Cassie (2 page)

Moving through air is like moving through warm, thick water.
Sweat beads my neck. The sun makes knives of light that flash and
cut from every surface. Mum lifts me into the front seat, straps me
in. Dad stands at the door and I try to fix him there. But my head
moves and he flicks in and out of being. The aircon takes the heat
away. Sweat crinkles, shrinks against skin. And the world moves
past. Dad is a final frame at the door, his hand raised. Then he's
gone. Sounds bubble in my throat.

‘It's okay, sweetheart,' says Mum. Her eyes are wet and I know
she is lying.

We move towards somewhere else and my words won't do as
they're told. When I wake, Mum is wiping tissues down my chin.
My head jerks.

‘Time to eat, Cassie,' she says.

She folds me into my chair. We are at a petrol station, but all
around is nothing. A tree scratches the sky. Pictures flip through
my head. I choose the one of Dad with his hand raised and keep
it before my eyes.

We are moving towards something, but this isn't it.

Holly

Raph McDonald moved through the school yard like he owned it. He had the easy grace of an athlete, all loose limbs with the potential of explosive energy. Sun-streaked hair hung to just above his shoulders. His skin was olive, eyes brown and smiling. Surrounded by an almost visible aura of confidence, he strolled secure in his own perfection and the knowledge others recognised it. Girls melted a little as he passed. Knees wobbled, shoulders straightened, eyes swivelled and the air hummed with the accumulated rush of small sighs.

Holly Holley sat on a bench next to the basketball court, added her own sigh and pressed her peanut butter sandwich to her lips.

‘He is sooo gorgeous,' she said, though her words were muffled slightly by low-GI wholemeal bread and therefore lost something of the dreamy tone she was aiming for.

‘He's got the brains of an amoeba,' said Amy. Her tone could not, under any circumstances, be described as dreamy.

‘Brains aren't everything.'

‘And looks are?'

Holly hated these conversations. She nearly always lost with Amy who had the annoying habit of neither drooping, melting nor sighing whenever Raph walked by. In fact, she normally snorted.

‘No,' said Holly. ‘Of course not. But if I was attracted just by brains, I'd be madly in love with Mr Tillyard.' Mr Tillyard taught maths. It was generally recognised that he had a brain the size of a melon. Unfortunately, his head was completely misshapen as a result of carrying this huge organ. Bald and lumpy, he caused small children to cry and hide behind the skirts of their mothers. Both girls shuddered.

‘I'm not saying looks aren't important,' said Amy after a lengthy pause. ‘But Raph McDonald has only one topic of conversation. Raph McDonald.'

‘That's the only topic of conversation I'm interested in,' replied Holly.

‘Then you're a sad loser.'

‘True. So true. Mind you, Amy, I'm not convinced that a science nerd like yourself is best qualified to offer advice on romance. Quantum theory, maybe. Affairs of the heart, definitely not.'

‘Your obsession with Raph has nothing to do with the heart.' Amy replied.

Holly finished her sandwich and rummaged around in her bag for an apple. Amy watched Raph sway into the distance and snorted.

‘Why not get a life-sized photograph of him and prop it in the corner of your bedroom?' she said. ‘That way you could admire his looks without actually having to talk to him. Sounds like the perfect solution to me.'

‘I hate you, Amy. I think you should know.'

‘That's because I've got brains and no looks.'

‘And I haven't got either.'

‘Well, if you've got the hots for the dim-witted McDonald, then I won't argue with you about the brains.'

Holly crunched into her apple and looked around the yard. Her eyes widened.

‘Oh. My. God. He's coming back,' she said.

‘Whatever shall we do?' said Amy, throwing up her arms in horror.

Holly sighed.

‘He is sooo gorgeous,' she breathed.

Amy snorted.

‘He's got the brains of a brick,' she said.

They sat in silence while he sauntered past.

‘So,' said Holly. ‘How do you reckon I can get a life-sized photo of him then?'

Fern

The food in the roadhouse was bound to be disgusting, but it would have to do. After all, Fern Marshall thought, when you are surrounded by a three-hundred-kilometre radius of red dirt, scrubby bush and impossible sky, your options are limited.

They would have to stay here tonight as well.

She wheeled Cassie into a corner of the canteen and put the lock on the wheelchair. Without consciously thinking about it, she checked the immediate area for anything Cassie might knock into.

‘Doesn't look promising, Cass,' she said. ‘Probably pie and chips, but beggars can't be choosers, eh?'

Cassie twisted in her chair and smiled. She gave a high keening sound. Her left arm flung itself out to the side, fingers twisted and gnarled. Her head thrashed to the side and back again. The wail grew louder.

‘I won't forget, sweetheart,' said Fern. ‘Full cream milk. I'd bet it's gonna be the most nutritious thing you'll have today.' She stroked Cass's arm, shifted her bag on her shoulder and headed towards the counter. Fern examined the contents of the trays in the glass-fronted bain-marie. Nothing filled her with confidence. There was something that looked like it might be lasagne, but the dry, scaly edges of the dish suggested it had been sitting there for hours. Maybe days. Safer to choose something in a wrapper.

‘What can I get you?' said the woman behind the counter, wiping her hands on a dirty tea towel.

‘Two sausage rolls and a couple of portions of chips, please,' said Fern. ‘And a cappuccino and a glass of milk, full cream, thanks.' While waiting for the food, she glanced around the canteen. She imagined it would be a place popular with drivers of road trains. Then again, it would be popular with whoever was passing through this lonely stretch of Australia's red centre. Only one other table was occupied. A family of four. A woman, her husband who mopped sweat from his face continually, and two kids of about ten or eleven. Tourists, probably. The woman was staring at Cassie.

Fern carried the food back to her table. The sausage rolls had been microwaved, so when she unwrapped them the pastry was soggy. Even the sausage meat looked pale and unappetising. She sighed and cut one roll into bite-sized pieces. Thank heavens for tomato sauce.

‘Don't tell anyone, Cass,' she said quietly, ‘but I reckon some dog's had his business wrapped up in pastry.'

Cassie howled with laughter. Fern frowned.

‘I told you not to say anything. Now you've done it. The secret's out. Better get rid of the evidence. Open up.'

Fern spooned a portion of sausage roll into Cassie's mouth.

‘Let me know if it tastes like dog poo, as well.'

Cassie's laugh caused the contents of her mouth to spill onto her lap. Fern laughed as well.

‘That'll teach me,' she said. ‘Me and my big gob. Okay, kiddo. My fault. Now let's try again. Spoonful for you, spoonful for me.'

By the time Cassie finished her meal, Fern's coffee was lukewarm and had lost its froth. It tasted worse than the sausage roll. She sipped it cautiously in between bringing the milk to Cassie's mouth.

Fern looked up, startled, when a woman coughed beside her. The whole family from the other table was standing there, fidgeting. The two kids half hid behind their father, who was pale, hairless and wearing too-short shorts, pulled up high.

‘Hello,' said Fern.

‘Hello,' said the woman. She had a curious smile fixed to her face, as if it had been put on slightly off centre. ‘We just wanted to say … Well, that is, I wanted to say … Just that we wanted you to know how sorry we are. You know.'

Fern's own smile slipped.

‘No,' she said. ‘I'm afraid I don't know. What are you sorry about?'

The woman shifted her weight from one leg to another. She glanced briefly at her husband.

‘Well …' Her eyes flicked to Cassie, whose right arm was thrashing across the armrest of her wheelchair. ‘You know …' Her tone implied Fern was rude and ungrateful in forcing her to explain. ‘Your daughter,' she added.

‘Why on earth would you be sorry about my daughter?' asked Fern.

The woman obviously regretted coming over. She glanced at the exit, as if checking for an escape route.

‘I'm sorry for her disability,' she said in a too firm voice. ‘I'm sorry for you.'

‘Oh,' said Fern. ‘I understand. Well, there's no reason to feel sorry for her disability. In fact, it's impossible to feel sorry for a disability. Disabilities don't have feelings. And as for me, I can assure you I have no need for your sorrow, or your pity. But maybe you
should
feel sorry about talking as if Cassie isn't here. That really annoys her. And, frankly, it makes me feel like killing someone. It would probably annoy you too, wouldn't it? If someone was talking about you to your husband, as if you didn't have a mind of your own, as if you didn't really exist?'

The woman pressed her lips together in a thin line.

‘I'm sorry you feel that way,' she said.

‘You feel sorry about lots of things, don't you?' said Fern. ‘Well, I'm certainly not sorry for feeling this way.' She turned to the pale-skinned man. ‘I hope your wife has a nice day.'

The woman bristled as she bundled her family together and hurried them to the exit. Through the plate glass window Fern saw them talking furiously as they climbed into their four wheel drive. She turned back to Cassie.

‘I tell you what, Cass,' she said. ‘The doggy do isn't restricted to the food in this place.'

Cassie howled and shrieked. Her legs and arms scissored.

Holly

My name is Holly Holley and this is my evening routine.

Four o'clock: think about completing homework.

Four o'clock and one second: stop thinking about homework.

Four o'clock and two seconds: re-read and brainstorm further my Goal-Setting and Action Plan documentation. This needs explanation …

Last term I did a course in Careers. I failed it. How can I hope to have a successful career after failing a course in Careers? This strikes me as less than motivational. However, one thing from the course stayed with me. Only one thing. This was Goal-Setting and Action Plans.

I suppose that's two things.

My maths isn't great either.

Put briefly, it is a strategy for identifying and recording what you want to achieve in life. You identify a Goal, and Set it down for the record. Let's say your Goal is to become a brain surgeon. The idea is to work out what you need to do in order to achieve your Goal. This is the Action Plan. In the case of being a brain surgeon, it's blitzing every subject at school by completing your homework every single night including the extra homework you request in the science stream, and then doing the same at University for a hundred years. As I have no idea what I want to be, I couldn't even set the Goal. So the Action Plan was dead in the water. However, it occurred to me that this process, useless as far as careers was concerned, could be extended to my private life with much better results.