She had a small backpack on and a piece of paper in her hand, flapping in the wind. Her lower lip trembled when she saw how serious he was, heard the out-of-breath anxiety in his voice.
‘I was looking for Frankie.’ Her voice was small, wary. She knew she was in trouble. She looked past Dad, at me. ‘Lindsay said she was at the bus stop.’
I felt anger rise up in me. ‘I did not. I didn’t tell you anything!’
‘You did! You did…’ She started to cry. She always does, when she’s getting in trouble. It usually works on Mum and Dad.
I saw the consternation cross Dad’s face. He pulled Evie against him, and his gaze met mine over the top of her head. There was no mistaking the look I got. He was pissed off.
I gave Evie a glare, angry that she’d dragged me into it. Little snitch, always shifting the blame. I gritted my teeth. ‘We need to tell Mum it’s okay.’
Dad didn’t answer me. He stood, lifting Evie up and carrying her. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face against his neck. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw him pick up any of the kids.
He was acting like I didn’t even exist. He walked past me without a comment and headed back down the street towards our driveway. I followed him home, thinking that I felt like Evie had looked. Wishing I was four years old again and allowed to cry.
19
Mum was waiting on the front doorstep when we got home, already on the phone to the police. The rest of the kids were crowded around the kitchen table, even Josey, yawning his head off. Mum looked like she didn’t know whether to be mad or just confused; Dad had already decided he was mad.
They sent us all back to bed then tucked Evie into hers; locked and double-checked all the doors and windows. The kids were all far too intrigued and excited by what had happened, and it was more than an hour before they all went back to sleep and Mum and Dad had the chance to talk. They weren’t talking, though. They were arguing; I could hear it through the walls. Dad was swearing.
Something from Mum in a lower voice that I couldn’t catch. Like always, she was aware of us, factoring us in. Dad, on the other hand…
‘She’s trying to cause trouble. She knows we don’t talk about it! Why would she bring it up unless she’s trying to cause trouble?’
There it was. Like everything else, this was now officially my fault.
Another murmur from Mum. Then from Dad, grumpy. ‘We need to get Lindsay out of here, that’s what we need.’
Three times I was woken during the night by Dad’s words ringing in my ears. She’s gone. I scrambled upright and dived out of my lower bunk, eyes searching in the darkness to make out Evie’s form under her covers. Evie herself slept right through.
I woke up just after six to a quiet house. I slipped out of bed and down the stairs, thinking I’d grab breakfast before anybody else got up, but I stopped suddenly outside the kitchen when I heard voices. Mum and Dad were already up.
I froze, unsure if they’d heard me on the steps. The last thing I wanted was to be alone with them. I figured they’d be talking about what happened but they weren’t. It was inane conversation, about shopping lists and doctor’s appointments. Mum’s voice was stilted, like she was struggling to pretend everything was fine. Dad’s answers were short, terse grunts. I listened for a long moment, bare toes curled over the front edge of the step, then I turned quietly and snuck back up to my room.
He went to shower and half an hour later he left for work. At seven I heard Mum push our bedroom door open, rapping on it the way she does. Her usual routine—wake-up rounds. Grace is a heavy sleeper and I heard the floorboards squeak as Mum went to shake her awake. I think she was planning on letting Evie sleep, but Grace started complaining and Evie stirred.
I lifted the hanging blanket edge just a little, wary, wanting to see. Mum pulled the curtains wide open as if this was just another day. ‘Everyone up, come on. You know the routine.’
The need to know how Mum was going to explain everything dragged me out of bed. I followed the others downstairs, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table. The kids were clamouring around Mum, who was pretending all was normal and trying to hand out cereal and spread Vegemite on toast.
Grace led the questioning. ‘Why did Evie run away last night?’
‘She didn’t run away,’ Mum said tersely. I waited but she didn’t elaborate.
Evie sidled in, an unusually quiet entrance for her. She glanced at me, a wary look that said she knew she’d got me into trouble and she wasn’t sure what the fallout would be. I hadn’t decided. I was still mad. At her, and at Mum and Dad for putting all the blame on me.
‘I didn’t tell her to go looking for Frankie.’ I felt reckless. Mum and Dad were already furious at me, I didn’t have anything left to lose. It felt like the only way I was going to get Mum to talk about things was to provoke her.
It worked. Kind of. ‘She doesn’t know who Frankie is,’ Mum snapped at me. ‘She’d never heard of her until your comment the other day.’
Evie looked uneasy. But she did what she always does when she’s in danger of getting in trouble—she passed the buck. ‘I do know about Frankie. Lindsay talks about her all the time.’
‘What? That’s bullshit.’
‘You do!’ she said.
‘Language!’ Mum snapped at the same time.
‘No, I don’t. I haven’t told you anything, you little liar.’ Yeah, I think it’s stupid that Mum and Dad won’t talk about Frankie. Yeah, I told Josey about her, and he knows he’s not allowed to tell. But I’d be stupid to say anything to the world’s biggest blabbermouth; there’s no way it wouldn’t get back to Mum.
‘You did!’ she insisted. ‘You talk about her every night! You said she was at the bus stop, so I went looking. I drew a map.’
Mum’s eyes on me, accusing. I felt completely ambushed. One thing to get in trouble for something I’d actually done, but this…
‘I haven’t told her anything,’ I shot at Mum as defiantly as I could. ‘I followed your stupid rule. But seriously, how long did you think you could keep hiding it from them? We’re all over the freaking internet! How long till one of the kids sits down and googles our names?’ It all came pouring out of me, a torrent of frustration and resentment. ‘They have a right to know. Why should they get to live these magical, fake lives where it didn’t happen? I don’t get that. It’s bullshit.’
A finger raised at me. ‘Don’t use that language.’
‘Oh, please. What are you going to do? Kick me out of the house and then pretend I never existed either?’
I saw Mum’s jaw working. Trying to come up with the right thing to say, probably. The appropriate, measured, mother-of-the-freaking-year response.
‘It’s too much for them to take on,’ she said finally. ‘It’s too complicated.’
I wanted to throw something at her. ‘No, it’s not! They’re not stupid, you know.’ I gestured to the kids, who were staring at us wide-eyed across the table. ‘Tell them.’
‘Now is not the right time.’
She wasn’t going to budge. I looked at Grace. The first of the After Frankie kids. ‘You had another older sister. I had a twin. She disappeared a year before you were born. Mum and Dad don’t think you can handle knowing it, so your entire life is a lie.’
It was spiteful and angry, and I’ll admit that at least a little part of me was enjoying it. But Grace didn’t look astonished or horrified or anything else I might have imagined.
‘I know,’ she said, with typical Grace matter-of-factness. ‘I’ve known for ages.’
20
‘What do you mean, you’ve known for ages?’
It was Mum, not me, who asked. Voice calm, steady.
There were mixed notes of scorn and pride in Grace’s voice when she answered. ‘Lindsay talks in her sleep. She kept talking about someone called Frankie. So I went on the internet. I read all about her. About us.’ A shrug, like it wasn’t the big deal everyone seemed to be making it out
to be.
I jumped on the explanation. ‘And you told Evie.’
‘No,’ she was vehement. ‘Ever since your birthday you’ve been talking about Frankie every night. Why do you think Evie only started saying all that stuff after we moved into her room?’ A pause, getting sulky. ‘Why would I tell her? She’s just a kid. I already have to share everything else with her.’
It had gone very quiet in the kitchen. Mum absorbed it slowly, looking first at Grace, then Evie, then me. Elijah had gone silent. Josey was looking serious, even though he probably didn’t know what was going on. Evie’s lower lip was quivering. I looked at Micah and found him gazing back at me, not an accusing gaze but level. Curious. I stared right back at him for a long few seconds, not angry, just letting him read me. I know it’s silly but I feel like he’s on my side.
I thought back to Dad’s comment. We need to get Lindsay out of here, that’s what we need. Not the first time he’s said something to that effect. I was tired of getting the blame for it all.
‘I need to get ready for school,’ I muttered, and slipped out of the kitchen.
Upstairs, I tipped everything out of my school bag and packed a few things, rolling them up tightly to make them fit. I knew I had to work quickly before Grace or Evie came back up—the last thing I needed was questions.
The kids were still sitting at the table, working through their breakfast with Mum trying to hurry them up. I snuck past without collecting my lunch; I didn’t need Mum wanting to know why I was taking so much stuff to school with me.
‘Gotta go,’ I announced. I stopped just long enough to tousle Josey’s hair and catch Micah’s eye. He gave me that same look as before: curious, as if he knew something was going on. I stomped up the driveway and past the bus stop, heading for the house.
It was an uneventful walk. The time of day where the streets are filled with people standing at bus stops or driving to work. Nobody so much as blinked at the sight of me; I was just another kid in school uniform walking through the suburbs. Nobody paid any attention as I waited across the road from the house for a few minutes, either. Neighbours loading kids into cars, an elderly couple a few doors down sitting on their front porch passing a newspaper between them. After a few minutes I slipped across the street and through the side gate, unobserved.
It was cool and shady in the courtyard. A few muffled sounds carrying from the neighbours but the house and courtyard themselves were still. A quick glance through the glass back door: empty floors and walls as far as I could see. I found the key and let myself in. It was cool inside, too, because of all the shade trees outside, I guessed. Either way, it suited my mood. I shut myself in the upstairs bedroom, tossed my bag down and sat with my back against the wall. Facing the door—just in case.
It made sense in a way. How Evie knew. But I didn’t like the thought that I talked in my sleep. I had no control over that. What else did I say? What other secrets of mine was Grace hoarding? How the hell could I stop myself from doing it?
I chewed on my thumbnail, feeling oddly exposed.
After a moment, I reached for my bag. I’d packed my Elias folder and even though I wasn’t having much luck there it felt like something I could hold on to. There wasn’t a whole heap in there, just notes I’d made after our meetings with Aurora and Benjamin, the names of other students in Sephora’s grade, and Elias’ birth certificate.
I scribbled a few extra notes and then stopped. Surrounded by the mess, I contemplated my failure. I had no idea what I was doing. I was out of my depth with this whole thing. I pushed the pile of notes off my lap and got to my feet, restless and frustrated. Paced around the room, trying to stretch out my limbs, feeling caged. One look at my watch and I nearly cried. It was only 9 a.m.
I couldn’t stay locked in the house all day. I’d go crazy. I pulled off my school uniform and put on my other uniform—my cut-offs, hoodie and ratty sneakers—pacing around the room as I went. Out, I have to go out. Shops? I couldn’t think of anything more tedious than hanging out at the shops. Besides, I didn’t have any money. Elias still hadn’t paid me. I was starting to wonder if he ever would. Not that I thought he was trying to cheat me, but he seemed kind of forgetful about that sort of thing.
I needed internet access somewhere so I could do some proper research. But I wasn’t going to school. That was just dumb—who runs away from home and then goes to school? I mean, I wasn’t running away from home. That would make me like Vogue. I was asserting my independence.
Okay, library. I had a vague idea where the local library was. Annoyingly, there’s no train lines in our suburb, just buses, and you never know where the hell a bus is going, so I walked. Left my school uniform but brought the rest of my stuff, just in case, including the phone charger I’d tossed in my bag before I left home. Locked the house up and put the key under the mat and slipped out into the bright morning.
It was sunny and already getting warm and I hadn’t even packed a bottle of water. Or my toothbrush. I wondered if Vogue had packed her toothbrush. An eleven-year-old had probably done a better job of running away than I had.
‘Bloody idiot,’ I said out loud. I don’t just talk in my sleep. I talk as I’m walking too, I can’t help it. It started way back when Frankie and I were little, and wherever we went she was always there. I never went anywhere by myself.
‘Enough of Frankie.’ I was talking to my brain, but I said that out loud too. As usual, it didn’t listen. I’d spent the whole second part of my life wondering how things would be different if Frankie was still around. Going back to that same question, like someone probing and worrying a loose tooth.
It was a relief to get to the library. Not just because it was air conditioned inside—I stepped through the auto doors and just stopped for a moment to appreciate the cool air on my sweaty skin—but it interrupted the endless Frankie loop.
I headed to the computer area and plugged in my phone to charge. Shot off an email to Elias listing the things we needed to follow up and then leaned back in the chair, not sure what to do next.
After a few minutes I logged out of my email and got up. Roamed around the library, looking at the books on the shelves without noticing what any of them were. Studying the random notices posted up on the community boards near the doors: iPad lessons for seniors. Playgroups. Missing dogs.
I was waiting for Elias to ring, but he didn’t. I wandered around the library some more, then went back to check my email again, just in case. Nothing.
In the end, it was an hour before he called. ‘Sorry, Li-Li. I had a class.’
‘What did you just call me?’
‘Li-Li. You don’t like it?’
‘What do you think?’
A giggle, maybe a little nervous. ‘Not so much? Okay, I’ll keep working on it.’
‘Please don’t.’
His voice perked up. ‘I’m up to a thousand followers on the blog.’
‘Good for you.’ Not sure if he caught my sarcasm. ‘I’m not at school today and I thought I’d see if you wanted to work on stuff.’ Deliberately keeping it vague.
‘What do you mean, you’re not at school today? Is it, like, a strike day or something?’
‘Pretty much.’ Vague again. I stupidly felt bad about lying to him. ‘So. Do you want to do a bit more research or something?’
‘Sure.’ Sounding a bit out of breath like he was maybe walking somewhere. ‘Can we go visit my grandparents again?’
I’d lost track of how many times he’d been to see them already. It seemed to be less about finding out information and more just hanging out, then bringing home something Aurora had baked. But we had nothing else to go on.
Elias was still talking. ‘I want to talk to Benji. He’s the one who’s talked to Sephora most recently. I want to ask if she ever talked about me. Like, comments that in retrospect might be about having me and giving me up. And I want to ask him to tell her that I’m looking for her.’
‘What makes you think she’s interested in me
eting you?’
‘I’ll get him—Benji, I mean—to tell her about me. Tell her how much I want to meet her, and that I’m not angry and all that stuff. I’ll get him to convince her.’
I wasn’t sure that Benjamin could convince anybody of anything much. More of a shouter than a persuader.
‘You don’t need me for any of that,’ I pointed out. Shut up, my internal voice told me. You have nothing better to do, and you’ll go crazy if you don’t keep busy. Even dealing with Aurora seemed less painful than being stuck in a dead silent house all by myself for an interminably long day.
‘I do, I do,’ he insisted. ‘You’re part of this whole process.’ ‘Fine,’ I said, trying to sound reluctant. ‘But I reserve the right to bail if she tries to force-feed me again.’
‘Oh please. That’s your favourite part.’ I could hear the grin in his voice. ‘I’ll be there in about forty minutes.’
It was nearly an hour later that Elias picked me up outside. I looked at him. Blinked and looked again. ‘What did you do?’
‘It’s performance art.’
‘Where did your eyebrows go?’
They were completely gone. His face just looked wrong, and his glasses seemed to rest awkwardly against the naked brow ridge, like they didn’t sit right anymore.
‘I plucked them. I thought it would hurt more than it did. The first hurt like a mofo, but then after a while I kinda stopped feeling it, you know? Like I’d reached some sort of state of zen or something.’
‘That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.’
He shrugged. As usual, my words didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.
‘You can’t go out in public like that,’ I pointed out. ‘You can’t go see your grandparents looking like that.’
He shrugged. ‘I reckon they’ll be fine. They seem pretty open-minded.’
I was sceptical. But damn, he was right. Aurora thought it was brilliant.
‘You know, it was the fashion back in—the Renaissance, I think it was? The Mona Lisa doesn’t have any eyebrows. You don’t really notice when you look at the picture, though, it just looks like she plucked them into a thin line. You don’t really see that they’re gone altogether…because of the way Da Vinci painted the brow, I suppose. It’s more obvious on you. Your brows were quite heavy before.’
The Finder Page 11
