***
Dad is just getting up from the hammock when I arrive home after work in the early evening. It’s grown windy and restless while I was in the kitchen at the River Pub, and I have to wipe dirt and dust from my eyes as I walk.
‘What were you talking to Muriel about earlier?’ Dad asks. Jube is sitting by the hammock, watching people walking past along the road.
I startle. ‘Nothing, why?’
‘Just saw you talking, that’s all.’ He shrugs and we stare at each other.
‘She was telling me about her new veggie patch. Why?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. No reason. Just, wondering what you’ve been up to, that’s all.’
‘Well, that’s all,’ I say.
‘Okay.’
‘Okay.’
It’s not until I’m inside and collapsing on the bed in the hot room that I realise it’s the first thing Dad’s asked me for as long as I can remember.
***
That night I doze on the bed after dinner. As it gets dark, the wind picks up even more and it starts to drizzle again. Taylor paces around the house like a restless, trapped animal.
Suddenly, there’s a yell and the sound of something smashing, much louder than anything else we’ve heard since we’ve moved here. We all rush out into the windy, dark night. There are a few other people, but not many. Most have stayed in their caravans.
The noise is coming from the house.
‘Shouldn’t we go in there?’ Taylor asks.
‘No, it only makes it worse,’ says Trisha calmly.
‘Should we call the police?’ Muriel asks Trisha. They’re standing outside Muriel’s cabin with their arms crossed, waiting.
Trisha shakes her head. ‘Won’t do any good. He never touches him – just yells and makes a ruckus. Besides, he always blames Matt when the cops show up.’
‘If they show up,’ Muriel mutters, and when Matthew bolts out of the house a little while later, she tries to put an arm around him. He shrugs her off and runs towards the river.
‘Poor boy,’ Trisha says, and everyone goes back to their cabins.
***
I can’t settle on anything and I suppose it’s because everyone’s acting as though what happened is perfectly normal. And it’s not. It’s not.
It’s not okay and it feels wrong that people are pretending it is. I have to believe it’s pretence. I have to believe that people don’t actually think that it’s okay. That they’re just pretending to for some reason that I’ll never really understand.
I sneak out when Mum and Dad shut the door to the bunkroom and Jube follows me out of the annex. He falls into step beside me and comes with me across the grounds and onto the flood plain. For some reason, it reminds me of a cemetery. My breath catches. Whenever we drove past the cemetery at night when I was a kid, Taylor and I would both close our eyes and hold our breath because we thought spirits could attack you otherwise.
For a moment, I feel dizzy, but then I force myself to breathe. I force myself to squint into the darkness. I have a torch, but I don’t turn it on until I’m nearly at the bank of the river. Jube wags his tail at me and then cocks his leg on a tree.
‘Matt?’ I call.
There is a stirring. I have to force myself to breathe.
Jube growls deep in his throat. I think of some of the men I’d seen in the other really dilapidated cabins. I think of my self-defence corkscrew and I run. I lock the door of the cabin behind myself and only when I’ve calmed down a bit do I see that I’ve let Jube in with me. I sit down in one of the camp chairs and stare out into the night.
Dad comes out of the bunkroom. ‘Stell?’
‘Everybody just pretends it’s alright and it’s not.’
Dad walks over and sits down next to me. ‘I’m sure Matthew knows people are there if he needs them.’
‘He shouldn’t have to put up with that, though! He shouldn’t put up with people pretending it’s all okay.’
‘People aren’t pretending,’ Dad says. He pats Jube’s head. ‘They just don’t know what to do.’
‘Did your dad do that to you?’ I pull my knees up against my chest. ‘The yelling and stuff?’
Dad pauses and I hear him sigh. I think he won’t answer. Can’t answer. ‘Yeah,’ he says finally. ‘Yeah. Yelling and a lot worse.’
‘A lot worse?’
‘He used to hit me. Lock me up in my room. Throw me out.’
‘I’m so sorry, Dad.’
He shrugs. ‘What’s done is done.’
‘That’s a stupid thing to say. Did people help you?’
‘No. People didn’t think it was their business.’
‘Did you know they were there, though? If you needed them?’
Dad sighs again. ‘No. I didn’t.’
***
The next day, I don’t see Matthew around Fairyland and I want to see him. I want to help him. At around ten, I go to the manager’s door and knock.
Matthew’s father answers it. He’s wearing a faded shirt and torn shorts and narrows his eyes at me, like everything’s too bright and hard this early in the morning.
‘Yeah?’ he says.
‘Just wondering if Matt’s in?’
He studies me and then stands back from the door. ‘First door down the hallway on the left.’
I hesitate, but he’s already disappeared into another room where a television’s loudly playing. I stand there wondering what to do. Then I push the door more fully open and go inside, leaving it unlocked behind me.
The house is sparsely furnished with old tables and chairs with uneven legs. I go down the hallway and knock on the first door. ‘Matt? It’s Stella.’
I push the door open. The room is empty. I lean against the chest of drawers on the opposite wall from the bed. The room’s the most depressing I’ve ever been in, including the seashell-encrusted one I’m currently sharing with Taylor. There’s only the bed, his clothes and this chest. There aren’t any posters or sports equipment; no funny little figurines left over from childhood or a desk cluttered with schoolbooks and a laptop.
I leave and it’s not until I’m outside again that I realise I’ve been holding my breath. I eventually find Matthew out the back of the pub, in the sheltered place by the kitchen.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks flatly.
‘Making sure you’re okay. I couldn’t find you anywhere.’
‘I’m fine,’ he says.
‘I stopped by your house. You don’t have a lot of stuff.’
‘I leave everything at school,’ he says, not looking at me. His heel drums against the faded grey lino on the floor. ‘I organised it with Ms Huang. It’s just easier that way.’
‘My dad’s got a job,’ I say. ‘Can’t remember whether I told you or not.’
Matthew relaxes. ‘He does?’
‘In sales, at a camping store. Who knows how long it’ll last, but Mum’s rapt.’
‘That’s good. That’s great.’ Matthew rubs at his cheek.
‘It’s not okay, you know,’ I say. ‘Your dad yelling at you like that all the time.’
‘Having people telling me how bad it is doesn’t actually help me,’ he grumbles. ‘This is my life, okay? And it could be much worse. He never touches me. He’s never hurt me.’
‘He is hurting you, though. Just because he’s not hitting you doesn’t mean it’s okay. He shouldn’t treat you like that. It’s not right.’
‘What should I do, Stella? Tell me. What should I do?’
I open my mouth and close it again. ‘Tell the police. Tell Child Protection.’
‘There’s nothing to tell. He’s never hurt me. You’re blowing all this way out of proportion.’
‘But it’s wrong!’
‘It’s my life! It is what it is. I don’t want to talk about this anymore, okay? He’s my dad and he’s not perfect, but I know a lot of guys who get really bashed by their dads, you know? Like, really hurt. Actually hurt. I’m lucky.’
‘You
’re not lucky!’
We stare at each other and finally I sigh.
‘Alright. I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. I just want to help you and I don’t know how.’
Matthew blows out a long breath. ‘It’s fine that you said all that, Stell. It is. You don’t have to help everyone, you know? Just . . . being there is enough.’
‘I don’t know that it is.’
‘It is,’ says Matt. He tips his head, looks at me almost beseechingly. ‘And, anyway. He doesn’t mean them. The things he says. Not really.’
***
That night, Taylor tells me that she’s a shopkeeper and if I try to nick any more lipstick, she’ll have to call her supervisor. I manage to keep her in bed by apologising profusely.
I don’t feel like I sleep, but I must, because the next thing I know it’s morning and I can hear the radio playing. Mum has started going to Mass at the local church. I know she’d like Taylor and me to go with her, but we never do. This Sunday she takes her time getting ready. ‘You sure you don’t want to come?’
‘Yeah, Mum,’ I say. ‘I’m sure.’
If she’s disappointed, she doesn’t show it. I watch as she clatters out of the annex in her nice shirt and leather heels. I feel pretty awful about letting her go alone.
I force down a bit of toast and go out to look for Matthew. Fairyland is alive with the sounds of crickets and bees and blowflies. I end up out the front of Trisha’s with a mug of rosehip tea and a handful of squashed lamington.
‘My friend Nora sent me some books! The library where she works is updating their collection. It’s a very fancy place, you know. She sends me pictures. And . . .’
‘How’d you end up here, Trisha? With Reg, I mean.’
Trisha bites into a lamington and dusts the flakes off herself. ‘Difficult thing to unpack, really. I suppose because I fell in love with the wrong sort of man.’
‘You’re in love with Reg?’
She snorts. ‘No! No. Not Reg, no. But this man . . . I would’ve done anything for him. I gave him a lot more money than I should’ve. He had a business he wanted to start up, you know? And then he got behind on his rent – our rent, by then. I don’t know. Lots of reasons, Stella. But I’m happy to be here. I am. I lived in my car for a while. That was tough. And then it got impounded. No. Much better here.’
‘Why didn’t anyone help him?’ I ask.
Trisha frowns at me. ‘What?’
‘When Matthew was getting abused last night. Everyone just pretended like nothing was happening. It’s not right.’
‘Oh, love. We help him as much as we can.’
‘It’s not enough, though. I just don’t understand.’
‘I know. It’s rotten, isn’t it?’ She gives me a hug and I finish my tea and my lamington. I wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t. Then Reg comes home and I leave because Reg doesn’t like us kids hanging around when he’s there.
I suck coconut flakes off my fingers as I walk slowly towards the river, wondering if I’d said the right thing to Matthew; if there was something vital that I was missing. I feel totally out of my depth. The idea of my parents being so vicious, so cruel, is impossible to imagine.
I think about how well Dad’s doing lately. How he’s been asking us questions and going to work. How he’s been bringing home dinner, watching out for Jube and seeing the counsellor. He’s stopped gambling before, but this feels different. Gamblers stop completely, sometimes. People don’t always gamble forever. I tell myself this, over and over, as I walk back to the cabin.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As January goes by, I go for lots of long walks around Sutherbend. Sometimes Jube’s waiting for me at the edge of Fairyland. Sometimes we sit by the pool or on the bench by the river. Other times, there’s nobody waiting and I go straight home and read in the stale-smelling room that I share with Taylor.
Sometimes Richard and I eat cookies and watch movies, and other times I run into Matthew. Sometimes he’s down by the river, but mostly he’s walking around the streets or in the library. He likes to spend his time in places where his dad won’t find him. Mostly we just pretend the other one’s not there, but sometimes we talk.
‘Clem hasn’t been around in a while,’ he says one afternoon.
‘I know.’
‘You fighting or something?’
‘No.’
‘What, then?’
‘Nothing – we’ve just drifted a bit. It’s hard. He doesn’t get any of this. It’s a lot to emotionally digest.’
‘Emotionally digest?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you tried to explain it to him?’
‘It doesn’t make any difference. His life’s perfect.’
Matthew’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘You really think that?’
‘Of course. You’ve seen where he lives. Everything’s easy for Clem.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Matt says. ‘I don’t think stuff’s ever been that easy for Clem.’
I snort. ‘How would you know?’
‘I’ve been at school with him since kindergarten, same as you have.’
‘You’re full of it.’
Matt rolls his eyes. ‘You know what? You’re so preoccupied with fixing everyone around you, but it’s like on some level you think that everyone else’s stuff is easier to deal with than your own and it’s not, Stella.’
‘I don’t think that!’
Matt just frowns and goes back to his music.
Ginny nearly drowns trying to surf down at the peninsula and wanders around Fairyland, telling anyone who’ll listen. At home, I sew headbands and pyjama pants that don’t quite fit, and Mum frets about where to store the ironing board and shoe polish. My father’s got a job. He needs shined shoes and ironed shirts. Taylor and I don’t really talk about it, as though it’s all a spell that can easily be broken.
***
I finish off a shift at the pub and Stu gives me a big bowl of bolognese at the end of it.
‘Scorcher, eh?’ he says, fanning himself with one of the menus. ‘Want another drink?’
‘Nah, thanks, though. At least the air-con works in here pretty well.’
Stu shakes his head miserably. ‘Still too hot for me.’
‘Is it?’
‘Far too hot. Look! Look how I’m sweating.’
I peer at his head. ‘Very moist.’
‘Stu!’ Tamara yells from the kitchen. ‘Stop showing Stella your sweat! It’s creepy!’
He fans himself more vehemently with his menu. ‘It’s just so hot.’
‘His internal thermometer’s completely out of whack,’ Tamara says, putting out a bowl of chips for us. ‘He wears a Hawaiian shirt all through winter.’
‘Not all of winter,’ Stu grumbles.
Tamara rolls her eyes. ‘Have a good night, Stell.’
‘Thanks. You too.’
There’s talk of rain and flooding on the radio. There’s talk about how we all need to be on alert.
‘Should we be worried?’ I ask.
Stu snorts. ‘Nah. It’s nowhere near the conditions it’d need to be to flood. Just a slow news day, that’s all.’
Stu and I eat our way through the bowl of chips and I take some home in a napkin for Taylor, who reckons the River Pub does the best chips in Sutherbend.
At home, Mum’s banging around in the annex and Taylor’s pretending to watch High Life, but really she’s watching Mum.
‘Dad’s late,’ Taylor says as I sidle past Mum, now whacking a pair of salad tongs against the camping table, and sit down on the couch next to Taylor.
‘How late?’
Taylor nods at Mum. ‘Late enough.’
When Dad does come home, we’re all very quiet. He smiles at us. ‘What’s up with everyone?’
‘You were meant to be home two hours ago,’ Mum says, her voice very tight.
‘Got caught up at work. What’s the big deal?’
‘I called your work.’ Mum moves f
ast, much faster than I would’ve thought possible. She reaches for the pockets of his jackets, his pants. ‘Judy!’ he yells, trying to get away from her, but she’s too quick. Too furious. Taylor and I watch from the couch as dozens of scratchies flutter out from his pocket. I wonder what he’s sold, or maybe stolen. It’s an abstract wondering. I feel too tired to care. Behind me, Mum’s breath catches.
Taylor swears. ‘You’ve got to be joking!’
He’s holding one, though. One where the little pictures under the scratches of foil all match. The very thing he’s been dreaming of. He puts it carefully down on the little table next to the couch. Taylor gets up and slams the door to the bedroom, sending the scratchie flying off the table. Neither of our parents look away from each other. Dad’s talking to Mum very quickly, very urgently. He doesn’t notice when I slip the winning card into my pocket.
***
It’s not just the scratchies. It’s Ron from the cabin by the pavilion, who doesn’t have a broken air-conditioner, who has a knack with the horses down the track. It’s the pub near the station in town, which Taylor and I have never thought to check.
Taylor and I listen through the wall and quite suddenly, we don’t want to hear anymore. The fight that follows is loud enough to spill out across half of the caravan park. Normally, my parents fight in whispers, but not this time. They’ve both hit breaking point and something smashes. I can’t tell if someone’s thrown something, and the sound makes me feel nauseous. Taylor packs a bag and disappears, and I know she’s going to Adam’s place. I pull on my shoes, and because everything seems so wrong, I do what I always do. I head to Clem’s.
I call Clem from the driveway outside his house. He lets me in through the back door and we go into his room, which is at the opposite end of the house to his parents’. It’s impossible to tell if they’re home, anyway. When they are, their cars are locked out of sight in the big, double garage.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks and I realise I’m crying. He reaches out and touches my face; he’s never done that before. He clears his throat and passes me tissues from the bathroom. While I mop my face and blow my nose, he disappears and comes back with two mugs of chocolate milk and a flower he’s picked from his mother’s garden.
How to Grow a Family Tree Page 18