‘Gwen.’
‘Martin.’
He glared at me.
‘Mau said she’d seen my mum’s ghost. Just gimme a minute, okay?’
He groaned. ‘She’s as mad as a hare, that one. Don’t listen to her, Gwen. You know she hasn’t been right since your mum died.’
‘I know.’
He was quiet for a minute. ‘Do you want a mint?’
‘Yes, I want a mint.’
Martin got up and came back from his office with a handful of mints. I picked one up and nibbled at it, but didn’t enjoy it, much. ‘Thank you.’
‘How’s that ratbag brother of yours?’
‘Stepbrother, thanks very much. And I don’t think he’s done anything criminal lately.’ I frowned. ‘If you don’t count him abducting all my shoes and tying them all up in the biggest tree in the backyard. I told you he was up to something.’
Martin slid out from behind the front desk on his wheelie chair. ‘Remember the time he sprayed graffiti all over that awful racist poster on the way into town?’
‘He had so much imagination back then. Who knew you could turn a bowl into a bum with only two sprays of paint?’ I shook my head.
‘How are the new kids settling in at school?’ Martin asked.
‘Ben and Amber?’
‘Yeah. Elsa’s niece and nephew. They going okay?’
I crossed my arms. ‘Well, if you haven’t had to sort them out, they must be.’
‘You know what I mean. They making friends and everything?’
‘Amber’s all chummy with the surfer girls,’ I said, my voice very solemn. ‘Ben’s nice, but he’s sort of just friendly to everyone. He mostly keeps to himself otherwise. He likes to run.’
‘Just what I need. Another harebrained teenage runner to worry about.’
‘I resent that, Martin.’
Martin exhaled slowly. ‘You need to scram.’
I folded my arms. ‘In a minute. Don’t hassle me.’
The door clapped open and the bell rang, and Mau blinked at me in surprise. She had a cup of tea in her hand.
Martin groaned. ‘No! I’m working! Both of you, go away!’
‘I just thought you might like a cup of tea!’ Mau said. ‘You alright, Gwen?’
‘Just having a moment.’
Martin looked at us. ‘God help me.’ He went into his office and slammed the door behind him.
Mau sat down next to me. ‘He always pretends he doesn’t want his tea, but you just wait.’
A moment later his office door swung open. He stalked across to the couch, accepted the tea from Mau with muttered thanks and then disappeared back into his office.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Mau said, giving my head a pat.
I stretched out on the couch. ‘Martin?’ I called, as Mau left.
He stuck out his head. ‘Are you leaving?’
‘Do you have biscuits here? I remember you having biscuits. Nice ones.’
‘Will you stop annoying me if I tell you where?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Tearoom.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Martin?’
‘What?’
‘Can you get me one? I’m having a moment.’
‘Get it yourself,’ he said, slamming the door.
I closed my eyes. A moment later the door swung open and Martin, spluttering obscenities, came over with a handful of biscuits. ‘Be gone by the time I come out again.’
‘Thanks, Martin.’
‘Stop talking.’
‘You’re wonderful,’ I said, biting into the biscuit, which was a bit stale but still tasted good. ‘You’re the best police sergeant I’ve ever seen.’
He disappeared back into his office and once again slammed the door.
***
FROM THE DIARY OF GWENDOLYN P. PEARSON
When we first moved here, to the little rundown house on the beach, I used to dream I was a mermaid. That Jamie and Mum were mermaids, too. And that one day I would disappear into the water and find them. That we’d live in the ocean, with sparkling tails, and visit Dad sometimes and that everything would be okay. It soothed me. It made me feel I belonged by the water, even if I was too scared to swim. It made me feel like I belonged, even if I didn’t like being in the rundown little house set back from the beach, with baby Evie wailing into the night and Tyrone drawing chalked lines down the middle of our shared room. I sat in the tiny, narrow cove on the other side of Wade’s Point and tried to see them. I knew they were watching me. That they swam along in the water as I ran. That, if I didn’t blink, I could sometimes see a tail out near the horizon. A quick ruby splash and then nothing.
Unfortunately, when I explained this to Mr Blended-family-therapist, he thought I was having grief-induced hallucinations.
We did a lot of intensive sessions, just Dad and me, after that. And Dad cried a lot and talked about how mad he was with Mum. How he was so angry with her that sometimes his hands shook. That sometimes he dreamed of hitting her, and he’d never hit her. Ever. Not even when she’d got really bad. And he was scared by these dreams.
And then they’d turn to me and ask me if I was mad with my mum.
And I was bewildered. ‘No,’ I’d say. ‘I’m not. Why would I be? I just miss her.’
And Mr Blended-family-therapist explained to me that just because you missed someone didn’t mean you couldn’t be angry with them, too. But I wasn’t angry. What made me angry was both he and Dad trying to tell me I was angry. One day I screamed at them and kicked over my chair. I’m not angry! I’m not angry!
Eventually, Dad pulled me into his arms and rocked me and I remembered that I didn’t cry or calm down straight away, but I stopped shaking.
I still like to think of them being mermaids. I don’t think I’ve ever really believed it. But it’s soothing, even if it’s make-believe.
CHAPTER SIX
Gordon was already waiting by his car outside Loretta’s when I got there, fiddling with his sketchbook and looking pretty miserable.
I blinked. ‘Why are you coming dress shopping? You’re not planning to wear one tonight, are you?’
‘He’s here to give a male’s perspective,’ Loretta said, shutting the front door and bouncing up and down impatiently by the passenger door. ‘Open it up, will you?’
‘How’d you get conned into this?’ I asked as Gordon grimaced and fumbled with his keys.
‘Loretta.’
‘Enough said.’
‘I bribed him with junk food,’ Loretta said. ‘Never fails.’
We were going to the church op shop in Craigsville. It wasn’t that great, really, but it was close. And sometimes people from the mainland dumped amazing stuff there on their way back to the airport and the ferry.
‘I’m going to get something that’s sexy without being too try-hard, you know?’ Loretta was frowning at her reflection in the rear-vision mirror. Gordon grumpily readjusted it. ‘Stop moving it! I need it to drive.’
She sighed. ‘Most dresses make me look way too chesty. Do you think I should go nice top and jeans?’
‘Sure,’ Gordon and I both said.
‘I demand more information.’
‘You look good in either, Rets. I promise.’
‘But I need to look amazing,’ she groaned. ‘Simon Figg has to notice me.’
Gordon frowned at her. ‘Weren’t you in love with Thomas Chudleigh last week?’
‘Yeah, last week.’
‘It’s all about Simon Figg now,’ I said, pulling my knees up to my chest.
‘He’s really clever,’ Loretta said.
‘No, he’s not, Rets,’ said Gordon, very gently. ‘Simon Figg’s not very clever at all.’
‘You stayed back and had to repeat. You can’t judge.’
‘Ouch,’ Gordon said. ‘You can’t be mean to me about that. I had cancer.’
Loretta rolled her eyes. ‘I just have to get Simon Figg’s attention. You have to help me pick the dress, okay?’
‘Wasn’t it jeans and a nice top?’ Gordon sounded bewildered.
‘Shhhh! Whatever!’
There was a football game happening at the oval off the main street and it took Gordon ages to find a parking spot. We circled around and around the block until Loretta said if he didn’t find something soon, she was going to start screaming.
‘Finally,’ she said, as he slotted into a space at the far end of the street. ‘I was starting to get car sick.’
‘If you vomit in this car, you’re walking home.’
‘I wouldn’t be car sick in the first place if you’d learned how to park!’
They continued to bicker as we walked towards the op shop, which was warm and smelled of perfume and cardboard.
Gordon tugged Loretta’s arm. ‘I want my McDonald’s.’
‘We’re not stopping for lunch until twelve,’ Loretta said.
‘I was promised McDonald’s,’ Gordon said, not budging.
‘And I will deliver. Just not yet!’ She grabbed his hand and dragged him off. He swung his head around and mouthed help me.
I trailed after them into the store just as the crowd from the football started ambling past. I felt immediately nervous. So many people, so much glass. And people were so hard to read, in crowds like this. You couldn’t tell who was happy or who was sad or who hadn’t slept in two weeks.
‘Gwen? You okay?’ Loretta asked, touching my arm.
I forced a smile. I refused to think about smashing glass. ‘Totally fine.’
The op shop was dim. Gordon wandered over to the DVD shelves and Loretta to the clothes. I poked at the board games stacked on a shelf in the corner and wondered if all of the pieces were there.
‘What about this?’ Loretta asked, holding up a green top with a flowing front.
‘You’ll look like a grape.’ Gordon’s flat tone was brutal. ‘Or maybe a melon. Can we get something to eat?’
‘Not yet!’ Loretta shoved it back onto the rack and started flipping through all the clothes at high speed. Gordon and I took a step back and watched her.
‘This is terrifying,’ Gordon whispered.
‘She’ll tire herself out soon,’ I whispered back.
Loretta abruptly pulled a blue dress off the rack, held it up to me and nodded. ‘This is your dress.’
Gordon rolled his eyes. ‘She hasn’t even tried it on!’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘It’s the dress. She’s got this eerie skill. Thanks, Rets.’
I took the dress to the change room, even though I knew I’d love it. Loretta was the only person who’d ever been able to pick clothes for me. I didn’t even think my mum had been as good as Rets. I struggled into the dress, which flowed down from my bust to just above my knee. It was a pretty colour, the exact same as the ocean after a storm. Loretta glanced up when I pushed open the change-room door and nodded once, apparently unsurprised.
Gordon whistled. ‘You look great, Gwen.’
‘Classy hot,’ Loretta murmured, still flipping down the racks at high speed. ‘It suits you.’
I glanced at the price tag. ‘It’s more than I wanted to spend.’
Loretta looked up again. ‘Who cares? I’ll pay the difference. You have to have that dress.’
By the time I’d changed back out of it and paid, Loretta had gone perfectly still, a green gingham dress in her hands.
‘It’s a Nellie Go dress!’ she hissed at me.
I blinked. ‘A what?’
‘A Nellie Go dress! She was this super well-known designer in the fifties.’ Loretta leaned in so close I could see an excitement rash spreading down from her forehead. ‘They’re worth a fortune on eBay!’
‘How much is this one?’
‘Seven dollars!’ Loretta squeaked. ‘And it’ll fit! I can tell it’ll fit!’
‘You’re terrifying, Rets,’ I said, but she’d already darted off to the change rooms, cradling the dress like a baby. Outside, Gordon was sitting on a bench, deeply immersed in his drawings.
I started poking around in a basket by the entrance, the blue dress in a bag on my wrist. There were bits of wool and cross-stitch patterns and . . . I stopped. My breath caught.
It was made of clay, painted clumsily with every colour I could find.
I tipped it up with shaking fingers and there it was – I’d signed it as ‘Pearl’ because that’s what my mum had always called me. I’d done a little O shape next to it. I always drew a pearl next to my name. Mostly because Jamie wasn’t so good with letters and things, but he always recognised my name with a great big circle next to it.
Although, I hadn’t made this for Jamie. I’d made this for Mum.
My chest felt tight. I reeled out of the store, away from Loretta carrying on in the dressing room about how the dress fitted perfectly and whether I thought Simon Figg liked green, but who even cared what he thought!
Gordon put down his notebook as I collapsed onto the seat next to him. ‘Gwen! Are you okay?’
I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder. ‘I don’t know.’
He put his arm around me. ‘Crap, Gwen. Just breathe. You’re shaking.’
‘Why can’t things just . . .?’ I stopped. Why couldn’t they what? I didn’t even know how I wanted them to be.
I sat there for a long moment and then wiped at my eyes. ‘What are you drawing?’
‘Those pot plants there.’ He pointed and then shut his book. ‘Are you alright?’
I frowned. ‘Fine.’
‘You just look all dark under the eyes and stuff.’
I snorted. ‘Maybe this is just how I always look.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s nothing. Just a few bad nights’ sleep,’ I said. ‘And Amber being weird.’
He closed his book. ‘This party’s going to be awful.’
‘Yup.’
He nudged me. ‘But! On the plus side, you are going to look classy hot in that dress.’
***
Here’s what I remember. I remember making the mermaid out of clay for my mother. I painted it blue and green and gold. Purple and red and orange. I sprinkled it with silver glitter. I used my little metal poker to give her strands of seaweed through her hair and shells across her chest. I remember giving it to my mum and my mum smothering me with kisses and telling me it was beautiful – as good as a real mermaid. No, better. Because I’d made it for her.
Jamie was jealous – he wanted one, too. And I said I’d make him one next time we did clay in art. He was cross about it, but I can’t remember how Jamie was cross. Whether he stamped his foot or stuck out his lip or cried or yelled. I don’t remember what shape his crossness came in.
And Dad had come home from work and Mum had shown Dad and he’d kissed my head, just once, and said it was great I’d made something for my mum.
I remember the clay mermaid being on her bedside table. And then on her dresser. And then tucked into a drawer. She didn’t talk about it after the day I gave it to her. And when I asked her if she still liked it, she’d looked confused for a minute and then nodded. ‘Of course.’
And I knew that she’d forgotten all about it.
***
When I got home, Dad was unpacking his car and whistling to himself. I watched him for a bit. He looked older than his age and I wondered if that was to do with Mum.
I’d stolen the clay mermaid from the op shop. Not on purpose. I’d found it in my dress bag as we went to get McDonald’s. And I’d sat in Gordon’s car the whole way home with it in my lap, and I could feel Loretta looking at it but not saying anything.
This was my mum’s. And it got me thinking about all the other things that she’d treasured. Her clothes and jewellery. Her favourite mug and the things that Jamie had made for her. Socks with eyes drawn on them. Shells she’d kept on her windowsill. Sketches of boys she’d said were her brothers.
I knew Loretta would understand about my mum, about how the thing at the café had suddenly, violently,
reminded me of her. I knew she knew that I’d started thinking about Mum and Jamie again, but I didn’t want to talk about it. Not with Loretta. Not this time. I didn’t think Dad would understand. We didn’t really talk about this stuff, not since the therapy sessions. But he was my dad. I had to try. I took a deep breath.
‘Dad, can I talk to you?’
‘Sure!’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
‘I . . . just the café and . . .’ My hand tightened around the clay mermaid.
‘New dress?’ he asked, nodding at the bag still on my arm.
‘Ah, yes. Listen, Dad – the café . . .’
‘Daddy!’ Evie came hurtling out. ‘Daddy! I made a song at school today. With my ukulele. You want to hear?’
‘Sure! I’ll meet you inside.’ He turned to me. ‘It’s just one of those things, Gwennie. It gave you a shock, but you’ll be right.’
‘But . . .’
‘Dad!’ Evie yelled from the verandah.
‘We’ll talk later, okay?’ He patted my head without really looking at me. I pulled away, but he didn’t even notice.
***
FROM THE DIARY OF GWENDOLYN P. PEARSON
When I was a little kid and Mum and Jamie were still alive, I stayed after school some days. It was just me and Biddy, but I called her Miss Banks back then.
She stayed for half an hour in the classroom, cleaning the board, slipping treats into people’s book trays, writing, organising.
And keeping me company.
Dad picked me up on his way home. So I waited.
I sat in my chair near the front drawing on some scrap paper. I drew horses. As usual. I loved them. Mum said I could have one when I started high school, if I still liked them. She said we could all move to the country and she’d build me stables and I could ride every night.
The day before Dad had come inside to collect me. Even though it was easier for me to meet him out front at the car.
He came in that afternoon, too, and planted a kiss on my head. Miss Banks glanced up and smiled.
Dad tapped a book on her desk, the bookmark near the end. ‘You liked it, eh?’
‘Couldn’t put it down,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I was up until three this morning. I nearly fell asleep in silent reading today, didn’t I, Gwennie?’
P is for Pearl Page 9