Steal My Sunshine (6 page)

‘It's okay,' I could hear Sam whisper, as he poured Mum a glass of wine. They started talking about the joint bank account and the mortgage. What did Sam know about those sorts of things? He was just some idiot at uni who had a single DJ slot once a month in a bar no one ever went to. Mum was a mess, and if I didn't get near her, I'd never find out what was happening with Dad or what life was going to be like from now on.

Finally he left her side, saying he was taking a shower. I saw my chance and sat down in his place. The tears had washed her skin raw.

‘Sorry,' she whispered.

‘It's okay,' I whispered back, even though I didn't know what the sorry was for.

‘He didn't tell you he was leaving, did he?'

I shook my head, slowly.

‘I know.' She closed her eyes.

It was unbearable. I'd imagined them splitting up hundreds of times but it was never silent and charged like this. I'd always thought it would be loud and open and full of all the usual accusations. I wanted to get away from this choked-up atmosphere; it was like sinking into sand.

When Sam returned in fresh clothes I gave him back his seat.

‘This is awful, isn't it?' said Mum. She sort of laughed and I watched them share a private look.

‘I'll get some shopping,' I said. Sam had his role in what was going on but that didn't mean I had to be useless. ‘What does everyone want?'

‘I couldn't eat. Get whatever you like,' said Mum. ‘There's money in my bedroom.'

Sam leaned back in his chair and stuck his thumb up. ‘Sausage roll. With sauce.' Then his fore­finger. ‘And a Coke.'

It took all my willpower not to bend his finger back like we used to do to each other when we were kids, but then I'd only be in more trouble with Mum. Even if I wasn't needed here, there was someone else who trusted me. I remembered what Essie had asked me to do and I had a hunch I'd find it in Mum's room.

Behind the wardrobe were some of Dad's maps that he'd never got around to hanging up. There were two in large frames, but when I flipped them forward, I found a canvas. I listened out for Mum and Sam before I eased the canvas out. Despite the film of dust over it, I knew it was the one Essie had asked for: a girl, a baby and a bridge.

It could live under my bed for now.

 

On my way back from the shops I got a message from Chloe and I couldn't help breaking into a goofy smile.
U know I luv u right? U will be fine. p.s. Maybe Ev does think ur hot.
Who knows?? xx

The sun was low down now, a warm orangey lamp tucked neatly behind the city, and the cicadas were clicking like mad. I stopped at our gate and texted Chloe back. My thoughts about her lately had been mean and snide but it was only because she always seemed so far ahead of me. It was easier to drag my heels and sulk than to try to keep up with her.

She was difficult as hell but no one made me laugh like she did. No one amazed me more. That seemed like a stupid thing to forget.

I scrolled past Dad's number and bit my lip, clicked on Evan and spent the next five minutes writing and rewriting a message.

Thx 4 ur msg. Things r a bit mad right now. See u soon?

With my eyes squeezed shut, I pressed send before I could change my mind again.

The evening had the kind of glow that made summer worth all the hassle over sunscreen and mozzie bites. If Dad were here he'd be saying we should eat outside. He'd hand Mum a drink and they'd clink glasses even if they were hardly talking, which was most of the time. Dad always seemed hopeful, no matter what. As I took a deep breath to go back in the house, I realised what he'd taken with him. But maybe I was the only one who couldn't live without it.

‘Sshh, Mum's asleep,' Sam said the second I got in. As he closed her bedroom door, I fought the urge to ask if he'd read her a bedtime story and tucked her in. He grabbed at the plastic bag.

‘Wait a minute!'

‘Come on, I haven't eaten all day.'

‘You had sausages, remember?'

He swiped at the bag again but I was faster. ‘They were good too. What did you go to school for?'

I held the bag up high and walked backwards down the hall. ‘What was I meant to do, stick around here and get ignored?'

‘You really are a baby.'

‘And you're a moron.' I took my chips out of the bag and dropped the rest right where I was standing, forgetting about the can that was in there, which thudded on the wooden floor. We both looked at Mum's room.

‘Idiot,' he whispered, and picked the bag up off the floor.

I trailed after him and shot tiny arrows in his back that would never stick because I was from Lilliput and Sam was giant Gulliver. He settled on the sofa with his feet on the table. No Dad to tell him to get his shoes off the furniture now. He put the sports channel on.

There was nothing I could do. Every time I was near Mum or Sam the feeling I got when Dad had left would hit me again, just as strong as the moment it had happened. And I was too scared to call Dad in case I told him how bad it was and he didn't do a thing about it.

An hour later, in my bedroom, I heard the doorbell and thought it might be him. I raced to get there, colliding with Sam in the hallway but he'd beaten me to it. Over his shoulder I could see Mum's hippy friend, Margot. She smiled and wiggled her fingers in a nervous wave as all the adrenalin washed out of me. Sam held her off with his arm across the doorway. Margot handed him a large candle but she turned to me and said, ‘It's lavender!' as if a boy wouldn't know about things like candles.

I smiled the smallest amount possible. Margot was too much.

‘It's for your mum, for relaxation,' she told Sam.

‘Right. Thanks.' He started to ease the door closed.

Margot's head tilted into the narrowing gap. ‘Oh, well, I –'

‘She's asleep, Margot. I'll give her the candle when she gets up.' Margot's troubled face finally disappeared. For a moment I was on the same side as Sam, but when he turned round, he looked so satisfied I just wanted to punch him again.

‘Piss off back to your wind chimes and wheatgrass,' he said to the candle and threw it on his bed.

Later on, Mum's other friend, Angie, came. She and Sam chatted at the big table while Mum was still sleeping. Angie had been allowed past the threshold, which was some honour. She was like the child whisperer and it still worked on Sam. He even let her ruffle his hair and take the piss out of him. She was round and colourful; fat on purpose, it looked like, and comfortable with it. Always brightly painted in reds and purples, with cropped hennaed hair and big jewellery. Nothing fazed her.

I didn't get up to join them, knowing Angie wouldn't hassle me or think I was being rude. I'd been curled up in the armchair by the back window, watching re-runs of shows I'd already seen. Half the time I felt sucked into whatever the storyline was – if I didn't move, I didn't have to think. Then my chest would get tight with the sudden thought of time surging forward and things happening that I couldn't control.

Angie had brought over a bottle of wine.

‘I could wake Mum if you like,' said Sam.

‘No, don't do that. I'll come another time. I'm supposed to be at Luke's in a minute.'

Luke's was the church around the corner, as in Saint Luke. Angie was like some kind of holy whirlwind but I always forgot she was Christian when she was hanging out with us. She'd drink and laugh with Mum and make silly jokes about being madly in love with Dad, which we knew was rubbish. She made our house loud and lively. She'd always have to leave suddenly because a new foster kid was turning up at her door or she needed to organise a kids' disco in the church hall and then you'd remember that she was always doing things for people, and the reason why. We'd try to stay noisy and happy after she'd gone but it always seemed to fade in minutes.

‘Just let me say a quick hello to your sister and I'll be off,' she said. She smiled all the way over to me, bracelets chinking together like jingle bells. She took my head in her hands, kissed the top of it and stroked my hair a few times. That was it but it was enough. As she left, I could still feel the warmth of her grazing my skin and I quickly wiped away a few hot tears before Sam could see. Sometimes I thought it might be easier to believe in God like Angie did, but I'd already failed at that.

Sam opened the wine.

‘Who's that for?' I said. He poured some into a tumbler, took a gulp and sat down at the table.

‘Oh right, you drink wine now.'

‘Get lost, Hannah.' He took another gulp and examined the glass, holding it up to the light.

‘What have I done, seriously? Why are you both being like this?'

He was eyeing the wine as if he hadn't heard the urgency in my voice. Dad used to do that with every glass of red he drank. With a cheeky smile he'd say he was seeing if the wine had legs – he loved the way that made us laugh. He'd stretch the joke out as long as possible – the wine had arms, a job and a car and two kids – but at some point Sam had stopped finding Dad funny and it was just me who'd laugh.

‘I'm not being like anything and it's not about you, anyway.'

The bell rang again and I just managed to dodge Sam's chair to reach the door first. It was the woman from next door, Nicky. She was quiet and nervy and had four scrawny cats that Scribble terrorised constantly. Mum had had to pay for an operation for one of them. We didn't really talk to her if we could help it and she looked really uncomfortable to be standing on our doorstep. ‘The postie left this with me,' she said, barely meeting my eye as she handed me a cardboard package. ‘He said there was no answer earlier.'

‘Thanks.' It was obviously a book, addressed to Mum. And there was a white envelope:
Mr D
Moon, 48 Mary Street, Melbourne
. My dad, our house. The letter thought this was where he was supposed to be.

From behind, Sam lifted both things out of my hands before I could stop him. ‘Thanks for that, Nicky,' he said, so loud that she nearly jumped out of her skin. She skittered away, and as I watched her, I wondered how you got to be that way and whether it was where I was headed. A frightened little mouse in a world of confident cats.

I shut the door. ‘What did you snatch them for? You're such a dickhead.'

‘I'm giving them to Mum, chill out.'

‘
I
was going to, they're not yours.' I knew I should just leave it alone but I couldn't. The only thing that seemed to matter was getting the post off my brother. I was hot and shaky at the thought of it. ‘Give them back!' I said, laying into him, slamming us both into the wall. He was laughing at how hard I was struggling against him, which only made me more angry. I pushed hard into him and grabbed his hand, trying to peel his fingers away from the package one by one.

‘Hey, what's all this?' We froze as Mum stood in her bedroom doorway, and then let go of each other. Sam kept the package but left me holding the envelope, as if it were my job to hide any traces of Dad from Mum.

‘How are you feeling?' he said.

‘Better,' she smiled. ‘I needed that sleep.'

Sam handed her the package. She seemed to know what it was but instead of opening it she clutched it to her chest. Her voice sounded softer; her hair was tied off her face and she'd put on some navy trackies and an old t-shirt. That was so unlike her. She always dressed smart in a way that made her look even older than the other mums around here who all wore jeans and had long, loose hair. In a way, Mum looked younger dressed like this, but maybe that was just because her eyes looked completely lost.

‘I'll make you a tea,' I said.

‘Or there's wine,' said Sam. ‘Angie brought it.'

‘Mm, I think so.' Mum went towards the kitchen as if she didn't know the way, stepping slowly and cautiously.

Things were calmer on the outside, but my head still felt whipped up and full of noise. I followed them down the hall off-balance, wound up about the way Sam had taken control of this new thing that was happening to us.

We watched TV, Mum and Sam sharing the wine. The few words either of them said in my direction, I couldn't do more than shrug back. The calm was a ruse. Dad's letter was still in my back pocket. The news was on, all depressing as usual but none of it felt as real as the mood in the room, tight enough to explode at any moment. My head felt alert while my body felt like lead; I tried to think myself out of the room.

One minute my mind was focused on the screen, the next I imagined Dad watching the same thing in a hotel room somewhere. He had a beer in his hand, and was sitting on the edge of a strange bed. The background changed and he was in a new house with a different wife. I pictured him putting his arm around this faceless woman and kissing her. Then it morphed into the face of someone we knew, like Margot or Angie or his assistant at work who I'd always thought was really pretty. Or a guy.