“Look,” I say, rising warily from the bed, “I don’t know what you think you heard at the sailing club–”
“We both know what I heard. To be honest, I’m not even surprised.”
“What do you mean?”
Rachael folds her arms and narrows her eyes. “There’s always been something off about you, Tash. I knew it from the moment I moved here, even before I heard all the rumours.”
“You started the rumours,” I say, folding my arms too.
“Please. Kids were calling you Weirdo and Whackjob long before I ever arrived. I heard all about you freaking out at school for attention, always playing helpless so everyone would feel sorry for you.”
“You think I actually wanted that attention?” I hate the way my voice sounds, shrill and emotional. “I had genuine anxiety attacks. Not that I need to explain myself to you.”
“When are you going to explain yourself to Morgan?”
A shard of panic stabs my insides. I wait too long to respond and there’s a glint of victory in Rachael’s eyes.
“What do you want, Rachael?” I intend it to sound disgusted but it comes out like I’m pleading for a deal.
“Leave that poor family alone,” she says, like she actually cares about anything beyond snagging Morgan for herself. “Don’t call. Don’t go to their house. Just don’t go near them.”
“Why the hell would I listen to you?”
“Because I’m doing you a favour! I’m giving you a chance to drop it before you completely humiliate yourself.”
“And if I don’t?”
Rachael rolls her eyes at the ceiling. “What do you think, genius? I’ll tell the Fishers what I overheard and they’ll think you’re a psycho.”
I fume silently at the floor. Rachael’s motives are so transparent. “So, either way, I’m supposed to have nothing else to do with Morgan?”
Her features settle into a smug half-smile. “Well, I didn’t say I wasn’t doing myself a favour as well.”
*
An hour later, when the Tans’ car is pulling out of our driveway, I’m still fuming about my conversation with Rachael. I grab my phone and dial Sadie’s number, despite how awkward things have become between us since our talk at the sailing club. We’ve been keeping things lightweight and civil, but they don’t feel like real conversations. Neither of us have broached the topic of the Fishers or Sparrow.
“Hey,” she says, answering after two rings. “What’s up?” Her voice lacks that warm familiarity that I’ve come to depend on.
“I’ve just had another run-in with Rachael.”
“Ugh. What did she want?”
There’s music in the background. Sadie sounds distracted. “Are you able to talk, or …”
“Yeah. It’s cool. I’m at the cinema with Alice.”
“What, like a date?” I don’t mean it to come out as sulky as it does.
“Umm, yeah. That okay with you?” Sadie says, laughing. My mood takes an even bigger nosedive.
“Sorry. I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Hold up,” she says. “Are you okay? What do you need?”
Need? Why does it always become about me being needy? I swallow my growing frustration. “Rachael’s threatening to tell Morgan about what she overheard at the sailing club.”
“Hm,” Sadie says. “Not good. I suppose you’ll just have to get to him first.”
“What?”
“Beat her to the punch.”
“I can’t tell Morgan about that stuff,” I say. “He’ll hate me!”
Sadie’s phone goes muffled, like she’s covering it with her hand. When she comes back on the line, I hear her last few words to somebody else.
“Dee?”
“Look,” she says. “I know you have this thing for Morgan Fisher–”
“A thing? Could you make it sound any more tragic? I seem to recall you encouraging this thing from the very start.”
“Yeah,” Sadie says. “That was before.”
“Before what?”
“The laundry incident and Tim going missing at the shops. And don’t you think it’s weird how Morgan turned up inside your aunt’s house?”
“Like letting himself in is a huge crime,” I say dryly. “Morgan really helped me with my aunt’s dog that weekend, you know.”
“I know. I’m just saying.”
“Didn’t realise you were keeping a tally of things to be suss about.”
Sadie sighs. “I’m not. I know you like him, but … something about all of this is worrying me.”
“Okay. Let’s pretend I never brought it up.”
“That’s the thing, though – all you ever talk about these days is the Fishers,” Sadie says. “I mean, what is it with you and that family?”
I’m about to respond when my phone dings with a text. I’m dying to read it. It could be Morgan. It could be Mallory.
“Look, I’ve gotta go.”
“Tash,” Sadie says quickly, “when’s your next appointment with Dr Ingrid?”
“Huh?” My stomach drops. “Why are you asking me that?”
Another sigh. “I just think it might be good to–”
“I’ve gotta go,” I say again, cutting her off before she implies things I don’t want to hear. Batshit crazy. Batshit crazy. Now that Sadie’s words are out there I can’t unhear them.
I hang up and scroll to my new text message, almost dropping the phone when I see Ally’s name onscreen.
Don’t worry my dog’s fine when are you coming here again
In my flustered state, I have to read it a second time.
Not only is Ally assuring me everything’s okay, she’s inviting me back to Willow Creek? Why did it take her so long to put me at ease about Benny? My hands tremble as I type a vague reply. I’m almost tempted to call Sadie back and ask her what she makes of Ally’s message, except I know she’ll accuse me of overthinking like I always do.
Slumping onto my bed, I feel the acute sting of isolation.
I am overthinking because I have nobody to talk to about this stuff, no one who understands. The only person I can think of who could relate to what I’m going through is the one person who can’t actually talk back.
I pick up my phone and scroll to Mallory’s name in my list of recent messages. My thumbs fly over the keys.
Hey, Mallory. I hope you don’t think this is rude – I’m just really curious. When we were at the carnival a few weeks ago, I asked you if you remembered something and you pointed at me. What did you mean?
I hit Send, then push the phone away from me like it’s infected. Did I really just initiate this conversation? Do I really want to know?
Within minutes, she responds.
I recognised you when you waitressed at my parents’ party. Couldn’t remember where from. When I saw you next to that popcorn stand at the carnival, it felt like deja vu. Like we’d both been there before. Am I right?
I chew the inside of my cheek as I type my reply.
Yes. Do you remember anything else?
There’s no response for a couple of minutes, and I think Mallory mustn’t be interested in divulging more details. Then: A sharp pain in my wrist, like the snap of an elastic band. Mum says she’d tied balloons there. Guess they were hurting so I pulled them off.
No, I want to tell her. It was Sparrow. He yanked them off your arm before he led you away.
I take a deep breath to steady my hands as I type the next question. This is the moment I find out the truth – either Sparrow really did exist, or he was a fabrication.
Was somebody with you when you left that toilet block?
The message sends and I place my phone down delicately on the bed. When it buzzes again, I’m almost scared to pick it up.
Like I’ve been saying for years, Mallory’s message reads, I just can’t remember.
I release a defeated sigh. I was pinning my hopes on Mallory having the answers, but we’re no closer to uncovering the truth. And my instincts tell me
she’s not being entirely truthful. She was upset about something when I found her at that toilet block three weeks ago. There’s something she’s not telling me.
Another message appears from Mallory.
Tbh, I’m not comfortable talking to you about this. I barely know you. It’s not really any of your business.
It’s absolutely my business, I want to say. More than you know. I tap my fingernails against the edge of the phone trying to come up with the right words to keep her on side.
I want to help you remember, I tell her. The honest truth.
Mallory takes a while to respond this time.
Why? How do I even know I can trust you?
Because, I type feverishly, I know what it’s like to feel confused and alone, for your brain to betray you by screwing up your memory. That day at the carnival holds answers for both of us. I need this as much as you do.
I read over what I’ve written, then reluctantly tap the backspace key, swallowing up the characters. In their place I type three words that mean the same thing.
You just can.
*
My conversation with Mallory is still weighing on my mind when Morgan corners me at school the day before the Tans’ birthday party. I’ve played a good game of dodging him since Rachael delivered her ultimatum. For the most part it’s been easy since Morgan and I don’t share many classes, and for those we do share I slip in the door at the last second and make sure I’m the first to leave.
Art class is the one place I can’t distance myself from him, though, sitting side by side under Rachael’s watchful eye. For the last few lessons I’ve managed to steer his attention back onto our Dreamscapes project whenever his voice drops into that low, familiar tone that’s just for me.
It’s temporary, I remind myself. To keep Rachael’s mouth shut until I figure things out.
But Morgan’s onto my ploy of arriving last minute for class. He’s waiting outside the art room door even though it’s closed and everyone’s already inside. His face is sombre as he steers me into an alcove of lockers off the main corridor.
“What’s wrong?” I say. I’m dreading the answer. Has Mallory talked? Has Rachael followed through with her threats?
“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday three weeks ago?” Morgan says. “Rachael mentioned it earlier. I feel like a jerk.”
“Because it’s not important. I’d had a rough week – it didn’t come up.”
This isn’t what’s really bothering him though, I can tell.
“I thought we were–” Morgan glances around even though the corridor is deserted, “–I thought we were together. I mean, at Greenwillow, the way you kissed me was … I thought you were into me. Since then you’ve been avoiding me and I don’t know what I did to screw things up.”
I want to reach up and smooth the crease between his eyebrows. Instead, I shove my hand into my pocket and avoid his worried eyes. Is withholding a secret the same thing as lying? Because it certainly feels just as wretched.
“Are you … I mean, are we–” Morgan stares at a point over my shoulder, as though his question is for the row of lockers behind me. “Is this over already? Are you dumping me?”
I shouldn’t be surprised Morgan’s arrived at this conclusion and it rattles me to hear him suggest it. I wish I could beg him to be patient, explain it’s just for now. Even if Rachael wasn’t threatening to divulge embarrassing secrets that make me look unstable, I ought to cool things with Morgan while I sort myself out to prevent him getting hurt.
But the wounded look in his eyes tells me he’s hurting already, and I feel myself longing to fix him, soothe him, fill up his hollow parts. I don’t want to detach myself from Morgan at all. I want to give more of myself to him.
Morgan thinks he’s found an answer in my silence and he makes a move towards the corridor. I step into his path and place my hands against his chest. I slide my arms inside his jacket, pressing myself into him, inhaling his soapy, slightly salty scent. He stiffens, probably unsure if this is pity or maybe my way of saying goodbye.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” he murmurs into my hair.
I lift my face and kiss him because I don’t trust my words, confessions that will confuse him and drive him away. My lips feel as deceitful as if they were whispering lies, silencing Morgan’s questions and keeping my mouth too busy for explanations.
While my body surrenders to the heat and taste of him, my mind crackles with anxious static: the longer this kiss goes on, the more complicated things become. Because thirty metres away, inside that art room, Rachael is glowering at those two vacant seats beside her.
Retaliation is inevitable.
26
THEN
27 MARCH 2012
TRANSCRIPT FROM THE OFFICE OF DR INGRID BALLANTINE, PHD CHILD AND ADOLESCENT PSYCHIATRY, NEWCASTLE CHILDREN’S CLINIC
PATIENT: NATASHA CARMODY, 13 YEARS OLD
IB: Welcome back, Natasha. It’s lovely to see you again. I feel like we should be having a little celebration.
NC: Why?
IB: Last month marked our fourth anniversary of talking together. With six months between visits now, you always look so much more grown up every time I see you.
NC: I always feel like I’m exactly the same.
IB: Well, that’s not true, is it? Your behaviour is certainly very different to the nine-year-old girl who first came to visit me.
NC: I was eight when I first came here.
IB: Ah, yes. So you were–
NC: I remember everything about that year.
IB: It was a difficult one for you. You faced a lot of challenges.
NC: …
IB: How have the last six months been for you? It’s your first year of high school, isn’t it?
NC: Mm.
IB: Are you still good friends with Sally?
NC: Sadie.
IB: Sadie. Of course.
NC: She’s my best friend. We make each other laugh.
IB: It’s wonderful that you’ve found each other. I know in the past it was a bit challenging for you in regards to making friends.
NC: Keeping friends.
IB: You could put it like that too. Have you and Sadie expanded your circle a little more or do you still like keeping things just the two of you?
NC: We met a new girl at the beginning of the term. Her name’s Rachael Tan.
IB: Well, that’s good news.
NC: We had a slumber party at Rachael’s house a few weeks ago. I didn’t really like it.
IB: Why’s that?
NC: It was really hot in my sleeping bag and I accidentally rolled underneath Rachael’s desk in my sleep. I think I had a bad dream.
IB: That can sometimes happen if you get too hot in bed.
NC: Rachael said I woke her up because I was talking in my sleep. She said I was saying Sparrow’s name. I tried to sit up and hit my head on the desk. I thought I was back in the box.
IB: That must have been upsetting.
NC: It was dark and I didn’t know where I was. I panicked a bit.
IB: Did you?
NC: I had an accident.
IB: You injured yourself?
NC: No, I mean I wet myself. Like I used to do when I was younger.
IB: I see.
NC: Ever since then Rachael’s been asking me over and over who Sparrow is. But I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to talk about any of that stuff any more.
IB: That’s understandable.
NC: I think Sadie blabbed to her about it. She told Rachael I used to have an imaginary friend or something.
IB: Why do you think that?
NC: Because Rachael’s stopped asking and now she keeps looking at me funny.
IB: Do you think it’s worth sitting down with Rachael and explaining it all properly? It might help you feel better.
NC: It won’t. It makes me feel afraid.
IB: Afraid of what?
NC: That dark place.
IB
: Sparrow’s secret room?
NC: No, I don’t mean that. I know Sparrow wasn’t real. His secret room was never real.
IB: What do you mean, then?
NC: I don’t want to go back to that dark place where my mind sees things that aren’t really there.
IB: Does that still happen sometimes?
NC: Not really. Every now and then I feel like Sparrow could be watching me. Like he’s come back to finish his game.
IB: What game is that?
NC: I don’t know. There is no game, is there? It was all in my head.
IB: Remember how we discussed your anxiety and how it often comes on when you’re feeling a bit stressed or lonely? Have you been feeling that way lately?
NC: Maybe a bit. It’s just … ever since Rachael came to our school and started hanging out with us, I feel like sometimes Sadie likes her better than me.
IB: What makes you think that?
NC: Because she doesn’t have to look after Rachael or make excuses for any strange stuff she does. Rachael’s confident and I’m a weirdo. People still call me that at school.
IB: Does it matter to you what other people think?
NC: It matters what Sadie thinks. I don’t want to lose her.
IB: Perhaps Rachael’s not trying to take her away from you. Do you think she might simply be looking for close friendships of her own?
NC: Not with me. I’m worried she’s going to tell everyone at school I wet the bed at her sleepover.
IB: You were having a panic attack. Perhaps Rachael understands it was out of your control.
NC: I doubt she cares about that.
IB: What do you think she cares about?
NC: Having Sadie all to herself.
IB: If Sadie and Rachael do become good friends, you’d have to think about how you’d react. Do you feel comfortable sharing Sadie’s friendship with someone else?
NC: Not really.
IB: Why’s that?
NC: I’d be lonely.
IB: You might feel lonely some of the time–
NC: No! That can’t happen. Things don’t go well for me when I’m lonely.
27
NOW
I spend most of Saturday at Watergardens with Morgan while he shops for Rachael’s and Christopher’s birthday gifts. He and his father are going to the party tonight while his mum and Mallory are opting to skip it. When Morgan drops me home afterwards, I make him park his dad’s car near the boatsheds at the end of my street. I kiss him until the windows fog up and my mouth aches, and it still doesn’t feel like enough.
Small Spaces Page 17