Red Day Page 2

  “No. Just different. He writes poetry.”

  “I get to meet him first. Before any of the others.”

  “Okay. He’s not here to find a girlfriend, Luce.”

  She laughs. Lucy’s got a tinkly laugh that makes me think of fairy dust. A pink cupcake laugh. The sort of laugh that makes every boy within earshot turn and stare.

  “We’ll see,” she says.

  It makes me smile. When Lucy decides, no boy stands a chance. Not even one from Japan.

  It’s 5 am. I balance on the edge of my bed to lace up my tiger-stripe running shoes.

  I love early morning, before the sun heats up the day. When the world is still bleary-eyed and half-asleep, fringed with greyness. It’s a synthie thing. When I was a kid, I thought everyone was like me. I’d never heard the word synaesthesia. Neither had Mum. She just thought I was quirky.

  My life is full of questions my friends will never need to ask. Why do birds sing when they’re sad? Why does the letter “s” get so cranky that sometimes it hisses at me? And why does green sound like falling water when blue should be the wet colour? There’s a soft buzz in my head like someone has turned the radio on in another room. I need to run. Every morning I run, otherwise my nerves would spit and arc all day with a constant splatter of colour and sound. Like staticky high definition TV looping in my head. It’s okay with me. I love running. I’m not fast but I’m fit, and I always get chosen for the school hockey team.

  When I was four, Nana Ruth suggested I should take the test for synaesthesia. I spent lots of days with my nana while Mum was at work and Eli was at school. Nana Ruth took me to see a psychologist who helped Eli, Mum and me understand what it was like to synth. Eli would laugh at me describing how my brain scrambled my senses and pretend he was synth, too.

  Nana Ruth was my first best friend, although it’s been eight years since I last saw her.

  I’d be thinking I was crazy now if I didn’t know where all the mixed-up signals came from. It’s just my brain. It’s wired differently to most people’s. It’s not a good thing or a bad thing. Or some kind of superpower. It’s just who I am.

  I never talk to anyone about being synth. I don’t want to be the weird kid. “Quirky” is different enough. Even Lucy doesn’t know, although she’s had lots of clues, right under her nose, from the day we first met in kindergarten.

  It took me one day at kindergarten to realise the other kids couldn’t see coloured numbers. It didn’t matter that they teased me – I couldn’t feel sad when Lucy’s pink laugh tickled. She was my second best friend and we’ll be best friends forever. The teacher said I had a good imagination, and everyone quickly forgot.

  My running track is just a dirt road snaking through our property. No other people or cars to worry about. It’s two kilometres to the main gate where I always turn back. West would lead me to the MacAllisters’ farm or east would take me into Cowra.

  I close the door quietly, take a deep breath and fill my lungs with colour. A magpie warbles its dawn song and I breathe in that, too.

  Behind me, the door unlatches with a jarring click.

  “Good morning, Shallot.”

  We’re about the same height, so I’m forced to meet his gaze eye-to-eye.

  “Why are you up so early?” I ask.

  He’s got shorts and joggers on. The last thing I want is Kenichi running with me.

  “Coralie said an early morning run would be a healthy start to my Australian week.”

  When he says Mum’s name, I can hear his other words fighting against it. He wants to call her Mrs Cartwright, but she won’t let him.

  “All Charlotte’s friends call me Coralie,” she’d insisted every time he tried. “Mrs sounds like my mother.”

  Who she refuses to speak to and won’t let me talk about. It’s not fair. Once I asked what Nana Ruth did that was so awful. Mum walked out of the room and when she came back, she pretended my question didn’t exist.

  “I thought you’d want to sleep in. I’ve heard plane travel is exhausting.”

  “I don’t want to miss a single minute of my first morning here. Morning is the best part of the day.”

  He’s right, but it’s my part of the day and I don’t want to share it.

  I set the run tracker on my fitness watch. I watch the numbers clock over, counting my steps and checking my heart rate. At least I know my physical stats are nice and normal.

  “Try to keep up, and watch out for kangaroos. They’ll be up feeding now and it can be dangerous when they bound out in front of you.” Obviously he hasn’t got a clue about kangaroos after yesterday’s comment. I start across the house paddock, heading for the road. I don’t want to see him blindsided by a roo but I’m not waiting for him. I warned Mum I wasn’t babysitting. Monday at school will be bad enough.

  I glance behind. Kenichi’s already a long way back. This morning I’ll do two fast laps to make sure he doesn’t want to run with me tomorrow.

  The impact of my feet on the dry late-summer-baked earth counts the steady in-out flow of my breath, and my watch records that too. I could run forever. The rhythm takes me away from Kenichi, except this time my thoughts won’t settle.

  Eli was the first runner in our family. I ran after him every morning, tagging along even though I was only allowed to go as far as the chook shed. He ran to breathe. In the end, his breathing stopped anyway.

  I run to find a clear place, away from the surge of colours and questions that threaten to overfill my brain. This morning, it’s not working. Why does the day smell like rain when the earth is dry and the sky is clear and soft violet? I glance behind me, where more questions pounce. Why hasn’t Kenichi turned back? What’s he trying to prove?

  When I reach the halfway mark of the second lap from the house to the main road, Kenichi is even further behind. I raise the bar and barrel towards home. The gloom has lifted and the sun is getting up quickly. Beads of sweat drip down my neck.

  The noise in my head finally settles as I leap up the verandah steps and head for the fridge. I’m alone. The fridge hums contentedly and I join its song as I grab two apple juices. He’ll need one by the time he gets here.

  He’s already waiting stretched out on the verandah’s stone floor.

  I hand him an apple juice and sit on the cool stones. Water runs through my head, clearing the last of the questions. “I didn’t think you’d catch up so quick.”

  He downs half the juice in one go. “Thank you.” He undoes his shoelaces and kicks off his shoes, then places them together perpendicular to the edge of the verandah. The neatness irritates me, but the angle of the pattern feels right.

  “I was pacing myself. I didn’t want to overtake you on our first run.”

  As if.

  He’s focused on the juice, avoiding my eyes. Surely he doesn’t believe that? Kenichi’s full of himself if he thinks he can outrun me. And there isn’t going to be any more running together.

  I follow his gaze across the paddocks, to the stand of trees and the river beyond. In town, the horizon is only a row of buildings away. Out here, you have to squint really hard to see it. When you do, sometimes it shimmers and vanishes. Like magic.

  Even though I’ve sat on the verandah probably a million mornings, it’s still an amazing view. I don’t like sheep, but I love this land. One day it’ll all belong to me, although I’d give anything to be able to share it with Eli.

  “What’s that black-and-white bird?” Kenichi points towards the big eucalyptus tree growing beside the house yard fence.

  “A magpie. They’re not very friendly if they’ve got a nest with chicks nearby.”

  “I like its song.”

  “A magpie’s beak is so sharp it can peck your eye out if it attacks.”

  He watches the bird warily.

  “Don’t worry. Magpies never nest in that tree. It’s just looking at us.”

  “I didn’t know there were dangerous birds in Australia.”

  I lie back on the verandah flo
or and enjoy its coldness on my back and neck.

  “Wait until you meet a cassowary, the most dangerous bird in the world. Two metres tall with a karate kick and massive razor-sharp claws. If you run it’ll chase you, and it’s fast, fifty kilometres an hour.” I drop my voice lower. “It doesn’t sing like a magpie. It rumbles, like thunder rolling in from the distance. If you hear that, don’t move, just play dead.”

  “Are there any near here?” Kenichi nervously checks the surrounding paddocks.

  He’s not so smart after all.

  “You’re safe. They’re endangered so there aren’t many left and they live way up north in the rainforest. They only attack if people frighten them or go near their chicks.”

  “My sisters will want to see the magpie.”

  Kenichi heads inside and returns with a camera that looks like it was built using rocket science. I bite my tongue and say nothing about Japanese technology. Point number one again. It’s all Nintendo to me.

  He aims the camera and clicks.

  “That’s it?” I can’t keep my mouth shut even when I try.

  “State-of-art image centring with autofocus in less than one-tenth of a second,” he announces, like some sort of camera salesman. “Would you like a turn?”

  I shake my head. I’m not into photography. We haven’t even got a camera.

  “How many sisters have you got?” I ask, feigning interest.

  “Three. All younger than me and all very irritating. You’re lucky to be the only one.”

  I struggle to keep my face blank. No one has ever said that. Everyone in Cowra knows there’s not just me. There’s also Eli’s memory. I keep it as brightly coloured as I can. What would Kenichi say if I told him about that?

  I’ll never know. I never talk about Eli with anyone. Not even Mum.

  The eucalypts lining the road into Cowra are thin and scraggly, their bark peeling like sunburnt skin. I’m sitting in the back seat of the car with Kenichi. I’m not happy. I want to sit up front like I always do, but Mum doesn’t want him sitting alone.

  “Feels like a taxi,” I mutter.

  “It feels that way to me wherever you sit.” Mum smiles into the rear-view mirror. “The weather forecast said possible rain this week. I can’t see where they get that idea from.”

  Old people, like Mum, are always talking about rain. Reminiscing about when it last rained or looking up and wondering when it will rain next.

  Through the left side window I can see forever across the lucerne fields, a crisscross of brown and bore-watered green where the crop struggles to flower, and, as usual, there’s not a cloud in the sky.

  Lots of my friends, like Lucy, can’t wait to move away – for university or a city job. I don’t want to leave the farm, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live somewhere greener, to escape the flat orange summer heat and dusty paddocks.

  In winter, it’s freezing cold. But it still rarely rains, and the fields are always thirsty. Our farm has a bore that pumps water to over half the land. A thin muddy rivulet, just enough to keep the earth alive. Enough to grow grapes like Mr Lavros does on the property behind ours. That’s what I’m going to do when I’m in charge. You don’t have to muster or shear a vineyard.

  Kenichi is concentrating on what’s outside the car window. He isn’t the first Japanese kid I’ve met. Lots of Japanese kids come to Cowra.

  “My sister’s been to Japan three times,” Mum announces for the second time.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting her, Coralie.”

  Kenichi says all the right things. He has Mum charmed around his little finger

  I scrunch against the back of the seat and try to stretch my legs. Why do we have to visit Aunt Mandy today? Halfway through the week we’ll be looking for stuff to do. I had more important things lined up. Painting my toenails with candy stripes and watching a movie re-run.

  “You’ll have a chance to talk about home with someone who’s been to Japan recently,” Mum enthuses.

  “I’m interested to hear your sister’s stories.”

  He’s such a suck-up. I’ve got a calendar on my wall where I’m marking off the days until I get my life back.

  “This is Cowra,” Mum says as we reach the outskirts of town.

  “He already knows. You picked him up here yesterday.”

  She pretends not to hear me. “On the right is the Visitor Centre. My Historical Society has a small display there with a hologram about the prison breakout.”

  “I’d like to see that,” Kenichi says.

  I wish I could close my ears so I didn’t have to listen. Somewhere along the Grenfell Road Mum has morphed into a tour guide. Kenichi is encouraging her and that’s not a good thing. She knows hours of Cowra facts and figures, enough to last all the way to Aunt Mandy’s and back.

  School is nearby but the high school isn’t on Mum’s itinerary. She turns out of town, heading for the scenic route. On Monday, the hard part begins for me. I have to make sure he knows where to go for classes. I have to sit with him at lunchtime and introduce him to my friends.

  “If you look out to the right again, you’ll see the Japanese Gardens soon.” Mum’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

  I wish I had my earphones. Mum wouldn’t let me bring them because it would be rude if I plugged myself in. I don’t see what difference it makes. It’s not as if Kenichi and I have anything to talk about.

  “Tomorrow we’ll walk around the gardens,” Mum says. “We can go to the Visitor Centre first. Get an early start and a few brochures for you to take home. I know the school has planned a sightseeing excursion, but you won’t get to see everything in such a short time.”

  Mum emphasises “everything” and I cringe. Kenichi is still smiling. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s in for. Mum has totally forgotten number three on her list. Not too much touristy stuff.

  “Can Lucy come?” I ask, remembering my promise. It wouldn’t be boring if Lucy came with us. I cross my fingers. Mum likes Lucy. If she could pick my friends for me, she’d pick Lucy first.

  “Not this time. You’ll be busy.”

  Stuck looking after Kenichi.

  “There’s the Gardens.” Mum continues her commentary. “Five hectares forming the largest Japanese Gardens in the southern hemisphere.”

  I roll my eyes. Kenichi doesn’t notice. He’s still staring out the window as she winds into top gear.

  “The Prisoner of War Camp site is next. Then my sister’s farm. Our grandmother found one of the escaped soldiers hiding in a barn there. She sneaked him food, but eventually someone else found him and he was returned to the Camp.”

  Mum’s treading carefully. My school provided advice on how to handle sensitive topics, like not making an issue about allies and enemies. That stuff was generations ago, but it can still hurt.

  “Your grandmother sounds very kind,” Kenichi says.

  The pain strikes hard and fast, corkscrewing into my stomach. It’s not a cramp like the sort you get when you’re nervous. It’s digging deeper than that, tangling my intestines into constrictor knots. The nausea builds and swells in sickening dishwater-grey waves.

  Something terrible is about to happen. I just know it. Maybe it’s my appendix. Stretching to breaking point. About to burst.

  My temples are pulsing, like someone’s pounding a drum behind my eyes. I clamp my teeth together and inhale slowly. In, out. One and two and three and . . .

  “Ugh.” I grunt and clutch my stomach as another twist of pain spirals inwards.

  Breathe. Big, slow, deep breaths.

  “Are you okay?” Kenichi touches me on the shoulder. The pain stops as abruptly as it started.

  “I’m fine,” I snap, pulling away.

  “What was the groaning about back there?” Mum asks. “Is everyone all right?”

  “I had a stomach pain. It’s gone now. It was probably something I ate. Maybe last night’s pizza.” There’s nothing else it could be.

  “Are you okay, Keni
chi?”

  “Yes, Coralie,” he says.

  “There was nothing wrong with the pizza. Kenichi and I feel fine. You should drink more water,” lectures Mum.

  It’s her solution to everything. If I say my head hurts, she says drink more water. If I say I’m really tired, she says drink more water. I hate water. Give me a can of coke any day.

  An ocean of water won’t help if her special spicy lamb pizza has poisoned me.

  Kenichi looks at me, his eyes questioning. I pretend I don’t notice and stare out the car window.

  Aunt Mandy is more Japan-crazy than Mum. Not only has she been to Japan too many times, but she teaches Japanese at my school.

  “You should learn Japanese next year, Charlie,” she says, when we’re sitting in the lounge room. “It’s one of the three languages that will define the future.”

  Kenichi nods in agreement.

  I roll my eyes so everyone can see. “What are the other two?”

  “Chinese and English.”

  “I’ll do English then.”

  It’s an easy choice. I have to do English anyway. I’m not ever studying Japanese, even though languages are easy for me. It’s hard enough having a teacher for a relative without being in one of her classes.

  “Scientific studies have shown that learning a new language expands brain function.” Kenichi adds something more in Japanese and Aunt Mandy giggles.

  A pile of biscuits and three farm photo albums later, Aunt Mandy places her mug on the coffee table and leans back in her chair, a determined look on her face. I’ve seen it before so I know what comes next. She hasn’t read the list so she isn’t familiar with number four. No family arguments in front of your exchange student.

  “Have you spoken to Mum yet?”

  Mum puts half-drunk coffee beside Aunt Mandy’s mug. It’s duelling coffee mugs from close quarters. Tension sparks and splutters like unearthed electricity. The air prickles uncomfortably against my skin. My throat feels like ash. Outside the window the sky is velvet and violet but inside this room, it’s darkening to purple. I’m tempted, but it wouldn’t be right to let Kenichi get fried in the crossfire. He needs to be out of range before the explosions start.