Read Online Clancy of the Undertow by Christopher Currie - Free Book Online

formal, as if because they’re both dressed nicely they’ll want to speak like a Jane Austen character.
    ‘We’re good,’ says Nancy. ‘I just saw you in the phone booth here, and wanted to check…’
    Wanted to check why I was leaning my head against something that has probably been vomited on twice in the last twelve hours? Bloody good question. I sniff and wipe my eyes with the edges of my thumbs, in the timehonoured tradition of people who have been caught crying and are trying to pretend they haven’t been.
    ‘I was just trying to call Mum for a lift and then realised I didn’t have any money.’ I shrug, like you know how it is , even though I’m one hundred per cent sure Nancy doesn’t know how this is. She has probably never used a payphone.
    ‘Oh, well do you need a lift somewhere?’ Nancy has on sunglasses that reflect my face back at me.
    ‘Absolutely,’ says Nancy’s mum. ‘It’s Clancy, isn’t it. I’m Carla, Nancy’s mum.’
    ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I mean, yes, that’s my name. Not yes that’s your name…’ My brain’s like just stop talking . ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
    ‘We’re just on our way home ourselves,’ Carla says.
    ‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘Thanks, though.’
    ‘Nonsense,’ says Carla. ‘It’s no trouble.’
    I don’t even know where Nancy lives, but it’s probably straight out of an architectural magazine. Heated floors, cooled walls, whatever it is rich people have to make their lives easier. There is no way they’re going to see my house. ‘I’ll probably just walk,’ I say, as another fat tear sneaks up on me. I wipe it away and my hand comes back smeared black. Bloody makeup.
    ‘Oh, sweetie,’ says Carla, in the type of caring voice that makes me want to instantly hug her. ‘Let us give you a lift. Looks like you’re having a tough day.’ She smiles at me, and her face is just so damn nice .
    Nancy takes my hand and I feel myself toppling over softly, like that moment a burning candle becomes more melted than solid.
    ‘These are times I break out the emergency chocolate,’ says Carla, and I laugh, even though this is the height of fridge-magnet humour.
    We walk to their car, and Nancy’s got her arm around me, basically holding me up. She makes us fall back from her mum a bit, and she whispers to me, ‘Is everything okay?’ and I nod in reflex but she goes, ‘Actually really?’
    I go, ‘Just a headache that won’t go away.’
    ‘Oh, right,’ she says.
    I sniff back a bunch of cry-snot, making a disgusting noise that would probably embarrass even Titch. ‘Sorry.’
    ‘Don’t worry about it,’ says Nancy, and immediately I imagine her filing away this interaction as a hilarious anecdote to report to her city friends, posting it to her Facebook group Weird Things This Psycho Country Bitch Does . There is no way my snot sounds are going viral. Maybe they already knew about Dad. Maybe they’re just looking for fresh gossip. Would they know already, though?
    ‘You read the local paper?’ I say, trying to make my voice lose its waver.
    ‘Not really,’ she says. ‘It any good?’
    Suddenly I’m ridiculously relieved. ‘Hell no,’ I say. ‘Everyone loves it but there’s never anything in it. It’s all ads and crap. And there’s this puzzle page? The crossword’s called the Chronicle Chrossword , you know, with a ‘C H’ on both words, and it’s so easy but people think it’s super hard. My grandpa used to do it every day and he always said he was brain training , but they always have the same clues which is bullshit, and anyway his liver rotted away so his brain was the least of his worries.’ I do a fake laugh, realising too late I’m doing nothing to dissuade Nancy I am not an emotionally challenged bogan. ‘Anyway,’ I say, ‘don’t read it.’
    ‘Duly noted,’ she says.
    We get to the car and it’s a brand new rental, with paper covers still on the floormats.
    ‘The school hired it for me,’ says Carla.