‘Everyone always says that,’ he says.
‘Nice to meet you, Nina!’ Monica shouts from the living room.
Nina laughs. ‘Are you similar in personality, too?’
‘I don’t really know,’ he says. ‘We don’t spend a lot of time together. I hope I’m not quite as insufferable as she is.’
His parents are both at their laptops in the study. Spencer’s mother is dark-haired and pale-skinned. His father is freckled and has receding red hair. They seem distracted. Maybe the spaciousness of the house isn’t a benefit. Maybe it makes them all more distant from one another?
‘Mum, Dad, this is Nina,’ says Spencer. ‘Nina, this is Mum and Dad. If we were a hip, informal family, I’d refer to them as Kelly and John. Because that’s what their names are.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Nina,’ says his mother, peering over her laptop. His father looks up and smiles.
Upstairs, Spencer’s room is a mess, clothes and books strewn everywhere. Nina steps around his bag. There is a single bed with navy-blue bed linen, a desk piled with school books, a laptop, a cluttered side table, and an overstuffed wardrobe. It’s the opposite of her Spartan room. The ceiling is covered with glow-in-the-dark stars.
‘I promise it’s usually tidier than this,’ he says, picking up clothes from the floor and throwing them in a pile on the desk chair. ‘Don’t judge me.’
‘I’m not. You don’t have any posters,’ she observes, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking up at the blank wall.
‘I find posters with people on them incredibly weird. I don’t really want dead eyes staring at me while I sleep. And I’d feel too pretentious if I had any artwork. I’m not familiar with any artists.’
‘You could always get something inspirational. Or a quote.
You only live once
, that type of thing.
Carpe diem
.’
‘People say those things so often they’ve lost all meaning. The empty space on the wall doesn’t bother me that much. Maybe I could paste up all my favourite words,’ he says.
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ says Nina. ‘I have a word-related trivia for you: nothing in the English language rhymes with orange, silver or purple.’
Spencer smiles. ‘I already knew those. I know a few more. Nothing rhymes with wolf, either. Or angst. Which is a pity, really, because if I’m writing rhyming emo poetry, I want to include the word angst.’
‘I much prefer haikus. Let’s see this view you told me about.’
She and Spencer climb out of his bedroom window and lower themselves onto the sloping roof. The house is near the top of a hill, so they have a view that stretches endlessly—suburbia then skyscrapers in one direction, the ocean in the other, and above them the stars just beginning to emerge.
‘It was Bridie’s idea to sit out here first, of course. We were probably nine or ten. It’s not the greatest view, but I like it. It’s brilliant at night. It’s my favourite place…It’s nice to come out here and be alone with the stars,’ says Spencer, smiling. He turns to Nina. ‘And to talk.’
‘It’s magnificent,’ she says, and smiles too. Spencer reaches over and grasps her hand.
While this is happening, Nina has the sense that it will be taken away from her too soon. Does he notice? It’s not something she can tell him about. But she’s doing her best to live it now. And to create a memory of it that she can keep when it’s over.
Late that night, just when Nina feels as if she’s about to fall asleep, Tom whispers from his bed, ‘Sometimes I really hate her.’
‘What? Who?’ Nina mutters.
‘Mum. Don’t you?’ He keeps his voice at a whisper.
‘Why?’ She’s whispering too, even though she assumes her parents are asleep—no sound from across the hall, and no light from under their door.
‘Because she’s selfish. She doesn’t care what I think or what I want. She doesn’t care about what you think either. It’s all about her.’
‘Why is this bothering you now? Did you have an argument with her?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Don’t worry about it so much, Tom. Just get some sleep.’ How can she deal with the idea of Tom not getting on with their mother? Nina’s the one who clashes with her. ‘No one’s perfect.’
This is a ridiculous thing to say. Sophia is far from perfect. But lately, she’s been able to put it out of her mind.
There’s a long, long silence. What’s Tom thinking? Maybe he’s fallen asleep. She feels unsettled again—this isn’t just Tom growing up, becoming a teenager. Now he’s becoming aware of what she has been aware of for far too long.
She tries again to fall asleep, but it doesn’t come as easily as before.
PART TWO
July/August
Nina
It’s Friday night, the fifth of July. Nina’s seventeenth birthday. They’re having a family dinner at home to celebrate. Her idea. Something low-key.
‘You could’ve had some of your little friends over,’ says Sophia, sitting on the couch cross-legged, rereading
The Secret
. She likes books that tell her she is entitled to money and success.
Nina ignores her mother’s condescension. She will be going out with Spencer and Bridie later. She’s trying to keep her two lives separate: her life with her family and her life away from them. For everyone’s sake. To avoid complication, or her mother’s meddling, or her friends finding out what her mother is really like.
Nina is lying across an armchair in the living room, fiddling with her phone.
Today Tonight
is blaring on the TV: how to save money on your grocery bill. No one suggests shoplifting as a strategy.
She texts Spencer:
Did you know that if you add up all of your blinks, you spend an hour a day in the dark?
She thinks of another:
Did you know that when you were in the womb, you had amazing night vision, but could only see in black and white?
Which leads into a favourite of hers:
Did you know that your pupils dilate when you are looking at someone you love?
And then of course she has to add:
Or someone you hate? And just before you fall asleep? And when you’re under water?
She’s not supposed to send more than two texts in a row, is she? She’s bad at social etiquette.
Paul is out on the balcony, cooking lamb cutlets on the barbecue. He has a cigarette in one hand and tongs in the other. The wind looks ready to pick him up and lift him and the barbecue into a cyclone, then set them down in Oz. Tom is on his laptop at the dining table, playing a video game.
‘Are you still enjoying the work at the vet’s?’ asks Sophia.
Nina nods. ‘The people are really nice. I’ve got a favourite cat there and everything. Probably best not to get attached to a cat someone else will adopt, though.’
‘You always did like cats.’
She decides to test the waters. ‘I was thinking I might become a vet.’
‘Gosh,’ says Sophia. ‘You know, when you were born I could never imagine you being this grown up. Seventeen. Almost an adult.’ This does not really count as a response.
‘Seventeen’s a weird age,’ says Nina.
‘Yeah,’ says Tom, looking up from his game for a moment. ‘You still can’t get drunk.’
‘Tom, really,’ says Sophia, but smiles at him.
‘That’s the only reason everyone looks forward to turning eighteen,’ he says. ‘It’s not like anyone’s excited to vote.’
There are three hundred and sixty-five days until Nina is eighteen. She is not looking forward to voting or drinking.
‘They’re always talking these days about twenty-somethings who won’t move out of their parents’ houses,’ says Sophia, putting her book aside. ‘I don’t see why it’s such a problem. The big flaw in today’s society is that there is no value placed on the family unit. In other cultures, three generations will live in a house together. But in western culture it’s all divide and conquer now. Capitalism is the problem. The system just wants more money out of you. The industrial revolution ruined everything. What I’m saying is that you don’t have to leave the nest.’
Perhaps this would be a valid thing to say if there actually was a nest. A life on the road, endless bad motels, and a few months in a rental every now and then, does not constitute a stable family situation, let alone a nest. Sophia is very close to sounding like a conspiracy theorist.
Her phone pings.
Do you have unlimited texts?
Spencer asks.
The scientific word for pupil dilation is mydriasis.
She texts back:
Did you just Google that?
‘Who are you texting?’ asks Sophia, with a little too much intensity.
‘A girl from school,’ says Nina.
‘Did everyone wish you a happy birthday today?’
Nina nods. Everyone who knew it was her birthday did, which was only Spencer, Bridie, and whoever Bridie informed throughout the day.
No. I’m a human dictionary,
texts Spencer.
I’ll check if your pupils dilate next time I see you.
‘This time seventeen years ago you were an hour old,’ observes Sophia. ‘Don’t times change?’ She sounds wistful.
I have a new favourite word. Jayus. Indonesian for a joke that is so unfunny and badly told you have to laugh,
texts Spencer.
Sums up everything I say perfectly, doesn’t it?
‘We’ll do gifts after dinner, shall we?’ says Sophia. ‘Your father and I have got you a nice piece of jewellery. I do hope you like it. Come over and I’ll give you a birthday hug.’
‘All right!’ announces Paul, coming in from the balcony, reeking of cigarette smoke. He has a plateful of charred cutlets. ‘Dinner is ready, birthday girl!’
Three hundred and sixty-four and a half days.
Nina
Almost four months after her arrival at Evandale, Nina is called out of an English class. Her mother is waiting at reception, laughing uproariously with The Caro. Tom’s there too, looking bored. Sophia’s hair is up in a bun and she’s wearing a cable-knit jumper and blue jeans.
‘What’s happened?’ asks Nina.
‘Thought we’d have the afternoon off,’ her mother says, grinning. ‘Have a bit of an adventure. Why didn’t you tell me your principal is such a delight?’
The Caro beams. Nina is filled with a sense of dread.
‘Your husband has been a great History teacher for us,’ says The Caro. ‘The students have been very engaged. Such a shame you can’t stay.’
‘Wonderful,’ Sophia says. ‘It’s been so good to be here.’
‘We’re leaving?’ Nina hisses at her mother, as soon as the front door of the school is closed behind them and they’re walking across the grounds towards the parking lot. She shifts her schoolbag onto her other shoulder. She can feel her heartbeat in her ears.
‘I don’t appreciate your tone, Nina,’ Sophia replies, looking taken aback. ‘You knew we were. I’d imagined you’d only be surprised if I announced we were staying.’
‘We don’t need to leave.’
‘No. We want to.’ Sophia strides ahead. Nina tries to keep up. Tom dawdles behind. He is silent.
‘I would be looking at your use of the word “we” there, because I don’t think you’ve consulted the rest of us.’
‘Consulted? Darling, you’re my child. This is called parenting. I make the decisions.’
‘What about Dad? What does Dad think? Dad has half of the decision-making ability, doesn’t he?’ Nina can hear the desperation in her own voice.
‘His contract’s almost over here. He wants to move on too, find work somewhere else. Don’t you enjoy going on adventures, darling?’ She turns and smiles, and she sounds so kind and thoughtful, but she isn’t really listening to Nina.
‘I want to stay.’
‘I cannot think why. This is one of the least exciting towns we’ve stayed in. Is it the private school? I thought you’d find the snobs annoying.’
‘What about you, Tom?’ Nina asks, glancing back at him. ‘You want to stay too, don’t you?’
Tom shrugs, noncommittal. ‘Whatever.’
When they reach the car, she throws the keys to Nina who fumbles and almost drops them.
‘You want to drive?’ Sophia smiles, seemingly forgetting about Nina’s wish to stay. Nina got her learner’s permit last year, in another state, but her mother rarely gives her an opportunity to drive. ‘Tom, put on the L-plates, please!’
Sophia had leased the blue sedan when they arrived here. Paul has the other car, the one he’s owned for years, a black station wagon. This car is a mess inside, filled with magazines and papers and fast food wrappers. Despite being neat at home, Sophia is the opposite when it comes to the car.
Tom slouches in the back and Sophia sits in the passenger seat. ‘Little old lady, five points,’ she jokes as they approach a zebra crossing and wait for an elderly woman with a walker. Nina doesn’t smile.
‘Shouldn’t you be instructing me how to drive?’ she asks. She’s only spent ten or so hours driving in the year she’s had her permit, and always with her father supervising.
‘It’s an automatic, Nina. It’s like a toy car. You’re doing fine. Tom would probably be able to drive it. Actually Tom, we could always let you have a drive around a parking lot later. We’ll wait until the shopping centre’s closed, shall we?’ She turns around to look at him.
‘Great,’ says Tom.
‘I don’t think there’s a need for Tom to learn to drive yet,’ says Nina. ‘He’s too young to be responsible.’
‘Rubbish!’ he says, putting on his iPod earphones.
‘Nina, Tom already has parents. You don’t need to worry about him. Take a right here, would you? Has it occurred to you that you’re being a bit irrational at the moment? Not everything is bad and robbery-related. Kids learn to drive at Tom’s age out in the country.’
‘We’re not in the country,’ says Nina.
‘We could go to the country.’
‘And I’m not being irrational. You’re the one with the compulsive need to move on.’
‘I don’t know what your friends are like at this school, but I certainly hope they speak to their parents with more respect than you show me. Anyway, who decided that humans should live in one place and stagnate? Spend their lives socialising with the same boring people? You think that’s a more fulfilling life than ours? You think spending your days doing the same work in the same place—your evenings watching TV in the same bloody house for years on end—is a life to aspire to?’
‘That would perhaps be a valid point if the reason we were always moving wasn’t simply to prevent the police from catching up with us.’