Storiesonline.net ------- Bec2: Thanksgiving by BarBar Copyright© 2008 by BarBar ------- Description: It is the week of Thanksgiving and Bec's family is gathering. But Bec has discovered a mystery - a puzzle she is determined to solve. Just when Bec is starting to come to terms with her own issues, how will she manage when she uncovers this new secret? This is Book 2 of a series. Please read Bec before reading this. Codes: slow teen ------- ------- Chapter 1: Tuesday November 23rd So this is my third journal. I can't believe I've filled up two books in three weeks. Now that I look back through the second journal, I realize that for an entire week and a half absolutely nothing happened. I filled up an entire book with my description of nothing. I feel a bit bad for having made you read all of it. You said my first journal was a bit exciting with everything that happened. Well I must have crammed a whole year's worth of stuff into that week because my life went back to being ordinary after the fallout from Little Miss Hand Grenade died down. What do you think, Doctor K? Is it weird that I can ramble on and on so much when nothing was actually happening to me? Or is it another thing like you were saying, where it's pretty normal but it just seems weird because it's happening to me. You didn't say it, Doctor K, but I got the impression that me thinking everything is weird when it's actually normal is just another type of craziness. So anyway, nothing happened. Oh sure, I went to school, I did some drawing, I started a new painting, I did all the usual stuff. But nothing special happened. Nothing worth making a fuss about. Nothing apart from getting into college, that is. I haven't been to a class yet, but I have the letter. They said I can start next week if I want to — how awesome is that? I thought it was going to be harder than that. Just one interview with Arbena Satiri — the artist who runs the class I'm interested in. There was a nervous time while she flipped through my folio of drawings — including photos of the two paintings on my closet doors. There was another official from the college at the interview, but all he did was flip through my school reports and ask a couple of questions about transportation. Then Dad was signing some papers and they told me the letter would be in the mail (which it was) and that was that. Like I said — awesome! Today's counseling session was a bit confusing. We seemed to spend most of the time talking about what is normal. Half the time you seemed to be saying there's no such thing as normal. The other half of the time you seemed to be saying that a lot of what I've been going through is normal for someone my age. You can't have it both ways, Doctor K. I know you're trying to help me. I know I came to you asking for help. But if you keep going back on the things you say, I don't know how much help you're going to be. As I was leaving from your office I waved at Joseph Edmond Philips who was just arriving for his session. We differently brained types need to stick together. I didn't stop to talk though, I wanted to get out of that hospital — it still makes me feel all creepy. Joseph actually smiled when he saw me. Actually he smiled when he saw my shoes — I don't think he looked at the rest of me. Mom was waiting in the car — she'd done some shopping while I was in my session — and I talked to her about my session while she drove. We stopped at the DiMartino house on the way home to collect Melissa. Of course, we had to speak into the little box to get the gate opened. Mom drove around to the front door where Melissa was already waiting beside the new housekeeper. I forget her name, but Melissa says she's a bit of a Nazi. I think Mr DiMartino deliberately hired someone a bit strict after the last one let Laura get away with so much. Frederick, the older of Melissa's two younger brothers, came running out the door just as we stopped. He abruptly halted and stood a bit behind Melissa — looking awkward and uncertain. I jumped out of the car and opened the back door for Melissa. I smiled and called out hello to Frederick but that just made him blush and stare at the ground. I don't know who was more embarrassed — Frederick because I'd spoken to him or me because he's behaving all love-struck around me. I don't know what to do about Frederick. If I tell him I'm not interested in him — not in that way, anyway — he will be crushed. He's only eight years old and ... well, eeew, but I don't want to hurt him. The housekeeper spoke to Mom to make sure Melissa would be returned by nine. She seemed determined to explain to Mom that tomorrow was a school day and that late nights before a school day were unacceptable — as if Mom didn't already know that. After the housekeeper started to explain it for the third time, I saw a half-smile start to appear on Mom's face that told me she was getting angry. Mom interrupted with a curt comment about needing to get moving. She hustled the two of us into the back seat and got back behind the wheel. I think the housekeeper wanted to start again on the 'have her back by nine' speech but as soon as she started pointing at the watch on her wrist, Mom smiled at her and drove us away down the drive. Fortunately the gates open automatically or we probably would have bashed right through them. Melissa wanted to talk to me but I reached out with my hand and hushed her. We sat silently in the car as Mom drove. Melissa leaned over and whispered into my ear, "Why are we being quiet?" I bit my lip as I figured out what I should say and then I leaned back to her. "Mom's mad at your new housekeeper right now," I whispered into her ear. "Mom doesn't much enjoy being treated like an idiot. If we sit back here and do the 'brainless teen chat' thing, she might redirect her mad in our direction and we don't want that." Melissa looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and then leaned close to me. "Brainless teen chat?" I rolled my eyes. "I'm quoting from last time Mom got mad at Tara and me for being so thoughtless as to sit in the same room as Mom and talk to each other when she was busy being mad at someone." Melissa nodded at me. "Would it help if we discussed something brainy like the political and economic differences between the U.S. and England?" That made me giggle, and Melissa giggled too. That was unfortunate because it made Mom turn around and snarl at us. "For heaven's sake! Must you whisper and giggle like a stereotypical pair of idiot schoolgirls?" I sat back in the seat and hung my head a bit. "Sorry, Mom." "Sorry, Mrs Freeman," added Melissa. We sat in silence for the last few minutes of the drive to our house. Mom parked the car and everyone clambered out. Looking at Mom's face, I decided the storm was nearly over and it was safe to start trying to patch things up. "Mom, did I tell you that Melissa learns dance?" "Oh, really? What type of dance do you do?" Mom and Melissa walked up the drive talking about dance styles. I followed, smiling to myself. Inside the house, I was hit by another storm in the form of Angie. She took a flying leap into my arms so hard that I staggered back into the edge of the door. "Save me, Becky, save me." "Who am I saving you from?" "Tara! Tara's tickling me." "Oh, really? We'll have to do something about that. Let's go." I let her slide down to the floor and together we set off hunting for Tara. Mom disappeared towards the kitchen, so we were free to search around through the living room. Melissa followed the two of us with a smile on her face. Tara wasn't there, but I made a big deal about looking under the cushions and behind the paintings. Melissa joined in by looking behind the curtains. Angie liked that game and started looking under the sofas and behind the chairs. After that game was exhausted, I pointed towards the hallway and we crept on tippy-toes towards the doorway. At that point, Tara launched a surprise attack from the rear. She had gone out into the hallway, around through the kitchen and back via the entrance into the living room. Tara came running up behind us, grabbed Angie up under the arms and lifted her high in the air. Angie squealed in that half-delighted, half-terrorized sort of way. The rest of us were squealing too. Tara lifting Angie up in the air like that left her ribs exposed. I reached out and dug my fingers into her ribs. Tara squeaked and dropped Angie. Angie screamed as she found herself falling. All three of us lunged forward to catch Angie before she hit the floor. We ended up in a pile. I guess you could say we succeeded because Angie landed more or less on top of the pile. The rest of us weren't quite so fortunate. I bashed my head on someone's elbow and someone else's knee was sticking into my lower back. Angie just lay spread over the top of the pile and kept screaming. Mom appeared suddenly, glowering down at us. "What did you do to Angela?" she demanded. We lay in our tangled heap and looked up at Mom. Nobody answered her. I was about to confess that I'd caused it by tickling Tara when Angie's screaming cut off with a hiccup and she started giggling up at Mom. Mom scowled at us. "Look after your sister!" She turned and stalked away back towards the kitchen. There were a few ouches interspersed with giggles as we untangled ourselves. The four of us ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor in a tight circle. I introduced Melissa to Angie and they said "hi" to each other. Tara and Melissa already knew each other — at least well enough to recognise each other, anyway. "Angie and I have been cooking. Dinner is in the oven. It will be ready in about half an hour," said Tara. "Awesome!" I replied. "Dealing with an angry mother really builds up the appetite." "Our new housekeeper, the Nazi, was explaining to your mother that I have to be back home by nine," explained Melissa. "Your mother didn't seem to appreciate being told the same thing three times." "Yup! That would do it." I looked at Tara and caught her eye. "I have to show Melissa something." I flicked my eyes towards my bedroom and then back to her. "Can you keep Angie with you for a bit?" Tara looked at Melissa then back at me. "Sure. We better get back to the kitchen. We might not have cleaned up as well as we should have, and with Mom stewing..." Tara scrambled to her feet and took a few steps towards the kitchen before calling for Angie. Our little angel had been sitting quietly in her place in the circle. I think she was pleased that she was being treated as one of the girls. Now she bounced up and raced after Tara towards the kitchen. I stayed sitting and looked at Melissa, trying to carefully word what I was about to say. Melissa looked back at me and after a moment, she raised her hands as if to say, "Weren't you going to show me something?" "I'm going to show you something, but you can't talk about it — apart from with my family, that is. I think you'll realize why when you see it. It's not bad — not really. It's just that some people wouldn't understand and my family could get into a lot of trouble. I'm trusting you not to tell people. You can talk to Liz about it, obviously — she knows everything about me." Melissa's eyes went a bit wide. "Now you have me fascinated. What is it that could get your family into trouble when it's not really bad?" I stood and held my hand out for Melissa. She took my hand and stood up smoothly — her years of dancing make her every move seem like a glide. As I led her towards my bedroom, my mind raced over the pitfalls of making new friends. It had seemed so easy two weeks ago when I had announced to Liz that Melissa was going to be our new friend and Liz had just agreed. I'm not very experienced at making friends. It hadn't occurred to me at the time that having a new friend would mean having someone new that I would have to share a whole lot of secrets with. The closer I got to my bedroom, the more I started to worry. It was like I was wading through a deep bog — a swamp made of worries instead of mud. They just kept piling up in front of me as I tried to push through them. What if Melissa didn't understand? What if she hated the pictures? What if she were offended? What if she told her father? What if she told her sister? Laura would make my life miserable if she found out about this. None of these worries were new. I'd already spent more than one sleepless night wandering around the house as I worried about what to do. In the end I just decided I had to show Melissa and find out how she reacted. That was pretty much the reason I'd invited her over for dinner this evening. If she didn't like it, then that just meant I wouldn't invite her around for a sleepover anytime soon. I took a deep breath, opened my door and turned on the light. "This is my bedroom!" I ushered Melissa into the room. Everything seemed to pause. I stopped breathing. My heart stopped beating. The entire house seemed to go silent. Melissa was standing in the doorway — her eyes flicking around all the paintings on the walls. I think I saw a faint blush appear in her cheeks as she realized that the paintings were all of a naked girl — or maybe she was realizing they were all pictures of a naked me. I steered Melissa further into the room and stood her in front of the first picture we came to. It was the picture of me standing beside the mirror — life-sized, full frontal, naked me. It's not the real me, of course. It's Mom's idealized version of me — a beautiful, strong, confident, defiant version of me that doesn't really exist except in Mom's head, and maybe a little bit in mine. I'm not really that beautiful. I'm definitely not that confident. I hope that one day I will be that strong. I gently pushed Melissa past my desk to the next picture of me. This was the picture of me in the middle of a jump shot, throwing a basket with the ball above my head. Again it's an idealized version of me, only this time it's an energetic, athletic, lively version of me that's actually a bit more realistic. Except, of course, that I have never — and will never — played basketball without any clothes on. I gestured at the image of a nude Liz sitting on the floor with her back against my bookshelf and a book in her hand as she watched me play basketball. Melissa's cheeks tinted again as she saw a picture of someone else she knew without any clothes on. "Did you paint all of these?" "I wish I was that good. Mom did these. I'll show you the ones I painted in a minute." "I always thought you were shy. I don't know how you could have stood there and modelled for these." "I didn't! Not really. Mom doesn't use models. She just sees an image in her head and paints it. She did get me to model a little bit for this one so she could get the muscles looking right. That was embarrassing." As I talked, I pointed out the detail from my shoulders, down my back, across my butt and down my legs. I'm still impressed at how well Mom had done that. My skin looks smooth and tight and clear, but everywhere there's a hint of muscles rippling just under my skin. I gestured at the image of Liz. "Liz saw all this happening and said Mom could do her as well. Liz didn't have to model at all for that, but it looks perfectly like her." The next painting I showed her was the one above my bed of me sitting on a flying carpet, holding on tight and clearly flying fast because you could see my hair flowing out behind me and the look of sheer joy on my face. Near that was the rear view of Liz and me sitting on a wall and leaning against each other, looking out into an English garden. I pointed out to Melissa the theme running through all these paintings. "These aren't really me as I am now. They all show different parts of what I could be like in the future. The one next to the mirror is me if I were more confident. It shows me being strong — defiant even. The basketball one is about me being athletic, the flying carpet painting is me having fun, the one with Liz is about me having friends and being a caring and loving person." Melissa turned and looked between the paintings. She smiled and nodded. "On the closet doors are the two that I have done so far. The one with me in a prom dress is kind of the same theme because it's about me looking elegant and grown up. Except I put myself behind the mirror because that's the only way I get to see myself. I often feel like the girl behind the mirror isn't really me — especially when she looks like that." "It's a gorgeous dress." "It's based on a real dress I saw in a shop. I tried it on and everything." "You should have bought it. It looks awesome on you." I shrugged. "We can't afford it." Melissa blinked a couple of times as if she had to adjust her thinking and then nodded. "I can see this painting looks different from the other paintings." "I'm just a beginner compared to Mom. I still have a lot to learn." I guess I thought she was criticizing it, but now that I think about it, she wasn't really. "I don't mean it's no good, I just mean it's different." "Oh! Um! Okay!" I had to force my brain away from that thought and make it think about something else. "I think you saw the drawing I did when I was worried about what would happen if I couldn't turn into the person — the one of me trapped behind the mirror." "I remember." "Well the painting on the other closet door is about me breaking through and climbing out of the mirror." "I get that. And I can see breaking through the mirror has like a cost for doing that. The pretty dress gets all torn and you get cut on the glass. That's kind of deep. I like it." "Thank you." Up to this point, I had been carefully steering Melissa around the room so that she wouldn't see the naughtiest (and most embarrassing) painting until last. I gently turned her to face the wall with the door in it and there it was. The painting showed me naked and draped over a red-velvet couch. The position of my hand and the look on my face clearly showed that I was touching myself — and liking it. "Continuing the same theme as the rest of the room, this one is about that part of me that is growing up and becoming a woman." Melissa's eyes went wider and she took a half step back. "Oh!" "Yeah! It's a bit like that, isn't it? I could see Melissa's cheeks going red. "I still can't get over how Mom took plain little me and made me look so sexy." I was trying to play down the painting a bit. Treat it as casually as I could so that Melissa wouldn't think it was too big a deal. Her eyes flicked sideways to me and then back up to the painting. "You aren't plain. You might not be as sexy as that, but you aren't plain." I licked my lips while I tried to figure out how to respond to that. "I see why you said I shouldn't tell people about this. I don't think this is very normal for a teenager's bedroom." I hid a smile, thinking of the long discussion about what is and isn't normal that I'd just had in my counselling session. "I think you're right. But I like it. It makes me feel good to come in here and see all these pictures. They remind me of who I want to be." "I don't think I could sleep every night in a room covered in paintings of me." I shrugged. "It only took me a few nights to get used to them. They disappear when I turn the light off. I know they're there but I can't see them." Finally I showed her the back of my bedroom door, where I've started my latest painting. Angie had seen my room and demanded I do one of her. I have it sketched out in pencil on the back of the door and I've just started blocking in the background. It looks like an archway through the wall but instead of opening out into the hallway, this one opens out onto a city park with green lawn and scattered trees. In the foreground, the penciled outline of Angie stands right in the doorway, one hand holding onto the doorjamb, the other hand waving. I'm pretty happy with my pencil sketch. I think I really captured Angie's energy and bubbling enthusiasm. I'm a bit nervous about whether I can do the same with paint. By then it was nearly time for dinner so we went into the kitchen and sat down. Since Dan was at work, Tara could sit in his place, leaving her usual seat next to me free for Melissa. Tara was bustling around doing the last of the dinner preparation, so we waited quietly for everyone to arrive. Once the whole family was ready, we stood in a circle — shoulder to shoulder — and did our welcome ritual for Melissa. It's so much easier for me to do that now my family has learned to make sure they don't look at me when I'm talking. I managed to introduce Melissa in a nice clear voice. I'm quite proud of how well I did. Mom and Dad said their bit to welcome Melissa as a guest in the house. Finally it was time for dinner. I guess it was a fairly typical dinner for us — a sort of controlled chaos. Tara had cooked pasta and a bolognaise sauce for us and there was freshly made bread and a bowl full of garden salad to go with it. As always, we helped ourselves from the various plates of food in the center of the table. We made sure Melissa went first so she had her plate full of food and was sitting watching the rest of us serve ourselves. I leaned over to her and whispered in her ear. "We don't normally say grace or anything like that before we eat. But we will wait for you to say something if you want us to." I could see Melissa hesitating, unsure of what to say, so I made the decision for her. "Dad, Melissa's family usually says grace before they eat. Can we please wait for a moment while Melissa says something?" Dad nodded at me and got everyone to sit still once they'd finished serving themselves. We waited while Melissa ducked her head and her lips moved in a silent prayer. The prayer was a short one and we did not have to wait long before Melissa looked up and nodded to us. Everyone started talking at once and we all started eating. Mom and Dad caught up with each of us — including Melissa — about our day at school. It hadn't been a very exciting day so that didn't take long. Dad had found a new set of brain teasers on the internet so for most of dinner he challenged us to solve them. Melissa joined Tara and me in some fairly lively arguments as we tried to figure out each one. There was a fair bit of laughter as different people threw out silly ideas in between the sensible suggestions. Even Mom joined in with a couple of ideas. As well as the table-wide attempts to solve Dad's puzzles, there was never less than one other conversation going on, often there were two and sometimes three. In other words, dinner was noisy, cheerful and friendly. I'm sure Melissa was a little nervous at first, but I could almost see her relax as she realized that everyone was being friendly and accepting her without any trouble. I was also pleased to see that Melissa was easily able to contribute to Dad's brain game. I always thought she was pretty smart. Her brain seems to work differently from mine — more like Tara's in a way. My brain tends to jump around from one idea to another like a beetle jumping randomly from leaf to leaf. Melissa's brain seems to be more like a stream of ants. She started at the trunk and then split up and followed each branch in turn until she found the leaf we were looking for. Dad didn't announce that he was satisfied we had solved all his puzzles until after we'd finished dessert and had worked our way through a pot of tea. We even got Melissa to try a cup of tea — she didn't hate it but I don't think we converted her. It was nice to just sit around the table like that, we do it sometimes and it always feels good just to be together as a family. Mom and Dad volunteered to do the dishwashing for me, and they volunteered Tara to get Angie ready for bed, so that I could spend more time with Melissa. Back in my bedroom, we relaxed on my bed and chatted. Melissa gushed a little about how much fun dinner had been. I think she was comparing it to the stiff and formal dinners at her house. After a bit, Melissa made the comment that Tara had been really friendly to her this evening. "It's almost like she's a different person from the one we see at school." I shrugged. "She is. I don't much like the version of Tara that shows up at school. I think it's a thing about the way Tara is. She likes to be among the popular people — people like your sister. It's almost like she's addicted to it. I think she behaves like that at school because that's what she thinks she has to do for her to stay in with that group." Melissa nodded. "Laura probably encourages her. When they're all together, they act like complete bitches — and Laura's the worst." "I think they've been better since that business with the party two weeks ago. They're all back to hanging out with each other around school and ignoring us but at least they're being a bit nicer to everyone else." "I agree. I think that's because Laura isn't so much in charge any more. Tracey and the others don't seem to follow my sister as blindly as they used to. That's one good thing that came out of that whole mess." "Yeah!" We kept chatting about that for a while, mostly repeating what we'd already said and swapping stories of things our sisters had gotten up to at school. Then the conversation came back to Mom's paintings — I suppose that wasn't too surprising, we were sitting in my room where we were surrounded by paintings, after all. Melissa asked if there were any other paintings by my mother that she could look at. I took her back out into the living room and showed her Mom's family portraits that hang at each end of that room. Then back through the hallway where some smaller paintings hang, plus some prints of paintings that she's sold over the years. That reminded me to take Melissa into The Parents' room and show her the collection of prints that hang in there, including the one of my dad wearing just jeans and holding a very young and very naked version of me. Mom always said it was a study in the differences of skin tone between Dad and me. Up until Mom did all those paintings in my bedroom, all I could see was my naked bum which features in the middle of the painting, much to my embarrassment. Melissa was taking her time and looking carefully at all of the paintings. That made me stop and look more carefully at them as well — more closely than I had looked at them for ages. Melissa asked some questions about the stories behind the various paintings, but I was a bit distracted because I was starting to notice a pattern — something I hadn't really noticed before. I did answer when Melissa asked if Dad was really as rugged with his shirt off as Mom had painted him. I told her that as far as I could remember, I've never seen Dad with his shirt off. Our family just doesn't walk around half-dressed and Dad doesn't swim, so he even keeps his shirt on at the beach. I think that Melissa might have said that Dad looked hot but by then I was kind of absorbed in checking out if my theory was correct. My brain was racing as my eyes swapped from one print to the next. In my brain, I compared them to the ones in the hall and then finally back to the two big ones in living room. I could almost see myself standing in front of Mom's family portrait and staring at it in shock. I had just made an amazing discovery — something that had been right under my nose all the time. I guess when you see something every day you stop noticing it and it just becomes part of the background. Artists change their style from time to time. They start using new techniques. They focus on different subjects. The mood of their art changes to reflect changes in their lives. It wasn't a surprise that Mom's style in her older paintings was quite different from her current style. What was surprising was that Mom had changed her style suddenly — almost overnight. At the same time she had changed her painting technique — even the brush strokes looked different. Even more surprising was that she had totally changed her signature at exactly the same time. Why would an artist suddenly change her style, her technique and even her signature all at once? I could only think of one reason. What's more, I could identify exactly when it had happened. Every painting she had done back in England was in the old style and was signed Louise S — carefully printed and easy to read. The very first painting Mom had done after arriving in the U.S. had the entirely different style and was signed LFreeman — except that most of the name was just an illegible scrawl so it looked more like LF____. Why would an artist moving to a new country suddenly change her style, her technique and even her signature all at once? I could only think of one reason. She didn't want anyone to know that she was the same artist as the painter back in England called Louise S. In fact, as far as I know, the only copies in America of Mom's old paintings hang in The Parents' room or at the far end of our hallway where only members of the family would see them. She's never put them on show in America. She's never tried to sell her old paintings since we arrived here. Mom was — and is — deliberately hiding for some reason. I don't know why. But there's more... My thoughts were interrupted by a blast of cold air. Dad was leading me by the hand out through the front door of the house. It was dark outside and a light, misty rain was falling. I didn't resist as Dad led me to the back door of the car and pushed me in. He leaned in through the door and clipped the seat belt around me before backing out and shutting the door. Melissa was already sitting in the seat next to me and I think she said something to Dad, but I don't know what. My brain circled back around to my new discovery. I decided that if Mom was deliberately hiding then she would have needed to change her style like she had done. Paintings by even a relatively unknown artist like Mom tend to circle around the world as they get bought in one place and then a few years later they get sold somewhere else. Also buyers for galleries tend to travel long distances to look for work to add to their collections. And these days, with the internet, photos of paintings can be seen from anywhere around the world in a matter of seconds. That means in these days if an artist wants to hide, moving countries just isn't going to do the trick. They also have to either stop doing art altogether or they have to completely change their style, their technique and their signature — just like Mom had done. And, of course, they have to change their name... A screech of brakes and a blast on a car horn right next to my window made me jump. I blinked and looked around. We were nearly back to the DiMartino house. I looked over at Melissa who was looking out the window at the passing traffic. "Thanks for coming over to dinner," I said. "I hope you had a good time." She looked at me and smiled. "I did. Thanks for inviting me." She hesitated. "You suddenly blanked out. You were staring at the paintings and then suddenly it was like you were a zombie — just standing there and blinking. I was a bit worried so I went and got Tara but she said not to worry." Melissa leaned over and whispered, "She also said you were just being a freak, but I don't think she was serious." Then she was back to using her normal voice. "Was that the thing you got Liz to tell me all about — the brain thing you have?" "Not really, I was just thinking! ... well, yeah, sort of. I guess." I looked away from her — out through the window at the roads glistening in the rain. "Sometimes my brain goes a bit weird. Sorry about that." It was easier to say that without looking at her. I didn't want to see the expression on her face. My brain was busy making her look all sorry for me or something and I didn't want to see that. Dad pulled into the DiMartino driveway and wound down his window so that he could speak into the little box. The gates opened and we drove through and up the driveway in silence. When Dad stopped the car outside the front door, Melissa leaned over and took a hold of my arm — almost forcing me to look at her. "Thanks again for inviting me over. I really did have a good time. Your family is nice. I'll see you tomorrow at school, okay?" "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow." "Half-day! Yaay!" "Yaay!" I echoed. A half-day at school is always worth a cheer. Dad looked at his watch. "We're actually four minutes and twenty seconds early. You can sit and talk for a few minutes more if you want to. In fact, I'm tempted to let you sit and talk for ten minutes, just to annoy a certain housekeeper, but I suppose I shouldn't." "That's okay, Mr Freeman," said Melissa as she undid her seatbelt and opened the door. "We'll see each other tomorrow. Thanks for having me over, Mr Freeman. Thanks for bringing me home." Without waiting for a reply, she closed the door and dashed up the steps and into the house. I sat in silence and stared at Dad's profile as he drove us back home. I was trying to remember something that happened way back when I was six. Way back when we were travelling from England to America to start a new life in a new country. I hadn't thought about it for ages but back then, our name wasn't Freeman. Now that I thought about it, I had a clear memory of sitting in a railway carriage — a little enclosed one, with just us inside. Dad had leaned back and casually said, "Oh, by the way, since we're going to a new country, it seems right for us to have a new name. From now on, we're going to be the Freeman family." My little six year old brain hadn't found anything strange about that. After all, the whole thing about moving to a new country was an exciting adventure. Changing names seemed to be just a natural part of that. For the last six and a half years of my life, I've been Bec Freeman and until that moment in the car, I've never questioned that. But when I was born, and for the first six years of my life, my name was Rebecca Stone — Rebecca Louise Stone. I have no idea why we changed our name. I have no idea why Mom worked so hard to hide herself — and us. I always believed that we had moved to the U.S. because of Dad's job, but now I'm starting to doubt that. I sat in the back of the car and stared at the profile of Dad's face — lit up by the passing traffic as he drove. It's a mystery. Why did we change our name and travel half way across the world to start a new life? Did something happen that we ran away from? Why is our whole family hiding? Because it's not just us — it's Aunt Penny and Aunt Ally and Nana as well. I have no doubt that Mom and Dad are deliberately keeping it a secret. I wonder what the truth is. I wonder why they feel the need to keep it secret from me. I'm kind of worried. They've kept big secrets from me before. The last secret they kept from me was that my cousin, Sam, is really my half-brother — that was a big surprise. The other big secret they kept from me was Lambrecht's Syndrome. Finding out about Mom's condition — and mine — just about blew my mind apart. Is it going to be as devastating when I find out the truth this time? I hope not — because I will find out. What is the real reason we came to America? And why are they keeping it a secret from me? It's a mystery. It's a mystery and I'm determined to solve it. I only hope I survive the experience. ------- Chapter 2: Tuesday Evening November 23rd I sat in the back seat of the car and stared at the profile of Dad's face. He had that look of relaxed concentration that he always has when he's driving and not thinking about other things. I was thinking of other things — big things. I wanted to ask Dad a big question. My problem was that I wasn't sure how he was going to respond. That's never good. Usually when I have a question for Dad I have some idea how he will react, so I can make sure I ask it in the right way. This time I had absolutely no clue. That made it hard to find the right words. Also I wanted to see his face — his whole face. Important questions should be asked face-to-face. How else can you figure out the meaning behind what they say if you can't see their face? Sometimes I wonder how blind people manage. How can they possibly figure out what someone means if all they can do is listen to the words? Text messages on a phone or on the internet are worse of course because you can't even hear the person saying the words — all you can do is read what they've typed. It's really hard for me to understand people over the internet. A few times I've gotten all upset because I thought someone meant one thing but they really meant something completely different. That can happen to me in real life of course, but it doesn't happen as often. Except when my brain decides to go all weird on me — then it seems like all bets are off. What I mean is — during those freaky times when I can't even tell what's real, how can I possibly expect to understand what other people around me are thinking? Before I'd fully decided what I wanted to say to Dad, we arrived back home and the opportunity was gone. Dad told me I should start getting ready for bed and I just nodded. As I got out of the car, I looked around for Dan's car but it was still missing — Dan must still be at work. I sighed and followed Dad inside the house. Mom heard us come through the door and immediately called out that she was in the kitchen. Dad headed for the kitchen and I tailed after him. Mom told Dad that she'd just made a new pot of tea and then she turned to me and told me to start getting ready for bed. I dragged my feet, hoping to delay long enough that Dad would take his tea into the living room and I could talk to Mom. Annoyingly, she shooed me out of the room and towards my bedroom, completely wrecking that plan. I changed into pyjamas, put on a robe and ducked back out of my bedroom. Mom had disappeared from the kitchen and I couldn't find her anywhere, maybe she had gone into The Parents' room. Dad was sitting in his usual chair in the living room with his feet up as he sipped on his tea. I slipped into the room and sat on the low coffee table in front of Dad. He looked at me with an eyebrow raised as he took another sip of tea. I bit my lip. "I thought you were getting ready for bed." "I'm kind of ready." "Brushed your teeth?" I shook my head. "Been to the bathroom?" I shook my head again. "Well you're not ready for bed, then, are you?" I rolled my eyes at Dad. "I didn't say I was ready — I said I was kind of ready." That annoying eyebrow went up again. Okay — now that I've thought about what I just said, maybe I wasn't using very good logic. "So what did you want?" I hesitated. "Can I ask you a question?" Dad just looked at me. He never answers that. He thinks it's stupid to ask if you can ask. I suppose he's right. Just then Mom arrived and perched herself on the arm of Dad's chair. "Ask your question, honey," said Dad. Mom sat there with a patient sort of look on her face. I hesitated again. I'd really wanted to ask each of them separately. I figured I had more chance of getting useful information that way. But that plan had just been effectively wrecked. I licked my lips again. I figured I may as well go for it. "Why did we really leave England?" They both stared at me in complete silence. Dad blinked a couple of times but apart from that, they gave me nothing but stone faces. Then Dad forced out a kind of breath-laugh. "We came here because of my job, honey. You know that." I glared at him. "If that were true, we wouldn't have had to change our name." I looked at Dad, then at Mom, then back at Dad. They both just kept looking at me. They were sort of leaning towards each other a little bit — not a lot, just a tiny bit. It was as if they were supporting each other — or maybe they were each waiting for the other one to say something. "So what's the real reason?" Dad shook his head. "Why are you suddenly asking about this now?" "I'm asking because about two weeks ago I found out that my parents have a habit of waiting until I ask about stuff — important stuff — before they tell me anything." They looked at me in silence. "I'm not sure how that's supposed to work. How am I supposed to know to ask questions about something if I don't know that there's something I don't know about? Am I supposed to just keep asking random questions until I ask one that you have an answer for?" I trailed off as I figured something out. "You're trying to distract me. I have a question right now that I know you can answer. Why did we leave England?" They didn't say anything. I could feel emotion bubbling up inside me as I got more and more frustrated with their stalling tactics. I should have known they wouldn't just start talking. That would have been too easy. "Has it occurred to you that there are some things that you don't need to know?" asked Dad. I glared at him. He gave me back his stone face. I turned to Mom. "Are we in witness protection or something?" Mom smiled. "That's right, sweetie. We're in witness protection or something." She said it with a light, careless tone of voice. She didn't even try to hide that she was lying. I felt my face go cold and blank. I was filled with a mixture of fury and frustration. I sat looking at the space between my parents as I tried to control the feelings racing through me. Eventually I stood and turned my back on The Parents. Without saying a word, I walked away from them and out of the room. I walked into my room and closed the door — carefully and slowly so that it wouldn't make any noise. Then I walked over to the bed and lay down on top of it, staring up into the darkness at the place where my ceiling should be. It wasn't there of course — my ceiling I mean. All I could see was a gaping black hole full of nothingness. I lay there cursing myself for not following my plan. I shouldn't have asked my questions when they were both in the room. It was stupid. It meant they could back each other up. I should have just made up some other question about something else. I should have asked some sex question, they usually answer those. I cursed and cursed. Sometimes I can be so stupid. Some time passed. I'm not sure how long. Then I started to hear muffled voices — raised voices. The Parents weren't actually shouting, but they were definitely exchanging strong words. I can't say that The Parents never fight, but it's rare enough that we notice when it does happen. I couldn't make out what they were saying. I rolled off the bed and pulled my robe tight. My socks whispered across the carpet as I crept through the darkness of my room. Carefully I opened the door and slid out into the hallway. The muffled voices were coming from The Parents' room. I still couldn't make out what they were arguing about. I was making all sorts of guesses though and a lot of them started with me. It was like I was being pulled along — dragged sideways down the hallway by the sound of those muffled voices. I was entranced. Maybe I was hypnotized. I found myself standing in front of their closed door. Behind the door, the argument still raged. I heard Mom's voice say something about England. Dad's voice replied. I still couldn't make out most of what was being said, but I distinctly heard my name in the middle of it. Even without hearing the words, I could hear the anger. They were clearly trying to keep their voices down. They were also clearly arguing furiously. Most clearly of all, they were arguing about me. Obviously they were arguing about what, if anything, they should tell me. I hated myself for making them argue. I knew too many people who only had one parent. I didn't want my parents arguing. Arguments lead to divorce. Divorce means only having one parent. Having one parent sucks. I was starting to wish this was just some video game and that I could press reset and start today over. Tara appeared at my shoulder, also wrapped in a gown. "What's going on?" "Shhh!" There was silence in the room and then the door burst open. Mom stood in the doorway with Dad looming over her shoulder. They both looked pissed. "What are you two up to? Are you spying on us now?" Mom was almost hissing she was so mad. "This is none of your business," echoed Dad. "Nosey-parkers aren't welcome right now." "Go to your rooms, both of you," thundered Mom. Tara turned and fled. The bit of my brain that had spent thirteen years doing exactly what Mom told me — especially when she used that voice — wanted to do exactly the same thing but my feet weren't listening to that bit of my brain. Instead they planted themselves into the carpet. Angry Bec was suddenly fully in control. My hips must have little magnets in them because my hands snapped onto my hips and stuck fast. I glared back at Mom and Dad. "Go to your room!" Dad yelled at me. He actually yelled at me. It was so unusual that a bit of my brain went "Huh?" Sadly the rest of me wasn't listening. "Why? So you can go back to arguing about me?" I yelled back at them. "This is none of your business." hissed Mom. "You said that before! It is my business. I know you were fighting about me. I'm not stupid. When are you going to stop treating me like a little kid?" "Just go to your room," said Dad in something closer to his normal voice — except it had a cold steel sound to it that I wasn't used to hearing. I felt like a cliff face being bashed by wave after wave during a storm. All those waves were bouncing off me but each one took away little bits of me as it did so. I just knew that eventually I would collapse into the ocean and be swept away if I kept this up. I think I said something more but I don't remember what. My feet turned me around and started walking me down the hallway. I stopped and turned back. They were still watching me. "I'm sorry I asked the stupid question, okay?" I flung it back at them as I retreated. They didn't say anything. Mom just pulled the door closed with a thud. I didn't hear another sound from them. I stopped outside of my bedroom door and rested my head against the solidness of the wood. Having been sent to my room, the pig-headed part of me was refusing to let me go inside. I was still seething with anger. I'm honestly not sure what in particular I was so angry about. Maybe I was angry about all of it — them lying to me, them arguing about me, them shouting at me, me mucking up how I asked about it, me causing my parents to fight. Most of all, I think, I was angry about them forcing the six-year-old version of me away from a home where I felt comfortable and safe and dragging me to a strange, new country where I knew nothing and nobody and where everyone had laughed at me because of my weird accent and my weird ideas and my weird ways of saying things — without ever once giving me the real reason why it all had to happen. I love my parents, I really do, but sometimes I hate them as well. My feet carried me into the living room, seeking that other safe place. The painting that usually gives me so much comfort didn't want to help me this time. I was mad at Mom and there she was — her face glaring down at me like a stern and angry headmistress, glaring down at her misbehaving students. Trapped in that glare, I stood and shivered. Breaking free, I scooted through the kitchen, down the hallway and into Dan's room. He wasn't there, of course, he was still out for the evening. I threw my robe over his computer chair and crawled under the blankets — curling up into the smallest ball I could manage and burying my face in the faint scent of Dan that clung to his pillow. I lay there, squeezing my knees up to my chest and shivered as my mind raced around and around and around and around. My brain blacked out on me and held me suspended in nothingness until Dan crawled into bed beside me. "Hey there, princess," Dan whispered as he wrapped an arm around me. "What're you doing in my bed?" I didn't answer. I just snuggled into his arms and sighed happily. "And why is there a huge wet patch on my pillow?" I realized that I must have been crying. I tried to whisper to Dan — tell him about my fight with The Parents — but my voice had gone away. I gave up and just lay there. After a bit, I felt Dan's hand start to stroke down my hair, then down my arm. I sighed and snuggled even tighter into the warm embrace of his arms. Slowly, ever so slowly, Dan's body heat warmed and comforted me. The shivering slowly stopped and I drifted away on a soft and fuzzy cloud. ------- "Wakey-wakey, rise and shine!" The voice speared into that soft warm cocoon and shattered it, leaving me blinking in the sudden light. Mom smacked me lightly on the bum through the blankets. "Come on you three, get out of bed. It's time to get ready for school." Three? I propped myself up on my elbow and looked across the large lump of Dan. I could just see the top of Tara's tousled head peeking out from under the blankets. She hadn't stirred despite Mom turning the light on and making all that noise. That was typical. I was surprised to see Tara there. I couldn't remember her coming into Dan's room during the night. I rolled my legs sideways away from Dan and allowed myself to slide out of the bed. My sock-covered feet landed lightly on the rug. Mom cheerfully whacked Tara on the bum as well, which produced a protesting bleat from under the blankets. Mom was amazingly happy this morning. I wondered why. I padded around the bottom of the bed and arrived beside Mom just as she grabbed the blankets and dragged everything down to the bottom of the bed. Tara's nightie was all tangled up around her hips and her knickers were showing. Dan's shorts had a big bulge in the front where his thingie was trying to stick out. I giggled when I saw it but then I remembered Mom was standing right next to me so I covered my mouth with my hand and tried to swallow the giggle. Dan yelled at Mom and covered the front of his shorts with both his hands. Then he rolled over until he was face down and groaned into the pillow. Mom looked down at me and I blushed a bit, my hand still over my mouth. "I should've guessed I'd find the two of you in here this morning. Things got a bit wild last night, didn't they? But everything's calmed down now." I nodded up at her dutifully because she seemed to expect me to. Mom grabbed Tara under the armpits and heaved her out of bed, standing her upright on the rug beside me. I reached out and tugged at Tara's nightie until it fell down and hung properly. Tara just stood there blinking, obviously still mostly asleep. "How come you were in Dan's bed?" I asked Tara. "Huh?" "How come you were in Dan's bed too?" "Same reason as you, stupid!" "You're stupid!" "You're stupider!" I poked my tongue out at her. She poked hers back at me. Dad burst into the room. "Everyone get dressed, quickly. Grab a bag and throw in a change of clothes and ONE favourite toy or doll or whatever. We're leaving in fifteen minutes. Louise, throw some food in a bag. I'll pack for both of us." "What?" said Mom — as surprised as the rest of us. "But Dad, it's way too early for school. What's going on? "You're not going to school. We're leaving. Come on everyone, move!" And then he ran out of the room. At that moment, we heard shouting down in the street. I went to the window and peered through the curtain. It looked cold and foggy and miserable out there. Down on the street below us, I could see a group of men running along the street with guns in their hands. Mom had been looking over my shoulder. As soon as she saw the men with guns, she gasped and pulled me back from the window. Tara was still standing beside the bed. I think she'd gone to sleep standing up. Is that possible? Mom looked at me, "Bec, will you look after your sister and help her get ready. Hurry!" I took Tara's hand and tugged. Tara automatically started walking so I kept a hold of her hand and the two of us ran out of Dan's room and straight across the hallway into our room. Inside our room, Mom had already laid our school uniforms out on our beds. Since they were already laid out, it was easier just to put them on than to think of something else to wear. Besides, I like my school uniform. It makes me look more grown up. I grabbed my backpack and pulled some clothes out of my chest of drawers to throw into the bag. I picked Lucy up off my bed, kissed her and laid her on top of the clothes in my bag before zipping it closed. Then I grabbed my hairbrush and jammed the handle into my pocket so that I could brush my hair as soon as I got the chance. I had to keep reminding Tara to keep moving. I even pinched her a couple of times. When I did that, she came awake enough to try to punch me so I backed off and reminded her of what she was supposed to be doing. A little while later, Tara and I held hands again as we ran out of our room and down stairs. I caught a glimpse of us in the hallway mirror as we flashed past it. In our matching school uniforms of black trousers, white blouses and royal blue pullovers we may as well have been the cute little pair of twins that people sometimes thought we were. In the kitchen, I was surprised to see Aunt Penny and Aunt Ally. Aunt Ally had Sam on her back in a harness. Everyone was standing around and eating sandwiches which Mom was throwing together. "We're just waiting for Nana to get here then we can leave," Mom told me as she thrust a sandwich into my hand. "Eat this. Why did you put your school uniforms on? Dad said you weren't going to school." "Why not? What's happening?" Mom took my brush out of my pocket and started brushing my hair. Dan saw what Mom was doing and holding the last bit of his sandwich in one hand, he started brushing Tara's hair with the other hand. The normality of having my hair brushed helped calm me down. I hadn't realised until then how fast my heart was beating in my chest. Tara glared at Dan. "Don't get crumbs in my hair. And make my ponytails even, please. Last time you did my hair, one was higher than the other." He jammed the last piece of sandwich into his mouth and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Sorreeee!" At that moment, a key rattled in the front door and it opened. Nana came in with a small carry bag in one hand. "I'm here!" she called out. "How did you get here? There were men out there with guns. What happened to them?" asked Dad. Nana shrugged. "I suppose the soldiers chased them away." "Soldiers? What soldiers?" Dan wanted to know. We could hear a rumbling from out in the street. We crowded into the front room and peered through the curtains. A tank — a real, live, full-sized army tank — was rumbling up the street. Two lines of soldiers carrying packs and guns filed along behind it. "Cool!" breathed Dan. I didn't see what was so exciting about it. Boys are so weird — especially thirteen year old boys. "Away from the window!" ordered Dad. Dad turned the telly on and we crowded around it as he switched channels to the BBC. There was a man in a suit standing in front of a smoking building. I thought I should recognize the buildings — they seemed somehow familiar — but I couldn't place it. Then I figured it out. It was the Houses of Parliament at Westminster — only there was the jagged stump of a ruined tower where Big Ben should have been. I gaped at the telly. The man in the suit was talking. "Downing Street has just announced that martial law is in effect. All schools are to remain closed. All businesses except for emergency services are to remain closed. Stay in your houses. Take cover in your basements. Listen for instructions from your local authorities." At that moment, the picture split and lines raced up and down the screen. The man in the suit was talking again but the sound dissolved into a noisy hiss. Then the lines broke up into little white specks which scattered and spread and multiplied until the whole screen was completely filled with snow. "Damnation!" exclaimed Dad. "What the heck is going on?" asked Dan. "It's an invasion," Aunty Penny replied. All three of us kids had our mouths wide open as we looked from one adult to the next. A loud WHUMP sounded somewhere out in the street followed by a large explosion the next street over. All the doors and windows rattled in their frames. Then there was this enormous trumpeting sound — so loud it made our ears hurt. That was followed by a crash upstairs. We all ducked and Mom and Dan shielded Tara and me as debris fell around us. When that stopped, we stood and stared up in stunned amazement at the grey clouds we could see through the hole in the ceiling where our top floor used to be. "Out! Everyone outside!" yelled Dad. Mom jammed my hairbrush into my backpack and shoved it into my arms. Then she pushed me towards the front door. Tara was being hustled along by Dan. We piled out the front door, then down the three steps and onto the pavement. Our house crumbled and collapsed behind us — we'd got out just in time. Frantically, we packed ourselves into Dad's car and Aunty Penny's car and drove off as soon as we were ready. Getting out of Preston wasn't too bad, but from then on we were joined by more and more cars all going in the same direction. A couple of times everyone had to pull over as columns of army trucks raced past. Each column was escorted by armoured cars bristling with guns. Cars that refused to pull over got pushed out of the way. There were lots of places along the roads where buildings had been replaced with shattered and smoking ruins. "So that wasn't just a storm, last night!" I muttered as I stared with wide eyes at a blackened hole in the ground right next to the road. "Apparently not!" growled Mom. Eventually, we came to a road block and a group of policemen with guns waved all the cars off the road and into some farmer's field. We parked the cars and walked from then on, carrying our little bags with us. There were thousands of people all walking in the same direction. Finally we made it to a dock where the crowd all shuffled onto a container ship. Some of the containers were empty. The crew were opening other containers and throwing the contents overboard to make space to put people. There was a lot of yelling and the ship pulled away from the dock. Our family was packed in with others near the side rail, waiting for a container to be emptied to make room for us. "Where are we going?" I asked. "We'll go to America. If we change our name, they won't be able to find us," replied Dad. "Who won't be able to find us?" asked Tara. Mom and Dad simultaneously pointed over our shoulders and back towards the shore. "They won't," they said together. I turned back and looked towards the slowly receding docks. Silhouetted against the skyline were two tall machines, each perched on three legs. As I watched, laser beams burst from one of the machines and hit a tall building which exploded immediately. A howling siren sounded from across the water. I stared at the alien machines in amazement. "Oh for crying out loud!" I called out. "That's just silly!" I sat up suddenly in the darkness of Dan's room and cursed under my breath. Stupid dreams! "What is it?" Dan's voice came to me softly through the darkness. "What's just silly?" "Just a stupid dream!" I whispered. "And it's your fault!" I reached out and slapped him. I think I hit him somewhere on his chest. "Ow!" he said in a complaining sort of voice. I think I heard a rustling sound as he rubbed his chest as if I'd actually hurt him — which is ridiculous because I hadn't hit him that hard. "Why is it my fault?" "You told me I should read War of the Worlds. I just had a dream where the reason we left England was because the Martians invaded. How stupid is that?" I felt the bed heave as Dan rolled over onto his back and stretched out. Dan's hand found my back and rubbed up and down my spine. "Was it scary?" I shrugged. "A bit." I turned around and draped myself over Dan's side, tucking my head in underneath his chin. I was lying over the top of one of Dan's arms. He curled it up and around me and hugged me tightly to himself. I could feel Dan's other arm rearranging the blankets over the top of me, pulling them back up to cover my shoulders. "So why did we leave England? I know it wasn't because of Dad's work." Dan's hand stopped moving for a moment, but then he sighed and finished tucking the blankets around me. "To be honest, I don't really know. I've always known it wasn't Dad's work and I'm pretty sure it wasn't Martians. Why do you ask?" "I asked The Parents and they dodged the question. Then they had a huge row about it in their room. Then somehow I ended up fighting with them." "You got in a fight with Mom and Dad?" I think Dan was surprised. I didn't answer. I just lay there and clung to Dan. My body shivered a few times as if it was remembering the fight. "I guess that explains why you were curled up in my bed when I got home." "So why did we leave England? Or did Dad make you promise not to tell me, or something?" "There were no promises. I simply don't know. I remember working out that the story about Dad's job was a lie when we suddenly had to change our names and we were absolutely forbidden to make any contact with friends back in England. I remember asking Dad for the real reason and he just flatly told me that he didn't want to talk about it." I lay there and listened to Dan breathing for a moment. His chest and arms moved up and down and I realized that he had just shrugged. "At the time I was thirteen and angry. I was angry about having been dragged away from my friends and told I could never see or talk to them again. I was angry about having been dragged to a country that had never heard of rugby. I half-believed they'd done it all just to make my life miserable. I had quite a few fights with Mom and Dad myself in those days." We were both quiet for a moment. "So did something happen before we left England? Did you notice anything? I can't remember very much." I could almost hear Dan rummaging around in his brain as he tried to find something to tell me. Then he started talking. "There was definitely something that happened. Probably about six or seven weeks before we left, suddenly everything went from relaxed and happy to totally stressed. All the grownups went around with serious faces. There were quite a few late night meetings at Nana's house while I baby-sat you girls and Sam at our place. Then suddenly we were moving to Australia because of Dad's job." Australia? That's right! Now that memory came back to me. For all the weeks before we left home, we'd all been convinced we were going to Australia. I'd even done a project about kangaroos for school. "Then all three of us got accused of doing something we hadn't done — breaking a window, I think. We were grounded for weeks. They drove us to and from school and none of us were allowed to go anywhere without one of them. I missed the best party of the year because of that. Now that I think about it they probably just wanted some excuse to keep us in the house and supervised during that time. I think they actually eased up a bit for the last couple of weeks before we left. Then we were travelling, and suddenly we were coming here instead of Australia and we were changing our name. And that's pretty much all I know. Oh! Except that was the first time I heard about Uncle Stan. Up until then I'm pretty sure Mom never mentioned having a brother." I lay there on Dan's chest and stared out into the darkness, letting all that new information sort itself out inside my brain. I had no memory of being grounded, but I guess when you're six you don't get to go anywhere without adults anyway. I felt as if I'd found out more stuff, but the mystery had just gotten more complicated instead of easier. Clues are supposed to make things easier, aren't they? I guess it was sounding more likely that we had to leave England, rather than the other option which was that we had to come to America for some reason. In my head I wrote out a list on a big poster of all the questions I had now. Why did we change our name? Why did we have to leave England? What had happened six weeks before we left that sent all the adults into a frenzy? Why did the plans change from us going to Australia to us coming here to America? Why did Mom keep her brother a secret for all of those years? And why didn't she continue to keep her brother secret when we arrived in America? Did that secret not matter any more? How is Uncle Stan linked to what happened in England? I stuck the poster up on the inside of my skull and stepped back so that I could look at it. So many questions! I had very few ideas about how I was going to find out any of them. The sound of Dan's soft, regular breathing told me that he had gone to sleep while I was thinking. Dan probably had the right idea with that. I turned out the lights inside my skull and closed my eyes. Slowly, Dan's gentle breathing rocked me to sleep. ------- Chapter 3: Early Wednesday November 24th "Wakey-wakey!" Mom's voice jerked me out of the warmth and comfort of deep sleep. I felt a double tap on my backside as Mom whacked me through the blankets. I blinked in the sudden light. "Come on, you three, get out of bed. It's time to get ready for school." Three? I lifted myself up on one elbow and peered over the bulk of Dan's body. Sure enough I could see Tara's head, face-down on the pillow beside Dan. Mom turning the light on and calling out hadn't woken Tara, but that was normal. "Wait a minute! I've already had this dream," I told the room – my voice still creaky from having just woken up. Mom glanced at me as I spoke but didn't reply. She leaned over me and put one hand down on my hip so that she could stretch across the bed and slap Tara on the low lump that represented her backside. "Ow!" Tara's voice was muffled by the pillow. "I might have known the two of you would be in here after that business last night." Mom looked and sounded unhappy. She turned and walked out of the room without saying another word. In my first dream she had been a lot more cheerful. I clambered out of bed. I felt old and awkward compared to that memory of the way I used to spring out of bed when I was six. A quick check of my body and my brain revealed that this time I was dreaming about being thirteen year old Bec instead of six year old Bec. Or maybe I was awake this time. Dan groaned and crawled out of bed after me. Remembering his condition in the last dream, I glanced down and – sure enough – his boxers concealed a noticeable lump. I smiled quietly to myself about that and then I stretched up on my toes to kiss Dan's cheek. "Good morning. Thanks for the cuddle." Dan looked at me through bleary eyes. "If you aren't going to claim the bathroom, then I will." He stumbled out through the door, veering to the side at the last minute in order to avoid crashing into the door-frame. I stood in Dan's bedroom and looked around. I was feeling a little lost. This dream was way more confusing than the last one. In the last dream, everything that happened seemed to follow naturally from the thing before. Maybe that should have been my clue that I was dreaming – real life doesn't work that way. This time, things weren't making sense. I had no idea what to do next. Maybe that was a clue that I was actually awake. I looked at Tara. She was sitting up in bed and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "So how come you ended up in here too?" She peered at me through a curtain of unbrushed hair. "Probably the same reason as you." "I came in here because I had a fight with The Parents and I didn't want to be alone." "Well I came in here because The Parents shouted at me and I couldn't sleep, so it was more or less the same reason. I stayed in my room and tried to get to sleep for ages before I gave up. You were both fast asleep when I came in so I just squeezed in. I went to sleep pretty quickly after that." I nodded. "Dan has magical sleeping powers." She pulled her tangled hair apart so she could stare at me, but she didn't say anything. "I call dibs on the bathroom as soon as Dan is finished." I turned and headed for the door, but I stopped and turned back to her. "Don't take too long getting ready this morning. There's a good chance that Martians are going to blow up our house before we get to finish breakfast." Tara didn't reply until after I'd left the room. I didn't hear exactly what she said then, but I think it was something about me having gone completely nuts. Breakfast was a cold and silent affair. Neither of The Parents was in the mood to talk. Tara hardly ever talks at breakfast. Even Angie was unusually quiet. I quickly changed from thinking I might be dreaming to wishing that I were dreaming. If this was a dream, I'd be able to wake up and get my normal happy family back. I kept my head down and focused on eating my own breakfast. I also had my usual task of making sure Tara stayed awake enough to keep eating hers. I'm quite sure sooner or later she will go to sleep in the middle of breakfast and land face first in her bowl of cereal. Every morning Tara looks like she could do it any second. Just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it won't happen. To be perfectly honest, I don't really want it to happen. Thinking about it makes me laugh, though. Tara was more or less fully awake by the time the two of us walked out the front door and headed down the road towards the bus stop. She walked beside me, mostly watching the pavement but occasionally glancing at my face as she spoke. "I never found out why The Parents were yelling at each other. I came to see what all the noise was for and as soon as I arrived, they opened the door and started yelling at us. So what was the fight about?" "I asked them for the real reason why we migrated here and changed our name." "Oh!" Tara walked in silence for a moment. We arrived at the bus stop and seated ourselves on the bench. "They told us that it was because of Dad's job," she offered. "Yeah! But that has to be a lie." "Why? Oh! Because if that were true, we wouldn't have to change our name!" "Yeah!" "Oh! So why did we come here then?" "I don't know. That's what I asked The Parents." "So what did they say?" "Nothing! They just told me that I don't need to know. Then they went into their room and started fighting." "Oh!" "Dan says that something happened about six weeks before we left. He doesn't know what happened but obviously it's connected to us moving. Before that time, nobody was talking about moving." "Oh!" "Is that all you can say? Oh?" "I'm thinking! It never occurred to me not to believe The Parents. They told us we were moving because of Dad's job and that was that." I sat and let Tara think. "Hmmm! All I remember is that suddenly they told us we were moving to Australia. Round about then was the time you broke Mom's favorite vase and wouldn't 'fess up so all of us got grounded." "I don't remember breaking any vase." "You did it. I know you did it. Seven years later and you still deny it! Once a brat, always a brat." The school bus chose that moment to arrive so Tara stomped up the steps and sat away from where we normally sit. I rolled my eyes at her back and sat in our usual seat. Two stops later, Liz got on the bus and sat next to me. She asked me why Tara was sitting off on her own, but I just shrugged. As far as I was concerned, Tara was just being stupid and she'd get over it soon. Liz and I chatted about our plans for the Thanksgiving holiday and I talked a bit about having Melissa over for dinner the night before. We arrived at school and joined up with Melissa at the lockers. The three of us exchanged brief hugs and chatted while we waited for the start of homeroom. Melissa and Liz did most of the talking. Melissa was filling Liz in on her visit to my place. I hadn't realized how much of an impression our relaxed and casual family meal had on her. Liz agreed with her that our meals were always friendly and relaxed. I was glad that neither of them had been at breakfast. If they had been, they might have changed their minds. At one stage in the conversation, Melissa said, "I didn't realize how good a painter Bec's mother is." Liz nodded and glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "So what did you think of Bec's room?" she asked quietly. "It's awesome! It's amazing! I must admit, I found out more about Bec than I was expecting to." Liz grinned. "And me too, I guess." "Yes! There were two paintings of you as well. That was a surprise too!" Liz kept grinning. "Maybe Bec's Mom would do one of you, if you asked her." Melissa shivered. "I don't think I'm ready for that yet." "That's okay!" I spoke up for the first time in quite a while. "You don't have to." I glared at Liz to reinforce the notion that she wasn't to pressure Melissa into something like that. Liz shrugged at me and grinned. "Oh, and Bec did one of those zoning out things that you told me about." "She went zombie on you?" "Yeah! I see what you mean about it being a bit freaky. One minute we were talking normally, the next minute she's staring into space. She was completely oblivious to everything. Of course, her family told me not to worry about it. Then they started leading her around by the hand like she's a three year old." "Ah, hello!? I'm standing right here!" They both turned to look at me and laughed in a friendly way. The bell sounded to summon us to homeroom just then, so they each linked an arm with me and we headed down the hallway together. Our first class of the morning was English with Mrs Stone. I sat in my usual seat and watched her moving around the room. I wondered for the first time if perhaps she was a distant relative. She was a Stone, we were Stones – at least we were before we changed our name to Freeman. She didn't look anything like anyone in our family so I decided it was probably just a coincidence. There must be an awful lot of people called Stone – just like Freeman is a fairly common name too. There's even that famous actor – Dad always calls him Uncle Morgan. I've always assumed that was Dad trying to be funny. I'm fairly sure that Morgan Freeman isn't my uncle – not even a distant relative. Mrs Stone was handing back our assignments about what Thanksgiving meant to us personally. She'd given me an A+ grade which I thought was pretty awesome because Mrs Stone had a reputation for being a bit tight about giving A+ grades. She'd also written a little comment about my report, picking out some things she thought were good about it and also pointing out places where I could have done better. One thing she highlighted was a few places where I should have started new paragraphs, or places where I had started new paragraphs and shouldn't have. It's one thing I really like about Mrs Stone, she keeps helping me get better, even when she gives me good grades. Not all the teachers do that. Mrs Stone was continuing her crusade about getting members of the class to write in full sentences. It wasn't a problem for me but quite a few people in the class didn't seem to be able to do it. She congratulated those who had improved and encouraged everyone to keep trying. While Mrs Stone talked to those people, I relaxed and read the opening paragraph of my report: Every year, for nearly four hundred years, individuals, families and even whole communities have left Europe and made their way across the ocean to start a new life in America. Many were fleeing persecution or famine or war. Some were just seeking new opportunities in a brave new world. When my family joined that exodus six years ago we were just continuing a centuries-old tradition. However, the only thing we were escaping from was the English weather. We came here, like so many others before us, so that my father could find work and so that our whole family could have a better life. I sighed to myself. I should tell Mrs Stone to take back the extra high grade. My report was simply wrong. Wrong reports shouldn't get the maximum grade. I felt as if I should probably rewrite it. But I couldn't – I can't. I won't be able to rewrite the report until I solve the mystery of my family. And once I have solved it, I may find that I can't tell Mrs Stone anything anyway. A little part of my brain was telling me that I shouldn't talk about my family mystery with other people until I know more about what's going on. My whole family is hiding for some reason. It would be fairly stupid of me to run around telling everyone that my family name was really Stone and that we were in hiding. Especially since I don't know what's going on. What if we're illegal immigrants? Me blurting out stuff like that would get us found out. We'd get rounded up and thrown onto the next bus to Mexico. Until I know more, I am determined not to talk about it with anyone outside the family. I can't even tell my best friends. That will be hard for me, but I just have to do it. I feel safe writing it here because you promised. You said I'm a patient, so it's against the law for you to tell anyone about what I tell you. But I can't tell anyone else. All of that ran through my mind as I sat in English class and stared down at my report. I had drawn little cartoons every so often to illustrate it. I was pretty pleased with the way the cartoons had worked out. The cartoon that went with that first paragraph was a whole bunch of different people all packed into a little rowboat that was halfway between a little map of Europe and a little map of America. The people were in clothes from lots of different time periods – all the way from the first Pilgrims through to someone in a Manchester United shirt. Some of the people weren't as clearly belonging to their particular group as I had hoped – my starving Irish peasant looked more like an anorexic harem girl from Arabia. I had fixed that by putting little speech bubbles above everyone's heads with a word or two in different languages or dialects. That way you could tell who they were supposed to be by what they were saying. I think the overall message worked. I sighed quietly to myself again and focused my attention back on Mrs Stone. She had written some simple sentences on the board with blanks and wanted us to copy the sentences and fill in a suitable word or phrase. I entertained myself by using phrases to make the sentences as silly as I could manage. Later in the lesson, Mrs Stone told us that our next assignment was to be a short talk to the class next Monday or Tuesday. I could feel my heart sinking as I listened to her explanation. We could base the talk around our report about Thanksgiving, or we could talk about the life story of one member of our family. I felt totally sick in the stomach. I hate class talks. I don't mind listening to other people. That can be interesting. I loathe having to stand up in front of people and speak. My mouth dries up, my tongue swells and clogs my throat, my brain shuts down and my voice reduces to a little squeak if it doesn't disappear altogether. The result is that I end up standing in front of the class mumbling to myself. Most of the class stare and snicker. Hannah Fargo jeers and calls out smart-ass comments. I end up completely embarrassed – completely humiliated. The teachers make me do it anyway. They say it's part of the course, so I have to. They say that I will get better if I keep trying. That seems pretty stupid to me. If you are allergic to peanuts, do they say you should keep eating them because you'll get better if you keep trying? I don't think so. It's like I'm allergic to public speaking. Every time they make me do it, I just get more allergic. One day, I'll be like those people that are so allergic to peanuts that if they just get a bit of oil on their skin, they swell up and die. My pencil started doing a sketch of me standing in the front of class. I'm all swollen up, like a balloon, and I'm gasping for air like I'm choking. I put a little speech bubble over the teacher's head, saying "Keep trying! You'll get better!" I made sure the teacher didn't look anything like Mrs Stone. I don't blame her. It's not her fault. At the end of the class I made my way to the front to talk to Mrs Stone. She smiled when she saw me coming – we had been through this routine before. She knew what I was going to ask. Liz and Melissa hung around nearby and watched as I spoke to Mrs Stone. "I don't think I can do the talk." "I'm sorry, Rebecca. You have to. It's part of the course." I sighed and shrugged. "Is there something I can do for extra credit?" This is how I maintain my A average. Every time I'm supposed to give a talk I either get a lousy grade or fail completely. So every time I offer to do some extra credit assignment to balance it out. The teachers are kind of used to it now. Mrs Stone was looking at me through slightly narrow eyes. "Have you read any interesting books lately?" I bit my lip as I thought. I'd read a few books lately, but there was only one book in the front of my brain. "I read The War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells. That was pretty interesting." A smile welled up from the depths and burst out all over Mrs Stone's face. "A wonderful story – rich with metaphor and social commentary." I gaped at her and frantically tried to remember any metaphors or whatever in the book. I had a nasty feeling she was going to ask me to identify some off the top of my head. "What did you notice about the book? What was different about it compared to other books you've read?" "Er..." The question caught me by surprise. I had to suddenly change my brain around from thinking about metaphors to thinking about differences. "Um ... he always used long sentences with lots of big words. I knew some of them but I had to keep stopping to look the others up in a dictionary." "Yes! Yes! Wells had an extensive vocabulary. He was writing for educated adults and didn't dumb down his writing the way so many authors do these days. What else?" "Um ... I noticed that the Martians only invaded England. The people only had to escape from England and they were safe. Why would he write as if only England was important?" "An excellent question. An Anglo-centric viewpoint. Very much a sign of his times. For extra credit, you can write me a report about The War of the Worlds. I don't want you to tell me the story. Give me a summary of the plot in one paragraph. After that, I want you to focus your report on the evidence in the book that tells you about the author. Who was he and what was the context in which he was writing? Do you know what I mean by context?" I nodded at her. I've had enough conversations with Mom about the context behind paintings so I knew exactly what she meant. "The two points you've raised with me should be featured prominently, but you should also be able to find other evidence." I gave her a half-smile and thanked her before walking away. This assignment sounded hard. Mrs Stone's extra credit assignments for me have been getting more difficult as the year goes by. The first one she asked me to do was to write a simple story about an encounter between two very different people that I know. I had written a story about Nana playing Nintendo with my cousin Sam. Every extra credit assignment since then had just gotten harder and harder. I joined up with Melissa and Liz and we started walking towards Math. Liz looked at me with one eyebrow raised. "I think somebody is going to be doing some Googling in the near future." "Huh?" "Googling! As in – Google for HG Wells to find out about the context in which he was writing." "Oh! Yeah! I expect I'm in for some serious Googling time. Sometimes I wonder how people found out anything before they had Google." "They read books – lots and lots of books," said Melissa. "And libraries had those funny old index catalogues that had everything written out on cards telling you which books to look up for whatever subject you wanted," added Liz. "You see them in old films all the time." I sighed. "Google is my friend." "So what did you get on your Thanksgiving assignment?" asked Melissa. I suddenly felt all shy and shrugged at her. "We both got As," said Liz. "We were showing each other while you were talking to Mrs Stone. Did you get an A too? You usually do." I shrugged again. "More or less." "More or less? What does that mean? More or less!" Liz sounded offended. I didn't mean to offend her. I just didn't want to sound like I was boasting or anything. We had to move aside for a bunch of boys who came charging down the corridor in the other direction. Liz took the opportunity to snatch my English book from my arms and open it up to the place where I'd tucked my assignment. "Hey!" I guess it was only a half-hearted objection. I should have expected Liz to do something like that and I was annoyed with myself for not preventing it much more than I was annoyed with Liz for trying it in the first place. "A+! You got an A+! That's awesome, Bec." "Thanks, Liz. You didn't have to yell it so loud! I'm sure the people in Ecuador didn't need to find out what grade I got." "Congrats, Bec! Mrs Stone hardly ever gives A+s," added Melissa. "That's pretty special." "Thanks! Liz, can I have it back now, please?" "Hold your horses. I'm just looking at your pictures. They're pretty cool!" "She did pictures? Show me!" Melissa and Liz walked down the corridor with their heads together as they looked through my assignment. All I could do was trail along after them like some little lost sheep while they giggled and snorted and pointed things out to each other. I always get nervous when other people look at my pictures. I know those two are my friends, but still... To make matters worse, just when they finished looking at the last one, along came Mikael and Phil. They were walking towards the same class and just called out to say hi, but Liz and Melissa waved them over. As if she were deliberately looking for a way to humiliate me, Liz insisted on showing the boys my assignment. I started looking for a hole to crawl into. I don't know if I can explain what I was feeling, or why. You're the doctor. Maybe you can explain it to me. I know I'm okay at drawing. I know that my drawings are fairly good – especially when compared to what most other people my age can draw. But any time people see my drawings, I find myself panicking. I have this terrible fear that they will point out the mistakes and the flaws and laugh and jeer. I have this terrible fear that they will walk away, saying things like, "I thought she was supposed to be good." It terrifies me. I was getting angry at Liz. She knows how I feel. She sometimes gets excited about something and forgets. I don't blame her. That's just the way she is. But I was still getting angry. I sidled up to the little knot of four people – all closely crowded around my assignment as they slowly turned the pages and moved from one picture to the next. I poked Liz in the ribs hard enough to be sure of getting her attention. Her head lifted up out of the crowd and spun around until she was glaring at me. "Hey! What was that for?" I looked at her with big eyes and gestured at the little crowd around my assignment. I tried to tell her without words that what she was doing was upsetting me. She was too hyped up with the excitement of sharing. She didn't get it. I turned and ran. I ended up sitting in the little alcove at the end of the hallway. In the alcove there's a set of stairs that lead up to the roof. The door at the top of the stairs is always locked – as far as I know. That means the stairs never get used except as seating when it's too cold or wet to go outside. There's a little open space under the stairs where Liz and I sometimes go. We call it our little Harry Potter hideaway. The bell for the start of class rang, and doors slammed down the hallway as the last stragglers scurried into the classrooms. I hugged my legs to my chest and wiped my face dry on my denim-clad knees. I briefly thought of making a frantic dash to class. I was supposed to be in Math and Mr Palu likes me, but then I decided I was comfortable where I was and it was too late anyway. I'd never actually had a detention for not going to class before. I guess there's a first time for everything. Things were quiet for a few minutes and then there was a scraping sound as someone else crawled into my little space. I couldn't see who it was because my eyes were closed but I had a fairly good idea who it was. My guess was confirmed when I felt an arm wrap around my shoulders and a head rest again mine. Now there were two heads resting on my knees. Fortunately, I was pretty confident which head belonged to me and which head belonged to Liz. My life is confusing enough with only one head. We sat like that for a short while, then I felt Liz stir and thrust a rolled up tube of paper into the small space between my legs and my stomach. "Here you are, Ron," she whispered in her outrageous idea of a posh English accent. Since this place was clearly Harry's cupboard under the stairs, we sometimes hid in here and pretended to be Harry and Ron or Harry and Hermione taking on Voldemort or avoiding Professor Snape. Who was who swapped around regularly, depending on the mood we were in at the time. "I got your wand back from the twins," Liz continued. "It's a bit dinged up, but I stuck it back together with tape and now it'll be as right as rowing." I lifted my head off my knees and gave her a thin smile. "Thanks Harry. You're a good friend. I don't know what I'd ever do without you. But it's rain, not rowing." "What?" "Now it'll be as right as rain!" "Oh! That doesn't make any sense either. What does it mean?" I shrugged. "I don't know. That's just the expression." Liz shrugged. "Whatever!" At that moment, an extra person clambered into our little space – it was Melissa. "What are we doing under the stairs?" "Hiding from Dudley." Melissa looked back and forth between the two of us as she tried to decipher that bit of code. She looked carefully at me. "Are you okay? Why did you run off?" I waved my rolled up assignment at her. "Harry rescued my wand from the twins and fixed it up with tape. Now we're hiding in the cupboard under the stairs." I could see the understanding grow in Melissa's eyes as she put all the bits together. Then the corners of hers got all crinkled as she tried not to laugh. "Ah!" she said, with her best attempt at a serious face. "Shhh!" whispered Liz. "I can hear Dudley coming." It was the student hall monitor. We all sat quietly and looked at each other as he walked past the alcove and then turned and went back in the other direction. "I've never cut class before," whispered Melissa, once he was gone. I rolled my eyes at Melissa. "Trust Hermione to be upset about cutting class." "She has a point," offered Liz. "Dumbledore will be upset with us." "Shouldn't that be Professor McGonagall?" asked Melissa. I shrugged. "Miss Webster used to be McGonagall, but lately she's been more like Dumbledore." "Besides," added Liz with a quiet enthusiasm, "Neither of them is here right now so it's up to us to solve the mysterious riddle that will help us defeat Voldemort and save the world from a fate worse than Middle School." "That's right, Harry," I agreed. "We have to save the world! Hermione, we're going to need your help." "Okay then, so what's our first clue?" asked Melissa. She leaned forward with a gleam in her eye. "Well," said Liz. "So far, we have a word – a strange and foreign word." She leaned across me and plucked my new math book from the top of my pile of books sitting on the ground beside me. It's the textbook for my new college math course that I haven't started yet. It's not really a proper book. It's more like a stack of photocopied notes that are stapled down one side and then some tape wrapped around the spine to make it into something like a book. The book is effectively a primer that covers everything that's taught in all the various high school math classes – the important stuff, anyway. Since I'll be starting the college course quite a while after the start of term, I have a fair bit of catching up to do. Mr Palu agreed to let me sit in his math classes and work through the start of my college book. Melissa and Liz found its contents a great deal more interesting than what the rest of the class are doing. With the approval of Mr Palu, we've formed a little study group in the back of class, where the three of us stick our heads together and work on deciphering the notes. It's fun. "It's the name of a strange and arcane spell that's hidden here, inside of Ron's Book of Spells. The spell is full of weird symbols and mystical glyphs." Liz put the book on the floor between the three of us and started flipping past the first few pages. "So Harry, what is this mysterious foreign word that we have to decipher?" asked Melissa. Liz found the page she wanted and pointed to the heading dramatically. "Algebra!" We huddled around the book and stared down at the closely written pages. Soon we had paper spread around us and pens in our hands as we deciphered and practised the mystery that is algebra. We kept the Harry Potter comments going, except that by unspoken agreement, we swapped roles. Because I'm the best at math, I got to be Hermione, Melissa became Harry and Liz became Ron. "Well, this is new!" The sudden loud voice made us jump and squeal. It was Miss Webster, leaning down with her hands on her knees so that she could peer into our little hidey-hole. "After thirty years in education, I thought I'd seen it all. Congratulations! The three of you have just proved me wrong." All three of us blinked up at Miss Webster in stunned surprise. "Would one of you please explain to me, why three of my top seventh graders have suddenly decided they should cut math class so that they can ... do more math?" The three of us looked at each other. I think all three of us were feeling pretty guilty. We should really have gone back to class. "It was time for math class," I blurted out. "Math just seemed like ... the right thing to do – even if we weren't actually in class." Miss Webster sighed and squatted down, keeping her knees together and twisting her legs to one side so that we wouldn't be forced to stare up her skirt. This allowed her to look into our little nook without actually crawling in there with us. "Am I to understand that if you three had decided to skip English class, I would have found you here writing essays?" All three of us looked at each other and shrugged. "Probably," said Melissa. "I'm really sorry – I mean – we're really sorry, Miss Webster. We shouldn't be here. We didn't..." "Hush, now," said Miss Webster – cutting off Melissa in mid-apology. "I have another question. Before I interrupted you, I distinctly heard you calling each other by different names. Would someone care to explain to me why you were pretending to be characters from Harry Potter?" She stopped herself and looked around at the concrete underside of the steps we were sheltering in. "Actually, don't bother. The answer is obvious. You are hiding under a set of stairs. Who else could you possibly be, but Harry Potter and his friends? Though why you would need to pretend to be Harry and company while doing math is another mystery. Actually, no it isn't. You are all thirteen and each of you has a vivid imagination. Those two facts alone are sufficient answer to that mystery. There is, therefore, only one unanswered question. What should happen now? Hmmm? She gazed sternly at the three of us in turn, with her steely eyes. Melissa and Liz hung their heads slightly, obviously fully expecting to be hit with a series of detentions at the very least. I gazed back at her with steady eyes. I'd resigned myself to being in trouble the instant that bell had gone and the doors had all slammed shut. The only question was, what form would that trouble take? "I'm sorry, Miss Webster. This is totally my fault. I got all upset about something and Liz and Melissa stayed with me so they could try and cheer me up." "And their idea of cheering you up is to make-believe you are Harry Potter and solve math problems together." She made it sound so ... weird. It hadn't been weird. It had just been ... fun. I shrugged. "Yes." I said it as plainly as I could, so that she wouldn't be in any doubt. I could swear that I saw a mischievous glint in Miss Webster's left eye. "I doubt there are any other students in the school who could tell me that story and have me believe them. That isn't a criticism, by the way. I'm finding the experience delightfully novel. Rebecca, are you sufficiently cheered up that you will be able to attend classes after morning recess? Have you solved enough math problems to overcome your temporary upset?" "Yes, Miss Webster." "Splendid. Would the three of you please report to Mr Palu before the end of recess? I think he deserves an apology for your absenteeism. As for the rest – it's Thanksgiving. I shall give you all something to be thankful for by taking no further action on this matter." "Thank you, Miss Webster," the three of us chimed in unison. "Please don't make a habit of doing this. I rely on the presence of the three of you in classes to remind my faculty that teaching is sometimes actually pleasurable." She smiled as she said it, to let us know she wasn't being completely serious. "How did you find us, anyway?" I asked, feeling genuinely curious. Miss Webster focused that steely glare on me. "Young lady, I have been the principal of this school for quite some time now. Not all of the young people in my care are as well behaved as the three of you. I assure you that I know the location of every single possible hiding place within the school buildings and out in the grounds. I even know many of the hiding places in the local area outside the school grounds. When I received the message from Mr Palu that the three of you were missing, I simply started checking each possible place in turn. It was merely a matter of time before you were found." She pointed at me and then reached up and gently tapped my forehead. "The problem with being Harry Potter is that the faculty takes extra notice of your movements and your moods." I wasn't sure if, by tapping my forehead, she was referring to Harry Potter's scar or my brain. I suspected she was being clever and doing both at once. I jerked a thumb at Melissa. "She's Harry, I'm Hermione." Miss Webster raised her eyes to the roof and then looked back at me. "You know what I mean." I nodded and hung my head. I missed the days when I could sit in class and be anonymous. "Well, I'm sure at this point that Professor McGonagall would tell you to stay right where you are and get on with your math." I gave her a little grin. "We were kind of calling you Dumbledore. He is the principal at Hogwarts, after all." "Oh, really?" she didn't seem to know how to reply to that. "I quite like Professor McGonagall. She has many admirable qualities. And I am quite envious of her ability to transform into a cat and prowl the hallways of the school." "Very well," said Liz. "Professor McGonagall it is." "Thank you, dear," said Miss Webster. "I wish you all a happy and safe Thanksgiving." We chorused suitable responses and she smiled warmly at all of us. She stood up and straightened her skirt before tapping her way down the hall on her low heels. Melissa looked at me and blinked a couple of times. "I'm officially impressed. Hermione just talked us out of a detention." Liz agreed. "And what's more, you told me Miss Webster could be cool, but I didn't believe it. I'm impressed that you got her to smile. I've never seen her smiling like that before." I smiled back at the two of them. "Personally, the thing that impressed me the most was that she just squatted and held that position, balanced on heels, for all of that time." They both nodded in agreement. "Now, we've got ten minutes until the bell. Let's see if we can finish this page." ------- The bell rang just as we were finishing off the last problem on that page. We declared ourselves satisfied and packed up our things. It was recess time and soon the hallway beyond our little nook was filled with noise. I reached out a hand to each of my friends and gripped each of them firmly around the neck. I drew them into a seated, three-way hug and kissed each of their cheeks. "Thank you so much for doing this with me. I shouldn't have got upset but it was sooo nice of you both to come and sit with me." "Don't be silly," said Liz. "It was my fault in the first place. You tried to tell me to back off but I wasn't listening." "I still don't really know what happened," said Melissa. "Except that suddenly you were all upset and running away." At that moment, a couple of legs came right up to our little nook. We stopped talking and watched as Mikael and Phil bent down and peered in at us. "Can we come in? We want to say something," said Mikael. We glanced at each other and shrugged and nodded. "Sure, come on in," said Melissa. "It's a free cupboard." They both looked confused by the cupboard comment but they started crawling in anyway. With five us in there, things became a little bit tight. We all had to scrunch up and stick our knees under chins to make room for everyone. It took several minutes before we were settled enough to talk. Mikael and Phil glanced at each other as if deciding who was going to do the talking, then Mikael shifted and looked at me. "Bec, Phil and I were talking during math. We obviously did something to upset you. We don't know what we did, but whatever it was, we're sorry." I gaped at them – taken by surprise by the sudden and unexpected apology. Liz coughed in surprise. "You guys didn't do anything wrong. I got carried away and pushed Bec just when she was already upset. All this was my fault." "So what happened?" asked Phil. "Bec was stressing out about having to do that talk in English." "Why? It's just a class talk," said Mikael. "Bec hates talking in front of a group. She gets all tongue-tied when she sees everyone staring at her." "That's right," said Phil. "I remember that last one we had to do. People laughed. I felt really bad for you." I gave Phil a half-smile and looked down at the floor between my feet. "Then, there was Bec's assignment. She gets freaky about people looking at her artwork when she isn't ready for it. She has to psyche herself up to show her stuff to people. I kind of took the assignment from her and started showing it to all of you. If I'd left her alone, she probably would have showed us later on anyway, but I got all impatient and Bec freaked." I was staring at Liz. I'd never really thought about it like that, but what she'd just said made a whole lot of sense to me. She made me sound like a total control-freak, but I suppose when it comes to my art, that's more or less true. She looked at me and winked. I threw my arms around her and hugged her tight. I felt overcome with emotion at the idea that she understood me so well. Then I remembered that Mikael and Phil were sitting right there, watching us. I suddenly felt shy about hugging Liz so passionately in front of them. I let her go and sat up straight, brushing tears from my eyes as I did so. Mikael and Phil were sitting there with slightly worried expressions on their faces. Melissa looked at me with relaxed and happy eyes. I looked at the boys and I looked at Liz and figured out that the boys thought I was upset again. "It's okay!" I said. "I'm okay." I forced myself to smile and they answered me with doubtful smiles of their own. "Those pictures really are good," said Phil. "They're funny. I'm sorry that you weren't ready to show them to us." I sighed and reached for my pile of books. I had my assignment squashed under the bottom of the pile. It still curled up at the edges from where Liz had rolled it up. I ran my hand down the edge to straighten it and then handed it over to Phil. I bit my lip and watched nervously as Phil and Mikael looked at each page in turn. Melissa wrapped an arm around my waist and squeezed. Liz lay her arm across my shoulders. I had my legs in tight against my body with my knees under my chin. The three of us just sat and watched the boys turn the pages. I guess Liz was right. It was much easier for me to sit and let the boys look at my pictures this time. When they got to the last one, Mikael looked up at me. "You know, it's a shame that you don't like giving class talks, because with these pictures, this would make an awesome talk." I looked at him in confusion. "Huh? Do you mean you want me to show the pictures to the whole class?" I gave a little shudder. "Those things are just silly little cartoons. I did them for Mrs Stone, because I thought she'd like them. Now you've all seen them. That's okay, I guess. They're not really good enough to show to everyone." "But they are good," said Melissa's voice near my ear. "Sure, they aren't like Rembrandt or anyone like that, but they are good – and they're funny. You've got five days before you have to give your talk. Think about it. Let yourself get used to the idea of showing your pictures to the class. It really would be awesome if you can do it." "They're too small," I protested. "What do you want me to do? Hold them up on a bit of card? Nobody would be able to see them." "That's easy to fix," said Phil. "Just scan them into a computer and burn a CD so that you can show them on the screen at the front of the classroom." "Oh!" I was rapidly running out of arguments and I wasn't sure I wanted to do this. "I don't know how to do that. I don't have a scanner or a CD-burner." "I have a scanner at home that plugs into my laptop," said Phil. "And a CD-burner. I'd be happy to help you do it." Phil stopped suddenly and his voice fell. "That's if you want to, of course. I don't want to make you do something you don't want to do." "Oh!" I said, faintly, as I tried to think of a way to back out of this without hurting his feelings. "There's one really good thing about this idea," said Liz, thoughtfully. "Remember how you said that at your family thing, it was easier to talk when no one was looking at you? Everyone would be looking at the pictures. You could stand at the back of the room and give your talk. Nobody would be looking at you." I sighed in surrender. "I guess it would be better than having everyone staring at me and laughing when I get all embarrassed." They all looked at each other with grins on their faces. It was like they were all cheering on the inside after winning some sort of game. I suppose they had just won some sort of game – only the game was convincing me to make an idiot out of myself. Liz was right, though. Maybe it would be easier to stand at the back of the class and talk without everyone staring at me. The important word there was "easier." There's a huge difference between "easier" and "easy." I looked at Phil. "I suppose I'm going to need to go over to your place sometime so you can scan the pictures in. How long is that going to take?" He shrugged, "It should only take twenty minutes or so, but we should probably allow a couple of hours. You know how computers are." We talked a bit, and organized for me to go over to his place on Sunday for a couple of hours. That was all dependent on getting parental permission, of course. I warned him that one of my parents would probably want to ring his mother and "chat" before I would be allowed to visit. I was just guessing, by the way, based on what they always did for Tara. I had never asked for permission to go to a boy's house before. That would be interesting. My brain started coming up with all sorts of different ways The Parents could react – most of them highly embarrassing for me. Melissa pointed out that it was nearly the end of recess so we quickly gathered up our stuff and headed off to find Mr Palu. He was really nice about it all and wanted to know that I was okay. I told him I was fine and I apologized again for missing his class. Then the bell rang for the end of recess and we headed off to our lockers. Science class was fairly boring. Mrs Gasbury wrote a lot of notes and diagrams on the board for us to copy. It was all about the human eye and how it works, with all the rods and cones and stuff. In a way that sort of thing is interesting, but listening to her droning on about it all and copying pages of notes is never going to be exciting. In Art, Mrs Billings had us using poster paints to do a head and shoulders portrait of someone. Poster paint isn't really the best sort of paint to use and the brushes were all those big, thick ones so it wasn't possible to do anything decent. Not that there was time, anyway. I started doing a portrait of my anonymous friend Cindi. She's out there somewhere. The only thing I really know about her is that there's a porn picture of her circulating around on the internet. My brain has filled in a lot of other stuff about who she might be. Sometimes she feels like my missing twin sister. I decided that if I painted her portrait, then for a change people would have to look at her face instead of looking at the rest of her body. It was a struggle to work with the oversized brushes and the cheap paint. As I was doing that, people moving around the room would occasionally visit our table and check out what we were all doing, in the same way that they looked at everyone else's work. It didn't worry me – it never had. It was normal for art class. I wondered why it didn't bother me, after everything Liz had said earlier. I decided that it was because I knew what art classes were like so my brain was prepared for people to be looking at what I was doing in an art class. That was different from my English assignment which I had thought would only be seen by Mrs Stone. I sighed and shook my head. Sometimes my brain is really hard to figure out. I didn't get to finish my portrait of Cindi. Miss Webster appeared in the door of the art room and asked for me to come with her. She told me I probably wouldn't have time to come back to class, so I quickly rinsed my brushes out and tidied up my space on the workbench. Liz and Melissa asked what was happening, but all I could do was shrug. I looked at my half-finished portrait of Cindi and then tore it into little pieces, which I dropped in the trash. Miss Webster was looking impatient, so I tucked my books under one arm and grabbed a piece of paper towel to clean my hands with while I walked. "What's happening?" I asked, as soon as we were clear of the classroom. "A very formidable woman by the name of Mrs Baxter has taken over my office and is asking to see you. I believe she is your grandmother. The family resemblance is quite remarkable – in appearance, in accent and in ... attitude. I was hoping you'd be able to coax her out of there, so that I could have my office back." "Oh! What's she doing here?" "I promised your father that I would contact him if you had any problems. When you didn't turn up to your class, earlier, I phoned to let him know that you and your two friends were missing. He suggested that if you were upset, you were more likely to have crawled into somewhere small and dark rather than actually running away. Armed with that information, I started my search and located you relatively quickly. I'm quite sure that I could have found you even faster were I to have the ability to transform into a cat, but alas I lack that particular attribute." She smiled at me as she said that last bit. I blinked a couple of times as I absorbed the idea that she was making jokes and sneaking them into her usual speech. Eventually I remembered to smile back. "Having found you and established that you were okay, I returned to my office and phoned your father to reassure him. Apparently, in the meantime, he had set all the alarm bells ringing and called out the National Guard – or at least your grandmother, who is quite impressive enough on her own." She stopped walking and looked at me carefully, though I did notice a twinkle of amusement in her eye. "He doesn't have any contacts with the police, does he? I'm wondering if I'm likely to have a SWAT team pulling up outside our front door. Or do I have to worry about some army tanks rolling up?" "I don't think so," I told her. "But Liz Davidson's father knows people in the police – and in the army." "Ah, yes! Of course! George Davidson knows many people – and your father knows George Davidson. If anything really serious ever happened to young Elizabeth – or you, as her friend – I expect I would have both SWAT and the entire local chapter of the Hells Angels charging through my front door, while a flight of air force jets circled overhead. Fortunately, by the time I was able to contact Mr Davidson, I was able to assure him that I had found you all safe and well. He seemed much more relaxed about the entire business." "Mr Davidson is really nice!" I protested. "Of course he is, dear. I never suggested otherwise. And now that the two of you have teamed up with Melissa DiMartino, I suppose that the entire financial future of the school is now dependent on your little group's safety, well-being and academic success." She winked at me as she said it. Miss Webster seems to have gained a lot of entertainment from my little freak-out. I sighed to myself. We arrived at Miss Webster's office and she opened the door and ushered me straight inside. Nana was sitting at the meeting table, looking as if she owned the place. She was actually sitting in exactly the same seat I had occupied a couple of weeks ago when I'd had that horrible meeting where Mr Shankie had thought Mom was beating me up. Nana stood up walked towards me, obviously hoping for a hug. I don't know why, but suddenly I was angry at her for coming here and dragging me out of class over nothing. I stopped where I was, crossed my arms and glared at her. "Nana, what are you doing here?" She smiled at me and I just frowned back. Nana then turned her attention to Miss Webster. "Would you please give me a few minutes alone with my granddaughter?" she said in a cold voice. "Of course!" Miss Webster stepped back through the door and closed it behind her. "And stop bullying Miss Webster," I continued, still glaring at Nana. "Miss Webster's really nice and she does a good job as principal." Nana glowered back at me. "A principal isn't supposed to allow her students to go missing." "I got upset and didn't go to class. Melissa and Liz stayed with me. Miss Webster found us within twenty minutes of us not turning up to class. I'd say that's doing a pretty good job. I'm not an expert, but I figure there'd be a lot of schools where no one would have even noticed that we weren't in class." "Hmmph! So! Are you all right? What happened? Why did you get upset? Are you feeling better now? I was worried about you." I rolled my eyes at her. I walked over to her and hugged her. "Nana, I'm okay. I just got upset about some stuff. It's all fixed. I'm fine. You don't need to panic every time I freak out about something. You certainly don't have to come rushing up to school just because I went missing for twenty minutes. I don't even know why Dad would have rung you in the first place." "He didn't! He rang your house, wanting to tell Louise that you had gone missing. I've been there all morning helping prepare for Thanksgiving. Your mom was out shopping with Angie when he rang so I told him I would come here and check up on you." "But that was over an hour ago, what took you so long?" She scowled down at her hands. "Louise took Angie with her so that I could have a lie down in your parents' bed and have a nap. My hands were a bit sore from cutting up vegetables all morning. It took me longer than it should have to put my dress back on and do up my shoes. By then Peter had phoned back to tell me that you were safe and well. Then my car wouldn't start. It's just as well it wasn't a real emergency, I would have been completely useless." "Oh, Nana!" I hugged her and she hugged me. Now I understood why she'd been crotchety with Miss Webster. I called Miss Webster back into the room and Nana said, "My granddaughter speaks highly of you, Miss Webster. I have learnt to respect her opinion about people so I congratulate you on doing your job so well. I am sure that being principal of a school in this day and age is not an easy task." "Thank you, Mrs Baxter. That's kind of you to say so. Shall I have Rebecca show you out? The bell for the end of class should be ringing shortly and I would hate for you to be trampled in the rush." "It's a half-day of school, Nana, because of Thanksgiving, so we all get to go home now. Are you going to go back to our house? Can you give me a lift home?" We'd made it as far as the bench outside the front office when we met Mom and Angie coming in the opposite direction. Angie wriggled out of Mom's arms and ran across to me, demanding to be held. "Mom! What are you doing here? Don't tell me Dad sent you here as well!" "Well! That's a fine welcome, I must say. I haven't spoken to your father. I just came to collect you and Tara so that you could come shopping with me and leave your Nana to sleep for a bit longer. I see that was a waste of time. What's going on?" "I'll tell you later, Mom. Why don't we all sit down on the bench and wait for Tara. Nana, sit down, you're supposed to be resting." Nana scowled at me and looked like she was about to object but then Mom took her elbow and marched her over to sit on the bench. Soon the three of us were sitting in a row, me with Angie on my lap. Miss Webster was standing there with her eyes glinting in silent amusement. "Hello, Mrs Freeman. I was just saying to Rebecca that the family resemblance between her grandmother and her is quite remarkable – in many ways. Seeing the three of you here together just reinforces that. Tara has the same looks but she doesn't seem to have the same personality that the three of you have." The bell rang and the sound of doors banging open echoed through the school. Almost at the same instant, the phone in Miss Webster's office started ringing. "Oops!" said Miss Webster. "I am summoned back to duty. Have a good Thanksgiving." She turned and disappeared into her office, closing the door behind her. In a very short amount of time, we were surrounded by my friends. They wanted to know why I got summoned out of class, but I just waved off their questions. Liz greeted Mom and Nana with a quick hug and a kiss. Angie wriggled out of my lap and demanded to be held by Liz. I introduced Melissa to Nana and Phil and Mikael to Mom. Tara wandered up with her bag slung over her shoulder and slumped down onto the bench next to me. She muttered something about thinking the day would never end but I didn't hear exactly what she said. Angie wriggled out of Liz's arms and clambered into Tara's lap. I said my farewells to my friends and told Liz I was looking forward to tomorrow. They all split up and wandered off to catch the bus or whatever. Mom announced that the two of us would go shopping with her and Angie so that Nana could go back to our house and put her feet up for a while longer before we all had to start the afternoon shift of kitchen duty. I wanted to go home with Nana rather than go shopping and Nana over-ruled Mom and said I could. Tara didn't get a choice. She's still grounded after that party, so Mom is pretty much still not giving her any choices about things like that. I made Nana sit and let the crowds in the school disappear. That happened amazingly quickly. One minute the school was a bustling, crowded place and the next minute the entire place was quiet. I left her on the bench while I collected my school bag from my locker and then the two of us left the school and walked down the steps. It was kind of nice to walk out of the school, knowing I wouldn't have to come back for four whole days. I mean, I like school – most of the time. But it does get to be a drag having to go there every day. School would be so much better if you only had to go for two or three days each week. I sat in Nana's car as she fumbled the keys into the ignition. She's getting a bit of arthritis in her hands. It's usually not too bad but Mom really shouldn't have let her spend all morning holding a knife and chopping vegetables. Typical Nana, though, she refuses to let anything like that slow her down. I decided that driving away from school officially made it the start of Thanksgiving. I closed my eyes and decided that I had a lot to be thankful for. I'm especially grateful for having a grandmother who came charging up to school to rescue me from whatever peril, despite having hands that were temporarily nearly useless. Even though it was embarrassing that she turned up, I loved that she did. I thought back to Miss Webster's office and the way I'd been speaking to Nana – ordering her around. I was surprised she let me do that. Usually it's the other way around. I sighed to myself. Miss Webster was absolutely correct. I've become a younger version of both Mom and Nana. I wonder when that happened. ------- Chapter 4: Wednesday Afternoon November 24th There's something magical about cars. They are like spaceships. They carry you from one world to another. For example, Nana's car was carrying me from the world of school to the world of home — two entirely different worlds with their own rules and expectations. I think even the laws of gravity are different. And since I'm a different person in each of those worlds, the spaceship-car has the additional power to transform me from one person into another. I get into the car as Rebecca Freeman the student and get out of it as Bec the ... whatever I am when I'm at home. I guess the school bus does something similar, but it's not the same. Sitting on the school bus, I'm pretty much already Rebecca the student. Maybe the magic on the school bus is in the doorway. As you climb onto the bus, you get zapped and kapow — instant transformation. "Are you mad at me for coming to school?" Nana's voice broke the silence. "What? No! Well sort of, but not really. What makes you think I'm mad at you?" "You were ignoring me. You were sitting and staring out the window and not talking to me." "Oh! I was just transforming into Bec. I don't have to be Rebecca the student again for four whole days. It's a nice feeling." Nana chuckled. "Ah! So you aren't mad at me, then? I was getting worried. When you were in primary school, you loved having me coming up to check on you. I keep forgetting the rules for high school are different." "I'm in middle school, not high school." "Middle school, junior high school, high school — they're all the same, aren't they?" I snorted. "Dan once said that the difference between junior high and high school is like the difference between a zoo and a nature preserve. They're both designed to keep the animals away from the people, but one of them does it with cages so they can keep the animals apart from each other, as well." "Daniel shouldn't be filling your head with such cynical ideas. He should know better." "Nana, I'm thirteen years old. I'm quite capable of being cynical on my own, without Dan's help." She glanced over at me and smiled, before turning her attention back to the road. "I'm sorry. I never learnt about teenagers. I know grandmothers are supposed to know everything, but this is still a new experience for me. Teenagers didn't exist in my day — we went straight from being a child to being an adult. And they took Louise away and locked her in that place just before she turned thirteen. It took nearly four years of argy-bargy and going in and out of courts before I got her back permanently. By that time she was an adult — so I missed out on her being a teenager." "Didn't you get to see her in all of that time?" "Oh yes! I visited her all the time. They let her out for day trips and even a few weekends. And a couple of times they released her, but then she'd do something a bit ... well ... unusual and her father would have her put back in again. Visiting someone in an asylum is not the same as having them living in the house with you." She sounded really sad. "I'm sorry, Nana. I'm sorry it all happened like that. It was all so unfair." "No point banging on about it now. That's all over and done with." I watched as she pushed the sadness away with her usual iron-willed determination. She smiled to herself as she obviously thought about something happier. It wasn't until Nana was stopping the car outside our house that it occurred to me to ask a different question. "But what about Uncle Stan? Didn't you get to see him being a teenager?" "Ah!" A strange look flashed across her face and then disappeared before I could sort out what it meant. "That's a completely different story." Then her face completely closed up. She took three goes to change the gear shift into park and then she turned the motor off. When she struggled to undo the seatbelt, I leaned over and undid it for her. "Now what did I do?" I thought to myself as I watched her wordlessly lever herself out of the car and push the door shut. I scrambled to grab my schoolbag and get out of the car before she got all the way up the drive to the front door. "Nana, wait!" She paused and looked at me, completely without expression. "You didn't lock the car." She scowled and fiddled with the little device on the key-chain. After she'd poked at it several times, I gently took it from her. "Let me, Nana." I pressed the button and watched as the car horn bipped and the lights flashed. Then I used the key on Nana's chain to open the front door, saving me from digging into my bag to find my own key. I gave Nana's keys back and held the door open for her. "How about you let me make you a nice cup of tea? Come and sit down in the kitchen." I filled the kettle and put it on and then left Nana sitting in the kitchen while I dumped my schoolbag in my bedroom. Back in the kitchen, I stooped down and hugged Nana while she was sitting in her chair. I held on to her and tucked my head over her shoulder. I could feel her patting my arm with her hand. I sat down next to her and kept a hand resting on her arm. "Nana, I love you so much. Thank you for coming to school today. It means a lot to me that you would drop everything and go racing over there when you thought I might be having a problem." She smiled and put her other hand on top of my hand — the one I had sitting on her arm. She stroked my hand with her fingers. Her skin felt thin. Regular use of hand-cream had kept it feeling as smooth as silk but it was definitely an old person's skin. Today, in a number of ways, I'd really had it driven home to me that Nana is getting old. It shook me up so much that my insides felt like they'd been turned into a milk-shake — all froth and bubbles. "Nana, I love the way you did that, but I don't want you to do it again. Before, you said that the rules are different from primary school. They totally are! Kids get laughed at and teased if their family keeps turning up at school for the slightest problem. Junior high really is like a zoo. All of us are trapped in there with people we don't like, in way too little space, doing things we don't really want to do. We all go a bit crazy. I doubt if I get through a single day of school without getting upset about something. It's going to get really embarrassing if my family keeps scrambling around in a panic every time I get upset." "From what Peter was saying, you haven't actually missed a class before." "Yes, that was wrong. I'll try not to do that again." Nana patted my hand and then squeezed it. "You're a good girl. Your schooling is much too important to throw away. I had to fight like billy-o just to get to school. Things are much easier for you, these days. You're even getting to go to college one day a week. At your age? Who ever heard of such a thing? I'm wracked with jealousy. If you waste that opportunity, I'll take my walking stick to your backside." I smiled at her. "Nana, you don't own a walking stick." "Hmph! I could get one without too much trouble and no, you don't need to make any smarty-pant comments about me needing a walking stick. Don't be impertinent." The kettle started singing, so I stood up and made a pot of tea. I set the pot on its coaster on the table so that the tea could brew while I pottered around setting out cups and saucers. I also put some cookies onto a plate. Once I was done, I sat down again beside Nana. She'd watched me perform that little routine with a gentle little smile on her face. She waited until I was seated before starting up the conversation again. "You look so pretty right now. You're growing up into a beautiful woman." I rolled my eyes at her. "I'm growing up to look exactly like Mom and she looks exactly like you did when you were her age." She gave me her crafty smile. "That's precisely what I said. You are growing up into a beautiful woman. I was beautiful once you know." "Nana, you're fishing for compliments. Do you want me to say that you still look beautiful? Well, you do. But I know what you used to look like. You don't have to tell me about it." "Oh? As far as I recall, you weren't around back then." "Yes, but Mom was. Look!" I reached down the neck of my top and pulled out the locket I always wear. It used to be Nana's locket. I could see her eyes light up in recognition, when she saw it. It's a big and solid metal locket that always presses against the center of my chest, constantly reminding me of its presence with its weight. I lifted the chain over my head and held the locket in my hand, flicking it open with one fingernail. Inside was an old picture Mom had drawn of her and Nana together soon after Mom came home from the asylum. I handed the locket over to Nana. "See? I know what you looked like from Mom's drawing. And you have those old photos of yourself on the wall in your bedroom." Nana pointed at the locket. "What's this? This is new." In the other half of the locket, I'd put a new picture. It showed three girls standing together. "In the middle is me, on the left is Mom — looking like she did when she drew that other picture in the locket. And the girl on the right is you. Or at least it's what I think you looked like at that age based on those old photos of yours." I'd drawn it as if we were three girlfriends of the same age hanging out together. The two girls who would become Mom and Nana are there, standing beside me and supporting me. I think it's symbolic, but I'm not sure of what. The bit of my brain that drew that picture isn't talking to me. It won't tell me what it means. That picture came from somewhere deep inside me — a part of me that never uses words, only feelings. I'm left staring at one of my own pictures, trying to figure it out just like everyone else has to. I think I finally get why, sometimes, my family look at my pictures and scratch their heads. So what do you think, Doctor K? What do you think it means? Remind me to show it to you at our next session and you can have a go at explaining it to me. "I love it," said Nana. "The three of us together like that. It's so beautiful. And look, your picture is even better drawn than the one your mother did. The lines are finer." I sighed. "I'm not as good as Mom. I cheated. I drew the picture bigger and used the school photocopier to reduce it to the right size. Mom drew hers tiny to start with. That's why I'm going to the college class, remember? I'm going so that one day, maybe, I'll be as good as Mom — or maybe even better." The tea was ready so I poured out cups for the two of us. We both tasted the tea and put our cups back down. It's like the English version of the Japanese tea ceremony. You prepare the pot. You talk. You pour out the tea. You each take one sip. You talk. You take two more sips each. And so on. Okay, it's not as steeped in tradition and meaning like the Japanese version, but it is comfortable and familiar. "Are you excited about the college?" I thought about my answer to that while I attached the locket chain back around my neck and slid the locket down inside my top. I wiggled a bit until it slid properly into place. I'm quite sure I'm getting a little indentation in my chest where the locket sits. "I'm very excited. I'm also a bit nervous." "What is there to be nervous about?" "I'm worried about making a fool of myself. I'm worried that I won't be able to keep up. I'm worried that all the college students will sneer at me because I'm so young. Like you said, it's a fantastic opportunity and I'm worried that I might waste it because I'm not ready." Nana looked at me carefully, as if peering inside my head at the quivering little brain hiding inside my skull. Then she nodded. "Those are good things to think about, but you shouldn't be worried. As your Miss Webster pointed out, you and I have a lot in common. We're both as stubborn as mules. When I first had cancer I was a terrible patient — fussing and carrying on. The doctors kept saying I had to do everything they told me to do or I would get worse. That wasn't good enough for me, so I let them have it a few times. Then one day, a doctor came in and looked me straight in the eye and said, 'You have six months to live, twelve at the most. You can't possibly live more than twelve months.' Well, that did the trick. I sat there in the hospital bed and thought, 'Don't tell me what I can't do!' and I set about proving him wrong. Here I am, five years later and I'm in complete remission. I'm a cancer survivor thanks to that doctor." We both took two sips of our tea, each lost in our own thoughts. I was thinking that after half an hour with Nana, my broad Lancashire accent had come back. I was also thinking that it sounded like a strange thing for the doctor to say that stuff to Nana. Nana must be a mind-reader because she answered my question before I even asked it. "I'm not a complete idiot. I used to be a nurse, remember? No doctor would ever say such a thing to a patient. I'm quite certain your mother got to him and persuaded him to say that to me. She deliberately manipulated me to get my dander up. She denied it when I asked her, but I know what must have happened." "Weren't you angry with Mom for manipulating you like that?" "No, sweetie, I wasn't angry. It had the desired effect so I let it pass. Besides, I've done the same thing to her once or twice — she was only getting her own back." The skin around her eyes got all crinkly as she smiled. "That's why I'm not worried about you at college. It'll only take one uppity, spoilt young thing to sneer at you, and you'll be so busy proving her wrong that you'll fly through." She pointed her teacup at me. "Of course, if nobody says anything like that to you at college, we can always rely on Tara to stir you up. She seems to be good at that." I grimaced. That was certainly true. We both sipped our tea. It was time for the next step in the dance. I reached for the plate of cookies. "Have a cookie, Nana." She looked at them carefully. "They're biscuits!" I rolled my eyes at her. "Have a biscuit, Nana." She took one and nibbled on it. That was a relief, because it meant I could eat a couple and not be rude. I wondered why I was feeling so hungry — I'm not normally that hungry when I get home from school. Then I remembered that it had been a half-day and I hadn't eaten any lunch. No wonder I was hungry. "I've been in America for six years and calling these things cookies still sounds completely wrong to me. I doubt I shall ever get used to it." I looked at her sideways. "So why did you move out here? You must have known it would be difficult to get used to things being so different." Nana looked at me calmly. "Louise told me you had started asking questions. That's one I don't mind answering. I had a choice of staying on my own in England and growing old with only cats to talk to, or coming out here where I could watch my beautiful grandchildren grow up. I chose to come out here where I could be a part of your lives. What's that modern expression? It was a no-brainer. Is that right?" I grinned at her. "You nailed it!" I nibbled on a biscuit while she sipped some more tea. "So that's the reason why you moved out here. Why did we?" Nana sighed and put her tea cup down. "You must know! You were there at all the family meetings where they decided to come here." "Love, I know you're curious, but you should leave it alone. You weren't told all the whys and wherefores for good reasons. Those reasons haven't gone away." I bit my lip and looked down at the table. "Please, Bec, just drop it." I kept looking down at the table. "We all moved here. We've built a good life here. Everyone is happy — most of the time. We can't go back to England. Our life in England is in the past. Leave it there. This is a good place to live. We can stay right here until you lot are all grown up, provided nobody does anything foolish. Please trust me, you don't need to know." She sounded exasperated with me. "If you poke a beehive with a stick, all you'll get is stung." I looked at Nana and nodded. I drank the last of my tea. "Nana, don't you miss your friends from Preston?" She snorted. "All my friends from Preston are getting old. I don't want to spend time with old people. The only thing old people do is whine about which part of their bodies hurts the most. Their idea of scintillating conversation is trying to top each other over who has had the most surgeries or who has had the most gruesome surgery. You can't imagine how boring those conversations can get. I'm not interested in getting old if it that's what it does to you." I hid a grin from her. "I'm going to make myself a sandwich or something for lunch. Do you want something?" "Good heavens, child!" she cried out in alarm. "I forgot you hadn't eaten. A growing girl like you needs to eat — so eat!" I stood and opened the fridge. It was packed to overflowing with food ready for Thanksgiving. I found some sliced ham and some chutney and pulled some bread out of the bread bin. "I'm making a couple of ham sandwiches, Nana. Would you like one?" "These biscuits will do me. I'm afraid I nibbled once too often earlier on, when we were making pie." She watched me as I made a couple of ham and chutney sandwiches. Then she admitted that they did look nice and perhaps she could manage a half of one. I cut one of my sandwiches in half and slid my plate over to her so she could take it. We sat and chatted about general stuff while I ate my lunch. That was nice. I got Nana talking about the Lifelong Learning Center she goes to two mornings a week. One morning she teaches first aid — she's a registered first aid instructor, and the other morning she takes whatever classes are running. Recently she's been learning how to navigate by the stars and with a sextant. It's really interesting but I can't imagine how she'll ever find it useful. That's the point, says Nana. She says that she isn't learning it because it's useful. She's learning it because it's interesting. When the two of us had finished eating my lunch, I scuttled around the kitchen and cleaned up. Nana sat at the table and started describing the things that still needed to be done for Thanksgiving. It was a really long list. Then she sat there deciding which of those things she could make a start on. I planted myself in front of her and glared at her. "Nana! Mom said you needed to have a rest. You're supposed to put your feet up for a while." "Louise is getting far too bossy for her own good. She doesn't know what she's talking about!" "Look at yourself, Nana. You're tired. It's as plain as day. Tomorrow will be a very big day. You won't enjoy it if you're too tired from working all day today. Mom knows exactly what she's talking about and she's no more bossy now than she's ever been. In fact, she's exactly as bossy as you taught her to be. And she'll direct all that bossiness at me if I don't make sure you take a nap. So you're going to walk straight into my parents' room and have a lie down." "Hmph!" She looked at me with very sharp eyes. "Louise isn't the only one who's been learning to be bossy." I smiled at her. She smiled back at me. Then she lifted up her chin and looked at me with steady eyes. "Perhaps I shall go into the living room and put my feet up for a while." I rolled my eyes at her. It would have been too much to expect for her to do exactly what I told her. Like she said, she's as stubborn as a mule. I followed Nana into the living room and helped her take her shoes off. I propped her up with enough cushions to equip an entire cheerleading squad for a pillow fight. Having satisfied myself that she was comfy, I went back into the kitchen. I finished tidying up and putting things away from my lunch. It only took a few minutes. I poked my head back into the living room and already Nana was quietly snoring. I smiled to myself and went off to find a blanket for her. In my room, I sat down in front of the computer and rubbed my hands together. I'd been waiting to do this all day. I had some googling to do. Google is my friend. Google is the greatest invention since liquid paper. I'm not talking about googling HG Wells, I could do that any time. Nope, my target was closer to home. You didn't think I was going to stop because Nana asked me to, did you? She'd just finished telling me how much I was like her. Stubborn as a mule, she said. All that business about not telling me the whys and wherefores is total bunk. More lies to add to the lies they've already told me. I have a mystery to solve and I won't stop until I actually solve it. Or they give me a really good reason why I should stop. I googled Louise Stone; there were about 440,000 hits. That was no good. I googled "Louise Stone"; this time there were 8,000 hits, that was better but still mind-boggling. There's a whole lot of people called Louise Stone in the world. I went into the Advanced Search page and googled "Louise Stone" painter UK and I specified only pages in English. That reduced the list to 50 pages. Now I started scanning through the lists. There were still a lot of different Louises. A few of them had Louise as their middle name. I found three references to Mom. Apparently one of her paintings had sold at an estate auction for just over 400 pounds. I think that's a pretty good price for an amateur painting. Attached to her painting was her name and the date, and then it said, "biography unknown." The other two references were in the archives of an art gallery in Manchester. Mom's name was in the list two different times for having work included in an exhibition. That was back when we were living in Preston, of course. And that was it. That was all I could find. Most of Mom's artwork back in Preston was shown and sold at local weekend art displays which would never make it to the internet. I did a similar search for Peter Stone, but I found even less about Dad. I found the archives of the Lancashire newspapers and searched through the six weeks before we left England. I was looking for some big event that my family might have gotten caught up with. Some crime exposed or some big trial that might have meant we all ended up in witness protection. There was nothing. That led me on to finding out about the witness protection program in England. I found out a little bit about that. There wasn't a lot of information, which I suppose isn't that surprising. It's all supposed to be secret, after all. What I did find out was enough to convince me that we aren't in witness protection. If something had happened six weeks before we moved, we would have been rounded up and taken off to some hidden safe house straight away — as in, the same day. We wouldn't have been left in our own house for six weeks. Us kids wouldn't have been allowed to keep going to school every day. In my head, I had that big poster stuck on the inside of my skull. It had a list of the clues I'd found. It also had ideas of what might have happened. I already had a big thick line through Dad's work and through invasion by Martians. Okay, I can't actually prove that we didn't leave England because Martians had invaded, but I was fairly sure. I put a new line through witness protection. I was going to have to come up with some other theory. Something had happened — something big. Whatever had happened was big enough to send my family into a panic and make them flee England and change our name. But it wasn't a public thing. It wasn't the sort of thing that made the news. I obviously wasn't going to find any answers on the computer. My family was obviously conspiring to keep it secret. I had to find out some other way. I went out to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of juice and grabbed another biscuit. I poked my head into the living room and saw that Nana was still sleeping. I looked out the front window, but Mom's car was still missing. My brain was buzzing like a cloud of bees — busily trying to decide what to do next. I trailed down the hallway and stepped inside The Parents' room. Maybe there was some physical clue in here. I realized that I probably didn't have long until Mom returned from shopping. If I was going to look in here, I had to look fast. I checked the bedside tables on each side of the bed. The only interesting thing was a small key at the back of the drawer on Dad's side. It didn't seem to belong to anything so I left it there. I checked Mom's closet. The high shelf was stacked with boxes and other odds and sods. Some of the boxes had family photos and stuff like that. They were all from America so I lost interest pretty quickly. I couldn't see anything that belonged to England. I checked the wooden chest in the corner. It had a cushioned top and mostly it was just used as a bench seat. It was pretty easy to forget that it was really a chest full of things. I hadn't forgotten. I opened the chest. It was stacked full of clothes, all neatly folded and packed in tightly. This was obviously the overflow from the closets. I closed the chest again. I didn't think I would have time to take everything out and then repack it neatly like that before Mom got home. Anything hidden at the bottom of the chest would have to stay hidden for the time being. I cursed myself for spending time on the internet before doing this. If I'd come in here first, I would have had hours to search in here. I could have locked myself in my room this evening and done all the computer work and nobody would have known. It might be ages before I'd get another opportunity to play detective in here and I'd completely blown it. I checked Dad's closet. The top shelf was piled high with textbooks about electrical engineering and coal-fired power generation. Dad must have put himself through a crash course when he got his job here at the power station. I couldn't remember clearly but I was fairly sure his job back in Preston had something to do with little generators. Portable ones like people set up in their basement for when there's a power outage. On the bottom of Dad's closet, in among the shoes, I found something interesting. It looked like a normal old shoe box, but when I tried to shift it even slightly, it was extra heavy. I slid the lid off and inside was a metal box only a tiny bit smaller than the shoe box. The top of the metal box had a lock in it. That was one mystery solved. I retrieved the little key from Dad's bedside table and it unlocked the box without any trouble. Inside looked like a pile of documents. The top one was Angie's birth certificate. Angie was born here in America so it was all pretty much what I would expect it to be. Mom and Dad were listed as the parents — Louise and Peter Freeman. Under that was a little stack of photo-id cards with US Department of Justice: Permanent Resident Card written in green across the top of each one in big letters. The side with the photo had a similar heading in black ink and some details like birth date and country of birth and even a fingerprint. There was one for each of us except Angie. At least, there should have been one for each of us, but Dan's was missing. He must have his with him or in his room or something. On each of our cards, next to Expiry Date, it had the word permanent. In a way it was a relief to find those. Assuming they were real, it meant that we weren't illegal immigrants so we probably weren't going to get kicked out of the country. Of course if they were fakes, they'd probably stick us all in prison for a while and then kick us out so that wasn't so good. They didn't look like fakes, but how are you supposed to know? There was a bunch of computer stuff along the bottom of each card. That probably told the officials whether they were fakes or not, but it wasn't much use to me. Underneath those was a bundle of small burgundy-colored folders tied together with several rubber bands. I picked up the bundle and turned it over so that I could see the front of one of the folders. There, embossed in gold, was the British coat of arms, with Passport in big letters underneath, and The United Kingdom of Great Britain and so on, up the top. I flipped through until I found mine and opened it up. There was my little six year old face smiling up at me. It clearly identified me as Rebecca Louise Freeman. Underneath the passports, I found a little pile of older-looking birth certificates. Mine was on top. It showed me being born at the Royal Preston Hospital. It identified me as Rebecca Louise Freeman, with parents Louise and Peter Freeman. There were similar certificates for Tara and Dan and a couple of certified copies of old-style birth certificates for Peter Freeman and for Louise Baxter. There was even a marriage certificate for Peter Freeman and Louise Baxter. That was all very interesting. They had to be fakes. When I was born, I was definitely Rebecca Louise Stone and Mom and Dad had been Louise and Peter Stone. And I was quite sure that Mom's maiden name hadn't been Baxter. I couldn't remember what it was, but it hadn't been Baxter. Nana's name was now Mrs Bridget Baxter — so at least all the fake names matched up. I looked closely at the papers and the passports but they all looked pretty official to me. At least the old names hadn't been covered over with liquid paper and the new names written on top. They looked real. I suppose all you really need most of the time are documents that look real. I stood there with those fake birth certificates and fake passports in my hand. I was thinking of various movies I've seen where people had paid money in back-alley shops or in crowded smoke-filled bars to have fake documents produced. The other people who always had fake documents in films were spies. Could Dad possibly be a spy? But wait a minute, I was being sexist. Maybe Mom was the spy. That was more believable than Dad being a spy, anyway. My brain played the James Bond theme, while it pictured Mom prowling back and forth in a fancy suit. Louise Stone — agent 009. I shook my head. I know there are lots of types of spies. They aren't all like James Bond. And being serious, the idea of one or both of The Parents being some sort of spy fitted all the clues I had. Aunt Penny could have easily decided to move to America simply because Dad was coming. And then of course Aunt Ally would have followed her and then Nana followed all of us. I still didn't know how Uncle Stan fitted into all of this. Maybe he wasn't really my uncle at all? That was a new thought, but it explained why Nana avoided answering my question about him being a teenager. There were more documents in the metal box. The next ones looked like letters of introduction: "Dear sir or madam, I have known Peter Freeman for many years..." I picked them up and froze. Underneath, was something I never expected to see in this house. In fact, the absence of such a thing was a running joke in our family. Before that instant, I would have bet my life that my parents didn't own one. Apparently I would have lost that bet. What I was looking at changed everything. What I was looking at suddenly made the big family mystery both scary and dangerous. I was looking at a gun. ------- Chapter 5: Later Wednesday Afternoon November 24th The thing about guns is that they have only one purpose — to shoot people. That's why they were invented. People got bored with shooting each other with bows and arrows so they invented something better. Mikael says that more people in America die each year because of cars than because of guns. That might be true, but cars were invented so that people could travel around. It's terrible when people die in a car accident. I think that usually when someone dies in a car accident, it's a side effect of people not using cars the way they were supposed to be used. When people die because of guns, most of the time it's because the gun was used exactly the way it was designed to be used. That's not always a bad thing, I guess. People should be allowed to defend themselves, for instance. Guns are sometimes good for that — not always, but sometimes. But you can't defend yourself by telling someone you have a gun hidden in a box in the bedroom closet. To defend yourself, you have to actually hold the gun in your hand and shoot the person attacking you. At the very least you have to point the gun at them and convince them that you are prepared to shoot. That isn't what upsets me most about guns. I saw a thing on TV that said every year in America, about 150 children die because of an accident involving a gun. Mikael says 150 aren't that many in a country with a population of 300 million. It might not be many but, as far as I'm concerned, it's still 150 more than it should be. And what do they say to the mothers of those 150 children? "We're sorry, Mrs Freeman, but don't feel bad that Rebecca is dead from an accident with a gun because only a small number of children die that way." Somehow, I don't think Mrs Freeman would be very happy to have someone say that to her. There has to be a way to make sure fewer children die because of guns. One option would be to make sure any guns in the house are securely locked up and hidden away where the children can't get at them. Well I guess my parents had done that — more or less. An even better way would be not to have any guns in the house in the first place. Before this instant, I could have sworn that this was the option my parents would have chosen. Maybe that was what scared me the most. It wasn't so much that the gun was there — hidden away in Dad's closet. It was more that I had so completely misread my parents. I was convinced they wouldn't allow a gun in the house. Well, maybe Mom might want one if she felt threatened, but I would have thought Dad wouldn't allow her to have it because of her condition. And Dad certainly wouldn't want a gun. Not unless he thought there was some extreme danger that he needed to protect us from. The sort of extreme danger, for instance, that might make him pack up his family and move us to a different country and change our name so that whatever it was couldn't find us! That's the other thing that was scary. If that's true, then the gun means that whatever we are hiding from is dangerous enough for Dad to completely go against everything he believes about guns. And Nana said the reasons haven't gone away! There was another possibility, of course, and that was even scarier. Guns aren't just for defending yourself. They're for attacking people too. The same show I mentioned before, said that each year in America 12,000 people are murdered with guns — including 900 children. That's a terribly big number. Melissa says that quite a few of those are probably drug dealers and the like. Mikael says it's not important that they were killed with guns. He says if you want to kill someone, you kill them — if you don't have a gun, you use a knife, or whatever. I think that the problem with guns is that it's easier to kill someone with a gun than with a knife — maybe too easy. As you might have gathered, we had a big discussion about this around the lunch table after the TV show had been on. So anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, the gun in Dad's closet. The even scarier thought was that maybe Dad was the sort of person who secretly took a gun with him to go places where he might have to kill people — and that he'd hidden that part of his life from us, hidden it from me. Maybe he does that as a part of some secret job that he hasn't told us about, or maybe it's part of, I don't know, something he does — something else. So there I was, standing there staring down at a gun. A gun I had found in a box in Dad's closet. Various bits of my brain were having this enormous argument in my head about what the gun meant. In the meantime another bit of my brain was looking curiously at the gun. It's small — well smallish. By that I mean that it's not a machinegun or a bazooka or anything like that. I suppose you would call it a hand gun, except that it's bigger than my hands. It is probably eight inches long along the top of it, and maybe five or six inches from the top down the length of its handle. It's a dark gray color, nearly black. There were two of those slidey-things that the bullets get packed into — I don't know what they're called — sitting beside the gun, inside the metal box. I could see the top bullet in one of them because it was facing towards me. I could see the empty space in the bottom of the handle of the gun. That would be the hole where the slidey-thing would slide up inside to make the gun loaded. There were also two boxes of bullets. One of them was closed up and looked new. The other one had the lid open and there were a handful of bullets lying in the bottom of the box. I'm positive that the number of bullets missing from the box was way more than the number of bullets that would fit into the two slidey-things. That told me something important. Not only does Dad own a gun — he has been using it. I could see one last bit of paper under the gun. It looked like a legal form of some sort or other — maybe it's a gun permit, I'm not sure. I wasn't going to pick up the gun to check. A little bit of my brain panicked when I even thought about picking up the gun. "I don't want to die," it screamed. "I don't want to be one of those 150 accidents." Most of my brain knew that just touching the gun wasn't going to make it go off. Most of my brain knew that as long as the thing was pointing away from me, even if it did go off, I wouldn't get hurt. Apparently the scaredy-cat bit of my brain was in charge of my heart, though, because I could feel it thumping in my chest like a drum machine on steroids. Then the drumming faded away into the distance. The panicked gibbering of scaredy-pants Bec dissolved into silence. I stood inside a bubble, isolated from the world. Alone in that bubble, I felt in control, confident. All the doubts and fears were locked outside. I grasped the gun firmly around its handle and lifted it out of the box. It felt heavy in my hands. Not just heavy with the weight of the metal, but also heavy with the weight of possibilities. I wrapped my two hands around the handle, copying the grip I'd seen in countless police shows on TV. I braced my feet firmly on the floor and pointed the gun away from me and down. I could feel my back straighten and my shoulders pull back and my head lift. Without conscious thought, I had slid into that confident, almost arrogant, pose that Mom had painted on my bedroom wall. My small hands could barely reach around the handle of the gun but that didn't matter. With the gun in my hands, I felt powerful, strong, unbeatable. Most of all, I felt dangerous. In that moment, with dangerous-Bec fully in control, I finally understood about guns. There was a little lever near my thumb that I'm fairly sure was the safety catch. I was very careful not to touch it. I was also very careful to keep the gun pointed at the floor. The two things for bullets were still sitting in the metal box but that didn't mean there was no bullet in the gun. The smart bit of my brain somehow retained enough control to make sure I didn't kill myself. The weight of the gun dragged my hands down. I had to strain to keep from pointing the gun directly down at my toes. That would have been embarrassing — the first time I ever hold a gun and I shoot myself in the foot. I never realized guns could be so heavy. Putting the gun back in the box was almost painful. Dangerous-Bec wanted to keep holding it. Dangerous-Bec wanted to know what it felt like to pull the trigger. I couldn't afford to let dangerous-Bec have what she wanted. The battle for control left my hands shaking, but the gun ended up safely back in its box. Quickly I returned the papers and passports to their place, hiding the gun from sight below a reassuring weight of papers. As if maybe, if I covered the gun with enough fake documentation, the gun would become fake as well. I closed and locked the metal box and then replaced the shoe box lid over the top of it. It now looked just like an ordinary shoe box surrounded by shoes — a perfect disguise. I pulled open the drawer to the bedside table where I had found the key and had a close look. After a bit of searching, I found an old bit of tape on the underneath of the table top, inside the drawer. The key was obviously supposed to go there. I wouldn't have found the key in my earlier search if the tape hadn't given out. I replaced the old bit of tape with some new tape and stuck the key up out of sight where it belonged. I scanned around the room, checking for evidence that I had been in there. That was pretty easy to do. I just had to compare what I was seeing in front of me with the image I had in my head of what the room had looked like when I first came through the door. I straightened up the covers on the bed, pushed a closet door closed that I had left open and I was satisfied. The house was quiet — really quiet. A chill raced up my spine. It circled around the inside of my skull and chased dangerous-Bec completely back into her little metal box. Something was wrong. I hurried into the living room to check on Nana. I saw immediately that she was sitting up and organizing herself — obviously having just woken up. I breathed a sigh of relief to see that she was okay. I looked out through the front window but Mom's car was still missing. I rushed into the kitchen and checked the clock. It was way after Mom was due home. Something was definitely wrong. "What is it, Bec?" Nana was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "Mom's not back from the shops. She should have been back over an hour and a half ago." "Shops these days..." Nana raised her eyes to the roof. "Always so busy! I'm sure she's just been held up. There's no need to get in a panic." Nana's voice was calm and reassuring. "Why don't we make a start on the stuffing? She'll be home soon." I let Nana boss me into getting busy with the food preparations. Every so often a car would drive past and I would jump up, but none of them stopped. I glared at the phone, trying to use my magic powers to make it ring and have Mom say everything was okay. Apparently my magic powers were on the fritz because the phone refused to ring. For five — ten — fifteen long minutes the tension inside of me built and built. It was only the calm confidence of Nana that kept me from running around and screaming in sheer panic. Finally all that focus on the phone had some effect. It rang. Maybe my magic powers weren't on the fritz after all — just working slower than I would have liked. I think the phone only had a chance to ring once before I picked it up. "Hello?" I was breathless from a combination of worry and the speed I'd moved to answer the phone. "It's Mom, sweetie. I'm at the hospital." "What? Why? What happened? Is everyone okay?" I have to admit, "Is everyone okay?" has to be one of the dumbest questions I've ever asked. Obviously something was wrong. My brain was going wild with possibilities. "It isn't serious, sweetie, just relax. Angie fell and hurt her arm. I want a doctor to check it before I bring her home. We're sitting in emergency and it looks like it will take a while. I think half the city is here in the waiting room." "Oh!" The idea of Angie being hurt sent shivers through me. I told Nana that Mom was at the hospital because Angie had hurt her arm. She nodded at me and calmly went back to chopping up onions. I could hear Mom chortling to herself over the phone. "What is it, Mom?" "Oh, love! I just worked out how you know when I've been talking to Nana. You sound like a proper Lancashire lass right now. Does my accent get as broad as that when I've been talking to her?" "Aye! Tha's a Lanky yer'sen, reet'nuff." I deliberately exaggerated the accent which made Mom laugh. (In case you're wondering, Doctor K, I said, "Yes! You're a Lancastrian yourself, right enough." See? It's not that hard to understand. Just don't ask me to write out everything Nana says like that. It's easier to translate what she says into proper English.) Speaking of Nana, she was glaring at me. "Spayk proper, tha cheeky git!" (I'm not going to translate that. You can work it out on your own if you need to.) I grinned at Nana and she raised her eyes to the roof. "I've spoken to your dad. He's going to come via here on his way home and collect Tara — she doesn't need to wait here. Also he can bring all my shopping home so that anything that needs it can be put in the fridge before it spoils." "Ah, Mom! There isn't any space in the fridge. It's already so full that I'm amazed the door will close. I fully expect the fridge to give up the ghost any second from being worked too hard." "Wait a minute, I need to think." I listened to her breathing for about twenty seconds. In the background I could hear a constant hum of hospital-type activity. "We can't use the cool box in the laundry — that already has drinks in it. But there's an old one up in the roof. I'll try to contact Dan and get him to pick up some ice on his way home. If I don't catch Dan, Dad will just have to get some, but that means he'll take even longer. Be careful climbing up in the roof, sweetie, it isn't safe. Or maybe you should wait until Dan gets home and let him climb up and get it." "Mom, last time Dan went up into the roof, he hit his head so much that he swore never to go up there again. He's bigger than the space is. I'll be careful. I'm not a total klutz. I'll be fine." "You'll need to sort out dinner. There are some hamburger patties in the fridge that I pulled out of the freezer this morning. They should be thawed by now. There are fresh hamburger buns and also some cheese in the shopping Dad will bring home. We made extra salad this morning so you can have some of that with the hamburgers. Dan's going out so he'll say he doesn't want to eat but cook a couple for him anyway. As soon as he smells the cooking he'll change his mind and want a snack before he goes out. Leave one patty out for me and I'll cook it when I get home. Angie ate something before and I doubt if she'll want to eat again when she gets home. Oh..." Mom's voice trailed off into silence and I could hear her breathing over the background noise. "What is it, Mom?" "It's nothing, sweetie. They just wheeled the cutest little boy past me with ... well, never mind." I decided that if it was bad enough to freak my mother out, then I really didn't want to know about it. "Okay, Mom. Give my love to Angie. Do you want to speak to Nana?" "No, I better get off the phone and look after Angie. Tell Nana I'll see her tomorrow. See you later, Bec. Take care." "Will do, Mom. Later!" I hung up the phone and went to the fridge to take out the hamburger patties. The fridge groaned in protest. I patted it and told it that it was doing a good job. Then I relayed Mom's comments to Nana while the two of us got back to work. I also said I was sorry for taking the mickey and she pretended to be cross at me but she couldn't stop herself from laughing. Doctor K, you probably don't know what that means. "Taking the mickey" means making fun of someone, but in a friendly sort of way by imitating them but exaggerating it to make them look silly. Kind of like what I just did with Nana, except that I didn't really do it to make fun of her. I was making fun of myself more than anything. We finished preparing the stuffing and tidied that up. Nana took out some biscuit mix which had been settling in the fridge since the morning and started rolling it out and cutting it ready for baking. The biscuits that Nana was making are what you would probably call cookies. But I can't call them cookies when Nana makes them. It would be a kind of sacrilege or something. While she was doing that I changed into some old jeans and an old long-sleeved top. Then I set up the ladder in the laundry so that I could climb up into the roof. It's not really a proper attic up there. Soon after we moved into the house, Dad and Dan put some floorboards down over a section of the ceiling so it could be used as a storage area. There's no proper lighting so I had to use a torch — I mean a flashlight. We always keep a torch in the kitchen in case the lights go out. I discovered that the batteries were getting a bit old and would need to be replaced, so I wrote that on the list that lives on the fridge door. The fridge grumbled about me doing that, so I patted it again. As I climbed the ladder, Nana made a fuss about me being careful, and I had to keep telling her that I was okay. Up in the roof, I shone the torch around and quickly found the old cooler that Mom had mentioned. It was sitting in the middle of a group of cardboard boxes of various sizes and some other junk. I opened the closest box and saw that it had some of Dan's old high school books and notepads in it. I closed that up and opened another. After a few boring boxes, I found a box that had been shipped from England and clearly not been opened since. I tore the tape off it and opened it up. Inside, I found The Parents' wedding album at the top. I pulled that out and opened it but I couldn't see the photos properly in the dim light of the torch. I put it to one side so that I could look at it later and investigated underneath. The box contained a whole stack of stuff that The Parents had obviously felt was important and worth preserving when we moved. There were our old school reports and a few little trophies and certificates and things that we'd won for various things. I found a collection of medals Tara and I had been awarded for playing netball. There was also a handful of school certificates for excellence in mathematics or reading or whatever. Underneath that, I found one of Mom's old sketchbooks. My eyes lit up when I saw that. I put that with the wedding album to look at later. Nana called out to me from the laundry and I quickly assured her that I was okay and that I had found an old box of books that was interesting. At the bottom of the box was a little pile of notebooks. I opened the top one and saw that it was crammed with calculations and drawings and roughly-drawn circuit diagrams and notes — all in Dad's distinctive, cramped handwriting. I assume that it was something he was working on back in England, but I couldn't figure out what it was all about from a quick glance. I probably wouldn't have been able to work it out if I went through it slowly and looked at every page — not without spending several years learning how to be an electrical engineer first. I flipped through each of the notebooks in turn and they all seemed to be similar. Whatever it was, he spent a lot of time on it. The second last book looked just the same as the others on the outside but the insides were different. I didn't see any diagrams, just Dad's closely packed handwriting. Maybe this would be the explanation of what he was working on. I flipped back to the start of the book and saw that it was dated early in April of the year we moved. That made it about two and half months before we left England, because we left in late June. It was too hard to read the actual writing, and Nana was getting impatient for me to come back down out of the roof, so I put the notebook with Mom's sketchbook and the wedding album. All three things were worth investigating more closely. I replaced everything else in the box and closed it up. Then, picking up my little collection of treasures and the cooler, I scurried back to the hole that led back down into the laundry. I had to duck every second step to get under the crossbeams that hold the roof up. It was awkward to do that while I was carrying things. No wonder Dan kept hitting his head. At the very last minute, before I climbed down out of the roof, I slid the three things I'd found inside the cooler. Nana held the ladder for me as I climbed down. "Be careful of the cool box, Nana. It's covered with dust." She took notice of my warning and left me alone to dust off the cooler and put the ladder away. I snuck my discoveries into my bedroom when I went in there to change back into cleaner clothes. Just that short amount of time in the roof had made my old clothes filthy. Once I was washed and changed, I brought the wedding album out to the kitchen. Nana was just giving the table a clean after making the biscuits. There were three trays of biscuits in the oven and the oven window was glowing with the heat. "Look what I found in the roof, Nana." "Oh my!" She quickly took off the apron she'd been wearing and cleaned her hands. She was still wiping her hands on a towel as she sat down next to me at the table. Together we turned the pages. Nana had some comment to make about just about every photo, telling me who the people were or some story about them. Most of the people I recognized. Mom and Dad looked so young and so happy. They had a civil wedding in a set of gardens just near Preston and a registrar did the vows. I didn't recognize either the maid of honor or the best man until Nana told me to look more closely at the best man. I gasped in surprise. "It's Aunt Penny!" She had her hair tied back and she was all done up in a man's suit and tie, just like Dad. "Your father said he couldn't think of anyone else he would rather have by his side than his sister. She was still so very fragile. It was very moving to see her up there looking so happy. It was Penny's idea to wear the suit. I think she looked quite handsome like that." I agreed. She looked wonderful, though a lot thinner than she is now. "This must have been before she met up with Aunt Ally." "Oh yes, this was years before Allison came onto the scene. Ally has done Penny a world of good." There was obviously another story there that I didn't know about — or maybe another part of the same story. I didn't dare push it in case Nana clammed up, so I just nodded and tried to keep her talking. "So who was the maid of honor?" "The bridesmaid was Pamela Beckinridge. The Beckinridges were our neighbours while Louise was growing up. Pamela was about a year younger than Louise. She was the only friend that stuck with Louise during all the trouble. She even came with me a few times to visit at the hospital. That was brave of her. It was no place for young girls to be visiting, let me tell you. She was a smart one too. She was going up to Cambridge to read history and law but then she had her little girl and that put paid to that. Her little one was the flower girl at Louise's wedding." Nana turned the page and sure enough there was a series of photos of the cutest little girl in a pale pink dress. She had a circlet of flowers in her hair and was clutching a basket of flowers. There was a photo of the girl on her own and another with her in front of Mom and Dad. "What happened to Pamela?" "Oh, she found a nice young man who was willing to take on both her and her little girl. I think they moved down Wigan way. I think your mother kept in touch with her from time to time, but then we all moved out here and..." Nana shrugged and I nodded. I turned the page and there was Mom, looking beautiful in her old-fashioned wedding dress, being escorted along a decorated path by Nana. "That wedding dress is a family heirloom. I hope Louise brought it out here with her. I shall never forgive her if she left it behind. I was married in that same dress, and my sister and my mother before me. And the bodice is made from material that was in my grommer's dress." I sighed and stroked my finger along the bottom of the photo. My brain was picturing me — an older version of me — in that same dress as I clutched onto Dad's arm and walked up a church aisle. I must have said something out loud because Nana chuckled. "Well there's no particular hurry to do that, and if you get Peter into a church you'll have done better than Louise managed to do. But nothing would make me happier than to see you and Tara all grown up and married off in that same dress — and Angela too for that matter. Just don't leave it too long, will you? I don't expect to live for ever." I smiled and lifted up Nana's hand so I could kiss it. That kiss was a silent promise that Nana would see me in that wedding dress before she died. I would get married tomorrow if it became necessary. All I had to do was find a suitable boy... My brain changed tracks and I frowned down at the picture. "Where's Mom's father? I don't see him anywhere." Nana sighed. "It's the worst possible insult a girl can give to her father, to ban him from her wedding. Louise was so angry at her father for the way he treated her. I hope things never get that bad between you and your father." I gazed at Nana and blinked a couple of times as I tried various possibilities and came up blank each time. "I can't imagine my father doing anything that would make me hate him so much." Nana looked at me with steady eyes for what seemed like the longest time. Finally, she just said "Good!" Then she shrugged. "Mind you, I would have said the same thing about your grandfather. Then he went and had Louise locked away. I went along with it for a little while, but then I saw that it was doing more harm than good and I tried to get her out of there. Your grandfather refused to allow her to be released." She shook her head. "We fought! How we fought! There have been wars less bitter than the fights we had. The thing that never ceased to amaze me was that he was absolutely convinced he was doing it for her good. He was completely blind to what was actually happening. Now I look back and wonder if it was all because of his version of what you and Louise have. But we didn't know about Lambrecht's Syndrome back then." Nana stopped talking and stared off into space with a thoughtful look on her face. I was starting to wonder if I should prompt her, when she started talking again. "In the end, he made it an ultimatum. 'It's either me or her. Support me, or leave, ' he said." "So you chose Mom?" "So I chose Louise. I've never regretted that choice for a second. I don't take kindly to ultimatums — never have." I nodded in understanding. "What about now? After all of this time — do you forgive him?" "Forgive? Not even a smidgeon. Not until the day I die." Her voice had gone cold and grim. "And not even then," she added. "But I would have liked to see Louise make peace with her father. For her sake, I mean, not for his. But now it's too late." "Too late? Is he dead, then?" "Dead? No! He's still living in Blackpool, as far as I know. But we're out here, now, and..." "He doesn't know where we are, does he?" "No he doesn't! He thinks we went to Australia." She reached over and grasped my chin firmly, turning it so that I was looking straight at her. "And your mother wouldn't thank you for letting him know any different. Nor would I." The message I was getting from Nana's eyes left no doubt in my mind about how serious she was. "Okay, Nana." Nana reached down and turned a page in the wedding album. There was a photo of a mature woman with Mom and Dad standing either side of her. Next to it was another with the woman between Dad and Aunt Penny and then another with the woman and two teenage boys — one with red hair and the other dark-skinned — both looking uncomfortable in their fancy clothes. Finally there was a picture of Nana standing with her. The two women looked quite different from each other but their arms were linked together and they were laughing with each other like they were sisters. I squinted and looked at the woman more carefully. I recognized her from somewhere, but I couldn't figure out where. "That's your grandma Stone. Do you remember her? You must have been five when she passed on." "I think so," I said, doubtfully. "Was it a car crash she was in?" "That was a very sad day. She was a fine woman." "Who are the boys with her?" "I don't remember their names. They were the two fostering with her at the time. She almost always had foster children in the house. As I said, she was a fine woman." Nana went to turn the page but I stopped her by putting my hand on the page. I focused on the four pictures of my other grandmother and let her image soak into my brain. Now that I had seen the pictures of her, I was having little flashes of memories. Deep in the corners of my brain, faded images were shaking off layers of dust and showing themselves to me. Then emotion welled up inside me as I remembered the sadness of the day Dad told me she was dead. The sorrow rose in me and then fell away again like it was a great wave that swept past me and then moved on, leaving nothing but the foam of distant memories behind. When I was ready, I took my hand away and let Nana turn the page. The next couple of pages had small groups of adults that Nana dismissed as work-colleagues of either Mom or Dad. Then finally there were some large group shots of everyone. I scanned across all the faces, smiling at the number I now recognized. Then I scanned across them again. Someone was missing. "What about Uncle Stan? Why wasn't he there?" "Oh, we didn't..." She cut herself off, and then started again. "He would've been living in America by then." Nana looked up at the oven and muttered to herself. Then she closed the album and pushed herself up from the table. "That timer for the biscuits is just about to go. I'll just get them out of the oven and then it's time I was off home. And you need to get started on dinner for those hungry men of yours. I expect they'll be home any tick of the clock." I smiled at Nana as she bustled around the kitchen. I needed to clear the table so I took the album out into the living room and put it on the coffee table. Back in the kitchen, the timer had pinged and Nana had the oven door open and was inspecting the biscuits. The mouth-watering smell of freshly baked biscuits had been building slowly while we talked, but now it suddenly filled the air. "Just a tick longer and they'll be done," she announced with a satisfied tone in her voice. She then started listing off what needed to happen next, as if I hadn't made biscuits before. Following Nana's instructions, I dug out the cooling racks and set them up on the table. I also went and found some clean tea towels. We made small talk for a couple of minutes and then Nana opened the oven door and checked the biscuits again. "That will do!" she announced and turned off the oven. Then she used an oven mitt to pull out the trays and slide the biscuits onto the cooling racks. The biscuits smelled so good that it was hard to resist tasting one. Nana winked at me and pointed at a broken one. "There's no sense in letting the spoilt ones go to waste. Maybe you should give that one a taste test to make sure they're properly cooked." I grinned at her. "Maybe I should." I gingerly picked up a half of the biscuit and tossed it between my fingers to cool it. Nana was watching closely, so I pointed at the other half of the biscuit. "The cook has to taste it too!" She winked at me and then echoed my dance of the burning fingers as she picked up and cooled her half of the biscuit. I waited until she seemed ready. "Ready?" She nodded and we simultaneously bit off a piece of biscuit. I closed my eyes and felt a sigh of pleasure go through me as the oven-hot biscuit melted in my mouth in an explosion of taste. Don't forget, Doctor K, these weren't those things you Americans call biscuits. These were real English biscuits made by someone who has spent a very long lifetime perfecting her baking skills. Those biscuits were the closest thing to perfection I've ever tasted. I finished my half of the biscuit and felt a gentle smile spreading over my face. I opened my eyes and saw that Nana was nodding thoughtfully. "It's taken me a while to get used to the electric, but I think I'm getting there." (She means electric ovens by the way. Nana only ever used gas ovens back home and apparently they cook things differently.) We spread the tea towels over the cooling biscuits to stop them from drying out and then Nana picked up her purse, ready to leave. I kissed Nana's cheek and hugged her. "I'm really glad you came to America, Nana." "So am I, sweetie, so am I." "Thanks for telling me about the wedding. It was nice hearing about it." I was still hugging Nana and I could feel her patting my back. "Tomorrow will be here soon enough," she said. "I'll see you then." Yes indeed. Tomorrow is coming. You know how sometimes, just before a storm comes, you can sort of smell it in the air? Well I can smell something coming. It's like there's a tension in the air — hanging there, building and building. I can't imagine getting through an entire day with the whole family all together in one place without all that tension just exploding. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It's going to be a very interesting day. ------- Chapter 6: Early Wednesday Evening November 24th I was still hugging Nana goodbye when we heard the front door open and shut. Dan came into the kitchen with a bag of ice dangling from each hand. "Mmm! Something smells good." Dan sniffed the air and then his eyes lit up when he saw the covered trays. "Fresh biscuits?" he asked. But then his pleading expression turned into a pout because Nana had crossed her arms and stood herself between him and the biscuits. "They're for tomorrow," said Nana. Dan kept pouting, but Nana didn't budge. Dan sighed and turned towards me. "I come bearing gifts," he said, holding the ice bags out towards me. "I don't want them," I said and pointed at the cooler. "Put the ice in the cool box." Dan stooped down to kiss Nana as he walked past her. She patted his arm and they exchanged greetings. Dan spent a few seconds tipping the ice into the cooler. I watched him for a moment, but then I figured out what was coming and backed off to the sink where I picked up a wooden spoon. Dan stood up and walked towards me with his arms spread wide. "So how's about a nice hug from my little sister?" he said, a grin spreading all the way across his face. "No! No!" I shrieked and tried to hit his hands with my wooden spoon. "Keep those cold mits away, you overgrown lump." I didn't have a lot of luck in actually whacking his knuckles, but then I didn't expect to. In fact, I failed spectacularly because Dan easily snatched the wooden spoon out of my hands. What I did achieve was that I stopped him from laying his cold hands on me and since that's all I was trying to do, I was happy. Dan proved to me that I was right about his intentions when he laughed and rubbed his hands against his jeans to warm them. "Listen to you! Someone's been spending too long with Nana. You've gone all Lanky on us." I blew a raspberry at him. He grinned and reached out to flick a finger at my ear. I squealed and ducked, which I did well enough to avoid getting my ear flicked. Unfortunately, I hadn't spotted that the ear flicking was a fake and ducking the way I did left me open for his real move. He reached down and gave me a thwack on my undefended backside with the wooden spoon. He called out "Ekky Thump!" at the same time as he hit me. You probably don't know about Ekky Thump, so I better tell you. Ekky Thump was a made up martial art in an episode of the Goodies, where they took the mickey out of everything to do with Lancastrians. Dad has a copy of the episode and watches it every so often. He thinks it's very funny. Mom says that just proves that he isn't a true Lanky because, when she saw it, she thought it was a documentary. She even says that with a straight face which makes Dad laugh more. The bit I most remember about the program is they keep hitting each other with black puddings. Black puddings are like big sausages, only made with completely gross ingredients like congealed blood. Doctor K, if anyone ever offers you a piece of black pudding, just turn around and run away as fast and as far as you can. It's totally disgusting. "Hey!" I glared at Dan and rubbed my abused bum. "Ecky Thump? I'll give you Ecky Thump." But Dan hadn't stuck around to celebrate his little victory. He had darted over to the other side of the kitchen. He was stealing a biscuit from the rack, completely ignoring Nana's attempt to drive him off by flicking a tea towel at him. "Hey!" I called out. "Those are for tomorrow. Leave them alone." I charged across the room and launched myself at him. I beat my fists against his broad back and cried "Leave it alone! Put it back!" while I did so. I saw an opportunity and snatched the forgotten wooden spoon out of his hand. Despite all of my efforts, Dan managed to steal a biscuit. He turned towards me and made a big deal out of biting a little bit off the biscuit, right in front of my face. Remember, these were proper English biscuits which are like cookies only better. He closed his eyes and gave a little pleased moan as he chewed and swallowed his mouthful of biscuit. I couldn't blame him for that. Nana's biscuits really are incredible when they are still warm from the oven. Dan's eyes were closed while he savoured the biscuit and I saw a chance for revenge. I yelled "Ekky Thump!" and hit his arm with the wooden spoon. His eyes popped open in surprise. He moved towards me, waving the half-eaten biscuit menacingly. I squealed and ran away, running all the way out of the kitchen, through the entrance hall and into the living room. Dan had chased me for about two steps and then suddenly changed direction. I didn't realize he'd done that until I arrived in the living room from the entrance hall at the same time as Dan entered it from the hallway. Realizing I was running straight towards him, I squealed again and changed directions. That left me running straight at the couch. I jumped up onto the couch and tried to take shelter there, but Dan was having none of it. He roared and took a flying leap right up into the air and over the top of me. I promise you that seeing all thousand pounds of Dan flying through the air and about to land on you is about the scariest thing in the world. I screamed — loudly. Of course, I've been wrestling with Dan since I was born and in all that time he's never really hurt me — not badly anyway. I've scored a few bruises occasionally, and I just about always end up squished, but I totally trust him not to actually hurt me. In fact my brain wasn't really scared as he flew at me. Most of the little Becs inside my brain were rolling about inside my skull and giggling with glee. But it's no fun, wrestling with Dan, unless you play the game, and the game is that you have to be scared when he jumps on you, so I was cheerfully being scared. Dan landed with his legs and arms on each side of me to absorb most of his weight, and then he dropped down on top me. The impact cut off my scream and drove most of the breath from my body. It was enough to thoroughly squash me down into the cushions of the couch but not enough to turn me into a Bec-flavored pancake. About the only part of me that could move was my right hand which was still holding the wooden spoon. I could just pivot my wrist enough to slap him with the spoon. It had about the same effect as slapping an elephant with a feather but I did it anyway. At the same time, I was yelling, "Get off! Get off me, you great ox!" I also called him a few other names, like oaf and troll and so on. I wasn't being mean. He knew I wasn't being mean. Dan mostly ignored all of that, though he did twist around a bit so that he could knock the wooden spoon out of my hand. It flew over the back of the couch, hit the wall and then clattered down to the floor behind the couch. Dan shifted and lifted his top half up so that his face was about eight inches above mine. His stomach and legs were still pinning my hips into the couch so I was still thoroughly caught, but at least it was a bit easier to breathe so that was a good thing. "Now, where was I?" said Dan with a big grin. "Oh yes, I was enjoying a nice biscuit. To the victor goes the spoils." Somehow, Dan had managed to preserve his half-eaten biscuit in one hand through all of that. Now he produced it and held it in front of his nose. He took in a huge sniff through his nose to absorb the smell of the freshly-baked biscuit. As he inhaled the smell of the biscuit, he closed his eyes, so he didn't notice until it was too late that his hand had moved a bit. The biscuit was waving right in front of my face. I lifted my head and used my mouth to bite most of the biscuit out of his hand. His eyes popped open in alarm and he stared in horror at the tiny corner of biscuit that was left between his fingers. He hurriedly stuffed the last little bit of the biscuit into his mouth so that I couldn't steal that as well. I giggled through a mouthful of biscuit as I hurried to chew and swallow so that I could speak. "I got the spoils, so I guess that makes me the victor." I giggled up at Dan as I said it. He poked his tongue out at me in reply. I heard a loud sigh, and then Nana said, "How the furniture in this house doesn't end up as matchsticks is beyond me." I poked my head out from under Dan's arm and grinned at Nana. She was standing there with her purse under one arm and her car keys in her hand. She looked at me curiously. "Do you have everything under control there, Bec?" I grinned again. "Oh, yes." I split my legs and wrapped them out and around Dan's waist, digging my heels into his back, and at the same time I used my one free hand to get a good grip on the front of Dan's shirt. "See? I have him completely trapped." "Well, good then," she said with a mischievous smile. "I shall leave you in charge until someone more responsible comes home." Dan turned his head sideways to look at Nana. "Are you saying I'm not responsible?" Nana shook her head and made that "tut, tut, tut," noise with her mouth. "I suppose you are responsible enough for small things, like washing dishes and mowing lawns, but I would expect someone who was responsible to look after his little sister better than that." Dan pouted. "I look after her." He brushed some biscuit crumbs off my cheek with his spare hand. "See? I wipe her face when she makes a mess. I even change her nappy when she poops in her pants." He looked me in the face and grinned. "Do you need changing?" He reached down and hooked a finger underneath the waistband of my jeans and pulled — which created about a one inch gap between my skin and the waistband of my jeans. He pretended as if he was going to check for a smelly nappy. I squealed at the threatened invasion of my private places but there wasn't much else I could do about it. Dan was leaning on one arm and my other hand was firmly knotted in his shirt. I couldn't even twist out of the way because my legs were wrapped around his waist. In the end, all I could do was tighten the grip of my legs around his waist and pull myself more tightly up against his body. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest and a heat spread across my stomach where it was pressed against Dan. I know that Dan was just teasing and wouldn't have really done anything rude like that, but it had still made my heart skip. "Thank you for making my point for me," said Nana with a chuckle. She turned and started walking towards the door. "Bye, Nana! See you tomorrow," I called out from my position underneath Dan. Dan looked down at me. "Trapped, am I?" Then he stood up. And naturally, since I was clinging to him, I went up as well. I slipped a bit and squeaked. I had a choice of letting go and sliding down to the floor or clinging on more tightly. I chose to hang on. I squeezed my legs around Dan's waist as hard as I could and grabbed onto his shoulder with my spare hand to make sure I didn't slip again. I was giggling pretty uncontrollably by that time and it was all I could do to hang on to him. During all of that, Dan had been walking through the living room after Nana. He reached out and held the door for her. "See you tomorrow, Nana," he said and stooped down to kiss her cheek — which had the effect of tipping me upside down. I squealed and hung on. Then I giggled some more as he straightened up and used my back to push the door closed behind Nana. "You know," he said, in a conversational tone. "It's just as well you have me completely trapped, because otherwise I could do this." He stepped into the middle of the entrance hall and spun quickly in a circle. That made me squeal some more. I was panting for breath by the time he stopped spinning — mostly from a mixture of screaming and giggling at the same time. " ... or I could do this!" he said. He pressed me against the wall and leaned into me. Then he pressed a bit more. "Aaaaaah!" I wailed, as all the breath was squished out of my body. I flailed helplessly against his back with my hands and with my heels as I felt myself flatten out. I went way past pancake stage until I was as flat as one of those French crepes. It's just as well I'm pretty limber because his waist was pressing my legs into a sideways split that would probably hurt some people. Then, just when I started to run out of breath, he eased back from the wall and I could breathe again. "Brute!" I scowled into his face. Then I pointed at the wall. "Look what you did!" All my flailing around had knocked one of my pictures off its little nail. It was the one of Faith and Danielle. Well, actually it was a copy of the one of Faith and Danielle — I gave them the original so they could hang it up in their room. It was only a sketch stuck on a cardboard backing, so it wasn't damaged or anything. The sketch lay flat on the floor and I couldn't reach if from my position hanging on to Dan. I reached down with one arm and flexed my hand open and shut to emphasize that I couldn't reach the sketch where it lay. "Down! Can't reach! Lower!" Dan did as instructed and bent over, therefore lowering me enough that I could reach the sketch and pick it up from the floor. Naturally that involved me being more or less upside down as I clung to him, but that was okay. It was kind of fun, actually. Then he straightened up again and moved me close to the wall so that I could re-attach the sketch to its little nail. Once I was satisfied that it was hanging securely and sitting straight, I wrapped the arm I'd been using back around Dan's shoulder and tucked my head in against his chest with a satisfied little sigh. I felt a hand pat my back and then we were moving again as Dan walked back to the couch and sat down. I had to unwrap my legs from behind him at the last minute to avoid getting them trapped. I curled my heels around so they were back under my hips but otherwise didn't move. This all resulted in Dan sitting on the couch with me sitting astride his lap — still curled up against his broad chest. Dan wrapped his arms around me and I nestled happily in the warm hug. We sat there in silence for a little while. Quietly, without warning, and for no reason whatsoever, tears suddenly spilled from my eyes. The first thing Dan probably knew about it was when his shirt started getting wet. He used a single finger to lift my face off his chest so that he could see for himself that my face was wet with tears. "Hey!" His voice was soft and full of concern. "What's with all the tears?" I tucked my face back down against his chest. Inside my skull, I stared with confusion at the little girl with tears running down her face. She'd been so happy a moment ago, and now she was crying. It didn't make sense. "I don't know," I mumbled. "You haven't actually pooped in your pants, have you?" I giggled through my tears and slapped his chest. "No!" "Well, that's good. Because that would be embarrassing. You're too old for me to be wiping your smelly butt and changing your diapers. Besides, I don't think they actually make diapers in your size." I giggled again. My eyes were still leaking tears but my mouth was laughing. Dan wasn't finished. "Are you sad about what's happening in France?" "What's happening in France?" "All those children are being brought up to speak French. It's a kind of brain-washing. France is full of deluded people who have been brain-washed into speaking French. I think it's very sad. It's kind of like a cult — a cult of frenchness." I was laughing big belly-laughs now. I grabbed two handfuls of Dan's shirt and buried my face into his chest to try to stop the laughs. "Mind you," he continued. "This frenchness cult is a very old one. France has been around for over a thousand years. That's over a thousand years of delusion. Just think of the millions of people who've lived their entire lives, trapped in the cult of frenchness. That makes it even more sad, doesn't it? No wonder you were crying." By this time I was laughing so much my stomach was hurting. I slapped Dan's chest. "Stop it! It isn't funny," I wheezed. I was desperately trying to stop laughing before I burst open and spilt my insides all over Dan and the couch. I pushed myself away from Dan's chest and scowled at his face. He was lying back with a gentle smile on his face. "That's better. No more tears. I like your smiley face better than your sad face." I poked my tongue at him. He tilted his head to one side and looked at me. "Are you worried about Angie? Is that why you were crying?" I searched around inside my skull and couldn't come up with a definite answer. I shrugged. "Maybe. She's hurt. She's at the hospital." Dan gently pulled me back down against his chest and stroked my back. "You don't have to worry. It's nothing serious. She hurt her arm. Little kids get hurt all the time. When Tara was Angie's age, she was up to the hospital nearly every month, what with one thing or another. You didn't have the same problem. Every time you fell over, you bounced up again without getting hurt. I'm quite convinced that your entire body is made of rubber." I lay there and thought about that while Dan stroked his hand up and down my spine. "Nana's getting old. Her hands were really bad this morning." Dan chuckled, which did interesting things to his stomach. Since I was lying on his stomach, I got bounced up and down a bit. "I dare you to tell Nana she's getting old. She'll bite your head off. As far as she's concerned, a new part of her life has just started and she's enjoying every minute of it." "Yes! But she's still getting old. Earlier today she let me boss her around. She never used to let me do that." "You used to try to boss her into letting you eat sweets or bake mud-pies in her oven. Of course she never let you get away with that. Maybe today you were telling her to do something that she knew was the right thing to do." "Maybe." I snuggled into Dan's chest and let the rise and fall of his chest calm my busy brain. After a moment, I stirred. "Dad will be home soon, with Tara. I should start cooking dinner." "Dad said he would call when he was ready to leave the hospital. Has he called yet?" "No." "Then there's no hurry. We can rest for a little while." "Okay!" I smiled into his chest and rested. A short time later, I wriggled to ease a crick in my neck. Then I spoke softly into the silence. "Mom said you were going out." "Yes!" "Say hello to Pearl for me." "I won't be seeing Pearl." I blinked and pushed myself away from Dan's chest so that I could sit upright in his lap. I frowned at Dan. "Where's Pearl?" "She's gone home to her family for Thanksgiving." "So who are you going out with then?" "Katrina, from the restaurant." "So why did Pearl dump you?" Dan looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" "I'm hoping you weren't stupid enough to dump her." "Nobody dumped anybody." "But why are you going out with this Katrina girl, when you're dating Pearl?" "I'm not really dating Pearl. I've just gone out on a few dates with her." "Dan!" I waved my arms in exasperation. Then I grabbed him by his hair just above the ears on each side of his head. "Dan, you are such an idiot." Dan just blinked at me in surprise. I sighed and tried again. "Do you like Pearl?" "Yes!" "Do you want to have Pearl as your girlfriend?" "Maybe." "Maybe? Maybe isn't good enough. It has to be yes or no. You've had long enough to decide — so decide! If you don't want her to be your girlfriend, then you have to tell her that and stop messing her around. If you do want her to be your girlfriend, then you have to tell her that, and cut out all this fooling around with every girl who points a pair of D-cups at you." Dan was looking puzzled. I used my hand-holds to shake his head a couple of times. "Dan, when will you get it through your thick skull that Pearl is different from every other girl you've ever gone on a date with? She doesn't use their rules. She doesn't understand their world. Those bimbos all have so much blood going through their boobs that they don't have anything left to make their brains work. They're all butterflies. They flit from one idiot jock to the next idiot jock without a care in the world. It's about time you stopped being one of the idiot jocks. Butterflies might look pretty, but they're only around for a day or two and then they're gone." I let go of the handfuls of Dan's hair I was holding and smoothed his hair back down. My hands kept playing with his hair while I thought about what to say next. "Pearl isn't a butterfly. She's this ... She's this treasure that hides in an oyster on the bottom of the ocean, waiting for someone special to come along and find her. Pearl shared something special with you. She thinks it was special anyway, even if you don't. Pearl thinks that doing that and going on dates with you implies some sort of commitment. And now, the first time she isn't around, you go and betray her with the first slut who flashes her tits at you." "I think you're judging Katrina a bit harshly." "Really? Whose idea was it that you go out on this date?" "I asked her." "I didn't ask you who asked who. I asked you whose idea it was." "She may have said something about it before I asked her." "Exactly! Dan, I've seen Katrina at the restaurant. She's exactly the type that I'm talking about. I bet you weren't even looking at her face when you asked her out." Dan blinked at me. I wasn't sure if I was right about that or not, so I moved on. "Anyway, aren't you supposed to be a duty manager at the restaurant?" "Yes, that's right." "Isn't there supposed to be some law about managers not having sex with the workers?" "There isn't actually a law..." "Just think about what will happen the next time you tell her to do something that she doesn't want to do. If you make her do it, she'll complain that you're picking on her because of the sex, and if you let her off, the other workers will complain about favoritism. The only way to avoid that would be to have sex with all of them." That might not have been a particularly clever thing to say. Dan's eyes kind of lit up at the thought. I even felt a stirring in his jeans, down where I was sitting. For the first time, it occurred to me that maybe the way I was sitting wasn't terribly ... um ... suitable. Sitting astride his lap and facing him, like I was, meant that my, you know, my groin was all stretched out and pressed against him. I mean, if anyone saw me sitting like that, they'd probably think ... well, I guess it's just as well I was wearing jeans. I could feel my face heat up as I blushed. I pushed against his chest so that I slid back from him a little bit. Now I was sitting astride his thighs rather than directly on his lap. That business had made me totally lose my train of thought. I slapped Dan's arm in frustration. Dan seemed to think I was hitting him because of the other thing and he started to apologize, so I stopped him with my fingers over his mouth. I wanted to pretend it all hadn't happened so I didn't want to talk about it. I tried to get the conversation back on track. "Dan! That would include Dorothy, who's like fifty, and that Martin guy, who probably wouldn't object too much, and also the cook. What's his name?" "Alistair?" "Alistair. He would definitely object. He has some very sharp knives that he would probably stick into you if you even suggested it." I could see the excitement progressively disappear from Dan's eyes as I said all that. I sighed and dropped my eyes down to my hands, which were resting on the outsides of my thighs. "I suppose..." Dan's voice was hesitant. "I suppose you are right." "Dan, I'm totally right and you know it. You're not being fair to Pearl." "I meant about the work thing, but you might be right about Pearl as well." The phone rang and I slipped off Dan's lap to run across the room and answer it. It was Dad telling me that he and Tara were about to leave the hospital. He also said that Mom and Angie had just gone in to see the doctor a few moments ago so they would be a while longer. I hung up the phone and told Dan what Dad had said. I moved into the kitchen and started separating out the hamburger patties, ready to grill them. "I'm going to start cooking dinner. We're having hamburgers. Do you want some?" "I better not. I'll be eating with Katrina." I shrugged, but put two burgers out for him anyway. "Are you still going to go out with her? I thought I convinced you not to cheat on Pearl." "Yes! I promised to take Katrina to see Frog Rock play. I'm not going to break that promise. I just won't do anything else with her." "Who are Frog Rock? I've never heard of them." "They're a local cover band. Apparently Katrina knows the bass guitarist. They have a gig in that new place that opened up on Lafayette Street." "What time is the gig?" "They go on at ten. They have to finish by eleven thirty because another band is starting at midnight." "So even if they go a bit over time, you can still be home by midnight." "You don't get to set a curfew for me, Bec. Don't push your luck." "But if you have a curfew, because of tomorrow being a big day or whatever, then you have a reason for saying no when she starts poking her big tits at you and inviting you back to her place for a coffee or whatever." I rolled my eyes to emphasize that I knew "coffee" is just code for sex. Dan shrugged. "I already told you I'm convinced. Don't you trust me?" I rolled my eyes back at him and changed the subject. I started up the grill and got the burgers cooking while Dan sat at the kitchen table and watched. We talked about general stuff while I set the table and got the bowl of salad out of the fridge. The fridge groaned in relief at being unburdened of some of its load. I timed it pretty well because the burgers had about a minute more to cook when Dad and Tara came in. They burst through the door in the middle of some conversation about a movie that had been on TV last weekend. They were both carrying bags of groceries. I stood beside the stove and directed traffic, getting Dad and Tara to put the cold things into the cooler and the buns for the hamburgers directly onto the table and the rest of the things into cupboards. "You're such a bossy boots," grumbled Tara. "Who put you in charge?" "Nana said I was in charge until Mom gets home." "To be perfectly accurate, Nana said you were in charge until someone more responsible came home." Dan pointed out with a grin. I sniffed. "That's what I said." Dan looked at Dad and laughed. Dad was busy arranging things in the cooler and didn't seem to have heard our little conversation. I laughed too. I'd tried to have a dig at Dad and he hadn't even noticed. What a waste of a good teasing. I pointed at Dad and Tara and put on my bossy voice. "Now go wash up, both of you. Dinner is in two minutes." Dan was sniffing at the scent of freshly cooked hamburger. "Now that I think about it, maybe I could do with a burger. I need something to keep me going until later. Would you mind throwing another one under the grill for me?" I smiled at Dan and then waved the tongs mystically over the grill. I said "Shazam!" and tapped the tongs against the grill. Then I calmly started lifted the cooked burgers onto a plate. By the time Dad and Tara returned and sat down, I had everything ready. I had plates of sliced tomato and sliced cheese and the buns were all set out and ready to be used. The ketchup bottle was standing ready as well, except that we call it tomato sauce — even if the label on the bottle says "ketchup." I grabbed a bun, assembled a burger on a plate and handed it to Dad. I put together a second burger for Tara and then a third for Dan. Dan looked down at the burger in front of him, then up at me. "Shazam?" I grinned at him. "I have magic powers." I winked at him and took a bite out of my own burger. That was the end of any conversation for some time. Mom always says that the greatest compliment a cook can get is when everyone goes quiet and just concentrates on eating. I chewed on my burger and enjoyed the compliment. I also enjoyed my burger. I mean, I really enjoyed my burger. The difference between my burger and the sort you get at a fast food place is like the difference between a diamond and a lump of coal. They're both made out of more or less the same ingredients but ... well, you know. The patties weren't those thin and lifeless things you buy in supermarkets either. Mom makes batches of them and freezes them until they're needed. She uses a secret recipe — yes, I know what it is, but it really is a secret so don't bother asking. Since Tara and I helped Mom make this batch of burger patties, I guess I can take a little bit of the credit for the silence. Tara seemed to be in some sort of mood. She mostly just picked bits off her burger and nibbled on them instead of eating it properly. She spent most of dinner staring off into space. I left her alone so she could stare in peace. Dan finished his burger before I was even half-way through mine. He licked his fingers and licked his lips and looked pathetically at the two meat patties still sitting on the plate. I guess he thought they were reserved for Mom and Angie. I put my half-eaten burger down and picked up a spare bun. It took me a few seconds to construct a new hamburger and slide it onto Dan's plate. By the time I had done that, Dad had finished his first burger so I made a second one for him. Dad smiled across the table at me and thanked me for looking after him so well. Dan looked at the burger on his plate and then at the now-empty plate of cooked patties in the middle of the table. "What about Mom?" I pointed at the uncooked patty still sitting on a plate on the kitchen counter. Dan had a little smile on his face as he picked up his second burger in both hands. He shook his head slowly at me. "I am in awe of your magical powers." I winked at him again and went back to eating my own hamburger. After dinner was finished, Dad passed a little package across the table to me. "This is for you," he said. "Mom and I thought you might find it useful." It was a plain cardboard box inside a plastic shopping bag. I looked at Dad with a puzzled expression on my face. He wasn't giving me any clues. Tara was grinning at me — she obviously knew what it was. I pulled the cardboard box out of the bag and opened it. Inside was a brand new cell phone! How awesome is that? The Parents had got me a cell phone. I squealed happily. It looked awesome too. The cover was burgundy with little silver flecks through it. I bounced out of my chair and kissed Dad on the cheek. I gave him a little hug around the shoulders too. Then I did a little happy dance, spinning in a circle in the middle of the kitchen. "I'm getting one too," exclaimed Tara happily. Then her smile drooped. "Except I don't get mine until I'm ungrounded. If you'd come with us today, you would have gotten to pick the color for yourself. Instead, I had to choose it for you. I hope you like it." "I love it! It's gorgeous. Thank you! Thank you!" I gave Tara a quick hug and then did another squeal. I tried to turn it on, but nothing happened. "You'll have to charge it up for quite a while before you can use it," explained Dad. "The instructions are in the box. It's on a family plan, so calls to our home number are free. I'll top up the money in the account every month. If you use up all the credit before the end of the month, you'll have to either do without or put some of your own allowance money into it." I picked up the box and ran to my room to plug it in and start charging it straight away. Staring at a phone being charged got boring after a little while so I wandered back into the kitchen. Dad had volunteered Tara to do the washing up — not that there was that much to do. Dan had gone off to shower and get ready for his night out. I wandered around the house feeling restless. It took me a little while to figure it out, but eventually I realized that I was waiting for Mom to bring Angie home. I needed to actually see her. Despite everything everyone had said to me, it was if I needed to see, with my own eyes, that she was okay, before I could relax properly. I ended up sitting on the floor in the living room with my back against the wall, directly underneath Mom's painting. I sat there and read through the instructions for my new phone. Dad had found the wedding album on the coffee table and was sitting on the couch, looking through it. Once Tara finished in the kitchen, she came in and sat next to him so that she could look at the wedding album with him. Occasionally Dad would tell Tara about the person in the photo or Tara would ask a question and Dad would answer it. I sat and listened to the conversation and could picture each photo they were looking at by the comments they made. Tara remembered Grandma Stone better than I did, but Dad didn't tell Tara anything more about her than I already knew. Tara didn't notice that Uncle Stan was missing and Dad didn't mention him. Tara did ask about our grandfather — Mom's father and Dad just said that Mom had banned him from coming to the wedding. He said Mom had barely spoken to her father since she was a teenager. Then he shrugged and turned the page to the next photo. Tara was still in a strange mood. She was interested in the wedding album and talking with Dad about it, but at the same time she was distant and distracted. I wondered if maybe she was probably feeling the same way I was feeling. I knew when they were looking at photos of Mom in her wedding dress because Tara made comments about how good it looked. "Dad?" I asked from my place on the floor. "Did Mom bring the wedding dress from England?" He looked across at me and shrugged. "I'm not sure. I think it's in one of the boxes in the roof. Why?" "Nana said it's a family heirloom. She said that was the dress she wore at her wedding and that it had been her mother's dress. She said that the bodice was from material in her grandmother's dress — that would be my great-great-grandmother. I'm going to get married in that dress and you definitely won't be banned from my wedding." I paused and looked at Dad. "Daddy, will you walk me down the aisle at my wedding?" Dad looked at me with a strange expression on his face. "I would love to do that, sweetie. But do you mind if we don't do that for a little while yet? I'm not quite ready to see you getting married." "Oh!" I put a sad expression on my face. "And I had the flowers booked and everything. Well, I guess it's not too late to postpone it for a while." Dad pulled a funny face at me, to let me know that he knew I was teasing. Tara was pouting at me. "How come you get to wear Mom's wedding dress? What about me? What if I want to wear it?" Dad raised an eyebrow at her. I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling. "Tara, you get to wear it too," I explained. "Unless we both happen to get married on the same day, in which case you'll have to fight me for it." Dad lifted his hands up in surrender. "Please don't both of you decide to get married on the same day. I don't think my feeble heart could cope with the strain. I doubt if my wallet could survive the experience either." Tara sniffed in the air. "Bec wouldn't want to get married on the same day as me. She knows that I will look so much prettier than her and wouldn't want the competition." I gaped at Tara. "At least I'm going to find someone who wants to marry me. With your nose that high in the air, you're going to have to pay someone to marry you." "At least I have a nose. All you have is that button thing in the middle of your face." "My nose is still growing, just like the rest of me. You better hope your nose has stopped growing or you'll end up bumping it on the ceiling." "You better hope you keep growing. Nobody will want to marry you if you're stuck looking like a stick figure for the rest of your life." "Is that so? At least the way I look might get better as I get older. You're never going to get less stupid." We weren't exactly shouting at each other, but we were definitely getting more and more poisonous. Then Tara changed tack. "I hate you!" she hissed at me. "I hate you more!" Tara lifted up her right foot and kind of jerked it in my direction. "What was that?" "I was pretending to kick you in the shins. I just couldn't be bothered walking over there and actually doing it." I looked at Dad. He had calmly continued to look through the wedding album — carefully and deliberately ignoring our brief but nasty fight. I figured out a way to end it without actually giving in to Tara. I put on my whiniest little-girl voice. "Dad! Tara pretended to kick me in the shins." I rubbed my shins and pouted. Dad looked up at me and raised an eyebrow. "Why bring me into this? I'm perfectly happy looking at the nice photos and basking in the warm glow of my happy family." I rubbed my shins again. "If she can pretend to kick me in the shins, then I can pretend that it hurt." Tara was looking between me and Dad as she caught up with the change in direction. Dad sighed and looked sternly at Tara. "Tara, stop pretending to kick your sister in the shins. It isn't nice." Tara gaped at Dad. "Are you telling me that I should actually kick her instead of just pretending? Bec, can you believe that Dad is telling me to kick you? I never knew Dad could be so brutal." I hid a grin and joined in. "Dad, how could you say that? I thought you were on my side." Dad groaned and clutched at his head. "I need coffee." He stood up and made his way to the kitchen. As he went he was mumbling to himself. "I don't know why I do that. I fall for it every time. You'd think that after thirteen years of them fighting, I would have learnt better by now." He was still mutttering and shaking his head as he left the room. I stared at Tara. She stared back at me. After about a minute of silent staring, I decided to say something. "You said some pretty mean things to me." Tara screwed up her face. "So did you." "You started it." "Did not!" I stared at her. She was obviously waiting for me to continue the game, but I wasn't playing. Finally she said, "You were going on and on about the wedding dress. It was annoying. I was only trying to get you to shut up." I blinked at her. "Okay!" "You made it sound like you had first dibs on wearing the dress. I'm older. I should get to wear it first." I kept staring at her. "Okay! That didn't come out right. Obviously it depends on which of us gets married first, but you were making it sound like that was going to be you." "Okay!" "You're only thirteen. You're way too young to be married." "So are you — too young to be married, I mean." "Yeah! But I'm a year and a half older than you so the chances are that I'll get married before you." "Maybe." I looked at her carefully for a moment as thoughts flashed across her face. "But this was never about the wedding dress," I said, calmly and surely. "What?" "You wanted to pick a fight with me and used the wedding dress as an excuse." "Did not!" "Did too!" Tara bit her lip to stop herself from responding. I waited until I was sure she wasn't going to say anything before I continued. "Were you there when Angie fell and hurt her arm?" "Yeah! She was running down the aisle right in front of me. Mom was about three aisles away." "Was it bad?" "Not at first. She just fell over and started crying a bit. Then she stood up and that's when she started screaming. She was howling and howling. That was horrible. I felt awful because I was looking after her when she fell. Then Mom turned up and it took ages for Mom to get her to stop screaming. She never really stopped crying though." "Is her arm broken?" "I don't know. It didn't look broken, but there was this huge lump on her arm, just back from the wrist. Mom said she thought it might be broken, but they'd probably have to take an x-ray to be sure." I nodded. "Tara, it wasn't your fault. Dan said that kids her age get hurt all the time. Think about the way she's always jumping around. It's a miracle she doesn't hurt herself more often." "I just felt bad, you know?" "I know." The conversation trailed off into silence. The two of us sat there in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts as we waited for Mom to come home. I heard the kettle whistle in the kitchen and the clinking as Dad made his coffee. Eventually, he emerged from the kitchen, carrying his cup of coffee. He looked cautiously at the two of us as he tried to decide if it was safe to come back into the room. I gave him a little half-smile as he sat back in his normal armchair. Tara went back to the wedding album and flipped pages. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes. Sometimes, waiting around can be a hard thing to do. Eventually we heard Mom's car pull into the driveway. Tara and I both jumped up and ran out through the front door. We stood side by side on the steps and watched as Mom unbuckled Angie from her seat and lifted her out of the car. Angie clung to Mom's neck with her left arm. Her right arm had a shiny lime-green cast on it from her elbow to her wrist. I don't know who did it first, but Tara and I ended up gripping each other's hand as we stood and watched. Angie tucked her head into Mom's shoulder and looked completely miserable. The light that normally shines out of her was totally missing. She lay there in Mom's arms and looked at us through half-closed eyes. She seemed so pathetic that I wanted to cry. I didn't, I just felt like I wanted to. Tara was squeezing my hand so I figured she was feeling the same way. Mom carried Angie up the steps and we silently parted to let her through. Then we quietly followed Mom inside the house and through to Angie's room. Dad and Dan had both appeared in the entrance hall and watched without saying anything as we paraded past them. Mom pointed at a drawer and clicked her fingers as she carefully set Angie down on her bed. Tara hurried to the drawer and pulled out a pair of pyjamas for Angie. The three of us worked together to change Angie into her pyjamas. It was a bit tricky because she was all floppy, but not as hard as dressing Angie normally is because she wasn't bouncing around like a jack-in-the-box. The hardest part was working her clothes over the cast on her arm and holding her arm steady at the same time. We seemed to work together without needing to talk about it. I don't think we said more than two words between the three of us. I think Angie was sleeping before we finished. I just stood there looking down at her as Mom covered her with the comforter. There were so many different emotions going through me. They were all tangled up inside of me like a bowl of spaghetti — all mushed up together so much that I couldn't tell them apart from each other. I held myself together until we got out of Angie's room. Then I wrapped my arms around Mom and held on tight. I could feel Tara doing the same thing. Mom made "Shh, shh!" noises and patted my back. After a few moments I gulped in a big breath and stepped back. To my surprise, I hadn't actually started crying. Mom pushed Tara off her and looked steadily at the two of us. "I don't know why the two of you are being so clingy. She's going to be fine. She has a greenstick fracture of the radius. She'll have to have the cast for a few weeks. It's going to make her cranky, but she'll be perfectly fine." I waved a hand at Angie's door. "But she's so..." Mom grinned. "They gave her a magic blue pill. In an amazingly short time, they turned my hurting little baby into a spaced-out junkie. I expect that I shall have to book her into rehab before she turns four, but that's a small price to pay. It'll give her something to write about in her memoirs. The good thing is that they could poke at her arm and put the cast on without her screaming the place down. Also, she gets to sleep for most of the night, which means that Mom gets to sleep too. I even have another magic pill to give her in the morning in case she needs it, but the doctor said she might not need it. She might still be a bit sore and uncomfortable, though." I looked at Mom suspiciously. "You didn't pop any of those magic blue pills yourself, did you? You're acting a bit trippy right now. Will we have to book you into rehab as well?" "Trippy? No. Hungry? Yes. Did you save me any dinner?" "Oh darn! I was going to start cooking your burger as soon as you got home. I forgot. Sorry, Mom. I'll go get it started." "Never mind. I'll do that myself. You two go off and relax. Is Dan still home?" "He's just leaving," said Dan, who had walked up behind us without anyone noticing. "I heard you talking. A green-stick fracture, you said. That's fairly common with kids, isn't it?" "That's what the doctor said," agreed Mom. "So you go off and have a good time. Don't worry about Angie. She'll be fine." I looked fiercely at Dan. "And make sure you're home by midnight." Dan raised an eyebrow at me. "I told you before. You don't get to set curfews for me." Mom looked between the two of us. "Dan, what's going on?" "Oh, a little busybody is trying to run my life. That's all." I stamped my foot. "Mom, tell him he has to come home by midnight." I heard a cough behind me. Dad had obviously wandered down to listen to the conversation about Angie. "Bec, honey," said Dad. "Dan is an adult. We don't make rules like that for him." I screamed in frustration and flailed my arms around. "What's wrong with you two? Every other parent in the world always makes that speech that starts with: 'As long as you live under my roof... ' Why do you two have to be so different?" Dad kept his voice calm. "A: We aren't every other set of parents in the world. That is something, I seem to recall, you've been happy about from time to time. B: I don't believe every other parent in the world does make that speech. I don't think you should use prime-time television families as evidence of what real families do. And C: Why do you want Dan home by midnight?" "Because I'm trying to stop him from making a huge mistake." "Dan, is this something I should know about?" asked Mom. "What are you and Pearl up to?" "Dan and Pearl aren't up to anything. Dan's going out with another girl." I explained. Mom frowned at Dan. "Did Pearl give you the boot? Oh, honey, I'm sorry." "Pearl didn't dump him. She still thinks they're dating." "Do we have to go through this conversation again?" asked Dan in a pained sort of voice. "I've already got the message. You don't have to spell it out." Mom sighed and looked at Dan. "Daniel George Freeman, as long as you live under my roof, you will respect the girls you go out with, you will honor the commitments you make and you will listen to your sisters' advice when it comes to your love life for the simple reason that they are not suffering from testosterone poisoning like you are. Have I made myself clear?" "Yes, Mother," answered Dan, solemnly. Mom turned to look at me. "There! Are you happy now? I made your speech. Now all of you need to go away and leave me alone. I've had a very trying day and I desperately need some alone time. Go! Go away, all of you!" Mom walked into the kitchen and started the grill going so she could cook her burger. I hesitated in the doorway, wanting to help. Mom glared at me and gestured for me to leave. I left. Dad had gone into the living room and I heard the TV click on. I decided to go to my room but Tara stopped me in the hallway outside our rooms. She stepped up close to me so she could talk quietly. "I think Mom and Dad are still fighting," she said. "Why do you say that?" "When Dad came into the hospital, he was kind of weird with Mom. It was like he wanted to get away from her as fast as he could. He almost dragged me out of there. And look at them now. They aren't even in the same room." I felt my face crinkle up as I thought. "It might not be what you think. I don't think Dad likes hospitals very much. There have been other times when he was a bit weird at a hospital. I never put it together before." "Why would he hate hospitals?" I shrugged. "I don't know. Why does anybody hate hospitals? I don't like them much either. They're full of sick people. They aren't exactly happy places." "Yes, but you don't go all weird when you're at a hospital. No more weird than normal, I mean. Why would Dad go weird?" "I don't know." We shrugged at each other. Without another word, we each turned and went into our own rooms. I stood in my room and looked for something to distract me from all my worries. I looked up "testosterone poisoning." When Mom had made that comment, I'd been worried that Dan was actually sick. Maybe, if he was sick, that explained why he was being so stupid. Once I found out what it meant, I kind of laughed to myself. I was right. It really was the reason why Dan was being so stupid. And Mom had been making a joke and I hadn't realized it. I should have figured it out, because Mom had been making those silly comments about Angie being a druggie only moments before. The half-finished painting on the back of my door caught my attention. It was going to be a picture of Angie when it was finished. I stood there looking at it. I was feeling uncomfortable about the painting. Something about it wasn't working. That was depressing. I knew what I was trying to do. I just didn't know how to do it. I collapsed onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. My head hit a solid object hidden under my pillow. I reached in and pulled out the notebook and sketchbook that I'd brought down from the roof earlier. I opened to the first page of Mom's sketchbook. It was a drawing of a giant mountain gorilla — sort of. More like King Kong than a normal one. It was kind of vaguely human as well. Nestled up high on its shoulder was a small child. I looked more closely and saw that it was a younger version of Tara. A second, even younger child squatted on the ground between the gorilla's front paws. It came as no surprise to recognize myself — back when I was maybe four or five. The gorilla loomed over me, protecting me while I squatted there and innocently looked out of the picture. A thin metal chain wrapped around the gorilla's neck and looped down to the ground. The other end of the chain was clutched in my young hand. I squinted my eyes at the face of the gorilla and saw that it was an animal version of Dad. I smiled in recognition. Mom had gone through a phase where she drew different people in animal form. I'd seen a number of them. There was one where Mom had drawn me as a cat, lurking in the shadows under a table, but with piercingly sharp eyes glowing out of the dark. This time, Dad was the main subject of the picture. In this one drawing, Mom had suggested that Dad protected and carried us, but at the same time was completely controlled by us. It was a fun idea, but it wasn't true now and I doubted if it was true back then. Mom probably drew this picture to tell Dad something important. I tilted my head sideways and tried to see more in it, but nothing came to me. I closed the sketchbook. Mom's drawings sometimes had several layers of messages and meanings and I wasn't in the mood to spend time and energy uncovering them. I put the sketchbook down on my bedside table and picked up Dad's notebook. This had been the one book full of writing that I'd found in among a whole pile of notebooks full of Dad's circuit diagrams and calculations. I was hoping that this book would explain what all those calculations were about. The dates suggested Dad had been working on this over the months before we left England. It looked like an enormous amount of work. Maybe the big secret was something to do with this. Maybe he had discovered something, or invented something that became dangerous. Maybe he invented something that some powerful people didn't want him to have. Maybe it was all so dangerous that he had to pick up his entire family and move us all to America and change our name. This book could be a clue. The only problem was that I might have trouble understanding it without spending years learning how to read and understand the notations of an electrical engineer. I turned to the first page. I would soon know how much of it I could understand. It was like a challenge for me. The brainy part of me rubbed my hands together with glee. I read the first sentence. Then I blinked and read it again. My jaw dropped. I read the first sentence again and shook my head in amazement. I rolled over onto my stomach and began reading in earnest. This was interesting. Very, very interesting. ------- Chapter 7: Peter's Notebook Part 1 I opened up Dad's notebook to the first page. There was no heading, just the date written across the top in slightly bigger letters Peter Stone, Wednesday April 5, 10pm I'd found the book in among a whole pile of notebooks full of Dad's circuit diagrams and calculations. It had sat forgotten in a box up in our roof since we'd arrived from England. The year scrawled on the cover meant it was written in the year we left England. This book could be a clue about why we had moved out of England in such secrecy. Or it could be nothing. I read the first sentence. Then I blinked and read it again. Louise has persuaded me to go back to seeing a psychiatrist on a regular basis. My jaw dropped. I read the first sentence again and shook my head in amazement. I rolled over onto my stomach and began reading in earnest. This was interesting. Very, very interesting. Peter Stone, Wednesday April 5, 10pm Louise has persuaded me to go back to seeing a psychiatrist on a regular basis. It seems my previous doctor has moved to Birmingham so I find myself with yet another new psychiatrist. Naturally the new doctor immediately asked me to keep a diary. I am convinced that getting the patient to keep a diary is step one in the textbook. Every psychiatrist I've ever had has asked me to keep a diary. I've written so many of the blasted things that I could write a book — perhaps a series of books — about my life. Not that I would want to. I expect all the relevant information about me is already in the files but I suppose I should summarise. I'm Peter Stone, age 36. I'm an electrical engineer and I am a partner in a company that builds and supplies portable generators. I have a sister, Penny. I'm married to Louise, who is a graphic designer and an amateur painter. I have one son (Daniel, age 14), two daughters (Tara, age 7 about to turn 8 and Rebecca, age 6, who insists that we call her Bec) and a dog (Percival, age unknown). Percival is a black lab who we adopted from an RSPCA shelter when Dan was five. He was already an adult dog when we adopted him so he is now quite elderly. Dan is amazingly sensible and mature for a fourteen year old and I am immensely proud of him. He is good at rugby and works hard at school. Like all teenage boys he makes mistakes and gets in trouble from time to time but it's only ever minor issues and I have no complaints on that score. The two girls are quite simply the light of my life. Neither of them are perfect little angels by any means but I'm not sure if I have enough superlatives to describe them properly. That's enough dithering about. I came out of that first session today feeling tired and drained. Shattered might be a better description. It's never easy starting with a new psychiatrist. It takes me a long time to start trusting someone, but in the first session with a new psychiatrist I always have to go through everything that happened. I loathe doing that. It's really difficult telling my story to a stranger. I get choked up or start rambling about nonsense or get sidetracked and talk about something completely different. Despite the number of times I've had to tell the whole story, it never comes out sounding like a story with a beginning, middle and end. My last doctor told me that was normal and that it was an 'avoidance strategy'. I came home to find Louise busy in the kitchen and the kids doing their homework. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that the girls had finished their own homework and were quizzing Dan about his. My girls are really smart. I know it's traditional for fathers to say that about their daughters but in my case it's true, especially for Bec. Tara is clever but Bec seems to make intuitive leaps that can leave me gasping. The leaps are made harder to follow because Bec is terribly shy and quiet. Often, she'll sit there and watch and listen and let Tara ask most of the questions while she soaks it up. Then she'll make some little comment that shows that she has not only understood everything we were just talking about but has already linked it to something else. Just occasionally, if she feels completely safe, Bec will come out of her shell and chatter away like a normal six year old. I treasure those moments. Tara is much more social than Bec. In fact, Tara really comes alive in the middle of a crowd of her friends. She's not a leader, she's just happiest in the middle of a mob. Percival thumped the floor with his tail when I came through the door but otherwise didn't stir from his spot in front of the heater. I did a circuit of the room and gained kisses from Louise and the girls before sinking into my armchair. Dan's homework was something to do with the solar system. He was trying to explain to the girls how the planets orbited the sun but was struggling because he barely finished each sentence before being hit by at least two lots of "but why..." Apparently it was a good day for Bec because she was matching Tara question for question. I relaxed and left Dan to it. I long ago decided that it is good for Dan to explain what he is learning at school to his sisters — when they are interested. They are both smart enough not only to understand most of what he is talking about but also to ask intelligent questions. I'm convinced he's doing better at school because of it. They both adore him and he adores them. He loves being able to explain things to them. He gets upset and frustrated when he can't answer their questions. I think he's working harder at school just so he can give better answers to the girls. I'm not complaining. Whatever works is fine with me. I talk to other parents from school who struggle to get their teenage kids motivated to do schoolwork and I breathe a sigh of relief that I don't have those problems. Eventually matters got to the point where I felt Dan needed rescuing. He was stumbling to explain how the sun, appearing to move across the sky each day, fitted in with what he was saying about the sun being still and the earth moving. I sent Tara running off to fetch a football and some Blu-tack. While we waited, I noticed Bec staring at me with those deep, hazel eyes of hers. "Why are you sad, Daddy?" I brushed her off by telling her I wasn't sad but I was merely tired from a hard day at work. Telling the girls that I'm going to therapy, and explaining the reasons why, is not a conversation I want to have right now. Maybe, when they're older, I'll be able to tell them about it. Bec didn't challenge my response but I don't think she believed it. Sometimes Bec can see straight through me and that can be unnerving — she's six years old, for heaven's sake. Seconds later she was sitting in my lap and hugging me. Immediately I felt the panic start to surge through me. I lifted her off me and set her down on the floor beside me, giving her the old lie about how she's too heavy to be climbing all over me. Isn't that enough of a reason to need therapy? I can't even get a hug from my daughter without panicking. That is pathetic. And as the girls have been getting older, it's been getting worse instead of better. Bec clung onto my hand like a limpet and leaned against my leg. I could tolerate that, and I felt the panic sinking away. Tara returned with the football and a lump of Blu-tack. We switched the light off and used a desk lamp to represent the sun. The ball became the spinning sphere of the Earth and a little lump of Blu-tack became us in sunny Preston on the surface of the Earth. With the visual aids in front of them, the girls quickly understood the concept. Of course, that led to other questions about seasons and stars and planets and the poles and the North Star. I made sure Dan didn't get out of explaining the things he knew but it was a good conversation and I think Dan ended up with a better understanding of his homework, so I was happy. The girls' minds are like sponges that soak up just about everything if it's given to them in a form they can understand. Bec I stopped reading for a moment and let all of that sink into my brain. I don't have any distinct memories of that particular night, but I remember lots like it. First there was the psychiatrist. I'd always known that Dad was hiding some terrible pain deep inside himself. I hadn't realized that it was so bad that he needed to see a psychiatrist — lots of psychiatrists. For the longest time, I thought his constant rejection of my hugs was something to do with me. It had built up this huge seething hurt way down deep inside of me. I was convinced that he didn't love me enough to hug me. Slowly, very slowly, I have been starting to realize that it wasn't really about me. What Dad had written more or less confirmed that. It was weird to read Dad's description of me. It made me feel strange in my head. The little Bec in my brain that always stays back and watches had been nodding and saying "That's what I see." I felt bad about making Dad uncomfortable because I sometimes understand what he is thinking. Sometimes I just guess and my guesses turn out right. Sometimes I get it wrong. In all this time, Dad has hidden from me that he is seeing a psychiatrist. I never guessed that. I don't know if he is still seeing a doctor or not. Maybe he has stopped and that's why I didn't notice anything. I thought about Dan. It had never occurred to me that Dan had worked harder at school just to stay ahead of us. I remembered any number of conversations about Dan's homework that Dad had joined into. I had always thought that Dad was joining in because he wanted to. The Bec from way back then had never noticed that Dad was rescuing Dan from questions he couldn't answer. I guess it never occurred to the younger Bec that there might be stuff Dan didn't know about. I still sometimes have those sorts of conversations with Dan. I get him to explain what he is learning about. I think Dad over-estimates how much I understand. I don't always understand everything. I like spending time with Dan and talking about his school is a way of doing that. Peter's Notebook (continued) Throughout the evening Bec clung to my hand. Tara saw what was going on and soon I had a barnacle attached to each side of me. I can't tell you whether Tara picked up on the same thing Bec did or if she just saw what Bec was doing and her competitive nature meant that she had to do it too. Either way, their simple child-like attempts to comfort me were oddly effective. By the time we sat down for dinner, I was feeling much more like my same old self. In honour of the homework discussion, after dinner I put on a video of an episode of Cosmos, narrated by the sonorous voice of Carl Sagan. I had to endure some complaints from Dan because he wanted to watch some other rubbish so I gave him the choice of watching Cosmos or going upstairs and watching his thing on the old set in our bedroom. I tried to hint that I would prefer him to watch this because it would help with his homework but my hints fell on deaf ears. I suppose he's fourteen and he needs his space. I don't want to be one of those oppressive fathers one sees on television. Louise is always far too enthusiastic about joining any conspiracy to push my comfort zone as far as my dealing with the girls is concerned. Sometimes she's subtle about it and sometimes she's downright blatant. Tonight after dinner she literally forced me to sit in the middle of the couch instead of in the safety of my usual armchair. That way the girls could position themselves each side of me and squeeze themselves up against me. I was uncomfortable but happy. I seem to be in a continual battle with myself — to hold them close and share their simple affection, or to keep them as far away from me as possible. I try with all my strength not to push them away. Louise has explained to me countless times, sometimes very forcefully, that to do so would devastate them. It took all my will power to sit there calmly rather than jumping up and leaving the room. The strain of sitting still left me trembling. The warm pleasure of being able to sit and have my girls cuddled up against me almost had me weeping. Louise then proceeded to curl up in a chair opposite us and sketch while we watched the program. I suspect a fair amount of it went over the girls' heads but I'm sure some of it stuck. I don't dare try to predict exactly how much either of them understood. After the video finished, I read to the girls. Tonight I went for an old favourite: The news just came in from the County of Keck, That a very small bug by the name of Van Vleck, Is yawning so wide you can look down his neck. Maybe the girls are getting too old for Dr Seuss but they still love having me read it to them. That makes me happy because I have fun reading those stories. The idea that such fun children's stories existed was a revelation for me when I became a father. It's enormous fun to read them out loud and let their rhythms and rhymes roll around on my tongue. I suppose the girls will let me know when they think they are too old for Dr Seuss. Then I guess I will be reduced to reading the stories to Percival. Mind you, Dan told me loud and clear when he was finished with Dr Seuss, but I've noticed a few times that he's cheerfully picked one up and read it to the girls with a great deal of relish. I finished the story with a huge yawn which set the girls off yawning as well. Louise was still engrossed in her sketch so I told the girls they would have to go up and get ready for bed. I received a brief fluttering kiss on each cheek as my reward and they scampered off up the stairs. Percival seemed a bit extra sluggish when I ushered him outside so that he could spend a penny. I think he might be getting arthritis or something equally nasty. The girls weren't in bed the way they should have been. They'd changed into pyjamas and were now both wrapped in their dressing-gowns and kneeling on the window-seat with their noses pressed against the double-glazing. I coughed loudly — hinting that they weren't where they were supposed to be. All the girls did was glance at me and then stick their noses back against the glass. Percival heaved himself up onto his place at the foot of Bec's bed and did a tired half-circle to trample the covers into shape before slumping into a curled up ball. I walked up behind the girls and looked over their shoulders. They were looking up at the sky. A break in the clouds had revealed a thin scattering of twinkling stars. "So Daddy, if there are only clouds and stars up there, then where is heaven?" That caught me by surprise. Tara asked the question but it sounded like a Bec question to me. That probably meant that Bec had asked Tara and she didn't have an answer. Bec was then happy to let Tara ask me. That type of teamwork is fairly common between them. The first thing out of my mouth was harsh — too harsh. "There's no such place as heaven." I realised that I'd made a mistake as soon as I said it. Two little faces crumpled in front of me and four little eyes suddenly filled with tears. In a frantic attempt at a save, I winked at them and laughed — trying to turn what I had said into a joke. I don't think it worked. "But when Grandma Stone died in the car accident, you said she'd gone to heaven to be with the angels," said Bec in the soft little whisper-voice that she uses when she's upset — or anytime she's in public. "Yes, I did. And I meant it." "So where is heaven then?" whispered Bec. I sighed. "Sit down, girls. That isn't an easy question to answer." They sat side-by-side on the window-seat while I carried a chair over so that I could sit in front of them. I sat with my knees almost touching theirs and held out a hand for each of them to grasp — which they did. Percival watched me from his post on the bottom of Bec's bed without lifting his head. He just rolled his eyes to keep track of me as I moved around the room. I have to admit that all of the above was simply a stalling tactic. I had no idea what I was going to say. Why do Bec's hardest questions always catch me by surprise? Nobody warned me that becoming a father meant having to answer the hardest questions just when you want to sit back and put your feet up. There should be warning signs in the maternity ward at the hospital. Except that by the time you get to the maternity ward, it's far too late. So this was my answer. I have no idea whether it was the right thing to say or not. "There are the places that I know because I've been there and seen them with my own eyes. I can point to them on a map and tell you about things I did or saw when I was there. Places like Nana's house and Manchester Cathedral and the Lake District and London. "Then there are places that I've never been to but I've talked to someone who's been there or read a book by someone who's been there. I can point to those places on a map and tell you about things other people did or saw when they were there. Places like Peking and New York and Australia and Iceland and the Moon. "Then there are places that nobody has been to but we know they are there, or were there, because of telescopes or archaeology. Places like Mars and Alpha Centauri and the places where dinosaurs lived and the palaces of the Pharaohs of Egypt. "Heaven doesn't fall into any of those groups. It isn't anywhere that people can point to and nobody has been there and come back to tell us about it. A lot of people believe heaven exists because their religion tells them so or because their parents told them it was there when they were children and they've never had a reason to change their minds." Bec was looking at me suspiciously. "Do you mean it's like Santa? Is heaven just a story for little children?" I smiled at Bec. My first clue that either of the girls had worked out the truth about Santa had been three days before last Christmas. Only a week before, the two of them had cheerfully written letters to Santa and shown them to me so I could check their spelling before gleefully running down the street to the post box. Then three days before Christmas, the rugby club had a Christmas party with carols and a Santa and all the bells and whistles. The girls had happily queued up and sat on Santa's lap and received their little gifts along with all the other kids. Naturally, Tara chatted away with Santa quite cheerfully. When Bec had her turn, she sat there with a smile on her face and didn't say a word but only shrugged or nodded in response to Santa's questions. Nothing unusual there. A little bit later, Ethel Gallagher found herself standing next to the two girls and decided to do her version of being friendly. Ethel Gallagher is far too full of herself. She expects everyone else, especially children, to be in awe of her majesty. Ethel tapped Tara on the chest to get her attention and demanded to know what she was expecting from Santa. Tara had muttered something about a new pair of sneakers which was enough to satisfy the old crone. Ethel then turned her attention to Bec, poking her in the chest and repeating her imperious question. I think Bec must have been off with the fairies because the poke in the chest caught her by surprise and it obviously hurt her. She gaped at Ethel and rubbed her chest where she'd been poked. I felt a flare of anger race through me. There's an enormous difference between tapping a child to get their attention and poking them so hard that it hurts. That woman had hurt my little girl and I was furious. Burning with rage, I started across the room towards her. Ethel Gallagher poked Bec again, "I asked you a question, child. It's very rude to ignore your elders." Bec's eyes flashed and she planted herself in front of Ethel Gallagher with her fists on her hips — every inch the image of an angry six year old — every inch a miniature version of her mother. "If you poke me with that finger again, I'll bite it. You think I'm rude? I'm not the one poking people with her bony old finger." I was awed to hear my shy little Bec barking at the woman so ferociously. I was half-way across the room. My fists were clenched so tight, my nails were digging into my palms. I fully intended to discover if the witch knew how to fly. Suddenly, Louise appeared in front of me. She planted her two hands on my chest and stopped me dead. Her eyes were cold with fury. "Let me!" she hissed. Then she turned and headed for Ethel. Louise's intervention allowed me to get my temper under control. In hindsight, that was probably a good thing. In the meantime, Ethel had backed off from Bec with a shocked expression on her face. "Well I never!" "And as for Santa Claus," continued Bec. "Everyone knows Santa is just a story made up for little kids. Well, I'm six years old now. I'm not a little kid anymore. So don't treat me like a baby by asking stupid questions." Ethel drew herself up to her full height and raised her finger imperiously. At that moment, Louise stepped up behind our two girls, with me towering over her shoulder and glowering. Never being one to let a good threat go to waste, Louise glared at Ethel. "If you so much as point that finger in my daughter's direction, Bec WILL bite you. What's more, I won't do a thing to stop her." Ethel turned rather white at that. I'll never know how she was going to respond because Louise immediately launched a verbal assault at Ethel that would blister paint. I snaked a hand around Bec and edged her back out of the combat zone. Louise didn't need any help from me when she was fired up like that. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dan copy me and pull Tara out of danger. Ethel was actually physically backing away. Then she got broadsided from the other side by Bridget, Bec's Nana, who had just arrived from the kitchen where she'd been helping serve tea through the hatch. Now Ethel was being double-teamed by Louise and Bridget. Having been on the receiving end of that pair in full attack mode, I was tempted to feel sorry for the woman. But then my arm around Bec's chest felt the rapid fluttering of Bec's heart, racing wildly after the brief encounter, and any temptation to feel sorry for Ethel completely vanished. The slanging match was conducted in such broad Lanky accents that I could barely follow half of it. I've lived in Lancashire most of my life now and I still can't follow Bridget when she gets angry. I could swear that half the words she uses don't exist outside of the village she was born in. Louise is nearly as bad, but I think I've been a good influence on her. Her accent has softened a lot since I first met her. Faced with overwhelming odds, Ethel had little choice but to retreat and she fled the clubhouse. I suspect she will think twice before attacking other people's children in the future — even if originally she was trying to be friendly. She'll probably go back to ignoring all children everywhere — something I'm sure the children will be grateful for. Bec didn't utter a word for the rest of the evening. She sat herself astride my hip, wrapped her arms around me and hid her face in my chest, leaving me to assure the steady stream of well-wishers that Bec was fine. Somehow, my overwhelming urge to protect Bec, combined with her desperate need to be held, allowed me to overcome the usual strangeness I feel when holding her. The two of us spent the rest of the evening flanked by Louise and Bridget. They were both wearing identical relaxed faces and half-smiles that many people mistake for friendly. If they knew what those smiles really meant, most sensible people would run screaming from the room. Tara stuck to Dan like glue for the rest of the evening. I could see him in the corner of the room, sitting on the floor with a group of his friends. Tara sat right beside him, securely hanging on to his arm. But she sat upright, with bright eyes, and looked as comfortable and confident with Dan's friends as she does with her own. It was good to see that Dan's friends appeared to accept her presence there without complaint. Boys that age aren't always tolerant of younger sisters hanging around. Bec I smiled quietly to myself. Reading Dad's account had brought back some clear memories of that night at the rugby club. I didn't think that I had been quite as ferocious as Dad described. I remember being frightened witless by the lady suddenly looming over me and poking me. Part of the problem was she kept demanding that I answer a question I hadn't even heard. I know I said the stuff Dad wrote about, but I didn't think I'd been that — I don't know — dangerous. I think that really dangerous version of me is a more recent development. Peter's Notebook (continued) The next morning at breakfast, I asked Bec what made her think that Santa wasn't real. Bec and Tara had looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Finally Tara explained that Bec had worked it out from watching a couple of Santa movies. Bec had asked Tara and Tara had admitted that she'd heard it at school from some older kids. "But in all those movies, Santa is real!" I exclaimed. "Yes," said Bec, as if that explained everything. I still have no idea how she worked it out. I guess I never will. Sometimes, Bec isn't very good at explaining what's going on inside that little head of hers. "But you wrote letters to Santa." They both rolled their eyes at me in that 'Dads are so stupid' sort of way that always leaves me feeling uncomfortably — well — stupid. "That sort of stuff is really fun," said Bec. "We made sure we showed them to you and Mum before we posted them," added Tara. "There'd be no point in writing them, if we didn't." Two days later, we'd been woken well before dawn by excited squeals as the two girls discovered what "Santa" had left for them. Later that morning both girls had taken turns to breathlessly describe to Nana and their aunts what Santa had given them and how some of it was exactly what they'd asked for. They knew it was a game, but they were playing anyway. Sometimes I worry about Bec. She appears so shy and fragile that I worry about how she will survive in the world. But then, every once in a while, things like her encounter with Ethel Gallagher remind me that Bec has inherited a full dose of her mother's fiery nature. She just keeps it hidden most of the time. Her shyness and fragility is just a covering. Scratch the surface too hard and you end up getting burnt. Tara seems to have learnt that. Tara is about the only person Bec will fight with. It doesn't happen all the time but every so often, they have a blazing screaming row about something or other. I suppose it is to be expected occasionally, with two girls sharing a room like that. Louise and I try to let them go as much as we can in the hope they will learn to sort it out themselves rather than rely on us. I've noticed that Tara is becoming better at putting us in a position where we have to intervene, or she turns the fight into one of long, glaring sullen silences — just before Bec gets to the point of really showing her claws. Tara has learnt that it's a bad idea to push Bec too far. Fortunately their fights usually end and after a short truce they go back to being sweet with each other. I seem to have wandered off the point. Where was I? We were upstairs in the girls' room. I was talking about heaven and Bec was looking at me suspiciously. "Do you mean it's like Santa?" she asked. "Is heaven just another story for little children?" I smiled at Bec. "Not really. I doubt if there is a single adult anywhere that thinks Santa is actually real, but many, many adults think heaven is a real place. If someone we love dies, I think it's comforting to think they end up in a happy place. It makes us feel better and that is what's important." Bec looked at me with those penetrating eyes. "But you don't think heaven is real." I was tempted to lie to her but it was far too late for that. Besides, I realised that she had made that a statement and not a question. All I could do was agree with her and leave it at that. Once the girls were safely tucked into bed and the light switched off, I was stopped from leaving the room by a quiet whisper. "Daddy?" "What is it, Bec?" "I'm glad you're feeling better from before. You never told why you were sad." I shrugged at the shadowy shape on the bed. "Sometimes I just get sad. There isn't always a reason." There was a silence and I realised that Bec was just lying there in the dark, looking up at me. Finally, she rolled over in the bed, putting her back to me. Apparently I was dismissed — judged, found wanting, and then dismissed. I scratched Percival under the ears a couple of times and let myself out of the room. I joined Dan in my bedroom and spent a very enjoyable twenty minutes watching the last half of an episode of that 'Seinfeld' show from America. It's very typically the American style of humour but it's better than the usual tripe that gets passed off as comedy, and I had a few good laughs before it was over. When it was finished, I sent Dan off to his room and sat down to write this. So that was my day. Bec I shook my head in amazement. Dad was wrong about Tara and me fighting. She hurt me enough to make me back off more often than I managed to hurt her. Besides, some of the time, our fights aren't about hurting each other at all. For whatever reason, we get so frustrated that something has to burst. So we both scream at each other without ever even trying to hurt each other. Then when we've had enough, we just stop and walk away. Five minutes later the fight is forgotten. Sometimes I manage to see through Tara and stop the fight the way I did earlier today. I don't think I've got the sort of claws Dad says I have. I don't think Tara is scared of pushing me too far the way Dad says she is. I turned the page to see what else Dad wrote about. Peter Stone, Thursday April 6, 11pm Today, work was fairly routine. I spent most of the morning running final tests on some units that are finished and ready to be delivered to clients. Portable generators are pretty much a standard design everywhere. George and I have managed to tweak the specs a little here and there so that our model has slightly better fuel economy than most. That's our biggest selling point and George and I are doing some good business because of it. We're competing against the big chains though, so it isn't easy. I even got a couple of hours in the middle of the day to work on what George calls my "hobby." He calls it that because he doesn't think I'll be able to get it going. Put simply, most generators use a motor to turn a crankshaft which turns a rotor within the generator that creates the electricity. Each step of that chain involves a loss of efficiency due to friction and so on. My idea is to adapt a pistonless rotary engine — a bit like the Wankel engine that Mazda used in their cars — so that the same rotor that is being turned within the motor is the rotor that is generating the electricity. If I can get it to work, my mathematics suggests that I could have a portable-sized generator that is two or three times more fuel efficient than the current generation of portables. I could be completely wrong. My training is in electrical rather than mechanical engineering, so just about every step involves going back to the books and learning how to do this or that. My first two prototypes were woefully inefficient. I have two stumbling blocks. One is actually building a machine that fits my specifications. I suspect I will eventually need to team up with someone with sufficient mechanical background to do the job. The bigger block is actually designing the generation circuitry to optimise the work-to-power ratio. Bec From this point on, the writing degenerated into a mass of terminology and diagrams and mathematics that I couldn't make sense of. Somehow, I doubted that the psychiatrist who Dad was supposed to be writing this for would have been able to understand it either. I skipped ahead to the point where Dad got himself back on track. Peter's Notebook (continued) Hmm. I seem to have got rather distracted. I keep forgetting this is supposed to be a diary and not a place where I can write out what I'm thinking about. In the afternoon, I delivered one of our units to a customer in Bradford on the other side of the Pennines. It took me the entire afternoon to get there and do my spiel and get back. I got thoroughly mired in traffic and didn't get home until late. The girls had only just gone to bed so I went in to kiss them goodnight. Percival was already in position on Bec's bed but all he did was twitch his tail when he saw me. I hope he isn't getting sick. I patted his head a few times and he lay there and looked up at me with his big brown eyes. He was looking very sorry for himself. Tara wanted to tell me a long story about her day at school, but I stopped her before she got too far into it. I told her it was getting late and she should tell me the rest of the story tomorrow. I expect that by tomorrow she will have forgotten it and found something else to be excited about. Bec was already asleep when I got to her. I pushed the hair back off her face and kissed her forehead anyway. Louise has shown me the sketch that she started yesterday while I was reading to the girls. She drew me between the two girls, except that I'm small — smaller than either of them. For whatever reason, Louise decided to portray me as more childlike than either Tara or Bec. They are clearly reading to me, teaching me. I suppose there is some truth in that. Louise's drawings can be uncomfortably accurate sometimes. The long drive troubled my back, so I had to lie flat on the floor and get some attention from Louise before I could sit up and write this entry. Bec I reached over to Mom's sketchbook, sitting on my bedside table. When I had first found the sketchbook, I'd briefly flipped through it in the dim light of the torch and I'd seen one picture of three children sitting on a couch. I skimmed through the sketchbook and found it. There it was, exactly as Dad described it. What I had thought was the middle child was actually a miniature version of Dad. I looked at the picture and noticed something Dad hadn't seen — or at least, something he didn't describe. The book in the picture wasn't 'Dr Seuss's Sleep Book' which Dad said he'd been reading from — well he didn't exactly say that, but I recognized the lines. Mom had turned the book into 'You're Only Old Once: A Book for Obsolete Children.' I grinned. Typical Mom! Peter's Notebook Friday April 7, 10:30pm We were woken early this morning, just after half five, by Bec coming into our room. Her hair was tousled and her eyes bleary and she was stumbling a bit as she wrapped a dressing gown around herself. She looked very worried. "Percival just sicked up on my bed," she whispered. "I think there's something wrong with him." Percival looked positively miserable, lying on the bottom of the bed. He lifted his head up to look at us as we entered the room, looked guiltily at the little pool of vomit, then flopped back flat. His legs were twitching and every so often he would let out a little whine and try unsuccessfully to shift his position. It didn't take a rocket scientist to work out that he needed to go to the vet. I checked the directory and found a vet that offered a night-time emergency service. We woke Tara, who'd slept through all the fuss up to that point. Then we left the girls to dress while Louise and I woke Dan and then returned to our room to throw on some clothes. We made a sorry little procession entering the vet. I led the way, carrying Percival wrapped in a blanket. Louise followed with Tara clinging to her and Dan brought up the rear with Bec attached to him. All three of my girls were looking pale and teary. Percival whimpered and twitched in my arms during the short wait until we could be ushered into the little consulting room. The stench of the antiseptic cleaner they use smashed into me and brought back some nasty memories. It was all I could do to stand there and keep my face calm while the vet did her thing. Dan stood next to me and stroked and patted Percival's head, trying to reassure him. I glanced back at the girls. Tara had a trusting look on her face. She clearly had a lot of faith in the power of vets to make everything better. Bec's face was impassive except for her slightly reddened eyes — they flicked back and forth as she watched the vet's every move. The two girls had bracketed Louise and were clinging tightly to each of her arms. The whiteness of Bec's knuckles as she held onto Louise exposed the calmness of her face as a lie. I realised Louise was watching me and not the vet. Her eyes were soft and full of compassion. We both knew what was coming and with our eyes we made promises to each other. First we would stay strong for the children and then later we could console each other. Dan was answering a series of questions from the vet in a quiet firm voice. Apparently the vet had been asking me and I hadn't noticed so Dan had smoothly taken over. I paid more attention and stood ready to support Dan in case he met a question he didn't know the answer to. I was proud to listen to him having an adult conversation with the vet about our dog. Eventually the time came when the vet was signalling me with her head that she needed to say something privately to me. I used my eyes to ask Louise for support. She had the girls stand with Percival and stroke him while Louise came with me to speak to the vet. Dan stayed by my side, determined to include himself in the discussion. I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed. The vet saw me approve Dan's presence and gave a tiny shrug then launched into her explanation. Things didn't look good for Percival. His age was catching up with him all at once. There were a couple of suspicious lumps in his stomach which could be tumours and several of his organs were starting to shut down. He was in a fair amount of pain and unlikely to last much beyond the weekend. He was too ill to operate on — he wouldn't survive the surgery. She could give him something for the pain but wouldn't be able to block the pain completely without putting him into a coma. Or there was the other option. I found myself unable to speak and it was up to Louise to say the words. The vet nodded and started to prepare while we explained to the girls what was about to happen. I have had some terrible moments in my life. Explaining the situation to the girls was not the worst of them but it certainly ranks up there. Louise and I got each other through that, taking turns to lay everything out for them. I think they understood why it had to happen, but Tara still howled and Bec wept silent tears. It was heartbreaking. I even saw Dan quickly brush his face a couple of times when he thought nobody was looking. Then it was over. We went back home and buried Percival in the back yard. There were more tears. We turned his grave into a little garden bed and planted daffodils and forget-me-nots and nasturtiums and even some bluebells to attract the fairies. A teary Bec whispered to me, "Is Percival in heaven now, with all the angels?" "Yes, honey, I'm sure he is. In fact, Grandma Stone really loved Percival, so I expect she'll be looking after him — making sure he gets to meet the very best angels." I got a watery smile and a hug for that. Does that make me a hypocrite? It was only the other day that I made that speech about not believing in heaven. Or does this count as one of those little white lies for which one is forgiven? Bec isn't likely to have forgotten what I told her two nights ago. But she asked me anyway. And I dutifully said the words that Bec wanted to hear. I phoned two schools and two workplaces to let them know we wouldn't be in today. We had a quiet breakfast with long periods of silence interspersed with short anecdotes —"Remember when Percival..." Dan disappeared into his room straight after breakfast. Louise ran a bath for the girls and that left the two of us to sit in the kitchen nursing cups of tea. I must admit to feeling hollow and numb. It all happened so suddenly. Thinking back over the last few days, there had been signs that Percival's health had been failing. The poor fellow had no way of telling us he was feeling poorly so he'd just had to suffer until things became severe enough that it was obvious. I felt bad about not noticing there was a problem earlier. Dan came thumping down the stairs in his school uniform and muttered about not wanting to sit around moping all day. I wrote him a note for being late and moments later he was pedalling off down the street. The girls came down after their bath in clean clothes and smelling sweet and fresh with just a hint of the scent of roses from their bath-soap. Each of us was presented with a hair brush and a head of hair that needed brushing. I have become quite adept at brushing and arranging hair over the years. I'm quite proud that I'm not the stereotypical clumsy buffoon of a father when it comes to brushing and arranging hair. It helps that I grew up with a sister and often we had to rely on each other for such little niceties. I can even do pigtails nearly as neatly as Louise. The only reason I can't do them perfectly is that my hands are too big. That's what I keep telling the girls, anyway. There were no pigtails today. A quick brush and then the whole lot tied back with a ribbon was the order of the day. When that was done, Tara wriggled herself onto Louise's lap while Bec stayed standing and leaned against Louise's side. After a short silence Tara asked where Dan was. I told the girls that he had gone to school but they didn't have to. They looked at each other for a moment and then silently headed upstairs. Sometimes I swear those two are telepathic. They came back down in their school uniforms and with their school bags on their backs. Somehow, I had it in my head that we would spend a quiet day at home as a family. With first Dan and then the girls voting with their feet, I quickly surrendered when Louise suggested I drop the girls at Eldon Street and then head in to work myself. My business-partner, George, would probably appreciate my presence — even for half a day. At the school, I signed the book in the office for them to turn up late and then I escorted them both to their classes. I am a big man. My size features in just about every part of my life to a greater or lesser extent. Walking through that primary school — especially the infant school section where Bec has her class — makes me feel like a giant. The tiny little chairs and low tables and rows of coat hooks at the height of my hip are bad enough but the pieces of children's artwork attached to the ceiling and dangling down to below my shoulders make me feel like Gulliver having stumbled into Lilliput. I held one tiny hand in each of my massive paws as I shambled down the corridor, ducking and swaying my head at just about every step to dodge the hanging obstacles. Tara's teacher is a little old lady, barely taller than the children she teaches. I'm quite sure she has been in the school since it was built more than a hundred years ago. Mrs Kent rules the kids with a velvet glove concealing an iron fist. All the parents admire her but the kids sometimes complain. We found the room humming with industry as the kids in her class bustled about doing a variety of tasks. Tara ducked into the room and joined a small clot of children around a computer. They greeted her cheerfully and then quickly turned their attention back to the computer screen. I bent down to whisper in Mrs Kent's ear about Percival and how Tara might be a bit down. She winked at me and promised to keep an eye out. A couple of minutes later I was repeating the story to Bec's teacher. Miss Wendall ('please call me Susan') seems to me to be barely more than a child herself. She has so much energy and enthusiasm that it's almost nauseating. She's cheerful and committed to teaching her little charges so I suppose that makes her a good teacher. Her class were seated on the floor in a little arc in front of a local secondary student who was reading them a story. Susan explained to me the older student was here as part of a community action project. That meant Susan could take a few minutes to talk to me. I gently pushed Bec towards the group of her classmates. Bec sidled up behind them and sat cross-legged on the floor at the back of the group where none of the other children would notice her. She sat there with a straight back and her hands neatly folded in her lap and listened to the story for all of two seconds before deciding that she already knew it. After that she lost interest and spent her time glancing between the secondary student and the two of us standing in the doorway. I told Susan a few more details about Percival and explained that Bec would probably be even more quiet than usual as a result. That got a rueful grin from Susan. "More quiet than normal? I haven't managed to get her to say a single word in front of the class. She just clams up completely. I know she's bright though. I've managed to get her talking to me privately a few times. It's usually a conversation in whispers though." "She really likes you. We hear a little bit about the things she's done in class and she's always very happy when she comes home from school. I don't know if I should encourage you to keep trying to get her to speak up or ask you not to push her too hard. I suspect she'll talk in front of the class when she's ready and not before." "She's started reading to me every so often, provided none of the other children are listening. Once she starts reading, she doesn't seem to mind if other children are nearby." "That's good. Make sure you keep giving her different things to read. If she gets too familiar with a book, she's perfectly capable of just looking at the pictures and reciting the words that go with each picture without even looking at the writing. We've caught her doing that a few times." "Will do. Well, I better get back in there. Thanks for the chat. Don't forget about the museum excursion coming up a fortnight from tomorrow. Maybe either you or Louise could come along and help me keep the little terrors under control?" "Maybe." I waved goodbye to Bec and she did a little finger wave back to me. I didn't achieve much in the office so I started loading the truck. I had some deliveries to make after lunch. I was nearly finished loading the truck when I got a phone call. "Hello. May I speak to Peter Stone?" "Speaking." "This is Eileen from Eldon Primary School. I wonder if you'd be able to come and collect your daughter." "What's Tara done now?" "Er, it's not Tara this time. It's Rebecca. Apparently she got upset about something and has crawled under a table. Miss Wendall says she's not responding to anything." "I understand." I trailed off as I tried to think through how to manage this. Eileen took my silence as some sort of accusation. "I'm sorry to bother you at work like this. I tried to call your wife but she's not answering either of the phone numbers I have for her." "That's okay. Listen, it's going to take me about twenty minutes or so to get to you. Could you arrange for Tara — she's in Mrs Kent's class — to sit with Bec until I get there? Tara might be able to get her out from under the table. Otherwise she can just sit with her under the table and keep her company." I finished loading the truck and drove it over to Eldon Street. Inside, I checked with Eileen in the office and then headed for Bec's classroom. This time my appearance at the door caused immediate silence. A roomful of eyes stared at me and then, almost in unison, all those eyes turned to look at a table in the back of the room. Finally they all shifted back to me like some well choreographed eyeball ballet. One of those pairs of eyes stood up from a little group around a low table and turned into Miss ('call me Susan') Wendall. She clapped her hands and told the class to gather their book bags so they could go to the library. The orderly room dissolved into chaos as little children ran everywhere. In an amazingly short amount of time a kind of order re-emerged from the chaos as pairs of children lined up next to me at the door. They stood there, holding hands with their partners, and stared up at me with big eyes. Susan gave them some quick instructions, told them the library teacher was waiting for them and soon a double line of blue jumpers with little legs attached was snaking its way down the hallway. Susan stood in the doorway so that she could talk to me and watch them at the same time. "Bec was sitting on her own, doing some drawing. I noticed three of the girls standing around her. I didn't see what happened, but suddenly all three of the girls ran out of the room crying and Bec was back to her drawing. I asked Bec what she had done to the girls and she just shrugged. I asked again a bit more sternly but Bec just burst into tears and crawled under the nature table." "Are the other girls okay?" "Sure. But they won't tell me what Bec did. Now I'd better catch up with the rabble before they scatter themselves all over the school." Susan trotted off down the hallway and I made my way to the back of the classroom. The table I was headed for was scattered with a variety of rocks and minerals. A quick glance revealed a lump of chalk, some petrified wood and even some slate amongst the various types of rock. More importantly, a second glance revealed a pair of shoes and stockinged legs poking out from under the table. It seemed like a long way down before I could peer under the table. It was one of those low tables designed for the infant classes. That meant there wasn't a lot of room under it, not even for a pair of little girls like Tara and Bec. The shoes turned out to belong to Tara. She didn't look very happy about being there. She gave me a disgusted look and poked her sister in the ribs. "Now look who's turned up." Bec was sitting in an upright ball with her knees up against her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. She raised her head slightly and peered at me then put her head back down. Tara snorted and crawled out from under the table. "Dad! Next time that wacky sister of mine goes all weird, don't call me. This was just embarrassing." I scowled at her. "Bec isn't wacky, she's just upset — and she deals with being upset differently to you." Tara rolled her eyes at me as if I'd just demonstrated the height of my stupidity and then leaned over and breathed into my ear. "I know that. She's nearly ready to come out. I better scoot before she crawls out of there and tries to hit me," she whispered. Tara gave me another disgusted look and stalked off, making tracks back to her own classroom. I shook my head after Tara and then I grinned to myself. It never takes long before one or the other of my girls makes me feel stupid. I looked back at the little ball of misery under the table and decided that maybe Tara's approach had some merit. I stretched my arm under the table and poked a shoulder. "Are you going to come out of there on your own, or do I have to drag you out?" A pair of eyes peeked at me as if to decide if I was bluffing or not and then closed again. I sighed and snagged an ankle with my hand. A smooth pull and she came sliding cleanly out from under the table. That same pair of eyes stared at me in surprise. "Now are you going to stand up and walk under your own steam, or do I have to drag you by the ankle all the way out of the classroom?" Again I was carefully scrutinised by a pair of eyes. This time apparently she believed my threat because she unwound and stood with all the flexibility of youth. Apparently the indignity of being dragged on her back across the floor was enough to overcome her desire to curl up into a ball. I sat back on my heels and looked directly at Bec, making sure no sign of my internal triumph appeared on my face. Apparently I could still bluff my daughter when I needed to. What followed was a game of twenty questions as I tried to find out what had happened. The only feedback I was getting from Bec was nods, shakes and shrugs so it took quite a few questions. Bec did show me the picture she'd been drawing. It looked like a typical child drawing but there was a black creature in the middle with four legs so it didn't take Einstein to work out that it was meant to be Percival. Louise tells me Bec's drawings are fairly good for a six year old. There was an open night at the school and Louise stood me in front of a display board covered with art the children had drawn. I don't have the eye for art that Louise has, but even I could see what she was saying. Bec's drawings were recognisable as drawings of something. Some of those other drawings were just a mess of scribbled lines. As far as I could tell from my game of twenty questions, Bec was letting me know that the girls had been saying nasty things about both Percival and her drawing. Bec denied hitting them or anything like that so I suspected that she must have said something that upset them. Naturally she wasn't telling me what she had said. I dragged myself to my feet and took Bec's hand in mine. Together we left the room and the school in silence. I lifted Bec up into the truck and made her buckle up the seatbelt before ducking around to the driver's side and climbing in myself. I told her I had to go make some deliveries so she could either come with me or I could drop her off with her Aunty Ally and Sam. I didn't know where Louise was, probably visiting some office on a job, and both Penny and Nana would be at work. By virtue of some shrugs and a nod, Bec let me know she'd rather stay with me. I have to admit, I didn't mind the company — even if she was completely silent. The first delivery was down to Bolton, near the outskirts of Manchester, so it was a bit of a drive. Fortunately I could follow the A58 to get there which is far less busy at this time of day than the M62. Having a set of ears in the truck made it tempting to make small-talk, but Bec's silence was infectious so I ended up saying nothing. We're all used to Bec's habit of shutting down when she gets upset. I'm getting better at deciding how upset Bec is by spotting how much she closes out. Sitting in the truck today, I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she ran her fingertips along different surfaces within her reach — the hem of her skirt, the stockings covering her knees, the fabric of the seat in the truck and so on. It was actually a good sign. She might not have felt like talking but she was paying a lot of attention to the sensations in her fingers. That usually means that with some gentle cajoling, Bec can be encouraged to do most things — provided they don't involve a lot of talking. I asked Bec if she would help me set up the generator and demonstrate it for the customer and gained a nod in reply. I made the delivery and took the customers (a husband and wife team) through my short 'operations and safety' talk. With Bec there, I made "Even a child could do it" into a reality and had Bec go through each step as I described it. Naturally I watched pretty carefully. Even though a child can operate one of our generators doesn't mean they should. Bec wasn't exactly a cheerful assistant but she didn't complain and I have to say she did look cute in her blue jumper and grey school skirt as she carefully followed my instructions exactly — setting up the unit and plugging it in. I think she impressed the customers and she certainly had their attention more fully than I would have gained on my own. At the end of the short session, the wife offered Bec a biscuit out of a jar on the workbench. Bec took one and politely said "thankyou" in a quiet but audible voice. I think it was the first thing she'd said all day — except for whatever she'd said to those girls who were teasing her in class. The second delivery was on the road to Liverpool. It didn't take us too long to get there. I unloaded the unit from the truck and wheeled it onto the concrete outside the small warehouse. Bec trailed after me with some flex and other bits and pieces. A half-dozen people collected around us and I introduced myself and Bec. They cheerfully shook hands with both of us and chatted away in a very friendly way. They treated Bec like just one of the group and I think that had an effect on her. Bec's contribution was limited to a couple of monosyllabic answers but she seemed more relaxed than she had all day. I started to launch into my "Even a child could do it" spiel about safe management and operation of the unit. About a sentence in, a gust of wind blew some grit straight down my throat. I stopped for a series of coughs. To my surprise Bec smoothly picked up my speech and repeated almost word-for-word everything I'd said at the previous site, as well as doing the actions that went with the instructions. Sure, her voice was quiet, but it was clear and precise and absolutely correct. She didn't stumble over a single word. I was pretty impressed. My only contribution after that was to answer a question about operating the unit outside during different weather conditions. I did end up by suggesting that even though Bec was quite clearly able to operate the generator, children should normally be kept well away from it. Afterwards, in the truck, I watched as Bec calmly wiped her hands clean on a bit of rag. "Now why can't you talk like that in front of your class at school?" She just shrugged and looked thoughtful for a moment. "They look at me funny. They all think I'm weird. They're all waiting for me to say something stupid so they can laugh at me. These people were nice. Besides, they were looking at the generator, not at me. Also I wasn't looking at them, I was thinking about what I was doing. You said how dangerous it was and I was making sure I did it exactly right. I was kind of pretending to be you." I shook my head. I have no idea how Bec got that impression about the other children in her class. I suppose it could be true. I wasn't going to point out that the people in the warehouse had spent more time looking at Bec than at the generator. I don't mean in a bad way. They'd seemed amused by having this little nipper telling them how to work their new piece of machinery. "So is this what you do all day? Deliver generators and teach people how to use them?" "Most days I'm in the workshop, helping build them or trying to design improvements. We have a salesman who normally does this, but his wife just had a baby so George and I are taking turns to do the deliveries. Today George is off trying to drum up new customers." "Oh! Okay. How many more places do we have to go to today?" "Just one more. It's up towards Blackpool. We better get a move on or we'll get caught up in rush hour on the way back home." Bec was a little more talkative during this drive and I was happy to let her chatter about whatever came into her head. My biggest contribution to the conversation was an explanation of what it means to be an electrical engineer. Explaining that can be tricky enough when talking to adults but I think I managed a complete enough explanation in words she could understand. The third customer was a tall thin man with a straggly beard and long greasy hair. He was less than pleasant to me and ignored Bec completely. Bec picked up on his attitude quickly and stood near me throughout our visit — making no effort to help me and saying nothing. I could hardly blame her for that. I ran through my talk quickly and got us out of there. I swapped the truck for my car at the workshop and we made it home at a reasonable hour. The house was bustling with people. Apparently Louise had been busy and invited her mother as well as Penny and her little family for an unplanned dinner. I suppose it was Louise's idea of an impromptu wake. It was good to see Sam toddling around with so much energy. The little tyke seems to get bigger and stronger every time I see him. Penny and Ally both seem to be thriving in motherhood. Bridget appears to have appointed herself as Nana of Sam as well as those she is the legitimate grandmother of. Since we're lacking any other candidate, I think everyone is exceedingly happy with the arrangement. There were more tears amongst my girls. Having two aunts and a grandmother for the girls to hang on to, in addition to Louise and Dan, made things easier. I have to admit that Louise was spot on to invite everyone around. By the time the girls were ready for bed, they were subdued but no longer crying. At one stage during the evening, I cornered Dan and checked that he was doing okay. After all, Percival had been a part of the family for most of his life. He said he was feeling a bit numb about it. We had a good chat. He wasn't showing much but it had obviously upset him. I think he's doing okay. Later in the evening, when the kids were all in bed, Penny dragged me into the hallway to talk. She pinned me against a wall and stared up into my eyes. "Peter, have you had time for yourself yet today? How are you managing?" "I'm okay. It's sad, but I'll be okay." "I'm not just talking about Percival. I know you. You will do anything and everything you possibly can to protect someone you care about. I'd know that better than anyone. This morning your family were in so much pain — Tara, Bec, Louise, even Dan. And there was nothing you could do to protect them from that. And then there was Percival. For you to be that helpless, it must have ripped your heart out. Yes?" Writing out what she said probably makes her sound cold, and I suppose she was being a bit cold, but it had the effect that she wanted. As soon as she saw that she'd got through to me, she put her arms around me and held me. I have to admit that Penny was spot on. It had been heart wrenching to see my family so upset and not be able to do anything. I think spending the afternoon with Bec and seeing her recover almost before my eyes had helped me. It reminded me that people — especially kids — can be remarkably resilient. It seems that once more I had to learn that sometimes people don't need protecting. Knowing that small fact never seems to stop me from trying though — or from getting cut up when I can't. Later, after the others had gone home, Louise asked me if Penny had talked to me. I said yes. She said, "Good! That's the reason I invited her over." I love Louise and I love Penny. They both played me this evening. I'm not complaining. I'm not unhappy about it. It's just a fact of my life that the women who make up my world are willing and able to manipulate me when they want to. I accept it. To say I'm resigned might give the wrong impression. It's more the case that I willingly surrender control of my life and control of my emotions into the hands of the women that I love. I shall miss Percival. He was a good companion and a good friend. While I've been writing this, Louise has come into the room and has been preparing for bed. If you will excuse me, I'm going to bring this entry to a close, so that I can go to bed with my wife. Bec I closed the notebook and slid it under my pillow. Then I lay back and stared at the ceiling. I remembered how my heart had felt like it was breaking when Percival died. Mom had held me and promised me that the pain would go away. She had been right. But she didn't warn me that the pain would come back from time to time. Like when I read things that reminded me about it. There was a knock on the door. I called out and Dad opened the door and came in. "We all have a big day tomorrow. It would be a good idea to get to bed and get some sleep. Mom's gone to bed already." He broke off what he was saying and looked at me more closely. "Why are you crying?" He sat down on the edge of my bed and pushed the hair off my face. "Don't worry about Angie. She's going to be fine. They gave her a pill to help her sleep tonight. That's the only reason she looked so groggy." I was shaking my head. "I was thinking about Percival," I whispered. "Percival?" Dad's eyebrows shot up as he tried to cope with the sudden change of direction — well it was sudden from his point of view, anyway. Dad reached out and folded one of my hands into his. "Percival was an outstanding dog. Do you realize that he stopped us panicking about you any number of times?" I looked up at Dad, wanting him to explain that comment. "We used to panic every time you got upset and disappeared. You'd crawl into a cupboard or under a table or wherever. We wouldn't have a clue where you'd got to. We'd just about pull the house apart trying to find you. Then one day, Dan said to Percival, 'Where's Bec? Find Bec.' Percival quietly trotted up to your room and lay down on the rug with his nose under your bed." I smiled to myself. Betrayed by my faithful friend. Is that the thing they call irony? "We decided that since we knew where you were, we might as well leave you there until you were ready to come out on your own. We sent Percival after you so often that he just attached himself to you permanently. That's why he ended up sleeping on your bed every night. After that, any time you disappeared, we'd look around for Percival. He'd be lying beside a wardrobe, or beside a table, or outside near that little tree in the backyard, and we'd relax." I smiled up at Dad. Maybe it wasn't really a betrayal. Percival had stayed with me and told my family that I was safe, so I guess that it was a good thing. Dad saw me smiling and smiled in response. I sat myself up and pulled Dad down so that I could kiss his cheek. He patted my hand with his and told me to get some sleep. Dad checked my window the way he always does and left me alone. A few minutes later, I was changed into pyjamas and the light was off. It was unusually early but that was okay. I'd had a long day and it was going to be an even longer day tomorrow. I lay in bed and thought about Dad. Reading his diary was really strange. I never realized that Dad has this constant turmoil going on inside of him. He hides it very effectively. It's frustrating that Dad kept on hinting about whatever happened to make him like that but never actually said what it was — not in the bit I've read so far anyway. Whatever it was that made Dad like that had obviously happened a long time ago. It probably involved Aunt Penny too, given the way that she is. Nana said that Aunt Penny was still really fragile at the wedding, so obviously something happened some time before Mom and Dad got married. Dad had written that he might be able to tell us about it when we were older. Well, we are older now so maybe he's ready. Somehow, I don't think he is. Dad is still as messed up now as he was when he wrote the diary. Asking him about it would probably be like running into a brick wall. It would be about as effective as asking about why we moved to America and changed our name. I'd find out nothing and Dad would get upset. I don't think the two things are connected either. The business with Dad and Aunt Penny must have happened more than twenty-two years ago. Whatever happened that made us move had happened about six months before we left England. I was quite sure of that. I lay on my back and stared up into the darkness. It was frustrating. I kept finding things out but nothing seemed to connect with anything else. My brain kept spinning around trying to piece together a jigsaw but it was as if the pieces were all from different puzzles. Nothing joined together. I sighed. My busy brain just kept spinning and spinning. There was no way I was going to sleep anytime soon with all those bits whirling around inside my head. And now there was some animal moving around in the bushes outside my window. I listened to the quiet rustling as it pushed its way through. It wasn't unusual to hear animals moving around in the dark — cats or dogs or birds or squirrels or whatever. Then the window rattled. My eyes popped wide open and I froze. No animal had ever tried to open my window before. ------- Chapter 8: Wednesday Evening November 24th I lay on my back and stared up into the darkness. My busy brain kept spinning and spinning. There was no way I was getting to sleep any time soon with so many thoughts whirling around inside my head. There was some animal moving around in the bushes outside my window. I listened to the quiet rustling as it pushed its way through. It wasn't unusual to hear animals moving around in the dark. It could be a cat or a dog or a bird or a squirrel or any number of things. Then the window rattled. My eyes popped wide-open and I froze. No animal had ever tried to open my window before. I held my body completely rigid. I wasn't even breathing. Every single part of me was focused on listening to the sounds at my window. The window rattled again. I wanted to scream. I clenched my jaw shut and fought against the temptation. It couldn't be any of my friends. None of them were the sort to come lurking around my house in the middle of the night. None of them were the sort to do this sort of thing as a prank. If there was some reason why they wanted to come around, they would have rung the doorbell. If it was someone I knew, and for some reason they wanted to sneak in to see me, they would have called out by now – or knocked on the window. The curtains were drawn. Whoever it was couldn't see in. Had I locked the window? I couldn't remember. Surely I must have. It's one of Dad's rules. Every night, every door and window has to be locked. I decided I must have locked it because the window would have been open by now if it weren't. I heard a low sound. I think it was a man's voice, muttering something. Inside my head, I whimpered in fear. My jaw was clenched shut to make sure that not even a squeak escaped my lips. The bushes stirred again. I heard the distinct crunch of a footstep in the scattering of leaves under the bushes. Then another step and a different bush moved as whoever it was made their way along the side of the house – away from my room and towards Tara's. A gasping, wheezing sound broke the silence. It took me ages to figure out what it was. The sound was me trying to breathe against the rigidly locked muscles of my throat. I don't think I'd actually taken a breath since the first rattle on my window. I forced myself to relax my throat and tried to silently gulp in air. I slid out of bed and crept towards my door. A lifetime of training made me pick up my bathrobe and wrap it around me as I walked past it. I eased my door open as quietly as I could and then I bolted down the hallway to The Parents' room. Inside their room, I hurried to Dad's side of the bed. I grabbed Dad's shoulder and shook it. "Dad! Wake up!" I whispered. I shook his shoulder again. Dad made a "Gah" sort of sound and launched himself about three feet into the air. He landed in a seated position on the bed with his arms out towards me. I wasn't sure if he was trying to fend me off or if he was getting ready to attack whoever it was that had just woken him. "Dad! It's me!" I hissed. "Tara? Bec? What is it? What's the matter?" "There's someone outside the house. He just tried to open my window. Now he's headed towards Tara's window." Dad bounded out of bed in a single leap. "Wake your mother," Dad muttered. "Stay with her. Meet us in the kitchen." Dad picked up a bathrobe as he ran past it. He flicked on the light as he ran out the door. Mom groaned and complained about the light – still half asleep. I jumped up onto the bed and shook her. "Mom! Get up! Quick!" Mom sat up suddenly. "What? Is it Angie?" I explained what was going on. Seconds later we were hurrying towards the kitchen – Mom tying on a robe as we ran. By the time we made it to the kitchen, it was clear Dad had been turning on lights as he ran through the house. Every single light in the house was blazing. We arrived in the kitchen to find Tara already leaning against the fridge as she tried to wake up. The fridge was complaining about being used as a leaning post, in addition to all its other duties. Tara wanted to know what was going on. Apparently Dad had literally dragged her out of bed and hauled her into the kitchen. Bringing Tara up to date took exactly two sentences. In even less time than that, Dad returned to the kitchen carrying a still-sleeping Angie in his arms. Dad had picked her up out of the bed, comforter and all. It trailed after him now like the train on a wedding gown. Tara hurried to pick up the end of the comforter and wrap it securely around Angie. Dad looked at me. "Are you sure there was someone there? Could this be your brain playing tricks on you?" Everyone looked at me. "I know you sometimes find it hard to tell the difference," he continued. For the first time, I stopped and thought about it. Dad was right. It was probably my stupid brain. Doubts started to swamp me. I had been all stressed about whatever went on back in England. I was getting more and more convinced that it involved a fair amount of danger for us – danger that could pursue us here. No wonder I was starting to hear things. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. Tara spoke up. "If Bec's imagining things and we take precautions, what's the worst that can happen? If we assume that it's just Bec being weird and we all relax, that's when everything goes really bad." Tara's simple logic was strangely reassuring. It didn't chase away my doubts – I still worried that I was scaring everyone over something that was all in my head. But she made me feel better about having woken everyone up. "I'm convinced," said Dad. Dad thrust Angie into Tara's arms. "All of you – go to the bathroom now. Lock yourselves in. Go!" Mom was looking strangely at Dad. "Do you think this is... ?" "It can't be. I don't see how it's possible. But let's not take any chances. Go!" Dad pointed towards the bathroom. Mom herded Tara in that direction and reached out one hand for me. I moved to go with them, but suddenly stopped. The brainy part of me had an idea and I liked it a lot so I went with her plan. "I'll be there in a moment," I called out. I sprinted back towards The Parents' room. I could hear Dad muttering a curse and running after me. I ran straight across the room and grabbed the shoe box from the floor of Dad's closet. I heaved it out of its place, spun around and placed it on the bed. "What are you doing? Get back to..." Dad had entered the room. He stopped talking as soon as he saw the box. I wrenched open the drawer of Dad's bedside table and plucked the key from its secret location. "How did you... ? Stop! Leave it alone," said Dad. I knocked the cardboard lid out of the way, revealing the metal box concealed inside. A single twist of the key and the metal box popped open. Using both hands, I reached in and dumped all the documents out onto the bed. The gun was now exposed. It lay there in the box with those two slidey bullet things next to it. Dad was looking between the gun and me. I pointed at the gun. "Take it, Dad." Dad didn't move, so I made my voice louder. "Why do you have the gun? It's to protect us with, right? This is why you got it in the first place, isn't it? So pick up the gun. Protect us." Dad was still hesitating. I changed the tone of my voice. I stood up straight and stared at Dad. Right now I needed to be more like Mom and less like little scaredypants Bec. I made myself become strong, powerful, commanding, and most of all – dangerous. "Dad, either you pick up the gun or I will." I reached for the gun. Inside my skull, scaredypants Bec whimpered in fear. I ignored her and focused on the gun. It lay there, gleaming in the light – calling to me. The world went still. Even the walls held their breath. My hands remembered the weight of it – the solid feel of it. My hands reached – yearning to feel that weight again. Picking up that gun would complete me – make me whole. I reached... Dad got there first and knocked my hands away. He scooped up the gun in one hand and a bullet thing in the other. In a single practised move, he slid the two parts together and snapped the bullet thing into place. The gun, which had seemed enormous in my hands, fitted Dad's hand perfectly. With his other hand, he did a smooth sliding move over the top part of the gun that made something go "shnick, clack" inside the gun. Then his thumb pushed the safety lever thing and it snapped into its other position – its not-safe position. I stood there, panting – trying to get used to the idea that I wasn't holding the gun. I was disappointed. I had really wanted to pick up that gun. Scaredypants Bec was relieved. Scaredypants Bec was also somehow triumphant – as if she'd just pulled off a successful move. I had no idea what that was about. With the loaded gun pointed at the ceiling, Dad glared at me. "Bathroom! Now! Go!" I scooped the spare bullet slidey-thing out of the box and dropped it into the pocket of Dad's robe. "You might need this. I'm going now." I started to run, but Dad grabbed me and held me behind him. He walked – fast – down the hallway with the gun pointed up. His head moved from side to side as he tried to look in every direction at once. I followed faithfully in his footsteps. When we got to the kitchen, I saw the knife block sitting there with all the knife handles pointing up. I called "wait" and hurried over to it. I pulled out one of the longer knives, one with an eight inch blade. Then I pulled out a second one. I showed them to Dad as we hurried down the hallway to the bathroom. "When you want us to come out of the bathroom, call before you open the door. Anyone else who comes through that door is going to get a nasty surprise." I said that with a kind of grim determination. Dad must have heard it in my voice because he didn't complain. He just looked at my face and nodded. I knocked on the bathroom door and called out to Mom. She opened the door straight away and pulled me inside. I heard Dad say, "I'm calling the police." Then Mom shut and locked the door. Tara had laid Angie down in the bath on a bed of towels. Now Tara was crouched in the bath over the top of her, arranging the comforter to keep Angie warm. Angie was fussing and whimpering at the disturbance but seemed to be mostly still out of it. I handed one of the knives to Mom. She took it from me and her face went from dangerous to completely scary. I was kind of glad she was on my side. "Get in the bath with your sister and crouch down," she hissed at me through clenched teeth. Then she turned and faced the door, holding the knife ready to slice and dice anyone who came through it. I looked at the knife in my hand. I wasn't going to be cowering in any bath. I placed myself behind Mom and to the side. "I'll be right here," I whispered to Mom. She ignored me and continued to stare at the door. I figured that if I could look even half as dangerous as Mom did right now, then I would do more good standing up and supporting Mom. "Where's my knife?" whispered Tara. I glanced over my shoulder at her. "You just keep Angie quiet and comfortable." Something that Tara saw made her sink down into the bath without complaining any further. "Besides," I said to myself as much as to Tara. "If they get past Dad and then Mom and then me, a knife won't do you much good, because they'd have to be using guns." I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and realized I didn't need to do anything more to look dangerous. I was already there. My reflection smiled a little half-smile at me that threatened mayhem. Little scaredypants Bec might have wanted to hide away but that was the old Bec. That was all in the past. I didn't need her anymore. I shoved the scaredypants to the back of my skull where she wouldn't get in the way. I stood there, strong and dangerous and ready, with the knife held firmly in my hand. I stared at the door, stared hard enough to burn a hole in it, almost willing someone to come through it and get what was coming to him. And I waited ... and I waited. In the back of my head, scaredypants Bec was trying to picture what would happen when the intruder came through that door. She was finding it hard to think clearly. I don't know why. I wasn't paying much attention. I was watching the door. She was convinced that whoever it was would have a gun. She ran little plays inside my skull with different mini-Becs playing the different people – Mom, me, Tara, the gunman. It was annoying. I wanted to be perfectly ready to jump on the intruder. She kept on distracting me with all this pointless thinking. Then I noticed that the thinking did have a point. In every little play that she acted out, the door burst open and either Mom or me ended up being shot before we could get close enough to use our knives. I moved the little version of me up to beside Mom and ran the play again but that made things worse – together we made one big target that was obvious and easy to shoot at. We couldn't stand closer because the door swinging open would whack us. We couldn't stand right against the door because then he could just shoot through the door and be sure of hitting us. Now I paid more attention to thinking about what was going to happen. I watched more carefully as scaredypants Bec ran through different plays in my head. Each time I started us in different places. I tried with one intruder and then with two. It took quite a few goes, but eventually I worked out a plan that had a chance of working. The whole thing took way longer to describe than to actually do. The thinking part went really quickly. I pushed Mom gently and then again more firmly. "It's no good standing here," I whispered. "I've got a better idea." I steered Mom over into the corner and got her to put her back flat against the wall. She was just back from where the door would swing if it got shoved open. She was in among the hanging towels. Hopefully, the man wouldn't see her straight away. Hopefully, in his first glance into the room, he would mistake her for just another hanging towel. I grabbed the two spare bathrobes off the hooks on the back of the door and went to Tara. "Lie flat and cuddle Angie. Stay right down." She did what I told her without even hesitating. Maybe she was worried that I might use the knife on her – I don't know. I draped one of the bathrobes over the top of my two sisters. I don't know if that hid them any better but lying flat meant Tara couldn't be seen from the doorway anymore. That was a good thing. I guess that, if nothing else, the extra robe would help keep Tara warm. I hung the second robe off the shower-rose inside the shower. I fluffed it out a bit and stepped back. It could be seen through the frosting on the shower door, hovering like a ghost. It looked very much like there was a person hiding in there. That was my plan, anyway. I hoped the intruder would see that first and shoot towards the shower. That would give Mom and me the chance to get him. Finally, I crouched down and crawled under the counter next to the basin. Now I was hidden from anyone coming through the door. That made scaredypants Bec happy. It also put his legs within two feet of me. A quick lunge and my knife would go straight into him. That made me happy. I coiled myself up like a spring and waited – ready to pounce. Having learnt the value of acting things out in my head, I let a miniature version of me loose inside my skull to act out the exact moves I would do when someone came through the door – push forward with my legs, take my weight on my left hand, lunge forward and then up with my right hand, pull back and lunge again. I even acted it out for real a couple of times – except I did it kind of slower. I waited. I stared at the door and waited. It was like I was in a dark tunnel – looking out of the end at a spot of light. The door in front of me became that spot of light – it was the only thing I could see. I waited – poised, ready to pounce. I waited, and I waited. The muscles in my hand started to cramp from gripping the knife for so long. The muscles in my legs started to cramp from being tensed up for so long. The cramps started as a low buzzing in my hand and my legs that was easy to ignore. Then they got worse and worse until my muscles were burning – screaming at me for relief. That was harder to ignore. I tried to ignore it anyway. Despite all my supposed readiness, a bang on the door startled me. Despite my screaming muscles, I gathered myself for the coming fight. I felt every fibre of my body tense up and focus on the spot I was about to attack, the move I was about to make. This was it!! Then my brain registered that it was more of a knock than a bang. And the voice I was hearing was Dad calling quietly through the door to us. "The police are on their way. I've checked the whole house. All the windows and doors are still locked. There's nobody inside the house except us. I think we're okay but stay in there until the police arrive." I felt the tension drain out of my body. The breath I'd been holding sighed out past my lips. I felt tremors race through me as my brain slowly got used to the idea that I could relax – at least a bit. Slowly I twisted around until I was sitting on the floor underneath the counter. That meant that I could stretch my legs out across the tiles. I put the knife down on the floor next to me and massaged some life back into my thigh muscles. With the threat of danger mostly gone, the dangerous part of me sulked and withdrew into a dark corner in the back of my head. That withdrawal left a strange emptiness inside me. I'd been entirely ready for the fight of my life and now there was nothing. Slowly, feebly, my normal thoughts started up again. But they rattled around in that emptiness and felt lost and out of place. It had been really weird how that dangerous part of me had completely taken over. It had been hard for the rest of me to think clearly. I don't know why it happened like that. Usually I can put a bit of me in charge and the rest can sit in the back of my brain and watch what happens and think about things. Dangerous Bec had pretty much taken over my whole brain and squeezed the rest of me into a tiny little space without any room to do much more than worry about how scary it all was. I crawled out from under the counter and gingerly stood up. My leg muscles were still twitching from holding still for so long. I scooped up the knife from where it lay on the floor and set it on the counter near the door. Mom was still leaning against the wall among the hanging towels, but she had kind of collapsed a bit. The hand holding the knife was now down by her side and the knife hung loosely from her fingers. Mom's eyes were closed and she was drawing in uneven breaths. I walked over to the bath and sat on the edge. Tara looked up at me with scared eyes and a white face. Her arms were wrapped tightly around Angie. "Did you hear what Dad said?" I whispered. Her head gave the tiniest little shake. "He said there was nobody inside the house. He's checked all the doors and windows. Nobody came in. The police are on their way. They'll be here soon. We're to stay in here until the police come, just in case." Tears spilled from Tara's eyes. She turned her head and buried her face in the layer of towels that she and Angie were lying on. I reached down and stroked Tara on the back of her head and her shoulders. Angie was lying still and breathing regularly – she seemed to be fast asleep, completely unaware of what was going on around her. Tara's crying had turned into big heaving sobs. I guess she must have been really scared – having to lie there like that. I made soothing noises and kept stroking her hair and her back. Mom was suddenly beside me. I guess Tara's sobbing had summoned her. Mom peeled Tara's arms away from around Angie and helped her to stand and climb out of the bath. Then Tara was wrapped in Mom's arms and the two of them sank into a sitting position on the bathroom rug. I looked at the door and decided that maybe we had relaxed too much – given that the police hadn't arrived yet. There were now two knives sitting on the counter next to the basin so I picked one of them back up and took Mom's position in among the towels. I had my back against the wall and I was ready if I needed to be but I was kind of relaxed rather than all tensed up. I was hoping like mad that all the trouble was over because I really didn't want to hurt anyone with a knife. I would if I had to, but I was hoping I wouldn't have to. I was also hoping like mad that nothing bad happened because the other option was too scary for words. Mom was rocking Tara back and forth and making soothing sorts of noises. Soon Tara calmed down and was just sitting there and being held. Maybe it had been a mistake to make Tara stay in the bath where she couldn't do anything but lie there. Maybe it had been a mistake to not give her a knife. Having a knife would have meant she didn't feel so defenseless. Of course, the whole thing was probably a mistake. The more time that went past without anything happening, the more and more likely it was that there had never been anyone trying to get into the house in the first place. Dad had been totally right when he asked if I might have been imagining it. I can't believe my own brain anymore – it flat out lies to me. Maybe I had heard sounds outside my window. It must have been an animal and my brain just got scared and exaggerated things. Maybe it had been a cat or something that jumped up onto my windowsill and leaned against the window. Or maybe I had been asleep and dreamt about someone trying to break in through the window. I didn't think I was dreaming right now – it didn't feel like a dream. I looked down at the knife as it dangled from my hand. Everything looked sharp and clear, not fuzzy like things sometimes are in dreams. I put the blade of the knife flat against the skin of my other arm and pressed very slightly. I could feel the coldness of the blade against my arm. I lifted the blade away and watched as the dent in my skin faded away. I don't think that sort of stuff happens in dreams. I could hear soft murmuring as Mom and Tara talked to each other. I couldn't hear what they were saying. I guess they were probably talking about how I'd woken up the whole family and scared everyone for no reason. I couldn't blame them if they were. This will be the story of my life. My brain is always going to play tricks on me. Every time I start believing things that aren't true, I make things difficult for everyone around me. I can't fix my brain. The weird stuff is built in. It isn't like I have a tumor or something that they can cut out. About the only way to solve the problem would be to dig the entire brain right out of my skull and throw it away. I looked down at the knife as it dangled from my hand. I wondered where the police were. Dad had called them ages ago and they still hadn't turned up. Maybe it was a good thing they were taking so long to get here. They would probably be angry with me for wasting their time. Not only had I scared my family but I had gotten the police involved as well. I hated that I had put everyone through all of this. This stuff is going to keep happening all my life. There's no way out. I don't suppose I'll ever be able to live on my own. I'm always going to be a burden on somebody. Unless I check into an asylum and let them protect me from myself. Maybe I should try the pills that Doctor K, the neurologist, wanted me to take. If I'm anything like Mom, they'll make me all fuzzy and useless – but at least I wouldn't be acting crazy all the time. I looked down at the knife as it dangled from my hand. Speaking of being fuzzy and useless – that's how I was feeling right now. My entire body was fuzzy. I could feel little trembles everywhere. If I were a TV, all you would see would be static with a vaguely Bec-shaped outline. I looked down at the knife as it dangled from my hand. It seemed to be vibrating as the trembling shook my hand. I thought that maybe I should put the knife down before I cut myself. A little voice muttered in the back of my skull. That little part of me that always looked for a way to escape was thinking that maybe cutting myself wasn't such a bad idea. I squashed that thought away in a hurry. I had made serious promises to Dan about that and I didn't intend to break those promises. My other hand was suddenly grasped and lifted. My eyes sought out the hands holding mine and then tracked up the arms, past a pair of shoulders to a neck and then a chin, a mouth, a nose and a pair of eyes. Tara was standing in front of me. She seemed to be talking but I couldn't make out what she was saying. All I could hear was a sort of buzzing sound. Maybe my brain had spun around so much that all the connections to my different senses were jumbled up. I sniffed carefully in case I could smell what she was saying. I could smell white and blue and a little bit of green. That didn't seem right. Tara seemed happier now than she was before. Her little smile seemed to leave a sweet sensation on the roof of my mouth. I tasted it a couple of times and licked my lips. I shook my head and things rattled around inside there. I still couldn't hear what Tara was saying but maybe everything else went back to its proper place. I couldn't smell colors anymore, just pine-fresh bathroom air freshener. Mom appeared over Tara's shoulder. She had scooped Angie up out of the bath and had her slung over one shoulder. Angie appeared to be fast asleep, her cast-wrapped arm draped across Mom's chest. Mom and Tara turned to face the door. It was like watching one of those old-fashioned silent movies. The fuzz in my brain even made the film all old and speckled. All that was missing was a sound track with a racing piano. Mom reached out and opened the door. My brain added a dramatic chord. Dad stood there with a big smile on his face. He stepped into the bathroom and wrapped up Mom and Angie in a big hug. Tara stepped in and included herself in the hug. I stayed where I was, leaning against the wall. I didn't belong over there. I was watching this movie, not acting in it. Dad led Mom out of the bathroom by her hand. Tara turned and reached for me. She gripped me by the elbow and pulled me towards the door. I wandered down the hallway after Mom and Dad with the notes of a piano dancing in my head. I walked into the kitchen and the piano in my head jarred to a stop. There was a police officer standing in our kitchen. He was not a big man – I mean he was big enough, but just not big by the standards of my family. But his well-worn uniform and the loaded belt around his waist made it seem as if he occupied a lot of space in our little kitchen. My mind flashed to various police shows on TV where the police always made the civilians put their guns down on the ground, even if they were the good guys. I looked at Dad and saw that his gun had already disappeared. I wondered if Dad had put the gun away before he let the officer into the house, or if the officer had made him put it on the ground. My mind pictured the officer pointing and gesturing with one hand, while his other hand rested on the gun at his hip. The officer pointed and gestured again as if Dad hadn't understood him the first time. He seemed to be saying something too, but I was still only hearing static. I thought that maybe this was one of those foreign films and started looking for the subtitles at the bottom of the picture. The officer pointed and gestured again - except that he was pointing at me instead of Dad – that was confusing. The officer seemed to be getting frustrated and I was just getting more and more confused. I didn't have a gun – why was he making a fuss about me? Maybe he really was angry at me for wasting his time. He spoke to me again and pointed down at my hands. It was very strange because I was positive that I didn't have a gun. I looked down anyway, just in case I was wrong. I didn't have a gun, but I did have a knife. I'd forgotten all about it. I stared down at the knife stupidly. So that's what the officer was upset about. A hand reached into my vision. I didn't resist so Tara was able to effortlessly pluck the knife from my grasp. I watched as she calmly walked over and slid the knife into its place in the knife block. She turned and gave me a little shrug and then looked across at the police officer. I looked too and saw that now he was more relaxed. I think that Dad had been moving towards me to help with the knife but Tara had got to me first. I say that because Dad was suddenly standing beside me instead of on the other side of the room. I didn't see him move so that must have been when he did it – unless he did one of those Star Trek teleport things and zapped himself across the room. There was some conversation between Dad and the officer. Mom turned and carried Angie out of the kitchen and towards Angie's room. Dad was talking to me, but there were still no subtitles so I have no idea what he was saying. Dad grabbed me by the shoulders and gently turned me around. I let him steer me out of the kitchen and through the laundry to the back door. The officer was there too. He opened the door and walked down the steps into our back yard. Dad pushed me into the doorway and I felt Tara standing beside me. We watched as the officer took the big flashlight off his belt and shone it around. There was a lot of dew sitting on the grass and several strings of footprints showed up clearly in the light. The officer used his flashlight to point out two strings of footprints walking towards the house. One person had obviously hung back while the other disappeared into the bushes near my window. Then the one who had been at my window emerged from near Tara's window and went straight as an arrow away from the house to the back of the yard and away over our back fence. The individual footprints were a long way apart, so he must have been running away from the house. The other person had obviously turned and run in the same direction. I felt a laugh bubble up inside me as I imagined the two intruders running away as soon as Dad started turning the lights on. Or maybe they had run when they saw Dad walking around with a gun. Either way, the image in my head of them running liked scared rabbits was funny. Also the footprints were evidence that I hadn't imagined the noises at my window. My worries about upsetting people for nothing now seemed funny too. The officer suddenly spoke into his radio and called out to Dad. They waved at each other and the officer trotted around the side of the house and out of sight. I could see the footprints of the officer from where he had obviously walked around and investigated before he came inside. By comparing his footprints to the others, I could see that both of the intruders had full-sized feet – maybe fractionally smaller than those of the officer, but still they were the feet of adults. That realization swept away the little giggles that had been running around inside me. Someone – two someones – had tried to break into my bedroom. That was truly scary. My first instinct was to run back into the house and hide. I took half a step backwards and ran straight into Dad. I've run into walls less solid than Dad. I pushed anyway. Dad stepped out of the way and let me through. I hurried back to the kitchen and ran right into Dan. I barely had time to register the worried expression on his face before I thumped into him. The impact knocked me back and I clutched at him to stop myself from falling. I ended up gripping onto the outside of his elbows. Dan's fast reflexes had allowed him to reach out and grab my robe at the same instant as I ran into him. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around Dan's waist. I held on tight and listened to the rumble of Dan's voice as he asked what was going on. There was an answering rumble from Dad somewhere behind me. I could tell what Dad was saying from the way Dan tensed up and then relaxed and then tensed up and then relaxed again. I felt a flash of anger go through me as it occurred to me that Dan should have been home hours ago. We would have all felt a lot safer if Dan had been home to support Dad. Instead he had been off doing who knows what with that bimbo from the restaurant despite everything I'd said to him about coming home by midnight. I pushed away from Dan and glanced at the clock so that I could find out exactly how late Dan was. I stopped and turned to stare at the clock in disbelief. It was showing five minutes after midnight. That couldn't be right. I searched back into my brain for my memory of the first time I'd come into the kitchen with Mom. Tara had been leaning against the fridge and there was the clock above her shoulder. It was showing 11:30. That meant the entire time I'd been in the bathroom – which had seemed like hours and hours – had only been fifteen minutes, maybe twenty minutes at the most. That was unbelievable. That was the point when everything got too much for me. I turned and ran. ------- "Knock, knock! Anybody home?" It was Tara's voice penetrating the darkness. There was a creak and the darkness became less total as the closet door was pulled open. "Have you got room in there for a visitor? I'm thinking that hiding in the closet is suddenly making a whole lot more sense than it used to." I listened to the random sounds as Tara shoveled my shoes out of the way and crawled in beside me. I pulled my feet out of her way by tucking my knees up even more tightly into my chest. "It was really weird, you know? I couldn't stand being alone in my own room. Every little noise outside the window made me jump out of my skin." Tara had either brought her comforter into the room with her or dragged mine off my bed. I couldn't tell in the dark. I felt her arranging it over the two of us so I helped out a bit. The two of us managed surprising well, given that we were doing it completely by feel. "I went looking for Dan, but he's still in with The Parents, talking things out. They chased me back to bed. I figured maybe I could crawl into bed with you and we could keep each other company." I was feeling a bit vulnerable with the closet door hanging open, so I reached out and snagged the inside frame so that I could pull it shut again. That made the darkness reassuringly total once more. "When you weren't in your bed I nearly panicked, but then I thought of checking in here for you." I parted my legs and pulled Tara into the space between them. As I did so, I turned her so that her back was against my front. Now I could wrap my arms around both her and the comforter. I squeezed her firmly against me and laid my cheek on the top of her head. "This is nice. I'm sorry for invading your closet, but I..." Tara's nervous chatter cut off because I had moved my hand up and wrapped it over her mouth. I waited a moment and then dropped my hand away from her mouth. There was a brief silence – I wondered how long it would last. I didn't have to wait for long. "Sorry," whispered Tara. "I'll be quiet now." I felt her nestle back into me and relax. ------- Tara's soft snoring cut off with an odd sort of snort. She wriggled in my arms and shifted her backside on the floor of the closet. I listened to her breathing as she moved around, trying to get comfortable. She was quiet for a time and then shifted again. "Are you awake?" she finally whispered. "Yes," I replied – also in a whisper. "I don't know how you manage to sleep like this. This is bloody uncomfortable." I smiled into the darkness. Tara seemed to have missed the point. I didn't usually crawl into places like this to sleep. "Are you feeling better than you were before?" I whispered. I felt Tara's shoulders move in a shrug. "I guess so." "Are you feeling safer?" "Yeah." "So stop whining about being a bit uncomfortable." Tara was quiet for a moment, and then I heard a very quiet, "Oh!" We were both quiet for a short time. My busy little brain whirled through a million questions I wanted to ask her. Finally I settled on what I wanted to ask. "Were there really footprints in the grass last night?" I whispered into the darkness. "Yeah! Two sets." "So there really was someone trying to get into my room?" "Yeah." "In a way that's kind of a relief. Do you know what I mean? I was so worried that I was imagining it all. I was completely freaked that I'd woken everyone up and scared everyone over something that wasn't even real." "It was real enough." "It meant a lot to me, that thing you said." "Huh?" "When you said that even if I was imagining it, that everyone should act as if it was real – that meant a lot to me." "Oh! Okay. I was thinking of all those horror films – you know? It's always the kid or the crazy person who sees the bad guy. Nobody believes the warning and everyone dies horribly. Since you were the one telling us about the bad guy and since you're both a kid and crazy, I figured that if we ignored you then we'd all be twice as likely to end up as part of the body count." "Thanks – I think!" I smiled wryly into the darkness. Trust Tara to do something supportive and make it sound like an insult. "Did the officer say anything about who they were?" I whispered. "You were right there when he was talking." "I was kind of shut down by then." "Oh! Well, he said they were probably looking for money to pay for drugs. Since we all went to bed early, the house was all dark and it must have looked like we'd gone out. He said they probably ran away as soon as Dad started moving around and turning the lights on." "Good." "Apparently it's fairly common to have break-ins during Thanksgiving. So many families go away to visit relatives or whatever that they can take their pick of empty houses." Tara found my hand in the darkness and squeezed it. "I thought you might have shut down in the kitchen. I wasn't sure though. You could have been not talking because the police officer was there. Are you feeling better now? Well, obviously you are because you're talking." "Yeah! My brain went all weird on me. It's annoying because that hasn't really happened since my birthday. I was hoping I was getting a let off for a while – what with the counseling and everything." "What do you mean it hasn't happened since your birthday? What about last week?" "What do you mean, what do I mean? What happened last week?" "You decided to organize all the CDs in the living room." "Yeah? So what's wrong with that?" "Any normal person would have alphabetized them. You put them in order of the numbers on their barcode." "Oh, that. You bitched about it so much that I fixed it. I still don't get what your problem was. I could have found any CD on that shelf in two seconds with them in that order." "You don't think that's just a tiny bit weird? On second thought, don't answer that. You might have been able to find anything you wanted but I couldn't. Anyway, you didn't fix it. Now they're completely random." "No they aren't." "Oh! That's right. You grouped the CDs according to the color on their spines. Our CD shelf looks like a freaking rainbow. It's all very pretty, but I still can't find anything." I smiled into the darkness. Putting them into numerical order by the barcodes had seemed logical at the time. I hadn't realized it was a bit weird until Tara started complaining. I'd changed it to make an interesting pattern with the CD spines purely to annoy Tara – and because it was a fun thing to do. I couldn't make a proper rainbow because there were too many of some colors and not enough of others. That was frustrating – the people who make CDs need to use more different colors. I had to settle for making an interesting pattern. That had been a fun challenge – I had a fixed palette of colors to use and the pattern had a fixed rectangle for a border. I was kind of happy with the final result – except it would have been better with more yellow. Maybe I should go to one of those weekend garage sales and buy a few cheap CDs with yellow spines. That would solve the problem. "If you're feeling better, we could move out of here and get into bed," I whispered. "We'd be a bit more comfortable." I was answered with a soft snore. I shrugged. I was sandwiched between Tara and the side of the closet so I wasn't going anywhere without Tara moving first. It wasn't that important to me where I was. I wriggled myself into a more comfortable position. At least it was warm in here. It had been obvious that Tara had joined me in here because she was feeling nervous and worried. That she went to sleep so easily meant that she wasn't feeling too bad. Being able to comfort Tara and having her to cuddle had made me feel better too. I guess it was all good. One good thing had come out of the events of this evening. Dad's hesitation before picking up the gun had answered an important question. I rested my head against the side of the closet and felt myself slowly relax. Lying there, wrapped in the dark security of my closet, with my sister sleeping in my arms, I drifted off to sleep. ------- Chapter 9: Early Thanksgiving Morning "Wake up! Wake up, Bec." "Huh? What? What is it?" "You were dreaming — thrashing around all over the place. I felt like I was trapped inside a washing machine." I looked around, which was pointless because it was pitch black inside the closet. I could feel Tara directly in front of me, crunched up against me. "Sorry! That was a really weird dream. I think I have a talent for weird dreams." "Really? What was this weird dream of yours about?" "Well, it gets all mixed up with the intruders and us hiding in the bathroom." "What? What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about the people who tried to get into the house." "I don't know what you're talking about." "But ... that was real! I woke up Dad and he got everyone out of bed." "Nah! Sounds like more of your weird dreams to me." "Oh!" That was really strange. It had all felt so real. "Tell me more about this wacky dream of yours." "We hid in the bathroom. The police came. It was all very intense. I thought it was really happening." I heard a sound — a weird sort of snorting sound. I reached out and found her shoulders. They were bouncing up and down. Tara stopped trying to hide her laughter and started giggling out loud. "You are so easy," she gasped, in between the giggles. I slid my hands from her shoulders to her neck and closed them around her throat. "One of these days, I'm going to kill you," I hissed at her through clenched teeth. "I'm going to kill you over and over until you are completely dead." I squeezed but apparently not hard enough because Tara kept on giggling. I sighed and dropped my hands. "That was really mean." "Yeah, I know," she said. "I'm sorry for doing that." But she hadn't stopped giggling. I guess that tells you how sorry she was. "So, there really was someone trying to get into the house?" "Yeah." "And we really did hide in the bathroom?" "Yeah! You weren't dreaming. It all really happened." "Um ... no! I don't think it all actually happened." "Absolutely. I promise you, it's all true. Everything that happened actually happened." "Oh!" I frowned into the darkness. "So, how long do you think they'll keep us in here?" "What?" "How long do you think they'll keep us in here?" "Who?" "The Martians." "What Martians?" "The Martians that captured us and threw us in here when they broke into the house." "Ah..." "You said that it was all true, every bit of it. That must include the Martians capturing us and locking us in the closet." "Maybe that bit didn't happen." "I kind of figured." Our chuckles danced around us in the dark like fireflies — brightening up our moods if not the actual closet. "Did you seriously dream about Martians breaking into the house?" "Yeah." "So, what else did your Martians do apart from capturing us and locking us in your closet?" "Well, they waited until the police had gone and the house was all dark again. Then they broke in and went looking for Dad because they wanted him to make them a new death-ray." "Since when would Dad know how to build a death-ray?" I guess shrugging in pitch-black darkness is pretty pointless but I did it anyway. "The two of us were sneaking around the house in the dark, trying to dodge the aliens. It was pretty creepy." "What did the aliens look like?" "They were all pretty much clones of Jerry Springer." "If they all looked like Jerry Springer, how do you know they were aliens?" "Jerry Springer has to be a Martian. No earthling could ever look like that. He must be a scout for a huge army of aliens. Why else would he try to destroy the country from within with his bizarre TV program? Obviously, he is trying to soften us up for an invasion by the Martians." "Good point. So how did the Jerry Springer aliens manage to capture us?" "Well, we came up with this brilliant plan for rescuing Dad. You dressed up in Mom's wedding gown and floated around outside the window pretending to be a ghost. That was supposed to distract the Jerry Springers. In the meantime, I dressed up like a farmer's wife so that I could crawl into the room and cut Dad free with a carving knife." "Uh huh. So, what went wrong with the plan?" "The Jerry Springers weren't as distracted as we hoped. They just introduced from back-stage a dozen other girls wearing wedding dresses. They were all pregnant with Jerry's babies and they said you couldn't marry Jerry because they had gotten to him first. Then the girls threw chairs at each other and started pulling each other's hair. Then they all teamed up against you and tore Mom's wedding dress into little pieces and you had to run away and hide because all you had on were your Minnie Mouse knickers." "Those things? I threw them out when I was, like, nine." "Anyway, I crawled into the room but I couldn't get Dad free because there was a Jerry Springer holding him by his long mouse's tail." "I didn't know Dad has a mouse tail?" "Neither did I. Anyway, to get Dad free I had to slice off his tail with my carving knife. I went blind and turned into a mouse and ran up the clock. That's when they caught us and locked us up in my closet." "That whole thing didn't make much sense." "Yeah! I know! That's how I figured it was probably a dream. My dreams often don't make much sense." "Like you said before, you have weird dreams. All I ever dream about is running through the woods because I'm being chased by something — and umbrellas. Sometimes I dream about umbrellas." "What's chasing you through the woods?" "I don't know. It's never caught me. Sometimes it gets close, but I always wake up just before I see it. Sometimes I run off a cliff and fall — then I wake up just before I hit the ground. Sometimes instead of falling, I open up an umbrella and float away." "I knew 'Mary Poppins' was bad for you." "I don't know. The floating away dreams are much better than the falling ones." "Hmmm!" "Well, I have to make a break for the bathroom. Do you think I can get there without Jerry Springer setting his pregnant brides on me again?" Tara pushed the closet door open and crawled out into my bedroom. It was still dark out there, but apart from that I had no clue what the time was. I hesitated for a moment and then I crawled out of the closet myself. I picked up the comforter that we'd had wrapped around us and clambered up onto my bed. I shivered a bit because we'd been toasty-warm inside the closet and my bed was cold. I curled up into a little ball and stared out into the dark of my room with unblinking eyes. Echoes of my dream still rattled around in my brain. Parts of it were scary. Parts of it were disturbing. Mostly, it was violent and ugly. I had kind of edited the version I told Tara. Fortunately, the worst parts were already fading into a half-remembered mass of images. My bedroom door opened and spilled light into the room. Tara must have turned the hallway light on and left it on so that she could navigate around my bedroom. I felt the bed shift as she sat on the bed beside me. A hand pulled hair away from my face and smoothed it against my head. "I'm sorry." Tara's voice was soft and gentle. I didn't know what she was apologizing for. Puzzled, I rolled onto my back and looked up at her silhouette. "I shouldn't have teased you about the wedding dress earlier." I looked up at her with a frown on my face. Inside my head, all the bits of my brain went still. I was blank — a completely blank piece of paper waiting for Tara to pick up her pencil and start drawing. "You worry about that, don't you? You worry that you'll never get married." My eyes blinked. I don't know why. The rest of my body had just frozen into a solid block of stone. "You think you won't find someone who will love you — because of your weird brain." I retreated — crawling into the very back of my skull where Tara's sharp eyes couldn't see me. When Tara does so many dumb things, it's easy to forget how smart she is. When she does this to me, all I want to do is hide. "I hate it when you do that," said Tara. I never knew it was possible to make your voice sound like you were rolling your eyes at someone. Apparently Tara has perfected the trick. "Someone says something you can't cope with and you just fold up inside yourself and go all blank. It makes you very frustrating to talk to. I don't even know if you can still hear what I'm saying." I looked out from the little place in the back of my skull where I was cowering. It was like watching the world through a set of binoculars — only looking backwards so that everything looked far, far away. All blank, she said? I pushed forward the version of me that I call Rebecca Louise. It's not really a split-personality kind of thing like in the movies. It's more like a mask that I wear sometimes so that the rest of the world has someone to talk to while I sit in the back of my head and watch. "I'm listening," said Rebecca Louise. I think Tara smiled. She put her hand on my shoulder and rubbed it a bit and then left it sitting there. "So like I was saying, you're all freaked that maybe your craziness will put all the guys off and you'll never find your true love. I shouldn't have teased you about never needing the wedding dress. It obviously upset you so much that you dreamed about it. I'm sorry about that." "Oh! Okay," said Rebecca Louise. "You're wrong, you know," said Tara. "Huh?" "Look at Mom. She has the same thing you do. She found Dad. There's no reason why you can't find someone like him..." Rebecca Louise blinked up at her. " ... only not related to us ... and younger ... because that would be weird ... well, you know what I mean." What's wrong with me is worse than what Mom has. I didn't say that. I just thought it. It's true though. "You do know that Dad's probably more messed up than Mom is, don't you?" whispered Rebecca Louise. "If that's true, then he hides it well," she muttered. "Yes, he does," I said. Then I retreated again. I rolled over onto my side — putting my back to Tara. The bed shook as Tara maneuvered herself under the covers. Then I felt her shifting herself up behind me until she was cuddling me from the back. We lay there quietly for a while. A little later, there was the quietest whisper — so quiet that I don't think she meant me to hear it. "I swear to you, sister of mine, I swear to you that I will look after you. If you don't find somebody then you will live with me until you're ninety." I breathed three times, but she didn't say anything more. Her simple promise had squeezed my heart into a tiny ball. "What happens when I'm ninety?" I whispered. I heard the tiniest of little gasps. "You weren't supposed to hear that." She was quiet for a moment. "I'm kicking you out on the street when you're ninety. When you're ninety, I'll be ninety-two. That's way too old to be looking after a crazy sister. Maybe, if you're lucky, Angie will be mature enough by then so that she can look after you." "Maybe." "I could keep you in my basement, or maybe in my attic. You can be the crazy aunt that my kids use to scare their friends with." "Awesome. That sounds like fun. I'll need a wild hairdo — and a stick to wave. Scary aunts should always have a stick to wave." "Hairdo and stick — check." We giggled quietly for a bit. We added little comments about ways I could be a scary aunt and giggled some more. Then, almost between one giggle and the next, Tara was asleep. I stopped giggling and lay there. Even though I'd been laughing, it was kind of depressing to think that we might have just been describing my life. It was nice that Tara was prepared to stick with me and look after me but I hated the idea that I would need so much looking after. I lay there, for some unknown amount of time, while my brain pushed that idea around and around. Finally, I went to sleep. ------- I was woken by Mom, rapping on the open door. "Wakey, wakey, rise and shine." I groaned. Tara snored. I rolled over and glared at Mom through a tangled curtain of hair. "What time is it?" "Time to get up," she replied in a way too cheerful sort of voice. "We have a big day in front of us so nobody gets to lie around this morning. If you want to go to the Y this morning, you'll have to get up right now. Breakfast is waiting for you and it wants to be eaten." I forced myself up into a seated position and poked at Tara's ribs through the covers. Tara groaned and rolled over until she was face down in the pillow. I poked her again and she groaned and thrashed around. I shrugged at Mom and slid out of bed. Mom smiled at me and disappeared from the doorway, heading towards the kitchen. I claimed the bathroom about thirty seconds before Dan and had a very quick shower — accompanied by the regular thump of Dan banging on the door and telling me to hurry up. By the time I got back to my bedroom, the only thing Tara had done was to bury her head underneath the pillow. I left her alone and got myself dressed. I listened for the sounds of Dan finishing up in the bathroom. That didn't happen until I had finished brushing my hair. Once the bathroom was clear, I grabbed Tara's arm and hauled. She moaned and stumbled to her feet — still more asleep than awake. I wrapped my bathrobe around her and steered her out of my room and into the bathroom. The kitchen was quiet. Mom was poaching eggs and Dad was cooking toast. Neither of them was talking. They both gave me little smiles when I came into the kitchen but then went back to what they were doing without saying anything. I slumped down into my chair and watched them — trying to pick up on what mood they were in. I finally figured out one of the reasons the kitchen was so quiet. "Where's Angie?" I asked. "She's still sleeping off the pill and all the excitement from last night," explained Mom. "I'll let her lie in for a little while." I poured out a glass of milk for myself and a second glass that I put in front of Tara's place. She slid into her chair just as Mom and Dad started putting plates of toast and poached eggs out on the table. Mom yelled for Dan and he walked into the kitchen before Mom had even finished saying his name. Tara was sitting slumped over and staring blankly down at the table in front of her — nothing unusual there. I took a plate with egg and toast from Mom and waved it under Tara's nose before putting it down on the table in front of her. Then I took a second plate for myself and started eating. Everyone was quiet. The usual chatter around the table was missing. I wasn't in the mood to break up the quiet, so I focused on eating. Apparently Dan didn't like the quiet so much because he started talking in the brief gap between finishing his first egg and starting on his second. "So, did anyone know that our bathroom is haunted?" He looked around the table and didn't get any replies — but we did all look at him. All of us except Tara, that is. She was still looking down at the table and chewing for the thirty-second time on the same mouthful of toast. "I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night. The whole house was silent. I was standing there, having a nice, quiet pee..." "Dan," scolded Mom. "Do we have to discuss this over breakfast?" " ... when out of the corner of my eye, I see a ghostly shape — just hanging there. I swear, if I'd been wearing pants, I would have peed in them. As it was, I had to clean the bathroom floor a bit because my aim sort of suffered a bit when I jumped." "Well, thanks for small mercies," muttered Mom. "At least you didn't leave it for someone else to clean." "So anyway," continued Dan. "I'm standing there in the bathroom. I'm shaking in my boots — well, actually, I'm shaking in my slippers. This ghostly presence is hardly moving, lurking in the shower stall. I could see it through the frosting in the glass — watching me, waiting for a chance to jump out and attack me." I smiled at Dan and his attempts to play up the story into something bigger than it was. "I looked around for a weapon and all I could find was Mom's long wooden back-scratcher. Cautiously, step by step, I crept up to the shower stall. With the back-scratcher raised, I reached out and pulled open the door. Suddenly ... nothing happened." Dad chuckled at Dan's antics. Tara lifted her head up and looked at him with a tired smile on her face. I ducked my head down and looked at my lap. I had a pretty good idea what was coming. "You'll never guess what I found in the shower stall." "The family cat," suggested Mom, with a twinkle in her eye. Given that we don't have a cat, it seemed pretty unlikely. "Jerry Springer," suggested Tara. I scowled sideways at her. Apparently she'd woken up some. I think I liked her more when she was half asleep and not looking for ways to tease me. "It was one of our bath robes having a shower," explained Dan with a grin. "There it was, happily shampooing and scrubbing itself clean." I couldn't help it. I laughed at Dan's description. But then I immediately swallowed the laugh and tried to make my face go straight. I'm pretty sure my eyes were twinkling though. I could almost feel them glistening in my face. Dan was looking at me. "Bec, do you know something about why a bath robe would suddenly decide to have a shower? Were you, by any chance, trying to play a prank on your poor, unsuspecting brother?" "Yes, Dan. It was a prank. I put the robe in the shower just to give you a fright in the middle of the night." "I see," said Dan with a very serious look on his face. He drummed his fingers on the table and stared at me for a moment. "You do realize that this means I'm going to be seeking revenge, don't you?" I felt my jaw dropping open as I realized that he'd taken me seriously. I would have thought that Dan, out of everyone, would notice when I was being sarcastic. Dan rubbed his hands together. "You still want to go out this morning, don't you? You do want me to drive you there and back, don't you? That will be the perfect time to get back at you — just you and me in the car." His eyes were actually gleaming as he plotted against me. My brain immediately started supplying me with some of the awful things Dan was capable of doing to me — all of them highly embarrassing. "No! I ... I ... I didn't mean it. I didn't really do it as a prank. I ... I..." I blushed as I realized that I was actually stuttering in my haste to back out of the situation my big mouth had put me in. Then Dan laughed at me — and Tara started laughing too. Even Mom and Dad were smiling. The words stuck in my throat as I finally figured out that Dan had been teasing me. I felt a flush of anger at Dan sweep through me. Then that disappeared as fast as it had arrived and it was quickly replaced by embarrassment at how easily I had fallen into Dan's trap. In the end, all I could do was smile ruefully to myself and let everyone have their laugh. I have to hand it to Dan. When he puts his mind to it, he can tease me better than just about anyone. We all went back to eating, but almost straight away, Tara broke the silence. "I'd like to go too, this morning. Can I please go?" "May I," corrected Dad automatically. I could almost hear Tara's eyes rolling in their sockets. "May I go with Dan, too, please?" "You're still grounded," said Mom. "It's Bec's thing really," said Dan. "Shouldn't you ask her first?" I shrugged. "I don't mind if Tara comes. They can always use more people." "You've never wanted to go before," said Dad. "Why the sudden change of heart?" "I don't know why we're still discussing this," said Mom. "Tara is grounded — she's not going anywhere. I need her here, helping me." "That's not true," I said to Dad. "Tara went the year before last." "Everything's mostly done," said Tara. "You'll have Nana here to help you. Anyway, all you have to do is put everything in the oven and sit there and watch it cook." Mom humphed at Tara's slightly incomplete summary of what still needed to be done. "It's not like I'm asking to go to the mall, or anything," Tara continued. She was mostly answering Mom, but she kept glancing back and forth between Mom and Dad. "None of my friends will be there. It's a charity thing. It's about helping people. Besides, Dan will be there — and Mr Davidson. It's like a family thing." "Dan won't actually be there, he'll be out driving for most of the time — and so will Mr Davidson. I don't want you wandering around downtown with nobody in charge of you." I shrugged. "If she's with me, I'll be in charge of her," I offered. I was maybe half joking and half serious. It seemed like everyone started talking at once. Tara immediately protested. "You can't put her in charge of me..." Then her voice cut off in mid-sentence. Mom seemed to be trying not to laugh. "I don't believe Tara could spend a whole morning doing whatever Bec tells her to do." At the same time, Dad was saying, "Bec hasn't been that responsible herself, lately." I was sitting there, trying to puzzle out what Dad meant by that. I think Dan was the only one who didn't say anything. He just leaned back in his chair and watched the mayhem with a grin on his face. Then suddenly, Tara blurted out, "I'll do it." Everyone went silent at once and stared at Tara. Even I stared at Tara. She looked down at her lap, and then she lifted her head back up and looked around at the rest of us. "Bec can be in charge of me. I'll do what she says. If that's what it takes to go, then I'll do it." There was a stunned silence in the room. Mom and Dad looked at each other and did that silent talking thing they do with their eyes. I looked across the table at Dan. He saw me looking at him and raised an eyebrow at me. There was a definite sparkle in his eye. He was finding the situation way too funny. I saw him glance sideways at Dad and then he leaned forward. "There's not much either of them could get up to. It's pretty well organized. I'll be in and out all morning. I think Tara should go." I don't know whether Dan's comment made any difference or not but suddenly the parental telepathic conversation was over. Dad quietly picked up his tea and sipped at it while Mom firmly got hold of Tara's attention by way of a solid grip on each of her shoulders. "You'll do exactly what Dan and Mr Davidson and Bec tell you, without argument. Especially Bec — you have to do exactly what she says. If you mess this up, young lady, it isn't too late to cancel Friday night. Am I clear?" "I understand, Mom. I promise." I could see Tara swallow as she realized what she was risking. After a phone conference between all the parents, Tara and her friends were due to get some relief from the grounding on Friday. They were going to be allowed to do some supervised activities — starting with a sleepover at our house this Friday evening. Provided that went off without a hitch, they were going to be allowed to do more supervised activities together. It sounded like it was going to be a while before any of them would be allowed to just go and hang out at the mall or anything like that. I understood why Tara was desperate to go out with us today. Ever since that party, apart from school, the only times Tara had been out of the house had been to go shopping with Mom and stuff like that. She's had to be on her best behavior full time and it's starting to get to her. Since I'm the one Tara takes it out on when she gets all tense, I fully liked the idea of getting her out from under Mom's thumb for a while. After that, breakfast went back to being quiet again. Even Angie wandering in and joining us didn't change the situation. She was a bit grumpy and not the lively and energetic Angie I'm so used to seeing. Mom got her seated and put some breakfast in front of her. Angie's cast seemed to be bothering her and Mom gently stopped her from scratching at it a few times. When everyone had finished breakfast, Dad cleared his throat. "Dan and Tara, will you take Angie and disappear for a while? Your mother and I want to speak to Bec." That kind of floored me — then I figured out what they wanted to talk about. I wasn't sure why there were making such a drama about it, though. We waited until Tara had taken Angie to her room to get her dressed and Dan had picked up his coffee and retreated to his room. Then we waited some more while Mom and Dad stared at me. If they were trying to make me nervous by delaying this, then it worked. Finally Dad obviously decided he'd made me sweat enough. "You found the gun in my closet." I blinked a couple of times at Dad before I realized he was waiting for me to respond. "Yes." "It isn't a toy. It's not there for you to play with." Again there was a short pause. "I understand that." "You must never touch it again." I blinked a couple of times until I realized he wasn't going to add an 'except when... ' to that statement. "Okay." "You must never even hint that it exists in front of Angie." "I get that." They went back to staring at me. I was starting to get annoyed with their weird tactics. "I think you should teach me how to do stuff with it — like loading it and how to make sure it's unloaded and how to shoot it — stuff like that." Dad frowned. "Don't be foolish, Bec. Guns are dangerous. I've just finished telling you it isn't a toy." "I know that, Dad. I'm not asking to play with it. I'm asking you to teach me how to use it — and Tara, and Dan — if he doesn't know already." "Dan has been coming to the gun range with me since he turned eighteen. The entire purpose of the gun is to protect our family. I don't see any need for either you or Tara to have anything to do with guns." "Besides," put in Mom, "if we can't trust you not to go snooping through our room, why should we trust you with something as dangerous as a gun?" I looked at Mom in surprise. "Is that what this is all about?" Mom glared at me. "You didn't think you could go poking around where you don't belong without any consequences, did you?" "But you just finished telling Tara that she could come out with me this morning if I was in charge. Why would you do that if you were angry with me?" Mom snorted. "To be perfectly honest, I've been looking for an excuse to get Tara out of my hair for a while. I was going to make her go with you this morning anyway. She asked before I got around to telling her that she was going. When she offered to put herself under your control, well, that was just too priceless to resist." I glared at Mom. "You're not like all the other moms in the world." She smiled pleasantly at me. "Thank you, sweetheart." Then the smile disappeared. "But that doesn't get away from the fact that you were snooping through our belongings." "Your mother and I think that you..." started Dad, but I cut him off. "I went looking through your stuff, because I had questions and you refused to answer them. What did you expect me to do?" "I told you that you didn't need to know." Dad was starting to look very ticked off. I'm usually better at picking the signs and backing off. But for some reason, I was just getting all steamed up instead. "Did you seriously expect me to forget all about it, just because you say something like that? You pick up the entire family, change our name and move us half way around the world. You buy a gun and train with it so much that you handle it like an expert, despite the fact that everything you've ever said or done up to and including this morning, implies that you completely loathe guns. Last night, you had a plan. You weren't making it all up as it happened. You had obviously planned out what to do if someone ever tried to break into our house. You and Mom both thought it was some specific group or some particular person from England. Who are they that we are hiding from? Who is it? What did they do? What did you do?" "I told you, you don't need to know." Dad's voice was rigid with tension. "Back off from your father," hissed Mom. "This is not about that. This is about you snooping in our room." I spun around and glared at Mom. "This is totally about that. The only reason I was looking in your room was because I was looking for answers that the two of you refuse to give me." "Because you weren't respecting our privacy," continued Mom — totally ignoring my comment, "and because you had obviously been fiddling with the gun, we have decided that..." "You're punishing me? Why are you punishing me? I didn't do anything wrong." "As I was saying, we have decided..." "Forget it. If you are about to give me one of your genius bizarre punishments, then forget it. I won't do it. I didn't do anything wrong." "Rebecca," snapped Dad. "Don't talk to your mother like that." I spun back towards Dad. "I'm not going to do one of your stupid punishments which have the sole purpose of embarrassing me when you know perfectly well I didn't do anything wrong. If anyone's going to be punished, it should be you. You are the one who put the family in danger and didn't tell us about it so we can protect ourselves." "Peter had good reasons — has good reasons — for not talking to you about this. Now, that's enough of this nonsense. From the moment you get back this morning, you are going to..." "No! I really won't." I pushed away from the table and stood up. Just that simple action seemed to be enough to soothe away some of the anger coursing through me. "I'm going to my room," I said quietly. I turned and walked fairly calmly out of the kitchen and down the hallway to my bedroom. I stepped inside the room and closed the door. I stood behind the closed door and leaned forward until my head rested on the door. I closed my eyes and rocked back and forth, letting my head bang against the door. "Oh, brother," I whispered to myself. "That wasn't at all clever." ------- Chapter 10: Thanksgiving Morning The problem with standing right behind your bedroom door is that if someone decides to come bursting into your room WITHOUT KNOCKING, then the door tends to thump into you and send you flying across the room. "OW! THAT HURT!" I yelled. "WE HAVEN'T FINISHED TALKING," screamed Mom. The problem with being thumped by a door so hard that your brains rattle in your head and then being screamed at by an insane mother is that it gets hard to think calmly and sensibly. It makes you do dumb things like, for example, screaming back at your mother even though you know that will never do any good. Calm, sensible, thoughtful Bec would have found some way to settle things down. But calm, sensible, thoughtful Bec had checked out of the hotel room. Mom yelled some more at me but I don't know what she said because I was screaming "GET OUT! GET OUT!" over and over. It drowned out the sound of her voice. Suddenly, Dan was there – blocking my view of Mom with the sheer physical bulk of his body. He picked me up with one arm and turned me so that I was facing away from Mom. I was pinned against his body with a single arm that was as tense and rigid as a steel bar. I struggled. I hit his arm with my hands. I drummed my heels against his shins. I was still screaming at Mom but by that stage I don't think I was making any sense. I think I heard Dan telling Dad to get Mom out of the room. He must have been right there because a moment later the door slammed shut and Mom's voice became muffled. Dan let go of me and I launched myself at the door. I was still yelling at Mom and I banged my hands against the door to make her listen. I honestly don't remember what I was yelling. I don't think it made much sense whatever it was. Dan pulled me away from the door and wrapped his hands around my upper arms. Then he lifted me up off the ground so that I was dangling in his grip and my face was up at the same level as his. I might have been thrashing around a bit, or he might have been shaking me a bit, I'm not sure which. But then he captured me with his eyes and his voice penetrated into my brain. He was telling me to stop – so I did. I didn't stop suddenly. I kind of wound down like a toy where the battery is going flat. Eventually, I just hung there with my feet dangling in the air and my lungs gasping for breath. Dan had his face right in front of mine. I tried not to look into his eyes. I tried to look everywhere else but at him. But I was trapped. He was telling me to listen – so I listened. Dad had gotten Mom to quiet down at the same time, but the house wasn't quiet. It echoed with the distant sounds of Angie screaming in her room on the other side of the house. She wasn't screaming with anger. She wasn't screaming at someone. She was just screaming. I could hear the distant sounds of Tara trying to hush her and calm her down but the screaming went on. A part of me wanted to ask Dan why, but I already knew the answer so I didn't ask. The fear that was tangled within Angie's voice broke my heart. It reached deep into my chest and tore my broken heart right out of there – leaving nothing but a gaping hole in the middle of my chest. The shattered pieces of my heart stuck to the door and hung there like a collection of dead bugs in some museum display. Each bit dribbled a trail of blood down the door – smearing my half-finished painting of Angie with long lines of blood-red tears. Slowly the anger, the red-hot fury that had completely flooded through me, drained out through that gaping hole in my chest. It flowed down my front and dripped off my dangling feet to make messy pools on the rug beneath me. Soon there was nothing left inside of the empty husk that was me. I had become a rag doll, limp and boneless. Dan lowered me until my feet were on the floor, but a rag doll can't stand on its own so I crumpled and started to collapse. Dan caught me before I could fall. That was good because I would have ended up in a heap in the middle of those messy pools of rage that had dripped out of me. It would all have soaked straight back into me and then where would I be? Dan lifted me and laid me over one shoulder. I lay there, with my head resting on the top of his back and my hair dangling down in long streamers. Every time Dan moved, my hair would sway back and forth like a palm tree waving in the wind – an upside down palm tree. It was very hypnotic. In the distance, the screaming died down to crying – a faint, far-off crying that became the sound track to the movie of my life. I wondered if Dan was going to throw me into the closet – to lie there broken and forgotten with all the other useless clutter that lies at the bottom of the closet. But he didn't. He flipped me off his shoulder and laid me out on the bed. He propped me up with pillows and posed me. He arranged my legs and arms nicely, with my head resting squarely in the middle of the top pillow. It was good he did that because a rag doll can't pose itself. The only parts of me that were moving – the only parts of me that could move – were my eyes. They were linked to Dan with invisible wires that made them follow him as he moved around the room. He cleaned all that messy stuff off the rug with some paper towel and dropped it all into the trash. Somewhere on the floor he found something that had fallen off me during the fight. He came back to the bed and stuck it back on to the side of my head. Maybe one of my ears had fallen off and I didn't notice. He stopped to arrange my hair on the pillow and straighten up my clothes. That was nice of him. The last thing he did was scrape the pieces of my heart off the door. He squeezed the pieces together in his hands like a handful of play-doh and molded it back into the shape of a heart. He pushed that lumpy mass back inside me, using that convenient gaping hole in my chest. Then he stuck the edges of the hole together with his finger, like he was doing up a zipper. Finally, he laid his hand on my chest and pressed. Amazingly, I felt my heart lurch and thump back to life under the pressure of his hand. At least I think he did all that. It doesn't seem logical, though, does it? I think my brain was playing tricks on me, but I don't know what was real and what wasn't – so I wrote it all down. Dan leaned over me and kissed me on the nose. My heart was now thumping steadily under the reassuring pressure of his hand. "There you are – all back together again." Dan's voice sounded solid and real. It was something I could grab onto and use as a handle to drag myself out of the strange place where I had been lurking. Dan was sitting beside me on the bed with the palm of his hand resting on the little bone at the top of my chest. The simple weight of his hand held me in place as effectively as any weird ideas about being a rag doll could have done. I felt my mouth curl up in a little smile and Dan's face relaxed a little in response. "I don't know where that came from." Dan's voice was calm and gentle. "You and Mom don't usually fight. Everyone seemed so happy at breakfast. Then suddenly – kaboom! World War Three erupts in the kitchen. Then you and Mom bring it into here and escalate until you both go nuclear." I lay there and looked up at Dan. I had no answers. "It's just as well that we are going out this morning. It will give you and Mom a chance to cool off a bit. You have half an hour to sort yourself out and get ready. By then, you need to be calm and you need to be in control. I'm not taking a ticking time-bomb anywhere. I'm not taking a zombie anywhere either. Am I clear?" It took a moment for me to process everything he was saying, but then I nodded. "Good!" He leaned over and kissed me on the nose again. "You've got half an hour. Stay in here until then. I'll come and get you when I'm ready." The bed lurched as he stood up and made his way towards the door. "Are you punishing me, too?" It was a little girl's voice – small and pathetic. "Am I banished to my room?" He stopped and looked at me, leaning against the door he'd been about to open. "No – yes – maybe a little. Mostly, I'm keeping you and Mom apart." The door opened and closed, and he was gone. A hand reached up and wiped the slobber off my nose. I stared at the hand curiously. I was surprised at how easily it had moved. I lowered my arm back down to my side and rested the hand on my stomach. Without Dan to watch, my eyes were now free to roam around the familiar sights of my room. I spotted Mom's old sketchbook sitting on the bedside table. Without having received any instructions from me, a hand reached out and picked it up. I hugged it to my chest with both arms and lay there. My brain slowly got more and more active. I started to feel restless. It got to the point where lying on the bed and staring at my room wasn't enough any more. My brain wanted to do something. I opened Mom's sketchbook and started flipping through it, stopping every so often to smile at the pictures I'd already studied. By the time I found the last picture I'd looked at, I was starting to feel pretty good. Mom's drawings – the ones she had made when I was six – were all kind of fun. Looking at them was putting me into a good mood. I turned the page to see what came next. The next drawing was a character study of an elderly woman walking down a street. The woman had two leashes in her hand. The first leash looped down to a huge St Bernard – like the ones in the Napoleon movies. It padded along beside her, calm and serene. Somehow Mom had captured the impression that its calmness was an illusion. The way she had drawn the dog showed that it had an enormous potential for creating chaos boiling away inside of it – just underneath the surface. The second leash was attached to a smaller dog – I don't know the breed. It was more the sort of dog you'd expect an older lady to have – small and cute. Except this one was obviously young – not a puppy, but still young. It bounced along beside the old lady – curious and excited, happy and lively. In front of the lady, unrestrained but obviously still a part of the group, prowled a cat – slinking along with its body low to the ground. On first glance the cat seemed to be stalking along in its own little world, ignoring the others and not taking much notice of its surroundings. I got the impression that Mom was trying to say the cat was choosing to walk with the others for its own mysterious reasons, the way cats do. But first impressions were deceiving. The cat was the only figure in the picture that looked out of the frame at the viewer. Its eyes had that eerie thing going on where they seemed to look directly at you. The cat gave me the clue about how to understand the picture. It was the same cat that Mom had drawn as me hiding under a table a few pictures back. The previous picture had a kind of half-human face on the cat's body and this one was purely cat but it was still me. That meant that the small cute dog was probably meant to be Tara and the big St Bernard was meant to be Dan. At first I thought that Mom had drawn Nana, but now as I looked more closely, I saw that she had drawn herself – only older. She was happy in the picture. She had drawn herself growing older and being happy about it because she was surrounded by her children. I looked again at the picture. There was one person missing. I wondered why Mom would draw a family picture without Dad. I tilted my head to the side and looked at the picture again. Then I smiled to myself. As usual, Mom was being tricky. It was a pencil sketch. Everything was there in shades of grey. I had initially taken the cross-hatching on the ground as the pavement – I think everyone was supposed to initially take it as the pavement. The shading on the ground was actually the shadow of someone standing just outside of the picture – someone large and solid. Everyone was walking towards him – or maybe following him – that difference wasn't clear. Everyone was happily looking towards him – except me. Mom had drawn me looking out at the world and not noticing my own father. What did she mean by that? She'd drawn us all walking in Dad's shadow – that's usually a bad thing. But Mom had shown us all happy to be there. I wondered what she meant by that. I sighed in frustration. Sometimes Mom's pictures just have too many layers. And sometimes you could think too much about a picture when the first thing you see is what she meant you to see. I sighed again and put the sketchbook down. I picked it up again and went back to the same page. I looked at it again and started to smile. If the shadow on the ground was a person, then my cat-like self was standing right in the palm of one of the shadow's hands. That's what made me smile. Even though I wasn't looking, Dad's shadow-hand was still holding me. Was I really spending so much time looking at the rest of the world that I wasn't seeing my own father? That's what Mom seemed to be saying in the picture. That was something to think about. I picked up Dad's notebook and ran my hand over the cover. One way to understand Dad better would be to read the things that he wrote about. I flipped through the pages to find the last entry I was up to and turned to the next page. Peter Stone, Sunday April 9, 10:15pm Today was the party for Tara's birthday. Her actual birthday is not until Tuesday but today was the party. The party was ridiculously over the top for a girl's eighth birthday. During a Lambrecht's-inspired planning spree, Louise had conceived of a party with a theme based around horse-racing. She made invitations to look like entry forms. She acquired some cheap material and made racing silks for each of the invited girls. She recruited Dan's rugby team to act as horses, using a promise of their own little pizza party afterwards as a bribe. Some of the lads had been a bit hesitant about spending their Sunday afternoon at a kid's birthday party, but Louise had got their coach on-side and he had told them it would be good training. The Council agreed to let us use the park just behind the Rugby Club and everything was set. The afternoon was planned with a precision that would put Her Majesty's armed forces to shame. Louise had me decked out in a borrowed top hat and tails. She had recruited Bridget, Penny and Ally to help with the management. A few other parents had also either been recruited or volunteered to help. All the men were in tails and the women in gowns and extravagant hats. It made a scene to rival Ascot as all the adults milled around outside the marquee sipping on champagne while they consulted (and admired) the 'form guide' for the races. I felt the need to speak briefly to the lads before teaming them up with their riders. Many of them don't have sisters and would have had very little contact with eight year old girls before that moment. They were all thirteen or fourteen. Boys of that age can be very muddled about girls – even young girls – and how to relate to them. I think 'clueless' is the current expression. I barely got past the first sentence of my speech when one of the boys stopped me. "If this is about treating the girls nice, Mr Stone, then Dan already told us." "Yeah, we get it," added another. I swallowed my prepared speech and limited myself to thanking them for agreeing to be involved like this. "Don't worry, Mr Stone. This'll be fun." I decided not to worry. We paired up each boy with a rider. A process that involved much jumping around and squealing from the girls. Tara teamed up with Dan of course. There were two other brother/sister pairs, one pair teamed up and the other pair refused to have anything to do with each other. I suppose that speaks volumes about the relationships within those families. I'm not judging others but I take heart that Tara not only didn't hesitate to work with Dan but was enthusiastic about it. We ran several events along our temporary racing track. I know that they were only glorified piggy-back races but, with everyone in their finery and the girls in their racing silks, it was so much more fun than mere piggy-back races. The lads had even tied long tails to the back of their belts. We took the winners into a winner's circle and presented each with a little trophy and circlet of flowers. Each time we did that, our crowd of adults would clap and cheer and toast the winner with champagne. There was some collusion between myself and the boys to ensure different girls got to be the winner in different races. Tara was in her element, riding high on Dan's back and absolutely glowing. The entire event was just extraordinarily funny. I laughed and laughed. There are times when Louise's condition can make life difficult, but there are also times when it is truly a blessing. Today was such a time. The intense period of work that she went through to prepare it all paid off in spades today. I mean – horse races. Who else would have come up with such a thing – and recruited the boys and prepared everything? Who else would do such a thing? Sometimes Louise worries about going insane. Sometimes she worries that she is already insane. I'm not a doctor. I don't know what 'insane' means. I do know that Louise isn't always what you'd call normal. I also know that isn't necessarily a bad thing. I was in charge of running the races, following a time-sheet that Louise had prepared and printed for me as part of her planning spree. During a pause in the program – carefully included at regular intervals to let the lads get their breath back – I noticed that Bec was missing. In fact, I hadn't seen her since before getting the crowd together and assigning pairs. We had a couple of spare lads and she had her racing top on so we'd been quite prepared for her to join in if she wanted to. Apparently she didn't want to. I circled around behind the table where the women were setting up all the food. A big horse-shaped cake was the centerpiece. Bec was sitting on the ground with her back against a tree, hugging her knees and watching everything from a distance. She looked a little overwhelmed by all the activity. "Hello, sweetie, what are you doing over here?" She shrugged. "Don't you want to join in with all the races? Everyone's having a lot of fun." Another shrug. "Alex is free. He'd love to be the horse for you. You know Dan's friend, Alex. He's always nice to you when he visits. How about you and I walk over and talk to him." A shake of the head. "Well, there are a couple of other lads available. Who do you want to carry you?" She pointed at me. I looked around nervously. I really didn't want to be doing that. "Are you sure, sweetie? I'm not fourteen any more. I don't think I could keep up with all those lads." She scrambled to her feet. "I don't want to go in the races. I just want to ride around." She had her little whisper voice going. I suppose she was feeling a bit daunted by the crowd. Bec was looking up at me with pleading eyes. I glanced around nervously, preparing myself to claim I had sore back. I really, really didn't want to do this. Suddenly Louise was standing beside Bec. "Give your daughter a piggy-back ride, Peter," she said. Her tone of voice and the steel in her eyes gave me no way out. It was part of the deal we'd made. I'd given her permission, at times like these, to tell me what to do. She knew why I was hesitating. She wouldn't tell me to do something I shouldn't do. Faced by the combined glare of Louise and Bec, I caved in. I knelt and let Bec climb up onto my back. Her arms wrapped tightly around my neck – so tightly that I had to adjust them before she strangled me. Then with her soft breath warming my ear and the heat of her body warming my back, I went back to marshalling the races. I wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of carrying Bec around like that. But Louise had said I should and fathers everywhere give their daughters piggyback rides every day. I was determined not to let my own phobias prevent me from doing the same. There! Did you see that? I admitted that it's a phobia. But isn't a phobia supposed to be an irrational fear? My fears are perfectly rational. But anyway, back to the story. From that moment on, my periodic rumbling laughter at the absurdity of what we were doing was punctuated by the soft giggle in my ear as something or other tickled Bec's fancy. Sometimes we laughed at the same things, sometimes we didn't. Sometimes I laughed at something purely because Bec did. Bec's happy little giggle was quite infectious – except that I didn't actually giggle. I'm a grown man after all and grown men don't giggle – it just isn't done. My back really was getting sore where Bec's weight dragged against it. With a little determination, and sufficient distraction, ignoring pain is not difficult. I was having too much fun to let a little thing like a sore back get in the way. Just writing about this afternoon makes my heart full. Tara and Dan, Bec on my back, Louise and her mother, Penny with Ally and little Sam toddling around, Tara's friends and Dan's friends, everyone was having so much fun. Life surely doesn't get better than that. Eventually the planned races were finished and the final presentations made. The girls descended on the table of food like a plague of locusts and we pointed the boys over towards a separate table loaded with fresh pizza and drinks. We were surprised when the boys grabbed their drinks and handfuls of pizza and returned to mingle with the younger girls. There was a lot of joking and laughter in the mingled mob and many of the girls quite literally latched themselves onto the 'big brother' they'd been assigned for the day. Bec slipped off my back and grabbed a plateful of food before ducking under the table where she could eat protected from the crowd. Penny checked up on me and smiled when she saw I was okay. We produced the horse-shaped cake and went through the usual ritual. I found myself in a little knot of finely dressed adults, with Penny's arm looped through mine. We were all in a good mood and I received a lot of compliments about the success of the party so far. According to my running sheet, it was time for me to start a series of party games – 'Pin the tail on the race-horse, ' and so on. I looked around and realised that a game had already started up, involving all the girls and the older lads. It looked like one of those semi-chaotic children's games that develop every so often where the rules evolve as the game progresses. As with all such games, every time a new situation arose there would be a short but heated discussion as they negotiated a new rule. Then the game would resume. It seemed to involve the boys standing like statues while the girls ran around them shrieking and yelling and trying to evade the boys' reaching arms. Every so often, one of the boys – for no reason I could discern – would start racing around trying to tag as many of the girls as he could. During those times, the other boys became safe places and quickly became plastered with a layer of shrieking girls clinging to them. That's the best description I can give of the game. There was more to it than that but the intricacies remain a mystery to me. I suppose it doesn't matter what the actual rules were. I simply couldn't get over how much fun they were having. I sidled up to Louise and suggested we postpone the official party games since they all seemed to be enjoying their own game. She was hesitant to deviate from her carefully worked out schedule, but with my encouragement and that of several others, she accepted, and we stood back to let the kids' game play out. I looked around and couldn't see Bec. When I asked Louise, she silently pointed at the table. I remembered seeing Bec crawl under there to eat. Apparently she hadn't come out since. I reached one hand blindly under the table, clicked my fingers a couple of times and then held my hand open. I held my hand still and waited. After a short pause, a little hand tentatively placed itself in mine. I closed my hand around it and tugged gently. Bec got the hint and crawled out from under the table, never removing her hand from mine. We didn't say anything to each other. She simply stood beside me amongst the adults with her hand engulfed in mine as we watched the older girls running around. Eventually the game fizzled out, as such things do. Except this one didn't just run out of energy and die. What it did was transform into a new game that seemed to involve each boy grasping a girl by the hands and swinging them around in circles a few times before putting the girls back on their feet. The girls would then dizzily stagger a few steps before seeking a new boy and getting another spin. Without giving Bec the chance to argue, I grabbed her, dragged her into some open space and gave her a few spins. She giggled in glee and collapsed onto the ground as soon as I released her. "Again!" she demanded. I pointed at Dan who was temporarily unattended. "If you run, you can get a spin from Dan before some other girl grabs him." A very determined look set itself into Bec's face. She scampered back to her feet and literally sprinted at Dan. She took a flying leap into his arms, arriving just seconds before another girl. Bec laughed and squealed as Dan spun her around in the air. I saw Dan set her down and push her in the direction of his friend Alex. She barely hesitated before running over and accepting a whirl from Alex. I smiled and stood watching. Bridget came up on one side of me and Louise on the other. Bridget reached up and kissed me on the cheek. "You're a good man, Peter Stone." I smiled. "Thank you. I'm glad I was able to change your mind. You didn't always think that about me." She grinned. "You were trying to steal my baby girl away from me. It's a natural reaction for a mother to be suspicious of any man trying to do that." She gestured out to where her two grand-daughters had disappeared into the mass of children running around. "Maybe you're starting to get an understanding of what that might feel like." I nodded. "Maybe." I wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. "It won't be long before the boys start knocking on our door. I'm not sure how I'll cope with that," I said. "It's bad enough with the teenage girls swarming around Dan every chance they get." Louise tucked herself under my other arm and cuddled her way into my side. She sighed happily. "Look at Dan," she said proudly. We watched him as he strode amongst his friends, calm and confident. He was so friendly and caring with all of the little girls at the party. He was honest and genuine and carried himself with a youthful dignity as he moved amongst his friends. "He's growing into such a fine young man," continued Louise. I nodded happily. "I think we did a good thing, giving Dan a couple of sisters to be big brother for. They've taught him more than we ever could." "I worry," said Louise. "We're both so messed up. I worry that we're twisting up their lives with all of our problems." "Everyone has emotional baggage," put in Bridget. "No parents are perfect. The two of you aren't doing too badly – given your own childhoods. Your children are healthy and happy. Ultimately, that's all a parent can really ask for." The whirling game didn't last very long. Two girls ran over to the edge of a slope leading down to a small stream that wound along beside the park. Soon the whole mass of kids disappeared over the edge and we could hear the sound of laughter and calling out and periodic splooshes as someone dropped rocks into the stream. I hadn't seen a single child for quite a few minutes so I decided I should probably go and check to make sure they weren't getting into any trouble. The ground where we were holding the party was flat, until it dropped off sharply down to the small stream. I found the crowd of children a little way along the stream at a point where a section of the bank had slid away leaving a steep and slippery muddy channel down the entire length of the slope. The kids were taking it in turns to sit at the top and slide down through the mud to the bottom where Dan and his friend Alex would catch them and stop them from landing on their bum in the middle of the stream. Already nearly a third of the kids – both boys and girls – had the back of their clothes caked in mud as evidence that they'd already been down the slide. I grabbed the sides of my head in shock as I took in the scene. I suppose I should be grateful that the girls were wearing the cheap racing tops Louise had made as well as a variety of shorts, track-suit bottoms, bike shorts and jodhpurs. If they'd been wearing the fancy party dresses that girls normally wear to a birthday party, Louise and I would have been chased out of town by a horde of angry mothers waving pitchforks. As it was, they would probably just demand that we be stoned for letting their precious daughters get mud in their hair. I could just imagine the headlines: 'Stone Family Stoned.' The boys were rugby players and getting muddy is a weekly occurrence for them. Their parents wouldn't be so fussed. Then it occurred to me that one – no, two – of the girls in that crowd were my own precious daughters. Perhaps I should throw stones at myself. In fact, as I watched, my number one daughter threw herself down the mud-slide, not on her back like the others had obviously been doing, but head first and on her front. I lurched forward and half-stumbled, half-ran down the path and along beside the stream towards the crowd. It was too far, of course, so I didn't make it by the time she hit the bottom. Dan was there though, and his friend Alex, and the two of them easily caught Tara as she slid to the bottom. They stood her up and she jumped up and down happily, obviously unharmed. There was a cheer from the assembled mob and the next child in the queue – one of the boys – imitated her and threw himself down the slide head first. He was one of the bigger lads. Dan and Alex managed to stop him from plunging head first into the stream, but only just. I was stopped just short of Dan by a mud-caked little urchin whose muddy face was split by a toothy white smile. "Hey Dad, this is sooo much fun. You're not going to stop it, are you?" "Tara, this is too..." I looked around at all the happy faces and swallowed my objection. Kids will be kids. Even little girls will cheerfully get muddy for a good cause – as they were demonstrating right in front of me. After all, the mud was just good, clean dirt and Dan and Alex were controlling the situation and keeping everyone safe. I relaxed and nodded down at Tara. She flashed her white teeth at me again in another grin and scrambled up the slope to join the back of the queue waiting to have another go down the slide. Sometimes I think today's children are too molly-coddled. We all protect them too much – only allowing them to play in anti-septic, safety-conscious play areas. I think we do them a disservice by preventing them from exploring and playing in their own way. Children should be allowed to climb trees and splash around in the mud. Sure there are risks, but if we don't allow our children to take risks, how can we expect them to learn? I looked around and spotted Penny watching from the top of the bank. I waved to get her attention and called out to her. "Will you let Louise know what's going on down here? She'll need to round up some old towels to wrap around the girls so they don't mess up their parents' cars. Also, please try to persuade the parents who are here not to interfere." "Aren't you going to stop them?" "Not at all. Just look at them. They're all having fun – and it's fairly harmless fun too. Why should we stop them?" Penny looked around and laughed before waving at me and disappearing out of sight towards the party area. I went over to where Dan and Alex were operating and tapped Alex on the shoulder. I sent him off to have a go himself and took over his role working with Dan to catch the kids and make sure they stayed as safe as could be. I may talk big about letting kids play more freely, but when it comes to children I'm responsible for, I'd be a fool to leave them alone and let them do something like this without supervising and controlling the situation – especially when my own girls are involved. Speaking of my own girls, when the third mud-covered little girl came sliding the slope, I didn't realise that it was Bec until she was in Dan's arms at the bottom. She'd screamed that high-pitched girlie scream every second of the way down until she was safely in Dan's arms. I only recognised Bec when, secure in Dan's arms, she wiped the mud off her eyes and opened them wide to look straight at me. She blinked a couple of times as if she was replaying the experience of the slide in her mind. Then she smiled broadly and a little voice said "again?" Louise appeared at my shoulder and glared down at her daughter. The smile on Bec's face withered and faded away. I touched Louise on the arm and drew her attention to me. "Let it go, my love." "She could have been hurt!" "Perhaps, but not badly. Not with Dan and me down here to catch her. Let it go." "They should be playing the party games." I let my inner-child bubble out. (Aargh! I've been spending far too much time with psychiatrists.) "This game is better. Trust me." I raised an eyebrow at her and waited. I could almost literally see the conflicting thoughts racing around in her head. It was really only the briefest of pauses before she nodded at me. Then her eyes glanced sideways at Bec and back to me and I found myself on the receiving end of a 'look.' The meaning of the look was clear. 'If you let my babies get hurt, your life won't be worth living.' I smiled and winked at Louise. She nodded and spun on her heel, heading back to the marquee to 'handle' the situation from there. I turned back to Bec, who still half-stood, half-lay in Dan's arms. They'd both been watching the brief interchange between us without expression. I grinned at them and then reached out and picked up Bec by the ankles. Dan was still holding her shoulders, so that left Bec suspended between us. I winked at Dan. "The question now becomes – who is going to throw the first Stone?" Dan rolled his eyes at me. It's a joke I use often so I suppose he's starting to get sick of hearing it. It still makes Bec giggle though so I don't intend to stop using it. We swung Bec up and out over the water of the stream. She squealed in a mixture of terror and delight. We didn't let her go, of course. We swung her back down so that we could stand her on her feet between us. Bec stood there with a big grin on her face, panting slightly after the thrill of being swung up into the air. I chased her off to join the back of the queue at the top of the slope. Then I waved down the next little girl who squealed with excitement and jumped into the top of the muddy channel. I was aware of occasional parents coming to the edge of the park to look at the situation. They talked quietly amongst themselves and then disappeared again. I suspected that Louise was working her magic on the other parents, convincing them that no harm was being done and that it was all good clean fun. I don't know how hard she had to work at it, but by the time I brought the game to a close and led a muddy procession back to the marquee, I heard few complaints. That's possibly because I was nearly deaf from the almost continuous shrieking I'd been subjected to. All the parents were present by then, ready to collect their children and ferry them home. There were a lot of farewell hugs between the girls and their temporary big brothers. I was seeing an unexpected benefit of the party. Both groups of kids had gained something. Many of the girls don't have older brothers – a few of them don't even have fathers. Those girls would never have experienced what I see happening between my girls and Dan every day. I don't know if I can put it into words properly. Tara and her friends often complain about the boys in their class. I'm not sure that I can blame them very much because the boys in Tara's grade are little snots. Dan and his friends today were treating the girls properly – paying attention to them and having fun with them. It seemed to me that the girls blossomed under that attention. It seemed – I don't know – is healthy the right word? It seemed healthy. The boys, on the other hand, had learnt to see young girls as something more than whiney little nuisances. They'd seen them as young, vibrant individuals. I think, because of that, they probably got more out of today than the girls did. Maybe, one day in the future, they will remember this day and choose to nurture a little girl who needs nurturing. Maybe, one day, they will choose to protect a little girl who needs protecting. This world needs more men willing to protect little girls from the monsters. This world needs fewer monsters. Louise, Tara and I faced a little procession of girls thanking us for the party. Most of them were thrilled and told us it was 'the best party ever.' A few of them were starting to think about the state of their clothes and panic about what their parents were going to say. Louise told them not to worry. The boys also thanked us for the invitation. I think quite a few of them were surprised at the amount of fun they'd had at a little girl's birthday party. Old towels were distributed and wrapped around filthy urchins, who were then hurried into cars and driven off. I suspect the water supply of Preston took a beating that afternoon as every single one of them was rushed into a shower or bath and their clothes soaked to remove the layers of mud. Tara and Bec had to wait at the park for a while as we packed up the borrowed marquee and put away the remains of the food. Our two little munchkins, bundled up in old towels and perched on the park bench, watched our every move. Eventually we were ready and made the short drive home. Outside our house, Louise turned to the two girls. "You aren't going traipsing through the house like that. Stop on the mat just inside the door and strip off all those filthy clothes. I'll bring you a bucket to put your clothes in. Then you can both head straight upstairs and into the bath." "Without our clothes? But..." Tara's voice disappeared into confusion. I scowled at the two of them. "Dan and I won't be there. We have to return the marquee. Your mum will give you some robes to wrap up in so that you don't have to be completely naked, but you certainly can't walk through the house like you are at the moment." And so that's what happened. Well, it's almost what happened. We found that the place where we had to return the marquee was closed on Sundays, so we have to go back tomorrow. I must admit that I wasn't terribly perturbed by that. After all, I'd achieved the main purpose of the trip which was to keep out of the house while the girls were stripped out of their muddy clothes in the entrance hall. Our clothes were a bit muddy too – my tails are going to need some extensive dry cleaning – but we weren't wet and muddy through to the skin like the girls were. By the time we returned to the house, the girls were securely inside the bathroom and the sounds of splashing and excited giggling was floating down the stairs. There was still a good deal of tidying up to do as a result of the party and Penny and Bridget had come over to help. Ally had taken Sam home because he was getting tired and grumpy. The rest of us got stuck into the various jobs to be done and soon had matters under control. After that we relaxed and had a quiet celebration. Everyone was pleased about how well the party had gone – even if the last section had been unplanned. Bridget went home and I came upstairs to write this while Louise and Penny sat around and had some 'girl talk.' It's a bit hard to sit in the chair and write because my back is sore after carrying Bec around for so long. She's as light as a feather, and I hardly noticed the weight of her, but my back is still sore. I suppose that's a small price to pay for such a wonderful day. I mean that in the fullest sense of that word – it was a day full of wonder. I was just describing my sore back in the previous paragraph when Penny came and led me by the hand out of the room and along the hall to the girls' room. Louise was leaning against the doorway and looking into the darkened room. "What are we looking at?" I whispered as I joined Louise. Louise gestured into the room and then wrapped an arm around me and leaned against me. Penny adopted a similar position on my other side and put her head on my shoulder. I stood there, with my wife in one arm and my sister in the other and looked into my daughters' room. There were two lumps, one in each bed, and neither was moving. A small, angelic face topped each lump – peaceful and still. "Aren't they just adorable?" breathed Penny. I nodded and bent my head down to kiss Penny's temple. It was a silent gesture to tell her how much I agreed with her. "They are completely exhausted," whispered Louise. "They took themselves to bed. It always amazes me how they can be such bundles of energy – then suddenly they become so still." I kissed Louise on her temple as well – mostly because I agreed with her but also in the interest of fairness. The three of us stood there and watched our sleeping girls for a time. I was feeling extraordinarily blessed. For a moment I felt truly happy. But then I remembered. I scowled. I was angry with myself that I had let my guard down. I can't afford to forget like that – the price is too steep. Penny picked up my change in mood a half-second before Louise did. Penny planted her hands in my chest and pushed me across the hallway, away from the girls' room, until my back thumped into the wall. Penny made sure that she had my full attention and then she spoke in a quiet, angry hiss. "You are not a monster." In the meantime, Louise had pulled the girls' bedroom door shut and was now standing next to Penny. "You are not a monster," echoed Louise. "I could be." "You could be, but you aren't," said Penny, in a quiet but firm voice. I was thinking that it was quite daunting to have the two of them standing there, shoulder to shoulder, and pushing me against the wall like that. "Every day is a battle." "And every day you win," said Louise. "And today, you didn't just win," added Penny. "Today, you had a triumphant victory." "What?" "Do you remember the promise we made to each other?" asked Penny. "We made lots of promises to each other. I remember that we promised each other that we wouldn't become monsters. I'm trying to keep that promise." "Do you remember, that day back at Grandma Stone's place, when we watched her playing backyard cricket with those two foster boys – the twins with red hair? I don't remember their names." My eyes went out of focus as I tried to remember the names. "One was ... Jacob. I think the other was Terrance ... or something like that. It was definitely a 'T' name." "The three of them were laughing so much and being silly together – Grandma Stone and those two little boys. We promised each other that when we had children, that we would try to be as much like Grandma Stone as we possibly could. The way she was with children, the way she was with us, that's the way we promised to be with our children." "I remember." "I watched you today, my darling brother, and I realised that you have been keeping that promise." "Grandma Stone would have been proud of you today," put in Louise. Suddenly, the two of them were hugging me – hard. "I try to keep all the promises I've made to you – to both of you." "Don't I know it?" Penny's voice was a bit muffled because her face was pressed into my shoulder. "I know it too," said Louise. She reached up onto her toes and kissed me lightly on the mouth. "Speaking of promises," whispered Louise, "I remember promising that somebody would get lucky tonight if we managed to wear the kids out enough for them all to go to bed early." Penny winked at me. "That's my cue to leave." Penny pulled at my shoulders until I leant down enough for her to kiss me on the lips. Then she turned and kissed Louise as well. "Have a nice time. I'll let myself out. See you soon." We said our farewells to Penny and then waited while she took herself downstairs. As soon as she was out of sight, Louise started hustling me towards the bedroom. Doc, if you think I'm going to describe what happened next then you're reading the wrong sort of book. For obvious reasons, I didn't get to finish writing this until Monday evening. My back is really playing up today because I forgot to treat it last night before I went to bed. Every day is a battle. Some days are better than others. Yesterday was a really good day. It started with a lot of work as we set things up. The middle part was fantastic. I'm not complaining about the way it ended, either. Bec I closed Dad's notebook and put it back down on the bedside table. My brain was whirling. Some things were starting to make sense. There were still some missing pieces – really big missing pieces – to the puzzle, things that made no sense at all. But a few things were starting to fall into place. The picture that was starting to emerge was pretty horrible. It was so horrible that just seeing the edges of it made me feel ill. I sat on my bed with my eyes wide open but not seeing anything – feeling incredibly ill. There was a solid knock on the door and then it opened to reveal Dan. "Have you even moved in the last thirty minutes? Are you ready? It's time to go." I just stared at him. He peered at me and then stepped into the room. "You look pale. Are you okay? Are you feeling sick?" I managed the tiniest shake of my head. I was feeling sick, but not in the way he meant. He came and sat next to me on the bed. He pushed the hair back off my forehead so that he could put his hand there and feel if I was feverish. I leaned into him and wrapped my arms around him, burying my face into his chest. "You're trembling. What is it?" Dan's arms folded around me. Cradled in the warmth of his hug, I slowly started to feel better. "Maybe you shouldn't go out. You don't seem in a fit state to be facing crowds of people." I shifted my head so that my mouth was close to his ear. "No," I whispered. "I want to go." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "I'll be okay. I want to go." I was still whispering. "I figured out something just before you came in and it shook me up a bit – that's all. I'll be okay in a minute." I felt Dan's head shift as he nodded in response. He squeezed his hug a bit tighter around me and rocked me gently back and forth. After a minute or so, I really did start to feel better. Part of the reason for that was because I'd figured out something good, as well as something bad. I had this really burning question in my head. Everything I'd figured out kind of depended on it. The only problem was that I didn't know who to ask. Dan might not know the answer, and if he did, he wouldn't give it to me without a lot of explaining that I wasn't ready to do. Mom and Dad almost certainly knew the answer, but they would definitely rate it as something I 'don't need to know.' I think Dan must have sensed that I was feeling better because he broke out of the hug and pulled me up off the bed. "Come on, Princess, it's time we got going." "Wait, I have to change my top." I pulled my hand free of Dan's and went over to the dresser and took the t-shirt that I needed out of the t-shirt drawer. It's bright red and has the logo of the organization on the front and the logo of the main sponsor on the back. This was the one I'd been given last year and I had been asked to wear it again if it still fit because something had gone wrong with the new order and a whole batch of them hadn't arrived in time. I picked up the t-shirt and held it to my chest. Then I turned and looked at Dan because he was still standing there. I kept standing there and looking at him until he suddenly went "oh, sorry" and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. I slipped out of the top I was wearing and pulled the t-shirt on. It still kind of fit but apparently I've grown over the last year. The t-shirt pulled tightly across my chest and made the little bump on the left side of my chest really obvious. This was appalling. Everyone would stare at me. Everyone would stare at my boob. I glared at my reflection in the mirror. The painted version of me that was leaning against the mirror stared at my boob. I scowled at her. "You can't talk. Put some clothes on," I said to her, but she ignored me. I undid the hair tie that was keeping my hair back and draped my hair loosely so that it fell down over each shoulder and hung like a curtain over each side of my chest. That was the best I could manage. I picked up my shoulder bag and dropped my purse and my brush and my shiny new mobile into it. I slung my bag over my shoulder and I was ready. Outside of my bedroom, Dan was leaning against the wall in the hallway, pretending to snore. I poked him in the ribs and told him I was ready. "Where's Tara? Is she ready?" "I don't know. You're in charge of her. I figured you should be the one to hassle her." I rolled my eyes at Dan and walked past him and down the hallway to Tara's room. I knocked on the door and waited. When I didn't hear any response, I pushed the door open and looked inside – Tara wasn't there. I walked down the hall some more and checked the living room. Angie was in there playing with Lucy, her doll, but Tara wasn't there. I checked the kitchen, but that was empty. Finally, I got to the bathroom. The door was closed. I knocked on the door and called out. "Tara, are you in there? Are you nearly ready?" "Just about," she called back. "Just give me a couple of minutes." "Sure. I have a couple of things to do and then we're going. Meet us at Dan's car." "Okay." I found Dan again and told him that Tara was nearly ready and that he should wait for us outside. He patted his pocket to make sure he had his keys and started walking towards the front door. I stood and watched him go. When he realized I wasn't following him he stopped and looked at me. "Aren't you coming?" "I have something to do, first. I'll be out in a minute." He shrugged and left. I went back down the hall to The Parents' room. Their door was just a tiny bit open. I knocked on the door and pushed it open the rest of the way. Dad was sitting on the bed. Mom was lying down with her head on Dad's lap. Her eyes were red and her face was all blotchy from crying. "We're about to leave. We'll see you later." Dad nodded. Mom ignored me. I went up to the bed and leaned over it so that I could kiss Mom on the cheek. "I love you, Mom." She didn't answer me. I kissed Dad on the cheek too. "I love you too, Dad." Dad managed a little bit of a smile at me, but it looked strained. Impulsively, I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a hug. It wasn't a proper hug because he was sitting down and I was leaning forward and Mom was in between us, but it would have to do. I turned my head a bit so that my mouth was near his ear. "I really truly love you, Daddy," I whispered. That got me a better smile. "We'll talk when you get home." His voice was quiet but firm. I sighed quietly to myself. I hoped Dad didn't want to keep going on about our little fight. I was completely over that – totally over it. It was about time he got over it too. "Angie's playing in the living room." Dad nodded to me again. I bent down and kissed Mom again. I don't think she knew I was even in the room. I gave Dad and Mom a little finger wave and then I left the room, pulling the door closed behind me. I kissed Angie goodbye, and then, of course, I had to kiss Lucy goodbye. Outside, Dan was leaning against his car and there was no sign of Tara. "She'll be out in a moment," I told him. Dan rolled his eyes at me. "I just have to make a phone call. I won't be long." I walked down the street a little way so that Dan couldn't hear me and pulled out my shiny new mobile – all bright pink and speckled. I hope you feel privileged, Doctor K, because my first ever call on my very own mobile was to you. So, Doctor K, that explains why you got a phone call from me on Thanksgiving morning on your private number. I know you said that I should only call you if it was important, but it really was important. I asked you about monsters – human monsters. You didn't really want to answer me. You were kind of going 'mmm' and 'ahhh.' You asked me to explain what I meant by human monsters, but I figured you were trying to dodge the real question. You knew what I meant. I think I get why you didn't want to answer my question. You figured that because I'm only thirteen that I'm too young to know about stuff like that. Well, it was too late. I already knew about it. You were thinking that if you talk about stuff like that then it would make me feel ill. Well it was too late. I already felt ill. I still do. Since you weren't willing to just talk, I decided to ask you some straight up questions. So I asked you if maybe human monsters became that way because they had horrible things happen to them when they were little – like – done to them by other people. You said the proper term was abuse. You said that most human monsters were abused when they were children. I asked you to explain some more about abuse. You told me about the three different types of abuse. You told me it could be just a one time thing, or that it could go on for ages. You told me that most times it's somebody that the child knows – someone they trust. That's a bit freaky. You didn't tell me a lot of detail, though. I guess that's okay, because I'm starting to think that maybe Dad was right and that there are some things I just don't need to know. You asked me why I wanted to know all this but I wouldn't tell you. Now maybe you know why. I asked you if all the children who were abused when they were young turned into monsters. You said no. That explains why I was smiling when I went back to the car. I was smiling because not all the children who get abused grow up into monsters. I know that for a fact. I don't just know it because you said it. I had to hear you say it to be sure, but as soon as you said it, then I knew it was true. I know it's true because I have evidence. ------- Chapter 11: Thanksgiving at the Y I sat backwards on the back seat of Dan's car and watched our house get smaller as we drove away. Then we swung around a corner and our house disappeared completely. It seemed symbolic, somehow — watching my house disappear. Maybe I was watching the past disappearing behind me. My past, I mean. It represented a time when I thought all adults were like my parents — kind and loving, even if they occasionally made mistakes and sometimes did mean things. I spun around and sat properly on the seat. Now I was looking forward — looking towards the future. My future came rushing towards me at an average speed of forty miles per hour, not counting times we stopped for traffic lights and slowed down for corners. My future now involved a place where adults deliberately hurt and abused children. Of course, I had already known that it happened. The thing was that, before today, I never had to think about it personally. Before today, I never had to think about it happening to someone I knew. I mean not just people I'd met but people I really knew. Despite my new understanding, there were some things about it that still really confused me and some things that I flat out didn't know. I still didn't know why we changed our names and fled from England. It might have something to do with what I now knew about Dad but it might not. One possibility that I had to seriously think about was that Dad might have lost that every-day battle that he fought in his head and that he did something terrible to someone. That could explain everything. I didn't want to believe that, though. It didn't fit with what I knew about my father. It didn't fit with Dad at all. One thing that confused me about what must have happened to Dad when he was young was that it didn't match up with what little I knew about his family. "Dan?" "Yup?" "You'd remember Grandma Stone better than me. What did you think she was like?" "Huh? Now there's a question out of left field. Why do you want to know?" "No reason." "Uh huh." "So, what was she like? Was she nice to you?" "Sure, she was nice to me. She was nice to everyone. If you look up the word 'nice' in the dictionary, you'll see her picture." "I remember she was always knitting," added Tara. "She always smelled of wool." "She made little hats and gloves for you two when you were babies. She was always knitting clothes for her foster-kids," explained Dan. "Was she much like Nana?" "She didn't have a temper like Nana does. She was much more patient. I liked staying with her. We used to stay with her for days at a time when Mom was having a bad episode." "Was she ever mean or nasty to you, or to anyone?" "Never. What's this about?" "What about Grandpa Stone?" "What?" "What about Grandpa Stone? There must have been a Grandpa Stone. That's just basic logic, isn't it? I don't remember anything about him. I don't remember anybody ever saying anything about him. I don't think I've ever even seen a picture of him. As far as I can tell, he may as well have never existed." Dan pulled into the side of the road and put the parking brake on. He turned around in the seat and looked at me. I could see that he was thinking hard. Then he shrugged. "I don't remember anything either. Maybe he died a long time ago. I don't know. Why is this suddenly so important? Is this connected to the fight you had with Mom and Dad this morning? Maybe you should just leave it alone." "I can't." Dan gave me a sort of exasperated glare. I looked back at him. I guess I was wishing I could explain to him why it mattered so much. Maybe if I understood that myself then it would be easier to explain it to him. I think all that Dan saw on my face was stubborn. He spun around and sat facing forward, drumming his fingers on the wheel. I looked down at my hands where they sat resting on my thighs. I felt bad. I felt bad because Dan was angry with me. I felt bad because I'd fought with Mom. I felt especially bad because I'd fought with Dad. Most of all I felt bad because all of those things were my fault. And the worst thing was that I couldn't help any of it. I looked down at my hands. They hadn't moved. We hadn't moved. "Why aren't we moving? Are you waiting for me to say something?" Dan snorted and twisted his head around to look at me. "We're supposed to pick up Liz, remember? We're waiting for her. Maybe you should go and knock on the door or something." I felt my eyes go really wide and I spun around to look out the window. Sure enough, we were right outside Liz's house. I felt my face burn with embarrassment. How stupid am I? I pushed the door open and tried to climb out of the car but didn't get very far because I still had my seat belt on. I tried to undo it but the catch jammed. I struggled with it for a moment and then suddenly the catch flew open, banging me on the knuckles of my right hand. I cried out "Ow" because of that, and then I went "Eek" because the seat belt had been physically stopping me from falling out of the car and with it suddenly going loose, I found myself falling. I scrambled around and managed to get myself upright, but my arm was still tangled in the shoulder strap. By this time, I was getting pretty frustrated — and even more embarrassed. I fought my way free of the shoulder strap and spun away from the car, only to trip on the curb and fall flat on my face. I heard a burst of giggling from the front seat where Tara apparently found my situation far too entertaining for her own good. I swore and slammed my hand down onto the ground. I scrambled back to my feet and glared at Tara. "Shut your face!" I hissed. Apparently, Tara suddenly remembered that I held her future in my hands because she immediately cut off her laughter and turned back around to stare forward out of the front window of the car. I snorted in satisfaction at her silence and turned my back on her. Right at that moment if a big hole had appeared in the ground in front of me, I would have cheerfully jumped into it and pulled it closed over the top of me. I sucked on my injured knuckle and looked down in dismay at the bits of grass and dirt and stuff all over my new jeans and my clean shirt. I frantically brushed down my front, trying to clean myself up. Suddenly Liz was next to me, helping me to brush the grass off my jeans. "Are you okay? I looked out the window to check if you had come yet and was just in time to see you fall. Are you hurt?" I tried to let her know that I wasn't hurt, but my tongue was all tied up in knots. It took two failed attempts before I managed to mutter, "Only my pride!" Most of the grass and dirt brushed off, but there was an annoying little grass stain on my left knee. Liz tried to tell me that nobody would notice it, but I was still upset about it. I crawled into the car and slid over to make room for Liz beside me. Soon we were hurtling once more towards my future, only this time we had Liz chattering away to supply the sound track. I listened to her enough so that I could nod and go "uhuh" at the appropriate times but mostly I poked at the green stain on my knee and worried about how noticeable it would be. One piece of news that Liz had was that her father had surprised her with a cell phone the night before. It's too much of a coincidence that we both got our first cell on the same evening. Our fathers have been conspiring again. There should be rules about that. Conspiring fathers are just a little bit creepy. I pulled out my new cell and we spent some time comparing features and putting each other's number into auto-dial. Then Liz was carrying on about how she'd be stuck at the Y all day because of her father. I invited her to come back with us, but she said that she should probably stay with her father. She pouted and moaned but I figured out that she didn't mind that much. "At least," she said, "you get to go home and spend time in your own house. And your family is really nice to each other. What you foreigners don't seem to get is that you're doing it all wrong. The proper American tradition is to fight with your family at Thanksgiving." Dan laughed. "I think Bec has started adopting that tradition. She's turning into an American before our eyes." "Huh?" said Liz. "I, um, had a bit of a fight with The Parents this morning," I said quietly. "Way to go," cheered Liz. "Now you're getting the idea." I scowled at her. "It's not funny. It wasn't a good thing." Liz winked at me. "Oh, come on, it's a little bit funny. Fighting with your parents makes you a real American." I scowled at her some more but she just kept on smiling at me. In the end, I couldn't help smiling too. I got annoyed with myself because she'd made me smile when I was trying to be cross, but in the end I just had to give up. "I suppose it is a tiny bit funny." "That's right. All we need to do now is get you sounding like an American and your transformation will be complete." I snorted at her. "I don't know what you mean. I already sound like an American." I exaggerated my Lancashire accent when I said that and she grinned in response. Liz spent the next ten minutes talking about different Americans she'd met or seen on TV or whatever, who had accents from all over the world. Typical Liz, she sounded all muddled and jumped to the next thought before she was half-way through saying the last thing. She never got around to saying it but I knew that in her head, Liz was trying to tell me that it didn't matter about my accent and that I could be an American no matter what I sounded like. I felt a little smile warm up my face as I let myself be swept away by Liz's non-stop chatter. ------- The YMCA is a pretty old building — it looks all solid and permanent, but I can't help thinking it's a bit sad and crumbly. Around the side, the wall that faces the parking lot is covered with graffiti. Some graffiti is artistic but this stuff is just messy. Most of it is just stupid tags and stuff but some of it is about politics. Some of it is pretty old, too. One bit says, "Down with Reagan." I mean, Reagan is one of those presidents from history class. I can't remember if he came after the one who resigned or if he was before. He had an interesting face though. It was all long and craggy. His eyes kind of twinkled. I think he must have had a good sense of humor. I think I spent that lesson looking at the faces of the different presidents instead of following what they actually did. I could probably draw the faces of about the last ten presidents and get them in the right order but if you asked me to say their names and dates and tell you something about them I'd be completely lost. I guess I should pay more attention next time we do a history lesson about them. Another bit says, "Save the world, shoot a Greenie." I don't get that. Aren't the greenies the ones who are trying to save the world? Why would shooting one help? It doesn't make sense. I think it's supposed to be funny but I don't get it. At the back of the YMCA is a newer section that includes a big meeting room. A bunch of motorcycles were parked outside. I'm sure Mr Davidson's bike was one of them but I couldn't tell you which one it was. Liz's Dad had been there for hours already and we waved at him as we came inside. He was directing traffic and sending people scurrying around like a general in charge of an army. Most of the tables had been set up and we immediately got recruited to put out tablecloths and tableware and stuff. Dan collected a list of names and addresses from Mr Davidson and then waved at us on his way back out of the room. Just about everybody in the room was wearing the red t-shirt with our logo on the front. One person who didn't have the shirt was Tara. As soon as she realized that she was the odd one out, Tara grabbed me and asked if we could check if they had a spare shirt for her. Together, we went and spoke to Mr Davidson. He told us that he'd found a handful of spares in a box and waved us towards a store room. The store room contained piles of boxes and we had to open several before we found the right one. Most of the shirts were super-sized adult shirts but we did find one that was only one size too big. I closed the door and leaned against it so nobody could come in while Tara changed. It hung a little loosely on her but I thought it looked okay. Tara wasn't so happy with it. She plucked at the shirt and pouted. "I was hoping for a size more like the one you have on." I blinked in surprise and looked down at my shirt. It was too tight. I'd been embarrassed to put it on. Since then, so much else had gone through my head that I had actually not thought about how exposed it made me feel. I know some girls like to wear tight clothes that show off their bodies but I don't get it. I can't imagine ever wanting to wear clothes like that. I looked at Tara. "Swap?" She smiled at me and then she peeled the shirt off and threw it to me in a single move. It took me more than a single move to peel my t-shirt off. It felt like I was peeling off a layer of skin. It felt good to slip into the new shirt — especially since it hung nice and loose on me which made me feel much more comfortable. In the meantime, Tara was wriggling into the shirt I'd been wearing. It was skin-tight on her and she smoothed it down with a satisfied smirk. We might be more or less the same size, but Tara definitely curves a bit more than I do and the tight shirt certainly showed off those curves. I waited until Tara was ready and then pulled the door open. Now that we were both happy with the way we were dressed, we went back to setting out the table service. Over the next hour, people started arriving. Most of them were veterans, but not all of them. That's how all this had started. Mr Davidson had found out about some old ex-military types who didn't have any family so they spent every Thanksgiving on their own. So he booked the room at the Y and lined up some local restaurants to donate food. That first year, only a few vets had turned up so he ended up with huge amounts of leftovers. He and his friends spent the rest of Thanksgiving cruising the local streets, handing out the food to homeless people. The next year more vets turned up, including a couple who had heard about handing out food to the homeless and wanted to get involved with that. They still had excess food and when they finished eating, they looked out the door and a bunch of homeless were waiting in the parking lot. Mr Davidson invited them inside and he and the vets served them a proper sit-down meal. The next year it all took off. A bunch of vets who were too proud to take charity themselves were quite happy to turn up when it was all about them being charitable to someone else. The fact that they ended up with a nice meal and an afternoon with their friends instead of sitting on their own at home was just a nice bonus. Liz recruited me to help out the first year I became friends with her and I have been here every Thanksgiving since. I spend the morning setting up and serving food and stuff like that and then they all set up a big TV and spend the afternoon sitting around and drinking beer and watching football while I get to go home to my family. For the last couple of years, Mr Davidson had recruited Dan to drive around and collect people who didn't have cars. It made it easier for me and Liz because it meant we could arrive at a sensible time instead of having to get up before dawn so that we could go with Mr Davidson. I looked around and saw Liz standing at the door and greeting people. She was holding a cash box for people to pay for the meal. There isn't a fixed price. People just pay what they think is right, or they pay what they can. Some people just hand over a voucher. Mr Davidson and his friends had spent the previous few evenings riding around the streets and handing out vouchers — "Present this voucher for a free Thanksgiving meal." We get more people turning up that way, than by saying "Come along and get free food." The Y let us use their showers and washing machine, so a lot of the homeless people come and have a shower and the men sometimes shave and there's some donated clothes and stuff for them to wear while they put their own clothing through the machine. That way they can sit down for the meal feeling neat and clean and civilized. We usually get a few prostitutes and people like that too — ones that aren't homeless I mean. You can usually tell who they are because they turn up clean and in a bit better clothing. Dad freaked the first time he found out about the prostitutes. I don't know why. Maybe he thought being a prostitute was catching and he didn't want his little girl turning into one. I guess I was, like, nine at the time so maybe Dad just wanted to protect me from knowing about things like that. Dad threatened to ban me from coming. Mr Davidson talked to him and calmed him down, but Dad came with me the next year and helped out himself so that he could make sure I was okay. I think once he saw what was going on he was a bit happier. I also think something about the day made him uncomfortable because he hasn't come back since. I saw Dan come in pushing a man in a wheelchair. I ran and moved a chair out of the way, so that there was a space at the table for the man next to his friends and then Dan and I waved at each other and he left again. Liz called me over to the door. She had a teenage girl with her — she was maybe sixteen or seventeen. She was painfully thin and had that stretched look in her eyes that told me she was either on drugs or used them a lot. Liz asked me to take over the door while she stayed with the girl. If it had been a guy, one of the men would have stayed with him. Liz would make sure she got her shower and change of clothes and a good meal. She would also quietly tell her about the local clinic and give her their card — or try to get her into one of the shelters or something. That was something else we did. We made sure that the people who were new to the streets were aware of the local shelters. I got Tara to join me and the two of us stood at the door and took money or vouchers and welcomed people and answered their questions. I saw Dan a couple more times, delivering people and then going off again. I don't want to give the wrong impression. We didn't have this massive crowd or anything. But there were quite a few people. It was quite difficult for me to stand there and be friendly to all these strangers. That's why I got Tara to help me. She's good at that sort of thing. With her smiling and chatting away to everyone, I could stand there and hold the money box and not have to talk so much. A new girl stepped cautiously through the door and stopped. She stood there looking around nervously. She was a bit taller than me, but I figured she was younger, like maybe eleven or twelve. Her skin was that light brown color that meant most people would call her black but multi-racial would probably be more accurate. Her clothes were brand-name but they were old and frayed and dirty. I looked around the room for Liz. This girl was going to be another one for someone to stay with. I didn't think she was on drugs, but she was so young and nervous that she was going to need some encouragement. I sighed in frustration because I couldn't see Liz anywhere. That meant that I was going to have to do it. I'd helped Liz a few times but I'd never done this by myself before. I cried the first time I saw a girl my own age here. I mean one who was obviously living on the streets. It was a shock that someone my age could end up sleeping in a cardboard box in an alley somewhere instead of having their own bed to sleep in. I guess it made what we were doing here so much more real to me. I still sometimes cry about stuff like that. This girl was going to make me cry, I just knew it. I told Tara that she was in charge of the door since she should know the routine by now. I walked up to the girl and smiled at her. "Hi, my name's Bec. Come on in. You are in the right place." She gave me this nervous smile and took a couple of steps inside. Then she stopped and dug a tattered voucher out of her pocket and showed it to me. "A man gave me this. He said I could get some food." "Yep. Just give it to my sister and I'll show you around." I gestured at Tara and girl tentatively handed over her voucher. Tara gave her a cheery "hello" but the girl didn't respond. "Come on," I said and took her hand. "The food won't be ready for another twenty minutes so we've got time. Do you want to have a shower? The Y lets us use their bathrooms." That got me a shy smile. "That would be nice. But I don't have a towel or anything." "That's okay. Come with me and I'll sort everything out for you. What's your name, by the way?" "Alyssa." "Hi Alyssa, I'm Bec." "Yeah, you told me." "Oh, sorry." We both giggled and that kind of broke the ice a bit. I took her to the room with the washing machines and she got excited about the idea of washing her clothes. But then she worried about what to wear in the meantime so I took her into the next room where we had a stack of donated clothing set out. I explained that it was all donated and she could either just borrow some stuff to wear while her clothes were being washed or she could keep it. That was up to her. Then I gave her some new underwear, still in its polybag. We didn't want that back, I told her, and we both giggled again. Alyssa opened the bag and breathed in the smell from the open pack. She saw me watching her and her cheeks tinged pink. "I can't believe how much I've missed the smell of new underwear," she said with shy smile. I gave her a bag with little sample-sized bottles of soap and shampoo and conditioner. There were also a couple of emery boards for her nails and a comb for her hair and some tampons and stuff like that. I gave her a towel and we picked up the clothes she'd selected and we went through to the bathroom. Alyssa hesitated at the door to the shower cubicle. "Will you wait for me?" I smiled at her. "Sure. I'll sit right out here until you're done." So I sat and waited and listened to the splashing as Alyssa stood in the shower. An older lady came in with an armful of clothes. I recognized her from the last few years. She's a regular. She nodded at me and ducked into an empty cubicle. Eventually, Alyssa was done and she came out in her clean clothes. She looked at me doubtfully so I smiled at her and started saying nice things about the way she looked. Gradually I prised a smile out of her and that gave a glimpse of how pretty she must have been before things went bad for her. I mean, something must have happened to her or she wouldn't be living on the streets. I smiled at her again and held out my hand. She took it and I led her out of the bathroom. We put her original clothes in the washing machine and set it going. "Come on, let's go and get some food." In the meeting room, they were just about ready to start serving. I took Alyssa over to a table and sat her next to a female vet called Sharona. She'd lost her left arm when her truck ran over a landmine. Now she wore a jacket with the sleeve neatly pinned up. I introduced Alyssa and Sharona to each other and Sharona quickly set about making Alyssa feel welcome. Mr Davidson was standing out the front next to where the big TV was set up. He had a microphone in his hand and he coughed into it to get everyone's attention. Then he made a short speech welcoming everyone — it was a really short speech. Then he handed the microphone to a young guy standing in one corner, next to a small electric keyboard with a girl about the same age sitting behind it. Everybody stood up and put their hand over their hearts. The girl played a chord and the guy started singing "Oh, say, can you see by the dawn's early light..." Everyone joined in and sang the anthem with passion — enthusiasm and passion. I stood there, singing along with everyone else, when my eyes slid sideways to Alyssa and Sharona. They were standing side-by-side, the wounded veteran and the teen waif. They had so little in common, but they were standing there together, united by their mutual love of their country. In fact, everyone in the room was united — except me. That's why, in the light of the red glare of the rockets, the sound suddenly disappeared from my throat. I couldn't sing. My eyes roved around the room and I knew I shouldn't be singing. I didn't belong here. I knew at the core of my being that I wasn't an American, so I didn't have the right to be standing here, singing along with everyone else. I'm not an American. I don't belong. But I'm not really English any longer, either. I don't belong there anymore. If I went back to Preston, I would be a stranger there as well. So where does that leave me? It leaves me belonging nowhere. So I stood there with my hands by my side and tears streaming down my face. I felt completely alone. I was in this room full of Americans as they asked if their star-spangled banner was still waving and I was alone. I wanted to run out of there and escape but I knew that running would make everyone look at me. The best way to be invisible was to stay standing still. So I stood like a statue and tried to disappear. I felt like a fake, standing there in that little portion of the land of the free and the home of the brave. The singing stopped and they all clapped. Then there was a noisy bustling as they all started lining up to get their food. I realized that I needed to move or I would stop being invisible. People tend to stare at a person standing as still as a statue when everyone else is moving. The only problem was that I couldn't move. Suddenly, Liz was beside me, asking what was wrong. I looked into her eyes and tried to plead with her to get me out of there, but my voice had done what I wanted to do and run away. Maybe my psychic powers suddenly kicked in or something because Liz seemed to get the message anyway. She gripped my arm and steered me towards the door. It had started raining, so we stopped on the doorstep. Liz hugged me for a moment and then she sat us both down on the step. "What's going on? Why did you suddenly start crying?" I shrugged. I didn't think my psychic powers were up to answering that. She scowled at me. "Don't you dare go all silent on me. I want to know what's wrong and you are going to tell me." I withstood her glare for a moment, but then I shuddered and gave in. "I don't know who I am," I whispered. "I don't know who my family is. I feel so lost." "Why did that suddenly come to you in the middle of The Star-Spangled Banner?" I shrugged. "Everyone was being so, I don't know, patriotic or something. Suddenly, I figured out that I didn't belong. I'm not an American. It felt wrong to stand there and pretend that I am one." "Of course you're an American. What are you talking about?" "I'm not a real American. Not like you are. You were born here. Your dad fought in the army. I'm just a visitor. I'm just someone who came to live here for a while. I don't belong. I don't even sound like an American." "You didn't take me seriously? I was kidding around when I said that. Please tell me I didn't make you feel this way." I heard the distress in her voice. I shook my head at her and I saw her face relax a bit. "You aren't just a visitor. You've lived here for years and years. You go to school here. Your dad works here. That makes you more than just a visitor. That makes you American — at least it does as far as I am concerned. You're as American as apple pie." I snorted at her. "That's a dumb saying. Americans didn't invent the apple pie. Nana knows a recipe for apple pie that she says has been in her family for three hundred years." "Oh!" Liz's face fell for a moment but then she smiled again. "That proves my point then. The apple pie came from England and we made it better and now it's American — just like you." I gave her a little smile for the effort but she could tell that I wasn't convinced. She bit her lip and looked at me. Then I saw her face brighten as if a little light had switched on over her head. "Every week at assembly, we say the Pledge of Allegiance. You say it too. Do you mean it when you say it?" I shrugged. "I guess so." "Well, there you go then." Liz smiled in triumph as if she had just solved everything. I blinked at her as I tried to figure out what she meant. She rolled her eyes at me and scrambled to her feet, dragging me with her. "Come on," she said as she pulled me a couple of paces out onto the pavement. It had mostly stopped raining so I allowed myself to be dragged. She stopped and spun around to face me. "Say it with me." "What?" "Say it with me, right now." Liz put her hand over her heart and used her eyes to hint that I should do the same. "Now? I can't. I'd feel silly." "No you won't. You'll see. Just trust me. Please." I looked deeply into her earnest eyes. I still didn't understand what she was getting at but my trust and love for her meant that I was going to do what she asked. I hesitantly lifted my own hand up to my heart and nodded to her. We looked deep into each other's eyes and together we started reciting, "I pledge allegiance to the flag..." We got up to the bit about "one Nation" when the Nation decided to make it rain on us again. We didn't stop. We stood out there in the rain and spoke to each other about Liberty and Justice for all. That's the point when I got what Liz was on about. Tears started streaming down my face again, but this time they were disguised by the rain. "You see? If that doesn't make you an American, I don't know what will." We laughed and hugged each other. That's when I realized that Liz was crying as much as me. We loosened up the hug so that we could look at each other. "Welcome to America," said Liz. She kissed me and we hugged again. "Thank you," I whispered over her shoulder. There was the sound of a noisy throat-clearing and we sprang apart and looked up to see Liz's dad standing on the step and looking at us. "Come out of the rain before you get completely soaked." That reminded us both that we were both standing in the rain in just t-shirts. I shivered as I suddenly became aware of how cold I was and I think Liz did the same. We held hands and scampered out of the rain and up the steps. Mr Davidson caught us and wrapped us up into a three-way hug. "Sometime, I would like to hear how my two favorite girls in the world ended up standing in the rain and reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. That will have to wait though, because right now my two favorite girls are supposed to be helping to serve out the food to the starving masses. At the moment I have Alexander with a ladle in his hands and if that isn't a recipe for disaster then I don't know what is." "Okay, Dad. We'll do it. We're okay now." She looked at me. "We are okay now, aren't we?" I nodded. "Yeah, we're okay." "First, you two need to go and find towels so that you can dry off." Mr Davidson escorted us back into the main room with an arm around each of us. He seemed oblivious of the damp patches we were leaving on his jacket. I loved him for that. It showed me that he cared for us more than he cared about keeping his jacket dry. He pushed us towards the bathrooms. Then he turned and went to the food line where he confiscated a ladle from the singer who was threatening to use it to bean a grizzled old veteran over the head for questioning his ladling skills. Liz and I giggled at the scene and then ducked into the bathrooms to dry ourselves. We did that as quickly as we could and then hurried back out to help serve the food. Liz took over from her dad. I found Tara serving green beans with one hand and sweet potato with the other. I slid in beside her and took over serving the green beans. We smiled at each other and focused on what we were doing. Most people had a smile or a friendly comment for me as they moved past me. I was used to that and I usually didn't respond with much more than a shy smile. Then I realized that they were being more — I don't know — more friendly than I was used to. They were saying more to me, or asking how I was or whatever. It took me a bit to figure it out. I finally realized that some of the men were actually flirting with me. I only recognized it because I was used to standing beside Liz and watching them flirt with her. Like I've said before, Liz is more curvy than me — and she's more outgoing so I guess she attracts that stuff a bit more. I felt a bit weird at first. These veterans and whoever were flirting with me as if I was a sexy grown up girl. It was embarrassing. I looked down at the pot in front of me and concentrated on dishing out green beans. Of course, the same men were then moving along one place and doing exactly the same thing with Tara. She was lapping it up and seemed to know exactly what to say in reply. In a way, that made me feel better. It helped me realize that they weren't being offensive or anything. It was only that polite sort of flirting that doesn't mean anything. Once I understood that, I was able to go back to looking up at them and giving them little smiles in response to their comments. There wasn't much else I could do about it. I tried to keep track of how Tara handled the flirting. I figured I should probably try to learn how to do what she was doing. I'd probably never get as good at it as Tara, but surely her reaction was better than just standing there and feeling embarrassed. Then it occurred to me that there had to be a reason why the men were suddenly flirting with me. It couldn't be anything I'd done. I still looked the same as I always did. I looked around the room for Dan. It felt like the sort of thing he might do — encourage people to say something nice to me so that I would feel better. I found Dan in the room but he had his back to me. He was leaning over and listening to that old lady I'd seen earlier in the bathroom. That was puzzling. If he was setting me up, he was being very subtle about it. Alyssa came along the line and we exchanged smiles. I asked her how she was doing and she said she was okay. I dished up some green beans onto her plate and she breathed deeply to inhale the smell. "It all smells so wonderful. You wouldn't believe how hungry I am." "Well, there's plenty here. If you're still hungry when you finish that lot, don't be shy about asking for more." She moved on to Tara for some sweet potato and I served the one-armed Sharona her green beans. She smiled at me and told me I was looking pretty today. I felt my cheeks burn as I smiled and thanked her. Eventually, we got everyone served. Liz and her dad picked up plates and served themselves and went to a table to have their meal. Tara leaned over to me. "What happens now?" "Dan and a couple of the other older people who aren't eating here will go around serving drinks. We stay here to serve the people who come back for seconds. Then we start serving dessert. We're not supposed to do drinks because we're too young. You could do coffee or stuff like that if you want to. We have sodas and iced-tea and so on for the younger people. You can do that if you want." "Are we allowed to eat? All this food is making me hungry and it will be hours before we get to eat at home." I shrugged. "Sure, if you want. Don't eat too much though. Mom gets really shirty if you can't eat anything when you get home because you stuffed yourself silly here. I learned that lesson the hard way." She grinned at me to show that she'd understood what I was saying. She picked up a bread plate, helped herself to a slice of bread and made herself a snack-sized turkey sandwich with a dab of cranberry sauce. It looked so good that I made up one for one myself as well. We stood together behind the food tables and ate our turkey sandwiches. "This is a whole lot more fun than I thought it would be," said Tara, through a mouthful of turkey. "I'm glad I came." I nodded at her and smiled. I was glad she had come along, too. We finished our sandwiches and went back to serving. When we were serving desserts, I tried to be a bit more like Tara. I made comments and smiled and laughed the way she had been doing. I know it didn't do it as well as Tara but I thought I did okay. I didn't say anything original. I mostly repeated the comments that I'd heard Tara make. That made it easier because I wasn't frantically thinking up new things to say and I could concentrate on how I said it. I was surprised how easy it was. I think it was mostly because I was pretending to be Tara instead of being myself. I could feel Tara's confidence bubbling up inside of me. It really was a lot of fun. A few times I got all tongue-tied and made a mess of it. But the good thing about this set-up was that I could just wait until a new person came along and I could try again. It was like being at a flirting school. Every thirty seconds you changed partners and tried again. Once I got into the swing of it, it was a lot of fun. After a bit, Tara figured out what I was doing and started competing with me. With her tight shirt that showed off her body, she had an obvious advantage over me. Not to mention that she was just so much more experienced and so much more confident than me. If we were being graded on performance, she would have won by a country mile but this flirting school didn't grade so that didn't matter. Like I said, I had a lot of fun. Once all the serving was done, I left Tara to help with the tidying up because I had something important to do. I went and sat down with Alyssa and Sharona. Alyssa had gotten Sharona to talk about what inspired her to enlist and I listened intently — joining with Alyssa to ask questions that kept Sharona talking. This was part of the reason I'd sat Alyssa next to Sharona in the first place. I knew that she would take Alyssa under her wing if I teamed them up. I waited until Sharona's story finished and I asked how Alyssa was feeling. "I'm warm and dry and feeling better than I've been for ages." "That's awesome," I said with a smile. I watched Alyssa's eyes and saw that she was remembering some previous time when she'd been feeling this good. That was the signal I was looking for. "What are you thinking about? Are you remembering a good time from when you were at home?" She gave me a little smile. "Yeah. I have an older sister — Jenna. I think she mostly thinks I am a pest but I love her and she tried to protect me when..." Her voice tailed off and a cloud passed over her face. I didn't want her to start feeling miserable again so I quickly got her back to thinking about her sister. "Where would she be now? Do you know?" "I guess she'd be home for Thanksgiving." "Would you like to talk to her?" I pulled my brand new cell phone out of my pocket and put it on the table in front of her. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the cell. "Come on. Let's go somewhere quieter where you'll be able to hear." Alyssa picked up the cell and I led her out of the main room to a little open area in the main building. "You'll be okay here. I'll leave you alone so you can talk in peace." "Wait!" she called. "Stay with me." "Okay! I'll stay." I sat on a padded chair and watched as she paced a couple of times trying to build up the courage to make the call. "Just dial. It will be okay. You'll see." I tried to encourage her. I watched as Alyssa took a deep breath and started to dial. She got about half way through dialling when she suddenly stopped and cancelled the number. "What happens if Mom's boyfriend answers? I don't know what I'll do. I really don't think I could talk to him." I looked at her pale face and nodded. "How about I make the call and I'll ask to speak to Jenna. I won't give you the cell until I'm sure it's Jenna on the other end." She gave me a grateful look and passed the cell to me. She told me the number to dial and I keyed it in. I heard about two rings from the other end before it was answered. "Hello?" asked a breathless voice. It sounded like an older woman. "Hello, could I speak with Jenna please," I said as clearly and politely as I could. "Oh!" The voice sounded disappointed. "Hold on." I heard the same voice in the background calling for Jenna. "I think it's one of your friends," said the voice. "No, she didn't say." There was some rustling and a new voice came on the line. "Yo!" "Hello, my name is Bec Freeman. You don't know me. Is this Jenna speaking?" "Yeah. Whadda ya want?" "Can you go somewhere private to take this call? I have someone here who wants to talk to you." There was a squeal so loud that it hurt my ear. "Alyssa? Is that you?" I grinned at Alyssa and passed the cell over to her. Alyssa said "Jenna?" into the cell and was answered by another squeal. Alyssa burst into tears at the sound. I tried to leave to give her some privacy, but Alyssa hung onto my hand like a leech. It took a little while for the two of them two calm down to the point where they could talk. After that there was a one-sided conversation that was a bit hard to follow. I knew when Jenna asked her to come home though. The various emotions that raced across her face said it all. She stuttered. "I don't think I can. Not while ... he's there." Then she stopped and listened as Jenna started talking rapidly. I watched as a look of wonder spread across her face. Finally she said, "Hold on." She took the cell away from her ear and held it against her chest. "They want me to go home. What should I do?" "What about the boyfriend?" "When I ran away, Jenna was finally able to get Mom to understand what was going on. She kicked him out. She's trying to go sober, too. I can hear her. She's crying and calling out to me about how sorry she is. I want to go home." "Well, then. It sounds to me like you should go home." I watched as a tear trickled down her cheek. She told her sister that she wanted to come home and there was more squealing and more tears. I cried a bit too. There was more talking and then Alyssa started telling Jenna that she was at the Y and that we'd looked after her and given her clean clothes and showers and hot meals and so on. She was making it sound as if she'd been staying here for the whole time she'd been away from home. I think she wanted to protect her family from feeling too bad about what she'd been through since leaving home. I was quite sure that it had been a whole lot worse than what she was saying but I kept quiet and let her tell her little white lies. I think her mom joined the conversation at some stage and I pictured the two of them huddled close together so they could share the handset. Finally one of them obviously asked Alyssa about me because she started describing me. That was a bit embarrassing because she made me sound like a guardian angel or something. I rolled my eyes at her and she grinned at me. Then she went right on telling them how saintly I was. Alyssa looked at me and asked if she could stay here until her family arrived to take her home. I told her that of course she could stay. And that was it. After a few rounds of "I love you," Alyssa hung up and passed the cell back to me. Then she squealed and wrapped me up in a hug that almost cut off my breathing. We went and checked her clothing. Someone had moved her clothes from the washer to the dryer and now it was warm and dry — if a little threadbare. Alyssa looked at the clothes doubtfully. I guessed that she maybe didn't want to put them back on because of the memories attached to them. I told her she could keep the stuff she was wearing if she wanted — that's what it was there for, after all. Or she could return it in a few days by dropping it in the donation bin at the side of the building. She smiled at me and nodded to tell me she would do that. Then she picked up her old threadbare jeans and top and dropped them in a box with some of the other donated clothing. "Maybe someone else can use those." I doubted it because they were so thin that we'd probably end up throwing them out. But I nodded at her anyway and thanked her for the donation. We went back into the main room and sat down with Sharona. The football was on and most of the people were gathered around the TV. Usually some of the homeless people will leave after the food is gone, but this time most of them appeared to have stayed. Apparently the rain outside made an afternoon of sitting and watching TV with a bunch of veterans a little bit more enticing. Dan came over to check if I was ready to go but I had to tell him I was going to be another twenty or thirty minutes. He looked at his watch and then shrugged. I introduced Dan to Alyssa and Sharona and he said hello, and then wandered over to watch the football. Liz and Tara came over and sat with us and soon the five of us were chatting as if we'd been friends for years. I think Sharona was a bit startled to be included in a teen chat-fest but she quickly relaxed and got into the swing of things. I guess she must have been a teenager once so maybe that shouldn't be so surprising. A bit later, we were all giggling and laughing because Sharona was telling us about the absence of fashion-sense among a couple of the women she served with in the army. She would describe an outfit and we would all cover our faces with our hands and laugh. I felt a bit bad laughing at those women but Sharona made a point of telling us that they were good people — their only fault was that they didn't have a clue when it came to clothes. Alyssa had her back to the door, so she didn't see when an African-American girl of about nineteen or twenty came in the door and looked around. She was followed by an older woman who was obviously the mother. I nudged Alyssa and pointed. There was a little bit of squealing and Alyssa almost flew across the room to her family. I felt a tear run down my cheek as I watched her being hugged by her mother and sister. There was a little boy, too. He was maybe five or six and he was clearly as overcome as the rest of his family at seeing his sister again. Tara leaned closer to me. "Did you do that?" I shrugged. "Not really. She did that herself. I guess I encouraged her a bit, but that's all." Tara put her arms around me and hugged me hard. Then she kissed my cheek. "Sometimes, you can be a complete pain in the arse, but right now you are totally my hero." Liz reached over and kissed my other cheek. "Mine too," she said. I rolled my eyes at Liz. "I didn't do anything you haven't done before." She smiled at me. "Maybe so, but today you did it." Sharona raised her cup to me as a salute. "You did good, kid." I smiled and looked over at Alyssa and her family. I was feeling a bit proud. Alyssa led her family over to us and introduced them to me. I found myself being hugged very tightly by people I didn't know. That's usually something I don't like very much but I was willing to put up with it this time given the circumstances. Waving farewell to Alyssa and her family made me feel strange. I didn't know how her life was going to turn out. I would probably never see her again. But I had become responsible for her. I figured her life was now going to be better than it would have been if she hadn't come into the Y this morning. I'd helped her get her life back. It was a truly awesome feeling. Mr Davidson came up beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. "Do you know why the Statue of Liberty holds a lamp?" he asked quietly. I blinked a couple of times at the extreme randomness of the question. Finally, I shrugged and said, "No." "The lamp is to guide new immigrants safely to shore — in a symbolic sort of way. It represents a welcome lamp in the window that is our nation. To the ancient lands of Europe, including your own England, she says, 'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses. Send them to me.' Our country was built — is being built — by immigrants such as you and your family. For two centuries you all have been coming here and doing your bit to make this country better. You told my Lizzie that she was more of an American than you because I was in the army. Today, you did something as worthy as anything I ever did in the army. Today, you saved a life." "I saved a life," I echoed. I think I was a little bit in shock. "It was you and this place as much as me. You set all this up." "Yes I did, didn't I? But I couldn't have done what you did today. She probably wouldn't have listened to me. She certainly wouldn't have trusted me. That was something only you could do. So here you are in America, doing your bit to make the nation better. What I'm saying is that if someone says the Pledge of Allegiance and saves American lives then that makes her American in my book. You belong right here with us. Are you following me?" I hesitated and then I nodded. "Yeah!" "Good! Now get home to your family. I'm missing valuable football-watching time by standing here and giving you this pep talk. Don't let me hear that I've wasted my time." He glared at me to make sure I knew he was serious and then he winked at me to let me know he wasn't that serious. Then he pushed me towards where Dan and Tara were standing next to Dan's car, waiting for me. "Hey!" called Mr Davidson from behind me. He stood there on the step with his arm around Liz. "You didn't say. Did my pep talk work? Do you feel like an American now?" I smiled and waved. "As American as apple pie." ------- Chapter 12: Thanksgiving Dinner Part 1 "We're home!" yelled Tara, as we came in through the front door. "Yay!" squealed Angie from the kitchen. She came running out towards us and ran full tilt into Dan so that she could hug him around his legs. Dad and Nana followed from the kitchen a bit more slowly. I was kind of glad that Dad didn't come running at us because he had a sharp knife in one hand and half a carrot in the other. He was wearing an apron over his suit which looked a bit weird. On the other hand, Nana was wearing an apron over her nice dress and that didn't look weird, so maybe I'm being sexist or whatever. "You'll never believe what happened at the Y," announced Tara. "It was totally awesome." "You'll have to tell me about it later," said Dad. "For various reasons, we haven't finished moving the furniture and setting up the tables in the living room." Dad was glaring at me when he said that. I wondered why he thought it was my fault. He and Dan were supposed to do that before we left for the Y this morning ... oh! "We need to get moving. People will start arriving in about half an hour. Move it!" Dan reached down and tickled Angie. That made her squeal and let go of him. Dan reached for her again and she danced back out of reach. Then all three of us started heading towards our rooms, with Angie trotting after Dan. "Hold it!" called Dad. He pointed the knife at Tara. "Please tell me you haven't been wearing that shirt all morning." "Da-ad," moaned Tara. "There's nothing wrong with this shirt. Don't be such an old geezer." "I'm president of the Old Geezers' Club. I'm required to behave like an old geezer. It's part of the job. You are fourteen years old. You don't have to dress like that. Go and change." Dad pointed the knife at me. "You should change too." Dad took a bite from the carrot and then he turned and walked back into the kitchen. I watched him go, wondering why I was being included in his random clothes rant. When his disappearing back failed to provide any answers, I looked at Nana. She raised an eyebrow at the two of us then turned and followed Dad back into the kitchen. Deprived of answers and possible sources for answers, I was left to stand there and drown in ignorance. It occurred to me that Mom hadn't even stepped out of the kitchen to greet us. I figured that I was being given the cold shoulder after what happened earlier. So, I knew something. I wasn't completely ignorant after all. I scowled. It was something I didn't really want to know. Knowledge isn't all it's cracked up to be. I shrugged and headed to my room. I glanced at my mirror as I walked past it and screamed in shock. Okay, it wasn't a real scream – it was more like an "eek." I stopped and stared at my reflection. A ghastly horror stared back at me. I had gotten wet when Liz and I stood out in the rain. Then I had half-dried in a hurry. I'd been so frantic at the time that I hadn't thought about how I looked since then. I mean, I don't usually spend a lot of time thinking about the way I look. I'm not like one of those posers who spend hours preening in front of a mirror. But I do try to stay neat and presentable. Right now I looked like a mess – my hair was mussed, my shirt was out of shape, everything had been wet and not dried properly. I supposed that at least I hadn't been wearing one of those thin white tops that turn see-through when they get wet. That would have been mortifying. I "eeked" again and ran out of my room. I burst into Tara's room and started snarling at her about how she should have told me how bad I looked. Tara was half-way through changing her clothes and she looked startled to have me burst in like that. She also looked confused because apparently I wasn't being clear about what I was upset about. I think she might also have been a bit pissed at me for coming in like that without knocking first, but that only occurred to me later. She snapped back at me about something that I didn't hear too well and frantically pulled her jeans back up before racing past me to push the door shut. Oh, yeah! I forgot to shut the door, too. So then I was going at Tara about stuff and she was going at me about other stuff and I wasn't really listening to her and she wasn't really listening to me. We weren't actually yelling so much as speaking forcefully at each other in low voices. I think we both knew instinctively that screaming at the top of our voices right now would have a bad outcome that neither of us would like very much. I don't think that the argument lasted for very long. It stopped kind of abruptly. One moment we were talking over the top of each other and the next moment we were scowling silently at each other. Then I saw the edges of Tara's mouth lift up as she tried not to smile. "Are you seriously upset about the way you look?" she asked. I was puzzled and looked at her, trying to figure out what she was meaning. She just kept looking at me with her eyebrows up and those tiny little upturns in the corners of her mouth. In the end I decided that she actually meant what she'd said. I nodded and looked down at the floor. There was silence for a moment and then I shrugged. "I'm sorry about coming into your room like that. I should have knocked." I stopped talking and kept looking at the floor. Tara stood there and watched me with her hands on her hips. I looked up at Tara. "Yes, I am upset about the way I look – seriously upset. I look ghastly. I look like a train wreck. I look like some survivor from one of those disaster films. I look like an undead walking zombie ghoul. You should have told me." Tara rolled her eyes and shook her head at me. "Bec, you can be so stupid sometimes. It's a miracle that you can feed yourself." I glared at her. If I'd been a cat, I would have growled at her – snarled at her – raised the fur around my neck and bared my teeth at her. I would have unsheathed my claws and threatened to rake them down the side of her face. Tara looked at me and sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." She sighed again. "Look! Just close your eyes for a minute. Trust me." Trust? I couldn't imagine anything further from my mind. Tara's face softened and she lifted my head up by the chin until I was looking into her eyes. She gently moved a strand of hair away from my eyes and tucked it back around my ear. "I'm not going to do anything to you. I just want you to see something. Please trust me." Looking straight into her eyes like that, I realized that she really was being sincere. I gave her the tiniest nod and closed my eyes. I listened to the sounds of her shifting on her feet in front of me. I heard the softest whisper as she rubbed a hand on her arm. I was expecting her to come up to me – touch me, move me around, something. But she didn't. She just stood there. Maybe she was trying to think of what to say. "You and Mom, you're so much alike." My eyes popped open and I stared at her in puzzlement. "Huh?" "Don't look at me. Close your eyes." "Sorry." I closed my eyes again. "Well, anyway, like I was saying, you and Mom, you're so much like each other." "Okay." "You both do this thing where you look at something and you see art. It might be something ordinary. It might be something most people wouldn't look twice at. It might be something most people would find a bit weird or a bit strange. But Mom can look at a stain on a wall and see a painting. You can look at a shelf of CDs and see a rainbow. I need you to look at something with those artist's eyes now. Can you do that for me?" Artist's eyes? I guess I got what she was talking about. Inside my skull, a little version of me reached out and popped an eyeball out from its place behind my closed eyelids. I gave it a little polish and looked at it closely. Was this an artist's eye? Maybe. Or maybe it was more like a general purpose eye that I used for everyday seeing. I threw open a storage chest in the back of my head and rummaged around in it for those artist's eyes of mine. I found a set of eyes in a ragged little case decorated with smudges of pencil lead and paint. I took them out of their case and gave them a quick polish before clicking them into place. This was kind of fun. It was a bit like I was assembling Lego Bec. I wondered if any other bits of me were interchangeable. Wouldn't it be good if I could just snap a new chest into place. My life would be so much better if I could do that. Then I opened my eyes and looked at Tara. I had to blink a couple of times, because at first she was all fuzzy, but then she came into focus and stood in front of me, nicely framed by the window. Her hair mostly hung straight except for a few strands that were caught on her shoulder and curved away from the side of her head in a most interesting way. Since her back was to the window, Tara's face was slightly shadowed, but the shadows were softened by light reflecting from the walls and the furniture. The shadows made her eyes seem deeper, with sparkles glistening in their depths as she watched me. "Artist's eyes?" she asked. I shrugged and nodded in reply. Tara frowned, which sent creases rippling across her forehead and sank her eyes further into shadows. "Something's still not right," she said with a frustrated edge to her voice. "Close your eyes again." I closed my eyes, wondering if maybe I'd put them in backwards or something. "You're all slumped and hunched over, like you're all upset," she complained. "I am all upset," I explained in a whisper. "Well don't be," said Tara. "Stand up straight. Be all happy and bouncy like you were this morning at the Y." I screwed up my face as I thought about how ridiculous it was to tell someone who was upset, to be all happy and bouncy. Then I remembered that I'd spent half the time at the Y pretending to be Tara. Maybe I could do that again. I withdrew into the back of my skull and let the Bec version of Tara take over. She took a big breath and stood up straight. She tossed my head around to flip my hair back and lifted my chin up. I could feel the muscles in my face move and relax as Tara's face pasted itself into place over the top of my own. "That's better," said Tara. "Now take two little steps back." I felt Tara holding me by the arms and guiding me backwards. Then she gently steered my head around to the side. "Now, open your eyes and look." I opened my eyes and, sure enough, framed squarely in the mirror, I could see that other version of Bec. It was that strong and vibrant Bec who seems to be perpetually trapped in mirrors. At least she was wearing clothes this time. She stared back at me with calm eyes, her hair falling in a rippling curtain of waves and curls. She stood there dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, but the shirt was bunched and shaped so that it hinted at half-hidden curves and shapes that the sane part of Bec, hiding in the back of my head, knew didn't actually exist. She looked older, prettier, more – I don't know – more. That girl, trapped in the mirror, seemed more ready to be a part of the world than I could ever be. She seemed more open to seeing new things, meeting new people than I could ever manage. There was only one problem. She wasn't real. She was just a mask that I was hiding behind. She was something that I had created, just like a picture. She was a piece of my art, with no more substance than the mirror world she lived in. The most amazing thing was that I could feel myself slumping on the inside – drawing back inside of myself, but the girl in the mirror remained standing tall and proud. I half-expected her to wink at me at any second, or perhaps blow me a kiss, or do some other outrageously flirty thing that was the complete opposite of anything I would ever do. I watched through the glass as she turned and brushed her lips over her sister's cheek in silent apology. Then she stalked silently from the room like a cat prowling through its territory and waving its tail high in the air with just the tip flipping back and forth. I went back to my room to change my clothes. I went for my full length mauve skirt and a high-necked, long-sleeved shirt. I decided to leave my hair the way it was. It had never been like that before and I wasn't used to it. I guess that's why my initial reaction had been to think it was a mess. But apparently I had done something to it by accident that some women spend hours with very expensive stylists trying to achieve. ------- Nana was alone in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove-top. I walked up and hugged her from behind. I kissed her cheek and then I leaned over to inhale the delightful smells rising from the pot. She smiled at me and then chased me away with a flip of her hand. In the living room, I found Dad and Dan lifting the couch and carrying it into the hallway. Angie was seated firmly on the couch and was giggling madly as Dan and Dad pretended they couldn't see her and then complained loudly about how the couch was so much heavier than they thought it would be. "Where's Mom?" "In our room." Dad pointed with his head towards their bedroom. "She wanted to be alone for a while. I think Angie's around here somewhere. Could you please find her and get her dressed in her good clothes," said Dad. But he said it to my back and I ignored him because I was heading towards The Parents' room. I think Dad called out something, but I didn't hear what it was. I found Mom seated on the floor next to her bed, with a sketchpad propped up on her knees. She was drawing furiously, which was impressive because I didn't think she'd be able to see with her hair dangling down over her face the way it was. There were several loose pages lying on the floor around her. I kneeled down in front of her and picked up one of the loose pages. It was a hurried sketch in Mom's distinctive style. It showed her kneeling before a closet. The closet door was slightly ajar and a single eye peered out of the dark interior. Mom had drawn herself kneeling before the closet with her hands out, pleading. Not many layers in that picture. I smoothed out a few creases on the page where Mom had torn it from the pad. I laid the sketch carefully on the floor beside me and picked up another of the discarded drawings. Mom had drawn herself again in almost exactly the same pose, only this time she was kneeling before an oversized cat. The cat was sitting with its back to her. It was sitting upright in that strange vertical way that cats do with its tail tightly curled around its legs. All you could see was its back, but it was clear the cat was completely ignoring the pleas from my distraught mother. Once again, I carefully smoothed out the creases and laid the sketch down on top of the other one before reaching for another. I was interrupted by a sharp tearing sound and then Mom shoved the page she had just drawn directly at me. I looked up and saw that beneath the curtain of hair, Mom's face was a mess. She had been crying and her eyes were puffy and her nose was red. She looked down at the picture in her hand and then up again as she shoved the page at me again. I took it from her and smoothed it out on my lap. I could feel Mom's eyes watching me carefully as I looked down at her latest picture. This time, instead of drawing herself from the side, or the rear, she had drawn herself from the front. She was more or less in the same pose, begging for forgiveness, but this time her form was blurred. She was melting in despair – dissolving into the floor. In the foreground, with her back to the viewer, was a young girl with her hair in pigtails tied off with little ribbons. It could almost have been Angie, but something about the tilt of the head, the slope of the shoulders told me that it was me. I looked back up at Mom and saw that she was looking down at her blank sketchpad – waiting silently for some reaction from me. I wanted to say something but there was a lump the size of a baseball in my throat and no words could make their way past it. I had to get Mom out of her slump and I had to do it fast. I looked back at Mom and knew what I was going to do. Carefully, I reached out and took the sketchpad from her and then I plucked the pencil from her fingers. I laid the pad on my lap and looked at Mom for a moment while I composed my thoughts into some sort of structure. Then I started drawing. I drew as quickly as I could – making the pencil race across the page. I didn't think Mom could wait much longer before getting a response from me. I was worried that she would melt down completely if I took too long. I wanted to copy Mom's style but that would have slowed me down by quite a bit. Instead I opted for simple outlines – no shading, no color, no depth – just outlines. I drew Mom kneeling, with her arms around the young, pigtailed version of me. Pigtailed Bec was hugging Mom and resting her head on Mom's chest. I cheated a bit by hiding the hands – they would have taken too long to draw well enough to get them looking okay. I did take the time to put some extra detail around Pigtailed Bec's eyes. I did everything I could to emphasize the love and trust in those eyes as they gazed up at Mom. Finally, it was done. I tore out the page and handed it across to Mom. She had sat silently watching me for the entire time I was drawing. Now she stared down at my picture, blinking slowly as she absorbed its meaning. Then she held both hands out towards the things in my lap. I picked up the pad and pencil and handed them to her. Now it was my turn to sit and watch in silence as Mom drew. She was still upset – no, that's too soft a word – she was still devastated. I was assuming that she was freaked because she'd lost her cool and fought with me. The last time Mom had decided she'd done the wrong thing as far as being a parent goes, she'd spent an afternoon in a funk and then slipped into a full-blown episode. This was Thanksgiving. In about half an hour, or less, the entire extended family was going to start arriving and expect to be fed and entertained. This was bad timing and it was my fault. I should never have got into a fight with her. I should have known better. I should have controlled my temper. I made fists and clenched them so tightly that my nails dug fiercely into my palms – enough to make my eyes water. Weirdly, the pain in my hands was enough to stop me from bursting into tears. I realized that Mom was taking a relatively long time to do her sketch so I shifted myself around and slid in to lean against the wall next to her. Then I laid my head on her shoulder and looked down over her arm at the half-finished sketch. The most noticeable thing was a child-like drawing of a house in the middle of the page. Standing in the doorway, holding on to each side of the doorway, was that young-looking, pigtailed version of me. Except this time I was dressed in an old-fashioned gingham dress and long stockings. There were some strange lines around the house that I couldn't immediately interpret, so I kept watching as more of the picture emerged. As I watched, Mom actually started a new picture at the bottom of the page. I watched as her own features emerged from the quick sure strokes of her pencil. A moment later I started giggling as Mom put herself into the most outrageous dress I've ever seen, along with horizontally striped stockings. Then she reached up to the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out her tin of colored pencils. A few rattles later and she was giving herself bright red slippers. Given the rest of the sketch was done in greylead, the red shoes stood out like a beacon. In a single moment of twisting reality, the meaning of Mom's picture become obvious – the house wasn't a separate picture, it was part of the same one. And the lines around the house were movement lines. The house was falling. Mom had cast herself as the Wicked Witch of the West – about to be crushed under the falling house. I kept on giggling at the picture but at the same time I shook my head at Mom. She had it all wrong. I wanted to take the pad from her and have my turn, but apparently Mom wasn't ready to let go so we had a brief tug of war with the pad before I surrendered it back to her. I picked up a loose page that had a rejected half-drawn closet on it and pulled a book from the shelf near where I was sitting. I turned it the loose page over and rested it on the book, then I fished in Mom's tin for a second greylead. I decided to stay with the Wizard of Oz theme. I drew the Yellow Brick Road – well, I drew two curving lines that were supposed to represent the famous road. I was sick of the young and pigtailed version of me, so I made Angie into Dorothy with the pigtails and the gingham dress. Next to her I put Mom as the Scarecrow who desperately wants a brain. That seemed to fit because of Mom's weird brain. Next to her I drew myself as the Cowardly Lion. That fit too. I heard a stifled giggle from next to my shoulder as I filled in my face on the lion's body. I smiled quietly to myself and kept drawing. If Mom was coming out of her funk then my silly drawing was doing its job. I sketched in the Tin Man who desperately wants a heart and that evil little part of me took over and put in Tara's face. That made Mom laugh out loud, but then she stopped herself and slapped my arm and told me that I was naughty for doing that. I grinned at her and kept drawing. A hand holding the red pencil snaked out over my drawing and started coloring in Dorothy's shoes. I pouted at Mom's invasion of my drawing but it didn't worry me too much. I guess that tells you what I thought of the picture. I kept finishing off the details on Tara/Tin Man and Mom reached across again – this time with a greylead and put a bit of detail into the road, making it look a bit more brick-like. So that's how we spent the next little while, with the two of us adding bits and pieces of detail to the sketch sitting on my lap. It turned into a bit of a competition with the two of us trying to add the silliest little details. I put a mouse into the straw making up Mom's arm. She put ribbons into the Bec/lion's hair. I added a couple of trees that were a bit like Dan and Dad. Mom put an owl into the branches with Nana's face. We were both laughing quietly at the Nana owl when a forced cough made me look up. Dad was standing there scowling down at us with Tara peering around at us from behind him. Dad had a woman's coat under one arm and a purse in his hand. He laid both things on the bed without moving his gaze from the two of us. The coat and purse didn't quite match and I recognized both of them as belonging to Aunty Janice. "Uncle Stan and Aunty Janice are here. They've brought the twins too." "Cool," I said. I don't think I've mentioned the twins before. The twins are Aunty Janice's from before she married Uncle Stan. They're sixteen. We don't get to see them very often. Last time I saw them was back in March, or maybe April. I don't really understand them. They are like alien creatures from another planet who just happen to have become my cousins when their mother married Uncle Stan. It's become kind of a lifetime project for me to figure them out. It doesn't help that just about every time I see them, they have completely changed and I have to start all over. Dad glared at me. "We need the chair from your bedroom out at the dinner table and then you need to get out there and be polite." I looked up at Dad, feeling hurt. He was all angry at me as if I'd been sitting in here deliberately avoiding everyone and wasting my time. I'd been doing something important. I'd been making peace with Mom after our fight this morning. That was important. And I'd been trying to cheer up Mom so that she could face the family. That had worked too, because Mom was obviously not as upset as she was. And now Dad was undoing all the good work I'd done by being all grouchy. "Rebecca, move!" barked Dad. I jumped and started scrambling to my feet. "Tara, get her out of here. Louise, you have to get dressed – now!" He ignored me and held his hand out for Mom. He helped her to her feet and looked at her more closely. Now that he had her moving, he softened his voice. "You'll need to wash your face and brush your hair." She nodded at him and gave him a little smile. Dad pushed the hair away from her face and lifted her chin up so that he could kiss her. It wasn't a big crazy tongue kiss, just a gentle kiss on the lips. Mom smiled and gazed up at him with love in her eyes. Tara was tugging on my arm but I stood there and watched. I was entranced by the tender moment between The Parents when, seconds before, Dad had been ordering Mom around. The moment was interrupted by the chime of the door bell and an answering excited squeal from Angie. Dad looked up and announced, "That will be Penny and Ally, with Sam." Then he saw me and Tara standing there and his face went hard again. "Why are you still here? I told you to move." Daunted by his attitude, I mumbled about needing to put the drawing down, but I don't think anybody heard me. I quickly reached out and put the Wizard of Oz drawing on Mom's pillow and dropped her pencils back in her tin and then allowed Tara to drag me out of the room. Tara dropped my arm as soon as we were out of The Parents' room. She looked at me with this weird expression on her face. "It's not fair, you know?" she said. "What?" "You have this thing you do with Mom, that I can never be a part of." "Huh?" "I was watching you, in there, before Dad came in. You were both drawing on the same page and laughing at whatever it was and neither of you were saying a word. How could I possibly follow what was going on?" "You could understand if you wanted to. It's not that mysterious." "Maybe, but I can never be a part of it. What can I ever do with Mom that's just her and me? Nothing. It's just not fair." She turned her back on me and walked away down the hallway. I watched her go with my mouth wide open. I closed my mouth with a snap and shook my head at Tara's back in disbelief. Where had that come from? ------- The next little while was filled with a flurry of hugs and hellos and everyone talking at once while people caught up with each other's news. Penny and Ally had brought their folding table and a stack of folding chairs so the greetings were carried on through the bustle of setting those up at the end of the tables we had already arranged and putting out the table cloth and so on. The twins were there and I got to say hi to them but that was about it before I got hustled out to the kitchen to fetch the tableware to set out on the new bit of table. The initial roar of greetings was just starting to die down when Mom came out of the bedroom and it all started up again. With our kitchen table and our folding table and the aunts' folding table all set up in a big line across the living room, and all the usual living room furniture pushed back against the walls and with all the people in the room, our little living room was looking very crowded. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all. I'm usually pretty okay with crowds. I know some people get freaked by being in the middle of a crowd of people, but I'm usually okay. I guess this time it was just way too many people in way too small of a space. And maybe it was the sudden change from being quiet and alone with Mom to being surrounded by everyone so close together that we had to keep squeezing past each other to get anywhere. In the end, I retreated out the front door. I would have preferred to go to my room, but we're not supposed to hide in our room when there's company present. Not at first anyway. Maybe later on in the day, I could get away with it. So I went outside and sat on the bench we have in front of the house. This way nobody could say that I was shutting myself away from people. The rain had stopped but it was a bit chilly. It wasn't too bad though, so I was was quite happy to sit there and breathe in the fresh air and enjoy the quietness. The walls of the house seemed to be bulging outwards because of the number of people packed inside. I suppose it's just as well our extended family isn't any bigger or the poor house would have burst open, scattering random aunts and cousins over a three mile radius. The house seemed to shudder and sneeze – ejecting Uncle Stan from the front door like a ... well, now my brain is being gross. Maybe I should just say that Uncle Stan came outside. As soon as Uncle Stan was clear of the door, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He had the top flipped open and was drawing a cigarette out when he saw me sitting there and watching him. He stopped in mid-motion. "Oh – er – hi!" I stared at him. He looked down at the cigarettes in his hand and then back at me. I kept staring at him. He seemed to shudder a bit. "You know, your mother gave me that exact same stare the first time she caught me smoking. It's very unsettling." I didn't mention that this wasn't the first time I'd caught him. I just kept staring. Finally he sighed and tucked the cigarette back in its box and put the box back inside his jacket. I gave him a little smile and he shrugged at me. "I suppose I don't need it that badly," he said. It occurred to me that I had a priceless opportunity to solve one of the mysteries that had been bothering me. That was provided Uncle Stan hadn't joined the conspiracy of silence that the rest of my family had apparently signed up for. I smiled at Uncle Stan and patted the bench beside me in invitation. I waited for him to sit down. "Thanks for not smoking in front of me," I said. "I am, after all, very young and impressionable. I'm quite sure that if I saw my favorite uncle smoking that I wouldn't be able to stop myself from picking up the same habit. We teens are so easily led astray." He shifted and squinted sideways at me. "Was that sarcasm? I'm not used to you being sarcastic. That was subtle. When the twins are being sarcastic at me they're usually in my face and sneering at the same time so that makes it easy for me to tell." I smiled at him. "I guess I was being a bit sarcastic. But I do appreciate you not smoking around me. I can't stand the smell." "Hmph! So, I'm your favorite uncle, am I? Or were you being sarcastic with that comment as well?" "You are totally my favorite uncle. No sarcasm involved." I grabbed his arm and snuggled up against it. "Well that would be nice, except that I happen to be your only uncle, so I'm not sure it's that much of a good thing." "Of course it's a good thing. Just imagine how you'd feel if you were my only uncle and I didn't think you were my favorite uncle. How bad would that be?" He seemed to think for a moment and then nodded with a serious expression on his face. "Yep. Yep-yep. I can see that. In that case, I shall sit here for a moment and bask in the glow of knowing that I'm your favorite uncle." He smiled at me and then wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Since that was the arm I'd been snuggling up to, I had to let it go and snuggle up to the side of his chest instead. "So when was the first time Mom caught you smoking?" "Oh, I don't remember when it was. A while ago now." "Was it here in America?" "Yep. Yep-yep. Soon after you all moved out here." I nodded at that and thought for a moment. "Uncle Stan, you're quite a bit older than Mom, aren't you?" "That's right. Yep." "So you would have been an adult already when she was growing up." He nodded. "That's right. Yep." "But you love her like a sister anyway, don't you?" "Of course I do." "I found Mom's wedding album. You weren't there. You didn't go to your own sister's wedding." A look of sadness passed across his face. "No! No I didn't." I let my confusion appear on my face. "You see? That's the bit I don't get. I love my family more than anything. If one of my brothers or sisters was getting married, I would make sure I was there. Even if I was half a world away, I would pawn everything I owned to buy a plane ticket so I could be there." Uncle Stan was nodding while I was saying that. "So why weren't you there?" He shrugged. "It isn't that much of a mystery. I didn't know about it. I didn't even know about Louise." "Huh?" "I was given away when I was born. My parents – I mean my adopted parents – moved to America when I was a child. I started trying to find my birth parents when I was twenty. It wasn't until they changed the laws a decade ago that I finally got access to the adoption records and found out about my birth mother. Bridget – your Nana – is my birth mother. I wrote her and we exchanged letters a few times. Then suddenly you were all moving here and I got an instant family, including a sister, a nephew and some wonderful nieces." I stared at Uncle Stan. I was stunned. "How could I not know that? Why would that be kept secret?" He shrugged. "I think, to be honest, that Bridget was embarrassed." "Embarrassed about you?" "No. Not that. I think she was embarrassed that she gave me up in the first place. I don't know why for sure – you'd have to ask her that. She basically asked us not to keep talking about it. I don't think it was meant to be a secret exactly, just something we don't talk about." "Oh!" I sat there and leaned against Uncle Stan – letting all this new information soak into my brain. It was weird. That was one mystery solved so easily. Ask the right person the right question and bam. I wondered if I'd be able to solve the big mystery as easily. Now I only had to figure out who was the right person to ask and what was the right question. In the meantime, I was with Uncle Stan and I could sense that he was waiting for me to say something. "I never realized you had been here in America for so long. Somehow I had gotten the impression you moved out here only a few years before we did." He shrugged at me. I nodded to myself and thought about everything Uncle Stan had told me. "It's kind of a nice story. You get adopted as a baby. You grow up in a different country. After years of searching, you finally find your birth mother. The entire tribe moves out and settles in the same town as you and you slot right in as the son and brother and favorite uncle. It's the sort of story which you expect to finish by saying and they all lived happily ever after. Don't you think?" "Yep. Yep-yep. I think so." We sat quietly together for a moment. "Uncle Stan." "What is it?" "You're a proper American, aren't you?" "If you're asking if I'm a citizen, then yep, I'm a U.S. citizen." "If you came out here from England with your parents when you were a child, how did that happen? How did you get to be a citizen?" "I didn't have to do anything. My parents became citizens, so I got it automatically." "Really? So if my parents become citizens, then I would officially be an American? How cool. So what do they have to do?" "Well, it's been a while, but I think I remember. You have to have lived in the U.S. for a while – I think it's five years. There are some forms and things I suppose. There's a quiz you have to answer with important questions like, How many Americans does it take to change a light bulb? Then you stand up at a ceremony and hold the flag and take the Pledge of Allegiance and it's done." I grinned up at him. "So how many Americans does it take to change a light bulb?" He grinned cheekily back at me. "None. America is the land of the free. No American would ever force a light bulb to change against its will. Of course, we would defend to the death a light bulb's right to change on its own, if that's what it wants to do." I laughed. "Oh! You liked that? I'm glad. I had another answer but I don't think it's as good." "Okay. Tell me your other answer." "Well, first it depends on whether the light bulb is a local or a state or a federal light bulb..." He stopped and started laughing. "Now that I'm saying it, I'm glad you liked my first answer." It was hard not to laugh along with him. "It was sounding okay." "Really? I'll keep working on it then. Maybe eventually it'll be a good joke." "Maybe." "Hey! You two!" The voice interrupted us from the front door. It was Nana. "What are you up to out here?" "Just talking," I called back to her. "Well, come inside and talk. It's cold out here. You'll catch your death." We both smiled at her and let her hustle us inside. Uncle Stan headed into the crowded living room. I stopped Nana by the door. "Uncle Stan was telling me about being adopted." Nana huffed at me. "I wish he hadn't. Some things are better not talked about." "I understand, Nana. You get embarrassed. But what I don't understand is why you gave up Uncle Stan in the first place. What happened?" "That was a long time ago, honey. It's all water under the bridge. I'd rather not talk about it. As I just said, some things are better not talked about." "Nana, please." She had started walking away, but my simple plea stopped her. She turned and faced me, taking my face between her hands. "Oh, honey. It's nothing special. Just old-fashioned foolishness. Are you sure you want to hear about this?" "Yes, Nana. I want to hear it." She sighed. "I'm going to explain this once and then I don't want to hear any more about it. Do you remember when I told you that my parents wouldn't let me go to college because my older sister didn't get in?" I nodded. "I was young. I was stupid. I was angry. I was little more than a child. I decided to teach my parents a lesson. I went out and found the most decent young man in town and seduced him. I gave away my virginity to prove a point to my parents. I'm not proud of that." "Oh!" "In those days, if a young girl got pregnant there would be a sudden wedding. Since I refused to tell my parents who the father was I got the other treatment. I was sent off to a church-run boarding school for girls like me. Our neighbors and friends were told that I was staying with an aunt in the country while I recovered from a bout of pneumonia. I had the baby and it was taken out of the room straight away. I never even got to hold him. I was never asked what I wanted. My father signed all the forms without even talking to me." "Oh, Nana. I'm so sorry." I hugged her. "What did you do?" "What could I do? I did what girls who went through that had been doing for ages. I got tough. I got over it. I went back home and resumed my life. I tried not to think about my son and where he was and what was happening to him. What else could I do?" "But Nana, doesn't that mean Uncle Stan is Mom's half-brother?" "Do you remember I said that I found the best young man in our town? Once we were grown, we ended up back together. I ended up marrying him. Uncle Stan is a full brother to your mother." "But isn't that the same man who ended up putting Mom in the asylum?" "That is the irony of the story, honey. I thought he was nicest guy I knew, but he ended up treating my daughter almost exactly the same way my father had treated me when he sent me to that school." "And he was the one that we got Lambrecht's Syndrome from – Mom and me." "Apparently so, honey. Apparently so. But he didn't know he had it. I didn't know. Nobody knew. We play with the cards we are dealt, honey. I've had to play my hand, and then your mother." "And now it's my turn." "Yes, dear. Now it's your turn. But you're strong. You will find your way." She said it in that way that Nana has. The way with only one possible response. "Yes, Nana." Apparently Nana was satisfied. She gripped my shoulders, turned me around and steered me back into the crowd. ------- Chapter 13: Thanksgiving Dinner Part 2 In all the furniture shifting, the coffee table had been pushed against the wall directly below Mom's painting. That made it difficult for me to retreat to my favorite place – but not impossible. I sat on the coffee table and slid back to lean my back against the wall. I kicked off my shoes and crossed my legs inside my skirt. Carefully I smoothed out my skirt and made sure that it draped down to completely cover my legs, my ankles and my feet. The material of my skirt stretched between my knees and thighs and made a taut flat surface that I could push my clenched hands into. The resistance of the cloth, pushing against my fists, made a most interesting sensation on the skin of my knuckles. Doing that also pulled the material even tighter against the outside of my thighs. It made my skin tingle. The weight of my legs pressed down on my ankles and feet. The hard surface of the table pressed up into my ankles and the bony points of my bum. I relaxed my arms and let them drape across my lap, the backs of my forearms lying across the sensitive skin on the inside of my thighs and my hands lying loosely curled together on the taut cloth of my skirt. I rocked my shoulders back and forth, making my spine slide against the wall. I could feel the individual bony bumps of my spine as they scraped against the wall with only the thin layer of cotton from my top between my skin and the wall. I straightened up and pushed my shoulders back against the wall. That took the bumps out of my spine and now my back felt smooth and flat against the wall. It also pressed the back of my head against the wall. I tilted my head to one side, rolling the back of my head along the wall. That made my hair swish, sliding against my neck and shoulders. I rolled my head the other way, delighting in the gentle pulling sensation in my skull, the feeling of the hair sliding across the skin of my neck, the soft swooshing sound as it moved and swung. I lowered myself into that sea of sensation, exploring each one individually but at the same time letting all of them wash over me like I was a body surfer caught in a breaking wave. I ended up dumped on the shore of reality. I lay there, gasping for breath, feeling connected to the world with every bone in my body. I had learnt something new. I had new knowledge. I had found out something more about Nana and her life. It helped me understand her better. It was also worth thinking about how one rash decision she had made as a teenager – so many years ago – was still causing complications now. The effects weren't all bad. I mean, she got to have Uncle Stan and she got to meet up with him and have him in her life as she grew old. But she also missed out on being his mother as he was growing up. How sad is that? I guess I wasn't all that upset finding out about Uncle Stan and Nana. I was a bit mad that they had hidden all this from us kids. I understood about Nana being embarrassed and not wanting people always talking about it, but there's a difference between not always talking about something and deliberately keeping us ignorant. It was typical of all of the adults in my family. Keep us ignorant, keep us in the dark, feed us cow manure and expect us to grow up into big strong healthy mushrooms. I hate it. I thought about how helpless Nana must have felt when her father locked her in that school and agreed to have them take her baby away from her. Knowing that my family was keeping all these secrets from me was making me feel frustrated and helpless – and angry, especially angry. If what I was feeling was only a fraction of what Nana had gone through then that explained a lot about why Nana became as tough as she is. I sighed. I admire Nana. I am in awe of her. I love her. She is my idol – my hero. It was surprising, but what I had learnt today hadn't changed that. I expected it would have, somehow, but it hadn't. I opened my eyes. That was surprising – I hadn't even been aware they were closed. I'd been so absorbed with sinking myself into the physical sensations, I'd closed my eyes to concentrate on what I was feeling. Now that my eyes were open, I was reminded that I wasn't alone. Apparently I had unplugged my ears too, and opening my eyes somehow reconnected my ears because what had been a distant roar resolved into a number of people all talking at once. The crowd seemed to have reduced a bit. I think some people were in the kitchen. I let my eyes roam around the room. When I say that, I don't mean that there was a pair of eyeballs floating in the air and wandering around the room like a matching pair of eyeball-sized blimps – with ads for spectacles on the sides and tiny little cabins underneath for the ant-sized pilots to sit in and steer. That wasn't happening, which is a good thing because that would be weird. No, the eyeballs were firmly stuck in my head. I just want to be clear about that. When I say that I let my eyes roam around the room, I mean ... okay, you probably know what I mean. That's when I noticed that Rebecca Louise was in charge. It was actually Rebecca Louise that was sitting upright on the coffee table and letting her eyes roam around the room. I was sitting inside my head and looking out through those little eye-sized windows. Sensible Bec sat in the middle of my skull and looked out through Rebecca Louise's eyes. "Notice how everyone here is family," she said inside my head. "So why are we hiding?" It was a really good question. I didn't have an answer. No part of me had an answer. My attention was caught by Mira – one of the twins – standing with Aunty Ally and Tara over in the entrance hall. Remember that I said the twins were Aunty Janice's – from before she married Uncle Stan? I think they mostly live with their father or something because we don't get to see them too often. The twins are sixteen so they aren't much older than Tara and me but I don't understand either of them. For a start, Mira has all these metal bits attached to her face. She has a stud in her tongue, two rings through her bottom lip – over on the left of her mouth, right next to each other, a stud in the left side of her nose, a bolt through her left eyebrow and five – count them – five different rings scattered all the way around the edge of her left ear. On the right side of her face she has absolutely nothing – not even an earring. If you see her from the right side, you see pure and untouched skin. If you see her from the left side, she looks like a bomb went off in a jewelry store and she was standing too close so she got all this shrapnel embedded in her skin. I don't understand why anyone would do that to their face. I don't understand why anyone would want anything more than a couple of earrings in the first place and I certainly don't understand why Mira went for the completely lopsided look. I asked one time why she did that and she just shrugged and told me she that thought it looked cool. It's a mystery. Mira's hair was dyed completely jet-black. It was cut short – to just below her ears – and the sides curved forward in a most interesting way. Last time I'd seen Mira there had been a streak of purple in her jet-black hair, and it had been slightly longer and straight. The time before that it was bleached the color of straw and super-short except for clumps gathered into little knots scattered over her skull. So this mystery called Mira was standing with Aunt Ally and Tara. I don't know what they were saying because their voices disappeared behind the noise of the other conversations in the room. They were standing right next to one of my pictures hanging on the wall – it was the sketch I did of Mom and Dad, with the rest of us circling around them. I just knew they were going to start looking at it. I wondered if it was too late to rush over and take the picture down. Of course it was too late. I'd lost control of it as soon as the picture went up on the wall. Once it is hanging there, anyone can look at it. It belongs to them now. It isn't mine any more. I just had to sit here and let them look at it. I still couldn't hear what they were saying but I knew the instant that one of them told Mira that I had drawn it. I knew because all three of them turned and looked across the room at me. I looked down at the floor so they wouldn't see that I had been watching them. The floor was suddenly very interesting. There was a bump and movement next to me. I looked up in surprise and saw that Sam had slid onto the coffee table next to me. I gave him a little smile and went back to looking at the floor. "Are you going to have another meltdown – like last time I was here?" His voice was soft. I could barely hear it over the noise of the room. I shrugged. "No. What makes you think I'm going to have a meltdown?" There was a pause. "I guess it was just the look on your face. You were sitting there and looking all – I don't know – lost or something." "Oh! Well, maybe I was feeling a bit down but not that far down. Not like last time. Last time I suddenly figured out about my dad being your dad and I thought he was cheating on Mom and I panicked." "I remember." "I'm sorry about all of that. Especially with you. That was a bad way for you to find out who your father is. Did it mess you up?" "Nah! It's a bit weird, you know? Uncle Peter is my dad! But it's cool. I like him. I mean, it had to be someone. At least it's not some slimy guy that I can't stand." I nodded slowly because I understood what he was saying. "It's not like I was lying awake at nights, thinking about my missing father. I love both my mothers and I'm happy with them. I'm kind of happy to keep calling Uncle Peter my uncle. Do you know what I mean?" "Yeah! I get that." I sighed and looked around the room. An instant later, I heard Sam sigh as well. After a moment, I shifted a bit. Then I swivelled on the spot so that I was facing Sam – still sitting cross-legged on the coffee table. "I have a question for you." He turned towards me and lifted one foot up onto the table. He rested his arms on his knee. Then he put his chin on his arms and looked at me. "Okay." "Do you feel more like you're English or do you feel like you're an American?" He screwed up his face at me – just for an instant. "I don't remember England. I was only, like, three when we left. So I guess I'm mostly American. But sometimes I feel like I don't really belong." I sensed that he had more to say, so I nodded to tell him to keep talking. "Both my moms have these little cards that say they are allowed to work in America. That's because they're English and not Americans. And they aren't allowed to vote. They get angry about the way gays are treated and they aren't allowed to vote for somebody who will make it better. That will be me too, when I grow up. I'll have to have a card and I won't be able to vote." "It doesn't have to be like that. We could all move back to England." He screwed up his face again. "I hope we don't. I kind of like living here. It's scary to think about having to move to England. I wouldn't know anybody." I nodded. "Me too. But don't worry. I don't think they're keen on moving us back to England anytime soon." "Good." "But if we're not going back to England – if we really are staying here – then The Parents could get naturalized as Americans. Uncle Stan explained it to me. If they get naturized, or naturalized, or whatever it is, then we get it automatically. We can become proper Americans. Then we'd really belong. No nonsense about green cards and voting and stuff. The law says we'd have exactly the same rights as anybody else." He sighed. "That would be good. I think I'd like that." I nodded at him. "Me too." "Do they give you a certificate – when you get to be a proper American?" "I don't know, Sam. Maybe." "I'd like that. I'd like a thing I can hang on my wall that says I belong." "Yeah." We looked at each other and shared a moment of silence together. Then without any discussion we both turned at the same time and looked back out across the living room. Together we watched the swirling patterns of people as they moved around the room. A short time later, Sam broke our self-imposed silence. "I am going to England when I'm older – not to stay but just for a short time." "Why?" "I'm going to find the guy who did that to Mama Penny and smash his face in." My eyes went straight to Aunty Penny. She was glancing sideways at Uncle Stan and rubbing her arm nervously. Uncle Stan wasn't doing anything wrong. He was just, maybe standing a little bit too close to her for her to be comfortable. By too close, I mean that he was standing about three feet away from her. I watched as she found an excuse to sidle away from him by another couple of feet and then she relaxed. She'd tried very hard to hide her nervousness and make the move look casual but it was pretty obvious to me. Uncle Stan didn't notice. He knows about the way Aunty Penny is and usually he's good at making sure he doesn't crowd her but I think sometimes he just forgets. It must be hard for him. He's known Penny for, like, six years or so and she's still afraid of him. I hope he realizes how much of an achievement it is for her to stand in the same group and talk with him like a normal person – like she was doing now. "Did she tell you about it?" "Nah! I figured it out on my own. It wasn't hard. There's something broken inside of her. I don't think it's ever going to get better. There are only three guys in the world that she can touch and be relaxed with – me, Dan and Uncle Peter. She can hug us and she can be hugged by any one of us and be happy about it. But if one of us comes up behind her or surprises her, she flinches away until she realizes who it is. She flinches away like she's about to get beaten." I could hear the pain in Sam's voice as he told me this. Just hearing him describe something I'd already seen was enough to have me nearly crying. "A couple of times when she's woken up and I was standing over her, she's screamed. I mean she was absolutely terrified. Then she sees that it's me and she calms down." "That must have been pretty upsetting." "I hated it. It was awful. It doesn't happen any more though, so that's good." "Do you mean she's gotten better?" "Nah! I talked to Mama Ally about it and we worked out a way for me to wake her up so that she knows it's me. I sit next to her instead of leaning over her and I tell her over and over that it's me while I'm shaking her arm. She's okay when I do that." I nodded to tell him I understood. "She sometimes has really bad dreams, too. She wakes up in the middle of the night and screams and screams. I hear Mama Ally telling her over and over that she's safe now and that it's all over and that it all was finished with a long time ago. It was a long time ago, wasn't it?" I nodded. "Yeah! I don't know exactly what happened, but it was when she was young – before my parents were married and that's more than twenty-two years ago." "They think I don't know about it but nobody could sleep through all that screaming. I just lie in bed and listen to her crying and I get angry – really, really angry. Then I lie there and plan what I'm going to do to whoever did that to her. Most of my plans involve a lot of pain and a lot of blood. Does that make me a bad person?" "You're asking the wrong person. I was just about to promise to go with you and hold him down while you do your thing. I figured out about Aunty Penny too. And whoever it was who messed up Aunty Penny also hurt my dad." "Do you know who it was?" "No I don't. Not yet. But I have a few ideas. I'm getting closer. I'm going to find out." We fell back into silence. The groups were continuously splitting and reforming. I watched as Aunty Ally and Aunty Penny rejoined each other and linked arms. They saw Sam watching them from across the room. They both smiled at once. It was like the sun coming out. The happiness beamed from their faces as they looked at Sam and did little finger waves. Then they got cornered by Aunty Janice and the three of them formed a little circle. "It's not all bad," said Sam, beside me. "Mama Penny hugs me at least once every day, often more than once. I used to think it was bit much, you know? But then I figured it out. She would have been more comfortable if I was born a girl. But I wasn't. She would have been fine when I was little. I've seen her with babies and little children and she has no problems playing with them and hugging them. But now I'm getting bigger, that must be hard for her. So it's like she's set herself a challenge – hug me every day. Most days she's fine and it's just a hug. But there are times – like after she's had a bad night – when I can tell that it's difficult for her but she still hugs me. She makes herself hug me. It's like she's refusing to let her past get between the two of us. How awesome is that? I don't complain about getting hugged all the time any more. I let it happen. I let myself enjoy it. Do you get what I'm saying?" "Yeah! Totally." I smiled at Sam. "Do you think that maybe sometimes you might let me hug you too?" He rolled his eyes at me. "What is it about girls and hugging? I don't get it. You all act as if hugging is the most important thing in the world. You don't see boys hugging all the time. Which is good because that would be gross." I chuckled to myself. "It's true. Boys don't hug all the time. But you do wrestle. You boys are always wrestling. And what is wrestling? You put your arms around another boy and flex your big manly muscles. Wrestling is just hugging in disguise. So actually you do see boys hugging all the time." "Eeew. That's disgusting." He punched me in the arm. It wasn't hard – it was more of a symbolic punch. I guess I should take that as a compliment. Liz always says that if a boy punches you in the arm it means he likes you. I don't think she means the ways cousins like each other though. I grinned at him. "So, do you think maybe sometime you might let me wrestle with you? I might not have all the big manly muscles, but I bet I could pin you to the floor in no time." He laughed. "You're joking, aren't you? I could take you with one arm tied behind my back." "Sure, sure, whatever." I did a big exaggerated yawn and then we both laughed. He slid an arm behind me and gripped me around my waist. Then he pulled as if he were trying to drag me sideways across his lap. I wrapped my arm around his neck and tugged him into a half-hearted headlock. We pulled back and forth a few times. We were both laughing and neither of us was trying very hard. Then I saw Dad glaring at me from across the room. Aunty Penny was standing next to him and she was glaring at Sam. I think we both saw them at once, because we both stopped at the same time. We stopped laughing and sat up straight, but we left our arms around each other. My arm was loosely draped around his neck. His arm was looped around my waist. We each used our free hand to straighten up our clothes where they had become ruffled. "I guess we shouldn't be wrestling in our good clothes," whispered Sam out of the side of his mouth. "I guess so," I replied in the same way. "That's why I went easy on you." "Sure, sure, whatever." The laughter bubbled up inside of me and I strained to stop it from bursting out and spilling all over the floor. Comfortable and relaxed, we sat together and watched the room. ------- Angie exploded into the room and ran around, dodging legs and furniture without slowing down. The green of the cast on her arm flashed – a bright spot of color against the muted tones of her dress. Her path took her sweeping in a wide arc past me. I waited until she was at the closest point and I swooped out and picked her up. She squealed and wriggled but I hung onto her. I stepped back to the table and sat down again – lifting Angie onto my lap. Angie wasn't ready to sit. She struggled in my lap and whined about being held. I gripped her tighter. Sam was sitting there next to us and watching with a grin on his face. "Angie, listen to me, listen to me. You have to be more careful with your arm. If you knock that cast against something, it's really going to hurt. Just slow down, okay?" "Okay. I hit it this morning and it really hurt. I just forgot." "That's a good girl." "When will my arm get better? I want to take this off." "It's going to take a while. In the meantime, your cast is like a big Band-Aid. You know how you have to leave a Band-Aid on until the sore gets better? The cast is just like that." "Can I get down now?" I was just about to let her slide off my lap when I noticed something. "Hey! What's this?" The cast had some writing on it in black marker. Tara had signed it and done a smiley face. I felt a stab of jealousy that Tara had gotten to sign it before me. I'd been so busy with my own stuff I hadn't even thought about signing Angie's cast. "Wait here. I'll go find a marker and sign it too." "Nuh uh! Only one person gets to sign." I opened my mouth in surprise. "What? Who told you that?" "Tara. She said it's a game. Everyone wants to but only one can, so you have to be quick. You can't 'cause Tara already did." "Huh! Tara told you a big fib. She was messing with you. Really! It's a big competition to see how many signatures you can collect." "Nuh uh!" "It's true. Ask Sam. Ask Dan. Ask anybody." Sam leaned over and poked Angie gently with his finger. "It's true. I had a friend who broke his leg. He ended up with forty-two signatures on his cast." "Huh!" I watched as different expressions raced across Angie's face as she tried to absorb the change in rules. "Can I go and get a marker and sign your cast?" She looked doubtful and then gradually more and more determined. Finally, she nodded. I lifted her up and slid out from under her. I sat her on the table next to Sam and darted off to my room. I returned within a minute with a handful of colored markers in my hand. I knelt in front of Angie and chose a spot on her cast a bit away from Tara's name. Carefully, I wrote my own name in black marker and then I used the colors to do a tiny butterfly next to my name. It was pretty simple, but I figured if Tara could do a smiley face, then I could do a butterfly. The butterfly wasn't supposed to mean anything. I just thought it would look pretty. I handed the markers to Sam. Angie held her arm out so that Sam could add his bit. Sam picked up on what Tara and I had done by adding a little mouse next to his name. He said that he wanted to draw something but couldn't think of anything better to draw. Angie didn't mind – she loved it. We handed the markers to Angie and she toddled off to get others to sign her cast. Mom came into the living room, herding others from the kitchen. She announced that there was time for a quick welcoming circle and then it would be nearly time to start serving dinner. After a quick discussion about where to do it, we all trooped out onto the front lawn and made a circle. I ended up between Tara and Leroy. He's the other twin. I stood there and tried to watch him out of the corner of my eye. They aren't identical – Mira and Leroy – not even a little bit. Leroy is thin and gangly. His hair is that brownish red color and he wears it long – like to just below his shoulders. He's supposed to be not bad at playing the guitar but I've only heard him play once and that was ages ago. His hand felt clammy in mine. It also felt a bit strange. I had to think about it but I figured out that I'm not used to guys with long thin fingers. I'm used to hands that my little hand can disappear inside of – Dad, Dan, Liz's dad, Uncle Stan – they all have big hands. Even Sam is kind of stocky and his hands are wide and stubby – for his size I mean. So Leroy is the odd one out when he is with our family. I guess I felt a bit of sympathy for him when I realized that. Or maybe he doesn't care about things like that – I don't know. Like I said before, both the twins are a mystery to me. I can hardly figure them out at all. The Parents got the circle started by welcoming everyone to our house. Then they started going around the circle. Most people said something really quick – I think because everyone was hungry and also it was a bit cold outside. We weren't freezing or anything but it was definitely chilly. I kept looking at Leroy out of the corner of my eyes as I half-listened to the comments people were making. He had a couple of pimples on the line of his jaw. I could see a little line of softly curling hairs along his upper lip and a little patch of similar curls right on the point of his chin. He was standing kind of slumped over with his eyes half closed. His head started nodding up and down – just the slightest of movements – and I felt his fingers twitching rhythmically in my hand. Angie waved her cast in the air and explained that she'd hurt her arm and now she had to have a cast on it. I think she was prepared to keep chattering on about it for as long as everyone was willing to listen. Tara obviously thought the same as me, because she cut Angie off and told everyone about a certificate she had gotten for a piece of writing she had done in English. I didn't know about that. She must have gotten it when I was all wrapped up in my own stuff. I squeezed her hand and smiled at her. Then everyone was looking at me and I froze. I hadn't even thought of something to say. Not that I could have said it anyway with everyone staring at me like that, but still. Last time we did this, Dad had gotten everyone to look away from me when I had to talk – and I'd got to talk about Dan instead of talking about me. Dad must have not had time to remind people to do that – either he didn't have time or he deliberately didn't do it because he was still mad at me. I shook my head to tell them I had nothing to say and then I bit my lip and looked down at the ground. Dan's rich deep voice came rolling out from the other side of the circle. "This morning Bec helped serve Thanksgiving to vets and homeless people at the Y." Everyone's eyes swung around to look at Dan and it was like a huge weight lifting off me. Then I figured out what Dan was going to say next and I shrunk a little bit inside. This next bit was going to be too embarrassing for words. "She met up with a little girl who was living on the streets and got her back with her family. It was a generous and lovely thing to do and we should all be proud of her." All that weight suddenly came back onto me as everyone looked at me again. There was a murmuring of people agreeing and saying things like "well done" and so on. Like I said – totally embarrassing. All I could do was stand there and shudder with everyone staring at me and talking about me like that. I suddenly developed this theory. You know how light is made out of millions of tiny little photons and each photon is like a ball of energy. Well I was picturing streams of photons shooting out of everyone's eyes and hitting me and bouncing back to them. I figured there must have been billions of photons hitting me because of all the people looking at me and that my body was actually feeling the effect of all of those little balls of energy hitting me. Of course, I'm sitting here in my room and writing this down and I know that my theory was stupid. Photons don't shoot out of people's eyes – they come from the sun or a light or whatever. Then they bounce off you and if they go into a person's eyes they see you. But the same number of photons keep hitting you even if nobody is looking. Dan explained that to me once. So I know my theory was stupid, but I wrote it down anyway because that's what I was thinking at the time and that's what I was feeling and so that's what I'm supposed to write. So anyway, I was standing there and I think I was physically shaking. Tara kind of huffed and told Leroy it was his turn and he should get on with it. I don't know if Tara was getting jealous of all the attention being on me, or if she was being kind and trying to get people to stop looking at me. Either way, it worked. Leroy stirred and looked up. He told everyone that he was playing in a garage band and that they'd had a gig at a school party and that it had been really cool. He stopped and nodded a couple of times. Then he dropped his head and disappeared back into the music in his head. Sam was next. He chewed his lip for a moment and then blurted out a question. "We're never going back to England, are we?" It was a question but he didn't wait for anyone to answer. "This is permanent, isn't it? Us living here in America. So isn't it about time we all became citizens? Otherwise we're just living here as visitors - not really fitting in – not really belonging." He went on like that for a while – mostly repeating the things we'd talked about earlier. I was a bit surprised. I hadn't expected him to do that, but I figured it was good that he was. It saved me from having to say it all at some place. I looked around the circle. Most people were watching Sam and thinking about what he was saying. That was good. Dad was looking at me. He would glance at Sam every so often, but mostly he was looking at me. I think he figured I'd deliberately set this up and Sam was just repeating what I'd told him to say. I looked down at the ground. Then I got mad at Dad for assuming Sam wasn't capable of thinking for himself. I looked up and glared at Dad. He seemed surprised that I got mad at him. I don't know what he was expecting. If he was going to think that about Sam then he should have known I would get mad. I didn't say anything of course. I didn't need to. He could tell what I was thinking. Uncle Stan asked if it was guaranteed that we wouldn't go back to England. He didn't include himself in that – he said "you all." I think Mom was going to say something then but she didn't get a chance because Tara jumped in with both feet. "If you are thinking of moving us back to England then you better ask us. Not like last time. Nobody asked us nothing about leaving England. You just told us to start packing." You know how those drag cars go from zero to full speed in, like, seconds? Well, that's what Tara did. She went from calm to a full-on rant in the space of one sentence. "Well, I'll tell you what I think – just in case you couldn't be bothered asking – again. I don't want to go back! I like it here. I have friends here. I like our school. I like our house. I hardly remember anything about England. Moving back there would be like going to a foreign country – again. It was bad enough last time. I don't want to do it again. And it was worse for Bec." She stepped sideways to get closer to me and put her arm around my shoulders. "Bec didn't talk for a week when you told us we were leaving. You didn't notice 'cause you were too busy. She was petrified and miserable and you didn't care. And when we got here, she cried herself to sleep every night for ages. She normally loves school but she hated going to school at first. Everything was different and she was totally freaked out and she was lost and alone and you didn't care. If you make Bec go through that again then I'll ... I'll ... I don't know what I'll do but just don't. Okay?" In case you haven't guessed already, by this point I was wishing for a hole to open up in the ground underneath me that would swallow me up. If I could have run away I would have but Tara was hanging on to me. I was stuck so I had no choice but to stand there. Tara was so angry. I don't know where all that came from. I thought I was the one having mood swings. Sheesh! "Tara!" Dad's voice cut through her rant like a hot knife cuts through chocolate mud cake. On the one side of Dad's voice was Tara ranting. On the other side there was only silence. "There is no likelihood that we will be moving back to England. We aren't even thinking about doing that." "We have made our home here now," put in Mom, "and here we will stay." "I am not going through another move," added Nana. Nana's voice had that firmness that said don't even waste your time discussing this any more. There was a short silence while people like Mom and Aunt Ally nodded. "As for becoming naturalized, it's worth considering but we don't have to decide right now," said Dad. "We should probably think about what Sam and Tara and Bec have said. We can talk about it some more later." I looked at Dad. I hadn't said a word. Why did he include me? I felt a bit offended. Well, I would have felt offended if I hadn't totally agreed with Sam and maybe agreed with Tara as well – at least a bit. Mom broke up the group with a clap. "Dinner will be ready in about fifteen or twenty." Tara tightened her arm around my neck – turning her casual grip into a headlock. Then she rapped her knuckles on the top of my head and let me go. I watched Tara as she walked away. Apparently, just like that, she was over being the protective big sister and had gone back to being annoying. Leroy was still standing next to me. He watched Tara walk away. "Your sister is kind of hot," he muttered. I rolled my eyes but then I nodded. I mean, it's true but sometimes I get sick of hearing about it. I realized that he was actually watching her butt as she walked away. "How old is she, again?" I let my eyes go big and shook my head at him. Then I sighed and started walking back into the house. He stepped out in big strides to catch up with me. "We're not actually cousins, remember. Technically I'm not related to you guys at all." I stopped in the doorway and turned back to face Leroy. I flipped my hair and looked up at him through half-closed eyes and leaned against the doorjamb and did everything flirty I could think of. Leroy watched me with a puzzled expression on his face. "What are you doing?" Typical! Tara is hot, but when I do exactly the same stuff, I just look stupid. I gave a snort of exasperation, stepped back and closed the front door in his face. It didn't actually mean much because the door wasn't locked, but it made me feel better. I turned around and saw Dad looking at me strangely. "That wasn't very polite. Why did you shut the door in Leroy's face? He's a guest." Then Dad's eyes went narrow and his eyebrows clumped up together as it occurred to him that maybe I might have had a reason. Okay, I didn't. Not really. "Was he being rude to you?" I rolled my eyes and shook my head. He wasn't being rude – just oblivious. I don't even think he's that sexy. I don't know why I did all that. I turned back and opened the door for Leroy. I stepped back and held the door open, at the same time doing a big "Please come in" gesture with my free arm. Leroy walked in, watching me with one raised eyebrow as he walked past me. I closed the door and then watched as Leroy walked across the room to where Tara was standing and said to her, "Your sister is so weird." I saw Tara lift her arms up like she was pleading. "Tell me about it," she said to him. She said something else then, but I didn't hear what it was. Probably that's a good thing. Dad was still standing there, watching me. I looked back at him. He reached out as if to put a hand on my shoulder, but his hand stopped about six inches short and just hovered in the air. "Tara was wrong about one thing," he said in a soft voice. "When we first moved out here, we knew you were unhappy and we did care very much." He gave a little smile and it sent a little thrill through me. I hated it when Dad was angry with me and the little smile told me he wasn't so angry any more. I captured Dad's floating hand in mine and stepped a little step forward and sideways so that my cheek landed in his palm. I stroked my cheek forward along his palm, much the same as a cat would do. The sensation of his hand against the skin of my cheek was – nice. "There was simply nothing I could do. I was frantically busy getting everything sorted out, getting ready for my new job and so on. And your mother was having her own issues settling in so I had to spend all my spare time looking out for her. Dan assured me that he was looking after you and that you would be okay eventually. I had no choice but to trust him and leave him to it." I smiled up at Dad and slid along the inside of his arm so that I could hug him. The cloth of his jacket sleeve sliding past the side of my head made an interesting shhhhing sound in my ear. I felt Dad do his usually tensing up when I hugged him – my arms around his waist, my head on the side of his chest. Dad didn't know what to do with the arm I had slid under. Finally he curled it loosely around me and patted me awkwardly on the back. "Tara was correct about one thing. When we first told you we were moving, we didn't realize you'd stopped talking for a week. We felt so stupid when your teacher phoned us and told us that she hadn't seen you say a single thing all week. We talked to each other and to Dan and Tara and none of us could remember you saying anything. We felt stupid because we should have realized that you would react like that, but we..." He tailed off and then sighed, "But that's all water under the bridge now. Except when Tara brings it up. That was so unlike her. Do you know what that was all about?" I shrugged. "Neither do I. I hope she isn't starting a phase where she feels the need to shout at us all the time. It's bad enough with you doing it but if she starts in on us as well..." I pushed against his chest so that I could move back enough to look at Dad's face. "I mean, listen to you now. You're making so much noise I can hardly get a word in." I figured out he was teasing me and Dad raised an eyebrow once he saw that I knew he was teasing. I made a loose fist and thumped it against Dad's chest – it made an interesting thud sound. Then I tucked back in against him and held him as tightly as I could. This time, I felt Dad forcing himself to relax – at least a bit. His hand landed lightly on my back again but this time he made little circles in the centre of my back with his palm. It felt so nice. I was almost ready to start purring. Mom walked past us with a serving plate full of food in both hands. Dad's hand stopped circling. "Do you want a couple more helpers?" Dad asked her. "No thanks. We've got it covered. Bec, don't forget we need the desk chair out from your room or you'll have nowhere to sit." I nodded at Mom. She walked into the living room and set the plates on the table – shifting things around to make space. We watched her do that for a moment. I wriggled and pushed against Dad's hand where it rested on my back. After the tiniest hesitation, Dad took my hint and started circling his hand again. Then Dad's soft voice started up again. "I haven't forgotten about this morning and last night. Unlike your mother, I am not hysterically blaming myself for your behavior. You chose to act the way you did and that has consequences. I was pleased and grateful that you made your peace with your mother and helped bring her out of the hole she dug herself into this morning. We need to sort out what happened this morning and find a way to stop it all happening again. But we can't do that right now. Right now we have a house full of people. Let's deal with Thanksgiving first and deal with all of that business later on. Okay?" I nodded against his chest – rolling my head against him so I could feel the cloth of his coat against different parts of my face. I stretched and writhed against him so that his circling hand would reach different parts of my back. It felt soooo nice. I think all my writhing might have crossed over the line of what Dad could cope with because almost immediately he took my shoulders and gently pushed me back away from him. "In the meantime, just remember..." he tailed off again and then leaned down and kissed my forehead. I knew what Dad was saying. He's a typical guy. He always has problems saying the L-word. He says it – just not often enough. I decided to say it for him. Or to be more accurate, I decided to try and say it for him. I grasped the lapels of his jacket in both my hands and pulled quite firmly until he got the hint and bent over. I lifted up on my toes and kissed him right on the mouth. "I love you, Daddy." My voice came out like a whisper. "Just remember that even if I get angry with you, I never stop loving you. If you do something wrong and I have to punish you, I do it because I love you and care about you and I'm trying to help you to be a better person." I let him go and stepped back. Dad was looking at me with no expression on his face. I gave him a little half smile and then turned and walked away. I've heard a speech like that quite a few times in my life and it was fun to say it back to him. I left Dad to decide for himself whether I was talking about him punishing me or about me punishing him. Maybe I'm not so sure which one it was myself. ------- I found Aunty Penny sitting on the sofa in the hallway just outside my room. The sofa normally lives in the living room but Dad and Dan had moved it there so that we could fit all the tables and chairs. Having the sofa in the hallway didn't leave a lot of room to get past it, but that's okay. Aunty Penny was flipping through the pages of The Parents' wedding album. I slid onto the sofa next to her and tucked my legs under me. Then I leaned my head on her shoulder so that I could look at the pages with her. She glanced at me and went back to looking at the album. "This brings back memories. I haven't seen it for a while." "I found it in a box. It hadn't been unpacked since we came to America." "That explains why I haven't seen it, then." "I think you looked awesome in your tux." She sighed. "I was so thin back then." "Nana said you were still recovering." "Yes, I suppose I was." She turned the page to the one with Nana and Grandma Stone together. "I hardly remember Grandma Stone. I think she was nice, though. I miss her." "I miss her too, sweetie. She was amazing. I couldn't have asked for anyone better." I hesitated and bit my lip. The next bit was going to be difficult. I had no idea how Aunty Penny was going to react. I did little mental shrug. If I never asked, I'd never find out. She could always just not answer. "What about Grandpa Stone? He wasn't at the wedding. What happened to him?" "There was no Grandpa Stone." I gaped at Aunty Penny. Of all the possible reactions I was expecting from her, I wasn't expecting that relaxed off-hand comment. Then I did a double-take as I absorbed her statement. No Grandpa Stone? How was that possible? "Well, I suppose that technically there was a Grandpa Stone, but he was gone a long time before we came to live with her. She kept his photo on her mantelpiece. He was a helicopter pilot in the army. I think he died in a training crash or something. But that was a long time ago. That was one of the good things about being with Grandma Stone – no men in the house." "Wait a minute." I thought about what she was saying. Several things didn't make sense. Then suddenly it all crashed into place. The noise in my head as it all crashed into new positions was so loud that it made me dizzy. It did make sense. Everything made sense. "Foster children! Grandma Stone always had foster children – you were foster children too – just like all the others." "Of course we were, sweetie, I thought you knew that. Except we were not exactly like all the others. She adopted us. We stood in front of a judge and agreed for her to become our mother. There's a piece of paper to prove it. Except nobody can see it because the judge sealed it away, but it's there." "But that means Grandma Stone isn't really my grandma." My voice was a bit wobbly and I felt my upper lip tremble. It was like everything I knew was being turned on its head. "Of course she was your grandma. I just told you that she became our mother, Peter and me, in every way that counts. When you kids all came along she was so thrilled – so proud to be your grandmother. She carried all of your photos around and showed them to everyone – her grandchildren – she was so proud. She loved you all very much." Aunty Penny reached an arm around me and squeezed me to her. "Grandma Stone was the most wonderful person. Until her, I never realized how wonderful a mother could be. Please don't for a second think of her as anything else but your grandmother. It wouldn't be fair to her – to her memory." "Okay," I whispered. "I was worried that maybe Grandpa Stone was the one who hurt you. I'm glad it wasn't." I felt Aunty Penny shudder beside me and I bit my lip. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. "No, it wasn't him. As far as I know, Grandpa Stone was a good man. I can't imagine Mama marrying anybody who wasn't up to her standards. No, it wasn't him. Try not to think about the ... the people who hurt me and Peter. You don't need to know about them. They went to prison for a very long time. That's all you need to know." "We're ready in here." We both looked up and saw Mom leaning around the corner of the entrance to the living room. "Food's ready. I hope everyone is hungry. Bec, honey, I asked you to get the chair out of your room. Would you get it please?" Mom disappeared again. Aunty Penny stood up and pulled me to my feet. "Go on then," she said and pushed me towards my bedroom door. "Bec?" I stopped and looked back at her. "You're not upset, are you? About Grandma Stone?" I shook my head. I wasn't upset about Grandma Stone. I just had a lot to think about – that's all. I had an awful lot to think about. I stood in my room and my brain ran wild – so many thoughts all racing around at once. Things that had been confusing now weren't. Clues that pointed nowhere now had somewhere to point. But there were still confusing things. And I still had questions that didn't have matching answers. And all the time, in the back of my head, thoughts about what had happened to Aunty Penny whirled in a wild, disorganized, horrific mass. Was I upset about Grandma Stone? No! I wasn't. A new thought occurred in the middle of that mess. If Grandma Stone was my adopted grandma then I'm not really a Stone. Dad must have had some other name before he became a Stone. I'm not a Freeman and I'm not a Stone. I'm not English and I'm not American. The list of things I'm not keeps getting longer and longer. I was no closer to finding out who I really am. That was upsetting. I sat down in my chair and looked around the room. I was forgetting something. I knew I had come in here for some reason but I couldn't remember what it was. I spun around on the chair and nothing I could see reminded me why I was in here. Everything I saw made me think about Aunty Penny – especially the pictures of naked me on the walls. The thoughts that circled around my head when I saw those and connected them to Aunty Penny – they made me feel ill. I don't think I could possibly write them down. I did notice my half-completed painting on the back of my door. It was supposed to be Angie but it wasn't working. It was a bit smeared too. Apparently, when I threw my little hissy fit this morning and banged on the door, I had smudged my painting. Oh, well. No loss. It was wrecked anyway. I thought about Angie and her broken arm. It was all mixed up with my thoughts about what happened to Aunt Penny when she was young – what I think happened to her anyway. When Mom had brought Angie home yesterday, she had been all drugged and dopey – the exact opposite of what Angie is normally like. What must Aunt Penny have been like after she was hurt? What was she like before she was hurt? Was she like Angie? A bright, happy little girl who got sucked into some frightful nightmare. Chewed up, broken and spit out. But she survived – sort of. Not like Angie survived – Angie bounced back, full of energy. It's not the same, of course, but my brain was tying the two things together. If only I could paint that energy Angie has inside of her. It's like she has a brilliant light burning inside of her. Light! That was it. I knew what I had to do. All I had to do was get rid of the old painting and start again. The sooner I scraped all the old paint off, the sooner I could get started. I had a scraper with the paint supplies in the corner next to my closet. I picked it up and stood in front of the door. I might not know who I am but Angie will know. She will look at my painting and know who she is. I started scraping. In the back of my head, a faint little voice was calling out. "There's something you're supposed to be doing." There was nobody listening. I was busy. ------- Chapter 14: Thanksgiving Dinner Part 3 Oil paint is thick and gloopy. It takes ages to dry. If you pile it on thickly enough, it can take weeks to get dry enough so you can handle it without smudging or smearing it. You're not supposed to put a lacquer coating on an oil painting for at least six months because it is still drying in all of that time. And even then, it isn't completely finished – that takes years. Mom told me it's because the oil doesn't evaporate like water, it slowly congeals until it gets hard – a bit like fat in a frypan will go solid as it cools. Scraping half-dried oil paint is not like scraping that acrylic stuff they put on walls. Oil paint rolls and mounds up in front of the scraper like snow in front of a snowplow. Or maybe I should stick with saying that it's like scraping half-congealed fat from a frying pan. Week-old paint like I was scraping has a skin on the surface that kind of stretches a bit and then rolls up or breaks into segments. Underneath is the softer stuff that mounds and piles up on your scraper. I didn't want to be scraping old paint. I wanted to be painting. I had this picture filling my head that was desperately wanting to made real. But I couldn't paint until the old stuff was gone, so I scraped. Scraping fully absorbed me though. My entire world was focused on making sure the scraper slid evenly across the surface, clearing nicely parallel strips of paint. Then a brief pause to clean the mounds of paint off the scraper and into an old ice cream container and then back to scraping. I was so absorbed in the process of scraping that I actually forgot that the surface I was cleaning was actually the back of the door. I got forcefully reminded of that fact when the door suddenly opened and smacked right into me – pushing my hand and a scraper loaded with paint into my chest. I was a bit stunned from being jerked out of what I was doing so suddenly and from being smacked by the door so unexpectedly. Because I was stunned, I could only stand there and stare stupidly at Tara as she yelled into my face about something or other. I think she was asking what I was doing so I used the scraper to point vaguely at the back of the door. She's been around Mom enough to know what scraping paint looks like. I was surprised she had to ask. And why was she shouting at me? Waving the scraper around reminded me that it had been knocked into my chest so I looked down. I was expecting to see a big mess on my painting shirt but instead I saw that I was wearing good clothes and I'd just put a big smear of paint on one of my favorite tops. That reminded me that it was Thanksgiving and I cursed myself for changing into good clothes before I was finished mucking around with the paint. My brain felt really sluggish – like my brain was full of thick mud and thoughts were taking a long time to bubble up to the surface. I dropped the scraper into the ice cream container and picked up one of the old rags I use for cleaning up. I dabbed at the mess of paint on my chest but that only smeared the paint around worse. It was oil paint too. It was never going to clean off properly. The top was ruined. Tara was still in my face. I'm not clear about what she was saying but she seemed to be trying to get me to hurry up and my mud-clogged brain wasn't allowing me to do that. Tara took the rag out of my hands and roughly cleaned the worst of the paint off my hands. It was about then I remembered that people had already arrived for Thanksgiving and that I was supposed to be out there with them and not in here mucking around with paint. But I couldn't go out there wearing a top ruined with paint. My hands went to the buttons so I could take it off and put a clean one on. My hands were still a bit greasy from the paint, though, so I had a lot of trouble. I must have been going too slowly for Tara because she slapped my hands out of the way and held my arms out to the sides until I got the message that I should hold them there and not touch anything. She quickly undid my top and slid it off me. She dropped the ruined top on the floor and dove into my closet to find a clean one. I'm not sure, but I think she grabbed the first thing she saw, which was a turquoise short-sleeved light-weight top that I had gotten last summer. I reached for it but Tara slapped my hands away again and reminded me that I had paint all over my hands. She threw the top over my shoulder and steered me out of the room. I was about half-way down the hall before I woke up to the fact that I was being pushed down the hall wearing just my bra – on my top half, I mean. I still had my long skirt on. If I hadn't been so dazed I would have been completely freaked out. As it was I felt really nervous. I crossed my forearms across my chest. That was awkward because I had to bend my hands back at the wrist so that I wouldn't get paint on my naked shoulders but I did it anyway. Tara was apparently aware of my half-dressed state – she knows the way I feel about being in revealing clothing in public. Not to mention it being against Dad's rules about always being properly clothed outside of our bedrooms. She put herself between me and the opening into the living room as she hustled me past. Hopefully nobody saw me. I'd be mortified if anybody did. Tara forced me into the bathroom and got my hands over the sink by grabbing my wrists and dragging me there. Mom has special soap stuff she uses for cleaning up oil paint and Tara slathered some of that all over my hands. All the time she was muttering to herself about how the entire family always revolved around me and how she was sick of always having to look after me and how she was always expected to clean me up and wipe my nose and wasn't it about time I grew up and learned how to look after myself and how she wished that just once we could get through a family day without me turning it into a big drama that was all about me and so on and so on. I don't think Tara realized that I could hear her muttering away like that but I could. It was a bit upsetting. I don't really try and mess things up all the time. If I could unplug my brain and put in a perfectly normal brain in its place I would do that in a heartbeat. I would throw my worthless brain in the trash and never miss it for a second. Tara finally had my hands clean and she started drying them roughly with the towel. By that time I was starting to recover a bit from the confusion. I could have taken over but Tara was hustling me around and I didn't have the energy to confront her about it. So I let her treat me like a plastic action figure – moving when she made me move, holding my position when she stopped moving me. I let her put the top on me. She wasn't gentle about it but she wasn't hurting me either so I suppose I shouldn't complain. That top doesn't have proper buttons. It has little loops of braid that link together. They can be a bit fiddly to do up. Tara cursed as she realized that and stepped close to me so that she could link them up. She had the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she concentrated on doing that. With nothing else to do, I stood there and watched as the tip of her tongue twitched and moved around between her lips. It was kind of cute and funny at the same time. When she got up to the higher ties I could feel her breath fluttering against the exposed skin at the very top of my chest, just under my neck. Her knuckles kept grazing the swelling flesh of my boob. It made me twitch and I had to stop myself from jumping back out of reach. Mom said it was normal for my breasts to be extra sensitive while they are growing. It's annoying. The most casual bump or knock – the sort of thing that can happen at any time – sends the weirdest sensations racing through me. There was nothing sexy about what Tara was doing and there was definitely nothing sexy about the way she was doing it to me. So why was I suddenly having that sexy tingling feeling going all through my body? The tingling washed through my daze like a breath of wind stirring up a mist. I felt like at any minute the mist would get blown away and I'd be able to see normally again. But that didn't happen. All I got to see was swirling patterns in the mist. Eventually Tara stepped back and ran her eye up and down me. "You'll do," she said. "Let's go." She gripped me by the shoulders, turned me and pushed me out the door. As I was turning, I got a brief glimpse of myself in the mirror. Tara had left the top three loops undone. I would normally have only left the top one undone. As a result I was showing more skin than I like. On any other girl I would have called it cleavage. I don't really have any cleavage and even if I did, I wouldn't be so willing to show it off. My hands went to my top to finish fastening it. My head bobbed down at the same time so that I could see what I was doing. This happened while Tara was pushing me back towards the living room. The result was me stumbling as I lost my balance. Tara cursed under her breath and knocked my hands away again. "Just leave it. You look fine." So I was propelled into the living room with my non-cleavage showing and my hands waving in front of me. A part of me wanted to hold my hands up in front of my chest – to hide the gap in my top or maybe hold it closed. Another part of me knew that doing so would look stupid and just draw attention to what I was trying to hide, so that part of me was trying to lower my hands down to my sides. The two different parts of me were having a war over the control of my hands. Neither part was winning so my hands just continued to hover uselessly in front of me. Everyone was seated around the long table in the living room. They all turned and watched as Tara steered me into the place reserved for me. There was no chair. A place was set. A plate sat there waiting for me but there was no chair. Now I remembered why I had gone to my room in the first place. I needed the chair out of my room. I turned and took a step towards my room. Tara stopped me. "I'll get it. If I let you go, it'll be Christmas before we all get to eat." I turned back to the table and stood in my place. Everyone was still staring at me – a ring of faces – all those eyes – all staring at me. My hands flapped helplessly in front of me as first one part of me and then the other part won the unceasing war for control of my body. Everybody was watching me – waiting patiently for me to be seated so they could start eating. But I couldn't be seated because I didn't have a chair so we were all stuck. Everything was on hold. Someone had pressed the pause button and we were all frozen in place. The unblinking stares of my entire family were getting to me. I dropped my chin down onto my chest and let my hair fall down over my face. The bits fighting for control of my hands declared a truce and started discussing an alliance to take over my feet and make them run me out of there. That was sounding like a really good idea. My heart agreed. It was thumping along at a sprint. It took me a long time to say all that but from when Tara pushed me into the room to the point where I was ready to run back out of it was only a really small amount of time. I don't know exactly but, like, maybe ten seconds – at the most. I had just dropped my head to hide my face and was about to start backing out of there when I heard a scraping sound. It was the sound of a chair being moved. An instant later there was more of the same sound and then a whole lot more – and I was catching movement out of the corner of my eye as well. Feeling curious, I peeped through the curtain of my hair and saw that people were standing up. I think Dad started it and then Dan stood up and then Nana and then Aunt Ally and Aunt Penny and then everyone else. I suddenly didn't feel so stupid any more because everybody was standing around the table. Instead of being the odd one out, now I was just one of a ring of people standing around the table. It made me feel safe. I felt a warm little glow deep inside of me as I realized my family were doing all this so I wouldn't feel so stupid and uncomfortable. I didn't want to run away any more. I did want to hug everyone but I wasn't going to do that either. I just stood there and felt – I don't know. My feelings were really complicated and hard to describe. Dad hadn't waited for everyone to finish standing. He had already carved half the turkey before I came in and now he picked up the carving knife and started carving more slices. At the same time he called out for people to pass their plate if they didn't already have some. Also both Mom and Nana started encouraging people to serve themselves from the bowls of vegetables and other stuff on the table. There was a crazy bustle of activity as food got dished out and people passed serving bowls back and forth. Everyone was standing and leaning over the table so they could serve themselves or pass plates to each other. As I said, the turkey was already half carved. I was a bit disappointed to see that because I missed out on seeing it all fully cooked and glistening in its juices. The cooked turkey sitting on the table is kind of symbolic. Do you know what I mean? And I missed it. I can't complain, I guess, because it's my own silly fault that I wasn't in the room to see it. Leroy turned and looked at me – he was standing right next to me and I hadn't noticed. "Do you want me to pass your plate along? Do you want some turkey?" I hesitated for half a second and then picked up my still empty plate and handed it to him. He gave me a strange little smile as he took my plate and passed it along the line to Dad. Dad looked up at me and grinned when he realized that he had my plate. "How much do you want, champ?" he asked as he speared a couple of slices of turkey breast and slid them onto my plate. "Is this enough, or do you want some more?" I nodded and then I realized that my nod could be taken as meaning yes to either of his two questions so I gestured for him to pass the plate back to me. He grinned at me again and sent my plate back towards me. Mom couldn't help herself. She dropped a dollop of mashed potato onto my plate as it went past her. Aunty Ally reached across the table and added a spoonful of green peas and sweet corn kernels mixed together. Even Leroy got into the act by asking me if I wanted some of the stuffing that he was in the process of dishing onto his own plate. At least he had the decency to ask me so I guess I shouldn't complain. I nodded to him and held up my thumb and forefinger about a half inch apart to tell him only to give me a small amount. He nodded and spooned a little pile of stuffing onto my plate and then handed the plate to me. I suppose that I should be grateful that my plate didn't go anywhere near Nana. She would have quite cheerfully loaded the plate six inches high with all the things she considered would be "good" for me. Fortunately for me, Nana gets to sit at the other end of the table from Dad. Sometimes we make jokes about her being the matriarch of the clan and that's why she gets to sit at the head of the table. I used to think a matriarch was something bad and so I thought Dad was poking fun at Nana by calling her that. Then one time I looked it up in the dictionary and found out it was kind of a good thing to be a matriarch. I think it describes Nana pretty well, actually. She's the matriarch of our clan and I think she likes it that way. During all of that, Tara came back into the room and slid my chair in behind me. Then she ducked around to the other side of the table and took her place next to Mira. The twins don't get to sit next to each other or else they would spend the meal sniping at each other – at least that's what they used to do. I don't know if they still would or not because nobody has seated them together at a family meal for years and years. There's a word for things that keep happening in a certain way for no reason except because that's the way it's always been done but I can't think what the word is. I put my plate down in its place and looked around to see what else looked tasty. That was a silly thing to say because the table was absolutely loaded with food and it all looked good. Actually I was trying to decide what I was going to have to avoid. If I had a stomach like Dan's then I would have had a bit of everything. Dan eats as if his legs are hollow and he has to fill them up with food at every meal. Sometimes I envy Dan because he doesn't ever have to decide what not to eat. Sam passed the gravy boat to me and gave me a little wink. He was standing on my other side and I was kind of relieved and pleased to see him there. I ladled out some of Nana's special gravy. No way was I going to miss out on that. Then I passed the gravy boat on to Leroy. Eventually the bustle died down as everyone got to the point where they had enough food on their plate. Dad waited until everyone was quiet and then he said, "Since we're all standing, let's keep standing for the next bit as well." Then he nodded at Nana. We joined hands around the circle and looked at Nana. Once more I got to hold hands with Leroy. Once more I thought about how weirdly shaped his hands are – all long and thin instead of being broad and strong like men's hands are supposed to be. "We give thanks for this wonderful food that we have before us," said Nana in her calm strong voice. "We give thanks that we can be together today as a family united by our love for each other. We give thanks for this country that welcomed us in and gave us a place to live and grow in peace and safety." It was pretty much the same speech she made every year but this time it made so much more sense to me. It's the closest our family ever gets to any sort of prayer and I think originally Dad objected to even saying that much but he got outvoted. I mean, there's not much point in having Thanksgiving if you don't give thanks, is there? And Nana always carefully keeps Dad happy by not mentioning who we are giving thanks to. We just say thanks and put it out there into the universe where it can float around until it finds somewhere to land. Maybe if the thanks lands in the right place it will plant itself and grow into a little thanks-bush with little red fruits and if someone eats the fruit they feel extra thankful. There's three hundred million people in America. If they all say thanks at once, on the same day, then that's an awful lot of thanks floating around in the universe. Surely all of that must make the universe feel better about itself. And a happy universe is going to be a better place to live in than a sad universe – that just makes sense, doesn't it? The last bit of Nana's speech had a lot more meaning behind it. Now that I knew we had fled from something or someone dangerous in England, it made a whole lot more sense for Nana to talk about us living safely here in America. We dropped our hands and everyone sat down. Nobody spoke for quite a few minutes as we all were all too busy eating. I ate slowly. Now I'd actually started eating I found out that I was hungry. That was a surprise. I hadn't been feeling hungry up until that point. But even though I was hungry, my brain was still operating at the speed of a slug so I had to concentrate very hard just to do the simple things like chewing and swallowing. The two boys on either side of me were inhaling their food like it would disappear if they didn't eat it quickly enough. The amount of food that Leroy ate was surprising. He's so skinny that I figured he must hardly eat at all but he was eating a lot. After a bit of concentrated eating, conversations started up around the table. It started with comments about how good the food was. I had to agree. The turkey was awesome – it was so juicy and rich that biting into it was like inviting a party into your mouth. I looked further – up and down the long table. You could see where the different tables were joined because they were at slightly different heights. And everyone was sitting on different sorts of chairs so people were sitting higher or lower depending on what chair they had. Dan was sitting next to Aunty Penny and it made them look as if they are the same height, even though they aren't. That made me laugh – inside my head, I mean. And Angie was perched high on a stool so her knees were nearly at the height of the table. She had to lean down to eat. She was sitting next to Mom so that Mom could cut up her food and help her if she had trouble with the cast and everything. I could hear Angie's voice chattering away at Mom about all the different colored foods on her plate. I looked down at my own plate and saw that Angie was right. There was color – and more than that, there was color and texture and depth and contrast. I had all the ingredients of art sitting right there on my plate. A small collection of peas looked out of place and desperately wanted to be on the opposite side of the plate for the plate to look balanced. I used my fork to slide one of them across. It left a trail wiped clear of gravy so the rose color of the plate showed through in a clear curving line that swooped across my plate. I captured another pea on my fork and dragged it down, looping out of the gravy and back in. It left a thin double track of gravy on the otherwise clean portion of my plate like uneven train tracks looping around the side of a hill. "Are you okay?" Leroy's voice intruded into my silent shell. I barely glanced at him before I shrugged and went back to sliding peas around on my plate. "Look! I know what's going on. You're giving me the silent treatment. Mira's done that enough for me to figure it out. I've pissed you off somehow. I don't know what I did but it must have been when we were outside." I didn't have any idea what Leroy was going on about. I looked at him more carefully this time but his face didn't have any clues. It did have a little smear of gravy down the side of his mouth but I figured that was more of a clue about the way he ate rather than being a clue about what he was saying. I shrugged and trapped a corn kernel with my fork so that I could send it weaving up and down and around the remnants of my mashed potato. Apparently Leroy couldn't interpret my shrug because he kept on talking at me. "First you slam the door in my face, then you hide in your room and now you give me the silent treatment. I don't know what I did to piss you off like that." "Hey, cous," said Mira from her place across the table, "if the dork is bugging you then punch him in the stomach. That's what I always do. He'll soon get the message and leave you alone." I was aware of Leroy automatically moving his arms to protect his stomach. I looked up at Mira. Why would she talk about her brother that way? She sounded angry. He was just sitting there and talking to me. Why was she being so mean? Usually I'm so good at figuring out why people do the things they do. Why was it so hard for me to figure her out? Okay! It's true that Leroy was being a typical guy. Blaming himself for something that wasn't his fault but completely oblivious when he did do something wrong. Mira started to twitch and I realized that I had been sitting there and staring at her. I looked back down at my plate and tilted my head to one side – looking at it with my "artist's eyes." "I don't think Bec's actually giving you the silent treatment," said Sam. I could feel him leaning up against me slightly so that he could talk around me to Leroy. "She's just not talking right now. She does that sometimes – when she's upset or freaked out about something or pissed off or feeling arty or a mixture of those. Right now, I think she's feeling arty." "How do you know?" asked Leroy. "Look at her plate," said Sam. They both looked down at my plate. I'd created a kind of floral pattern with the scraps of uneaten turkey and potato at the center of different flowers. Except it wasn't finished. I panicked about them looking so closely at unfinished work and used a scrap of turkey to frantically wipe back and forth – erasing the pattern and leaving a mess of food scraps in its place. I think my reaction surprised both Sam and Leroy because they both reared back away from me and my plate. I cut off a little bit of gravy-covered turkey and put it in my mouth. I chewed slowly and kept my head down – looking down at my plate and pretending there was nothing else in the world. It wasn't much of a pretense because I was aware of Sam and Leroy exchanging glances on each side of me. "Let's leave her alone for a bit," suggested Sam. He shrugged and reached out to serve himself another slice of sweet potato coated with herbs. I put my knife and fork down on my plate and sat with my head down. The food scraps called to me – begging to be rearranged more artistically but I ignored them. A plate with more slices of turkey was passed around and both Sam and Leroy helped themselves – passing the plate right around me. I didn't want any more. After the two boys had finished topping up their plates the gravy boat ended up right in front of me. The temptation was too great to resist. I ladled a small amount onto the center of my plate and used the back of my fork to smear it around. Then I started again, cutting and arranging the food scraps and making tracks in the gravy. The last time I had been experimenting and the final pattern emerged from those experiments. This time a complete image sprang into my head before I started and I just had to make that image become real on my plate using the materials I had available. I mostly used my fork to move things around. A few times I drew a single prong of my fork through the gravy to make really thin lines. And I used my finger sometimes to wipe clean little sections of the plate or to draw thicker lines. The good thing about using food was that I could just lick my finger clean afterwards. I did cheat a couple of times. I served myself a few extra string beans basted in herb butter. I had to bite the ends off some of them to make them the right length. I also grabbed some shredded carrot for the bright orange color and thin lines – it made a great contrast with the thick hard lines of the dark green beans. At one point Mom told me to stop playing with my food. I guess she was up the other end of the table and couldn't really see what I was doing. I was right in the middle of sucking some gravy off my finger when she said that so I just looked back at her with my finger in my mouth. Tara smirked at me from across the table. I think she was enjoying seeing Mom tell me off. "There are children in Africa who are starving," said Mom. I don't know why she always says that. Maybe she saw some mother on TV say it once and she decided it was a good thing to say to kids who weren't eating their food. Maybe she thinks it will make me feel guilty for not feeling hungry. One time I offered to parcel up my plate and mail it to Africa but I didn't enjoy the reaction I got so I've learnt not to say that. Instead I just looked at her and sucked my finger. One time Mom said that nobody was going to leave the table until I'd eaten everything on my plate. So we sat there and stared at each other – and we sat there and we sat there. That must have been before Angie – or maybe Angie was still only tiny and was already sleeping. Anyway, we sat there for hours. I was being stubborn and Mom was being stubborn and neither of us would back down. When it got to 10 o'clock at night, Dad finally stood up and told us we had school tomorrow so we should go to bed and that he was going to bed too. He took the plate away from me with the half-eaten food on it – all cold and congealed. He dropped the entire plate into the trash and then he walked out of the room. Mom never said that again. It was Uncle Stan who came to my rescue. "Let her be, Louise. She's not hurting anybody." Then he laughed and poured some more wine. "We should be grateful they aren't throwing food at each other and leave it at that." I saw Mira roll her eyes when he said that. It was something that happened when the twins were younger that Uncle Stan never let go of – we'd all heard the story several times. Like I said, there are reasons why the twins don't get to sit next to each other – just not so many recent reasons. Well, that's not totally true. They are still always nasty to each other. So there was a renewed round of drinks pouring and conversation and I got back to playing with my food. I think some of the adults were talking about teenage girls who starve themselves so they look thin. I think Aunty Janice started that. At one point, I heard Mom say, "Actually she usually eats pretty well. She has that active teenager's type of metabolism. She can eat anything and not gain an ounce of weight. I get quite jealous sometimes." It was weird hearing Mom defend me like that. Especially since she obviously didn't always think I ate properly. I think Mom's chilled a bit since we had that run in. Or maybe I was going through a phase when I didn't eat so well and now I'm over it. Who knows? It was also weird hearing Mom do that adult thing of talking about us kids like we weren't even there. Did she think I was suddenly deaf or something? I tried to block out the rest of that conversation. I didn't want to hear it. Nana was getting Mira to talk about a concert she'd been to. It was for a band called Kidneythieves. I think I'd heard the name before but I'm not sure. I don't think they get played on the same stations that play Robbie Williams. Apparently their type of music is called Industrial. Nana got Mira to explain what that meant. I listened too because I didn't really know either. It turns out it means the heavy rock version of that weird electronic stuff. It sounded like there was a lot of slam dancing and really big amplifiers and not many words – not words that make sense anyway. I like songs you can sing along with so I guess they wouldn't be my thing. I looked at Mira's face as she described all this to Nana and I could see her eyes lighting up. She was trying to play it cool and pretend it was no big deal but inside I could see she was all excited about it. I think Nana could see that too because she kept asking questions and getting Mira to talk more about it. I smiled to myself and went back to playing with my food. I really do feel bad about those children in Africa who don't get enough food. It makes me feel so helpless when I think about them. Then I remembered serving food this morning at the Y. There are children so much closer to home who don't get enough food. But they don't starve because there are people like Mr Davidson who organize meals for them. And I helped. That stopped me feeling so guilty, I guess. I was virtually finished except for one very important detail. I looked around the table for inspiration and saw what I needed. There was a bowl of saffron rice sitting in front of Tara. It's just plain cooked rice, but with saffron mixed in to give it that bright orangey color and with a few handfuls of small raisins mixed through to add variety. It's really easy to make but amazingly tasty and it looks good too. I waved at Tara and gestured for her to pass the bowl across the table to me. She did so without making any comments which was surprising. I carefully spooned a tiny amount onto the side of my plate and then passed the bowl back to Tara. She watched me do all that with raised eyebrows and she shook her head in amazement when I handed the bowl back but she still didn't say anything so that was good. I carefully picked up a grain of rice with my fingers and positioned it where I wanted it. I did that again about ten times, a grain at a time. There was some left when I finished so I ate the rest. A final wipe with my finger to scoop a wandering drop of gravy that had gotten misplaced and I was done. I sucked the gravy from my finger and looked down at my creation. It was two faces looking in at each other with their noses meeting in the middle. Or more accurately it was two sides of the same face. I used the gravy to fill up the space between the faces, so that the rose coloring of the plate formed her skin. The gravy had patterns in it but the real picture was the faces where the gravy wasn't. It was supposed to be Mira. I hadn't worried about being too realistic with colors. It was a kind of Picasso-with-food. I mean, Mira has black hair right now, but I'd given her green bean hair with a carrot-orange stripe. She also had pea-green lips and golden-corn teeth. Her ears were thin wedges of uneaten turkey and her eyes had potato at the center with rings of other colors around it. Little streaks of gravy provided shadows under the chin line and around the eye. The left side view had the extra decorations. Little saffron colored rings and bolts and studs. The other side was smooth clear rose-skin. I was kind of pleased with the way it turned out. I nudged Sam and pointed at my plate. He leaned over and put his head next to my shoulder so he could peer straight down at my plate. "It's a face – cool!" I grabbed his shoulder and held him against me so that he had to keep looking. "Wait a sec – is that... ?" He looked up and across the table at Mira and then back down at my plate. "Very cool!" Then he started laughing – I was going to say that he started giggling but apparently boys don't giggle. Maybe he was chuckling. Leroy leaned over and I swayed Sam and me away a bit so that he could see without him touching me. He looked at my plate and started laughing – well chuckling – as well. I felt a pleased little smile emerge on my face. It's nice when people see what you are trying to show them. Tara and Mira, sitting across the table from us, saw us laughing and started peering across the table – trying to see what we were looking at. "What is it, Bec? What are you up to?" said Tara. "Spill it, dork. What's going on?" said Mira. "Go on, show them," said Sam. I shrugged and turned the plate around so that it faced the two girls. Then I tilted it a bit so they could see better. Tara and Mira started giggling straight away when they saw that it was a funny face. Then suddenly Mira stopped giggling and did a double take. "What?" She stood up and leaned forward so that she could look more closely. The expression on her face made the two boys burst out laughing – I mean, real laughing – not chuckling or chortling or giggling or sniggering or tittering but proper laughing. "Is that supposed to be..." gasped Mira. I nodded at her and shrugged. Tara was still giggling like a crazy person. " ... me?" She glared at me and then at the plate. She was standing up and leaning forward with her arms down on the table so she was kind of looming over me. I started to shrink inside when I thought maybe she was getting offended instead of finding it funny. But she suddenly burst out laughing. That made Tara burst out laughing. Now the four of them were laughing loudly and I was sitting in the middle with a smile on my face. I guess all of that noise gained the attention of everyone else around the table. Mira was laughing her head off. She stood up from the table and tried to step away but she stumbled over her chair and ended up leaning on the wall to hold herself up. I've never seen Mira laugh so much. Usually she tries so hard to look miserable that even when she finds something funny, often all she'll do is smile a bit. Some of the adults were standing up to see what we were laughing about. They disguised it by picking up their plates and pretending they were taking them into the kitchen to scrape and stack or whatever. But they all walked past and leaned over. I heard a few snorts, several chuckles and one very unmanly giggle. Dan put his hand on my shoulder and his fingers did a little rubbing motion then he leaned down and kissed my cheek. He'd been drinking beer and I could smell a bit of that but I didn't care because it was Dan. Dad put his hand on the top of my head and tousled my hair a bit. Mom said, "So that's what you were up to." She used that tone of voice that said she didn't really approve but then she smiled and added, "Nice work. I like the way you tried to break free from preconceptions about color but didn't quite manage it." I frowned down at the picture trying to decode Mom's comment. She doesn't compromise about art. She doesn't tell me something's good if it isn't. But when she likes something, she says so. I'm kind of used to that. She is a bit less critical of children's artwork. The worst thing I've ever heard her say about something a kid has drawn is, "That's fairly average for a child that age." It was one of the greatest thrills of my life when I realized that Mom wasn't doing that with me any more. When she talks about my art now, she talks about it like I'm an adult artist. Isn't that awesome? Mom started collecting and stacking the plates from around me and I tried to hand her mine to add to the stack but she pushed it back at me. "Your Aunty Ally wants to take a photo before we scrape it off." "A photo? God yes," said Mira. She dug a cell phone out of her pocket and tried to take a photo of me holding the plate but she was still laughing and she couldn't hold the phone still so she had to take several before she got one she was happy with. Then she held the phone closer and took one of just the plate. Aunty Ally came back into the room with her fancy camera and fiddled with the lens a bit before telling me to smile and hold the plate up. I forced a smile back onto my face – all that attention had chased it away – and blinked my eyes against the sudden flash. I hate having my photo taken but I try put up with it because I don't have much choice. As soon as I could, I stood up and took my plate out into the kitchen. I stood at the sink and scraped the plate into the garbage disposer. Nana was standing there and watched me do that. "It seems a shame to clean away your lovely picture so quickly," she said. I shrugged. "It was food, Nana." "I know. I was just saying it seems a shame, that's all." "It's like the meal. You and Mom spent so much time and effort getting it ready and making it look nice but it's all gone in less than thirty minutes. Well, it was really gone in less than ten minutes but then there was twenty minutes of people talking and nibbling. The talking and nibbling would have gone longer but I wrecked it because everyone wanted to see my picture so they got up from the table all at once." Nana smiled at me and wrapped me up in a hug. "You didn't wreck anything. Don't be silly. The timer went off to say the pies were ready. Didn't you hear it?" I kissed Nana's cheek and returned the hug. Then Nana thrust a tea towel into my hands and pushed me towards an apple pie that was waiting on the counter. Without thinking, I folded the tea towel and used it to pick up the pie. As I made my way back into the living room, I looked down at the pie in my hands. More food? I didn't think I could eat another bite. I put the pie down and watched as it multiplied into several pies – apple pie, pumpkin pie, cherry pie, lemon meringue pie, pecan pie and a bowl of whipped cream with cinnamon laced through it. Mom wasn't kidding when she said we had enough food to feed an army. I sank back down into my chair and rubbed my stomach nervously. Surely I hadn't eaten that much already. I didn't feel full. I mean, I wasn't hungry but it wasn't impossible for me to eat something else. Surely there was a tiny space left in there for just a taste of pie. The cherry pie looked especially good. And the apple pie would be Nana's old recipe – my mouth watered from just thinking about it. And the lemon meringue would just melt in my mouth – if it melted like that then it wouldn't need much room in my stomach - would it? Mom and Aunty Ally were serving the different pies. When Mom got to me I asked for the tiniest slice of lemon meringue. She asked me to repeat myself. I didn't realize I was speaking too quietly. I said it again a bit louder and Mom smiled at me and cut me a slice about double the size of what I wanted. I added a dab of whipped cream and sat and watched as everyone else was served. Finally everyone was ready and there was a sudden clatter of spoons. Actually, the Americans in the room – by that I mean Uncle Stan and Aunty Janice and Leroy and Mira – had asked for forks for their pie. Isn't that weird? Eating a pie with a fork? So anyway there was a sudden clatter of spoons and forks. That first mouthful of pie was an explosion of taste in my mouth – the tartness of the lemon, the soft smoothness of the meringue, the buttery firmness of the biscuit-crumb base and the soothing cream helping cut the richness of the pie. It was all so good. I closed my eyes and let the tastes roll around inside my head. Slowly those delightful sensations faded away and I opened my eyes. Mira was sitting across the table, watching me. I saw her swallow and then she pointed her spoon at me. "So, are you going to make a face out of your pie?" I smiled. "No." "Is that something you do all the time?" "No, that's the first time I've done that." Then I remembered a couple of times when I had done something similar. "Not for a long time anyway," I added because I didn't want to be a liar. "She once made a picture of a house with spaghetti," put in Tara. "I still can't believe you did that," said Mira. I shrugged and took another mouthful of pie. I was ready to change the subject but Tara rescued me by starting to talk with Mira about music. Tara and Mira chatted a bit about music and other general stuff. Leroy put in an occasional comment. Even Sam had a couple of things to say. I was happy to sit and listen to the conversation and take an occasional mouthful of pie. I made it about two-thirds of the way through my serving before I decided I shouldn't eat any more. I put my spoon down and sat up straight. I looked around the room with a pleased little smile on my face. I felt warm and comfortable and safe and just a little bit stuffed. Dan had finished his slice of pumpkin pie and was halfway through a helping of the pecan pie. There was still an awful lot of pie sitting in the serving dishes. We would be eating leftover pie for a week. That wasn't a totally bad thing. At one end of the table, Mom was using a napkin to clean excess cream off Angie's face and Dad and Dan were talking football. Next to them, Aunty Penny and Aunty Ally were making eyes at each other across the table. At the other end of the table, Nana and Uncle Stan were talking about the real estate business that he and Aunt Janice run. Aunt Janice was doing a lot of listening and nodding. That's unusual for her. Usually she has an opinion about everything. If you were wondering why us kids were in the middle of the table and the adults were split at each end, it's so that Aunty Penny can sit away from Uncle Stan. It was set up that way when we first moved out here and Aunty Penny had only just met Uncle Stan. Since then, it's just kept happening. I'm fairly sure that she could cope with him being nearby now as long as he wasn't seated right next to her. As a matter of fact, I've seen them do that at a restaurant when we (the kids) were at a different table. Aunty Penny didn't seem too bothered by that. It's another example of things being done for no reason except that's how they've always been done. Empty plates were passed in from the ends of the table. I stood up and glared at Tara until she stood up too. I took the stack of plates from my side of the table and she picked up a similar stack from her side. Together we took the plates into the kitchen and scraped them. Dad had already stacked the dinner plates and cutlery into the dishwasher so we did the same with this round of plates. We didn't talk much because we'd both done this a thousand times and we both knew what to do. I measured out the detergent and poured it in and then Tara shut the door and pressed the knobs to set the dishwasher going. Leroy, Mira and Sam came into the kitchen carrying the leftover pies and the bowl of cream. "Aunt Louise said we should bring these in and put them in the fridge," said Mira. I grabbed a roll of cling-wrap and tore off six squares of plastic. With the five of us working we had the five pies and the bowl of cream covered and put away in the fridge amazingly quickly. The fridge whined in protest as we filled it up again. The poor thing must have thought its hard work was all over when it got emptied this morning but now it was nearly as full as it had been before. I patted the side of the fridge and told it to stop complaining. Leroy asked if they were needed for anything else and Tara said no so they could go back and sit down. We weren't finished though. We had drinks to get ready. Tara measured out the coffee and ran it through the grinder while I filled the coffee maker with water. Tara got the coffee maker set up and going while I filled the kettle with water to make tea. Once all that was done, Tara picked up a pad and pencil and went out into the other room to take orders – tea, coffee or soda. I started lining up mugs and glass tumblers on the counter. "Three Cokes, one Dr Pepper for me, an apple juice for Angie plus whatever you're having," said Tara as she came back into the kitchen. I nodded to her and went over to the ice chest we had sitting on the floor to hold the different drinks. I poured out the soft drinks and took them into the living room. I filled a couple of small jugs with milk and took them and the sugar bowl out to the table. Then I waited in the kitchen with Tara until the tea and coffee were ready so that I could help her pour and serve all of those. While we were waiting we had opened a packet of dinner mints and spread them out on a couple of plates. They were the last things we took out to the table before we could finally go back to our seats. Angie was allowed to get down from the table and play with Lucy, her doll, while the rest of us sat around and talked some more and drank our shots of caffeine in its various forms. Finally Dad made a big deal of looking at his watch and then turned to Mom. "Well, my darling wife. The meal has been served and eaten at a suitably leisurely pace. Civilized conversation has been had on a variety of topics. I believe the terms of our deal have been met." Mom carefully looked at her own watch and sighed. "Very well, husband of mine. I agree." She stood up and walked over to the TV which had sat dark and quiet against the wall for all of this time. She hooked an arm behind it and scrabbled for half a second. Then there was a weird tearing sound and she pulled her arm back out with a black object in her hand. "Behind the TV? It was behind the TV?" Dad's bad over-acting made me giggle. I hid my giggle behind a hand. Mom pulled the used duct-tape away and handed the TV remote to Dad. He held it up and stroked it lovingly. "There you are you poor little thing. Did the bad mommy hide you away? Well, don't you worry. Daddy's here now. You have one purpose in life and Daddy will help you achieve it." I stopped trying to hide my giggling. Everyone else was smiling or laughing too. Dad pointed it at the TV and pressed the green button. The TV sprang to life and the sounds of football commentators filled the room. Mom chuckled and kissed Dad on the cheek. She collected a handful of empty coffee mugs and disappeared into the kitchen. Aunty Janice and Aunty Ally collected the rest of the mugs and followed her. Aunty Penny leaned over the back of Dad's chair, rested her chin on his head and draped her arms over his shoulders and down his chest. Mom came back into the room and recruited us to gather the table cloths and pack up the picnic tables. As soon as that was all out of the way, Dad and Dan and Uncle Stan carried the kitchen table back into the kitchen and the sofa and the easy chairs back into the living room. Soon they had the room set up so that they could watch the TV in more comfort. Tara invited Mira into her room to listen to music. They spent a few minutes looking through our shelf of CDs in the living room. Mira grumbled about the weird order the CDs are in. Tara told her to ask me to explain it but she didn't bother. Finally the two of them disappeared towards Tara's room. Leroy went along with them. I wondered if they had found anything all three of them could listen to. I very much doubted it. Sam parked himself on the sofa next to Dan. I went over to Dan and folded myself into his lap. I'm not sure if I was doing that so I could watch football or so I could hold onto Dan. Maybe it was a bit of both. I snuggled into Dan, lying sideways on his lap with my legs up on the sofa between Dan and Sam. Dan wrapped his arms around me and rested his hands loosely on my hip. I laid my head on his shoulder and sighed happily. It was Thanksgiving and I was feeling safe and warm and comfortable and full. I couldn't imagine any place I'd rather be. ------- Chapter 15: After Dinner I let my brain run and stepped back to see where it would go. It was a bit like riding a bicycle down a hill and taking your hands off the handle bars. Then the bicycle keeps rolling down the hill and you feel as if without being guided it should go in weird directions or fall over but it doesn't – it mostly goes straight. But it goes faster and faster until the wind is racing past your face and blowing your hair out straight behind you. But the bike doesn't go perfectly straight. Gradually it veers off to one side or the other so you have to grab the handle bars again and steer because otherwise you would smash straight into a brick wall or a parked car or something. But for a while you feel wild and free and you squeal out loud at the total joy of it all. Well, maybe you don't squeal, Doctor K, because you're all manly and old and stuff but I hope you know what I mean. So anyway, letting my brain run free was like that. I expected it to veer off in weird directions but mostly it didn't. Mostly it went straight down the hill – zooming faster and faster as it went through everything I had learned about Dad and Aunty Penny and the things that I knew happened to them and the things I only guessed about. In the end my brain did veer off course and I found myself racing straight at a huge wall, covered with an enormous version of the Angie painting I wanted to paint. That was when I grabbed the handle bars again because I knew if I crashed into that wall then I wouldn't be able to think of much else for a while. The crowd all cheered and yelled when I avoided running into the wall. I wondered if I was supposed to bow or something. I steered my brain into a cul-de-sac and let it rest for a moment. I felt a kiss on my forehead. It was Dan. "Buzz buzz buzz," whispered Dan. "Huh?" I whispered back. "I can hear that busy brain of yours buzzing away." "I'm watching football." "No you aren't. Your head isn't even facing the TV." "Oh!" I licked my lips and tried again. "I'm listening to the football so I can watch it when it gets interesting." "Uh huh. You're listening are you? We just scored a spectacular touchdown and you didn't even stir." "Did we?" I twisted on Dan's lap and peered at the TV. They were showing the kicking team running out for the restart. I'd even missed the replays. I slumped back against Dan and put my head back against his chest. "That's good," I said, without any excitement. Dan had a bottle of beer in his hand. I didn't notice him getting that. Dad, or someone, must have given it to him. He certainly didn't stand up to get it because I'd been on his lap the entire time. Dan lifted the bottle up and beyond my field of view. I heard a little gurgle from the bottle and the slurp as he took a mouthful and then I heard the sounds of him swallowing echo through his chest. He kissed my forehead again. "Can you move your elbow, princess. It's digging into my stomach and I had way too much to eat for dinner." "Sorry." I wriggled around and rearranged myself on his lap. "Is that better?" Dan's only answer was to pat my back so I took that as a "yes." Then he started rubbing his hand up and down my spine. In my shifting around, one of my feet had landed on Sam's leg. I tried to move it off him but Sam captured it and held it in place. I looked over at Sam. He smiled at me and rubbed my ankle. Then he looked back at the TV and watched the football with his hand resting on my ankle. The gentle contact made me smile – well, maybe I was already smiling because of Dan rubbing my back but Sam being so nice made me smile more. I can remember times when Sam was an annoying little brat but it seems like this year he has been nothing but nice to me. Maybe he's grown up a bit. That's a good thing. I like him much better this way. My eyes had trouble staying open. I think all that food was making me sleepy and I was so comfortable and Dan was rubbing my back and everything. A bit later I felt Dan push the hair away from my face. I realized that he had stopped rubbing my back and I bleated in protest. "Hey, princess. Are you awake?" he whispered into my ear. "Kind of." "I called Pearl earlier. Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?" I had to think for a bit before I remembered. "You mean about whether or not Pearl is your girlfriend?" Was that only yesterday? "Yeah! I've been thinking about what you said. So I called her." "Good." "She's at home with her family. She invited me over there this afternoon. I'm going to go a bit later." I squirmed around and sat up so that I could look him in the face. I ended up sitting right back on his knees with my knees up high and my feet each side of his hips. "She wants her parents to meet you?" We were still whispering to each other. It's kind of hard to have a private conversation in a room full of people. I guess the TV being on loud probably helped. "It sounds like that." "You know this is important, don't you?" "I've met parents before." "I keep telling you, Pearl isn't like all those brainless twits you've been dating." "I know." "So if she introduces you to her parents as her boyfriend then that really means something." "I know." "Don't let her do that unless it's true." "I won't." "Because if you..." I stopped because Dan had put a finger on my lips. "I already told you I'd been thinking about what you said yesterday. You were right. I do want Pearl to be my girlfriend. I do have to treat her differently from those other girls. I've picked up some bad habits and I'm going to have to change them. You were right. But you didn't say the one thing that would have helped me understand right away." "What's that?" "I would have understood everything perfectly if you'd just said that Pearl was almost exactly like you." "Huh?" "She's honest and open and sincere and direct and trusting and she expects the same from everyone she deals with. She's a bit insecure and needs the occasional reminder of how special she is. She's sweet and innocent – well mostly innocent – and is looking for more from a guy than just a good time. She's a bit needy and a bit high maintenance but if you give her what she needs then the rewards will be worth it. And she has a heart the size of Texas. See? Almost exactly like you." "Huh!" Dan smiled gently at me. "Notice that I left off words like manipulative and moody and stubborn. Three things which you are that I haven't seen so much from Pearl." I pouted at him. "Manipulative?" Did you get that I didn't argue about moody and stubborn? Dan stared at me and grinned. "Totally. And you know it." I bit my lip to stop it from pouting. "Well, maybe, sometimes. But only when a certain person doesn't do what he knows perfectly well he should be doing." Dan grinned some more and then leaned forward and kissed me on the nose. "You're blocking my view of the TV. There's football on." How rude. I poked my tongue out at him. But then I grinned at him because I knew he was teasing me. I slid forward down his legs. That didn't work as smoothly as I would like because my long skirt got in the way. In the end I had to tuck the material up above my knees and I almost folded myself in half with my knees under my armpits. Eventually I managed to plaster myself completely onto Dan. I wrapped my arms around him, put my head on his chest and squeezed tight to complete the process. Anyone bigger or less limber probably wouldn't have been able to do it. Besides, if I hadn't squeezed in tightly against him, my skirt would have slid all the way up my legs and gathered in a pile around my hips. That would have showed far more of me than I could ever want to. Pressing up against Dan wasn't just a nice thing to do – having got myself into that position, it became necessary. Of course, pressing my little boob flat against his chest sent a little jolt racing through me but I tried to ignore that because it had nothing to do with getting a hug from Dan. I wriggled myself against him and clenched my arms until I was pressed as hard against him as I could possibly manage. "Now what are you doing?" "Claiming some of that high maintenance." Dan chuckled – which made his body shake and since I was so closely attached it made my body vibrate too. "This is nice. I wish I could stay like this for ever. If I could do that I would never have to be manipulative ever again." Dan chuckled again. It was like getting one of those vibrating massages all up and down the front of my body. "Well, you can't stay like that for ever. Like I just told you, I'm going out later. You'll have to get off me before then." "Rats. I've changed my mind. You don't need to visit Pearl. She's not good for you with all that neediness. You should dump her and stay right here." "Nothing lasts forever, princess." Dan had said the words so quietly, but they slammed into my brain like I was in the front row of a rock concert. "Nothing lasts forever." The last missing piece of the puzzle slotted into place. It was like somebody flipped a switch. I went from knowing a whole lot of unrelated clues to suddenly understanding everything. It all fit together. Dan's words had given me the final clue. I think I suddenly went from floppy to all rigid because Dan immediately knew something was different. "What is it, Bec?" "I just solved the puzzle." "What puzzle?" "Well, I might not have solved it, but I just figured out the next question to ask. If the answer is yes then I'll have solved the puzzle." "What's the question? Maybe I know the answer." "No, Dan. I don't think you do. Otherwise you would have told me already." "You aren't making much sense." "Sorry." I wanted to jump up right away and go in search of answers but I didn't think I'd get anywhere. Any of the adults would be able to answer my question. But they had all joined in on the conspiracy of silence. I figured my best bet was Aunty Penny because of what she'd already told me. Right now she was sitting on the arm of Dad's chair, leaning against Dad and watching football with him. I couldn't ask her while she was with Dad. He would stop her from saying anything. I didn't think she was that interested in the game but I knew why she was there. She was spending time with her brother in the same way I was spending time with mine. I totally got that. But it was annoying because it meant I had to wait. Speaking of spending time with my brother, I was wasting it by being all stressed out. I forced myself to relax and cuddle up to Dan again. It didn't work as well as I wanted. I was all twitchy. My brain kept going around and around in a circle as I imagined asking my question over and over. I just needed someone to say "yes" and my world would make sense. Before, I'd been half-asleep and relaxed and comfortable. Now I was wide awake and tense and twitchy. It wasn't nearly as nice to lie there as it had been earlier. I muttered to myself in annoyance and Dan hushed me and started stroking my hair – running his hand from the top of my head all the way down to the base of my spine. Then back to the top again. That helped. My brain was going round and around in a circle. Then I remembered that circles have middles where things are still and quiet. I closed my eyes and lowered myself into the middle of the circle. I might have gone to sleep if I'd been left alone, but I wasn't. "Rebecca Louise Freeman! You really shouldn't sit like that." Mom's voice sounded a bit strange. It was like she was forcing herself not to shriek at me. "It doesn't look very appropriate," weighed in Dad. I assume he had turned around to look when he heard Mom's voice. Since I had my back to them I had to guess based on the sound of their voices. "I think you need to find a more – ladylike way of sitting," said Mom. Her voice didn't sound quite as strangled that time. I really didn't know what they were talking about. They've seen me sitting on Dan's lap hundreds of times and never complained before. I opened my eyes and all I could see was Sam. He was looking back and forth between me and my parents with big eyes. He saw me looking at him and he shrugged. I must have been looking really confused. Then he looked me up and down. "It does look a bit – rude." Huh? I thought about the way I was sitting. The long skirt meant that my knees were trapped up high under my armpits in a kind of weird position. That meant my – um – groin was kind of stretched out and pressed firmly against Dan right down low. Oh My God! Understanding hit me like a wall. It must have looked an awful lot like we were doing sex! Except for the clothes of course. I know that my face instantly went bright red – and my neck and my chest. I'd be surprised if the blush didn't go all the way down to my toes. It sure felt like that. And now that I was thinking about it, my – you know – my groin was sending me some very demanding messages. My brain wanted me to run away. My groin wanted to be pressed even harder against Dan. Once again my body was trapped as different parts fought inside me for control. This time, fortunately, my brain won out and I pushed myself away from Dan with a sudden shove. Unfortunately, in my embarrassment and confusion, I forgot about the effect gravity would have on my skirt. Instantly, the material of my skirt started sliding up my legs towards my hips. I screamed and clutched at my skirt. The sudden movement upset my balance and I tumbled helplessly backwards off Dan's knees. I had a choice of keeping my hands where they were and hiding my panties from the room or using my hands to soften my fall and save me from breaking my neck. You're probably thinking that's an easy choice. Right? Well it wasn't so easy for me. In fact I was still trying to decide when I hit the ground. I think Dan might have moved his feet or something because I ended up falling sideways instead of backwards. I hit my shoulder first and then my head thumped into the carpet. It hurt. But I think I started crying because of the shock of it more than the hurt. I've had worse falls playing basketball. I guess I was also crying from embarrassment. I was suddenly surrounded by people asking if I was okay. People touching me, trying to grab me, trying to turn me over. It was the exact opposite of what I needed. I lashed out at the reaching hands. "Don't touch me," I cried. I desperately wanted someone to hold me. To wrap their arms around me and tell me everything was going to be okay. "Don't touch me," I whimpered. I scrambled to my feet, pushing my way through all the hovering hands, and ran. The material of my skirt dropped as soon as I was standing. It covered my legs the way they should be covered – but still I ran. I was embarrassed. I was upset. My shoulder hurt. But most of all, I think, I was angry because I had been enjoying something sweet and they made it dirty. And maybe I was shocked because it was possible they were a little bit right. And maybe I was confused because I didn't understand how it could have been both sweet and dirty at the same time. I made it out of the living room and into the hallway before I was caught and pinned against the wall by a large pair of arms. "Bec, wait." It was Dan. I struggled to break free but Dan was holding me tightly. I stopped struggling to break free – that was pointless – but I twisted in his arms so that I was facing away from him, facing into the wall. "Bec, are you hurt? How's your head?" I did a tiny shake of my head for the first question and then the teeniest little shrug for the second. Then I tried to force my way further into the wall to get away from him. "Don't touch me," I hissed through clenched teeth. I desperately wanted Dan to keep holding me, to stroke my hair, to kiss my neck. I wanted him to tell me I was loved, that I wasn't bad, that nobody saw anything, that I didn't do anything wrong. But Dan holding me like that was not very ladylike. It was wrong, it was dirty, it was against the rules. "Don't touch me," I murmured into the wall. I'm not supposed to ... I don't know. There's a line I'm not supposed to cross. It would be easy if the line were painted on the ground. Then I could know where it was and make sure I didn't step over it. But the line is invisible – and it moves. It floats around in the universe like one of those creepy cleaner things in home swimming pools that look like a hose or a snake or something swimming around in the water. I never know the line is there until I've crossed it and everything starts going bad. I don't understand how I'm supposed to avoid crossing a stupid line if the only way I can find out where it is, is by crossing it. Dan was still holding me. His big arms were still wrapped around me and pinning me to the wall. "Don't touch me," I whispered. Dan spun me around and lifted me until my face was level with his. Then he put my back against the wall and leaned forward so that my body was trapped in place by his. That left one of his hands free to cup the side of my face and turn my head so I was looking into his eyes. His other hand pushed the hair off my face and tucked it behind my ear and then wiped some of the wetness from my face. I guess that means I was still crying. I hung there, helplessly trapped, with my feet dangling. He wasn't holding my arms any more but I let them drape limply by my sides. Amazingly enough, I felt totally safe. It was like, with Dan holding me there, nothing bad could happen. If anybody else had trapped me up against a wall like that, I would have been kicking and screaming and trying to claw their eyes out. But with Dan, I just relaxed. Nothing bad could happen – except that The Parents could shout at us for not being appropriate. I think he held me like that so he could be sure he had my total attention. It worked. I looked into the depths of Dan's eyes and tried to tell him that he shouldn't be holding me and pressing against me like that. It was probably over that line I was talking about. But my voice wasn't working so I had to rely on my psychic powers. Then a little bit of my brain wondered what it would feel like if he kissed me while he had me trapped up there like that. I mean a proper kiss like the ones he gives his girlfriends. We were so close. All he had to do was put out his lips and we'd be kissing. I wanted so much to know what it felt like to be kissed. This was a chance to find out. That's what one bit of my brain was thinking. But the rest of my brain knew that would be a really bad idea. I think all those different thoughts must have confused the signals I was sending to Dan because I don't think he understood my message at all. Dan tilted his head forward and put his forehead against mine. That meant his nose was pressing against mine. Maybe he was trying to put his brain closer to mine so that he could hear my psychic messages more clearly. He didn't kiss me, though. That's probably a good thing. That would definitely have crossed over that line. Dan took his head away from mine and looked into my eyes again. I looked back into his. I didn't have much choice because he was holding my head in place. "Bec, I'm not as good at figuring out what people are thinking as you are but even I can tell that right now you are a bit embarrassed and maybe even a bit mad at Mom and Dad for making you feel that way. Am I right?" I bit my lip. Then I moved my head up and down by the tiniest of amounts. "They didn't mean to embarrass you. They don't mind you sitting on my lap and getting hugs from me." But... "They knew you weren't doing anything wrong." Then why... "I think they wanted you to be aware of how the way you were sitting would look to strangers. I think they wanted you to sit differently. They weren't telling you to push yourself off my lap and bash your head on the floor." So why... "I don't know if you've noticed, Bec, but Mom and Dad aren't coping very well today. I don't think either of them got much sleep last night and they're really tired. They're trying to be good parents and good hosts but they keep slipping up. They keep making mistakes they wouldn't normally make – saying things they wouldn't normally say. Can you maybe give them a bit of slack today?" "Why didn't they sleep?" Dan rolled his eyes at me. "Have you forgotten? Someone tried to get into your room last night." Oh! That! I think Dan realized I was pretty calm by then so he stopped holding me trapped against the wall. He scooped me up, turned around and slid down the wall so that he was sitting with his back to the wall and me sitting sideways on his lap. I stayed sitting up straight so I could keep looking at his face. Dan's left arm wrapped around my back and held onto my hip while his right hand sat loosely on my knees. I lifted my knees a bit higher so that his hand came within reach of mine. That let me play with his hand. It's a proper sized hand, not thin and bony like Leroy's. After a moment of thinking about hands, I looked back at Dan. "Why didn't they sleep? The police officer said the men were gone." "They were really freaked out. I was freaked too but Dad was ready to go ballistic. He kept going around the house for most of the night. He must have checked every lock and every window in the house a hundred times. Mom moved Angie into bed with her and sat up holding onto her all night. When Dad wasn't patrolling the house, he was sitting in the hallway outside your room with your door open so he could watch you two sleep." "We spent half the night sleeping in my closet." "That's right – you did too. I'd forgotten. Dad spent half the night sitting in the hallway and staring at your closet door and the other half sitting in the hallway and watching the two of you sleep. When he wasn't patrolling the house and checking the windows, that is. Don't be surprised if he goes to sleep this afternoon while he's watching the football game." "Why were you all so freaked?" "Bec! You're not stupid. A man tried to get into your room – while you were in there. You're old enough to know what that could mean. If he'd managed to get in, who knows what might have happened?" "If he'd managed to get in, Dad would have shot him with his gun – or I would have." Did I tell you I hate guns? I think I've changed my mind. Dan's face went serious. "Bec, you promised Dad you wouldn't touch that gun." "I know. But it's not really a fair promise. If some man crawls in through my window and tries to attack me, I'm not going to just stand there and flap my hands in the air and say, Oh! Oh! Don't hurt me!" I said that last bit in a really little and pathetic sort of voice. At the same time I flapped my hands around up near my ears as if I was surrendering. It made Dan smile a bit. "No, I wouldn't want you to do that. I'd much rather you ran away as fast as you could. Run to me or Dad. Let one of us deal with him. The problem with you is that sometimes you find it hard to tell the difference between reality and stuff in your head. You told us that yourself. If that was happening, you with a gun in your hand would be really dangerous. You might end up shooting one of us or someone else who's friendly." "Okay. If some strange man climbs through my window, I'll run to Dad or you and you can shoot him. And if neither you or Dad are around, I'll make sure to ask him if he's real and then I'll ask him if he's going to hurt me. If he says yes to both of those – well, then I'll shoot him." Dan blew out a puff of air in exasperation. He rolled me over, forcing me around until I was lying face down over his legs. Then he smacked once – right on the bum. It didn't hurt much. He didn't hit me that hard. But it did sting a bit. "Ow!" Like I said, it didn't really hurt, but I didn't want Dan to get the wrong idea and smack me any harder. Dan let me go and sat there while I rolled around and sat myself up again across his legs. I pouted at Dan and tilted a bit sideways so I could rub the spot he smacked. "What did you do that for?" "This isn't a joking matter, Bec. This is serious. This is the most serious thing we've ever talked about. You leave the gun alone. Dad might not be willing to spank you on the tush when you need it so I think maybe I better. You even think of touching that gun again and I'll make sure you don't want to sit down for a week. If a strange man starts crawling through your window and we aren't around, you call the police and you start running. You keep running out the door and all the way down the street if you have to." I stopped rubbing my bum and sat there straightening up my skirt. I didn't answer him but he knew I'd understood what he was saying. "Okay, let's forget about that for now. Do you understand now why Mom and Dad have both been struggling a bit today? That fight this morning between you and Mom, for example. Mom wouldn't normally blow up like that." "I get it. The Parents are tired so they aren't exactly dealing with things very well today. But I was still embarrassed." "Of course you were. But that's something else I wanted to say to you. Yesterday, you helped me understand a bad habit I'd gotten into. Now I want to help you." "Are you saying I have a bad habit, too?" "Yeah. When something embarrassing happens you always go away and hide. You either physically run away or you go inside that brain of yours and hide in there. Then you go into a positive feedback loop that drags you down and down until you end up in a big hole. It can take you hours to come out of it." "What's a positive feedback loop?" He breathed a couple of times while he thought how to answer. "You get embarrassed for whatever reason and that makes you feel bad so you run away. So now you're twice as embarrassed because you made a scene as well as for whatever the original reason was, so now you feel even worse so you hide somewhere. But now you feel embarrassed because you know you're hiding instead of facing up to whatever the problem is – as well as being embarrassed for all those other reasons, so now you feel really terrible so you start crying. And so on and so on, with you feeling more and more terrible all the time. Do you see how it keeps feeding back on itself and each time it adds to the problem? That's called a positive feedback loop." "Oh!" "So you end up at the bottom of a really deep hole – depressed and miserable." "Yeah! So?" "So, what you should try to do is stop that feedback loop from starting up." I thought about what he was saying for a moment. "Do you mean not get embarrassed in the first place? How could I do that?" "Embarrassing things happen all the time – you can't avoid that. The trick is to stop yourself from feeling bad about being embarrassed. Or maybe stop yourself from running away when you get embarrassed." I screwed up my face. That sounded hard. "Everyone gets embarrassed. When it happens, most people try to laugh it off. They make a joke or pull a funny face or make themselves laugh or whatever. I bet you could think of lots of times when you've seen someone do something strange because they were embarrassed. But then they get over it and they go on with what they were doing." "I guess so." "Look at what happened just now. You got embarrassed and ran away. I stopped you out here instead of letting you hide in your room and go further into your feedback loop. Then we sat here and talked about something else until you felt better. You do feel better, don't you?" I shrugged and nodded. "But you helped me." "I helped you this time. Don't you think that maybe next time you could sit down and make yourself think about something else until you feel better? That would stop the feedback loop from happening." "I could try." Dan smiled. "That's what I wanted to hear. It might not work every time, but if you keep trying I think it might help often enough to make a difference. It's never easy to break out of a habit and that's what your positive feedback loop is. It's a habit that you need to stop." "Huh!" "Well, I'm glad we got that sorted. Half time must be almost over. Just the way I like it. Problem created and solved all during the half-time break." "Okay then. Next time I feel like having a meltdown, I'll make sure it happens during a commercial break so that you don't miss anything important." Dan grinned. "That's so considerate of you. I knew there was a reason I love you." Having gotten the sarcasm out of our systems, I leaned over and kissed Dan on the side of his mouth. "Thank you, Dan. I don't know how you managed to think of that." "Well, I love you, I watch you, I see you having problems, I try to think of ways I can help. It's a fairly simple sequence." "And since you aren't completely stupid, all that thinking sometimes has results." I smiled at him. "And I love you too," I added. "Good. Do you love me enough to let me go and watch some football?" I slid myself sideways off his lap and sat next to him with my back against the wall. "I might sit here for a bit longer." He patted my thigh and heaved himself up to his feet. "You do that, Bec. Come back in when you're ready." "Hey!" I stopped Dan just before he disappeared into the living room. "How did you know what Mom and Dad were doing all night?" He winked at me. "I told you I was freaked too. Who do you think was watching your room when Dad was patrolling the house?" Then he was gone and I was left alone with my thoughts. It was weird thinking about Dad and Dan watching us sleep all night. Not creepy weird. I didn't mind in that way. I just had no idea it was happening and to hear about it afterwards was – weird. I was a bit surprised that Dan hadn't crawled into bed with us and held onto us all night if that was the way he felt. Except my bed is smaller than his and I don't think he'd fit. But he could have easily put a mattress down and slept on the floor of my room. But I guess he was with Dad and Dad would never do that. Sleeping on the floor of my bedroom is probably way past Dad's own version of that line he's not supposed to cross. It took me ages to realize that Dad's rules for himself are stricter than the rules for most dads. For the longest time, I thought that all dads were like him. Now I realize that Dad is all messed up. Mr Davidson wouldn't hesitate for a second to sleep in Liz's room if he thought she was in danger. I don't know about Melissa's father. He'd probably tell the nanny to sit in the room with her. He'd probably say he was too busy to do it himself. I don't know. I guess I don't know enough dads to be sure about what's normal. Speaking of Dad's rules, that explains why he didn't go to bed all night. Mom had Angie in bed with her and Dad never lets himself lie in bed if one of us is there. I know that from personal experience. I used to crawl in with The Parents when I had a bad dream or whatever. But every time I did, Dad would get out of bed and go sleep on the sofa. I hated that. In the end I just stopped going to The Parents completely and started going to Dan. He didn't run away when I needed him. Of course, now I have a bit of an idea why Dad did that but I didn't understand when I was younger and it really hurt me. Speaking of Dad, I started to think maybe I should go looking for both Dad and Mom and find some way of letting them know that I was okay. Then I had to get Aunty Penny away from Dad so that I could ask my questions. I didn't think dragging her out of the living room by her arm would go down very well. Maybe I would just have to rely on my magic powers and send her a psychic message asking her to come and talk to me. Or maybe I could cast a spell to make her come to me. I read a book about witches and those sort of spells are called summoning spells but they never say exactly what you have to do to make the spell happen. I wondered if a spell to summon Aunt Penny would require some sort of dance like those native American dances to summon rain. I raised my hands in the air and did big magic gestures. "Hey kiddo." It was Aunty Penny, standing in the entrance to the living room. "Are you feeling better?" I felt my jaw drop as I looked up at her. I've never had my magic powers work so fast before. I smiled up at her. "Yeah!" "That's good. I'm off to the loo." "Aunty Penny?" She stopped. "Yes, honey?" "Can I ask you a question?" I saw a doubtful look go across her face. "You never ask just one question. I'm going to the loo." "Oh!" I guess my magic isn't as strong as the power of a full bladder. "Wait there. I'll come back when I'm done and then we can talk." "Okay." So I sat there and waited. Mom came down the hallway from the kitchen. She was headed to her room which meant my legs were blocking her way. I pulled them in tight against my chest so she could get past. Instead of walking by, she stopped and looked down at me. "Are you okay, honey? You hit your head pretty hard in there." I scrambled to my feet and gave Mom a hug. "I'm fine, Mom. I mostly landed on my shoulder and the carpet is soft." "I didn't mean to..." "It's okay, Mom." I cut her off. "I understand." Mom tugged at the sleeves of my top to straighten them up. "Don't you get cold. That top is a bit thin for this time of year." "I know, Mom. I got paint on my other one." She did up another one of the loops that tie it closed. That reminded me I'd been walking around for all of this time with my non-cleavage showing. I felt my cheeks go pink as I realized that. I stood there and let Mom fiddle with neckline – making sure it was folded neatly and pressing the collar flat against the top of my chest. "There! That's better. Maybe you should put a cardy on before you catch a chill." "I'm fine, Mom. I don't feel cold." I gave Mom a hug and kissed her on the cheek. "I promise I'll put something more on if I start feeling cold." Mom kissed me as well and then left me and went into her room. She came out a moment later sliding on a light-weight jacket as she walked. I waited until she'd gone past me and back into the kitchen before sliding back down to the floor. That explained Mom's carrying on about me catching a chill. She was cold so she figured I should put more clothes on. Typical Mom. She always does that. Often I'll go and put on a vest or something just to avoid an argument. A little while later, Aunty Penny came back. I started to get to my feet but she stopped me. "I'm not so old that I can't sit on the floor," said Aunty Penny. She sat on the floor against the wall opposite me. I tucked my feet up. That put my knees up high so I wrapped my arms around my legs and sat my chin on my knees. "So what did you want to say?" asked Aunty Penny. She looked a bit nervous. I think she knew what I wanted to talk about. Something funny came into my head and I just had to say it. "I figured out why you came out of the closet so early," I said to Aunty Penny. She looked at me, waiting for me to explain. "This family has so many skeletons in its closet, there wasn't any room for you to hide your gayness in there as well." She smiled and I smiled too. "There's Mom's thing – I mean the thing that I've got too. There's the stuff with Nana and Uncle Stan and there's the stuff that happened to you and Dad. Everybody knows about it but nobody talks about it. All the adults know about it anyway. I only know bits and pieces and it tears me up inside. All those things make a difference to my life every day, but I'm left to guess why because nobody will tell me. I hate it. I thought you were all deliberately keeping secrets but I'm starting to believe it's simply because nobody wants to talk about it. You'd all rather just forget – pretend that nothing happened. I guess I understand that. I promise that if I get some straight answers, I won't keep going on about it." Aunty Penny swallowed and chewed her lip. "You really should hear about this from your father." "Yes, but he won't talk about it." "No, I don't suppose he would." Aunty Penny looked at me for a moment and then sighed. "Ask your questions. I'll try to answer them if I can." I hesitated. I had all these questions but I wanted to ask them gently so she wouldn't have a meltdown on me. I had to find ways to avoid the really bad stuff that I just knew was there. "The stuff that happened, it was before you were with Grandma Stone. So it either happened at a foster home or an orphanage or whatever, or it happened when you were with your original family." "I wouldn't really call them a family. Not like you think of that word." "Okay." I took a moment to read between the lines of what she'd just said. "So – they – did it to you. It wasn't that you were kidnapped or other men broke into your house." "The only other men who came into our house were invited." The strain in her voice was obvious. I frantically tried to change the subject. "Do you think you became a lesbian because of them, or were you always gay?" Okay. It wasn't enough of a change of subject, but it was the first thing I thought of – and it was a question I wanted to ask. I just didn't mean to ask it then. Aunty Penny was nodding and seriously thinking about my question. "I don't know. I don't remember a time before ... I always had to pretend that I was enjoying it – for the photos. I had to smile. I had to act as if I was – excited. Do you know what I mean by that?" She looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I felt my cheeks go a bit pink. I bit my lip and nodded. "At first it was just him. But then there were others. I always had to pretend with the men. With a girl it was easier to pretend. Sometimes, with the girls, I didn't have to pretend at all. Maybe I was always gay. The other girls didn't have to pretend so much. I never understood that. Maybe for me it was because the men were rough and the girls weren't. I don't know." "There were other girls?" "One was a cousin. The other two were daughters of a man who sometimes came to the house. Those two only came a few times and then we never saw them again. I think their mother suspected something was going on because she got a divorce – moved away somewhere and took the girls with her." Then a new thought occurred to her. "All the times he made me and Peter go together, Peter wasn't rough but I still had to pretend for the camera. At least, with Peter, I didn't always feel dirty afterwards." I swallowed and looked down. That was something I really didn't want to know. Aunty Penny was still mostly calm. I was amazed how calm she could be while talking about this. I think if it had happened to me I'd still be in hysterics thirty years later. After a pause, I realized my brain had latched onto one thing she'd said. "You said there were photos." "There was always a camera. That was her job – to take the photos. She wasn't our mother. She was his girlfriend. Our mother died when Peter was born. I don't remember her at all. This was before the internet. All those photos went into a magazine. Not glossy and fancy like shop magazines. They were awful filthy things. He always showed me when a new one came out. I was supposed to be pleased to see myself in there." She said some other stuff but I can't write it down – it's too horrible. The stuff I've already written is bad enough. I thought I was ready to hear Aunty Penny's story but maybe I wasn't. Once she started talking she kept going. She never said any actual details. It was all like what I've written. You had to listen to what she wasn't saying to get what was happening. It was still horrible. I think it was a good thing Aunty Ally stopped her when she did. Oh yeah! Aunty Ally arrived while Aunty Penny was talking. She slid in next to Aunty Penny and started holding her. I got the impression that Aunty Ally was pleased that Aunty Penny was talking. But she still stopped it. I'm kind of grateful that she did. I was crying by this stage – silent tears running down my cheeks. I think me crying made Aunty Penny cry too. We both ignored all that. "But it all ended. You got out of there." "Peter got me out. He was four years younger than me. I don't think he understood what was going on at first. It was all a big game to him. He didn't know any different. Then he realized and he started looking after me. We looked after each other. We would lie in bed together – whispering in the middle of the night about what we could do. We knelt together and prayed to God to make it all end. There was a lot of talk about God in that house. But God didn't help us so we had to help ourselves. Peter promised me he would get me out of there." "And he did." "Yes, he did. We planned it for ages, hiding things away, waiting for our moment. Then one night they got extra rough and I started bleeding. The bleeding wouldn't stop. Peter tried to say I needed to go to hospital. He got beaten for that. Then they made him pray to God for forgiveness. Later that night, Peter hit him over the head with a poker, picked me up and ran out the front door. I don't really remember but I think he must have carried me all the way to the hospital. I don't know how he managed it. He must have been no bigger than Sam is now and I was your size and mostly unconscious. I do remember him threatening the nurses at the hospital with the poker when they asked about our parents. He refused to let go of me while the doctors examined me. Neither of us were ready to trust anybody for a long time." Aunty Penny started crying then. Aunty Ally put her arms around her and started hushing her. I watched for a moment and then I stood up. I walked straight to the bathroom. That involved walking through the crowded kitchen but I just put my head down and walked straight through. Once in the bathroom, I went to the toilet, held my hair out of the way and vomited up all that Thanksgiving dinner. All that lovely turkey and vegetables and delicious lemon meringue pie. All gone. All wasted. I flushed the toilet but that left a bit of vomit on the rim of the bowl so I cleaned that up with toilet paper and I flushed the toilet again. I rinsed out my mouth, washed my face and made sure my hair and clothes were okay. Then I went back to the hallway. The aunts were still holding each other. I sat back down where I had been. I don't think they noticed I'd been gone. I tucked my chin back on my knees and held on tightly to my legs. I didn't feel like asking any more questions. I still hadn't asked the big one but I didn't care anymore. After a little while, Aunty Penny looked up at me. "I was in the hospital for quite a while. They kept Peter there with me – we both had hysterics every time they tried to separate us. Then there was the trial and we had to be witnesses. He had all these contacts and he made threats so the witness protection people changed our names and put us in a group home in Leeds. I think he must have found out about us being there because they changed our names again and moved us to a foster home in Manchester. Then the trial was over and he got sent to prison – they all did. "The foster home didn't really work out. We were both too messed up. We got moved around a couple more times and then we ended up with Grandma Stone. When she decided to adopt us, the witness protection people got the judge to seal the adoption orders and they gave us papers to say she'd always been our mother. "And that's our story. Now you know everything." "Yes, I do. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe there were some things I didn't need to know. But thank you for telling me." She gave me a little smile. I took a big breath. This was the best chance I would ever get to ask my question. "There is just one more thing I have to ask." "Okay." "Nothing lasts forever, does it? He got sent to prison for a long time. But this all happened ages ago. Did he get out of prison about six years ago?" She swallowed and nodded. "And did he come looking for you?" She shuddered and then nodded again. "So you contacted the witness protection people and they helped you change all of our names and move us to America." "All they did was give us the new papers and passports," put in Aunty Ally. "We had to do the rest ourselves. All the business about pretending to move to Australia was our idea." "But we came here instead because Nana had just found out she had a son living here that nobody knew about," I added. They both nodded. "We really are safe here," said Aunty Penny. "He's on their sex offenders list. He has to keep reporting in or he goes back into prison. And America would never let him into the country with his record." I nodded and looked off into the distance. It was like this huge spring had been wound up inside me all this time and now it was released. I could almost feel it relaxing inside me. It was amazing how the one simple idea had linked all those different clues together. "Tell Bec about the names," said Aunty Ally. "Now she knows the story she'll understand about the names." Aunty Penny smiled at me. "You'll like this bit," she said. "We only became Peter and Penny when we got to Grandma Stone's house. Since everything before then is like a dream, it feels like we've been Peter and Penny all our lives. But we had different names before then. Lots of different names. The name my mother gave me when I was born was Danielle. In the house it was always full names, proper names. But in private Peter used to call me Danni and sometimes just Dan." I gasped and looked at her in amazement. She smiled happily. "That's right. My sweet brother named his first child after me. Isn't that wonderful? Peter said that the only thing he wanted to remember from that time were those private moments when we were together. I was worried at first. I thought having a person around called Dan would bring back too many painful memories. But my doctor said it was a good idea. She was right. And now, Dan has made that name completely his own. That little girl, Danni, is gone forever. Now, if I hear someone say Dan, all I think about is your brother." "What about Dad? What was his name?" "Since Peter named his first child after Penny," said Aunty Ally, "how could we possibly do any different?" I looked back and forth between the two of them. "Sam? Dad's name was Sam?" "Samuel in the house. But yes, in private, between me and him, it was always Sam. That's why our son's name is Sam – nothing else, just Sam." I sat there with tears in my eyes. "That's really beautiful. It's kind of corny, but it's still beautiful." "Your dad saved my life, Bec," said Aunty Penny. "Not only that one time but over and over again. I owe him everything. There's nothing corny about it. If Sam hadn't been there and looked after me the way he did, I don't know what would have happened. Not just in the house but later on in the hospital and in the group home and in the foster house and right up to today. In the Bible it says, 'The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer. ' Well I stopped believing in God but I always had Sam with me." Aunty Penny smiled a warm and gentle smile. "I chose the name Peter for him. Peter means rock – did you know that? Peter was my rock and my fortress and my deliverer. I felt lost when I wasn't allowed to call him Sam any more – because of the witness protection thing, but I think Peter was a good choice for him. It fits him really well. And that's not being corny. And now I have a new Sam who is living his own life, but he honors his father with every breath he takes. I call his name and I feel safe knowing that someone will answer." I couldn't think of anything to say so I nodded to tell her I understood. "We haven't told you the best bit yet," said Aunty Ally. "Go on Penny, tell her." I looked at Aunty Penny. I was wondering what could possibly be better than that. "I told you my name was Danielle." "Yes." "Well, the full name my mother gave me was Danielle Rebecca." I gasped as that sunk in. Then I threw myself across the hallway into her arms and burst into tears. She held me close to her and I think she cried a bit too. After a moment, I lifted up my head. "I'm really named after you?" "Yes, honey. You really are." I hugged her again and we clung onto each other until we both stopped crying. A little later I was sitting back in my place and looking at the two of them. "I can't believe they never told me I was named after you." "That would have involved telling you the story and neither of us was ready to tell you that. I doubt if Peter will ever be ready. I'm glad that I've told you. I actually feel better from telling you. I hope it wasn't too upsetting for you." I shrugged. "I asked. I wanted to know." I thought for a moment. "You should tell Sam about the names. He should know where his name comes from." Aunty Penny went pale. "He's too young. I don't want to give him nightmares." "He already knows something bad happened to you. You don't have to tell him the whole story. You can leave out all the details but he deserves to know the truth. He's as angry as I am about all the secrets." Aunty Ally looked at me for a moment and then nodded. "We'll tell him about his name and where it comes from. You're right. We can tell him without going into too much detail." She smiled at me and I smiled back. "I'm glad I finally know why we left England," I said. "For a little while, I thought maybe we'd left England because of the Martians." They both looked puzzled. "What Martians?" "You know. H. G. Wells. 'The War of the Worlds. ' Martians invade and everyone runs away from England." "Oh!" Aunty Penny tilted her head to one side. "You know, that first house, it was in a town south of London, near Romney Marsh. He was from Romney Marsh. So in a way we did leave England because of a Marsh-ian." We all laughed. Then we stopped. I guess it wasn't that funny. ------- Chapter 16: Thanksgiving Afternoon I was sitting and thinking about nothing. "Nothing" seemed like a safe topic to think about. The aunts had gone into the living room to watch the rest of the football game. It seemed like an amazingly normal thing to do. I wasn't ready for normal yet so I stayed in the hallway, sitting and thinking about nothing. To be honest, I was only trying to think about nothing. I wasn't really succeeding. The problem being that I was angry. I was so very angry that it frightened me. Maybe angry is too soft a word for what I was feeling. It was rage. Bec was gone and there was only rage. It was like there was some other girl sitting in the hallway. She was filled with so much rage that her body shook with the strain of holding it all within the confines of her skin. Maybe I should give that girl a name because it wasn't me. I think I'll call her B. She was sitting in a little ball with her knees pulled in tightly to her chest and her arms clenched tightly against her legs. She was so full of rage that she was shaking — that little girl called B. B desperately wanted to hurt somebody. Not just anybody but a particular somebody. I've never met him and I'm not likely to. I don't even know what he looks like — except that he's old. He lives on the other side of the world and he probably doesn't even know I exist. But B wanted to stand over him and watch him writhing on the floor in pain and fear. She wanted there to be blood. B wanted to have her hands dripping with his blood while she screamed her rage at him. B terrifies me. I'm not like that. I'm a little girl. I've only just turned thirteen. I'm nice. I like to wear ribbons in my hair and skip down the pavement. I like to hold hands with my friends and giggle about kissing boys. I'm not violent. I don't want to hurt people. I don't understand how I can be me and still have that other scary girl inside me — that angry little girl called B. B's anger burned inside me like a fire. I don't know why my clothes didn't burst into flame from being so close to so much heat. That's why I was trying to think about nothing. Every other topic that came into my head just made B's rage burn even brighter. "Hey!" My thoughts were interrupted by Mira. B had no opinion about Mira and pulled away. She withdrew inside of me — hiding inside my skin. I pushed B further away — trying to drive her completely out of me but she wouldn't go. In the end B lodged herself in my stomach. My stomach rebelled against the invader and tied itself into knots trying to get rid of her. I sat there and looked up at Mira. What was I supposed to do now? Should I act like everything was normal? How could I possibly do that? There have been times when I've pretended to be Little Miss Normal. Maybe I could do that. Mira slid herself down the opposite wall and sat against it with her legs sticking out so that her feet were next to my hip and we were facing each other. "They were talking recipes and shit in the kitchen. I couldn't stand it any more so I figured I'd come talk to you," she said. I tried to speak two times before anything sensible came out of my mouth. "I thought you were in Tara's room with Tara and Leroy." "I had to get outa there. The dork keeps trying to flirt with your sister. It's embarrassing. And your sister kept stringing him along. I dunno why she didn't shut him down." "Why should she do that? She likes it when boys flirt with her. It makes her feel good." Mira stared at me as she tried to process what I'd said. "I guess I get that. But it has to be real guys, you know? That shit-head would make any normal girl run away screaming." I blinked at her a couple of times. I didn't understand why she talked about her brother like that. Little Miss Normal would probably say something about it but I had no idea what. In the end, I felt like I had to say something. "I don't understand why you do that." "Do what?" "Talk about your brother that way. I never hear you say anything good about him." "There's nothing good to say. He's a total jerk. 'Sides, he gives me shit all the time." "Have you asked him to stop?" "Sure. I tell him to fuck off every time he tries. He never stops though." I blinked at her a couple of times. I was trying to figure out if she seriously thought that would work. "If he told you to fuck off every time, would that stop you from saying stuff to him?" "Shit no." Just because I don't normally use those sorts of words doesn't mean I don't know them. I even use them sometimes. B wanted me to use them at Mira. She wanted me to scream them at her. She wanted me to scream, not just one at a time, but whole sentences made of those words. People who treat their family like that don't deserve anything else. That's what B was thinking. I wasn't sure that she was wrong. I managed to stop B from taking over but the effort left me trembling. I tried frantically to think of something to say — something more like what Little Miss Normal would say. "If you really want him to stop, isn't it time you tried something different?" She snorted and then looked at me suspiciously. "Like what?" "Do you really want him to stop?" "I guess." "You could try being nice to him." She stared at me for a moment. "You could try calling him by his name instead of all those words you use." She screwed up her face as if that idea left a bad taste in her mouth. "I saw you sitting here with your brother, before," said Mira. "The two of you together — being all cute and shit. Me and Leroy ain't like that. We can't stand each other. We fight all the time. That's the way it is. It ain't ever gonna change." "It won't change if you keep doing what you have been doing." She stared at me. Her brain was ticking over behind her eyes. "Don't you want it to change?" I asked her. "Wouldn't it be nice to be able to sit and talk without making each other feel bad? Don't you want to be able to go to him when you're upset and let him hold you until you feel better? Wouldn't that be nice?" "I don't need..." "Bullshit." I cut her off before she could say it. "Don't lie." See? I can use those sorts of words. "You're full of shit. You and Tara fight. I know that for a fact." I stared at her for a moment and then gave a little nod. "Sometimes we fight, but not always. Sometimes we're nice to each other. Sometimes we just leave each other alone. Today, outside, Tara defended me in front of all of you. How long is it since you've said something nice about Leroy in public? How long is it since you've defended him? Do you two even know how to sit in the same room together and leave each other alone?" "You should be saying all this to him. He's the one what gives me shit all the time. He starts it. I'm only giving it back to him." "So that's your argument? It's okay for you to do it because he started it? It's okay to be miserable and angry because he started it? You can't possibly try to fix anything because he started it? How old are you? We don't let Angie get away with that excuse and she's three." She was staring at me with a very weird expression on her face. "When did you get like this? You didn't used to talk like this. You used to be this little mouse that sat in the corner and hardly even squeaked. I'd say all kinds of shit to you and you wouldn't even blink. You'd sit there and stare at me and never say a word. It was freaky." "I was always trying to work out why you were saying that stuff. It never made sense to me. It never occurred to me that you were only trying to get a reaction from me. But don't change the subject. What are you going to do about your brother? Or are you so happy being an emo that you want him to keep making you miserable? Do you want him to keep treating you badly because that gives you an excuse to behave the way you do? Is that it?" "You turned into a little shit. You know that?" "Maybe I just got angry." I stared at her. "Nothing lasts forever," I told her. "People change. I've changed. Maybe it's time for you to change — especially change the way you treat your brother." "Are you going to have a go at him too?" "Why should I? He's not the one who sat down to talk to me and took every chance to put down his twin. The way you treat him is vile. You're the only one who can change that. Maybe if you can learn to like him, you won't hate yourself so much." "I don't..." "Bullshit!" I cut her off again. "Why else do you keep jamming bits of metal into your face?" The muscles in her face worked as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. "At dinner, Sam said you weren't pissed at the sh ... at Leroy. Is this how he knew? Because when you're pissed at someone you get stuck into them?" "Maybe. Stop trying to change the subject. What are you going to do about your brother?" "Will you talk to him?" "He's your brother. You talk to him." "I wouldn't know where to start." "Try starting with something you admire about him." "There's nothing..." "Bullshit!" Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Okay, try it with me. Tell me something you admire about Leroy. If you really want to make things better, this is how to start." I'd got through to her now. If looks could kill I would have shrivelled up on the spot. She's three years older than me and she hated that a young punk like me had talked to her like that. But she couldn't dodge the fact that I was right and she knew it. I sat there and let her work things out in her head. I hadn't planned to say all that. I hadn't thought about it. I just reacted and said what came into my head. I guess I really had gotten pissed at Mira for the way she talked. But also, B hadn't gone away as much as I would have liked. B couldn't get at the one she most wanted to hurt so she lashed out at the nearest person. I guess I should be grateful that B didn't take over totally and scream complete filth at Mira. "Come on, Mira. It shouldn't be that hard. You're not stupid. Just tell me one thing you admire about your brother." At that moment a door opened. I ground my teeth in frustration at the interruption. It was Tara coming out of her room. She saw us sitting on the floor and then turned and walked the other way without making any comment. A moment later Leroy followed her out and hesitated when he saw us sitting there. He looked frustrated and annoyed. I decided to try getting the two twins talking to each other. "Hey Leroy!" I called out and patted the floor next to me to tell him to join us. Once again he hesitated, then he came over to join us. He didn't sit where I patted. He sat facing me only the other side of me from Mira. I had the two twins sitting side by side except there was a noticeable gap — and my legs — between them. I guess that way they didn't have to look at each other. "Did you know your sister's a bitch?" asked Leroy with a bit of a snarl. "Why? Because she didn't fall for your pickup lines? That doesn't make her a bitch." Okay, maybe sometimes she's a bitch, but I wasn't going to admit that to Leroy. "Why are you defending her? She was dissing you in there." "So what? Does that make it okay for me to dis her? I don't bag people behind their backs. I don't think much of people who do. Don't talk about my sister like that." I don't think Leroy was expecting me to snap at him. I saw Mira trying to hide a smirk now that I was having a go at her twin instead of her. "What was she saying about me?" I asked. "She said you have a screw loose. She said that you're a complete mental case." I felt a ripple of anger rush through me. I squashed that reaction down into my gut where nobody could see it. Except for B that is. B gobbled it up and used it to feed her rage. I snorted. "Is that all? I don't think that counts since it's more or less true." That wiped the smiles off their faces. "What? Didn't Uncle Stan tell you? He knows all about it. I had a total meltdown last time he was here. It was all very public and embarrassing. I'm completely looney-tunes." I smiled calmly at them. Saying it like that got their attention in a big way. Is it weird that sometimes I can actually laugh about that stuff? I know I'm not completely crazy but I'd be silly to deny that I can have my moments. In the meantime, my sneaky brain had come up with a plan. "Leroy, right now I want you to be quiet. Mira and I were in the middle of a conversation before you arrived and I want to finish it." Mira was secretly shaking her head at me. I ignored her. "Mira, you were just about to tell me something. What did you want to say to me?" Mira was glaring at me like she wanted to stomp me into the ground. I raised an eyebrow at her. I'd left it wide open. If she wanted to chicken out and talk about something else she could. I'd given her an opening but it was totally up to her. I watched as Mira chewed her lip and tried to decide what to do. "Um ... he ... he's getting pretty good on the guitar. I don't really like most of what he plays but he's been practicing a lot and now he plays pretty good." "Okay! You don't like most of what he plays. Is there something he plays that you do like?" "Um ... yeah ... he ... I like it when he plays that old Metallica song ... um." She turned and looked at her brother who'd finally started to figure out that we were talking about him. "Hey! What's that Metallica song you've been playing? I forgot what it's called." She started singing without words. It only took Leroy about five or six notes to recognize the tune. "Unforgiven? You like Unforgiven?" asked Leroy with a really surprised expression on his face. "Yeah!" She turned back to look at me. "I like Unforgiven." "You like it when Leroy plays Unforgiven?" I corrected her as gently as I could. "Yeah!" she said softly. "I like the song and Leroy plays it good." "I didn't even know you listen when I play," said Leroy. He sounded a bit stunned. "Like I get a choice," snapped Mira. "You practice ALL the time." "What about that band he plays with. Are they any good?" "They're a bunch of..." She cut off because I pinched her leg. She gritted her teeth and then tried again. "They're none of them in the popular crowd, if you know what I mean." "Wait on," said Leroy. "What's happening?" I ignored Leroy and kept talking to Mira. "So you're saying they're kind of loners at school? They don't have a lot of friends?" "Yeah!" "What are youse up to?" asked Leroy. He was starting to look very suspicious. I kept talking to Mira. "But instead of sitting around and being miserable, they got together and formed a band?" Mira was just about to automatically agree with me but then she cut herself off. She looked at me with a really thoughtful expression on her face. "Yeah!" she whispered. "What's going on?" asked Leroy. "Are ya setting me up?" He scrambled to his feet. "I ain't gonna sit here while y'all mess with me." We both watched as he walked away from us and went into the living room. I shrugged at Mira. She was scowling at me. "Well that was a total loss," she said. "I knew you were full of shit. That was never gonna work." "You're wrong, you know. It wasn't a total loss. I thought it went pretty well. You didn't see his face when you talked about liking his music." "Yeah, but he walked off." "What did you expect? Did you think a two minute talk would solve everything? Did you think we'd end up having a big group hug and everyone would live happily ever after? This isn't a Disney film, you know. This is real life. Happy endings never happen." I realized that maybe I was being too snarky. That last bit sounded a bit too much like B talking. I got myself under control and tried again. "Things can be better. It's up to you. Just don't give up." She snorted and stood herself up. "Mira! If you want things to change..." "Yeah! I know. But it stinks. And you really are a mental case. I don't know anyone who'd try to pull that shit with the two of us." "Just call me Little Miss Hand Grenade." "Wha... ?" "I'm Little Miss Hand Grenade. Drop me down in the middle of your family and pull the pin." I spread my hands like a bomb going off. "Kaboom!" She shook her head at me. "I liked you better when you were the mouse." Mira turned and walked away towards the kitchen. "I liked me better when I was the mouse, too," I said quietly to myself. I guess if I'm to be completely honest, I don't think I was ever a mouse. Whenever Mom draws me as an animal, she always does me as a cat. Not the kind of cat that sits on a fence and howls but the kind of cat that sits under the table and watches everything. I think Mom pretty well gets that right. I figure I've always been more of a quiet sort of cat than a mouse. I decided this cat needed to be around people a bit more. I stood up and stretched and then slunk over to the entrance to the living room. I leaned against the doorpost so that only my head was in the room and looked around. The game was still on. Tara was sitting on Dan's lap, lying back against him and watching the game. Dan's arms were looped around her waist. They looked very comfortable like that. I felt a bit jealous that Tara was in Dan's lap instead of me. Sam still sat on the sofa next to Dan. Dad was still sitting in his chair and Uncle Stan was still on the other easy chair. The two aunts were sitting on folding chairs so they could watch the game and Leroy had claimed my favorite spot by sitting on the coffee table under Mom's painting. I sidled over to Dad's chair and sat on the arm. Dad's eyes were closed and he was breathing in that steady regular sort of way. I leaned down and kissed his temple. "Thank you for keeping me safe last night, Daddy," I whispered. "I love you." Dad's eyes flickered and half opened. "Hello, sweetheart," he whispered. "It's my job to keep you safe." I did a kind of gentle scowl at him. "I thought you were sleeping." "And I thought you were mad at me for embarrassing you." "Geez, Dad. That was nearly an hour ago. I've been over that for ages. Get with the program." Dad did a quiet wheezing sort of chuckle. He lifted up his hand and captured one of mine in it. "I'm sorry, honey. Sometimes it's hard to keep up. Maybe I should make you a little LED screen to wear on your shirt that will tell me what mood you're in." I rolled my eyes at him. "Daddy, don't be silly. I already have one of those. It's called a face. See! When I do this..." I put on a really exaggerated smile, "it means I'm happy and when I do this..." I put on a really big frown, "it means I'm sad. It's not that complicated." "Yes, honey, but when I'm asleep I can't see your face." Faced with that sort of logic I figured I might as well give up — except there was one more thing I wanted to do. I lifted up the hand that Dad was holding and kissed Dad's hand once it came within reach. "And when I do this..." I kissed Dad's hand again, "it means I love you." Dad had a gentle smile on his face. He was still watching me through half-closed eyes. "You should go back to sleep," I told him. "How could I sleep? The game is exciting. Besides, my daughter is kissing my hand and telling me she's not mad at me any more. Who'd want to sleep through that?" "Well, if this is keeping you awake..." I lifted up Dad's hand and kissed it again. "Maybe I should stop doing it." I kissed it a couple more times, just to be sure. Dad did a really exaggerated smile. Then he dragged my captured hand over to his mouth and kissed my hand. That made me feel warm inside. I'd given Dad a code he could use without having to say the actual words and he used it straight away. When Dad let my hand go, I slid down to sit on the floor in front of the chair and hugged Dad's leg. I rested my head on his knee and sighed. I knew Dad could cope with this level of hugging because he'd said he could in his diary. I decided I should do this more often. It isn't as satisfying as sitting on his lap and cuddling into his chest would be but if this is all I can get then I'll take it. The football game was close. It was in the last quarter and we were only four points behind. We were on the attack and there were a lot of close calls that missed by inches — passes just out of reach and quarterback fumbles with a receiver wide open — that sort of thing. All my family were gasping and groaning and cheering them on. Except for me. I sat and watched without feeling the slightest bit interested. It all seemed so pointless to me. No matter what the final score was, they would still go home to their girlfriends or their lonely little apartments and their lives would be the same as it had been in the morning. All that effort, all that emotion, all that stress and nothing would change. At the end of the day, when the game was over, all their successes and failures would mean nothing. I didn't understand — I don't understand — why I was feeling like that. I normally like watching football. I normally get excited and shout and cheer along with everyone else. Today, it was like watching a film about grass growing. In the end, I gave up. I patted Dad's leg, stood up and quietly left the living room. Nana and Mom and Aunty Janice were sitting around the table in the kitchen. There was a pot of tea on the table and Nana and Mom were nursing cups of tea. I think Aunty Janice was drinking coffee but I couldn't tell for sure because she had her back to me. I had stopped in the doorway when I saw them sitting there. I know Nana saw me there but I'm not sure if Mom did. Aunty Janice was whining about how badly behaved the twins are — especially towards each other. Nana and Mom were just letting her talk and sipping their cups of tea. I could tell they were annoyed with the way Aunty Janice was talking because they both had their stone faces on. I stayed where I was in the doorway — silently leaning against the hallway wall. Aunty Janice kept on listing off the different things the twins had said or done to each other. None of it was surprising, given what I knew about them. Finally Nana lost patience with Aunty Janice. She put her tea cup down and pushed it away. "What have you done to stop them behaving like that?" asked Nana. "Well, I tell them to stop it, naturally," said Janice. "But they don't stop." "Surely Stan helps you with them," said Nana. "I can't imagine him standing by and watching this go on without saying anything." "Oh! I don't think it's right for Stan to do anything like that. I wouldn't allow it. He's not their father." "Yes," said Mom, "but he is their step-father. You're stopping him from having a normal relationship with his step-children." "No I'm not. He talks to them. He does activities with them. But he isn't their father. It's not right for him to discipline them." "So, you tell them to stop and they don't stop," said Nana. "What do you do then?" "I call their father and ask him to deal with it. They live with him. It's his job to keep them in line. He never does anything though." What followed was a conversation amazingly similar to the one I had earlier with Mira — only from the parent's point of view. It didn't take long before Aunty Janice was squirming in her seat as Nana and Mom firmly pointed out that she was being an idiot — without using that word, of course — and got her to admit what she needed to do. Obviously they were telling her to put her foot down and insist on some appropriate behavior and to have meaningful consequences if that didn't happen. It was so obvious what she needed to do that even I could see it. But Aunty Janice had her head full of airy-fairy ideas like "let them be free to find their own way" and "I want to be their friend" and "their father makes the rules." By the end of that talk, I was very glad she wasn't my mother. Well, to be honest, I've always thought that but this talk left me totally convinced. I guess it's not so strange that I would have done something so similar with Mira. Where did you think I learned how to talk to people like that? Nana and Mom are a lot better at it than me. After all, Mom has spent all those years practising those sort of grilling sessions on me and Tara and Dan — and she learned how to do it from Nana. Aunty Janice had the two of them working on her so it didn't take very long. I stayed where I was for the whole time, leaning silently in the doorway. Nana knew I was there and I'm pretty sure Mom spotted me fairly early on and neither of them indicated that I should leave so I stayed. Eventually they had Aunty Janice knowing what she wanted and sitting there looking determined to get on with doing it. Mom turned to me and said, "Put the kettle on, will you sweetie? The pot needs freshening." I slid into the room and went to fill the kettle. Aunty Janice jumped a little when she realized I was there. "Bec? I didn't know you were there." "Our Bec can be very quiet when she needs to be," said Nana. She looked at me with a frown on her face when she said that. I got the message. Nana was reassuring Aunty Janice that I wouldn't say anything and warning me to keep my mouth shut at the same time. There was enough water in the kettle already and it was still fairly hot so it didn't take long to boil. I freshened up the teapot and put it back on the table. I asked Aunty Janice if she wanted another cup of coffee and she did so I got that for her. When I was finished, Nana patted the table beside her so I slid into the empty chair next to her. Mom took an empty cup from the tray in the middle of the table and poured me some tea. I added milk and sugar and stirred it carefully. During all of that, nobody at the table said anything. Finally I was ready and carefully sipped my tea. Mom had poured it pretty soon after I'd put the fresh water in so it was a bit weaker than I like it, but it was okay. The sips of tea made my mouth taste clean and fresh. I didn't realize until that moment, but I'd had the faint taste of vomit in my mouth for all that time. "Bec," said Mom, "I've had to punish you and Tara a few times for one reason or another." I rolled my eyes and nodded. I sipped my tea again and looked at Mom. I was wondering where she was heading. I hoped she wasn't going to explain her idea of suitable punishments and use me as a living example. I didn't think it would help. I couldn't see Aunty Janice tying the twins together for two days and making it work the way Mom had tied me and Tara together. We'd started off facing each other with my hands tied together behind Tara's back using an old stocking. Tara's hands were tied behind my back in the same way. It's amazingly hard to keep fighting with someone when you're locked in a permanent hug with them. We stayed like that for about two hours, I think, and then Mom released us from that. Then she tied our belts together and our inside arms got tied behind our sister's back. We were tied together like that for two days. We had to do everything together — and I mean everything. And because Tara only had a right hand and I only had a left hand, we had to work together to get pretty much anything done. We even went out to a restaurant during that time. We weren't tied together for that, except for a ribbon looped between our two belts. But we had to behave as if we were so it was practically the same. I don't know what the other people in the restaurant thought about two young girls acting like they were those twins who get born all joined together. We stayed like that for the entire weekend. Mom untied us before school on Monday, which was a relief. We'd been quite convinced Mom would make me sit in Tara's class and hold her hand all day. Mom would have told the teacher some wild story to make it happen. We were both in elementary school then so she could have done it. That wasn't the only weird thing The Parents have done to teach us some lesson or other. But I guess you've gotten that message by now. They never hurt us or anything like that. They never asked us to do anything we couldn't do. I guess that was mostly Dad keeping a lid on things. Not that Mom would ever deliberately hurt us. We always kind of knew that we could stop a punishment if we really, really needed to — just by saying something. Like when we were tied together, we could have untied ourselves in less than a minute if we decided to. We just didn't. Where was I? Oh, yeah! Mom was talking about punishing me. I think she was trying to make some point to Aunty Janice. "Did you deserve it?" asked Mom. "Maybe! Yes! Not always!" I rolled my eyes. "Mostly." "Did you hate me for it?" I bit my lip and looked down. "Sometimes!" I felt ashamed for feeling that way. But I couldn't lie about it — not to Mom. I looked up at Mom. She was watching me with unblinking eyes. I shrugged. "But I always got over it," I said to her. "Did the punishments work?" "I guess. I don't get into so much trouble as I used to. When I do it's for different things. Not the same things over and over." I turned and looked straight at Aunty Janice. "That's what I don't get about the twins. They keep doing the same things over and over. It's like they've been stuck in a positive feedback loop forever." Her face crinkled up. "What's a positive feedback loop?" I opened my mouth to answer but then I closed it again. "Maybe I should get Dan to help me answer that. I thought I understood it well enough to explain it but maybe I don't. It doesn't matter anyway. The point is the twins don't have any boundaries — not when it comes to how they treat each other. Teenagers like to have boundaries." Aunty Janice looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face. "Boundaries? How does a thirteen year old girl learn to talk like that?" I shrugged. "I read a parenting book." "Why on earth would you want to do that?" Her eyes narrowed as she thought of something. "You're not pregnant, are you?" Why do people always ask that? As soon as they find out about me reading a parenting book, they always ask that. It's embarrassing. I don't understand why they would think that. I looked down at the table and shook my head. "I was turning thirteen. I wanted to know how to be a teenager. I went looking for a book to read — something like 'Being a Teenager For Dummies.' They didn't have anything like that so I found a book about how to be a parent of teenagers. I figured that would tell me what a teenager is supposed to be like." I shrugged. "Also, I thought Mom and Dad were doing it all wrong so I read the book to find out if that was true." Aunty Janice was looking at me like I was a creature from another planet. I don't know why. "And were they doing it all wrong?" I shrugged. "Not really. Just different." "And this book taught you all about boundaries?" "No! Mom and Dad taught me boundaries. The book just taught me that's what they're called. And that was one of the things Mom and Dad are doing right. It's a really interesting book. You could have it if you want. I've finished with it." "That's an excellent idea," said Nana. "Bec, you should definitely lend your book to Janice. Well, I'm pleased we settled that. And just in time, too. It sounds like the game is finished. I expect our nice quiet kitchen will get invaded any second now." Nana was right. The cheering and shouting from the living room seemed to be all about our team having scored a touchdown in the final seconds of the game. Soon after that the kitchen became suddenly crowded as everybody came in and started helping themselves to drinks. Dan and Dad started to organize everyone to go into the backyard for a game of football. Dad seemed to have woken up a bit and was all enthusiastic. I tried to slump down in my chair so I wouldn't be noticed but Dad saw me sitting there. "Come on, sweetie. I need you on my team. You're my best chance of stopping Dan from going on a rampage." As if! If Dan really decided to go on a rampage, I'd be like a squirrel trying to stop a truck. I would end up flat and Dan wouldn't even notice. Why do squirrels try to stop trucks, anyway? It never works. The squirrels always end up flat. You see them beside the road all the time. The trucks just keep going no matter how many squirrels try to stand in their way. Nana glared at me when she saw that I was hesitating. Nana is a great believer in everyone getting involved in whatever family activity is going on. I sighed and pulled myself to my feet. "Has anyone seen Mira?" asked Uncle Stan. "She should play too." "She went out the front door a little while ago," said Nana. "That's probably my fault," I said. "I'll get her." I stood up and started to go towards the front door but Mom stopped me. "Rebecca Louise Freeman! You will not be going outside until you put on something warmer than that thin little top." "Mom! I'm going to be running around. I'll get hot." I looked at Mom's face and decided not to argue any more. I went to my room and grabbed a black and silver hoodie which zipped up in front. I put it on but left the zipper undone. There was no sign of Mira out the front of the house so I walked down the driveway to the street. She was about two houses away, leaning against a signpost and smoking a cigarette. I put my hands in the pockets of my hoodie and walked over to her. "Hey! They want you out back. There's a football game starting up." "Shit! That's all I need. I hate football." "So what? This is about doing something together as a family. You're a part of this family so you get to join in." "I'm no good at it." "You've been here for Thanksgiving before. You know how this game goes. My mom plays. Your mom plays. Compared to those two, you have awesome skills." "Shit! I think I'll just hide out here for a bit." "If you don't come in with me, Nana will come out and collect you. You don't want to mess with her." "Shit! That is one scary woman." Mira threw the rest of her cigarette down and ground it out with her foot. She dug a stick of gum out of her bag and started chewing it. After a moment of vigorous chewing, she blew into her hand and sniffed. Apparently satisfied, she started back towards our house still chewing furiously. I trotted after her until I caught up and could walk beside her. Mira was muttering, "I hate this family. I hate every damn person in this entire fucking family." I didn't say anything. I just kept walking beside her. I figured I'd said enough to her already. It didn't seem useful to point out to her that there was only one person in our family she really hated — and no, I wasn't thinking of her brother. We went back into the house and through into the kitchen. The kitchen was empty except for Nana still sitting at the table. Nana told Mira to head outside so Mira kept walking straight through the laundry and out into the back. I stopped because Nana pointed at me and held up a finger to tell me to stop. She pointed at the seat next to her so I sat down. Nana waited until Mira was gone before saying anything. "Rebecca," said Nana with a severe expression on her face. I started to wonder what I had done wrong this time. "Yes, Nana?" "Explain to me why on earth you would consider that a book with a title like 'Being a Teenager For Dummies' could possibly be suitable for you. You are not now and have never been a dummy. I've never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life." "Nana!" I sighed with exasperation. "There's a whole stack of books like that. It's like a series about how to do stuff. They aren't really for dummies. It's a joke." She looked at me and blinked a couple of times. "You don't need to read a book about how to be a teenager. You're managing very well without it." "But I'm not, Nana. I'm always confused. It's like I'm lost in a maze and no matter what path I take I can't find my way out." "Yes, dear." She patted my hand. "Those feelings are part of being a teenager. Don't worry about the way out. That will take care of itself when the time comes. The important thing for now is the choices you make about which paths to go down. You are managing those very well. I am so very proud of you." She reached out and rearranged the hair on each side of my face. "You're looking very pretty today. You're growing into a beautiful young woman. You are strong, intelligent, talented and compassionate. You only need to develop a little more resilience and you will be unstoppable. Do you know what resilience is?" I shook my head. "Resilience is the ability to pick yourself up and try again when you fall over. It's the ability to keep trying when things don't go your way. If at first you don't succeed then try, try, try again. You already have some resilience. You need to develop some more. It will come in time. I have faith in you, my sweet." I smiled at Nana. How could I not? "Now, it's time for you to go out and join in that game. We've had enough lollygagging in here today to last us a lifetime. Come on, girl. Get a move on." I walked out the back door with Nana. Actually I floated out. Nana's little pep talk had made me feel wonderful. Someone had carried a chair out for Nana to sit on so I made sure she was settled into that and ran out to join my family. There was a lot of shrieking and calling out and laughing. I even saw Mira smiling a few times. There was a lot of silliness and fooling around and I think the rules of the game were ignored more often than they were followed but nobody cared. At one point I found myself riding high on Dan's back while he ran with the ball. I wasn't even slowing him down. I reached around and put my hands over his eyes. He stopped running and spun around in a circle, blindly calling out for help. I was laughing so much that my eyes were watering. As Dan spun I could see the blurred faces of my entire family whirling before my eyes. My family. Every one of them has a story — a past that has shaped them, defined them. All of them have chosen their own paths through the maze. All those paths have brought them to this place. And I understood. I knew why they were here. I knew why I was here. I felt complete. If this were a movie, then this was a perfect place to end it. I had solved the puzzle. I had found all the skeletons hidden in the family closet. I knew who I was and where I came from. I was surrounded by a family who loved me. And here we all were having fun together. It was perfect. If this were a movie, the music would get louder as I spun around on Dan's back. The camera would pull back to show all of us laughing and playing together. Then the light would fade out and they would start rolling the credits. I was listening so hard for the dramatic music that I forgot to hold on to Dan. He stopped spinning suddenly and I tumbled helplessly to the ground. I lay on my back laughing and staring up at the sky. I was trying to figure out what was wrong. There should be music. Where were the credits? The story was over, why wasn't the movie finishing? A ring of faces appeared between me and the sky. Then I remembered — this isn't a movie. This is my life. Sure I solved the mystery, but I still have to keep living. Now I have to live with the knowledge of what happened. That's not going to be easy. For the first time in my life I really really hate someone. It scares me that I feel that way. I feel so angry about what happened to Dad and his sister. I feel so angry about the way that's messed up my life. I want so desperately to help my daddy feel better. But I feel helpless because I don't think there's much that I can do. I mean, I'm only a kid. How can I possibly help him when he's been seeing doctors all his life and they haven't fixed him. I said it earlier. This isn't a Disney movie. There are no happy endings. The music isn't going to play. There aren't going to be any rolling credits. That sky hanging above me wasn't some movie special effect. It was real and it was waiting for me. That sky was like my future. It was a blank canvas waiting for me to paint on it the story of my life. They were making comments about me — that ring of faces. "What's she waiting for?" "Is she still with us?" "Did we break her?" "Do you think she's stuck in the mud?" "We could help her with that." I felt many pairs of hands slide under me. Suddenly I was lifted up off the ground. They didn't stop there. I was lifted higher and suddenly all those hands flung me upwards. Before I knew it, I was flying right up towards the sky. I screamed at the approaching sky in terror and delight. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2008-06-03 Last Modified: 2012-11-28 / 08:44:14 am ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------