by Nova Weetman
‘Let go,’ she says, trying to pull her arm away, not really angry because it doesn’t hurt. She looks at him, but his face is haloed by the sun glaring behind it. She closes her eyes for a second, imagining she’s seven.
When she opens them, Mack is sitting on the towel beside her again. She looks over, wondering if she’s offended him by not fighting back like she would have once. But he doesn’t seem to be aware of her at all. And then she knows that Frankie is walking back from the water, face beaming, dripping wet and happy, and Mack is watching every step.
‘You going to get off my towel, Mack?’ asks Frankie in that direct way of hers.
‘Shit. Sorry.’ He moves fast, grabbing, shaking and trying to clean it all in one go.
Frankie grabs the towel from him, stretches it out on the grass and sits down. ‘That was great,’ she says.
‘You should be careful. Some kid smashed their head last week. Nearly died,’ says Mack in an offhand way.
‘Yeah?’
‘It’s not as deep as it looks.’ Mack starts to tell more, but Frankie’s reaching over for her bag, and watching her in motion stops his conversation. She pulls out her sunglasses.
Joely watches him watching. Right ankle. Left shoulder. Mouth. She hates seeing her cousin so stuck.
‘You want to sit, Mack?’ says Joely.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ he says, pacing.
‘Your mum told us to send you home,’ says Frankie in a voice Joely hasn’t heard before. ‘But we can pretend we didn’t see you, can’t we, Joel?’
Joely doesn’t know how to answer. She’s stuck without words. It’s like a test to see where her loyalties lie.
‘I just came into town to get some stuff for Dad. I’ve got jobs,’ says Mack. ‘Gotta go. See you later.’
As he slinks off, Joely realises she’s never really seen him like that. He’s always the sure one. It’s usually Thommo who seems nervous. Joely wonders if Frankie knows what sort of power she has.
‘Do you think someone really hit their head?’ says Frankie.
‘Probably. Don’t think he’d make it up.’
‘I knew it was too small. Told you,’ says Frankie.
Joely lies on her towel. She can’t be bothered with Frankie when she’s like this. She wonders how long this week will feel and, for a second, regrets inviting Frankie to Payne. If Frankie weren’t here, Joely would be riding an old bike up and down the main street with Thommo or helping Jill bake bread. Not lying on the grass in the sun, arguing with her best friend, and counting the extra freckles on her skin.
Then Frankie leans over, slops sunscreen on Joely’s legs and rubs it in with her wet hands. And Joely forgives her, loving her again in that way that only a best friend can.
Chapter 11
Frankie and Joely sit at the back of the bus. The sun streams through the dirty windows making the dust dance. Frankie’s long legs stretch out over the chair in front. Her towel is squashed under her head. She closes her eyes. The heat is making all her thoughts messy and jumbled. She can still see the boys on the plastic tube, turning to watch her. And then the sharp flip as the tube went up into the air and crashed down, turning them all out.
Then something tugs her under, something dark, and she’s struggling to breathe. Her throat full of chlorinated water, she starts coughing … choking …
Frankie opens her eyes in fright and looks around confused, not knowing where she is. Then she sees the peeling green vinyl of the seat in front and the children trying to lick their icy poles faster than the heat can. And she can breathe again.
But her thoughts are still caught in the pool. She feels scared and wishes, for a second, she was back home in her messy bedroom with her headphones blasting out music. She sees Joely staring out the window and feels a rush of fondness for her slightly sunburnt friend, knowing she’ll be safe if they’re together. She slips back into sleep.
Joely leans against the glass, liking the feel of the sun on her cheek. She watches the grass change colour outside until it is so brown, it looks like it’s been fried. The bus slows. Joely looks down the road, imagining a girl on a horse, but it’s just someone hailing a ride. The bus stutters to a stop. Joely hears the driver call out something friendly, and she feels herself sitting upright to see who gets on.
He’s wearing a singlet and shorts. He’s so brown he looks like someone has painted him with the sun. She can’t see any of his features until he smiles and his white teeth shine. He looks down the bus like he’s searching for her, his eyes scanning her face.
It’s him! The boy Joely saw last summer and hoped would one day be hers.
He swings down into the seat behind the driver. Joely can hear the odd word, something about a motorbike running out of petrol, and the occasional laugh as the two chat. But all she can see is his blond head.
Heart racing, Joely tries to watch the grass again, but she keeps turning back to the snatch of hair all those seats away. Her back is wet with sweat and the vinyl sticks to her bare arms. She wriggles in her seat. Frankie hasn’t moved. Her mouth is gaping open, and Joely can see a tiny line of dribble that’s escaped.
Joely doesn’t want to get off the bus. Doesn’t want to feel that sting as she peels her sticky skin away from the seat. Doesn’t want to walk up the long, dry driveway to her aunt’s house, scuffing her thongs through the small pebbles that manage to wheedle their way in under her toes. She just wants to sit here, in the heat, and catch glimpses of the boy.
But she can see the gum tree coming up and the cows gathered together. As the bus rides over the slight hill, Joely rouses her friend with a touch on her arm.
Frankie smiles before she opens her eyes. ‘I was deep-pool diving.’
‘With blue tiles and hard concrete?’
‘I was in a suit. A yellow suit so nothing could get me.’
‘You were dribbling.’
Frankie wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
‘Time to get off,’ says Joely.
The bus shudders and the two girls grab their things and peel themselves off the fading vinyl. The whole bus seems to be waiting for the girls to leave so it can relax again. Just like at the pool. Joely goes first. She feels nervy as she gets close to the crop of hair. But he doesn’t turn as she passes.
She steps down into the dirt and looks up quickly. The boy is not in the window. She scans the other faces, but she still can’t see him. The doors rattle closed and the bus pulls away. Joely turns her face from the swirling red dust and coughs as it fills her throat.
Frankie has disappeared into the cloud. Joely blinks, her eyes gritty and uncomfortable. When she looks across the road, towards her aunt’s house, she sees Frankie. Lit by the sun, she’s just a silhouette. As Joely starts to call out her friend’s name, she sees another figure standing so close to Frankie they look like they’ve been hugging. And Joely knows, even though she can’t see the other face clearly, that it’s the boy from the bus. The boy who’s filled her dreams since she came home last summer.
Joely feels trapped, like the time a teacher chose her to address the whole school. She wants to run, but she knows she’ll be seen, and she won’t be able to explain herself. So she waits to be spotted, to be remembered and included. She stares as her friend circles the boy, weaving her web around and around until he’ll be unable to think about anything but her.
Frankie laughs. Suddenly, the sun is too much for Joely and she’s aware of her skin blistering under its weight. Sweat runs down her back, pooling in her bathers. Flies buzz across her face. She longs to be anywhere but standing here, forgotten on a dusty road.
Suddenly, the irritating whine of motorbikes crackles through the air. Joely sees Mack cut in front of Thommo and she waits for Thommo to roar past his brother and take the lead again, but he doesn’t, and Joely’s disappointed that he always lets Mack win. She watches her cousins get
closer. Mack looks from her to Frankie, to the boy, like he’s trying to work out what’s going on. Then he rides straight for Frankie, causing the pair to jump clear. Mack flicks off his engine, but Thommo keeps riding in circles around Frankie and the boy.
Joely watches Mack. She expects him to talk to Frankie, but instead he seems to be staring at the boy who is now looking off in another direction entirely. Then Mack turns and says something to Frankie, but she can’t hear what above Thommo’s engine. Frankie shakes her head. Mack stomps back to his bike.
Thommo rides over to Joely and holds out his hand, daring her to climb on. She surprises them both when she does.
She smells the heat of the summer as they ride madly along the dusty road. Thommo dodges potholes and Joely grips his waist tight to stay on. Then Mack passes them, alone, and Joely knows Frankie has stayed back. For a second she wants to turn back, grab Frankie’s hand and force her onto the bike, away from the boy that’s hers. But then Thommo brakes suddenly and Joely rams into him. The bike skids along the dirt like it’s ice.
‘Stop!’ Joely screams as Thommo tries to avoid hitting the large shape moving across the road. But they crash straight into it and Joely’s tipped off by the impact. Her hand brushes the engine and she cries out in pain.
‘Shit, Joely! Are you okay?’ Thommo is already there, scooping her up. She looks down at her hand. It’s red and puckered.
‘You’re alright, aren’t ya?’
Joely pushes him away.
‘Don’t be shitty. Come on. You’ll be right.’
She looks down at her bleeding knee then back up at Thommo. Her leg hurts. Her hand hurts. Her bum hurts where she hit the ground hard. She doesn’t know what to feel: sore or angry. She watches Thommo as he walks away and circles the great unmoving animal on the road.
‘Is that a—’
‘Kangaroo? Yep.’ He looks back at her, and nods. ‘And it’s pretty well dead.’
A rush of nausea swells Joely’s throat and she wants to throw up. ‘How can something be pretty well dead? Is it dead or not?’
‘Yeah. Almost. Might need a bit of help to finish it off.’
‘You can’t kill it!’ Her heart races faster and her chest tightens at the thought.
‘But it’s suffering,’ says Thommo, leaning down to check its face.
‘You aren’t a vet. What do you know!’ Joely walks towards him, her breathing ragged.
‘I know, Joely. But this happens all the time. Stupid roos get in the way and you have to finish them off. It’s probably wrecked my bike.’
‘It’s not your road, Thommo. The kangaroos were here first.’ Joely knows she sounds crazy, but she isn’t going to let him kill anything. ‘I’ll walk back and get Jill to call a vet. They’ll know what to do.’
‘Come here, Joely,’ says Thommo standing up. ‘Look.’
She walks closer.
‘See the blood,’ says Thommo.
Blood is pooling on the ground, mixing with the dust. The sight of it makes her gag. ‘It might be okay,’ she says in a tiny voice, not wanting to look at the kangaroo’s face.
Thommo walks off to find a piece of wood that’s heavy enough to do the rest of the job, but finds a rock instead. He doesn’t want to do this in front of Joely. He knows how squeamish she gets. He remembers going yabbying with her a couple of summers ago and she wanted to let them all go.
‘Can you walk back and tell Dad my bike’s wrecked and get him to come and pick it up with the trailer,’ says Thommo, holding the rock so she can’t see it.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Just make sure the kangaroo’s okay.’
‘You aren’t going to …’ starts Joely.
‘Nah. Just move it.’
‘Okay.’
Joely starts walking away and Thommo thinks it’s Frankie’s fault that this has happened. If he wasn’t riding along thinking about Frankie chatting to Rory bloody Macleod, if she hadn’t stayed with Rory, if Mack hadn’t ridden past alone, if Frankie was with him on his bike, then Thommo wouldn’t have crashed.
And why would Frankie want Rory anyway? Everyone in town knows what he’s like. Even Mack’s a better choice than him.
Thommo slams the rock down hard on the kangaroo’s head.
Joely screams, ‘Thoooommmmooo!’
Blood splatters across the road as Joely slams into his body. Thommo watches the kangaroo’s eye close.
‘What did you do? What did you do?’ she screams into his face.
Now he was stuck with Joely going hysterical over a dead kangaroo. ‘It was dying, Joely. You can’t leave it like that. It’s cruel.’
‘You are. You’re cruel. You killed it. You did. I saw you. You killed it.’
‘Come on, you gotta help me drag it off the road. So nobody else hits it.’ Thommo hurls the bloodied rock into the scrub and grabs the kangaroo’s legs.
‘Leave it!’ she yells at him.
He drags the kangaroo across the road, straining to move the huge weight. The dust on the road helps as long as he can keep his grip. As he reaches the road’s edge he kneels down and touches its bloody matted fur. He can feel the warmth of the body and for a second it’s like there’s a pulse. He shakes off the thought, heaves and sends the body rolling into the ditch.
‘You can’t leave it there. What if it’s not dead? What if it wakes up and doesn’t know where it is?’
‘It’s dead, Joely. Come on,’ says Thommo calmly, wanting to get her away.
But she shakes her head and starts yelling, ‘Thommo, what if it isn’t dead? There’s blood … Everywhere … Lots of blood …’
Without thinking, Thommo grabs his cousin roughly by the shoulders. He shakes her. ‘Calm down,’ he says in a voice that sounds just like his dad’s when he’s really serious.
Joely steps away from him. She’s shaking, but at least she isn’t going crazy on him anymore.
‘Sorry, you were just …’ he trails off.
Ignoring Thommo, Joely walks closer to where the kangaroo lies. She’s still shaking as she looks down into the dusty burial site. The kangaroo’s paws are folded neatly over each other, like an undertaker has carefully laid it out. She’s never been so close to death before.
‘Is this what Bluey looked like?’ she whispers.
Thommo kicks the ground. ‘Dunno. Wasn’t there.’
‘Did someone have to finish him off with a rock too?’
Thommo walks off and Joely can feel her eyes fill with tears. She doesn’t want to cry in front of her cousin because she knows it’s not his fault. But she can’t help it.
‘Bluey was old and skinny. There was no way he was going to make it through summer,’ says Thommo.
Joely wipes her eyes. Trying to pull herself together, she changes the subject back to the kangaroo. ‘How do you know it’s dead?’
‘Cos,’ says Thommo.
‘How do you know?’
‘Cos it isn’t moving.’
‘But maybe it’s asleep,’ says Joely.
Behind her, Thommo tries to start his bike. He kicks at it aggressively. ‘Shit. We’re definitely walking.’
Joely knows she’s crying again, but she doesn’t care now. Thommo touches her on the arm and she jumps.
‘Please don’t cry,’ Thommo says. ‘It’s just a kangaroo. There are thousands of them round here.’
Joely can’t explain it. It’s not just a kangaroo. It’s Bluey, it’s Frankie and the boy, it’s her mum, it’s her dad having a new baby, and it’s this holiday that has started with her killing something as big and beautiful as a kangaroo. She tries to make all those thoughts into a sentence, but she gets stuck and instead cries, ‘It’s our national emblem. It’s on our coat of arms!’
Thommo walks up and awkwardly slides his arm around her shoulders, trying to give her
a hug. He smells reassuringly like sweat. Joely sniffs away her tears and lets him pull her towards the bike. ‘Come on,’ he says softly.
He can see the broken wheel and the buckled frame and starts adding up the cost in his head. Stepping away from Joely, he picks up the bike and starts pushing it along the road. He turns back to see if she’s following. But instead, she’s trying to pull a large broken branch off an old gum tree.
‘Joely!’ he yells. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Covering the body.’
‘What? Fuck! It’s just a kangaroo.’ But he knows her well enough to know that she won’t leave until she’s pulled the branch down. He drops his bike and walks back to her. ‘You’ll never get it down like that.’
Thommo starts kicking the base of the branch, his boot cracking the bark. Finally the branch breaks free. Joely doesn’t wait for him to pick it up. She knows he’s done his job and he’ll let her finish.
The branch is heavier than she expected. It’s sticky too, where the sap bleeds out. She tries to throw it over the kangaroo, but the smaller branches reach out like fingers, holding each side of the ditch, stopping it. She steps onto the thickest part of the branch and it snaps in two with a crack dropping her into the ditch. Panicking, she tries to scramble back up, grabbing clumps of eucalyptus leaves to pull herself out. But her foot gets wedged between the branches and she can feel the kangaroo under her thong. She doesn’t want to look down, doesn’t want to see what part of its body she’s standing on. Then Thommo grabs her arm and pulls her out. The branches leave their mark, scraping their stick fingers down her skin.
Joely is so close to Thommo that she can smell bike oil. She looks at his face, waiting for him to laugh at her. But all she sees is stubble and understanding in his eyes.
‘You alright to walk?’ he says.
Joely nods and starts down the road towards the farm. Thommo pushes his bike behind her. The two of them continue like that, walking through heat and flies, not talking, just like they used to when they were kids.