Cassie (15 page)

‘. . . 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 palpable 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.