Читать книгу Melt - Lisa Walker - Страница 11

Project: Wednesday routine

Objective: Become Cougar Gale

6.00: Wake up

6.00–7.00: Running

7.00–10.00: Eat home-made muesli and watch old episodes of ‘In the Wild’

10.00–11.00: Weight training

11.00–12.00: Dye hair black and apply fake tan

12.00–14.00: Buy outdoor clothing

14.00–24:00: Study glaciology

Total time: 18 hours

On Wednesday morning I wake at six am. The meeting yesterday seems like a bad dream. It was as if the whole group was hypnotised by fear of Maxine. I’ve heard of that sort of thing happening before, but I’ve never experienced it. Group think, I believe it’s called when people make bad decisions in order to conform to social norms.

Am I really about to impersonate Cougar Gale? I turn my head and bang my nose against something hard. Extreme Project Management is open on my pillow. I’d fallen asleep reading it last night. I now know extreme project management (XPM) is used to manage complex and uncertain projects. In contrast to traditional project management (TPM) it is open, elastic and non-deterministic. The book has a couple of helpful diagrams.

TPM is like a waterfall

XPM is like a string of spaghetti

While my life bears more resemblance to a string of spaghetti than an orderly cascading waterfall, I suspect it is worse than that. My life is more tangled, like this:

Opening my laptop, I check today’s objective – Become Cougar Gale. Ha.

I can’t believe a table full of seemingly rational adults has agreed that no-one will notice if I turn up on TV in Cougar’s place. But I suppose it does happen in long-running soap operas when one of the actors leaves. The viewer knows that Charlene’s a little different today but after half an hour you forget there was ever another Charlene.

Pulling on a T-shirt and shorts, I stagger out the door. It’s ridiculous to expect I’m going to transform my body into Cougar’s in one day; however, I must make some effort. I will pound the streets of Chatswood for an hour.

I pound the streets of Chatswood for ten minutes before relapsing into a brisk walk, which soon becomes a stroll. It’s too hot for running. The sun, even filtered through a thin layer of smoke, is bitingly hot. It’s lucky I thought to stuff a twenty-dollar note inside the groovy armband that holds my phone. This armband was a present from Adrian. ‘You can listen to music and take calls while you run,’ he said. ‘And once you upgrade to a voice recognition phone, you’ll be able to send texts too.’ This sounded feasible, but if I was to send a text now it would be nothing but gasps and pants and I’d get booked for harassment.

By six-thirty, I’m ensconced in a coffee shop with a double-shot latte and a muffin on order. I would have been there earlier, but the cafe only opens at six-thirty.

My ten-minute run has illustrated how unsuited I am for this job. It’s ridiculous. I can’t go to Antarctica. I can’t impersonate Cougar. I’ll make a fool of myself if I’m not eaten by huskies first. Something weird happened in that meeting room yesterday but I’m sure they’ll have come to their senses by now.

At nine o’clock I will go and see Maxine. I’ll be firm and assertive while avoiding can’t. Surely she will see reason. We can reschedule Cougar on Ice.

On the TV in the corner a talking head presents The Morning Show. A graphic pops up on the screen showing little bushfire symbols across the state. I would leave, but I have food coming. Instead, I try to ignore the interview with a man in orange overalls. A few words penetrate – long, hot summer … high fire danger … total fire ban …working to control …

‘Here’s your coffee.’

I turn back to the table, just in time to see him. It’s only a glimpse, but it is him. Marley is pulling out a hose, running towards a burning tree. File footage, says a note at the bottom of the screen.

‘Are you okay?’ The waitress places a glass of water in front of me.

‘Yes, thanks.’ I drum my fingers on the table and breathe slowly to steady myself. The image on the screen changes to a parched paddock; no prospect of rain, says the announcer.

Things got a bit sad between Marley and me before I left to go overseas. We’d never been apart for so long – I think we were both trying to avoid thinking about it.

I tap on my phone and start an email.

To: Marley Lennon Wright

From: Summer Dawn Rain Wright

Subject: Remember? (part two)

I was reading on the couch when you sat beside me, bouncing up and down the way you always did.

I looked up from my book. ‘Hiya.’

‘Hey.’

You were so tall and broad-shouldered, Marley. You were the kind of guy I’d want to see coming to help if I was stuck in a house with a bushfire advancing. And, if you weren’t my brother, I’d say you were kind of cute.

‘What’re you reading?’ you said.

I held up my book. It was a guide to scriptwriting.

‘Still into that stuff, huh?’

‘Yeah, you still into that firefighting stuff?’

We always paid each other out, didn’t we?

‘I’m going to miss you, Summer Dawn.’

‘I’ll miss you too, you old silly.’ I punched you on the shoulder. ‘We’ll email, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘You could come,’ I murmured.

‘Yeah. But I’ve got stuff to do here.’

I knew that – you’d only just got a professional firefighting job after being a volunteer for almost ten years. You were hardly going to leave.

‘Hey, you’re going to have a great time. Make sure you send lots of emails,’ you said.

I send the email and take a sip of water. I have a queasy feeling, like I’m sliding down the Cone of Certainty at high speed. Damn Cougar Gale and her broken ankle. Damn Adrian and his sudden thirst for rock-climbing. They’ve pushed me off my rightful position on top of the Cone. I desperately need to tell Maxine I’m not going to Antarctica. I’m not looking forward to it, but it has to be done and I’ll feel much better afterwards.

I draw a little picture on my phone with the pointer:

Before meeting with Maxine

After meeting with Maxine

Extreme Project Management had something to say about rapid change – what was it? When chaos and uncertainty reign, a good project manager does not call in sick. Something like that … I may need to revise my life plan to take Adrian’s temporary absence into account, but the extreme project manager isn’t fazed by change, they just re-schedule. Once I’ve mastered XPM, Adrian will return. He won’t be able to resist my sexy project planning.

Adrian is probably rock-climbing right now. Or possibly visiting Cougar in hospital. Somehow I can’t summon the expected emotions. Anger, Hurt and Betrayal must be snoozing in the sun. They’re not the angry lionesses they should be. Here I am, betrayed on the eve of my engagement and yet … Instead of three lionesses, I seem to be saddled with three old tabby cats called Irritation, Annoyance and Pique. No doubt I’m in shock.

As I nibble on my chocolate muffin I recall that my project plan stipulated home-made muesli for breakfast. Too late. My phone rings and I check the number. Mum. I can’t resist thinking of her like that – it’s my little rebellion. I’m never allowed to call her ‘Mum’, only Euphoria. Euphoria’s not the name she was born with, but on the commune changing your name is de rigueur. Our neighbours are Serenity and Rock.

While my full name is Summer Dawn Rain Wright, Summer is more than enough for me. Marley got off easily; he was named after Bob Marley, hero of hippies the world over. His middle name is Lennon, for obvious reasons.

Mum almost never rings me on my mobile – she’s worried about radiation – so this must be urgent.

‘Hi, Euphoria,’ I say.

‘Summer, I’m worried about you.’ Mum speaks quickly; she wants to get off the phone as soon as possible. I picture her standing in the mud-walled lounge room, holding the phone away from her ear to lessen radiation. While it is me, if anyone, who is being irradiated, Mum believes it works both ways. ‘I had a dream about you. You were buried in snow. You’re not going anywhere snowy, are you?’

‘Um.’ The Antarctic trip flashes through my mind, but of course I’m not going. And if I was, it would be top secret. ‘No. I had my apartment painted white. That’s probably it.’

‘Oh, get out of here. Not you, Summer, it’s those bats, they’re running rampant. There’s always one flapping around. Yes, that’s probably it. I’d paint it blue if I were you – much more calming. Well, don’t go anywhere snowy, will you? Not until after the summer solstice.’

‘Why?’ I was born on the summer solstice, hence my name.

‘Really, Summer, you should know – after your birthday is a much safer time for you.’

‘Okay, Mum, that’s fine, I’m not going anywhere.’

Mum’s frozen silence reminds me I’ve called her ‘Mum’.

‘Euphoria, I mean.’

‘You should come home for the New Year’s Eve ritual. That was always one of your favourites. Marley preferred Halloween and …’ Euphoria stops. ‘Those bats, I’ve never seen so many of them.’

‘Mm,’ I murmur in a non-committal way. I have no intention of going home to make corn dollies and harvest altars or to beat drums with Mum and her friends. It might have been fun once, but I’ve moved on.

‘I’d better go before we get too much radiation. Don’t talk on your mobile phone again today, will you?’

‘I won’t.’

Mum hangs up.

I finish my muffin thoughtfully. Summer solstice used to take the place of Christmas on the commune. It was a huge celebration with friends and family. I never missed not celebrating Christmas and we got our presents early so there was no cause for complaint. Although I’ve put that hippie pagan stuff behind me, I used to love celebrating the power of the Sun Lord – the moment he reached his zenith.

As I pay my bill and step out of the air-conditioned cafe into the heat of the morning, it feels like the Sun Lord is doing way too much celebrating for his own good.