Give Me Four Reasons (20 page)

‘So you’re still going out?’ I say.

‘Yes. I can’t let your father keep doing this to me. You girls will just have to stay home tonight.’

Felicity crosses her arms and scowls.

The doorbell rings. ‘That will be Reuben.’ Mum pulls on her strappy sandals. ‘I should be home by eleven. You can order pizza. There’s money in the third drawer of the kitchen bench.’ She kisses us both and then rushes down the hall and out of the front door.

As soon as we hear Reuben’s car reversing out of the driveway, Felicity grabs her mobile and starts texting.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

‘Making plans. You don’t think I’m going to stay here with you, do you?’ She doesn’t even look up from her phone.

Seconds later, her phone beeps. She reads the message and jumps up.

I follow her to her room. She strips out of her t-shirt and puts on a clingy black top. She changes her flat sandals for a pair of heels. She increases the width of her eyeliner from one millimetre to four.

‘Where are you going?’ I ask.

‘Hot date with Curtis Bradshaw,’ she replies.

‘But you can’t. You’re meant to be staying here with me.’

Felicity sprays herself with perfume and puts on frosted pink lipstick.

‘I’ll tell Mum,’ I say.

‘She won’t care. She’s on a hot date. Dad’s probably on a hot date. Why can’t I go on a hot date? We’re going bowling in town. You can’t come.’

‘Why did you say that?’

‘Because you’re just a kid. You’d spoil everything.’

I hold up my hands. ‘No, I mean, why did you say
Mum
’s on a hot date.’

‘Mum and Reuben.’ Felicity turns her head upside down and sprays it all over with hairspray.

‘But they’re only friends.’

Felicity lifts her head back up. Her hair is now perfectly tousled. ‘Jeez, Paige, where have you been?’ she says.

‘He’s just teaching her more fortune-telling stuff.’

‘Maybe. But they’re on a
date
. They’ve been dating for weeks.’

I choke and cough as though I’ve inhaled Felicity’s hairspray. I can’t get my words out. I don’t know what the words are.

Felicity stops sweeping her lashes with mascara and looks at my shocked face. ‘God, Paige. You’re so naive.’

‘Did Mum tell you about her and Reuben?’

‘Well, she hasn’t tried to hide it. Haven’t you seen how excited she gets when he’s coming over? And you don’t dress up like
that
for your fortune-telling teacher.’

I follow my sister to the kitchen. She takes some money out of the bench drawer and puts it in her handbag.

‘I’ll be home at five to eleven,’ she says. ‘Bye.’

I watch her dance out of the house. Then I sit down heavily on the lounge, trying to process this new situation. Mum has a boyfriend. Dad has a girlfriend. My whole family is out tonight with their special someone. I am nobody’s special someone.

‘What about me?’ I say.

Suddenly I remember what Claire, the Queen of Clairvoyance, said. ‘
You must stand up for yourself and take what’s rightfully yours.
’

I run to the address book beside the house phone. I look up a name and write down the address. I take the rest of the money from the third drawer, but I don’t dial a pizza. Instead I use my mobile to dial a taxi.

* *

I ask the cab driver to drop me a few houses down from my father’s. I approach the house cautiously. It is not yet dark. The house is similar to ours—a low-set speckled brick place with a double garage. Room for Chloe’s car. When I think of her I suddenly get cold feet. What if they’re having a romantic candlelit dinner? What if they’re snuggled up in front of the TV? My face burns as I think about it.

In the short ride over here, I rehearsed what I’m going to say. If Chloe answers the door, it will go something like this: ‘Hi. I’m Paige. Ian’s daughter. I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but
we
had plans.’

If Dad answers the door, I’ll say, ‘Surprise!’

Either way, Dad will have to sit up and take notice of me. He’ll remember that
I
used to be his special someone.

I take a huge breath and knock on the front door.

Silence.

I knock again. Harder.

Still nothing.

I swallow the lump that has risen in my throat. I didn’t expect Dad to be out. I decide to wait for him. For
them
. I sit down on the welcome mat. The light is sucked from the sky and soon the evening star appears.

After a few minutes, I stand up and rub my tailbone. The welcome mat is not very comfortable. I walk down the path that runs along the side of the house. Halfway down there is a high gate that leads into the backyard. I reach up to unlatch it and it screeches on its rusty hinges. I step cautiously along the concrete pavers.

Suddenly I trip, falling headlong onto the overgrown lawn. Something sharp presses into my palm. I yelp. It’s a bone. I toss it aside and make my way to the back door.

I am about to peer through the back window of the house when my feet trip on something else. Warm water trickles into my sandals. On the ground is a round bowl filled with water. Beside it is another bowl, this one filled with little brown things. I bend down, sniff them and grimace. Dry dog food.

My father has a dog?

I gaze around the large backyard. Yes, there is a doghouse up near the back fence.

I whistle. ‘Here, boy. Here, boy.’ Then I walk closer to the kennel, praying that Dad doesn’t have a Doberman or a Rottweiler.

‘Here, boy. Here, boy. Good boy.’ When I get closer to the kennel I can make out some letters painted above the little opening. Charlie? I step even closer. Chloe.

Chloe?

Chloe!

Chloe is a dog.

That’s who the woman on Dad’s phone must have been that day up on the hill above Bloodstone Beach. I remember dogs barking in the background. Dad must have got the dog from her. I start to laugh. But then I realise how awful I have been to my father. I have been angry at the wrong parent.

I just want to hug my dad and tell him how sorry I am.

But where are they? Dad had said he couldn’t have me and Felicity tonight because of Chloe. So where could he have taken her? To the beach? To puppy obedience school? Are they out buying more dog food?

Whatever they are doing, hanging out with his dog must make my father happier than spending time with his two daughters. Especially the daughter who caused all the dramas at her sister’s pool party, and made him leave home in the first place.

I run out of the backyard, letting the gate slam against the latch. I run all the way down Dad’s street and don’t stop until I get to the main road.

I don’t have enough money for a taxi home. I start looking for a bus stop. Cars whizz past. I can’t remember whether to turn left or right. I try to read the street sign. I have to step out onto the road to do it. A car beeps at me. I scurry back to the footpath.

I am on Bellevue Road. The name means nothing to me. I have never been in this part of town before. I start walking towards a cluster of coloured lights in the distance. Soon the houses stop and there is a strip of shops. A real estate agent, a hairdresser’s, a newsagency and a pet shop. Three kittens and a scruffy puppy are curled up in cages in the window of the pet shop. I wonder if this is where Dad got Chloe.

I continue walking and come to more houses. None of this is familiar.

A car slows down and purrs towards me. I don’t want to look at it. I step closer to the front fence of a house, hoping the driver will think this is my home.

The car door clicks open. I hear the crunch of heavy shoes in gravel. My heart pounds but I don’t dare to look.

‘Hey, miss!’ It is a man’s voice. ‘Do you need a ride?’

I know I should run but my feet are cemented into the driveway of this stranger’s house. I lower my head and look at the house, thinking I could dash inside the front yard. But there are no lights on. The front door is closed. I’d find myself trapped.

‘I know where you live,’ the man calls out.

I try to scream but nothing comes out.

‘Fourteen Hacienda Crescent.’

Oh no! He’s been stalking me. It’s someone from my neighbourhood. My legs and hands tremble. I can’t breathe.

‘I’m heading back that way for another job right now,’ he says. ‘I won’t charge you. But I’ll radio it through to my firm so they know what I’m doing.’

It is the taxi driver who dropped me off earlier.

‘Thank you,’ I say, climbing into the back seat.

‘Pick up in Juniper West,’ the driver says into his radio. ‘Heading to Hacienda Crescent.’ He flicks on his indicator and pulls away from the kerb.

I am going home. To an empty house. To an empty Passport. I had almost forgotten about my Passport in the excitement of making new friends on holiday and at high school. But now I truly understand why no one wrote in it. Why should they have? My own family doesn’t even care about me.

I pat my pockets and realise I have lost my mobile phone. It doesn’t matter. I’ve got no one to call and no one who would ever call me.

28

The taxi turns around and heads in the opposite direction down Bellevue Road. My pounding heart slows and I begin to feel safe again. But then I realise I don’t want to go back home. I just can’t face sitting around in an empty house all night.

I need to find the one person who still likes me.

Shelly.

I lean forward and say to the taxi driver, ‘Um, can you please drop me at the bus station instead?’

The taxi driver looks at me in his rear-vision mirror.

‘My friend lives just across the road,’ I fib.

The cabbie nods but he keeps staring at me.

The bus station is on the way to my house so we are soon there. I try to give the cabbie the contents of my pocket—a strawberry lip balm and nine dollars and twenty-five cents—but he refuses it. ‘Enjoy your night with your friend, love.’

He sits in his taxi, reading his street directory, but I know he is pretending. He has a GPS perched on his dashboard. I walk across the road and up the driveway of a tiny house that is squeezed in between office buildings. I make a big show of knocking on the door, but my fingers don’t make contact with the peeling white paint. I look over my shoulder and wave at the taxi driver. He closes his book and drives off.

I hurry back across the road. The bus station is busy. Coaches drop off their weary passengers and pick up others. People rush everywhere, dragging suitcases and screaming toddlers. I walk up to a ticket window. ‘When is the next bus to Bloodstone Beach?’

‘Where?’ A large woman is counting a wad of twenty-dollar notes. She snaps a rubber band around them and looks up at me.

‘Bloodstone Beach.’

‘Never heard of it.’ Her chubby fingers move onto the blue stack of ten-dollar notes.

‘Um, it’s just north of Sugar Harbour.’

‘Two-seventy, two-eighty, two-ninety, three hundred.’ The woman folds the bills, writes the number on a sticky note and wraps a rubber band around the pile. ‘Sugar Harbour? You’re in luck. The next bus leaves in twenty minutes. One ticket?’

‘Yes, please.’ I push the nine dollars and twenty-five cents down into the little metal tray and under the Perspex window.

The woman stares at the money and blinks her powder-blue eyelids. I start patting my jeans pockets.

‘The fare is twenty-six dollars,’ she says.

I gasp. ‘How much is the child’s fare?’

‘If you’re under fifteen you’ll need a parent or guardian to buy the ticket and sign an unaccompanied-child form.’ She reaches under the desk and slides a yellow slip of paper into the tray.

‘Oh, I’m actually fifteen,’I lie. The woman studies me. I’m glad that I put make-up on. I stand on my tiptoes and roll my eyes with boredom like Felicity does.

‘Okay, so it’s twenty-six dollars, but you’ll still need to show proof of age.’

I try to stop my lip from trembling. The woman narrows her eyes.

‘Um, how far can I get on nine dollars and twenty-five cents?’ I ask.

‘Nowhere, without proof of age or this form signed.’ She points at the yellow slip in the tray.

I ignore the form and start scrabbling my money from the tray. The woman leans forward. ‘Would you like to come in here and wait?’ she asks. ‘There may be a vacant seat. We won’t know until the bus arrives.’

‘No, thanks,’I say. I finish scooping up my coins and run out of the bus station.

I run and run. When I stop to catch my breath and get my bearings, I realise that I’m just around the corner from my own street.

But I still don’t want to go home.

So I head for the park at the other end of the street. I used to love going to the playground. I try to imagine that the sun is shining. Children are laughing. Mothers are chatting. Fathers are teaching football skills to their kids.

But the park is different at night. Older kids have claimed it. They hang from the monkey bars. They’re perched on top of the swing set. They’re crouched under the slippery dip in small groups.

‘Hey, little kid,’a teenage boy says, ‘shouldn’t you be home in bed?’

‘I’m not a little kid,’ I say. My voice trembles.

‘Well, if you’re not a little kid, maybe you’d like some of this.’ He holds out a plastic water bottle to me. It is filled with dark liquid. The other kids laugh and screech. They sound like chimpanzees.

I take a step backward. ‘No, thanks,’ I say.

‘Come on,’ a girl urges. ‘It will make you feel good.’ She holds out a bottle of her own. The liquid inside looks like urine.

The other teenagers start pushing their bottles at me. ‘No, try this one. It tastes better,’ urges a third.

‘One swig of this and you’ll forget your troubles,’ slurs another.

‘Two swigs of this and you’ll forget your name,’ a fifth says, laughing.

They reach out to me, clambering from their perches. I shrink back. ‘No, no, no,’ I say.

Suddenly a blue flashing light appears on the street nearby.

‘Cops!’ the kids shout. They leap off the bars and out from under the slippery dip and run off in all directions.

I run, too. My feet pound, my head pounds and my heart pounds. I run across the park and hide in the thick bushes on the hill near the golf course, catching my breath. Sirens scream out in the distance. It’s Friday night. Lots of mad things happen on Friday nights. The sirens suddenly stop somewhere over in the cluster of houses and to the south. I wonder if any of the kids from the monkey bars got caught.