Little Bird Read online

  Shandra sighed. ‘Ruby-lee, relationships can be messy. Sometimes I think there’s love and then there’s relationships, and they’re actually two completely different things. Love comes naturally, whether you want it to or not, but the relationship you have to build. I don’t think I can explain everything. It feels so fragile, like a house of cards. Remember we used to try and make those with Grandad at the farm? And as soon as one of us dared to say we’d done it, it would suddenly fall in on itself, and end up a mess all over the floor.’

  ‘But you and Damien love each other?’

  ‘Of course we do. We’ve always loved each other. It wouldn’t have hurt so much if we didn’t.’

  ‘And the wedding’s back on?’ I asked.

  What would Shandra say when she found out she’d lost her first bridesmaid? Because surely Colette wouldn’t have anything to do with the wedding now. And my dress! Fleetingly, I let myself mourn the dress, the dress that would have made me sparkle for a day. Now I’d have to wear some hideous pink taffeta number. It served me right. Another in my long line of punishments.

  Shandra’s eyes sparkled. ‘Sure is. But we’ll talk about that later. Why aren’t you at school? What’s this about Colette? What other lives have you wrecked?’

  Numbly I told her about Colette, Maisy and Spence.

  Shandra listened and then said, with her characteristic bluntness, ‘Of course Colette is narky with you. You screwed up. But you can’t help being stupid. She’ll realise that eventually. Besides, it’s not really your fault. Spence used you to get what he wanted. To have his cake and eat it too.’

  ‘I’ve never understood that saying,’ I said. ‘If it’s your cake, why can’t you eat it?’

  ‘I dunno, Ruby-lee. You’re the one with the deep thoughts.’ I blinked. Was that how Shandra saw me? ‘What I mean is, he wanted to have the fun of seeing Maisy without the responsibility. He doesn’t even pay child support.’

  ‘He did use me, I know. But he’s sorry for it. He’s changed.’

  ‘Men like Spence don’t change.’ Shandra looked at me in the eyes. ‘Are you and Spence . . . ? Did anything happen?’

  ‘No,’ I said firmly.

  Shandra read my eyes, looking from one to the other. ‘Good,’ she said finally. She stood. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  She found what she wanted in the first shop we went into. She came out of the changeroom looking flushed and pretty. It was a glossy white satin dress (marked down in the winter sales, an absolute bargain). It was short and though it wasn’t tight-fitting, the soft shiny fabric clung sexily to Shandra’s curves. The neckline was high and demure, in a straight line below her collar bone, and it had three-quarter length sleeves, no lace or frills or ruffles. The whole effect was somehow chaste enough to make it an acceptable wedding dress, while still being flirtatious and fun.

  She walked a little way and then turned back. The satin rippled when she walked. I squinted and tried to imagine a veil and a bouquet. Then I realised it didn’t matter what Shandra wore. On the day she got married, she would be a bride.

  ‘This is it,’ she said, as she twisted around and considered her own bum in the mirror. She didn’t look like she had that day in Brides on Bathurst, all those months ago. She wasn’t a perfect magazine bride, all bound up in a white dress. She was confident, unrestrained, a bit brash. She looked like Shandra.

  She winked at me. ‘What do you think? Cloud? Lamb’s tail? Milk froth? Is it a cold white, or a warm white?’

  I touched it and pulled my finger back quickly. ‘Ouch. It’s burning hot.’

  Shandra laughed. ‘Perfect. I want Damien to be in the mood on the wedding night.’

  ‘Ergh. Too much information.’

  Her mobile rang just as she was paying for the dress.

  ‘Hello? Oh hi, Mum.’ She made a face at me. ‘Mum, calm down. She’s right here with me, we’re shopping . . . She’s fine . . . Don’t worry . . . No, she hasn’t run off with the music teacher . . . Ow, Ruby-lee! Geez, I’m joking, can’t anyone in this family take a joke? . . . Who’s been ringing? . . . No, Damien dropped us off at Eastlands, so . . . Okay. I will. I promise . . . Yes, Damien. See you then. Bye . . . Bye, Mum.’

  She snapped her phone closed. ‘The school rang her. She says I have to keep you here. She’s on her way. And some boy called Ed keeps ringing the house.’

  19

  Later I told Mum everything – well, almost everything, I left out the almost kiss that had never actually happened, partly because I still wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it, and partly because it was too raw, too personal to share. It seemed like it had been months since it was just me and Mum like that. She stroked my hair as I talked, she found a knot and then another, unsnarling them with her fingers. In the end I gave her my brush and I sat on the floor while she pulled the bristles through my tangled brown hair.

  ‘You were right,’ I said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Maisy. I was too attached. And now she’s gone.’

  ‘Oh, darls. Sometimes mothers don’t want to be right,’ Mum said.

  ‘Can I ask you something else?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Why didn’t you seem happy when I told you about the childcare traineeship? I thought you wanted me to make plans for the future.’

  ‘I do. It just made me a bit sad, that’s all.’

  ‘Sad?’

  ‘It all seemed so sudden. First it was Shandra getting married. Then you talking about moving out of home, or going overseas. You’re both in such a rush. I’m not ready to have all my birds leave the nest.’

  That reminded me of the lullaby Spence had sung. I told Mum the story.

  ‘I don’t want to stop you from flying, Rubes. I just want you to be ready when you go.’

  It was nearly six weeks later that I sat in Ed’s car on the street below Colette’s flat.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want us to come?’ Ed asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Imogen. Ms Betts had assigned Imogen as my study partner (part of our agreement to stop me from failing), and aside from one haiku, I had almost caught up. ‘Strength in numbers and all that.’

  ‘No no. Let’s stick to the plan,’ I said. ‘I’ll meet you in Cocos. I’ll be ready for Death by Chocolate by then.’

  I regretted it slightly when I watched Ed’s car drive off.

  It was a lonely climb up the stairs to Colette’s flat. Under my arm was a neatly wrapped present for Maisy’s first birthday. It was a book, called Sing Little Bird. The story was simple – sing little bird, eat little bird, play little bird, practise little bird, wobble little bird, uh oh little bird, fly little bird! – but the illustrations of the baby bird were perfect: at first tucked under its mother’s wing, and then creeping further and further from the nest, attempting to fly and then being caught by the scruff of its neck in its mother’s beak while it stretched out its wings.

  I stood at the door and considered leaving the present and bolting. I steeled myself. I couldn’t leave without seeing Maisy. I wondered if I should have rung ahead, but I had left a message once before, and Colette had never returned my call.

  I’d seen Spence of course, at school, usually from a distance. Mum had called the school and said she was satisfied that nothing had happened between us, and the school had to be happy with that. It didn’t ease my humiliation though – the rumour mill had done its work. I guess some people thought I was a stalker, some a victim and some people thought we were star-crossed lovers. Maybe if I hadn’t already given him up that night, it would have been more traumatic. I’d already known that Spence and I were finished, really finished. There was no place for him in my life. Maybe one day, years from now, we might meet under different circumstances and be friends. Maybe. When we did pass in the hall, we’d glance at each other and keep walking.

  Mum had been understanding about everything, except my English homework. I had been to see Ms
Betts on the Wednesday morning after my outburst. (Mum had let me stay home on the Tuesday and lick my wounds and wallow in my embarrassment on the condition that I wrote my Romeo and Juliet essay.) Ms Betts – Karen – was surprisingly understanding, perhaps she’d been worded up on the Spence drama. She’d taken my late assignment without reprimand, given me a written extension for the ‘What is love?’ piece and made me sit down and write out a homework schedule with her, so that I wouldn’t fall behind again. And really, without Maisy, Spence and Colette in my life, there wasn’t much else to do but homework.

  And without Tegan either. Maybe Tegan had been right, maybe I had been immature. I’d certainly grown up a lot in the last few months, I’d learnt a lot about pain, and love, and respect. In fact, when I saw Tegan these days, hanging off Blake’s arm, hovering on the periphery of Blake’s group of friends, I felt like I’d outgrown her. She smiled at me sometimes in English class, and I’d smile quickly back and then sit with Imogen. I didn’t catch the bus much anymore. Ed gave me a ride home from school most days.

  I took a deep breath, knocked on Colette’s door and waited, listening for movement inside the flat. All was quiet. I knocked again. No answer. I gave up and wandered slowly down the stairs, aching with disappointment. I knew Ed and Imogen weren’t expecting me for a while. So I headed up the street in the thin spring sunlight. I walked mine and Maisy’s old route, through the streets to the park. The air smelled like honeysuckle. I felt a rush of loss. I missed her so much.

  The park was velvety green after all the spring rain, and filled with all different shapes of families. I kept walking. And, as if I’d somehow known they would be, there they were. Maisy’s big pram was parked next to the slide. On the other side of the playground, Maisy was buckled into the swing. Every time Colette pushed her, peals of laughter erupted out of Maisy. Everyone within earshot was smiling benevolently at them both. Colette was oblivious, you could see she only had eyes for Maisy.

  That was when it hit me, with such force it knocked the breath out of me. Colette was Maisy’s mother. Like my mum was my mother. No matter what she did, how messy the flat was, or how tired and cranky or over it Colette got, Maisy was hers and she was Maisy’s. Forever.

  I walked up and put the present on the top of Maisy’s pram.

  ‘Goodbye, Maisy,’ I whispered.

  I turned away and walked briskly back across the park.

  ‘Ruby-lee! Ruby-lee, wait!’

  I couldn’t bear to turn around. I just kept walking.

  Later Ed and I sat in my backyard, eating doggy bag chocolate cake. There were paving stones piled up next to the shed and a big dirt pit where the lawn used to be, but the plum tree was in blossom and the air was fragrant.

  ‘What was the story with you and Spence?’ Ed asked out of the blue. I was surprised he hadn’t asked before.

  I hugged my knees to my chest. ‘There’s no story.’

  ‘But you liked him?’

  I squinted at Ed in the afternoon sunlight. ‘Yeah. I did.’

  ‘And you still like him?’

  I thought about it and then I said, ‘For a while, every time I saw Spence I had this dull ache, you know, like when you have a headache and you take painkillers and you’re waiting for them to kick in. I knew it would go away, but it still hurt.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I guess it doesn’t really hurt anymore.’

  Ed and I were taking our own sweet time with our friendship. And I mean sweet. I liked that whatever this was between us, it was slow and unspoken. I just wanted to watch it unfold, to see what it would be.

  ‘This,’ Ed drew a frame in the air around the tree. ‘Perfect. Exactly the kind of thing I missed in America. Someone else’s spring doesn’t mean the same as your own spring.’

  ‘I love that tree,’ I agreed. ‘Don’t they have plum trees in America?’

  ‘The tree, the rusty gate, the falling down fence.’

  ‘The gate?’ I laughed.

  ‘I love a rusty gate!’

  ‘There were no rusty gates in America?’

  ‘Not that I saw. I was in a pretty ritzy area, everything looked shiny new.’ Ed craned his neck. ‘Is that an empty lot out there? Wow, great place to make a fort.’

  But I was looking at the gate, as if I was seeing it for the first time instead of the zillionth. That night, I finally wrote my haiku:

  Child,s path overgrown

  Bird sits on the rusty gate

  A blossom swirls up

  Two weeks later, a month before Shandra’s wedding, a parcel turned up on our doorstep. It was my bridesmaid’s dress, remember that? And it fitted perfectly.

  20

  The backyard had been transformed. Paper lanterns hung in the plum tree – they’d light up later when the sun set and the band began to play. Soft ferns crowded in one corner, behind the table where the register would be signed. One flower bed was bursting with bright colours: pansies, impatiens, sweet williams and pink, white and blue daisies. The other had been planted with young trees and small native shrubs. Stefan had paved a large area and even created a pond in an enormous cement pot lined with riverstones and reeds, complete with goldfish. There were smaller pots everywhere, spilling more flowers – tulips, jonquils, irises, geraniums and native violets. In fact most of Shandra’s share of Dad’s money had gone on the backyard. I wondered what Paula would think if she realised.

  I peeked out the back door again. The rows of white chairs were all in place – Stefan, Dad, Damien’s father and a few other blokes had set them out. It looked like . . . well, it looked like a proper place to get married. The sky was blue, and though there was a chill in the air, the sun shone down on everything, making it sparkle.

  I slipped back into Shandra’s room, closing the door behind me. Shandra was paranoid about Damien catching sight of her before the wedding; he’d already tried to sneak in once today for a bit of premarital smooching. I looked at the bare walls of her bedroom. Shandra’s bedroom for one last day, anyway. Tonight her bedroom would be in the flat she and Damien were renting a few suburbs away, near Derwent College. If they stood on their toilet, they had river and mountain views. They’d be sleeping in a brand new bed, with brand new sheets – a wedding present from Damien’s parents. Actually, considering the number of presents Damien and Shandra were raking in, I was starting to rethink my staunch policy on marriage.

  ‘How’s it going out there?’ Shandra asked.

  ‘Almost ready. People are arriving. Are you nervous?’

  ‘Are you freaking kidding me?’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

  Shandra stood up. ‘How do I look?’

  There was a knock on Shandra’s bedroom door. Shandra yelped and dived behind the wardrobe. I opened the door furtively and peered out.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. Hi.’

  Colette smiled shyly at me. I remembered what she was like the first day I babysat Maisy, how I’d first glimpsed the cracks in her brazen façade.

  ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘The dress looks great on you.’

  ‘Thanks to you.’

  ‘Without you in it, it’s just an empty dress on a hanger.’

  We were being a bit too polite with each other. I guess we always had been – we’d never really been friends. The one thing we’d shared was Maisy, but never together, always apart, like the sun and the moon swapping places in the sky.

  ‘Is Shandra here?’ Colette asked.

  ‘Nup. She’s done a runner. Thank goodness you’re here. Can you go and tell Damien the wedding’s off?’

  Colette’s face fell, then split into a grin when Shandra called out, ‘No!’ She leapt out of hiding. ‘Don’t even joke about it, Ruby-lee.’

  ‘You’d better come in,’ I said, closing the door behind Colette. Shandra’s room was getting a little squashy.

  Colette squealed when she saw Shandra. ‘Wow, you look amazing!’ They hugged. ‘I can’t believe it. Look at you!’

  Shandra stru
ck a pose. Her hair had been blowdried with big fat curls that tumbled over her shoulders. She had some chunky heels that used to be Nana’s and a veil with a comb plunged into the top of her head, the soft fabric spilling down longer than her hair, almost as long as the dress. She had a face full of pearl blush and pink lipstick and blue eyeshadow, but somehow she still managed to look vaguely natural.

  ‘Bugger Brides on Bathurst,’ Colette said. ‘You’re sensational. Stand next to each other.’ She pulled a camera out of her handbag and took a photo of the two of us. She looked pretty good herself, in a retro pink suit and flat black shoes. She’d told Shandra she’d run out of time to make a second dress, but I think she just felt weird about being a bridesmaid alongside me.

  ‘Damn,’ said Shandra.

  ‘What?’ Colette and I asked together.

  ‘I have to go to the toilet. Can you keep watch for my wayward groom?’

  I escorted Shandra to the bathroom while Colette kept an eye on the back of the house. When Shandra was safely hidden away, I went back over to Colette.

  ‘Where’s Maisy?’ I asked, trying not to sound too eager.

  ‘Mum’s bringing her later. I wanted to be able to watch the wedding in peace. She doesn’t sit still for a minute.’

  ‘She’s walking?’

  Colette rolled her eyes. ‘She skipped walking and went straight to running. Little minx.’

  My heart bloomed. I couldn’t wait to see her.

  ‘Hey, I’ve been meaning to call or something. Thanks for the book.’

  ‘I wanted to get her something,’ I said.

  ‘It’s Maisy’s absolute favourite. She brings it to me to read at least fifty times a day and she always says “Uh oh, wiw burr” on the right page.’ We laughed, then lapsed into silence. Colette fiddled with her bag. ‘Ruby-lee, I . . .’

  I flinched. ‘Please don’t say anything. You were totally right. I was totally wrong.’

  ‘No, no you weren’t. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I was awful to you. Maisy really was sick, and you’d done so much for us. So much for me.’