The Good Daughter

by Amra Pajalic

  ‘What’s your hurry?’ one of his mates shouted back.

  ‘The girls will wait,’ another added.

  Edo disappeared into the throng as they hugged and slapped each other’s backs. I waited on the sidelines for him to say goodbye, but he walked off with his friends.

  I turned and met Jesse’s sympathetic blue eyes. My stomach churned. That was twice in one day I’d been an idiot in front of him.

  ‘You forgot it.’ My jacket was folded across his arm.

  ‘Thanks.’ I was swallowing back tears as I took the jacket from him.

  ‘You okay?’ Jesse asked.

  I clenched my teeth to stop from crying. ‘Sure.’ He handed me a tissue. I forced myself to meet his eyes. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll see you at school.’ He walked off.

  When I got home Mum was checking the mailbox at the fence. ‘What’s wrong?’ she said as she ripped open an envelope. The word OVERDUE was stamped in red on the sheet of paper inside.

  ‘I bumped into Edo at the train station,’ I told her.

  She crumpled the envelope.

  ‘He snubbed me.’

  Mum walked me to the house. ‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it. English isn’t his first language after all.’

  I took off my shoes. ‘He knew exactly what he was doing.’

  ‘You should give him a second chance.’

  ‘No,’ I snapped.

  ‘There aren’t many nice young Bosnian boys,’ Mum urged.

  ‘Don’t you get it?’ I shouted. ‘He’s an arsehole and I don’t want anything to do with him.’ I slammed my bedroom door.

  The next day I waited until Maths in fourth period to talk to Brian alone. ‘Thank you so much,’ I hissed when I sat next to him. I’d been stewing all night. ‘You ditched me.’

  ‘What’s the big deal?’ he asked. ‘You were with Jesse.’ He opened his books. ‘Anyway the two of you are the bookworms. I just go along for the ride.’

  ‘You left me alone with Jesse,’ I wailed.

  ‘Is this about him liking you?’

  ‘He likes me?’ I squeaked.

  ‘Of course,’ Brian said. ‘Everyone knows.’

  Jesse liked me. He really liked me. I broke into a smile.

  Brian peered at my face. ‘Do you like him?’ he asked.

  I forced my face into a serious expression. ‘No.’ I shook my head until I was dizzy. ‘I don’t.’ What was I doing? Was I just happy to be flattered?

  ‘Then it’s no big deal,’ he said.

  Friday night I was watching ‘Home and Away’ when Mum walked in front of the TV to peer out the window. ‘Can you move?’ I asked. She’d been fluttering around for the past hour.

  ‘Sorry.’ She sat on the sofa. Two seconds later she was up again, twitching the curtain as she checked the driveway. ‘He should be here by now.’ She glanced at the clock and back out the window.

  ‘Call him,’ I retorted.

  ‘I don’t want to be pushy.’ She sat down again.

  ‘If you don’t, I will.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Try me.’

  She took the phone into the hall. ‘He’s not coming,’ she said when she returned a few minutes later.

  ‘Good riddance,’ I muttered.

  ‘What did you say?’ She stood in front of the TV.

  ‘Move.’ I tried to look around her.

  She snatched the remote control and switched off the TV. ‘What did you say about Safet?’

  ‘Good. Riddance.’ I pronounced each word slowly.

  ‘You’ve chased him off,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’re better off without him.’ I tried to take the remote, but she wouldn’t let go. She threw it against the wall. It hit with a thud, the plastic splitting open. For the first time I noticed the look in her eyes and goose pimples rose on my skin. How could I have missed it?

  ‘Stop!’ Dido yelled from the kitchen where he was watching the second TV.

  ‘It’s always you!’ Spittle shot from her mouth and she slapped me on the face.

  I froze, my body going into lockdown.

  Her hand swung back and hit me again, this time on the side of my head, on my ear. Dido rushed into the living room and grabbed Mum, pulling her away from me.

  ‘She did it, she did it!’ Mum shouted as she tried to break from his hold. ‘She always ruins everything.’ Tears and snot dribbled down her face.

  ‘Sabiha, go to your bedroom!’ Dido yelled as he held Mum. ‘Sabiha, Sabiha!’

  I couldn’t move.

  Mum tore out of his arms. He jumped between us and shoved me away.

  My legs worked again and I ran from the room. I looked over my shoulder and saw them go down on the sofa in a tangle of arms and legs. When I got to my bedroom I locked my door and leaned against it. I expected her to break it down. My cheeks and left ear ached. I grabbed my pillow and cried into it, not lifting my head until I was faint.

  This was my fault. I had suspected she wasn’t taking her medication, but I let her convince me otherwise and now it was the time of reckoning. I was ten years old the last time Mum stopped taking her medication. She hooked up with a guy who claimed he was a hodja, but he wore regular clothes and only knew one Arabic prayer that he repeated over and over like a chant.

  He made holy water by putting tap water in a bottle and dropping in folded pieces of paper that he’d written Arabic prayers on. He cleansed our house by chanting as he walked through every room, splashing water on the furniture.

  The fake hodja gave Mum the bottle and told her to drink it three times a day and pray after each drink. In return Mum gave him a fifty-dollar note. When I told Frankie about the hodja she said he was a quack. Muslims didn’t believe in holy water or superstition. It was against God.

  A month later Mum got the sickest she’d ever been. It ended when she locked us in a bedroom and the police had to break in and drag her away. From then on I supervised her meds, but I’d become complacent. My own dramas took precedence and I’d assumed Dido would be a stabilising influence.

  You’d think by now I’d know the signs when Mum was getting sick, but somehow every time it happened it was a punch to the gut. Some parents are heavy-handed and lay into their kids like it’s a world championship event and they’re competing for gold. Other parents think that kicking the shit out of their kids to ease their frustration is their right; and then there were parents like Mum.

  Mum hated violence. When I was a kid an ex-boyfriend slapped her. She crouched on the floor like a grenade had gone off, while I tried to kick him. I guess her passive nature had made me the aggressor in order to protect us.

  So when Mum hit me, all the little signs I’d been ignoring came together. Tonight I’d seen in her eyes that she was walking the tightrope between sanity and the place where the alien invaders held her hostage.

  In the morning I examined her pillbox. The punch to my gut became a cannon ball. Dido walked in and I thrust it at him.

  He took the pillbox from me. ‘I’ll talk to her.’

  ‘I want to be there.’

  He sat at the kitchen table.

  ‘You don’t know what it’s like when she’s sick.’ My voice was doing a Minnie Mouse imitation as I fought back tears.

  Dido nodded. ‘When you come home from mejtef.’

  I didn’t know whether he was being for real. I thought about ditching mejtef and staying home so he didn’t cut me out, but that would set him off.

  His face looked like it was in spasm. A sure sign he was fighting his temper. He nodded.

  When I came home from mejtef Dido and Edin were playing chess. I poured myself an orange juice and checked the pillbox. The meds for Saturday were still in there, along with those for the last three days.

  ‘Did you talk—’

  ‘No—’ Dido cut me off and made his move on the chessboard.

  ‘Where—’

  ‘Milkbar.’ He gave me a shitty look.

  ‘Okay,
okay.’ I made myself a sandwich and took it into the living room. As I ate I stared at the door, waiting for Mum to come home. When she walked in ten minutes later, the bread in my mouth became cardboard.

  Her eyes were glowing. She had that faraway look on her face, like she was listening to a conversation only she could hear. She glanced at the clock. ‘I have to pray.’

  ‘Aha!’ Dido’s war cry signalled he’d won the game.

  ‘Again?’ Edin asked.

  ‘Tomorrow.’ Dido walked Edin out. When he returned he sat on the other end of the sofa.

  ‘She didn’t take any of her tablets today,’ I said.

  I went cold as we heard her praying. At first her mutterings sounded like gibberish, but my ears pricked up and I recognised the odd word here and there. She was mixing English, Bosnian and Arabic words.

  ‘Turn on the television,’ Dido said, passing me the remote.

  She was one step from returning to the loony bin. When she’d finished praying she came into the living room. I waited for Dido to speak, but he was smoking his cigarette like it was his last on earth. Coward.

  ‘Mum—’ I started.

  ‘Bahra.’ Dido gave me a dirty look, but he spoke to Mum like she was his five-year-old daughter again.

  the alien invasion

  ‘Have you been taking your tablets?’ Dido asked.

  ‘I don’t need them any more.’ She smoothed her skirt.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘All I need is to pray.’

  ‘If you don’t take your tablets you’ll get sick,’ Dido said gently.

  Mum shook her head vehemently. ‘I pray to Allah and I won’t get sick.’

  ‘And Allah hears your prayers, but he created medicine so it helps you.’ Dido nodded to me. I handed Mum a glass of water and put the pills into her hand.

  She chucked them into her mouth and swallowed in one gulp. ‘I’m going to lie down,’ she said, and left the room.

  ‘She needs to see a doctor.’ I lowered my voice. We had a regular doctor when we lived in Thornbury, and she still had repeat scripts left over from him, but since we’d moved to St Albans she didn’t see anyone.

  ‘She’ll be fine.’ Dido shook his head.

  ‘Didn’t you hear her praying?’

  ‘If she believes it helps her then perhaps it does.’

  ‘Last time she didn’t take her meds it ended with the cops surrounding the house and knocking her out with tranquillisers,’ I bleated.

  ‘We’ll see.’ Dido rolled a cigarette. ‘Leave it to me.’

  He seemed to think a miracle was in the making and that after fifteen years of illness, Mum would wake up and be normal—all because she prayed. I walked past her bedroom. She was lying on her bed and I shuddered at the malevolence in her burning gaze.

  Dido assumed that because Mum started taking her tablets again everything was all right, but I knew better. She needed to go to the doctor to get the dosage adjusted or she could still tip into crisis mode. I needed to get help. There was only one person who understood what Mum was going through.

  I left home Sunday morning while Dido and Mum were asleep. I’d propped a note on the fridge saying that I was spending the day with Dina. When I called and woke her, Dina was furious, but when she realised she got an extra day with Tony while I undertook my rescue mission, she was more agreeable.

  I arrived at Frankie’s at eight a.m. It was too early, but she’d understand. This was an emergency. There was a time when I was a regular visitor and used to come and go as if it was my own house.

  I took a deep breath and knocked. There was no answer so I knocked a few more times. Finally I heard footsteps padding on the floorboards in the hallway. The door opened. Frankie was wearing a T-shirt and her hair was dishevelled. She blinked at the sunshine. ‘Sammie, what are you doing here?’ Her voice was slurred.

  ‘I need your help,’ I said. ‘It’s about Mum—’

  Frankie shot up from her slouched position against the doorway. ‘She’s not with you, is she?’ Frankie demanded, her face clearing of sleep.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Good, good…’ She relaxed again.

  ‘She’s not taking her medication,’ I said.

  Frankie frowned. ‘That isn’t good,’ she muttered. It was Frankie who had called the police last time.

  ‘I need you to talk to Dido. He’s not taking it seriously. He thinks she’s going to recover like that.’ I snapped my fingers.

  ‘Sammie, I’d like to help,’ Frankie said.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘But I can’t involve myself in someone else’s family business.’

  ‘You are family,’ I pleaded.

  Frankie shook her head with a pitying look. ‘No, Sammie, I’m not.’ She reached out and put her hands on my shoulders. ‘Your Mum and I were friends, but when she moved to St Albans she chose to have a life that I’m not part of.’

  ‘Frankie, who’s there?’ a male voice shouted from inside.

  ‘No one,’ Frankie called out, pulling the door closed behind her. ‘I’ve got to go—’ Frankie began when the door was wrenched open behind her.

  ‘Who the hell shows up on a Sunday—’ he stopped mid-sentence. It was Dave, wearing boxer shorts and nothing else. ‘Well, hi Sammie, long time no see…’ he stammered.

  Frankie and Dave watched me anxiously. Numbness washed over me. So this was why she couldn’t help me. No wonder, when she was sleeping with her ex-best friend’s ex-boyfriend.

  ‘Sammie, believe me, we didn’t start seeing each other until after your Mum and Dave broke up,’ Frankie said.

  As Frankie talked, I joined the dots. Now I knew who her date was the last time I dropped by unannounced, and why her friendship with Mum had gone into deep freeze.

  ‘Your mother doesn’t know,’ Frankie said. ‘And considering her vulnerable state it’s best if she doesn’t find out.’

  ‘What’s going on with Bahra?’ Dave asked.

  ‘I have to go,’ I stepped off the porch. ‘I’m sorry for interrupting...’ I ran out of words. ‘I’m sorry.’ I turned and headed for the street.

  ‘Sammie, wait!’ Dave called. I slowed my steps, about to turn around. I knew Frankie wouldn’t leave me hanging.

  ‘Let her go,’ Frankie said. ‘We can’t help her now.’

  I sped around the corner and out of sight from the house. I didn’t know where I was heading until I got there. The one person who had always comforted me. As I stood at Kathleen’s gate, the front door opened. My heart lifted. Kathleen must have seen me.

  Shelley closed the front door behind her. She was wearing a dressing gown over her pyjamas and held a black garbage bag. Her body stiffened when she saw me.

  ‘Sammie, what are you doing here? I know Kathleen doesn’t want to see you.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ I pushed the gate open. ‘You’re telling lies again.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Shelley dropped the garbage bag on the ground and opened it. She pulled out a shiny piece of nylon. ‘See, we had a birthday party for her.’ She held up a Happy Birthday banner. ‘And she didn’t invite you.’ She returned the banner to the rubbish bag. ‘I know it’s difficult for you to accept, but friendships change, people move on.’

  Seeing her pity, something inside me snapped. ‘You lying bitch.’ I shoved her. ‘You’re loving this!’

  She stumbled back, quickly righting herself. ‘You’re the one who refused—’

  ‘What do you mean I refused?’ I shouted. ‘Was this the birthday party you were inviting me to?’

  Shelley turned away.

  ‘How could you?’ I opened the gate, determined to see Kathleen.

  ‘I tried inviting you. You have only yourself to blame.’

  ‘No, you’re the one to blame.’ We stood nose to nose. She panted like a dog as her asthma kicked in, soft puffs of breath hitting my face. ‘Kathleen only keeps you around because she feels sorry for you,’ I grunted.

  She took her inhal
er from the pocket of her dressing gown. ‘Maybe she keeps me around because I’m not a selfish bitch like you.’

  I pushed her again and she dropped the inhaler on my foot.

  ‘Watch it!’ She was scared now. ‘Or I’ll get my cousins Sharon and Karen to come by your house again.’

  I stopped, all the pieces of the puzzle coming together. ‘The Twins are your cousins?’

  She nodded jerkily. ‘Yeah, and they’ll bash you again. All I have to do is make the call.’

  A red mist swept over me. My ears popped and all sound faded. I saw each strand of Shelley’s hair lifted in the wind and then everything sped up in a blur. When I came back to myself Shelley was lying on the ground, her hands clutching her stomach, her eyes wide with panic as she fought to breathe.

  I tried to run away, but my legs felt shaky and my stomach heaved as if I’d swallowed a large oily fish and it was swimming in my guts. She grunted behind me, trying to call out, but I started to run, my balance wobbly like a toddler’s. When I heard the ping of metal under my feet as I hurtled away, I didn’t look down but forced my legs forward faster.

  I reached High Street and crossed, feeling the press of air as a car whizzed a few inches from my body. Horns blared, cutting through my panic. I slowed down and half walked, half ran, images of what I’d done in front of me: my hands pushing Shelley and her falling backwards in slow motion, turning in the air and landing on her side.

  While she was on the ground I had kicked her, grunting as my foot connected with her stomach, my toes jamming into her soft flesh until I hit her ribs and my foot bounced back out. She’d jerked on the ground with each kick, her hands clutching her belly as she tried to protect it, her mouth open like a black hole in her face while she screamed noiselessly.

  I fell onto the grass and vomited up my breakfast. At Flinders Street Station I found the toilets and hid in a cubicle. I covered my mouth with my hand and muffled my sobs. What had I done? I’d bashed Shelley, the one person who had it in for me. All she had to do was contact the police and I was stuffed. I remembered my foot hitting her inhaler as I’d escaped and Shelley’s red face as she writhed on the ground, fighting for breath.