She stared at the bath salts for three seconds, then threw them out the window. A chook squawked, either frightened or hoping they were edible.
Not only was the gift deeply conventional, with no thought as to what a sixteen-year-old would like, but didn’t that woman realise that a girl in a wheelchair might not be able to manage a bath?
Scarlett hadn’t had a bath since the days when someone lifted her in and out — long gone now, thank goodness. These days she held onto the bar installed in Dribble’s shower to pull herself from her wheelchair to the chair in the shower, then back again. And every single time rejoiced that this private activity could indeed be private.
Bath salts!
‘Happy birthday, brat.’ Jed came in yawning, in her red and white silk pyjamas, holding a long package wrapped in blue paper with silver stars on it. She looked curiously at the card and the empty wrapping paper. ‘From your . . . From Mrs Taylor?’
Scarlett nodded. ‘Bath salts.’
‘What? Oh dear.’ Jed began to laugh. Scarlett stared at her, furious. Then suddenly the anger melted.
Because it WAS funny. Hilariously, wonderfully stupid.
‘The poor woman couldn’t have chosen anything worse if she’d used both hands,’ gasped Jed. ‘Bath salts! What perfume?’
‘I didn’t even look. I threw them out the window.’
‘Did you? Good shot!’
And it was, thought Scarlett, suddenly happier. Even a year ago she couldn’t have hurled those salts all the way through the window. She could move her legs properly now when she did breaststroke too. True, her legs were a long way from being able to support her. She accepted that they never would, nor would her spine be strong enough to hold her weight. But just to be able to kick someone would be wonderful. Especially someone who never sent you a birthday present for sixteen years, then sent you bath salts.
‘At least she’s trying,’ said Jed more quietly.
‘Not very hard.’
Jed shrugged. She didn’t say, ‘Last year you were scared she’d force you to live with her.’ She passed Scarlett the parcel. ‘Try throwing this one out the window.’
Scarlett tore the paper open, then stared at the arm-length rod in her hands. She pressed a button on the side experimentally, then, when nothing happened, tried sliding it down.
It worked. The end of the metal rod opened, like a crocodile’s jaws. ‘What is it?’
‘A thingummybob.’
‘Jed!’
‘I’m serious. It doesn’t have a name yet. Maybe we can call it “The Scarlett”. It’s for grabbing things you can’t reach, from a shelf or on the floor. See, it fits into the wheelchair like this.’ She took it and clicked it in place under Scarlett’s right-hand armrest.
‘You made it for me?’
‘Sam designed it. The Thompson’s Parramatta factory made it.
I suppose that means it’s from all of us. This really is from me.’
Jed passed over an envelope. Scarlett opened it to reveal a card, with a Doberperson on it saying Woofy Birthday. And inside a voucher that said Admit two to the Gibber’s Creek Picture Theatre. Valid for twelve months.
‘You can take Leafsong to see The Sound of Music a hundred times if you like,’ said Jed.
‘I only saw it six times and that was YEARS ago.’
And didn’t even Jed think that maybe, just maybe, Scarlett might take someone to the cinema other than Leafsong? A boy, perhaps? Like Mark? Who was still the only male interested in her.
‘Any movie. Anyone you want to take,’ said Jed lightly. Scarlett smiled. Because actually, Jed did understand.
She’d see Mark that night at her birthday party at the Blue Belle. Maybe, if she said it was her birthday, Mark might even kiss her on the lips in front of everyone, preferably when Barbie was looking. Deirdre had told Alison who had told Scarlett that Barbie thought Mark was dreamy. Barbie’s boyfriend was too young even to have proper sideburns.
Scarlett looked at the tickets with satisfaction. A whole year of Saturday afternoons filled. ‘A wonderful birthday present,’ she said. ‘Thank you!’
Eight hours later she was in new tie-dyed bell-bottoms, her fringe trimmed, pale lipstick, green eyeshadow, three careful applications of mascara, and the Blue Belle was crammed, thudding to the sound of a boom box playing ‘Ziggy Stardust’, the Closed sign on the door, the guests spilling out onto the footpath. Scarlett had even invited Barbie and the barbarians, not just to be kind and forgiving, but so they could see that girls in wheelchairs DID go to parties. And might even be kissed by a gorgeous young man, who hadn’t arrived yet.
‘Happy birthday, kid,’ said Sam. He must have been back either to the commune or Dribble to change after work, as his ponytail was wet and his shirt and shorts fresh. He handed her a roughly wrapped brown paper parcel.
She undid it and stared. ‘What is it?’
‘A solar-powered hat. Turn the switch on and it fans your face.’
Scarlett laughed. ‘Just what I’ve always wanted.’
‘Why?’ asked a small figure with a chocolate-stained face. Clancy.
‘Because every head needs a solar panel,’ said Sam solemnly.
‘Why?’
‘Because solar energy is our future.’
‘Why?’
Sam kneeled down beside him. ‘Because when the world runs out of oil our cars and ships and planes won’t go any more, and we won’t be able to make plastics. And the oil-producing nations are charging the world whatever they want to, because everyone needs oil. But if we all have solar panels, we can have electric cars, and batteries to store power, and . . .’
Scarlett smiled as she wheeled away. She didn’t know if Clancy understood any of the lecture, but he did enjoy a grown-up giving him attention. Just as she’d loved Nicholas speaking to her as a human being, not a kid.
‘Happy birthday!’ Nancy bent and kissed her. ‘The twins wanted to give you a pair of poddy lambs.’
‘I like poddies.’
‘Not eight-month-old evil genius lambs who have learned to wriggle their way under vegetable garden fences. But I admit it is difficult finding a gift for a girl who is given everything she wants by her sister.’
‘Jed is wonderful,’ said Scarlett, stiffening.
‘Mmm,’ said Nancy. ‘By the way, Matilda is going to give you pearls. They are real, and expensive, because she thinks that every young gel needs a set of pearls.’
‘So say “thank you” like a nice polite young gel?’
‘Exactly,’ said Nancy. ‘Anyway, your present from us will be ready for you when you get home.’
‘What is it?’
Nancy laughed. ‘A reminder of your past. Sam and Michael built a flying fox while you were at school today. It goes from Dribble down to the river. Of course you may be too sophisticated for flying foxes now.’
‘NEVER!’ Scarlett grinned in recollection. No one but Nancy would have built a flying fox for kids in wheelchairs, on the common-sense grounds that OF COURSE flying foxes were dangerous, but no more dangerous for kids in wheelchairs than any other kids. And when you were in a wheelchair, you had few chances to take the risks other kids took for granted.
‘You are fabulous,’ said Scarlett sincerely.
‘And you are a darling. There are no words to say how proud we all are of you.’ Nancy bent and kissed her again, just as Scarlett saw a glimpse of white out the front.
Mark!
She hugged Nancy back, then headed outside, the crowd parting for her chair. ‘I didn’t think you were going to make it!’ she called to Mark.
He smiled down at her. ‘I wouldn’t miss it. Happy birthday, Scarlett.’ He bent down and, just as she had hoped, kissed her on the lips just as Barbie and her horde stumbled down the uneven footpath in their platform heels towards the café. Platforms had to be the STUPIDEST invention in the universe.
‘I bought you a present. Actually it’s from Mum too.’ Mark flushed. ‘I told her I’d met som
eone special, and she wanted to give you a present from both of us. I really hope you like it.’
He handed over a small jeweller’s box. Scarlett opened it cautiously. A friendship ring? THAT would impress the barbarians. But on the other hand, she didn’t want that kind of relationship with Mark. A quick peck on the lips was okay, but the man she loved was going to be Albert Einstein crossed with Tarzan, as well as perceptive enough to know that her wheelchair would never limit their life together . . .
It was a brooch, possibly the ugliest she had seen, a silver wing with the kind of pearls that were probably not real and would definitely not pass Matilda’s inspection.
Scarlett tried to put some enthusiasm into her voice. ‘It’s lovely!’ Behind her, the barbarians trooped into the café, glancing back to try to see what Mark had given her.
Mark’s smile relaxed. ‘I’m glad you like it. You deserve pretty things. Mum chose it. I told her you were a fairy girl, tiny and wonderful.’
Scarlett kept her smile in place. She had wanted so badly to be a fairy when she was ten, partly because fairies could fly, which made wheelchairs redundant, and partly because back then she’d loved pink and sequins.
She was no longer ten.
‘Come in and meet everyone.’
He hesitated, blinking at the noise. ‘I won’t know anyone here.’
‘You will soon. Hey, Sam, this is my friend Mark. Sam, you and Mark can discuss composting toilets.’
That should keep them busy for HOURS, she thought. And Sam was so nice he’d make sure Mark met someone else to talk to too. Hopefully NOT Matilda, who might wither any conversation about the Chosen in twelve words, but maybe Nancy, who was always kind and could find something to talk about, even to Mark . . .
And after everyone had helped themselves from the two giant pots of provincial chicken with tomatoes and saffron and zucchinis and basil, and the vast bowls of couscous to soak up the juices, and Jed had brought in the birthday cake that was undoubtedly waiting outside, Leafsong was going to play her violin. There’d be no need to talk then.
And, if Barbie was looking, she’d hold Mark’s hand.
Chapter 47
Gibber’s Creek Gazette, 27 February 1974
Prime Minister Gough Whitlam today announced that Australia’s new governor-general will be Sir John Kerr, present Chief Justice of New South Wales. Sir John has previously been a judge of the Commonwealth Industrial Court and in the ACT and NT Supreme Courts . . .
SAM
Sam’s ute trundled up Dribble’s driveway in a haze of dust, purring along nicely since he’d put in the new exhaust. He reached into the back seat for a Tupperware container, then knocked perfunctorily on the back door before setting the container on the table. ‘Lamb meatballs with yoghurt, spinach, cucumber and pasta. Leafsong says don’t heat it up. It’s meant to be eaten cold.’
‘Sounds delicious.’ Jed reached up to kiss him, then began to put out plates. ‘Scarlett! Dinner’s here!’
‘Coming.’
Sam reached for the knives and forks. He looked up to find Jed regarding him. ‘I think I’ll cook dinner tomorrow,’ she decided.
‘You can cook?’ Jed hadn’t cooked anything except boiled eggs and toast in all the time he’d known her.
‘Of course I can cook. I’m an excellent cook. I just worked in too many greasy spoon cafés to feel like cooking for a while.’ Jed grinned. ‘Now I do.’
‘Goodo.’ He sat, then helped himself to the food. ‘Before I forget.’ He hauled a once-cream envelope out of his shorts pocket. ‘It’s our invitation to Felicity’s twenty-first birthday party, up at Rock Farm. You too, if you like,’ he added to Scarlett, despite the fact the invitation hadn’t included her. But Felicity was a good sort, though Scarlett would need to stay in the house, not camp, which might be crowding things a bit. But they’d manage.
‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Scarlett, wheeling herself to the table next to him. ‘I wouldn’t know anyone.’
‘Nancy, Michael, the boys, Matilda . . . they’ll all be there.’
‘I see them here.’
‘Fair enough.’ Sam took a mouthful of cold lamb. Good, though he’d have preferred it hot. He suddenly realised Jed hadn’t responded. ‘Jed? Everything okay?’
‘Yes. Sure. When’s her party?’ Her voice seemed falsely bright.
‘Not till April. There’ll be a cast of thousands, so we’ll have to camp.’
‘Really?’ Sam relaxed at her genuine interest. For a moment he had been worried that she wouldn’t want to go because Nicholas would be there. Jed’s not wanting to see Nicholas would be almost as bad as her wanting to see him. But he knew his Jed. There was no way she’d be with him if she still loved Nicholas.
‘I’ve never been camping,’ Jed was saying.
‘You told me you’d slept under bridges and —’ began Scarlett.
Jed cut off what Sam presumed might be a far too interesting list of places Jed had sought shelter. Sometimes he wanted to grab that stepmother of hers and her stepmother’s ex-boyfriend and tell them exactly what he thought of them. But people like that rarely felt shame, only anger at those whom they’d hurt, in case they got a niggling suspicion that perhaps, indeed, they should feel shame by the bucketload. ‘Sleeping rough is not the same as camping, with a tent and sleeping bags . . . I presume we will have a tent and sleeping bags?’
Sam grinned. ‘Tent if it rains. Swags if it doesn’t. It’s good to have the stars as a roof sometimes. Or would you rather have a tent anyway?’
‘Swags sound good.’
Excellent. It should be a wonderful party. Sam suspected that Felicity and Nicholas were going to use the occasion to announce the date of their wedding. And a night up in the mountains, the air tasting of cold tin and the stars glinting brighter than they ever did down here, would be the perfect time to offer Jed the ring Mum had agreed would be perfect for the woman he was going to marry. Just the two of them, with the song of Rocky Creek, maybe even an early streak of snow up on the mountaintops.
‘Why are you grinning like that?’ asked Scarlett.
‘Dreaming of camping up in the mountains,’ he told her truthfully. ‘Anything interesting at school?’
‘Would you BELIEVE! Mrs Enderby laughed in geography when I told her about plate tectonics. She said floating continents was the silliest thing she had ever heard of . . .’
Sam let the talk wash over him. Good talk, from people he loved. Sometimes he thought some angel must have waved its wings over Gibber’s Creek in the last few years. A federal government that wanted to do good things so you didn’t have to think about what they were planning next in detail, which was exactly the kind of government he preferred. Mum and Dad happy, Mum no longer harried by the financial worries at the factory. Jane cutting up frogs or whatever she was doing at uni in Sydney. And him, saved from a fate worse than death, trapped in an office at some construction company. Instead he worked with his hands and his brain, doing things that the planet needed, with the scent of the trees and the soil around him, in the place he’d never wanted to leave, no matter how good the pay was up in Sydney.
And Jed. Wonderful Jed who laughed with him and challenged him, and Scarlett to round off the family. He carefully hid another grin. Matilda and Nancy had probably already written to Mum, planning the wedding. Maybe even had the invitations engraved, with everything but the date.
Sam reached for another helping of meatballs, content. Life wriggled like a creek, sending you around bends you never expected, with droughts and floods thrown in. But he and Jed had finally landed where they were supposed to be. No doubts, no wanderings, just years ahead unfolding with all they loved around them . . .
He scraped the last of the pasta salad onto his fork. ‘Anyone for pudding?’
Chapter 48
Gibber’s Creek Gazette, April 1974
Film Stars for Gibber’s Creek?
Residents of Gibber’s Creek were excited to learn that our town may be th
e setting for a new Australian movie. Since the Whitlam government established the new Music, Film, Visual Arts, Literature, Theatre and Crafts Boards in February last year, Australian arts have been flourishing . . .
JED
Jed glanced at Sam next to her, focused on negotiating the ute around the mountain curves. They’d had a slight tussle over which vehicle to take, won by Sam, on the grounds that the ute had more room for tent and swags, though Jed also suspected he didn’t want jokes made about arriving at Rock Farm in a bright blue sports car. She was dressed in Edinburgh’s best tweed from the 1930s, a pale lilac and purple jacket and trousers, perfect for a party in the autumn mountains. Already the air had crisped, with the faint scent of snow.
Sam looked happy, even excited. Rocky Valley was as beautiful as he had promised, as if the mountains had carefully stepped just far enough back to leave a wide green stretch of farmland, dressed in the reds and butter yellows of deciduous trees. As they’d approached Rock Farm, though, the snow gums ruled again, each tree twisted into its own wind-carved shape, dappled trunks of cream and green and orange. Fog twisted in small streams down the gullies.
‘Sam, slow down a second . . .’
‘What? Sure.’
A vast rock loomed before them, sliced in half by some long-gone giant, its edges crumpled by mist.
‘Incredible, isn’t it?’ said Sam beside her.
Jed nodded, feeling both fascinated and slightly afraid. So that was the rock where Nicholas had met the young Flinty. She still hadn’t had a glimpse of the past or future since Tommy’s death, unless she counted Matilda’s stories of her own past and Sam’s mother’s, and even Nancy’s.
Maybe I should go down there by myself, Jed thought as the car swerved around the last bend and parked among a herd of other utes, with a few dusty sedans. Though did she really want to see the past or future these days? Especially here where she might come across Nicholas and Flinty, the girl he had loved, as he had never said that he loved her, or Nicholas and Felicity and their future children.
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