plans to ship me out to my uncle’s place in Melbourne. By the way, I self-diagnosed. A slide, an electron microscope and a smear will do it. It turns out eating pizza without washing your hands after playing cow-shit-frisbee with Roland Bone can result in an explosive case of giardiasis.’
I laughed. ‘That’s pretty detailed.’
‘Anyway, I was happy to leave. Better to go elsewhere, someplace people haven’t already made up their minds.’
‘If it helps, I never did make my mind up about you.’
He gave me a twitchy smile. ‘So.’ He nodded at the house. ‘You’re visiting?’
‘Yeah, but I don’t go inside.’
Ask me why , I thought. Ask me.
He didn’t. ‘Your house is the only building in the whole of Mobius with limestone bricks.’
‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me why this is relevant.’
‘It isn’t relevant, it’s just interesting. Have you ever looked at them?’
‘I’ve been really busy.’
‘They’re layers and layers of history. I used to go over them with a magnifying glass, trying to identify the fossils inside.’
‘Uninvited, I might add,’ I said. ‘At least now I know why you were lurking in our yard.’
He stood. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Me too,’ I said, but I didn’t get out of the tyre.
‘Promise me you’ll tell me if I look ridiculous driving my mother’s car.’ He reached into his jeans pocket, jangled some keys and crossed the road. He folded himself into a tiny hatchback.
From where I was sitting, it looked like he couldn’t sit upright. He did look ridiculous.
I left the tyre swinging and trudged along our driveway. Music was still coming from Dad’s shed. As I moved closer, I could see him through the dirty window, bobbing his head like a maniac. Dad was short and bald; I couldn’t remember a time when he’d had hair. Sometimes, when I looked at him, it took me by surprise to see my own blue eyes staring back. Trudy and I were so like Ma, it was as if she’d created us all by herself, and Dad had wandered into our lives when the first part was over.
My father was head-banging. Dad being in the shed was normal—whenever he’d got a whiff of tension or pending calamity, he’d be out there, bowed over his bench, making his wood carvings—but this was out of character. Another omen, more proof of change. What next: a convertible and a toupee?
Jeremiah Jolley chose that moment to reverse out of his driveway, tooting the horn. Dad froze and looked up. I ducked behind the corner of the house. A few seconds later the music shut off and the shed door creaked open.
I took off, hurdled Mrs Bradley’s dividing fence and kept running until I was out of sight. Some revelations I wasn’t quite ready for.
CHAPTER SIX
I could spend hours rearranging the furniture in my room. That night I moved my bed four times, although it could only really go one way without blocking the door or barring the window.
I liked small spaces. The forest—I didn’t see it as a vast and frightening void, but as a chain of a million contained spaces linked by trees. I liked my small town the way it was, with only one way in and out. Moving furniture was one way to stop feeling like scattered confetti.
My furniture: bed, mattress, side table, bookcase, rug. I owned the video recorder but not the television, the cushions but not the couch, a set of hanging cutlery, the hammock on the front deck. Only five white plates remained from the set of eight I’d had when I moved in, and three of my crystal water glasses were chipped but still usable. I had brought brand-new belongings for my spanking-new life, nothing borrowed, gifted or stolen. Four hundred and sixteen dollars hidden in an envelope under the mattress, plus the loose change in my money box, and roughly ninety cans of tuna: mine.
It pleased me that the number of dollars under my bed matched the number of diamonds in Bent Bowl Spoon—until I remembered I’d found a new diamond. I stole one dollar from
I laughed. ‘That’s pretty detailed.’
‘Anyway, I was happy to leave. Better to go elsewhere, someplace people haven’t already made up their minds.’
‘If it helps, I never did make my mind up about you.’
He gave me a twitchy smile. ‘So.’ He nodded at the house. ‘You’re visiting?’
‘Yeah, but I don’t go inside.’
Ask me why , I thought. Ask me.
He didn’t. ‘Your house is the only building in the whole of Mobius with limestone bricks.’
‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me why this is relevant.’
‘It isn’t relevant, it’s just interesting. Have you ever looked at them?’
‘I’ve been really busy.’
‘They’re layers and layers of history. I used to go over them with a magnifying glass, trying to identify the fossils inside.’
‘Uninvited, I might add,’ I said. ‘At least now I know why you were lurking in our yard.’
He stood. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Me too,’ I said, but I didn’t get out of the tyre.
‘Promise me you’ll tell me if I look ridiculous driving my mother’s car.’ He reached into his jeans pocket, jangled some keys and crossed the road. He folded himself into a tiny hatchback.
From where I was sitting, it looked like he couldn’t sit upright. He did look ridiculous.
I left the tyre swinging and trudged along our driveway. Music was still coming from Dad’s shed. As I moved closer, I could see him through the dirty window, bobbing his head like a maniac. Dad was short and bald; I couldn’t remember a time when he’d had hair. Sometimes, when I looked at him, it took me by surprise to see my own blue eyes staring back. Trudy and I were so like Ma, it was as if she’d created us all by herself, and Dad had wandered into our lives when the first part was over.
My father was head-banging. Dad being in the shed was normal—whenever he’d got a whiff of tension or pending calamity, he’d be out there, bowed over his bench, making his wood carvings—but this was out of character. Another omen, more proof of change. What next: a convertible and a toupee?
Jeremiah Jolley chose that moment to reverse out of his driveway, tooting the horn. Dad froze and looked up. I ducked behind the corner of the house. A few seconds later the music shut off and the shed door creaked open.
I took off, hurdled Mrs Bradley’s dividing fence and kept running until I was out of sight. Some revelations I wasn’t quite ready for.
CHAPTER SIX
I could spend hours rearranging the furniture in my room. That night I moved my bed four times, although it could only really go one way without blocking the door or barring the window.
I liked small spaces. The forest—I didn’t see it as a vast and frightening void, but as a chain of a million contained spaces linked by trees. I liked my small town the way it was, with only one way in and out. Moving furniture was one way to stop feeling like scattered confetti.
My furniture: bed, mattress, side table, bookcase, rug. I owned the video recorder but not the television, the cushions but not the couch, a set of hanging cutlery, the hammock on the front deck. Only five white plates remained from the set of eight I’d had when I moved in, and three of my crystal water glasses were chipped but still usable. I had brought brand-new belongings for my spanking-new life, nothing borrowed, gifted or stolen. Four hundred and sixteen dollars hidden in an envelope under the mattress, plus the loose change in my money box, and roughly ninety cans of tuna: mine.
It pleased me that the number of dollars under my bed matched the number of diamonds in Bent Bowl Spoon—until I remembered I’d found a new diamond. I stole one dollar from
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