Elsewhere Girls

by Emily Gale

  ‘Just give me the bloody money!’ It’s a man’s voice, hoarse and slurring. I can see the back of Da’s head and his hands in the air.

  I take off my boot, tap Con on the shoulder, and mime throwing the boot into the far corner. He nods and gets ready.

  With all my strength I hurl the boot. It hits a framed picture dead on and the glass cracks before the boot drops to the floorboards.

  There’s another gunshot, a man’s roar and a dull thump on the ground.

  Da shouts, ‘Hold ’im down, Con!’

  I peek out from behind the bar. Con’s on top of a man and Da’s on the ground holding his legs. The gun is out of reach but the man is struggling.

  ‘Fan! Get the police!’ Con shouts through the strain of keeping the gunman from escaping.

  ‘How?’ I say, not caring how stupid I sound.

  ‘Stick your head out the door and yell, darlin’,’ Da says with a wink.

  I yank the pub door wide.

  ‘Police!’ I yell as loud as I can over the noise of trams and horses. I wave my arms, standing there in one boot. ‘Help! Police! There’s a gunman in here!’

  A few people start to run away from the pub, but up the hill I hear some voices repeating my cries for help. Some street kids first, and then finally some adults. There’s a loud whistle and I see two tall men in dark uniforms and caps running this way.

  ‘In here,’ I shout.

  The gunman struggles and Da and Con put all their weight on him, grunting.

  The policemen rush in and take over. Con helps Da up, and Da pulls him into one of those man-hugs with a slap on the back. He keeps his hand on Con’s shoulder and they grin at each other, and although I’ll never forget Da whipping Con the other night—or my part in it—I feel something like relief that I was part of this. I finally did something I’m proud of. And the strange thing is, even though I’m still Fan, I’ve never felt more like me.

  Fan

  26

  Lucy

  There was a tricky moment this morning when Dad asked me to check something on my phone and I couldn’t. Maisy answered for me, pretending that she beat me to it, because he doesn’t know yet that both my phone and laptop are ‘dead’. They are both now hidden under my bed, in a large baking tray and covered with white rice.

  I still haven’t managed to work out how to unwind the hand of the stopwatch and the only joy I’ve had this morning is the takeaway bacon roll Dad made me for breakfast that I am three large, messy bites into. I’ve never tasted anything so delicious. I can’t believe food all ready to eat can be purchased like this so quickly without having to make it at home.

  ‘Are you going to tell Dad about your stuff?’ Maisy asks as we head into school.

  ‘I hope I don’t have to,’ I say.

  Maisy shakes her head. ‘You can’t hide it forever.’

  I grin at her to change the subject, aware that I have bits of bacon stuck in my teeth. She groans and looks away, as Lucy darts across our path and heads into the school building in front of us.

  ‘Didn’t Lucy see you?’ Maisy says.

  ‘She’s probably got her head in a new experiment. I need to catch up with her. Bye, Maisy,’ I say.

  Lucy hasn’t spoken to me since the great presentation disaster. I catch up with her at our lockers.

  ‘I’m not talking to you,’ says Lucy before I’ve said a word.

  ‘Lucy, wait. I’m sorry about the presentation. I’m not feeling myself lately. My head is jumbled and I’m getting everything wrong.’

  She fixes her mouth, tight, like she’s trying to work out a response. ‘I’ve never heard you apologise like that before.’

  ‘Oh. But I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry too. I’m just super-stressed about keeping my scholarship and the presentation was worth a lot of marks.’

  ‘I’d give you all my marks, if I had any.’

  She nods. ‘You know what, you’re being…different, Cat. More human, less exercise machine. And what’s with the bacon roll?’

  ‘Dad bought it because I was starving after training.’

  ‘First spag bol and now this. You never eat bacon. You’re all happy-pig obsessed. And you’re a vegetarian!’

  ‘That was last month.’

  ‘Have you hit your head lately? Perhaps it’s amnesia,’ she says, and she’s being serious. ‘You could have a concussion.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I tell her. The more suspicious she becomes, the more afraid I am about someone in this time finally knowing the truth.

  ‘But you said you’re not yourself. And there must be a reason. There is always a reason.’

  She leans in and studies my face for what feels like ages. ‘You and I have been greeting each other the same way every morning since we became friends, and for the fifth time in a row you haven’t used that greeting. So come on, Cat, what is our greeting?’

  ‘Um…’ I try and think but all I have are the insults that Mina and I toss around jokingly, like the ones we trade about each other swimming like our legs are tied together.

  ‘Cat, seriously. That’s proof, right there that something’s wrong. If I wasn’t a scientist and I didn’t know that it was impossible, I would say you actually are a different person.’

  I step back and smile. ‘Nope. Same old Cat!’

  ‘I’m not convinced. I might have to run a few more tests.’

  I imagine myself strung up in a laboratory with wires coming out of me, and I shudder. ‘What sort of tests?’

  ‘What did I say to you on the first day we met?’

  Perhaps experimenting on my body would be preferable to testing a memory I don’t have. ‘Umm. Good morning?’

  ‘Wrong. I told you a joke about a giraffe and you laughed.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. I remember.’

  ‘Try this one. What is on my bedroom wall?’

  ‘A painting?’

  She nods. ‘Of?’

  ‘Flowers…’

  Lucy is frowning hard. I’ve seen that expression in science class. ‘It’s true. You can’t be Cat. Cat gave me an Einstein poster as a present for Christmas. If you are not her then all my belief in science is being tested. And I’m on the verge of a career that will lead me to great things. You’re confusing me, Cat-not-Cat! We need to get some help on this.’

  She turns sharply from me and starts to scurry down the corridor towards the science rooms. I hurry after her.

  ‘I love proving theories,’ she says, hugging her bag. ‘But if I prove that you are not Cat…that is terrifying, perplexing and scientifically impossible!’ She whispers the last point as if just confirming this to herself.

  ‘Would that be so bad?’ I say.

  Her eyes widen. ‘What are you saying?’

  I want to tell her, but the worry in her eyes tells me that she is not ready to hear it.

  ‘Lucy, all this time I’ve just been practising acting. So I can audition for the part of Juliet. Of course I’m Cat. Who else would I be?’ I say it as lightly and flippantly as I can.

  ‘So you’re pretending not to have a memory. All this time.’

  ‘And my nerves are strained. I mean, I’m super-stressed. Like you. About swimming and whether I’ll be on the state team. I’ve just been moved from swimming fourth leg in relay, Luce.’ I hope that distracts her.

  ‘Oh, Cat, that’s awful. I’m sorry. Look, testing my hypothesis that you are not yourself has been flawed with a faulty source. That means you. Of course you’re really Cat, because anything else is unscientific and who else would you be? But I think you need to see a doctor.’

  I thought I could tell Lucy who I really am, and ask for her help to get me home, but she’s so scientific that she’ll never accept it without proof. And where am I going to find that?

  Cat

  27

  Dewey

  On Thursday we crawl into bed after midnight. Con had to give a statement at the police station and John had a date (we
teased him a lot) so as the next strongest I helped Da with the beer barrels. Now, even my bones are tired.

  ‘Blow out the candle,’ I say, stretching out on cool sheets.

  Dewey gets in close and says, ‘Good night, sleep tight…’ She squeezes me and says, ‘You say the rest.’

  Half-asleep, I mumble, ‘Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

  My dreams are strange and a voice pokes me awake when it’s still dark. But there’s no sign that it came from one of the sisters. The voice said: how to unwind? And now I think about it, it was Fan’s voice—the one I’ve been speaking all this time. But does that mean the words came from the real Fanny Durack, wherever she is? I chew on the words with my sleepy brain.

  The next time I wake, I open my eyes and take a gulp of air as if I’d been held underwater. There’s a weight beside me, making the covers tight. Dewey is sitting there, staring.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask in sleepy confusion.

  ‘Look me in the eye and tell me the truth.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘That’s what I want to know.’

  At first I think that Con’s dobbed about the money, but then I get a chill from the look she’s giving me.

  With a shake in her voice she says, ‘What’s happening to you?’

  I’m about to make a joke out of it but I’m tired of the lie. A big part of me wants Dewey to know who I really am.

  I push myself up so we’re face to face.

  ‘I…you see…sorry, I’ll start again. Everything’s fine, but…my name is Cat. I’m from the future.’

  She springs off the bed and turns away from me. She whispers prayers and paces to the door and back. I’m scared—what’s going to happen now?

  ‘Do you hate me, Dew? Are you going to tell?’

  ‘Tell? They’ll take you to the madhouse if you say such things! Fan, you’re not well.’ She’s crying and I’m scared the rest of the family will hear.

  ‘Dewey, please. You’re the one who asked. You know something’s happened.’

  ‘But it can’t be true,’ she sobs. ‘The future? You can’t be someone else.’

  ‘It is true. Think back to the clues. Please, I’m begging you.’

  Looking unsure, she sits on the bed again. ‘Well…it was silly things at first. All your forgetfulness. Doing things as if you didn’t know how. You were even in the kitchen holding the bellows the wrong way round and blowing air into your face.’

  I remember that and almost laugh, but she looks so serious, I bite the inside of my cheek.

  ‘And last week I found a note in your purse. Hi, I’m Cat, I was you…’ She bursts into fresh tears, pressing her face into her hands. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  I touch her shoulder.

  Dewey peers out of her hands. ‘I thought you had a disease of the mind, but then this idea crept up on me that…that…’

  ‘That I wasn’t really Fan.’

  ‘Don’t say it! I had to go to Father Robert to confess unnatural thoughts!’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He told me to say fifteen “Our Fathers” and stop being a silly chit. And I did my penance, I tried to make the thoughts go away but last night you said the wrong words. Good night, sleep tight…’

  She searches my face for the rest, but I can only shrug. ‘It isn’t the line about bed bugs?’

  She shakes her head. ‘You have always, always said, wake bright.’ She cries a bit more and then dries her face. In a weird moment of calm, she stares at me. ‘It’s really not you, is it? I can see it now, in your eyes.’

  ‘I’m really not Fan, that’s true. But these are her eyes, not mine.’

  ‘The saying goes The eyes are the window to the soul. You’re you, I suppose. You can’t be anyone else, including my sister.’ Dewey gets up, as if she’s horrified all over again, and heads for the door. I scramble ahead of her and block the way.

  ‘Please don’t tell everyone.’

  ‘Tell me where she is!’

  I try to take her hand but she snatches it away.

  ‘Dewey, please. I can’t know for sure but I think your sister is in my life, being me. Don’t tell. We can fix this together.’

  A noise outside the door makes us both hold our breath to listen. There’s nothing more but Dewey lowers her voice.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘It’s not where, it’s when.’

  Dewey’s bottom lip quivers.

  ‘I need to take you to Crown Street. Get dressed,’ I say.

  ‘But I’ve got school.’

  ‘Well, haven’t you ever wagged before?’

  We tell Ma I’m walking Dewey to school. Ma is curious about Dewey’s red face but I whisper about Dewey being ‘on the rag’ and Ma nods.

  It’s silent between us, up the steep hill. Ten minutes later we’re outside Ernest Ireland, Pastry Chef. Home—sort of.

  ‘Dewey, this is where I live. Only not in 1908. My life is more than a hundred years from now.’

  Her eyes expand like ink dropped into water.

  ‘I don’t know for sure but I think Fanny is there. As in, I’m here in her life, and she’s in the future in mine.’

  Dewey gasps.

  ‘I didn’t make it happen, I swear. It was when I was swimming at Wylie’s Baths—that day when you timed Fan with the stopwatch.’

  ‘I remember! You broke my hairbrush. You were angry and a little unkind. Not like my sister.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s me. Back home I have a reputation for being angry with little sisters.’

  Dewey checks the windows above the shop awning. ‘So she’s there, but not there. If I believed you—and I’m not saying I do—it sounds so far away.’

  ‘I know, but coming to the past hardly took any time at all.’

  ‘So, it happened when you were swimming. Are you a proper swimmer like Fan?’

  ‘Yes. Even though I was wagging training.’ I shrug.

  ‘And then all of a sudden you were her and she was you?’

  ‘Well, I was her. I’m guessing the rest. I know I sound like her and look like her, but all my thoughts are mine. It’s been so lonely.’ I want to add apart from having you, but I’m too shy.

  She takes a deep, shuddery breath. ‘So I can’t go in there now and get her,’ she says, in a way that shows she already knows the answer.

  Dewey and I walk around the city, going over the last two weeks. She buys a currant bun because we haven’t eaten, and as she hands half to me it feels like a sign that we could be friends.

  We find a park and sit on a bench by a sapling. I wonder how big it is in my time. A huge tree, probably.

  ‘What’ll it be like for my sister, in your life?’

  ‘Amazing. Different. There’s more of everything—people, traffic, food, bright lights, and stuff—there’s so much stuff. It’s hard to explain. There are inventions that make everything faster. You can talk to people a thousand miles away on a telephone you carry in your pocket. You can listen to music whenever you like on the phone too. The food! Dew, the food is incredible. And girls wear whatever they like. Girls can do anything. It’d literally blow your mind. Australia has had a female prime minister. And of course most people have two heads.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That last bit was a joke. Just trying to make you smile, Dewey.’

  But it’s too soon for Dewey to see the funny side and I can’t blame her for that.

  ‘Is Fanny ever coming back?’ she says.

  I’d like to tell her how scared I am about this. Dewey and I are the same age, but here and now I’m supposed to be the big sister.

  ‘Definitely. We’ll make it happen at Wylie’s.’ I smile, trying to look confident. ‘Everything will go back to normal soon. Right now Fanny will be eating like a queen, hanging out with my sister Maisy and my friend Lucy, and swimming in the amazing pool at my school. My family is great, Dew, I wish you could meet them. I share a bedroom with Maisy. She’s kind, funny, works hard.
She can be annoying, and she never has any trouble getting out of bed in the morning.’

  Finally Dewey smiles. ‘Not like you.’

  ‘No. So, I have to know—are you going to tell?’

  She shakes her head, and wipes currant-bun crumbs from her mouth. ‘The shock’d kill Da. Ma would string you up and beat you till you dropped right out of Fanny, and then she’d insist we go to church every single day till the end of time. No, I’ll keep the secret. I love my sister—and from what you say she’ll be having the time of her life in the future. I know I would be. There aren’t many adventures for us. You’ve seen how it is. And if she’s being you she’ll be looking after things, you can count on that.’

  We walk back the way we came, exchanging a few shy smiles like new friends.

  ‘Can you really keep my secret?’ I ask.

  She spits on her hand and holds it out.

  ‘That’s gross, Dew.’

  ‘Fanny’d shake my hand.’

  So of course I have to.

  ‘Thanks, Dew. You’re awesome.’

  ‘I’m what?’ she says.

  ‘It means really, really great.’

  As we walk I tell her about Netflix, space travel, ice-cream sandwiches, YouTube, tampons and bras. I don’t tell her about the wars—the First World War is only six years from now. Her brothers might have to fight, even Mick and Frankie. I’d hate to know if terrible things were about to happen in my time. And after all, Dewey can’t stop anything. All anyone can do is live the life they’ve got. Including me.

  On Saturday I wake to an empty room. I can hear and smell heavy rain outside—the window is propped open with a chunk of driftwood. I lean over and put my face in the gap, watching the downpour—the shiny backs of horses trotting past and the sludgy street, black umbrellas like beetles.

  It’s race day. Last night, with Dewey’s help, I practised trudgen on the rug between the two beds while she sat on the bed, laughing at me. I described bikinis to her and she didn’t believe me, so I rolled up and pinned Fanny’s underwear into a bikini shape, and made her do the same. Then we pretended we were walking down to the beach (the rug), to lie in the sun (the gas lamp) and apply sun lotion (Kath’s jar of cold cream). We were laughing so much that Mary and Kath came in and their shocked faces made us howl even more.