13
A FEW DAYS later: a stunning summer morning. I’m filming Dad, dressed head to toe in his cheapest business attire, squeak down a mini backyard water slide and splash into a glistening pool. As he sinks below the surface, ripples of black and white beneath the candy blue, I curse my half-arsed IOU Christmas present and pray that no one from my school uses Facebook. Or if they do, they don’t see this post.
Dad’s dripping, grinning face pops out of the water, hair scraggly and soaked, and as he pulls himself up the little metal ladder Mum steps into the scene. ‘With a state-of-the-art in-built swimming pool and water slide, 361 Margaret St Franklin is the perfect home for kids.’ She glances at Dad, then winks at my iPhone, ‘Or kids at heart.’
They both fake laugh and I hold in a groan. This is so cringe. Still, I follow as they start walking, Dad trailing puddles of water as they point out the backyard’s other special features, finally ending the video with their arms around each other and their catchphrase, which they say together, blindingly bright and in perfect sync: ‘At Evans Real Estate, we’re a family that cares about your family. Enquire about your dream future today.’
I tap the screen to stop recording and my parents pull apart. Mum’s smile fades as she wipes water droplets off her red suit jacket (red: success, prosperity, passion).
‘Perfect first time!’ Dad says, grabbing his towel from the top of a giant, Greek-style terracotta urn and rubbing at his hair. ‘You get all that, Luce?’
‘Yep,’ I say, mumbling an inaudible ‘unfortunately’ after. I shove my phone in my pocket and double back to save a garden skink I saw struggling in the pool, trying not to freak out over my parents’ ability to fake their own marital happiness for a marketing opportunity. Or maybe I was only imagining the distance between them. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe they’re fine.
At least we can all manage to be in the vicinity of a backyard pool again. That’s one thing Leonie really helped with: teaching me not to associate Charlie’s death with pools. She also taught me not to blame myself, that there’s nothing I could have reasonably done to stop what happened or save him, which I almost believe now even though I definitely didn’t at first. The black hole, though—Leonie never touched on that. Because how could she understand the abyss that’s opened up inside me when I barely know anything about it myself?
‘I think we should start paying you, Luce Cat,’ Mum says as I flop down on an outdoor dining chair in the shade.
‘Agreed,’ I tell her, because I assume she’s joking. ‘My director’s fees start at $150 an hour. That might sound like a lot, but keep in mind you’re paying for the artistic instincts of someone who watches a lot of video content.’
Mum takes a seat opposite me. ‘I’m being serious! How about working for us as your summer job?’ She turns to Dad. ‘What do you think?’
Dad looks up from pulling off his sodden shoes and socks. ‘Sure. Plenty more videos to make. And we can definitely find some things for you to do around the office.’
‘Let’s call that a backup plan,’ I say. I’d rather work anywhere than become Evans Real Estate’s latest recruit. ‘I’m still waiting to hear back from some places.’
Jacinta had told me there’s nothing going at IGA, and I haven’t applied for any other actual jobs, but I did email some local animal shelters and wildlife carers yesterday about volunteering. I figured after Dad’s placebo speech they don’t actually care about the money side of things, and I’ve also realised that it’s something I genuinely want to do. Genuinely wanting something stirs a small but bright light in my chest, like the aching, longing, wanting, but less painful, less sharp, and I try my best not to feel immediately guilty for being the only Evans child who can still want anything at all.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out. I haven’t heard from Ben, or Lockie, since Christmas Day, but the message is from neither of them. It’s Tina in our group chat sending photos of potential outfits for their New Year’s Eve plans. Rach had sent a link a few days ago to some underage dance party at Docklands. They’re all staying at a hotel. With the potential for Lockie to be there with Tina, as well as the general awkwardness between me and the group now, I hadn’t considered going. But Rach said she needed to know numbers ASAP and guilt for being so distant with her all year has been gnawing at me, so I’d written back yesterday that I had plans with my parents but thanks for the invite. I didn’t want to tell them I was doing something with Jacinta, given the betrayal on Rach’s face at the Frank that day. Rach, Steph and Tina had all heart-emoji-reacted to my message, clearly appreciating that I had actually responded to something for once. My social life would be so much easier if none of it had to be in person. I think about messaging Ben, asking what he’s doing for New Year’s as an excuse to start another conversation, but before I can start writing—
‘All right,’ Dad says, checking his watch. ‘Let’s move it. Cricket starts in halfa.’
I’m in the living room late that afternoon, half-watching some creepy true crime on Netflix on my laptop and half-messaging Jacinta about New Year’s Eve, when Ben’s name pops up on my screen.
Hey are u free right now
I just finished work
Maybe I can come drop ur cardboard box back
I stare at his messages for what feels like a full minute before I can comprehend that Ben is asking to see me. Like, right now. Here. Butterflies flap around in my ribcage. But before I respond, I message Jacinta.
Um so Ben is asking to see me right now. I think at my house?? He’s saying he wants to drop back the cardboard box I brought the plains-wanderer in We had a joke about me needing it back but like…it was clearly a joke? Do you think he just wants to see me?????
Jacinta sends me a link to a YouTube of lions mating. I hurry to silence my phone, glancing over at Dad who’s asleep on the other couch half-hidden by a giant ficus plant, but the guttural animal moans can’t compete with his snoring and the background TV cricket. I slam my laptop closed and I’m halfway to my bedroom when I realise I’ve only messaged Ben back in my head. I tell him I’m free and send him my address, calculating I probably have about fifteen minutes before he gets here.
I throw on a white singlet top that shows my boobs and an army-green skirt, brush my hair and put on some lip gloss. Then I glance into Mum and Dad’s bedroom to see that Mum’s watching Grand Designs on her iPad with her headphones in. On the way to the front door I check my reflection in the hallway mirror, telling myself to please calm down , and I step out into the late summer afternoon.
Ten minutes later I’m still perched nervously in the gutter, bare feet warm on the asphalt, when Ben’s car appears at the end of our street in front of an almost-sunset sky. I jump up so it isn’t too obvious I’ve been waiting for him. He pulls up across the street and turns the engine off. The dusty ute tick-tick-ticks as I walk over to it. It’s the vehicle his dad was driving that night Jacinta and I flashed him. I try not to burst into flames of humiliation and give myself away.
‘Hey,’ Ben says, sliding out of the driver’s seat and closing the door behind him, sending particles swirling around like some kind of magic dust in the sunset. He’s in his Franklin Animal Sanctuary uniform, pink zinc and all. His eyes dart down my body and back up again, so fast it’s almost imperceptible, and my pulse quickens.
‘Hi,’ I say, giving a weird, involuntary little wave as I stop just short of him. Ben’s even taller than me when I’m not wearing shoes. He smells like Juicy Fruit gum and fresh deodorant. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I slide them into my back pockets.
Our banter’s been pretty easy so far, so I expect Ben to say something funny or sarcastic—maybe something he thought up on the way over so this wouldn’t be awkward—but he just stands there and rubs the back of his neck, his freckled forearms slightly tense, looking nervous. The Kitchen Ninja 5000 box is nowhere in sight.
‘So,’ I start, desperate for something, anything , to say. ‘You’re working a lot over summer, hey?’
Ben looks up at me then, and I notice in this light he has a beautiful band of gold around each of his pupils. ‘Yeah. It’s kind of easy to get roped into a last-minute shift when you live there. That, plus I’m saving up. Dinesh and I are moving to Melbourne for uni in like two months.’
For a second he seems so much older than me, even though it’s only a year. Then I actually process the first thing he said. ‘Hang on—you live at the sanctuary?’
‘Yeah.’ He smiles. ‘I forgot you don’t know that. The director’s house is in the grounds.’
‘That’s awesome,’ I say, imagining roaming around at night and having all the animals to myself. ‘So, you basically have pet dingoes.’
‘They would one hundred per cent resent being called that, but yes.’
‘Maybe they think you’re their pet.’
Ben smirks. ‘More like their slave. Dingoes have a serious God complex.’
I let out a tiny snort. Ben leans his arm against the side of the ute and I copy him. ‘What are you studying next year?’ I ask.
‘Science at Melbourne Uni. I wanna be an urban ecologist.’ I frown, so he adds: ‘It’s like, how plants and animals adapt to urban environments.’
I nod. ‘I’m guessing the answer is badly?’
‘Nah, actually. A lot of them do really well. We literally just found a species of lizard in Melbourne that we thought had been extinct for years. And you know there’s an Australian fur seal living in the Yarra River? People have named him Salvatore.’
I laugh with surprise. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. People think the river is a polluted dead zone because it’s in a city, but it’s not at all.’
‘That’s so cool.’
‘And you know about the peregrine falcons living on that building in Collins Street?’ His eyes are bright now.
‘Yes!’ There’s a 24-hour webcam of their nest I watched religiously this year, until the babies had hatched, taken their first flight and then they all left. ‘Obsessed with that falcon family! How was the drama with the dad getting usurped by the other bird?’
‘Right? I was waiting for him to bulk up and swoop back in for revenge.’
‘Maybe in season two?’
Ben laughs. ‘You’re the only other person I know who watches that.’ He looks a little less nervous now and my gaze keeps gravitating towards his lips, the way they look when they form words. Behind him, the sky is erupting in crimson tinged with gold. ‘Anyway, so, there’s way more wildlife in the city and suburbs than most people realise.’
‘Huh.’ I think of the garden skink in the pool today, the welcome swallows under the overpass. ‘Yeah, I guess I knew that. I just didn’t know it was a thing you could study .’
There’s a silence then, and Ben runs a hand through his hair. I think maybe he’s going to ask if I want to go for a drive, or if he can come in, or something other than us just standing out here. But he doesn’t. He says: ‘What did you get up to today?’ And suddenly I get the feeling he’s stalling. Or avoiding saying something. But I can’t figure out what.
‘Ah, I filmed my parents,’ I say. ‘They’re putting it online.’
He frowns at me in a semi-alarmed way and I palm my face, kind of wanting to melt into the asphalt. ‘Oh, no! Not like that! It’s for their real estate agency Facebook page. Some embarrassing marketing thing.’
Ben looks amused and relieved. ‘Okay. Cool.’
I’m positive I’m bright red now. ‘For the record, Jacinta will be obsessed with the way I expressed that.’
‘The girl you were with at the Frank?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘She’s got an excellent sense of humour.’
He smirks. ‘I think Dinesh would like her.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I say, but I bet he would. I’m sure he’d like more than her sense of humour. I notice the way guys stare at her.
‘Dinesh’s mum is always trying to get me to set him up with someone,’ Ben says.
‘Pressure!’
He laughs. ‘Nah, she means well. She just loves love. She’s got the biggest heart. She’s like my second mum.’
I smile. ‘Aww. That’s so sweet.’
Ben and I stand there and I search for another topic to move on to, but I can only think of one thing. ‘So you said you were bringing my, ah…my blender box back? Because, um, you know I was kidding about that, right?’
He blows out a breath and looks down at our feet. ‘Yeah. That’s not why I came.’
His tone is so weird. I swallow, my throat all tight, and that’s when I know something bad has happened. The thought turns the edges of my vision a little darker.
‘Okay. So, why did you come?’
He looks up at me, hand on the back of his neck, and I’m shocked by the seriousness of his expression. There’s a glossiness to his eyes. ‘I’m such an idiot, Lucy,’ he groans. ‘I’m really sorry.’
I frown at him, nausea swirling inside me. ‘What are you talking about?’
But in the time it takes for Ben to open and close his mouth then finally find the words, I know what he’s going to say. ‘Ninja, ah…’ He looks away then back at me again. ‘Ninja’s not doing great. I don’t think she’s gonna survive.’
The words hit me like a punch directly to the heart. ‘What? W-Why?’ I stutter. My voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. ‘She was doing so well. What happened?’
Ben takes half a step towards me and then he’s speaking like his texts—rapidly, in one or two sentences at a time. ‘They reckon maybe it’s the shock of her injury. Like, a delayed reaction kind of thing. They think she hit the window pretty hard. They’re not really sure. But she’s stopped eating and drinking and stuff. I mean, they’re kind of sensitive animals, you know? And I should have known that. I should have known better than to tell you to name her and send you that footage.’ He lets out a harsh laugh like he’s really mad at himself. ‘I mean, there’s a reason they name them PWfemale42 and tell us not to anthropomorphise them, you know? I’m so stupid .’
I want to say it’s okay, or that it’s not okay but I’m not angry with him, or that he’s not stupid, or ask what they’re doing to help her, but the words won’t come out because he’s speaking like she’s already dead. And he would know how these things work, how they usually go. I picture Ninja’s tiny, beautiful body: limp and soft. I grit my teeth, try not to think of Charlie.
No. I saved her. It was meant to be different this time. But she’s probably going to die anyway and nothing I did will have mattered. It won’t have made any difference at all.
Now it’s my turn to look at our feet, mine small with chipped lavender nail polish compared to his dusty, steel-capped work boots. I bite my lip hard, trying not to fall apart, but my vision blurs and the whole world kaleidoscopes in front of me. Calm down, Lucy. Don’t freak out.
When I don’t say anything, Ben starts talking again, saying how he knows it’s kind of weird to turn up at my house to tell me this but he would have felt like a jerk messaging me about it, and he could have not told me at all but that seemed like a risky thing to do because what if I wanted to see more footage, but I’ve kind of zoned out. I’m thinking about how translucent life feels. Like there is a very, very thin wall between what is happening and what can happen. Between someone or something being alive, being right here , shooting a water pistol at a pool party or running across your phone screen and then gone, or almost gone, for some barely graspable reason. Sunscreen in the wrong spot? Shock, maybe?
The ground sways under my feet, as if something I always used to think was stable isn’t. I feel a solar flare of anxiety and then I’m staring down into the black hole and it’s going to swallow me.
No. Please.
‘Hey.’ Ben puts his warm, solid hand on my arm, snapping me back to reality, and that’s when I see my tear splotches on his dusty boot. That’s when I realise how hard I’m breathing.
‘You okay?’ he says.
I swallow and wipe my arm across my eyes, but I can’t look up. Because all my effort is focused on stopping myself from falling. And because I’m embarrassed that I’m turning into a puddle in front of him. Ashamed that I’m not okay.
‘I have to go,’ I say, rushing the words out before I completely break down.
‘Hey.’ Ben’s hand is still on my arm. ‘Can you just look at me for a sec?’
I pull away from him, heaving in air. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.’
‘Wait,’ Ben says.
But I don’t wait. I don’t even look at him. I turn and powerwalk back across the street, leaving Ben standing alone by his ute. And before I reach my front door I look up long enough to see the sky, now an apocalyptic, violent purple as the sun dips below the road. A bruise so deep I don’t think it will ever heal.
Inside I crawl into bed and grip the sheets, trying not to tip over the edge of the universe. I cling to the sides, fingertips barely holding on, and try to think about something, anything other than death or Ninja or Charlie. I grab my phone and open TikTok like it’s a lifeline, scrolling and scrolling until the endless music and faces and voiceovers replace my own thoughts and incredibly, miraculously , I don’t fall in. But every time this happens I get weaker. And I know in my heart there’s nothing I can do to stop it, that I’m only delaying the inevitable, that one day soon my grip will slip and I’ll be surrounded by darkness without a spacesuit.
The thought is so terrifying that I have to shove my face into my pillow, stifling my sobs so Mum and Dad don’t hear.