by Emily Gale
So, who am I? And where is my body?
I need to get out of this tiny bathing suit. But my clothes are gone. There’s only a grey jacket hanging on the peg and a pile of things folded beneath it. Snap decision, Fanny. I grab the pile of clothes and start dressing.
It doesn’t take long to put them on because there are no corsets or extra layers. Just a white shirt and a skirt to my knees. I button the jacket up so that I’m covered as much as I can be. The shoes look too small for my feet, but then I remember my feet are not my feet, so they fit. These clothes must belong to whoever this person is that I am now. I run my fingers through this short hair and like the way it feels.
Now what? Where do I go? I can’t go home like this. Ma and Da would have a fit.
And then I remember that if it’s some time after 1984, Ma and Da won’t be where I left them. I sit down on the warm wooden seat.
I try and swallow, pushing down the fear that is rising in my throat. In the mirror I see an insignia on the pocket of the grey jacket that seems to say Victoria College. I know that school. It’s up the hill, away from the beach. These clothes must belong to whoever’s body this is. So I need to know who that is. Maybe the school will hold some answers.
Cat
9
Reflection
Nightie-girl made us get on a strange tram in Coogee. It’s open-air at the front and back and looks ready to roll into a museum. We’re clattering along, sitting on wooden slatted seats, with just a thin metal arm to stop me from tumbling out. I’m clutching a bag that feels like carpet. Nightie-girl gave it to me as we left the baths. Is this a real bag? Are these real shoes? Is any of this real?
In a dream, can you feel cold air on your face?
The tram is travelling almost the same way that my bus goes. I recognise a few landmarks. This is Sydney, it’s just not my Sydney.
I can’t tell how long it’s been since I got out of the water. Every time I let myself wonder about what’s happened, my stomach lurches. Did I drown? Am I dead?
‘Are you sure you’re well, sister?’ says nightie-girl.
I open my mouth to reply I’m not your sister, I’m Cat. But instead I nod. I’m scared. It’s not just that the voice that comes out doesn’t sound like me, but that trying to explain before I know what’s happened could make this worse. She hasn’t mentioned the hairbrush again. Despite my stuff-ups, somehow she can’t see the real me in here. If I go along with things maybe it will wear off. Or I can sneak away and figure out how it happened and how to reverse it.
The tram stops and nightie-girl nudges me to get off. ‘Hurry, Fan, we’ll be in awful trouble with Ma,’ she says. I wish I could remember her name. Back at the ocean baths, Mr Wylie called her something-ooey. I can’t think of any names like that. She links arms with me and pulls me across the road in front of a large old car with a single seat at the front, which honks at us.
This is a city of smartly dressed people, vintage cars, carts pulled by horses and trams without doors. It’s not that it’s noisier than my Sydney, but the noises are different: horses’ hooves, tram bells, spluttering engines. I notice what there isn’t as well as what there is: no traffic lights, no road-markings, no bright electric shop signs. There are children wandering around without parents, and literally everyone is wearing a hat. Including me.
I know what it all adds up to. This is the past. Could my imagination come up with this, or is it real? Have I wagged my History class and somehow ended up in history?
When we arrive at a three-storey building on the corner of two busy streets, nightie-girl says we’re ‘home’. I swallow, freshly terrified. The word ‘hotel’ is painted on one window. It’s got one of those fancy wrought-iron canopies. I remember Mum calling that ‘lacework’ and it sounded strange to me because lace is soft and delicate. Just as we walk underneath the canopy I see a name: Thomas Durack.
I can’t go inside; my gut says find home and I think I know the way from here.
‘You go in,’ I tell her. ‘I need to…um…do some stuff.’
‘Fan, you’re talking strange. Is it Doctor Burke I’ll be fetching?’ She comes closer.
Maybe she’ll leave me alone if I can speak more like her. I try to think of something my nana would say. ‘I’m…right as rain, thanks. I’ve got errands to run.’
‘What’ll I tell Ma?’ she asks, and she sounds worried. ‘We’ll already be in trouble for leaving this morning without a word.’
‘Ma knows all about it,’ I reply. I’ll say anything to get away.
She frowns but I edge away slowly and finally turn my back on her to make my way up a steep road that looks familiar. When I look back, she’s gone.
I hitch up my skirt so I can run. This is definitely the hill that leads up to Crown Street, where Aunt Rachel’s shop is. On either side of the street there are barefoot kids hanging out. Front doors are wide open, the pavements are cracked; it’s dusty and hot. A little girl catches my eye and I gasp, feeling as if she’s seen the real me inside this stranger.
Running turns out to be impossible. This body and these clothes are weighing me down and I’m still clutching the carpetbag. I slow down and think back to how I’d shattered the hairbrush.
Nightie-girl had said something like ‘Is this about the race, Fan?’ But she didn’t make me answer. I’m sorry about the brush but I couldn’t help it, I was terrified.
Still am.
Finally I’m here, on Crown Street, so close to where Aunt Rachel’s shop should be. I turn left and keep going, trying to see what’s different and what’s the same. Nothing’s the same! I’ve walked too far now, so I go back over old ground.
I keep pacing, looking up to where I think our place is meant to stand.
This is the right building. But the sign reads Ernest Ireland, Pastry Cook. Through the window I can see pies and buns on dark wooden shelves. I press my head to the glass and try to stop myself from crying. Wake up, Cat. This can’t be happening.
As I pull back I catch my reflection. So that’s what I look like. Older, maybe sixteen, with curves in places where my own body has none. This girl has a long face, masses of hair. Looking into her dark eyes is terrifying, at first, but they sparkle as if she’s a fun person to be around. Somehow they make me feel calmer. But why am I you?
A bell startles me—the shop door opens and a woman comes out. She wipes her hands on her white apron.
‘You all right, dearie?’
I’m not all right, but she’s a stranger and she’ll think I’m lying or mad if I tell her anything. I shake my head and go back the way I came.
The only familiar thing is the sky. I look up, wishing hard that I could see Mum’s flight coming in to land. But there’s nothing but clouds. If I’m really in the past, my family doesn’t exist. I don’t either. I crumble into more tears and keep walking without knowing where to go or who to ask for help. I am lost in a way that I can’t explain to anyone.
Fan
10
School
I’m standing on the corner of Beach Road. I’ve crossed here hundreds of times, but I stare at the buildings that line the street. What is this place? There is nothing I know. Nothing familiar except the street names. Where is the bakery that Ma lets us buy buns from on occasion? Where are the carts? The horses? And what are the people wearing? They’re dressed in less than their undergarments. In the street!
On both sides of the street are shops, only not shops like those I know. They have colourful windows with signs that I don’t understand. One says Cheap Phones and I look in the window at the display of boxes and small black objects. What are they? I’ve heard of telephones but they are large impressive things on the wall—nothing like this.
Another shop is selling liquor, and I watch a woman walk out with a bag of clinking bottles, and she’s talking to herself. But she’s not like those in the pub that sit too long and drink too many pints, those that Da has to boot out with his broom at the end of the night.
People are eating outside, sitting at tables under umbrellas, and I take my eyes away from their skimpy clothes. But not fast enough. I spy a man older than Da wearing no shirt, with muscles like he swims, and with dark glasses on his face.
I spin around, looking for something I know. I see a shop with boards that look like the ones the lifesavers use down at Coogee. But these boards are short and colourful, and a girl is inspecting them like she plans to buy one, but surely not. No girls surf on boards in my time.
There’s a loud roaring sound overhead and I stare up into the sky, not knowing what I’ll find. A white birdlike thing passes across the sky. What strange flying machine is this?
But this isn’t my time. This is some strange time. I think of what the lady said at the baths. That Mina died in 1984. She would have been ninety-three years old. That’s positively ancient. So, this is the future. And it’s not like anything I’ve ever imagined. At least I’m still in Coogee. Not my Coogee, but it is Coogee.
Two people bump into me, so engrossed in each other, they don’t notice the short me in a school uniform with the racing heart and the fear.
I hear the rumbling of a horse and cart and look up for the familiar sight, but there’s just a boy with a strange backwards hat on and pants hanging too low, rolling towards me on a plank of wood with tiny wheels. He speeds past and leaps off his plank, kicking the back so it flies up and he catches it and keeps walking. If I wasn’t so out of sorts then I might like to have a go at that.
Sleek, enclosed cars are speeding furiously down the road, jostling like horses in a race. I’m not sure how to cross. Perhaps I cannot. But if I’m to get to Victoria Grammar then I must.
I step gingerly out onto the road and am met with a loud, angry blasting sound. I leap back to the gutter just in time as a red car speeds past. My heart is galloping. What if I’m stuck on this corner forever?
Then a woman about my sister Kath’s age wearing very tight, bright clothes appears, running on the spot. Maybe she can help me.
‘Excuse me,’ I say.
But she doesn’t look at me. Can she not hear me?
‘Excuse me?’ I say, in my loudest voice, which Ma would tick me off for if she heard it.
But still the woman faces straight ahead and doesn’t answer. And then I notice she has a little white stick hanging from her ear. What could it be that prevents her from hearing my voice? I’d like to ask her, but she runs across the road finding a small break in cars.
I run after her, trying to be ladylike, and then not caring, as long as I make it to the other side without being squashed.
Safe, I breathe for a second, but then a man starts yelling at me, or maybe not at me. He seems to be talking to himself shouting loudly, like he’s arguing with a ghost perhaps.
I hurry on, passing more shops with windows like I’ve never seen. I weave through people sitting at tables outside on the footpath with food in front of them. Imagine eating outside in public like this. It’s like picnicking on a table not a beach.
My stomach swirls. I didn’t even eat breakfast this morning. I stare at the food. Then up to the person eating it. They look like a man, but they have very long fair hair and bright red colour on their lips. They lift something dripping towards their mouth and take a large bite and I look away quickly, not wanting to be rude.
I hurry away towards Victoria College. I only know where it is because I’ve passed it on my way to train at Wylie’s Baths. Even Mina is impressed by its fine buildings.
I stop outside the large iron gates. I can’t imagine ever belonging at a school like this, but here I am, dressed the same as the other girls heading inside. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to school. I stopped years ago to help Da in the pub and Ma in the kitchen, and swim in between.
‘Cat!’ Someone is yelling.
I look down for a lost cat.
‘Cat!’
Turning around I see a girl running towards me with a paper bag in her hand. Am I supposed to know her?
‘Feeling better now, Cat?’ the girl asks me.
Cat? I’m a cat?
‘Do you know what’s happening to me?’ I say, turning to her and hoping she can help me.
‘What? You just wanted to get out of training, didn’t you?’
‘Training?’ What is she talking about?
‘Why do you keep answering my questions with a question? Yes, training. You know that thing we are supposed to do every morning in the pool!’ She starts to walk off and I hurry after her. She clearly knows who I am.
‘Excuse me, but can you help me. I’m not Cat. Something strange is happening…’ I start to say.
She turns around and gives me a worried-Ma sort of look. ‘Are you hungry? Did you miss breakfast? Here, take these. Don’t tell Dad. I don’t think Tiny Teddies and Barbecue Shapes are exactly on the swimming diet!’
She shoves two small things into my hands. So this new me is a swimmer. That news makes me slightly cheered. And my name must be Cat. Behind us a bell sounds and everyone starts to hurry past.
‘I have to get to class,’ says the girl I’m supposed to know. ‘Wait for me tonight right here and we’ll get the bus home together. Or Dad will go nuts! He hates it when you go without me!’
Happy to be finally told what to do, I nod at her. It seems we’re sisters. I want to ask her what Dad going nuts is? Why can’t she just say what she means? Then I realise it doesn’t matter about the nuts, it just matters that I have a new Dad. But I don’t want one, I want my own, my Da.
And then an even more worrying thought worms its way into my head. If I’m this Cat person, what has happened to her? Is it possible that she’s me? Have we somehow changed bodies? Swapped times? Is she stuck too, right now, being me?
Another bell sounds and I follow the other girls. Two girls hurry past me. One has the darkest skin I’ve ever seen. The children at the school I went to were all white. This is wonderfully different.
At least I know my name now. Cat! I do a little meow just to keep my spirits up, and head down the hall. And stop. At the sight of hundreds of girls, chattering, laughing and eating! Not just bread either, but fruit and unrecognisable things. Then I remember the girl, my sister, shoved something at me—two little colourful packages. I hold one of them and shake it near my ear and can hear something inside. I tug at the top, and it rips apart, exploding little shapes all over the ground. Too hungry to care, I scoop them up and try one. It is salty and so delicious, and I shove them all in my mouth.
I take out the other little bag. This time I open it carefully and dive in. These are the sweetest little biscuits shaped like teddy bears. How are they all carved so perfectly when they’re so small? They are almost too lovely for eating. I nibble an ear. They’re better than Ma’s best Sunday cake. And no mixing, no rolling or cutting the dough by hand, just open the bag and there they are. What magic is this?
I imagine Dewey’s delighted face if she could see these little bears. Dearest Dewey. What if she’s still looking for me at Wylie’s Baths? I blink away the thought of my sister.
Before I can lose myself in worries, I feel a jab in the ribs. I spin around ready to fight, my fists up the way brother Con is teaching me, which annoys Ma because it’s so unladylike. I must be feeling very jumpy to put my fists up so quickly.
‘Whoa! You’re punchy this morning, Cat!’
A short girl with wild black hair, even messier than my real hair is when I haven’t brushed it, is grinning at me.
‘Come on, Cat. We have English,’ she says, linking her arm through mine and pulling me with her against the tide of girls. I don’t know who this girl is but I decide to let her sweep me away.
‘Do I like English?’ I risk a strange question hoping she’ll think it’s funny.
She pulls a face that suggests she’s used to my funny questions. ‘Not particularly, but then you don’t like much. Except swimming, and then I’m not even sure you always like that,’ she says, sounding slightly puzzled.
‘Really? That’s good, you seemed a bit confused the other day,’ she tells me.
Oh. No. Not only have I swapped times. And bodies, but I don’t like swimming either. What is this punishment?
‘Did you remember my copy of the play?’
‘Play?’
‘Cat! I texted you this morning.’
I wish I understood what she was talking about. She seems so disappointed.
‘Bring it with you tomorrow! Promise?’
I nod, and she tucks her hair behind her ear trying to contain it. ‘Come on! Ms Bennett will not be happy if we’re late.’
‘What date is it?’ I ask the girl.
‘Twenty-fourth,’ she tells me.
How can I ask her what year it is without her guessing that something’s up? I try a smile so that the girl will think I’m being funny and risk trying a playful game. ‘Correct, but I bet you don’t know the month and the year!’
She laughs and looks at me. ‘Honestly, Cat sometimes I worry about you! It’s March, 2021.’
Oh. I feel a little faint. I reach out for the wall and lean my hand against it. How is this possible? How have I found myself all the way into the twenty-first century?
‘Cat?’
I’m too busy trying to breathe to speak. My new friend squeezes my arm even tighter and drags me off down the hall.
She pushes the door open and we tumble in. Everyone else is seated and they turn to stare at us.
‘Girls?’ A teacher with long red hair pulled into a low ponytail looks at us from the front of the room. ‘I’m Ms Jackson, your CRT,’ she says.
Ms Jackson? What’s a Ms? What’s a CRT? Does it mean something?
‘Apologies for our tardiness, it is all my fault,’ I say most politely, wondering what punishments for lateness exist in this time.
The teacher blinks for a second and my hands sweat at the thought of the strap being whipped across them. It never happened to me at school, but my brother Con got the strap once.