‘I know, I told her I was going back next Monday. I like your mum. She’s nice. And smart too. And Alex, he’s okay, for a brother.’
‘He’s my brother.’
‘I know,’ Athena says. ‘I was talking to him the other day about his weather predictions. He’s pretty smart about that stuff. He understands how it all works. The science of it, I mean. He’s like the crossroads between science and intuition.’
‘I know.’ Cassie lies back across the bed, stretching her back and breathing deeply.
‘Have you been practising your tarot—with those friends … What are their names?’ Athena waves her hand dismissively.
‘Natalie, Lisa, Paulo …’
‘Paulo.’ Athena’s shakes her head and frowns.
‘What?’
‘He sounds like an arrogant pig who wants you barefoot and pregnant.’
‘You don’t know him. You’ve never even met him.’ Cassie sits and turns towards Athena.
‘I don’t need to meet him. I know his type. Next time you’re talking to him, ask him about The Feminine Mystique.’
‘The what?’ Cassie’s voice deepens.
‘Never mind,’ Athena says, and picks up a bottle of nail polish and examines it as though it is entirely new to her. ‘Passion Pink,’ she mutters and twists the lid. ‘Anyway, I have good news. Father has finished his sculpture. We are celebrating on Sunday. So … Father and I would like you to come to lunch. Sunday.’
‘About time!’
‘You can see the sculpture too. They’re sending a truck on Monday to pick it up. The building opens in a week. Father says the opening is going to be a big affair. I can’t wait to get back into a proper city. There’s a stack of books I want to buy.’ Athena flicks a slash of pink polish over her fingernail.
‘I wish I could go,’ says Cassie.
‘I’ll ask. Maybe we can take you. That would be fun.’ Athena lifts her fingers to the light to inspect the pink.
‘Mum probably wouldn’t let me.’
‘She’ll let you come on Sunday?’
‘Yeah, that’ll be fine. If I’m not too tired from Saturday night.’ Cassie emphasises the Saturday night with a nod.
‘What’s Saturday night?’
‘The party, remember? Down at the river. Are you going to come? You want to meet Natalie and Lisa and everyone.’
Athena screws the lid back on the nail polish. ‘How do I get this rubbish off my nails? I don’t think it’s really my type of thing. Besides, I have the Eisteddfod coming up. Father says I am to practise.’
Cassie hands her the nail polish remover and a tissue. ‘On Saturday night?’
Athena shrugs and wipes the nail. ‘So, you didn’t answer my question about practising the tarot.’
‘It’s all in the notebook,’ Cassie replies and passes it to Athena. ‘You can take it and read it.’
‘Thanks. Do you think the lamingtons will be ready yet?’ Athena looks towards the door.
<22>
Ida Returns
Cassie lies on her bed waiting, her arms coiled around her chest. She is a rubber band, stretched tight. She imagines herself walking down a street, a mad gunman shooting her down, just because she was there. The wrong place at the wrong time. She would lie still on the ground, pretend to be dead. She would have no control over what happened next. She could let go.
Alex speeds down the hall, his sand-shoed feet making dull thumps as he yells to her, ‘They’re back.’
Cassie digs her nails into her arms. Her skin curls from her body like wafer-thin potato peelings.
Alex throws her door open. ‘Didn’t you hear me? They’re here.’
Cassie sits up, sees Alex’s smiling face. ‘Get out of my room!’ she screams.
Alex pokes his tongue out at her and retreats. Cassie’s feet find the floor.
She shuffles, not lifting her feet until they hit the thin maroon carpet of the lounge room. She rests her head on the doorframe, presses her shoulder against the hard wood.
Her mother helps Aunty Ida into the vinyl reclining chair. The nylon knitted doily that decorates its headrest falls unnoticed to the floor. Alex bounds like a puppy, his latest painting bobbing up and down in his hands. Her mum tucks a crocheted blanket over Ida’s knees while she holds out her hand for the painting. She says something. Probably she says, ‘Lovely, Alex,’ but Cassie can’t see her face, can’t hear her little voice.
‘Cassie.’ Her mother waves her into the room. ‘Come and say hello to Aunty Ida.’
Cassie tugs at her dressing gown and crosses the room. She drops to her knees and rests her cheek on the scratchy blanket. Her cheek burns. ‘Sorry, Aunty,’ she whispers.
Ida places her hand over the back of her neck. ‘I can’t hear you, darling. Sit up.’
Cassie lifts her face from Ida’s knees. Ida’s face is powdery with makeup, no lipstick, just red remnants bleeding into the cracks like rivers flowing out of her lips. The sterile white bandages peek out from the gaps of her dress.
‘How are you feeling, Aunty Ida?’ Cassie asks.
‘Much better to be home.’ Ida smooths the hair at the back of Cassie’s head. ‘You’ve got a bird’s nest. What have you been doing, sleeping in the middle of the afternoon?’
‘It’s almost tea time. I’ve been at school all day. Not sleeping. Does your burn hurt very bad?’
‘I’ve had worse,’ Ida says.
‘This is pretty bad,’ her mother says.
‘Least said, soonest mended. A good cup of tea would do me good. That hospital tea is like frog wee,’ Ida says.
‘I’ll make it.’ Alex springs from the room.
Ida’s resting hand wobbles on top of the blanket. She uses her other hand to clasp it still. She nods towards the painting on the table beside her. ‘Look,’ she says, ‘the way he has silhouetted the trees against the stormy sky. He’s so clever. Funny how there are never people in his pictures.’
‘I don’t think he can paint people,’ Cassie says, rising to her feet. ‘I made jam drops, for when you came home. I’ll get you some.’
Ida smiles at her. Her hands grip each other, not quite quelling the quake.
Cassie’s father and Poppy arrive later with Aunty Ida’s bed on the back of the ute. They rig up some curtains in a corner of the lounge room and they all lift the bed into place, that way everyone can keep an eye on her until she is better enough to go back to her house. Ida sits in the same seat while Cassie and her mother make up the bed with sheets and blankets. Later, Cassie clears away the tea tray, a teacup full of cold, untouched tea and a plate of untouched jam drops.
<23>
Party
The night gleams as brightly as day. Each stone of the gravel driveway shines in the moonlight like a beacon. Cassie stays close to the fence line in the meagre shadows.
All afternoon she complained of a headache, did her best to sniffle as though she was full of mucus, and talked as though her throat was filled with razor blades. Her ruse was successful enough for her mother to tell her to stay away from Ida; she couldn’t afford to get sick. After tea, moaning and grizzling with a box of tissues, Cassie went to her bedroom and stuffed her bed with clothes. She’s too old for her mother to check on her in the night. She hopes.
Cassie’s lips are warm, the lip gloss gooey and thick on her lips. The night air drifts slightly chill and tinged with the smell of bush fires that have burned off in the distant hills during the day.
She missed kissing Ida goodnight. She pushes the thought aside. Ida will be there in the morning.
At the end of driveway, she remembers her dream about finding notebooks in the long grass. The fear she felt when she had a chance to write down the future. Athena said she should try to remember details in her dreams as it might help her pinpoint timeframes, but she didn’t think the details
were there in the first place. She hadn’t been dreaming much lately anyway. Not that she remembered. Not since she dreamed of Ida falling and then saw it happen. Athena would probably be happy about the lack of dreams. She found it hard to determine the dreams’ literal meanings, she said. After she explained what literal meant, Cassie agreed; it was difficult.
They had decided it was too suss for Mitch’s brother’s car to stop at the end of Cassie’s driveway. Too few cars come down this road in the first place, let alone stop at the end of the drive. Cassie told Natalie she would walk toward the main road and they should keep an eye out for her.
Cassie turns down the dirt road. Her ankle turns on a piece of gravel. On either side of the road the Rhodes grass watches her, noiseless and still. Behind her, black emptiness creeps upon her, ripples across her back—the feeling that something is following her, a dark shapeless something, a something taking advantage of her aloneness. Imagination. Just her imagination. Her step quickens.
The bitumen road, when she reaches it, feels exposed—the middle of the desert with a smooth silent surface. It occurs to her that a neighbour could drive by and see her. Someone who would recognise her. The Krautzs or the Sheldons. She hugs the road’s edge, weaving through the shadows, alert for headlights. How would she know which is Mitch’s brother’s car?
She lifts her wrist into the moonlight and tries to read the hands of her watch. Is that a quarter past nine? What if they had already passed before she got to the main road? Would they come back and look for her? Had they forgotten about her altogether? Had they changed their mind about coming? How long should she walk before she turns back? Her stomach swirls and churns. She wishes Athena were with her. Is she really practicing her flute tonight? Natalie would think Athena is a dag. A study head. Athena and Natalie should never meet. Lisa would probably be all right with Athena. Lisa liked everyone.
Behind her, the low hum of a car rumbles through the half dark air. Cassie steps into the darkness hidden among the ghost gums. Her blood booms like a drum in her ears. The car lights the distant trees, spreads across the gleaming road, its tyres growl over the surface, a monster. What if it isn’t them? The car roars past. Cassie steps out onto the road again. The red brake lights recede into the distance, the car engine a quiet drone, then the brake lights spark bright, the tyres screech and the car reverses back down the road. The car slams to a stop in front of her and Natalie’s head shoots out of the window.
‘Oh my god, oh my god, we almost missed you.’ She throws open the front door and falls out of the car giggling. ‘Get in, get in.’ She opens the back door and holds it open. Midnight Oil blares from the stereo.
Cassie wants the smile on her face to be not so big, but as Natalie jumps up and down in excitement and she can’t wipe it off. Five people cram into the back seat. Four boys squeeze along the bench seat and a long legged girl lounges along their laps.
‘Another one? How is she going to fit?’ the girl exclaims. Cassie knows who she is. A grade eleven girl named Diana. They said she had an abortion last Christmas.
The boy nearest the door is Paulo. He pulls her arm into the car. ‘She can sit on my knee,’ he says, pushing the girl’s feet off his legs.
‘Hurry up, we’re in the middle of the road here.’ Mitch’s brother turns in the driver’s seat.
Cassie climbs into the car, hardly closing the door before the car screams off. Everyone in the backseat lurches forward and slams back.
‘For fuck’s sake, Tony.’ The boy next to them laughs. Shane is his name, a mate of Tony’s. ‘You tryin’ kill us or something?’
Tony responds by pressing the accelerator closer to the floor. The engine howls and hurtles the carload of teenagers along the road.
Paulo wraps his arms around Cassie and pulls her close to his bony chest.
Natalie’s halo of hair bobs up from the front seat.
‘Here.’ She holds a clear bottle out to Cassie. ‘Ouzo. Paulo stole it from his dad.’
A pungent liquorice smell escapes from the bottle as Cassie lifts it to her lips. The drink burns down her throat. ‘Shit, that’s strong.’ She breathes out a hot breath. Her lips and mouth tingle and her stomach fires.
Paulo tips the bottle to his mouth and passes it to Shane.
‘Good score,’ Shane toasts Paulo. ‘These grade eight grommets are good for something.’
‘We’re in grade nine,’ Natalie sneers at him.
‘Old enough to fuck then,’ Shane spits back at her.
‘Not with you!’ A dark-haired hand pulls Natalie back down to the front seat. It doesn’t look like Mitch’s hand.
‘Is that Mitch in the front seat with Natalie?’ Cassie whispers to Paulo. ‘Are we picking up Lisa?’
‘Mitch and Lisa couldn’t make it,’ Paulo replies. He slides his hand along Cassie’s thigh. ‘Lisa’s a frigid bitch.’
His lips glint wet in the faint light, his breath smells of liquorice and warm air. She presses against him. Peter Garret screams through the speaker.
The car tumbles along a rutted track and Cassie supposes they are at the river. She pulls away from Paulo and looks into the dark. They bounce over a bump and Diana hits her head on the roof.
‘Ouch,’ Diana cries, rubbing her head. ‘Slow the fuck down.’
‘Shut up, bitch,’ Tony replies and tears through the track, spitting dirt behind the tyres, and slamming to a sudden stop.
On the high river bank, a dozen cars nestle secretly among the trees. The heavy beat of music and drifts of laughter climb the cliff.
Tony heaves the boot open with a crunching metal sound. A boy crawls out of the boot. ‘Christ, Tony, you’re a maniac. Can’t you drive more gentle,’ he says, dusting his clothes.
‘You’re alive, aren’t ya?’ Tony replies, hefting a carton of beer onto his shoulder. The other guys lean into the car and pull out cartons and bottles.
‘I didn’t bring anything to drink,’ Cassie whispers to Natalie.
‘That’s okay, Bazza will share.’ Natalie stamps her feet up and down. ‘Shit, I didn’t think it’d be cold.’
‘Bazza?’
Natalie nods in the direction of a beefy bloke with curls of thick hair peeking out of the neck of his shirt. The owner of the hairy hand.
‘What about Mitch?’
‘We’re not married or anything,’ Natalie replies. ‘You’re starting to sound like Lisa.’
‘Where is Lisa?’
‘Don’t know, don’t care.’
‘You guys have a fight?’ Cassie asks.
They follow the guys towards a bank of long grass.
Natalie sighs. ‘She’s been givin’ me the shits for ages. She’s so straight, you know? When I told her about this party she got all high and mighty and said she wasn’t getting in a car with some guy who was drunk and stoned.’
A gap in the grass appears and the group passes through single file. The grass is as high as Cassie’s shoulder and crunches and crackles as they brush through it.
‘But you and Lisa have been friends for ages,’ Cassie says.
‘Yeah well, you get sick of people. Besides, you and me are mates now. We gonna have a rage tonight.’
The path steepens and Cassie grasps clumps of grass as she slides down the ruts and dips slowly and carefully, testing the ground before she trusts it.
Natalie loses her footing and slips down the slope giggling. ‘Bazza,’ she calls in a high voice, ‘come help me.’
Bazza barges through the grass like an ox and slings Natalie over his shoulder.
Natalie squeals. ‘Put me down, put me down.’ She pounds his back and laughs like a banshee. ‘Casseee, help meee,’ she cries and disappears down the slope on the boy’s back.
Cassie stands alone in the long grass. She grips her jacket around her and looks up at the swirling gum leaves. The moon burns her eyes
. Paulo should have waited. Helped her. Except she didn’t need help. Poppy’s always said she’s half mountain goat.
She moves through the grass, each step an experiment. Around the next bend a fallen tree lays prone across the embankment. Which way? She climbs on the log and balances, her feet cold and stiff inside her boots. Below she can see the sparks rising from a fire, hear the mingle of voices and music. She has two options. Possible paths through the grass. Which way? A crashing body bursts through the grass and Bazza appears at her side. He pounds his chest like Tarzan and grabs Cassie around the hips and throws her over his shoulder.
‘Shit,’ Cassie shrieks.
The earth rocks crazily; Cassie crashes to and fro across Bazza’s back. She closes her eyes, the darkness a wild ride. She opens them again, and the ground flies behind her.
‘Oh shit,’ she cries again, and then they burst into the open air and Bazza puts her on her feet again. He roars and pounds his chest and the party of people gathered around the fire cheer and the other guys grunt like apes.
Natalie arrives at her side. ‘He’s strong, hey? Plays prop for the Grammar School first fifteen.’
‘He goes to Grammar?’
‘Ah ha, he boards there, he’s in grade twelve.’ Natalie drags her towards the fire. ‘Come and get warm.’
They shuffle through the bodies, right up to the fire. They turn, and warmth curls up their backs.
‘Oh, that’s good,’ Natalie says, wiggling her hands behind her.
People crowd around in small groups, clutching beer or bottles of spirits, cigarettes dangling from their mouths. She knows of most of them, older kids from school.
‘Can you see Paulo?’ she asks.
‘Forget about Paulo. There’s a lot of older guys here.’
‘Have you broken up with Mitch?’
Natalie shrugs and turns to face the fire. Cassie turns too. The flames flicker and curl. The music stops and someone shouts, ‘What the fuck?’ and there is a general groan. Within seconds the music starts again: the Midnight Oil tape from the car.
Cassandra Page 14
