by Claire Zorn
‘No you haven’t,’ Nanna lowers her voice to a whispery hiss. ‘But you will, if you don’t pull yourself together.’
‘How? Get my hair done? Will that fix it, do you think?’
‘It’d be a start. You’ve got to get back to yourself. Little things make a difference.’
‘A difference to what? The fact that my daughter was killed and I might be living with the person who killed her?’
Mum sees me then, standing in the doorway. Nanna turns around, begins to say something, but I don’t stay to listen. I go up the hall into my room and shut the door. I hear Mum follow me, she knocks on the door, says my name, I don’t answer. She knocks again. I pull my desk across the door, blocking it. And then I sit on the floor, underneath the desk, like Katie and I used to do when we were little kids. I sit there for a long time.
***
Two Facebook pages were created in my honour in the week following the party. The first was ‘Victim’s of Hannah McCann Unite!’ (The Clones didn’t have the best grasp of punctuation.) It said I was a lesbian sexual predator. Two days later there was another, ‘Hannah McCann is a Man!’ The fact that I couldn’t be a man and a lesbian didn’t bother them. Added to that were the unflattering pictures of me the Clones put on their Instagram accounts when they weren’t posting selfies.
Katie didn’t speak to me until Friday afternoon when we were walking home from the bus stop.
‘So? What are you going to do to fix the fact that you’re the resident freak?’
I must have looked surprised.
‘So we’re clear: I’m only talking to you because I feel sorry for you. I am still pissed off at you for dragging me into your fucking mess.’
‘I didn’t drag you into anything.’
‘So what was Dad’s little display at Tara’s party about?’
‘I didn’t blame anything on you.’
‘I noticed you didn’t stand up for me either.’
‘I didn’t stand up for you?! Are you serious?’
‘You’re not exactly drowning in friends at the moment, Hannah. So I wouldn’t be playing the blame game if I were you.’
***
TWELVE
Katie’s most played songs:
*‘Cannonball’, The Breeders
*‘Lithium’, Nirvana
*‘Arabella’, Arctic Monkeys
*‘Gold Lion’, Yeah Yeah Yeahs
*‘Pictures of You’, The Cure
*‘New York, I Love You’, LCD Soundsystem
*‘Heavy Soul’, The Black Keys
*‘Lust For Life’, Iggy Pop
*‘London Calling’, The Clash
*Basically every song from the Trainspotting soundtrack
*‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’, The Beatles
The following night, when my parents are asleep, I get up and go into Katie’s room. I turn on her bedside lamp and close the door behind me. I pull back her doona cover and lie down on her bed. She would be pissed off about me invading her space, I’m sure. But she is gone, completely and utterly not here. The sheets haven’t been changed since the last time she slept in them – Mum wouldn’t let Nanna in here and I think Nanna was too scared of her smashing more stuff if she pushed her. On the floor under Katie’s bedside table is her laptop in its case. I lean over and pick it up. I prop her cushions up behind me and set the computer on my lap. I plug the power adaptor into the wall socket by the table. The top of the case has a fine layer of dust over it. I open it and push the start-up key. It takes a few moments before the screen lights up and the laptop plays three chords, heralding its return to consciousness.
I open her browser, click on the history tab and unfurl the list of websites she last visited. There are several fashion blogs, Facebook, Twitter, more fashion blogs and several university sites. I follow the links and find a course outline for a Bachelor of Arts in Communication (Information and Media) and another for a course in Fashion Journalism at a design school. The marks needed to get in are really high. There is another link to information about the swim program at the Australian Institute of Sport. I close the browser and go into her media file. She would scream at me if she could. I open her photo folder and thousands of shots of Katie and her friends splash across the screen. I scroll through them. There are none of me and her, none of her and Jensen. Jensen’s face doesn’t appear anywhere.
***
I knocked on her bedroom door and waited. Waited, waited. Finally it opened a fraction and she stood there without saying anything like, ‘Come on in!’ or, ‘Yeah, I’d love to have a sisterly chat and hear all about your problems’.
‘Permission to enter?’ I asked.
She contemplated me for a moment and I wondered if she was going to ask me to fill out a visa application. Then she opened the door further and stepped aside. She closed the door behind me. Her bed was strewn with textbooks and torn exercise pages scrawled with handwriting. I went to move some aside, make some room, but she beat me there, sweeping them into a pile, her face ducked away from mine. Almost like she was embarrassed. That would be a first.
‘I’m sort of busy, what do you want?’ I sat on her bed. She rolled her eyes and sat next to me.
‘I just, I just want to … talk. I don’t know what to do. You’ve never had to deal with … this and I––’
She gave a short laugh, scoffing.
‘What? You haven’t.’
‘Well, that’s bullshit.’
‘What? When?’
‘No, no, go on. I’m all ears,’ she said in a way that suggested the opposite.
‘I just, you have to tell me what to do, Katie.’
She took a deep breath, turned to face me. ‘Okay. Let’s talk about this. Are you, in fact, a lesbian? And before you answer, there is nothing wrong with being a bit lez, yeah? Ruby Rose, hello? So. Are you?’
‘No! Katie, I’m not gay!’
‘Okay, you need to calm down there because like the lady doth protest too much or whatever.’
‘Since when do you quote Shakespeare?’
‘Let’s get this straight. Ha, sorry––’
‘That’s not even funny.’
‘Yeah, it is. Did you or did you not give Amy whatserface a bit of a, you know, bit of a touch up?’
‘Katie! I just told you.’
‘Okay. So no girlie love going on there. I mean, of all people I’d be surprised if you went for her.’
‘Just tell me what I should do.’
‘You mean aside from publicly making out with some guy?’
‘Preferably.’
She pulled her hair forwards over her shoulder, twisted it around and around. ‘Because that would help.’
‘Katie. Come on.’
‘Although, then they’ll just call you a slut, so it’s lose lose.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Spanner, I don’t know. You care too much. You care too much what people think of you. It’s obvious and it makes it easy for them, you know?’
‘I make it too obvious that I don’t like having food pelted at me?’
‘You just …’ She sighed. ‘You just want them to like you so much, you need to stop trying so hard.’
‘Stop trying not to get called a lesbian? It’s easy for you to say all this when everyone thinks you’re a goddess.’
She released her hair and it fell loose, untwisting. ‘Yeah? And where’s that going to get me exactly, Hannah? Jeez, you’re naive. Leave it. Just leave it. Stop taking everything so seriously. They’ll get bored. They’ll move on. Can you go now? I’m busy. I’ve got an English essay.’
‘Yeah? What on? Gatsby?’
‘Seriously, Hannah, leave. Now.’
‘I can, you know, look at it if you want.’
‘Out.’
***
I sit at the ag plot during lunchbreak with my legs stretched out in the sun, back against the fibro-clad wall and listen to Katie’s iPod. I am up to number one hundred and fifty nine: ‘Heart-Shaped Box’ by Nirvana. Up until the last few days I knew very little about Nirvana other than the fact that Kurt Cobain shot himself in the head. After listening to ‘Lithium’, ‘Drain You’, ‘Come as You Are’, ‘Jesus Doesn’t Want Me For A Sunbeam’ and now ‘Heart-Shaped Box’ I feel I know Kurt Cobain quite well.
The goats pick their way through the long grass, chewing their feed with little corn-teeth, bleating occasionally. Then suddenly they startle, heads bobbing up, before turning and skittering down the far side of the paddock. I look around, tug my earphones from my ears. If a teacher finds me it will be interesting to see if they give me a detention for being out of bounds. But it’s not a teacher. It’s Josh Chamberlain.
He dumps his backpack a few metres from me, leans against the wall like he is waiting for a bus.
‘Hey,’ he says, super casual.
‘Hey.’ I wait. He doesn’t say anything more, but takes a small folded piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. He unfolds the paper and squints at it.
‘Noxious weed. Seven letters, fourth letter “t”?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Noxious weed. Seven letters, fourth letter “t”, oh wait. Last letter “a”.’
‘Lantana?’
‘Bingo. Well played, Jane. Animal dance, seven letters, third letter “x”?’
‘That’s easy: foxtrot.’
‘Easy for some, Jane.’
‘Are you doing the crossword?’
‘No. I’m just asking you random questions. Yes, I’m doing the crossword. What are you doing round here?’
‘Just having lunch.’
‘In secret. Very mysterious. Chicken, seven letters? Wait. Poultry.’ He writes on the piece of paper. ‘Nice shoes by the way.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Your shoes, they’re new, yeah?’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘You’re gonna get busted if you’re caught down here, ’specially with me.’
‘I was here first.’
‘You’ll have to speak up, I can’t hear a word you’re saying.’
I swallow. ‘I was here first,’ I repeat, a little louder.
He gives me a grin. ‘Whoa, did you just crack a funny, Jane? I’m pretty sure you did. Stop the press.’
I feel myself blushing, feel my breath drain from my lungs. The feeling that this is all a hideous prank resurfaces. But Josh is still smiling.
‘My mate got expelled for being out of bounds,’ he says. ‘Can you believe that? Who gets expelled for being out of bounds? He used to go down the bush and sell his dad’s smokes to kids from here.’
Probably to my sister.
‘School couldn’t prove it though, so they just did him for being out of bounds. He works up on the Gold Coast now. Movie World. Wears a Bugs Bunny suit or something. Don’t laugh, I’m dead serious. Reckons he’s gonna get me a job working the Batman ride. You ever been on the Batman ride?’
‘Um. No.’
‘You should. Very good ride, that one. Very clever stuff. Helps if you like Batman, though. I like Batman, but I can’t watch the second one, the one with Heath Ledger. Man, that freaks me out. Does my head in.’
Josh slides his back down the wall and sits next to me. He takes two cigarettes from his pocket, holds one out to me. ‘Care to join?’
‘Um, no thank you.’
‘Wise choice.’ He puts a cigarette between his lips. The other he slots behind his ear. ‘Cigarettes will kill you, Jane. So, how come you’re around here all on your lonesome?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Smoking cones, I bet. I tell you, it’s always the quiet ones. Why are you smiling? Drugs are no joke, Jane.’
He lights the cigarette, inhales and breaks into a coughing fit, which seems strange for someone who’s used to smoking. ‘I’m new here, in case you hadn’t noticed. And I don’t think you have noticed, ’cause I’ve tried to get your attention on several occasions and you’ve just––’ He moves his flat palm up and down in front of his face, expressionless.
‘Stonewalled me. Straight up. Have you considered taking up professional poker playing? ’Cause, I think you’ve got a real skill there.’
‘But, um, I talked to you in Penrith …’
‘Yes you did. But the other day, I was in the library writing some poetry and you walked in and I’m all, like waving and shit and you didn’t even see me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes really.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Apology accepted.’
‘You’ve come from Reacher Street High, haven’t you?’
‘Yep! Halelujah, I’ve been saved by the Catholic school system! My mum’s got this effed up idea that I should go to a Catholic school for the HSC. Makes Dad pay the school fees. Part of the divorce settlement. She would have gone private, really stuck it to him, but not even good ole Dad could afford that. Totally sucks, though if you ask me, he has to pay for a school I don’t even want to go to. She’s just doing it to piss him off. Your parents divorced?’
‘Not yet.’
He stubs out the half-smoked cigarette and throws it into the paddock. Which also seems odd for someone who smokes.
‘You can’t do that,’ I say.
‘Beg yours?’
‘Throw your cigarette away like that. You’ll start a fire.’
He laughs. ‘I don’t see a fire.’
‘That’s how they start.’
‘Who are you? Officer Sensible?’ Josh gets to his feet, jumps down off the veranda onto the grass. He ducks down, picks up the cigarette and holds it up for me to see. ‘Phew! Disaster averted.’ He hoists himself back onto the veranda. It’s not much of an effort, he’s very tall. ‘Well?’ he asks, sitting back down.
‘What?’
‘Aren’t you going to thank me?’
‘For picking up a cigarette that you threw on the ground in the first place?’
‘I noticed you don’t have a heap of friends. Wonder why that is?’
I don’t say anything. He holds up his palms in surrender.
‘Sorry, sorry, I know, I know. I’m supposed to be nice to you.’
‘What?’
He shrugs.
‘What?’
‘You know.’ He stops, bites his lip. ‘Your sister. I remember that morning, a year ago, yeah?’
Everyone remembers that morning. People around here are still talking about the traffic chaos it caused.
‘Yes.’
‘Were you in the car too?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened?’
‘A truck hit the car.’
‘Shit.’
‘Yeah.’
We sit in silence for a while. Josh takes a bottle of Coke from his bag. Has a swig.
‘Do you miss her? Sorry, that’s a really dumb question.’
I think of all the people who had asked me that: people with framed diplomas on their walls and couches in their offices.
‘We didn’t get along very well. But yes.’
The goats have slowly made their way back up the paddock. They watch us warily, chewing the grass.
‘So, why are you around here by yourself?’
‘Like you said, I’m no good at the whole friendship thing.’
‘I like how you say that as if having friends is a fad you don’t think will catch on.’
‘That pretty much sums me up.’
‘Ah, Jane. You’re not so bad. Just need to work on your attitude a bit.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. I’ve done a lot of work on my attitude, under
Black’s recommendation. Was headed for a life of crime, you see, before kind Mr Black swooped in and saved me from myself. He’d be concerned about you, if he knew you were out of bounds. It’s a slippery slope. That’s what he told me. One minute you’re drinking your popper behind the ag building, next you’re holding up the TAB. You’re laughing again, Jane. You gotta take this seriously. Not a joke.’
The bell rings for class.
Josh picks up his bag. ‘What’s next for you?’
‘Biology.’
‘Same. Hey, let’s just stay here, could have a little Biology lesson of our own.’ He grins. I fail to hide my shock.
‘That was a joke, Jane. See, you were doing well, you got the others, but you missed that one. Can I walk with you? Or do I need to marry you first?’
‘You can walk with me. But no more jokes.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
Thirteen
‘What do you think Katie thought of you?’ Anne asks me.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Really? You seem like a fairly emotionally intelligent person, Hannah. Take a stab.’
Yeah, Hannah, says Katie. Take a stab. Take a stab at me.
‘Because do you know what it looks like from my side?’ Anne asks.
I shake my head.
‘It looks like it isn’t the accident you don’t want to talk about. It’s Katie.’
‘Maybe.’
‘I’m not letting you off the hook. What do you think Katie thought of you?’
‘She was disappointed in me.’
‘How?’
‘She said I needed to grow a spine.’
‘With regard to the bullying?’
‘With regard to everything.’
‘You’re a gentle person, aren’t you, Hannah?’
I shrug because I’ve never heard it described like that.
‘And it sounds to me like there were elements of Katie that weren’t gentle.’
Here we go, says Katie. Let’s psychoanalyse the dead girl so we can hang all the shit on her, ’cause she’s not gonna know, right?
‘I wonder if maybe she saw something of herself in you sometimes and she didn’t like it,’ Anne says. ‘Maybe she saw you as vulnerable and vulnerability wasn’t something she was comfortable with, especially in herself, so she tried to stamp it out. Maybe in a strange way she was trying to protect you.’