Sticks and Stones

 

Ilsa Evans lives in a partially renovated house in the Dandenongs, east of Melbourne. She shares her home with her three children (off and on) and a variety of animals, including a mentally challenged dog and a psychotic cat.

She has completed a PhD at Monash University on the long-term effects of domestic violence and now teaches creative writing when she is not writing fiction herself.
Sticks and Stones
is her eighth novel.

 

 

 

Also by Ilsa Evans

Spin Cycle
Drip Dry
Odd Socks
Each Way Bet
Flying the Coop
Broken
The Family Tree

 

First published in Macmillan in 2010 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited
1 Market Street, Sydney

Copyright © Ilsa Evans 2010

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

Evans, Ilsa
Sticks and Stones / Ilsa Evans.

ISBN 978 1 4050 3992 5 (pbk.)

A823.4

Typeset in 11/15 pt Birka by Post Pre-press Group
Printed in Australia by McPherson's Printing Group

The characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

 

These electronic editions published in 2010 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

Sticks and Stones

Ilsa Evans

 

 

 

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This book is dedicated to
every woman who has ever walked a mile in Mattie's shoes,
with a wish that they would all lift their heads
and realise they are not alone.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To all those wonderful people who read through the manuscript and/or gave me advice – Robyn Cotterell-Jones from Victims of Crime Assistance League (VOCAL) Inc NSW; Maggie Woodhead, Nerida Mulvey, Cathri Caljou, Melissa Meadows, Michael Yata. The list goes on but unfortunately my memory doesn't, so if I've forgotten you please accept my thanks regardless.

And also to all those who emailed after reading
Broken
, letting me know how much they appreciated the book, and those who wanted to know what happened to Mattie afterwards. For good or for bad, here is her story.

 

 

There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to them. Appearing before her eyes with shutter speed and then, blink, they were gone. As if her life had been captured on film, the past tethered to the present with snapshots of what had gone before.

Flashbacks, the counsellor said. Which she thought went well with the camera metaphor but also made them sound a little insect-like. Parasitic. She even began to imagine them as alive, with thin, multi-jointed legs, burrowing along just beneath her skin. Abdomens swelling as they fed voraciously on her memories.

And the funny thing was that even though the images took her breath away, on the outside, apart from a tendency to hug her arms into stillness, there was no visible indication that anything significant had occurred. But inwardly, now that was another story altogether.

ONE

T
he Ferris wheel turned lazily, with wedges of cobalt sky revolving within the spokes. Cages rocked as children waved excitedly at those scattered below. Maddie shaded her eyes against the spring sunshine as her daughter climbed towards the peak, huddling across the red slatted seat to giggle with her friend. When they reached the top the pair leant back, brown hair streaming down below, so that for a moment all they would see above was the huge expanse of brilliant, cloudless sky. A panorama of virgin blue. Then they were on the downward spiral once more.

‘Doesn't it make you nervous?'

Maddie nodded slowly as she turned to face the woman who had come up beside her, even though rather than feel nervous, she'd actually been vicariously enjoying the ride. Especially the weightlessness of those few seconds that hung, rocking slightly, just before the descent. She wondered momentarily whether that made her a bad mother.

‘And those safety bars don't look very safe to me. Why, most of the kids could slip right under, and
then
 . . . well, they'd be toast.'

‘I suppose.'

‘Besides, look at that operator! He can't be more than eighteen. More tattoos than brains. What's
he
going to do if something goes wrong?'

On the Ferris wheel, Ashley and her friend Georgia were now using their legs to swing their cage wildly as they ascended once more. It looked like tremendous fun, and the safety bars seemed perfectly secure. Maddie glanced back at her companion, expecting another comment, but to her surprise the woman had already turned and was now trudging solidly across the school oval towards the row of stalls set up along the perimeter. Maddie stared after her, suddenly concerned that she may have appeared rude. She replayed the conversation, rubbing her arm absent-mindedly, and then took a deep, level breath and made herself stop.

The two girls were now dipping towards ground level, their car still rocking slightly, and Ashley waved as they glided past the young operator and then began the outward ascent once more. Maddie thought suddenly of a game she used to play with the children when they were very little, tracing her finger around the palms of their hands.
Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear. One step, two steps – and tickle you under there
.

She closed her eyes briefly with the memory. The fat little starfish hands trembling with anticipation, and then the frantic, hysterical wriggling as her fingers leapt. The Ferris wheel halted suddenly, cages swinging, and the operator lifted the safety bar to release the pair unfortunate enough to be on ground level. Maddie tucked the memory away as she strolled towards the ride and then waited until it was Ashley and Georgia's turn. The two girls clutched at each other, giggling, and then came running over.

Maddie smiled at them, loving their pleasure. ‘How was it?'

‘It was okay.' Ashley replaced her grin with pubescent nonchalance. ‘Bit gay though.'

‘Gay?'

‘Like it got boring after a while,' she shrugged for emphasis.

‘Yeah,' offered Georgia supportively. ‘Gay.'

Maddie swallowed a chuckle, lest it offend, as she marvelled at the evolution of connotations.

‘Anyway, why're you here? I thought you were with Kim?
We're
supposed to be meeting later.'

‘Kim's doing her stint at face-painting. And I was just going past and saw you up there.'

‘You don't
have
to watch me,' Ashley continued as if her mother hadn't spoken while her friend giggled and then dipped her head. ‘I can look after myself. FYI, I'm
twelve
years old.'

‘Ah yes, I'm vaguely aware of that fact. Fine then. I'll see you later.'

‘Good.' Ashley grabbed Georgia's hand and tugged her away. Then she paused and, with one of her lightning moves, dashed back and kissed her mother on the cheek. ‘Love you, Mum.'

Immediately softened by the unexpected gift, Maddie resisted the urge to lay her fingertips across the cooling kiss as she watched the two girls leave, breaking into a run as they crossed the oval. Children once more. Were all girls so mercurial? Certainly Ashley's brother was very different. The calm eye of the storm that was his sister. Or maybe it was just that she wore her emotions so thinly that they simply could not be contained.

The Ferris wheel was revolving once more, with the operator leaning back against the engine housing smoking a cigarette with a James Dean casualness that was surely contrived. Maddie glanced away, doing a sweep of the festively bedecked school grounds. A throbbing pulse of music floated across the oval, the loudspeakers lending a tinny edge that only added to the carnival atmosphere. She could just see the face-painting stall in the far corner, where her friend Kim would be busily decorating an array of sticky faces with tiger whiskers, or fairy glitter, or football colours. And amongst the crowd were other people she knew, each of whom grounded her. Here, in this place, at this time.

Maddie took a deep breath of it all, letting the colours and the music and the sheer joyousness permeate before she headed over. The word gay flitted across her consciousness and she grinned, happily. And was almost immediately struck by a compulsion that she had to close her eyes for a full minute to keep everything safe. The fact that someone might see her, stupidly standing in the middle of the oval with her eyes closed, just added to the sense of sacrifice. She made herself count slowly, evenly, otherwise she'd have to start again, and opened her eyes half expecting a passerby to be staring curiously, breathing a sigh of relief to find herself still alone.

The oval felt spongy underfoot, courtesy of a week of nonstop rain that had threatened to cancel the festivities before they had even begun. A huge banner had been strung across the side of the partially built school hall with jagged white-capped writing:
Help us finish!
Badgerton Secondary College needs you!
Nearby, a band had set up on the ad hoc stage, with the bass turned up disproportionately so that as Maddie drew closer, even the ground seemed to vibrate in time. Clusters of teenagers were scattered around the stage area and some girls had started dancing, affecting not to notice their audience. A few younger children dashed past on their way to the Ferris wheel, the smallest bringing up the rear with a yellow balloon tugging against its string. She stumbled in a grassy rut and thrust her hands out, releasing the balloon which instantly shot upwards. A splash of egg yolk against the blue.