“Stop it, Evan, stop waving that flattened coffee cup in front of my face. I wasn’t drinking out of it,” Carlana hisses back.
I remember the cup that I dropped onto their driveway behind the car earlier this morning. This argument is a waste of everyone’s time, they aren’t even arguing about hiring me.
I take a few steps forward until I am standing in the same room as Carlana, who has her back to me. The sunlight streams into the room but does not illuminate a speck of dust on the polished floor, because there isn’t a particle. The back doors are open, leading onto timber decking, I can see glimpses of an extensive lagoon over the rear fence.
“Hello,” I say loudly, and a man standing in front of Carlana peers over her shoulder in my direction with a look of surprise.
“Can I help you?” the man asks.
“Oh, sorry,” Carlana says, turning around to face me. She looks strained, she pretends to hit her forehead.
“Evan, this is Jean, she’s the one I was eager to speak to you about.”
Evan raises his thick eyebrows. He doesn’t look the way imagined. In the photo I had seen of him in the newsletter at Beth’s, he was wearing a sharp suit. Standing in front of me today, holding my used coffee cup, he is wearing a loose, wrinkled white T-shirt and shorts, his dark brown hair is tousled in every direction.
I look at Carlana and Evan standing near each other. They are of identical height, both with tall, lean builds. They look like a brother and sister, made to stand next to each other in an uncomfortable moment when they really don’t want to. Only I am privy to this information about them, for anyone that hadn’t heard their ridiculous conversation a moment earlier would think they look like a perfect couple, standing in the kitchen of their artfully decorated house.
Carlana walks away from Evan to stand next to me. Seizing my shoulders on either side, she squeezes them a little too hard, and I try not to flinch.
“I will tell you the oddest story, Evan. I ran into Hazel at the book signing, do you remember Hazel, she wrote that book about how to achieve financial freedom?”
“Yes, I’ve played golf with her husband,” Evan says, and Carlana and I watch him as he throws the cup in a wastebasket.
I can hear Carlana breathe a sigh of relief that the coffee cup accusations are over.
“Well, uh, she came to my talk, with Jean here,” Carlana continues weakly waving her hand in my direction.
“Hazel told me what a blessing Jean had been on their recent trip to Spain; apparently it’s so much easier to take your own personal nanny, than to hire a local in the area, you know, it’s trying to find someone trustworthy,” her voice has become sing-song.
“It just popped into my mind; how terrific it would be to have a nanny with us. It will be much easier for us to work if we have someone looking after Maia.”
I stare at Carlana. What is she saying, why is she introducing me as a nanny?
Evan shakes his head, looking from me to Carlana.
“No, Carlana, it’s not going to happen. What’s come over you today?”
I clench my fists, she has ruined it for me by saying I am a nanny. I will just have to tell him myself what my real purpose is in coming here. I open my mouth to speak when Evan interrupts.
“We are going away to enjoy combining work and family time, and we can’t have a nanny come along with us. How does taking a nanny with us support our image, of living practically?”
Evan and I both look at Carlana, like we expect her to answer the question.
When Carlana doesn’t answer, Evan throws his hand in the air like he has decided the subject is finished, and walks across the kitchen to the fridge.
“Evan, please,” Carlana says, her voice breaking the silence and bouncing through the empty kitchen. I take my phone out of my bag and check how much time Carlana has left before I release the images; one hour and thirty minutes, no need for me to step in just yet.
“Jean, would you like to stay for lunch?” Carlana asks, turning her head in my direction, forcing a smile. I look at Evan, who now stands in front of an open fridge staring ahead of him. He does not want to believe what he is hearing.
“Carlana, you do remember we have some work that has to be finished before you pick Maia up from school?”
He looks at me, his words are an invitation for me to leave. If smugness were tangible I would be choked by it here, standing in this bare kitchen. What these people don’t have in material possession, they make up for in large doses of smugness.
“Evan, let her stay. Can we talk it through, consider it over lunch? I have so much work building up recently. I feel like Maia isn’t receiving the attention she needs. Just this morning she messed up the wall and I had to clean it up on my own while you were stretching out at yoga,” Carlana describes her dreadful morning.
At least she is making an effort. I want to applaud Carlana for arguing her case for wanting me to stay for lunch, even though she has failed with her bizarre nanny suggestion thus far.
Evan picks up her insanity.
“Carlana, where is the real Carlana? Are you OK today? You wrote a book on productivity, and you are telling me you can’t cope because you have to wipe a wall, why don’t you just give the people their money back?” He says throwing up his arms.
“Evan, no need to imply that I am not coping,” Carlana shakes her head.
“I think I may have visited at the wrong moment, I am so sorry. I will be leaving now,” I say heading back towards the front door. I think I hear a sigh of relief coming from Carlana, and I am happy to have thrown her off the scent, leading her to believe I might leave with nothing. I stop and turn back to both of them, standing and staring at me, waiting for what I will do next.
Carlana has done it all wrong, she’s left it too long. She got carried away with the nanny story, the idea must have grown on her. I will have to take it from here.
“Evan, I just wanted to tell you that my next door neighbour works at the recycling plant, she speaks highly of you as the director there.”
His face softens. Men. I hear a little yelp coming from Carlana.
It’s time for me to use a particular piece of knowledge I had prepared for this very moment.
“I was looking forward to talking to you in person about the importance of recycling. I read that your plant has implemented a new sorting technology which will help reduce material making its way into landfill, but I understand that you may be busy,” I bluff.
“Very impressive, did you come here to get a job as a nanny or to work in the recycling plant?”
Please no, I hope he doesn’t offer me a job at the plant, Beth tells me often how she can’t wait to leave that place.
I don’t know what Carlana is planning, but it can’t hurt to go along with her plan.
“I would appreciate any job offer at the moment. Hazel says that even though I am an exceptional nanny, she thinks that her kids are at the age where they don’t need one, therefore that leaves me out of a job,” I explain – and hold my breath. I don’t know if it’s because I really don’t know how old Hazel’s kids are, who Hazel is, or because I am petrified that he will actually offer me a job at the recycling plant.
He shrugs his shoulders like the conversation is over for him, he has heard enough, but he will let me stay now, only because of my flattery.
“If Carlana genuinely wants you to stay, stay. You don’t seem like someone that would be interested in recycling, but we are always willing to have a decent conversation with anyone interested in the good of the environment, are we not, Carlana?”
Not answering his question, Carlana walks into the dining room and pulls out a chair for me to sit on, the chair makes a loud scraping sound against the shiny wooden floor.
“Would you like a cool beer? It’s brewed out of fermented gluten-free bread,” Evan asks, as well as telling me how excellent the beer he drinks is.
“Beer, no. She doesn’t drink alcohol, she hasn’t for a long time,” Carl
ana answers for me.
“Not for a long time?” Evan questions.
“Carlana, how long did you say you two have known each other?”
“Oh no, we just met. I have never met Jean before, not even once since she’s been employed by Hazel, funny that,” she says in one breath. “But we were chatting deeply in the car, I was telling her about your love of craft beer, and she told me the last time she drank was at university many years ago. I thought that was admirable for someone who looks after children.”
Carlana waits for an answer, but Evan shrugs and walks out of the kitchen.
“Can I have a glass of water, please?” I ask, looking up at her as she stands towering over me.
She mouths the word ‘no’ deliberately and cruelly.
This is not the time for you to start not to comply, I am very thirsty and need a drink of water. I give her a little nudge, by opening my bag and starting to pull out the yellow envelope. But it is not the yellow envelope that I want her to notice, she already knows about it and its contents, I draw her attention to the black object lurking at the bottom of my bag.
Amy, 10:45AM
To My Dear Daughter Amy,
When we spoke several days ago, we were sitting on opposites sides of a dingy, empty prison table. I explained to you then that I would try to make your life perfect from the moment that you are released from prison. I acknowledge I am solely responsible for the path that your life took. In the grand scheme of things, I don’t think I was a lousy mother, but I was not capable of providing you with the life that you deserved. I have not been able to tell you my plan earlier as it might have hindered your release from prison. But now that you are free, (yes, you are free!) I can tell you that I will rewind time and take back those years we lost due to the misfortune that others have caused us.
You will remember, before our life took that upsetting turn, we lived at 33 Gaia Street. When we were there, we had a neighbour whose name was Carlana. She is the one whom I hold responsible for you ending up in jail. No, I don’t blame the fact that you were selling drugs. And I don’t blame you. The reason is that you were smart enough not to take the drugs yourself, you just sold them because we needed the cash, right?
I recently discovered that Carlana is now very successful, and is peddling lessons to people on how to live the perfect life without owning material possessions. Well, we can tell her what it’s like to live without material possessions, right? Amy, I do admit I was drinking too much back then, but this woman Carlana took time, comfort and good prospects away from us. It was because of her that we weren’t able to rent a house. Now I am going to reclaim the opportunities you deserve in life from her. By the time you are released from jail today (hopefully the guards gave you this letter), I will be in the midst of carrying out my plan. All you need to do is go to my apartment, the address is Unit 3/24 Banjo Street. Get off at West Glassport train station, from there it is just a short walk. Left into the first street on the left of the train station, then turn right.
Once you are at the apartment, wait for me to come back there, so we can begin our prosperous new life.
Love you forever.
Mum
PS the key to my unit is under the doormat.
This letter is the gutsiest piece of writing I have read in a long time, albeit causing me confusion and also making me feel very uneasy. Poor Mum was always striving for a better, easier life for me. I shove the letter into the tight pocket of my dress. Mum gave the prison guards this dress to give me to wear for my release today. The dress confirmed to me that Mum still thinks I am ten years old. First of all, I would never wear a dress. Secondly, this little pale pink number has a lace finishing on the hemline, which hangs too modestly for me below the knees, but is much too constricting around my bust. I put on a considerable amount of weight in prison. How did Mum not notice?
As soon as I can afford to, I will be buying myself a pair of overalls. I don’t know if they are in fashion at the moment, but honestly I couldn’t care less, a year in prison teaches you what is essential, and it definitely isn’t the latest fads.
As I stand on the other side of the massive iron prison gate that has kept me enclosed for year, I am slightly miffed that Mum hasn’t come to pick me up. I am aware that she doesn’t own a car, but I don’t understand why she has chosen today to visit an old next-door neighbour and tell her he is responsible for ruining our lives. Sometimes Mum should learn to let things go.
She apologies in the note for being a bad mother, which is not true. Then, on her daughter’s release day from prison, she goes gallivanting about for revenge.
“Revenge,” I say the word out loud and let it roll on my tongue. That was what was bothering me as I read the letter.
I take the letter back out of my pocket, I stand clasping the paper in my left hand. In my right hand there’s a plastic bag I was also gifted. I re-read my mother’s words. I bite my lip. What should I do? What should I do? I don’t even have a phone to call her and try and talk some sense into her.
The correctional officers told me that there was a train station five minutes’ walk from the jail. I will do as the letter instructs and catch a train to Mum’s place. I’ll wait for her there and see what she is up to. She’s probably persuading someone to give me a job, that should go well for her.
The jail is positioned in a cul de sac, so there is only one way to walk away from it. Ironically, Mum had always wanted to live on a cul de sac. But unfortunately, the picture-perfect life of two kids and a husband was never fulfilled. She had me at seventeen, then tragically a year after I was born, my dad died. He suffered a cardiac arrest while on a hiking trip with Mum. Since then, there have been random men in Mum’s life but she never really made an effort to make them stay with her. She was always independent but never gave herself credit for it.
I fidget with the sleeves of the dress. It’s straining across my chest and the back is undoubtedly starting to irritate me.
I walk along a deserted asphalt road until I reach a tobacco shop and sleazy-looking strip club. I consider going inside the club, but I would need to be wearing overalls for that type of visit. I imagine getting a lap dance while wearing this comical-looking dress. Additionally, even though I haven’t counted the amount of money I was given by Mum as yet, it looks like the few coins in the bag I am carrying were only allocated to transport me from the jail. I don’t think Mum would have given me dough for a lap dance, girls kissing girls, she despises anything of that sort. She doesn’t even know of my interest in girls, how could she? That only started in jail. Before going to prison, I had just had boyfriends, namely good old Matt, who was technically the reason I went to jail.
I turn a corner, and I am relieved to see that I have reached the train station. I giggle to myself that the people that ride through this station on the train aren’t aware they are either going to be travelling with an ex-crim or a stripper.
Throughout the last year, locked in my jail cell, I often pondered what my first interaction with people out in the world would be like. Eventually, I started to fear the reality of being free. As I sit on the train I find it difficult to look the other passengers in the eye; I stare down at my sandalled feet and my chipped nails. It’s the first time my feet have been free from the oppressive boots I wore all year, and they are faring as badly as I am. I feel an anger stir in me, anger at Mum. Why didn’t she come to collect me from jail? We could have caught a taxi home, away from these prying eyes. Further down the carriage sits a man with an unruly grey goatee, who is staring at the place where my dress stretches across my chest.
It’s nice to step out of the confines of the train, and outside the station I find myself across the road from Fun Tubes Water Park. Bugger, Mum never told me that she lived so close to this water park. Matt would occasionally visit me at the indoor pool at this water park when I used to have swimming lessons there. Sometimes his customers would buy goods from him in the changing rooms. Ultimately, it is because of Matt
that I’ve spent my year in a dark dank cell, and Mum has been going down slides, every other day.
All Mum said in her letter, was when I get off the train I should turn left, then right. She didn’t write ‘when you get off at the train station in front of the water park, my unit is just next to it’. I hear yelling and splashing coming from inside the park, and I can’t wait to visit there again, only to swim this time. Things are starting to look brighter. I follow the directions Mum provided me with until I reach a U-shaped building with a brown tiled roof. There is a concrete verandah that adorns the internal area of the building. I suspect this zany-looking building may once have been a motel that has been converted into a low-cost apartment building.
I locate the foot of the rickety staircase and climb the stairs to level one. I walk along the outer verandah and stop at an open door, struck by the smell of paint. I look at the number on the open door, 2. Therefore my mum’s apartment must be next door.
“Hey, can I help you?” a voice asks from the back corner of the unit. I notice a girl squatting with a paintbrush in her hand. She stands up when I don’t answer and walks towards the front door, leaning on the door frame, the hand with the paintbrush hanging at her side.
“Nice dress,” she smirks as if she is trying to hold back an uneasy laugh.
“Yeah, my mum bought it for me, you may know her? She lives in apartment number 3,” I say, lifting my hand to indicate that I mean next door.
“Oh, so you are Jean’s daughter, of course. Yes, I know your mum, she comes over often for a yarn. She has told me about you, though you are nothing like I pictured, but in my imagination the girl that your mum told me about would wear that dress,” Beth says, chuckling.
“Yeah, my mum’s pretty nice,” I say uncomfortably, silently cursing this dress.
“Your mum is the best neighbour someone could have,” Beth says, pressing her hand to her heart.
The Plastic Seed Page 8