You Don't Even Know (19 page)

I start flicking through the magazine that Paul left, but it's impossible to block out what Vicky is saying.

“I can't talk to him, Mack. He's completely off the rails. Again.”

I think of the stuff I'd read in Mackie's scrapbook. Not the page headed “Reasons to be happy” which was filled with random words like sunshine, sparrows, beach, shells, rain on the roof, my rabbits, but the page with another of Mackie's lists. This didn't have sketches or squiggles, just words.

R
EASONS TO KEEP FIGHTING
:

*
Mum
.

*
Dad
.

*
Tim
.

*
Ash
.

*
If I'm not here, who will cook meals, keep the house tidy and do the washing when Mum and Tim are at work?

*
Who will make sure Mum doesn't find out about the stupid things Ash has done like stealing DVDs, wagging school and stuff?

*
Who will lie to the school to cover for the dumb things Ash keeps doing?

*
Who will listen to Dad and make sure he's taking his tablets? Ring him each night and check he's okay. Still alive?

*
Who will hold everyone together?

When I was reading it, I wondered if Mackie was exaggerating, but listening to Vicky, it's obvious. Mackie believes her family can't survive without her. And by the sounds of it, she is right.

I need space. Even though my legs feel like they've been filled with wet cement, I slip on my thongs and head for the hall. Usually, when I walk past the TV room, people wearing dressing gowns and blank expressions are watching television. The colours from the screen throw eerie shadows over their faces. Today, even though the television is blaring, the room is empty. I settle on the lumpy sofa and stare at the screen.

An advertisement for a pool company fills the screen. My vision blurs and a different scene plays in my head.

The air conditioner hummed and the ceiling fan beat the rumpus room's cloying air. Mia lay on her stomach across the beanbag, watching
Shrek 3
for the seven billionth time. Outside, the laughter, music and splashes had grown louder. Sounded more like fifty of Ethan's mates out there, not the ten or so who'd arrived an hour ago. I couldn't be stuffed moving, not even to message Tilly. My phone sat beside me, where I'd left it after Tilly cracked it when I told her I couldn't make the movies. Actually, that wasn't entirely true; she didn't crack it until I said she couldn't come round for a swim. She thought that was about her, when really I didn't want her near Ethan and his mates.

A scream followed by a huge splash came from the pool area. Mia ran to the window and lifted the blind to peek outside. “Mum's gonna be mad.”

“Big mess, Mi?”

“Yep. Cans and rubbish everywhere. And they're smoking.”

“Yeah, I know.” It wasn't only cigarette smoke wafting through the house. I reached for my phone, almost tasting the satisfaction of Mum and Dad's horror when they arrived home to see how their perfect son behaved when they weren't around.

Mia squealed and clapped. “They're leaving, Alex.” She dropped the blind against the windowsill and jumped onto my stomach.

I grunted. “Easy, Mi.”

She held my face in her chubby hands. “We can swim now, Alex. Come on.”

My phone rang. Tilly's face flashed on the screen. “Wait. I have to talk to Tilly. Then we'll swim. I promise.”

Mia's bottom lip poked out.

“Honest, Mia.” I scooped her off my guts and picked up the phone.

“Okay – but you promised.” She skipped from the room as I pressed the accept button.

“Alex? Are you okay?” Mum stands in the TV room doorway. “You're very pale.”

My heart is galloping and my skin is clammy. I can feel the warmth of Mia's touch on my face. I try to rip myself out of the memory.

“Alex?” Mum hovers beside me, her face creased with worry.

“Don't fuss, Mum. I'm fine.”

Mum slips her hand around my waist and helps me stand. We walk back to my room, where Vicky is holding her phone up to Mackie's face, maybe showing her photos.

Mum settles me on the bed and fluffs the pillows behind my shoulders and head. “Where do you want these?” she asks, holding my thongs.

“Under the cabinet.”

“Should I call a nurse?”

“What's the deal with the concerned mother routine?”

She bites her bottom lip.

“Sorry,” I clench and open my right hand.

As Mum inhales, her breath hitches in her throat. “I need to ask you something, Alex.”

My heart flutters. If she says Mia, I swear I'll punch something. Maybe even her. Not once since Mia died has Mum tried to talk to me about what happened. “What?”

“About you. The accident.” She stretches the word accident as though it's a toffee. “How did it happen, Alex?”

The wound on my head itches. “Mr Dobson says I might never remember.”

“I know what he says. But I need to hear what you remember. From the moment you left home.”

The muscles in my forehead and around my eyes ache.

“Why did you go to the city, Alex? Why'd you leave your phone on the bed?”

I try to grasp what she is hinting at, but it's hard to hold, like spiders' silk. “What are you asking?”

“I have to know, Alex. I need to know what was going on in your head before.” She scratches her neck. Her nails leave red marks. She looks into my eyes. “Alex, did you mean it?”

“What?”

Mum places her hand on my forearm. Her skin is cool and smooth. “Your father thinks you meant it. That you …”

I pull away from her. A jagged pain spreads through my right side. “And if Dad says it, it must be true.”

Head bowed, she spins her wedding ring round and round her finger.

“Jesus.” The word rushes out with my breath. “What the hell makes him think that?”

“Oh, Alex, you've been so …” she looks past me searching for the word, “… distant. Withdrawn.”

“Yeah, the concern has been overwhelming.”

“That's not fair.”

“Maybe not, but it's true.”

Mum bites her bottom lip.

I feel awful. I'm not the only one hurting over Mia. “Is that why Dad doesn't visit. Or Harvey and Ethan? Because Dad thinks I tried to top myself?”

“Your father …” She screws up her face. “He's worried that–”

“I'll influence them. Turn them into nut jobs like me.”

Mum's head snaps up. But she can't make eye contact. “No! That's not true.”

“Did he stop my friends from coming too?”

“Alex, let it go.”

“Has he stopped my friends – Benny? Smurf? Bart?”

“He told people the doctor said you weren't up to having visitors.”

My laughter is bitter. “Because imagine if anyone found out the great Dylan Hudson's son tried to kill himself.”

Mum is back to spinning her ring. “Alex.”

“Does he even know you come here?”

A fat tear rolls down Mum's cheek to the corner of her mouth. “I don't think I could bear it if he's right. If you really had tried to …” Her words are swallowed by a sob.

“Since when has he ever been right about me?” I try to sound surer than I feel. The truth is, I don't know why I went to the city that day. I was just trying to keep ahead of the pain.

Mum rummages in her bag for a tissue. “The surfing, Alex. Being a lifeguard. Is that what you really want?”

“I don't make stuff up to annoy everyone, you know, despite what Dad thinks. It's what I really want.”

“Then we'll make it happen, Alex.”

I'm standing naked and alone on a building ledge. Below me, cars the size of Christmas beetles scatter in all directions. I blink and the traffic is gone. I'm still naked and standing on the edge, but now it's a cliff face, not a building ledge. Below me is endless black, as calm as still water.

A howl like nothing I've never heard before shatters the stillness.

Arms flail. Feet slip.

I'm stumbling, splashing, duck-diving.

Dragging, grasping, struggling.

Another howl.

Someone, something is in unbearable pain.

I gasp and sit up, staring around the darkened room. The top sheet is tangled around my waist and leg. My body is drenched in sweat.

“Alex, are you okay?” The yellow light of a torch shines in my face. “You were yelling.”

It's Jenny.

I can't find any words.

“Alex?” She presses two fingers against my wrist. “Your heart is racing. Are you in pain?”

I shake my head. The movement sets my body shaking.

“Dream.” My mouth is so dry my tongue crackles.

Jenny hands me a glass of water and stands beside me while I drink. “Want to talk about it?”

Do I? “I'm okay.”

Jenny feels my back. “You're drenched, Alex. Where are your clean PJs?”

I nod at the bottom drawer of the cabinet.

She pulls out a T-shirt and pyjama pants. “Go freshen up while I change your sheets.”

When I return from the bathroom, the crumpled sheets have been replaced and the bedspread is folded back.

I'm sliding between the cool sheets when Jenny returns, holding a mug. “Thought a milo might help you go back to sleep.”

The warm liquid seeps into my veins. My muscles soften.

“Are you hungry? There are sandwiches in the fridge.”

“I'm fine.”

Jenny rests her elbow on the back of the chair. “Sure you don't want to talk about it?”

I stare across the room at the lump that is Mackie. “Sucks, doesn't it.”

Jenny follows my gaze. “I've nursed Mackie a couple of times. She's a gorgeous girl.”

“Vicky thinks she'll be going home.”

A shadow crosses Jenny's face. “What do you think?”

I mentally flick through the pages of Mackie's scrapbook. “I don't think so.”

The sound of a buzzer fills the air. “That will be Mrs Erikson in room four.” Jenny sighs. “Sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“Buzz if you need me.”

“Thanks, Jenny.” I take another sip of milo. This time the sweetness turns my stomach. I place the mug on the bedside cabinet and wriggle down until I'm lying flat.

My eyelids start to feel heavy.

Howling. Flailing. Dragging. Kicking.

My eyes snap open. I can't go there again.

I press the button to raise the bed. For a moment I envy Mackie, her seemingly peaceful sleep. A wave of guilt swamps me.

I slip out of bed and walk to Mackie. Her breathing is slow and shallow. Her small hand lies on top of the blue bedspread. There are chips of yellow nail polish on her thumbnail.

The dream howl and something else taps at the edges of my brain.

I drag the visitor's chair closer to her bed and sit. Without thinking, I reach out and hold Mackie's hand. Eyes shut, I let the memory, waving in the wings of my mind for attention, take centrestage.

Mia held my face in her little hands. “We can swim now, Alex. Come on.”

My phone rang. Tilly's face flashed on the screen. “Wait. I have to talk to Tilly. Then we'll swim. I promise.”

Mia's bottom lip poked out.

“Honest, Mia.” I scooped her off my guts and picked up the phone.

“Okay – but you promised.” She skipped from the room as I pressed the accept button.

“You still mad?”

“Nah,” said Tilly. “Well, a bit. Me, Christy and Sel are meeting at the Harold Holt Pool. You and Mia should come.”

Outdoor pool with Tilly or swim amongst the crap left by Ethan? “What are you wearing?”

Tilly giggled. “My new bikini. And shorts.”

I swung my legs off the couch. “You've convinced me. You don't have the train timetable, do you?”

Tilly clucked her tongue. “I'll look it up.”

I grinned. Sure, I could have done that myself, but I liked it when Miss Organisation did things for me. The sound of her fingers tapping on a keyboard was loud. I could picture her leaning close to the screen, nose twisted, the way she did when concentrating, phone lying beside the collection of shells on her desk. A bubbly sensation filled my stomach.

“Can you be at the station in twenty minutes?”

“Easy! I'll grab a towel for me and Mia and we're on the way.”

“Great. See you at the pool”

“You bet.” As I spoke, I snatched beach towels from the linen press and moved to Mia's room.

“Hey,” said Tilly. “Bring cash – your shout. You owe me for lunch last weekend.”

Mia's door was open and her room empty.

“Sure.” I scooted down the stairs, towels over my shoulder.

“And can you burn that CD you were talking about?”

“Angus Stone?”

I froze in the foyer, a flutter of fear fanning my gut. The front door was wide open.

“Yeah, that's the one. ”

“Got to go, Tilly.” I hung up.

“Mia.” My voice echoed through the empty house.

I jerk awake. I'm sweating and shaking and breathless. For a moment I can't work out where I am. Pyjamas. T-shirt slicked to the back of the vinyl chair. Right arm plastered. I'm holding Mackie's hand. Hospital. I breathe out.