‘Tracey,’ Lorna says over her shoulder as she spoons cat food into two bowls, ‘you’d better show Bel where she’s going to sleep.’
‘You have to share my room,’ Tracey announces gleefully, leading the way into the hall. Mum had already told me I’d probably be sleeping in Tracey’s room so it’s not a shock.
‘Don’t you mind me invading your space?’ I ask.
Tracey looks at me with real surprise. ‘No way. I think it’s neat! Like, we can pretend we’re sisters. I’ve always wanted a sister.’
Uh oh. Not sisters. ‘Sisters fight all the time,’ I tell her. ‘That’s when they’re talking, of course. Mostly they don’t even speak to each other.’
‘We won’t fight,’ Tracey says. ‘Mum made me promise to be extra nice to you.’ I scowl horribly but she doesn’t notice. ‘That’s your bed by the window. You can have half the wardrobe and two of the drawers and half the space in front of the mirror.’ She peers closely at me. ‘D’you think you’ll have enough room? For your make-up and earrings and stuff?’
I can’t believe it. There are horses everywhere. China horses on the dresser, wooden horses on the floor, stuffed toy horses on the beds, photos of horses on every centimetre of wall space. ‘Is it okay?’ Tracey asks in a slightly anxious tone.
‘It’s fine. I’ll be very happy here in horse heaven,’ I tell her.
There’s a choking noise from the doorway behind us. I turn and see Glynn standing there, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He looks as if he’s trying to swallow a laugh. ‘Mum says to tell you we’ll be having dinner at six,’ he announces. ‘It’s supermarket supreme.’
‘What?’ I lift my eyebrows at Tracey.
‘Whenever we’ve been to the shops in Picton we always have a dinner that Mum doesn’t have to cook,’ Tracey explains. ‘Yummy bought stuff like quiche and roast chicken and cheesecake.’
So what? That’s what we eat all the time at home. My mother’s the world’s worst cook. Everyone knows it, even her. Most of what we eat comes straight to the table from supermarket counters. Mum would far rather spend an hour planting marigolds than preparing a casserole. ‘Umm … so what do you eat normally?’ I ask.
‘Oh, roasts and stews and stir-fries with heaps of veges. Mum’s crazy about healthy food.’
‘I don’t eat vegetables,’ I inform her.
Tracey collapses on the bed. ‘But everyone eats vegetables.’
‘I don’t.’ I open my suitcase and begin putting my clothes into the empty drawers, except for a pair of jeans. It’s definitely time to shed the black velvet.
‘Wow.’ Tracey chews absently on the end of her ponytail. ‘Mum won’t like that. She’s got a huge garden. Fruit trees, too. We have fresh veges and fruit every single day.’
‘Tough.’
During dinner nobody comments on the fact that I don’t take any supermarket coleslaw and only one teaspoonful of potato salad. Though I see Tracey sneaking sideways glances at her mother.
After dinner Glynn and Tracey are instructed to show me round Karaka Bay. ‘Just so Bel can get her bearings,’ Lorna says. ‘Bel, you’d better borrow my gumboots.’
Glynn glances at me. ‘What d’you want to see?’
‘Dummy! How does she know what she wants to see when she’s never been here before?’ Tracey scoffs. ‘We’ll show her the beach and the sheds and the chooks and Daphne and …’
‘Choice,’ I say quickly. ‘Lead me to the gumboots.’
The sun has slipped behind the hills. Our bay lies in shadow. The brow of the hill behind us is stark against the silver sky. There’s no wind at all and the water of Tory Channel looks as smooth and solid as a strip of steel. Dusk always seems like a magical hour to me. When the world is neither light nor dark, nothing seems completely real. A time when anything can happen.
Tracey leads our expedition, dancing backwards and chattering non-stop. Goldie bounces along beside her, fluffy ears and strings of drool swinging wildly from side to side. I come next and Glynn brings up the rear, plodding along in silence. He must be the kind of guy who only speaks when he’s got something important to say. That’s okay with me.
We trail past the famous vegetable garden and out through a gate in the back fence. A muddy track takes us to a rickety hen house which smells of straw and wheat and chicken poo. I can hear the hens rustling and clucking in their nests. Then we lean over a fence and scratch Daphne’s very large woolly head. Tracey introduces her as the Pet Lamb and tells me that Daphne thinks she’s human. Apparently she was always bursting through the back door for a biscuit until the day she knocked Lorna right off her feet. After that Daphne got banished to the back paddock with the goats.
We say goodbye to Daphne and poke our heads into the shearing shed, which is huge and dark and echoing and probably home to a million spiders. We walk past the rest of the sheds without stopping because Tracey says they’re filled with boring old machinery and junk that I don’t want to see. We give the pigsty a very wide berth after I get a whiff of the stink drifting out of it.
‘Apple’s paddock is over the other side of this hill,’ Tracey says, reaching to open a gate.
‘Hey, Tracey, Bel doesn’t want to see Apple tonight,’ Glynn says suddenly. ‘Let’s go down to the beach before it gets dark.’ It’s the first time he’s spoken since we left the house.
Tracey pouts. ‘It’s only a few minutes. Bel, you want to see him, don’t you? I’ve got some sugar lumps for him. He’ll be so disappointed if we don’t go and say good night.’
I glance at Glynn but he’s staring at his boots. I’ve had all the help I’m going to get. ‘Well, I am a bit zonked,’ I say. ‘We’ll go another day.’
Tracey tosses her head, making her ponytail swing. ‘What a pair of pikers!’ She flounces off.
We finish off the grand tour by trekking down to the jetty, inspecting the locker full of life vests and kickboards and other water gear, and finally by sitting on the rough planks, dangling our gumboots over the edge. All four of us, including Goldie, stare down into the dark water breathing softly just below us. Luckily Tracey is still sulking so I can enjoy the silence.
I look round at the foreshore of Karaka Bay. There are patches of grey shingly sand in between big heaps of stones and pebbles. A small yellow kayak and a longer red one are lying side by side on a sandy patch, out of reach of the tide. ‘Do you swim here?’ I ask.
‘We swim off the jetty mostly,’ Glynn says. ‘But it’s very cold.’
‘Do you like swimming, Bel?’ Tracey pipes up. ‘I like diving best. I’m the best diver in the school team.’
‘Shut up, Tracey,’ Glynn says in a brotherly tone.
‘I guess I just like beaches,’ I say. ‘Particularly deserted beaches.’
‘Dawson’s Beach is the best deserted one,’ Tracy tells me. ‘And the water’s not so cold there.’
‘Where is it?’
‘It’s a few bays up the channel. But it takes ages and ages to walk there. If you want a swim it’s easier to just dive off the jetty like we do.’
‘Is it a big beach? With some little rocks and islands at one end? I noticed it from the ferry.’
‘That’s it,’ Glynn answers. ‘Our land finishes halfway along the beach. The other half is crown land.’
‘Do you go there often?’ I ask, as much to keep him talking as anything else.
He shrugs. ‘We did when we were kids. That’s where the old shore whaling station used to be, but there’s nothing left there now.’
Right, the whaling station. Some distant forebears of ours lived at the station a long time ago, a whaler and his Maori wife. Dad had told me as much as he could remember when I was doing the family tree for a school project a few years ago. ‘I’d like to see the beach. How about walking over tomorrow?’
He shrugs again, his face hidden under the shock of fair hair. ‘Sorry. I’ve got to help Dad. But you won’t get lost if you follow the track.’
I look at Tracey. She wrin
kles her nose and sucks on her ponytail. ‘It’s too far,’ she says in a whiny voice. ‘I want to set up a new jump for Apple tomorrow. Bel, you can come and watch after we’ve done some practice.’
I shrug. Maybe visiting my deserted beach is all getting a bit too hard. But suddenly it’s like I have a rush of blood to the head. Hey, I really want to go to Dawson’s Beach. I must go. It’s as if there’s something important waiting for me there. ‘No worries. I’ll go on my own.’
‘Hey, you guys, let’s go back,’ Tracey says, jumping up. ‘There’s a movie starting on TV 2.’ Goldie shakes an ear and obediently trots off along the jetty.
For a few seconds Glynn doesn’t move. I have the funny feeling he’d like to sit a while longer. But then he clambers to his feet. ‘Coming, Bel?’
‘No. I feel like being on my own for a while. I’ll come up later.’
Tracey draws in a deep breath and looks as if she’s going to argue but Glynn takes hold of her arm and propels her along the jetty. He mutters a few words into her ear. She shakes off his hand and runs at top speed towards the farmhouse.
It’s only after Glynn has trudged up the path that I realise how wound-up I am. Every nerve in my body is tight with the effort of trying to be polite to these people: total strangers even though they’re my rellies. I roll my head slowly round on my shoulders, trying to release the tension. I need Rae here to give me one of her fantastic neck massages.
Rae. My best friend. My almost-sister. We’ve been best friends since we were eight. Rae reads all the same fantasy books as me: books where people do brave and important things even though they’re scared out of their wits. Rae came along to the school choir audition with me and auditioned as well because I was too frightened to do it on my own. Rae brings me back to earth when my brain spins out of control and I start spouting crazy things. How am I going to survive without her?
I fled to Rae that day when my parents blew my life to bits. I knocked on her front door and waited, leaning my head on the cracked paint. Rae’s mother opened it and looked at me strangely. ‘Bel, you’re soaked. Why on earth didn’t you wear a coat?’
‘Uh … sorry. Is Rae home?’
‘Come in. But you’d better take off your shoes. And ask Rae to lend you some dry clothes.’
I squelched down the hallway. Rae was bent over her desk, textbooks open. She’s always swotting because she wants to go to Med School. She isn’t particularly pretty but her face is kind of strong. When she looks at you, you know she’s not thinking about anything else but you. She’ll make a really excellent doctor. ‘Bel. What’s up? You look wrecked.’
I laughed crazily. ‘Thanks heaps. Where do you want me to begin? With the bad news or the shitty news?’
‘How about taking off those wet clothes first? You’re not sitting on my bed like that.’
‘I didn’t notice it was raining,’ I muttered.
Rae shook her head. ‘Moron. Strip off,’ she commanded.
I peeled off my sodden clothes and dropped them in a heap in the middle of the floor. Rae dug in her drawers and pulled out a baggy sweatshirt and pair of jeans. ‘I know they’re not what you’re used to, but you’ll just have to look like an ordinary mortal for once.’
When Rae came back from the laundry she found me staring at myself in the mirror. My face was pale and my eyes were pools of blackness with ugly stains underneath where the eyeliner had run. My hair was in rats’ tails. ‘You look like Dracula’s bride,’ Rae said cheerfully. ‘Dracula’s bride who’s stumbled into a Levi’s ad by mistake.’ She took my elbow. ‘Come on, Bel, stop being such a drama queen and tell me what’s going on.’
I wrapped my arms round my body. I was still shivering despite the dry clothes. ‘I’ve just realised something,’ I said. ‘This is how they begin their quests. Their ordinary lives suddenly fall to pieces and they have to set off into the world. But most of them have a guardian watching over them, even if they don’t know it. Keeping them safe.’ I could hear my voice getting higher and thinner. ‘I haven’t got a guardian. Who’s watching over me?’
Rae shook my arm. ‘What the hell are you talking about? You’re not making any sense. Have you been smoking something?’
‘The heroes. The heroines. You know. When they begin their quests.’
‘Oh, in stories.’ She laughed. ‘Bel, sorry to tell you this, but you’re not a storybook heroine. You’re just an ordinary sixteen-year-old girl. Sounds to me like a fantasy overdose.’
I began to laugh too. ‘Ordinary? That’s the whole point! From right now my life’s stopped being ordinary. Like, it’s never going to be ordinary again. I need a guardian now more than anyone!’ I laughed and laughed until she took hold of my wrists and shook me again. Then I cried. And through the tears I told her what had just happened.
Then Rae cried too. That made it worse because Rae only cries when animals die. We put our arms round each other. ‘I hate them!’ I sobbed. ‘They’ve totally screwed up my life.’
‘I think I hate them too,’ Rae said shakily.
‘I wish I was dead!’
‘No!’ Rae snapped through her tears. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that!’
‘But I do!’
‘Oh, Bel,’ Rae groaned. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s awful. Shitty. But you’ve got to keep going. Keep on fighting.’
I could barely hear her. I was beyond comfort.
Finally our sobs eased to sniffs and hiccups. Rae passed me a bunch of tissues and we blew our noses in unison. We looked at each other with wobbly grins. ‘I’m wasted,’ I said. ‘I want to sleep for a week.’
‘Then sleep.’ Rae gently pushed me back on to the bed and pulled the quilt over me.
I buried my hot face into the pillow that smelt of Rae’s lemon-scented shampoo. ‘Rae,’ I mumbled.
‘What?’
‘Don’t leave me.’
‘I won’t. I’ll be here. Go to sleep,’ she said. ‘I’ll just tell Mum you’re staying the night.’
It’s almost dark. I’m feeling a bit strange and shivery. A fishing boat grumbles up the channel towards Picton with its navigator lights twinkling. Small eddies whisper round the piles of the jetty underneath me. Something jumps out of the water with a splash. Here I am, shivering on the edge of Tory Channel with my eyes full of tears while Rae is so far away from me that she could be on Mars. If she’d still been in Auckland I wouldn’t have felt quite so lonely but she’s not even in the same country. Her family have gone on a camping holiday in the Australian outback. I can’t email her, I can’t even phone her.
I jump to my feet and jog up the path towards the lights of the farmhouse. At least I can write to her. She can read my letters in sequence when she gets back. I’ll write to her every day. It’ll help keep my head together. Dear Rae, I think. Where are you right now? Camping next to a billabong and watching the sun set behind Urulu? I miss you heaps. Love, Bel in Exile.
CHAPTER 3
I begin the letter to Rae before I go to bed that night.
Dear Rae, I write. I have endured exactly five hours and 23 minutes of my Exile. No surprises so far. My older cousin is a muscle-bound jock and my younger cousin lives and breathes horses. How am I going to last for three whole weeks? I’ve got to find somewhere I can hide. A cave, a friendly tree, a deserted beach … Yikes, it’s getting late and Tracey is yawning like a horse in the other bed so I’d better stop and turn the light off. Another riveting instalment soon.
P.S. Make sure you read these letters in the right order.
Beginning the letter is a mistake because once I get into bed I can’t sleep. The bed’s too hard, the pillow’s too soft, Tracey’s snoring is too loud, and worst of all, the world outside the window is so quiet it’s like there’s nothing there. Just thick black silence. Freaky.
I feel a bit better when one of the cats jumps up on my bed and curls up behind my knees. I wonder which one has chosen me — ginger Cleo or black Caesar. I can’t tell in the darkness. I reach down and
stroke the furry head. It purrs. ‘Goodnight, Your Majesty,’ I whisper.
I must have finally fallen asleep because when I wake up daylight edges the curtains and Tracey’s bed is empty. I pick up my watch. Not even 7.30. Gross. If I get out of bed now the day will go on forever.
My cat vanished during the night so I still don’t know which one decided to honour me with a visit. I roll over and pull the sheet over my head and try to sink back into sleep. But my ears begin to pick up the clinking of cutlery and my nose smells the aroma of frying bacon. Yum … food. Real food. Time to get up.
I slide out of bed and open a drawer. Jeans and T-shirts are obviously the uniform round here. For a few seconds I play with the idea of carrying on with my fancy city gear but decide I’ll just end up looking like a dork. I pull on a pair of hipster jeans with some nice fraying holes in the knees and finish them off with a tight black T-shirt that says Dragons Rule! I decide to give the make-up a miss.
After a quick wash and dab of hair gel I saunter into the kitchen. Glynn and Tracey and Uncle Steve are sitting at the table tucking into big plates of fried eggs and bacon and tomatoes. The smell is mouth-watering. Aunt Lorna wields pans and spatulas at the stove. ‘Good morning!’ she sings. ‘You’ve had a long sleep-in. I was thinking you’d miss breakfast. What do you want to eat?’
Sleep-in? It’s only half past 7, for heaven’s sake. ‘Uh … I’ll have what everyone else is having.’ I try not to drool at the mouth like Goldie, who’s standing at the open back door watching every forkful of food go into every mouth.
‘Sit down. Help yourself to fruit juice. And there’s cereal if you want it.’
‘Hi, Bel,’ Tracey says brightly, ‘You were snoring so loudly when I got up I thought you’d be in bed till lunchtime!’
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