Steal My Sunshine (2 page)

Essie.
Essie
.

We weren't going to grieve for her like a normal family would, I knew that. Mum would be angry if I cried too much for her. Sam would join in because he collected excuses not to show emotion, and Dad never thought she was anything to do with him. But I was going to miss her. She was the sort of person who'd leave a massive hole in your life no matter how you felt about her.

‘Mum's not answering,' Sam called from the front of the house.

Having Mum here would change everything. ‘You'll have to get her,' I said.

‘She's at work.'

I waited for him to get it in his own time.

‘Yeah, okay,' he said. ‘Come on then.'

‘I'm staying.' I couldn't believe I'd just said that.

‘Why?' He was angry, probably pissed off because he still hadn't stepped foot in this room. That just made me more determined. I didn't want to be outside with him where he could say anything he liked about her.

When the front door slammed, I flinched. I had to do something. There was a teacup not quite on its saucer, a plate of toast crusts and an overflowing ashtray – I took them to the kitchen, stepped on the lever of the pedal bin and chucked in the crusts and the ash. When the lid slammed shut I closed my eyes.

Here, Hannah darling, give me your crusts.

Mum says I have to eat them.

Sshh.
What she doesn't know won't hurt her.

Essie had always been on my side.

Every breath was short and quick as I started to clean up the mess in the kitchen. I couldn't have Mum or the ambos or whoever showed up thinking badly of her. My hands were shaking as I held the washing-up liquid upside down and watched as if nothing else mattered but the last of it sliding down the sides of the bottle. With my other hand I yanked the old tap and the water drummed hard against the steel as I picked up the first teacup.

That's when she called my name.

 

 

 

The cup was in bits on the lino. Suds crawled over and under the sharp edges and my heart thumped painfully. The hot water pipe groaned and I realised I'd turned off the tap; my thoughts and actions were out of sync.

‘Hannah!' She called me like a song.

My head was empty; my heart worked hard to get the message through.

‘Hannah?'

Essie wasn't dead. That whole time I was in there she hadn't been dead. Of course she hadn't. She was alive and saying my name. Stupid, stupid Hannah. But I wasn't relieved or happy – I was scared. Was this a game? Mum had warned me but I never thought Essie would trick
me
. I wanted to walk out, but Sam would have reached Mum's work by now. They were going to burst in here and find Essie alive and me picking up broken china.

‘Hannah, aren't you coming?' There was an edge to her voice now.

‘In a sec,' I called stiffly, and threw a tea towel over the rest of the shattered teacup.

When I went into the back room there was smoke curling elegantly out of the top of her armchair. Essie the snake-charmer.

‘There you are,' she said. ‘Did you bring my paper?'

‘There were three out there. Why haven't you been collecting them?'

‘I was busy. Well, ill, really. I'm very ill. Aren't you going to say hello?'

‘Essie, how can you act so normal? What's just happened? Mum and Sam will be here soon.' I sounded like Mum right before people came over for Sunday lunch. ‘What are we going to say?'

‘About what, darling?'

‘
About what?
I came in before and you looked like you were . . .'

‘What was I?'

‘
Dead
, Essie! You looked like you were dead.'

Her eyes shone and I heard how ridiculous my words sounded now. Before I could stop myself I burst out laughing. She giggled modestly as if she'd told a joke but didn't want to show off about it.

‘Essie! It's not funny!'

‘You're the one laughing, darling!'

‘I'm not!' And just as suddenly the thought of Mum coming in hit me again. ‘I'm scared, Essie. What will Mum say? I don't know what just happened.'

Essie held her hand out to me. ‘Don't be so worried all the time. You are such a sensitive thing.' She tried to pull me towards her but I made my legs go stiff. ‘Leave her to me,' she said. A pact. ‘Now, what time is it?'

‘I don't know. Elevenish maybe. I'll make you a tea.'

This was so bad. I walked to the kitchen and started to try to get things straight in my head. Anything was better than standing around and waiting for the storm to hit.

 

The yellow grapefruit pattern of the kitchen table was gleaming like new, and Essie's old kettle whistled at me. Then came a banging at the front door. It was the moment you hear the count of twenty in a game of hide-and-seek. Too late to find a better hiding place now.

Mum's face was agony. ‘Where is she? Where's Mum?' She shot past me and into the back room before I could say a word. Sam was right behind her, not so chicken now.

She'd called her ‘Mum'.

I closed the door and raced to catch up but stopped halfway down the hall when I heard Mum's voice suddenly change.

‘I knew it. What the hell are you playing at now?' No one made her mad the way Essie did. Even me.

I slipped in to take up a space that wasn't too close to either of them. Adrenalin still ruled my arms and legs, my jaw clenched to stop my teeth chattering. Mum's hands were like claws.

‘You don't look very bloody dead to me.'

Essie's face didn't show fear or guilt or even confusion, but her lips were thin defiance. Mum's arms were solid tension as she throttled the air between her and Essie.

‘Just let Essie explain,' I said.

Sam huffed and put his hands in his pockets. ‘Unbelievable.'

‘Shut up, Sam, you don't know what you're talking about.'

‘And you do, do you, Hannah?' said Mum. So she'd noticed I was in the room.

‘Not really, no, but I think we should stop shouting and find out what's wrong.'

‘There's nothing wrong with her. She's just playing her usual games with all of us. Unless you were in on it too. Well? Were you?'

‘Mum! For god's sake!' If I'd had guts like Chloe I'd have told them all to stick it. But in a way I did feel to blame.

Essie's face was dignified, maybe even amused or – who knew? She was impossible to read.

‘And what's that?' Mum pointed at the red stain.

‘I've no idea,' said Essie. ‘I've got a small rug that should cover it. Fetch it from my bedroom, will you, Hannah?'

‘No, she will not!' Mum held up her hand to stop me.

Everything I thought of doing or saying seemed wrong. Mum glowed from behind, lit by the sneak of sun through the curtains. I could tell there was so much she wasn't saying. Her hands, rigid and shaking in front of her, held the whole lot.

‘As if I haven't got enough going on at home.' She hurled the invisible lot to the floor and stormed past me. ‘Come on, I'm getting out of here.'

Even if she'd meant me as well as Sam, I wasn't going. Because without me, who would Essie have? You had to pick a side in this family or you had one picked for you.

After they'd gone, the room was thick with silence and dust motes. Without a word I went to the kitchen and lit the gas under the kettle again.

‘I'll need three sugars after that little lot,' Essie called. I heard her sorting out her newspaper to read. Normal, familiar memories of being here that made me tense up even more. The whole morning was a wreck and now I was going to be late to meet Chloe.

The fridge was almost empty but there was a carton of full-fat milk. It was fresh. I had no idea who did Essie's shopping these days. The kitchen cabinets had glass-panelled doors and you could tell from the outside that most were filled with matching crockery sets, saucepans or all kinds of glasses – for champagne and cocktails and liqueurs. We only had wine or water glasses at home.

Essie had white bread in her bread bin. Usually I'd have stolen a slice and stuffed it in my mouth dry, because by Mum's rules it was contraband, but the thought of it made me nauseous.

In one of the cabinets was a tin tea caddy that was always full. Once, years ago, I'd brought in a PostPak left on Essie's doorstep. Those were the days when every parcel seemed exciting even if it didn't have my name on it. I'd handed it to Essie and she'd stared at it for what felt like ages. ‘Just my tea bags,' she'd said, handing it back to me. ‘Tip them straight into the caddy.'

I'd opened it still not quite believing that was all that was in there. She was right – loose tea bags and a bit of ripped box with ‘PG Tips' printed on it.

She'd said, ‘That's the only thing I still want from England. They can keep the rest.' And then I guess she must have changed the subject.

There were shreds of loose tea that looked like tobacco all over the cupboard paper liner that was fading from the outside in. They reminded me of yesterday afternoon when I'd been with Chloe. A smoke was how she and her friends warmed up – the friends that didn't go to our school, or any school as far as I could tell.

They'd stopped asking me if I wanted a toke after a few of these sessions, which was good until I realised the reason they were still keen for me to stick around. I was their babysitter for later on when they were tripping. They'd asked me to do it the first time as if it was more of a favour to me than them. The one I'd guessed was Chloe's latest boyfriend – a tall boy with dreadlocks and an eyebrow ring, who looked like he was trying to cover up how beautiful he was with actual dirt – had squeezed my shoulders and looked at me so intensely I'd gone pink. ‘You make sure none of us tries to grow wings and take off out of that window. 'Cause that'd be shithouse.'

The others had agreed how shithouse that would be and I'd nodded like one of those dumb bobble-head dogs you see on dashboards. Now it was a regular thing and I felt stuck. If I didn't go and one of them did fall out the window, it would be my fault.

I poured the boiling water, left the bags in and did some half-hearted clearing up while it brewed. Essie called weak tea ‘gnat's piss'. I didn't even know how she could drink tea in this heat but she always had.

As I swept the loose tea leaves from the cabinet back into the caddy, I shifted the liner and saw a different sheet of paper underneath. I gently slid it out. A letter. It was badly stained from the wood, with deep brown circles imprinted by jars from a long time ago.

Dear E,

I wish you'd say more in your letters. I'm happy to send you the tea, of course, but a word about how you are would be welcome at some point. You haven't even told me how you feel about poor James. Not ‘poor' James really – oh, you know what I mean. Please give me a word. Are you ever coming home?

Yours, S.

I felt like I'd intruded but when I slipped the letter back where I'd found it I left the corner showing.

Essie had been quiet since I'd left her. Usually, she'd keep talking to you no matter where you were in the house, though she hardly moved. She used to tease Sam by calling out to him while he was on the toilet. He'd hated that when he was little.

‘There you are,' she said when I handed her the tea. ‘That looks like the perfect cuppa.' The way Essie said cuppa was so English. She still didn't sound Aussie even though she said she'd been here so long that she couldn't even remember London. Essie had always been sketchy about how and when she'd got to Melbourne.

When we were little, Sam and I used to sit on the high blue stools over in the corner by Essie's curved bar. The front panel was bamboo shoots and the top was shiny black. I hadn't been behind there in years but Essie always used to keep every kind of booze going even though she only ever drank gin. Now I sat on the green sofa with the high back and polished wooden arms. I wanted to ask Essie about what had happened today but the words that came out were different.

‘Who's your friend in England who sends you tea?'

Essie looked at me sharply. ‘Do you really want to know?'

‘Yeah, course.'

She looked like she was sizing me up.

‘Not if it's a big deal.' I shrugged. ‘You don't have to.'

‘I know I don't
have
to. I don't have to do anything.'

Her tone of voice had me on edge. ‘Fine, Essie. But what about today? I'm not like Mum, I'll understand.'

She smiled and put her tea down. ‘First, I've got something for you.' She pulled the black teardrop ring off her little finger and held it out to me. ‘You always liked this when you were little.' Essie used to let me go through her jewellery box. I used to put this one on my thumb.

‘Are you sure?'

She reached closer and I took it. I had to force it over the knuckle of my little finger, and my breath caught at the thought of it never coming off again. Then I just stared at it, wanting to be that little girl who'd rummaged through the jewellery box. But she seemed like a stranger.

‘You really want to know about the tea bags, don't you?' Essie said.

‘Well, sure. But also about today.' I tried to turn the ring but it only seemed to get tighter. ‘Just so I can explain to Mum.'

‘Don't get old, Hannah. Take my advice.'

‘Um, okay. Look, Essie, I have to meet Chloe soon.'

‘Chloe . . . do I know Chloe?'

‘The one with the brother.' I smiled a bit. Essie was the only one who knew about that. It was safe to tell her because she was so separate from everything.

‘Ah, the brother.' She looked at me lovingly and I felt softer in the room.

‘Who's James?'

‘Pardon?'

I felt my cheeks flush. ‘James. Sorry, Essie, a letter fell out of one of the cupboards. I didn't mean to read it.'