Mum looks up at me. ‘What?’
‘Dad found him. If he hadn’t, Jube would’ve died.’
‘Oh.’ Mum blinks. ‘That’s good. That’s great.’
‘Is that the black dog?’ Taylor asks. She’s spent the day at the beach with Adam. They’d gone hiking around the bay. She smells like salt and keeps leaving little piles of sand everywhere.
I try not to think about her sandy feet in our shared bed. ‘Yeah.’
‘I’m glad he’s okay.’ Taylor stretches. ‘Now, stop talking. High Life’s on.’
‘Stell?’ Mum says, still looking at the television.
‘What?’
‘How’d you go? With the letters?’
‘Fine.’
She glances at me then. I wonder if she can tell that, instead of opening them, I’ve been running my fingers over them, guessing at the unknown shapes and words inside. I wonder if she’s gone looking for evidence of torn envelopes. It’s stopped raining. We look at each other and then there’s a cough from outside, the sound of the hammock creaking as Dad lies down in it.
‘I might go talk to your dad,’ Mum says, standing up and heading outside to where Dad’s stretched out on his hammock. He’d strung it up under our clothesline because that was the only place with space. It’s pretty hot out there, but if you hang a sheet over the top of the clothesline, it looks kind of nice. Not that I’ve ever touched it – there’s no way to tell what sort of germs could be festering in it.
I lean against the doorway, watching my parents outside. Taylor glances at me and then back at the television. I strain to hear what Mum’s saying to Dad, but I can’t. After a moment, she climbs into the hammock next to him and I wonder what it means.
***
‘This is pathetic,’ says Lara, sitting in the water up to her waist. She flicks at the surface of it and grimaces. She’s come back from her stay at her family’s caravan in the holiday park with sunburnt cheeks and shoulders. It’s the evening of Clem’s birthday and his parents had said they’d do a special dinner for us, but then they’d both forgotten and we’d ended up at Lara’s.
‘He’s – how does one say it in Stella-speak? – processing. And the pool’s not pathetic. It’s relaxing,’ Zin says. ‘You’re so negative.’
Clem’s up one of the trees at the back of Lara’s garden and doesn’t comment. He’d taken one look at the plastic pool, which was way too small for him, and headed to the back of the yard. He’s in a pair of board shorts and has the belt I made him tied around his head.
‘Can you fix him?’ Lara asks me in a low voice, nodding at the tree.
‘Fix him?’
‘Yeah. Just do your usual Stella thing and fix him.’
I raise an eyebrow.
‘Anyway, I’m seventeen,’ says Lara in a louder voice. ‘I just don’t get why Mum thought a blow-up pool was an appropriate early Christmas present.’
‘It’s a big one,’ Zin says helpfully. ‘And it’s super hot today.’
‘Still.’
‘It’s nice to have a break from all the rain,’ Zin says. ‘Don’t you reckon? They’re going on about the river flooding if it keeps raining like it has been.’
‘The river won’t flood,’ Lara mutters.
‘It has before.’
‘It won’t again.’
I close my eyes and tip my head back against the inflated edge. I can feel Zin’s feet against my shins and a few rocks beneath the plastic bottom of the pool.
I used to daydream about my friends – about what our next big adventure would be; about what they were getting up to. When I was with them, I felt peaceful, like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
Right now, I keep thinking about Fairyland. I’m wondering if Cora’s keeping her kids cool enough in the heat. I’m wondering if Richard’s been given any more money for Jube and whether Matthew’s calmed down about the whole snake-bite thing. I wonder how Jube’s going and whether everyone’s in the pool. I’m thinking about them all so fiercely that I don’t notice Zin and Lara talking to me until Lara pokes me in the head.
‘We know about Fairyland.’
‘I didn’t tell them!’ Clem calls from the tree.
‘Heard it from some Ascott kids,’ Lara says. ‘Some guy called Adam’s been telling people.’
‘He what?’
‘Anyway – Clem explained it to me. Sort of. I’m not mad you didn’t tell me.’
‘I’m a bit mad,’ says Zin. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘Because it’s embarrassing.’
‘But we’re your best friends,’ Zin says.
‘Sorry. It’s just all so messed up. Can we talk about something else?’ I glance up towards Clem, who’s climbed higher into the tree.
‘It must be depressing,’ Lara says. ‘Living there. It’s like a homeless shelter.’
‘Not everyone there’s totally broke,’ I snap. ‘And so what if they are? Some people like the village feel, you know? It’s got a real sense of community.’
‘And drug busts,’ Lara mutters. ‘And violence.’
‘So? What about the guy around the corner from Clem’s who killed his wife? What about your uncle!’
‘Don’t bring my uncle into this, Stella. He made a mistake.’
‘I’m just saying, some people at Fairyland have problems, same as anywhere. But most people there are great. They’re doing their best.’
‘I didn’t say anything,’ Zin says, glancing at Lara. ‘I’m sure Fairyland’s great.’
‘I didn’t think so at first, okay? I thought I was going to die if I moved there. I was so freaked, I couldn’t even bring myself to say anything to you. But I was wrong. And so are you. The people there are . . . they’re good people.’
‘We never said they weren’t,’ Lara says, sounding tired.
‘What are our plans for Christmas Day?’ Zin asks as Clem jumps down from the tree.
Clem, Lara and Zin all have huge family Christmases where their houses end up festooned with wrapping paper and chocolates and puddings. They all invite me to Christmas lunch.
‘I’ve told you, I’ve got plans,’ I say.
‘But we’ll still meet at night-time, yeah? The four of us? Christmas movies and leftovers?’ Clem says, and there’s a note of panic in his voice.
Lara and Zin are quiet.
‘Right, well. I’m heading off,’ says Clem. ‘Thanks for the cake and presents and stuff.’
‘Where?’ Lara asks, but Clem doesn’t answer.
‘Stella!’ she mouths, making waving motions. ‘Go!’
So I climb out of the pool, pull on my shorts and t-shirt, grab my satchel and follow Clem out into the street.
‘Where’re you going?’ I ask.
‘Home.’
‘Alright. I’m staying over.’
He glances at me. ‘You are?’
‘You’re too pathetic to leave alone.’