Mirror Me

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Mirror Me Page 8

by Rachel Sanderson


  ‘How about your dad, where’s he?’

  ‘Overseas,’ I flick the kettle off just as it reaches full boil and pour the water into the cups. ‘He’s a doctor too, like Mum. He works for MSF, um, it’s an organisation that sends doctors into warzones or places where there’s conflict.’

  ‘I’ve seen the ads,’ Andy says. ‘On TV. Doctors without borders.’

  ‘Yeah that’s right,’ I smile. ‘Dad’s worked all over the world. Africa. The Middle East. He just goes wherever he’s needed.’

  ‘Wow, that’s pretty intense. Do you ever see him?’

  ‘He comes back to Australia when he gets the chance but it’s not regular. And often the communications aren’t so great from wherever he’s working.’

  ‘Don’t you worry something will happen to him?’ Andy asks as I pass him the tea. ‘Must be pretty risky work.’

  I take a breath. ‘I just try not to think about it.’ Mum walks into the kitchen wearing her yoga pants and hoodie. ‘Here you go,’ I say, passing her a cup.

  ‘Thanks so much sweetheart, I can’t tell you how much I need this…’

  ‘Long day?’ Andy asks.

  ‘Most days are,’ Mum smiles. ‘Thanks for coming over after hours, Andy. I appreciate your flexibility.’

  He smiles. ‘Any time.’

  I lie on my bed and listen to Andy banging things in the laundry. When I turn on my laptop, there’s a Skype message waiting for me from Leah.

  I’m meeting Brendans parents! Dinner on Wed! EEEEEK

  They’ll love you. I message back.

  Parents always do. Leah is polite, clean, will eat anything, and is capable of making any amount of sensible small-talk with adults, without accidentally swearing or insulting anybody.

  Did I mention they’re Mormons?

  Now she has my full attention.

  Seriously? You’re dating a Mormon?

  Lots of scope for me to screw up, no?

  Shit LOL Let me know how that goes

  I have to give it to Leah. She’s up for anything.

  Half an hour later I hear Andy walk past my room. I look up from my maths textbook. For a second I think he’ll stop and knock on the door, say goodbye, but he just keeps walking. I hear him and Mum talking for a while, though I can’t make out what they say, then the front door opens and closes then I hear his engine start and the crunch of gravel under the tyres of his ute.

  A minute later Mum stands in my doorway.

  ‘How’re you doing, sweetheart?’

  I sigh. ‘Okay. My maths teacher is letting me re-sit that test I bombed last week. I’ve got a lot of study to do.’

  ‘Well I won’t disturb you. Dinner in twenty? Fuel for the brain?’

  ‘Thanks Mum,’ I say.

  I get ready for bed early that night. I’m exhausted, but when I turn the light off and lie down I find that I just can’t sleep. I keep running over my conversation with Duncan, what he said about Rebecca O’Reilley. I sit up, turn the bedside lamp on, and pull my laptop onto my lap and open it. I open Facebook and type in Rebecca O’Reilley. Her page has been set up as a memorial site now. I saw it that first night, but at the time I just skimmed it.

  There are hundreds of messages, some of them from people I know from school. I find myself wondering for a moment what people would say if I was dead? Would there be this huge outpouring of grief? And I wonder if some of the messages are from people who hardly knew her, or people who were unkind to her, or people who just want a little bit of the glamour of being associated with someone who died so dramatically? Then I feel bad for thinking it. The whole town must have been in shock. And as I’m scrolling, I see a message from Duncan. My mouth goes suddenly dry. I feel like reading it is wrong. It’s not for me. It’s for her. It’s private.

  If it was really private, he wouldn’t have posted it on a public Facebook page, I tell myself, but it doesn’t make me feel better.

  All it says is: I can’t believe you’re gone.

  Chapter eighteen

  ‘But why?’ Tom is looking imploringly at me over a mound of spicy roasted eggplant and quinoa.

  ‘Tom, what would we do with a dog like that in Sydney? It wouldn’t be fair. She’d need space to run around. She’d need –’

  ‘Do you remember Mrs Richardson? She had a dog like that. A Belgian shepherd. Rocket. And she lived in an apartment. And I’d walk Zelda every day no matter what, and she and Stacey could keep each other company during the day, and –’

  ‘About that,’ Stacey says grinning. ‘I got the job.’

  ‘Woohoo!’ I say. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘No more stay-at-home-poet life for me. I’m now a bona fide local reporter.’

  ‘Bringing the tone of the local rag up by about a hundred percent,’ Mum smiles.

  ‘Ah, I think you mean down. I’m pretty sure they don’t know what they’re in for,’ Stacey says. ‘I’m thinking about pitching a weekly poetry segment to the editor. Sorry Tom, but it means I wouldn’t be around to look after a dog during the day.’

  ‘See,’ I say. ‘It wouldn’t be right to take a rescue dog and leave her on her own here all day.’

  ‘But you should have seen her Stacey,’ Tom says. He’s looking desperate, his eyes are widening. ‘She’s meant to come and live with us, I just know she is,’ and then he bursts into tears.

  ‘Gosh it really means a lot to you Tom, doesn’t it?’ Mum says, patting him on the back while she and Stacey exchange a look. Stacey grabs a box of tissue from the shelf.

  Tom sniffs. ‘Like I get what you’re all saying, but I just think this is really important. Zelda needs a home. She needs somewhere she feels safe and she hasn’t felt safe with anybody in a long time, except for us.’

  ‘And Margaret,’ I say.

  ‘She’ll end up going to the RSPCA. They’ll put her down.’

  ‘That’s not what Margaret said,’ I say. ‘Is it Mum?’

  Mum looks at me, then back at Tom.

  ‘Let’s not make a decision tonight,’ Mum says. ‘Give us a couple of days to think about it.’

  ‘Are you just saying that to make me stop talking about it?’ Tom looks accusingly at Mum.

  ‘I promise I’m not,’ she says calmly. ‘If the answer was a straight no, I’d tell you. But a dog is a big commitment. Especially a dog like Zelda. Let’s ALL think about it seriously for a couple of days and talk about it again on Monday night. We can let Margaret know our final decision on Tuesday morning. Agreed?’

  She looks around at us all. This is what I think of as Mum’s Chair-of-the-Committee mode.

  We all nod. Meeting adjourned.

  I spend most of the weekend studying. The weather is beautiful. The scorching heat of summer is already softening into autumn. On Sunday, Tom and Stacey pack some sandwiches and head out for a walk.

  ‘Sure you don’t want to come?’ Stacey pokes her head through my doorway. ‘Fresh air will help your brain…’

  ‘It’s okay, I’m just starting to get on top of this stuff,’ I say. I’ve promised myself I’ll blitz the test.

  By the time I talk to Leah on Sunday afternoon, I’m starting to feel a little batshit crazy from too much maths. I tell her about Tom and the dog.

  ‘But Abs, it would be so awesome if you got a dog! It could totally come back to Sydney with you. We could take it for walks. And if you ever needed to go away I could dog-sit for you…’

  I’d forgotten Leah has always wanted pets. Her mother is allergic to basically everything, and her father doesn’t like animals, so it’s never even been a topic for discussion in her house.

  ‘Pleeeease,’ she says.

  ‘Argh, no begging. Tom’s doing enough begging for the entire world,’ I say. ‘Stop it already. Tell me your news. How was dinner?’

  ‘Brendan’s parents are really nice,’ she says brightly.

  ‘Leah, they’re Mormons.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean they’re horrible people. They’re just like normal peo
ple but, I guess they’ve got some different ideas, is all. I mean, your mum’s Catholic.’

  I snort. ‘Not practising.’

  ‘Catholics believe in some weird shit too you know Abbie.’

  ‘So now you’re defending the Mormons?’

  ‘Not all Mormons. Just Jo and Derek.’

  ‘Those are their names?’

  ‘Yep. And his sister is called Eleanor. She’s a bit odd but, you know…’

  ‘Mormons,’ I say.

  ‘I didn’t bomb out anyway,’ Leah says. ‘And Brendan was so excited. He doesn’t usually bring people home.’

  ‘Gee really? I wonder why not?’

  ‘He’s amazing Abs, I can’t wait for you to meet him.’

  ‘I have met him,’ I say.

  ‘Isn’t he amazing?’ she sighs.

  I honestly can barely remember anything about him, except that he was a couple of years older than me and seemed a bit aloof.

  ‘If you say so,’ I say.

  I can tell by Leah’s voice this is one argument I’m not going to win.

  ‘So, when are you coming to visit?’ I ask pointedly.

  The plan before I’d left Sydney had been that she’d wait a month for us to settle in, but make sure she came before the six-week mark to ensure I didn’t go completely bonkers. We’re heading on for three weeks now, so I figure it’s time to start planning.

  ‘I don’t know, there’s just a lot going on here at the moment…’ she says. ‘It’s my cousin’s twenty-first next weekend – you know Hannah? With the hair? And Brendan’s football try-out is on the weekend after.’

  ‘Hang on, you’re ditching me to watch Brendan play football? But you hate sport!’

  ‘I kinda like seeing him in the little shorts though,’ she sounds so sheepish it’s hard for me to maintain the level of rage that I feel entitled to.

  ‘How about the week after?’ I say. ‘That would be six weeks. You promised.’

  ‘Okay we’ll try for the week after. I’ll pencil it in.’

  ‘You’ll pencil it in? Bloody hell Leah, the only pencil you own is an eyebrow pencil. Commit woman! Make it a date. You can get the bus to Metlow and we can pick you up from there. It’s only an hour’s drive from our place. I’m sure Mum wouldn’t mind. She’d love to see you too.’

  ‘I’ll let you know, okay? It sounds great. I definitely want to come and see you and, you know, all the grass and trees and everything. As soon as possible.’

  ‘You’d better,’ I say.

  Chapter nineteen

  When the bell goes for lunch I grab my bag from where I left it in the locker, ready to head over to the maths room where the teacher said she’d meet me to supervise me re-sitting the test. I pause a moment and open my bag to check that I’ve got everything I need: pencil case, pencil, ruler, pencil sharpener, calculator, eraser. Good to go. As I zip the pencil case up and go to put it back in the bag I spot something. A piece of paper.

  I’m sure I didn’t put that in there.

  I pull it out and for a moment it’s like my eyes and brain aren’t connecting. I can’t make sense of what I’m looking at. My hands start to shake. I open my mouth but nothing comes out: no words, no sound. I shove the picture back into my bag before anyone else sees, and zip it up quickly.

  I start to walk – I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to get away, to find somewhere I can be alone. I can’t compute what I’ve seen.

  Suddenly, somebody is in front of me and my path is blocked.

  Duncan.

  ‘Abbie?’

  I can’t breathe, I’m sweating, and I have that hot, dizzy squeamish feeling like I’m about to throw up or pass out. I push him out of the way.

  ‘Abbie, hey…’

  The next thing I know he’s got his arm around my shoulders and is steering me into an empty classroom and closing the door. And that’s when I start to cry.

  ‘What happened?’ Was it Dave?’

  I wipe my nose on my arm and shake my head. It could be Dave though. That would make sense.

  ‘You can tell me. It’s okay.’

  I shake my head again. Duncan is the last person I’d want to tell about this.

  ‘I’m meant to have a maths test now,’ I say.

  ‘Tell them you’re sick.’

  ‘This is already a make-up test for the one I screwed up last week.’

  ‘Then make another time to make it up. No dramas.’

  ‘You don’t understand…’ I almost yell. It’s too much. I don’t want to be here anymore. Kids avoiding me and Dave muttering things at me in the corridor was one thing, but this?

  ‘Abbie, it’s a test. It’s not the end of the world. Now, tell me what happened.’

  I find myself shaking so hard I grip one hand with the other just to try and steady myself.

  ‘Someone left something in my bag.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ I can hear the frown in his voice without looking up at him to see it.

  ‘Promise you won’t look,’ I say desperately. ‘You can’t look.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘It was a photo.’

  ‘Okay,’ he says.

  ‘Of Rebecca.’

  There’s a long moment of silence. ‘What kind of photo?’

  And then the tears begin to flow again and a deep sob wrenches from my chest. I can’t say. I don’t want to say. Saying will make it too real.

  ‘Abbie?’ Duncan sounds strangely calm.

  ‘It’s a photo of Rebecca after she was killed,’ I say, the words dissolving immediately into tears. I hear him take a breath.

  ‘Who’d do that? Who’d have a picture like that? Who would put it in my bag? Oh my god –’

  The image flashes back into my mind. The blood. Her hair, dark with it. Cuts on her arms where she’d tried to protect herself. Wounds to her chest, her stomach, her throat. And the worst thing was – even dead, she still looked like me.

  ‘Listen to me Abbie. A photo was leaked. There was an investigation but they never found out who was responsible. It was on the internet. The police tried to get it taken down but, once something’s out there…’

  I look up. ‘Have you seen it?’ I ask, praying the answer will be no. Nobody should have to see a picture like that, especially not of somebody they love.

  He shakes his head.

  ‘Promise me you won’t look. Ever.’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ he says in a low voice. ‘But we need to find out who did this to you.’

  ‘Dave springs to mind, but seriously… is he that twisted?’

  Duncan frowns. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. He’s usually all about words. It’s a performance for him. He likes the instant reaction. That’s what he gets off on. Shit Abbie, you need to go and talk to a teacher about this.’

  I bite my lip. I know how it will go. Teachers will make a fuss. My mum will get involved. Everyone will be worried and upset. And somehow word will get out, because it always does, and then everybody in the whole school will know about it. I’ll be even more of a target than I already am. Even more of a freak.

  ‘Abbie, this is serious. You should report it to the police.’

  I rest my head on my arms. I haven’t done anything to deserve this. Except bear an accidental resemblance to a girl who’s dead. And I can’t help that at all.

  I sit up, a burst of energy buzzing through me. I open my bag, open my pencil case, take out my scissors. I grab a handful of hair and start to hack at it. Chunks fall onto my t-shirt, onto the floor around me.

  ‘What are you doing? Are you crazy?’

  ‘I don’t want to look like her. I don’t have to look like her.’

  Hack. Hack. Hack. I’ll dye my hair black. I’ll wear green contact lenses. I’ll get piercings and tattoos and lose ten kilos. I’ll do anything, I don’t care what.

  I just don’t want to look like Becky O’Reilley for one more minute.

  Chapter twenty

  ‘Talk to me Abbie,’ Mum’s sitt
ing on my bed, a hand on my arm.

  I look at the wall.

  I’ve spent most of the day talking. Talking to my homeroom teacher. Talking to the principal. Talking to a counsellor. Talking to the police. I’m all talked out.

  ‘If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. Anything, okay? I’m going to make you a hot chocolate now. With cow’s milk. And a marshmallow.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, sniffing.

  The crying has been coming in waves. I think I’m fine and then it starts over again. The memory of what I saw comes not in waves, but in horrible flashes. I shiver and pull the doona up over me for warmth, even though it’s almost thirty degrees outside. Mum says I’m in shock. And part of me wonders: would I feel like this if it wasn’t for the fact that Rebecca O’Reilley looks so much like me – that seeing her like that was almost like seeing myself?

  I wonder if what I’m feeling is sadness for her or selfishness?

  But I don’t tell Mum any of that. As it is she’s taken the rest of the day off work and I feel guilty thinking of all the sick people who won’t get to see her today while she’s making me hot chocolates and patting my arm. She always says that family comes first, but it doesn’t stop me feeling bad about it.

  I can’t study so instead I pick up a book at random from the pile by my bed.

  It’s The A to Z of How to Survive Absolutely Everything. I read Leah’s message inside the front cover again and for a moment it makes me smile, then I get cold shivers. Don’t Die!!! Come back Soon!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!

  I’ve messaged Leah but haven’t heard back. She’s probably had her phone confiscated for texting Brendan during class. I flick through the pages and open one at random.

  Q is for Quicksand.

  There’s a small illustration, a person up to their waist, waving their arms frantically. The text below says: The most important thing to remember if you find yourself sinking into quicksand is not to panic. Stay calm. Don’t struggle, that will only make your situation worse. Wait for help to come.

  I close the book again.

  I hear a car pull up. Then I hear voices and a minute later there’s a knock on my bedroom door. ‘You’ve got visitors, Abbie,’ Mum calls.

 

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