Elsewhere Girls

by Emily Gale

  ‘I mean it!’ I try again. ‘I think Franny sounds better.’

  They just keep laughing, except John, who is shaking his head. I got the idea from Mum. She was reading The Magic Faraway Tree to Maisy and me, but when she got to a character called Frannie she frowned and left the room. Maisy and I got out of bed and followed her into the den, which had these giant storage cupboards that Dad built. Mum was rummaging in there for ages and finally found what she was looking for—her old copy, from when she was a kid, with her name in biro on the browned pages. ‘See?’ she said, ‘In my day that character was called Fanny. They must have changed it for a modern audience. I wish they hadn’t.’ But we talked about how children today might get the giggles when they heard the name Fanny.

  ‘You’re a card, Fanny,’ says Da. A card? I think it means I’m hilarious.

  ‘Never mind all of this nonsense,’ says Ma, ‘what I’d like to know is where young Frankie’s shoe is.’ Everyone turns their attention to Frankie, who looks guilty. We all look under the table. Frankie is wearing only one brown boot.

  ‘Well, Ma, it’s a funny story,’ he says cheerfully. ‘You see I was going down Foveaux Street coming home from school, just minding my business, you know, and this fella who’s nearly finished building a brand new house he says, “Would you mind giving me your shoe?” and I says, “What do you want my shoe for?” and this fella says, “I’m about to brick up the last wall and we need a small shoe for luck—as it happens yours is the perfect size.” So I gave it to him.’

  ‘You did what!’ shouts Ma. ‘That’s your only pair of shoes! What have you to say about this, Tommy?’ She nudges Da, and I’m terrified that Frankie’s going to get the belt.

  But Da raises his cup of tea at Frank. ‘That’s my boy. Wards off evil spirits, a boot in the wall. It’s good luck he chose yours.’

  Ma huffs and goes back to the stove. ‘Ridiculous. Good luck, indeed. We can’t afford good luck.’

  No one dares to say another word after that, but everyone is smiling again. I get a rush of love for them; they’re not just someone else’s family, they’re my Duracks too. Now I feel bad for what I tried to do with the Franny thing. Her name is Sarah Francis Durack, Fanny or Fan for short. And if she’s in my place like I’m in hers, I don’t want her changing things either.

  My main plan hasn’t changed—I’m going to track down Mina Wylie and get that stopwatch. But while I’m here I’ll do whatever I can to win a race for Fan.

  Fan

  24

  Stopwatch

  If I were home in the pub, we’d all be up by now with a list of chores as long as my arm. But it would seem that here sleeping until mid-morning on a Sunday is almost expected. Lying in bed while I wait for someone else to wake up I’ve had time to think about everything that has happened to me in this future place.

  As much as it is tiring to pretend to be someone else each day, and not to have an ally like I do with Dewey, I think I’m growing to understand Cat a little more. And I can’t help but wonder if she is being me, how she has fitted into my life.

  A buzzing noise breaks my thoughts and Maisy groans from her side of the room. She reaches across and grabs her phone. She tosses it to me.

  It lands near me. ‘I don’t want it!’ I tell her, picking it up like it’s a live grenade.

  ‘Answer it. She’ll just keep calling!’ Maisy snaps.

  I don’t know how to answer it, so I hold it up near my face. ‘Hello?’

  But the phone keeps on buzzing. Maisy glares at me. ‘What are you doing, Cat?’

  Relieved when the phone goes quiet, I toss it back.

  There’s another buzz and this time Maisy presses something before she throws it across. I squeak at the sight of the girl’s face trapped in the small screen.

  ‘Cat! Finally,’ she says.

  This girl is talking through the phone at me. I can see her blinking eyes and long red hair. There’s a ring through her nose. The poor thing.

  ‘I’ve left about a million messages, Cat. What is going on?’

  ‘Um…’ I try to think of what to say. ‘I lost my phone.’

  She sighs deeply. ‘I knew it.’

  I’m trying to think of a way to ask who she is, and what she knows about Cat, but I’m finding it very disconcerting that she’s staring at me.

  ‘How are you?’ I finally say.

  She frowns. ‘Yeah, you know. Sammy and I broke up. Again! I should have listened to you,’ she says.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  She pulls a face. ‘You hate Sammy. Why would you be sorry?’

  It’s hard to have a conversation when I don’t know who I’m talking to or what I’m talking about. ‘I’m sorry for you,’ I say.

  The girl on the screen starts laughing. ‘You’re being odd this morning, Cat!’

  ‘I am. It’s true. Why don’t I call you when I find my phone?’

  ‘Oh, okay. I thought we could catch up. It’s been ages! I miss you. We all miss you. Or have you traded us all in?’

  Now I laugh. ‘No! I miss my old friends too,’ I say, being as honest as I can. ‘You have nothing to fear. I will never belong here.’

  I manage to say goodbye to the girl and the phone goes black.

  ‘Tam and Sammy broke up again? Those two,’ says Maisy, sitting up.

  Tam. Now I know the girl’s name. Maisy suddenly looks across at me with wide eyes. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have listened in.’

  ‘Why? I’m using your phone and we share a room,’ I say, thinking of how little is private in 1908.

  ‘You’re doing that weird thing again. Maybe we should try to find your phone?’

  ‘About that…I’m pretty sure I left it at Wylie’s Baths. I went swimming there.’

  ‘When?’

  I’m not sure if I should tell Maisy that’s why Cat skipped training. I shrug.

  ‘When did you go the baths, Cat? Did you go alone?’ Even if I wanted to answer Maisy’s questions, I can’t. So, I say the one thing I know will distract her. ‘We could go now if you like?’

  Maisy swings her legs around and looks across the gap at me like she’s trying to work something out. ‘You want me to come with you?’

  ‘If you’re not busy.’

  The smile Maisy gives me reminds me of when I invite Dewey somewhere. Now I’m pleased that I asked her to come, wondering if perhaps I could tell her the whole truth.

  Today I’m sure is sunnier than it ever is in 1908. We make our way down the path to Wylie’s Baths.

  ‘I’m glad we brought our bathing suits,’ I say.

  ‘Since when do you call cozzies bathing suits?’

  I’m too excited about visiting Wylie’s to be concentrating on pretending to be Cat. This time there is no sign or roped-off entrance. They must have completed the work on the wall because the turnstile is open.

  ‘I didn’t bring money,’ I say.

  Maisy groans. ‘Here, but you owe me,’ she says, pulling a note from her pocket. It’s blue and shiny and nothing like the heavy coins we have in 1908. I wish I could keep it and take it back to show Dewey.

  The boy at the counter takes our note and we head through. There are a few people swimming already and I can feel a pull in my body as we head down the stairs.

  ‘Why did you come here when you can swim in a pool?’ Maisy asks. ‘Isn’t the bottom all slimy? Are there fish swimming around?’

  I laugh at the horrified expression on her face. ‘Yes, but it’s magical,’ I tell her.

  Maisy snorts. ‘Magical! You never talk about magic!’

  ‘You’re right,’ I say, pulling her by the arm to the smooth rocky area under the stairs. ‘But maybe now I do.’

  I scan the area trying to think where Cat might have left her things. I know there was no bag in the changing room that day so maybe she took it down to the rocks with her. That would make sense: she had fancy thingummybobs in her bag so she’d want to keep it in sight.

  ‘I believe that I
left my bag somewhere around here,’ I say. ‘You look that way and I’ll go over here.’

  There are no men in little pants today. I duck down and wedge up under the rocks to where I’m hoping I’ll find Cat’s bag. But there’s nothing but orange peel and a pair of cracked goggles.

  ‘Cat!’ Maisy calls. She’s holding up a backpack and grinning like she just discovered gold.

  ‘You found it!’

  Maisy hurries over. She watches as I open the bag and pull things out. Everything is damp. I hand a flat green parcel with something hard inside it to Maisy because I’m looking for the stopwatch.

  ‘Cat, this is wet. It’s been rained on. I bet your laptop is dead!’

  ‘Dead? What do you mean?’ Horrified I shake it, hoping to bring life back.

  ‘Maybe we can dry it out in some rice. Isn’t that what you do with phones?’

  I have no idea what she’s talking about. How does rice dry things? I go back to searching the bag, my fingers brushing against squashed sandwiches that smell bad and empty plastic packets.

  ‘No stopwatch,’ I tell Maisy. ‘Maybe she dropped it.’

  ‘She? Who were you with? Lucy?’

  Shoving everything back into Cat’s backpack, I ignore Maisy as she blathers on about the missing stopwatch and what Aunt Rachel will say. All I can think about now is that I might never make it back home. I will be stuck here with dead laptops and other things I do not understand.

  ‘Do you know her?’ Maisy says.

  I spin around and see the leathery lady from that day. She’s waving as she swims towards the steps of the baths and pulls herself out. Her swimmers seem even smaller than when I last saw them.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you. I have something of yours.’

  She takes something from her bag and walks towards us. My heart is speeding up at the thought that maybe she found the stopwatch. As she holds it out to me, I see a solid silver case that’s not as shiny as I was expecting. But then I spy the watch face with its circles of different numbers, and the words in French and a long thin timer hand. It’s Mr Wylie’s, has to be.

  ‘You found it.’ I throw my arms around her in an impulsive hug.

  ‘I had it fixed for you,’ she says with a smile once I’ve let her go. ‘My granddaughter happens to be a very good horologist.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, wondering what that means. Maisy gushes over the repaired watch, talking about how happy she is that Aunt Rachel’s eBay antique isn’t lost.

  ‘I’m so pleased, girls,’ the lady says as she walks away. ‘Take care now.’

  I turn the watch over in my hands. ‘What do you think has been fixed?’

  ‘The hand of course. The button was stiff and when I finally pressed it the timer hand started spinning backwards.’

  I think of the whispering words I heard at the pool. The hand unwinds. I wonder if it was Cat telling me that the hand of the stopwatch had unwound time. Maybe she’s stuck there waiting for me to unwind the hand and switch places with her again. But how do I do that? I need to know how the watch was fixed.

  I look around to ask the lady what her granddaughter did to it, but I can’t see her. She’s not in the water. Her bag has gone too. She’s vanished.

  Now that I have the stopwatch, I ache for my home. But if I don’t know what was done to the watch to fix it, how will I use it to unwind time again?

  ‘Can’t believe how lucky you are getting all your stuff back. Come on, let’s swim. It’s baking,’ says Maisy, undressing by the rocks.

  I wish a simple swim could fix my problems. Watching Maisy, and weighing the silver watch in my hand, I can think of one person who might be able to help me figure this out.

  Cat

  25

  Confession

  For once I wake up before Dewey. I lift my head to see Kath and Mary but their bed is already made. My brain starts to whir with thoughts about the stopwatch. If I get my hands on it, what will I need to do next? I remember how dizzy and strange I felt watching the timer hand unwind, so do I need to make it spin extra fast and clockwise to travel forward to my own time?

  I can’t know for sure if the real Fanny is being me but that’s what I suspect. She was at Wylie’s, I was at Wylie’s, and so was the stopwatch. I just hope she noticed it on the rocks where I left it and also thinks that it’s the link between us. It’s no good not having a theory—I’ve grabbed one and I’m sticking with it until I’m proved wrong. That’s what Lucy would say and she’s the most scientific person I know.

  Dewey murmurs in her sleep. We’re lying very close and I breathe in the smell of her hair—if I’m honest, she smells like a cup of tea. We use leftovers from the teapot to wash our hair. I’ve been using salt to scrub my teeth and they’re furry as a cat. For a minute I let myself imagine the sharp taste of toothpaste. Long, hot showers. Dad’s lasagne. Mum’s arms around me.

  Nope, got to stay strong.

  ‘Hey, sleepyhead.’ I sit up and gently shake Dewey.

  ‘My tummy,’ she moans. ‘I must be on the rag, can you get the belt for me?’

  What can she mean? She can’t mean Da’s belt that he used to whip Con the other night. I climb over her as she groans again and draws her knees up. I think I know what it is. Her period! Facing away from her, I press my hand on my tummy through the nightie, panicking that if Dewey’s got her period, I’ll get it too. Mum told me that sometimes when girls live together they have their periods at the same time. In my own life, I haven’t started yet.

  ‘Never mind, I’ll get it myself,’ Dewey says, throwing off the covers. She pushes past me, grumpier than I’ve ever seen her. After rummaging in the drawers she pulls out a strappy looking thing and what looks like old napkins. What a nightmare. This is another reason to get home as fast as possible. But I feel bad for Dewey.

  ‘Do you mind, Fan? Some privacy?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll make you a hot drink. And sneak a bit of Ma’s fruitcake for you.’

  ‘For breakfast?’ she says, but looks as if she loves the idea. Her face is back to normal: soft and smiling. Mum always has chocolate when she’s got hers, so why not fruitcake?

  Later, as Dewey is ‘on the rag’, she sits at the table peeling potatoes and I’m on ironing duty. Luckily I’ve watched Kath do it so I don’t have to ask for instructions.

  To iron a sheet, I lie it on the kitchen table over an old blanket. Then, on the kitchen range, I heat two irons that are more like my dad’s 10-kg weights. To test if they’re hot enough, I lick my finger and touch it—‘psh’—on the iron—very safe, not. The handle gets roasting too, so a cloth has to be wrapped around it. I have to keep the range going, use one iron while the other is heating, and keep swapping them. It is hell.

  After this I’m supposed to make bubble and squeak from Sunday’s leftover veg. Everything we eat is stodgy. I never thought I could miss salad. Chores are my whole life now. I’m really over today.

  ‘What’s wrong, Fan?’ says Frankie, coming in from a game of laneway cricket. ‘You look like you’re chewing a wasp.’

  ‘Just bored,’ I tell him.

  ‘I bet you’d just love a swim,’ he says, and he sounds so sweet, as if he’d dig me my own personal swimming pool if he could.

  I put the iron back on the range with a loud clang. ‘I need a swim. I can feel it all over,’ I say, but there’s no chance of that. I sink onto a stool at the other end of the table and rest my head for a while as Frankie and Dewey start a food fight with the potato peelings.

  ‘Sarah Francis Durack! What am I to do with you?’ Ma yells as she bursts in. ‘The fire’s gone out again!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ma! I’m no good at being stuck inside all day.’

  ‘Oh, is that it? Then I’ve got the perfect job for you, my girl. You can collect the chamberpots from the bedrooms and empty them down the back.’

  ‘Please no, I’ll be sick!’ I plead. But there’s no getting around Ma.

  Now I’m walking down the stairs with a
large bowl of dark yellow wee in each hand. Please don’t let me trip on my skirt. Please don’t let any of the strangers’ wee touch me.

  I make it down safely and get rid of the wee down the drain, trying not to splash my boots.

  Con’s in the yard smoking a roll-up.

  ‘What did you do to deserve that?’ he says, with a smile.

  I’ve been wanting to speak to him about the trouble I caused him. ‘Con, I have a confession.’

  ‘Shall I fetch Father Robert?’ he jokes.

  I shake my head. ‘It was me who took that money. I wish I’d tried harder to make Da believe me. I’m literally so, so sorry.’

  ‘Literally?’ he raises his eyebrows.

  ‘I’m being serious, Con.’

  He flicks the cigarette butt across the yard. ‘I know it was you,’ he says quietly.

  ‘How? And why didn’t you dob?’

  ‘What’s dob?’

  ‘I mean, why didn’t you tell Da it was me? Why let him hit you?’

  ‘I saw you that night sneaking down to the bar. But I couldn’t very well let him hit you, Fan.’

  ‘You mean because I’m a girl.’

  ‘Well, that and all the times you’ve been kind to me, sis. We’re family. It’s what we do.’

  I swallow a lump, half-thinking that I want to pay Con back but also wishing I could click my heels and be with my own family: to be honest with Mum about the flatness I was feeling every time I thought about training and the way that the scholarship was like a whirlpool I’d been sucked into, and why I was so cranky at everyone. Especially Maisy.

  Suddenly there’s shouting coming from the bar—much angrier than the usual shouts of daytime drinkers. Con is off like a shot—I put the chamberpots down and follow him.

  On the way we hear a gunshot and breaking glass.

  ‘Keep back, Fan!’ Con hisses, but I stay with him. He’s creeping cautiously and we duck down low as we reach the back entrance to the bar.

  We can hear Da saying, ‘Don’t do anything rash,’ and then, ‘Stay calm, lad.’

  Con crawls on all fours and I’m right behind him, doing the same. We inch along silently, hidden from sight but with a view of half the bar. The pub has cleared. I can hear Con’s tense breathing.