Cassie

by Barry Jonsberg

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You are a liar, Holly Holley.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, Holly.’ Ivy put her face in her hands and scrubbed at her temples. ‘You wag school, disappear for hours without letting anyone know where you are, let us think you might be lying dead somewhere, come home looking like a tart and then lie to me.’ Her voice started to break. ‘I’m stunned. I thought you were a different kind of daughter. I thought I could trust you.’

  ‘Who told you I was wagging?’

  ‘I talked to Amy, Holly. You know? When I was mad with worry, driving around, trying to find you. You’ve been gone since lunchtime. Lunchtime. Maybe earlier for all I know. Did you go to any lessons today?’

  ‘Yes!’ Holly couldn’t keep indignation out of her voice. How could Amy have dobbed her in? How could she do that? ‘I only missed maths in the afternoon.’

  ‘Only maths! Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for that. Difficult, though, now I know you’re a liar.’

  ‘Ask Amy, then. Ask Miss Perfect. She’ll tell you and maybe you’ll believe her.’

  ‘YOU SIT DOWN. NOW!’ Holly had never heard her mother yell like that before. Her heart thundered in her chest. She took three faltering steps to the kitchen table and sat. The shopping bags gathered around her ankles.

  ‘Don’t you dare blame Amy for telling the truth,’ continued Ivy. ‘I’m just grateful someone did. Have you any idea, any idea at all, what you’ve put me through? What you’ve put Fern and Cassie through?’

  ‘I said I was sorry.’

  ‘That’s not good enough, Holly. Not good enough at all. Your apology is not accepted.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll go to my room, then. Or rather, I’ll go to the spare room. Mine’s taken.’

  ‘You’re going nowhere. Not until we’re done.’

  ‘What do you want from me, Mum? What do you want?’

  Holly’s voice rose. She could sense the anger colouring her words and was powerless to do anything about it.

  ‘What do I want?’ Ivy’s laugh was bitter and hostile. ‘How about the truth? How about a little bit of consideration? Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘I can’t do anything more than say I’m sorry.’

  ‘I thought you were dead, Holly.’ Ivy’s voice sounded as though it was stretched with pain, almost to the point of snapping. ‘I thought you were dead. Have you any idea how that feels?’

  Holly said nothing. Ivy brushed impatiently at her cheeks, spreading the tears so her entire face glistened. She sniffed and the sound was liquid. She wiped her nose with her arm.

  ‘When I left for work today, I had a daughter,’ she said. ‘She was truthful, funny and loving. Now I see a liar, a tramp, someone so hateful that she couldn’t even be bothered to make a phone call. Someone who must have known I’d be going crazy with worry, but didn’t care. I’ll tell you what I want, Holly. I want my daughter back.’

  Holly could feel the tears gather. They swelled and clung to her eyelashes for a moment. She blinked them back. She would not give her mother the satisfaction. She stayed still, until she could trust her voice.

  ‘A liar, a tramp. Hateful,’ she said. ‘Maybe it would have been better if I was dead.’

  Holly felt like a fighter on the brink of exhaustion, too tired to summon another punch. Her eyes met her mother’s, but with little recognition. Their silence was the silence of strangers.

  Holly

  My name is Holly Holley and I am a liar and a thief.

  It is just past midnight and I can hear Mum and Aunty Fern talking in the kitchen.

  No prizes for guessing the subject matter, I think. Holly the Daughter from Hell. The Liar, the Tramp, the Hateful Spawn of Satan. I put the pillow over my head to block out the dim murmur of voices. But the voices in my head? They are loud and clear. So I get out of bed and pull on my dressing gown. The door creaks slightly as I crack it open, but there is no break in the conversation. They are too busy picking over the flaws in my character to notice.

  I creep along the dark corridor until the voices come into focus. If anyone comes out from the kitchen, I’ll have time to get back into the bedroom. Maybe. Anyway, it’s a chance I am willing to take. I don’t normally listen into other people’s private conversations, but in this case I figure I deserve to hear what’s being said about me.

  As it turns out, they are talking about Cass. Mostly.

  ‘I could hear her crying,’ says Mum. I know she’s not talking about me. There’s been no tears from me.

  ‘I’m surprised you could hear anything, the amount of shouting going on in here.’ Aunty Fern’s voice is smiling. I can hear it. ‘Don’t worry about Cass. She’s made of stern stuff. And she always gets a little upset after talking on the phone to her dad. I mean, it’s great he rings. But every night? I’m not sure it’s helpful, but I don’t know how to tell him.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Mum says. ‘We upset her. Me and Holly.’

  ‘It’s been upsetting for everyone.’

  I agree.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ Mum’s voice rises sharply. ‘No one has eaten. You must be starving. And poor Cass.’

  Never mind Holly, I think. I don’t count anymore. Aunty Fern and Cassie are the ones who count. My anger starts to flare again and I miss part of what Fern says next.

  ‘. . . all the excitement, food hasn’t crossed my mind.’

  ‘You think I’ve been too hard on her, don’t you?’

  This is what I have been waiting for. I go to pull back my hair from my left ear and then realise that I don’t have long hair anymore. I lean slightly closer towards the kitchen. There is a pause and then Fern’s voice is calm and quiet.

  ‘Do you remember getting that tattoo, sis?’

  Mum’s tattoo? What has that got to do with anything?

  ‘Oh, Fern, don’t remind me,’ says Mum.

  ‘What did it say originally?’

  The kitchen is quiet. The clock ticks.

  ‘Ross,’ says Mum. ‘Under the rose it said “Ross”. How embarrassing! Do you remember Ross?’

  ‘How could I forget him? Tall, good-looking, athletic.’

  ‘Yes. I was so in love with him.’

  I’ve never heard of this guy.

  ‘I talked him into it. We went to the tattoo parlour together. He had “Ivy” tattooed on his arm, beneath this horrible vine that was supposed to represent me, I guess. And I went for a rose. I should have just had a thorn. When I think back to how many other girls he was juggling at that time, I’m surprised there was room on his biceps for me. By now, he won’t have an inch of spare skin.’

  They laugh. I groan.

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Sixteen. He broke my heart. And I had to go back and get “Ross” changed to “Rose”.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Fern.

  This is getting interesting after all. There is a long pause before Mum speaks again.

  ‘I understand now,’ she says. ‘I see what you’re up to.’

  ‘Mum was so angry,’ says Aunty Fern. ‘She didn’t speak to you for a month. She even went round to Ross’s house and gave him a piece of her mind. After that, the tattoo parlour. That huge guy who used to run it. One hundred and forty kilos of tattooed blubber sitting there like a kid who’d just been caught stealing a lollipop from the corner shop. Reduced him to tears. Boy, after that he’d ask for ID from his own grandmother.’

  ‘She was fierce, our mum.’

  ‘And you, throughout it all, saying, “But I love him, Mum. I’m not a kid anymore. I love him.”’

  ‘I was an idiot.’

  ‘You were sixteen and in love. You wanted to be a grown-up woman, and Mum was saying you were just a kid.’

  ‘She was right.’

  ‘Maybe she was. But that didn’t alter your behaviour then, did it? You didn’t suddenly go, “Hey, you’re right. I’m a child.” You were trying on adulthood for size, seeing what it felt like in different clothes.
We all did that, sis. In our own way. And that’s what Holly’s doing now. At least her haircut will grow out, which is more than can be said for your tattoo.’

  Woohoo, I think. Let’s hear it for Aunty Fern.

  ‘I hate you sometimes,’ says Mum.

  ‘That’s because I’m always right.’

  There’s a rumble as a chair is pushed back. I take a step or two towards my room and then pause. I can hear the tap running. The tea cups clink in the sink. When the sound of running water stops I catch the tail end of their conversation.

  ‘. . . what you say, Fern. But that doesn’t mean Holly isn’t grounded. Possibly for the rest of her life.’

  ‘She’s probably expecting that.’

  ‘Good. She won’t be disappointed.’

  Fern

  Fern lay on her side and watched Cassie sleep. No matter how many times she did it, it always struck her as a miracle. In sleep, Cass’s features were relaxed. She didn’t twitch. Her arms and legs appeared wasted, it was true. Cass didn’t have the motor skills to keep them in good condition. But they lay at peace.

  It was only on waking that Cassie’s brain would send messages destined never to arrive. Or rather, messages that arrived damaged, altered, twisted, like those Chinese whispers they used to play at school. Fern stretched out an arm, adjusted the pillow that Cass kept between her knees when she slept. The girl didn’t stir.

  Fern thought about her sister. How she had a daughter who didn’t ring, who wagged school, who took off shopping with friends, who screamed and shouted and argued with her mother, who ran off to her bedroom, slammed the door.

  She wondered if Ivy knew how lucky she was.

  Holly

  Holly sat on the end of her bed. The wardrobe door was open and she could see the black dress hanging up, the red boots neatly arranged beneath. A mirror inside the door showed her reflection, pale and blurred in the dim moonlight. She cocked her head to one side. She looked so different. Even now, after an hour staring at her reflection, she couldn’t quite fit it to how she felt inside. The face that looked back was confident, cocky almost. The image of someone who could steal from a shop and not think twice about it. The dress was the only thing she had hung up. The rest of the clothes, the ones Demi and Kari and Georgia had given her, were still in their bags, scrunched down into the dark recesses of the wardrobe.

  Holly tried not to think about them.

  She thought instead about a young girl and a rose tattoo.

  7

  Fern

  It was a miserable Saturday. Dawn struggled through a fine, unenthusiastic rain.

  Fern groaned and tried to ignore the sound of jingling bells.

  ‘It’s six-thirty, Cass,’ she whispered. ‘Virtually the middle of the night, kiddo. The birds aren’t even up yet. They’re having a sleep in. Why don’t we join them? It’s the weekend, after all.’

  The bells tinkled more insistently.

  ‘All right, all right. Keep the noise down or you’ll wake the birds.’ Fern struggled to swing her legs out of bed. She slumped for a moment, rubbed at her eyes. Had someone sneaked in during the night and sprinkled grit in them? She stumbled to the bathroom and examined herself in the mirror. Whoever had done the grit-sprinkling had also done the foldy-face bit. She looked like she needed ironing. Not surprising, given the lack of sleep.

  Fern splashed cold water into her face. She’d have a shower after breakfast. For now, the water made her feel slightly more awake, but she still shuffled as she went back to the bedroom.

  Ivy

  Fern was nursing a cup of coffee when Ivy dragged herself into the kitchen. The sisters groaned at each other and Ivy poured herself a mug from the pot on the stove. She thought about milk and decided against it. Strong and black. It was just a pity she couldn’t have it intravenously. She plopped herself down opposite Fern and they groaned at each other again.

  ‘This is what happens when your daughter turns into a delinquent,’ said Ivy. ‘I guess that’s why our mum aged ten years overnight. Do I look as bad as I feel?’

  ‘I can’t look as bad as I feel,’ replied Fern. ‘Otherwise you’d be screaming and holding up a crucifix.’

  ‘I would if I had the energy.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Where’s Cass?’ said Ivy.

  ‘In her room.’ Fern poured herself another cup of coffee. ‘The little toad. She gets me up at some godforsaken hour and then she’s got the nerve to be in a foul mood. I cook her breakfast and she doesn’t want it. Just wants to get on that computer again and burst hearts.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve seen Cass in a foul mood. Just those first few minutes, when you arrived, but that was because she was beside herself with tiredness.’

  Fern grimaced.

  ‘Trust me,’ she said. ‘Angelic Cass has a dark side that blisters paint. When she gets it into her head that she wants something . . . well, watch out. There’s no budging her. And today she wants the computer. So the computer she must have. At six-thirty in the morning.’

  ‘Heaven help us,’ said Ivy. ‘Two kids with attitudes. Has Holly surfaced yet?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Not surprised. Even on a good Saturday she doesn’t get up until twelve. Today, I reckon she’ll stay there all day.’

  ‘Tell you what, sis,’ said Fern. ‘I’ll have a chat with your devil’s spawn and you have a chat with mine. Aunts have an advantage over mums. Generally speaking they don’t have 666 tattooed on their foreheads.’

  ‘Maybe not, but I’ve got a relief map of the Great Dividing Range tattooed on mine. Have you ever seen so many worry lines on one face?’

  ‘Not since I last looked in the mirror.’

  Cassie

  My head and neck are on fire. Small sparks of pain scatter, glow and burn.

  Sixteen minutes before the hearts have gone.

  Slow.

  Yesterday I did it in twelve.

  I must let my muscles unwind and flow. They are too tight and it is in the core of tightness that fire blossoms. But it is fragile, brittle, this control. Relax the tightness and chaos spreads, my body twitched and tugged by outside forces.

  I pour myself into the cursor. I wind my will up tighter. I ignore the spot fires in my neck.

  All is quiet.

  There was a knock on Cassie’s bedroom door, immediately followed by Ivy’s head poking around it.

  ‘Hello, poppet,’ she said. ‘Mind if I come in?’

  Cassie’s head turned.

  ‘What are you up to?’ said Ivy. ‘Is it okay if I watch?’

  She sat on the edge of the bed, just to the left of Cassie’s wheelchair. The computer was on a short chest of drawers. The height wasn’t quite right, but Fern had put a couple of pillows under Cass’s bottom to align her as closely as possible.

  Ivy watched as the cursor circled slowly in the centre of the screen.

  Beads of sweat stood on Cassie’s brow as she brought the cursor to a box at the top of the screen where there were six small windows, each containing various icons. Cass positioned hers on a double icon, slowly took the cursor away and then put it back in exactly the same place. The window turned grey.

  She then moved the cursor to an icon at the bottom of the screen. Although positioned slightly off centre, it nonetheless opened the program. Eighteen hearts, in three neat rows, appeared. Cassie took a deep breath and willed the cursor to the first heart.

  ‘That is terrific, Cassie,’ said Ivy. ‘I see what you’re doing. Isn’t that clever?’

  Cass’s head twisted and the cursor slid off the screen.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Ivy. ‘You don’t want to overdo it, poppet. Maybe you should give it a break.’

  Cassie’s head jerked and thumped against the neck brace of the wheelchair. One arm thrashed. Slowly, she gathered herself, faced the monitor again. Her body quietened. The cursor blinked once at the edge of the screen, disappeared then reappeared. The silence in the room gathered, became almost a palp
able presence. The cursor inched towards a heart.

  ‘How about a drive somewhere?’ said Ivy.

  Cassie howled. She shrieked and rolled her head. Hands flung themselves to the side, knocked the sensor from the top of the monitor, tore the lead from the USB port.

  Ivy leaped to her feet and took a step back, just as Fern strode into the bedroom. She took Cassie’s hands in her own and looked into her daughter’s eyes. Cassie’s shrieking became a dull keening, but her legs continued to twitch and twist.

  ‘Calm down, sweetie,’ said Fern. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

  After a few minutes she turned to her sister.

  ‘Cass thanks you very much for your interest in her welfare,’ she said. ‘However, she feels at the moment that your presence is a distraction from the work at hand and would be grateful if you could spare her the time and space to return to it.’

  ‘She said all that?’

  Fern began plugging the leads back into the computer.

  ‘Well, it was more like, “Get her the hell out!” but I was reading between the lines. I told you, sis. Attitude with a capital A.’

  Holly

  Holly was listening to her iPod and scrolling through the contacts on her phone to delete Amy’s number. She didn’t hear Fern’s knock. So, when the door opened, her heart jumped. She was not looking forward to another confrontation with her mother. As far as Holly was concerned, she’d risk putting her head above the parapet when she had to – when dinner was served, for example – but the rest of the time this cramped room was a refuge, a haven of peace and quiet.

  If you could ignore the faint, lingering and stubborn smell of cat pee, of course.

  It was a relief to see Fern’s face peek round the door frame, but it was still with a sense of dread that she took her earphones out. Holly knew the signs. This was going to be a gentle talking to about responsibility and consideration. Her mother and her aunt had worked it out between them. Not a prospect to cause her heart to swell with anticipation, but at least Fern didn’t have horns and a halo of flames.