“So what if I was? And speaking of, why were you even at her party? Are you and Rachael besties now?”
Sadie’s face darkens at the bitterness stitched into the fabric of my words. I hate how it sounds but I just can’t seem to unpick it.
“I knew you’d overreact,” she mutters. “Alice does taekwondo with Christopher every Thursday. He invited her to his party and she invited me as her date.”
“So, you and Alice are officially a thing then?”
“Oh, good,” Sadie says. “So you are aware of the outside world.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Something’s going on with you, Tash. You’re being sketchy. I’ve seen those online articles about the Fishers you’re always reading. Now all this stuff is coming up again about Sparrow. You’ve been acting really …”
“What?”
“Obsessed. You’re not yourself. Ever since the Fishers returned to town you’ve been paranoid and spaced out.”
I turn away from her, gnawing the skin around my thumbnail.
“Did you tell the police you gave Rachael a box of dead birds?” Sadie asks. “Because she did. You need to make sure you’re upfront about everything or else it will look like you’ve got something to hide.”
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“Not gonna lie, Tash – none of this is making you look good.”
“Rachael left those birds on my doorstep, you know. Sparrows.” I fold my arms. “She heard everything I told you at the sailing club. She’s screwing with me, trying to get inside my head.”
Sadie scrunches her face, sceptical. “Why would she bother?”
“Because of Morgan.”
Annoyance flutters across her features. “Seriously? I really don’t think Rachael’s gonna get all possessive over some pale dude in skinny jeans.”
I lean back and look at her. It’s suddenly so obvious why we’ve been drifting apart these past months. “You haven’t given Morgan a chance since my panic attack in his laundry.”
Sadie’s expression is impassive.
“Is it because I trust him and you don’t like it?” I ask her. “Are you jealous or something?”
“Whoa. Hold up.”
I’m overstepping, but the words keep spilling out. A terrible mean-spirited part of me wants Sadie to take some of this weight from my heart, relieve me of some of this hurt. “Is it because you can’t stand me relying on someone that isn’t you?”
Sadie blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Serious question: what do you get out of all of this?”
“All of what?”
“Our friendship. Hanging out with me. Is it because I’m so needy? Does it make you feel important because I depend on you so much?”
“Tash, you’d better check yourself–”
“I don’t need you to look after me all the time!” I tell her, standing too. “I need a best friend, not a babysitter.”
“Well, clearly that’s not the case,” Sadie snaps. “You lose your brother in a shopping centre, your aunt’s dog is injured while you’re caring for it and now you’re a suspect in Rachael’s attack.”
I gasp. “I’m not a suspect!” Jesus, am I?
“What’s the common denominator here, Tash? That’s all I’m saying.” Sadie can barely look me in the eye.
“You think I’m responsible for hurting Rachael?”
She folds her arms, looks out over the backyard at the T-shirts flapping on the washing line. “I don’t know what to think. You barely talk to me any more.”
Something inside me fractures. How has it come to this? Everything seems to be slipping through my fingers.
Sadie sighs. “Look, I know you wouldn’t hurt Rachael intentionally. But sometimes when people are really upset they can do things they don’t mean and block it from memory. Alice says–”
“You talked to Alice about me?”
Sadie blushes, a rare event. Then I realise she’s actually embarrassed for me. “You need to figure some stuff out.”
“I’m trying.”
“The truth,” she says, holding my gaze.
I look down at my shoes. “I know.”
“You’re all knotted up, Tashie.” Sadie’s voice softens. “You’re somehow tied to that summer when you were eight and it’s messing with your head.” I nod as she moves a step closer. “It’s just going to keep pulling you further under unless you figure out what the hell is real and what isn’t.”
She places her hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze as she passes. I watch her trudge across the patio and into the house.
And I know she’s right: I feel like I’m losing myself. I’ve forgotten how to trust my own mind, ensnared in a net of unreliable memories. I need the cold, sharp blade of truth, no matter how brutal.
It’s the only way I’ll cut myself free.
30
THEN
15 SEPTEMBER 2014
TRANSCRIPT FROM THE OFFICE OF DR INGRID BALLANTINE, PHD CHILD AND ADOLESCENT PSYCHIATRY, NEWCASTLE CHILDREN’S CLINIC
PATIENT: NATASHA CARMODY, 15 YEARS OLD
IB: Tell me about your aunt, Ally.
NC: Why?
IB: You haven’t mentioned her for a long time.
NC: I haven’t even seen her since Christmas a few years ago.
IB: Her name used to come up a lot in our sessions.
NC: Did it?
IB: That summer at her house certainly did.
NC: It was a long time ago.
IB: Do you think about her much?
NC: Not really. I don’t have much to do with her.
IB: Is that because there’s something unresolved between the two of you?
NC: What do you mean?
IB: Well, thinking back to that summer, you were upset when she told your parents you’d been making things up and misbehaving.
NC: Yeah. But I suppose she had to, didn’t she? She thought my parents needed to know.
IB: Have you wanted any kind of a relationship with her since then?
NC: Not really.
IB: Why’s that?
NC: I suppose it felt like I couldn’t trust her any more.
IB: I see.
NC: She told me she was on my side and then she threw me under the bus.
IB: Is that how you see it?
NC: It’s how it felt at the time.
IB: Do you still feel that way now?
NC: I think there’ll always be a part of me that thinks it’s unfair.
IB: Unfair?
NC: Yeah. Because at the end of the day, it was her word against mine.
31
NOW
Willow Creek has a completely different air about it this visit compared to last month. The light is muted, and everything has indistinct edges. Tall willow trees along the driveway droop listlessly, as though holding their breath. The bushy mountains behind the house seem murky and impenetrable, a few shrill bird calls the only indication something is living in there.
Ally’s truck is not at the house when we arrive on Saturday morning. Dad glances at his watch a few times, needing to get away soon. He, Mum and Tim are attending a barbecue at the Tans’ house at lunchtime.
“Typical,” Dad says, peering through the front windows. He’s already knocked three times and dialled Ally’s phone twice. “How hard is it to stay put until your house guest arrives?”
“I have keys,” I tell him, holding up his set. “Don’t worry. She’s probably just gone to buy hot cross buns or something.”
Dad looks at me like that’s wishful thinking and he’s probably right. I don’t care about Easter anyway. I’m here to talk to Ally. I’m here for answers.
Dad gives me an extra-long hug as he’s leaving. “That’s from Mum too,” he says, kissing the top of my head. I really want to believe him.
As he drives off in a cloud of dust, I let myself into the house and notice straightaway that it’s in need of airing out. I listen for the tippy-tap of Benny’s
claws on the floorboards, but he’s most likely riding shotgun with Ally on her errands. I take my backpack upstairs to the room I stayed in last time, the bedding still crumpled from my previous visit.
An hour of channel-surfing later, Ally still hasn’t returned. I pull out my phone and dial her number; it goes straight through to voicemail again. I think about my family on their way to the Tans’ house without me, and I’m struck with aching loneliness. I find myself texting Mum.
Hope you have a nice time today.
The eerie quiet of Ally’s house makes me pause for reflection, prompting me to add:
Please tell Rachael I hope she’s feeling better.
Next, I call Morgan.
“Hey,” he answers. “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you for ages. Did you skip classes this week?”
“Just had some appointments and stuff,” I lie. “So, are you here? At Greenwillow?”
“Not yet. We’re coming up tonight.”
“What are your plans for Easter Sunday?”
“I’m glad you asked!” he says, the smile obvious in his voice. “My dad’s cousins are coming up for dinner at our holiday house. I’d love it if you’d come too.”
My pulse flutters as I accept the invitation, and it’s not just nerves about dining with Morgan’s family. I feel responsible for my part in Mallory’s disappearance, even if I’m not sure how big that role was. For better or worse, one thing’s certain: my pull towards the Fisher family has never been stronger.
*
By dinnertime, I’m not sure whether to be baffled or livid at Ally’s no-show. With her track record, I’m beginning to suspect she’s making some kind of point. Is she trying to scare me? Punish me? Or has she simply forgotten about me after a boozy afternoon at the pub?
I yank open cupboards in search of ingredients to make some kind of dinner, but there doesn’t seem to be anything new in the pantry since I was last here. I flip open the breadbin on the counter, pleased to find half a loaf in a plastic bag. When I pull out a slice, I see it’s covered in patchy green fuzz.
Shuddering, I bundle the bread bag into the bin beside the back door, my shoe knocking into Benny’s water bowl as I pass. It’s bone dry. Not only that, a small spider has made itself a home, fine webs zigzagging across the bowl’s rim.
I march over to the pantry and drag out the bag of dog kibble I fed Benny from weeks ago. It appears to be sitting at exactly the same level from when I last used it.
My pulse thrums.
Is Benny being cared for somewhere else? Did Ally lie about him recovering from his injuries?
God. Is it possible Benny didn’t make it home at all?
On impulse, I pick up my phone to call Ally before realising I’ll only get her voicemail again. Instead, I scour the fridge for the magnet from Margaret’s vet clinic in Ellenbrook. A female receptionist picks up after two rings.
“Hello,” I say. “I hope you can help me. I’m just enquiring after a dog that was treated at your clinic about four weeks ago.”
“Name?” she asks pleasantly.
“Tash Carmody.”
She giggles. “Sorry, I mean the name of your pet. It’s how we put them in the system.”
“Oh. Benny. Um … surname Carmody, I guess?”
I hear her fingernails tapping against a keyboard. Then, “Yes, I’ve found it. A ten-year-old yellow lab?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It says here … oh. Umm …”
“Is something wrong?”
“Just a moment, please.”
She places me on hold. I gnaw my thumbnail while I listen to crackly classical music, suddenly panicked that Benny didn’t survive his injuries. Why would Ally lie about that? To spare my feelings? Surely she wouldn’t keep that news to herself.
The music cuts out and a deeper voice comes on the line.
“Tash?”
“Hello? Margaret?”
“Yes!” She sounds relieved. “I must say, I’m glad someone’s finally got in touch.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re still chasing your aunt in regards to payment. In all the excitement of getting Benny into my van that night, I never got your phone number. So we really didn’t know who else to call.”
I drag a chair out from the kitchen table and lower myself into it. “Didn’t you talk with my aunt when she came to pick up Benny?”
“Sweetheart,” Margaret says. “No one ever came to pick up Benny.”
“What?”
“We had to put him in foster care because we didn’t have the space to home him here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We thought something must have happened to your aunt.”
“No,” I say, rubbing fingers across my forehead. “No, she’s fine. We’ve been texting each other since Benny’s accident.”
“I can give you the details of the foster carer if you’d like to arrange for Benny to come home?”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, please. That would be great. He can come home with me to Port Bellamy if need be.”
Margaret provides me the phone number of the foster home, and I arrange to have Benny’s vet bill forwarded to my email.
“I’m so sorry about the mix-up, Margaret. I had no idea Ally no longer wanted him. Did she give you a reason?”
“Honey,” Margaret says, “we never heard a peep from your aunt at all.”
*
It’s a restless night’s sleep on an empty stomach, the old house’s creaks and groans my only company. My body flounders on the mattress as though struggling to keep afloat, the mouldy walls and ceiling pressing into me from all sides. At one stage I wake with a start, convinced I heard Benny bumping around downstairs. Impossible of course, yet it didn’t stop me from lying rod-straight in bed, heart jackhammering in my chest. I knew I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep unless I went downstairs and double-checked every locked door and window.
On Easter Sunday I emerge from bed feeling dull and headachy. I make breakfast out of dry Weet-Bix, and it only now occurs to me I can’t buy groceries today because the supermarket will be closed. Ally still hasn’t returned any of my messages, and when I scroll through her scant responses from recent weeks, I become increasingly irritated. It appears she’s been playing some kind of game with me, lying and luring me here under false pretences in a way that feels chillingly familiar.
Trying to use photography as a distraction, I ride out to an old hay shed on Greenwillow’s outskirts. It’s not long before I’m snapping anything at random, my mind turning over recent arguments and conversations. Some of Sadie’s comments keep bubbling to the surface.
Your mind could be remembering things differently to how they really were.
Did you ever see your aunt and Sparrow in the same room at the same time?
Why didn’t Ally want me talking about Sparrow to my parents? Is it possible she was harming me, and my frightened eight-year-old mind masked her identity? Or maybe she planted the idea of Sparrow in my head to cover her own tracks. It’s no secret Ally resents my dad, and the easiest way to hurt him is by hurting his child. But what would Ally stand to gain? The sadistic pleasure at screwing up one of his kids? If that was her intention, it’s fair to say she succeeded.
Unless, of course, she’s not quite done.
Shivering despite the autumn sunshine, I tear up and down Willow Creek’s dirt roads on Ally’s bike. By the time I reach the house, I’m wired and dehydrated, a familiar headache flaring up around my temples.
My phone chimes with a text from Morgan.
We’re here! Kitchen’s a madhouse. Pick you up at 6?
I reply with something upbeat before downing two glasses of water and hunting for a Panadol.
Upstairs, I peel off my jeans and sweaty T-shirt, crawl into the claw-foot bath, and sit balled up at one end with the shower streaming over me. My skin prickles under the hot water, my chest tightening in a way that tells me a panic attack is sharpening its claws. I towel myself
dry and upend my backpack on the bed, focusing my energies into finding something to wear to dinner. As I pick through my clothing, my fingers knock against something hard. I shake out a T-shirt, and a red mobile phone case topples onto the floor.
The dead black eyes of Hello Kitty stare up at me.
Oh, god.
I have Rachael’s phone.
32
THEN
The Ferris wheel is slowing down when I spot Sparrow hiding behind the ticket booth. He’s staring up at the yellow carriage that I was lucky enough to get all to myself. Now I wish I’d squeezed in with that nice family in front of me, or maybe those teenagers two carriages behind. If I was with other people, then maybe he’d leave me alone.
“Go away,” I tell him when I get out of my carriage onto the wooden platform. He follows me from the ride’s exit, down the steps and onto the muddy grass. He hangs just far enough behind that people are looking at me weird for talking to myself. “You need to leave me alone.”
He tugs his hood over his forehead but I can still see the purple smudges under his eyes. There’s a long red scratch along his cheek as well. What’s he been doing? Where does he go when he’s not pestering me to play?
“Come with me,” he says. “I’ve got something to show you. You’re going to like this, I promise.”
“I don’t want to.” I turn down a gap between two circus tents. It only leads to a bunch of dumpsters.
“You should really come and see,” he says, a few steps behind me; he always walks too close. I reach the dumpsters and realise it’s a dead end – Sparrow’s blocking the path back to the rides.
I wrap my arms around myself. “I already told you I don’t want to play with you.”
“Even if I show you a magic trick?”
I roll my eyes and try to look like I don’t care. But something wriggles inside me like a tummy full of worms. What if he is magic? He doesn’t look like a wizard or a superhero. What does magic even look like anyway?
“I know how to make you disappear,” Sparrow says.
The side of the tent flaps in the breeze and it’s hard to hear the carnival noises. The rides and people seem really far away.
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