Cara and Helena head straight for the laundry where Zelda is waiting and Zeke spends a minute fiddling with his shoe, untying and retying a shoe-lace. I stand and wait for him.
Once everybody’s out of sight he says.
‘So, what’s up?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean we were friends, or I thought we were, and now you’re acting like you’re scared of me or something. I figured you were shaken up after the photo thing but I don’t think that’s it. It’s been going on for longer. It’s something to do with me. I just want to know what I’ve done and how I can make it better?’
I swallow and feel myself turning what I’m fairly sure is a delightful shade of beetroot.
‘Zeke I just…’
And then I see him looking at me and his expression, which is part-frustration, part-hope, part-apology, melts all the words that would be required to make up whatever lie I might have told him.
‘I saw you kissing Cara,’ I say. I feel tired and sad.
His eyebrows knit to a frown.
‘After the Derro Ball. And it’s cool. I mean, it’s totally fine. I mean it’s not any of my business at all. But I just – I’d thought—’
‘Zeke! What are you doing?’ Cara yells from the veranda.
‘Please just forget it,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry if I acted weird. I’ll stop.’
‘Abbie…’ He looks at me, and I can see him trying to figure something out. Then he shakes his head. ‘Okay,’ he says. And that’s it.
I do my best to stop acting weird. Mum heads out to pick up Tom from a friend’s place and Stacey is off shopping for new clothes she can wear to work, so we have the house to ourselves. Cara teaches us a card game and we drink tea and play round after round. Cara has no poker face at all, and Helena can sometimes fool us and sometimes just doesn’t bother. Zeke is the most serious. He spends a lot of time looking at his hand or down at the table and his expression is unreadable. I make mistakes because I’m distracted.
The afternoon goes too quickly. Before they go, Helena comes to my room with me while I try to find a book I’ve promised to lend her. I rifle through the pile beside my bed and pull it out.
‘Hey what’s that?’ Helena says.
I look at what she’s pointing to. Between my maths and chemistry textbooks is a piece of paper. There’s writing on it, all capitals letters. Not again, is all I can think. Please not again.
No picture this time. For a second I feel relieved. Then I see the words.
GET OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN
‘You have to tell someone.’ Helena is sitting beside me on the bed. I’ve almost stopped shaking. I can hear the sound of Cara and Zeke’s voices floating down the corridor from the kitchen. Normality, so close. So far away.
‘What difference will it make? All that happened last time was I had to spend an entire day telling people I was okay and making Mum really worried. I don’t want her to be worrying.’
‘But maybe she should be worrying? I’m your friend and I’m worrying.’
‘Thanks,’ I say and rub my eyes.
‘Who would be sending this stuff to you?’
‘Someone who doesn’t like me,’ I say.
‘Or someone who didn’t like Rebecca O’Reilley. Or doesn’t want to be reminded of her,’ Helena says sharply.
‘Near enough to the same thing, isn’t it?’
‘Not at all,’ Helena says. ‘Who would really not want to be reminded of Becky O’Reilley?’
‘Most of Derrington, according to her cousin.’
‘But more specifically…’
‘Her friends. People who loved her.’ I can imagine it might be painful, a girl suddenly turning up who reminds you of someone you’ve lost.
‘Or someone who hated her,’ Helena says.
‘Like whoever killed her,’ I say and for a moment there’s silence as Helena and I sit on the bed looking at each other. I shake my head. ‘Damien’s in jail.’
‘We’re showing this to your mum as soon as she gets home,’ Helena says, picking the piece of paper up. For once I don’t mind her taking control. It makes me feel like I’m not alone.
Chapter twenty-four
The policeman barely looks older than me. This isn’t reassuring.
‘I wish we could help,’ he says, for about the thirteenth time. He’s pale and freckly, with sandy-coloured curls and a painfully sincere expression of regret. He has a gold wedding-band on one finger that he plays with anxiously as he apologises.
‘There’s nothing you can do? Nothing at all?’ Mum still has her I’m-being-very-reasonable voice on.
‘If the threat was more specific…’
‘Mum, let’s go,’ I say. I don’t want to hear this.
‘Just a minute, Abbie. So, a photograph of a dead girl who looks almost identical to my daughter and a note telling my daughter to get out while she still can don’t constitute a specific enough threat for you to act on?’
The policeman looks helplessly at my mum and then at me.
‘I’m really sorry Dr Fray. If there’s anything else, come straight back. Or you can call me,’ he passes a card across to Mum. ‘And maybe, Abbie, you should take some precautions, until this settles down,’ he says to me. ‘Just be aware of your surroundings, avoid walking alone, make sure there are other people around as much as possible.’
I think of Zelda. Walking her is my job. And it’s become something I love. The time we have together just the two of us, exploring – I don’t want to give that up. I shouldn’t have to. Whoever is doing this is targeting me at school, I’m almost certain. They probably have no idea where I live. I can’t imagine they’ll ever do much more than put things in my bag and enjoy my distress from a safe distance. Well I can, but I try not to.
‘Alright. I guess we’re done here,’ Mum says. ‘Hopefully we won’t be back.’
‘I really wish –’ he begins again.
I groan and shake my head.
Mum stands and takes my arm and just about drags me out of there before he has the chance to finish his sentence.
Mum drops me off at school the next day. I don’t know if it’s my imagination but I keep feeling like people are looking at me. The sensation of being watched gives me an uncomfortable prickling down the back of my neck. I figure it’s because of the haircut, which no amount of goop can make look normal. Also, news of the photo has probably gone around. A double whammy. Check out Abbie, exhibit number one. I cross my arms over my chest and look at the ground.
‘Abbie, over here,’ Helena is waving wildly.
I feel a surge of relief to see the three of them there, sitting in their normal spot, happy to see me.
‘How did you go with the cops?’ Cara asks when I get there. She’s leaning against Zeke. He doesn’t look at me and I don’t look at him.
‘They can’t help,’ I say. ‘Apparently the threat isn’t specific enough.’
‘Seriously? That is such bullshit.’ I appreciate Cara’s vehemence but don’t really have the energy for it right now.
‘There’s something I need to do. Catch you guys at lunch?’
‘Do you need company?’ Cara says.
‘We were thinking maybe we need to stick a bit closer to you,’ Helena says, squinting up at me against the sunlight, her hair glowing like a white halo.
‘It’s okay. There’s lots of people around. I’ll be fine.’
‘You sure?’ Cara says.
I nod.
‘Just don’t leave your bag around anywhere,’ Helena says. ‘Don’t let it out of your sight.’
‘Yes Mum,’ I say. Helena would kill me if she knew what I was about to do.
‘Dave?’
It takes me until the first bell to locate Dave Hill. Strange that now I’m trying to find him it is almost impossible. When I was trying to avoid him, I would literally walk into him every five minutes.
He’s by himself. He’s wearing headphones. I can make out the distant crackle of
some loud music that’s pumping through the lines into his ears. For a second he doesn’t hear me.
‘Dave!’ I say again. He looks up and then his eyes narrow and he looks away again. ‘I need to talk to you,’ I say.
He pulls the headphones out but doesn’t turn the music off. It throbs and hisses like something venomous. ‘I’m not allowed near you, Abi-gail.’
I draw myself up to my full height, which is about a head shorter than him. The guy is tall. ‘I just want to know why you did it? Do you just get off on freaking people out? Does it make you feel big?’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
I almost laugh. I shake my head.
‘Of course you do. The photo. The note.’
I watch his face closely. Blank. Not a twitch, not a flicker of response.
‘What was it with you and Becky?’ I say, catching his gaze and holding it.
And then, for a moment, his face flushes.
‘Rebecca O’Reilley was a fucking stuck up cow,’ he says.
‘That’s not an answer.’
He rubs one hand over the other like he’s trying to brush off something that’s crawling on him.
‘We hooked up once. She wouldn’t even admit it happened. I was bad for her brand,’ he says, smiling that cold, skin-crawling smile.
‘So you’re telling me that you and Rebecca O’Reilley…?’
‘Great tits, no brains.’
‘Did you hurt her?’
‘Do you mean did I kill her?’
I don’t say anything. My heart is racing and I’ve broken out in a sweat. I hold his gaze and try not to let my anxiety show.
And then he laughs. ‘I wasn’t even in the state, Abigail. Was visiting my Gran on the Gold Coast. First I heard about it was when I saw it on the news over dinner. I was chewing on Gran’s schnitzel. Nearly fucking choked. Becky was scared of her brother. She told me that herself once. Damo was a nutjob.’
Chapter twenty-five
Stacey makes basil pesto for dinner from scratch, which is one of Leah and my desert island foods. Mum brings home caramel swirl cookie crunch ice-cream from Derrington Delish which would be one of my desert island foods if it wasn’t for the fact that it would melt in no time so we’d have to eat it pronto before the boat sank.
We have dinner in front of an episode of some science show about How to Make Dogs Happy, which Zelda watches intently. I guess she can hear the dogs and see them on the screen and is probably wondering what the hell these weird scentless half-sized dogs are doing in our living room.
‘Are you guys trying to food me into some kind of nirvana?’ I say, as Mum passes me over a second bowl of ice-cream. I sink back into the couch, which swallows me up like quicksand.
‘We just thought it would be nice to have a relaxed night,’ Mum says. ‘Plus we’re celebrating. Stacey’s first day on the job.’
‘Oh sorry Stace, I totally forgot. How did it go?’
‘The day involved drinking a lot of Earl Grey tea with Mr James the editor, who’s been working for the paper for about twenty years.’
‘So, when do you get to do some actual writing?’
‘They’re starting me off slow. There’s a fair that needs covering over the weekend. Some type of bake-off event fundraising for charity. They’re hoping I can take photos too.’
Stacey might be good with words, but she fails even at the most basic point-and-click.
I frown. ‘Cara could take photos for you if you need a hand. She’s pretty good at that stuff.’
‘Is Cara the one with the blue hair or the twin?’
‘Blue hair. She’s got all her own gear, like proper cameras and everything.’
‘I’ll talk to Elliott about it. Could be a goer.’
‘Awesome,’ I say, grinning. ‘I’m sure she’ll be keen.’
Remarkably, we make it through the whole dinner without once mentioning Rebecca O’Reilley or my visit to the police. It feels like a normal night. After dinner, I go to get Zelda’s lead to walk her up the driveway for her nightly last-chance pee. ‘I’ll come,’ Stacey says quickly and all the relaxed cheer of dinner evaporates from me in a moment.
‘I can walk five metres from the house. It’ll only be for a couple of minutes,’ I say.
‘It’s dark outside,’ Mum says.
‘I’ll be fine. Zelda will be with me,’ I say through gritted teeth and hook the lead to Zelda’s collar. She sits and looks at me with expectation, her whole body perfectly still except her tail which goes bang-bang-bang behind her. ‘Let’s go Zelda-pup!’ I say, and we head out the door before anybody has a chance to stop us or follow us.
Zelda leads the way up the hill, following the same path we take every night. We swish through dry grass until we reach a big gum tree, prime peeing territory. She does her thing and I take a breath and look up at the sky.
I never used to notice the night sky when we lived in Sydney. Now I look up at it every night. The lack of other lights means the stars here are amazing. I never knew there were so many. I don’t know what any of them are called. I can’t trace a giant goat or crab from the maze of shimmering brightness above me. But I do love seeing it. The universe is so big and I’m so small and I have to remind myself that even my feeling of up there and down here is wrong: we’re in it, part of it. There is no down or up.
Zelda is done peeing and comes and sniffs at my bare leg. I give her head a rub and squat down beside her. It’s only when I’m at her level that I can really smell her doggy smell and feel her warmth. She leans against me and for a moment I feel safe and content.
‘You’re a good girl,’ I say. ‘A beautiful girl. Thank you for looking after me.’ She licks my ear.
When I stand up, I can just make out Mum’s silhouette as she stands and waits for me on the veranda. I sigh. ‘Back we go, Zelda-pup.’ We head back down the hill together.
I wake with a thud, like I’ve fallen. My heart is pounding and I am instantly alert.
The house is quiet. I reach across and turn my bedside lamp on, taking a breath as the familiar golden glow fills my room. I sit up. Everything looks as it should. After a few breaths, my heart begins to slow. At least I didn’t wake Mum this time.
It’s always the same dream, with tiny variations. Tonight, I didn’t make it to the door. I stood in the corridor, frozen, as someone or something came closer and closer. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t run. The smell of blood filled my nostrils. Even now I can taste the sharp metallic tang of it on my tongue.
I swing my legs off the bed and pad down the hall to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The terror has drained away but I still feel anxious. My mind has begun this racy-loopy thing it’s been doing a lot of lately. Thinking about the picture, the note. Someone is targeting me. Thinking about what Helena said – who would do something like that? Thinking about the baby-faced policeman and his useless apologies. Thinking about Dave Hill. Thinking about Rebecca O’Reilley. I run the tap and fill my glass and look out the window into the darkness outside as I sip.
What if whoever it was that put the picture and the note in my bag knows where I live?
What if they’re not going to stop at notes?
‘You okay Abbie?’
I jump at the sound of Stacey’s voice and almost spill my water.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘Just needed a drink,’ I say. ‘Sugar overload, probably. From all that ice-cream.’
Stacey rubs her eyes and goes and turns the light on beside her desk. ‘Bad dream again?’
I nod. ‘Please don’t tell Mum.’
She does a zip motion across her lips.
‘What are you doing up? It’s like four o’clock in the morning.’
‘The Muse strikes,’ she says.
‘That’s great,’ I smile. In the past year, I’ve heard enough about Stacey’s poet’s block to last me a lifetime.
‘Seems like she’s jealous. Now I’ve got a regular job with
regular hours, she’s decided she wants to spend time with me after all.’ Stacey clicks the kettle on and gets down a mug and some instant coffee.
‘Well, good luck,’ I say.
‘Abbie, if you ever need to talk. I mean, I know I’m not your Mum but sometimes that’s a good thing, right? I’m happy to chat anytime.’
‘Thanks Stacey,’ I say. Truth is, just the fact that somebody else is up and a light is on in the house makes me feel better.
I go back to bed but I can’t sleep. After half an hour I give up and get my maths book out and start going over the exercises. There’s something soothing about all the numbers, about problems that have clear-cut solutions. I do what I’m meant to do and check the back of the book and bingo! The numbers match. Before I know it, a few hours have passed and the cockatoos are squawking like crazy and the sun is up.
I’m exhausted by the time I make it to school.
‘Dude, you look like you’re stoned or something,’ Cara says. ‘You know there are eye-drops that can clear that shit up?’
I rub my eyes. They’re red and sore from lack of sleep.
‘You feeling okay?’ Zeke asks, his voice soft with concern.
‘Bad dreams,’ I say.
‘My god I’m not surprised,’ says Cara. ‘If I were you I’d be peeing my pants.’
‘Cara,’ Helena says, but even she sounds tired and flat. ‘Could you go get us some chocolate from the machine? Before the first bell goes?’ She hands Cara a few coins.
‘If in doubt add sugar,’ Cara says. I smile as best as I can and nod. To be honest I’m relieved that she’s gone for a few minutes. Her scattergun communication style is getting to me today.
Helena and Zeke are both looking at me with worried, pained expressions.
‘Cara means well,’ Zeke says, ‘it’s just… well you know what she’s like.’
‘Yep, I know. So, how’s things with you guys?’ I ask.
The last thing that I want to do is fall into a great big hole of EVERYTHING IS ABOUT ABBIE. That’s a lonely and boring place to be. They both shrug and look vague.
Mirror Me Page 10