Part 3 (2/2)

'They're fifteen dollars each,' I said leaning into the speaker.

'Jeez, you women make things b.l.o.o.d.y complicated. I didn't ask how much it cost for one, I asked how much we b.l.o.o.d.y owe ya? a Where's that kid? a Buster! I said get here! a You still there, Canary Legs?'

'Um, yes, Quinny. It's sixty dollars.'

'Right, so why didn't you just b.l.o.o.d.y say that? Listen, love, you'll have to bring 'em up. Buster's gone AWOL. I'll kick his b.l.o.o.d.y behind. Push the door, seventh floor, turn left.'

Claud pushed the door open and I really wished we had spat in their pizzas after all, on account of Uncle Quinny calling me Canary Legs twice in one day. The foyer was hot and airless and smelt like fish fingers.

When we got out of the elevator Uncle Quinny was standing in the doorway of his flat wearing his s.h.i.+ny track pants with no s.h.i.+rt. He looked muscly like Popeye a I think 'cos he works out at the gym in case he ever gets in a fight, which he probably does all the time. We handed Quinny the pizzas and he beckoned us with his head.

'Come through girls, the boys are just gettin' the cash together.'

Claud and I stood in Quinny's entrance hall. There was a television blaring in the lounge room where I could see the back of Buster's head on a huge curvy couch. He was playing Grand Theft Auto and was in the process of carving up a police bike with a chainsaw, which is probably why he couldn't hear Quinny when he called him. There was a woman lying next to him with a sarong tied around her. She was asleep. Quinny plonked Buster's pizza on the gla.s.s coffee table in front of him.

'Nah nah, don't get up your highness, don't you move a b.l.o.o.d.y muscle!' Quinny joked. Buster didn't notice. Quinny gave him a clip across the back of the head saying, 'Where's your b.l.o.o.d.y manners, kid?'

'Hey, Buster, I told you we knew where you lived,' Claud said, and did the fake laugh again, looking at me to laugh along. To be honest I really couldn't see what the joke was, especially as Buster could lose his temper any moment and we weren't exactly in a position of power, being stuck in a flat full of criminals. I just wanted to get out of there.

'Come with me, Suns.h.i.+ne,' said Quinny moving into the kitchen. 'Hey, boys, give us sixty would ya?' he shouted. There were three men sitting around the table playing cards. One was wearing a suit like a real estate agent and sitting in front of an electric fan. There was another guy wearing boxer shorts and a singlet, and a younger dude in a beanie and full, s.h.i.+ny black tracksuit with white stripes down the sleeves as if he was smack in the middle of winter. He took some money out of the middle of the table and handed me three folded twenty dollar notes, while Quinny opened the pizza boxes and put them on the table.

'If they're any good, we'll order some more next week,' said Quinny. I could hear Claud fake laughing again from the lounge room.

'Well, you better beat it then girls,' Quinny said, standing by the door.

'Okay, thanks, Quinny. Have a good weekend,' I said, putting the money in my pocket. He left me at the door and went back to the kitchen.

'Come on, Claud,' I said, but she was still talking to Buster and looked as if she'd been caught doing something she didn't want me to see. 'Are you coming, Claud?' I said, a little louder.

She turned around quickly, flicking her hair over her shoulder, and said, 'Hope you enjoy your pizza, Buster. I don't think I remember spitting in it, but you can't be sure!' And then she did the fake laugh. Again.

'Whatever,' sneered Buster, trying not to smile.

We waited a long time for the elevator to come. It seemed to be stuck on the twelfth floor. Claud kept jiggling the down b.u.t.ton and singing Funky Town in time, which was super annoying and made me feel like I wasn't even there.

Just as the elevator doors were closing, the man from Uncle Quinny's who was wearing the beanie squeezed himself through the elevator doors. He was carrying a Puma bag. Claud pressed the b.u.t.ton for the ground floor. She was still singing 'Funky Town', which was really embarra.s.sing, even if it was just in front of some stranger who was wearing a beanie on a forty-something degree night and was staring at the ceiling and whistling.

Claud and I had a record-breaking night at Pizza-AGo-Girl, but something still wasn't right. Claud was bouncing around like Tigger from the Hundred Acre Wood and kept humming and singing annoying songs like you do when no one else is around, or you're in the shower. And whenever I said anything to her I could tell she wasn't really listening.

'How much of a loser is Buster?' I said, when Claud and I were chatting in my bunks. 'I mean, could he wear any more Lynx? It almost gave me a headache.'

'It's better than having B.O. At least he cares about personal hygiene,' said Claud.

'Yeah, but he never does anything. I bet you he stays on that couch in front of his PlayStation all weekend. It's no wonder he doesn't have any friends.'

Claud didn't answer.

'Claud?' I said, but she didn't answer me, again. 'Claud?' I leant over the side of my bed to the bottom bunk. She was listening to her iPod.

'Claud!' I said loudly. She pulled out one of her earphones.

'What?' she said, in an impatient way.

'What are you doing?'

'Um, let me see, I'm making a ham sandwich. No, I'm doing my homework. What does it look like I'm doing Sunny?'

'You don't have to be mean.'

'Well, maybe you're being mean,' Claud said, putting the earphone back in, which made my throat ache.

'Fine. I'll turn out the light then,' I said, flicking off the lamp. I waited a few seconds. 'Night, Claud,' I said, but she didn't answer.

I woke up and leant over the side of my bunk. Claud was already up, I could hear her chatting to Mum in the indoor kitchen. I leapt out of bed, hoping I hadn't missed out on anything like pancakes.

'Here she is,' said Mum. 'Morning, sleepyhead.'

'Morning,' I said, rubbing my eyes. Willow sat tall in front of me, thumping her tail against the floor. Claud was already dressed and had her back pack on. She smiled at me and said, 'I gotta go.'

'Weren't we going to shoot some hoops?' I said. 'We've got time before Dad comes.'

'Nah, I've got to get home. I forgot, Mum's taking me shopping. Gotta get some new school shoes for Monday.' Claud looked at her watch. 'Oops, I'm actually running late. Thanks for the sleepover, Alex.'

'Any time, Claud, you're always welcome,' said Mum as Claud made her way down the hall.

'Bye, Sunny,' Claud shouted over her shoulder. 'See you at school on Monday!' I held Willow's collar to stop her running after her.

'Claud's gone weird,' I said to Willow, rubbing her ears. 'Don't you go weird, Willow.'

While I was waiting for Dad and Steph to pick me up, I dug my school bag out of the cupboard and tried on my school shoes. They still fitted. Dad was running late and although I was trying to make all sorts of excuses for him, like perhaps Steph had morning sickness again, it was pretty normal for Dad to be running late because he's officially a late person. You'd think I'd know it by now and make internal adjustments, the way you change the clocks for daylight savings, but I always forget, because I'm absolutely and undeniably an on-time person and am chronically bad at waiting.

Waiting makes me itchy and twitchy and I pace up and down as if I'm in prison. Even if you have a lot of things you could do while you're waiting, it's as if the waiting itself makes you forget them all. Waiting makes me feel like I'm a puppet lying in a heap, hoping someone will come and pull my strings. Sometimes I feel like the only on-time person in the whole world. Even the cool change was late and hadn't come through in the night the way it was meant to. It was as hot inside the house as it was outside.

So I lay on the bottom bunk for a while and thought about all the different kinds of waiting and how some of them are worse than others. Like waiting for Christmas, for instance, which is almost fun because the more you wait, the more exciting it gets. Especially if you've got a chocolate advent calendar and can possibly resist opening all the little windows and eating all the chocolates in one day. Waiting for something that is running late a like your dad, or a train, or a cool change a is a different sort of waiting, though, on account of the lateness taking complete control of your life.

Waiting for an important letter to arrive can be exhilarating but torturous at the same time, like when you enter a compet.i.tion and don't know whether or not you've won. Waiting for Steph's baby to arrive is delicious, especially since the longer we wait, the more we get to feel it kick.

I wondered how long I'd have to wait for Claud to become normal again and start behaving the way a best friend should?

Auntie Guff does a lot of waiting. She's waiting to meet the one and fall in love. She never seems to get tired of waiting either, because she says she's got full faith in the forces of the universe. Steph wants her to try speed dating because she says a woman's got to take control of her own life, but Auntie Guff says that control is just an illusion and that everything happens in its own perfect time frame.

I think I agree with Steph, though. At least if Auntie Guff tried speed dating it would fill in time while she's waiting for the universe to get it together.

Waiting at Dr Robinson's surgery is a total dead drag of a bore. Why do they go to the trouble of making an appointment time for you if the doctor's always running forty minutes late? Plus, all the mags are way out of date and have important pages missing.

Waiting for the anaesthetic to wear off after you've had a filling at the dentist is sort of fun because your face feels all thick, and if you try to drink a gla.s.s of water, you spill it down your front.

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