All boys think they can ski faster than us. Of course they can’t – or most of them can’t, unless they’re locals, or real guns. Most of the time Cass and I end up having to wait for them. Or if we don’t like the look of them up close, we lose them.
Off we go, just cruisin’ – and here they come!
Racing and chasing
The boys turn out to be dud skiers, so we have to wait. In these situations I let Cass do the talking. We rest on a little rise until eventually they make it up onto our hill. One boy has black hair and one has kind of red hair.
‘I’m Cass and this is Tiff.’ Cass bangs my gloved hand with her gloved hand. ‘We’re locals. Where are you guys from? Melbourne, I bet. Or Wang-ga-ratta.’ Cass has this thing about Wangaratta. I don’t think she’s even been there.
The boys try to stand like World Cup racers, but they don’t fool us. We’ve seen them ski. And they can’t.
‘Melbourne,’ says the boy with black hair. ‘I’ve never even heard of Wanga-whatever you said.’ He has smooth black eyebrows and wide blue-grey eyes. He’s pretty good-looking, I guess. ‘I’m Jordan and this is Angus.’ Jordan sweeps his hair to one side.
Yep, not too bad!
‘Jordan?’ says Cass, giving him the eyeball. ‘Are you sure you’re not in The Bold and the Beautiful?’
I laugh and so does Angus, who nearly falls over. He’s more the type of boy Cass and I are used to. He’s got freckles, a pimple, and his round face is blotchy and red – the cold can turn you very ugly very quickly!
‘What’s The Bold and the Beautiful?’ says Angus. ‘A film?’
So far I haven’t said a word. Jordan pulls a stroppy face. I don’t think he’s used to girls like Cass. I know she’s only joking, but perhaps he doesn’t.
‘Let’s have a look at your photo.’ Jordan puts out a dark blue glove. ‘It looks pretty interesting.’
On a season’s ski ticket you have a photograph of yourself. And these photos are always absolutely shocking. I look like a witch and my hair is like wet string. Cass looks like a mad Viking girl with big fat squirrel cheeks.
‘No way!’ Cass slaps her hand over it. ‘That’s forbidden material.’
The boys laugh. I cover my photo as well.
‘C’mon!’ Angus shuffles forward. ‘They can’t be that bad.’
‘Oh, yes they are.’ I side-slip half a metre downhill. ‘They’re frightening.’
Cass does a kick turn, so that she’s now facing in the opposite direction.
‘You wanna see my picture?’ She points down the slope. ‘Beat us to the bottom and I’ll show you.’ And away she goes – not very fast, though.
I slide off after her and the boys ski after me. Cass isn’t trying to get away at all. She yells up the slope.
‘Come on, Jordan! You’ll have to do better than that if you want to get into the movies!’
The boys are speeding up, pushing with their poles, and grunting. Cass and I use our skis like skates. The slope here is gentle and wide, so none of us are really going very fast. Suddenly Cass heads for a steep chute.
‘C’mon, Tiff. Let’s go!’
In seconds we’re flying, Cass’s hair is streaming out like a horse’s tail and mine is swishing and thumping on my shoulders. The wind is freezing but it feels great and instantly I forget about the boys, my family, my new school, and all that junk. I just ski.
I feel good. Happiness is me. I see the mountains and they are massive and white, the snow gums glisten, the jigsaw clouds show a dark blue sky, and when I ski past Nathan and Dad I even yell out a really embarrassing hi.
I must be happy!
We have hot chocolate with Jordan and Angus in the Crystal Palace Cafe. The wooden floor is like a lake from all the melted snow on people’s boots, and the air is hot and steamy. We sit on big wooden benches and ask each other questions about where we live, how old we are, and what schools we go to. Cass says more than I do, and Jordan talks more than Angus does, which surprises me, because I thought he would be quiet. He’s serious, though.
‘It must be good living in the mountains.’ He’s sitting opposite me. ‘I think it’d be fantastic.’
That’s what I like to hear!
‘It stinks sometimes,’ says Cass honestly. ‘There’s not much to do, is there, Tiff? Not even the movies in Tilgong, where we live. You would’ve come through it on your way up. Unless you came by helicopter. Did you?’
‘Nah,’ says Jordan. ‘I saw it, though. I saw the lake.’
Cass is funny. If someone says good things about Tilgong, she will tell them about its bad side – but if someone knocks Tilgong, she’ll say it’s the best place in the world.
‘Yeah, it’s all right,’ I say, before realising something that lands on me like a load of snow tipping off a branch. ‘But I don’t live there any more. I just moved away. I live down the mountain in Mittavale because my mum –’ Enough! ‘We just left. What’s it like living in Melbourne?’
But I’m not thinking about living in Melbourne, am I? I’m thinking about living in Queensland.
Jordan wipes away a moustache of chocolate milk. I hate to say it, but he kind of looks rich. Like, the top he’s got on under his parka is a really nice blue and his T-shirt is bright white, like it’s just come out of the packet. He is a bit dashing.
‘I reckon most places are good and bad,’ he says. ‘I haven’t been in Melbourne for long, but it’s okay. You make friends at school and stuff. It’s all right.’
Nervousness scampers through my stomach.
‘I’ve got to start a new school on Monday. It’s freakin’ me out.’
Cass taps my hand with a spoon. ‘Ah, you’ll be right, Tiff. Don’t stress. You’ll probably see half the kids from there up here today anyway.’
Angus nods. ‘Yeah, Jordan fitted in really easily. He’s from Surfers Paradise in Queensland.’
WHAT?
‘Really?’ I say. ‘My mum just moved up there. What’s it like? I’m going up there in three weeks to visit. I’ve never been there before in my life.’ I can’t help but look at Jordan directly. I need answers! And now.
‘It’s good,’ he says. ‘But Melbourne’s okay. Bigger and colder. I thought I might hate it, but I don’t. It’s good.’
It feels like I’ve got a million questions, but when I try to ask one, I can’t think of any. I’ve just got this curiosity about Queensland, not a list of questions ready to go. I agree with what Jordan said about places being both good and bad, though.
‘I go back a lot,’ he says. ‘I might be going up there these holidays. My Dad hasn’t worked it out yet.’
That sounds interesting – but I think it might also be none of my business.
‘We’d better go, Cass,’ I say. ‘Remember we’ve got to meet Nathan and Dad at the chairlift at twelve.’ I have to do what my dad says up here – well, mostly – otherwise he won’t bring us.
‘Rightee-o.’ Cass spoons out a melted marshmallow and eats it. ‘We might see you guys later, then. Don’t ski off any cliffs.’
We stand up.
‘Okay. Yeah, take it easy.’ Jordan wears his goggles around his neck like an old-fashioned pilot. ‘You two are really good skiers. Nice to meet you, Tiffany.’
I pull a face. ‘Cass is the best. And it was nice to meet you, too,’ I add quickly. ‘See ya.’ Then we clump up the wet steps and out into the cold white world.
What a day.
*
On Saturday night, Mum rings me and Nathan at Mitta. I get the phone first.
‘So, what’s it like?’ I ask, and immediately want to tell her about Jordan.
She laughs. ‘Oh, it’s all right. I’m really just busy organising things. I just rang to wish you good luck with school. I’m sure everything will go fine because you’re such a beautiful kid. I love you, Tiff.’
‘I love you, too,’ I say quickly. ‘Here’s Nathan. Don’t hang up after him.’ I give the kid the phone, see my dad waving from the kitchen,
and I realise that this whole damn thing wouldn’t be so bad if my mum wasn’t so far away.
I actually don’t know where she is. Yeah, she’s in Surfers Paradise – but where is that exactly? And I hate to say this, but she’s too far away to be any real help. Like if I’m sick or something happens, Dad is always going to have to look after me. She can’t. Not from up there. It makes me angry. And I don’t even think she realises.
Or not properly.
Centre of attention
Monday morning. Nine a.m. The Principal of Mittavale Primary School takes me to my classroom. Even as she’s talking and being friendly, and even as I’m answering and trying to smile, my stomach is squirming. I want to run. My new red school bomber jacket feels stiff, like I’m stuck in a bag.
‘You’ll fit in very well, Tiff.’ Mrs Tarrant knocks on a door that is half glass. ‘The children and Mrs Henderson will make you feel right at home. We get new children quite often, which is great. I think we’ll be getting another new student next week. So you won’t be the latest arrival for very long.’
I nod, but I’m not listening about this other new kid, I’m too busy worrying about me. I can see rows of heads and lots of big projects on the walls. And then I’m inside and everyone’s staring. I feel like I’m in slow-motion as I move around the room then sit. The board’s full of neat writing. Wherever I look there are eyes on me. I look at my table. Someone’s drawn eyes on that as well!
I’m aware of lots of little noises; chairs scraping, a pen dropping, words being said, the heaters ticking. The room smells okay, anyway, and that’s a bonus. I see flowers in a vase on the teacher’s table.
‘Tiffany comes to us from Tilgong Primary,’ Mrs Tarrant tells the class. ‘She now lives in Mittavale and will be with us for the rest of the year. I know, of course, 6H, you will make her most welcome.’
This is my new classroom. I can feel everything around me; the dusty warmth of the air, the rickety table under my elbow, the lino under my shoes, my backpack on my knees. I take out my old Tilgong folder, which feels heavy with its new lined pages, and I see down next to my lunch a little red present. Dad must’ve put it there! For a few seconds I stop feeling scared. I don’t take the present out, though, just my school stuff.
‘Well, Tiffany,’ says Mrs Henderson, who has dark curly hair, ‘why don’t you stand up and tell us a little bit, whatever you like, about the school and place that you’ve come from, and perhaps what football team you barrack for –’
As soon as Mrs Henderson mentions footy, the class goes mad.
‘Go Bombers! Go Cats! Go Tigers! Go Roo Boys!’
I grin a bit. I’m used to footy madness. I stand up. The class goes quiet. Everybody is looking at me. I feel myself going red.
‘My name is Tiffany Porter,’ I say. ‘I come from Tilgong up the mountain, and I’ve moved down here because, well, I just have, and I don’t really follow any footy team except I do like Essendon a –’
Again the class goes off. Mrs Henderson quietens them down, but she doesn’t seem too worried, which is probably a good sign. And on I go with my little speech, which I finish with the words, ‘and now I live here.’
And for some reason, like when I left Tilgong, everybody claps.
Dad meets me after school. I didn’t want him to, but I suppose it’s okay. We walk home with Nathan. It’s cold but sunny. The colours are bright and the sounds are loud. I don’t talk. I’m tired.
‘This school’s better than Tilgong.’ Nathan jabs a stick into someone’s nature strip. ‘Bigger oval and everything.’
I haven’t got the energy to argue. I’m here now so there’s nothing to argue about. This town doesn’t feel like home. The streets don’t feel right. It’s all too flat and low-down and the trees are too far away. I’m used to feeling that I’m somewhere – like, in the high country – but here I’m nowhere. Mitta’s just a plain old flat town. Still, I can see the mountains, white with snow, and I suppose it will be interesting to see what a new place has got to offer.
Mum will have settled-in in Surfers now and I bet she’s sad. In one way I wish I was there to cheer her up, but on the other hand, I know with Dad that everything will go along okay here. He makes sure everything is organised. I feel safe down here.
‘Would it be warm enough to swim where Mum is?’ Nathan asks Dad. ‘Like, right now? In winter?’
‘Maybe.’ Dad gives Nathan a pat on his backpack. ‘Not a lot of skiing, though. That’s for sure.’
When I see the mountains, snow-covered against the sky, something inside me seems to expand. They are like their own kingdom, a different land, or a line of huge white castles from some big book. They look like you could never get up there, but you can, and it’s beautiful.
We get to our house. It’s plain like a white wooden box with a scraggly garden. Dad didn’t buy it; it’s just rented. I look in the letterbox, hoping to see some letters, but there’s nothing in there but a worried little brown spider.
*
After tea I ring Cass. Her mum answers. Mrs Jurgens sounds pleased to hear from me. This cheers me up.
‘I knew your first day would be fine,’ she says. ‘Now hang on, dear, and I’ll just go and get Cass. She’s off somewhere having a whinge about something, I think.’
I can hear Cass in the background complaining about a lost CD. Now she’s talking to me.
‘So what’s it like? D’you like it? Is it good? Are the boys all right?’ She laughs. ‘Or is it all hopeless?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ I say. ‘It’s all right, I s’pose. There’s a kid called Jodie looking after me, and she seems okay. So at least I know where the toilets are. It’s weird. It’s big. Like a city.’
‘I bet.’ Cass is quiet for a while. ‘Well, we miss you here. No one’s sitting at your table yet. It’s just there, by itself.’
I can imagine my table. It’s a good one, not new, but without too many dints and scratches. Soon someone will take it because they’ll think it’s better than theirs. And then it won’t be mine any more.
‘So,’ I say. ‘I wonder what Queensland’s like?’
‘You’ll be up there soon,’ Cass says. ‘So you’ll know. I wish I was. It’ll be really exciting. I mean, to visit. Not to live. I said, not to live, Tiff.’
‘I am coming back,’ I say. ‘You know I am.’
‘Yeah, this time.’ Cass’s words hang in telephone space.
‘Promise to call me tomorrow,’ I say. ‘Otherwise I’ll go mad.’
Later, I remember Dad’s present is still in my backpack. I go and get it. It’s an empty little photo album and a card that says, ‘Smile! Soon you’ll have lots of new happy photos to put in here. Love, Dad.’
That could be difficult. I mean, apart from everything else, I don’t have a camera.
Getting on with cats and dogs
One morning, I realise I’m not nervous about going to school any more. I can’t even remember how many days I’ve been here. And although Mitta’s a bigger school than Tilgong, and it’s noisier and wilder, I’ve got some friends. I miss Cass, though. There’s no one else in the world that I can talk to like her.
A few girls have asked me about my mum, but I only say, ‘She’s gone to Queensland for her job.’ Everyone knows there’s more to it than that, but no one tries to find out. Or if they do, I don’t answer.
My room in our new house is starting to feel like my room. It’s got all my stuff in it, for a start. And it smells good, because Dad painted it. And when I come home, the house seems more friendly, as if we’re getting used to each other. And the street does have a little hill up one end and you can see paddocks with cows. Plus I know all the houses now, and some of the cats and dogs come out to see me. And there are white cockatoos down here, which there aren’t in Tilgong.
In less than two weeks I go to Queensland. Dad has booked the ticket – and although the reason I’m going is serious, I’m still excited.
‘And when you come back,’ he sa
id cheerfully, ‘the weather might be a bit brighter. Not so many storms. Just sunny for skiing.’
In late winter the air seems to soften and lose its icy edge. But in Queensland it would never have an icy edge at all. I can’t imagine it never being cold. I’m sure Mum can.
It’s strange to be packing my stuff for Queensland. Outside a freezing wind is trying to drag the leaves off the trees by the river, but inside I’m putting a beach towel, sunglasses, sun cream, shorts and stuff into my bag. Mum rings every night. She says the weather up there has been good, but she hasn’t been swimming much, as it isn’t that warm. Her job is going well and she’s busy.
I tell her our news, which is really just about settling in. She sounds happy, especially when I say things are okay, and that Nathan seems happy whenever I see him at school – or hear his voice from about three hundred metres away.
‘Only two days until I see you,’ she says. ‘We’re going to have a really good time, Tiff. I think you’ll be surprised how much you like it up here.’
I think I’d be surprised if I like it very much at all, but I don’t say that. Still, I’m excited – as in forty-eight hours, man, I’ll be outta here and flying high.
I’m sitting in class, watching some girls playing netball outside, when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Mrs Tarrant, the Principal, with a new kid – probably the one she told me about on my first day. Everyone is looking, and when I do manage to get a glimpse of this new girl, my heart misses one very big beat.
It’s Hildy Brooking.
She’s had her hair cut short and she’s bigger, but it is most definitely, absolutely, positively Hildy. I can’t hold myself back.
‘Hildy!’ I call out and jump up. ‘Hildy! It’s me, Tiff! What are you doing here?’
Hildy suddenly looks so happy I feel like I might start crying. We smile at each other across the classroom as if we’re long-lost sisters. I see she’s got braces on her teeth.
‘Tiff!’ She holds her old Tilgong backpack in front of her. ‘I’ve come back here to live. But, so, what are you doing here? How come you’re down here?’
Tiff and the Trout Page 9