by Emily Gale
She’s brought a large canvas with her. I watch her drag it recklessly behind her, creating small puffs of brown dust from the ground that hasn’t been rained on in so long. It’s the first time I’ve really wondered how Adie feels about these portraits of her instead of just the news story. If the sight of her now is anything to go by, she hates them.
I can see that Adie is beautiful – but what else does Wren like about her? The more Wren tries to pretend she’s not looking at Adie, the more I’m forced to, as if the answer to why Wren doesn’t see me that way can be found in Adie’s face. And I’m growing a seed of dislike for that face, even as I tell myself that it makes no sense to take it out on Adie.
Some of us go to the Performance Hall, to put up the new portrait next to Wren’s one, while the rest set up camp under the peppercorn tree. I’m quiet, watching them. Adie seems quick and nervous, hands in pockets, hands out, unsure where to put herself or where to look besides Juliet.
When we go back out to the others, the group has doubled. There must be thirty of us now, more Fairfield Year Tens, a few extra Hall boys I recognise from Luca’s party. The original Hall boys are on each other’s shoulders, trying to pull down branches from the peppercorn tree.
Summer walks over to us. ‘They’re being such knobs, Wren. Gabe and Ajay said they’ll get rid of them, if you want.’
But Wren ignores her and storms over to them.
‘Hey, numbnuts, leave the tree alone.’ She stands with her arms crossed. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘They reckon they’re going to build a fire,’ says Luca. He puts his hands on my shoulders. ‘We’re not all like that, I swear.’
I touch his hand then pull away. ‘You don’t need a fire. It’s thirty degrees!’ I yell at the boys. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
Both towers of boys collapse and the ones on top only have a handful of twigs. By the looks of how hilarious they find this, some of them have been smoking weed. They look even more self-satisfied than usual.
‘Call off the dogs, Luca,’ says the tall blond one.
‘Fuck’s sake, Nate,’ Luca replies. ‘Do you have to be such a cliché?’
‘Oooh,’ says Nate, ‘is that all you’re gonna say to defend your girlfriend?’
Wren steps forward again. ‘Look, just piss off. This is our school.’
‘Yeah, we know. Povvo High. Not much to defend.’
‘We don’t want you here. Is it that hard? You must have somewhere else to go on a Saturday night.’
Marcus, a boy Luca said was the odd one out in that group because he’s a half-decent human, emerges from whatever shadow he was hiding in.
‘Boys, come on, let’s go to that party. This is boring.’ He starts to walk away but only a couple of boys join him, so he shrugs and gives up. I see a look pass between him and Luca, as if to say ‘Sorry, I tried.’ And then Poppy puts herself in the middle of everything.
‘Let’s just all get along. It’s not that hard.’
‘Never had you down as a diplomat,’ says Wren.
There’s a crash and a yell and a body falls out of the tree, taking down a couple of the Hall boys.
‘Lucky for us they’re so stupid they’re going to wipe each other out,’ says Matt.
The boy who fell gets up and staggers about, laughing. Then he squints in our direction and points at Poppy. ‘Isn’t that the girl?’ he says. ‘Ben’s girl.’
‘Yes? And?’ says Poppy, with a hair flick.
‘Not you – the freaky one behind you. In the black dress. That’s her, isn’t it?’
He’s looking at Wren. She’s frowning, but the other Hall boys are getting out their phones. Something’s happening.
I move closer to her. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Oi, shut up, boys,’ says the blond who seems to be in charge. Nate, I think. He’s looking at his phone.
Wren charges at him. ‘Show me what you’re looking at. What have you got?’
‘Back off, bitch,’ says Nate. From the side, Gabe taps Nate’s hand and his phone flies upwards. Gabe catches it and stands squarely up to Nate. ‘What the hell? Give it back, you big hippy.’
Without flinching, eyes on Nate, Gabe passes the phone to Wren. ‘In a minute.’
Nate tries to dodge his way around Gabe, who’s joined by Ajay, as Nate’s joined by half a dozen Hall boys.
Wren’s hands are shaking. She’s pressing the screen, panic on her face. ‘How do I delete this? Help me – how do I delete?’
‘What is it?’ I say.
‘A video of me. Who took this? Whose account is this? Is it Ben’s?’
‘No idea,’ says Nate, with phony innocence. His mates all concur with unconvincing shrugs and shakes of their heads.
Wren launches the phone with full force towards the Hall boys and it hits Nate in the middle of his forehead. He yells in pain as she sprints towards the gates, her sister running after her.
The night’s done. Everyone knows it. There’s this eerie fallout atmosphere. Gabe, Ajay and Becky pack up and leave.
Christian’s the one who finds the video Wren was so desperate to delete. It’s on an app called Flare. There’s one account that has hundreds of clips of girls, each five seconds long. Some are selfies, others sneakily shot. The video of Wren is dark but unmistakeably her. She unclips her bra and lets it fall to the floor. It was taken in Luca’s pool house the night of his party.
I took her there. I told her it was safe, private. The video plays on a loop until you scroll down. The view count is fifteen thousand.
‘I can’t believe this,’ I say. Everyone’s on their phones now. ‘Don’t look any more. Looking at it is making it worse for these girls.’
‘I’m bloody on it, Hari!’ yells Poppy. ‘Don’t tell us what to do. I wanna see who else they’ve got on here.’
Poppy and Scarlet are both on it. Poppy swings between livid and crying. Evidently, it was her boyfriend – this famous Ben – who took the clip of her pushing her breasts together with the buttons of her school dress undone and looking at the camera. She thought it was just for him.
‘So he’s behind all this, this boyfriend of yours,’ says Matt.
‘I’ll kill him,’ she says.
I’m trying to call Wren, but she won’t pick up. Luca and Niall walk towards me.
‘You’re okay. I checked,’ says Luca.
‘What?’
‘You’re not on there.’
‘Okay, that’s good. Thanks, Luc.’
‘I think we’ll head off. Is that all right? Shall we walk you home?’
I shake my head and put my arms around his neck. ‘Niall’s lovely,’ I whisper.
Luca squeezes me, and they walk into the darkness of the footy field.
‘Hari-bo, you can come back to mine,’ says Matt.
‘Nah, I’m good. I’ll text you later.’
Matt hugs me and leaves on his own, singing something from West Side Story that makes me smile. I walk over to Adie and Juliet.
‘This all got a bit messed-up. I shouldn’t have suggested it, sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault. I wanted everyone to stop talking about me, but this isn’t exactly what I meant. I feel terrible for Wren. Why would anyone do that?’
I don’t know what to say. I’m too angry. Too worried about Wren.
‘I don’t feel like going home,’ says Adie. ‘What about you two?’
‘I told my mums this was an official school sleepover to raise money for charity’ says Juliet, and I burst out laughing. She adds, nervously I think, ‘Shall we stay here?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Why not?’
Well, this is new.
I’m at an illegal camp-out with my ex-best friend, Adie, and Hari, a girl so cool she can’t possibly be fashioned from the same material as me. And my mums don’t know where I am – they think they know but they’re wrong.
I am teenager.
I teenage.
Hari seems really stressed out. ‘C
an you believe how quickly that all escalated?’ She rummages in her bag and pulls out a tin. ‘One minute it was all about you, Adie. And the next, this whole video thing has exploded, so they move on just like that.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ I say. ‘This is what happens all the time. Selective amnesia. I mean, you two probably don’t remember because no one I ever speak to does, but in 2012 in Victoria we killed twenty-five thousand ducks to prevent the spread of avian flu.’
‘We did?’ Hari says, with a lopsided smile. Oh dear, I’ve relaxed too much and accidentally revealed the bizarre workings of my mind. ‘Is this your amazing memory again, Jules? You are actual magic.’
I blush. No one’s ever called me Jules before. This is what it must be like to win an award. I make a strange noise to express my happiness.
‘Poor ducks,’ says Adie. ‘So, basically, I’m a dead duck and now everyone’s going to forget about me. Is that right?’ She gives me a sweet mock frown and I remember the Adie from long ago. How she’d always let me make up the games we’d play, but she’d add something that only Adie could think of. I really, truly loved my little friend Adie. Jean always said that, when Adie left, my heart was so broken that my brain started working overtime and that’s why my memory exploded. I guess that’s why my mums have been on edge since I told them Adie was back – and why I haven’t breathed a word about us emailing back and forth this week, or seeing each other tonight.
Hari puts the tin in the middle. It looks promisingly like homemade food, so I lean in. When she opens the lid, it’s like Christmas punches me in the face.
‘Whoa. That smells amazing.’
‘Christmassy, right? My dad makes them all year round. I warn you – they taste so festive you might cry.’
‘We don’t really do Christmas,’ says Adie.
‘Eat one of these and I swear you’ll be instantly transported to Christmases you’ve never even experienced.’
Adie giggles and bites into one, eyes sparkling.
‘See?’ says Hari.
‘Amazing,’ Adie sings between bites. ‘Oh my God, look, an actual tear!’
While we’re laughing, the tin arrives under my nose and I take one out.
‘I have the perfect thing to go with this.’ I pull a flask out of my bag. ‘Hot tea. To dip the cookies in.’
‘You brought tea? I seriously love you, Jules,’ says Hari.
‘I’m an old soul.’ This is the first time since I started high school that it’s felt perfectly safe to be myself with people who aren’t my mums. Wow, Juliet. Give yourself a cookie. I’ve just had one, actually. Take another! Oh, don’t mind if I do.
Hari falls asleep curled up like a baby quoll. Adie’s gone quiet again. I’m still restless. I want this night to go on and on.
‘What are you thinking about, Adie?’
‘I’ve got a theory about the portraits. It’s bad.’
‘About the fires and accidents?’
‘Only the fire that started it all. I think the rest is coincidence, a kind of infectious madness that only got going because that rich guy’s house burnt down.’ Adie takes a small object out of the pocket of her denim jacket and holds it tight. ‘Thing is, Dad went to a dark place when he didn’t win the portrait prize. He took it personally. I guess it’s hard not to. And he was angry in a way that I’ve always suspected is in him. So when that guy bought the painting, you’d think Dad would have been grateful or happy or something – but no. So I’ve been wondering if he – Dad, I mean – if he actually … but it’s too horrible, because if he did, how could he have known that no one would die?’ Adie opens her hand to show me a gold lighter.
‘You think your dad set fire to that house?’
‘No. I’ve changed my mind. But it makes more sense than a curse. Doesn’t it? And he’s disappeared. And he’s … You must remember what my dad can be like, with your memory.’
‘That’s the thing – this magic in my brain started after you left. My memories before then are the boring, regular kind.’
‘Oh,’ she says, smiling but disappointed. ‘I was sort of hoping that you’d remember stuff for me so I could find my mum. I haven’t got much to go on. All this time I’ve been thinking of her as the wrong person.’
‘What do you mean “the wrong person”?’
‘I thought the first not-mother – that’s what I’ve always called Dad’s girlfriends – was someone who came into our lives and caused trouble. But now I think that woman was my mum. Dara told me there was a protection order to stop my mum from seeing me and Dad a long time ago. So I know she was trouble.’
‘That sounds heavy.’ I hold back, because I remember how often Adie used to be at our house, and that I’d never go to hers – maybe Jean wouldn’t let me, and this is why. ‘Are you sure you should go looking for her? What if she’s dangerous?’
‘What if she’s not? It’s been a long time.’
‘Okay, tell me everything you remember about her.’
‘Well, the first thing I know is that she looks nothing like me, because I look exactly like Dad.’
‘Very helpful.’
‘Very. I think she had a bike because I remember the feeling of racing along at the back of something, and all the houses zooming past me, when I was really little. And obviously I know her name. Tracey.’
There’s a flip in my belly when she says the name. My Tracey has a bike. That’s nothing. Cut it out, stupid brain. I shuffle into a new position. ‘Carry on.’
Adie lies down and, even though she’s looking into the distance, I can see she’s trying really hard to look inside herself for more of her past. She makes a pillow with her arms and rests her cheek on top. ‘I think my mum read to me, because I know all these old books and it wouldn’t be from Dad. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe – that’s definitely one.’ Her dark eyes glance up at me. ‘None of this is helpful, is it?’
My mouth is suddenly dry. I clear my throat. ‘What other books?’
‘One about a wombat.’
‘The Muddleheaded Wombat.’
‘That’s it. And one about an invisible possum. And The Secret Garden.’ Adie closes her eyes.
Those are famous books, everyone knows them. But my heart is going faster than it should. I need Adie to say something – anything – that separates her Tracey from mine. ‘What else? There must be more than that.’
‘I’ve only got tiny pieces. I think she was the tooth fairy, but only for the first one or two because no one came for the rest. I remember eating soft egg in a cup with a teaspoon, and that could have been from her. She had a ring and I used to put it on my thumb. It was silver, two hands –’
‘Holding a moonstone.’
Adie’s eyes open again. ‘Yes! You remember it?’
‘Sort of.’ This is madness. I take a sip from the plastic cup to hide my face, but the tea is cold and horrible. I can’t stand to look at Adie. Stiff and shaking, I lie down and turn my face away. The branches of other trees are dancing and I can feel that a cool change is coming. The breeze skates over my bare arms and a huge shiver goes through me.
‘Juliet? You okay?’
‘I’m tired, that’s all. We can talk more in the morning.’ I don’t believe my own voice, but Adie does.
‘Sure. I’m tired too. Thanks for listening.’
I don’t reply – my mind is a riot, unpacking memory boxes and throwing everything around.
‘Night, Juliet.’
This is the truth that’s crawling on my skin. Soon after Adie and Frank went away, the people we rented our house from decided to sell up. Jean and I moved into our apartment. Back then there were no unusual plants growing from the wall. It was a bare courtyard and we only had two chairs.
A woman moved into the apartment under us. It was February 2009. She only had one box of things. She and Jean were friends straight away and then they were in love. Two years later, she moved upstairs with us, and I was happy because I loved her too by then. She was Mum
, like Jean, but also not like Jean – she was her own thing.
When she turned forty, she went to university. I used to help her with her papers because she was seriously messy. Is seriously messy.
I always thought she was a brand-new person. She starts in my head the day she moves in with her single box of books and clothes.
Tracey has a bicycle and a moonstone ring. She never misses an AA meeting. She talks about making mistakes in her past and owing the universe a few favours. Over the years, she’s read every one of those books to me.
A few spots of rain on my face make me stir. It’s five in the morning and I’ve barely slept. The algorithm of my memory changed last night. It keeps bringing up scenes from the recent past that are too flimsy for evidence, too real to ignore. Tracey took a day off work a few weeks ago, which she never does. From the kitchen, I saw my mums in the yard holding each other the day after Luca’s party. I’d looked at it as love, but now I notice Jean’s hand slowly stroking Tracey’s back. Comfort. Tracey went for an evening walk instead of watching a movie with us; Jean said, ‘She’s got a tough case on, that’s all.’ And at the same time this could all be nothing.
There’s a long roll of thunder and Hari sits up.
‘Was that what I think it was?’ she says.
‘Depends – did you think it was a huge freak storm on its way?’
We get to our feet and Hari shakes Adie, who smiles at us, sleepily innocent. There’s another loud rumble, and the rain falls faster and feels like tiny stones.
‘Better get out of here,’ says Adie, handing Hari the empty biscuit tin. ‘Not only are you under a tree when a storm’s approaching, you’re under a tree with me, the cursed one.’
Hari laughs. The rain gets heavier. We shriek and gather our things.
‘Look, the school didn’t burn down,’ Hari says, over the noise of the rain.
‘But there was no one here to watch it not burn down!’ Adie says with a wry smile.
‘It’s like that philosophical question that always makes my brain hurt,’ says Hari. ‘If a tree falls down in a forest when no one’s there, does it make a sound?’ Another roll of thunder. ‘We’re getting soaked. I’ll run and get the portraits. Wait here.’
