25
THE NEXT DAY is Tuesday, my first day as a volunteer wildlife carer. Despite everything, I’m excited about getting to spend hours with animals, potentially adorable baby animals , but it’s also a good distraction from tonight—from the butterflies currently synchronising their flight to form the word Ben over and over again in my stomach—and from the fact Rach hasn’t replied to me yet.
I catch the bus and walk for about ten minutes to get to Briony and Sandra’s place. It’s a small, brick home with a front garden full of native plants and kitsch animal figurines sitting in the foliage like gnomes. The doorbell sounds like bird calls, and I think it might be a real recording. Their neighbours probably think they’re weird, but I like them already.
‘Welcome to the madhouse, Lucy,’ Briony says as she opens the door with a warm smile on her tanned, lined face. She’s wearing baggy green overalls with huge pockets and her frizzy grey hair is pulled back with a scrunchie. ‘Enter if you dare.’
·
The musty, sweet odour of animals hits me as soon as I walk inside, which is no surprise given there’s a mammal or marsupial or reptile in every corner of the cramped home. A kookaburra is perched on a tree branch in a small enclosure. Two kangaroo joeys poke their heads out of pouches hanging from doorknobs. A snake is curled around a coffee-table leg. A few of the animals have bandaged limbs or visible wounds and my body gives a little throb of empathy. Then I get this quiet-mind feeling like I’m in exactly the place I’m meant to be, and it’s only when I recognise it that I realise how rare the feeling is for me.
I follow Briony into the kitchen and she shows me where the tea, coffee and biscuits are, telling me to help myself any time. A radio next to the fruit bowl is blasting the cricket. Sandra isn’t home, but the fridge is covered in photos of two women I assume to be Sandra and Briony. In a few of them they’re in the bush carrying cages of various sizes, smiles plastered on their faces.
‘That’s in the Otways,’ Briony says, following my eye to one of the photos where the pair are surrounded by towering gum trees. ‘Releasing an orphaned koala whose mum died during logging. That little one was lucky to survive.’
A bubble swells in my rib cage. ‘That’s so sad,’ I say, trying to keep the Ninja-Charlie-everything-related feelings from taking over.
I think Briony’s going to deny it, tell me that rescuing and releasing the baby made up for its mum dying somehow, that it’s a happy story in the end, but instead she turns to me. ‘It is, Lucy. You’re right. It’s very sad.’ And somehow the way she says it, with so much acceptance, as if it’s not something that needs to be shoved deep down in an attempt to forget the truth of it, settles the swirling inside me.
After some tea and a few more stories, Briony shows me how to clean the enclosures and cages, removing and disposing of straw and newspaper and putting down fresh layers, as well as scrubbing out water and food bowls and refilling them.
When I’m finished with an echidna enclosure I reach my hand out and let its long tongue lick my fingers. Shockwaves of joy ripple through my body.
As I work, lightness and hope and purpose come over me. Maybe Dad’s half right. Not about a faith placebo, not about pretending to be okay, but about doing something despite feeling bad. About that somehow helping. I’m cleaning up animal shit and loving it, and I think of what Ben said about how the stuff that feels massive for him doesn’t matter as much when he’s around animals. How they put things in perspective. How he stops thinking about himself for a while. How that’s freeing.
Maybe this could save me.
After about two hours I’ve finished all the shit-shovelling and Briony rewards me with the best job in the world.
‘You’re a natural, Lucy,’ she says, watching me grin while I bottle-feed an orphaned kangaroo joey.
On the bus home a few hours later, muscles sore and clothes smelling of animal, I scroll through my phone in a state of pleasant exhaustion. My nerves about seeing Ben tonight have calmed a bit. There’s less aching, longing, wanting and more here and now.
Then my phone buzzes with a message from Rach.
And are you sure they let cats into pubs?
I smile and write back straightaway, telling her to meet me and Jacinta at the 24-hour cafe a few doors down from the pub Dinesh is playing at. And I know I need to apologise and explain to Rach why I’ve been so distant with her, which is going to be awkward and unpleasant, but right now I’m just happy that she doesn’t hate me (even though she probably had to think about it pretty hard).
I open socials and see a Bella Darling post about a new YouTube she’s uploaded. When I read the video title— Goodbye Darlings —my stomach does a little flip. I quickly shove my headphones in and hit play. Bella’s wearing a rainbow tie-dye dress and has the fluffiest of her four cats in her lap, but she looks devastated, eyes rimmed red and a tear running down her face. She says she has an announcement to make.
‘I’ve decided I’m going to be off YouTube for a while. Maybe forever,’ she says, lower lip quivering in a way that makes her look like a little kid. ‘I know this is probably a shock to y’all, but I’ve been really feeling the pressure for a while now. Like, on my mental health. So many people look up to me like I’m something special and I always thought that would make me feel good. But it doesn’t. Don’t get me wrong—it’s, like, a huge compliment and I love you guys so much for liking my content, I do, but I just feel like I can never be enough for y’all anymore. I need to figure out who I am and what matters to me without all this.’
Bella takes a moment to pull herself together before she says she’ll be cancelling her meetups this year and that everyone will be getting a full refund. She tells us she loves us again. To take care of ourselves and put our mental health first.
When the video ends, I stare at the screen, numb, then send it to Jacinta with about a thousand questions and exclamation marks. It’s like I’ve lost a friend. And I feel so sorry for Bella. I didn’t even know she was struggling. How would anyone have known from her videos? She was so good at hiding it.
No one really knows what’s going on for someone else, I think, but we all know how we’re supposed to perform and behave for the outside world. It’s exhausting.
I look up from my phone as we reach my stop and slam the button to signal I want to get off. I walk home through the warm, dry afternoon, trying to deep-breathe some of the lightness I felt at Briony’s house back into myself. Sun kissing my shoulder blades. The smell of mowed lawn.
I’ve got about two hours before Jacinta picks me up.
I open the front door to see supermarket bags along one wall, filled with serviettes and paper plates and tomato sauce. It looks like Dad’s started the Summer Day Do shopping, and I groan at the thought of having to suffer through that this year. Of playing the happy family and pretending we’re all doing okay.
I walk into the kitchen for a glass of water only to see both of my parents sitting at the table, as if they’ve been waiting for me. And when I see their expressions, it’s immediately clear that’s exactly what they’ve been doing.
Mum looks up at me. ‘ Stealing? ’ she says, a volatile mix of rage and disappointment twisting her features. Her hair is swept up in an uncharacteristically messy bun. ‘ Seriously? ’
My stomach is like someone tied something heavy to it and threw it off a building. I glance at Dad, who looks grey, ashamed, and extremely pissed off. ‘Gonna explain yourself?’
I dig my nails into my palms to steady myself. My answer comes from the tiny part of me that still thinks I can get out of this situation. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Dad shakes his head, pushing away the coffee mug in front of him. ‘ Don’t . Don’t pretend. I just got a call from a new client. She said she has your resume, and she finally put our names together. She saw you in Myer, Luce.’
I haven’t seen Dad this angry since I faked his signature on a permission slip that I’d forgotten to get him to sign. ‘You’re grounded. Don’t think for a bloody second you’re going out tonight.’
While my thoughts chase each other around my head in panic, Mum’s talking again. ‘You could have had a record , Lucy. She almost went to the police! Don’t you think we’ve got enough to cope wi—’ there’s a horrible crack in her voice, like it’s made of porcelain. ‘Is it Jacinta? Did she encourage you to—’
‘It’s not Jacinta,’ I say, horrified at the thought of getting her in trouble over this. ‘I did it without thinking. I know it was stupid. I regretted it straightaway.’
Mum shakes her head and sighs, like she’s expending energy she doesn’t have. ‘What’s going on, Lucy? This isn’t you.’
Her words stir something inside me. I glare. ‘How do you know?’
A frown creases her forehead. ‘What?’
‘I said, how do you know it’s not me?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Mum’s voice is a little softer now, worn out, wavy at the edges like a mirage.
I feel a flash of hard-edged anger and everything finally bubbles to the surface. ‘I’m talking about you guys hating each other and falling apart but pretending you’re fine ! And how you want me to act like everything’s going to be less crap one day when it’s actually messed up forever and ever and ever!’
Dad says nothing.
Mum’s face is frozen in shock. Then it crumples. ‘You know, Luce,’ she says, her words squeezed tight. ‘You really don’t make this easy.’
I look away, breathing hard. ‘Whatever,’ I mutter.
‘Lucy,’ Dad starts, a little gentler. ‘Come on. Let’s all sit down and talk about this.’
Mum is crying now. Hard. She’s finally cracked in front of me, and it’s my fault. Good one, Lucy. Excellent job.
I try to draw in some air to speak, but my chest is straitjacket-tight. I just shake my head. Then I turn and walk out of the kitchen into the bathroom. I lock the door and turn the shower tap on scalding hot.
After my shower I splash cold water on my puffy face, slip into my room and message Jacinta.
Pick me up down the end of the street? Msg me when you get there
Dad tries knocking on my door, tries getting me to come out and talk, but I tell him I want to be alone right now and am grateful for growing up in a family that respects boundaries. My hands shake as I apply some lip gloss.
An hour later Jacinta messages to say she’s here. I turn my phone off and climb out the window.