When I think about the house I feel a quiet sort of sadness. It’s not my house any more. It’s all locked up and I’m locked out – kind of locked away from years of my life. All the happy feelings and good things that happened there are only in my head now. It’s like that old saying: you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. But when it has gone, boy, you know about it then.
Since Mum and Dad split up I’ve lost so much. I lost my house, my room, my garden, my town, my mountains, my rivers, and the General Store – and all the stuff that families do together, even like going out to tea, because we simply aren’t together to do it. I don’t feel so safe, either. I mean, I thought our family was a good one and it just fell apart. So, you never know what can happen, really.
God, how many things can make you sad? Millions. People can. Houses. Places. Photos. Songs. Stories. Words. Fights. Lies. The truth. The weather. Plenty more. Millions of things can make you happy, too, I guess. I stand the penguin on the coffee table. Well, if a penguin can live in Queensland, why can’t I? I mean, maybe all I need to do is buy some bracelets like those girls at the beach had – and then I’d have a brand-new life. Jordan certainly seems okay with it.
Usually kids just do what their parents decide. You live where your family lives. You go to the school you’re told to go to. You eat the food you’re told to eat, unfortunately, and that’s how it is. So it’s strange to think that I can decide where I live. It’d be a lot easier if it were up to Cass! She wouldn’t even consider letting me go anywhere.
And neither would I … normally. But things are not normal any more. And so maybe, this time, I should be thinking firstly about my mum instead of … me. Perhaps I should come up here? Perhaps I should.
But then Dad and Nathan would be so far away. And Cass. And Hildy. And the mountains, the rivers, the silly old Mittavale house and – oh, I don’t know!
Yes, I do.
I’ll think about it LATER, because what I really, really want is just one STRESS-FREE day.
Beautiful bathers
Ringing up and visiting boys is something I haven’t done much of – well, actually, it’s something I haven’t done any of. I need Cass to help, but since she’s not here, I’ll have to do it myself.
I really want to talk to Jordan about his family situation. I’ve talked to Hildy about her stuff, and now I want to talk to Jordan. I need information.
‘I’m ringing Jordan,’ I yell at the kitchen. ‘Shut the door, please.’
Mum does and I dial quickly, giving myself no time to chicken out. I pray he’ll answer … brrr-brrr, brrr-brrr – and he does, thank goodness.
‘Jordan,’ I say, ‘it’s Tiffany Porter here. Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think it would be okay if I talked to you, well, about how you got through your family breaking-up thing? Would that be all right? I know I hardly know you, but I’m kind of desperate because my family just broke up, too, and – I’m really sorry to ask you, but there’s only one other person I know who’s gone through this, and she’s in a different type of situation to me and I was … would you? Please? I’m –’ I stop talking.
Man, my face is so hot. But I will not hang up!
Cass would give me a medal.
And I would deserve it.
‘Oh, okay,’ Jordan says slowly. ‘Sure. Well, um, I guess I can tell you some things, maybe. A bit. I mean – yeah, all right. D’you want to meet on the beach tomorrow? Like ten o’clock, near the flags? It’s going to be warmer than today.’
‘Yep,’ I say. ‘I’ll be there. Thanks, Jordan. I just need to know how you got through things because I –’ SHUT UP, TIFF! ‘Ten o’clock, near the flags. Thanks. Bye. I’ll see you there.’ I hang up and collapse onto the couch.
Done.
Just.
Mum has given me permission to go to the beach, as long as I promise not to go swimming. And as long as she can walk me down there to make sure everything is okay. I have to agree, although it will be embarrassing. And here I was thinking that getting stuck in the Warrigal River with Lane was a difficult situation.
I’ve got on a floppy white hat and Jordan’s got on a purple Quicksilver cap and his wrap-around sunglasses. We sit on our towels and look at the sea. I realise I’m – well, not un-happy. I mean I am – about family stuff – but I’m ready to laugh as well. Hey, I am on holidays. And it is a beautiful day. And this is a beautiful place. The beach is so long it is like looking down a gold and blue road that stretches into the distance forever.
‘So your dad lives here?’ I say, watching the sea coming in and going out, at the same time occasionally, which is odd. ‘And your mum lives in Melbourne?’ I feel guilty asking Jordan these things because I hardly even know him, but I’m desperate. ‘Look, I know this is hard to talk about,’ I add, ‘and if you don’t want to, I’ll understand, but it’s just that –’
Jordan leans back on his elbows, watching the surfers. I can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, so I have to rely on what he says, and how his words sound.
‘No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. It’s a while ago now, anyway.’
I run my fingertips through the warm sand. ‘So your mum lives –’
‘In Melbourne.’ Jordan frowns. ‘She’s from down there, so she wanted to go back when um, they … broke up. My grandma’s there and stuff. So my sister and I went with her.’ He watches the surfers twisting and turning. ‘Dad couldn’t have us. He goes away for work too much. But he mostly works at home when I’m here.’ Jordan points towards his apartment block. ‘He’s up there now. He’s probably watching us.’
Oh, dear, I hope not. He might have a telescope. Luckily I’ve still got my shirt on … but look at my poor pale legs!
‘So,’ I say, ‘you really didn’t have any choice who you went with? Because you couldn’t have stayed with your dad, could you?’
It’s hard to tell where Jordan’s looking with his sunglasses on. I’ve got sunnies, too. I feel a bit stupid in them, to tell the truth, but anyway … Jordan glances at me.
‘Dad thought it would be better if Natalie and I went to Melbourne. Natalie’s still small. Grade two. So we went.’
‘How did you feel?’ I ask. ‘Like, leaving your dad behind? Because I –’ I can’t say what I think because … I don’t know.
Jordan pokes holes in the sand, making a dry scritchy-scratchy sound.
‘You get used to it.’ He looks at me. I see me in his sunglasses. I look like a lizard, all stretched out. ‘You have to.’
I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about this. I’m not going to force him to. I’m going to shut up.
‘I won’t ask you any more.’
He shrugs, rubbing sand off his hands. ‘My dad and I used to do stuff. Swim and play cricket, go to the footy to see the Lions, but we can’t any more, except when I’m up here. But I got over that as well.’
I feel so sorry for Jordan. He keeps saying he’s got over things, but I don’t think he’s over them at all. I mean, I’m not over anything, either. You go to school and do homework and muck around with your friends, but half the time you’re either thinking about your problems, or your brain’s thinking about them without you even knowing – and that gives you headaches. Or that’s what I think. Just call me Doctor Tiff.
‘It’s horrible,’ I say, and feel that if I’m not careful I could end up crying, and that would be awfully embarrassing in front of someone I hardly know. And on the beach as well.
Jordan watches a small blue plane flying over.
‘We’ve been in Melbourne for a year. But maybe I might come back here when I’m older, I don’t know.’ He rubs the tops of his bumpy knees. ‘So what do you think you’ll do? Stay or go back? Those mountains are good. The skiing and stuff. I never really realised that people in Australia do live in the mountains.’
I think of the mountains. Oh, people live there all right!
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Sometimes I think Mitta, then I think I should be up he
re with Mum. Then I think the mountains, then the beach. I dunno, really. But it is pretty nice up here. I do like it.’
Jordan turns over to lie on his stomach, like I am. Our faces are quite close. He smells of suntan lotion, which is a nice smell. My mum bought me this suntan stuff that is about factor one thousand. It’s more like craft glue. I won’t be getting any tan at all, unless it sticks on.
‘Well, they get sad, your parents,’ he says. ‘But your mum seems pretty happy up here, doesn’t she? And it’s a good place to live.’ Jordan grins. ‘You could learn to surf. Plenty of girls do.’
I nod. The water sparkles. The air’s full of sunshine and happy yelling. I guess I could live here. It might be great.
‘Let’s go in,’ I say, and kneel up. ‘I know I shouldn’t, but who cares?’ The water is blue and white striped, like toothpaste, except better.
‘Good thinking.’ Jordan drops his sunglasses on his towel. ‘You can swim, can’t you? I mean …’
‘No,’ I say, and give him a look. ‘Yes, of course I can!’ We swim between the flags and don’t go out far. The water feels soft and clean, the waves slop over us, and the currents aren’t too strong. We let ourselves get pushed around and drag our fingers along the sandy bottom. It’s like being in a wonderful, wild, bumpy, bath. I don’t care that Mum told me not to go swimming. Why should I listen to her all the time? I’m getting sick of being told what I can and can’t do. I’ll swim if I want. It’s no big deal.
‘My parents shit me sometimes,’ I say, but that’s not that true, really, and it just sounds childish. Maybe I’m just saying this junk to make Jordan feel better – except he doesn’t seem to be listening and all I’m doing is making myself feel awful. He probably thinks I’m stupid.
‘Sometimes, for sure,’ he says. He flicks water back towards the beach. ‘I think we’d better go in. There’s my dad. The one in the black and white board shorts. With that lady with all the plaits. Carla. His girlfriend.’
Jordan’s dad is tall, fit-looking, and from this distance, with his sunglasses on, his eyes are like two black holes. He looks angry. The lady he’s with has on a bright yellow bikini top and white shorts. She’s tall, too. And brown.
We walk in. Under my feet the sand is like grainy jelly. It tickles but I don’t laugh. Jordan’s dad waits, brown arms crossed. I don’t think he’s gone for the factor one thousand sunscreen. I don’t think anyone else on the whole beach has, except for me, and perhaps a couple of babies.
‘You were told not to swim, Jordan,’ he says. ‘That was one of the things we talked about.’
Jordan keeps walking. ‘I’m getting my towel,’ he says. ‘This is Tiffany.’
‘Hi, Tiffany.’ Jordan’s dad nods at me. ‘I don’t think you should’ve been swimming either, Tiffany, do you? Not without an, ah, adult around.’
I see myself reflected in his sunglasses. I look wonky and white. Which isn’t particularly good.
‘No,’ I say, and go quickly towards my stuff, hands clasped against my chest. Uh-oh.
Jordan flops down on his towel. ‘He’ll get over it. I scratched his jet ski with my bike the other day. And he went totally off the rails about that.’
My dad hates jet-skis, but I don’t think now is the time to mention it.
Jordan and I sit. We don’t move near his dad. This worries me. Maybe we should at least be sitting near. I check out Carla. She’s very glamorous and ‘well-developed’ as Cass would say. She’s lying on her back, eyes shut, tiny plaits spread out around her like a splash. Mr Jordan suddenly turns over and props himself up on his elbows. He waves a hand. A silver bracelet jumps. Everybody’s got a bracelet! Even Jordan. His is orange and black, made of cord. I’ll have to get one.
‘Hey, you two,’ he calls out. ‘Come over here. I can’t talk to you when you’re two hundred metres away.’
For a moment Jordan doesn’t move, then he slowly stands, and shakes his towel.
‘This’ll be good,’ he mutters.
I collect my stuff and we go over. I can tell that Jordan’s not too unhappy to be moving closer to his dad. Jordan’s like Nathan. Half the time he has to be asked to do things that he really wants to do anyway. It’s interesting how you can feel other people’s feelings without them telling you. Of course it can lead to trouble if you’re wrong.
We put our towels down. I’m getting better at it. I don’t muck around like a cat circling a cushion – just plonk and in for a landing. Mr Taylor grabs Jordan’s ankle.
‘Come here, Jordy-boy!’ He starts dragging, but Jordan breaks free. His dad looks disappointed. ‘Oh, Jordy, I only wanted to talk to ya, feller.’
‘Bad luck!’ Jordan turns his back and buries his head between his arms. ‘I’ve got nothin’ to say.’
Carla smiles at me. She’s got white teeth and freckles. She’s nice-looking and she’s pretty big, especially close-up. She’s at least twice the size of me, in all ways. Her hair is the colour of sand and driftwood.
‘They’re very nice bathers you’ve got, Tiffany,’ she says to me. ‘Did you get them in Surfers?’
Oh! I look down at myself. My bathers are a yellow and blue one-piece with a zip at the back. I’ve got to admit I like them, too. They make me feel sleek!
‘My mum made them,’ I say. ‘I mean, she designed them. She works here. In Surfers.’ Suddenly I feel very proud of my mum. ‘For White Sand Design Company. She lives up here, but my dad doesn’t.’ God, motor mouth.
Carla looks at my bathers as if she knows a lot about bathers.
‘Well, they’re beautiful.’ She smiles and her teeth are white, white, white. ‘You tell your mum she’s very smart.’ Then Carla lies down again and shuts her eyes.
‘I will,’ I say. ‘Yours are nice, too.’
Carla twinkles her fingers. I would like to talk to her more, but she seems busy with sunbaking. I like her. I can tell. Don’t think she’d suit my dad, though. Too big, for one thing. And for another, how come all these adults are on the beach on a Wednesday morning?
Shouldn’t they be at work?
A table for two
I’ve never been to a place like this before. Mum has taken me to a hotel for afternoon tea. We each sit on a little couch in a corner and a guy in a white jacket brings us coffee – well, Coke for me – and cakes. As Cass would say, it’s simply magnificent. Outside there’s a pool that looks so clear and deep I feel like running out there and diving in.
There are other people in the lounge. They look rich. All the ladies have brand new handbags and big earrings, and the men have shiny watches, mobile phones, and sunglasses. I’m the youngest one here – and then Mum, I would say. She’s got on a dress that has a kind of Japanese floral pattern and no sleeves. She looks cool, in all ways! We talk about my new school.
‘I sit in the middle of the room next to Hildy,’ I tell her. ‘And I don’t say much.’
Mum opens a skinny packet of sugar. She smiles.
‘You haven’t been told off for talking, then?’
‘Nope,’ I say. ‘I haven’t been told off for anything.’ Which is true … I haven’t been told off, but I have been talked to about a few things. ‘It’s not as good as Tilgong,’ I add. ‘It’s way too big. Schools up here would be big, too, wouldn’t they? Really big.’ I’m picking on Mum. I’m trying to make her feel bad about leaving us and making me leave Tilgong.
‘I’m not sure,’ she says, looking at me, as she slowly stirs her coffee. ‘I think the high school is quite large. Most high schools are.’ She takes a sip. ‘Even the one at Mitta.’
I don’t really care about how big schools are. Mitta Secondary is pretty big, so if I go there I’ll be going to a big school, anyway. I just want to make Mum feel guilty. This whole thing’s her fault.
‘Nathan’s been in a few fights,’ I say. ‘With bullies.’ This isn’t true. I don’t know why I’m saying it. I don’t know why I’m trying to hurt Mum. To pay her back, I guess.
Mum looks at me then she
looks outside. There’s no one in the pool. All the lounge chairs are straight and the garden is perfectly neat. It looks like a photograph. Mum stares. I think she might cry. I don’t feel very good. I feel pretty terrible. Mum’s done everything to try and make me happy up here and I’ve just tried to upset her. She doesn’t deserve it, but I’ve done it anyway.
She looks at the pool and the white chairs. The fringes on the yellow umbrellas don’t move. I slump down and look at my sneakers. I’ve ruined this afternoon and I know it’s going to cost a lot of money as well. And that makes me feel worse, because I know Mum hasn’t got a lot. I saw in her purse. One twenty dollar note and one ten. I bet Jordan’s dad’s wallet is stacked.
‘School’s all right,’ I say, and try to think of something good about it. ‘They’ve got really good high-jump mats. And Hildy’s funny. She’s funnier now than she used to be. She’s kind of gone madder since she left and came back again.’
Mum smiles a different kind of a smile than I’m used to. It’s small and vague and fades as quickly as the breeze.
‘Things have changed, haven’t they, Tiff? I’m sorry that they had to, but here we are.’
I nod. I understand. I do. Nothing is ever going to be the same and that’s just how it is.
The jet set
I meet Jordan again on the beach and this time we don’t go swimming. Tonight I’m going to his place for tea. Yo! Way up there on the twenty-first floor. We’re just friends, although he is very nice.
Jordan didn’t go to school in Surfers. He went to a grammar school a fair few kilometres away. It sounded great, with a huge gym and tennis courts and a pool, and he said if I went there he’d tell the kids he knows to look after me – but it didn’t sound like the sort of school my parents could afford. Anyway, on Sunday I’ll be going back to Melbourne and Mitta and after that, who knows?
Tiff and the Trout Page 11