A chorus of goodbyes follow me from the staffroom as I dash down the corridor, the walls stripped of the children’s colourful paintings, making the school feel a little sad.
I fling open the door and breathe in fresh air, before heading for my car. Once inside, with the doors central-locked, I stare through the front window at the school, my mind drifting to the day we buried Betsy.
*
Willow had been five when she gripped my hand and looked up at me with sad eyes. The rain had poured down earlier, and the grass squelched under our feet as we walked down the garden, the moisture still in the air formed tiny bubbles on Willow’s curls.
‘Will Mummy look after Betsy when she gets to heaven?’ she asked me.
I’d known her for two years now, and over that time she had mentioned her mummy being an angel a few times, but it was always put down to her over-active imagination. Willow would make up the most outlandish stories even then. ‘My daddy is a bad man,’ she told me once, and I’d wondered if she was talking about Eleanor’s first husband – she certainly couldn’t have meant my dad.
We’d put Betsy the guinea pig in a green box tied with a yellow ribbon, and now Dad was saying a few words, as Eleanor lowered the little coffin into the ground.
‘We all loved Betsy,’ he said. ‘She lived a long and happy life with Willow caring for her so well.’
I swallowed down tears, as Eleanor sprinkled soil over the box, and Willow squeezed my hand. She looked up at me bewildered, and within moments released my hand and ran into the house. She cried in her room for hours.
I slip the key into the ignition and start the engine. I’m about to put the car into gear when a knock on the window startles me. It’s Ralph dangling a torn gift tag close to the glass.
From Jasmine Year 3 x
I buzz down the window and stare at it for some moments, before taking it from him, and turning it over in my hands. It’s the other half of the tag that was on the biscuits.
‘It was in the bottom of the box,’ he says. ‘Jasmine must have put your end of term gift in there by mistake.’ He pauses. ‘Are you OK, Rose? You seem a little—’
‘I’m fine,’ I cut in, snapping to my senses and smiling. ‘Just glad to be breaking up from school for a while, that’s all. It’s been a long term.’
‘Yes. Yes, it has.’ He scratches his head. ‘It’s just you seemed bothered by the biscuits.’
I shake my head, putting the tag down on the passenger seat. ‘I’m fine,’ I repeat. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.’
‘Of course, you’re off to Cornwall tomorrow, aren’t you? Have a wonderful time.’ He raises his hand in a wave and steps backwards.
‘Thanks. Enjoy the rest of the afternoon.’ The site manager is locking up later than usual because I want to get home, and don’t want to spoil the end of term fun.
‘Thanks, Rose.’ He takes another step away from the car, as I pull away.
2001
Peter stood at the foot of the stairs, his holdall at his feet, looking at Ava through round-rimmed glasses. The siblings weren’t close in age, and he’d taken off for Brisbane when he was eighteen, almost ten years ago. The void between them was that of strangers.
His dark, tangled hair rested on his shoulders, his colourful striped trousers were creased, the fur collar of his purple jacket matted. She felt sure he hadn’t looked so dishevelled when he left home. In fact, the photos of him on the dresser in the lounge, that Mum had put out just before he arrived, showed a cute kid, and a good-looking teenager.
Peter lifted his holdall and climbed the stairs, knocking pictures as he went. He was almost at the top when he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Grab my rucksack, will you, Ava, and bring it up?’ he said, disappearing from view. She looked about her, spotting a tatty rucksack covered in sewn-on badges, by the front door. She picked it up and headed up the stairs.
Peter stood in the doorway of his old room, which was rammed with junk – his old guitar, a music centre, massive speakers. In fact, it was just as he’d left it: posters of wrestlers pinned to the wall, and dust-covered models of horror movie villains lining the shelves.
He threw his holdall on the bed and Ava dropped his rucksack to the floor.
‘Ta,’ he said, looking about him. ‘It hasn’t changed at all, has it?’ he added, and she picked up his Aussie twang for the first time.
‘Mum keeps the door shut, mostly,’ she said, her eyes flicking over the dusty surfaces, vague memories of Peter spending most of his time alone here, floating in. There had been arguments too between her mum and her brother – lots of arguments.
He took off his jacket and threw it on the bed next to his holdall. He gave the room one last scan, and left. She followed, closing the door behind her.
‘So tell me, little sis,’ he said, lumbering down the stairs, knocking another picture with his shoulder. ‘What have you been up to since I’ve been away? Gail told me you got pregnant. Bit careless of you. Never heard of condoms?’
She followed him into the lounge. ‘Her name is Willow.’
‘You what?’ he said, dropping into the armchair.
‘My daughter – your niece – her name is Willow. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’
‘Whatever you say,’ he said, tipping a cigarette from a box and lighting it. He dragged hard on it, and blew smoke towards her. ‘Want a ciggie?’ he said, offering the packet.
‘I don’t smoke anymore,’ she said. She’d given up when she found out she was pregnant with Willow. ‘And Mum doesn’t allow smoking in the house. You should stand on the doorstep, or in the back garden.’
‘Mum’s not here though, is she?’ He jokingly glanced under the chair. ‘Take it easy, Ava, you’re like a wound-up spring. It’s just the one. I need it after that bloody long flight.’
‘So what made you travel all this way for Gail’s wedding?’
‘Rory paid for the trip. Gail wants me to give her away. So I thought I’d make a long break of it. Nothing much keeping me in Australia.’ He took another drag on his cigarette. ‘Rory seems like a great bloke.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
‘You don’t like him?’
She coiled her hair around her finger. Sometimes, in her darkest moments, she thought she might like him too much – hated that he could get inside her head like that. ‘He’s OK. Seems to make Gail happy.’
