Prologue CORRIE'S DREAM
A loud banging noise echoed through my head. It woke me up with a start.
My eyes jolted open and the first thing I noticed was that I wasn't in my
bedroom anymore. Instead, I was in a large room, one I didn't recognise.
The walls were made of rippled galvanised steel sheets, as if the building
was thrown together overnight and was to be destroyed the next day. The
roof was of the same material too. It was raining outside and the noise it
made as it fell on the roof made me feel as if I were hung over, it was so
loud. I looked down at the floor and noticed that there wasn't one, it was
just a dirt ground like you'd find outside. It was orange and hard, with only
scattered grains and clumps here and there. I tried to write my name in the
dirt, to see if it were possible. It wasn't. I ripped my index finger nail in half
and made it flake and peel to a point that would make Aunt Claudette faint
at the sight of it. I lifted it up closer to my eyes to observe the damage.
When I did so, I heard a noise coming from the other side of the room. My
ears pricked up, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I dragged
my attention away from my brutalised nail and turned it to the direction of
the muffled groan. What I saw was rather random. It was the golden
coloured chest my mother had set aside for me. She would always tell me
that when she died she would leave me the key and I would be able to
unlock and open the chest and whatever was inside was mine to keep. I
crawled over to it, my pajama pants scuffing and scarring on the dirt. I
noticed, rather unexpectedly, that I was wearing a long crimson scarf with
dangling tassels that dragged along in the sand as I crawled. I had never
seen it before, but I left it on. I was more determined to get to the chest.
But it kept moving further and further away. I couldn't get it. Everytime I
came within two metres of it, it moved two metres away. I could hear voices all
around me encouraging me to go forward.
"Get the box!" They kept cheering. And I kept trying, really hard. But I just
could not get that box. All the voices went silent as I gained on the chest.
This time, I was sure I was going to get it. But something stopped me dead
in my tracks. A piece of white paper fell in front of me. Printed on it, in bold
black letters, were the words "To the left." Beyonce's song played in my
head as I turned to the left. A large man that I couldn't recognise was
standing over something, muttering "It starts. This is the beginning." I
found my feet and stood up, then walked over to the balding man in the
grey-white singlet with back-fat rolls. As I approached him, I noticed what
he was standing over.
"What the hell did you do?" I screamed at him.
My mothers body lay limp on the ground, her eyes pale and empty staring
up at the roof. Her neck had a rope tied around it, and her chest stayed
deflated. She lay sprawled out like a star.
"Mum? Mum?" I started screaming, hoping for a response.
"To the left, to the left" She sang.
I jumped back a metre when she did. Her voice was raspy and her lips were
blue.
"Mum, what?" I asked. I wanted her to say it again. In some way, it was
really funny.
"To the left, to the left." She groaned again.
And I did the worst possible thing.
I laughed out loud.
Chapter 1 CLAUDETTE'S NIECE
It had never rained like this before. As I stared out the window, I was starting to wonder if Mother Nature was mourning the death of my sister. It was sunny and warm only days earlier. And now, ever since Monday, it was dark and wet outside. If only Corrie would cry like that. She hadn't cried since it happened. I was starting to worry about her, actually.
I turned my gaze to her; her pale body sitting awkwardly on my floral armchair. She was staring at space with wide eyes, and didn't seem to notice the rain outside. We were sitting in silence, and I did not like it.
"Corrie," I began, breaking the silence. "You haven't touched your tea."
I nodded to the white china mug that rested on the lace cloth cover on the coffee table. I could smell its pleasing chamomile aroma from where I sat, on the sofa. She was letting it go cold. The rain outside continued to pour like bucket-loads of water being tipped on my rose garden. Corrie contained her vacant face, staring at nothing and hardly blinking.
"I made the tea for you, Corrie." I said, trying desperately to get a response from that girl.
I failed.
"Corrie, please, talk to me.
"I know you're upset.
"And you shouldn't bottle things up
"Is it the funeral you're thinking about?
"I bought you a nice black dress for that.
"And a hat, too.
"And nice little black shoes.
"You're going to be really beautiful.
That got a response. Two big blue sapphires looked over at me. Her face was still impassive, but I ignored that. Corrie was about to speak.
But she held back. Turning her head, she looked away. It was as if eye contact brought her such a great pain. Oh how I wished she would share that pain with someone else, with anyone. She's barely said a word since her mother was found dead. Somehow, deep inside, I knew I was the only one who could possibly talk a word out of this distressed teenager. After all, her mother and I bore a resemblance in our faces. Perhaps Corrie might feel more relaxed around me.
"Corrie, look at me." I begged.
She kept her head turned away. I wish I knew what she was thinking.
"I'm only trying to help."
At that, Corrie stood up. She turned to face me, and looked at my face. Not my eyes, but my face nevertheless. Her mother and I had similar noses anyway. I could tell she was choking back tears. But she fought to murmur the first words she'd spoken in two days.
"I don't like tea." She said, before leaving the room.
I sighed heavily. The noise of jeans rubbing together echoed through the hallway which indicated that Corrie was moving at quite a pace. I stood up and brushed down my long cream skirt before picking up Corrie's tea mug and taking it out into the kitchen.
When I walked past the guest room where Corrie was staying, I noticed her door was slightly ajar. Out of pure concern, I peered through the rather large space in the doorway. Corrie was sitting on the neatly made double bed with a blue notebook or diary balancing on her knees. She was writing in it frantically, and no sign of any unhappiness polluted her beautiful eyes.
Chapter 2 RICK'S GIRL
"Damn this rain. I can't see a thing."
As I stared out the windscreen trying to make sense of the road ahead, I got more and more stressed out.
"Couldn't she have bloody died in summer?!" I asked.
Marge's gaze burned into my cheek.
"Hey! Don't curse the dead." She ordered. Not like I cared. Celeste was nothing more than a dog to me. I hire her for one night and the rest of my life was filled with Celeste related drama. Let me tell you, the only good to have come out of that whore was her baby girl. Well, she's not a baby anymore, as she keeps reminding me. But she'll always be a baby to me. My baby girl. My Corrie.
My Corrie, who's got me driving a good seven hours to Melbourne in pouring rain just to snatch her back from the grasp of her pretty princess, good for nothing aunt, who spends her days at the Garden Club, drinking tea and talking about daisies. Corrie doesn't belong there. She belongs with me. And that's why I'm going to get her back.
When I looked out the car window into the blackness of the stormy night, I could see her. Her spirit was dancing among the creepy dark trees with their long jagged fingers, as if they were her friends. Corrie was a dark child who believed in the beauty of the night. Every time it rained with thick black clouds, I thought of her, like I did tonight.
God I miss her.
Chapter 3 CLAUDETTE'S NIECE
I laid out an extra dish for Corrie, in case she decided to show up for dinner. I served lasagna with a fresh garden salad on the side and some herbal tea. Annette, from the Garden Club, had told me that tea was a comforting drink, but I was starting to doubt her. Or maybe the problem was with my niece. More than grief had taken hold of her. She was couped up in the spare room, and was making no noise at all. As I listened hard to the piercing silence for some sort of teenage related noises, a loud banging came from my front door. I dropped the cutlery I was holding and hurried off to see who wanted so desperately to enter my house.
Chapter 4 RICKS GIRL
Her eyes were large with shock at the sight of me. Big blue jewels framed with thick mascara-dressed eyelashes. Blond hair pulled back into a neat bun on the top of her head. Claudette hadn't changed.
"Don't look so surprised to see me." I told her. "I'm here for what's mine."
I took my arm down from its resting place against the door frame, fixed my posture and allowed myself into the home of Little-Miss-Perfect. Marge followed like a Jack Russell desperate for adventure. The hall we walked into was decorated with rich paintings and floral vases, and all I could think was how quickly I had to free Corrie from this prison.
"Corrie!" I called out.
Claudette hurried after me.
"Please Rick, leave." she begged me. But I kept searching.
"Where is she?" I asked. I was starting to feel nauseous being in this House and Garden after home.
"Rick, she's staying here with me, OK?"
"Where is she?!" I yelled. How stupid was this woman?
Claudette sighed, then pointed to a white door further down the hall. Marge ran ahead of me, toward the door. Claudette held me back. I turned to face her.
"Please, I'm begging you," she pleaded. "She's been through enough."
"What do you think I'm going to do?" I asked her in a tone that told her she had no right to say what she did.
We stared at each other for quite a while, until Marge said something that made my heart sink and my blood curdle.
Chapter 5 CLAUDETTE'S NIECE
"I thought you said she was in here."
Rick's latest girlfriend stood in the doorway to the spare room. My gaze was removed from Rick's face and now bore into the woman's face. Her hair was wild and bushy, her lipstick faded and she had a pimple in the valley of her chin. But now was no time to judge.
"What?!" Rick bellowed. "Where the fuck is my daughter?"
He stared at me, rage flaring in his eyes. I knew what he was capable of, and fear flowed through me, turning my blood into dust.
"But, what, um, I" I stammered. Clenching my fists and shutting my eyes, I pulled myself together, calmed down, and tried again.
"She should be there. It was the last place I saw her, and she didn't seem in a hurry to move."
Rick stormed off and entered the room. He was searching for some sign of his daughter. I followed him, praying he didn't damage the expensive cupid statue in there.
When I walked into the room, I saw him sitting on the freshly made bed and crisp sheets with a piece of lightly pinked paper in his hands. The paper was folded in half and was labeled in Corrie's handwriting "everyone". I sat next to Rick, with the woman watching, still in the doorway. Rick opened the paper.
Chapter 6 THE NOTE
I'm sorry for running away, but it's something I had to do. I can't be in Melbourne, I can't go to the funeral, I can't be around family and I can't pretend anymore. Don't bother trying to find me. I don't want to be found. Just give me time. And could you pick some lavender and put it on Mums coffin for me? Please? She loved lavender.
Corrie
Chapter 7 CORRIES DIARY
I had to get away. They won't understand. It's just something I had to do. I can picture them now; Aunt Claudette standing up near the bed, eyes wide with shock and her hand over her mouth, Dad with his head in his hands, sitting on the bed and asking himself, out loud, where he went wrong. Marge would be there too, standing in the doorway thinking about me, hoping I'm safe, but trying to make conversation with pathetic little jokes like "It could be worse, she could be raw meat." And Papa would have no clue about it at all. He'd be in Sydney, relaxing in the evening over a frothy cappuccino, lounging in his kitchen with the windows over looking Sydney Harbour, watching the sunset or the TV, with his wife painting her toe nails and talking about her latest botox injection.
Then there's me, who I don't need to picture because I can see myself in the side mirror of the white Holden ute I'm in. My red hair is a big frizzy mess. My eyelids are droopy. It's only 7.30, but I'm as tired as buggery. It's probably the nerves, the adrenalin rush. I've never run away before, and I'm scared of what might happen. What if the police see me and take me back to Melbourne? I don't want to go back to Melbourne. I'm going back to Adelaide.
Probably. That is, unless this sexist idiot doesn't get lost. We're on a highway, but still. This guy couldn't find the side of a barn from ten paces. He's a funny guy though. He's got a stubbly beard, like he hasn't shaved for two days. And he has short brown hair and dark tanned skin. He's a rural. He's got the classic workers singlet, khaki shorts and thongs combination. And he smells of an after-work beer. He seems a pretty decent bloke, even if he is a few stubbies short of a six pack. Sometimes he talks to me, mainly about my mum. He has a subtle way of doing so. Like, he will ask me questions and start conversations about her without me feeling the great pain of having lost her. It's been a couple of minutes since this conversation:
He said "So where'ya headed?"
And I said "Adelaide. Alberton probably."
"You got family there?"
"Not anymore. I'll probably just go stay with a friend."
"Not anymore? Why not?"
"My Dad, who lived in Para Hills, is in Melbourne. And my mum died the other day." I said.
He asked "Then why were you in Melbourne?"
"Because that's where my Mum used to live, where her family wanted her to be buried. And my aunt wanted to take care of me. Adopt me, as it were."
"Oh. And you didn't like that."
"No." I shook my head.
"Why not?"
"I just can't stand my aunt. She's so difficult to live with. It's like she's stepped out of Buckingham palace and now she expects everything to be perfect. I'm not like that. I don't want anything to be perfect."
"She sounds like a bloody pain, alright."
"I know. She is."
And he asked "What about your dad?"
"I just can't be with him right now."
"Did he live with your mum?"
I laughed and said "God no!"
"Whats so funny?"
"My mum and my dad were very different people."
And he just went "Oh"
Then we went quiet. It was getting dark outside, but I didn't mind. I found it added more adventure to my escape. The trees are looming like dark creepy people of hell, damned and trying to reach out for help. I can picture them groaning to us "Help, help!" But we just kept driving. I had the feeling my mum was amongst those trees of hell.
Chapter 8 RICKS GIRL
I let the note slip from my hands. It floated to the ground with the gentle nature Corrie never possessed. I put my head in my hands and tried to forget the rest of the world. She was all that mattered.
How could she do this to us?
How could she do this to me?
Doesn't she know the stress she's putting me through?
For Christs sake! Why does the world have to revolve around her?
She's just like her bloody mother!
And here I thought I'd raised her better!
Chapter 9 CLAUDETTE'S NIECE
"What are we going to do?" I asked into the silence. I found it hard to believe how much Corrie resembled Celeste with this act of selfishness and immaturity. This was simply inexcusable.
The silence thrived for quite some time until Rick's new lady spoke.
"Go after her." she suggested.
I shook my head.
"Where would she be?" I asked.
"Adelaide." The woman replied quickly, in a tone that expressed how stupid she thought I was. So, more of a come-back than anything, I said:
"Or Sydney."
Rick drew back a little in pain when my words hit his ear drums. The mention of Corrie choosing Austin over him was like a dagger to his chest or a bite to his exposed and fragile flesh.
"Hopefully," he muttered to himself. "She's in Adelaide."
"Well," I began. "Give her a night. In the morning, after a good hearty meal, try calling someone she may visit. A friend for instance."
"Kitty." Rick said, nodding.
I didn't know Kitty personally, but I assumed she would be a wise choice for getting in touch with Corrie.
There were no more words that had to be said, so I stood up and walked out of the room. I needed to prepare a bed for my visitors.
Chapter 10 ANDREWS HITCH HIKER
She was silent for ages. Since Bordertown. I gave up tryin' to talk to her. She was off in her own little world. We were at the outskirts of Adelaide when she finally spoke. I was startin' to think I was drivin' with a corpse.
"Take me to Semaphore Park," She said, still starin' out the window. "The Esplanade. Near the beach. A row of apartments. It's about half an hour from here. Take Military road, past the Fort Deli. I'll direct you."
I just nodded. I had no idea where the Fort Deli was, but Military road was probably the longest road in Adelaide. So I drove on.
