‘Do you think we’ll ever stop?’ she asks.
Paul glances up from his papers, red pen hanging mid-air. ‘Stop what?’
‘The robberies.’ The fluorescent light flickers. Everything is hard edges and brightness in this apartment.
Her father doesn’t answer for a minute. His face looks pale, drawn.
‘People are creatures of habit, aren’t they? Everyone keeps doing what they’ve always done. My parents eat their All Bran for breakfast every morning, and your good old grandpa walks to the shop and buys his paper, and they watch the same programs every week. I think it gets worse when you get older. I’ve been trying to stop smoking for ten years, and yet I keep doing it. And the robberies—it becomes habit, it becomes normal. I’m not sensitive anymore. I just stand there thinking,
the money’s insured
.’
The kettle boils and she pours the tea. Sugar, milk, stir. Systematic. She pulls a plastic tub of biscuits from the cupboard, peels back the lid. ‘You don’t really think that, do you?’
‘I don’t know what I think. Things aren’t black and white. People can be terrible and still obey the law. And your mother—she’d get bored if she didn’t do it. She wouldn’t be able to handle normality. You know, it used to be exciting for me, and I felt bad about that. That was before you were involved… She’ll want Tom to come along next time. The scary part is when you stop feeling bad about it.’
He’s not making much sense. He sighs, sips his tea. Doesn’t touch the biscuits. There’s a pack of his cigarettes on the bench and he fidgets with it as he speaks.
‘She’s not stupid, you know.’ He stares at Nina. ‘I think I might be. She’s just different from the rest of us. She sees right and wrong in an altered way. And sometimes she’s bloody convincing.’
‘I still feel terrible about the robberies. I’m not like her. I don’t even know if I’m like you.’ Nina speaks slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘I’m…I was planning on leaving as soon as I can. Once I’m done with school.’
‘Oh, Nina.’ He reaches across the bench and squeezes her hand. Sophia is the affectionate parent; he is not usually. He exhales and slumps, looking exhausted. The TV flashes with an ad for a weight-loss powder. ‘You know, I was so happy when I found out we were having you. And I’ve messed it all up. Nobody should grow up terrified. I thought the main thing was for parents to love their children unconditionally. I suppose they have to equip you for life in the real world, too, don’t they?’ He shakes his head.
‘What if Grandma and Grandpa found out? Sometimes I wonder why we’re all in this situation to begin with. Why you let this happen.’ This is the most honest she has ever been with her father. It’s strange and a relief at once. She is overcome by the sense that perhaps this conversation could change things. She does not want to set herself up for disappointment, but it’s too promising to resist.
‘I love her dearly, Nina. And that clouds my judgement sometimes. That’s how it started—she met me at a bad time in my life and showed me a way to gain a feeling of control, of getting back at the world. I can’t even say I was young and stupid. You must know how much she loves you—that she just wants the best for you. Her methods are questionable, but that’s all she ever learned. And we couldn’t live on my wages.’
Nina shakes her head. ‘I just…I can’t handle the fear. I don’t want my whole life held back by secrets. I resent her so badly. I don’t trust her anymore.’
Tom stirs, shifts on the couch, and settles again. Paul stands and gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
‘I’ll talk to her. I’ll bring her around. I’m too pretty for jail,’ he jokes. The lines around his eyes crinkle. ‘Things could be different.’ He takes out a cigarette from the pack and fishes in his pocket for a lighter.
Nina smiles weakly. Her father walks out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind him. She watches the glow of the cigarette in the darkness.
Saturday morning, Nina wakes up to the sound of birds, the light peeking through the horizontal blinds of her bedroom window. And she lies there a moment, swamped by her soft doona, the ceiling sliced with light, and enjoys the quiet, enjoys the sense of peacefulness that has entirely swallowed her up. Instead of that feeling of dread that almost always greets her upon waking, instead of that constant commentary of fears and anxieties—
What if the police come today? What if Sophia plans a new robbery? What if it all comes undone or they figure out what she’s thinking or something terrible happens?—
there’s just nothing, just calm and contentedness and for this moment it’s perfect.
Even the mantra that pops into her mind every morning to calm those fears and anxieties—
I’m a day closer to freedom, I’m a day closer to getting out, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’ll all be over soon—
doesn’t happen this morning. Maybe everything will be all right.
She gets out of bed, puts on a dress and a pair of flats, then brushes her hair. She grabs her laptop, her bag and an apple on the way out the door. ‘I’m going to the library!’ she yells. Her parents must still be in bed, she thinks, a lazy Saturday morning.
The day is warm, but there’s a light breeze. Maybe this place isn’t quite as soulless as she first thought. Maybe you only see what you want to see. And today Nina feels lucky to be alive—the day is bright and the air smells of the sea. She might take a walk down to the beach later and swim and luxuriate in the surf. Everyone she passes on her walk smiles or says hello and she feels good, for the moment at least.
And, of course, her mind is almost entirely occupied by Spencer. And even though she probably should be anxious and consumed with worries over whether he likes her, and whether she said the wrong things, and whether they’ll actually speak again, and whether she is at risk of giving away too much about the family—right now, right this very moment, she isn’t. She feels good.
But he’s sweet. And a bit awkward. And very unjudging and honest and a bit of a pushover. And gorgeous. And she likes him a lot more than anyone she’s met before. He seems uncomplicated and lovely, and she likes that, a lot. And she’s trying not to play over and over in her mind everything he said to her and everything she said to him (much of which sounded idiotic and crazy, she’s sure) but it’s very difficult for her not to. She gives up, and lets it play on repeat in her head.
The library is spacious and airy, a high roof and full-length windows on all sides, and blue carpet underfoot. There are lots of computers, and not as many books as the slightly smaller library of the last town they were in, but that’s okay. The librarian is cheerful and chats with Nina about the town and the library when she mentions that she just moved here. He’s very helpful. She finds a seat by a window and gets out her laptop. From where she sits, she’s overlooking the park next door, and there are people everywhere in the sunny weather.
The reasons Nina loves libraries are numerous. A library is one of the few public places where she can just hang out without looking suspicious and like a potential teenage nuisance. A place where she can get away from her parents and hide amongst less-frequented book genres and not run into anyone she knows. Add to that the advantages of air-conditioning, clean bathrooms, free Wi-Fi and any book she could possibly want to read. Plus the quiet. Libraries are good places for thinking and good places for being alone.
Later, she’ll sit down in the non-fiction shelves and glean interesting bits of trivia to copy down in her notebook. She could borrow books that are specifically filled with trivia but it feels like much more of an achievement to find interesting facts in books containing otherwise boring material. She’s thinking of locating a book on freakish weather events. She already knows that the most times an individual person has ever been struck by lightning is seven. But you can never really know enough lightning-related trivia.
Right now, she opens up a window for Facebook and types in Spencer’s name. A lot of profiles pop up and she sifts through until she finds his. She looks through his favourite musicians and movies and books—they’ve got a few in common. He hasn’t uploaded many photos of his own, though he appears in a few of Bridie’s photos. And he’s single. Is it creepy at all, to peruse someone’s profile like this? Someone you like? When does it become stalker-ish? Why read about what things he likes when she could just have a conversation with him about it?
She closes the window and gets out her phone and fiddles with it. They’d exchanged mobile numbers while walking home last night, when the thrill of the darkness and their kiss had made her feel daring, made everything seem possible. Doubt creeps in now. Is there a protocol on how soon to text someone after having met them? She doesn’t know these things. What would she say, anyway? Does she want to risk annoying him by sending a text too soon? Or saying something totally pointless?
She was feeling so great a little while ago. This self-doubt and insecurity business is a bitch.
What’s the point, really, in sitting here and angsting about doing something? Why not just do it? How bad could it really turn out?
She decides to risk it, and types in
Hey, what’s up?
and hits send.
Nina
On the way to her first class of the day, on a Monday morning a few weeks into the term, Nina passes a classroom where her father is teaching.
Usually he’s over in the primary section, but someone must’ve called in sick, so here he is, teaching a History class to Year Ten students. Nina stayed late in Homeroom to help Ms Pope with the school newsletter, and now the next period has started, so she’s hurrying. But she pauses to look in at Paul—not Paul the Dad, or Paul the Bank Robber, but Paul the Teacher—in his button-down shirt and serious pants with creases ironed in. He’s waving his hands around. Watching her father teach a class, Nina realises it doesn’t look like a cover for crime. It looks like something he is passionate about. It looks like he should do it for a living, just that, no robberies on the side. She feels proud. And for a moment, the idea that her family could be normal isn’t such a ridiculous idea. They could live in one place, be honest with people, not be criminals, be safe and happy and content.
It almost feels like she could be living that life right now.
Spencer and Nina have Community Service that afternoon. When they arrive at the vet’s, the waiting room is empty. Joseph the receptionist is reading gossip magazines. He’s a young, cheerful guy who does not strike Nina as the kind of person you would imagine answering phones at a veterinary hospital.
‘How are you two this fine afternoon?’ Joseph asks, glancing up. He doesn’t wait for a response before adding, ‘Someone brought in this three-legged stray cat earlier. So ugly, it’s adorable.’ He smiles. ‘Diane’s out the back. Go say hi.’
Diane is the only vet in that afternoon. She looks permanently unkempt, her hair pulled back in a messy pony tail, but she’s bright-eyed and moves around with a frenetic energy. Or fidgets on the spot. Nina estimates she’s somewhere between forty-five and fifty.
The cat is skinny and fierce-looking, black and grey with white paws, and one of its back legs is missing. Considering his physical state, he’s very calm.
‘Car accident,’ Diane explains. She hands the cat over to Nina, and he stares up at her blankly.
‘Give him a name. You kids will be able to come up with something genius, I’m sure.’ She disappears, presumably to save some animal lives.
‘Sometimes I think this “Community Service” just means we get in the way,’ says Spencer after she’s gone.
‘Yeah. You know, there was a cat that used to visit this place where we lived years ago,’ says Nina, holding the cat as Spencer scratches him behind his ears. ‘Mangy, horrible thing. I loved looking after it, even though it wasn’t the slightest bit grateful.’
‘Cats aren’t generally known for their gratitude,’ says Spencer. ‘What was the name of this mangy, horrible cat?’
‘Never had a name.’
‘How did you call it then?’
‘I didn’t. It just showed up. It was that kind of cat.’
‘God, I named everything when I was a kid. I don’t think I had a single stuffed toy that didn’t have a name,’ he says. ‘I saved all the good names for living things. Even goldfish. I used to have a cat, too. And now Chance.’
‘Since you’re the great namer, got any ideas?’
‘None whatsoever. Tripod?’
Nina laughs. ‘How about Morrissey? As in the guy from the Smiths.’
‘How terribly hip. I like it.’ Spencer smiles.
‘If I were allowed to have a cat, I’d take him home,’ she says. ‘He has a certain charm.’ Morrissey rubs his head against Nina’s arm, snuggling in.
‘Do you like that?’ Spencer asks the cat. ‘Morrissey?’
‘I like it!’ yells Joseph from the front.
After the vet’s they take the bus back to Spencer’s house. Nina is impressed with how spacious it is—compared to an apartment like hers, most normal-size houses seem huge. The dog is almost tripping them over as soon as they’re inside the door. They walk past the living room.
‘This would be the famous Chance,’ says Spencer. Nina kneels down to scratch the dog behind the ear. ‘And here’s my sister. Say hello to Nina, Monica.’
Monica’s on the couch, watching a DVD. Her hair is chin-length, black and straight, with a blunt fringe that looks as if she’s trimmed it herself. ‘Hi, Nina.’ She responds in monotone.
‘Her brother’s in your year, he’s new. His name’s Tom.’
She looks over at them. ‘I know him. His last name’s Pretty, hard to forget. I mean, how ridiculous. No offence.’
‘It is a ridiculous surname,’ concedes Nina.
‘Ms Stanthorpe
hates
him. He never shuts up. It’s entertaining. And Spencer, I am so amazed that you have brought someone over other than Bridie. You’re
such
a social butterfly now.’
‘Just ignore her,’ Spencer says to Nina. ‘She only says stuff to get a reaction. I remain stoic.’ Monica pulls a face. Nina smiles.
They look alike, Monica and Spencer, like siblings should. They have the same features—small nose and mouth, large eyes, pale skin.
‘My brother and I look nothing like each other,’ says Nina, when they’re in the hall. ‘You two look so similar.’