The Party Line

by Sue Orr

  Joy nodded, although she had no idea what girls these days were like. Not any more.

  ‘Actually, it’s that one. She’s the one that gives the orders round here now.’ Josephine nodded in Gabrielle’s direction.

  Joy always found it hard to read Josephine’s face; her weathered features locked in an emotionless arrangement, a contrast to the melody of her accented English. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That new one. She’s the boss. I hear them talk. Nickie’s under the thumb. Better keep an eye on that one.’

  Josephine headed back into the cowshed. Joy returned her attention to the girls.

  Gabrielle was directing Nickie around the calf-leading course they’d set up, calling out instructions on how Nickie should walk, straighten her back, hold her head, even showing her how to pause and smile at the invisible judges. Nickie complied with every order.

  ‘So what did you think of Larry, Mum? He’s so cute. I think the smallest ones are actually the cutest. When you get to know them, you know. Once you start looking after them, and they get used to you. The big calves don’t even feel like calves any more, they’re already like grown-up cows. They lose their cuteness really quickly, I think. If I was a judge, I’d go for the small calves even just because you know they’ve had a hard start to life …’

  Gabrielle had left already and Nickie was on her bike, weaving in and out of the potholes in the road. She was riding with no hands. Her arms were out wide, as though she was flying. Oh Wheel of Fortune she sang. Please her flying hands came together in prayer don’t pass her finger wagged me by. Nickie finished the theatrics with a goodbye wave and a smile. Joy recognised the song from a show on TV, the young boy singer, David Curtis, had won the episode with the tune. Joy kept pace beside her.

  ‘They should have a special section for the small, sick calves. Mum … Mum? Don’t you reckon? It could be called The Bobby Section. Or The Survivor Section … Yeah, that would be the right name.’

  Joy was fed up with Nickie’s moods — one minute vitriolic, the next euphoric. But right now, Joy was walking along the road, on a beautiful warm evening, with her daughter who was singing and saving the world one calf at a time; just a kid seeing how far she could ride her bike with no hands. Joy turned her face to the last of the warm sunshine. She was happy, too.

  ‘Larry’s got potential. That’s what I think,’ said Joy.

  ‘He’ll definitely get first prize for leading, I reckon. He’s the best leader ever. The best one I’ve ever had anyway. He complements me, and I complement him. That’s what Gabrielle says.’

  Joy felt the warmth seep away.

  ‘We’ve got plans, you know. For Calf Club Day.’ Nickie was back in full flight.

  A vehicle approached, Jack Gilbert’s truck. It swung to the far edge of the road and passed them slowly. Jack acknowledged them by lifting his finger off the wheel. He glanced at Joy but didn’t smile. Audrey was in the passenger’s seat, gazing out her window, looking at nothing on the other side of the road.

  Nickie had wheeled her bike off the road, into the long grass. She sat astride it, her arms crossed. Joy watched as Nickie’s eyes stayed on the truck, staring at it as it shrunk in the distance. Nickie’s jaw was set hard.

  Joy would have sworn Nickie’s mouth hadn’t opened, hadn’t moved. But somehow, through those clenched teeth, the word escaped. It sped through the warm, heavy evening air like a poison-tipped arrow. Bastard.

  Nickie got back on the road and cycled home, full speed. Joy plodded along behind her, not trying to keep up.

  Nickie Walker

  Calf Club Day, and it was hot. Nickie kicked her blankets off, tried to breathe the thick air in her bedroom. The phone rang. She zipped down the hallway to answer it.

  ‘Change of plan,’ Gabrielle said. ‘On the outfits.’

  ‘We’re going to roast,’ Nickie replied.

  ‘I know, dummy. That’s why I said change of plan.’

  ‘Maybe we should just forget about the comprehensive look … just wear anything.’

  ‘No … I’ve sorted something out.’

  ‘Alright.’ Nickie knew it wouldn’t be alright, though. It would be terrible, for a reason she couldn’t yet guess, and it would give her a stomach-ache.

  ‘We’ll get changed at school. In the toilets. See ya later.’ Gabrielle hung up.

  Nickie put on a T-shirt and an old pair of shorts from last summer and went into the kitchen for breakfast. Her mother glanced at her and smiled, and Nickie knew exactly what that was all about: Oh look, Nickie’s back to normal in her T-shirt and seersucker shorts. Nickie didn’t smile back, and her mother’s smile sort of just drooped into a sad clown mouth as she turned back to her eggs.

  Nickie had come to understand a few things about her mother, since the day she’d slapped her face. Mainly, that she put on a show of being a good person, but actually was a bitch. She’d begged Nickie for weeks to share her worries. Finally, when Nickie spilled the beans, her mother hit her. The replays of that moment had become mixed up, in Nickie’s head, with Mr Gilbert hitting Mrs Gilbert. Nickie could see Mrs Gilbert just standing there taking the violence. Why hadn’t Mrs Gilbert fought back? Was that what sex was all about? What love turned into, when you were married?

  Eugene parked the truck just inside the open gate to the school field. Nickie jumped out and climbed up the side of the crate to check on Larry and Vincent. Their heads were hanging down, as though their necks were too weak to hold them up proudly. Nickie could tell they weren’t in the mood for a competition. Vincent lifted his tail and pooed. It splattered all over Larry’s legs. He didn’t even notice.

  Other kids and their parents and pets were arriving. Nickie tied both the calves up at the fence, filled their water buckets, and went looking for Gabrielle. She was leaning against the doorway of the girls’ toilets. She wore an orange dress with silver buttons that caught the sun. There was a paper bag at her feet and Nickie’s heart lurched anxiously at the thought of what might be inside.

  ‘C’mon,’ Gabrielle said, pulling Nickie inside the toilet block. ‘We need to get ready.’

  Sun-shapes seeped through the holes in the bricks at the top of the walls and fuzzed out on the concrete floor. There was a long wooden seat in the main part of the block, next to the hand basin. Gabrielle tipped the stuff out of the bag, onto the bench.

  It was just underwear. A black bra, and matching black undies. And another set, but knitted. A knitted bra, the colour of caramel, and matching knitted undies. Nickie picked up the caramel bra and poked her finger into the knitting.

  ‘Um … what else will we wear?’

  ‘What do you mean, what else?’ Gabrielle knelt down on the scratchy concrete floor and laid all the bits out on the bench, as though two invisible flat girls were inside them.

  ‘We can’t wear just undies, Gabrielle.’ Nickie figured it was a joke. She looked behind the door, in all the cubicles, searching for another bag. There was no bag.

  Gabrielle stood up, adjusted her lovely dress. ‘It’s not underwear. These are togs, Nickie. Bikinis. Just right for the hot day, and then we jump straight in the pool when the competition’s finished. That’s what you said happens, didn’t you? Everyone dives in? We’ll be first.’

  The trouble with Gabrielle was that everything she said made sense, in a certain broken-down way. Yes, it was a hot day. Yes, bikinis would be the coolest thing you could wear on such a day. And, yes, they’d be ready for the pool before everyone else. Yes, yes, yes, but no. Never in a million years would they get away with showing their calves in gumboots and bikinis.

  ‘We’ll look like the girls in magazines. The ones that advertise new cars,’ Gabrielle said.

  ‘You will look like a girl in a magazine. Not me.’

  Nickie sat down on the bench. There was a crack in the wood under her leg and it pinched her skin. Although it was warm in the room — not hot, like outside, but warm like a normal day — she was cold. Shivery. And for some reason, rea
lly really tired. Nickie lay down on the bench on her back and put her arm over her eyes. The Janola smell of the toilets was starting to make her feel sick.

  ‘Are you alright, Nickie?’ Gabrielle’s hand was on her forehead, patting her hair, her curly disgusting hair, as though she were a cat.

  Nickie nodded. She didn’t want to speak, in case her voice went crying-wobbly.

  ‘It was lucky she had a black one and a beige one. Bikinis, I mean. Lucky I kept them both.’

  Bridie’s bikinis. Of course they were Bridie’s.

  ‘Gabrielle … what’s your dad going to say? When he sees us walking around in front of everyone in your mum’s togs?’

  Nickie’s face was still covered, but she could feel the warmth of Gabrielle’s leg soaking into the top of her head. Her hand kept patting.

  ‘He’s probably not even coming to Calf Club Day. That’s what he said last night. He wasn’t sure whether he’d be allowed to take time off.’

  ‘Anyway, it’s not just that. Everyone will stare. And Mum will go nuts. It’ll be embarrassing, in front of everyone.’

  Gabrielle’s hand lifted Nickie’s arm away from her face. Gabrielle leaned right over Nickie, but upside down. She was smiling. Her mouth looked funny the wrong way up.

  ‘Let’s just put them on, and put our clothes on over the top,’ she said. ‘That way we’ve got the choice, once we’re out there. If we’re feeling brave, or really over-heated, we can just slip our clothes off and bingo, we’re ready.’

  There she was again, making sense that you couldn’t argue with. She didn’t wait for Nickie to answer — the cool orange dress was undone and fell to the floor, a puddle around her feet. Gabrielle took her undies and bra off and got into the black bikini. She turned around. ‘Can you do up the straps?’

  Nickie tied them, then picked up the knitted togs. ‘People will be able to see through these.’ She said it, although she had no plans to strip off in front of anyone.

  ‘See how there are two lots of knitting?’ Gabrielle replied. ‘Two layers? One under the other? Well, once you get them on, they sort of arrange themselves so that there’s no way you can see anything. Go on, put them on. You’ll see what I mean.’

  Nickie pushed at the knitted triangles, trying to flatten them out against her chest. ‘I can’t wear this, it’s too big …’

  ‘I’ll fix it.’ Gabrielle stood behind her and pulled hard at the crocheted strings. ‘There you go.’

  Nickie looked down. Her skin had turned the grey colour that undies go when they’ve been washed with the dark things. The bits of her that stuck out most, such as feet and knees and elbows, were blotchy.

  ‘It’s not really your colour,’ said Gabrielle.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘But at least it matches Larry.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘You’ll look comprehensive.’

  Walking back out into the sunshine made Nickie squint. By the time she and Gabrielle reached Larry and Vincent, Nickie was sweating hard. The wool from the bikini annoyed her skin.

  Vincent and Larry looked how Nickie felt. Both of them stood by the fence with their heads halfway to the ground, as though they were on their way to having a mouthful of grass but had forgotten what they were doing. Nickie checked Larry’s water, he hadn’t drunk any of it. Vincent’s bucket was empty, which Nickie thought was a good sign. That maybe they’d both been drinking out of the same one.

  ‘Where’ve you two been?’ Eugene came around from the other side of the truck. He sounded fed up. ‘You should be looking after these calves, not disappearing. You need more water,’ he said, walking away. ‘They kicked over one of the buckets.’

  Mr Burgess came on the loudspeaker to welcome everyone. No one listened. It was always the same speech every year and the only thing that ever changed was the names of the judges, who had no kids at the school and were therefore impartial and also therefore not interesting to listen about.

  The first competition was grooming. Everyone was giving their calves a final brush down, pulling the loose hair from under their bellies and cleaning their faces of goob. The other calves’ coats were shining, but Larry and Vincent looked worse than when they’d come off the truck. Every time Nickie took her eye off them they’d lie down in the grass. Larry’s front legs were still covered in shit from when Vincent pooed on him in the truck. Nickie grabbed the bucket and poured water over him.

  ‘Disgusting,’ said Gabrielle.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ Nickie said. ‘It’s Vincent’s fault. He did it. You can’t shit on your own front legs.’ Vincent looked away, as though he was denying it was him.

  The girls clipped the calf leads onto their halters. Larry’s head fell back low again. Gabrielle put her hand in her pocket and took out two little plastic bags. She handed one to Nickie. Gabrielle cupped the open bag in the palm of her hand and held it behind her. Vincent lifted his head and nuzzled his nose into the white powder. Nickie did the same for Larry.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Gabrielle said. ‘Are you ready to strip off when we get there?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nickie lied. ‘But I think we should hold back. ’Til the leading section.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Gabrielle. ‘It’s so hot already.’ She blew down the front of her dress and pulled the fabric away from her stomach.

  ‘Because,’ Nickie said, ‘if anyone makes a fuss about it, we’ll have to get dressed again. And if we’re banned from wearing the bikinis for the rest of the day, we’ll miss out on doing our best bit at the very end. You know … the walking like models.’ Nickie played it cool, pretending to do some last-minute brushing of Larry’s skinny ribs. ‘Also,’ she said, ‘leaving it for last will mean we’ll definitely be first in the swimming pool.’

  ‘Alright,’ said Gabrielle. She looked a bit annoyed. Nickie thought she might change her mind once she got to the ring. If that happened, Gabrielle’d have to be comprehensive all by herself.

  ‘The sugar’s not going to last long. Have you got some more, for later? For the leading?’ Nickie asked. They were going to have to cheat in the leading, although Nickie hadn’t worked out how exactly they’d hide the sugar. Larry and Vincent weren’t the sort of calves to do stuff for the joy of participation, no matter what Mr Burgess said about the spirit of the day.

  ‘Yep. I’ve got it all sorted out.’

  They dragged the calves across the field towards the judging ring. Most of the others were already there. On one side, the Friesians were lined up, on the other, the Jerseys. Their coats looked soft and clean and perfect. Larry’s and Vincent’s did not.

  ‘Leave this to me,’ said Gabrielle quietly, as she took her place on the end of the row of Friesians. Nickie slipped in to the Jersey line.

  The judge was the lady from Paeroa who brought the fish and chips to the school every Friday. Nickie recognised her straight away because this term she was fish and chip monitor. She’d never really taken much notice of her, but now Nickie could see that, under her big straw hat, the woman had the qualifications to be the grooming judge. She wore lots of make-up and she’d had her hair done properly at the hairdressers.

  She judged the Friesians first. She stopped in front of every calf and looked at its face. Then she stepped slowly right around it, running her hand over its coat and underneath, feeling for loose hair. When she got to Gabrielle, she bent right down to eyeball Vincent.

  ‘Your calf’s a lot smaller than the others,’ she said. ‘Why did you choose such a small one?’

  Nickie was close enough to hear everything the judge said. She didn’t say the words bobby calf and Nickie thought this was a good sign. If she didn’t know about bobby calves, being a fish and chip shop owner, then she might consider Vincent’s other qualities.

  ‘Big’s not always the best,’ said Gabrielle. ‘Little people deserve love, too. And little underprivileged calves.’

  The judge nodded and smiled and wrote something on her clipboard. She turned around and came across to the Jerseys. She
started at Nickie’s end.

  ‘How’s Miss Fish and Chips?’ she asked, smiling, and Nickie said she was good, thanks, though being a vegetarian now she couldn’t order fish or a sausage, which was the other choice.

  She bent down to look at Larry. ‘And who do we have here?’

  ‘This is Laurence. He’s underprivileged, like Vincent.’

  Her lovely eyes with lovely green eyeshadow went to Larry’s belly, then his legs.

  ‘We had a bit of a last-minute disaster,’ Nickie said. ‘Involving Vincent.’

  The judge smiled again. ‘Never mind.’

  Neither Larry nor Vincent won a ribbon for grooming, but their big event was still to come. The girls sat in the truck. It was nearly eleven o’clock and already too hot to be outside.

  The door on the driver’s side of the cab swung open and Eugene climbed in. He was wearing his town clothes, which were his second to best ones — grey trousers and a checked short-sleeved shirt. There were wet patches under his armpits.

  ‘How’d you get on, girls?’ He said girls, but he was really looking only at Nickie. He pulled his cap off and scratched his head.

  ‘We didn’t win,’ Nickie said. ‘But the judge was really nice.’

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘you could give the next event a miss, if you wanted. You don’t have to enter everything.’

  ‘What is it? The next event?’ Gabrielle asked.

  ‘Breeding. It’s when the judges pick the calves that are the biggest and strongest. The ones that have come from the best herds. It’s a competition of pedigree.’

  Nickie could see where this was going. She looked at Eugene, who was pretending to be busy pulling cobwebs away from the corner of the windscreen. There was no hope for two bobby calves in breeding.

  Gabrielle put her feet up on the dashboard. ‘I think we should enter. We should enter everything, that’s what Mr Burgess said. There’s honour in participation.’