Funny, moving and utterly compelling, Floodline tells of the unexpected salvation that can be found on the edge

of disaster. When the city of Horneville is destroyed by a flood on the eve of a huge gay mardis gras, Mikey Brownthe feisty, sexy and dynamic host of a Christian shopping channelknows exactly what she needs to do. Taking her sons with her, she sets out on a grand mercy mission. The journey is more than a flood clean-up for Mikeyshe wants to save the city and teach the godless inhabitants a lesson. Her husband was lost to her after attempting to mission to this same festival and this is her chance to lay the past to rest. Mustardan enthusiastic, ebullient, eight-year-old doesnt believe his father is dead. In fact, he is determined to find him and knows that Horneville is the place to start looking. If anyone can bring him back, Mustard can. Down in the city, the floodwater surrounding the Horneville City Hospital is steadily rising, turning what has been a place of refuge into a disaster zone. Deep in the hospital chaos, nurse Gina Donaldson is forced to make a life and death decision with shattering repercussions. The arrival of Mikeys little troupe helps Gina find hope in the most unlikely places. Both Mikey and Gina must stare down their pasts in order to find salvation, but will they have the courage? This extraordinary novel is a brilliant feat of imagination and characterisation from an acclaimed writer at the height of her great powers. It is surprising, revelatory and original in every way. Deserves a standing ovationthere is warmth, humour and compassion, and a resolution thats nothing short of inspiringbrilliantly original This ranks up there with Kate Grenville or Peter Carey. Judith White, The Bulletin on Captain Starlights Apprentice

K A T H RY N H E Y M A N

K AT H RY N
Cover design by Sandy Cull, gogoGingko Cover image by Anne Staub

H E Y M A N

FICTION

Powerful and accomplishedHeyman reveals her pedigree as a playwright and poet in stunning language and original imageryProfoundly moving. The Scotsman on The Breaking

K A T H R Y N

H E Y M A N

First published in 2013 Copyright Kathryn Heyman 2013 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act. Every effort has been made to contact the copyright holders of non-original material reproduced in this text. In cases where these efforts were unsuccessful, the copyright holders are asked to contact the publisher directly. Allen & Unwin Sydney, Melbourne, Auckland, London 83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065 Australia Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100 Email:info@allenandunwin.com Web:www.allenandunwin.com Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australia www.trove.nla.gov.au ISBN 978 1 74331 279 7 Cover and internal design by Sandy Cull, gogoGingko Cover photograph by Anne Staub, www.anne_staub.blogspot.co.uk Typeset in 11/17 pt Mrs Eaves by Midland Typesetters, Australia Printed and bound in Australia by McPhersons Press 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
The paper in this book is FSC certified. FSC promotes environmentally responsible, socially beneficial and economically viable management of the worlds forests.

t first, when the warning went out, they came in family groups, or sometimes with neighbours. Often they carried flasks of coffee with them, or packs of sandwiches. Everyone was calm, mostly, still cloaked in the courtesy of the city. There was talk of the festival still going ahead when the rains stopped. A postponement, that was all. Even after the banks of the river burst and the waters vomited through the lower areas of the city, pulling the first of the cars with them, even then there was the hope that this was only a hiccup. Not for Gina, though. Hope was not her habit and this did not seem like the moment to acquire it. When the hospital car park slipped under water, they came on foot and then in boats made from li-los, tyres, old bathtubs. They didnt come to the nineteenth floor, where the sound of respirators mixed with the slap and slip of nurses soft shoes on the polished floor, but congregated in the entrance hall and the first floor lobby. Talk of the festival stopped then and
1

kathryn heyman

hope was carefully folded and slipped into the soles of shoes, or tucked into underwear, in the gap between skin and fabric. As the grey-brown water twisted on itself, fiercing its way through the city, more people came. Their voices grew muted as the waters grew louder. Built across three blocks, the hospital had always been a marker, an orientation point for the city of Horneville. From any street in the centre, you could look up and see the square tower of Roselands. Not quite a beacon: Gina would never consider it that. But some kind of safe harbour, even before the storms. Here, on the twelfth floor, there was little expectation of sending the human vessels back out to sea, but there was always comfort of sorts, always rest. Called in after the flooding had started, Gina was on duty during the last of the storms, when the call came through from the psychiatric wing at the back of the hospital. Late afternoon light had blurred into storm- riddled darkness but the fluorescent lights cast a dull gleam across the hospital floors. Still tugging at her flesh-coloured pantyhose, she could hear screaming on the other end of the phone, so loud that she had to shout into the mouthpiece. Ward nineteen. Nurse Donaldson here. Another scream on the phone, and a strange clicking, as though the line were being manually connected, knitted together by birds from an old-fashioned Disney cartoon. Gina shouted down the line again, ready to hang up, to get back to
2

floodline

where she was needed. Ward nineteen? Hello? Im over in Psych. Our windowsve gone. In the storm. A male voice, gruff with the short vowels of the non-native speaker. She couldnt get hold of what he meant, what he needed from her. Windows? You need windows? Christ. Windows. Gone. Were likely to be needing to bring our lot round to the main side. Im giving warning, is all, due warning, right, in case the lines go down too. Gina looked up at the long windows above her. Not a crack. On the city side of the hospital, the psychiatric wing was a double- storeyed outbuilding. Occasionally their staff called over to the main hospital with requests for medication, wheelchairs, trolleys. Mostly, though, they were separate neighbours, barely touching. For almost half her life Gina had biked into the hospital each morning and for all those years shed avoided passing the main entrance to the psych wing. She had enough of that in her own family, in her own blood, in her own useless father and she didnt need to remind herself of what that side of humanity looked like, if you could call it humanity. She could remember far enough back to need to forget that crap. Between the two of themthe useless father skulking off into the world after years of late-night drunken rants, and the mother, fat as a truck, spooning Valium onto her cerealwell, Gina had done enough of that kind of care-taking thank you very much. Shed more than paid herdues.
3

kathryn heyman

The orderlyor whatever he wasfrom Psych was still shouting, still trying to get himself heard above a babble behind him, threatening to drown him the way the waters were threatening to drown the whole stinking city. Okay? Right? Youre on standby, right? For our wholeward? She had no idea what she could offer him. With no real authority over the lower wards, she couldnt make a decision; but it looked like all regular decisions were on standby anyway. Why they left the psych ward there, why they bothered keeping those people at the cost of the citywell, she had no idea. The city hadnt paid her father to clean himself up, hadnt paid for Ginas mother to go to a community college, to take up needlepoint or synchronised swimming or some such nonsense. No, the city hadnt cleaned up any of that mess. Instead, one person was there all alonglaying out clothes for her mother, circling day courses she might like to tryand that person was Gina. She looked at the white mouthpiece, at the fine film of spit that sat across it. Fine, she said. I dont know where the hell you think you lot will fit, but were not going anywhere. She said the same thing later to Ned Hall, with his determined grin and attempts at backchat and his flesh, huge wallowing mounds of it, spilling out from the edges of his sheets. Whats happening, Nurse? With the flooding? It says on the tele vision that theres flooding all over. The sound of that storm, huh? We gonna evacuate? Ned looked down at the
4

floodline

capacious expanse of his own body, his limbs thrust out from the white gowns. Dont know how youll get me out. Not like I can use my legs. Well, thats not new though, is it? You havent been able to use your legs for years, am I right? Nothing new there. If we have to, Ned, well get you out the same way we got you in. Gina lifted his arm, pinching the rolls. She didnt know, could not imagine, how someone could bring themselves to that state. A stroke a couple of years back had paralysed his lower limbs but his ongoing cheer was spoken of in reverent tones throughout the wards, his name prefaced by that amazing, or that gorgeous, as in: That gorgeous Ned Hall on Nineteen is still waiting for his bowel op. Oh, hes hilarious, isnthe? Three weeks ago, a lifetime ago, before the rains started and the city began to disappear under water, Ned had watched meekly while Gina changed his pan, then said: My daughter died when she was ten. Leukaemia. Shed be about your age now. Id be proud if shed worked out likeyou. Mortified by the unexpected intimacy, Gina had shrugged while Ned took her hand, his palm sweaty in hers, and said, Youre a good person, do you know that? Now, Gina smiled down at him, lips closed. But were not going anywhere right now, toots. Were riding it out, thats all. She was good at this, at the cheery, brusque talk. Solitude and despondency didnt hang about her here the way they seemed to
5

kathryn heyman

outside, in the world. Here, despondency was neither a question nor an answer; here, in Roselands, it was action that mattered. Roselands, with its concrete and its bleach, made Gina more concrete than she was in her shadowy apartment with its empty refrigerator. In her blue uniform, her white shoes, she was stronger, faster and kinder than she was in her too-tight jeans or her Kmart skirts. Shewas paid to spend her days and often her nights here, to offer rest, comfort. The action of caring rather than the sentiment. She was not paid for sentiment and she was not paid to expect change. Ned Hall reached up and she thought for a moment he was reaching for her hand again. Instead, his fingers pressed on her wrist, closing over her watch. Thats it. No giving up. We never give up. Gina peeled his fingers away. Jesus. What was the point in hanging on? These people. What did they even have to keep going for? Why bother? Shed stopped holding on to some slight thread of possibility years ago, those threads that had promised something would come of all this, something good. All she was doing nowall shed been doing for yearswas keeping her hair dry. Head up, breathing, treading water, waiting for the slide from this thickening middle of life into the grey, thin, end. Lying in a hospital bed with his own body turning against him, forcing unredeemed optimism up through his gullet, Ned seemed ludicrous. Gina smoothed his sheet with
6

floodline

uncharacteristic softness, avoiding his eyes. People couldnt help their own foolishness, she knew that. Shed be grateful for the descent, herself; grateful to be washed away into nothing. Why fight against it? Why not welcome it? In the ward rooms, the television sets tilted high above the beds shifted with the faces of consoling newsreaders, flickered with images of her own streets, her own city, covered with water. Cameras lingered on the wounded riverbanks, gashed open and with nothing of the hero in them. When the rain stopped, late in the night, she heard it reported onscreen before she saw it through the window. Outside in the corridor the cluster of nurses, who always managed to exclude her from their huddles, let out a celebratory whoop. Laughter trickled after it, trailing away to leave the sound again of the televisions and the quiet whish-whoosh of the respirators in the ward room. They sounded emptier after the little spurt of laughter. Pearly light reflected from the moonface of Ginas watch, the sole remnant of her washed-up-never-was father. With the hands soldier-straight stretched to midnight, the way they were now, the watch looked cracked, broken in a perfect line. But in all these years, it had never broken. Ginas father left when she was nine, propelled by a moment of force from her mother. Tired of that mans endless alcohol-induced delusions, his episodes of thrilling adventure followed by months of listlessness, Jane Donaldson changed the locks and threw her husbands
7

kathryn heyman

clothes outside on the lawn. Hed come home from one of his adventures, stunned to be greeted by a rainfall of trousers and a locked door. It was the strongest moment of action she ever saw her mother engage in; her broad arms heaving flannel trousers onto the lawn. Sweat pooled at the back of her neck and nine-yearold Gina sat on the floor of the bedroom listening to her father bellowing up at them. He was still there after midnight, hiding in the orange blossom tree when the police drove down Dewberry Street to see what the disturbance was all about. Later in the night she heard him shouting up at her window, Im taking my watch off and its for you, Gina. My liddle girl Gina. His voice howling into the night like a lovelorn coyote. In the morning Gina found his clothesunderwear, flannel trousers, blue checked shirts, razors, everythingshoved into the neighbours bins, lids off, trouser legs blowing in the wind. The watch was on the step. She kept it under her bed for years but after her mother diedwell, she liked to wear it. It was a good watch. It was the one thing in her life that had never stopped working. She swallowed, her throat rusty. With people banking up downstairs, it was odd that it was so quiet still, up here.

Neds television stayed on all night, each night, a solitary screen coating his face in shadows of yellow, purple, blue. Never able
8

floodline

to doze for more than an hour before the pain hit him, his eyes opened, watched, drooped and closed. Some nights, on better nights than this, his screen was tuned to shopping channels or worship programs. His favourite combined both: a sparkyfaced woman with curls that spiralled like a childs drawing beamed at the camera, holding up T-shirts with Christians get a second coming written in swirling letters. Gina stood by his bed a moment, watching the narrow face of the woman on the screen, her fencey mouth moving up and down. There wasnt a warningno lightning flash or booming oratory from the heavensthere was merely the fizz of the screen going dead and then a series of startled bumps and thuds from the corridor. Voices raised in concern, not panic. The emergency lights glowed neatly in the corners of the rooms and the respirators continued to whoosh as the deep throaty thrum of the generators picked up where the screens left off. The door scraped against the floor, hissing slightly as Gina clipped it back, so that it formed an undercurrent to her own hissed question, Whats happened? It was one of the new doctors who answeredbarely out of school, wore too much lipstick. Hocking. Dr Hocking. Gina had never caught the womans first name and wouldnt have used it anyway. In the sepia glow from the emergency light, Gina could make out a blonde ponytail, the sparkle of flat silver earrings. Its fine, Nurse. Weve lost city power but the
9

kathryn heyman

generators are fine. Well lose air-con so it might really heat up. Keep the patients comfort able, okay? The management team are keeping an eye on things, and were going to be fine. Were not the first hospital to get through a flood. Well all hang on and hang in there, yes? Although it was dark enough not to be seen, Gina nodded yes. Hang in there, hang on, keep going. In or out of hospital, with or without a flood, it was all they could do, all anyone, anywhere was doing. Hanging on, fingernails drawn and bleeding, waiting for the moment that something or someone would pull them out, or down.

10

ustard Samaritan Brown had the ashes tucked into the head of his Jesus Super-Hero doll and no-one knew that except Mustard and the Jesus Super-Hero and the actual Jesus. The finding of the ashes was a miracle and the Jesus Super-Hero doll beamed at Mustard and his head could jiggle on his plastic neck, so that it was like he was nodding, the way a real dad would. Vanilla and bathroom cleaner was what the Jesus doll smelled of, and Mustard could make the head nod so you could barely see his own hands twitching, and he could squish his face into his neck to make himself sound like a big fat man and then he would say, Mmmhmmmm, like a dad, a real dad. On his birthday when he was seven, Mustard saw a demon being cast out. It wasnt the one the prayer warriors thought they were casting out, not as far as Mustard could see: the girl in the chair was writhing around and crying, shouting about the devil, and the warriors standing over her shouted in tongues.
11

kathryn heyman

Heshelala, heyshelala. When you prayed in tongues, you went like this: helashalshalba. Or: haveabananashellhaveabanana. Sometimes, Mustard and Talent Brown made the tongues noises at each other: sheateabanana, ooosheateabanana. Talent, six years older than Mustard, would wave his hands over Mustard and make him fall down on the ground, shaking with the force of the demons coming out of him. But the day he saw the real demon, that scared Mustard. The warriors prayed over the girl, and then she lifted up her hands and shouted, Im free, Im free, halashecameonahonda, and the warriors wept and cheered, and right there, right in front of them, Mustard saw a demon, it was trueall dark cloud and bitter, bitter lipsstep into the girls skin, right out of his mothers hands, and he shouted at the warriors to look, to watch, couldnt they see? And Mikey said it was that time of year again and he always picked up on things, you know, S-E-N-SI-T-I-V-E. The ladies and the warriors patted him on the head and one of them whispered the words his father over Mustards head but Mustard could hear every word they said, because he wasnt deaf or stupid or a baby. After that he didnt play demons with Talent any more. He found the ashes from his dad right after that demon stepped into that girls skin. They werent real ashes, because his dad wasnt really dead, just gone, and the warriors didnt know anything. The ashes were a sign, a puff of cloud, like in
12

floodline

the Bible with Moses and his brother wandering in the desert behind smoke and the smoke was the sign from God. Mustard was a parable: a tiny seed that grew into the biggest tree, that was the parable of the mustard seed. Talent was a parable, too. Parables were stories Jesus told that meant something else. But whatever Pastor Gary said about The Chosen and The Led, Mustard didnt mean something else: he meant only himself. Pastor Gary loved to remind his people all about how God wanted to bless them, and give them loads of stuff, the way he had done to Gary. The Lord had blessed Gary with six properties, including a resort condo in Abu Dhabi: one day it would be used as a respite house for the faithful who needed rest and could get themselves to the Middle East, but until then they just knew that the spirit of the Lord was working on those who stayed in that resort, and they just knew that any of those Islams who stayed there would not fail to notice the presence of the one true Lord. Some were chosen to lead and some were chosen to be led but Mustard was never sure which one he was supposed to be. Mustard wanted to hear stories of himself in Mikeys belly, and to have a dad to share it with. Made-up stories would be okay, it wouldnt matter whether they were true or not. He could imagine it, though, all of them driving along, for instance, and his dad would maybe start laughing and tell a story of how Mustard had pooped himself when he was little and his dad had to stop the car and get Mustard out right
13

kathryn heyman

there by the side of the road, all of them holding their noses, boy! Mustard could almost feel his dads hand ruffling his hair, resting there all gentle as he listed the birthday celebrations and disasters of his son, Mustard Samaritan Brown. But no-one told any stories about Mustard, or about Talent, because Scott Brown had lost his way and lost the Lord and now he was gone and Mikey would not speak of him, not ever again, and all Mikeys stories were about the Lord and NuDay. It was NuDay that held Mikeys heart now, NuDay with its praise-fests, prayers and promises.

Two days after Mustards eighth birthday and there were no demons, but there was the promise of vanilla cake mixture churning in the Mix Machine, to make up for a missed birthday treat. Mikey had switched on the oven only once in the last two years, and here she was, making a cake. When she smiled across the benchtop at Mustard he felt like he was the kid in the Mix Treat advertisements. The trill thrill of the phone twirled through the expansive echoing space of the living area. Birchwood, as pale as the back of a girls knee, spread through the room, and the phone burble echoed off the high white walls, the glass windows stretching up to the fat wooden beams. Outside, shadows from the brushwood fence made prison stripes on the courtyard tiles. The
14

floodline

whole estate belonged to NuDay, purchased by Pastor Gary and his team with funds sent straight from the Lord. Beyond the estate gates, the nameless neighboursthose who were not saved, who did not tithe to NuDayhosed down their already clean driveways and beyond them the highway droned, as steady and comforting as a waterfall. Mikey ran to the phone, skidding on her Jesus Loves Me slippers. Breathless, she hugged the phone to her, fluttered over it like a birds wing, feathering. She said, Hello, Mikey Brown. How can I help you?, and then straightened up, snapping salute-sharp into focus, so that Mustard knew that it was Pastor Gary on the end of the phone. Dropping into a whisper she said, I dont want to talk about Horneville, Gary. There was a long pause, and then she said, Are you being biblical, Gary? Or do you mean a real flood? Oh. She raised her head, shining. Mustard watched the way she lit up, her hands tap-tapping on the counter. He knew that excited lets-get-down-and-boogie-with-the-Lord look and he didnt like it onebit. This is a gift from the Lord, Gary. I can feel it. Didnt we youget all that funding to start an aid group? I saw the papers, thats how. So why not now, right here in our own country? Use the care packages youve gotthe parcels that weve been asking for donations for. She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again her words were all strange and thin. Im ready, Gary.
15

kathryn heyman

I am. Yes, I think I should be part of it. I want to see where he fell. Well, I think you should considerno, let me speak, Gary. Let me come over. Iwant to come and see you. Yes, now. Mustard swung his legs against the metal edge of the high kitchen stool, the way she told him not to. Mikey held her hand up, her mouth tucking into a corner and her forehead folding up so that it made one narrow crease, running right along her face. It made her look old, when she did that. No, she mouthed. Then into the phone, she said, Okay. Ill be right over. He kicked again, making the chair squeak and not caring if he put the black marks onto the edge of the cabinet. Jesus wouldnt care. Jesus loved the little children. She put the phone on the bench before she faced him. She wore the lipstick-shiny smile that she usually saved for the Worship Stadium, her hands held high, shouting Yes, Lord, Yes. Now, she gleamed down at Mustard as though he were a shopper in the NuDay store and switched the Mix Machine off with one click. Hon, something has happened. Something terrible. Ill be straight back and Ill finish the cake then. I promise. Be good. Mustard looked at the prayer magnets on the fridge, arranged to form the words God Destroys Those Who Hate Him. If it was something terrible, why did she look so pleased? He didnt want to be a baby, and he didnt want to be someone who hated Jesus, stopping his mother going to do the Lords work. Swallowing,
16

floodline

he turned his face back to Mikey and said, Its fine. Ill stay with Talent. Nothing ever changed no matter how much you prayed. She put a sticky kiss on his forehead and then she was gone.

There was a photo, in a box beneath Mikeys bed. Scott Brown was wearing a green T-shirt with white stripes on it. All you could see of him was messy brown hair, long like girls hair, and a rake in his hand. Ears sticking out like handles at right angles to his head, he was grinning, like it was funny that he was raking up the big pile of leaves at his feet. The leaves were red and orange and pink and the photo was taken before Mustard was born. There was another one and that was Scott coming out of the water, and all you could see was a curl of wave, and the peak of a white surfboard, and dark wet hair, and a wetsuit. It didnt even look like the same person, and there was water all over the camera lens when it was taken so you couldnt even see the colour of his eyes, or whether he was happy then, or anything. Mustard propped the photo up against his Im Saving For Heaven money box, and sat his Super-Hero Jesus in front of it and Super-Hero Jesus nodded at Mustard, smiling. Mmmmmhmmm. Did you have a happy birthday, Mustard? he said, in a deep mans voice, and it was like the plastic figure in his hands was someones friend, or someones dad.
17

he posters were in Talents room. They were Mikeys idea. She wanted to cover the whole city with them. If she had her way, theyd cover the whole country, the whole world, and the oceans as well, thats what she said. All the NuDay WarriorKids had agreed to put up fifty each; it was the least they could do. Talent had seen them, those men, dancing down the road on the news: men in pink tutus, make-up, stilettos, men kissing other men. It had been going on for years, and each year a team from NuDay travelled up to Horneville to bear witness for the Lord. They prayed outside clubs and bars and sometimes went into them. They handed out brochures during the parades, with phone numbers for NuDay counsellors and helplines. And now this festivalthis Hornefestthey were going to take it all over the country, all over the world. A gay roadshow, dancing and shouting and kissing up and down the country and further. Spreading the word they called it. When it came on the news, Mikey left the room with her hand over her mouth,
19

kathryn heyman

slamming the door behind her. Sticky gloss stuck to Talents fingers as he unrolled the sheets, and a tang of lemon-clean paper scent wafted up. Across the top of the poster the NuDay Prayer Rifle shone in raised metallic ink, and below that the words: Gods Land, not Gay Land. There was information at the bottom about how to contact NuDay and about the Sexual Healing Services. Whats it for? Mustards breath was warm on Talents arm. Dont creep up on people. Talent tugged at the poster, began rolling it up. Whats it for? Mustard asked again, pointing to the clenched fist in the middle of the poster, fire bursting beneath it. Theyd borrowed the image from a NuDay DVD. Theres a festival that happens up north, in Horneville, and they want to bring a roadshow down here, through all the cities in the whole country. Its ayou dont need to know. Its a festival for people who hate God. Mustard looked carefully at the gold edging. Its a festival of gays. How do you know that? It was on the news. And Pastor Gary was preaching on it, wasnt he? A festival of gays, moving over the earth, standing against Jesus, thats what he said. How does he know the gays are standing against Jesus? Talent flicked his wrist so that the poster curled on itself, tight as a cats tail. With the white underside twisting against the
20

floodline

black, it looked for a moment like a glossy question mark. Mustard waited, the smudge mark on his cheek turning purple in the heat. Mustard had a rash of red hair, and it was strange, that red hair on top of his darkish-skinned face, his skin neat and taut like a plum stone. Red hair was something you expected on fair, clean skin, but Mustard always looked like he had a smear of dirt layered on his face, maybe from soot, and the permanent smear of a birthmark on his cheek. He had a way of being still, Mustard, of sitting so that you knew he wouldnt go away. Talent worried for him, that his opinions were already so uncertain. You could turn to Christ at any age; hed seen six-year-olds slain in the spirit, seen altar calls for the preschool group at NuDay. Before Mustard was born, when his dad was still alive, Talent had clapped along to his father on guitar, but hed never let the Lord in his heart. Back in those days, when NuDay was a house church started by Scott Brown, they would tell stories to the little ones, and Gary would ask, Who wants to put their hand up and let Jesus into their hearts? Hey? Other kids did, but Talent didnt like the idea of someone being in his heart, it made him think of blood and worms and illness and he didnt want Jesus moving in there or anywhere inside him. He didnt want Jesus in his blood. So he would sit with his arms folded and one eye closed, pretending to be praying when all he was doing was hoping Jesus wasnt moving into his heart. Sometimes he wondered whether his
21

kathryn heyman

father would still be around if he, Talent Coin Brown, had let Jesus into his heart. Now, in the NuDay Workshop Rallies, Talent raised his face to the Lord, shouted Praise Him with all the fervour he could muster and he hoped that it was enough to make up for the cold heart hed had as a six-year-old and the shreds of doubt that even now threatened to sneak into his heart, right where Jesus should be. Our dad went there once. To Horneville. Witnessing with Gary. Mustard rested his hand on the cylinder of paper, one finger worrying at the corner. Where did you hear that? Talent slid the coiled poster into a cardboard tube and clipped the red plastic cap on. Lady prayer warriors. I dont think so. I dont think thats right.

A year ago, Mustard and Talent had watched a TV movie on Foxtel about a boy who was told that his mother was dead and she wasnt dead at all but had been locked away in prison so that another lady could marry the dad. They shouldnt have been watching the TV movie because there was certainly nothing educational in it, but Mikey was at PrayerRobics and it was on the Family Channel and once it started Talent wanted to know what happened to the dog, which had also gone missing. They never found out about the dog,but Mustard got real quiet after
22

floodline

that and then he started to look for his father everywhere, however much Talent told him, Dont be stupid, Mustard. In the summer, hed become convinced that Mr Yates, the headmaster at NuDay Christian Celebration School, was his father. Hed taken to hiding in the back of Mr Yatess car every day until they were forced to have a prayer intervention and do a laying on of hands and Mr Yates showed Mustard his birth certificate and photos of his wedding, which was not a wedding to Mikey, and then they prayed some more. At night sometimes Talent remembered the scent of his father. Once, during a NuRally, hed got a sniff of menthola man nearby, probablyand it mixed with the sweaty smell of his own excitement, making the smell of Scott Brown. Hed closed his eyes and breathed in deep, imagining his father there. Hair gel, yellow and sticky, had always been on the bedside table. Talent remembered the green container, thick and glass-like. Yellow threads travelled around the thick plastic circle and Talents hands werent strong enoughnot thento unscrew the silver lid. Sometimes, when the lid was left off, Talent would stick his nose close to the edge, breathing in the strawberryish scent of the waxy substance. Once he had stuck his finger in and licked it. Talent could remember a whole lot of things from eight years ago. He remembered the health centre that theyd made into their church and the two-roomed flat above it, with its smell
23

kathryn heyman

of formaldehyde and wet paint and fur balls that no amount of lavender oil could remove. On Sundays back then he sat at the front of the church-room with his Nintendo while his dad and Gary took turns talking about the way of the spirit. His dads guitar leaned against the wall, and in the middle of a sermon hed pick it up and start singing, making the whole room join in with him, and Talent remembered feeling swollen and good inside, that it was his dad, Scott Brown, who started this church from nothing, his dad who made the room sing. Some of the memories were clumped in together, vague and cloudy like a jellyfish, and he knew if he poked at them theyd sting. In the years after Scott lost his way, Talent stuttered. While Mustard was learning to walk and to talk, Talent was stumbling on the most basic sentences. Words would tumble up tight in his mouth, bunching around in there, fighting to get out. Mikey would slap pots around, trying to be patient, and it was only little Mustard, always Mustard, barely talking himself, who could coax the sounds out by waiting and by watching. Talent could hear the words in his head, perfectly formed. B-b-bread. M-ilk. Sh-ugar. Somewhere between hearing the sound and opening his mouth, there was a loop that got stuck, so that he couldnt get past the b-b-b of bread. He didnt mean to be annoying, and the truth was that he didnt gain a lot of comfort from knowing that Moses was a stutterer. Talent remembered
24

floodline

his tongue twisted up with fury, his eyes squeezing shut, the words remaining unformed. He was eleven years old before it changed, and Mustard was a little seed-sized four-year-old. Faith changed it. Even then he knew the deal. Hed heard enough WarriorKids talks to understand the principles: without faith, God would not bless you, and why should he? You sit around on your wahtoozy not even bothering to grow that faith of yours and then you wonder why your neighbour has the big house on the hill and the boat and the bright red four-wheel drive with the built-in DVD players in the back and a satellite dish on the side of their house and all of this stuff is not built on credit but on cash? You want to know why theyve got all that stuff and you dont? Faith. Thats why. Those neighbours, they bothered growing their faith, and putting it into practice, and listening to Pastor Garys tapes on The Kingdom of Wealth and God Wants You to Have the Good Stuff which were available in the NuDay store for barely more than the price of a decent meal, peoplewell, its all in the good book. Riches in heaven, and heaven on earth. He was healed after a prayer meeting. One girl in the Soldier Chicks was praying to be healed of being fatTalent couldnt remember her nameand the whole prayer team gathered to pray for her and for Talent. Theyd pressed on his head and called down the spirit of the Lord until he started to cry with the fear of it and Mikey stood right up and said that
25

kathryn heyman

the Lord would sort it out with Talent in his own good time and could everyone stop making such a flaming fuss. Talent liked it when she said that; it warmed him inside, right in the place where the words got stuck, and the day after that he woke up and asked Mikey for milk and sugar and there wasnt one stutter, and Mikey didnt say a word. She handed him the sugar and kissed him on the cheek and, mostly, that was the end of that. Only sometimes even now his words got stuck, and he had to swallow and remember that he could do it. The fat girl lost half her body weight and became a leader of the junior Soldier Chicks. Faith: nothing you couldnt do without it. You had to try and have enough, try and hold on tight enough even when it seemed everything in the world was asking you to let go. Talent wasnt going to let go, he wasnt going to let doubt and fear win ever again. He could remember way back, further than anyone imagined. The sound of Mustard being bornhe remembered that, the astonishment of his brothers squalland Mikey sobbing and wailing alone in the room with him, as loud and aching as an old train. That was the sound of Scotts absence. There was a great deal Talent remembered, and a lot that Mikey had made herself forget. Now, he put his hand on his brothers hair. They might have been talking about someone else, mate. You have to stop looking for him. Hes gone. He gathered up the posters, rolling them carefully. Ihave to go. You can watch TV.
26

floodline

Mustard tucked his head back, like a bird, making himself so small you wouldnt even know he was there if he wasnt your brother. Cant I come with you? Mikeys gone to NuDay. Lords business. His reedy chest heaved up, and then down. Again. Talent felt his own chest expand with a familiar sharp stab. He put his hand on his brothers cheek. Of course you can. Youre a Warrior for Jesus arent you? Mustard shrugged. You are. Come on. Mustard slipped his hand into Talents. Will there be rides at the festival of gays? He was a whole village of light, beaming up at Talent, and Talent shook his head and said no, he didnt think it would be that sort of festival. They left the house together, hand in hand. Mustard ran beside Talent, two steps for his every one as he tried to keep up, and the cylinder of posters bumped against Talents leg, swinging like a sword.

They got to the end of the road before they saw Mikeys red four-wheel drive screech around the corner. The car juddered against the kerb and the passenger window slid down. Mikey leaned across, trying to push the door open. Jump in, boys. Were putting the posters up. Im helping Talent. Mustard backed away from the car as though Mikey were a stranger, one of the stranger- dangerkind.
27

kathryn heyman

No posters. Something terrible has happened. Last night. Shocking. Mikey vibrated with excitement. Theres been a flood. In Horneville of all places. Gary thinks its Gods work and its certainly possible. Its in a terrible state, apparentlyall the edges of the cityare on reclaimed lands and all those levees out on the edgesthey burst. Whole citys flooded. Everything wiped out. Buildings under water, bridges gone, people missing. Terrible. NuDay is sending a team. Angels of mercy. To witness against the festival? Talent wondered for a moment whether Pastor Gary had anything to do with the flood; whether his power could possibly extend that far. To help out. Mikey shook her head. The poor people. She lowered her head in an act of remembrance. When she lifted her face again, it was as hard as a star, burning. People need to know not to mess with God. Not to mess with families. Jump in, boys. Now. The two boys slid into the back seat, ready to be driven the two blocks back home. Talent kept the posters neat, because you never knew when you would need the fire of the Lord.

28

Kathryn Heymans previous novels are The Breaking (shortlisted for the Scottish Writer of the Year Award, longlisted for the Orange Prize), Keep Your Hands on the Wheel (Southern Arts Award, adapted for BBC radio), The Accomplice (Arts Council of England Writers Award, shortlisted for West Australian Premiers Literary Awards) and Captain Starlights Apprentice (shortlisted for the Kibble Award, adapted for BBC radio). Floodline is her fifth novel. www.kathrynheyman.com

Praise for Kathryn Heymans previous titles

A tour de force. The Age Delightful ... an imaginative gusto that echoes the great Angela Carter. The Times Heyman has produced a riveting blend of wit and poignancy, harmonic in structure, that triumphantly confirms her reputation as a great literary entertainer. Scotland on Sunday Glorious ... there is a shimmering beauty to Heymans descriptions. Vogue Australia This is an extraordinary novel, funny and heartbreaking at the same time. The Herald, Glasgow