by Em Bailey
Ami was beside me, whispering and pushing me. ‘Tell her. Tell Katie what Miranda is. You have to do this, Olive. It’s the only way.’
Miranda was speaking to Katie in a creepy, sing-song voice. She was stroking her hair. ‘You’ll look so funny when you’re fat. None of your clothes will fit. You’ll have to give them all away.’
I took a step towards Miranda, not wanting my words to be dampened by the hum of air conditioner. ‘I know what you are.’
Ami nodded.
Miranda looked up at me. ‘Do you?’ she said, the lullaby tone replaced by something hard and cold. ‘What am I?’
‘You’re a parasite. A shapeshifter.’ Once I’d got those words out everything else started to flow. ‘You crawl in under people’s skin and leach them of what makes them who they are. You drain them until there’s nothing left.’
Something flashed across Miranda’s face then. Shock, maybe. Or fear. Before I could decode it, it was gone, submerged by Miranda’s loud, angry laughter. ‘Do you know how insane you sound?’ Then the anger faded and I saw something gleam in her eyes, sharp and bright. ‘But of course you don’t.’
I frowned. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Olive,’ said Ami, suddenly seeming agitated. She pulled at my arm. ‘Let’s forget about this. We’ve made a mistake. A big one. Let’s go.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I muttered, shaking her off. I fixed my eyes on Miranda. ‘Tell me what you mean,’ I ordered.
Miranda’s top lip curled back. ‘You had a breakdown, didn’t you? Tried to kill yourself and ended up here, in the clinic.’
Once when I was a little kid I held my hand inside our deep freezer for five minutes, just to see what it felt like. My fingers went white at the tips and it was an hour before they felt normal again. That coldness was nothing compared to what I was feeling now.
‘I’m better now,’ I said thickly. And I was, wasn’t I? I’d been doing my baby steps. Taking my meds – most of the time.
Ami started crying then. Strange – I’d never heard her cry before. Not even when she was telling me about her dad leaving and how hard it had been. ‘Please, Olive,’ she said. ‘Please let’s just go.’
I didn’t look at her. That’s the thing I regret the most. I didn’t turn around and look at Ami one last time. But by then my head had begun to swirl and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Miranda and that nasty little smile of hers.
‘You really think you’re better?’ Miranda sneered. ‘Having an imaginary friend at your age is normal, is it?’
The wall clock ticked. In one minute, the door to Katie’s room would swing open and the food trolley would be pushed in by a woman in a baggy blue uniform and soft-soled shoes. The smell of fatty lamb and watery vegetables would flood the room. Behind the trolley would be the nurse, coming to check that I had left. She would arrive just in time to see my eyes lose focus, my body begin to sway. It would be her who rushed over to catch me as I fell. She would check my pulse and call for assistance. Orderlies would arrive with a stretcher and take me away.
But none of this had happened yet. The door to Room 12 was still closed. Miranda was looking around with this look of amused curiosity. ‘Is Ami here right now?’ she asked. ‘I bet she is! I can always tell because you do that funny muttering. Can you point to her for me, Olive? I’d love to know exactly where you think she is.’
I didn’t look around. The spell was broken. I knew that if I turned around, Ami – my best friend, my only friend – would have vanished. For good. The clock kept ticking. My eyes began to blur and my legs turned to liquid.
‘OK, Olive. Let’s do our breathing.’ Dr Richter was doing her encouraging smile. ‘In … and out. That’s the way. Keep that space in your chest broad and those airways nice and open.’
While I breathed I looked out the window at the garden. The people who tended it were obviously told to keep everything smooth and calm. Nothing ugly. Nothing upsetting. Flowers were removed before they had a chance to wither or curl. There was nothing jagged or spiky. Everything was soft and gentle and perfect here in Crazy Land.
The most solid-looking thing in the garden was the hedge. I guess that was because the hedge wasn’t just there to be admired, it had a job to do. It had to protect the patients from the outside world, and it had to protect the world from us.
Once I’d breathed enough, Dr Richter nodded and smoothed away an invisible wrinkle on her skirt. I sometimes tried to imagine Dr Richter doing something that wasn’t neat and elegant. You know. Like swearing after stubbing her toe. Or picking a bogey from her nose. But it was impossible.
‘Your mum will be here soon,’ said Dr Richter. ‘Are you ready to leave?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘All packed.’ It wasn’t like I’d brought all that much with me anyway. A couple of changes of clothes. PJs. Toothbrush. iPod. The shredded remains of my dignity.
When Dr Richter laughed it sounded like raindrops falling delicately on flower petals. Don’t get me wrong – Dr Richter was OK. She’d helped me in the past, teaching me strategies and stuff. But I wondered whether she could really understand what it was like being me.
‘I meant, are you ready to get back into life? To continue your journey towards sound mental health as an outpatient.’
Dr Richter made this conversation feel casual, or at least her version of casual. But it wasn’t, of course. Last time I was here, as in, after I’d tried to kill myself, I’d said some dumb, flippant thing just as I was about to be discharged and ended up staying for another two weeks. So instead of spitting out the words I was thinking – what life? – I produced what I hoped was a dazzling smile. ‘Yes, I am.’
Dr Richter clicked her pen, something she did a lot. If she hadn’t been a doctor, I would’ve called it a nervous habit. ‘And what about Ami?’ she said. ‘How are you feeling about her?’
‘I miss her.’ Oops. ‘I mean, like I said, I guess I always knew she wasn’t real,’ I added hastily. ‘She was just …’ I forced down the lump in my throat. Dr Richter probably wouldn’t approve of crying over the loss of someone who’d never existed. ‘She was just helpful sometimes.’
When I was a kid, I’d invented imaginary friends all the time. A boy called Bim-Bim, who was usually to blame when something was broken. And a girl called Spanner. I can’t remember where the name came from but I know she was some sort of superhero who would whoosh in if I needed rescuing. No-one thought having imaginary friends was a big deal back then. Mum even encouraged it – asking how they were and sometimes laying places for them at the dinner table. I was an only child for a long time so it made sense to create my own perfect friends who loved everything about me and were happy to play my games endlessly.
I guess it’s common for kids to do that sort of thing. When you’re older it’s considered weird. But I created Ami for the exact same reasons I’d invented Bim-Bim and Spanner. Because I needed her. I’d come out of the clinic heavier, blurrier, than when I went in, and no-one understood how I was feeling. Not Mum. Not Katie. Ami was someone I could trust.
Dr Richter was still eyeing me, a look of practised understanding on her smooth face. ‘Don’t forget,’ she said, ‘that what you referred to as “Ami” was actually the process by which you monitored your thoughts and feelings.’
A process. Is that all Ami was? I made myself nod. ‘Ami was really just me,’ I regurgitated dutifully. But I allowed myself a little private joke. Me but with way better hair.
Click click. ‘What do you think it will be like back at school?’
I picked at the seam of my jeans pocket. I was tired of these constant questions and the way I was forced to recall, over and over, the very things I was trying to forget. Like school. I knew exactly what it would be like. I might have been wrong about Katie telling everyone what happened last time, but Miranda was different. As if she’d resist spreading such juicy gossip.
I bet they’d all had a big old belly laugh about it. Freakazoid Olive and her imagin
ary friend. And wait till you hear what she thought Miranda was! Would Lachlan laugh along too? At least Dr Richter couldn’t torture me with questions about him – I hadn’t mentioned him to her once. I couldn’t even let myself think about him. Every time he crept into my brain I pushed him away. That was way more than I could deal with.
‘Actually, I’m thinking about not going back,’ I said. ‘I want to change schools.’
Dr Richter scratched her chin with her pen. ‘What are you so afraid of, Olive? Is it to do with the girl you accused of being a witch? This Miranda?’
I sighed. ‘Shapeshifter.’ Outside I could hear a gardener pruning the hedge, making it perfect, cutting away all the messy shoots. ‘I called her a shapeshifter, not a witch.’
Dr Richter crossed her legs. Removed another invisible crease. ‘You understand that it wasn’t true, don’t you?’ she said quietly. ‘There’s no such thing as shapeshifters. Those headaches you reported getting when Miranda was around were to do with your medication, combined with stress. And the girl’s very pale irises – well, that could be caused by a lack of sunlight, or a vitamin deficiency. From what I hear Miranda had not been properly cared for in the past.’
I gripped the arms of my chair. They weren’t just pale, I wanted to yell. They were mirrored. What kind of a vitamin deficiency does that? But of course I couldn’t say that. I nodded.
‘I want you to put yourself in Miranda’s position,’ said Dr Richter, crossing then re-crossing her legs. ‘Imagine what it must have been like, hearing you say those things about her while her best friend was in hospital.’
I remembered Miranda’s sneering face. The pleasure she got from destroying Ami right in front of me.
‘It must’ve been awful for her,’ I deadpanned.
Dr Richter scrutinised my face, checking for sarcasm. I kept my expression smooth and impenetrable – another useful skill I’d picked up from Dr Richter.
‘You can’t escape from Miranda, you know,’ she said suddenly.
My heart tumbled. ‘What?’
‘I mean that if you run away to a new school you won’t deal properly with this episode. You need to face what’s happened.’
The sight of Dr Richter’s hovering pen made me silent. I was familiar with that pen’s power. Just a few marks from it scrawled on a form could have me staying here for months.
‘She’s a particularly hard person to like,’ I mumbled unconvincingly.
Dr Richter lowered her pen and folded both hands around it. ‘Olive. You have to face the fact that you made some false and very cruel accusations. I believe it’s best for you to stay at the same school until you’ve dealt with this and made peace with Miranda. I’ve already advised your mother not to move you.’
‘You can’t do that!’ I said, fighting the rising tears as hard as I could. Make peace with Miranda? That was impossible. And how could I go back to school, where everyone knows how crazy I am? Last time I’d invented Ami to help me cope. But this time I would be on my own.
‘Believe me, this is the best and quickest way for you to heal,’ said Dr Richter. ‘Once you’ve come around to the idea, you’ll see I’m right.’ She reached over and patted my arm. I guess it was meant to be soothing. ‘Don’t look so worried, Olive. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Clinical depression and anxiety, and even temporary conscious psychosis, are not uncommon in adolescence. I’m sure a number of your school friends have had their own troubles. It will be fine. Better than fine. Your new – what does your mum call your medication?’
I let myself slide back down in my seat. ‘Vitamins,’ I muttered.
Dr Richter nodded. ‘Yes. Your new vitamins will help. Less paranoia and … fewer delusions. The headaches should stop too. Once that’s sorted we’ll focus on moving on. I know you’re upset, but you might be surprised by what happens once you get over these irrational feelings you have about Miranda. You might even end up being friends.’
I didn’t snort. It took monumental effort, but I didn’t snort. I couldn’t resist a tiny bit of sarcasm, though. ‘Maybe,’ I said, shrugging. ‘Maybe Miranda and me and Katie will become besties.’
Outside there was the sudden growl of a lawnmower. I’d been staying in a different part of the clinic these last few weeks, but I hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Katie, let alone her healthy-weight role model. I figured she’d beefed up enough to go home.
The noise of lawnmower seemed to make Dr Richter jumpy. For the first time since I’d met her, she seemed a little flustered. A genuine wrinkle appeared on her skirt and she didn’t even notice.
‘Let’s just focus on Miranda,’ she said quickly, not meeting my eye.
Mum leant against the doorframe and smiled. While I’d been waiting for her to turn up, I’d planned exactly what I would say to convince her that sending me back to school was a stupid idea. But she looked so tired standing there that I decided to let it pass for now.
‘Ready?’ she said.
I nodded. ‘Bring it on.’
Outside in the corridor I heard tinny, electronic noises. ‘Toby,’ said Mum. ‘Put that wretched game away and come in.’
There was a scuffling sound and Toby shuffled in, his eyes glued to some bleeping game thing.
‘Hi, Tobes,’ I said.
‘Hi,’ he said, not even looking up.
Mum grimaced. ‘That stupid toy. I hate it already.’
She insisted on taking my bag out to the car and finalising the paperwork while I rested. ‘Toby will keep you company,’ she said as she hurried out.
Toby sat cross-legged on the floor, the game chirruping away.
‘Come and sit here,’ I said, patting the space on the bed beside me. ‘I’ve got something for you.’
Toby didn’t move. ‘I just want to get through this level.’
So I slid down beside him, watched him play for a while. ‘Where’d you get that from anyway?’ I asked. It wasn’t the sort of thing Mum usually forked out money for.
‘From Dad,’ said Toby.
‘Wow, cool,’ I said, managing to sound calm, like there was nothing astonishing about that. ‘Did he … Dad … send it?’
The game trumpeted a tinny little fanfare. Toby’s thumbs pressed buttons furiously. ‘No. I stayed with him a couple of times last week while Mum was here with you. He came and picked me up and took me to his place in town. He’s got a new car that doesn’t even have a back seat so I got to sit in the front next to him.’
Mum had told me Toby was staying with friends. There was another fanfare. Toby still hadn’t even looked at me. It was time to produce my secret weapon. ‘Look,’ I said, rustling the wrapper of the chocolate bar I’d bought from the vending machine in the corridor.
Toby’s eyes lifted, just a little. ‘Is it real chocolate?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘Or carob soy?’
‘Oh this is real, my friend,’ I said, removing the bar from its wrapper and breaking it in half. ‘Double-dipped.’ Caramel oozed over my fingers. ‘Here,’ I said, holding out half.
Toby put the game down and took the chocolate. I saw him glance at the door.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I have an orange for afterwards.’
We ate in silence, like we always did when we shared banned food. When the chocolate was gone, I peeled the orange.
Toby took a segment and played with it between two fingers. ‘Will Ami come back?’ he asked suddenly. ‘When you’re home?’
‘Oh, mate,’ I said, wrapping my arm around him. ‘Ami has gone. For good.’
On the ground, the game continued bleeping and Toby pushed at it with his foot. ‘I’ll miss her,’ he mumbled. ‘Miss hearing about her, I mean. Mum said I’m not supposed to say that but it’s true.’
‘I’ll miss her too,’ I said, my throat aching. ‘Heaps. But you know, she was just me, really. And I’m still around.’
Toby looked up at me and I was relieved to see a small but cheeky grin on his face. ‘Ami was way funnier than you,’ he said. ‘And s
marter.’
I gave him a playful push. ‘Ha!’
Toby’s smile faded. ‘Why did you do that stuff, Olive?’
‘What stuff?’
‘Mum said you were picking on a girl at school, calling her names and spreading nasty stories about her. She said that you only did it because you were taking the wrong vitamins. Is that true?’
I shoved a piece of orange in my mouth, sucking the juice out until I felt I could trust my voice enough to speak again. ‘I wasn’t picking on Miranda, Tobes. I … I made a mistake. I got it in my head that she was a shapeshifter. Which is … kind of a thief, I guess, but they don’t just steal people’s stuff, they steal their personalities and looks too. If you let them. I thought she was trying to kill Katie.’
Toby looked at me, surprised. ‘Why?’
I sighed. ‘I looked up some dumb website. But it wasn’t true.’
Toby frowned. ‘Well, what is she then?’ he asked, his voice serious. ‘If she’s not a shapeshifter, what is she?’
‘She’s just an ordinary person,’ I said.
Maybe if I said it enough times I would start to believe it.
It’s strange how different a place can look, even when you’ve only been away a week. I mean, there are the things that actually have changed – like the grass has grown or someone has replaced the old, curling ‘no junk mail’ sticker on the letterbox with a new one. But then there’s the other stuff. The things that just don’t match with the picture you’ve carried of them in your mind.
When we pulled up in the driveway of our house that afternoon, I noticed for the first time that there was moss growing on the roof. Heaps of it. Then as we walked inside I saw how worn out the carpet was in the hallway. The floorboards creaked too – had they always done that? Even Ralphie looked different. Shaggier. Greyer.
I took my stuff to my bedroom, feeling the familiar relief as I got closer to shutting myself inside. But like the rest of the house, my fortune-teller tent bedroom was looking very shabby. The red velvet curtains were covered in dust and had come unfastened from the wall in places.
