by Suzanne Leal
With a tilt of his chin, Steve motions to the dance floor and reaches for her hand. She shakes her head but he tugs her towards him anyway. Once they are on the floor, he starts to swing her in and out, in and out. Hot with embarrassment, she tries to resist. She doesn’t dance well, especially not rock-and-roll. He does, though, and on their next turn, he gives her a smile as he pulls her back to him. ‘Nice moves, Mrs Foreman,’ he whispers into her ear. That’s enough for her to snuggle into him, but still she’s glad when the band stops for a break.
The place is crowded now. Moving through the room are women in grass skirts and bikini tops. They are each carrying small round baskets and one of them is heading for Nina and Steve. From a distance, she is young and beautiful: her hair dark and wavy, her stomach flat and her legs long.
But as she comes closer, Nina sees that the woman is older than she’d first thought and that her face is sun-weathered and lined. When she reaches Nina, she says something Nina doesn’t catch.
‘Sorry?’ Nina mouths. In response, the woman moves in closer, so close Nina can smell the stale tobacco on her breath. ‘Choose some tombola tickets,’ she says, her voice dry and deep and throaty.
But when Nina starts to search through her handbag for her wallet, the woman shakes her head. ‘They’re free, you don’t have to buy them—just choose them. You can take six.’
And so, sticking her hand into the basket, Nina pulls out six tiny rolls of paper that, when unfurled, each have a letter and a number.
Sliding an arm around Nina, Steve gives the woman a smile. ‘Do I get some too?’ he asks.
The woman starts to answer before she stops, blinks and stares hard at him. ‘You’re Steve Foreman, aren’t you?’
He nods slowly and, putting his head to one side, purses his lips. ‘God help me if it isn’t you, Sue Rankin.’ At that moment, the music stops and Steve’s voice rings out across the room.
The woman keeps staring at him. ‘Well, well,’ she says. ‘Steve Foreman, can you believe it?’
Steve just smiles as his arm slowly slips away from Nina’s waist.
Nina has no idea what has them both so transfixed. It is the woman, rather than Steve, who remembers she is still there.
‘Sorry, love,’ she says. ‘Steve and I were at high school together. We haven’t seen each other, since . . . when?’ She looks to Steve for help.
He has an expression on his face Nina can’t quite describe: it’s a mixture of fascination and bewilderment. ‘Since 1986,’ he says. ‘December 1986.’
‘Not since 1986,’ Nina repeats lamely. ‘That’s a while.’
The music starts up again and it’s a song that makes Steve and Sue cry out in recognition. Sue pats Nina’s hand as she passes her the tombola basket. ‘Gotta dance to this one. Just gotta do it.’ She leaves, then, and Steve follows her.
When, after too long, neither of them returns, Nina pushes her way through the party until she’s next to the dance floor.
In front of her Steve is playing air guitar, right beside Sue, who’s leaning into an invisible microphone, mime-shouting something Nina can’t make out, her hair over her face as she shakes her head up and down.
Once the song is over, Nina raises her hand, to show them where she is. When Sue comes to retrieve the tombola basket, she is apologetic.
‘Really sorry,’ she says. ‘Get me on the dance floor and it’s just about impossible to get me off again.’ She dips a hand into the basket and, pulling out a fistful of tickets, gives them to Nina. ‘Here,’ she says, ‘that’s for hanging on to them for me.’
Nina smiles but she doesn’t want any more tickets. She just wants to go home.
Sue gives her hand a pat. ‘Better get back on the job again. Tell Stevie Wonder I enjoyed catching up.’
It takes Nina a moment to realise she means her Steve. ‘Sure,’ she says with a weak smile. ‘I’ll tell him.’
But when she sees him, this isn’t what she tells him. ‘We shouldn’t be too late,’ she warns him, ‘with the babysitter and everything.’
His eyes are small and glassy. ‘The party’s just starting, babe, just starting.’ And when he puts his arm around her, he leans into her too hard, so hard she thinks she might topple.
Pushing him back, she shakes her head. ‘It’s already late,’ she whispers.
He lets out an annoyed laugh. ‘No, babe, the party’s just starting.’ So she waits, and when the music stops for good, she could weep with relief.
Except the party’s not over yet. Instead, Sue carries a microphone onto the dance floor.
‘Well,’ she says, ‘it’s the time you’ve all been waiting for. It’s tombola time!’ As the room fills with applause, she does a couple of Hawaiian dance moves. Steve raises his hands above his head to keep the crowd clapping. ‘Go, Suzi Q!’ he shouts. ‘Go, Suzi Q!’
She smiles in his direction as she holds the microphone up to her mouth. ‘Tonight we have a fabulous selection of prizes for our tombola winners, so dig out those tickets and cross your fingers.’
In all, Nina has sixteen tickets. To her surprise, a quiver of excitement runs through her. With so many tickets, she thinks, she must be in with a chance, especially when there are ten prizes to be won.
But the first five tickets drawn are blue and Nina’s tickets are all red. The next four are red but none of them are Nina’s numbers. She’s not a winner after all. So when Sue calls out the final number—red 34—and Nina sees that it is hers, she stares at the ticket in disbelief. Steve reacts before Nina does. ‘Here!’ he shouts, grabbing the ticket from her hand and rushing onto the dance floor. ‘Here’s number thirty-four.’
Sue confirms the win. ‘And the final prize winner is Mr Steve Foreman,’ she announces, handing him a bottle of Cointreau wrapped in cellophane. With a shout of victory, Steve lifts it up in the air. ‘The Cointreau’s on me,’ he tells the crowd.
By the time the party’s finally over it’s close to 3 am. Outside the club, Sue fumbles with her phone. ‘I’m trying to call a cab,’ she says, ‘but I can’t remember the bloody number.’
Steve spreads out his arms. ‘I’ll give you a lift home, Suzi Q. I’ll take you home.’
Looking up, Sue struggles to focus. ‘You can’t drive, Stevie Wonder,’ she says. ‘You’re blind.’
And she laughs so hard she starts to cough. She’s still laughing as Nina opens the car door for her then walks back around to get into the driver’s seat.
When they get to Sue’s house, she has a couple of false starts before she manages to get herself out of the car. Once she is out, she leans into the front passenger seat. ‘See you round, Stevie Wonder,’ she says, her words slurring. ‘And you too, Mrs Stevie.’
Steve throws his head and his arms back and laughs like he’s never heard anything funnier. ‘For sure, Suzi Q. For sure.’
Sue chuckles as she raises her hand to her head in some sort of salute. Nina looks over at Steve and, sure enough, he’s saluting her right back.
Sue takes a step towards the kerb then stumbles. She’ll end up on the road, Nina thinks to herself. So she puts the car in park, turns off the engine and gets out. Gritting her teeth, Nina takes the woman by the arm and leads her up to the door. A sensor light floods the front porch.
‘Where are your keys?’ Nina asks.
Sue peers at her. ‘You got them?’
‘How about I have a look in your handbag?’ Nina suggests.
And so, like an obedient child, Sue lifts up her handbag to show Nina. It’s a large bag filled with stuff: pens and chip packets and tissues and tampons and make-up and loose change. When Sue shakes the bag, they both hear a jangling sound. Sue gives a satisfied murmur. ‘There they are,’ she announces. With a grimace, Nina sinks her hand into the bottom of the bag and fishes around until she finds some keys.
‘That’s them,’ Sue tells her, leaning forward until she loses balance and has to press a hand against the front door to steady herself.
‘Which one?’ a
sks Nina, holding the keys up in front of her face.
Sue frowns at them. ‘I think,’ she says indistinctly, ‘I think it’s a gold one.’
There are three gold keys on the keyring. The second one fits, and once Nina has opened the door, she passes Sue the keys and leaves her there.
When she gets back to the car, Steve is asleep, his head slung back, mouth open. Nina tries not to look at him as she starts the car and drives them home.
Terry
The blinds are still drawn, so he turns his head to listen. When he doesn’t hear anything, he’s pleased. Nothing worse than a rained-out swimming carnival. Then again, maybe there is. The cock-up they had two years back, now that was worse than a hailstorm. All the kids—the whole lot of them—lined up to be bussed to the carnival. An hour later, they were still there, with not a bus in sight. Belinda had forgotten to confirm with the bus company. Booked the buses, she’d done that all right; all she’d forgotten was the phone call to say it was going ahead. Poor little Belinda was beside herself. Crying—no, sobbing—over it. Devastated.
Ever since, Terry’s been booking the buses—and confirming the bloody buses—as well as organising the rest of the carnival. Not that he minds. Truth be told, he loves it.
Now he pulls on his dressing-gown, heads for the kitchen and switches on the radio. And, praise the heavens, it’s the weather forecast he’s after: sunny and twenty-five. Perfect.
The buses are there on time and by 9.45, a sea of kids are sitting up in the grandstand, poolside. Terry switches on the megaphone and hopes for the best. It’s the same bloody megaphone he’s been using for the past fifteen years, and it’s a bugger of a thing. He’s lost count of the number of kids who’ve missed their races because they couldn’t hear what was being said over the static. If they don’t get a new one by next year, he’ll bloody well fork out for it himself.
But for now, Tania’s trying to quieten them all down. Hands on heads, she mimes, on shoulders, on knees, on ears, on lips over and over again until the kids are so busy following her they stop talking.
Dropping his arm so the megaphone hangs down by his side, Terry sidles up to her mid-routine. ‘Stick a finger up each nostril and see what they do then.’
Her mouth twitches. ‘How about you call the first race instead, smart-arse?’
Terry claps his hand to his mouth. ‘I think Acting Principal Mathews would agree that this is not the sort of language we like to hear at Brindle Public.’
‘You know what?’ she whispers back, hands on her head, shoulders, waist. ‘I’m not sure Acting Principal Mathews would agree with anything you have to say, Mr P.’
Terry takes a bow. ‘Thank you, Ms Rossi. I’ll take that as a compliment.’
Hands back on her shoulders, Tania flicks him a smile. ‘Eight-year-old boys’ freestyle, please.’
Terry raises the megaphone back up to his lips. ‘First call for eight-year-old boys’ freestyle—that’s eight-year-old boys’ freestyle. Please report to the marshalling area.’
By 11.30, he’s ready for a break, so he hands the megaphone to Tania and does a walk through the grandstand to check on the kids. Up the back, Jade is sucking on a Chupa Chup. Below them, Tania’s voice is just audible. ‘Eleven-year-old girls’ fifty-metre freestyle. Eleven-year-old girls’ fifty-metre freestyle.’
Terry steps over a bundle of school bags so he can sit beside Jade. ‘Come on, love,’ he says, ‘this is your big chance.’
Jade has another suck of her Chupa Chup before she takes it out of her mouth to have a good look at it. She’s sucked it right down into the shape of a tiny brown football. Now she’s looking up at him with half-closed eyes, her eyelashes long and dark and, by the looks of it, set in place with mascara. Today her lips are full, too, full and shiny. Must be the lip gloss, he thinks.
‘Big chance for what, Mr P?’
‘Big chance to do something for your house.’
She cocks her head on an angle. ‘Well, I’ve been cheering, Mr P.’
Terry stifles a smile. ‘I’m not talking about cheering, Jade, I’m talking about competing. In the carnival. To get points for your house.’
‘Reckon I’m in with a chance for age champion, Mr P?’
She’s that dry she could be twenty-five. ‘Participation, Jade, that’s what I’m talking about. A point for every race you swim in. Jump in the water and there’s your point.’
She gives him a half-smile. ‘That true, Mr P? I jump in the water, get straight out and I still get my point?’
‘Uh-huh. That’ll get you a house point. But if you want to earn yourself two class points, you’ll need to do a bit more. For the class points, you need to jump in, get to the end of the pool—I don’t care how you do it—and get out.’
Elsie is sitting a couple of rows further down. At the mention of class points, she swivels around to face them. ‘Two class points, Mr P, just for going in it?’ She’s got her lunch box on her lap and she’s trying to pull open a packet of chips.
Terry shoots a finger at her. ‘That’s right, Elsie. Long as you go in the race, you get your two points. Go in five races and you’ve got enough points for a lucky dip.’ With that, Elsie lets the chips fall back into her lunch box. ‘And, Elsie,’ he says, dropping his voice, ‘I don’t mind telling you, just yesterday I topped up the lucky dip box with some really great prizes.’
Elsie’s eyes are wide and trusting. He could tell her he bought an elephant from the zoo and she’d still believe him.
Jade stretches her legs out in front of her. They are long, golden brown and covered in little blonde hairs. Not a blemish on them. ‘Bet they’re lame, Mr P. The prizes. Bet they’re all those lame Lego packs.’ Terry makes a clicking noise with his tongue. ‘Wrong,’ he says, ‘no lame Lego packs. Just a whole lot of terrific surprises.’
This has Elsie almost clapping in delight. ‘How many, Mr P? How many prizes are in there?’
Terry lowers his voice to a whisper. ‘A carload, Elsie. A carload.’
He’s got them both for a moment then; even Jade has straightened up. ‘A carload, Mr P?’
‘Maybe that’s overstating it, Jade, but you get my drift, don’t you?’
Jade shakes her head but now she’s laughing, so he knows he’s got her.
He watches her pull down her denim shorts and take off her little T-shirt. Stripped of them, she’s left wearing nothing but a string bikini, the fabric shiny and golden, like the wrapper of a Crunchie bar. She’s so clearly not a child anymore: high, round breasts pull at the tiny triangles of her top, leaving a dividing line along the middle of her chest. Her waist, too, has narrowed and her hips are curved now, the skin pressing against the tiny ribbon that joins her little pants together. It’s happened so quickly, he thinks yet again, quickly enough for her swimming costume to have suddenly become too small. Even if the shade is beautiful on her lovely brown body.
As she walks over to the marshalling area, goggles over her wrist like a loose bracelet, he keeps his eye on her, marvelling at the confidence of her walk: head high, shoulders back, chest out. Her hips, it seems, have not only given her a new shape, but a new walk too. It’s an understated sashay: to the right, to the left, to the right, to the left. Too little to be provocative, too much to go unnoticed.
Elsie has also stripped down to her swimmers. Hers, too, are last year’s: a blue pair of racers sun-bleached from navy to mid-blue, the elastic stretched so that the bottom of them droops down and her breasts poke out of them like little cones. Strange to think of Elsie’s body forging ahead as her mind struggles to keep up. She searches in her bag until she comes out with a swimming cap. It’s a thin plastic one and she has trouble getting it on. He lets her wrestle with it for a couple of minutes before he calls down to her. ‘Do you want me to help you?’
Nodding like an eager toddler, she steps heavily across the three rows that separate them until she is standing in front of Terry, the edge of her cap pulled across her forehead, the rest of it flo
pping down to one side.
Terry pulls the cap off and, using both hands, stretches it out so it will fit over her head. Wisps of hair stick up at the side of her face and, gently, he slips them back with his finger.
‘How’s that, Elsie?’
The girl smiles as Terry steps back to take a look at her. The cap makes her head look like a big round ball and, together with her belly, the effect is of a Babushka doll. She’ll be at the mercy of them all, he thinks. They’ll all be laughing at her as hard as they can. Hopefully, she’ll be oblivious to it. Hopefully, she’ll be so focused on the bloody carload of lucky dip prizes she won’t notice.
‘Off you go now, Elsie,’ he says, his voice tender, ‘show me what you’ve got.’
Still smiling, Elsie turns back to Terry and, pressing the side of her face into his stomach, wraps her arms around him. He rubs her back with his hand and, although he knows he should gently disentangle her, lets her stay there, right up against him. ‘Thanks, Mr P,’ she says, her voice muffled.
‘Looking good, Elsie,’ he says softly before he gives her a tap. ‘You’d better get up there now.’
Her tread is heavy and awkward as she steps down the concrete stairs that divide the seat rows. When she reaches the last step, she gives a clumsy jump. Still smiling she turns back to Terry to check that he hasn’t missed it: that he’s watched her jumping down. He gives her a wave to show that he’s seen it all. She returns the wave and, with a happy lumbering skip, runs to catch up to Jade.
Across a couple of rows, Bridie is sitting quietly by herself. ‘That goes for you, too, Bridie,’ Terry tells her. ‘You can follow them over to the marshalling area.’ At the mention of her name, Bridie’s head bobs up. ‘Huh?’
‘Eleven-year-old girls, Bridie—that’s you.’
She shakes her head. ‘I’m not swimming, Mr P.’
‘Why not, Bridie? You got scarlet fever or something?’
Again she shakes her head. ‘Because of my glasses. Nan said I’m not to take them off. Because I’ll lose them and she’ll have to pay two hundred and fifty dollars for another pair. And that’s too much. And I can’t swim in them.’