The Gaps by Leanne Hall (classic literature list .TXT) 📕

we used to be. And I knew if I did Chloe wouldn’t make a big deal out of it, she would take it in, like she does with everything, like a sponge that soaks up everything you’ve spilled. But I still didn’t say anything.

‘Chloe,’ I whisper, leaning forwards, shaking off the guilts. ‘There’s this old lady right behind you, and she’s been listening to every word we’ve said.’

Her mouth makes a perfect shocked circle, and she’s trying to see over her shoulder, and then Jeremy knocks really loudly on the window with his car keys and scares the living daylights out of both of us.

When I get home I go straight to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of juice. I finish it and pour another. I have a very specific orange juice thirst that will never be quenched.

I think of all the boys and the couple of girls that I’ve had not-sex with and it calms me to run through the list, picturing faces and names and parties and places. I don’t think about cold concrete against my skin and uncontrollable shivers.

I start looking in the cupboards for a packet of those fun-size chocolate bars that Mum hides for when she’s menopausal, and my plan is to eat them one after the other in the bath while the world goes away, at least for a little while.

‘Keep it down,’ a voice says. ‘Your dad’s upstairs with one of his migraines.’

Mum is on the couch, in the dark, doing nothing that I can see, which is something that she’s been doing more and more of lately. I kick off my heavy boots and sit with her. I offer her the bag of chocolate bars. She takes one but doesn’t open it.

Last time Dad had migraines he had to take three weeks off work. When he’s not all the way on, he’s usually all the way off.

‘Did you have fun with your friend?’

‘She’s not my friend.’

I feel terrible a split-second after saying that out loud. Embarrassing crying aside, I had more fun with Chloe today than I have had with anyone for a while.

‘Well, did you have fun with your not-friend?’

‘Yes I did. And you’re right, she is my friend.’ I polish off a bar in two bites and start on another. I should have asked Chloe if she needed help over the school holidays, if there’s anything else I could do. I should have made that much more clear when she and Jeremy dropped me off.

‘You look pretty with your hair like that,’ Mum says.

I touch my head, feeling the pointy crown atop my skull, which is where it’s been the whole time we drove home and ate Maccas. I’d forgotten I was wearing it. Yin and I never told our parents, never told any grown-ups, about Wingdonia. I might have mentioned it to Liv, but that’s it.

‘How come Dad’s not well?’

Mum sighs. ‘This has been hard on him. The police coming here really upset him. Not that he’ll say so out loud. We found out that the McIlwraiths had their house searched too.’

My chewing halts. Sarah didn’t say a word.

‘God, this whole thing. It’s not healthy for you girls, is it?’ Mum rubs her temples as if she’s also brewing a headache. ‘Every man you know is a potential suspect. How are you going to grow up to like them?’

‘I like them just fine,’ I say, without even knowing if it’s true. Maybe it is. Marcel keeps messaging me, even though I’ve hardly been encouraging. I might have spoken too eagerly, because Mum’s eyebrows are now saying: don’t like them too much.

‘Are you sure you’re all right though, love?’ Mum reaches out and strokes my arm. ‘Do you want to speak to anyone about all this?’

I brush her aside. I don’t want her to start on one of her ‘you’ll feel better if you talk about it and you know you can tell me anything, anything at all’ spiels.

‘Should I go upstairs and see if Dad needs anything?’

‘I think he wants to be on his own,’ says Mum, and I’m relieved.

DAY 43

Something bizarre happens as I’m standing on the Mitchells’ doorstep. I shrink, like Alice after drinking from the bottle, and then I’m twelve years old and my hair is long and snarled and my boobs have just come in. I’m allowed to spend all afternoon and evening at Yin’s house and all I want to do is watch dance tutorials on YouTube. All Yin wants to do is read, hold her guinea pigs and tell me about orchestra camp, boring boring. There’s smoke in the air from the bushfires and we are already splitting apart without really knowing it yet, the way tectonic plates move away from each other minutely, breaking up continents.

The door opens a crack, Chunjuan looks through and the spell is broken.

I’m still drained from the photo shoot yesterday and the tote bag full of Yin’s things is a burden and my head spins from the time travel.

If I was scared that Chunjuan wouldn’t want to see me, I needn’t have been. Welcome marks her face.

‘No one there?’ Her eyes dart over the garden.

I remember that they’ve been at the centre of a media circus for six weeks now and you’d think they’d lock their front gate, but they don’t. They’ve always been hit and miss with it, that’s the bit no one ever mentions in any of the TV reports about their supposed fortress, and also that the video intercom has never been wired in.

Chunjuan ushers me in and she doesn’t hug me, she grips my arm in that way she’s always had and leans her head into mine. The smell in here, the rose-scented cleaning spray and something pungent simmering on the stove, makes my head spin through layers of time again and I have to breathe to bring myself fully into the here and now.

‘Ice tea, juice, Ovalteen, Pepsi?’ Chunjuan says when we are installed in the kitchen.

‘Ovalteen?’