I felt like a giant, peering over him. I could see the top of his head; his part was sunburned to a strip of pink beneath his sandy hair. There was a mole there, skin-coloured and rising out of his scalp like a tiny mountain.
‘What are you looking at?’ Cassie said. ‘Do I have nits or something?’
‘You have a mole,’ I said.
‘Where?’
‘Right there.’ I pointed.
Cassie reached up and fingered the top of his head. When he found the mole he rubbed at the spot.
‘What does it look like?’ he asked.
‘Just how a mole looks.’
Cassie scraped his hair behind his ears. ‘You’re a good sister, Cub,’ he said.
‘I know,’ I said. He didn’t tell me to go away so I sat on the carpet, hugged my knees to my chest. There was a hole in the mattress and I stuck my finger in the stuffing. Cassie’s eyes were dry-looking, the rims red as scratches. There weren’t any scratches on his face, though, not like Ian had.
I knew I had to ask him. ‘Cassie?’ I said.
‘Yeah?’
‘What’ve you done?’
Cassie stopped smiling. ‘I haven’t done anything,’ he said.
‘Don’t lie,’ I said. ‘Where’ve you been? You and Dad were gone for ages.’
‘S’nothing to do with you.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Dad’s right, you know. You need to keep out of other people’s business.’
‘You have to tell me.’ I tried to make my face look sad, but the skin of my cheeks felt tight and I couldn’t tell what expression I was making, if I was making any at all. I let my face go normal. ‘I won’t tell anyone. I promise. You just have to tell me.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Cassie said. ‘You didn’t see anything, remember?’
‘But I did though,’ I said.
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Just tell me.’
‘Just leave me alone, would you?’ Cassie said.
‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘Or I’ll tell Dad what I saw in the paddock. I’ll tell him about Tilly’s uniform. I know it was hers. I’ll tell the cops. I swear I will.’
Cassie looked like I’d tried to stick my fingers in his mouth and rip out his teeth. I knew I’d crossed him, just by saying out loud what I hoped wasn’t true. I pulled a piece of foam out of the mattress. It had crumpety holes in it that made me feel sick.
But Cassie didn’t get mad at me, not then anyway. ‘I had to go to the cop shop, alright?’
‘Because of Tilly?’
‘Because of whatever you think you saw.’
‘What did they ask you?’
Cassie didn’t say anything.
‘What’ve you done?’ I asked again.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘Why are you always lying?’ I said, standing up.
‘I’m not lying,’ he said. ‘And keep your voice down.’
But he was lying. He always was. ‘I hope you go to prison and rot,’ I said. ‘I hope someone stabs you in there.’ I was so angry I could’ve stabbed him myself. I went to leave the room but Cassie grabbed my arm and yanked me towards him.
‘You need to keep your lips zipped,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Let go of me.’
‘I’m serious, Cub. You need to keep your fucking mouth shut.’
‘You’re hurting me,’ I said. I looked down at my wrist, and my skin between Cassie’s fingers was white dough. I tried not to cry but it felt worse than a Chinese burn. I thought my wrist was going to snap. But then Cassie let go, clenched and then unclenched his fist. I moved out of his reach before he could grab me again.
‘What’d you do that for?’ I said, rubbing my arm, eyes down so he couldn’t see them.
‘Just don’t say anything, alright? It’s real important you don’t say anything.’
‘This is all his fault, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘Whose?’
‘Ian’s.’
‘Just leave it.’
‘I’ll tell the cops it was Ian then,’ I pleaded. ‘I’ll tell them I saw him put Tilly’s stuff in the paddock. I’ll tell them whatever you want me to.’
‘You don’t get it, Cub.’
He looked small on the mattress. Small enough for me to kick him and for him to really feel it. I probably could have stepped on his throat and crushed it, if I wanted to.
‘He’s my friend,’ Cassie said.
He leaned back on his pillow and snapped the rubber band around his wrist. It left a red mark on his skin. ‘What was Dad like, Cub?’ he asked. ‘Did he say anything to you? Is he mad at me?’
‘Coralie,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘My name’s not Cub. It’s Coralie. I don’t know why everyone calls me that stupid name.’
I’d given Cassie a chance to tell me the truth and he hadn’t taken it. After all this time, he was still on Ian’s side, was only looking out for Ian.
I went back into the kitchen. Dad was still at the table. He’d taken the cask out of the fridge and it was sitting beside him like a friend. He poured a glass right up to the top. The cask was nearly empty, though, and the wine trickled from the nozzle like weak piss.
‘Guess what?’ Wally said, his eyes going wide. ‘Dad told me where Cassie was. He was in prison.’
‘He wasn’t in prison,’ Dad said.
‘But you just said he was with the coppers.’
‘Not the same thing, idiot,’ I said.
‘How would you even know?’ said Wally. ‘You’ve never been.’
‘Shut your traps,’ Dad said. ‘The both of you.’
‘She started it,’ whined Wally.
‘Just get to bed, would you,’ Dad said. He wasn’t yelling yet, but I could feel it coming.
I moved towards the hallway to get out of his way, didn’t want to get slapped again.
‘But it’s early,’ Wally said. ‘I’m hungry. Mum didn’t make us any dinner.’
I looked at Dad, expected him to get cross. But he didn’t. He went to the fridge and got half a loaf of bread from the freezer. The loaf was rock hard, and he banged it on the side of the table to break off enough slices and then put them in the microwave. He made us cheese sandwiches, and one for himself. The bread was soggy and had that fishy freezer taste to it, the margarine cold and in hard blobs on the inside of the bread. We ate the sandwiches in silence. Everyone’s chews were loud and wet. Wally nibbled around his crusts and left them on his plate.
Wally and me went to our room without brushing our teeth or having a bath, still in our uniforms. It wasn’t even seven yet, and I lay on my bed on top of the sheet. The house was quiet with everyone in bed so early, so quiet I thought I could hear cars on the highway, like wasps. I tried to go to sleep but wasn’t tired. My brain was pulsing. I turned over to talk to Wally, but he was fast asleep already, his collar popped, protecting his neck from something.
We went to school the next day, same as normal. I didn’t say goodbye to Cassie. His door was shut when we left, and all day I replayed our conversation from last night in my head. So much had happened so quickly, like a video tape on fast forward. I wanted to rewind it in my brain, slow it down and sift through the details so I didn’t miss anything important.
Only Mum was home when we got back from school. I thought Cassie was with Dad, seeing the cops again or maybe just out together, doing something normal. We watched TV, and at dinnertime Dad came home alone.
‘Where’s your brother?’ Dad asked as he peeled out of his boots. ‘His car’s gone.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘Have you seen him? Did you see him leave?’ I could hear panic spiking at the back of his throat.
I felt my own throat close up. ‘No,’ I said.
‘You should’ve been watching him.’ Dad moved down the hallway to Cassie’s door, wrenched it open. He paused for a second, and then called out to Mum, stormed into their bedroom and slammed the door shut. I heard shouting but I couldn’t understand what Dad was saying. I couldn’t tell who he was angry with: Cassie or Mum, or himself or me. When he came out from their room he took a beer from the fridge, stood in Cassie’s doorway, as though he were blocking things from going in, blocking things from coming out.