Callie

by Ruth Park

  After school Frances went home with Callie and explained to Mrs Beck that she had been the one to blurt out the news about Denmark.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t,’ said Heather ruefully. ‘Not until things are settled. But it’s done now, so don’t worry.’

  Frances was dying to ask who was going with Callie’s dad, but she didn’t. The back door of the flat downstairs was open, and on her way out Frances peeped in. The Becks’ old house was divided into two flats. They had the top floor and the bottom flat was usually let. Frances knew it was now vacant. Laurens, who was a painter and paperhanger by trade, was redecorating it between jobs. There he was up a ladder, a blue shower cap over his fair hair, a brush in his hand.

  But he was not painting at all. He was gazing at the wall, his thoughts far away.

  ‘Hi, Mr Beck!’ chirruped Frances.

  ‘Hello,’ he smiled. ‘What do you think, Frances? Is this the right colour scheme for the kitchen?’

  Frances looked enviously at the peach walls and tan trimmings. ‘It’s unreal, Mr Beck. You ought to see ours, slime green all over. Except where Chris went bananas with the yellow spray paint when he was little. Oh, Mr Beck, isn’t it thrilling about Denmark? We’re all hoping and hoping that it’s Callie who goes with you!’

  ‘If only I could afford to take them all!’ sighed Laurens. He looked so serious that Frances felt awkward. So she said ‘Hurroo!’ and ran off.

  Throughout the day Dan’s work had been so far below his usual standard that his teacher Mrs Griffith thought he was sickening for something. Although in no way did she favour the frail, jumpy Beck boy, she could not help being interested in him. He was unusually bright. Mr Berry, the Principal, intended him to sit for a bursary at the end of the year. If he won it, the bursary would take Dan for three years to Rudyard College, a special school for gifted boys. There was a living allowance as well, and Mrs Griffith knew how much this would help the Beck family.

  Mrs Griffith understood Dan very well. Like many clever children he did not get along well with others. He loved his family more than they guessed, but they all grated on his nerves. He wanted his parents to be proud of him; he wanted to be the best. But that was hard for Dan. The others—even Callie, who was small and slight for her age—seemed to be made of wire and elastic, whereas he caught absolutely everything. If a new disease were invented on Monday Dan would be in bed with it at the weekend.

  ‘Never worry,’ his father consoled him. ‘When I was young, I was the same. A herring, a knitting needle. Then, all at once, when I was fourteen I grew like a giant. And see me now!’

  Laurens wasn’t a giant, but Dan knew he would be very content to grow as tall as his father.

  While Frances and Callie talked to Mrs Beck, Dan prowled around his room. Rolf was there, too, painting his face and Tad’s with colour sticks, but Dan did not notice him.

  Whether he would, one day, grow tall and strong was only one of Dan’s anxieties. Every day brought new ones, which he fretted over until they blew up like balloons. But now he had something really important to chafe about. Suppose Callie really were chosen! He could see how this might happen. She was older, and most of the time she had nice manners. She wouldn’t come down with some unknown disease in the plane which would then be forced to land in a country full of terrorists and be taken hostage. For a moment Dan was diverted by this alarming fancy. Then he returned to his worry.

  She wasn’t a Beck and no one could say she was.

  ‘It wouldn’t be fair!’ said Dan. ‘Would it, Rolf?’

  Rolf never paid attention to anything that didn’t interest him so he went on drawing a red moustache on himself.

  ‘You’re not like my brother at all!’ boiled Dan. ‘You might as well be another dog like Tad!’

  The injustice of his life was too much for him. He thumped down on his bed and brooded until he was in a ferment of fury and jealousy.

  Laurens had scarcely locked up the empty flat and come upstairs to have his coffee, before Dan flew into the kitchen and yelped at Callie: ‘Just look at my nose, it’s exactly like Dad’s!’

  Heather was rolling out pie pastry, and took no notice.

  Callie said, ‘Big deal.’

  Gret, doing her homework at the kitchen table, advised: ‘Ring up the TV station. They’ll want that on the six o’clock news.’

  Laurens poured out another cup of coffee and nodded.

  ‘It is true that your nose is like mine. It is a pity it is not a prettier nose. But why think of it just this minute?’

  ‘Because,’ said Gret scornfully, ‘it proves he’s half-Danish and Callie isn’t.’

  ‘Now, look here, you kids—’ began their mother.

  Two bright patches jumped into Dan’s cheeks, his hands clenched and unclenched and he shouted: ‘She’s not your real daughter! It’s not fair if she goes to Denmark!’

  Callie had heard of people seeing red, and now she did. She had been reasonably polite with Dan in the playground, though she had been pleased when Frances hadn’t. She hadn’t complained of him to her mother. But now the whole kitchen turned dark red.

  She grabbed the coffee pot to throw at him. Laurens snatched it back just in time. But he was not quick enough when Callie darted a hand at the dish of cooked meat and vegetables, which stood ready to be covered with pastry. In a second it was all over Dan, gravy, carrots, onions and all.

  The entire family froze. Laurens had his mouth open, and the coffee pot still poised above the table. The scene was like a still from a movie. Then Gret broke the silence:

  ‘And I’m hungry, too!’ she said peevishly. ‘Starving. I tell you, Dad, everyone in this place is off their trolley!’

  Suddenly the kitchen was full of noise, Rolf laughing, Tad barking.

  Dan danced with rage. He bellowed. As Mrs Beck said later, if it had been Tad, she would have thrown a bucket of water over him, but it was hard to know what to do with a boy of Dan’s age.

  ‘Be quiet!’ roared Laurens. ‘Be quiet, you hear me?’

  For a moment Dan believed that for the first time in his life his father was going to hit him. The shock was so great he instantly stopped squawking.

  Laurens said sharply: ‘For a family to quarrel over poor Aunt Mette’s kind thought is bad enough. But there has been a worse thing said by Dan. Listen, all of you. Carol is not my daughter but in the heart I am her father and always will be.’

  I am your daughter, I am, Callie thought, but she did not know how to say it. She stood there hanging her head and swallowing back tears. She could scarcely believe she had done what she had. It was like some awful dream.

  She sneaked a look at her mother, who was staring wistfully at the pastry.

  ‘Oh, Mum!’ croaked Callie in shame, and fled.

  ‘Dan,’ said Laurens. Dan’s heart gave a sick jump. He thought he was going to be severely punished.

  ‘Go and wash yourself and change your clothes,’ said Laurens. ‘You will have to go to the shopping centre to fetch hamburgers.’

  Callie wanted no dinner; she couldn’t face ringing Frances or talking to any member of her family. She huddled in the cupola and didn’t even put the light on. It was autumn in Neutral Bay. The dead leaves clogged the gutters; in gardens poplars stood like spearheads of pure gold. The flower shops sold chrysanthemums, and big dahlias like pink saucers. The days were getting shorter. The last light vanished from the west, and rain began to fall, sliding down the tiles in front of Callie’s cupola window and splashing through the thick green of the camphor-laurel tree.

  Callie thought drearily: If Marius came here, just for a visit, he couldn’t even see the inside of my castle. He’s much too big to climb the stairs.

  She remembered then what an athletic-looking boy he was. Maybe he could scramble over the roof and get through a window. Callie cheered up a little. For a while she fell into a consoling daydream in which this actually happened when she least expected it. He would sit there on the floor, and look at her books
, and say with his delightful accent (like Dad’s, only nicer): ‘What a surprise! They are my favourites, too!’

  She and Marius would have many things beside books in common; she could tell just by looking at his picture. They would talk about everything, a whole world of dreams and hopes and ideas.

  She came back to earth to discover the cupola was dark except for reflected streetlights. Her father called her from the bottom of the stairway.

  ‘Callie, come down, please. We want to speak to you.’

  Oh, gee! thought Callie miserably. I’m going to cop it good.

  She was very mixed-up about the events in the kitchen. Throwing the pie-filling was grungy on several counts, not the kind of thing ever done in her family. On the other hand Dan had simply begged for something dramatic to happen to him. She could imagine Frances and the others laughing their heads off, enthusiastically yelling ‘Wow!’ Those with young brothers or sisters would think what she had done was not only fantastic but right.

  But of course she would never tell anyone, not even Frances, she was too embarrassed. And neither would Dan. But then there was Gret, so grouchy these days. Suppose she made a joke of it to Frances’s young brothers, and the story got around the school that way! Well, thought Callie, she’d just have to tough it out, ghastly though it might be.

  She was so involved with her worries about this that she forgot to see if Dad was looking stern or even grieved that she had behaved so badly. But all he did was to take her into the master bedroom. Mum had the vouchers for the plane tickets spread out on the quilt. Neither she nor Dad looked cross. Callie cheered up a little though she still felt nervous.

  ‘No, Callie, we are not going to scold,’ said Heather. ‘Awkward things happen in families now and then. What we need to talk about is Denmark.’

  ‘Dad really is going then?’ whispered Callie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Laurens. ‘Now, Callie, look at these vouchers Mette sent us. Read the dates.’

  Callie looked, though her heart was beating like a drum. Were they going to tell her that…no, she must read carefully and not think about that.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘they’re for July, that’s summer in Denmark, and there’s one return ticket for an adult and one for a half fare.’

  ‘Oh, darling,’ burst out her mother, ‘I rang up the airline today, just to check on things, and a half fare is a child under twelve at the time of departure. I’m so sorry, Callie. We both are.’

  Suddenly Callie understood. She had turned twelve a month before. The airline would have to charge her an adult fare. Auntie Mette didn’t have as much money as that, and neither did the family.

  ‘I see,’ said Callie. Her voice sounded normal, though inside she felt that she might fall down dead any minute.

  ‘It’s an excursion fare, you see,’ explained Laurens, ‘on a special date. That’s why Aunt Mette was able to afford it.’

  ‘What makes it so awful,’ said Mum sadly, ‘is that Dad really did want to take you, because you’re the eldest and would remember the trip for always. It’s such bad luck, Callie.’

  ‘I do understand,’ whispered Callie. She really wanted to run out of the room, but she felt she ought to say something. But perhaps Mum would ask her how she felt about it, and she didn’t know. She was angry, and dreadfully disappointed, and sort of hopeless as well. She didn’t want to start crying just because she didn’t know what else to do.

  Strangely, just then she remembered Grandpa Cameron, who had always known what she was feeling. Even when he was in hospital, very weak and hating it, he had understood she could hardly bear to see how he had changed.

  ‘Chin up, lass,’ he whispered. ‘When things can’t be altered you have to make the best of it. You can always manage to put a good face on things if you try. Stay in charge.’

  But how did you do that? Callie’s legs began to tremble.

  ‘Poor Callie,’ said Laurens. He put his arm around her.

  ‘I’m all right,’ said Callie. ‘Denmark won’t sink. I can go when I’m older.’ Her voice sounded loud and rough, a sort of rude bark. But she couldn’t do anything about it. She ran out of the room and upstairs into the cupola.

  It was terrible. She blundered around in the dark little space, kicking the chair, the bench. There was a lump in her throat and a bigger lump in her chest. She felt the way she had felt when Grandpa died, as though she couldn’t cope with the awfulness of things. She sat down and put her head against the wall.

  How was it that Auntie Mette hadn’t remembered she was twelve? She had even sent Callie a present for her birthday, a book about Laplanders and reindeer. For a moment Callie felt quite bitter and hateful towards Aunt Mette. But perhaps the old lady didn’t know that in Australia half fares ceased when a person turned twelve?

  ‘The reason doesn’t matter anyway,’ choked Callie. ‘I’m not going. I’m staying home.’

  Her mother called from the bottom of the stairs: ‘Come down, pet, and have some supper. You haven’t eaten a bite.’

  She didn’t answer. She was thinking of what the kids would say, how Belinda McKay would sneer. But was she really afraid of things like that? People like stuck-up Belinda? No, she could manage, ride it out. It was the other feeling that hurt so much. Jealousy. Horrible sour jealousy of Dan, who would go to Denmark, meet Marius, have a fabulous time. In her place. She was jealous, and she hated it.

  The next few days Callie worked and worked at hiding her jealousy of Dan. She thought that if anyone guessed her real feelings she would never get over it. Her face was stiff with smiling. Mum and Dad were great, never giving her as much as a sympathetic look. Callie was grateful for that. They were matter-of-fact, and she tried to be, too.

  The kids at school teased a little, but most of them did not.

  Some said: ‘Well, at least you were the one your Dad wanted to take, and that’s something.’

  Belinda McKay just raised her beautiful eyebrows and said, ‘Oh, well, Denmark! It’s not as if you’re missing a trip to Paris, is it? Did you hear, Callie, I’m going to be in a junior fashion show at Grace Bros?’

  ‘I hope she trips,’ gritted Frances. ‘I hope she breaks her nose.’

  Mr Anger was fine. He said, ‘Hard luck, Carol,’ and that was the end of it.

  But Frances was just herself, furious at the unfairness of life, proud of the great way Callie was taking her disappointment.

  ‘You’re unreal, Callie, you really are. You’re like someone on TV. Mature. Anyway, maybe Dan will catch the Black Death or something before July.’

  It was queer how admiration helped when it came from Frances. If it had been from Dad she would have burst out bawling.

  ‘I’ll bet you haven’t cried once,’ said Frances.

  ‘Well,’ said Callie, ‘once or twice.’

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t count,’ scoffed Frances.

  Callie wrote to Marius and did not moan at all, although she felt like it. She asked him to send a photo of himself with Dad and Dan. She wanted to see him with members of her family.

  She knew Grandpa wouldn’t think she was quite in charge. Not yet.

  ‘But I will be,’ she promised him.

  When Dan heard he was the lucky one he was thrilled and boastful. Only Mrs Griffith’s dismay cast him down.

  ‘Oh, Dan!’ she said. ‘Not this year! Think of all the time you lost with those wretched mumps!’

  Dan knew she was thinking of the bursary to Rudyard College.

  ‘I’ll catch up,’ he said. ‘Easy!’

  ‘It’s not easy at all!’ she said sharply. ‘Don’t get too bigheaded about your abilities, my friend.’

  Dan was taken aback, almost insulted. He cut up a bit in class and was kept in. The room smelt of damp kids and damper sneakers; it was cold and lonely. Dan began to cough. When he was set free he pottered home through the rain, hoping he’d get the flu. That would worry old Mrs G.

  Dan’s classmates were not at all interested in his trip to Denmark. S
ome of them said, ‘Where’s that?’ Others said, ‘Well, me and the other kids are going to Surfers Paradise at Christmas.’ Whenever he began to show off a little, they said, ‘Aw, shut your face!’ and began to talk about football and which club would win the premiership.

  Dan consulted his father about this.

  ‘When Callie’s friends thought she was going,’ he said, ‘they were thrilled as anything. Jealous, too.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Dad, ‘but she’s twelve. Your friends are too young to care.’

  It was weird. Dan added this disappointment to all the others, having a brother who was a kind of human dog, and a sister who hassled him. Even Callie was a washout. He knew very well she had been crazy to go to Denmark. She just had to be jealous. Yet whenever he tried to tease her about it she looked sniffy and grown-up and walked off humming.

  His excitement had somehow died down. With no Callie with whom to compete the whole thing looked different. In fact, thought Dan honestly, sometimes he wasn’t keen at all. He was so much younger than Marius and Gus. Whom could he talk to? Elderly Danish uncles? Uncle Alf was an astronomer. That might be interesting. But who’d go all that way to talk to an uncle about Jupiter or something? Then there were the aunts. Old. He might have to kiss them. Dan felt creepy at the thought. And what about Mrs Griffith? Suppose she was right and he couldn’t ever catch up?

  Dan loved being top of the class. He couldn’t bear the idea of not being top. And as for failing the bursary! Dan panicked at the very thought.

  He was almost relieved when his father received a letter from the Principal, requesting a discussion.

  ‘I’m not surprised that he wants to see us,’ said Heather rather anxiously. ‘I have wondered, you know, Laurens…’

  ‘Sssh, dear Heather,’ cautioned Laurens.

  Ssssh indeed, thought Dan. As though I don’t know what Mr Berry wants to see Mum and Dad about!

  He thought of teasing Gret that the meeting was about her; he knew Gret always had some awfulness on her conscience. But he was too jumpy to bother with Gret. Besides, she’d punch him.