‘Shush. Get some rest, we can talk later.’ He kisses my forehead.
*
I’m surprised to find I sleep until morning. I get up early and slip quietly outside into the orchard. The sun is just rising above a row of trees. I follow the path leading to the river, hearing the sound of moving water before I see it.
The sound of the water calms my jumbled thoughts. I head for the big boulder with Patrick’s name carved into it. As I come around the bend, I see Toby leaning over from the big rock that juts out into the river. He cups his hands and splashes water on his face. I wonder if he ever sleeps.
A twig snaps beneath my foot.
His head whips around to my direction. He doesn’t look at all surprised to see me here.
‘Hi, Libby.’ He stands up and wipes his wet hands on his jeans. ‘Just having my morning bath. You must be feeling better, huh?’ His concern adds another wrinkle to his already furrowed brow.
‘Yeah, I am,’ I lie.
Unspoken words zoom around in the space between us. I take a big breath in.
‘Thank you, Toby, for …’
He shakes his head. ‘Don’t thank me, Libby. I should be the one asking you to forgive me.’ He shakes his head. ‘That day you hid by the macrocarpa tree, I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing.’
‘It’s not your fault. I think I’m just put together a little bit wrong.’
I look down at the ground. Toby takes hold of my chin and tilts it back up.
‘Listen here, Libby. There is nothing wrong with you. Everyone has moments when things don’t seem so good, but you’ll find your way. Just don’t give up. I’m always here if you need someone to talk to.’
‘Thanks.’
A silence hangs between us for a moment.
‘I nearly forgot: Tallulah had her kittens,’ Toby says.
‘How many?’
‘Seven.’
‘Seven?’
‘Come on, I’ll show you.’
I hesitate for a moment and then follow Toby back towards the barn. I’m relieved when we head around the back of the building to the wood pile. Nestled in among the logs is a mass of little tabby bodies, all piled on top of each other. I reach in and pick one up. It meows, setting the others off, but then nuzzles into my neck.
Toby picks one up too. ‘I don’t think Tallulah can be bothered this time. She’s off any chance she gets.’
‘It’s better than smothering them.’
‘Maybe,’ Toby says, placing the kitten back down with the others. ‘Smothering does mean she loves them though.’ He has a sad look in his eyes.
I remember his runaway mother. ‘I suppose.’ I rearrange the kittens with my free hand. One of them looks like it’s in danger of being squashed. I put my one back in. The high-pitched squealing coming from them is deafening, and I move away.
Crates of apples are stacked up against the barn, waiting for their turn in the processing line. I take one from the top and bite into it. The juice dribbles down my chin. ‘Did we get many apples this year?’ I ask, with my mouth full.
‘No, we’re down a bit.’ Toby slides back the barn doors. I know he wants me to come in, but I won’t. I cross my arms over my chest and dig the front of my foot into the dirt.
It seems so strange to be asking questions about the harvest. All the other years, it’s been me out there counting the crates. Delivering my predictions for how many crates for the day, the week, the season. Riding backwards on the tractor as Toby drives among the rows to pick up the full crates.
Toby disappears into the barn. I know he expects me to follow.
‘I better go. I’ll see you later.’
His head appears from around the barn door. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to sniff this year’s brew? I could do with your expertise.’
‘I’m sure.’ I pretend I don’t see the hurt look on his face, and run back to the house. The trees on the way are the early fruiters and have been stripped of their produce. The windfall apples lying beneath them have started to rot. The scent in the air is both sweet and sour.
I see Mum’s silhouette standing at the kitchen sink. I sneak below the window and trample some impatiens on my way to the front door. I crash straight into Dad on the porch. My head bumps into his chest, releasing a waft of his expensive aftershave.
‘You’re not going anywhere, are you Dad?’
‘No, Libby.’ He holds out the bottom of his woollen farm jersey, like proof. ‘I’m just going to give Toby a hand in the barn. It’s nice to see you up so early. That’s got to be a good sign, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Great. Your mum’s in the kitchen. She made your favourite buckwheat pancakes.’
Mum’s buckwheat pancakes look like she’s mixed up wallpaper glue, and taste not much better.
‘Great.’
‘What’s great?’ Mum asks, coming out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
‘Pancakes.’
She attempts a smile. A huge effort from Mum.
‘Must be nice out in the orchard at this time of the morning?’ she says.
‘Yeah it is. I saw Toby. I thanked him for saving me.’
‘That’s nice, but I think most people coming across an unconscious person would do the same. It’s really the doctor that saved you.’
‘Toby helped me, Mum. Would it kill you to say that? You can’t stand anyone saying nice things about Toby.’
‘That’s nonsense talk. I’m grateful he found you. I just think it’s unusual for a boy of his age to have such an interest in a girl of your age.’
Dad and Mum’s eyes meet for a second. Dad opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then shuts it again.
I glare at Dad.
‘God, Mum. He’s like my brother.’
Mum’s eyebrows nearly cross in the middle, she’s so mad, but she just says, ‘Well, he isn’t your brother. Anyway, come and eat your pancakes.’
‘I’ve lost my appetite.’
I bump into the door frame in my hurry to escape. I avoid the stairs that lead to my room. It used to be my sanctuary, but now it feels like my prison. I try and stay out of it during the day. I walk towards the front room, but they both follow me. All the air gets poofed out of an armchair as I sink down into it.
I use the remote to flick on the TV, but Mum strides over and switches it off at the wall.
‘Elizabeth, I am not going to stand by and watch the life drain out of you. I don’t want to upset you, but you need to start making plans for the future. This grieving and hair-pulling has got to stop.’
‘Great Mum. I’ll give myself a good talking to, so you can feel better.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Elizabeth.’
Mum sits down on the arm of a couch and Dad surprises me by going and standing next to her.
‘We’re worried for you, Libby.’ Dad says. ‘I thought all you needed was time, but …’ He trails off and won’t look at me.
‘Your father and I have been doing some talking.’
‘Not now, Anne.’ Dad shakes his head at my mother, but she ignores him.
‘We think it might be a good idea for you to start a new school. There’s only a week left of this term and then it’s the holidays. The new year could be a new beginning for you.’
‘I thought you said the local school only trained monkeys.’
‘I don’t remember saying that, but anyway, that’s not where you would go.’
‘I hear there are some good schools in Siberia.’
Mum snorts and Dad searches the air around him, like there might be an escape tunnel he can jump down.
‘Libby, this isn’t about sending you away,’ Dad says quietly. ‘It’s about seeing you happy again.’
Well, I’d like to see you get a life, I think, but don’t say it. ‘Whatever, Dad.’
Mum leaves the room and comes back in with a glossy brochure. She passes it to me.
‘We t
hought you could board during the week and come home on the weekends. It’s only on the other side of Hamilton, but we both thought you might benefit from having the other girls around you. Being stuck way out here on the orchard is obviously no good for you.’
‘If you don’t like the boarding, Libby, we can drive you,’ Dad says.
‘We’ve checked it out and it has excellent sporting facilities as well as a good academic record,’ Mum chips in.
I look down at the brochure. A row of girls, all dressed identically in grey blazers and pleated skirts, stand outside a huge auditorium. The other photos show girls jumping over hurdles and playing water polo in an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
‘I hate sport.’
‘No you don’t, you just haven’t found the right one. You love being outdoors.’
Dad places his hand gently on my arm. ‘Libby, maybe you could just give it a try?’
The pain I must be causing him is etched on his face. He fidgets with his work jersey. I know that he can’t carry on hanging around home every day just for me. I let out a sigh. I don’t know if it’s the thought of being sent away or the thought of staying home that scares me the most.
‘I don’t care where you send me.’
I run out of the room and leave them staring at each other. I can’t imagine surviving the long holidays ahead, let alone the distant future of the next school year.
Chapter Seven
The entrance to the boarding school is wrapped in a shroud of tall oak trees. We drive under an archway on which Hunterview College is spelt out in metal letters. The school crest has an allerion on it: a mythical bird I learnt about in English class, similar to an eagle but with no beak or claws. I strain to read the inscription on the banner below. Strength of will and authority of mind.
The stone buildings loom over the driveway. Each grey stone looks identical to the one next to it. Cut, moulded and cemented into place. I can’t help but search the rooftop for gargoyles. I glance over at Mum. For the first time in weeks I see the hint of a smile.
‘Isn’t this lovely?’ she says, as she manoeuvres our four-wheel drive into a tight space by an office sign.
A cold wind whips at my face as I get out of the car. I wrap my bomber jacket tighter around me. The office building is a modern glass structure at odds with the stone buildings at the gate. We clatter across the slate tiles in the foyer. A reception desk takes up most of the back wall.
‘Morning ladies.’
‘Good morning. My daughter Elizabeth starts school here today.’
‘Wonderful.’ A metal badge pinned to her suit jacket tells me that Mrs Carr is the office manager. ‘You must be keen, Elizabeth. Most of the boarders won’t arrive until this afternoon. They need to be here by 4 p.m., but most will slide in the door about one minute before the hour.’
That’s great. I probably live the closest and I get dumped off first. I glare at Mum, but she’s too busy sucking up to the office lady to notice. I take my iPod from my pocket and am about to plug the earpiece in when she pulls my hand down.
‘Later,’ she says through clenched teeth.
Mrs Carr is short and squidgy-looking, but she has a hardness about her. I can’t work out if it’s her small eyes or her thin mouth that give her away. When she says ‘If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask,’ I know she’ll be the last person I’ll bother.
Mrs Carr does a big rave about all the rules, and then takes my cell phone off me for the week. Apparently, new girls settle much better with as little contact as possible from home in the first term. Mum scribbles her signature on some forms, and we follow Mrs Carr along a concrete path. It snakes its way through a maze of buildings to the boarding dormitory. My suitcase bangs into my calf muscles twenty times as I lug it up a flight of metal stairs.
A sign above the door says Victoria House. On the landing, Mrs Carr points to a white building in the distance.
‘Over there is the dining hall and kitchen. The laundry is just behind. A bell will sound ten minutes before meal times. Matron will run through a few details and rules at tonight’s assembly. Five o’clock in the auditorium.’
‘Auditorium,’ Mum mouths at me when Mrs Carr’s back is turned.
I shake my head. God, if only she knew what a loser she was.
We push on the swing doors and enter the dormitory. Most of the varnish has been scuffed off the wooden floorboards, especially down the centre of the room. Identical cubicles, two beds in each, line the walls. The ones on the right have windows overlooking a concrete yard.
A black and white striped mattress is folded in half on each bed, exposing wire-woven bases. I flick one of the mattresses down, and the sound echoes around the empty room. A dormitory without people is just wrong. Like a motorway without cars or a playground without children.
‘I’ll leave you to get settled then. You know where we are if you have any questions you’ve forgotten to ask.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Carr. I’m sure we’ll be fine.’ Mum flicks down the other mattress. She brushes something off it before sitting down. She gazes around like she’s in the Sistine Chapel.
‘You’re just going to have so much fun here, Elizabeth. I know it.’
I slump down on my bed.
‘Did you know that Valerie Botham and Margaret Stillwater both went to this school as young girls?’
Valerie and Margaret, both in their sixties, came from local wealthy families. Mum had attached herself to them after some local charity fundraiser.
‘Really, how exciting for you.’ She doesn’t see me screw up my face as I turn away from her. How could that fact possibly have any impact on my future?
‘Why don’t you unpack some of your things?’
A cabinet with two drawers sits beside each bed. The only other piece of furniture is a double wardrobe with no door. It has a pole to hang things on and a shelf at the bottom for shoes.
I flick the latches on my suitcase and hang up my school blazer and skirts. I only brought a few other clothes. The grey felt beret that is part of the uniform I put in the bedside cabinet with my knickers and bras. I slide the drawer back in, and see that Beware of Matron has been gouged onto the side of it. Someone has tried to cover it with a coat of fresh white paint.
‘It feels funny being here on my own,’ I say.
‘You’re not on your own. There are the ladies in the office, and the other girls will be here before you know it.’ Mum flicks the sheets out on my bed and I cringe as she admires my childish pink duvet cover.
‘Why couldn’t I just be a day girl?’
‘Because we think this will be better for you.’ She tucks my pyjamas under my pillow and flattens out some creases on the duvet and then sits down again on the other bed. ‘You’re just feeling nervous, Elizabeth.’
‘You wouldn’t have a clue what I’m feeling.’ I look out the window at the empty concrete yard. ‘Did your parents dump you at a school that’s not even an hour away from your home?’
‘We’re not dumping you. We’re trying to help.’
She leans over, and even though we both know there’s no one else in the room, she whispers. ‘Remember to take your pills. Keep them hidden if you can.’ She wrinkles up her nose, like we’ve just swapped secrets. ‘Some girls would kill for this opportunity. You could shine here if you worked at it.’
‘Yeah, like a star.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic.’ Her eyes and mouth tell me not to push her any further, and yet I can’t help it.
‘Yeah, you better get going. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.’
Mum looks pissed off but ignores my comment.
‘Well, come on then. You can walk me back to the car and give me a kiss before I leave.’
The cold wind still whips around the car park. We peck each other on the cheek, our kisses as cold as the harsh wind. Mum opens her car door and slides in behind the wheel. She mouths See you in a fortnight from behind the closed window.
I stand like an i
diot in the car park until the car disappears up the driveway. I turn and wander back past the empty buildings to the dorm.
Back in my cubicle, I search the side pocket of my suitcase, and find the wedding photograph of my grandparents. I rub my finger across the image before tucking it under my pillow.
It’s only ten in the morning, but I climb fully clothed into bed. I curl up in a ball and squeeze my eyes and fists closed. The doctor at the hospital told me that I might feel sleepy on the pills until my system gets used to them. I concentrate on the heaviness of my eyelids and ignore the itch along my scalp.
*
Giggling wakes me up. Faces I don’t recognise stare down at me. I quickly sit up.
‘What are you doing?’ a girl asks. Like a girl sleeping is the craziest thing she’s ever seen.
My heart starts pounding. I feel like I’ve just been caught committing a crime. She has two friends with her. One of them has her arms crossed over her chest and the other one has a frown on her face. Both look like they think they deserve an answer.
‘I got here early. I must have fallen asleep.’
‘Well, that’s just weird. Who arrives early to boarding school?’ She looks at the other two, who giggle in unison.
My interrogation is interrupted by squeals of delight from another cubicle. The three girls rush off to see what the fuss is about. Suitcases are dragged along the floor and a steady stream of girls passes by my cubicle.
One girl with flaming red hair stops and says hi. Someone calls out ‘Rachel!’ and she moves on before I get a chance to reply.
The cubicle walls don’t go all the way to the ceiling. All you have to do is stand on your bed to see into the next cubicle. A girl’s head appears over the top of the partition.
‘Oh. I forgot it was you.’ One of my interrogators from earlier disappears behind the partition.
I pull my school books and a denim pencil case from my bag. I’ve already written Libby Morgan on all of the front covers in black ink. I take my red pen and trace over the letters. No one interrupts my tracing. My name ends up being written with four different coloured pens. The sound of girls meeting up with their friends and nesting in their cubicles gets louder over the next hour.
The Scent of Apples Page 8