Friday in Summer

“The dragon bid farewell to the three adventurers. The chaos caused by the human breed had been healed and time moved on again. There was no more need for her presence.
‘Look to the crystal, Agatha. If there is another disruption in the time flow, I will come.’ She turned her mighty head towards the brooding city visible in the fog beyond the rise on which they stood. After a moment while they could see her recall the dangers they had faced, she added sadly: ‘If I am able.’
Before Charles could phrase the question that occurred to him, she lifted into the air with her usual grace, turned and was gone. Agatha threw herself weeping into Charles’ arms.
The third member of the group turned in a circle, taking in the hill, the cowering sheep and the dark city. He spoke, ‘We’re back then. I wonder if the Boss has missed me.’
They laughed and started down the hill towards their next adventure.”

I put the book down with a satisfied sigh. The second trilogy was due to be published next year, but for now I would have to return to the real world. Last time I lost myself in a good book nothing was changed by my return to reality. But this time, maybe this time I would be able to change the world by willing it to be so. Maybe Ned Kelly lived to be an old man. Maybe gold was never discovered in the rivers of Australia. Maybe Bonnie Prince Charlie won at Culloden. Maybe.

Reality check first. I rolled off my bed and looked in the full-length mirror on my wardrobe door. Nothing appeared to have changed in my appearance. I grabbed the comb from my dresser and pulled it through my long, curly but unremarkable, brown hair. The conversation I had with myself went like this:

‘Well, Janice, you are not a brave and adventurous heroine in a fantasy story. You are Janice Rhodes, a 16 year old college student who, these holidays, could do with losing a bit of that puppy fat.’ This as I finished pulling my hair into a ponytail and turned side-on. I was wearing this week’s favourite tee-shirt, jade green to complement the stone pendant on my necklace, and a denim skirt too short to cover my father’s knees. I had often observed that he could have them back any time. My face, thank goodness, owed more to my mother’s genes than Dad’s: skin too pale for Australian conditions, hence the freckles; eyes: blue; cheeks, under the layer of padding, high; face shape: blunt pencil, with a chin a little too sharp for attractiveness.

‘You are not in the outskirts of a parallel London in Victorian England. You are, in fact in a rather prosaic and very familiar bedroom, upstairs in a normal brick and tile family home in small town Victoria, Australia.’ Our house, my home since I was ten, was at the hilly end of a short cul de sac. Out my window I could see down to the Douglass’ house at the corner, then looking up I could see all the way to the mountains, hazy with the smoke of bush fires. Two years ago it was frightening how close the fires came to town, but this year there had been rain. ‘It’s a Friday morning in early December. My last summer school holidays started last week. It’s going to be another warm day, 30° at least.’

My town was not that small really. There were lots of traffic lights, a CBD of more than two streets, nine primary schools and five high schools. We also laid claim to The Seaport Grammar school. The sons of farmers, and rich townies from Melbourne, an hour away, went there. Sure locals sent their sons, but only if they wanted them to be trained as politicians, entrepreneurs and Wallabies. Sure Dodger Douglass from down the road went there, but he didn’t fit the usual mould. He wasn’t sports-mad and he lived with his mum who worked as a doctor’s receptionist. He went there because he had won a music scholarship. When we were the only kids our age in the street we used to play together, when he wasn’t practising saxophone, but I hadn’t spoken to him since we had both started high school. It wasn’t snobbery. Just different timetables in different places. Some nights I could hear the moan of his saxophone as I lay on my bed reading. He was really very good. I had no such talent.

The fix from the book I had just finished was beginning to fade. At least it was now holidays so I didn’t have to abuse my senses with something like Molecular Chemistry. The real world with its petty problems threatened to claim me again. I rushed over to my bookcase to search out an old favourite. Nobody but a true bookaholic can fully understand the sensuality of being other, in a world that is other.

Not mothers that’s for sure. ‘Janice! Bring your washing down. And it’s your turn to take Jasper for a run.’

‘Coming, mum. Yes, I know it’s my turn.’ I turfed some of the clothes from under my bed into the laundry basket. Unfolded them first. I had learned the hard way about the sin of taking clothes straight off the folded washing pile and putting them into the washing basket.

I walked carefully down the stairs and carried my laundry basket through to the laundry where Mum was sorting the family’s wash. I had seen Jasper waiting patiently at the front door at the foot of the stairs. “Bye, mum. I’ll walk him to the shop and back. Anything you need? No. Bye then.” My dog looked back at me in joyful anticipation as I attached the lead to his collar and opened the front door.

One day I had waited for the answer to that question and then had to struggle back from the shops with two shopping bags full of stuff Mum could have bought more cheaply from the Supermarket. My conscience was assuaged by having asked the question. My self-preservation by not listening to the answer.

I had enough money for a Coke and, well today I wouldn’t buy a packet of chips because I was being good about my weight. Mind you, a 20 minute walk with Jasper full of beans and I would have walked off a small packet of chips. So maybe just a small packet. Of Thins.

Jasper pulled strongly on the lead as we left the house and tumbled down the steps to the front of our block. He gave me time for a breath as he sniffed at the bottom of the mailbox before tearing off down the hill. I loved the extendable lead we had bought, but my arm was nearly tugged out of its socket as Jasper learned again that he was still attached to a lead. ‘You are so funny, Jazz.’

‘Why is it funny that your dog chokes himself?’ The speaker was lounging on the front steps of his house. Jasper darted towards him, excited. This was another constant. The dog loved the boy who ignored him.

‘What’s it to you, Dodger? He’s my dog.’ Dodger Douglass stood up and sauntered towards us as I redirected Jasper to the path. He had grown a lot this last year. Dark red hair. Glasses. Pale freckled skin. Still gawky, even as a sixteen year old. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t hurt. Jasper always does that. Dad said Jazz’s mother used to do it too. You’d think she’d have taught him to stop short if it had really bothered her, or that he would have learned in ten years to avoid being throttled if it really hurt.’ Jasper had gone off to inspect the next lamp post and I followed with the Dodger still walking beside me.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

‘Shops. Same as you.’

‘How do you know I’m going to the shops?’

‘You always walk Jasper to the shops. Then you buy a Coke and chips and walk him back. Your brother walks him to the park and lets him run around. Your dad walks him around the block. Your mum never walks him.’

I stared at him like the stalker he so obviously was. “How could you know all this?’

‘I watch. I remember. I analyse.’ Tapped his temple at this last bit. I noticed that his glasses were the same little round John Lennon ones he’d always worn. His hair was long and wavy, a bit longer than fashionable really. He didn’t look like a loony. No more than he had done when we used to hang around together.

‘What’s your analysis of the Rhodes family then, Genius?’

‘Pretty normal. Pretty caring. Your mum’s the boss.’

I had to laugh. He was so right. Normal. My family was so normal it was scary. I’d never be able to do anything about the way the world was because my family had not toughened me up for the trials I might experience in the big wide world. First sign of trouble, I’d be calling for my daddy to put it right. ‘Normal is so boring.’

He didn’t laugh with me. He didn’t even look at me when I said this, and then I remembered why that wasn’t a very kind thing to say to the Dodger. Remembered Mum talking to Dad about Mr Douglass’ suicide last summer. Worse still, it was close to exactly a year ago. I was too embarrassed to say anything else. Finally he said: ‘Normal would be nice.’

We walked in silence for a while. Jasper marked every second lamp post. The Dodger kept pace with me. I thought it was time for a non sequitur. ‘How was school this year?’

He looked at me. One of those: ‘You don’t want to know’ looks.

‘Can’t have been that bad.’ I suggested.

‘Why not? I failed everything. Except Music. Not sure if I’m back there next year. Don’t care either. You?’

This sounded like a really good time to rave on about the injustices I suffered under teachers who expected me to work way too hard. My diatribe got us to the end of Russell St. Jasper disappeared down the driveway of the last house, then the first strange thing happened.

I was still raving on about, I think by this stage it was that good old stand-by, the uniform, waiting with the other half of my brain for the lead to go taut, but …it didn’t. The recoil threw me off balance. The Dodger caught me before I tripped. One second Jasper was pulling full-strength on the lead, barking as he chased I don’t know what down this strange driveway, then there was silence and the lead recoiled. I stepped away from the Dodger. We both looked at the end of the lead: the end that had been attached by a pretty strong catch to Jasper’s collar. The collar was still attached, but there was no Jasper inside it.
‘Where’s your dog?’

‘That’s never happened before.’ We both spoke at the same time. I repeated: ‘It’s never happened before. The collar is so tight we have to undo it to get it off.’ I started walking down the driveway, calling for Jasper.

The Dodger hesitated then pulled me back. He put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me around to face him. ‘Janice, I don’t think you should go down there. You know whose place this is, don’t you?’

‘No, and I don’t care. My dog’s here.’

I pulled away. He followed me, whispering, ‘It’s McKenzie’s place. You can’t go there. He’s a nutcase.’ I turned to look at him. Looked up. The Dodger was usually pretty pale, but now he was ghostly white. I looked at the section I was heading into. Sure, the grass was as high as my waist, the trees cast a deep shadow over the rest of the driveway and I thought I see a movement against the grimy windows, but my dog had slipped his collar when he’d never done it before.

‘I just want to get Jasper. It won’t take long. You don’t have to come.’

‘No I’ll come.’ he said. So the Dodger and I began the long walk down the driveway beside the McKenzie house. We walked into the gloom.

I called, “Jasper, you dumb dog, come here.’ The Dodger even whistled. The bushes seemed to be getting taller as it grew darker yet. I looked back. There was the street in bright sunlight, with an orange tractor passing. A Kubota L3250. Mr Coles must have come into town, I remember thinking.

‘Janice. Don’t you think we should go now?’

‘I just want to get Jasper.’ I kept walking, glancing over my shoulder at the Dodger, who had stopped walking and was watching the Coles’ tractor.

The change was instantaneous. There was very little time between now and when I screamed.