The Incredible Adventures of Cinnamon Girl Read online

  Eddie drops his eyes. Paulette elbows through the crowds, slamming the door behind her. She braces her back against the glass and gives us a feeble wave.

  ‘Hey, Paulette,’ Eddie says, his eyes on his boots.

  ‘Hey all,’ she says, smoothing down her pigtails. ‘Alba, ah, you might want to stick your head outside. There’s a bit of a … situation that I’m not sure how to handle.’

  ‘Jeez. What now?’ I leap out of the booth and push through the waiting people on the verandah.

  Eddie comes to a dead stop beside me, and Pete crashes into him from behind. ‘Feck is that?’ Eddie says.

  ‘Whoa,’ I reply. ‘Have I fallen through a worm hole into an HG Wells novel?’

  ‘Huh,’ Grady says, appearing on my other side. ‘Where exactly does one … procure a penny-farthing these days?’

  A bronze contraption that looks like something from a freaksville sideshow is parked amid the people on our bluestone path. The back wheels of the bike – if that’s what you call it – are only a little bigger than normal pushbike wheels. The other humungous, oversized wheel holds the seat and the rider, and is currently blocking Albany’s staircase.

  ‘Hello?’ I call as I shade my hands against the sun. ‘Are you looking for somewhere to park that thing? You’re kind of on our path.’

  Bike-man peers impassively down at me. He’s wearing a Fanta-orange cord suit, and a serene, bovine expression. ‘Property is relative,’ he says dreamily. ‘We are all children of the universe. We need to share our spaces, yeah?’

  I cross my arms. I’m generally pretty easy-going, but penny-farthing bozo is gazing at me with glassy-eyed apathy, and the conversation with Grady is still buzzing in my head, and my hands are doing that stupid pins-and-needles thing again, and all I want is to close my eyes and blink my normal summer back into existence. My capacity for dealing with this hippy rubbish? Right now, it’s sitting on nil.

  ‘Children of the universe we might be, dude, but you still need to move. We have customers.’

  Bike-man looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. ‘I don’t think so, little lady,’ he says mildly. ‘There are no confines to human experience. Besides, the view from here is awesome. And it smells nice.’ He dings his bell and looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Hey, arsebag!’ I snap. ‘You know this isn’t the city, right? We have, like, shotguns and stuff and –’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Eddie growls, his eyes down Main Street. ‘Tell me that’s not who I think it is. Bloody hell!’ He hauls himself over the verandah railing with one hand and bolts down the road.

  Grady grabs my arm. I shoot Penny-Farthing Man a scowl before clambering under the railing and hurrying after Ed.

  Mr Palmer is standing in front of a milling crowd and some news cameras, an Akubra on his head and an expression on his face like he’s just won that Nigerian lottery.

  I stand on my tiptoes and squint through the mobs. ‘Eddie … is your dad …’

  Pete bursts out laughing. ‘Dude. Is he wearing make-up?’

  Eddie covers his face with his hands. ‘Dude, shut up! Dad’s gone fecking nuts.’

  Mr Palmer smiles brightly at a pretty reporter. He tips his hat, and a thick smudge of cover-up cracks over his cheek. Beside me, Eddie groans.

  ‘As I mentioned,’ Mr Palmer says, in the same boomy gravel-voice as Eddie’s, ‘times have been tough round here, especially for us farmers. Now, I don’t know about any of this end-of-the-world malarkey, but anything that brings you folks out to our corner of the world is a good thing in my book. As long as people need a patch to crash on, everyone’s welcome at the Palmers’. Best butter in the state, by the way,’ he says with a wink at the pretty reporter.

  Grady rounds on Eddie. ‘What are people supposed to do for food? And water?’

  Eddie shrugs. ‘Maybe drink their own piss? Like those dumb-arse tourists who get stuck in the desert?’

  ‘Be good preparation for the apocalyptic wasteland,’ Pete says cheerfully.

  ‘Ed, this is crazy!’ I say, as a station wagon crammed with a bazillion people does a burnout in front of the Garabaldis’ store. ‘The police aren’t going to just let your dad turn the farm into his very own Burning Man?’

  Eddie shakes his head. ‘Julian Ridley can’t even stop those Merindale losers from doing burnouts on the oval. You think he’s gonna be able to deal with all this? Jesus. Like anyone knows how to deal with this.’

  I spin around, taking in the crowds and cars and the riot of more colours than I think I’d ever have inks for. I can’t see the clear horizon; Main Street is broken up by the heads of way too many people, as if someone has pinched together the edges of the world, tipping everyone into my tiny wedge of space. And it’s so goddamned noisy here, the sky crackling with the static of a hundred speakers all tuned up to a hundred.

  Grady grabs my elbow. ‘Alba, are you okay? You’re looking white as a –’

  But he doesn’t have a chance to finish, cos he’s interrupted by Caroline and Tia pushing their way frantically through the crowds.

  ‘Guess who’s back?’ Caroline says as she skids to a stop. Her voice is octaves higher than normal, which is more excitement than Caroline ever willingly displays.

  Tia suppresses a little squee.

  ‘I’m telling this story,’ Caroline yelps.

  ‘I saw him first!’ Tia bleats back.

  ‘You. Saw. Who?’ I say, resisting the urge to stomp my foot.

  Caroline spins around, her hands planted triumphantly on her hips. ‘Daniel. Fecking. Gordon,’ she says breathlessly. ‘We saw his family pull into town. According to Lucy Albington, they’re staying in one of the rentals up on the hill. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Eddie says with a whistle. ‘Cheese-face himself. Maybe I won’t have to stick to just punching Indigo in my dreams.’

  ‘Daniel?’ I manage to say. I may be one very teeny step away from complete mental overload.

  ‘Alba, pay attention!’ Caroline yells. ‘I saw him myself. Guess we should have expected the Valley’s most famous expat to make an appearance. Man, he looks nice though. Even though I only saw the side of his face through a car window.’

  ‘Boy does have one very nice side-of-face,’ Tia murmurs.

  I lock eyes with Grady. Grady stares back at me.

  Since I am, as mentioned, rubbish at storytelling, I may have telegraphed the above from a bazillion miles away.

  But honestly – at the time – who could’ve seen him coming?

  Once, when I was eight, I fell off the monkey bars in the school playground and landed with an ungracious thwack on my head. I woke up with Grady and Daniel peering down at me; Grady frantically barking at everyone not to touch me, and Daniel giggling like an idiot while trying to haul me to my feet. Even though that whole instalment is kinda concussion-foggy, the thing I remember most clearly is this: Grady’s firm hands holding me steady, and Daniel’s bluster pulling me upwards, while I sprawled between them with a headache and blossoming arse-bruise.

  Ugh. How symbolic. Believe me, I am aware.

  Grady gives my elbow a shake. ‘Alba!’ His frown is replaced by a smile, slow and wide. ‘It’s Daniel. Here. What do you think we should do?’

  I glance at the Garabaldis’ store. Someone has drawn a giant penis on one of the wooden boards, complete with a jolly tuft of curls, like some weird alien cauliflower. In the gravel post-office parking lot is one of those ice-cream vans I’ve seen on telly, only, this van has been converted into something called a Taco Truck. Muzak wafts in my direction as a line of people appear out of nowhere.

  I rarely feel uneasy. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever had much call to. But as I stand amid the noise and colour, for the first time in my whole life, I feel way, way out of my depth.

  Grady is still staring at me expectantly. So I detach my elbow from his hand, and I give him a giant, hopefully not-as-fake-as-it-feels smile. ‘Well then. What else are we suppose
d to do? Let’s go say hello!’

  I take off past the tinsel-decked stores on Main Street with my friends trailing behind. We hurry up the hill, through the scattered houses on Warrick Road, and the shoe-box bungalow that Mum and Dad and I lived in before the bakery; all the while my hands are becoming sweaty, and the bits of my brain that are devoted to sensible thinking shut themselves off, one at a time, like Christmas lights with a faulty fuse.

  Caroline veers us into a street. The view of the Valley is awesome from up here; on weekends, half our high school hangs out at the tree-lined dirt road on the top of the hill, with the farms stretching around us, and the few lights of town twinkling below. For a moment, I have this crazy urge to see our new Valley from up here at night. I bet the camp-lights and colourful tents look awesome in the dark.

  Tia pinches my side with a squeal as we skid to a stop at the edge of a gravel drive.

  Grady takes a couple of steps in front of me. Caroline stops and shoves me in front of her. I hear Eddie’s low whistle from behind, and a reverential ‘Feeeeeeck’, no doubt as his eyes land on the shiny BMW parked in front of the house.

  I take another floaty step forward.

  And there he is.

  He’s unloading a rucksack from the car, a pile of bags at his feet. I catch a glimpse of a woman with a neat auburn bob disappearing into the house. Daniel’s mum was always pretty set in her ways; dunno why I’m surprised she has the same hairstyle almost a decade after I saw her last.

  Grady glances over his shoulder at me. Then he faces forward and clears his throat.

  Daniel turns, gold aviators glinting in the sun. He gives us a look that’s part exasperated, part benign resignation. He blows his hair off his face with a puff.

  ‘Hey, look, we’ve been on the road since hell-time this morning, and I’ve just stepped out of the car – and I really need to pee – happy to sign some autographs, but give us a minute, would you?’ And though his voice is a few shades deeper than the last time I spoke to him, and though the only words I’ve heard it speak recently are cheesy lines, I would know that voice – languid, but with laughter bubbling behind it – anywhere.

  Grady’s Vans scuff at the gravel. ‘No, we’re not here for an autograph. Um, sorry to bother you, but … do you know who I am?’

  Daniel looks at him blankly. And then, ever so slowly, he takes off his sunglasses. He blinks at Grady like he’s trying to focus a mirage.

  ‘No. Freaking. Way,’ he whispers. He steps tentatively towards him. ‘Domenic? It’s you? You’re … still here?’ Daniel swallows. The tips of his ears turn fiery scarlet. My brain may have short-circuited, but I’m failing to grasp why his expression suggests he’s just been pantsed by the Ghost of Christmas Past.

  And then he seems to shake himself out of whatever trance he was in, and he covers the space between us in a few theatrical bounds. ‘Hey!’ he yelps, grabbing Grady in one of those boy hugs that’s all back-slap and no below-the-chest contact. ‘I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you’re still here – I thought for sure your mum would have moved on ages ago.’ He clasps his hands around Grady’s arms, and he beams at him with his blinding Indigo smile. ‘Jesus, Grady – you got tall, man. What the hell happened?’

  Grady grins, giving his arms a thump back. ‘Puberty. Still convinced this place might be built on a radioactive alien crash-site. Nice to see you again, too, Dan. You … look good, dude. I mean, we’ve seen you on TV, but, yeah. You … changed. Nice hair.’ Grady clears his throat again. ‘Well done on that.’

  But Daniel doesn’t appear to be listening. His brow is furrowed, his familiar too-blue eyes zeroed in on me, and suddenly I’m ten years old again, watching as he waves goodbye through the back window of his parents’ car, a Spider-man PEZ dispenser in my hand and a medley of Mum’s sad-arse Lisa Loeb music in my heart.

  ‘That – is not possible,’ Daniel says quietly, his frowny forehead trained on me. ‘Sarah Jane … Alba?’

  Eddie drapes one arm firmly around my shoulders. It’s like being hit across the back with a piece of two-by-four, but it also momentarily clears the brain-freeze. I wiggle out from his grip. ‘Heya, Daniel. It’s me. Jeez. It’s … been a while.’

  ‘Hey … yourself,’ he says as his arms – nice, nice muscly arms – envelop me in a giant hug. My arms snake around him too, but it feels a little like I’m hugging an apparition. All I can think is that the surrealness of the potential apocalypse has got nothing on this. I hug him back, noting hazily through his T-shirt abs that are most definitely not CGI, and half-expecting Indigo’s fish-lipped love interest to appear from off-screen and punch me in the face.

  Daniel pulls away and holds me at arm’s length. He looks me up and down, his eyebrows climbing skywards. I’m wearing my favourite cherry-red sailor dress and black Chucks, an outfit that even on an ordinary day turns more than one head in the Valley. I suppose I should be a bit self-conscious that he’s blatantly checking me out, but hey, what can I say? I look kick-arse in this dress.

  ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘You look …’ His eyes are on me, but somehow they seem to be focusing elsewhere. And then he smiles, all cheek and cheer, and it’s so freaking familiar the TV-Daniel fizzes. Standing in his place is the person who was once one of my best friends in the universe, albeit he’s taller and shapelier and has shiny auburn boy-band hair replacing the crop his mum used to give him with her sewing scissors. ‘I could never picture you as anything other than a shortarse in overalls and that Harvey Birdman jumper, Alba.’ He grins. ‘You grew up nice, girl. Good job!’

  I give him a sweeping bow. Funny how going toe-to-toe with Daniel’s bluster is just like riding a bike. ‘I did my best. You look great yourself, though you know, you’re not nearly as tall in real life.’

  Daniel laughs. ‘Yeah, I get that a lot. Forget about the camera adding ten pounds – in my case, it also adds, like, two feet. But, man, it’s so good to see you guys again.’ He beams at Grady and me, and now I’m six years old again, giggling in the back of the classroom as Daniel attempts to break the Guinness record for the number of pencils shoved up a single human nostril.

  Eddie bumps me out of the way, his hulking shoulder suddenly in front of mine.

  Daniel’s eyes travel upwards. He takes the tiniest of steps backwards. ‘Hey man. I don’t think I remember you?’

  Eddie snorts. ‘Yeah, you wouldn’t. You didn’t spend a whole lotta time in the special class, or detention, as I recall.’

  I shuffle in front of Ed. ‘Daniel, this is Eddie. Eddie Palmer? He wasn’t in our year level, but you remember his parents from the dairy farm?’

  Daniel looks blankly at Eddie, but he holds a hand out anyway. ‘Sorry, I’m not always good with faces. But yeah, hey, nice to see you again?’

  Eddie doesn’t say anything, but he does clasp Daniel’s hand while eyeballing him with the intimidating stare-out he likes to use on new guys, until Pete pokes him in the side and pushes him out of the way.

  ‘This is wild, huh?’ Pete says. ‘Have you ever seen anything like this? You’ve probably seen heaps of cool stuff, parties and whatever, but this is awesome, right?’

  Daniel frowns at Petey. ‘Have we met?’

  ‘Nope, no, I moved here a couple of years ago, you were before my time, but –’ he sticks out a hand. ‘It’s Pete. Peter, but everyone just calls me Pete. Or Petey. But, yeah, Pete is fine. Or Petey. Whatever.’

  ‘My boyfriend loves your show,’ Tia says nervously. ‘Peter is a big fan.’

  Caroline snorts. ‘Yeah, you don’t own a tightrope outfit by any chance –’

  ‘So, this is insane,’ I say, hastily introducing Tia and Caroline, who were only on the margins of our little group before Daniel left. ‘I don’t think Eden Valley’s seen this much excitement since that time the Ridleys’ goat shed burnt down. Is all this is why you’re back?’

  Daniel’s ears turn red again. I’d totally forgotten that he blushes from the ears whenever he’s embarrassed. It’s th
e weirdest thing to remember, like a tiny fragment of his picture I’d erased from my memory has drawn itself back in the frame.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says sheepishly. ‘It was my manager’s idea. The publicity and everything. Being my home town and all, he figured it might be good to, you know … cash in on that a bit.’ He shrugs. ‘It was either this or spending Christmas doing Carols by Candlelight. No-one seems to care that I can’t sing for shit.’

  Grady sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘Don’t ever remember that stopping you before?’ he says shyly.

  Daniel laughs. ‘But a gig in front of a couple of million people is a little different to Miss Beale’s grade-three talent show. Not sure my “Daydream Believer” would’ve really cut it on live TV. I think this whole thing is pretty stupid, but it’s a weird business. Any publicity is good, right?’

  The six of us nod sagely, like we know exactly what he’s talking about.

  Daniel flicks his sunglasses out of the pocket of his jeans and pushes them onto his head in one smooth move. I’m sort of distracted by pondering whether those cheekbones were always hiding under his pumpkin cheeks, or if they’re those implants I’ve heard celebs like to stick in their faces, so it takes me a few seconds to process that my friends are awkward and silent, and Daniel is still talking.

  ‘God, you guys – it’s so awesome to see you,’ he says, his eyes darting between me and Grady. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever set foot in this arse-end-of-nowhere place again, but –’ He smiles at me. ‘This might turn out to be a fun few weeks after all. Assuming the planet doesn’t explode and all.’

  I glance over my shoulder. From up here, the crowds look almost motionless, like weird multi-coloured livestock milling in the russet fields. ‘Daniel, we’re still not exactly sure what’s happening. But no-one seriously believes any of this … right?’

  Daniel shrugs. ‘Most people seem to think this Ned guy is taking the piss, but, you know – it’s an excuse for a party. Guess Judgement Day is as good an excuse as any, right? Though I still can’t believe that this many people have bothered. I could barely believe Eden Valley was still on a map. In my mind I always just picture a couple of tin sheds and tumbleweeds.’