Cassie (16 page)

‘Cass thanks you very much for your interest in her welfare,' she said. ‘However, she feels at the moment that your presence is a distraction from the work at hand and would be grateful if you could spare her the time and space to return to it.'

‘She said all that?'

Fern began plugging the leads back into the computer.

‘Well, it was more like, “Get her the hell out!” but I was reading between the lines. I told you, sis. Attitude with a capital A.'

Holly

Holly was listening to her iPod and scrolling through the contacts on her phone to delete Amy's number. She didn't hear Fern's knock. So, when the door opened, her heart jumped. She was not looking forward to another confrontation with her mother. As far as Holly was concerned, she'd risk putting her head above the parapet when she had to – when dinner was served, for example – but the rest of the time this cramped room was a refuge, a haven of peace and quiet.

If you could ignore the faint, lingering and stubborn smell of cat pee, of course.

It was a relief to see Fern's face peek round the door frame, but it was still with a sense of dread that she took her earphones out. Holly knew the signs. This was going to be a gentle talking to about responsibility and consideration. Her mother and her aunt had worked it out between them. Not a prospect to cause her heart to swell with anticipation, but at least Fern didn't have horns and a halo of flames.

‘Hi, Hol,' said Fern.

‘Hi.'

‘Mind if I come in?'

Holly shrugged. Fern perched on the edge of the bed and looked around.

‘God,' she said. ‘This place is tiny. I'm so sorry, Holly. I feel terrible turfing you out of your bedroom.'

‘It's no problem.'

‘You can't swing a cat in here.'

‘I haven't tried, to be honest.'

Holly wondered if the previous tenants had. That might explain the smell. Fern squirmed and put her hands on her knees, a sure sign of an impending sermon. Holly braced herself.

‘Do you hear bells in the morning?' asked Fern.

The question was unexpected. Did Fern think she had some form of mental illness? What was next? Did the voices tell you to cut off all your hair and disrespect your mother? Then she remembered the gentle tinkling that had become her alarm clock.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Are they something to do with Cassie?'

‘They certainly are,' said Fern. ‘Cassie's always been an early riser. Unfortunately. At home – back in Darwin – Cass had her own bedroom and, of course, when she woke up, she needed attention. Getting to the bathroom, getting breakfast. So she didn't have much option. She used to scream. I tell you, Hol, it's no fun being wrenched out of sleep by the sound of screaming. I'd wake in a cold sweat, thinking she was being murdered. Took me hours to calm down. I couldn't drink coffee, I was that hyper.'

Holly managed a weak smile.

‘The bells were Cass's idea. I bought some wind chimes and hung them by her bed, so when she woke she could run her hands through them. Now I'm woken to the sound of tinkling bells and, let me tell you, it's a great improvement. For everybody.'

Holly nodded. But she knew her aunt hadn't come to tell her this. There was sure to be a sermon lurking somewhere. It would turn up sooner or later. Sooner, probably. Sermons had a habit of doing that.

‘The reason I mention this, Hol,' said Fern, ‘is because I see parallels between those bells and what's happening with you and your mum.'

So there it was! Not hiding at all. Did Aunt Fern mean she and her mum went at each other ding-dong? Like the clappers? But it was unlikely to be that simple. And she suspected the moral would be considerably more tiresome.

‘What I mean is that, sometimes, we need extra attention from those closest to us. Maybe we think we are being ignored or taken for granted. So we shout. We scream at the top of our lungs. And we don't mean to be horrible or to scare or to hurt. We just want attention. But remember, Hol, sometimes we can get that attention with gentler means. By the tinkling of bells, rather than decibel count. Do you understand what I mean?'

‘Sure, Aunty Fern.'

‘Good girl. Think about it.'

Holly did think about it. Why were adults such idiots? Bells and screams. Puhlease.

Holly could tell Fern was happy though. She had a satisfied smile on her face, as if the sermon had been delivered just as planned. She'd probably spent ages polishing it. But she didn't get much of a chance to enjoy her moment. Cassie's screams from down the corridor made the two of them jump. It sounded like someone was torturing a cat. Maybe by swinging it. Fern leapt to her feet and rushed from the room.

‘Though sometimes bells just don't cut it, Aunty Fern,' said Holly to the bedroom door. ‘Sometimes only screams will do.'

Holly

My name is Holly Holley and this is my new evening routine.

Listen to sound of my phone ringing. Note that the display reads ‘Private Call' [before I deleted her number it said ‘Amy']. Consider the two options – Answer or Ignore. Choose Ignore. Again.

Experiment with make-up. Decide I'm getting better. No longer look like sick panda or corpse on CSI Miami.

Wonder if I should risk going to the kitchen for dinner. Debate pros and cons.

On the one hand, stomach votes in favour. Loud and indelicate intestinal rumbles suggest first stage of malnutrition.

On the other hand, dinner is some kind of vegetable curry. Distinctive smell, like landfill site in full sun. Plus, would have to confront she-devil masquerading as mother. Decide death by starvation is preferable.

Try on new clothes with items from existing wardrobe. Find all sorts of exciting possibilities.

Ignore phone.

Curse mother.

Ignore phone.

Curse mother.

Cassie

It takes effort to burst hearts. For me, at least.

Everything shakes. My heart flutters. When I empty myself it
is better. Empty but tight. I make the walls dissolve and I exist in
whiteness, the centre of whiteness. The cursor floats in the landscape.
I will myself into it.

No more hearts. I am tired of hearts. I will lose myself in what
I set out to do.

It had been a miserable Saturday. Night closed over a fine, unenthusiastic rain.

8

Holly

Sunday dawned and the sky was powdered blue, the air crisp and washed clean by rain.

Holly had breakfast at nine. Her mother made toast with honey and she couldn't think of a good reason to turn it down. She was starving. She could grab something from the Candy Bar at work, but popcorn and a choc-ice was hardly balanced breakfast fare. Not to mention the calorific intake. So she ate her toast quickly and tried to avoid her mother's eyes.

Nonetheless, Holly sneaked the occasional glance as Ivy bustled about the kitchen. Her mum seemed in an upbeat mood. Her body language, as she put plates down on the table, seemed to say that it was a new day, a new start. She even poured a cup of tea like it was a line drawn under the past.

There was no sign of Fern or Cassie.

‘Are you watching a film after your shift?' asked Ivy.

‘I thought I was grounded.'

‘You are. But going to a film is really just an extension of your shift.'

Holly shrugged. As far as she was concerned there was no line under
her
past.

‘I thought it might be nice if you took Cassie to see a film. She hasn't been out this weekend. Just stuck in front of that computer. It's unhealthy.'

Holly didn't reply. That explained how lifting a grounding had been magically transformed into a shift extension.

‘Fern and I could drop her off at the cinema and then do a little shopping. That way, if there's a problem, you could ring and we'd be right there. What do you think?' Ivy rinsed a cup out in the sink and dried her hands on a tea towel.

‘I suppose,' said Holly. It felt like an inventive form of punishment. Whichever way she looked at it, there was no such thing as a free movie. Apparently, she – Holly – could rot in her bedroom and her mum didn't mind. In fact she encouraged it.
Demanded
it. But if Cass stayed in, it was cause for concern. Sure, Cassie hadn't actually done anything wrong. Holly pushed that thought away. It wasn't time to be reasonable.

‘Thanks, chicken. Is there a comedy on? Fern says Cass loves comedies.'

‘Yeah. A Mr Bean.'

‘Perfect. Any idea of the session times?'

‘Three-thirty, five-forty, eight-ten.'

‘We'll get there about five-thirty, then.'

‘Fine.'

Holly's mum took her plate. When she spoke again, she had her back to Holly and the running tap drowned her words.

‘What?' asked Holly.

Ivy turned off the tap, but didn't turn around.

‘I said, “Your hair. It's not bad.”'

A thin ray of sunshine brushed the kitchen table, but it was pale and had little strength.