by Chris Wheat
‘I thought you and Matilda Grey were an item!’ Craig’s dad had bellowed. ‘You’re a two-timer, Craig. I don’t like that in a son of mine. One at a time, mate, that’s the rule. Now you gonna marry Chelsea or what?’
Craig couldn’t believe his father had swallowed that bull. ‘Do I sound like I’ve got bloody Tourette syndrome?’ he’d bellowed back, twitching with rage. ‘I’ve never done it with her. I never want to! She’s crazy. She said it to break you and Mrs Dean up – she came round here and told me she would.’
‘What’s the matter with you, Craig?’ his father had shouted.
‘No more fancy stories, old mate. Just tell me the truth.’
Craig had clenched his fists and stuck to his guns. It took ages to convince his father of the truth. Then just when everything had calmed down, in the middle of Survivor, his old man had dropped the big bombshell: ‘We’re moving into Annette’s place and renting this place out, Craig. No arguments.’
That was it! Chelsea was right! Craig had leapt up and punched the wall oven and told his father he was going to live with his mother up on the farm.
‘How can you pass up an entertainment system like theirs?’ his father had yelled outside Craig’s bedroom door.
‘I’m not living with lying bitches!’ he’d yelled back.
And that was where they’d left it.
Craig felt sick when he thought about living in the same house as Chelsea Dean. He wished Khiem was here now to take his mind off the problem, but Khiem had called in sick this afternoon. That was strange. Craig tried not to think about shifting out of his own house. He’d lived there all his life.
Just as he was trying to imagine what kind of food they’d eat at Chelsea’s, he was smashed flat to the floor – raisins went everywhere. It was Matilda, of course. She loved to jump him.
He was winded. ‘Matty, behave!’ Her greeting ritual often drew a crowd – it was already starting to this afternoon – and he wasn’t in the mood. He pushed her off. ‘That hurt, Mat!’
She rubbed her face against his face. ‘When do you finish?’ she asked. She was crouching very close, obviously trying to smell him.
‘Not ’til eight.’ He started scooping up raisins. ‘And stop sniffing me.’
‘I love your smell. It’s one of my favourites.’
‘Well I don’t like your sniffing, it embarrasses me.’
She was silent. ‘You’re droopity. Are you hungry?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘I’m not droopity – droopy. I’ve got problems. And you’re one of them – I don’t want to see you at the moment. Go away, now.’ He tried not to look at her.
She sat on the floor and hung her head. ‘No more telling about your tongue,’ she said.
‘Yes, no more. It’s not bloody big!’
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry.’ She looked regretful.
‘Chelsea Dean’s mum and my dad are going to live together.’
She sat up on her haunches. ‘No!’
‘Yes. And Chelsea told her mum I got her pregnant, and her mum told my old man, and my old man went ballistic.’
‘PREGNANT!’ Matilda jumped up. ‘How did you get her pregnant? You can’t have babies with that throwback. I want you to have babies with me!’ She was standing over him.
‘Shut up!’ he whispered angrily. People were watching them.
Whenever Matilda appeared in public, people gathered to watch her. Now shoppers were parking their trolleys in the crowded aisle and edging closer, pretending to scan the shelves but really trying to hear something from the mouth of Dingo Girl that they could tell their families about. Well, they had something now.
‘She’s not pregnant,’ Craig mumbled to Matilda. ‘Keep your voice down, Mat. Chelsea made up the story to stop her mum and my dad getting together.’
Matilda sat back down beside him. The manager wouldn’t say anything. He had Dingoes’ Dinner to sell, and sales in the store increased whenever Matilda was spotted – she could do what she liked. As he went back to the spilt raisins, she was silent.
‘You’d better not have been fooling around with her,’ Matilda said finally.
‘I told you, I can’t stand her.’
‘She’ll be at the bottom of the river by the end of the week!’
Matilda looked serious.
‘Trust me, we have never fooled around.’
‘Did you show her your tongue?’
‘No way.’
She patted him on the head. ‘There, there. Do you want your tummy rubbed?’ she asked, suddenly full of sympathy towards him.
He wanted to say yes, but not on the floor of New World with an audience. He shook his head.
‘I need a big bin-liner.’ She stood up. ‘Big enough for a girl.’
‘Matilda, you can’t throw Chelsea in the river. ’
‘Yes, it would be easy.’
He went back to stacking cartons.
‘Craig,’ she said. ‘We can live together. I know where.’
He looked up. The crowd of people pretending not to listen had got even bigger.
‘At your place?’ he murmured. ‘I don’t reckon your mum would agree.’
‘My mum!’ Matilda spoke with sudden vehemence. ‘She’s so wonderful-excellent when you’re around, but when we’re alone she trains me.’
‘Trains you?’
‘Yes. Otherwise no royalties.’
‘You never told me.’ He was shocked.
‘I have a secret place for you and me to live. I made it out of old blankets.’
‘A cubbyhouse?’
‘We can have fun and no one will find us. No more school!
No more bitches! We can hunt and sleep.’
Hunt? He wanted to play basketball. He was a teenage guy.
A customer pushed in and grabbed a packet of dried apricots.
‘Matilda, you’re famous. If you disappear it will be major news,’ Craig whispered.
‘Too bad! I’m sick of Japanese photoshoppeters. I want to be private. Please come and live with me. You can bring Arnold.’
‘You sure it’s not Arnold you really want to live with?’ he asked.
Her big blue eyes looked hurt. She shook her head so vigorously that her hair fell across her face. He sighed – he couldn’t be jealous of his own dog.
‘What if it rains?’ he asked.
‘Easy – we’ve got plastic and a box a TV came in. We can sleep in it together.’
An interesting proposition. It was so crazy he almost wanted to do it. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘I got to see it first, though.’
Matilda jumped on him again and licked him across the face.
The crowd clapped.
‘Lick me back, Craig!’ she pleaded. ‘Please, please, please, please, please!’
‘Go on, lick her, mate,’ someone said.
‘No, Matilda. Act human!’
‘Lick her, mate!’
He licked her. A quickie on the cheek.
She beamed. ‘Extra-tough bin-liners, in case she struggles.’
MYSTERIOUS
GIRL
EXCEPT FOR A WIND trembling the trees and the distant growl of a leaf-blower from behind a high fig-covered wall, Petworth Close was silent. Khiem Dao pressed the intercom in Chelsea’s gate and waited.
‘Khiem?’
‘Yo!’
‘Enter.’ There was a hum as the gate opened, and he wheeled his bike into a cool green forest. It was so quiet in here that it was creepy. On the lawn, water shot from a stone ball and trickled into a pond. The black front door swung open, and Chelsea appeared as he was putting his bike down carefully on their lawn. She looked pretty cute this Sunday afternoon.
‘Ah, my lifesaver,’ she giggled.
‘Hi.’
‘I was going to get Hire a Hubby, then I thought of you. My mother and I need a pool boy. Come in, and don’t take off your shoes; this is not an Asian house.’
Something shot through him like electricity. He hated that remark. Move
on.
She was wearing shorts. She was a nice shape, really. Cuddly. Forget what she said. She was always like that. He stepped inside. Their hall was like an airport terminal: it had a huge, shiny floor and a large window through which there was a view of the city. Her old man had to be a drug dealer.
She hurried across the terminal floor, touched a door. It glided open. He followed her out onto the balcony. ‘Mum says we can pay you what you’d get at McDonald’s, and you’re allowed to swim when you’re finished. It’s heated, so you can swim all year. My mother has become all thingy about money now, or we’d give you more than McDonald’s.’
He nodded.
‘Do you know how to clean pools and test the water for pH and bacteria?’
He shook his head.
‘You don’t talk much. Don’t be intimidated. Lots of people have homes like this. There’s more to the world than public housing, you know.’
‘I haven’t said I want the job.’
‘Of course you do. You’re trying to be law-abiding after a life of crime. Now follow me, Khiem.’
That annoyed him, too. But he followed her down the steps to the pool.
‘Now,’ Chelsea continued, ‘you do Chemistry, so you should find this easy. I haven’t a clue, but there are instructions.
Imagine you’re doing a science experiment.’ She looked around.
‘I wonder what else we can get you to do? You might be handy at lifting things and getting rid of spiders. I need a chauffeur, too. But you don’t have a licence.’
He shook his head. ‘But I drive okay.’
She looked at him dubiously. ‘Getaway cars?’ she asked.
He smiled.
‘Well, now that I don’t have a father to drive me and my mother seems to be preoccupied’ – she rolled her eyes – ‘and since we don’t have a chauffeur, I may call on you to get me from A to B in an emergency. I’m not in favour of driving without a licence unless it’s an absolute emergency. Can you drive a Mercedes?’
Of course he hadn’t driven one, but who’d say no? ‘Sure.’
‘I should probably have asked if you’ve ever stolen a Mercedes.’
She laughed.
He smiled again. ‘No way. They’re impossible to break into.’
The pool was sited on the edge of a cliff high above the river.
Except for the sharp ring of bellbirds, and a dreamlike distant traffic hum, everything out here was silent, too. Paradise. He breathed in and wished for a miracle.
Suddenly there was an explosion of laughter from an upstairs window.
Chelsea frowned. ‘My stupid mother and her – friend.’
‘Chels, sweetheart! Would you mind bringing up some ice?’
Chelsea’s face went tight. ‘Yes, I damn well do mind!’ she said quietly. ‘That could be a job for you, Khiem – butler to my alcoholic mother and her gentleman caller. Do you know who he is?’
He shrugged.
‘It’s Craig Ryan’s father! Your friend, Craig Ryan, the famous Craig Ryan with the big tongue. That’s his father up there, wrecking my parents’ marriage.’
‘Crap,’ he responded. No way.
‘I am telling you the truth. The man upstairs is Craig Ryan’s father. As soon as my father left us, that man was around here like a shot. I just want to barf.’
She sighed deeply.
‘I may leave home. You’ve been homeless; you could give me a few tips on how to survive on the streets. Then again, I just may book myself into the Hilton on my mother’s credit card.
They’re planning to move in together – soon. I tried to stop it, but my mother just went off her head at me. Over one wellintentioned little white lie.’
Chelsea laughed bitterly and led the way round the pool, delicately dipping her toe in. He watched the concentric ripples spread across the water.
‘Now, that thing is the scooper for getting out leaves.’ She lifted the leaf-skimmer up from the path and swept it over the pool. ‘Like so! And that thing is called a kreepy krauly.’ She patted the water with the skimmer, indicating something on the bottom. ‘You plug it into the filter over there, and it creeps around and sucks up all sorts of yuckies.’ She looked at him and grinned.
‘That’s all you really need to know, except for chemicals.’
‘Do you need to get your mother some ice?’ he asked.
She screwed up her face. ‘Bugger the ice! Now over here is the sauna – or the marriage wrecker.’ She padded across to a little table beside the sauna. ‘This booklet here explains the pool’s chemicals and so on. You can take it if you like and read it at your leisure – your homework. Any questions?’
He flicked through the instructions manual. ‘Not yet.’
‘Chelsea!’ came a frustrated voice from upstairs. ‘Some ice, please.’
‘Just a minute.’ Chelsea’s voice was harsh.
‘Do you want a drink, Khiem?’ she asked.
She was famous for this – offering boys booze. ‘Oh yeah,’ he answered.
‘Cocktail? It’s cocktail time.’
‘Cocktail’s fine.’ He’d never had one. ‘With an olive?’
‘No. You’re thinking of a martini. I don’t do martinis. I’m currently doing Singapore Slings – from your part of the world. You should enjoy it.’
He wanted to say he was actually an Australian, but you didn’t debate with Chelsea Dean, and the job sounded pretty easy. It was best to just listen and nod.
‘We have a bar down here in the pool room, but let’s go to the upstairs one. I’m totally over the pool room. Have you had a Singapore Sling before?’
He shook his head.
‘You need to talk more, Khiem. It’s rude to let me make all the effort. Tell me about yourself.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Now don’t turn the conversation back to me! Just start talking about your day, or what your place is like. Do you have a community pool on the estate?’
‘There was a pool of piss in the lift this morning.’
Chelsea was silent. ‘Thanks for that, Khiem,’ she said quietly after a moment. ‘How do you like rowing?’
‘It’s pretty easy.’
‘Getting to the river on time seems to be the hardest bit for you guys.’
They’d arrived upstairs. The room was huge: it had a giant plasma TV, entertainment system, air-conditioning ducts, the works.
‘This is great,’ he said. ‘You’ve got it made, Chelsea.’
‘Hardly. Material possessions are no replacement for a happy family life, Khiem. I’m as deprived as you now, but in a different way. So, how has your Sunday been?’ She was behind the bar opening bottles and searching the bar fridge.
‘Got up. Had noodles. Played World of Warcraft. Couldn’t use the lift because of that pool of piss. Practised Vo Vietnam.
Came here.’
She was pouring alcohol into a silver flask. ‘Fascinating.
What’s Vo Vietnam?’
‘It’s a martial art.’
‘Good.’ She was dropping ice cubes into the container. ‘I might need a personal security guard…’ she giggled. ‘And while I remember, I’ve put you down as a bouncer at the combined-schools formal I’m organising. I can’t pay you for that, but you’ll get a lot of respect.’
He couldn’t figure her out. How serious was she?
‘I wonder if Mum would be prepared to hire you full-time.
Would you like to live in this house as our security guy and chauffeur-cum-pool-guy? You can live in the pool room. Craig is having the guest room, I’m told. But we’ll see about that,’ she muttered.
That would be a million times better than the commission flats, but she couldn’t be serious.
He laughed. ‘Sure. Craig is really living here?’
‘He will be soon. I told you. I couldn’t stop it. Speaking of which, Khiem, I have another job for you: I want you to spy on Matilda Grey and report her movements to me. Now that Craig’s moving in, I think the
Dog Girl might try to get in here and mark her territory.’
‘No way. Craig’s my mate.’
‘You should be trying to help Craig escape her, Khiem. She’s obviously not normal. She’ll run off with a border collie some day, and he’ll be left on the shelf. Remember when she brought her puppy to school in a pram? I mean, hello? Normal? No wonder it ran away.’
‘I’m not doing it.’
She handed him the flask. ‘Well, you could shake cocktails for me, then.’ She giggled. ‘Security guard, chauffeur, pool guy, cocktail shaker – but not spy. So be it.’
He shook the container hard, then she took it from him and poured two drinks. She placed them on a little black table beside a large sculpture made of chicken wire and dangling spoons.
Her mother appeared at the door. ‘Chelsea!’
‘What!’
‘Oh, you have a guest?’
‘Yes. Mother, this is Khiem Dao, our new pool guy. I just hired him.’
Mrs Dean nodded. ‘Nice to meet you, Khiem. Chelsea, what are you doing?’
‘We’re having cocktails.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t be.’
‘Really?’ Chelsea’s voice was hard.
Her mother frowned. ‘Don’t get all uppity with me, Chelsea.’
‘These are Singapore Slings, Mother. I hardly put any gin in them. I’m having one before dinner. Is that a crime? What are you having?’
Her mother glared at her and left.
Chelsea expelled air contemptuously. ‘Khiem, when you’re introduced to someone it is polite to stand up!’ She lifted her Singapore Sling. ‘To many happy days pool-cleaning and chauffeuring me to parties and such like!’
He seemed to have just got the job. He took a sip of her jet fuel. She got up and slid the kitchen door closed, then came over and sat down next to him, leaning in closer.
This was it. The seduction. Would the Lynx hold up?
‘Khiem,’ she said, ‘I want you to do something very special for me. You’ve heard of Paris Hilton – famous for being famous?’
He nodded. What was coming next?
‘Well, I have a secret dream of being an Australian Paris Hilton.
So what I want you to do is make a video of my life. Follow me around and video me doing stuff for this formal. I’ll pay you.’