| |
| "Tiffany's Talent" Copyright Francis Blow, 1991. |
| CHAPTER 2 |
| "How's it going, Tiffy." Kylie waved as she got off the bus. |
| "Hi, Kylie," Tiffany replied, from where she sat on the bus seat. She joined her friend, and they walked into the school grounds. "Things could be better. Somehow, I've got to earn more money." |
| "It must be hard, having your mum sick all the time," Kylie said in sympathy. "I had an unreal weekend. Too bad you couldn't come and watch me play. Our team is in the finals for the netball..." |
| Tiffany half listened to her friend talking about her weekend; the rest of her mind thought about how to go about asking if she could move in with Kylie's family. They had tonnes of money and lots of room in their house. |
| Somehow, Tiffany could not find the words, and, before she was ready, it was time for school to start. |
| Maths, science, english, geography, art. Normally, Tiffany enjoyed them all, except for geography. This Monday, however, she could not concentrate. She knew that after school there was a load of laundry to collect, which meant rushing through homework for two nights, since a load of washing on Monday meant ironing on Tuesday. |
| During lunch, Tiffany did have time to play handball with Kylie, Moira and Penny. There were always too many people around to ask Kylie about staying with her, so she lost her last chance for the day, because she had to do some of her science homework in the library during afternoon recess. |
| After school, Tiffany hurried to Mrs. Whelan's house to collect a big bag of laundry. It was heavy and awkward to carry, especially when Tiffany had to lift it through the window, into her house. |
| Having sorted the clothes, Tiffany put the first load on, including the clothes Tiffany had worn to school. She pulled her oldest dress on, over her head, and went to check the mail. |
| The rent was due already! Two other bills, one for seventy five dollar ladies shoes, and another from Bankcard for fifty dollars. Tiffany felt like crying, but, instead of giving in, she bit her lip and went back to the laundry. |
| So maybe she had less time than she expected. What could she do? Ask Kylie in the morning, for sure, and no more excuses. Getting a suitcase to pack her necessities in, was next on the list. As soon as Mrs. Whelan paid her, Tiffany would go to the Op Shop, and buy a cheap suitcase. Perhaps, another dress, one that was a better fit than this old thing. |
| Wouldn't it be lovely to be able to have any kind of dress she wanted? And pretty underthings? And to be able to buy a bra! After all, she was getting bigger. Some of the other girls teased her for not wearing one. It was so embarrassing. It isn't fair that girls get all those problems, and boys had nothing to worry about! |
| |
| Without having to rush, Tiffany finished her homework between doing the loads of washing and hanging the clothes up. When her school blouse was clean Tiffany wrung out as much water as she could, after which, she ironed it to make it dry faster. All her work for the day was done, and it was only seven o'clock. Too early for bed, though Tiffany was too worn out and hungry to do more than watch TV. |
| She switched channels, until she saw models in beautiful gowns, parading across a stage. A fashion show! Fascinated, Tiffany dreamed it was her in those unbelievable frocks and suits. Some of the designs were outrageous, though many were truly lovely. Wouldn't it be wonderful if she could afford things like that? |
| The waking dream stayed with Tiffany until she fell asleep on the lounge. |
| |
| Morning, and she was late! No time to shower, just pull on clean clothes, throw a couple of slices of bread into the school bag, grab a glass of milk, and run! |
| |
| "Kylie! Wait! I need to ask you something," Tiffany called, before her friend could walk into her class. "I need a big favour, Kylie. I need a place to stay for awhile. Can you ask your parents if I could board with you? I can pay my way." |
| "Why can't you stay at home?" |
| "I'm getting kicked out. I have to go now. See you at lunch?" |
| "Sure, Tiffy." Kylie sounded vague, and her features were filled with questions. |
| Tiffany hurried to her history class. Why did she need to know about people who died a hundred years ago? Tiffany was interested in what was happening now, and how to keep herself alive. I know all about child labour, Tiffany thought to herself, And it's not ancient history; can't anyone see what's happening to me? |
| At morning recess, Kylie found Tiffany, and demanded to know why she was being thrown out of her home. |
| "Keep it a secret. Promise?" Tiffany asked. |
| "Sure. What's going down, dudette?" Kylie grinned. |
| "Mum's gone, and taken Denise and Arlene, and shot through. Now, the rent is due on the house, and I can't afford it. I only earn thirty six dollars a week, and half of that's for food." |
| "No! Really?" Kylie shook her head. "Why'd your Mum run off? Didn't she say anything?" |
| "Nothing. I went out to work on Saturday morning, and when I got home they were gone, along with most of my clothes Denise stole." |
| "Where did they go? Any ideas?" |
| "Haven't got a clue. I don't even know any of Mum's friends." |
| "Wow... Okay, I'll ask my Mum this afternoon." |
| "Thanks, Kylie. You're a real mate." |
| |
| Oddly enough, Tiffany did not see Kylie at lunch time. At least, though, Kylie would ask her parents, so the biggest hurdle was past. Tiffany spent the time doing homework, and choking down the two, dry slices of bread. It was lucky that drinking water was free at the school. |
| Was it her imagination, or were some of her class mates looking at her strangely? Tiffany caught some of the other kids glancing at her, when they thought she was not looking. |
| Could it be that Kylie had blabbed out Tiffany's story? No, not Kylie. Surely not. |
| |
| Tiffany ran home, washed her blouse and knickers by hand, and took in the washing from the line. The ironing took more than two hours, since she had to do a good job. The one time Tiffany had done a hurried job, she had lost the customer; Mrs. O'Callaghan had refused to pay for poor ironing, and would not let Tiffany re-do it. After that day, Tiffany made sure she did good quality work. |
| There was so much ironing, that Tiffany had to make two trips to Mrs. Whelan's place. The second time back, though, she had ten dollars in her pocket, and Mr. Whelan gave her an apple, because he said she was too pale. |
| |
| Her good mood did not last. As she was climbing through her window, Tiffany's dress caught on a metal edge, and tore along the waist, leaving a long rip across the front. |
| All Tiffany could do, at first, was cry. The only clothes she owned that were not torn, was her school blouse and skirt, and one pair of almost new knickers. The rest were really rags. When her tears were dry, Tiffany got the sewing kit, and fixed the dress. It was shorter at the front, than at the back, because, she had to fold the edges of the tear in. When she tried it on, in front of her mother's mirror, Tiffany knew her time fixing the dress was wasted. It was too short, even standing still, never mind walking or running. If only it was longer in the middle. |
| Wait a minute! Tiffany remembered seeing a model, on TV, wearing an outfit, that... Yes! |
| Tiffany ran to the sewing kit, and cut the ruined dress in two, a hundred millimetres above the waist. She sewed a hem on the edge of the top, and it looked a nice, fashionable blouse, exposing part of her tummy. The skirt was more challenging, as there was just not enough material to make it work. So where could she get more material? |
| Bedsheets! She had lots of old ones. Leave the white ones; what about floral? Tiffany carried a selection to the mirror, and tried wrapping them, one at a time, around her. The flower patterns were too big for a skirt; the pink was too thin, though the blue was nice. Now, how to make the skirt? |
| Tiffany cut a strip along one edge, three hundred millimetres wide, and seven hundred long. She pinned it on place around her waist, adjusting it until it looked the right shape. She spent hours sewing it by hand, finishing with two buttons at the waist, then she dressed in her "new" top and skirt, and paraded in front of the mirror. |
| She looked great! Tiffany was so pleased with herself, she danced around the house in her new outfit. Then she saw the time. Eleven o'clock already? She showered quickly, dried off, and slid between the sheets of her welcoming bed. Tiffany closed her eyes for just a moment, then the alarm woke her. |
| It was Wednesday morning. |
| Cheese and vegemite sandwich for breakfast, with a glass of milk; two more sandwiches packed for lunch. Money tucked safely in the coin pocket of her skirt, and off to school, being very careful not to snag her only uniform on the window. |
| |
| Maybe Kylie had asked her parents about Tiffany boarding with them! She hurried to school, to wait for her friend's bus. |
| |
| "Sorry, Tiffy. Mum said no." Kylie would not look Tiffany in the eyes. She blushed. |
| "Oh." Tiffany felt devastated. She had counted so much on being told yes. Now what? |
| "Mum says your mum's a bad influence." |
| "A bad... Yeah. I guess she is. Or was. She's gone, now," Tiffany's voice was almost too low for Kylie to hear. "I've got to go, Kylie. See you later?" |
| "Yeah, sure. I'm really sorry, Tiffy." |
| "Thanks." Tiffany hurried to the girls toilets, locked herself into a stall, and sat there, crying silently. |
| The bell went, signaling the start of classes. Tiffany washed the tears off her face, and joined her class-mates for english. She was calm, now. There would be time to think, later. It was much more important to concentrate on "The Narrative as a Painting", and how rhetoric is the way words, feelings and thoughts interacted to influence other people. Of course it was. |
| What a load of junk! Who cared about what other people thought, anyway? No one cared about her! |
| "Tiffany Bell, Mr. Harding wants to see you, in his office." Her teacher interrupted Tiffany's thoughts. |
| "Me? Yes, sir." Tiffany hurried to the principle's office, and knocked. She was told to enter. |
| "Good morning, Tiffany. Please sit down." Mr. Harding said. |
| She waited for him to tell her why she was there. What else could have gone wrong? |
| "Tiffany, I've heard rumours that you've been abandoned. Who are you living with?" |
| The blood drained away from Tiffany's face. There was a prickling sensation along her neck, and she suddenly needed to go to the toilet. |
| "Are you feeling ill? Tiffany?" |
| |
| Where was she? The sick room. |
| "Ah, so you're back with us," Mr. Harding smiled at her from beside the cot. "How are you feeling, now? Stay lying down a little longer." |
| "I'm okay, sir. Honest. Sorry. Did I faint?" |
| "That you did. Mrs. Fleming will be back in a moment. She's gone to get you something to drink." |
| "Please, I'm really fine, sir. I just stayed up late a couple of nights, and I was tired, but I'm fine now." |
| "I'm glad to hear that. Ready to sit up?" He helped her, putting a pillow against the wall, so Tiffany could lean back. |
| "I've never fainted, before." |
| "There's a first time for everything. Did my questions shock you so much?" Mr. Harding's voice was both rough and gentle, at the same time. |
| Tiffany could not think of how to answer. |
| "Never mind, Tiffany. There's no need to be upset, and no one's going to hurt you. Okay?" |
| She glanced up, and he was smiling. Tiffany gave him a shy, uncertain smile in return. The door opened, and Mrs. Fleming came in. She had a tray, on which was a mug of hot chocolate, and some biscuits. |
| "How's our patient, Mr. Harding? Will she live, do you think?" |
| "Fit and well, aren't you, Tiffany?" |
| "Yes, sir. Can I go back to my class, now?" |
| "What's the hurry? Mrs. Fleming went to the trouble of getting this for you, so the least you can do is accept it." |
| "Thank you, Mrs. Fleming." Tiffany smiled at the woman, who put the tray across Tiffany's lap. The hot chocolate and the biscuits tasted wonderful. |
| "Hungry, are you?" Mrs. Fleming asked. "Did you bring any lunch with you?" |
| "Yes, ma'am. Two sandwiches." Tiffany nodded. |
| "What did you have for dinner, last night?" |
| Tiffany had a lie ready on the tip of her tongue, then thought better of it. What was the use of lying? They'd find out soon enough. |
| She shrugged. "I was busy." |
| "Where's your mother, Tiffany?" The woman asked. |
| Tiffany looked from her to Mr. Harding. "I don't know. She took my two sisters, and left last weekend." |
| "Why didn't you tell someone?" Mr. Harding prompted her. |
| "Who could I tell? How could it help?" |
| "There's us. The police. Even your local minister would have been able to help. What are you doing about food?" |
| "I earn money, by doing washing and housekeeping. But I need to find a place to stay, because the rent's too expensive. I asked Kylie, but her parents don't want me boarding with them. I guess I'm one of those undesirable kids, everyone talks about," Tiffany was starting to feel angry. "Can I go now, sir?" |
| "Off you go, Tiffany. We'll see what we can do." |
| |
| When Tiffany returned to her class, everyone stared at her. She was furious. There was only one person who could have blabbed. Wait till she got her hands on Kylie, she'd tell that big mouth a thing or two! |
| |
| Morning recess found Tiffany in the playground, searching for Kylie. She had no success. Kylie was avoiding her. Then it was time for art class. |
| Instead of drawing a picture of a vase of flowers, Tiffany began making sketches of clothes she would like to own. Mr. Wu, the art teacher, did not even get angry with her. |
| "That's very clever, Miss. Bell. Are these your own ideas, or copies of things you've seen?" |
| "Mine, sir. I'm sorry, I'll draw the flowers." |
| "No, I'd like you to concentrate on what you've started. They're the best drawings I've seen you do." |
| "Really?" |
| "Do you think I would have said it if I didn't mean it? This class is art, and art is the development of skill. My job is to find out what you are skilled at, and to help you develop those skills," Mr. Wu assured her. "Here is something you show talent at, so carry on, Miss. Bell." |
| "Yes, sir!" Tiffany smiled brightly. She had never realised what a nice man Mr. Wu was. |
| By the end of class, Tiffany had completed twenty different coloured drawings of clothes, after which it was time for maths. |
| Lunch-time she spent in the library. There was a book on the history of fashions, and Tiffany studied every picture. Some of the fashions of the fifties and sixties were pretty revolting, the eighties were boring, but the nineteen twenties and even the nineteen hundreds had one or two good ideas she liked. |
| Maybe history wasn't such a bad subject, after all. Tiffany forgot about Kylie, and went on to do geography, then maths again, before school was out. |
| Instead of going straight home, Tiffany went into town, to the Op Shop, where second hand clothes and things were sold. She found a nice cardboard suitcase for two dollars, and a yellow top that would pass for a uniform shirt; it was three dollars. Tiffany browsed through the girls' clothes, wishing for this or that, though all she ended up buying, was the bag and shirt, then she went home, with five dollars left over. |
| After doing her homework, she wondered if she could try to make a more ambitious dress than the skirt. Once more, she chose the blue material, laying it out flat on the lounge room floor. She stared at the sheet, with its missing corner, and tried to imagine a dress. |
| Tiffany decided it was easier to sketch ideas, first, and then to transfer the drawings to material later. There was a small writing pad in a kitchen drawer, and Tiffany penciled her designs. Some of the dresses would have looked great, except they were too complicated to make. |
| Eventually, she settled on just making a skirt. Tiffany pinned the blue sheet to the carpet, stuck one end of a piece of string to the middle of the material, and tied a black marker six hundred millimetres from the centre. The string and marker let her draw a circle, one point two metres across, that she was able to cut out. By trial and error, Tiffany made an oval-shaped hole in the middle of the circle. The hole fitted her around the waist. |
| It was eight o'clock, when Tiffany showered. She did not worry about washing any clothes, since she could wear the shirt she bought, and the old pair of knickers, in the morning. |
| |
| Tiffany refused to talk to Kylie, when the other girl tried to apologise. All she did say to Kylie was "You promised not to tell anyone. You lied to me and it was so important! I'll never be able to trust you again. Go away." |
| |
| Mr. Harding did not call her into the office again. Most of the day passed without problems, though Tiffany was disappointed when she could find nothing in the library about sewing clothes. |
| After school, she went to Mrs. Feebry's house, to collect the woman's laundry. With the bag of laundry over one shoulder, and the school bag over the other, Tiffany trudged home. Surely, she should be able to ask for more than ten dollars for two loads of washing? |
| |
| There was a car parked in front of her house, and a man sat waiting behind the steering wheel. Tiffany wondered what to do. |
| She went around the block, to the house behind hers. The owners did not get home until six or seven o'clock, most nights; Tiffany cut through their property, to the dividing fence. The bags went over the fence, then Tiffany scrambled into her backyard. |
| Unseen, Tiffany was soon inside, changed out of uniform and putting her first load of washing on. All her own dirty clothes went in with the first wash. |
| Every now and then, she would peek through the front curtains, until the car left, at half past five. Tiffany decided it was safe to hang out the clothes, then she checked the letter box. Bills went straight into the bin; they were her mother's problem. There was a card with the letters, probably left by the man in the car. |
| "To Tiffany Bell, |
| Should you wish to talk about your situation, my wife and |
| God's peace be with you. |
| Yours faithfully, |
| Rev. & Mrs. McClure." |
| There was a phone number, and an address only three streets away, at the Uniting church. |
| Tiffany thought about it, then put the card away in her schoolbag. She was unsure about what to do. There was the big problem of where to live, and it was more important than talking to preachers. |
| In the meantime, she had the washing to finish. Tiffany wondered how hard it would be to make her own underwear. She would have to buy elastic, to keep them in place. There was a haberdashery in the shops, where she could buy what she needed. Next Wednesday, after school, she would check it out. |
| She had finished showering, and was brushing her hair in front of her mother's mirror, when a loud pounding came from the front door. Tiffany dashed into her room, pulled the white and red dress over her head, and went to the front window, just as the banging sounded again. |
| A big man, dressed in a suit, was standing there. In one hand he had an envelope. His other hand bashed against the door for the third time. |
| "Ms. Bell! I know you're home. Open this door. I have an eviction order to serve on you, for failure to pay your rent." He shouted. |
| Some of the neighbours watched from their own houses and yards. |
| "Alright, Ms. Bell. I'm putting the eviction notice under the door, and you can consider it duly served. You have until Sunday to quit these premises, or I will have the sheriff's department throw you out. I will be back at seven o'clock on Monday morning!" |
