Cassie (5 page)

‘Mum,' wailed Holly. ‘Tell me you're not serious!'

‘I know, chicken. I know. But there's no way round it.' Ivy Holley waved her arms in a helpless fashion. The sponge in her hand sprayed fine droplets of dirty water over Holly's face. ‘The spare room just doesn't work for Fern and Cassie. Think about it. Her wheelchair would have to come down the corridor, then do a ninety degree right turn and then another left into the spare bedroom. There's no space to manoeuvre, chicken.'

‘But it's my bedroom, Mum. Mine. It's got all my things in it. It's part of me.'

Ivy hugged her daughter. Holly shrugged away, barely aware of the sponge dripping down her back.

‘I know. But once we get the spare room sorted, it'll be great in there. Obviously, we'll move all your stuff in. And it won't be forever.'

‘The spare room's tiny.'

Ivy twisted her mouth.

‘I wouldn't say
tiny
,' she said. ‘
Compact
would be a better word.'

‘It's tiny.'

‘And that's another reason it has to be this way. Fern and Cassie need two single beds. They won't fit in the spare room. Unless you're happy to share your room with Cassie.'

‘No way.'

‘Well, I can't see how else it's going to work, then.'

Holly couldn't see how else it was going to work either. But the fact that moving out of her own bedroom into a cramped spare room that smelled of mildew was the only practical alternative did not mean she should be happy about it.

‘It's not fair,' she said.

‘No,' said Ivy.

They looked at each other for a few moments.

‘I'll get my things together,' said Holly.

Ivy nodded. ‘Thanks, chicken.'

‘I quite understand,' said Demi Larson. ‘No, of course not. Family comes first … Really, it's not a problem … Okay. See you on Monday, Holly … Sure … Take care. Bye.'

She flipped her phone shut and turned towards Kari Williams and Georgia Glasson. Her friends were taking it in turns to update their Facebook status every few minutes. Demi's bedroom was entirely self-contained – well, at least as far as digital media devices were concerned. There was a state-of-the-art computer console, a plasma television with home theatre and DVD player and a powerful midi hi fi system. There were government agencies that weren't as well equipped.

‘She's not coming,' said Demi.

‘What do you mean?' said Kari.

‘She's not coming, that's what I mean. Holly. She's expecting family to arrive and feels she can't leave.'

‘I knew she was a mistake,' said Georgia.

Kari tutted and shook her head. Turning down a Demi Larson invitation? It was inconceivable.

‘I've never been turned down before,' said Demi.

‘It's rude,' said Georgia.

‘It's impertinent,' said Kari.

‘It's interesting,' said Demi.

Holly

Ivy Holley moved from one bedroom to the other, carrying a large brass bell and chanting under her breath. As she walked, she rubbed the edge of the bell with a wooden stick. A resonating hum, similar to the sound you make if you rub a wet finger along the rim of a wine glass, swelled through the house and caused the fillings in Holly's teeth to throb. She sat on her newly-made bed in her newly-made bedroom and hugged her knees to her chest. Ivy ghosted in and out with her bell.

Holly was tired. She seemed to have been scrubbing, cleaning and shifting stuff for days, rather than eight hours. When she moved her bed, she discovered a dust-coated land fill site of books, papers, assorted cuddly toys and the occasional spider. A small earthmover would have come in handy. Now it was all tidied away (under her bed again, in the spare room) her muscles tightened. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. She might have done – there were still a couple of hours before their guests were due to arrive – if it hadn't been for her mother's musical performance. No one could sleep through that.

‘Mum,' she snapped, the next time her mother slipped into her room. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Cleansing, chicken,' said Ivy, bracketing her words between chants.

‘Cleansing?'

‘Getting rid of any negative atmospheres, purifying the energy flow. Cleansing.'

‘Well, can you stop it? I'd rather have the negative energy in here than that wailing sound. It's giving me a headache.'

Ivy put the bell down on a chest of drawers and sat on the bed. She reached out her hand and brushed Holly's leg.

‘I'm very proud of you, chicken,' she said. ‘You've worked so hard and I know the sacrifice you've made.'

No, you don't, thought Holly, but she didn't have the energy to argue.

‘But we've made an amazing difference,' continued Ivy. ‘So what do you think of your new room? I think it's cosy.'

Holly glanced round the bedroom. It didn't take long. She had seen roomier shoe boxes. If she spread her arms she could touch two walls. If she had been a little taller, she might have been able to make contact with the ceiling as well, on which there was a disturbing stain directly above her bed. A vague smell, like the ghost of cat pee, hung in the air. Cosy was not the word Holly would have chosen. Depressing, maybe. Claustrophobic, certainly.

‘It's okay.'

Ivy patted her knee.

‘You take it easy, sweetie. Have a nap. I'll get dinner started. I thought I'd do an eggplant and brown lentil lasagne. What do you think?'

‘No, Mum. Please? Let's have Chinese takeaway.' Holly was too tired for diplomacy. And she felt she was owed – for the abandoned sleepover, the bedroom eviction and the hard labour. If she couldn't be forthright now, she never would.

‘Takeaway? Wouldn't that be rude when we have guests?' A lot less rude than forcing them to eat one of her mother's concoctions, thought Holly. Then again, if there was ever going to be something that might get them to think staying at the Holley household was a serious and possibly life-threatening mistake, then an eggplant and lentil lasagne would undoubtedly do the trick. They'd probably be gone inside a week. Two days if her Mum was really on form. But a takeaway was what Holly craved and doubtless the home-cooking would begin again tomorrow. It would only be a deterrence factor deferred.

‘No. They might not be vegetarians and if we order a variety of dishes we'll cover all possible tastes,' said Holly. Plus, their chicken and cashew nuts with fried rice is to die for, she thought.

Ivy opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again.

‘And there would be less washing up, and more time for catching up,' said Holly.

‘Okay,' said Ivy. ‘It's not a bad idea. And, to be honest, I could do with a little down time before they arrive, anyway.'

‘Make sure you order the chicken with cashew nuts. With fried rice.'

‘Chicken for my chicken? No problem.'

Holly thought she was too tired to sleep, but she closed her eyes anyway. In seconds she had fallen into a dream where Demi was handing out sleepover invitations to every girl in the school assembly. She was going down the lines, smiling and pressing gold-engraved cards into each hand. When she reached Holly she walked straight past. Didn't even glance at her. Holly's face flushed and she looked down into her lap at a plate of chicken and cashew nuts. The food was writhing with maggots. She yelled, threw it away and scrambled to her feet. Raph McDonald was standing directly in front of her, his designer jeans covered in white grubs and globs of fried rice. When he lifted his gaze and met Holly's eyes, his were filled with hatred. He shouted her name over and over. ‘Holly, Holly, Holly.' Then the whole assembly took up the chant, contempt dripping from each syllable. The Principal stood on the stage, clapping his hands and leading the whole school. ‘Holly, Holly, Holly.'

‘Holly, Holly! They're here. Come on, chicken. Shake a leg.'

She sat straight up in bed, her heart hammering. For a second or two she had difficulty disentangling the dream from her mother's voice. Then the world shifted into focus. She swung her legs off the bed. Her new bedroom was dark, but the smell seemed stronger. Holly fumbled her way to the door. A patch of light at the end of the corridor helped her make the shadow-choked journey to the kitchen. When she got there, it was empty. She walked the few steps to the open front door, rubbing sleep from her eyes. An unfamiliar car was parked at the kerb. The driver's door hung open. A street lamp about twenty metres down the road cast a pale glow. Holly's mother reached out and touched her sister's face, then gathered her in, wrapped her up in a warm and welcoming hug.

Holly took a deep breath and started down the front path.

Holly

My name is Holly Holley and I have no idea what to expect.

I mean, Mum told me about Cassie and her cerebral palsy, but that's not the same as experiencing it face to face. And my memory of the last time I saw Cassie is buried deeply in the shadows of childhood. I can't resurrect more than vague images. I am nervous as I walk down the path.

Mum and Aunty Fern are so locked together it's like they have merged into one person. And they are both sobbing. Even when they break apart for a moment, they just look at each other, burst into sobs again and get straight back to the hugging. I hover, aware of a stupid smile on my face, and wonder if I need to get a crowbar from the garage.

My eyes keep drifting towards the car, though. Adults hugging is not a great spectator sport at the best of times, but particularly under these circumstances. Even though the car's interior light is on I can't see much, because the lumpy beast that is my mum and Fern keeps shifting into my line of sight. There is a shape in the passenger seat, slumped with her head turned from me. It's difficult to make out details and I don't want to stare. When the hug fest finally finishes, Mum puts her hands on Aunty Fern's shoulders and takes a step back to see her properly.

‘You look fantastic, Fern,' she says.

‘Oh yeah,' says Aunty Fern. ‘I've driven nine hundred kilometres today. I'm tired, dirty and it's a good bet I look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards. You need your eyes tested, sis.' She glances in my direction and smiles. She
does
look tired. ‘And look at you, Holly,' she adds. ‘My goodness, you've grown.'

It must be eight years since I've seen her, so that isn't altogether surprising. I don't say that, though. Nor do I say that I might have grown, but not nearly enough.

‘Hi, Aunty Fern,' I say. My smile feels like it has dried on my face.

‘Give me a hug,' she says. She obviously feels hugging is her strong suit.

It's cold out here and light rain is falling. I wonder if we will all die of pneumonia brought on by excessive hugging. But she folds me into her body, anyway. She smells of dust and dried sweat, but I don't have to put up with it for long. Aunty Fern shivers and pulls away, rubbing at her eyes.