Chapter 1

I am using these holidays to get started on my first novel. This has been a long time coming, just ask any of my sisters. It's a work in progress, and the original can change without these entries changing, so there may be inconsistencies.

Prize for the first one to recognise the source material.

Now it begins.
Just finished a book and now I can get back into real life and see what my absence has done to the world. Last time I looked, last time I lost myself in a good book (actually a BAD book) nothing much had changed by the time I returned to reality. But this time, maybe this time I will be able to change the world by willing it to be so.

So to regroup: Who am I?
Where am I?
When am I?

Oh yes: Janice Rhodes. Small town, Australia. 2005. I am (yes, I still am, I just checked) a rather tubby 17 year old college student. It’s a Friday of the Christmas holidays at the end of my Year 11. These holidays I am going to lose weight and not read any more books because when I do, I eat and don’t exercise.

Why don’t they make it possible to read and exercise at the same time. Sure I could buy an MP3 player (with what money?) but I don’t want to hear the words that are written. I want it to be my own voice in my head, not somebody else’s. Closest I can get to reading and exercising is when I can walk around the school yard with my nose in a book. Much nicer place to be, any book than the school yard at my school. I’m going to write a book called “Exercising the Mind & the Body: Books to Lose Weight to.”

Small town not that small really. There are five high schools. And St Hell-duh’s. And THE School, Seaport. But they don’t count. Nobody I know goes there. Nobody I want to know. Sure the Dodger from over the road goes, but he doesn’t really fit the mold at S’port anyway. He won a music scholarship and now he spends all the time we used to spend wallowing together in books playing cello, practising cello, writing for cello. He’s a year younger than me anyway. Bet he hasn’t even finished the last Hairy Porter book.

I gave up Hairy Porter for a while, but then I went to see the movie of the 3rd book (I think) and had to finish them. Read the last two in a marathon as soon as I finished my last assignment for the year. Ah, the joy of a good book after the agony of Molecular Chemistry. Nobody but a true bookaholic can fully understand the sensuality of being other. In a world that is other.

Not mothers that’s for sure.
“Coming, mum. Yes, I know it’s my turn. Yes, I’ve got my washing.” Turf some of the clothes from under my bed into the basket. Unfold them first. I learned the hard way about the sin of putting clothes straight out of the folded washing pile into the washing basket.

Down the stairs. washing in the laundry. Get Jasper’s lead. Attach to dog and out the door. “Bye, mum. I’ll walk him to the shop and back. Anything you need? No. Bye then.”

One day I waited for the answer to that and I had to struggle back from the shops with two shopping bags loaded full of stuff she could buy more cheaply from the Supermarket on her way back from work. I've got enough money for a coke and, well today I won't buy a packet of chips because I am being good about my weight. Maybe just a small bag. A 20 minute walk with Jasper full of beans and I will have walked off a small packet of chips.

Out of the house, down the steps out to the front of our section. Jasper checks out the lamp post, before tearing off down the hill. I think it’s really funny that he has to discover everytime we go for a walk that the lead only goes so far. Ha, that far, Jasper. My arm is tugged out of its socket, but I compensate. At least I know how long the lead is by now. ‘You are so funny, Jazz.’

‘Why is it funny for your dog to get choked?’

‘What’s it to you, Dodger? He’s my dog.’ The Dodger stands up from the front steps of his house and comes towards us. I think it’s him. He’s a lot taller than I remember, but it must be him. ‘Anyway, he isn’t choked. See he’s happy to keep going.’ Jasper has discovered the next lamp post. So why is The Dodger still walking beside me? I’m walking down our road, and he’s still here. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Shops. Same as you.’

‘How do you know I’m going to the shops?’

‘You always walk Jasper to the shops. Alison walks him to the park and lets him run around. Your dad walks him around the block. Your mum never walks him and you walk him to the shops, buy a bottle of Coke and walk him back.’

What is with this guy? I stare at him like the stalker he so obviously is. “How could you know all this?’

‘I watch. I remember. I analyse.’ Taps his temple at this last bit. He’s got the same little round John Lennon glasses he’s always had. His hair is dark and wavy, a bit longer than fashionable really. He doesn’t look as though he’s turned into a loony. No more than he did when we used to hang around together. That must be five, six years ago now.

‘What’s your analysis of the Rhodes family then, Genius?’

‘Pretty normal. Pretty caring. Under the thumb of Mrs Rhodes.’

I have to laugh. This is SO right. Normal. My family is so normal it’s scary. I’ll never be able to do anything about the way the world is because my family has given me nothing to toughen me up for the trials I will experience in the world. First sign of trouble, I’ll be calling for my mummy to put it right. ‘Normal is SO boring.’

He doesn’t laugh with me. He doesn’t even look at me when I say this, and I remember why that’s not a very kind thing to say to the Dodger just now. Remember Mum telling Dad about Mr Douglass’ suicide last summer. Shit, must be almost exactly a year ago. I’m too embarrassed to say anything else. Finally he says: ‘Boring would be nice.’

We walk in silence for a while. Jasper marks every second lamp post. The Dodger keeps pace with me. I decide it’s time for a non sequitur. ‘How was school this year?’

“Shit house.’

Well, that’s pretty clear. Still I’m a wee bit shocked.

‘Sorry. It just was. Failed everything except music. Not sure if I’m back there next year. Don’t care either. You?’

This sounds like a really good time to rave on about the injustices of the education system as demonstrated on the campus of our local state high school. Stupid critical literacy. Pathetic QCS. Moronic Scientific Processes. My diatribe gets us to the end of Seager St. Jasper disappears down the driveway of the last house, then the first strange thing happens.

I’m still raving on about, I think by this stage it was that good old stand-by, the uniform, and waiting with half my brain for the lead to go taut, but IT DOESN’T. One second Jasper is pulling full-strength on the lead, barking as he chases I don’t know what down this strange driveway, then there’s silence and the lead recoils. I stop. So does the Dodger. We both look at the end of the lead. The end that was attached by a pretty strong catch to Jasper’s collar. The collar is still attached, but there is no Jasper inside it.

‘Where’s your dog?’

“That’s never happened before.’ We both speak at the same time. I repeat: ‘It’s never happened before. The collar is so tight we have to undo it to get it off.’ I start walking down the driveway. The Dodger hesitates then pulls me back. He actually puts his hand on my shoulder and pulls me around to face him. ‘Janice, I don’t think you should go down there. You know whose place this is don’t you?’

‘No, and I don’t care. My dog’s down here.’

I pull away. He follows me, whispering, ‘It’s McKenzie. It’s the McKenzie’s place. You can’t go there. He’s a nutcase.’ I turn to look at him. Look up really. The Dodger does not scare easy, but he really looks white. I look around at the driveway I am half way down. Sure, the grass is as high as my waist, the trees cast a deep shadow over the rest of the path and I think I see a movement against the grimy windows, but my dog has slipped his collar when he’s never done it before. ‘I just want to get Jasper. Won’t take long.’

So the story continues. The heroine has a quest and right on her side. She has her unwilling companion and a mind steeped in narrative causality. She should have known better than to have uttered the magic formula. It ALWAYS takes long.

The Dodger and I begin the long walk down the driveway beside the McKenzie’s house. We walk into the gloom and I call Jasper’s name quietly but in a carrying voice. “Jasper, you dumb dog, come here.’ The Dodger even whistles. Stupid really. Jasper has never answered to a whistle. Still it shows the Dodger’s helping, I suppose. Darker yet, and further than it could possibly be and we are still walking down the McKenzie’s driveway. I look back and there is the street with traffic passing and all. I can go back at any time, just as soon as the stupid pooch is caught.

‘Janice. Don’t you think we should have got there by now.’ This had occurred to me, and I’ve seen the Dodger’s looks back at the road too. But it’s too stupid to believe that we could possibly still be walking up a section that is no deeper than any other in the street. I keep walking, but look over my shoulder at the Dodger, who is looking back at the road, and the next strange thing happens.

I’m going to write my impresssions down in the order that I feel them because this is my story and I feel like it.

You know that feeling you get when you’re at the end of a really good book and you don’t want it to end. You want to just stay in the book forever because it’s such an exciting place to be. You can feel it and smell it and understand the way life works in here. Well, go back a couple of pages to when you know you are going to feel this and you are living with the denouement of the story on one level and the regret at leaving with another part. Well, that feeling is the first thing I noticed: a feeling of regret that something is almost ended.

The next thing is the naked man standing in front of me. Nice butt, pale skin, hairy legs. Of course, when he turns around and looks at me, I eventually notice that it’s the Dodger.

‘Nice.’ he says, looking at me.

So then I notice that I am also naked. There is far too much of me to cover with two hands, so I don’t bother. I turn my back on him and scream. And there is the next thing. We are not in the ‘hood anymore. Not in a city. Not anywhere that I recognize as part of my small town, Australia. It’s like the quintessential middle of nowhere.

We’re on a hill. There’s grass of the way past hay-making kind, and in the distance are mountains. Looks like something from the McKenzie Country in New Zealand, except that the wind is warm. Just as well, considering the amount of naked flesh I have on display. Underfoot the ground is warm also. I’ve done a full circle by now and come back to the sight of my childhood friend also gazing at the scenery. Not.

‘Don’t look at me, Dodger! Where are we?’ There is one part of me that has appreciated the compliment implicit in his look, but that part is way, way down below the panic level that is now in full control. ‘And how do we get out of here? And why haven’t we got any clothes on?’

‘That’s the effect of the Gateway, sorry. You can’t bring anything with you when you come through. Put these on.’ That was not the Dodger. There is someone else here. Sure enough, this guy with clothes on, and some old dressing gowns over his arm, is walking up the hill. I’ve never seen him before, so I choose the lesser of two evils and hide behind the Dodger. No way is there enough of him to cover all of me, though. The Dodger is still amazingly silent. It’s up to me to say all the expected lines: ‘Who the hell are you? Where are we? Where are my clothes?’ then after a little thought. ‘And why is my dog here?’

Because there is Jasper, trotting along behind the dude with the bathrobes, which, thank goodness, finally find their way from the stranger’s arm to my body. And the Dodger’s. I bend down to scratch behind the dog’s ear. I am just as pleased to see him as he is to see me. He’s too heavy to pick up, so it’s from a position closer to the ground than I like, that I get my first appraising look at the only person here who knows anything about this place.

He and the Dodger are looking eye to eye, so the new dude must be a good six foot tall. He’s blond and good-looking in an Orlando Bloom as Legolais way. I’ll analyse that a bit later, but at the moment, my residual embarrassment nullifies the awkwardness that usually happens when I meet spunky guys.

Finally the Dodger speaks: ‘G’day Hamish.’

‘John. Didn’t know you lived around here.’

‘And where is here?’

‘Oh yes. Well it’s still sort of the same place. When you go back, you’ll still be in Seager St. This place is just a bit further over than where we normally live.’

One part of me is glad that this new guy appears to know where we are, but the rest of his explanation is surprisingly unsatisfactory. I won’t even go into what I think about the fact that the Dodger knows him, or that he called him by his first and despised name. He doesn’t appear to be going to add anything else, so I cue him to the rest of the questions: ‘How did we get here? Not that your explanation as to where here is is in any way satisfactory. But a bit more information and a ride home wouldn’t go amiss.’

He looks at me. So does the Dodger. There is something going on here that my presence has recalled them from. ‘Ah yes. Well, your dog found his way through the Gateway because he’s a border collie, and then you got through because you belong to him. Getting home could be problematic.’