‘Usually you are begging to go into town by day three to rent out some new videos and see some human beings,’ Meg continued to Eve. ‘Are you worried about Rebecca?’
‘No, no.’ Eve didn’t know what else to say. She knew she should add on a supporting sentence to make ‘no’ more real, but she couldn’t think of one.
‘Mum never mentioned it,’ Sarah said as she sat down on the bottom step. ‘She must have known. She never told me.’
‘Why would she know?’ Meg asked.
‘They’re friends. Her and Mrs Thornton are friends. Remember? Mum must have known about Rebecca.’
‘Maybe she didn’t,’ Meg said.
‘Maybe she forgot,’ Sarah said.
‘Maybe she forgot,’ Eve repeated. ‘It will be different this year.’
‘It’ll be different,’ Sarah repeated.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ Eve said.
And again Sarah repeated, ‘It’s going to be fine.’
‘Guys,’ Meg said. ‘Of course it’s going to be different. You’re starting to worry me. I know she was a bitch, but that was years ago.’
Eve had been hazy on the details with Meg. In fact, she had played it down. She’d made it a blur, and blurs aren’t sharp. The razor and blood that morning were enough for Meg, and Eve knew it was enough. This way, Eve protected Meg. She gave her a controlled portion of that year but no more. Sarah’s contributions to the topic were always so stage-managed that Eve thought she just might bring out some glitter from her pocket and start throwing it around when she retold a story.
The stained-glass window on the stairwell landing above splintered the light into hundreds of multicoloured directions, some beams hitting the corners, some trailing out near the front door, a few crawling on the girls’ school shoes.
Meg held out her arm for Sarah to pull up on, and Sarah took it.
‘Guys?’ Meg asked. The three of them were standing in a row, Meg in the middle.
‘It’s fine,’ Eve said. ‘It’s fine.’
‘It’s fine,’ Sarah repeated.
Meg looked from Eve to Sarah and then back again. ‘Will you two stop copying each other and say something?’
Ms Davidson stuck her head out the door. ‘I thought I heard voices. Go. Off to class.’ She clapped her hands at them and disappeared.
They all walked quickly up the hall and down the three steps of the administration building to stand under the walkway pergola.
‘See you at lunch,’ Meg said, heading off to physics. Then she turned a few steps down the path and stood under the shade of a leopard tree. ‘It will be okay, Eve.’
Sarah disappeared around the corner, still clutching her books to her chest. Eve could feel her heart beating fast, in four places at once: her chest, her neck, her stomach, her calves. They were all pounding, pulsing. She bent over to tie up a tied-up shoelace. Everyone’s moved on, Eve. It’s been two years, she said to herself, squatting on the path, books beside her, fingers untying and retying laces. Then she vomited on her school shoes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Eve could hear Rebecca at the end of the hall talking about physics. Physics schmysics. Rebecca had settled into the boarding house like a Burmese cat on a neighbour’s beloved couch in a pocket of sun. She claimed her space, five moves ahead of the original inhabitants, attracting admiring glances and ignoring the source.
As Ms Emery was fond of repeating, Rebecca was ‘a delightful addition to the boarding house’: helping those weak in algebra; writing a play about what really happened to Miranda and the girls in Picnic at Hanging Rock with fellow boarders studying drama; telling long, scintillating tales about German boys and German schools and German food.
Eve lay upside down on her bed, with her feet pounding rhythmically on the pillow. They all had their own rooms now – a privilege for final-year girls, they were told, that came with responsibility. The top floor of the boarding house was reserved for Year Twelve girls, and all had their own rectangular carbon-copy single bedrooms separated by thin sheets of gyprock and a curtain for a door. The rooms contained a single bed, bedside table, desk, wardrobe and chest of drawers.
Rebecca was in the habit of stopping in to see Eve during study time and leaning against her doorframe, carefully hitching the curtain door on its hook first, to chat about English or biology or Elizabeth Bowman and her one bad eye. Eve was in the habit of waiting for her, rereading the same four lines from Wuthering Heights or Othello or some other book that needed to be dissected and cursing herself for forgetting what she had just read. That’s all they ever discussed: schoolwork or girls at school with physical deformities. They never had a conversation. Surrounded by a hundred and thirteen girls, they never had to.
Eve had waited every day since Rebecca first shoved her suitcases under her bed in the boarding house for someone to mention that year. They were the words she used in her head. They identified it but possessed a comforting vagueness. That year. That year. Labelled, stored and put away.
Two weeks before the end of first term, Eve found herself in the common room with Rebecca and a group of other senior girls. They were discussing the critical differences between French, Italian and German boys, while Eve sat off to the side on the worn carpet, marking important dates in her diary with different-coloured pens. She dawdled on the floor, bent forwards and slowly packed away her pens, zipping up her pencil case as the bell summoned them for dinner. She saw out of the corner of her eye Rebecca dawdling too. Eve’s neck pulsated so obviously that she rubbed at it and then let her hand rest there as she pushed a pink fluoro highlighter into an already packed pencil case. Rebecca sat on the lounge nearest Eve and crossed one leg over the other, her long hands smoothing her navy school skirt down around her knees. Rebecca’s knees nearly touched Eve’s head.
‘Evie, you have to help me with music. I’ve got so rusty. I’m terrible.’
‘I’ve heard you play, Rebecca,’ Eve said, not turning to face her. ‘You’re fine.’
‘Eve, you are too nice. You know I am crap.’
Rebecca bent over to pick up Eve’s diary from the carpet. She placed her hand on Eve’s back as ballast.
‘Here you go,’ she said brightly, placing the diary on top of Eve’s pile of books just as Eve came to a standing position. Then Rebecca threw her head back in an exaggerated ‘just seen a snake smoke a bong’ look. ‘You have grown so tall and so thin, Eve. You should be a catwalk model. Not one of those hopeless Australian models doing editorial for Country Road, but one of the skinny girls in Europe who do the fashion shows. You would be perfect. All limbs. Come on. My bet is on beef stroganoff. When I’m out of here, I’m becoming a vego.’
Rebecca waited for Eve at the doorway, and Eve had no choice but to follow. They walked to dinner together, with Eve holding on to this piece of hope that had been clutched for so long it was smooth and shiny and almost slipping away, that Rebecca would say something about that year. She would explain, have a reason, acknowledge, maybe apologise. And Eve had a few lines ready in response. On the way to dinner, though, Eve discovered Rebecca couldn’t believe that Mrs Trevor got that perm.
When they arrived together in the dining hall and stood momentarily under the gold-lettered honour board to survey the room, Meg raised her eyebrows at Eve, and Eve returned the gesture before joining her at the table. They squashed in together down the end, with thighs and elbows touching. Eve sat to Meg’s left, because that gave her a better position to survey the room. To survey Rebecca.
Eve had developed a sixth sense when it came to Rebecca. She knew when Rebecca was about to leave her room and come down the hallway in the dorm before she could see her. She would hear her packing her books or straightening something up in preparation for leaving. Eve had memorised, without consciously doing so, Rebecca’s timetable and habits. She knew when Rebecca studied, when she did her laundry, when she was due to return from after-school activities. She knew that Rebecca didn’t like tomato or bananas or too muc
h chocolate in her hot chocolate. She could spot Rebecca’s blonde ponytail in a sea of blonde ponytails in seconds. She could mimic perfectly the way Rebecca bit her lip when she pretended to be confused or unsure about something. Rebecca swam around Eve’s head, twisting and turning, day and night.
Rebecca sat opposite Meg and Eve this evening instead of in her usual spot near Jenny and Camilla. Eve pretended not to watch her as she ate individual pieces from yet another casserole.
At the far table, a group of Year Eights suddenly burst into uproarious laughter. One girl poured her water onto another’s dinner plate. There was another burst of laughter and a few high-pitched screams, and it was such a novel idea that more water was tossed across more plates at the table. It was an endless circle of merriment.
‘God, look at them. They think they are so cool. Such rebels without a cause,’ someone said from the Year Twelve table.
‘We were like that,’ Meg said, spooning some ice cream and tinned peaches into her mouth. Meg understood why the tinned peaches tasted metallic, but everything tasted that way: the beef casserole, the carrots, the soft celery. Meg imagined someone mixing dinner in a paint tin.
Everywhere, girls sat in groups, eating and talking. Talking and sipping. Wiping crumbs off laps. Swapping carrots for broccoli, meat for bread, peaches for ice cream.
Rebecca began discussing a problem in extension maths with Meg, and, although Eve tried, she couldn’t follow any of it. They were the only two boarders sitting the maths extension two exam, and Eve had noticed they were spending time in each other’s rooms every now and then, going over mysterious mathematic equations.
‘Ask Mr Christian tomorrow,’ Meg said when they failed to resolve the question.
‘Why did we take this maths in the first place?’ Rebecca asked. ‘We are the only two morons doing it. We must have rocks in our heads.’
‘I just want to get through polynomials,’ Meg said. ‘I can’t get my head around them.’ Meg tipped the contents of Eve’s dessert bowl towards her to check if there was any ice cream left. ‘You ate it all,’ she said to Eve. ‘You never eat it all.’
Eve turned her spoon around and sucked on the rounded curve overly dramatically. ‘It’s the quick and the dead, Meg. The quick and the dead.’ Eve plucked the spoon out of her mouth and held it up to the air. ‘What does that expression mean anyway? Mum always says it.’
‘Der, Einstein. I suppose if you’re not quick, you’re dead,’ Meg said, pushing Eve’s bowl back towards her. ‘You’re a goner, Eve.’
Eve clutched her heart and made choking noises. ‘I’m dying,’ she gasped. ‘Help me.’ She began to slip from her seat.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll save you,’ Sarah said, pulling Eve’s hand and helping her to sit back up.
‘You’re an idiot, Eve,’ Meg said, pushing Eve on the shoulder and smiling.
On the edge of their laughter, Rebecca leant forwards and said, ‘What about him saying we could beat the boys if we did just one more session after school with him each week? I mean, I think it’s a bit odd he keeps asking if we want tutoring after school.’
‘He’s just trying to help,’ Meg said.
Rebecca raised her eyebrows. The noise was rising and circling in the dining room. Rebecca grabbed Meg’s wrist and pulled her towards her. ‘Do you think we should get the extra tutoring? I’ll do it if you will.’
Eve watched Rebecca’s fingers curl around Meg’s tanned wrist and Meg not pry them away. Rebecca had two of her fingers around Meg’s watch. It must have been uncomfortable, noticeable, for Meg, Eve thought. Meg was always civil to Rebecca but nothing more. A line had been drawn, and Eve had never seen Meg cross it. The line worked because Meg did her best to avoid Rebecca. She was businesslike around her. It was a professional relationship.
‘Umm.’ Meg sucked in her bottom lip. She didn’t pull her wrist away. ‘Okay. Could be a good idea to get on top of things now. Give us time to work on big problems before exams.’
‘Brilliant,’ Rebecca said, and she jumped up and down a little bit in her chair. ‘Brilliant. I know it’s maths, but we’ll make it fun, Meggie. We’ll have fun.’
‘Meg, can I have your knife for a minute?’ Eve asked, leaning into the conversation.
Meg had to pull her arm away from Rebecca to grab the knife for Eve. She didn’t ask why Eve wanted it and handed it to her without turning. Eve put Meg’s knife on her plate and put her own knife on her lap.
‘Extra maths. My dream come true,’ Meg said.
Eve could feel the weight of the knife on her skirt.
‘What’s everyone doing this Easter?’ Sarah said, trying to ignore dessert. ‘We should do something. It’s our last Easter together.’
‘Are we going to count down like this for the rest of the year, Sarah? Second-last English assignment, third-last netball match ever, fifth-last lecture from Mrs Oswald over manners.’
‘Seriously, Meg. Before we know it, this year will be gone. After Easter, it will all be about study, study, study for exams. We won’t be able to relax. Let’s do something this Easter. Together. Before we have our head in a book for the rest of the year.’
Sarah leant across the table. She was sitting opposite now and had to move the plastic salt and pepper shakers and her dessert bowl so she could get close enough to be heard. ‘C’mon, Meg, Eve.’
‘Those girls are in for it now,’ Meg said, a nod of her head indicating the girls who had been free and easy with their water glasses over their dinner plates. Every plate on the table had food swimming in water, and now, behind them, stood a mistress with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed.
No one turned to confirm her presence, but the table felt it and all at once fell silent.
‘And who would think it amusing to waste food? Is it funny to pour water into other people’s dinner? Why don’t you tell that to all those children out there who are starving tonight? Clean it up, and all of you see me in my room when you are done.’
The mistress called across the now-still dining room. ‘Rebecca Thornton. Could you come here, please, and supervise these girls? I want this table to be spotless. Spotless.’
Eve could have kissed all the girls in Year Eight and given them her old assignments to copy. She had registered Rebecca’s expectant face when Sarah put out an all-points bulletin for anyone to join in for an Easter getaway. She was so relieved that she took the risk of clipping Sarah for bringing it up while Rebecca was still in the room. ‘Jesus,’ she whispered to Sarah. ‘What were you thinking? I reckon Rebecca was about to try and join us.’
‘No, she wasn’t,’ Sarah replied with a sting in her voice.
‘I have to tell you something,’ Meg interrupted, her voice low.
They turned in unison and leant in, elbows on the table, one eye on Rebecca in the corner of the room, busy supervising.
‘I don’t know how it has happened, and I have tried to get out of it,’ Meg said, taking a breath. ‘But Rebecca is coming home with me, with us, this Easter.’
‘What?’
‘Her mum called my dad last week and did this big spiel about how Rebecca and I do the same advanced-maths and Latin subjects and how they are unable to make it back to Australia from Germany until August and how Rebecca speaks often of me and how they would really appreciate it if she could come home with me for Easter. She’s going to an aunt’s place for the rest of the holidays. Her aunt’s really old, so her mum doesn’t want her there the whole holidays.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Eve spun her bowl around and around and around on the table until Meg slammed her hand on top for it to stop.
‘Eve,’ Meg said. ‘I told Dad I didn’t like her and I didn’t want her to come. He did the old “You girls are so funny. One week you like each other and the next you don’t”. Then he said her mother had asked him to do a favour for her and he had said yes and that’s it. I argued, Eve. I argued. But Dad said that, in the six years I have been at this school, not one parent has ever a
sked him to do anything. It’s four days, he said.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us earlier?’
‘Dad only told me last week, and I kept thinking I could talk him out of it. Come up with another plan. But I couldn’t. He’s really determined.’
‘Well, I hope she knows I’m coming too,’ Eve said as Rebecca began walking back towards them.
‘And you’re coming too, Sarah,’ Meg said quickly and quietly. ‘You get on best with The Chosen One.’
‘Oh my god!’ Rebecca suddenly screamed, putting both hands over her mouth. She screamed again and again and again. High and sharp. Every single head turned in the dining room, following Rebecca’s gaze. There was a black rat running along the length of the wall. Mrs Evans screamed too. Every single girl in the dining room started to scream. Most jumped up on the chairs. They flapped their hands and pointed, and the rat stayed still, pressed against the wall by the piercing noise in the room, the hysteria.
‘Look at its tail. It’s disgusting,’ Sarah screamed from her chair. ‘Ooh. It is disgusting.’
‘It’s as big as a cat,’ a Year Eight girl yelled.
Eve grabbed the butter knife from her lap, jumped up and held it in front of her.
‘What are you doing?’ Meg started laughing. ‘Eve, it’s a butter knife, and that’s a rat. Are you planning to butter it to death?’
The sight was so ridiculous that the table momentarily transferred its attention from the rat to Eve with her butter knife held out. Everyone started laughing. Eve threw the butter knife on the table, and it bounced off and hit Amanda in the stomach.
‘Watch it,’ she said.
‘She didn’t mean to,’ Meg said. ‘She was trying to kill the rat. She’s a ninja.’
‘Good luck, Evie Chan,’ someone said from up the end.
‘I’m scared. If anyone can kill a rat with a butter knife, Eve can,’ Rebecca added.
The table laughed again. All except Eve. Meg gave Eve’s arm a quick rub.
From the corner of the room, Mrs Evans came running over with a broom, and as she came, her weapon held aloft, she said in an overly steady voice, ‘It’s all right, girls. Calm down. Calm down. Time to calm down. It’s just a rat.’ The rat moved along the wall then stopped. Mrs Evans stood in the middle of the room and yelled above the renewed din, ‘For god’s sake, everyone stop screaming!’
Under the Influence Page 32