I Lost My Mobile At the Mall (12 page)

I.S.O.L.A.T.E. Isolate. By my calculation, with double word score and this word here . . . it's 47 points. We're sitting at the dining table tonight playing Scrabble and I really can't remember the last time we did this.

'Hmmm, nice score,' says Mum. 'I think you've got me beaten, you little beast! You've got a way with words. I was never going to be a match for you.'

I laugh. I actually laugh. Can you believe that Mum and I are sitting together in our PJs scoffing a king-size block of chocolate? And we haven't fought once? Maybe this is life Post Personal Computer. Instead of Mum being on her laptop in the kitchen and me being on FacePlace in The Dungeon, we've spent the last two hours putting kiwifruit yoghurt treatments on each other's hair and playing boardgames.

'Your Nan's a champion player,' says Mum as she tucks a gloopy strand of hair under her plastic wrap turban. 'Oh, and by the way, did you get those party invitations off?'

I tell Mum that I'll do it straight after school tomorrow.

'Thanks, darling. We have to remember that a lot of elderly people like to have plenty of notice about their social engagements. They'll all want to write an RSVP and post it to your grandmother.'

I know what ROLF means, but what's RSVP?

'Répondez, s'il vous plaît!
' Mum sings as she breaks off a massive hunk of chocolate and stuffs it into her mouth. She's obviously happy to be telling me something I don't know. 'It's French.'

I think that's what she said anyway. It's hard to tell through that gobful of hazelnut crunch.

'It means that when you send an invitation you are also asking people to "answer, please".'

Yeah, but why is it in French?

'Because the French have always been considered, throughout history, to have set the standard for manners,' says Mum, spraying me with bits of soggy, half-chewed nut.

The French set the standard for manners? As if! What about that whole nuclear testing in the South Pacific thing that we studied in history last week?

'Yes, apart from that,' Mum smiles, swallows and goes for the coconut ice. 'You and your sister are so smart. How am I ever supposed to keep up?'

I'm not as smart as she thinks. I mumble this to Mum as I take the square of Turkish delight that she knows is my fave. Without my mobile and computer I'm feeling dumber than I ever have.

'Well, I wouldn't look at it that way, Elly,' says Mum. 'Everything you need to know is right there in that big brain and that big heart of yours. You have to listen to what your intuition tells you. You often can't hear the voice within when it's drowned out by the millions of opinions around you but, as your pop always said:
To thine own self
be true
.'

Yeah, but what if you don't even know who 'thine self' is? I wish that I could go to www.thineownself.com, answer a simple questionnaire and be on my way.

'And you, my girl,' says Mum, 'are a good and kind person, so don't forget that.'

We are packing up the Scrabble set when Dad finally walks in the door. He's really late and I can smell beer and cigarettes. He's bent over and looks as if he is carrying the whole weight of Ascot Couriers on his broad back.

'Eight gone,' he sighs. He dumps his backpack and slumps into a kitchen chair. 'They sacked eight blokes today. It's the Global Financial Crisis.'

'Oh no!' Mum exclaims and then sinks into a chair next to him.

'I've just come from the pub,' Dad sighs. 'Everyone's worried about the future. I feel for the blokes with young families and everything.'

This time I know what
and everything
means. It means being unemployed and not being able to afford mortgage repayments and school fees and the fact that it will be hard to find another job. I've started to see a lot of 'closing down sale' signs in shop windows around Britannia.

'My God, Rick, could you be next to go?' whispers Mum.

'Yep. Management has assured me that I've got a job till Christmas, but after that, who knows?'

Ulp! Now the
and everything
also includes my new mobile phone and computer! And then I feel bad about thinking that. Tilly's right, I should stop being so selfish.

I watch as Mum and Dad squeeze hands and look at each other silently for what feels like a very long time. Then Mum's up on her feet and pacing.

'Well, we'll just have to watch every cent, that's all,' she says with determination as she pulls tight the belt on her leopard-print fake-fur dressing gown.

'I've still got quite a lot of events booked. People might be cutting back on how much money they spend, but they're still getting married and celebrating life. They won't stop doing that.'

'I hope you're right,' says Dad morosely.

'And,' Mum continues, 'we'll economise. It'll do us all good. Elly, you can start doing some extra cooking – no more take-aways! I might lose a bit of weight.'

Mum slaps her tummy and the sound is actually a bit more gruesome than she might have expected – like leftover lasagne in a bin-liner. Mum pretends she hasn't heard and keeps on.

'Tilly? Well, she'll have to knuckle down and take a few more shifts at Earl's so she can put the money towards a new laptop.'

I know I probably shouldn't – but I
have
to ask about getting my new computer and mobile. Dad's not impressed.

'No. No way,' he says and his hand chops the air as if he is trying to break a brick with a karate move. 'We'll get your mother a new laptop and you'll all have to share.'

I'm sensible enough not to go on with it, but the idea of the three of us sharing a computer is an utter fantasy. Hmmm.

Maybe I can help Mum with a few of her events and earn some money that way? Then at least I could buy myself a new mobile.

'Well . . .' Mum looks at Dad. 'What do you think, Rick?'

'If she can make herself useful, I don't see why not. You won't ever hire a quicker learner than Elly.'

'I could do with a hand,' agrees Mum. 'So yes, Miss Eleanor Elizabeth Pickering, you are Regal Events' first apprentice! I'll pay you $10 an hour.'

And that's how I come to spend the rest of the night sorting white and silver scorched almonds into tiny tulle bags and tying them with silky white ribbons – and make $25!

Finally! I get to 25 Buckingham Street after trudging from the bus stop. The weather has changed and it's really warm. It feels like mid-summer instead of mid-spring and I'm loaded down with a million bags and books.

Our letterbox is cringe-making! Dad had it made in the shape of a golden royal carriage pulled by four tin horses with plumes on their foreheads, which are now scungy and half-chewed by possums. I sort through the usual pile of bills and furniture catalogues that have been stuffed into the carriage.
Blah, blah, blah!

And then I see an Express Post letter addressed to me. I tear it open and inside – OMG! – there's an envelope addressed to me. Not some stupid advertising thingo or a catalogue, but a
real
letter addressed to
Ms E Pickering.
Turning over the back, I see it's from:
C Martinez, Toledo Nut Farm, Mooloowah.

Carmelita has actually written me a letter! I carefully unstick the flap of the envelope and there's a whiff of gardenia perfume. Even the notepaper is decorated with pictures of gardenias.

Hello beautiful girl!

Who would have thought I would ever write you a letter? I sent a crucial eye2eye on Sunday and didn't hear anything. I know you don't have a mobile, so I thought I might as well do the old-fashioned thing and write.

Do you like the notepaper? I always remember that you love gardenias. (I put some of Mum's Chanel gardenia eau de toilette in here!) Mum says she'll send this express post and it will get to you tomorrow (Tuesday). That's exceptionally fast, dontcha reckon?

I wanted to tell you the BIG news. I am coming to Oldcastle! Truly!

The family is flying down on Friday afternoon to see my Auntie Isabella for her birthday party on Saturday afternoon. And that means I can come to the dance with you on Sat night.

I know I won't have a date, but, hey, who cares? Maybe you can be my date?

I'm desperate to see you, so I'll come over to yours on Friday night at about 7 pm. OK?

Write back, or call any time.

Love ya,

Carmelita X0X0X0X0X0

PS: I have enclosed some pics of Viscount the pig. Looking great, dontcha reckon?

Yahoo! This is the
best
news, ever! This is my first letter, ever! And how good does Viscount look – for a pig!

Inside the Palace I dump all the stuff I have bought to make dinner tonight – frozen (well, it
was
frozen) puff pastry, minced steak, garlic, onions, peas and curry powder. I'm going to make curry puffs. I watched Jasmine make them often enough and I can't go wrong.

And then in the delicious cool shade of the empty kitchen, with no-one home except me, Camilla and Harry, I pour myself an icy cranberry juice and let myself think about Will.

Today has been an extraordinary day.

The journey of a thousand miles starts with one step.
So says one of Mum's inspirational writings she's stuck on the fridge under a frangipani magnet. So let's start with my first step into the quadrangle this morning.

Imagine the scene: It's a calm and clear, sunny Tuesday when Bianca runs at me, full bore. I see that her hair, weirdly, is as flat as the Nullarbor Plain – with what looks like the odd clump of spiky spinifex grass sticking up. (Without my expertise, Bianca's hair is always going to look like a disaster area and this gives me some satisfaction.)

'You won't guess what, Elly!' she squeals as she takes my arm in a wrestling hold and pushes me behind some rubbish bins on the terrace outside the first-aid room.

Try me. I'm beyond guessing. I couldn't have predicted anything that's happened to me over the past eleven days.

'LILY AND JAYDEN ARE BACK TOGETHER,' shouts Bianca, her blue eyes wide with the thrill of this information.

Whaaaa?
Honestly. This is the last thing I was expecting.

I see the school nurse, Mrs Parker Bowles, scowling at us through the venetian blinds and mouthing at us to keep the noise down. How can anyone be sick at this hour of the morning? Unless it's one of Mrs Ferguson's 'morning migraines' (AKA hangovers).

'It's
so
true. They are going together again, I swear,' crows Bianca. 'Jai told me last night after school. That's why none of us went chasing Will down at the beach last night. Jayden told everyone that Lily told him, to tell us, to lay off – so we did.'

I remember the hideous car trip last night with Tilly and the time I spent looking out for Will, not to mention the torturous hours imagining him and Lily together. If I'd had a mobile, Bianca would have told me the latest and I would have been saved all that brain cell trauma.

Hold on. Did Lily dump Will? Or did Will dump Lily? Or is there something else I should be thinking about? Why were both of them so sad under the jacaranda tree yesterday? I just can't figure it out and I'm sure that Bianca doesn't have the first clue.

'I know
everything
!' she declares.

I see dozens of shiny, jewelled bracelets slide down from under the sleeve of her white shirt and over her wrist to where her busy fingers are tracing the keypad of her mobile. Am I holding her up from something? Even as she's talking to me she's imagining who she might talk to next.

'What happened was, Lily crawled back to Jayden because she realised Will just wasn't good enough for her. Will's kind of weird and doesn't have that many friends. He was desperate to get a girlfriend as cool and popular as Lily, but in the end . . .'

IN THE END HE COULD ONLY GET SOMEONE AS UNCOOL AND UNPOPULAR AS
ME?

Is that what Bianca's saying?

If I could tip my water bottle onto her empty yellow-carpeted head, I reckon Bianca would screech:
I'm melting. I'm melting!
She'd end up a steaming yellow-greenish puddle under the rubbish bins.

'No! No! What I meant was . . .' Bianca stutters and trips and fumbles and . . .

Bing-bong!
She's saved by the bell. Lucky for her!

'Anyway, see you after school,' she trills. 'We're all going to Palatial Pizzas again . . . I was going to say I'll ring you, but you haven't got a mobile so . . .'

Oh, what a shame that Bianca won't be able to reach me. I'm
so
sorry I won't be able to sit there trying to imagine which pizza Jai reminds me of. But I'll have a guess – a Jumbo Scumbag Special with extra anchovies!

For the rest of the day I couldn't concentrate on anything. At lunch I peered around the corner of the tuckshop again and saw Will under the jacaranda tree. He was talking with Bombie Logan – one of his surfing mates. Bianca's talking total crapola. Will's got heaps of friends – he just doesn't choose to hang with most of the dead heads at Bogan Central Oldcastle High, that's all.

I wanted to go and see him with every tiny atom of my body, but maybe what Bianca said was right, and Will's already moved on. Which is, sadly, what I have to do too.

Later I was walking past the oval and saw Lily and Jayden sitting way out there in the middle by themselves, their heads together, so I knew what Bianca said about them being back together was true at least.

Would I want Will back if I could have him? If he asked me? My heart said 'yes' but my head said 'no'. My stomach couldn't give me an answer and turned end over end all afternoon.

Of course what Bianca said chewed away at me all day, like little teeth gnawing at my elbow. (She really does remind me of a guinea pig.) Am I really uncool and unpopular?

So this afternoon, sitting at the kitchen bench, I pick up Carmelita's letter and re-read it. I love her gorgeous handwriting. It slants a little bit to the right, the letters are rounded and even and she decorates some of them with curly bits. I'm no graphologist, but I'll bet it means she is a generous, thoughtful and kind person, because that's what she is.

She's always been there for me. Even back at Big-Ears Day Care she'd have given me her blankie if I'd needed it. I've always been cool with her and she's all the friends I need in the world in one.

I unpack all my shopping and start on my curry puffs. One sneaky part of me is thinking that if Will and I ever did get back together, I could make him curry puffs. And then I realise that, despite all the lectures I've had, I'm still a total doormat – or should I say, a limp sheet of puff pastry.

And then I remember – I still haven't posted Nan's invitations!