Ida Page 7

  I walk up to Daisy, not looking at the double, and they smile at me. ‘It’ll be like half an hour till the next one, come on.’

  Looking back at the railing, I don’t see anyone except an old man, sitting down slowly, balancing himself on his cane. I swallow, follow Daisy down the escalator and we go down to the platform.

  Along the platform, I look for my doppelganger, but there are no other versions of me. When the train arrives with a gust of wind and the high-pitched screaming of wheels, we jump on, taking a four-seater so we can stretch our legs.

  ‘You feeling okay?’ Daisy asks. ‘You’re shivering.’

  ‘Bit cold from the, y’know, rain?’ I tease them, but it’s not because of that.

  Daisy wriggles in their seat. ‘Me too.’ They’re wearing less clothes than I am.

  As the train pulls out, I watch the faces of the people still on the platform; one woman has missed her train, but none of them mirror mine. And then when I think it’s safe, at the very end of the platform I see a girl, I see me, sitting on a bench by myself. It looks at me, sees me looking, and laughs.

  I frown and look away. This feels real. I start when I realise I’m staring at Daisy with this huge frown on my face.

  ‘Sorry,’ I tell them quickly. ‘I was just thinking.’

  They frown at me for a few seconds, but when I don’t elaborate, they lean back into their seat and relax, stretching their legs as far as they go. ‘I feel disgusting,’ they say. ‘Gonna need a shower when we get back to yours.’

  ‘Oh, coincidence. I’m going to need one, too.’

  ‘But there’s only one shower!’ they say, putting their hands on their cheeks. ‘Whatever shall we do!’

  ‘We’re just going to have to find some kind of solution.’

  We sit in our soggy clothes for the rest of the train journey, and Daisy drops off to sleep. I stare out the window, wishing everything had just been a dream or a stupid movie I’d watched … anything. If I’d only seen the doppelganger that one time at home, then I could convince myself it wasn’t there; but now I know it’s real. It has to be real.

  Something is happening, because that person at the gallery knew my name.

  Low and close

  ‘Would it be okay if I stayed at yours for a couple of days?’ Daisy asks, watching the scenery rush past the window. Currently the scenery is just a long row of concrete walls; it’s not very exciting.

  I nod. ‘Of course.’ This has got something to do with the phone call. ‘How come?’

  Daisy waits, the words spill out even though they try to keep them safe. ‘Dad. It won’t be for too long. I might just get some stuff from home, if that’s okay?’

  We get off the train three stops early to go to Daisy’s house. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk and at least it’s not raining anymore. The way to their house is mostly paved, too, so our shoes are safe for now. The area they live in is jam-packed with houses; there is never silence. They rarely open their curtains; their neighbours can see directly into their room if they leave them open. It’s never entirely safe; they never relax completely if their dad’s home.

  Three cars in the driveway: Daisy’s mother, father, sister. Their sister is two years older and is not home a lot.

  ‘Your sister’s home,’ I say, and Daisy just nods as their mouth flattens. ‘What do you need to get?’

  ‘Clothes, things for uni. Maybe my laptop.’

  ‘We can just go in and out,’ I tell them, tugging their sleeve. ‘We don’t have to stay any longer than you want to.’

  They keep nodding, a steady rhythm I don’t think they’re entirely conscious of. ‘I know.’

  As they open the door, they reveal the white walls of the house. I rarely go inside here. Everything is so neat, the shoes lined up beside the door, the rugs on the floor are vacuumed, straight. The pictures on the wall are symmetrical.

  Daisy’s mother sits in the lounge. The patterns on the couch match the colours in the curtains. As we walk further in, we can hear voices out in the backyard. We almost make it to the end of the hallway before Daisy’s mother sees us.

  ‘Daise,’ she says, muting the telly as she stands. She’s thinner than I remember, sunken. They hug, briefly. ‘So,’ she begins, and her eyes flick to me before returning to Daisy.

  ‘I’ll be in your room,’ I tell Daisy, and I scurry off further down the hallway.

  Daisy’s mother takes them into the lounge, speaking in a low voice I can barely hear.

  I open the door and Daisy’s room is almost how I remember it, but there is much more … everything. The walls are completely covered in photographs and artwork, theirs and other people’s; their bookcase is stuffed full of books and statues and CDs. Clothes are everywhere, and from the ceiling there’s a mobile made of bits of broken glass and beads. It glitters when I turn on the light.

  The curtains are thick and block out the sun, except for a glow that escapes along the very bottom. Clothes are piled up on top of the railing so no light can get in that way.

  On the desk, a sketchbook is open. There’s nothing really discernible on the page, just an explosion of watercolours: red, yellow, green. The page is crinkly and sticks up from the rest.

  I sit on the bed and stare at the wall, covered in photographs. There’s my face, just me, with Daisy, with other friends. There are new photographs of people I don’t recognise; they must be their cousins in Queensland. There are a few photographs of Daisy’s sister and a couple of their mother, but that’s all.

  The voices outside come closer to Daisy’s window.

  ‘You need to stop,’ a familiar voice sounds. Daisy’s sister, Kate. We’ve met a few times, very rarely in this house. The last time I saw her was at Daisy’s birthday last year. Daisy’s father mutters something in reply that I can’t hear. I only see him in this house, and half the time when he’s home we don’t meet; either Daisy will avoid him or he’ll be tucked away somewhere.

  They move away from the window and I can only hear mumbling again. I move off the bed and crouch near the window, press my ear against the curtain. It scratches, but I don’t move. I should probably put on a CD or something so I can’t hear, but then I don’t want them to think I was listening in the first place.

  ‘That’s not the point here …’ Kate says. She sounds so much older, her voice scritches in her throat.

  ‘Then what …’

  The back door opens and Daisy’s mum’s voice is quiet as she says something. I’m about to peer through the curtains when the bedroom door opens. Daisy looks small in the doorway now they’ve taken off their jacket, their top is too big and it flows down their flat torso, their drainpipe jeans sticking to their skin like glue. The big shoes make their legs seem even thinner and they cross one arm over their stomach, clutching their elbow.

  ‘You all right?’ I say, standing.

  They nod, almost looking in my eyes. ‘I’ll get my stuff and we’ll go.’

  And I’d ask them what’s going on, but they’ll tell me if they want to. Sometimes ignoring things makes them easier, because you can forget for a little while.

  Daisy starts picking up clothes and points behind me. ‘Can you pass that bag?’ Outside, the voices are muffled and we can’t hear the words.

  ‘Do you need any help?’ I ask as I watch them pack up the stuff on their desk.

  ‘I’m good,’ they say. ‘My folio is pretty much waterproof; I can chuck everything in there.’ They gesture to the huge black plastic folio leaning against the wardrobe doors.

  The voices outside break into shouts, briefly, then undertones of mumbling again.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Daisy says. ‘Well. Nothing out of the ordinary. I just don’t want to deal with his shit today.’

  They continue to pack a little more, then stand, clap their hands together. ‘All right, let’s blow this joint.’ They shoulder their bag.

  We’re out in the corridor and Daisy’s father is there, in the lounge, and he looks at us but he doe
sn’t say anything. I thought he would look angry, but he’s just sad, shrunken. Tired. Daisy doesn’t say goodbye to anyone, and they half-jog down the road to the station.

  ‘Daisy,’ I tell them, puffing out air. ‘Can we slow down?’

  They look at me, eyebrows raised. ‘Sorry, Ida,’ they say, take up their normal pace, and, above, the sky rumbles low and close.

  ‘I was hoping there’d be some kind of miracle before we got here and the weather would’ve cleared.’ Daisy grimaces as we stand under the shelter of the train station near my house, looking out into the rain. The sky is darker than it was in the city; clouds the colour of wet concrete.

  ‘No miracles today.’ There’s an even darker patch of cloud coming, I point it out to Daisy. ‘Let’s go before we’re stuck in that.’

  The walking track home is usually dirt. Today it’s a strip of mud through wet grass, and trickles from above slink down through my collar.

  ‘Careful!’ I catch Daisy before they slip, but then the ground under my feet slides and my butt slams into the mud. ‘Well, damn.’

  ‘Careful,’ Daisy says. They try to hold in their laughter, but it rolls out into giggles.

  ‘Oh, shut up.’

  They help me stand and I try and get off some of the mud, but my hands are muddy as shit, so I only spread it further.

  ‘The rain’ll wash it off, don’t worry,’ Daisy says.

  I stick up my middle finger at them, still covered in mud. They’re about to laugh again, so I spread my hands all over their jacket. They yelp and fail to dodge me, still laughing.

  ‘Don’t worry, the rain will wash it off.’

  They stick their tongue out at me and we continue down the path, single file. The mud isn’t wide enough for us both, and the grass is too slippery to walk on. By the time we get home, a couple of mud fights later, we just miss the storm. The thunder is rolling out; flashes of lightning are behind us, but no deluge of rain yet.

  We leave our shoes and socks on the porch. My toes are wrinkly, and I wriggle them to try to get some blood flow in there, but the floor is too cold. Inside, the fire’s going, so it’s warm. I smile, grab Daisy from behind around their waist and then I notice Dad’s sitting at the table.

  ‘Er,’ I say as we break apart. ‘Hey Dad.’

  He nods hello and turns his head, he’s on the phone. After a couple of moments, he covers the mouthpiece and says, ‘I’ve just boiled the kettle,’ before turning back to listen to the phone.

  ‘You can have the first shower,’ I tell Daisy. ‘I’ll make you a Milo for when you come out if you want?’ I take their bag and folio from them as they nod. ‘And I’ll bring you down some dry clothes so you don’t have to wear your uni ones.’

  ‘Thanks.’ They kiss my cheek, then add in a whisper, ‘Pity we couldn’t conserve water together.’ They wink before wandering over to the bathroom.

  Dad moves from the kitchen to the lounge, voice low and quick. I turn to find Frank standing beside me, and yelp. He grins and pats my shoulder.

  ‘Just me.’ He nods to Dad. ‘He’s talking to my dad. They’ve been like that for like half an hour or something.’

  ‘What’re they talking about?’ I ask as I flick the switch to re-boil the kettle.

  ‘Um,’ he says. ‘Dunno.’ He shrugs but his eyebrows stay down, drawn together.

  I catch my name as Dad raises his voice the slightest bit before returning to quiet anger.

  Frank’s eyes widen as he pulls his mouth tight. ‘Sorry.’

  We try to protect each other but we can’t.

  I wave him off and go upstairs, dump Daisy’s stuff and grab them some clothes. On the way down, I stay on the stairs, hidden from Dad. I sit on the fourth one up, and listen.

  ‘She’s not going to,’ he says. He’s trying hard not to grit his teeth, I know. ‘And even if she did, as long as she …’ He sighs. ‘She’s only eighteen, Georg. She’s got plenty of time.’

  Frank is back. I look at him and try to smile in some kind of confident, together way. He sits down beside me, our elbows knocking. ‘Sorry my dad is an arsehole.’

  ‘Why does it even matter? You should be having a holiday, not talking to me about this.’ A pause. ‘I know, but …’

  What does Dad know? That I am directionless and don’t have even one clue about what I want to do? It’s not like I don’t know what to do just to spite him. It’s not like I choose to not have my shit together.

  Dad’s voice lowers and now I can’t hear what he’s saying, which means he’s saying something Georg will agree with.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Frank whispers. ‘You can live off my royalties.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Dad bursts out, and Frank and I jump. ‘Can you stop?’

  There is silence. We look at each other, and Frank’s eyebrows are disappearing into his hair. And that’s all I can take, so I grab the bundle of clothes in my lap, stand. It takes half a second to set my face blank, muscles slackened, and I walk to the bathroom like nothing has happened. Dad sees me and his voice quietens, quickens. I hate that he agrees with Georg. I hate that I think I do too. I’m a slacker, freeloader. I’m not ever going to be able to move out; I’ll pull Dad down by staying here forever.

  Knocking on the bathroom door, I wait in the hallway as Frank passes me, patting me on the back twice before disappearing into his room. As he opens the door music pours out and is silenced as the door closes.

  ‘Daisy?’ I call out as I open the door. ‘I’ve got your clothes.’

  The room is filled with steam and I’m properly warm for the first time since this morning when I woke up, safe in bed. ‘They’ll be too big, but they’ll be dry at least.’ I place them on top of the hamper.

  Daisy sticks their head out from behind the shower curtain. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  And all I can think is naked Daisy naked Daisy naked Daisy. I clear my throat, blink too quick. ‘Any time.’

  I leave the bathroom and am shivering by the time I get to the considerably cooler kitchen. I can see Dad’s watching the telly and he says he doesn’t want a hot drink when I ask. He smiles at me, but when he thinks I’m not looking, his eyebrows come down and he’s gritting his teeth.

  As I pour the milk into Daisy’s drink and mine, they arrive in the kitchen, hair still wet as they stand there in the too-large clothes.

  ‘Good timing,’ I say, handing them a drink.

  They take a sip, sigh happily and wrap both hands around the mug. ‘Perfect, thanks.’

  ‘No prob. I won’t be too long.’ I take the drink into the bathroom and start up the shower. The cold water splashes onto my legs as I stand there, butt naked, waiting.

  Once in the stream, I lean my forehead against the wall and let the water course down my back, eyes closed. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and my bones start to warm.

  I take one hand in the other and feel the grooves, the creases, the scar from the swing in primary school. Only I’ve got my DNA, all these memories. Why is there another me? Was it an illusion?

  There’s a prickling in my eyes, I let myself cry for a few minutes, quiet. To keep the sobs in, I wrap my arms around myself and cradle my lungs, feel them in and out, in and out.

  Another minute, I wash myself and the traces of cold are gone. Out of the shower it’s freezing, so I dry myself as quick as I can. My hair puffs up and I attack it with a comb, but it still resists. I tie it up in a quick ponytail and pull on my clothes.

  I pick my phone up off the sink counter and see there’s a missed call from a number that’s not in my phone. They’ve left a message; it’s someone from a cafe in the closest shopping centre and they’re looking for casual staff. It’d hopefully be less boring than my current job, and I wouldn’t be working in the middle of nowhere. Maybe I’d get more hours, more stability. I redial the number and no one picks up. I leave a message, but I know it’s no use. They’re already calling the next person, and the next person’s going to answer their fucking ph
one.

  I catch my eye in the mirror and almost have a heart attack before realising it’s literally, this time, my reflection. Laughing weakly, I step out into the hallway, trying to forget about the missed call.

  Dad mutters to himself in front of the telly and Frank sits at the table, talking into a phone in German. Daisy sits opposite him, sketching. I sit next to them and take a peek at the page: barely-there sketches of Frank’s face. He’s scowling in one of them, biting his lip, laughing in another.

  ‘I’m not here,’ I say to Frank when I hear my name. I barely speak German and have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s talking too fast.

  Frank continues on for a while, rolls his eyes. He puts a hand over the mouthpiece. ‘He wants to talk to you.’

  Everything is so cold and now I don’t know which way is up. I’m spinning, I don’t know that there’s ever been spinning before. I need to free my arms to steady myself, but I can’t. Everything is cold is cold is …

  I’m in a room, gasping for air as I try to figure out where I am. There’s my bed, I realise – I’m in my room. My hands reach for the carpet and it’s dusty, needs a vacuum, but it’s real. The walls are bright white. I stand, my legs shaking, and I don’t know what to do. My hair is still wet from the shower, but why am I here? I haven’t been alone in my bedroom since this morning, but I don’t know if this is then. I don’t know if I’ve gone to the city yet, but everything is wrong. I don’t know how far I went back.

  The lightdark was cold when I got out; it’s never been cold before. Sometimes less warm, but never cold.

  I yelp; a shadow moves near the window. I take a few steps as I realise it’s the doppelganger, more solid than before. It looks at me, eyes narrowing. Seeing that expression on my own face makes my stomach turn. It takes a step towards me and I move backwards until my back hits the wall.

  ‘Don’t.’ My voice is a squeak. This is why I’m not good in a crisis.

  Its mouth moves but I don’t hear anything, so I guess it can’t hear me, either. It’s only a metre away when it stops in its tracks and its head turns towards the door. It listens to something, says something. Taking a final look at me, it walks down the stairs slowly.