‘As long as you need,’ I say.
Chapter fifteen
‘Are you sure about this?’ I ask as Duncan opens the door.
‘Nobody comes here during class-time. Trust me.’
I follow him in. It’s a small room tucked away in the undercroft. There are a few desks against the wall, a couple of moth-eaten looking lounge chairs in the centre of the room, a patchwork bean bag and a small kitchenette with a toaster and a kettle.
‘Year twelve dedicated study area,’ Duncan explains.
‘Cool,’ I say.
‘Really?’ He looks at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m joking. ‘Anyway, make yourself at home.’
I sit down on one of the lounge chairs, feeling awkward, and he does the same.
‘Dave told me I look like Becky,’ I say, not knowing how else to start. ‘I think that’s why he was hassling me. And it kind of freaked me out. I looked online and it’s true, we really do look alike. And I know it’s just some kind of weird coincidence but I… I’d like to know more about her. What sort of person was she? If you don’t mind talking about her?’
Duncan stares hard at me, and I wonder what he’s seeing – if he’s melding her features onto my face; if he’s pretending she’s not gone. Then he looks away.
‘Becky was just like anybody else,’ he says. ‘It wasn’t like she did anything wrong. There’s no reason she ended up dead, if that’s what you’re thinking. She was smart and funny, and way too blunt. She’d offend people sometimes, but she never minded looking like an idiot herself.’ He grins for a moment, like he’s recalling something, and then winces. ‘There was lots of talk at the funeral about how important it was to remember but that was just bullshit. The only thing people want is to forget. I see it every day. Nobody even wants to look at me now because I remind them of her. But I don’t want to forget. She was my cousin. I grew up with her. We always got along. And my Uncle and Auntie and Damien –’ Then he stops short and looks away.
‘And it was Damien who –’
‘I don’t want to talk about Damien,’ he says quickly. ‘I don’t mind talking about Becky. I don’t want people to forget her. I know I make her sound really boring and normal but she was a special person. She was… kind,’ he says. ‘Her bluntness stopped people from seeing it sometimes. But not many people are kind like she was.’
I’m itching to ask questions about Damien – I’ve spent so much time wondering about him. There were pictures, of course, in the news articles. They mostly used a bad photo of him, his dark hair too long and greasy, his expression blank, eyes not meeting the gaze of the camera’s lens. The kind of picture that helps you imagine him as a killer. The other photo I’ve seen is from when he was younger. He and Becky are sitting side by side on a fallen tree, their legs dangling high above the ground, and he has his arm around her protectively. They have matching grins, though his hair is dark and hers is fair.
I want to know about Damien. What was he like? Why might he have done what he did? What could have made him so angry, so enraged….? But then I see Duncan’s expression. Talking about Damien is out.
‘It must have been terrible for your family,’ I say.
Duncan shakes his head. ‘Terrible doesn’t even get you to the starting gate.’ There’s an awkward silence. ‘Look Abbie, I know you’re new here and that makes it harder, but you can’t let Dave Hill get to you,’ he says. ‘Let me know if he starts to bother you again, otherwise it will get worse. It happened to Becky. Because she felt sorry for him. She didn’t want to get him into trouble. I wish she’d just told me about it, I’d have sorted him.’
‘I don’t care about getting Dave into trouble,’ I say quickly. ‘But I’m not going to be here forever. I just have to make it through a year then I can go home.’
‘A girl with an exit plan, good for you,’ Duncan says, and gives me a broken smile.
I feel a rush of sadness for him, for everything he’s been through. I wonder how he deals with it?
‘How about you? Are you planning on staying in town after you finish year twelve?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘There’s nothing here for me. Even if… all that had never happened. My family has a property out of town but there’s no money in it. It’s been making a loss every year for a decade. My Dad’ll hate me for it, but no, I don’t wanna stay. Sheep farming isn’t my future.’
‘What will you do?’
He shrugs. ‘Maybe go into teaching if I get the marks.’
‘Really?’
‘Dunno,’ he says and looks embarrassed. ‘Just a thought. Becky wanted to be an archaeologist, you know. She was really interested in digging stuff up. Loved old things. There was an old homestead on the farm, ruins you know? She used to spend all day out there when she was little, just messing around. She found bits of pottery, coins, little glass bottles. Amazing stuff. And she was interested in Aboriginal history too. There’s some rock art in the caves out of town at Myer’s Gap. She’d spend half her holidays there, her and Damien, exploring. I always thought they were kind of creepy, like it was probably a place you should stay away from, but she loved it. And Damien just about lived there for a while, before it all happened. We knew he had some troubles but…’ he shakes his head and his face darkens. ‘She would have done it too, I reckon. Archaeology.’
He looks at the wall, a far-away expression coming over him. He looks like he doesn’t even know I’m here.
Chapter sixteen
I keep running through my conversation with Duncan. For the first time since the shock of seeing pictures of Rebecca O’Reilley, she actually feels like a real person to me. She lived. She made mistakes. People loved her. She had passions and plans. And now she’s gone.
Instead of heading down to the oval at lunchtime I go back to the library, get out my maths book and try to study.
The day drags. All I’m doing is trying not to think about things: trying not to think about Cara and Zeke. Trying not to think about the next time I’ll have to face Dave Hill. Trying not to think about Duncan and that haunted look he had. Trying not to think about Rebecca O’Reilley.
That afternoon, I make it out of school without being accosted by Helena or Zeke. Tom meets me at the surgery and Mum finishes up early.
‘I’ve got a surprise,’ she says and grins at Tom and me. ‘Let’s go for a drive.’
It becomes apparent pretty quickly that the surprise is wombat-related, because we head out of town and take the road to Margaret’s place.
Tom chatters about his day from the back seat. Mum asks all the right kinds of questions. I look out the window. There’s the haystack I recognise, there are the horses that seem to always be standing around under a tree. There’s the dam that has been recently carved out of the earth, so it has a raw, broken look to it. The muddy water perfectly reflects the scatter of clouds high above us. I’m surprised how familiar it all feels. I remember when we first arrived, only a few weeks ago, everything was just a blur of boring sameness.
‘And how was your day Abbie?’ Mum asks when Tom presents a moment of silence. ‘You seem quiet.’
‘You know that girl who was killed, Rebecca O’Reilley?’
Mum hmmms. I’d talked to her about the murders after I found out that Rebecca’s dad used to be the town GP. She knew, of course, and she apologised for not being open with us about it. I get that she didn’t want to freak us out.
‘I met her cousin today. He goes to Derro High.’
‘Gosh he must have been through a lot,’ Mum says.
‘The weird thing is, Rebecca and I, well, we look alike.’
I watch Mum. She frowns, just slightly, and doesn’t say anything.
‘I don’t know if you’ve seen a photo of her, Mum, but we look, like, really alike. Almost identical. How weird is that?’ I say it lightly, like it’s not the thing that has been dominating all my waking thoughts, like it hasn’t made me a pariah and a target and a freak. I just don’t want to tell her all
that, not yet. Maybe not ever.
‘Really Abbie? That is… unusual. But not unheard of. How does it make you feel?’
I swallow. ‘I guess it makes me curious. I want to know more about her. I want to know what kind of person she was. It’s so awful, how she died.’
Mum nods, but the worry doesn’t leave her eyes.
‘Jamie says that Damien O’Reilley was into black magic,’ Tom says from the back seat. ‘Jamie says that was why Damien killed his family, because he wanted to absorb their life energies and transform them into occult powers. He reckons Damien laid them out in a pentagram and wrote in blood on the walls and stuff…’
A shudder moves through me. ‘Jamie said all that?’ I turn to Tom, fixing him with a questioning look.
He shrugs and looks out the window. ‘It’s probably not true though. I think Jamie likes making stuff up…’
Margaret is in the yard doing something with the dogs when we arrive. There’s a chaos of barking and clouds of dust rise as they race around her. She sees us and waves, then somehow manages to edge out through the gate without letting any of the mutts out, then strides over to where we’re getting out of the car.
‘Anna, Abbie, Tom, good to see you. Come and have a look at this.’
We follow her into the house.
‘Is he okay? How is he?’ Tom is asking nervously.
‘He is a she. And she is one tough little wombat.’
Margaret leads us over to a box, pulls back the blankets and shows us a small, pink, wriggling, definitely alive little creature.
‘Last night was touch and go but I think we’re through the worst of it. She’s put on some weight already. She’s doing better than I ever expected. Thanks to you for getting her here so quickly and for keeping her warm and comfortable on the way.’ Margaret looks at Tom as she says this and he grins so hard I think his face might split in half.
‘Can I touch her? Can I hold her?’ he asks, bouncing up and down on the spot.
‘Best not to handle her too much at the moment, we don’t want to make her anxious. She is still very little. But I’ve got some other animals you can hold if you’d like to have a look around.’
We meet Pete the possum, a little sugar-glider called Nelly that Margaret tells us is almost ready to be released, a black-footed swamp wallaby with delicate paws and beautiful dusty features. It was attacked by a dog and is still recovering from its injuries.
‘Why do you look after the dogs too?’ I ask. ‘If they’re the ones attacking the other animals?’
Margaret shrugs. ‘Good question Abbie. I have to say I draw the line at cats. I wouldn’t save a cat. They’re just too destructive around here. But if they’re looked after properly, dogs shouldn’t be able to chase or injure other animals. I grew up with dogs, I always had one. A lot of these dogs have been purposefully mistreated or abandoned by their owners, the people they should have been able to trust. So I guess I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for them. Do you want to come and meet my current batch?’
Tom looks a pleading question at Mum who says, ‘Of course, we’d love to.’
Margaret eases the gate open and gestures for us to follow her in. Dogs bound up from all corners of the yard. Tails are wagging, bodies are bending around in excitement, there’s competition to see who can get closest. All of a sudden they’re all around us. A mangy terrier is sniffing at my feet with intense curiosity. Some kind of dusty blue-grey dog is licking my hand.
‘I’ve got eleven with me at the moment,’ Margaret says over the noise. ‘I’m picky about who they go to. Some of them have been here for quite a while.’
‘What do you do if you can’t find them a home?’ Tom asks, wide-eyed.
‘That’s a hard one. Mostly I find a someone who’ll take them eventually. Sometimes I just need to cast the net a bit wider.’ Margaret looks at him seriously, while scratching a big, skinny, red dog behind the ears. ‘There’s an RSPCA shelter over in Metlow, so some of them end up there. There are a couple of other carers around too, though they’re not set up on the scale that I am. I do what I can.’
Tom nods.
Then Margaret looks at me. ‘You’ve got a friend,’ she says with a smile.
I look down. I had barely registered the pressure against my leg amidst the chaos of buffeting bodies. A dog that looks like one you might see on a police drama, a shepherd of some kind, is standing quietly beside me. It’s not sniffing or licking, just leaning against my leg, its weight a gentle pressure.
‘Abbie, meet Zelda.’
I reach down and run my hand over her side. Her fur is thick, but I can feel the bumps of ribcage underneath it. There’s a patch that’s a bit balder up near her neck, and a ridge that feels like a long scar. I wonder what happened to her?
‘She’s skinny, isn’t she?’ I say.
‘Not a big eater, our Zelda,’ Margaret says, and looks at the dog affectionately.
I squat down to get a better look at her. Our faces are level now, and the dog regards me with clear yellow eyes, takes a few tentative sniffs, then sticks a slightly damp nose in my ear.
I laugh and pat her. ‘She’s lovely.’
‘Zelda’s been with me for six months,’ Margaret says.
‘You can’t find a home for her?’ Tom says, outraged. ‘But she’s beautiful.’
‘She is beautiful. And very calm and gently natured. But in general, she’s not a big fan of men. She’d be okay with you Tom, because you’re not too big yet. But she’s a bit anxious of any full-grown man, which poses a problem for a lot of families wanting to take her.’
‘It would be okay for us though,’ Tom says with quick enthusiasm. ‘Because it’s just Mum and Stacey at home. No men. That would be perfect wouldn’t it Mum?’
I stand up. ‘No,’ I say. ‘We’re not getting a dog.’
Tom doesn’t even have to say a word. He just looks at Mum with the begging turned up to 100. I swear there must be cars driving by a few kilometres away feeling a sudden unexplained compulsion to do whatever Tom wants.
Now Zelda has sat down on one of my feet.
‘See, we’re meant to take her,’ Tom says. ‘Don’t you see?’ He turns to me.
‘We’d need to talk to Stacey,’ Mum says. ‘This isn’t a decision we can make right now, Tom. We have to all agree as a family.’
I can see Tom turning this proposition over in his head. I think he’s calculating that he can win Stacey-the-animal-loving-vegetarian over easily. I’m going to be the problem.
‘Okay,’ he says finally. ‘Let’s go home and talk about it with Stace. We can let you know tomorrow?’ he says to Margaret, who smiles.
‘There’s no rush Tom. And if you decide not to take her, that’s okay too. I’ll keep looking after her until I find her a home. It’ll happen.’
‘It’s meant to be us though,’ Tom says with a certainty that makes my heart sink. ‘We’re it.’
We don’t talk about it anymore on the drive home. Tom looks out the window and hums the tune to some cartoon he’s been watching lately, like he’s already won. I don’t want a dog. We can’t get a dog. I can’t let Tom get his way on this one. Because we’re only going to be here for twelve months, and we can’t take a dog like that back to Sydney.
Chapter seventeen
I’d forgotten about Andy until I see his van parked out the front.
‘He’s early,’ Mum says, and pulls up beside him.
‘Problem with the hot water?’ he asks, leaning against the bonnet of his ute as we all hop out.
‘There is no hot water,’ Mum says. ‘You might have heard the screaming this morning all the way from town.’
He follows us to the house.
‘We’re getting a dog,’ Tom says excitedly. ‘We just went and found her.’
‘Is that right?’ Andy gives me a quick glance, and I find myself smiling without even meaning to.
‘Maybe,’ Mum says, fumbling through her handbag for the keys.
‘So, Abb
ie, you’re friends with Ezekiel Matthews?’ Andy asks.
I nod. ‘He said you used to work for his dad?’
‘For a bit.’
‘Did you do an apprenticeship or something?’ I ask.
‘Just helped out.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘What is this Abbie, twenty questions?’ Tom pipes up.
‘It’s okay, Tom. I don’t mind. I didn’t want to spend my whole life with grease under my nails,’ he says and finally he smiles, a big crooked grin that lights his face. He holds his hands up like I’m meant to inspect them. They are calloused and scarred, but undeniably clean.
Mum gets the door open and Tom cheers and races ahead of us into the house.
‘Come on in then Andy,’ Mum says, dumping her bag by the door. ‘Do you need a cuppa or anything before you start?’
‘That’d be great.’
‘Put the kettle on Abbie? I’ll just get out of my work things.’
I lead Andy through to the kitchen then fill the kettle and turn it on. When I turn, he’s watching me.
‘Um, coffee or tea?’ I ask, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.
‘Tea please.’
‘Milk? Sugar? Oh shit, I think we’ve only got soy milk. Sorry,’ I say.
‘Black’s good. Two sugars.’
‘So, our house keeps breaking,’ I say awkwardly as I get the cups ready. I have to say something.
‘Keeps me in business,’ Andy says. ‘Seriously, I’m happy to help out.’ I can hear the smile in his voice.
‘I know Mum appreciates it.’
‘She looks tired today, hey.’
‘She works hard,’ I say. I feel suddenly defensive though I’m not sure why. I don’t think Andy means anything bad by it.
Mirror Me Page 7