She understood that Rae was crumbling under the weight of her grief. She understood that it was her fault and Jo’s fault and that they were responsible for Ashleigh’s death and they always would be, and there was nothing either of them could do to change that. Death was shocking and unjust. So hard to give up those we love. Rae and Alex would go on living, but they would carry with them the loss of their daughter — an unbearable loss from which they would never recover.
Chapter 14
When Mandy finally calmed, she and Sarah went back to the kitchen. Sarah put the kettle on and made Mandy a cup of tea.
‘She was so sad. Ashleigh is — was — a beautiful young woman. She was so clever and talented. I loved her too, I did. She was a little wild sometimes, but… She was Rae’s daughter. To lose a daughter: it’s impossible.’ Mandy’s voice rose again in a sob. ‘I feel sad and angry and ashamed and guilty. And all those feelings, they’re just my feelings, and she’s right that they don’t matter.’
‘Of course they matter, Mandy. They matter, but not to Rae. She has her grief to deal with and you have yours. You didn’t do anything wrong. You thought they’d be okay. It was a misjudgement.’
‘That cost Ashleigh her life.’
Sarah sighed. ‘No point continuing down that track, Mandy. It doesn’t lead anywhere you want to go.’
‘I don’t know where I want to go.’
Mandy remembered the months after her mother’s death: the drinking and the partying with David, all of it to escape. To forget. But it had been impossible to forget.
‘Rae doesn’t want us at the funeral,’ Mandy continued. ‘I’ve been thinking about the funeral and what to do, whether we should go or not. I thought that Jo would want to go, but I haven’t asked her.’
‘It’s best if neither of you go, don’t you think? Everyone will be angry at Jo and it could get out of hand.’
‘No, we can’t go if Rae doesn’t want us there, of course. But I… Ashleigh was Jo’s best friend. I know Jo is responsible, but she needs to say her goodbyes too. But it can’t be at the funeral.’
‘No.’
‘Jo will have to gather everything that she has that belonged to Ashleigh. Do it now, today. Rae doesn’t want us to have anything that belonged to her daughter.’
‘What does Jo have that belonged to Ashleigh?’
‘Lots of things, I guess. They swapped clothes and jewellery and make-up and left them at each other’s places. They kept things at each other’s houses so that we — Rae and I — wouldn’t find out about them. Silly things, expensive clothes they thought we’d disapprove of. Ashleigh came in track pants and a t-shirt that night, with her other clothes thrown over her arm and in a bag. I ironed her skirt for her while they did their nails and make-up. She wore Jo’s top to the party, so I guess her clothes are here.’
Mandy pulled the album closer and flicked through several pages until she reached photos of Jo and Ashleigh at high school. The photographs of Ashleigh printed in the newspapers after the accident had been taken at her eighteenth birthday party. Ashleigh’s long auburn hair was braided. She’d worn dangling silver earrings and dark red lipstick. In the album, there were photographs of Ashleigh and Jo in school uniform, on rollerskates, at a picnic, at birthday parties and school camps.
Mandy lifted an acetate sheet and picked up a photograph of the two girls, aged thirteen or fourteen, already young women. They were wearing running gear and red t-shirts, each with a number pasted across their waist. ‘They fought sometimes, but they made up. Whatever else they were battling against, they seemed to be solid. I mean, Ashleigh was like part of our family. I watched her grow up. I took them both shopping for their first bras. I took them to swimming lessons and watched them sing silly songs at too many school concerts.’
‘Mandy, do you think their friendship was as solid recently?’
‘I don’t know, Sarah. Ashleigh was more confident. More popular. Jo is… She needs reassuring; I’m not good at that. She’s not as strong.’ She paused. ‘Friendships are like marriages — they look different from the outside. That night — it seems so long ago, but it’s less than a week — it was a lovely night, it was, and they were happy and having fun.’ Mandy continued taking photos out of the album, arranging them and rearranging them on the table until they formed a large collage. There were more photographs of Jo with Ashleigh than of Jo with Mandy.
‘I took a photo of them when they were dressed. They were so beautiful. It was on Ashleigh’s phone. She promised she’d send it to me. They were drinking. I remember thinking they’re old enough and even though I thought I should tell them to slow down, I didn’t. I didn’t want to have a fight with Jo. I wanted her to enjoy herself. So instead, I fed them. I hoped the food would soak up some of the alcohol. They ate, but not much. They were twirling around in front of the mirror, asking each other, Do I look okay in this? Sarah, they were being young. Young and stupid. Weren’t we all young and stupid? It’s so unfair.’
Sarah reached over and put her hand on Mandy’s hand. ‘I’d like to talk to Jo, get to know her a bit better,’ Sarah said. ‘I can talk to her about the funeral and about Ashleigh’s things, if you like.’
‘Okay. I’d appreciate that. Her room is at the front,’ Mandy said, getting up to lead Sarah back along the narrow hallway, towards the front of the house, past the lounge, where the television was projecting to an empty room. Past an old stereo and a bookshelf with an odd selection of books — novels, science and history textbooks, the rules for netball — and on the top shelf several crystal animals and a set of china-and-glass bells, all sitting on a long white doily.
‘That’s Jo’s room.’ Mandy pointed at a closed door. ‘I don’t know how she’ll be about the funeral, about Ashleigh’s things.’
Mandy waited as Sarah knocked on the door.
‘What?’
‘It’s Sarah. She needs to talk to you.’
‘Sarah?’ Jo said.
‘Sarah, your lawyer.’
After a long pause, Jo replied. ‘Okay. Give me a minute.’
Sarah heard Jo getting out of bed and moving around the room. She gestured at the ornaments on the shelf. ‘When I was in high school, a friend’s mother had ornaments like these on the mantle. We called the mantelpiece Ada’s zoo,’ Sarah said.
‘I’ve never been much of a collector of anything. I think I must’ve admired some ornaments like these once and Jo decided I was into them, so she’s been buying them for me for Christmas or my birthday. She says I’m hard to buy for.’
‘You don’t like them?’ Sarah said, picking up a tiny mouse and holding it up to the light. Miniature rainbows formed on the wall.
‘They’re okay. I like the way the light hits them. Does your friend collect them — like her mother?’
‘My friend died a few years ago,’ Sarah said quietly. She didn’t know why she was telling Mandy.
‘I’m sorry.’ Mandy reached her hand out to touch Sarah’s shoulder. She held it there for a moment, and then, as if realising she’d overstepped some invisible boundary, moved her hand away.
‘I haven’t been to her house for a long time,’ Sarah continued. ‘Last time I went was after the funeral. Her mother had cleared all of the ornaments off the mantle, and in their place was a framed photograph of Ada, a crucifix, and a wick burning in a glass half-filled with oil.’