Keep Her Sweet, page 8
‘Then what.’
‘Then I went in.’
‘You just went in or you knocked and someone let you in?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which?’
‘I just went in.’
‘No-one opened the door for you?’
‘No, then I met a woman called Rowena.’
Asha fanned her face with her hand and sat on the bed. ‘What does met mean?’
‘It means … fuck I don’t know. This woman saw me come in, came up to me, introduced herself, I did the same. She seemed nice.’ I added the last bit as she would never expect me to say this if I knew Rowena was Richard’s wife, even if I thought it.
‘She’s Richard’s wife,’ she said.
Good one, I got away with it.
‘Then what. So you’re in the hall, Rowena has “disappeared”’ – she actually did air quotes – ‘and you’re standing there with a cup of tea.’
‘Sitting.’
‘Sitting with a cup of tea. Then what?’
I repeated the story about the tea and the biccies and Rowena walking off and disappearing, each step punctuated with a ‘then what’.
‘And you say you got up on stage and announced the party?’
‘Yes.’
‘You just got up on stage, willy nilly. Did someone say you could?’
‘Yes. No.’
‘Yes or no?’
‘Both.’
‘Why are you being cruel to me?’
‘Yes, I got up on stage. No, I didn’t get permission. I just did it. Everyone was getting up if they wanted, singing and stuff, it seemed okay.’
‘What did you say exactly?’
‘I said my name and that you’re my sister, and that you’re having a party tonight and wanted everyone to know they’re invited, that you’d love to see them.’
‘That’s what you said? You made me sound desperate. Is that all you said?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You said you’d sell it, you promised you’d sell it.’
The room was starting to shudder like the insides of me.
‘And then.’
‘I put a note on the board with the Facebook page and left.’
‘Uh-huh,’ she said.
‘And there was a bit of a wait for the next train, so I went to the waterfront … And I had a paddle cos it was hot and sat down for a bit. And I fell asleep on the sand.’
‘Uh-huh.’
She had my backpack and was looking through it. Uh-oh.
‘There’s no sand anywhere. Take your runners off.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why should I?’
She emptied my bag onto the mattress. ‘There’s no sun cream. Thirty degrees today. Asleep on the beach in the middle of the afternoon. You are not remotely sunburnt. Are you? Where’s the sunburn?’
She was grabbing my T-shirt, checking my shoulders.
‘I sat in the shade.’
‘You said you lay on the sand.’
Even Asha seemed bored with the direction her grilling was taking. She backtracked to the part that mattered. ‘What did Rowena say to you exactly, tell me again. Was she in her mumsy wear? What was her skin looking like, splotchy? Did she have baggy eyes? Had she done her roots?’
‘I didn’t notice her roots. She said “Hi, I’m Rowena, nice to meet you,” or something like that. Her skin looked fine to me.’
She nodded. ‘Then what.’
Then what? Then what? Then what? Then what? ‘Then nothing! I’m exhausted, leave me alone.’
‘This is all BULLSHIT,’ she said, ‘you are telling me bullshit. There are holes everywhere, Camille, it’s nearly eight-thirty. You left at noon.’
She licked her finger, swiped my ankle with it then licked it again. ‘Not at all salty, and there’s no free shade at the waterfront. You are lying. What were you doing? They got to you, didn’t they? Rowena doing damage control, using me as a scapegoat. I know you know things, I can see it. Start again, it’s 3.30pm, although that’s probably a lie too, you probably got there much earlier. Start over, we’re going through it again, you’re outside the hall.’
‘More like a shed,’ I said, storming out of her bedroom and slamming the door.
I grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and went out into the courtyard.
A few moments later, Asha came out too. I was terrified. But she walked straight past me to get her bike out of the shed. She wheeled it through the kitchen area and through the hall. I heard Mum yell, ‘Asha, Ash, don’t!’, then the front door banged and the tag machine thingy in the kitchen started going beep beep beep beep. She was gone.
The cops came straight away and asked where she might have gone. The beeper only alerted them to her absence, it didn’t tell them where she was. We guessed she might be cycling to Geelong, and they left to look for her.
Meanwhile the open house was getting busy but everyone looked really bored. Mum was plying everyone with wine, which meant it would probably go on forever. I messaged the friends of mine who I’d invited and told them, ‘Whatever you do, do not come to this party. It is the worst ever!’ Spock said a few of them were going out to Jimmy’s club after the pubs closed. I told them I’d meet them there.
It was bliss with Asha gone, the most restful three hours at home since she moved back. Even with Mum and Dad obviously hating each other’s guts. Even though the open house was the biggest bore ever – at this point it was up there with Asha’s twelfth as the worst party I’ve been to (I bought her something she hated, a T-shirt from Victoria market. Okay, it was ill fitting, I didn’t give it enough thought, didn’t have any money, but there was no need for her to throw it in the bin in front of everyone). Even with the red-head rummaging through the mezzanine without permission and asking Mum how much for the life painting of Dad. Despite all that I could breathe properly at last. The curfew machine thingy in our kitchen beeped continuously the whole time she was gone, which you think would be annoying, but I loved the constant reminder that she was not inside the house and that she would soon be incarcerated someplace else. I’d even started writing a list of things to do – e.g., ask (again) for some shifts at Sovereign Hill, door knock at the local bars and cafes, find work, save money, get outta here! I stayed in Asha’s room mostly, as the pottery wheel in my room was being used on and off. More locals came and went. I could hear Brendan Valencia from Mount Clear bargaining over the dining chairs Mum painted fifties style. Some guy from the Scottish Independence Movement was talking politics to Dad so loudly you’d think they were disagreeing, which they weren’t.
I was about to go to Jimmy’s to meet Spock. There were only two remaining guests at that point, and they looked like they might leave – finally. I came out of the room, surprised to see most of our furniture gone, when the doorbell rang. It was the two cops who’d come before. And Asha. And her bike.
Fuckety fuck.
That ankle tag obviously means nothing, it’s as useless as the interdict Richard has out on her, which hasn’t stopped her ringing and messaging and chasing him incessantly. Nothing stops her doing whatever she wants. All I can hope is they jail her after court next week. I am almost tempted to pray: ‘Dear god, please lock up my sister forever, amen.’
They found her asleep in Meredith Cemetery. She told them she was on her way to Geelong and got tired, but I know why she was there. Nellie.
The cop with the glasses said he didn’t think she’d get in trouble at court. He said the tag would be removed if she behaves herself from now on, that the judge will be sympathetic, considering. He said he felt so sorry for the poor thing when he found her like that. She was shivering, didn’t have a jumper on, he said. She was covered in dirt and sobbing and talking gibberish. He assumed she was drunk. He had no idea she was speaking McTongues over some poor child’s grave. She’d been behaving herself for two weeks, after all, the cop said. As long as she didn’t leave the house at all before Friday she should be fine.
I didn’t put him right. It was too embarrassing to say what she was really doing, although I’m really not sure what she was doing exactly, maybe she was digging the poor kid out. I must investigate. Also, I had promised never to mention the Rise Nellie thing and I’m good at promises.
Sidekick cop had sideburns to match and was less idiotic than the one with the glasses. He said they had to stop three times on the way back from Meredith so she could hurl on the side of the road and that she should behave herself and follow the orders of the court in future.
When the cops left, our two sorry guests – The Queen and the redhead – seemed to lose interest in leaving, nosy bastards, they wanted to stay on for the show. Dad suggested everyone should sit at the big table in the front hall for tea and brownies, but all the chairs were gone – Brendan Valencia from Mount Clear must have got a good price. So we stood around the table. Asha had a blanket around her and glared at me. No-one knew what to say, even when Dad came back with the tea. Eventually, my phone broke the silence. It was so loud. I didn’t look at it. I turned it off.
‘Who was that?’ Asha said.
‘Sorry?’ I said.
This was an aggravating answer. Mum gave me a familiar look, I knew what it meant: Don’t wind her up, Camille.
‘That’s your phone alert, I know the sound. Who just texted you?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. It was true. But dread was heating me up. I had forgotten to message the two Rs to say I got home safe. It was them. It was probably them.
‘I’m off to Jimmy’s,’ I said. ‘Spock and the others are waiting for me.’ I made for the door.
‘Why don’t you look at the message first,’ Asha said. ‘It might be one of my friends.’
‘Your friends don’t know my phone number, they only have the Facebook invite,’ I said. ‘Bye everyone, I’m late,’ I said, almost making it out the door.
Asha banged it shut, nearly got my finger.
‘It’s Richard, isn’t it, or his piggy wife. Show me your phone.’
‘Why would he message me?’
‘Because you saw him today, for hours and hours.’
‘I told you already. I didn’t see him.’ I was sticking to this lie, it was sensible. I tried to open the door again, but she held it firm. The Queen and the red-head from The Eureka looked frightened now. If they wanted to leave, they couldn’t.
‘Show me your phone,’ she said.
‘No, let me out.’ I held my phone behind my back.
She was wondering how to grab it. She wouldn’t hurt me in front of two strangers. Mind you, neither of them would give a shit. They’d both probably call it a ‘phone injury’.
‘Maybe you should go lie down for a bit,’ I suggested, mortified. I didn’t care about The Queen or the red-headed divorcee from The Eureka, even though she was totally flirting with my father, but I did not want them to keep witnessing the fuck-up that is my family.
‘Thanks so much for the tea,’ said The Queen. ‘I think I’ll head off now.’
At least she had some decency. She made her way to the door, which we were both blocking. I tried to move aside for her, but Asha would not budge. She had me barricaded against it.
The red-head was nervously eating a third piece of brownie.
‘Perhaps a lie down would be a good idea, Asha,’ said The Queen, trying to intervene. She had her keys and two scented candles in her hands, and a misshaped clay jug.
‘I don’t want to fucking lie down,’ she said to The Queen. ‘I want to know why my sister won’t show me her message. It’s him. I know it is. You saw him. I know you did. You left at midday, you got back at 8.10. What took you so long, what were you doing, what did he say to you, why is he texting you?’
‘He is not texting me and I did not see him,’ I said. ‘I did see Gee-suss though.’ I paused. ‘He said to say he doesn’t like you.’
I could hear Mum’s thoughts. (You’ve gone and done it, Camille, haven’t you?).
Asha bashed her hand on the door, and we all jumped. ‘You arsehole.’ She punched the door. ‘You liar.’ She grabbed my arms, she shook me really hard.
‘Asha, why don’t we go for a walk, take some time out?’ The Queen said, desperate to be of help.
‘I can’t go out for a walk, you fucking idiot,’ Asha said.
The Queen did not understand, she did not know what I was dealing with here. Although, come to think of it, she should. She should have known. She was witnessing it. So were Mum and Dad. So was the red-head. It’s just like the broken nose, everyone was minimising it, dismissing it.
‘These two have been having such a hard time,’ Mum said. ‘At each other all the time, they’re just like my brothers, these two.’
These two? What did any of this have to do with me?
‘My sister pushed me through a window once,’ the red-head said.
‘Asha, Camille,’ The Queen said, ‘you two need to have some space. You’ve got your own rooms now, why don’t you take time out, like we talked about?’
She moved towards Asha, which made Asha move towards her. No way – was she going to punch The Queen?
‘Do not come near me, get the fuck away from me, you dumb old bag.’
Poor The Queen. I’m going to check on her tomorrow.
Asha grabbed a clay sculpting tool from the table – totally the smallest, it was so blunt – and returned to me slowly as everyone watched – doing, saying, nothing to stop her. She barricaded me against the door again, the weapon in her hand. Instead of stabbing me with it, she held it against her own neck with such drama. She had all the power, she was loving it. She took her time to look at each of the shaky people in the hall. She wasn’t pressing the sculpting tool hard. Her skin wasn’t anywhere near breaking, it was hardly even making an indent. She said she was going to kill herself if anyone came close and if I didn’t read her the text message.
‘I’m not reading you my message you fucking nutcase,’ I said.
Before I knew it she had downed her suicide tool and head butted me. The back of my head bashed against the door. My brain shook.
I think Asha must have surprised herself. When I could see properly again I realised she was not barricading me anymore.
This was my moment. I opened the door and ran out.
DD, why didn’t I shut the door behind me, why didn’t I keep running, why did I stand on the pavement, waiting for Asha to notice that I was SO close, tantalisingly close, holding the phone up and reading the message to myself? (Hey Cam, so lovely to meet you. We wish it was under different circumstances. Hope you got home safe? Message us any time, better still, come see us. R and R xxx)
By the time I’d finished reading it, my face was a smiley one too. Asha was staring at me from the doorway, the four adult-adults standing behind her.
‘Tell me the message,’ she said.
‘Why don’t you come out and read it yourself?’ I suggested. ‘Your bracelet won’t beep so close to the house, will it? I’m only about five feet away.’
‘Camille, for god’s sake,’ Mum said. ‘Stop it. You’re embarrassing all of us.’
I took ten large steps back till I was in the middle of the road. It seemed less dangerous than being inside the house. ‘Oh hang on, it’ll definitely beep here.’ I pressed delete. ‘Oops, I deleted it,’ I said, then turned and headed to town.
Asha screamed at me as I walked: ‘You are evil! You are damned! You are going to hell! Mum, Mu-um, stop her. She is the devil. Look what she does to me, can you believe her? Are you seeing this? I’m going to kill her. I’m going to fucking kill you, Camille! I’m going to fucking murder you.’
‘Perhaps one of you might consider calling the police,’ I yelled. Even if they heard me, it’s pretty clear now that no-one did, or ever would. It was sister stuff, sibling rivalry. It was natural, funny even. Everyone laughs about sibling fights. Like Mum’s brother, Poor Frankie, who hasn’t left his house in twenty years; and like the red-head whose sister nearly sliced her in two with a window pane. Asha is my shared historian, after all. She’s going to be my longest relationship.
Asha threw a few things in my direction, but I didn’t look back to see what. Too angry to meet my friends, I headed to a posh bar that they’d never be seen dead in. I ordered a pot of tap water – I had no money, I HAVE no money. I assumed some sleaze bag would offer to buy me a real drink. No-one did. I must have looked like shit. I walked home around midnight and jumped over the fence into the back courtyard. The lights were off in the kitchen. I couldn’t see anyone, but even from outside I could hear Mum and Dad fighting in the mezzanine. It seemed safe to creep up and slide open the doors. As I tip-toed through the kitchen I could hear Mum and Dad yelling about Vanessa.
The hall was a mess. Clay and broken stuff everywhere. Asha’s bedroom light was on and I could hear her praying. Once in my room, also a filth-pit, I pushed the desk up against the door and sat against it.
BEEP! Shit I should have turned my phone off. Asha would defo hear it – I could hear her praying. She didn’t stop praying. Maybe she hadn’t heard.
It was from the two Rs:
All okay? R and R x
All good, I replied. Home safe and sound
*
There’s clay everywhere, a lot of my clothes are ruined, including and especially my yellow jumpsuit. I’m too scared to have a shower. I’ve decided to go to Spock’s in the morning. Spock’s a bogan, Asha says, but at least he’s not mad as a snake, and anyway Asha can get fucked. I have to get this out first. I am angry. I am livid. I am going as crazy as my sister, who’s only marginally madder than my mother.
Asha’s swaying and praying in her room. Mum and Dad are still arguing in the mezzanine. I have to write to stay sane. I must not leave this room. I must not ask Asha to shut the fuck up and stop ruining everyone’s lives. What’s that now? She’s chanting about Nellie again, omg:
‘Rise, rise, come back to us, come back to us Nellie, we miss you, we need you, we want to watch you dance, we want to hear your giggles.’
And what’s that? She’s growling like she did when Granddad Moloney died. Is that supposed to be tongues? Ha. I’m recording it now. Hang on. So funny. It’s not tongues, it’s Robbie Burns. Moving closer – okay, my phone is against the wall. This is what my big sister is saying next door: ‘…lang mae abidi abidi woo ha brrrr, tela tela tela kithe kithe hai…’ That last bit sounds like Punjabi. Now she’s back to the growl she uses for grief, and now she’s doing a hoo-ha and a woo-ha and a lang mae and a brrr and a sairie sairly sairt lang mae yer lum reek woo ha brrr. Totally Burns. Tongues! It’s good to laugh, but I must do it more quietly.
