Being Bee (3 page)

Dad shot me The Look and then actually shifted his chair a little so he was facing Jazzi square on and could only look at me sideways. It was so rude I didn't bother showing Jazzi my scarf and I went to bed very early without being told, but no one even noticed that.

As it turned out, Jazzi's idea of cleaning out the guinea pig hutch myself wasn't all that bad. Jazzi was at our place more and more and cleaning up after Fifi and Lulu gave me something to do while she and Dad gazed into each other's eyes, held hands and they drank endless cups of tea. At least with Jazzi around so much, the guinea pigs never ran out of apple or celery or broccoli.

Fifi and Lulu began to come out of their little bedroom when they heard me coming. I would squat down next to the hutch and hold out bits of food without moving, even though sometimes my legs
began to hurt. Eventually Fifi, she was the brave one, would dart forward and grab the celery or apple or broccoli and then rush away and nibble at it down in the far corner. Once she'd done it, Lulu would come in twitching and nervy to get the other piece.

But there were other ideas of Jazzi's that weren't so good.

‘Why do I have to make my bed in the morning?'

‘Because it looks neat and pretty.'

‘I don't have time in the morning.'

‘Get up a little earlier. It only takes five minutes.'

‘Five minutes when I could be asleep and dreaming.'

‘Or five minutes when you could be up, enjoying the day.'

‘I'd rather enjoy my dreams.'

‘Why do you always have to argue?'

‘I don't always argue. It's just that I do prefer dreaming. Once the morning starts it's just go, go, go and everyone ends up grumpy.'

‘I just want you to make your bed. It's not much to ask.'

‘I didn't have to do it for Dad.'

‘But you do have to for me.'

‘It seems like I have to do a lot of things for you when you don't even live here and we're not even related. I don't think it's fair. You're not my mother,
Jazzi, and you never will be.'

Jazzi stopped making my lunch sandwiches and just looked at me. I swallowed hard. I didn't like the way she was looking. I didn't mind it if she got mad, but she didn't look angry, she just looked very sad. Her eyes went all wavery the way mine did right before I started to cry. She sniffed, turned away and did something in the sink. When she turned back her eyes were okay again and I thought I must have been imagining things.

‘I know I'm not your mother. I'm not stupid enough to think I can replace her in either your life or your dad's.'

‘I don't like how everything's changed,' I said. ‘I liked things the way they were, before you came along and ruined everything.'

I called good-bye to Dad and walked to school with Jazzi without talking once. She pointed out things on the way like she always did – a puppy in a car window, a baby so new its face was still all crumpled, and some bright pink flowers on a bush – but I didn't even look at them.

Jazzi worked five mornings a week at the high school up the road as an integration aide.

‘Which is terrific,' Dad said, ‘because it means that she'll be able to drop you off at school some mornings and then some afternoons she'll pick you up and some afternoons Nanna will pick you up.'

As it turned out, Nanna hardly ever picked me up. Some afternoons I used to walk over to her place because I missed her. Then we'd all sit around playing cards just like we used to. Often, though, Jazzi had things she wanted me to do.

Some of these were okay. If it was hot, we'd go swimming at the pool across the road. Nanna didn't like going to the pool because she had to sit out on the grass or in the sun and she said she was too old to do that. Jazzi didn't mind. She'd bring her knitting or a book and a big hat and sit there wrapped up in a sarong. Sometimes she came and did some laps of breaststroke, holding her head high out of the water.

Other things weren't good.

‘Let me see that project, Beatrice. That looks quite exciting. Japanese culture is very interesting and very different from our own. We'll walk up to the library together and see what books we can find. Look, Bee, you can do a whole section on cooking. That will be fun.' Sometimes it felt to me as though Jazzi actually enjoyed my homework.

When she had things she had to do, she'd tell me to go and see what Fifi and Lulu were up to.

It was one of those afternoons that I found the envelope. It was stuck through the cage, but high up. Lulu pointed it out to me. She was standing on her hind legs, sniffing at it. It was a tiny little envelope with
‘Bee' written on it in gold pen.

I sat down on the hay bale and opened it. Glitter fell on my lap and skirt and then an insy little folded-up piece of paper.

‘Curiouser and curiouser,' I said to Lulu and Fifi, who were both squeaking and darting around. And then, because even guinea pigs like to know things, I said, ‘That's from Alice in Wonderland. You'd like that book because it has a rabbit in it.'

I unfolded the note. It said:

Dear Bee

Thank you for the celery, apple and broccoli and for cleaning out the cage so beautifully. We like it when you read to us, too. ‘Wind in the Willows' was good but the Wild Wood was scary.

Love

Lulu and Fifi

It took me a while to read it even though it was quite short. The printed letters were very small.

I had a stationery set from my last birthday which I'd never used because I had no one to write to. The paper had daisies on it and I thought the guineas would like that. I cut a sheet in quarters very carefully, ruling the lines first. I practised making my writing small enough on scrap paper.

Dear Lulu and Fifi

What is it like having fur on all the time? Would you like a bath? I asked Jazzi if I could bath you but she said you might be frightened and that it would have to be a very very hot day. I have an old baby bath and you could both swim around. I bet Dad would let me do that some time.

Love

Bee

‘The guinea pigs wrote me a note today,' I told Dad as soon as he got home from work, ‘so after dinner I'm making a special postbox. Then we can post letters to each other in the box and they won't be tempted to eat them.'

‘That's a good idea,' Dad said.

‘What a lovely imagination.' Jazzi smiled. ‘Do you want any help making it?'

‘No thanks, Jazzi. Dad, did you hear me? I said that after tea I'd put my letter for the guineas in their new postbox.'

‘I heard, Bee. Very nice. I'm sure they'll appreciate that. Jazzi's offered to help too. I must say, Jazzi, another delicious meal. Thank you. What did we do before Jazzi, Bee?'

‘We had pizza, ‘I said, ‘and noodles and chicken in plum sauce. Nanna made casseroles sometimes and
soup in winter and we had barbeques, too. I was planning to learn to cook.'

‘I'm sure Jazzi would teach you to cook, Bee, if you asked her nicely.'

‘It doesn't matter anymore because Jazzi cooks all the time.'

‘Oh, I'd love to teach you. Maybe after dinner we could think about something to cook for tomorrow night.'

‘Are you going to be here tomorrow night as well?' I didn't mean the words to sound as horrible as they did and I bit my lip as soon as they'd left my mouth, but it didn't help. Dad looked furious and Jazzi was flustered.

‘I just thought—'

‘That's enough, Bee.'

‘Anyway, I'm doing the postbox for Fifi and—'

‘I said that's enough. I don't think we're interested in what such a rude girl has to say.'

‘I didn't mean it,' I muttered, but it was too late and I didn't get any ice-cream.

I made the postbox though. I wrote POSTBOX on it in large letters and wired it to the outside of their cage. I stayed in the cubbyhouse until it was quite dark hoping that Dad would come out to see where I was and what I was up to, but in the end I gave up because the tree ferns made scary tapping noises on the cubby
roof and it seemed sensible to go inside where the lights were on.

When Jazzi picked me up from school later that week she wasn't smiling.

‘Beatrice, come on, hurry up. We've got to go somewhere.'

‘I'm thirsty.'

‘We haven't got time for this, come on.'

When I rush something my fingers and feet seem to get bigger and it's hard not to fumble and stumble. I tried to pull the zipper up on my backpack but it got stuck, so I just threw it over one shoulder and ran after Jazzi, who was marching off, her little heels clip-clopping quickly.

‘I'm thirsty,' I said again, catching up. ‘We had running before and Mrs P wouldn't let anyone get a drink afterwards. She's so mean.'

‘You can get something later,' Jazzi said, turning back to look at me. And then, ‘Oh, you silly girl, Beatrice, you're spilling everything.'

‘I need a new backpack,' I told her as we picked everything up. ‘I think this one is broken.'

‘It's not broken, you've jammed something in the zip. Here, what's all this?' Jazzi yanked at my scarf.

‘That's my knitting!' I said. ‘Don't touch that!'

‘But it's caught, Beatrice. Look.'

Sure enough there was a piece of my special fat chunky yarn stuck between the zipper teeth.

‘Oh no,' I wailed. ‘It's really ruined now.'

‘You'll get it out,' Jazzi said, grabbing my hand, ‘but later, okay. Right now we have to hurry.'

‘It's taken me ages,' I said, ‘all that knitting. It's a bit weird, I know, but it was my first go and you can muck up your first go. Why are we in such a hurry?'

She didn't answer, just pushed me along to her car. It might have been clean, but that didn't mean it started any more easily.

‘I'm really thirsty,' I told Jazzi again, in case she'd forgotten. ‘We did running this afternoon and then Sam pushed Andrew and Andrew flicked water at him and we weren't allowed—'

‘Bee, just shut up, will you! I'm trying to make this car start.'

I was so shocked that Jazzi had called me by my right name that I shut my mouth straightaway and swallowed the rest of my sentence.

‘Come on,' Jazzi muttered at the car, ‘please work.' She tried the key again and the car made a hopeful coughing sound that died away almost immediately.

‘I think you've flooded it,' I said, forgetting to keep my mouth shut. ‘Nanna does that sometimes in winter. Her car doesn't like the cold.'

Jazzi looked at me and I thought she was going to shout again. Instead she took such a deep breath I could hear it go all the way down to her tummy.

‘I think you're right, Beatrice,' she said. ‘I think that's exactly what I've done. Okay, that's okay. Why don't you just run up to that shop and get us two juices while we wait for this old car to work?'

She handed me a ten dollar note.

‘I don't suppose you're hungry too?' I asked.

‘Something to eat, too – something salty,' Jazzi said, ‘for both of us. But nothing with chicken flavour.'

‘I hate chicken flavour.'

‘Well, we've got something in common then.' Jazzi smiled a small, sad smile.

When I got back the car was humming away, Jazzi had new lipstick on and her nose was all flakey-looking
because she'd powdered it.

‘I didn't know whether to get one packet or two,' I told her, ‘but I thought it would be safer if you were driving to get two.'

‘Just don't get crumbs everywhere,' she answered, ‘and don't wipe your hands on the seat.'

‘So where are we going?' I asked finally as we drove through streets that were only half-familiar.

‘To see my brother.' Jazzi dived her hand into the chip packet.

‘You don't have a brother.'

‘Yes, I do,' Jazzi said, tipping the chip packet up and shaking them straight out into her mouth while someone behind us honked because the lights had just turned green. ‘Shut up, you road pig!' she shouted at the rear-vision mirror.

I was beginning to enjoy the drive. Unexpected things were happening.

‘You've never told us. Does Dad know?'

Jazzi sighed and turned down a little street. I recognised it. Dad and I used to sometimes go to the adventure playground there. Jazzi stopped the car right opposite the playground but I didn't think we were going there.

‘No,' she said, ‘your dad doesn't know and I don't want you tell him, Beatrice.'

‘Why?'

‘Harley's not like ... he's got problems, Beatrice. He's always had problems. You know how some people are born with blue eyes and some with brown? Well, Harley was born with a different kind of brain.'

‘What sort of brain?'

‘Just different. His brain's wired differently.'

‘Wired differently?' Jazzi was making less and less sense.

‘Look Beatrice, don't you have anyone in your class at school who is, you know, a bit different?'

‘Rebecca J's little brother Nat is different. He's acoustic.'

‘Acoustic?' Jazzi repeated.

The word didn't sound right to me either.

‘Acoustic means not electric,' Jazzi said. ‘Do you mean autistic?'

‘Probably,' I said. ‘They have to lock the kitchen cupboards at night and there are wind chimes above his door so his parents wake up if he leaves his room at night. I'd like some wind chimes, but not above my door – outside my window. Rebecca says that he shouts a lot, too, and doesn't even know why you cry if he hurts you.'

‘Harley isn't exactly autistic but he does shout sometimes and he doesn't know that he hurts other people, either. Look Beatrice, I really didn't want to bring you with me today but I have to see him every
week. Don't you worry about anything, though. You just sit quietly, be a good girl and don't worry. Harley lives with a couple of other people a bit like him but no one will hurt you, no matter how strangely they behave. Okay?'

‘Sure.' I shrugged. She seemed to be making a big fuss about nothing.

We drove off a little way and then stopped in front of an ordinary house. Two big velvet lounge chairs were sitting out on the front lawn with a little white table between them. A man sat in one of the chairs. He had a big beach towel over his face. A woman was in the other, jabbing her fingers at the air as she talked to the towel.

Jazzi checked her lipstick in the mirror and gave a practice smile. ‘Let's go,' she said and smiled again, showing her teeth. She reached over to the back seat and picked up two packets containing sticky buns. ‘He likes these,' she said, ‘but you never know whether it will be the apple or the pink icing. I always get both.'

‘Do you think we could have some of the one he doesn't want?'

‘Probably. Sometimes he likes to keep both. It just depends what kind of mood he's in. Follow me and don't pay any attention to anything anyone says, okay?'

The woman in the green velvet chair was sitting bolt upright now and watched us as we pushed open the
gate and went up the stairs.

‘Hello!' Jazzi made the word dance up and down and she waved her fingers at the woman. ‘Just visiting Harley.'

‘He's inside. Plotting,' the woman said and then suddenly bellowed, her voice sounding too big for her body, ‘Harley! The woman who says she's your sister is here again with another one. A smaller one.'

Jazzi went up the stairs but the woman kept staring at me. It would have been rude of me to say nothing so I said, ‘Hi, I'm Bee. Short for Beatrice.'

‘Buzz buzz,' the woman said. ‘The flower woman's here with a little insect,' and she cackled loudly, sounding just like a witch.

I hurried after Jazzi. ‘Why are you the flower woman?'

‘Shh.' Jazzi tried the buzzer and listened. Nothing happened. She rapped loudly on the glass panels. The door opened quickly, as though someone had been waiting behind it.

Harley was standing where we couldn't quite see all of him, behind the door, which had kind of closed back on him when it opened for us. I jumped when he stuck his head around a little.

‘You shouldn't do that, Harley,' Jazzi said. ‘You frighten people.'

‘People frighten me,' Harley said. ‘Who is this, Jasmine?'

I stared at Jazzi –
Jasmine?
‘Jasmine?' I squeaked.

‘She doesn't even know you.' Harley's voice came from behind the door now, which he'd pulled shut on himself.

‘Do come out, Harley,'
Jasmine
said. ‘I've bought you some sticky buns.'

‘Which one do you like today?' I asked, poking my head around the door a little. ‘We bought both, apple and pink icing.' It was like watching Fifi and Lulu. First he kind of hunched down, as though he was trying to hide. I stayed exactly where I was and made myself as still as I could be, the way I was with the guinea pigs. ‘I like apple,' I said after a while, just to make conversation, ‘and I particularly like the apple with walnuts. My name's Bee.' I didn't offer him my hand to shake because I couldn't remember which hand to hold out and also I didn't want to startle him.

‘To be or not to be.' He leant forward so his head was quite close to mine. ‘The question, little Bee, are you or are you not?'

‘I am,' I said, ‘or I wouldn't be here, would I?'

‘I don't know. Sometimes I am here and sometimes I go away for a time. Time itself is quite slippery. Pink icing. Today is a pink icing day because the sky is so blue. You and Jasmine can have the apple.' And all of Harley emerged from behind the door.

He was taller than Jazzi but you'd know
straightaway they were brother and sister, just the way I could tell that Uncle Rob was Mum's brother when I looked at her photo next to his.

Harley had the same shaped face and eyes, the same slightly too big mouth and surprised eyebrows, but his eyes were all puffy and there was a not-quite beard growing on his chin. Even though he looked old, he seemed young.

He put the pink icing bun on a little plate, not worried that most of the bun hung over the sides of the plate. Jazzi sat down and folded her hands in her lap.

‘You could share it with the others,' she suggested. ‘You could call Bill and Laura in for tea and sticky bun, Harley.'

Harley shook his head. ‘Laura's making holes in the air,' he said, imitating Laura's jabbing finger. ‘I don't like it when she does that, and Bill's hiding.'

‘Are you taking your pills?' Jazzi asked very quietly. ‘Has Tony dropped around?'

‘Yes, yes, yes.' Harley stuffed a big pulled-off piece of bun in his mouth and didn't look at Jazzi. ‘Tea?' he asked, spraying crumbs everywhere.

‘That would be lovely.' Jazzi's hands were still folded and her piece of bun, torn off by Harley, lay untouched on her plate.

‘Tea, to Be? A nice cup of tea for Bee? Tea, bee, tree, bee, true bee, two bee?'

‘Thanks.'

‘Then we'll have to go,' Jazzi said.

‘You just got here,' Harley said, his voice flat and cold. ‘Jasmine is always rushing, rush rush rush. I bet the True Bee doesn't rush rush rush.'

‘I hate rushing.' I felt sorry for him. The corners of his mouth were drooped and he looked like a sad puppy. ‘I hate it when you have to hurry up, get ready and forget things. They always say it's your fault, but it isn't really. It's the clock's fault.'

‘True Bee, To Bee, has theys too?' Harley's question made no sense to me.

‘Harley, Bee's a child. She's Nick's daughter. Do you remember, I told you I was going out with Nick? My boyfriend? I showed you his photo. Do you remember his photo?'

‘He looked worried,' Harley nodded. ‘Worried, anxious, nervous, confused, confounded, distressed, tick all or none of the above.'

‘He had the sun in his eyes,' Jazzi said, her voice sharp as a smack.

‘He always looks like that,' I told Harley at more or less the same time.

He turned his head quickly, looking at Jazzi first, then me. Watching him made me feel dizzy.

‘Which is it – sun or always? Always or sun? Nervous, confounded, world too much for him
sensitive kind of guy or just the sun squinting his eyes shut. Which is it?'

‘The sun,' Jazzi said firmly. ‘Nick's a very solid kind of person, Harley. He works in the public service.'

‘Ah ha, a servant of the public. But where is the public? Who is public, who is private? I'm a private kind of person. Where do I get a servant from, hmm? Do the private get servants, too? Do they, To Be? Does your dad work as a private or just a public servant? Public and private, sun and worry. Things happen in pairs.'

Harley started to make three cups of tea with the one tea bag as he was talking. I didn't like tea much but it took him such a long time to make the tea, filling the cups up with exactly the right amount of water, pouring in a little milk, measuring the sugar and then dancing the tea bag around in the cups before squeezing it out gently, that I couldn't refuse the cup he finally offered to me.