Pan’s Whisper

by Sue Lawson

  Mind blank and legs numb, I go back to the garage, but don’t go inside. Instead I take a wet piece of coal from the ashes and write across the weatherboards above the flowers.

  I wipe my hands on my sodden jumper and read what I have written.

  I love you Morgan. xoxox.

  Like a zombie, I limp up the driveway, sling my backpack over my shoulder and pick up my duffel bag and walk away from Shelton Grove, back to the train station.

  It doesn’t register until the train is hurtling towards the city that I’m going back to Legoland.

  Thirty-Four

  It’s after eight in the evening when I arrive at Cranbrooke Station. The rain has stopped and the sky is black and starless. I’m too tired to walk to the McMinn’s, so I catch the bus. It’s not until I’m trudging up Arnica Drive that I think about what might be waiting for me. Lectures. Gemma ready to whisk me away to who knows where.

  I don’t give a stuff. I have nothing left.

  Golden light glows inside the houses – homes filled with loving families. Loved kids. All the outdoor lights blaze at the McMinn’s house and cars are parked on the street. I recognise Ian’s Subaru, Gemma’s Ford, but there are two cars I don’t know. A new Holden and a car like Hunter’s dad’s.

  Voices burble in the night, but I pay no attention. As I turn into the McMinn’s front path, the voices stop. There’s shuffling, footsteps and a door shutting. When I look up Hunter is standing next to me.

  “Hey,” he says, as though there’s nothing going on.

  “What are you doing here?” It doesn’t sound like my voice.

  “Rose called.”

  “To ask you to come over and celebrate that I’d cleared off at last?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Sucks to be you. I’m back.” I drop my bags. They hit the concrete with a wet thud. “Relax, I’m not here for long.”

  “How come?”

  I look back at the wet bitumen glittering under the streetlights. “For all kinds of reasons.”

  “Panna that stuff you said about me and Merle.”

  “I don’t give a shit about that any more. I was stupid to trust you.”

  “Bloody hell, sometimes you sound like a bad movie script,” Hunter bristles.

  I turn, ready to explode, throw every angry word I have at him.

  He raises his voice first. “Just shut up and let me talk.”

  Lips pressed together, I listen.

  “Panna, my mum was sick. Dad and I tried to nurse her at home, but her moods … That day you saw me with Merle? It was Mum’s anniversary. Two years since she died of a brain tumour.”

  It’s like I’m seeing Hunter and Merle outside the office all over again, but this time Merle’s hand on Hunter’s shoulder, his serious face and Merle’s hug take on a new meaning.

  Morgan’s right – I’m too self absorbed. I hang my head and search for something to say. But there’s nothing.

  Hunter fills the silence. “There was no ‘be Pan’s friend’ deal or anything like that.”

  “Everyone lies to me, Hunter. Sometimes not with words, but they lie.” I pause. The distant rumble of traffic becomes louder. “So, I just – well, I figured you …”

  “I’m not like everyone else. I thought you could see that.”

  I pluck balled wool from my jumper. This is my most spectacular stuff-up yet.

  “Did you take off today because of me, Pan?”

  “Not entirely.” I jerk my head at the McMinn’s door. “They don’t want me.”

  Hunter’s brow creases into a frown. “Rose and Ian? You serious?”

  “I heard them talking.”

  “No way, Panna. They care about you.”

  I scoff. “Yeah right.”

  Hunter turns and walks inside, leaving me alone on the verandah. I slump onto my wet duffel bag, head in my hands. Brain tumour. Poor Hunter.

  Hunter returns with Rose and Ian.

  “Tell them what you just told me,” says Hunter.

  “So they can lie like everyone else?”

  “What self-pitying bullshit.”

  The anger in Rose’s voice makes me jump. I haven’t heard her swear before. I lift my head. Rose stands in front of me, face twisted with anger. “We’ve been nothing but honest with you, Pan. We treat you the same way we treat Nate and Livia. As though you are our own children.”

  “Except you forgive them anything. You’ve had enough of me.”

  “What on earth makes you think that?”

  “I heard you.” My voice is shrill. “I heard what you said to Gemma.”

  Rose looks stunned. She turns to Ian. “What did we say?”

  Ian frowns. “I don’t know. That Pan was doing well. That she was starting to relax.” He looks into my face. “What did you hear, Pan?”

  “Gemma said I was a troubled kid. That I needed stability. And that no one else would take me.” I lower my head and press my fists to into my lap. “You said you didn’t want me.”

  “Today? You heard us talking to Gemma today?”

  “See, you can’t deny it. I’m right.” It’s as though there are invisible hands around my neck, squeezing.

  “That’s pretty close to what was said,” says Ian.

  “Thanks for being honest, I guess.”

  Rose grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. Her furious expression is replaced by one of sorrow. “Pan–”

  I pull away from her touch. “Just don’t, okay?” I try to sound tougher than I feel. Going back, seeing home has ripped everything from me. “I’m leaving. Going to my dad’s place.”

  Ian shakes his head. “You and I both know that’s not going to happen, Pan. He’s–”

  Rose cuts him off. “Pan, look at me.”

  When I won’t, she grips my shoulders. I raise my head.

  “Pan, you only heard part of the conversation, not the start or the end, otherwise you’d know what was said and wouldn’t have run away.” When I don’t move, Rose relaxes her grip. “Gemma came to ask us to take a new foster child, a nine-year-old girl who no other foster family will take.”

  “Like I’m going to believe that.”

  “Pan, I’ve not lied to you yet and I’m not about to start now. Her name is Zara. She’s from a country town. So far, she’s run away from four foster homes after causing chaos. Gemma wants us to take her because she thinks we – Ian and I, Livia, Nate and YOU might be able to make a difference.”

  Ian walks over and places his hand over Rose’s on my shoulder. “Pan, just come inside and sleep on it, okay? If you still want to go tomorrow, we’ll help you find somewhere safe.”

  I’m exhausted, drained and cold.

  Why can’t I just say I want to come back, that I’ve been an idiot, that there’s nothing left for me at Shelton Grove? “Just for tonight.”

  Hunter reaches for my backpack and Ian picks up the duffel bag.

  Head down I follow them. When we reach the family room, Gemma and Hunter’s dad, Joe, are on one sofa. A policewoman sits on the other.

  Nate rushes up and hugs me. “You okay, Pan?”

  I bite my lip and nod.

  “I turned your electric blanket on,” says Livia. She pours hot water into mugs lined up on the kitchen bench.

  “Thanks.” I don’t stop, but follow Ian and Hunter to my room.

  Hunter puts the backpack on the bed and leaves. Ian places the duffel bag beside it. “Hungry?”

  “Just tired. And cold.”

  “Have a shower and warm up. We’ll dry your things tomorrow.” Ian walks to the door.

  We. Tomorrow. “Hey. Don’t you want to know where I’ve been?”

  He stops and gives me a sad smile. “We saw the flowers on the backdoor step, Pan.”

  “Oh.” It’s all I can say. “Ian … I took money.”

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” Ian closes the door behind him.

  Thirty-Five

  It’s dark. Lights from passing cars flash at me. A
thumping beat. Yelling. Wrestling. I’m moving. Fast.

  Who’s driving?

  I am. The car has no floor, just bike pedals. I pump them hard. There’s a T-intersection ahead. I want to turn right, only my feet won’t stop pedalling and the steering is jammed.

  The doors and windows of the car shrink away. Wind batters my face and hair. The car’s steering wheel has morphed into a go-kart’s. The steering is still broken. I’m hurtling straight at a massive road sign.

  For a second, lights cross the sign and I can read the writing, but when the lights fade, the writing is gone.

  I’m yelling for help. The sign becomes lights so bright they hurt my eyes. I’m going to crash. I grip the frozen steering wheel and brace for the impact.

  I sit up in bed, freezing and gasping for air. Sweat trickles down my spine.

  The left side of my head and my thigh throb.

  When my heart slows, I check the clock – four-thirty. I snuggle under the doona, but it’s impossible to sleep after the dream.

  Defeated, I haul myself out of bed, open the curtains and pull the soggy stuff from my duffel bag. Smocker, lying across the top, is the wettest. I place Smocker where the morning sun will pour through the window once it rises and the clothes on hangers and drape them over my desk and chair to dry.

  I unzip him and feel inside. Everything is damp. I take out each letter, shell, picture – everything – and spread them, face down, along the low windowsill. The last thing I take out, an envelope, feels thicker than the rest. I know what’s inside without opening it.

  A Melbourne Show ticket stub and a black rooster feather. A strip of black-and-white photos, which I can see in my mind. My eyes are crinkled with laughter and my hand is over my mouth. Mum’s cross-eyed and her tongue pokes out. Morgan frowns.

  I leave everything inside the envelope.

  Hey Morgan,

  I went back to Shelton Grove yesterday. The place was deserted and is a wreck. There were letters stuffed in the wire door and the curtains were drawn.

  Guess you haven’t been back either.

  Looks like the bogans from around the corner had a party in the backyard. There are bottles everywhere and ashes and stuff from a fire. Why didn’t they just burn the whole place down?

  Wish they had.

  Anyway, on the way back to Legoland, I was thinking about what you said, about Mum. Well, remember that time we all went to the Melbourne Show? You full-on sulked the whole day and, even though Mum had saved up for it, complained about how much everything cost.

  See, Mum wasn’t always the problem and you aren’t as perfect as you think.

  Pan

  Morgan sucked on a lollipop as she strolled down the street, listening to her iPod. She’d bought the iPod from a kid at school who’d upgraded to a classic. As soon as she’d saved enough money, Morgan was going to upgrade and Pan could have the one she was listening to now.

  She patted her jeans pocket and smiled. Fifty-five dollars – not bad for a couple of half days making sandwiches at Bay View Cafe, which only had a view of High Street traffic. Her latest earnings, together with the money stashed in the lining of her schoolbag, made $235. Her target was $300, which gave her a buffer. Two more shifts, tops, and she’d make it.

  Not that she would rush out and buy an iPod straightaway. Morgan intended to wait for an iPod special, one that included a dock, before she spent her cash. Then she’s save for something for Pan.

  Morgan reached the latest house Kylie had rented. Somehow even worse than the last. No front fence, only a gate leaning against the paling one that separated their place from the neighbours; oils stains on the driveway, and tyre marks gouged into the weeds that made up the front lawn. Inside was a little better, except for the water stains on the ceiling, and the smell of damp cowering in corners.

  Today the house was quiet, and the yellow-and -white kitchen was empty. From where she stood, Morgan could see down the hall. Pan and Kylie’s doors were open. The shower was running. She wondered who was home and who was out – her guess was Kylie showering and Pan had been sent to buy milk or bread.

  Morgan picked up the plates and glasses from the table. She placed them in the sink and headed to her room. At the door she heard scuffling. Her heart skidded – not a mouse, please.

  Muttered swearing, followed by a triumphant grunt. Not a mouse, a rat – a two-legged one.

  Morgan shoved the door open. Kylie stood by the bed, beaming.

  “What are you doing in my room?”

  “I pay the rent, so technically it’s my room.”

  Morgan pushed past her. The contents of her wardrobe were strewn across the floor – dresses, jeans, T-shirts, backpack. She snatched up the bag. The lining flapped open. Empty. “Where is it?” Morgan snarled. “Where is my money?”

  “Morgan, you earn more money than me,” Kylie straightened up, “so it’s only fair you pay for a few things around here.”

  Morgan scoffed. “I work for that money, unlike you, and I already pay for heaps. Pan and I would starve otherwise.”

  Kylie’s face changed and her shoulders rounded. She stared at the carpet, her head drooping to one side. All the fight drained from her voice. “Morgan, I promised Panda I’d take her to the Melbourne Show today, as a treat, and I …” She sighed.

  Morgan clenched her jaw so tight, her forehead throbbed.

  “I’ll pay it back, I promise. But this time it’s for Panda.”

  Morgan slumped on the edge of her bed.

  Pan appeared in the doorway wearing a thin dressing gown, her hair wrapped in a Bananas in Pyjamas towel. Pan’s face was flushed from the shower and her eyes shone. “We still going to the show, Mum?”

  Kylie sighed. “I don’t know, Panda.” She glanced at Morgan. “We might not be able to go. It’s up to your sister.”

  Pan’s face crumpled. “Oh …”

  Right at that moment Morgan hated Kylie. “I just have to change, Panda.”

  Pan squealed and hugged Morgan.

  Thirty-Six

  My room looks like it has been hit by a major hurricane. All my stuff is scattered to dry, hanging off furniture, doorhandles and the tops of doors. The sight of it makes me even more tired. I lie back on the bed, but sleep is still out of my reach. Too tired to move, I watch the sky change colours outside my window and try to work out what I’ll do.

  Leave Legoland before I’m booted out for good?

  A great theory, if I had somewhere to go. Grandy’s dead, Grandma lives, if that’s what you call it, in that hospital place, Mum doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, so I don’t have cousins or aunts and uncles, and Morgan…

  I suppose I could live on the streets. A kid I knew, Spic, lived on the streets. She hated it so much she went back home after two nights. And Spic is braver than me.

  That leaves staying in Legoland until someone else, probably Gemma, decides what to do with me.

  Right now there’s a more urgent problem. I’ve tried to ignore it, but the urge in my bladder has gone from annoying to plain painful. I should have gone ages ago, but I couldn’t face bumping into anyone.

  Way past creeping, I bolt to the toilet.

  Rose is standing in the hall when I walk out of the bathroom. “How’d you sleep, Pan?”

  “Okay.”

  “Hungry?”

  I shrug.

  “There’s raisin bread.”

  With a sigh I follow, drop two slices into the toaster and wait on the kitchen stool for it to cook.

  “You look tired,” says Rose.

  “Bad dream.” The memory of the terror and panic make me shudder.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Can’t remember it.” I pick up the glass of orange juice she’s put in front of me.

  Rose chats about the new foster kid, as though I’m meant to care. “Zara’s an only child. I think I told you she comes from the country. She arrives later this week.”

  “She can have my room.”

 
Rose leans on the bench, her forehead creased. “You’re not staying?”

  Because I have so many options. “You’ll need the room.”

  “Not at all. Zara will have the spare room between you and Livia, once I move all the stuff out of there. I was hoping you’d help me fix it up today.”

  “Isn’t today together day?”

  Rose ignores how bitchy I make it sound. “Strictly speaking, but Livia and Nate have things on, so it’ll just be me, you and Ian.”

  “Great.” My voice is flat. The toast pops.

  Nate bursts through the door. “Hey, Pan,” he says as though nothing has happened.

  Apparently, they’ve decided to ignore how I cleared off and stole money.

  Right, ignore this. I hold the empty glass away from the bench and release it. It smashes on the tiled floor. Somehow the shattering sound is satisfying. I walk out, leaving Nate and Rose looking like stranded fish.

  To avoid the sounds coming from the kitchen, I turn up my iPod. The smell of toast wafts under my door. I wish I’d eaten the raisin bread.

  I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, it’s after ten. My duffel bag and backpack have gone, so too have my clothes. Fury rips through me. They have no right to take my stuff.

  I pull my earbuds out and sit up. Smocker, the tattered letters and photos are where I left them.

  The silence of the house closes in on me. They’ve gone, left me alone, which is brave, seeing as I’ve added thief to my list of failings.

  The tap on the door surprises me. “Are you awake, Pan?”

  When I croak a reply, Rose opens the door. “Can you come to the family room please?”

  Thirty-Seven

  Ian is already on the sofa. Rose settles beside him and crosses her legs. I go for the armchair near the window. Silence grows and swirls around us like smoke.

  I clear my throat. “No balls or notepads?”

  “We’re way past that,” says Rose. “Pan, we need to be absolutely honest with each other, okay?”

  That feeling I had at the creek, that sensation an elephant is pressing its foot on my chest, is back.

  “I’m sorry about the money. I only used about twenty bucks for train tickets and a drink. I’ll earn–”