The Last Girl
First published in 2013
Copyright © Michael Adams, 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The
Australian Copyright Act 1968
(the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Email: [email protected]
A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the
National Library of Australia
www.trove.nla.gov.au
ISBN 978 1 74331 636 8
eISBN 978 1 74343 416 1
Cover and internal design by i2i Design
Cover and internal artwork,
The Wall of Sound
, © Marika Järv, 2013
Cover and internal images (cityscape, girl and flames) by
iStockphoto.com
Set in 11.5/18.5pt pt Minion by Midland Typesetters, Australia
For Clare and Ava
CONTENTS
I always knew I’d see the end of the world.
Being born under a bad sign could’ve had something to do with that. But I didn’t need an omen to tell me we were headed for oblivion. My screens were so constantly filled with cataclysmic scenarios that it seemed obvious the question wasn’t
if
but
when
.
Not
if
but
when
we’d be wiped out by climate change, superflu contagion, solar surge, rogue meteor, nanotech terror, nuclear madmen, alien invasion, robot uprising, zombie outbreak or just the good old wrath of God. Hell—we were so used to contemplating the end of the world as we knew it that we’d even given it an acronym. But the one thing all of our TEOTWAWKIs had in common was that they’d be caused by something outside of us.
Maybe I should’ve seen what was about to happen. Right up until those last moments I didn’t put the pieces together any better than anyone else. I certainly never thought novelty socks would trigger the apocalypse.
But for me they were the beginning of the end.
‘The Content Planet.’
Dad lifted the book from its reindeer gift bag, tilting it this way and that, like there was some angle he wasn’t getting.
Stephanie—his wife, my stepmother—nodded sagely. ‘I thought you really should read it.’
Dad
had
read it. Months ago. On his tablet. I remembered because I’d thought the title referred to a world in a state of peaceful happiness. Dad had scoffed and set ‘silly me’ straight. Not con
tent
.
Con
tent. Stephanie had been right there at the breakfast table when he’d gone on about meeting the author at some conference. At least I had been listening. Well,
half
listening.
‘I’ve been meaning to get this.’ Dad pretended to read the back cover.
Stephanie beamed from beside our acrylic tree. Her platinum extensions cascaded from under her Santa hat and her boobs pushed against the fluffy trim of her Mrs Claus frock. The festive outfit wasn’t for Dad’s benefit. The curtains were wide open so anyone passing on Beautopia Point’s promenade would be presented with my stepmother as the sexy centrepiece of our tacky Christmas card. Stephanie was literally window dressing.
‘I’ll read it on the flight,’ Dad said. ‘Thanks.’
The flight. Dad had offered to cancel his business trip. I told him I’d be fine. It wasn’t like him being around would make any difference. Dad tried to hide his relief but I knew he was glad to be let off the hook. I reckoned that mentally he was already in the airport lounge, sipping scotch and rehearsing his sales pitches. But first, there was family business to conclude. So far he’d given me a skate-shop voucher enclosed in a card with wishes for a better New Year and love from Dad.
Now it was Stephanie’s turn.
‘Here you go,’ Dad said, glancing up from his phone and giving her a silver envelope.
Stephanie sliced it open with a plastic nail and her eyes lit up on whatever figure was inscribed on her BestU gift card. Dad had given her the same present last year but I guessed the numbers needed to improve with age.
‘Oh, nice,’ she cooed, planting lipstick on his cheek.
He conjured a smile. ‘Not that you need it.’
As much as I was into recycling, it was pretty lame that Dad had used that line last year, too.
Eyes puffy, hair everywhere, crumpled in my pyjamas: I just wanted to be back in bed. But it was my turn again.
‘Here, Danbyn,’ Stephanie said, passing me an identical reindeer gift bag.
She never called me Dan or Danby. Payback for me never embracing her as Steph back when she thought we’d be horseriding BFFs. What I did call her was Stepfordy and Step-phoney—at least when I dissed her to my friends.
‘Thanks, Stephanie.’
I appraised the gift. A compact disc.
Eye In The Sky
by Distant Affliction.
‘They do neo-covers, they’re post-hipster,’ Stephanie said, echoing something she’d heard somewhere. ‘So, y’know, very cool. I think you should like them.’
Stephanie didn’t mean she hoped I
liked
the band. She really meant I
should
like them. If I agreed with her that they rocked it meant she at thirty-whatever was as cool as sixteen-year-old me. If I told her they sucked it meant she was cooler than me. Stephanie couldn’t lose. But I was pretty good at not letting her win.
‘They’re very popular,’ I said evenly. ‘Thanks.’
‘I hope you don’t mind it’s not a download,’ she replied. ‘But the old-school sound from a CD is so much warmer, don’t you think?’
I grinned at her totally bogus retro aesthetics, just managing to not ROTFLMFAO, as they used to say. Madly cackling on the lounge-room floor would’ve been like nuking myself for her enjoyment. The last thing I needed was any sort of scene. Better to give her this petty victory.
‘You know,’ I said, still trying not to laugh. ‘That is so true.’
Stephanie nodded with satisfaction.
I wasn’t just keeping the peace for myself but also for Evan, their six-year-old son, my beautiful little half-brother, who was swinging one of his new kiddie golf clubs too close to a spray of marigolds arranged in a vase on a side table.
‘Goof!’ he yelped.
‘Careful!’ Stephanie said way too harshly.
While she played the role of dutiful handmaiden to Dad and condescending big sister to me, sometimes she reacted to her own boy like what he suffered wasn’t a condition but a compulsion to annoy her. Evan usually didn’t notice her anger. That just made her madder.
‘Goof!’
Evan let the club clatter to the floor, plunged his hand into a bucket of golf balls and guffawed as he clacked them around. Stephanie vented an exasperated sigh. Dad glanced up from an app and aped something like amusement.
‘Goof!’ I said, grinning at Evan.
He was a goof all right, nature as golden as his complexion, and his mother’s antipathy and our father’s ambivalence made me love him all the more.
‘Goof!’
‘Golf!’ Stephanie steamed. ‘
Golf!
Golf, Evan, for godsake!’
It was such an overreaction that I wanted to laugh right in Stephanie’s face. What stopped me was I was suddenly right inside her head.
Goddamnit-Evan-understood-golf-Now-he’s-back-to-the-
full-retard!
This was far beyond her usual transparency. Far beyond my usual bitchy guessing at her every awful motive.
This was me tuning in to what she was thinking and feeling and remembering. I was with her as she flashed to the afternoon she’d found Evan upstairs staring intently into the 3-D broadcast of a PGA game.
‘Golf,’ he’d said, executing the perfect imitation of a pro’s power swing. ‘What a tremendous drive that is.’ Evan was transfixed, copying plays, parroting commentary.
Such mimicry would come out of nowhere and disappear just as abruptly. But every single time Stephanie couldn’t help thinking
savant
. Since that afternoon she had daydreamed about chaperoning her little champion to lucrative tournaments. She’d be newly single, still young and courted by rich men. But another desire curled under her lust for fame and power. Someone would see her. Really see her.
Love
her.
Now Evan held two golf balls like big fly eyes and her fantasy evaporated.
Not-going-to-happen-At-least-Brendan’s-going-soon-
No-not-David-I—
I snapped out of it. Stephanie wasn’t saying anything, hadn’t said anything. But it had been so real in my head.
Shit.
Dr Jenny said the Lucidiphil would silence the voices. Keep me stable until I could see the specialist. I’d taken the medication three times yesterday and once this morning as directed. But it was happening again. At least my family didn’t notice my face go white or my eyes go wide. I made a conscious effort to close my mouth.
My plan had been to call Jacinta this morning, wish her Merry Christmas, apologise for everything and ask her to get the word out that I was okay. I wondered if I could still do that. I felt pretty freakin’ far from okay.