Millie and the Night Heron (6 page)

In the middle of the best week of school ever, Helen invited me to her house for a sleep-over. We were practising netball. Sarah and Rachel were sitting on the grass talking about boys.

‘Saturday night?' I repeated, fumbling a defence I should have got. ‘Saturday night? I'll have to ask Mum.'

‘My mum works at the TAFE, too,' Helen said. ‘She said she'd look out for your mum in the staff room and introduce herself. She works in Access.'

‘I don't think Mum goes to the staff room.' I wasn't sure but it didn't feel like the kind of thing Mum would do.

‘Everyone goes to the staff room,' Helen said.
‘That's where the coffee is. You know what they're like about coffee.'

Sure enough, when Mum got home from work that afternoon, she said, ‘I met the mother of one of your new friends, Millie. And she says her daughter has asked you to sleep-over. Is that great or what? You've got a better social life than me!'

‘I won't go if you're going to be lonely,' I said. ‘It's okay, honest. I can see them at school.'

‘Don't be silly,' Mum said. ‘Of course you'll go. You want to go, don't you?'

‘Yes, yes I do. But I don't...'

‘I'll be fine,' Mum said. ‘We're finalising things for this exhibition anyway, the one I inherited? I told you about it.'

‘Oh, sure.' I couldn't really remember but that was okay. If Mum had work to do, she'd be fine without me.

‘And then,' she continued, ‘I might go to the movies.'

‘By yourself?'

‘Depends.' She shrugged, turning away. ‘Someone from the exhibition committee might be interested. There's a good film on at the Valley cinema.'

‘So you really don't mind?'

‘Of course not. I think this is a great
opportunity, Millie. Helen's mother seems very nice. It was funny really, because we had coffee together only last week but didn't put two and two together. About you girls, I mean.'

‘I wasn't friends with Helen-Sarah-and-Rachel last week,' I pointed out.

‘That's true,' Mum said. ‘Things can happen fast, can't they?'

‘That was the whole point of the camp, to bond us together. You said so yourself.'

‘That's right, I did. Now, Millie, what shall we have for dinner?'

After dinner the phone rang. I don't mean that was unusual. Sheri often rang us, Patrick rang at least once a week, and there were other friends from our old life, too. What was unusual was that when the phone rang, Mum took the call and then sent me off to the shower and took the phone into her bedroom.

She was off the phone by the time I got out, and was drinking a cup of tea.

‘Who was that?' I asked casually.

‘Just someone from the exhibition committee,' Mum said.

‘What is this exhibition anyway?' I asked.

‘An exhibition for the Diploma students,' Mum said. ‘It was supposed to be on late last year, but the tutor was ill. So we're doing it this year,
instead. I thought I told you all this. It's occupied most of my non-teaching time for the past six weeks!'

‘Just refreshing my memory,' I said smoothly. ‘Any chocolate biscuits left?'

The phone rang again much later. I was in bed reading. I waited for Mum to come in and tell me who had rung up but she was on the phone for so long I went to sleep waiting. She was on for so long it could only have been one person in the world – and that was Sheri.

Helen-Sarah-and-Rachel-and-I played netball practically every fine day. We weren't on a team or anything. It was just what we did. We weren't on a team because:

‘You should though,' Helen said, ‘you've got the height, Millie, and you're fast, when you think about it.'

I didn't like having to think fast, although I loved the feeling when the ball soared out of your hands and went up, up into the air and then
straight into the basket, as though it was destined to drop through from the moment it left your hands, tugged there by an invisible thread. The rules confused me, though, and I didn't like the way everyone shouted at you, ‘Throw it here, here, here!' I agreed with Helen about competitive sports, although it wasn't so much the competition as the noise and the pressure.

I liked hanging out with Helen-Sarah-and-Rachel. They talked to each other about everything, even the embarrassing stuff.

‘I like Drew because he's funny,' Rachel said, lying back in the grass. ‘Do you see that big cloud, the one over there. I reckon it looks like a dragon.'

‘Like the dragon from
The Dragon Piper,
' Sarah said. ‘That has to be the best book ever written.'

‘I haven't read it.'

‘Oh, Millie, it is so good. You'll just love it.'

‘You will love it, Millie. Sarah, can you lend it to Millie?'

‘Of course, I'll bring it to school tomorrow. I know what you mean about Drew, Rachel, he is funny. But he's too short for you, really.'

‘I don't care if he's short,' Rachel said. ‘I don't get all that stuff about boys having to be taller. Anyway, if I have to find a taller boy I'm going to be in trouble. That's what my dad says. He says I should get used to looking down on boys. He says
that's the natural order of things anyway.'

‘You'll just have to wear flat shoes,' Helen said.

‘You can wear whatever shoes you want,' Sarah said, ‘and if he really likes you, he won't care.'

‘I think boys are overrated,' Helen said, ‘and we talk about them way too much.'

We got the first term project that day. It was the big one:

‘My Environment—What I Love, What I Hate.'

‘A chance for everyone to get down and personal,' Ms O'Grady said, smiling around the class as though she hadn't announced the worse news in the world. ‘I expect to see some really fantastic individual takes on this subject. I expect you all to do some research, but that research can be quite original. You can interview people, use the World Wide Web, look up current environmental news items—anything you have to do to make the project your own. I certainly don't want to see a lot of half-baked, rushed projects with no thought put into them. I know we have some excellent scholars in this class and I expect to see the evidence!'

‘I hate projects,' Rachel said, dragging her bag along the footpath after school.

‘My mum hates projects,' Helen said. ‘She said they should be banned. They're simply too much work for the parents.'

‘I don't mind them,' I said cautiously, ‘but I don't think I've lived in this town long enough to know anything about it, so this project is going to be really hard.'

‘I wonder if I could just do it on my room,' Sarah said. ‘I mean, that's my real environment, isn't it? I wonder if Ms O'Grady would let me do that?'

‘It can't just be your room,' Rachel said. ‘It's an environmental project, not a room project.'

‘Yeah, well, my room is an environment,' Sarah said. ‘I mean, it's got its own living systems happening in it. Or that's what mum says, anyway. Under the bed, you know, and the apple core in my bedside table drawer—the one that went mouldy.'

I shelved the project for the time being as too hard. I had other problems to deal with, problems I didn't really want to talk about with Helen-Sarah-and-Rachel. Not yet.

First, there was the sleep-over and that was okay. I was looking forward to that. I panicked a bit about what I'd take, but I talked it over with Helen and found out that I'd need:

My real problem was a boy at school. I could hardly even say his name, not without feeling myself go red. I couldn't write it in my journal, not properly. I called him by his initials and then disguised them by doing them in fake Elizabethan writing with lots of curls and loops:

He had this curly mouth, curly hair and crinkly eyes, and he smiled so much that everyone called him Smiley. He was good at everything. Well, not everything. He was lousy at Maths and Italian, and he couldn't sing to save his life. But he was great at soccer, basketball and football. I liked him because he smiled all the time and he was one of the popular kids who didn't seem to care that he was popular.

I had a crush on him. I knew it was a crush because I could tick off every single crush indicator on the list Helen had compiled. Helen knew all about crushes. She had her first crush when she
was in Preps, she said.

I did everything, even the last thing. I did act kind of stuck-up around him. Not mega stuck-up, not I'm-too-posh-for-you-to-clean-my-shoes stuck up, just I've-got-better-things-to-talk-about-than-your-game-of-soccer-but-if-you-ask-me-twice-I'll-answer kind of stuck-up.

I had a crush on
and I felt like all the things that were on Helen's ‘How You Feel When You've Got a Mega Crush Six-Point Indicator':

I had my first crush and I had it badly. Maybe it was like those diseases that if you don't get them when you're a kid you get them three times as badly when you're an adult. I was a late developer when it came to crushes and it was like killer chicken-pox.

When I got home from the sleep-over, Mum seemed weird. Usually if I've been away she's all questions, questions, questions. This time she opened the front door and looked almost surprised it was me.

‘Oh, hi Millie,' she said, ‘you're home early.'

‘No, I'm not,' I said, dropping my bag so I could hug her. ‘It's about five past six, actually.'

‘Of course, so it is.' She hugged me quickly. ‘Have a good time?'

‘It was brilliant. Really great. We stayed up until late last night, watching videos and talking. Helen's mother's cool, too. She's a low-maintenance mother. You know, here's the popcorn, girls, don't burn it.
And Helen's bedroom is fantastic. She's got all these posters everywhere—not just movie star posters, although she's got some of those, but animals, too. It's great.'

‘Good. I'm pleased you had such a good time,' Mum said. ‘I think we'll have noodles for dinner, take-away noodles. Is that okay?'

I followed her into the kitchen.

‘I haven't quite finished cleaning up in here,' she said. ‘Millie, why don't you unpack your bag and sort out your washing.' And she almost shooed me out of the kitchen, but not before I'd noticed the mess.

‘What were you doing?' I asked, peering over her shoulder. There was a pile of stuff on the sink—saucepans, wine glasses, plates. ‘Mum, it looks as though you've had a party!'

‘No party,' she said, trying to block my view. ‘Not a party, really. Just dinner, that's all. Come on, Millie, I need that washing.' Mum looked flustered and quite pink.

‘How many people came over?'

‘Oh, you know, just a couple of people from the exhibition committee. That's all. It was pretty impromptu, really.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘When something happens on the spur of the moment. Come on, Millie, washing!'

‘I need a drink first,' I said and pushed past her into the kitchen.

On the kitchen sink there were:

‘How many people?' I asked pointedly.

‘One,' Mum said, sighing, ‘just one.'

‘And they stayed over?'

‘Would you rather someone stay over or drink and drive, Millie?'

‘Well, stay over, of course,' I said. ‘Did you
change my sheets?'

‘Your sheets? No, of course not.'

‘Well, I don't want to sleep in used sheets,' I said.

‘Oh, okay. Well, you change them then,' Mum said. ‘Put them in the wash with your other washing. Now, can you get out of my hair. I have to get rid of this mess.'

‘Did you have a nice dinner?' I asked. Mum looked stressed and tired and I thought she needed cheering up.

‘Yes, I did. Thanks, Millie. It was a lovely evening.' She turned away from the sink and hugged me. ‘And I'm really pleased you had a good time, too.'

When I went to get my sheets I was pretty surprised. The bed was exactly as I had left it.

Nothing looked disturbed at all. Whoever had spent last night in my bed had even replaced Merlin exactly where I had left him, half tucked under the doona.

As soon as I had sorted out my washing, I took the phone into my room and rang Helen.

‘It looks bad,' she said, ‘but it might just
look
bad. Phone Rachel and see what she thinks.'

‘Definitely a boyfriend,' Rachel said, as I outlined the kitchen sink contents. ‘Two of everything has to be boyfriend.'

‘What will I do?' I wailed.

‘Well, you can either ask her straight out or wait,' Rachel said. ‘It depends.'

‘On what?'

‘Boyfriends make mums feel guilty,' Rachel said, ‘so if you want some new jeans or a new book or a CD now is the time to strike.'

‘Don't you think that's mean?'

‘It's life,' Rachel said.

‘I'll have to think about that,' I said and hung up. I rang Sarah. She actually had two parents who still lived together. She was an endangered species, but it meant that she'd be able to look at the morals of it all objectively.

‘You don't even know if it is a boyfriend,' Sarah said, ‘although the evidence does suggest it. Maybe she wanted you to find out, do you reckon? Like what Ms O'Grady was saying about that book, you know, where the girl left all the stuff lying around so her mum would find out that she was on drugs? It's a cry for help.'

‘It can't be a cry for help if it's a boyfriend.'

‘He mightn't even be a boyfriend yet,' Sarah said.

‘There were porridge bowls,' I pointed out.

‘Oh, he's a boyfriend then. And she wanted you to find out otherwise she'd have done the washing-up right away. I bet she tells you over take-aways.
That's why they get take-aways—it's to make you feel good about what they're going to tell you.'

‘So I shouldn't ask her?'

‘I'd wait,' Sarah said. ‘I think she'd feel better.'

Helen agreed.

‘She'll feel in control then,' Helen said. ‘They like that. Then you want to meet him as quickly as possible and check him out. Boyfriends can be really cool, but only if they want you to like them. If he doesn't want you to like him, get rid of him.'

‘What?'

‘You'll have to,' Helen said. ‘Mum had one like that. I had to get rid of him. You only want the best ones to stick around. The others will end up being creepy anyway and hurting your mum. You don't want that to happen. So you have to meet him and test him.'

‘Millie! Are you on the phone?'

‘I've got to go,' I said. ‘I'll talk to you tomorrow.'

I hadn't thought of creepy boyfriends, but what if Mum was with someone like old Pig's Trotters? That would be the worst thing in the world. I couldn't let that happen to her. I'd have to save her.

I waited until we'd bought take-away noodles. I waited right through the noodles. Mum cleared her throat a couple of times but nothing happened. She said it was the satay sauce, and it might have been, but it might also have been the word
‘boyfriend's ticking there like a fish bone.

I waited right through the ‘Worlds Forgotten by Time'. We watched in silence as various archaeologists talked excitedly about chipped pots. ‘Worlds' finished and before we could sit through another program in total silence, the phone rang and Mum dived to get it.

‘I'll get it,' she practically screamed at me.

‘I've got it,' I said, holding it aloft. ‘Hello, Millie Childes speaking. Yes, she is. May I say who's calling? It's for you,' I said. ‘Someone called Tom Grafton. On the exhibition committee, I suppose.'

I said the last bit in my most sarcastic voice, but Mum didn't seem to notice. She was too busy grabbing the phone and leaving the room with it. What did people do before portable handsets?

The call took ages. When she finally came out, I said, in my meanest voice, ‘So I suppose that's the exhibition committee who came to dinner and stayed for breakfast? Also known as
The Boyfriend?
'

‘Oh, Millie,' Mum said and hugged me. Her face was flushed and her eyes were all soft and gooey. She looked the way I felt when I looked at

I felt sorry for her and hugged her back.

‘Why didn't you tell me?' I asked. ‘You've always told me things before.'

‘I was waiting to see if it was ... you know,
serious or not.'

‘So is it? Is he a “boyfriend”?'

‘I guess he is. It's pretty weird having a boyfriend at my age, but “man friend” sounds...'

‘Weirder,' I said. ‘Is he nice? Will I like him? Will he like me? When do I get to meet him?'

‘Steady on. Yes, he is nice. I think you'll like him. I think he'll like you. You'll get to meet each other at the exhibition opening which is on Friday night. Okay? He wants to meet you too, Millie.'

‘What does he do?'

‘Well, he is kind of on the exhibition committee. He's in the photography department.'

‘So he's an artist, too? I don't think artists should live together, Mum.'

‘We're not even talking about living together, Millie!' Mum said. ‘And he started photography as a technical photographer but, yes, I think he is an artist.'

‘That's okay, I quite like artists. Although they don't earn much money and it's not good for there to be two in the one house.'

I could see why Mum was nervous on Friday. When I got home from school she was in the bathroom, getting ready. We had two and a half hours before zero hour, but she was shut in there already.

‘Scrubbing off paint,' she called out.

When I put my head around the door to ask what there was to eat, she was wearing a face mask. It was blue. She looked like an alien.

‘Is that for
The Boyfriend's
benefit?' I asked. I had counted the phone calls—he had rung her three times that week. They both worked at the same place, for heaven's sake.

‘Why doesn't he just come round?' I'd asked after the second phone call. ‘It would be cheaper.'

‘We're both busy,' Mum had said.

‘Not too busy to spend an hour on the phone,' I'd pointed out. I was becoming more of a scientist every day.

‘No, it's not just for Tom's benefit,' Mum said. ‘Okay, I guess I do want to look my best, but not just for Tom. It's the exhibition and the students. This is my first kind of public thing in the department. I'm feeling anxious.'

I made her a cup of tea without her even asking.

‘Millie, what are you going to wear?' She had practically everything she owned out on the bed but she asked me as though my answer would solve everything for her.

‘My jeans,' I said. ‘And yes, they're clean.'

‘You're not wearing jeans to the exhibition opening.'

‘Okay, my denim skirt with that new top. Will
that do?'

‘Providing you have a shower and wash that hair.'

‘I'm not meeting
my
boyfriend.' I felt obliged to point that out.

‘No, but you
are
meeting mine, and I want you to look your best.'

‘Do you think he's worrying what he's going to wear?'

‘He might be,' she said.

‘I doubt it. Boys don't.'

‘Some do—when they get over a certain age. What am I going to wear?'

‘Your rosebud dress,' I told her and separated it from the pile, ‘and the shoes that go with it and I'll subdue your hair for you if you like. You'll be beautiful, Mum.'

‘We both look good,' Mum said finally when we were ready to go only half an hour before we needed to be. ‘Come on, Millie, I want to get there early anyway, just to make sure everything is looking as good as we are.'

I'd been to the TAFE before, of course, but it all looked different at night and the exhibition had been hung in a gallery space I hadn't seen before. It looked great. There was a table right at the front with a roll of paper on it and a handful of felt-tipped pens so you could write your comments
on it. Other tables were covered with white paper which had been sketched on, so when you went to get a biscuit and cheese, you had to reach across someone's face or a bit of a leg or a bent-over tree. Other tables invited you to sketch, with big fat pencils laid out on them along with the dips and baskets of baguettes.

‘Hospitality students are catering,' Mum said, looking around the room critically. ‘Look, there's the installation I was telling you about.'