CHAPTER 2

June, Year 12

Autumn tipped into winter as the days shortened and held their biting chill. Jack spent every short evening riding his bike on the dust patch behind the granny flat, where Tony had helped build a small series of jumps. Jack was one of those kids who had taken to wheels like a duck to water; the chill winter afternoons didn’t stop him. Gab had helped him learn to ride a two-wheeler when he was four, but he’d hardly needed any help. He spent hours wheeling around in the dust, and when he came off, it was Gab he called for. He was happy enough out there, and that was helpful because it gave Gab time to study and prepare dinner.

One such afternoon in June, Gab was sitting at the kitchen table finishing up a language analysis for English while nibbling an apple and crackers. The phone rang. The old-school, faded mustard device was sitting on the kitchen table by Gab’s elbow. She had already reached out to answer it by the time her mum called out edgily, “Gab? The phone please!” as she always did. Gina hated answering the phone.

“Hello, Gab speaking,” answered Gab.

“Hi Gab. It’s Mr. Cheng here. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time?”

“Oh!” Gab’s face coloured. “Mr. Cheng … um, what’s up?” She couldn’t be in trouble, could she? At lightning speed, she flicked through any possible scenarios that could have precipitated the phone call.

“Nothing bad, Gab; don’t worry!” said Mr. Cheng, reading the nervousness in her voice. “When have I ever had to tell you off?”

“Well, you never know?” suggested Gab. Mr. Cheng laughed.

“Actually I’ve got great news. I thought your mum might like to know that you just scored one hundred percent on today’s Maths assessment! That’s the second time this year, Gab. Well done!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Great run. May I speak with your mum?”

“Um, okay, just a minute.”

Gab put the receiver down and went to the sunroom. Her mother was sitting cross-legged on the sofa-throne with her eyes closed.

“Mum?” ventured Gab. Gina’s eyes snapped open.

“Honey, I’m meditating,” she answered.

“Sorry Mum. It’s just that Mr. Cheng’s on the phone … He wants to speak with you.”

“Why? You in trouble?”

“No.”

“Then why’s he calling?”

Gab sighed. It wasn’t meant to be this hard. “He wants to tell you about my Maths test today. Come on Mum, please.” Gina sighed with annoyance and slowly extracted herself from the folds of her seat. She dawdled slowly to the kitchen and picked up the phone.

“Yep?” she said. Gab cringed and walked out of the kitchen. She leaned her head against the wall in the passageway, listening in, while Mr. Cheng told Gina of Gab’s impressive result. Gina, however, was not as impressed as he was.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Okay, that’s good, fine,” she replied flatly, after he had described Gab’s feat. “But maths isn’t exactly what you’d call important, is it?” Gab half covered her ears, not wanting to hear, but still nail-bitingly curious. “Yeah, well what about teaching them what’s actually going to help them? What about teaching them to pray and seek revelation? Or teaching them about spiritual warfare? Or helping them appreciate the mysteries of the universe, for goodness’ sake?” Gina really could get preachy sometimes, Gab thought. She knew that Mr. Cheng would tell Gina that maths was precisely that, a mystery of the universe, a puzzle that humanity had been piecing together for millennia. But Gina obviously wasn’t interested.

“Okay, well, thanks for calling then. Bye.” And Gina hung up abruptly. “Don’t know why he had to bloody call to tell me that,” she muttered to herself, but loud enough for Gab to hear. Gab wanted to curl up and die. It was awful. She was slipping off to her room to hide but suddenly turned around.

“Mum,” she said in a hushed voice, “Don’t you think it’s good I did well in my Maths test today?” Her hazel eyes wrestled desperately to hide a look of entreaty, of hunger.

“Yeah, it’s great honey,” Gina said, as excitedly as if she’d just been informed of the average drying-time for fence paint. “As for your Mr. C, you know my feelings about having someone like him in our town. I just wish,” and her demeanour suddenly changed in that odd way it was apt to do; she began wringing her hands and seemed close to tears—“I just wish they focused more on teaching you spiritual truths, Gabrielle. What good is mathematics in guiding you through life? You need insight. You need to hear the voice of revelation, of divine and sacred truths.”

Gab hated when her mum talked like this. She hated it, not only because she thought her mum was talking rubbish, but because she simultaneously desired to please Gina. She wanted to believe her mum and to do what made her mum happy. Could she seek ‘the voice of revelation’ for her mum’s sake, even though it frightened the hell out of her?

“Don’t worry Mum, it’s okay,” Gab reassured her mother. “You go and rest in the sunroom. I’ll put dinner on.”

“You’re a good girl, Gabrielle,” cooed her mother. “What’s for dinner tonight then?” Gina ambled back to her place in the sunroom.

“I’m going to try something new tonight: dal.” said Gab. She’d been searching for new recipes. Dal was so cheap to make; plus, you couldn’t go wrong with lentils—a protein and vegetable at once.

“What’s that?” asked Gina, turning around. “What’d you say?”

“Dal,” explained Gab. “It’s an Indian dish. Lentils. Like a curry, but I won’t make it spicy.”

“Cor, Indian? You kidding me?” said her mother. “I don’t want that! I want a good, hearty Aussie meal!” It was one of Gina’s striking peculiarities that while she was keen to culturally appropriate from whichever religious traditions took her fancy, the everyday, ordinary people who carried on those ancient traditions were treated with disdain—unless they looked and spoke like her. It was as though the religious ideas were completely disconnected from the realities of everyday existence. This jarred with Gab, who—for whatever reasons—was empathetic to a fault.

“You haven’t even tried it, Mum. Please, it’s really cheap and healthy and lentils were on special at work this week.”

Gina’s eyes filled with tears. “Gabby, don’t do this to me, honey!” Her breathing rate was increasing, as was her emphasis on each word. “I really would just like my usual dinner.”

Gab’s cheeks reddened, even as she blocked out the shame. Without realising it, gliding into a familiar pattern, Gab bit down and changed tack.

“No worries, Mum. I’ll grab some beef for you and Jack.” It was okay. She would make dal just for herself. For her mother, she’d get something from the chest freezer out the back; Tony filled it with home-grown beef every year when the steers were sold for market. Gab knew this was what Gina wanted. She’d roast veggies for her mum—and for Jack, because if he saw Gina eating it, he’d want the same.

Gab did everything she could to avoid conflict, because it only made things harder for them all. She felt sorry for her mum; Gina had had such a hard life (and made sure to remind herself and her children of this). Gab pushed down resentment before it even surfaced; before she knew it was there. It seemed the most sensible thing to do—her only real option.