* * *
Mid-afternoon I take time for a quick visit with Granny, our first all week thanks to Mom and Dad. Her paintings are beside her night table, next to the garden gnome and her bedsheet-sack. She’s on her hands and knees looking under the bed.
“Rhubarb pie, Granny.”
She pops her head up. “Pumpkin!”
“What are you looking for?”
Granny shrugs. “Whatever it was wasn’t there. But come. Sit.” She pats a place beside her on the bed. “I’ve made a decision. I’m seeing your uncle Teddy in Toronto. Come with me.”
“Uh, Granny, I don’t think this is a good day for travelling.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because Mom and Dad. Also how would we get there? The train’s in Woodstock and I can’t drive.”
“I can, silly.”
“You haven’t been on the highway for years.”
“So what?” Granny says. “I could get us to Woodstock.”
“We’d need trip money. Tickets, food.”
“I have a money stash at home.”
“Where?”
“The less you know.” Granny taps her nose. “Come. Please. I need you. I forget what’s what sometimes. But if you were with me, you’d know what to do till I was right again.”
Okay. Truth time. I take her hand. “Granny, this is hard to say, but what if we went to Toronto and Uncle Teddy didn’t want to see you?”
“He would.”
“He wasn’t at Grampa’s funeral.”
Granny’s eyes flicker. “They didn’t get along.”
“It’s more than that. Uncle Teddy hasn’t come home for anything. You say he writes, but Dad puts your mail in the front hall. I haven’t seen his name on anything.”
“Don’t confuse me.” She squeezes my hand. “No matter what happened, Teddy won’t let me die here.”
“Granny, we don’t even know if he’s still in Toronto.”
“He has to be.”
“His number’s not listed. He could’ve moved.”
“No!” She presses her face into my shoulder. “I need to see him again. Just once. I need to tell him I’m sorry. I need him to forgive me.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
There’s a terrible silence. I let her hang in my arms, then pull away. “I have to get ready for something, Granny. But I’ll be back tomorrow. We can talk about it then. Okay?”
Granny doesn’t say anything. I back out of her room. Outside in the parking lot, I look up to her room. She’s not at her window.
19
When Mom and Dad took my phone last summer, they got me a watch so I wouldn’t have an excuse for being late. Correction, they got me a pink plastic piece of crap with the Frozen princesses on it. Right now it’s ten minutes past Princess Anna’s right eyeball and dinner is finally over.
Tuna casserole. Did I really need fish breath?
I brush my teeth for like half an hour, then I go to my room, get into my party clothes, and throw a dressing gown over top in case my parents come in. Also for parents, I wait to put on my makeup. To pass time, I stare in the mirror and practise my smile.
Topics of conversation. What do we have in common? Grandparents losing it. How romantic. I know, we’ll talk about him making the team, his friends, his smile.
I want to bite my nails to the knuckle. I sit on my hands.
Okay, it’s eight thirty. I open my starter kit. Here goes nothing. I work out the cracks around the rims of my blush pots and moisten my mascara with a little Visine. Hope I don’t get an eye infection.
Eight fifty. I like the lashes and liner. Now for the lipstick and blush.
Nine o’clock. Not bad. I should add a few sparkles for luck … I need a few more … So maybe I didn’t.
Five past nine. I remove some sparkles, but mess up the highlighter. I smooth things out with a finger … Grr, the left side has less colour than the right … Now the right side has less colour than the left … Okay, I should leave it. If the lights are too bright, I can wash it off before Ricky gets there.
Nine thirty. Mom and Dad are still watching Mom’s favourite reality show in the salon. I brush my hair to keep calm.
Nine forty-five. Why does time take fffooorrreeevveeerrr.
Ten o’clock. The TV goes off. “I can’t believe they sent the redhead home. Can you believe it, Tim? Tim? Tim, are you asleep?”
“What?”
“You always fall asleep on me.”
“Sorry. The ’pams kicked in too quick.”
“You watch those pills. It’s every night now,” Mom says on their way to the bathroom. They brush their teeth. Hurry up. They close the door to their room.
Ten past ten. Suckhole, don’t leave!
I tiptoe down the hall and out the side door. Dylan’s SUV is idling at the park. I race the whole way, waving my arms for them to see me in the rear-view mirror. Suckhole and Dylan are in the front seats. Katie and Caitlyn are in the back.
“We have dibs on the window seats,” Caitlyn says and gets out to let me in. I sit between them.
“You got away okay?” Suckhole asks as we head out of town.
“Yeah. It took Mom and Dad forever to go to bed. Sorry I kept you waiting.”
“No problem.” She hands me a rum cooler.
I hate drinking, but I don’t want to look stupid so I take it. “Thanks.”
Katie and Caitlyn giggle. Are they drunk already?
There’s only a couple of other cars on the road. The farms are dark. I take a sip from my cooler. Dylan’s place is coming up on the right. We drive past it.
“Isn’t the party at Dylan’s?”
“Change of plans.”
“So where is it?”
“You’ll see.”
I look from Katie to Caitlyn. They’re grinning.
I try to stay calm. “There is a party, right?”
“Sure,” Suckhole says. “Just not the one you were expecting.”
“Okay.” My voice quivers. “But Ricky, he’ll be there?”
“Afraid he can’t make it. Real shame, hunh, with you dressed up so nice? Not that he’d care. See, he doesn’t actually like you. He feels sorry for you.”
“Let me out.”
“I don’t think so. Katie. Caitlyn.”
They press tight against me. My phone. How could my folks take my phone? The drink can crumples in my hand. Rum cooler spills all over me.
“Aw, you’ve wet your Band-Aid, I mean your skirt,” Katie snickers. “What’s underneath? Special Ricky panties?” They laugh. Breathe. Breathe.
We turn onto the old McClennan Sideroad, an abandoned dirt lane, and drive to a rusty bridge. Dylan cuts the engine and kills the headlights. Everything’s swallowed in night.
Suckhole shines a flashlight in my face; Katie starts recording on her phone. “Get out.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Guess.”
The doors open. Suckhole and Dylan get out. I lunge forward to press the horn. Caitlyn grabs my waist and yanks me back. I try to cling to Suckhole’s headrest. It slips through my fingers. I fall outside onto the gravel.
Suckhole nods to Dylan. “Do like I told you.”
He grabs me under the arms and hauls me to the middle of the bridge.
I struggle. “Help!”
“Like anyone’s going to hear you.”
Caitlyn kicks dirt at me. “You so deserve this.”
“Totally,” Katie says, half falling down from doing her video.
Dylan sits me on the railing. Suckhole shines her flashlight off the bridge. Down below is a creek bed: rocks, broken glass and strings of barbed wire.
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“We’ll do what we want.” Suckhole’s eyes tighten. “What makes you think you can disrespect me? Shove me down in front of everyone? Make me look bad in front of my folks?”
“I�
�m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“You’re a sorry piece of shit is what you are. Well, it’s payback time.”
“What kind of payback?”
“I want to hear you say, ‘Spit on me. I’m a Bird Turd.’”
“What?”
“You heard me. Say, ‘Spit on me. I’m a Bird Turd.’”
“No.”
Suckhole gives Dylan a signal. He raises his hands like he’s going to push me.
“No! Don’t! I’ll die!”
“So?”
“If I don’t come home there’ll be questions.”
“Not for us. We aren’t even here. We’re at my place studying. My parents will back me up. You know it, too.”
“Anyway,” Katie says, recording, “everyone’ll think you ran away.”
“And when they find me?”
“Guess you killed yourself.”
“So say it,” Suckhole goes. “‘Spit on me. I’m a Bird Turd.’ Say it or else.”
I glance down at the rocks, start shaking like crazy. “Okay, okay. Spit on me. I’m a Bird Turd.”
Suckhole grins and horks in my face. They all do. “Now say: ‘Granny’s a dirty bird. She’s Granny Bird Turd.’”
“Madi, no. I can’t. Anything about me, but not about Granny.”
“Say it now.” Suckhole punches the flashlight hard into my chest. It knocks me backwards. My calves grip the railing — they start to slip — I flail with my arms — I’m going to fall. “AAAH!”
Dylan grabs my legs at the knees. I hang upside down screaming.
Katie laughs. “Hey, think Bird Turd can fly?”
“Pull me up!”
“Why?” Caitlyn taunts.
“Last chance,” Suckhole goes. “‘Granny’s a dirty bird. She’s Granny Bird Turd!’”
“Dylan! Please! Pull me up and I’ll tell you about her cousin Danny. You know, from Saskatoon?”
“SHUT YOUR FACE!” Suckhole yells at me.
Dylan twists sideways to Suckhole. “What’s this about Danny?”
She grabs at his arms. “Don’t listen to the little bitch. Drop her.”
“No! Dylan! Pull me up! I’ll tell you everything!”
Dylan’s grip loosens. I swing in the air, start to slide through his arms. “Dylan, I’m going to fall!”
He grabs tight, heaves me up, and tosses me down on the bridge. “So. Danny,” he says, standing over me.
“Okay, okay,” Suckhole sobs. “Danny kept trying to touch me all summer.”
“What?” Dylan turns to her.
“I wouldn’t let him. It was awful.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I knew you’d beat him. Then my parents would break us up. I kept quiet for you. For us. Zoe knew. She promised not to tell. Only now she’s wrecked it. Forgive me?”
“Madi, hey, hey.” Dylan hugs her. “It’s not your fault.”
Katie and Caitlyn rub her shoulders: “Oh, Madi. Madi, poor you.”
Suckhole hugs them, too. “I’m sorry. I should have said. I didn’t think you’d understand. I didn’t think you’d believe me.”
“Of course we would,” Dylan says. “You’re Madi. And yeah, I would’ve beat the shit out of him.”
“What would I do without you?” the turdlet blossoms. She wipes her eyes and glares me. “Okay. You tell anyone about tonight — anyone — we’ll get you. Understand? You won’t know where, you won’t know when, but we’ll stuff you in the car and finish what we started.”
I curl into a ball.
“Let’s go,” Suckhole says to the others. “The skank can walk back.”
They drive off.
20
The tail lights disappear. It’s so quiet I hear my heartbeat. So dark all I see are specks of light from distant farmhouses. I start to walk, trip in potholes, keep going. At the highway, I head towards town. The whole way, I flash on the rocks, the glass, the barbed wire under the bridge. It’s all on Katie’s phone. Me getting spit on, hanging over the bridge. I bet they’re watching it right now, laughing.
Will they post it? If only: See, Mom and Dad? Tell me I’m lying now. Madi’s too smart.
I hug my arms. I don’t feel anything. Cars pass. I’m glad no one stops. They might know my folks.
I see the street lights where the highway goes into town. It must be after midnight. Nobody’s around. I shiver. I don’t feel cold, but I must be. The only thing I know is I stink of sweat, dirt and rum cooler. I reach the park. Home. Tomorrow, these clothes go in the trash.
I slip in through the side door. The air is heavy with hair sprays and tuna casserole. I tiptoe through the kitchen into the salon. The lights go on. Mom and Dad are sitting on the dryer chairs in their pyjamas and dressing gowns. Mom’s wig is crooked. Dad’s totally damp.
“Where have you been?” His voice is scary quiet.
“Nowhere.”
He gets up, a different Dad than I’ve ever seen. “Where. Have. You. Been?”
“I told you. Nowhere. I couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk.”
“Like that?” Mom goes.
“Booze,” Dad says. “You stink of it.”
“No, I—”
“Who’s the boy?” from Mom.
“There isn’t a boy.”
“No? Just look at that dirt. Who were you rolling around with?”
“No one.”
“Then what were you doing?”
“You won’t believe me.”
“We will if it’s true,” Dad says.
“Fine. I was with Madi. Happy?”
“Madi? You think this is funny?”
“No. She wanted to kill me.”
“Right.” Mom heads to the phone. “I’m calling your aunt Jess. I’m telling her what you said. You want that?”
“No! She really will kill me.”
“Shame on you. Shame.”
“I told you. You never believe me.”
“I wonder why with your condoms and drugs, that get-up.” Dad’s face is a river of sweat. “How many times have you snuck out like this?”
“Never. This is the first.”
“It’s never the first!”
“You need help,” Mom goes. “There’s a doctor in Woodstock.”
“You want to stuff me with pills? Make me like Granny?”
“Honey, you’re not well. We’ve tried everything else.”
“Yeah, right,” I holler. “You lock me up. You take my phone. You never listen. Well, it’s not my fault you had me! Not my fault Dad never left town! Not my fault we’re not the Mackenzies!”
“What?” The room is one big yell.
“Shut up!” I run to the door. “Shut up shut up shut up!”
“Come back here, young lady!” Dad goes.
“Make me!”
“If you take off, don’t come back.”
“Fine.”
I slam the door behind me, run down the road to the park, and jump on a swing. I push higher and higher till I’m level with the bar. Scream till my head’s inside out: “I HATE THIS TOWN! I HATE THIS LIFE! I WISH I WAS DEAD!”
A truck hurtles down Main Street towards the highway. It speeds up as it nears the park. It’s going so fast it can’t stop. So fast it won’t hurt!
I fly off the swing and race to the road. As I go to jump, I picture Granny alone at her window. I throw myself to the side. The truck flies past, horn blaring.
Oh my God. What just happened? Have I gone crazy?
I need someplace to think. To hide.
21
I sneak into Granny’s backyard and let myself into the Bird House. Her curtains are closed to keep thieves from spying, so the place is pitch black. I go for the switch, but people will see light through the curtain cracks and know someone’s inside. Granny has candles in the sideboard; I can hide the glow with my hand.
I follow the walls to the dining room with my fingers. The wallpaper’s covered in fuzzy green flowers. They feel like caterpillars.
I free
ze. What was that sound?
Nothing, dork. This isn’t a movie.
I reach the sideboard and grope inside till I find candles, a holder and a box of matches. The air moves around me. My neck prickles. Someone’s here.
I stop breathing. Silence.
I light the candle, turn my head — A face! I see a face!
Idiot! It’s my reflection from Granny’s glass cabinet. I’m alone. Unless I’m not. What if somebody broke in? Some drifter? What if he’s still here?
Shepton doesn’t get drifters.
Then what about Suckhole? She knows it’s empty. What if she brought her gang here to get wasted? What if they hid when I opened the door?
There’s a bulge in the window curtains. I put down the candle and grab the umbrella by the table.
“Suckhole, you hiding behind the curtains?”
Like she’d answer. No, she’ll wait till Dylan blocks my way out the back. Then she’ll jump me and—
I attack the curtains, whacking them over and over. Nobody’s there.
So what? It doesn’t mean they’re not somewhere else.
Umbrella in one hand, candle in the other, I make my way through the living room, kitchen and study. Nothing. I’m too scared to go into the basement. Instead, I prop a chair against the door. If Suckhole comes up, I’ll hear it topple.
I go upstairs and check the walk-in closets on my hands and knees so I can see feet hiding behind Granny’s dresses. There aren’t any. I go the bathroom and throw back the shower curtain. Nobody’s there, either.
I grab a towel from the linen cabinet and shower with the door open: Granny wants to see where she is; I want to make sure nobody’s sneaking up the stairs. I dry off, go back to Granny’s room, and push a wooden chest in front of the door. If anyone tries to break in, I’ll jump out the window.
Granny’s got nighties in her chest of drawers from when she was heavier. They smell like mothballs. I slip one on and crawl into bed. The sheets are new, but Granny’s scent comes up through the pillow covers: stale lavender, rose and talcum powder. I picture her in bed at Greenview: “Where am I? What’s going on? Why wasn’t I informed?”
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