Page 75 of Darling Girls

‘“This was a brand-new shirt,” he cried. “Who is going to pay for a replacement? Are you going to get a job and start working? No – who would hire a lazy stupid woman like you?”

‘“I . . . I’ll pay for it out of my housekeeping,” my mother stammered.

‘Her housekeeping allowance was barely enough to buy food. If she had to buy a shirt, we’d all be living on fresh air for the week. At least, Mum and I would. But it would be worth it.

‘“Iron me another shirt,” John said, storming from the room.

‘I managed to give Mum a tiny smirk before she hurried after him.

‘From then on, finding ways to make John angry with Mum became an outlet for me when things got tough. It wasn’t hard. I’d go back to a spot on the floor that Mum had already cleaned and walk on it with dirty shoes. I’d use their bathroom and “forget” to dry the soap, so that it congealed. I’d take a few dollars from the tin where he hid his money.’

Dr Warren’s pupils had dilated with pleasure.

‘Mum never told him it was me. Maybe that’s why I kept doing it.’

‘To get her back?’

I consider that. ‘More to prove to myself that she hadsomefeelings left for me,’ I say. ‘Anyway . . . now that John’s attention had shifted to her, I had more freedom. I still had to clean, go to church and refrain from talking back, but as long as I did these three things John didn’t really bother me. He didn’t seem to care what time I came home from school, or who I hung out with, or what kind of grades I got.

‘It was around this time that a boy in my class named Troy started to notice me. Troy wasn’t particularly attractive or charismatic, and he had an irritating habit of saying “anythink”, but he had one important thing going for him: he liked me. When you feel like nobody likes you, it’s hard to overstate the thrill of that. It didn’t matter that I didn’t like him back – or, indeed, that I actively disliked him. His interest in me was intoxicating.

‘And so, we’d meet before school and hang out near the sports equipment shed on the oval and kiss. He’d pass me notes and letters torn from the pages of his school diary, saying he thought about me all the time. After school, we’d hang out as a group with some of our classmates, or sometimes it was just the two of us at his place, in the garage that had been converted into a rumpus room. We’d roll around in our clothes, kissing and fondling. And after a while we took our clothes off.

‘The sex wasn’t great; in fact, it was on the dull side. But I enjoyed being a normal fifteen-year-old, roaming the streets with my friends, riding on the handlebars of pushbikes and shoplifting from the general store. Troy was always by my side, like a faithful puppy dog. When the sun began to set, we said our goodbyes and went back to our own homes. Usually I’d find Mum cooking and John reading the newspaper or a book in the living room. But one day, they were waiting for me at the door. I recognised John’s demeanour. His gaze was sharp, his jaw tight. The veins in his forearms bulged. My mother stood silently beside him as always.’

‘“Where have you been?” he asked me.

‘I hated that I was nervous. “I was just hanging out with my friends.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Friends? Or a boyfriend?”

‘I didn’t reply. My mother lowered her gaze, as if this all had nothing to do with her.

‘“Answer me!” he roared. “Do you have a boyfriend named Troy?”

‘Troy. He knew his name. I wondered how. “I go to school with a boy named Troy, but he’s not my boyfriend.”

‘John’s eyes widened dramatically. “He’s not? Then perhaps you can explain to me why you were kissing him behind the fish-and-chip shop this afternoon?”

‘Now there was nothing to say. But John was happy to fill the silence by calling me names. Slut. Whore. Trash.

‘“From now on, you come straight home after school. No going to friends’ houses. No after-school sport. School, home. That’s it.”

‘He grabbed my ear, wrenching it painfully, and with my mother watching on he dragged me to the basement.’

‘Are you okay?’ Dr Warren asks.

My eyes well up. ‘It was just so unfair. I had no one. My father was dead. My own mother chose John. Then I couldn’t have a boyfriend . . .’ The tears spill over. ‘Every human being needs someone, don’t they, Dr Warren? One person that’s in your corner. One person who’syours?’

Dr Warren’s gaze is fixed on mine, his mouth slightly open. He gives himself a little shake. ‘I . . . would say that’s true.’

I nod, wiping tears from my face. ‘And if someone doesn’t have that one person?’

Dr Warren’s gaze drifts from my face as there is a knock at the door.

‘Ah,’ he says. ‘That’s it for today.’

But he looks a little sad that I am leaving.