The Scent of Apples (12 page)

‘You have no idea what you're talking about, Elizabeth. Your dad and Nan needed my attention, too. I thought it would be easier for you if we didn't dwell on things. What should I have done?'

I look down at my hands and start picking the skin around the nails. ‘I don't know. But when I looked around for someone to talk to, no one was there.'

‘That's all very well, but while I was talking to you, who would have kept the house going? The cooking, the cleaning – certainly none of you three help out!' She comes back and swipes all the buttons into the tin.

‘Why does everything have to be so tidy? God, when you die, do you want people to remember that you had a tidy house, or that you sat down and had a cup of tea with them?'

Caught up in Mum's scowl, I also see her fear.

‘Elizabeth, I don't know where all this is coming from, but I don't appreciate it. I'm sure you're dying to see Toby, so why don't you go out, and give me some peace.' The fly screen door slams shut behind me. I carry the image of Mum up the path with me. I'm so pissed off with her, and yet the frightened look I saw in her eyes when she told me that Dad was taking time out makes me feel sorry for her.

I pass by my old playhouse and see the egg cartons full of dried-up dirt sitting on the bench by the window. The little green leaves of the sunflowers have all shrivelled up and died. It was a stupid experiment anyway.

Toby appears along the pathway, pushing a wheelbarrow full of willow cuttings. He strides over as soon as he sees me.

‘I was wondering when you'd be allowed out to play.'

‘I think I was sent out, actually.'

‘Oh. Well, that's a good thing for me. How long have we got?'

I look back towards the house.

‘Maybe a year.'

Toby grins but makes no comment. I've forgotten that one of the things I love most about Toby is his ability to say nothing. When he used to find me hiding in the barn or down by the river as a kid, he never asked questions. He would just hold out his hand and walk along beside me.

‘I need to make some fences for the veggie garden. Do you want to give me a hand?'

I look at the willow cuttings drying out in the sunshine.

‘Sure.'

By the barn, Toby lines five of the bigger sticks on the ground. I take the thinner cuttings from the barrow and sit cross-legged in front of the sticks. I concentrate on weaving the cuttings under and over the supports. A tabby kitten sidles up to me and brazenly nudges me with her shoulder. When I don't pat her she lies on my work.

‘Tallulah's baby,' Toby says.

I scratch her stomach and she moves off my work and plonks herself down beside me.

‘So how's that new school?'

‘It's actually OK. They have a cool horticulture course, and Ms Emms, the science teacher, is really nice. I think I made a friend too.'

‘That's great to hear, Libby.'

‘Yeah, and I'm sort of glad not to be around Mum and Dad and all their stuff.'

‘Mmmm. It's pretty tough on you, Libby, but sometimes these things work out for the best.'

I think of how small and lost Mum looked, sitting at the table colour-coding buttons. Her whole life has been about making it look good for others. Dad was not supposed to leave.

I push each row of twigs down so it nestles up against the next one.

‘You've been through some hard times, Libby, but hang in there – I remember my grandfather telling me that a rainbow always follows a storm.'

I don't believe him, but I smile like I do.

Toby ties off the ends of my fence with some bailing twine. He wraps the string around three times, chops it with his pocket knife and then tucks it into the bind. We both inspect it as he leans it against the barn.

‘Nice work, Libby.'

‘Thanks.'

‘I could do with a hand in the barn.' Toby tries to sound casual, but his voice goes up at the end. I know he's checking me out to see if I'm ready to go back in there. But I'm not.

‘Sorry, I've got some school stuff to do.'

‘OK. Maybe next time.'

‘Yeah, maybe.'

As I unpack my suitcase and start to remake my bed, I hear the girl in the next cubicle wondering where to hide her secret stash of chocolates from home. I sigh. All I got given at home was a secret.

I can't believe how wrong I'd been in my anticipation of the weekend just gone. In my fantasy world Nan had smiled when she saw me, fulfilling my hopes that she'd just stepped away from herself for a while until she could cope with Poppa's death. And Dad and Mum had missed me so much that there weren't enough daylight hours for us to catch up. I'd even imagined that the apples in the orchard once again smelt sweet, and that I saw the fruit on the trees and not the ghosts in the barn.

I yank my school uniform on, ready for chapel at five. The old stone church with ivy creeping over it is full by the time I get there. Some parents stay for the service: I suppose to get an extra hour with their daughters. Mum dropped me off early.

I stand on my tip toes and search the crowd for Charlie's crazy hair. Sunday service is compulsory. She'll arrive as late as possible and sneak in down the back and pretend she's been here forever.

When the service ends, I push my way through tearful goodbyes on my way back to the dorm. Charlie's bare mattress is the only thing to greet me. It doesn't look like she's made it back: she's going to be in a whole lot of trouble when she does.

When ‘lights out' are called, I look through the window one more time. I hope to see Charlie racing along the path, her wild mane flying out behind her and a cheeky grin on her face. But the moon shines its light down on an empty pathway.

I thought of asking the dorm prefect if she'd heard from Charlie, but she'd been a bitch all afternoon so I didn't bother. I remember Charlie's fishing calendar, and patter over to where it is tacked to the side of her wardrobe. I'm relieved to see that today is a great day for fishing.

I climb into bed and close my eyes, but my thoughts start up. Why hadn't Dad left before now? Surely it wasn't a coincidence that the minute I was gone, he was off. Maybe they had never loved each other, and that's the reason I'm so mucked up. Maybe that's one of the rules of the universe: it's impossible for two people who don't truly love each other to produce a healthy happy child.

I take my iPod from my drawer and choose a Red Hot Chili Peppers song. I turn the volume up as loud as it can go, but
Just one hair
is all I hear. I slide my hand down the front of my pyjama pants. I find one short wiry pubic hair. The perfect specimen to pull. The hairs that I pull are a peace offering to the scream I'd felt building up all weekend.

My thoughts get tangled up in my dreams, and in the morning it's hard to separate them. I remember a big brass four-poster bed. It had white organza draped and looped from one post to the next. A picture of Jesus holding a crucifix sat at the head of it. Mum lay on the bed dressed in red, her eyes squeezed shut and her hands clasping her swollen belly. Dad stood beside the bed, and I saw him look over his shoulder to where his father stood. I saw him hesitate before he climbed into the bed. I woke up wondering if Dad only married Mum because he felt like he had to.

Charlie's bed is still empty. I drag myself through my morning ritual of disposing and camouflaging. At breakfast I fill up my bowl with cornflakes and take a seat at one of the long tables. I push my cereal around my bowl with a spoon, but I have no appetite to eat any.

‘You look a bit pale,' one of the girls from my dorm says. ‘Do you feel alright?'

‘Not really.'

‘There's a virus thing going around,' someone else chips in.

‘Yeah, you should go to sick bay.'

I nod my head and get up, leaving my untouched bowl of cereal on the table.

Luckily Mrs Jean, the night nurse, is still on duty. The day nurse has been nicknamed Nurse Anaconda because she's as mean as a snake. After she's interrogated you she tries to catch you out by repeating the same questions in a different order. Most of the girls don't bother going to the sick bay until they're really ill.

Mrs Jean is employed as the night nurse, but I've often bumped into her in the library. She sits me up on a stool and pops a thermometer in my mouth while she wraps a blood pressure cuff around my arm.

‘Your blood pressure and temperature look normal. Have you got pain or other symptoms anywhere, Libby?'

It must be the gentle tone in her voice that makes tears spring to my eyes. My pain is everywhere. Inside and out.

I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.

She must have seen the tears: she puts her hand on my knee and looks me straight in the eye.

‘Are you sure, Libby?'

I nod.

‘OK. Maybe you just need a day in bed. I hope you'll feel differently tomorrow, but if you don't, come and see me in the morning. I'm usually here till 8.30.'

I nod again as she scribbles a note that will excuse me from classes. After delivering my note to the office, I climb fully clothed back into bed. I drift into sleep, and wake to find Matron in my cubicle. She's packing up Charlie's things.

‘Oh my God, has something happened to Charlie?'

‘No, nothing has happened to Charlotte. I hear you're sick, Elizabeth, but even so it's not nice to blaspheme.'

‘Sorry. But if nothing's wrong, when's she coming back?'

Matron takes the fishing calendar off the wardrobe, folds it up and places it on top of a pile of clothes.

‘She won't be. It's not for you to concern yourself with, but this school isn't the right place for Charlotte. We know we ask a lot from you girls, and sometimes students just don't want to put in that effort. Charlotte unfortunately falls into that category.'

I see her looking at my trembling hands.

‘You'd better get some more rest; I'll get the nurse to look in on you again this afternoon.' She grabs the cardboard carton with Charlie's things in it and marches off.

I pull my duvet tighter around me and face the wall. A moment later a hand shakes my shoulder. I turn and see Charlie's beaming face.

‘I thought you'd gone.'

‘Not without saying bye.' Charlie sits down on the edge of my bed. I squash over to make more room. ‘Matron strictly forbids me to come to the dorm, so I lied and said I had some library books to drop off. I was going to find you in geo but I bumped into Donna, and she said you weren't well.'

‘I'm fine, just tired.'

She scans my face and I know she doesn't believe me.

‘That's no good. How's your nan?'

‘I didn't get to see her. Or Dad.'

‘Why?'

‘Dad's away on … actually he's not away. My dad left my mum.'

For a moment Charlie looks shocked, but then she flings her arms around me. I reel back from the sudden closeness.

She doesn't seem to notice.

‘Shit, Libby. That's tough. You'll be alright, mate. I tell you, sometimes, I think adults are more disturbed than us teenagers, eh?'

I grin like I agree. If she knew who she was talking to, she'd want to take her last comment back.

‘Do you think there's a chance they'll work their shit out?'

‘Mum's hoping.'

‘Well, maybe there is hope. Don't stew on it, Libby. It'll mess with your head and make you sick. Nothing was ever changed by worrying.'

‘Yeah.'

‘Say it like you mean it.'

‘Yes Ma'am.'

‘Look, I have to go. That old bitch would love to throw me out. I knew this school wasn't for me from day one, and lucky for me, Matron felt the same. Apparently Matron had called Mum and asked her to come a little earlier to pick me up on the Friday. She told Mum that everything about me needed to change for the school to be able to help me.

‘Mum never said a word to me all weekend, and let me plead and beg and offer to do all sorts of ridiculous things if she let me stay home. On Sunday when she said I didn't have to return, I raced down to Aunt Amelia to tell her the news and she let the cat out of the bag. She'd been called in to calm Koro down after he heard they wanted to change me. She had to stop Koro from ringing Matron up and telling her to
get stuffed
.'

‘I'm glad for you.'

Charlie wraps her arms around me again. ‘This isn't goodbye, Libby. You have to come and stay with me in Whāingaroa. My whole family's crazy, but I'd love you to meet them.' In her scrappy writing she scribbles her number on a pad by my bed. ‘You catch the Raglan bus, number 23 from the corner of Anglesea and Bryce Streets. It runs three times a day. You can just text me and we'll come and pick you up. OK?'

‘OK. You better go.' I push her off my bed and bite down on the inside of my mouth.

‘Yeah, but I don't want you texting me about how you've joined up with that bitch group or anything.' She winks at me as she leaves the cubicle. ‘See you in a week or so. No excuses,' she yells from the landing.

After she goes I think about her offer. I know Mum will never let me go. Mum thinks that having a friend who is Māori is a kind gesture; staying at their place would be taking it too far.

As darkness descends, I welcome it. When the urge to pull rises I suffer none of the usual angst. I pull hard and relish the chance to escape. There's nothing anyone can take away from me now. Everything's already been taken.

*

In the morning, my scalp feels like the top layer has been scraped with a razor blade. I skip breakfast and get Mrs Jean to write me another note.

‘If you're still sick tomorrow, Libby, we're going to have to run some tests,' she says.

When I take my note to the office they hand me an envelope. I don't know the address on the back, but recognise Dad's handwriting straight away. I tuck it into my blazer pocket. I want to rip it open immediately, but I also want to wait for the perfect moment to savour the contents. The temperature soars all day. When most of the school heads for the pool I move to the library.

I sit in the armchair by the window, where the sun streams in. I plonk myself in the sunshine, tucking my legs up under me. A faint smell of vanilla wafts in the air.

Dear Libby,

I don't want to bug you at school but I have to tell you a few things before I fly to England on Friday.

I know you were heartbroken when Poppa died and I'm truly sorry we didn't talk about it. I got caught up in my own stuff. Dad's death broke something inside of me as well. It made me look at my life, and I knew it was time to be honest about a few things.

I've asked your mum for a divorce. I really believe that we'll both be better off apart. No matter what happens between your mother and me though, we both still love you just the same.

Take care and I'll see you in a fortnight.

Love Dad xxx

I crumple the letter into my chest. I know how long it would have taken Dad to write it. I've watched Dad take hours to compose a simple business letter. I smile at the thought of him, chewing the end of his pen, looking into space until the right word presented itself and then cradling it in his mind for a while before setting it down on paper.

I pull my cell phone from my pocket. I've been so caught up in my grief that I forgot that Dad lost his father too.

I text Dad:
I love you too x