‘Of course I care, Stell!’ He sounds so tired. ‘I don’t want to gamble. I don’t want to do any of it. I want to stop.’
‘So? Stop, then.’ My voice is pleading and I hate it. ‘Just stop.’
‘If I could, I would!’
I gaze at the fairy carving. We’re both gazing at it instead of each other. ‘So, that’s it? If you could, you would?’
‘Stella . . .’
‘You’re just giving up because it’s too hard?’ I shake my head. ‘You know – Mum deserves more from you. We all do. We deserve you giving it a go. We deserve you trying to sort all this out.’
***
Later still, my period starts and there’s nothing worse than having your period when you’re sharing a bed with your sister and living in a shell-encrusted cabin with your family. I lie down on the bed next to Taylor, one arm wrapped over my middle, and stare up at the shells on the ceiling above the bed.
I’d tried to get school to run a workshop on accepting our changing bodies during puberty, but the teachers had just stared at me and nothing had been done about it. So I’d tried to run a workshop myself at lunchtime, but only Zin, Lara and Clem turned up and every time I tried to talk about stretch marks or hormones, Lara told me to stop talking and fed me a pretzel. Clem said she was training me.
Taylor is on her stomach, staring at a picture that she keeps tucked under her pillow. At first, I wonder if she’s sleepwalking, but she sighs and I know that she’s awake. She sounds different when she’s sleeping.
I roll onto my side. ‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Taylor! Just show me.’
She hands it over. ‘You told me once why you’re so obsessed with helping everyone and giving people therapy without asking first.’
‘Did I?’ I turn the photo over in my hands, waiting for my eyes to adjust in the gloom.
‘You said you wanted to make sure you left the world better than you found it. It was a weird thing for a kid to say. You’ve always been so weird. Reckon it might be about you being adopted, maybe.’ She shifts. ‘Like, you need to be on your best behaviour or something. You don’t, you know. Nobody cares if you stop trying to fix everything. Nobody will care if you just act like a normal teenager.’
I don’t reply. She’s wrong about all of it. I can see the photo now. It’s of Mum and Dad in summery clothes, posing on the edge of a river. It must’ve been taken in the years before I was adopted and Taylor was born. I can tell, because there’s a glow about them that’s not there anymore. I wonder if I somehow extinguished it when I came into their lives. Nappies and broken sleep and all the other stuff that comes with looking after a baby.
Judy and Charlie, is written on the back. There’s no date. Judy and Charlie. They look like they’re having fun. They look like the sort of couple you see holding hands and laughing and not needing anyone else. Judy and Charlie.
‘I found it stuffed in the medicine cabinet back home,’ Taylor says. ‘It’s weird, right? They looked so normal back then.’
‘They’re still normal.’
Taylor snorts and fiddles with her earphones, but doesn’t turn the music on.
‘You know, I think this is the Sutherbend River,’ I say.
Taylor frowns. ‘No way. It’s not. Look, there are people swimming in it.’
‘So? Maybe people could swim in it back then. Maybe it wasn’t so rotten and polluted.’
Taylor takes the photo back and peers at it closely. ‘Yeah. I think you’re right. I can see the butcher and the bakery in the background. God, how weird.’
‘The river?’
‘Yeah. And how strange they look. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them smile like that.’
I think of the day at the track, running errands. How Dad had smiled so hard at the end of some of the races that he’d looked like he was going to cry. ‘Me either,’ I say.
‘Mum grounded me, you know,’ Taylor says.
‘What?’
‘I’m grounded. I shouldn’t be grounded. Dad should be grounded.’
‘Yeah, well,’ I say.
‘She’s been unfair, right?’
‘Yeah, but what did you expect? She’s always so worried about what people are thinking. Of course you’re going to end up grounded.’
Taylor makes a huffing noise.
‘And she’s protective of Dad. You know that, Taylor.’
‘Whatever. She’s at work too much to stop me going out.’ She glances at me. ‘It’s a long walk to the closest pokies. Other than the River Pub. I was thinking about that today, after Mum finished yelling at me. How it must take him a long time to walk there.’
Dad doesn’t have a car. He’d had an automatic one, but that was one of the first things to disappear. And when it did disappear, Mum immediately traded her auto in for a manual, which Dad couldn’t drive. Maybe things had been going downhill for longer than we realised.
‘Do you hate him?’ Taylor asks me so quietly that I wonder if she’s worried about being overheard. Except that’s not the sort of thing Taylor would worry about. Not normally.
‘I should,’ I say. I think about the incredibly complex understanding I have of my internal emotional world and feel a bit bad for Taylor. ‘I know I should.’
‘But you don’t?’
I roll onto my stomach. ‘Sometimes I think I do, but I’m mostly just mad at him. He’s hard to hate.’
Taylor considers this for a moment. ‘Being mad at him and hating him is pretty much just splitting hairs.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t think so. Hating him is a coldness, I think. It’s just switching off and not caring and being like a stone. Being mad at him is all pulsing and ragey and emotional. They’re different.’
‘Maybe I don’t hate him either, then,’ Taylor mutters.
‘Like I said, he’s hard to hate.’
‘I guess.’
‘I mean, he hand-makes us cards for our birthdays, and if we’ve had a bad day he always knows and makes us a cuppa. He loves us. I know that.’
‘He hasn’t made anyone else a cuppa in months and we’ve had some pretty bad days.’
‘I know I don’t hate him. He’s still our dad,’ I say, but then I think about being adopted and choke on the last word. I wonder if all this makes everything that’s happened easier or harder, having another family somewhere that I can imagine. Having my unopened letter that I’m very definitely not avoiding opening. But there’s no way to know. ‘He just needs to try harder, that’s all.’
‘And he just gambles.’ There’s bitterness in Taylor’s voice.
‘He just gambles.’
‘I remember when he used to buy those scratchies on a Sunday and let us scratch them.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Was that the start of it?’
‘I guess.’ I think of Dad at the track, of running errands. ‘I don’t know. He’d buy four cards every week and that was all. But maybe we just didn’t see the rest. We were just kids.’
‘The bottom line is that it’s genetic. The gambling or whatever it is that’s wrong with him.’ Taylor shoves the photo away from her savagely. ‘Which I guess you don’t have to worry about. But I do. It’s in me, the same as it’s in him.’
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning, I sneak past my parents’ bunks to get to the bathroom. Mum is curled up on her side, snoring softly. I stare at her, trying to puzzle out a way to help her, but her sleeping face doesn’t give anything away. Dad’s bunk is empty and I get that feeling of dread in my stomach.
I’m meant to be meeting Clem, but I also need to find Dad. As I walk through Fairyland, I stop and touch a bright-magenta flower that Richard had told me was a cosmos. I ground myself the way the books tell me to. There are flowers everywhere, tucked into places I never would have noticed. I think, for a moment, how much Zin will love it when she visits, except I don’t want Zin to visit. Not ever.
The four of us have been a group since Ye
ar One, but really our group’s pretty much split in two. Clem and me, Zin and Lara. Mostly, I don’t really notice. Little patterns and rituals that stitch us together. I know what’s going on with Clem before Zin does and she always knows what’s going on with Lara before I do. If someone needs to contact Lara, it will be Zin. If someone needs to contact me, it’ll be Clem. Sometimes – although not very often – there’ll be unspoken battle lines drawn up and it feels like a family where so much of what goes on remains unsaid.
I find Clem kicking his soccer ball around the oval near his house. He’s got his earphones in and looks pretty happy – pretty peaceful – so I just sit on a bench under an oak tree and wait for him to tire himself out, which takes a scarily long time.
I pull a book out of my bag. It’s about finding your goddess power. I’d seen it on Ms Huang’s desk a few weeks back and figured that reading what a librarian is reading could only be good for my career aspirations. I can’t concentrate on it, though. I keep thinking about where Dad might be.
‘How are you this fine morning, Price?’ Clem asks, wiping his sweaty face with the bottom of his top.
‘Cranky,’ I say. ‘Wearied. Apprehensive.’
‘You and your feeling words,’ he says, rolling his eyes. He bounces the ball once. ‘You wanna come in and play videogames?’
‘Nah.’ I tilt my head up towards the sky. ‘Videogames rot your brain. It’s probably why you’re so jittery all the time.’
‘You really are cranky.’
‘Anyway, it’s sort of nice out here, don’t you think?’
‘Well, you wanna stay out here while I go in and have a shower? Then we’ll go do something?’
‘Like what?’
‘Whatever you want.’
‘I’ll come in.’ I follow him inside and sit outside the partly open bathroom door, so we can keep talking. Lara and Zin think it’s weird, but I don’t. It’s not like I’m sitting in the shower or anything. It’s not like I’ve ever seen anything (as much as Zin asks me for details).
When Clem emerges all dressed, pink and smelling of vanilla, he smiles and sits down in the hallway next to me. He claps my knee. ‘So, Price. What are we doing?’
‘Let me check something first,’ I say. I send Taylor a text, asking if Dad has turned up at Fairyland. She replies immediately – Mum’s at work and she hasn’t seen Dad.
‘Right,’ I say. For a moment, I think of the photo. Judy and Charlie, on the banks of the Sutherbend River.
Clem taps the floor. ‘You worked out what we’re doing?’
‘Yeah. It’s weird, though.’
‘I like weird. Wouldn’t put up with you and your self-help obsession, otherwise.’
‘Can we go to Carrock’s Pub?’
Clem blinks. ‘Um. Alright.’
‘And the track?’
‘Sure.’ He frowns and tilts his head. ‘Why?’
‘They’re just cool places on a Saturday.’ I stand up. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Okay,’ he says, putting his wallet and phone in his pocket.
I grab onto his sleeve. ‘Oh, and one more thing.’
‘Shoot.’
‘Can we not tell Zin or Lara about going there?’
‘Wait . . . are you trying to corrupt me with underage drinking and gambling?’ he asks, punching my arm and raising his eyebrows. I wince and look away.
‘Too hard? Sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’
We walk across town to Carrock’s, my middle aching with cramps. Period cramps, I think. Although my middle goes into spasms whenever I get worried like this. We’re not technically allowed near the pokies, but I’ve worked out the best ways to peer in. I’ve had months to practise.
‘What are we doing?’ Clem asks, as I peer in the windows I know will give me a complete visual of the pokies. I like that about Clem. How I can be sneaking around the outside of a pub and he asks what we’re doing. Not what I’m doing, alone. Taylor texts me to say that the River Pub and the river itself are clear.
By the time we reach the track and slip in the gateway that I know is never properly monitored, Clem’s grown unusually still and quiet.
‘Is this about your dad?’ he asks me, but then I slap a hand on his chest to stop him walking, my breath catching in my throat. Dad. I can see him at a table in the corner with a pen in his mouth as he flips through the racing section of the newspaper.
Clem swears next to me and takes a step forward. ‘Just wait here,’ I say. I feel him tense against me. ‘Clem, just give me a minute, okay?’
He glances at me unhappily and then nods once and crosses his arms.
I get pretty close to Dad, because there’s a race starting and he immediately plasters himself to the glass and starts hammering it with his fists.
‘Dad,’ I say, just before the horses thunder through the finish flags. Running errands, I think.
He waits until the placegetters are listed on the screen before he turns around to me, and it fills me with such a thundering rage that I have to ball my fists to stop myself from hitting him.
He’s got a gleam in his eye and I just shake my head. ‘Mum’s going to be furious.’
‘I won,’ he says sort of defiantly, even as he sags back into his chair. ‘Stell, I won!’
‘I don’t care! You’ve cost us everything! You shouldn’t be here!’ I yell.
A few people look around at us and Dad flushes. ‘I’ll just collect the winnings and . . .’
‘Go. Get the winnings.’ I cross my arms and can feel Clem move to my side. I can feel the warmth of him, the solidness. I feel him tug the back of my shirt, just once.
I watch the woman behind the counter count the money into Dad’s hands. He steps away from the counter, counting the notes.
I hold my hand out. ‘Give it here.’
His fingers tighten around the notes. ‘Stella.’
‘Give it here. I’ll give it to Mum.’
‘I can give it to your mother myself.’
My eyes narrow. ‘If you don’t give it to me . . .’
Clem’s still behind me. He doesn’t move or say anything, but I hear him clear his throat. Dad looks at him and there is something appraising about his look. For the first time, I’m properly aware of how small my dad is and how tall I am. It’s not a comfortable moment and I curl my toes in my shoes. I remember when Dad seemed the size of a mountain. Dad hesitates and then he slowly hands it over. I count it. ‘Give me the last fifty.’
‘Stell . . .’
‘Give me the last fifty!’
He passes it over so slowly that I wonder if he’s really giving it to me at all. His fingers tremble as I take it from his hand.
‘You won’t tell your mother, will you?’ he calls.
I turn around to face him. I can feel myself shaking. I think about how hating is different from being furious. But, right now, it feels the same. ‘Of course I will.’
***
‘Whoa, whoa! Slow down!’ Clem says, jogging to keep up with me as I stride down the street. I realise that I’m heading towards our old home and stop so suddenly that Clem runs into the back of me, nearly knocking me over.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Price . . .’ He reaches out, like he wants to brush my hair from my face or hug me or something. Instead, he tugs at my sleeve and then jams his hands into his pocket and bites his lip. ‘Price,’ he says again. ‘Is . . . Has it been going on long?’
‘What?’
‘Your dad? The track? The pokies . . .’
‘Long enough.’
He nods. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’
‘I know. I know you won’t.’ I keep touching the money in my pocket. I don’t like the feel of it. I wish I’d thought to demand whatever other money Dad had on him, but he could’ve lied. I know that. It’s not like I could have strip-searched him. ‘It’s a feeling of utter betrayal, Clem. And hopelessness. And helplessness.’
‘Right. Yeah.’
‘You know he’s stolen from me? He
got my debit card and my PIN and all the money I’d saved – gone.’
Clem just looks at me.
The savings-account situation still stings pretty bad. I’d yelled about it at the time. Said awful things to Dad. Taylor had joined in. Open communication, I’d told myself. We weren’t losing our tempers, we were just communicating. Mum had promised she’d give me the money back, but there wasn’t any. Besides, the idea of taking money off Mum when she needed it so badly made me feel a bit nauseous.
I’m panting, my fists curled so that my nails dig into my skin. I wipe at my sweaty forehead and Clem sighs. ‘Overwhelmed!’ I say. ‘Angry!’
‘Price, come here.’ Clem tugs me into a little park surrounded by houses. He hugs me with his too-long arms and he smells like the soap his mother buys and fresh air, and I let him hug me. I listen to his heart and his breath quickening and then I pull away.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry about your dad.’
‘Thank you.’ I wipe my eyes and turn around just in time to see my dad walking down the road, sort of quickly, kind of furtively. He turns into the street that’ll take him to Fairyland. Clem shakes his head next to me. ‘Where do you reckon he’s going?’
‘Home,’ I say, without thinking. Forgetting, for a moment, that Clem still thinks we live in the opposite direction.
Clem slings an arm around my shoulders and doesn’t mention it. ‘Want to blow the money on a thousand slurpies?’
I snort.
‘Or you could buy me a lot of Lego.’
I elbow him, but I’m feeling better by the time we get back to his place. I feel almost normal. Particularly once I’ve kicked off my shoes and stuffed the money down into the toes of them.
After we get back to Clem’s, I sit outside on the front porch and call Mum when I know she’ll be on her lunchbreak. I feel bad about it. I start gnawing on my nails as the phone begins to ring. Gnawing on my nails is not something I visualise as being part of my best self. Clem must know this because he tugs my hand away from my mouth and holds it in both of his.
Mum’s voice is loud in my ear. ‘Stell? Everyone okay?’
How to Grow a Family Tree Page 7