‘I’m thirsty.’
‘We haven’t got time for this, come on.’
When I rush something my fingers and feet seem to get bigger and it’s hard not to fumble and stumble. I tried to pull the zipper up on my backpack but it got stuck, so I just threw it over one shoulder and ran after Jazzi, who was marching off, her little heels clip-clopping quickly.
‘I’m thirsty,’ I said again, catching up. ‘We had running before and Mrs P wouldn’t let anyone get a drink afterwards. She’s so mean.’
‘You can get something later,’ Jazzi said, turning back to look at me. And then, ‘Oh, you silly girl, Beatrice, you’re spilling everything.’
‘I need a new backpack,’ I told her as we picked everything up. ‘I think this one is broken.’
‘It’s not broken, you’ve jammed something in the zip. Here, what’s all this?’ Jazzi yanked at my scarf.
‘That’s my knitting!’ I said. ‘Don’t touch that!’
‘But it’s caught, Beatrice. Look.’
Sure enough there was a piece of my special fat chunky yarn stuck between the zipper teeth.
‘Oh no,’ I wailed. ‘It’s really ruined now.’
‘You’ll get it out,’ Jazzi said, grabbing my hand, ‘but later, okay. Right now we have to hurry.’
‘It’s taken me ages,’ I said, ‘all that knitting. It’s a bit weird, I know, but it was my first go and you can muck up your first go. Why are we in such a hurry?’
She didn’t answer, just pushed me along to her car. It might have been clean, but that didn’t mean it started any more easily.
‘I’m really thirsty,’ I told Jazzi again, in case she’d forgotten. ‘We did running this afternoon and then Sam pushed Andrew and Andrew flicked water at him and we weren’t allowed—’
‘Bee, just shut up, will you! I’m trying to make this car start.’
I was so shocked that Jazzi had called me by my right name that I shut my mouth straightaway and swallowed the rest of my sentence.
‘Come on,’ Jazzi muttered at the car, ‘please work.’ She tried the key again and the car made a hopeful coughing sound that died away almost immediately.
‘I think you’ve flooded it,’ I said, forgetting to keep my mouth shut. ‘Nanna does that sometimes in winter. Her car doesn’t like the cold.’
Jazzi looked at me and I thought she was going to shout again. Instead she took such a deep breath I could hear it go all the way down to her tummy.
‘I think you’re right, Beatrice,’ she said. ‘I think that’s exactly what I’ve done. Okay, that’s okay. Why don’t you just run up to that shop and get us two juices while we wait for this old car to work?’
She handed me a ten dollar note.
‘I don’t suppose you’re hungry too?’ I asked.
‘Something to eat, too – something salty,’ Jazzi said, ‘for both of us. But nothing with chicken flavour.’
‘I hate chicken flavour.’
‘Well, we’ve got something in common then.’ Jazzi smiled a small, sad smile.
When I got back the car was humming away, Jazzi had new lipstick on and her nose was all flakey-looking because she’d powdered it.
‘I didn’t know whether to get one packet or two,’ I told her, ‘but I thought it would be safer if you were driving to get two.’
‘Just don’t get crumbs everywhere,’ she answered, ‘and don’t wipe your hands on the seat.’
‘So where are we going?’ I asked finally as we drove through streets that were only half-familiar.
‘To see my brother.’ Jazzi dived her hand into the chip packet.
‘You don’t have a brother.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Jazzi said, tipping the chip packet up and shaking them straight out into her mouth while someone behind us honked because the lights had just turned green. ‘Shut up, you road pig!’ she shouted at the rear-vision mirror.
I was beginning to enjoy the drive. Unexpected things were happening.
‘You’ve never told us. Does Dad know?’
Jazzi sighed and turned down a little street. I recognised it. Dad and I used to sometimes go to the adventure playground there. Jazzi stopped the car right opposite the playground but I didn’t think we were going there.
‘No,’ she said, ‘your dad doesn’t know and I don’t want you tell him, Beatrice.’
‘Why?’
‘Harley’s not like ... he’s got problems, Beatrice. He’s always had problems. You know how some people are born with blue eyes and some with brown? Well, Harley was born with a different kind of brain.’
‘What sort of brain?’
‘Just different. His brain’s wired differently.’
‘Wired differently?’ Jazzi was making less and less sense.
‘Look Beatrice, don’t you have anyone in your class at school who is, you know, a bit different?’
‘Rebecca J’s little brother Nat is different. He’s acoustic.’
‘Acoustic?’ Jazzi repeated.
The word didn’t sound right to me either.
‘Acoustic means not electric,’ Jazzi said. ‘Do you mean autistic?’
‘Probably,’ I said. ‘They have to lock the kitchen cupboards at night and there are wind chimes above his door so his parents wake up if he leaves his room at night. I’d like some wind chimes, but not above my door – outside my window. Rebecca says that he shouts a lot, too, and doesn’t even know why you cry if he hurts you.’
‘Harley isn’t exactly autistic but he does shout sometimes and he doesn’t know that he hurts other people, either. Look Beatrice, I really didn’t want to bring you with me today but I have to see him every week. Don’t you worry about anything, though. You just sit quietly, be a good girl and don’t worry. Harley lives with a couple of other people a bit like him but no one will hurt you, no matter how strangely they behave. Okay?’
‘Sure.’ I shrugged. She seemed to be making a big fuss about nothing.
We drove off a little way and then stopped in front of an ordinary house. Two big velvet lounge chairs were sitting out on the front lawn with a little white table between them. A man sat in one of the chairs. He had a big beach towel over his face. A woman was in the other, jabbing her fingers at the air as she talked to the towel.
Jazzi checked her lipstick in the mirror and gave a practice smile. ‘Let’s go,’ she said and smiled again, showing her teeth. She reached over to the back seat and picked up two packets containing sticky buns. ‘He likes these,’ she said, ‘but you never know whether it will be the apple or the pink icing. I always get both.’
‘Do you think we could have some of the one he doesn’t want?’
‘Probably. Sometimes he likes to keep both. It just depends what kind of mood he’s in. Follow me and don’t pay any attention to anything anyone says, okay?’
The woman in the green velvet chair was sitting bolt upright now and watched us as we pushed open the gate and went up the stairs.
‘Hello!’ Jazzi made the word dance up and down and she waved her fingers at the woman. ‘Just visiting Harley.’
‘He’s inside. Plotting,’ the woman said and then suddenly bellowed, her voice sounding too big for her body, ‘Harley! The woman who says she’s your sister is here again with another one. A smaller one.’
Jazzi went up the stairs but the woman kept staring at me. It would have been rude of me to say nothing so I said, ‘Hi, I’m Bee. Short for Beatrice.’
‘Buzz buzz,’ the woman said. ‘The flower woman’s here with a little insect,’ and she cackled loudly, sounding just like a witch.
I hurried after Jazzi. ‘Why are you the flower woman?’
‘Shh.’ Jazzi tried the buzzer and listened. Nothing happened. She rapped loudly on the glass panels. The door opened quickly, as though someone had been waiting behind it.
Harley was standing where we couldn’t quite see all of him, behind the door, which had kind of closed back on him when it opened for us. I jumped when he stuck his he
ad around a little.
‘You shouldn’t do that, Harley,’ Jazzi said. ‘You frighten people.’
‘People frighten me,’ Harley said. ‘Who is this, Jasmine?’
I stared at Jazzi – Jasmine? ‘Jasmine?’ I squeaked.
‘She doesn’t even know you.’ Harley’s voice came from behind the door now, which he’d pulled shut on himself.
‘Do come out, Harley,’ Jasmine said. ‘I’ve bought you some sticky buns.’
‘Which one do you like today?’ I asked, poking my head around the door a little. ‘We bought both, apple and pink icing.’ It was like watching Fifi and Lulu. First he kind of hunched down, as though he was trying to hide. I stayed exactly where I was and made myself as still as I could be, the way I was with the guinea pigs. ‘I like apple,’ I said after a while, just to make conversation, ‘and I particularly like the apple with walnuts. My name’s Bee.’ I didn’t offer him my hand to shake because I couldn’t remember which hand to hold out and also I didn’t want to startle him.
‘To be or not to be.’ He leant forward so his head was quite close to mine. ‘The question, little Bee, are you or are you not?’
‘I am,’ I said, ‘or I wouldn’t be here, would I?’
‘I don’t know. Sometimes I am here and sometimes I go away for a time. Time itself is quite slippery. Pink icing. Today is a pink icing day because the sky is so blue. You and Jasmine can have the apple.’ And all of Harley emerged from behind the door.
He was taller than Jazzi but you’d know straightaway they were brother and sister, just the way I could tell that Uncle Rob was Mum’s brother when I looked at her photo next to his.
Harley had the same shaped face and eyes, the same slightly too big mouth and surprised eyebrows, but his eyes were all puffy and there was a not-quite beard growing on his chin. Even though he looked old, he seemed young.
He put the pink icing bun on a little plate, not worried that most of the bun hung over the sides of the plate. Jazzi sat down and folded her hands in her lap.
‘You could share it with the others,’ she suggested. ‘You could call Bill and Laura in for tea and sticky bun, Harley.’
Harley shook his head. ‘Laura’s making holes in the air,’ he said, imitating Laura’s jabbing finger. ‘I don’t like it when she does that, and Bill’s hiding.’
‘Are you taking your pills?’ Jazzi asked very quietly. ‘Has Tony dropped around?’
‘Yes, yes, yes.’ Harley stuffed a big pulled-off piece of bun in his mouth and didn’t look at Jazzi. ‘Tea?’ he asked, spraying crumbs everywhere.
‘That would be lovely.’ Jazzi’s hands were still folded and her piece of bun, torn off by Harley, lay untouched on her plate.
‘Tea, to Be? A nice cup of tea for Bee? Tea, bee, tree, bee, true bee, two bee?’
‘Thanks.’
‘Then we’ll have to go,’ Jazzi said.
‘You just got here,’ Harley said, his voice flat and cold. ‘Jasmine is always rushing, rush rush rush. I bet the True Bee doesn’t rush rush rush.’
‘I hate rushing.’ I felt sorry for him. The corners of his mouth were drooped and he looked like a sad puppy. ‘I hate it when you have to hurry up, get ready and forget things. They always say it’s your fault, but it isn’t really. It’s the clock’s fault.’
‘True Bee, To Bee, has theys too?’ Harley’s question made no sense to me.
‘Harley, Bee’s a child. She’s Nick’s daughter. Do you remember, I told you I was going out with Nick? My boyfriend? I showed you his photo. Do you remember his photo?’
‘He looked worried,’ Harley nodded. ‘Worried, anxious, nervous, confused, confounded, distressed, tick all or none of the above.’
‘He had the sun in his eyes,’ Jazzi said, her voice sharp as a smack.
‘He always looks like that,’ I told Harley at more or less the same time.
He turned his head quickly, looking at Jazzi first, then me. Watching him made me feel dizzy.
‘Which is it – sun or always? Always or sun? Nervous, confounded, world too much for him sensitive kind of guy or just the sun squinting his eyes shut. Which is it?’
‘The sun,’ Jazzi said firmly. ‘Nick’s a very solid kind of person, Harley. He works in the public service.’
‘Ah ha, a servant of the public. But where is the public? Who is public, who is private? I’m a private kind of person. Where do I get a servant from, hmm? Do the private get servants, too? Do they, To Be? Does your dad work as a private or just a public servant? Public and private, sun and worry. Things happen in pairs.’
Harley started to make three cups of tea with the one tea bag as he was talking. I didn’t like tea much but it took him such a long time to make the tea, filling the cups up with exactly the right amount of water, pouring in a little milk, measuring the sugar and then dancing the tea bag around in the cups before squeezing it out gently, that I couldn’t refuse the cup he finally offered to me.
‘Can’t spare more tea bags,’ he said. ‘They count them, you know.’ He jerked his head towards the front door which still swung open. ‘They count everything – squeezes of toothpaste, bristles in the brushes, teeth in the comb, soap suds, dishes in the sink, tea bags, plastic bags, empty wrappers, biscuits in the barrel. You should get a job counting, I told them, but what could they count? What could they count, Bee?’
‘I don’t know.’ I couldn’t think of anything and then I thought of those signs outside parking places, 226 spaces upstairs. ‘Empty parking lots,’ I said, ‘for shopping centres and special events.’
‘You can bring her all the time,’ Harley told Jazzi, holding her slightly away from him as she tried to hug him good-bye. ‘She’s all right. I like her. She doesn’t work for them, she’s too small and she doesn’t care what bun she eats. Jasmine, you will bring her again, I like her.’
I looked from Harley’s big grin to Jazzi’s pale face and stepped forward. ‘I like you, too, Harley,’ I said and nearly offered him my left hand – I had remembered! – but didn’t at the last minute, in case he got scared.
‘I don’t see why you don’t tell Dad,’ I said on the way home. ‘He’ll like Harley. Harley will like him. They’ll get on. Dad gets on with everyone. He’s laidback.’ Uncle Rob’s phrase didn’t sound as right when I said it.
‘Harley was good today.’ Jazzi smiled a small, tight smile as though it was all she could afford at that moment. ‘I think that was partly you. He liked you. He often doesn’t like people. It takes him a while to realise it but in the end he doesn’t like them and sometimes he tells them that and they feel—’
‘Sad?’
‘Sad, angry, whatever.’ Now Jazzi sounded a little like Harley but more sarcastic, but I decided not to tell her that.
‘The people he lives with are pretty weird,’ I said instead. ‘Maybe he should live somewhere else – your place. Why doesn’t he live with you, Jazzi – oops, I mean, Jasmine.’
‘I am not Jasmine!’ Jazzi hurtled through an orange light. ‘I’m Jazzi. And Harley can’t live with me. He can’t even remember not to call me Jasmine, but that’s not the reason. He’s not stable. He’s not actually normal. He’s just as weird as the people he lives with and he needs to live with people like him. He’s out of control. You’re too young, Beatrice, to understand...’
‘Bee,’ I said. ‘Jasmine – Jazzi. Beatrice – Bee. If you’d just remember that we’d get along a lot better, I reckon.’
There was complete silence until we drove up outside our house and then Jazzi turned to me. She’d bitten all her brave lipstick off so her mouth was nearly the same colour as the rest of her face.
‘It’s a shame,’ she said softly. ‘I just wanted to call you by the name your parents gave you. It’s such a good name – strong and passionate, but gentle. I thought of how your mother might like you called by your whole, complete name. But it doesn’t matter, I suppose, Bee. Let’s have pizza for dinner, okay?’
When I got up the next morn
ing, my scarf had been coaxed out of the zipper and was carefully rolled up beside my school backpack. Neither Jazzi nor I mentioned Harley to Dad.
Nuclear families
So you’ve got a step-mum now?’ Sally said at lunch time. ‘Is she nice?’
‘Jazzi’s not my step-mum.’
‘Well, she’s picked you up every afternoon this week, so that means she must be living at your place and that means she’s your step-mum.’
‘She doesn’t live with us. She’s got a flat all of her own. She just visits. She’s my dad’s girlfriend.’
‘She’ll be your step-mum soon,’ Lucy butted in, ‘that’s what happens.’
‘I don’t want a step-mum.’
‘Well, you need one, that’s what my mum says.’
‘I don’t need one. Dad and me, we’re fine. We’ve got each other and Nanna. And we see Uncle Rob and Aunty Maree.’
‘And Jazzi now,’ Sally said, nudging Lucy with her elbow. ‘You guys see a lot of Jazzi.’
‘Well, they have to,’ Lucy said. ‘She’s going to be Bee’s step-mum, so of course they see a lot of her.’
‘She isn’t going to be my step-mum. She doesn’t even live with us. Will you stop being mean?’
‘It’ll be good,’ Sally said. ‘You’ll be like a proper family again.’
‘We are already,’ I said. I could feel tears stinging behind my eyes. ‘Dad and I are a proper family.’
‘Well, you’re not a nuclear family and that’s what you should be. Nuclear families have a mother and a father and something else but I’ve forgotten the other thing...’
‘A dog?’ Lucy asked. ‘I think a proper family should have a dog.’
‘I don’t think Dad said anything about a dog.’ Sally sounded uncertain. ‘But I remember the mum and dad bit.’
‘We were nuclear but then we became different. It’s not our fault. Lots of people don’t live with their dad and their mum. What about Josh and Sam?
‘They see their dads on weekends,’ Lucy said. ‘And anyway Sam has a step-dad.’
‘He’s cool, too,’ Sally said. ‘He gives Sam great presents all the time and he plays footie.’
Being Bee Page 3