Song of the Day | Regional Echo by Jen Cloher | Spotify | YouTube
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The Corolla clunked and wheezed into the skinny driveway of Kitty’s dilapidated terrace house. Brisbane had largely bulldozed its heritage terrace houses to make way for the future, but there were still rows of them here by the city fringe, wedged between an expressway and downtown proper. Most of them were renovated mansions these days. This one was not. In fact, it looked like maybe the landlord was hoping it’d just fall down and save them the trouble of setting fire to it for the insurance money. Kitty lived there with her housemate George. Soda was quietly terrified that the house would fall down and Kitty and George would want to move in with her.
She looked at herself in the rearview mirror and grimaced.
“I look like shit."
“Hey, at least you’ve still got opposable thumbs.”
Big Red waggled a paw ruefully. Soda snorted.
“We’re gonna talk about you too, buddy. I wanna hear all about where your opposable thumbs went. So are you still undercover with my friends or what?”
“Yes, it’s a pain to make people forget stuff like a talking cat.”
“Alright, well, I better carry you. What should I tell the kids?”
“I dunno. You were robbed? Not untrue.”
Soda slung him over her shoulder with a grunt.
“I’ve carried toddlers that weigh less than you.”
She trudged to the front door and knocked. At first there was no answer, and she knocked again, more urgently. The curtains twitched a little, and then Soda could hear the thump-thump-thump of jogging footsteps, and suddenly Mick burst out, collecting her in a huge hug.
“Oh myyyyyy godddddd Sooooodaaaaa! I thought you were dead for sure!”
Big Red started growling and Mick leapt back, then looked down at himself in disgust.
“Man, you’re filthy! And you’ve got the cat? And you’re injured oh my goddddduh!”
“Soda! Oh my god!”
Kitty had appeared behind Mick in the narrow hallway and gasped dramatically. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and what appeared to be Mick’s underwear. Blushing, Soda put Big Red down. He immediately sauntered over to Kitty who began to fuss over him like she always did. He rolled over and presented his fluffy peach-coloured belly for rubbing. Soda scowled.
“Gross,” she muttered. When Mick stared at her she said, louder, “I’m so gross, sorry Mick. I was robbed! Outside the house. It was really wild.”
“That is so hectic! What is even happening at the moment? Kitty, can you please grab a towel for Soda?”
Kitty nodded and left. Soda wasn’t about to tell people how to dress in their own house, but Kitty’s creamy tattooed legs made her feel flushed and uncomfortable.
“So what happened? I got this text from Emma-Leigh that said Joel had told her that Fitzy saw North Star hightailing it down the main street of Toowoomba in his gypsy camper van. And I’ve sent you about a million texts and DMs and snaps and…”
Mick was pacing anxiously, his arms bare and crossed over his chest. Soda realised he was wearing Kitty’s denim booty shorts, and hastily looked over at the TV instead.
“Ah, yeah? What’s up with that! Quote-unquote ‘North Star’ and everyone else just bailed in the night and didn’t tell me! And that was just the start of my day. Oh thanks Kitty…”
Soda trailed off as she accepted the dampened face towel from Kitty’s hand and scrubbed her face. She paused, finally focusing on what was actually on the television.
Grainy, shaky footage of an old pine forest, somewhere rocky, cloudy… but there, in the background… was that an…impossibly enormous figure slowly standing up? The footage broke away to a concerned looking news presenter.
[other footage is surfacing] [around the world today as strange occurrences intensify]
Soda watched the closed captions roll by, her eyebrows furrowing deeper.
“Mick, what’s been going on?”
He flung himself onto the couch next to her and gave her a little shake.
“Soda! My loooooord. Where to begin? First, there were videos of centaurs in Germany. And then there were mermaids in Chile. And the weather has been really weird. It snowed in Mount Isa yesterday. It’s everywhere. And! Aaaaand, I’ve always said our house is haunted! Right around the same time, all this weird shit started happening in the house, no joke. So we came back here.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Ghosts. Centaurs. Mermaids. I think it’s magic. Whadda you reckon?”
Soda looked at him blankly.
“Back up. Centaurs. Like, dudes with big ripped human torsos, and horse bodies. There was a video.”
Mick hopped back up with sheer excitement. She glanced at Big Red nervously. He had been trying to say something about the news, she’d just been so distracted… He nodded almost imperceptibly.
“When did all this start?”
“Like, right after you left! But you’d committed to a digital detox or whatever so we couldn’t get a hold of you!”
“Yeah, no reception out there, and now my phone’s dead. Forgot my charger. That’s actually why I’m here, I had to… uh… flee the house and I need a phone charger.”
“Oh shit, yeah, just to your left there. So tell us about your drama!”
He and Kitty were now both tangled up together on the same large armchair, eyes wide. Soda plugged in her phone and waited for it to come back to life. As soon as it came on, it started vibrating with messages and missed calls.
“Right well, North Star fucked off without a word so I left, and I want my money back by the way, and I…” she thought about how much she needed to edit. “I just got home, and there was this woman in this, like, sexy blue suit? And she said my dad had something of hers, and then she found a car under the house, a Mustang, and she stole it!”
It all tumbled out of Soda in a rush. She was nervous about what to share and what to lie about, and hated this sneaky business already. Mick and Kitty were both gaping.
“And she beat you up?” Kitty gasped.
“She shot at me! And Big Red! We’re lucky to be alive!” She looked down at herself. “This is just from diving into the gardens, mostly.”
“I didn’t know there was a Mustang down there!"
“Neither did I,” said Soda truthfully. “It was a really nice one, too.”
“Damn! We always thought Frank might be into something dodgy though."
Soda sighed. “So true. What a day.”
She looked back at the TV, and caught the end of the bulletin.
[Officials seem baffled at what to do or say at the present time] [but they’re recommending we all stay in our houses] [and call the newly established hotline to report any further supernatural incidents]
“This is really wild. I have no idea what to think."
Mick and Kitty nodded, then the next video rolled on. It was Trufax. Soda rolled her eyes. Then she realised: he was probably right. How much had he been right about? He certainly looked to be about ready to combust with excitement. The video was called I F#$KING TOLD YOU SO!!!!!!!!!!! Even though it was muted, Soda could see he was running around in a cape in his backyard, shouting triumphantly. Even if he was right, he still sucked. She glanced down at her phone and saw it had five percent. Big Red pawed at her arm.
“I just gotta go make a call real quick, I'll be right back.”
She ducked into the small kitchen and pulled the door shut, Big Red slinking in behind her.
“Here, where do you want it?"
“Up on the counter.”
He jumped up with a surprising agility for his bulk. She put it in front of him and he carefully dialled the number, making Soda snigger.
“What?” He said crossly as it rang.
“Widdle paws dialling a phone."
He shot her a look of purest disdain and then hit the speaker button as it picked up. There was silence. After a moment Red simply said:
“It’s me.”
There was more silence, making Soda wonder what he was doing, but finally:
“What do you want?” A soft voice, barely audible.
“I saw Rowan today.”
“Did you. Are you shot?”
“Shot at, but not shot. Can I come see you?”
More silence, then: “Shall I send a car?”
Big Red glanced up at Soda.
“No, it’s alright. I have a ride.”
The call cut out. Big Red looked troubled again, and sighed.“Alright love, we have to get going. North on the highway.”
“What! Where are we going now? I need a shower! I want to lay down!”
Big Red sniffed and sneezed delicately.
“Yeah, maybe a shower. The being we’re visiting does value good grooming.”
Kitty wrinkled her nose and said ‘of course’ to the shower, so Soda got to stand under the too-hot blast from the ancient shower head and go quiet for a moment. She shut her eyes, and pressed her forehead against the tiles. She hadn’t expected adventures to be so… brutal. All this sudden talk of her father again was just as bruising as the beating.
Red had been helpful, telling her to leave her stuff in the car. She could put on a nice white shirt, her least ripped jeans, and her favourite Chelsea boots. It was about as presentable as she was going to get in the circumstances. Even though she still felt soggy with exhausted nerves, the shower had helped a lot. Big Red had refused assistance and was cleaning himself fastidiously in the hallway when she reappeared.
“Ready?”
“You’re not a cat,” said a soft voice from above them on the stairs. Soda flinched violently, then looked up.
“George!”
It was Kitty’s goth housemate. He was pasty, had very high cheekbones and a tattooed neck, and looked like he might be a model. He was in a band, whose name escaped her.
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“Soda. Nice to see you again.” His voice was even and musical. “Did you know that your cat is an impostor?”
Soda blanched, then tried to laugh, which came out as a wheeze.
“George, are you high,” she managed.
“Yes,” he said, and then suddenly he was just there in front of her. He had long wavy dark hair, and was always wearing tight-cut black pants and see-through shirts. Soda had thought he was pretty and vacant, like most of Kitty’s friends. Now he seemed like… something else. His eyes glinted in the hallway gloom.
“I think I know that cat,” he murmured, tilting his head in a predatory manner. Big Red shot off down the hall and banged his way out the front door.
“Christ,” Soda muttered. “Sorry George, can’t chat. Got ninety-nine problems and a stupid cat is one of them.”
She raced off after him and out the door, but he was just sitting on the hood of the car, tail flicking impatiently.
“You’re a bit of an asshole, you know that?”
She grabbed her stuff and said a hasty goodbye to Mick and Kitty, who were staring after her in confusion, and George, who was looming just behind them, looking thoughtful.
“What the fuck was all that then?” Soda said as they sped off. “Are my friends safe with George?”
Big Red frowned thoughtfully. “How long has Kitty been living there?”
“I dunno, a year?”
He shrugged. “Then yeah, I guess. Vampires gotta have somewhere to live too.”
“Fuckin’ what? Does Kitty know? And,” she turned to glare at him as forcefully as possible without running off the road, “how come two terrifying mythical monsters know your fuzzy little face eh? Who are you actually?”
He rolled his eyes, but stayed silent.
“Tell me or I’m not helping you with shit-all.”
He huffed mutinously.
They followed the freeway towards the highway north. It hugged the river, snaking its way through ritzy riverside neighbourhoods. Big houses perched on the hills on their left, warm lights winking on in the dusk, golden reflections bobbing in the river to their right. The air was still heavy and hot. Soda could see glimpses of angry-looking storm clouds in the direction of the ocean.
Red finally broke the silence. “Rowan and I used to be friends, a long time ago.”
“Friends don’t tend to try to shoot each other in the face! Why do I feel like everything that comes out of your mouth is bullshit?”
The cat snorted, his tail lashing back and forth, though his voice was calm.
“I can’t help it if you ask daft questions all the time and can’t figure shit out on your own.”
Soda scowled silently, her mind working. “Frank was a criminal. And you’re hanging out with Frank. Staying at his house. You stayed there even after he died, even though you had to pretend to be a normal cat.” She paused. “You’re hiding out, aren’t you? No one’s supposed to know you’re here.”
“And I was beginning to worry that all that weed had addled your brain permanently.”
“And the cat thing? Is that a disguise?”
“It worked out that way I guess."
“Right, so… you’re not supposed to be a cat.”
“It’s not my natural state of bein’, no.”
“And you can’t change back?”
“No. I’ve tried so many things. It cost me every last penny to win back the ability to speak human.”
He sounded very old, and very tired. Soda felt a little guilty.
“Jeez. Sorry mate.”
“It’s alright. I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.”
“How long have you been like this?”
“Hmmm? Oh, a while. Forty years?”
Soda nearly crashed the car in shock. “What! Wait. Wait. How old are you?” Every time Soda heard some new shocking fact, her brain felt a little more overstuffed.
“I remember my birthday, because it’s Christmas Day. What a gift I was, ha! I was twelve pounds when I was born, me poor mam. The years are harder though. Let’s round to one fifty?”
He said it so casually, but Soda spluttered incoherently.
“One hundred and fifty years. You were born in… in… 1852?”
“Maths not your strong point is it pet? Around 1872.”
“Oh. Uhhh right. Shit. So how old was Frank?”
“I dunno, I don’t exactly keep a pocket book with names and birthdays.”
“Was he… you know. Normal age?”
“Kid, I don’t know what that means. I remember seeing him as a young lad in the Great War, if that helps.”
Soda went quiet for a while as she digested this. “So am I going to live forever now?”
“Well, nobody lives forever. But if you want to get into this…way of life… it’ll change you. Magic changes you. I don’t know if Frank wanted that for you, love. I’m serious.”
“Well, he went and got himself killed like an idiot and just left me here with a house full of illegal magic shit and a fugitive cat!” The tears were threatening again.
“And a murderous magic convict after you."
“Ah yes. And a murderous magic—wait. Convict?” This was new information, and she seized it, tears forgotten.
“Uhhh. Yes. Rowan was in jail. I…dreamed about her actually. That’s how I knew she’d been released.”
“What is magic prison like?”
Big Red stared out the window.
“Being trapped on an island with soul-sucking monsters would probably be preferable,” he said eventually. “I’m done. All this chit-chat is making me hungry.”
“Hey, I’m starving too. Haven’t eaten all day, been busy driving convicted criminals around and getting my arse kicked up and down the street. Shall we stop at a servo? Where are we going anyway?”
They were cruising along the Bruce highway now, heading towards the Sunshine Coast. The scrub along the highway’s edges was dusty and brown. Everything looked tinder-dry and ready to spark alight at any moment.
“Oh no, our host would be very offended if we didn’t eat with them. Just take the Steve Irwin Way exit and turn off when I tell you to.”
He turned away, walked himself into a tight circle, flopped down, and by all appearances, went to sleep. Soda stared at the orange lump.
“How will you know when to turn?”
Big Red seemed to be snoring gently and didn’t respond.
She frowned, then slumped, all the energy draining out of her. Her stomach gurgled. She wondered what fresh nonsense she’d be driving into next.
“Buffy and the Slayers! Ha! That’s good actually,” she declared into the silence suddenly.
“Eh?”
“George’s band. I remembered the name. Buffy and the Slayers. That’s great. If you don’t get me killed, remind me to tell him.” Big Red didn’t reply, so she turned up the stereo and let the gently distorted guitar of Jen Cloher jangle her thoughts empty.
Chapter Four: Weird News
Degrees of telling the truth, centaurs on the news, vampires gotta live somewhere