by R. M. Corbet
Unless that ringtone happened to be the theme song to Bob the Builder.
The musicians stumbled. The music stopped.
Miles groaned and Ivy glared daggers at me.
‘Nice one, Maude. Don’t you know it’s no phones?’
‘I’m sorry. I thought it was off.’
‘Let’s all take a two-minute break,’ Lou announced as I slipped outside – mainly to cool my red cheeks, but also because my phone was at it again, and the caller ID said it was Andy. There was no way on earth I was taking it.
The door opened and Jill exited the barn.
‘Don’t worry,’ she told me. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘Thanks.’
‘It’s hard when there’s so much pressure.’
‘It should be fun,’ I agreed. ‘Not so serious.’
‘I know what’s going on,’ Jill confided. ‘I know who the girl is. The one Lou is seeing.’
‘You do?’
‘It’s Ivy, isn’t it?’
‘Ivy? Why, what have you seen?’
Just then the barn door opened again. It was Lou, come to say we were starting again. Jill turned around and went straight back inside. But I was too stunned to follow her.
‘You coming back in, Maude?’ he said.
‘Be right there. Just making a quick call.’
Lou frowned at me and I glared back at him as I dialled.
‘Andy? It’s me. Do I want to go see a movie? Sure I do. Anytime. Just say the word.’
captive audience
LOU WAS BAFFLED BUT ANDY was rapt. He offered to ‘swing by’ before the movie to pick me up, but the thought of him meeting my family was too much to contemplate. He proposed four or five alternative meeting places, from the suspiciously remote to the uncomfortably public.
The lover’s lawn at the Botanical Gardens?
I didn’t think so.
‘We can meet at the cinema,’ I told him.
Making a time was another hurdle. I suggested the afternoon. He suggested a late session. I suggested we meet at the start of the movie. Andy suggested two hours before. In the end, we agreed on the late afternoon, meeting a half-hour before. Then I arrived twenty minutes late, which I guess was a little bit mean.
Any regrets I might have had in that department disappeared the moment I saw him. Andy was waiting on the steps of the multiplex. He had a bucket of gel in his hair and was wearing a suit! I hadn’t dressed up. My face was a mess. Even so, Andy was beaming. He jumped up and gave me a kiss on the cheek. It was just a harmless peck, but it threw me.
Where did he think this was leading?
‘Let’s go get our tickets,’ I said.
We stood in the queue talking about what to see.
‘You choose,’ said Andy. ‘It’s all good.’
The trouble was, he’d already seen the movies I wanted to see.
‘They’re complete crap, Maude. Believe me.’
In the end we chose the big blockbuster thriller. The hero with the smile and the babe with the body. The fast cars. The big guns. The things blowing up.
‘I’ve seen it. It’s awesome,’ said Andy.
‘Is there anything you haven’t seen?’
At the head of the queue he stepped up to the glass.
‘My shout.’ He winked. ‘You can owe me.’
‘No thanks,’ I said as I gave him the cash.
I’d already been there and done that with Lou. I was paying my own way from here.
‘Two for the back row?’
‘I’m here for the movie.’
Thankfully, it was general admission.
We were making our way in when my heart stopped. In the queue up ahead was Bianca. I scanned the crowd quickly for signs of the other Magnets. The thought of meeting Shauna when I was with Andy was unbearable. I was ready to take flight and run if need be.
Andy nudged me. ‘Isn’t that your friend from school?’
‘No. No. It just looks like her.’
‘Are you sure? She looks like she knows you.’
It was too late. Bianca had seen us, too. We had no choice but to go over and say hello. Bianca was there with her grandma, which might have been why she looked uncomfortable. Either that or because we weren’t meant to be talking. At least, according to Shauna we weren’t.
It wasn’t so awful, considering what might have been. Bianca’s gran said all those sweet grandmother things, like how nice it was to meet us, and how I looked like a nice kind of girl, and how Andy looked like a nice kind of boy.
‘You make a nice couple,’ she told us.
I was about to explain that we weren’t even friends when Andy interrupted me.
‘Maude asked me out. It’s our first date,’ he said proudly.
‘Really?’ said Bianca.
‘How lovely!’ said Bianca’s gran.
‘We should go in now,’ I said.
The cinema wasn’t crowded. There were plenty of seats, so I chose one two rows from the front. That way, watching the movie would be unavoidable.
The lights dimmed, leaving Andy and I alone in the dark, only centimetres apart.
And the boy just would not stop talking.
‘It’s so cool you came to the movies with me. I knew you would say yes. That’s why I kept asking. This movie is so sick. I swear. It’s the best. There’s a twist at the end, but don’t worry. I’ll explain later. Should we have got an extra-large popcorn, do you think? They’re much better value. What if we run out?’
He shovelled a large handful of popcorn into his mouth, then offered me the box.
‘I’m not hungry,’ I said, feeling nauseous.
Somewhere behind us, I knew Bianca would be watching.
The movie was relentless and Andy was, too. I tried not to listen to his idle chatter: about how it was even better the second time round, and how I should come back and see it again, and how he wouldn’t mind seeing it a third time, and how he would definitely buy it when the DVD came out. I tried to block out the sound of him crunching and slurping, the sight of him shuffling and twitching, the smell of his breath and his sickly sweet aftershave. I tried not to notice his tongue hard at work, dislodging bits of popcorn from his teeth.
The woman in front of us told him to shush.
‘Stupid old bag,’ he whispered.
‘I happen to agree with her,’ I said.
Then came the inevitable. Midway through the movie, I felt Andy’s shoulder rub up against mine. It rubbed once or twice in a supposedly accidental way. But then the rubbing increased, until it was blatantly obvious.
‘Stop that!’
‘Stop what?’
‘You know what!’
There are two types of lonely: the type when you’re lonely because you’re alone, and the type when you’re with someone you don’t want to be with. The second type of lonely is worse than the first type. The second type makes you wish for the first.
I weighed up my options, such as they were:
1) Slapping Andy across the face.
2) Tipping the box of popcorn over his head.
3) Storming out of the theatre.
4) All of the above.
One thing was certain: I needed to take a harder line.
Use your imagination, Maude McNaughton.
‘I never told you about my old boyfriend,’ I said.
Andy was all ears.
In between the car chases and fistfights and shootouts, I took my time inventing the story: A disengaged boy with a history of violence. Broken homes. Trust issues. Jealous rages. Sharp knives. A string of mental health specialists and failed institutions. The diagnosis: borderline personality disorder.
I almost believed it myself, by the end.
‘It’s over, but this guy won’t leave me alone. He’s possessive. He’s totally obsessed. I need someone strong who can help me move on. Someone who isn’t afraid of this guy.’
I showed Andy a scar in the palm of my hand where I’d slipped and fallen years
ago.
‘What happened?’
‘Self-defence,’ I explained.
Andy shut up after that.
When the movie ended, we made our way out through the exit just ahead of Bianca and her grandma. I said it was late, and Andy agreed. The bus stopped outside the multiplex. I got on and he waved me goodbye. The last thing I saw as my bus turned the corner was Andy eyeing off Bianca.
So much for us making a nice couple.
That night I got a text message from Shauna: Hope it was fun. Catch up soon! It didn’t say where, when, or who I’d had fun with, but I knew who she was referring to. Messaging Shauna was out of the question, so I messaged Bianca instead: Why did you have to tell Shauna? She messaged me back: I didn’t tell Shauna. I promise. That was confusing, so I had no choice. I messaged Shauna: Who told you? She messaged me back: About WHAT? I was sick of the secrets and lies by that stage, so I opted for a different approach: I’m pregnant. It’s twins! I was crazy to think that might shut Shauna up. She messaged me: Wow! Who’s the father? I figured I’d already gone way too far, but then I got a message from Alison: Congrats about Andy and the twins! I messaged her back: Who told you it was Andy? Then she messaged me: Bianca, of course! I messaged Bianca: You told Alison! And Bianca replied: It just kind of slipped out. I’m sorry.
I was all set to send her an ultimate message, about how I would never trust her again, when the phone rang.
‘Guess who?’
Who else would it be?
Andy was calling to say what a fun time he’d had. He was ringing to check I’d got home safe, he said. I noticed how something had changed in his tone. Maybe he was actually worried about me.
‘I’ve been thinking about your ex-boyfriend,’ he said.
‘The psycho, you mean?’
‘Is there any chance he might turn up at the ball?’
‘I guess so. He’s quite unpredictable.’
‘He won’t have a ticket and there will be security, right?’
‘I hope so.’
‘This guy doesn’t know about me, does he?’
‘Why? Do you think we should tell him?’
‘No. No! It’s our little secret, right?’
‘Sure.’ I smiled. ‘Just you and me and the twins.’
‘Twins? What twins?’
‘Listen, Andy. It’s late and it’s been a long day.’
I hung up, but the phone rang back straight away.
‘WHY CAN’T YOU JUST TEXT ME!’
‘There’s no time,’ Ella laughed. ‘Don’t you know Lou is on the radio right now?’
It was one of those stations I’d never heard of, hidden among the static at the far end of the dial. The DJ was talking in that way DJs talk, without saying very much about anything at all. He did a long plug for the station, then he gave out the number for listeners to call to subscribe. He said he’d be back soon with some very special guests, then he played a loud song by a band called Repetitive Strain Injury.
‘Welcome back. Here with us in the studio tonight are Ivy and Lou from the Funky Junk Orkestra.’
‘Fab to be here,’ said Ivy.
‘Thanks for having us on,’ said Lou.
‘Excellent!’ said the DJ. ‘You guys are currently touring, right?’
‘Actually, we haven’t performed yet,’ said Lou.
‘We’ve been busy, recording,’ said Ivy.
‘Nice one,’ said the DJ. ‘Tell us about the band.’
‘It started,’ said Lou, ‘when I—’ ‘The band is awesome!’ said Ivy.
Once Ivy started there was no stopping her. She talked about all the awful records she’d ever owned and all the awful music videos she’d seen and how the Funky Junk Orkestra was nothing like that. It was nothing like anything else, because everything else was truly awful. Australian Idol was awful. The Eurovision Song Contest was awful. High School Musical 1, 2 and 3 were awful. Zac Efron was truly awful.
And in all of the time she talked, she never once mentioned Lou. And he never uttered a peep!
‘I’m talking to Ivy from the Funky Junk Orkestra,’ said the DJ. ‘Stick around and we’ll be back to talk about their upcoming gigs.’
‘Gig,’ Lou corrected him.
The DJ put on a song by Dwarf Planet. It was fast and loud and angst-ridden – a lot like Repetitive Strain Injury, and not a bit like the Funky Junk Orkestra. The DJ came back on and introduced Ivy, and the two of them talked some more about how truly awful everything was. Then the DJ put on another band, called Pigment Figment, instead of the Funky Junk Orkestra.
That’s when I decided to ring up the radio station.
The phone rang and the producer answered.
‘I’m calling to talk to the band.’
‘Hang on. I’ll put you straight through.’
I heard the song end then the DJ said there was a caller. The caller was me. I was On Air.
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves.
‘Go ahead,’ said the DJ. ‘We’re listening.’
‘I don’t care about Pigment Figment or Dwarf Planet or Repetitive Strain Injury,’ I said. ‘I don’t care about what you and your sister think. I don’t care what you had for breakfast, or what type of toilet paper you use. I don’t care if you’re from a dysfunctional family and the only time you ever get to talk is on the radio. I don’t care how many other listeners you’ve got. I don’t care how awful the world is. I want to hear the Funky Junk Orkestra. I want you to play us a tune!’
The DJ, to his credit, did what I asked. He put on the demo and the band sounded good. Not so good that you’d want to rush right out and buy them, but good enough to play in the middle of the night, on a faint radio station at the far end of the dial. It was noisy and silly and crazy and wild. It fell apart, then it came back together again. It had soft bits and loud bits. It went fast and slow. Then it ended with my Bob the Builder ringtone!
‘Nice one,’ said the DJ.
I had to agree.
alterations
LOU WAS ON HIS COMPUTER when I dropped around the next day to apologise. It was one of those towering old PCs – a Frankenstein monster, dug up from a graveyard and bolted together, powered by lightning and potentially lethal. It was set up in the cluttered laundry, with the hot-water tank and the washing machine for friends.
I knocked uncertainly.
I tiptoed uncertainly in.
I stood uncertainly by Lou’s side.
‘Hi,’ I said, uncertainly.
Lou was either too busy or too angry to answer. On the screen was a video animation he and Miles were making. It was a collage of household appliances bobbing up and down in time to the music. It was rough-cut and simple, but that only added to its charm.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘That mop doesn’t look right.’
‘Too much like a pogo stick?’
‘Too much like a mop.’
I watched while he set about trying to fix it – adding feet to the handle and parting the mop-hair.
‘Is this for . . .’
‘. . . the Funky Junk home page.’ He nodded.
‘You could call it The Junkies.’
‘We should put you in charge of promotions.’ He smiled.
‘Promotions and public relations. I’m sure Ivy would love that.’
‘We might not tell Ivy just yet.’
‘Ivy must hate me. She must think I’m . . .’
‘. . . crazy?’
‘I’m sorry I messed up the radio show.’
Lou swivelled his chair round to face me. ‘You’ve got a nerve, Maude. You’ve got a big mouth. But they did play our demo, at least.’
‘You’re not mad with me?’
He shook his head. ‘I like how you always say what you think. I’ve always loved that about you.’
He turned back to the screen to start working again while I replayed his words in my head. For someone who always says what she thought, I felt fairly tongue-tied right then.
As part of my new promotional role, I suggested a trip to the Recycle Warehouse in search of stage props and costumes. The truth was, I was hoping to expand my collection of found objects, now that the greenies had cleaned up the creek and there was less on offer down there. There was nothing I specifically wanted or needed. Was it cheating to look in an op shop?
The Recycle Warehouse was like a big second-hand megastore. Everything was pre-owned, pre-worn and pre-loved. They had everything from retro to metro to dero. You needed time and patience to navigate through that space. You needed a clear head and a discerning eye.
As Lou and I made our way up and down the long rows, I pulled out some bright shirts and well-tailored jackets. A felt hat. A fat tie. A pair of tall boots.
Lou shook his head at them all.
‘I want us to stand out,’ he said.
We gave up on looking for clothes after that and gravitated towards the junk at the back of the store – knick-knacks, bric-a-brac, oddments and ornaments. Lou’s spirits lifted at the sight of some wind chimes. He frowned at the sound of a dinner gong.
‘Only things that make a pure tone,’ he explained.
He got busy testing a solid steel doorknocker while I continued to snoop through the vases, ashtrays, tea sets, goblets, toast racks, cheese platters, photo frames, candlesticks and pepper grinders. In among all that kitsch trash, I found something eerily familiar. It was a hand-carved stone elephant, just like the one back at home on my window. An exact replica, almost. Except that this one was perfect – its trunk wasn’t broken.
I picked it up and took it to show Lou.
‘Recognise this?’
Lou took the elephant and examined closely. I realised I was taking a risk. What if it meant nothing to him? What would that say about everything else?
He smiled as he handed it back to me.
‘An elephant never forgets.’
‘Should I get it?’ I asked, feeling shy and uncertain.
‘To keep the other one company.’ He nodded.
It was a moment that may well have lasted much longer, if my phone hadn’t rung right then.
‘Long time no see.’
‘Andy?’