The Slightly True Story of Cedar B. Hartley Page 6

  Barnaby was kissing Laura Pinkstone for a long time on the good pink-and-green-leaf couch. I know because I kept going and peeking through the gap in the door. Barnaby and Laura were squashed up on one end, and Barnaby’s guitar was lying there taking up the rest of the couch. Her arm was around his back and his face was covering hers. It looked a bit boring, so I went away. But then I went and looked in again, since there was nothing on tellie. Her hand was still on his back, lying there like a lizard sunbaking on a rock, but Barnaby’s hands were on a mission. One went wandering up under her T-shirt and she didn’t stop him. It went up and the hand covered her boob. I got embarrassed, even though it wasn’t my boob, but still.

  I went and played Can’t get enough of your love babe really loud on the CD player so they would hear it. That didn’t stop them, though. I went and looked for a water pistol or a horn or something that would give them a fright and me a laugh. But I couldn’t find anything. They didn’t stop until they heard Mum coming home.

  You can always hear Mum coming because her car makes a lot of noise. It’s a Kingswood station wagon, but the K has dropped off so we call it the Ingswood. The number plate says JJH 339. That’s the only line of numbers in the world that I can remember. Mum made me remember it since we always have to call the RACV when the Ingswood breaks down, and the first thing they want to know is the registration number. Anyway I like the Ingswood’s number plate. It’s rhythmical. When Granma was here we sometimes used to go places in the Ingswood for the whole day. When we went to Sandringham Beach, Barnaby and I could put the wave-cutter surfboards in the back and they squeaked because they were made of foam. Afterwards we had blue gelati from the van in the carpark, and they dribbled all over the seats but it didn’t matter. Granma rubbed it off with a towel.

  If I was ever going to kiss Kite, I didn’t think I’d want to do it on the couch. I thought I’d like to do it standing up, and not for such a long time as Barnaby did with Laura Pinkstone. Sometimes I did pretend-kissing on my hand, to see what it would feel like, but I know it’s not quite the same. Anyway, Kite was probably wanting to kiss Marnie Aitkin and not me, and besides, I wasn’t going to think about him anyway.

  But I did. I was thinking about our circus and my bung rib and that helicopter move and those girls and Circus Berzerkus and Harold Barton, though I tried very hard to think about roads and boats and being born in Bangladesh and Signor Dongato the cat. Whenever there’s something on my mind and I can’t get it off, I think about Signor Dongato the cat. He’s just a cat from a song Barnaby and I used to sing.

  It’s the ‘’Twas’ bit that I love to sing the best, because I do it with a certain flourish, as if I’m wearing a cape. It doesn’t keep my mind happy for long, though, because I can’t remember the second verse, so then I start thinking again.

  I went out into the street and sat for a while on the Motts’ wall, watching Harold and Frank and the others doing catamarans on the skateboards. Harold has a new fat green Golden Breed skateboard. It’s brilliant, but I’d never ask him for a go. He used to have another really ace board, which was yellow with a drawing of a skull with black eye-holes on it. That yellow board disappeared and now he’s got this new fat one.

  ‘Why aren’t you hanging upside-down with your boyfriend, Cedar? Did you get dropped? Got a sore head?’ said Harold, and he laughed and tried a one-eighty on his board but it didn’t work. He’s such a spaz.

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I said, and then I went back inside.

  The next day there was a card from Barnaby.

  Obviously he was on a list trip. The card put Mum in a good mood. She laughed when she read it. I think it was the ‘dear girls’. She likes being called a girl, even though she’s really a woman. She’s pretty old, actually, nearly forty, but she looks much younger because she has a small nose. I made the most of the good mood and dropped the big question. I’d been warming up to it all week, slipping hints into conversation and waiting for the right moment to go for the kill. This was it.

  ‘Mum, can we go see Circus Berzerkus?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know, I told you about it last night. That contemporary circus. Cutting edge theatre, no animals.’ Cutting edge was what they called it on the ad. It means sharp and new.

  ‘How much does it cost?’ I knew she would ask, so I’d rung up to find out.

  ‘Thirty dollars, or twenty-five with a concession.’

  She sighed. Her hands fluttered up to her temples and her fingers pressed in and circled around.

  ‘I didn’t even know you liked circus.’

  ‘I do. I’m more interested in circus than anything else. It’s the acrobatics. Please can we go? I know it’s a good circus. It isn’t with animals. You’d like it, and we haven’t done anything fun for ages.’

  ‘My god, you’re as bad as your brother,’ she said, because I was talking the legs off the table. She looked out the window at the back garden. Tin flapped on the laundry roof. The garden looked scraggly. I know she felt tired just seeing it. The grass was long and you could only just make out the path where we had to walk to go to the loo. It was always scary at night because you had bare feet and you never knew what you might tread in. Possibly a Stinky pooh or an old rotting bone. Mum stood up as if she was about to go out there and stop the tin flapping on the laundry. Her arms dropped down by her sides and then folded around her and then she just plopped them both on my shoulders and said I’d have to go and pick up the tickets myself since she wouldn’t have time. I said I’d do it after school.

  ‘What about your Bat Pole Championship? Don’t you do that after school?’ She was fooling. I could tell by the funny kind of smile she had—one of those half-hidden smiles you’d hide behind your back in your left hand, if you could.

  ‘Oh, that. I already won the Bat Pole Championship. I don’t need to train.’

  She laughed and rubbed my hair the way Barnaby does. I always have to smooth it down again. (Barn does it because it amuses him to watch me try to fix it up again, just so. Mum does it because she’s a mum, and mums are in the habit of petting and patting their kids, even though kids can grow too old for it.) I let her get away with it because I was so rapt I could hardly stay still. I went over to Caramella’s to tell her.

  Caramella was eating stuffed olives in front of the tellie. At our house we get in trouble for eating on the couch, but Mrs Zito didn’t care. Whenever I go there she pinches me on the cheek and puts some biscotti on a plate for me. (Biscotti are Italian biscuits. They’re not quite as good as squashed fly biscuits, but they’re shaped like a knot, so they’re tricky.)

  ‘Guess what?’

  ‘What?’ said Caramella, who never tries to guess.

  ‘She said yes.’

  ‘Yes to what?’

  ‘To Circus Berzerkus. I asked and Mum said yes. We’re going. I’m so stoked.’

  ‘Wow!’ She put an olive in her mouth and nodded her head slowly. Then she chewed and seemed to be concentrating on digesting, either the olive or the fact of me going to the circus. You couldn’t tell which. After a while she asked if they’d have a woman who hangs from her hair and twirls around, like she saw on tellie once.

  ‘I don’t know, probably.’ I started to feel bad because Caramella wasn’t coming and maybe she would have liked to. ‘But maybe not, it mightn’t be that good,’ I said.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Caramella dubiously, and then she stared at the tellie. It was a cooking show, with a man preparing peaches. I thought she was listening to the peach man, but she must have been thinking about things. She squinted at me. ‘You should tell Kite about your rib,’ she said.

  ‘Nuh, he wouldn’t care. He’s got Marnie and Aileen to muck around with now.’

  ‘You’re in a huff with him, aren’t you?’ She had a little pile of olive pips balancing on her knees. Caramella’s knees are wide and soft with a lot of flesh. Mine are knobbly and hate kneeling. Which explains why I don’t go to church and Caramella does.

&
nbsp; ‘No, I don’t care. He can do what he likes. If he wants to hang out with them, then that’s his bad luck,’ I said, screwing up my nose with utmost dignity. ‘Anyway, I’ll probably see him at the Circus Berzerkus. His mum is the trainer, you know.’

  Caramella nodded, but I could tell she had lost interest. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, it was just that she liked food a lot and the man on the tellie was saying how the peaches were heavenly. He reminded me of Pablo de la Renta across the road. Caramella said she preferred peaches stuffed with almonds. It crossed my mind that perhaps Italians like stuffing things. I dusted the biscotti crumbs off my lap and said I had to go. I thought I might go and tell Ricci.

  ‘See ya,’ said Caramella with the olive pips on her knees.

  ‘Bye.’

  ‘I’m going to the circus.’

  ‘Oooooh, good for you darling. You go with that boy?’

  Ricci had the hose going on the nature strip where she grows nasturtiums and lemon grass. Stinky lifted his leg on them and she shooed him off. Her hair looked funny, like hard, old cheese.

  ‘No, I’m going with Mum. What’s wrong with your hair?’

  ‘Ah, bloody stuff. I try dye my hair from a packet. I think I leave too long. It went stupid? Bloody hell.’ She pulled at bits with her hands, which made it look even funnier.

  ‘It doesn’t look bad.’

  ‘You think? You think it’s okay?’

  ‘Yeah, at least it’s not red.’

  ‘Oh, but darling you have beautiful red hair. Beautiful colour. Oh when I was young like you, me also, I had beautiful hair. And my god I had beautiful big breasts, beautiful, you should have see. But then, oh my god, I get menopause and look—’ She looked down at her boobs and put her hands underneath them. They went all the way down to her skirt. They looked like they’d be heavy, like carrying around two hotties on your front. ‘Oh, it’s a shame,’ she said, and she tugged at her hair a bit more. I think she said that because her husband is dead.

  Mum said Ricci was lonely. I asked Mum if she was lonely, too, since our dad died. She looked out the window. Her hands were holding the edge of the sink.

  ‘Me, I don’t have time to be lonely. Anyway, I’ve got you and Barnaby.’

  ‘What’s menopause?’ She turned away from the window and started wiping the table.

  ‘It’s when you can’t have children any more.’

  ‘Have you got it?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  I checked her boobs but they seemed fine. So it’s all right.

  We went to Circus Berzerkus a week later. My mum was wearing her best clothes, the ones I like—the camel coat with a furry collar and the cherry-coloured skirt, and she made her hair look nice and put lipstick on. Mum looks like a rich person when she gets done up, but she hardly ever bothers. Mostly, she’s the natural type. We even went to the Vegie Bar for dinner on the way. I had a tofu wrap and she had Singapore noodles, and the waiter called us ladies. I had my green beanie on and Mum didn’t even complain about it. She was just cracking jokes about how I should have worn the tea cosy instead. We caught the tram into the city. In my mind I was trying out opening phrases that I could say to Kite when I bumped into him.

  So, what’s new?

  Hi, how’s it going?

  Well whattya know?

  Kite, hi, remember me?

  Or to be really hip . . . Dude! So how’s the helicopter going?

  No, no, much too fake. Not at all me. I would never say that, and if I tried it would be obvious that I was trying.

  I couldn’t find one that seemed right. My brain was skittering with excitement. Excitement makes me jiggly—in my mind and in my legs.

  ‘Cedy, you’re jiggling,’ said Mum. So I crossed my legs underneath me.

  The circus was brilliant, except for the juggling, which went on a bit. I don’t like it when they juggle knives because I get worried. It’s like horror movies. I can’t watch them. My hand flies up and covers my eyes whenever there’s murder or gory stuff. The best bit was when these people dressed in white came flying down from the roof. They were attached to strings and they just swallow-dived down like a flock of great white birds. Mum liked the tightrope walker, because he got dressed on the tightrope and ate cornflakes, and went to work. Everyone laughed at him except me. I never laugh when I’m supposed to. I only laugh by accident. In the interval we could see Harold Barton with Marnie Aitkin; they went outside and smoked cigarettes but we didn’t say hello. Mum bought me a Choc Top. I looked about for Kite.

  ‘You looking for someone?’ said Mum.

  ‘No, just looking at the people.’

  ‘You’ve got chocolate on your nose.’ She giggled at me, and swiped at my nose with her thumb. I hate it when she does that. I ducked because I like to get my own mess off myself, thank you very much.

  ‘Wanna bite?’

  ‘No thanks.’ My mum prefers a cup of coffee to a Choc Top. She’s crazy like that.

  After the circus finished, Mum saw her good friend, Maya, who has red hair like me and works at the environmental farm by the Merri Creek. I still hadn’t seen Kite. I didn’t care. Yes I did. I was wishing I had seen him and I was trying hard not to care and to think instead about what a good circus it was but I was getting all mixed-up in my mind, and fidgety. Mum was talking to Maya about a festival to celebrate the return of the kingfisher to the creek. I was only half-listening, just standing there going up and down on my toes and waiting for Mum to finish, when I got a kick up the bum. I turned around.

  It was Kite. He was with a tall guy who looked mental.

  ‘So, what happened to you? I thought we were training.’ I could tell he was cross. His arms were folded. The mental guy was smiling.

  ‘Well, I thought you were training with Marnie.’

  ‘Why’d you think that?’

  ‘I dunno, just did.’ I felt stupid all of a sudden. I’d been acting like a schmuck. Maybe it was only my crazy overactive imagination that had decided it was on with Kite and Marnie? I tried to cover it up with a good, slightly true excuse. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t come. I broke my rib doing that helicopter. The doctor said I had to rest it for two weeks.’

  ‘Bull,’ he said, and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. ‘You’re making excuses.’

  ‘No I’m not. It’s fair dinkum. I promise. Cross my heart,’ I said, just as my mum turned around. I thought I was a goner, but she mustn’t have heard me. She smiled at the tall guy as if she knew him.

  ‘Hello, Oscar,’ she said. ‘Did you enjoy the show?’

  ‘Well yes, it was quite good I thought, quite elaborate.’ He kind of spat the words out, and he wobbled.

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Mum. ‘It was elaborate.’ Then she turned to me. ‘Do you two know each other?’

  ‘No, I know Kite.’ I introduced my mum to Kite, and then I met Oscar and then we all stood there a bit awkwardly since no one knew what to say, until Oscar pointed at me.

  ‘You’ve got something on your nose,’ he said.

  ‘Chocolate,’ I said, rubbing it off. Mum smirked because I hadn’t let her rub it with her thumb, and Kite let a small smile creep out, even though he was annoyed at me. But then, since I was now clearly the overall loser with a kind of pie-in-the-face smear of Choc Top on my nose, I took advantage of my underdog rights to plead for another chance. I asked him if we could start training again the next day.

  ‘No, I can’t tomorrow. Anyway what about your rib?’

  ‘It’s better.’

  He looked at me the way he does sometimes, as if he can see inside. He laughed and turned to go. Then he hung his head down for a bit and did a neat little spin on his toes back towards me.

  ‘What about Saturday?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said a little too quickly. He raised his eyebrows in a slow way, as if they were heavy, or as if he was lifting his gaze upwards in order to see over the top of my eagerness. I quickly looked down at the floor and drew an invisible line with my foot. />
  ‘So you wanna come backstage and meet my mum before you go?’

  ‘Can we?’ I looked at Mum.

  ‘I’ll wait here, love. You go. Just don’t be long.’ Boy she was in a good mood. She didn’t even ask about the rib till later on, and when I said, ‘Oh just a bruise,’ she nodded sympathetically.

  I didn’t stay long. Backstage was just like it is in the movies. Mirrors with light globes around the edge, and people with white faces and bunches of flowers, hugging and shouting and rushing about. Kite’s mum was leaning up against the bench, talking to a man who was sitting at the bench and taking off his white face. He was looking into the mirror and she was talking and smoking and looking straight ahead, or up towards a corner, but not at him either. She wore black pants and she had straight black hair hanging to her shoulders. She seemed very shiny and compact and well designed, like a box that expensive jewellery might come in. When she saw Kite she took his face in her hands and stared at him. Then she kissed his forehead and said, ‘Hello my darling.’ But she didn’t hug him.