5

Holly

It was Friday and Cassie’s second day of school.

Holly couldn’t avoid travelling to and from school with her. Fern gave them both a lift. But she was relieved when Cassie’s ISA met her at the car and wheeled her off to the Special Needs staffroom. After that she didn’t see much of her during the day, apart from English lessons. Even then, Cassie and her support worker shared a desk at the back of the class, so there was no pressure to socialise. Holly sat at the front. Other than that, it was a matter of quick glimpses during recess and lunch.

It wasn’t hard to avoid a wheelchair.

On Friday lunchtime, when the bell signalling the end of morning lessons rang, Holly hurried to the main girls’ toilet block. It was double maths in the afternoon, a class she rarely enjoyed. Mr Tillyard knew his stuff all right. Sometimes she wondered how his head managed to keep his brain crammed in. The trouble was, he didn’t understand that not all his students were similarly well-equipped. If you didn’t understand a formula, he simply explained it in exactly the same way you hadn’t understood in the first place. So you couldn’t ask again. Not without feeling like a moron. As a result, a large percentage of the class sat in a fog of incomprehension while Mr Tillyard taught the three or four on his wavelength. It didn’t make for a happy prospect on a warm Friday afternoon.

Demi leaned over a washbasin refreshing her make-up. Most of the mirror on the wall was tarnished, but she had found a small, clear space. Kari and Georgia flanked her. Three heads turned as Holly pushed open the door.

‘Hi, Holly,’ said Demi, turning back to the mirror and grimacing at her reflection. Holly couldn’t imagine what she might see to object to. As far as she could tell, Demi was flawless.

‘Hey, Demi. Kari, Georgia.’

The other two nodded, but didn’t smile. Holly tried to examine herself in part of the mirror to the right of Georgia, but the tarnish was so severe she couldn’t see a great deal. Not that it mattered, she thought. Probably a blessing in disguise.

‘Maths, eh?’ said Holly. It was the only class she shared with Demi who was one of the vast majority who had given up on ever understanding what Mr Tillyard was going on about. Most times Demi flicked through fashion mags under the desk or sketched her own designs on a drawing pad she brought along especially for that purpose. The teacher never noticed, so everyone was happy. Holly often spent her time examining Demi, trying to understand how she achieved the effect she did. Was it just clothes and make-up and jewellery? Or was there something else? Charisma, maybe? It was as big a puzzle as Mr Tillyard’s maths.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Demi. ‘Maths doesn’t appeal. It never appeals.’

For a moment, Holly was puzzled. It was Friday afternoon. It was double maths. It was always double maths.

‘We’ve got something better to do,’ added Demi.

‘What?’

‘Shopping. To be precise, clothes shopping. There’s a new outlet at Westland and we are going to check it out.’

‘What? You are going to wag?’

Demi tutted.

‘Such an ugly word, Holly,’ she said. ‘I prefer to think of it as distance learning. Would you like to come along? I guarantee you’ll learn more with us than with old Tillyard.’

Holly knew this was a defining moment. She had read about defining moments in novels, so she recognised the signs. She quickly debated the pros and cons. On the one hand, this was an invitation – a second chance – and she hadn’t expected to be given another one. Turn this down and that was definitely it. Demi was making every effort. There would be no third chances. This was also the opportunity to pick Demi’s brains about fashion. And not in an abstract way. Action Plan 1 was being offered by the fashion queen herself. An image sprang to her mind. Holly emerging from the change room and Demi and the others critically examining her. ‘That colour doesn’t really suit you, Hol. With your legs you need something that will enhance your shape, slim your hips and accentuate your waistline. Try this . . .’ Maybe there would be the opportunity to impress the girls with her willingness to be moulded to their taste.

Demi was right. It would certainly beat the hell out of going to maths.

On the other hand, there were all the consequences of wagging school. She knew she would never get away with it. True, Mr Tillyard didn’t appear to know who she was and never remarked on her presence, let alone her work. But it was Murphy’s Law. What could go wrong, would go wrong. He would notice. He would ring her mother. And then the brown stuff would hit the fan.

‘You’re not scared, are you?’ said Georgia.

‘Course not,’ said Holly.

And the moment became defined. Holly had her ATM card with her. The Plastic Surgery Emergency Fund was ready and waiting. And when she thought about it, that was what the fund was for. To transform her. She could see a new, bright Holly Holley emerging as if from a chrysalis.

Yeah, her mum would be angry. If she found out. But there was a possibility she wouldn’t. And anyway, even if she did, this was something Holly was owed. She was tired of being good. Giving up her bedroom, giving up her social life. For what? It wasn’t even as if she was being treated better. Just good old Holly, you can rely on her to give up everything for nothing in return. Well, not this time.

When Holly spoke again it was a smooth transition from her last words.

‘What are we waiting for?’ she said. ‘Let’s hit the shops.’

Demi laughed.

‘You’re bad,’ she said. ‘Meet us in twenty minutes, okay? By the basketball court. It’s easy to slip away from there.’

Holly nodded. As she left the girls’ toilets, she was conscious of her nerves tingling. She wasn’t sure whether this was due to fear or excitement.

Or a combination of both.

Cassie

My nerves tingle.

New school. New patterns.

Lunchtimes are full of fear. I sit in a staffroom, surrounded by old voices. Someone feeds me. She is kind but doesn’t know the rhythms. A spoon scrapes the side of my mouth, clinks on teeth. She talks, yet all her words are fillers. They fill the gap of my silence.

This is the hardest time.

New school. New patterns.

My nerves tingle.

Amy found an unoccupied table in the canteen, tucked behind a pillar.

She’d thought about taking up her usual spot on the bench outside, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She needed space.

Amy ate her sandwich and flicked through the section on quadratic equations in her maths textbook. She was so absorbed that, for a minute or two, she wasn’t aware of the girls talking. It was only the name ‘Holly’ that tugged her attention away from the symbols on the page. She couldn’t see who was speaking. The pillar hid everything. But she recognised the voices.

‘Well, I think it’s amazing of you to give her another chance. Especially after the disaster of the sleepover.’

‘I told you,’ came the voice of Demi Larson. ‘I’m bored. I need a project. And what better, more challenging project than Holly Holley?’

There was laughter. Amy leaned back against the pillar, the book forgotten.

‘Take the daggiest, dullest girl in the entire school and transform her. It’s just like Extreme Makeover. Our own reality program. I wonder if we could get a TV channel interested . . .’

‘My parents do a heap of charity work for disadvantaged people.’ Was that Kari Williams or Georgia Glasson? It was difficult to tell. ‘And I guess this is similar. Help out the unfortunate among us. It’s kind of noble.’

‘Exactly,’ said Demi. ‘Mind you, we can probably turn that ugly duckling into something resembling a swan through clothes and make-up alone. But I’m not sure if there’s anything that can be done with the personality.’

Laughter again.

‘A character implant?’

‘Charisma infusions?’

‘What Personality Not To Wear?’

‘Too difficult,’ said Demi. ‘Even for me. Hey, guys, we’d better get moving. This is where the hard work starts.’

Amy waited until the sounds of retreating footsteps faded. Then she headed quickly into the bright sunshine of the schoolyard. Her maths textbook remained on the canteen table among crumpled clingwrap and scattered crumbs.

Although Cassie was in mainstream classes most of the time, there were exceptions and Friday afternoon was one. Fern had insisted that Cassie be treated the same as other students, with the same workload and timetable. Greg Adams had been happy to agree. But he suggested that on a few occasions during the week, usually when students were doing practical subjects like sports or home economics, Cassie would benefit from one-on-one tuition.

Greg wheeled Cassie into a computer lab. They had it to themselves. He positioned her at a series of desks in the centre of the room, away from the monitors lining the walls, and put on the wheelchair’s brakes. Then he sat opposite.

‘Cass,’ he said. ‘I rang your school in Darwin, just to get a bit more information about the learning programs you’ve been on. They send their love, by the way.’

Images – faces, places – flashed before Cassie’s eyes. They made her wince. Greg tilted his head at her expression.

‘What do you say we ring them next week?’ he said. ‘You could have a chat, catch up.’

Sounds bubbled in her throat and her right arm moved in a sawing motion across the arm rest of the wheelchair, but Cassie’s reply was in her eyes.

‘Good. We’ll do that, then. Now for work. Your school told me you have some experience with smart navigation software. Is that right? Okay. But you had difficulty with it. What I suggest, Cass, is that we try again. I have the latest equipment – which you can borrow so you can practise at home – and I’ve designed some software to go with it. Do you want to give it a go?’

He nodded again.

Greg brushed back his long, thinning hair and wheeled Cass to a computer terminal, applying the brake once more when she was squared in front of the monitor. Then he opened a briefcase and took out a laptop computer and a small device that looked like a webcam on short tripod legs.

‘This is yours to borrow, Cass,’ he said, pointing to the laptop. ‘I’ve installed the software, which is also on this machine in front of you. I’ll just plug in the sensor and we’ll take it from there.’

He placed the camera-like object on top of the monitor and then knelt to insert a cable into a USB port on the tower. His knees cracked and Greg winced.

‘I’m getting old, Cass,’ he said. ‘I used to run five k a day. Now, when I squat, my joints go off like firecrackers.’

They waited while the computer registered the new hardware. Then he used the mouse to open a couple of programs.

‘You will be familiar with some of this, Cass,’ he said. ‘But there’s some learning to do. Mainly, my software. Of which I am incredibly proud, by the way. So if you have difficulty with it, it’s all your fault, okay?’

Cassie smiled and her head rolled from side to side.

‘As long as we understand each other,’ said Greg. ‘What we have here,’ he continued, ‘is a smart navigation device that operates the computer without a mouse. This will take time to master. There’s also an onscreen keyboard facility linked to a Realtalk program. It converts text into speech. Now, in the past, such programs were . . . well, lousy if you want the plain truth. But there have been huge improvements recently. We can choose a voice you like the sound of, one that matches as nearly as possible your own internal voice, and the computer will speak what you write – with emphasis and intonation. You’ll be amazed at how realistic it is.’

He opened more windows on the screen.

‘But we don’t want to get ahead of ourselves. Today we’ll stick to brushing up your mouse skills. Now I’m told your head is where you have most control. Is that right? You can’t move your head to tell me, by the way.’ He grinned. ‘Just kidding.’

Greg took a thin plastic sheet from his briefcase. The sheet was covered in grey dots of varying sizes. He peeled one off and, bending down, stuck it firmly to Cassie’s forehead, directly above her nose. There was a loud crack from his knees as he got up. He rubbed his right leg, took a step back and tilted his head to one side.

‘Suits you, actually,’ he said. ‘All eastern and mysterious. Now, as you know, Cass, this sensor emits a laser beam that’s reflected by the dot on your forehead. The device picks up the reflected beam and operates the cursor on the screen. There! See? As you move your head, the cursor moves. Excellent. Ready to rock and roll. How about we start with a boring exercise to knock off the rust flakes? What do you say?’

Cassie

He is starting to read me. Sometimes he stumbles over my words, moves his finger under my expressions. But he is getting better.

My skills are as rusty as his knees. But we will find oil together.

Holly

My name is Holly Holley and I am terrified.

I’ve been coming to Westland for years and it’s never been a scary experience, except for the time I accidentally noted the price tags in one of the more exclusive stores. But now I see security guards everywhere we go and I break out in a cold sweat. I keep expecting one to challenge me. I am wearing my school uniform and it feels like there’s a flashing neon sign over my head – a purple arrow and ‘WAGGER’ in bright, bold caps.

Demi and the others don’t seem to care. In fact, they make heaps of noise, almost like they want to be noticed. I slink along behind, practising invisibility. Every time a woman comes out of a shop, I flinch. Even though I know Mum is doling out lentils in a store ten kilometres away, I can’t get rid of the image of her looming up in front of me, her expression morphing from surprise to disappointment.

But she doesn’t show and after half an hour I start to relax. A little.

Then we hit the new clothes store and I forget about everything else. A couple of people at school have raved about it, but I am not prepared for how amazing it is. For one thing, it’s the size of an international airport and every available space is crammed with racks and racks of skirts, dresses, tops, belts and accessories. I stand in the doorway for a while, doing a very reasonable impersonation, yet again, of a rabbit caught in headlights. My mouth drops open but I’m fairly certain I don’t drool.

Demi and the others stroll casually along aisles. Occasionally they feel the fabric of a skirt or lift a top from the rack and hold it up against themselves or each other, testing it against their complexions. I force my mouth closed and follow. There is a way of doing this, I realise. Look bored, hold up a pair of jeans or a dress and scowl endearingly before putting it back. I practise the routine on a stunning dark blue top with a ruffled neckline. I hold it up against my torso and look in a mirror. I try to get the corner of my mouth to turn down in a charming fashion, but it just looks like I am constipated.

‘What do you think, Hol?’ Demi’s reflection appears next to mine in the mirror.

What I want to say is, ‘I’m on the verge of wetting my pants,’ but I decide that won’t strike the right note. And I don’t know what to think. I mean, I love the top. But I don’t know if I should love it. It would be so easy to make an idiot of myself.

‘It’s okay, I suppose,’ I say, putting my head to one side and making a slightly better attempt at cute mouth-drooping.

‘The style is . . . interesting,’ says Demi.

The faces of Georgia and Kari hover over my left shoulder. Their mouths droop perfectly.

‘Depends on what goes with it,’ says Georgia. ‘But it’s definitely your colour.’

‘It could work well,’ says Kari. ‘With light pants. What do you think, Demi? White jeans?’

‘Cream,’ says Demi. ‘And not jeans. Light-weight cotton. Come on. It’s time to get this girl a wardrobe.’

I try not to smile. That won’t strike the right note either. But inside I am beaming.

The monitor was filled with lines of hearts in boxes. Each box was outlined in black.

‘It’s simple, Cass,’ said Greg. ‘Position the cursor over the centre of the heart. The heart will disappear when you hold the cursor there for a couple of seconds. Then you move on to the next one. But you must do them in order; top row first, left to right. Once you’ve popped all the hearts, the computer will tell you how long it took you. That way, you can work on beating your personal best. Ready? Go for it.’

Cassie was almost still in the chair. Almost. Her head shook slightly and there were spasms along her arms and legs. But her face was set, deep brown eyes fixed on the screen. Greg pulled up a chair to watch. He knew the mental discipline required to control that cursor, to position it over an area of the screen and keep it there, even for a second or two. Greg knew about cerebral palsy. About how, in a case as severe as Cassie’s, the muscles in the body were dancing to their own tune, divorced from the brain that tried to control them. Simple movements, like lifting a hand or moving a foot, were obstacles as high as Everest for Cass.

Greg knew all this, intellectually.

But he also knew that he didn’t truly understand the physical reality of it. Only Cass could. And he suspected it was much harder than he imagined. Probably harder than he could ever imagine. He put his hand over hers and watched.

On the screen a heart popped.

Holly

Demi put a finger to the side of her mouth and tilted her head.

‘No,’ she said after ten or fifteen seconds. ‘It doesn’t work. I was thinking that maybe with her hair up . . . but, no. The cut is wrong. Try this.’

Holly’s head was spinning with colours, shapes and designs. She had tried on a bewildering variety of clothes and was still no nearer understanding what worked for her and what didn’t. And what did Demi mean by ‘cut’? How could a cut, whatever it is, be wrong? Holly thought some of the pieces she’d tried on were fantastic, but the girls would shudder as if she was modelling a plastic tablecloth from a greasy-spoon cafe.

It was all so confusing.

But the more she thought about it, the more Holly realised she wasn’t qualified to make proper judgements about her appearance. It wasn’t like she’d done a good job when left to her own devices. And Demi was a guru of fashion, whereas for Holly it was as mysterious as quadratic equations. Trust the expert, she told herself. When your computer crashes you don’t seek advice from a pizza delivery driver. So she took the outfit Demi held out and prepared to change again.

Maybe being at the centre of attention had warped her sense of time, but when she glanced at her watch she nearly had a heart attack. It was only five minutes to end of school and she had to meet Aunty Fern for a lift home. Even if she ran all the way, she’d still be ten minutes late. Panic bubbled up inside and she pulled back the curtain of the dressing room.

‘Guys,’ she said. ‘I’ve gotta go. I had no idea of the time. My aunt is expecting to give me a lift home.’

Kari sniffed.

Georgia snorted.

Demi smiled.

‘Oh come on, Hol,’ she said. ‘It’s Friday. Late night shopping. You can’t bail out now we’re making progress. There’s still so much work to be done. Once we’ve finished here I want to take you to a couple of other stores. Then there’s make-up. And shoes, obviously. Can’t you ring your aunt, tell her you’re going to make your own way home later?’

Holly had no idea if Fern even owned a mobile phone, let alone the number. Even if she ran back to school, how could she explain why she was coming in the school gates, rather than exiting them? And then another thought flared inside her, caught and burned brightly. Holly Holley. Quiet, dependable. Girl least likely to do anything vaguely bad. Predictable. And taken for granted. So maybe it was time to shake up people’s views of her. Build on the wagging. If she was getting a fashion makeover, she should also try a personality makeover.

Live dangerously, Holly Holley, she thought.

‘Yeah, okay.’ she said. ‘Good idea. I’ll ring her.’

She drew the curtains again, pulled her mobile from her bag and checked it was turned it off. A phrase from a teacher in some sad old movie rang in her head. Carpe Diem. Seize the day. Holly had never seized a day in her life. She’d never even taken a firm grip on one. Now seemed a very good time to start.

She slipped out of the dress with the ill-fitting cut.

The top in her hand was bright and fun. She’d never have dared to even try it on if she’d been shopping by herself. And her mum, despite her hair and tattoo, would have hated it. Holly could see her mouth turning down in disapproval. So she smiled, pulled the top on and slipped into the skirt. A different girl looked back from the mirror. She opened the curtains, stepped out and twirled.

‘What do you think?’ she said.

‘Perfect,’ said Demi.

‘Perfect,’ said Kari.

‘Absolutely perfect,’ said Georgia.

‘I’m meeting Holly Holley,’ said Fern. ‘I can’t keep her waiting.’

‘It’ll only take ten minutes,’ said Greg. ‘Just to show you the equipment and how to access the software on the laptop. There’s still five minutes before the bell goes. We can put a message over the PA, to ask Holly to wait in reception.’

It did take only ten minutes. Cassie was where Greg had left her in the computer room. She was working on the hearts again. Her mum sat next to her, just as the last heart popped.

‘Twelve minutes, forty-four seconds, Cass,’ said Greg. ‘Well done. That’s nearly two minutes better than your previous best. But it’s time to call it a day. I’m just going to show your mum how to set up the laptop, so you can practise at home.’

He crouched beside her and fixed her with a gaze. ‘But no overdoing it, okay?’

And when he stood, his knees made no sound. Greg didn’t notice. But Cassie did. She smiled.

Holly wasn’t at reception. Greg checked with the school secretary that the message had gone out.

‘Maybe she’s with a teacher,’ said Greg. ‘I’m sure she’ll be along in a sec. But I’m afraid I have to rush, Mrs Marshall. Yet another interminable meeting. Bye, Cassie. Have a great weekend.’

‘You too, Mr Adams. And thanks.’

Holly wasn’t along in a sec. After five minutes passed, Fern wheeled Cassie outside, but there was no sign of her in the school yard. A few students mingled, some waiting for lifts home, but the groups were thinning out. Fern glanced at her watch. It was fifteen minutes since classes had finished. To pass the time, she loaded the laptop into the boot of her car, then parked Cassie in the shade of a tree. She scanned the school grounds anxiously.

A girl walked towards them. She was vaguely familiar. And then Fern placed her. The girl who had been with Holly on Monday after Cassie’s interview.

‘Hello, Cassie.’ The girl crouched in front of Cassie’s wheelchair. ‘Remember me? Holly’s friend, Amy. How are you?’ She glanced up at Fern. ‘Hello,’ she said.

‘Hi, Amy,’ said Fern. ‘Look, have you seen Holly? She’s supposed to meet us.’

‘No. I’m sorry. I haven’t seen her since this morning.’ What she didn’t say was that she had searched for Holly at lunchtime without success, nor that she had missed a surprise maths test, sprung on them by Mr Tillyard. Amy was worried. Holly had never wagged before. And a surprise test was not the best place to start. After school finished, Amy had explored some of the dustier recesses of the library, but there had been no sign of her. Not in the library, nor in the toilets, or anywhere else as far as Amy could tell.

‘Strange,’ said Fern. ‘Perhaps I should get the secretary to put out another call.’

Amy doubted it would do any good. But she didn’t say anything. She had tried at least ten times to ring Holly on her mobile, but it was turned off. And if Holly was outside the school grounds, it was likely she didn’t want to be contacted.

‘I’d best be going,’ she said. ‘Can you ask Holly to ring me, please? It’s urgent. Nice to see you again, Cassie.’

Cassie smiled and twisted in her chair.

‘Thanks, Amy,’ said Fern. ‘I’ll pass on the message. If she ever bothers to show up.’

Amy walked off into the wintery sunshine. She glanced back once or twice. Fern was scanning the school grounds, but they were deserted. Only a few cars remained in the car park and there was no one else around. The last time Amy looked, she saw Fern heading towards reception.

Trouble was brewing. Amy could feel it.

Holly

My name is Holly Holley and I am happy, despite the fact that a girl who looks twelve years old and has a large metallic spike stuck into her eyebrow, is slashing at my hair like a madwoman.

And I am the proud new owner of a one-hundred-and-fifty-buck pair of killer ankle boots. I’m normally the chain-store-twenty-five-dollars-get-the-second-pair-free sort of shoe shopper. But Demi is right. They are worth the money. Exactly the right colour to go with one of my new dresses. And according to Demi, the entire outfit makes my legs look longer. And longer legs are always an excellent idea.

I am wearing the new boots and dress. My daggy school uniform is rolled up in one of the bags, tucked under exciting new pieces. I especially like one top and matching skirt, both of which are seriously awesome, and can be combined with some of my other clothes. Demi is teaching me that as well. Don’t look at clothes in isolation. Think of the effects you can achieve with the whole.

I’ve spent over five hundred dollars.

But I look a million bucks.

As Mum might say, you don’t have to be an Einstein to work out this is good economics.

But I don’t want to think about Mum. I force the image of her face from my mind and concentrate instead on my own image, looking back from the hairdresser’s mirror.

Demi has pulled a few strings to get me in without an appointment. Now her and Kari and Georgia have gone to do some shopping of their own. They really are sweet. We’ve been trudging the stores for hours and they haven’t even thought about themselves. I glance down at the small sea of bags around my ankles. They are picking up a frosting of hair, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t bear to have them out of sight. When I look up again, the studded girl is working gel into what’s left of my hair. My mouth drops open. That’s happening a lot recently. If it continues I’ll have to have my jaws wired.

Gone is the mousy hair that hung like a dispirited mat just above my shoulders. Instead I have an urchin cut with burgundy highlights. It’s like looking at someone you recognise but can’t quite place. It has never occurred to me that a haircut can actually change your features. Now my face looks leaner and my eyes bigger. I also have cheekbones. I never realised I have cheekbones.

Demi is right again. I feel like a different person.

The different person pays the bill of one hundred dollars without the notes having to be forced from her clenched fingers. The different person is confident. The different person is happy.

I am happy.

Demi and the girls are waiting outside. They have a whole bunch of shopping bags of their own.

‘Wow,’ says Demi. ‘That is a serious haircut.’

‘You look fantastic, Hol,’ says Georgia.

‘Very pretty,’ says Kari.

Tears swell behind my eyes. I swallow a couple of times and keep my head turned to the ground. When I look up again I am not actually crying, but my eyes are swimming.

‘I don’t know about you, but I am starving. Let’s eat,’ I say. ‘My treat. As a thank you.’

‘Okay,’ says Demi. ‘And while we eat, we can give you our surprise.’

‘A surprise?’ I say. ‘What is it?’

Demi puts her arm around my waist and marches me in the direction of the food hall.

‘Hate to break it to you, Hol,’ she says. ‘But the key element of a surprise is that it’s a . . .’

‘Surprise?’ I suggest.

‘Got it in one, girlfriend,’ she says and we both laugh.

Ivy

‘If she’s okay, I’ll kill her,’ said Ivy. ‘And if she’s not, I’ll kill myself.’

Ivy paced the kitchen. Fern leaned against the sink. Her face was pale and drawn.

At four-forty, Fern had arrived at the health food shop without Holly. Ivy was shutting up the shop, counting money in the register and balancing it against the till roll. She’d looked up and smiled as she saw Fern. Then the smile faded as she read her sister’s face. Ivy took the news as any mother would. Immediately, her face aged, darkened by possibilities that could not be named.

Now Fern and Ivy paced the kitchen floor at home and waited.

‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ said Fern.

Ivy said nothing for a while. She didn’t have to.

‘What if she’s dead somewhere?’ Ivy’s face twisted in pain, as if the words she spoke had the power to cut her open.

‘Cassie doesn’t think so,’ said Fern. She sighed.

‘Her phone is turned off,’ said Ivy. ‘There’s no message on my mobile. If she was okay, why wouldn’t she let me know?’

‘I trust Cassie’s instincts about this.’

‘I’m driving round to Amy’s,’ said Ivy. ‘If she’s got nothing to add, then I’m calling the police.’

‘We’ll come with you,’ said Fern.

‘No. Stay here. Ring me if she turns up.’

Cassie

Holly is fine. She is safe.

She will come home. Soon. She is safe.

She needs you to suffer, though she doesn’t understand that herself. And because you would clip her wings. Her wings are new. She is in awe of them. She has not yet realised that wings can bear you up, but when they fail, the fall can bring more pain than if you’d never left the earth at all. I know about wings.

I envy hers.

Holly

Holly had a double cheeseburger with bacon and extra large fries. She could have eaten an overfed horse between two bread vans, but that wasn’t on the menu.

The others just had a small bag of fries each and they only picked at those. Explains why they are stick insects and I am built like a wombat, Holly thought, stuffing more burger into her mouth. I’ll attend to that part of my transformation later.

‘Demi,’ she said, trying not to spit meat onto the table top, ‘I just want to say thanks. You know, for helping me out. Thanks to all of you. For everything.’

Demi reached for another fry, but seemed to think better of it, as if she could imagine calories turning into fat and expanding on her thighs.

‘What do you say, girls?’ she said to Kari and Georgia. ‘Time to spring the surprise?’

They reached down and lifted up their shopping bags. One by one, they took out articles of clothing and piled them on the table. Tops, skirts, dresses, belts, jeans and trousers. One after another.

Holly recognised them. Clothes she’d tried on in a number of stores, items Demi had liked on her, but which she couldn’t afford.

‘Happy birthday,’ said Demi.

‘It’s not my birthday,’ said Holly. She’d stopped eating and a plug of burger made her right cheek bulge. Her mouth started to unhinge yet again.

Demi shrugged.

‘It will be,’ she said. ‘Everyone has a birthday. We’re just getting in early with our presents.’

Holly had heard how a sudden realisation could feel like a blow from a hammer. This didn’t feel like that. It felt like a bomb.

‘You stole these,’ she whispered.

Demi made a tutting sound.

‘Theft is such a harsh word, Hol,’ she said. ‘I prefer to think we liberated them. But if you have a problem with that, you can always return them. Mind you, you’d have a bit of explaining to do.’

Holly just stared. After what seemed fifteen minutes she started to chew again, but her mouth was dry and she had to force a solid wad of food down her throat. Her hunger had gone. Suddenly she felt like everyone in the food hall was staring.

‘Put them away,’ she hissed.

The girls laughed, but they folded the clothes up and returned them to the bags. They didn’t hurry. When the table was cleared, Demi rested her face in her hands and looked into Holly’s eyes.

‘Just one more thing,’ she said. ‘And I think our work here will be done. Make-up.’

Holly’s brain had turned into cotton wool. She couldn’t gather her thoughts. The words came out with a laugh. But even then she knew this wasn’t in the slightest bit funny.

‘Which I guess we’re going to steal as well!’

The girls didn’t reply. They just looked at her and smiled.

Holly

My name is Holly Holley and I am a thief.

My heart is about to burst out of my ribcage. It’s hammering so hard, I am amazed the staff can’t hear it.

I think about the advice the girls gave when I insisted on doing this myself. Act confident. Keep a look out for cameras. Be quick and decisive when pocketing the items. Don’t rush from the store. Always walk. Buy something small.

But as I queue at the checkout my face burns. Guilt is oozing from every pore. I reek of it.

‘Hi, how are you?’ says the girl at the checkout.

‘Good. You?’

‘Good.’ She scans the nail polish that was hugely reduced. ‘Three dollars ninety-five, please.’

I hand over a five dollar bill I’ve already taken from my handbag. My handbag is packed with lipstick, eyeliner and foundation. Items Demi identified as essential to my new look.

‘Can I check your bags?’ says the girl as she passes me the change. My heart stops.

‘Sorry?’

The girl looks confused. ‘I said, “Have a nice day.”’

A pounding in my ears tells me my heart has lumbered into action again.

‘Oh, thanks. You too.’

And then I am out. The girls are sitting on a bench in a walkway around the corner. I hurry towards them. My feet don’t seem to touch the floor. I am still terrified. But nestling in the dark heart of that terror is a small and shining nugget of pride.

Ivy

‘Police, please.’

Fern had made a cup of tea, but Ivy hadn’t touched it.

She had waited two more hours after discovering from Amy that Holly had wagged her last class. A fact Amy had been very reluctant to reveal. Ivy wasn’t sure if the wagging should make her more worried, or less. And somewhere deep in her gut she was vaguely aware of a niggling superstition that ringing the police would somehow usher in her worst nightmare. She’d kept thinking that any moment, Holly would walk in with an explanation. Something Ivy had forgotten. A meeting of some kind. ‘I told you about it, Mum.’

But Holly hadn’t walked in.

Ivy knew she should have rung the police straight away.

How could she forgive herself for her delay?

‘I want to report a missing person.’

It was the last two words that did it. As soon as they passed her lips, Ivy’s face crumpled, as if by speaking the words she had made them true. Wagging. Late. She could cope with those. Missing. The word sliced and slashed like a blade.

Fern took the phone from her, and held her.