‘Ants,’ he announced proudly.
My favourite present was from Micah. He’d made me a little posy of flowers from pipe cleaners and crepe paper. He’d obviously learnt how to make them during craft time at school—I remember Frankie and me making bouquets while the boys in the class threw balled-up crepe paper at us and stuck pipe cleaners into each others’ ears—but he must have spent hours working on it at home, perfecting the bends and folds.
I wasn’t surprised. Micah always knows how things work. If he can’t tell by looking, he’ll pull them apart. And put them back together, of course, usually working smoother than when he started. It doesn’t matter if it’s a crepe paper flower or a Lego helicopter or an old kitchen sifter. He’s got more patience than the rest of the kids combined.
When you talk to him, you can almost see the cogs turning in his brain. He’s smart, but he’s so quiet. I know he’d be better off in a different family, one with parents who’d actually sit down and help him with his homework and take the time to extend him. I feel bad about it. And I feel like it’s my fault too, though I couldn’t tell you why.
Mum had made a chocolate mud cake. Sixteen candles for me, all white to match the white icing piped into the words Happy Birthday. Our cakes always used to read Happy Birthday Lindsay and Frankie, and all the other kids get cakes with their names on. It’s just me who doesn’t, and I completely understand why. I don’t complain about it. Mum is always tense enough on my birthday. I get the feeling that if she could just fast-forward and bypass the day completely, she’d do that without question.
I blew out the candles and Mum whisked the cake away to her end of the table to slice it up. Sixteen or not, apparently I’m still not capable of cutting a cake to her standards.
‘Did you make a wish?’ Evie asked.
She’d half-climbed up onto the table so she could be close to the cake. Even in her explorer phase she still likes cakes and candles, all those girly sorts of things. Happy things. I guess most of Evie’s life has been about happy things. It’d be stupid to be jealous of a little kid but maybe that’s part of the reason that I did what I did next. That, and all the stuff that was happening with Elias, and had happened with Vogue…Frankie was in my head, inescapable, and it seemed like I couldn’t even have a thought that she didn’t somehow interrupt. And somehow Mum and Dad thought that not talking about her would just magically make that all go away? Yeah, right.
‘I wished we could have Frankie back.’
It wasn’t quite a pin-drop moment, but it was close. Even though my answer was for Evie, that name is like a red alert on Mum and Dad’s radar. I could be halfway across the city and they’d still know when I mentioned my sister’s name. They both stared at me. Dad’s look made me feel like the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Mum’s face quickly worked its way through a series of emotions, starting with surprise and moving through anger to wariness. She was angry at me for sure, but the bigger issue was how Dad was about to react.
I stared back at them. I’d thought that wish countless thousands of times. I’d told Josey, a secret whispered in the safety of my bunk. But I’d never dared say it aloud to Mum and Dad—I knew it would be like lobbing a live hand grenade onto the middle of the dining table. But call it a brain snap, call it I just didn’t care anymore—I knew that and I did it anyway.
Elijah was the first. ‘Who’s Frankie?’
Evie next. ‘Is Frankie a dog? My friend Bella has a dog named Frankie.’
‘We’re not talking about it.’ That was Mum, voice curt.
Evie again. ‘Where did Frankie go? Did he run away?’
Mum’s face was studiously blank; the slices she was cutting were perfectly even. I know her: Mum is like a duck. On the surface, everything is cool, calm and collected. Underneath, she’s paddling madly. Without looking up, she spoke. ‘Frankie isn’t anybody you need to worry about. Frankie is nobody.’
Elijah, persistent. ‘Then why did Lindsay say she wants Frankie back?’
Mum slid the cake slices onto plates and pushed one across the table at Elijah. ‘Eat, and then you can go play Xbox.’
Frankie is nobody.
A sentence like a physical blow. There was a buzzing in my ears; Mum’s and Elijah’s voices sounded far-off, like I was underwater. Feeling suddenly claustrophobic, I pushed my seat back from the table and stood. ‘I’m going out for a while.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lindsay.’ That was Mum again, voice steady, cold.
Dad was still just silent. That’s what he does now. He’s silent. And in the silence I hear all the things he’s not saying.
When people think of our family and of my parents, they see the footage of them pleading on TV for Frankie’s safe return. They see devastated parents, ordinary people struck by random catastrophe, and of course the natural response is pity, with a healthy dose of thank God it’s not me.
But that’s not what I get. Day in, day out, I get Mum the control freak and Dad, perpetually uninterested, holding us at arm’s length, broodingly silent. You know sometimes when the sky is full of dark clouds and you’re just waiting for the thunderstorm? That’s Dad.
‘I’ll be back.’ It was hardly a useful reassurance, but it was the only thing I could say with any certainty. I grabbed my shoes from the back door and took off before any of them could try to stop me.
I went to the house. I knew as I walked that there was a chance Vogue would be there, but I went anyway. I just wanted somewhere I could sit by myself and have a little pity party without someone barging in. I wanted to get as far away from Mum and Dad as I could while we all processed what I’d said.
The back door was locked but there was no key under the brick. I stood back from the door, arms folded, the adrenaline still rushing through me. It had powered my walk, and I still felt like I had energy to burn. I shifted from foot to foot. Vogue was in there. I knew somehow, just like I’d known it the first day.
I would have yelled out but I didn’t want the neighbours to hear. It was only just past seven and with daylight saving the sun was still up, the sky a bright blue. Down in the overgrown courtyard I was pretty well hidden, but if people started peering over the fence I had nowhere to hide.
I picked up a small handful of pebbles from one of the garden beds. Stood back so I could see the window of the room where I’d first found Vogue sleeping, aimed and tossed. I heard a tinkle of the pebble hitting metal but didn’t have a clue where it had hit. The gutter above the window? A downpipe to the side? I took another pebble, aimed again, and concentrated on following the second pebble as it flew through the air. It looped up, fell short of the house, and dropped straight to the ground. Not a complete surprise. I’m the least sporty person in the universe. I can’t catch or throw or aim to save my life.
I tried a third pebble and a fourth. They both hit the house but went wide. A fifth, sixth and seventh. After the eighth I gave up and started kicking the wooden edging of the garden bed instead. Not because I thought the noise would work, but because I was just pissed off.
Then the glass door slid open.
‘Were you trying to hit the window?’ said Vogue.
I paused mid-kick and just gave her a look. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Wow.’
‘Shut up.’
She stepped aside. ‘Come on in.’
She was in little short floral overalls, like something Mum would have dressed the girls in as toddlers. A silk flower pinned in her hair, which was styled into careful waves. Red lipstick. Another day, another look. Just like Elias. Me, meanwhile…My usual uniform of knee-length cut-off denims and a hoodie. I wondered briefly if they were being pretentious fashionistas or if I was just boring, but then I shook the thought away.
I went inside. Questioning myself, even as I did. The kid was annoying. I’d known there was a chance she was here and I’d still come. What was wrong with me?
‘Don’t you have to go home soon?’ I asked her.
She shrugged, casual. ‘Wheneve
r.’ She swung herself up so she was sitting on the kitchen counter. Waved a foot at me. ‘Like my new shoes?’
They were lacy purple slip-on things. I don’t like lace or purple or, generally, frilly useless crap. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why do you care what I think?’ I asked her instead.
She rolled her eyes. ‘I was just making conversation.’ She waggled her foot, studying it. ‘I like them.’
‘Good for you.’
‘I have heaps of money now. Running away was the best thing I ever did.’
‘I’m so happy for you.’
My sarcasm seemed to just flow right over her.
I thought about the empty rooms upstairs. Wondered if we could strike a deal where we claimed a room each and she left me alone. I didn’t like my chances.
‘I googled you, you know,’ she told me. ‘There’s stuff on the internet about your sister.’
‘Shut up.’
It was almost as if she hadn’t heard me. ‘That must have been so weird. I mean, especially because she was your twin and you looked the same. And it was this full-on mystery about how—’
‘Shut up,’ I told her again. This time she did, because I’d closed the distance between us in a split second and fastened my hand over her mouth. A whole new adrenaline rush, the sort that made me feel sick right through. ‘I’m not talking about it.’
Her eyes were wide with surprise. She’d bounced back quickly the first time we’d met and I’d grabbed her arm. This time she seemed a bit slower to get her confidence back.
‘Fine,’ she said, pulling away. ‘Whatever.’
I stepped back, putting space between us. She muttered something under her breath, which sounded like psycho, but the adrenaline had already flooded back out of my body and I was too depleted to react. I just bit down on my lip. Found the energy to fold my arms. ‘You should go.’
She did. Disappeared upstairs for a moment and reappeared with a handful of things—the stupid cat earphones, another ridiculously tiny handbag—then, still looking sullen, she dug a key from her pocket and tossed it on the kitchen bench. She paused as if she wanted to say some parting remark, but then thought better of it and slipped out through the door silently.
I watched until she was out of sight. I slid the glass door shut and latched it. The kitchen was so empty, and I felt a bit lost, not sure what I wanted to do. I wandered up the stairs and checked out each of the empty bedrooms in turn, but I couldn’t find that sense of peace I’d felt last time. The sun had started to go down outside and it made me uneasy.
I gave up. I went back down the stairs and let myself out. I locked the door and put the key back under the brick. I walked home, dragging my feet, feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere.
It was getting dark by the time I got home. The front door had been left unlocked for me. I let myself in, wandering slowly through the house. Listening as I went, trying to suss out where everyone was. I could hear the kids still playing Xbox. Mum clanging around in the kitchen, busy with something, doing who knows what. I had no idea where Dad was, but that wasn’t unusual.
I was hungry and wouldn’t have minded some of the chocolate cake, but I wasn’t prepared to face Mum to get it. I gave up and went to my room. Unwanted every-freaking-where.
16
I stayed in my bunk until long after everyone had gone to bed.
The unwanted feeling didn’t fade. Mum’s words kept ringing in my ears. Frankie is nobody. At first I had just felt sick: shocked, I guess, at her bluntness. Then I got more and more angry. Bad enough that she refused to tell the kids, but this went beyond self-preservation.
I was still awake at midnight, staring up at the underside of Grace’s bunk. It was stuffy and uncomfortable, but the worst part was I couldn’t get my brain to switch off. My mind was racing, jumping back and forth between Elias’ search and tonight’s disaster.
My phone suddenly lit up, a flash of light that illuminated Frankie’s gap-toothed seven-year-old grin. It was a message from Elias.
How did your birthday dinner go?
I wondered briefly what he pictured. Then I realised that anyone peering through the windows—before my bombshell—would have seen the standard happy tableau. Cake, candles, singing, presents. I’m sure it all looked convincing enough. Mum spends a lot of time stage-managing a happy family life. I’m just ungrateful, clearly, for not buying the whole charade.
A bit crap.
Sorry.
I smiled despite myself. I bet he really was, too. Yeah, it’s totally your fault.
His reply came back quickly, earnestness unaffected by my sarcasm. I hope tomorrow is better. Sleep tight.
You too.
I held on to my phone for another minute, just in case any more messages came through, then I placed it carefully back beside my pillow.
Feeling oddly lightened; instantly mistrusting the feeling.
Was I so pathetic and desperate for company that a few scraps of kindness from Elias could make everything better? This is why I don’t make friends—I don’t want people to have that power. If they can make you feel good…well, it cuts both ways, doesn’t it?
I rolled onto my back, to find Frankie staring at me.
Before I could stop myself, I reached up and grabbed the photo. Held it with both hands, so Frankie and I were gazing eye to eye.
When we were little, we were inseparable. Because we had no other siblings, because we liked a lot of the same things, because it was expected. But I remember at least a few times when I wished her gone. It got suffocating, always having someone at my side, no matter where I went. Sometimes I would grab an opportunity to get away from her—work on a project or play a game with someone else—and it was a little like shedding the skin that kept us connected.
I stared at the photo, and wondered how, with everything that had happened, I could still want those two conflicting things. I desperately, desperately wanted my sister back. And just as desperately, I wanted her gone for good.
17
Another crap night’s sleep. Even the shower didn’t do much to wake me up. I stayed under for far too long, and only got out when I could no longer ignore the kids banging on the door.
In my bedroom, I shoved myself into my uniform, too tired to get my arms into the right places.
Mum yelled my name from downstairs. Moving slowly—my head felt heavy, my eyes begged me to let them close—I checked the time. Late. Late, late, late.
Downstairs, Mum was in the kitchen sorting lunch boxes. Josey was sitting at the table with Vegemite all over his face. He likes to lick it off the toast. The older kids were in various stages of readiness, pulling on shoes and socks, arguing over lunches, counting out their pocket money to see if they had enough for a Zooper Dooper. Mum was braiding Evie’s hair. I knew she could see me in her peripheral vision, but she didn’t look up.
Fine by me.
I shut the back door after me. Resisted the temptation to stop where I was, let my wobbly legs give way under me and sink down on the back doorstep. I went around to the front of the house and slowly made my way up the driveway. Not entirely sure where I was going, only that I needed to get out of her sight.
I was the one who suggested Elias come meet me after school. I didn’t have anything new to tell him but I knew Mum would still be mad at me and home was the last place I wanted to be. Even though logically, if anybody was stuck in my thoughts it should have been Sephora, it wasn’t. It was Frankie. It was like she was there every time I turned around, except of course she wasn’t. That wasn’t going to lead anywhere useful. So I kept redirecting myself back to Sephora and Elias.
‘My place okay?’ he said. ‘Or is that weird?’
I shrugged. I hadn’t really stopped to think about how Elias lived, but now I was vaguely curious.
He was two suburbs away from me, in a neat two-storey house. Newish, in dark grey brick, with a hedge along the front. Inside was light and airy with white tiled floor
s and sparse modern furniture. A few photo frames and books and random pieces of art but otherwise there was no clutter. No kids, toys or mess. It was beautiful.
‘Hey, Dad. This is Lindsay. She’s helping me search for Sephora.’
His dad was in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. Grey hair, glasses, a few years older than my dad but about twenty kilos lighter. Next to Elias, he looked pretty normal in cargo shorts and a polo shirt.
‘Nice to meet you, Lindsay. Elias says you’re a bit of an expert.’
Ha. ‘I’m not.’
‘You’re awesome,’ Elias said emphatically, smiling at me.
His dad grinned. It seemed like a good relationship, and I found myself wondering why Elias was messing with it for the sake of getting to know a woman who didn’t want him.
‘I’m not,’ I said again, which just got me more grins.
His dad pulled a saucepan from the dishwasher and glanced out the front window. ‘He’s out there again.’
‘Seriously? He wasn’t there when we got home.’ Elias went to take a look. ‘He makes me so mad.’
I went to look too, but I couldn’t see anything. The street was parked out with cars—Elias had driven the Mr Whippy van right up onto the nature strip—but there weren’t many people in sight.
‘There’s an idiot who parks right across our driveway,’ Elias explained to me. ‘There’s some ovals down the road where they do footy training. The same guy must train a couple of times a week. He parks in front of our driveway, every single time. Every. Single. Time,’ he repeated for effect.
I wasn’t sure what the correct response to that was, mainly because Elias’ dad was still in the kitchen with us. I was still debating the appropriate language when Elias summed it up for me. ‘What a tool.’
‘Yeah.’ I thought about it. ‘Can’t you call the cops?’
‘Tried that. They never come.’
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