Girl Next Door - Alyssa Brugman [52]
So now I have the chlorine-smelling clothes I'm standing in, my Dad's daggy old t-shirt and the stupid pinch pot.
Bryce Cole knows a pub where we can stay for thirty-seven dollars. It's called the Plough and Peanut. I know where that is. As the crow flies, it's not that far from our house. We used to drive past the Plough and Peanut to get to the swimming centre where Will and I used to go to for lessons.
He parks at the back and goes into the bar. We wait in the car. A couple come stumbling down the laneway. They stand in the corner of the car park right next to our car. They're giggling, murmuring and tearing at each other's clothes. I'm trying to pretend I can't hear what he's saying to her. He hitches up her skirt. She wraps a leg around his waist. She's trying to undo his belt.
Mum leans across the driver's seat and turns on the headlights. The couple stare into the light, stunned for a moment, and then they laugh as they scamper back down the driveway the way they have come, hand in hand.
Soon Bryce Cole returns with a set of keys. We climb the rear stairs. There is what looks like a heavy duffel bag draped across one of the lower treads, but as I step over it I realise it's a sleeping man.
Classy place, the Plough and Peanut.
At the top Bryce unlocks a door and we walk into a hallway that smells pretty similar to the caravan we just left. We take the third doorway on the left and then we're in a narrow room with two sets of bunk beds. The sound of the crowd is louder here. There's a set of French doors covered in dusty lace curtains at the far end of the room. I unlock the doors and peek out. There's a throng of drinkers on the verandah outside the doors – some standing against the rail, some sitting around tables. The bloke nearest the doors holds up his beer to me, and slurs, 'Hey, ho! Whaddya know?' I shut the doors again.
'They're right outside!' I say to Bryce Cole.
Mum sits on the edge of the bunk bed, holding a pillow up to her face and sniffing it experimentally. She puts it down and straightens the slip.
'We have a roof over our heads,' she tells us, but I can tell she's trying to convince herself. When I sit next to her she picks lint off my collar, and runs her hand down my arm, straightening my cuff. 'This is a great colour for you, darling.'
I blink at her because it's the same outfit I've been wearing for almost three days now.
'We could go for a quick drink downstairs,' Bryce Cole suggests to Mum.
'I'm not really dressed for it.' She smoothes down the front of her 'blouse'.
'Rubbish! You look like a princess,' he tells her with a wide smile.
'Where are the toilets?' I ask. I can feel the chlorine on my skin. I'm looking forward to a hot shower. I'll sleep in my Dad's old t-shirt, which is still clean, if a bit smoky.
'Down the end of the hall,' Bryce Cole says. He throws me the keys. I slip them into my pocket and walk down the hall and around the corner. I see the bathroom. It has a sign on the door that says 'Room Guests Only'. It turns out I don't need the keys after all. There's a line of women coming out the door and down the corridor.
I join the queue. The woman in front of me turns around and grins. Her make-up is smeared across her face. Her lipstick has come off and she has a ring of dark lip-liner around her mouth. Her eyes are bloodshot.
'How's your night going?' she asks me.
'I've had better,' I tell her.
'Really? I'm having the best time. I've just met this guy. His name's Trevor and he's really hot!'
We shuffle forward. I can see into the bathroom. There are women at the mirrors powdering their faces and fluffing their hair. One woman rearranges her boobs. Right there in front of everybody!
There's only one toilet cubicle, and next to it what I guess is a shower, since it's covered by a curtain. I'm not going to have a shower, not with all those people, but at least I can get changed in there. I leave the queue and pull the curtain back. I quickly take off my top and slip Dad's shirt over my head.
All of a sudden the curtain whips back and a woman stares at me. Her