Living With Leanne (4 page)

I’m in shock.

‘Who?’ I go at last.

‘Huh? Oh, Steve.’

I’ve got to be patient. I’ve heard that middle-aged women can suddenly snap and go nuts. The shock of Leanne’s blood-red hair has tipped her over the edge.

‘Mum. Who is Steve?’

‘You’ve met him,’ she says. ‘The cop.’

The cop? Which cop? Then I remember this old dude with wrinkles and grey hair coming on to my mum on the highway and I gulp.

‘Mum. You can’t. He’s got kids. He’s married. He said he had a daughter like Leanne at home, remember? You can’t go trolling off to dinner with a married man!’

‘Was married,’ says Mum. ‘He’s divorced.’

Oh, great. I’ve read about this, seen it on TV. He hasn’t got a home of his own because his wife and ten kids are in it so he moves out of his dinky little flat, in with us, then his wife clears off to Cairns with some guy and her kids don’t want to go with her so they all come and live with us, and …

‘No.
No
,’ I shout, banging the table so hard that the Mexican dip leaps in the air.

‘What?
What
?’ yells Leanne, charging out of her room.

‘Mum’s got a date.’

Leanne gapes.

‘Mum’s got a date with that old cop Steve: you know, the one who was giving her the greasy eyeball on the highway while he was pretending to check out our car.’

Leanne stares at Mum. Then she doubles up laughing, holding onto the sink.

‘You’ve gotta be jokin’,’ she gasps. ‘Mum?
Dating
?’

‘I don’t see what’s so funny,’ goes Mum.

‘I do. You? Oh, Mum, get real.’

I can’t help it. It’s so stupid. Mum on a hot date with Steve the super-cop? I crack, and Leanne and I are both falling about holding our sides laughing. Mum sits still with her mouth pursed.

‘Is he pickin you up in the cop car?’ chortles Leanne.

I nearly wet my pants.

‘Takin you out in the booze bus?’

I’m rolling on the floor, clutching my stomach.

‘If you’ve finished,’ says Mum, rising and going over to the sink to rinse out her cup. ‘I’m going to take a shower. You guys can have baked beans on toast for tea.’

She walks out. We both stop laughing and look at each other.

‘She’s really goin out with that cop?’ says Leanne.

‘Yeah.’

‘She’s gotta have her head read. He’s old, at least forty, maybe fifty.’

‘Yeah. Well, so’s Mum.’

‘This is disgusting.’

‘Yeah. What are we gonna do?’

‘Dunno. Short of lockin her in the house there’s not much we can do.’

‘Let me think …’

We sit there in silence. Mum comes out of the bathroom and we hear her go to her bedroom. Her wardrobe door bangs. Drawers open and shut.

‘Wonder if she’s gonna wear her white cotton tails that take three men and a dog to lift off the clothes line?’ says Leanne. ‘Real passion killers, those knickers.’

‘Leanne.’

‘All right. All right. Only jokin. I mean, they’re not gonna have sex or anythin, are they? Too old.’

I think about this. There was some old fossil in Tassie, eighty-five or something, who married some woman of forty and they had a kid. I’m not sure when old people dry up sexually. But Mum? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

‘We’re panicking,’ I go, ‘he’s probably gonna troll her down to the RSL, play indoor bowls or whatever old people do, feed her the schnitzel special and bring her home. What’s there to worry about?’

‘Leanne!’

Mum’s in the doorway dressed to kill in a black dress I’ve never seen before, her hair piled up on her head, make-up for Africa, and she’s clutching the nearly empty bottle of Giorgio.

‘Oh-no.’

‘You can buy me another bottle with your next lot of hot bread money, do you hear me?’ snaps Mum.

Leanne just nods. We’re both dumbfounded. Mum looks … well, kind of reasonable.

The front doorbell rings.

‘Whoa. It’s Robocop,’ Leanne drawls.

‘Let him in.’

‘No way.’

Their eyes lock in battle. The doorbell rings again. If someone doesn’t open the door he’ll probably call in the SWAT team and a few mega tonnes of tear gas. I go and open the door. There’s this stranger standing there, brown jacket and pants, holding a long-stemmed red rose. Then he smiles and I recognise the crinkly wrinkles.

‘Hi, Sam,’ he says.

‘Er … hi.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Huh? Oh … yeah … sure …’

I hold the door wide and he walks in and stands there, waiting.

‘Oh. Er … in here.’

I show him the lounge room. Leanne tries to slink past but he spots her.

‘Hello, young lady.’

Leanne grunts and goes to her room. The door bangs behind her. Then Mum comes into the lounge room and in the soft light she actually looks quite young and pretty.

‘Shall we go?’ she says to Steve, and they swan off together, just like that.

I’ve got this awful feeling that our lives will never be the same again.

That’s it. I’ve got this feeling life’ll never be the same round here again. This Steve’ll con Mum for sure, move in and make my life a serious misery. Imagine, a cop living here, busting me and all my friends for getting into Newies underage, smelling my breath for mull fumes, reading the riot act every time I go out with some guy. That is, if any guys ask me: they won’t want to know me if they know that I’m living with the Cop from Hell.

I call Fern.

‘I’m splittin,’ I go.

‘What?’

‘Goin on the run. You comin or what?’

‘I thought you were gonna wait till the lupins finished growin but.’

‘Lupins? Forget them. There’s more important things in life than dumb lupins.’

I tell her about Mum.

‘I think it’s kinda cute,’ she goes.

‘Get real, Fern. Do I need a stepfather who’s a cop?’

‘But they’re only on their first date, Leanne. They might be sexually incompatible.’

‘At their age they’ll take anything. No, he’s all set to grab Mum and she’s too dopey to see that he’s just a wrinkly on the make. A worn-out cop with nothing else to do but to crack onto my mum.’

‘Leanne!’

‘Well, it’s true. Now, are you comin with me or not?’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Oh. Can’t we wait?’

‘What are we waitin for, Fern?’

‘Well … I dunno. Things aren’t so bad at my place right now. Let’s wait till … say … after Christmas.’

‘That’s six months away. Let’s not.’

‘Aw, I dunno.’

‘Chicken?’

‘Nah, but … the timin’s not right for me, Leanne.’

‘Ya know what? The timin’s never goin to be right for you, Fern.’

I hang up the receiver with a loud crash. Well that’s it, then. I’m on my own.

I go into my room and fling open the wardrobe doors. What am I going to take? It’s hot up north. Well, not King’s Cross, but Noosa will be, and that’s where I’ll end up. I’ll need King’s Cross gear first. Jeans. T-shirts. Undies. Socks. Sneakers. And the mini. But maybe they’re wearing long skirts with splits up there? Money. I can buy stuff when I get there. I’ve got to travel light. But how do I get there? Hitch. Dangerous, but. Some horny old wrinkly might try it on. There’s got to be some serious surfing dudes heading north. If I pick the right ride it’ll be cool. But how do I find that out? Ah. Little bro. Sam’s
Forte
and
Torquay Junket
magazines.

Lucky. He’s watching TV so I sneak into his room and find the latest editions. I flip through. Sure enough, there’s three rides going north. One’s too late, left a week ago. One’s going in a month’s time. Can’t wait that long. Hey, one ride’s going tomorrow. This is scary stuff.

I believe in fate. I go out to the phone and call Dial a Star. I’m Libra. The voice comes over the line clearly.

The forceful side of your nature may spring into action without warning and confusion may develop over a pro
posed venture. Security will be an important provision. But ideas and ambitions you have been dreaming about will now take shape. A trip can be expected in relation to your chosen goals. You will be in touch with someone special who is far away. Be wary of those who ask favours or want to interfere with your plans. Financial gain is indicated through career, relatives or real estate, so take every opportunity. Lucky numbers 15, 23, 24.’

Yes
. I hang up. Destiny is leading me along a new path and I’ve got to have the courage to follow where it leads me. Scary, huh. I grab the
Junket
and phone the number before I lose my courage.

‘Yeah?’

‘The ride up north,’ I go. ‘Is there still a seat?’

Silence. Then the voice speaks.

‘Depends. Who wants it?’

‘Me.’

Silence. Then the voice speaks again.

‘Weren’t plannin on takin a chick.’

‘I can
pay
.’

‘Hundred bucks.’

‘Get real,’ I’m starting to feel annoyed. ‘I can get the bus on concession for sixty.’

I know this because this girl Erica went up to Brisbane to see her mum and that’s how much it was.

‘Sixty, then. Take it or leave it.’

I think quickly. The bus’d be safer for sure, but traceable. This ride’s riskier because I don’t know them, but there’s got to be less chance of getting pulled up by the cops.

‘Fifty,’ goes the guy. ‘And that’s it. You buy your own food.’

‘Okay. I’ll take it.’

‘Leavin at ten. Where’ll we pick you up?’

I think fast. Not at home; someone might get the rego number.

‘Vine Street and Montrose.’

‘Gotcha.’

He hangs up. I realise I don’t know his name, but as long as a vehicle picks me up and I can con the driver to go to King’s Cross I don’t care. I go to my room and pack. I won’t phone Fern and tell her because she’ll crack under pressure and the less she knows the better: I’ll send her a crazy card when I get there. I look at my Strapper bag with all my worldly possessions. It seems kinda small. Like I said, I can always buy more stuff. I’ve got a hundred and thirty bucks I’ve been saving for this so money’s not a problem.

I’m in the back of this old Holden station wagon sitting next to some guy called Mattie. Rick’s driving and Nathan’s
beside him. The back of the wagon’s jam-packed with surfboards, wetsuits and bags of gear. They were ten minutes late picking me up and I was dead scared they weren’t going to show. And when they did I had major problems.

‘Hey. It’s a kid.’

‘How old are you, kid?’

‘Eighteen,’ I lie.

‘Yeah. And I’m forty-five. We don’t want no trouble with a minor.’

‘No trouble,’ I say. ‘All I want’s a ride to King’s … I mean, a ride north.’

‘Dunno. Hey, aren’t you that kid Sam’s sister?’

‘Nah. She’s got black hair,’ says the driver.

‘Am I comin or not?’ I go. The longer I stand in the street arguing there’s more chance of someone springing me.

‘All right. Get in. But any trouble and you’re out on your ear, got it?’

‘Got it.’

So I’m sitting in the back gazing out the window. Not that there’s much to look at—towns that are real
holes
, and flat paddocks. We’re already over the border into New South Wales before they pull over into a service station for a late lunch. They’ve only made one brief petrol-toilet stop on the Hume Highway at Bunker’s Hill and they’re not messing round with the speedo, either. Well, that suits me
fine. So far they’ve virtually ignored me except to ask my name.

‘Christine.’

‘Yeah?’

‘You can call me Chris.’

‘Yeah. Right. Chris.’

They’re cool, eh.

‘Lunch,’ says Rick, as we pile out of the wagon and stretch our legs. ‘Only fifteen minutes, but.’

‘I’ll shout ya,’ I go.

‘Yeah. Right.’

At least I don’t owe them any favours if I buy their lunches, do I? It’s hamburgers with the lot, chips, and Cokes to go. I didn’t realise travelling could make you so hungry. And so tired. They’ve switched drivers and Mattie’s at the wheel. When I wake up I’ve got my head on Nathan’s shoulder and it’s dark outside except for streetlights.

‘Oh.’

I sit up and rub my eyes.

‘Where are we?’

‘Other side of Sydney.’

‘What?’

‘You wanna bail?’

I think quickly. If I bail I’ve got to go back, find King’s
Cross, get somewhere to sleep, find a job … it all seems too hard right now. Plus if Mum and Steve the super cop (she came in at eleven last night, can you believe, and what was she doing all that time,
eating
?) if they put the screws on Fern she’ll spill that I was going to the Cross. It might be better to keep going.

‘Well?’ says Mattie, pulling onto the side of the road.

I panic, thinking they’re going to chuck me out.

‘I’ll stay. I’ll stay.’

But he’s just going into a service road. Another pit stop to refuel the car and get some more burgers. I decide on a pie, chips and a Big M. I’m going to get major zits if I keep with the greasies but there’s not a great choice in these places. The chicken looks dried out and the fish is swimming in oil. Once I hit Noosa it’s full-on pineapples, mangoes and coconuts for a week! I’m starting to feel stiff and sore from sitting so long. These guys aren’t messing round. No sleepovers. This time Nathan’s driving. I’m allowed in the front, and the other two are asleep in the back. Beats the bus any time, I’m thinking, as the Holden chews up the k’s. Nathan turns on the radio, and it’s the Gunners, not too loud, and I wonder with a pang how my lupins are doing. Before I know it a big tear rolls down my cheek. I can’t believe it. I’m feeling homesick. What a weakling.

Nathan reaches over and pats my hand.

‘Wanna talk?’ he says.

Next thing I’m spilling my guts like there’s no tomorrow. He doesn’t say anything, just nods occasionally and keeps his eyes on the road. I steal a look at him. He’s kinda cute, blond dreadlocks, tanned face, the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. He looks kind of … secure. And sexy. I lean across and snuggle up to him. He gives me a gentle nudge back to my side.

‘I don’t need complications,’ he goes.

‘Well, excuse me.’

I shrink back against my side of the car and stare angrily out the window.

‘Chris, you’ve gotta do this on your own, not rely on someone else. We’ll be in Noosa soon. Are you going to bail there? Remember that’s the first place your mum’ll look. Or do you want to get yourself together first before you front your dad?’

I think about this. He’s right. I want to be cool when I lob into Dad’s place, not a blubbering heap on the doorstep. And Nathan’s right about the boy-girl stuff, too. Three mates. They don’t need one of them with a girlfriend mucking them up. They’ve got their own agenda … top surf.

‘Where are you heading?’ I go.

‘Maroochydore.’

Further south than Noosa. But not much.

‘You can hang around with us for a while,’ he says, ‘but no coming on to us, okay? Just get yourself together for a few days, then go do what you’ve gotta do.’

Sounds good. I need to lax out and get my thoughts in order. And while I’ve got this burning anger in me I’m likely to do something dumb.

‘I’ll stay.’

He squeezes my hand. It’s kind of comforting to have a boyfriend who’s not a boyfriend. I’ve never had one before. Most guys I know are not wanting friendship if you know what I mean. We finally arrive at Maroochydore in the early hours of the morning. Nathan drives to this caravan park.

‘Hey, wake up, Rick. Which one?’

It turns out that Rick’s rellies have an on-site van. We find it and pile out of the Holden. Every muscle in my body’s aching. There’s this tent thing attached to the van.

‘You’re in the annexe,’ says Nathan, unzipping it.

I go in. There’s a bed, no blankets or sheets, and I fall onto it exhausted, in my clothes, and sleep and sleep.

When I finally wake it’s two in the afternoon. Warm and sunny. I stink. Someone’s shoved my bag into the annexe so I drag out a change of clothing, my toilet bag and towel, and set off to the shower block. It’s the
best
shower. I stand under it till I go wrinkly all over. Then I put on clean
underwear, t-shirt and a pair of jeans. There’s a laundry next door so I soap up my dirty clothes with the cake of Palmolive (Mum’d have a fit but there isn’t any laundry detergent round) then lug it all back to the van. I hang everything over the annexe ropes and try the van door. Open. I go in and rat round for something to eat but the place is foodless. The car’s gone. All the surfing gear’s gone. But the guys’ bags and things are scattered about, so I know they’ll be back.

Food. My stomach’s grumbling. This’s the first time in my life I’ve ever been really hungry with no food close by. At home I just troll over to the fridge and choose something.

Well, I’m not home now.

I get my money and walk through the caravan park to the store. The stuff is so expensive, but I buy a salad roll, a banana and a carton of caramel-flavoured milk from the grey-haired guy who looks at me suspiciously. Or maybe that’s my imagination. I sit in the sunshine outside and just gorge it down. Then I feel better and my stomach stops rumbling.

Time for action. I walk down the road and there’s a bunch of shops with a fairly big supermarket. Just what I need, because these guys are going to come back starving hungry and it’d be nice if I had some decent food ready
for them, seeing as I’ve got free accommodation and they still haven’t hit me for the fifty.

Check the fruit! All this tropical stuff—pawpaws, mangoes, pineapples. Lady Finger bananas in tight bunches. Guys usually like steaks. I buy four chunky pieces, lettuce, tomatoes, a cucumber, a green and a red pepper, Italian dressing, and twelve bread rolls. I need margarine and cheese, too. And a loaf of bread for toast. And corn flakes. And milk. Some coffee and sugar. That takes care of dinner and breakfast. And sixty dollars. Stuff’s far more expensive than I thought. How does Mum do it? Still, we hardly ever have steak. Maybe I should change it for ground beef and make a meat loaf? But is there an oven in the van? What the hell, we’ll eat up big tonight and worry about tomorrow then.

I stroll back to the van. It turns out there’s an oven, and a griller so I can do the steak. There’s pots and pans, and in a box I discover stuff like tomato sauce, pepper, salt, jam, peanut butter and some herbs in little jars. I tidy up the van, check my washing which isn’t dry, then take a walk across the caravan park to the sand dunes. Over the dunes is the sea. I breathe salty air and walk along the shore. The tide’s way out and there’s pretty shells and a piece of pink coral, still damp from the sea. I know enough about surfing to realise the waves aren’t very good here so the guys have probably gone further along the coast. I sit relaxing and
feeling calm. At some stage I’ll have to call home. Not for a while yet. The gulls wheel and cry overhead and I watch them for a long time, so liberated, no hassles except for catching the occasional fish. It must be wonderful to fly free like that. The sun begins to sink into the sea and I decide I’d better get back and start preparing our meal. I’m starving hungry again; it must be the fresh air.