Tahnee sits with me for a while. She’s drinking beer, then vodka, then some sickly-looking punch one of the girls has mixed up in a plastic bowl. I get up for a drink.
‘Hi. Did you make this?’ I ask the punch girl, to make conversation. I scoop a tiny bit into a plastic cup and say, ‘Mmmm.’
The girl gives me a wary look, then moves around to the other side of the fire.
Tahnee’s in her element, flitting around in her heels with her streaky blonde hair slick and rippling. I sit on a log further away from the fire but my legs splay out and I feel overdressed, like a chambermaid in a ball gown.
There’s a smell like disinfectant, mixed in with the smoke. The guys are chucking on pine cones that crackle and spit. Dead embers land in my hair and eyelashes and the smoke follows me wherever I stand. I grab a handful of pink marshmallows and try to toast them on a stick. The fire’s too hot and they burn. Pink ooze pours over my fingers and, when I brush my hair away from my stinging eyes, it sticks to the strands.
As the sun goes down, Tahnee gets drunker. Sculls whatever she can get her hands on. I almost envy her abandon, her ability just to let it all go. She keeps skipping tracks on Ryan’s CD player. Every time, someone yells at her to leave it. The dark disorients me, like a drug, and I’m glad I didn’t drink the punch.
Another car pulls up. The throb of the engine is familiar, like my own heartbeat. It’s him, I know it. I feel like a rabbit in a spotlight and, for a few seconds, I freeze. Jordan gets out of his car and heads straight over to a group of guys with a beaten-up Skyline.
I let my hair fall over my face and watch him. He still makes me sweat. He’s tall and lean and lovely, all that and a brain. It’s such a shame he has no integrity. Love and hate make a strange cocktail.
‘Tahnee, can we go home now?’ I yell over the music, knowing the answer.
Her vision must be blurred but she spots him and a sneaky smile spreads over her face. ‘Ha, ha,’ she says. ‘Told you. You should have made more of an effort. Geez, Mim you look like shit.’ She sways like it’s windy.
‘Thanks. Can we go now?’
‘No way. Now’s your chance, chicken. Go on, give him a kiss.’
I’m thankful for the music because her voice is loud and the other girls stare. I’ve never seen her like this. We’ve always been a double-act but tonight she’s so… separate and out of control. Before I can stop her, Tahnee staggers over to Jordan. She leans in, even as he backs away, hands in pockets, and in slow motion his eyes turn to drill mine. He nods and smiles at her, the way a sober guy does to a drunk girl.
I’ve only ever had a hangover once. The feeling’s the same. The sense of impending doom, the feeling like rats gnawing at my stomach, the grate of my eyelids when I blink.
Tahnee grins and gives me a thumbs-up as if she’s done me a favour. She launches herself at Ryan and they fall to the ground. The rest of the boys cheer because they know he’s on a sure thing.
Jordan heads over with his blue blue eyes and his cowboy swagger, hands dug deep in his pockets. One corner of his mouth smiles, the other turns down. The girls fall silent and watch him with greedy eyes. Could it be them?
I know I look ridiculous, like confectionery, frothy white with watery eyes and sticky lip gloss and melted marshmallow in my hair. A week ago, this could have been it: that perfect moment when he asks me out or holds my hand or kisses me. I want to forget what he did and pretend this is the real beginning. But we’re too far gone for that.
I stand. I keep my fists clenched, tight against my sides. My heart beats too fast and I forget how to breathe. I can’t think. Think, Jemima. This is the moment where I will cut him down, in front of all these people I don’t know. This is the moment for transcendental public revenge. Take your time, make it stick like a blade between his ribs. But the words won’t come. So, I jut my chin in the air and I do what all Dodds do when they’re sizing up an opponent—I sneer and I say nothing, because the words won’t come.
Jordan circles me like a matador. He bends down on one knee and grabs one of my hands while I stand there, mute and stupid. Then, the pain as he twists my little finger sideways. His stare is cruel and hypnotic.
‘Stay the fuck away from my sister.’ He gets up and walks off.
In shock, I step back and fall over the log. The two girls huddle together and their laughter sounds like barking.
Tahnee stumbles over, pigeon-toed. ‘Well? What did you do? What did you say to him?’
‘Please ask Ryan to take me home.’
‘What happened?’
‘Take me home!’ I shout.
‘I don’t get you, Mim. You’re gutless, that’s what you are. Go home then. I’m sick of you and your fucking Virgin Mary act,’ she yells back.
For a moment we stand and stare at each other. The gap between us gets wider. Then she turns and walks away.
I get into the car and I’m shaking hard as if I’m getting the flu. It’s ages before Ryan comes, alone.
‘Where’s Tahnee?’
‘I’m dropping you off, then I’m coming back. She’s not ready to go home yet.’
‘Don’t leave her here, will you? She’s drunk.’
He looks over his shoulder at me. ‘Tahnee can look after herself.’
‘Just take me home. Please.’
When he drops me off I sneak down the driveway and go straight to the shed. I don’t have anything for Gargoyle to eat, but I need to scream silently for a few minutes before I go into the house. Mum has a radar for sadness, maybe because she carries so much of it herself.
Inside the shed, the air is silent and still. The fluoro flickers and dies, then plinks on, making me blink.
The bucket and the blanket are empty. The beast is gone.
TEN
There’s not much that can wake me before ten during the holidays, but I hear Mum up and around and that’s strange enough to make me curious. What’s even stranger is she’s got the vacuum going. My head thumps and I have that reckless feeling again. The one I get when things are out of control.
I send Tahnee a text. I’m sorry I left you there last night. Hope you got home ok. I need to talk to you. Ring me.
I know she wouldn’t have snapped if she hadn’t been off her face. I know she would be on my side if I had told her the whole story. If I tell her about Jordan and what he did, we’ll get back to the way we used to be. No more secrets.
My finger still aches, but it could just be in my head. I don’t get it. Why does he hate me so much? Why did he give Kate my address if he didn’t want us to hang out? Somewhere deep, I can feel the slow burn of anger begin to snuff out the rest—my anxiety about my brothers, my shame about the package, the desolation I feel when I think about him. Mum’s indifference. Gargoyle’s desertion. I should feel relief about that, but I don’t.
The smell of real coffee seeps under my door. Now I’m really suspicious. That means Mum’s actually opened something she’s bought and she’s using it.
From the look of the kitchen, I can see she’s been at it for hours. The bench is uncluttered, the dishes are clean and the rubbish has been taken out. It smells of Windex and bleach. A stainless-steel coffee machine is hissing and spitting like a rabid camel and Mum’s swearing at it, trying to jam a glass pot where it obviously doesn’t fit.
‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m making coffee. What’s it look like?’
‘Since when do we drink real coffee?’
I check the lounge room: there are places to stand and sit, matching coasters on the table, tracks on the carpet. And she’s flipped the couch cushions, I can tell, because they’re cleaner than the back and the arms.
‘No, I mean what’s going on?’
‘Stop asking stupid questions, Mim, and help me with this bloody thing.’ She slams the pot on the sink. ‘Nothing goes back the same way.’ Her hands are shaking.
‘Is it the boys?’
‘No, they’re fine. I’m going in tomorrow, if you
want to come.’
‘Are you going to explain to me why our house is clean?’
‘No. And I need you to be out today. All day. And make sure your room’s tidy.’
This doesn’t happen very often. When it does, it means that there’s a ‘meeting’. Stuff that I shouldn’t overhear. Hushed conversation with hard-looking men who don’t take their boots off at the door for anybody, not even Mother Dodd. Feeney never comes to our house although he’s been a constant in our life since I was a pre-schooler. Like a Godfather. But Mum never deals without the protection of the boys and they aren’t here. Suspicion cranks in my gut like a rabbit trap. Something funny is going on. Nobody who attends the meetings gets real coffee or matching coasters.
‘Are we okay, Mum?’
I think, for a moment, she actually sees me.
‘We’ll be okay, Mim. There’s just going to be a few changes around here.’ She gets the pot in the right place and gives it a nod.
‘Coffee?’
I laugh because she’s got as much chance of getting coffee out of that machine as she would have getting milk out of a bull. I pour myself an instant and she’s not offended.
‘Oh, Benny brought your bike over last night.’
‘Did he?’ I say casually, but my tongue feels like I could choke on it. I don’t want the goddamn bike. Surely someone would have taken it by now? ‘What did he say?’
‘You know Benny. He parked it around the side, helped himself to a beer and took off. What was he doing with your bike?’
This is my chance. I should tell her. I could clear my conscience and sacrifice Jordan Mullen to The Wrath of the Dodds.
Instead I say, ‘Oh, I bent the front wheel. He was going to try and fix it for me.’
‘Okay. Well, go on, have some breakfast and clear off.’
‘Now?’
‘I need you gone by nine. And could you drop off the boxes on the porch to Mrs Tkautz? She’s going to do her garage sale this weekend.’
Great. Mrs Tkautz is particularly vile in the morning. Mum must be desperate for money, to be selling off her hoarded stuff. But things can’t be that bad yet, because she hasn’t asked me to get the package. I’m confident she won’t get it herself. The pit is narrow and dark, two things Mum can’t navigate with her big body and her poor eyesight.
Outside, the heat is relentless. Even the witch’s garden is baked dry. Her flowers rustle and squeak. One by one, I deposit Mum’s boxes on Mrs Tkautz’s porch.
‘Whassat?’ Mrs Tkautz rasps through a crack. I can make out her one good eye and half her nose. I’m so not in the mood for her.
‘Mum asked me to bring these over. For your garage sale.’
‘Fifty-fifty, you tell her.’
Capitalist witch. I want my books back. ‘I want my books back,’ I say out loud.
‘What books?’ she asks.
‘Mum gave you my box by mistake. They’re not for sale.’
She looks over her shoulder, down the dark hallway. ‘She gave me a lot of boxes. I haven’t sorted through them yet.’ Godless child. Her phone rings and she closes the door in my face.
‘Witch!’ I yell at the flowers.
Benny’s in his cockpit. I stomp up his driveway. I know to miss the second step because the white ants have eaten it. It looks solid but most of Benny’s house is as fragile as honeycomb.
‘Dammit,’ I mumble. ‘Hey, Benny. How do you put a curse on somebody?’
‘Bloke,’ Benny says.
‘Thanks for getting my bike,’ I say. ‘Not that I wanted it, anyway. Gargoyle’s gone back home, I reckon.’
‘He don’t know any different,’ Benny says. He squints at me. Holds out his hands, pale palms up, black backs down. Then he flips them. I watch carefully in case there’s some message in his actions, but he just sits there, flipping his hands. Over and over.
‘Well, thanks, I’ve got to go. Next time you find my bike in a ditch, don’t bother bringing it back.’ I start walking.
‘Bloke.’
I stop. ‘Yeah?’
‘Outside’s one way. Inside’s different.’
‘Yeah, I get it. Ugly mutt, soft heart. It’s just a dog, Benny. Don’t go all mystical on me.’
‘No. Listen!’
I’ve never heard Benny raise his voice before and it makes me jump. ‘What are you trying to tell me?’
‘She’s not what you think. Open your eyes.’ He jabs his finger at me.
I get out of there, fast. Benny’s lost it this time. Maybe he’s been drinking somebody’s home brew again. I check my phone, but Tahnee still hasn’t answered. I have two hours to kill before I have to pick up Kate so I could drop around to her place, make sure we’re okay. Make sure she’s okay.
I wish I’d grabbed my bike—even if it is clapped-out, it’s better than walking. I love summer, but I’m so sick of this heat.
Tahnee’s place is jammed between a fencing factory and a pet food manufacturer. During the day, sparks fly from welders and grinders, and at night the stink of offal seeps through the cracks in the weatherboard. She has a skinny mum called Bev who works the nightshift and sleeps all day. The bell is disconnected and a pink Post-it tells door-knockers: Shift worker asleep. Piss off. I hate sleeping over here. Mostly, we hang at our place.
I go around the back and tap on the window. Tahnee’s ten-year-old sister, Merrilee, opens the door.
‘Hi, munchkin,’ I say. ‘Is Tahnee home?’
‘She said she’s not,’ Merry says, looking over her shoulder.
‘What’s up with her?’ I go in anyway, because that’s what Tahnee is expecting.
There’s a bucket by her bed and she’s cocooned in her quilt. She groans and rolls over to face the wall. She’s taken down all our photos from her pinboard. Now there are shots of her and Ryan. Kissing Ryan. Hugging Ryan. Dancing with Ryan. Ryan and his mates. Ryan’s car. Tahnee and three girls I don’t know. Tahnee with one of the girls from the bonfire, their arms linked. There’s this whole other life going on that I don’t know about. All this stuff happening without me.
‘You hung?’ I ask the obvious.
‘Go away,’ she says.
‘Geez, how much did you drink?’
‘A lot. Now go away.’
‘I’ll go if you tell me you’re not mad at me any more.’
She turns over and sits up, still rolled inside the quilt like a hotdog. Last night’s make-up is streaked down her cheeks.
‘I’m not mad at you. I’m just so over you. I’m sick of your rules and you thinking you’re so much better than everybody else. Now, go away.’
I wasn’t expecting this. Tahnee’s rejection is much worse than Jordan’s. We’re always okay after a falling-out. We argue, niggle, tease—then we’re okay again.
‘I don’t think I’m better than anybody else!’ I yell. ‘I think I’m worse. It’s easy to turn out like I’m supposed to. Pregnant and unemployed and living in a half-house. That’s easy, Tahnee. It’s fucking hard doing what I’m doing. It’s hard.’
‘Ooooh,’ she taunts. ‘Isn’t that one of your stupid rules? No swearing? No sex. No quitting school. No sin. No fun. No wonder Jordan wasn’t interested. You’re nothing.’
Her words hit me like a punch. Last night Jordan Mullen circled me in the pine forest like I was nothing and I stood there and let him. I had nothing to say. Now I have plenty.
‘What, did Ryan dump you after you served it up to him on a plate? Oh, Ryan, would you like fries with that?’ I mimic her. ‘What did you expect? That’s all you had to give him and you just gave it up. Remember this?’ I pull up my sleeve to reveal the pale scar inside my elbow. ‘Blood oath, Tahnee. We were supposed to stick together. Didn’t that mean anything to you? You totally dumped me for him. Friends don’t do that.’
If I’m expecting sympathy, Tahnee has other ideas.
‘It’s not always all about you.’ She lies down, flips over and faces the wall again. ‘I never believed in your stupid rules, anyw
ay.’ Her shoulders shake and I think she might be crying.
I put my hand on her back. I don’t want to hurt her. ‘I have so much to tell you,’ I say.
No answer, just shuddering sighs, the kind you can do in your sleep after you’ve cried so hard your ribs hurt.
‘Are you okay?’
‘No,’ she sobs.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Go away!’ She flips over and screams in my face. ‘You always ruin everything. Things were going great for me. Just stay out of my life!’
‘Do you need a punching bag, Tahnee? Go ahead. Everyone else has had their shot this week!’ I shout back.
Merry’s face appears at the bedroom door. Her eyes are round and scared. ‘Shhh,’ she puts her finger to her lips. ‘You’ll wake up Mum.’
‘Fine, if that’s what you want,’ I say, and leave. I let the door slam behind me. ‘See ya, Bev!’ I yell as I pass her bedroom window.
Outside, the noise and the stench make me suddenly, insanely angry.
God, who lives like this? There must be families who eat together and speak to each other with respect. There must be couples who love each other but don’t have sex. There must be friends who can have a disagreement without screaming at each other and breaking up. Friends who don’t change overnight and turn into complete opposites of each other.
It’s almost funny. My rules are clacking over like dominoes but I’ve never felt so alive. I want to cry and scream in the middle of the street, just like Mum when she loses it. I want to smash things with a golf club. I want to spin my life like a bottle and see where I end up because any place would be better than here.
I feel like I’ve woken up from a coma.
ELEVEN
I can see how a perfectly sane, ordinary person might one day shoot strangers in a mall, or hold up a service station, or drive into a reservoir with three kids in the back seat. You hear about them, the quiet people, the ones nobody notices until they snap. They keep to themselves. I reckon it’s not when things are white-hot that they do the stuff you read about it the papers. It’s in the flat feeling, the afterburn, when it can seem almost normal doing the extreme. When part of you gives up and gives in. The numb spot.
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