The Forgotten Garden (6 page)

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She set the sketch on the ground beside her and turned her attention to the rest of the bundle. There were some envelopes with letters inside, and a notebook full of lined pages that someone had covered with long curly handwriting. It may have been written in a different language for all that Cassandra knew, she certainly couldn’t read it. Brochures and torn-out pages of magazines had been tucked in the back with an old photograph of a man and a woman and a little girl with long plaits.

Cassandra recognised none of them.

Beneath the notebook she found the book of fairytales. The cover was green cardboard, the writing gold: Magical Tales for Girls and Boys, by Eliza Makepeace. Cassandra repeated the author’s name, enjoying the mysterious rustle against her lips. She opened it up and inside the front cover was a picture of a fairy sitting in a bird’s woven nest: long flowing hair, a wreath of stars around her head, and large, translucent wings. When she looked more closely, Cassandra realised that the fairy’s face was the same as that in the sketch. A line of spidery writing curled around the base of the nest proclaiming her ‘Your storyteller, Miss Makepeace’. With a delicious shiver, she turned to the first fairytale sending startled silverfish scrambling in all directions. Time had coloured the pages yellow, worked and worried at the edges. The paper felt powdery and when she rubbed a dog-eared corner it seemed to disintegrate a little, fall to dust.

Cassandra couldn’t help herself. She curled up on her side in the centre of the camp bed. It was the perfect place for reading, cool and quiet and secret. Cassandra always hid when she read, though she never quite knew why. It was as if she couldn’t shake the guilty suspicion that she was being lazy, that surrendering herself so completely to something so enjoyable must surely be wrong.

But surrender she did. Let herself drop through the rabbit hole and into a tale of magic and mystery, about a princess who lived with a blind crone in a cottage on the edge of a dark wood. A brave princess, far braver than Cassandra would ever be.

She was two pages from the end when footsteps on the floorboards above called back her attention.

They were coming.

She sat up quickly and swung her legs over the side of the bed, feet onto the floor. She wanted desperately to finish, to find out what would 33

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happen to the princess. But there was nothing for it. She straightened the papers, tossed everything back into the suitcase and slid it under the bed. Removed all evidence of her disobedience.

She slipped from the flat, picked up a stone and headed for the hopscotch squares again.

By the time her mum and Nell appeared at the sliding door, Cassandra could make a pretty convincing case that she’d been playing hopscotch all afternoon.

‘Come here, kiddo,’ said Lesley.

Cassandra dusted off her shorts and went to her mother’s side, wondered as Lesley wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

‘Having fun?’

‘Yes,’ said Cassandra cautiously. Had she been found out?

But her mother wasn’t cross. Quite the opposite; she seemed almost triumphant. She looked at Nell. ‘Told you, didn’t I? Takes care of herself, this one.’

Nell didn’t answer and Cassandra’s mum continued: ‘You’re going to stop here with Grandma Nell for a bit, Cassie. Have an adventure.’

This was a surprise; her mum must have more business in Brisbane.

‘Will I have lunch here?’

‘Every day, I reckon, until I get back to collect you.’

Cassandra was aware suddenly of the sharp edges of the stone she was holding. The way the corners pushed into her fingertips. She looked from her mother to her grandmother. Was it a game? Was her mother making a joke? She waited to see whether Lesley would burst out laughing.

She didn’t. Merely gazed at Cassandra, blue eyes wide.

Cassandra could think of nothing to say. ‘I didn’t bring my pyjamas,’

was what she managed in the end.

Her mother smiled then, quickly, broadly, with relief, and Cassandra glimpsed somehow that the point of refusal had been passed. ‘Don’t worry about that, you duffer. I’ve packed you a bag in the car. You didn’t think I’d drop you off without a bag, did you?’

Through all this Nell was silent, stiff. Watching Lesley with what Cassandra recognised as disapproval. She supposed her grandmother didn’t want her to stay. Little girls had a habit of getting in the way, Len was always saying so.

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Lesley skipped to the car and leaned through the open window at the back to pull out an overnight bag. Cassandra wondered when she’d packed it, why she hadn’t let Cassandra pack it herself.

‘Here you are, kiddo,’ said Lesley, tossing the bag to Cassandra.

‘There’s a surprise in there for you, a new dress. Len helped me choose it.’

She straightened and said to Nell: ‘Just a week or two, I promise.

Just while Len and me get ourselves sorted.’ Lesley ruffled Cassandra’s hair. ‘Your Grandma Nell’s looking forward to having you stay. It’ll be a real, proper summer holiday in the big smoke. Something to tell the other kids when school goes back.’

Cassandra’s grandmother smiled then, only it wasn’t a happy smile.

Cassandra thought she knew how it felt to smile like that. She often did so herself when her mother promised her something she really wanted but knew might not come off.

Lesley brushed a kiss on her cheek, gave her hand a squeeze and then, somehow, she was gone. Before Cassandra could give her a hug, could tell her to drive safely, could ask her when exactly she’d be back.

c

Later, Nell made dinner—fat pork sausages, mashed potato, and mushy peas from a can—and they ate in the narrow room by the kitchen.

Nell’s house didn’t have flyscreens on the windows like Len’s unit on Burleigh Beach, instead Nell kept a plastic swat on the window ledge beside her. When flies or mozzies threatened, she was a quick draw.

So swift, so practised were these attacks that the cat, asleep on Nell’s lap, barely flinched.

The stumpy pedestal fan on top of the fridge beat thick, moist air back and forth while they ate; Cassandra answered her grandmother’s occasional questions as politely as she could, and eventually the ordeal of dinner ended. Cassandra helped to dry the dishes, then Nell took her to the bathroom and started running lukewarm water into the tub.

‘Only thing worse than a cold bath in winter,’ Nell said matter-of-factly, ‘is a hot bath in summer.’ She pulled a brown towel from the cupboard and balanced it on the toilet cistern. ‘You can shut the 35

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water off when it reaches this line.’ She pointed out a crack in the green porcelain, then stood, straightening her dress. ‘You’ll be all right then?’

Cassandra nodded and smiled. She hoped she’d answered correctly, adults could be tricky sometimes. For the most part, she knew, they didn’t like it when children made their feelings known, not their bad feelings anyway. Len was often reminding Cassandra that good children should smile and learn to keep their black thoughts to themselves. Nell was different, though; Cassandra wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she sensed Nell’s rules were different. All the same, it was best to play things safe.

That was why she hadn’t mentioned the toothbrush, or lack of toothbrush. Lesley was always forgetting such things when they spent time away from home, but Cassandra knew a week or two without wouldn’t kill her. She looped her hair up into a bun and tied it on top of her head with an elastic band. At home she wore her mother’s shower cap, but she wasn’t sure if Nell had one and didn’t want to ask. She climbed into the bath and sat in the tepid water, gathered her knees up close and shut her eyes. Listened to the water lapping the sides of the tub, the buzz of the light bulb, a mosquito somewhere above.

She stayed like that for some time, climbing out only reluctantly when she realised that if she put it off any longer, Nell might come looking for her. She dried herself, hung the towel carefully over the shower rail, lining up the edges, then got into her pyjamas.

She found Nell in the sunroom, making up the day bed with sheets and a blanket.

‘It’s not usually for sleeping on,’ said Nell, patting a pillow into place. ‘The mattress isn’t much to speak of and the springs are a bit hard, but you’re only a waif of a girl. You’ll be comfy enough.’

Cassandra nodded gravely. ‘It won’t be for long. Just a week or two, just while Mum and Len get things sorted.’

Nell smiled grimly. She looked about the room then back to Cassandra. ‘Anything else you need? A glass of water? A lamp?’

Cassandra half wondered whether Nell had a spare toothbrush but couldn’t formulate the words required to ask. She shook her head.

‘In you hop then,’ said Nell, lifting a corner of the blanket.

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Cassandra slid obediently into place and Nell pulled up the sheets.

They were surprisingly soft, pleasantly worn with an unfamiliar yet clean smell.

Nell hesitated. ‘Well . . . goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

Then the light was off and Cassandra alone.

c

In the dark, strange noises were amplified. Traffic on a distant ridge, a television in one of the neighbouring houses, Nell’s footsteps on the floorboards of another room. Outside the window, the wind chimes were clattering, and Cassandra realised that the air had become charged with the smell of eucalypt and road tar. A storm was coming.

She curled up tight beneath the covers. Cassandra didn’t like storms, they were unpredictable. Hopefully it would blow over before it really got going. She made a little deal with herself: if she could count to ten before the next car droned over the nearby hill, everything would be okay. The storm would pass quickly and Mum would come back for her within the week.

One. Two. Three . . . She didn’t cheat, didn’t rush . . . Four. Five . . .

Nothing so far, halfway there . . . Six. Seven . . . Breathing quickly, still no cars, almost safe . . . Eight—

Suddenly, she sat bolt upright. There were pockets inside the bag.

Her mum hadn’t forgotten, she’d just tucked the toothbrush in there for safekeeping.

Cassandra slipped out of bed as a violent gust tossed the chimes against the windowpane. She crept across the room, bare feet cooled by a draught of wind that sneaked between the floorboards.

The sky above the house grumbled ominously then turned spectacularly to light. It felt dangerous, reminded Cassandra of the storm in the fairytale she’d read that afternoon, the angry storm that had followed the little princess to the crone’s cottage.

Cassandra knelt on the floor, rummaging in one pocket after another, willing the toothbrush’s familiar shape to meet her fingertips.

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Big fat raindrops started falling, loud on the corrugated-iron roof. Sporadic at first, then increasing until Cassandra could hear no gaps between.

It wouldn’t hurt to recheck the main part of the bag while she was at it: a toothbrush was only small, maybe it was tucked so far down she’d missed it? She pushed her hands in deep and pulled out everything from inside. The toothbrush was not there.

Cassandra blocked her ears as another clap of thunder shook the house. She picked herself up and folded her arms across her chest, aware vaguely of her own thinness, her inconsequence, as she hurried back to bed and climbed under the sheet.

Rain poured over the eaves, ran down the windows in rivulets, spilled from the sagging gutters that had been caught unawares.

Beneath the sheet, Cassandra lay very still, hugging her own body.

Despite the warm muggy air there were goosebumps on her upper arms. She knew she should try to sleep, she’d be tired in the morning if she didn’t and no one liked to spend time with a grump.

Try as she might though, sleep wouldn’t come. She counted sheep, sang silent songs about yellow submarines, and oranges and lemons, and gardens beneath the sea, told herself fairytales. But the night threatened to stretch on endlessly.

As lightning flashed, rain poured and thunder tore open the sky, Cassandra began to weep. Tears that had waited a long time for escape were finally released under the dark veil of rain.

How much time passed before she became aware of the shadowy figure standing in the doorway? One minute? Ten?

Cassandra caught a sob in her throat, held it there although it burned.

A whisper, Nell’s voice. ‘I came to check the window was closed.’

In the dark Cassandra held her breath, wiped at her eyes with the corner of the sheet.

Nell was close now; Cassandra could sense the strange electricity generated when another human stands near without touching.

‘What is it?’

Cassandra’s throat, still frozen, refused to let words pass.

‘Is it the storm? Are you frightened?’

Cassandra shook her head.

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Nell sat stiffly on the edge of the day bed, tightened her dressing-gown around her middle. Another flash of lightning and Cassandra saw her grandmother’s face, recognised her mother’s eyes with their slightly downturned corners.

The sob was finally dislodged. ‘My toothbrush,’ she said, through tears. ‘I don’t have my toothbrush.’

Nell looked at her a moment, startled, then gathered Cassandra in her arms. The little girl flinched at first, surprised by the suddenness, the unexpectedness of the gesture, but then she felt herself surrender.

She collapsed forward, head resting against Nell’s soft lavender-scented body, shoulders shaking as she wept warm tears into Nell’s nightie.