Tiff and the Trout

by David Metzenthen

  After tea, Jordan puts on a video, but I don’t know whether to look at it, or the sea, or all the lights of the city. It’s amazing up here. It’s like being in a satellite going over the whole world.

  ‘When do you have to make up your mind where you live?’ Jordan asks. His dad and Carla are in the kitchen trying to work out a new coffee machine.

  ‘When I get back to Mitta, I suppose.’

  ‘Those mountains,’ says Jordan. ‘No wonder you’re a good skier. They’re great.’

  I nod. Right at this moment I could hardly care where I live. It’s like I’m so sick of thinking about it maybe I’ll just flip a coin. I feel like a kite that has been let go, or a letter without a stamp, or a scrap of paper blowing. I never used to feel like this. Never.

  ‘Hey,’ Jordan says, and tosses me three gold-wrapped chocolates. ‘It could be worse. You’ve still got your parents, it’s just that they live in different places. It’s not the end of the world. Wherever you live is gunna be good.’

  That’s true, of course. But it still doesn’t make me feel all that happy. I try to be happy, but sometimes you just can’t affect the way you feel down deep inside.

  ‘In summer my dad and I go fly fishing,’ I say, because suddenly I want to talk about something that I know I really do like. ‘We catch trout. The rivers are fantastic at home, although there’s one where I live that’s so wild you could drown in it, and I nearly did.’

  ‘I’ve seen fly fishing on TV,’ says Jordan. ‘Those guys make it look easy, but I reckon it’d be pretty hard. Especially if there’s a few trees around.’

  I lean forward, keen to explain.

  ‘Well, it is a bit tricky,’ I say. ‘But if someone teaches you at the start it’s all right. I could show you if …’ What am I saying? How embarrassing. ‘I could teach you if you ever come to the mountains.’

  Jordan smiles and puts his feet up on the couch, which is black and white.

  ‘You could teach me if you ever came to live up here.’ He’s almost joking, but not quite. ‘There mightn’t be any trout, but hey, there’s plenty of water.’

  That’s a point.

  I look out again. Man, it’s black but the lights are like a sea of stars. It’s funny to think of how you get to be where you are. It’s exciting, in a way. Scary too, I suppose. Things change, sometimes even when you don’t want them to.

  ‘You’ll work it out, Tiff,’ Jordan unwraps another chocolate. There’s a big box of them. ‘One day I reckon it’ll just hit you where you want to live, and it’ll be all fixed.’ He smiles widely. ‘And if you don’t, someone else’ll tell you anyway!’

  ‘You sound like my friend Cass,’ I say. ‘You don’t have a big stupid dog called Wally, do you?’

  ‘No.’ Jordan throws me another chocolate. ‘But my mum’s got a poodle called Cupcake, and that’s a lot worse.’

  Cupcake?

  Sheezus! I’ll say.

  Last walk – last words

  My trip is just about over. Today I go back to Dad and Nathan in Mitta. Mum and I go for a last beach walk. The sun is hidden and out on the horizon it looks like someone has hung a black, dangerous-looking curtain. The waves are wild and smash themselves into thick white lines. No one’s surfing. The beach feels different. The whole place does. It’s not warm and sexy, it’s cold and empty, and the sand stings as it blows.

  I think Mum’s embarrassed that I’m seeing the place like this, gloomy and grey, the water dull and scary.

  ‘The sun can’t shine every day, can it, Tiff?’ She holds back her whipping hair. ‘But life goes on. I like the sea like this, too. A different mood.’

  Mum also seems different today. At home in Tilgong she was always in the lounge or kitchen, or shopping, working, or reading. She was always like a mother – but here she’s not like a mother much at all. She’s someone living her life away from me, away from Nathan, and Dad. She’s separate from us. She’s changed. I mean I still love her, but out here on the beach I can see she thinks a lot about things that I don’t know about. It worries me. If she’s like this after a few weeks, what’ll she be like after a few months? Maybe she won’t want to know us at all?

  She hasn’t asked me if I’ll come up to live – not that I know the answer, but I do wish she’d say she wants me to. We walk, the wind pushing us down the beach. Suddenly she puts her arm around me.

  ‘Tiff, I’m sure you could be very happy here. And I would love you to come, but I know you might have just as many reasons for staying in Mitta, and I understand that, too.’

  Well, what d’you know? I wait for more, and nearly trip over a stick some dog left behind.

  ‘I guarantee you’d like it up here.’ Mum gives me an extra-hard hug. ‘But don’t ever worry about me being by myself.’ She smiles brightly. She looks brave! ‘Because I chose this place and I’ll be fine.’ She keeps on smiling. ‘But I’d be happier and finer with you here, of course. And Nathan.’

  That’s good to know – although I really wouldn’t want Dad to hear it.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘But do you think I’d really like living up here? Like, really?’

  Mum holds me by my shoulders.

  ‘You would love it. I’d make sure you did.’

  And now I’m beginning to think that maybe she might be right.

  We’re quiet on the way to the airport. I don’t feel very well. I’m nervous about the plane and I don’t want to leave – because suddenly I know I’ve had a great time up here. I liked the beach and going places, and meeting Jordan, and going out to tea. And even the shopping wasn’t too bad. I’ve had fun.

  Things have changed a lot – but I guess I still have parents and they both want to have me and Nathan, so – so we’ll always have at least two places to go and be looked after.

  At the airport, Mum waits with me until the last moment. We try not to cry and nearly make it – except when I’m in the line to go through the doors to the plane. Then I do, but as soon as I have my seat – number 27 C – I feel okay. Tired, but okay.

  The plane takes off and soon the land below is creeping past. I’m exhausted. Over the last week I’ve been happy, sad, happy, sad, so many times I’ve got no energy left – but I would like something to eat. Bring on the food bags!

  Slam

  The plane comes in low over Melbourne, lands with a slam, and in five minutes flat I’m in the terminal and talking to Cass, Dad and Nathan. I am so happy to see them that I feel a bit dizzy.

  ‘You should see the snow,’ Cass says, talking fast. ‘There’s heaps left. I skied with Hildy the other day. She’s a rocket. And there’s a new jump that goes off and – how’s Jordan?’ Cass pokes me. ‘Eh? How’s hot-boy?’

  ‘No comment,’ I say. ‘Until we get home.’

  ‘It’s good to see you, Tiff.’ Dad hugs me. ‘How was the sunshine state?’

  ‘A bit wet,’ I say. ‘But good, I guess.’

  ‘I’m bored!’ Nathan yells, dragging at Dad’s arm. ‘Let’s get out of here!’

  Obviously not all things change when you’re away.

  Listen carefully

  Home sweet home – Mittavale, anyway – and the first thing I notice is how cold the air is. It presses itself around me as soon as I get out of the car. And when I breathe in I feel it go all the way down. Then I notice that I can see things faster here. In Queensland, your eyes have to push through haze or too-bright sunshine, or see around monster high-rise buildings. Here, instantly, I can see that the snow that is left is whiter than any Queensland sand could ever be.

  My face is brown. I look different and feel different. I feel older, and as if I know more about Mum and her job. And I know about Surfers and Queensland and what it’s like. And yes, I guess I could live there – but you always think that about a place where you’ve just been on holidays.

  Mitta is quiet, compared to Surfers. In Mitta you’ll hear magpies, a chainsaw in the distance, and cars going slowly towards town. In Queensland you’ll hear seagulls,
the boom-crashhhhh of waves, the screech and growl of building sites, and always the sound of the radio floating to you out of someone’s window.

  I spend a lot of time just sitting in Mitta. I’ll always have a book to read, but sometimes I just stare out of the window. From my room I can see the backyard, the fence, and the Poplar trees in the paddocks. I worked out, with Nathan’s bushwalking compass, which way is north and where the Gold Coast is. I also know that if I hiked up above Mitta I would find the Brumby Run River and a million mighty trees. Another thing I worked out is that it’s impossible to be in two places at once.

  Today is the first Monday of the last term of the year. Some kids are moaning and groaning, but I’m not. Mrs Henderson sets good projects and stuff. We work in pairs and you’re allowed to talk. I work with Hildy. She’s a smart kid, but I can draw better, so we’re a good team.

  I try to think only about school when I’m there, because before and after school my head is full of family stuff. Mrs Henderson, our teacher, seems happy with me.

  ‘You’ve been working hard,’ she tells me. ‘And I’m glad to see you and Hildy work so well together.’

  I actually haven’t been working as hard as I could, but don’t tell Mrs Henderson that. I just get my stuff done and in on time. Which is more than I can say about the decision of where I’m going to live. I simply keep putting THAT off.

  But I do know I can’t put it off forever.

  Fighting mad

  One thing I’ve noticed about Nathan is that if he gets mad these days, he gets really mad. I still tell him off, but I won’t fight with him, because he’s like a hurricane. He goes berserk; he punches, pulls my hair, he’ll kick. I keep away.

  Dad can handle him, though, because Dad is strong. Dad just wraps Nathan up in a bear hug and in the end he calms down. In fact, the angrier Nathan gets, the calmer Dad is.

  ‘It’s not all his fault,’ Dad tells me when Nathan’s in bed. ‘He’s upset about Mum and that’s how he shows it. He doesn’t even know why he’s doing it. It’s all he can do. We’ll just have to look after him.’

  ‘And stay out of his way,’ I suggest.

  *

  What people talk about in Mitta changes as the weather changes. As the spring snow disappears, skiing and snow-boarding go from conversations. Now people talk about sunshine, fishing, mountain bikes, going down to the coast, or to town.

  It’s hard to believe I was swimming at the beach when it was still freezing here. And I do dream about going back there. I imagine myself on the beach and it would never be cold. I’d be with Mum always and we’d have a good time.

  Dad has also been doing some dreaming. Or he’s trying to turn one of his dreams into real life. He wants to buy a house on the river out near Uncle Mark’s place.

  ‘I don’t want to live in town any more,’ he tells us. ‘We can’t live up at Tilgong, but we might be able to get something with a paddock where we can run around a bit. And set up a bike track and get that famous dog, and plant some trees, and swim and fish.’ Dad is smiling, just at the thought of doing all this stuff.

  So is Nathan. ‘That’d be unreal,’ he says, bouncing around. ‘We could make a flying fox, a windmill, and get a motorbike, and what sort of a dog?’

  ‘Steady, mate.’ Dad puts up a hand. ‘First I have to see if I can afford it.’

  True, but when Dad says he’s going to try to do something, he generally does. And you can’t ask for more than that.

  Right in my heart right now

  On Saturday, I wake up in a bad mood. Even my body is annoying me; it feels itchy and wrong, too fat here, too skinny there, too pale, too freckly – plus my hair’s stringy and my mouth tastes disgusting. Everything is getting on my nerves.

  I look at my wardrobe and hate all my stupid, dumb clothes. I look at my stupid little collection of shells, hairbrushes, bangles, caps and scrunchies on my stupid little dressing table and they make me twice as mad – at me! And where I live is a hole, too. So. What dumb things will I do in dumb old Mitta today? Nothin’, as usual. And Queensland’s no better. All those ugly buildings, pickled people, and those stuck-up kids. Me live there? No thanks!

  Me live here? No way!

  Already I wish today was over.

  I spend the morning sulking. Dad gets the message and when he tries to cheer me up I get even more stroppy. I’m really into my bad mood now!

  ‘Don’t forget Cass’s coming down,’ he says. ‘But I’ll tell her not to bother if you’re going to be like this.’

  I’d forgotten. She’s going to stay the night, too. We’re going to the pictures. God, I don’t want to miss out on that.

  ‘Hmmph,’ I say, go into the bathroom and turn the shower on, which will let Dad know that I’m getting going without me having to open my mouth. I don’t want to look like a total jellyfish. I do have my pride.

  In the afternoon, Cass and I walk to the playground. It’s not as good as the Tilgong park but there are swings, which Cass and I sit on. The mountains might be a long way off, but the river’s thirty metres away, so it’s not too bad, I guess.

  ‘I wonder what high school’ll be like down here?’ Cass starts ploughing up the tan bark with her heels. ‘If you stay, that is.’

  If I stay, if I stay. It’s like a song I can’t get out of my head.

  ‘Well, it’ll be bigger,’ I say. ‘And I’ll know a lot of the kids, and so will you, because you know me and I know them.’

  ‘And a bigger school –’ Cass swings hard, ‘will mean more boys and more boys will mean more fun.’ She laughs. ‘And your dad, too. Every day. Good morning, Mr Porter. Good afternoon, Mr Porter. Oh, beautiful.’

  I’d forgotten that. My dad teaches at Mitta Secondary College. My God, I hope I’m not in his English class. Now there is a huge reason for going to Queensland.

  ‘He’ll be really hard on you.’ Cass’s hair trails like fire. ‘To show everyone you’re not his favourite.’

  I watch the tan bark zoom past until I see Lane’s Black Grumbler coming into the car park. Out he gets wearing jeans and a red-checked shirt.

  ‘Look who’s here,’ Cass says. ‘It’s Harry Hollywood. I wish he’d turn down that shirt. It’s killing me.’

  I decide to talk to Lane. I haven’t spoken to him for a long time.

  ‘I’m just going to say hello,’ I say, and slide off my swing. ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’

  ‘Cool,’ says Cass. ‘Hey, it’s not me goin’ anywhere is it, Tiff? Hey, where would I go? Me, I’m stayin’ right here. Where you should be,’ she adds. ‘If you get my point.’

  As if I could miss it.

  *

  Lane and I walk down to the river. He has a fly rod with him; a black one that looks expensive and new. He waggles it.

  ‘Thought I’d try this out since my spinning rod’s still on the bottom of the river. Get a bit of practice in before the season opens – whenever that is.’

  ‘Three weeks,’ I say. ‘Not long.’

  I notice Lane doesn’t have his sunglasses on. He stands looking at the water, holding his rod stiffly.

  ‘So how the hell do I do this, Tiff?’

  ‘Pull some line out,’ I say. ‘Then just lift the rod back and bring it forward.’ I watch him. ‘Relax your arm. Yeah, like that.’

  Lane’s white fly line unfurls behind us then flies out over the water.

  I’ve seen worse.

  ‘So how’s your mum?’ he asks. ‘Up there in Queensland?’

  ‘Good.’ I tell Lane to loosen his grip on the rod. ‘I went up and saw her. It’s great up there. She really likes it. And her job.’

  Lane’s line falls in a big heap. He starts to sort it out.

  ‘She wasn’t that happy here, was she? That was kind of obvious.’ He loosens off the loops. ‘She wrote me a letter.’ He works at the loops patiently. ‘She said everything’s fine. And she hopes you might go up there to live.’

  I think of Queensland and then I think of here. And when I
think about Dad and Nathan, and school next year with Cass and Hildy, and the old farm house Dad wants, I suddenly realise … I suddenly realise I won’t be going to live there. I know it right in my heart right now. I’m going to stay right here in good old bloody Mitta.

  ‘I’m not going to live up there.’ The words feel strange as I say them, as if they’re new, or in an order that doesn’t make sense. ‘I’ll be staying here with Dad and Nathan.’

  Lane nods, not realising I’m saying something that is the most important thing I’ve said for years – maybe in my whole life.

  I’m not going there. I’m staying here. This is where I belong. This is home.

  ‘Yeah, Mitta’s all right.’ Lane casts – better this time. ‘And your dad’s here, and Nathan. And your friends and school and stuff.’

  ‘Yep,’ I say. ‘For sure.’

  Lane’s line curls in the current. I watch it. The river never stops. It keeps on going, changing, growing, shrinking, quiet, loud, always different.

  ‘When you talk to your mum next, Tiff,’ Lane says, ‘say hello from me, would you? Just hello.’

  I nod. ‘Sure.’ Lane’s a nice guy. I didn’t always think so, but I do now. I point to the swings.

  ‘Anyway, I’d better go. Cass’s over there. I’ll tell Mum what you said.’

  Lane looks at me. He’s not trying to be cool or anything.

  ‘Yeah, good on you, Tiff. Thanks.’ He holds up his fly rod as if it somehow proves a point. ‘And good luck with school and the trout and everything.’ He smiles his salesman smile. ‘I’ll even get a fishing licence this year.’

  ‘Yeah, you’d better. Bye.’ Then I turn and start to run. ‘Hey, Cass!’ My voice goes right across the park. The words feel big in my chest. ‘Hey, Cass! Cass, hey!’ I arrive out of breath.

  Cass stops her swing. I see she’s got tan bark stuck on her socks.