Chapter 9

It wasn’t the last time I saw him, but it was the last time I saw him alone.

Ruben organised a bit of a dinner party, mainly for the circus, but he also invited Mum and Barnaby and Ricci and Oscar’s parents and Caramella’s too. Aunt Squeezy came along, and so did Stinky, of course. So there were a lot of people, and there was a lot of commotion since Ricci was very excited because she never goes to dinner parties and she was squawking and pulling everyone on the nose.

Ruben had made a big lasagne, and Ricci brought along some spicy chicken dish with beans. We all squashed into the living room with plates on our knees, and I perched on the arm of a couch between Aunt Squeezy and Caramella’s mother, who hardly speaks but keeps patting your knee and smiling. Kite was sitting on a cushion on the floor, and he spent most of the night speaking to Barnaby. I kept trying to hear what they were saying but could only make out bits, because if Mrs Zito wasn’t passing me some bread or piling more beans on my plate, Ricci was screeching and yelling out and laughing at any old thing and making indelicate observations, like, ‘Oooh Cedar, why the long face?’ I just rolled my eyes and acted like a moody teenager, and Barnaby winked at me.

Aunt Squeezy elbowed me and whispered, ‘Hey, he’s a good sort, that Kite, isn’t he?’

I said, ‘He’s okay.’

She said, when she was my age she was in love with a boy purely for his blue eyes and fragile smile. She said he wore hand-knitted jumpers and long pants, and he hung back in the playground and didn’t play footy. But she could never speak to him because she was too shy, and then he left the school and she never saw him again. Now, she said, I’m all for courage. If you’re scared of something it’s a good sign you need to go towards the thing you’re scared of.

‘I’m not scared of things,’ I said.

She laughed as if that was a very funny thing to say, but before I could ask why, Oscar made a commotion by knocking over a glass of wine on the carpet while waving his arm around and making some declaration. Ricci yelled for salt and Kite went to the kitchen to get some. When he came back, my mum stood up and said we should raise our glasses and toast Ruben and Kite. She said, ‘To their new beginnings. Best of luck.’ I looked down at the wine stain on the carpet, now covered in a tiny mountain of salt. Everyone clapped and Ruben stood up and made a speech about The Acrobrats, and he especially thanked me. Everyone looked at me, which was the last thing I wanted. Kite didn’t look at me, though – he looked at his dad.

Ricci came and squeezed me to her chest and said, ‘Chin up, they’ll be back, won’t you, Ruben?’

Ruben said, ‘’Course we’ll be back,’ and he smiled at my mum and she smiled quickly and then looked at the floor. Kite shot a look in my direction; he simply raised his eyebrows and grinned.

Oscar said, ‘But only after Paris, after your world tour, after the nights on the river.’

Everyone laughed at Oscar’s poetry, but I noticed how the mountain of salt was becoming pink at the base. As if it was bleeding. As if it was trying very hard to do what it was meant to do.

Had it all been done? I wondered, as Oscar’s mum brought out a passionfruit sponge cake. She’s a librarian, and librarians happen to be very good at cooking sponge cakes, as far as I know, because I’ve met two and both cook sponge cakes, so that’s good odds there’s a link. Boy, am I a sleuth. But why was I wasting my time making links between librarians and sponge cakes when I should have been lip-reading the conversation between Kite and Barnaby? I could tell they were really digging in on something and I was sure I heard my name. I tried to watch, but Oscar’s mum was going round the room, pushing the plate of sliced-up cake

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towards everyone, blocking my view. Was she in on it? Was there something going on that I didn’t know about?

When we left we all gave Kite and Ruben a goodbye hug. There was a queue. It was like Pin the Tail on the Donkey, and it happened so quickly I hardly had time to take it in. When it came to my turn, Ruben took both my hands and told me I was an angel and an inspiration.

‘I want you to carry the torch. This is for you.’ He pressed a book into my hands. The Tumbler’s Manual.

‘Thanks, Ruben.’ I felt quietened by the gift.

‘Come and visit us any time. I really mean that. We see you as one of the family.’ He looked right in my eyes to make sure, and then he gave me a big hug and I hugged him back. Suddenly I felt terribly sad about Ruben leaving. I hadn’t even realised that he meant something to me. He was important. His big, gentle way was something I loved without even knowing it, not until it wasn’t going to be there. Maybe I even wished I was his child and that I could always depend on him, and he could always show me how to do something without trying too hard. I didn’t say a word, though – I was feeling too emotional to speak.

Kite was leaning into the doorway. His arms were folded and he was laughing with Barnaby. His laugh tumbled out, and he moved with it, as if he was light, as if he could have floated up and lain in the sky, laughing. And I felt better just hearing it because it clattered in my head and loosened up all the hard thinking in there. I felt real. I felt like I didn’t need to try and think of anything, not even a good thing to say. He must have known I was coming because even though he didn’t look, even though he was still talking to Barnaby, his arm reached towards me like a wing and folded me in close. And I stood under his arm, tucked in by his side, just like a real girlfriend. And never had I felt happier. Never had I felt warmer. Never had I wanted to stay so still. And it had all happened as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Before I had a chance to even know it, Barnaby was winking at me and saying goodbye and it was just us, just Kite and me and the small, pressed distance between us. Kite turned towards me with his unguarded eyes. While we hugged he whispered in my ear, ‘I’ll be back.’ And I nodded but I didn’t speak. I could tell then that it hadn’t all been done and, more importantly, I could tell that he knew too. And with this, like a little hot coal in my heart, I turned away and walked.

And I swung my arms in a brilliant way.

2

We all walked home together, except for Oscar and his family, because they don’t live in our street. Mum and Ricci walked with Mr and Mrs Zito, and Aunt Squeezy walked with Barnaby. Caramella and I lagged behind.

The sky was black and clear, but in Melbourne the stars don’t shine out because there’s too much light coming from the city and the stars just can’t compete. They look like smudged dots of white. But the houses have a golden light glowing through the windows, which makes you want to look inside. It makes it seem as if there are a lot of soft welcoming couches in the world; even if there aren’t, it makes it seem as if there are. Still, I sighed a big sigh since I knew I wasn’t going to see Kite again for a long time. Caramella said, ‘Don’t worry, you’ll think of something. You always do.’

Do I? I wondered. I looked at Caramella trudging along, steadfast and solid and sweet, and I suddenly realised that somehow it wasn’t just me who needed me to think; it was also Caramella, and maybe Oscar too. Maybe they were expecting me to think us out of this, or at least into something else. Boy, what a responsibility. I shivered and looked up into the sky as if it would have an answer, it being so much bigger than me. But if it answered I didn’t hear, because instead my ears were filled with the faintly disturbing sound of a snigger and then a giggle. It didn’t exactly surprise me, since we’d just walked past Harold Barton’s house, but I’d been staring into the sky and not noticed who was sitting on the wall.

Not only Harold but also Marnie, Aileen Shelby and one or two other tall guys I’d never even seen before. A whole gang of them, smoking, sniggering and whispering.

‘Night out with the family, Cedar? Paint the town red?’ said Harold, now that he had my attention. Marnie and Aileen acted like this was a hilarious joke and started to smirk. Caramella sighed and looked at the ground. I folded my arms across my chest.

‘Harold,’ I said in an exasperated way, ‘haven’t you got a new act yet? Because we’re really bored of your superior one.’ Harold snorted, pushed out his lower lip at me, and since he obviously couldn’t think of a comeback he leaned over to whisper something to one of the tall guys.

‘Who’s your brother talking to, anyway?’ said Marnie. ‘He didn’t even introduce us.’ She had her special sneery girl voice on, which makes her sound like she’s not quite real, like she’s just saying some lines she learnt from a bad teen movie.

‘Maybe he didn’t notice you, Marnie,’ I said, because if there’s one thing Marnie puts a lot of energy into it’s getting noticed. I walked off, dragging Caramella with me. I wasn’t going to tell them who Aunt Squeezy was. Let them wonder, I thought.

‘See ya, Zit-face,’ yelled Harold, once we were a safe distance away.

He’s such a coward. He just had to hurl one last witless insult so he could look as if he’d been victorious or something. But it kills me when he says something hurtful to Caramella because she has no confidence; she dies a little inside when he says stuff like that. Whereas I, I just get mad. I looked at her, but she was already tugging at my arm and pointing at something else.

‘Hey, look at that,’ she said.

A van had pulled up outside the Abutula’s house and out of the van came three people: first a girl, then a woman and last a small boy. It appeared to be a mother and two children, but it was dark and they were on the opposite side of the street so it was hard to see them, and they seemed not to want to be seen. The girl was thin and taller than me and she turned away from us. Her younger brother, however, stood and faced us. He didn’t smile; he just looked and stuck his finger in his mouth. The mother kept her face lowered, but glanced quickly at us and then ushered her children towards the house. Mr Abutula had picked up the suitcase and was leading the way.

‘See,’ said Caramella, triumphantly, ‘something is going on there.’

‘Sure is,’ I said, and already I was getting ideas. The thing about the mother and her children was that you could tell they came from somewhere else. They weren’t from here. They were different.