Girl in Between Page 4

  ‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘Definitely not in front of the kids.’

  She hands me the case. ‘Alright, love, have a good afternoon.’

  When I arrive home I hear Mum and Rosie laughing in the lounge room but I go straight to the kitchen, shovelling Doritos into my mouth. After a couple of Panadols and a few glasses of water I join them. Rosie is sitting on the couch with her feet on the coffee table, burger wrappers strewn across its surface.

  ‘Oh, mate,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t even start,’ she says. ‘I’ve already spewed twice this morning.’

  Mum says she’ll make us both a nice cup of globe artichoke tea, claiming it’s good for hangovers, and bustles off. Then I pop on the DVD and within minutes a very vocal sex scene fills the room.

  As if on cue, Dad walks in and stands in front of the TV. ‘Doesn’t sound very good!’ he says gruffly.

  ‘Brian!’ yells Rosie, trying to shoo him out of her way. But Dad just stands there glaring at us, so Rosie pauses the DVD and says, ‘Oh, by the way, did you know he started Bev’s Buffet?’

  ‘Who started Bev’s Buffet?’ I ask.

  ‘Oscar,’ she replies.

  God, I think, he certainly downplayed that when he said he ‘worked in hospitality’.

  ‘Who’s Oscar?’ asks Dad loudly.

  Rosie massages her temples. ‘Oh, painful. Can you turn your voice down a notch, please, Brian?’

  ‘Oscar’s the guy next door, Dad,’ I explain. ‘The taller one.’

  ‘Shit! He started Bev’s Buffet, did he?’ says Dad. ‘Well, there’s a very sensible young man. Combining a buffet with unlimited beverages.’ He claps his hands together. ‘Goldmine!’

  Rosie suddenly perks up. ‘He’d be loaded.’

  ‘Oh, he would be,’ says Dad. ‘There’s already a franchise in Yeppoon …’

  ‘And one just opened in Gladstone,’ I say.

  ‘Right, that’s two in Central Queensland,’ says Dad happily, loving this type of talk.

  Hearing the conversation, Mum hurries in and hands us our teas. She’s wearing a one-piece bathing suit. I avert my eyes as she begins lathering sun cream onto her upper thighs.

  ‘I saw four Bev’s Buffets when I was in Mackay,’ she says breathlessly.

  ‘And there’s one at the Townsville airport,’ I add.

  ‘I think there’s a couple in Cairns too,’ says Rosie.

  ‘Wow,’ says Dad enthusiastically. ‘And that’s not taking into account the south-east corner.’

  ‘God!’ exclaims Mum, lowering her leg. ‘There’s probably hundreds down there!’

  ‘No, he hasn’t reached Brissie yet. Still expanding, he told me.’ Rosie takes a large swig of the tea and almost gags. ‘Holy Moses, Denise, what is this?’ she exclaims.

  Before Mum can answer, Dad says, ‘Regardless, he’d be doing well. He’d be doing very well. Good on him.’

  ‘While we’re at the farm, you should ask him about all that public liability stuff for when the Jockey Club runs the gymkhanas,’ says Mum.

  Dad nods slowly. ‘Yeah, I could. That’s a good idea.’

  ‘Farm? Why would he be going to the farm?’ I ask Dad.

  ‘Shit, I thought you girls were ready!’ exclaims Dad. ‘I organised last night to take Heather—’

  ‘Helen,’ corrects Mum.

  ‘—Helen and her sons down to the farm with us this afternoon! Come on, I just saw them all sitting around outside … poor bastards.’

  I go over to the window and peer out. Helen’s perched on the front step of the house next door reading The Happiest Refugee, and Oscar’s pacing up and down the yard, engaged in intense conversation on his mobile. Meanwhile, Ben is lying on the grass, wearing sunglasses, looking a bit ragged. ‘Can’t you and Mum go alone?’ I plead.

  ‘No, I told Henrietta we’d all go,’ says Dad. ‘Besides, fresh air is just what you girls need.’

  ‘I might choof off home …’ Rosie rises from the couch.

  I pull her back down. ‘No! You owe me,’ I say, half begging, half demanding.

  ‘Oh, righto,’ she says with a wince. ‘But I don’t have togs or anything.’

  ‘I’ve got spares, darl,’ says Mum.

  We bounce along the sand dunes in the tray of Dad’s ute, Oscar and Ben clinging to the sides with white-knuckle grips, while Helen, Rosie and I grasp the bar at the back of the cab. Dad is careering around the farm like a cowboy, oblivious—or not—to our delicate hungover states. I can just picture Mum inside, telling him to slow down in between spraying Rescue Remedy into her mouth.

  He finally reaches the farm’s seafront and pulls up with a start.

  ‘Well, here we are,’ he says, hopping out of the car and gesturing with his hand to the wide grassy savannahs running down to a deserted beach and sparkling sea. ‘Welcome to paradise.’

  ‘This is just incredible, Brian,’ says Helen, lowering her sunglasses.

  ‘It is a lovely spot,’ Dad replies, crossing his arms. ‘So peaceful. No mobile coverage, either, so even better,’ he adds.

  ‘That’s a jolly good thing. You can finally have a break from that phone, Oscar,’ says Helen, smiling across at her son before turning to Dad. ‘Brian, the cattle we saw on the way in look tremendously healthy.’

  ‘The cows are that fat Jenny Craig’d shoot herself if she saw them,’ replies Dad.

  ‘So, would you ever subdivide and create a new suburb?’ asks Ben.

  ‘No,’ replies Dad.

  ‘You must be pretty rich, hey?’ says Ben.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that, Ben, just worked hard all my life,’ says Dad, giving Rosie and me a sidelong glance.

  ‘What are you looking at us for?’ protests Rosie. ‘I’m a dentist!’

  ‘Part-time,’ mutters Dad as he goes to retrieve some collapsible chairs from the tray of the ute.

  We unfold them under the ironbark trees and sit down as he carries over a picnic basket.

  ‘Who wants a cup of tea?’ I ask, taking Dad’s thermos out of the basket.

  ‘Oh, that’d be lovely, thanks, Lucy,’ says Helen, smiling.

  ‘As long as it’s not that horrible stuff from earlier,’ says Rosie, looking a bit green.

  ‘Two with moo for me, darl,’ says Mum.

  ‘I can tell you’ve worked hard for this, Brian,’ says Oscar. ‘It all comes back to hard work and taking risks, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Totally, Oscar. I mean in your case too … a buffet with unlimited beverages,’ says Dad, shaking his head in wonder. ‘Cha-ching! How’d you think to start it all off?’

  ‘Well,’ says Oscar, looking animated, ‘I’ve always been a fan of the Sizzler model …’

  ‘I could be a Sizzler model,’ says Rosie under her breath, patting her stomach.

  ‘… and about ten years ago I was having dinner one night at Sizzler on the Gold Coast with my girlfriend at the time,’ continues Oscar, ‘and I said to her, “Laura, why haven’t I seen a Sizzler in Sydney?” And she said, “Because it’s too bogan.”’

  ‘That’s a bit rough,’ I object. ‘I love the cheese toast at Sizzler.’

  ‘So do I!’ says Rosie. ‘Sizzler’s unreal.’

  ‘I always like the cheese toast too,’ says Oscar quickly, ‘but Sydneysiders—for good or bad—want something a bit classier. And that’s when I came up with the idea for Bev’s Buffet.’

  Dad nods in admiration.

  ‘We’re picking up real momentum in regional Queensland, and I’ve got my sights set on Brisbane next,’ continues Oscar.

  ‘Bev’s Buffet’s not really the classiest name, though, is it?’ says Rosie.

  ‘No it’s not, but it’s all clever marketing, you see? We had to give the chain a bogan exterior, to appeal to the bogans, but once you get inside, you can see it’s top shelf.’

  ‘Bit like Lucy,’ says Rosie, elbowing me, but I couldn’t care less. It’s just dawned on me that maybe I was wrong about Oscar and he’s actually a bit of a business-t
ype bore.

  ‘Well, Lucy, I admire what you’re doing,’ Helen says kindly. ‘Writing a novel is a risk too, but I’m sure it will pay off.’

  ‘We’d like to hope so, Hel … thie,’ mutters Dad. ‘She hasn’t got two bob to rub together.’

  ‘Even one Bob for her to rub’d be fine,’ says Rosie, and we both collapse in a fit of giggles.

  Dad shakes his head in dismay. ‘They just don’t take anything seriously, Oscar. I mean, Rosie did graduate with honours in dentistry at UQ and she does work three days a week—max—but Lucy …’ He sucks in air through his front teeth.

  ‘Brian, it’s fine!’ says Mum emphatically. ‘Lucy worked hard in Melbourne and she knows about the line in the sand.’

  ‘I know about lines in sand,’ snickers Ben under his breath.

  ‘Mum and Dad think I should have a line in the sand,’ I explain to Helen. ‘A point at which I say enough’s enough and sort of give up on writing, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, you can’t give up,’ says Oscar earnestly, and I suddenly remember going on and on to him about my book last night. ‘You should never give up.’

  ‘But there has to come a point, I think …’ Mum begins hesitantly.

  ‘I mean, Lucy’s thirty-two and flat out affording a flat white let alone a flat,’ says Dad. ‘Mind you, she’ll be right,’ he continues. ‘I’ve told Lenny and Max that when we’re gone they have to look after her.’

  ‘Dad!’ I protest. ‘I’m not an invalid! And I’ve been putting the feelers out for freelance work. I’ve pitched articles to National Geographic, the New York Times and Vogue,’ I explain to Helen.

  ‘Have you heard back from anyone, love?’ enquires Mum brightly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You were on that TV show, The Headline Act, weren’t you?’ asks Ben.

  I nod, smiling. ‘Yeah, I was presenting stories with them in Melbourne for about three years.’

  ‘I thought it was you!’ says Ben. ‘Oscar and I googled you last night and a few of your stories came up. They were great—very funny.’

  I smile, wondering if I should be pleased or alarmed that they googled me.

  ‘Oh, thanks, yeah, I enjoyed doing them,’ I say.

  ‘So, why did you leave?’ asks Ben.

  I swallow hard.

  ‘I think Jason from Adelaide in that “Roll With It” food truck is going to take out Meals in Wheels,’ says Dad, leaning forward in his chair.

  I’d shoot him a grateful smile but I know his interruption is more to do with not paying attention than saving me from awkwardness.

  ‘His hot and peppery Texan brioche, or whatever you call it, had me salivating.’

  ‘I tell you what had me salivating,’ chimes in Ben. ‘Tiffany Bloxsom. She’s stunning!’

  ‘Well, who’s keen for a game of touch footy?’ asks Rosie, glancing at me and hopping up.

  ‘Touch?’ says Ben. ‘Nah, if we’re playing at all it’s got to be tackle.’

  ‘Alright,’ says Rosie, looking around. ‘Chuck us your cup, Brian.’

  We make our way across the dunes and onto the beach, with Rosie and Ben walking ahead of Oscar and me.

  ‘I know I only just met you yesterday,’ says Oscar, ‘but I think you’re doing the right thing by writing your book and going for something.’

  I smile. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘There were so many times I felt like giving up when I was trying to get Bev’s Buffet off the ground. The number of banks that knocked me back—jeez, I had more rejections than a Vinnies bin.’

  ‘Alright, so Oscar and I are on one team and you and Ben are on the other,’ says Rosie, taking charge. ‘We’re Queensland and you guys are New South Wales.’

  ‘Well, give us a ten-point start then!’ I say at the same time as Ben says to Rosie, ‘I can’t believe you’re a dentist.’

  ‘Okay, so Queensland will tap off,’ she says, ignoring him.

  Rosie throws the cup to Oscar, who runs towards me. I motion to tackle him and he half falls down, making it easier. We’re both laughing as Rosie whispers in my ear, ‘Rip his pants off.’

  ‘A quick game’s a good game!’ yells Ben.

  Oscar throws the cup to Rosie and she sprints down the beach with Ben in close pursuit. He catches up and ankle taps her and she lurches forward, hitting the sand like a sack of potatoes. In the process, the oversized togs she’s borrowed from Mum slip off her shoulders and Ben looks away, horrified. ‘Oh shit, I didn’t mean for that …’

  His words trail off as Oscar runs over. ‘Are you okay, Rosie?’ he says, giving Ben a dirty look.

  Sprawled face down, Rosie adjusts her straps before flipping over, spitting out sand and spluttering, ‘I’m fine.’ She glares at Ben. ‘And you’re a typical cockroach cheat.’ She gets up and taps the cup to her foot, before running directly at him. He raises his arms in surrender but she barrels into him with all her weight. He collapses, winded.

  ‘Rosie!’ I yell, appalled, before running over to check on Ben. Meanwhile, Oscar is falling about on the sand, laughing.

  ‘Piss off, Oscar,’ says Ben, rolling over gingerly and staggering to his feet. ‘Might just get myself a drink. My fitness isn’t what it used to be.’ He heads up to where our parents are sitting.

  ‘Shit,’ mutters Rosie, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Oscar tells her. ‘He’s okay. Probably a bit embarrassed.’

  ‘Still, that was pretty ordinary,’ I admonish Rosie. ‘Swim time anyone?’ I start stripping off my shorts and top.

  ‘Yeah, suppose I’d better give these gorgeous togs an outing,’ says Rosie, looking down at the padded breast cups and faded pattern of coral seahorses.

  I laugh and shake my head. ‘Rosie, they’re ridiculous,’ I whisper as we wade into the water. ‘Mum couldn’t even sell them when they were reduced to five bucks in the bargain bin at their Everything Must Go sale!’

  ‘Yeah, she’s clearly trying to give you a head start over me with the bros,’ Rosie says, laughing.

  ‘Is it safe?’ Oscar calls from the beach.

  ‘Yep!’ I yell back.

  ‘No jellies?’ he calls.

  ‘No jellies,’ I assure him.

  ‘No crocs?’

  ‘None that we can see,’ teases Rosie. ‘Oh, hang on, what’s that?’

  ‘It’s beautiful!’ I shout. ‘I’ve been swimming here since I was little and there’s never been anything to cause alarm.’

  ‘Apart from when Brian wore those see-through purple Speedos,’ mutters Rosie. ‘And that bloody jet ski he used to have.’

  Oscar tears off his t-shirt and dives in. Bore or no bore, there’s no denying those broad shoulders, I think, as he surfaces.

  ‘Oh, how good is this?’ he exclaims.

  ‘Took you a while—I thought you Sydney boys were meant to be tough?’ jokes Rosie.

  ‘Only when you compare us to Melbourne boys!’

  ‘True.’ She nods.

  ‘Yeah, true,’ I agree. ‘Speaking of which, the Broncos are playing the Rabbitohs tomorrow night, if you want to come around. Dad’s got a TV on the back deck and a barbecue. Ray Warren’ll be in a frenzy!’

  ‘Sorry,’ replies Oscar. ‘That sounds great, but my girlfriend Kate’s flying in tonight.’

  ‘Sure, no worries,’ I say, looking at Rosie with told-you-so eyes.

  ‘Do you two have partners?’ Oscar asks, oblivious to the silent exchange between Rosie and me.

  ‘Yeah, sort of,’ says Rosie. ‘I’m seeing a tradie, Trent, part-time.’

  ‘Do you do everything part-time?’ asks Oscar, smiling.

  ‘Pretty much. Except look shit-hot.’

  I laugh into the water.

  ‘That’s a full-time job,’ she explains.

  Oscar looks at me questioningly.

  ‘Well, I was sort of in something on and off with a guy for five years in Melbourne,’ I begin, ‘but—’

  ‘Blah, blah, blah,’ says
Rosie, cutting me off. ‘Lucy couldn’t see the wood for the trees and kept trying to make something work that had died about six months before. His name’s Jeremy, he now lives in Port Douglas, he’s got a new girlfriend and good luck to him.’

  ‘Yep, that’s about it,’ I say. ‘So, what does Kate do?’

  ‘She’s at uni, studying hotel management. She’d love it here.’ Oscar looks around us.

  I nod and begin wading out of the water towards the beach. ‘It’s hard not to love. I’m going to sit in the sun for a while.’

  I look up to see Ben jump down from the dune onto the beach. We smile at each other as our paths cross. He joins Rosie and Oscar in the sea. I lie down and place my arm over my eyes, and drift off to sleep. Ten minutes later, the intensity of the sun wakes me with a start, and I spot Oscar walking out of the water. Ben and Rosie are splashing about in the waves and, oddly enough, appear to be playing Marco Polo.

  ‘So, do you enjoy being a journalist?’ asks Oscar, sitting down beside me. ‘Is it a good industry?’

  ‘It’s good and bad,’ I reply. ‘Good in that you can be creative, and shine a light on issues you care about, but bad because it can sometimes be a bit fickle, and churning out material for a daily deadline can wear you down.’

  ‘So you’re enjoying the break from it?’ he asks.

  ‘Mmm. To be honest, I don’t know if I want to go back to journalism.’

  For several minutes we watch Ben and Rosie attempt underwater handstands.

  ‘Well, they seem to have sorted things out,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, Ben’s a sucker for feisty, attractive girls.’

  I smile, knowing Rosie will love to hear me recount this later.

  ‘Maybe you should consider a complete career change after you finish your book,’ he says.

  ‘It’s funny you say that because it’s been on my mind,’ I reply, then pause and look at him. ‘I think I might start a franchise, called Kev’s Buffet.’

  Oscar chuckles. ‘Yeah, a change can be as good as a holiday, they say. My girlfriend Kate used to be a teacher but she got sick of it, so she went back to uni and now she feels like she’s following a path she loves.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ I say. ‘It’s important to enjoy what you do.’

  He lies down and drapes a beach towel across his eyes and I realise I was being unfair earlier, labelling him a business-type bore. He’s just as nice as he was last night. I lean back on my elbows and look up at the sky. It’s only one o’clock in the afternoon and yet there’s the silvery-white shape of the half-moon stark against a blaze of blue, rudely reminding me that my days are numbered. The audacity of the moon!