I Have a Bed Made of Buttermilk Pancakes

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  ‘Hello, Cassie!’ she said.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ replied Cassie, nodding. ‘Can I paint my bedroom ceiling, please?’

  ‘What colour would you like to paint it?’ said Fancy, spinning around in her office chair.

  ‘A lot of colours,’ Cassie explained. ‘It has to be like a jungle. There have to be monkeys, elephants, cheetahs . . .’ Cassie listed the animals on her fingers, but her voice drifted away.

  ‘Well!’ said Fancy. ‘Why not?’

  She and Cassie drove to the hardware store and bought paint, brushes, and a small stepladder. Then they spent a very pleasant afternoon standing side-by-side, and painting. Fancy persuaded Cassie that they should put the jungle on one of the walls, rather than the ceiling, so that they would not have to strain their necks.

  She was standing on the top step of the ladder, painting in some stars in the jungle sky, while Cassie was cross-legged on the floor, adding lady-beetles to the jungle grass, when Radcliffe arrived home.

  They heard his car in the driveway.

  Then they heard his voice at the front door: ‘Fancy that! My Fancy is at home!’

  Cassie held her paintbrush still for a moment, and looked up. ‘Mum,’ she said. ‘How come he never says, “Fancy that, my Cassie is at home”?’

  Fancy looked down at her daughter.

  ‘Or else,’ said Cassie, beginning to paint again, ‘ “Cassie that, my Cassie is at home.” How come he doesn’t say that?’

  ‘That’s a good question, Cassie,’ said Fancy.

  Early Friday morning, Fancy took some routine ZFS documents into the Castle Hill Kwik Print Shop, to get them copied.

  A young bearded man with tapered cheeks and lacquered hair sat behind the desk and smiled enthusiastically as Fancy walked through the door.

  ‘First customer!’ he said.

  ‘Thanks!’ said Fancy, inappropriately. Then: ‘I’d like to get these copied, please.’

  ‘No problemo,’ said the man. ‘Follow me.’

  To Fancy’s surprise, he led her up some stairs, unlocked a door, and walked her in to a small dark room. He began flicking switches, murmuring, ‘What the heck? Where’s the light?’

  Fancy began to feel nervous, but then he found the right switch and the room filled with light. It was also, Fancy saw, filled with photocopiers. The man chose a machine and pressed the on-button.

  ‘It might take a while to warm up,’ he apologised. ‘I’ll come up now and then and check on you. You have a lot to do?’

  ‘Well,’ explained Fancy, slowly, ‘I didn’t really mean to do it myself. I usually arrange for somebody here to do the copying for me.’

  At this, the most awful, unexpected embarrassment flared on the young man’s face. He switched off the machine and the light, and hustled Fancy out of the room and back down the stairs.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, somewhat coolly, when he was back behind his desk. ‘It’s my first day here.’

  For the rest of the day, Fancy cried on behalf of the man in the photocopy shop. It’s all right, she comforted him, it was just a mistake. You don’t need to lose your enthusiasm. Please stay happy with your life.

  She tried to comfort herself by recalling that today she was going to meet Cath Murphy. For the first time ever, I am going to talk to Cath face to face. But this made her cry all the more.

  That afternoon, Fancy was choosing earrings to wear to the parent-teacher interview, when Cassie appeared at her bedroom door, sneezing quietly to herself.

  ‘Hello, Cassie!’ said Fancy, seeing her in the mirror. ‘I thought you were playing outside.’

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ said Cassie, and coughed.

  Fancy continued to hold various earrings against her ear.

  ‘Mum?’ said Cassie, after a moment.

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘Can I show you my foot?’

  ‘I’ve already seen your foot!’ Fancy joked, and then, when there was silence, she turned around and looked at her daughter. ‘All right then, let’s see your – my God, Cassie, what have you done?’

  Cassie’s right foot was the size of a large loaf of bread.

  ‘I got stung by a bee,’ explained Cassie. ‘And I’m allergic to bees, aren’t I, Mum?’ Then she slid down the doorframe to the bedroom floor, whispering, ‘I can’t breathe very well.’

  Radcliffe arrived home from work just as Fancy was carrying her daughter out the front door.

  ‘Bee sting,’ she called, jogging across to her car in the driveway. ‘I’m taking her to the hospital.’

  Radcliffe slammed his car door. ‘Did you give her the injection?’ he said.

  ‘And she’s had an antihistamine,’ Fancy nodded. ‘She’s already feeling better, aren’t you, darling? We’ll just get the doctors to make sure.’

  Radcliffe approached and opened the car door for Fancy. ‘But her eyes! Cassie, are your eyes all right?’

  ‘They’re just a bit itchy,’ said Fancy breezily, closing the door on her daughter.

  ‘They’re getting better,’ Cassie called through the window.

  ‘Just relax there, Cass,’ suggested Fancy, getting into the driver’s seat.

  Radcliffe hovered, anxiously, and said, ‘I’ll just stay here, shall I? Or shall I come along?’

  Fancy put the car into reverse and pressed the accelerator to the floor.

  When they returned it was ten o’clock and Cassie was fast asleep. Fancy carried her into her bedroom, changed her into pyjamas, and then sat on the edge of the bed and watched her daughter sleeping.

  Radcliffe hovered, whispering, ‘She’s all right?’

  Fancy nodded.

  They went into the kitchen for a cup of tea. ‘By the way,’ said Radcliffe, filling up the kettle. ‘I suppose you’re pretty upset about missing the parent-teacher night?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Fancy, remembering.

  ‘Well,’ said Radcliffe, ‘good news! I called the school and managed to speak to Cath. I explained that you couldn’t make it, and I asked if you could have another appointment. She promised to call you back to arrange it.’

  ‘You spoke to her!’

  ‘Only for a moment, and only on the phone,’ said Radcliffe firmly. ‘Don’t worry yourself, Fance. Just as we all agreed, you’ll be the first of us to meet Cath in person. All right? And you’ll get to do that on your own.’

  ‘Well!’ Fancy was moved. ‘Thank you so much, Radcliffe.’

  Radcliffe nodded, and looked earnest for a moment. ‘Like your mother says,’ he declared, ‘the restraint you’ve shown this year has been commendable. It would have been so easy for you to make an excuse to meet with her. But no. You exercised caution and waited till the proper time. All you have to do now is wait a little longer, and she’ll give you a call.’

  Fancy blinked. There were tears in her eyes.

  ‘But tell me more about this hospital fiasco, would you,’ said Radcliffe. ‘They kept you waiting all this time?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fancy. ‘Can you believe it?’

  MARBIE ZING

  Monday lunchtime, Listen wandered, pretending she was going somewhere, but in her mind she was climbing the outside wall of the Redwood central building. She could see hand-and foot-holds all over that wall – window ledges, jutting bricks, water pipes – and she was getting very fast at her rock-climbing classes.

  Imagine this: there is a 1st-grade girl trapped on a window ledge up there; Listen climbs the side of the wall and rescues the kid in an instant; most of Year 7 watches in awe from the school yard below.

  Then, after lunch, at her Science class, imagine this: an intruder surprises them, planning to take the class hostage; silently, Listen slips out of her seat; ‘Stay down!’ she whispers, and girls hunch over their desks with startled eyes as Listen runs and leaps – a flying side kick across the entire classroom! It ends with a dramatic thump of her foot against the whiteboard, which sends the board spinning. This distracts the intruder so that, next, she overcomes him wit
h a series of spinning hook kicks, chair splits, side kicks (straight up), flying back kicks, and double knifehand guarding blocks.

  Breathless, one foot on the chest of the astonished intruder (now lying flat on the floor), Listen glances back at the class. They are weeping with fear and relief, but also applauding.

  Another thing: that Redwood teacher – Mr Bel Castro – he happens to be taking the class, by chance, and he gazes with admiration and says, I like that.

  Dear Vernon,

  This is just a note to tell you something, as you keep hanging up on me when I phone.

  Well, this is what I want to tell you: you are funny, kind, clever and attractive, and when you frown there is just that one little line, like a ‘Y’ between your eyes.

  Lots of love,

  Marbie

  Having posted a letter to Vernon, Marbie sat in her beanbag, as usual, and reflected, against a backdrop of growing alarm, on just how much she missed him.

  She remembered a time when she had arranged to meet Vernon and Listen in Castle Hill but, half an hour before the meeting time, she had seen them in the distance, by chance. Vernon had also seen her, and had stopped still, dropping his shopping bags to the floor, opening out his face and his arms in an enormous, wondrous smile, shaking his head, as if to say: ‘Look who’s here!’ while Listen giggled beside him.

  Also, she remembered how patient he was with her nightmares and sleepwalking. How she would wake in a panic from a nightmare and, from the darkness beside her, Vernon would speak calmly, in his daytime voice, and say, ‘Marbie? Are you okay?’

  She remembered that when she touched him on a knee or on a forearm, he continued with conversation, but casually, as he talked, he would cover her touch with a touch of his own, the tiniest pressure from his thumb.

  She remembered also the bursts of love she had experienced when she saw him hunched over papers, working on ideas for the Banana Bar. Or when she saw how kind he was with his sister – how seriously he took her education, and how he knew all the names and hobbies of her friends. He had been disappointed this year when Listen stopped talking about school and friends, but had reflected on this issue late one night, and concluded: ‘I guess she’s growing up now and I have to make sure she has her own private life. Even if I really miss her stories, it’s got to be up to her whether she tells them or not.’

  Now Marbie knew it was time to confront herself. Why had she started an affair with an aeronautical engineer? She sank deeper into the beanbag and closed her eyes. (Somebody once told her that ideas and answers emerged as you fell asleep.)

  Certainly, although the A.E. was not objectively attractive, there had been a strange low buzz between them which she supposed was ‘chemistry’. Why had she not had the strength to ignore it? You just had to wait, keep yourself apart, and the attraction would eventually fade. There had to be something else.

  She made herself consider Toni’s theory. ‘It’s because you had just moved in with Vernon and his sister,’ Toni had informed her. Could it have been about Vernon? Had she been reacting, subconsciously, to all the indications that here was the rest of her life? After all, she had bought an apartment with him and she had told him the Zing Family Secret. The level of commitment was impressive, and perhaps overwhelming.

  That’s just nonsense. I was ecstatic about life with Vernon. I considered him perfect. I was terrified of losing him! I thought I had to concentrate on keeping the luck – I was obsessed with ladders and black cats! I was afraid of making the simplest decisions – what to wear to work; whether to leave paperclips under my desk – just in case one tiny thing would end it. I could hardly breathe I was so afraid! I saw catastrophe at every corner, and the suspense was killing me.

  And there it was.

  Marbie’s eyelids fluttered as she shifted slightly in her beanbag. It was clear to her just for a moment. If she was going to lose Vernon at some unknown moment in her future, she had better make it happen at once. If a catastrophe was flying at high speed towards her, she would move to be directly in its path.

  She found she was drifting towards sleep. Already, her revelation was splintering into confusion. She fumbled for its words, but found there was nothing in her mind anymore except small sharp images, the pinpoints of tiny paperclips skimming through the air.

  On Wednesday morning, Listen was summoned out of rollcall by a woman in a cardigan and wooden earrings. ‘Might I borrow Listen Taylor?’ said the woman from the door, and the rollcall teacher said, ‘Why not?’

  The woman introduced herself to Listen as they walked across the school. Her name was Mrs Woodford and she was the Redwood counsellor. Her office was very small – the size of a broom closet – but every surface was covered with paper lanterns, paper swans, paper bears and paperweights. There was also a picture of a fox on the wall.

  Although Mrs Woodford seemed like a nice person, Listen was confused about what she was doing sitting in her office.

  After chatting about how warm it was getting, how summer was approaching, and how difficult it was to remember the snow, Mrs Woodford asked what Listen’s parents did for a living. Listen explained that they had died in an accident when she was a baby, and that she’d been brought up by her big brother, who ran a Banana Bar. Also, she added, since the counsellor seemed keen to hear more, also, they used to live with her brother’s girlfriend, Marbie, but recently they had to move back to the caravan.

  ‘Oh!’ Mrs Woodford was upset about that.

  In fact, she was so upset that Listen had to reassure her: ‘It’s okay. I don’t really mind living in the caravan. I mean, I miss Marbie and that. But it’s fine.’

  Mrs Woodford played with a square of construction paper, and turned it into a rose.

  ‘Cool,’ said Listen. ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘So,’ said Mrs Woodford, not answering. ‘How’s school for you?’

  Listen looked at the rose and said, ‘Fine.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Plenty of friends to muck around with then?’

  Muck around with, thought Listen. What did that mean? ‘Yep,’ she said, staring at the paper rose, which she now thought was maybe just a cabbage.

  ‘I go to Tae Kwon Do and also rock climbing after school. So I’ve got some good friends there.’

  ‘And friends at this school?’

  ‘Well, this is a primary school, so it’s all kind of different,’ she tried.

  ‘No, but I mean in your year? Your own year?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Listen, ‘plenty.’

  After that, Mrs Woodford chatted about how happy she was to be a school counsellor at Redwood Primary, and how Listen could come and see her any time she liked, and then she was allowed back to class.

  It was true that she had friends outside of school: she had two new friends. At Tae Kwon Do, she sometimes talked to Carl Vandenberg, who was a black belt. The other day she had noticed a Bellbird High emblem on his bag, and she told him she used to visit the house next door to Bellbird every Friday night. Carl said she should look out for him because he stayed back late on Fridays for violin. She didn’t get a chance to explain that she had actually stopped going to the Zings on Friday nights, because the others at Tae Kwon Do were laughing at Carl for being a black belt who played violin.

  Furthermore, at rock climbing, there was a girl named Samalia Janz with a ponytail, who always said ‘Hi’ and ‘See you’, as if Listen were a regular person. Listen was pretty sure that they would soon be friends.

  After school that day, Listen collected the mail from their post office box, but there were just two letters for Vernon.

  She walked the letters back to the Banana Bar, and did not press the button at the traffic lights. Instead, she ran to the middle of the road, waited as a truck skimmed past her, and then ran again.

  Vernon was eating a chocolate-coated banana in the empty shop. He was sitting on the counter and swinging his legs. ‘Whatcha got?’ he said, trying to see the envelopes.

  ‘Nothing.’ Listen sa
t up beside him on the counter.

  He leaned back and got her a chocolate banana of her own.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, when he had opened the first envelope. ‘This is from your school. Did you know they were going to do this?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘A camp,’ said Vernon. ‘They’ve fixed your classrooms – so you’ll be able to go back in a couple of weeks. And they’re taking you all to the mountains the weekend after next, because you’ve been good sports. Good sports. It says it right here. See that?’

  ‘How about that,’ said Listen.

  ‘I always knew you were a good sport, Listen,’ said Vernon. ‘And now here it is in print. Wait a second. Now it says they’re going to do some extra lessons at the camp, to make up for the classes you’ve missed. So, the camp’s also compulsory.’

  ‘Compulsory?’ said Listen. ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘Which is it?’ said Vernon. ‘Is it a special treat because you’re such good sports, or is it compulsory because you’re behind in school work?’ He held up the letter and shook it: ‘Make up your mind!’

  ‘Who’s the other letter from?’

  Vernon picked up the second envelope – it was brown with strange pieces of bark and string embedded in the paper.

  ‘Nobody,’ he said, and put it in his pocket.

  Dear Vernon,

  Well! I hope you got my last note. And I hope you like these ‘natural’ looking envelopes. Strange, aren’t they?

  I just wanted to write to remind you how sorry I am, about cheating on you, and to tell you that I really wish I hadn’t. I think you’re so amazing that it makes me cry.

  Love,

  Marbie

  On the doormat there was a large pink envelope, addressed with the single word ‘Marbie’ in swirling purple ink. ‘More poetry,’ she frowned, recognising the A.E.’s style.