The Last Girl Page 4

  I guffawed up from my glass. If Finn had to interrupt me I was glad he was at least funny.

  ‘What?’ he asked, deadpan.

  ‘Spot-on impression of Troy.’

  ‘Danby,’ he said, frowning. ‘Troy couldn’t find Asia with a map.’ But-he-sure-knows-his-Thai-stick!-Should-find-somewhere-to-blaze-up-before-I-tap-this-ass-Danby’s-so-into-me-Chalk-up-another-V-card-for-the-F-Man!

  In a flash I knew Finn scored weed from Troy, that his radical rocker speech usually got him laid, that his ideal law job was corporate counsel pulling down seven figures.

  But Finn had been quaffing wine as he said all that. Was he using ventriloquism to screw with me?

  ‘Uggh,’ I said, jumping up from the couch. ‘Really?’

  ‘What? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Leave me alone!’

  Damn-she’s-weird-like-they-said.

  I swayed into the crowd as the room spun around me. Everyone looked like bad actors in a poorly dubbed movie. Their expressions didn’t match their emotions and their lips didn’t sync with what they were saying. But they were all so loud. The VIPs upstairs must have been shouting for me to hear them so clearly.

  God-he-looks-hot-Can’t-she’s-my-best-friend-How’d-Hannah-lose-that-weight?-Bulimic-bitch-Man-look-at-her-She’s-already-drunk-Yeah-chop-me-a-line-Marnie-would-kill-me-Can-Mark-tell-I-had-an-abortion?-Ah-that-hurts-Should-be-able-to-get-precursor-chemicals-from-Would-Mr-Rowland-do-it-with-me-now-school’s-over?

  Then I saw myself. Pale amid the party people. This wasn’t outside the paradigm. This was outside my body. Wasn’t that what happened when you were about to die? My heart thumped faster in my chest. Jacinta pushed through the crowd. I was seeing me through her—and her through me—and back again.

  ‘Danby, are you okay?’

  Suddenly I wasn’t okay. I was absolutely fantastic. From Mollie to me: every cell and nerve and atom jumped up and down with the euphoria of existence.

  Man-that-coke’s-the-shit!

  ‘Did you take something?’ Jacinta asked.

  She knew I didn’t do drugs. Not after what happened with Mum.

  ‘No,’ I said, grinning and grinding my teeth.

  ‘You look wired.’ Jacinta handed me her drink. ‘Calm down.’

  I took a mouthful of wine.

  ‘Rachel had an abortion in August,’ I whispered, wiping my mouth with my wrist. ‘She’s in the upstairs bathroom having sex with Mark.’

  ‘Ssssshhhh!’ Jacinta grabbed my shoulder.

  I shrugged her off, slugged back more wine.

  Someone’s-spiked-her.

  ‘What did she say?’ shrieked Marnie, appearing from the throng. ‘Mark?’

  She rushed up the stairs, screaming her boyfriend’s name.

  All eyes and ears were on me. Someone had killed the music.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  John, the leader of the geek clique, laughed snidely. ‘You’re wasted, Danby.’

  ‘You should know,’ I shot back. ‘You’re the one cooking meth over the holidays!’

  I meant it to sound light-hearted. It didn’t.

  ‘You’re drunk,’ John snapped. ‘Go home.’ I heard his voice continue though his mouth was clamped in an angry line. Who-told-her?-No-one-knows!

  ‘Let’s go, Dan,’ Jacinta said, trying to drag me away.

  ‘No, stay!’ said Paula, taking a break from sucking face with her rowing champ hook-up Jake. ‘What else you got, Danby?’

  It wasn’t like what I knew were really secrets. They’d all been shouting about this stuff just seconds ago. My mouth seemed to motor by itself.

  ‘Well, Paula,’ I said, ‘Jake-y Jake-y wants to play hide-the-snakey with Mr Rowland.’

  A shockwave went through the crowd. Paula and Jake jolted apart as if they’d been electrocuted.

  She’s-lying!

  Is-that-why-he-won’t-have-sex-with-me?

  The lounge room erupted in hoots of laughter and upstairs there was a tumult of shouting. Over all the noise I heard Finn like he was whispering in my ear.

  Man-did-I-dodge-a-bullet-there.

  I spun around. He was smiling and shaking his head with the sports guys who’d gathered for the show.

  ‘Did you just dodge a bullet?’ I yelled. ‘Didn’t you want to tap my ass, F-man?’

  Finn looked around the room. Mum’s-crazy-too-That’s-what-I-heard. ‘Someone call her father.’

  I burst into tears. I couldn’t understand what was happening. Was this some horrible prank? Was I about to be doused with a bucket of pig’s blood?

  Feet stomped down the stairs. She’s-lost-the-plot!-We’ve-got-your-back-Stupid-bitch-ruining-my-buzz-Thanks-I-get-for-inviting-plebs-they . . .

  The posse steamed into the room. Mollie first. Then Rachel, dishevelled and crying, backed up by big boyfriends, brute faces in fight mode.

  ‘Get out!’ Mollie pointed at me. ‘Someone get this drunk bitch out of my house!’

  My house: in a flash I knew that’s how she’d come to think of it. Her parents had all but moved out. Her mother: in rehab with an eating disorder. Her father: cohabiting with his secretary. I knew how Mollie felt. Cocaine couldn’t stave off that sadness.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, meaning it, suddenly feeling very sick. ‘I’m sorry about your mum and dad.’

  You-bitch-you-f—

  ‘You bitch!’

  Mollie screamed as she shoved me hard. I went backwards over outstretched legs and then everything went black.

  FOUR

  When my lights came on, I was in a hospital gown.

  ‘Hey,’ Dad said from beside my bed. ‘Welcome back.’

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t you remember?’

  I wished I didn’t. But it was all there. I’d gone mental in front of everyone who mattered. I would never live it down.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Dad smiled the best he could.

  ‘They call it the silly season for a reason,’ he said. ‘The good news is you’re not concussed and you didn’t break anything.’

  He sank into his chair with a sigh that said the bad news was coming.

  ‘Have you told Mum?’

  Dad shook his head. ‘I thought you’d want to do that.’

  I nodded. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just after ten.’

  Not even an hour since my freak-out. Now there were no voices and no out-of-body trips. Whatever I’d been dosed with had worn off.

  ‘Dad,’ I said. ‘I don’t do drugs. I think I was spiked.’

  Finn: it had to be. He had the wine and the glasses. I noticed there was a Band-Aid on my arm where they’d taken blood.

  ‘That’s what Jacinta said when she called me,’ Dad said.

  God, Jacinta would tease me about this until the sky fell.

  ‘But they’ve done tests and there aren’t any drugs in your system.’

  It didn’t make sense. Could I have had an adverse reaction to alcohol? I had to be totally honest. They would’ve told Dad anyway.

  ‘I had a lot to drink.’

  ‘Actually,’ he said. ‘Your blood alcohol wasn’t very high at all.’

  Dad’s glum smile made my heart sink. Mum’s problems had begun in a hospital bed like this. Nursing me for the first time she learned the news that the world had watched live while she’d been in labour. As her baby was being born thousands of people were dying in horrific circumstances that’d reshape the world. Mum couldn’t shake the sense that the timing was significant and she’d sob until she was sedated. Dad reckoned the doctors created a pattern—depression alleviated by drugs—that took her years to break. Now he wore the same weary expression he’d had on the day he told me Mum was going away for good so she could get better. I didn’t need to be telepathically deluded to know he was looking at me but seeing her.

  ‘Danby,’ he said. ‘There’s someone who’d like a word if you’re up to it.’

  I nodded.

>   ‘I’m Doctor Jenny Sales and I’m a psychiatrist.’ The headshrinker looked like a tuck-shop mum and I liked her upfront manner. ‘And you, Danby, are a special case.’

  ‘Is that what you call it?’

  ‘I’m not talking about what happened tonight,’ she said, waving off what I’d done like it was no worse than farting at a formal gathering. ‘Check this out.’

  Jenny clicked a remote and a flat screen showed a body scan.

  ‘This is you,’ she said. ‘We had to make sure you didn’t have any internal injuries. Anyway, you’re all fine. But do you notice anything?’

  Only that the rainbow imaging made me look like a human piñata filled with jelly beans.

  ‘See here,’ Jenny said. ‘Your heart’s on the right side. Which is to say it’s on the wrong side.’

  I clutched at my chest. Left, right: I couldn’t feel any heartbeat.

  ‘Don’t worry!’ Jenny said. ‘It’s always been like that. But it can be hard to detect. It often doesn’t show up until a test like this.’

  ‘Am I sick?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s called Situs inversus. All the organs in your torso are on the opposite side to where they usually are. But they all work just perfectly. One in ten thousand people have it. Like I said, you’re special.’

  Special? I didn’t feel special. I hadn’t only been born under a bad sign—I’d been born goddamned back to front.

  ‘Is this—thing—is it why I lost it?’

  Jenny shook her head. ‘No, it’s just cool and I thought you’d like to see it.’

  I looked at her, dumbfounded.

  ‘Sorry!’ She blushed and turned off the screen. ‘I’ve always had terrible timing.’

  I smiled. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Your dad said you’re real smart,’ she said. ‘So maybe there is a point to this, yeah? What I mean is sometimes you can be put together a bit differently but still be perfectly normal. Does that make sense?’

  I nodded like it did.

  Jenny took a seat. ‘I don’t want to keep you here all night,’ she said. ‘Tell me what happened at the party and then you can go home.’

  It sounded like the best deal I’d get.

  So I told her everything.

  I finished by saying that Mollie had every right to push me.

  ‘No, she didn’t,’ Jenny said. ‘But that’s it?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Has anything like this ever happened before?

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you hearing voices now?’

  ‘Just ours,’ I said. ‘So, what’s wrong with me?’

  ‘How the hell should I know?’ Jenny grinned up from her notes. ‘Adolescence is an anxious time. You were stressed about that guy. You’ve just done exams. You’re not sure about the future—sex, peers, parents, jobs, travel, university, all of that stuff. It might’ve just been your subconscious letting off some steam.’

  ‘But possibly not?’

  ‘We have to follow up.’

  ‘Because of my mum?’

  Jenny nodded. ‘That is one factor. But let’s not jump to conclusions, okay?’

  I nodded.

  She crossed to the door. ‘Brendan, you can come back in.’

  Dad returned to the bedside.

  ‘Danby and I have had a chat,’ Jenny said. ‘I’m referring her to Doctor Ryding. She’s a specialist in young adult issues. I’ve put in a priority appointment request so you’ll be able to see her in early January. For now I’m prescribing Lucidiphil. It’s fast-acting and it should suppress any more episodes.’

  Psychotic episodes.

  Psychiatric appointments.

  Prescription pills.

  I was officially a head case.

  FIVE

  A head case looming over her father’s unconscious body while her stepmother looked on in horror and her little brother whimpered. Lucidiphil hadn’t kept my demons under lock and key. It was up to me to chain them back up.

  ‘Oh my god,’ I panted. ‘Dad, I’m—Stephanie, are you—Are you okay?’

  She spluttered amid the crushed Christmas presents, broken decorations and smashed glass.

  Bastard-nearly-choked-me-to-death.

  Stephanie’s lips weren’t moving. I saw a shimmer of myself through her eyes. My episode wasn’t over yet. I didn’t trust what I’d do next.

  ‘Go upstairs, Evan!’ I shouted.

  Danby-hit-Daddy.

  ‘Go, Evan! Go!’

  He jolted. I never shouted at him. But it worked. As he bolted up the stairs, I imagined him thinking: Cave-cave-cave.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked Stephanie again.

  Only when I spoke did I become clearer to her—as though I’d emerged from camouflage. Such a freaky delusion: myself through her eyes. Hair askew, eyes wild—and still brandishing the golf club.

  Stay-away-from-me-with-that-you-little-bitch!

  Shit. I let the weapon fall to the floorboards.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to help Dad.’

  I dropped to his side. She propped herself on her elbows.

  Attempted-murder-that’s-what-this—

  ‘I didn’t try to murder him!’ I said, responding to my hallucination like a card-carrying crazy person.

  Not-you— ‘Not you, him,’ Stephanie rasped. ‘He’s gonna pay. I’ll—’ take-him-for-every-cent.

  The world turned inside out and took me with it. Unless I was in a rubber room and imagining this entire thing from start to finish, Stephanie was saying that Dad had just tried to strangle her. If that was true the rest of it was real.

  I wasn’t crazy. I was tuning into her. Like she’d heard Dad and he’d heard her.

  But her and I being in each other’s minds frightened me more than being out of my own.

  Brendan-you-bastard-You’re-going-to-jail.

  Stephanie’s shock was wearing off. She wasn’t scared now, she was furious. She’d been scorned and she’d been assaulted. She looked at Dad’s slumped form. Ugliness blasted from her in waves.

  Limp-dick-loser-Attack-me-You-coward-Jail-that’s-where-Hope-someone-beats-you . . .

  ‘I’ll, I’ll—’

  I started. Tell the police you attacked him— I wanted to take back my unspoken lie. But I didn’t have to.

  ‘You’ll what?’ Stephanie snarled.

  She hadn’t heard me.

  Can you hear me?

  Nothing. Thank God.

  Stephanie didn’t react to my relief. Goddamn-you-Danby-you-better—

  She wasn’t in my mind. How and why didn’t matter right now.

  ‘I’ll—I’ll help him,’ I said. ‘Help me.’

  I felt sick at the red bump rising from his hairline. But I felt sicker at what was rising from Stephanie’s head. Help-him?-She’s-kidding-For-all-I-care-he-can-go-and-f—

  ‘Maybe you killed him!’

  Brendan-dead-Danbyn-jailed-Not-so-bad: she didn’t feel too guilty thinking it.

  I shot her a look.

  ‘Just because you can’t hear me,’ I hissed, ‘doesn’t mean I can’t hear you.’

  Stephanie recoiled like I’d spat at her.

  ‘Lalalalalalalala.’ Lalalalalalala.

  She sang it, thought it: hoping it’d keep me out.

  I’d done First Aid at school. Remembered the mnemonic DRABCD.

  D for danger. I’d neutralised that by knocking Dad out.

  ‘Dad, Dad?’

  I shook his shoulder. No R of Response.

  His tongue and teeth were in place. Nothing obstructed the A of his Airway. Listening and watching his chest rise and fall confirmed the B of his Breathing. I moved him into the recovery position, thankful there would be no need for the C of CPR or the D of a Defibrillator jerry-rigged from Christmas lights.

  ‘Dad, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Hang on I’m going to—’

  Yes-operator-I-need-help . . .

  ‘I’m phoning the police,’ Stephanie yelled. ‘You
saw him try to kill me.’

  She wanted her emergency call fresh and panicked when it was played in court.

  Come-quick-my-husband’s-gone-crazy-and . . .

  ‘He needs an ambulance,’ I yelled over her silent rehearsal.

  I looked around for Dad’s phone.

  Gotcha: Stephanie thought as she beat me to it and snatched it from the floor.

  ‘Police!’ she screamed.

  I lunged to grab the phone from her. Stephanie swerved away into Evan’s scattered golf balls. Her silly heels shot out from under her. For a second my stepmother windmilled like a cartoon character as her emotions tumbled inside a black thought bubble. Afraid she wasn’t pretty enough. Angry that Dad had pushed her away. Resentful I never gave her a chance. Hopeful Evan might someday be cured. Sure she had a lot more to do with her life.

  Then Stephanie’s body smacked hard onto the polished floorboards and her head smashed harder onto the marble hearth.

  ‘Steph—’ I said.

  But in that instant she ceased. I was in her mind and then her mind was gone. No bright light, no heavenly chorus: just gone. I scrambled to her side. My stepmother’s eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling, and her lips were parted, as if she wanted to say something. Blood flowed from under her hair, bright against the marble, oily on the floorboards. I opened her mouth, breathed into her. I did compressions, counting them off loudly. Knew it was useless. Had to try. If I hadn’t lunged she wouldn’t have fallen.

  Stephanie’s fingers were curled around the phone. I gave her two more breaths and grabbed it. I punched the emergency number and put it on speaker by her shoulder. I continued compressions as the call went through.

  ‘You’ve reached emergency services,’ a calm recorded voice said. ‘We are unable to answer at this time. Please try again or call your local police, ambulance or fire service directly.’

  How was that possible? Weren’t there enough operators willing to work Christmas?

  I gave Stephanie two more breaths, grabbed the phone and hit redial, cradled it between my chin and shoulder as I kept doing compressions. This time I didn’t get the recorded message. My call just terminated in a high-pitched squeal that sounded like the end of all things.

  I let the phone fall away and I rocked back on my heels away from Stephanie. My air escaped her in a lifeless wheeze. Tears streamed down my cheeks. For a moment I was aware only of my trembling limbs and my own ragged breaths and my heartbeat in my temples. Then my mind went spiralling out around me, streaming from next door to the next street to the next suburb, sweeping in every thought from the screaming city.