I Have a Bed Made of Buttermilk Pancakes

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  ‘She’s asthmatic,’ Fancy tried to say.

  In a small office, a nurse said to Vernon, Marbie and Mr Zing, ‘Now, it’s Listen, did you say? Right, well, she has some bruising, cuts, some minor burns and grazing on the palms of her hands and her knees. She’s dehydrated and exhausted, and she’s resting right now, but otherwise she’s fine. We’re keeping an eye on her for smoke inhalation, but am I right in thinking that she wasn’t actually in the shed? She was the one who helped the others out?’

  ‘The shed was on fire?’ murmured Mr Zing. ‘Has anybody told my wife?’

  In a corridor, a doctor said to Mrs Zing, ‘She’s sleeping now, but we’ve treated her for second degree burns on her arms – it looks like she was wrapping her arms around the little one, protecting her from the fire, like so . . . You need me to explain second degree burns? No?’

  Cassie dreamed of porridge. ‘Never put porridge in your nose,’ she told Lucinda, who only coughed in reply.

  Listen dreamed that she was performing a magic trick with a handful of balloons. The Zing family watched and clapped while, hazy in the background, Carl Vandenberg went through the motions of his black belt pattern.

  Cath dreamed that her cat, Violin, was evil, and she had to save him. It was too late: Violin was treading through dried brown grass towards nesting plovers which would pluck out his eyes.

  ‘Violin!’ shrieked Cath, but her cat gave a snort of contempt and ran his claws slowly down her forearms.

  She dreamed a defence for Violin. She scrambled through her law notes, passing pregnant fishwives, eggshell skulls, snails in ginger beer bottles, and landed with relief on the defence of necessity.

  ‘But twelve voted in favour of conviction,’ explained Mr Billson, apologetic in the school playground, ‘twelve in favour of acquittal. There being no majority in favour of reversal, the conviction stood.’

  This meant guilty.

  For a while, the family moved about between hospital rooms and sleeping girls in a state of agitated confusion, but eventually they settled down.

  Radcliffe and Fancy sat by Cassie, watching her without a word. Once, Radcliffe cleared his throat and said, ‘Fancy, the doctor mentioned that her asthma might be worse now, worse than ever.’

  ‘Forever?’ breathed Fancy.

  ‘Than ever,’ corrected Radcliffe.

  Then they were silent again.

  Vernon, Marbie and Mr Zing sat in a row by Listen’s bed, occasionally chatting amongst themselves about the contents of the hospital menu, or the fact that Vernon’s sneakers had a squeak. Mr Zing suggested he try beating them with a stick, or drowning them in a bucket of water for a day or two. He swore that these techniques were effective. A nurse noticed Marbie’s bleeding knees and chastised her before carefully washing and dressing them.

  Mrs Zing, meanwhile, sat alone by the sleeping Cath, gazing at her steadily.

  ‘Now, Cath,’ she murmured eventually. ‘If it’s true that the shed burned down, I don’t know what might be left of our garden there. Which is a shame, as I think you’d like that garden. We have so many flowers! Let me think. We’ve got sweet peas, begonia, pansies, petunias, snowdrops, cyclamen, daisies, and orchids. No roses though, because of the thorns. We’ve got port wine magnolias, camellias, dahlias and azaleas. We’ve got a vegetable garden too, you know. Broccoli, carrots, beans and peas. Corn, cauliflower, lettuce, parsley, strawberries, tomatoes, mint and thyme. And there’s David’s little lemon tree, of course. You might have noticed that.’

  Cassie dreamed about breakfast cereal, stale in the bottom of the box. She tried to explain to her father how to tip the box so the stale cereal would not spill, but he was distracted.

  Listen dreamed of pieces of silver glimmering in the tortoise pond.

  ‘As a reward!’ said the principal, happily, ‘for all your squeaking sneakers!’

  ‘Bravo,’ said a voice. It was Annie Webb.

  ‘It’s silver,’ Listen explained.

  ‘Bravo,’ Annie said again, more quietly.

  Cath dreamed that a frightening rabbit stood in the centre of the road. It was ordinary sized and ordinary shaped, but there was something incredibly scary about it. For a start, it was surrounded by piles of broccoli, carrots, beans, peas, corn, cauliflower, lettuce and parsley.

  Cassie gave a single, high-pitched wheeze, which surprised her. She turned her eyes towards her mother on the seat by the bed. ‘I can run as fast as a bus,’ she whispered, hoarsely. Her mother burst into tears.

  Listen opened her eyes and saw Marbie, Vernon and Mr Zing, sitting by the side of her bed. ‘Sorry,’ she said. Mr Zing leaned forward and gave her a friendly tap on the head with the hospital menu.

  Cath woke up. A plump woman was sitting by her bed. ‘Hello,’ said the woman. ‘Are you all right? The painkillers are working? I hear you’ve seen our garden shed!’

  15

  CUCUMBER SOUP

  Six weeks had passed since the fire, the holidays had begun, and Mr Zing had built a gazebo on the site of the garden shed. It was here, for symbolic reasons, that the Zings held their ‘explanation lunch’ for Cath.

  While in the hospital, she had been extremely confused by everything Mrs Zing said, so that, in the end, she spoke in her law student voice to say, ‘Why should I not call the police about your shed, please?’

  Mrs Zing asked that she wait until she was home and felt better, and then they could hold an explanation lunch, and then, if she still wanted to, she could telephone the police. It was not clear what she could say to the police even if she did call them (the Zings could deny the contents of their burned-down garden shed), and what she really wanted was an explanation. So she had agreed to Mrs Zing’s request.

  Cath Murphy sat at one end of the table, and Mr and Mrs Zing at the other. The table was draped in a new white cloth, and was surrounded by elegant garden chairs. Bellbirds chimed in the bush behind the Zings’ back fence. A kookaburra rested on the fence itself, silently watching the family as they in turn regarded their cucumber soup and reached for their serviettes and spoons.

  Cath had been introduced to each of the Zings on the way out to the garden, and now she sat with her back straight and surveyed each Zing in turn. On her right sat the girl, Listen, who had rescued her from the fire, then Listen’s older brother, Vernon, and Vernon’s girlfriend, Marbie. On her left sat Cassie Zing, then Cassie’s mother, Fancy, and Fancy’s husband, Radcliffe. Occasionally Cassie whispered an observation to Cath. She had already whispered that her parents were getting a divorce, and that her mum didn’t really want her dad here today. Now she was whispering something about the mint sauce.

  ‘Well,’ declared Mrs Zing, in a ringing voice, and people drew their hands back from their spoons.

  ‘I thought I would begin with a general explanation,’ she said. ‘Then, if you have any questions, we can do our best to answer them.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Cath faintly.

  Mrs Zing breathed in deeply and began. Her narration was punctuated by clinking spoons, chiming bellbirds, and the occasional chuckle of the kookaburra or whip of a distant whipbird.

  ‘Several years ago,’ Mrs Zing began, tilting her head slightly as if to remind herself of the details, ‘my husband, Mr Zing’ (here, Mr Zing raised a hand to identify himself) ‘– yes, Mr Zing here, went to Ireland to write a novel. While he was away, I got a job on the set of Pie in the Sky. I had an affair with the star of that movie, Nikolai Valerio – yes, Nikolai Valerio. I had an affair and became pregnant with his child. Then he left me with nothing but an artificial rose. Then my husband returned.’

  She paused and everyone looked at Cath, who was smiling gently.

  ‘Nikolai’s career relied, or so he thought, on his loyalty to his wife, Rebekka. His image was that of perfection. There were already rumours surrounding Nikolai’s friendship with me – it was known around the set that my husband was away – so Nikolai’s people rushed me, David, and our daughters, Fancy and Marbie –’ (Fancy and
Marbie raised their hands, solemnly) ‘– that is, the whole family – to a secret location by the sea. There, they offered me a deal.’

  ‘A deal?’ prompted Cath, humouring her. She had not touched her soup spoon.

  ‘Right. Valerio’s people would arrange for you – you understand, of course, that you were the baby – yes, they would arrange for you to be adopted, and I could secretly monitor your upbringing. They set up a company structure through which I would communicate with Nikolai, report on your progress, and make requisitions for anything you needed. The corporation paid Mr Zing and me a salary for our work. I’m sure you can never forgive me for giving you up, Cath, but let me assure you, I did it for your own sake. I wanted you to have a normal life. If anyone had known who your real father was –’

  At last, Cath interrupted. ‘My real parents,’ she said firmly, ‘died in a house fire. I have a photograph of them at home, and I can assure you my father is not Nikolai Valerio. Nikolai Valerio! Of course,’ she continued, her voice growing strident, ‘I have adoptive parents who I consider to be my parents. They live in Perth and know nothing about what I found in your garden shed, because I knew it would upset them, but don’t think for a moment that I won’t tell them if I need to! I don’t want to hear another word about Nikolai Valerio. I know who my real parents are! I’ll show you the photo if you like. But I want one sane person to tell me right this moment why you people had all that information about me. I mean, right now. Or I’m calling the police.’ She held up her mobile phone, impressively.

  ‘Ah!’ said Mrs Zing. ‘The photographs of your “real parents”! I’d almost forgotten. Yes, we arranged two photos. One, if I remember rightly, was of a young blondish couple, the other of a big firefighter who was supposed to have rescued you. All three were extras in Nikolai’s movies. We made up the fire story so you’d never go looking for your past.’

  ‘Your adoptive parents seemed like very nice people,’ said Mr Zing. ‘It’s probably a good thing that you haven’t upset them with this.’

  ‘About the shed,’ Fancy put in helpfully. ‘Well, we kept all our records about you there, as well as the photos. Medical, dental, educational . . .’

  Cath gasped so hugely she almost choked.

  ‘Oh,’ said Fancy, sadly.

  ‘It was like this,’ tried Radcliffe, leaning his elbows on the table. ‘Here’s an example. You remember when you had that skiing accident when you were sixteen or so?’

  ‘You needed reconstructive surgery for your knee,’ Marbie reminded her.

  ‘Oh yes!’ said Mrs Zing. ‘We all learned as much as we could about knees and knee operations! We became quite the experts! All the information is –’

  But Cath had stopped listening. ‘How do you know about my photo of my real parents?’ she demanded, but her voice trembled. ‘They did die in a fire. They’re not extras in a film. How do you know about my photos?’

  Mrs Zing suggested that they go inside and watch the DVD of Turntable Troubles, Nikolai Valerio’s fifth movie. Radcliffe pointed out, as the movie began, that Cath had the same fine cheekbones and bump on the end of her nose as Nikolai. She ignored him. Mrs Zing paused at the spot in the movie when each of Cath’s ‘mother’, ‘father’, and ‘heroic firefighter’ appeared as extras in the background.

  It was confirmed that Turntable Troubles had been made five years after these people were supposed, by Cath, to have ‘died’.

  EXTRACTS FROM THE ZING

  GARDEN SHED (Burnt Fragments)

  ROAST LAMB, POTATOES,

  PEAS AND MINT

  Cath was staring at Cassie, who was spearing peas onto her fork. She had three peas on each prong of her fork, and was trying for another.

  ‘All right,’ Cath said finally, looking up around the table. ‘Just assuming that this story is true –’

  ‘Oh, it is,’ interrupted Radcliffe, buttering a slice of bread vigorously.

  ‘Just assuming,’ repeated Cath sternly, and Mrs Zing nodded encouragingly. ‘Well, how did you get all that information about me? You had photographs of me at my desk in primary school. You had photographs of me in my law classes! In my dining room! You had photos of my ankles! You had my academic records!’

  ‘Well, good question,’ said Mrs Zing. ‘We had three main avenues of enquiry. First, and most importantly, we had spies. Second, we had gathering techniques. Third, we had one or two hidden cameras.’ She raised her voice slightly, so she could pretend not to hear Cath blustering: ‘Spies? Hidden cameras?’

  ‘In relation to spies, we chose people around the edges of your life. Your postman, the dental nurse, the school secretary, the local florist, colleagues, acquaintances, and so on. They had to engage you in conversation, ask routine questions, take secret photos of you, and so on. We recruited them by hinting that this was a top secret, yet slightly shady organisation – you know, we played up to their thirst for adventure. They didn’t know anything about the Valerio connection, of course. And they had to sign very strict confidentiality agreements. We paid them so well that it was hard for them to refuse. Also, easy for them to ignore any pangs of conscience . . .’

  ‘Mum did most of the recruiting,’ said Fancy. ‘She always knew exactly the right people to approach. She never got a refusal.’

  ‘In relation to gathering techniques, well, Fancy and Marbie developed all sorts of methods for getting access to school offices, dentists, doctors, physios, and so on, and taking photos of your records. We were meticulous about maintaining up-to-date information. Cath, you really should eat. You need protein and carbohydrates to help recover from burns, I read that. Vernon, help Cath to the gravy, would you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Vernon, politely.

  ‘And in relation to the hidden cameras?’ said Cath, coldly, ignoring the hovering gravy boat. Vernon set it down next to her plate.

  ‘Well, don’t worry yourself too much about that,’ said Mrs Zing. ‘They never had sound recording devices, so we didn’t hear what you said. We had several around your house when you were small.’

  ‘We should let her know that her adoptive parents didn’t have anything to do with this,’ said Mr Zing.

  ‘You’re right,’ agreed Mrs Zing. ‘This had nothing to do with them. They never had a clue. That was a golden rule. But anyway, we cut back on the number of cameras as you got older, to protect your privacy. From the age of twelve, we stayed out of your bedroom, for example – that’s the age when I stopped going into Fancy and Marbie’s bedroom, so it seemed about right.’

  ‘You cut back on the number of cameras,’ said Cath, ‘to protect my privacy?’

  Everyone looked down at their food, except Listen and Cassie, who both stared silently at Cath.

  EXTRACTS FROM THE ZING

  GARDEN SHED (Burnt Fragments)

  DESSERT

  ‘Now,’ said Mrs Zing, ‘at least try a piece of Fancy’s famous chocolate terrine!’ She was slicing it up and passing dessert bowls down both sides of the table.

  Cath was pale and silent, so Mrs Zing continued: ‘The final thing we must explain is why we were gathering this information. There were two reasons, Cath, one minor and one major. The minor reason was this: you may find this hard to imagine but your father, Nikolai, adored you. He was greedy for information about you – you are, after all, his eldest child, and his only daughter. So we compiled the information into regular reports, with photos affixed, along with the requisitions for certain funds – and this kept him happy.’

  ‘And kept him happily sending us money to carry on,’ Radcliffe pointed out.

  At this, Listen accidentally interrupted by saying, in a disbelieving voice: ‘Nikolai Valerio.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Cath, nodding at her.

  ‘But the major reason was that we wanted to make your life wonderful,’ Mrs Zing continued. ‘We wanted to give you gifts. We wanted you to have every opportunity. We wanted you to be happy, and to develop your potential. So! Let’s think of some examples, everyone!�
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  ‘Well,’ said Fancy, shyly, ‘Marbie is a great swimmer but she never got swimming lessons when she was young. We thought you might have the same talent and we wanted to make sure it wasn’t wasted. So we found a way to get rid of the mediocre swimming teacher you had and replace her with a former Olympic champion.’

  ‘Any time you were sad,’ said Marbie, ‘we tried to think of a present for you that might cheer you up – like a trip to Disneyland or a new puppy dog or a Hoyts Gold Pass or a pair of designer sunglasses. And the same whenever it was your birthday.’

  ‘Nikolai gave you birthday presents too,’ said Mrs Zing. ‘But you probably never noticed them. He always got us to find out who your favourite singer was, and then he would write a song for you and get them to put it to music and release it on the date of your birthday. You remember Kylie Minogue’s hit, “Blue-Eyed Blonde Beauty” which came out on your twelfth birthday?’

  ‘And there was that Eminem song on your twenty-first birthday,’ said Marbie. ‘I loved that song. About the teaching student with the pet cat? Eminem added all the swearwords though, which really annoyed Nikolai. I always wondered if you noticed the similarity to your life.’

  ‘Not really,’ whispered Cath. ‘I didn’t listen to the words.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Vernon.

  ‘And we had projects,’ added Radcliffe, ‘for more major things. I remember when we decided that it would be good to broaden your horizons, so we tried to put you in the way of trips or jobs in exotic locations such as Mongolia and Nepal! That was Project 53, wasn’t it?’