Six Impossible Things

by Fiona Wood

  We sit at the kitchen table and she’s looking at me, her eyes filling with tears. I feel so low. I’m situated somewhere between the sole of my shoe and a grimy footpath, between a snake’s intestines and the sliding desert sand, or even lower, between sewer lines and the earth’s burning core. I was also between a rock and a hard place, in a tight spot, in over my head, in deep . . .

  ‘Are you even listening to me??’

  Uh-oh, yelling and sad. I tune back in and pay full attention.

  The agreeing with accusations continues. I feel just like Howard when he rolls over, stomach up, legs in the air. I am your abject subject. You are so, so right – I am so, so wrong. And the thing is, I agree with her. She feeds me the exact arguments I had given Estelle and Janie about why it wasn’t safe for a young, unaccompanied girl to go to Sydney; why it wasn’t okay to lie about your age; why there needs to be a relationship of trust between parents and children. On this last point, our paths split. Parents don’t need to know absolutely everything, but if they’re likely to find out anyway you might as well come clean up front.

  Listening and nodding I realise that I, myself, could be a perfectly plausible parent. I know all the lines.

  ‘I’m not going to ground you, Dan,’ my mother is finally winding up. ‘God knows we need you to keep your job.’ This prompts a fresh round of tears. I don’t point out that grounding usually only applies to ‘fun’, social activities. She’s having a wallow and who am I to stop her?

  ‘I know you’re a sensible boy and I’m glad you tried to talk the girls out of this stupidity. I’m going to look on this as an aberration. I need to trust you. It’s the only way we can get on together.’

  I nod, encouraged, maintaining my best solemn and guilty expression. It’s looking good; I’m getting off pretty lightly.

  ‘And you are extremely lucky this didn’t cause any damage to Oliver’s place.’

  Here, I really have to bite my tongue, but I nod again, wondering what damage one girl sleeping on his sofa for a couple of hours could possibly have caused.

  ‘Anything could have happened. She could have started a fire. She could have left the place open and vulnerable to burglary . . .’

  As I imagine Janie spontaneously combusting and setting the whole place alight, my mother trails off. I don’t think she’s convinced even herself that Janie could have done much harm.

  ‘You are going to write a letter of apology to Janie’s parents for your part in this plan.’

  ‘Do you really think that’s a good idea? Won’t it just prolong the pain?’

  She quenches my objection with a look containing about a cubic kilometre of icy water.

  So I write:

  Dear Ms Preston and Mr Bacon,

  I am writing to apologise for my part in facilitating Janie’s trip to Sydney to attend the awards ceremony for the Hanging on the Telephone competition.

  I truly regret helping her in this potentially dangerous undertaking. Anything could have happened but thank God it didn’t.

  Please accept my apologies and the assurance that I will speak up more forcefully against it if a similar scheme is ever planned with my knowledge. Which I am sure it will not be.

  Yours faithfully,

  Dan Cereill

  I feel like a proper dick but I can live with that. Embarrassment is one of my primary dispositions.

  It occurs to me that the letter is a bit premature; there could still be a fatal bus crash on the highway. I’ll hold off posting it till the morning. I also realise that, miraculously, the part the attic played in the great escape has gone undetected.

  My stomach steps in and helps change the subject by producing a roar of hunger. We cook pasta and have it with some leftover Napoli sauce. As we season the food with a little subdued, polite conversation I notice the kitchen is full of new biscuits and slices and things.

  ‘This looks good.’

  ‘Ali said he’s happy to try a few different things while I’m doing the cooking.’

  ‘I’m glad you got the job.’

  ‘I wouldn’t exactly call it a job.’

  ‘Eight weeks.’

  ‘It’s better than nothing.’

  ‘And it might lead to something.’

  ‘Yeah, eight weeks of pay.’ She sounds bitter. Who can blame her? It’s easy to forget how different her life used to be only a few months ago.

  ‘I really admire the way you’re coping with all this,’ I say, feeling awkward. Someone has to give her a bit of encouragement. And there’s only me here.

  She hugs me. I take Howard out for his bedtime pee and head up for an early night.

  Shutting my door, I hear a loud whisper coming from the storeroom hatch, ‘Dan, are you there?’

  Estelle is peering down from a crack in the manhole cover, which she now opens wider.

  ‘Can I come down?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I check my door is locked and put on some music to muffle our talking.

  When Estelle climbs down, I can see she’s been crying.

  ‘Do you think Janie’s okay? My mother’s made me so worried she’ll get assaulted on the bus, or there’ll be a crash, or something else horrible. And it’ll be my fault for not stopping her.’

  ‘It was her decision. She would’ve gone anyway.’

  ‘She couldn’t have afforded to without the money I gave her.’

  ‘Well, maybe you stopped her from hitchhiking.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she says, allowing herself to be half comforted.

  ‘She’s going to be fine. The only dangerous thing on Janie’s horizon is her parents.’

  ‘My mother’s taking back my dress!’ Estelle says between hiccups and a fresh welling of tears. ‘She’s so horrible.’

  I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  ‘The grey dress. The one I told you about. That I love, and there’ll never be another one like it!’

  ‘That’s . . . bad.’

  ‘Oooh, what are these?’ Estelle has wandered over to my desk and is looking into the box of little carvings Adelaide had left my mother.

  ‘Insects. Frogs. Little weird dudes.’

  ‘They’re cute,’ she sniffs.

  ‘Take one. Any one you like.’

  She smiles at me.

  ‘Just to borrow. It’ll cheer me up.’

  She looks through the collection and chooses a little fat guy sitting on a frog. It’s my favourite too, but she’s welcome to it. It’s another sign of how compatible we are. If only she realised.

  ‘I just hate how we’re supposed to be so independent and show initiative, but only on their terms. The minute you really show some initiative they just want to squash you back into the kid-shaped box.’

  ‘Are you still grounded for a month?’

  ‘In theory, yeah. But I can visit you. And there’s always the tree.’

  ‘Not the tree, please.’

  ‘You’ve got to stop worrying so much,’ she says. ‘How much trouble did you end up getting into?’

  ‘It wasn’t too bad, I guess because things here are borderline catastrophe anyway so other stuff sort of shrinks.’

  ‘Any yelling?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘My mother screamed her lungs out when you guys left. I’m not kidding – she just about lost her voice. She pretends to be so rational in front of other people but she’s the full nut job when it’s just us. And of course it’s all about her. I ruined her whole night! She was so stressed just when she needed calm thinking time! What a drama queen.’

  Estelle heads for the ladder.

  ‘I’d rather stay with you and Howard, but I’m probably up for at least one more serve of how irresponsible and inconvenient I am.’

  In a volley of texts I find out when Janie arrives back, on time and unscathed, to be promptly grounded by her furious parents. While she and Estelle are lying low I have a challenging social engagement that needs my full attention. I’m introducing Fred and Lou.


  We arrange to meet up at Richmond Gardens shopping complex and see a movie, so if they don’t get on at least no one’s wasted too much time.

  Fred is already in the foyer when I arrive. Lou arrives a minute after me. I suspect she’s been in a surveillance position at Skittle City Bowling on the mezzanine level, waiting for me to appear. When I introduce them they size each other up. Lou cuts to the chase.

  ‘Our social is in two weeks and Dan thinks I should ask you. I trust his opinion and he says I wouldn’t hate spending some time with you – so would you like to come?’

  Fred can’t believe his ears.

  ‘That’s very direct,’ he says.

  Lou gives a Lou shrug.

  ‘We both know why we’re here. I don’t do “coy”. If we sort this out, we can forget about it and enjoy the film.’

  ‘Okay. Yes. Of course I’ll come,’ says Fred. ‘What date is it?’

  ‘Two and a bit weeks. The twenty-fourth.’

  ‘That’s even better. My stepmother is trying to line me up with some friend’s daughter that night. I’ve resisted so far but this gives me a solid out.’

  ‘My mother’s been on my back about asking a friend’s son. So this lets me off the hook, too. I can hardly take two people to the social.’

  Fred says, ‘Your mother’s name – it’s not Maggie, is it?’

  ‘Are you kidding? You mean your stepmother is Harriet? From the history department?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Mercy me, you’re the charming boy,’ Lou says, smiling.

  ‘And you are the delightful girl.’

  The realisation prompts an intense discussion of probability theory. Not classic first date chitchat, but it breaks the ice. I remember they both love Philip Pullman’s books so when I throw that into the arena there’s no stopping them.

  When Fred goes to pick up some film flyers, Lou takes the opportunity for a quick aside. ‘You’re right. He’s nice. Kind of like a short, nervy version of you. And his pimples aren’t even that bad.’

  It’s looking like love must be short-sighted at the very least.

  Fred comes back to see who wants a choc-top. Lou says she’ll have one if they’ve got boysenberry. Snap. It’s Fred’s favourite, too. Now the compatibility-o-meter is rating off the charts.

  The minute Lou is out of earshot, putting her wrapper in a bin, Fred gives me his feedback.

  ‘She’s got a lot of style. And she doesn’t do the stupid sort of girl talk where you don’t know what they mean. And the pimples aren’t even that bad.’

  Snap again.

  I should have predicted what happens next. As we sit down I make sure they’re next to each other. The minute the last choc-top bite is swallowed they’re holding hands. Five minutes into the feature I hear the gentle, slurpy noise of kissing.

  If you’ve ever sat next to two friends making out in the dark, you’ll know it’s a bit uncomfortable.

  ‘Guys,’ I say, ‘I can’t see that well. I’m going to sit a bit closer to the screen.’

  No response.

  When I see them after the movie they’ve already made plans to catch up next weekend.

  I’m wasted doing wait staff work – I should obviously be setting up a dating agency.

  24

  ALL LOU WANTS TO talk about is Fred – she can’t get over meeting a boy she likes who likes her too. All Estelle and Janie want to talk about is the social – they can’t get over the injustice of not being allowed to go.

  We sit together now since Lou helped out by being Janie’s ‘mother’. I’ve been a friend catalyst. That’s a first.

  ‘Punished for daring to be creative,’ says Janie. ‘That’s probably against some UN convention or something.’

  ‘I think the problem was more where you were being creative,’ says Uyen.

  ‘I’m sick of living with people who are so hung up on details,’ says Estelle.

  ‘Maybe we should go to the social anyway,’ says Janie.

  ‘Come! You can meet Fred,’ says Lou.

  ‘That would be great. If we could get away with it,’ says Estelle. ‘But we can’t.’

  Janie’s got the mad look in her eyes. ‘Why don’t we just do it?’

  ‘Because they’d kill us,’ says Estelle.

  ‘And would that be any worse than missing out on the only social we’ve ever had?’

  ‘Could you get out without them knowing?’ asks Lou.

  ‘Estelle could,’ says Janie, fixing me with can’t-escape-it laser eyes.

  ‘Not down the tree,’ I say.

  ‘Dan, you’ve got to get over this irrational fear of the tree,’ says Estelle, sounding very much like her mother.

  Janie’s look of growing concentration and calculation is starting to worry me.

  ‘You know they always start out really strict and really cross when you’ve done something wrong . . . ?’ she says.

  ‘Yeah, then you get the thin edge of the wedge.’

  ‘Exactly. So, what about, “I know I’m grounded but seeing as I’m missing the whole entire social, how about you let me have a little sleepover with Estelle?” ’

  They look at me expectantly.

  ‘You both want to go down the tree?’

  ‘Have you got a better plan?’ asks Estelle.

  ‘Stay home?’

  ‘Dan!’

  ‘What do we wear, though?’ says Janie. ‘Seeing as how the mean mothers have taken our dresses back.’

  Estelle smiles. ‘Dan’s attic is full of boxes, and the boxes are full of all these fantastic old things. Including clothes.’

  ‘So, vintage? Okay, I like it,’ says Janie.

  ‘Even if they find out and ground you for two months afterwards, at least you will have been to the social,’ says Lou.

  ‘If I did that my parents would ground me for a year,’ says Uyen.

  ‘We’ll get life, minimum, if they catch us,’ says Estelle.

  ‘So, we won’t get caught,’ says Janie with a shrug. ‘Simple solutions are always the best.’

  Pittney is glaring at us and warming up to a tantrum if we keep talking, but I can see he’s getting himself into big trouble with the quadratic equation he’s writing up on the board. I’m ready to distract him with that if he starts being difficult.

  ‘Dan, you can wear one of the cool old suits,’ says Estelle.

  ‘I’m not going,’ I say.

  ‘How come?’ asks Janie.

  ‘I’m just not.’

  ‘You can’t not go,’ says Estelle. ‘You’re on the committee.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for that job.’

  ‘You engineered me and Fred going together, as if I’m going to let you get away with a no-show,’ says Lou.

  It seems about a minute ago I was new here. But now I’m sitting in class with people who actually care whether or not I show up somewhere. So somehow, in between all the other stuff, things must be going okay. The warm fuzzies quickly evaporate when Pittney starts his dummy spit.

  ‘Mr Cereill,’ he booms. ‘As you already have the attention of half the class, perhaps you would like to continue with the problem at hand?’

  Crafty. Obviously hoping to administer a bit of public humiliation. But he’s the one messing up and I know where he’s gone wrong. So I walk up to the whiteboard, take the marker and work through the problem – first going back a few steps to fix up his mistake.

  He’s not happy.

  A couple of kids stick out hands for a lazy high five as I make my way back to my desk. Everyone appreciates a teacher being brought unstuck from time to time. I plead guilty to enjoying the attention and that’s how I miss seeing Jayzo stick his foot out. I go sprawling, bashing my elbow hard on the way down. It’s pride coming before a fall in a big way. I create a once in a lifetime spark of camaraderie between Pittney and Jayzo, and I’m reminded that I can never afford to let my guard down with Jayzo.

  Estelle and Janie are waiting for me at the gate on the way to our science exc
ursion. We’re going to the botanic gardens. Drawing dry climate specimens. A thrill a minute.

  They’re not taking no for an answer about the social escape plan.

  While we sit on the tram getting tipped from side to side as it swings along the tracks, Estelle pursues her argument with passion. I look into her serious eyes and have to put all my energy into not showing that I’m completely hers, and I’ll basically do whatever on earth she asks of me – legal, illegal, pleasant, painful, moral, immoral, safe, risky, fun, unfun . . .

  She shakes my arm. ‘Dan, are you even listening? Do you even care?’

  Care? Do I even care? I’m right up there with ‘love you big time’, which brings me back to that same old itch: who is disc boy? How serious is the relationship? Is he the reason she’s so desperate to get to the social? If I go to the social, how will I be able to stand the sight of them together?

  ‘Dan!’

  ‘Of course I care. I’m just not sure it’s such a wise idea.’

  ‘We’re not about being wise,’ screams Janie, sharing with the entire tram. ‘We’re not fricken owls.’

  ‘They just want to have some fun,’ says the old lady sitting opposite, buttoned up in a woolly overcoat and matching beret.

  Janie is delighted with the public support. She agrees and starts singing at high volume and low melody the old song about girls just wanting to have fun. Estelle joins in more tunefully, laughing, and the old lady taps her umbrella along. Most fun she’s had in a while.

  ‘He’s coming around,’ Estelle says, watching me. ‘That was a smile.’ She links her arm through mine. ‘Just say yes.’

  ‘I’ll say yes, so long as you both know what you’re risking.’

  ‘We do,’ they say.

  Uyen is not convinced. ‘It’s exactly the same con that got you into all this trouble in the first place,’ she says.

  ‘Not really,’ says Janie.

  I’m with Uyen. ‘It’s a fake sleepover,’ I say.

  ‘Not quite. This time it’s a real sleepover. We just won’t be there for some of it,’ says Estelle.

  ‘Won’t your parents check up on you?’ says Uyen.

  ‘My mother will be at the opening and Dad spends every night on the phone talking business to people in different time zones. He won’t come near us.’