I ring Harold Barton, leave a message on his answering machine and then lounge around waiting for Kite to call. The first time the phone rings it’s an Indian man trying to sell us a holiday to Noumea. Mum yells out, ‘Tell him we can’t afford the flights.’
Next it’s Barnaby calling from a phone booth in Sydney. He doesn’t get time to say much.
‘Hello little lady, it’s your big brother.’
‘Hi, Barn, where are you?’
‘Still in Sydney. How was the circus?’
‘I didn’t get in.’
‘Hey, that’s a bummer. Don’t worry, I didn’t get into the first band I auditioned for, either.’
‘Didn’t you?’
‘Nah. You get over it. It’s all part of the game. Now, can you tell Mum I’m okay. Safe and sound and all that. Leaving tomorrow.’
‘So, how’s Ada? You know I like her more now.’
‘Yeah, so do I.’
‘And guess what: Aunt Squeezy’s leaving.’
‘Why?’
The phone cuts off. I listen for a minute, wondering if that’s how I would sound if you listened to my heart right now, then Mum calls out, ‘Did he blow the head gasket?’
‘No, he said he’s coming home tomorrow.’
Mum sighs. She’s lying on the couch with a green facemask on. I sit around drawing animals all over the phone pad and thinking how Kite can’t really be thinking about me if he doesn’t ring, and sometimes I wish I was a giraffe instead of a girl, because giraffes don’t have boyfriends. Then I write Cedar B. Freeman to see how it looks, and then I write Lola Freeman, just to be mean to myself. And then finally I go to bed and dream that Aunt Squeezy gives birth to a giant poo.