I HATE IT WHEN MY SISTER CRIES

by Naomi Weir

I was dumbstruck. Why would Charlotte’s ex-boyfriend kill Dylan?

  I didn’t know what to say. I glanced up at the faded red door and saw the security guard scanning the car park.

  He was looking for Charlotte.

  “But why would he kill Dylan?” I asked. However the moment those words left my lips, realisation set in.

  My stomach churned. There was only one reason why Charlotte’s ex-boyfriend would attack Dylan. I hoped to God it wasn’t so.

  Charlotte looked at me morosely, smudged makeup destroying her face. “You can’t tell Eadie!” she cried. “It only happened once! I swear!”

  I sunk back in my seat. This was a nightmare. Charlotte grabbed my arm, digging her cold fingers hard into the flesh.

  “You can’t tell the police,” she begged. “Please! Don’t leave my kids without a father! He can’t go to jail! Please!”

  Anger began to prickle inside of me as Charlotte babbled her requests. Poor Eadie. She’d be devastated. How could Charlotte do this to her? How could Dylan do this to her?

  I was beyond angry now. I was on the verge of furious. Lucky for Charlotte the security guard spotted her and was moving quickly towards us in great menacing strides.

  “Get out,” I ordered, starting the engine.

  The security guard began to run.

  “Please! Wait!” she whimpered as I tried to prise her bony fingers from my arm. The security guard swung the passenger door wide.

  “Breaks over!” he barked, dragging Charlotte from the car. She turned to glare at me before she was escorted roughly away, wobbling on her grotesquely high heels.

  As I drove away I argued with myself. Should I tell Eadie? Would it stop her grieving? Help her heal faster knowing Dylan was a cheating prick? Or would it simply make her more miserable?

  I decided to tell my dad. He hated to be the bearer of bad news, so I could trust him to keep it to himself. At least for a while. Until I figured out what to do.

  * * *

  I found dad watching football in the lounge. He smiled when I walked in.

  It broke my heart to be the one to erase the smile from his face today.

  “I’ve got some bad news.” It was best not to dance around the subject with dad. He could always tell if I had something awful to say. “Dylan was cheating on Eadie.”

  Dad’s lips tightened and he turned back to stare at the television. “Who told you that?”

  I couldn’t tell him I’d been at Players. How would I explain that?

  “I bumped into Charlotte Dunstan. She told me it was her. Do you think Eadie knows?”

  Dad rubbed his rough hands against the grey stubble that had sprouted across his cheeks. I hadn’t noticed it until now. Dad never went a day without shaving. I guess he wasn’t coping as well as I’d thought.

  “I have no idea, sweetie.” He sounded tired and defeated. “Are you going to tell her?”

  “Do you think I should?”

  I hadn’t even noticed that mum now stood in the doorway.

  “Yes,” mum stated firmly. She gave me a solemn nod before turning and disappearing back into the darkness of the silent hallway.

  “You guys knew, didn’t you?” I said in disbelief.

  Dad sighed. “We weren’t the only ones.”

  * * *

  “Did you get lost?” Eadie asked when I finally returned with the groceries I’d promised.

  “I bumped into some old friends,” I mumbled, putting the bags on the counter.

  Eadie looked at me suspiciously. “Oh yeah? Who?”

  “Charlotte Dunstan.”

  Eadie flinched. Barely. But I saw it.

  “I think she’s friends with Genny,” Eadie said hoarsely, before clearing her throat. “You should stay away from them. They’re bad news, Mandy.”

  I stopped to watch Eadie as she filled the pantry, avoiding eye contact. She knew.

  “What?” she cried finally. “What do you want me to say? That I’m glad he’s dead? That he was a cheating bastard and he deserved to die? Well I CAN’T!”

  She fell hard against the bench, her body convulsing in hiccups from the strain of another round of wretched sobbing.

  I wanted to tell her that he WAS a bastard. That he was a disgusting pig for cheating on her. But I couldn’t.

  Because he was dead.

  And she loved him.

  And she was my sister.

  When the tears eased off, Eadie regained her balance and looked at me, defeated.

  “I found out a few weeks ago. He dated Charlotte in school, just before she left. I guess when she came back, all those old feelings resurfaced or something. It’s a fucking joke!

  “I was gonna confront him. I had it all planned out. And then I come home and I find him... So I couldn’t even leave him, Mandy! Cos he was dead!“

  I held my sister again as she cried, but this time it was different.

  Because they were the tears of a woman who’d been burned.

  My mind ticked over as I held her, waiting for the tears to stop again. “Do the police know?”

  “Well, yeah. Of course.” she replied tartly, pulling away from me and wiping hard at her eyes. “I didn’t stab him! Shit! You don’t think I stabbed him, do you?”

  I hesitated a second too long before shaking my head.

  “I think you should leave,” Eadie growled, turning away from me.

  “Come on!” I cried. “There’s no way you’d ever...”

  “GET OUT!”

  I waited for a moment, trying to decide if I should really go.

  Eadie pushed past me, hard, slamming me against the pantry door.

  Did Eadie stab Dylan in anger? It kind of made sense. One stab wound to the neck. No sign of a struggle...

  But she was my sister! There’s no way she could ever do a thing like that!

  Was there?

  * * *

  I arrived at mum and dad’s house and they weren’t surprised to learn that Eadie knew about Dylan and Charlotte.

  But dad had become so angry all of a sudden.

  He paced throughout the house aimlessly, from one room to the next. Mum shut herself away in her room again.

  I was causing tension. It was time to go. I was glad I hadn’t cancelled my flight that evening. I’d email my boss that I’d be back at work tomorrow. He’d be stoked.

  I wondered if I should tell the police about what Charlotte had said to me.

  I didn’t owe Charlotte anything. I barely knew her. It had been her choice to confide in me. I hadn’t made her any promises.

  After searching the house for my dad, I finally found him in the shed mixing concrete in a wheelbarrow. He’d dug out a new footpath in the backyard recently, but concreting at night wasn’t a great idea. Dad was seriously starting to lose it.

  “I’m going to the police,” I announced.

  “Shit!” dad cursed as he jumped at the sound of my voice behind him. He threw the shovel to the ground angrily. “You can’t creep up on me like that! You’ll give me a bloomin’ heart attack!”

  Dad never got angry. It just wasn’t like him to react this way, so I was slightly taken aback. But things were strained at the moment, so it was understandable.

  I stepped towards him, but he shook his head.

  “I’m busy here, Mandy. Can it wait for the morning?” he snapped.

  This wasn’t my dad.

  Inside I stood in the hallway. The house felt like a tomb and felt lost and desolate here. Mum and dad needed time to themselves to recover. I was only getting in the way.

  I crept towards my old room, but hesitated at mum’s door.

  I’d barely seen her since the funeral. I held up my fist to knock on her door, but stopped myself to listen.

  Her room was silent. I pressed my ear against the cold painted wood and strained to hear anything. It was too quiet.

  Fear flipped in my stomach and without thinking I turned the handle and ran into her room.

  It was pitch b
lack inside. Like a cave that smelt of stale perfume and sleep. As my eyes fought to adjust, I resisted the urge to turn on the light, fearful of what I might find.

  “Mum?” I whispered, hands stretched out before me, searching for her bed covers.

  As my hands found the soft quilt I sat down on the edge and gingerly reached out until I found the warm lump that contained my mother.

  “Mum? Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  She groaned as if woken from a deep sleep. The bed bounced as she turned to face me. “Mandy, my darling,” she croaked. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, of course I am,” I replied.

  She was so groggy. She must’ve taken something to sleep. I should’ve left her alone, but I had to talk to someone.

  “I know something about Dylan’s death. I’m going to the police.”

  She suddenly gave a gut-wrenching howl, arching her body sharply away from me.

  “How could you do that?” she drawled. “He did it for Eadie! You can’t do that to your OWN FATHER!”

  I jumped from my mother’s bed as if it were poisonous.

  I stared in terror at the dark space before me, where the evil stranger now lay in place of my mother.

  Who was she? The devil disguised as my mum? Why would she say such unspeakable things about dad?

  As I backed into the hallway, everything around me began to spin.

  Fear rose like a tidal wave inside me and I could no longer tell which way was up. Someone that sounded like my mum was calling my name, but they were a million miles away.

  Was I dreaming? Was this all just a horrible dream?

  My legs turned to jelly, and although I fought to the bitter end, I finally sank to the cold wooden floor.

  Suddenly strong hands had gripped under my armpits and hoisted me up from the ground. But I dared not open my eyes for fear of reality crashing down around me.

  My knees refused to lock and the person standing over me attempted to drag me to my feet once more.

  This time I stood, my strength returning slowly.

  I opened my eyes. The silence was deafening.

  Dad still held me in his arms, looking into my eyes with desperation. Mum stood behind him in her crumpled nightgown, appearing crazed beyond recognition.

  “Tell me the truth,” I whispered hoarsely.

  * * *

  The thrum of the engines vibrates every fibre of my being as the plane lifts from the ground and gravity pulls against me.

  I’ve never felt so free as we climb higher and higher into the clear night sky. Ever closer to the stars and heaven above.

  It’s as if I’m being reborn. Cleansed of the filth I’m leaving behind.

  Each second that goes by I feel the plane hurtling me further and further away from the hell that used to be my home. And equilibrium is slowly but surely returning.

  I’m trying hard to keep my mind preoccupied, but it’s impossible.

  That one horrible conversation from the night before keeps elbowing its way to the front of my mind, over and over again.

  I want to forget about it. I need to forget about it.

  I think of my husband and my dogs eagerly waiting my return. The jobs stacked a mile high on my desk when I arrive tomorrow.

  But the horror. The look of pure sickening guilt plastered across my dad’s face.

  I can’t smother that image, no matter how hard I try.

  Because I really hate it when my sister cries.

  But dad hates it more.