Have You Seen Ally Queen? (18 page)

He tears off a snake tail, stares down at the sand.

Jeezuss. It’s so quiet between us, I feel like I’m in church or at assembly or something (but assembly’s actually fairly noisy most of the time. Kids talk all the way through it, especially when it’s windy—you can’t get caught then, it’s cool.)

Just as I’m about to say
Thanks for the pythons
again, just to say
some
thing, he starts talking.

‘Did you ... have you ... got a...’

‘What?’

He’s going red. ‘Have you got a ... um,
guy
back in Perth?’

Lucky I have a mouthful of python. It means I don’t have to say anything for a bit, so I just break out in a hot sweat instead.

His foot digs into the sand, right down to the wet stuff.

I can’t believe it. Who would ever think I’ve got a boyfriend back in Perth? Who would ever think I’d ever had a boyfriend at
all?

I want to look at him but can’t. I look up at the
water instead. Birds swoop around and over us like we might be big fish.

‘No,’ I finally say.
But it’s a cool idea,
I want to say.
Iwish I did.
‘Nope.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Is it?’ I say, and we look at each other.

‘Yeah.’

Things start to click for me then. I’m getting the gist of what he’s saying. I swallow.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out.

It’s a shell, on a piece of leather, like the one he’s got around his neck, but it’s smaller, like a bracelet. That’s what it is, a bracelet. The shell is different, too; it’s smooth, and shiny and white, like a mini conch.

It’s gorgeous.

It’s cool.

And then he says, ‘I made it. It’s for you.’

Later on, I press the letters slowly but surely into my phone.

Shel. I can’t believe I’m saying this ... I think I’ve meta guy! He is—it is—so nice.

I lie in bed for hours, replaying the afternoon in my mind.

Jerry comes into my room early in the morning and kind of sits on me until I acknowledge him.

‘Ally,’ he whispers, ‘I’ve got an idea!’

Really.

‘Ally.’ He rolls me from side to side. ‘Come on, I’m serious.’

‘So am I,’ I groan. ‘You need to leave my room for the next several hours.’

‘Come
on!’

I sit up. ‘This had really better be good.’

‘It is—listen. You know how Mum’s not here at the moment.’

‘I had noticed, yes.’

Well, don’t you reckon Dad might be ... missing her?’

‘Hmmmmmmmm...’ I groan. ‘Cut to the chase.’

‘Well, I reckon we should get them to go out, so they can be together—on their own. Like a
date,’
he whispers. ‘Maybe a picnic.’

God, this is too much for this time of the day. My oldies—a date? A
pic
nic? How completely lame! ‘Jerry, can you please get a life?’

He gives me a wounded look. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

I flop back down on my bed. ‘It’s never going to work, that’s what’s wrong with it! Do you think a
picnic
is going to fix everything?’

Long pause.

Oh, Ally, you cow. Did you really have to say that?

‘What I mean, McJerry,’ I say more gently, ‘is it’s a nice idea, but it’s not going to solve Mum’s problems.’

‘I know that!’ He straightens up. ‘I’m not
trying
to solve Mum’s problems. I just thought it might be ... nice.’

‘It
is
nice,’ I say. ‘It’s lovely.’

I close my eyes and think about this for a moment. What harm can it do? And he’s right: Mum and Dad haven’t been spending any time together—which certainly can’t be helping.

I sigh. ‘Where were you thinking of having this ... picnic? The beach? Bit windy, isn’t it?’

He nods sadly.

‘They’d end up eating crunchy sandwiches. Maybe the estuary would be better.’ I prod him in the bum with
my foot. ‘What do you think, Jerry? Down by the river, on a sunny afternoon. Sounds ... romantic, doesn’t it?’

He looks at me hopefully.

‘We can
try,’
I say.

He throws me a huge grin.

It’s on, I guess. I roll over. More sleep.

After a bit more thought, I realise it’ll need more than just us two to pull this gig off. We need Aunty Trish to help bring it all together.

I can get everything ready: a rug, and some yummy food—dips and olives and Turkish bread—and some sparkling apple juice, Mum’s favourite. But we need to get them both there. That’s the hard bit. Then we can just leave them alone for a few hours. Sort of like a blind date, but not blind, because they already know each other. And not a date, because they’re actually already married. Whatever—you get the picture, anyway.

There’s a message on my phone. Shel.

TELL ME EVERYTHING. Email tonight for maxdetail please! Go, Ally Queen!

I laugh. I’ve already begun an email to her. It’s a monster.

When I called Aunty Trish this morning to tell her Jerry’s idea, there was a long pause before she said, ‘Ally, you know what? I’ve just seen the forecast—what do you think about tomorrow? I think a picnic’s a lovely idea. Don’t know why I didn’t think of something like that myself.’ She paused. ‘I guess we’ve just been dealing with each day at a time over here, and not really thinking ahead too much.’

Pat on the back for McJerry.

‘I can get your mum there by taking her for a walk around the river, but we need to think of a reason to get your dad over here without him guessing what’s going on. Can I leave that up to you two?’

‘Yep.’ I try to think quickly. Something to do with school ... something I need his help with. ‘I’ll come up with a lure, Aunty Trish, no probs.’

‘Okay, wonderful. Now, what about some goodies for them to eat?’

Thank God I’ve thought at least this part through. ‘I’ll stash that in Dad’s little esky and put it in the boot of his car when he’s not looking, so you’ll just need to grab it.’

She gives a small squeal. ‘This is good, Ally; this is great! I just wish we could be flies on the wall when it happens!’

‘Flies on trees,’ I laugh. But I’ve already got that sorted. It does, of course, involve
wagging.
Which I’m not telling Jerry about, or he’d want to wag too, especially since this whole idea was his. But he’s just too young to wag. And I’m not missing this for anything.

This is like something out of a magazine: Mum and Dad, under a gum tree, in semi-shade, with a rug between them and some strawberries, cheese and crackers, and a couple of glasses of sparkling apple juice—
Oh, how very civilised,
as Dad would say.

They look relaxed, Dad is leaning back on one elbow, facing the water, and Mum is looking directly into his face as he says something. She is half grinning, and is wearing her
Every Christmas Lights Up with DickSmith
T-shirt that Jerry gave her a couple of years ago. I don’t think it was on her list, but she loves that shirt.

Yeah: I wagged. I reckon this is as good a reason as any—spying on your oldies getting it together. Ugh, yuck, did I have to think of that? But really, I just want to see how things go, to get a sense of whether they’re going to enjoy it or not.

Mum’s resting her head on Dad’s shoulder.

I take that as a yes.

I’m wearing the shell when we start to explore the tidal pools.

Rel says he once saw a black starfish caught in one of these rock pools. ‘It looked velvety,’ he says, ‘like the material.’

Every time I put my hand out to pick up a piece of coral or something, there is the bracelet. It falls on my wrist like something Ms Carey would wear. It almost makes me look ... okay.

We spend about an hour hanging out in the pools. Rel keeps on finding stuff, like cool rocks or a bunch of mussels or some critter he hasn’t seen before, and he calls me each time to see it, too. It’s pretty amazing. Actually, it’s all a bit surreal—you know, as if we are in a movie, or something. The sun beaming down on us all arvo and this beautiful white conch shell on my wrist that this guy has given me. This
cool
guy. Which must mean I’m not a total freak.

And I realise: it’s a week since I decided I’d take off to Perth and I haven’t thought about my plan for the last few days. Funny that.

My feet are so cold by the end of the day that I can’t even locate them half the time, but it doesn’t matter It feels nice. It feels different, like my whole
arm
feels different because of that bracelet.

And then, when the tide has come back in quite a way, I see the starfish—coral red, with its legs out like starlight, looking like it’s posing in
NationalGeographic,
or something. We poke its legs around a bit and it changes shape but it’s generally pretty mellow. Our arms brush once when we’re both reaching down to touch it, to watch its red legs curl and twist at our gentle pokes. I nearly pull away, embarrassed, but something stops me, makes me stay in this moment, save this moment. I want to see how his skin feels, how my skin feels next to his, and there’s an instant when I feel almost
womanly
here, with the sun and wind and skin all over me. All over Rel and me.

I didn’t end up getting anything for Mum today. Or maybe I did.

I had fun. I had an amazing afternoon down on the beach, with someone I would never have met if I’d
been in Perth. There aren’t any starfish up there, either; at least, I’ve never seen any.

So, okay, I admit it, Mum: I enjoyed myself. Down here.

How can I go away now when all these things are happening? Everything keeps changing! I still miss Perth and everything, but now there’s something
cool
to be here for. And I don’t even know what it all means, the tidal pools, the Killer Pythons, the bracelet. I mean, it’s Rel and I having fun together, obviously. We really enjoy each other’s company. We like each other, but in
that
way? What
is
that way? Is it wanting to hang out together and pick mulberries and go prawning and forage in tidal pools? Is it wanting to feel his skin again? We haven’t kissed or anything—isn’t that what it’s usually about? Of all the kids at school, Rel is the only one I really like, the only one I tell stuff to or hang out with. So does that mean the boyfriend-girlfriend thing?

I thought I’d be going to Perth this week. I dunno how that fits in with this bracelet. Or the skin thing. He knows I’m going, at least. And he hasn’t mentioned it, so it’s probably not important to him.

‘Ally! Phone call for you, love.’ Dad’s doing voice projection downstairs.

Huh? No one phones me here.

I haul my legs upstairs and pick up the receiver from the counter. Dad’s washing up the dinner dishes and Jerry’s watching
Thunderbirds.
Dad lets us get DVDs since Mum’s not here to spew on us, and Jerry’s certainly making the most of it. Last week while Dad sat in the car outside the Mandurah video store, listening to Radio National, Jerry took out
seven
DVDs. Seven! Even Dad said that was way too many and he could only watch for an hour each night after he’d done his homework. Jerry said he only got that many because there was some special deal on: seven movies for seven bucks. Like, one for every night of the week. Even I think that’s pretty sad, you know, that you wouldn’t have anything better to do on
any
night of the week.

‘Maybe it’s your turn for a surprise date, Ally,’ Dad says quietly as I reach for the phone.

It’s the first time he’s mentioned the picnic with Mum. I look at him out of the corner of my eye as I put the phone to my ear. ‘Hell-o?’