Thunder cracked open the sky, but only a few fat drops of rain splattered on the tin roof. PJ woke Ada. He always did when there was a storm. He climbed onto her bed and shivered, pawing her and shuffling closer every time the thunder rolled. Ada waited for the floods of rain, but they never came. The sky withheld. She could feel it—as if the sky folded its great arms across itself. Only that sliver of breeze escaped and swayed the cardboard fish she had hung in the window. Had the terrible doom already happened? Was the affair, as she now called it, since that was what Tilly had called it, the terrible doom? Since the mechanics of sex had been explained to her, Ada had been filled with dread for her future with boys, and now that sex had been presented, by Mrs Layton and her father, with a close-up view, Ada thought of it as an urgent and frightening activity. Ada felt about it as she would feel about having an organ removed in an operation in a hospital.
But it was how you had babies.
Did that mean Mrs Layton would now have a baby? Ada would have to ask Tilly this, even though Tilly had told her not to think about it anymore. Because the baby would be related to Ada, and Ada had always wanted a younger sister. With these thoughts, Ada drifted back to sleep.
When she woke in the morning, and while Tilly and the others still slept, she ran outside with PJ and checked for signs of life in the cherry tree after the few fat drops of rain and the new coolness in the air. The sky was calm and grey, and the air smelt of grass and peppercorn. PJ almost galloped with relief. She broke a twig on the tree, but it still snapped, as brittle and grey as before. Not one blade of grass had sprung back up. Even so, there was a new feeling in the air, and it would take time for the world to know it and respond. Ada stared straight back at the dim blaze of sun to let it know that it hadn’t overpowered everything. Then she went to the coop to see if George and the chickens were pleased and would share her satisfaction. Esmeralda was in the nesting box. Peachie and Bolshie bustled at her legs and the Famous Friends and the Outsider, skittish as always, dashed straight past her. She gave them some clean water and threw some seed. Then she crept under the trampoline and lay still, closing her eyes and letting the cool seep into her so that she could keep it.
A fresh, overturned, beginning feeling filled the house and her mother was happy. Their father even took them all to dinner at the Railway Hotel. Martha wore the Arnold Buch dress, which Ada touched to check how soft it was. Ben drank beer with Mike and played pool with some older boys. Ada had cheesecake for dessert. Only Tilly was quiet and withdrawn, and Mike tried to draw her out by giving her horse bites on her leg, and when this didn’t work, by making jokes about how he didn’t understand women’s moods, and Tilly forced a smile in return, which seemed to make her even quieter. She hardly ate her food. Martha said Tilly was ungrateful and ruining everyone else’s good time. It was true that Tilly was ruining the night by being the only one not to have a good time, but though Ada knew what Tilly’s reason was, Tilly had promised that nothing would change, and Ada was doing her best to make sure that nothing did. If she let the affair stop her enjoying her cheesecake, then the affair would have won.
But deep down this disquiet of Tilly’s ruffled Ada’s faith in the calm, and for a while she resented Tilly for it. She wanted to believe that the thing that was going to break had broken and everything else would be fine, but Tilly had not returned to normal. And then two things happened in that last week of the holidays that turned events towards the next hour of their lives. Only it was Tilly’s and Ben’s lives, not hers, and it compounded for her the sense that she was going to be left behind.
Ben was caught smoking a bong in his bedroom with Jimmy Grigson. Ada ran outside to see the bong: it was a satisfyingly ugly and threatening object that had all the trappings of criminal activity, having been produced behind backs, with conniving, but also with know-how. It was made of old transparent hose that had yellowed and was folded over at the top. It had a stand made of a coat hanger and other smaller scientific bits, which Ada couldn’t make out properly as Martha held it away from her (it ponged) and carried it directly to the outside bin. What Ben supplied to the making of the bong and the procuring of the marijuana, Ada wasn’t told, even though she did ask, but she suspected that it was considerable because of the fuss it seemed to cause. Tilly was always cross about Ben having his own bedroom, separate from the house. Ben got the room, but Tilly was the oldest. Martha had said it was because of Ada, who everyone knew, still crept into Tilly’s bed. Fortunately for Ada, Tilly didn’t believe this was the reason.
‘It’s just because Ben is the favourite,’ she said to Ada on the side, because no one could accuse their mother of any wrongdoing or injustice without retribution. Their mother had a bad temper.
There was talk now about whether Ben could be trusted to have the outside room, and for a dreadful moment Ada feared Tilly would be given the room after all. But instead Ben was put on probation. If he did it again, he would be returned to the house and grounded for a month. But it was clear to Ada that even though their parents had desperately thrown threats at him, Ben would still slide out from under them, wriggle free and pad slyly away, hands in pockets, looking for the next thing. Martha must have felt this too, because she became irritable and snappy again and stayed in bed with a migraine for a whole day and night.
The other thing that happened was that Tilly received a gift. It came from Mr Layton. She and Ada had gone to the Layton’s together. Tilly wanted to go alone, but when she told their mother she was going to Alice’s house, Martha said, ‘Well at least take Ada with you. I’ve got a headache.’ Tilly complained, and Ada did a quick calculation of other options. She was still in her huff with Louis and she had decided he was too young and cowardly to play with and the whole Maguire family, who were the neighbours on the other side, had gone to the beach for the weekend. But she didn’t want to go to Toby Layton’s, because she didn’t really know him very well and she wasn’t sure how to play with him since she didn’t like games such as football or cowboys. But what was worse was that she was now afraid of Mrs Layton. She was embarrassed that she had seen Mrs Layton in the nude and that her own father had touched Mrs Layton’s bare bosoms. She didn’t know if she could hide that sort of embarrassment. Tilly told her not to say anything to Toby Layton about it, but Ada couldn’t trust herself not to tell. She had no intention of playing with boys anyway. On the other hand, Alice and Tilly didn’t play anymore. They just talked, and Ada knew they would want to talk on their own. She was exactly the wrong age for everything: too young to listen in and too old to play with boys just in case they thought of sex. Also, she knew things that Toby Layton wouldn’t know. She knew for example, what a bong looked like. She knew all the endangered Australian animals, she knew where there was a windmill and a deep hole, and now she also knew about sex.
Alice lived on the other hill (the town was nestled in a valley and all the nicest houses were perched on the surrounding hills), and Ada would have usually got there by walking cross-country, through the bush tracks. But Tilly went on her bike, which was quicker, so Ada reluctantly followed on hers. The sky was bright and cloudless. It was a hard ride and the brightness of things hurt Ada’s eyes. The heat seemed now so locked within the ground, the sky, the fences and trees that everything was bone silent. The air was starved of breath and the birds were dead quiet. Ada felt she might just melt too. They went along the little path that ran between the tennis courts and the creek.
Evie was coming the other way with her little dog. Evie was old and sat in a wheelchair that went along like a little car. She wore a large white cricket hat and an orange nylon dress, which made her sweat and turn red in the face, like an umpire. Ada got off and stopped to say hello. Evie wanted to chat, of course.
‘Hello, Ada.’
‘Hi, Evie.’
‘It’s a hot day, isn’t it? I just went to the shops for some bacon.’
Evie had a bowl cut and eyes as wobbly as poached eggs. Her voice was as high and as eager as a kid in a cheerful mood. Her face arranged itself with an unnatural effort into a large beaming smile. Ada sometimes felt like she was more grown up than Evie, which was why she liked talking to her. Evie was old and alone, apart from Elmer, her shaggy little dog, and she had to sit in that funny chair and couldn’t even walk. She could stand up though at home and make dinner. Ada knew this because she had asked her. But what was even worse was that Elmer had one of his eyes bitten out by a dog in a fight and then the other one got infected and had to be taken out by the vet, so now he had no eyes at all. But he still led the way, sometimes wandering off the path, and bumping into the trees, so Evie had to call him back. Elmer still wanted to be a help to Evie and Evie let him believe he was the one leading the way, because she knew that would make him feel useful. It was a fumbling back-to-front kindness, which Ada appreciated.
Ada could see Tilly ahead of her, waiting. She had to pedal off before Tilly got grumpy waiting. Ada called out to Tilly by way of an excuse, ‘But did you see Elmer, with no eyes?’
Tilly frowned. She stood still and watched Evie and Elmer in the distance. She looked confused and hot, but she didn’t tell Ada off for holding her up after all.
Tilly got off the bike and pushed it. Ada was relieved. She didn’t like to be the one to get tired or afraid first and hold people back. She began to push her bike too. She was sweating and thirsty.
Alice lived in a grand house with a front lawn that was always mowed and arranged with proper, squared-off flowerbeds that had no weeds in them. It had a sense of order about it that their house didn’t have. Their house was tumble-down; the front fence showed straightaway how it was, with its missing fence palings, like the gaps in an old person’s grin. In front of it were the sad, sizzled remnants of a lavender hedge. Over the path to the front door, there was an arch with a dogged old apricot rose that could hardly be bothered flowering. But since no one used the front door, the house was all round the wrong way—everyone came in through the kitchen at the back. The veranda, once you reached it, was an embarrassment to their mother. You could hardly walk down one side it was so cluttered with junk: doors that had been replaced, boxes of hand-me-downs, Ben’s old drum kit, a rain-ruined table-tennis table as warped as the sea but still okay to play on if you could find someone who would play with you. Mostly Ben and Tilly couldn’t be bothered playing with Ada as she wasn’t as good as they were. There were also hoses, some with holes that were meant to be fixed one day, and spades, and a woodpile, which was dangerous because snakes like to sleep in woodpiles. Alice’s front porch had no junk on it at all, no snakes, just some pot plants and two matching chairs with a small table where Alice’s parents probably rested their glasses of gin in the evenings. Mrs Layton had nothing to be embarrassed about on her veranda. But Mrs Layton had other things to be ashamed about.
When Alice opened the door, Tilly made a face. ‘Sorry, I had to bring Ada.’
If Alice cared, she didn’t show it. Alice was polite to everyone. She pulled them both inside cheerfully. Not only was the house in order but it was calm and cool, and once inside Ada forgot about the stifling heat outside.
‘Ada,’ Alice said. ‘You can do whatever you want. We have loads of puzzles. You could watch a movie.’
‘I’ll watch a movie,’ Ada said. She was too old for puzzles and felt insulted that Alice had suggested them, but a movie meant it wasn’t going to be too bad after all. Alice was the only person Ada knew who had a video player.
Alice steered them both to the kitchen for cordial. Ada loved cordial. Martha didn’t believe in cordial because it was just sugar and colouring and artificial flavouring. She made them drink water. Sometimes she would buy a big bottle of Harcourt apple juice, but she got cross if everyone drank it straightaway and there was none left. But how could you not drink it if it was there? Alice’s father was at the kitchen table, which surprised Ada. Usually fathers were not home during the day, but then she remembered it was Sunday and her father was only out because he was playing tennis. Alice’s father was older than hers. His hair was already grey. He was reading the newspaper, but he looked up when they came in and then stood up immediately. He was like Alice, very polite.
‘Hello, Tilly. Is this your little sister?’
‘This is Ada,’ Alice answered for Tilly because Tilly was shy. ‘She’s going to watch a video.’
Alice’s father smiled. He understood, Ada could tell, that she was being shuffled out of the way by everyone today.
‘A movie,’ he scoffed. ‘Why don’t you have a swim? Toby will go for a swim with you.’ Ada was so alarmed at the prospect of swimming with Toby that she accidentally smiled.
‘She doesn’t want to play with Toby, Dad, she wants to watch a movie,’ said Alice.
‘I see,’ he nodded his head and Ada felt he really did see, though what exactly he saw, she didn’t know. He turned to Tilly.
‘I’m glad you’re here, Tilly. I’ve got something for you. Wait a minute. I’ll get it.’
Tilly looked alarmed, then embarrassed.
‘For me?’ she questioned, as if it couldn’t possibly be.
But it was. He returned with a white plastic shopping bag and handed it to Tilly, explaining that he had thought of her when he saw it. Tilly pulled a record out of the bag. Keith Jarrett, The Köln Concert. On the cover there was a black-and-white photo of a man with dark air, his head hanging forward and his eyes closed, as if sleeping sitting up. Tilly stared at it apprehensively. She didn’t know who Keith Jarrett was, and neither did Ada.
‘He’s a jazz pianist and this is a famous concert—it was all improvised,’ Alice’s father explained. ‘I’ve heard you improvising here. Which is why I bought it for you. I thought it might be inspiring. But it’s a waste of your gift, I think, if you don’t have lessons. Tell your parents you should have lessons. Try Daisy Cavallo. She’s good.’
Gift? He had said Tilly had a gift. Ada had never thought of Tilly as being good at anything. Their mother had always said Tilly was hopeless, and Tilly seemed to agree. She wasn’t top of the class, she wasn’t even a neat writer, she wasn’t good at drawing, and she never remembered jokes.
It must have shocked Tilly when Mr Layton said she had a gift, because she just stood there and didn’t say a word. She stared at him and when her voice did finally come out (Ada was ashamed it took so long), she only said, ‘Thank you’, and she went red and looked down at the floor instead of looking at Mr Layton. But what Ada heard in Tilly’s voice was the choking sound that Ada knew was the cramming down of tears. Why would Tilly cry when she had just got a present? She should have been happy, but Tilly behaved like she had an internal pipe leak. Tilly wiped secretly at her eyes, while Alice tried to change the tone by saying that her dad was always getting presents for people, but he was right, Tilly should have lessons and Mr and Mrs Bloom should get their piano tuned properly.
Afterwards, as they picked up their bikes, Ada asked Tilly about the record. Ada had watched To Kill a Mockingbird. Now she was feeling a bit sensitive and concerned, though she wasn’t sure what she was concerned about. Tilly had pulled the record out of her bag and was examining it.
‘Do you like your new record?’ Ada asked.
‘I don’t know yet. I’ve never heard of it before.’
‘It was nice of Mr Layton to give it to you, wasn’t it? Poor Mr Layton…’ Ada didn’t know how to continue. She didn’t want to think of Mrs Layton’s embarrassment and how Mr Layton would feel if he knew.
Tilly gave a crooked smile.
Ada persisted with a different thought. ‘Is the man who plays the piano a Negro?’
‘Negro? I guess so, why?’
Ada didn’t answer. In the movie, they called a man a Negro and they put him in jail and killed him even though he didn’t hurt anybody. Ada couldn’t talk about it because she didn’t want to think about it.
Tilly stuffed the record back in her bag just as she stuffed her thoughts back in her head. Ada could tell when Tilly was clammed up with thoughts. Tilly kicked her bike stand up.
‘Are you going to ask for piano lessons?’ Ada was determined to get at Tilly’s feelings, even though Tilly was not in a forthcoming mood.
Tilly shrugged. ‘I don’t know. They won’t say yes. It will be too expensive.’
‘Ask Dad. He might.’
‘Dad…’ Tilly’s eyes rolled scathingly. She straddled her bike and showed with a little jerk of her head that she was ready to go.
But Ada hadn’t quite got to where she wanted. ‘Why were you sad when you got the present?’
Tilly didn’t look cross or surprised that Ada had noticed. She stared out over the town and sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I think… Just because he was kind. To think he went out and thought about something for me.’ Her lip wobbled. It sounded as if she might cry again, but instead she blew out a long breath and took off down the hill on her bike.
Ada paused before following her. Was this possible? Can you really feel sad when someone is kind? She had felt a strange sort of sadness when the father of Scout in the movie (who was called Atticus but was really Gregory Peck) had sat on the porch with Scout, in a swinging chair, and tried to cheer her up. And when Scout had crawled into his arms, Ada’s heart had lurched as if it was she who had crawled in and felt the radiating warmth of the truth and goodness of Atticus Finch’s love and intention. And all at once she was so happy for Scout it made her want to cry and she had to jam her fists in her eyes to stop the tears rolling down.