An audio tape of one of John Marsden’s Tomorrow series was playing on the car stereo. Cassie loved the series and could listen to the books over and over again. She did listen to them over and over. But, for Fern, the words filling the car didn’t touch her.
Was she doing the right thing? The right thing for Cass? Her own needs were secondary. She was taking Cass from everything she knew, from all that was solid and dependable – her home, her school, her support workers that she loved and trusted. And her father, of course. And for what? An instinct that things would be better for Cass if they moved. It wasn’t much, this instinct. Especially weighed against what might be lost. But it felt right and she had to trust it.
On the stereo, Ellie led those closest to her down into Hell.
Fern hoped she wasn’t doing the same.
Holly
‘Mum,’ wailed Holly. ‘Tell me you’re not serious!’
‘I know, chicken. I know. But there’s no way round it.’ Ivy Holley waved her arms in a helpless fashion. The sponge in her hand sprayed fine droplets of dirty water over Holly’s face. ‘The spare room just doesn’t work for Fern and Cassie. Think about it. Her wheelchair would have to come down the corridor, then do a ninety degree right turn and then another left into the spare bedroom. There’s no space to manoeuvre, chicken.’
‘But it’s my bedroom, Mum. Mine. It’s got all my things in it. It’s part of me.’
Ivy hugged her daughter. Holly shrugged away, barely aware of the sponge dripping down her back.
‘I know. But once we get the spare room sorted, it’ll be great in there. Obviously, we’ll move all your stuff in. And it won’t be forever.’
‘The spare room’s tiny.’
Ivy twisted her mouth.
‘I wouldn’t say tiny,’ she said. ‘Compact would be a better word.’
‘It’s tiny.’
‘And that’s another reason it has to be this way. Fern and Cassie need two single beds. They won’t fit in the spare room. Unless you’re happy to share your room with Cassie.’
‘No way.’
‘Well, I can’t see how else it’s going to work, then.’
Holly couldn’t see how else it was going to work either. But the fact that moving out of her own bedroom into a cramped spare room that smelled of mildew was the only practical alternative did not mean she should be happy about it.
‘It’s not fair,’ she said.
‘No,’ said Ivy.
They looked at each other for a few moments.
‘I’ll get my things together,’ said Holly.
Ivy nodded. ‘Thanks, chicken.’
‘I quite understand,’ said Demi Larson. ‘No, of course not. Family comes first … Really, it’s not a problem … Okay. See you on Monday, Holly … Sure … Take care. Bye.’
She flipped her phone shut and turned towards Kari Williams and Georgia Glasson. Her friends were taking it in turns to update their Facebook status every few minutes. Demi’s bedroom was entirely self-contained – well, at least as far as digital media devices were concerned. There was a state-of-the-art computer console, a plasma television with home theatre and DVD player and a powerful midi hi fi system. There were government agencies that weren’t as well equipped.
‘She’s not coming,’ said Demi.
‘What do you mean?’ said Kari.
‘She’s not coming, that’s what I mean. Holly. She’s expecting family to arrive and feels she can’t leave.’
‘I knew she was a mistake,’ said Georgia.
Kari tutted and shook her head. Turning down a Demi Larson invitation? It was inconceivable.
‘I’ve never been turned down before,’ said Demi.
‘It’s rude,’ said Georgia.
‘It’s impertinent,’ said Kari.
‘It’s interesting,’ said Demi.
Holly
Ivy Holley moved from one bedroom to the other, carrying a large brass bell and chanting under her breath. As she walked, she rubbed the edge of the bell with a wooden stick. A resonating hum, similar to the sound you make if you rub a wet finger along the rim of a wine glass, swelled through the house and caused the fillings in Holly’s teeth to throb. She sat on her newly-made bed in her newly-made bedroom and hugged her knees to her chest. Ivy ghosted in and out with her bell.
Holly was tired. She seemed to have been scrubbing, cleaning and shifting stuff for days, rather than eight hours. When she moved her bed, she discovered a dust-coated land fill site of books, papers, assorted cuddly toys and the occasional spider. A small earthmover would have come in handy. Now it was all tidied away (under her bed again, in the spare room) her muscles tightened. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. She might have done – there were still a couple of hours before their guests were due to arrive – if it hadn’t been for her mother’s musical performance. No one could sleep through that.
‘Mum,’ she snapped, the next time her mother slipped into her room. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Cleansing, chicken,’ said Ivy, bracketing her words between chants.
‘Cleansing?’
‘Getting rid of any negative atmospheres, purifying the energy flow. Cleansing.’
‘Well, can you stop it? I’d rather have the negative energy in here than that wailing sound. It’s giving me a headache.’
Ivy put the bell down on a chest of drawers and sat on the bed. She reached out her hand and brushed Holly’s leg.
‘I’m very proud of you, chicken,’ she said. ‘You’ve worked so hard and I know the sacrifice you’ve made.’
No, you don’t, thought Holly, but she didn’t have the energy to argue.
‘But we’ve made an amazing difference,’ continued Ivy. ‘So what do you think of your new room? I think it’s cosy.’
Holly glanced round the bedroom. It didn’t take long. She had seen roomier shoe boxes. If she spread her arms she could touch two walls. If she had been a little taller, she might have been able to make contact with the ceiling as well, on which there was a disturbing stain directly above her bed. A vague smell, like the ghost of cat pee, hung in the air. Cosy was not the word Holly would have chosen. Depressing, maybe. Claustrophobic, certainly.
‘It’s okay.’
Ivy patted her knee.
‘You take it easy, sweetie. Have a nap. I’ll get dinner started. I thought I’d do an eggplant and brown lentil lasagne. What do you think?’
‘No, Mum. Please? Let’s have Chinese takeaway.’ Holly was too tired for diplomacy. And she felt she was owed – for the abandoned sleepover, the bedroom eviction and the hard labour. If she couldn’t be forthright now, she never would.
‘Takeaway? Wouldn’t that be rude when we have guests?’ A lot less rude than forcing them to eat one of her mother’s concoctions, thought Holly. Then again, if there was ever going to be something that might get them to think staying at the Holley household was a serious and possibly life-threatening mistake, then an eggplant and lentil lasagne would undoubtedly do the trick. They’d probably be gone inside a week. Two days if her Mum was really on form. But a takeaway was what Holly craved and doubtless the home-cooking would begin again tomorrow. It would only be a deterrence factor deferred.
‘No. They might not be vegetarians and if we order a variety of dishes we’ll cover all possible tastes,’ said Holly. Plus, their chicken and cashew nuts with fried rice is to die for, she thought.
Ivy opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again.
‘And there would be less washing up, and more time for catching up,’ said Holly.
‘Okay,’ said Ivy. ‘It’s not a bad idea. And, to be honest, I could do with a little down time before they arrive, anyway.’
‘Make sure you order the chicken with cashew nuts. With fried rice.’
‘Chicken for my chicken? No problem.’
Holly thought she was too tired to sleep, but she closed her eyes anyway. In seconds she had fallen into a dream where Demi was handing out sleepover invitations
to every girl in the school assembly. She was going down the lines, smiling and pressing gold-engraved cards into each hand. When she reached Holly she walked straight past. Didn’t even glance at her. Holly’s face flushed and she looked down into her lap at a plate of chicken and cashew nuts. The food was writhing with maggots. She yelled, threw it away and scrambled to her feet. Raph McDonald was standing directly in front of her, his designer jeans covered in white grubs and globs of fried rice. When he lifted his gaze and met Holly’s eyes, his were filled with hatred. He shouted her name over and over. ‘Holly, Holly, Holly.’ Then the whole assembly took up the chant, contempt dripping from each syllable. The Principal stood on the stage, clapping his hands and leading the whole school. ‘Holly, Holly, Holly.’
‘Holly, Holly! They’re here. Come on, chicken. Shake a leg.’
She sat straight up in bed, her heart hammering. For a second or two she had difficulty disentangling the dream from her mother’s voice. Then the world shifted into focus. She swung her legs off the bed. Her new bedroom was dark, but the smell seemed stronger. Holly fumbled her way to the door. A patch of light at the end of the corridor helped her make the shadow-choked journey to the kitchen. When she got there, it was empty. She walked the few steps to the open front door, rubbing sleep from her eyes. An unfamiliar car was parked at the kerb. The driver’s door hung open. A street lamp about twenty metres down the road cast a pale glow. Holly’s mother reached out and touched her sister’s face, then gathered her in, wrapped her up in a warm and welcoming hug.
Holly took a deep breath and started down the front path.
Holly
My name is Holly Holley and I have no idea what to expect.
I mean, Mum told me about Cassie and her cerebral palsy, but that’s not the same as experiencing it face to face. And my memory of the last time I saw Cassie is buried deeply in the shadows of childhood. I can’t resurrect more than vague images. I am nervous as I walk down the path.
Mum and Aunty Fern are so locked together it’s like they have merged into one person. And they are both sobbing. Even when they break apart for a moment, they just look at each other, burst into sobs again and get straight back to the hugging. I hover, aware of a stupid smile on my face, and wonder if I need to get a crowbar from the garage.
My eyes keep drifting towards the car, though. Adults hugging is not a great spectator sport at the best of times, but particularly under these circumstances. Even though the car’s interior light is on I can’t see much, because the lumpy beast that is my mum and Fern keeps shifting into my line of sight. There is a shape in the passenger seat, slumped with her head turned from me. It’s difficult to make out details and I don’t want to stare. When the hug fest finally finishes, Mum puts her hands on Aunty Fern’s shoulders and takes a step back to see her properly.
‘You look fantastic, Fern,’ she says.
‘Oh yeah,’ says Aunty Fern. ‘I’ve driven nine hundred kilometres today. I’m tired, dirty and it’s a good bet I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. You need your eyes tested, sis.’ She glances in my direction and smiles. She does look tired. ‘And look at you, Holly,’ she adds. ‘My goodness, you’ve grown.’
It must be eight years since I’ve seen her, so that isn’t altogether surprising. I don’t say that, though. Nor do I say that I might have grown, but not nearly enough.
‘Hi, Aunty Fern,’ I say. My smile feels like it has dried on my face.
‘Give me a hug,’ she says. She obviously feels hugging is her strong suit.
It’s cold out here and light rain is falling. I wonder if we will all die of pneumonia brought on by excessive hugging. But she folds me into her body, anyway. She smells of dust and dried sweat, but I don’t have to put up with it for long. Aunty Fern shivers and pulls away, rubbing at her eyes.
‘I’m shattered,’ she says.
Mum leans into the car.
‘The poppet’s fast asleep here,’ she says. ‘How’s she coped with the journey?’
‘Got a little cranky towards the end,’ says Aunty Fern. ‘Can’t blame her. I was cranky too. She dropped off about half an hour ago. But she hasn’t had nearly enough sleep over the last couple of days, so she might wake up grumpy. We’d better get her inside.’
She opens the back door of the car. There’s a wheelchair, all folded up, and she drags it out. Mum rummages in the boot and pulls out suitcases. When I pick one up I wonder if Aunty Fern has stashed a body in there. Nearly rips my arm from its socket. I find the handle, draw it out from the case, and roll it on the castors. By the time I place it in my old bedroom I can hear the shrieking from the front of the house.
Outside, Cassie is in the wheelchair and she isn’t happy. Boy, is she not happy. I still can’t see much of her face. The wheelchair has a neck brace built into it, but she’s thrashing her head back and to. All I can see is dark hair and a quick glimpse of a contorted face. One thin arm saws in the air. But it’s the noise that’s the worst. She isn’t screaming. That isn’t the word. It’s a high-pitched wail, like a cat being tortured, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I freeze.
Across the road I catch a glimpse of curtains twitching. Old Mrs Gallagher, the resident neighbourhood sticky-beak, never misses anything.
Aunty Fern crouches by the wheelchair, talking to her daughter, trying to stroke her face. But I can’t hear what she says. It’s drowned by the wailing. In the end, she gives up and wheels the chair along the path and through the front door. There’s a further twitch of curtains from across the road. I get another suitcase from the roadside.
And that’s how Cassie enters my house and my life. Wailing, shrieking and thrashing about, like a soul being dragged deep into the bowels of Hell.
‘How is she?’ said Ivy.
Fern sat at the kitchen table with her face in her hands. She scrubbed at her temples and sighed.
‘Better,’ she said. ‘I think she’ll sleep now. I’m so sorry, Ivy. That wasn’t quite how I imagined our reunion.’
‘She’s tired, poor thing,’ said Ivy.
‘She’s exhausted. It’s been a nightmare journey. And, of course, there’s all the emotional upheaval as well. I’ve taken her away from everything safe.’
The sisters sat at opposite ends of the table. There was no sound apart from the faint drumming of rain on the roof.
‘I’m so sorry about Holly,’ said Fern after a while. ‘We’ve driven her off to bed.’
‘She’s fine. She’s tired. We’ve both been working all day.’
Fern nodded.
‘I expect you’re wondering what brought us in the first place,’ she said. ‘Why I’ve ripped Cass away from her dad?’
‘Look, Fern,’ said Ivy. ‘We don’t have to talk about this now.’
‘No, it’s okay. I want to tell you.’
And she did.
Then she cried.
Holly
My name is Holly Holley and I know I’ll never get to sleep.
The smell is stronger. The rain has brought it out.
At least the shrieking has stopped and it is quiet except for the faint patter of raindrops and the odd creak of a settling house.
It’s not fair.
I lie in bed and the smell of the room is giving me a headache. I think about Demi and the sleepover. What they might be doing. But it is too painful and I try to think of anything else. I think about how Cassie was whisked into the bedroom – my bedroom. I think about the chicken I didn’t eat because Fern and Mum were busy with Cassie and it became clear that nothing was going to happen – no chatting with the new arrivals about their journey, no communal eating of the takeaway. The idea of eating by myself was too depressing
I’m Holly Holley and I’m short, I’m ugly, and I’m overweight. I have only one friend in the world and she cares more about books than boyfriends. And now I’m lying in a strange room while strangers lie in mine. And they’re the reason I’ve blown my chances with Demi.
It’s not fair.
Cassie
This room reeks of unhappiness and not all of it is mine.
Some of it is hers. Holly. The girl with worry stamped on her face. She doesn’t want me here. I don’t want me here either.
I am empty now. When Mum touched me, brought me back from sleep, I saw the rain against the windscreen, the world pressing in on me and I was full. Something burst inside then, a bubble pricked by sharp images of Dad, my old house, and faces slipping away forever. And what was burst, swelled into a dark tide. It swept me away.
This is what I was moving towards. This unhappy room.
And though I am empty now of everything but weariness, I cannot think it will come to good.
It’s not fair.
3
Holly
When Holly’s sleep was broken at six-thirty by the sound of tinkling bells, her first reaction was to wonder what kind of deranged person would be cleansing the house of negative energy at this time in the morning. Her mother was the prime suspect. Actually, her mother was the only suspect. But then she realised it was an entirely different sound. This wasn’t a continuous hum, but rather a series of notes, gentle and insistent. She pondered the mystery briefly before falling back asleep.
When she woke again, the sun was filtering through curtains and it was eight forty-five. Her new bedroom didn’t look any better in daylight. Thank goodness for Action Plan 2, she thought. Though Holly’s shift at the cinema didn’t start until eleven, she got dressed immediately and was out of the house by nine o’clock. She didn’t have breakfast. She didn’t even take the time to weigh herself. She could hear the mutter of voices in the kitchen – but she didn’t have the energy to face them. So she yelled a quick goodbye and slipped through the front door, ignoring her mother when she called out her name. She was probably going to offer a lift. Holly hurried down the path and along the street to the bus stop, praying her mother wouldn’t come after her. It was only when she’d boarded the bus that she was able to relax.
Cassie Page 3
