Certain there was more to Teena than she was letting on, I determined to find out what it was.
‘Where have you been?’ Dad’s growly voice greeted me. ‘You were due home half an hour ago.’
The screen door slammed behind me. I trudged into the kitchen and found my parents enjoying pancakes for afternoon tea. my stomach rumbled with hunger.
‘A new girl started today and I rode home with her. I guess I lost track of time.’
‘I should have known you’d be wasting time,’ Dad snarled. ‘You know your mother needs you in the afternoons.’
‘She’s only a bit late,’ Mum soothed. ‘Calm down, Doug.’
‘Don’t tell me to calm down. Can’t you see that girl’s plain lazy? I’ve a mind to teach her a thing or two.’
I stepped back, knowing exactly what Dad’s method of teaching involved. Mum shot me a look. I knew what that meant, too. Dad had been drinking again. Not that I needed to be told. The signs were everywhere. The bleary eyes. The slurred, angry voice. The lopsided slant of his shoulders.
‘Have something to eat before you go outside.’ Mum rubbed her belly where the baby must have been kicking.
Although Dad worked at the abattoirs, we also had plenty of jobs to do at home. We didn’t live on a huge working farm, not like a dairy farm or a wheat farm, it was more of a hobby farm. Still, we had plenty of animals like cows, goats, rabbits, and chickens. None of them were kept as pets. They were all being raised to feed our family in one way or another. We also had a vegetable garden and an orchard that needed taking care of. Dad expected everyone to help out, especially me because I was the oldest.
‘She can go out now,’ Dad said. ‘If she can’t come home on time she’s not hungry enough.’
‘But, Dad – ’
‘No buts.’ He waved me away. ‘Get going.’
I changed into old clothes then scurried out the back door, still thinking about pancakes. May and Rose were playing in the sandpit. They ran over to me. ‘Ebby!’ they cried. Rose clambered into my arms while May attached herself to my leg. ‘Missed you, Ebby.’
Springer, our black and white collie, bounded over and jumped up on me, too, wagging his tail and panting his putrid doggie breath in my face.
‘Hey, hop down, Springer.’ I laughed as I patted him. ‘Don’t go spoiling that dog!’ Dad yelled from the back door. ‘Go on, get out, you mutt.’
Springer dropped on all fours and slunk off to his kennel. May watched warily as Dad sat on the veranda tugging his boots on.
‘Come on, girls,’ I said. ‘Hop off. I’ve got work to do. You go play.’
‘Ebby play, too?’ Rose asked.
‘Later,’ I said. ‘Promise.’
The girls wandered off to their cubby while I pushed the wheelbarrow down to the woodpile. We must have been the only people in the country with a combustion stove. We did all our cooking on it. Our hot water ran off it, too. If the fire wasn’t lit every day, there was no hot water, no hot meals and no heating in winter.
Dad had been in and out of work over the years and he had a huge mortgage on our property. Still, he didn’t mind having a gamble on the horses every other weekend. Gambling and drinking ate into Dad’s pay. When he was earning one, that is. It didn’t leave much for the rest of us, so Dad tried to save in other areas.
One of those ways was by having a wood stove. Mum often asked Dad to upgrade to a new electric or gas stove. He wouldn’t have it. We had plenty of timber on our property. Free. Dad thought we saved money by using the fire for heating and cooking. I wasn’t so sure, but it wasn’t up to me.
When I got to the woodheap, not enough wood was chopped to fill the wheelbarrow, so I cut up some more. I soon fell into a rhythm, losing myself in my thoughts and enjoying the splitting sound and the tearing feel the wood made beneath the axe blade. Then I gathered the triangular blocks and piled them neatly into the wheelbarrow, fitting in as many as I could.
Once I’d unpacked the wood along the back veranda, I took the clothes off the line and folded them into the basket. Mum didn’t have to ask. This was one of my chores and if it wasn’t done, I’d get in trouble. I’d learnt that long ago.
It was getting dark when Mum called the girls in for their bath and I started watering the vegetable garden.
We grew all our own vegies. Again, to save money but also because Mum and Dad enjoyed gardening. Sometimes, when we had a surplus, Mum carted them down to the saleyards or sold them at the markets to earn extra money. Every little bit helped. Especially when five people and a load of animals had to survive on one income prone to disappearing tricks.
Mum appeared at the back door. ‘Dinner’s ready,’ she called.
Mum, the girls and I sat at the table watching the steam rise from our plates and waiting for Dad.
‘I’m hungry,’ May whinged.
‘Me, too,’ Rose agreed.
‘We’re not starting until your father gets here,’ Mum said. She turned to me. ‘Go see what’s keeping him, love.’
Taking the torch, I ran up through the back gate, past the rabbit and chook pens and into Dad’s shed. A single exposed bulb glowed in the rafters, casting dusty yellow light over everything.
‘Dad,’ I called softly from the doorway, ‘dinner’s ready.’
I turned the torch off and stepped into the shed. Dad was asleep on a sagging, rat-nibbled armchair. The racing guide lay folded on his chest. Empty beer cans lay scattered on his workbench and on the cement floor of the shed. Sawdust and wood shavings littered the place. Dad’s hobby was carving wood. He said it calmed him but if you asked me, it never worked.
Rubbing my nose against the dusty smell and lingering particles, I shook Dad’s shoulder until he slowly sat up.
‘What do you want?’
‘Dinner’s ready.’
‘Ugh. Right.’
I raced back down to the house, my bare feet collecting dirt and pebbles as they flew over the well-worn path. Five minutes later, Dad stumbled in. May and Rose’s mouths slammed shut. Their eyes bulged wide and wary.
‘Did anything exciting happen at school today, Ebony?’ Mum asked lightly as Dad sat down at the table.
‘A new girl started,’ I said.
‘Yeah? What’s her name?’ Mum said.
‘Teena Costaleena.’
‘She a foreigner, is she?’ Flecks of mashed potato and tomato sauce splattered Dad’s bristly chin as he greedily ate his dinner.
My cheeks flamed. ‘I don’t think so.’
Dad grunted. ‘With a name like that she’d have to be.’
‘Anyway, Mr Gospel sat her beside me,’ I said, trying to ignore him. ‘She’s really nice. Oh, and Mrs Murcher announced the zone carnival date. I hope I get selected to run.’
‘And what does that involve?’ Dad said.
‘Not much. A bit of training after school.’
‘You don’t have time for training. Your mother needs you here.’
‘It’s only one afternoon a week.’
‘Nope.’
‘But, Dad – ’
‘I said no.’
‘Come on, Doug,’ Mum coaxed. ‘I can cope by myself one afternoon a week.’
Dad shook his head. ‘The girl’s got enough to do here. You’re dead on your feet in the afternoon after taking care of the other two.’ He jabbed a fork towards May and Rose, who stared guiltily at their plates. ‘No, if she’s bored, I’ll find some more work for her to do.’
Dad’s anger was rising along with his voice. The tiger was coming, stalking closer. Already, his stripes were showing. Foolishly, I ignored them.
‘But, Dad it’s not about being bored,’ I argued.
‘I said NO!’ the tiger roared, slamming his paw down on my head and smashing my thoughts, my words, my teeth together.
‘Doug, please don’t hit her on the head,’ Mum pleaded.
The tiger glared at Mum. She opened her mouth to say something, to say something else, then shut it again. Her cheeks
flamed as she bent her head and picked up her fork. May and Rose stared.
Through a haze of tears, I stood up.
‘Sit down and finish your dinner,’ the tiger snarled, his voice low and fierce.
Willing myself to stop crying, I sat down. But I couldn’t will hard enough. Pain, anger and shame welled inside me. Scalding tears trickled down my cheeks and onto my plate.
‘And stop your snivelling.’
The next morning I woke to my personal alarm clock. Dad.
‘Go milk the cow, Ebony!’
Sometimes, I seriously thought we lived in a time warp with our combustion stove, home grown vegetables and fresh cow’s milk instead of the bought stuff. Dad should have been born two hundred years ago. Maybe he’d have been happier then. It was weird how he insisted we live the way we did.
“Alternative” was too nice a word to describe the backward life we lived. Dad was the only one who seemed to enjoy it. I hated it.
Hoping to steal a few more minutes of warmth, I rolled over and wriggled under the blankets. This really was my favourite time of day. Those moments when you’re awake, but still dozy and warm in bed are heavenly.
‘Ebony!’
I wriggled further down.
Dad’s voice came again. ‘Now, girl, or I’ll drag you out.’
‘Two more minutes,’ I groaned.
Next thing I knew, the blankets were stripped to the foot of my bed. I jerked my knees up to my chest, shivering. ‘Hey!’
‘I told you. Get up!’
‘Give me a second,’ I said, rubbing my eyes.
Dad waited with his hands clamped to his hips while I slipped jeans and a jumper on over my pyjamas, my teeth chattering from the cold. ‘It’s freezing.’
‘I don’t know what you’re complaining about,’ Dad muttered. ‘You’re just lazy, that’s all.’
I didn’t bother answering. It was no use. Whatever complaint I had, Dad never listened. I glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. Dad knew I went for a run at six every morning. By making me milk the cow instead it meant I wouldn’t have time to run today.
It was no use arguing.
I scurried out of the house and up the back to where Honey, the Jersey cow, was waiting for me. The sun was poking its head over the mountains and a layer of frost hugged the grass, making the air raw and damp. Two rosellas flashed past in a whirr of lemon and green and red, their excited shrieks clipping the air. The chickens clucked and strutted in their pen, calling for food while Springer leapt out of his kennel to greet me. I gave him a quick pat on the head then hurried on, eager to get the milking done.
I scooped two tins of feed into Honey’s trough then let her into the bales. It didn’t take long to fill the bucket. By then, Dad had already left for work, so I stopped at Springer’s kennel to pour some warm, frothy milk into his bowl. The dog lived off our scant table scraps and was forever hungry, so I slipped him food whenever Dad wasn’t around.
‘Don’t forget I’m on canteen duty today,’ Mum said as I kissed her goodbye after breakfast. ‘Mrs Tingle’s minding the girls for me for a few hours, so I’ll see you at recess.’
Mrs Tingle was one of our elderly neighbours. She was very nice but really old, so she rarely looked after the girls. We didn’t have a regular babysitter, other than me, of course, because my parents couldn’t afford it.
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘And don’t worry about the carnival. I’ll see if I can talk him around.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
When the bell rang at recess, I bolted over to the canteen with Teena to introduce her to Mum.
‘Ebony’s told me all about you,’ Mum said. ‘Are you enjoying your new school?’
Teena nodded. ‘Yep. Thanks to Ebony.’
‘And what about your mum, love? Will we be seeing much of her?’
‘My mum’s an astronaut for NASA,’ Teena said. ‘She doesn’t live with us. She lives on an international space station orbiting Earth.’
She said it with such a straight face Mum didn’t know what to say. ‘Oh. I see. Um, you’re joking, are you, love?’
The kids in line behind us were growing restless.
‘What are you getting?’ I asked Teena.
Teena counted a few coins in her hand. ‘Go you halves in a sausage roll?’
I turned to Mum with what I hoped was an utterly irresistible smile.
Mum sighed. ‘I think I can scrounge up some money.’
‘Awesome!’
We took the sausage roll and wandered over to our bench where we broke it in half and started eating it.
‘Why did you say that about your mum?’ I asked between mouthfuls.
Teena shrugged. ‘No reason.’
I couldn’t get anything else out of her and when the bell rang, we headed back to class. Chloe and Miranda were waiting for us, leaning back on their chairs towards our desk.
‘Hey, Ebony,’ Miranda said. ‘We saw your mum at the canteen.’
‘We didn’t know she was pregnant.’ Chloe smirked. ‘Again.’
My cheeks flared. I stared down at my desk. ‘I suppose I forgot to mention it.’
‘Aren’t you embarrassed?’ Miranda said.
‘No,’ I lied.
‘Sure you are. Your tribe’s big enough already, isn’t it Ebony? When are your parents going to realise they don’t have to populate the entire earth by themselves?’ Chloe said.
The girls sniggered.
I looked from one twin to the other, becoming angrier and more embarrassed every second.
‘Look who’s talking,’ Teena snapped. ‘Your mum doubled up with you two. Wasn’t one baby per pregnancy enough for her?’
Chloe’s mouth flopped open in disbelief. Miranda’s eyes sliced as thin as paper. No one ever spoke to the twins like that. ‘Who died and made you the boss?’ she sneered then turned around with a flounce of her apricot hair. Chloe glared at me before also turning around.
‘I wish I had a sister,’ Teena leaned towards me to whisper. ‘I wish you were my sister.’
The tight grip of shame in my chest was suddenly replaced by a flood of happiness. Teena sure knew how to make me feel better.
‘Two little ducks went out one day,’ I sang as I knelt by the bathtub washing May and Rose, ‘over the hills and far away … ’ I scrubbed the dirt from under their fingernails and shampooed their hair, singing the song through twice before they were clean. ‘You’re as shiny and pink as a brand new baby,’ I said, tickling Rose.
‘Yes, I mam,’ she giggled. ‘Sing the ducks again.’ May joined her in her chant. ‘Sing the ducks again. Sing the ducks again.’
Groaning and laughing at the same time, I sang, ‘Five little ducks went – ’
The sound of yelling in the kitchen made me freeze. Footsteps thundered up the hall. The bathroom door was flung open, crashing against the tiles. Dad burst in brandishing a peach tree stick, all thin and knobbly and bare and completely stripped of leaves. I knew all about peach tree sticks. Supple and whip sharp, they stung like fire on raw flesh. They tore flesh.
I jumped to my feet, unable to take my eyes off Dad. No longer was he a man. His anger had transformed him into the tiger.
The hunter zeroed in on his prey.
It was May he wanted.
‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ the tiger roared. ‘You’ve got one job. Why didn’t you shut the chooks up?’
May was deathly afraid of the dark and hated shutting the chooks up. We all knew she dreaded that nightly trip up the back with only the torch and the moon and every strange, scary creature in between for company. She’d always come running in the back door, wide-eyed and breathless, like some crazed monster was chasing her. It wasn’t fair that a kid so young was forced to face her fears every night.
‘Come on, love.’ Mum appeared in the doorway. ‘I’ll shut them up now. No harm done.’
‘Yes there is!’ the tiger snapped. ‘A fox took one of our good laying hens. Didn’t you hear th
e racket?’
Mum shook her head. ‘We’ve got others.’ She tugged his arm.
‘That’s not the point.’ The tiger threw her off. ‘May’s old enough to know better.’
‘She’s only a kid, Doug.’
The tiger roared and shoved Mum backwards. The door slammed. The key swivelled in the lock. Mum’s fists battered the door, but the tiger had us all to himself.
The great beast slunk towards the bathtub where my sisters sat, naked and cowering. I looked at May, every inch of her bare, pink back exposed. The tiger’s intention was scrawled all over his face. How badly he wanted to mark that flesh!
‘Dad,’ I said, ‘it’s not May’s fault. She was going to shut the chooks up, but I told her I’d do it after their bath. It’s my fault. All my fault.’
The tiger’s tangerine eyes flicked towards me, nailing me to the spot. I wished and I wished that Dad would see me standing in front of him and remember I was his daughter.
But the tiger only saw fresh meat.
I retreated into the corner until the sink tunnelled into the back of my thigh and the towel rack stabbed my shoulder blade. My stomach clenched with fear.
I didn’t want him to hurt me.
‘Losing chooks costs me money.’ The tiger’s stale, alcohol-tainted breath washed over me. ‘Do you think it grows on trees?’
‘No, Dad. I’m sorry.’
The tiger lunged. I ran to the secret place inside myself so he wouldn’t find me, but he searched and he searched until the tears came and I cried out with the pain. The girls screamed and sobbed. Mum banged on the door and yelled. Everything sounded so far away. Even my own crying.
Panting, breathless, the tiger drew back. ‘You’re all useless,’ he snarled before unlocking the door and stalking out.
Mum ran into the bathroom to hug me. I heard the back door slam and knew Dad had gone back to his shed. Back to his drinking.
I pulled away from Mum. ‘I’m fine.’ Criss-cross lines of pink flames stung on my hands, arms and my back. At least he hadn’t marked my face this time. ‘It’s nothing.’
Running from the Tiger Page 2