Elegy

by Jane Abbott

  Kylie leaned forward. ‘What was Michael like? Is he as kinky as they say?’

  Who were they? Jenny didn’t want to know, and she didn’t want to talk about Michael or the kiss or how it had made her feel. She didn’t want to think about that or about what had happened after. And she definitely didn’t want to tell anyone – especially Kylie and Sophie – about the boots and how they’d faded from her feet as if they’d never been.

  So she lied. ‘He’s nothing special.’

  ii

  Had he not tried to tell the truth of what had happened in a fallow field in front of plenty of witnesses – any of whom could’ve backed his story but didn’t – Todd might have made it out of the hospital that night. As it was, his wild ramblings so concerned the overworked registrar that an MRI was ordered to make sure the belligerent patient hadn’t also suffered a head injury, and Todd wasn’t released until the following afternoon, by which time the damage was done.

  His father had been furious – with him, with that fucking Webster boy, with the whole debacle over some stupid piece of arse. With the hospital bill. ‘A Casey always wins!’ he’d shouted, thumping the steering wheel as he drove the six blocks home. ‘Always!’

  No, Todd wouldn’t forget that night. His dad and Webster had made sure of that.

  He spent his last week of holidays stewing and brooding, alone in the cool darkness of the once-grand house; with just one strong arm, he was of no use to his father at the yard. But even hidden away behind closed doors, and windows made dirtier by yellowed lace curtains, the gossip filtered through in whispers and snatches, in Facebook taunts and memes. And while the town relieved him of any blame, believing him to be nothing more than a weak-willed boy, his head turned by a pretty girl in a blue dress and his feet turned by a clod of earth, other things were slow to burn, and his arm was –

  ‘Healing nicely,’ pronounced the doctor the day before school started. ‘You’re lucky it was a clean break. Another four weeks and that plaster can come off.’

  Except Todd didn’t want them to take it off. He was scared of what lay underneath, of the hot maggots he knew were there, slowly devouring his flesh, chewing sinew and spitting up bone. Whenever he thought of Webster – of what he’d done – he felt the same pain as he had that night: fire and hot knives, stabbing, stabbing, eating at his head the way the maggots gnawed at his arm until he became a thing rotting, flattened and forgotten, like roadkill.

  At school it was worse: the eyes that watched, the mouths that smirked, the words that ridiculed, all of them needling, poking and goading him into a rage as filthy as it was dark. But almost as painful as his shattered arm was the agony of having to see Caitlin with her brother, the two of them side by side, light and shadow; Caitlin, his beautiful, glacial bitch, so attentive to her brother’s needs when she should’ve been caring for him. She made it impossible for Todd to give Webster what he deserved. Oh, why had she chosen Michael and not him? Couldn’t she see his hurt and feel his pain? Didn’t she fucking owe him?

  Only, he couldn’t hurt Caitlin. No, he’d never do that, no matter how much she deserved it. So he kept his distance and waited for an opportunity that never came. Because it wasn’t just her looking out for Webster, it was the other one too – everybody’s golden boy, always showing up when he shouldn’t. But there was still the girl, Webster’s little slut. She’d never spoken up, had she? She hadn’t told anyone what’d really happened that night, and no one was watching her back the way they were watching Webster’s.

  Maybe he’d start with her. Yeah, she’d be the first to pay.

  iii

  ‘Jenny, hurry up! You’ll be late,’ her mother called from down the hall.

  Jenny could hear her growing impatience – in that voice, in the way she was banging the breakfast dishes and yelling at Chris to brush his teeth – and she buried her head further under her pillow.

  ‘Five more minutes,’ she groaned. Just five more.

  She’d always thought the worst thing about having a doctor in the family was not being able to fake being sick. All those tips about putting a wet cloth on your face to make it clammy, or drinking hot water before a thermometer was shoved in your mouth, never worked. She’d tried. And even if she could have fooled her dad, she’d never get around her mum. Her mother knew every trick in the book. And that morning, her first at a new school, Jenny would have to be dead to get out of going. If only, she thought morosely.

  She didn’t want to face everyone, knowing what they thought of her. Kincasey might come up short on pretty much everything else, but Jenny had already learned that it was long on gossip and malicious lies. Lifting the pillow, she glared at the uniform hanging on the wardrobe door. A simple checked dress, this one bottle-green instead of blue, it was supposed to make everybody look and feel the same – the great leveller – but she was pretty sure no one else was feeling the way she did. No one else was being talked about the way everyone was talking about her.

  She wasted time in the bathroom, ate breakfast like it was her last meal, messed about with books and bags and shoes and hair, dragging out every second before dawdling up the street, the whole time wishing she had somewhere else to go. But despite her best efforts she still found herself standing outside the gates with time to spare.

  Kincasey Secondary College, with its buildings of yellow brick and grey concrete, sprawled along the high street just outside the town’s centre, easy walking distance for those who lived nearby; buses brought in the farm kids. Watching them pull up and spill kids onto the street, Jenny wondered which one Michael was on, dreading having to see him again. She made her way to the administration office with her head down.

  ‘Ah, so you’re the new girl,’ the assistant said, peering at her through narrow glasses, her mouth screwed up like she’d been sucking on a lemon.

  Jenny wondered whether it was her imagination or if the woman had emphasised the words new girl as though Jenny was a gross and dirty thing. Had she heard the rumours too? Had anyone not?

  The assistant dropped a key into Jenny’s hand and gave her a timetable. ‘You’re in Eleven B, and your locker’s in the corridor outside room one-oh-six. That’s in the big brick building on the far right of the school. Any questions, see Mrs Walker. She’s your class tutor.’

  Dismissed.

  Jenny didn’t thank her.

  It was easy enough to find her way around, even while staring at the ground; all schools were the same. Once, she heard her name called and looked up quickly to see Kylie waving at her. Relieved, she waved back, only to see Kylie turn to the group she was with and say something that made them laugh. Jenny cringed and slunk away.

  Finding her locker, she crammed books and folders into the too-small space, managing to waste another five minutes. Only three hundred and sixty more to go, she thought, slamming the door closed. A couple of boys sauntered past and one of them whistled. She whirled around, angry and ready to say something, and that was when she saw him.

  He was leaning against the wall, past the bank of lockers, and with the morning light filtering through the grimy window, she could see his face clearly. He was watching her. His arm was plastered and carried in a sling. It made him look even bulkier, the strap around his bull neck digging into flesh, and he lolled against the wall, heavy and solid. But it was his eyes that unnerved her the most; petty and grey, almost colourless, his gaze fixed on her face, empty of any emotion except maybe one. She heard that crack again and felt sorry for him. Then he lifted his good hand and, slowly, with menace, tapped the broken arm with two fingers. Once. Twice. And any pity hissed out of her, like air from a tyre.

  Pushing off the wall, Casey swaggered across the corridor into a classroom, leaving Jenny to stare at the space where he’d been.

  By lunchtime she was feeling better. She sat with Sophie and the others in the shade of a ragged gum and braced herself for questions about the party, but they never eventuated. The group simply chatted much like she and her friends had
done back home and, while Jenny didn’t join in, she was glad to be a part of something safe and familiar.

  ‘Gabe Webster. Three o’clock,’ one of them muttered, and everyone turned around to look, including Jenny. Having heard so much about him, she wanted to see if all the talk was true for once.

  He was tall, taller and bigger and broader than his stepbrother, and he walked with long, strong strides. Dirt-blond hair hung to his shoulders, and his eyes were the lightest brown. He winked at one of the girls as he passed and she blushed while the two on either side elbowed her. It was all a bit pathetic, Jenny decided, and she didn’t watch him walk away. Instead, she stared at the bench Gabe had left and the two people still sitting there.

  Michael leaned against the backrest, and she heard again the snap of bone and that scream of agony. He looked gaunt, as if he’d been scooped out and only partially refilled, his face more lean and his eyes hollow. But if Jenny had been hoping to see him apologetic or even bothered by everything that was being said about them, she was disappointed. He seemed completely disconnected, as though whatever was going on around him was unimportant, secondary. A single glance in her direction and even then it was to look through her, like she wasn’t there at all. The only person he had eyes for was the girl beside him, and he talked to her quietly, every now and then leaning in to listen to something she said.

  She sat tall and straight and was very fair, as light as Michael was dark, with long hair that fell around her face like sheets of burnished white gold. Occasionally she’d smile at something he said and, when she did, Jenny saw his face ease, and his eyes were less black for a minute.

  ‘Who’s that with Michael?’ she asked at last.

  Kylie kicked her under the table. ‘Jealous? Don’t worry. That’s just Caitlin, his sister.’

  Yes, Jenny remembered. The sister who wasn’t his sister. The one who was crazy. ‘She’s really beautiful,’ she said, her chest aching.

  Kylie sniffed. ‘Maybe, but she’s also really strange.’

  Jenny didn’t find out how strange until that afternoon, when she bumped into Caitlin in the corridor. Or maybe it had been the other way around, she later thought. Caitlin didn’t seem clumsy enough to bump into anything. As they collided, Jenny’s books spilled onto the floor. Cursing, she crouched to retrieve them and Caitlin sank down with her, gliding to the linoleum.

  Glancing at her, Jenny was struck again by the girl’s beauty: ethereal, almost otherworldly. Out of the sun, her hair was more silver than white gold, and her sage-green eyes were calm, her gaze direct and a little disconcerting. She didn’t apologise for the collision, but said, ‘You’re the girl who was with Michael.’

  Her tone was more curious than accusing, but Jenny reddened anyway. ‘I wasn’t with him, okay?’ she snapped. ‘We just –’

  ‘Yes,’ Caitlin said, not bothered by Jenny’s anger. She watched her pull together her belongings without offering to help. ‘You don’t need to worry, you know.’

  ‘Right,’ Jenny snorted.

  Caitlin reached out and gently lifted Jenny’s chin to search her face, and Jenny realised what was so odd about Caitlin’s eyes: their colour was dull, like glazed clay before firing, and without a single fleck or facet. She looked sad.

  ‘I’m sorry about the boots,’ Caitlin said. Then she rose, effortlessly graceful, and wandered away, leaving Jenny scattered on the floor alongside her books.

  Always, Sir, set a high value on spontaneous kindness. He whose inclination prompts him to cultivate your friendship of his own accord, will love you more than one whom you have been at pains to attach to you.

  JAMES BOSWELL, Life of Samuel Johnson

  V

  Surprisingly, it was Gabe who helped her through the worst of it during those first furious weeks at school. Once she’d noticed him, it was hard not to see him everywhere. And even though he walked around the school like he owned the place, he wasn’t arrogant. He filled the place with light, friends laughing when he joked, girls following him with their eyes and their hearts. He made up for the dark moments, the moments when Jenny overheard someone whispering, the moments when she longed for some terrible train wreck to kill a few dozen people just so it would take everyone’s attention off her, the moments when she’d feel suddenly cold and would turn to find Casey watching her.

  ‘Need any help?’ a voice rumbled beside her on the second day.

  She jumped, then turned to see Gabe, so tall she had to look up at him. His hair was tied back and his smile was easy. He nodded in Casey’s direction or, rather, where he’d been, because when Jenny looked again he wasn’t there.

  Gabe repeated the question slowly as though she were some kind of idiot. ‘Do you need any help dealing with that?’

  ‘No.’ She didn’t need or want anything from the Websters.

  But any hope that her rudeness might send him packing wasn’t answered. Gabe simply lounged beside her and watched while she rummaged for the textbook she needed. She could feel herself getting red in the face and she willed him to vanish like one of Michael’s illusions.

  ‘It won’t last,’ Gabe said, finally. ‘People will get bored sooner or later. Believe me, I know.’

  Remembering everything she’d heard about him – all the talk by all the girls about all the other girls – and how everyone had melted to goo when he’d walked past them the day before, Jenny realised he’d probably been gossip fodder for a long time. But it was for a different reason, wasn’t it? Because Gabe belonged and he could do no wrong.

  He grinned. ‘Besides, you’re just not that interesting.’

  Her frown deepened to a scowl before she found herself returning his smile and feeling the first flush of relief. ‘Gee, thanks for noticing.’

  Looking at him, so natural and easy, so unlike Michael, so different from Caitlin, she had to wonder at some of the stories.

  ‘Don’t believe everything you hear,’ he said with a wink, and then he was gone. The light in the corridor seemed to dim a little and Jenny understood how easy it would be to fall for him.

  She saw him again the next day. He was with Michael and Caitlin, the three of them walking together, sun and shadow and silvery moon. Related or not, there was no doubt the good-gene fairy had spared no effort with the Webster family. Gabe gave her a quick nod as they passed but said nothing, and she watched him and Caitlin usher Michael into the building, not quite leading him but nudging him in the right direction. Again, Michael didn’t notice her.

  Nor did he notice her over the next few weeks – not even in the English class they shared, where he’d sit very still at his desk, Caitlin beside him – and Jenny couldn’t help but feel cheated. She’d find her thoughts returning again and again to the party, to the blue boots and that first soft touch of Michael’s lips.

  Gabe began to spend more time with her, during recess and lunch, or catching her in the corridor between classes. At first, Jenny thought he was watching out for her. When he’d appear at her side, Casey would slip away. She had no idea how Gabe knew when Casey was around, and it made her kind of nervous to think that she was being stalked by both of them, but she gradually stopped wondering and just accepted Gabe’s presence. It was impossible not to. He was fun, and she was glad to have a friend who didn’t judge her, even if he was Michael’s brother. But his sudden interest did nothing to improve her relationship with the other girls.

  ‘One’s not enough for you?’ said Kylie. ‘Now you’re out for the other brother too?’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Jenny protested.

  Gabe laughed when she told him. He laughed about everything, as though the whole world was there for his amusement. And maybe it was, she thought – this small, small world at least. The only time he didn’t laugh was when she asked about Michael.

  ‘All I know is, he’s coming back,’ he told her.

  It wasn’t the answer she’d expected, and it definitely wasn’t satisfactory, but it somehow seemed to fit. A strange explanation for a
strange boy. And anyway, the less she knew about Michael the better. That’s what she kept telling herself; sometimes she even believed it.

  But if Gabe was attentive, Caitlin kept her distance, remaining by Michael’s side. He’d told Jenny they didn’t get along, but as far as she could tell the two couldn’t be closer. Watching them together, Jenny couldn’t help thinking that there was something else going on; all Caitlin’s hovering around Michael was too odd. If she felt anything more than sisterly, she never showed it, but that didn’t stop other people from speculating. She’s so weird was the usual comment, and Jenny couldn’t disagree. So up herself. Talks like she’s reading from a dictionary. Why can’t she leave him alone? The irony of that last jibe wasn’t lost on Jenny, although, as far as she was concerned, every time they talked about Caitlin was one less time they were talking about her, and that suited her just fine. And whatever was said didn’t appear to bother Caitlin; she wasn’t the paranoid mess Jenny was. Then again, Caitlin wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met before.

  But apart from rehashing the old stories of the things he’d already done, no one said much at all about Michael. Because it wasn’t his fault Casey’s arm was broken or that he’d frightened the life out of Jenny. It wasn’t his fault he played stupid magic tricks. It wasn’t his fault he was walking around school like a zombie. Of course it wasn’t.

  Not once did Gabe ask her about the night of the party. In turn, Jenny never let on about the dreams that still haunted her, how much Michael had scared her or the horror of Casey’s arm snapping. They circled the topic like boxers in a ring, neither willing to strike the first blow.

  As they grew easier with each other, as Michael emerged from his weird catatonic state, Gabe began to amuse her with stories of his brother – funny stories; crazy, ridiculous stories; stories others didn’t know, that were impossible to believe but still wonderful to hear. They were reminders of the boy Jenny had thought she’d met, who was now gone: Michael secretly conjuring rabbits and foxes on the farm to tease Jim when he was hunting; Michael sending up small globes of coloured lights to dance under the beams of the verandah when the boys slept outside on hot nights; Michael making shadow movies on the wall of the bedroom they shared, childish at first, more explicit as they’d got older; Michael closing down the school for a day by producing an infestation of redback spiders; Michael once making Casey hit himself every time the school bell rang. Michael, who conjured butterflies for kisses and boots for more.