Lou was still grounded. After another awkward dinner – her dad had come home early so they could all eat a meal together (something Ross had obviously suggested) and had tried to engage Lou in conversation – she had escaped to her room. Her dad had forgotten to take her phone back off her tonight; she’d been allowed to take it when she walked Sandy in case of an emergency, so it was still in the pocket of her running pants. She’d tried calling Theo when she was out, but he hadn’t answered. He must be at swimming practice; he represented the state. She’d left a message, and texted him, hoping he might check his phone in between laps or something, but he hadn’t called back yet.
Lou sat on her bed. Her laptop was on the dining table; she was only allowed to use it where her parents could see what she was doing. Her iPad was somewhere in their room, confiscated until she could ‘earn’ it back, though they hadn’t told her the currency. She made sure that her mobile was on silent, texted Theo again, then checked her emails and Facebook updates to try to work out what he’d been doing. Her parents didn’t understand how important it was that she contact him: Theo loved her but if she couldn’t see him or talk to him, he’d find someone else. There were plenty of other girls from her school waiting to pounce on him.
Her parents were bickering downstairs. She turned on the radio; surely they couldn’t complain about that? They probably wouldn’t notice anyway. They were making a show, now, of being interested in her, but when had they ever noticed what she did? All they’d ever done was hover over her, trying to force themselves into every aspect of her life without ever really listening to her. If, as they’d said to Ross, they’d been worried about her for a year, why hadn’t they said anything twelve months ago, when it might have made a difference? Why hadn’t her dad come home early for dinner then? She knew why, because this whole year her mum and dad had been arguing behind their bedroom door and pretending to Lou that they were fine, when she knew that something was very wrong with her parents’ relationship.
They were shouting now. Maybe they’d heard the radio after all and assumed that she couldn’t hear them, that she was oblivious to their shitty marriage. As if. Lou bit the inside of her cheek, then turned up the volume, but she could still hear them. She stood up, opened her door, then slammed it shut. They stopped yelling, though she could still make out the sharp whispers that they spat at each other like shards of glass. Lou’s eyes filled with tears. Didn’t they get it? How could they expect her to be perfect if they couldn’t hold themselves together? She sat on her bed and squeezed her fists and her eyes tight. This was why she did it, why right now all she wanted to do was to go out and get pissed or smoke a joint or take a pill or get a razorblade and cut her arms. Because anything felt better than being here, listening to them.
She opened her schoolbag and emptied it onto the floor, not caring if her books were damaged as they thudded to the ground, then found the novel she was meant to be reading for English. She lay on her bed and flicked through the pages, trying to work out where she was up to. She’d only just found her place when there was a knock at her door.
‘Louise?’
‘I’m doing my homework, Mum!’ she shouted, quickly wiping her eyes.
‘Can I come in?’
Lou rubbed her forehead. Why hadn’t her mum wanted to come and talk to her when Lou was happy, when she was getting those A’s that her parents had apparently been so proud of? Now they were both upset and suddenly her mum wanted to have a heart-to-heart. ‘Not now, Mum, please.’ Her voice cracked.
Her mum paused, then spoke quietly through the door. ‘All right, love. Well, when you’ve finished, come and talk to me, OK?’
‘OK, once I’ve finished this homework.’
Her mum’s voice was thick. ‘Can I get you anything? Some toast?’
Tears spilled from Lou’s eyes. ‘No.’
‘How about a hot chocolate? I can put marshmallows on top.’
‘No, thanks.’
‘All right.’
Lou listened as her mum walked away. Then she saw the screen of her phone light up with a message. It was from Theo. She smiled; thank God. She spent the next hour exchanging messages with him, though she didn’t tell him how she really felt, because he hated needy girls. He promised he’d wait for her, until she wasn’t grounded any more. After they’d texted their goodbyes, Lou clutched the phone, desperate to see him.
She needed to go to the toilet. She couldn’t avoid her mum; Lou knew she’d be waiting to have this talk she so wanted to have. Lou looked at herself in the mirror above her dressing table, her reflection framed by peeling stickers of fairies and rainbows. Her eye make-up was smudged and looked like drips of melted black wax on her cheeks. She opened the dressing-table drawer, took out some cotton wool and cleanser, and wiped it all off.
She opened her door and looked down the hallway. Her parents’ bedroom door was ajar and light spilled out; her mum would be reading in bed, as she did every night. Her dad must be in the living room; Lou could hear the sounds of a documentary on TV. She took a deep breath, then knocked gently on her mum’s door and pushed it open.
The blankets on the double bed were rumpled on her mum’s side, but she wasn’t there. A thick book, a novel, lay on her pillow, bookmarked about halfway through. Lou started to turn away, then frowned and stopped. Peeking out from underneath the book was the corner of a photograph. But all of their recent photos were on the computer; they never printed any out. And all the old photos were in albums. She glanced down the hallway. The only sound was that of the television show. She stepped into the room, closed the bedroom door behind her, then went to the bed, lifted up the book and picked up the photograph.
It was a baby photo. She’d never seen it before, but she knew it was of her. She couldn’t tell how old she was in it – maybe one? She hadn’t seen many photos of herself as a baby; her parents had never – as far as she could remember – sat with her and looked at pictures of them all in the hospital. In this photo, she was with her aunt; she was gazing down at the baby – Lou – in her arms. There was the hint of a smile on her aunt’s face, but she looked sad. They were in front of the railing of some sort of bridge with a lake behind them, its surface still and milky blue. It almost looked as though they were in the sky, surrounded by clouds, but Lou could tell by the shimmer around their edges that the clouds were reflected images. She frowned; the setting looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
She heard her dad’s voice from the living room, and her mum’s reply. Somehow she knew that she couldn’t be found here, with this photo. She quickly replaced it on her mum’s pillow, put the book back on top of it, then hurried out of the room. She walked down the hallway and into the living room, trying to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Her mum was on the couch, her legs bent up beneath her, resting her head in her hand. She looked tired; Lou wanted to run over and curl up next to her, but she stopped herself.
‘Hi, Mum.’
Her mother looked up and smiled. ‘Hi. Your dad’s just putting the kettle on. Do you want a cup of tea?’
Lou shook her head. ‘I’ve finished now. Did you still want to talk?’
‘Oh.’ Her mum frowned, then rubbed her eyes. ‘It’s OK. You must be worn out from all your schoolwork. I just … I just wanted to tell you how much I love you. You’re a good girl, Louise. You really are.’
As her mum gazed at her with a sad smile, Lou thought about the photo she had just seen. There was something about the look in her aunt’s eyes that she couldn’t put out of her mind.
‘Lou! They’ll be here soon, hurry up!’
Lou sighed. She was about to tell her mum that there was no rush, but thought better of it. After weeks of doing everything her parents told her to do, and staying out of trouble, things were starting to settle down: she was allowed to go out once on the weekend, as long as she was home by ten pm and didn’t drink. She was also allowed an hour a day on her laptop in her room, and in another week they’d increase it to two hours. Now she closed her computer, then swung her legs off her bed and went into the kitchen.
‘God, Mum, how much have you made?’ The benchtop was cluttered with bowls and plates full of food – cheese and biscuits, chips, dip, two salads.
Her mother waved a distracted hand at her. ‘Just help me, will you? Clear the table of all that stuff so we can put the food out. Dad’s gone to get them, they’ll be back any minute.’
‘I don’t know why you make such a fuss, they hardly eat anything anyway.’
‘That’s precisely why I make a fuss. Your grandma tries her best, but really, she’s not up to cooking at all. I wish they’d get some help.’
Lou went to the table and gathered up all the newspapers. ‘Where do you want these?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Use your intelligence, Lou!’
Raising her eyebrows, Lou walked into the kitchen and dropped the papers into the recycling bin. She heard the front door open, and went out into the hallway, smiling.
‘Louise!’
‘Hi, Grandma!’ Lou grinned, hugged her, and kissed the smooth, cool skin of her cheek. She turned to her grandad and spoke loudly into his left ear. ‘Hi, Grandad, how are you?’
‘Good, love, good.’
Lou stepped out of the way as he shuffled down the hallway, and her grandmother followed, one hand gripping her walking stick. Lou hated seeing her grandmother’s swollen red knuckles, and her fingers bent from years of crippling rheumatoid arthritis. She walked behind them, then pulled out chairs for them both at the table and helped them sit down. She sat opposite them while her dad got them drinks – a beer for her grandad, a white wine for her grandma – and her mum fussed in the kitchen.
‘How’s school, love?’
‘Great, thanks, Grandma.’ Lou smiled. It wasn’t true, of course, but she could hardly tell her that she was being teased for going to see a shrink, and that she was worried that she wasn’t going to pass her final exams. Or that her boyfriend was losing interest in her.
‘I always told your mum and dad that you’d turn out all right, even after —’
‘Martin!’ her grandmother said sharply.
Lou’s mum hurried over with a bowl of chips and the platter of cheese and biscuits and held it out to the old man. ‘Cheese? I bought some of that lovely double cream brie that you like.’
Lou looked at her mum, then back to her grandfather. He was blushing, and her grandmother was scowling at him. Lou’s heart sped up, though she didn’t know why. She frowned, watching all the adults fumble for something to say. What was going on?
‘So …’ her dad said. ‘Martin, Rosemary. How are your drinks? It’s roast lamb for lunch. I hope you’re hungry!’
Then all the adults began to bustle and chatter at once, filling the gap so there was no room for questions.
After her dad dropped Martin and Rosemary home later that afternoon, Lou and her mum went for a walk with the dog. To her surprise, Lou enjoyed it. They talked easily, about places in the world they’d like to visit one day, as they walked along the clifftops, looking down at the spit snaking out into the river, the boats bobbing in the bay, and the Rottnest ferry sailing upriver. It was nice to talk about something other than Lou’s behaviour. This was how things had been between them before, when Lou was in her early teens, before everyone started fighting. She missed it.
They ate leftovers for dinner, picking at bread rolls and cold lamb. Later, Lou sat on the floor with her back against the couch and her laptop resting in between her stomach and her bent knees. Her mum was on the couch behind her, watching the news as well as keeping an eye on what Lou was doing on the internet. Her dad was on the smaller couch with his own laptop on his knees, typing work emails, she assumed.
When the cooking show they’d been watching ended, Lou’s mum changed the channel to the seven o’clock news, as she did every night at this time. Lou wished she could go and watch TV in her own bedroom, but her set was still confiscated; it sat on an old single bed in one of the unused bedrooms.
The news droned on. Lou looked up at the television every so often without really watching or listening. But the next time she glanced up, she stopped suddenly. She was looking at the lake: the lake from the photograph.
The news reporter stood at a lookout. Behind him, a long, narrow railing stretched across the top of the concrete dam wall above milky blue water. On TV, there were no clouds in the sky, or reflected in the water, but Lou knew it was the same place and that she had been there. Something stirred, rippled, in the depths of her memory. It was impossible – she had only been a baby in the photograph – but as she looked at the television screen, she was sure she heard the cackle of a kookaburra, the echo of a cry, someone singing.
Lou blinked. The image was gone from the screen. Now it showed a car park; she could see the tourist map on a wooden board behind the reporter. ‘The body of a man was found this morning in the Mundaring Weir,’ the reporter was saying. ‘The man is believed to be in his thirties. Police are at the scene now. At this stage, his death is not being treated as suspicious, but police are appealing for anyone with information to come forward.’
Lou sensed a change in the atmosphere in the room. She turned around; her mum was staring at Lou but smiled blankly when she caught Lou’s eye. Lou glanced over at her dad; he was staring at her too, pale. She thought of the photo again. With that flicker of recognition, something in her had shifted; the air around her had stilled. And from the way her parents were carefully avoiding each other’s eyes, Lou knew they had felt it too.