that’s why people have them. I’m not stupid.’
Getting Mum packed and off was a major exercise. Without Sheri, Mum needed my help with her clothes. I wasn’t the best person in the world to ask. But I was better than Tom, who said that everything looked terrific when even I could see that the brown skirt was shiny at the back and that her new impulse-buy trousers made her bum look enormous.
‘Didn’t you look in the mirror?’ I asked her.
‘Of course I did, but I looked at the front, not the back. I didn’t have time to look at the back. I don’t think it can look that big, Millie. I think you’re exaggerating. It’s just my bottom, that’s all. It’s no bigger than ever it has been.’
‘Well, it looks huge in those trousers, but if you want to wear them, go ahead.’
I was worried enough about my own clothes. I had to go to Rowan’s basketball game on Saturday and I had nothing to wear.
I had to start calling him Rowan, I decided, not just I couldn’t turn up on Saturday and call him by his initials. He would think that was very peculiar. I had some practice at school.
Tayla came over while Helen-Rachel-and-I were having lunch (Sarah was sick).
‘I hear you’re going out with Rowan,’ she said, standing directly in front of me, her arms crossed and her runners (new) planted firmly, as though she was ready for some kind of action.
‘I’m not,’ I said.
‘She is,’ Helen-and-Rachel said.
‘I suggest you back off,’ Tayla said. ‘He asked me out first and just because I said no this time doesn’t mean that I’ll say no next time. So, if you don’t wa
nt trouble, Miss Dilly Millie, I’d make sure that it doesn’t happen again.’
‘You’ve got no right to intimidate her,’ Helen said. ‘Millie can go out with Rowan if she wants to.’
‘That’s right,’ Rachel said, ‘so long as he wants to, too. Who do you think you are, Tayla?’
Tayla looked at Rachel as though Rachel was a particularly unpleasant bug she’d found on her sandwich. ‘Who do I think I am? Well, for your information, Rachel, I know who I am and that’s one hell of a lot skinnier and prettier than you are, so I’d pull my head in if I were you, Lard Butt.’
‘Who’re you calling Lard Butt?’ Rachel asked, getting up.
‘Do you really have to ask?’ Tayla turned away from Rachel and back to me. ‘So did you hear what I said, Millie, or do your friends have to speak for you?’
‘I heard.’ Inside me my heart was beating out of control. Had Rowan really asked Tayla to the game first? Was I just his second-best choice. I didn’t even know that. I could have been his third or fourth or even fifth best choice. How would I know? I could hardly ask every girl in our grade whether or not she’d been asked first.
‘Good.’ Tayla strolled away casually, her skirt flipping as she walked.
‘She’s horrible,’ Helen said. ‘You haven’t got a huge bum, Rachel, so don’t look like that.’
‘I don’t care anyway,’ Rachel said. ‘It’s my bum and I like it.’
‘Do you really think he asked her out first?’
Helen and Rachel looked at each other. They didn’t mean to, I knew that. It was the kind of look you almost can’t stop happening—the checking-up look.
‘I don’t really know,’ Helen said.
‘I think he might have,’ Rachel said at the same time.
‘So he only wants me to go because she’s said no?’
‘He really likes you, Millie, otherwise he wouldn’t have thought of you at all.’ Helen patted my arm.
‘Anyway,’ Rachel said, ‘that’s not really important. The thing is that he did ask you and you’ll be at the game, not Miss Cat’s Bum Mouth. You’ll be there. That’s what counts.’
That night I wrote in my journal:
To the Spirit of Justice and Everything that is Fair, please let something happen to Tayla Cameron. Let her get a really bad pimple right on her nose or in the middle of her forehead. Let it be big and bright red and unsqueezable. Let it get bigger and bigger until she’s almost scared to squeeze it in case it explodes. Let it be the biggest pimple in the world and horrible to look at. I ask this because Tayla Cameron’s soul is like that. Big and horrible. I know it’s against the rules to ask for bad things to happen, but she really does deserve it.
Your servant,
Millie.
I didn’t expect the Spirit to do anything, really. Helen was right, it had too much to do anyway, what with all the starvation and war and cancer in the world. But you never knew, and if anyone deserved a huge pimple somewhere where everyone could see it, it was Tayla Cameron. Nothing was surer.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The Spirit of Justice was clearly not listening, or was not very good at its job. I got the pimple. I woke up with it on Friday. It wasn’t on my nose or my forehead. It was on my chin, which was just as bad. It was huge, bright red and totally unsqueezable. I know, because I tried for ten minutes.
‘Millie, get out of the bathroom. I need to get ready to go to Canberra. What are you doing in there?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Well, stop hogging it, then. Honestly, I don’t know what’s got into you. I can remember when I had to beg you to have a shower. Now you’re in the bathroom all the time. I’ve got to get ready.’
‘I heard you. I’ll be out in a minute.’
I couldn’t believe the pimple. It pulsated, honest. I tried to cover it up with some of Kate’s liquid foundation No.5, but that just made it go kind of scaly on top. It didn’t seem to diminish the glaring red at all.
‘Millie, I’m counting to ten.’
‘Okay, okay. God, you’d think it was a crime getting ready for school. You’d think you wanted me to go to school dirty and stinking with knots in my hair.’
Mum was tapping her foot when I got out of the bathroom. She looked me up and down carefully but I had my hand over the lower part of my face.
‘What’s wrong with your chin?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Well, why are you holding it like that?’
‘I’m not. It’s just comfortable this way, that’s all.’
‘Millie, come on, let me see.’
Reluctantly I moved my hand.
‘I don’t see anything,’ Mum said. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve got a huge pimple, Mum. Look! The basketball game is tomorrow and it won’t go away for that. It’s my own fault. I asked that Tayla Cameron get a pimple, not me, but it backfired.’
‘What backfired? Who’s Tayla Cameron? I can’t see a huge pimple, just a pretty ordinary-sized one.’
‘Oh Mum, you’re hopeless.’ I stalked off to my room. For an artist Mum was remarkably unobservant, particularly when it came to her own daughter. I wished for one minute—okay, maybe for five minutes—that I had a beautician for a mother. Someone who would look at my face and really see it in all its horribleness and then suggest something practical that I could do about it. Instead I had a mother who shrugged off acne as though it was nothing, like having to have stale bread sandwiches for lunch, which I hated too, but which, I had to admit, didn’t happen that often and wasn’t as bad as pimples anyway. Or at least not as bad as this pimple. Rowan would take one look at it on my chin and never want to come near me again. I would die of a broken heart.
Mum came out of the bathroom. She looked kind of nervy but great. She was wearing a new dark purple skirt and a shirt that swirled around with colour and made me think of dancing. ‘Millie, you must listen to this. Here’s where I’m staying in Canberra. Stick it up on the noticeboard, will you, and highlight the phone number. I’ll be leaving there on Sunday night and leaving Sydney on Monday afternoon, after I’ve seen Patrick.’
‘You’ve got a mobile phone, Mum. I don’t need all these numbers.’
‘You do. What happens if my mobile battery runs out?’
‘You packed your charger, didn’t you?’
‘Of course I did. Accidents can happen though, or it might be stolen. These are back-up numbers, Millie. Stick them up now. There’s frozen food: a curry, two lots of pasta sauce and some lasagne. I don’t want Tom to have to cook for you both, so remind him, will you? And, Millie, don’t hassle him, okay? Don’t ask for Maccas or pizza or anything like that. Remember he’s doing me a huge favour. We haven’t even been going out for long. Not many men would take on minding a child.’
‘He’s The Boyfriend,’ I said to her crossly. I don’t like being called a child. ‘He’s just doing it so he won’t be sacked.’
‘He’s not,’ Mum said. ‘He’s doing it to help out. And it is helping, Millie, so you be good. Don’t be sarcastic with him. He hasn’t had much to do with kids. Please, Millie. Treat him gently, huh?’
‘Okay, I will. But you bring me back something, Mum, because I won’t even get to see Patrick.’
‘Millie!’
‘Well, it’s true.’
‘You know Patrick would do anything to see you. He simply has to get back to teach, Millie. I’ll hardly see him. He’s the keynote speaker at his conference. We should both be really proud of him. But it doesn’t mean that you automatically get something.’
‘I need a new journal,’ I said, ignoring her. ‘I bet you could get something really cool like that at the Gallery. You are going to the Gallery, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m not promising anything, Millie. You don’t just get things because I have to go
away, but I’ll keep it in mind that a new journal would be desirable. Fair enough.’
‘Thanks, Mum. You’re the best. Don’t worry about Tom and me. We’ll be fine. I’ll look after him for you. I won’t forget the food in the freezer and I won’t hassle about take-aways. But you have to remind him about the basketball game.’
‘Deal.’
I went off to school knowing that when I got home Mum wouldn’t be there and Tom would.
‘How was school?’ he asked. ‘Do you want a tea or a coffee?’
‘I don’t drink coffee,’ I said, ‘but I’ll have a raspberry and peach herbal tea, please.’
‘Good, good. Where are they?’
‘The tea’s all up here, in this cupboard. Cups are down there. Mum keeps coffee in the freezer. Do you know how to work the coffee maker?’
‘No.’ He looked a bit miserable, as though all the details were a little overwhelming.
‘I can show you,’ I said. I felt as though I should pat his arm. He just gangled in the kitchen, looking out of place. ‘Mum left us dinner, too. In the freezer. We just nuke it in the nuker.’
‘Oh,’ Tom said, ‘I thought we’d just have noodles tonight. Would that be all right with you?’
‘Mum said we weren’t to have take-aways.’
‘Did she? She didn’t say that to me.’ Tom looked worried. ‘Are you allergic to things. She didn’t mention anything like that.’
‘No. I never get sick. I think it might be Boyfriend rules.’
‘Oh, is that all it is? So we can have noodles?’
‘Tonight we could,’ I told him, ‘but we’d better eat some of the meals she’s frozen. After all, she went to all that trouble for you, you know.’
‘We’ll make sure we eat something for lunch tomorrow. I just think I have to study this nuker of yours. I’m not up on microwaves. I don’t actually have one myself. I’m afraid I’m strictly a chops and three veg kind of man—with takeaways. I do a good line in take-aways. I know all the best places.’ He grinned at me.
Millie and the Night Heron Page 8