‘Well, what’s wrong?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong!’
‘Dad.’
‘Well, I was already awake, just now. And I heard you . . .’
‘Heard me what?’ Every part of me tightened.
‘You were calling out in your sleep.’ Dad stared down at Evie’s cake tin, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed.
I groaned, forgetting my dream. ‘Was I swearing at Tyrone again? I promise that I don’t do it on purpose! Did I wake Biddy?’
Dad was shaking his head.
I felt a bit sick. ‘Was I calling out for Mum?’ I asked, really quietly. I hadn’t done that in years.
‘No.’ Dad looked so sad. ‘You were calling out for Jamie.’
***
FROM THE DIARY OF GWENDOLYN P. PEARSON
I worry that my memories are disappearing. I must’ve had thousands of memories about Jamie, but now all I can really think of is him holding my hand, smelling of orange icy pole. Jamie, playing his violin. Jamie’s weight curled into me, while he listened to Mum and Dad fight in another room.
They don’t even feel like my memories. It’s like a movie I’ve watched or a book I’ve read. And it makes me feel so tired. Because he should be alive, although I know he can’t be. But at the very least, he should be remembered properly. He deserves to be remembered more than I remember him.
***
I was tired by the time Evie got up, a little after seven. She hurried into the kitchen and checked the cake tin she’d left on the bench last night. She made a bellowing, furious noise and sprang around to face us.
‘Did you eat this?’ she demanded, pointing at Dad and me. ‘Half of it’s gone!’
‘No,’ we both said.
‘Tyrone!’ she yelled, thundering down the hallway into his room.
‘What’s up with her?’ I asked Dad.
‘The cake was meant to be for her to take to school,’ Dad said. ‘Ty must’ve helped himself last night.’
‘He eats everything,’ I grumbled. ‘Drives me crazy.’
We heard Tyrone calling for help and the sound of Evie whacking him. ‘I didn’t know it was yours!’ he called.
Dad nudged me and pointed. There was a sticker on the top of the tin. DO NOT TOUCH. THIS IS EVIE’S AND SHE WILL KILL YOU.
‘He’s so rude,’ I said.
Dad shrugged. ‘He’s just a boy. Boys do that sort of thing.’
I crossed my arms. ‘That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard. I hate it when people say that.’
Dad shrugged once again and I heard Evie hollering from down the hallway. ‘I’m going to kill you, Tyrone Banks!’
***
Later that day, Loretta, Gordon and I sat under the paperbark in the schoolyard. Loretta was madly trying to finish some last-minute homework and Gordon was sketching what he called her der-brain face, where she concentrated so hard her face contorted into a variety of weird shapes.
I was happy just watching them. I was dazed with tiredness. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mum. I was weirded out that I’d been calling for Jamie, who I could barely even remember. And I was still feeling a bit giddy about Ben being over for dinner last night.
‘Stop drawing me,’ Loretta snapped at Gordon, slamming her maths book closed as someone squealed in excitement across the schoolyard. ‘What’s with everyone? They seem more stupid and scatty than usual.’
Gordon sighed. ‘It’s a house-warming party.’
Loretta’s eyebrows disappeared up under her fringe. ‘I’m listening.’
‘At Songbrooke.’
Loretta made a choked noise. ‘Handsome Ben’s throwing a party?’
‘No, Amber’s throwing a party. Apparently.’
‘How do you always know everything? You never even talk to anyone!’
Gordon shrugged, looking smug. ‘I have my sources.’
‘We might get invited,’ Loretta said, not sounding very convinced.
‘No way. Did you see how Amber looked at me the other day? And the shoe thing?’ I shook my head. ‘No way she’s going to invite us.’
Loretta puffed up. ‘What about me, then?’
‘You hang out with me,’ I said.
‘And me,’ Gordon added.
Loretta groaned. ‘But it’s totally Handsome Ben’s party, too. We need to work on him.’
‘Fat chance,’ Gordon said. ‘He’s pretty antisocial, really. Goes straight back to Songbrooke after school. He wouldn’t even kick the footy around with the guys last night.’
‘How do you know the guys were kicking a footy around after school?’ I asked.
‘I was sketching a pelican.’
‘Anyway, that doesn’t make Handsome Ben antisocial, it just makes him sensible.’ Loretta unfolded her legs and stuck them out in front of her. ‘Besides, he ended up at Gwen’s last night, so we have an in.’
Gordon cocked an eyebrow. ‘He did?’
‘Evie literally dragged him up off the beach! I had nothing to do with it.’ I crossed my arms. Poor Ben had probably spent the whole morning telling everyone about my annoying little sister, nosy stepmother and awful, cluttered house.
Gordon shrugged. ‘Well, whatever. I don’t think we should hold our breath over going to this party.’
***
FROM THE DIARY OF GWENDOLYN P. PEARSON
When Evie turned four, we threw a huge party at our house. Biddy’s big family all came as well as people from town and all of Evie’s friends from preschool. We strung up streamers and fairy lights and everyone dressed up in pirate costumes.
And I was happily organising everything in the kitchen. I’d written out a running sheet to make sure there was a constant supply of hot things, fresh from the oven. Sausage rolls and hot dogs and things like that. And everything was going great. And then a little boy ran through the kitchen and for a moment, I thought he was someone else and the dull ache I’d got used to living with suddenly yawned open into a raw chasm.
I nearly dropped the tray I was holding, but managed to put it down on the island bench.
‘Clumsy,’ Tyrone, who was in the kitchen, said, shaking his head.
I ran out the front, onto the beach. And I sat down on the sand and dragged in huge breaths until I felt dizzy. I was trying so hard not to cry.
I heard footsteps and thought it would be Dad, who would sit with me and say nothing, or Biddy, who’d probably bring out her drawing pad and pens with her and ask me to draw my feelings and then show the pages, blank or not, to Mr Blended-family-therapist, who she still made us see every few months.
But it wasn’t Dad or Biddy.
It was Tyrone.
He heaved a big sigh. ‘He looked kind of like Jamie, hey? That kid who ran through the kitchen?’
And then I started crying. And it was the weirdest thing, because I hadn’t cried in so long. I hadn’t cried in years.
‘Evie’s older than he’ll ever be,’ I said. And it sounded so pathetic. I immediately wanted to run, but Tyrone put his arm around me, so I didn’t.
‘I’m sorry, Gwen,’ he said, over and over. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
And he held me until I stopped crying and then we just sat there, listening to the squealing and loud voices carrying down from our house.
‘We don’t have to go back up,’ he said.
I stood up, wiping my eyes. ‘We do though. For Evie. We do.’
***
When I got home, Evie was waiting for me on the verandah with a giant grin on her face, her notebook and a packet of something clasped in her hands.
I stopped and narrowed my eyes. ‘What are you smiling about?’
She held up the packet. I stepped forward and squinted at the label. ‘Laxatives? What are you doing with laxatives? How did you even get laxatives?’
‘We need revenge.’ She bounced up and down on her feet. ‘We’ve got all the stuff to make brownies.’
‘You want to make laxative brownies?’ I ask
ed.
‘Tyrone always just eats whatever’s in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘He ate my cake! I had to take one from the supermarket and everyone teased me about it.’
‘So, you reckon we just make some laxative brownies, leave them out and see if he eats them?’
‘He will,’ Evie said. ‘Even if we put a sign on them. He will.’
I stared at her and she stared back. ‘You’re an evil genius, Evie.’
She grinned and we went inside and made the brownies with a generous serving of laxatives. ‘Okay, what should the sign read?’ she asked. She had a piece of paper and a red texta, and held them out to me.
‘What about “please don’t eat?”’
‘No. That’s stupid.’ She scrunched up her face. ‘What about, “property of Evie and Gwen – eat it and you’ll regret it!”’
‘Yeah, alright.’ I scribbled the note and we put it on top of the brownies.
‘And now we wait,’ said Evie, settling down on the couch.
‘And now we wait,’ I echoed, sitting down next to her.
***
Tyrone still wasn’t home by nine o’clock. Biddy dragged Evie to bed and I went out on the verandah with my phone to talk to Loretta.
‘We have to go,’ Loretta said, picking up. ‘I mean, I’ll gatecrash. So will Gord.’
‘Gord hates parties.’
‘Yeah, but he really wants to see Songbrooke properly. You know what an art geek he is.’ She sighed. ‘What’ve you been doing?’
‘Making laxative brownies with Evie.’
‘Um. Why?’
‘Tyrone keeps eating her food. Stuff she’s made, like cakes and slices. She’s teaching him a lesson.’
‘She’s terrifying.’
‘And I needed to get back at him for the shoes-in-the-tree thing.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You know, sometimes I hate being an only child.’
‘You do?’
‘Yeah, but today’s not one of them.’ She paused. ‘Night, Gwen. I hope you sleep properly.’
‘Me too. Night, Rets.’
She blew a squelchy kiss down the phone to me and I ended the call. I sat out there for a while, though. Waiting for Tyrone to come home and steal the laxative brownies. Listening to the sea. And sort of hoping a certain runner called Ben would appear along the beach, even though it was dark and cold. Just like he had yesterday.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next day during history, Ms Handson split our class into two and half of us dipped our hand into a hat for a scrap of paper with a name on it. ‘Did Tyrone eat the brownies?’ Loretta whispered.
‘Not yet,’ I said.
I pulled out Ben’s name and Loretta glanced at it and cursed. She’d pulled out Ruby May.
‘You and your partner are going to pick a local topic to write your final history project on for the term. I want something from Clunes, okay?’
‘From what time period?’ asked Vivienne, who was number one in every class and the biggest sneak I’d ever met. The boys all snickered at the word, but Vivienne ignored them. She was good at that, like Loretta. If she wasn’t the sort of girl who’d try to pass off your project as her own if she thought it was better, we’d probably hang out with her.
‘Good question.’ Ms Handson tapped her lip with her finger. ‘More than ten years ago.’
Vivienne scribbled it down in her notebook.
‘I want a thousand words. Pictures, if appropriate. I want a list of sources – radio, newspaper, television. If you talk to people, I want their names. That all clear?’
We nodded.
‘Okay. You can spend this class coming up with a plan. There’re a few local history books on the back shelf and a couple of pairs can use the computers. Go be inspired!’
Everyone shuffled off. Ben smiled at me and dragged his bag off the seat next to him.
‘Glad I got someone I know,’ Ben said. ‘You know, I was out running this morning.’
‘Good run?’
‘Until I got stuck in a blackberry bush.’
I snorted. ‘You did not get stuck in a blackberry bush.’
He held up his arm, which was heavily grazed. ‘Want to do Songbrooke? For the project.’
I could hear everyone else murmuring about it. Songbrooke was pretty much the only exciting thing to happen in Clunes – ever.
‘Everyone’ll do Songbrooke,’ I said. For the first time in ages, I didn’t feel tired. I was too nervous to feel anything other than the churning in my stomach.
‘Oh.’ He looked a little disappointed and fiddled with his history folder for a moment. ‘That’s like the only thing I know about Clunes. I’m out. You got any ideas?’
People were jostling for the computers. ‘Maybe something about the coast?’ I suggested.
He sat up a bit straighter in his chair. ‘Like, the beaches and flora and fauna and stuff?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Cool!’ He looked around to the back shelf, which had already been stripped of books. ‘Looks like we might have to meet at the library sometime? See what they’ve got?’
‘Sure.’
He smiled. ‘Great. I feel a bit in over my head, to be honest.’
I shrugged and fiddled with my pen. ‘Me too.’
I heard Loretta’s voice carrying over the din of the room. ‘No, Ruby. We’re not doing a project on bikinis!’
‘We could run to the library one night!’ Ben said, and then frowned. ‘Actually, can you run to the library?’
‘Sure. You can run anywhere around here, as long as you don’t mind getting torn to bits by branches and rocks . . . and blackberries.’
He glanced down at the page and frowned. ‘Who’s Pearl?’
I’d written it in my notebook. Over and over. It’s what I’d done when I’d gone back to school after everything. It had soothed me back then, but it wasn’t soothing me, now. I hadn’t been sleeping properly back then, either.
Someone yelled something about the party at Songbrooke totally counting as homework and everyone burst out laughing.
‘You coming to that?’ Ben asked, his voice very casual.
I felt my cheeks flush. ‘Um, wasn’t invited.’
‘What?’ He glanced up at Amber, who was hunched over one of the computers. ‘Seriously?’
‘It’s no big deal.’
He grimaced. ‘Amber’s . . . Anyway, you’re invited now. I’m inviting you.’
I just sort of half grinned (trying not to show too many teeth) and bobbed my head down towards my notebook, channelling Vivienne and writing lots, although I really had nothing to say.
‘We are not doing that!’ Loretta roared across the room. Ms Handson scratched at her head as though she had a migraine coming on.
‘Gwen, Ruby May – switch partners, please.’
I stared at her. ‘Quickly,’ Ms Handson said.
I gathered up my things from the desk. When I glanced back at Ben he was staring at me with a stricken look on his face.
As I sat down next to Loretta, she groaned and buried her head in her hands. ‘I’m so sorry. She wanted to do fifties swimming costumes.’
‘That does not justify yelling the classroom down, Rets,’ I snapped.
‘She wanted to model them all.’
‘Alright. Fair enough.’ I glanced across the room at Ruby May, who was looking pretty happy with herself.
‘I owe you ten blocks of chocolate,’ said Loretta.
‘Twenty,’ I muttered, opening up my notebook. Pearl. Pearl. Pearl.
***
At lunchtime, it started to rain. Rain in our town always tasted a little bit salty. And unless it was falling in the middle of summer, it was freezing. We flocked into the portable classrooms and the computer labs.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Loretta said, prodding at the keyboard. ‘It takes ten hours for anything to load.’
‘Heard you screeched the place down in history,’ said Gordon, sitting down on the wheelie chair behind us.
‘Ruby May wanted us to dress up in vintage bathers. It was justified.’
‘Why do you have to ruin every good thing?’ Gordon asked Loretta. ‘Why do you go out of your way to hurt me?’
Loretta thumped him.
Next to us, Amber was waiting for her page to load. She was clicking the mouse, as impatient as Loretta for the content to appear.
‘Hey,’ Ben said, coming up behind us.
Amber switched off the computer monitor. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.
‘Just saying hey!’ he said, frowning. ‘Why? What are you doing?’
‘Nothing.’
He reached past her and switched on the monitor. It was some sort of forum that Amber immediately clicked shut. ‘Mind your own business,’ she told him.
‘Why do you keep doing this?’ he asked, his voice cracking.
‘Ben . . .’
‘Forget it,’ he growled and stormed out.
Loretta looked at me with her eyebrows raised. Amber sat for a moment, then logged off the computer and went across the room to where Ruby May and Nina were drawing surfboards on the computer tables with glitter pens.
I stood up. ‘I’ll be back.’
‘Alright,’ Loretta said, absorbed in her half-loaded knitting website.
Outside, the wind was raw, but the rain had stopped. For now, at least. I wrapped my arms around myself and searched for Ben. I could make out the top of his head near a low stack of lockers close to the walkway.
I wandered over and sat down next to him. He was sitting with his knees up against his chest. His eyes looked sort of glassy, like he’d been crying. Or really, really wanted to.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m fine.’
I fiddled with my shoelace for a moment. ‘And Amber?’
His eyes flew to mine. ‘What about Amber?’
‘Is she okay?’
He exhaled. ‘I hope so.’
***
The rest of the day was a blur of cold and notes and Loretta’s knitting. As I was slinging my bag over my shoulder, Amber came up and touched my arm.
‘I saw you talking to Ben,’ she said.
‘Okay.’ I shuffled backwards, trying not to offend her with the smell of my school shoes.
‘He’s . . . just . . . it’s better if you don’t hang out with him, okay?’
P is for Pearl Page 7