always came back.
In the coffee room Mikaylah shook off her tough-girl veneer and leaned forward on her folded arms. Her clear blue eyes filled with desperation, her bottom lip began to tremble and suddenly she looked more like a sad eight-year-old girl than a wayward teen.
What was she going to do? It was two hundred and eighty-five bucks. For chrissakes, how was she going to get it by the Monday deadline?
The door slammed open and the mask was slapped back on. Her mouth became hard and cold and her eyes steely as she met her stepfather’s ugly look.
‘Right, moron, get to the car. You’re in so much strife, you stupid little tart.’
Mikaylah walked past him through the doorway. As he turned to follow her she instinctively flinched and pulled herself out of his reach.
The fight reverberated around the fibro shack for hours after Mikaylah stormed past her grim-faced mother and slammed her bedroom door. With her head jammed under her pillow the words were muted but the anger swelled in the walls and filled the house.
Mikaylah eventually drifted off into a troubled sleep, waking just before dawn, parched and momentarily confused about the heaviness in her head and the pain behind her eyes. Her gut twisted as she remembered her predicament.
Seeking water, she opened her door and heard her parents still muttering in the lounge.
‘She’s your fuckin’ kid, Darleen, why can’t you do something about her?’
‘Listen, Carl, she’s been your kid too for the last twelve years, so go easy on the blame.’ Darleen lit a fresh Alpine off the dying butt in her nicotine-stained fingertips. Thank Christ she’d bought another packet that afternoon after her shift at Ritchies. She’d have bought two if she’d known she’d be still smoking in the wee hours.
Her pink ‘Funky Mummy’ T-shirt nightie, the glitter long washed away, hung over her saggy breasts and fell to her knees, her legs bare and fuzzy with winter regrowth – why bother shaving when you were in jeans all day, she reckoned. Her mauve moccasin slippers covered bright-orange-painted toenails. ‘She’s weird, you know, ever since Johnno died. I know she was only a kid but she kind of went into a shell.’
Carl leaned back in his Jason Recliner, scratching the expansive gut that escaped over his belt and fell onto his thighs. He was concentrating hard on ignoring her.
‘It’s like she doesn’t fit in,’ Darleen went on. ‘She never just hangs out at the shops like the other girls; she doesn’t have blokes after her. I mean why would she? It’s not like she dresses like other girls.’
‘You’re right there,’ Carl said. ‘How’s that Christie from over the road? The little tops and the short skirts … Phwoarr!’
‘She’s fourteen, you sick perv!’ Darleen puffed out acloud of smoke in disgust. She was getting tired of listening to Carl putting her daughter down and decided to end the conversation. She picked up her smokes, her treasured Crown Casino lighter and her empty glass, the pungent aniseed scent from the last several ouzo-and-Cokes still wafting from it, and headed for the kitchen. ‘Look, I don’t know why she’s acting this way. We know she’s a loner, but her marks at school have stayed really good. It’s just bloody lucky she hasn’t got my genes.’
‘Shit, yeah,’ Carl agreed, flicking through the channels for some sport or a bit of that wog porn on SBS. ‘She’d be in real serious trouble if you were her real mum.’
Down the hallway, through a slight crack in the door, the clear blue eyes opened in shock as the impact of that statement hit home.
Present Day
‘I don’t want to go to Sophie’s dumb party,’ Chloe shrieked. ‘She smells bad and she’s mean to me.’
In the frothy fairy dress Chloe looked the picture of angelic innocence, except for her angry red face.
‘Darling, I told you, Sophie’s mum gives her a special medicine called fish oil that sometimes smells a bit funny, but it’s
In the coffee room Mikaylah shook off her tough-girl veneer and leaned forward on her folded arms. Her clear blue eyes filled with desperation, her bottom lip began to tremble and suddenly she looked more like a sad eight-year-old girl than a wayward teen.
What was she going to do? It was two hundred and eighty-five bucks. For chrissakes, how was she going to get it by the Monday deadline?
The door slammed open and the mask was slapped back on. Her mouth became hard and cold and her eyes steely as she met her stepfather’s ugly look.
‘Right, moron, get to the car. You’re in so much strife, you stupid little tart.’
Mikaylah walked past him through the doorway. As he turned to follow her she instinctively flinched and pulled herself out of his reach.
The fight reverberated around the fibro shack for hours after Mikaylah stormed past her grim-faced mother and slammed her bedroom door. With her head jammed under her pillow the words were muted but the anger swelled in the walls and filled the house.
Mikaylah eventually drifted off into a troubled sleep, waking just before dawn, parched and momentarily confused about the heaviness in her head and the pain behind her eyes. Her gut twisted as she remembered her predicament.
Seeking water, she opened her door and heard her parents still muttering in the lounge.
‘She’s your fuckin’ kid, Darleen, why can’t you do something about her?’
‘Listen, Carl, she’s been your kid too for the last twelve years, so go easy on the blame.’ Darleen lit a fresh Alpine off the dying butt in her nicotine-stained fingertips. Thank Christ she’d bought another packet that afternoon after her shift at Ritchies. She’d have bought two if she’d known she’d be still smoking in the wee hours.
Her pink ‘Funky Mummy’ T-shirt nightie, the glitter long washed away, hung over her saggy breasts and fell to her knees, her legs bare and fuzzy with winter regrowth – why bother shaving when you were in jeans all day, she reckoned. Her mauve moccasin slippers covered bright-orange-painted toenails. ‘She’s weird, you know, ever since Johnno died. I know she was only a kid but she kind of went into a shell.’
Carl leaned back in his Jason Recliner, scratching the expansive gut that escaped over his belt and fell onto his thighs. He was concentrating hard on ignoring her.
‘It’s like she doesn’t fit in,’ Darleen went on. ‘She never just hangs out at the shops like the other girls; she doesn’t have blokes after her. I mean why would she? It’s not like she dresses like other girls.’
‘You’re right there,’ Carl said. ‘How’s that Christie from over the road? The little tops and the short skirts … Phwoarr!’
‘She’s fourteen, you sick perv!’ Darleen puffed out acloud of smoke in disgust. She was getting tired of listening to Carl putting her daughter down and decided to end the conversation. She picked up her smokes, her treasured Crown Casino lighter and her empty glass, the pungent aniseed scent from the last several ouzo-and-Cokes still wafting from it, and headed for the kitchen. ‘Look, I don’t know why she’s acting this way. We know she’s a loner, but her marks at school have stayed really good. It’s just bloody lucky she hasn’t got my genes.’
‘Shit, yeah,’ Carl agreed, flicking through the channels for some sport or a bit of that wog porn on SBS. ‘She’d be in real serious trouble if you were her real mum.’
Down the hallway, through a slight crack in the door, the clear blue eyes opened in shock as the impact of that statement hit home.
Present Day
‘I don’t want to go to Sophie’s dumb party,’ Chloe shrieked. ‘She smells bad and she’s mean to me.’
In the frothy fairy dress Chloe looked the picture of angelic innocence, except for her angry red face.
‘Darling, I told you, Sophie’s mum gives her a special medicine called fish oil that sometimes smells a bit funny, but it’s
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