The class gave us a round of applause when we entered the classroom the following Monday. This time I didn’t feel embarrassed at being the centre of attention. I even gave a small bow before sitting down next to Charlotte.
‘Welcome back,’ said Mr Meredith. ‘We’ve missed you, Ashleigh and Aiden Delatour, and we’re thrilled you have returned to the fold. If you see me at recess, I will let you know the work you’ve missed. Now.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Time, class, to learn about the Great European Famine of Thirty-Two. Please make notes on your tablets and pay attention …’
Charlotte’s father picked us up after school. Dad came for Aiden and, as arranged, handed over a small case with pyjamas and toiletries in it for me. I was excited about having a sleepover at Charlotte’s house – I mean, home was great, but occasionally I longed for something different. I wondered if that was why I’d been thinking about Xena recently.
Charlotte’s dad was small and full of nervous energy. He shook my hand as he introduced himself, but couldn’t maintain eye contact for more than a second. His gaze flitted everywhere, as if he was afraid of missing something or someone more important. His hand was slightly clammy and when he let go of mine, I wiped it on the back of my dress.
We hadn’t been driving for more than a minute when he gave Charlotte the news.
‘I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone the visit to the riding club,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Something’s come up.’
‘Oh, Dad!’ said Charlotte. ‘You promised.’
‘I know. I know.’ His fingers tapped on the steering wheel. ‘One of my men rang in sick and we have a function this afternoon. An important function. I’ve got to go in his place.’
‘But …’
‘Charlotte, we cannot afford …’ His voice was firm and he glanced at us in the rear-view mirror. When he spoke again his tone was calmer. ‘We’ll talk about this later. Okay? I meant what I said. The contacts there could be very useful. And I promise we will go at some time. Just not tonight.’ His eyes skidded over mine for a moment. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Ashleigh.’
‘Not a problem,’ I replied. ‘I’m just happy to hang out with Charlotte.’ It was true, but I’m not sure he believed me because he promised I’d be invited to the reorganised trip. Charlotte squeezed my hand as if sympathising with my disappointment. I didn’t tell her it was non-existent.
The journey to Charlotte’s house took a little over twenty minutes, through an area of Sydney I hadn’t seen before. Some of it was fire-ravaged, swathes of houses and parklands charred and bleak in the afternoon sun. It was depressing and I was glad when the housing estate appeared, as if offering refuge, in the distance. Charlotte’s father pressed a button on the dashboard of the car and a gate in the estate’s wall opened up as we approached, then closed behind us.
The estate itself was neat, ordered and obviously well-maintained. Front gardens were nicely manicured and a few people walked the streets. They waved at the car as we passed. Charlotte’s house was somewhere near the middle of the estate and it was much bigger than other houses we’d passed. It was also different in that it was fenced in its own grounds. Once again, Charlotte’s father pressed a button and part of the fencing slid back to let the car in.
‘Welcome to my home,’ said Charlotte.
‘It’s great,’ I said. It was detached and had clearly been extended. I thought I could see a glass conservatory to one side of the building, but it became lost to view as we drove up to the front door. The car doors swung open and Charlotte and I got out.
‘I’ll be back for dinner,’ said Charlotte’s father through the driver’s window. ‘Eight o’clock sharp, Charlotte.’
‘Okay.’
‘And remember what I said about making up for lost time. You hear me?’
‘Sure, Dad,’ Charlotte called back.
And the car drove back the way we’d come.
‘Your father works a lot?’ I asked.
Charlotte’s mouth twisted. ‘A lot? No. He works all the time. All the time. Even when he’s home he’s working. He works in his sleep.’
I laughed, but Charlotte didn’t even smile.
Her bedroom was small, but nicely decorated. A queen-sized bed faced the lone window and there was a couch against one wall. Charlotte had already warned me we’d be sharing the bed and I was cool with that. Provided she didn’t fart.
Most of the room was obviously dedicated to study. A huge desk took up the longest wall and on it were writing materials and a handful of old books, as well as a standalone tablet built into the wall. Above the tablet was a huge sign.
Winners embrace hard work. Losers see it as punishment. And that’s the difference. Underneath the words was the name Lou Holtz.
‘Who’s he?’ I asked Charlotte.
‘A twentieth-century sporting icon. He specialised in motivational quotes.’
I tried to look impressed, but I’m not sure I succeeded.
‘I really like your room,’ I said. And I did, too. Mine was about three times the size and my bed was much bigger as well, but her room was … cosy.
I lay down on the bed and Charlotte took the couch. I put my hands behind my head and examined another sign on the ceiling above me. The best way to predict your future is to create it. That, apparently, was by someone called Abraham Lincoln. What was it with signs in this household? I thought about asking Charlotte, but then decided to give it a pass.
‘I’m a bit worried about Aiden,’ I said.
‘Why?’
I explained how Aiden had been acting strange recently. That he spent more time on his own and much of that time he was staring into space. Thinking, apparently. I gave her a quick rundown of the strange conversation we’d had in his bedroom the night Charlotte stayed over. What I didn’t say was that I was concerned his focus no longer seemed to be exclusively on me, but rather in the private world of his own mind. True, I’d often complained that he was too attentive. Now I was bothered that he wasn’t attentive enough. Maybe I should do some of my own thinking, take a long, hard look at myself in the process.
‘Puberty,’ said Charlotte when I was done.
‘What?’
‘Puberty,’ she said again. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know what puberty means, Ashleigh.’
Of course I knew what puberty meant. It was just that I’d never thought of applying it to me or anyone else. Maybe I’d just assumed Aiden and I would stay kids forever.
‘It’s the start of the process whereby both girls and boys prepare for parenthood, turning from kids to adults …’
‘Yeah, Charlotte, I know …’ But I might as well have been trying to stop a runaway truck with an outstretched hand.
‘It all starts with gonadotropin-releasing hormones, which the hypothalamus secretes at the start of puberty. When that GnRH hits the pituitary gland, a pea-sized organ in the brain, then – bang – the chain reaction starts.’
‘Yes …’
‘Two more hormones are released in both males and females – luteinising hormone and follicle-stimulating hormone and these go to work on the body. In a boy they go to the testes …’
‘Please, Charlotte …’
‘… where they produce testosterone. In girls, however, they target the ovaries and produce oestrogen. Of course, all of this produces some dramatic changes in the bodies of both sexes.’
‘How do you know all this stuff, Charlotte? You’re like a walking textbook.’ I wasn’t going to stop her by conventional means, so I thought I’d appeal to her vanity. It worked.
‘I study,’ said Charlotte. She pointed to the sign above my head. ‘That’s the only way to create my future.’
‘Right,’ I said. I thought that maybe other things were more vital. Food and drink, for example. Breathing. But I decided to keep those thoughts to myself. ‘So you reckon these hormones are messing with Aiden’s head? That he’s started puberty?’
‘That’s my diagnosis,’ said Charlotte with what seemed like considerable satisfaction. ‘Hormones play havoc with emotions as well as bodily functions. We could get moody or depressed, become entirely unpredictable. Often parents think their kid has turned into some kind of monster …’
I zoned out then. Aiden had started puberty? It made sense, though happening pretty much bang on our thirteenth birthday seemed a coincidence. I thought about my own feelings, did a mental check of my body, but I couldn’t really detect any changes. Maybe my – what had Charlotte called it? GBH or some acronym? Maybe that hormone was on its way to my bits and I’d wake up tomorrow all hairy and grumpy. It was a disturbing thought.
Charlotte’s father didn’t turn up to dinner. In fact, I didn’t see him until the following morning when he drove us to school. So that evening, at eight o’clock sharp, we ate a limp salad with obviously fake chicken slices by ourselves. Her mother didn’t join us either. She put the food out on plates in front of us, smiled at me nervously and then bustled off somewhere. I was beginning to realise that in Charlotte’s household everyone was busy all the time. Maybe Charlotte’s comment about her dad wasn’t a joke. Maybe they did all work in their sleep.
I brought up the subject later that night when we were lying in bed, waiting for sleep but trying to put it off at the same time. I hadn’t heard the car come back and Charlotte’s bedroom was just above the front door.
‘What’s your dad’s job, Charlotte?’
‘He’s a security manager,’ she replied. ‘This community. Most of the families here work for Dad. That’s why we’ve got the nicest house in the place. He employs hundreds of people, some who are responsible for keeping this community safe, but others who are hired out for special functions.’ She yawned and I couldn’t blame her. The conversation was a bit boring. ‘That’s where he must be now. I don’t know. I don’t ask much about his work.’
‘Does this community need to be kept safe?’
Charlotte rolled onto her side, put her cheek on her hand and regarded me as if I’d lost my mind.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘That’s why there’s a wall around the perimeter. To keep us in and others out. It’s one of the reasons our house is the most secure here. The closer you live to the wall, the more chance there is of being attacked by anyone getting over or through it. That’s why it’s guarded twenty-four seven. Come on, Ash. You must know something about security. What protections are in place at your house?’
I shrugged. Aiden had had plenty to say on the subject, but it wasn’t something I’d paid any attention to. It wasn’t something I’d needed to pay attention to.
‘My dad might have been the one who installed whatever security you have. He’s an expert in this sort of stuff. But whatever you have, it must be pretty sophisticated. The fact there’s no wall around your house tells me that.’
Now I yawned. I could feel sleep sneaking up on me. Before it could claim me, one small niggle at the back of my mind demanded attention.
‘Charlotte?’
‘Hmmm?’ Sleep was stalking her as well.
‘Your dad said something about you making up lost time. When he dropped us off. What did he mean? Just tell me if it’s none of my business …’
‘Oh that. That’s about the time I’m spending with you, Ash.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This is time I could spend studying. I should spend studying. So Mum and Dad made me agree that I would make up the time wasted today by studying extra for the rest of the week.’
I gave that some thought. Wasted time? I didn’t understand. How could relaxation with a friend be wasted time?
‘I have a schedule for studying,’ she continued. ‘A certain number of hours per week. If I don’t do any tonight, I’ll have to make it up later, even if I have to work through the night. It’s non-negotiable.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You’re rich, Ashleigh Delatour. Your mother and father will provide for you for the rest of your life. But most of us can’t bank on that. Mum and Dad work twenty-four seven, but that barely covers the cost of this place and educational fees. They sacrifice a huge amount just to keep me at school, even though I won a scholarship that pays three-quarters of the fees. The least I can do is work as hard as I can to provide for the future. One day I will be as rich and as powerful as your mother. Because, as the sign says, I’ll create my future. No one else will.’
I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing. After a few minutes I heard Charlotte’s breathing fall into the rhythm of sleep. I tried to follow suit, but there were so many thoughts going around in my head. I’d assumed so much. I’d assumed Charlotte was naturally smart and possessed of a brilliant memory. It hadn’t occurred to me that maybe she was forced to spend countless hours alone in this room just to give that impression. I’d assumed her parents were wealthy – not as wealthy as mine, naturally – but wealthy all the same. How else could they have afforded to send her on that ill-fated camp? I realised I had no proper understanding of how the world operated. Maybe Aiden was right. Maybe the Delatour family was determined to keep the ugly world at a distance so we couldn’t be offended by it.
I eventually fell asleep, but my dreams were fractured and restless.
I was woken by a siren in the middle of the night. It made me jolt upright in bed, my heart hammering. Charlotte barely stirred. Her eyes flickered open and she put a hand on my arm.
‘It’s okay,’ she mumbled. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘What is it?’
‘Just an alarm from the wall. Happens all the time. Dad and his men will sort it. Go back to sleep.’
But I couldn’t. Even when the noise stopped, about half an hour later, I couldn’t. I stared at the dark space above the bed, listened to the silence and waited until morning slowly bathed the room in light.
Charlotte’s theory about puberty explaining Aiden’s mood swings and strange behaviour had stayed with me. I tried to tackle him about it the following day, after dinner (it featured chips – Mum was away on yet another conference).
‘Do you feel all grumpy, Aiden? Maybe a bit depressed? Feeling like you aren’t in control of your own body?’
‘Your face is all grumpy,’ he said. And smiled. This was something we’d seen in an old movie. This character kept saying ‘your face’ when replying to a question. It was really stupid and childish and we’d stopped doing it ourselves a year or so ago. We’d just forgotten about it. I was amazed – and curiously pleased – that it seemed to have made a reappearance.
‘I’m serious,’ I said.
‘Your face is serious,’ said Aiden. ‘And your face is depressed.’
‘It is now I’m talking to you.’
‘Ha, ha, good one, Ash-face.’
‘Your face is an ash-face,’ I said and we both cracked up laughing at that.
So he never did confirm Charlotte’s diagnosis, but the fact that he was in such a good and talkative mood seemed to indicate she was on the right track. He’d been so intense the night before last. Scarily so. I could almost hear those hormones racing through his body.
I felt both of us were in for a tough time of it for the next couple of years.
Turns out I didn’t know the half of it.
I heard Mum and Dad arguing on their video-call later that evening. Aiden and I had gone to the pool, but I’d got out to use the bathroom and it was as I was going back that I heard Dad’s voice in the kitchen. I don’t know why I stopped. I wouldn’t normally listen in to my parents’ conversation – mainly because it would be really boring – but for some reason, maybe the tone in Dad’s voice, I stopped by the door and peeked in. He had his back to me and he was staring down at the tablet in his hand. I took a step or two to one side. I didn’t want Mum to see me appear in the corner of her screen.
‘I understand why you have to be away so often, Chrissie. I do,’ said Dad. ‘The work you do is incredibly important and you know I’ve always been totally supportive …’
‘So what’s changed now?’ Mum’s voice was a bit tinny and there was a slight echo to it, but she was in New Delhi, so the reception probably wasn’t as good as normal.
‘Nothing’s changed. It’s just that Ashleigh’s getting older, becoming more independent and I think I really need to take a look at my life, what I’ve achieved or what I could achieve, before it’s too late.’
‘You’ve always been happy to stay at home …’
‘Yeah, I’ve loved it. Seriously loved it. But when you get old, Chrissie, you’ll be able to look back on a life that’s accomplished so much, done so much good in the world, whereas I … well, I’m not saying being a stay-at-home dad isn’t valuable. I know it is. But I’m not sure I’m needed anymore. Maybe it’s time to … I don’t know, do something.’
‘Is this a mid-life crisis, Gareth?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake …’ Dad put a hand to his head and the tablet to his chest. He took a deep breath and lifted the device up once more. ‘All I’m saying is that when the kids are at school I could do something that, in only a small way, maybe, would help. I dunno. Maybe volunteer work at the food kitchens for the poor, that kind of thing. Help out with renewal of vegetation. Or give free classes on vegetable production to those in need. And, if all that goes well, maybe doing something like that full-time. We could employ a nanny or something, give work to a person who probably desperately needs it. God knows we’ve got the money to do it.’
There was silence at Mum’s end for a few seconds.
‘Let’s talk about this when I get home, Gareth,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you were unhappy with your life and of course you should do something if you feel it has no meaning. Gotta go. Talk later. Bye.’
‘I’m not saying my life has no meaning, Chrissie …’ But she was gone. Dad stared at the screen for a moment or two and then put his tablet down on the kitchen table. He put it down with more force that I thought was strictly necessary. I suddenly realised that if he turned now, he’d catch me eavesdropping, so I tiptoed past the door and back to the pool room.
I could only hope that he didn’t notice the puddle of water I’d left outside the door or, if he did, that he wouldn’t put two and two together.
I got to have Zorro in my bed that night. It was the first time he’d slept with me.
I plumped up a pillow for him and he lay there, staring at me as I tickled him behind the ear. But after about twenty minutes he jumped off the bed and padded over to the closed door, where he sat and whined.
‘What is it, Z?’ I asked. ‘Can’t be needing a wee, because you don’t do wees, do you?’ Maybe I’d ask Mum if she could program that into him. It would make him even more realistic and I’d be happy to clean up any mistakes he might do around the house.
The dog kept whining, so eventually I got up and opened my door. He immediately trotted down the corridor and squeezed into Aiden’s bedroom. A few moments later, the door closed.
I felt like crying. And I also felt that somehow it was my own fault. The dog was learning things very quickly, and obviously Aiden had been teaching him loyalty. Not loyalty to us, but loyalty to Aiden. I found it hard to believe that he had left his bedroom door open out of carelessness. I’d been nice, letting Aiden have Z in his room all the time. Now I felt my generosity had been used against me. The trouble was, I didn’t know what to do about it. I couldn’t get resentful at the person who’d saved my life. That would make me a total bitch. So I went back to my bedroom, picked up my book and tried to pretend I wasn’t hurting.
I’d only been thirteen a few days, but in that time, my brother was getting weird, probably because of hormones that were almost certainly heading my way, my mum was halfway round the planet, my dad was unhappy looking after us, maybe resenting us, and my dog didn’t like me. Okay, maybe he did like me, but not nearly as much as he liked Aiden. And my best friend was a know-it-all who tried to make me feel stupid. Who did make me feel stupid.
It was self-pity. I knew that. But sometimes a bit of self-pity can be just what you need. So I sobbed myself to sleep at the injustice of how the world treated Ashleigh Delatour and in the morning I felt loads better.