“Maybe you’re right.” Libby stretched out on her couch and yawned. “Let’s leave the dishes.”
“That’s the spirit.” Jess refilled her glass, enjoying the Yarra Valley sauv blanc. She always drank the wine on offer in the Hunter-Pirelli household, because at home she’d reverted to the beverage of her youth—rum and Coke. She preferred it to the less than stellar wine her budget could afford. During her years of working in Melbourne’s then Sydney’s finance sectors, the corporate functions had supplemented her lifestyle in a way her current salary never could. It had been far too easy to get used to the finer things in life—the top-shelf alcohol, the seventy-dollar rib eye and the junkets both domestic and international. That life had been so far removed from the privations of her childhood that if she didn’t think about her first eighteen years—and she chose not to—it was easy to pretend they hadn’t existed.
Dusty memories rippled across her mind. “Lib, remember the day we met?”
Her best friend smiled. “Funny! I was just thinking about it this afternoon. You walked into school like you owned it and every boy’s head snapped round so fast it probably hurt. I felt like such a dork in comparison. I’m never subjecting Lucy and Indi to clothes that don’t fit properly. You know I never grew into that school dress.”
“Oh, yeah. Karen scarred you for life, for sure.”
Libby flinched. “Sorry. That was a stupid and thoughtless thing to say.”
“Don’t be silly. Moving to Kurnai Bay and meeting you and your family was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Jess shuddered. “I don’t want to think about what my life might have been if Mom had moved somewhere else.”
Unlike Libby, Jess didn’t remember the exact moment they’d met, which was apparently just outside the school office door. She didn’t even remember which eviction notice had precipitated her mother’s fast move to the bay—over the years the many night-time departures had run together in a gut-churning blur—but she did remember her first day at Kurnai Bay High School. Thanks to her mother’s flaky choice in boyfriends and her ability to run up debts and erode goodwill wherever they lived, the school had been her eighth. She knew the drill: 1. Show no weakness—any sign of neediness was social suicide. 2. Act as if nothing bothered her—fire back smartarse comments to any loser who tried to put her down. 3. Stay aloof just enough to be mysterious—use the time to work out who was who, which group ruled and who was worth knowing. 4. Wait for the cool group to approach her.
Jess pegged Libby as an annoying goodie two-shoes within ten minutes of their first class and not worth her time. The golden-haired girl had read the novel and shot her hand up to every question the dippy English teacher asked. A total suck-up. But at lunchtime, Jess watched in disbelief as Libby not only drifted easily between groups of girls but was welcomed by them all. Jess knew groups didn’t usually operate that way. They demanded total allegiance and dropped any members who strayed. Yet Libby Hunter seemed to have amnesty and Jess couldn’t work out why. The girl wasn’t cool but then again, she wasn’t a total dork like her twin sister, Alice.
When Libby approached Jess on her second day, she didn’t know which way to jump.
“Jess! Wanna come to my place after school? We can do our homework and then hang out. It’ll be fun.”
Jess never wasted her own time doing homework—that was why first period existed. It was Libby’s link between homework and fun that decided her. “I don’t think so.”
Libby’s face screwed up in an odd mix of sympathy and frustration. “Is it cos your mom doesn’t know us and you’re not allowed? That’s easy. My mom will call your mom. What’s her number?”
Uncharacteristically lost for words, Jess had stared at Libby while outrage and confusion warred inside her. Who was this alien? Who had a mother who telephoned other people’s mothers? It was the permission angle that finally released her indignant words.
“Of course I’m allowed to come!”
So, she went to Pelican House and it opened her eyes to a world she hadn’t known existed. It was a place where food was plentiful, the kitchen was clean and women were respected. Jess wondered if that was what love looked like and then instantly dismissed it. She’d learned over many long years not to trust anything at first glance.
A couple of weeks later, during her first dinner at the Hunters’ long red-gum table, she knew she’d been right to heed her instincts. The federal election was only a few days away and between mouthfuls of roast lamb, Karen Hunter announced that she was planning to vote for the Greens. Peter was unimpressed and the two argued, pitting their opinions and beliefs against the other’s. Throughout the exchange, Alice placidly kept eating, Libby quoted statistics about windfarms and Jess silently shrank into her chair, desperately wishing she could fade until she was invisible. Her breath solidified in her chest while she waited for Peter to land the inevitable blow—a sharp and stinging slap across Karen’s cheek or a vicious shove that would push her to the floor.
But neither of those things happened. Peter eventually let out a long sigh. “If you want to waste your vote on a party with no real power that’s not even ten years old—”
“It’s hardly wasted.” Karen gesticulated wildly. “After the debacle that was the Tampa incident, my vote’s stating my immense disappointment with the Labor Party’s stance on refugees.”
“Fair enough.” Peter looked down the table. “So, girls, who’s up for ice cream?”
Jess’s breath had rushed out of her lungs so fast she coughed, but her next drew in the possibility of change—was there a future for her that was very different from her mother’s life? After that night, she’d listened carefully to the Hunter adults discussing all sorts of
