Pulling the Moves

by Margaret Clark

  ‘Come on,’ I say, as Mum tucks her arm through Steve’s and they swan up to the front of the room. ‘We’re all at the top table.’

  It’s a good wedding. The scout mums have made pumpkin and minestrone soup, so there’s a choice of the two. Straight after the soup course Mum and Steve do the bridal waltz to a live band in the corner. Sam dances with Cola and I dance with John because Danny says he can’t waltz. Mum’s determined to have the dancing early because she reckons at most weddings the band doesn’t start up till late and everyone wants to go home. The rest of the guests get up and have a dance. Well, they call it dancing. They just clump together in pairs and shove each other round the floor. I can’t move to this stuff: it’s gross.

  Then the music stops again. We have the main course, a choice of roast beef or chicken with three vegs, and there’s more dancing. Then Steve makes this speech and says that Sam and I look nice, and on behalf of Mum he thanks everyone for coming. We toast the newlyweds with champagne.

  ‘Right,’ says Mum, plonking herself between Sam and Cola. ‘The moment of reckoning has come. What happened?’

  Sam tells this incredible story, with Cola filling in the gaps.

  ‘So Steve’s van’s a write-off?’ says Mum sounding grim.

  ‘Nah, just the side panel’s caved in,’ says Sam.

  ‘So who’s supposed to pay to fix it?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  Sam hangs his head and Cola goes red.

  ‘Don’t stress,’ says Danny. ‘I’ve got mates. We can fix it cheap. The insurance should cover the repairs, anyway.’

  ‘Ermph,’ goes Mum. But she doesn’t look too worried.

  ‘Lax out,’ I go. ‘This is your wedding day, Mum. And it’s nearly time to cut the cake.’

  More photos as Mum and Steve cut the cake. Then we have fruit salad or pav to finish off. The pav’s like a huge lump of frogs’ spawn, all uncooked in the middle. Serious spew food. The fruit salad’s got bruised pears and black bananas all through it. There’s more dancing, then it’s time for the telegrams.

  I’m cool, but they’re really off. Uncle Clive reads them out one by one. He’s got new bonded teeth and he lisps through them, sort of spitting out the words. There’s all these sick jokes about Steve burying his bone: there’ll be more than a fence running round the house soon with the patter of little feet (yuck): a joke about sex and Steve’ll come in two secs—everyone over eighteen’s laughing their heads off. Everyone under eighteen is dying of embarrassment!

  Then it’s time for Mum and Steve to go on their one-night honeymoon to a local hotel.

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Mum, regarding Danny and then Cola. ‘I think I’d better forget the honeymoon and stay home.’

  ‘Aw, Mum …’

  ‘I’ll chaperone,’ says John. ‘Cola can sleep in Leanne’s room and Danny can sleep in with Sam. I’ll take the couch.’

  ‘It’s all settled,’ says Steve. ‘Go and get changed, dear.’

  Mum shunts off to a back room and comes back minus the wedding dress, wearing a black outfit that makes her look like she’s going to a funeral rather than a honeymoon. We get in a circle and sing “Old Lang Syne” then more handshaking and hugging before they bail.

  Someone ties a flashing light from a roadworker’s site onto the back bumper as they drive off. It hits a speed hump, sparks and burst into flames! I think Mum and Steve are going to be blown up! Their car disappears round the corner in a cloud of smoke. I’m worrying, but no one else seems to be stressing.

  We all go back inside. I sit down, kick my shoes off under the table and pull my dress off my shoulders as the band finally starts up with some rock. I pull the pins from my hair and it comes tumbling down.

  Cooja’s trying to crack onto Bin. She and Cathy turn their backs on him. Tosca and Brownie ask them to dance. Cooja shrugs and tries to crack onto Cate-with-a-C. I go over.

  ‘Don’t trust him, Cate,’ I say loudly. ‘He just wants to jump in your knickers.’

  She blushes and moves away. So do all the other girls.

  ‘Thanks a lot, Leanne,’ says Cooja. ‘You’ve just ruined my life.’

  ‘Any time,’ I say, and go back to Danny.

  Now I can enjoy myself at last.

  SAM

  Man, am I glad to be back home!

  I’m on the sofa. Cola’s next to me and Leanne and Danny are sprawling on the floor. John’s making a phone call. We’re watching a video. I’ve told my story a thousand times, and Cola’s added her bits. And we’ve heard what Danny’s been up to. We’ve ordered in pizza for supper and my eyelids are drooping. I’m ready for bed. It’s late. Then I hear a car pull up in the driveway.

  ‘Now what?’ goes Leanne, peering out the window.

  There’s the sound of car doors slamming then footsteps. The back door opens and Mum comes barrelling in.

  ‘Oh, no,’ says Leanne. ‘You can’t have broken up with Steve already!’

  But he’s behind Mum, carrying the bags.

  ‘What happened?’ I bleat.

  ‘Your mother wanted to come home,’ says Steve. ‘She can’t relax worrying about you lot. She was positive you’d have got John drunk and be having wild orgies.’

  ‘You don’t trust us,’ says Leanne accusingly.

  ‘No,’ says Mum, her eyes raking the room. ‘I don’t.’

  John comes into the room. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Mum and Steve are back from the shortest honeymoon in history,’ says Leanne.

  ‘Well, I may as well go home,’ says John.

  ‘No, you can stay.’

  ‘No, I’ve got stuff to do in the morning. I’ll see you guys later.’

  He goes. Mum plonks herself between Cola and me.

  ‘Turn off the video,’ she says to Leanne. ‘It’s time we all had a good talk.’

  ‘What? Now? It’s the middle of the night!’

  ‘Leanne!’

  ‘Okay, okay, though why you want to choose your wedding night to have a mental workshop with us is beyond me.’

  We sit in silence.

  ‘Well?’ says Mum.

  ‘I’ll go and put on some coffee,’ says Steve.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ says Danny.

  They go out to the kitchen. Cola wriggles uneasily on the sofa.

  ‘You can stay,’ says Mum. ‘Now, I want the full story.’

  ‘Not again!’ I groan.

  ‘There’re gaps,’ says Mum. ‘First of all, I want to make it clear that you’re never going to clear off again like that, Sam. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yeah. Clear,’ I mumble. Does she have to pay me out in front of Cola.

  ‘And you …’ she turns to Cola, ‘where’s your family? Where’s your mother? Does she know where you are? Why were you living in a house with a bunch of hoons?’

  ‘Mum …’

  ‘I want answers,’ says Mum.

  ‘We won’t get any sleep till you tell her,’ says Leanne, as Steve and Danny come back with the coffee and some biscuits.

  ‘My dad died,’ says Cola. She hadn’t told me that. She’d said no dad! I thought he’d cleared out, like mine.

  ‘So?’ says Leanne, tactless as usual.

  ‘I saw him die,’ says Cola. ‘He had an asthma attack. We called the doctor but he couldn’t get his bag open because he’d left the keys behind. Anyway he called an ambulance but by then it was too late and my dad was dead.’

  Mum pats her hand. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, Mum had a few boyfriends, but then she tied up with this real creep, Lennie. He’s always drunk or drugging out, and he tried to come in the bathroom while I was having a shower and stuff like that, and Mum wouldn’t listen, so I took off.’

  ‘Does she know where you are?’ asks Mum.

  ‘Nah. She doesn’t care. He said she had to choose between him or me, so she chose him.’

  I see Mum bristle. I know that Leanne and I are more important to her than any man on this planet, including Steve.
If we’d asked her to choose, she’d have picked us. I think.

  ‘Cola has to go up with the other boys in front of the magistrate next week,’ says Steve. ‘Meanwhile I’ve got temporary guardianship provided that she stays here and behaves herself. Which is one reason I wasn’t too fussy about having the honeymoon right now, either. My responsibilities are really here at home. We can always have the honeymoon later.’

  Steve’s a real top guy. How many guys would sacrifice their honeymoon night for a runner? Though Mum wanted to come home, too.

  ‘You won’t do a runner, will you, Cola?’ I ask.

  She looks at us all. ‘I guess not,’ she says.

  ‘This is a cool family,’ says Danny. ‘Mrs Stud … er … I mean Mrs Ransome took my friends and me in when we had nowhere to stay, then I moved in with Steve for a while.’

  ‘Yeah. Top family,’ goes Leanne in a dry voice.

  I look at her. I guess when it’s your own mum you take her for granted. Sometimes she drives me nuts, wanting to know where I’m going, what I’m doing, who with, why and how. I know she drives Leanne absolutely demented. I guess that’s because she cares. But sometimes I wish she didn’t care quite so much: it’s suffocating.

  ‘I think we can continue all this in the morning,’ says Steve. ‘Right now, it’s time for bed.’

  Danny and I go to my room. He’s got his bag with him, but he hasn’t got any PJs: he sleeps in his T-shirt and jocks. As I drift off to sleep I wonder what the next few days will bring.

  ‘I tell you, that Cola’s one heap of trouble,’ goes Danny.

  ‘Why?’ I go, although I already know the answer.

  For the first week Cola was cool. We went to the magistrate’s court with her. I saw Zac and Macca again, and even tidied up with clean clothes they looked mean and angry.

  Macca got sent down for a year and Zac got two, at a Youth Training Centre, because he had several burgs to his credit. Cola’s got a good behaviour bond with an undertaking to behave herself under Steve’s temporary guardianship till they can find a home for her.

  ‘Can we take her permanently?’ I asked Mum.

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Mum, looking grim, as Zac made a rude sign at the magistrate and Macca shrugged as he was led away.

  Cola went to school with Leanne and they put her in the same form. And then in the second week the trouble started.

  ‘She reckons kids and teachers are pickin’ on her,’ says Leanne after the first day, when we were sitting at the kitchen table.

  ‘Are they?’ Mum’s home early from the Hot Bread Shop. Danny’s at his mate’s and Steve’s there with him, trying to repair the van.

  ‘She’s causing most of it. Mr Borgani told her to stop talking and she went spac, said he could get stuffed. She’s lucky he didn’t give her a detention.’

  ‘Maybe she’s just showing off,’ I go.

  ‘Maybe she’s too wild for regular school,’ goes Leanne.

  Coming from Leanne, that sounds weird.

  ‘Where’s she now?’ says Mum. ‘You were supposed to come home on the bus together.’

  ‘Yeah, well I think she jigged at recess. I was doing art and she was doing music, see. We were supposed to meet at the lockers and she didn’t show. And Fern said she wasn’t in music.’

  The phone rings and I answer it. It’s Bin, and she’s mad.

  ‘Mel rang,’ she says. ‘One guess who’s in Bruisers having a Coke with Cooja. Your sweet little Coca Cola, pulling the moves. She’s a cradle-snatcher. Cathy’s bawling her eyes out here.’

  ‘What? I thought Cathy hated Cooja’s guts.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about girls, Sam Studley!’

  She slams down the phone so loud that it nearly busts my eardrum.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Bin. At least we know where Cola is right now. She’s in Bruisers having a Coke with Cooja.’

  ‘She’s supposed to come straight home from school,’ says Mum. ‘Come on, Sam. You too, Leanne. We’re going down to Bruisers.’

  ‘No way,’ says Leanne. ‘I’ve gotta share a room with her and go on the bus to school with her, but I’m not, I repeat not goin’ into Bruisers with me mother and me little brother. I’d rather be dead.’

  ‘You will be if you don’t, Leanne,’ says Mum. ‘Move it!’

  We pile into the Falcon, Leanne sulking in the front and me in the back. Mum drives with her usual lead foot technique, and we scream down the main street of town and pull up with a screech of brakes into a parking space near Bruisers.

  ‘I’m not getting out of the car,’ says Leanne.

  ‘Yes you are,’ says Mum.

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘I’ll go into Bruisers and tell them that Leanne Studley has serious herpes,’ says Mum.

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘No?’

  Mum stalks off. Leanne leaps out of the car. I drag along behind, wishing the footpath would open up and swallow me. How can I be related to them?

  Mum steamrolls into Bruisers. It’s a dark, narrow place. There’s a line of booths down each side with video games and pinnies at the back near the kitchen. I spot Cola just inside the door. Thank you, God. We don’t have to go past everyone. I duck my head and pretend to be fascinated by the floor.

  ‘Ah, Cola.’

  She’s surrounded by a heap of guys. Cooja stands. He knows my mum.

  ‘Out, please,’ says Mum to the crew.

  ‘What’s with you, Granny?’ says this dude with braids and a major undercut.

  ‘Forget the please. OUT.’

  ‘She’s married to a cop, man,’ goes Cooja.

  They all bail out. Fast.

  Mum plonks herself down next to Cola.

  ‘Leanne. Sam. Sit.’

  Leanne sits and stares defiantly at a spot on the wall above Mum’s head. I slide in beside Mum and gaze at the tabletop.

  ‘Er … nice day, Mrs Stud … I mean, Mrs Ransome,’ says Cooja.

  Mum regards him like he’s a fly in a web.

  ‘Er … I’ll see you guys later,’ he says, and towels out, fast.

  ‘Now,’ Mum says to Cola, ‘I thought Steve and I made it perfectly clear. During week nights you are to come straight home from school on the bus. In the future when you’ve earned our trust we will negotiate whether you can go to town after school or at other times. But not yet. So why are you here, Cola, instead of at home?’

  Cola shrugs. ‘Felt like a Coke.’

  ‘There’s a fridge full of Coke at home,’ goes Mum.

  ‘Felt like a Coke with Cooja.’

  ‘Cooja can come to our house and have a Coke.’

  ‘Felt like a Coke with Cooja in a place with video machines,’ says Cola.

  ‘Right. Well, I feel like some Coke without Cooja, and with video machines and nachos,’ says Mum.

  I feel like an idiot. Leanne looks cool, but I can tell by the way she’s tapping her nails on the tabletop that she’s feeling like an idiot, too.

  ‘Mum, we could go to—’

  ‘I feel like some nachos right here.’

  A waitress trolls up and Mum gives the order: large nachos and three Cokes. All these kids are staring. No one over the age of eighteen ever, ever goes into Bruisers.

  ‘Hey, Cola. Still meeting me tonight?’ calls this greaseball from Ormond Secondary College.

  She shrugs. Then she glares at Mum.

  ‘I’m outa here,’ she says as our order arrives.

  ‘I’m not,’ says Mum.

  Short of climbing over Mum there’s no way out. We chew and slurp our way through nachos and Cokes. Cola keeps her head down.

  ‘Right,’ says Mum, once the plate’s empty. ‘Now we can leave.’

  We move on out.

  ‘Car,’ says Mum. We get in.

  Cola looks confused. ‘What’s with her?’ she whispers to me in the back seat.

  ‘It’s how she operates. She won’t belt you, she won’t nag you, she’ll just embarrass y
ou to death,’ I whisper back. ‘You’ll get used to it. Of course, if you play by the house rules, she won’t bug you.’

  Cola’s quiet all the way home.

  ‘That Bruisers place is quite nice,’ says Mum. ‘Great nachos. I reckon I could go there every afternoon round four.’

  I gulp. Leanne rolls her eyes. Cola stiffens.

  ‘Of course if the three of you are home after school for the rest of this week I probably won’t feel the need for Bruisers nachos. I’ll feel the need for Ransome nachos round the kitchen table.’

  ‘I won’t,’ says Cola.

  ‘You will,’ says Leanne from the front seat.

  ‘Just watch me,’ whispers Cola, poking her tongue out at Mum’s back.

  ‘Why don’t you grow up?’ snaps Leanne, turning round.

  Incredible. Unbelievable. My sister Leanne, the wildest child in our street, in our town, telling someone else to grow up? What’s going on? Of course Leanne is older by ten months. Maybe you suddenly get really mature at fifteen years and ten months.

  Cola doesn’t like being told to grow up. She leaps on Leanne as soon as she’s out of the car and pulls her hair. Leanne is taller and stronger. She twists Cola’s arm behind her back.

  ‘I said “Grow up”, Cola.’

  ‘Bitch.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ says Mum, as Danny and Steve come out to find out what the commotion’s about. I feel bad. I was the one who persuaded them to take in Cola. Why can’t she behave?

  ‘She’s bad news,’ I overhear Leanne telling Danny later, when they’re sitting out on the porch, the only place without other bodies round, and I’m putting out the garbage. There’s absolutely no privacy in this overcrowded house any more.

  ‘Come on, Leanne. Remember what you were like ten months ago? You were bad news, all angry and upset till you found your dad,’ says Danny.

  ‘I’m sick and tired of people being sorry for her,’ she snaps. ‘And why can’t we go somewhere and do some serious moves?’

  ‘That’s supposed to be my line, Leanne.’

  I decide I’d better stop listening: it’s getting heavy. I crash some gargage bin lids round so they know I’m nearby. When I look at the porch they’ve disappeared.