Elsewhere Girls

by Emily Gale

  Everyone around me is bouncing up and down so I start stepping from one side to the other, swinging my arms and twisting my body. I’ve won prizes for dancing, but here in the future I can’t quite keep up.

  I decide to close my eyes and enjoy the music. Someone bumps me. It’s a girl called Taylor from the swim team. ‘Sorry, Cat!’

  Taylor is moving her hips in ways I didn’t know possible. I try to copy her but I’m wooden and stiff and I can’t work it out.

  ‘Teach me?’ I yell over the music, feeling bolder now.

  ‘Sure!’ she says, and she turns so she’s in front of me and I can mirror her. I start trying to swivel through my hips, sending them from one side to the other. Soon I’m dancing more like Taylor and it’s marvellous. As the song finishes, she grins at me and holds up a hand. I’m not sure what she wants me to do.

  She looks at me strangely. ‘High five?’

  ‘What?’

  Taylor lifts my hand up and taps it against hers and I realise I’m supposed to slap palms with her.

  ‘Oh! Sorry. Now I get it,’ I say, holding up my hand.

  Laughing, she high fives me.

  ‘You’re different tonight,’ she yells over the music.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Not such a snob,’ she says.

  From what I’ve learned about Cat, she may be rude and grumpy and sometimes not nice to Maisy, but I don’t think she’s a snob.

  ‘I’m just a bit shy sometimes,’ I tell her, wondering if that’s true.

  ‘Really? But you never talk to any of us. Rebecca said it’s because you think you’re better than us because you’re on a scholarship. ‘

  ‘I don’t think I’m better than you. Well, maybe I’m faster in the pool!’ I say lightly, hoping she gets my joke.

  ‘Not when you swim that weird stroke,’ she says laughing.

  I smile. ‘My turn to teach you a dance.’

  I start dancing the way I do at home, tapping out the rhythm of the tune with my feet and stomping on the ground with my arms held high. Soon the two of us are clearing a space in the room, with everyone else around the outside. Some of the boys start cheering and as the song finishes Taylor grabs my hand and pulls me down into a bow. I feel flushed and hot, but happier than I’ve felt in days.

  I leave Taylor and keep looking for cake. I find a large table bursting with food in the front room of the house where it’s quieter. I stare at a plate of what looks like raw pink flesh. A boy walks up and grabs a sandwich.

  ‘Excuse me, do you know what this is?’ I ask.

  ‘Sashimi,’ he says.

  ‘What a beautiful word!’

  He laughs and grabs another sandwich. ‘Sounds better than raw fish!’

  ‘Really? Is that what it is? Raw fish?’

  He nods. ‘Haven’t you seen it before?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. Where I come from we don’t eat raw fish.’

  ‘Where you come from? You mean Bathurst?’ says Rebecca, who has suddenly appeared beside me.

  ‘Orange,’ I tell her.

  She laughs. ‘Yes of course. Orange! Where all the great swimmers come from.’

  The boy shrugs at me like he’s apologising for Rebecca, and then he grabs two sandwiches and leaves.

  ‘By the way, thanks for swimming so strangely the other day. Now I’ve got the fourth leg of the relay.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ I reply, heeding Ma’s advice to be polite.

  ‘Better watch your scholarship. They’ll take it off you if you keep swimming like that. Then you’ll have to go back to Bathurst.’

  ‘Orange.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  In 1908 we’re competitive, but we are never mean. We might be disappointed if we are beaten, but we are also happy for each other when one of us wins because in a way it’s a win for all of us. We are all trying to change things: to get paid in prize money not trinkets, to swim in front of everyone, not just women, to be able to aim for the Olympics without fearing that the rules will never include us.

  ‘Why are you being so mean?’ I blurt out, knowing Ma would understand my rudeness.

  ‘Mean? I’m not. I’m just pointing out that I’m going to take you down, Cat. You might have been a good swimmer in Orange, but I’m the best swimmer at Victoria Grammar.’

  I’m so stumped by her words that I really don’t know what to say. I realise the room has gone quiet and that others are listening. My cheeks are burning and I’m furious for Cat. This girl with her big house and her even bigger hair has no manners. I just wish I could swim freestyle well enough to beat her.

  ‘Thank you for inviting me. I had a lovely time. Good night,’ I tell her, holding in all my ugly thoughts for when I’m outside.

  As I head out I pass the large platter of cakes with little butterflies made out of chocolate on top. I take one for later, and then grab another for Maisy, and walk as slowly and calmly as I can towards the door.

  Lucy was right. I don’t like Rebecca at all. If I do end up staying longer in Cat’s time, I won’t spend another second with her.

  Cat

  29

  Beach

  Someone’s banging pots in the kitchen. Da calls out, ‘Rise and shine, Duracks!’ and I think that’s Ma laughing. I’ve never heard her laugh. We sit up in bed and give each other what’s-happening? looks.

  When the family is gathered at the kitchen table, Da and Ma stand at one end looking like they’ve won the lottery. Da pretends to play a wooden spoon like a bugle. Ma shoves him.

  ‘Stop that, you daft old man.’

  ‘Sorry, my love. Now then, attention, Duracks! I do declare that on this very day, the something of March 1908—’

  ‘Fifth, Da!’ yells Frankie.

  ‘Thank you, my boy—the fifth of March 1908—that we, the Duracks of the Newmarket Public House, Sydney, New South Wales—’

  ‘Tommy, get on with it!’ Ma giggles.

  ‘Are having a grand day out!’

  The whole table erupts. Even John smiles and he’s usually about as much fun as a potato! Dewey’s grin warms me up like porridge.

  ‘Where are we going, Da?’ says Con.

  Da tries to play the spoon bugle again but he doesn’t get very far—Ma’s laughing like a seagull and wiping her eyes as she says, ‘We’re going to the beach. I’ve packed a picnic.’

  Everyone but me jumps to their feet and starts to dance around the table. Maisy and I didn’t even react like that when Mum and Dad took us to Bali. I’m so happy for them. A whole day to swim and laze around. But I had my own plans today, to take the stopwatch to Wylie’s and try to get home.

  ‘Which beach are we going to?’ I ask over the noise, crossing my fingers they say Coogee.

  ‘Bondi, of course,’ says Da.

  ‘But first!’ Ma roars to get our attention. And then in a gentle voice she says, ‘Church.’

  There’s a bit of a groan and we race back to our rooms to get dressed.

  We walk to church in twos like the girls in a book I loved when I was little, about a girl called Madeline. In front of Dewey and me, Frankie and Mick are boasting about the height of waves at Bondi. ‘Taller than the pub,’ Mick says. Wide-eyed, Frankie asks him if he thinks he can swim in waves like that, and Mick says, ‘Sure, no problem,’ but I can hear a wobble in his voice. It’s not as if anyone in the family has had swimming lessons. Dewey told me that Fan taught herself when she was ten.

  I’ve only seen Bondi Beach in photos before now—I can’t believe I had to travel back in time over a hundred years to come here for real. Squad training is so full-on that my days boomerang between home and school. There and back, like swimming laps.

  But here we are.

  It’s baking hot with a warm wind that’s making all the girls hold onto our hats. The beach is packed but I can hear the waves fizzing on the shore and I can’t wait to be in that sparkling water. Not far off there’s a group of teenage girls paddling but they won’t get far in what they’re we
aring. Their cozzies are navy blue belted dresses with a white or red trim, worn over pants with frills at the knee.

  Frankie and Mick run ahead and find some space for us. They do backflips in the sand until we catch up. I can do those in my real body but there’s no chance in these uptight clothes.

  ‘Can we go exploring?’ asks Frankie, out of breath, arm around Mick.

  ‘I should think so,’ says Da.

  ‘What about my picnic?’ Ma exclaims. She’s laid a white tablecloth on the sand and she’s pinning it down with ginger-beer bottles.

  ‘Let them run free,’ Da replies. ‘Go on, boys.’ They’ve gone in a flash, flicking up the sand with their bare feet. ‘Now, what about you lot?’ he asks us older ones.

  ‘We’ll have a dip first, shall we?’ says Kath. ‘Let’s go up to the sheds to get changed.’

  Ma sucks in air and tuts. It’s because of my swimming costume—the one made of thick wool that goes halfway down my legs. Ma calls it impure.

  ‘It’s fine, Ma,’ I say.

  ‘In front of every Tom, Dick and Harry,’ she replies grimly. I think her laughing inner-seagull has died. She’s all flustered, taking things out of her basket and putting them back in as if she can’t decide whether to lay out the picnic or go home.

  ‘Dewey and I swim every weekend in those costumes at carnivals.’ I remind her.

  ‘But there are men here,’ says John like the fun-time potato he is.

  Now even Da looks unsure. ‘Maybe John’s got a point.’ He narrows his eyes at the beach crowds. ‘It’s not sending the right message, showing yourself like that, Fan.’

  ‘But it’s not safe to swim in a dress. The water gets inside and drags you down. I’m a swimmer and my costume is the best thing to swim in. It’s that simple.’

  ‘I agree with Fan,’ says Dewey.

  ‘See, she’s corrupting Dewey,’ says John.

  Con mutters under his breath and then he claps his hands loudly. ‘John, you’re looking a bit hot there.’ He lunges at his brother, lifting him onto his shoulder as if he weighs nothing! Da laughs his head off as Con charges at the water and dumps John in the waves.

  Ma gasps, ‘Poor John, he won’t like that!’ At last she’s smiling again.

  Da grabs Ma in a bear hug and kisses her face roughly. ‘Don’t fret, woman. Let them have some fun.’ He winks at us four girls and, to the sound of John shouting at Con, we head to a ramshackle building to get changed.

  ‘Was it okay that I talked to Ma like that?’ I whisper to Dewey.

  ‘You said the words Fan’s said to me many times,’ she smiles. ‘Only, I’m not sure she’d have said them to Ma and Da.’

  ‘Oh…sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be! She wanted to say them, it’s just she felt like it was her against the world sometimes, you know?’

  I think I do.

  •

  Us four girls sit in the shallow surf. Dewey and I are in tight woollen costumes—at first I felt embarrassed when we got some disapproving looks, but the haters need to get a life. It’s just arms and legs. If they don’t like it, they should look away.

  What Mary and Kath are wearing looks more like a dress—long with puffed sleeves. They’ve both got their hair stuffed into blue shower caps. Hardly anyone else is in a swimming costume—most people just have their shoes off. Some of the teenage boys are in costumes like ours. The rest of the men have rolled up their trouser legs. It’s strange to think that I’m probably the best swimmer on this whole beach. There are little kids playing in the shallow waves, and not many going further out, which is good because there’s a dark, flat patch of water out there that might be a rip.

  ‘Look at our brother,’ says Dewey, pointing at John. He’s standing like a dripping wet lamppost next to Ma’s picnic, staring out to the ocean.

  ‘Poor John,’ says Mary. ‘Born without a funny bone.’

  ‘Meanwhile, what about Con,’ says Kath.

  Con’s got five girls standing around him, gazing up at him like they’re madly in love.

  ‘Can you imagine if that was me standing there for all the world to see with five young men?’ she says.

  ‘Ma’d have you to the nunnery,’ giggles Mary.

  ‘I don’t think there’s much chance of admirers while you’re wearing that swimming cap,’ says Dewey.

  At that, Kath picks up a mass of seaweed and puts it on top of her cap so it streams down like hair. We shriek with laughter as she keeps a perfectly straight face and pretends to look confused by our reaction, adding more seaweed, smoothing it down and fluttering her eyelashes. I pick some up and do the same, and the others follow. It’s all over Mary’s face. And it stinks! We roll around in the water, laughing and trying to hold the seaweed in place.

  ‘Fan, here comes your friend,’ whispers Kath.

  I look behind me and shield my eyes from the sun. Who does she mean? I’ll look stupid if I can’t find my own friend. Is it Mina? Or one of the other girls I’ve swum against like Dorothy and Gladys, who are impossible to beat at trudgen. But I don’t recognise any of the girls on this beach.

  Then I see Arthur. The boy who recited poetry and gave me his handkerchief, which I stuffed into Fanny’s bedside drawer and never thought of again. The boy everyone thinks I’ve been giving swimming lessons, for money! It looks like he’s with his family: mum, dad and two little sisters. And they’re heading straight for Ma and Da.

  I pull the seaweed off my head and hurry towards them.

  Ma spots us and rushes over with some long robes, which she makes us put on before we come any closer. ‘The Gon family have come to say hello,’ she says, looking flustered. ‘Isn’t that nice?’

  Arthur smiles, tilting his cap back. I do a little curtsy for some unknown reason. Being in 1908 is doing strange things to me.

  ‘Father, Mother,’ he says. ‘May I present Miss Fanny Durack. This is my father, Mr John Chung Gon, and my mother, Mrs Mabel Gon.

  ‘Ah, the swimmer!’ says Arthur’s dad. He’s a smartly dressed tall Asian man, and on his arm is a short curvy white woman with one of the biggest hats I’ve ever seen.

  ‘That’s right,’ says Da. ‘All my children can swim, but none so good as Fan.’

  ‘Of course, your Arthur would know that,’ says Ma, ‘taking lessons with my daughter as he does.’

  I start coughing as violently as possible to create a diversion. I bend over for more drama. Dewey smacks my back. ‘Sorry!’ I croak, and keep coughing. How long do I have to cough before everyone forgets that Ma just said I’ve been giving Arthur swimming lessons?

  Suddenly there’s frantic yelling and we all look in the direction of the water. A crowd has gathered at the water’s edge.

  ‘There’s a boy out too far,’ shouts a blonde woman, breaking free of the group.

  I see a bobbing head, way out in the water, just a dot.

  And I realise who it is when Mick comes tearing up the sand towards us even before he shouts, ‘Frankie’s out there!’

  ‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ cries Ma.

  I sprint to the water. Con is struggling to take off his shirt, but he’s not a strong swimmer. If he goes out there, he could drown too. I search for the lifesavers in yellow and red who patrol the beaches in my own time, but there’s no one like that with a board or a dinghy to rescue Frankie. Everyone’s shouting and Ma is screaming her lungs out for someone to help her boy. His head keeps disappearing, then it bobs up again.

  ‘They’re running to get the lifesaving reel,’ says Mary. I don’t know what that is but we’re wasting time.

  ‘Fanny!’ says Kath, tears streaming down her face.

  Dewey grips my arm. ‘Fanny’s done the training,’ she whispers in a desperate voice that no one else can hear.

  I drop the robe and start running. I’m already deep enough to dive in and swim.

  Am I really doing this?

  Yes. I’m meant to, I know it. I’ve never felt such strength. I’m Fanny Durack and that’s my brother F
rankie out there.

  I’m not scared. I’m the best swimmer on this beach and I’m going to save him.

  I can’t get my rhythm. It’s different in the waves. The water is fighting me every stroke. Each time I look up I’m not where I expect to be. I can still see Frankie but I can’t hear voices on the beach any more. We’re alone.

  Frankie is thrashing when I get to him, reaching up one arm and then the other as if he’s climbing an invisible ladder. His eyes are wild with panic and he can’t see me.

  All my training has been in a pool. I try to get hold of him but his body is slick with saltwater and he keeps pushing me under.

  Then I remember: help from behind. I take a huge breath and dive under, swim behind Frankie and hook him underneath both arms as I kick hard to the surface.

  He’s lies still against me, but he’s light and I’m getting my breath back. ‘It’s okay, Frankie!’ I gasp. ‘I’ve got you.’ He’s not moving at all. It’s easier to hold him but I wish he’d say something. His eyes are closed.

  I stay in place, treading water, with his head tipped back on my shoulder. And I take long breaths, looking up at the sky, my eyes and throat stinging.

  ‘I’m going to carry you to the beach, Frankie.’ I try to sound sure of myself.

  His head lies heavily on me and the water laps against his pale chest.

  ‘You rest. I can do this.’

  I can’t see his face properly or tell if he’s breathing.

  I start to swim with rescue-backstroke legs, holding him tight. When I risk a backward glance at the beach it looks like we haven’t moved and I want to cry.

  No, I tell myself. I can do this.

  ‘Keep going!’ I yell. ‘We’ve got this, Frankie!’ He’s so slippery and the waves keep battering us. I’m trying to ignore how tired I am, but it would be so easy to give up. Part of me thinks that if I don’t let go of him, he’ll drag us both under.

  All of a sudden I feel an arm go under my chin and I scream.

  ‘I’ve got you,’ says a deep voice. ‘We’re on the line. They’ll pull us back in. All you have to do is lean on me.’

  ‘He’s not breathing,’ I shout, still kicking my legs.