The Evolution of Young Adult Literature and Its Growth and Development in Australia: the Guidance to Write an Australian Young Adult Novel

Home , 48 Shades of Brown, So Much to Tell You, Strange Objects, The Story of Tom Brennan, Vikki Wakefield

The Evolution of Young Adult Literature and its Growth and Development in Australia: The guidance to write an Australian Young Adult novel

Mary Elisabeth Nosworthy

Doctor of Creative Arts

Western Sydney University 2020

Thank you to my sister Dr Diana Whitton who was supportive and a fantastic reference point. She inspired me to keep going and achieve a completed exegesis.

Statement of Authentication

The work presented in this thesis is, to the best of my knowledge and belief, original except as acknowledged in the text. I hereby declare that I have not submitted this material, either in full or in part, for a degree at this or any other institution.

Mary Nosworthy M.Ed (Special Ed) USyd M.Ed (Administration) UQ Grad Dip Ed (UWoll). BA (UQ) Dip Teach (ACPE)

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Declaration

This exegesis and creative component were professionally edited by Dr. Lisa Hill, The Writing Centre, Woombye, Queensland.

Table of Contents

Abstract ...... vii Chapter One ...... 1 Chapter Two ...... 6 The History of Young Adult Literature ...... 8 Defining Young Adult Literature ...... 10 The Status of YA Literature—Is it a Genre? ...... 21 The Age Debate ...... 25 Trends in Young Adult Literature ...... 26 Literary Theories ...... 33 Chapter Three ...... 39 The Genre in Australia ...... 39 Judges and the Awards Process ...... 41 Analysis of the Award---Winning Books ...... 42 The Valley Between ...... 43 The Master of the Grove ...... 46 So Much to Tell You ...... 49 Strange Objects ...... 52 Bridge to Wiseman’s Cove ...... 55 Looking for Alibrandi ...... 58 Foxspell ...... 60 48 Shades of Brown...... 63 The Messenger...... 64 The Running Man ...... 68 The Story of Tom Brennan ...... 70 Tales from Outer Suburbia ...... 72 The Dead I Know ...... 73 The Sky so Heavy ...... 74 Take Three Girls ...... 76 Between Us ...... 77 Conclusion...... 78 Chapter Four ...... 79 How and Why Authors Write ...... 79 Data Collection ...... 80 Authors’ Backgrounds ...... 81 Development of Writing Techniques ...... 81

v The Craft of Writing ...... 85 Physical Writing Space and Writers’ Processes ...... 86 Chapter Five ...... 92 What Influences Writers? ...... 92 Writer’s Purpose ...... 93 Why I Write ...... 98 Significant Influences on My Writing ...... 102 Reference List ...... Error! Bookmark not defined.

Abstract

This exegesis investigates how Australian Young Adult Literature has grown and developed to provide a guide and influence in the composition of a Young Adult novel.

Literature has existed for centuries however, a unique genre targeting adolescents between 12 and 18 years can be seen to have emerged after the Second World War. In the last 60 years books written specifically for Young Adult (YA) readers have increased markedly, with 1.8 million YA books sold in Australia in 2017 (Steger, 2019). This research focuses on the global rise and contribution of YA authors, and closely examines the acceptance and recognition of Australian YA books. The historical evolution, growth and development of YA novels and their authors is identified, as are particular characteristics and attributes that aided in the development of a novel for young adults, which is an integral part of this Creative Arts Doctorate.

The research is multi-faceted, focusing on the historical development of YA literature; interviews with established Australian authors; reviews by the Children’s Book Council of Australia and detail from their judges on the award-winning YA books and novels pertinent to the area. The annual CBCA literary award-winning novels are reviewed and published in Reading Time. These provided an insight into the notable features and a rationale for their selection of annual Book of the Year for Older Readers. The reviews were written by a variety of critics but are governed by the parameters of the criteria used for the judging of the Book of the Year awards. This ensured comparability among the reviews. My research found that Australian YA novels have developed and diversified and reflect societal cultural changes. The transition to a more multicultural country is reflected in the novels produced in Australia from 1980–2019.

vii Analysis of the historical development and examining the evolution of definitions and trends in literature and how that impacted on the YA genre is a focus of the research.

It is purported that trends were apparent in the development of the genre post war for teenagers. This was evident in themes and contexts used, which reflected a reaction to the social and cultural landscapes that evolved, particularly in America and subsequently in Britain and Australia, post 1945. The current trends include novels that are realistic fiction, investigate romance/sexuality, have a gritty setting, may include drugs, dysfunctional families or criminality and more recently the plight of refugees and environmental issues and concerns. I undertook extensive reading of seminal novels including those by Hinton, Salinger, Cormier, Pullman, Golding, Sherman Alexie, Meg Rostoff and a selection of Australian YA novels and books accessible to teens by Van Badham, James Roy, Margo Lanagan, Shaun Tan, Isabelle Carmody, Randa Abdul Fattah, Phillip Gwynne, Eleanor Nilsson, Simon French, Judith Clarke, David Malouf, Catherine Jinks, Craig Silvey, and Vikki Wakefield. These all contributed to my understanding of the YA genre and structure of a novel. These included the character, plot, context, voice, language, point of view and form, and are all examined and analysed to establish commonalities and features of YA novels.

The novels use a range of forms and construct a voice that is authentic yet continues to change reflecting the increasing influence of technology on young adults. This has prompted changes in style including using multiple narrators, intertextual references and more contemporary interpretations of generational relationships, and engage a generation of adolescents who have information available in snippets and whose attention span is changing.

The Australian Award-winning writers I read were judged to have both literary merit and to meet the criteria of an Australian YA novel and the needs of adolescent readers. The authors interviewed were Bourke, Zusak, Moloney, Bauer, Earles, Marchetta, Crew, Marsden, Savvides, Badham and Roy. The interviews questioned each writer’s background, why they write YA novels, what influenced them to write, how they choose context and context, how they craft their characters and any advice they would offer to initiate writers, including where they physically do their writing.

The research areas included writers’ influences, context choices, character crafting and advice for writers, all of these informed me how to develop a novel for young adults. The

viii inclusion in YA literature with ‘messages within their structures’ (Daniels, 2006, p.2) is also investigated. The historical background foreshadowed the developments and influences on the YA genre and the growth of writing for young adults in Australia. Reading widely in the genre gave a solid grounding of the types and styles of books for young adults and highlighted the broad range of issues examined. This led to talking to the award-winning Australian authors and finding out what influenced their writing choices. Finally, analysing the reviews by the CBCA judges gave valuable insight into the calibre of award-winning books and the unique features of each novel.

Chapter One

My Doctor of Creative Arts (DCA) is comprised of an exegesis and a 60,000-word young adult (YA) novel.

The purpose of the exegesis is to examine a variety of texts, both novels and scholarly research and investigate how they informed my completion of the creative component of the DCA, a YA novel set in Australia. The choice to write an Australian novel was based on being fourth-generation Australian with my paternal great grandfather arriving in Australia in 1837 cementing my knowledge, experience and background firmly in Australia. I familiarised myself with many international and Australian YA novels. I researched and utilised the historical development and trends in the genre in both Australia and overseas. I looked closely at the origins of YA literature to determine how and why writers have traditionally chosen and then constructed their novels for young adults. Of the 17 novels I examined closely and authors from whom I collated detail of their writing, I noted several of the awards went to writers’ first novels and these were largely based on life experiences. These include the novels of Marchetta, Atkins, Bauer and many awardees received prizes with their second novels.

Australia has a unique landscape and flora and fauna; its first inhabitants have been here for more than 60,000 years. Coupled with this is the cultural and psychological aspects that make Australia remarkable. The city/rural divide, the country town traditions and social morés provide an insight into relationships and a distinctive, beautiful backdrop to set a novel. I considered Bradford’s (2001) question: ‘can a non-Indigenous person truly represent aboriginality … can they speak for and about Aborigines?’ (p. 9). My decision not to include aspects of Aboriginal culture, traditions or to represent Aboriginal people in my novel was

1 intentional. I believe that it is ‘one of the more sensitive and complex issues related to the depictions of races, ethnicities and cultures concerns the background and identity of the author, and whether an author of one ethnic, racial or culture group has the right or ability to write about another’ posited by Hintz and Tribunella (p. 406, 2019). They cite Cart (2001) asking ‘can a writer’s imagination be powerful enough to create a viable work of fiction about a culture the writer has observed only from the outside?’ My response was that I could not with my limited knowledge and experience of Australia’s First Nations people. Although an examination of CBCA award winner non-Indigenous Gary Crew’s novel Strange Objects included aspects of Indigenous lives and history. I do not question whether the representation of Australian national identity and Aboriginal life is accurate or appropriate, but critique and learn from the integration of it in his novel. I decided that not being indigenous I could not include aspects of Indigenous culture.

This introductory chapter explains the influences that guided me to write a YA novel. It provides an overview of the content and purpose of each chapter in the exegesis and gives a précis of the novel, Surviving Toby.

My choice to write a YA novel was influenced by intrinsic and extrinsic motivations that include exposure to literature, enjoyment in replicating parts of what I read, and a desire to explore and experiment with experiences, memories and feelings through writing. I was motivated to supplement my love and passion for reading by writing. I specifically chose an area of literature that I was familiar with and was using constantly in my career as an English teacher. I was further encouraged by my exposure to Australian YA writers; that is, meeting them and having the opportunity to discuss the mechanics of their writing, their motivations and the processes they employed in pursuing their successful writing careers. With these informal connections and the detailed knowledge they provided me, I decided to formalise my interest and curiosity and undertake writing a novel alongside researching the history of the genre, the trends through its development and the status and recognition both worldwide and in Australia.

Chapter 2 examines the historical development of YA fiction in both the international and Australian contexts. The chapter traces the history and provides background details of YA literature from its evolution, growth and post-World War 2 recognition, through to the 21st century. In doing so, it shows the development of reading material for a newly recognised

2 social group: teenagers. These books filled a void for young people that arose in the socially, economically and culturally changed post-war world.

Also examined in the chapter is the establishment of Children’s Book Councils in various Australian states and their eventual merging into a national organisation, the Children’s Book Council of Australia (CBCA). The development of an award system that celebrates noteworthy books and comments in the CBCA’s annual reports on trends for adolescent readers were valuable sources for understanding the emergent genre, particularly in the Australian context.

Further, Chapter 2 synthesises definitions of YA literature and details the definition I arrived at over the course of writing this exegesis. Finally, the chapter compares different periods of development and influential global trends in YA literature related to the chosen novels analysed. Notable in the Australian exemplar novels is the shift from novels featuring family life and values, such as, The Valley Between by Colin Theale, to novels with more varied content including dystopian novels exemplified in Claire Zorn’s The Sky So Heavy, and those dealing with issues surrounding refugees in Australia, Clare Aitkin’s Between Us.

Chapter 3 analyses YA literature in Australia; specifically, a selection of CBCA award- winning books from 1981 to 2019. The analytical framework used to examine these novels is modelled on the CBCA awards criteria, which consider the plot, setting, character development, point of view/narrator, themes, purpose, imagery, symbolism and tone of each book. In chronological order of publication, the novels examined include:

• The Valley Between (1981), Colin Thiele • The Master of the Grove (1982), Victor Kelleher • So Much to Tell You (1987), John Marsden • Strange Objects (1990), Gary Crew • House Guest (1992), Eleanor Nilsson • Looking for Alibrandi (1993), Melina Marchetta • Foxspell (1994), Gillian Rubinstein • A Bridge to Wiseman’s Cove (1996), James Moloney • 48 Shades of Brown (1999), Nick Earles • The Running Man (2004), Gerard Michael Bauer • The Messenger (2002), Markus Zusak • The Story of Tom Brennan (2005), J. C. Bourke

3 • Tales from Outer Suburbia (2008), Shaun Tan • The Dead I Know (2011), Scot Gardner • The Sky So Heavy (2013), Claire Zorn • Take Three Girls (2017), Cath Crowley, Simmone Howell and Fiona Wood • Between Us (2018), Clare Atkins

Chapter 4 details 17 award-winning Australian authors, all of whom have been recognised by the CBCA in the older readers category. A number of these authors were invited to consider a range of questions designed to elicit details of their writing, personal background and influences as writers. The chapter reflects on the various approaches used by these authors and examines perspectives on their methods of planning and writing. The CBCA award-winning authors who participated in this research are James Moloney, Gary Crew, Melina Marchetta, Marcus Zusak, Gerard Michael Bauer, J. C. Bourke, Nick Earles and John Marsden. Further assistance was provided by James Roy, Van Badham and Libby Gleeson. Thus, this chapter examines the personal reflections of a variety of authors with successful writing careers to understand how they engage with the writing process when writing YA novels.

Chapter 5 evaluates and synthesises the understanding and knowledge gained from research into the genre through studying the award-winning writers and reading a wide range of YA novels. This provided material from which to develop my novel. Further, I drew on the examined writers’ experiences to help establish the parameters for planning and writing my YA novel. Thus, the purpose of this chapter was to collate and analyse the four sources— background research, selected award-winning novels, novelists’ reflections and wide reading of the genre—to determine what was needed to write a novel and why writers write. I could then use these insights to inform my method of writing an Australian YA novel.

Additionally, this chapter further examines the role of the CBCA-awarded novels as exemplars of YA literature and the theories that support YA novels as a unique genre of literature. It considers the significant influences that prompted me to write a YA novel. These include exposure to literature, enjoyment in replicating parts of what I read, and a desire to explore and experiment with experiences, memories and feelings through writing. This resulted in the creative component of my DCA, a 60,000-word novel titled Surviving Toby.

4 The novel is a fictional but realist YA family saga that interrogates the things that impact a family in the 21st century and how they deal with it. It is based on some personal experiences and memories, which I was able to weave into a creative story. My choice was based on realistic YA novels’ which ‘can transport a reader around the world. Reading about characters experiencing real-life hardship can be just as beneficial—if not more—as reading about other worlds’ (Drabble, Pauli, & Jones, 2015, p. 1). With evidence of the ‘rise of realism as a genre which had helped raise the profile of previously taboo subjects such as drugs, rape and sexuality in teen fiction’ (p. 2) I considered to write a novel that had a more down-to-earth approach. I began with a simple recollection of events, featuring personalities with whom I had worked, and it grew through planning to include some of my teaching experiences. Having lived and worked in rural and regional areas at a variety of schools, I chose a context I was familiar with and felt would resonate with adolescent readers. I did not exclude overly tough experiences or plan a happy ending as I wanted to reflect a more realistic life.

Surviving Toby is set in country Australia. The protagonist, Charlie, is an athletic 17-year- old girl attending an independent school in rural New South Wales (NSW) where her mother has been summarily dismissed as school principal. Her world slowly falls apart as her mother stoically fights the dismissal while trying to adjust to life as a full-time mother to her children. Charlie has an older brother, Dean, who is a sensible young man looking for a future in the city. Events surrounding Charlie’s younger sister becoming pregnant and her eight-year-old twin siblings becoming estranged from each other and the story develops and enables a structure that is both resonant of books I have read and reflective of my life experiences to develop style. The story explores how the protagonist copes with all the challenges she is facing— falling in love for the first time, deciding to have sex, losing the mother she thought was there, learning to drive and making bad decisions—hoping the future will be better. But will it?

Ultimately, writing this exegesis provided me with the context and foundations for writing my novel. I became informed about the development of YA literature, current trends in the genre and how successful Australian YA writers research and write novels. Based on the advice they offered me, I was able to initiate and experiment with my writing methods to compose an Australian YA novel.

Chapter Two

This chapter discusses the global growth and development of YA literature since its emergence in the mid-20th century. It charts the development of the genre and its progression to encompass an ever-widening growth in YA novels’ style of composition and form, including verse novels, novellas, diaries, journals or letters, or narrative fiction and illustrated works in prose. In the process of examining this growth, I conclude with an appropriate definition, what the current trends are and assert that YA literature is a genre. This examination guided the writing of my novel identifying how to compose context, content and plot effectively.

To undertake this study, I examined the changes from the initial publication of YA novels in the United States (US) post-World War 2 to novels that include a diversity of subject matter, which has grown to include as many categories as adult fiction. The varying style and form of YA novels defines and confirms its status as a genre. In this chapter, I arrive at my own definition of YA literature, what constitutes it as a genre and how this is determined. I further argue that the CBCA has played an integral role in developing the YA genre in Australia through its decision to establish an older readers award category, and the subsequent record of judges’ and reviewers’ comments on nominated texts.

The historical evolution of YA fiction began with the initial recognition of the genre in the US when teenagers were given their own distinction as a social demographic. According to Cart (as cited in Strickland, 2015, par. 4), Maureen Daly’s 1942 publication of Summer Secrets, the first book written and published explicitly for teenagers and was followed by the adoption of YA novels into the United Kingdom (UK) market, signalling a new genre. The genre

6 was first formally acknowledged in Australia in 1981 when the CBCA officially recognised YA fiction with an award for older readers. This award continues annually, and the books in this category, coupled with the judges’ reports and feedback to the winners, have significantly contributed to the development of my understanding and appreciation of the YA genre. The role of the CBCA has been significant in promoting YA novels and their system of awards acknowledging exemplar novels has influenced the growth and development of the genre.

CBCA judges choose book that are ‘the best of a nation’s stories [and] would seem quite obviously to be implicated in a project of socialising readers into the beliefs and practices of that nation. The books that are awarded prizes are also representative of national ideologies,’ (Hateley, 2014, p. 4). The books examined in this research are not only recognised for their role ‘to support Australian writers and illustrators of children’s books; to promote library and literature professionals in bringing children and books together; and, to celebrate outstanding contributions to Australian children’s literature through the annual CBCA Book of the Year Awards’ (CBCA website, Advocacy and Opinion), but to fulfil advocacy of their unique role as exemplars of YA writing.

Research into the historical development and recognition of YA literature motivated me to consider various ways to approach writing. The construction and style choices made by writers across the genre was engaging and provided me with details to guide and further aid decision-making in my writing. I examined YA novels both how and when they were written and how and why they were written, from 1982. I read a range of the novels identified by researchers and critics as the initiators and exemplars of YA fiction. The writers considered include J. D. Salinger, S. E. Hinton and Robert Cormier, alongside Australian authors Colin Thiele, Patricia Wrightson and Mavis Thorpe Clark. Overall, the trends that have emerged show that the genre has expanded and diversified to be representative of similar changes in Australian society and are a chronology of changes and development in the YA novel.

Much of the YA literature I focused on has been an integral part of my teaching in high school English. I have used aspects and features of YA literature in teaching both reading and writing and used this as a guide for my own writing, which includes a YA novel and short stories. It aided my engagement and enjoyment with reading, particularly the novels that focused on the age group of students I was teaching.

7 The History of Young Adult Literature

Ian Watt’s The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson and Fielding (1957) is a seminal work on the history and origins of the novel. Looking back over more than 200 years, Watt (1957) posits that the ‘public’s interest in stories about humans and their experiences had grown and early eighteenth---century writers responded’ (p. 48). Thus, Watt examined the relationship between the growth of the reading public and the emergence of the novel in 18th- century England and recognised Daniel Defoe (1660–1737), Samuel Richardson (1689–1761) and Henry Fielding (1707–1754) as early proponents of the English novel. As Stephen (1949) determined, the ‘gradual extension of the reading class affected the development of literature addressed to them’ (p. 743).

The historical development of the novel indicates its progression from a learning or instructional tool to one that offers both information and entertainment. For Hudson (2015), ‘novelists showed interest in the newly emerging complex middle-class characters who were struggling with morality and social issues and writers reflected on these in their writing’ (par. 9). Gradual improvements in education during the Enlightenment, from approximately 1715 onwards, resulted in a larger reading public. The result of this was an increased demand for printed material from readers across a broader span of social classes with a wider range of interests. This facilitated an opportunity to bridge the classical education of the elite with the rising British commercial classes and heralded public libraries, financed by the state and free and accessible to everyone (Greenhalgh, Worpole, & Landry, 1995, p. 20). From this, the novel, in all forms, developed and became fundamental to education and a widening appreciation of literature.

YA literature emerged as part of the broader development of novels. Coats (2018) states that the earliest YA novels ‘laid bare the genre’s foundation that gave voice to the realistic struggles and issues of adolescence’ (p. 49), illustrating both a purpose and potential audience. This is evident in Hinton’s The Outsiders (1967) and early American YA literature, including the works of Robert Cormier, published from 1960 onwards.

Nikolajeva (2008) suggests ‘literary texts do not appear in a vacuum. Literature in Western society has been written for several thousand years, and literature written specifically for children has existed for at least two hundred years’ (p. 1). A study of children’s

8 literature offers an historical perspective and insight into books for children and suggests their development and the subject matter, child characters and introduction of children’s fantasy worlds, was ‘children doing children things’ (Nikolajeva, 2008, p. 1). This specific children’s literature catered to children under 12 years of age. These books were clearly accessible for their intended audiences; however, they did not provide unique reading experiences for the YA reader. While the availability of books for children evolved slowly, John Newbery’s A Little Pretty Pocket-Book, published in 1744, is considered the first modern children’s book.

The emergence of books for adolescents, the stage of life referred to as adolescence— ‘the years immediately after puberty’ (Oxford University Press, 2014)—has been a relatively recent phenomenon. In the period 1850–1930, many renowned books and writers emerged; notably, Walter de la Mare, Kenneth Graeme, Robert Louis Stevenson, Christina Rossetti and Mark Twain. All these authors wrote, published and were recognised before the advent of a label for novels written for young adults. Reading a selection of these works establishes a point of comparison for me with the YA novels that emerged in the latter half of the 20th century. The YA novels that evolved were of specific interest to adolescents with material both relevant to them and absorbing. They differed from the earlier novels with child-like heroes, villains and adventures that had a moral lesson intended.

In the 1950s the term and concept of ‘teenagers’ was coined following the determination by G. Stanley Hall in 1904 that referred to the stage as adolescence and linked it with a ‘coherent definition of puberty’ that distinguished them as different from children but not yet adults (as cited in Savage, 2007). Before 1950, no-one recognised the idea of a time between childhood and adulthood as a separate stage of life. Thus, from the mid-20th century, the notion of a teenager as distinct and different from a child or adult became firmly entrenched in Western culture (Oxford Royale Academy, 2016). It was the emergence and recognition of a generation of post-war teenagers, with specific needs and dealing with crises unique to their age group that aided the growth of the genre (Kloet, 1979). This is explained by Denscombe (2001), who suggests that:

Young adults are not binary opposites of children or adults, they are ‘other’ because to some extent young adults are on the edge of childhood and the cusp of adulthood, being neither one nor the other. Young adulthood is the bridge between the two. (p. 157)

Steinberg (2003) concurs by asserting that ‘adolescence is a time of physical, intellectual,

9 psychological and social development’ (par. 1). Bushnan and McInerny (2004) further suggest that ‘during this time, young adults begin to examine their identities, relationships with family and peers and their personal value systems’ (par. 8). These assertions are valuable in differentiating the audience for YA literature from children’s literature as the historical development of teenagers as a distinct social group confirms the unique status of YA literature. Daniels (2006) laments that some ‘still believe that YA literature is merely a secondary category of child-like story telling--didactic in nature and unworthy of serious literary evaluation, when, in fact, it is really an overlooked and underappreciated literary genre’ (p. 1). She is validating the genre and further asserts that ‘YA literature Is not the same thing as children’s literature’ (p.1).

According to Fitzgibbons (2000) in ‘the 1950s [US] elementary school libraries became fairly common’ (p. 3) and by the mid-20th century school libraries had begun to flourish throughout the US. These libraries housed collections of books for teens to engage with and enjoy, they were a predecessor to the eventual acceptance of YA novels.

Although YA literature was not immediately recognised or acknowledged as a separate form of literature from children’s literature, various seminal novels have been retrospectively identified as igniting a new genre. These include Hinton’s The Outsiders (1967) and J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye (1951). Thus, establishment of the YA field can be seen in the emergence of the YA novel in the late 1960s (Donelson & Nilsen, 2006), making it a modern form compared to the many forms of English literature that have been in existence since Chaucer (1343–1400).

Defining Young Adult Literature

While it is difficult to pinpoint a date when YA fiction was recognised, Cart (2008) establishes a firm parameter of the genre. In a white paper for the Young Adult Library Services Association’s Board of Directors, he acknowledges:

the term ‘young adult literature’ is inherently amorphous, for its constituent terms ‘young adult’ and ‘literature’ are dynamic, changing as culture and society—which provide their context—change. When the term first found common usage in the late 1960s, it referred to realistic fiction that was set in the real (as opposed to imagined), contemporary world and addressed problems, issues, and life

10 circumstances of interest to young readers aged approximately 12-18 years. (Cart, 2008, par. 2)

Although Victorian English novelist Trollope suggested ‘the object of a novel should be to instruct in morals while it amuses’ (as cited in Brantlinger & Thessing, 2002, p. 410), the aim of most novels is to reveal and stimulate thought about aspects of human behaviour and social relationships. This applies equally to YA literature. This foundational premise on the object of novels as instructional informed my research and coupled with the composition of YA novels, helped provide content and context to consider alongside the desire to entertain and engage YA readers. Thus, it focused my attention on exposing readers to the actions and reactions of relatable characters and experiences within YA personal relationships.

Initially, YA books were referred to as junior publications and ‘the good novel for the young adult reader has attributes no different from any other good novel’, according to Burton (1951, p. 363). His assertion is based on research for his article ‘The Novel for the Adolescent’, written as the first YA novels were emerging on the US market.

Adoption of the YA literature name in the 1960s served to loosely identify what characterised a YA novel. For Carlsen (1967), the defining features of a YA novel were that it incorporated ‘rites of passage’, was of a ‘moderate length’ and that ‘books of this sort serve the developmental needs of teenagers’ (p. 15). Robert Carlsen was one of the early scholars to consider YA literature seriously (VanderStaay, 1992), and his ideas provided a starting point for understanding the nature and definition of YA novels.

Carlsen’s ideas and definition were refined by subsequent researchers engaged with the newly evolving genre for teens. As Carlsen (1980) asserts, ‘adding to the difficulty of defining young adult literature is the lack of agreement on the exact term that should be used to refer to it’ (p. 41). Poe, Samuels and Carter (1995) note that finding research on YA literature can be difficult because it may be indexed as children’s literature, juvenile literature or sometimes adult literature. Yet, Carlsen (1980) posits that YA literature ‘is defined by the intended audience and suggests it is further influenced by the story’s protagonist; a teenager or written from a teen perspective’ (p. 48). His ideas and early definition state:

Young adult literature is literature wherein the protagonist is either a teenager or one who approaches problems from a teenage perspective. Such novels are generally of moderate length and told from the first person. Typically, they describe initiation into the adult world, or the surmounting of a contemporary

11 problem forced upon the protagonist(s) by the adult world. Though generally written for a teenage reader, such novels—like all fine literature—addresses the entire spectrum of life. (Carlsen, 1980, p. 115)

Subsequent researchers continued to define the genre in relation to teens. VanderStaay introduced a set of parameters and refined the definition by including the term ‘teenager’. He suggests the ‘development of autonomous thought is the principal “rite” of YA’ literature and posits that this is ‘generally followed by autonomous action, based on thought which enables the protagonist/s to solve the problem thrust on them by the adult world and achieve self-reliance’ (VanderStaay, 1992, pp. 48, 49).

In addition to Carlsen and VanderStaay, I examine a broad and varied range of definitions presented by scholars to elicit my own definition of the YA genre. These include Blasingame (2007), Stephens (2007), Saxby (1993), Voskuyl (2008), Nimon (1998), Donelson and Nilsen (2006), Gubar (2011) and Griswold (1983). The differences between Carlsen’s definition according to the novel’s length and purpose (rites of passage for teenagers) and VanderStaay’s focus on a teen protagonist and the novel being written from a teen perspective illustrate the features to consider when establishing my own functional definition of the YA genre. While VanderStaay (1992) outlines the way problems or complications experienced by the protagonists were ‘thrust on them by adults’ (p. 49), I did not want to limit the scope of my writing to this idea. I wanted to explore the complexities of both adolescent and family relationships in a more consultative manner, as I felt this better suited the purpose of my novel. This approach involved using adolescents’ learning to navigate relationships with little guidance. Thus, when making decisions for my novel, I considered using a complication involving adults, but designed the significant impact on my novel’s young adult characters as requiring them to self-examine and initiate a resolution. The issues needing resolution were internalised by them. This basic idea of developing maturity and self-preservation in the young characters in my novel resulted in the protagonist’s personal needs being addressed. I examined and experimented with this in the early drafts of my novel.

Australian Maurice Saxby was the first president of the CBCA and an iconic supporter of children’s literature. Although he did not formally define YA literature, he attributed Australian writers Ethel Turner (1870–1958) and Mary Grant Bruce (1878–1958) with writing about ‘social problems both within teenagers’ peer groups and in society in general’ and asserted ‘they were writing the first Australian young adult novels’ (Saxby, 1993, p. 647).

12 Holland (1980) and the Oxford Royale Academy (2016) both align with Saxby’s (1993) assertion that ‘J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye was the catalyst for the development of a “young adult label” in America and Britain in the 1950s’ (p. 648). Thus, in referring to these texts and what they constitute, Saxby contributed to the development of a definition of YA literature that strongly connects Australian writers to the genre.

More broadly, Hinton’s The Outsiders (1967) is considered one of the initiators of the genre and its attributes are strongly represented in the developing definition of the YA genre. This debut novel written by a teenage woman provided a starting point for examining the features of YA novels and prompted the evolution and acceptance of a genre for a teenage audience. The Outsiders uniquely ‘transformed young-adult fiction from a genre mostly about prom queens, football players and high school crushes to one that portrayed a darker, truer adolescent world’, with a narrative ‘taut with tension, filled with drama’ (Smith, 2005, par. 1). The Outsiders contains protagonists with no parents, ‘since Mom and Dad were killed in an auto wreck’ (p. 3) and features a community with perceptions of rich white boys and the poor, ‘we’re poorer than the Socs and the middle class’ (p. 3), reflecting realistic content than had been previously directed towards a teenage audience. However, Herz and Gallo (2012) suggest this trend progressed further still with YA novels becoming even ‘darker and grittier after 2000’ (p. 12) and this is evident after the advent of the 9/11 attacks in the US in 2001. Lampert (2010) posits that if the ‘world changed as a result of 9/11 then it should be reflected in children’s literature’ (p. 6). Thus, a change in the content can be, in part, attributed to significant world events.

Griswold (1983) suggests that ‘YA fiction does not require the appearance of an adolescent, nor does the work have to have been originally intended for adolescents. Adolescent fiction is composed of the novels that adolescents particularly like’ (p. 37). From this broad statement, I have worked through the examination of a range of definitions and have ultimately refined what I consider to be a suitable definition for the purposes of this exegesis.

Saxby (1993) cites British publishing house Bodley Head as the 1970s’ publisher of various contemporary novels with issues and events that exuded the ‘teenage sub-culture’ (p. 649) and idiom. Similarly, VanderStaay points to ideas of a ‘teenage sub-culture’ or a stage of adolescents where a ‘shared language, fashion, music and methods of communication and

13 behaviours are typically in opposition to those of their parents’ (Luri, 2018, par. 3) as defining features. Saxby (1993) further attributes Hazel Edwards’s two novels General Store (1977) and Kendall, Mim and Temporary Fred (1980) as contributing to the genre using ‘typical teenagers to open up issues that absorb the thinking of many young adults’ (p. 650). These notions of what characterised YA literature at the time contribute to an emerging definition of the genre involving these ideas of what connects and entertains teenagers.

An acceptance of the development of Australian YA literature is suggested by Saxby (1993), who heralded Mavis Thorpe Clark’s The Min---Min (1966) as a ‘forerunner of the young adult novel’ (p. 647) when she was recognised in 1977 by the International Youth Library in Munich. As her novel ‘raised issues and the personal suffering of the protagonist’ (Saxby, 1993, p. 647), it reflected the traits and issues identified as those peculiar to YA literature; that is, ‘influenced by the protagonist and written from a teen perspective’, as the ‘development of autonomous thought is the principal “rite” of YA’ literature (VanderStaay, 1992, p. 48). This understanding prompted me to read The Min-Min more closely to engage with the ways her work differentiated itself from comparable children’s literature. One way it did this was through the ‘journey’ aspect of the novel, which was the inspiration for my protagonists to similarly experience a journey from which important lessons are learned and consequences experienced. Booker (2011) posits that there are seven basic plots, ‘wherever men and women have told stories all over the world, the stories emerging have tendered to take shape in remarkably similar ways’ (p. 3). Accepting this premise, the scope for YA is no different from any literature and as young adults are socially, physically and emotionally progressing to adulthood the journey plot is one that naturally coalesces with the commonality of a journey in fiction reflecting a journey in life. Beckett (2010) asserts that for YA readers:

Hunger for the classical hero remains insatiable, perhaps as an antidote to the inevitable disappointments natural to our state of humanity. Exposing young children to the quest plot allows them to feel comfortable when they later encounter it in more sophisticated presentations. (p. 1).

Mavis Thorpe Clark’s The Min---Min (1966) delves beyond the realm of a children’s story and offers an insight into the psychology of an adolescent female protagonist. This demonstrates a further progression from children’s literature—‘books that are written and selected for publication for children’—to a separate genre of YA literature, which privileges

14 ‘the perspective and knowledge of youth’ (Gaffney, 2017, p. 111).

Nimon (1998) concluded from reading the CBCA award winners of 1997 that: Young Adult fiction offers a bridge from books for children to books for adults that require young people to examine their assumptions and to accept that in life, one inevitably comes upon situations in which the ‘right thing’ to do is not obvious or, alternatively, doing it comes at a price (p. 12).

She further builds on earlier definitions. Having explored a selection of reputable YA literature, Nimon (1998) asserts the differences between children’s literature and YA literature is that YA literature provides ‘young adults with literature that is written specifically for them, by authors who aim to address issues pertinent to their experience’ (p. 12).

As the genre developed and grew, definitions evolved. Cart’s (2001) description of the ‘appearance of hard---edged realism in the late '60s as opening the door to writers who began exploring issues of relevance to the real lives of teen readers with art and insight’ (p. 96) contributes to the evolving definitions by referring to the changing content of YA literature as part of its continued expansion. His ongoing engagement with YA literature provided me with a chronology of changes in definitions. As an iconic US expert in YA literature, Cart (2016)— who writes reviews, edits YA literature and has been involved in academic publications on YA literature—revised his definition as developments occurred over time to allow for the growth and diversification of the genre.

Voskuyl’s (2008) analysis of Australian YA literature provides evidence of a series of explanations on both the content and context of Australian novels. She found that an 'explicit portrayal of young adult voices and their implicit calls to young adult readers' (Voskuyl, 2008,p. 1) shows the genre expanding and the definitions widening at the time of her research to increase specificity while being more inclusive of a range of styles and forms, and less prescriptive in content. Voskuyl (2008) writes that ‘voice is a significant aspect of all texts but particularly YA texts’ (p. 1) and posits that the role of YA novels is to explicitly portray an adolescent voice and an implicit call to adolescent readers. Thus, Voskuyl (2008) supports the idea that ‘authors structure their novels to communicate a tale they believe is both relevant to reader’s interests and suited to their abilities’ (p. 2).

Another perspective on the growth and development of YA literature was promoted by Lindley and Lindley (1938), who investigated US President Roosevelt’s 1935 National Youth

15 Administration (NYA) and its impact on young adult reading. Roosevelt’s scheme provided work and education for Americans between the ages of 16 and 25 and was a force for social change that significantly influenced America’s youth. Due to the Depression, opportunities for young people to finish high school were minimal and most could not get work. The NYA aimed to equalise educational opportunities for rich and poor by providing financial support for young people to remain at school in a system designed to improve opportunities. This inevitably contributed to a larger audience being encouraged to read and a market for books specifically suited to that age group.

Subsequently, US public high schools ‘created the social setting for developing a separate teenage culture’ (Wickham, 2000, p. 54). Both socially and educationally, there was a new avenue through which to market and promote literature with greater numbers of young adults continuing at school until 18 years of age. Therefore, defining the YA genre coincides with the emergence of teenagers as a distinct group that led to the emergence of material for them to consume.

Grabe and Kaplan (2014) assert that ‘writing must be seen as socially contexted’ (p. 18). Integral to my writing and choice of time, place and subject was ensuring the context was suitable and appropriate and the subject matter engaging for a YA audience. Certainly, ‘there are many different ways to practice writing’ (Grabe & Kaplan, 2014, p. 18). The writing process is influenced by the context of the writer and their writing practice in relation to an imagined audience (Grabe & Kaplan, 2014). I practised writing character sketches, developing plots with various complications and writing short stories to establish what I hoped would be an appropriate style and context for my chosen YA readership. I wrote regularly, entered competitions and joined writing discussion groups to engage with and promote understanding of my own and others’ writing.

Grabe and Kaplan (2014) further argue that while writing emerges through context, it also depends on ‘the task, audience, communication, call to action, to remember, to satisfy requirements, to introspect or to create, in terms of recombining existing information or in terms of aesthetic’ (p. 31). These points are particularly pertinent to the craft of writing YA literature and informed my writing process. Careful alignment with the audience’s perceived needs and wants encouraged my decisions regarding the subject matter and context. I was influenced by the Australian YA novels that exposed the dominant themes and issues most

16 prevalent in the Australian context and I considered how these compared to US and UK counterparts. I made decisions based on my reading and assessment of the success, as well as relevance, of the various novels’ themes. The novels that were particularly informative include Marchetta’s Looking for Alibrandi (1992), which features a 17---year---old protagonist struggling through Year 12 in Sydney to establish her identity (this is similar to my protagonist, Charlie); and Bourke’s The Story of Tom Brennan (2005), whose protagonist, Tom, is part of a family who suffers a catastrophic tragedy and has to work through the physical, social and emotional issues around it before their lives can move on. Although Tom’s emotional upheaval is in a different context, the rural setting influenced my novel being similarly set in regional Australia. Both these novels exhibited a style, subject matter and context that guided my focus on the experiences that caused angst and dislocation from families. I used this to develop my story and modelled my protagonist on a combination of Josie Alibrandi and Tom Brennan.

Referring specifically to young adults as a group in society, Convenor of Children’s Literature at the University of South Australia, Sue Page (2002), suggests that ‘adolescence is a time of great change, that the changes are part of a life---long continuum of development, and that the ability or failure to successfully negotiate these changes will, in part, determine young adolescent’s future fulfilment as an adult’ (p. 128). Thus, it is important to create and provide suitable reading material for young adults that develops characters and situates protagonists within scenarios that reflect this life stage and its significance. Donelson and Nilsen (2008) conclude that no ‘hard and fast rules have been developed for defining teenage books, adult literature or books for young adults’ (p. 5) and like VanderStaay, advocate that YA literature is as much about the intended audience for the books as the books themselves. Similarly, Blasingame (2007) argues the best way to ‘attempt to define young adult literature is to briefly explore the nature of adolescence’ (p. 9), which also concurs with Donelson and Nilsen’s (2006) and Savage’s (2007) contention that catering for young adults as a social group has historically defined YA literature.

Stephens’ (2007) perspective on YA literature is that: The label Young Adult refers to a story that tackles the difficult, and oftentimes adult issues that arise during a young adult's journey toward identity, a journey told through a distinctly teen voice that holds the same potential for literary value as its grown-up peers (p. 35).

17 His ideas support the teen voice as a determining factor in differentiating YA from children’s literature.

Yet, Gubar (2011) contests that ‘if we define children’s literature as anything read by young people, any text could potentially count as children’s literature, including Dickens novels and pornography’ (p. 9). She extrapolates that while a broad definition is necessary, defining children’s literature ‘as anything that appears on a publisher---designated children’s or young adult list seems too narrow, since it would exclude titles that appeared before eighteenth---century books including John Newbery, the Aesopica, chapbooks, and conduct books’ (Gubar, 2011, p. 9). Similarly, the advent of crossover novels explored by Beckett (2010) suggests that it is ‘transforming literary canons, concepts of readership, the status of authors, the publishing industry, and bookselling practices’ further opening a clear definition as a difficult task. For Jackson (2000), YA books can be defined in one of:

Three categories: those written expressly for children, those written for adults, but which children claim as their own, and those written for the author's own self- expression, but which somehow speak to children. These same categories could be applied to teen culture. (p. 20)

Williams (2014) admits to using the labels ‘teen’ and ‘YA’ interchangeably when referring to YA books but indicates the most relevant definition of YA is the one suggested by the Young Adult Literature Convention, which states that the ‘sine qua non’ of YA is an adolescent protagonist and ‘YA definitely doesn’t mean a solely young adult readership’ (par. 2). Yet for Coats (2018), ‘a better approach to defining young adult literature is to consider what teens choose to read’ (p. 50). She notes that changes in recent years have presented new difficulties in defining YA literature:

If it is defined by what young adults read and therefore often what has been marketed to them then it is no longer a sufficient definition … [The YA genre has] become more sophisticated, more inclusive and has gained more widespread popularity. (Coats, 2018, p. 50)

Moreover, she argues that young adults read what they ‘choose to read rather than what they are coerced to read’ and this is a positive outcome (Coats, 2018, p. 50). Gubar (2011) suggests we should:

Give up on the arduous and ultimately unenlightening task of generating a definition without giving up on the idea that children’s literature is a coherent, viable category … [and] abandon such activity, because insisting that children’s

18 literature is a genre characterised by recurrent traits is damaging to the field, obscuring rather than advancing our knowledge of this richly heterogeneous group of texts (p. 210).

Within the literature examined in this chapter, two sources provide clear (and at times similar) lists of the multiple attributes of YA literature. The first is Herz and Gallo (2012, p. 12), who state that in YA novels:

• main characters are teenagers • average length 200 pages but as long as 900 pages • point of view often first person and usually a teen • narration is often by the main character • story told in the voice of a teen • language is typically contemporary and colloquial • vocabulary is manageable for an average reader • setting: contemporary, sci---fi, fantasy, futuristic or historical • issues are those that teens can relate to • parents are minor characters or the enemy • plot and literary style are uncomplicated, yet never simplistic • outcome usually dependent on decisions or actions of the main character • tone and outcome are upbeat, although after 2000 they became darker and grittier • most traditional elements of classical literature are present, including well-rounded characters, flashbacks, foreshadowing, allusions, irony and metaphorical language.

The second is Coles’ (2009, p. 51) nine-point collation of historic characteristics:

1. The protagonist is a teenager. 2. Events revolve around the protagonist and his/her struggle to resolve conflict. 3. The story is told from the viewpoint and in the voice of a young adult. 4. Literature is written by and for young adults. 5. Literature is marketed to the young adult audience. 6. Story doesn’t have a ‘storybook’ or ‘happily-ever-after’ ending—a characteristic of children’s books. 7. Parents are noticeably absent or at odds with young adults. 8. Themes address coming-of-age issues (e.g., maturity, sexuality,

19 relationships, drugs). 9. Books contain under 300 pages, closer to 200.

These comprehensive lists seek to define YA literature and provide details for students of writing and authors to consider when writing. In doing so, these lists effectively outline what to consider including and what not to include. However, they are prescriptive and do not reflect the evolving nature of the genre, which continues to develop and reflect trends in writing, reading and publishing. Yes, these lists of characteristics provide a reference point for YA authors. For example, Australian YA writer James Roy (personal communication, 16 April 2013) has developed his own set of attributes that he lists in defining the structure of YA literature. His guiding model is based on the protagonist, audience and subject matter.

Clearly, the defining features of YA literature are contested. Nodelman (2008) suggests any defining of specifics to the genre may damage the genre, restricting it to fit into a narrow experience of novels and Cole (2009) and Herz and Gallo (2012) have various suggestions that specify a range of parameters that can be used. These lists function best as guides for consideration by YA writers and are not prescriptive. I found the above-mentioned lists informative guides and used them in conjunction with James Roy’s suggestions from his personal practice, which offered flexible and sound instruction. I made continual reference to Roy’s detail as I developed my novel and my writing capabilities.

In reviewing the literature on the history and defining features of YA literature, it has become apparent that the genre will continue to evolve and widen in scope, subject matter, style, audience and purpose; thus, I believe the definition should remain open to these changes. While the above lists are very useful guides and play a role in defining the genre, a broader and more flexible definition is needed to accommodate the many possible current and future iterations YA literature may embrace. I considered all possible ways the genre is defined and the implications of each definition in relation to the choices I made in writing my own YA novel. No single or simple definition exists that can reflect the constant changes, evolution and widening of the genre as each new trend, fashion or idea emerges on the market.

YA literature has grown and developed globally since its recognition in the mid-20th century and continues to evolve. Spritz (1999) wrote in Time Magazine that, ‘Teen fiction may, in fact, be the first literary genre born of the Internet. Its fast-paced narratives draw upon the

20 target demographic’s kinship with MTV ... and with the Internet and kids’ ease in processing information in unconventional formats’. In response to this assertion, Nilsen and Donelson (2009) argue that:

Not all young adult books are going to have the disjointed punch of music videos or the randomness of the Internet, but there is a relationship because modern mass- media entertainers appeal to the same powerful emotions of adolescence—love, romance, sex, horror, and fear—as do young adult authors. These strong emotions are best shown through a limited number of characters and narrative events and language that flows naturally while still presenting dramatic images. (p. 29.)

Gaffney (2017) credits YA literature as a powerful force:

Because it privileges the perspective and knowledge of youth, YA literature has the potential to be that literature of change; its critiques of authority, rebelliousness, and its bent toward the new and the visionary give YA a reservoir of power (p. 111).

This power is facilitated by a somewhat consistent yet responsive generic framework.

In the novel awarded in the 2018 CBCA older readers section, Take Three Girls, the book is written by three authors collaboratively, from three perspectives. Similarly, Atkins (2018), in her award-winning novel Between Us (CBCA older readers award 2019), has written from the perspective of three connected narrators who each reflect on different aspects of the events that are common and affect their lives. A [Brief] History of Young Adult Fiction suggests that ‘YA is a nebulous term, and scholars are still in the process of defining what it is and who it is for’ (Ramdarshan Bold, 2019, p. 21) and Trites has previously argued that ‘the experiences of navigating institutional power hierarchies—whether in families, schools, the government, religion, identity politics etc.—is at the heart of YA’ (2000, p.22). Novels for young adults will continue to expand in their subject matter, context and style, and no specific types of navigation govern their construction. When writing my YA novel, I focused on what worked in my story and did not conform to any strict format or style, but rather experimented and redrafted until I was satisfied with the finished product.

The Status of YA Literature—Is it a Genre?

A definition of YA literature continues to evolve. Certainly, there is a range of opinions on the status of YA literature. As this process continues YA literature conforms to the characteristics of prose writing thus identifying it as a genre. Mittell (2001 asserts that ‘genre can be defined

21 as a cultural category’ (p. 1) and methods to clarify the characteristic form or variety of forms in the content and style of literature differentiates them from each other. He posits that genre can be defined as a ‘constellation of elements, including themes, style and situations of reception, styles, ideas, conventions of representation, narrative style, character and plotting’ (Mittell, 2001, p. 4). Although different in each novel, these are the features that constitute a genre. When examining the question of genre status for YA literature, Duran (2012) quoted an American YA editor: ‘YA is not a reading level; it is a specific perspective and aesthetic sensibility. In other words, YA literature is a point of view, a frame of mind’ (par. 3). Thus, for this exegesis I assert that YA literature can be considered a genre. As Coats (2018) suggests ‘it is wise to heed YA writer Mal Peet; “I see genre as generating a set of rules or conventions that are only interesting when they are subverted or used to disguise the author’s intent”’ (p. 313). Coats (2018) argues that ‘genres do establish certain baseline expectations’ (p. 313); further, ‘people … posit YA literature as a separate and distinct genre from children’s literature’ (p. 315). She concludes that ‘genre refers to the content or subject matter of a text’ (Coats, 2018, p. 313), thus confirming YA through the definitions advocated by various researchers of YA literature as a genre.

To simply categorise neatly all YA literature is difficult. It is as diverse as its adult counterpart. Smith (2007) suggests that ‘young adult literature has a long tradition of authors whose works defy genre classifications’ (p. 35). He elaborates saying the ‘death of the genre liberates teen readers from the stereotypes associated with genre fiction … [And while] numerous outstanding works of YA fiction fit nicely into the traditional definitions of genre, many defy those same conventions’ (Smith, 2007, p. 35). He questions his readers, ‘Is it time to despair?’ and responds to his rhetorical question with, ‘I think not, rather let us celebrate the innovative fashion in which today's YA authors are bending the traditional definitions of genre’ (Smith, 2007, p. 36). Rather than labelling and identifying YA literature to fit a definition it is necessary to accept all writing on its merit, as suggested by Smith. To accept and embrace innovation and reward writers for their skill is more useful than defining various conventions that require adherence for identification purposes.

The ongoing debate over YA literature and its status as a genre permeates the discussions on historical development and changing definitions. However, I assert that YA must ‘be considered a genre, not just a reading stage’ (Duran, 2012, par. 6), because, as

22 previously noted, genre can be defined as a cultural category (Mittell, 2001, p. 1), and methods to classify the characteristic form or variety of forms in the content and style of literature differentiate it from each other. Each of the different functions and features distinguishes its subject, setting and/or plot. It has variously been considered an ‘aspect of children's literature’ (Stephens, 2007, p. 34); a ‘reading level’ or ‘proposed age range’ (Khan & Wachholz, 2006, p. 59); and ‘just a marketing category’ (Stephens, 2007, p. 35). For Phillips (2017, par. 2), YA is ‘a field of literature—not a genre … [as] despite separating YA from children’s literature, calling YA a genre is analogous to the glossing that occurs when they are conflated’. She further explains that variety and breadth are relevant in considering YA literature as more than a genre:

YA and (adult) literature share the traditional genres: romance, realism, science fiction and fantasy, contemporary fiction, historical fiction, literary fiction. There are also sub-genres that play a heightened role within YA: mythopoeic YA fantasy, dystopic fiction, paranormal romance. To call YA a genre is to refuse this multiplicity. (Phillips, 2017, par. 7)

Technology also contributes to Phillips’ defence of YA as a ‘field of literature’. She posits that ‘naming Young Adult books a field of literature comprised of genres and insisting upon the inclusion of digital and visual texts provides a more complete definition of the worlds of Young Adult literature’ (Phillips, 2017, par. 9).

Conversely, one of the main arguments for accepting YA literature as a genre is that a literary genre can be defined ‘by its linguistics features’ (Hyon, 1996, p. 693) and purpose, which is reflective of any literature. The literary features are those that are integral to literature for children, adults and young adults. They can include a plot, setting, characters, point of view and themes. These are addressed according to the exploration of what, when, where, who and how. The difference is the ways in which these features are used by the writers.

Young Adult literature is a relatively new genre in the world of literature. Hayn, Kaplan and Nolan (2011) observe that at ‘barely 50 years old, this emerging genre began to establish a presence in the canon of both classical and popular literature’ (p. 178). This is due to it ‘shaping the cultural landscape for adolescents perhaps more than any form of consumable media in the twentieth century and twenty first century’ (Garcia, 2013, p. 130). The impact of the early YA novels has aided the rise and popularity of the genre. In a short time, it has

23 become an influential contribution to the study of literature. It has filled a void that previously existed for readers after children’s books become too simplistic and adult novels were not relevant in content, style or representative of the needs and wants of readers aged between 12 and 18 years.

Certainly, there is clear evidence from the initial definitions of YA literature that developing ideas of the genre included parameters around accepted style, length, subject matter and recommended age group of readers to whom the books catered. Nodelman (2008) argues that YA literature is recognisable as a genre due to a set of assumptions or patterns that repeat with small variations. His argument can be accepted as YA literature, in all its forms, conforms with this malleable statement and is thus best understood as a genre.

In conclusion, the definition I have adopted for the purpose of this research and my own practice is informed by the various researchers and theorists discussed in this chapter and based on an established age parameter for readers, the purpose of YA novels and what contributes to the content of novels. The acceptance of a specified age bracket secures the status of YA literature as a genre. Thus, the working definition I have chosen to adopt is that in YA literature, the main characters, often protagonists and antagonists are teenagers; the story is told in the voice of a teen; the novel contains relatable issues for teens; the tone of the novel is upbeat (although after 2000 they are darker and grittier); and most traditional elements of classical literature are evident, including well --rounded characters, flashbacks, foreshadowing, allusions, irony and metaphorical language. However, the linguistic features of YA literature have relevance, as the language and lexicon used should reflect the age and stage for whom the books are written. Further, the structure of the novels and the settings are similarly appropriate and engage readers. The linguistic features that are evident in YA literature are specific to the YA genre and to other genres. From the genre’s outset, the language in YA novels was specific to the idiom of the context of characters. This is evident in Hinton’s word choice: booze, referring to alcohol; broad, referring to an attractive girl; jail referred to as the cooler; cigarettes referred to as cancer sticks; and being hacked up referring to being angry. Jargon that is relevant to YA novel is further shown in later YA publications that reflect changes in the structure of novels, for example:

‘You want me to clip the Doorman for you?’ ‘Clip?’

24 ‘Yeah, you know—whack him for you.’ ‘What are you Capone?’ (Zusak, 2002, p. 340).

Further, the structure varies accordingly and journals, letters, diary entries, interior monologues, linear and non-linear timelines are all found in a wide variety of genres and are not exclusive to children’s, YA or adult novels.

I refute parameters that define YA based on ‘coming---of---age issues, maturity, sexuality, relationships, drugs, social problems within teenagers and peer group’ in particular. I assert that subject matter and themes are influenced by the story’s protagonist; a teenager or a teen’s perspective (VanderStaay, 1992, p. 48). Rather, issues featured in YA novels can be more widely interpreted and include anything that exists in any literature, but requires a level of language, structure and length that is accessible to readers in the 12–18 years age bracket. Further, I do not agree with the premise that a YA novel would necessarily need to be written by an adolescent; however, a composition from a teen perspective suggests better engagement with the readers but is not essential. I disagree with the assertion that YA literature ‘is defined by the intended audience’ (Carlsen, 1980, p. 23), as the audience is not a predictable, static group and thus cannot be a defining feature. This has been seen with the advent of various YA novels that prove as successful with adult readers and/or are considered crossover novels that have their origins in YA fiction. YA fiction achieves readership in significant numbers in multiple age groups; the Harry Potter series is an exemplar of this. I assert that labelling YA novels as a genre is desirable, but defining the audience is too restrictive. Evidence suggests that ‘more than half of all YA novels sold are bought by older adults 18 or older, and certain titles published in the U.S. as YA are considered mainstream fiction for adults in other countries’ (Feeney, 2013, par. 3).

The Age Debate

While the details explored show wide and various definitions of YA literature, a further point of discussion in relation to genre is the age for whom YA novels are written, as this is directly tied to the content, audience and purpose of the novels. Consideration of the age group to which the genre caters further refines its definition (cited variously as ranging from 11 to 24 years). For this research, the age for YA literature is determined as 12–18 years. This

25 bracket is supported by Sturm and Michel (2009), whose definition of young adults’ states that:

Young adults are twelve to eighteen years old in a transitional period of their lives that is fraught with change. Their bodies are maturing physically and chemically, their minds are expanding beyond their egocentric childhood confines, they are developing a social network that far exceeds physical proximity (technology has redefined our understanding of community in this regard), and they are exploring emotions, spirituality, and possibilities that didn't enter their frame of reference as children. (p. 39)

Thus, YA novels are broadly defined as having a connection, relevance and appeal to readers aged 12–18 years. The style exhibited through ‘spoken language, making the sentences fairly short and the language uncomplicated’ (Sturm & Michel, 2009, p. 39) ensures the texts are relatable for young adults. This is exemplified in an extract from Burke’s (2005) CBCA award winner, The Story of Tom Brennan: It was a short letter. It was pretty pathetic, but I didn’t know what to say and I didn’t want to say nothing. It felt wrong pissing off your life and your best mate with just a few sentences. (p. 58)

The use of abbreviated and concise sentences and simple language to connect with YA readers is one feature of YA novels.

Trends in Young Adult Literature

The changes in YA literature since its inception suggest that new directions and experiments with language, narrative styles, perspectives, characters, subject matter and construction have occurred. These changes and developments have been notable and are seen in the diversity of characters depicted and ever-widening variety of contexts and differing narratives. Specifically, the themes, contexts and individuals featured in recent CBCA award-winning Australian YA novels show a marked contrast and variety. In line with the changing definitions of YA literature already discussed, a similarly broad scope of trends is identified and traced.

How YA literature is perceived and judged over time further contributes to the changes and developments that have occurred. With the success of a particular genre in YA fiction imitations and similar books emerge.

26 The changing trends in YA literature reflect and respond to the social and cultural influences at the time of composition and publication. As noted previously, YA literature was directly impacted by acceptance of the developing genre. It was not until the mid-20th century that the social construct of ‘teenagers’ or ‘young adults’ was acknowledged and school libraries—particularly in the US—began to house collections of books for students in this age group to read and enjoy (Kingsbury, 1971, p. 325). In a contemporary context, as Koss (2009) points out:

Traditional print novels, such as the classics and other commonly accepted literary genres, remain important in today’s classroom and are not disappearing from society; they are being joined by newer genres and text types, as well as new forms of literature found on the Internet (p. 3).

Thus, the digital era presented wide-ranging opportunities to explore different contexts through YA fiction. Technology’s impact on young people’s lives is reflected in YA novels. Koss (2009) considers technology’s influence on the multiple perspectives presented in YA novels and concludes that the need for ‘access to constantly evolving technology impacts how teens read and write’ (p. 12). She further acknowledges that ‘the media are also changing, using sound bites and fragmented television shows and movies to present their stories. Linear, chronological sitcoms and movies no longer dominate’ (Koss, 2009, p. 14). She suggests that ‘since teens are used to getting fragmented snippets of information in their daily lives, books are being written to reflect this phenomenon’ (p. 15). Koss and Teale (2009) utilise data from the International Reading Association when referring to the myriad of text types now available:

Including magazines, books, websites, and digital communication tools. Adults have cell phones, iPods, cable TV, Myspace, and YouTube that keep them connected and they become accustomed to dynamic information that changes with each new entry on Wikipedia. (p. 562)

Koss (2009) looks at the: New trend away from traditional forms of voice and structure, and a movement away from the typical first---person point of view, usually embodied by a teenage narrator. Today’s multiple narrative perspective novels are characterised by multiple voices, narrators, points of view, structures, and perspectives. (p. 16)

Thus, these progressions in the evolution of YA literature are reflected in changes to the style and organisation employed by writers, including the integration of aspects of

27 technology in the communication options for characters and plot composition. This involves a complex combination of content information, rhetorical demands and reader interpretation (Koss, 2009, p. 19), which reflects innovation in the YA genre. Further, ‘good writers and poor writers also appear to make use of processing skill in different ways’ (Grabe & Kaplan, 2014, p. 19). Prior to 1988, writers did not have the option to employ computer---assisted information gathering methodologies (Holmes, Robertson, & Paez, 2001, p. 314). Altick (1981) suggests the use of ‘external’ evidence—such as letters and other contemporary testimony—and ‘internal’ evidence provides a work’s content and style and indicates a significant move away from the traditional methods using technology to undertake research and inform writers in their writing. Crew (1991), Moloney (2018) and Zusak (2005) exemplify the use of primary research to create a foundation for a believable novel. Some writers, including J. C. Bourke, use technology for their research but rely on wide reading, searching and kinesthetic experiences to inform their writing.

Decisions about the content chosen when writing a novel were reviewed. I needed to consider a range of options, having considered the trends in YA literature and its constant evolution. Grabe and Kaplan (2014) posit that ‘writing is not a linear process; instead experiment with this notion of complexity in combining content information’, (p. 20). I rewrote a section of my novel trialling various processes and reviewing them to choose which were most suitable. I assessed aspects of the novel to judge the impact of the dialogue, contextual detail and descriptions of locale. I found this challenging in the initial stages of my novel writing and needed to test ways of organising my ideas effectively to reflect the story I was trying to tell. Entering writing competitions, undertaking writing courses and joining reading groups provided opportunities to share my writing and have it read and critiqued. This resulted in a wide variety of useful feedback from which I could further review and redraft my writing.

The commercial success of a book is usually judged by the numbers of copies sold, but I consider a book successful when it finds an audience (Marchetti, as cited in Jacob, 2012). This perspective suggests that changes in book trends are partially driven by the reading public rather than entirely by authors. This certainly warrants consideration in assessing the various aspects of the novels reviewed in this exegesis and could be an integral aspect of understanding the style, form and audience of YA books. Similarly, the themes and content

28 of novels have followed societal changes and issues that have emerged throughout the period of YA literature’s evolution. Changes noted reflect developments in technology and communication, cultural and social behaviour of adolescents, and nuclear families. As Michaels (2005) asserts, ‘Young Adult literature, like all literatures, reflects changes in the social and cultural context that produce it. Sometimes these changes are dramatic paradigm shifts and at other times evolutionary adaptations’ (p. 19). She further identifies two current changes in Australian YA fiction. First, the feature of ‘inept or corrupt adults … [is] being replaced by a world in which adults and young adults deal with difficulties and struggle together to get on with their lives’ (Michaels, 2005, p. 19). Second, the ‘first person narrator is replaced with multiple narrators and intertextuality’ (Michaels, 2005, p. 19). In the 2018 CBCA awards in the older readers section, winner Take Three Girls (2017) is written from the perspective of multiple narrators and is written by three authors collaboratively. Similarly, Atkins (2018) in her award-winning novel, Between Us (CBCA older readers award 2019) has written from the perspective of three narrators all connected and reflecting on different aspects of the events that are common to them all and differently affect their lives. Additionally, she has chosen to write the perspective of the adolescent male through free verse and other characters in prose.

These observations identify significant changes in the voice across the YA genre’s history, greater freedom in language choices and narrative types and evolution of a wide range of contrasting rhetoric styles used. Notably, the emerging trends of changed relationships between adults and young people, multiple narrators and intertextuality reflect postmodern understandings of adolescence, subjectivity and the relationship between art and life. Somewhat ironically, Michaels (2005) suggests:

The effect of these features is the creation of a more literary forms of young adult fiction—one that taps into and amplifies the best that has been said and written in all times and illustrates the interconnectedness of texts and the pre- eminence of story (p. 20).

She asserts that throughout the 1980s and 1990s, Australian YA novels largely focused on gritty stories about ‘divorce, single parenting, delinquency, kids forced into homelessness, disruptive teenagers and disturbed primary school students’ recounted by protagonists in ‘convincing, accessible first-person narratives’ (Michaels 2005, p. 28). This honest, confessional approach was often reinforced by diary or epistolary structural forms,

29 exemplified in Marsden’s So Much to Tell You (1987), Robin Klein’s Came Back to Show You I Could Fly (1990) and Aldridge’s The True Story of Lily Stubeck (1985). Further Clare Atkins’, Between Us (2018) explores social situations not previously addressed in CBCA award-winning YA fiction. Her novel specifically features life in and around a Northern Territory immigration detention centre in a stark exploration of life for detainees whose world experiences are beyond the comprehension of most.

From 2000 onwards, as indicated above, the representation of adult characters changed, they were no longer the sole cause of the issues in the narrative:

Rather the focus tends to be on characters—young adults and adults alike struggling with the vicissitudes of life. In this mix of representations, there are muddled---up adults, inadequate adults, vindictive adults as well as basically stable adults who also take on the role of mentoring young adults (Michaels, 2005, p. 21).

Michaels (2005) further observes in bildungsroman—a movement from the traditions of coming of age or the getting of wisdom—development of the YA protagonist:

Represented as an active process of constant renegotiation of selfhood. The young adult characters draw on their life experiences, the artistic works of others, and their own artistic creations, in this on-going project of construction and (re)construction of their own selves. (p. 22)

She suggests this is evidenced in changes from ‘single first-person narrative, to multiple narrators presenting multiple perspectives’ (Michaels, 2005, p. 22). This is apparent in later CBCA award winners Atkins (2011), and Crowley, Howell and Wood in their novel Take Three Girls (2017). Both novels offer narration from three protagonists, often offering three perspectives on the same event.

A further change is ‘including intertextual references to literature, art, music and popular culture, which gives these narratives a greater density and complexity than the novels of the earlier paradigm’ (Michaels, 2005, p. 22). Michaels (2005) concludes that the ‘effect of these features is a more literary/metaphoric style of writing’ and perhaps a ‘more literary, poetic style of narration a changed world-view, changed understanding of subjectivity, and a reshaped form, from the colloquial YA narrators of the hard-core realism of previous decades’(p. 22). This analysis reinforces the notion of YA literature reflecting the evolving social and cultural landscape into which it is written and published.

Michaels assertions are borne out in Shoenberger’s (2019) investigation, which found

30 new narrative styles and unconventional narratives structures in a range of new YA novels. These include a novel that featured lists made by a teenager chronicling his parents’ divorce, Hasak-Lowry’s Me Being Me is Exactly as Insane as You Being You (2015); an Australian novel composed of a dossier of classified memos, chats and emails, Illuminae by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff (2019); and Nicola Yoon’s book, Everything, Everything (2015), which utilises illustrations, charts and straight narration and has been made into a film featuring disability, illustrating the inclusion of diversity. Further examples include a fictional oral history depicting a chronicle of the protagonist’s life through interviews with ex-boyfriends, titled It’s Not Me, It’s You (2016) by Stephanie Kate Strohm. A unique concept in Walter Dean Myer’s Monster (1999) has the entire novel laid out in a screenplay format with detailed instructions on camera shots and angles as the protagonist imagines his incarceration is his life playing out like a film. Further, Lygia Day Penaflor’s novel, All of This Is True: A Novel (2018), is told through articles and interviews.

Koss and Teale (2009) conducted a study on contemporary, high-quality (US award- winning) YA literature to develop a clear picture of current trends in YA book publishing. Their descriptive study focused on four guiding questions around the genres represented in the current body of YA literature; who is or is not represented in these texts; the content of current YA books; and identifiable trends in the narrative, stylistic and structural features of current YA books. In the first phase of the study, the researchers compiled a database of English language YA books (fiction and nonfiction) published between 1999 and 2005, including books used by educators, books young people chose as favourites, popular books and bestsellers. The findings detail notable changes in preference among those involved in all aspects of YA literature.

The change noted in characters in Australian YA literature after 1982 reflects a shift from the child as part of a conventional nuclear family with Christian values. This was evident in Thiele’s The Valley Between (1981) and Wrightson’s A Little Fear (1983). Protagonists subsequent to these early novels challenge authority, experiment, take risks and have independent lives that do not necessarily reflect the lives of the adults in the novels. This is seen in Looking for Alibrandi (1992), 48 Shades of Brown (1999), The Messenger (2002) and Came Back to Show You I Can Fly (1991). There are several YA books published in the late 2000s which address issues surrounding refugees and immigration in Australia and issues of

31 nuclear disaster—Between Us (2019) and The Sky So Heavy (2013), respectively. The later books tend to have characters with a variety of family structures that reflect the social reality of the time. For example, Josie Alibrandi is in a single-parent family; Earles’ 17---year---old protagonist Dan lives with his young aunt, as his family have moved overseas; The Messenger’s 19---year--- old protagonist Ed lives independently; Studbeck’s 11---year---old protagonist Seymour befriends a drug-taking 20---year---old pregnant woman while staying with an acquaintance of his mother’s for the school holidays; and Zorn’s parentless adolescents fend totally for themselves after a severe world nuclear accident. Thus, the characters in these stories reflect the reality of life for some young people and provide a realist representation of contemporary events and situations.

It is clear that new and varied interpretations in writing YA fiction will continue to emerge from the initially narrow definitions and limited global output. The YA novel has become a recognisable product in schools, libraries, bookshops and online platforms, reflecting the new and ever-changing modes of communication. The changes in construction, content, style and presentation of these novels are indicative of the development of the genre and reflect the changes in society, technology, global engagement in literature and the evolving socio---politicisation of the 21st-century world. This correlation between societal changes and the changing content of YA novels alerted me to the need to consider the social and political temperature of the world and its local impact, particularly in relation to perceptions and representations of safety, security and intercultural engagement.

YA novels are important in their exploration of social issues. This speaks to the genre’s role of engaging young people with relevant experiences and issues and providing them with valid information.

Most significant in the changes exhibited in YA literature is the expansion is subject, context and content. Increasing awareness of the need to be more inclusive of minorities has spurred books to be more comprehensive in content and offer a wider range of titles, particularly in the larger US and UK markets. However, in 2004 Blasingame & Goodson asserted that ‘when reading young-adult literature, a student of minority status is [still] unlikely to encounter a character of their own background’ (p. 4). Ten years later Malinda Lo (2014), a prominent YA novelist, found ‘only 15% of the novels that appeared on the New York Times Young-adult Best Sellers list in 2014 contained characters of colour, while 3% had

32 characters with disabilities’. While these numbers are still small, they offer evidence of a rise in the US of diverse stories (Snook, 2020). In the Australian YA market publishers’ social media and marketing has mentioned YA book Shauna’s Great Expectations (2019) by Kathleen Loughman’s three times, indicating some attempt to promote stories that are written by, or are inclusive of, people of colour. This novel features an Indigenous female protagonist. Similarly, 1994 CBCA winner James Moloney featured Indigenous protagonists in Dougie (1993) and Gracey (1994), and 1998 CBCA award winner Phillip Gwynne has written two YA novels that feature Indigenous adolescents. More recently Bruce Pascoe’s Fog a Dox (2012), Rift Breaker (2014) by Tristan Savage and Calypso Summer by Jared Thomas all feature either Indigenous writers, protagonists or a close connection to Australia’s First Nations people. While the number of books that centre on Indigenous Australians is increasing, minorities are not represented proportionally to the number of novels that cater to the stereotypical middle-class white teenagers in subject, context and content.

However, an Australian YA book by Chinese American author Wai Chim (originally from the US but currently living in Australia) has had some marketing success and visibility. The book The Surprising Power of a Good Dumpling (2019) has been featured on the publisher’s Facebook page 23 times (Snook, 2020). Clearly, the Australian YA market indicates a disparity between the number of diverse books published and marketed in Australia and the US. In 2018 Booth and Narayan argued that the efforts of campaigns and organisations have been helpful in the rise of diversity. However, the reason diverse books published in Australia come from the US is that their YA industry is much larger. In 2014, Susannah Chambers, commissioning editor for Allen & Unwin, argued that Australian YA literature is full of diverse stories, but they are being pushed out of the way by the American industry. Binks (2014) asserts that ‘it’s still mainly specialist and independent publishers representing Indigenous authors and characters’ (par. 2).

Further, Chambers (2014) explained that YA in America ‘is selling in mind-blowingly huge quantities … The top-selling US titles sell in the hundreds of thousands in our market. Australian YA is lucky to sell ten thousand’ (par 16).

Literary Theories

33 There are multiple ways to view and interpret novels. The analysis of the award winners of the CBCA older reader sections 1982–2019 is done through various literary theories. The theories applied to YA novels are outlined below, and although each novel is unique, some of the novels examined can be considered from various theoretical perspectives.

Watson (2001) asserts that ‘children’s books reflect and are bound up in cultural changes; they are particularly susceptible to developing assumptions about the nature of childhood, adolescence and education. They also have a lot in common with popular literature and share a good deal of ground with wider popular cultures’ (p. vi). Assuming this is the case, the same scope for theory and criticism exists as ‘children’s books exist in a world of social, political and economic change’ (p. vii). They are influenced by ‘poverty, bias, terrible strains of war, exile and victimization [that] exists in a world of adult judgment, often passionate and bigoted’ (p. viii).

Feminist theory contends that ‘the ways in which literature (and other cultural productions) reinforce or undermine the economic, political, social, and psychological oppression of women’ (Tyson, as cited in Purdue University, 2020). It considers how aspects of our culture are inherently patriarchal; essentially, ‘this critique strives to expose the explicit and implicit misogyny in male writing about women’ (Tyson, as cited in Purdue University, 2020). Feminist criticism examines the treatment of males and females in a literary work by exploring how they are represented. It provides insight into how literature might reflect reality and affect perceptions of how males and females are expected to behave. It also explores differences in how male and female writers treat a topic, use language and how they interpret a character’s behaviours. Feminist literary theory examines ‘whether men and women read and interpret literature differently; how gender patterns in reality are reflected in literary texts, also text-oriented focusing on the portrayal of men and women, boys and girls in the texts’ (Plucknette, 2013, p. 11). Further, the gender of the writer is relevant and consideration of whether a woman can write in a man’s voice and vice versa can be examined. Predominantly the writers in the CBCA awards have chosen protagonists that reflect their gender. Historically Nikolajeva (2005) suggests this is usually the case and cites a few cases of female writers who have chosen male protagonists. These generalisations apply to the winners although some exceptions are noted; John Marsden has successfully both had a

34 female protagonist and ‘enters her world’ (p. 12), and two of the female writers have chosen male protagonists; Rubenstein and Nilsson. While not common among the YA literature examined in this exegesis, there are examples of writers who have chosen to write through the ‘eyes’ of a different gender. There is no singular reason for this; however, Moloney (2020) suggests that ‘if it serves their purpose to write from another gender and they approach it with confidence it can be a successful and satisfying undertaking, it’s almost a challenge’. He further outlined that he felt writing from the perspective of a female protagonist can ‘force the author to think way more deeply, honestly and with fewer automatic assumptions into the experience of the protagonist’ (James Moloney personal communication, 3 September 2010).

Many of the current YA novels are written to dispel stereotypical gender roles. In Marsden’s 1988 CBCA award-winning novel So Much to Tell You (1987), Marina is a strong, decisive female protagonist who is in control and epitomises equanimity in a novel written by a male. While she is a flawed character who is a victim of circumstance, Marsden ‘does not make assumptions nor does he adopt an attitude which suppresses gender or sexuality’ (Eagleton, 2008, p.182). However, earlier award winners can be clearly shown to have inherent patriarchies and stereotypical submissive roles for women. This is evident in Thiele’s The Valley Between (1981) and Nilsson’s House Guest (1992).

Further, dystopian literature serves to criticise existing or potential social conditions or political systems. It specifically situates itself in direct opposition to utopian thought, warning against the potential negative consequences of arrant utopianism. Dystopian literature generally critiques existing social conditions or political systems through either examination or an imaginative extension of conditions and systems into different contexts, which ‘more clearly reveal flaws and contradictions of the critiqued conditions or systems’ (Booker, 2011, p. 3).

Post-colonial theory is evident in stories written for and about young adults coming of age during the time of colonisation and afterwards. It explores the ways characters navigate the geographical, cultural, social, economic and political landscapes at play in that particular culture and time period (Durand, 2013). Notable works in YA fiction that exemplify this include Crew’s Strange Objects (1990), which explores historical incidents, early discovery and the impact of European settlement on Indigenous Australians. Aboriginal Charlie is represented

35 in the novel as a symbol of how Indigenous Australians have been unfairly silenced throughout history. Symbolically, his connection with history is evident in the art works he touches up; he is a link between the past and present. Crew portrays his way of thinking as being closer to historical truth and a challenge to post-colonial interpretation of Australia’s Indigenous people.

Postmodernism presents subject matter and a literary style that confirms a move from the modernism of experimentation and an air of playfulness and fragmentation. It is a style that uses paradox, sometimes unreliable narrators and, at times, unrealistic and impossible plots. It can feature parody, paranoia, dark humour and an authorial self. Zuzak’s The Messenger (2002) exhibits many of these features with clever integration of dark humour, yet a playful style of language that uses metaphors and similes effectively. Zusak’s insertion of himself at the end of the novel is a dexterous authorial ‘self-intrusion’, and a salute to postmodern writing (Blakeley, 2014) and ‘low’ forms of art and literature as well as the distinction between genres.

Bennett and Royle (2004) suggest the best method to explain postmodernism is through the ‘vocabulary, in order to suggest its mobile, fragmented and paradoxical nature’ (p. 248). This is relevant to this research because ‘in the postmodern, all absolute values— such as the traditional values of God, Truth, Reason, the Law and so on—become sites of questioning, of rethinking, of new kinds of affirmation’ (p. 249). Certainly, the CBCA novels examined provide challenges to thinking about time, particularly in the novels that used time slips, evident in The House Guest (1992), and the introduction of fantasy elements that suspend disbelief and allow readers to see present in the past, the future in the present and the present in a kind of no-time. Exemplar novels include Strange Objects (1990), The Master of the Grove (1982) and Foxspell (1994).

Developed in the 1980s by Stephen Greenblatt, new historicism is a theory based on the premise that a literary work should be considered a product of the time, place and historical circumstances of its composition rather than as an isolated work. Thus, it reflects the language of those for whom the novels are written, addresses questions about the social context in which the book was written, and offers an explanation of values addressed in the novel and how they are interpreted. It shares how the author’s sentiments can be perceived in relation to a time period within a particular community (Short, Tomlinson, Lynch-Brown, &

36 Johnson, 2015). Here, the reader is the CBCA judges.

Further, Mikics (2007) posits ‘New Historicists aim to both understand the work through its cultural context and to understand intellectual history through literature’, thereby providing a more ‘comprehensive understanding of literature by considering it in historical context’ (p. 205). Greenblatt (1988) contends that ‘art is made up along with other products, practices, discourses of a given culture’ (p. 13); thus, new historicism can be applied to novels from the CBCA awards, including The Valley Between (1981), 48 Shades of Brown (1999) and Strange Objects (1990). These are all intricately linked to their contexts and the intent of the plot through their setting and history, as any ‘reading of a text is a question of negotiation, a negotiation between text and reader within the context of a history or histories’ (Bennett & Royle, 2004, p.116).

A new historicism analysis can be applied to most children’s and YA fiction. The context, subject matter, themes and style cannot be divorced from the text itself. It is the object of a novel to engage readers, to suspend their disbelief. To successfully accomplish this, it is essential that reading is a reflection of the world. The two are entwined; indeed, ‘they show how far the lives of such ordinary people are bound up in determined and constrained by broader social, economic, and political realities’ (Bennet & Royle, 2004, p. 110). In the award-winning novels Bridge to Wiseman’s Cove (1996), The Story of Tom Brennan (2005) and The Running Man (2004), each protagonist experiences events that reflect the realities of the dangers of various social, emotional and economic situations beyond their immediate control. These are topical and evident in the contexts in which the texts have been written.

My selection of context, content and plot are reflective of new historicism. It is the connection to the time, location and the circumstances of the fictional family that guides the events and outcomes of my novel. The values that are held dear by the fictional family in my novel guides the exploration of loyalty, honesty and the resolution of crises. This is resonant with the time period, although it is not specifically stated. The rules and protocols of school life, teenage driving and the use of smartphones all conform to the setting in rural NSW and contemporary times. There are some postmodern underpinnings with the unreliability of the protagonist from whose perspective the novel unfolds. Coupled with this is the notion of the influence of ‘authorial self-reference’ (Blakeley, 2014), which my novel does through the

37 inclusion of many experiences from my life as a teacher. Much of this is honest disclosure but, as explored elsewhere in this exegesis, it is my life experiences that have inspired events and guided writing about the actions and reactions of characters, which are based firmly on my own actions and reactions to similar experiences in both my childhood and adult life.

Chapter Three

This chapter examines Australian YA literature by looking closely at a set of books chosen from the list of CBCA award winners. The books are considered through the lens of the CBCA judges’ assessment and critiqued to ascertain the characteristics that make them noteworthy. The content and context each author chose and the style and aspects the judges valued or considered innovative and/or engaging informed me about the variety of features, themes and developments in YA writing in Australia since its recognition in 1981.

The Genre in Australia

Formal acknowledgement of the YA genre in Australia came with the introduction of the CBCA Children’s Book of the Year for Older Readers award in 1982. Despite the initial title of ‘Class A—Book of the Year’, the first award for a book for older readers was given to Colin Thiele for The Valley Between (1981). Yet, a distinct Australian genre had been developing since Federation. Books by Australian authors, including Miles Franklin’s My Brilliant Career (1901), Ethel Turner’s Seven Little Australians (1894), Norman Lindsay’s The Magic Pudding (1918) and May Gibbs’ Gumnut Babies (1916), were acknowledged as uniquely Australian, complete with the inclusion of the Australian vernacular, iconic settings, landscapes and/or historical periods, and some with illustrations of unique Australian fauna and flora. These storytellers had a focus on children as their audience, with some adopting the didactic style of traditional children’s books. Similar novels specifically for a YA audience were slow to emerge in Australia and were not evident until well after this period.

39 In this exegesis, developments in the Australian YA genre are traced through the examination and analysis of 17 award-winning CBCA Children’s Book of the Year for Older Readers books from 1982–2019. Over time, noticeable differences in characters, expansion and diversity of subject matter and varying narrative techniques and structures have occurred. Australian YA literature has grown significantly since 1982. At the 2016 Nielsen’s Children Book Summit in New York, the overall book market was stated as having increased by 33% since 2004, while the children’s book market, which includes YA novels, had grown 52% in the same period (Anderson, 2016, par. 11). Further, 4,700 YA books were published in the US in 2002, while 10,000 were published in 2012 (Peterson, 2018, par. 5). In Australia in 2012, for the fourth year in a row, the Australian retail book market posted a marginal growth with sales up 0.9% in value and 1.6% in volume in 2017 (Hanke, 2018). Meanwhile, Dymocks’ fiction category manager Kate Mayor reports that YA sales are up 1.2% so far in the current financial year (K. Mayor, personal communication, 23 April 2019).

My own analysis of the books chosen for review included examining details of the reviewers and citations from the CBCA judges who established a standard of language, plot development, characterisation and voice through which the books are judged. The novels considered represent a variety of sub---genres, styles and contexts. From the period 1982–2019 I have selected 17 authors’ works to inform my writing and reflect the changing nature of YA literature in this period. The selected titles appealed to me because they represent a range of novels with which I am familiar and have used in teaching YA literature, and further offer a variety of responses by critics. The novels chosen are diverse in their construction, context, content, style, language and offered a significant input from many of the writers, who responded to questions from which I could ascertain how and why writers write. I gathered personal responses from some of the authors in this group for further insight into their contexts and processes in their writing.

In chronological order of publication, the novels used as examples for this research are: • The Valley Between (1981) Colin Thiele • The Master of the Grove (1982) Victor Kelleher • So Much to Tell You (1987) John Marsden • Strange Objects (1990) Gary Crew

40 • Bridge to Wiseman’s Cove (1991) James Moloney • Looking for Alibrandi (1992) Melina Marchetta • Foxspell (1994) Gillian Rubinstein • 48 Shades of Brown (1999) Nick Earles • The Messenger (2002) Markus Zusak • The Running Man (2004) Gerard Michael Bauer • The Story of Tom Brennan (2005) J C Bourke • Tales from Outer Suburbia (2008) Shaun Tan • The Dead I Know (2011) Scot Gardner • The Sky So Heavy (2013) Claire Zorn • Take Three Girls (2017) Cath Crowley, Simone Howell and Fiona Wood • Between Us (2018) Clare Atkins

Judges and the Awards Process

The CBCA awards are announced annually in August. The judges are appointed to select books in the various categories nominated by the CBCA. The criteria for an individual to be a judge are:

All judges must be current individual members of a State Branch of The Children’s Book Council of Australia and hold current Working with Children clearance as determined by regulations/law in their State or Territory (CBCA, 2019).

Further, they should have:

• recognised standing and qualifications in the field of children’s literature • wide and current knowledge of children’s literature, especially Australian • awareness of illustration techniques, design, editing, printing and production processes • ability to communicate assessment effectively, both verbally and in writing • awareness of and commitment to the time required • ability to work within given deadlines • good working knowledge of current technology including website blogging, video calls and Skype, etc. (CBCA, 2019)

41 While the CBCA has evolved since its establishment in 1946, it aims to be a neutral promoter of the awards for the benefit of young readers. The CBCA (2019) lists its aims as ‘promoting quality literature for young Australians; supporting and encouraging a wide range of Australian writers and illustrators of children’s books; and celebrating contributions to Australian children’s literature’. Each year comments and general information are provided by the judges and then, if a particular literary issue arises, the judges address it. For example, in 2000 the judges’ report discussed the media coverage concerning 'teenage angst' (CBCA, 2000, p. 5) in literature, and apparent community concerns about the proliferation of depressing themes, suicide, violence, unacceptable language and explicit illustrations. The report explored issues relating to censorship in school libraries’ book selections due to community reactions to books that may be 'pushing the boundaries' (Lamb, 2001, p. 7). The judges stated that they ‘valued the nature of the CBCA awards, which allow authors and illustrators to present children with changing and challenging literary experiences’ (Lamb, 2001, p. 7). The judges further noted that many of the books provided rich and thought- provoking reading experiences for teenagers with content that included teenage themes of family and intergenerational relationships, peer group relationships, coping with difference, teenage sexual relations, rites of passage through traumatic experience, violence and injustice.

Throughout the history of the awards, the commended books have explored everyday experiences and their value to life, demonstrating the power of teenagers taking control of their own lives by using their experiences to assess their life and its worth. There has been a wide range of novels and formats, with stories often told through multiple voices, verse and ‘chat-line’ shorthand or contemporary dialogue. Some books were easily accessible to a wide range of readers through the seamless fusion of events, characters and philosophical themes in attractive formats (Cohen, 2001, p. 9). Thus, the analysis and examination of each of the nominated books provided me with insight into the YA genre and access to the detail in each novel, enabling me to respond as a reader of each of the books.

Analysis of the Award---Winning Books

Each of the YA novels chosen has a unique position in the award system and valuable

42 detail I could draw on and extrapolate. This informed me of writing trends, practices and processes and showed exemplars of YA writing by award-winning authors. To fully engage with their style and impact, a brief summary of the plot is provided to contextualise each novel in its place in the history of Australian YA and the CBCA awards system. The books are examined in chronological order to reflect the developments and changes that occurred over time, commencing with the first novel awarded in this category, Thiele’s The Valley Between.

The Valley Between

According to the judges’ assessment of The Valley Between, Thiele’s novel is considered outstanding due to his ability to capture a ‘childhood sense’ and ‘astute insight and strength in communicating the theme’ (Lamb, 1982, p. 5). The judges identified and commented on the new topics that emerged in the novel, including young people's rights, juvenile courts, a range of adolescent traumas and terrorism. These inclusions indicate a move away from children’s reading subject matter to content more relevant to young adults. The following analysis provides significant insight into and connection with this novel and comparison of the material offered with other YA texts. I examined the themes and execution of plot development apparent in Thiele’s novel to guide the planning of my own YA novel.

In post-colonial theoretical terms, Thiele has confined his novel to be representative of a ‘culturally generic novel with the characters’ ethnicity used for descriptive purposes rather than functioning to depict insights about the culture or cultural practice’ His novel’s setting is familiar to him and not used explore any of the possible implications of its diversity (Koss & Teale 2009, p. 566). Koss and Teale (2009) further posit that ‘the majority of international countries and characters portrayed were white and European’ (p. 569), concluding that a range of diversities does not appear, nor is it a feature of novels but a consequence of their context:

Post-colonial young adult literature features stories written for and about young adults coming of age during the time of colonization and afterward [and as a consequence] explores the ways in which characters navigate the geographical, cultural, social, economic, and political landscapes at play in that particular culture and time period. (Durand, 2012).

Thiele explored his personal context by setting his novel in the familiar surroundings

43 of his youth, in German-influenced rural South Australia. German character names and the infusion of Germanic vocabulary are a significant part of the novel. He states unequivocally that ‘my own childhood in the fullest sense—social, educational, linguistic, and environmental had a profound effect on me. For good or ill The Valley Between is one of the consequences’ (Thiele, as cited in Lamb, 1982, p. 11). His novel aligns with new historicism theory as Thiele’s work is representative of the time, place and historical circumstances of its composition. As noted earlier, new historicism seeks to understand a literary work through its cultural context and intellectual history through literature. Thus, its application provides a more ‘comprehensive understanding of literature by considering it in historical context’ (Mikics, 2007, p. 205).

As the first YA novel awarded CBCA Book of the Year for Older Readers, I noted the language was slightly more sophisticated than children’s books. Thiele used vivid descriptions of the setting, which I later tried in my novel. The success of Thiele’s work encouraged me to choose a setting with which I was familiar and easily able to fictionalise while maintaining a realistic setting commensurate with my plot. As I had taught in rural NSW, basing my novel in a fictionalised version of the area connected me to the setting with a sense of authenticity. I similarly chose to name the town according to my heritage, Astonville, which is strongly suggestive of my Anglo-Saxon background.

Thiele’s novel focuses on rural Australia, in a small community post-World War 1. The book appears semi-autobiographical, as he grew up in Eudunda near Julia Creek, South Australia. There are similarities with Thiele’s German heritage and the distinct rural locale of fictional Gonundra with his childhood Eudunda. Saxby (1971) noted that in ‘early Australian Children’s literature tales of city and station property life were to dominate children’s fiction for over thirty years’ (p. 27), which is evident in Thiele’s novels. The Valley Between (1981) has a strong linear narrative dotted with evocative descriptions of the physical setting:

They ran back down the saddle of Jacob’s Hill, crawfishing their way round the slope until they spot where Geister’s Hole petered out into reeds and bullrushes. Beyond it there was a makeshift ford with a few centimetres of water spilling over it and trickling away downstream (p. 36).

The vivid infusion of the landscape presents a carefully crafted interpretation of the environment that is integral to the story. This landscape challenges the characters’ physical strengths and weaknesses when in difficult situations. I learned from this novel the

44 importance of integrating the landscape into the story as it plays a significant role in the events that occur. This helped me choose a rural setting, as it provided unique challenges within the story, including a country road accident: ‘It only took a nanosecond and we were on the gravel. Travelling at 80 kms suddenly seemed so fast. Toby braked abruptly and the car spun uncontrollably’ (Nosworthy, n.d., p. 86).

Voskuyl (2008) observed that voice is a ‘significant aspect of all texts but particularly YA texts’ (p. 1). The authenticity of voice is integral to the success of a novel. This is evident in Thiele’s novel with the mateship between adolescents and their interactions with each other, which are distinctly Australian. Character development is entwined with the landscape by requiring characters to respond to, and cope with, the challenges of their physical surroundings. The novel was reviewed in Reading Time (Harman, 1983) as presenting a ‘childhood sense of place’ (p. 8), while the CBCA judges’ report highlights Thiele’s skill with a sequence of events, ‘which gradually builds up character and presents a logical development’ (p. 9). Having the events drive the plot encouraged me to maintain the characters’ development alongside the rising action in my novel.

The themes explored in Thiele’s novel are consistent with the era of boys’ and girls’ adventure stories, with children and adolescents undertaking childish activities with games, Billy carts and taking minor risks, often mimicking adult behaviours. The escapades undertaken by protagonist Benno and his mate Otto reflect this, yet they witness a dispute between adults and become involved to resolve conflict. These incidents expose the protagonist to the unpleasant and bigoted side of the adults, which serves as a didactic aspect of the novel. This is illustrated through Benno’s thoughts: ‘Although several weeks had gone by without a clash of any kind between Jack Ryan and Adolf Heinz, Benno would know the calm would not last for long’ (Thiele, 1982, p. 126). This conflation was informative, as it was the first novel that differentiated from children’s novels and targeting an older audience with exposure of adult behaving badly. While still largely an adventure story, the themes reflect changes in the observations of the adolescent protagonist, which go beyond that of a child.

The evolution of YA literature away from children’s adventure stories to become more noticeably young adult in content encouraged me to experiment with different themes. I read YA novels and noted themes that illustrated the developing nature of adolescents as they navigate leaving childhood behind and moving into their teenage years.

45 The judges concluded that the material for The Valley Between came from Thiele’s own life experience, nominating it as a ‘delightful story’ and the book having ‘brought to his memories the hindsight of experience and wisdom, so that he is able to bring alive for his readers the characters, incidents, and atmosphere of the valley which gave him happiness’ (Lamb, 1982, p. 7). Further praise from the awards’ judges described The Valley Between as ‘a loosely connected series of incidents’ and with skill, the author has ‘selected a build-up of characters through family, feuding and social change which are deftly interwoven with the thirteen-year-old boy taking his first tentative steps towards manhood and responsibility’ (Lamb, 1982, p. 7). I considered these comments alongside my own teaching experiences when developing my novel’s context and characters through their reactions to confrontation.

Thus, using Thiele as an inspiration was worthwhile, and as the first winner of the CBCA award for older readers, close examination of his writing and the judges’ feedback proved invaluable for me to develop an understanding and appreciation of his writing and the emerging critical analysis of Australian YA literature.

The Master of the Grove

The second novel being discussed is Kelleher’s The Master of the Grove (1982). It is a distinct move away from the personal-style narrative of Thiele and introduces the CBCA Older Readers category to a fantasy novel. The writer’s carefully crafted language introduces the protagonist, 13-year-old Derin, setting out on a mission to find his father—a quest that becomes the focus of the novel. He encounters both evil and goodness in his search for truth. Kelleher’s deep exploration of good and evil and the consequence of choices between them suggests a closer connection to a bildungsroman-style novel. It further exemplifies Sturm and Michels’ (2009) focus on the life stage of YA readers:

It is a transitional period of their (young adults) lives that is fraught with change. Their bodies are maturing physically and chemically, their minds are expanding beyond their egocentric childhood confines, they are developing a social network that far exceeds physical proximity (technology has redefined our understanding of community in this regard), and they are exploring emotions, spirituality, and possibilities that didn't enter their frame of reference as children (p. 39).

46 Kelleher’s main character, Derin, and his interactions with those he encounters while searching for his father are central to the book. Similarities with Thiele’s novel are also apparent in the intricate and detailed descriptions of landscapes; in part, attributed to Kelleher’s experiences growing up in South Africa and New Zealand and his strong connection to both. This feature reinforced my decision regarding the setting of my novel, as I was able to draw on my experiences in rural NSW and Victoria to replicate the features of those landscapes, including the weather and landforms, with ease.

Kelleher’s novel uses fantasy and appears didactic in its message to readers through the lessons Derin experiences on his journey. Fantasy writing should aim to create a world through ‘vivid descriptions to make the experience as realistic as possible for the reader. Their introduction to this world should not just be physical, however—think about the differences that an entire new world would contain’ (Ravenola, 2016). Fantasy writing fits into the broad definition of postmodernist literature. It can be light hearted parody that breaks from reality and offers an unreliable narrator, and perhaps a challenge to authority (Ravenola, 2016). Certainly, Kelleher’s work fits many of the structures featured in postmodernist fantasy novels. He published well before the influence of the Harry Potter series, which heralded a resurgence of fantasy novels in 1997. Fantasy had been a popular genre throughout the growth of the YA novel; however, the advent of J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series began an enormous worldwide uptake of fantasy reading, with the first of the series selling 120 million copies worldwide (The Bookseller.com).

The Master of the Grove is written in third person, and Derin’s learning experiences appear to be instructive to the reader—a characteristic reminiscent of earlier didactic novels. The novel’s language is crafted to reflect the era:

The interior of the cave was expectantly neat and tidy: a well-tended rush bed in one corner; banks of shelves filled with small jars and bundles of herbs lining most of the side walls; hessian curtains covering two doorways that led to neighbouring caves (Kelleher, 1982, p. 77).

Similarly, the environmental detail is richly described: ‘By the end of the day they had reached a part of the uplands that was almost totally bare of trees; the only refuge they could find was a tall hedge bordering a stream’ (Kelleher, 1982, p. 44). Here, Kelleher has composed a significantly challenging physical environment in which to situate his adventure (as noted above, possibly reminiscent of his background).

47 The unusual names of characters—Derin, Krob, Marna, Arith, Ardelan, Asti and Obin— reflect the fantastical nature of the novel and suggest a variety of cultural origins, with Derin suggesting Irish heritage and Marna a Latin name referencing the god of Mars or the sea. This alerted me to the need to carefully choose appropriate character and place names that work within the context of the novel, as all of Kelleher’s choices hint at the characters’ traits. Certainly, choosing names for characters and places can be challenging. Both Thiele and Kelleher connected their choices to the context of their novels. Ultimately my decision sought to reference a typical, small, rural farming town and offer a tangential connection to the family’s Catholic religious affiliation, which is pertinent to the novel. Thus, I chose Irish- influenced names—Geraldine, Bridie and Rory—to reflect the family’s Irish Catholic heritage.

Finally, adding to the fantastical nature of Kelleher’s novel is the inclusion of Craak, a bird with significant powers. He is a constant companion who supports Derin in his quest, providing intelligence and detail perhaps otherwise beyond the reader’s suspension of disbelief in a human character. These features of Kelleher’s novel introduced me to fantasy and the importance of authenticity and continuity in context.

The CBCA judges determined that Kelleher’s novel is ‘a gripping work in which every action and utterance contributes to the solution of the mystery and the resolution of the action’ (Harman, 1983, p. 8). They further elaborated on the story being ‘a convincing creation of a logical world, with sustained investigation into the struggle between good and evil, and the sharp and perceptive delineation of character’ (Harman, 1983, p. 9). Kelleher’s ability to maintain the action and physicality of the novel provided me with a guide when writing scenes that feature experiences leading to an exciting, and perhaps dangerous, climax. The CBCA judges concurred, stating that they ‘considered the action in the novel well-paced, the imagery finely drawn and the exposition clear’ (Harman, 1983, p. 9). Pacing is integral to successfully engaging readers. The Master of the Grove maintained pace by creating rising action at the conclusion of each chapter. This heightened my curiosity and encouraged me to continue reading, as I wanted to uncover Derin’s next challenge and see whether his journey was successful. I used his slow, increasing rise in action as a model when considering the significant events in my novel.

Kelleher was judged to be ‘a fine storyteller’, evident in his ‘technical control of the language and style’ (Harman, 1983, p. 9). The language of the novel exhibits a fluency that I

48 hoped to duplicate, so I experimented with words and phrases of his, and my own, to compare and identify the most suitable and engaging. Further, Kelleher was commended on his ability to:

Involve readers completely by getting them to predict (usually wrongly) the intermediate and final events; to interpret the significance of relationships, discoveries and events (again erroneously); and, to become emotionally involved with the hopes and fears for certain of the story's characters (Harman, 1983, p. 9).

The idea of encouraging readers to engage by leading them to make predictions is similarly deployed in detective fiction and spy novels. Having read many from these genres, I was familiar with the style and experimented with my characters creating diversions and obstacles to maintain interest and a level of surprise. Features of the postmodern fantasy novel offer a real break from the realist novels of the pre-1980 period, and despite the usual archetypes included, Kelleher has successfully created a postmodern fantasy novel. He has encompassed expected features that Rollyson (2014) indicates as integral to postmodernism. These include various aspects of fantasy with some degree of magic, complex characters and a level of conflict in an imaginative setting. Reading this novel reinforced my choice not to use fantasy. I do not read fantasy in any volume and preferred to not engage with it in my writing. However, the novel gave me ways to incorporate context and my personal background to enhance the authenticity of the setting of my novel. An accomplished writer with Kelleher’s skill provided ideas from which I could develop my own minor level of didacticism in my writing and mirror the subtlety of language and style in The Master of the Grove.

So Much to Tell You

So Much to Tell You (1987) was written by John Marsden in a journal format. It is a first- person narrative with a young female protagonist and the first of the award-winning novels I read, which encouraged the creation of my own troubled female protagonist. So Much to Tell You was awarded the Book of the Year in 1988 and is ‘grittier’ than any of the earlier award winners. It addresses issues of mental health and family dysfunction, represented through the journal and voice of Marina as she gradually exposes the reader to the events that have caused her to be an elective mute and reluctantly attend boarding school. My experience of attending and working at boarding schools enabled me to critically examine the effects of

49 boarding on adolescents. While my novel is not situated in a boarding school, there are some similarities as it is set in a rural independent school. I made this choice based on my exposure and experience, together with the success and setting of Marsden’s novels, which resonated with my own encounters. So Much to Tell You also modelled how to include details of the school environment into my story. Schools can be complex and the inclusion of too much detail can overshadow the intended plot, as the school becomes a dominant character. Marsden subtly includes various details about the school and school life, but his ability to remain focused on this character-driven novel and his protagonist’s inner thoughts illustrated how he is able to integrate the context into the plot.

Marsden’s novel is a response to feminist criticism in YA literature. He empowers his female protagonist to eventually defy the common representation of females needing help and support from males by creating a strong, decisive young woman. This novel ‘provokes a particular response’ from readers and it ‘becomes a tool for understanding the world and considering broader social issues’ (Short et al., 2015).

My choice of a rural setting for my novel was also influenced by Marsden’s descriptive inclusions and detail on the impact remoteness can have on individuals. His novel showed how important the location was to the story and the need for a realistic and believable depiction if that location impacts the characters. Both So Much to Tell You and his very popular Tomorrow When the War Began (1993–1999) series, from which both a film and TV series have been made, are set in rural areas. This was significant for Marsden as the environment has unique characteristics and an important role in the novel’s unfolding. Rural locations can challenge characters and provide uniquely confronting obstacles. The aspect of distance from relatives or family provided a complication that further confronts characters who need support.

In her review, Goodman (1988) described So Much to Tell You as a ‘riveting novel which grips the reader from the start’ (p. 21). She comments on Marsden’s prowess as a writer, conveying the voice of the protagonist as she gently begins to ‘acknowledge her own emotions’ (Goodman, 1988, p. 22) amid the layers of confusion she suffers and obviously unresolved torment she experiences. Goodman (1988) describes the ‘suspense as gripping’ and the ‘slow and subtle revelation of the truth [as] both painful and illuminating’, ultimately congratulating Marsden on an ‘impressively well-structured and well written’ novel (p. 22).

50 His ability to focus on the thoughts and emotions of Marina is highlighted by the novels’ journal format, which enables him to effectively show the characters’ emotions rather than describe them:

I don’t know what I am doing here. Well, I do really. It’s because I was getting nowhere at the hospital. I have been sent here to learn to talk again. Sent here because my mother can’t stand my silent presence at home. Sent here because of my face, I suppose. I don’t know. (Marsden, 1987, p. 24)

The sensitive manner of Marsden’s narrative led me to do more work on the interior monologue of my protagonist. I wanted it to be both believable and appropriate for her age, stage and confused mental state. Teaching adolescent girls helped me to understand and interpret their concerns as they shared their thoughts, asked questions and continually sought reassurance. Marsden’s ability to adopt the voice of an adolescent girl is remarkable, and the success of his work reflects this; it is authentic and convincing. It is unusual in Australian YA fiction for a male author to write in the voice of a female protagonist. However, when asked if men could write good representations of females in literature, poet Katha Pollitt (as cited in Willens, 2013, par. 1) responded, ‘I think few men write female characters who are complex and have stories of their own. Where are the vivid, realistic and rounded portrayals of women in Roth, Bellow, Updike?’ Novelist Sally Koslow (as cited in Willens, 2003) posits, ‘by default, women have it easier than men when they attempt to craft characters of the opposite sex, because our whole lives we've been reading vast amounts of literature written by men’. Nikolajeva (2005) argues that ‘we cannot establish that masculine and feminine writing is significantly distinct’, although she suggests studies of genderlect (a new concept suggested by feminist criticism and coined in analogy with dialect) can reveal a ‘different idiom of men and women’ (p. 13). However, she concludes by suggesting that although ‘many writers do write within their “gender-bound” norms, there does not seem to be any natural, biological reason why men and women should write differently’ (p. 13). Marsden has successfully achieved authentic, real and dynamic protagonists and narrators who are female is a selection of his novels, and in this way, Marden’s female protagonists defy the stereotype.

I read through the novel repeatedly to uncover how and why the voice of Marina is so genuine. Subsequently, I modelled the vocabulary in my own writing and experimented with the simple sentence structures Marsden employed. I regularly redrafted my novel to develop a structure that appropriately expressed my protagonist’s feelings as she becomes angrier and

51 more unable to cope with life at home.

The characterisation Marsden has drawn is realistic and the portrait of Marina, her school friends and teachers in the boarding school reflect the realities of an adolescent coming-of-age novel. His construction of events resonated with me, illustrating how to portray an adolescent girl growing and coping with significant challenges. Reading this novel provided a model of the necessary skills to write from an adolescent female’s perspective and be cognisant of her feelings and emotions. Page (2002) suggests that a range of femininities should be provided in fictional characters, which can serve as a realistic and valuable reference point for YA writers and offer a range of literature that caters to all readers. Acclaimed author Margaret Atwood (1994) contends that female characters in literature need to be portrayed as more complex and ‘not either good or bad’. She advocates going ‘beyond the binary opposites … [and] creating genuinely empowered, free, realistic and albeit, flawed women who more closely resemble those found in real life’ (Atwood, 1994). Her advocacy for the realistic portrayal of females in literature offered me a benchmark for creating characters that are more realistic by going beyond a good/bad binary.

Marsden’s ability to portray female adolescent characters and the opinions of both Page (2007) and Attwood (1994) guided my thinking and planning in developing an appropriate female voice.

Strange Objects

An interesting move away from previous winners is Gary Crew’s Strange Objects (1990). It was highly praised and a departure from the previous CBCA Older Readers winning books due to his careful connection to historical facts. Crew was considered ‘innovative’ in his style. He displays an ability to integrate historical documents, research, real-life figures from history and a multi-layered plot to enhance the tale. The judges mentioned the inclusion of ‘fictionalised psychological reports, newspaper articles, actual historical fact and straight narrative’ (Cohen, 1991, p. 3) as all contributing to the novel’s integrity. The judges were impressed with the development of the protagonist and found the weaving of historical figures ‘fascinating’. Most illuminating was Crew’s ability to expose the protagonist’s ‘deteriorating mental state’ through carefully constructed language. Notable in the assessment was the

52 observation of the ‘convincing and moving story and handling’ of the psychological element of the book. A final accolade for Crew was his ability to show ‘respect for the Aboriginal culture and affinity with the land and the Dutch explorers’ (Cohen, 1991, p. 4).

McGillis (as cited in Durand, 2013) suggests that ‘the colonial mentality assumes that the colonizer represents a more advanced state of civilization than the colonized does, and therefore that the colonizer has a right to assume a position of dominance’ (p. xxii). This is apparent in Crew’s protagonist, a young Australian boy whose historic discoveries unfold to provide a rich and complex interpretation of post-colonial Western Australia. Crew has presented readers with significant events giving varying interpretations. Strange Objects explores ‘similar events from the perspective of adolescents’ effectively questioning the superiority of both the explorers and the colonisers who followed’ (Durand, 2013, p. xxv). Crew has established a plot that presents the ‘white history’ of the early Dutch explorers in the area and looks at the impact of this in contemporary times.

I chose this novel because it reinforced the necessity for both careful planning and research to authenticate facts, even those used in fiction. I visited various sites to ensure my descriptions and detail were as vivid, engaging and true representations as those used by Crew. I checked the geographic locations for any nuances they may offer to enhance the validity and realness of the settings I had chosen. This included visiting Canberra, various sites around the city that are part of the story, the road from Jindabyne to Canberra that was the site of the car accident, and two properties that together were depicted as the property where the formal (senior students’ school dance) was held in a woolshed. The meticulous research evident in Strange Objects highlights the need for accuracy of detail to provide a believable representation of the past. Although my novel does not include historical detail, Crew’s method reinforces the need for relevant and pertinent details when depicting an event or a landscape. The representation should suspend disbelief and appear entirely possible, which is only achieved through careful crafting and deep research. While historical context was not a feature necessary for my novel, I researched aspects to ensure both realism and authenticity of events, geographical locations and people.

Comparisons with previous award-winning novels suggest that Strange Objects differs in its ‘great sweeping, complexity which links the present to Australia’s pre-Cook past’ Goodman, 1991, p. 10). Goodman (1991) further describes the novel as an ‘exciting and

53 absorbing story told in a number of voices’ (p. 11). It is the story of the main protagonist, Stephen Messenger, a clever name choice representing the role he ultimately undertakes, whose discovery sparks an investigation of the relics, including a 1629 diary, he finds when on a school camp. Crew’s integration of an historical story and contemporary times connected with my keen interest in history, although this was not a feature in my novel. This structure highlighted the variety of voices used, which prompted me to experiment with the voice to develop the most believable example I could. Crew’s novel was critically acclaimed as a ‘tour- de-force of the imagination; the many voices speak with authenticity from the page, and the mysterious links through time, plus the meticulous convincing detail all add up to a wonderfully convincing novel’ (Goodman, 1991, p.11). The combination of Marsden’s protagonist, Marina, and the voice of Stephen Messenger in Crew’s novel engaged me, so I focused on developing a voice, revising my choices of how and what was said by the novel’s characters to ultimately construct meaningful dialogue that reflected the context and complications of the plot.

Crew’s shifting historical periods and non-linear structure enhance engagement with the book. The ‘dreams and visions’ the protagonist is increasingly subjected to post-discovery assists in creating a believable character. I connected with this as a significant strength and it aided my understanding of the special nature of the artefacts found, their relationship to the past and how these empowered Stephen to find himself and become a more confident young man. The fantastical elements are carefully woven into the story and Stephen becomes linked with history through his reluctance to ask local Aboriginal people for help so he can resolve the events of the past himself. Crew’s inclusion of Indigenous Australians influenced me to consider other ethnicities; hence, the Indian doctor at the local hospital and the staff at the Chinese restaurant in my novel. The doctor has a recurring role in my novel and the cultural and language differences demanded careful construction and revision to ensure a sensitive, yet realistic interpretation of the character and his role in the story.

In her review, Eltham (2012) categorised Strange Objects as ‘a novel assembled as a file of letters, news articles, transcripts and diary entries that slowly unravel Stephen’s inconsistencies and oddities, accounts of violent attacks both in the contemporary and historical timelines, and Stephen’s disappearance’ (par. 12). This is an insightful combination of integrating fiction with historical detail and a creative interpretation of events of the past.

54 Eltham (2012) further considered the portrayal of Stephen’s mental confusion as being skilfully woven into the story by Crew and ‘easy to mistake as supernatural’; however, as a picture of ‘psychological disturbance and schizophrenia emerges’ (par. 13), it elevates the novel to be a more complex tale of events and a protagonist unravelling. Yet, Eltham (2012) felt that ‘some of the mysteries are never satisfactorily explained, allowing this novel to lightly dance along the thread separating realism and fantasy’ (par. 15). This does not detract from the story. Eltham’s (2012) comments encouraged me to pursue the idea of Charlie’s mother’s mental deterioration and portray it as an insidious extrication from family life. I decided to include mental health issues subtly, so the reader had to decode this aspect without obvious pointers in place. I was touched by the poignancy of Stephen’s deteriorating condition and used this to inspire working through the mental health issues experienced by Charlie’s mother, initially replicating Crew’s style. I developed my own style by connecting to the story’s opening and the unknown issue surrounding Charlie’s mother’s job loss, which prompted Charlie’s unfolding story.

Bridge to Wiseman’s Cove

Similarly, Moloney’s Bridge to Wiseman’s Cove (1996) was notably different from previous CBCA winners. It is a family drama, a bildungsroman novel with levels of didacticism through lessons that protagonist Carl learns. While it is realist in content, Moloney’s novel reflects new historicism by carefully weaving the story of the characters and the social context of a small Queensland coastal town in the 1990s. The values that are explored in the novel and how they are interpreted through the lives of the Matt family show that they are integral to the political, social and economic realities of the 1990s. Moloney’s novel demonstrates ‘how the author’s sentiments are perceived and issues portrayed specific to the time period within a particular community’ (Short et al., 2015). This aligns with new historicism’s conception of the ways the lives of ordinary people are bound up in the broader social, economic and political realities of their context.

The novel features Carl Matt, an awkward, yet gentle 15-year-old male protagonist whose father, and subsequently mother, leave the family. Unable to cope with caring for her younger brothers, Carl’s elder sister Sarah leaves the boys with their tough, insensitive Aunt

55 Beryl in Wattle Beach, who is only interested in accommodating the boys for the accompanying social security payments. This context allows the author to explore the psychology of an adolescent faced with a very challenging situation. Moloney’s ability to craft believable characters was a model for me when creating the vulnerable Pip in my novel, Surviving Toby. Moloney’s fine detail of the negativity that appears to pursue Carl and his brother is engaging and real.

Moloney’s carefully developed novel reflects an adolescent with issues pertinent to his environment; a dysfunctional family; a desire for love and belonging; issues relating to body image; and Carl overcoming his insecurities as a rite of passage from adolescence into adulthood. When Carl first arrives in Wattle Beach, he is miserable and lonely. Alone in the park, Carl wishes he was a concrete statue, set there for the birds to sit on, with ‘no thoughts, no cares, no pain, just years of weathering in the sun and rain until there was nothing left’ (Moloney, 1990, p. 29). The cutting-edge issues he includes raise awareness for readers through realistic emotional reactions and true-to-life scenarios.

Moloney stated, 'I like to get inside the head of today's adolescents, to connect with the passion they have for life and understand what they care about’ (personal communication, 16 September 2017). Moloney excels in his creation of believable, memorable characters: ‘Carl’s unfolding is a delicate, halting process, wherein every flicker of hope can produce a rush of warmth in the reader’ (Cohen, 1997, p. 9). Carl is crippled by the belief that his mother does not love him, evidenced by him going to Nugent’s store every afternoon to meet the bus, hoping that his mother will get off. His sensitivity is carefully constructed, such as when Carl returns home to find his younger brother Harley chained up like a dog and says, ‘What are we going to do, Harley? Mum’s gone, Sarah’s gone, everyone hates us’ (Moloney, 1996, p. 119). Moloney’s authentic portrayal of Carl and carefully defined cruelty of Auntie Beryl encouraged me to seek characters in my novel to whom I could apportion such personality traits. I used Moloney’s style to learn the nuances of suggestion and not always use straight description to define them. For example, throughout the novel, Carl is haunted by Beryl’s comment, ‘Who’ll love you if your own mother doesn’t?’ (Moloney, 1996, p. 112), which is particularly suggestive of the cruel and cutting nature of Carl’s aunt and Moloney’s realistic portrayal of her.

Moloney’s (1996) ability to observe and portray his characters is exemplified through

56 the description of Carl as he ‘floated in a sea of families where everyone, it seemed, walked, spoke and laughed with at least—a daughter, a father, a mate’ (p. 23). This imaginative metaphor illustrates the need for a writer to develop a fluency that appears effortless but has been finely constructed to evoke the mood of the passage. Finding a job at 16 years old with Duncan’s Barge Company offers Carl a level of security and relationships in which he revels. He shows initiative and helps bring trade to the struggling business. These events poignantly evoke the scenario in which Matt finds himself and showed me how to write passages that are informative, yet emotively written. Moloney (1996) demonstrates that Carl has little understanding of how families work through his horror at Skip telling Joy (the Barge Company owners) about Beryl chaining Harley up:

Skip already told her. He shouldn’t have. Carl, they’re a family. That’s what families do. Talk about things. (p. 147)

Carl’s difficulty relating to people is an important aspect of the novel and one that influenced how I portrayed Charlie’s sister Pip in my novel. While Pip is young and immature, her social skills and understanding of the needs of others develop in a similar manner to those of Carl. As life experiences confront Carl, he grows and learns from those around him. Moloney has worked this intricately into his protagonist. In my novel, Pip is initially selfish and conniving; she learns from the family situation that life does not revolve around her, and as part of the family, she must consider others in her actions.

Aspects of Carl’s life improve, and he becomes more accepted in the community and more appreciated. This differs from the Stilton family in my novel who need to work harder to fit into their community. The closing pages of my novel may represent a final acceptance of the family situation, but as not everything is resolved, questions remain. The underlying denouement is acceptance of what life is like. However, in Bridge to Wiseman’s Cove, Carl’s coming of age is the result of sheer hard work and as the future appears to be more positive, family secrets come back to haunt him and bring his world crashing down. Moloney uses short but effective sentences to finally reveal the truth as Carl is forced to confront his demons. Similarly, I wanted to have a resolution in my novel that revealed the truth of the major family situation that was never openly exposed but remained a constant motif throughout the novel. By doing this in the last few pages of my novel, I left a lot unsaid while offering some disclosure

57 to explain much of the action of the book.

Moloney’s novel features carefully scattered subplots and unforgettable characters. Readers can identify with the poignancy of Carl and the reality of life with parents and carers who do not care. The resilience of the characters, particularly Carl, supports an engaging story, making Moloney’s novel a model for writing an effective story for a YA audience.

Looking for Alibrandi

Marchetta’s Looking for Alibrandi (1992) has been a resounding commercial success and a well-known text in secondary classrooms across Australia (Education Standards Authority, 2019). The book reflects the female protagonist, Josie’s, final year at school and is delivered in a first-person narrative. While witty in many instances, the bildungsroman nature of the book remains evident throughout as the reader is exposed to a merry-go-round of emotions. This book aligns with several themes I have chosen for my novel. Marchetta’s portrayal of the angst Josie experiences is the closest in context and content to those of my novel. I enjoyed reading Marchetta’s novel initially and have subsequently taught it several times in both boys’ and girls’ classes.

Marchetta’s book combines a bildungsroman novel with the diversity of ethnicity, religion and social class to explore relationships and scenarios, reflective of a new historicist perspective. Marchetta has crafted language to reflect the novel’s characters ages and stages in life while ensuring that it is appropriate for whom the novel is written. She closely depicts the society in which the story evolves and questions the social context reflecting on when the book was written. She explores past events through a contemporary lens. Through this, she offers events that provide an explanation of the values in the novel, and how they are interpreted.

Marchetta weaves social class into the novel and examines it effectively with a clever use of irony. This is different from the class evoked in Thiele’s books, which feature families depicted in social classes according to both ethnic background and level of education. Marchetta speaks to the reality of young people with a multicultural background growing up and navigating life experiences, often on their own for the first time in their life. Josie’s

58 eventual relationship with a public high school boy is viewed by her as a ‘lesser option’. By Marchetta’s own admission, this novel is partly autobiographical as Josie is from a Catholic working-class background similar to Marchetta’s, which illustrates her subsequent advice to ‘write what you know about and what is your experience, particularly with a first novel’(M. Marchetta, personal communication, 11 May 2012). Re-examining Looking for Alibrandi with this advice in mind illustrated the pertinence of writing from an informed position. Due to the many similarities in themes, characters and subject matter, this book worked as a model for me in terms of how to write effectively by integrating issues and maintaining a believable plot, not simply including every possible scenario that a family might face.

Josie’s coming of age is shared through her first-person narration of a multitude of experiences and relationships. Her insecurities are explored in her relationships with peers: her love interest and enigmatic school captain Jacob Coote; and John Barton, a private school boy and school captain who is overwhelmed by family expectations. Other relationships are also important in the awakening of Josie to the reality of life, imperfections and love. The subtlety Marchetta evokes with the emphasis on family and adhering to her familial ethnic strictures show Josie learning about life from her single mother, her maternal grandmother’s indiscretions, and her hitherto unknown father. Coupled with social and school experiences, the novel embodies an authenticity with the themes explored relevant to YA readers. Marchetta’s apparent effortless ability to explore multiple issues simultaneously showed me how to blend all the ideas and connections pertinent to the story. This is a significant novel for me as there are commonalities that influenced my novel substantially. While the setting, context and characters differ considerably, the chaos of high school and relationships are a feature of both Marchetta’s novel and my own.

This was the first of two CBCA Older Readers awards bestowed on Marchetta (the second was for Saving Francesca in 2004). The judges’ report on Looking for Alibrandi focuses on the realism of the portrayal in her debut novel and noted how she achieved ‘well drawn’, ‘interesting’ characters. The judges commented on the character development and how the ‘growing and changing’ nature of these ‘rings true’. The issues raised include ‘conflict between the expectations of an Italian heritage and Australian society, the generation gap, teenage suicide and issues of class structure’ (Goodman, 1993, p.12). These align with the developing trends in YA fiction at that time, as noted by Watson (2001) (see ‘Trends in Young Adult

59 Literature’ in Chapter 2). The judges considered the writing ‘refreshingly honest, perceptive and passionate as well as funny and, at times, sad’ (Goodman, 1993, p.12). For me, the strength of the book is the simplicity of the writing, the convincing characterisation and the realism of its social setting.

In her 1993 review of the novel, Goodman compliments Marchetta’s decision to choose the previously neglected issue of growing up in two cultures, affirming a recognition of multiculturalism as an existent paradigm in Australian YA literature. Thematically, Josie is positioned to be searching for her own identity, which Marchetta deftly weaves into the novel without losing sight of the complexities of a 17-year-old girl dealing with a plethora of issues: ethnicity, illegitimacy, love, loss and getting to know her father. These are all handled with humour and sensitivity. Goodman (1993) suggests Marchetta’s ‘writing is fresh and full of vitality’ (p. 12). She cites the ‘depiction of Nonna … [as] the book’s finest achievement’—the strength Josie inherits from her provides Josie with the skills, knowledge and ability to develop a ‘new depth of understanding and compassion, a poignant realisation of the courage needed by migrants, especially women’ (Goodman, 1993, p. 12). This removes her novel from a simple bildungsroman, offering a strong representation of women and specifically migrant women, in Australia. While Goodman critiques the inclusion of some weak characters and a need for greater depth and appearance of reality, she affirms that any weaknesses are outweighed by the novel’s strengths. Looking for Alibrandi is one of a group of successful YA novels by Marchetta that reflect the vagaries of the adolescent experiences for females. The novel is a very relevant exemplar of YA literature for me and I have adopted some parallel themes, and Marchetta’s personal advice and communications—readily given in preparation for my novel writing—were helpful and informative.

Foxspell

The 1995 CBCA Book of the Year for Older Readers was awarded to Gillian Rubinstein for Foxspell (1994). Like Marchetta, Rubinstein is one of the small group of writers who have been awarded twice in the older readers category (the first for Beyond the Labyrinth in 1989). Foxspell is an intriguing fantasy story. Reflective of a postmodern approach, this story offers alternate realities. While it neither features magic nor a suspension of reality, the ‘vocabulary

60 defines the action through its mobile, fragmented and paradoxical nature’ (Bennett & Royle, 2004, p. 248), which are inherent in postmodern writing. The choice to include a level of fantasy allows Rubinstein to weave a novel that fits with new historicism, but postmodernism guides the ‘challenge to our thinking about time, challenging us to see the present in the past, the future in the present, the present in a kind of no-time’ (p. 248) as it is read.

It is written with the care and perceptiveness needed to present the issues confronting the protagonist, Tod. The plot focuses on events surrounding a family relocation from Sydney to a semi-rural area after the return of Tod’s father to his native England. Tod remains and is living with his grandmother, two older sisters and a disconsolate mother. As I connected with the unnamed rural setting of the book somewhere near Adelaide, I carefully read and re-read Rubinstein’s descriptions of the location.

In Tod’s quest to console himself and come to terms with his dislocation, he wanders the surrounding quarries and finds an affinity with the feral foxes—both living and dead— that inhabit the area. His passion is to see live foxes after he has honed his tracking and calling skills. It is at this stage of the book that Rubinstein crafts the introduction of fantasy and Tod experiences the ‘strange effects of foxspell’ (Cohen, 1995, p. 7), described by his grandmother as ‘an enchantment’. She ‘claims foxes cast spells over a sleeping house to aid their raids on chooks’ (Rubenstein, 1994, p. 49). Woven carefully through the magic and Tod’s connection with the foxes’ spirit world is Tod’s confrontation with difficult choices when the ‘charismatic leader of a graffiti gang’ (p. 62) urges him to join. The complication of Tod being increasingly challenged by coping with family issues and pressure to make bad choices is coupled with his desire to be happy and accepted by his family and peers. The events Tod experiences are common to many adolescents, and Rubinstein engages her readers by crafting a story with realism and compassion, interlaced with fantasy. Her ability to use words evocatively inspired me to more carefully consider how to integrate ideas, simple sentence structure and vocabulary to explore intricate ideas and concepts.

The option ‘to move into the alternative reality of the fox spirit world’ and choose between ‘human life with its emotional pain, complications and sensitivities, and the fox life, driven by earthy senses and simpler hunter instinct’ confronts the protagonist (Cohen, 1995, p. 10). In carefully weaving the two worlds together, Rubinstein achieves a suspension of disbelief. The descriptive language employed is convincing and evocative, with Tod’s ultimate

61 choices based on a range of emotions he experiences, typical of an adolescent in a new and threatening environment. An underlying theme of the novel speaks to humankind’s insensitivity to life around them and the cruelty of bringing foxes to Australia for hunting, as they were subsequently declared a pest due to being a ‘prolific predator of native animals and livestock’ (Department of Agriculture and Fisheries, 2019). Using a topical issue to drive her novel, Rubinstein illustrates the effectiveness of integrating fantasy and fact to draw attention to environmental issues and the notion of what constitutes pests in the Australian environment and ways to deal with the control of such animals’ ‘good or bad life’. The issues are carefully presented as a metaphor for the life Tod is experiencing in his father’s absence and the dislocation and isolation, he feels having left Sydney, the family home and his previous life.

While Rubinstein’s novel did not directly inform my writing, her ability to seamlessly integrate ideas, including aspects of fantasy, was inspirational. Her novel provided a model for using emotional scenarios with adolescents and illustrating the impact of these on her characters. The absence of Tod’s father (and Tod’s lack of acceptance of this) was particularly relevant, as I explore a similar feature in my novel with Charlie. While Charlie’s father is physically present at times, he is an absent father in other ways, and the lack of transparency of his role outside the family causes angst and confusion, similarly portrayed in Tod’s feelings of abandonment. Whereas Tod’s father is geographically removed, my protagonist’s father is more absent in the secrecy of his work life and removal from the family’s day-to-day life in Astonville.

Representation of the female characters in Foxspell are stereotypical and their roles reminiscent of an era of when women were portrayed in literature with little power and seen predominantly in domestic roles. A feminist reading would suggest that these female characters present traditional gender patterns and provide an insight into how this can affect perceptions of how males and females should behave or are presented as behaving. These can ‘reinforce or undermine the economic, political, social and psychological oppression of women’ (Tyson, as cited in Purdue University, 2020). However, although Rubenstein depicts stereotypical gender roles, she has included a fractured family environment, which has been given greater agency in YA novels in the 21st century to reflect the realist changes in society.

62 48 Shades of Brown

Earles’ 48 Shades of Brown (1999) is a coming-of-age tale of self-discovery. It is a new historicist romp, which exudes humour and connectivity for older YA readers. It addresses questions about the social context at the time of the book’s writing. It further examines values pertinent to an 18-year-old male, the novel’s protagonist. These are explored through the story and provide insight into the author’s sentiments and opinions at the time and in the novel’s context. The language and structure of the novel offer a strong connection to the protagonist, Dan, who exudes thoughts and insecurities of males of his age and stage in Australia, and in suburban Brisbane in particular, in the late 1990s.

The novel very humorously examines what happens when you attempt to be someone you are not in the hope of impressing others. The book captures the innocence and naivety of the protagonist, Dan, who is challenged to live away from home in his final year of school due to his family’s relocation to Geneva for a year. Aspects of the novel exude a comedy of errors and readers share his ‘concerns about girls, anxiety to maintain good grades and relationships at school and occupation with English and Calculus assignments’ (Cohen, 2000, p. 8). While studying ‘Romeo and Juliet, the book about birds [and] the pesto recipe from the Internet’, readers appreciate Dan’s ‘calculus problems’, which ‘provide a rich source of imagery for his efforts to develop relationships with girls’ (Cohen, 2000, p. 8) and a comedic backdrop to Dan’s journey. While the novel fits within the YA genre, 48 Shades of Brown appears to be pitched at the upper age bracket. Dan experiences feelings of abandonment by his absent family as he is exposed to issues that confront most young adults nearing 18 years of age while living with his 22-year-old aunt and her similarly aged housemate, Naomi. Unsurprisingly, he has issues regarding love, Brisbane’s heat, friendships and coping with calculus.

Dan is a continuation of a character Earles created in After January (1996). He is very real, with a self-conscious side clearly defined by Earles through humour. All aspects of Dan’s life come together in 48 Shades of Brown in many hilarious events, notably at a party where Dan's dreams of success are revealed as being very different from his reality. The book explores aspects of teenagers' concern with image, which resonated with me and my efforts to create real, dynamic characters in my novel. Much of the strength of Earles’ book comes

63 through the development of Dan's relationships with his parents, housemates, school friends, landlord and girls. It is ‘well shaped; his style is effectively sustained, and the pace is deceptively relaxed’ (Cohen, 2000, p. 2). This is shown in his protagonist’s musings: ‘Sometimes I think he’d rather not have much of an idea about the real world, since when we are out in it neither of us attracts a lot of attention’ (Earles, 1999, p. 50). The ‘dialogue and interior monologue, combined with clever intertextuality, make this an enticing exploration of his life’ (Cohen, 2000, p. 9).

From Earles’ novel, the CBCA judges’ report and reviews, I gained an appreciation of the importance and effect humour can have in novels. I responded to the funny anecdotes in the book by working a level of humour into my novel. While incidents I had planned and included remained, I carefully assessed their effectiveness by comparing them with Earles’ work. As my novel was tangentially connected to a series of my and my family’s experiences, I was able to recall and include some of the light-hearted and amusing experiences we had while living in a small rural community in NSW. I further used incidents from a variety of travel experiences to add humour in my novel.

The Messenger

Zusak’s The Messenger is the story of a hero. As a writer, Zusak has undertaken to share ‘stories [that] can articulate or challenge the moral coordinates of their adolescent readers, presenting some behaviours that stem from loving, life-giving motivations and others that appear selfish and detrimental to others’ (Krisner, 2010. p. 108). Zusak articulates a ‘world that mirrors the reader’s world in many ways, including the presentation of implicit moral coordinates in which the characters are operating’ (Kurtines & Gewirtz, 1991). The message Zusak (2002) declares is that ‘although Ed is a character in a book, he is real, and that, if someone as unremarkable as Ed can do great things in the world, so can anyone else’ (pp. 119–120). YA novels ‘create lead male characters who are isolated, rejected or vulnerable, who struggle internally as much as with the world around them, that is, they emphasise the inside battle as much as the outside one’. The Messenger’s protagonist Ed exhibits many of the characteristics Zusak describes, and this is what ‘makes his call that much more potent’ (M. Zusak, personal communication, 12 August 2012).

64 The opening chapter in Zusak’s The Messenger (2002) sets the tone for a satirically cryptic and cautionary story about discovering what is important in life, setting a course to follow and learning to care. It is also about creating stories to deal with life’s challenges: ‘It’s about glowing lights and small things that are big’ (Zusak, 2002, p. 239). The novel was a slight departure from previous winners with a 19-year-old male protagonist that has life experience beyond that of many YA readers. It is a journey novel that features a coming-of-age experience, albeit with a quirky, more intelligent construction than the novels that preceded it in this CBCA award category. The integration of magical realism convincingly enhances the story by going beyond linear storytelling and delving into a range of unexplained events that both aid and abet the protagonist, Ed’s, ‘calling’.

Zusak’s writing style is engaging, succinct and highly evocative. It helps readers share Ed’s world, which is one of ‘anticipation, trepidation and elation’ (Cohen, 2003, p. 9). Despite the seemingly surreal events that occur and in which Ed partakes, the writing contributes to ‘a convincing whole that integrates literary symbolism and depth with a powerful narrative’ (Allen, 2002, p. 42). It is truly engaging and illustrates the finesse Zusak displays in crafting a believable story. Zusak has not written a fantasy novel; however, The Messenger fits well into the heroes’ journey, a common intentional or metaphoric idea in YA fiction that connects effectively to the ‘coming of age’. This idea features various experiences that contribute to the growth of a protagonist from youth to adulthood. The Messenger reflects many features that fit the ‘coming of age’, the heroes’ journey and a moral tale that conflates all three to present a novel that has exhibits features from many YA sub-genres.

Positive feedback has been specific to Zusak’s ability to craft language. Shannon (2004, par. 3) compliments Zusak: ‘[he] has a fine, whimsical way with words.’ And he cites examples of strong alliteration and says ‘Zusak uses short, powerful sentences. He often places short sentences or important fragments on their own lines’.

Ed’s laconic life is changed when he witnesses a hold-up, an incident that serves as a catalyst for the inexplicable arrival of cards that send Ed on various missions to ‘right wrongs’, ‘help the needy’ and change various people’s lives—Robin Hood-style. The novel is structured around the metaphor of a card game, with each of the first four parts numbered like a pack of cards, effectively creating another layer to the story and engaging readers to solve issues on several levels. Ed is appealing to the literal idea and metaphoric meaning of the cards and

65 the tasks he takes on, ostensibly to help others and change his life for the better. This clever integration of styles reflects a progression from earlier award winners who had not attempted some of the complexities in form used in The Messenger.

Zusak uses vocabulary that has sharp contrasts; he is blunt and often sparse in meaning and intent. He builds an impression by using descriptions that ‘grow’; for example, ‘Old Marv’s at the end of his tether, or his wit’s end. Whatever you want to call it—he’s got the shits something terrible’ (Zusak, 2002, p. 5). Zusak also uses slightly arcane words, such as when Ed is being interviewed by a policeman who tells him not to get ‘shirty’, and he thinks, ‘I quite like that word’ (p. 12). However, the authorial intrusion justifies the choices made. Zusak also uses personification: ‘The breeze looks away—almost embarrassed at having watched—and I’m left there alone’ (p. 27) and evokes emotion that is visceral and powerful: ‘I don’t move because my cowardice tramples me, even as I lift my spirit from its knees to the sky’ (p. 83). He elevates the language to be sophisticated, yet in other parts, it is simple, such as in Ed’s description of himself: ‘I cook. I eat. I wash but rarely iron. I believe in the past that Cindy Crawford was by far the best supermodel. That’s my life’ (p. 26). Zusak’s ability to write in such an evocative manner and use words so effectively alerted me to the need for continual redrafting to achieve the most effective and expressive prose possible.

Literary allusions are prominent in the novel with references to many texts and writers. This is shown when Ed is set a literary quiz concerning Graham Greene, Morris West and Sylvia Plath (Zusak, 2002, p. 218). Others mentioned include James Joyce’s Ulysses, Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Wuthering Heights and ‘a beautiful, strange book called Table of Everything’ (p. 71). Zusak further includes a range of other texts, including films (Cool Hand Luke, Stir Crazy, See No Evil, Hear No Evil and William Wyler’s Ben Hur) and songs (Dylan’s The Hurricane and Oxford Town, the Beatles’ Eight Days a Week and Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name). These references enhance the reader’s connection to the novel and promote their engagement as they come to appreciate the significance of these links. This adds to the complexity of the novel and the intellectual insight it offers readers, perhaps beyond that required by the YA reading market. Every aspect of the writing intrigued me, and I read and re-read this book to gain inspiration to use words effectively, crafting sentences that spoke to readers of the events portrayed as authentic and believable, yet entertaining. Despite feedback from a writing group I attended that my vocabulary was somewhat advanced for YA

66 readers, Zusak’s novel demonstrated that with careful integration, it is possible to successfully include unfamiliar words in a YA text.

Zusak’s writing shows a clever use of symbolism and metaphor, including the novel’s title and recurrent symbols of a messenger/message/medium: Ed receives messages, but he also delivers messages of hope. There are many meanings wrapped up in the title of the book suggesting communication, relationships and self. Zusak uses humour through satire, irony and parody. Ed describes his love for his dog, Doorman, but diffuses the emotion by saying, ‘He just smells like he’s dead’ (Zusak, 2002, p. 20). Zusak’s ability to use the English language and literary devices effectively was inspirational and had a profound impact on me as a writer. When asked about this, he humbly responded that he has to work the ideas through his head over and over, and he takes a long time to produce the final product, aiming always for perfection and a unique reading experience (M. Zusak, personal communication, 12 August 2011).

The motif of cards imaginatively represents the cards we are dealt in life. Ed receives four aces, but these do not bring good news. He muses how ‘in moments of awakeness, I remember the diamonds, relive the clubs and even smile about the spades. I worry about the hearts’ (Zusak, 2002, p. 303). He relates to hearts in an unexpected way: ‘People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it’s the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart’ (p. 292). Numbers also are significant—Ed receives 13 cards, a number that generally represents bad luck, but it brings Ed to the end of his old life and the beginning of a new life. I found this clever use of inverted symbolism worth considering in my novel writing.

The ending of The Messenger is a deus ex machina. It does not answer the novel’s big question according to the rules of its world, but ‘brings in an all-powerful outside force’ (Shannon, 2004, par. 6). The Horn Book Magazine (2005, p. 210) calls the ending ‘too clever and ultimately confusing,’ whereas Kirkus Reviews (2010, par. 2) says it is ‘unlikely, even gimmicky’.

Zusak is a commercially successful writer of both YA and adult fiction, and The Messenger shows his skill. His technical abilities as a writer are inspirational, as he is able to conceive an idea, paint a vivid picture of the context, characters and their feelings, and engage the audience. Reading Zusak’s novels provided guidance for redrafting. I continued to re-read and rework my novel, making careful vocabulary choices and integrating language techniques

67 to enhance my writing until I believed it would connect with readers.

The Running Man

Bauer outlines his 2004 winning novel as a story ‘about how we perceive others, the judgements we make about them, how we cope with tragedy and the nature of miracles’ (personal communication, 11th April 2010). The novel successfully addresses diversity, addressing post-traumatic stress syndrome. Uniquely Australian it features a war veteran stoically surviving the aftermath of his experiences overseas now living in suburbia. Resonant of a post-colonialism this is a novel about Joseph’s coming of age during the time when Australia was shedding the influence of colonisation and the aftermath of supporting fighting a foreign war. It invites readers to share how the characters and the protagonist, in particular, navigate ‘the geographical, cultural, social, economic, and political landscapes’ (Durand, 2013, p. x) evident in the early 2000s.

The Running Man’s protagonist, Joseph Davidson, is a talented 14-year-old artist who needs to draw a portrait for a school assessment. He chooses neighbour Tom Leyton, a reclusive Vietnam veteran who has been the subject of gossip and rumour for 30 years. Eventually, an uneasy relationship begins to develop, one that will force each of them to confront their darkest secrets. The CBCA considered the novel ‘beautifully realised and tightly crafted’ and the ‘characterisation is quite brilliant’, describing it as ‘a haunting, literary narrative—masterful and poetic, with rich themes to explore. From every perspective, this is a very impressive novel’ (Cohen, 2005, p. 8). Zusak (2010) recommends it as ‘tough but gentle, wise and true. The Running Man has stood the test of time’. However, Bauer shows impressive sensitivity in this novel in his portrayal of a very pertinent societal issue—the angst of many Vietnam veterans in Australia and their ostracism after returning from overseas military tours.

Lo Bianco (2010) reviewed the book favourably:

One of those books that remain with you after you have finished it. The damaging effects of war on those who carry around the horrors of what they saw and did, is an issue that certainly deserves attention. The powerful message in the story is the importance of looking beyond the surface (p. 26).

Bauer masterfully builds a disquieting intrigue through this study of the human

68 condition. He uses the symbolism of silkworms—‘two people emerge from their personal cocoons’—to introduce Joseph’s meeting with Tom. Joseph is shy and hardly speaks to anyone; however, while sketching Tom for a school project, he learns the tortured past of the reclusive veteran who raises silkworms in his sister’s home. As the summer holidays progress, the two unlikely companions share their secrets, and Joseph gains the courage to confront the mysterious figure of the book’s title he sees chasing him both on the street and in his dreams. One criticism proffered was that ‘on occasions Bauer may have allowed Joseph’s musings to be perhaps too sophisticated for his chronological age, but such maturity appears authentic for his introverted personality’ (Cohen, 2005, p. 9). While the early award-winning YA novels had straightforward, linear plots, Bauer uses layers of ideas that explore various connections to his intended meaning, examined through the relationships and symbolism of both butterflies and the running man. This is an example of Michael’s (2005) ideas as Bauer ‘reflects changes in the social and cultural context that produced it’ [his novel].

Instead of creating a static bogeyman, Bauer’s deft depiction of the running man moves him beyond ‘spooky’ into a more sympathetic light. The novel has a ‘heavy moralising subplot, which is built around Joseph’s guilt after a fight with his father’ (Kirkus Reviews, 2010, par. 2). I agree with Kirkus Reviews (2010) that while ‘it adds a false and harsh note to the exploration of interpersonal relationships ... the metamorphosis theme flows smoothly, enabling readers to enjoy both silkworm and character maturation’ (par. 3).

Bauer inspired me to closely consider the use of symbols to represent a character’s journey and development in the novel. I was influenced to use this idea in my novel and included Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights (1847) to symbolise the impossibility and fallibility of Charlie’s hoped-for relationship. On the surface, Wuthering Heights is a school text that is read and studied in Charlie’s English classes; however, I developed it to be more connected in my novel and symbolic of the mystery of love and how it is hard to define or control. The subtle likeness of the cocoons unfolding into butterflies seen in Bauer’s novel is represented in my novel with the awakening of Charlie’s sexuality and how she wishes to clumsily pursue it, unaware that she has little control. Like Joseph, it will take its course as she is a player, not controller. In my novel, Charlie reading Wuthering Heights created an awareness of the complexities of relationships for her. She hoped Toby would similarly make discoveries from reading it, but frustratingly for Charlie, he did not read it.

69 The Story of Tom Brennan

The Story of Tom Brennan (2005), the CBCA award-winning novel for Bourke in 2006, is a pertinent YA novel addressing the issues of adolescents driving and drink-driving on country roads. The story is told through the protagonist, Tom, who is 17 years old from the country town of Mumbilli, a setting realistically presented due to Bourke’s meticulous research. A 'sudden death' rugby victory and a night of celebration becomes the night Tom's life changes forever. This premise establishes the context of the novel and acts as a catalyst for the unfolding, gripping tale of emotional hardship, family dynamics and redemption. The novel resonates with teenagers, and the themes are easy to identify with. Underage drinking is a problem today and associated car accidents causing death regularly feature in the media. Bourke’s choice of first-person narration gives the novel an immediacy and rawness that enhances the story. She captures Tom’s emotions by using the vernacular, which lends reality to his situation:

The Story of Tom Brennan is Tom’s story. To make it real, for the reader to hear his pain and confusion and his struggle to find a way back, I decided the voice of Tom needed to be strong and clear. The first-person narration was the only way to do this. (J. Bourke, personal communication, 11 April 2107)

Opening in the present, Tom is at his grandmother’s house, hating every minute of his new life, then readers glimpse events in Tom’s recent past. Daniel, Tom's older brother by 20 months, starts a fight at a party. A fatal car accident results in a drunk adolescent driver facing the consequences of causing a death. Daniel is sent to jail and the Brennan's leave town, as the residents of Mumbilli become hostile and vocal about their desire that Daniel receives a severe sentence: ‘They’re saying that Daniel’s going down and that he deserves everything he gets’ (Bourke, 2005 p. 108). Tom and his sister Kylie start their new school year at St Bennies while their mother takes to her bed and their father tries to balance the pain of his family with the enormous emotional debt of his paralysed nephew. The evocative descriptions of the family household provide a guide showing the dynamics that exist without providing explicit detail.

The effortless creation of characters is explained by Bourke through the intricate process she undertakes in her writing. Her research is thorough, and she drafts and redrafts to ensure her characters are convincing in their simplicity. I used her methods to develop

70 effective characters in my novel and experimented with her suggestion to continually refine the characters' thoughts and feelings. Her research is often experiential, learning the intricacies of activities or feelings by replicating them for herself. As my novel has elements of personal experiences throughout, I was able to use her insight and recommendation to include them with subtlety. Visiting a doctor, the local police and driving the road where the accident occurs in my novel provided me with experiential details.

Burke uses the family’s escape from Mumbilli as a prologue, creating a sense of mystery that immediately draws the reader into the story. All the complexities created by the accident serve to inform Tom, but they also turn the story into a lesson to readers of the possible consequences of careless actions. This notion of learning from mistakes and taking a more mature approach to life and blame, showed me a way to include characters’ rash decisions in my novel. This helped define how sensitivity and awareness were learned as a result of poor decisions. Flashbacks in The Story of Tom Brennan provide readers with glimpses of past events, enabling Burke to tell a story within a story, and link the dramatic events of the past with Tom’s present emotional state. This increases drama and tension:

To present the story in chronological order seemed heavy-handed. Also, weaving the past into the story in the form of flashbacks meant the reader’s experience of meeting Daniel was not so straightforward. Not so ‘easy’—which was what I wanted to accomplish. (J. C. Burke, personal communication, 21 May 2017)

Burke further explained her choice to set the book after the accident and from Tom’s perspective:

I didn’t want to tell the story from the victims’ families’ point of view, nor did I want to tell it from Daniel’s side either. I wanted to explore how many lives are changed through the actions of another. I wanted to really get into the heart of how a family, a community, a town can be split apart. Part of Tom’s journey is being forced to see situations and people as they really are, not as he thought they were. (personal communication, 9 April 2017)

Making choices to situate her novel from multiple perspectives with a significant adolescent young male narrator, Bourke has eschewed the stereotypes often adopted in YA novels and tells the story from the perspective of how various lives were affected by the accident. This illustrated a distinctive form for me to use as a starting point. Her engaging approach offered me a model for planning a story around a teenage protagonist experiencing pertinent encounters and the variety of ways they come to

71 terms with them. Due to the similarities with my own novel, I re-read Burke’s book to understand her use of the character’s own interpretation of their experience to create the story. The poignancy of the novel is carefully entwined in her characters, and this offers a salutatory warning to readers by depicting the effects of the careless actions of one person on the whole family.

Tales from Outer Suburbia

Shaun Tan’s postmodern Tales from Outer Suburbia (2008) is a unique and engaging collection of short stories that offer readers imaginative and quirky adventures into the otherwise dull suburbia. There are many unusual and amusing experiences and characters who engage and entertain in each story. Tan has the ability to write and illustrate fiction that takes on a magical sense when incorporated with real-life scenarios, as well as bring up some curious real-life concerns. He includes undertones of cultural acceptance and assimilation portrayed in some of the stories including ‘Eric’ and ‘Stick Figures’ and very real family relationships in ‘Our Expedition’ and ‘Night of the Turtle Rescue’. All three stories effectively evoke the minutiae of suburban life, often represented metaphorically through creative images that offer a unique sense of connection. The illustrations are stylised representations and have an air of fantasy and magic enriching the reading experience evoke in a postmodern interpretation of the lives, events and environment of the characters. This is particularly evident in ‘Undertow’ where two evocative images of a large dugong on a suburban front yard are presented. But more poignant is the story’s ending where the young boy, resident of the house where the dugong appeared, successfully attempts to stop his parents’ constant yelling. Tan’s adept ability to portray ordinary events and consistently provide a tangential connection to fantasy or magic ensures that each story has a valid and extraordinary message. His interpretations and representations are distinctly postmodern subtly evoking a critique of the society in which he had situated his book.

Tan (2014) suggested that’ ‘A book only really comes alive in the hands of a caring reader and it’s a connection with the reader that matters the most’ (Wood, 2008, p. 70) is exemplified in this wonderful 2009 collection of stories and illustrations that emotive an emotive response.

72 Since the completion of my YA novel, I have continued to engage with the CBCA awards and the Books for Older Readers award specifically. There are a small group that exemplify the changing trends in style, format, subject matter and provide ongoing development and detail that I could and would have used in my novel construction. They are reflective of the continued evolution of the genre and how the CBCA award winners offer insight into the best of the genre in Australia. Those books are Scot Gardner’s The Dead I Know (2011), The Sky So Heavy (2013) by Claire Zorn, Take Three Girls (2017) by Cath Crowley, Simone Howell and Fiona Wood, and Between Us (2018) by Clare Atkins.

Each of these books offers a different style of narrative and reflects research positing that changes are evident in the ever-evolving sub-genres of YA literature. It is moving away from formulaic storylines, protagonists have changed and, most notable in the books considered from 2009, 2011, 2017 and 2018, the method of storytelling has varied from the single narrative form with either an omniscient author or flawed first-person narrator, to multiple narrators. Further, a wider and more confronting range of content and contexts are apparent.

The Dead I Know

Scot Gardner’s The Dead I Know (2011), is notable for the unusual context, a funeral home. Marsden, CBCA winner and acclaimed YA writer comments on Gardner’s book ‘I have never read a book more gripping, nor a book more triumphantly alive. I love how it haunts me still. I swear, I will never forget The Dead I Know (2011)’.

Protagonist Aaron Rowe takes a job with a local funeral director and never expects to find his calling. But Aaron’s natural inclination toward silence and his willingness to take on even the strangest and grossest of tasks make him an instant success, and under the guidance of the caring funeral director, John Barton, considers his future in the industry. Aaron has a mysterious past that is gradually revealed to readers. He is haunted by long-suppressed memories which turn into violent dreams and dangerous bouts of sleepwalking.

Despite the requirement to tackle life and death at work, at home he cannot face Mam’s mental condition. It is a confronting story on many levels, but Gardner balances the

73 violence and desolation of Aaron’s life in the caravan park with the routine and studied peacefulness of the funeral parlour in exquisite counterpoint. Aaron’s nightmares and dangerous sleepwalking reflect his repressed anxiety about his past. Through his interactions with his new employer’s family, he comes to self-acceptance and is able to move on from his brutal past into a hopeful future. (Reading Time, 2018, p. 8).

Consoling the bereaved raises the ghost of his own tragic past, although Aaron finds solace in his work and learns that his connection to the dead might give him a path to new relationships with the living. US reviews congratulated on his powerful storytelling, perfectly toned writing, and memorable characters. The reviews positivity was qualified by ‘this brief Australian import [is] a compelling read. Despite hints of the past and hope for the future, the story remains firmly grounded in the present, with a sense of immediacy that draws the reader in’ (Martaus, 2014, p. 2). I was able to consolidate my creation of an appropriate voice from Aaron’s narrative voice which shifts and grows with him. He is a lonely, stark, and isolated but gradually reveals some emotional depth. He is able to make connections to others and eventually grow stronger. The setting is funny, humane, and at times grotesque. Gardner has achieved a tightly crafted character-driven story which eventually develops and initiates a connection with the protagonist.

The Sky So Heavy

Claire Zorn’s 2013 CBCA award-winning dystopian book for older readers is set in NSW’s Blue Mountains in the current day. It features a significant disaster as a result of a failed nuclear test, and protagonist Finn is challenged to survive in an increasingly inhospitable world.

Noting a ‘steady rise in popularity, is the expansion of the YA dystopian genre’, Harrison (2019) suggests the genre has numerous values—expanding horizons, promoting critical thinking, and fostering a special awareness and activism—however, there is scrutiny over the possibility of a ‘sensationalist approach to real-world problems’ (p. 1). Investigating of a range of dystopian novels, she argues that they ‘entail the erasure of borders between the individual, the collective, and the environment, the posthuman state is inimical to the bildungsroman narrative that has typically underpinned YA dystopias’ (p. 2). As a YA novel

74 situated in the dystopian sub-genre, Zorn’s The Sky So Heavy is:

About the ability (of the protagonists) to come from a powerless place to eventually create and shape themselves likely speaks to adolescent readers who feel similar forces at work in their lives, but also to anyone who has ever feared they are unable to change, trapped by the world around or even by themselves (Wardle, 2014, par. 6).

Zorn’s inspiration and motivation were sparked by her disillusion with ‘the treatment of asylum seekers in Australia and around the world, she wanted to use this story to explore the concept of abstract exclusion, based on political or situational parameters, with the construction of a typical Australian family facing an environmental and social disaster’ (Cox, 2014, p.1). A further impetus to write was to explore ‘the ethics of imagination, her own sometimes difficult experience of learning to find her place in the world’ as related on ABC National Book (Lake, 2020). Her objective in writing YA literature is to’ offer companionship and solidarity, something to identify with’. Significantly she was inspired by Zusak’s The Book Thief (2005) and Craig Silvey’s Jasper Jones (2007) but was intent on ‘exploring pressing environmental issues’ and the concept that the characters face moving from an ordinary life that ‘radically changes’. Her writing was developed through her finding ‘teenage voices to be really interesting’, and Lake (2020) suggests that her characters offer a ‘richness of their internal lives’. Her voice is resonant of characters ‘moving through the world’ and are at ‘the centre of their experiences’ (Lake, 2020). Within that, Zorn acknowledges she has included and fictionalised some personal experiences; however, she has enhanced them and lyrically explored issues of significance through her Christianity. She speaks about her faith and its impact on her writing. Her characters are intentionally crafted with the same compassion and judgement, she says, as Christ views people. Further, she discusses her challenges with mental health issues. She feels and believes ‘she will ever be completely clear of these issues’, but as she believes ‘in another life after this one’, she is prepared to accept that. Her writing exemplifies the YA fiction of the current times where subjects, contexts and characters are more tough and resilient than in previous novels.

Zorn has successfully constructed ‘an intersection of post humanism and environmentalism which leads inexorably to both horror and dystopia, both genres concerned intimately with fear’ (Harrison, 2103, p.28). Zorn’s novel is a challenge to YA readers to confront environmental and social possibilities in the 21st century.

75 Take Three Girls

In Take Three Girls (2017), the title is not just referring to the three protagonists, but the three authors and the three perspectives that are shared throughout. This cleverly offers multiple perspectives on the same events. There are three distinct voices from the three Australian writers, Cath Crowley, Simmone Howell and Fiona Wood. They have each conceived a three-dimensional character in the novel and shaped a story around their own character, but a whole narrative world evolves as their characters also respond and react to the creations of the other writers. The authors use their own writing styles but perhaps unconsciously, or even mischievously, employ some of their colleagues’ signature traits. Added to this is the inclusion of examples of the girls’ lived experiences with journal writing, notes from school lessons and in particular the focus on detail and experiences of a Wellness class to better prepare the girls for life, love and friendship. All of these features, while not unique in YA literature, create an engaging and pertinent attempt to address changing technologies yet maintain the written word.

The three girls are randomly put into the same group of their Melbourne prestigious private school’s Wellness Program because they have the longest thumbs. This program is the school’s way of dealing with nasty, sexually explicit online trolling and cyberbullying. The students are given regular group tasks and encouraged to demonstrate ‘curiosity, openness, interest in others, suspension of judgement, suspension of preconceived ideas’ (Judges Report 2018, p. 13). The three girls become friends: ‘Their interplay of voices through the main narrative and in their Wellness journals offer changing insights into and revelations about each other and themselves. The characterisation and plot spin threads which lead to the uplifting, unexpected denouement’ (p. 13).

From a feminist standpoint, each of the female protagonists values her specific location by looking at the complexities that shape their social situations. This suggests the complexities that can arise in creating groups and group perspectives, as well as the multiplicity of voices that can be present shape their identity. An individual situated in a particular location who struggles through what it means to be in a particular situation, living in a particular socio-historical context establishes a specific standing. This suggests that writing that features stereotypical representations of gender can be viewed from both a post-

76 modern and a feminist interpretation to best interpret the author’s intent.

Postmodernism and gender theory are compatible, both arguing for dismantling of the ‘sameness’ in affirming different identity and gender presentations. A call is for a more open and accepting culture. Although feminism has had victories, gender roles remain fairly rigid. Postmodernism illustrates to gender theorists that gender categories are a product of language but allow multiples modes of socially construction. As postmodern gender theorist Ricki Wilchins notes, “not only because the gender system remains an oppressive “this box for girls” and “this box for boys” mode of thought, but because it’s completely inert” (Wilchins, 2014, p. 21). This helps encourage young adults to explore other ways to express and identity which may otherwise get silenced if they do not conform to the established gender binary.

Between Us

Atkins’ Between Us (2018) again utilises multiple narrators offering different views and personal changes from three connected characters. Her context is a rare insight into Iranian asylum seekers. Shokufeh Kavani, an Iranian writer and artist speaking at the 2019 CBCA award ceremony, thanked Atkins for ‘writing a book in which one of the main characters is an Iranian girl. A girl from a country unknown and mostly badly portrayed by the western media. I hope the next generation of Australians have a different view about Iranian people’ (2019).

Atkins (2019) elaborated on the background of the chosen context:

Growing up, it felt rare to find a novel that reflected my experience of living between parents, between cultures, between worlds. When I did find a rare gem that portrayed this tentative balancing act, I would read it over and over, soaking in the reassurance that lay beneath the words: you are not alone.

She strongly felt there was a disconnect with multiculturalism and immigration, suggesting she wanted to personalise the debate around multiculturalism and immigration, which is often simplistically defined as ‘white Australia’ versus boat people. In reality, modern-day Australia is a nation of immigrants and many teenagers of mixed culture struggle to define what it means to be ‘from here’ (Atkins, 2019). Representation of this new diverse reality in literature, particularly YA literature, is vital.

77 Conclusion

Through this examination of the 17 chosen CBCA award-winning novels, I have explored style, content and context, which provided a guide and catalogue of exemplary novels to draw on when making decisions pertaining to my novel and developing style. The detail of the judge’s decisions and the reviews added material to access and analyse. Having contact with the writers of several of these novels further enabled me to develop an informed style through experimentation based on the advice they offered.

While each novel is recognised for different reasons, it is the consistently exceptional writing skill of the authors that epitomises the CBCA Book of the Year for Older Readers category. The unique styles are reflected in the contexts of the narratives and focused inclusion of the real-life issues young people face. The judges affirm that the books and writers who receive these awards ‘provide rich and thought-provoking reading experiences’ (Cohen, 2010, p. 3).

The CBCA list of award-winning novels furnished me with a comprehensive range of novels that demonstrate the development and richness of the YA genre in Australia. The selected novels covered a wide range of styles, contexts and themes; yet, all provided inspiration, details and techniques that I could model to better understand how to construct a novel for the YA market that connected with relevant and topical issues. Further, they provided invaluable insight into historical changes and progression in the style, subject matter and voice in YA literature, and subsequently the young adults for whom they are written.

Obvious in their absence in the CBCA category for older readers are books that are diverse in content, context and authorship. Hateley (2014) observes that the Australian Curriculum Assessment and Reporting Authority (ACARA) requires Australian schools to ‘engage with Aboriginal and Asian histories, cultures, and societies’, and to mitigate the lack of diversity in the selection of texts they have published a webpage, ‘Advice on selection of literary texts’; however, there is ‘a total lack of any literary text being named’ (p. 2). The CBCA sits outside of the ACARA priorities, and in the older readers awards from 1982–2019, has not engaged on any significant level with Aboriginal cultures.

Chapter Four

How and Why Authors Write

How and why authors write is varied. Bazerman (1994) argues that an author’s decision to write can be ‘for entertainment, for amusement, to appeal to fantasy and imagination, to persuade or to inform’ (p. 110). Any or all of these can determine both the author’s method and their chosen writing process. It is the ‘how’ that interests me and informs my writing. The physical and intellectual determinants of the way each writer approaches their writing provided me with information that guided my own novel writing. Meanwhile, ‘what’ a writer includes in their novel can provide insight into what they are trying to achieve. For example, Bazerman (1994) suggests the use of ‘personal anecdotes might suggest that the writer is seeking your emotional response or sympathetic involvement in the material’ (p. 111). This defends the supposition that authors make choices in the content of their compositions according to their level of personal involvement or engagement in the subject or themes explored.

This chapter examines Australian writers of award-winning YA fiction, the processes they employ and the various methods they use when writing. This investigation enhanced my understanding of how to conceive and develop a novel. The practices and approaches undertaken by the selected YA literature writers varied significantly. Each author came to write through a different pathway, although several had been teachers. Any common elements in the details they provided to me about their writing were analysed, including authors’ backgrounds, their methods of character development, how they craft their writing,

79 their inspirations for writing and where they physically undertake their writing. These elements were particularly useful for me to apply, experiment with, and consider when establishing my own writing methods. The cooperation of the some of the award-winning and notable Australia writers from whom I sought assistance were Melina Marchetta, J. C. Bourke, James Moloney, John Marsden, Gerard Michael Bauer, Gary Crew, Markus Zusak, James Roy and Van Badham. They provided detailed and comprehensive information from which to develop ideas and draw conclusions in my novel writing.

Data Collection

Data was collected from CBCA award-winning authors and other notable Australian writers, supported by information gathered from a variety of publications about the craft of writing and methods used in planning. The data was then analysed to collate relevant details and practices to enhance my understanding of writing.

Initial contact with Australian YA writers was made through a variety of methods, including emails, telephone calls and face-to-face meetings. From this, each author indicated their willingness to be part of the study and their preferred method of communication. Most contributed through direct communication with me via telephone, email or in person. Some of the writers have published material on the craft of writing and/or engaging readers, which I also accessed. I further drew on Libby Gleeson’s research and experience of writing for children by closely reviewing her 1999 publication, Writing Hannah, On Writing for Children, also using detail from her Writer in Residence at the School of Education and Social Work at Sydney University archive (2011).

I generated a series of questions for the authors to stimulate discussion and elicit detailed responses. These included questions on their personal background, education and profession; motivation to write; procedures used when writing; stimulus for the content of their novels; how and why they develop particular storylines; and the awards they have received for their writing The questions focused on personal experiences of planning, researching, drafting and writing their works, and were designed to reveal the minutiae of their writing process, from start to finish. Details of their personal background were sought to glean whether it was related to or influenced their writing. To learn more about their

80 methods, I included questions on the purpose and reasons for their choices, and how and what influenced their subject matter, context and style. I emailed the questions to each author.

The writing processes the authors shared with me provided insight into the intricacies of their writing. This chapter reflects on the various approaches the writers use and offers their personal perspectives on the steps employed in the execution of their writing. This data gave me a range of methods that I could use to experiment in my own writing and salient advice that became even more valuable as I grew as a writer. Author responses varied considerably and are analysed according to the central themes in the following sections.

Authors’ Backgrounds

Notably, several of the YA authors have a teaching background; for example, John Marsden and Melina Marchetta were English teachers, and Libby Gleeson and James Moloney were primary school teachers. As a teacher, I was interested in this connection. In my case, there is a direct link between my experience as a teacher and knowledge of literature and my decision to write. Moloney retrained to be a teacher-librarian, and Libby Gleeson changed career to become an academic. In contrast, Nick Earles trained as a doctor before embarking on a writing career, and James Roy wrote as a release from the challenging patients he nursed before he started writing full-time. These details were informative as I was able to relate to their novels knowing their background, which provided a backstory that informed their content, context and often their connectivity to the issues they addressed.

Development of Writing Techniques

Van Badham is an Australian playwright, critic and scriptwriter whose writing is directed towards young adults. Badham provided lengthy detail on how she composes plots and characters, and the checklists she devises while writing. She values tone and creating an engagement with readers that allows them to find a way into the emotional world she creates. That is, she sets up a situation she hopes people ‘will be curious about’ and establishes ‘a mood by using an unexpected event to create suspense’ (V. Badham, personal

81 communication, 9 May 2012). For example, she creates a disaster to promote a sense of anticipation and draw in readers. She further uses ‘a hook to end each chapter to keep readers engaged’. Badham uses colours and adjectives to describe nouns that communicate the tone of the novel, and similes and metaphors to enhance the reading experience. In her planning phase, she seeks ‘to determine the narrative or story, the structure and context through setting up a world, selecting characters, setting up an objective and deciding on obstacles’ (V. Badham, personal communication, 9 May 2012.). She explains that these aspects ‘provide a very concrete guide for me, and I work on my manuscript to reflect this. I plot to include major and/or minor events which are designed to engage and promote anticipation for the following chapters’ (V. Badham, personal communication, 9 May 2012). Badham’s advice on tone, establishing curiosity in readers and establishing the context of her narrative aided my decisions in these areas. This contributed to the emerging fluency of my novel as I undertook revisions on the structure and more closely considered the tone. I wanted to create a level of empathy in the reader, so I depicted the challenges of adolescence through a 17-year-old protagonist. Badham’s advice was a starting point for experimenting with evoking a mood in readers through the poignant and, at times, celebratory tone of the novel.

Badham outlined how she decides which type of characters are needed. She describes four basic types of characters:

• static characters do not change but are necessary to give a story depth • dynamic characters change and respond to external stimuli • flat characters are two dimensional and stereotypical • round characters are three dimensional, they have a life story, emotional drives, aesthetics and feelings, and give meaning to a story. (personal communication, 11 May 2012).

Badham explains that her ‘protagonists lead the action, they’re dynamic and round and make choices in response to events which lead to other events, thus providing a heroic narrative and a plot driven by the protagonist’. She further notes that ‘imaginary people make the unreal seem real’ (V. Badham, personal communication, 9 May 2012). This advice was part of her description of learning to write, trying to grab the reader with funny, interesting and quirky details—and at times unbelievable good or bad luck—yet make it seem believable, possible or inviting for them. When designing physical characteristics, she considers:

82 Colouring, proportion, mannerisms, gait, particular characteristics, body attitude, features, how they feel about their body, animation, voice, smell, posture, clothing, decorations, hair, grooming, height, weight, style, age, gender, ethnicity, nationality, health status and any scarring or body embellishments or piercings, and how a character will react (V. Badham, personal communication, 18 February 2012).

While she does not necessarily use these in her novel, they give her a comprehensive guide that assists in making decisions about her characters’ actions and reactions in various situations.

Although a successful novelist, playwright and social commentator, Badham has not yet won a CBCA award; however, she significantly influenced my use of her strategies when writing, particularly the lists she creates as a background portrait of her characters. Badham explains that she considers the ‘psychology of the writing of characters’, as ‘thinking logically, laterally, verbally and visually enhances writing’. Thus, Badham advocates that a writer ‘should consider reactions, personalities, tastes, aesthetics, interests, prejudices, cultures, mental health, self-awareness, disposition, intellect, and sense of humour, aspirations, ambitions, dreams, ideologies, age, mood and memory’, to ensure a well-developed and authentic character is created (V. Badham, personal communication, 6 May 2012). Concentrating on crafting characters, she offered me practical suggestions and guidance on her process to understand the procedure when constructing characters. Her recommendations directed my experimentations with character development.

Badham addresses the need for connectivity of characters as an integral aspect of writing. While a successful published YA writer, her role as a tutor and theorist adds significance to her input. She suggests that YA writing is subjective and should respond to the questions, ‘who am I?’ and ‘where am I from?’. She argues these are essential considerations when embarking on writing YA novels. She recommends determining the ‘sociology of characters; their education, who they meet in their lives and how have they become themselves’, which can be specified in terms of what they do and where they do it. In the development of a character or series of characters, Badham advocates that writers:

Create a back story and consider a wide range of aspects which could include; the makeup of their family; who their friends are; the context of the story, the gender, ethnicity, sexuality, language, and religion; the travel experiences; socioeconomic status and the power of money associated with this position; societal class relevant occupations; food, or dietary requirements and preferences; and a range

83 of life experiences (personal communication, 19 February 2012).

This describes the methods she employs in her approach to writing and developing characters, which has been influential on my writing and is a method I employed.

In contrast, writer and academic Gleeson (1999) asserts that ‘language is the basic tool for the making of a story, so exercise control over it’ (p. 42). She contends that to adequately cater for readers, the author does not need to utilise overly descriptive passages, ‘piling on adjectives and adverbs to add to the picture created by the noun’ as she had learned in primary school; rather, the ‘way to clarity and to vividly express meaning in writing was through imagery’ (p. 43). Backed by her experience as a writer and researcher in children’s literature, Gleeson’s advice is valuable to ensure both fluency and subtlety without overworking the language. Her advice on word and vocabulary choices was informative and prompted me to establish a system of collating and noting a bank of words to draw from as I wrote. I created multiple word lists, including words that interest me, are unique, previously unknown to me and resonate with what I am trying to convey in my writing. This basic technique is a very useful tip that lent fluency to my ideas and descriptions. Gleeson (1999) admits, ‘I then learnt to strip the prose of superfluous adjectives and adverbs and find instead the clear image that captured the scene for the reader’ (p. 43). This was both reassuring and informative, again offering ways to experiment with language to develop the most effective style.

A similar opinion is held by both James Moloney and Irini Savvides, who each provided a writing model to ensure language is not florid, leaving little to the reader’s imagination, or composed of redundant words and expressions. Savvides, a teacher and successful YA writer, hosts writing workshops. Her contributions added to my knowledge on writing techniques and provided guidance on ways to experiment. I was careful to avoid the overt use of descriptive language, moving the story along too quickly and adding merely decorative additions.

Moloney responded that his writing has been plot-driven across his more than 43 published novels. That is, his characters are developed after he has thought of a story that he feels will make sense. He explains that he ‘moulds his characters to suit the story’ and although characters exist, they ‘are more like cardboard cut-outs at [the early] stages’. He states that ‘the furious pace at which I work at this stage defines my process, and eventually

84 I explore all the possible ideas [before] returning to refine them to a “traditional” narrative structure’ (J. Moloney, personal communication, 9–11 July 2014, 11 July 2018).

Gary Crew undertakes considerable research for historical accuracy and then widens his scope to search for similar historical occurrences to examine so he can enhance his understanding. His meticulous investigation on the subject, and beyond, illustrates his process for achieving authenticity. This explanation provided me with significant insight into how he plans his writing and the steps he takes to integrate his creativity into the research. Crew’s methodical and detailed research informed me on how to include historical detail and events to promote authenticity in my writing.

Finally, as a writing tutor, Roy’s comprehensive exploration of his writing process provides a useful guideline for the development of characters. He inspired me to keep a notebook to record words, phrases, ideas, sentences and observations to refer to when I revisit my novel to further develop my composition. My notebook included words I came across at the NSW Higher School Certificate (HSC) Marking Centre. The exposure to a wide range of students’ scripts in HSC marking, using a variety of language styles and vocabulary, also helped me discover novels, poems, short stories and films that appeal to high school leavers.

The Craft of Writing

The writers offered many practical details and ideas on how to write YA fiction. Gary Crew was particularly influential, but a combination of all the detail I received and examined informed my decision on how to approach my writing. This section explains the writers’ methodologies and how I used ideas and suggestions from their responses.

As noted above, Crew is particularly methodical in his writing. He shared with me the process leading up to his award-winning 1990 novel, Strange Objects. At the time, Crew was a published author of two novels for teenagers and had a sound relationship with a major publisher. He proposed writing about an episode in Australian history that dealt with a teenager being isolated, which was readily accepted. He then embarked on intense research into his chosen context—historical colonial accounts of children who had survived shipwrecks.

Crew’s quest for both an engaging idea and a level of historic authenticity meant an

85 immense amount of reading and research was required, as he had decided to fictionalise events surrounding the shipwreck of the Dutch vessel, Batavia, off the coast of Western Australia in 1629. Drake-Brockman’s (1963) account of the subsequent slaughter of survivors of the shipwreck became a key reference. Outlining his methodology, Crew states:

Not only did I read everything that existed on the Batavia wreck, I also went to the Western Australian Maritime Museum to see what remained of it and its cargo and accoutrements in order to get into the murderer's mind. I also read all that I could on the psyche of mass murderers and that dreadful condition known as folie à deux, or ‘madness together’, by which people engage in mass suicide and/or mass murder. I therefore steeped myself in the life and trials of murderers including the Moors murderess, Myra Hindley, and the 1977 Jonestown massacre in Guyana. I was determined to make this piece of creative nonfiction as authentic as possible and added fictitious footnotes and references to ‘verify’ my sources. (personal communication, 22 November 2014).

Crew’s meticulous and thorough approach was articulated carefully to me and provided knowledge on incorporating accuracy and authenticity into my own writing. I subsequently sought the reaction of police and doctors to the events of my novel (Burwood Police Station, personal communication, 21 March 2016; D. Oh, personal communication, 24 January 2013) to ensure my characters’ reactions to medical scenarios and the legal ramifications of their actions were accurately portrayed and an authentic representation achieved.

Physical Writing Space and Writers’ Processes

Nobel Prize for Literature winner Doris Lessing (2007) argues, ‘how, when and where to write are constant’, and ‘the essential question for a writer, have you found a space, that empty space, which should surround you when you write?’ Further, Lessing (2007) asserts that ‘if a writer cannot find this space, then poems and stories may be stillborn’. I have taught Lessing’s speech to senior high school students, this aspect resonated with me while examining the participant authors’ responses to questions on where and how they wrote, as I was still developing my own ideas on a writing space. The physical space in which an author writes was identified as important by several of the participants. I found this interesting as authors are often considered to write wherever they are with the tools they have with them; however, this is not an accurate representation for many writers.

86 James Moloney writes in a purpose-built shed at the bottom of his garden and is quite particular about its décor. He plans his writing diligently, using post-it notes to outline the variety of ideas he intends to include. Moloney does this before writing a plan or making character decisions. This method taught me about the need to deliberate, either on paper or musing to myself, for a considerable length of time to develop a clear mental picture of my intended plot. Incubating ideas in this way is an identified stage of creativity that provides a scaffold to support the art of thought and initiate the writing process (Wallas, 1926). Thus, I thought, wrote and filled out the story to include relevant and interesting characters that would enable me to craft a credible tale. Moloney is open to ideas throughout his planning process, and ‘will confer with others, make notes during the night on scraps of paper’. His focus at this point ‘is to culminate the brainstorming with a decision [about] how the story will reach its climax and then proceed to a resolution’ (J. Moloney, personal communication, 11 July 2014). Once he has a storyline, he focuses on ‘fleshing out the details’. Interestingly, Moloney manually records all these ideas on cards, which he attaches to a pinboard for the duration of the novel-writing process. He prints out images to assist in his representation of characters and settings.

Moloney’s approach is less rigid than Crew’s, but it is methodical. He uses it each time he starts a new novel, such as when writing his latest novel, The Love that I Have (2018). As it is set in Germany, Moloney travelled to and researched various German locations before beginning the writing process and developing his storyline. His methodology demonstrated the necessity for me to develop and refine a process that works for me, so a personal writing environment is created. Moloney advised that once the parameters of sitting down to write and the planning style is decided, ‘I write, write, write some more and then read to relax’ (personal communication, 20 September 2017).

Nick Earles confesses he is ‘a plotter, a thinker, a note-maker, a mapper and a flow- charter. I’m up for using any device that will teach me more about the people I’m writing about and their story’ (personal communication, 22 January 2015). He writes down small random ideas and files them away in case they are used. Earles explains that then, ‘a few ideas start to cluster, and I start thinking “who is this about?”, “what’s going on?”’ He adds more ideas and notes to the pile:

I think divergently and then convergently. First, it’s about coming up with

87 possibilities; then it’s about drawing the story out of the pile of possibilities and arranging it in some kind of shape … While I’m playing around structurally, I’m also trying to get into the head of my central character. Once I have my notes in order and the right voice in my head, I’m ready to go. (N. Earles, personal communication, 22 January 2015)

Earles states that his outlines vary in length, but: Can be a quarter of the length of the novel. I don’t have to stick to them, but they’re a mighty big safety net for the days when it all feels less magical. A good, detailed outline means that, on the ugly days, I might be searching long and hard for the right words, but I’m not searching for ideas as well. (personal communication, 22 January 2015)

He does this because it provides him with a ‘means of navigating, and some fuel to take me there … A novel is big, too big to hold in a human head in one go. My head, anyway. I need a map’ (N. Earles, personal communication, 2 February 2015).

Earles undertakes the process in simple steps:

I set about asking questions and discovered that in itself would be a useful part of my process. Every novel is a new puzzle that I don’t know quite how to solve when I set out. As the novels go on … I get more tools in my toolkit, but I keep having to find still more, and I like that … Sometimes early in the exploration of the idea … I get a sense of how old my character is. Some stories fit well with a teenage character, and that’s really the basis of the choice for me … [The difference] is not at the creative level; it’s after all that. If I’ve written a novel with a teenage character, I know publishers are likely to see it as YA—and I’ll want it to connect with teenage readers too—but the writing experience is no different for me. I try to focus on getting my central character right, in the hope that if I do that some teenage people may find something to connect with. (personal communication, 2 February 2015)

Ideas can ‘manifest themselves by chance, from the environment and through experiences, but also by actively working at and seizing those ideas’ and from this, Earles asserts that he is able to garner great detail to use in his writing. Earles stressed that ‘writing was hard work but radiated nothing but the fun of discovering your characters and fleshing out a plot was worth it’ (personal communication, 2 February 2015). This validates his advice and supports active engagement in the planning and writing processes. Earles’s response was quite detailed and very anecdotal. It helped me refine how I write and recognise what thought processes influence my decisions on character development and plot. Something I found particularly useful was his statement, ‘A novel is big, too big’, so it should be broken down into notes and not kept all in one’s head, aligning with some aspects of Moloney’s process. Writing notes,

88 keeping a journal and making lists have all contributed significantly to the practicality of my writing.

YA author and writing tutor at the Sydney Writer’s Centre, James Roy’s most salient point is to write about what you know. In his workshops, he continually says, ‘if you want to write about Finland, go to Finland’ as a writer must ‘consider the importance of accuracy, comprehensive and appropriate research’ (J. Roy, personal communication, 22 June 2012). This echoes the advice given by Willow Tree and Olive (2001) author Irini Savvides. As a Greek woman, she wrote about characters with Greek ethnicity until she became confident enough to go beyond her ‘comfort zone’ (I. Savvides, personal communication, 30 August 2009). This indicated that writing initially from an informed position, with detail, content and context with which you are familiar, makes writing easier. This aligned with my choice of both a familiar geographical location and a story based around personal experiences.

Roy (personal communication, 22 June 2012) observed that examining his writing methods reminded him of the importance of referring to a list of resources to continually understand what constitutes successful YA literature in Australia. He offered detail on how he avoids stereotyping; how he considers environment, ageing and death; and the steps he uses to ensure authenticity and engagement in areas he considers otherwise uninspiring to YA readers. In terms of language, Roy indicated that his choices are age-appropriate for readers, although at times he weaves more complex words into his novels to challenge and inform readers. With this in mind, I redrafted my novel to ensure it did not contain too much language beyond the age of the target readers or the characters but remained challenging in some way.

British fantasy writer and author of Angel Dust, Sarah Mussi, suggests that when writing characters, a writer should ‘create a character who is likable’. Although it sounds simple, Mussi asserts that this advice is ‘often neglected’. Further, ‘the character needs to be a bit like the reader, endearing the character to the reader and creating inquisitiveness and hunger for a positive final outcome’ (Mussi, personal communication 12 May 2013). Mussi offered this advice at a writers’ forum in Sydney in May 2013 in relation to ways to promote the likelihood of developing a successfully crafted character. I considered this in my character development; however, I was more swayed by conflicting, albeit anecdotally based advice, that pointed to YA novels with ‘flawed characters’ achieving more success (Badham, personal communication 9 May 2012). Composing a novel and making decisions regarding specific

89 detail came predominantly from suggestions made by Badham and Roy. Their ideas and advice proved useful and effective for the purpose of developing my novel.

Roy uses various stimuli to help with ideas in his writing. He considers issues of love, lust, fear and angst encountered in real life. He observes ‘smells, what can or can't be heard in circumstances, the perceived or actual taste, what can be seen’ in other circumstances, which he posits can develop authenticity in characters. His methodology of finding an authentic YA character comprises consideration of the following options:

• Deciding on narration—first or third person—by considering that first person can be from the perspective of one or more characters and be inside the head of a character who cannot see, hear or know more than the narrator. This can be an unreliable narrator or from the use of hearsay, which is similarly unreliable. Third person is often used in fables or traditional stories, which can be personal but do not address the question of point of view.

• Selecting the age and stage of the protagonist/main character/narrator and their attitude towards others and various issues. By establishing these parameters, the writing has a structure and is not ad hoc. Setting up these aspects after establishing the narration style will provide a framework into the way the story can be woven.

• Deciding on the style, choosing what’s best for the novel. Choosing the style will dictate the next stage of the writing. Selecting sentence structures, perfecting syntax and deciding whether or not to use humour. Further considering the use of sarcasm, irony, clichés, and types of punctuation that will all direct the writing.

• Determining the point of view (POV) that will be employed. Roy imagines the POV portrayed filmically and how it can be represented in a novel.

• Electing to use an omniscient authorship to create fewer gaps for the reader to fill. (J. Roy, personal communication, 3 August 2012)

Roy further advocates that the first chapter and/or first pages should establish a strong voice and develop interest by paying close attention to ‘originality—what constitutes an original idea, language, a structure to sustain the reader interest, and pacing the plot and characters for maximum engagement’ (personal communication, 3 August 2012).

One of the most significant points that have continued to resonate with me was provided by several of the participant writers, including Marchetta, Roy and Badham. They each affirmed that in a debut novel, the writer should write about what they know. This lessens the chance of errors and offers a certain level of security. Examples included the

90 context, setting and locations, as well as significant events from your own life to include in the story.

The advice proffered by all writers was to be original, take criticism seriously and allow room for your writing style, process and structure to improve and develop. My writing developed and grew as I used the information, advice and direction offered, particularly on developing a range of characters. This provided me with a strategy to develop characters who had multi-faceted personalities but did not necessarily exhibit all the characteristics I specified in my planning. Having a wide background for them, from the planning stages, enabled me to make decisions about their actions and reactions to people and events in the novel based on the collated details of their background.

The most helpful advice I received was from Roy, who advocates that a choice of style, or what will work for the particular novel, is an important decision to make at the outset. He discussed how the construction or form of the novel guides the writing process and establishes a base from which to start. Most writers also advised that decisions on language, style, construction and whether to use of humour should also be decided in the planning stages. Finally, all the writers I consulted urged me to continue engaging in reading and connecting to what young adults are reading and watching. They considered it an aid to the development of an authentic novel and, ultimately, a more relevant book.

Chapter Five

This chapter synthesises information from the literature research, author interviews, reading award-winning YA novels and wide reading in the genre. It draws together writers’ experiences and what stimulates them to write, and analyses how decisions are made on what to address and how to compose a novel. I was aware of the need to avoid stereotypes and consider the critical race theory where Rubinstein-Avila (2007) found that ‘recommended young adult female protagonists are still overwhelmingly white, middle-class and heterosexual. Despite descriptors such as “strong”, “gutsy”, “feisty” and “independent”’ and that the expectation of a socially conservative and sexist patriarchy’ (p. 363). My research, particularly into CBCA winners, found this to be an accurate assertion and one that has not changed since the establishment of the awards.

This informed me of the strategies and details I needed to consider and use to write Surviving Toby.

What Influences Writers?

Writers continually make decisions on the construction of their work. Not only do writers and theorists influence authors, but what authors read impacts on their eventual products. Many writers identified novels that significantly influenced their own writing. Novelists Zusak, Earles, Moloney and Roy all cited both J. D. Salinger and S. E. Hinton as prominent contributors to the genre in its early development and period of recognition that has remained influential in their writing. Further, the reaction of writers to what they read,

92 whether scholarly or fiction, enhances their knowledge. It informs them on trends, current thinking and can used to enrich their writing. Thus, responses based on the opinions, experiences and suggestions of others can offer important information from which another writer can benefit. The decisions writers make about the audience, purpose and creative interpretations are integral to the evolution of a successful novel.

An audience for a novel is created through the chosen subject area and how this connects and interests the reader. If a novel is for young adults, it should connect with and appeal to that specific audience through the novel’s relevance. This can guide the creation of the story. Choices can be made during the initial creative stages to target themes, topics and writing techniques that engage the reader. Consideration of current sociocultural trends in specific contexts also assists in developing currency with the audience. Writers who have received CBCA awards show evidence of incorporating contemporary sociocultural trends. For example, Moloney has written about the issues surrounding guns and the dangers unsecured guns present to adolescents in Crossfire (1992); similarly, Marsden addressed mental health issues in adolescents and resulting dysfunctional family relationships in So Much to Tell You. Burke’s The Story of Tom Brennan and Pig Boy (2011) speaks to issues of adolescent drink- driving and bullying, respectively; and teenagers exploring their sexuality is featured in Marchetta’s Looking for Alibrandi. These novels demonstrate reflections on changing social issues and the publicity of events not previously explored in contemporary novels, including domestic violence, sexual assault, excessive drinking, drugs and issues connected with technology, cyberbullying and intellectual theft.

Writer’s Purpose

The purpose of a novel or the reasons a writer chooses to write vary. In ‘Why I Write’, George Orwell (1946) outlined his motivation for writing. As a lonely child, he wrote to cover his lack of social interaction. This is explored in his outline of the four motives for writing: ‘sheer egoism, aesthetic enthusiasm, historic impulse and political purpose’ (Orwell, 1946, p. 4). He elaborates that writers ‘all are vain, selfish, and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives lies a mystery’, further suggesting that ‘one would never undertake such a thing [as writing] if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor

93 understand’ (Orwell, 1946, p. 7). While his four motives can be accepted as valid, I would also include recognition, personal motivation and social or emotional reasons as being at the heart of a writer’s intent. In some cases, the opportunity to make a living from their craft could motivate writers. For me, writing provides an opportunity to delve into the social and emotional development of adolescents and their reactions to various experiences. Composing a novel and experiencing the writing process has provided me with an entrée into YA readers’ world. Further, it has provided social and emotional satisfaction by pursuing a creative art.

Palmquist (2018) suggests authors write as ‘a response to a purpose’ (p. 5). This influences the ‘tone, style and design of the novel’ and how readers will react to their writing (p. 6). He suggests that ‘the relationship between readers and writers can become quite complex’ (p. 2); thus, ‘composer’s write for a variety of purposes and readers read for a variety of reasons’ and ‘the writer’s interests and needs can influence’ their readers (p. 3). This notion has been explored in reader-response theory, which stresses the synthesis between reader and text. A practical application should be based on the interaction of both readers and writers. The recommendation is that students make notes in reading logs as they read a novel, setting down their thoughts and feelings. This encourages them to interact with the text and have individual responses to the literature (Carlisle, 2000, p. 12).

Writers’ purposes vary according to personal wants and needs; both theirs and those of their readers. Children’s literature in the 19th and early 20th century was largely didactic. Grenby & Reynolds (2011) suggests that ‘those who write children’s books have always thought it part of their job to instruct their readers, whether in facts, religion, morals, social codes, ways of thinking, or some other set of beliefs or ideas’ (p. 6). They assert that ‘the moral tale did not die out in the 19th century. It continued alongside the revival of the fairy tale tradition and the new fashion for fantasy literature’ (Grenby & Reynolds, 2011, p. 7). An example of novels in this period having a ‘moral instruction’ purpose is Johann David Wyss’ The Swiss Family Robinson (1812), which ‘appears to teach children about family values, good husbandry, using and appreciating the natural world and developing self-reliance’ and was ‘shaped in accordance with Christian thought and lessons based on biblical teachings’ (T. Whitton, personal communication, 11th December 2019). Wyss’ story of adventure presents a series of lessons for his children in natural history and the physical sciences and is reflected in various educational books for children from this period. Similarly, Thomas Hughes’ 1857

94 novel, Tom Brown’s School Days, while akin to the adventure aspects of Wyss’ novel, offered a unique insight into ‘sport … and the excitement of team events’ (Kiefer, 2009, p. 69) and offered moralising lessons through this, particularly in respect to bullying and social class distinctions. In his preface to the sixth edition of his book, Tom Brown’s School Days author Hughes quotes a letter from a reviewer which suggests that ‘[a] boy may have moral courage, and a finely-organized brain and nervous system. Such a boy is calculated, if judiciously educated, to be a great, wise, and useful man bold by healthy exercise and games and sports’. He continues crediting Tom Brown’s school headmaster, Arnold, as possessing an ‘unwearied zeal in creating “moral thoughtfulness” in every boy with whom he came into personal contact’ as his enduring quality (np). Grenby (2014) posits that this was ‘not so very different from Fielding’s Governess, written a century before, teaching a certain kind of morality in a school setting’ (par. 8).

Contemporary writers no longer aim to necessarily impose a singular system of conduct or morality and have subsequently moved away from the didacticism seen in earlier texts. The purpose of writing has shifted considerably towards an entertainment or amusement role (Hill, 2014). As a newer genre than children’s literature, YA novels seek to satisfy the needs and wants of readers with a substantial variety of sub-genres, including fantasy, science fiction, reality, adventure, historical, romance, sports, humour, verse novels, steampunk, paranormal, graphic, LGBTI, family, diaries and horror (National Library of New Zealand, n.d.). Notably, the wide variety in the genre does not preclude some novels carrying a message and purpose, seeking to impact readers’ thinking.

Entertainment is an intent when readers decide to engage with a book. Reading as a pastime has been popular since the 18th century, having moved away from being an instructional activity towards a greater focus on enjoyment (Pandey, 2017, par. 1). The entertainment aspect of reading provides, among other things, a vicarious pleasure for readers, responding to the human need to experience enjoyment and connection through reading, particularly about subjects beyond their own personal encounters.

Writers have responded to readers’ desire to ‘learn, escape or to create a connection’ (Alexie, 2018, par. 5) and relax through writing novels. The participant writers in this study were divided on whether writing was a relaxing option. Resounding responses were that the lifestyle of a writer could be relaxing and allow time for the creative process to develop, but

95 deadlines, life’s disruptions and the necessity to earn a living as a full-time author reduces the notion of relaxation through writing. Both Roy and Moloney attest that writing is hard work but has a relaxing aspect, as choices can be made to determine the amount of writing time they allocate. The opportunity to have a flexible work timetable and the reflective nature of writing means that writers can choose it to relax (J. Moloney, personal communication 22 August 2019; J. Roy, personal communication, 19 August 2019).

Writers have a desire to explore their creativity through writing. Jennifer Byrne, host of ABC’s First Tuesday Book Club, convened a panel of Australian YA writers in a discussion titled ‘The Harry Games’ to examine how and why four very different, notable YA writers became writers. The writers were John Marsden, Melina Marchetta, Steph Bowe and Morris Gleitzman.

When asked by Byrne (2012) why he believes YA literature has evolved, Marsden recounted his own reading experience, which influenced his desire to test his creative ability. When he ‘reached adolescence and suddenly Enid Blyton and The Famous Five didn’t do it for me anymore, and the jump from Enid Blyton to Thomas Hardy was too big’, he read ‘adult books [that] were really quite adolescent’ (Marsden, as cited in Byrne, 2012). Through this, he did not lose ‘the reading habit’ but was ‘foregrounding his development from English teacher with a passion for reading to YA literature writer’ (Marsden, as cited in Byrne, 2012). This experience was the catalyst for him to write, and one that resonates with my writing. Influenced considerably by my own reading through adolescence and into adulthood and a desire to explore my creativity, I tried to write stories to fulfil a desire to create. Always reading encouraged me to study literature at university and from there progressed naturally to teaching English. My engagement with young adults through my teaching further prompted my desire to write.

Speaking on the same program, Marchetta suggested that young people are ‘looking for themselves in stories’ and when she was growing up:

A lot of adult novels didn’t feature teenager or child, so it’s almost like we didn’t exist ... I think I was kind of egotistical, I want to see a part of me, and I feel that from the response of young readers they do love seeing a presence of young people [in books] (as cited in Byrne, 2012).

Her creative impetus was initially encouraged by this idea of egotism. Marchetta has

96 illustrated her creative ability writing YA novels. She posits that ‘YA books can offer a reminder of relationships and it’s probably not a prerequisite of YA, but you will find a relationship, a romantic relationship in, you know, 90% of YA’ (Marchetta, as cited in Byrne, 2010). Here she is citing a personal purpose for her development as a writer of YA fiction. Her very successful novel Looking for Alibrandi—a text I noted earlier that I taught on various occasions— informed me of a style and subject matter that has become influential in my writing choices. As a former English teacher, Marchetta has taught and engaged with adolescents and has been a role model for me.

I had the opportunity at a writer’s workshop to ask Marchetta questions, and the advice I received encouraged me to proceed with writing a YA novel. Marchetta recounted anecdotes of her journey to becoming a writer and useful contributors to her success. Her advice was that exploring your creativity is important, but she was emphatic that writing what you know should be a guiding principle (M. Marchetta, personal communication, 12 May 2012).

Gleitzman explained to Byrne (2012) that he was not trying to educate readers; rather, he was ‘inviting them to participate in that process of creative and independent thinking, and to discover that fiction is a great kind of workout room for lots of aspects of our lives’. While his purpose differs from those stated by Marsden and Marchetta, all three writers indicated clear reasons for writing YA fiction—whether to explore their creativity or because they have something to say. As an English teacher, it was not my conscious intent that my students would ‘participate in the process of creative and independent thinking’, as Gleitzman invites his readers to do. Rather, I concede that my advocacy of reading as a unique learning tool fulfils that outcome and develops students’ minds to be more receptive to developing their own creativity.

Steph Bowe’s first novel, Girl Saves Boy (2001), was published when she was 16 years old. Bowe told Byrne (2012) that her purpose for writing was directed by her own uncertainty of the world and feelings of social isolation; that is, ‘to write the sort of story that someone could read and find comfort in and relate to those characters and think “I’m not alone”’. This personal motivation to write grew from her perceived need to help teenagers, as YA literature ‘tends to be less … there’s less negativity, you know, there’s some positivity in the end largely, overall, compared with a lot of adult fiction’ (Bowe, as cited in Byrne, 2012). This relates to

97 what Bowe describes as her innocence of the world and uncertainty ‘of my role in the world’. As a result, she wants ‘to write that sort of story that someone could read and find comfort and relate to the characters’ (Bowe, as cited in Byrne, 2012). This illustrates her purpose and effort to replicate what she believes those reading her novels may need and appreciate, due to her own adolescent experiences.

Moloney is clear about having a singular purpose—he chose a career in writing because ‘he has something to say’ (personal communication, 31 July 2018). He claims to write because he feels it is the avenue through which he can explore the messages he wishes to share with readers. His novels have included messages that are intended to aid the transition of readers from reading children’s books to reading YA books; specifically, he uses plots ‘that cater to their perceived needs and wants in moving from childhood to the unknown territory of growing up’ (J. Moloney, personal communication, 31 July 2018). While informative, Moloney’s stated purpose was less influential on my writing, as my purpose is more personal and less directed towards informing or instructing readers. In my writing, I am offering explorations of possible solutions for the adolescent protagonist through her engagement with solving the issues that confront her. Throughout the novel-writing process, my intent has been to write an example of a contemporary Australian YA novel. By connecting to composers of YA novels, eliciting details of how, where, and why they write and examining a wide range of YA literature, I hoped to emanate what I learned and transfer it into writing my novel. Although all the information I collected throughout the process informed me, I was judicious in deciding what was relevant and helpful to me and what, although not suited to my own writing, was pertinent to the style, subject matter and sub-genre of YA literature in which I chose to write.

Why I Write

Teaching and working in a challenging country NSW school, I initially wrote a series of thoughts about events that had occurred in my working life. The frustrations I experienced with staff, students and parents prompted me to write rather than dwell, as I did not have the power to change the status quo. I thought writing may reduce the time I spent thinking and mulling over the events in my head. I regularly took time to reflect on the challenges and wrote

98 short anecdotal stories that helped me process events and set aside the challenges so I could continue teaching and working. I did not re-read or refer to them subsequently, but the instant they were completed I experienced relief.

Thus, the initial impetus to write a YA novel was as a cathartic exercise to try to make sense of experiences I had in 2003. I wanted to write to clarify the events I encountered and rationalise and consider the impact they had on the community and my family—I had something to work through, something to figure out. As a result, I was able to use my writing to critique the events. Writing the story of Charlie and her family enabled me to initiate writing fiction based on what was familiar to me. Using life experiences and people I had met or worked with, the catharsis I sought was achieved when I completed the first draft. The redrafting processes were to craft my writing in a suitable style to reflect an Australian YA novel. I also sought to learn how to write in a style consistent with other YA literature.

The choice to write from the perspective a of a 17-year-old girl in her penultimate year of high school in regional NSW removed me from attempting an autobiography. After I had completed about 5,000 words, I realised I was motivated to write more than a short story. I continued to write, and, with minimal planning, the story developed and evolved. I did not plan or brainstorm to decide on the progression of the story but wrote by retelling how Charlie reacted to the situation in which her family found themselves. This was partly based on anecdotal evidence form James Roy whose writing is often just a series of long tales that he crafts into a novel without methodical, initial planning. Redrafting enabled me to establish a timeline of events in my novel that logically played out over a school year to reflect the reality of many Australian adolescents’ lives during this time. At the same time, I continued to teach and be involved in the lives of my students by attending school events, school camps, marking their work and interacting with them in class. Thus, the choice to write a YA novel emerged directly out of my teaching experience. As a high school teacher of English, I had an engagement with and deep interest in novels in the YA genre. These novels were tools to enrich, enthuse and engage the students. I also read many of the iconic American novels that have been credited as the pioneers of the YA genre; I engaged with the CBCA and their award system, particularly the older readers category; and I read all the CBCA award-winning Older Readers books (1982–2019).

While my writing was based on actual events, I made significant deviations to enhance

99 the story. The actions and reactions of the protagonist were the focus of the novel, as she experienced many emotional responses to the family drama at the centre of the story: her changing role in the family; trying to deal with the family drama, predominantly secretly; and the shame of her mother’s dismissal from her job. My writing is based on many different experiences and past exposure to people, places and literature, so discovering writers’ key influences was an informative process for me. It guided the composition of my novel by looking critically at what informs, affects and stimulates writers. Investigating others’ influences, styles and processes gave me insight into a wide variety of methods from which I could experiment and trial.

The notion of an adolescent family drama with a linear plot was chosen as I was familiar and comfortable with construction in that format. I was confident I could write in a realist manner reflecting the realist style of many Australian literary works. As I had committed to an Australian context, I used features and a style that was easily accessible to Australian YA readers. I worked to make my novel simple, with transparent ideas and language that was unromanticised and representative of middle-class life, a depiction of everyday and banal activities and experiences. I attempted to make the events appear factual and the resolutions to problems practical, without presenting them in their conceptual form, nor without the influence of feelings. Representative of the genre of realist fiction, I included stories in my novel stories that could have actually occurred to people in a believable setting. The stories resemble real life, and fictional characters within these stories react similarly to real people.

The intent behind my novel was to chronicle, through fiction, events and experiences that I had shared with family and friends that had significantly affected me. The resolution of my own personal situation was an inspiration for creating characters with attributes to deal with challenges through relationships and self-discovery. From that premise, I was able to create a fictitious environment and series of events for the characters to be confronted with, and in some small way, provide relief from the impact of events I had experienced. My purpose was to write to explore experiences in my life and, through experimenting with the creative process, integrate those into a work of fiction. The accessibility to YA writers who shared their writing experiences, successes and failures, prompted an interest in a variety of writing styles and subject matter.

To successfully complete writing a YA book, I needed to have a comprehensive

100 knowledge of the attributes that make up the CBCA award-winning novels. I had carefully examined and researched the novels and the detail and writing process those writers employ, both through research and personal communication. They assisted with the how, when and where they write and what methods they employ when writing.

I read to investigate the writing process and considered what is needed in learning to write and the complex nature of writing. Grabe and Kaplan (2014) argue that ‘in essence, writing is telling or retelling and/or writing which is transforming, and in the transforming the author is not certain of the final product’ (p. 18), which suggests the completed novel is a result of factors that include the growth and development of the writer in the process of the novel’s evolution. Surviving Toby was certainly not a complete, complex idea until the novel was finalised. It was at the final stages of writing that the ending was decided.

I used the concept of ‘recombining existing information’ (Grabe & Kaplan 2014, p. 18) to develop a story that became the basis of my novel. This detail informed me about what was needed to suitably construct a novel, which is more than a story; ideally, it is an engaging piece of literature. The process of ‘recombining existing information’ was undertaken to best achieve a fluent composition that remained true to the plot. When redrafting my novel, I was aware of this and shuffled ideas and altered styles to achieve the best effect while retaining the detail I was committed to using. Rather than a plot unfolding as events occurred, I revealed aspects of the family issues sporadically to encourage readers to continue reading. After initial character choices, I rethought the role of Charlie’s mother. I chose to make her more aloof and disconnected to the needs of her children. This was driven by the secret she had chosen to keep from her children and how it effectively created a schism in the family. This characteristic is reflected in her communication with Charlie, seen when Charlie begins to feel confused about events at school and within the family:

Life is not all that complicated really, it's just that there is no-one I can talk to about my concerns. I don't know what happened at Mum's school or who was involved, the whole thing has some confidentiality gag on it so we may never know. (Nosworthy, n.d., p. 1)

Her attempts to rationalise events are further illustrated when she thinks, ‘We fantasised about resolving a problem that we were ignorant of, in the extreme’ (Nosworthy, n.d., p. 11). Feeling as though everything had changed without explanation, Charlie describes her mother’s reaction: ‘Her face didn’t change, she smiled, a tired, resigned kind of smile and just

101 paused, took a breath and said, “It will work out”’ (Nosworthy, n.d., p. 17). Charlie feels alienated from her parents, observing, ‘I was hoping in the next minute Mum and Dad could show genuine caring. They didn’t’ (p. 23). Then her mother returns to herself: ‘It didn’t take long for Sergeant Mum to sort out my thoughts’ (p. 28).

My intent was certainly to engage readers and entertain them by including creative ideas, a variety of language and an element of humour, which are all traits (in some form) in the selection of YA novels I read and examined as part of this exegesis. For example, Zusak’s The Messenger fuses humour and pathos to effectively entertain and connect with YA readers, and Bourke’s language choices in The Story of Tom Brennan stylishly evoke the drama of Tom’s life with vocabulary that represents his tormented recovery from the fatality at the centre of the novel.

Significant Influences on My Writing

My writing was significantly informed by the research I conducted, which grounded my understanding of the historical development of YA literature. Reading novels and the detail writers provided in response to my questions supported the research and validated the method undertaken to develop my creative piece.

Examining the writing of Markus Zusak offered an insight into how and why he has specifically chosen to write. Zusak’s The Book Thief was informed by a family connection to World War 2 Germany. While a unique work of fiction, intense research—both of the historical period and his family’s war experience—is at the core of the novel. Reading this novel was significant as the book had a myriad of unique structural and language features that influenced my writing. In his CBCA award-winning The Messenger, Zusak blends the distinctive storytelling thoughts of the protagonist informing the reader in simple, yet evocative, language. The book’s ‘stripped-back simplicity, paradoxically forces the reader to consider the complexity of the images being presented’ (Castagna, 2017, par. 7):

Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are. I think she ate a salad and some soup.

102 And loneliness. She ate that, too. (Zusak, 2002, p. 46)

Similarly, while meticulously researched, Moloney’s early novels relied on his personal experiences for inspiration, as does mine. For example, Moloney’s rural teaching experiences are incorporated into the story in Crossfire. The structure of integrating settings into the narrative gives a focus on the environment; thus, the later Moloney novel Bridge to Wiseman’s Cove (1996) creates empathy in readers through his chosen context. Set in mythical Wiseman’s Cove, Moloney modelled the setting on Queensland’s remote small community of Rainbow Beach, Fraser Island and its surrounds. These locations are very familiar to Moloney, who spent years holidaying at Rainbow Beach and carefully crafted his novel around areas he had an intimate knowledge of and connection to. (J. Moloney, personal communication, 11 August 2019). My novel was similarly set in an area I lived and worked in, and with which I had a strong family connection. I visited areas to explore locations and to make choices that reflected and enhanced the story. This included visiting parts of Canberra and further west through the Monaro region of southern NSW. This was to ensure the car accident, caused partially by the setting western sun, was authentically represented. These particular novelists were an inspiration and served as constant reminders that careful construction and crafting were essential.

Rather than retain a subject matter that was ‘safe’, I was influenced to experiment with ideas and themes that were confrontational, yet not completely outside the experience of young adults. As the central issue of my novel was the dismissal of a school principal on the basis of her having an abortion, I was able to work with a confrontational event that remained hidden from the family and an illegal and controversial act in NSW at the time. The combination of the Catholic Church’s stance on abortion, the shame of the abortion, the dismissal because of it, and the inability to communicate is the core of the novel. Despite 21st- century acceptance and legalisation of abortion in many places, the hangover of past teachings remains. I appreciated the need to be authentic and retain an element of surprise when the issue was finally exposed as the catalyst for the dismissal. I was influenced by some real events and an interpretation of what may have occurred; however, the focus was to engage readers and entertain them.

I found the most complex aspect was writing to connect to the reader without telling

103 the story in intricate detail. I needed to develop the ability to show what I was saying in my writing. I used methods suggested by Badham (2012) to develop ways to include character traits through characters’ interactions and their expressions in conversations and not resort to overt description. This demonstrates the value of writing to ‘show, not tell’ (Lubbock, 2006) and allow for reader interpretation and their imagination to develop their own understanding of characters and events in the novel. I reviewed and redrafted, considering the content and how it should be crafted to best reflect my intent and planned outcome for the story.

Basing my novel on some real events and experiences meant the decision to write in a first-person narrative stream of consciousness style was a natural choice. To achieve a connection for readers to the protagonist, I chose an interior monologue, which was effective and successful. This developed a strong adolescent voice and authenticity yet maintained my experience and expertise as an adult writing to portray the protagonist’s adolescent reflections and feelings. As an adjunct to the interior monologue narration, it was necessary to have a ‘consistent present---tense first-person narration’. This would best approximate ‘an explicit “here and now” experience’ which ‘does not allow reflection on the past nor anticipation of the future’ typical of a contemporary 17---year---old (Nikolajeva, 2014 p. 2). Feeney (2013) suggests that adults who write YA fiction do it not because the main characters in YA novels are teens, but because the novel sees the world through teens’ eyes.

When redrafting, I considered the audience for whom I was writing to ensure I provided both entertainment and amusement. Rosenblatt’s (1938, 1978) reader-response theory stresses the importance of the reader in making meaning from a text. Therefore, I chose to avoid a narrative that ‘simply told how to think about a text’ but invited multiple interpretations, as the central component of reader-response theory involves providing opportunities to make meaningful, authentic connections with the texts read (Woodruff & Griffin, 2007, p. 110).

The entertainment was to share the life and school experiences of the protagonist, Charlie, with whom readers could connect and empathise. I added humour to the story because it exists in life. Some of the situations required comedic interpretation to enhance the novel and lessen the impact of the events the family experiences. Zusak uses humour in The Messenger to soften the impact of the harsh reality of some of the lives, even his own. He depicts his faithful but smelly dog, The Doorman, ‘he stinks a kind of stink that’s impossible to

104 get rid of’ and ‘I’ve tried to encourage him to use some kind of deodorant. I’ve rubbed it under his arms in copious amounts’ using some kind of that Norsca spray … it made him smell like a Scandinavian toilet’ (Zusak, 2002, p. 19). This encouraged me to use some comical real-life events, enhanced by my own funny experiences. For example, I once passed bright pink urine after over-indulging on sugar-coated peanuts, frightening myself and my family. Retrospectively a funny situation, I integrated it into Surviving Toby with Charlie’s mother driving for two hours, missing a tennis championship, to take her daughter to a doctor to discover the cause of the pink urine.

Interesting topical issues further encouraged me to write to expose readers to issues that are particularly relevant in relation to adolescents driving.

Further, the choices I made about characters were significantly influenced by the YA novels I read, the YA writers I interviewed and the writing courses I undertook to learn the skill of writing. Badham’s Burnt Snow (2010) showed the development of characters and confirmed her advice to consider the four basic characters types. I wanted to have a range of characters, many of whom exhibited characteristics of people I knew, including work colleagues and students. This enabled the development of round and dynamic characters who would be engaging to readers and present a convincing representation of people.

Klein’s Came Back to Show You I Could Fly exemplifies the development of engaging and rounded characters in her CBCA award-winning novel. This is evident in her flawed female co- protagonist Angie, a drug-addicted pregnant 20-year-old woman who develops a friendship with 11-year-old Seymour. This demonstrated the successful inclusion of flawed characters who were representative of realist YA fiction. I followed this idea in Surviving Toby, as Charlie’s wayward sister Pip is a flawed character. She still evokes empathy despite her atypical behaviour and was a challenge to write. I chose to work this character into my novel after reading Came Back to Show You I Could Fly, in which Klein’s carefully crafted unfolding of Angie highlighted the success of creating realist characters who enhance the credibility of the story.

Rubinstein’s Foxspell (1994) includes characters whose attempt to influence protagonist Tod are a realistic representation of the town’s ‘bad boys’. A graffiti gang who ‘violate a protected area’ (p. 79) and the resultant visit by the police adds a depth to the novel that shows how vulnerable Tod was and how his actions impact the family. The vulnerable

105 protagonist is not a new or very unusual feature in YA novels. But Tod’s journey is overcoming many challenges and the dysfunction of his home life highlights various character traits that strengthen and assert themselves in the book. The development of both physical and mental strength in Tod provided an example of an author showing, through the actions of the character, rather than guiding readers through his coming of age.

Nilsson’s House Guest (1991), the 1992 CBCA Book of the Year for Older Readers similarly offers realist engaging characters whose actions creatively provide the backdrop to solving the mystery surrounding the disappearance of a missing boy. Despite the illegality of breaking into houses, the youth’s criminality eventuates into him developing a desire to return to a specific house repeatedly, leading to an important discovery. The ending unfolds surprisingly, and the flawed protagonist redeems himself. This prompted me to experiment with options that were not necessarily a resolution for the protagonist but for the antagonist. I modelled Pip, Charlie’s younger troubled sister, on ideas from the House Guest, The Messenger, Klein’s Angie in Came Back to Show You I Can Fly and the boys in Foxspell. Pip arrives as a mature teenage girl through a circuitous route of making bad decisions and an inability to really differentiate right from wrong, similar to Nilsson’s protagonist, Gunno.

These writers offered very useful and practical examples of how to create a story and characters who represent real people in real, and often threatening, situations. They continued to play a significant role in guiding and influencing my writing. As noted earlier, I was inspired by writers who included their own life experiences in their novels. Aspects of many of the YA award winners’ novels are autobiographical, connected to real-life encounters they have experienced. In Crossfire, protagonist Luke finds himself in trouble at his western Queensland school for having a rifle in his locker. Moloney’s early novel is set in a mythical town reminiscent of Cunnamulla, where he spent two years teaching. Similarly, Zusak, who as a child listened to his family history recounted by his German mother and Austrian father, wrote The Book Thief (2005). ‘I heard about what took place during those very dark times in Europe when people were finding beauty in the ugliest of circumstances.’ He began researching meticulously but noted, ‘[m]y first research came from my parents’ stories’ (M. Zusak, personal communication, 22 March 2014). Writing fiction is a creative and imaginative process, but many of the writers shared similar stories of real-life inspiration that aided their novel writing.

106 Ultimately, writing my YA novel was very challenging, and deciding when my creative work was complete was difficult. Accepting feedback and opinions offered complicated decisions whether the story was complete, although not necessarily with a neatly resolved plot and all loose ends tied up. Blanchot (2015) sums up the task of completing a novel by suggesting ‘the writer never knows if the work is done’; and that, indeed, ‘the work of art, the literary work—is neither finished nor unfinished: it is’ (p. 3).

In fact, Surviving Toby resolves the ongoing motif of the mother’s dismissal but leaves each of the characters’ experiences unresolved, because at the crux of the story is the strong mother, wife and professional woman and her seeming inability to cope.

Research for this exegesis found that YA literature remains ‘an evolving genre’, with constant changes occurring in the structure and ‘subject matter pushing controversial boundaries’ (Carlsen, 1980, p.41). The ‘current trends include’ novels that are ‘realistic fiction’, and the genre includes works that may include ‘romance/sexuality’, gritty settings, drugs use, dysfunctional families or criminality (Howell, 2012, p. v). ‘Dystopian fiction and mixed genre fiction’ have also evolved, and a focus on fantasy and speculative fiction is apparent. YA readers tend to relate well to these sub-genres as they provide opportunities to ‘experience the realism of the characters’ lives without real life risk’ (Howell, 2012, p. v).

Each author who contributed to my research offered different details in the form of advice and anecdotes based on their experiences or data from research to validate their writing processes. They provided the benefit of their experience from which I could develop my own ideas and experiment with writing in a variety of styles and contexts. The writers further provided considerable detail of how and why they write YA literature. For me, the most significant points were situational background research, comprehensive character development, establishing a place to write and generating thorough word lists and observations in my study. I also gained an insight into the depth and breadth of a writer’s investigation to ensure authenticity and connectivity to the context and content of their novels. The detail I garnered further informed me of the mechanics of writing and removed any conception that writers simply write from their imagination. It provided concrete examples of how to develop characters and how research contributes to the overall process of writing, not simply the detail required for historical accuracy.

The detail I examined and considered does not, in all instances, directly involve the

107 award---winning novels I examined, but it offered a variety of processes used by a range of writers. However, all of those questioned have been recognised for their achievements with successful Australian YA novels. This highlights that the processes they developed and employed in their writing careers have been effective. The information attained was used in close consideration with the methods, influences and processes that I employed in my novel writing and was influential in the choices adopted. I found some ideas informative and useful, and others less relevant to my own process. These complemented and informed my analysis and research into what influences writers to create and the various purposes that guide them.

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123

Surviving Toby

A novel

by Mary Nosworthy

1 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Chapter 1

Most people think they are normal, and they live in a perfectly normal family. Then out of the blue something happens. Things go wrong, most unexpectedly, and your world is never the same. Normal no longer exists.

My family is fairly ordinary; well, sort of ordinary. There are six kids and Mum and Dad. Dad's often away and Mum works or worked longish hours. I guess six kids is quite unusual, but I'm used to it. It means not getting your own bedroom and having difficulty finding somewhere to be on your own, but there are lots of positives about having two sisters and three brothers and only one sibling older than you. That’s good in a way. But the good things can be outweighed by disasters. We haven't always lived in this house, we moved a few weeks ago when an apparent disaster struck.

Something happened at the school where Mum worked and where we go, and she left. I mean left that very day. I'm not sure what happened or who it happened to. It is quite an odd situation we moved here for mum to take on the role as school principal and after what seemed like five years as a successful school leader she appears to have been stood down, pending we don’t know what. But we will have a lot less money and no school house. Our situation has really changed, so we moved to this place in the weeks following. It's small and only has one bathroom but it's okay and has a great view and heaps of wide-open space. The house is old and needs a fair bit of maintenance but as we’re only renting it, Dad says really, it's all care and no responsibility.

The lot less money thing is really just a perception I have. No-one has actually told me that’s the case. We are all happy, although initially there was some confusion, particularly for the twins as their lives were probably affected the most. They no longer go to pre-school but Mum said they'll go soon and until then us older kids will just have to help them, like home schooling, I guess. That's weird for me because I hate school at the moment and would never, ever, want to be a teacher. Mum is a teacher, but she is so distracted that she doesn’t seem to want any responsibility for us kids. If I could leave school I would be stoked, school really sucks now. But I appreciate the value of a university degree, so I hang in there hoping the means will be justified by the end. 2 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

You see, school for me is not a pleasant, or even a socially enjoyable, outing. Aside from all the work, which is predictable, and the things you are expected to do, there is the whole concentration thing. I am expected to concentrate all day, for six periods with only two breaks. I can't, I just can't. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with me, but I have so many more important things I need to concentrate on. The subjects we have just get in the way, mostly Vis Arts, as there is so little thinking time, we are continually expected to do things and be creative. I guess I can often spend some or even all the other lessons concentrating on the more important things that I need to focus on. When your family is in some sort of crisis it seems to take up all of your energy, all your thinking time, and even what little spare time you once had.

Life is not all that complicated really, it's just that there is no-one I can talk to about my concerns. I don't know what happened at school with Mum or who was involved, the whole thing has some confidentiality gag on it so we may never know. It is quite mysterious and mum deflects any questions just wanting home to remain harmonious and functioning. So, Mum says that my school has a person, like a friend who is an adult, a Counsellor who'd love to talk to me, but I don't feel comfortable with that. Especially talking to someone called Ms Blackhead. I know that's silly and it's just a name but yuk, if I was to talk to her, tell her my concerns, I'm sure I'd just concentrate on her name. All the teachers at my school wear a name tag with the school crest hanging around their neck, so I'd sit opposite her and see this ghastly name every time I looked up to share my concerns with her. Besides, what could she do? She still works there.

They are not really problems, just things that concern me, very deeply actually. You may have gathered that they concern me so much I have trouble concentrating in class, which gets back to why I hate school. Work it out, if you don't or can't concentrate, it's unlikely you'll actually do very well at anything and that makes you a failure. That comes with two problems: getting back marks and getting harassed because of them. If they understood what actually happened, it would make things easier, but naturally, I haven't told anyone although I’m hoping writing it down may make it all look simpler. Luckily, or unluckily really, Toby won't be telling anyone because he’s not here anymore. I think he’s part of whatever happened at school. Of course, there are lots of stories and gossip, but I am not really in the know. I don't really talk to anyone who would really have the truth, the whole truth, so I don't listen to what's said, particularly given it’s pretty ugly what people have said about Mum, and Toby, and the school. It's safer to remain in my own little headspace.

When I do sort my dilemma, I will be able to concentrate a little better in most of my subjects. Until then, I have to just sit through classes agonisingly trying to look normal when I am really concerned and need to plan how I am going to sort things out before it all gets way out of hand.

The hardest part of this is not knowing quite what I should do. Could I possibly have the ability to be a kid detective or something a bit like that kid Nancy Drew? Fiction 3 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 is one thing, but this is life and the consequences are real. What if I did start investigating and discover some ghastly event or circumstance that Mum and Toby had been involved in? Something that was so shocking I couldn't even tell anyone. That's crazy, not only do I trust Mum and respect her mostly because she’s my Mum. Toby is someone secretly really special to me, and we had just started to sort of hook up. Not anything bad, just spending time together. A lot of time.

Toby started at my school at the end of last year, in November. It was hard for him coming into a school after people had established their friendships, made subject choices and connected to sporting teams, debating and all that sort of thing. He looked a bit different from the other boys in our class. He was taller and more confident, probably more mature as well. I discovered that was because he was a bit older, and he’s also a bit better looking than most of the smelly boys I had gone through primary school with and who inhabit most of my classes still. He was interesting, and as we both stayed after school for soccer training most days, we started to spend time together. It was pretty much centred on soccer, talking on the way down to the oval and afterwards cooling down and helping collect the balls, cones and taking the nets down for the coach, Ms Bathgate. She insists we will improve with combined training based on her psychology studies, and each year we have an inter-house mixed team competition. I’m not complaining, although it is not what was traditionally done here before Ms B. arrived. She is unusual. She has more piercings than I thought would be allowed at a private school, and that’s the ones we can see. She appears to be quite masculine, but Mum says that’s because of her job. Mum does have a nice side. I am not so sure. She looks quite androgynous and her first name is Terri, one of those ambiguous names dumb parents use.

Whenever we needed to have a partner Toby would look across at me and nod, just slightly, indicating he would be my partner. He often raises an eyebrow when Ms B sets up an activity, but I’m not sure if it is disapproval or amusement. Toby is very skilled and his ability with a football indicates he has played a fair bit. That means he’s far better than me, but he seems to be content to partner me for all the various activities. The only area I was almost at his standard was the 400-metre warm-up run we start with. That’s not a problem for me, I love running. In fact, I have spent hours of my life running. If I could calculate how many kilometres I would, but maths is not my strong point. So just accept that over my 17 years on this earth it would probably add up to well over 1000 kilometres, I think.

Since things have gone awry at home I’ve been doing as much running as I can to give myself time to think and to plan. I don't quite know what I am planning; it is still really at the thinking stage at the moment. In fact, when Mum and Dad occasionally talk about 'it'—as they refer to the event—I ponder, should I try to join in the conversation? It sounds strange referring to it as an event, as if it is a good thing, but believe me, with all the strange changes at home it cannot possibly be a good thing that has happened. I have yet to muster the courage to do or say anything to anyone.

4 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

So Toby, he is from Melbourne I've heard. I don’t know much about him really. What I do know is he lives with his Dad, one of those single-parent families that often get bad press. He did obviously have a mother but I am not sure where she is now and I am a bit egocentric so I haven't asked him either. He looks a lot like his Dad, who picks him up after training so he can drive home and add to his compulsory driving practice hours in an effort to get his driver's licence. I'll get mine next century, as I have a total of nine hours so far. If I am going to get to 120 hours with 20 of those at night, it will be a very long time from now. His Dad has a ute and also a nice little black car. Toby gets to drive both. Me; I only get to very occasionally drive the old, dirty, white Volvo wagon, which is our family's jalopy.

I'm quite in awe of Toby's Dad. He is always on time, organised with the L plates and a sports drink for Toby. The Fitzgeralds look alike too. That's Toby's last name. Better than mine, people always ask me to spell it and then laugh. Both are tall, blondish with brown eyes. Not the blond, blue-eyed stereotype that’s evident in my family.

My siblings are all sort of blond; from the dark blond that is almost brown, which Phillippa had originally, to the reddish chestnut curls of our resident three-year-old cutie, Joel. That will probably change but at present, we are all in reverence of his terrific hair. He is also very much at the lovable stage, having transitioned through the ‘terrible twos’ last Christmas. He has been blissfully loving and amenable ever since. Being number six probably contributes to his demeanour as he has five doting siblings happy to absorb his admiration and love at any time.

My hair is still blonde. I cheat and have foils every now and then to assist the maintenance of the blondeness. It started as an opportunity for my eldest brother, Dean, to experiment after his pre-apprenticeship TAFE hairdressing training course. It is a figment of his imagination that he will be a famous hairdresser and one day live in Hollywood preening, straightening and crimping the hair of the rich and famous. So, it went from that first experiment with some foils to a once-a-term thing. He will do five or six foils and we spend hours laughing and joking around, pretending we are in a salon and gossiping about the local tennis ladies who have a weekly wash and blow-dry or straightening at the salubrious Hair for Heirs after their hectic week picking up kids, lunching, shopping and of course playing tennis.

'It's so sad what I heard yesterday,' I say, speaking with a plumb in my mouth, a perfect imitation of Sally Jeffries' mother.

'Oh, I shouldn't gossip,' I continued, sounding like Sally's mum, who indecently spends her whole life saying she shouldn't gossip and then proceeds to do just that: gossip, gossip, gossip. What she hasn't actually heard from one of her reliable sources she just makes up. Dean happily prattles on sounding every bit the part. He continues to pick up sections of my thin hair and weave the comb through to select a row to place on the foil and add the most foul-smelling bleach to give a fabulous 'oh so natural' blonde look. As my sister always says, 'Of course you are a natural blonde, it says so on the bottle'. My sister Philippa has a penchant for blonde also, 5 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 but hers is in the same shape and size as her bestie, Bex, one huge head of white hair with many, many layers. It looks so fake but she insists it is the look she wants.

6 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Chapter 2

Toby has let the coach know that he will be away for a couple of weeks. I am disappointed I found out at training. I thought he would have sent me a text or updated his Facebook page. Apparently, his mother died, and although he hadn't seen her for years, he went to Melbourne to the funeral. Hopefully he will be back before too long. I sound a bit keen but looking forward to seeing him has been a welcome distraction. I guess that disproves all the gossip suggesting Mum’s departure and Toby’s had some connection. Thank God.

Back at school after a long and not particularly enjoyable weekend, the acting principal, Dr John Derek, spoke at assembly about the necessity to be responsible and to get on with things. I guess this is in reference to Mum's sudden departure not the absence of Toby. I never trust people with two first names and he was very ambiguous. And the Dr title. I heard his PhD was in sculpting, as if that’s a thing. He didn’t even mention Mum, just said that we had to move on, not listen to gossip and a whole lot of other stuff that didn’t really either mean much or make any real sense. It has taken two weeks for any acknowledgement that things are different. I didn’t expect a news broadcast about what happened, but Mum had been principal for four years. And surely even the community that was so quick to judge her should have the ability to show some sympathy or something, some level of concern at any rate.

Most Year 11s spent the time during assembly catching up with their bioI, as they have a test in period three. I couldn't concentrate on his waffle. I read a novel through his whole diatribe and resolved to go to the library and see if Toby had written on my Facebook wall afterwards. Hopefully I will get away with it. I am one of the few Year 11 students who didn't choose to do biol, so I have a free period in the library. Of course, we are told in words of one syllable it is a study period, but period three on Monday after a boring assembly, what study could have any urgency? So, I will attempt to become invisible and pass my time idly surfing the net and listening to Wolfmother. They’re cool, not prepared to perform in an event that is being sponsored by a tobacco company.

It is also time to plan what to do to help Mum and get things back to normal. I 7 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 remember when we moved from Astonville years ago and we were all desperately tired and totally disorganised, Mum remained really stoic. She kept everything simple and well-labelled so we could find things we needed quickly and she managed to remain calm and in control. Dad was away as usual. I think he has been away for every one of our moves. In my memory anyway. There have been quite a few, but he always manages to have some important meeting in Canberra. But now she seems to have lost her stoicism, her inner strength is no longer there and she cries a lot. There’s not real communication, my observation is that she’s being very emotionally absent.

Don't get me wrong, Dad is great and he’s a beaut father. Anyway, I think he is, although I have only ever had one. He sure is more human than my grandfather; his father. When he was alive we would visit on a yearly pilgrimage to Adelaide, and he always seemed so scary. For a start, he was really tall. That's okay I guess, but he had two fingers missing on his right hand. He was left-handed and as he mowed their grass tennis court there was a lizard basking on the warm grass. Grandpa bent over to grab the lizard and promptly cut off his two middle fingers on his right hand. That’s the story. When I was really little, I was frightened to hold his hand. I guess I thought I might catch something. He was also very strict. At mealtimes he made us sit up straight and not eat until everyone was seated and quiet and he had chosen one of us to say Grace before we ate. He glared at us as if we were foreign and he didn't talk to us much at all. I think by the time there were six of us he thought us really quite uncivilised.

From memory, we were just rather ‘exuberant’, as my grandmother would say. She'd say, ‘Sid, they're just kids’, but he would look down at us and mumble some unintelligible statement and walk off in the direction of his study. It was lined with books, mostly old musty ones about the sea and great adventures, nothing at all interesting to us. He loved the garden. Sometimes we would get into his veggie garden and find whatever looked ripe and remotely edible, until one visit when I ate handfuls of parsley and threw up a very green slimy mess that evening. Consequently, we were banned from the veggie patch from that point on. In a way I guess we spoiled things a bit for the little kids, but they have the benefit of what we older kids call ‘the Dad protection factor’. More on that later.

The most spectacular visit to Adelaide was when we trooped down to visit so Mum and Dad could go to one of the cousins’ wedding one Easter. There were no kids allowed at the wedding, so an old aunt of Mum's kindly offered to look after us in her fabulous old home with an orchard. As she had been a teacher, she was sure we would be easy to manage. However, we discovered numerous surplus eggs in her kitchen and decided rather spontaneously that an egg fight would be a great evening of entertainment and suitable for all ages.

Well, Aunt Rosemary was horrified and chased us with the garden hose on full bore to dissuade us. At the time it seemed like she was joining in, and we only stopped when the egg supply was depleted. Naturally, we were roundly reprimanded on the return of the wedding-goers and we promised .we’d be far better behaved in the 8 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 future. It only lasted about a week as we decided a great parting farewell gesture would be to short-sheet our superior cousins’ beds. There were four of them and they seemed a bit too sure of themselves, so we decided, led by Dean, that a fitting farewell was required. We still laugh because we left that night before dinner, so Mum and Dad never found out, and the cousins would have been so miffed that we scored one on them that it has never been mentioned.

Dad, he is hard to describe. He is very bright in an academic way but he seems to me to be a bit vague. He is certainly not very practical, particularly when it comes to child-rearing. He is always loving and patient but lets the little ones get away with so much because he feels it is good for the development of their independence. He argues that if he is wrong, it can be sorted later. Some of my friends from school think he looks just like a crazy professor, but that's just because he has a shock of thick white hair, lots earlier than most of their fathers. His attitudes frustrate Mum a fair bit and, as he is away regularly, she is often the brunt of crazy antics the kids are involved in, claiming they have Dad's approval. Probably the most significant recent episode was when we decided to entertain the little kids by getting them involved.

All this reminiscing has taken my mind off my immediate concerns about our current situation. Basically, Mum is no longer working, so without being a mathematician you can figure out we have far less money. She’s not her usual self either. She’s distant and not really approachable. While she was always busy she was totally organised and fairly calm and seemingly always there for us. Now she seems very stressed and agitated. She seems to have less time for us. I offered her my savings; the sum total of $728. This was as a result of great scrimping, saving birthday money and happily collecting any coins on the car floor, in the washing machine or from attaching trolleys at Aldi supermarket and pocketing the two dollar coin over the last four years. She refused, saying that in time it would work out and this difficult period would be a distant memory. Mum is constantly being told what doesn't break you will make you stronger and various other pointless clichés. She does smile and nod but I am sure she finds all those ghastly platitudes just make it worse. I think she would love to just forget whatever happened and move on, but that does not appear to be part of the current plan. Certainly, it is not to relocate, at any rate, not right now. If the options are fight or flight, it seems Mum and Dad have decided on the latter. The elder kids have to go to school and Dean is still vaguely looking for a job, even as a tea and tidy so he can eventually fulfil his dream to be a hairstylist, not a hairdresser, but a super stylist. He is convinced that in time it will happen. I admire his confidence, but I remain sceptical. So our lives appear to be rooted to remaining here for the immediate future. Besides, where would we go?

In my opinion, my sister Phillippa is a bit out of control. I am surprised Mum hasn't put her foot down and made some rules about her appearance, particularly her hair but also her increasing number of piercings. She has already decided she will leave school at the end of the year and find a job. She has no idea what sort of job and she has made no attempt to find any part-time work. In the meantime, she is totally devoted to not returning to school. I think some of her weird friends have put the 9 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 idea in her head. She is a bit of a follower and has yet to have an original thought, in my opinion. Don't get me wrong, I like her and we get on okay for sisters, but we are very different. Poles apart actually. Who would have thought the same Mum and Dad could produce two girls so different? She is a throwback to Mum's side perhaps. She has very dark blue eyes, thick mousy hair, although currently Jane Russell platinum blonde, she is short, thin and, well, dumb. She does no schoolwork at all and spends her life fantasising about going to Melbourne, living in a groovy, little flat in Kew and working in a boutique. I assure her that a Year 10 education will get her nowhere; however, she is convinced she will be able to talk her way into her dream life. She certainly spends a considerable amount of time talking, mostly rubbish, so she is getting plenty of practice.

She actually spotted Toby first. Phillippa, of all people. She was on her way to the toilets the day he arrived with his father around period four at the start of Term 4 last year. She had a good look and quickly sent a text to her friends. At lunchtime I saw her in the playground gesticulating madly with her group, so I went to discover the basis of this and was informed that a 'babe' had just arrived and would be in Year 11. It didn't even cross my mind again until the following day he was in my advanced English class and Ms Hopper welcomed him. She is one of those teachers who is very easily distracted, and she often forgets to get around to actually discussing what we are studying. At the start of Year 10, she spent the whole lesson talking about her wedding and all the money her father was going to spend on her. Naturally, we were all fascinated, but at the end of the lesson, I mused to Sally that it seemed a bit shallow when we had just spent four weeks trying to raise enough money to sponsor a World Vision child in Tanzania. Sal thought the whole wedding thing was very romantic and hoped she would put the pictures on Facebook so we could see the dress, hair, flowers and all the rigmarole that’s involved in weddings. We didn't get to see it on Facebook in the end. She returned bronzed and relaxed from an extravagant Hawaiian honeymoon with hundreds of self-indulgent pics. By that stage I had alienated myself from Sally, as I had bumped her from the top five ranking in English and she felt it was a personal slight rather than me finally applying myself to a subject I had traditionally been very lazy about.

I am a solid student—or was before the disaster—but more importantly, I am obsessed with sport. Any sport really. I run regularly, play soccer and still represent the district in tennis every year. The tennis is really because no-one else ever wants to go to the regional tournament as it is a five-hour bus trip. If you get beaten in the first round you have two days of watching tennis, umpiring and scoring before the five-hour return trip. One year, it was a complete catastrophe. We were leaving early and I had not packed any food for the trip. When we stopped to get the morning papers, I bought six little packets of red sugar-coated peanuts thinking they would be a good snack for the trip. They were. When we arrived and trooped off to the toilet before we started to warm up, my pee was bright pink. Actually, fluoro pink! I was so alarmed I thought I was dying of some ghastly disease and burst into tears. I was inconsolable. Mr Holcombe, our PE teacher, called Mum, who calmly said she was coming to get me immediately and would be there as soon as she 10 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 could. That was no mean feat, with five kids to organise and a long drive each way. She was amazing, nothing was too much for her.

I am still to live down the embarrassment, but that was in Year 9 and time has moved on. I still go to the tournament, although it is not very popular with Year 11s. Most of them have already started to negotiate the tricky path to balancing being glamorous, catching a boyfriend or at a minimum securing a partner, planning a dress for the formal and hair, shoes and nails, for an event which is a mere seven months away.

I am tall like my Dad and I guess also like maternal Grandpa in Adelaide. I have rather muddled memories of Grandpa Buchanan and I wonder if they are not a blended montage of him, Grandma and those crazy aunts and their skeletal husbands who frightened us on our yearly trips to Adelaide. Of course, Auntie Rosemary of the orchard fame still looms large in my memory, although that is no doubt due to the fruit trees and the bounty we returned home with after a visit.

Mum’s family is all crazy. They still reside in the glorious festival state and have never ventured very far. We hardly knew Dad’s family. Grandpa Stilton was a naval man and often away. I guess that’s the role model Dad has embraced, he is away all too often.

I have Dad's big feet, a real advantage in sport but not good for looking elegant, and a real problem if I want to wear Phillippa's shoes that are two sizes smaller than mine and usually the height of fashion, so impossible to actually walk in. I also read voraciously like Dad. Pip, however, is very proud of her record of not having borrowed a single book from the library in Years 7- 10. What a disgrace, particularly as both Mum and Dad value reading and are spending good money on her education. What's good money anyway? Money well spent or hard-earned money? I guess it is limited by what good it can actually do. Pip is okay really, she’s just nothing like me and I worry, probably unnecessarily, about her.

11 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Chapter 3

Toby is finally back. I was not his first priority; rather, he headed to see our soccer coach. I guess that was expected, he’ll want to get back to normal after two weeks away. Melbourne would have been freezing. Winter in Melbourne is often rainy and always cold. People say it can have all four seasons in a day, but to me it's just freezing or raining or both. He looks a little different, perhaps he has had a haircut or being inside for days has removed the glossy tan from him. I am curious to know what happened. In time I suppose he will tell me. There is always the gossip girls. By now they probably know it all or have made much of it up. Although, he keeps a pretty low profile, under the radar really. He seems content with that. I suppose, in a way, that is why I was surprised he sought me out as his 'regular' partner at football training. As I said, I don't have the skills he does, but it encourages me to keep working hard. It's a focus really, and right now that is just what I need.

Meanwhile, I have decided to work at becoming cool. It’s hard when you are a cross between a tomboy and a nerd, but my aim is to get a little bit better informed and try to socialise more. Sally and I had a bit of a falling out about the time Mum left work and I have made no effort to sort things out. I should have, because we have been best mates since Year 1 when we bumped into each other crying, as we did not want our mothers to leave. We stayed together and wallowed in our misery for the rest of the day. By the following morning, I wanted to get to school and see Sally again.

By the time we hit high school we were more than inseparable. At the end of Year 8, we chose the same subjects so we could continue going to class together. That meant I had to do commerce and Sal took French, one of my favourite subjects. At the start of Year 11 things were okay, although slowly deteriorating, particularly when I managed to score really well in an English assessment, displacing her from the top spot for the first time in years. She actually took it personally, totally unaware of the torment I was suffering after Mum’s dismissal. The extra work I had done was simply to occupy myself and try and take my mind off things. Still, after all the years I’m sure we can patch things up.

On Year 6 camp we decided to defy the separation edict and at around 9:30 pm I crept over to the cabin I thought Sally was in. Just as I was about to say ‘psssst’. I hesitated, and then a ghastly sound emanated from the cabin. It turned out the Year 5 and Year 6 teachers were trying to catch a lizard that had invaded their bathroom 12 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 and now resided on the back of the loo. Neither of the teachers had a clue what to do and thought their shrieks would encourage the beast to depart. Naturally, it just froze and as I approached the door, I didn’t know what to think, but I quickly turned, raced back to my cabin and lay rigidly in my sleeping bag until I finally went to sleep. When I heard what the previous night’s commotion had been about, I thought it was hilarious and was so relieved my vivid imaginings had amounted to nothing.

So back to the now. In the week following Toby’s return, it was completely captivating watching him giving his oral presentation in class. He had clearly done a lot of work, despite missing two weeks of school on his recent Melbourne sojourn. He knows a bit about belonging, our area of study, if his elaboration on the concept was anything to go on. It was really engaging and not just because I find him appealing. He talked of a football injury when he had to decide whether to simper in the corner with a very painful black eye and dislocated shoulder and became the butt of the jokes, or keep going despite his lack of connection and trust with the team and the game. The latter choice was his realisation of the true meaning of belonging.

He made himself become part of the team and not just through physical skill. He realised the need to connect with the people, to develop trust and understanding. Football is important in his life and he tries to use his football experiences to be more of a team person, despite his natural desire to be a loner. I discovered that he had actually been quite a speaker and successfully competed in the Speak Up Speak Out competition at his Melbourne school. I guess he kept it quiet because it’s a bit nerdy. What an enigma. There is so much I would like to know about him. Well, the Year 11 formal is in the not-too-distant future, so I can either ask him or hope he asks me. What a dilemma. Still, a pleasant distraction to have after the implosion at home last night. I was so glad I volunteered to do my oral early, as I would have been in no state to do it today. Mum really lost it and after tears and yelling and more tears I got no work done.

Our formal is held at the start of Year 12, which is Term 4, as an introduction to what is supposed to be a very serious year of hard work and preparation for the future. I suppose the theory is to get the formal over with as soon as possible and get on with the real purpose of Year 12. That purpose is to be scared and threatened by a rather arcane system designed to ascertain university suitability. The dreaded Higher School Certificate, an onerous series of public exams over three weeks in October/November.

For Toby to expose such feelings through his oral was quite startling and I was not alone in clapping spontaneously at its conclusion. When he winked at me as he returned to his seat, I was secretly delighted that he had acknowledged me, and even more surprised when after class he spoke to me. Unfortunately, I was so surprised I reacted by asking sarcastically, ‘What did I do to deserve this honour?’

His reply was a simple, ‘Just checking if training is on this afternoon’. The connection, though not lost on me, prompted a simple response. I said, 'Natch'. 13 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

I felt really dumb, but hey that's life. I had lots on my mind between contemplating my family situation and trying to develop a friendship with the enigmatic Toby. And I suppose get to the academic responsibilities also. Will he be able to feature significantly in my life if I am preoccupied with the apparent mounting complications at home? Mum was remaining quite tight-lipped regarding the ‘event’, and family meals were very strained. It was not the usual inquisition about our days rather some quiet chat between the kids while Mum looked distracted and sad. She was making a sterling effort but unable to convince the older kids that everything was, in fact, okay.

Dad hadn't been home much either. He was in Canberra most of the time and not much use or moral support for Mum. I'm not sure what parents do or say when they are on their own, but I am sure he could have made Mum feel a little more supported as she attempted, single-handedly, to resolve whatever had happened and get things back to normal. Although I am not sure what normal is any more. We have been in the 'new' situation for weeks and it doesn't appear as if a resolution is even close. Something ghastly must have occurred for Mum to spend so long away from school and not really be in contact with anyone there as far as I am aware. I really cannot imagine what it could possibly be.

The other night Mum was out grocery shopping and those of us at home started talking about things and trying to work out how we could help. Mostly, we just wanted to know what happened and how to get life to return to its former glory. I am not sure that can, or will, happen. We talked for ages and resolved to each try to have a quiet chat with Mum and offer help and support by trying to ascertain what happened. The little ones were pleased because we ignored them and they ran riot while we fantasised about resolving a problem that we were ignorant of, in the extreme.

The wait to score a partner or not for the formal is over, and I did not score. I may have to go with my brother. I love my brother Dean, but really, how desperate would that look? At the only decent school event of the year, it would be catastrophic to be seen with no date. It is almost a litmus test for leadership roles in Year 12. While school captain or becoming a prefect is not a popularity contest, there is definitely an element of the formal reflected in voting results. I remember when Dean was in Year 12. The belle of the ball was school captain-elect a few days later. There is something about being able to show one's best points, both physical and social, in a public forum. I wonder what I did wrong, why Toby didn’t ask me. I am not hurt, more puzzled. Actually, I am hurt, I would love to go with him. I get the feeling he is happy to be a friend and a partner for training, but he has no romantic interest in me, and I am building up our friendship to be far more than it is. Certainly, it appears to be far more for me than he thinks it is.

The more I think about it the more I refuse to accept that I did anything wrong. I am stubborn and usually fairly confident, and I suppose that was guiding me as I assumed I would be the ‘lucky’ girl and score an invite before the cattiness started 14 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 and the judgements on who is going with whom, what they are wearing and who is invited to which pre-formal party got underway. It reminds me of a story Mum told me about her hooking up with Dad. He visited her family home as a regular guest when he was completing the practical component of his engineering degree. He had studied at a university in Sydney and did the prac part in Adelaide. Mum and her brother had already decided that he was a good sort, but their younger sister would be the best option in their matchmaking. Wrong. Mum ended up besotted and well, I guess the rest is history. Must be, because they married and voila, six kids later, here we are: six kids, Mum has no job and Dad is a bit of an absentee father. Not to mention that we have no knowledge of why Mum has no job and life at home seems to be a bit out of control. All routines seem to have dissolved overnight.

You can never tell how things will work out, particularly in the field of romance. Although I am not sure romance has anything to do with the formal, it seems to be about who you are seen with and how much you can drink without getting caught. Of course, if Deputy JD has anything to do with it, it will be a very boring affair and full of ‘what ifs?’.

The twins, siblings numbers four and five, or equal four if you consider they are twins, were born 10 minutes apart and are a very consolidated unit. This means that in terms of family events, they can work together, console, argue and question as a united front. It most often means they are quite happy to be left alone in their own little world, solving problems in a very convoluted manner, usually in consultation with Dad. Although they’re just six, they are very self-sufficient and can organise breakfast for themselves and Joel, but the latter aspect can prove to be rather messy. Bridie is the leader and 10 minutes older but, she has a lazy streak that has already manifested itself, particularly with doing stuff around the house. Rory, well he is quite a character. He is sure his real dad is Irish. He’s not, we all have the same dad and he is from Sydney. It probably started as a result of his name. I understand it was a last-minute decision, as the assumption was that the twins would both be girls and Bridie and Lucy their names. What a surprise we got when Mum and Dad came home with one of each.

Whenever Dad calls to say he is nearly home, Bridie will race out onto the verandah with the ‘see far aways’ to see if she can see him coming. I think once she started school someone told her they were actually binoculars but she reverts to her own language once she is at home. Now that they are being home schooled I wonder if her vocabulary will develop or if she will create her own language. Some seriously talented people created their own languages as kids, look at the Brontës and Tolkien, it certainly didn’t do them any harm.

Rory is the quiet one unless they are jabbering nonstop about some matter that needs resolution before either will move on. He is a keen reader, unlike Bridie, who can’t be bothered. I secretly think that is her response to the quick uptake by Rory and rather than be usurped she has decided not to compete. At six he has read a stack of things I only managed in Year 7. He seems to understand them and when he comes out with a profound statement, he validates himself. Dad calls him ‘the 15 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 prof’, short for professor, as he is a bit of a science nerd in his own quiet way.

It’s tough on the twins or Stilton squared, as Dean refers to them. They are delighted that they no longer go to school. It shouldn’t last but at the moment the onus is on us older kids to help out. I choose Rory every day as he is receptive to stuff and wants to learn, particularly when I suggest that silent reading is on the program. They do have each other but my memories of primary school are of fun, and they are missing out on a lot of fun.

The real news of the moment is Phillippa has decided to move out. Her unselfish claim is that it would help the family in this time of crisis and would alleviate the extra demands on the limited budget and space. It is a bit of a shock, as a family we have usually stuck together despite the recent changes. She is the most unlikely one to be thinking of others. Mum says I need to be a bit more charitable and not so quick to judge. Moving in with Bex and her family will only fuel her crazy ideas about her future. Bex, Rebecca Loyebenjko, has the latest of everything and is basically a spoiled brat. She is an archetypical only child and she flirts with any male: student, teacher, gardener, school groundsman, mechanic, trolley boy at Woolworths and my brother Dean in particular. She’s in Year 11 but befriended Pip when they momentarily played in the same hockey team in Year 10. I think they played four games before Holly, our erstwhile PE and sports coordinator realised they had no idea about the game. It was clearly a ploy to impress the boys who trained for rugby on the adjoining field. By that stage, they had become firm friends. No doubt they had snagged few guys as well.

Dean could not be less interested in the romantic overtures, but does that stop Bex? No way, she is determined to have a very comprehensive resume of accomplishments before the end of Year 11. And the accomplishments don’t relate to academic achievement in any way. I suspect she is the reason behind Pip’s plan to leave school and seek the bright lights of Melbourne next year. They spend their lives texting each other, plotting and scheming and this is seen in the climax of those telegraphic symbols they are so addicted to. Selfishly, I can enjoy more bedroom space. Sharing with a cross between Marilyn Monroe and Lindsay Lohan has been challenging. I am not sure the ubiquitous smell of her cheap perfume will ever leave.

I know, I have skipped over the lack of an invitation to the formal and it does, to a degree, loom large in my mind. But I feel something will come up. I have always been a glass-half-full kind of person. If Toby wanted to ask me, he would have, but he didn’t. I hope some desperado asks me soon. And he did. One of the most repulsive boys I caught nits from in Year 3 has asked me to partner him to the formal. Jarrad is not appealing and has no idea what life is like for me at the moment. I am sure he thinks it is all about him. He needs to make sure his mates see he is not a complete loser, despite the fact that he is. He has stayed at school because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He does absolutely no work and his results in most assessments are usually in single digits, which he thinks is a great laugh. I find him so childish. His mother works in the tuckshop at school and 16 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 she is not my biggest fan; nor I hers.

That probably all stems from the time I decided to rally to have a healthy tuckshop and Jarrad’s mum took it personally. I had no idea that somewhere in her past she had studied dietetics for a couple of years and did actually know a bit about food. I also hadn’t considered that feeding about 120 kids a day made it pretty difficult to have no preservatives, no frozen food, expensive free-range eggs and organic fruit, homemade snacks and serve it all hot or cold and on time. She still refuses to acknowledge me on those rare occasions when I decide to supplement my healthy lunch with a can of coke. It might be a rather uncomfortable pre formal party if I have to make small talk with her.

Anyway, the deal is done. I have accepted Jarrad’s invitation to partner him but had to insist on some parameters. They were numerous and prompted a rather salutatory groan from him as we walked towards the Art Block in period six the following day. I insisted that he pick me up in a car, he didn’t get a kiss of any sort at the start or close of the night, I had no obligation to go to the post-formal party with him, and he wouldn’t be able to monopolise me for the evening, on or off the dance floor. Apart from the fact that he had to clarify the meaning of monopolise, he agreed to the terms and conditions and then promptly did a ‘whoop, whoop’ and raced off to class. He will, no doubt, publicise the news before too long and I will have to try graciously to admit my folly when asked.

With that sorted, I will now need to make a small mention at home to clear the way for some minor expenditure so that I both appear and feel appropriate for the big event. Before that, I have a major PDHPE assessment due and I need to focus on the family issues a bit to try to resolve how to get over my anxiety about ‘the event’. No mean feat; indeed, quite a challenge.

I am so over schoolwork. We seem to get so much. As soon as you finally complete something, sure enough, something else looms large on the horizon and it’s back to the books again. This time it is a PDHPE task. People always assume it couldn’t be that difficult, but it is. We have been studying biomechanics and have to analyse a movement and apply Newton’s laws to explain it. So, far more complex than you’d expect. The word limit is considerable and it is expected that diagrams are included.

It would appear that, as a school, we are going to be hosting to a group of students from New Zealand. It is part of a sporting exchange. Nearly 40 students need to be housed or billeted for four days, or nights really. There is a full program of sporting fixtures planned and it sounds great. There are soccer teams, netball teams and as it’s the Kiwis, a rugby team. We are not very good at rugby at our school. Soccer has always been the focus. There are boys who play for the local club but we don’t enter into any school competitions. This could prove a desperate move, trying to beat a bunch of Kiwi rugby players who have spent their whole lives being drilled and skilled, and who believe they have a birthright to win when it comes to beating any sporting team in Australia.

17 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

I am hoping to play soccer and Pip has put her name down to be in the cheer squad. She hasn’t been all that communicative since her move but Mum said she has requested money to help her create an outfit, which can only be a dangerous thing.

Trials are on after school today. I am not too concerned but there is the bonus that Toby will no doubt be there. Trials are not being conducted for the cheer girls; they have self-nominated. And with Bex and Pip involved, there’ll be much planning and little consideration of talent. I gather that over 20 girls are expecting to be part of the meat parade.

There were stacks of kids there when I arrived. I started to warm up and volunteered to the coach to get stuff out for the games. We bundled loads of balls into nets and dropped them off at each soccer goal. The goal nets had been attached by the groundsmen earlier in the day. There was quite a carnival atmosphere, even though it was getting cool as the sun slowly lowered in the western sky.

It was a successful afternoon and I went home high as a kite having not only been chosen to play but selected to be the captain of the girls’ team. Mum was delighted for me and promised to be there to watch the games. She always says that and has seldom lived up to my expectations in the past. She has always had a rather important last-minute meeting preventing her being there. Things may be different now. We’ll see. I just feel that this ‘issue’ is such a distraction for her she’s not able to understand that we are all affected by this.

We obviously haven’t the space for billets but I still felt a significant part of it. I didn’t get to shoot the breeze with Toby as the teams trialled separately and he shot off at the end to add to his driving hours. Still, I am feeling good about things and sent an SMS to Sal. Her encouraging reply was a pleasant surprise.

Bex and Pip dropped in, they wanted to rifle through Mum’s ancient sewing things to salvage whatever they could for their outfits. Pip has had her nose pierced. I thought Mum would have apoplexy, but she just sighed and reminded her that it was not appropriate to wear the little stud at school. Pip groaned and was about to give Mum a serve but at the last minute seemed to realise that it would not be advisable. Dad was not around, so after Pip left, I curled up on the sofa to watch Home & Away hoping to have a bit of a chat to Mum. I wish I knew what happened. While I still felt responsible for sorting or even solving the family issue, I had stuff I wanted to work through. And as Grandma Buchanan always reminds us, two heads are better than one. Of course, Dean always says people would look weird with two heads and Mum gives him the evil eye. The twins giggle and put their heads together mischievously.

After chasing the kids off to their bedroom, Mum plopped down next to me with another loud exasperated sounding sigh. She made me feel her problems were so much bigger than mine. She seems overwhelmed but very reluctant to share 18 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 anything.

‘How was your day, sweetheart, aside from the success of the trials?’

I gave the usual response but then decided to talk to Mum, really talk to her. It was hard to know where to start.

‘I’ve accepted the invitation of Jarrad Simpson to partner him to the formal.’ I had finally accepted it, especially now that I told Mum. She was shocked but appeared to maintain some decorum.

‘Are you serious?’ she gasped, attempting a level of surprise to cover her absolute abhorrence.

‘Well, yes I am. I know he would never have been my first choice or even my hundredth choice if I was doing the asking, but he asked and I was desperate, I suppose.’

‘You have your work cut out for you going with him, Charlie.’

‘I know, I know, but what could I do? Say no and not go, or go with Dean like you have always joked?’

‘Darling, you know I would never have let that happen. Besides, Bex has asked Dean. He’s not going, of course.’

‘You’re kidding! She is totally nuts. When will she realise that he is not her type; at all?’

Then she made it easy for me and asked about my apparel choices for the big night. Thank goodness, because I did not know how I was going to broach the subject of actually spending money. Particularly if the spending was on something as frivolous as a ‘wear once’ dress.

‘Mum’, I ventured. ‘Can we, I mean, can the family afford this?’

‘Darling I don’t know what you think has happened but having the right outfit for the formal is a priority, and in a week or so everything will be clear and anyway …’ She trailed off and didn’t finish her sentence.

‘But Mum, school, and all that, you don’t work?’ I had now gone where I had never been, ever. And more pertinently, after ‘the event’, I had not been able to approach anything remotely sensitive.

She was quiet for a moment and then she blew me away.

‘Charlie, you are not to worry about that. And when Dad gets home from Canberra 19 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 this weekend, we plan to talk to you all and explain things.’

Maybe there was finally going to be some explanation and a ‘reveal’ of the mystery. While I doubted it I felt we were certainly getting somewhere in terms of being more open and honest about the event. I still really had no idea, and the fact that Dad and Mum planned to talk to us and plan the way forward was a positive. What happened to 21st-century open and honest communication? I am not convinced it exists in my family.

There were a million things I now wanted to ask but I felt the moment was gone.

‘Ok’, I asked. ‘Can I get a new dress?’

‘Yes, let’s start soon so we don’t get caught leaving to the last minute and end up with something neither of us happy with’. Her enthusiasm was palpable.

‘Mum, what do you mean us are happy with?’ I was worried that there would be a level of censure and I wouldn’t get to look spectacular, or as close to it as I could manage.

She agreed to contribute significantly to the cost and be an observer with few rights, which would not include having the power of veto. That would be hard for her, but it sounded like a fair deal.

After the success of that exchange, I decided it may be worth mentioning the other things that were consuming my thoughts.

‘Mum, can I ask you about some other stuff?’ I asked rather sheepishly. I was hoping she would ask questions rather than me having to actually spill the beans. But she didn’t, so I gathered my thoughts and blurted out. ‘I really like Toby and he didn’t ask me, what do I do?’

Her face didn’t change. She smiled, a tired, resigned kind of smile and just paused, took a breath and said, ‘It will work out. Go to the formal with Jarrad and hopefully Toby will ask you for a dance. Besides, there are plenty of fish in the sea, sweetheart.’

Despite her momentary genuine engagement, that was clearly the end of that discussion. She couldn’t really connect with the gravity of the situation for me. I was disappointed but resigned in a way and I did feel that having put it out there, at least she was now aware. I didn’t say half of what I had planned, but to be honest, I had no idea how or what I would have said. I can’t explain to anyone right now how I am feeling. It is a bit like sinking in mud, it happens slowly and you gradually become aware that you are out of your depth and it is quite a frightening feeling. I was focusing on issues that I shouldn’t really care about, but I couldn’t seem to stop going over and over it in my mind. What I should have done? How I can help? And then there are the other selfish thoughts that are entirely self-centred and all about 20 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 me. The sum total is really quite an unhappy person.

At school, I am fairly busy, so the thinking time is limited and even though schoolwork is my full-time job, as Dad always reminds me, I still manage to let things get me down. Some of it relates to my lack of academic progress. Apart from English and PE, I have always been fairly average. I am keen to go to uni, mostly to escape I suppose, but also I can’t imagine what I could possibly do or be if I didn’t study something. Spending life stuck in a hick town offers little interest for me and with the family’s life in such a turmoil with mum’s issues its unlikely we can stay here anyway.

21 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Chapter 4

Well, there is some pretty startling news in the family. Our darling, sometimes quite over-the-top Pip, is in hospital. It appears she has been quite sick for a while and it wasn’t until she moved in to live with the Loyebenjko family that, in their care, it was noticed. She has been shipped off to hospital and is in need of a bit of TLC, I am sure. We are planning to visit. I am not keen. She has a bit of a history of theatrics, although not quite at this level. I remember we packed up the family and headed off on a long drive to visit a great aunt in outer western Sydney suburb of Castle Hill. She was a nice old bird, quite interesting, but after a while we got bored and wandered off to investigate the surroundings.

We happened onto a veggie garden and tasted the various produce and Pip overdid it, just slightly. She ate heaps of lollies and on the trip home in the Tarago she threw up and, you guessed it, all over the place. It was really, smelly, a bit like something from a hospital show but we weren’t protected from the smell. While it was not hospital material it was pretty revolting and a horrible trip home. Mum was calm as a cucumber and just pulled over, cleaned up the vomit, took a few deep breathes and got back on the road. Almost emotionless is Mum, but she gets things done. It was before the family’s major hiccough though.

This time she must have done something serious. Dad is on his way home so he can hold the fort while Mum does the care and concern thing I guess. After school Mum is going to get me and head off to see Pip. I will have to miss training but who cares? This is serious stuff. Isn’t it?

‘Mum, how long is it going to take to get there?’ I was hoping we could resume our chat, even though I felt a bit selfish. I figured we would be stuck in the car, just the two of us for a while, and it would pass the time.

‘I gather about 40 minutes. I need to be careful as it gets dark. I have to stay alert, the roos have been everywhere’. So, I offered to drive. That was never going to happen. We were in a bit of a hurry and the speed limit for looser L-platers was 80 kms per hour. Mum was calm but she clearly needed to see Pip to feel reassured that her family was okay. Then Mum changed tack.

‘I think all black would look a bit severe’, she said, almost completely out of the blue. She had these crazy rules, but she was getting more relaxed in some respects, 22 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 although the black thing was one she was fairly rigid on, so to be offering this olive branch was significant. That was a rule, despite fashion, no black before you turned 18. No reason. Just some crazy thing that Mum thought was relevant to growing up properly grounded. Go figure.

‘I was thinking’, I mused, ‘something mostly black but with some white or colour somewhere. Would that be ok?, You know, a black skirt and top with a wrap of some kind.’

Mum was quite au fait with the idea, much to my surprise. ‘Okay’, she said. I thought the whole nails, hair, shoes, bag stuff will need some negotiation. At least country kids don’t worry about fancy limousines.

I was happy. The other stuff was not so important anyway, as long as I looked sensational when I walked in and Toby wished he had asked me. ‘Great Mum, it’s a deal and I’m happy to contribute to the cost’, I offered.

‘No need, darling, I appreciate your generosity, but I am sure we can manage. As soon as we sort Pip out, we will plan a shopping trip to Canberra.’

‘Mum’, I ventured, ‘do you think we could go to Sydney? Everyone will shop in Canberra and the choices are so much better in Sydney. And no risk of having a mirror image arrive like happened to you at that New Year’s Eve ball when you were at uni.’

I think she had lost enthusiasm for our planning as she didn’t respond. She just concentrated on the road as dusk slowly emerged over the hills to the west. As we neared town she braked and cautiously entered the 60 km per hour zone. Her calmness seemed to melt as we approached the base hospital. Clearly, she just wanted to be there with Pip. Her anxiety was palpable. Maybe she knew what was about to happen.

She nattily parked near the casualty entrance and strode purposefully towards the nurses’ station. I noticed a quad bike in the emergency spot, the engine still running. I was surprised and even considered it may well belong to someone we knew. But Mum just kept going, apparently unaware of anything else, single-minded in her purpose. She responsibly turned off her mobile and enquired where she could find Pip. To our surprise, the nurse asked us to wait as the doctor wanted to have a chat with Mum before we saw the patient. I wondered if Dad had arrived or we would also have to wait for him. The nurse beetled off to find what to do with us with an air of efficiency.

No sooner had the nurse reappeared we were ushered into a small room at the end of a corridor that lead to the children’s ward. Pip would be miffed if she was being considered a kid and was residing there; in the children’s ward. Dad was waiting in the room but didn’t really seem all that pleased to see us. He suggested to Mum I should probably wait outside but as I began to protest Mum disagreed and I was 23 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 permitted to remain but instructed not to make comments. I was pleased to have her support. His mood was reflected in his dark suit. He almost looked like an undertaker.

The doctor introduced himself and instructed the nurse to leave us, presumably her role in this was merely as an usher. The doctor seemed nice, very young but quite confident in his manner. I wondered if they learn that at uni. Clearly, Mum and Dad were anxious to hear what he had to say. They fidgeted as he closed the door and moved the chairs so all three of us could sit in a semi-circle facing him.

‘Well’, the doctor started gravely, ‘Phillippa Jane is not too bad considering’.

‘Considering what?’ Dad asked impatiently.

‘For a girl of her age to lose a baby at 21 weeks is quite dangerous, particularly as she didn’t arrive at the hospital until hours after the miscarriage.’ I was gobsmacked. Mum was nodding sagely and Dad was about to explode. I quickly summed up the scene. Mum had known or guessed, Dad hadn’t and there was going to be a lot of explaining to do soon; very soon.

‘Pregnant? Miscarriage? Gen, did you know about this? Why wasn’t I told? Should Charlie be in here? What is going on in my absence?’ Dad roared in rapid-fire questioning, most unlike him. He was furious and his reactions were not at all familiar to me. He is usually so calm and relaxed we wonder how he manages to hold down such an important job.

‘Calm down David, the health of Pip is the most important thing. We can discuss morality and communication later; much later.’ Mum’s calm and organised façade had reappeared, and she was taking control of the situation with her usual aplomb.

‘Doctor, how is Pip? I guess we need to consider both her physical and mental health as she is only just 16 and still at school. I am sure she will want to see us as soon as she can?’ Mum asked.

‘Mr and Mrs Stilton, you will certainly see her shortly, but she is very upset and feeling as though you may never want to speak to her again. In fact, she was surprised that you came immediately to the hospital. Her friend Bex has been with her, I think she was the one who alerted the hospital. Either that or her mother, who brought her in this afternoon. You can see her directly.’

‘What? Of course, we want to see her now’ Dad spluttered, unsuccessfully attempting to keep his anger in check. ‘Bex’, he said in a very negative tone ‘is sure to be the bottom of this I would suggest, she’s to blame’.

I couldn’t help myself; I had felt invisible through the whole thing, so I spoke, just quietly. ‘Dad, a girl can’t make a girl pregnant.’ The doctor smiled, Mum frowned at me but surprisingly Dad seemed to calm minutely and smiled tentatively at me. 24 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

‘So’, Dr Nallaiah started, ‘firstly I need your permission to do a D and C, Pip needs to be treated medically and then we can discuss the plan for her recovery and recuperation. Obviously, there are numerous things to consider, but foremost I need to get the op underway.’

It was a disaster, I could not believe what I had just witnessed. Pip pregnant, then not pregnant, and now she needed an operation. What about the skinny, bleached blonde school kid who was my little sister? And what’s a D and C?

‘She was admitted six hours ago so we are preparing now for the surgery. In women younger than 35 years we don’t generally advise this, but I feel undergoing a dilation and curettage is required as she has had significant bleeding, and a miscarriage at 20–21 weeks is quite serious. I want to assure you that the miscarriage was natural. Phillippa has in no way had an influence in this. From our brief discussion on admittance, she was hoping that she had not lost the baby and had been very pleased with her successful pregnancy.’

This is all so way out of my experience. I wanted to see Pip, I didn’t want to wait for her to have the operation and then wake up to the realisation of what had happened. Mum and Dad were speaking quietly, and I felt again that I was invisible. I felt like just leaving and going back to life before the doctor had spoken to us. That was not possible. Suddenly all my concerns over assignments, exams, formals and dresses seemed so insignificant. What must be going through Pip’s head at the moment?

In what seemed like ages the doctor returned and Mum and Dad hastily approved the operation. We were told in an hour or so we would be able to see Pip. We decided rather than looking at each other for a couple of hours in the waiting room we would go and find somewhere to eat, as we didn’t know what the night held. I am sure Mum won’t eat, she never does at times like this. What am I saying? We have never really had times like this. I am normal so I was starving, it had been quite an afternoon. I usually go home after school and scoff whatever I can find. I was sure Dad wouldn’t be off his food either, although he had not reacted like his usual laid-back self at all so far.

As we wandered out of the hospital, I noticed the sun had set, and as darkness fell it seemed as if God was in harmony with how we were feeling. We found the ubiquitous Chinese restaurant and sat at chrome and laminate tables with a box of home-brand tissues and a glass full of bamboo chopsticks wrapped in yellow paper serviettes with ‘Family Chinese Astonville’ printed on them. The yellow matched the yellow fluoro light outside the sliding door at the entrance. Apart from that, the décor was such that this place could be in any Australian country town.

No-one ate much and Mum constantly looked at her watch and the screen of her mobile phone. I wondered what she was thinking. It had certainly been quite a year for our family so far. Dad and I ate quickly. Mum just pushed the food around and 25 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 had a few rice grains. We finished and Dad paid for the beef and black bean and fried rice and we headed back to the hospital. As we passed the pharmacy Mum decided to pop in and get some things for Pip. Dad and I waited outside and stood awkwardly. I was wishing the time away, hoping it would be next year very soon and all the dramas behind us. Just when it seemed things were on an even keel an almighty wave hits us again.

I am rarely stuck for words but I didn’t know what to say. The thoughts were crashing around in my head but I couldn’t manage to verbalise my feelings. I was so mixed up. I couldn’t even imagine her situation. Here was the elder sister, me, still hoping that Toby would notice me at the formal and maybe, just maybe, kiss me. What was I thinking? Pip had obviously been having sex. When? How? Well, I know how, but who with? Twenty-one weeks is a long time ago. That was before Mum left work, before we moved. Wow, I guess I was in shock.

Suddenly, I realised that the kids were at home. I felt we should have considered the others, had Mum or Dad called Dean? He was holding the fort at home, probably totally ignorant of what had happened. With his chequered career as a social animal, he would be the most likely one to be sympathetic and understanding. I suddenly wanted to hug him and the kids and say it would be okay. It would, wouldn’t it?

As we approached the hospital Mum surprised us with the time, we had been gone for more than 90 minutes so Pip was sure to be back in her room and we would get to see her. Mum also suggested that no questions should be asked. At this stage, Pip needed support and not judgement. Dad just nodded. He still looked like the anger he had displayed earlier was just under the surface.

Entering the foyer, the nurse who had greeted us initially was leaving, her shift finished, I guess. She looked tired, worn-out. It would be a tough job. The emotions, the problems she would be constantly exposed to, would make it a very challenging job. She smiled and hurried off into the night.

Two local cops walked into the hospital looking for the owner of the quad bike parked in the doctor’s emergency space outside the casualty entrance. They were not pleased, obviously a slow day. They knew who it belonged to but had to be polite, small town and all that. They were probably looking forward to some excitement.

A nurse emerged from the treatment room and we overheard her explain that the quad belonged to a patient who was being treated for snakebite. The cops followed her into the room and discovered Jeremy Maiden looking rather green around the gills. It was not the cop’s presence but the snake, a brown snake in fact. He had loaded it into a pillowcase, and it accompanied him on the trip to town on the bike. It was at least 10 kms. The cops were suitably chastened. Explaining the situation to the nurse we heard the whole story, it added a rather humorous touch to an otherwise dour night. 26 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Dr Nallaiah was at the nurses’ station and smiled reassuringly. I was hoping that was not just part of his training but the result of a successful outcome of the operation.

‘Had some sustenance?’ he asked, in a friendly and caring manner.

We nodded, eager to get on with things. Dad stepped forward, asserting himself for once and asked, ‘How did it go, Doctor?’

‘Everything is fine. Pip is keen to see you all. Let’s get you upstairs and you can see for yourself.’ He strode off purposefully. I wondered how he maintained his enthusiasm and kindness. He had told us he had taken the call on Pip’s admission over seven hours ago. It was now after 8 pm and we had arrived before 5 pm so he had had a long and challenging day. He had dealt with Dad’s anger, Pip’s medical condition, operated on Pip and now happily escorted us to see the patient.

The hospital was fairly run down; no doubt a result of the state government’s inability to get a handle on the health system. The foyer on the ground floor is okay but clearly things deteriorate as you proceed past the public areas.

Suddenly I was keen, anxious, sad and curious to see Pip. I had no idea about her life really. I just couldn’t begin to comprehend what had happened. It was so far from any experiences I could ever dream of.

The doctor led the way and we entered her room in single file. Mum was first, followed by Dad and then me. It was a dingy yellow room with harsh fluorescent lighting. The attempt at decorating evident as I looked around at the primary coloured animal wall hangings and faded floral curtains. The privacy screen was drawn around each of the four beds in the area. Pip was over near the window, lying still and crying. I pushed through the parentals and grabbed her and just hugged her for what seemed like ages. Mum was next to me, she was crying, but noiselessly, and trying to be brave as her daughters both sobbed. Pip looked helpless and very vulnerable in the narrow, metal hospital bed. She wasn’t tall and the bed seemed to swallow her as she shook, wrapped in the white sheet, her hospital gown askew and her hair a total mess.

‘Pip, you okay?’ I whispered. What a dumb thing to ask. I didn’t know what to say, I was overcome by her, lying there, looking so helpless. As we untangled from the hug she poked her tongue out at me, grinned and grabbed my hand.

‘I’m okay Charl, but a bit shell-shocked really. Thanks for coming.’

‘Pip, as if I wouldn’t’, I mumbled.

‘Man, what a gigantic stuff up,’ she said to no-one in particular. She looked okay considering what she had been through in the last 12 hours. I was hoping in the 27 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 next minute Mum and Dad could show genuine caring. Sure enough, Dad rushed up to her and threw his arms around her neck. The ice had been proverbially broken, now it was family closing ranks and showing a solidarity known only to those who members of a large Catholic family.

Then it dawned on me, I was not sure what the ‘stuff-up’ was. Was it the pregnancy? Was it the miscarriage? Was it us finding out? I didn’t really know her at all. I had been so wrapped up in my own world I had failed to have any idea about Pip’s life. She was just 13 months younger than me, so we had been quite close as little kids, before the others came along.

When I started high school, I moved in very different circles, so I moved away from the things we had shared. No more commonality really, except our last name. I made decisions that took my life in different directions. I worked consistently in class and concentrated on soccer. Pip got into boys, clothes, music, makeup and boys. That was when she seemed to change. We went our separate ways to an extent. I was a cross between a nerd and a jock, into sport and schoolwork, and Pip, well, into anything except sport and schoolwork.

‘What happens next?’ Pip asked in a tiny voice, looking very small and unsure.

‘I am not sure, but I’m glad you are okay. I’m here for you, mate. Did Mum tell you I am going to the formal with Jarrad?’

‘No, you’re kidding. Jarrad! What happened to the cool dude, Toby?’ she asked.

Reluctantly I had to admit, ‘He didn’t ask’. It was hard to say it, and the truth often hurts.

‘Shit! I am so sorry Charl, but Jarrad, that is quite down-market from Toby Fitzgerald, yeah?’

It was like nothing had happened. We were chatting about the formal. Pip was lying in a hospital bed, in a ghastly hospital gown having just experienced a D and C and we were acting like nothing had happened. I had so many questions, but I was sure Mum and Dad were eagerly waiting to show their concern, care, love. And get some answers. I was hoping in the next minute Mum and Dad could show empathy. They didn’t’.

‘Sweetheart’, Mum moved over to Pip’s bedside, ‘I have got some pharmacy things you may need. I made sure the girl included a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, moisturiser and lip balm—the pawpaw one you like—and some peppermints because you may feel a bit queasy.’ Mum gave Pip a squeeze but was more concerned with the practicalities of the situation. Typical Mum. She put the goodies she had purchased in the metal cabinet beside the bed, then carefully stood up and smoothed Pip’s hair, looking a little less overwhelmed.

28 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Pip smiled and said a quiet ‘thanks’. Mum continued to rabbit on. ‘I didn’t think to bring a nightie but Dad’s going to stay in town and will pop into Target in the morning and get whatever else you need.’ Mum was in her usual control mode and had thought of everything practical but was sadly lacking in empathy. It is obvious that our changed domestic situation and mum’s hasty departure from her role as Head of School is still having a significant impact on her, particularly emotionally. She is certainly able to be in control but there is clearly something missing, maybe it’s just her self-confidence.

Mum and Dad had obviously had some consultation and made some decisions. I didn’t know where that left me, so I decided to speak up.

‘I’ll stay with Dad so I can be here for Pip in the morning’, I volunteered, not expecting a positive response.

Pip was pleased with my suggestion, Mum’s clear disapproval was reflected in her scowl, but Dad, surprisingly, was definite. ‘That’s a great idea Charlie, that would be terrific.’ Dad had made a firm commitment to my suggestion and his convincing tone meant the decision was fait accompli. Pip seemed relieved. I smiled; similarly relieved.

Mum hugged Pip, this time more convincingly, then headed off down the hallway, having obviously moved onto deciding what would happen next. She had the others to think of, the kids needed her at home and her own situation was still unresolved as far as I was aware. I guess when things go wrong it is a distraction for a time, but I am sure her removal from school would be constant cause of pain for her.

‘So, Pip, have a good night’s sleep and Dad and I will be back first thing in the morning to take you home.’ I had taken on Mum’s role as organiser automatically. Little bits of confidence were appearing. Dad had returned to his usual self, happy to go with the flow. We said our goodbyes and wandered off to the Town and Country Motel just up the street from the hospital. Small country towns, so predictable that we hadn’t even considered we wouldn’t get a room. Lucky it wasn’t September as the show is probably the only time of the year the motel is full.

As expected, there was no problem and we had a choice: a twin, double, suite or family? I was so tired I could probably have slept on the white line down the middle of the Hume Highway. Dad opted for the twin and with no luggage, it was only moments later that I was in bed and asleep.

After my initial tiredness had been sated, I woke and tossed about, a million thoughts scampering around in my mind. Dad was lying on his back, breathing quite audibly and sound asleep. Even being with him in this motel was a weird experience, just us and not the rest of the family. I started to hatch a plan. I thought perhaps Pip should indeed go to Melbourne or even Adelaide and start again. I could go with her, still finish school and look after her. That way neither of us would be a burden at home and Pip could recuperate. I could concentrate on getting good 29 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 marks. In my plan, there was no provision for where the money would come from or the logistics of two kids relocating and setting up house. I thought of Pip as an adult in many ways after the series of events that unfolded today. She seemed somehow different, no longer twitty at all.

I must have dozed off because what seemed like moments later the sun was peeping through the gap in the ubiquitous vertical blinds and it was morning. I rolled out of bed trying to quietly collect yesterday’s clothes and slip into the bathroom. Realising I had been picked up from school and the only option was my school uniform, I mentally groaned, perhaps more audibly than I realised. Dad rolled over and surprised me, saying, ‘Don’t be long, we need to get going as soon as we can. I want to be there for Pip.’

As if my plans would be any different. His comment reminded me of what little time he spent at home and how he didn’t really know me very well at all. I was the resident greeny. I had put the enviro egg timer in the shower. I had a three-minute shower daily. And naturally, I wanted to get to Pip as soon as I could. While we were now able to process the knowledge of yesterday’s events with a modicum of hindsight, I was sure the raw emotion of it would be evident this morning and for days to come.

As I emerged from my super short shower to don yesterday’s clothes my mobile buzzed, incoming message. I had been so engrossed in my life and the family that I had completely forgotten about the outside world. School, training and meeting Sal before school had all been wiped out by the doctor’s announcement yesterday, ‘For a girl of her age to lose a baby at 21 weeks is quite dangerous’. Lose a baby, that was such a shock. We hadn’t had time for one of Mum’s famous and often very serious family meetings to decide how to proceed from here or, as usually happened, be told what is to happen and then be offered a chance to give input after the fact.

I rushed over and grabbed my phone and was stunned that the screen showed the message was from one Toby Fitzgerald. Okay, I told myself, be calm. He could not possibly know where I was or what had happened, it was probably just about some now seemingly irrelevant school matter. Before I could check Dad said, ‘Who’s that? If it’s not family, I would prefer you didn’t answer it.’

‘Hang on Dad’, I said genuinely surprised, ‘what do you mean don’t answer, it’s a message?’

‘Charlotte, this is a family matter and we don’t want any more trouble than we already have. I would prefer if this stayed in the family for now, until your mother sorts through things.’ Dad was quite emphatic, this did not seem to be open for discussion, he had made that very clear. He had not even listened to me.

‘Um, okay, it is just Toby probably wanting some info for, I dunno, soccer or something.’ After I had said this, I realised Dad probably didn’t even know who Toby 30 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 was. His tone was so definite I didn’t feel there was any option on this one. ‘Okay, I will turn my phone off’, I offered. That was not accepted either as Dad felt we both needed our phones on in case Mum or one of the kids needed us and by that, I’m sure he included Pip.

‘Okay, whatever’, I responded, again not feeling very valued or more accurately very mature. Why couldn’t I rise to the occasion and be a superwoman and work all this stuff out in Mum’s absence. Dad left it at that and went to shower. Luckily for him, he had come prepared and had fresh clothes. I guiltily looked at the screen on my phone, curious to investigate Toby’s message. I resisted momentarily, packed up my minimalist travel kit of nothing and waited for Dad.

Just as he emerged from the bathroom Mum called and Dad was relieved when I answered and said, ‘Morning Mum’ quickly to reassure him I had not flouted the family solidarity ruling. I would not be party to their plans so I immediately gave the phone to Dad, who did a lot of nods, yeah okays and then said, ‘Okay see you soon Gen, we are on our way now’. I steeled myself to ask Dad what was happening, but the reply was redundant as he said in a rather matter-of-fact manner, ‘Going to the hospital asap to meet Mum and see Pip’.

At the last minute I feigned an urgent bathroom visit and quickly checked the Toby message. Just a friendly reminder of this afternoons’ training.

As Dad strode off, I scurried after him hoping his changed manner was temporary and he would return to the Dad of old soon. As he had paid for the room last night, he returned the key via an early checkout chute in the foyer and we headed back up Carlisle Street to the hospital as the crisp morning air welcomed us.

We entered through the casualty entrance again and surprisingly, Mum and all the kids were there waiting for us. It seemed like staying in town had been useless. Our remaining in town should have meant we offered extra support, been called on or been able to provide Pip with company. Still, Mum did look calm and in control and I am sure having driven for nearly three hours in total by the time she appeared this morning she had the whole thing worked out. She would have planned, with military precision, our next moves. Indeed, I proved myself correct as she immediately took control.

‘Charlie, pop up to the ward and see if Pip is ready to be discharged. David, the kids had an early start, can you please take them to the Golden Arches for a special breakfast and Dean, if you bring Dad’s car up from the hospital carpark to the loading bay, I will sort out the paperwork. If everyone is back here in 20 minutes we will head home together.’

Dad was about to object as his car was strictly for work and no-one, not even Mum, drove it. But he was delegated and he obeyed despite a rather tired and concerned look that indicated to me he wanted some consultation. However, clearly that was not going to happen at this juncture. I wasn’t sure mum-in-control was comforting or 31 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 just a façade that remained part of the aura of control she exuded. Things certainly had changed very rapidly.

She makes my head spin at times with her efficiency. No emotion at all, just total control and all of it logical. So, I thought, as usually the family closes ranks, I bet absolutely no-one knows about this. That’s fine, but it also reduces the level of support available and we already have issues we are dealing with as a family, and right now I reckon some ‘problem shared, problem halved’ would be okay. Mum will never relinquish control no matter how what. Her work issues will remain a secret and she will determine when and if we get to hear about it.

My night-time fantasies of making this all okay seemed so lame in the reality of daytime. Clearly Mum had been thinking and planning overtime. As a school principal she had no doubt done that consistently, but our family was different, and she was no longer a school principal. I just wished we had more of an idea so that the Pip thing could be our focus and no ‘elephant in the room’ remained.

As I marched up the stairs to Pip’s room I was surprised at the activity of the place. Nurses and doctors everywhere. I later learned that 7am is a shift turnover, so there was actually double the number of staff you would expect usually. There was Dr Nallaiah smiling and welcoming another long day. ‘Good morning Charles,’ he called. It was too late to say anything by the time I realised he was referring to me. It seemed Pip was not the only one going home today.

He had only met me last night and was introduced to me as Charlie, so had made the assumption I was Charles. Did I really look like a boy? Perhaps it was the long hours or the trend of parents calling their kids ridiculous names. Nike is not so bad, that’s a girl from Dean’s year, but there are twins in Year 12 this year who are called Precious and Treasure. That really tops it, so to be called Charles is not so bad, as long as he realised I was a girl.

As I entered Pip’s room, I could hear the woman at the bed opposite sitting with a little boy, facing the window, waxing lyrical about Dr Nallaiah at the top of her voice. It was reassuring really, given that he had been looking after Pip. As if on cue he arrived, cheerily greeted Pip and checked her pulse, blood pressure and happily consented for us to venture downstairs and check out.

You don’t really check out of hospital, you are discharged, and there is a stack of paperwork to do before that happens. Thankfully, no money changes hands, but there are all sorts of instructions and reassurances: if anything happens, come straight back. After going through all the administrivia rigmarole, the nurse called over the PA for Dr Nallaiah. So, our departure was momentarily delayed until he appeared, with the ubiquitous stethoscope around his neck, to farewell the now assembled Stilton family.

‘All the best’, he reassured us. ‘If you need to pop in, do so any time. Pip you are lucky to have such a wonderful and supportive family, I know they will take care of 32 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 you.’ With that, he gently rubbed her arm and walked off in the direction of the children’s ward for another day solving the medical problems of our district.

It sounded sincere but was really a bit glib. He knew nothing of our current situation. How could he project his desire for us to be a wonderful and supportive family after knowing us for less than 24 hours, I wondered.

That 20 minutes quarantined by Mum for preparing for departure had sped by and as we walked out through the automatic opening glass doors I wondered, not for the first time, what happens next? It didn’t take long for Sergeant Mum to sort out my thoughts.

‘As Dad’s car is not really meant for personal use, Pip, you go with him sweetheart, and I will take the rest. Charlie, you can drive and add some hours to your logbook. We are in no hurry to get home.’ Well, that is a surprise, but I was up for it, I certainly hadn’t got very far with the compulsory hours. Of course I could already drive but the system didn’t allow for that.

As we wandered over to the Volvo I felt as though my life had changed. I was an adjunct to the events. It was Pip who had the experience but somehow I felt some of my innocence had gone, and it was not going to come back either. Mum buckled the twins in the back of the car and Dean plopped Joel in his booster seat while I got the L plates from the glove box—which incidentally had no gloves in it—and shoved the yellow cardboard squares under the number plates front and back.

As we headed out of the hospital carpark Mum started sorting the rest of the day. First, she called school and curtly informed the dragon at reception that neither Pip nor I would be at school today. To Mum’s horror, she was asked about Pip’s health.

In the most diplomatic voice, she could muster she responded, ‘Jane, she is fine, and I will inform you, when appropriate, when the girls will return to school’. But things did not end there. I could feel Mum’s hackles rise. ‘I don’t know where that information came from, but it is really none of your business and while I am sure Mrs Findlay means well, we would prefer to leave it at that. Thank you and goodbye.’ She hung up quite abruptly preventing any further engagement. I am sure Jane felt if she got a toe hold, she may be able to mention mum’s departure.

Mum had been very clear. She didn’t particularly like Jane at the best of times. She was a sad, single, 50-ish Mum who wallowed in self-pity, forever claiming how tough life was. Given her habitual moaning, it was no surprise her husband had left her years ago and returned to Canada, where he came from years ago. He did leave her with one nerdy kid who was in the primary school called Joseph. The kid could do no wrong, although I had heard he was as dumb as dog shit and her mother got inside info at staff meetings to help him with his work. Not the kid’s fault really. Some mothers seem to live their lives vicariously through their kids; it is a recipe for an unhappy life really.

33 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

So, it would appear that the gossip had already started but Mum was not sharing it with us as I concentrated on negotiating the highway amid the plethora of morning utes making deliveries and others setting out on their long haul trips to deliver produce to both Melbourne and Sydney. I hoped Dad was not grilling Pip as they shared the trip home. As I thought that, Mum received a text from Dad who had stopped to get petrol to say Pip was asleep. Good move Pip.

I didn’t feel very relaxed. The driving was no issue but there were so many unanswered questions in my head. School, the girls’ soccer team to play the Kiwis, the formal, my PDHPE assessment, Toby and of course Pip. Oh God! What was Bex doing or saying at the moment? Is that why Toby really sent the text? Had good sense prevailed? Was she remaining loyal to Pip? Or, was this too great an opportunity to be the centre of attention? The doctor said Bex and her Mum had been at the hospital last night when Mum and I arrived. I hadn’t seen them, but they were no doubt privy to what went on, or some of it at any rate.

Mum continued to make calls and Dean amused himself by annoying the twins in the back. He delighted in telling them ghastly stories to gross them out and the worse the stories got the more the kids objected and enjoyed themselves. Rory was beginning to challenge him and suggest that some of the events were not possible. Poor Deano, losing his touch. I suppose he had his own demons to deal with. While he had not done the proverbial ‘come out of the closet’, it was clear to everyone that he was not what my grandfather would call a ‘man’s man’. Whatever that meant. I am sure if the family knew it would be easier for Dean. I guess Dean had to know it himself first.

To me, he was awesome. He’s a really great brother and a terrific friend. We were radically different, in every possible way, but he was sensitive, caring, responsible and funny. He was also an expert with foils and face it, a girl needs a reliable support crew. His ability to parody was supreme. He didn’t do very well at school and didn’t suit the old-fashioned expectations to conform, so he left after Year 11 to pursue the hairdressing thing, not that successfully yet. A nineteen-week TAFE course was all he had managed so far. Grandpa Buchanan thought he was planning to be a barber and thought how unusual, as all the blokes who had ever cut his hair were Lebanese.

As we headed west with the sun behind us, Mum finished her telephonic responsibilities and suggested we stop at Woolworths to pick up some food and stuff. That was brave. Anyone could see us and stare, comment or even question. Mum didn’t care, she didn’t suffer fools. I could see her getting back her confidence, she would welcome the challenge. As I pulled into the carpark, I could see Toby’s dad’s ute parked over near the fruit barn. He supplied them with his gourmet asparagus and terrific honey, but no worries there and no L plates in sight, so Toby was no doubt at school with all the other suckers.

Wrong, Toby emerged from the cab of the ute carrying a huge box of something, probably asparagus. Before I could hide, he saw me and smiled. Now what? Mum 34 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 hopped out of the car, taking Joel with her calling, ‘Won’t be long, make some space on the back seat for the groceries’. However, the incident was not lost on Dean.

‘Charlie’, he whispered. ‘Go over and talk to him. You don’t have to say anything about Pip, he won’t even know. Clearly, he isn’t at school anyway, and it will take time for the bush telegraph to reach him with the news’. I felt anxious for a whole stack of reasons, but what the heck, ‘in for a penny in for a pound’ as Dad says. Not sure what he means really, but what difference can it make to what seems like a shambolic life anyway?

I strolled over to the ute with a degree of fear and trepidation. What if he did ask questions? What if he mentioned the formal? What about the text I hadn’t answered, or even read? God, Charlie can’t you just chill and stop over-analysing everything? Note to self, just be normal, whatever that is. Be still my beating heart!

‘Hey Charlie, no wonder you didn’t respond, you are not at school either, want to catch up later? I have about three hours of deliveries to do for Dad and then I’m free. I could come over and pick you up? I passed my Ps test on Monday, that’s why I wasn’t at soccer’. Great, what an opportunity and I am going to have to pass on it.

‘Hey, that would be great’, always accept the invitation first then do the letdown, ‘But I think I am needed at home today.’ How lame, perhaps a bit more enthusiasm was needed in the first bit. ‘Toby, it would be awesome’, I thought, ‘but couldn’t it be at another time? Our lives are a bit out of control at the moment, but I really want to.’

‘No worries, I should really get that PDHPE assignment done anyway. Have you started it yet?’ he asked in a rather disinterested fashion. He seemed to have lost interest and was looking beyond me, not really at me.

‘Nup, I guess this weekend will be awesome, that and the modern history source analysis to do. C’est la vie. Better go, see you next week.’ That was dumb, he would wonder where I would be for the rest of the week.

I had well and truly blown that. He probably couldn’t care and would not give it another thought. It was an opportune thing, he saw me and asked. Probably not that interested at all. I felt better if I rationalised it like that anyway. Quite sad though, I could almost fanaticise that he had asked me out. No, that would be getting desperate.

Mum saw me and gave me a wave and almost smiled, totally oblivious to the tsunami in my head. She was loaded up with groceries, so I said a quick ‘see ya’ and headed over to help her out. She seemed to have bought enough to feed the proverbial army. I guess if we were to hunker down for a while, not having to come into town would be good.

35 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

‘Thanks Hon’, she said. ‘Was that Toby you were chatting to?’

‘Yes, and he wanted to hang out later but without giving anything away I told him I couldn’t’, I reassured her. I didn’t want to make Mum feel bad or cast a bigger pall over the family, so I tried to sound like it was no biggie, even though secretly it was huge.

She totally ignored what I had said. I resented both my decision to not see Toby later and her inability to have any concern for me. ‘Let’s get this stuff in the car and get the kids home. It has been a long time since breakfast and if possible, some planning and a family meeting is needed before too much longer.’ Mum the organiser, I knew that a family meeting would inevitably happen soon. ‘Dean’, she called, ‘can you give us a hand?’ He was nowhere to be seen, no big deal really but the twins were still in the back of the car and probably a little stressed with no big people around.

Dean emerged from the loo at the servo across the other side of the car park. He had actually been the responsible big brother and headed off to fill a water bottle for the kids. That was Dean, practical in lots of ways, always generous and very caring. Not only had he filled the bottle he had bought them a python each. You know, the Allens jelly things in ghastly colours, made entirely of sugar. They were rapt.

We filled all the available space in the car and beetled off home, only to find that Dad and Pip had not arrived yet. That was strange because they had not stopped other than for petrol and should have beaten us home. I refused to read anything into it. At times my imagination was out of control. I’d dream up the most horrific accidents, so sure I was orphaned or the sole carer for the family who were now quadriplegics. None of which had come to fruition, but it may explain why I have imagined Mum leaving her job as principal at the school as such a big deal. Our lives had really been pretty ordinary. No real dramas, although Pip could certainly now claim to have the scoop.

Naturally, they turned up fairly soon. We were unloading the car when they drove in, rather slowly. Pip had slept for much of the trip until the flat tyre happened just as they entered town. Dad was a bit of an expert at tyre changing and in less than 15 minutes he had the tyre changed and they were back on the road, just enough time to arrive just after us.

I pondered what had happened in town and tried not to read too much into it, but I was certainly feeling pretty positive as it was the first time Toby had suggested anything like that before. The sum total of our friendship had been at school, soccer and my fantasies. Naturally I had hoped he would ask me to the formal, but he didn’t and there was no reason to think he owed me an explanation, but I may have been able to tell him how I thought. As if, still never hurts to dream.

‘Charlie’, called Mum from the kitchen. ‘Can you give me a hand? I have to help Pip to her room, and I need to get lunch organised for everyone.’ 36 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

‘Sure’, I called back and snapped out of my daydream. I had the feeling that I was about to be expected to step up considerably for a while. I could do that.

‘Ham sandwiches for everyone I guess, anyone want tomato as well?’ I yelled to no- one in particular.

Mum reappeared and wanted to organise me. She can’t help herself she has ‘her’ way for everything to be done. She asked, ‘have you remembered not to butter the bread, the kids don’t like the taste of slippery butter on bread?’

I had to reply, although shouldn’t have ‘Of course. Mum I am reasonably capable you know?’

She ignored my retort and took off again to do something more important than respond to me.

Dad wandered into the kitchen. He was still in his rumpled suit but had taken his tie off and was looking dishevelled and so much older than I remembered. Even last night he was calm after his initial outburst but he was clearly puzzled. He wandered over to me and put his arm around my shoulder and gave me a gentle squeeze. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, it made me realise he was always there for us, even if he really lived in Canberra.

After lunch, Mum checked that Pip was asleep and she asked Dean and me to hang around to have a chat to work out a few things. I was secretly hoping she would finally explain the reason she was no longer principal. She started by reminding us that we were not to talk to anyone about Pip. Unlikely her issues were going to be addressed. She was predictable really.

‘Our primary concern is Pip’s health and well-being and of course to ensure she recovers with our love and support. We should not consider her situation as a mistake but an unfortunate and very sad outcome for her.’

She continued not expecting nor getting any response from anyone. ‘Dad will need to go back to work tomorrow and I have an appointment, so Dean, if you can stay with the kids and Charlotte (now I knew she was serious calling me my whole name), I think maybe you could go back to school.’

Dean and I chorused a quick ‘okay’. We needed to get a word in.

Half of me was pleased with her suggestion, returning to normal would be good, but I really felt Pip needed me. How could she relate, honestly, to old people, even if they were her parents? I felt I hadn’t been the sister I should have. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t feeling it was my fault. I don’t do guilt, but I wanted to be there for her if she was going to have recriminations, I thought I could help her. When I think about it, I am not quite sure how. 37 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

The plan was Mum had an appointment in town at the bank in the morning and would drop me at school, Dean would look after the kids and Dad was going to head back to Canberra. Pip would remain at home and her gear at Bex’s place would be picked up later in the week. We were all happy with that, but Pip had yet to be told what was happening. I volunteered to go and let her know.

I took off to our room and creeping up to the door I secretly hoped Pip was asleep so I could gather my thoughts, but as I opened the door carefully she was sitting up in bed pulling on a sweater. She looked just like the Pip of old, slightly dishevelled but very happy in her skin. I’d changed, I could feel genuine emotion for her, not my usual critical self, judgmental self.

‘Hey, Pip we’ve had a family talkfest and Mum has decided I am going back to school tomorrow, Dean will stay home with you and the little guys, Dad is going back to Canberra and you have time to recoup and be spoiled a bit.’ I outlined the plan quickly and then we got back to general chatting, but Pip was still very tired and after a few minutes she dozed off.

I hope I could be more supportive and make her feel ok about things. There was also a level of curiosity I was to satiate.

I slipped out of our room and closed the door quietly. This whole scenario was beginning to do my head in. Pip seemed back to her old self in many ways, but she had clearly been through an amazing ordeal in the last few days. She was happy to be organised as she always had. I still puzzled over who the bloke was. I guess in due course I will find out, assuming Pip knew herself. Although I may never know and really that is ok. I need to accept that possibility.

In the meantime, I grabbed my school bag and decided it might be good to get a handle on what I had to get done in the next few days. As I settled down to consider my options the phone rang. Eager to accept it as I sign that needed to have a break, I jumped up from the table to grab the phone.

‘Hey, it’s Charlie’, I answered, trying to sound cheerful. Surprisingly, it was Grandma. Just her usual call to see if everything was okay and give us a weather report from Sydney.

‘Charlie, how lovely to talk to you, is Mum around?’ she asked, clearly not that enamoured with talking to me at all. Hopefully, the bush telegraph hadn’t reached Double Bay, and this was simply her usual cursory daily check-in.

‘Sure thing Grandma, how’s the weather in sunny Sydney?’ I asked with no interest in her response. ‘Mum, Grandma is on the phone.’

‘Darling, can you tell her I will call later?’ I had a feeling that would happen, now I am stuck with prevaricating with the truth. Surely, she would be innocent of the 38 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 events of the last few days.

‘Grandma, Mum will call back, okay?’ I hoped she would be satisfied with that. However, I was disappointed she wanted to engage in conversation.

‘Charlie, I called to see how Pip was, is she at home?’ Now I was in a situation that I wasn’t sure how I should respond.

‘She’s fine, she’s asleep at the moment, so Mum will call later. I need to get some work done, good talking to you. Ciao.’ I quickly ended the call hoping I hadn’t given anything away.

39 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Chapter 5

I opened my PDHPE folder and rifled through my notes to see if I could locate the assessment task. My notes were in such a mess. All the recent events had meant I was not my usual organised self. I felt I really couldn’t give a stuff about schoolwork and was finding it increasingly hard to see the point. I couldn’t concentrate in class and when it came to do an assessment, I was unable to start as I had no idea what was required. Maybe that was an ‘in’ with Toby, I could ask him to help or better still, we could work together. There I go fantasying again.

I wandered out to the kitchen, ostensibly to get a drink, but also to see if Mum was around and in the mood for answering a few questions. I was muddled about so many things and I felt a bit of honesty was needed. Mum had said before the Pip thing that she was going to talk to us, and had she intimated that all would be explained about her job and her sudden departure from the principal’s role.

I wasn’t sure that was going to happen. She had a lot going on and I felt I needed to be patient. In the whole scheme of things, we were all safe and had each other. I couldn’t find Mum, so I returned to the books. It was no use, my mind wandered and I thought through the last few weeks. I ended yet another daydream musing that maybe Toby was interested in me and maybe I should be a little more proactive.

When it came to it, I was not really up for it. I had nothing to substantiate my thought that Toby was interested. What I did know was that I was, and I really had no idea what to do, or say. My plan started with the formal. I felt sure that if I bided my time and played it cool then at the formal I could … I dunno ... do or say something if I could get him away from his partner, whoever that was.

I decided to concentrate on my return to school tomorrow. There was sure to be a myriad of questions and what isn’t asked or said would be alluded to by all and sundry. Bloody Jane will no doubt be all a twitter wanting to know everything. I was quite anxious and even a bit nervous about it really. At least we had English first period, the one subject I really liked and was good at. As I packed up my school things I realised I needed to get reading, we were starting our novel next week and I hadn’t even started it. I loved reading usually but after the events I had forgotten completely. I figured now was as good a time as any, so I located Wuthering Heights and wandered out to the garden with the intention of reading for a couple of hours. 40 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Unfortunately, that was not going to happen. No sooner had I opened the book my mobile chirped in my jeans pocket. As I checked the screen I was surprised that Jarrad O’Connor was the caller, my erstwhile formal partner and well-known loser of Year 11.

‘Hey Jarrad.’ I was hoping this would be a short conversation.

‘Charlie, I just wanted to check you were still okay for the formal and what colour is your dress?’ That was a surprise, but also an opportunity for an out. That would be a bit rotten, wouldn’t it?

‘Jar, I am fine and yeah I am going with you. I said I would, so I will. I’ll let you know about the dress, it’s still being decided.’ I was in a hurry to end the conversation not wanting to be in a situation where I had to answer tricky questions. Then I realised it was Jarrad O’Connor and he would be the least likely to have a clue about what day it was, so it was not likely he would have heard or remembered any scuttlebutt.

‘Ta, Charlie, see ya at school.’ That was a surprise, who would have thought? Maybe he had grown up. Or was there an ulterior motive? I wish I could stop over- analysing everything. It was weird but I was left with the feeling the formal wasn’t worth it. Jarrad had risen to the occasion and behaved himself and proved a reasonable choice of partner. My intent had been to, at the very least, dance with Toby. He arrived late and his partner, a friend from Melbourne, looked terrific. Her dress was slinky, calf length and a very soft green. The choice complimented her auburn hair, which was stunningly piled up, looking very elegant.

The actual formal was very predictable. Everyone was uncomfortable and filling in time until we could let our hair down and head for the woolshed to party until dawn. I hadn’t made a commitment to go but wanted to see Toby, so I was sure I could be talked into to it very easily.

The formal food was disgusting. I couldn’t believe we paid for it and had spent hours deciding what to have. I sat hesitantly next to Jarrad and tried to eat, to no avail. I was obsessed with what was going on at other tables. Toby’s in particular. At the last minute the band bailed and we had the DJ from the local pub. He was very average and played some really bad music. It was a predictable night and the most exciting aspect was checking out dresses and shoes and the prolonged photo session when we all did great muck-up photos. Pictures we would no doubt look at in the future fondly.

It was a relief when the time finally came to go. We scrambled to get out of the hall and into cars. I managed to weave my way through the crowd and cadge a lift with a bunch of yobbos who couldn’t wait to sink some beer. The idea of a good night was not who you spent it with, but how much you could drink before throwing up. I was safe, these boys and I had a long history, primary school together and little in common. Happily, in their sober state, it was quite safe to get to the post formal 41 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 party.

The post was out at the Maiden’s woolshed, a short drive from town and almost walking distance to our front gate. Everyone was taking off their finery so we could get down to some serious partying. Jarrad’s mates had organised a keg with Jeremy Maiden who worked at the local as a glassy on Friday and Saturday nights.

By the time I got there, having changed in the car after the boys had headed off to find a beer, the music was pumping, and stacks of sweaty bodies were celebrating having survived the rather formal aspects of the evening and were now really having fun. I saw Toby in the distance, but his gorgeous date was nowhere to be seen. He winked and beckoned me to join him on the dance floor—a rather grand name for it really. It was an area cleared of wool sorting tables and decorated like a kid’s party with coloured paper streamers and balloons. The bar was at the end of the shed, a bunch of the dads manning it.

He held my face and gently tilted my head up towards his. He then put both hands on my waist and drew me closer to him. We were almost touching, and he smiled at me, the killer smile, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I thought I would melt. He smelled divine; he had obviously just had a shower. I wished I had taken more care. My hair looked yuk and my jeans a bit baggy, not cool skinny jeans. I wanted to feel like a princess, feel I belonged with him, but a million insecurities occupied my mind. My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could see my tee-shirt moving.

‘Charlie’, he said in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, ‘let’s go outside’. It wasn’t a question. Before I could breathe or answer he had taken my hand and was weaving his—or was it our? —way through the writhing bodies out through the doors onto the balcony.

As if to jinx the moment I asked where Jade was. How dumb was that? I should have just accepted the fact that he had signalled me. I couldn’t work out how to act or what exactly was going on as he had not asked me to the formal nor had any explanation been available. My querulous look prompted an immediate response.

‘Charlie, the deal was only the formal. She’s gone to a party with Sal and she goes back to Melbourne tomorrow.’ He was full of surprises. Why couldn’t I relax? Surely this was what I had dreamed of. I couldn’t believe the last couple of months and tonight was no exception. I had no allusions, Jarrad had behaved and I accepted his invitation to come along to the post-formal party as it was close to home, despite my earlier stipulations that I was not available for partnering him beyond the formal. No, not really, I was secretly hoping I would see Toby. His table at the formal had been on the other side of the room and after meeting his partner in the line-up to select our meal at the buffet, I had not really seen much of them again.

In my nervous state I didn’t know what to think, what to do. Then or now. As I trailed behind Toby holding his hand, I felt euphoric. The weeks I had lamented having not been asked by Toby had just disappeared. I was holding his hand, he had kissed 42 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 my cheek, in front of all those people! I couldn’t speak. Admittedly I made furtive glances around the shed as we walked out but did not really have a clear view of anything. I had no idea what I was looking for either.

When we exited the shed onto the veranda that bordered the building, it was apparent that there were many others seeking refuge from the noise and heat. It was a beautiful clear night, crispness in the air and a mist in the distance emerging through the trees. Toby put his arm around my shoulder and drew me towards him. Despite my height, I felt vulnerable and at the same time protected by him.

‘Charlie, I should have explained the situation to you. Jade is an old friend from Melbourne, not old, our age, but I have known her for ages and when I went to Mum’s funeral, I stayed the extra few days to partner Jade to her formal at Loreto, Toorak. She is returning the favour, and so came here to reciprocate, no more, no less.’ His explanation left me in no doubt that his choice was to be with me. I was bowled over.

‘Toby’, I said hesitantly, ‘you don’t have to explain anything to me. I am relieved that you rescued me from the grubs who intend to royally right themselves off.’

Then he kissed me, properly. He gently put one arm around my shoulders and the other on my cheek and he kissed me passionately on the mouth. I closed my eyes and kissed him back. He was gentle but probing. It seemed he had wanted to kiss me for a very long time. Or had he? I opened my eyes and his were open, looking at me in a quizzical manner. He seemed to be searching for something. I was feeling slightly heady. I had not had any alcohol, although there was plenty available. I had no idea what to do. I should have been elated but it was so unexpected and I wanted so much for the night to never end. I was so inexperienced I had no idea what I should do.

Toby turned, still with his arm around my shoulder, and accepted a beer from Bex. I hadn’t seen her until that moment and was surprised she was standing behind me. Had she seen that kiss? I was embarrassed. I didn’t know what to do when Toby kissed me, I just followed his lead. Perhaps I had been no good. Why do I stress like this? He had grabbed me and kissed me and now he was still standing with his arm around me. I should be a lot more relaxed.

‘How’s Pip, Charlie?’ Bex asked.

‘She’s okay, she is due back from Adelaide next weekend. She’ll probably be back at school in a week or so’. My response gave way too much detail but the embargo on sharing our latest family issue was slowly lifting as time passed. Mum and Dad had worked hard to protect Pip from gossip and speculation and in the end, had decided that a visit to Grandma in Adelaide was a suitable solution. She had been gone for three weeks and was due back next weekend. Dad had work to do in Adelaide so he was going to fly down on Friday and they’d return Sunday night via Sydney, so would be quite late. I had no idea if she was returning to school, I was 43 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 just talking in an effort to calm myself.

As we stood chatting idly to Bex, I noticed Jarrad coming towards us. Hopefully this did not mean trouble. He had clearly had a few beers since his arrival. He swaggered over, acknowledging both Toby and Bex, then turned and addressed me.

‘Hey, Charliegirl, wanna a dance? I know the rules I agreed to, but this is after the formal, right?

‘Thanks for asking mate, but maybe later, okay?’ I quickly responded. But to my surprise, Toby gently pushed the small of my back and encouraged me to accept Jarrad’s request.

‘Go on Charlie, I’ll rescue you shortly and I’d like to watch you’, he whispered to me.

Now I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I did not want to go but Jarrad did deserve to be treated well after he had so graciously escorted me and remained the perfect gentleman throughout. So, reluctantly I followed him inside as the thumping music slowed and INXS’s Never Tear Us Apart started. Jarrad took me in his arms and guided me around the floor. He was holding me very closely and I felt mildly intimidated. I hoped he had not seen Toby kiss me. If he had, would he think he had a right to kiss me too?

And sure enough, I shouldn’t have had that thought. He leaned towards me and moved in for a kiss. I was unsure how to react and without thinking I gently put my hand over his mouth and attempted to walk away. However, that was not going to work and he grabbed my hand roughly and wasn’t to be dissuaded.

‘Jarrad, don’t spoil things’, I said quietly.

‘You stuck up bitch. I was good enough to take you to the formal but can’t have a kiss?’ he bellowed in my ear. I was sure people around had heard what he said. I wanted to resolve this with no further attention, but no luck. It must have been the Dutch courage because Jarrad was not relenting. ‘Your sister is a goer, what’s wrong with you?’ he chided. ‘You frigid?’ he sneered.

That was my undoing. I whacked him across the face, hard. Initially he was stunned but recovered quickly and he slapped me back. My face was smarting, and tears welled up as I stormed out of the shed, down the stairs and headed home in the dark. By the time I reached the front gate tears were streaming down my face and I was audibly sobbing.

It was a long, lonely walk home, I was shattered. What had promised to be such a special night had ended in shambles. I needed to get a grip. I couldn’t be my sister’s keeper forever, nor could I lose my cool publicly and hope to keep my friends. What an unmitigated mess. 44 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Finally, I arrived back at the house, I took my shoes off and snuck in the back door, careful not to disturb the dogs. I climbed into bed after removing my jeans, closed my eyes and prayed my usual, ‘As I lay me down to sleep I pray the Lord my soul to keep, if I should die before I wake, please dear God my soul do take.’ Sleep did not come. I mulled over the highs and lows of the night. Toby’s kiss was a distant memory after Jarrad’s beery breath and nasty taunt.

I could hear the dogs and muffled sounds on the front verandah. I stopped breathing momentarily and the sound continued. Burglars? Not out here, surely. Jarrad coming to seek revenge? I decided the best option was to go and have a look. To my surprise, Toby was sitting on the front steps patting Patch, our crazy border collie.

‘Pssst’, I said, ‘what are you doing here?’ Another dumb question, he was obviously here to see me, not Patch.

‘Charlie, come outside, I want to talk to you’, he quietly requested.

‘Hang on a tick.’ I raced back into my room and dragged my jeans on. Still barefoot, I crept back down the hallway and tried to slide the barrel bolt to the screen door as quietly as I could, then tip-toed across the old timber boards to sit beside Toby on the front step.

‘Let’s sit in my car so we don’t wake anyone’, he suggested. In my efforts to be cool and appear relaxed I agreed before realising that I had no shoes on and walking down the gravel drive would be murder on my already sore feet.

Before I could transmit my thoughts to words Toby had scooped me up and was carrying me effortlessly to his car. The highs and lows of the night were beginning to do my head in.

He sat me on the bonnet, put his arms around me and kissed me, this time with intense passion. He was strong but a little out of breath after the carry, so he stopped just as I was getting the hang of what I was supposed to do in response. He looked at me in a very serious way, a little confronting really, his gorgeous face unsmiling in the half-light of pre-dawn.

‘I don’t know what transpired between you and Jarrad on the dance floor but if you thought that behaviour would protect Pip, you’re wrong. After you disappeared Jarrad blurted out his interpretation of the events of the last couple of weeks. It was not very flattering to any of the Stiltons. Probably highly defamatory, but the whole party has now been informed by him. You were nuts to react like that. If you wanted things to remain a secret that was not the way to achieve it.’

Now Toby knew. I felt terrible, if that was possible, because the levels of feeling bad had reached new heights. I couldn’t imagine how I would survive this one. Even 45 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Toby knew and he was not defending me or Pip. In fact, he was chastising me for how inappropriately I had handled things. I am so hopeless I seem to go from one major faux pas to the next.

‘God, Toby I feel so awful. I am so sorry’, I sounded so dumb. I wish I could turn back time for the second time recently.

‘Well Charlie, at least I realised fairly quickly your disappearance from the party was not as a result of me kissing you.’ He feigned great injury. ‘Now I have some idea of why things have been so hard for you lately. I was disappointed when I saw you in the Woolworths carpark a few weeks ago and you didn’t want to hang out. Things are now making a bit more sense to me.’

‘You have no idea. The Pip thing is one of several catastrophic events the Stilton’s are currently dealing with’, I responded without any sensitivity. It wasn’t all that long ago he had been to his mother’s funeral. Why can’t I bite my tongue and be less dramatic?

‘The reason I came here was I was concerned about you. I thought maybe you weren’t safe. Walking home in the dark on your own was crazy. I guess I’ll head home.’ The magic, if there had been any, had vanished. I wanted him to stay, so much. I had no idea how to make that happen, what to say or do. So, I just said something useless like thanks for coming to see if I was okay, see ya later.

That was probably the dumbest thing I could have done. He walked around the front of the car got in as I slid off the bonnet. He headed off in the direction of the Maidens, delaying putting the headlights on until he was almost out of sight. I wondered, not for the first time, if he was into me or if he was just a hot guy who also had very good manners.

46 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Chapter 6

It wasn’t all that long before I thought I had the answer. The afternoon following the formal everyone was invited to Dr Derek’s for a post-formal BBQ. The idea was to congratulate the incoming Year 12 students, welcome them to the year ahead and lay out a few expectations. I could sort the mess out then. Perhaps.

I sheepishly got out of the car when Mum pulled up outside the Derek’s place. Sheepish because of last night with Toby, then the Jarrad incident, followed by the other much later Toby incident. Would they both be there? Would the gossip be running hot and would I be a pariah? Mum had no patience with my self-conscious, self-pitying attitude and abruptly suggested I get out of the car now, right now, and she would pick me up in two hours unless I messaged her.

Standing waiting to go in the front gate was agony, which was compounded by the fact that I could see people in the backyard all looking very normal. I didn’t feel normal at all. As I walked through the house Mrs Derek greeted me as she exited the bathroom and warmly invited me to join the throng in the backyard.

‘Out you go Charlie, next time you all get together like this it will be graduation. You’ll wish you worked harder and will be planning the next exciting phase of your life’, she suggested encouragingly. Did she know about last night or was she being the convivial hostess? I had to tell myself to stop analysing. For God’s sake Charlie, take a deep breath and walk out there confidently. Not that easy.

But I did. People hardly looked up, the boys were over near the water tank with a footy and some of the girls were standing nearby, staking their claim on their newly acquired (as of last night) boyfriends. The rest were near the barbie, everyone an expert on how to cook the snags.

Most surprising was Toby standing next to Jarrad and his loser mates Pedro and Luc, beer in hand and animated in conversation. I chose not to catch his eye when he looked towards the kitchen door as I exited, and instead sought out Sally.

Good old Sal, she had probably heard a blow-by-blow description of last night’s events but remained the perfect lady, welcoming me to her circle who were deciding if Diana Sharpe’s dress was the best or if it was too bright. ‘What do you reckon Charlie?’ she hastened, including me in the cross-examination, obviously aware of 47 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 my feelings of alienation.

‘Sh-she looked terrific, that blue was sensational.’ I managed to sound relaxed. Well, I thought so anyway. ‘Even better her shoes, they were so high, and she kept them on all night. I reckon she was the only girl who managed to do that’, I added.

‘Yeah’, Fiona responded. ‘But bloody Jennifer Easten’, the head maths teacher, ‘was probably calculating how hard she would fall if she toppled off them. Easten is such a dag, that grey dress she had on, she rolls it out each time any celebration is on. I think it predates even our parents’, she added.

‘It doesn’t even qualify as retro’, Sal added.

Fiona is a good chic, a bit fast and furious in her social life and consequently up for anything. I think I saw her as I left Maidens’ last night entangled in a passionate embrace, her third or fourth of the evening. I understand she actually auditions her boyfriends. If they can’t kiss well, they don’t get a guernsey. She has a list and she is working through it methodically. She has found that some of the hot guys in our district are the worst kissers, goes to show, never can tell. It is certainly not worth judging a book by its cover. She was in the very popular cool group but often deigned to mix with us, the not-so-cool group. I can only hope Toby’s not on her list.

Apparently Jarrad’s mates Luc, who is really Luke, and Pedro, who is really Peter, had a skinful last night and ended up misbehaving, even by their usual low standards. Luc managed to mistake a wardrobe for a bathroom, and you can image what transpired. He thinks it’s hilarious, but when old man Maiden finds out there will be hell to pay.

I decided to casually glance over at Toby and ‘the boys’, who had now become barbequers extraordinaire and were seasoning the BBQ plate with beer. Toby had his back to me, so I was momentarily safe. I had no idea what to do, so I accepted a Cruiser as a method of both killing time and fitting in with the girls. It may well serve to provide a little confidence also. The sweet fizz did me some good, I was feeling more part of things.

Toby was in the same jeans and shirt he had on last night and looked a little dishevelled. His shirt was creased and hanging out and his RMs were filthy, perhaps as a result of a long walk in the dark last night to my place after my lack of control. He certainly looked a bit worse for wear.

Just as I decided it was time to address this situation head on, he turned and winked at me. He did not call me over, so I waved and returned my attention to the conversation. It had moved on to a pseudo roll call of who ended up with whom and what the fallout would be. I was only half listening until I heard Toby’s name mentioned. To my surprise and horror, I thought I caught that he was seen pashing Laura Pemberton in the early hours of the morning. I was tempted to interject when I realised the timing didn’t fit. Indeed, we were probably mid-embrace with me sitting 48 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 on the bonnet of his father’s ute. I hoped my calculations were correct anyway.

As the sun began to set, I realised I had not eaten, and Mum would be picking me up shortly. Where had the last 100 or so minutes gone? Decision time. Do I text her and say don’t come or do I escape? I am so hopeless, I couldn’t decide the best option. After great vacillation I thought what the heck, I’d stay. Boy, did that turn out to be a mistake.

I sent Mum a text and when I got no response, I forgot all about it. That was not the worst part, naturally no response probably indicated she had got the message. I didn’t consider that. I just thought, sweet, now I need to start enjoying myself and stop stressing and analysing everything around me all the time. I looked over at Toby who was busy dissecting meat on the barbeque and oblivious to everyone. Quite the expert really.

I should have gone home because before much longer, the local constabulary turned up. Most of the local coppers are laid back and accept that the kids in the district start drinking way before the legal drinking age. Well, that was what was generally thought, and it seems rather too readily assumed. We could not have been more wrong. Not only was Dr Derek bundled up into the paddy wagon, but so were 14 of the town’s finest, soon to be responsible and mature Year 12 students escorted in various police cars into the local lock-up. Parents were contacted and instructed to be at the police station as soon as possible.

Things just kept getting worse. I had never been in a paddy wagon and it was both sobering—literally and metaphorically—and scary. Laura and Sally had previous form and some of the boys likewise. I was mortified. My parents needed no more trouble of any sort for a very long time. I was the responsible kid and what a fine mess I had landed myself in this time.

When Mum turned up about 40 minutes later at the local cop shop, there was no evidence of any sympathy or understanding, most evident was cold, hard rage. She was livid. She did not speak to me. I meekly looked up at her, but she refused or couldn’t even look at me. Slowly, as she was directed to take me home and return tomorrow morning and front court at 9:30 am, she appeared to still own me. I left before most of the others and did not have the courage to look around as I departed, trailing behind Mum with the proverbial tail between my legs.

As we got into the car Mum was able to hide her incredulity and crack a joke. ‘Well Hon’, she said ‘I guess you can’t add to your driving hours on this trip’. I couldn’t answer I was so ashamed, embarrassed, sad and annoyed at myself all at once. Days later I felt I had not really done anything majorly wrong but at that moment I was sure that things just couldn’t get worse. I was so sorry but didn’t know how to genuinely and with the utmost sincerity express that to Mum. So, I sat in the passenger seat, looked out the window at nothing in particular, feeling guilty for the umpteenth time.

49 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Before long I was sobbing, again. It was becoming a habit. Next thing Mum and I were apologising to each other. Mum had no more of a clue than me, in terms of our lives and how we seemed to be spinning out of control. By the time we arrived at home we had both almost come to terms with our new predicament. I felt, to a degree, that I had become associated with the incident by default. Sure, I was drinking and was underage, but it seemed to me that it was, in fact, sanctioned. The bloody deputy of our school was the provider for God’s sake. Maybe he was in more trouble than me, who knows?

As we walked into the house, all hell broke loose. The twins were running around with towels twisted around their heads, yelling unintelligibly, and Dean was in hot pursuit. That was not so unusual in itself, it was the broken window in the sitting room that was way out of the ordinary. This was a rented house and even though Jennifer Easten’s ex-husband had leased it to us at a reduced cost on the condition that maintenance was undertaken, damage just added to the work and cost. It could conceivably take a decade. It was not a benevolent arrangement at all. The place was a dump and no-one, unless they were desperate, would go near it. We weren’t really desperados, but everything changed in such a hurry and the offer was made, so here we are. The house was small but as a manager’s cottage it had most of what we needed, and the yard was great. The view was spectacular and added to our sense of freedom and being a little out of the way in terms of the judgemental gazes we experienced in town. Being out of town did have its advantages.

I assume I will be grounded, so as far as Mum is concerned, being out of town is a real bonus. The punishment will have maximum impact. It will be quite a punishment. My mobile’s been confiscated, and as we are out of town, internet coverage is crap. Don’t believe that the fed government are building a better coverage for regional and rural Australia, no evidence of that to date. So, I am back in the 20th century complete with, well, no means of communication. Probably just as Mum wants it. The only consolation is school is now on two weeks holidays before the start of Term 4 and the serious business of Year 12. Time to reflect a bit, consider my rebellion and work on redemption, as Mum had suggested.

Much to my surprise, later that day I received a letter—an actual letter, mailed from Adelaide. It would appear that Pip has been very ingenious. It’s just Pip’s style to get around the boundaries. I waited until I got into bed that night to read it in peace.

Dear Charliegirl

It has been hard to find you. Not really I know ... I think I do know where you are. But your mobile has been switched off for 48 hours. What’s the story?

You’ll be wondering how I managed to get hold of a mobile. Grand Mar [not a spello, we used to call her Grand Marshall as she bossed us around with a military air, organising our lives for the duration of our annual visits to the Festival State] had an old Nokia 5110. I found it in a drawer and decided if I could purloin a sim card, I would be right. So, quaint South Australia has always had a 10c refund on 50 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 bottles, cans, milk cartons and it didn’t take me long to work out this is a money source, that and skimming Grand Mar’s change when I do messages had meant a new sim and voila contact with the real world.

Glenelg, the thriving metropolis, and my current home is not that bad. Wandering Jetty Road exposes one to the locals, many emulating the surf culture (no surf!!). Lots of cool dudes in Billabong boardies and hairless bronzed chests with skanky chicks in thongs parading along the Esplanade. Fashions are only 3 or 4 years behind us. But their accent is sooooo annoying. Total bogans actually.

More of me later. Why I resorted the writing is, I sent a text to Bex with my new contact number, she responded and had no clue why I couldn’t get you so she asked Toby who was cagey but was keen to see/talk/text you. Cool eh? He asked Bex to tell me to tell you. So girl, do something. It could be lurve!!

Okay, so life with the Mar. It has its challenges but she’s ok really. Her cooking is crap, but she gets awesome fruit delivered regularly. She visits the hair shop each week and has suggested I could fix my now very pronounced regrowth. She thought doing some lightings would be good, I think she means highlights (so last year). She also suggested a new frock for when Dad comes to bring me home. A frock!! I suggested frocks were dangerous, boys could lift them up, and she was not amused.

As you may or may not know I gave up the ciggies (when I found out I was pregnant) and so my pocket money has been useful. I know you are thinking why the secrecy of the pregnancy.

I honestly considered (for a nanosecond) telling the family. At 12 weeks. Then when I thought about it and pondered announcing at the dinner table that I was three months pregnant, I thought better of it. Imagine Mum, the paragon of virtue, the 42- year-old saintly mother of six. So, I thought better of it for a second time. I had not decided when to tell everyone and I landed in hospital having miscarried.

I paused and patted my firm round little tummy. No! I am not pregnant, unless it’s an immaculate conception. My lack of activity, acute boredom and self-pity have resulted in increased junk food intake and a nicely developing pot belly.

If I could, I would escape Alcatraz and do … I don’t really know what. Hearing about Toby made me want to find a way to contact him. I have a feeling, even though it is not particularly overt, that I am being closely monitored.

Pip continued … Oh boy, visiting with Grand Mar has been a blast. Not. We sit around and drink tea, eat crap and ‘remember when’ endlessly. I am totally awash with tea. There is lots of discussion about who’s dead, who’s not and a chronicle of ailments you wouldn’t believe. But a controversy has been uncovered. Some relly has been searching the Buchanan family tree. Mar’s younger sister, known as Peg, real name Winifred 51 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Jane, pay attention now, called Winnie as a kid, but after a fling with a Canadian serviceman on R& R, became Peg (as in Winnipeg after his home town). He stopped contact days into their passionate affair. So, she went to the barracks and asked to see him, the commanding officer informed her that she should reconsider a relationship with him as he was married!! Weeks later she promptly married George but kept the name Peg. Good story, eh? Actually, the highlight has been going to DJ’s in Marion visiting a giant shopping complex to purchase some new cottontails, size 20 and black!! Sexy!! Not for me either.

I am hoping my penance is almost over and I can return home with Dad, although you may have heard there are discussions with Canberra Girls Grammar School. I gather the plan is boarding in Year 11 and 12. Dad arrives next Thursday for work and is staying in the city but will be here at Mar’s Saturday and Sunday. I hope I can depart this buzzing social scene with him.

By the way, cute concierge at Stamford, the cutest smile, but I am not going there, sister. I am only looking to amuse myself. I think I have learned considerably from the events of the last few months.

Well that’s all for now, it has been a huge effort, haven’t written this much in my whole school career. I can call you if you have your phone, my new number is 0388338783.

Love and kisses Pip

It was great to get her letter, I‘m sure it is the first I have ever had from Pip. It’s weird how adversity has brought us together, although she couldn’t be unaware of my travesty if her letter was anything to go by. My challenge was to find a way to respond to her. I am thinking the best option is to appeal to Dean. While he is the responsible eldest child, he may be convinced that my need is great. Not only are we talking matters of the heart, but also our own flesh and blood.

As I head off to locate him, I yell out repeatedly. I realise I am at home on my own. Now this is good news and I am sure with a bit of investigating I can find my mobile. Should I? In the end, my conscience gets the better of me and I decide that maybe honesty is the best policy. With little else to amuse myself I returned to Emily Brontë and the tortured love of Heathcliff and Catherine. It amazes me that the smouldering passion is so vividly explored by a lonely lady living on the bleak heaths in a church rectory.

52 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Chapter 7

After a restless night tossing and turning, I decided to approach Mum and see if my days in purgatory could be ended. She was in a fair mood, not entirely approachable, but I couldn’t really do nothing, I wanted to speak to Pip and get any info on Toby.

‘Mum, can I, or more correctly, may I, contact Pip?’ I rather sheepishly ask. Self- correcting my grammar was in reverence to her apparent desire to have her children the best and most accurate orators in the district.

‘Charlie I am not sure what to think,’ she responds, with no apparent emotion in her voice. Her disappointment in me still remained palpable.

‘Don’t think Mum, just say yes’, I say, trying to be funny. It falls flat. Completely.

‘No, I think it might be best if you don’t. I am not inclined to concern her with our latest dramas. She seems to be enjoying her time in Adelaide and Dad will bring her home with him on Sunday.’ Her decision is logical, but I try another tack.

‘You know I got a letter from her?’ I timidly asked.

‘Yes darling, I do, but I just think to help her recovery it may be best not to make contact yet.’ Mum’s reply to my request was fairly succinct; it was clear she did not want me to have contact. Still, I wasn’t giving up easily.

‘She mentioned boarding at Canberra Grammar, is that going to happen?’ I ask tentatively.

Mum’s reply closes the discussion for now, ‘It’s all up in the air Charlotte, can you get the kids for dinner please?’

I was left to mull over things and conclude that I was still in my penance phase. If I had been a responsible girl over the last couple of days, I am fairly sure Mum would have welcomed my common-sense request to offer Pip support. But as I had ‘let the team down’ I needed time for reflection, and this was it. I would have dearly liked to pursue our conversation, but Mum had made it abundantly clear there was no further discussion needed.

53 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Therefore, I needed to establish a new plan to either contact Pip or Bex or Toby, or indeed all three. With a bit of luck and a whole lot of good management, something would occur to change everything.

After dinner I didn’t feel like watching TV, so I headed off to bed and perhaps a bit more Emily Brontë. I had been reading for about 30 minutes when my door opened minutely, and Dean popped his head in to see if I was asleep. I invited him in. He looked distraught.

‘Hey Deanman’, I said, using his nickname, ‘what’s the story, you look terrible’. My usual tactless approach was not received well. He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Dean asked very seriously, ‘Can I talk to you?’

‘’Course, what’s up? You don’t need to ask permission; you are always there for me.’

‘Charlie, this is hard, and I know it has come at a really bad time for the family, but I want to leave home. I need to go to Sydney and have a life. Nothing is happening here and never will. Mum will be shattered, but I need to go.’ He looked at me with a rather pathetic look, very unlike Dean.

‘Oh God Dean, you’re serious. I don’t know what to say. Selfishly I want you to stay, but for you, of course you need to get out of this town, it’s a dud.’

‘Thanks, Charl, I can always count on you to be supportive. What do I do? How do I actually leave? Mum will crack, I am not sure she needs any more disappointments. It has been a helluva year already.’

Dean’s attitude was typical of him. He thought of others before himself, but he did need to go and realistically there would never be a perfect time when all the ducks lined up. I silently resolved to support him. I wasn’t sure how I could help him. I knew he had a few mates from school who had left town and gone to Sydney. That was a while ago and he had nothing in common with them except for school, and with that gone there was probably no connection. Dean was different, he was gentle and caring and vulnerable. He had all the expected character traits of the responsible eldest kid in a big family, but he was more than that. His sensitivity was an admirable aspect of his personality we all valued, but his sexuality we didn’t understand. I am not sure he did either. It wasn’t something you talked about easily. How do you approach it?

‘Hey Deano, do you reckon you can get a message to Toby for me?’ I asked, feeling a bit selfish, given the obvious personal turmoil he was sharing.

‘Yeah sure, never let a curfew get in the way of true love. What’s his mobile number?’ Good old Dean, I knew I could rely on him. 54 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

‘That’s the problem, I have no idea and Mum has taken my phone to prevent any more mischief or contact with my fellow criminals’, I admitted, a little embarrassed by both my poor behaviour and ignorance of Toby’s number. ‘So, I am stuck, I only know he is trying to contact me through Pip via Bex!’ I explained.

‘No can-do kiddo, I can’t ask Mum at this stage, too hard. I know that hurts, but I can’t do anything,’ he responded in a very disillusioned tone.

‘Cool, I get it. Maybe you could call Bex and tell her to get Toby to drop in?’ I tried a new approach in a last-ditch effort.

‘Yeah, I’ll do that, don’t ask me any more favours this decade, okay?’ he joked.

‘You’re the best Deano, I really appreciate it.’

‘Charlie don’t lay it on too thick. Hey, keep our chat to yourself, yeah? I want to be the one to tell Mum and I need to wait until the right time.’ He ruffled my hair and exited my room. I notice he had an earring, no surprise really, it was probably a sign of his gathering independence. No doubt there will be a tat at some stage in the future. Good for him, he seems to be getting things figured out. It’s a lot more than I seem to have managed to do.

I rolled over as he left my room and felt a good night’s sleep approaching after a reasonably successful bit of negotiating. Of course, the waiting will be hard, and who knows what I am waiting for? Or for how long? It was quite an unknown quantity, but far better than I had a couple of hours ago. I willed myself to sleep. Would Toby turn up? It was worth a try, if the convoluted message I had received via South Australia was valid, maybe he would show.

With only a couple of days until school returned, I woke with a start at dawn as the sun struggled through the clouds gathering on the horizon. I hoped the sun’s struggle was not a sign of my impending doom. Would Bex come good? There was no love lost between us, although our last words were civil as she shared her concerns for Pip. She accepted our family’s decision to close ranks and exclude her from any involvement in Pip’s recovery quite graciously. I am sure no-one is aware that they are in contact.

The strange phenomena in New South Wales of starting year 12 at the end of the previous year means the serious stuff is about to begin—getting a good final set of results after four terms of study and a huge external examination that will dictate university possibilities. I am aiming to turn over the proverbial new leaf. My resolutions are to get stuck into hard work, solid revision and maintain a positive attitude. And maybe score Toby as my boyfriend. The last one may be a long shot. Who knows?

I rolled over, disappointed in myself not for the first time lately. I wasn’t even 55 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 sanctioned to run. As I was tossing up whether to read or lie here hating myself I welcomed another visitor to me room, Bridie. She enthusiastically climbed in beside me and snuggled up.

‘Brides, how’s it going?’ I enquired, ‘don’t see much of you these days, what are you guys up to?’ I didn’t expect much of a response. Although Bridie was not the quiet one of the brood, all her concerns were shared with Rory.

I was shocked that she had chosen me, I was still noticeably on the proverbial outer. But she was a woman with a mission. She quietly cleared her throat and, to my surprise, sought my advice. Not bad going for a criminal, twice in two days I am the ‘mother’ confessor.

‘Char, I am worried, real worried.’ I didn’t correct her grammar, I let her continue. ‘I fink that Rory doesn’t like me anymore. He is my best friend, not because we are twins either. What can I do?’ she looked at me trusting I would have all the answers, hoping that I had a magical response that would alleviate her concern.

‘Mate, we will do something, but it’s so not true,’ I hastened to respond.

‘How would you know? You are not in our world anymore. I saw you kiss a boy.’ That surprised me. I chose to ignore the last bit but made every effort to reassure her that families like each other no matter what. ‘They always forgive’, I encouraged her. The usual assertive member of the duo was unusually subdued, even sad. Was this part of the collateral damage of the family implosion I was seeing or just growing up?

‘It’s not that, I think his friends who are boys are more fun and I am no-one anymore, he doesn’t like me. Human beans are so dumb, they change all the time, animals are much more fun.’ This was a tricky one. I needed more skills than I had for this one. Dean or Mum were my best options, I needed to seek advice. I tried to placate her by changing the subject, with moderate success. I proposed sharing a secret with her and that convinced her that I was her new best friend.

We decided to do something together after brekky the next morning to cement the friendship. My options were limited, but I didn’t burst her bubble by telling her. I racked my brain to think of a suitably impressive activity. Had it been dark it would have been easy. The old favourite of lying in a paddock looking at the stars waiting to see a shooting star or comet and making wishes on the twinkling ones always occupied the kids for ages. Daylight had its challenges, no eye-rolling or faces when I was over it.

Events had been whirling around the family and the little ones had been overlooked. Certainly, Bridie was upset and who knows what Rory was thinking or doing for that matter. I assumed they would go on as they always had, regardless, even oblivious. Clearly that was not the case. If Bridie was hurting perhaps Rory was also and Joel, the original cute kid, how was he travelling? 56 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

I resolved to be more aware. All these resolutions! I thought I needed to make notes, or I would forget what I was promising myself I’d do. In the meantime, I had come up with the idea to do some painting. I am hopeless and not an artistic bone in my body but Bridie will delight in our time together.

It’s actually great to have Pip back. She has had quite an adventure. Dad managed to complete his work in Adelaide, and they flew into Canberra late Sunday night. They stayed overnight in Dad’s Canberra flat and drove home early the following morning, arriving just after we finished breakfast. After the events of the last couple of weeks, it is good to be sharing a room again. It will reduce my feelings of isolation.

I was finally allowed out. I am accompanying Mum and Pip into town. Pip is having a check-up and I was to drive so I could add to the hours in an attempt to get enough to do my driving test before the end of the decade. Mum had an appointment with a solicitor, so I asked to go with Pip. Besides, I had an ulterior motive.

As Pip would be seeing Dr Nallaiah, the same gentle man who treated her after the miscarriage, I felt confident that I could seek advice from him. After Pip had completed her check-up, she was keen to head off to do some shopping. I reluctantly declined to join her immediately and asked for her to meet me in about 20 minutes back at the car. I started my appointment with Dr Nallaiah by explaining my name was Charlotte and I was usually called Charlie.

I immediately felt stupid. What did that have to do with the reason for wanting to talk to him? He had probably forgotten that he had called me Charles, and surely by now he had realised I was a female. He certainly would, as I gathered the courage to ask him if he could prescribe the pill for me. He initiated the consultation by asking what he could do for me. I responded rather too casually, ‘Well I was here with Pip, so I decided to ask about contraception’.

He assured me that our family GP could give me a prescription for the pill. He explained that in New South Wales, a child 16 years and over can consent to their own medical treatment as validly as if they were an adult. I was aware of that I think but felt more confident asking him. I knew the doctor at home needed no temptation to gossip. Despite the mighty Hippocratic Oath, asides, comments and jokes would feature if Mum or Dad bumped into Dr Love, so I felt safer if my secret was shared with Dr Nallaiah. It seemed like a good time to ask some questions. I had done all the sex ed at school, I studied PDHPE, but I was preparing for reality, not theory. I thought I was best to get things sorted properly.

Toby had made a comment the night of the formal that we had been dancing in the dark for months. I considered it an oblique way to suggest that things may happen and I wanted no more problems. I thought I had taken a mature approach. In theory I probably had, but it took all my courage to actually ask the questions that were 57 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 burning in my mind. I was also separated from Toby physically and after two weeks, who knows what he has been doing and with whom.

I took a breath and started hesitantly. ‘Doctor, how safe is the pill? When does it start being safe? In terms of the chemicals in the pill, what can it do to my body? Am I going to get fat? Can acne be a side effect? Will my nature or my moods change? What if I forget to take it?’ I blurted out all my questions without drawing breath.

‘Charlotte, I suggest I take your blood pressure and we have a chat about your health in general. I assume your reason for wanting the pill is as a means of contraception’, he stated, not requiring an answer. I felt I remained very calm, but I was so churned up I wondered if that was obvious to him.

‘Yup, that’s right. Nothing has happened yet but maybe ...’ I trailed off, not really sure what to say. Was I dreaming or hoping for something that would never happen?

His response was reassuring, ‘Good oh, a mature approach. Don’t rush things. Sex is only one part of relationships, you know. You may be aware that in this state the legal age of consent is 16. In some states it is 17, I think it is a more suitable age, but you are within the law.’

After outlining the legalities, he explained what the pill actually did. He was clinical but logical and invited my questions. He rifled through his desk drawer and offered a sample pack to me. I was a little reluctant to take it, thinking I had finally crossed the line. He reiterated that the contraception would not be effective immediately. I needed to use other methods for a month. It was all a bit clinical. I was not really in a relationship so all this information was not quite relevant, yet.

And finally, I asked the only question I had really needed to ask, ‘Does sex hurt?’ He was great, so easy going and factual, even a bit fatherly. Well, nothing like my father would react to the question if I dared ask, I suspect. He assured me that I should have the right motives, situation and relax if I was to enjoy the experience. I was so embarrassed. At least I had mustered the courage to ask and I was close to having successfully sought advice, acted on it and reduce the risk of another possible teenage pregnancy. All this was to remain my secret.

I still wondered if people could tell when you have had sex. Do you look different? I imagine a euphoric feeling, a sort of uniqueness, maybe even a feeling of superiority. I did a quick reality check, remember Amelie, the quirky French film. She realised that at any moment people all over the world are doing it. No big deal.

The reality of the situation was that after the recent bad behaviour I may have difficulty justifying my requests for freedom. I may not be able to pursue the object of my desire. However, when you least expect it, and at a time most unlikely, Toby appears. I needed to walk back to the car after my consultation and wait for both 58 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Mum and Pip. As I ambled back enjoying the freedom and anonymity of town, I saw Toby’s dad’s truck parked outside the stock and station agent. I walked over.

‘Hey Toby’, I greeted him as I approached the passenger side of the ute. I must have surprised him as he was startled and quickly opened the door and got out of the car. He leaned on the door and smiled at me. It was a brief chat as we both knew that we didn’t have official sanction to be socialising after the recent hiatus. It appeared that he really wanted to be with me. He initiated the conversation by reassuring me.

‘You know Charlie, things have been crazy, like, out of control lately. Unlucky for you and for me. You have a crazy, wild sister, a kooky older brother. No offence because I am sure they got it perfect with you.’

I smiled, a little offended yet flattered at the same time. I didn’t speak; he was looking at me with intensity. He smiled and moved closer to me, he took my hair in both hands and piled it on my head. He then clasped it all in his left hand and with dexterity spun me around with his right hand and kissed my neck gently. I was in heaven. I hoped my reaction was appropriate. I was also acutely aware of being in town in broad daylight. He obviously didn’t care. Should I?

His father appeared and scowled at me. ‘Toby’, he said sternly, ‘in the car mate’. Well that was the end of that. However, Toby called as he hopped into the car, ‘See you soon, I’ll come over if Grumpy Pants can spare the car for an hour or so’.

That lightened my mood and would provide a great diversion, something to look forward to. I was not sure if it would happen, only time would tell. I strolled back to the Volvo and Pip was waiting, Mum still yet to appear. I couldn’t check my mobile and as Pip’s was a secret, we needed to be patient. Pip seemed happy enough, she had bumped into a couple of kids from school and managed to be calm although a bit elusive. She seemed to have regained some of her self-confidence. Her swagger was back.

I had resolved to keep my secret visit to Dr Nallaiah to myself, but Pip seemed to have guessed. To my surprise, she had also seen my brief encounter with Toby and had probably logically concluded that my secret doctor’s visit was to take the precautions she had neglected to take.

‘So, Charlie, what’s the story?’ she asked casually.

‘What?’ I attempted to play innocent.

‘C’mon Charlie, it is as plain as day that you are totally besotted with him’.

‘And?’ I replied, hoping my monosyllabic response would discourage further questioning. It did in a way. I was saved by the appearance of Mum hurrying towards the car. She waved enthusiastically as she clip-clopped along the path in a 59 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

pair of black high heels.

As she neared us, she threw the keys to me. Good one Mum, I thought. She loves the opportunity to show some athletic prowess. I caught the keys and opened the car, strangely feeling very self-conscious. I suppose it was my decision or my decisiveness that was unsettling me. I had had some amazing experiences in the last few weeks and I wasn’t really sure how to react. I still wanted life to go back to normal. Whatever that was.

The drive home was fairly uneventful apart from the usual mum comments to slow down. I managed to concentrate on the driving instead of my preoccupation with Toby. Probably a good thing. I still have hours and hours to complete until I will be eligible to take my driving test, despite the fact that I am sure I am a capable driver. Having grown up in the country driving was no big deal, but rules were rules and 120 hours were required, so I had to laboriously complete them and document them religiously in a logbook.

As the holidays—or imprisonment, as I referred to the two weeks in October when I was banned from doing pretty much everything apart from breathe—concluded I resolved to sort things out. I had been overly concerned about Mum losing her job, unable to even concentrate at school with no real solution to my feelings of responsibility and insecurity. Last term had been a watershed for me. I had lost my mojo. My marks reflected that, and my changing relationships had similarly made me realise that things were different in a whole lot of ways. Toby had been a diversion of sorts, but I was not sure of that. Was I ready for a relationship? I hadn’t been invited to have one but as I mulled over everything, I thought I should think it through.

The kids in our district lead really quite simple lives. We’re all bundled off to primary school after various preschool, playgroup and home-school experiences. We’re all comfortable having known each other for what seemed like forever. Primary school, in retrospect, was a blur of happy times, lots of sport, celebrations and occasional hiccups when someone new arrived or one of our longstanding mates left town. Nothing was ever a big deal. Some people came and went but our lives reflected the seasons, we grew, we developed and moved up a grade each year. Together we celebrated birthdays, school events and the usual public holidays with gusto. Life seemed fairly straight forward and simple. It appeared as we got older and ventured to high school that complications arose.

High school ushered choices. Some of the kids headed off to the local state high school and in a way, we lost contact with those kids as they developed new friendships and interests. Some still played in local district sports teams, but our worlds grew apart. A group headed to the grandly named grammar school. It seemed somehow elitist. It wasn’t, it was more a choice based on what could be gained from the diversity offered and the interaction with boarders from all over New South Wales. Mum and Dad always advocated it was the extras available that convinced them the expenditure was warranted. When Mum was appointed principal, it was almost expected that we would all attend. And with that came the 60 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 benefit of reduced fees. As a family, it seemed a sound decision for the benefit of all.

I thought the sporting opportunities the most advantageous facet of the grammar school. Mum suggested that the variety of subjects and diversity of languages the most significant discriminating aspects. I was sure that secretly both Mum and Dad, products of private boarding schools in Sydney, had an insight into the benefits attendance at such a school would bring, and for us, this would manifest itself in later life. Little did I realise that the sacrifice being made was entirely altruistic.

The sport was great. Many opportunities were available based on relationships established over time with similar schools, slightly isolated, who relished a couple of days of fierce competition with like-minded opponents. Facilities were superior in some ways, as past students happily donated money to assist in the development of new and better grounds and equipment.

These are my perceptions and I am sure far more is considered when parents choose educational institutions. Some kids went off to the Catholic school. It did not seem to have a great following and was reputed to have fairly average academic and behavioural standards. Naturally, funding was vital for its survival and that waxed and waned at the whim of the government. Probably the most damning aspect of St Thomas’ was that kids kicked out of either the high school or the grammar school invariably ended up there. That would not only lower the tone but the academic success.

I had a lot to be grateful for and it had taken me a significant time to realise that. Part of my resolution was to take all these things on board and be a better kid. That probably meant being better from a myriad of perspectives, including application to schoolwork and homework, behaviour, attitude to life and particularly my responsibilities as a sibling, a daughter and member of a large family.

It was overwhelming. I had always taken things in my stride but being left with hours to ponder had made life more challenging and an apparent perception that I had a greater task to undertake in the future. A small part of me wanted to revert to childhood and the simplicity that I remembered. An uncomplicated life seemed so desirable at the moment. ‘Charlie, get a grip’, I thought. Although growing up came with hassles it also came with some great opportunities and no doubt endless exciting discoveries. Sex, for one, had to be quite something, if I was to acknowledge its importance in the whole scheme of things.

The weekend would be tough. Everyone home in the small house, varying amounts of guilt and the threat of salacious gossip swirling around. The latter concern was a culmination of all the recent events, even the secret ones. However, with Dad home the dynamics were different. He often had harebrained ideas to amuse us. It was getting increasingly difficult as our ages were so varied and it was harder to con the older kids to go on a lame family picnic or have mini Olympics in the back yard, particularly as we older ones weren’t eligible to win any of the prizes.

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But this time he had excelled with his idea. We were going to have therapy. Catholic social justice therapy. The idea was that we went out and did stuff for others. The intent was to be busy helping other people. It provided the opportunity to appreciate how fortunate we really are. It was great therapy to forget yourself. Mum’s theory was it was the best way to get back on track to become a whole person, to repair cracks. There was merit in it, and I discovered the removal of self-absorption was indeed therapeutic.

So early Saturday morning we piled into the Volvo and headed off to become better people. Lucky for Mum, she was granted a leave pass, and she waved us off as we made the positive step in the direction of town where we would be packing shoeboxes. Operation Christmas Child served to organise shoeboxes packed with goodies appropriate for particular ages and genders and decorated accordingly. An enormous pile of bits and pieces had been dropped off at the local RSL and our task was not too onerous. Or so I thought.

We started by simply dividing the items into gender and age-appropriate piles. The kids needed a fair amount of direction with that. Joel just moseyed around, not causing trouble, so he was left to his own devices. We eventually had a fairly efficient system going and I was surprised when Dad called that he was heading off to get morning tea for us. We didn’t exactly down tools, but without his watchful supervision we slowed to a snail’s pace.

His return heralded a feeding frenzy, only ever witnessed by members of large families and those who go to boarding school. We polished off two packets of Tim Tams and an apple each in record time, and then headed back to our sorting. Despite the repetition, it was a pleasant task and as Dean had thought to bring his iPod, we had accompanying music.

Before lunch we had managed to complete the piles and were ready for the older kids to label boxes and direct the others to fill them appropriately. We had accomplished a significant amount by the time Dad suggested a break and we wandered off into town as a motley crew to have a picnic lunch in the park. We looked a bit like a bunch of refugees trailing after Dad. It was a good lunch though, no stuff from home. Dad bought five servings of fish and chips and flavoured milk. Before we started eating, Dad thanked us all and made a little formal speech about supporting Mum. As we scrambled to open the packages to find the recipient of the longest chip, we were a picture of contentment. The grass was a bit damp, but we happily spread out and gobbled up all the food. Lying in the sun felt so indulgent with a full belly and a happy family to share the day with. The boxes were traditionally sent overseas and often fulfilled lifelong dreams for kids who had very simple wants and needs, but had rarely, if ever, received presents of their own at Christmas.

We ambled back to the RSL as the elderly diggers were descending on the place to try their luck on the pokies and have a few beers. It was an incongruous sight. Our task was completed, and I felt very satisfied with Dad’s brave move. Few complaints 62 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 were aired as we headed home after our virtuous day. No need to get sanctimonious though, there are people in this town who spend their whole lives helping others and it wasn’t the Stilton’s.

To my absolute amazement, as we drove over the grid and up to the house, Mum was on the verandah talking to Jane, the old bag who was the school busy-body and whose responsibilities included student welfare. She was not my favourite person, nor Mums. However, her visit could spell good news or bad news and I eager to discover which. I jumped out of the car, let the kids out of the back of the wagon and headed over to make polite conversation. Not really, my curiosity was killing me. We had nothing to do with Jane since Mum unceremoniously left the school. Mum would never have invited her over, particularly when she had a kid- free day, on her own. I had imagined Mum having a bubble bath, reading, having too many cups of tea, perhaps an extended phone call to Grandma, certainly not entertaining Jane Olsen.

‘Mrs Olsen’, I feigned good manners, ‘how are you?’ Who cares? I thought but I had to ask. ‘Everything okay at school? It hasn’t burned down and you’re here to say no school on Monday, I hope’, I added insincerely.

‘I am well. Nothing so dramatic, Charlotte’, she responded curtly. ‘There are a few matters I needed to sort out with your mother. School will be back as usual on Monday. Be there bright and early.’

After her rather caustic response, I decided I could get the intel later from Mum. What a cow. She was a very superior person, or she considered herself to be and had an unfortunate manner. So unfortunate that I didn’t rate any more effort to be polite.

‘Okay, see ya’, I called as I headed for the house and the sanctity of my bedroom. I supposed I should get on with Wuthering Heights. All was not lost, I was happy to bury myself in the passion of it. Just the allusion to the love of Catherine and the fiery Heathcliff shared was enough to suitably occupy me until dinner. Or so I thought.

Mum came inside moments later and the usual calm façade was nowhere to be seen. She was livid, almost exploding with rage.

‘That bloody woman!’ she exclaimed. ‘How dare she come here and lay down the law to me? She has no manners and certainly no idea of propriety.’ Somehow the explosion was over she was calmed and ready to explain. I waited eagerly for an explanation.

‘Jane decided she needed to tell me what she thinks I ought to do in relation to my employment at the school. She feels it would be in the best interest of the school for me to resign. To go gracefully is how she put it. She feels costly legal action is not necessary. Well, you know what? I am even more determined to fight for what I 63 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 believe in and not be deterred by the likes of that barren old bitch.’ Go Mum, I liked her fighting words, she was in full flight, so no-one dared interrupt.

‘And another thing, you kids have the right to be there, to hold your heads high. This whole issue is a matter of principle and clearly certain members of the school community have none.’ She was adamant and very convincing in her determination to fight for justice. More surprising was her acceptance that we were all part of it and would be included in the nearing public court case.

Dad emerged from the laundry. ‘Gen’, he questioned, ‘what exactly did she say?’

‘Basically, she wants me to walk away, acknowledge the school board have a right to terminate my contract, even if they don’t have the right, withdraw my accusations against Derek, despite his total incompetence. She inferred that I could divide the community and it would reflect badly on the school. I hasten to add that she also suggested the trouble around the deputy’s provision of alcohol to minors could have been avoided if parents had been more supportive of him after he took over from me.’ She was emphatic that the nonsense Jane had sprouted had no effect on her, I was not so sure. She seemed to be so affected by it, she had lost her usual calm and serene demeanour. While her rage had gone, her strong voice was not waning.

We now seemed to have a better picture of the events surrounding Mum walking away from her job. I assume she had not been prepared perhaps to compromise her strong sense of right and wrong. We were still not privy to the actual incident. But I was really thrilled to finally realise Mum had not compromised her usual high standards. Or so I thought.

Things seem to be on the improve until we sat down to dinner. After we had all finished, Dad cleared his throat and asked we wait until he had finished if we had questions or comments to make. It sounded a bit like a formal lecture. Before he started, he told the little ones they could go and watch TV. With whoops of excitement, they raced off.

The gist of Dad’s epistle was that while Pip had disappointed the family, the matter needed no further discussion and it had been decided she would indeed return next term with Dad and board at Canberra Girls’ Grammar to complete Year 11 and 12. Pip nodded sagely, obviously having accepted the decision. I wondered who had decided it with such finality. I was another matter. Dad remarked that despite the dominant culture (his words, not mine) of underage drinking, it was naive of me to participate. There was nothing at all to justify my involvement. He did, however, pass sentence and my grounding punishment was to be reviewed and reconsidered when I returned to school next week. I was dying to ask if I could have my phone back but bit my tongue.

Dean had obviously leaked his intention to move to Sydney, as Dad referred to this by supporting his decision and suggesting to us that it would be in a couple of months and with his and Mum’s blessing. I was surprised that Dean had been 64 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 candid with the parentals, or had he? Our last conversation did not include any disclosures but who knows, maybe he had done the whole heart-to-heart with Dad. No way, I was not sure Dean was even sure of things relating to his sexuality, so he was not likely to have offered Dad an explanation other than the usual desire to go to the city and have an adult life.

I was digesting Dad’s comments and had stopped concentrating when he dropped the bombshell. He was going to continue his work with ASIO but by the end of next year, he would have completed his latest contract and would therefore, return to be a full-time dad. Was he retiring? Did you retire from that organisation?

Of all of the evening’s disclosures that was the most dramatic. I, for one, had no idea he had been working for ASIO all this time. Dean, Pip and I all looked askance at each other. ASIO, bloody hell, is that what he had been involved in all this time? In a way it explained a lot, or so we innocently thought. In fact, as an engineer, Dad had a rather boring role in logistics, but we learned that a lot later.

Well, it had certainly been a night of exposés. Not only had we sort of learned the reason for Mum’s current situation but after years of childish innocence Dad’s job finally had a definition. I think getting to sleep tonight will have a whole new set of challenges. All of a sudden, I was so relieved to be sharing a room with Pip. We had the opportunity to download privately and work through the enormity of the last few days and weeks but, more importantly, the last few minutes of parental disclosure.

As I rose to clear the table Dad asked me to sit. I was in too much shock to disagree so I obeyed. ‘Finally,’ he said to all of us, ‘I am so thrilled and proud of my family. You have taken adversity and accepted it, you have thrived on the support of each other, thank you.’

This was more than Dad has said publicly my whole life. He had been a man of few words my entire life. He had been an absent father. A provider, but often absent from the important events and celebrations of our family. That didn’t matter, things were becoming apparent to me and making sense for the first time. I was, after all, a product of my parents, who I was and what I did was a direct result of who they were and what they had done.

It was like a light had suddenly but slowly gone on; things started to make sense. None of the past events had been isolated and irrelevant but all part of a bigger plan, a plan that I needed to take hold of and control so that I could, in years to come, feel a certain satisfaction with and be proud of what I had done to contribute and, more importantly, acquire skills that the future would appreciate.

I knew, despite my best intentions, that I would lie down, my head would hit the pillow and I would go to sleep immediately. I had so much to think about, dream about and plan for the future. That was my mission; I could be someone, do something and not stay here and repeat the cycle. I was determined to actually turn over that leaf and fulfil my dreams. 65 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

When I woke my heroic thoughts had all but vanished and I was focused on Sunday, no big deal really except tomorrow, school. Not only that, Year 12. To further complicate matters I would see Toby, all day. My maturity had vanished, and I was solely concentrating on how to play things. With Toby, of course. Mass was a sobering experience and probably a good thing at 9 am on Sunday morning. A bit more Catholic penance would do no harm to any of us. We trooped in a little late. Father Michael smiled and nodded in recognition of the miracle of the attendance of the entire Stilton family. It felt good, I had a lot to thank God for and a bit of silent ‘me time’ was never going to go astray.

The most startling occurrence was the homily, which suggested more introspection. Now that was a surprise, but Father Michael often seemed to know more than he possibly could. With his advice ringing in my ears, I resolved to mature overnight, be a better person, sister, daughter and most of all student. That may have been taking things a bit far.

Monday dawned overcast and a bit chilly. It could have been an omen, I wasn’t sure. I jumped out of bed and decided a short run was an ideal way to start the day, the new term and Year 12. I headed off towards the Maidens’. The road was fairly flat and predictable, insofar as the traffic. It was unlikely even one car or truck would be on the road at this hour. As I maintained my rhythm, I was able to consider the future. Year 12. Scary stuff. I resolved not to be scared, to take it in my stride and take things head-on, be confident. I could do it, couldn’t I?

As I turned at the crossroads to head home I noticed a truck parked on the shoulder. That’s weird, it was 6 am, who would be out here? I decided to continue for a bit to have a look as surreptitiously as possible. Well that was the plan anyway. As I approached the truck it was obvious that two blokes were inside and by the look of them asleep. I passed the driver’s side and turned to head home when one of the truck’s occupants called out, ‘Hey, what time is it?’

I had no real idea having crawled out of bed, pulled on my running stuff and quietly left the house. I called over my shoulder as I quickened my pace, ‘About six, I think’. I was not frightened but I did have a vivid imagination so was eager to get home and put the disquieting experience behind me, literally. I hastened my pace and cruised in the front gate as Dad strolled out to pack his car in preparation for the trek back to Canberra.

‘Morning sunshine, good run?’ he asked.

I nodded and decided to forget the truck and its occupants as I headed in for a shower and breakfast.

Things were abuzz in the kitchen. Pip had packed but was fussing about her hair, now a conservative dark blonde plait. Probably nervous. It was a huge cultural shift for her and so far, she seemed to be prepared to take it all in her stride. She was so 66 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 arsey, she would probably come up trumps and surprise us all. Dean was, surprisingly, up and about making coffee for the troops. My stomach was doing backflips and I wasn’t sure I could eat or drink anything. I wasn’t sure why either.

By the time I showered and reappeared in the kitchen, it was time to farewell Pip and wish her well. We wouldn’t see her for weeks, I suspected. We hugged and kissed and promised to stay in close contact. What a change from a term ago. I felt the familial bond as never before. To simplify matters, Mum would drop me at school so Pip and Dad could head off with no complications. What a transformation of so many aspects of our lives.

Moments later I was ready. Mum decided it was better for her to drive to ensure safe passage. That was not to be. She dived into the driver’s seat and inserted the key into the ignition. No sound, I groaned, shrugged and thought, ‘Can’t she’d get it right?’ My resolution to be mature could not have been further from my mind. She would get it right, she had been driving for years. A bloody flat battery on my first day of Year 12. The trouble with living out of town, I guess. NRMA? I don’t think so. By the time they got the call, had a cuppa of tea and headed out to us, it would be lunchtime or even later. All that depended on having phone coverage to even rouse them. I wondered if the two guys asleep in the truck were still there.

My first real day of freedom in over two weeks ruined, if you call school freedom. Shit, what an unmitigated disaster. Dad and Pip were long gone. We had very few options. Mum proposed we call Sal and see if she had left. No luck there, Super Sal had gone in early to do prefect duty and check for correct uniforms as kids got off the bus, her Mum informed us, rather smugly

There was no way she would call Jane bloody Olsen, despite the close proximity of her place. I thought, Toby to the rescue. I decided to float it. Naturally, I would need my mobile phone back.

‘Mum I can try Toby Fitzgerald? His dad always drives him and he has his Ps if his dad can’t help us. I will need my mobile as I don’t know his number’, I confidently suggested.

‘Okay’, she replied. She ferreted around in her handbag and passed it to me, ‘Give that a try’.

However, despite my brain wave and supreme hopeful thoughts, there was no response. Things were getting a bit difficult. What to do next? It was important I got to school for a million reasons and not the least was I certainly did not want to make a late entrance.

Help comes from the strangest places. The Maidens were late for school as they had forgotten about the daylight savings adjustment on Saturday night and were beetling along past our gate as we had all but given up hope. Not only was I denied the ignominy of being dropped off by Mum, but I could arrive in style, in the 67 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Maiden’s work truck. It was an old red Toyota Hilux with over 200,000 kilometres on the clock. It did the trick though, we arrived just in time before the first bell and what would be an interesting turn of events. Who would be running the show now? The powers that be, those who make up the School Board, have no idea about education. They are a group of locals with inflated ideas of their importance and often have personal agendas. That was mostly in reference to their darlings. It was obvious that decisions made had been influenced by various lobby groups from time to time. Probably the most outstanding was when Jane’s son was nominated as primary school captain a couple of years ago. I understand that influence was brought to bear to ensure he was elected, despite a distinct lack of popularity or leadership qualities.

They had also stubbornly refused to remove a teacher of very dubious ability. I am not one to criticise mental illness, but this guy was nuts. His condition meant you never knew which personality was going to turn up to class: a calm and reasonable person or a tyrannical maniac. Various students had tried to inform Derek of this to no avail. He really seemed to think that ignorance is bliss so pretended not to hear our concerns.

Finally, school and freedom, of sorts. Everyone was scattered around in groups waiting for the bell. We had music as the bell. Apparently, it was calming and non- threatening. It was good, in Year 7 it took a little getting used to, but it was the norm now. Naturally, some of the songs and/or choices were questionable and others really predictable. As December loomed each year and the end of school for the summer break, Alice Cooper’s Schools Out was heard for two glorious weeks. I am sure that was around in Mum’s day! The bell went and we were herded into the hall. I was thinking of the old Aerosmith song, I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing as Toby sidled up to me and touched my hand.

‘Sorry I didn’t get over; Dad was swamped with orders and was in no mood for negotiating.’ He spoke quietly as he gently led me into the hall. ‘Missed you’, he added.

‘Me too, but Toby I have to sit up the front as I am House Sports Captain and we get our badges today, so see ya soon.’ I had to reluctantly break contact and head off to sit with the prefects and captains in the front row. I glanced back but he was in conversation with Johno, school hunk and Mr Popular. I didn’t know they even knew each other. There was probably much I didn’t know about Toby Fitzgerald. I felt inadequate. I wanted this to work but I had no idea what I needed to do.

The assembly was a farce, it seemed every term some drama occurred, and now we had a new acting principal. Unsurprisingly really, Easten was now in the chair. The old cow had been dying for the chance. Well, let’s see what she’s made of. She has been around so long I am not sure she is even relevant any longer. My aim is to get through the next four terms, get a good score and get out of here. To do? I am not sure what.

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Well, school captains have been named and shamed. The naming held no surprises; however, the shaming was a guilt trip provided for us to do the right thing, in and out of school, an aside to the events of underage drinking at the end of last term. There was no mention of Dr Derek, obviously gone the way of the dodo bird. I was aware of my responsibilities and they were not just school. I needed to be mature and be a reliable family member. I kept thinking that and one now small blip this morning had made me angry and well, immature again. In the meantime, the Kiwi sports visit was looming, and I was going to make that a success. I decided if I called a meeting of the players and organised a practice after school it would rally support. I wasn’t sure cheerleaders would be in evidence, I hoped not really. Bex, with Pip, gone, was probably less inclined to make a fool of herself.

The meeting went well, and we resolved to train twice after school in the two weeks remaining before the arrival of the visiting St Cuthbert’s College. The netballers had the far more challenging match. Kiwis were notoriously strong netball players. Finally, a focus.

The day wore on and I found concentrating in class less challenging. It was probably the result of having more to think about than myself. Or was it because across the room in English sat Toby? No acknowledgement but hey, he was there. The proximity was a good thing. I had almost finished Wuthering Heights, this added to my engagement and confidence.

Despite the complications of the love Catherine and Heathcliff had, life seemed so much easier in 1847, so much simpler. The all-encompassing and passionate love between Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw is never truly unresolved, but the passion is so palpable. Sadly, it destroys them. Understanding Brontë’s intent has been a real challenge but class discussion is lively, and our teacher is impressed with the apparent enthusiasm for Year 12 English. I feel great, it is lively, and I am connected. My enthusiasm is also for Toby. He is gazing out of the window; I suspect he has not read the book.

I surreptitiously check my phone, a message. No surprises, it is from Toby. Have u read book? I haven’t yet, if ever ☺. He ends it with a little smiley face. Impressive!

I put my phone away before I get caught and lose it for a week. The new me trying to do the right thing. I wonder if it will last. I choose not to respond but grab Toby as we leave the room,

‘After school?’ I ask quizzically. He smiles.

‘I’ve got the car, want a ride home?’ he suggests. ‘Hang on, after I see Easten, she has summoned me, student carpark 3:45, okay?’

‘Cool’, I replied, but secretly knew I had better check with Mum. I sent her a quick text. Bum, no response. Now I had a dilemma, I wanted to go with Toby, I wanted to 69 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 do the right thing. Decision time. I will meet him at the car and explain my dilemma, honesty is the best policy.

I head off to my locker, pack a pile of books so I can work tonight. I wander down to the car park where Toby is already waiting. I do not quicken my pace; I decide to be a bit cool. Toby walks towards me grinning widely.

‘Hey’, he greets me. My resolve to do the right thing evaporates. Surely having Toby drive me home is no big deal. He was one of the options when we had car problems this morning. Which reminds me, Mum is perhaps still hassling with the car and that explains why I have had no response to my text. When you are besotted with someone it is easy to justify everything and anything.

‘Hey’, I respond.

‘Charlie, we need to be careful. We have a big year and I know a good HSC score is a focus. Perhaps a few rules are a good idea. I know I could spend every waking hour with you, but …’ He doesn’t finish the sentence. I think he may be a bit surprised that he has verbalised his feelings so honestly.

‘Yeah, okay, I guess that has merit. What do you suggest? Contact once a week, once a day, hourly? I was thinking hourly would be good. No, seriously, you are right. Perhaps if we think about it, I need to find out if my punishment is over and what rules Mum has in mind, is that okay?’

Parents’ punishments seemed so much harsher than expected I thought. ‘I s’pose’, he said non-committedly. It left me feeling less positive about us, as well as the awkward feeling that a parental influence maybe going ruin what I had hoped for all through Year 11. At least I knew that he liked me enough to pursue me, a comfortable feeling for now anyway. It made me feel a bit uncertain, but I knew this relationship was doomed if Mum had other plans and was going to thwart my ideas of pursuing this romance.

How was I going to focus? I had these great resolutions and wanted to fulfil them, but to quote Steve Tyler, ‘I don’t want to miss one smile I don’t want to miss one kiss well, I I just want to be with you, right here with you, just like this The song was from my childhood. I remembered Mum was mad on the song and she would often play it having seen the film Armageddon years ago.

What a mess. Again. Okay, I needed to focus, I had to make some decisions. Things were going okay, but I had no experience, no idea really, not a clue and wanted to desperately get it right. Does that ever happen the first time? I considered consulting Pip. How dumb was that? She was younger, but so much more experienced it seemed. Or was she? I had no idea what had transpired, nor with whom.

I decided to be proactive and, as it turns out, a little foolhardy. ‘Okay drive me home 70 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 and let’s have a chat to Mum if she is in a good mood. You right with that?’

‘Sure’, he said, ‘I am great with Mums, even though I never really had one’. I jumped in the passenger seat feeling only slightly better. This whole thing was really quite hard. It shouldn’t be. I had wished and wished that my feelings were reciprocated and now that they seemed to be, I was so unsure. The mum thing may just be an excuse. Why would I avoid what I had been so sure I wanted?

No logic really, but as we drove out of the student carpark, I was feeling a bit better. He could have said get lost, grow up or any number of things but he didn’t, he agreed to take me home and even confront Mum. That would be hard for anyone. Mum had a whole history. Much of it unexplained. She had interviewed him for enrolment and may know far more about him than I. I hadn’t thought of that when I was agonising about the formal. Wow, that really seemed like so long ago now.

I was slightly anxious, especially as we had experienced a fraught start to the day. Mum was not herself, hadn’t been really since she walked out of the principal’s office in May. I was convinced she had done no wrong, but it seemed that was still to be determined. Her solicitor had lodged a case for breach of contract with the Industrial Commission against the school and it would be determined at some stage later in the year or even next year. The easy fix or speedy end to the changed family situation was not going as quickly as first predicted. I had learned to remove myself from it somewhat and didn’t endlessly feel some level of responsibility anymore. In a way that caused me some grief as I felt I should.

Toby put a CD in the player, and we drove in silence listening to Kei$ha. Oh, to be in his head. What was he thinking right now? He had kissed me so passionately and with such tenderness I felt things could only get better. We turned off the tar into our place. We bumped over the grid and he turned off the CD as it jumped with the sudden jolting of the car. FM radio is non-existent in this part of the world and the old ute had a custom CD player. No doubt so Toby’s dad could groove away doing his deliveries in the early morning.

‘Hey, Charlie it’s cool, you need to stop stressing, we will work this out. No more alcohol indulgence eh?’ he joked.

We walked up the front stairs, I was leading the way and I dumped my school bag in the doorway to my room and called to Mum.

‘Mum, I’m home, day one over’, I shouted in the direction of the kitchen. I realised warning her I was with Toby was probably advisable. ‘How’s the car? Toby brought me home.’ I got the feeling she had either not heard or was going deaf. She appeared from the direction of her bedroom. I got the feeling she had been crying, which was most unusual for Mum.

Toby exuded gentlemanly manners and greeted Mum as she walked towards us. ‘Afternoon Mrs Stilton’, he volunteered, offering to shake her hand. His offer was not 71 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 accepted, not out of rudeness but it was not her habit with our friends. It was an adult thing.

So, major dilemma. Mum was acting hostile. She was clearly not happy and I could only assume that it had something to do me arriving home with Toby. I was right.

‘Well, thanks Toby, you probably heard that we had car trouble this morning. Nothing a new battery couldn’t fix.’ Her tone was gracious but curt. She was ending his first visit before it had really started. ‘Charlie, see Toby to the door please.’ It wasn’t a question it was a direction.

Well, that put paid to that. Our plans were blown. I was hoping that we could sort out where we went from here. I wanted to know in terms of what parameters were set by the parentals now I was in Year 12 and had served out my punishment for irresponsible behaviour. That was not going to happen at this juncture. I was devastated. I was in such a muddle. I was trying to figure this whole thing out. I did not understand my feelings. Am I heads over heels? I thought I was. What was the story with Mum? Was she going to get all tough and punitive?

We stood there momentarily, shocked, I think, at her reaction. Then Toby broke the silence and said, ‘Nice to meet you’. I was embarrassed because he had obviously met her before at school and yet she made him seem so unwelcome.

‘Okay, Toby let’s go, won’t be long Mum’. We hurried out of the room. I felt like a princess when I was with Toby, but this had been humiliating and I had no idea what he was thinking about this latest stuff up in the Stilton family saga. It didn’t take long for that to become apparent.

‘Okay, well I guess I’ll see ya later, Charlie. Much later.’ He said as he pecked me on the cheek and hopped into his car. What did that mean? Much later? Was it over before it started? What was the ‘it’ I was fantasising about?

I reluctantly said a forlorn, ‘Bye’, and wandered back inside. Mum was sitting at the kitchen table, head in hands. She looked so vulnerable. Where was the strong, capable Mum I had always relied on? She looked so sad.

As I approached, she looked up and sighed. ‘Put the kettle on will you please’, she asked.

‘Sure Mum, you okay? Has something happened with Dad or Pip? You want tea?’ Actually, thinking what a chameleon she is, has she no care for me and my feelings.

‘Thanks sweetheart. No, the family are fine, Pip hasn’t had 12 hours at school yet so it’s early days for things to go wrong. But, you know, with this family it seems if anything can go wrong, it will’, she lamented.

‘Why the sad face then and the hurry up to get Toby out of here?’ I ventured. 72 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

‘Dad and I had a discussion’, she said. I thought, Here we go, what gem is she about to impart? Her rude and abrupt conversation with Toby was inexcusable.

‘There are some rules we feel need to be established now you are ostensibly in Year 12. I know you won’t like it, but it is to help you remain on task and focused. Do the absolute best you can. It is not for that long really.’ It was sounding ominous already and the actual rules had yet to be mentioned.

‘Okay, so what are the rules?’ I asked tentatively, not sure if I really wanted to know.

‘Without spoiling your apparent blooming relationship, we feel it is better if you just have friends, not boyfriends, and limited socialising. It will be easier to concentrate on your schoolwork if you don’t have a boyfriend for a start. There is plenty of time for that when the HSC is over.’

I am sure she thought she was being very logical. I didn’t! I thought she was being totally illogical and even punitive. Was this because of what had happened or was it because my parents really believe that my happiness is of no importance when it comes to academic success?

‘Mum that is not fair. How can you say that when you know how I feel about Toby? Bloody Pip, she’s ruined everything. You can’t stop me seeing him, we go to school together.’ I was angry and my voice wavered as I spoke.

‘Do not bring Pip into this. This is about you and what we think is best for you. Young lady, this is our house and our rules apply. You need to show some respect and appreciate that we care about you and that is why we have made these decisions.’ I had no strength to fight her. I still had lingering feelings of regret at the situation at the school that had landed us in this mess, and I didn’t want to hurt Mum. I was angry but as I simmered, I thought I would just have to plan things to suit myself and not get into an argument about it.

‘More relevant right now Charlie is Dean’s news. No doubt he will tell you when he gets home, but it looks like he has found a job in Sydney, so it will not be all that long until he is off. Great news for him isn’t it?’ Well, that was news. I wondered what he would be doing. I was also losing an ally and a friend. It was going to be a tough year.

‘Yeah, great. I have work to do, call me when you need help with dinner or getting Joel ready for bed’, I called as I exited the room, still fuming. I decided the best thing to do was text Toby. I felt awful, Mum had been quite rude, and I imagined he felt a bit awkward as well. I sat and thought for a while about what to say. I didn’t want to make excuses and I didn’t want to elaborate on her rules. I wanted to have contact, feel everything was still on track with us, know there was still an ‘us’.

Hey, life sux, see you at school. Training after school for Kiwi trip! Charliegirl. I 73 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 thought the nickname was a good touch, might make him feel better, don’t know how, but I did it anyway.

It seemed like ages before I received a reply. It wasn’t what I expected either. No worries, out for dinner. Later. Toby.

No time like the present to do some work and feel virtuous. Just when I thought things were improving it seems another spanner has been thrown into the works. Back to Wuthering Heights. My standby and even inspiration perhaps. Did Heathcliff love Catherine so much that he was unable to ever love anyone else? Charlie, get a grip, it is a Gothic romance and entirely fiction.

I had finally begun to concentrate when Dean popped in to tell me his news.

‘Well Deanman, it seems it’s all coming together at last. That’s great. I will miss you heaps, but it could be a possible way for me to escape the Draconian restrictions Year 12 brings with it, maybe secret visits to Sydney?’

‘Kiddo, it will be worth it in the end, you will thank them. Imagine if you get into physio?’ he replied, already sounding prematurely responsible and even one of them.

‘Yeah, right. I just wish Mum would understand I will study better if given some freedom’.

‘Hey Charlie, surely you realise that it is not just about you. Things have been tough for her and everyone for that matter. I guess she is keen to get things back on track and maybe she is being punitive, but probably just trying to channel the past, when things were great.’

‘You’re right, it’s just, well, I think Toby won’t wait. Most guys would recoil at Mum’s stance.’ I was still unable to think beyond myself and my feelings. It was probably a result of not really understanding them myself.

Before I could resettle and get on with things Mum called us for dinner. What a hostile meal it was. She was monosyllabic and cranky. Dean was feeling elated, he was finally going to Sydney and with the family’s blessing. He wanted to talk about it. The kids always wanted to talk and often had no idea of the dynamics of what was happening. We ate in a sombre fashion and thankfully, as we finished our meal, the phone rang. Bridie jumped up to get it and let out a squeal of delight.

‘It’s Pip! … We’ve just finished ours, that’s so early. Do you get to watch TV? And is the food okay?’ she asked, fascinated with the concept of boarding school. I jumped up from the table to take the phone, despite much protest from Bridie.

I strolled down the hall and onto the verandah for some privacy. I was feeling lonely. I had shared a room with Pip, then she was gone, then back, only to head off to 74 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 boarding school. I was actually missing her. We chatted excitedly about our day kilometres apart and made comparisons about all the important things: homework, teachers, boys for me and lack of them for Pip. I told her Mum’s decision about boyfriends in Year 12. She was shocked. She sounded sympathetic, but I’m not sure enough to blame herself though or ask if she sees she had a part in the current situation.

Mum strode out and asked if she could have a word to Pip. I immediately surrendered the phone, not wanting to incur her wrath any more. I raced back to my room hoping to avoid any washing up. Mission accomplished! After what seemed like a fairly short time, my mobile vibrated and I picked it up to view the message. It was 9:30 pm already.

Met in 10 mins I will drove to your gate. Toby.

Naturally, I decoded the spello and responded. Ok.

How was I going to do this? Should I recruit Dean to cover for me in case of … I don’t know what. Nah, I figured, it was best to just do it. So, I dragged on a hoodie and ventured out to the kitchen to check the lie of the land. All was quiet so I sauntered out the back door and crept around to the front. I ran up the drive towards the gate as a car rounded the bend and headed towards our place. ‘Toby, I hope’, I thought. Not so. It was Father Michael, a friendly priestly visit to see how Mum was coping, I suppose.

I waved even though I wasn’t sure he saw me and, if he did, would he know it was me? How wrong I was. In the meantime, Toby rounded the corner in the ute. He slowed as he approached the gate. He was grinning as he got out of the car, his face illuminated by the interior light.

‘Charlie, what happened? If looks could kill I would be dead. I thought your Mum would be cool with us.’ No kiss, no nothing just an apparent desire to get this sorted quickly.

‘I dunno, I guess Pip, Mum’s job and Year 12 all added up to her getting heavy all of a sudden. But I feel the same Toby.’ So that was out there. I had trouble believing what I had said.

‘And what is that feeling exactly?’ His sarcasm very obvious.

‘Toby, what do you mean by that?’ I asked genuinely surprised at this question.

‘Come on Charlie, I have made my feeling so obvious the whole of Year 12 must know, you seem to have been evasive and not totally honest with me’, he said by way of explanation.

I was surprised for the second time in a matter of moments. This was so new to me 75 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

I had no idea I had not given him the impression that I was totally infatuated with him. But what should I say, what was the best way to respond with the right effect? I was hurt but more than that I was in shock. I counted to 10 slowly.

‘Are you serious?’ the counting to 10 did not really work. Maybe 20 next time. I was staggered. It was probably my innocence, naivety, immaturity, total lack of experience. Quick Charlie, think of something to say that is sensitive, caring, relevant and gives him the heads up. I am absolutely besotted, I think of little else. I daydream about him, consider all the options to see him, spend time with him, be close to him and wonder what the future holds without him. How do I say that and still sound rational?

‘God, shit Toby I adore you.’ I said it, it sounded really bad. I was so unprepared for this. Couldn’t he just hug me or something?

‘Well Charlie’, he said almost laconically, ‘I had not got those signals at all. I have been so confused; I had no idea what to think.’

He turned and looked at me, my heart melted. I reached out and touched his cheek. He took my hand and kissed it gently in the old-fashioned way males used to do with ladies to graciously greet them. I continued to be bowled over. Not only had Toby made his feelings abundantly clear, it appeared he may be prepared to be patient with stupid, innocent me. Does it get better than this?

I decided to be proactive I put my arms around his neck and kissed him squarely on the mouth. It felt good and I had for the first time taken the initiative. Ever. It felt good. What now?

‘Toby’, I said.

‘Charlie don’t say anything. Come here, let me hold you. You dope. You think I’m the world’s most experienced. I’m not. I just know I am, I dunno, hooked on you. It just feels right. Always has.’

‘Toby, you are something else, and then some.’ We laughed and laughed for ages, a sort of final break down of the barriers and the crazy misunderstandings, even inhibitions, that had existed for the longest time.

‘So, Charliegirl, what now? You’re crazy mother will never approve, she made that clear, particularly when I put my tongue in your mouth and hold you so close, I can feel your heartbeat.’

I had no idea how to react. I had played my trump card kissing Toby. I was out of smooth moves. Lucky Toby had admitted his own inexperience, we just hugged, held each other. After what seemed like forever, he moved away still holding his arm around me and looked at me for answers. I had none.

76 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

‘Okay, we need a plan. Where to next? Canberra? Sydney? Just kidding, but I do think we need to work out a plan as we are not going to have an easy time. I want us both to do well and to be happy. But I feel that, oh, I dunno, maybe we should do things our way.’

‘Toby I am not sure I can go against Mum after all the family dramas this year.’ That did not appear to impress him. I felt torn but I had grown up with such a strong emphasis of the importance of family. We were there for each other, loved, helped, supported, cried, fought and survived through and with each other. We had struggled together to get through Pip’s dramas, but we held it together, guided by Mum and successfully handled and now coped with it all. ‘What are you thinking?’ I questioned.

‘Let’s leave, go somewhere where we can be together, get out of here.’ He surprised me with that.

‘Are you serious?’ That was a dumb question, he clearly was. What a quandary. Of course, the suggestion was very appealing, but totally nuts. We had nowhere to go, no money, no clues at all. ‘How could we possibly do that?’ I ask querulously.

‘Hey, Charlie where’s your sense of adventure? Anything is possible if you want it enough.’ He replied in a really positive manner. He was really serious. What a crazy idea. If we were serious about Year 12 this would be a disaster.

‘Let’s think this through, there must be a way to sort this out without such a drastic measure’, I replied hopefully. I was stalling, I was scared. I was out of my depth, so little life experience and no confidence either.

‘Drastic is good, let’s just do it, come on. I just want to be with you. Now.’

Unknown to me at the time, Mum had gone looking for me to explain herself and her reaction to Toby. What that meant was, by the time Toby and I finished our rendezvous it was quite late, and Mum was furious when I strolled up the drive towards the house. My head was in the clouds and I was not expecting to see her. But I did and could see her, and I could almost sense smoke about to emerge from her ears.

‘Charlotte’, she called. ‘Where the Dickens have you been? I have been looking for you everywhere. This would be the worst possible start to Year 12.’ She was clearly livid. ‘I have spoken to you once today and attempted to establish guidelines and you appear to totally disregard them.’

‘Mum, you are not being fair. You aren’t treating me like a 17-year-old. In fact, I feel like a school kid, not even your daughter. Why do you insist on spoiling things for me? Don’t you care about me, about how I feel?’

‘This is not just about you; you are part of a family. Stop being so selfish. We are a 77 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 respectable family and I want no more of this rubbish about your feelings. You need to concentrate on Year 12, grow up and then you can have feelings and relationships. Now is not the time and you are far too young.’ She had made herself quite clear. I didn’t feel there was any point in continuing this conversation. I should have walked away but I didn’t. I have always liked to have the last word.

‘You know Mum, it is about me. There is someone who seems to care for me far more than you and doesn’t treat me like a child. I hate this family and all the crap about doing what’s right, being so perfect. I am going to do what I want to do.’ I thought I had had the last word, but Mum was not going to tolerate my vehemence.

‘Let me tell you young lady, this is my house and my rules, and you need to cope with that. Now it’s late, go to bed and we will complete this discussion in the morning. Good night.’ She turned and mounted the front steps with purpose and an air of having won round two.

‘Good bloody night yourself, Hitler’, I thought. It seemed that maybe Toby had an idea, get out. I needed to sleep it had been a huge day and I wanted to plan rationally what to do next. I felt like I was being badly treated and despite my aspirations and dreams for the future right now I needed an escape, options, some fair treatment. I tossed and turned and when I finally slept it seemed it was for a very short time. It was daylight way too soon and I decided a long run with Patch might be a positive start to the day.

I escaped without detection and ran out along the Maidens’ road until I was so hot and so exhausted, I felt I had expunged my anger. I slowed to turn and head home, Patch a willing companion. He was a little unsettled and wanted to sniff the shoulder of the road to the left more closely. We veered over and to my surprise, there was a tiny puppy crying in the long grass at the road’s edge. I had a close look. She looked okay, but very young and not at all happy. I bent to pick her up and noticed a bloody spot on her hindquarter. Poor little thing, I needed to get her home and patch her up and find the owner.

We headed home at a far slower pace than our outward journey. I cradled the pup in my tee-shirt unconcerned for the possible stains but hoping she would stay alive. It seemed to take ages before we turned and went down the long drive towards the house. It appeared everyone was still sleeping as there was an eerie quiet only evident in the bush in the early morning.

I took the front steps two at a time and crept through the house. Mum was emerging from the bathroom looking a bit worse for wear.

‘What’s that Charlie?’ she blearily asked.

‘A puppy we found out on the Maidens’ road about two kilometres from here.’ Last night’s animosity had vanished and our joint crusade to help the pup united us instantly. 78 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

‘Before we call the vet, let’s clean her up a bit’, Mum suggested. ‘Take her out to the laundry and put her on a towel on the washing machine.’ Still cradling the pup, who had stopped crying and was very still, I carefully negotiated my way through the detritus the kids had left lying around and managed to grab a towel and place her gently on it. She was the cutest little blue/grey bitsa I had ever seen. She was warm and had a strong heartbeat, so we assumed she was not badly injured. Mum cleaned her leg up and we decided that she was fine, and no vet required. Our next concern was to find an owner. In the country, dogs have a different role from pets in suburbia.

Country kids had dogs that were pets, but there were also lots of outside working dogs who, though very much part of the family, have a different relationship. In bad times when the drought was at its peak, you could have dogs drop puppies that couldn’t survive and had to be euthanised. This pup was probably unwanted and had been thrown from a car, but we had to make an effort before adding her to our menagerie. In the meantime, Mum decided that Diesel was a good name. She was the right colour and had been found on a road. So, Diesel was the temporary solution to any animosity felt last night and I readily agreed to the name. After a quick shower, I headed off to the main road to catch the bus feeling a whole lot more positive than last night when I crawled miserably into bed after 11 pm.

Arriving at school, I felt a more optimistic day lay ahead. First period English was a good start to the day. Ms Hopper was her usual confident self despite a noticeable baby bump evident beneath her skirt and top and thickening ankles exposed beneath her black leggings.

Toby had not appeared yet, but it didn’t surprise me after our assignation. The boys were there, in the back row busily comparing mobile phone screens and sniggering. I loathed to think who or what their latest victim was. They had a nasty habit of capturing unknowing suspects doing inappropriate things at parties and using them for amusement at a later date. They tendered to focus on their mates and their drinking experiences, the more revolting, the more hilarious they considered the antics.

Jarrad looked up as I entered and called out, ‘Hey lover girl’. I decided to smile but not actually reply hoping that would satiate his desire to make me feel embarrassed and he would proceed no further. Ms Hopper was having trouble with the Smart Board set-up and cannily requested Jarrad’s assistance before things could continue. Amid the shemozzle, Sally flounced in and announced she had passed her P driving test and Daddy had promised her a car, so she was going to get him to make good on the deal after school. A welcome diversion, despite the emergence of the green-eyed monster among many of the class at Sally’s privilege.

By the end of the lesson I was disappointed to note that Toby Fitzgerald had been conspicuous in his absence. Even self-centred Sal asked me where he was. The day that had started so promisingly was not looking so good now. I decided to send 79 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 a text to satisfy myself that everything was okay, but as I took my phone out of my pocket Mr Holcombe walked towards me and I decided that discretion was the best option and hurried off to the library to find some privacy and a suitable texting spot.

No response from my message left me puzzled, and when he had not arrived by recess, I assumed he wasn’t coming. Wrong again. He sauntered into the Year 12 common room at lunchtime. I was delighted but tried to be very circumspect in my enthusiasm. I casually looked up from my laptop and caught him looking at me. He motioned his head in the direction of the door. I closed the laptop and headed outside to the quad into what was a glorious sunny day now the morning mist had burned off. October is great here before the intensity of the summer arrives in late November. There had been plenty of rain, so the countryside was looking terrific. Pastures looked healthy and the spring crops were getting a good go on.

Toby walked casually past me and grabbed my hand. We walked towards the school oval and looked out over the screaming Year 7 girls being chased enthusiastically by some Year 8 boys. I am sure they wouldn’t know what to do if they caught them. Luckily, the girls had safety in numbers, and they were intent on sticking together for protection.

‘What’s the story?’ I asked.

‘Had stuff to do and Dad left early so I thought it was a good time to plan our escape.’ His manner was casual, and he spoke of us clearing out with a casual air. I was surprised.

‘Escape, now that sounds exciting. What have you planned so far?’ I inquired.

‘Nothing really, I slept in and dreamed of lying on a beach with you with very little clothing on.’ He joked and put his arm around my waist drawing me in towards him. The rules at school are very strict with boy/girl touching. There is an urban myth that suggests teachers on playground duty used to carry around a one-metre ruler and measure the distance between couples. He had an air of ‘devil may care’ and often flagrantly broke school rules, not out of any real purpose, more because he could. Driving to school came with very definite rules and obligations. My man couldn’t care, he hadn’t filled in the required paperwork and had neglected to register his number plate or car make and model at the office, nor had he been allocated a parking space. He didn’t care.

‘I went for a run this morning and found a cute little puppy on the roadside near the Maiden’s fence line. Mum and I patched her up and called her Diesel. Mum’s going to see who owns her if she can. If not, I guess I have a new friend’.

‘We can take her with us’, he suggested.

‘Toby, you really are set on this “get out of here” plan, aren’t you?’ I said.

80 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

‘Yep, sure am, are you up for it?’

‘Well, yeah I am but I am worried about stuff. Mum went mental last night when she discovered I had met up with you.’

‘Why did you tell her, you dope?’ he joked and poked me in the ribs.

‘I didn’t, she was looking for me to supposedly make peace after her earlier flip out. She was on the verandah and she saw me walk up the drive. She was wild, told me not to be selfish. But after I came home with the pup this morning she mellowed, and we were very civil to each other.’

The bell sounded, way too soon, and we had to go our separate ways. I had PDHPE and Toby had a double D&T. We resolved to see each other in the carpark after school. I struggled through periods five and six, far more focused on seeing Toby after school than anything else. I needed to engage in modern history in period 6 but today was not the time. Surely, I had a few weeks to get my act together, do my research and be on top of things. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, how he reacted to me, how he spoke to me, how he touched my face and gently kissed me. He made me feel so special.

Maybe we should just go, get out of here. That was so irresponsible, but it would be so good to spend 24/7 with him. Wouldn’t it? God, I honestly think I love this guy. He certainly consumes all my thoughts now, to the point of distraction.

After school we decided that next weekend, we will do something decisive and maybe have a day driving somewhere. I am not planning on seeking permission or even informing Mum. I think I will either line up Sal to cover for me or plan a study day somewhere. Toby has to work out how to get a car for the day and then it will be sweet. So, we resolve to be very circumspect for the rest of the week.

Saturday cannot come quickly enough. Lucky I am not the prissy type and will not spend hours stressing over what to wear or take. Shorts and a tee-shirt should be fine. Maybe we’ll swim somewhere.

So, to get through the rest of the week I figured I’d do some serious work. I have finally finished Wuthering Heights. It was awesome and having already read some Charlotte Brontë I have a real feeling for the sisters’ isolation and their highly developed imagination. When you couple that with their amazing talent to write, they are an inspiration to country kids like me trying to think analytically. Aside from my academic responsibilities, writers like the Brontës inspire me to do whatever I want after realising that isolation and hardship can actually breed creativity and inspiration.

Lots of the kids who are school leaders and local sports stars stay in town forever. They do so because of the big fish small pond scenario, but those who leave the district and achieve are revered by those who never leave. I do not want to be one 81 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 those, I have ambition and it starts with getting out of this place as soon as I can after the HSC.

I need to ‘Evaluate the impact of the novel [Wuthering Heights, naturally] on today’s writers’. This is my current challenge. Hopper will be tough too, as she is a bit of a Brontë tragic. She is an expert on lots of things and has read a fair bit, pity she won’t be here for the whole year if that bump is interpreted as an expected confinement. Focus Charlie, get this done and Saturday will be your reward. But where to start? Brontë has had a significant impact on current writers because … Basically, it is a canonical text and that, in itself, is reason enough for it to have exerted significant impact on all writers. The book has significant artistic merit and longevity. Why? What has Emily Brontë written to have such a place in literature? It was her only novel. If I start with the story, the unfolding complicated lives of Catherine and Heathcliff, then surely the importance of this novel today will be clearly apparent.

My mind wandered to Toby. I didn’t know very much about him really. The little I did know had not really been volunteered by him either. I had no real idea of anything in his life before he arrived here. I didn’t know about his family, his habits, his likes and dislikes, was there food he didn’t eat, drinks he didn’t like? What were his table manners like, his sleeping habits … I dunno, style? I hadn’t even seen him without a shirt on. Was this remorse I was experiencing? Surely, I am not commitment- phobic? Could it be that despite Mum’s disappointment, I’m sensible after all?

The best option to allay my fears was to share them. A problem shared is a problem halved. I grabbed my phone to text him and then thought better of it. Maybe Pip was the one to talk to. She had only been gone a couple of days but I had a feeling her life experiences were way beyond mine. I sent her a text and waited to see if the Gulag was in session or she could talk. It took a while for her to respond and she suggested a time later on as she had dinner very shortly and she couldn’t be late.

I cooled my heels, waiting, thinking of just how I would approach the subject. I knew we would start with the usual catching up and she would have tales of the vagaries of boarding life. Finally, my phone buzzed, Pip telling me it was a good time to call. I wandered nonchalantly out onto the front verandah ostensibly for some privacy, but also as a method of getting the best possible mobile reception.

We chatted amiably for ages and I got the lowdown on life in the city. Canberra, for God’s sake, the city? She was noticeably animated and the change seemed, at this early stage, to have been the right one. I finally got the courage to ask her advice. What a strange sensation that was. Pip, the nutty younger sister, giving me, the older, more responsible studious kid, advice. She had experiences I had only ever dreamed of. So I asked. I gave her the plan for our day together, I explained how we proposed to get out of here, to head off and spend a whole day just hanging out together and doing whatever. I didn’t mention that Toby was considering not coming back, romantic but I thought that was premature.

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Her suggestions were considered and quite sensible. I had to remind myself that this is the new Pip. Her initial encouragement felt supportive. Her idea was to have a loose plan, so we didn’t end up disappointed. She let her bias known and hoped we would consider Canberra as a destination. She didn’t convince me and I explained that the idea was to be ‘just us’. I ploughed on telling her of my inexperience, his kisses, my inhibitions and doubts about exactly what to do. She laughed and said no lessons, DVs, YouTube clips or words of wisdom from experienced siblings were needed. She assured me that it would absolutely be fine, it would just happen and I should relax and enjoy. It was comforting to have told her and I guessed we would continue to remain partners in crime for years to come. She was adamant that she could be trusted absolutely and that she was keen to hear of our adventure as soon as possible after the event. I told her that would be entirely based on its success; failure would not be advertised.

Despite the relaxed feeling our phone call had engendered I was still anxious. It was not necessarily what would happen or how, it was also if we would actually get away. I had no idea of Toby’s domestic arrangements. He seemed to have an enormous amount of freedom and a car at his disposal, way beyond the realms of my understanding.

But why not be positive. I was so looking forward to the weekend. But how was I actually going to swing this? Mum was still very cagey about giving me any freedom after the drinking incident. Even though her background was regular B & Ss and all that went with, she was now a responsible adult with six kids and she had become more and more conservative as she got older. I couldn’t even imagine what she and Dad did—particularly given that Dean was born about four months after they got married. Luckily they had made the right choice, albeit way before they had actually married.

School the next day was so painful. I remember Mum lamenting about Dean at a stage when he was over school and still had months to go. He had become an adult overnight and had logical arguments that actually held water against the restrictions and unrealistic expectations of the school. Yet, he was mature enough to bite his tongue and remain circumspect despite his enlightenment. He survived Year 11 and a bit of year 12, but given his present unemployment, who knows, he may have been better off staying. Funny how things end up though, now he is off to live in Sydney and school is of no importance anymore.

83 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Chapter 8

Friday finally arrived and Toby sent a text confirming he would pick me early Saturday morning. I was so excited but at the same time a little anxious. I replied that I would be at the junction of Maiden Road and Kings Highway at 7 am, just beyond our front gate. Toby had been elusive during the week and had missed at least two days of school. I had no idea why. I’d had no contact at all outside of class. That had been our plan, but it had been a difficult week. The difficulty was remaining objective, despite the fact that I was obsessed with Toby but needed to complete my scholarly obligations and not give away my plan.

Plan, what plan? Admittedly, I had spoken to Pip but I was really flying blind. I was certainly very keen on Toby. He seemed to be reciprocating but I was so nervous, how was our day going to play out? I hoped that it would just happen and I wouldn’t be relied on to be the instigator of anything. Was I being paranoid? I hoped not. I was so keen for this to be a special weekend. I was sure Toby was also keen for it to work and I was relying on that. I didn’t want to feel that I was responsible if things went badly.

I was having second thoughts, responsible feelings. I know Mum had been cranky but I am patently aware that things have been out of whack at home. Aside from that, most families don’t have such an absent father. I understand that it’s his job but Mum seems to have a lot to cope with and being a super mum has it challenges, particularly as she is used to having her own high-powered career. She suggested last week that she would be casual teaching soon as the agreement with school may be shortly resolved. I certainly hope so, it has been a terrible year in many regards, and I don’t want to make it worse for the family with some immature, irrational escape to satisfy selfish me. God, I ached to just be with Toby and share everything about home, which may help him understand my reservations.

But realistically, I had a quick reality check. I was 17, in Year 12 and I deserved a life too. Just because Pip stuffed up and ended up pregnant, miscarried and was taken off to boarding school, did I need to live a different life? Or Dean planning to go to Sydney to, I don’t know, discover himself. Mum having to leave her job, one she was clearly good at and enjoyed after 20 years of teaching—her first principalship had been such a deserved appointment—only to have her dreams shattered by her honesty and high standards. The legal process had been laborious and meanwhile, she was finding her new role not only undefined but probably 84 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 unrewarding as well. I still don’t know what really happened at school. But I am sure she wouldn’t have done anything wrong or dishonest. Maybe Mum doesn’t really know either, all I know is the court is looking at breach of contract as she had a contract to be the principal for five years, and before that time was up the school board had decided Mum was no longer the right person for the job. It seemed there were no reasons. None that we know of anyway.

I climbed into bed on Friday night, very late, feeling so mixed up. Tomorrow was only seven hours away, what should I do? I drifted off to sleep having decided I would take the easy out and get up, meet Toby at the end of the drive as planned at 7 am but I would leave a note for Mum. I would explain that I would be safe and I would be home later. I dreamt of all the implications, composed so many different letters in my head. In the end, I nearly overslept and I raced out of the house, grabbing a pair of jeans, toothbrush and clean knickers, and threw them into my Country Road bag. I intentionally left my mobile on the kitchen table. The letter was short and sweet, slightly hidden beneath my phone.

Dear Mum Toby and I are having a day away. We will be fine, later. Charlotte

I got to the gate with minutes to spare but no Toby. He had probably slept in. His father was away so their place would have been really quiet. Maybe he had forgotten something and gone home to get it. After all my stress I was out of breath and worried. I was pretty sure it was after seven. I had no watch and no phone so I had no real way of knowing. I waited for what seemed like ages. I mulled over all the possible reasons why he wasn’t there. I finally decided he had changed his mind. It did seem too good to be true that he was so keen on me. The sun was getting warmer and the time ticking and still no sign of him.

After what seemed like ages, I thought, ‘Decision time’. Not as easy as it seemed. Was anyone up at home and would they have seen the note? Do I walk towards town in the direction he’d come from? Or do I wait? Just as I was ready to give up, a car appeared in a cloud of dust. Toby was driving way too fast and as he braked, the car skidded to a halt. He jumped out and was apologising before he had even said hello.

‘Sorry, sorry, bloody Mosquevic, kept me waiting 30 minutes.’ He panted. ‘Dad’s away and I waited for Mosso to pick up his delivery and I had no mobile number for him. I tried and tried to call you too but that didn’t work either. What a stuff up! Your mother answered your phone finally and she was furious. If we are going to do this we need to go right now. Get in.’ He was furious and some of his anger was aimed at me.

‘Good morning Toby’, I sarcastically greeted him. ‘Just hang on a bit, what did Mum say?’

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‘Is this about her? Or us?’ he asked angrily. ‘I thought you were keen to do this. If you are having second thoughts just tell me. Who cares what she said, she has your note, she is aware of your plans. Are you going to get in or not?’ It was clear he was running out of patience. I was scared to go and I was scared not to.

‘Can I just call her, then we can get going?’ I asked timidly. I was expecting the worst, I was sure this was a watershed. But surprisingly he had calmed considerably.

‘Okay Charlie, but the sooner we get going the sooner our weekend can start properly.’ He smiled at me, that killer smile and leaned over and drew me towards him. ‘I gather your phone is at home, use this’, he said as he handed me his phone.

I took his phone but hesitated. ‘You know, she knows I am with you, let’s just go.’ I hopped in beside him in the ute feeling quite grown up all of a sudden. I was sure it wouldn’t be long before my insecurities rose to the surface again, but in the meantime, I fiddled with the CD player to get it to work and hopefully calm all parties.

What I hadn’t considered with my phone at home was she could contact me anyway. She’s just access Toby’s number from my phone. Bad move Charlie. I was dying to know what she had said but I thought it was best to let it go for now.

Toby initiated a conversation by asking about my English assessment. ‘How did you go with Wuthering Heights?’ he inquired. I had worked and worked at it to get it finished.

‘Yeah good, I have finally finished. You?’ I asked hesitantly because I knew it was not his strength.

‘That’s part of the reason I skipped school, I wanted to get it finished but I didn’t. Maybe’, he grinned, ‘you can help me?’

‘Okay, you’ve got to understand the torture and passion of their love, then you can see how writing that would impact on writers today. Brontë was an exceptional chronicler of the feelings of Catherine and Heathcliff and their impact on each other.’ I was fine now, right in my comfort zone.

‘Cool, well perhaps we can work on it next week. I reckon we will head to Canberra, what do you think? Lots of places to go and be anonymous, but no seeing family, okay?’ he chided me.

‘Mmm, are you are planning to stay the night?’ I ventured, obviously a little anxious about the overnight thing. I suspected he was too but needed to get things sorted and then hopefully relax and enjoy things.

‘Yup, why not? You’re not chickening out on me are you Charliegirl?’ He turned and 86 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 grinned at me. I wasn’t going to, was I? I had come this far, but I was still amazed that he seemed to be as keen on me as I was on him. I was superbly confident and even poised in some situations, but right now, I couldn’t find any of that part of me at all. It was the possibility of what might happen, I mean intimately, between us. Pip said that I should just let it happen and right now that was the only advice I had. It was, I realised, not the first time, that I hardly knew Toby. I knew nothing about his family, what he ate or anything like that. Am I analysing too much? Is this what passion can do to you? Is sex a contractual obligation? I guess, (more worrying) will I be okay? With all these thoughts rushing around in my head there was little space to reflect on how lucky I should feel. Toby has been patient and kind, in a funny sort of way. Imagine putting up with not one, but two barrages from Mum. The rather angry, overprotective, conservative, Catholic mother has made her sentiment abundantly clear.

So we headed east and chatted idly about school, teachers, kids and all the work coming our way as Year 12s. I had a leadership role and that came with expectations. Toby had none and was keen to just enjoy life. His father had no burning ambition for him to leave town and go to uni. He was happy to have a cheap assistant in the business. Farming was in his blood so he would just fall into it. It took pressure off him and also offered a level of security for him, regardless of his results.

We inevitably turned to talk about my family. I told the usual story. Mum, Dad and six kids, both parentals career-orientated, not sure what Dad really did. The highs and lows and how we ended up in Astonville and now here. Toby’s experience of family was so very different from mine. He had largely grown up with his dad, just the two of them after his mother left when he was a baby. His dad had had various girlfriends over the years, but no-one had stuck around, the farming life was not for everyone, I guess. While our life had always been west of the divide, it had never been in farming. But still, I had always lived in wide-open spaces, surrounded by the bush. I loved the freedom it offered and the uncomplicated life. It wasn’t until this year I realised that life anywhere could become a tangled mess. Perhaps it was my naivety, my youth and faith in family as supreme that kept me so uncomplicated.

I had discovered that music was not something we had in common. I had very different taste to Toby and kept turning the CD down to avoid the ghastly rap/hip- hop stuff he called music. He just laughed and after a while turned it up again. He did have mostly Australian hip-hop artists, which was somewhat admirable. Although the Hilltop Hoods were actually recognisable, I still found the music hardly musical.

As we neared the ACT border my nerves reappeared. It was probably just hunger. Breakfast didn’t really happen, and it was nearly 11am. I decided to ignore my usual righteous refusal to eat junk and suggested the Golden Arches as we approached Queanbeyan.

‘Let’s eat’, I exclaimed almost too late for Toby to indicate and turn into the 87 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 ubiquitous so-called ‘restaurant’. As we parked I felt more normal, even a bit relaxed. We ordered and found a seat at the window and watched the world go by. I thought it was a good time to catch Toby up on school gossip.

‘Did you know Sally was seeing Joshua, you know that rugby dude in Year 11?’ I asked realising that Toby didn’t really mix a lot and probably had no idea who I was talking about. To my surprise, he asked if I knew that Jarrad and Diana Sharpe were an item.

‘No way’, I exclaimed. ‘You must be misinformed, surely.’

‘No, I can assure you that it is correct intel. Apparently, she sympathised after you biffed him, and one thing led to another.’

‘Who would have thought, takes the pressure off me as a focus of gossip. I suppose she had auditioned him and he proved worthy of her high standards’, I added rather spitefully.

‘Charlie, I didn’t need the try before you buy option, I was sure you were it, that first day when I walked into English and you and Sally turned and stared at me and then giggled. I gathered you were deciding who got first pick. You seemed so, I dunno, sassy, interesting and had great legs. I just hoped it was you.’

‘You’re kidding, as if you made a decision that quickly. We weren’t talking about you at all. You flatter yourself!’ I insisted. We sat eating junk and being silly, making jokes about what had transpired since we first met. Our time together had been fairly limited and was mostly during soccer training and then in English classes, when the classes were shuffled after the Year 11 yearlies.

‘So Charliegirl, what happens next, it’s over to you. We can wander round galleries, go to Questacon, the Institute of Sport, do something on the lake, go shopping; just joking, no shopping.’ He seemed so relaxed and calm. I was a bundle of nerves, still being bombarded by a million thoughts, questions, doubts and insecurities.

We decided on a pedalo in Lake Burley Griffin, just for half an hour, it was the cheapest option and appealing as it was outside. It was a fabulous late spring day. It was warm in the sun and the brilliant blue sky was almost cloudless. I was amazed as we wandered down to the shoreline and Toby took off his tee-shirt. The amazement was not the hot bod but a small tattoo over his left breast: LF.

I couldn’t resist so I had a go at him. ‘Well, you are full of surprises, but Toby my initials are CS’, I joked

‘I know’, he said ‘but I had this done before I knew you, you know a tradition, first girlfriend, Louise Fletcher’. He chuckled in an evil manner.

My face must have displayed my surprise, he pulled me over towards him and 88 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 cradled my face in his hands. ‘You dummy, it is my mother’s initials, Lucinda Fitzgerald. I had it done in Melbourne when I went to her funeral. It is a kind of legacy, I dunno, I hardly knew her, and I thought it would keep her close to my heart. Maybe my next one will be your initials.’ He laughed, his response certainly surprised me. He was so gentle with me, caring and funny. But, was this too good to be true?

‘Let’s go, last one to the boat is a rotten egg’, he called as he took off. He beat me easily, making me think all those warm-up runs at soccer training had been part of the courting ritual and I had been so totally unaware of. That really confirmed my lack of experience in the game.

We climbed into the boat and paddled around, in circles to start, as we were laughing and puffing so must we didn’t concentrate. By the time we had gone under the bridge, it was time to head back to the hire shop. After we returned the boat we lay on the grass and looked up at the sky. The clouds were moving across the sky and it was hard to imagine that the world was spinning slowly around the sun and that millions of people on this sphere were doing all kinds of things at any one time. Makes you feel quite insignificant really in the whole scheme of things.

‘Toby, let’s go.’ I jumped up and waited for a response. ‘Perhaps, I can get a little tattoo as a memento of this weekend’, I timidly suggested.

‘I dunno Charlie, for a start you have to be 18 and it’s not something you just do. You need to think about it, you need to really want it and understand that it is forever. I don’t want to get you in any more trouble with your Mum. She would freak out.’ He was right of course, but I didn’t care. I was feeling bulletproof at that moment.

‘Who cares? Let’s do it.’ We strolled back to the car, me determined to get a tattoo and Toby completely unconvinced it would be a remotely good idea.

‘Hey, we have had a great day, but you’ve done everything to avoid what may or may not be the inevitable Charlie, are we staying the night here or not? If you feel the trouble it will cause is not worth it, we can head home. I really want us to work but I am prepared to take things slowly. But, and this is a big but, what do you want? You need to get your shit together. This is not about your family and their problems, it’s about you, what do you want?’

‘You’, I grinned in response. ‘The family thing is a bit heavy; I am sure for an only kid who lives an uncomplicated life with his dad we seem over the top, but my family are important and incredibly special. I can’t explain the connection we have, or even with the shitty year we’ve had, how in some ways the circle has got even smaller, closer and more connected. I don’t want to ruin any of that, but I am rapt in you, have been since you walked into English on that Monday.’

‘Ha, ha, very funny. I am serious Charlie. I can only try to understand what you are 89 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 saying about families and stuff. I have no experience of it. I lived and went to school in Melbourne for years. I boarded at Caulfield Grammar, that’s where I met Jade. Mum and Dad were always busy, Mum, a corporate lawyer and Dad juggling his farm and writing syllabus documents for the Vic. Board of Studies. The marriage quickly arranged after my conception was never good and fell apart years ago. It was like a Bitter Homes and Garden. Great house and stuff but it was ugly for a while. I have been with Dad, just us, since I was in Year 4. Holidays were on the farm working all day. Probably makes me a dud in terms of relationship experience, I guess.’

‘Not necessarily, we stumble from one disaster to another but we are always there for each other and “a problem shared is a problem halved” is our motto. It’s just what you are used to and for me it has always been family, sometimes in your face and so annoying, but there, and when the chips are down you know that there is always support and more importantly, love.’

‘Charlie, the question remains. What now?’

‘Ink? Come on, let’s go to Lyneham and check it out’, I suggested.

‘Well, you can navigate. I don’t know Canberra and I would be surprised if Dad’s Navman has sleazy tattoo parlours in the ACT loaded in. No commitment yet, we can check it out I s’pose.’

We drove in silence, no doubt a level of anxiety we were both feeling being kept under wraps. I was feeling so mixed up, Toby had been open and honest, and I felt I knew a whole lot more about him, but there was still my insecurity. Did he really like me? What should I decide to do? Was I risking any future support and trust from my family? We drove on.

I managed to navigate across crazy Canberra and we located Tattoo Power in Unit 3, Professional Court, of all places, in the thriving metropolis of Lyneham. It didn’t actually look that bad, certainly not the stereotypical sleazy, biker hangout I had imagined. The place had a plain glass window littered with happy customer recommendations and even a small business award proudly placed front and centre.

We got out of the ute and cautiously Toby took my hand as we entered the shop. An automatic motion detector chimed to announce our arrival to the tall, skinny, profusely tattooed bloke on the phone. He looked up and acknowledged us with a brief wave, but continued chatting, clearly making plans for his Saturday evening. We looked around and summed up that it was okay and we would wait. I had expected a rather scary, ominous place, but aside from the profusion of tattoo magazines like Inked, International Tattoo Art and bikie paraphernalia evident, it was actually quite non-threatening.

Tattoo man ended his call and offered assistance in a broad Australian accent. I 90 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 was sure he would spot me as underage but he did not seem remotely interested in my age. He was intent on helping us and making me, the identified victim, feel relaxed as he outlined the process of preparation, actual tattooing and the recovery and care required afterwards.

The good part was choosing a design. Toby was still exhibiting fear and trepidation. I assured him it was okay and that he was in no way responsible for my decision. I located a Hindu letter, actually the sound ‘ch’. It appealed to me and so I initiated the process. It meant something obscure but it looked good. Next, I needed to pay in advance, an astounding $125, now the deal was almost done. I was in no place to negotiate a better price either. It crossed my mind that the prepayment might be to cover costs if the tattooee fainted, or perhaps, changed their mind too late and chickened out and wasted their time. But for me it was almost a fait accompli, just the painful part to go. So, now the scary bit or maybe painful and scary bit. Toby was still reticent and I could feel he was torn. On one hand, he seemed to want to support me. He had to, didn’t he? He had a tattoo. On the other, he was very worried about the possible consequences. He had quite a mature side really. Pity I didn’t. I guess, in a way, I was being reckless.

As I followed Tattoo man into the rear of the shop I decided that I needed to be more confident. My whole life I had been lacking in confidence. In some aspects of my life I display confidence and a positive self-image, but much of my life is wallowing in a state of insecurity. Some stuff I had a level of natural ability and could do easily, most things to do with physical activity, but I had varied academic success and most recently the emotional toll of Mum’s work crisis left me erratic and not at all focused on my school work. This had been reflected in my miserable results. I was planning a whole new attitude in Year 12, although aside from reading Wuthering Heights, I had not really made any positive moves to change the very average grades yet.

I had managed by the end of Year 11 to have serious doubts if my dream to do physio at Sydney Uni would eventuate. I knew it would be a long, hard road as my skills in science were negligible and it was a significant aspect of the course. Not only that, the uni entrance score was getting higher every year.

Initially, I thought I could somehow make some contribution or help or work out the problems that had befallen the family as a result of Mum’s sudden fall from grace as school principal of a small, moderately successful independent co-educational day school. What I was most likely really trying to do was cope with her role change and how it would affect me. It was part of the selfish nature of adolescents and the self- centred nature of me. I knew I needed to grow up and try to be more reliable in terms of family responsibilities, but right now I had been bowled over by the developing relationship with Toby and couldn’t seem to be particularly rational. I was flattered, excited, happy and distracted, wanted and connected all at once. I was sure that the feelings I was experiencing were perhaps bordering on love and while at times it hurt, much of the time it was a feeling of euphoria that I had never experienced before. It was alarming the rate at which things were developing, 91 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 particularly in my head.

Much of my time I muse about things: what I should say to someone, what I should do in certain situations, how I should react to things, whether I have done the right thing, what people think of me and if I am being responsible. I gather I am a classic case of insecurity. I often look and act confident and in some aspects of my short life I have exhibited talents that have impressed others and given me a feeling of positive self-worth. In truth, what I seem from the outside doesn’t match with the inside. I’m not that confident at all, despite the apparent bravado.

I remember a dare I finally accepted. At the end of Year 10 a bunch of us were at the movies and the guy next to me, a huge guy with a giant carton of popcorn and a large coke, munched and slurped through the first 20 minutes of Avatar. Six of us were chuckling and muttering about the creep and, as I was seated next to him, they dared me to take a sip out of his coke from the armrest cup holder between us. So I waited until he placed the cup in the holder and concentrated on the popcorn and casually took the cup and finished his drink and replaced the cup. Easy dare, but I had to remain cool, calm and collected for the rest of the movie.

We laughed and laughed afterwards until Sal assured me that I wouldn’t have got many of his germs in my mouth and hopefully he didn’t have mono. I rinsed and rinsed my mouth with mouthwash for ages afterwards. It made me feel part of the gang and I liked the acceptance I acquired as a result of rising to the occasion.

Aside from innocuous dares and pranks I had a really normal life. My family was just an ordinary family. This year had been crazy it seemed all my life, things had happened to other families, but this year we had had the works. In many ways, I thought nothing else could happen. Or was I ensuring that could further spiral out of control by having a tattoo? In itself it wasn’t a big deal. Just a simple little bit of ink on my hip, a covert bit of rebellion. It could possibly be the final straw for the parentals. They had experienced a whole raft of disasters and I wasn’t sure now that I wanted to add to the litany. What if things went horribly wrong? The possibilities were endless: medical issues, legal issues, social issues, cultural issues and the inevitable disappointment that I would no doubt cause Mum and Dad. I turned to Toby and expressed my hesitation.

‘Tobe, I am not sure about this.’ I turned and shyly whispered to him. He looked at me and smiled.

‘That’s okay Charlie.’ He smiled and seemed somewhat relieved. ‘I will square it with the tattoo man.’ He handed me the car keys. ‘Get in the car and I will be there soon’, he directed me. I wandered out of the tattoo place in a bit of a daze

In a way, I felt I had put a different perspective on our day. It had not been my intent. I was hoping to have a magnificent day and confirm my apprehensions about Toby were unfounded, and now I seemed to have changed things. Had the magic gone? Wandering out to the car I heard Toby’s phone ring and wondered who at 92 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 this stage of the day, late on Saturday afternoon, would call. As he left the tattoo place he was chatting animatedly on the phone and gesticulating for me to come and speak to whoever it was on the other end of the phone.

I was anxious, but more curious, so I grabbed the phone when he handed it to me without confirming to whom I would be speaking. It was Mum, she was clearly upset and was talking so fast I had to ask her to slow down before I could understand what she was trying to say.

When I heard her voice I expected the worst. Instead, she was anxious to confirm I was okay and to establish if I intended to return home tonight. That was my undoing, I couldn’t admit to her that I intended to stay in Canberra and consummate my relationship with Toby. She had no idea of my visit to Dr Nallaiah and my religious devotion to taking the pill every morning.

Toby was not surprised by the call, nor appeared disappointed. He seemed relieved that the decision had been made for us and although he briefly expressed a level of regret he was supportive and we decided to have a feed and then head home. Toby came around to the passenger door and kissed me gently and reassured me that everything was fine. He tapped my backside as I opened the door and got into the car.

After a quick Thai meal at Lemon Grass in Tuggnerong, we headed off. Thai is a family favourite and the family has had many meals on the way home from Canberra at Lemon Grass. Always the same dishes and no dessert, as we are keen to get on the road home. Surprisingly, we chatted happily despite the apparent hastened end to our fabulous day. It was easy to put a positive spin on things. By doing the right thing by Mum I guessed we would be able to escape again, hopefully soon. We had really enjoyed the usual Pad Thai and fantastic Prawns in Sour Lime Sauce. Returning to the ute the sun was low in the sky and the drive west would certainly be challenging. Toby was careful but I felt I needed to stay alert. Dusk is always considered danger time for driving in country people’s minds.

About 20 minutes into the trip Toby looked across at me and winked. It made me feel so good. It only took a nanosecond and we were on the gravel. Travelling at 80 kms suddenly seemed so fast. Toby braked abruptly and the car spun uncontrollably. I was petrified. I considered momentarily that we would end up upside down or on the wrong side of the road. However, the ute careered to the left and we plunged into a ditch on the road’s edge and finally came to an abrupt stop hastened by the guard rail. I must have closed my eyes because when I opened them we had stopped, my door was caved in and I couldn’t move. A cloud of dust drifted over the car. My seat belt had locked up, preventing me smashing my head on the dash but I felt scared and was clearly pinned in. I couldn’t locate the seat belt release. No airbags in the ute, it was a work truck not usually travelling so far or so fast.

I looked across at Toby and he was bleeding, I couldn’t quite work out where he 93 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 was injured. He had blood all over the side of his face nearest to me and although his hands were still on the wheel, he seemed oblivious to what had happened. I didn’t realise he was not conscious. I started crying and trying to remember what I should do first. I recalled I needed to make sure we were in no further danger. Impossible, I couldn’t move, and Toby appeared to be out cold. I was aghast. I couldn’t speak. After what seemed like ages someone came running up to the car. It was an old bloke, a truckie by the look of him. He was puffing as he staggered over to my window.

‘You okay love?’, the bloke in shorts and a Jackie Howe puffed as he asked me. I nodded, dumbstruck momentarily. I realised that Toby had neither moved nor spoken and I was immediately overwhelmed by the situation. I panicked and yelled at him.

‘Toby, what about Toby, we need to get him out, see if he is ok, there is blood everywhere, oh my God, one minute he winked at me and now …’ I trailed off. I was helpless and my life seemed to have suddenly gotten worse, far worse than I could possibly have imagined. Is he alive? What have I done?

‘It’s alright love, I’ll just go and call 000, me phone’s in the truck, stay calm we’ll get your boyfriend out, he’ll be okay.’ He sauntered away. I couldn’t understand why everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. I looked across at Toby, still no sign of any life. I was shattered, what had happened? How did everything go so wrong? This can’t be happening.

The bloke returned and assured me the ambos would be 10 minutes or so and police rescue were on the Michelago Road and would be here real quick. In the meantime, he asked me a whole lot of questions. I thought he was trying to fill in time, but I eventually worked out that he was keeping me awake. I glanced across at Toby and he moved his legs, just a little, but enough to give me hope that he was at least alive.

After what seemed like forever, I heard the ambulance siren in the distance. For some nutty reason I thought of science and the Doppler effect. The siren was definitely getting closer. I must have drifted off because next minute a big bloke in a firey’s uniform was asking me my name and if I was okay through the side window. I began to cry again and asked him to get Toby out first. He assured me Toby was on his way to hospital in the ambulance and he told them to take care of me because I was special. I smiled through my tears. If he was able to talk, he had to be okay.

‘Well, thanks to Jeff you are going to be okay. Lucky he was on the road and got to you straight away. He has headed off but left his card for you’, he handed me Jeff’s card and I shoved it in my jeans pocket. I was still trying to piece together what had happened. I had missed bits in the time frame and didn’t know what had actually happened and when.

‘Thanks’, I feebly replied. 94 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

‘Listen Charlotte, I need to get you to hospital and I also need to contact your parents. Mum or Dad?’ he inquired.

‘I guess Dad is closer, he works in Canberra but … he could be anywhere. Mum should be at home I spoke to her about 40 minutes ago.’ I started to cry again.

‘Okay, Mum it is, what’s her number? Mobile is probably best’, he suggested.

‘I have no idea; her number is in my phone and it’s at home. Try home number I s’pose, um ... 02643422152.’ I must be all right, I remembered the number. I waited anxiously as he tried home. It rang for what seemed like ages, I gathered no answer. He didn’t leave a message but looked inquiringly at me. I had no ideas.

‘Let’s get on the road and we can keep trying unless you have another number we should try. Perhaps a grandparent or elder sibling?’ he volunteered in an effort to calm me. I must have looked as anxious as I felt. I was so alone and afraid and had no idea what to do next. I wasn’t sure what to suggest, I really needed to make decisions at the moment, but I felt sick with fear. The older guy looked at me sympathetically, like a parent would. He began to say something when I spoke.

‘I don’t know’, I mumbled. ‘But I feel like I might throw up.’ And with no delay I threw up all over myself. I was mortified. And I had wasted a great Thai meal. The fireys were great, it was no effort to clean me up and they reassured me that it was okay, part of their job, and they were just keen to make me comfortable and get me to the hospital so I could be properly checked out.

They had to work to get me out of the ute. The door was smashed in and wouldn’t open. They tried to lever it open with a huge wrecking bar but obviously needed something bigger and better. It would budge at all. While they worked, they kept talking to me, asking questions about school, life, my family and Toby. I imagined the worst, but they were really positive and said before long I would be on my way and they could eat their pepperoni pizza before it was completely cold.

Finally, the smaller guy, called Dane, nimbly crawled through the driver’s window and checked me out to see if I would be okay to take me out through the window. He was very thorough and after a quick consult with the other guy, they decided it was safe and advised me that I needed to relax and trust them, they would get me out straight away. But before they started, they gave me a shot, a painkiller or relaxant or something so that I didn’t resist.

Carefully, they tried to unbuckle the seat belt. It was jammed and they decided to cut through it. It was tough fabric and took some effort. The older guy with a huge gut was leaning through my window instructing Dane. Dane put both his hands under my bum and together they inched me along the bench seat to the driver’s door. I was almost there. The next bit was actually very challenging. I am nearly175 cms tall and to get me out of the window proved the hardest bit. Dane 95 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 climbed out and then in the other window, so he was now on my left. The older guy, whose name I missed, came around to receive me out of the window. Dane was so strong, he actually lifted me into the arms of the other guy who carried me like a baby in his arms towards the back of their truck and lay me on a stretcher.

It was a great relief to be in the fresh air and out of the car. The sun had all but disappeared from the horizon and there was a spectacular sunset evolving as I was loaded into the rescue vehicle and we headed towards the hospital. My relief was short-lived as I realised that neither Mum nor Dad knew of my situation and Mum was expecting me home. I was headed in the opposite direction to Astonville and not sure what would transpire from there. I dozed off again because when I looked up, we had arrived at the emergency entrance to the hospital.

Now the realisation of what had transpired really hit me. Sure, I seemed to be alright, physically at any rate. What about Toby, his Dad’s ute, school, Mum and Dad, the poor family, and hell, another bloody stuff up. While it was not really anyone’s fault and I would never blame Toby, I could already appreciate that this would have serious repercussions for everyone. Was I being cute, why did he wink at me? What were we talking about when it happened? Did I cause this? Had I said or done something to influence Toby to take his eyes off the road?

I started sobbing again, I wasn’t quite sure why, but I didn’t seem to be able to stop. The overwhelming sadness I felt combined with my total lack of understanding of what would happen next and how I would get home, contact Mum or even sleep without having nightmares crashed into my head all at once. ‘Shit, shit, shit’, I thought. ‘I can’t fathom this; I can’t cope with all this stuff happening.’

Just when I thought things couldn’t deteriorate any further Mum stormed in and by the look of her, she had all guns blazing. I actually heard her before I saw her. I was on a narrow gurney in a curtained treatment room when I heard her strident voice asking where her daughter Charlotte Elisabeth Stilton was. I feebly called out to her. I assume she was directed to me because my voice was probably inaudible through my constant sobbing.

‘Darling, what happened? Are you ok? Where did this happen? Is Toby okay? Have you contacted his father?’ She spoke in rapid-fire questioning, her odd way of showing concern and even love, especially when she had no control of the situation. I didn’t need to answer because the nurse calmed her with as many responses as he could and then directed her to a waiting room while they completed checking me over. She hurried off, mobile in hand, to rally the troops for the third or fourth time in as many months.

I was thoroughly checked over and responded to a myriad of questions posed by a young Chinese doctor who was so tiny I wondered how she could possibly lift patients. She was very gentle and understanding. She had somehow accessed my records and she smiled knowingly at me when I asked how Toby was. Unfortunately, she told me that as she was rostered on in casualty and not in 96 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 theatre, she couldn’t enlighten me. She promised to find out and get back to me as soon as she could.

I came out with a fairly clean bill of health, but Dr Chen warned of the possibility of bruising in the coming days from the seat belt and to be aware that I needed to monitor headaches, dizziness, blurred vision or any other out-of-the-ordinary occurrences. I felt relieved but still confused as I was escorted to the waiting area where Mum was busily doing what she did best: organising, delegating and being in charge. It was like a nightmare and hopefully I would soon discover it was a bad dream and none of the bad stuff had really happened. Then I saw Mum’s face.

She looked up as I wandered in. She disconnected from whoever she was speaking to and grabbed me and just held me for what seemed like ages, at least 20 seconds, a record for her. ‘Sweetheart, I am so relieved you are not seriously hurt. I have spoken to Toby’s father and he is on his way but as he is in Sydney, he will take some time to get here. In the meantime, I will take you home’, she proclaimed.

‘No Mum. I know you are worried about me and you want to take charge, but I want to be with Toby’, I responded. I had taken myself by surprise, perhaps I was growing up and my lack of assertiveness and confidence was finally disappearing.

‘Darling, I know you want to see him, he will be in surgery for a while and you can come back in the morning. You need to get some rest, you have had a terrible shock, you need to come home’, she insisted.

‘No Mum’, I responded firmly. ‘I am staying here. I will wait. I want to be here when Toby wakes up.’ She did not like the new me. I so rarely argued, I was the responsible, reliable one. After all, was not the one who got pregnant, have questionable sexuality or caused too much grief (apart from a little underage drinking). I worked hard at school, was a minor sports star and the archetypal big sister who happily read stories to the kids, cooked and even helped occasionally with the cleaning and housework.

Mum was taken aback and momentarily, and very unusually, speechless. She looked at me and narrowed her eyes. I felt that perhaps she was realising that her 17-year-old daughter, the golden girl, was teetering on the transition from middle adolescence to late adolescence, where, according to Michael Carr-Gregg, the relationship of trust and connection moves from family to a partner. I was asserting myself based on my emotions and feelings of growing dependency on someone outside my family.

She was confused and didn’t quite know what to say. I could see her point. She had the kids to think of and with Dad all but useless and unable to be relied on, she had much juggling to do. I decided to make it easy for her. While I didn’t want to further complicate her life, I knew what I felt and I needed to, I dunno, I guess I needed to follow my heart.

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‘Mum, go home, I am okay. I want to and will stay here and wait with Toby. When he is discharged, I will come home with him. I am sure his Dad will be alright with that. If you leave your phone with me, I will call you so you know what I’m up to and when I will be home. For now, I’ll just sleep.’ She tacitly agreed and handed over her phone. I wandered out to the carpark with her, not speaking. When we arrived at the old rattler, I gave her a reassuring hug and then waved a limp goodbye. I ambled back into the hospital and asked where I could wait until Toby was out of surgery. Small town, I didn’t need to explain, I actually had the feeling that the staff had been on my side and sending Mum off had probably made their job easier.

I was directed to a big comfy vinyl chair in a small corridor near the children’s ward. The chair reclined and I was handed a warm Aircel blanket. It was 7 pm. In no time I was asleep and having dreams rehashing the accident. I woke at 2:17 am, according to the orange plastic digital clock on the wall. I was cold and I had a really stiff neck. The comfy chair was not so comfy anymore. I got up to stretch my legs and find a bathroom when a tired-looking nurse offered me a cup of tea. I declined, wanting to go back to sleep, but requested another blanket and directions to the loo. She showed me a grey metal two-door cupboard in a storeroom that had a supply of warm Aircel blankets all neatly folded. She pointed in the direction of the waiting room to the loo.

At 5 am the hospital started the new day with bustling cleaners, staff with food carts and a tired but very compassionate grey-haired nurse gently woke me with news of Toby. ‘Love, your boyfriend came out of surgery early this morning, he’s fine. I let you sleep as he was pretty groggy, and his Dad arrived and promised to sit with him until he woke. He has asked about you. The registrar is with him now, if you like I can take you up to his room in a couple of minutes.’

I felt such relief. I smiled for a moment. It had been a long time since I smiled. Most likely I was smiling when Toby winked at me yesterday. ‘Oh ... um ... thanks that would be great. Can I call Mum first?’ Suddenly I was not feeling so independent, I needed to talk to her, hear her voice, feel reassured. I ferreted around in my pocket for her phone but couldn’t find it. I momentarily panicked before realising it was probably somewhere in my salubrious vinyl sleeping arrangement. Despite my stiffness, I hobbled quickly back to my cosy spot in the children’s wing. I frantically rooted around down the sides of the chair but couldn’t locate it. Oh shit, what next?

I returned to the foyer and my face must have indicated my latest drama because the duty nurse handed me the phone, smiling broadly at me. ‘Sorry love it went off early this morning, so I grabbed it, so it didn’t wake you.’ She chuckled, clearly amused at the dependence on the ubiquitous mobile phone. I thanked her profusely and when out into the dawning morning to call home. ‘Hang on’, I thought. It wasn’t 6 am yet and I didn’t really know a whole lot more than I did when Mum left last night. My immediate need to call Mum was odd; suddenly my fierce independence was diminished. I felt the need to be in contact with family, to feel part of the fold. Needed, wanted ... loved.

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It was almost 7 am before I was able to see Toby. To my surprise the litany of injuries was far worse than I anticipated. I wandered into to his room; his father was dozing in one of those fabulous vinyl chairs. He woke with a start when I walked in. Shockingly, Toby had a bruised face, a shoulder in a sling and he looked pale and wan. He smiled weakly and true to his gentlemanly style he inquired of his dad if he knew me.

‘Dad, you remember Charlie? Charlie this is my Dad, Tom Fitzgerald’, he smiled weakly.

His beautiful face looked terrible. I was shocked at the scratches, bruising the incredible toll that our accident had taken on Toby. The chemistry was still there. My heart all at once sank at the sight of the mess he was in, but it skipped at his clear connection to me despite the horrific experience we had been through.

I had no trouble expressing my feelings, in fact I may have been a little insensitive.

‘Toby, my God, how bad do you look?’ I questioned. His face was a mess. He had a really ugly looking black eye, scratches on his left cheek, a messy looking cut with stitches on his bottom lip. I walked over to him and hugged him, tentatively at first then he responded with greater conviction, although not able to use his left arm at all. ‘I am so sorry’, I whispered through our hug. I felt so relieved that he was okay but slightly embarrassed with Toby’s father present. I started to cry, a combination of relief, but more really out of sadness at yet another stuff up. Bring on the new year. I couldn’t believe the litany of disasters that had touched me this year. All this and the ever-threatening HSC still to come.

‘Charlie’, he said, ‘I am so sorry, it is all my fault. I am so glad you are okay. If anything happened to you, I couldn’t live with myself.’ He smiled slightly, looking very weak and tired. He had clearly been through a lot more than me. I gathered that he had his shoulder pinned in the operation last night, numerous stitches and stuff I couldn’t even see. He looked so vulnerable. I wiped my tears on my sleeve realising I should not be so self-indulgent.

I felt as though I could survive, having seen him and realising he was at least okay and in no way appeared to blame me. His father was another matter. He looked tired, resigned a little, but quite unfriendly in his attitude to me. I guess he may have blamed me or at best need some space so he could be with Toby. But I had needs too.

99 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Chapter 9

The most shocking upshot of the accident was that Toby was charged with dangerous driving, copped a substantial fine and lost three points for culpable driving. He wasn’t back at school for what seemed like ages. I maintained some semblance of routine and tried to stay on track. I needed to keep busy to blot out the ghastly events of that disastrous day in Canberra. I had also let my responsibilities to my family slide when my friendship with Toby became my obsession and a cause for rebellion.

Dad had yet to spend a weekend home this term and in a way, I was dreading it.

Well, Dad finally came home, and he was not his usual self. I initially thought it was because of my recent dramas until I heard Mum and Dad having words. They weren’t exactly yelling but they were disagreeing audibly with each other when I got home from school. Mum was still finding losing her job all those months ago hard to reconcile and Dad didn’t seem to be much support. I crept in the screen door and stopped and listened at the door to the kitchen. Dad was asking questions but not waiting for answers.

I decided that I was better not to hear what Mum said if he gave her a chance to respond. I slipped through the laundry and back outside into the backyard. I dumped my backpack under the Hills hoist and leaned on the supporting clothesline pole, and before I had time to take, stock tears were streaming down my face and I was wondering if what was going on was my fault. Again.

I retreated into myself. I decided that without a real clue as to what was going on I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I pondered the year that had been. It had started so promisingly and was so uncomplicated. I lived for soccer and resented sharing a room with my wayward sister, a troubled elder brother and inseparable twins until Rory grew up and realised his best mate, his sister, was a girl and there were boys out there who had much more in common with him. And Joel, he was the same cute little boy seemingly unable to do any wrong.

Suddenly, Mum came out the back door and was about to call out when she saw me head in hands, leaning morosely against the pole crying, again. ‘Come inside Charlie, Dad and I need to talk to you.’ I stood up, grabbed my bag and ambled inside after Mum. She wasn’t particularly warm, and she looked like she was in a 100 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 hurry, so I decided to be cooperative and ambled in after her.

I wish I could do something to change the past events. I felt things were out of control and I was partly to blame. I seemed to have a way of stuffing up anything or anyone I come into contact with. I seem to have the magic touch in reverse, is this going to change any time soon?

The chat was hardly very fruitful. They outlined their disappointment in me and suggested that I needed to knuckle down, school was my full-time job. Did I need constant reminders of that? I was well aware of it! Then they proceeded to reiterate their earlier set of rules pertaining to socialising while I was in Year 12. That was followed by a rather severe diatribe on how surprised they were that I chose to be so deceitful and arrogant enough to think that I could make mature decisions, decide on having a day out without any communication, and causing enormous concern for all the family. They considered my reckless disregard for their rules offensive, clearly referring to the Canberra escapade.

Back at school a couple of days later Toby had returned but things between us seemed rather strained. We didn’t have much contact during his recovery period. I knew he had heaps of physio and numerous return visits to the hospital for check- ups. That was second-hand information from Sally, whose mother is a volunteer at the hospital. He is still in a sling for his shoulder and looks somewhat dishevelled, but no less appealing. Toby is cold towards me; I think I may have stuffed up. He seems so distant and the new exchange kid from France seems way more interesting to him than me, I suppose. As Bex is her host family I’m sure I’ll find out on the grapevine all the news. Bex can’t help herself, she loves to gossip and is the most amazing self-promoter ever. This kid, I should use her name really, Christelle, has been everywhere and done everything. She is here for three months and is staying with Bex’s family. Although she has successfully completed terminale, her final year at high school and has her baccalaureate diploma or HSC equivalent, she has decided to do English at university in London, so her parents decided three months in Australia would be beneficial. She is quite the celebrity, with her heavily accented English and her aura of mystery. Her surprise at ending up in Hicksville is apparent and she is amazed at the lack of restaurants, bars or nightlife. I am sure Bex will manage to entertain her in the best possible way.

The boys have already shortened her name to Chrissie. Each time she hears it she giggles in a very shy but sexy way and the boys have a laugh, mostly with her not at her. Toby has been asked to buddy up with her, his experience as a newcomer nearly a year ago does suggest he has an insight into the vagaries of settling into this rather unique place. And yes, I am a little bit jealous.

Bex has decided a soiree would be an appropriate way of introducing Christelle. It’s just a fancy French way of having a bunch of people over. I can’t imagine it will be any different from the usual beer, chips, salsa and barbeque. She has emailed invitations with Cher before each name and called herself Rebeque. It’s a hoot, she has never been anything but Bex until now and she has taken on a rather unique 101 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 role as style queen and hostess extraordinaire. I am not sure I will even be invited. With Pip off the scene, I have little to do with Bex. She occasionally asked about Pip, but I get the feeling she has moved on. Certainly, her French project is taking a lot of her time at the moment.

In the meantime, I really need to make peace with my parents. Mum is still very abrupt with me as she humphs around the house. I decided to approach her and try to engage her in a friendly chat. When I arrived home after a particularly uneventful day at school, I attempted to make conversation to engage her. She was not interested at all. She scurried around the kitchen getting organised for dinner, offering barely monosyllabic responses to my questions. Admittedly, the twins were running around like maniacs chasing each other and shrieking at the top of their voices, wrestling each other to gain control of the TV remote.

Mum appeared at the end of her tether and not remotely available for conversation. She appeared to be totally engrossed in her efforts at dinner construction and completely unaware of the cacophony of almost deafening noise. I opened the fridge in search of a snack, usually a guaranteed way to have a verbal barrage about waiting for dinner or not air conditioning the kitchen. Mum was oblivious to me and continued chopping, dicing and clattering with pots and spoons. I grabbed a yoghurt and teaspoon and wandered out to the backyard to find some peace and quiet. Joel was playing with an old Tonka truck. Despite its rusted and decrepit state, he happily moved it around chatting incessantly to himself. After a short time, he noticed me, absent-mindedly waved and then continued, totally absorbed in his imaginary game.

Families are great, but right now I was surrounded by mine and I felt incredibly lonely. Amazing really. I was at a stage in my life I did not understand. I had no idea how to react to my feelings, they seemed so random a lot of the time. I wanted to be able to return to the balanced kid I was, not be the confused, insecure kid I was now. It was not all Toby related, although a fair bit of it was, I was also feeling disconnected from the family. I couldn’t seem to take school seriously and was as bad as I had ever been. When Mum first lost her job, I couldn’t concentrate on anything, I felt a huge responsibility to try to solve the issues the family faced. I seem to have returned to that state. It was driving me crazy.

Mum’s mood was reflective of the fact that the court case for her appeal of unfair dismissal had finally arrived and with it, an enormous amount of stress. She was well briefed on the procedures but naturally, she was still nervous about appearing in court and having to see those who had almost ruined her career with a blatant disregard for the possible human collateral. Mum had survived quite well, all things considered, but she was pretty ragged around the edges nine months down the track. The court appearance was in Sydney, so we planned to troop up as a family and be there to support her.

She was planning to make quite an appearance if her new haircut, new shoes and her entire support crew by her side were any indication. All this should have evoked 102 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 a level of confidence, but she was appearing to lack any semblance of her former professional air and self-assurance.

The problem was that the Bex soiree was likely to conflict with the trip to Sydney. The trip was still in the planning stage but there was no negotiation about going, and given my recent track record of disasters I had no chance of finding a way around the family responsibility to attend a flaky party for the French girl. That further complicated my insecurities about Toby. Part of me wanted to ask him what was going on but I realised he was most likely to say nothing, meaning that things were fine, and I would feel so dumb. I didn’t want to appear possessive or presumptuous, but I felt so mixed up.

I resolved to do something. I was going to talk to him tomorrow. I needed to talk to him. I arrived at school eager to find Toby while I still felt confident enough to ask him about ‘us’.

When I finally managed to speak to Toby, he was distant and non-committal. We were due in English in 10 minutes, one subject we were timetabled in the same class, so I planned my subtle ambush on the way to the library where we were scheduled to have our lesson. I gathered that Chrissie had become his focus. She was standing with him, dressed to kill in tight skinny jeans, heels and a great, black retro Les Rolling Stones Juin 4,5,6, 1976 tee-shirt. She was tiny and with the black heals was still barely at his shoulder. She looked fantastic. Me, in my daggy school uniform, rather worse for wear and not remotely designed to impress, looked and felt every bit the poor relation.

‘Hey Toby, how’s the healing process going?’ I casually asked.

His monosyllabic response, ‘Okay’, surprised me, although Chrissie by his side probably explained it.

I persevered, ‘I’d hope we could catch up, get together after school perhaps?’ I optimistically suggested.

‘Charlie, you need to understand I was asked to be Chrissie’s buddy. I have work and homework and I …’ he trailed off. I looked at him, determined not to cry. This definitely seemed like a gentle let down. He smiled at me, it didn’t seem to have the same effect it usually did, this time I felt it was merely out of politeness and not personal at all.

‘Sure Toby, I get it. It’s all way too complicated anyway. I guess I’ll see you ... um … later.’ I walked away, towards the library steps. I secretly hoped he would follow or call after me, but he didn’t. As I turned Chrissie was querulously looking at him unsure of what to do next. I am sure she’ll work it out. Her English was good enough to get the message and the obvious body language gave away the rest, so I was sure she was clearly aware.

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I was shattered. I was so enamoured with Toby. I had no way to stop the waterworks, I felt totally betrayed. As I stumbled off sobbing, tears streaming down my face, I walked straight into Jane bloody Olsen, the school receptionist. I lowered my head and broke into a trot to avoid any possible chance of conversation. Things just couldn’t get any worse. I was embarrassed at my public display of emotion and inability to control myself.

Word travelled fast. I walked into the library to compose myself before English started and Sally, Laura, Jess and Bex were huddled together. Their conversation had to be about me. I felt so self-conscious I avoided them and sat near the photocopier trying to be invisible. Sal stood up and beckoned me over to join them. I briefly hesitated and then decided facing the music was probably the best option.

‘Ok girls, you have probably heard, I am …’ and that was all I could say, I started crying again. What a mess. Sally suggested we go outside to lessen the impact of the blubbering mess I had brought into the library. As if the entourage wasn’t noticeable anyway. As we exited the library Toby walked in but didn’t appear to notice the gaggle of girls sheltering me from my misery. The one ray of hope this year had been Toby and now that was in tatters.

Sitting in English some minutes later I imagined this could be what hell is like. I was sure everyone was focusing on me. At least I had stemmed the tears for the present and had the advantage of sitting behind Toby so my eyes could drill right through him and he would have no idea. When he volunteered a response to a question about Wuthering Heights, I could happily roll my eyes knowing I had given him that information, yet he was none the wiser to my reaction. It was a small consolation really. I certainly couldn’t concentrate and wished the lesson away so I could escape and wallow in my own misery without the luxury of an audience. Hopper decided I should contribute and directed a question at me. While my response should have been well-informed, as I have worked fairly consistently with this text, I was tongue-tied. Rather than passing the question to another, she persisted.

‘Charlie, how does the troubled relationship of Catherine and Heathcliff impact on the Gothic interpretation of their tormented lives? You need to extrapolate on the eventual outcome of the novel to truly inform yourself of the reasons why their love was so tormented.’ She elaborated in what appeared to be a genuine effort to help me frame a response. I looked helplessly at her and then began to think of my own very recent, raw torment.

‘I suppose the very nature of their relationship as well as the extrinsic factors in play meant they were unable to live without each other, but similarly, unable to live with each other. Their love was almost supernatural. Is that what you mean?’ I asked tentatively.

‘You need to provide textual evidence to validate your assertion, Charlie. Anyone like to add a comment or evidence to help Charlie?’ she addressed the whole class, effectively removing the spotlight from me. To my surprise Toby raised his hand. 104 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Toby is what I would suggest a rather reluctant student of English and almost invisible in most lessons. The new library had great conference rooms and using these regularly for English provided a more informal arrangement. It was expected that everyone contributed and certainly hiding in the back row was not an option.

Toby started hesitantly and even glanced around to see if I was aware of his intention to contribute. Of course, I was, but I hoped I looked relaxed, unconcerned and even aloof. As if. ‘Well’, he started, ‘I think that their love was transcended by their physical situation and their inability to live with or without each other had deeper roots. Each had very different expectations and desires of the relationship’, he paused but did not go on. His body relaxed. Yes, I was watching and listening very closely.

‘Thanks Toby, I would still like someone to make an assertion that they can back up with evidence from the text. Alas, it’s nearly bell time so for homework I want you to work in pairs and prepare an interview of either Catherine or Heathcliff to be presented next lesson, it should be about 10–12 questions and investigate today’s focus.’

The bell sounded and I was free to escape any more examination and head home on the bus. As I walked into the brilliant sunshine a cool breeze brushed past as if to maintain my despondency.

I ambled towards the bus stop and remembered I needed to grab some PDHPE notes from Jarrad, of all people, to catch up with stuff I had missed. I turned and headed to the student carpark hoping to catch him before he headed home. As I scanned the area for him, I noticed Chrissie hopping into Toby’s small black sedan. He got in and leaned over to help her with her seat belt. I was beyond hope that we still had anything, I just needed to work at coping until the end of the term. She would go and we would depart for exam preparation. I believed that time was the answer. I needed to find Jarrad, so I walked off purposefully in the direction of the front line of cars.

I noticed he was ambling towards his car with one arm casually slung over Diana Sharpe’s shoulder, the other arm struggling to wrestle his backpack over into the back of his brother’s red ute.

‘Hey Jarrad’, I called. He turned and grinned at me and gave a wave, releasing Diana and opening the door for her.

‘Watcha want Charlie?’ he asked.

‘I need the PDHPE notes from last weeks’ lessons, the exercise physiol stuff. Do you have it with you?’

‘Nah, it’s at home, I will bring it in tomorrow unless you want to jump in and I can get it now then drop you home’, he offered. 105 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

‘Thanks, tomorrow will be fine. See ya.’ I turned to head to the bus bay.

‘Hey Charlie, come on I’ll take you. Diana won’t mind and I know you won’t scratch her eyes out for whisking me away from you after the formal, jump in.’ He motioned for Diana to move over. He laughed at his joke, lost on us girls. He may not have been aware of the recent advent of singledom I had experienced

I timidly got in the car, not looking over my shoulder. I didn’t want to see what Toby was up to in the car with that girl. Maybe I was reading way too much into his unfinished sentence. I doubted it, and the vision of them walking to the car together certainly did not dispel any of my doubt.

Diana was great, she chatted away as if nothing had happened obviously eager to make me feel alright. She was trying hard, but I wanted to forget today and get home. Jarrad still drove a bit fast despite his recent transition to respectability and in a way, I was glad to get away from school quickly. I felt like I was wearing a badge that said ‘dumped’ and everyone could see it.

I checked my phone for messages before we were out of range and I would have to wait until school tomorrow for any contact to be possible. That was one of the downsides of living so far out of town. On the other hand, right now, I needed a bit of space. I was feeling miserable and wanted to forget today.

Arriving at Jarrad’s, he skidded to a halt, climbed out of the car and raced inside. He came back with a mess of papers and our textbook, smiling and carrying an opened packet of Tim Tams. He was such a card; he had somehow hooked one of the most desirable girls in our year but was still the same old lovable kid. ‘Okay kids, have a Tim Tam and in no time Charlie I’ll have you home with all the study notes you can handle’.

I couldn’t stomach food, but his intent was admirable. Diana was not into junk food but had clearly understood what Jarrad was doing. She happily took a biscuit and offered me one hoping to make me feel better. What she didn’t realise was that there wasn’t much short of a miracle that would make me feel better. Still, it was comforting to know there was a support network there.

Arriving home was a relief; no-one being there was even better. There was a note from Mum on the fridge letting me know she was out with the kids and would be home about 6 pm. It was only 4:15, so I had some ‘me’ time. What I needed to do was write a list of stuff. I know that would be Mum’s advice. She was keen on lists, particularly of pros and cons, in an effort to rationalise things, to make them seem far less threatening or overwhelming. It was a way of making things seem a lot better than they really were.

So, I wandered outside armed with pen and paper. Of course, it wasn’t long before I was crying again. I just felt this crushing feeling of sadness. How could something 106 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 that had seemed so perfect and had made me so happy, disintegrate? Perhaps my reflection, or whatever the hell I was doing now, would enlighten me. I doubted it. I had a long history of self-doubt, so this was hardly a revelation. I was already convincing myself I had done something to cause the change in Toby, or the change in his feelings towards me. Or was it all just too good to be true and I had imagined the magical connection?

I decided to concentrate on family, the only constant in the whole scheme of things. That was an easier and safer place to start than my mixed-up feelings about Toby. In a lot of ways, I thought I knew what my feelings were and how I was going to proceed with what I thought were his feelings. I didn’t. So, family and mending broken trust with Mum, being a more helpful kid and staying in touch more were now on the agenda.

I had an incredibly empty feeling and I felt my heart would break. The sensible side of me was trying to convince me that I was okay, that I would survive. Many before me had these same catastrophic experiences. That was the rational side of me; the emotional side felt very differently. By the time I realised Mum had driven in with the kids it was nearly dark and I was still sitting out in the backyard feeling sorry for myself. I hadn’t really achieved anything at all. A blank sheet of paper, no lists, no solutions.

‘Hello, who’s home?’ Mum called from the back door.

‘Hey, I’m here, I was just coming in’, I called as I stood up, stiff from sitting in one place so long. ‘I should have sorted dinner but haven’t, sorry, feeling a bit sorry for myself’, I added.

‘Oh darling, what’s happened?’ she questioned, as she ushered the kids inside and dumped green bags full of groceries on the floor next to the back screen door. She seemed cheery enough but was distracted by the domestic responsibilities looming. ‘Let’s get the kids bathed and fed and then we can sit down and debrief on your day’, she suggested.

‘Okay Mum, I’ll do the bath thing. C’mon kids, race you to the bathroom. Last one there is a rotten egg’, I yelled as I raced down the hall to the bathroom.

Once busy with the task, I was happily occupied and almost forget my woes. I was well versed in the ritual of bath time and had a handful of games that could engage the kids for a considerable time. As the weather was warming up it was great to see the kids energised by their outing and their rosy cheeks reflected their day outdoors.

I sat on the bathroom floor calling commands for the bubbles in the bath to be used to form various attractive structures. The first was always crowns. The kids flailed around in the bath to collect as much foam and bubbles as they could to construct the highest crown. Invariably, Rory was the quickest so I decided on a chest plate next, hoping Bridie would be the victor this time. 107 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Mum popped her head into the bathroom to indicate dinner was ready for the kids. Joel was yet to win a round of ‘bubble sculptures’ so I quickly suggested the shortest player with both hands covered completely. The next winner, sure enough, was Joel, who excitedly stood to display his bubble-covered hands and was declared victorious. With three happy kids clean, we emerged into the kitchen for a great version of sausages, mashed potato, peas and carrots carefully positioned to look like smiling clown faces. Three happy customers sat down to devour their meal.

‘Charlie, we have had a lovely day out and I was disappointed to find you still outside when we got home, is everything alright darling?’ she asked conversationally. How could I expect her to understand how I was feeling? She had experienced a really traumatic removal from her job, she had been a successful high-profile school principal, summarily dismissed, and now her happiness was a simple day out with the kids in the spring weather. It was sad and I felt her problems were far greater than mine. How could the end to a romance compare to the end of a career, the removal of a once strong and powerful educator to the role of mum and homemaker with no salary attached.

‘Mum, I don’t want to talk about it’, I mumbled. It brought me back to the now and the tears returned. I couldn’t seem to remain in control for very long at a stretch. She attempted to show a level of sympathy and mumbled a platitude and turned to clear up the kid’s dishes. I pushed my chair out noisily and wandered down the hallway to my room. I realised how I missed the family. I resolved to call Pip, I missed her more than I could have imagined. The distance had brought us closer. Her life had perhaps slowed down and mine raced ahead in a lot of ways.

I grabbed my mobile and wandered out to the front verandah where, hopefully, I could manage some reception and locate Pip. Naturally, it was not as easy as calling her for a chat. Boarding school has an intricate series of timetables with very little spare time. I left a message and hoped I would hear from her tonight.

I tried Dean next, feeling he may have a space for some sympathy. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer his mobile either. Who knows where he was, he had been very elusive since his move to Sydney and we only really caught up on Sundays when he called Mum in an almost check-in scenario. That way Mum could start the week reassured all her kids were safe and sound and ready to face the new week.

Well, I decided Mum did deserve the courtesy of an explanation. I ambled inside, secured my mobile in my pocket and prepared to tell Mum my woes and brace myself for her ‘I told you so’. It wasn’t that we didn’t get along, in many ways our relationship was fairly typical. I relied on her for some things but had become fairly independent as a result of her work commitments and Dad’s absence. I kept to myself and had never had too many catastrophes needing her rescue or recovery skills. She was not a particularly empathetic person and her manner was often offhand. Don’t misunderstand, she is loving, in her own way, but she expects us to 108 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 tough out most things and she has largely been a shining example of that herself in the months following her dismissal.

So, with that in mind, I resolved to be brief and then head off to my room to do some homework. Well, the best-laid plans ... Mum had other ideas. She actually had news for me. She has seen Sally and her mum in town as she exited Woolworths and Sal asked how I was coping. Mum, in her ignorance, said, ‘Fine, Year 12 was the same for everyone and I just needed to buckle down and do some work’. Sal decided Mum clearly didn’t know what had happened so she told her. I couldn’t believe it! Mum tried to offer sympathy but had trouble as there was constant interruption from the kids. They had readily adapted to Mum being their full-time carer and were demanding stories.

I sat and thought about things while she headed off to read a chapter of Harry Potter. No sooner had Mum returned when we were interrupted again. This time it was me, my phone pealed and offered a chance to talk to Pip. I jumped up and bolted out to the verandah eager to share my heartbreak with her.

She was suitably sympathetic but had no real suggestions. She was full of the exciting news that she had been made a dorm captain. This position of minor responsibility thrilled her no end as she had now firmly established herself at the school and was rewarded for her new mature attitude. The parentals will be delighted.

After the call I returned to sit with Mum, her glass of pre-dinner wine on the table. I sat to tell her Pip’s news. Mum countered with the news that I had been expecting. On Friday we would drive to Sydney to see Dean and be there to face the Arbitration Court for Mum’s hearing of her unfair dismissal, which was, in fact, a case she was bringing against the school as a charge of breach of contract on Monday morning.

This trip, any trip for that matter, needed planning. Taking the three little kids was no mean feat. We needed food, entertainment and clothes, as well as a very small supply of toys, books and a huge amount of patience. With Mum’s news further feeding my already despondent mood I headed off to pack. The most upsetting part of this was missing the soiree. I didn’t have the heart to complain. This trip to Sydney was really important and would play a significant part in the resolution of the angst experienced by Mum, Dad and, by association, the whole family for the better part of a year. A silly pseudo-French evening with a bunch of hick 17 year-olds really wasn’t that important in the big scheme of things. Was it? I just hoped that it didn’t cement my fears of the absolute end of things with Toby.

The drive was laborious. I did some of the driving to add to my logbook in my never- ending quest to get a driver’s licence. After two hours of 80 kms per hour, Mum suggested we needed some 110 kms per hour to shorten the trip, so we swapped at a servo and gave the kids a short break to stretch their legs, go to the loo and dispose of the mountain of rubbish already accumulated on the floor in the back of 109 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 the car. As we neared the outskirts of Sydney Mum got increasingly nervous. Her inexperience with Sydney traffic was fuelled by the growing darkness and her inability to remember how to get to Glebe. I shuffled through the old street directory, years out of date, and tried to be chief navigator. The silent hum of the car was interrupted by Mum’s mobile shrilly invading ringtone announcing an incoming call from Dad. I rifled round in Mum’s bag to locate the phone, but it had stopped ringing just as I found it. I checked the phone to discover not one but three missed calls from Dad. Unprecedented. I accessed the message bank to discover that Dad had left Canberra earlier than expected and was due to arrive at Sydney Airport at 6 pm instead of early Saturday morning.

We needed to quickly revise our plans. It seemed if we could fill in a couple of hours, we could collect Dad from the airport and then proceed to Glebe. This required some rather critical navigating and map reading. Neither was really my strength. I was a bit flustered, but Mum was really anxious. She couldn’t pull over as we had merged onto the M5 and stopping or turning was not an option until the next exit, some 4 kms away. Mum pulled into the slow lane and made a hasty decision to negotiate her way to the airport where we could park, feed and water the kids and collect Dad.

That was probably the biggest challenge. Parking at the airport is a miracle of modern science. The cost is prohibitive, the jumble of road signs with various options makes instant decision-making impossible, and as this was our first visit to the Sydney domestic terminal in years, we were clueless. Somehow we managed to successfully achieve our aim, probably aided by the indulgence of some Krispy Kreme donuts. It was a relief to have Dad with us despite the hassles of finding the airport and him.

Despite her business-like suit and distinct air of confidence, as the judge walked down the stairs in front of us, Catherine, Mum’s lawyer, sneered disparagingly at her. Unsure if we were supposed to be party to her childish reaction, I held my amusement in and made a note to self to comment later when we had the inevitable family debrief. I was relieved the first part was over. Mum looked fantastic, she epitomised the idea of a thoroughbred. She had remained confident in appearance although I am sure she felt a tangle of wild geese in her belly. We met the glorious sunny day on the front stairs of the court and decided as the spring was elegantly descending, lunch in the park adjacent to the art gallery would be a good way to fill the two-hour break until we were herded back into the inner sanctum of the Arbitration Court.

The twins needed a visit to the toilet, naturally, so Dean volunteered to take them promising to monitor them the whole time as in the ‘wicked city’ anything could happen. I couldn’t help lamenting Pip’s absence but the parentals were adamant she stay at school rather than face any more disruptions. Her pregnancy and miscarriage seemed a distant memory and she had appeared to have knuckled down and was happily now part of the culture of Canberra Girls’ Grammar. Her leadership role was a reward for her apparent turning over a new leaf. 110 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

I was still struggling to come to terms with my final year at school and the pressures, expectations and rituals required to make the transition from school kid to university student and supposedly responsible adult-in-the-making. Obviously, the whole Toby ‘thing’ was still looming large and I was still at the stage of feeling despondent most of the time and unable to really concentrate on much else. The sensible, logical part of me knew that I would survive, but I was still heartbroken. It had been nearly a week and he had not seemed any different the times I saw him at school. He was not avoiding me but not the opposite either. Chrissie’s time was a whirl of parties, barbeques and her final week was going to be a trip to Sydney, the Harbour Bridge Climb and an Opera House concert, accompanied by Bex, NOT her buddy Toby. Some small consolation, I guess.

Perhaps I was clinging to the hope that he would change somehow and decide we could be together. I was whisked back to reality and away from my self-indulgent musing as Dad was making decisions about lunch. Always the pragmatist, he thought the easiest option was the Pavilion on the Park café. The kids could safely run around and the rest of us could have the proverbial long lunch. Catherine, Mum’s solicitor, would text Mum to summon us back soon enough. Mum was nervy and Dad was in the calm support-person role, a role I seldom saw him assume.

I thought a change of topic would be a welcome option, so I broached the subject of next year, post-Year 12 and that crumby school. I had thought a bit about the possibilities. The most appealing was a gap year. I could disappear overseas and start life as an adult without any of the proverbial baggage. Or could I? I wasn’t sure I was able to really do it; maybe after the exams I would be ready. The other concern bugging me was the cost. No doubt I would manage to get some sort of job once settled in some foreign city, but how could I ask for the airfare and money to buy clothes and stuff before I left?

I was nudged out of my thoughts as I was required to make a food choice. I would be happy to just sit, food didn’t interest me, but I had a frazzled looking waiter patiently, with pen poised, waiting for my selection from the menu. I hastily chose a Caesar salad with chicken. I had lost my train of thought and was being quizzed by Dean about my ‘love life’. To remain in control I responded sharply, ‘Non-existent, in part due to this bloody trip to Sydney’. No sooner had I said that I realised that my selfish thoughts had been verbalised and I was now being scrutinised by everyone and it was a very disapproving air that had descended on our sunny lunch table. I felt like an alien, the looks from Dad in particular, were of utter amazement that I could have made such a comment.

I realised an apology was only going to partly allay my newfound selfish reputation, but hastily beat a retreat, nevertheless.

‘I am sorry, I shouldn’t have said that I am feeling a bit sorry for myself’, I quietly offered.

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The apology was accepted but I felt I was acting out of character. Luckily lunch arrived and the conversation turned to comparing food. Mine certainly looked great but I couldn’t contemplate eating. I excused myself and went in search of the bathrooms as a diversionary tactic. Hopefully a bit of time and space would improve my mood and my immature reaction would be forgotten. I returned to find everyone happily eating and chatting noisily. I slipped into my chair next to Dad and smiled at him. He reached over and squeezed my hand. I had the distinct feeling at that moment, he actually understood. Dean leaned over and whispered to me that the waiter could be a possibility. I poked my tongue out at him but was relieved that we had returned to the good old Stilton family.

I looked at my mobile phone and was surprised to see a missed call from Toby. Well, surprised and delighted but I was, of course, having my doubts and rationalising why he would call. Should I read something good into this or is it a routine enquiry? I decided to prolong the agony and wait until I had a bit of space and I would return the call in private. I wasn’t sure how long I would have to wait but decided resolutely to tough it out. I didn’t really need to reopen the already painful feelings.

I was still not comfortable eating. I had a continual feeling I was about to throw up. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, but I really didn’t want to eat. In a way I suppose I was punishing myself, channelling pain away from my heart and inflicting it elsewhere to cope. None of this was a conscious decision, it appeared to be just what happened, almost as if predestined. I had moments when I could be rational and not cry, but the hurt invariably returned every now and then to remind me what had happened.

I was shaken out of my musings when the shrill of Dean’s mobile brought me back to the here and now. He was chatting away happily and obviously plotting a rendezvous later in the day. I had no idea of the life Dean was leading in Sydney. He worked part-time in a pub and appeared to have a pretty interesting social life. I didn’t know what he did or who he socialised with, but I surmised that he was certainly a lot happier than when he had been living in Shitsville aka Astonville, pretending he wanted to be a hairdresser. He had done his RSA at school along with everyone else but was determined not to end up pulling beers in the local pub. I am sure what he is doing now is just until he finds something that will suit his peculiar style. It’s good that someone is happy.

No sooner had he finished his call when Mum’s phone burst into song—the Rolling Stones’ Satisfaction, that was her mantra—and I gathered that Catherine was calling the troops back, bringing an end to the long lunch. I was relieved to be on the move. I felt a crazy mixed-up mess of emotions like a pile of dirty laundry and needed a distraction. What an incongruous group we looked, our country finery not quite as elegant in Macquarie Street as we thought when we dressed this morning and now gathered together to head back to court.

Before we could physically relocate, we needed to sort out the dreaded parking. We 112 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 had managed a parking meter, but it was about to expire, and we needed to organise either moving the car or reloading the meter. Dean volunteered me to go with him to sort out the vagaries of Sydney parking with a promise to be back at court as soon as we could.

I surmised he had made this suggestion so we could have a chat without the others in earshot. I was right, as we strolled back towards the Domain Dean was very concerned about me and asked how I really was. I couldn’t decide how to go about this so decided the best option was to change the conversation to focus on him. He was actually quite ready to talk about his new life and particularly Robbie, a person of obvious interest. He seemed content but still very wary of what people ‘back home’ would think of him. I assured him that, as you’d expect, out of sight is definitely out of mind. He really did seem to be very content, although the pub job had crap hours and the pay was not quite sufficient to cover his expenses, but he seemed to have found someone who made him happy. I felt strangely envious the magic I had was now Dean’s, he was positively beaming.

We decided the car was fine so fed the meter, printed a new ticket to replace the almost expired one, relocked the car and headed off across the green expanse of grass that looked like a field of green velvet after the recent rain. I was feeling momentarily happily, peculiarly less anxious than I had been in ages. Was I turning as corner? I certainly hoped so. I had been so unhappy I was exhausted. I felt like a limp flower unable to put up with the constant demands made on me to be strong, radiant and happy.

As we crossed Hospital Road into the shadows my mood changed and I realised the seriousness of our situation. In a way, Mum’s whole mental stability depended on an outcome that could go either way. We could hardly be objective, of course we were sure she was right, but the power of a united loving family had no legal status. We had to trust the judicial system to be fair. In my concentration on the afternoon ahead I had all but forgotten about the missed call from Toby. It could wait.

Dean and I caught up with Dad and the kids and we huddled together a bit like fish out of water. This situation and location were very strange and quite beyond any experience we had ever had. Dad was fairly calm, although noticeably relieved at our return that was no doubt due to the respite we offered from the care of the kids. They really had no clue as to the gravity of the situation and were simply excited that there was a promise of a trip to Taronga Zoo in the days ahead.

What transpired over the next 90 minutes was quite remarkable. The judge was very no-nonsense and was surprised the dispute had gone this far, she was adamant it should have been settled months ago. However, in her summary, she still requested a return tomorrow so she could set compensation. Finally, the horrible, even torturous last months were nearly at an end. It seemed Mum had done no wrong; she must have felt a level of relief rivalling the onset of the summer holidays. She was still coyly cautious as we headed off to the car and perhaps a subdued celebration until the final settlement had been delivered. 113 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

As we ambled back across the Domain to the car I glanced at my phone. I was not used to this continual coverage, what a luxury, not one afforded us at home. Pip had left a message. It was late afternoon and she probably had a moment of unsupervised time. I decided to call her on the off-chance she was available. No luck, straight to voice mail. Again.

The drive back to Deans’ place was uneventful but I was lost in my own world as the flickering neon lights blended with the noise and smells and babble of the kids in the background. I couldn’t stop wondering why Toby had called. I kept thinking what if … That thought was no use; he had made things abundantly clear that day when he wandered off with Chrissie. I still had a mental image of them walking off looking so much like a couple. Did I ever have that luxury? I can’t remember ever having that level of security.

As we arrived at Deans’ there was another rush to go to the toilet. It was a quaint old place in need of lots of love and care but as student houses go, it was in a great position, although one bathroom was a challenge. After we unloaded all the junk from the car and deposited stacks of rubbish in the wheelie bin, we made our way to the kitchen to decide on dinner. Mum happily accepted Dean’s offer to go to Coles and get some sausages, bread, milk, cereal for the morning and tea. I did wonder how he survived; there was nothing in the fridge at all.

As he cheerfully left the room, Mum became serious and asked if I could take the kids into the lounge to watch television. I gathered she wanted to have a conversation with Dad. I could only think she was finally able to plan for the future. I hoped it didn’t mean we were going to move yet again. I needed to stay where we were, finish Year 12, try to get my act together, work things out. What things I wasn’t really sure. One thing for certain, I did not want to move again.

I read the kids a story, Chapter one of The Witches, again, and was surprised that Mum and Dad emerged soon afterwards. They seemed to be quite agitated and I guessed something fairly substantial had been decided in their brief conversation. I volunteered to settle the kids, frightened that what I was about to hear was not going to be good news. I firmly believed in delaying the inevitable. In my absence, Dean had returned and was full of stories about the losers at Coles and the difficulty he had finding the simplest items. He was a changed person and it was great to see him so animated; I just wish I could catch some of it.

I had not returned Toby’s call either but felt that family took precedence. I wanted to feel more composed before I made the call, if indeed I did call. Mum walked into the room and asked for the TV to be muted so she could talk to us. At last I felt we may finally have an explanation for the events of the last torturous months. Dad was particularly agitated and obviously keen to clear the air. He coughed and was clearly ready to start the proceedings. Mum nervously sat on the edge of the chair near an old gas heater. The weather was warm and the heater off, but Mum shivered. 114 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020

Dad started by explaining that he understood things had been hard for us since Mum had been unceremoniously removed from her position as principal. He acknowledged that he had not always been there to support the family and for that, he apologised. Mum was clearly anxious to speak, and she cleared her throat, but before she could speak, she had tears running down her cheek. The usual stoic and strong mother dissolved once we had the chance to learn the event that had plagued us for so long. Dean comforted her, and she composed herself and began.

‘As you know I was ushered out of the school rather dramatically. I was accused of serious misconduct. The allegations were vexatious’, she said, whatever that means. ‘Your father and I made a very personal choice, one for many reasons we have come to regret, for others reasons we are still convinced that the decision was ours to make and it was right.’ She paused still visibly shaking and looking incredibly vulnerable.

‘Our decision was judged very harshly, and my position terminated, totally unreasonably, as a result, which is why we chose to go to court and fight it. I will not go back to the school. The case has been about the illegality of the dismissal and my claim for compensation because the school council breached my contract. Our hope tomorrow is that we are treated fairly by the judge and an amount set to cover the pain and suffering, loss of income etc is awarded and then the matter will be over.’

Mum took a deep breath, she looked at Dad, he nodded his head, ever so slightly encouraging her to continue. ‘I know you will not judge me harshly and I hope you will understand the decision we made. After thinking very carefully and considering a whole range of things, in January your father and I decided that our family was complete.’

She was really beating around the bush, there was no delicate way that she could tell us of her decision to not only have no more kids but to have an abortion. An abortion. My mother. Was that what she was alluding to? I was speechless. My mother. What a betrayal of all the things we believed and lived by. She chose to kill a baby, how could she? I was frozen in my chair. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn’t. I was disgusted with her, with Dad, both of them, lying to us, causing this huge family catastrophe. Well, lying by omission. I guess they had told us nothing.

I cleared my throat and made a move to get out of the uncomfortable atmosphere of Dean’s small lounge room. The death stares from both parentals made it clear that it was not an acceptable option. Dad, most out of character for him, decided he would take over. He walked over to Mum and patronisingly put his hand on her shoulder. He spoke confidently, first looking at Mum, then at each one of us. He had a tired, rather resigned look.

‘It has been a very difficult and stressful time for your mother, and for me. We are 115 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020 happy with our decision and the vindication the court has offered. If you kids have any questions or if you want to say anything, now is your time. It is not a matter that warrants any more discussion nor is it to be made public to anyone. We would like to put it behind us and move on.’

Buzzing around in my head was the scene at the hospital with Pip and their lack of real empathy. It was dawning on me that everything that had happened this year has, at some level, had a connection to the decision they had made to terminate a human life. How could they even think straight, be rational and live their lives for so long as if nothing had happened? I wondered if Pip knew and if she did, when they told her. I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to talk to them at all.

Thankfully after a rather pregnant pause and a slightly difficult period, Dad’s mobile rang and we were momentarily saved from the continuance of the ridiculous scenario we were in. It didn’t take long for the spell to break and Mum realised she needed to see if the kids were in bed and that her guard was carefully replaced, and we experienced no more of her vulnerability. With her departure, Dean excused himself and wandered outside to have a cigarette. I chose to accompany him despite my disgust of smoking.

Once outside we realised we were not alone, sitting on the back step was Dad. He was nodding in agreement with whoever was on the other end of the phone. He glanced in our direction with a resigned look. He looked shattered. What could have happened now? Hopefully it was a work situation and not yet another family catastrophe.

I looked at my phone, Toby was calling again.

116 Friday, 6 November 2020Saturday, 25 July 2020