The Secrets We Keep (11 page)

Chapter 22

By the time I wake, Bridge is up and not in her room. She's always up first. Even when we're on school camp and we stay awake until 3am.

I roll over and hide my head under the pillow. It smells like lavender washing liquid, not the awful cheap vanilla stuff Dad buys now. I know people think that sleeping on the floor isn't very comfortable, but sleeping on Bridge's floor sure beats sleeping in my bed at the flat.

‘Oi!' says my friend's voice from the doorway. Then sh
e'
s pulling the pillow off my head and tickling me.

‘I made congee. Come on! I made it just the way you like it.'

‘Not hungry,' I say, trying to bury my head again.

‘Not an option.'

As she pulls the doona from my legs and starts trying to tickle my feet, I surrender. She's not going to let me sleep any longer no matter how hard I try.

‘I can't eat anything. I ate too much pork last night,' I say as I trudge down the hallway in Bridge's slippers.

‘Yeah, yeah …'

I laugh as she dishes me up a bowl of rice porridge.

It doesn't look like her parents are up yet. I've always loved that about Bridge's house. Because there are five kids and Bridge is the second youngest, she has to fend for herself in the mornings, particularly on the weekends when her parents sleep in.

‘You want to stay for the whole weekend? Mum won't care,' says Bridge, piling her bowl with ginger, coriander and spring onions. I add those things to my bowl, too, but not quite as much ginger as she does.

‘Can't. Dad's coming soon. And haven't you got netball?'

Netball was another thing I stopped after the fire. I wish I still played. I wish I still got a ride each Saturday with Bridge and her dad to the courts. I wish I hadn't had to drop out of everything because we couldn't afford it until we knew what was happening with the insurance. And if the insurance doesn't come through then I may never get to do anything again.

‘You can come and watch. Do you want white pepper? Or salt and soy sauce?'

‘Yuck,' I reply, pulling a face. ‘You can't have salt
and
soy sauce. Your tongue will shrivel up!'

Bridge shrugs and sprinkles salt, then pours soy sauce all over her congee. Then she spoons a mouthful in and gives me a delighted smile. ‘Yum!' she manages to mumble.

‘No salt for me.'

‘Chicken,' she says.

Bridge can eat more than my dad. Actually maybe even more than both Dad and me combined.

‘I had this crazy thought, Clem,' Bridge says.

‘What? Another one?'

She pulls a face. ‘Ha ha. I'm not telling you now!'

‘Okay, sorry. What crazy thought?'

‘Well, what about if we could find a high school somewhere between our houses and go there next year. Together.' She smiles at me and I see a dark smudge of soy sauce staining her cheek.

‘Won't your mum have something to say about that?' Bridge's mum is pretty set on all of her kids going to the same high school.

‘Nah, we can get around her.'

I love that Bridge is trying to scheme us back together again. But I'm not even sure we'll still be in the flat next year. Who knows where we'll be? Besides, I hate talking about what's coming next. I just want to get through the rest of this year.

‘Get around who?' asks Bridge's mum. She walks into the kitchen wearing the brightest pink dressing gown I've ever seen.

Bridge laughs. ‘Your ears burning, Mum?'

Bridge's mum pats her ears, pretending she doesn't understand what Bridge means. ‘No.'

‘Want some congee?'

‘I need coffee first.'

‘Sorry, Mum. I drank all the milk,' says Bridge, with a guilty face.

Her mum shakes the carton, double-checking that it's empty. ‘You're lucky Clem's here. Or you'd be in big trouble!'

‘I won't be here much longer. Dad's coming soon.'

‘I have to go and get milk so if I miss him, tell him I said hello.'

Then she comes around to my side of the kitchen and wraps her strong arms around my middle. I gasp because she's not usually much of a hugger. She pulls me in close and I notice she smells like lemons.
Don't let me go,
I say in my head.

‘See you soon, Clem,' she whispers.

When Bridge and I first became best friends way back in kinder, we used to think our mums were best friends, too. It made us feel extra special, like we had a private club of besties. It wasn't until we were older that we noticed that they didn't spend any time together unless they had to. Our dads probably had more in common than our mums because when they both turned up to netball they'd gravitate towards each other. But our mums just never clicked. Since the fire, Bridge's mum hasn't even brought up my mum. Not once. It's like just because Mum disappeared with the flames nobody need mention or think about her again.

I wish it were that easy.

Chapter 23

Dad arrives just as Bridge and I are taking off our shoes to practise handstands on her trampoline. He waves at me from the kitchen and sits down to have a cup of tea with Bridge's dad. We manage to get a few handstands in, taking it in turns to hold each other's legs upright.

‘We're playing the top team today … and if we win …' Bridge must notice the look on my face because she stops mid-sentence and starts bouncing, forcing me to bounce, too.

‘I don't mind if you talk about netball,' I say.

‘I know. But it's weird without you. Nobody's speedy like you are. Alyssa thinks she can play centre, but she's awful at it.'

I start laughing. Bridge thinks Alyssa is awful at just about everything.

‘It's true,' Bridge cries. ‘I'm not just saying it.'

‘I know. I'm the best centre around.'

Bridge bumps into me and I bump back.

‘You could still play, Clem.'

‘No. I can't. Not now.'

‘Maybe not now, but maybe next year. Maybe when everythin
g'
s sorte
d,
' says Bridge sounding hopeful.

I smile at her, loving her optimism.

‘Ready to go, Clem?' calls Dad from the back door.

‘No. She's staying,' says Bridge, grabbing me.

Usually my dad would muck around with us a bit more, but today he just shakes his head and walks back inside.

‘Let's jump the fence and run away,' I say to Bridge, only half joking.

But she leaps off the trampoline onto the grass. I follow. If only I could stay here with Bridge's family forever.

I get in the car and watch Bridge waving madly from her perch on the front fence. I wave back, but not as enthusiastically. Suddenly it feels like I'm leaving my old life all over again.

Dad never drives very fast. I'm not sure why. It's like he's too busy thinking to be bothered about being in a hurry. Because we're moving so slowly, it takes me a minute or two to work out that we're taking the back roads. Soon we're going to end up out the front of our old house again.

‘Dad? Aren't we going to the flat? I have to feed Maggie's fish.'

‘Yeah. But first …' Dad steers the car along the kerb and brakes in full view of the blackened lump that was once our house.

‘What are we doing here?'

He turns off the ignition and looks at me. I notice more grey towards the front of his hair than there was yesterday. I wonder if that's possible.

Suddenly Dad leans over and reaches into the glove box. He pulls out the letter and drops it into my lap.

‘I think you should read it, Clem.'

‘Read away, Da
d,
' I say, throwing it into his lap.

So he does. He actually sits there and reads it silently in front of me. It takes ages. It's not even a very long letter, but it still takes him ages. I fiddle with the radio but, of course, it won't switch on because the car is turned off. I hope nobody I know drives past or, worse, stops to have a chat. I imagine Jack watching us from inside his house, and wonder what Dad would say to him if he comes out to talk about the fire.

Finally, Dad looks up, but before he can say anything, I stop him.

‘Dad, see that black house over there. That's what Mum—'

‘But Clem, what if we're wrong? All we know is that a candle started it.'

‘Her candle, Dad. Her candle. And she was inside when it started … We know that's true. Jack told us. He told the police and the fire department that he saw her.'

Our old neighbour Jack was nosy and lonely, sure, but he was also always looking out for everyone. Like if you needed some milk, he would lend you some. Or a lift somewhere, he was happy to drive you. Or someone to witness your mum inside a burning house. No biggy. That's what neighbours are for. Right?

‘Dad I don't care anymore about any of this. I don't want to see our old house. And I don't want to talk about Mum!'

Dad looks old. And really sad. He never used to look like this. I remember when my parents used to make each other laugh all the time. They would muck around and dance and do silly stuff and I felt so lucky to be in the middle of their lives. But that was a long time ago BTF. By the time our house burnt down, Mum was already swallowed up inside her own black. And so she started the fire to make sure everything else would burn along with her.

‘Honey—'

‘No,' I say, silencing him. ‘My house is gone because of her. My room, my stuff, my clothes, my life. It's all gone. And now the insurance company doesn't know if they'll pay. I hate her. And I wish I could tell her just how much.'

I glare at Dad. He passes the letter to me and I shove it inside my bag, certain that I'll never read it.

‘I really have to feed the fish, Dad. Can we get going?'

He sighs and slides his hands up around his face like he's trying to hide from me. If he starts crying then I'm going jump out of the car and run. But finally he straightens up, reaches down and starts the car. And as he does, Taylor Swift shouts her lyrics into the car. Dad shoots his hand out, super-fast and shuts it off.

He says nothing as he steers the car away from the kerb and starts driving towards the flat. In fact, neither of us says a word the whole way home.

Chapter 24

The highlight of my weekend, other than visiting Bridge, is hanging out with Maggie's fish. After feeding them, I spend an hour sitting on her red velvet couch, just eating chocolate cake and watching them. The grey feathery one, the catfish, I think, chases the other fish back and forth, clearing them from a hiding spot under the rocks. The three orange ones seem happy to be chased. They flit and zip everywhere, this way and that, until the catfish finally gives up and retires back to its hiding place. I still like Put Put the best, the one that spends all of its time picking up the coloured stones and spitting them against the glass. He seems to know exactly what he's doing, and is completely determined to change his surroundings.

On Monday, as I walk into school, I plan to follow the fish's lead. I mean, I'll leave out the spitting part, but I like the idea of trying to change my surroundings to suit me.

Ellie is putting her bag away when I get to the lockers. She doesn't see me straightaway, so I watch her without her knowing. She's moving pretty slowly. I remember moving like that. It's like you're in slow motion and you're trying to go back to find the okay time just before the horrible moment swept in and changed your life.

She looks about as messy as I feel – like she's slept in the clothes she's wearing. I wonder if she has. I still find myself wearing the same pair of leggings to bed as I did to school, so I can personally endorse that particular way of being.

I slip past her and place my bag into my new locker.

Ellie must notice because I hear her say quietly, ‘Oh, you got a locker? Don't you want to share mine? I don't mind.'

‘Thanks, but Rebecca found me one last week. I think she'd rather we had our own,' I say, tasting the familiar metallic taste in my mouth.

I look up and give her a smile and notice her face is pale. ‘You okay?'

She laughs like what I've said is funny. ‘Nah. Dad said I could stay home this week, but he's so exhausting. I just want to get back to normal.'

I nod. I completely understand.

She nods back, obviously relieved that I get it.

‘You do know what I mean, don't you? If I said that to Tam, she'd go all weird on me and think I was trying to forget what happened. But you know.'

‘Yeah. I totally know.'

And I do. After the fire, maybe only two or three days after, all I wanted to do was go back to school. If it hadn't been for Dad deciding that I wasn't ready, I would have turned up with a borrowed hat from my cousin, Bridge's sister's old hoodie and a forced smile the size of Luna Park. But it wasn't easy to pretend yo
u'
d won the lottery if you'd just watched your house and almost everything in it burn to the ground.

‘Bring on normal,' I say, linking my arm through Ellie's, causing her to smile.

‘I'm so glad you're here, Clem.'

‘Yeah. Me too.'

As soon as I see Tam walking towards Ellie and me at lunchtime, I know I'm in for it. Her face is flushed and her eyes are cold. But she bypasses me and goes straight to Ellie, who is sitting on the grass munching an apple.

‘Where have you been? You've missed the entire morning of Italian choir practice,' says Tam, holding out her hand to pull Ellie up.

Ellie pulls an oops-I-forgot
face.

‘Come on, you can still catch the end!'

‘Sorry, Tam. I'm just going to hang out here.'

‘But we have the concert soon. You need to come,' Tam pleads.

She sounds so desperate I almost feel sorry for her.

But Ellie shakes her head. ‘I can't do it today. Maybe next week.'

I try to avoid looking at Tam, but I can't exactly hide on the grass.

‘Is it because you're having lunch with her?' She glares at me, like it's all my fault.

‘Her?' Ellie raises her eyebrows. ‘You mean Clem?'

‘Yeah, as if I mean somebody else. Just because her mum died too—'

‘Tam,' gasps Ellie.

‘Whatever,' says Tam furiously. She spins around and storms off into the playground. I watch the kids scatter like pins in a bowling alley as she passes. No one is stupid enough to get in her way.

‘Sorry, Clem.'

‘Whatever,' I say, imitating Tam.

Ellie pushes away her lunch box. ‘Now that Mum's gone and Dad's going back to work, hopefully it means I can start being in charge of making lunches.'

I look into her lunch box and see a sad-looking sandwich. ‘Here you go.' I hand her half of my chicken one.

‘Really?'

‘Sure.'

‘Thanks, Clem,' she says, and takes a mouthful. She must be starving. ‘Wanna go for a run with me tomorrow night?'

‘Sure. I don't have any other plans.'

‘Do you mind if I come to your house first?'

‘Oh,' I say, wondering what Ellie will think of the brown box flat I live in.

She leans closer. ‘It's just that I don't really like being home at the moment.'

I nod. I understand how that feels. ‘Course. I'll give you the address.'

After school, I want to return Maggie's keys even though she told me I could keep them in between fish-feeding obligations. But maybe I'm just using visiting her as an excuse because I don't want to see Dad just yet.

Maggie owns her flat, so even her front door is more personalised than ours. She's painted brightly coloured fish swimming around the eyehole where she can peep out from the inside.

I knock and she immediately opens the door. ‘My fish girl!' she exclaims, and smiles at me warmly. ‘How was it?'

Whoever thought I'd like being called fish girl?

‘All good. I have your keys.' I hold them out to her.

She shakes her head. ‘You keep them. I like someone other than me having a set to my place because I'm forever locking mine inside! I've just started to make a never-fail lemon cake. Do you want to help me?'

I have an ache in my stomach. Lately I'm not sure if it's from hunger or sadness. But the smell of lemon zest wafting out is enough to make me nod.

‘Come on in, then.'

I follow Maggie into the flat. As soon as she shuts the door and my eyes adjust to the bright lamp, my body feels floppier and my legs feel like they could just stop and stay still awhile. I wave to the fish that are in hiding in the tank. Now that I've spent a few days feeding them I feel like they're my friends.

Cooking with Maggie is chilled and relaxing. She hums while she gets out the white china mixing bowl and the ingredients. Then she calmly teaches me how to measure them out and explains when you need to be precise and when you can be a bit loose with the recipe. We don't talk about anything much while we cook and she doesn't ask me any questions. It's nice to lose myself in flour and lemon juice and melted butter. Maggie even lets me slide the cake into the oven wearing her special tartan oven mitt.

‘I'll set the timer for an hour. That should do it. Now all we have to do is drink tea while we wait,' she says, picking up a delicate china cup that reminds me of my mum. Mum never drank tea from a mug, only from the finest china. I watch as Maggie pours the unstrained tea and then pops in two spoons of sugar and some milk.

I take a sip. It's warm and sweet and the smell reminds me of Dad. ‘This is delicious.'

‘Wait until you taste the cake. You can always tell when I've had a funny sort of day because I bake. I think eating baked goods is nourishing for the soul. What do you think?'

‘Yeah. But I never bake.'

‘You just did! And it's actually rather special being able to mix up a bowl of ingredients and then pull out something totally different from the oven. My dad always used to say a cake is just the sum of its parts heated up.'

Maggie smiles as she sips from her cup.

Then she looks up and I notice that her eyes are different colours. One is light brown and the other green. I can't believe I didn't notice before!

‘How was your day, Clem?'

‘Okay. My friend's mum just died,' I find myself saying.

Maggie looks at me, her eyes clear and interested. ‘That's pretty awful. Are you okay?'

Maggie sips her tea while I think. I like that she doesn't hurry me. She's not one of those adults who need you to gallop through what you're saying so they can move on to the next thing. She just seems happy to wait until I'm ready.

Mum was like that. Once. A long time BTF. Back then, she was
amazing
. She was the mum everyone envied. My friends always wished she were their mum because she was just so easy going. She never cared how many friends I brought home and she listened if they had problems.

And we did things together. Fun things. Like swimming in the sea in the middle of winter. Like staying in fancy hotels for my birthday. Like eating chocolate cake for breakfast. Then … she went black. She cried all the time. Slept a lot. And was really sad. And then she burnt down our house …

Finally I put down my cup and answer Maggie's question. ‘Not really.'

‘Is it just you and your dad?'

‘Yeah.'

‘It was just me and my dad, too. When I was a kid we didn't have much, but we did have fish. My dad said he liked watching them at night. They relaxed him. That's why I have fish now.'

Without me realising, Maggie's managed to top up my tea. When I notice I'm so glad because it seems to be helping.

I haven't got much else to say today and obviously neither has Maggie because we both just sit quietly, waiting for the buzzer to sound on the oven and listening to the filter on the fish tank bubble away. It beats going home.