Pan’s Whisper

by Sue Lawson

  “Sorry.” I leap into action, shoving books and pens into my backpack. “I didn’t mean … I just … I didn’t think.”

  Joe speaks first, his voice different to before. “Don’t be crazy, Pan. You can’t know if Hunter hasn’t told you.”

  “I gotta go.”

  Joe picks up the car keys. “Phone home first and see if it is all right for me to drive you.”

  I don’t have the energy to argue.

  Face blank, Hunter hands me a cordless phone. I stand in the back corner, facing the yard and tell Rose, who’s fine with the change of plans.

  “All cool,” I say, placing the phone on the table. “See you, Hunter.”

  He doesn’t move. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.” He sounds far away. “And thanks.”

  For what? Stuffing up? Again? “Yeah, tomorrow.” I slam the backpack into my leg and welcome the pain that shoots down my thigh. I deserve it.

  Joe knows Arnica Drive, which is lucky because there’s no way I could direct him there. On the way over, he asks how I like Cranbrooke College and talks about how there were no computers, mobile phones or the internet when he went to school. The standard old person stuff, but nothing about his wife. Hunter’s mum.

  I don’t add anything to the conversation. How can I after what I just did? Hunter will never talk to me again and Joe has to be counting the seconds until I’m out of his car, and life.

  I am a complete, total, utter idiot.

  Joe pulls into the McMinn’s drive. “Lovely to meet you, Pan.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the lift.” I wrestle my bag out the door.

  “Pan,” says Joe. I lean back into the car. “You didn’t do or say anything wrong.”

  “Thanks, Joe.” I wish I believe him.

  “How did the study go?” asks Ian when I walk through the kitchen.

  “Super. Grand. Amazing.” I’m in my room by the time I finish the last word, the door slammed shut behind me.

  Twenty-Four

  I lie on my bed in the dark, thinking about the time Morgan went on school camp. She had to trek along the beach and sleep in a tent for a couple of nights. She couldn’t wait to go, even though she couldn’t take her hair dryer.

  The morning after Morgan left, I woke to the birds chirping outside my window and the smell of toast and bacon wafting through the house. For a moment I forgot Morgan was away.

  I threw back the doona and strolled into the kitchen. Instead of Morgan, it was Mum, apron around her waist, singing and shaking a frying pan over the gas jet.

  “Morning, darling. Breakfast is just about ready. Bacon, eggs, toast. The full catastrophe.” She left the bacon and set the table with a tablecloth, knives and forks and a glass holding pink geraniums.

  I was about to remind her that there were only two of us when a guy, younger than Mum, walked into the kitchen. He wore jeans and a crumpled T-shirt and had wet hair. I could smell soap.

  “Say hello to Damo, Pan,” said Mum.

  “Hello.” I turned my back on him.

  Mum ushered him to the table. “Sit down. Breakfast is ready.”

  “I have to … I’d like to, but … I can’t stay.”

  “Oh.” Mum’s face crumpled. A second later she was all sunshiny again. “Next time. Make sure you call, okay?”

  “Yeah. Bye, Kerry.” He didn’t even know her name. I didn’t see him again.

  Mum served me poached eggs, toast and bacon as though nothing had happened. “Panda Bear, we deserve a treat.” Her laugh was shrill.

  We caught the train to the city. Mum sat by the window and chatted to a guy in a suit about music. He nodded and smiled, but didn’t take out his earbuds.

  “He was a nice man, wasn’t he?” said Mum, after the guy left the train. She looked around, her movements jerky and uneven like a sparrow’s.

  I realised where we were going before the train reached our stop – the zoo. I bounced on the seat. “Meerkats first, please. Please?”

  “Sure, but no butterfly house.” She shuddered.

  At the zoo Mum led the way, starting with the meerkats, just as I’d asked. She imitated the gorillas, covered her eyes in the reptile house and went all weird at the seal pool. “They need more space,” she whispered.

  For lunch Mum bought buckets of chips, hot dogs and chocolate-covered ice-creams.

  “Let’s keep these to feed to the ducks,” she said, tipping cold chips into her handbag.

  The train trip home was long and cramped. Men with wet armpits clung to rails over their heads and women in high heels struggled to stay upright. They jostled our legs as the train moved. Mum didn’t seem to notice. She just talked about the lions pacing at the fence.

  At home after a dinner of two-minute noodles, I snuggled up to Mum on the couch and fell asleep with the TV as a lullaby.

  Lying on my bed now, I study that memory, looking at it from every angle, trying to work out why I have so many fragments of memories but only one full one. This one.

  Morgan,

  Ever put your foot in it? Right up to your thigh? I did tonight, and now I feel like hell on a stick. Why do I even think I can be normal? Have friends? All that moving, new schools, Mum’s boyfriends, they’ve messed me up. Messed everything up.

  I need a hug. I miss Grandy. I miss the way we used to be, when we were friends. Before everything stuffed up. Before

  I just want it to be like it used to be. You and me hanging out at home. I just …

  Panda

  x

  Morgan placed the steaming bowls of pasta on placemats. She looked through the archway to where Pan lay sprawled on the sofa watching Neighbours. The credits began to roll.

  “Panda, dinner.”

  “Smells good, Morgs,” Pan dumped the remote control on the coffee table and stood. “Unlike this sofa. Stinks of dog – wet dog. Why didn’t Mum just bring our furniture with us? You know, hire a trailer or something? You’d reckon that’d be cheaper than selling everything before we left and buying this crappy stuff.” She sat at the table, opposite Morgan.

  “That’s what you and I would think, but not Kylie,” said Morgan. “She has this thing that she can make a profit by having a garage sale and buy furniture at an op shop once we move. Warped.”

  “So where’s all the money she’s making?”

  “Who knows?” Morgan twirled pasta around her fork.

  Pan sighed. “Morgs, do you reckon anyone lives in a place where they know everyone in the street and talk to them and stuff? Like Ramsay Street in Neighbours?”

  “Trust me, there’s no place in the world like Ramsay Street, except maybe Summer Bay, only that’s worse. Kylie better not move us there!” Morgan watched Pan poke at her pasta. Her eyes were dull. “What’s up, Panda?”

  “I’m just sick of it. Sick of moving homes, towns and especially schools.”

  “You kidding? I love it, especially when you walk into a new classroom and everyone stares like you have purple skin.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I’m joking, Panda. I hate it, too. Though this place is better than the last one. No rats. So far.”

  “Yeah.” Pan smiled, then blurted, “I miss Grandy.”

  “Me too,” said Morgan. She flicked a fingernail. “He was just … there.” She looked up and imitated her grandfather’s voice. “She went off like a frog in a sock.”

  “When I was little I used to worry about that. You know, if the frog would jump around inside the sock, or just sit there. And if it did jump around would it work its way out of the sock, or would the sock be flopping around like a tail.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Stuff worries me, okay?”

  Morgan fought the laughter building in her throat, but couldn’t stop the smile.

  “It just does.” Pan shrugged. “When do you reckon Mum will be back?”

  “Dunno.” Morgan’s smile faded. She’d lied to Pan, told her Kylie had gone back to Mildura to visit Grandma after her fall. The part about Gr
andma falling wasn’t a lie; Morgan had taken the call from the home. But Kylie hadn’t gone to visit her.

  Kylie had Gone away for a few days with Jason. At least that’s what the note she left on the kitchen table said. Morgan had scrunched it into her pocket before Pan had seen it. “Kylie will be back tomorrow.”

  Pan placed her fork beside the bowl and looked straight at Morgan’s face. “Don’t you ever leave me, Morgs.”

  Twenty-Five

  The next day at school I avoid Hunter, which, seeing as we are in so many classes together, isn’t easy. I make sure I’m late to class and have to sit in the seat in front of the teacher’s desk, which is always empty. I’m out the door as soon as the bell goes.

  I know I’m a coward, but I can’t face him. When I close my eyes, stare into space or even look at a black page, I see Hunter at his kitchen table, sorrow coming off him in waves. And I did it. I made him sad.

  At lunchtime instead of meeting Ari like I promised, I slink away to the spot near the woodwork room. It’s drizzling, so I have to wedge my back up against the brick wall to keep dry.

  I turn on my iPod and close my eyes. The song fills my mind and pulses through my veins, leaving no room for Hunter’s face, or the other stuff that’s always there.

  Something thumps my shoe. My stomach swoops. Hunter – he’s the only one who knows about this spot. He’s here to tell me what a stuff-up I am.

  “You don’t have to say anything.” I can’t open my eyes. “I’m a complete idiot and I don’t blame you for hating me. Everybody else does.”

  The earbuds are tugged from my ears.

  “While you are out of bounds, I see no reason for hating you, Miss Harper.” One of the teachers Hunter said should be avoided, Dav Bhatti, stands over me. He’s wearing a yellow raincoat with the hood so low it reaches his thick eyebrows. Drizzle drips to his boots. “Take yourself out of here. You are out of bounds.”

  A wave of disappointment and anger rushes through me. “Piss off.”

  Bhatti’s eyes widen. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard.”

  “Get up. Immediately.”

  “Make me.”

  He tugs my jumper sleeve.

  “Don’t touch me,” I bellow.

  Bhatti jumps back as though I’ve bitten him. He stalks away, but when he reaches the path he breaks into a trot.

  I can’t help but smile as I put my earbuds back in. “Take that, Bhatti boy.” But the soothing effect of the driving beat is gone.

  Again, the earbuds are ripped from me. “What the hell …” My voice evaporates into the damp air. Holland looms over me. Bhatti stands behind him, face purple.

  Holland thrusts his pointed finger towards the main building. “My office.”

  The fight seeps out of me, but the anger doesn’t. I take my time to stand, wrap my earbuds around my iPod and brush down my kilt.

  Bhatti twitches. Holland watches me with snake eyes.

  When I am ready, I stare at Holland. Without a word, he leads the way to his office. I trail behind Bhatti, feeling like a prisoner being led to execution. Near the canteen, I hear Beccy’s loud laugh and Livia’s scoff and know both are exaggerated for my benefit.

  In the foyer Holland nods at the maroon sofa and barks. “Wait there.” I hunch against the armrest, avoiding the stares of the office staff behind the front desk.

  After a while Rose bustles through the automatic doors and stops at the desk to talk to the girl with the perfect bob. “Hello, Emily. Could you please tell Mr Holland I’m here?” Rose sits beside me, bag on her lap. “Want to fill me in before we go in there?”

  I shake my head.

  Before Rose can speak, Holland is gesturing from the doorway. As we walk down the corridor to his office, Rose asks about his daughter. I try to imagine Holland as a father.

  “Please take a seat,” he says, inside his office. Welfare Merle is already there, folder on her lap. There’s no sign of Bhatti.

  Rose sits beside Merle. I sit in the seat closest to the door. My bum has just hit the chair when Holland starts describing my evil ways.

  I start to count the cracks in the ceiling, but Rose nudges me. Instead, I stare at the pile of paper on Holland’s desk.

  Once he’s done, Merle starts, which is hard to take as I haven’t seen her since I asked her to track down my father. Dishonest, evasive, argumentative, manipulative. I’ll give her one thing, she’s not as stupid as she looks. She’s figured out I lied about Brent Wall.

  But it’s Rose who makes me squirm in my seat, want to run away and hide. “I hear what you are both saying, and yes, Pan’s behaviour has been out of line. I agree she needs to be punished, however …” Rose places a hand on Holland’s desk. “Have either of you bothered to spend time with her? Check in to see how she’s settling into the school? Found out if she’s making friends? How she’s performing in class?” Rose looks from Holland to Merle, who are now wriggling in their seats as though their chairs are emitting electric shocks. “Exactly. I’m far from impressed with the support shown to Pan. You know what she has been through, yet offer no support or understanding. I’m not sure this place is all that I thought it was.”

  That snaps them into action. Merle and Holland talk over each other – excellent student support record, renowned for success, blah, blah, blah.

  “So what’s my punishment?” I interrupt their brag session.

  Rose folds her arms. “Painting props for the production. Pan hated that.”

  What’s she on about?

  She jabs my ankle with her toe.

  Holland’s eyes light up. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  A strange noise escapes me.

  Holland raises his hand. “Now, Pandora, there’s no point complaining. That is your punishment. Detention with Mr Hedt for the next two weeks. Rehearsals are…” He frowns and runs his finger down a sheet on the desk.

  “Tuesdays and Thursdays after school,” says Rose.

  “Right, so your detention is Tuesday and Thursday, after school. I’ll organise it with Mr Hedt and you will apologise to Mr Bhatti.”

  I open my mouth, but Holland raises his hand again. “And you are forbidden from hiding near the woodwork room. That area is strictly out of bounds to all students.”

  Rose’s stare is like a weight pressing down on me.

  “And Pan, I think you and I need to have a little talk. Just us,” says Welfare Merle. Her no-teeth smile and tilted head make me what to punch her.

  Holland stands. “Consider this your last warning, Pandora.”

  And when have I been warned before?

  Holland claps his hands and rubs them together. “Right, we’re all done here.”

  “Thank you for your understanding,” says Rose, standing to shake Holland’s hand, then Merle’s. “Would you two mind excusing us for a moment? I need to talk to Pan.”

  Holland’s head nods like the dog on the back ledge in Grandy’s car. “Merle?”

  As soon as Holland closes the door behind them, Rose rests against his desk.

  I sit straighter in the chair.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t do anything wrong; well, except for telling Bhatti to piss off. I was just hanging out, listening to my iPod.”

  “You weren’t with Hunter?’

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I say a bit more sharply than I mean to. “I was alone, chilling.”

  “Want to talk about what happened last night?” Rose’s voice softens. “You were clearly upset when Hunter’s father dropped you off.”

  “I stuffed up, as usual. That’s all.”

  “Pan–”

  “Please, Rose, there’s nothing to say.”

  “Honestly, I think there’s a great deal to say.” Rose studies her hands, clasped in front of her. “Still, this isn’t the place. Do you want me to stay while you apologise to Mr Bhatti?”

  “I’ll be right.”

  “Make it good.” She slin
gs her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll pick you up after detention.”

  “I can catch the–”

  “It’s no problem.” She stands before me a moment then walks to the door.

  “Hey, Rose, thanks for the … being with Ari is okay.”

  She smiles and leaves. I want to run after her and thank her for standing up for me. Only one person has ever done that before – Morgan.

  But I don’t, I stay glued to my seat until Holland returns with Bhatti.

  After a pathetic, grovelling “I’m sorry I was so rude,” while Holland smirks and Bhatti acts like he’s won a major lotto prize, I flee the office.

  Outside, Hunter jumps off the stair rail he’s been sitting on. “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. Bhatti and Holland are psychos, that’s all.” I brush past him to the lockers.

  Hey Morgan,

  Do you ever wonder if you’ll turn out like Mum? Not in a good way, but … I’m scared I will, turn into … you know – what you said about her. What if I’m just like her?

  For the last couple of months, it’s like I don’t know myself, as though I’m watching someone else. I’m a complete bitch, and I can’t stop it.

  Or have I always been like this – bad tempered and angry – and just haven’t realised?

  I have this feeling, like rats gnawing at me, that …

  Hey, know what I found inside Smocker today? A note from Mum, written on the back of a coaster from the pub. The coaster still smells of beer.

  My Darling Panda Bear,

  I owe you a huge, fantastic, enormous birthday present and a special birthday tea. Your choice.

  I’m sorry I forgot.

  Love you baby,

  Happy tenth birthday.

  Mum

  Xxxxx

  The thing is, I don’t remember Mum ever forgetting my birthday. What’s that all about?

  Pan

  Morgan poured milk onto her cereal and checked her watch. She’d let Pan sleep for another few minutes, which only seemed fair since it was her birthday.