Cassandra

by Kathryn Gossow

  ‘What did you say?’ asks Natalie.

  Cassie shakes her head. ‘My aunty is helping with supper,’ she says quietly. ‘You can meet her.’

  ‘She’d better get us the best food,’ Mitch says.

  Cassie lets her hand slip out of Paulo’s and walks towards the supper room. Ida’s face will not shift from her mind.

  The supper room smells of ham sandwiches. The long tables, covered in thick white tablecloths, fill with chattering people.

  ‘Over here.’ Cassie points to a corner with enough room for the five of them. She slides along the bench seat, the tablecloth brushing over her thighs. Paulo slides in beside her, Natalie and Mitch opposite and Lisa at the end of the table on a stool.

  Mitch reaches across the table and jams a scone with cream into his mouth. Cream collects in the corners of his mouth. He wipes it with the back of his hand. ‘They serve beer here too?’

  ‘Just tea and coffee.’ She nods towards the other end of the table. A woman with a large aluminium teapot pours a steady stream of brown liquid into an upturned thick china cup.

  ‘She better make it up our end soon.’ Mitch turns his cup over.

  Cassie takes a ham sandwich from the plate in front of her. Her fingers sink into the spongy bread. She bites it, the taste of greasy margarine like bile in her mouth, the yellow spread on the sandwich thicker than the layer of ham. Paulo’s hand pulls her skirt above her knee, and she chews, willing herself to swallow, desperate to spit the sandwich onto the table in front of her. The bread in her mouth softens to sludge and she gags. Placing her hand in front of her mouth, she swallows.

  ‘You okay?’ Lisa asks.

  Cassie nods, her hand still resting on her mouth. The room twists around her, the table swaying like a boat. Paulo’s hand pushes up to her inner thigh, cold, like ice on her skin, while the rest of her body blisters. Sweat like steam prickles on the back of her neck. She needs to wash the taste from her mouth. She swallows thick salvia and looks down the long room. Like a sliver of sunshine through the mist, Ida, teapot lifted to her chest, smiles at her. Cassie lifts her hand from her mouth and waves a tiny wave. Ida, lifting just two fingers from the teapot handle, waves back. The teapot shakes, Ida’s other hand holding the handle at the top of pot quivers. The layer between Ida and her dream lifts in a shimmer of flashing lights.

  ‘Let me out.’ She shoves Paulo and he lifts his long legs onto the bench.

  ‘You gonna be sick?’ Natalie asks, turning in her seat.

  Cassie watches her aunt right the teapot, hold it firmly with two hands. Cassie slides in front of Paulo. Ida leans between a man in a cream safari suit and a woman with a high lace-collared dress.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ Cassie sees her aunt’s lips move politely.

  Paulo’s hand creeps into her skirt as she passes him. Without turning, she shoves his shoulder and he collides with the wall behind him.

  ‘Watch it,’ he says, his voice light with humour.

  ‘Tea.’ The man turns his cup upright in the saucer. The woman in lace turns her back to Ida and talks to a taffeta-frilled woman beside her. Ida bends towards the man’s teacup, her elbow rocking back and forth.

  Lisa stands out of the way and Cassie turns around the corner of the table. Ida slops tea into the man’s saucer. Hot acid burns up Cassie’s throat. Ida apologises to the man, who smiles and pats her on her bent elbow.

  Cassie steps clear of the table, Lisa behind her, steering her towards the door.

  Cassie shakes her off. Her ankle turns in her high heel and she rights herself and lunges towards Ida.

  Lisa grabs her elbow and pulls her. ‘This way,’ she urges.

  Ida interrupts the chatting women. ‘Tea?’ Her mouth shapes the word from across the room. The taffeta woman shakes her head, but the red collar nods and returns to her conversation.

  Natalie stands beside Cassie. ‘You gonna be sick?’ she asks again.

  ‘Too much wine.’ She hears Mitch, his mouth full of food.

  Cassie stumbles down the aisle, between the tables, the two girls behind her.

  The high-collared woman doesn’t turn her teacup for Ida. Ida takes one hand from the teapot and reaches towards the cup.

  Lisa grabs her elbow again.

  Ida holds the top of the teapot with her left hand. The pot wobbles and brushes the forearm of the taffeta woman, who jumps as if branded.

  ‘No,’ Cassie shouts and breaks into a run.

  The teapot bucks and plunges towards Ida. She lurches back, and the pot lid flies into the air, hovering like a UFO. Ida’s feet slide from beneath her, her back slams on the floor, the tea pours down her chest, the pot clatters onto the floor, and the silent scream echoes in Cassie’s head as it has done so many times before.

  Cassie slides to the floor beside Ida and grasps her hand. ‘Aunty Ida, are you all right?’

  Ida lifts her head slightly and shakes her head, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes.

  The safari-suited man kneels on the other side of her. ‘Call an ambulance!’ he yells to someone behind him and Cassie looks up to see his eyes glinting with flashing lights.

  ‘She’s my aunty,’ she says quietly to him.

  ‘Get Peter and Rose—and Gus,’ she hears someone else call.

  Ida whimpers, but Cassie can hear her screaming. She kneels down to her ear. ‘Scream aloud, Aunty,’ she whispers. Cassie closes her eyes and presses her cheek against Ida’s face, willing the pain to be hers. Cassie feels her aunt’s hot tears flow through the roots of her hair.

  A strong arm pulls her away and a man in a dark suit takes her place on the floor. Someone hands him a wet towel. Ida’s eyes shut tight, her fist clenches, her arms wrap across her chest. The man pulls her arms away and drapes the wet towel over Ida’s chest.

  ‘Should he be doing that?’ she hears from behind her. ‘Wet towels? Is that right?’

  Her mother brushes past her and the room tilts as her mother kneels at the top of Ida’s head and kisses her forehead. Her father tilts the room back, his knees where the safari’s-suited man had been. He straightens the wet towel, as though it is a baby’s blanket, and stares at Ida’s feet.

  Lisa’s arm wraps around her shoulder. ‘She’ll be all right.’ The whisper echoes in her ear like a dungeon sound. She looks over to the corner; Mitch and Paulo sit open mouthed, faces fixed on the drama.

  ‘It’s like she knew it was going to happen.’ She hears Natalie from the other side of Lisa.

  ‘Shush,’ Lisa says.

  ‘Someone should go watch for the ambulance,’ someone says.

  Ida’s tightly closed eyelids bulge like stones in a wet swamp. Cassie’s mother fishes a hankie from her bag and wipes the edges. The eyelids flash open, the watery blue irises glare at the ceiling and turn and fix on Cassie.

  Cassie slips from the arm hooked around her shoulder and sprints for the door. On the dance floor a handful of people dance to an insane waltz. Why are they waltzing? Didn’t they know what happened? A group of girls look up at her from their seats and stare like stunned mullets, and she knows everyone knows. Outside, the cold air slams against her as she leaps down the steps two at a time two steps to the ground.

  She stops and looks up the dark road.

  Lisa and Natalie arrive beside her.

  ‘These heels weren’t made for running,’ Natalie pants.

  ‘It’s your aunty, isn’t it?’ says Lisa looking in the direction of the elusive ambulance.

  Cassie nods.

  The silent street was like outer space, lights twinkling like distant unreachable stars. The boys come out, prop themselves against the wall, and light cigarettes.

  ‘Give us one,’ Natalie says. ‘I need something to calm me nerves.’ She comes back, the sickly smell of smoke wafting around her. ‘It’s like it will never come,’ she says
, the cigarette crackling as she pulls on it.

  ‘Be quiet, Natalie,’ Lisa says.

  ‘It’ll come,’ says Cassie. She knows it will come. She’s seen it already.

  Behind them the boys laugh. Cassie looks around and they stand up straighter and look away, the red of their cigarettes like lanterns.

  ‘They shouldn’t let old ladies like that carry those big teapots. It’s dangerous. You could sue them,’ Natalie says.

  ‘Sue who, the Rodeo Charity Society?’ Lisa says. ‘That would be good for everyone.’ Her tone drips with sarcasm.

  ‘I was just saying. She shouldn’t have had the teapot, it was too heavy. Even I could see that.’

  Cassie thinks about the lady in the high-collared dress not turning her teacup over.

  ‘What lady?’ Lisa asks.

  Did she say that aloud? ‘It was my fault,’ says Cassie.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t anywhere near her.’ Lisa rubs her hand between Cassie’s shoulder blades. ‘Oh my god, you’re freezing.’ She turns to the boys, ‘Paulo, go and find a jumper for Cassie.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ says Cassie.

  In the distance a dog barks, three times. Further down the street, a deeper bark replies and soon the town is a circle of raucous dogs. Across the road, the school grounds sink deeper into darkness and a plover screeches across the oval.

  A coat arrives on her shoulder, a familiar aftershave clinging to it. Her father’s coat; she recognises the shiny worn collar. She turns, expecting him, but it is Paulo. He kisses her on the cheek, his breath dry, and smooths his hand over the shoulder of her jacket.

  ‘She’s okay, people are looking after her. Your dad is looking after her.’

  Cassie turns back to the impenetrable road. ‘My bag,’ she says, ‘it has my tarot in it.’

  ‘You want to read your cards?’ Natalie sounds surprised.

  ‘No, I can’t remember where I left it.’

  ‘In the supper room?’ suggests Lisa.

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘I’ll go look for it.’ Lisa turns back to the hall. Natalie throws her cigarette on the ground, crushing it with the toe of her shoe. They are red, Cassie notices, and they glisten, like Dorothy’s red slippers.

  ‘There’s no place like home,’ Cassie whispers.

  ‘What?’ Natalie wraps her arms around herself and shivers.

  ‘Your shoes,’ Cassie says, ‘red, like shining lights.’

  They stare at her shoes. They don’t go anywhere.

  ‘Did you know that was going to happen? Your aunty I mean,’ Natalie asks.

  ‘Yes,’ Cassie replies.

  ‘When did you know?’

  Cassie remembers the heat in her visions, the nausea, the dream in her notebook over and over. ‘I always knew.’

  Natalie chews on her nail. ‘Then … why …’

  ‘… didn’t I stop her?’

  ‘Yeah, something like that.’

  ‘I forgot.’

  ‘Forgot?’

  ‘I mean, I knew it was coming, I just forgot. It’s hard to explain. It’s like when you have a dream and you wake up and you think what an amazing dream, but if you don’t write it down straightaway it’s gone.’

  ‘I dream about plane crashes all the time,’ says Natalie.

  Static electricity shoots up Cassie’s neck and electrocutes her hair.

  ‘Do you think I should ever fly?’

  ‘Never,’ says Cassie, ‘never ever.’

  In the still night, the ambulance’s heartbeat siren travels faster than the ambulance. They hear it on the horizon like the light before dawn.

  ‘It’s coming,’ Natalie says.

  Cassie knows the rest. The red and blue lights will come up the hill and she will run forward. Natalie will yell at her to be careful, the ambulance will stop and she will point around the side of the hall and tell them to go to the back door.

  The ambulance disappears around the building. The flashing lights remain imprinted on Cassie’s retinas. And white hair. White hair, flashing red and white, blue and white. Athena. Appearing out of nowhere when her mind is with Ida.

  Lisa runs up behind her, puffing. ‘They’ve arrived.’ She holds Cassie’s bag out to her.

  Cassie takes it. The tarot cards burn through the fabric, a beam of spirit warming her hands. She clutches them to her chest and holds her breath.

  She has to get better at this.

  <21>

  Disease

  The school bus leaves Cassie at the end of their driveway. Alex runs ahead, his schoolbag bucking on his back. On the other side of the paddock her father throws up dust with the slasher. The forever sky stretches from horizon to horizon, open, empty, not a cloud to hold onto. The dull sun, too tired from the day’s excess, casts shy shadows over the track.

  Cassie kicks a piece of grey gravel and trudges. Her schoolbag digs into her shoulder, the muscles in her neck pull against the weight and her forehead aches. She changes the bag to her other shoulder, but it makes no difference. Her eyelids grind over her eyes. She has only skimmed the surface of sleep since the ball. Since Ida fell. She fingers the tarot in her pocket.

  The sound of hammer on metal reverberates like a dentist scraping food out of a hole. During the day the workmen have raised the new chook shed frame. The mammoth skeleton and its chicken-filled twin overshadow the house.

  Cassie stretches her neck to one side and then the other, and pain shoots down her back.

  Poppy leans against the jacaranda tree, a rollie hanging between his fingers. She imagines he’s been there all day, watching the building rise from concrete slab to steel frame.

  ‘It’s lookin’ good, hey girl?’ He nods in the direction of the building.

  Cassie shrugs. ‘If you say so.’ She continues along the garden path.

  ‘Athena’s visiting,’ he calls to her.

  Again. A game of chess rests abandoned on the dining room table. Her mother has been in her room. Again.

  In the kitchen, Athena lifts her chocolate and coconut covered fingers into the air. ‘Cassie, your mother’s teaching me to make lamingtons. Alex’s favourite!’

  ‘I like lamingtons too,’ Cassie says, dumping her schoolbag on the floor.

  ‘We know,’ her mother says. ‘Get your lunch box out of your bag and take your bag into your room. Then come back.’

  Cassie unzips her bag and takes out her lunch box. She stands in the doorway and throws the box across the room, in the general direction of the sink. It hits the mark and splashes into the soapy water, sending spray over the floor and the window.

  ‘Cassie!’ her mother groans.

  ‘Sorry,’ Cassie mumbles and drags her bag across the floor, heaves it onto her shoulder, and walks down the hall to her room.

  She sits on the bed and wonders if Athena will follow her. She opens the tarot, and thinking about Athena draws a card, the Hanged Man. The traitor, thinks Cassie: revolution, reversal, a warning that a shakeup is due. After ten minutes Athena doesn’t enter so she gives up and returns to the kitchen.

  Athena stands at the sink flicking soapy water at Alex. Alex rolls up the tea towel and flicks Athena’s calf. Athena squeals and laughs. Cassie watches her mother watching. Watches her mother smiling.

  Cassie sits heavily in the kitchen chair.

  ‘How was school?’ her mother asks.

  Cassie shrugs. ‘Tiring.’

  Her mother comes around the table and sits in the chair next to her. She places her hand on Cassie’s shoulder and says, ‘I went to the hospital today.’

  ‘How is she? Can I see her on the weekend?’

  Athena stands over the chair opposite them, concern on her face.

  ‘They’re letting her out. Thursday, or maybe Friday. The burn is healing. Slowly. There ar
e no signs of infection. They did some tests too. They think she has a disease called Parkinsons.’

  ‘Parkinsons?’

  Athena sits down. ‘It’s a degeneration of the central nervous system, when the body does not produce enough dopamine to stimulate the motor cortex.’

  ‘She fell, she has burns that will get better,’ Cassie argues.

  ‘I know.’ Her mother takes her hand, but Cassie pulls it back under the table.

  ‘It is what caused Ida to shake. You know how her hands tremble.’ Her mother lifts her hand off the table and demonstrates the familiar shake. ‘It can also affect your balance. It might have been why she fell.’

  ‘They can fix it?’ Cassie asks.

  Athena shakes her head. ‘They can kind of manage it. They will probably give her L-dopa, but it has side effects.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Cassie turns towards Athena for the first time.

  ‘I read about it somewhere,’ she says quietly. ‘I’m sorry that she’s sick.’

  Alex leans against the sink, staring at the baking dish in his hand. He already knew. Everybody knew but Cassie.

  Poppy comes in behind her and puts his hands on her shoulders. ‘You told her.’ He isn’t asking.

  Her mother stands and takes the tea towel from Alex. ‘Go and watch TV. I’ll finish this.’

  Cassie shakes Poppy’s hands from her and walks back down the hall, Athena’s steps behind her.

  Cassie flops onto the bed and closes her eyes. She hears Athena close the door quietly.

  ‘Did you know?’

  ‘Know what?’ Cassie opens her eyes.

  ‘About Ida? The Parkinsons.’

  ‘No.’ Cassie swings her legs back onto the floor.

  ‘I’ve been looking at your dreams. The ones you say are about Ida’s accident. They’re a bit vague.’

  ‘They were about the accident. I had the dream the night before the ball. It was like seeing it all over again when it happened.’

  ‘It was a bit late though, wasn’t it? To like prevent it, I mean. That’s what you could have done.’

  Cassie sighs, pulling her school shoes off her feet. She throws them in the corner on a pile of dirty uniforms. ‘How much longer do you think my mum is going to believe you are on school holidays? You can’t come over here every day, you know.’