The Words in My Hands, page 14
She’s peppering me with questions—I catch the words poisonous and book—but I can’t look at her and cook at the same time, so I pretend I don’t notice she’s talking.
Mum stares dubiously at her breakfast while I tuck in. The taste is disappointing after Robbie’s food; the butter, salt, and honey make a huge difference. But still, the potato is hearty and floury, and the milk thistle slippery and smooth, the perfect balance despite the bitterness.
“They won’t kill you, Mum,” I say. “I tasted them both last night and I’m still here.” Well, that’s a lie—I only tasted the milkweed, but I trust Robbie completely.
Eventually she takes a bite and chews slowly. Mum never complains, but she must be as hungry as I am.
“Do you think there are more of these by the creek?” she asks eventually.
I shrug.
“What are you growing?” she asks, gesturing toward my seedlings.
The rain has eased, so I take her over to them and point. “These ones are cauliflower and broccoli; this row is arugula. There should be carrots and tomatoes in these gaps. They haven’t come up yet.”
“You know we can only take a case on the train, Piper. You won’t be able to bring these.” She checks her wristlet. “You need to get to school.”
I exhale heavily. “What’s the point? You’re dragging me to a new school in Sydney. Let me off until then.”
“Piper, I logged you as sick last week, to let you get used to the idea. But you need to go back now.”
I scowl darkly, any semblance of positivity I was feeling now well and truly gone. I go inside to change into my uniform, but it’s filthy.
“I need you to wash this,” I say as I unlock my bike.
She looks up from her notes. “That’s something you can do yourself, Piper. I’m busy.”
“With what? You don’t have a job yet.” I know I’m being a brat, but I don’t care.
“Any minute the courier will arrive to pick up our boxes. And I’m making a testing plan for the recon. I have an idea for a set of spesive tests that should highlight exactly where the problem is.”
“What kind of tests?”
“Inexpensive. Cheap. Organicore won’t be able to turn down this proposal. I’m going to convince them to put me back on research. I can probably oversee that and manage the railway project.” Mum checks the time on her wristlet again. “Piper—school!”
I sigh and get on my bike. The compost needs turning this afternoon, but I can’t face burning my hands again. The guesthouse looks barren and bleak with just our cases and furniture, but luckily I convinced Mum we’d need to keep out the pot and serving spoon for the rocket stove, in case I find more potatoes.
I grab the serving spoon and my pillowcase and head onto the street. I’m using them to scoop handfuls of compost into a new pile when the older guy who walks slowly up and down our street stops in front of me, his eyeballs working furiously. His mouth is going too, but my hearing aids are on my desk next to my bed.
I waggle my forefinger, the sign for what, even though I know he won’t understand me.
Faintly disapproving, he speaks again, but his mouth barely opens. The possibilities include It’s a beautiful day—but he doesn’t have that nice-weather-appreciating air about him—or perhaps Get that pile of weeds off my street. Maybe?
I point to my ears, and make a gesture with my hands that indicate that they’re kaput.
He gives a slight nod. His eyes are puffy, and thick red veins spider across his face. His belly protrudes over his jeans and his hair is white-gray where he’s not bald. He takes his slow, resigned walk off to a house nearly opposite mine.
Some minutes later the man waddles back, holding a garden fork. Wow! To show him how handy the fork is, I take it and start hauling weeds with it right away, but he frowns and shakes his head. Then he grabs the fork from me, rolls up his sleeves, and turns the pile for me. Only he’s not getting all the outside bits into the middle, and I don’t think Robbie would be entirely happy. I grab the misplaced weeds using my pillowcase as a glove and toss them onto the top of the pile. How did this happen? It’s … nice?
Now we need water. I head back down my driveway, and using Mum’s wine glass, I scoop some from my barrel into our cooking pot. From the bay window, Taggert watches. I wave, and he waves back.
When I return to water the compost pile, the man is still standing beside it, watching me and nodding. A shadow falls over us and there’s Marley! He’s the perfect mix of gorgeous and industrial cool, with his re-made bike and enormous leather saddlebags and hair hanging over his eyes.
Marley gives me the usual kiss on the cheek and I store up the smell of him, and the scratch of his stubble, to remember later. I introduce him to the man, and it’s a little awkward since I don’t know his name. Marley holds out his hand and they shake, exchanging a few words. “Halim,” Marley fingerspells for my benefit.
“Piper,” I fingerspell back, and Marley interprets my name for Halim.
“Robbie will be impressed,” Marley signs, surveying our work. I presume he’s using his voice at the same time, because Halim seems to understand him. Marley takes a photo with his wristlet, and Archie and Taggert emerge from my house.
Archie speaks to me, but I don’t catch a word—his mustache and beard obscure his mouth completely.
Marley interprets. “He said the little boy wants to watch. Would it be okay to keep an eye on him?”
I’m about to say sure to Archie, but I stop myself. I’ve spent all afternoon miming to Halim. If he knew I could just speak normally, would he think I was ridiculous for having put him through such a convoluted method of communication?
Instead I nod and sign, “All right,” which Marley voices for me, and I wonder if Archie thinks this is bizarre, given that last time I saw him I spoke with my voice. But he’s busy kneeling in front of Taggert, giving him instructions, I think. If he’s weirded out by the communication, it doesn’t show on his face.
He goes back inside and Taggert stands close to me, holding the side of my jeans with one hand. I do another round of introductions for his benefit. We finish off the compost pile as a group, which is immensely satisfying, and just as we put the last bits on, Marley takes a photo of us all. Then Taggert takes one of me and Marley, and now it’s my favorite photo ever.
Halim returns his fork to his house and lumbers back. Then Taggert wants to go down the driveway of our place. Marley and I follow, Halim tagging behind us.
Proudly, Taggert shows Marley and Halim the rocket stove and pulls at my sleeve, so I indulge him by setting a fire. We can all drink tea; I have some dandelion leaves to try, which I spotted on my way to school this morning with help from the plant identification book. I appear to have survived the taste test I did at the time.
Mum comes out of the guesthouse, a little startled to find company. I go to introduce her, but the words freeze in my throat. Do I speak or sign? If I thought it was awkward with Archie, that’s nothing compared to this! Mum doesn’t even know I can sign! I can’t sign in front of her, but what will Marley think if I speak instead? Will he be disappointed in me? Why did I let Taggert lead us down here? We should have stayed on the street!
I hesitate so long that we’re all left just staring at each other. Marley does a double take, and I see recognition flash over his face.
Yes, Marley, my mum is Irene McBride.
But Marley collects himself quickly and breaks the ice by leaning across, holding out his hand to Mum, and saying, “Marley.”
Mum says, “Irene.”
I clasp my fists together, making the sign for friends, which I hope to Mum just looks like a random gesture, and half-croak, half-whisper, “My friends.”
If anyone notices my bizarre behavior, they don’t let on. Mum goes back inside and she still doesn’t know I can sign, and Halim still doesn’t know I can speak properly, and somehow I’ve got myself mixed up in a twisted web of lies.
I don’t know which is the proper me.
Taggert reaches for another twig to add to the fire and I show him to count to 10 before he pushes it in. I don’t want him burning up all our fuel at once.
I break the dandelion leaves into the water. They’re limp and soggy after sitting in my pocket all day.
I pour a cup of tea for Mum and carry it inside. I hope there’s some nutrition in this, because I’m definitely not into the bitter flavor. When I return, Marley catches my eye, and signs something I don’t recognize. His hands are spread wide, as if holding an invisible beach ball, which he rocks up and down twice. His mouth gives no clue. He seems to be saying bah bah or maybe pa-pa.
“What?” I sign. Mum would tell me to ask for clarification in a more polite way, but I’ve seen both Marley and Robbie sign this and they never seem to think it’s rude.
“I would never have guessed Irene McBride is your mum! But now I do see the resemblance.” Marley gestures to my face. I thought he might make the association between her and me being a recon girl, but he doesn’t mention it.
I hand some tea to Halim and Marley. “What was that sign you did before?” I ask Marley, miming holding a beach ball.
He repeats the sign, and again his mouth moves: pa-pa. “It means strange or weird,” he tells me. “But in Auslan that sign has its own lip pattern. Pa-pa.”
“Is it papa or baba?” I fingerspell.
Marley laughs. “No one can ever agree. And it doesn’t matter, because we don’t say it out loud anyway. Just make the shape with your mouth.”
I copy the sign. “Pa-pa,” I mouth, rocking my invisible beach ball.
Halim does the sign too, and I gather he says something because Marley turns toward him. His lips barely move, and I raise my eyebrows at Marley, who obligingly interprets: “He thought it was pa-pa too, when he realized Irene McBride was living right across the road.”
I shrug. I guess to me, my mum will never be anything other than a normal person.
Once the tea is gone, Marley says he has to get back to the shop. He gives me a sweet kiss on the cheek which he holds just a fraction longer than necessary, and heads off, Halim plodding in his wake. Marley still doesn’t seem horrified that I am practically the daughter of his nemesis, Organicore. Thank god.
Mum waves her hand in front of my face. “Ten minutes to go.”
No!
It’s D-day. Well, D-night. Train to Sydney. I can’t believe how quickly the days have disappeared. Where’s my plan? I’m really going. The guesthouse is stark and unloved, beds stripped bare. I didn’t even say goodbye to Taylor—just received a handful of messages as she had “too much going on” to actually find the time to meet up.
I pull my case up to the door and test dragging it while balancing my recon box of seedlings in my other hand. There are little pairs of heart-shaped leaves sprouted everywhere and they are so cute, but Mum was right. This is not practical.
What should I do with them? I can’t just leave them to die. On a whim, I hurry over the road and set them down on Halim’s front veranda. A thank-you for the fork, and the help. My compost pile sits abandoned on the island in the middle of the road. Maybe Halim will make use of it?
When I get back, Mum’s already in the driveway, my case and backpack next to hers, tapping her feet impatiently. I haven’t seen her so bright or vibrant in months.
“Think of it as an adventure, Piper,” she says, squeezing my arm. I hoist my backpack on and swallow hard to suppress my tears.
We catch the tram to Southern Cross Station, and I can’t believe the station is jam-packed given the price of the tickets, but I guess flying is no longer an option and people will always need to travel. It’s spooky here at night with almost all the lights out despite it being thick with travelers.
I take a last toilet trip, leaving Mum standing on the platform waiting for the boarding call, guarding our cases. As soon as I turn away from her, the tears start rolling down my cheeks.
I went to the bike shop yesterday to say goodbye to Marley and return the bike he made me. There didn’t seem to be any point in trying to kiss him. His energy was flat, kind of distant. His way of protecting himself from my departure?
I sit in the toilet cubicle, filled with regret. I should have kissed him. All my nerves seem so silly now. What do nerves matter when I probably won’t see him again in … forever? I hunch forward and hug my backpack. When those train doors close, they’ll be closing on everything that matters. Everything.
I realize what I have to do. Marley’s right. I’m 16. I’m old enough to be independent.
Grow up, Piper.
You can’t rely on your mum forever.
Let Mum have the adventure she needs, and I will have the life I need—even if it doesn’t have Mum in it.
I should have made this plan while there was still time. I think of Mum standing on the platform, waiting for me. It’s five minutes until the train goes. She’ll be antsy now, worried about me taking so long.
I could go back, tell her I’m not coming, kiss her farewell, and wave her off. But I know Mum. There’d be a huge scene. There’s not a single chance in hell she’ll accept my decision and calmly roll off toward Sydney.
I know it’s spineless of me. But my feet make their decision of their own accord. I leave the toilet and push and shove my way through the crowds until I find myself on Spencer Street, the station behind me. Mum will have to start her new life without me.
As I walk, instead of feeling light and free with my escape, all I can think of is Mum.
Go back! Piper, go back!
But it’s too late. The train will have gone now. How could I do this to Mum? I am sick with guilt, but even so, my feet don’t turn around to retrace my steps. My wristlet vibrates. And again. Without looking, I reach down and turn it off. I can’t deal with this right now.
I walk and walk, my hips finding a comforting, rocking rhythm. By the time I arrive home, an hour or two later, I am both calm and numb.
I don’t have a key to the guesthouse, and Mum took my spare key to the car too. I look at the window but can’t bring myself to break it. No way could I afford to repair the glass. I wonder if Marley knows how to pick a lock. Or if Mum will send the key down from Sydney.
I fetch my seedlings back from Halim’s veranda and give them a sprinkling of water from the BioSpore barrel. The windows are dark in the house. I slump down next to the rocket stove. What now?
It’s way past dinnertime and I’m starving. Mum and I were going to eat our recon on the train. At least she’ll get two boxes to herself now. Where should I go? Where will I sleep?
Is it too presumptuous to visit Marley and Robbie? Marley visited me, didn’t he? He never gave any reason or excuse for it. I’ll just tell him the truth—that I completely failed at making a plan, but I’ve finally figured out it’s time for me to start living independently. And then I’ll stand on tippy-toes and kiss him, because what do I have to lose?
Why am I so scared of letting him know how I really feel?
I grab my backpack and walk along Westgarth Street until I hit the Merri Creek. I pass another of my compost posters, taped to a power pole, but tonight I’m too distracted to stop and admire it. I wish I had my bike.
On reflex, I check my wristlet. It’s weird to see the screen black. I know Mum will be trying to video me and I still can’t face dealing with her, so I force my hand down and my eyes back to the street.
I trudge along Merri Creek, the air biting my cheeks, my stomach growling with hunger. Maybe Marley will give me a late dinner. It takes an hour, maybe more, to walk to his place. When I turn into his street I see him right away, at the front gate, his bike leaning against the wall. He’s working the key in the lock. Yes!
I’m about to run to him—I’ll throw myself into his arms!—when I realize he’s not alone. There’s someone else there, a vague shape in the darkness. I stop short and squint, straining to see clearly. Long layered skirts come into focus, and cascades of honey hair. Kelsey.
She reaches a slender arm to his neck and offers him her lips. There’s a pause, and then Marley leans into them, and it’s no chaste peck like he’s given me. Their lips slide against each other. Marley abandons the lock and wraps both arms around her waist, pulling her tight against his body. Stunned, I stare, motionless.
Eventually, eventually, their kiss ends and Marley pulls Kelsey through the gate. As she disappears, her head tips back—she’s laughing.
I sink down, my backpack suddenly unbearably heavy, my feet aching, nausea rising even though I haven’t eaten in forever. Now what? Where will I sleep? I think of the platform at Sprouted Earth, but I can’t face the possibility of rejection.
I don’t care about food anymore. I just need to rest, and I don’t have the energy to walk all the way home again. The cold from the concrete path rises up into my bones. What did they sleep on in the old days, before mattresses? Straw, I think?
I force myself off the concrete and retreat to the creek, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. My hands shaking, I rummage in my backpack and retrieve my utility knife. It takes a while, but eventually I have an armload of cut grass to use instead of straw. I make myself a nest a little way from the path, half under a bush, where I hope no one, namely Marley and Kelsey, will see me if out for an early-morning ride.
I curl into a ball, tight against the cold, and try to sleep. But the kiss replays itself in my mind, over and over: the soft flick of Kelsey’s tongue—which I didn’t actually see; the curve of Marley’s neck as he brought himself close to her, which I did see.
He didn’t waste any time, did he? Or were he and Kelsey seeing each other all along? But he told me he didn’t have a girlfriend. Did he lie? Or is this something new?
