Revolted, I search around the car and spot the towel I brought with me to use for karma yoga. I scrub my hand on it. Damn, now I won’t be able to use the towel at yoga. I am certainly not going to use other people’s towels. I will have to skip the yoga class today. I hope that Carlana doesn’t find out that I did. She will be most upset with me for my lack of commitment.
Carlana, 8:30AM
“Mummy, these aren’t the clothes I should be wearing to school today, today is mufti day, I need to wear my play clothes.” I look up from my laptop to see Maia standing in the doorway, in her oversized school dress, her tiny feet bare. Her petite size always concerns me. She is so small for her age and vulnerable looking, she always appears afraid, I can never understand why.
“That’s OK baby, go and have a look in your drawer for something different to wear, you can choose anything you like. I remember now, you gave me the note about the mufti day last week. I even have it pinned to the noticeboard, sorry,” I say.
I am sorry for my forgetfulness but, unlike most mothers that I know, I am well aware that forgetting what I read on a note last week doesn’t make me a bad mother. I’ve learnt not to be hard on myself, never again, though it’s proving to be more difficult to not be tough on other people for what they do to me.
“That’s OK, Mummy,” Maia replies softly.
“When you have finished changing clothes, come and sit down at the table and you can eat the organic porridge I made you,”
“Thank you, Mummy, I will. Is it dark chocolate flavour?”
“No, it’s honey and banana flavour, baby.”
“That’s OK, Mummy. I can still eat it, I’ll go get changed now.”
Grateful that Maia is such an obedient child, I go back to reading the emails on my screen. Last week I announced that registrations would open this morning for a new workshop I am running on how to eat mindfully, and I have already received an influx of emails from clients that have signed up, along with a stream of payments.
Outlays for these workshops make up a significant portion of my income, and I am endlessly thankful for the good fortune I have in making money doing a job that I love. In addition to the money are the compliments people send me, along with their hopes that I can help them with their attitudes towards eating.
I read the first email registration I have opened on the screen.
Hello Carlana,
I just registered for your Mindful Eating Retreat next month. I am so excited to be learning good eating methods from you. I am eager to learn about how I can eat my food attentively and appreciate the taste and textures of it more.
Best from Olive.
But even though I often receive such positive feedback, I am overwhelmed with all the administration work that is involved with processing receipts and sending confirmations. I will have to leave all the monotonous work for Evan to handle because I know that once I reply to these emails, there will only be more coming in their place. I prefer to focus on the more creative activities, like writing content for the workshops and the occasional live Facebook chat with premium members of my programme.
Maia comes out of her room dressed in a red dress with a white collar, holding a sizeable colourful plastic toy, a monstrosity.
“Good choice, picking that simple dress. What do you have there, Maia? I haven’t seen it before, where did you get it?” I say, surprised to see the toy in her hands.
“Haydee gave it to me, she said I could borrow it for a day. Is it all right for me to play with?”
“How did you bring that home without me seeing it? Ah, yes, it’s fine, you can play with it for a little while now, just give it back to her as soon as you arrive at school, and next time say you don’t want any toys, OK?” Maia’s lip quivers in response.
“I carried it in my bag. Can I just show you what it does?” She asks softly.
Before I can reply, Maia begins to shake the toy and grabs hold of a string that dangles at its side. A swirl of bright pink foam hits the wall.
“Please don’t cry, Maia, it’s only a wall,” I say.
Jean, 9:00AM
“Go inside, your brother is not outside to look after you, mate.”
I step past a lady, dressed in a dark green kaftan that reaches the ground. I think she may be ushering her son inside because of the strange woman walking along the street, who is looking too closely at their house. I am not looking in your windows, lady; I will not steal your kids, I have my own child. As I cross the road, I look back over my shoulder at the mother, to play with her and make her feel extra uncomfortable. Wealthy, over-protective mothers – I wonder how she would have survived four years in government housing with her child.
The walk from the train station was up an invigorating steep road, because the rich always live on hills. I stopped to buy a coffee at a hole in the wall cafe; the barista was persistent in trying to sell me a keep cup, along with a speech about caring for the environment. I would never spend cash that I don’t have on such luxuries, plus they only sold small keep cups there, which did not suit me because I like large coffees with a good deal of milk. I bought a big latte in a paper cup, to the barista’s dismay. As I walked and sipped my coffee, I imagined how I would slide the envelope in the letterbox once I reached my destination. Now that I am here, I am grateful that Carlana lives on a tree-lined street which offers plenty of trunks for me to hide behind. Once I am standing in front of her house, I realise that it is one of the more modest houses on the street. While all the other homes are two-storey, hers is a single storey house, painted a pale pink. I wonder if she chose her house on purpose to fit her image of living mindfully. I look behind me for a place to hide.
Across the road from Carlana’s house, there’s a neat hedge that frames the lawn of a home that looks like a perfect hiding place; no car occupies the driveway, and I hope that is a sign that nobody is at home. I crouch down behind the perfectly clipped hedge and poke my head out slightly, so her house is in full view. There is a car parked in her driveway, a grey sedan. I remember back to the bright pink car that used to park outside her former damned apartment.
There is a faint sound at her door, and a small girl with short brown hair steps out, in a red dress framed by a broad white collar. She is approximately six years old. It must be her daughter. The last time I saw her? Well, never. She hadn’t been born when I had to move out of 33 Gaia Street. The voice that follows the girl is familiar, it says just one single word, just like I used to hear, only now the name has changed, Maia. The tone isn’t as sharp and loud as it used to be, but nevertheless, it sends the girl rushing inside, closing the door behind her. Smaller creatures than Carlana still do what she says at once. Yes, this is the woman I had lived next door to. The modest house, with the average-looking tidy front garden and common family car, is all smoke and mirrors. In the end, her wallet is nicely lined with notes from her conference talks and the books she’s written about how she is a better version of the person she was before. But she isn’t.
I crane my neck to look at the side of her house, out of curiosity; I check if there are any signs of a dog behind the back fence. I look back up the street to see if the lady in the kaftan, protector of children, is still on the road. No sign of her. My opportunity to do what I came here to do. I put my hand into my bag and take out the yellow envelope that Beth gave me to hold the photos I had printed, along with my handwritten letter. Holding the envelope in my hand, I tense my legs ready to lift my body up. All of a sudden the front door swings open again. This time it’s her, a watered-down copy of what she used to be. Gone is the tight mini-skirt and cleavage revealing blouse. Standing there on the step, she is wearing a beige jumper over a brown shirt and a knee-length skirt. Her once-blonde bob has turned in to a drabbish dark brown mane. In one hand she holds a navy backpack by the handle and over her shoulder, she swings a calico bag. She walks towards the car and opens the door. She leans over the driver’s side and sticks out one leg, to reveal a sensible white sneaker wher
e once a high heel was worn. She pulls her body out of the car, smoothes down her skirt. She looks at her elegant watch, leaves the car door open and walks back towards the front door, which she closes behind her, almost like she knows there’s someone on the street watching her.
My shaky legs are carrying me forward, but instead of stopping at the letterbox, I find myself standing behind her car, my fingers hurriedly search for the latch of the boot as my eyes stay fixed to the door of her house. I press the lock, and the door lifts upwards. I lift up one trembling leg, hoist it over, and crawl into the hollow space. As I raise up my arm and pull down the hatch, I fling out the empty coffee cup I had still been holding. Once the latch clicks closed partial darkness covers me, there are streams of yellow light coming from vents in the parcel shelf above me. I am aware that I am still holding the envelope in my hand; still clutching the extortion material which should be in her letterbox. The back passenger door of the car is being opened; someone is squirming into the seat in front of me. I know it’s the child; I pray that she doesn’t peep over into the back of the car. Amy used to do that. She used to crawl into the car and see what was in the boot. But this girl’s mum is a minimalist, she doesn’t own stuff; she knows her mum will not have anything for her in the boot. What if her mum opens the back door? But she won’t. She already put whatever she was carrying inside the car, she won’t be putting anything in here, please, please no. A door is closed and then another, and then I feel the engine of the car starting. I can relax my taut body for a moment and wait to see where I am being taken.
Damn it, where will I leave this envelope now? What have I done to myself? My body is too inflexible to be contorted in this scrolled position for too long. I need to keep moving constantly. Besides the ludicrousness of being tightly compressed into a ball in Carlana’s boot, it gnaws on me that if I don’t get the money I need, I won’t be able to take off any more days from work to travel to her house and put the envelope in her letterbox before she moves out.
‘You made the right move, Jean, don’t you worry,’ I try to reassure myself that there is an explanation for why I climbed into the boot of this car. I think it is because she left the car door unlocked. I wouldn’t have gotten in the car otherwise, but she left the car door wide open. She invited me in, she invited me to follow her.
Besides, perhaps leaving the envelope would not have been the best idea, after all. Earlier, I had been sure that once I had posted the incriminating images to Carlana, I would receive a phone call saying that the money I had demanded had been deposited into my account, or I would get an offer of employment. But when I saw her this morning, stepping out of her house, my nerves were sent amok, and my newly acquired steadiness was affected by what happened six years back.
It was in that instant that I understood I was naive; there was no likelihood at all that she would make a payment into my account just because she read a letter and viewed some incriminating photos. I have done the wise thing stowing away with her. Merely dropping off these photos in her letterbox would have been fruitless.
But now, how will I approach her to tell her what I want her to do for me?
Maia, 9:10AM
There is a funny smell coming from the back of the car, from behind my seat. It smells like strawberries. I wonder if Mummy left berries at the end of the car and forgot. Sometimes she does that, she forgets things, but usually not in the back of the car, because she never puts things in there. She always puts her things on the seat next to her; maybe she does that so she won’t forget. I wonder if Mummy can smell the strawberry smell also? I can ask her but then she might stop the car to check, and then I would be late for school, I am already late because she forgot it was mufti day and because of the toy gun that made a mess on the wall that we had to clean up.
Oh no, the toy gun, where is it? Mummy told me that I had to give it back to Haydee, but I forgot it, I think I left it on my bedroom floor, but maybe it’s on the floor of the car? No, it’s not there. Perhaps it’s in the back of the car, because Mummy put it there because she didn’t want to look at it any more? I can ask Mummy to check if it’s in the back of the car and then at the same time I can see where the strawberry smell is coming from.
What if Evan sees the toy at home, will he throw it in the bin like he does with all the plastic things? If he does, I won’t be able to give to back to Haydee. How will I tell Mummy that I forgot it? Maybe she won’t be angry because she often doesn’t remember things as well. Should I tell her now or wait until I get out of the car? Perhaps we can go back and get it, so Evan doesn’t take it to his work and throw it away in the big machine that melts plastic. I can be late for school if it means I save the toy from Evan.
I have to rest my head, it’s getting sore from thinking about the toy. I wish had never taken it from Haydee, but she’s always showing me all the toys she has that I am not allowed to play with, Evan says they are rubbishy but I don’t think they are, they are colourful and fun.
One, two, three, that’s what I have to do, I have to count like Mummy says I should when I get a sore head, and she also says I have to breathe, but I am already doing that so I can’t breathe again.
We are here, nearly stopping, I can go and play with my friends instead of worrying about the toy gun. Should I tell Mummy to hide it, to make sure Evan doesn’t touch it?
I unbuckle my belt and wait for Mummy to stop the car. I’m going to be brave and tell her I forgot it, because Mummy can be scary but she’s not as frightening as Evan.
But before I get out, I’m going to have a look where the beautiful smell is coming from.
I just need to twist my legs around and look through the gap between the shelf and the little bench. I look inside, it’s dark in there. But wait, what’s inside? I can see a bright-coloured jumper, so brightly coloured that I can see even though it’s dark. Did Mummy leave a jumper in there? Oh no, the jumper is moving. It’s a person, she is looking at me, I can see a little bit of her eyes. She’s moving her hand; I think she’s putting it on her mouth.
Why is Mummy driving with a person in the back of her car? Should I ask her? No, It will be my secret. If I tell her then she will forget to hide the gun and then Daddy will see it, she says she can’t concentrate on too many things at once, poor Mummy.
I open the car door and take a big breath before I say the words, maybe it’s the breath Mummy always tells me to take, because it’s made my chest puff out.
Jean, 9:20AM
I despise being in a locked vehicle. This is Carlana’s fault. I blame her for all the dangerous situations I get trapped in; she drove me out of town to the neighbourhood I am still stuck in until today. An entire area reeking of poverty so heavily that it’s not possible to understand how disheartening it is to live there, until you do.
The hospital review board was not impressed with my past performance and, as I had expected, once I had lost my job, losing my house was inevitable. As hard as I had tried to rent a reasonably-priced house or apartment on the safe side of Glassport, I had to contend with Carlana and her influence on her professional real estate connections. As soon as I was dismissed from my full-of-misfortune role as a midwife I had known what would befall me next; I had to secure a new house before we moved out of the one we lived in. At night I would spend anxious moments hunting for available properties. There weren’t many for rent on the right, safe side of town so, not to miss out, in the early mornings I would call the real estate agent that she didn’t work at, to book to view a house. I looked at five houses in total. By the third, I knew that something or someone was operating against me. After waiting a few days, the agent would come back with the reply that, unfortunately, the owner had changed their mind and the house wasn’t available anymore. Eventually, I felt despondent and resolved that we would move in with Roslyn. But my adventurous mother then declared she was moving to Bali indefinitely. By the time I was looking at the fourth house, I had to tell Amy that we would have to move. I told her that we would be
moving to West Glassport and that would mean changing schools, as her school didn’t accept students that lived out of the area even if they were already enrolled.
Carlana is speaking in a clear, slow voice, polite and pleasant, like she knows that I am in the car. I must be suffocating, running low on oxygen, because suddenly I am in the supermarket in West Glassport a few weeks after we moved into our one-bedroom unit, that featured diluted urine stained carpet throughout. I was standing at the fridge that stocked the ice-cream; there was a mother, her baggy tracksuit pants cut at the calves. As I chose my ice cream, I listened to her speaking to the small girl standing next to her. I thought about how she was talking nicely to her daughter, until I came across the same mother outside. I was walking in the same direction as her, towards our government-leased house. Away from the watchful eyes and ears of other customers and supermarket cameras, she said to the girl, ‘throw it away then, why did you ask me to buy it for you, you little bitch? I could have saved my $5.00.’ This two-faced adaptive behaviour is how Carlana is operating now; it’s not possible she’s changed from the unkind woman I used to hear yelling so irately in the backyard.
Unnoticed in my enclosure, I can catch the sound of children outside, I recognise the yells and laughter of the schoolyard, and I feel my chest tighten, but I shake it off. Now is not the time to become emotional, I need to stay alert. I remind myself that I am pursuing retribution for Amy too, Amy who suffered alongside me. What I envisage doing today will be revenge for both me and Amy.
I can hear the unlocking of a seatbelt, the girl must be getting ready to get out, but why would she unfasten herself even though the car hasn’t stopped? My small space has become slightly darker, part of the area where the stream of light was coming from has been covered. I twist my head and look up, I can see a small face, two eyes peering at me through the little slot between the parcel shelf and car seat. I freeze, I expect a scream at any moment. I put my finger to my mouth, I hope with my whole body that the girl sees the signal I am showing her.
The Plastic Seed Page 4