“What did you get?” she asked Lizzie.
“Two Marc’s dresses. I’ll show you later. I was just going to get one, but I knew that girl wouldn’t even notice if I came out with nothing but hangers. What about you?”
“Scanlan & Theodore. Just one, but it was meant to be like three hundred.”
“Nice!”
Bec was beginning to sweat. She could taste the salt collecting on her top lip. She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck; it was slick with oily perspiration, disgusting.
“Should we go to Gus’s?” asked Lizzie.
Gus’s was always cool and dark inside, with an all-day breakfast menu.
“Sounds good.”
Even if she had to spend a bit of money on food, it was worth it not to have to go home.
She stopped walking. The money. How could she not have thought of it before? She’d been sure that whatever it was that had been in her room wasn’t human. But what if it had been? What if it was the most obvious explanation: a burglar?
“I think I might just go home, actually. I feel really tired suddenly.”
Lizzie stopped and looked at her with genuine worry.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Bec said, although she didn’t really feel it.
Lizzie pulled her into a quick, tight hug. It was too hot for anything longer.
“Call me if you change your mind about stayin’ at mine, okay?”
“All right, thanks,” she said.
Bec sat on the bus, her panic growing. It was taking forever, stopping every few blocks to let someone on. They might as well not have bothered with air conditioning; every time the doors swung open the hot wind blew in. Riding the wind was the faint but sharp smell of something burning; the bushfires. Bec wrinkled her nose. She’d been worried when she first saw an article about it in The Canberra Times. A black-and-white photograph of a raging fire on page four. She usually didn’t read the paper, but she’d read this article. No one seemed to think it was a big deal, or maybe they were just distracted by everything else that was going on. Right next to the article was a full-page advertisement: “If You See Something, Say Something,” run in large bold letters. She knew all about that. If she’d called the number underneath she’d have a one-in-ten chance of talking to her mom. It was the new anti-terrorist campaign that seemed to be everywhere right now. Not just in the paper but on billboards and on television. To make it worse, her mom would come home from work with endless dumb long-winded stories of people spying on their neighbours. Bec had no idea about politics and stuff like that. Still, it seemed strange to her that people were more worried about their neighbour’s new car than a fire so close you could actually smell it.
Bec didn’t even thank the driver as she got off the bus. She charged up the street to her house. When she was halfway she started to run, not caring about ruining her hair and sweating through her makeup. The scorching-hot air blew hard against her face, stinging her eyes, but she didn’t care. Nothing was more important than knowing if the money was still there. She kept running until she was on her doorstep, pulling out her keys, slamming the door behind her.
“It was just a joke!” she heard Andrew whine from the kitchen.
“It’s not funny.” She hesitated on the foot of the stairs. Her dad sounded really angry.
“Don’t be too hard on them.” Her mother’s voice was quiet. “They’re just kids. They don’t understand.”
“You’re so weak,” he said quietly.
She didn’t want to hear this; she ran up the stairs two at a time.
“Bec?” she heard her mom call from downstairs. She ignored her, flinging open the door to her room and grabbing her talking Cabbage Patch doll from on top of the chest of drawers. Hiking up the dress, she pulled open the Velcro patch at the back, where the battery pack was meant to fit inside. Instead there was the yellow and orange of twenty- and fifty-dollar notes. Thank God. It was her pay for the whole of last year. Almost six thousand dollars pressed tightly inside the belly of her toy. She heard the slow, steady steps of her mom on the stairs. She carefully put the doll back into place and pulled the dress out of her handbag, holding it up in front of herself and looking in the mirror.
“Are you all right? Why are you running around for?” her mom asked, eyeing the dress.
“I wanted to try it on again,” she said, smiling. “What’s going on, anyway?”
Her mother looked at her hands.
“Paul and Andrew have been sneaking into the neighbours’ house, apparently. Max said that he caught them under his bed whispering.”
“Whispering?”
“They were pretending to be the voices in his head.” Her mother sighed. “They’re just too young to understand. They think it’s a joke. They say it’s okay because he’s crazy.”
“Well, Max is crazy, isn’t he?” Bec asked, still looking at the reflected dress. She wanted to point out that if her mom let the boys out a bit more, then they probably wouldn’t have done it.
“No, he’s sick. He’s schizophrenic.”
Bec was pretty sure that schizophrenic meant crazy but she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Her mom’s eyes focused on the dress.
“Oh, Bec, that looks really expensive.”
“It’s Scanlan & Theodore and you don’t want to know how much it cost,” Bec said, raising her eyebrows.
Her mother folded her arms.
“You work so much and then blow your paychecks as soon as they come in. You could save up for something really nice.”
“This is really nice!” Bec said, feigning offense, but inside she felt smug. This was getting too easy.
“Well, I guess it’s your money. But don’t go running around the place. You’ll get heatstroke,” her mom said, walking out of the room and closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Bec felt guilty for a second as she looked at herself in the mirror, the stolen dress hanging down in front of her, her hair frizzy and her face shiny. But then she caught sight of the reflection of the Cabbage Patch doll and all she could feel was triumph.
2014
For a moment I think I’m back home. I cross my fingers under the blanket and hope my stepmom is at her early prenatal Pilates class, so I can have breakfast with Dad without having to listen to her yap and whine like a pampered poodle. I open my eyes and the room seems to physically tilt around me. The outdated teenage posters, the photographs on the wall, the Cabbage Patch doll looming from the bedside table. The last week comes flooding back, running from Perth, Sydney, the hospital yesterday. I try to swallow a lump of anxiety. Becoming a whole different person is going to be hard.
I take a mental tally. I had the parents fooled completely but I’d have to tread very carefully with Andopolis. He didn’t seem to be as much of a dope as I originally thought, but I could still have him wrapped around my little finger if he felt as guilty as it seemed about failing Rebecca. It was the twins who had me worried. They were warm, wrapping me in a bear hug when I’d interrupted their dinner, but I sensed some hesitation in both of them. I’ve never played the part of big sister before, and I don’t really know how it goes. They were both attractive and successful: