Keep Her Sweet, page 13
I thought she was going to say she lashed out at me. I thought she was going to apologise for bruising me all over and making me run for my life. NO.
…at him because I was so upset. But I understand he couldn’t stop Rowena reporting me. He had to keep her on side, he had to keep a public face on. He didn’t want me on this ankle bracelet. It was her. But you probably heard differently, yeah? She probably gave you a whole other story, and there was no way for him to back me up. He is going to come to me. He is going to be mine again. We have plans. We have definite plans. I am working at it. He is working at it. And you won’t even tell me what they said. And I won’t ever ask you. But where is the empathy? Where is the love? Where is sisterhood?
Beep.
You don’t show me love, you lie to me. You withhold information that I desperately want and need and you don’t seem to care. How can you lie to me? Why are you being so hurtful?
Beep.
… … … … … And …
Beep.
…Since I left home, you hardly ever called me, you never visited me. I had to drop out of uni! I had to get a basic shitty job in the city! I’ve been sharing a house with friends who won’t even let me stay there on this tag – the court asked and they said no. How do you think it felt coming back here with shackles on? Leaving my job and my flat and the love of my life and the church that I need so badly? How do you think I’ve been feeling? YOU DON’T CARE. I am so alone.
Beep.
And now you are deceiving me. I am so upset, Camille. I am sobbing here. I can see you are reading this. Nothing? You’re not even typing? Really?
After the professorial niceties, which eased me into the disappointments that I must address, the message focused on inducing guilt and, obviously, the favours I must do.
But I love you. I always will. You are my sister. We are bound together forever. Still nothing? I know you are reading.
Beep.
I suppose you know about Dad? He has left for good. He wants a divorce. Mum is going to Uncle James’s first thing in the morning, he’s coming to get her, before court tomorrow. She wants to know if you will take me to court. She wants to know that you will take me to the train after, see I get back to Sunshine safe and sound. She wants to know that my sister will look after me. And I can’t tell her the truth, that I have no idea if you will help me, if you give one tiny shit about me. Do you love me? Am I your sister?
Beep.
Mum is utterly devastated. I’ve been rubbing her feet and ordering home deliveries and we’ve run out of money. Nothing, nada, in the bank. Mum can’t even pay the mortgage and the electricity, and Dad isn’t answering her calls or even mine. She can’t move off the bed, and I can’t go out. She really needs you to get some shopping for her. You do understand I can’t go out? That if I leave the house I will go to jail.
Beep.
Dad’s bad-mouthing her all over the internet. She’s being trolled. I can’t believe it. I could murder him. We should do something, don’t you think? I think one of us…
(ie, me)
…should at least go and give him a talking to, you must agree? So anyway I am not going to ask what Richard and Rowena said. I’m going to try and move on. And I have forgiven you. My hope is that you might let Jesus into your heart. He has really helped me.
Hahaha, my whole face aches.
If you can’t find it in your heart to take me to court it will be the last thing I ask of you, if that is what you want. If it’s not what you want, if you want a sister, then it is your turn to show me the sisterhood. Your turn to check on me. Your turn to call me. Your turn to visit me. Your turn to make some effort, Camille, because we are…
BEEEEEP!
*
It’s hours later, DD. Asha’s Facebook essay sent me into a guilt tail-spin for quite a while. I had to go for a swim and a run to work through it. I had to keep reminding myself: she’ll be gone tomorrow, she’ll be gone. Even though she won’t be in the house anymore, I know I have to leave too. I can’t help Mum, she is beyond help. I don’t want to help. I’ve decided I am going to go to WA. I’m gonna head to Ballarat now and ask Dad for some money, not much, just enough for bills and food for Mum – and for a one-way ticket to Perth. I’m going to go to the mines and be a truck driver or a cleaner or a housekeeper or a bartender. I might live in a hostel and make lots of friends from faraway places, and they’ll invite me to stay with them in Zurich or Capetown or Hanoi. I might live underground, or above a scary pub with beardy men who’ll call me a bird or a slut, but I won’t care cos I’ll be making a fortune and I’ll be in WA, so wonderfully far away. I’ll work then I’ll travel then I’ll work then I’ll travel. I am so excited about it. All I need is a ticket, and they’re practically free. I’m getting out of here. I’m gonna take the van back to Mrs S tomorrow and then I’m gonna go. I’ve never been so excited. I should have done this months ago.
First, the dosh from Dad. I am not telling him off like Asha wants. I’m not murdering him. I’ve looked at his new headshots and his new video, and he looks so happy. He’s really funny. Apart from bumming the ticket money, I am just gonna leave Dad be. Good on him. I’m happy for him. I’ll drop off food and money for Mum. I will not talk to Asha. She will not draw me back in.
Seeya, DD, off to Ballarat. Might stay in one of those lovely spots on the Werribee tonight, one final hurrah in this ace dental chair. Must buy Mrs S a thank-you pressie. I am so happy!
*
Sorry my writing’s shaky. It’s nearly midnight. I didn’t make it to the Werribee river. I’m about twenty minutes out of town under a bridge. It’s not pretty but I think it’s safe. Dad was at the Eureka, discussing stuff with a bunch of people. It’s probably best if we don’t watch Dad’s new sets tbh, especially Mum. Comedians always write what they know. Vanessa was there. I wasn’t not-nice to her, but I didn’t feel like being nice either. It’s all so icky. Everything seems so different and dark and dangerous. Dad’s got gigs all over the place in the next few weeks, which is great news for him. He’s off to Melbourne today, won’t be back till next week. He gave me enough money for Mum to get by another month and asked me to take care of her and Asha. I can’t believe what I said – I said I would, of course I would. Then I bought a ticket to Perth straight away – I leave from Tullamarine on Saturday. I will care for the two of them until they go tomorrow. One more day, DD, one more day. I can do that. The day after that I am gone. I don’t know why I’m not buzzing like I was last night, I should be. I am going to another state, I am going to be another person. I am gonna have another life.
After seeing Dad, I bought a whole stack of food and some shortbread and a card for Mrs S. I parked a block from the house and handwrote a very carefully crafted note to Asha, hoping to leave it without having to speak to her:
I will take you to court tomorrow. I’ll collect you at 9.30. I will take you to the train straight after.
Cam x
I went to the house, snuck round the back, left the note and the bags of food on the kitchen bench and tiptoed upstairs to see Mum.
There’s no window in that horrible mezzanine, and the room smelt of cigarette smoke, which Mum had obviously decided to take up since I left. She must have made it to the shops somehow, or she had a secret stash in the house. She was sleeping in the same tight dress she had on when I last saw her. Her sheets were wet with sweat and tears and maybe even urine. Several bottles of pills were open on the bedside table – diazepam, sertraline, paracetamol. Asha may well have been massaging her feet and brushing her hair but she’d done bugger all else.
‘Mum? Wakey wakey,’ I said as quietly as I could. I did not want Asha to hear me.
‘Cammy,’ she slurred. She’d had too much diazepam, I think. I checked the paracetamol bottle – nearly full. Thank god she hadn’t tried anything stupid. Just in case, I emptied most of the pills and put them in my pocket.
‘Hey Mum, you wee soul.’ I lifted her tiny body, hugged her, holding my nose. ‘I’m getting you in the shower.’
She sniffed and it made her cry. ‘I stink and your dad doesn’t love me anymore. Cammy, he doesn’t love me, he doesn’t love me, can you believe that? I have to say it over and over, he doesn’t love me, he doesn’t love me.’
‘You should stop saying it over and over,’ I said. ‘You don’t need him, you don’t need him to love you.’ I scraped her dress off her, added it to the pile of washing in the corner. ‘You need food and a shower.’
‘And a drink?’ she said.
‘There isn’t any alcohol,’ I lied. There were two goon sacks of wine in my secret hiding spot. ‘Anyway, it’d make you feel worse, you know that.’
‘I do know that, what a pathetic, sad case I am. My name is Penny and I stink and I’m unlovable and I’m an alcoholic.’ She popped a diazepam, downed it dry.
I helped her to the ensuite and turned on the shower. She held her hands against the tiles, her head hanging low, tears etcetera dribbling from her nose and her open mouth. I’d never seen her naked and up close like this, but it was only weird for a few seconds. After that, it was all about the flannel and the suds. She did not stop crying as I wrapped her in towels and sat her up in bed. ‘Take this,’ I said, handing her the hair dryer. ‘I’ll be back with sustenance. Hold it up, don’t point it at your face, it’s for your hair, ya dill!’
I could hear music and chanting coming from Asha’s room. Phew, she was preoccupied, raising the dead, chatting to Gee-suss. I was able to heat tomato soup, butter some toast and slice an apple without her hearing me. I found one of Mum’s floral decoupage trays and added an icy OJ and a cup of tea. So pretty and comforting, the kind of tray Mum used to make for me when I was a child and she was a parent.
‘You are my little baby girl,’ she said, crying as I spooned soup into her droopy mouth, pushed in tiny squares of toast. ‘My little baby, my youngest. Do you think I’m ugly? Do you love me?’
‘You’re way better-looking than Vanessa,’ I said, meaning it. ‘And I love you to bits. Of course I do.’ I gave her a sip of OJ, another square of toast. ‘You’re an inspiration, not right now obviously, but usually.’
‘Your dad doesn’t think so. He thinks I’m a piece of old rubbish.’
The diazepam was making her sleepy, her eyes were closing.
‘You need rest. You are going to feel so much better after a good sleep. You are going to get over this. I know you – you’re going to make plans and you are going to thrive.’ I took the damp towels off and replaced them with a cotton nightie.
‘My disgusting old-lady nightie,’ she said, ‘perfect, because that’s what I am.’
‘You are not disgusting, you are beautiful and you are not old, you’re in your prime. You’re just sad, Mum, but you won’t be for long. Everything’s going to be okay. You are going to feel better so soon.’
‘James is coming to get me in the morning,’ she said.
‘See? You’ve already made plans. That’s great.’
‘He’s the best brother.’
I thought she was asleep. I was about to gather everything up and head off. She grabbed my hand, eyes still closed. ‘Promise me you’ll look after Asha.’
My stomach sank. I said nothing for ages.
She opened her eyes. ‘I always wanted two children. I hated the idea of Asha being on her own. Only children are so lonely. And annoying. Men are bastards, Cammy, utter dicks. I am so glad you have each other, my babies, my little girls.’
Oh Jeez Jeez Jeez. ‘I’m going to take her to court tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I’m going to make sure she gets back to Melbourne safe and sound.’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
*
I almost made it out of the house. So close. But the rubbish bin lid shut really loudly and before I could slide the glass door open Asha was behind me.
‘Where are you going?’ she said, reading the note I’d left, which did not seem to please her.
‘I’m not staying here tonight,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Okay, fine,’ she said, ‘thanks for doing the shopping.’ She started emptying the first of the three shopping bags I’d left: linguine, eggs, pancetta, cream, Parmesan. She took things out, one by one, her face getting redder and tighter with each item – lettuce, bread, garlic, butter, grapes, goats cheese, cucumber, ice-cream.
‘Carbonara again?’ she said.
‘There’s also a free-range chicken and spuds and greens in one of the other bags, if you’d prefer.’
She looked in the second bag (which had orange juice, apples, Vegemite, jam, croissants, coffee, baked beans); then in the third, which had the makings of roast chicken. ‘Where’s the wine?’
‘I forgot,’ I said.
‘You forgot?’
‘Yes.’
‘Like you forgot to tell me you spent a whole day with my boyfriend.’
I was starting to lose my cool. ‘And his wife,’ I said.
‘So you admit it now, you did spend the whole day with them.’
Fuck it, I thought, the Rs were even crazier than she was, why did I owe them a promise?
‘Yeah, I spent the whole day with them, first at the prayer meeting, then at the house. I had lunch with them. I had a snooze in their backyard. They drove me home. They told me how you’re trying to bring their dead kid back to life. “Rise Nellie Rise! I want to see your smiley face, I want to push you on the swing.” Fucking whack-job that you are.’
‘Gee-suss is a whack job too then, hey? He didn’t heal, he didn’t raise Lazarus from the grave? We shrunk her tumour! We shrunk her tumour! God is crazy is He, the Bible is crazy, the power of prayer is crazy, faith and love is crazy?’
‘Um, yeah.’
‘You’re going to go to Hell.’
‘I am looking forward to it. But first I will take you to court and I will take you to the train because you are a complete loser who can’t do anything for yourself. You are dangerous and violent, and I am sick of you. I don’t want anything to do with you after that. I am leaving on Saturday. I never want to see you again.’
She picked up the note I’d left, scrutinising it. ‘So this note you left – this note you signed with your affectionate pet name, the name I call you when we’re happy – Cam – and this kiss at the bottom, is just more lies.’
I thought I’d written something succinct and safe. I forgot how an innocently insincere ‘dear’ or ‘love’ could provoke my sister. She’d ripped up several birthday cards due to hypocritical wording. She’d hurled many ill-considered gifts in the bin. She’d ended two friendships due to disingenuous punctuation.
‘Yes, yes more lies. The kiss is a lie, it is meaningless. It does not mean that I actually want to kiss you. It does not mean that I actually love you. And the Cam, that was an attempt to seem calm and loving in order to stop you from strangling me again, or head-butting me again, or punching me in the head again, or smashing me in the back with a phone again or breaking my nose with a netball again.’
‘You whiney little prat. We were doing passes and you can’t catch. What kind of sister wants to make me look bad in front of Mum and Dad and the therapist, and god knows who else you’ve bad-mouthed me to. Broke your nose! All you do is lie. Meanwhile, you have left me here with her’ – she pointed upstairs – ‘and I can’t get out. Meanwhile you’ve spent hours and hours with my boyfriend.’
‘Who is married. Seemed very happy to me. They seemed into each other. They didn’t stop touching the whole time I was with them, holding hands, walking arm in arm, kissing. When I was having a rest I heard them doing it in the bedroom. She definitely came. He says the nicest things to her. He calls her Ro-Ro. Says she’s his best friend, the love of his life, his meaning, his everything. He had his hand on her leg the whole way from Geelong to Ballarat. He loves her so much. He calls you his indiscretion, his big mistake, his great regret. They think you’re a loose cannon, Asha, they both think you’re as crazy as I think you are. He doesn’t want anything to do with you. They made me promise not to tell you anything. They never want to see you again, especially Richard.’
‘You are making all that up.’
‘Am I?’ (Not all of it, but quite a portion. It felt good.)
‘You’re cruel, you’re evil. You’re a selfish little narcissist. You take take take and you lie lie lie.’
‘Well I’m not going to lie anymore. You are unwell. You are unhinged. You need help. You’re dangerous. You terrify me.’
‘I terrify you! Who’s the one with all the power here? Who’s the one taunting?’
‘You are out of control and bat-shit crazy, and I will take you to court tomorrow because I have promised Mum and Dad I will, and I will see you get on the train to Sunshine, not because I promised, although I did, but because I want to make sure you get out of this town and out of my life.’
She threw an egg at me. It burst on my forehead, dribbled down my face. Not reacting to this – bar licking salmonella from my lip – caused her to throw another item my way, the tub of single cream this time, which oozed all over my hair and my face, and dribbled all over my top. I licked some of that too. Before I knew it she had thrown the pancetta and the parmesan and the goats cheese and the cucumber at me. I didn’t move, I stood still, a target.
‘Asha, is that you?’ Mum said from upstairs.
‘Yes Mum,’ she replied, nicey nicey, before throwing the free-range chicken at my head. I ducked and it bounced off the stone wall. Time to leave.
A few things hit my back before I shut the glass door behind me and made it outside into the courtyard. Just in time, as she hurled a can of baked beans in my direction. The door shattered, glass ricocheted everywhere, spraying my back. Shards landed in my carbonara hair, several pierced my arms. With blood everywhere, I ran out the back gate to the carpark and into the van.
