Carousel (7 page)

Plus we weren't exactly hiding away or keeping quiet. If anything there was more of a party atmosphere than ever. Lizzy had pulled together some DJ decks and a projector and had taken to turning the dome into a weirdo abandoned club with music mashed to old sci-fi movies. Rocky would coast around on a series of bikes and scooters in a kind of Zen state that belied his entrapment, while Taylor and I would hang out on a couple of deckchairs from Backyard Bonanza, drinking a new region of wine and looking up at the dim twinkle
of stars through the distant hole in the dome.

We'd often talk of how we might scale the long, curving walls to reach freedom. The top of the dome was three storeys up and made predominantly of glass. Without cleaning, the glass had developed a greenish film that looked slippery as hell. If a rope could be somehow thrown up to catch on the top, and the weight of the climber was not enough to pull the whole structure down, scaling the slippery exterior would probably result in you breaking your neck in the sweet fresh air of freedom.

Drinking away to Lizzy's maniacal performances led to more bizarre ideas involving catapults and skate ramps.

I was getting through a lot of reading, more than I ever have before, and started thinking about working on a few short stories to see if that was something I might want to do. I kept quiet about the focus of my reading, leaving Taylor and Lizzy with something to gossip about in their now banal lives. I think that gossip was one of the things they missed the most. Their lives pre-Carousel seemed pretty full and there were always things to discuss regarding other bands, touring venues, girlfriends, shopping, haircuts. The list was long and constantly updated.

One night Lizzy actually started writing a list of the things she missed on the floor. Taylor and I frowned upon this initially as it seemed to go against our pact of keeping a clean and tidy centre. But then Rocky drifted over and tagged HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS in massive cursive letters outside Smiggle. It gave him one of the biggest smiles we had seen and somehow made the whole thing okay.

I kind of liked it now. Maybe not the writing so much, but discovering what the others had done. Walking down to Pure 'n' Natural for breakfast and noticing a huge B outside Myer, then following it along until it spelt out BEACH.

One day I stopped outside JB's and noticed a tiny, beautiful word scribed in the corner. I couldn't stop staring at it. It said
Mum
.

Taylor continued working her way around the centre checking the doors. The events surrounding the car park didn't seem to put her off. She was happy with the routine and hopeful that one of the thousands of doors would swing open to reveal some sunshine and a logical reason for us being here.

Generally I thought it was best for all of us to assume this would never happen and get on with living as best we could. I don't think it was resignation or giving u
p. You just couldn't think of Carousel with normal logic or it would do your head in.

I started to notice that Rocky was looking paler than normal and slightly flabby, despite his thin frame. He was always on a bike but with the smooth floors and new tyres, riding around the centre didn't really require any effort. So I goaded him into doing some daily exercise to keep him, and me, in some kind of health.

We tried a bunch of things before settling on a hybrid form of indoor soccer played in a rectangular arm of the central corridor that was kept vacant for exhibitions, charity car raffles and school performances. It was pretty normal for a shiny new car to be parked in centres like Carousel with a desk in front selling tickets for a chance to win. But, for whatever reason, there was no car there when we arrived. I often wondered what we might do if there was. Whether one of the windows could be smashed through instead of rebounding whatever we threw at it. Or just how quickly we could get around the place. I'm sure Rocky had thought about this too. He seemed to like cars. Or maybe just anything with wheels. The idea of him racing around the narrow corridors in a new Commodore was pretty frightening.

We had taken a rubberised beach net from Sports Power and set it up at the back of the rectangle, which
was walled in to give any stage that was erected a single frontage. The walls kept the ball from straying off into David Jones too often and we had a few pretty intense half-court games of one on one.

At around lunchtime on a Friday I found myself open with the ball rebounding nicely off the side wall for a shot on goal.

I hit it flush, but offline. The ball smashed through the glass of the Sussan store adjacent. A crunching noise rang through the centre.

Rocky and I stood still and stared at the glass. Both fighting down the heavy dose of guilt that would come with this type of thing outside of Carousel. A few seconds later our radios chimed.

‘Are you guys okay? asked Taylor.

‘Yeah, sorry,' I radioed back.

‘Is Rocky with you?' asked Lizzy.

I looked at Rocky and nodded to his radio.

‘Nox smashed the window at Sussan,' he said, ratting me out.

‘Nice one, Nox,' said Lizzy.

‘Sorry. I know it's your favourite,' I replied.

‘Are you cleaning up the glass?' asked Taylor.

‘We're talking to you,' replied Rocky, deadpan.

I smiled.

‘Thanks, Rocky,' said Taylor. ‘Maybe you can once we've finished, yeah.'

‘We'll do it now,' I said.

‘Hey, when you've quit screwing around come down to Kitchen Warehouse. We're making soup,' said Lizzy.

‘Okay, cool,' I replied.

The ball had made a jagged hole halfway up the front window. I didn't know if this was unusual, but it looked pretty fragile. We gathered the glass on the floor into a messy pile and I left to find some gaffer tape to run in a cross over the window like I'd seen on TV. The Two-Dollar Shop only had cheap looking masking tape so I trudged down the hall and around the corner to Dick Smith.

When I arrived back Rocky was standing still, looking at his hand. A steady flow of blood was streaming from his palm onto the floor.

‘Shit, Rocky. You cut yourself?' I asked, putting the tape on the floor.

He nodded and kept focused on the blood. I took his wrist and gently turned it over to look at the wound. A coin size chunk of glass was sticking out of the fleshy part of his hand.

‘Fuck,' I said.

I looked at his face. It seemed calm, as per usual. I
kept a hold of his wrist and reached over to grab a thin scarf from a rack nearby.

‘I'm going to take it out, okay? When I do, can you put this scarf in your hand and clench it into a fist?'

Rocky glanced at the scarf for a moment.

‘Can I have a blue one?' he asked.

I looked at him, then at the beige scarf in my hand.

‘Mum has that one,' he said.

‘Yeah, of course,' I replied and reached back for a blue version.

I put the scarf in Rocky's good hand and took a firm grip on the glass. I hesitated for a second, then pulled upward. Rocky gave a small shudder as the glass slid slowly out of his flesh.

It was a fucking iceberg. The glass inside him more than double the size of that outside. I stared at it, slightly astounded, until I realised that Rocky hadn't clenched the scarf in his hand. Instead he was watching the increased flow of blood run down his pale fingers.

‘Rocky! The scarf,' I said.

He came to and limply clenched the scarf. It quickly turned red.

I used the gaffer tape to circle his hand and stop the bleeding until we could get to Friendlies Chemist. When it was secure and the pool of blood on the floor
had stopped expanding, I radioed Taylor and Lizzy and prepared for a blasting.

The three of us spent an hour or so in the kitchenette at Friendlies dealing with the wound. We realised quickly that it probably needed stitches but none of us were physically or mentally capable of performing this. So for a half-hour we just cleaned and disinfected and thought through our options.

Eventually the bleeding had almost stopped so it was plausible that keeping the wound dressed and clean would eventually see it scab over and heal. The trouble was that the gash was right in the middle of Rocky's hand, so any movement would open it up and restart the bleeding. We settled on a large swab of cotton padding, wrapped tight to his palm by gauze, which we taped over with medical adhesive. It was large and a little clumsy and we could see it coming off within hours unless Rocky stayed still.

Scanning the long fluorescent aisles, Lizzy found a kind of hessian glove used to exfoliate dead skin. When she arrived back in the kitchenette wearing the glove and a manic smile, Taylor and I thought she had lost her shit. But, to Lizzy's credit, the glove made for a perfect outer barrier to Rocky's makeshift bandage. It kept all the dressing in place but still allowed his skin to breathe
underneath. Taylor popped open a couple of Panadol Rapids and gave them to Rocky for the pain. She put the remainder of the packet in his shorts along with dosage instructions. Rocky listened, but had shown no real sign of discomfort throughout the process. Before long he had drifted back to JB's.

I met Taylor and Lizzy at Kitchen Warehouse a little while later. They were hovering over a pot of soup simmering on a small portable gas burner at the back of the store. I sat sheepishly on the bench adjacent. Neither of them could look at me.

‘I think he did it on purpose,' I said, after a moment.

They fixed their deep brown eyes on me.

‘What do you mean?' asked Taylor.

‘The glass was in really deep. Like it had been pushed there,' I said.

‘Holy shit,' said Lizzy.

‘Are you sure?' asked Taylor.

‘No,' I said.

We were silent. Somehow all knowing that it was true.

‘Well, you can't screw around with him like that anymore,' said Taylor, bitingly.

I nodded. Lizzy glared at her. We all watched the soup for a while.

‘This is ridiculous,' said Lizzy.

‘What?' asked Taylor. ‘Being trapped in a mall?'

‘Yeah,' said Lizzy.

‘Quite an observation,' said Taylor.

They glared at each other.

‘Rocky won't last in here, like this, forever,' said Lizzy, staring at the soup.

‘None of us will,' Taylor said.

Taylor was a tight ball of stress. I'd seen it building in her shoulders for a while, but now it seemed constant and dangerous. She needed music more than ever, but was moving further away from it with every day.

‘He's a teenager,' I said, eventually.

The two of them looked at me.

‘Remember how that was?' I said. ‘We just need to give him space. Let him brood stuff over,' I said.

‘Have you guys ever spoken about his family?' Taylor asked me.

‘Not really. I know he has a stepdad and a baby sister,' I replied. ‘I kind of figured he was talking to you while you guys worked on the doors.'

‘You don't think he should be taking antidepressants or something?' asked Taylor carefully. She and Lizzy both looked at me. It seemed like something they had discussed already.

‘Shit, I don't know, maybe. Probably. It's hard to tell in this place,' I said.

We were pensive for a few moments.

‘There's also his arrival here,' said Lizzy.

Taylor looked at her. Maybe they had discussed this too.

‘What do you mean?' I asked.

‘Well, he came to work. What makes somebody turn up to shift during the apocalypse?' asked Lizzy.

‘God. What does that even mean, Lizzy?' asked Taylor.

‘Nobody else did,' she replied.

‘I asked him already. He said he got to work early that morning,' said Taylor. ‘Probably missed the whole thing.'

‘Rocky got to work early?' replied Lizzy.

Taylor shrugged. I had a stupid thought and let out a small laugh. The Finns stared at me.

‘What?' asked Taylor.

‘Nothing. Sorry,' I replied.

They glared at me until I spilled.

‘I was just thinking. Do you think working the apocalypse pays double time?'

Lizzy flashed one of her huge
oh my god that's funny but I'm not going to laugh
smiles. Taylor smiled ruefully and sighed.

‘You're a maniac, Nox,' she said.

Lizzy picked out some bowls for the soup and wiped the dust off them. We sat together and spooned in the comforting mixture of country chicken and vegetable and frozen corn. I don't think any of us thought Rocky's problems were just about being a teenager. But it gave us a little security. Barely a decade older and full of our own insecurities, we knew we weren't cut out for the support and guidance he seemed to require. Carousel also had a way of highlighting things that could normally be ignored. We didn't know exactly what these things were for Rocky, but they seemed serious.

During the following week Carousel was battered by the first in a series of severe storms. Brewed in deep masses of low pressure in the Southern Ocean, they were buffeted north and east to smash against the state's coastline. I had been wondering when the winter cold fronts would come. The third level of David Jones offered a sweeping view of the sky to the south via a series of windows throwing light on the linen section below. I liked to wander up there when the wind seemed to pick up outside and watch the walls of rainclouds roll towards us. Taylor and Lizzy would look at me curiously when I arrived back saying it would rain in half an hour.

The first storm made for a pleasant break from routine. We huddled on couches at the back entrance, watching the lightning with cups of powdered milk and Oreos that were magically in code for another six years.

Lizzy and Rocky both loved lightning. They would already be seated, gazing out at the distant and infrequent flashes, when Taylor and I wandered down to join them. Often they would stand right at the windows as a storm passed over. Rocky stationary, his exfoliating glove glowing softly in the dark. Lizzy hopping about with excitement, pointing out each flash retrospectively. Taylor and I weren't quite as pumped. But we both liked seeing Lizzy and Rocky together. They were often the odd couple in our weird little group. Rocky and Taylor still spent a lot of time together on the doors. Even more since Rocky cut his hand. I was still helping Lizzy with her studio in Rugs a Million. Although, from what I could gather, it was almost ready and she often played in there without recording. Usually loud and late at night, as if to remind the world that we were still alive. My relationship with Taylor was a bit fractured. We often skirted around each other as if to avoid something that neither of us quite grasped. But then we would hang out and drink wine, or work out things to cook, and get along fine. Seeing Lizzy and Rocky stand together at the window, watching the lightning, was kind of like having our girlfriends get along, or watching distant cousins find some common ground to dispel the awkwardness of their forced relationship.