Dreaming of Amelia

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  They were very frank at their interviews. They told us they wanted to start their lives afresh. They wanted to focus on schoolwork for the first time ever — play music, try drama, behave, get into university. They knew how their records looked, and knew they were asking us to take a big chance. As far as they were concerned, however, Ashbury was their only chance at making something of their lives.

  It seemed to us on the committee — those who bothered to attend the meeting, anyway — that these were precisely the kind of people a scholarship like this is designed to help.

  Picture, if you will, a fine line.

  It is the line between the past and the future. Amelia and Riley’s past was terrible — they have both felt betrayed, hurt, alone. Their future, however, may be golden — their extraordinary talents, their own strength and compassion should guarantee that . . . unless, of course, they fall over the line into the past.

  I am not a fool. I know that there is anger, violence and deception in both of them — indeed, Riley unleashed that side of himself a few years ago, and a man will probably never walk again. It is clear to me that Riley suffers deeply from guilt and self-loathing as a result of that. More recently, he turned his violence on himself. He wanted to attack Amelia’s stepfather — but instead, he broke his own hands.

  Hands that define him, given his passion for drumming.

  It is not going to be easy for Amelia and Riley. They will fall, many times, onto the wrong side of the line — and hopefully somebody will catch them, and help them back towards the good.

  Interestingly, in the course of last night’s meeting, Lucy Wexford said she believed that the real problem was that they have no idea just how musically talented they are. She thinks that the most important step will be convincing them of their talent — otherwise, they’ll think they have to use subterfuge to succeed. She said — and here I’m quoting from my notes — that Amelia’s voice is divine, and that Riley, as drummer, could take on the combined talents of Lars Ulrich of Metallica, Jimmy Sullivan of Avenged Sevenfold, and Chris Adler of Lamb of God.

  I have no idea who these people are, but they are apparently favourites of Lucy, and when I passed this on to Riley today, I think I caught the glimmer of a smile.

  At any rate, the meeting last night was a good one. Constance was not there, of course, and neither were you (too busy, again) —

  Do you know, I have suddenly recalled that you specifically said you find my emails to be overwritten?! And you requested that, in future, I use ‘bullet points’? And listen to me going on!

  I beg your pardon. I will start over.

  Dear Bill,

  Last night, the committee resolved:

  • that the scholarships of Amelia Damaski and Riley T Smith will not be terminated.

  • that the membership of Bill Ludovico on the KL Mason Patterson Trust Fund Committee is terminated. (Grounds: he never comes to meetings and he’s a bit of an arrogant ass (no offence).)

  Cheers,

  Chris Botherit

  11.

  Constance’s Letters to a Ghost (extracts)

  Term 1

  My dear Kendall,

  I tremble to tell you this. They have given the scholarships to the young thieves.

  If only I had gone to the interviews! I would have stopped this happening. But, of course, I could not. I am elderly, and live alone — it would have been the height of foolishness to risk them knowing me.

  They have been in prison! That Ashbury should be sullied with the likes of them!

  It is worse, too, than we knew, Kendall. The committee tell me that the thieves spent a year living on the streets before they were caught and put in prison. Street urchins! In the corridors of Ashbury!

  I cannot imagine how they will smell.

  Apart from being horrified, I am bewildered. What could they possibly have done in their interviews to so blind the committee members to their nature?

  Yours with profound regret,

  Constance

  PS Still having dreadful nightmares about them. Last night they scuttled into my kitchen in the form of little werewolves, and helped themselves to my leftover lemon pudding.

  Kendall,

  It is becoming ever more clear to me what the problem is.

  Mr Botherit and Mr Garcia are what is known as ‘bleeding hearts’.

  They would sooner rescue a drowning kitten than practically anything. They do not believe in the principles that you and I hold so dear, Kendall — that a leopard never changes its spots; that certain people have forfeited their rights to live in society. And et cetera.

  No, indeed, they seem to think that they can save the world one delinquent at a time. They are desperate to spend your money on that dreadful ‘poor’ school, Brookfield. The fact that Riley lives in a foster home, and Amelia in a hostel, seems to make them exactly the right people for the scholarships, in their perverse minds. ‘They’re the very people who need this kind of help the most,’ Mr B was saying to me today.

  The others on the committee had seemed sensible to me, but Amelia and Riley must have cast a ‘spell’ on them at the interview. (Lucy appears to have broken the spell, but nobody else.) You would think that Patricia and Jacob, having children of their own at Ashbury, would not have been so foolish. But no, they were telling me after the meeting today how extraordinary it was that Amelia and Riley had found ways to practise their ‘swimming’ even while they lived on the streets — they swam on beaches in cold winter mornings.

  As if this proved that the thieves had ‘character’ and ‘resolve’.

  When all it shows is that they do not feel the cold as I do. No wonder, being the children of the devil.

  What did they do? That’s what perplexes me. What did they do at the interview to so ‘enchant’ everybody?

  I long to see them for myself, but how can I? Too dangerous.

  Yours in consternation,

  Constance

  Oh Kendall,

  I am agog at my own daring! Shall I tell you what I have done?

  I have stowed away to watch!

  I could not bear it any more — the mystery of Amelia and Riley. Do you know where the Scholarship Committee hearings are held? In a conference room at the top of your building — of our dear, old building.

  There is to be a ‘progress interview’ today, and last night I was in such a state — I wanted so much to see these young thieves for myself!

  Suddenly, I recalled that cubbyhole off the attic.

  Did you know about it? Perhaps not. But in my Ashbury days I used sometimes to hide there. It gave me a little peace and privacy — the students were not always kind to me, in the early days, you know. My uniform was second-hand and did not fit well, and my shoes were worn and tattered.

  At any rate, there used to be an air vent in my cubbyhole, that looked onto a room below. Sometimes I would amuse myself, in my schooldays, watching the goings-on.

  What if my cubbyhole was still there? What if it looked down onto the very conference room where the committee meetings are held?

  No sooner had the questions occurred to me than I found myself hurrying to Ashbury late last night. I let myself into the building — I have a guest security pass, as president of the Alumni Association — and found my way up to the attic.

  It’s not an attic any more — it’s some kind of a filing room. Shelves full of archives. But my cubbyhole is still here! (They’ve turned it into some kind of utility closet — switches all over the walls.)

  And so is the air vent! And, as I had hoped, it looks straight down onto the conference room!!!

  So, here I sit — cold, uncomfortable, tired, but very, very happy.

  I slept fitfully last night — should have thought to bring in some bedding — but have had a pleasant morning watching various classes and exams in the conference room. My view through the vent is excellent. Just saw a German Listening Exam, and the progress interview is about to begin . . .

  More soon,

&
nbsp; Constance!

  Dear Kendall,

  It is as I suspected.

  They are beautiful, charming, poised and eloquent. They smile and laugh so delightfully, it chills me to the core. They make little jokes, they have startling eyes. You feel the room warm to them — drawn to them — the moment that they enter.

  They put me in mind of a certain couple I once knew . . .

  But, of course, Amelia and Riley are not that couple. They are a sort of mirror image of that couple — that couple sprang from the glorious realms of society. Amelia and Riley come from the gutters. They should return there.

  Do you know who I mean, Kendall? When I speak of a certain couple? I mean you and Sandra, of course. The shining king and queen of the kingdom that was once Ashbury.

  It is late now. I have stayed here through the afternoon as the day grew cold and darkness fell. I suppose I must go home.

  Yours,

  Constance

  Term 2

  Kendall,

  You will laugh.

  I am back! In my cubbyhole.

  I had such a jolly time of it that day when I was spying on the progress interview last term — watching the ebb and flow of students below, feeling good old Ashbury seeping back into my old bones. I decided to do it again.

  I crept in last night and wandered the corridors eating fruit, left my mandarin peels right where they were, as I recall Sandra used to do! — so naughty! But fun.

  I think I might bring in a little fryer, for my cubbyhole, so I can make myself midnight feasts.

  Spent today watching classes again. Getting to know people slowly.

  All in all, a very nice day.

  Yours in mischief,

  Constance

  Dearest Kendall,

  Oh, dear, my nose is very stuffy today. It’s so cold! I keep trying to adjust the switches here but I think they affect the heating/ cooling of the building as a whole rather than just this room.

  I have been back here so many times now I’ve lost count. I’m getting to know all the students — that Lydia is quite a card! Very good at her German, and mine is coming along too. And a fellow named Saxon, he’s very dashing. Wish he’d look at me.

  Although, I suppose he’d have to look up. And through the vent.

  I brought in my feather quilt last night — left a trail of feathers like a swan!

  Kendall,

  You were so amusing last night. Let us talk more often in our dreams.

  Well, a lovely day, and my goodness, didn’t we have a ball in German! That song was so amusing! Everyone singing along! (I remembered myself just in time, and did so in a whisper.)

  Yours affectionately,

  Constance

  Kendall,

  A very bleak, cold day.

  I fried sausages and chips on my little cooker, and certainly don’t feel so good now.

  Had my hair permed today — wish I could show myself in the corridors. I look grand.

  Kendall,

  I have been so daring! As you know, I like to wander the corridors at night, and I have been figuring out the computers. I’m even reading the Ashbury blogs — and contributing to them! I do wonder at myself.

  But it gets better! I have been slipping out of my cubbyhole during the day sometimes. I know the backstairs and shadows of this building, so I can whisk around the building out of sight. It makes me feel like so much more a part of things, do you see? I wish I could get a uniform. That would help me blend in. Will look out for one — they leave them in lockers when they do sports.

  It is all such a lark. Do you remember how we used to enjoy our games of croquet, and our picnics with strawberries and cream? Do you remember our school trip to Seal Rocks, and how we walked right along the beach? I found quite a lot of pippies that day.

  Kendall,

  Could I sit in on a class, do you think? Slip in at the back of the room and just stay very quiet and mouselike? (I remember Sandra once joked that I was a mouse. Amusing, but it gave me quite a pang.)

  No. Too risky. I’ll stay in the shadows.

  Your friend,

  Constance

  Kendall,

  Trying to keep my spirits up, but today my closet feels small.

  So do I.

  I listened to my little wireless, and thought of you. Could not help weeping. I do miss you, Kendall.

  Constance

  My dear Kendall,

  I sometimes wish we had met after high school. Apart from that one reunion dinner where you seemed to have forgotten my name. I know you were only jesting — you were always such a card — but it did hurt a little.

  Never mind, I used always to read about you in the financial papers and so on, so I know you ever so well.

  Now, of course, we get on like a house on fire! Isn’t it a shame we didn’t meet sooner and, I don’t know, have a family?

  Yours thoughtfully,

  Constance

  Term 3

  Kendall,

  You will be proud of me.

  I have been assertive — as they call it today. I have rid the world of a dreadful, evil, wicked, cursed painting. A naked girl! Despicable!

  I used red paint, to indicate that it was the devil’s work, as well as pink. I find that pink makes everything better.

  Still trembling though. And my head does ache today.

  Kendall,

  Do you ever wonder why we hold the committee meetings way up in the conference room on the third floor?

  It was me who suggested it. I specifically requested that room.

  Shall I tell you why?

  It used to be your bedroom. I wanted to be close to you. Do you feel close to me? You were rather nasty in my dream last night. I suppose you were just being amusing.

  Yours tenderly,

  Constance

  Kendall,

  A near miss today!

  I was in my cubbyhole, setting up a row of dominoes. Do you know that marvellous game where you line them up on their sides and then flick one and watch them all trickle?

  Any rate, I was almost done when I heard somebody enter the archives room. I stayed ever so still and quiet. There was some ruffling around in the files. I moved slightly — a cramp in my leg — and accidentally hit one of the dominoes! The whole row went! Clatter-clatter-clatter like a set of tiny fireworks!

  Whoever was in the archives room took fright and ran from the room. Once it was quiet, I peeked out and saw that they’d dropped files all over the floor. I brought them into my cubbyhole, closed the door — just in time! She was back again! This time, for some reason, she screamed and ran from the room!

  Some excitement, anyway.

  And the strangest thing. The files were from our year. There they all were. The records of our times together.

  Yours in something of a state,

  Constance

  Dear Kendall,

  I am reading through the files, and I cannot stop weeping.

  Oh, we were so happy! Those were such glory days! It is bringing it all back . . .

  And I feel so dreadful. Oh, I feel so dreadful. Kendall, I have a confession to make. This cubbyhole is above your old bedroom — I used to watch you. Have you guessed? I used to spy on you.

  You and Sandra. You were so happy. Oh, you laughed and laughed and laughed. You loved her so! And she, you.

  Oh, I cannot stop the weeping.

  Your loving Constance

  I could have loved you, Kendall. You could have loved me. If you’d only stopped and looked.

  It was preposterous, really, how much you and Sandra laughed.

  You and I could have laughed but more moderately. We could have read books. And so forth.

  My heart won’t stop its mad, mad beating!

  What have I just seen?

  Shall you guess? No! You will never.

  I saw Riley kissing Lydia! In the conference room — in your own bedroom. Oh, Kendall, who knew you would ever betray Sandra in that way!

  She must know!
It will hurt you, of course, when she leaves you, but you will quickly recover and I will help you on that path.

  I will be there, for you to weep onto my shoulder.

  How can I let Sandra know?

  Amelia, I mean, of course. How can I let Amelia know that you have betrayed her with Lydia?

  Riley, I mean, of course.

  I will put it on that girl’s blog. Yes.

  And then, soon, you will be mine. My darling.

  Term 4

  Dear Kendall,

  Well, the HSC has commenced, and it is just as we suspected.

  Very wearing.

  But more to the point, the committee has been making inquiries — and again, it is just as we suspected! Amelia and Riley are truly evil. They are not merely thieves, they are savages. They beat a man near to his death at the time they stole from the petrol station.

  Chris Botherit got the information from a sports teacher at Brookfield.

  It is rather satisfying, you know, to have been so right.

  Now at last we can be rid of Amelia-and-Riley and move on with our lives.

  Your loving Constance

  Good news. It’s all falling apart. They will be stripped of their scholarships! They’ve made quite a mess of things, the silly ninnies. They have to defend themselves — but they won’t be able to. I’ll watch from up here. I’ll bring popcorn. Shall you join me? Yes. Do.

  Kendall,

  Have you guessed?

  I was there — the night that Sandra fell. I was watching.

  I could have warned you, you know.

  You were turned away from her, looking through your records, choosing a new one to play. She was on the window ledge and had fallen asleep.

  I saw her — I saw her beginning to slip.

  I could have called down, you know — warned you.

  But then you would have known that I was there. How you would have laughed at me, the pair of you. You would not have been angry. You were not that sort. You were so jolly. Oh, you would have laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

  So, I stayed quiet, quiet as a mouse, and when you did turn back, it was too late — she was already falling.