Wally let out a moan. ‘Thanks a lot,’ he said. ‘You made them touch. They’re infected now.’
‘Just eat it,’ Dad said, ‘or I’ll make you eat it.’
Wally mumbled something under his breath, started brushing invisible blobs of potato off his fish finger.
‘There’s nothing there, you idiot,’ I said.
Cassie came home from work halfway through dinner. Instead of coming to say hello he went into the shower and stayed there for a long time.
We were still at the table when he came into the kitchen, poured a glass of water. ‘Is Mum in bed?’ he asked.
Dad gave a short nod.
‘There any dinner left?’
‘Fish fingers in the freezer,’ Dad said. He was talking as though Cassie were a stranger, someone he didn’t know how to act around.
Cassie opened the freezer, stared into it. The packet was right in front of him, but he didn’t seem to see it. I could feel the cold air on my cheeks all the way at the table. I wanted to climb into the freezer and curl up among the frozen peas, the frost stuck to the wall like soft snow. I’d always liked sticking my head right into the freezer, the feeling of breathing in ice and the way it cleaned out your throat and lungs. I wanted to disappear into the freezer forever, forget about everything, forget about Tilly. Maybe that’s what Cassie wanted as well.
That night I was woken by the sound of the toilet flushing. My mouth was dirt-dry, so I padded into the kitchen for a cup of water. The lights were off and Cassie was standing next to the sink. I switched the light on; the fluorescents zapped before coming on properly.
‘Cassie,’ I said. ‘What are you doing?’
He turned around. It took me a few seconds to get used to the light, and when I did I could see he was crying, the quiet kind of crying where you make no sound but your face twists up like a tree root, as though it hurts to breathe and that’s what you’re crying about. I’d never seen him cry before, not properly. I felt embarrassed, for him but also for me. The lights turned him yellow. His t-shirt was off; I could see his guts moving underneath his stomach, as though his belly was full of worms trying to wriggle out through his bellybutton.
He lifted his shoulder, turned his head and wiped his nose. ‘Can I have a hug?’ he said, taking a step towards me.
I suddenly went from feeling embarrassed for him to afraid of him, which I’d never felt before, even when he’d grabbed my wrist so hard it had left dents in the skin, nail-shaped bruises like cattle brandings. I wanted someone else to wake up. I wanted someone else to have followed Cassie’s tyre marks into the paddock and opened the plastic bag. I hated him. Hated him for messing things up again. For being so weak. I switched off the light, turned around to go back to bed. When I got to the hallway I heard Cassie retch, the sound of spew glugging like sour milk into the sink.
15.
THEY FOUND TILLY ON A creek bank two days later—six days after she went missing—at the bottom of a property further south. Her hair chopped off, no clothes on. They said at first they couldn’t tell if it was her or not, couldn’t even tell if it was a boy or a girl. On the news, they showed her school picture, her long hair in braids, freckles orange as pollen. Cassie watched the screen from the kitchen, held on to his beer with both hands. Mum made a noise in her throat and Dad grabbed her hand hard, like he was trying to squeeze poison from her fingertips. The cops had already been over, though, that afternoon, so it wasn’t a surprise. They told Mum the farmer had been spraying thistles at the bottom of his property, that they were still looking for her uniform, her bag and hat and shoes. I’d been listening from the hallway even though Dad had told us to scram, and I could picture it in my head clear as anything. Could picture them pulling her from the river as if she’d been born right there among the silt and the tangles of branches with nothing but her skin on.
It wasn’t until the very end that the newsreader talked about Les. Even though I felt hot all over, I also felt a zing of glee that I knew I should feel bad about. Now everyone would know that Les was Tilly’s granddad. Now everyone would know Tilly was just like us. Though I knew it was wrong, I kept having thoughts like that, feelings where I still wanted Tilly to suffer. I dug my nails into my wrist as a punishment and focused on the screen.
They showed the girls in a row, like they were pictures on the back of a deck of playing cards. A few were in black-and-white, grainy like newspaper pictures. The girls looked different to each other, but also kind of samey in a way I couldn’t pick. Maybe it was because the photos were old, like how the voices in old movies all sound the same. I’d never seen pictures of any of them before. I’d never thought about their faces before.
‘Is that them?’ Wally asked, leaning towards the screen on his hand and knees.
‘Shut up, Wally,’ I said.
Dad picked up the remote, switched off the TV.
The screen prickled with static, grey-green as the picture faded away. I bet if I pressed my hand to the glass my skin would zap, ache with electricity. I turned around, caught Cassie’s eye. He looked through me like I was invisible, like I was the one who’d been in the river and now I was floating around like a ghost he couldn’t see. After a minute Dad switched the TV back on, flicked over to a game show. I watched Mum pick at a button on a cushion beside her. When it came loose she looked at the button like she didn’t know where it had come from, like it had sprouted from her palm.
After they found Tilly, I didn’t want to be anywhere near Cassie. I felt like my brain had shattered, was trying to piece itself together in the wrong places. Nothing made sense. I imagined my head was a box with lots of drawers, tried to put the uniform and the paddock and the knackery into one of the drawers and lock it with a tiny key. That’s what Miss Williams said to do when we had stressful things going on at home that we couldn’t stop thinking about. She said to put those things in a box in our brains so that our minds became clear and peaceful.
When everyone had gone to bed I started my homework at the table.
After a while Dad came out of his room, poured a glass of the port he saved for special occasions.
‘You don’t have to go to school tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If you don’t want to.’
I couldn’t think of anything worse than staying home. Being near Cassie, knowing what he’d been part of. Feeling the stench of the knackery waft towards me. ‘We’re making pancakes for little lunch,’ I said. ‘Wally won’t want to miss out.’ I didn’t even have to lie.
‘Well then,’ Dad said. He stood behind me, leaned over my shoulder. ‘I can write a note for that, love,’ he said, smudging his finger to the page. ‘Shouldn’t be worrying about homework after all that’s happened.’ His breath was syrupy.
‘I want to do it,’ I said.
Dad stood up straight, rapped his knuckles on the table. ‘This is a terrible thing.’
‘What is?’ I said.
Dad paused. His voice went quieter. ‘You know what.’
I shrugged, rubbed out my last answer. ‘It’s not like we’re friends or anything. It’s not like she’s my sister.’
‘She’s your cousin, Cub,’ Dad said.
‘She’s annoying,’ I said. ‘She thinks she’s really cool but she’s not.’
‘You’re in a bit of shock, I think.’
‘I’m not in shock. I know what happened. She’s dead. Someone killed her.’
Dad nodded slowly. ‘It’s normal to be a bit confused.’
‘I’m not confused,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t even like me. She only likes Cassie. She loves Cassie. And Ian.’
‘What do you mean by that?’