Page 86 of Mad Mabel

“I went to the library,” I said. “And… I tripped over a garden bed as I left.”

I noticed her looking at the marks on my arm where Mr. Loukas’s fiancée had dug in her nails. “That’s how I hurt my arm.”

She looked up at my face. She didn’t believe me. But she didn’t push it.

“Well, get in the bath. Your dinner is cold and don’t think I’ll be heating it up.”

I apologized again and went upstairs for my bath. I scrubbed myself clean. And when I emerged, I found my meal on a tray outside my bedroom door. It was piping hot.

54

The next day, I rode my bike to school as usual. Daphne met me at the gate as usual. I sat in my classes as usual. What wasn’t usual were the words that ran on loop in my mind from the moment I awakened.

The last girl was much prettier than you.

I’d always prided myself on my smarts. But I wasn’t smart at all. I was a fool.

All morning long vignettes of the evening before popped into my mind unbidden: Mr. Loukas pushing me against the basketball cage, Brother Stanislaus bursting in, me bashing at the shed wall with the hockey stick. And then, Mr. Loukas’s blank look upon finding me at his door.

I felt jittery. Every time someone came into the classroom my heart began to race. Daphne noticed my jumpiness, and she patted my hand.

“Are you all right, Mabel?”

I told her I was. But by the time history class came around—the period before lunch—I was on the verge of hysteria. I’d been so stupid. I’d found a bosom friend, hadn’t I? Why had I thought I could have a boyfriend too? Why would anyone be interested in me? Why had I been so greedy?

I sat in the back row, which was unlike me. I didn’t even have to look up to know, when the teacher entered, that it was a substitute. Oddly, it made me even more anxious than before.

“Where is Mr. Loukas?” someone asked.

The substitute didn’t know.

A few people cheered. Mr. Loukas was well-liked, but it was always a good day when a teacher was away—less work, more time to mess about. I didn’t mess about, though. I read the allocated reading and answered the questions. I did the extra questions that were given to those who finished early. I didn’t look at anyone, even Daphne. I doubted I’d ever be able to look anyone in the eye again.

An assembly was called after lunch.

“We’ve had some sad news about Mr. Loukas,” Brother Stanislaus started. I lowered my head. I knew, even before Brother Stanislaus said it, that he was dead. What’s more, I was glad.

55

NOW

It’s dark when Adeem and Libby leave. They offered to leave earlier—several times, in fact—but I insisted we press on. There was a lot to get through, and we were in flow.

Finally at 10PM, Adeem said he needed to go home or his wife would think he was having an affair.

“Browbeaten,” I mutter as I let them out. Adeem rolls his eyes. Libby chuckles.

I wave them off with a plan for them to return in a few days, then go back to the living room. The house feels different with them gone. The cushions are still indented from Libby’s arm, and I can smell the remains of Adeem’s cheap aftershave. But I don’t fluff the cushions or open a window. I like the feeling of my house after guests. Apart from Daphne, and more recently Persephone and Roxanne, my house hasn’t felt this kind of energy.

I take myself off to bed, oddly buoyed by my afternoon despite the content of the discussion. As I lie in the darkness, I thinkabout baking something next time—carrot cake perhaps. Though Adeem’s wife probably wouldn’t appreciate that given the size of his waistline. Then again, if she’s worried about him straying, perhaps she’d find it comforting? He’s a nice enough chap, but unlikely to tempt the ladies if his waistline grows any more.

I must drift off with this thought, because when I wake, it’s 4AM, and Nugget is yapping. I hear scratching outside on my porch. Possums, most likely. I rap on the window, and the noise stops—both Nugget’s barking and the scratching—and I fall back to sleep.

I sleep in until 8:30AM, and when I wake it’s without the sense of dread of the previous few days. I know it’s speaking to Libby and Adeem that has made a difference. Not just the catharsis of talking, although I like that part too, but the sense of taking my power back. For so long I’d accepted that I was powerless over the truth of my story, and perhaps I was, but at least now I was doing what was in my control to set the story straight.

I slide out of bed and into my robe. I’m tying it around me when I notice movement outside my window. I peer out. Peter is standing outside my house, and not just Peter. Joan is there too, and Roxanne and Persephone. They’re lined up, looking at my house. Odd people. I have slept late, I suppose. Perhaps Persephone told everyone I died?

I pull up the sash window and wave. “Bad news! I’m alive!”