‘Mum,’ El whispered. ‘Was Grandpa—’
I winced when Mum grabbed for my right hand and El’s left.
‘You must always hold onto each other’s hand. Because?’
‘We will not leave each other,’ I said.
‘Never so long as we live,’ El whispered, pushing her cold hand into mine.
‘Rely on no one else. Trust no one else. All you will ever have is each other.’
We nodded, tried not to swallow, to blink, to cry.
‘Remember, you’re the eldest, Ellice, the poison taster. Be brave, be bold, look after your sister.’ Mum’s hands were trembling; the blood at her temple had begun to run freely again. ‘Remember, Catriona, don’t be like me. Be brave. Always see the good instead of only the bad.’
And I nodded, thought of the shrieking, squawking Kakadu Jungle, all the nights El and I had run through the darkness and the lightning, the roaring wind and towering water, the shadows crouching, bristling with rage and sharp teeth. This would be no different, I thought, even as I knew it would be.
Mum stayed on her knees, and though nothing about her softened, tears ran down her lopsided face, soaked into the bloodied collar of her blouse. ‘Never forget how special you are. How special you have been.’
And then she let go of our hands, closed her eyes. ‘Go now.’
When I opened my mouth to object, El squeezed my hand tighter.
‘Go.’
When we didn’t, Mum’s eyes snapped open black, her hands uncurled to show their nails, her mouth flattened into a thin, cruel line. ‘Run!’
It wasn’t how she’d wanted – planned – to do any of it, I suppose. No long goodbye, no I love you – nothing beyond the awful, practical now. She knew we would obey because, in many ways, we were more afraid of her than of anyone else. El and I had been numbed by a lifetime of her anger, her disapproval and disappointment, but perhaps she had been too. That was how she’d protected us, safeguarded us against even the smallest part of what she’d had a longer lifetime to suffer. Her love was cruel; she built us mercilessly piecemeal.
El and I only discovered a week later that she’d killed herself, in a news headline on the TV in the Rosemount’s common room. A murder–suicide, probable history of domestic violence, a screen-crawling helpline number. She’d swallowed all of Grandpa’s heart pills and then lain down right next to him on the kitchen floor.
The last picture I have in my head of Mum is her kneeling on those tiles, blocking our view of Grandpa’s body. The fierceness of her jaw, the raw pink nakedness of that fist-sized bald spot close to her crown. And the last thing I remember that she said – shouted in echoes that shook against the thick walls and high ceilings as we ran towards the blood-red entrance hall – was no less terrible or kind.
Don’t ever come back.
But we did. Both of us. Because we didn’t keep our promises. We relied on someone else. We trusted someone else. We left each other. We forgot.
I open my eyes. They sting, my head aches, my throat throbs. I run my fingers across the smooth wood of the door, and though they leave trails of Ross’s blood in their wake, they’re steadier than they’ve been in weeks. I can remember Mum’s treasure map of black roads and green spaces now. Long blue water and a volcano. Its X drawn in the space between breakwater walls, alongside a huge wooden warehouse and a vast rusty crane. Where we believed we’d find a pirate ship to take us to The Island. Where Mum believed we’d find a second life worthy enough that we could forget our first.
I lean back against the wall, look up at the ceiling. The rain sounds like hail, hard and echoless. El has gone. Everyone has gone. And that’s when I finally start to cry. I curl up small enough that I can wrap my arms around myself as I sob. As all my grief, my regret, my horror, and my shame spills out of me and into the heavy dark corners of Mirrorland, leaving me nothing but empty.
CHAPTER 29
Logan finds me first. Though his shake is gentle, I come awake with a scream. Just as well then that I have no voice. He’s inside the cupboard, crouched down over the threshold into Mirrorland. His hair is soaking wet, plastered to his skull. He doesn’t touch me again, for which I’m grateful, but his expression is not one of a detective sergeant. I’m even more grateful for that.
‘Cat. Are you all right? Can you get up?’
The answer is probably yes, but I don’t really want to. I feel bone-weary. Maybe now that the adrenaline has worn off, whatever was in the Shiraz is kicking in again.
Light floods the cupboard as Rafiq pulls back the door, elbows Logan aside. I wonder if they had to break down the big red front door to get in. I hope so.
‘Catriona?’ She gives me a long assessing stare, head to toe. Never once stops looking like a detective inspector. And I find that I’m most grateful of all for that. ‘Where’s Ross?’
I swallow. It hurts even more than I expect it to. ‘Are you here to arrest him?’
She points at my neck. ‘He do that to you?’
I nod.
‘Where is he?’
I look down into the darkness of the staircase.
‘All right, we need to get you out of here, and then we can go take care of Ross. Logan, take her to the front room, get a uniform to sit with her.’
But I’ve no intention at all of limping quietly away. When I manage to stand, I don’t take Logan’s arm; instead I start stepping back down into Mirrorland.
‘Shit, stop her, Logan!’
He tries to. It’s too awkward in the confined space, and he’s too focused on not hurting me. Evading him is easy, until he stops trying to manhandle me and takes my hand instead.
‘Okay. You can come down with us. But we go first. All right?’
I hear Rafiq’s tut, but she doesn’t object.
I press myself up against the wall, let them both shuffle down past me. It’s something of a relief. I don’t know what we’re going to find at the bottom.
‘What the hell is this place?’ Rafiq mutters, as we go down through the gloom towards the gold circle of Ross’s hurricane lantern. She momentarily stops, turns to me. ‘Is this where—’
I nod once, quickly, and her expression sharpens.
At the bottom, Logan picks up the lantern.
‘Left.’ My voice is whisper-thin.
We pass the armoire, the Silver Cross pram. Our feet sink down into the floorboards of the washhouse. My heart is beating faster, but only a little. I don’t know what I want to find. I don’t know whether I want Ross to be alive or dead.
The lanternlight swings left, finds him. He’s crawled from the stern – as far as the gun deck and El’s chalk scrawls of Rum and Water Stores HERE!! – but he isn’t moving now. And then he flinches against the light, moans loud enough to kick-start my heart again. He looks up, tries to rise. His left eye is completely shut, the wound above it scabbed over with blood.
Rafiq turns back around to me. ‘You do that to him?’
I nod.
‘What’s going on?’
I recoil from his voice, I can’t help it. He still sounds like Ross, and I don’t see how that’s possible.
Rafiq moves around Logan, drops down to her haunches. ‘Can you stand?’
Ross looks up at her with his one good eye. ‘I think so.’
‘We’ll get those head wounds seen to down at the Royal,’ Rafiq says. ‘Logan, give us a hand.’
I stand there on deck as they both haul him to his feet. He sways for a few seconds, leans heavily against the washhouse wall of sea and sky. He looks at me.