I sat up from my bed so fast that I felt dizzy and lay back down, clapping a hand over my eyes. I imagined splintering glass and metal and I shuddered. I glanced at my clock. It was just after three in the morning. I briefly considered going out for a run, but running this early wasn’t fun, even for me. Besides, my ear was still sore from Loretta yelling at me down the phone the night before about not inviting her over with Handsome Ben.
I grabbed my diary off my chest and tucked it carefully into the bottom of my undies drawer. I figured Biddy and Evie would probably snoop through it if I left it anywhere obvious.
I hardly ever got back to sleep once I’d been woken up by a nightmare. Particularly tonight, when I was so confused about Amber and feeling weird about Ben. I went into the kitchen, not turning on any lights until I had wedged shut the hallway door, wishing Loretta could somehow be here, too. That we could drink out of Biddy’s rustic clay mugs and whisper together until we felt sleepy again.
I pulled Mum’s photo down from the shelf and stared at it. We looked alike, Mum and me. We had the same dark eyes. Same flyaway hair that wasn’t quite brown and wasn’t quite red. She was tall, too. We both were. I looked at the photo, trying to find some sort of clue that she’d grow up to be the sort of person who could go two weeks without sleep. Who felt things too deeply and banged her wrists on the edges of tables. Who I always thought of when I encountered smashed windows and coloured scarves. Her hand was clenched in her lap. Did that mean something? Her eyes looked kind of sad, maybe. But it was so tricky to tell.
I cleared my throat and put Mum’s photo face down on the shelf.
I stared at Biddy’s tea shelf. I felt like a hot chocolate, but that always seemed to wake me up rather than make me sleepy. I helped myself to some chamomile tea and started tidying the kitchen. Nobody else seemed to mind when it was messy, but I hated it. I put things gently into the bin and scraped the plates and sorted and stacked them, ready to be washed when it wasn’t so early. I cleared the island bench and was wiping it down with tea-tree oil when the door cracked open. I jumped. Dad’s head poked in and he half smiled then yawned.
‘What’re you doing up, kiddo?’
‘Can’t sleep. You?’
He came in, shutting the door behind him. ‘I just got up for the toilet and saw the light on.’
‘Want something to drink?’ I waved my chamomile at him.
‘No.’
‘I really don’t like chamomile,’ I said. ‘I always think I do, then I make some and nah.’
Dad was staring at his hands. ‘Oh.’
‘Dad, how’d you know you wanted to get into IT?’ I asked.
He looked startled. ‘What?’
‘Like, how’d you realise that was what you wanted to do?’
‘I dunno, Gwen. I just fell into it, I guess.’
I groaned. ‘That’s what every adult says. I just fell into it! It makes it sound so simple and easy and it’s not.’
‘It was a long time ago.’ He sighed. ‘Although, for a while, I think I wanted to be a marine biologist.’
‘A marine biologist?’ I repeated, smiling into my chamomile. ‘Really?’
He reddened. ‘I’d enrolled in the course, too.’
‘I didn’t know that! What happened?’
He huffed. ‘Well, I met your mum. And things were a bit of a whirlwind. You know what your mum was like. Then you came along and I needed something steadier than marine biology.’
‘How’d you meet Mum?’ I asked. My voice shook a little, but if Dad noticed, he didn’t react. It was a story I hadn’t asked to hear since I was very small. All I remembered was water.
‘On the beach,’ he said, smiling slightly to himself. ‘I got caught in a rip between here and Clunes.’
‘Idiot. Bet you were showing off.’
‘’Course I was! And snorkelling. I was trying to snorkel.’
‘You can’t snorkel here!’ I shook my head. ‘I’m ashamed of you.’
He chuckled. ‘Anyway, I got swept out and she dragged me back in. And I was all coughy and embarrassed.’
‘What did Mum do?’
‘Ripped into me about being a stupid show-off. I thought she’d only saved me so she could tear me to bits on the beach.’ He smiled. ‘She was something else, your mum. Something else.’
‘Did you ever try snorkelling off the coast here again?’
Dad was staring at the bench, looking sad. ‘Hmm?’
I tilted my head. ‘Why are you being weird?’
‘I’m not being weird!’
‘Well, what’s wrong?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong!’
‘Dad.’
‘Well, I was already awake, just now. And I heard you . . .’
‘Heard me what?’ Every part of me tightened.
‘You were calling out in your sleep.’ Dad stared down at Evie’s cake tin, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed.
I groaned, forgetting my dream. ‘Was I swearing at Tyrone again? I promise that I don’t do it on purpose! Did I wake Biddy?’
Dad was shaking his head.
I felt a bit sick. ‘Was I calling out for Mum?’ I asked, really quietly. I hadn’t done that in years.
‘No.’ Dad looked so sad. ‘You were calling out for Jamie.’
***
FROM THE DIARY OF GWENDOLYN P. PEARSON
I worry that my memories are disappearing. I must’ve had thousands of memories about Jamie, but now all I can really think of is him holding my hand, smelling of orange icy pole. Jamie, playing his violin. Jamie’s weight curled into me, while he listened to Mum and Dad fight in another room.
They don’t even feel like my memories. It’s like a movie I’ve watched or a book I’ve read. And it makes me feel so tired. Because he should be alive, although I know he can’t be. But at the very least, he should be remembered properly. He deserves to be remembered more than I remember him.
***
I was tired by the time Evie got up, a little after seven. She hurried into the kitchen and checked the cake tin she’d left on the bench last night. She made a bellowing, furious noise and sprang around to face us.
‘Did you eat this?’ she demanded, pointing at Dad and me. ‘Half of it’s gone!’
‘No,’ we both said.
‘Tyrone!’ she yelled, thundering down the hallway into his room.
‘What’s up with her?’ I asked Dad.
‘The cake was meant to be for her to take to school,’ Dad said. ‘Ty must’ve helped himself last night.’
‘He eats everything,’ I grumbled. ‘Drives me crazy.’
We heard Tyrone calling for help and the sound of Evie whacking him. ‘I didn’t know it was yours!’ he called.
Dad nudged me and pointed. There was a sticker on the top of the tin. DO NOT TOUCH. THIS IS EVIE’S AND SHE WILL KILL YOU.
‘He’s so rude,’ I said.
Dad shrugged. ‘He’s just a boy. Boys do that sort of thing.’
I crossed my arms. ‘That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard. I hate it when people say that.’
Dad shrugged once again and I heard Evie hollering from down the hallway. ‘I’m going to kill you, Tyrone Banks!’
***
Later that day, Loretta, Gordon and I sat under the paperbark in the schoolyard. Loretta was madly trying to finish some last-minute homework and Gordon was sketching what he called her der-brain face, where she concentrated so hard her face contorted into a variety of weird shapes.
I was happy just watching them. I was dazed with tiredness. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mum. I was weirded out that I’d been calling for Jamie, who I could barely even remember. And I was still feeling a bit giddy about Ben being over for dinner last night.
‘Stop drawing me,’ Loretta snapped at Gordon, slamming her maths book closed as someone squealed in excitement across the schoolyard. ‘What’s with everyone? They seem more stupid and scatty than usual.’
Gordon sighed. ‘It’s a house-warming party.’
Loretta’s eyebrows disappeared up under her fringe. ‘I’m listening.’
‘At Songbrooke.’
Loretta made a choked noise. ‘Handsome Ben’s throwing a party?’
‘No, Amber’s throwing a party. Apparently.’
‘How do you always know everything? You never even talk to anyone!’
Gordon shrugged, looking smug. ‘I have my sources.’
‘We might get invited,’ Loretta said, not sounding very convinced.
‘No way. Did you see how Amber looked at me the other day? And the shoe thing?’ I shook my head. ‘No way she’s going to invite us.’
Loretta puffed up. ‘What about me, then?’
‘You hang out with me,’ I said.
‘And me,’ Gordon added.
Loretta groaned. ‘But it’s totally Handsome Ben’s party, too. We need to work on him.’
‘Fat chance,’ Gordon said. ‘He’s pretty antisocial, really. Goes straight back to Songbrooke after school. He wouldn’t even kick the footy around with the guys last night.’
‘How do you know the guys were kicking a footy around after school?’ I asked.
‘I was sketching a pelican.’
‘Anyway, that doesn’t make Handsome Ben antisocial, it just makes him sensible.’ Loretta unfolded her legs and stuck them out in front of her. ‘Besides, he ended up at Gwen’s last night, so we have an in.’
Gordon cocked an eyebrow. ‘He did?’
‘Evie literally dragged him up off the beach! I had nothing to do with it.’ I crossed my arms. Poor Ben had probably spent the whole morning telling everyone about my annoying little sister, nosy stepmother and awful, cluttered house.
Gordon shrugged. ‘Well, whatever. I don’t think we should hold our breath over going to this party.’
***
FROM THE DIARY OF GWENDOLYN P. PEARSON
When Evie turned four, we threw a huge party at our house. Biddy’s big family all came as well as people from town and all of Evie’s friends from preschool. We strung up streamers and fairy lights and everyone dressed up in pirate costumes.
And I was happily organising everything in the kitchen. I’d written out a running sheet to make sure there was a constant supply of hot things, fresh from the oven. Sausage rolls and hot dogs and things like that. And everything was going great. And then a little boy ran through the kitchen and for a moment, I thought he was someone else and the dull ache I’d got used to living with suddenly yawned open into a raw chasm.
I nearly dropped the tray I was holding, but managed to put it down on the island bench.
‘Clumsy,’ Tyrone, who was in the kitchen, said, shaking his head.
I ran out the front, onto the beach. And I sat down on the sand and dragged in huge breaths until I felt dizzy. I was trying so hard not to cry.
I heard footsteps and thought it would be Dad, who would sit with me and say nothing, or Biddy, who’d probably bring out her drawing pad and pens with her and ask me to draw my feelings and then show the pages, blank or not, to Mr Blended-family-therapist, who she still made us see every few months.
But it wasn’t Dad or Biddy.
It was Tyrone.
He heaved a big sigh. ‘He looked kind of like Jamie, hey? That kid who ran through the kitchen?’
And then I started crying. And it was the weirdest thing, because I hadn’t cried in so long. I hadn’t cried in years.
‘Evie’s older than he’ll ever be,’ I said. And it sounded so pathetic. I immediately wanted to run, but Tyrone put his arm around me, so I didn’t.
‘I’m sorry, Gwen,’ he said, over and over. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
And he held me until I stopped crying and then we just sat there, listening to the squealing and loud voices carrying down from our house.
‘We don’t have to go back up,’ he said.
I stood up, wiping my eyes. ‘We do though. For Evie. We do.’
***
When I got home, Evie was waiting for me on the verandah with a giant grin on her face, her notebook and a packet of something clasped in her hands.
I stopped and narrowed my eyes. ‘What are you smiling about?’
She held up the packet. I stepped forward and squinted at the label. ‘Laxatives? What are you doing with laxatives? How did you even get laxatives?’
‘We need revenge.’ She bounced up and down on her feet. ‘We’ve got all the stuff to make brownies.’
‘You want to make laxative brownies?’ I asked.
‘Tyrone always just eats whatever’s in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘He ate my cake! I had to take one from the supermarket and everyone teased me about it.’
‘So, you reckon we just make some laxative brownies, leave them out and see if he eats them?’
‘He will,’ Evie said. ‘Even if we put a sign on them. He will.’
I stared at her and she stared back. ‘You’re an evil genius, Evie.’
She grinned and we went inside and made the brownies with a generous serving of laxatives. ‘Okay, what should the sign read?’ she asked. She had a piece of paper and a red texta, and held them out to me.
‘What about “please don’t eat?”’
‘No. That’s stupid.’ She scrunched up her face. ‘What about, “property of Evie and Gwen – eat it and you’ll regret it!”’
‘Yeah, alright.’ I scribbled the note and we put it on top of the brownies.
‘And now we wait,’ said Evie, settling down on the couch.
‘And now we wait,’ I echoed, sitting down next to her.
***
Tyrone still wasn’t home by nine o’clock. Biddy dragged Evie to bed and I went out on the verandah with my phone to talk to Loretta.
‘We have to go,’ Loretta said, picking up. ‘I mean, I’ll gatecrash. So will Gord.’
‘Gord hates parties.’
‘Yeah, but he really wants to see Songbrooke properly. You know what an art geek he is.’ She sighed. ‘What’ve you been doing?’
‘Making laxative brownies with Evie.’
‘Um. Why?’
‘Tyrone keeps eating her food. Stuff she’s made, like cakes and slices. She’s teaching him a lesson.’
‘She’s terrifying.’
‘And I needed to get back at him for the shoes-in-the-tree thing.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You know, sometimes I hate being an only child.’
‘You do?’
‘Yeah, but today’s not one of them.’ She paused. ‘Night, Gwen. I hope you sleep properly.’
‘Me too. Night, Rets.’
She blew a squelchy kiss down the phone to me and I ended the call. I sat out there for a while, though. Waiting for Tyrone to come home and steal the laxative brownies. Listening to the sea. And sort of hoping a certain runner called Ben would appear along the beach, even though it was dark and cold. Just like he had yesterday.