Daniel Gordon.
I need to backtrack a little right about now.
My Last Will was written when I was nine years old. I remember I wrote it in magenta Derwent in the back of my maths book, which Grady assures me would hold up in no court of law. But at the time, it seemed vital that I divide my stuff equally between my two best friends. As I’ve mentioned, Grady and I have been besties since, like, before we were born. But Daniel was the first person ever who broke through the me-and-Grady bubble, that day in kinder when he leapt into the sandpit where I was poring over a
Fantastic Four
comic and asked who I thought would win in a fight – Wolverine or Mister Fantastic.
We bonded over Smarties and Spider-man, and our shared honour of being the two chubbiest kids in class. Okay, my face has always been more round than cheekboney, and my height and width didn’t really balance out till puberty. But Daniel was – well, he was really
large
. But my Daniel was funny, and loud, and never got picked on cos his personality just didn’t leave room for it.
And then, about a month before my tenth birthday, Daniel’s mum got offered a job in the city and, just like that, he was gone.
We didn’t hear from him again. That is, until eight months ago, when he snaffled a minor role on
A Home Among the Gum Trees
, and appeared on my TV in all his shirtless, cheese-sniffing glory.
When we were kids, Daniel was always larger than life – no pun intended – but his personality was big and bright, and it filled any room. But maybe the years have changed more than his body, cos on the small screen he barely seems to register. He has great hair, killer cheekbones, and about six facial expressions that he rotates between episodes. Still, Daniel Gordon is the biggest thing Eden Valley has ever produced.
I hadn’t thought about him in a while. I do remember he gave me his prized Spider-man PEZ dispenser and a tearful hug on Albany’s verandah just before his parents drove out of town, and that I cried like a baby for weeks after. Though technically, he
did
leave around the time my dad died, so some of my hysterics were for that, too.
I know that Grady was just as sad when Daniel went away. I also know that he tried to friend him on Facebook once, but Daniel never responded.
Grady nudges my shoulder. ‘Earth to Alba. You missed one. Actually, you missed two – Indigo had another fight with his dad, and then they played that dramatic crisis-music while his abs scowled at a door.’
I choke down another couple of shots. ‘Guys, does anyone think we’re being a bit mean to poor Indigo? I mean, Daniel? It’s not his fault he gets a sucky script.’
‘Naw, but it
is
his fault he’s a shithouse actor,’ Eddie says. ‘And did anyone read that interview in
Woman’s Day
? Apparently his favourite hobbies when he was a kid were running and surfing. Did anyone ever see that kid run? Except maybe for ice-cream. And where the feck did he learn to surf? Merindale pool?’
Pete grins. ‘Dude. What are you doing reading
Woman’s Day
?’
Eddie’s neck flushes. ‘Feck off, butt-face,’ he mumbles.
‘And there ends another Monday that I will never have back again,’ Caroline says as the theme music twangs. ‘You realise
I
had better offers for my last weeks here, right?’ She catches my eye, her expression sobering. And then she gives me a wry grin. ‘I mean, Jason Dylan and those guys were planning on a drive-by egging of Merindale High – so there’s those intellectual hijinks I’m missing out on.’ She stretches with a yawn, though her eyes are kind of energy-drink buggy.
I stretch out on my couch with my bare feet in Grady’s lap. Through the window I can see a tiny pinpoint of light from the Palmers’ north paddock, a teeny dot of yellow in a cicada-chorus-filled black. Even with the aircon cranked, the night heat radiates through the window.
‘Guess those guys found your place, Ed,’ I say. ‘Your folks okay with stragglers hanging around?’
Eddie shrugs. ‘Any extra cash is good, I s’pose. Dad’ll have loved scaring the shit outta them with the full total-fire-ban rant, though. And he’ll be deadbolting the tool shed.’
Grady swivels his head and peers through the dark as well. The outline of the Kombi materialises in the shadows as my eyes adjust. ‘Wonder where they’re heading?’ he murmurs.
I nudge his belly with my foot. ‘Patchouli and weed, remember? Didn’t think that was your thing,
Domenic
?’
He drags his eyes back to mine. ‘Don’t first-name me,
Sarah
. I didn’t say I was ashram-bound just yet.’ I can tell he’s trying for casual, but there’s something tense going on in his face. I swing my legs off him, just as Mum pushes through Albany’s kitchen door. She’s all sweaty hair and tired eyes, but since my mum is ace, she still gives us a bright smile.
‘Hey, kids,’ she says, as she pulls up a seat at our little dining table. Her eyes are on her mobile, her fingers scrolling across the screen.
I skip over and perch on the edge of the table. ‘How’s it going, Mama? Busy day?’
‘We ran out of cheese muffins, again. Should probably double the batch tomorrow.’ She sucks distractedly at the tiny piercing in her bottom lip. ‘Good day, just a little … odd. You know, Patrick dropped by earlier. He said the Junction’s just booked out. Apparently they had a run on room requests.’ Mum looks down at her phone again. ‘Is that strange?’
‘The Junction only has, like, ten rooms, Mrs A,’ Pete says. ‘It’s not that weird it’d fill over the holidays. Is it?’
Mum shrugs. ‘Maybe more people are coming back for Christmas than other years, but – whoa.’ Mum sits up straight, eyes suddenly alert. ‘Domenic – have you looked at Twitter today?’
Grady bounces to Mum’s other side. ‘No, reception’s been buggy. Why?’ he says, peering at Mum’s phone.
I don’t really get the Twitter thing. I have enough trouble keeping my stories succinct in real life, but Mum and Grady are both obsessed with it, having long conversations about what’s ‘trending’ – though mostly, from what I can tell, what’s ‘trending’ is usually, like, photos of singers without knickers and stuff.
‘Mum? Which celeb’s done a drunk rant this time?’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s … well, look.’
Mum turns her phone around. Grady sucks in a sharp breath, but it takes me a moment longer to figure out what I’m looking at. It’s a list of trending hashtags:
#EVendoftheworld
#Edenvalleyrapture
#hicktownsurvival
#ApocalypseAustralia
Grady catches my eye, his mouth opening.
I leap down from the table. ‘No way. It can’t be. Original Ned …?’
‘Original who now?’ Pete says, stumbling out of the chair.
Grady dives for his messenger bag and pulls out his iPad. ‘I forgot all about this. I mean, I thought it was a bit of a joke, but –’ He taps frantically at the screen, and then holds the iPad a foot away from his face. ‘Jesus,’ he whispers.
Caroline pushes herself to her feet. ‘What?
What is going on
?’
Grady turns the screen around to face us.
Original Ned’s YouTube clip has eighteen thousand, four hundred and ninety-seven views.
‘I don’t get it,’ Caroline says. ‘Why are we freaking out over YouTube –’
Tia and Eddie are suddenly crowded around us as well. ‘Play it!
Play it!
’ Tia squeals.
Six people cram their heads around Grady as Original Ned’s voice wheezes through the speakers, while my brain tries – unsuccessfully – to play catch-up.
Tia’s phone pings as Ned’s first caller rings in and my friends start talking all at the same time. Her bewildered face peers down at her phone. ‘Guys – I just got a message from Brihannah. Check this out!’
Tia turns her phone around, six sets of eyes glued to the tiny screen it like it’s a first-issue
Action Comic
.
On her screen is a page from that free newspaper they hand out in the city. Half the page has a story about a footballer who was busted peeing in an ATM vestibule on Saturday night. The other half has a photo that I recognise, cos it hangs right near the entrance of the post office. It’s this panoramic shot of Eden Valley taken from the top of Eden Hill. The headline above the photo reads:
APOCALYPSE NOW? DOOMSDAY HOAX OR SMALL-TOWN SALVATION?
‘You don’t think it’s true, do you?’ Tia whispers. ‘The end of the world? Who are those bad guys with all the nukes? The Mongolians or whoever?’
Caroline blinks at her. ‘Tiahnah, dude, you really need to watch the news –’
‘Of course it’s not true,’ Grady says. ‘If that guy is a psychic or prophet or whatever, then I am training to be a sumo wrestler. But it doesn’t stop … people talking about it. And people being interested in it. In us, I mean.’
‘But it’s just a dumb story, right?’ Pete says excitedly. ‘People will forget about it as soon as the next stupid thing pops up on the internet –’
‘Right,’ Caroline says as she frowns at Tia’s phone. ‘It’s this, or a new Kardashian sex tape. Are we really surprised that the human race is doomed –’
Eddie laughs. ‘How fecking cool is this – sorry, Angie – but man, Eden Valley was never gonna make it onto anyone’s radar. Unless one of the Albert boys did turn out to be a serial killer after all –’
Mum grabs her keys from the sideboard. ‘You know, I think I might head to Cleo’s for a bit. I’m sure it’s … nothing,’ she says uncertainly. ‘Right. Be back soon, bub.’ She kisses me on the head and hurries through the back door.
Grady plonks himself on a dining chair, still looking a little dazed.
‘Well,’ Pete says, ‘if I’ve only got two weeks left, I am
so
going to start doing stuff. Bugger working at the fish-and-chip shop.’ He settles into the armchair and flicks open one of Dad’s
Legend of Wonder Woman
comics I’ve left on the side table.
‘I’m gonna take off,’ Eddie says, grabbing the last slice of pizza. ‘Think I need to have a conversation with our visitors right about now. Catch ya,’ he says with a wave as he disappears into the darkness.
Tia pockets her phone, her face icing-sugar white.
‘Tia? Relax,’ Caroline says, moving so they’re shoulder to shoulder. ‘It’s not like you and Dina are going to be protecting your house from the ravenous hordes. Pretty sure no-one’s gonna want your collection of My Little Ponys and your mum’s souvenir shot glasses.’
I take Tia’s other side and give her arm a squeeze. ‘Besides – we’re the ones who are supposed to survive, remember? Don’t worry. If Eden Valley does descend into tribal anarchy, at least you’ve got a big strong man defending your honour.’
Pete flexes his arms with a grin, his non-existent biceps not doing much of anything, but I still give him a cheery thumbs-up.
Tia looks somewhat unconvinced. ‘Sure. Okay. Petey, can you give me a ride home?’
Caroline sighs. ‘I’ll come too. I’m working tomorrow morning. Might be an interesting shift if people are stocking up on provisions for Armageddon.’
In a flurry of hand slaps and cheek pecks, Tia, Caroline and Pete disappear as well.
I stare through the window, that single point of brightness glinting at me in the dark. I can see shadows of rolling hills swooping over the horizon, and those few red gums in the Palmers’ field that stand like ghostly Sentinels. In my whole life, the dark and quiet has always been comforting; but for some reason, it suddenly feels just a wee bit too oppressive, a little more
empty
emptiness than normal.
I drop into the chair beside Grady. ‘Crashing here tonight?’
He nods distractedly as he taps at his iPad. ‘Kay, sure.’ His gaze flickers up to me. ‘Wild, huh? Out of all the towns in all the world?’
‘Yeah, well, don’t get too excited,’ I say, swallowing down a knot of nerviness. ‘I’m sure the next famous baby named after a fruit will push us right off the radar again.’
•
Later, after showering and digging Grady’s jammies out of the laundry, I’m stretched in bed in my purple Peter Alexander nightie, and Grady is splayed on the couch in his T-shirt and boxers. His feet are tucked under a blanket, his face gleaming in the light of his iPad. I make a mental note to draw him like that tomorrow; the light on his smooth face is awesome, though I’m not sure it’ll really be capturable.
‘Not sleepy?’ I say.
‘Nah. Gonna read for a bit.’
I curl up on my side and adjust the sleep mask over my forehead. ‘Hey, Grady?’
He looks up at me. ‘Yeah, Alba?’
‘Is everything okay? You’ve been looking sort of tired since we got our results. But you kicked arse, you know you’re gonna breeze into law … there’s, like, no chance you won’t …’ I swallow a couple of times. ‘So why the sleeplessness?’
He shoves a hand behind his neck, and stares out at the night sky through my window. ‘Yeah, I did okay. But it’s still no guarantee … and also … well, Dad’s been getting on my case. He’s got this bright idea I should move early and stay at his till I find a place to live. He’s having some New Year’s Eve thing he wants me at – I think it’s his half-arsed idea of bonding or something –’
I sit up quickly. ‘Grady, are you serious? That’s only a couple of weeks –’
‘– I know, and no, I’m not thinking about it. I can’t be bothered, and Anthony’s refusing to help me move if I even contemplate bunking with Dad …’ He glances sideways at me. And then he grins. ‘The end of the world is also a bit distracting. Apart from that? Everything’s cool.’
I sink back into my bed. The artwork I’ve stuck to my ceiling is starting to come loose in spots, the edges curling in the heat. The
Kingdom Come
print flapping lightly in the aircon makes me feel inexplicably panicked, like I’m gonna wake up one of these nights with it over my face, being suffocated to death by Power Woman’s giant boobs.
I roll onto my side again. I know when Grady is dodging a question. My best friend is a hopeless liar. ‘Domenic –’
‘Ugh, don’t first-name me. Everything’s fine.’ He turns away from me. ‘Night, Alba.’
I consider calling him on his BS, until I settle on my pillow and my eyes involuntarily drift shut. Needless to say, insomnia and I have yet to become acquainted.
Normally I sleep like the dead. But tonight sleep feels fuzzy, like I’m drifting in that half-awake middle world, with vague dreams of Kombi vans, and a restless Cinnamon Girl staring anxiously through her warehouse windows, and mash-ups of every post-apocalyptic comic that I know.