CHAPTER

NINE

Elise brought me my school laptop the next day and I checked my emails. Dozens and dozens of them, all boring.

Except one.

janebr@blakemcdonaldpublishers.com.au

Dear Caitlyn Carson,

Thank you for your submission of Unicorn Girl

through our Book Pitch Program. I would much

appreciate it if you would send through the complete

manuscript for our consideration. Please understand

that it takes on average about three months for

an appraisal, so do not become discouraged when

you do not hear from us immediately. Please also

understand that this request for the entire manuscript

does not mean an offer of publication.

We look forward to reading your work and will be in contact in due course.

Best wishes,

Jane Brown

Commissioning Editor

Blake McDonald Publishing House

‘Oh my God,’ said Elise. ‘You’re gonna be the next JK Rowling. Will you still love me when you’re famous?’

‘Shut up, Elise,’ I said. ‘I don’t love you now.’

‘Yeah, you do.’

She said other things but, to be honest, I was too excited to pay much attention. They wanted the complete manuscript! Yes, okay. That didn’t mean they were going to publish it. They made that point very clear in the email. But they also didn’t say they weren’t going to publish it. I was entitled to some excitement.

‘This email is dated nearly two weeks ago, Elise,’ I said. ‘You don’t think they’ll have just given up? I mean, if I can’t be bothered to send it, why should they bother …’

‘Oh, now you shut up, CC. Just send it to them. Explain you’ve been knocking on death’s door and that kept you kinda busy because you were waiting for death to answer.’

Luckily I kept a copy of the book on my school laptop, so I attached it to my reply.

caitlyncarson@brineleessc.vic.edu.au

Dear Jane,

Please find attached the complete manuscript of Unicorn Girl. I apologise for the delay in replying to your email, but I have recently been in hospital following an accident. I hope you enjoy my story and look forward to hearing from you in due course.

Best wishes,

Caitlyn Carson

PS: You might be interested to know that I recently came second in the Victorian Premier’s Short Story Competition. I got this news recently, so wasn’t able to put it into my original BPP application.

‘You don’t think I sound too up myself with that PS, do you, El?’

‘It’s a business, CC,’ said Elise. ‘You’d be a bozo not to mention it.’

I read the email over about ten times, thought about changing some phrases, did so, then changed them back again. Eventually, Elise leaned over and clicked SEND.

‘This Jane Brown’ll be dead by the time you finish pissing about with that email,’ she pointed out.

I let out a huge sigh. She was right. I worry too much about stuff like that.

I got a reply almost immediately.

janebr@blakemcdonaldpublishers.com.au

Dear Caitlyn,

Sorry to hear about your hospitalisation. I hope you are fully recovered. Thank you for the ms and congratulations on your success in the Premier’s Short Story Competition.

Best,

Jane

‘She called you Caitlyn and not Caitlyn Carson and she signed it with “Best”, not “Best wishes”,’ said Elise. ‘You’re like close friends already. Hey, can I tag along with you on your international book-signing tour?’

‘Shut up, Elise,’ I said.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s watch Beethoven’s 2^nd on your laptop. Then I’ll shut up.’

‘Shut up, Elise,’ I said.

I was able to visit Dad every day, but they told me I couldn’t stay for more than ten minutes.

‘He knows you’re here, love,’ said one of the nurses when I asked why. Dad was still in an induced coma and he’d never once shown signs of waking up. I didn’t understand why my being there could hurt him. ‘We’ve got him on all kinds of drugs, but he’s aware of some things. I don’t know. It’s a bit of a mystery, but I’ve seen it loads of times. See the way his eyes are flickering slightly under his lids? He senses your presence and he wants to wake up. That’s why you can’t stay long. He really needs his rest.’

So I stayed for ten minutes and held his hand and watched for when his eyes started twitching under his lids. As soon as that happened I kissed his cheek and went back to my room. Mum visited me (and Dad) all the time. Sometimes she had Sam with her, sometimes she came alone. We didn’t talk about our argument, but I could tell by her eyes that she hadn’t forgotten and probably hadn’t forgiven. We would be talking about it again. But not now.

I was learning to read both my parents’ eyes.

Finally, they let me leave. I’d been in hospital for four weeks and I was getting seriously claustrophobic. Sure, for the last week I was able to walk around the place, even visit the cafeteria for a while, though all of that tended to wear me out and I was often glad to get back to my bed, nursing a small pain in the leg that had been broken. But I was so relieved when the doctor finally gave me permission to be discharged. She told me I would have to come back twice a week for the physiotherapist to check on my progress and make sure I was still doing my exercises. That seemed a small price to pay.

My ribs sometimes hurt like hell. Apparently, they’d healed well. Normally it’s six to eight weeks or even longer before they’re back to normal, but youth was on my side. The doctor warned me I would still be uncomfortable for a while yet. My broken leg was coming along fine, though it would be at least another four months before it completely healed. Nonetheless, I could’ve walked down to the car park, but that apparently wasn’t allowed, so a nurse pushed me in a wheelchair to the front doors and wished me luck.

I had the window open for the entire drive home as I listened to Mum chattering on about work and how understanding the school had been while I was in hospital. I put my head slightly out of the window and let the cool air blow hair from my face. At least I did until Mum told me to stop. I think she had visions of my head colliding with a pole or something. I suspect having your daughter nearly die makes you slightly over-protective. So I just watched as the roads and buildings slid by and felt happy. Happy for that air on my face, the clouds scudding overhead, the words in my ears and the faint steady beating of my heart. A few moments of madness had nearly taken all that away. Yes, my father was in an induced coma, but I felt grateful for the simple fact he was still alive.

I wasn’t allowed to stay over at Elise’s. When I asked, Mum nearly had a panic attack. But my friend was allowed to stay over at my house, which was cool. We watched movies and she filled me in on all the gossip at school, of which there was plenty. She also confided that while I had been in the hospital, she’d got herself a boyfriend.

‘Oh my God,’ I said. ‘Who is it?’

‘Liam,’ she said. ‘Liam Cooper.’

I knew Liam Cooper. He was in the year above us and obviously fancied himself as really good looking. In a few years he’d doubtless sport a man bun and long sideburns and be the founder member of his own fan club. He was kind of revolting in an attractive way.

‘How did you manage to get Liam Cooper as your boyfriend?’

‘Oh, he doesn’t know he’s my boyfriend,’ said Elise. ‘Yet.’ She scrolled through her phone for a while. ‘I might tell him in a day or so. I think he probably needs to know.’

‘But …’

‘If you’re going to piss off to the other side of the world, then I reckon I deserve a boyfriend. I’ve decided on Liam.’

‘I can’t see me going,’ I said. ‘And I can’t even think about it with Dad the way he is.’

‘Good,’ said Elise. ‘Music to my ears. If you stay I’ll probably dump Liam as my boyfriend so I can focus on you.’

‘That is weird.’

‘It’ll break his heart, but what can you do?’

‘You’re a mess,’ I said.

‘Takes one to know one, CC,’ said El.

Mum and I went in the day they brought Dad out of his induced coma. I hadn’t even known they were going to do it, but found out later that they kept the information from me in case he wasn’t … okay when he regained consciousness. According to his doctor, the intracranial pressure had come down to almost normal levels, so they had withdrawn the cocktail of barbiturates and brought him back slowly into the world. He had been confused at first, the specialist told us in his office, but was improving with every minute that passed. He had some memories of the accident, but they were incomplete. At the moment there was no sign of brain damage, but that could only be properly assessed over time. We were to spend no more than fifteen minutes with him today – less if he became agitated or overly emotional.

We tried not to cry when we went into his room, but it was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever attempted. Now that he was out of the bandages he looked … wrecked. It was like someone had jumped him in a dark alley and beaten the living daylights out of him. His eyes were sunken, with huge bags under them, and there were lines on his face I swear weren’t there before. He had aged fifteen years in a few weeks. He gave a small smile when he saw us, but even that appeared to exhaust him.

‘Hi,’ he said in a voice barely more than a whisper.

‘Dad,’ I said.

‘There’s not a lot that gets past …’ but he coughed before he could finish and that exhausted him even more.

We spent just five minutes with him that first day and we didn’t say very much. Dad just stared at me with those sunken eyes and I held his hand. When his eyes closed and his breathing settled into a rhythm, Mum and I left.

It was only when we were in the corridor that we cried. That was messy as well. All my recent crying had been messy.

Sam made spaghetti bolognese with his home-made garlic bread. He did a vego version for Mum. It was delicious, but even as we were eating I knew that something momentous had appeared on our mental horizons. The realisation made me scared. At least I didn’t have to wait long.

‘Sam is flying to England in a week’s time,’ said Mum. ‘The company were putting pressure on and … well, he’s made his decision. It’s too good an opportunity to miss.’

‘Oh,’ I said. There were other questions, of course, other factors, but we’d get around to those. ‘Congratulations,’ I added.

‘I’m staying here, of course,’ Mum continued. ‘You are in no fit state to travel that kind of distance, so that’s a no-brainer. Plus, we couldn’t possibly leave until both you and your father have made further progress with your recoveries.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘But you should know, Caitlyn, that I intend to join Sam in England as soon as humanly possible and that you will be coming with me.’

I hung my head. The spaghetti was no longer delicious. The garlic bread was a pale lump on my plate. I swallowed a couple of times.

What could I say? I could argue. I could ask how we had come from a position of talking about moving, with me apparently having some say in the matter – you know, a semblance of control over my own destiny – to a point where everything was decided, without me having said a word. My father was going to be left in Australia, sick and heartbroken, maybe never to recover fully. He’d have no say in the matter either. Mum was going to rip up my life, tear me away from my friends and my father because she was in love with someone who had nothing to do with me. Nothing. I hadn’t chosen him. He was all right, but I hadn’t chosen him. But now I was tied to him because of my mother’s infatuation. Tethered to the extent that when he went to the other side of the world, we were both dragged after him. Like possessions, another couple of pieces of baggage that had to be checked through customs. I could have said that maybe Dad would have some legal ways to fight this. That I might have some legal ways to fight this. It was unfair to hit me with this so soon after such a terrible accident. I was hurting and now she was making me hurt more.

But I didn’t say anything. I excused myself and said I was going to bed. And that’s what I did, after throwing up some spaghetti bolognese into the toilet. But I didn’t sleep. I didn’t cry either.

Maybe tears had deserted me as well. That was good. I was sick to death of crying.

Sam talked to me the next day. Mum had gone to school and he had put in his notice at the advertising agency in the centre of Melbourne. They’d told him not to bother coming in again. Advertising has its eyes on the long term, it seems, so there was no point in Sam getting involved in projects he wouldn’t be seeing through. He cooked me a big breakfast, but I knew I wouldn’t eat much of it.

‘I’m sorry about all this, Caitlyn,’ he said after I’d pushed scrambled eggs around my plate for a while. ‘I really am.’

Now here’s a strange thing. I wasn’t angry at Sam, I was angry at Mum. I mean, he was the one who was responsible for all this. If he didn’t exist we wouldn’t even be thinking about England. But all this was about Mum’s choices, not his. Anyway, I like Sam. I always have.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s not your fault.’

He sat opposite me at the dining table.

‘That’s good of you to say,’ he said. ‘But it certainly feels like my fault. It’s my job in England. My acceptance. My decision to move. You must feel like you have no control. That’s why I’m sorry.’

I pushed my eggs around some more. He’d summarised beautifully what I felt, so there didn’t seem much point in adding anything. My silence would be eloquence enough.

‘But there are things you should know, Cate.’ He tapped his fingers on the tabletop, kept his head down. ‘Your mother made it sound like it’s her decision and her decision only. But that’s not true. Your father would have to give his permission for you to move to England. Did you know that?’

‘I suspected it.’

‘Well, you’re right. It’s against the law for your mother to take you out of Australia permanently if your father hasn’t agreed. Will he agree, do you think?’

I gave this some thought. On the one hand, I knew that Dad lived for my visits. Yeah, he said that he had a social life, that when I wasn’t seeing him he led a normal existence, even going on dates. (I didn’t want to think too carefully about how those dates were set up. Was his picture up on some sad dating app? I shuddered and tried to banish the image.) I had no reason to disbelieve him. But when we were together, I was the centre of his world. He’d made that clear and I had no reason to disbelieve that either. From the end of school on Friday right through to the time when he dropped me off at home on the Sunday evening, it was just the two of us. No one else existed. No one.

So, he’d do anything to keep me close. But I knew he also had my best interests at heart. How would he view me living on the other side of the world from an objective point of view? I had some evidence of his thoughts from that dinner conversation with Mum. I would have a wonderful time in England. New opportunities would arise. I could become a more rounded person through the experience. Would he agree to let me go because, although he loved me, he would feel obliged to set me free? Because he loved me, would he be obliged to set me free? In short, would he sacrifice his own happiness if he felt it was for my benefit? Oh, yeah. In a heartbeat. But he also would want to know how I felt. He wouldn’t assume that my happiness was something that could happen against my wishes. God, this was all too confusing …

‘I don’t know,’ I said finally. ‘Maybe.’

Good work, Caitlyn, I thought. You have a mind like a steel trap.

‘If he doesn’t,’ said Sam, ‘then your mother will probably apply to court to get a judgement allowing her to take you out of the country.’

I gave up on the eggs. They just weren’t worth it, so I pushed my plate away.

‘That court,’ Sam continued, ‘will decide what’s going to happen based on what is in your best interests. Not your mum’s, not your dad’s. But arguments will be presented, for and against, probably by lawyers. A judgement will be made taking into account a number of factors, one of which will be the histories of both parents.’ He took my plate, scraped the leftovers into a bin and stacked the dishwasher. It took a few moments for the penny to drop.

Dad had put me into the well of a car. He hadn’t made sure I was wearing a seatbelt. In fact he’d made sure I couldn’t be wearing a seatbelt. And why? For a game. No matter how you argued it, Dad couldn’t be presented as a responsible carer. Mum hadn’t ever put me in danger. Dad had nearly got me killed. It was a weapon Mum would use. Of course she would. I didn’t know how Dad could defend himself against that. Maybe he wouldn’t want to. I had a sudden image of a judge in a powdered wig, listening to the account of the accident and gazing at Dad, his hand already closing on the gavel to give judgement.

‘The reason I mention all this,’ said Sam as he closed the dishwasher door, ‘is to give you and your father time to think. And maybe prepare for everything that might happen.’

I got up from my seat and gave him a hug. He seemed surprised and for a few moments he didn’t put his arms around me and return it. Then he did and I was glad, even though a small flame in my ribs flared briefly. It was the first time we’d hugged. Ever.

‘You are a nice person, Sam,’ I said as we broke apart. ‘And my mother is lucky to have you.’

He laughed. ‘Try telling her that. It seems you don’t blame me for England, but sometimes I think she does.’ Then his eyes changed, like he’d thought about what he’d just said and decided it was a mistake, that maybe he’d been disloyal to her. ‘That was just a joke,’ he added.

‘You really love her, don’t you?’ I said.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘Very much. And, if I’m being honest, more than anything else I want the three of us to be starting a new life together in the UK, as a family. There. I’ve said it.’

I went back to school four days later. There was only a week until the school holidays, so it was decided I would have time to recover then and a week shouldn’t make me too tired. Plus, I was falling behind with my work and although the teachers would give me whatever time I needed to catch up, I wanted to get back into things. And I missed people. Especially Elise.

We sat together at lunchtime, as always.

‘Update time,’ I said. ‘Two things. How’s it going with Liam and how’s the war zone we call home?’

‘Ah, Liam,’ she said. ‘That poor guy. He’s got it so bad. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone so head over heels in love.’

‘With himself?’ He’d always given me that impression.

‘Ha ha. No. With me, of course. It’s pathetic, really, the way he behaves around me, all puppy dog and pining away. Bit sad, to tell the truth.’

I took a bite of an egg sandwich. Why do they put a small amount of egg and a couple of cos lettuces between two slices of white bread? They should call it a lettuce with trace amounts of egg sandwich.

‘Evidence please, Elise,’ I said.

‘Yesterday … you won’t believe this. I was watching him play basketball …’

‘I can believe that.’

‘… and he was running up and down and not once, not once, did he even glance in my direction. I mean, that’s freaking embarrassing. You know, if I look over, then I will probably faint cos that Elise Carmichael’s so gorgeous, so I’d better pretend to be right into the basketball.’

‘So he didn’t look at you?’

Elise laughed. ‘I know. It was so obvious it was hilarious. When they stopped playing, he even walked right past me like I was invisible.’

I whistled. ‘He does have it bad, doesn’t he?’

‘I have him wound round my little finger,’ said Elise.

‘It’s good to know your love life is thriving,’ I said. ‘What about the home front?’

Elise picked up the other half of my lettuce sandwich, opened up the slices of bread and picked out the green stuff, dropping leaves onto the ground. Then she reconstituted the sandwich and took a bite. I glanced down at the pile of lettuce on the concrete. So did Elise.

‘Biodegradable,’ she said. Then she sighed, picked up the mess and put it back into the plastic case that had housed the sandwich. ‘They’ve started splitting things up,’ she continued. ‘If it wasn’t so crap it would be funny. They were going through ornaments, for Christ’s sake, deciding who was going to get what. I mean, there’s stuff there the Salvos would throw out because it’s so … shit.’ She finished the sandwich and wiped crumbs from her mouth. I hoped she’d enjoyed half of my sandwich. I’d been looking forward to eating it myself. ‘And they were arguing over this freaking vase. I mean, it’s shit. Neither of them want it, they just don’t want the other one to have it. So I picked it up, took it outside and smashed it on the floor.’

‘How did that go down?’

‘Very funny, CC. “How did that go down?” Yeah, anyway, I went back in and said, “There you go. Problem solved. Don’t thank me.” Then I went to my room and stayed there for the rest of the evening.’

‘I’m so sorry, El.’

‘Not your fault, CC, unless I missed a meeting.’

There were the tears again, catching glints from the sun, but not finding their way to her cheeks. She swallowed.

‘Thank God you’ve got Liam, is all I can say.’ I had to say something.

El gave a weak smile.

‘I might have to dump him,’ she said. ‘He’s getting way too needy.’