Portraits of Celina (11 page)

“Give it time, Kath. Or better still, why don’t you forget about the whole waitressing thing and ring up some of your old clients, and get back into what you are best at. You’ll feel so much better once you do; it will be good for your soul, love. Truly, it will make all the difference.”

Yay, Gran! I am glad that I am not the only one who sees how simple it is.

“It’s not that easy, Mum. I’m not the same person I was be–”

Seth’s voice bursts into the gloom. “It’s raining,” he declares. “Can we still swim in the lake, Mum? Hey, why are you crying?”

“Your mother just tripped and hurt her ankle.” I am shocked at the slippery ease of Gran’s lie.

“Come here and give me a hug, little man,” says Mum.

“Where does it hurt? Hey, Gran, can you sleep with me tonight?”

“Mmm, maybe, we’ll see.”

“You might be more comfortable, Mum. I was surprised at the state of Bayley’s room. Nothing unpacked and stuff strewn everywhere. It’s odd – especially for Miss Neat Freak. She’s been a strange one since we got here, that’s for sure.” Mum sighs. “I guess it will take us all a while to adjust.”

I hold my breath as I wait for Gran to spill that I wasn’t even in bed when she got up.

“Exactly,” says Gran. “Time. Time and a bit of effort takes care of everything. Now, Batman, tell me, do you still snore like a freight train?”

“No way! You do,” Seth answers.

I tiptoe out onto the back landing.

I have heard enough.

It’s the pale blue eyes in the portrait that frighten me the most. Those luminous orbs hold me captive and seem to peer right into my soul. I admire the clever way the dark curls make the round shape of Celina’s face and how bizarrely the portrait seems to capture the spirit of Celina, just as Deb described – her energy, her enthusiasm for life – but at the same time there is something in her expression, something in those eyes that leaves me cold. Whatever, there is certainly something eerie about this picture. I fumble with the string across the back of the frame and peg it over a nail in the picture rail above the chest, right next to the Karinya sign. If only that sign would bring me peace.

I step away, and take in the rest of the room. At last I have been motivated to get it organised. Everything is unpacked and in its place. And I feel oh-so-virtuous. Lighter. Energised. Almost settled. And not even Gran giving me the O’Malley Silent Treatment and moving into Seth’s room can dampen my mood. Besides, let’s face it, I deserve Gran’s wrath.

Stacked on one side of my desk are my pile of notebooks and a jar of sharpened pencils, beside it, my laptop and, dangling from my desk lamp, my running shoes. I have only ever worn them once. Dad bought them for me a few days before he died, as an early birthday present and reward for the effort I had put into training. Now they have been relegated to the world of mementos.

I fiddle with the laces, my mind slushy with memories, when suddenly the lid to the chest slams down. I jump back and knock the pencil jar, scattering pencils across my desk and onto the floor.

As I reach down to pick them up, my skin prickles. The silvery notebook I had stashed under my mattress is also on the floor – lying open at the page about Celina and Robbie.

“Honestly, Bayley, do you have to slam everything all the time?” Amelia pokes her head through the doorway and pulls her iPod earbuds from her ears. “I spilled my coffee, thanks to you.”

I don’t respond. I grab the book and slip it onto my desk behind me.

“You still writing that creepy story?” Amelia’s lips curl into a sneer and she cups both hands around her coffee mug.

“Where’d you go the other night?” I say, my voice as shaky as my insides.

“What does it matter? I got home before Mum, like I said.”

“And my bangles, where are they?”

“What do you care? You never wear them.”

“Doesn’t matter. I want them back. Now.”

“You’ll get them back, don’t worry your pathetic self about it.”

What did I do to deserve Amelia for a sister?

“And what about Oliver?” I hear myself saying. “Where’d you meet him?”

Amelia gives a sly smile. I can hear Seth running down the hall, calling out to Gran. Amelia slides into the room and closes the door behind her. “Ah, you have the hots for our athletic neighbour?”

“No – I only want to know when you met him.”

“Yeah right. You’re jealous! This is hilarious.”

Amelia’s words set a fiery heat rushing up my neck. “I’m not jealous, you idiot,” I snarl. “It’s just … just that this is a small town and Mum will catch you out if you’re sneaking into town with one of the locals.”

Amelia bends over laughing. “Green eyes don’t suit you one bit, Bayley. But you can put them away. He’s too Serious Sports Star for me. Gawd, give me a break! Have you heard his laugh? Could it be any more ridiculous? But it doesn’t matter anyway; he’s way out of your league, little sister. I reckon he’s a bit of a god with the girls around town – from what I’ve heard.”

“From what you’ve heard? Where? When?” My cheeks are well alight now and I feel like a big baby.

“Forget him, is all I’m saying. God, it’s freaking freezing in here.” Amelia pops her earbuds back in, takes a sip of her coffee and slips out.

I sink down onto my desk chair. Amelia is so infuriating!
He’s out of your league
. I picture Oliver this morning on the lake. Remember the bewilderment on his face when I yelled at him on the rocks the other day. Remember how I threw my little wobbly and ran off. She is so right.

My guts lurching, I flip open the silver notebook. Was it just a spooky coincidence that the book was on the floor opened to the page about Celina and Robbie? I look at the scrawling handwriting and shiver. My attention shifts from the notebook to Celina’s portrait, with those cold, cold eyes that pierce deep into me and chill the blood in my veins. Swarms of words and sentences and images cram into my head until it is fit to burst.

I am compelled to write. I have no choice in the matter.

It got serious with Robbie and me almost immediately. One minute we were barely talking to each other, bearing that childhood grudge with a vengeance; the next minute we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. It was intense to the max. Marvellously, giddily, amazingly amazing. Quite simply, we were in love
.

We loved each other all summer long and then into the autumn. Robbie met me on the school bus each morning, and we rode it to school sitting side by side, tingling at being so close. Some days he had a wildflower for me
.

Robbie consumed me. Totally. I opened my heart to him and he filled it to bursting, and gave his own heart to me in return. And I knew how lucky we were to have found each other so young. Some people wait their whole lives and never experience what we had
.

He is so great, Bayley. Wait until you meet him. You’ll love him to bits. He is the best ever
.

“Hurry up, Amelia,” Mum calls from the bottom of the stairs. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take to get there and I don’t want to be late.” Mum thumps off to the kitchen.

I scrutinise myself in the hall mirror: smooth back an errant curl and adjust my scarf. Ridiculously, it has taken me all afternoon to decide what to wear. Everything I tried on made me look pathetic. It wasn’t until I slipped on a spotty red dress from the peace chest that I felt satisfied. The skirt is made from a floaty material that flares out from the waist in a way that makes you want to twirl. I finished it off with a chunky silver medallion.

Gran comes up behind me, looks over my shoulder into the mirror. “That suits you,” she says, appraising me. “Are they Celina’s clothes?”

I nod, wondering how Gran is going to react. “Do you mind?” Our reflected eyes meet.

“Mind? No, not really. I guess it’s good that they are being put to use.” Gran runs the back of her hand affectionately across my cheek. “You’re a beautiful young woman, Bayley. Don’t ever forget that.” She picks up her handbag off the hall seat and shakes her head. “That chest! I still can’t quite fathom how we left it behind. And for everything to be in such good condition after all these years – says a lot for camphor wood.”

I turn away from the mirror. “Gran – I’m sorry about before … those things I said …”

“No need for apologies. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have let it get to me like that. That chest – well, seeing all those things of Celina’s, it threw me.” She pushes another stray curl out of my eye. “And you’re right, you’re just like Celina – the resemblance is uncanny, actually, and I can’t explain why I hadn’t noticed it before. Forgive me?”

“Sure – but it … it all makes me feel a little weird.”

“There’s nothing weird about it. It’s called genetics – Celina was your mum’s cousin. That’s all there is to it. Now, what I should have been telling you, Bayley, is how proud I am of you – the way you have been holding your family together, it’s been extraordinary, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

I shake my head. “But Gran, how can you say that? We’re in bits. I’ve done nothing but–”

“You have shown great gumption. And I’ve been feeling more than a little guilty about not doing my share – always tied up with the Soup Van and everything – when I should have been there for you lot more. Anyhow, I’m rectifying that now.”

“You shouldn’t have to rectify anything,” I say and mean it. “Besides, what are Missy Moo and Arnold doing without you?”

“Ha! They’re doing fine. Missy Moo even has a job. Casual, and not enough for her to make rent, but she’s chuffed about it.” I watch Gran’s face – shining like a Christmas tree – as she talks about the Soup Van, and it strikes me that that’s where she should be. I am sad and guilty and grateful all at once.

Mum rushes past Gran and passes me a basket. “Here take this to the car, will you? And make sure Seth’s been to the loo.” She tears up the stairs. “Come
on
, Amelia. Everyone is waiting.”

The basket is heavy, filled with the spoils of Mum and Gran’s baking extravaganza afternoon: chocolate chip muffins, melting moment biscuits, citrus tarts. The way the items are arranged has all the signs of Mum’s flair, and I feel encouraged. I hope the Mitchells aren’t into health foods though. A whiff of the sugary contents would be enough to snap a diabetic out of a coma.

Just as I go to step outside, I am stopped by the sound of Mum yelling at the top of her voice. “What do you mean, you’re not going? Of course you’re going. Now get out of those daggy clothes and hurry yourself up, young lady.”

Gran and I exchange troubled glances.

“Sounds like World War Three has erupted,” says Gran. “Wait here, Bails. I’ll go up and see if the combatants are open to peace talks.”

Amelia’s voice rockets down the stairwell. “I’m eighteen in a couple of months and you can’t make me go.”

Seth appears in the doorway next to me, pulling on his ears. I set the basket on the verandah boards and sit down on the steps.

“Yes, I can,” says Mum. “And I will.”

“Yeah, you and whose army?”

“Wow, that’s original, Amelia. Where did you learn that one? Your underage drinking mates at The Pint?”

“I don’t give a rat’s and I don’t give a rat’s about you or anyone else in this stinking hellhole. You might be able to drag me here, Mum, but you can’t make me like it. So shut up!”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that; you have no right.”

“Don’t you go flapping on about rights. What gave you the right to wreck my life?”

“You were doing a pretty good job of wrecking it by yourself, madam!”

“What would you know? You haven’t even been on the same planet, let alone the same town, Mum. You’ve been absent in the extreme.”

Ouch. That would have hurt.

There’s a pause, and I wonder if I should go upstairs and check everything is okay. Then Amelia’s yelling tumbles down the stairwell again.

“Look – I don’t care what you think or what you say; I have no intention –
repeat, no intention
– of spending Saturday night meeting some dumb country bogans. So get off my case!”

Amelia’s door slams and a thick silence fills the house as if Amelia’s anger has sucked out all the air, leaving the rest of the household holding their breath in the vacuum.

“What’s a bogan?” Seth whispers into the void. He pulls his cape closed around his legs and rests his chin against his knees.

I stifle a laugh. “Nothing,” I answer lamely, worrying what is going to happen next.

“Why is Amelia angry all the time?” he asks.

“That’s a good question, mate. Maybe you should ask her. Not now though,” I add.

“I don’t like it when she yells.”

“Neither do I. But we’ve always got each other, right?”

“Are we still going to Oliver’s?”

I open my mouth to reply as Mum and Gran come traipsing down the stairs. Mum’s face is flushed and her eyes are red.

“Come on, you two,” says Gran. “In the car. We don’t want to be late.”

“Is Amelia coming?” Seth asks.

“No. She’s too much of a cranky-puss tonight, don’t you think?” Gran takes Seth’s hand.

Mum picks up the basket and closes the door behind her. She is totally strung-out and I wonder if I am ever going to be able to forgive my sister for what she is putting our mother through.

It’s quite a hike to get around to Lakeside. It requires driving all the way out to the main highway, then about another ten kilometres along it, before turning off and driving in towards the lake.

I am surprised by the drive back in. From my glimpses across the lake to the imposing trees and orderly paddocks of Oliver’s property, I had been expecting rolling hills of grazing sheep and patchwork paddocks of grain or lucerne. Instead, the terrain is rugged, the road cutting through steep gullies thick with bush.

Despite this, I am enjoying the drive. A stiff southerly has swatted away the miserable weather of the morning, leaving behind another breathtaking afternoon; everything is brighter, greener, crisper, as if scrubbed clean. Seth is engrossed in his comic book – how he doesn’t get carsick is beyond me – and Mum and Gran are locked within their private thoughts.