The Secret Life Of Maeve Lee Kwong Part 11

'Like, should I go to boarding school?' asked Maeve, half expecting Por Por to complain about the question.

'That's right,' said Por Por. 'Now you hold the question and you take the yarrow sticks that you find in this container and build a gua, a hexagram that we can interpret to find the answer to your question.'

Following Por Por's instructions, Maeve laid out the skinny yarrow sticks, counting them into groups of four and then picking up the remaining twigs and continuing to lay them out in more groups of four. It felt confusing at first, but slowly the task became rhythmic. Each time Maeve laid them out, Por Por made a note of what number Maeve's pattern symbolised. When she'd repeated the task five more times, Por Por opened the Book of Changes.

Maeve leapt up and tried to read over her grandmother's shoulder. The pages of the book were of thick, yellowing paper and all the writing was in complex Chinese characters.

'The fifty-sixth gua,' said Por Por, sighing. 'Lu, a quest, a journey, you will stay in places other than your home, a lodger, surrounded by others that are also on a quest. A stranger in a strange land . . .' Her voice was heavy.

'I don't get it. Does that mean staying here, or does that mean going to boarding school?'

Suddenly, Goong Goong was standing at the end of the dining-room table, gazing down at the gua. 'It means that you should go to boarding school,' he said firmly.

19.

A single creased envelope Maeve pulled her doona over her head. She wished Vivienne would stop talking. It was after midnight.

Vivienne was so homesick that she phoned her friends and family in Malaysia every night on her mobile. She was trying to speak quietly but every now and then she'd give a little squeal of laughter and it would drag Maeve back from the edge of sleep. She could dob her in, go and complain about her at the office in the morning, but that would be plain mean. Boarders had to stick together.

Maeve rolled over and tapped the wall beside her bed three times, listening for the response. When the seven short taps came in reply, she slipped out of bed, picked up her Maglite and padded down the corridor.

Gina was reading by torchlight when Maeve tiptoed into her dorm. 'Is blabbermouth at it again?' she whispered.

Maeve nodded and sat down on the end of Gina's bed. 'I wish they'd put me in here with you,' she grumbled.

Gina laughed softly. 'I'd drive you crazy too, girl,' she said.

'I've never had to share a room with anyone before. Except my baby brother, and he didn't really count. He just made cute little snuffly noises.'

'Lucky you don't come from my family,' said Gina. 'I shared with three sisters but they were a lot noisier than this mob.' She gestured towards the three sleeping figures in the other beds.

Gina pushed her ear against the wall. 'I reckon Viv is going to be talking all night.' She lifted up the doona and wriggled over to make room for Maeve. 'I've got to get up early for training, so you'd better not kick me in your sleep.'

Maeve giggled and got in beside her. 'Talk about kicking. You kick like a b.l.o.o.d.y kangaroo. Everyone reckons you're gonna be the next Cathy Freeman.'

'McCabe thinks that's pretty funny. You know he got me a music scholars.h.i.+p to come here?'

'I thought you got a sports scholars.h.i.+p.'

'Yeah, everyone thinks that, but you know that Koori singer, Rosie Malloy?'

'Nope,' said Maeve, yawning sleepily.

'You're a city slicker, that's why. She sings country, like Kasey Chambers except she's really old, like a legend. She came to Tamworth and heard me sing and dobbed me in to McCabe. Next thing I know, I'm on a train down here. Then they find out I can run too, and so next year I'm gonna have a sports scholars.h.i.+p and McCabe's going to give the music scholars.h.i.+p to someone else. That bloke is a serious do-gooder.'

'Don't you like being here?'

'Sure, it's good. But it's not like being at home, is it?'

Maeve snuggled down under the bedding and tried to make enough s.p.a.ce for herself on the edge of the mattress. She hadn't imagined that life in the boarding school would be like this so crowded, so full of gossip and new people. And so not like a home. When she'd read the Harry Potter books she'd imagined that boarding school might be like a home away from home, but it was more like a secret club. During the day, the boarders avoided each other. It was as if your life depended on having other friends that kept you connected to the real world. Nothing belonged to you, nothing was permanent, everyone had lives somewhere else that were more important than anything that happened in the boarding house. It was nothing like Hogwarts.

Maeve woke up to find Gina gone and the rest of the dormitory scrambling to get organised for the school day. She trudged back to her room and looked at the mess of papers and homework that covered her desk. She was glad it was Friday.

The best thing about Fridays was Ned. After school, Maeve caught the bus over to Balmain and ran all the way back to her old home. Somehow, when she was with Ned, everything seemed to make sense. He was growing up fast, starting to look more like a little boy and less like a toddler. But when he wrapped his arms tight around her neck and pressed his face into her shoulder, Maeve could almost imagine that they still lived together under the same roof, that nothing had changed for them.

On that hot Friday afternoon, Maeve filled the paddle pool and dressed Ned in his bathers. A magpie laughed as Ned squealed and splashed in the shade of the gum tree. At first Maeve sat and watched, but the heat was so intense that she soon peeled off her socks and sandals and jumped in beside him. She didn't even bother to take off her school uniform.

'Whoops,' said Ned, laughing as he filled a plastic cup with water and tipped it on Maeve's head. They were still splas.h.i.+ng in the pool when Andy came home from the supermarket. He called down to them from the kitchen window and Ned waved back, shouting 'Dad! Dad! Dad!'

Maeve hauled Ned out of the water and carried him up the back steps. They sat dripping on the doorstep, eating icypoles while Andy put away the shopping.

'Maybe you should nip upstairs and get something dry to wear over to Steph's,' said Andy.

'I'm not going to Steph's tonight. She has to work, and Bianca has a date. We're meeting up tomorrow morning instead. I don't mind going back to school all wet,' said Maeve.

'You could take something of Sue's. I've been meaning to ask you to take what you want. I'll have to do something with her clothes when we move.'

'You're not going to move, really?' asked Maeve, turning to stare at Andy in dismay.

'I can't hold out against your grandparents, Maeve. Besides, the place is too big with just me and Ned rattling around in it. We don't use the extra rooms and I need a new start. I was thinking maybe we'll move up to Byron. It's closer to my parents so they can help me out with Ned more.'

'But that's miles away from me! I'll never get to see Ned if you take him away from Sydney. And this is our home. I mean, what if I want to come back and live here?'

'Live with me?' asked Andy, incredulous. 'You know your grandparents would have a fit. Jesus, they'd take Ned off me if they could.'

'But what if I want to come back, when I'm eighteen? They couldn't stop me then!'

'Honey, I'm not your father.'

Maeve felt her face blus.h.i.+ng crimson and she pressed her hands against her cheeks. She dropped the icypole on the steps, leapt to her feet and ran through the kitchen, taking the stairs up to the second floor two at a time.

She'd run to her bedroom on instinct. As soon as she opened the door and looked in at the piles of boxes and stripped-down bed, a wave of misery washed over her. She slammed the door and ran back along the hallway, straight to the main bedroom, a long, elegant room with doors opening on to the upstairs balcony. As soon as she'd shut the door, she regretted coming in here too.

When Maeve was little, she used to climb into her mother's big bed and press her face against the pillows. There was something sweet and warm and comforting about the smell that used to make her feel calmer. But it didn't smell like her mother's room any more. It had a stale, sweaty man's smell, and Andy's clothes lay in piles on every piece of furniture.

Maeve slid open the doors of the wardrobe. She ran her hand across the clothes, feeling the softness of her mother's silk blouses, the coa.r.s.e texture of the winter coat. She buried her face in them. It was terrible to think that anyone but Sue should wear these clothes. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she stripped them from their hangers and threw them in a pile on the floor. Each item of clothing stirred a memory of an event, a moment Maeve had shared with her mother, that made her chest ache.

Maeve knelt on the floor and took out each pair of shoes, cradling them in her hands. They were so tiny! She crawled into the back of the cupboard and pulled out all the old s...o...b..xes, folding back the tissue paper to uncover the history of her mother's shoes. The very last box felt lighter than the others. When Maeve lifted the lid she discovered it held a pile of letters. Most of the letters were in Por Por's handwriting. Maeve didn't want to read those. It felt too much like prying into Por Por's business. There was also a small collection of pale blue envelopes from Andy. Then, right at the bottom of the s...o...b..x, there was a single creased envelope with unfamiliar handwriting on the front. It was covered in stamps from Nepal and Maeve knew, instantly, that it had to be the letter her mother had told her about, the letter from her father. Inside were folds of fine onionskin paper covered with small drawings and words.

As she separated the sheets, a strip of pa.s.sport photos fell to the floor. The face that looked up at her was sharp and craggy. Maeve cupped the photos in her hand and studied her father's features. His eyes were so pale, they looked as if they could be colourless. His dark hair was matted in thick curly dreadlocks, and he stared at the camera with an intensity that made her s.h.i.+ver. She thought of Andy's friendly face. But she couldn't compare them. Andy wasn't her father. He'd said so himself.

Maeve took a long purple shawl from the pile of clothes behind her and wrapped it around the letter. Swiftly she stripped off her uniform and slipped into a free-fitting cotton dress. It had reached the ground when her mother wore it, but it only came halfway up Maeve's calves. Without allowing herself to cry, she picked out a couple of s.h.i.+rts, a jumper and a single pair of winter gloves from the pile of discarded clothing. She gathered up her wet uniform and padded back downstairs, the letter from her father tightly bound in the web of her mother's clothes.

20.

A promise to break Maeve stuck the photo of her father in the green notebook and stuffed the book into her dance bag. She couldn't wait to show Bianca and Steph. But when she arrived for dance cla.s.s next morning, they weren't there. After she had worked through the first routine and neither of her friends had arrived, she checked her mobile, but there were no messages. Finally, when they were finis.h.i.+ng the tap cla.s.s, Maeve asked Louise if she knew where they were.

'Oh, didn't Steph tell you? They've given her a permanent Sat.u.r.day s.h.i.+ft at Macca's down in Darling Harbour. She's won't be able to make it at all on Sat.u.r.days from now on.'

Maeve felt a cold knot form in her stomach. 'And Bianca?'

'That little vixen! I have no idea. Do you know where she was on Tuesday night? This is the third cla.s.s she's missed. I'm going to have to have a word to her parents.'

Maeve backed away, not wanting to make trouble for Bianca. Somehow, she couldn't lose herself in the dance for the rest of the morning. Nothing came easily.

She was struggling through the theme to Fame when McCabe came into the hall. Maeve was a little surprised to see him there but more intriguing was his companion, a tall, spiky-haired younger man. They each took a seat on stage and watched the cla.s.s progress. The spiky-haired man scribbled something into his notebook and showed it to McCabe, who nodded.

When the cla.s.ses drew to a close, McCabe and his companion took Louise to one side and the three stood in a huddle talking. Maeve slumped out into Darling Street and sat alone, waiting for her bus.

She pulled out the green notebook and turned to the page with her father's photograph. He definitely looked scary. Maeve tried to see how she and he looked alike. Sue's face had been round but Maeve's was longer and narrower like her father's. The shape of his mouth, the long, thin lips and the dimple in his left cheek hinted at a smile that was like Maeve's, but there was also something dark and disturbing in his face that she didn't want to dwell on. It made her glad that Steph and Bianca hadn't been there to see the picture. She turned the page and began to write.

I used to be the one that everyone could talk to. People would tell me things. But since the accident, everyone is scared. Because something so bad happened to me, maybe they think I'm jinxed. Even B & S forget to tell me things, as if they're afraid for me and of me.

Her mobile beeped. Urgent. Meet us @ Rozelle Mkts. Waiting for u. S When Maeve got off the bus, Steph rushed up and hugged her, as if she'd been waiting.

'Total emergency. Omar has dumped Bunka,' said Steph, her face furrowed with concern.

'What?' said Maeve. 'When? Why didn't she call me?'

'Ask her. She brought him to Macca's this morning and they had a fight, right there, while I was on my s.h.i.+ft! He stormed out and Bunka sat there crying until I knocked off. I'm so glad you're here. I thought some retail therapy might cheer her up, but she won't even buy anything.'

The markets were held in the grounds of the old primary school. Steph and Maeve wove their way through the crowds to where Bianca was standing in a doorway with '1887' carved in the stone lintel above. Only a few metres from where she stood, other girls were flipping through racks of brightly coloured clothes, holding up strands of s.h.i.+ny beads that glittered in the afternoon sunlight, but Bianca didn't seem to notice any of it.

'Why didn't you call me?' said Maeve, hugging her tightly.

'You would have been at dance cla.s.s. I didn't want the whole world to know I'd been dumped. b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I hate him.'

Maeve looked to Steph and raised her eyebrows. 'Why don't we all go and get something to eat. Pide?'

It was a ritual that they each bought a cheese and spinach pide for lunch and sat on the stone footings of the old school fence beneath the Marketman sign, a picture of an alternative Superman who advertised the Sat.u.r.day market.

Bianca picked at her pide, nibbling at the spinach and flicking bits of cheese onto the footpath.

'I was going to dump him, but he got in first. That's what happened. That has to be what happened. I wasn't fast enough.'

'What did he say?' asked Maeve.

'Get this, he said his parents didn't approve of me. Me! Like I wasn't doing him the favour going out with him in the first place. They think I'm a Skip and that Skips have no values and that he was too young to have a girlfriend and he should stick with football. How insulting is that!'

'They probably would have been cool if you were Lebanese,' said Steph.

Maeve wasn't so sure. 'That's just parents being freaked out about the whole girlfriend issue. It's not about you, Bunka.'

'But I'm not a Skip,' said Bianca, starting to cry. 'My grandfather was Italian. That means I'm Italian, doesn't it?'

Maeve and Steph looked at each other and then both hooked an arm through Bianca's and dragged her to her feet. Maeve took Bianca's pide away from her and threw it in the bin.

'Time for emergency cheering-up treatment,' she said.

They crossed the busy street, dodging the traffic, and led Bianca into the cool interior of Cafe 2000. As if to prove she really was Italian, Bianca ordered her gelati in Italian and when the waiter answered her with something flirtatious, she laughed. Maeve and Steph smiled at each other, relieved.

When they were settled behind one of the little blue tables, Maeve realised Steph didn't have a gelati.

'I'm saving up for the drama trip,' said Steph. 'I'll just have a taste of yours.'

'But they don't let any Year 9 students go on that trip,' said Maeve. 'You haven't got a hope.'

'Not this year, next year. As if I could save enough money between now and April! I don't think so! It took Jess Turner nearly two years to earn her fare. But you get to tour London and Ireland. I so want to go! If I start saving now, then I should have enough money by Year 10, and Mum and Dad said if I could cover my expenses then they'd chip in for the airfare.'

'Ireland,' said Maeve. 'It would be incredible.'

'I'd rather go to Italy,' said Bianca. 'Italy is way cooler. I loved Venice so much. London is okay but it's kind of grungy.'

Steph and Maeve didn't say anything. It was one of those annoying things about Bianca. Her parents had already taken her around the world twice. She'd been to Disneyland on three continents. It was hard to talk about going anywhere in front of her.

'Well, it is a drama trip anyway,' said Steph. 'You're more a dance and music person. It's for people interested in theatre and history. It's not a tourist trip like, it's serious. They do drama workshops in London and Dublin.'

Dublin. Maeve s.h.i.+vered at the prospect. What if she was allowed on the tour? The idea sent her mind racing. Did her father go back to Ireland? And if he did, where was he? She could see why her mother had never shown her the letter or the photo. Somehow, having that single paper clue made it even more maddening that he couldn't be found.

'My grandparents would never let me go,' she said.

'I might go,' said Bianca. 'If I can talk the 'rents around. I could tell them that it would help heal my broken heart.'

'But it's not until next year. You won't still be brokenhearted in a year's time.'

'I might be,' said Bianca, stabbing a poco roll into her gelati. 'Or I might make Omar really suffer by getting a new boyfriend right now. Then I could dump him before next year's tour.'

'Like who?' asked Maeve. 'Josh?'

'No, Josh is up himself. 'Dancing Man' you know, the one who sends the cute messages.'

'Have you even met him?' asked Maeve.