Cassie (18 page)

‘Hey,' The face was pressed close. Holly could smell popcorn and a sharp boy-scent. A fine spray of spittle flecked her cheeks.

‘Get her to shut up, you stupid cow, or I'll shut her up for you.'

Holly's mouth dried. She wanted to back away, but the face was too close. A hand bunched into her new top and kept her fixed. She tried to speak, but her tongue was heavy, lifeless. When a voice did come out it sounded brittle, strange, as if it belonged to someone else.

‘She's disabled,' Holly croaked.

And then the tears came, though she fought them. Was that all she could say? In that moment she saw herself from the outside, an observer.
It's not my fault
, she seemed to be pleading.
I'm not disabled. I'm just stuck with someone who
is. Take pity on me.
Holly's tears flowed quicker. She hated herself.

‘You'll be disabled if you don't get her to shut up.'

He wasn't alone. There were three or four of them. They surrounded Holly's seat, sucking the air away so she couldn't breathe. She tried to swallow her fear, but her stomach clenched. She nearly puked. A finger loomed against her eyes, a fat, pale blur.

‘Do you hear me?'

Holly nodded.

The boys left. She could hear them laughing as they made their way to the back seats. One gave another – the boy who'd done the talking – a high five.

Raph McDonald accepted it like a badge of triumph.

Holly

My name is Holly Holley and I am a coward.

A rush of fingers, as I try to get the wheel brake off. Fumbling, blinking to clear sight frosted by tears. Cassie is quiet, her body trembling, shaking, head lolling to one side. Then movement, at first towards the back of the cinema. A quick change of plan. Through the door by the screen. ‘Emergency Exit' in bright red letters. Then up a ramp, passing swarms of people leaving another cinema. Into the ladies' toilets. Breathing hard. Breathing hard. Muscles trembling.

I study my reflection in the mirror. Behind me, Cassie's dark ringlets stand out against the pale moon of her face. But I keep my gaze fixed on the stranger who looks back at me and mimics my every movement. I don't like this person.

Half an hour. That's how long we were in there. A third of the film. A fresh wave of disgust breaks over me. And I know it is impossible to summon any more self-loathing than I feel at that moment.

But, as it turns out, I am wrong about that.

I am wrong about so much.

Ivy

‘There they are.'

Ivy waved and smiled. It wasn't difficult to spot the wheelchair. Cassie and Holly were on the far side of the foyer, Holly sitting on a bench. Ivy and Fern picked their way through the crowds milling out of the cinemas. Cassie was smiling, her arms moving restlessly. Holly didn't look happy. She had her face turned away, studying a group of people heading for the exit, but even at a distance Ivy could see she was upset. She followed her daughter's gaze.

Raph McDonald was chatting to some mates and laughing. Ivy felt a tug of sympathy for Holly. Since Fern had reminded her, she had been thinking about Ross – the no-good, lying and cheating Ross. But he had been
so
good-looking. The face of an angel and the heart of a stone. Yet, she reminded herself, there was no art to find the mind's construction in the face. Who had said that? The words floated through the years, a fragment of a lesson at school, so many years ago. Shakespeare? Anyway, it was true. It was so difficult to see beyond beauty. Some people never managed it.

Ivy sat on the bench next to her daughter.

‘Hiya, chicken,' she said.

Holly turned towards her mother and Ivy was surprised by the depth of unhappiness there. She hadn't been that miserable when they went into the cinema.

‘How was the film?'

Holly

Holly had been dreading this. Sitting with Cassie for the last hour had given her plenty of time for reflection. At first, she thought she'd just bluff her way through. Pretend they'd seen the entire film. After all, Holly
had
seen the movie before, so she couldn't be caught out on any details. And Cassie couldn't tell anyone. It was tempting. To paint out the past with a fiction. A few brushstrokes and it was gone. And Holly so badly wanted it gone. She needed to obliterate her humiliation. And the memory of her cowardice.

But she knew she couldn't. Maybe if it had been just her. But Cassie knew what happened. Cassie understood. And how could Holly look her in the eyes after she had lied? How could she face seeing the contempt and loathing there? She had enough contempt and loathing for herself, without seeing it reflected in Cassie's eyes. Holly cleared her throat, which felt tight and dry. But before she could speak, she felt a hand on her arm.

‘Hol,' said Fern. ‘Thank you so much for looking after Cass. She had the best time. Said it was fantastically funny, right from the start, all the way to the end. She loved every moment of it.'

Holly blinked and opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

‘And she wants to thank you for the choc-ice you shouted her afterwards,' continued Fern.

‘Cassie told you all that?'

Fern laughed.

‘Don't look so surprised, kiddo. Cass might not be able to use words so well, but she and I don't need them.' She tapped the side of her head. ‘It's a kind of a cross between telepathy and body language.'

‘And Cassie said she enjoyed
all
of the film?'

‘Every minute.'

Holly turned to Cassie. The deep brown eyes were twinkling and she saw the girl buried within them. And those eyes spoke of a secret best kept, of a bond forged. Holly read an appeal, as well.
Don't say anything. Please.
And Holly knew she wouldn't. She couldn't.

Holly should have felt relieved, but she felt awful.
At least
, she thought as she smiled and nodded at Fern's thanks
, I can't
feel worse about myself than I do now
.

But she was wrong again.

Holly

Fern cooked that evening, which lifted everyone's mood. She made pizzas. One had layers of fresh vegetables dotted with shavings of mozzarella for her sister. The other had the same ingredients, but also pancetta and thinly sliced pepperoni. Fern even made the dough for the bases.

Holly helped with the preparation. Even without Amy's Maths brain to consult she'd calculated that it was probably another four years minimum before she'd leave home – after getting a real job or taking up a place at uni. Three hundred and sixty-five days in a year. Four times three hundred and sixty-five, forget the leap years, equalled . . . well, actually, too many dinners to count. Holly wasn't sure she could face over a thousand dishes cooked by her mother. She wasn't sure she'd survive them.

So she cut and sliced and diced, kneaded the dough, preheated the oven and made mental notes.

Cassie had gone to her room almost as soon as they'd arrived home from the cinema. Fern was apologetic.

‘She's not normally this anti-social,' she said. ‘And normally I wouldn't let her be. But I think I need to cut her a bit of slack. What with leaving home and her dad and everything . . .'

‘You don't have to explain, Fern,' said Ivy.

‘I can't work out what she's doing on that computer. I
am
a bit worried. I'll talk to that Greg Adams tomorrow when I drop her at school. This can't be healthy.'

‘At least she stopped to go to the cinema. And she seemed to have a great time.'

Instead of slicing the green capsicum, Holly sliced her finger. It wasn't a deep cut, but Ivy welcomed the opportunity to fuss over her. She turned on the cold tap and instructed Holly to keep her finger under it. She kissed the top of her daughter's head.

‘Anyway,' said Fern. ‘She
will
eat with us. That's non-negotiable.' And she did. Cassie ate two slices of pizza and then screamed and whined until her mother let her return to her room. Fern came back clutching her head.

‘She is driving me nuts,' she said.

Holly