Sasha tries to wrestle a pack of cigarettes from a pocket in her shorts but can’t quite manage it. ‘Can you get ’em out for me?’ She keeps flitting her eyes between the cigarettes and the road.
Shit shit shit. ‘Sure.’ I reach over and try to get the packet out without touching her.
‘Lighter’s in there as well. Help yourself.’
‘O-okay.’ I fish out the cigarettes with my thumb and forefinger, being super careful to just touch the packet. But I can’t get it out without feeling her leg through the pocket. I feel like I’m about to pass out, but then I get the packet free, a hairband wrapped around it holding the lighter in place.
I haven’t smoked since Angus’s going-away party at the start of the year. I light one up and hand it to Sasha, who takes a huge drag. I try to light one for myself but for some reason my hands are shaking and the lighter won’t fire a second time. Eventually I get it to work and I wind the window down so I can take tiny kid-puffs without Sasha noticing.
We get to the roadhouse and Sasha doesn’t slow down as she swings into the carpark. She parks at an angle over two spots. ‘Honestly, I drive like an Asian sometimes.’ She laughs, and it’s beautiful, and I laugh as well despite the joke not really being a joke. ‘Buggs hates me driving his car, but fuck him, you know?’
We get out of the car and I’m feeling sort of seasick even though we’re nowhere near the ocean. Everything’s going in super-speed, but I keep telling myself this is what I want, this is what I want. Maybe this is something finally going right, to balance out all the shitty stuff. Friends with Sasha Strickland, this is my reward.
Inside the roadhouse it’s ice-cold. You can hear the air-conditioning roaring even before you go through the sliding doors. They only built it a few years ago and it’s designed for big trucks stopping on their way up or down the coast between Brisbane and Sydney. The parking bay is enormous, and there’s a whole football field of bitumen which is just for trucks to turn around in. When it first opened everyone in town went here even though it sells the same shit food as any other servo, just from inside a bigger building.
We go up to the counter and Sasha leans over so only her toes touch the ground. There’s a tiny strip of skin between her shirt and her shorts, perfectly white. Her legs are much longer and a better shape than mine will ever be.
A guy comes to the counter and I realise it’s Troy McCarthy, the guy I used to skate with. Son of Raylene, the shingle-skinned face of Barwen’s Underhill Hate Campaign. ‘Hi there,’ he says, not—understandably—looking at me, but at Sasha. ‘What can I get you?’ Troy’s face hasn’t really changed from how I remember it: his features have just grown outwards with his face. He has his mum’s tiny eyes, but on him they’re kinder.
‘Two malt shakes, please. What flavour d’ya want, Clancy?’ My name, her voice. ‘Caramel’s the best.’
‘Caramel’s great,’ I say. Troy looks at me and sort of smiles. I go to say hi but it gets caught in my throat and he’s already turned away by the time I go to say it again.
22
We’re sitting there with matching milkshakes, Sasha and me. Somehow, things aren’t going like I always thought they would. Firstly, she invited me, when in fact our first date was meant to be the result of a concerted campaign I’d waged to convince her of my attractiveness/ worth. Secondly, we’re sitting face to face under twenty-four-hour fluorescents, with the unromantic buzz of air-con in our ears and endless flabby wedges of seated trucker’s arsecrack as our view.
I’ve often walked past Sasha’s mum’s travel agency, where she works, even though I never went in. Hoping for a quick glimpse as I went past, a fleeting view of her profile: white blouse, blue scarf, spidery telephone headset.
Now I have her all to myself it’s almost too much. There’s no more mystery.
I’ve never thought about what her voice would really sound like, or how she’d have a tiny pimple beside her nose or how she’d spin a milkshake container a quarter-turn every few seconds like if she didn’t it would disappear.
But then she smiles, and I go all warm, and I forget any doubts that this is the right thing to be doing.
‘So you’ve been here all your life?’ she says.
‘In Barwen?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You’re, like, part-Aboriginal though, right?’
This takes me by surprise. ‘Uh, like, an eighth or a sixteenth or something. I guess. Mum’s dad’s dad was or something.’
‘Just…your skin.’
I look down at my arm. Yellowy-brown, made blotchy under roadhouse lights. Me and Angus and Titch have all got it, and it just looks like we’re dirty or sick. Neither one thing or the other, the same as the rest of me, halfway between nothing much and what the hell?
‘What’s your, like, tribe or whatever?’
I shrug like I don’t know, but I’ve got a bookmark at home that Mum gave me ages ago with a dot painting on it and the word Bundjalung. Just another confusion. No one ever asks about it, though. It’s kind of cool that Sasha does.
‘I’m, like, so white,’ she says. ‘I wish I was more interesting.’
‘You’re pretty interesting,’ I say.
‘Yeah, right.’ She examines her own arm. ‘But your dad, though,’ she says. ‘Shit, right? How’s he taking it?’
‘He’s okay. Mum’s worse.’ I decide to try something.
‘Someone spray-painted our house.’
‘What, like graffiti?’
‘Yeah. About my dad. And like a skull and crossbones.’
‘Fuck, that’s heavy. Some people are shit.’ She seems genuinely concerned, but surely she’d know what Buggs gets up to? Maybe not. Maybe it wasn’t Buggs who did it. ‘I mean, this town can be so small-minded.’
My brain jumps, like it’s a sign, dummy! Our love, I think. Sasha and me. The town would never accept us. We’d have to run away. I grin like an idiot.
‘What are you smiling at?’ Sasha raises an eyebrow like she’s been tricked. The sliding door opens behind us and Sasha swings around in her chair to see who it is.
‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Just…thanks. This is nice.’ On the word nice my voice breaks, just a little.
Sasha turns back around, waves her hand like whatever, don’t mention it. She says, ‘Do you think he’s going to jail?’
‘My dad? I don’t know.’
‘It must be horrible, not knowing.’ She fixes me with this really beautiful stare and suddenly I want us to be old together, talking on a porch with all this history between us, all our edges worn down, all our thoughts already known, so it’s just safe.
‘It’s hard,’ I say. ‘He used to be so fun. He used to have this crazy beard that was ginger even though his hair was brown and he’d always be laughing. Then he hurt his back and he couldn’t work.’
Sasha nods.
‘He worked for the council. Helped with the landscaping. All that stuff on the main street especially. One day he’s lifting a bag of fertiliser and his back just goes. Council gave him bugger all compo.’
‘My uncle’s on compo but he still works. He’s like those guys they catch on A Current Affair and that.’
‘Dad couldn’t hardly move for, like, two months. The money didn’t even cover the medical bills, and Mum had to get extra work. Then, cause he hasn’t got much education, cause he’s got a record, the only job he’s good for is traffic duty. Holding up a stop-and-go sign.’
Sasha stops spinning her milkshake. ‘You’re dad’s got a record? What for?’
‘Um.’ I’m suddenly super-thirsty, even though I’m half-full of caramel milk. I realise I’ve just told Sasha more about my family in five minutes than I’ve told anyone in sixteen years.
‘It was ages ago,’ I say. ‘He was only twenty-something. Got done for speeding and the cop went on with it and you know…’
‘He fought a cop?’
‘I don’t really…I don’t know the details.’ Jesus. Why couldn’t I just say no?
‘Shit.’
‘It is what it is. Who needs men, anyway?’ She has a weird smirk on her face, and I laugh like it’s really funny.
‘Not us!’ I say. Disney princess. I remind myself to die from embarrassment later.
‘Will your mum have to go back to work now?’ says Sasha. ‘What does she do?’
‘Supply teacher. She works already, but, yeah, she’ll have to pick up some extra work.’
‘What about your brother?’
‘Angus?’
‘Yeah, Angus.’
‘What about him?’
‘What does he do?’
I make a peh noise. ‘As little as possible.’
‘Didn’t he go to uni?’
‘For a little while. He didn’t last though.’
‘Why not?’
‘Cause he’s a lazy tool.’
Sasha laughs, her nose crinkling up. ‘That’s funny.’
I laugh as well. ‘He’s got this new plan now,’ I say. Making fun of my brother seems like safer ground. ‘He’s trying to catch the Beast of Barwen.’
‘The what?’
‘It’s this creature that’s supposed to live up in the mountains outside of town. Every couple of years someone says they’ve seen it.’
‘Oh, right. Like the big cat or whatever?’
‘Yeah. It’s in the paper every once in a while. He’s got all this equipment, like a video camera, and he’s set it up all in this hideout, like, with sticks covering it and stuff. It’s ridiculous.’
I wait for Sasha to laugh again but instead she goes all serious and says, ‘I want to see it.’
‘The hideout?’
‘Yes. It sounds amazing.’
‘It’s really stupid. It’s like what a five-year-old kid would do.’
‘It sounds amazing.’ She takes my hand across the table and squeezes my fingers. ‘Promise you’ll take me there.’
‘Well I don’t know if—’
‘Take me there right now, Clancy.’ She’s looking me right in the eyes and I notice a thin trail of blonde hairs running along the top of her left eyebrow.
‘I don’t really know the way.’
‘We’ll get Angus, then. We’ll all go together. It sounds so crazy. The Beast of Barwen.’ She says it really low and growly and I know she’s making fun of it but it means I’ll do anything not to let her leave. ‘Gimme your phone,’ she says. ‘I’ll call Angus.’
‘I don’t have…I don’t have it on me.’ My ears burn hot.
‘Let’s go and get him then. It’ll be an adventure!’ Sasha slurps up the last of her milkshake, tipping the container up to get the dregs.
Most of me is saying NO. Most of me knows this is the sort of thing I never do. Most of me is built entirely out of denial and indecision and safety. But she’s right here, the literal girl of my dreams. There’s a hollow at the base of her neck, so soft that my finger could rest there and I’d hardly feel it. A part of her made just for me.
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘An adventure. Why not?’
23
We’re cruising back towards my house. This is fine, I tell myself. This is cool. And, in fact there is something cool about driving up these familiar streets in the front seat of a different car. My stomach’s churning with milk and sugar and nicotine but this is kind of exciting. I keep stealing glances at Sasha’s legs. She’s so incredibly cool, and she’s not even trying. That’s what makes it cool, I guess. She isn’t a tryhard like Nancy, with her fancy clothes, with her pretend niceness. I sort of feel bad about what I said to Nancy, but I don’t want to think about that now.
We round the top of the driveway with music blaring, and I hope to hell Mum’s not back from work yet. Her car’s not there but Angus is sitting on the verandah, his shirt off, with a beer in one hand and, for some reason, a tennis racquet in the other. He gets up when he sees the car, lifts up his aviators. It takes me a moment before I realise he probably thinks it’s Buggs.
‘Drive down if you like,’ I say to Sasha, with the casual air of someone who always does whatever they like. Sasha shunts down a gear and roars towards the front door. It’s pretty funny to watch Angus try and prepare himself for what he thinks is going to be a confrontation. I want my first car to have tinted windows.
We stop and I wave an arm out the window at him. ‘Hey Spangus!’ I shout. Sasha laughs and my confidence triples. I get out of the car, enjoying the confusion on my brother’s face. I go, ‘What’s shaking, dickweed?’ and he just looks at me like what the hell? Sasha gets out of the drivers side.
‘What’s going on?’ Angus says to me.
‘Thought we’d pay you a little visit,’ I say.
‘Hey, Angus,’ says Sasha.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘What’s happening?’
‘We want to go on an adventure with you!’ she says, hooking her thumbs into her belt loops.
‘What?’
‘We want to catch the beast with you,’ I say.
‘Sorry?’ Angus moves his jaw like he’s got gum in his mouth, but he hasn’t.
‘The Beast of Barwen,’ says Sasha. ‘I heard all about it. I want to help. We want to help.’
Sasha puts her arm around me and the feeling of her weight against me makes me shiver. She’s strong and soft and the word womanly enters my head, which is pretty weird. My bony shoulder will probably leave her a bruise.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ says Angus. He taps the tennis racquet against his leg.
‘I think it sounds so interesting,’ says Sasha. ‘You must have done a heap of research.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s not something you can fast-track.’ He puffs out his chest. Boys are so predictable.
‘I’d love to have a look at the set-up,’ she says. ‘It sounds so adventurous.
‘I suppose so,’ Angus says. ‘But I’ve already been up there today, and I’ve already had a few of these.’ He waggles the beer at us. ‘And I’d like to have a few more. Plus I’m babysitting.’
I go, ‘Who left you in charge?’ and I know I’m being a dick, but only because Sasha Strickland has her arm around me.
‘You weren’t anywhere to be seen,’ says Angus. ‘Anyway, I’m a great babysitter. Watch this.’ He puts down the beer and cups his hand around his mouth. ‘TITCH! HEY, TITCH!’
Footsteps, and then Titch comes running round the side of the verandah, his little square face red from effort. He’s got a plastic army man in his hand. ‘Hey, Pants,’ he says to me. I shoot eye daggers at him. ‘Is that your giiiiirl-friend?’ he says. I splutter out a complete lack of response and Angus laughs.
‘Is that your booooyfriend?’ says Sasha, pointing to the army man.
‘No!’ says Titch, holding it up to show her. ‘He’s got fourteen grenades and they’d be like, pkhooew!’ He mimes a massive explosion. If there was a career that rewarded the ability to recreate the sounds of military damage, Titch would be set for life.
‘Ready to go, soldier?’ Angus brandishes the tennis racquet.
Titch drops the army man. ‘Yeah!’
‘All right.’ Angus comes down the front steps and picks up a tennis ball that’s lying with a bunch of others in the grass. He turns around, throws the ball up and whacks it from underneath with the racquet. The ball flies up high above the roof and I see it hit the other side and bounce up again. Titch sprints around the side of the house going, ‘Got it got it got it!’
Angus turns back to us and gives a little bow. ‘And that,’ he says, ‘is how you babysit.’
‘Impressive,’ says Sasha.
‘We call it House Bounce,’ he says. ‘You never know which way it’s going to bounce. If you catch it on the full, the other person has to chase it.’
‘Doesn’t it get caught in the gutters?’ says Sasha.
‘Not our gutters. They’re clogged as hell.’
‘You were su
pposed to clean them months ago,’ I say.
‘What’s the point?’ says Angus. He swings the racquet a few times, trying to look professional, trying to show off his pathetic muscles.
I stare past him at the pink outline of the graffiti. ‘So can we go up to the hideout?’
‘Not today,’ he says. ‘Tomorrow maybe, if you’re good.’
‘Can’t tomorrow,’ says Sasha. ‘Working. Day after’s Saturday, though.’
‘Have to be the arvo,’ says Angus. ‘I got some stuff to do in the morning.’
I make a wanking motion with my hand, which he pretends to ignore.
‘Okay,’ says Sasha. ‘Saturday arvo. Want to meet in town? Round three?’
‘Probably just leave from here,’ says Angus.
‘Outside the library,’ says Sasha, ignoring him. ‘There’s always parks there. Catch you then.’ She takes her arm from around me and I nearly fall over because I’ve been leaning into her so much.
‘Bye,’ I say.
She does a little wave, hops back in the car, and reverses up the driveway.
When she’s gone, Angus bursts out laughing. ‘Sasha Strickland,’ he says. ‘What the actual fuck?’
‘We’re just hanging out,’ I say, as coolly as I can. I know I’m going to cop a heap of shit, but I don’t care. Today is one of the all-time great days. And I get to see her again.
‘I can’t believe you told her about the hideout.’
‘It’s not a secret.’
‘Not now it’s not.’
‘You could’ve said no.’
‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘We’ll just blindfold her. I’m sure you’d like to do the honours.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Angus slowly raises two fingers to his mouth in a V shape and waggles his tongue between them.
I pick up another tennis ball from the grass and House Bounce it straight into his nuts.
24
I’m in such a good mood that I get Titch to help me make burgers, forming our own patties from some mince I found in the freezer. Titch shapes them up after I make sure he’s washed his hands at least twice. I make the salad and even cook onions so when Mum comes in the door after work looking like she’s been through a war, there’s dinner waiting.
Clancy of the Undertow Page 9