Finally, Ant stops sobbing. Jacqueline smooths her sister’s curls away from her flush-damp face. Shifts herself away from the sag in the centre of the mattress. The old single bed really is too small for the both of them.
Ant sniffs. Rubs at her eyes. ‘The worst thing is that I don’t even know how I really feel. I mean, that’s not the worst worst thing, obviously, but I just . . . it’s like there’s this voice in my head saying, your mother is dying, you should be feeling awful – and I do feel awful, but I don’t know if I feel awful because of Mum, or because I’m not feeling awful enough about Mum.’
Jacqueline smiles. ‘You think too much about these things.’
‘It’s not funny.’
‘I’m not laughing at you, honestly.’
‘I don’t understand why she didn’t see anyone sooner. All this time, she said she knew something was wrong. Why didn’t she just see someone?’
‘You know how she is about hospitals. I think Dr Chiang’s the only doctor she’s ever remotely trusted. Even then, she had to be at death’s door to call him.’ Jacqueline bites her lip. ‘Sorry. Poor choice of words.’
Ant wipes at her eyes. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘It depends on what she wants,’ Jacqueline says. ‘We can’t force her to do anything against her will.’
‘But she can’t just stay up here on her own. God, that’s bloody medieval.’
‘We can make some calls on Monday. I’m sure there are services that provide palliative care at home. Perhaps a live-in nurse, if she’ll agree to that.’
‘Sounds expensive. I don’t . . . I mean, do you have any money, Jacqueline? Mum can’t have much put aside, not with just the bit of bookkeeping she’s been doing. How do we pay for something like that?’
Jacqueline shakes her head. ‘We’ll find a way. There’s this house for a start.’
‘She’ll never sell it. You heard her, she wants to die here.’
‘Perhaps we can convince her to take out a mortgage against it.’ She rubs her temples. ‘Look, Ant, I don’t have the answers right now. But there will be some, I promise. Tomorrow, when we get back, we’ll go online. See what options are out there for people in our mother’s . . . situation.’
‘Okay.’ Her sister frowns. ‘This is why she wanted me to come and stay with her, wasn’t it? Remember, over dinner?’
‘Possibly. Yes, I would say so.’ There’s a weird, nameless tightness in her chest. Not jealousy. Not even its weaker sister, envy. But certainly a distant cousin. ‘You notice that she didn’t ask me.’
‘Oh, Jacqueline, it’s because of your job. She knows it’s hard for you to get time off from the gallery, whereas I’m only a waitress.’ Ant grimaces. ‘Why on earth did you tell her I was applying for uni?’
‘I thought she would ease up on you for a while.’
‘And when the truth came out?’
‘Well.’ Jacqueline presses her lips together. ‘That’s not something you’ll have to worry about anymore.’
‘That’s awful!’ Her sister looks stunned. Genuinely shocked.
‘That’s honest,’ she tells her. ‘Besides, it doesn’t have to be a lie. You’re bright, Ant, and you did fine in school. There’s no reason why you couldn’t apply to do, what was it again? Psychology?’
‘And what about Loki? How am I supposed to study full-time and earn enough to take care of the both of us? It’s not like he can actually go out and get a job. He doesn’t have a shred of paper to prove he even exists.’
Jacqueline recalls the blonde girl from the clothing shop. Her fervent smile as she helped Loki into what would soon become his leather jacket. ‘I don’t think you need to worry about Loki. I suspect he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I know you think it, Ant, but I didn’t buy him that new jacket. Honestly.’
‘Where did he get the money then?’
‘He didn’t.’
‘Are you saying he stole it?’
‘No, he . . .’ There aren’t any words for how the salesgirl looked as she handed Loki the bag. Eagerness comes close, gratitude even closer. But neither feel right. ‘It’s almost as though he . . . charmed her, the girl in the shop. I know it doesn’t make sense, but it seems as though she wanted him to have the jacket. As though she was glad to give it to him. Needed for him to have it, almost.’ Jacqeuline shrugs. None of those words are right either. ‘Sorry, I’m not explaining it very well.’
‘So, what, he just asked for the thing and she gave it to him?’
‘I think so. I didn’t hear what was said, but that’s what it looked like.’
‘He can do that?’ Ant’s voice has dropped to a whisper. ‘He can just ask for things and people give them to him?’
‘Don’t look at me,’ Jacqueline says. ‘You’re the one who made him.’
‘You say that like I knew what I was doing.’ Ant sighs. A forlorn, drawn-out breath that hurts to hear. ‘I never know what the hell I’m doing these days. I’m just so bloody tired all the time, I don’t even have the energy to think. It feels like I’ve been living on autopilot, you know, just going through the motions and waiting for . . . god, I don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to be waiting for.’ Tears well fresh in her eyes. ‘And now there’s Loki, and this . . . thing with Mum, and it’s all such a huge mess, I don’t know what to do with any of it.’
‘It’s all right.’ Jacqueline holds her sister’s hands between her own. ‘We’ll figure everything out, I promise. We–’ On the bedside table, her phone chimes to life. Automatically, she reaches across and scoops it up. Ryan Jellicoe calling. ‘Sorry, Ant, I really need to answer this.’ Her sister rolls her eyes. Jacqueline pushes herself up from the bed. Mouths another apology as she taps the screen. Heads towards the bedroom door and the lightless hall beyond.
‘Ryan? Thanks for calling me back.’ She closes the door behind her.
‘Jacqueline, girl, I’ve missed you.’
‘Always the charmer,’ she says, and grimaces. That last word makes her think of Loki. It tastes foreign in her mouth. The door to Ant’s old bedroom is shut, the gap beneath it dark.
‘Always,’ Ryan echoes. She can picture the grin on his face too well.
‘I wanted to thank you for sending those photos through to Dante.’
‘Yeah, he left me a message. Gotta say, your boss doesn’t sound like the happiest little Vegemite right about now.’
Jacqueline wanders back down the hall to the main part of the house. Everything is quiet and still. She has forgotten what it’s like up here on the mountain after dark. No sound of passing traffic. No ambient noise beyond the occasional shriek of a nightbird or the scrabble of possum claws on the roof. ‘Dante is never happy,’ she tells Ryan. ‘But the photos help. He’s reassured that there’ll be a show at least.’
‘Even if he doesn’t much care for what he’s gonna be sticking on his walls.’
She takes a breath. ‘He said that?’
‘Didn’t have to. Could hear it in his voice.’ Ryan chuckles. ‘Tosser, going on about new directions and re-visioning and god knows what else. Bloody message went on for about five minutes. Already told him I was only gonna be talking to you from now on.’
‘When did you–’
‘In the email, when I sent the shots. Except I used his lingo, yeah? I prefer to liaise solely with Jacqueline from this point. So it’s sorted, right? Bastard can’t sack you if the talent insists on keeping you around. I can do prima donna with the best of them, girl, don’t you worry about that.’
Jacqueline swallows a groan. ‘Ryan, I really wish you hadn’t. I appreciate the vote of confidence but that’s not how it works.’
‘Hey, c’mon, lighten up. You should see what I’ve be
en doing up here the last couple of days. That big canvas is almost done, I reckon.’
‘That’s great.’ She forces herself to smile. Hopes he can hear it in her voice. ‘That’s really good to hear. But honestly, I think . . .’ There’s a dull thumping noise in the background, followed by muffled shouts. Muffled laughter.
‘Hey, you there?’ Ryan asks. ‘Look, I got some people rocking up here, we’re heading into the Valley.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ she tells him. ‘But tomorrow, can you do something for me?’
‘Ask and you shall receive.’
‘Call Dante. Tell him you’re looking forward to the show. And that you’re happy to work with anyone from Seventh Circle.’
‘I’m not crawling on my knees to that prick.’
‘He’s not a prick. He’s funding your damn show and you’re acting like some spoiled five-year-old who’s been told he can’t have ice cream for dinner.’
Silence, pierced only by a faint shriek of laughter that sounds suspiciously like Zane. Jacqueline cringes. How quickly the girl has managed to make amends. Then Ryan’s familiar chuckle fills the line. Fills her head. ‘You’re good for my ego,’ he says. ‘Good for kicking it up the arse as needs be.’
‘Ryan–’
‘No, look, I’m not gonna call him. But if he rings again, I’ll answer.’
‘Don’t mention me. Honestly, it won’t help anyone.’
‘Sure, whatever you say. But our deal stands, yeah?
‘Our deal?’
‘Dinner, just you and me. After all this shit has blown over.’ That chuckle again, throaty and rough with self-confidence. ‘No ice cream till I’ve eaten all my vegies, that’s a promise, girl.’
Her smile this time is genuine. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’
More muffled shouts. Another shriek. And Ryan, his voice low and apologetic, threading like silk through her ear. ‘Gotta go, the natives are restless. But we’ll talk soon, yeah?’ He ends the call without waiting for goodbyes.
Jacqueline switches off the phone and heads to the kitchen for a glass of water. She should get one for Ant as well. Perhaps make them both a mug of warm milk. Stir in some honey and cinnamon – her sister would like that. But as her fingers search for the lightswitch, a large shadow moves across the kitchen window. Moves towards her, silent and swift, and a startled cry lodges in her throat.
‘Shhh,’ Loki whispers. His eyes glimmer in the darkness, cold as distant stars.
— 14 —
‘I’m sorry I scared you,’ Loki says again. He’s still staring out of the kitchen window, fixated on the backyard and the looming bushland that surrounds the house. Jacqueline stirs the milk on the stove. With the pantry bereft of cinnamon, she’s had to use nutmeg with extra honey instead. Three mugs wait on the counter top.
‘We should go for a walk,’ Loki says.
‘Why on earth would we do that?’
‘To see what’s out there.’
‘This place backs right onto National Park land. There’s nothing out there but trees.’ Her mother has let the yard go in recent years. Small shrubs and saplings now invade well within the perimeter. The grass is overgrown, clumped and heavy with seed. Jacqueline shivers. ‘Snakes and spiders are about all you’re likely to run into.’
‘Where does the parkland begin?’ Loki asks.
‘Quite a way back. This house is built on a fairly large lot.’
‘It must have been fantastic when you were kids.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘All that bush to muck about in. Like having your own private kingdom up here on the mountain.’
‘Not really,’ Sweet-scented steam begins to rise from the saucepan and Jacqueline turns down the heat. ‘It wasn’t . . . we didn’t play out there very often. Our mother used to worry about us getting lost or hurt or . . .’ A flash of memory. Shadows and sunlight. Her sister’s tearful face. She pushes it aside. ‘We didn’t much like it out there anyway. I think Ant was afraid.’
Loki turns around, visibly curious. ‘Afraid? Of what?’
‘Who knows? We were only little girls.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Little girls with a chronically paranoid mother.’
‘It can’t be easy for you, finding out about her health like this.’
‘It’s especially bad for Ant. She’s always been closer to our mother than me, always . . . well, she’s the youngest after all. Isn’t that the natural way of things? The youngest is always the favourite?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’ Loki stares at her. An odd, oblique cast to his face.
Jacqueline meets his gaze. ‘What does it feel like?’
‘What does what feel like?’
‘Being . . . what you are.’
He folds his arms over his chest. Leans back against the sink. ‘Disconnected,’ he replies at last. ‘I feel like I’m floating on top of things, like I could slip off the edge at any second. Take the wrong step, be the wrong step. I’m not really part of this world, I know that. I feel it. There’s this . . . pressure? I don’t know, something like pressure, around me all the time.’
Jacqueline swallows. His words scrape along bone. ‘You have to be careful,’ she says. ‘You have to think about everything you do, everything you say, in case it might be wrong. In case it won’t fit.’
‘In case I won’t fit. And I need to fit. I need to know that . . .’
‘That you belong,’ she finishes. ‘That you are accepted.’
‘Acceptable.’ Loki tilts his head to the side. Regards her with new and narrowed eyes. ‘This world, being part of this world? It’s like I’ve been given an instruction manual, written in Chinese, translated into French. With all the diagrams printed backwards. I can see how I’m supposed to act, the person I’m meant to be, but . . .’ He spreads his hands before him, palms out. A helpless gesture. Lost and flailing.
Too easily, Jacqueline finds the words to throw to him. ‘But you have no idea if you’re doing it right. If there will ever come a time when you won’t have to wonder if you’re doing it right.’
He stares at her for several heartbeats. Then nods, a gesture closer to acknowledgement than affirmation. ‘How long has it been?’
On the stove, the milk boils over with a hiss. Jacqueline swears and lifts the saucepan from the element. Turns off the heat. Loki is at her side almost immediately, a damp cloth in hand as he wipes at the spillage, catches the drips from the bottom of the pan. The smell of scorched milk stains the air.
‘When did she make you?’ he asks.
‘She didn’t,’ Jacqueline says brusquely. Because, really, what was she thinking? No sense in such ridiculous suspicions. Merely paranoia, which she now pushes aside.
‘But you just said–’
‘Just because I can understand how you feel, doesn’t mean I’m like you.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
‘I’m her sister, Loki. Her older sister.’
She moves across to the waiting mugs and begins to pour. The milk-skin sloughs off into the last. Sits wrinkled and yellowed on the surface. She pinches it between finger and thumb, intending to drop it back into the saucepan, but Loki grabs her wrist. Lowers his mouth and sucks the milk from her fingers. His tongue is warm, almost rough. Cat tongue, cat eyes, holding her gaze with his own as he licks his lips.
‘I’m older than her as well,’ he says. ‘Objectively speaking.’
‘Stop it.’ She pulls away. Dumps the saucepan into the sink and fills it with water. ‘It’s impossible.’
‘Impossible seems to be in flux these days.’
Her hands are trembling as she turns off the tap, dries them with one of her mother’s jumble sale tea towels. The green crocheted edge is fraying at one corner. She picks at a loose thread. Watches it unravel. ‘I’m her sister, Loki
. I have a whole lifetime of memories of being her sister.’
‘Yeah.’ His smile is bitter. Cold. ‘You don’t need to tell me about memories.’
‘Stop it,’ she says again. Her voice is barely a whisper now and it’s not just her stomach that seems hollow. Her entire body feels scraped out. She is a shell, a girl-shaped husk. Perhaps she always has been.
‘I’m sorry,’ Loki says. ‘This wasn’t the best time to–’
‘You’re wrong.’ Jacqueline straightens her shoulders. ‘I’m not like you, I’m not some cheap, pirated copy Ant conjured up to make her feel better. I’m real. I’ve always been real.’
His jaw clenches and he turns back to the window. Back to the night beyond. She takes a mug in each hand, leaves the third behind for him to do with what he chooses. She’s already in the hall when Loki calls her name. ‘We don’t belong in this world,’ he says. ‘Tell me I’m wrong about that.’
Jacqueline says nothing. Endeavours to think nothing as she makes her way carefully back through the house to her old room. The light is still on but Ant has fallen asleep. Curled on her side with fists tucked up beneath her chin. Jacqueline places one of the mugs on the small student desk at which she had spent so many long, arduous hours. First high school, then university. Countless projects and essays, not to mention revision for exams. Those memories are real. They are hers. Hers alone. She takes a sip of warm milk and wrinkles her nose, regretting the nutmeg. Two more mouthfuls before her mug joins its mate on the desktop, and she switches off the bedroom light.
Ant grumbles but doesn’t wake as Jacqueline wedges herself between her sister and the wall. Pulls the doona over them both and presses her face to the warm, solid curve of her sister’s back. Pushes away thoughts of Loki and his ridiculous ideas. If she was home, if she was alone, she could banish it all. Two, three strokes of a blade would be enough to release her.
If she was home. If she was alone.
Jacqueline closes her eyes. Concentrates instead on keeping still. On matching the slow, comforting rhythms of her sister’s breath.
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