Living With Leanne (6 page)

I’m starting to think the Manners Manual was written by a woman!

The girls study the menu then decide they want Cokes and nachos. Cooja grabs some money from Boxie and me and goes up to the counter to order. Boxie spends the time putting salt in the sugar container and Belinda and Cathy are in this sort of huddle whispering. I might as well be a fly on the wall. Cooja comes back and sits in between the two girls with an arm along the back of the bench behind each.

‘Don’t like the new paintwork,’ he says.

The way the two girls gaze at him you’d think he’d just recited the Declaration of Independence. I study the decor. The walls are now black, red, blue and silver, like giant bruises. Theme decor, huh.

‘Thought you’d be on diets,’ I say sourly as the nachos arrive dripping with cheese and sour cream, a zillion kilo-joules a bite. I know this from Leanne. I know that water, tea and coffee have got zilch, tomatoes and lettuce and celery are lo-cal, and cheese, hamburgers, chips, and all things sugary are Fat City.

‘We don’t need to diet,’ says Cathy, whose got mega thunder thighs.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. The fashion’s for slightly chunky.’

That’s news to me. Maybe Leanne’s reading the wrong magazines. We munch and chew and the girls nudge and giggle about nothing. Well, nothing I can see. Cooja’s holding Cathy’s hand (which is a big relief) until I drop a nacho and bend under the table. He’s rubbing thighs with Belinda! As I’m under there gawking his free hand slides down and pats her leg. I come up confused. What’s going on?

‘I’ve gotta go,’ says Boxie, standing up. ‘See ya.’

‘Me too.’ I’m also standing.

Belinda reaches across and yanks me down so hard that the table jiggles. I’m sitting. Now what?

Cathy stands, lets go of Cooja’s hand, and moves round next to me. Belinda looks amused. I’m even more confused. Cathy looks at Cooja as she practically sits on my lap. I move away and nearly slide off the seat. I’ve got this funny feeling that I’m some sort of pawn in a weird game and I don’t like it one bit.

‘I’ve gotta roll.’

Cathy wraps her arm through mine. She’s got the suction power of a giant squid, but I break free and take off for the day.

‘See ya.’

I rush for the bus and jump on just as the driver’s shutting the door which means I get squashed against the doorway.

‘You trying to kill yourself?’ he says crossly as I give him a handful of five cent pieces which is guaranteed to make him ever madder. Too bad. I’ve just escaped the Jaws of Death in the guise of Cathy Fletcher and a bus doorway is
nothing
.

I slump into a seat and gaze out the window. There’s only one human on this planet who can tell me what’s going on and she’s not round to help. The only time I’ve ever needed Leanne and she’s a Missing Person.

I get off the bus still confused and mooch up the driveway. As I guessed, Mum’s home, in the lounge drinking a cup of tea with her feet up on the stool watching
Family Feud
.

‘Detention,’ I go before she starts in with the third degree.

‘Why?’

‘Dunno.’

‘You must know.’

‘The whole class got kept in; someone let off a stink bomb.’

I think it’s a great lie; I’m quite proud of it.

‘Wasn’t you?’

‘No way!’

Well, that’s the truth. I flop down and watch the show.

‘We should go in for this,’ I say idly before thinking, because the two lots of contestants are weak as caffeine-free.

‘Yeah,’ says Mum. ‘You know, we could. It’s televised in Brisbane so they’d have to fly us there, wouldn’t they?’

‘We’d need four,’ I say. ‘You. Me. Leanne. And …’

‘Steve,’ goes Mum. ‘He’s real bright, you know.’

Then I realise what I’ve just suggested. I’ve gotta be crazy!

It’d be a family feud all right, right in front of millions of viewers, with Leanne losing it, Mum screeching, Steve preaching and me diving under the desk.

‘I’ll write in,’ says Mum eagerly.

‘Mum. You’re forgetting one thing.’

‘What?’

‘Leanne. We haven’t got Leanne.’

Mum slumps in her chair. She’s temporarily forgotten about our Missing Person while she’s been watching tv and now she’s been reminded, her mouth droops and she looks like she’s going to cry. I get up awkwardly and put my arms around her.

‘Don’t worry, Mum. She’s all right. Leanne’s a survivor from way back.’

‘But she could be …’

‘Murdered and under a bridge. I know that’s what you keep saying, Mum, but if Leanne’s murdered under a bridge the rest of Australia’s dead.’

‘You’re a good kid, Sam.’

Yeah, yeah. Good kid. I’m beginning to think that’s my major problem. But they say a leopard can’t change his spots.

I go to Leanne’s room and water her towering lupins and wonder what she’s doing right now.

Should I pound on the door and beg the guys to let me in? Or crawl into the annexe and stay there? I bend down and pick up the money. I’m not crying too much to count it … a hundred bucks! Now what?

It isn’t cold so I figure I can find a safe place to sleep and then work out what to do in the morning. I walk a little way till I find a deserted van with an annexe, crawl in, and sleep on the groundsheet with my bag for a pillow. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep at all but I flake out and wake feeling hot and sticky. When I crawl out the sun’s up high in the sky and it’s a lovely warm day. I can see the guys’ van further down the row. No car. Gone surfing. I don’t need them. I know where I’m heading. Noosa and Dad.

So it’s four days later. I got a bus to Noosa, found a youth hostel and a bed, and now I’m sitting in the sunshine at an outdoor table at McDonald’s having a burger and French fries for a late breakfast (so much for wall-to-wall mangoes and pineapples) wondering what to do next. Because there’s no Walter Studley or W. Studley in the phone book.

I’ve got enough cash for one more night in the hostel if I want to keep eating. Then I don’t know what I’m going to do.

The worst bit is not having any friends. A few guys have tried to crack onto me, but after the last experience I’m scared. The girls I’ve met are either with a guy and don’t trust me, the butch hiker-nerd type, or here from another country and can’t speak English. The hostel’s clean enough but it’s not for permanent accommodation so it’s kind of lean. I’m missing my room and Mum and Sam something chronic. But I’m not missing that Steve dude. And I’m not contemplating going home till I find Dad.

‘You want the rest of those chips?’

It’s this girl, dark skinned with amazing green eyes, wild, tangled honey brown hair, thin arms hanging out of a torn white t-shirt and skinny legs in tight black jeans with high-top sneakers that look several sizes too big on her feet.

‘Yeah,’ I go as her hand snakes out towards them.

She shrugs and looks round. A guy further over finishes and as soon as he leaves she dives on his meal. He’s left half a muffin and a hash brown which she crams into her mouth. I’ve never seen anyone eat someone’s leftovers in my life, in public like this.

‘Here, have ’em.’

I shove the chips at her. She needs them more than I do.

‘Ta.’

She eats like mad, her eyes checking me out as she crunches up the fries with her white teeth.

‘That’s better.’

What the hell.

‘Here. I’ll shout you a Coke.’

‘Do you mind if I have a thick shake instead? It fills you up more.’

I order two caramel and we sit and slurp them together.

‘That feels better,’ she says as she pushes the empty container away.

She sweeps her untidy hair off her forehead and out of her eyes and grins at me.

‘I’m Alicia.’

‘Hi. I’m Leanne.’

‘So, Leanne. What are you doin hangin round McDonald’s in Noosa? I haven’t seen you here before.’

‘I’m not hangin round as you put it, I’m eatin my breakfast.’

‘Oh. Well excuse
me
!’

She grins again then pokes out her tongue. I can’t help liking her. There’s something about her cheeky smile and her green eyes.

‘I’m lookin for my Dad,’ I volunteer.

‘Yeah? I been tryna lose mine.’

We stare at each other. She reaches over and takes my hand.

‘Why are you tryna find him?’

‘Why are you tryna lose him?’

‘You first.’

‘Well, he left us five years ago, nearly six, and came up here with his secretary. I thought I’d check him out in the phone book but there’s no W. Studley. He must have an unlisted number.’

Alicia shrugs.

‘I’ll ask around.’

‘Thanks. And you? Why are you tryna lose your dad?’

‘See these green eyes? They’re his. See this skin? This nose? These legs and arms? They’re Mum’s.’

I still don’t get it. I must look puzzled because she throws back her head and laughs.

‘Me mum’s Aboriginal. I’m Aboriginal. I don’t need no good-for-nothin white father.’

I’m not sure what to say. It’ll probably be wrong so I don’t say anything.

‘Where ya from?’ she says.

‘Geelong, Victoria.’

‘Koori territory.’

‘Well … yeah. Where’re you from?’

‘My tribe’s up Darwin way, and that’s where I’m headin.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘So, where you stayin then?’

‘Youth hostel, but I’ve only got enough cash for one more night.’

‘Save the money; we can use it for food while we’re lookin for your dad,’ says Alicia calmly. ‘Come on. Let’s get your gear and hit the street.’

‘Why?’

The word pops out before I think. She studies me for a moment and throws her head back and laughs.

‘On the streets is where we get info about your dad,’ she grins. ‘Whether he’s dead or alive.’

Dead? I haven’t even considered that.

‘How old are ya?’ I ask as we collect my stuff from the hostel.

‘Fifteen.’

‘Me too.’

‘Ya smoke?’ she goes as we’re striding along.

‘As in tobacco or dope?’

‘Ganja, man.’

‘Well … I … er …’

‘I don’t touch it, man. Once. Bad news. All the hairs on me arms and legs stood straight up, and I couldn’t stop gigglin, I looked like a porcupine.’

She swings along and we pass a hotel.

‘Ya drink?’

‘Well … er … I …’

‘Don’t touch it. Waste of time. I tried it. I got so drunk, started smashing things up, nearly killed someone. Bad news. Now I just drink raspberry. Ya do drugs at all?’

‘No.’

‘Tried speed once. Me teeth wouldn’t stop chatterin, an I came out in goosebumps all over, an’ me heart was goin a million miles an hour. Forget the goey, man. Bad news. Never again.’

We go down a back street.

‘We’ll dump ya bag in here.’

‘But …’

‘It’ll be okay, man.’

We go into this building. Aboriginal people are busy at a counter, sitting drinking coffee or reading papers. She waves at a couple of them, shoves my bag behind the counter and we wheel out back onto the street.

‘I’d never shoot up again either,’ Alicia says. ‘Did it once for a dare. With water. Geez it hurt. Agony. Bad news. And when me uncle found out he kicked me up the bum an said if I ever messed with needles again he’d wring me neck!’

She turns and faces me and the green eyes are dancing.

‘See? Done everythin so’s I may as well go north an find me roots, so to speak.’

I can’t think of anything to say.

‘Hey. Seen the beach?’

‘Yeah. Of course.’

‘Show ya me favourite place. Come on.’

She grabs my arm and hustles me across the road to the Esplanade and we cross the sand. We walk along till we get to a group of palm trees.

‘Here. Me patch.’

‘Yeah. Nice.’

‘Come on, let’s hit the waves, man.’

We go to the edge of the water. She snatches off her shoes and dances barefoot in the ripples.

‘Don’t just stand there; this is fun.’

I throw off my sneakers and socks, roll up my jeans and walk in. The water’s warm and gentle round my toes. We prance about on the edge till Alicia scoops up wet sand and tosses it at me. I duck. Seaweed follows, a great long
strand all slimy and wet. Ugh. I shriek and race up the beach.

‘Chicken.’

She flops beside me, grinning.

‘You’re too serious, Leanne.’

‘No one in my entire life has ever said I’m too serious.’

‘Yeah?’

She rolls over onto her tummy and scoops up the dry sand letting it run through her fingers.

‘Queensland’s different to down south, you know. We take our time. And up the Territory, where my people are …’

She rolls onto her back and basks like a lazy seal in the sun.

‘See, as I figure it, you whites are all jammed up with wantin to own things and change things. Look at you. Worried about where I was gonna put your bag. Worried about where you’ll sleep tonight?’

She looks sideways at me.

‘Well … er …’

‘This is a good bed right here. If it gets cold ya burrow into the sand.’

She lets some of it dribble through her fingers and we both idly watch it funnel into a small pile.

‘See this sand? It was shells and rocks and bits and pieces
of earth. It’s millions and millions of years old. Makes ya wonder why humans bust emselves earnin scraps of paper and plastic so’s they can buy stuff.’

I say, ‘Without money you can’t get food. Somewhere to live. Clothes.’

This is getting deep.

‘I can live without any money for months,’ says Alicia.

‘Yeah, but I saw you eat that man’s leftovers.’

‘Hey. I didn’t say live in
luxury
. I said live. Ya know, eat, breathe, sleep, walk?’

‘What about showers?’

She points to the sea.

‘Ever been skinny dippin in the moonlight? Then there’s the shower block over there.’

‘Soap? Shampoo?’

‘Someone always leaves their soap or shampoo behind. If they don’t it doesn’t matter. Water’s free.’

‘But what about … safety?’

‘You mean someone jumpin on me bones? Or stickin a knife in me ribs? Get real. They can do that if I’m locked in a mansion behind high walls, guard dogs, and security alarms. I don’t hang round where the danger is, do I?’

‘The shower block?’

‘Suss it out, make sure no weirdos are lurkin about.’

‘But …’

‘You whites are the weirdos anyway,’ she grins, but she looks angry. ‘See, in my culture everything belongs to everyone else but then it doesn’t really belong, if you know what I mean. You can’t own the land or the sea or the sky.’

‘Yes you can. My mum’s paying off the house and we’ll own it in fifteen more years.’

‘Ya don’t get it, do ya? All ya mum’s doin is earnin the right to live there. Sure, she got the right to pick up the buildin and move it, but she can’t dig up the land in a nice square chunk, can she, and cart it off.’

I think about this. I’ve never really thought about these things before.

‘Yeah, but what about your mob and Mabo land rights?’

‘So?’

‘Well, you’re wanting to own things. Land.’

‘We know we can’t really own it. Land
rights
. We want the
right
to look after it without some great mining company movin in an diggin it all up.’

‘Yeah, but that’s progress.’

‘Progress sucks.’

‘McDonald’s is progress,’ I go. ‘I didn’t see you guzzling witchetty grubs and yams for breakfast.’

She looks at me and grins.

‘Would’ve if they were on the menu, but.’

She jumps to her feet.

‘Come on. You wanna find that dad of yours, don’t ya? I can’t hang around this hole forever. I’m headin north, remember?’

We stroll back across the road and up the main drag. We turn off down a side street and walk for quite a way, not saying anything. She stops suddenly at this low-slung modern building and we go in. A coffee-skinned guy with greying hair is busy at the counter.

‘Hey, Clive, man. I need a favour.’

‘How much?’

He reaches into his pocket.

‘Nah. I’m cashed up.’

She flips a hand at me.

‘A name. An address.’

He looks wary.

‘Lighten up, Clive, we ain’t gonna hit the dude for worldly goods or trash his place or anythin. She’s lookin for her old man eh.’

‘Try the cops,’ he says.

‘Clive!’

‘Okay, okay. Who?’

‘Walter Studley,’ I go.

He goes off to a computer.

‘Electoral roll,’ whispers Alicia. ‘We’re s’posed to pay for the search, that’s why he’s nervous, plus they’ve got to be
careful when they give out addresses. There’s a whole pile of fathers from down south on the run from maintenance payments, ya know.’

I can imagine, but so far Noosa’s been full of old men and old ladies and a bunch of fake surfers. It’s neat and orderly.

He comes back.

‘No W. Studley. Or any other Studley.’

‘Maybe he’s usin another name?’ goes Alicia, looking at me.

‘Nah. Don’t think so.’

‘He’ll be renting a place then,’ says this Clive guy. ‘We only have the names of rate payers, people who own property here.’

‘Ta anyway.’

We cruise back onto the street. Noosa’s mainly apartment buildings and big on retired people and tourists. Now where?

‘The bank,’ says Alicia, and we walk up the steps. She susses out the place then moves toward one of the tellers, a girl with blonde hair and really dark eyes.

‘Hi, Ruth.’

‘Hi, Alicia. Don’t tell me you’re about to open an account?’

‘Sure. A million be okay? Nah, I want info. Her father.’

‘Get real, Alicia. We can’t give out private information about our clients.’

‘We don’t want to know how much is in his account.’

‘You’re telling me you don’t want to hit on him?’

Alicia turns to me.

‘You wanna hit on him?’

‘No. I just want to see him after five years of not seeing him,’ I say.

‘Just an address? Go on, Ruth. We won’t say where we got it.’

‘Well … it’s against the rules …’

‘Since when did you follow rules?’

‘Yeah … well … okay, I’ll look. What’s the name?’

‘Walter James Studley,’ I go.

She trots off to a computer and fiddles for a while. Then she writes something on a scrap of paper, comes back, and hands it over the counter.

‘And if you say I gave it to you I’ll deny it,’ she says.

‘That’s cool. Thanks, Ruth.’

‘Say hello to my folks when you get up north.’

‘Sure. See ya.’

We walk out. My legs are all wobbly, and my heart’s pounding like a Hunters and Collectors CD.

‘Here.’

She hands me the paper.

‘Sixteen, number one hundred and twelve Seaport Street.’

‘Let’s go.’

‘Ya know where it is?’

‘Course not. I don’t hang out in apartment buildin’s. But I know where we can find out.’

We go to the tourist centre and study the map of Noosa on the wall.

‘There. A ten-minute walk.’

We start walking. My heart’s still hammering away like its trying to get out of my chest.