Ida Page 2

  ‘I don’t mind walking, the station’s not that far.’ They rest against the counter. ‘How was work?’

  ‘Boring. How was your flight? Your grandparents? Did you have fun? How was meeting your cousins for the first time? Do you want a cup of tea?’ Daisy being here makes it difficult to remember to breathe between words.

  They turn and flick the kettle on.

  ‘Yes, tea. It’s fucking freezing outside.’

  ‘Blanket?’ I offer. There’s one draped over a chair.

  ‘Thanks.’ They pull it over their shoulders. ‘Flight was fine, grandparents are good. My cousins are pretty rad. I think they were a bit confused by me, the whole gender thing, but they didn’t say anything. Which I think kind of made it more awkward, and I kind of explained what genderqueer meant. But they still only used she pronouns and stuff … I dunno. Some of them were into painting and that, mostly music, but we made some pretty cool things. I’ll show you later.’

  ‘I’m sorry, that’s shit.’

  They shrug. ‘What else is new, eh?’

  ‘Frank’s staying with us at the moment; you could do something together.’

  Daisy considers for a moment, the stud in their eyebrow winking in the light. ‘He’s into music, right? What kind?’

  ‘All kinds.’

  They nod and the kettle boils. I get the cups, they get the tea bags, and the leaves brew. Daisy adds milk to the cups and the browns swirl around as they tug at the strings.

  ‘I missed you,’ I say.

  ‘Missed you too,’ they reply as the tea continues to steep. ‘Next time you should come with me.’

  ‘I’ll save my pennies.’ I pull them close, feel their heart through their chest, their arms, their neck. ‘What do you want to do?’ We break apart.

  ‘I’ve got a few ideas,’ they say.

  There’s a slam and the kitchen door is flung open by Frank, headphones in ears, sure enough. He’s not looking where he’s going and walks straight into me. I catch his bony elbow and we grip each other, somehow managing to not fall.

  ‘Oh hey.’ He pulls off his headphones. ‘Sorry. I know I should look where I’m going, please don’t tell me again. This time I didn’t break anything. Should be taken as progress.’

  ‘All right,’ I say, making sure both feet are firmly on the ground. ‘Have you met Daisy?’

  ‘Couple times, yeah.’ They shake hands anyway. ‘You play guitar,’ Frank says.

  Daisy looks at him for a moment, then laughter startles out. They like being surprised by people. ‘I do.’

  ‘Callouses,’ he says to me. And then he’s right back to Daisy. ‘What do you play?’

  And then the magic music thing happens. And it’s good they get along, because Frank is really my brother even though he’s my cousin. He doesn’t like new people, usually, but Daisy’s laugh has done something good. If he had just got home a minute later though … and my bedroom is so close, and Daisy’s been gone for so long … ugh.

  I’m eternally grateful my bedroom is pretty much soundproof though; and away from everyone else’s.

  Frank sees me pouting eventually and stops mid-sentence. ‘Well, much homework to do. Love to stay and chat, Daisy my dear,’ he kisses their hand, ‘but I’m sure you both have a lot of catching up to do.’

  He gives me the biggest wink and scampers off down the hall to the tiny spare bedroom he’s staying in, and Daisy grins.

  ‘Upstairs?’

  I nod. ‘Upstairs.’

  We forget about the tea.

  Spider cracks

  Daisy sits beside me while I lie on the floor in front of the window. They reach out to the glass and press their fingertips to it, feeling the cold from outside leech in. Where they touch it, the window fogs up. Their features are slack, their eyes search the view in front of us, though I know they’re not bored. They tap a beat on the window, the fog disappearing and reappearing as they do it.

  ‘What do you wanna do?’ I ask them, reaching out a hand. My fingers find their back – warm, soft.

  ‘Nothing,’ they reply, taking up my fingers, tracing them. ‘Anything.’ They turn their face to me and the sun­set outside the window turns their cheekbones to fire.

  ‘Narrowing it down, there.’ I can feel their callouses now, and I guess I’ve always known they were there, but not consciously until someone pointed them out. They turn back to the window, their eyebrows drawn the tiniest bit. Barely noticeable.

  ‘I don’t want to go home,’ they say.

  ‘I know,’ I say.

  ‘I should,’ is all they say.

  The sun slips behind the tree line and Daisy’s face is shadows; only the sharp angles of their nose, their cheeks, their lips are seen. Still on fire though the sun is gone. Maybe if we had enough money, we could move out. Into a share house, maybe.

  ‘What’s the time?’ they ask.

  ‘Six, almost.’

  They groan loud, like an old man getting up from his chair. And then they grin. ‘I should go.’

  My hand is still on their back, their skin still warm and alive.

  ‘All right,’ I say. ‘I’ll get my keys.’

  ‘Hey, Pilgrim.’ Daisy crawls over to open the window to let him in. He rubs against the hand they offer and I can hear his purr from here. Daisy smiles at him and whispers something in his ear.

  ‘Don’t you go teaching him any tricks, now,’ I say to Daisy, staring back up at the ceiling. I’ve got all the dents memorised, the spot where there’s water damage. ‘I know you can pick locks.’

  Daisy stands and their head towers above me. I see Pilgrim wending his way between their ankles.

  ‘Maybe I’ll teach you one day. Valuable life skill,’ they say. ‘You ready?’

  ‘To enter a life of burglary?’ I catch their eye. ‘Yes.’

  They smile as I take their hand and they help me stand. I don’t know how Frank could feel the callouses mid-handshake.

  ‘I’m ready to go when you are, Daise.’

  The lounge is empty when we get downstairs, so I grab Daisy’s bag, my keys, and we leave. I always leave the door unlocked; no one’s ever around to steal anything. Outside, the air is cool but there’s no edge, no wind.

  Daisy reaches my car and instead of getting in – I never lock my car at home, either – they lean up against the bonnet. They take my hand and we kiss, and the fierceness of it shows they’re trying not to cry, but they smile and it’s all right.

  The clouds then decide this is the perfect time to dump a shitload of rain down, and I yelp. Daisy grabs their bag and we launch ourselves into the car.

  Inside, our breathing is too loud. Daisy’s fringe is flat against their forehead; their eyes look too big for their face, their teeth stark against their skin. I smile because, really, they’re so beautiful.

  ‘What?’ they ask, and then the tiny frown is back.

  ‘You’re just too pretty, that’s all,’ I reply. I shake my head and water droplets go everywhere. The windows start to fog up, so I get the engine going and turn on the heating.

  ‘Weird that you’re talking about yourself in the second person.’ They smile at me.

  ‘Shhh.’

  The drive to Daisy’s isn’t really far at all, maybe twenty minutes. It’s awkward at the best of times to take public transport between our houses. It’s always easiest to drive. We don’t talk but instead let the rain take over with its heavy pattern on the roof, slicking past the windows. The rain is illuminated by my headlights, we speed through space, overhead lamps barely lighting the twisting road.

  I love driving at night, these familiar curves, when my car is the only one in the world. Summer is best, when it’s warm and dry and the windows are down, because I don’t need to worry about the cold. There’ll be a summer album. The songs travel down the roads with me, no purpose needed. Whenever I listen to that album again, everything will be the smell of wood in the sun under bare feet, hot chips on the pier.

  Daisy’s looking st
raight forwards and I wonder what they’re thinking. Maybe nothing. It’s easy to think about nothing in a moving car – the constant motion replaces thought, sometimes.

  Highways are best, but are never completely clear when I want them to be.

  ‘Ida.’

  I jump at their voice even though I can barely hear them above the rain, they’re so quiet.

  ‘Sorry,’ they say.

  I shake my head at them. No need. ‘What?’

  ‘Is it okay if I come over tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The rest of the car ride is silent and I’m glad of this, more than a lot of things, that we can be silent together.

  We get closer and Daisy’s shrinking, I can see from the edge of my eyes. The indicator clicks in the silence and I pull up to Daisy’s house. When I look at them properly, they’re regular size again. They can change their skin when no one’s looking, I’m sure.

  Pull up the handbrake, click click click.

  ‘Need a lift tomorrow?’

  Shakes their head. ‘Mum can drive me on her way to work.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’ Try my best to smile without showing too many teeth, try not to show how worried I am.

  ‘I’ll give you some petrol money tomorrow.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘Yeah, I do.’ They smile, small.

  ‘I’ll walk you to your door.’ Start to unbuckle my seatbelt.

  They shake their head again.

  ‘Okay.’

  We hug, cold, trapped by seatbelts. Daisy gets theirs off.

  ‘Don’t get out,’ they say. ‘You’ll get wet.’

  Here’s where I would make a joke, but their face is too empty. ‘Have a good night,’ I say instead.

  ‘You too.’ They get out and the smell of rain on dirt and concrete enters the car. ‘See you.’ Short wave, and then they’re walking brisk to the front door, dragging their bag along. From the porch light, I can see their clothes are soaked by the time they get inside.

  On the way home I turn on the radio. This time of night the music is usually terrible or there’s talkback radio on. Talkback makes me want to stuff my ears with straw, so I put the channel to the classical station. I know the song, vaguely. I can follow the pattern of the heavy piano notes.

  It’s still raining buckets when I get home so I turn off the engine and sit in the car. The rain runs down the glass all around; the raindrops chase one another.

  There are a couple of lights still on inside the house, turned into a million little pinpricks inside the droplets. As the world outside turns darker, bluer, the air inside the car begins to cool. The engine stops making those pings and everything is silent except for the tattoo of the rain and my own breath. I’m shivering now, so I close my eyes.

  There is lightdark everywhere. I am weightless bound swimming floating towards the heat. It’s familiar.

  The car is still warm, the rain runs slowly down the windows. I’m watching the rain chase itself … The rain turns into streams. One is stronger than the rest. It gets more solid, thicker, it’s a snake wriggling its way down. It lets out a hiss and then the others are born. They’re on the roof, angry, wanting to get at me.

  They’re larger now, all of them. Big as pythons, writhing all over the car and each other. Sticking themselves with their own fangs. Spider cracks appear in the glass, more, bigger, and then the glass explodes and I’m drenched and I wake, screaming.

  My voice is dead, dull in the cold car air. It gets absorbed by the windows. Its life leeches. The car was warm before.

  Now that dream was just a dream, even though my heart is racing a million miles a second.

  It’s still raining outside and it doesn’t look like it’s stopping any time soon. I grab my things and make a dash for the porch.

  I’ve never actually cleaned the porch. It’s where we keep the firewood, about fifty pairs of gumboots, shovels, that kind of thing. Everything is dusty and the whole thing is covered in gum leaves and spider webs.

  Water rolls down from my hair, clothes, and falls into the dust on the wood. I leave my shoes and socks outside; the doormat scratches my soles but I’m used to it. The feeling is an indicator of home.

  When I get inside, Dad is tending the fireplace. He stands, dusting the ash off his knees. I walk over and he gives me a one-armed hug, kissing the top of my head without really kissing it, like he does.

  ‘I thought you’d stayed at Daisy’s,’ he says.

  He knows I almost never stay there, Daisy’s home isn’t a place Daisy wants to be and if we can stay at my house, it’s easier for both of us. But he says nothing more, just rolls up some newspaper and sticks it under a log.

  ‘Fell asleep in the car, actually.’

  Dad almost cricks his neck, he turns that fast.

  ‘After I’d parked,’ I say, holding up a hand before he can say anything. ‘I was in the carport.’ It’s not a carport at all, just a patch of dirt that I park on. We started off calling it that as a joke and it stuck. ‘I thought you would have seen my headlights.’

  He shakes his head, but at least doesn’t look like he’s going to pass out.

  ‘Frank asleep?’ I ask.

  ‘No, I think he’s doing homework that was due a week ago.’

  ‘Georg’s gonna kill you,’ I tell him. Georg: Frank’s dad, Dad’s brother.

  And I know why he worries, but still. I wander into the kitchen while avoiding eye contact, get the milk out of the fridge.

  ‘Listen.’ Dad’s voice is right behind me.

  I let go of the carton and the milk flies everywhere as I yelp. The milk splashes all over Dad, but misses me completely.

  Wade through the darkness, steady, eyes closed. Towards the warmth. The warmth is where I need to go.

  I hold the milk carton firmly as Dad tells me to listen. Turning, I put the carton on the bench.

  ‘Yep?’ I reply, looking for a clean cup. The orange one on the sink is clean enough, I reckon. After a rinse, anyway.

  ‘I was vacuuming so I went up to do your room,’ and then he pauses. I understand, I never vacuum. My room can be pretty gross. ‘There were tea stains all over the wall.’

  My hand slips, milk goes all over the bench. ‘What?’

  ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘You saw them?’ I say. My lungs have disappeared. This hasn’t happened before. This can’t happen.

  ‘The tea stains?’ His eyebrows meet. ‘Bit hard to miss.’

  ‘I went back.’ I run a hand through my hair. I am being disembowelled.

  ‘Ida?’

  He’s not there anymore. I am up the stairs, not breathing. I am only a heart. The tea is there, pale against the grey paint. I touch one of the stains, feel the slight bumps of the paint under my skin. Smooth. The tea is there even though I went back. I remember the pressure in my head, something other, not exactly me.

  I shut my eyes.

  Bound, I wait for the warmth to find me in the bright dark. There’s a tiny difference somewhere, under the surface. A small snag I can barely feel.

  ‘There were tea stains all over the wall,’ Dad says.

  I pour my milk. I don’t spill a single drop. Hands smooth, in control. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Sorry. I was going to clean it up, I promise.’ I put the milk carton back in the fridge as my brain frantically searches for words while I remember that my lungs do work. ‘That was just for an art project for Daisy, even though their uni isn’t back till next week.’

  ‘All right,’ he says. ‘But please don’t do it again.’ I nod, and his attention wanders back to the fireplace. The flames have started to die without his attention.

  ‘Promise,’ I tell him, quiet. I put my milk in the microwave, watch it spin round and round. The microwave dings. ‘Well, I’m going to sleep now. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ he replies, his face warm from the fire.

  I take the warm milk upstairs, slowly. One step at a time because if I
go too fast who knows what’ll happen. The tea changed, what else could? I put the milk down on my desk. Close the door. I was so sure I went back.

  They’re faded, Dad must have cleaned them, but they’re still there. I stare at them until I feel my eyeballs will fall out, run my fingers over them, cold under my fingerprints. They’re definitely real.

  I remember how to use my legs eventually, and by then the milk is almost cold. Can’t sleep, so I don’t. I watch the world turn outside my window until the birds start to sing.

  Damaris

  Damaris sits on a plastic chair in reception. The room is open, bright. She feels exposed, even though she’s wearing a suit and only her hands and face show. She refuses the magazines lined up on the table in front of her, all gossip, all out of date. Adrastos has done this on purpose, she’s sure.

  Although there is no sound, the receptionist picks up the phone, listens for a moment. She glances over to Damaris, then nods.

  ‘You can go through,’ she says.

  ‘Thank you.’ Damaris can see the confusion on the receptionist’s face, not even bothering to try to hide it. Is Damaris a man? A woman? She doesn’t have to be either, and she’s not. Once, she might’ve said something, but now she doesn’t have the time or the energy. People get off balance when they can’t decide what gender they want to give you.

  The corridor is longer than the old office’s. Damaris walks at a brisk pace; she can feel the floor run under the balls of her feet. It’s only the fourth door on the right, but the walk is long. The corridor twists left and she sighs.

  She eventually reaches the door, smooths her jacket front, and knocks.

  ‘Come in.’ Adrastos’s voice is muffled by the door.

  When she enters, he’s sitting at his desk. An old, wooden monster of a thing, the desk is bare except for a lamp and a few blank pieces of paper. Everything else in the room would be neatly tucked away in drawers, not a single staple out of place.