When Lucas gets home, he goes straight into his room even though he’s kind of hungry. Sometimes he wishes he had a time machine so that he could travel into the past and meet all the kings and queens he reads about in The Monarchs of Britain.
He imagines what he would say to them a lot, if he ever met them. He could tell them where their enemies were, what they really needed to do to rule England and keep all the people safe. With him by their sides they would win wars, conquer the world. It’s a pity he doesn’t know the history of right now.
Mum knocks on his door and comes and sits next to him on the bed. ‘Hi, sweetie,’ she says.
‘Hey, Mum.’
‘Who are you reading about today?’
He turns the book around so she can read the heading on the page – William III and Mary II. ‘They ruled jointly,’ he tells her, ‘so they were both the monarchs of Britain at the same time.’ She nods, looking thoughtfully at the picture. Both Mary and William look glum, as though they’ve been sitting still for far too long to have their picture painted. But in real life, all the kings and queens look intensely bored in their portraits. Maybe the artists were told they had to paint them that way.
‘So how was school?’ Mum asks after a minute. He shrugs. ‘Fine.’
She nods, as though mulling this over, then speaks again. ‘Dad and I went to see Mrs Fisher today. Do you know her?’
‘Yeah. She’s quite kind.’
‘She is. She was talking about how you’re going at school.’ Lucas glances up apprehensively, but he doesn’t say anything.
‘Have you ever heard of Asperger’s syndrome, sweetie? Or autism?’
‘I guess,’ Lucas says, and shrugs. ‘Why?’
Mum hesitates for a second, then shakes her head and smiles. ‘Just wondering,’ she says, and stands up. ‘Maybe do some maths? After you have a read?’
‘Yeah,’ says Lucas, and looks back down at the book.
Roger gets home at seven o’clock. Anne watches him as he comes through the door and takes off his shoes, but she doesn’t ask him where he’s been. She’s not sure she wants to know.
But he comes into the kitchen and kisses her on the cheek like usual. ‘Sorry for before,’ he murmurs. She doesn’t reply. He puts his keys in the bowl, then slowly makes his way towards Lucas’s room. ‘Roger,’ she says, a note of warning in her voice, but he shakes his head.
‘It’s all right,’ he says. She looks at her husband carefully, but then nods. He goes in and closes the door behind him.
Lucas is still reading later when there’s another knock at the door. Dad comes in, carrying a plastic bag. In a flash, he remembers he was supposed to be doing maths, not reading about King George IV. He has a guilty feeling in his stomach. But Dad doesn’t look angry.
He sits down on the bed beside Lucas, where Mum had sat before, and looks down at The Monarchs of Britain.
‘You like that book, don’t you?’ he asks, and Lucas nods.
‘I’ve read it about a hundred times,’ he says.
Dad smiles. ‘I know. That’s why I got you this.’ He holds out the plastic bag, and Lucas takes it from him. Inside is another book, Biographies of the British Monarchy. ‘Maybe you already know all the stuff inside,’ says Dad, ‘but maybe there’ll be something new, too. Anyway, it’s for you.’
Lucas flips open the book, not bothering to hide his grin. This book is probably now his second favourite ever, only to The Monarchs. He looks up and nods at his father. ‘Thank you, Dad.’
Dad grins and nods back, but then his face sobers. ‘Mate, you know . . . no matter what, I love you. Exactly how you are, right now, every bit, with no changes. You know that?’
Lucas nods, looking at Dad curiously. He isn’t sure if Dad’s saying this to him, or to himself. But he figures it counts both ways.
‘I love you too, Dad,’ he says. Dad already knows that, of course. But when someone says something nice to you, you have to say something nice back. That’s what you have to do to be polite.
About the author
Eleanor George is a high school student from regional New South Wales who is currently navigating her Higher School Certificate.
Her passions include writing and social justice, and she hopes to continue improving and exploring these passions next year while studying International Relations and Languages at university.
Biographies of the British Monarchy is Eleanor’s second piece of published fiction. Her first piece, ‘Colours’, won both the Young Writer Prize and Emerging Writer Award as part of the inaugural Hope Prize in 2016.
The Space Between Stillness and Sleep
Jenny Pang
Co-Winner, Young Writer
It was dark when Gina woke.
She slowly slipped her hand out from under the covers and tugged at her curtain. Still dark. No birds. No cicadas. Dark. Silent. She missed the cicadas. Why was it so dark?
‘It was dark when I woke,’ she said.
No, ‘woke’ was too strong. Drifted. She drifted into consciousness. ‘Woke’ implied that she had a choice. That she had decided to leave sleep; that she had decided to become aware of the thousand tonnes of water pressing down on her body.
It was warm in her bed, but only barely. Last night, she’d woken up because her feet were cramping. It was an awful way to wake up. She’d rather have been woken up being murdered, or being kidnapped by a nudist colony. She could become their queen, then spend the rest of her days being waited on hand and foot by men so muscled it was scary. ‘Sorry, bad joke,’ she said. ‘Bad joke.’
Gina thought about how mad the people at the store would be if she turned up late. It was worse now, especially with Christmas so close. There were blood feuds among who could open the earliest and close the latest, and people got so competitive Gina felt nervous, sometimes, being seen leaving. Anyway, the people there would turn on her. She knew they would. They would undermine all the authority and respect she had tried to build up over the past year. It was easy because she was so weak, and because she was Asian. They would know that she had only been pretending to be a proper person this entire time. They would realise that, underneath, she had two horns and a tortured soul, like a Hannya mask. She was a freak. She was a fraud.
She was a fraud. Nobody knew that her limbs were submerged in water. If Gina closed her eyes, the scene arrived as naturally as the darkness did. She was suspended, frozen, while the waves rolled above her, below her, around her. An insect trapped in Baltic amber. A phantom suspended in fog.
The water pressed down upon her body as she tried to sit up. It pounded at her limbs, trying to flatten them. A wave of dizziness overtook her and everything sounded murky. Slowly, Gina slid her legs towards the side of her bed, then did an awkward shuffle to the edge. She attempted to stand up and failed. The second time, she wobbled a little but stayed upright.
She was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to walk to the bathroom. Relatively, of course. After relieving herself, she brushed her teeth and washed her face. It wasn’t that bad, not even that painful. Some days were easier than others. Gina couldn’t explain why. Some days, she felt almost normal. She caught herself feeling absurdly proud of herself before the shame took over again. She was proud of herself for getting out of bed.
The thought of breakfast was excruciating, so Gina skipped it and returned to her bedroom. Was going to work in her pyjamas an option? It took some time for her to tug a big, navy sweater over her top and she decided to forgo the pants. Her bottoms were long, black and only a little bit creased. Comfortable pants were stylish nowadays; she could get away with it. No bra, no combed hair. She put on her big cocoon coat and scarf, and picked up her tote bag.
Everything she needed was already inside. Gina never unpacked. Stumbling down the stairs of her apartment block – there wasn’t a lift – she wrapped the scarf tighter around her neck and tied the ends together at the back of her head before exiting the building.
Outside, it was seven and lighte
r. The streets were empty and the electrical wires cut into the grey sky like knives. Everything was shrouded with blue, a tinge of it that felt as heavy to Gina as the waves that constantly pummelled her body. The cold entered her head, pushing her consciousness down until it, too, felt like it was shrouded in layers and blinking against the bitterness.
Gina fumbled with her keys, fingers already stiff. The white streetlamps, the cruel press of tarmac, and always the blue made something cement at a point between her breasts. It was getting harder to breathe. It hurt. Gina wanted to scream. Her bus stop was in the next street. She walked with her head down. A car or two passed her. Gina was certain they were looking at her, this crazy woman in pyjamas, arms crossed so tightly above her chest it was like she was trying to lock herself down.
During the ride to Macquarie, Gina looked out the window and tried not to make eye contact with anybody. At the store, the first thing she did was look at Janice, this younger girl who was really into experimental fashion, and cackle, ‘Who forced you to do that?’
Janice touched the two ginger buns on either side of her head. Each one branched out like a croissant. ‘What?’ she said, looking a bit hurt. ‘I like it.’
Gina snorted, unlocking the cabinet under the cashier. ‘Just you then. You look like you have horns. Like the devil.’
Janice pressed her lips together. Aw, she was cute. She was actually trying to be tough. ‘Whatever,’ she muttered. ‘At least I don’t look like I rolled right out of bed.’
Gina pulled a surprised face. She threw her bag in, not really caring that her phone made a nasty thud. ‘Is that what I look like? Because guess what?’ She snapped her fingers in front of Janice’s face. ‘I did! See? Big mouth, small brain.’
Janice opened her mouth, then closed it. She scowled, then spun around and flounced to the back of the store, where she started to rearrange the perfectly-arranged display of mugs.
Gina spent the morning unpacking a box of tea towels and restocking the candles at the front of the store. She could feel Janice hovering at her back and she had a pleasant time pushing her around. Every time, Janice bit her lip like she wanted to say something, then carried out Gina’s orders. It felt good. It made Gina feel better about herself. Almost like she was a proper person.
Everything was better when she was working anyway. The store was warmly lit and the entire shopping mall was so bright. There were sparkling decorations everywhere. Gina had felt better the moment she walked in. Something golden loosened that hard, dead knot in her chest. She felt strong again. She felt okay. It finally felt like day again after a long night. Gina spent her lunch break in the food court on her phone, scrolling through Twitter. She barely noticed time passing, a whole afternoon of it, until Lydia, the girl who took over the evening shift, arrived.
‘Hey, Gina,’ Lydia said.
‘Hey, Lydia,’ said Gina.
Lydia’s hair, this dyed reddish brown, was flipped over her back. Even if it had been up in some weird up-do, Gina wouldn’t have dared tease her about it. Lydia was made of stronger stuff. She was also really, really pretty. Gina had wanted to be friends for as long as she could remember, but the other girl was always a little cold towards her. It hurt Gina’s feelings because, on the other hand, Lydia was always so nice to Janice.
‘Have you been wearing that the whole time?’ Lydia asked, nodding towards the cocoon coat Gina hadn’t taken off during the shift. She’d tied her work apron over it in a compromise.
‘Yeah,’ said Gina. Then, as if Lydia couldn’t tell, she added, ‘It’s cold.’
‘For sure,’ Lydia said.
Gina untied her apron and walked back to the cashier to get her bag. ‘Bye, runt,’ she said to Janice, who was gift-wrapping a toothbrush holder. ‘See you in the afterlife.’
Janice squinted in this poor imitation of a glare, then said, ‘Bye,’ in her tight, little voice.
Gina was feeling good, almost normal, as she stepped outside. Then the wind blew right through her scarf, turned everything grey, and the dread that pulled her back down was sudden, irrational, and completely devastating.
She lasted about five seconds, then rushed back inside through the automatic doors. Covered again in the warm, bright lights of the shopping centre, she tried not to freak out. What was happening? Why was she like this?
She paced up and down behind a big potted plant. People with their big trolleys pushed past her and Gina shrunk back so that the foliage covered her body.
‘Oh my god,’ she said. ‘You’re hiding from the outside. You are actually a freak.’
She had to get home. She was supposed to go home like a proper person. But everything was so cold and ashen, and, as hard as she tried, Gina couldn’t bring herself to turn around and face any of it.
‘You are so stupid,’ she said. ‘You are so stupid, stupid, stupid.’
As if possessed, she started to walk towards the food court. She couldn’t stay in the shopping centre forever. She couldn’t sleep here.
‘But you can stay until everything is closed,’ she said. ‘Then, when the late-night movies start, you can move upstairs because the cinema and restaurants will still be open. And then . . . and then . . .’
‘Stop it,’ Gina said. ‘Then you’ll be kicked out by security. You’re acting like a crazy person. You are a crazy person. Stop it.’
She sat down exactly where she had for lunch. Already, a couple shops were starting to draw their shutters. Some people working in a fruit juice booth near her table looked at her curiously. Gina knew they recognised her from lunch. She pulled out her phone and tried to look busy, even opening her Notes app so she could pretend that she was texting somebody. She had no idea what she was doing. She had no idea what she was going to do. She just knew that if she went back out again, she wouldn’t survive. She was sentenced to death.
After the food court emptied, Gina went upstairs and sat down on a bench again. She tried not to panic, but this time it was useless. People walked in and out of the glass doors, passing through the blackness of the night like it was nothing.
Why is this happening? Gina tried to ask them. How come you don’t feel anything? Why am I the only one like this?
She was so weak. She was so useless. She thought of Lydia and Janice, both of whom had probably left already.
‘Help,’ she said. She tried not to cry. ‘Help. I can’t go home.’
It was bright but it was so dark. Gina looked around. In slow motion, water flooded through the corridors, sweeping everything along in its path. It seeped through every crack and upturned the tables and chairs. It gushed across the polished floor. The sounds of people talking, smiling and laughing became distorted as the current rose over their heads. It enveloped them in its gentle embrace while pushing treacherously down on Gina’s shoulders. Why didn’t they feel it? Why was it only her? It was so unfair. Gina opened her mouth and tried to speak but only bubbles came out. She tried to breathe instead and found out she couldn’t. She was drowning.
She remembered watching the air pockets rise up towards the ceiling. She remembered leaning against the bench. She remembered giving in. Somebody came up to her and asked if she was alright. Gina didn’t remember who it was. She didn’t remember how she replied.
Then she remembered closing her eyes. The simple feeling of sheets beneath her skin. A cool hand on her forehead. Then pure relief as the waves crashed over her, finally tugging her under.
When Gina woke, it was warm and bright.
‘I’m in heaven,’ she said.
‘No, you’re not,’ a voice above her said. ‘You’re in my house.’
Gina opened her eyes. In front of her stood Lydia in a faded T-shirt, arms crossed. ‘Did you kidnap me?’ Gina asked.
Lydia snorted. ‘As if. You passed out outside the cinema. And you were alone and you wouldn’t tell me your phone password. How do you feel?’
Gina tried to place herself for a moment. The curtains were closed. A digital clock next to the matt
ress she lay on read 10am. The heater was on too, making everything thick and warm. The lights cast their yellow glow over everything in the room and turned Lydia’s intimidating figure into something homely and soft. Gina was . . . Gina was fine.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, hearing the surprise in her own voice.
To her further amazement, Lydia’s shoulders slumped and she uncrossed her arms with a sigh. ‘Oh, really?’ she said. ‘Thank god. I didn’t take you to the hospital because I thought you were just tired. Well, you told me you were just tired. That could’ve been a really shitty move.’
‘I told you I was tired?’
‘Yeah,’ Lydia said, looking a little uncomfortable. ‘Also that you were unhappy. And that you wanted to die.’
‘Oh.’
‘Several times actually.’
‘Oh.’
Lydia pursed her lips. ‘So, you want breakfast or what?’
‘Yes, please,’ Gina said.
She tried to stand up by herself, but her legs were a little wobbly. Lydia caught her to stop her from falling, then wrapped an arm around her back. Gina could feel the other girl’s breast grace her ribs and it made her feel . . . something.
‘Sorry,’ she said. She was suddenly filled with the urge to explain herself. ‘I don’t remember the last time I ate.’
‘Really?’ Lydia sounded sarcastic but Gina couldn’t tell for sure. ‘Maybe that’s why you passed out.’
‘Maybe,’ Gina agreed.
Together, they made it down the stairs. The lights weren’t on in the living room or kitchen, but everything was made out of carpet and floral wallpaper. Nothing felt dark. There was a proper dining table in the living room and a counter with stools in the kitchen, one of which Lydia helped Gina perch on.
Hope Shines Page 9
