Lina's Many Lives Read online

  Contents

  1 Stormy Weather

  2 Best Friends Forever

  3 A Nasty Encounter

  4 Whispered Secrets

  5 The Proxy Wife

  6 The Magic of Television

  7 A Fright in the Night

  8 A Day Full of Sadness

  9 The Absentee Note

  10 A Trip to St Brigid’s

  11 A Father’s Story

  12 Bad News Again

  Note from the author: Lina’s family would have

  spoken Italian to each other and their friends, but

  their conversations have been written in English

  so that you can understand them.

  LINA dashed across the school courtyard through the grey pouring rain. At the entrance to the library, she shook off her wet coat and hat and hung them on a hook by the door to dry.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Gattuso,’ Sister Rosemary said as Lina entered. ‘Lovely weather for ducks, isn’t it?’

  Lina sighed. ‘It would be all right if I was driven to school like all the other girls instead of having to wait at the bus stop in the rain.’

  ‘They have these marvellous new inventions now called umbrellas,’ Sister Rosemary joked. ‘Go on then, dry yourself by the fire.’

  Lina grinned and stood as close to the fire as she could without scorching herself. She watched the steam rise from her drenched woollen stockings as they slowly began to dry.

  ‘How are you going with that book I lent you?’ Sister Rosemary called from behind the front desk.

  ‘I brought it in to read this morning,’ Lina said, feeling guilty that she hadn’t even started it. So much had happened over the last few weeks that Lina hadn’t even had the time to write anything in her own diary, let alone read someone else’s!

  When her teeth had stopped chattering and she felt a little warmer, Lina dragged her favourite armchair close to the fire and pulled out the book from her school satchel: The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank. Fortunately it was still dry. It was all very well for Lina to arrive sopping wet but Sister Rosemary would never forgive her if one of her precious books were damaged. Lina flicked through the pages.

  Hmph! Why would Sister Rosemary want me to read about a girl who died in the war? she wondered. She heard enough stories about the war from Nonna. It wasn’t the happiest of topics.

  But then she came across a paragraph that could have come from her very own notebook.

  ‘I finally realised that I must do my schoolwork to keep from being ignorant, to get on in life, to become a journalist, because that’s what I want! I know I can write . . . but it remains to be seen whether I really have talent . . .

  ‘And if I don’t have the talent to write books or newspaper articles, I can always write for myself. But I want to achieve more than that. I can’t imagine living like Mother, Mrs. van Daan and all the women who go about their work and are then forgotten.

  ‘When I write I can shake off all my cares. My sorrow disappears, my spirits are revived! But, and that’s a big question, will I ever be able to write something great, will I ever become a journalist or a writer?’

  She sounds just like me! Lina thought in surprise. She turned the book over and stared at the photograph of Anne Frank on the cover. And she was only my age when she wrote this. Perhaps this book is going to be more interesting than I first thought!

  That day, during their lunch break, Lina, her best friend Mary and her worst enemy Sarah walked around the school and looked for girls to interview.  They began with girls they knew, and then, as they got braver, they stopped girls from the older years to ask them questions.

  ‘We’re putting together a school magazine,’ Lina would begin, ‘and we’re interviewing students about some current affairs.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mary chimed in. ‘First of all, we were wondering, who do you think has better fashion sense: Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s or Marilyn Monroe in Bus Stop?’

  ‘Oh, definitely Audrey,’ one would say.

  ‘No, Marilyn,’ another would interrupt, and they’d argue whether a pencil skirt was better than a circle skirt, and whether girls looked better in flats or heels.

  Then it was Lina’s turn. ‘What are you most looking forward to about the Olympics?’ she asked. ‘Do you think Dawn Fraser might win gold?’

  This question never got the girls as excited as Mary’s did, but then when Sarah ended with ‘What would you like to do when you finish school?’ the interviewees could hardly stop talking:

  ‘I’m going to go to Hollywood to be a movie star.’

  ‘I’m going to marry a rich man and live in a big house and have five children.’

  ‘I’m going to be a nurse.’

  ‘I’m going to be a kindergarten teacher.’

  ‘I’m going to marry Bobby Farrelly. That’s if I can get him away from that Amy Withers! She’s definitely not good enough for him.’

  Lina quickly realised that people loved to talk about themselves.

  By the end of the week, the three girls had a notebook full of interviews with students from Year Seven to Year Twelve. They met in the library to go through their notes and discuss the best way to include them in the magazine.

  Gosh, I haven’t argued with Sarah all week, Lina thought happily, as they sat poring over the interviews. Perhaps doing the magazine with her isn’t going to be too bad after all?

  ‘Hey, we’ve left out three important people,’ Sarah said, looking up from her notebook.

  ‘Who?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Us, of course!’ Sarah grinned. ‘I think we should answer these questions, too, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy,’ Mary said. ‘Circle skirts and flats are definitely prettier than pencil skirts and heels.’

  ‘But what about your hopes and dreams?’ Sarah insisted. ‘What do you want to do when you finish school?’

  ‘Oh, work in fashion,’ Mary said, nodding. ‘A fashion designer, or an editor for a fashion magazine. Something like that.’

  ‘Or what about television?’ Sarah asked. ‘You could do something on television, Mary. You’re pretty enough. Mum says television is going to be even more popular than magazines one day!’

  ‘As if that’s ever going to happen,’ said Lina. ‘Who could ever afford to have their own television anyway? I saw one advertised in the newspaper recently and they cost hundreds of dollars!’

  ‘No, it’s true, Lina,’ Mary objected. ‘Dad says television is amazing. When he was over in America last year, he said lots of people had them. They’re very popular.’

  ‘Apparently, they’re even going to show the Olympic Games on the television. Can you imagine?’ Sarah continued.

  ‘Really?’ said Lina. ‘But that’s only a few weeks away! Who would possibly have a television by then?’

  Mary grinned. She pulled the girls in tightly and whispered, ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I think my dad is going to get one. He wants to be the first person in our street.’

  Sarah squealed. ‘What? Really? Oh, you are so lucky! I am so jealous! I’ll have to tell my dad to get one, too!’

  ‘A little noisy down there, ladies,’ Sister Rosemary called out disapprovingly from behind her desk.

  Mary and Sarah stifled their giggles. Lina pretended she was laughing, but really she was just trying hard to calm the awful ache of jealousy that curdled her stomach every time Mary and Sarah shared something that she knew she could never be a part of.

  Eventually Sarah turned to Lina. ‘So, what about you?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lina said, worried Sarah was going to ask if her father would buy her a television.

  ‘Your hopes and dreams? You know, what do you want to be when you grow up?’
>
  Lina’s stomach clenched even tighter and her breath became shallow. Her heart began to beat about in her chest. She wanted to be a writer, of course! There wasn’t anything in the world she wanted more. But this was secret. She hadn’t shared it with anyone. It was too precious and meant too much to risk telling someone who – only the week before – had been her very worst enemy. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘Maybe a teacher?’

  Sarah nodded, uninterested. ‘Well, I’m going to be a writer,’ she said confidently. ‘Maybe a novelist. Or a journalist for the newspaper. My dad knows quite a lot of journalists and he says I can get some work experience with them any time I want. That’s probably why the Mother Superior wanted me on this magazine. She knows I’m the best writer in the class. Miss Spring told me so.’

  Lina’s head began to spin. But that’s my dream, she thought angrily. Not Sarah’s! And before she could stop herself she blurted out, much more forcefully than she had meant, ‘But that’s not true! I’m the one who was chosen to read out a story in assembly. Not you! I’m the best writer in the class.’

  Sarah’s face shifted into the mean smile that Lina hadn’t seen in a while; the smile that Lina hated more than she could have thought possible. ‘Well, yes, but that’s only because they want to encourage you, Lina,’ she sneered. ‘Actually, Miss Spring told me you’re quite good for someone whose family doesn’t even speak English at home.’ Then she shrugged and sniffed and looked down at her nails. ‘I suppose that does deserve some credit.’

  Lina’s mouth dropped open. She stood up shakily, her head fizzing and her eyes clouding with tears. ‘I hate you Sarah,’ she hissed. ‘You are horrible and mean and . . . and . . . stupid, too!’ It was a pathetic reply but Lina was too hurt to come up with something more dignified. She pushed her chair away from the table and stumbled out of the library.

  LINA ran all the way to the old jacaranda tree at the end of the courtyard. There, no one could see the tears that pressed at her throat and made their way out of her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She sucked in the cold winter air to try to push the hot ball of anger back down into her chest. Why is Sarah so horrible to me? she wondered. She’s not like that to anyone else. Is it because she’s jealous of my friendship with Mary? Is it because of that story I read out in assembly? Surely it can’t be because I’m Italian?

  But the more she thought about it, the more Sarah’s jibes started to take on a theme. That time she told everyone the cheese I had brought for lunch smelled like vomit. That time she found out I lived in Carlton and told everyone it was full of filthy migrants. And now – does she really think I can’t be a good writer because my family speaks Italian? Lina slumped against the ragged bark of the tree and gazed up through its shivering branches, stark against the steely sky.

  ‘Lina!’ came a voice, from behind. ‘Hey, Lina.’

  Lina wiped her eyes on her sleeve and turned around to see Mary approaching. The sight of her best friend softened that dark hot ball inside her.

  ‘You shouldn’t pay her any attention,’ Mary said, sitting down and draping an arm over Lina’s shoulder. ‘She just does it to upset you.’

  ‘But why?’ Lina frowned.

  Mary shrugged. ‘I guess she’s upset that I’m not her best friend anymore.’

  ‘It’s more than that,’ Lina said, kicking at a stone by her foot. ‘She keeps making fun of me. Of my family. About me being Italian.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s it,’ Mary said solemnly.

  ‘She does,’ Lina insisted.

  Mary shook her head. ‘That’s just what she’s like, Lina. She’s just jealous. Don’t let her get to you. Look, how about from now on I’ll work with Sarah one day and you one day? That way you don’t have to be around her anymore.’

  ‘Really?’ Lina said, her heart soaring. ‘You’d do that for me?’

  ‘Of course!’ Mary said. ‘I’m your best friend, aren’t I? Best friends stick together no matter what.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lina said, taking Mary’s hand. ‘You’re the best friend ever.’

  Mary smiled. ‘Ask your parents if you can come to my place this Saturday so we can start typing up some of those interviews. I’ll get Sarah to come on Sunday. If we work hard we can still get all our ideas for the magazine to the Mother Superior by the end of next week.’

  ‘That would be great,’ said Lina. ‘Then we can concentrate on writing stories about the Olympics when they start next month.’

  ‘Good idea. Why don’t I come to your house after school today?’ Mary asked. ‘I still haven’t been to your place. Or met your family. You always come to mine.’

  Lina felt a flutter of panic. Her house was so small compared to Mary’s. And crowded and dark and shabby. Now that Zio had taken over the lounge room there wasn’t even anywhere they could sit! And how would Mary talk to her parents when they could barely speak a word of English? ‘Um, maybe another time,’ Lina stammered feeling her cheeks heat up. ‘My mum isn’t too well at the moment. Maybe when she’s a bit better.’

  ‘All right.’ Mary shrugged. ‘There’s the bell. I’ve got double French. I’d better get to class. Madame Wallace gets cross if we’re late.’

  Lina watched Mary skip away, her long blonde ponytail swaying side to side. As soon as she was out of sight, Lina felt a deep, damp gloom overtake her again. She had Latin next. And Sarah Buttersworth was in her class. She sighed and trudged back to collect her books for class. As she rounded the corridor, she saw Sarah at the lockers chatting to a couple of other girls from Latin. When Sarah saw Lina, she smirked and whispered something to one of the girls who looked at Lina and giggled. Then the three of them turned their backs on Lina and headed off to class. Lina felt her stomach contract with anger. How dare she? she thought. It’s bad enough that she’s horrible to me herself without turning the other girls against me. And now I have to sit with them!

  Lina felt her eyes prick with tears. She just couldn’t face Sarah again today. So she yanked her satchel out of her locker and walked straight down the long corridor towards the front entrance of the school. On either side of her, behind closed doors, Lina could hear the muffled voices of teachers beginning their afternoon classes. If anyone asks me where I’m going I’ll tell them I have an appointment, she thought. Girls have appointments every day.

  All the same, by the time she stepped through the high iron gates, Lina’s heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear her own footsteps.

  But there was no going back now. She walked along the tree-lined street and sat down at the bus shelter. The quiet rang in her ears. Lina had never heard such a quiet. When she sat at this bus stop at the end of the day, the street was full of St Brigid’s girls noisily making their way home from school, or the purring engines of their parents’ cars come to collect them. But in the middle of the afternoon, there was no one about. Not even the sound of traffic in the distance.

  Imagine living in a place this quiet, Lina thought. With only the sound of birds singing. The only bird Lina heard at her place was the noisy crowing of their horrible old rooster. Her place was never quiet. Aside from the eight noisy family members crammed into their three-bedroom house, there was the noise of all the neighbours, too. Washing, arguing, cooking, snoring, all of it could be heard when you were wedged into a little narrow alleyway like a row of sardines. Lina’s life at home and her life at school couldn’t have been more different.

  LINA got off the bus a few stops earlier than she normally did. There was no point in going directly home, she decided. That would just get Nonna asking questions she wasn’t ready to answer. So she wandered along Lygon Street, which was busy with ladies dressed up in hats and gloves to do their shopping. At Del Monaco’s Boutique, Lina stopped and gazed in the window at all the beautiful Spring dresses on display. The fabrics were gorgeous: gingham, seersucker and plaid, with wide-brimmed straw hats or little square felt ones, and gloves made out of kid-leather or lace. These were clothes that Li
na could only dream of owning. Tearing herself away, she continued slowly up the street, past the grocer’s and the tailor’s and the barber’s, imagining how she would spend her money if she were rich.

  She walked past Johnny’s Cafe on Faraday Street. She had heard about this place from Nonna. Inside, men sat around tables in a smoky haze playing cards and drinking homemade grappa in coffee cups so that no one would know that it was alcohol. Nonna had told Lina that it was against the law for the cafe to be serving alcohol, but everyone knew that you could get it any time at Johnny’s. Lazy bums, Nonna called these men. No-good layabouts. Johnny’s had a reputation for attracting the worst of the worst. Lina shuddered. I’m glad Papa’s not like them, she thought.

  Just as she was about to turn away, one of the men looked up briefly from his card game. Lina gasped as she recognised his face. It was Zio Mario! She quickly put her head down and hid behind her hat. What was her uncle doing there? In Johnny’s! He was supposed to be out looking for work!

  Lina scuttled away, turning into the first alleyway she came to, her heart pounding. What if he had seen her? Would he tell? She had as little reason to be wandering the streets of Carlton at this time of day as he did. No, there was no way he would have known it was her, she assured herself. She could have been any girl in a school uniform. All the same, Lina felt giddy with fear. Calm down, she told herself. Just walk around the block and make your way back home.

  Lina kept on walking down the narrow alleyway to cut through to Rathdowne Street. It was a spooky place, full of scattered rubbish and choked with weeds.

  As she was about to pass a darkened doorway, a skinny man in tight black jeans jumped out in front of her. He had big red pimples all over his face and his greasy black hair was brushed back into a quiff. Beside him stood a tall girl in a tight skirt and heels, with heavy black liner around her eyes. Lina spun around to go back the way she had come, but another man had appeared behind her. He had the same slicked-back hairstyle and tight black jeans.