‘Is Cassie alright?’ I asked.
‘You’re a good girl, Cub,’ he said.
I felt wobbly in my legs, like my muscles were melting. There was blood on his shirt, blood on his knuckles, silvery oil in the dark. He grabbed the back of my neck and steered me inside. I stood in the doorway as he locked the door behind us. He crouched down and untied his laces, and then lined his boots up next to the door.
I didn’t know what to do. I’d never seen Dad this mad before, and could feel a twitch in my throat, like a little mouse pushing at the skin, trying to burrow out. I wandered into my room. I wanted to talk to Wally, but he was asleep, had his pillow over his face like he was trying to suffocate himself. I didn’t know how he could have slept through all that noise and light and yelling. I sat at the side of his bed, pressed my palms against the pillow, but he didn’t wake up. ‘Wally?’ I said. I threw the pillow to the ground and bent my face down next to his to make sure he was still breathing. I could feel dry breath against my cheek. His mouth smelled feral, like something was rotting in there.
I knew something large and terrible had happened but I couldn’t quite feel it yet. I went back into the kitchen. Everyone was in bed and the house was dark. Mum’s rings were next to the sink, and along the benchtop were bloodied tissues, bunched up in tufty balls. I looked out the window. Cassie hadn’t moved from the yard. I could have just unlocked the door, let him in, but I was glad he was stuck out there, glad he was learning his lesson. It served him right. He’d picked up his backpack and gathered the things that had fallen in the dirt. He was just standing there looking towards the paddock, the silver wisps of clouds streaking the navy sky. There was a full moon. Cassie once told me that on the full moon people go mental but I don’t think that’s true. Even though Dad went a bit mental that night, I think people can just go weird for no reason at all—at least, not a reason as stupid as how big the moon is.
Cassie was gone the next morning. I went into his room and it looked exactly as it always did, but when I opened a drawer it was nearly empty, except for some ripped undies and an odd sock. I opened his cupboard and took down his tin of marbles, reached my hand in, but the pouch of knuckles wasn’t there. I went to the bathroom. His toothbrush was still in the mug with the others under the sink, its bristles flattened down. There was gritty toothpaste crusted to the handle. I picked it up and pulled off a bristle, poked it into the back of my hand.
We didn’t talk about Cassie all day, and even Wally could tell not to ask Mum and Dad questions. A pang of guilt needled at my chest. I felt sick wondering where Cassie had gone, when he would be back. Whether he was alright. That night Mum left the verandah light on and moths zapped around the bulb. Her face was grey, and the skin around her fingernails was raw-looking, pink as salmon, as though her fingers had been shredded by fish teeth.
I was sitting on the verandah on Monday afternoon when Cassie hurried from the paddock and across the yard. Wally and me had gone into town with Tilly for lollies and I’d just had a bath, sweaty from the walk.
‘Hi, Cub,’ he said. The side of his head had a purple bruise swelling all along the cheek but the rest of his face was pale as eggs.
My chest cracked open. I’d never been so happy to see anyone in my life, but just as quickly I felt a rush of panic, a terrible feeling of how different everything had suddenly become. How the big thing I’d hoped would make everything better had made things much worse.
‘Where’ve you been?’ I asked.
‘Don’t sound so happy to see me,’ he said.
‘I am,’ I said. ‘I am happy.’
‘Get me some food, would you?’ He nodded towards the kitchen. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘I’ll tell you in a sec,’ he said. ‘But I’m real hungry, Cub. Please.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘What do you want?’
‘Anything. Go on, then.’ He pushed my knee a bit too hard.
I went inside, took a packet of Saos out of the cupboard and returned to the verandah.
Cassie wolfed down the packet in a minute, hardly even chewed.
‘Get me something else,’ he said, mouth still full. ‘And something to drink.’
I went back to the kitchen and smeared some peanut paste on a piece of bread, took a bottle of tomato juice from the fridge.
‘What are you doing with that food?’ Wally asked from in front of the TV.
‘Eating it,’ I said.
‘You’re going to turn into a blob,’ he said. ‘Like Mrs Raymond.’ He looked back to the screen, but a second later he stood up and headed towards the kitchen. ‘I’m having more too, then,’ he said. ‘If you are.’
‘So where’ve you been?’ I asked as Cassie folded the bread into his mouth.
He was still on the grass below the verandah, and nodded to the paddock.
‘Out there?’ I said. ‘Doing what?’
‘Camping,’ he said. ‘I’m on holidays.’ He chugged down the tomato juice, licked peanut paste off his knuckle.
‘Where’s Ian?’ I asked. ‘Is he out there too?’
‘Nah.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Dunno.’
‘What did Dad do to him? His hands were all bloody.’
‘Nearly killed him,’ Cassie said.
‘Yeah, but Ian probably deserved it.’
Cassie took another swig of juice. ‘Dad’ll turn on you too, just wait,’ he said. ‘He hates that we’ve got Les’s blood in us. Fucking hates it.’
Cassie pulled on his nose, rested his chin on the floorboard next to my feet. ‘Listen,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘I need you to get me a few things.’
‘What kind of things?’ I asked.
‘Just things.’
‘Why?’
‘Just do it, Cub,’ he said. ‘It’s your fault all this has happened. I know you’re the one who told Dad I was out in the knackery.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Ian could have died, Cub, and it would have been your fault. You have to help me.’
I knew it was my fault, and I felt shame wash over me, shame that I’d turned on Cassie like that. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to tell.’
‘So you’ll help me?’ he said. ‘You can’t tell anyone. Especially not Dad.’
‘Okay.’
‘You can’t even tell Wally. He can’t keep a secret like you can. Do you promise?’
I nodded. I would do anything to make it up to Cassie, to get him to like me again. If Cassie thought I couldn’t be trusted, thought I was a fibber like Wally, I would probably die.
‘Here,’ he said, and he handed me a shiny rock from his backpack. It was metal grey and smooth and cold, like a rock from the moon. I rubbed it under my thumb pad until it started to go warm. It felt like it was full of powers from the ground.
Each afternoon for the next week I stuffed food and water into my backpack, snuck out into the paddock. I’d been nicking money from Dad’s wallet, coins mostly, and the secret money that Mum kept in envelopes in one of her shoeboxes. I hoped she wasn’t saving it for something important because I took nearly all of it. Some days Cassie asked me to bring him something special, like his toothbrush or nail clippers, a roll of toilet paper, but mostly it was just water and food and, most importantly, the money.
He’d see me coming down from the top of the hill and walk up to meet me. He smelled rank after a few days, and his cheeks and chin were covered with coppery fuzz. I’d try to talk to him about things, or tell him that he should wait a few more days and then say sorry to Dad and ask if he could come home again, but he’d just pull on his nose and tell me to go back home because Wally would start asking questions if I was gone too long. Sometimes he’d get angry if I tried to stay any longer. If I asked to come and sit outside the knackery with him for a while, he’d tell me to rack off and stop being such a pain, but then he’d make me promise to come back the next day with more food, more money.