‘He was a little boy in Emyvale around the 1890s,’ I prompted.
‘Perhaps he was a relative,’ agreed Mr Cairn, kindly, nodding his head a little.
‘We have some of his belongings on display at the historical society,’ I said. ‘Some things from his schoolboy days.’
‘That’s when the schoolhouse would have been in the old house next to where the primary school is now.’
‘Miss Nell’s house?’ I was surprised and very interested.
‘You remember her?’ His surprise almost matched mine, and his interest. I watched his old eyes crinkle as his mouth folded into a smile.
‘Of course,’ I said.
I was distracted between wanting to ask more about Miss Nell and wanting to get Mr Cairn to come into the historical society. I didn’t know what to ask first. I was worried that I’d start hopping from foot to foot. I did hop a little from foot to foot from time to time, like trying to rattle the sand and get it to settle on one decision or another. Like a kids’ game, or an hourglass. An impatient one.
I rushed on to my next point. ‘You should come into the museum, have a look at the William Cairn display.’ I thought about all the things I might be able to do for Mr Cairn. ‘We could look up your family history and see if he was actually related to you.’ As I suggested this I felt my brain start to whirr.
That night, I signed up for a fourteen-day trial to a genealogy website and planned to use some of my hard-earned bribe money to pay the subscription.
‘Clive and the society will be happy to pay for this,’ Mum said. ‘They should probably get a subscription anyway.’
‘That’s okay,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind.’
Perhaps I could stay in Emyvale and work at the historical society.
‘But what would you do for money?’ they would ask.
I would figure out a way. The society could start a café, or get some kind of government funding. Jarrod could support me with his gardening business, which was definitely going to take off, because look at those muscles.
Maybe Emyvale was my future after all.
Jenny proposed a study session, so I procrastinated the morning away by making scones to take along. Mum hovered in the kitchen while I made them, but fortunately they turned out great even though she made me nervy with her loitering.
I measured the flour out and added the milk—
‘Not too much,’ cautioned Mum.
Internally I shot her a withering glare. Outwardly, I calmly said, ‘I know.’
As I was placing them on a greased oven tray, she said in an annoying asking-but-really-telling kind of way, ‘You remember to pat the tops with milk?’
I had just been about to go to the fridge for more milk to do just that.
It was a relief to leave the house, my freshly baked scones in a basket on the back of my bike. Mum had offered to drive me, but she’d already driven me bonkers with all the untrusting kitchen-hovering.
Halfway there I accidentally rode across some broken glass – brown VB bottle glass – and my front tyre burst with a small pop and a hiss and I had to push my bike the rest of the way.
‘Hi!’ Jen came out of the front door as I wheeled the bike up her driveway. ‘What happened?’
‘Glass on the road.’
‘Bugger.’
‘The scones’ll be cold, I’m sorry.’
‘That’s okay.’
The Dear place was always tidy and clean. It was the kind of house with potpourri stinking the place up, with those plug-in scent things that made everything smell like a public toilet. But I shouldn’t judge. Jen probably thought my place smelled. And I was sure it did, but at least it was a smell I liked, it was a comfort; it wasn’t too artificial or sterile. Often it smelled like yeast from the bread and homebrew, or it smelled like compost, and blood and bone.
It was always very peaceful at the Dear house. Her mum, when she was home, would always have some kind of crafting project happening. Lately, it was scrapbooking, and there were stampers and inks, all kinds of paper and cutters and other paraphernalia.
Theirs was a house that had a doll with a frilly pink dress that sat over the spare toilet rolls in the bathroom.
Jen’s room was more her own, though. A distinct lack of potpourri, and a nice-smelling candle in the corner. It was extremely tidy – she had habits instilled by her mother. One makes their bed every morning, one puts one’s undies from yesterday in the dirty clothes basket. Unlike at my house. One has a naff Anne Geddes photo of a baby in a flowerpot on the wall. Definitely unlike mine. We have a framed poster of Kurt Cobain on the wall at our house.
And she was clearly in full-on study mode: Jen had five piles of books and notes and exercise books lined up along the spare wall. Neat stacks of flashcards on the bookshelf. Biology charts on the wall, maths formulas, quotes from the English books and all that jazz.
‘You’re so organised,’ I said, hoping to convey a tone of wonder and admiration, rather than amusement and fear.
Jen looked around her – trying to see what I was seeing, I guess. ‘I just want to do well,’ she said simply.
‘Still medicine?’
‘Yep.’ She spoke determinedly. ‘I put Melbourne as my first choice, but also Sydney and Tassie and some of the other Melbourne unis. I’d probably like to stay in the state.’
‘Did you apply for Deakin Geelong?’
‘Geelong?’ She lowered her voice. ‘I want to be a bit further away than that.’
‘I didn’t know you wanted to get away so badly.’
She shrugged.
Just a tiny little shift of the world. So she wants to get away. ‘And you’re on track?’
‘I think so, so far.’
Jen just kept on blowing my mind.
‘Shall we do some legal studies then?’ I asked, sitting down on the extra chair we’d carried in from the kitchen table. It had a puffy floral cushion tied onto it with bows.
‘Sure,’ said Jen, selecting one of the piles from the floor and putting it on her desk in front of her.
I got out my laptop.
‘Lucky,’ said Jen, looking at it. ‘I have to use the family computer. But it’s nicer in here, and it’s easier to take notes by hand most of the time anyway.’
She wasn’t kidding – she had pages and pages of handwritten notes. And it was immediately clear that she knew her stuff. She knew the cases and the definitions and had even done a couple of practice exams, if you could believe it.
All I had by the end of our study session (which went for an hour and a half, most of that time involving me nodding and pretending to listen to things that sounded Greek, or maybe Arabic, to me) was a slightly sick and panicky feeling in my gut and a page or two of TO DOs. To read, to memorise, to learn. It was awful.
‘What other subjects are you doing?’ I asked.
‘Biology, maths methods, chemistry and English.’
‘I’m doing English too. And two different history subjects.’
‘History would have been cool, but they don’t offer it here.’
‘That sucks. I had to give up German. It was too hard to do by distance ed.’
She shrugged, closed her folder and popped it neatly on the legal studies pile. ‘Do you think you might be interested in doing some kind of history degree or a museum curator course? You know, down the line.’
‘I don’t know.’ I slid my laptop into its sleeve. ‘Anyway, I hope I didn’t ruin your study day. It was really helpful for me. I feel so much more prepared,’ I said.
‘It was great,’ she said, and I was glad she didn’t push the uni stuff.
‘You would have got a lot more done without me here,’ I said, smiling.
She grinned. ‘Probably. Want a drink before you go?’
‘Vodka. On the rocks.’ I waited a moment, to
see if she’d realise I was joking. ‘Or, you know, Milo. On … the rocks.’
She smiled. ‘Just regular Milo?’
‘Um.’ I tapped my finger against my chin pretending to consider it. ‘Okay.’
‘I’m pretty nervous about moving out,’ she said, as she made our drinks. ‘I mean, I’m desperate to leave here and I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t get into uni in the city, but it’s still pretty frightening. No, just a bit nerve-wracking.’ She drew circles on the bench with her fingertip. ‘You probably don’t get that, having lived out of home already.’
‘I lived in a boarding house with five nuns and one hundred and fifty girls. It was barely even an experience.’
She nodded, like she was agreeing, or at least listening. Sure, I had experienced life outside of Emyvale and I did know the city, I had been elsewhere. But it honestly wasn’t the same as what she was talking about. She was talking about living. That sure as shit wasn’t what I had been doing – that had been staying, hovering, earning my keep with good grades and a well-ironed shirt and polished black shoes. Hymn-singing and arse-licking.
‘I’m going out with Jarrod,’ I blurted. I wanted to talk about him, but also felt really awkward about it. Why was it always so much easier to gossip about the boys you had a crush on but had never actually talked to? To tell urgent, whispered stories about the boy you kissed around the back of the hall on the night of the year ten dance. (Oh, what was his name? He was so lovely.) But to talk about Jarrod? About this thing we had that was perhaps a relationship, where there were proper feelings developing?
Jenny rolled her eyes, smiling. ‘Everyone knows that. I think it’s great.’
‘It’s kind of freaking me out to be honest. I didn’t know he was so …’
‘Troubled?’
‘Ha. I was going to say nice. Or smart. Or nice.’ I stirred those last deliciously crunchy bits of Milo around in the bottom of the glass. ‘And cute!’
We grinned at each other.
Jen shook her head a little. ‘He’s a weird guy. But I think he’s a good guy.’ Then it was her turn to look reticent. ‘So … so I’ve been talking a bit to Mia since she was here,’ she ventured.
This was news to me.
‘Have you?’ I was desperate to know more. But I waited, with what I hoped was my encouraging face on.
‘Yeah,’ was all she started with. Then she stood up a bit straighter, uncurved her shoulders a little and when she next spoke sounded much more confident. ‘Nothing’s happening,’ she said. ‘Nothing especially.’ A pause. ‘I really like her,’ she said, looking at me, her face serious. ‘I’ve known I liked girls for a while – like, in general. More than boys. And I really like her especially.’ It sounded like her was special, as though she was saying Mia’s name without having to say it. ‘She doesn’t have a girlfriend, does she?’
I smiled and put on a very supportive face. ‘Mia …’ I started. ‘Mia likes a lot of people. But I know she likes you a lot. And she had a good time at the party and everything. Who knows what’ll happen next year?’ I didn’t want to pop any bubbles. But I also really didn’t want Jen to get hurt.
‘You’re right,’ said my pragmatic friend, bustling to tidy up, business-like again. ‘Everything is going to change.’
‘You should get a Eurail pass,’ Mum suggested one day, while I was helping her out with the garden. ‘Next year. You could go all around Europe.’
By helping, I mean I just followed her around as she picked veggies and flowers and weeded things. I was pretty good at wielding a wheelbarrow.
‘Oh, I love a train,’ I said. ‘But it’s a bit outdated, travelling by train, isn’t it? Flights can be so cheap, and so much quicker.’
‘Train travel is still cool,’ Mum said. ‘And it’s a great way to see the country. Even here – what about The Ghan and the Indian–Pacific railway?’
‘Where does that go?’
‘Err. From the Indian Ocean to the Pacific Ocean.’ She spoke like she might be worried about me.
‘No,’ I replied in a similar tone, ‘The Ghan.’
‘From Adelaide to Darwin.’
‘Wow.’
‘Via Alice,’ she added.
Okay, she’d showed off enough. ‘Der,’ I said.
‘I’d like to go on The Ghan,’ she mused, I think to herself – for why would she be telling me? I guess I could put a word in with Nick, though I think he earns about five dollars a week (I’m exaggerating, but only a little) and I don’t know if he could afford to take her. I doubt he could afford to take her on the V/Line to Melbourne!
Gran came over later that afternoon and I hid in my bedroom for a while, ‘studying’. I was really painting my fingernails with white-out while reading Burial Rites for the third time.
After a bit, I opened my laptop and searched ‘Iceland’. Mind-blowing.
In a new tab I googled ‘Eurail’. Beautiful clichéd vistas appeared. It would be magnificent to see them in person. My feet literally started to feel itchy.
I had never even been on a plane.
There were so many things I wanted to do and see. But I was also feeling strangely content with what I was doing now. How do you decide what is the most important?
I headed through the house in search of a snack. I could hear voices in the kitchen so I crept up to the closed door.
I had always been an eavesdropper. After Dad died, I spent a lot of nights hiding behind couches and doors and in cupboards to listen to what the grown-ups would say.
‘How’s she going?’ I heard Gran ask.
Mum was chopping something – I could hear the chinking of a knife and the clunk on the wooden chopping board. She also sighed, which was never a nice thing to hear. ‘I really don’t know. I don’t know how much work she’s doing – except I’m pretty sure it’s not a lot. I think Clive manages to get her to write notes and read and whatever, but she’s just thrown herself into her little historical projects.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ said Gran.
‘True,’ Mum responded.
‘Have you talked about next year? The future? At all?’
‘Only a little. I’ve tried to bring it up. She’s such a dreamer. But lately she seems to have become very unmotivated.’
‘Is it the Foreman boy?’
My heart sped up and I leaned further towards the door, closing my eyes because somehow it makes you hear better. How dare they talk about my relationship? Why hadn’t they just asked me?
‘No,’ said Mum, and she started pounding something – I assumed some chicken with a meat mallet – ‘I wonder that it’s more being outside of the school system, not having the structure to follow. What worries me is that she just doesn’t seem to care about school. She doesn’t recognise how important finishing high school is.’
‘Not something I thought I would ever hear you say, Libby.’
Mum laughed. ‘Oh, maybe it isn’t important. It’s just that she’s so smart.’
Gran was laughing too. ‘I know what you mean, I was just having a little joke. I wish I knew what had brought this on.’
‘The school talked about how she’d become disruptive and argumentative. They even dropped the word “lazy”.’
‘Yes, yes. She’s thoroughly capable. Just not trying for some reason. She’s still seeing the Foreman boy, though?’
‘Yes, all the time. They’re thick as thieves.’
‘It’s serious?’
‘You’d never know with Adelaide. They’re actually very sweet together.’
‘Is he a good kid?’ asked Gran. ‘With his family, you’d never know.’
I was desperate to know more, but this was starting to feel like the bad kind of spying.
Mum seemed interested too, but her voice was even, not a hint of gossip. ‘I like him. I reckon he’s a good kid
. But I’ve hardly met the family. Just when the car gets serviced occasionally. I don’t think his mother has come into the salon at all.’
‘No, probably not. What a dragon!’ – woah, Gran, don’t hold back – ‘They’ve always kept to themselves. You’d have met the sister. She’s at the dentist clinic on reception.’
‘With the dark hair or the blonde?’
‘The dark. Dropped out of school with a baby, you know.’
‘Not the end of the world,’ said Mum.
‘No, no.’ Gran backpedalled. ‘The family just never seems to amount to much. But maybe this Jarrod has more oomph.’
Gran was really into oomph. She swore by it, in fact. I think she was quietly pleased with my desertion from school – it showed I had oomph. Though getting the scholarship and being cheery about boarding school apparently showed I had oomph too. Gran was a fiery old bird with a heck of a lot of oomph herself. And I think that’s why she took to Mum so well too, back at the start.
I tore myself away and went back to my room.
I was feeling oomphless. How can one be oomphy when there are exams looming – exams I still wasn’t even sure I wanted to sit – and one’s grandmother is practically trash-talking the lovely boy one is almost feeling something extraordinarily large for. I still hadn’t said l.o.v.e., but I was starting to believe it was true.
And Emyvale was starting to feel like home. It was feeling more and more like a whole place, full, and full of life.
But there was still the world to see!
I knew that at practically eighteen I was probably too young to be nostalgic for anything, but I was nostalgic for things I’d never known: like travel by train that wasn’t just for getting from A to B. I know I poo-poohed Mum’s suggestions but I did love trains. I didn’t care where I sat, forwards, backwards, reading, listening to music, it was all the same to me. Even suburban and city trains. I loved the way the trains ran along behind houses and let you have a look into backyards and the rear windows of factories.
Untidy Towns Page 14