Carousel (3 page)

I gave them a little wave and stepped inside to clean a couple of plates at the sink.

‘Is Rocky coming?' I asked, once Lizzy had stopped the blender.

‘He's not answering his radio,' replied Taylor.

Lizzy shook her head and inspected the smoothie.

‘We told him about that,' I said.

‘I know,' shrugged Taylor.

The Pop-Tarts shot up and I plated them, leaving a spare in the machine for Rocky.

We chewed silently with a glass of purple smoothie to wash down the clumps of sugary dough.

‘Do you need help moving equipment today?' I asked Lizzy.

‘Sure,' she replied.

Taylor was quiet. She'd kept right out of Lizzy's plan to set up a recording studio from the equipment in the music store next to Target. I'd overheard them talking about it last week. Taylor telling Lizzy not to expect her to run in and play stuff once it was ready. Lizzy telling Taylor that she shouldn't assume she would be invited.

‘I'm so into these blueberries,' said Taylor looking at her drink like it was mystical.

‘I know, right,' said Lizzy.

‘Are we on to berry Pop-Tarts because the others are out of code?' I asked.

Taylor nodded. Food wasn't our favourite topic now that items had started to reach use-by dates in all of the supermarkets.

‘I was thinking that some of the stores in the food court might have storage freezers at the back with stuff inside,' I said.

They both nodded.

‘Have you finished
Breaking Dawn
?' Taylor asked Lizzy.

‘Almost. You know there are like fifty copies in Dymocks, right?' Lizzy replied.

Taylor shrugged.

A whirring noise interrupted them as Rocky wheeled around the corner on one of his kid's-size mountain bikes. The three of us watched him coast toward us. He looked away, feigning interest in the stores flashing by.

‘Hey, Rocky,' said Taylor.

‘Hey,' he replied and leant the bike carefully against the island.

I swung off my chair and dipped his Pop-Tart down for a reheat.

‘You forget your radio again?' asked Lizzy.

Rocky nodded and sheepishly sipped his smoothie. He looked young today. Acne blotching his lower face and neck. An oversized hoodie hanging loosely from his stooping shoulders. The three of us would often catch each other staring at him curiously like he was some study into puberty. Then remind ourselves to leave the poor guy alone.

‘Do you want to come out to the south end with me today, Rock?' asked Taylor.

He nodded, as she knew he would.

‘Awesome,' said Taylor.

There were all sorts of exits in the south end that Taylor had started testing after she finished with the back entrances. She would go out there with a bunch of different tools from Backyard Bonanza in the hope of wedging open one of the doors.

Taylor's desire to break out of the centre had remained pretty constant from the first night. For me it came in waves. I don't think this meant that Taylor necessarily wanted to be free more than I did, but maybe her need for a goal or routine was stronger. I found it easier to face the problem of our strange imprisonment when I was feeling okay with things than when I was down. But then I guess what got me down to begin with was probably being imprisoned.

I had drifted inevitably away from my parents and sister since moving out and starting uni. Driven back only by birthdays, holidays and the occasional family barbecue. As time went by the visits became even less frequent. I had graduated with average grades and an arts degree, and started work for a stationery store chain. Suddenly it was like there was no future to discuss. I was just twenty-two but it was as if I'd already arrived at my destination, and, although I don't think my parents held out any great ambition for either my sister Danni or me, my situation made things oddly uncomfortable. I don't know if I missed seeing them, but I definitely missed having the option.

Maybe it was kind of the same for Lizzy. But I hadn't asked. Something large and inexplicable was happening, maybe had happened, in the world, or at least in Australia, but Lizzy somehow found a way to rationalise. Or maybe not rationalise, but accept and move on. As much as that were possible in a giant, deserted mall. None of us knew what Rocky's thoughts were. He was just as happy, or maudlin (in Rocky's case the difference was small), helping Taylor bashing doors as he was playing
Turkey Shoot Arcade
in the foyer of the cinema. We knew he was fragile and the three of us kept a close eye on him. But in reality we
had no idea what to look out for.

I liked Rocky, though. From the moment we found him in the PJ section of Target, still wearing his work uniform, lying on a roll-out camping mat. He'd been in there, quiet as a mouse, for over a week. Surviving on boxes of chocolate and bottles of Sprite. Crashing from sugar every two hours, before getting hungry and doing it over again.

Target was cold and severely fluorescent twenty-four hours a day. Rocky hadn't really slept since arriving early for his shift. Despite this, and the fact that he was dehydrated, malnourished and scared as hell, he didn't complain for a moment. Actually, Rocky never complained. I'd seen him come off his bike about a dozen times since he started coasting through the corridors and he never said a word. And there were other times when Taylor and I were fiddling around with a window somewhere and we would hear a jarring crash from another side of the centre as Rocky fanned out too wide on a corner and slammed into a shopfront. Only to pick himself up and pedal off moments later.

Rocky was the skinny kid in school that you decided you would stick up for, even if it meant you would get beaten up. Because watching him get beaten would be so much worse.

He and Taylor spent a lot of time together. Even when she wasn't looking for an exit. They would find different things to race around the centre on. Skateboards. Scooters. Shopping trolleys.

Some nights, the three of us would take Rocky down to Liquor Central with an iPod and some beanbags and pass on our knowledge of vodkas and wines. Rocky would drink along obediently and listen to our stories of when we first drank something, or how crap we felt after drinking something else. Taylor and Lizzy's stories were a lot more interesting than mine. In the depths of Carousel it was easy to forget they were musical celebrities. Drunk Rocky was pretty similar to sober Rocky. There were just more bike crashes on the way back.

Lizzy and I were down the back of the music store. The place was part of a local chain that catered for kids learning guitar and retirees taking up piano where they left off fifty years before. Not a place to shop for half an indie-rock duo from Canada. But Lizzy was making the best of it.

‘Wow. There's so much shit in here,' she said, stepping back and assessing our progress in collecting a pile of necessary equipment.

‘Yeah. Even though the
prices are mental
,' I said, quoting a favourite sign of ours in the window.

We stood there for a moment, surrounded by trashy glinting guitars and big, blocky amps.

‘I'll grab a couple of trolleys from next door,' I said and left her inside.

The centre was quiet now that the rain had stopped. I
was wearing a pair of canvas slip-ons from Country Road that I liked because they were silent on the lino and they didn't echo through the whole fucking centre like some shoes did. Thankfully Taylor and Lizzy weren't into heels that much or none of us would get anything done.

I bypassed the trolleys at the front of Target and stepped through a checkout to look for some Vitamin Water that was still in code. We had pretty much cleared out the mini fridges at the head of each checkout. I walked past, just to make sure, but it was just old gossip mags and Extra gum. It was crazy how much chewing gum there was in a fully stocked shopping complex.

I turned down into the bulk food section where they kept some warm bottles alongside the still water and multi-pack soft drink. We had cleared out the good flavours, but there was plenty of orange-orange still in code. I grabbed two and turned back toward the entrance.

Something caught my eye and I stopped.

Rocky's abandoned campsite lay at the other end of the aisle. I had a clear view of the makeshift bed and empty drink containers.

I stood there, strangely engrossed by the window into our Carousel past. There was a pile of kids' pyjamas bundled up for a pillow and a small outdoor lantern alongside.

I suddenly realised that Rocky might have stayed there forever if we hadn't have been in here too.

It was one of the loneliest things I had seen.

I wanted to get the hell out of there but couldn't stop looking. I got a snap of dizziness and the centre spread out behind my eyes like a giant empty prison.

My radio crackled.

I jumped a little and took off back toward the checkouts.

‘Just wondering if you would be finished trying on skivvies soon?' said Lizzy on the radio. I took mine out of my pocket to reply.

‘Yeah, sorry. The checkouts are banked up like crazy today,' I said as I passed through the entrance with the Vitamin Waters. Outside I stopped and turned back, remembering the trolleys.

The radio crackled again. This time it was Taylor.

‘Remember the blue one he found?'

‘Yeah. It was so snug,' Lizzy replied.

I found a couple of trolleys that steered okay and put the drinks inside. The Finns' jokes continued.

‘It was almost the exact same colour as his denim. Like a big grown-up onesie,' said Taylor.

Lizzy pressed her radio just to laugh. Taylor followed. I shook my head and glanced back at the
eerie, fluorescent expanse of Target. I decided not to go back in there unless I had to.

I rounded the corner and found Lizzy sitting on an amp beside a small pile of equipment at the front of the store. She was still exchanging radio laughter with Taylor. I held my radio up.

‘Hey, Rock. I'm going to be on channel four FYI.'

I switched channels. A moment later there was a solitary crackle to show he had done the same. Lizzy looked my way and mocked sympathy. I handed her the Vitamin Water and started loading the gear to make her feel even worse. She just ruffled my hair and smiled.

Later in the day we were parked outside Rugs a Million. Lizzy had decided on this for her studio partly due to the sound-proofing options offered by the countless rugs and carpets, and also because it had an ‘awesome middle-eastern vibe'.

We spent a couple of hours clearing out a corner at the back and carrying in some equipment. Lizzy was keen to keep working and get the place ready for recording. I wondered how much it had to do with Taylor. The topic of music was a polarising force between them. Taylor hadn't played, or discussed music, since we arrived in the centre, and whatever she was
listening to on her headphones was hers alone. Like a mother preserving the bedroom of a teenager left for uni, she carefully sheltered the memory of their musical past.

Lizzy was the opposite. Funnelling time and energy into the studio with an unflinching resolve. She would blast the rest of us with impromptu DJ sets from Carousel's huge library, and power through music magazines and autobiographies.

And she would play. Cross-legged on a couch or bed. Pacing around an abandoned corridor. Her pale, perfect fingers skipping across a keyboard or guitar. One of my favourite things about being stuck in the centre was hearing Lizzy's music drifting the empty halls. Rocky and I would stop cycling and coast in slow circles while we listened to the fractured and beautiful sounds. Once I had seen Taylor stop to listen also. Her back was to me but I could see that her head had dropped slightly and she might have been smiling. Or crying.

She and Lizzy lived in different cities on the outside and the confinement of the centre had complicated both their relationship and their music. But Carousel offered them time. It was its foremost gift.

We stopped for a break and some honey-flavoured trail bars. Lizzy had chosen a big circular rug for the floor of
her studio. We lay on our backs, looking up at the cheap fibro ceiling, and slowly chewed down the bars.

‘Okay, so after Michelle in high school there was Heather, then Chloe in college?' she asked.

‘Uni,' I said.

‘Uni, college, whatever,' she said.

‘Yeah, I think so,' I said.

‘What does
I think so
mean? You've forgotten because none of them were really serious?' she asked. ‘Or is it some guy thing where you act casual about this stuff?'

‘Yeah. That's probably it,' I replied.

Lizzy sighed and tore open another bar.

‘Sorry. I should be more open about the details of my intimate relationships,' I added. It was pretty sarcastic and Lizzy sighed again.

‘We've been here for what, six months now?' asked Lizzy.

‘Seven. Nearly eight,' I replied.

‘You can't expect to be trapped in a mall with the last three people on earth and not get to know them eventually,' she said.

‘There's just not that much to tell. Michelle and I were on and off from Year Nine till first year uni.'

‘Freshman,' Lizzy cut in.

‘Yeah okay, Freshman,' I said. ‘I met Heather. Stuff got weird and confusing. She went overseas. I listened to The National a lot. I met Chloe in a film theory class. We both liked Tom Tykwer films. Went out until June last year.'

I had Lizzy's full attention but there was a smirk in her just waiting to surface.

‘What?' I asked.

‘Nothing. It's just like dot points or something,' she said.

I sighed.

‘And
stuff got weird and confusing
. People call that love, I think,' she said.

‘Right, okay. Thanks,' I replied. ‘Do you want to tell me some more about Erica now? Maybe how her hair looks after a hot shower as opposed to a cold one. Or how she makes those tiny noises when she reads exciting books. Or how toast tastes different when she makes it.'