Have You Seen Ally Queen? Read online

  The sun comes down in shafts between the clouds, and between us. The bush is making noises like it’s alive, and I remind myself that plants are actually alive. As we walk, I begin to relax. Who cares about English? There are only a few weeks left in the year, anyway. Not a big deal.

  I like being with Rel.

  Rel’s different. He makes me feel like I’m kind of important to him, like the way he always has Killer Pythons and stuff, and the bracelet. I don’t think he ate Killer Pythons before. Not like we do now, anyway. We gobble them all the time.

  The sky is mainly blue behind the gum trees. The air has an edge to it, to remind us we are near the mountains.

  Rel turns and says, ‘Come on, Ally.’ The backs of his boots are dusty; that’s how I know we’ve really been somewhere.

  I think over all the things that have been happening at home the last couple of months. Mum being ill and away; Dad and Jerry being sad, and everything being different. I care about everyone so much, but it’s not all my deal, you know? I can’t solve this stuff on my own. I can only ride alongside Mum and Dad and Jerry, so we can do it together.

  I take a big, deep breath, and as I breathe out I feel a million things leave me.

  TENT-SWAPPAGE

  The sky’s a huge black ceiling with chinks of light coming through.

  There’s a possum in the tree just next to the party tent. As I’m coming out for some fresh air, I see its tail disappear. It stops further up when it’s safe and looks back down at me with marble eyes.

  Over on the other side of the camping ground, the teachers’ tents are glowing and rustling.

  It’s cold again. The highly illegal wine (in easy-tocarry silver bladder) has warmed up my belly, but man, are my lips and nose cold! Even with a whole bunch of us squeezed into that tent, you could feel the cold coming in through the walls, seeping in. There’s kids in there with scarves wrapped around their necks and beanies pulled down over their ears. I’ve got two pairs of socks on, two T-shirts on top of one another and a jumper. I look a right tosser, but everyone does, so it doesn’t matter, for once.

  It’s pretty cool, actually, this camp. Kids who would never normally hang out together have got to know each other, and it’s changed things, somehow. I saw Mike talking to Rachel this afternoon, and she and Jaya were having a big chat this morning, and they never normally talk to each other, those two. Saba Sophie’s even been okay. Sharing a tent with her has probably helped. She actually flicked a wasp off my back as we were having brekky today—did it as calm as anything. It’s kind of nice. I wonder what it’ll be like when we get back to school, if everyone will ignore each other again like nothing’s happened. I made a bit of an effort to be half-decent to Frizz-ball earlier. We were both heading in the same direction—to the ablutions, as Mr Roberts calls them—so I said hi. She had bandaids covering both her heels, poor thing. There’s a lot of kids sporting blisters today, I can tell you. Most of them are wearing thongs now. I can’t believe I came out relatively unscathed—the Blundies were okay after all.

  ‘Hey.’ Rel sticks his head out the tent door.

  ‘Hey.’ I turn and smile and blow out white breath.

  ‘Whatcha up to?’

  I look up. ‘Just enjoying the night. And freezing.’

  He squeezes out and I hear voices from inside, protesting.

  ‘Zip it up!’

  ‘It’s freezing, you dickhead!’

  ‘Jeeezuss, okay, okay,’ he says, sliding the zips up as fast as he can. ‘Snug as little bugs again, are we?’

  ‘Piss off!’ the voices cry.

  We walk a little way away to a grassy bit under a tree and prop ourselves up against the trunk, like we do on the oval at school. I wonder when I’ll be back here again. I look up for possums but can’t see any this time.

  We sit there, surrounded by the night.

  After a while, Rel takes my hand and keeps it warm between both of his.

  ‘You’ve never asked about my mum,’ I say after a while, and before I even realise it. What am I doing?

  ‘I know.’

  ‘She’s not dead.’

  ‘Figured so. That’s good.’

  ‘They’re not divorced, either.’

  ‘Right.’ He nods like it doesn’t make any difference.

  I keep going now I’ve started. ‘She’s sick.’

  He looks at me and hesitates. ‘Oh. Is she ... okay?’

  ‘I dunno, really. She’s living with my aunt at the moment. It’s um ... an ... anxiety thing. Not cancer, or anything.’

  ‘How long has she been like that for?’

  I sigh. ‘A few months.’

  ‘She’ll get better, though, right?’

  I look at him. ‘I hope so.’ I nod at our hands. ‘Yeah, I think so.’

  ‘So that’s okay,’ he says quietly.

  The Stirlings are a heavy blue mass in the dark. The moon is on the other side. Yes, I think. It will be.

  I don’t know who sees it first (because I’m concentrating on how nice Rel’s hands are), but there’s a patch of sky that erupts with falling stars, and we watch and point like little kids. They blitz all over the place, dozens of them. Rel reckons it’s a meteor shower. It’s over really quickly, but we keep staring at that part of the sky, just in case there’s more. I’ve seen falling stars before but not that many in one hit.

  We talk a little bit about going back home tomorrow and how boring school’s going to be. Rel’s already got plans to go surfing down at Yallingup with some mates next weekend, and I’m surprised that I don’t feel too bad about going back. Mainly I’m looking forward to seeing Dad and McJerry. And maybe Mum. And going for a swim and seeing if the seal’s still around.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Rel whispers.

  ‘Who?’

  He points. ‘Over there.’

  I squint into the dark.

  ‘Someone’s over by the teachers’ tents,’ he says.

  ‘I can see someone,’ I whisper, staring at the crouched figure. ‘But I can’t tell who it is.’ But I’m thinking: burglar.

  The middle tent, where the person is, is unzipped by whoever is inside, and the crouched figure and the person inside the tent start talking, so that completely blows that theory.

  ‘It’s Ms Carey!’ Rel leans forward. ‘It’s Ms Carey.’ He turns to look at me. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  I look back. I can only make out figures. I wonder if I need glasses. ‘Which one is Ms Carey?’

  ‘The one inside the tent.’ He pauses. ‘Look! It’s Mr ... Jesus Christ.’

  I crawl forward a bit and finally I can see her head in the light from her tent. ‘So what, they’re just talking, aren’t they...’

  Then I see Mr Roberts leaning down and gettinginto the tent. Getting into Ms Carey’s tent, with Ms Carey. And then the door is zipped shut and Rel and I are on all fours, just gobsmacked.

  Gobsmacked.

  We look at each other.

  ‘Was that really...? Did we just see—’

  He nods. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’

  He nods. ‘I know.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Jeez.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  We both just stare at each other. On the one hand, I’m shocked, but on the other, I want to laugh. I thought it’d be kids who might get caught swapping tents on this camp, not teachers. And her, of all people. And him.

  ‘We can’t tell anyone,’ I say.

  ‘I know. I don’t want to. I’m just amazed.’

  ‘Yeah, me, too. I mean, yuck, Ms Carey and Mr Roberts. Gross!’

  His eyes widen and he shakes his head at me, grinning in happy disgust.

  My nose wrinkles up. I can’t keep the smile off my face, either.

  The stars stay still and everything else looks the same. The trees scratch leaves from time to time and there’s that big silence in the distance, that no-sound, where the traffic normally hums all night. The
silence is beautiful, deep, when Rel leans over and puts his head close to mine. When our eyes have become accustomed to each other’s, he kisses me softly on the lips—a short kiss at first, and then a second long, steady kiss that makes me feel incredibly, wonderfully, radically fantastic about him, and me.

  LOVEBIRDS

  In the bus on the way home, the other lovebirds acted like nothing was going on. Ms Carey actually came up to me and started talking about the English class thing again. Rel was trying to catch my eye and make me laugh, and I almost did. It was so embarrassing—grinning like a dickhead at someone while they’re talking to you about something half serious. She must have thought I was whacked on weed, or something. I felt kind of bad, but what can you do?

  As we get closer to home, I know I’m running out of time to do something I should do.

  I head up to the front of the bus with a CD, and sit in the seat opposite the driver—Mr Taylor. The bus is fairly noisy, so no one else can hear us.

  His eyes flick my way. ‘Ah. A music request?’

  ‘Yes, please, when you have a chance.’

  He looks in the rear-view mirror, and checks the side mirrors. ‘Have you enjoyed camp?’

  I nod. ‘Yes, a lot. Heaps. It’s been awe some.’

  ‘You did a great job on the walk,’ he says. ‘You killed it.’

  I try not to break out into a full smile and say, sort of to my feet instead of him, ‘Thanks. Actually, I wanted to say ... sorry for being a bit ... off with you when you were trying to help, at school, I mean. You know.’

  ‘Yes, I know. And that’s perfectly okay, Alison, but thank you for saying something. It’s just good to see you settling in so well. I hope things are easing up for you, all round.’

  ‘They are,’ I say, and wonder if—finally—Angelgirl might have arrived.

  The bus drops us Melros kids off at the turn-off—that’s Rel and me—and we’re so Kathmandu-out-there that we decide to hike the two ks home. We’re more than an hour early, so Dad won’t have even left yet to pick me up. It’s funny, I’d have been spewing if I’d had to walk this far before, but it seems like nothing compared to what we’ve done in the last few days. My pack is positively empty now: no water, no snacks—it’s a breeze. It’s a sunny day and we cross the road to hit the deli for pythons and caramel buds for the mission home.

  Rel and I part at the track at the end of my road, where he cuts through to the firebreak to get to his place. It’s a bit funny saying goodbye after spending so much time together, and especially after last night. He says he might drop round tonight, and I nod, not wanting to look too keen but hoping he’ll know that I really do want to see him—as soon as possible. I can almost feel myself slipping way into these feelings, and I try to catch myself, but at the same time I want to go with this, I want to let go and feel it, all of it—and if I get lost somewhere along the way, well, then, okay, but at least I’ve experienced this amazing thing. I know one thing: I’ve never felt anything like this before. This is like going into a wonderful cave deep inside you, where all this rich, intense stuff lives that you never knew was there.

  There’s our house, up on the dunes, overlooking the beach. Scrub reaches around it like a massive scratchy doona. I wonder if Dad’s at home, and almost feel kind of nervous walking up the path. I think it’s the longest time I’ve ever been away from home. Well, away from Dad and Mum and Jerry. Five days. Jeez. Big deal. And so much has changed.

  BRAND NEW DAY

  Dad says today’s the ultimate beach morning. When we step out the front door, bags in our hands and Dad with a brolly over his shoulder, everything is cracklingly still. You’d hear a leaf shift, if it could. Under our thongs, the limestone path is louder than ever. Dad has the papers with him, and the esky bag full of watermelon and cold drinks. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my first whole day back. I float on my back beyond the waves, and let the water fill my ears. Jerry builds a medieval castle system at the wet edge of the sand. Dad’s just a couple of legs under the brolly.

  Salty and dry, and with the wind just darkening the waves, we head for home. Halfway up the path, I hear Jerry shout.

  ‘Mum!’ he calls out, pointing over to our place.

  I look up and see a weirdly familiar figure on the verandah, waving. My heart tries some kind of high jump while I stand there, trying to get my head around this.

  Jerry’s feet spray up limestone in his scrabble to get home as fast as he can. I watch him sprint all the way to the door.

  From up on the verandah, Mum watches us walk home. I see Jerry fling himself onto her and hear them talking. I hang back. It’s been a while. I can’t believe it, and I’m glad, so glad. But it’s been a while, for all of us.

  Dad stands back from the front door and it’s just him and me for a moment. He looks at me and catches my hand, holds it. He goes to say something but struggles. I look at the sand coating my feet. ‘Ladies first,’ he finally says.

  Upstairs, I can hear Mum in the kitchen. As I reach the top of the stairs, I see three big mugs of Milo lined up on the counter, and Jerry already slurping from one. Mum catches my eye. She’s pale but smiling.

  LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL OF SHITE

  Apart from meeting Rel, the only good thing about this year is that it’s almost over, and thank Killer-Python Christ for that. I don’t care about new, just different, another, not the same, away, gone, outtahere! Any year would have to be just a little better than this one. You know how they have a dedication for each year, like Year of the Volunteer and Year of the Child? This year has been officially renamed the Year of the Shite. I’m amazed I’ve survived it.

  Summer’s on! You can fairly smell it on the breeze. We don’t go back to school for another couple of months. God, am I gunna have to stock up on Killer Pythons to cope with a new school year. I’ve actually been considering buying the pre-packaged bags of pythons from the supermarket in Mandurah, just to save myself a trip to the deli every few days, but I’m not convinced they’re the same. The pythons, I mean. The ones in the bags are slimier and glossier looking. The ones I buy from Mr Conner at the deli now are kind of dusted with flour or icing sugar or something, and that makes them a whole lot yummier. Plus, they’re fatter, they’re juicier. It took a while, though, for Mr Conner to get in a fresh box of KPs. I suffered those dry, crusty ones for what seemed an eternity before he finally ordered a box of soft, fresh ones. Then, in order to convince him that I’d be a regular python consumer, I set about eating my little heart out. It was magic. I got through that first box in a matter of days. Pythons are now a staple at the deli. They’re right at the front of the counter. And I like walking down there now, even if it is a fair hike.

  So Mum’s back to kind-of-normal now after being post-traumatic for most of the year. She still has a few odd days, if you know what I mean, but at least we can put them in context now. If she’s at home and still smiling at us occasionally, then things are pretty damn good. I now know the real difference between being happy and being unhappy. I reckon it’s only when you’ve been really, really unhappy that you know what it means to be happy. I still can’t believe Mum left Jerry and me to cope on our own with Dad’s cooking, though. Jasmine risotto, spag bol with carrots in the sauce, polony sandwiches for lunch—apart from the odd barbie, it was bad.

  She’s even more into the whole grow-your-ownvegies deal these days. She reckons if she knows what the vegies eat, she knows what she’s eating. You arewhat you eat, Ally, they don’t say that for nothing, youknow. God! I try not to get embarrassed, but it’s hard. What the vegies eat! She’s got enough spinach and rocket and cos lettuce sprouting that she takes a mixed bag of salad greens over to a friend of hers every week or so. She says otherwise it’ll go to waste and the worms will be the only ones getting fat. You don’t getfat on lettuce, Mum, I tried to explain, but she just said, Maybe not, Ally, but worms do. Whatever. What ever, Mum. I don’t argue with her anymore. What’s the point? So long as she doesn’t inf
lict too much of that hippie do-gooder stuff on me, I don’t care.

  But guess who Mum’s new mate is? Rel’s mum. Yup. Talk about a small town! It’s cute, actually, seeing them having a cuppa together when Rel and I are hanging out, too. It’s a bit weird sometimes when I pass her on the limestone path—me coming home from Rel’s and her heading over there.

  Jerry’s graduated from the beginners Dick Smith chemistry set to the ‘Little Dick Chemist’s Kit’—can you believe that? The Little Dick Chemist’s Kit? How sad! The boy is never going to have a hope in hell of being normal as long as he gets his kicks out of stuff like that. The only normal thing he does is make himself burp, a skill he has recently mastered (like, wow), so he’s coming into my room a fair bit these days, burping some word or other and then running off. Like I’d chase him. I’m almost grateful, ‘cos it means there’s hope for him yet. And it means he’s over the farting stage, at least.