Little Bird Page 5

  ‘Here, let me take him,’ Dad said.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Paula said, gripping the baby closer. ‘He’ll settle in a minute.’

  ‘Are you ready to order?’ the waiter asked.

  Dad rubbed his hands together, as if he were an evil cartoon genius (instead of a boring, crappy dad). ‘I’ll have the crayfish please,’ he announced.

  ‘Do you have anything low fat?’ Shandra asked.

  The waiter read the menu over Shandra’s shoulder. ‘The soup’s quite light,’ he said. ‘And the chef’s salad. The grilled trevally is delicious, though it comes with a side of chips.’

  ‘I’ll have the soup please,’ said Shandra.

  ‘So will I,’ said Paula. She sighed and William squirmed again.

  The waiter turned to me.

  ‘I’ll have fish and chips,’ I said.

  ‘Grilled or fried?’

  I kept my eyes on Shandra, daring her to say something. ‘Fried, please. With – um – what’s aioli?’

  ‘It’s a garlic, egg and olive oil sauce – like a mayonnaise.’

  ‘Yep, I’ll have the aioli. And I’ll have a cola as well.’

  ‘Diet or—’ ‘Regular please.’

  Shandra glared. I smiled sweetly back. Paula kept jiggling poor William and Dad beamed around the table. ‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ he asked. And then we lapsed back into awkward silence, except for William’s mewling.

  Paula clung to William throughout the meal.

  ‘Come on, love,’ Dad said. ‘I’ll take him. You need to eat.’

  When Paula finally relented and passed him over, William began to wail. They both fussed over him, arguing about how he wanted to be held and worrying about whether he was refluxy or coming down with something or overstimulated by the restaurant’s ceiling fans. Shandra and I ate our meals in silence, glancing at each other occasionally. We may as well not have been there.

  I knew Shandra wanted to talk to Dad, which was hopeless with William around. So when my stomach was groaningly full of fried things, I pushed my plate away. ‘I’ll take him while you two eat,’ I said, holding my arms out.

  ‘No,’ said Paula, clutching at William as I reached for him. ‘He’s not comfortable with strangers.’

  ‘She’s not a stranger,’ said Shandra. ‘She’s his sister.’

  Dad tugged at his bushy eyebrow. ‘She’s right, Paula love.’

  I took him, and he yelped. Paula’s arms sprang out again.

  ‘Let me just . . .’ I said vaguely and wandered away with him. As soon as I started walking, he began to settle again. ‘Let’s go and look at the fishies,’ I whispered to him.

  I carried him over to the fishtank, which took up a whole wall of the restaurant. It was kind of freaky eating fish with an audience of them watching you – I wondered if it was one of their relatives I was digesting now. William was lulled into a quiet awe as he watched the drifting weeds and the movement of the colourful fish making their way from one side of the tank to the other. The waiter sprinkled some food at the top and they all whooshed upwards together. William smiled and waved his arms up and down. Every now and then he turned and stared at my face, as if I was a big goggly-eyed fish too.

  I stared back. It was strange to think of this small creature as my brother. Brothers were meant to be big and annoying, they teased and fought and cracked on to your friends, and brought home friends of their own for you to have a crush on.

  William was small and a sort of purplish colour and had teeny tiny fists. This was only the second time I’d seen him in the six months since he’d been born, and it was the first time Paula had let me hold him. It was funny because I once would have thought all babies were the same, but William was nothing like Maisy. William was small and looked almost apologetic. Though I didn’t know what he could possibly have to apologise for. He began to grizzle again.

  ‘I know. You didn’t ask to be born. If you did, you could have picked nicer parents. So could I for that matter. Oh, well. I doubt they’ll buy you a Barbie doll for your thirteenth birthday.’

  I held him to my shoulder and swayed back and forth. Over at the table, Paula was glaring at her bowl of soup while Shandra and Dad were locked in a heated conversation.

  ‘Hmmm . . . let’s not go back. Would you like a song? The other baby I know likes songs.’

  I sang softly to him. And then William was asleep, his face to my chest. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew when he drifted off because the weight of him changed. How does a sleeping baby become heavier, I wondered, when there was still exactly the same amount of baby as there was before?

  ‘Well,’ said Paula, when I returned with the sleeping William. Her arms snapped out and I tried to lower him into them carefully. He sort of rolled into Paula’s arms, but he didn’t wake. ‘You’ve certainly got the magic touch.’ She didn’t sound very grateful.

  The waiter cleared the plates and left menus for dessert. Shandra was stony silent.

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell Ruby-lee the good news?’ Shandra said to Dad.

  ‘What?’ I glanced through the dessert menu. Yum, chocolate mousse.

  Shandra crossed her arms. ‘Dad’s giving you my money.’

  ‘What money?’

  ‘Shandra, it’s not like that. Paula and I have been talking and we’ve decided the fairest thing to do is to share the money out evenly between you.’

  ‘So instead of giving me the fifteen thousand Dad promised for the wedding, we’re getting seven and a half each.’

  ‘Five,’ said Paula, tersely.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s three of you. William will get his share as well.’

  Shandra’s mouth dropped open. ‘William’s three months old!’ cried Shandra. ‘What’s he going to do with five grand? Go to Disneyland?’

  ‘We’ll invest it for him,’ Paula said, tightly. ‘He can have it when he’s older.’

  ‘You girls have Lenora and Stefan to contribute to your futures,’ Dad said, digging inside his crayfish shell with his fork. ‘William only has us.’

  Shandra looked desperately from Dad to Paula and back to Dad again. ‘Do you even know how much a wedding costs? Do you know how much my dress cost?’

  ‘You don’t have to spend thousands of dollars on a wedding. Paula and I had a very nice wed —’ ‘At the registry office!’

  ‘—and we spent less than five thousand,’ Dad finished.

  ‘It was a lovely, intimate gathering,’ said Paula.

  ‘Intimate?’ scoffed Shandra. ‘The reason your wedding was small was because no one wanted to come.’

  ‘Keeping the numbers down was one of the ways we cut costs.’ Sometimes Paula didn’t so much talk as gobble like a turkey.

  ‘Refresh my memory, Paula,’ Shandra said. ‘Did you get married in white?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Paula hissed.

  ‘Shandra,’ Dad warned. Paula made little hiccuping noises.

  ‘Me and Damien are a proper bride and groom. We’re beginning our lives together. Our wedding will be a celebration of our love.’

  ‘Shandra can have my share of the money,’ I offered.

  Paula stood and put William in the pram. He woke and began to grizzle. In a fever, Paula rocked the pram back and forth. ‘You ungrateful little cows,’ she spat out. ‘We’re offering you money for nothing and all you can do is whine and complain. I’ve never met such horrible girls in all my life. When I think of all the child-support Joe’s paid over the years, our hard-earned money going straight into her hands . . . When she’s got a house and a husband of her own . . .’

  ‘Dad, please,’ Shandra pleaded, ignorning Paula. ‘You promised that money to me. We’ve made bookings, paid deposits, it’s too late to change our plans now.’

  ‘Sorry, Shandra. We’re trying to be fair. After all, we can’t afford another fifteen grand for Ruby-lee in a few years time when she wants to get married.’

  ‘I’m never getting marr
ied,’ I said, at the same time as Shandra burst out with, ‘But she doesn’t want to get married!’

  ‘Come on girls, let’s not make a scene,’ Dad said. ‘Who wants dessert, hey?’

  ‘I think I’m ready to stop playing happy families.’ Shandra pushed back her chair. I followed her out, though I would have liked some dessert.

  We walked into the freezing autumn night. Shandra unlocked the car with the remote control on her key ring as we crossed the carpark, and the lights flashed welcomingly. We both slid in without saying a word. In the safety of the car, Shandra began to wail, her head on the steering wheel. I sat awkwardly. As much as I hated everything about the wedding, it tore me apart to see Shandra so upset by Dad. I was so used to thinking about Dad as a waste of space that it never occurred to me that Shandra didn’t see him that way.

  ‘Remember that time he gave me a Barbie?’ I said eventually, when Shandra’s tears seemed to be spent.

  Shandra sat up. ‘This isn’t the same,’ she sobbed.

  ‘It kind of is.’

  Shandra hiccuped a laugh. ‘It kind of is, isn’t it? Oh, Ruby-lee. Just our luck to have “you’ve got to be Joe King” for a father.’

  ‘Do you think we have abandonment issues?’

  ‘Only because we’ve been abandoned. He’s such a bastard. Do you know what tonight was for?’

  ‘To get a cheque for fifteen grand out of him?’

  ‘Yeah, that. But I . . . I was going to ask him to give me away.’

  I nudged her. ‘You’d think he’d be happy to do that.’

  Shandra laughed again. She wiped the tears off her face. ‘They’re such awful people. Poor William.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Poor me.’

  ‘Poor you,’ I said. I reached over and stroked Shandra’s hair, something I hadn’t done for years – we’re not a touching family. Shandra put her head on my shoulder. We sat like this, watching as Dad and Paula left the restaurant, Paula pushing their ridiculously expensive pram, Dad carrying William in his arms.

  ‘Shall I run them over?’ Shandra asked sadly.

  ‘Nah, they’re not worth it. Let’s go back to our other dysfunctional family.’

  ‘Okay. Spoilsport.’ It wasn’t until Shandra started the car and drove out onto the quiet street that I realised I’d been holding my breath. Watching Dad carry William across the carpark cradled in his arms had given me a pain, a physical sharp pain in my heart, as if I too could forget what a waste of space Dad really was, and yearn for him, as if I were thirteen again.

  8

  Maisy sat in an old-fashioned blue crochet and wire bouncinette – there were photos of Mum as a baby sitting in one of those – gumming at a rusk. She’d worked out how to rock herself and every now and then she would do this vigorously and then squeal, cracking up me and Colette.

  Colette dished out bowlfuls of risotto.

  ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Yum.’

  ‘It’s a cheat’s risotto,’ Colette said. ‘I did it in the oven.’

  I wouldn’t have the first clue how risotto was supposed to be made. And it looked like real risotto to me. It was creamy and deliciously lemony, studded with chunks of roast pumpkin, little blonde pinenuts, and stringy with parmesan cheese. Colette served it with thick slices of chewy buttered bread – the best bread I’d ever tasted.

  ‘I can’t believe you can make a meal like this, out of ingredients. It’s like in a restaurant.’

  ‘It’s easy,’ Colette laughed. ‘I’ll give you the recipe. And the bread came from the market.’

  Compared to mine, Colette’s life seemed exotic. It astonished me how she could turn ordinary daily tasks into something strangely beautiful: shopping for food; cooking and eating it; living in a flat; taking care of a baby. The meals Mum made were plain and unadventurous – meat and three veg, instant noodles, fried rice, apricot chicken with a packet sauce.

  After lunch Colette showed me the sketches she’d made for the bridesmaid dresses. They were strapless and tight-fitting in the bodice. She spread the fabric out on the kitchen table.

  ‘Strapless?’ I asked doubtfully.

  ‘Trust me. Strapless dresses are very flattering, they show a lot of skin.’

  ‘How is that flattering?’

  ‘You have gorgeous skin,’ Colette said, matter-of-factly.

  ‘Shandra’s always been the pretty one, with her sun-bleached blonde hair and all those gorgeous freckles on her shoulders.’

  ‘Tell me about it. I love freckles. I wish for freckles.’

  ‘Shandra hates them. But at least they make her look like she’s seen the sun once in a while. I’m as pale as an uncooked party pie, even in summer.’

  ‘Nah, you’ve got that whole gorgeous Irish rose thing happening for you. Don’t sell yourself short.’

  Below the waistline, the dress kicked out into a full skirt, which would be puffed up with tulle underneath, Colette said, like the netting in a dancer’s tutu. It ended above the knee. ‘Shorter than Shandra’s so her dress stands out,’ said Colette. The fabric was dark brown and covered with tiny aqua dots. ‘The tulle will match the aqua dots. I’ll dye some if I can’t source the right colour online.’

  Colette told me to strip down to my bra and knickers, right there in the kitchen. I shivered in the cold air as she wrapped the tape measure around me, noting all the measurements without comment, though I felt so goose-bumped and blotchy compared to Colette’s smooth, tanned arms and narrow wrists. Maisy waved her rusk at me.

  ‘Believe me,’ Colette assured me, ‘this style will suit both of us, even though we’re different.’

  ‘I wouldn’t start cutting the fabric yet,’ I said as I pulled my jeans back on. ‘Shandra’s called the wedding off again.’

  ‘For real? Why?’

  ‘Money. Dad was going to give her enough to cover a lot of the expenses, and now she’s ten grand short. If she can’t have “the wedding of her dreams”, blah blah blah . . .’

  ‘Oh no! Poor Shan.’

  ‘I guess.’

  I was beginning to get over ‘poor Shan’. So Dad was a lying bastard? What else was new? I had offered to give up my share of the money again and Shandra and Mum had ignored me. What was the point of being selfless if no one was even going to notice? Shandra didn’t want to give up her moment of tragedy, that was all. She was wallowing, and relishing the attention.

  ‘This wedding’s fully important to her, hey?’

  ‘She loves being a princess,’ I said. ‘She wants the whole world to revolve around her.’

  ‘I don’t know, seems like there might be more to it than that.’ But before she could offer an alternative theory she looked up at the clock and swore. ‘I’ve got to go.’ She shrugged herself into a dark red cardigan and pulled on a pair of white satiny gloves as she talked. ‘Um, there’s yoghurt for Maisy after her sleep. You can take her out, the pram’s under the stairs – here’s my spare key. She’ll sleep in the pram. Or you can pop her in the cot when she gets tired. And she might need a nappy change. See ya!’ she called, and she was gone, the front door swinging closed behind her. Maisy and I stared at each other. I wondered if she would get upset – Colette hadn’t even said goodbye. But Maisy stuck the rusk back in her mouth and became fascinated with her own kicking feet.

  I changed Maisy’s nappy and found Colette had laid out a jumper, a hat, a soft bunny and a blanket.

  ‘Wanna go for a walk?’ I asked Maisy.

  I pulled her jumper over her head and put the hat on her – a crazy-looking thing with ribbons and pompoms sticking up all over. I gathered everything, including Maisy, into my arms and was ready to go when someone knocked loudly at the door.

  I glanced at Maisy. ‘Who can that be?’

  I peeked through the spyhole and gasped. I actually gasped, like people do in movies. It was Spence. I opened the door. Bubbles of excitement crowded my stomach.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ he said, and I wondered for a moment if he’d forgotten my name. �
��I was expecting Colette. Is she here?’

  ‘No, sorry. It’s only me . . . and Maisy.’

  ‘Are you off out somewhere? Maisy looks all rugged up.’ Maisy stared at Spence. She looked awfully solemn for someone wearing such a ridiculous hat.

  ‘We’re going for a walk,’ I said.

  ‘Oh well then,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I’ll join you. If you don’t mind.’

  To be honest, I felt a bit weird about Spence showing up like this, and inviting himself along. But I couldn’t say no to Shandra when she asked me to be a bridesmaid, or to Tegan when she asked me to queue up for a can of Coke. So I was hardly going to say no to Spence, was I?

  Besides, he was blocking my path. My arms were filled with Maisy, plus the bunny, blanket and bags. ‘The pram’s downstairs,’ I said, hazily.

  ‘Can I take something?’ he asked.

  ‘Thanks.’ I held Maisy out. ‘If you could just grab her that’d be great.’

  ‘Oh! I meant, I could, you know, take the bag or something,’ he stammered.

  Wow, he was scared of a little baby. His own baby! His uncertainty melted any of my reservations away.

  ‘But . . . but I can take Maisy,’ he said bravely. ‘Sure. Why not?’ He held out his arms.

  It had been a delicate balancing act, and the bag, blanket and soft toy slid to the floor. Spence took possession of Maisy awkwardly. As if she could sense his doubt, Maisy reached out to me again, her arms open. I melted.

  ‘Here,’ said Spence. ‘You’d better take Maisy. She seems to want you. I’ll gather up some of this stuff.’

  I carried Maisy downstairs and settled her into the pram, which was parked under the stairs. It was ancient and enormous and heavy. I buckled Maisy in. She sat up high, looking out at the world.

  Spence seemed to be taking ages. Should I have left him alone in Colette’s flat? I hovered anxiously, waiting for him to appear. He was probably just going to the bathroom or something, I told myself. In which case I wasn’t about to go up and check on him. He finally came down the stairs a minute or two later and I tucked the blanket around Maisy’s knees, tucking the bunny under too.