I Have a Bed Made of Buttermilk Pancakes Read online

  These were the instructions:

  1. Wear sunglasses all day. From now on. Quickly, go and get the sunglasses and put them on.

  2. Walk backwards but every few steps skip a bit and say ‘oh!’, as if you’ve just remembered something.

  3. Phone up a Tae Kwon Do class and sign yourself in, then phone again ten minutes later, and cancel.

  4. Peel fifteen potatoes and sticky-tape the peelings back together.

  NOW YOU HAVE TO WAIT SIX WEEKS PLUS ONE DAY BEFORE YOU CAN TURN ANOTHER PAGE! (You’d better put the date in your calendar.)

  These were challenging things, but Listen did them all. Even when she and Marbie went out with Marbie’s sister Fancy, for a coffee in Castle Hill. It was difficult wearing sunglasses inside and walking backwards, but she explained that her theory about the flu was to disguise herself, and run away from it, so it wouldn’t find her. Marbie and Fancy were impressed.

  And the next morning, she checked in the hall closet, but the vacuum cleaner was still crushed, as she had known it would be.

  On Saturday morning, Marbie explained to Vernon, through the bathroom door, that she was going to her parents’ place to look through decorating magazines.

  ‘Hey, sporty girl!’ said Vernon, coming out of the shower and seeing Marbie dressed up in her sports gear. He pretended to box with her a bit, but Marbie did not have the time.

  On the way to her parents’ place, she stopped and bought a tin of tennis balls. She stayed at her parents’ place for ten minutes, and then she drove to the tennis courts. There was a new tennis racquet hidden in the boot of her car.

  The air was still under a low hazy sky, except for vague swarmings of pollen and speck-shaped black bugs. Crossing to the tennis courts, Marbie felt the dry grass crunch beneath her sneakers, and then, in the distance, she saw the aeronautical engineer. He was already at the court, unzipping his tennis racquet and staring at her. He was dressed all in white, including little white ankle socks and bright white sandshoes. The only other colour on him was the black of the hair on his legs and arms. The hair seemed very thick.

  She herself was wearing the following: black, shiny lycra shorts; lemon-yellow T-shirt with a faded blue announcement: BEAR HUGGER; pink terry-towelling elastic in her ponytailed hair; and Reeboks.

  From a distance, the aeronautical engineer looked troubled and plump.

  As soon as she arrived, he said: ‘Here, I’ll spin my racquet.’

  ‘Ah!’ Why does he want to spin his racquet?!

  The aeronautical engineer spun the racquet, asking: ‘Rough or smooth?’

  ‘Rough!’ panicked Marbie. She waved at a swarm of bugs, and sneezed: once, twice, three, four, five.

  ‘Phew!’ he said (about her sneezes) and the racquet hit the court with a low-level thud. ‘Rough it is!’

  Marbie served into the net, twice, clicked her ticklish throat, annoyed, and wanted to blow her nose. The bugs touched her tongue and the edges of her nose, and she scratched at her ears and her knees.

  ‘Love-fifteen,’ called the aeronautical engineer, helpfully.

  ‘Thank you.’ She stamped one foot at the itches and the bugs, and agreed: ‘Me too! Love it too!’

  The aeronautical engineer said: ‘What?’ and then he laughed once: ‘Ha’.

  Arriving home, sweaty, Marbie explained to Vernon that she had decided to go for a run around the oval after she visited her parents, and that was why she was sweaty, and so now she would just have a shower.

  ‘Listen’s gone shopping,’ Vernon said, following her down the hallway, ‘but she wanted me to tell you something as soon as you got home. She wanted me to tell you her idea. Okay, let me remember the idea. The idea is this: she thinks we should have Cassie’s birthday party here as our house-warming party. She tells me it’s Cassie’s birthday in a few weeks.’

  ‘Does she tell you that, does she?’ said Marbie, taking off her sweaty sports clothes and stepping into the shower. ‘I think it’s a lovely idea, and I think Listen is beautiful, and I think that you are too.’ The last part she gurgled through the shower water.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Vernon, pulling his shirt over his head, unbuttoning his jeans, pressing them down his legs and over his feet, and stepping into the shower with her. Marbie stared at the fine, light brown hair on his chest, and at his lovely muscular shoulders and arms. He was well-built because he was always lifting boxes of bananas. As he kissed her in a warm, wet, shower-water way, Marbie began to draft a Letter to the Editor:

  Sir:

  I am writing to inform you that I have, just this morning, had an affair with an aeronautical engineer.

  I have written to you before to discuss my good fortune in having met the Taylor siblings, and to describe what an excellent lover Vernon Taylor is. I can verify now, as we speak, that Vernon really is a sensational – really, a remarkable –

  Anyway, the affair took the form of a game of tennis: 6-0, 6-1. I lost. And my single win in the second set was a result of his double faults. ‘Blast!’ said the aeronautical engineer, after every single double fault, and wiped a little sweat from his sideburns.

  I was appalled to be having an affair with such a man. Actually, I got quite bored, which is why I am mystified by what happened next.

  What happened next was that I arranged to have a second affair! I arranged it for next Wednesday, during my lunch hour, at the Sydney University courts. Let me just emphasise though, because this is what is so mystifying, this is really ironic – let me just emphasise that Vernon is really an excellent –

  The following week, Listen joined a new group, Angela Saville’s group, and she sat with them on Monday and Tuesday and asked questions. For instance, she asked everyone what they did on the weekend, whether they watched the Valerio movie last night, whether they liked it, what subject they had after lunch, whether they liked that subject, and so on. She listened to their answers.

  On Wednesday, she ordered her lunch from the tuckshop, and it arrived in the basket at the front of the room, in a brown paper bag with her name: LISTEN TAYLOR. GRADE 7A. It was a Cornish pastie, hot and damp, plus one can of Sprite, plus one Freddo Frog.

  The paper bag was fat and lumpy, and she held it by the ruffled bend at the top, along past the Year 7 balcony bars. The lawn was set with its garlands of girls.

  She saw Angela Saville’s group and she walked the grass carefully toward them, ready with a smile. The circle felt funny. Angela and the others saw her coming; their heads bobbed down and their eyes giggled slyly at each other.

  Listen, from not far away, saw that the circle was perfect, and tight. She stopped. She was not going over.

  She stood on the lawn among the garlands of girls, and she felt, for a moment, like a fading Christmas tree, awkward and bulky in the centre of a room, when Christmas had finished weeks before. She was foolishly conspicuous and perfectly invisible, both at once. Coloured lights, she thought, were blinking down her legs and hanging loose across her waist. Her arms were branches slung with rusting baubles, and strings of stale popcorn dangled from her hair.

  Sir:

  I am writing to provide you with an update.

  Today is Wednesday, and, as planned, I had a second affair with the aeronautical engineer.

  Three things occurred which were of note.

  First, when he arrived at the University tennis courts, A.E. mentioned that he has read Madame Bovary, in the original French. ‘Have you?’ I said. ‘Yes,’ he replied.

  Second, halfway through the first game, A.E. stopped and took off his right tennis shoe and sock, to check on a blister. The blister was so bad that he had to PEEL the sock away from his foot. It was disgusting. I noted that his toes are very hairy.

  Third, and perhaps most importantly, after he had applied a bandaid to the blister, and replaced his sock and shoe (and tied the shoelace), he stood up, turned to me, and said: ‘You want to come to my place, and, you know, fool around?’

  Fool around!

  I said: �
��I have a boyfriend!’

  He shrugged. I’m not sure whether his shrug meant ‘so what?’ about my having a boyfriend, or ‘oh well’ about my not wanting to fool around.

  Whatever it was, we played a set of tennis, I lost every point, and then, of course, I went back to work.

  Yours sincerely,

  Marbie Zing

  The following week, Listen was a sentry.

  In most of her subjects, she had found places to sit away from Donna and the others, although in Science, she was not allowed to change benches. So she still had to sit with Donna and Caro, and when they did experiments together they were very polite.

  At lunchtimes she hovered around the tuckshop door, like a sentry. She stood on the tips of her toes, scanning the crowd at the counter. Where are my friends? her facial expressions said. Why so slow? She had to open up her Vegemite sandwich and eat it, all the time watching and guarding the door. Then, finally, when she had finished her sandwich, she gave up and went to the library until the end-of-lunch bell rang.

  Sir:

  Can I be honest? I am really sick of tennis. I’m so bad at it. What do you think we should do? Should we try squash instead or should we diversify? Should our next affair be a lateral move into a different sphere? Like a dinner or trip to the zoo? Only I hate the zoo. There are so many animals.

  We have had two more affairs since I last wrote, both of them tennis and always the same result: 6-0, 6-0.

  You remember I told you that my aeronautical engineer suggested that we ‘fool around’? And you remember how I gallantly refused?

  Well, since my refusal, there has not been even a murmur in that direction. I keep planning the tone of my rejection (reproving; annoyed yet kindly; exasperated but faintly amused; and so on), but it is all for nothing.

  Why hasn’t he asked me again? Do you think he’s lost interest? And in that case, why does he keep asking me to tennis? It can’t be for the game.

  Yours sincerely,

  Marbie Zing

  ‘Do you think we should be worrying that Listen isn’t talking about school anymore?’

  ‘No,’ said Vernon, serving up the soup. ‘She’s always been quiet.’

  ‘She’s not quiet around me,’ said Marbie. ‘Not usually. Or around my family.’

  ‘Well, maybe tomorrow when the family’s all here for Cassie’s birthday, she’ll talk again,’ suggested Vernon.

  ‘Remember her first week of Year 7, she didn’t stop talking?’ said Marbie, nostalgically. ‘Remember? She told us about the Geography teacher who ran around the room pretending to be the monsoon wind, and about the Science teacher who said they had to dissect frogs, and how Caro said she would get a note from her mum saying she didn’t have to and the teacher said, “Notes don’t count!” and Caro said, “Notes always count,” and the teacher said, “Have you –” ’

  At that moment, Listen walked in and sat at the table, saying, ‘Cool. Pumpkin soup.’

  ‘Have you read Madame Bovary?’ Marbie said to Vernon, smoothly. ‘In the original French?’

  ‘No,’ replied Vernon. ‘I’ve only seen the movie.’

  ‘I’ve read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,’ offered Listen. ‘But I haven’t seen the movie.’

  ‘You haven’t seen the movie!’ Vernon and Marbie cried in unison, and Vernon rain danced around the table. The telephone rang and he incorporated the answering-of-the-phone into the dance, so that his head was upside down for most of the conversation.

  ‘Yes . . . yes, there’s a Listen Taylor here, let me – . . . okay, sure, you’re from where? . . . From the Kenthurst School of – really! Uh-huh. Uh-huh. She did? Well no, I didn’t . . . I mean, of course! Well, I’m sorry about that. You know what? I’m going to call you back in five minutes. Okay. Can I get your number? Okay, okay, I’ll call you back.’

  He wrote a number on the back of the electricity bill, which he swiped from under a magnet on the fridge, and then he turned his head right way up to hang up the phone.

  ‘Hey, Listen,’ he said, sitting back at the table. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you wanted to do Tae Kwon Do?’

  ‘Because I don’t want to do Tae Kwon Do.’ Listen took a bite of her bread roll.

  ‘Well, the guy on the phone says a few weeks ago you joined his class, and then you phoned back ten minutes later and cancelled.’

  They both looked at Listen. She dipped her roll into her pumpkin soup, studying the soup to do this, and then she looked up from under her fringe, saw they were still staring and said, ‘What?’

  ‘Could it have been a different Listen Taylor?’ suggested Marbie. ‘There would be a lot of them around. Listen is a very common name.’

  ‘Okay, shut up. You can talk. Marbie Zing. I wanted to do Tae Kwon Do but then I didn’t want to. I changed my mind.’

  ‘In the space of ten minutes!’

  ‘I decided it would be too expensive. Hey, should I sand the kitchen cupboards tonight, ready to repaint?’

  ‘Don’t try to change the subject. Vernon, call the man back and enrol Listen in his class.’

  ‘What do you think I’m doing?’ Vernon was reaching for the phone.

  ‘Oh no, that’s okay. I changed my mind. I seriously don’t want to do Tae Kwon Do, guys. Do we have enough sandpaper?’

  ‘Because it’s too expensive!’ cried Marbie. ‘Listen! You must do anything you want. You should be learning Portuguese and auto-mechanics and candle-making, and definitely Tae Kwon Do! Fancy learned the drums when she was your age and she is now a more interesting person than I am! Because I don’t play the drums! Money is no object where interest is concerned! Would you like to play the drums?’

  ‘Well, but I’m not really interested –’

  ‘Shush, Listen, it’s ringing.’

  ‘You don’t need to turn upside down again, Vernon.’

  ‘Is this the Kenthurst School of Tae Kwon Do? Yes, we just spoke. I have a new member for you! I know. I know! I know.’

  Sir:

  It’s after midnight and I’m lying awake staring at Vernon, and thinking of how lovely he is to his little sister, and how I have never even seen the movie of Madame Bovary, let alone read the book.

  And also, you know, of course, that I don’t mean a word. I have had no affair. I have only played tennis with a stranger, four or five times. A perfectly pointless stranger. And he did ask me to fool around but maybe he was talking about PlayStation.

  The only reason I have called it an ‘affair’ is that I have not told Vernon about the tennis. But, paradoxically, the only reason I have NOT told Vernon is that it is NOT an affair. It is nothing, nothing at all, and maybe I’m just looking for intrigue.

  Tomorrow, Vernon and Listen will spend all day helping to prepare for Cassie’s party. And I know Vernon thinks our Family Secret is dangerous and wrong, but he still accepts that it’s part of my life, and he comes along every Friday night, and he’s much more punctual than I am.

  And guess what, he just woke up and asked if I’m okay and can I sleep? Should we go for a swim at Bellbird High? he said, even though he has a cold and an early start.

  I told him I was writing a letter to the editor, and he kissed my elbow.

  I would never do anything with the A.E. except tennis, you know.

  I have decided not to see him again.

  Yours sincerely,

  Marbie Zing

  CASSIE’S BIRTHDAY PARTY

  Neighbourhood children were playing a skipping game on the street. Occasionally, the game would pause as the sun-heated tarmac became too much for one or another of the children. That child would shout and hop about until another child turned a garden hose onto the burning soles. Then the game would continue.

  Across the street, Marbie said, ‘Hmm’, Vernon took a sip of beer, and Listen shook her head and murmured, ‘Why no shoes?’ They were sitting in a row on their front porch, waiting for their party guests.

  ‘If this front driveway belonged to us,’ said Marbie, ‘instead
of to the entire apartment block, what do you think we would do with it?’

  ‘I would put in a duck pond,’ said Listen. ‘And gentle, grazing horses.’

  ‘I’d build a university,’ Vernon said. ‘Educate the youth around these parts.’

  Two cars of party guests arrived, and the neighbourhood children had to clear off the road.

  ‘Look at that!’ cried Grandma Zing, bustling out of the first car. ‘We all arrived at once!’

  Grandpa Zing got out more slowly, and saluted the hosts one at a time.

  ‘We’re HERE!’ cried Fancy, climbing out of the second car. ‘And we’ve got the birthday girl!’

  The birthday girl opened the back door, twisting her mouth around to make her face casual. She stepped out and brushed down her dress.

  ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CASSIE!’ Vernon, Marbie, Listen and Grandma Zing shouted, and Cassie looked up with a shining smile.

  ‘I’ve got Lucinda too,’ she remembered, and everyone said, ‘Oh!’, as another little girl emerged from the car.

  ‘What’s Radcliffe doing?’ said Grandma Zing, squinting through the window of Fancy’s car. ‘Why isn’t he getting out? Radcliffe! What are you doing in there?’

  ‘He’s just trying to figure out the air-conditioning,’ explained Fancy. ‘He couldn’t get it to work.’

  ‘Fancy, darling, tonight’s good, between seven and ten. I’ve got the new code; it’s in the mint.’

  ‘All right,’ agreed Fancy, but her mother had already turned away, and was rapping on the window with her keys, calling, ‘Too late, Radcliffe! You’re here now!’

  In the living room, everyone exclaimed about the multicoloured beanbags and the table covered with treats. There were banana fritters, chocolate bananas, banana tarts, banana bread, a pavlova covered in bananas, and jugs of banana smoothie. Also, there was a large bowl of punch in which bananas and strawberries floated.