

FORTY SCRUBS

by

Joanna George

SMASHWORDS EDITION

*****

PUBLISHED BY:

Joanna George on Smashwords

Forty Scrubs

Coptyright © 2011 by Joanna George

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebooks is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

*****

FORTY SCRUBS
Prologue

'So what you're saying is true then?' I shouted, striding up the front path after Sam.

No answer.

'Sam! What the hell is going on?'

She took her sunnies off, fumbled with the keys and struggled with the lock. I grabbed her arm but she resisted.

'Talk to me, Sam! I have to know what's going on.'

She finally had the door unlocked and stood on the doorstep. When she turned around her eyes were filled with tears.

'Wait until we get inside,' she muttered, her lips firm.

'Well, hurry up and get inside!'

She strode into the kitchen and put the kettle on. 'We'll have a coffee and sit in the lounge,' she said, her cheeks stained from tears.

I was anxious.

I couldn't stop moving.

I couldn't sit down.

I stood in the kitchen doorway waiting for her to finish. I felt like a wind-up toy. I needed to stop my feelings of anxiety before I snapped.

'You are taking your time, Sam.'

'I – I know, but the coffees are ready now. Come on, let's go in'. She handed me a mug, we walked into the lounge and sat on separate couches.

She breathed in deeply, sat forward, and looked up at the ceiling.

'Well, it's obvious you don't know how to start, so I'll start for you,' I said. 'Are you my mother or my sister? Or was that just something you said out of the blue?'

Sam looked down at the floor.

I asked the question again.

'Okay fine,' I shouted. 'For God's sakes, Sam, I'm not a kid anymore. I'm sixteen! Please tell me or do I have to assume that from now on I call you Mum instead of Sam?' I felt so irascible I didn't know how to control myself, control myself from going hysterical, control myself from going mad.

I hated Sam.

I hated myself.

*****

Chapter One

When I was younger my vomit obsession was almost uncontrollable. I couldn't have stood near anyone who as much as coughed because I was frightened they would throw up. I always made sure my hands were squeaky clean, and I mean _squeaky_ clean, to the point they turned red and my skin looked like old ladies' skin crawling with psoriasis. I scrubbed away at the nails and scraped them against the palms of my hands with soap and water.

Forty times.

There was no way I could have those 'vomit' germs infesting my skin or under my finger nails. I used only the hand dryers in public toilets, never the paper towels or those unpullable pull-down cotton dryers.

'Why do you keep on drying your hands like that, turning the dryer on over and over again?' Dougall, my best friend, asked one day when we were at school washing our hands before lunch.

'Because I once read on a label that using dryers is the most hygienic way of drying your hands.'

'Look at your hands though, Keish. They're all red and sore. They look like they're going to bleed,' he said, pressing his fingers gently on my skin.

'Dougall! I'll have to wash them again now! Why did you touch them?' Damn, he made me angry.

My neuroticism (that's what Dougall liked to call it) was thankfully diminishing over time. I still never sat on public toilet seats, but who did? I hovered above them like a bird, but I was the bird who always knew where its target was.

I still had some 'vomit' issues though. Just hearing the word made me cringe. But I didn't think about catching a bug, accidentally stepping in vomit, or waiting for a cougher to throw up like I did when I was younger.

My obsession swayed over to something else. I had routines. And each routine had to be done a special number of times. When I showered I had to give myself forty scrubs everywhere. I could not live with thirty-nine scrubs. No, that would've been like standing on the edge of a cliff.

Thirty-nine and I panicked.

Forty-one and I panicked.

I had to start the climb again.

My routines took up a lot of time and were very exhausting, but I had to satisfy one crazy compulsion in my head – that if I didn't, something bad or even terrible would happen to me. It was my own Morse Code. I always had to enter the correct number of scrubs to get satisfaction. That was how my mind worked, like the song by The Rolling Stones.

'I can't get no satisfaction, I can't get no satisfaction,

Cause I try and I try and I try and I try...'

Oh I tried alright.

A number of times.

I thought my obsessions and worries were normal. I thought everyone had them, like everyone seemed to have an obsession with being cool. I knew I wasn't cool and never could be. Unfortunately, God or the Higher Power had shoved me in the back row with plenty of obsessions when He or She was handing out the free rides to coolness.

It wasn't until Mum started taking me to psychiatrists that I realised I wasn't normal. I remembered her coming into my room one night while I was checking my cupboard, behind the curtains and under my pillow. Then I heard her crying.

'You scared me! Why are you crying, Mummy?'

Shaking her head she ran over to me and cradled me in her arms. I had no idea why until she had sat me down next to her on my bed and explained my rituals weren't normal.

'I was only checking because of the ants that time. Remember when I had all those yucky ants under my pillow?'

'Yes, I do, but why three times, Keisha?'

'Because if I don't check three times the ants might come back.'

'I think we'd better go to a special doctor because you are worrying too much about little things that don't matter.'

'Like what?'

'Like being sick and the ants. Other seven year olds don't worry about those sorts of things.'

What did other seven year olds worry about?

Being cool?

I certainly didn't.

At first Mum thought I had been sexually abused. I had no idea how she related the constant fear of vomiting and checking to sexual abuse, but that was my mother for you. Personally, I thought she had gone nuts.

'Are you sure no-one has been fiddling with your private parts, Keisha?' she asked me one day after picking me up from the sick bay at primary school. I felt ill after hearing my teacher say one of the kids was away sick with a stomach bug. 'Perhaps that's why you're so scared about being sick all the time?'

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. 'Of course not, Mum.'

So it was decided I had to see a psychiatrist, and it didn't stop at one. My first shrink had thin wavy hair, a bald patch, and a little grey beard sprouting from his chin like old grass. He looked like that sensei, Mr Miyagi, out of _Karate Kid_ , the guy with the slanted eyes _._ I used to look at Mr Miyagi and think his sight was way too limited to teach that Karate Kid anything at all, let alone all those high kicks and lethal chops.

The shrink didn't have karate students. He had cats.

'I hope you don't mind cats,' he said and smiled as he sunk down into an old brown peeling armchair before crossing his legs.

No, I didn't mind cats but he had more than fifteen prowling his quarters and keeping guard. They skulked around purring and miaowing, and pulling all sorts of nasty faces to let me know I wasn't welcome.

I didn't mind.

I didn't want to be welcome.

'Look at all these cats, Dad,' I whispered, sitting down on the very edge of a tattered old couch. 'They're everywhere. Even on top of the TV. And it stinks in here.'

'How does he expect his visitors to deal with how dirty this place is?' I whispered again, looking at the clumps of cat hair clutching at the sticky carpet for dear life – scared someone might actually come along and vacuum them up.

That was highly unlikely.

Dad just shook his head and rested his hands on his lap.

He was clearly embarrassed.

When we left Mum said, 'didn't it stink of strong ammonia in there?'

'Yeah, that's the cat pee,' I replied quickly. 'Dirty old man. And I bet he doesn't wash his hands. He would be sure to have a bug.'

'Keisha!' Mum said, shaking her head.

That was the one and only time we saw the sensei. Mum had taken me to other psychiatrists but none were that memorable. None made me cringe that much. None gave me so much to think about. She did enough research to write an encyclopedia on my problems and consulted the local doctor who referred me to yet another psychiatrist.

Mr Robbins.

'Hmmm,' he muttered, peering over his glasses and running his eyes over me at the end of my first session. 'I am going to prescribe an anti-depressant for you. It will help with the anxiety and calm you down a bit.'

He smiled, took out his biro and wrote me the prescription.

'This is called Zoloft.' He handed the prescription to my mum. 'I want Keisha to take one once a day in the mornings. And I'd like her to come and visit me for therapy.'

'Yes, Doctor. How long will she have to come for?'

He smiled.

He did that often.

It made his black wonky beard more physically bearable.

'Oh, I think we'll say indefinitely for now and see how things go.'

Although I liked to think of him as Mr Smiley, Mum, Dad and my sisters called him by his real name. Mr Robbins was a name that became notorious in our household.

'It's funny,' Dad said one night as he was flicking through a pile of medical bills, 'I think we say that name more than we used to say Jordy when we tried getting him in of a night.'

Jordy was the cat that died when I was eleven. He had been eleven too.

Eleven.

An unlucky number.

After quite a few therapy sessions I remembered saying, 'Mum, what do you think it means if I check under my pillow, in my wardrobe and behind the curtains only twice instead of three times? Do you think it means I'm getting better?'

She smiled and shook her head. 'I really don't know, Keisha. You'll have to ask Mr Robbins.'

I also remembered saying, 'I walked past a boy today who was coughing really badly. I think I might be getting better.'

The response again was a smile and 'you'll have to ask Mr Robbins.'

*****

Chapter Two

I liked Year Ten.

I liked school.

I didn't like Chemistry or the bullies.

Chemistry and the bullies were too much alike. Both hated me and both liked to mess with my mind.

Year Ten gave me a new meaning to life however, though there were subjects I really couldn't be stuffed doing like Chemistry, Geography and History. Why couldn't I just do the subjects I liked such as English and Biology? I had only ever wanted to be an author or geneticist and there was no way I was going to change my mind.

I loved genetics and related to it more than anything else. If it were not for the fact that it couldn't listen to me I could have made DNA my best friend. All those patterns fascinated me. How one protein base had to be matched to a specific other base to form a particular trait. And how a base matched to the wrong base caused what is called a mutation. A mutation is a change or alteration in nature or form – an anomaly.

I was a mutation.

My best friend at school was Dougall. He was my only friend and I was his only friend so it was only logical we be best friends. We were finishing yet another lackadaisical lesson (a brilliant new word I found on the dictionary website) when I stepped off the stool, closed my three books and stacked them up.

The largest sat on the bottom.

The smallest sat on the top.

The edges sat parallel.

Doug (pronounced Doog, not Dug) and the other kids were so used to my odd arrangements they didn't say anything anymore. It was like the huge mole on the side of my sister's neck. I was sure the Higher Power had put it there just to annoy me. I couldn't help but stare at it when we were young.

'Jessi, have you ever thought about getting that thing taken off?' I asked one day when we were sun-baking beside the pool after school. The sun was glowing on the mole making it look like a big brown polkadot. If it were cute and tiny it wouldn't have been so bad, but the thing was the size of a chocolate button – a misshaped hairy chocolate button.

'No, I might get cancer,' she replied.

'What?' I'd never heard such an excuse. 'You'll get cancer if you leave the thing on your face because of the sun, not if you get it taken off.'

'No, Mum said I could get it if I get it taken off.'

'Well, I think she's wrong there.'

'It'd only grow back anyway so there's no point, Keisha. Just leave it.'

Unfortunately I never won the mole argument.

But I couldn't win one argument when it came to Jessica.

'So, did you take it all in, Keisha?' Dougall asked, giving me a cynical grin as we walked towards the classroom door.

'I wasn't even listening, Doug. You know I can't be stuffed with Chemistry. It's so boring. I don't know how you stand it.'

He held the door open and followed me out. 'You know I love all those compounds. Anyway, what have we got now, Keish?'

'English. You should know that. You have your Macbeth right there.'

As I pointed at his book a boy next to us slammed his locker door open, clearly wanting the door to hit us.

'Oh, sorry guys,' he said and smirked. 'I didn't see you both there, but you're both a waste of space so who cares anyway, right?'

'Grow up already. You should be back at primary school, but I guess the work would be too hard for you,' I shouted as he waltzed off to catch up with his mates.

'You should just ignore them. They're not worth it.'

'No, Dougall, they make me too god dam angry. Ignoring them is the last thing I'm going to do.'

Students picked on me all the time. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about it. It had been happening for so long now it felt like Chemistry.

It was something I hated but which happened almost every day.

It was something I tried to forget but the imprint was always there.

Kids loved to taunt anyone who was different. During Year Seven camp the group of girls I had to share a room with came in holding their stomachs and told me they all had a serious stomach bug.

'Oh my God, Keisha, you'd better not come near us. We've been spewing all night. It can't be food poisoning because we haven't eaten anything here. It must be a very contagious bug,' one girl said as she put her hand over her mouth and made a wretched gagging face.

I knew they could've been lying but because I was always so anxious about vomit and anything to do with it I was unfortunately inclined to believe them.

I must've turned pale because another girl said, 'are you okay, Keisha? You look like you're going to throw up yourself? Do you want me to get you a bucket or something?'

I couldn't speak.

I felt sick.

I was shaking.

Finally I managed to say, 'er... no, I'll be okay,' and ran to the toilet to take my homeopathic nausea pills that were in fact my other best friend. God help me if Dougall found out.

Before I met Dougall, I always sat at the front of the class by myself. When I was in primary school Mum was worried. I knew she thought it was my phobias that stopped me from making friends.

'Keisha, what will the other kids think of you if they see you cleaning your knife and fork like that all the time?' she asked me one night when I came home from school and sat at the table cleaning my cutlery in a napkin.

'I don't care, Mum, and if I don't care why do you? I have to clean them because I have to get the germs off.'

Mum never won the cutlery cleaning argument.

'Come on, let's get to class, Doug,' I said, grabbing the elbow of Dougall's jumper and pulling at it to try and make him faster. His books nearly fell to the floor. He was the clumsiest person I knew.

'It's good I'm so organised, you know, because if we were both clumsy we wouldn't get anywhere.' I laughed as we walked past three boys huddled around a locker. Looking at Penthouse or Playboy, no doubt.

'Yeah, well it's good we both don't have your disease, otherwise we would never have any fun at all.'

Dougall was usually so tactful but had clearly left his tact at home this morning.

'For a start it's not a disease, and secondly, think yourself lucky you _don't_ have it, Dougall Hunter. There are days I think I'm just going to crack it and go mental or something.'

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that.'

'You never do.' I grabbed his elbow again and said, 'come on, let's just get to class.'

English was my favourite subject. It allowed me to express my feelings, thoughts and emotions as freely as I pleased. Some of my work was probably a bit too intense but I liked my writing. I liked writing poetry and recently handed in a poem titled _I Want to Die,_ its contents being self-explanatory.

'Keisha, I think you ought to go and see the student counsellor,' my teacher said when she kept me back after class one day. 'The content of your material is a little... um... morbid, especially for a girl your age.'

'No, I'm okay. I see Dr Robbins quite often. He's a shrink. I'm okay, really, Miss.'

She left it at that.

She knew she couldn't win.

I also loved Shakespeare, especially Macbeth. My favourite quote was:

"Come what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day."

It signified many of the days I had.

'This book is so boring,' Doug said before slinging an old and tattered Macbeth in front of him.

'You shouldn't say that about Macbeth. Shakespeare deserves more credit. What on earth have you done to your book anyway? Did your mum put it through the wash?'

'No, of course not, but I wouldn't blame her if she did. There's such crap inside.'

I shook my head. Sometimes Dougall made me really angry. As much as I tried to encourage literary interest in him, I never succeeded. He was a wordless book.

I knew I should've been fair. After all, no-one could ever have encouraged chemical interest in me. If anyone felt the same about English the way I felt about Chemistry, God (or the Higher Power) help them with their essays and stories.

'Okay, have it your way, but I'm going to enjoy the book.'

Dougall put his wrinkled diary in front of him and started thumbing the pages. 'What are you doing?' I asked.

'I'm looking for some space so I can write down compounds.'

His diary was his temple. A temple teeming with scrawled letters, subscripted numbers and plus signs. I imagined the compounds flying out of the pages and throwing themselves together to produce injurious concoctions. The kind of scene you have in _Harry Potter._

'What are you thinking up now, Dumbledore?' I said leaning towards him to read his jumbled letters.

'Not sure, but I'm trying to work out how to make dry ice or frozen carbon dioxide last forever. It's just a matter of getting the atmosphere right.'

'Well, I wouldn't have a clue and it doesn't really interest me, but you continue with your boring compounds if that's your thing.'

Dougall chewed on the end of his pen while his brain clearly ticked away at a futile combination.

Mr Bryson told us to open our books to Act 1, Scene 7, _Macbeth's Castle._

Dougall took his eyes away from his scrawly writing for a moment. _'"If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well_ ". What sort of crap is that? It's total shite if you ask me.'

I was shocked he could even read the book for all the black fingermarks on the page. 'No-one is asking you, you moron, so keep your thoughts to yourself.'

I aligned the bottom edge of my folder with the edge of the table. Then I put my black pen to the left side of my folder ready to take down notes. I only ever wrote in black because I once had a bad experience with a blue biro.

I was in Year Eight and had dropped my blue biro on the bitumen at school.

'Aren't you going to pick that pen up?' Dougall asked.

'Er, no... no, it's fine, Doug. I have plenty of pens.'

The truth was I remembered a boy younger than me throwing up on that very spot about a year ago.

'Ok then, but it's your loss.' Dougall was quite the cheapskate. He picked the pen up. 'Waste not, want not.'

I never went near that pen again.

Blue biros were unlucky.

*****

Chapter Three

I didn't usually sit at the back of the bus. That was where all the popular cool kids sat.

I wasn't popular or cool.

I always sat at the front.

Today, however, I was pushed to the far back by the other kids because the bus was busy.

'Can you all move down,' the bus driver shouted out. 'Come on, we haven't got all day.' I felt awkward being at the back but it was the only place to go.

I always envied the popular girls and wanted to be popular myself but I had clearly been dealt phobias and obsessions before looks. I got the luck of the draw with those.

My older sister, Sam, thought differently though.

'You're really beautiful, Keisha, you know. I wish I had your looks,' she said to me one day when we were looking in the bathroom mirror and I was putting on some of her lip-gloss.

'Are you kidding? No way. Trust me, Sam, you wouldn't want to look like me. Not in a million years.'

'Oh yes I would! Look at that gorgeous long dark hair you have and those beautiful blue eyes. Why wouldn't I want to look like you?'

I was embarrassed.

I didn't like people commenting on my looks.

I had three sisters. We were called 'the Morgan sisters' because our last name was Morgan. Original, I thought.

Sam, the oldest, was the sister I had the strongest bond with. She had always looked after me, especially after Mum died.

I had a connection with Jessica, the second oldest Morgan girl, but she was as temperamental as an inside aerial. She was kind and compassionate one minute and so elusive the next I thought she must have bi-polar. She was a big girl too.

Alex, the youngest of us, thought Jessi looked fat in the overgrown orange jumper she wore almost every day like she was homeless.

'You look like an orange on steroids,' Alex said one day when we were eating breakfast.

Jessica scrunched up her big nose, pouted her tiny lips and said, 'well, look at you. You look like a blonde bimbo. You've definitely overdone that peroxide and push-up bra.'

Jessica always gave as good as she got.

Alex huffed. 'At least I'm a thin bimbo, which is more than I can say for you.' She strutted out of the kitchen twisting her hips as she went.

Alex always gave as good as she got too.

Jessi continued to eat chocolate and chips. Actually she ate anything, and it multiplied in her body like the fat virus and added large morsels of fat to her cottage cheese cellulite. It was like she ate to spite Alex. Maybe she was just past caring though or maybe it was Mum's death that had made her immune to worrying about consuming copious amounts of junk.

When Mum died we were all very depressed, except for Alex that is.

Alex was the reprobate in our family.

'Mummy, why is Alex so different to us all? Does she belong to our family or to someone else's?' I remembered asking when we were little and after Alex had pretended she wanted to push me on the swing but pushed me off instead.

'It's because she's the youngest, Keisha. It's difficult for her.'

It was difficult for us all.

I often wished I could stay back in my childhood where it felt much safer and where I felt protected and unharmed. I wanted to go back to believing in everything. It was way too fast moving from six to sixteen. It was like the Christmas holidays you wait so long for but which seem to go nowhere by the time you're back at school and in another grade.

I weaved in and out of the sweaty kids to get to the back of the bus trying so hard not to touch them but that was as impossible as trying to turn off a tap in a public toilet without using your fingers.

Then I saw him.

Craig Foerster.

He was sitting right at the back.

He was a God.

He had sandy blonde hair that reminded me of Barbie's locks, only shorter. His eyes were like blue marbles against white china and his body like an upside down elongated triangle. He had such pure delicate features.

'Excuse me, please,' I said as I put my head down to move between two boys.

'Hey, you're that nerd who hangs out with that Harry Potter nerd, aren't you?' one of them said and laughed.

I didn't answer.

'Cat got your tongue?'

I brushed past him and my bare arm touched his sticky shirt.

Hot and disgusting.

Germs always prospered in heat.

Sometimes I panicked when I saw Craig. My chest tightened and I felt like I couldn't breathe. My ribcage was closing in on me, acting like a clamping device.

I kept my head low and sat down. I was only three people away from him. I looked at his hands. It was safer than looking at his face.

'Yeah, when I leave school I'm going to get one of those Skyline GTR's and mod it,' I heard Craig say to the boy next to me.

'Ah, cool. What are going to do to it?' the guy said.

'Ah, man, what am I not going to do to it?' From the corner of my eye I saw Craig smile (and what a beautiful smile he had) and shake his head slowly. 'I'm going to give it eighteen inch chromies, a three and a half inch exhaust, cannon muffler, Momo gear, Alteza lights and I'm going to get it lowered.'

'Wow, that's going to look totally mad!'

'Yep, it'll be the best car on the road. It will stand right out.'

Craig didn't need a car to make him stand out.

He did that all by himself.

I watched his hands the whole time. They were beautiful. His long fingers wrapped around the straps of his bag would have been able to span across ten piano keys. That was two more than an octave. I played the piano when I was younger but became frustrated with not being able to play perfectly that I gave up.

Craig didn't play piano.

He played football.

I hated football.

But it was Craig so I didn't care.

'My God, he kicks that ball well. Look how fast that thing goes,' I said to Doug one lunchtime when we were watching the footy from behind the bike shed.

'Yeah, that's why he's mid-fielder.'

'Watch how he kicks. He's so amazing.' I was mesmerised.

His legs were magnificent. They were firm and hard like the seat he sat on. I could tell just by looking at the contours beneath his school pants. And then I looked at his crotch.

Even that was appealing.

What was I thinking?

I quickly turned my head.

I remembered when I was about nine Mum took me to the gym with her to do yoga. She thought it would help with her sickness. I sat against the back wall with my legs crossed and watched the women fling themselves into a mental delusion like they were doing some kind of sanctimonious ritual.

'Push your feet into the ground, feel the earth,' the instructor said almost too seductively while lunging and swaying her arms first to the left and then to the right. I never knew why but I always associated the movements, the way she spoke and the musky smell of the room with sex.

I wondered if women did yoga because they didn't have anyone to give them sex, and yoga was their means to filling a void. When they closed their eyes and breathed in heavily I thought about this show I once watched at night on SBS with a man giving a woman sex.

My bus trips reminded me of the sweaty, musky smell of the yoga room. If it weren't for Craig getting the bus I probably would've walked home.

Every inch of him was perfect.

Every cell of him was perfect.

He had no mutations.

'Dad, do you think I have one big mutation in my genes because of my illness?' I asked after studying genetics at school one day.

'I don't know, Keisha,' he said and laughed. 'I really don't know much about genetics. Ask one of your sisters.'

He always passed me off to one of them even though they knew less than me about medical matters.

I stepped off the bus, and steered clear of the curbs and cracks in the pavements.

I knew the pavements and cracks off by heart. It was a five-minute walk to my house and I always kept my eyes glued to the ground in case some new cracks or a pile of vomit had surfaced since yesterday.

My obsessions were like Dougall's compounds.

Kneaded together and ready to explode.

That was my mind in a nutshell.

*****

Chapter Four

'I was reading about a new approach to help kids like you, Keisha,' Sam said while munching on her muesli.

'But I've tried everything possible – psychiatrists, different medications, everything. I'm not that bad now anyway.'

'You're certainly better, but I thought maybe this new approach I've read about could help cure you.'

'Cure me? I don't think that's possible, but okay, you can tell me about it if you like.'

'Well, it's called "The Four Steps",' she said putting her spoon into the bowl. 'Dr Jeffrey Schwarz is the one who introduced it. It looks really good. Perhaps you could look into it. You like researching different illnesses, especially your own. What do you think, Keish?'

'I don't think anything can cure me, Sam. You know I did all that research after Mum died, and it seems the only thing keeping my illness at bay is the medication.'

I didn't see Dr Robbins anymore.

Eight years was more than enough.

He had been amazing in his own special way though. He always seemed to know the right questions to ask, and how to get right to the very core of the problems I was having even when I didn't want to tell him.

It was like me and Chemistry.

My Chemistry teacher tried hard to teach me the basics but the basics just didn't want to unveil themselves to me. Mind you, I wasn't very assiduous when it came to probing my teacher.

Dr Robbins, as nice and smiley as he was, scared me sometimes though especially when he seemed to look at me for long times.

'It's funny,' he said one day, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs and putting his hands behind his head, 'but you do remind me of a girl I had a crush on in my class when I was about your age.'

I didn't know what to say.

I was stunned.

'Oh, ok. That's nice,' was the best I could do.

I often wanted to desensitize my mind, but had no idea how. Dr Robbins said Zoloft could help because it worked on the serotonin levels in the brain. Trouble was my serotonin levels caused havoc with my brain cells even when they were controlled. The two were in constant conflict like Alex and me.

Alex was my serotonin.

I was my brain cells.

Serotonin is the chemical that allows brain cells to communicate with other brain cells. After the serotonin is released it is taken back up quickly so it can be used again. Zoloft interferes with the way serotonin is recycled so that when serotonin is released it is given a chance to spend more time outside the cells.

I didn't want Alex to spend any more time with my brain cells than what she had to.

Dr Robbins hadn't been the only one.

Kids stared at me on the bus too.

People in shopping centres stared at me.

I never knew where to look so I played with my belt or counted my teeth.

'Why do you think people look at me, Sam?' I asked when we were walking through the mall one day with Dad.

'They're not looking at you, Keisha. You shouldn't be so paranoid.'

'But they are!' I said watching a girl study me as she passed us. 'See, she looked at me.'

'Keisha, when you pass someone sometimes you automatically look at them without realising. Stop getting yourself so worked up about it.'

'Well, believe what you like but I reckon they're looking at me because they can see how deranged I am and they're waiting for me to start chanting some loony tune. Maybe I should do it just to give them the satisfaction. What do you think?'

Dad shook his head and said, 'come on, Keisha, you're starting to get silly now.'

'Ok, but I still think they're looking at me.'

I was tempted to start jumping up and down and sing 'I can't get no satisfaction' at the top of my voice while playing the air guitar. Give me some tight rocker jeans, collagen in my lips and tease my hair and I would have been well away.

That would have given them something to look at.

I placed my spoon in the bowl making sure it was parallel with the edge of the table. Sam watched and sighed.

'See what I mean, Keisha. It's things like that. No-one else even thinks about how they put their spoon in the bowl.'

'It's because I'm meticulous, Sam. Stop picking on me.'

'I'm not picking on you. I'm just looking out for you, and really I think you should read "The Four Steps" theory. It might help you.'

Why did she have to keep going on about it?

I didn't want to read about her stupid theory.

'Alright, I'll give it a read, but when I've finished all the reading I've got for English.' The words just seemed to pour out of my mouth without any thought for my poor brain cells.

And it was a lie. I finished the reading for English weeks ago.

'Okay,' she said and gave me a side-glance like she didn't believe me.

I watched her stack the breakfast bowls.

'Why did you put the empty bowl on top of that one with the Cornflakes in?' I asked.

'I'm going to wash them up so does it really matter?'

'No but now the bottom of the top bowl is dirty and it didn't need to be.'

Sam was my favourite sister even for all her lack of common sense. I didn't love her any more than the others. I just had a stronger connection with her. She was so kind to me, and when she smiled her whole face lit up. She was beautiful \- twenty-nine – and had Mum's piercing blue eyes. She always wore a suit and makeup to work, and was the chief editor of a fashion magazine.

Dad should have been proud of her.

But he wasn't.

He and Jessica treated her like an outcast.

'Sam's right, you know,' Jessica said, buttering her fifth slice of toast like she was icing a huge cake soaked in butter icing. How she managed to eat so much always had me stumped.

'Look, I understand where you're both coming from, but I have a lot of schoolwork at the moment. I'm in Year Ten for God's sakes. I've got so much work that even my illness hasn't had time to rule my brain.'

The last part wasn't true.

Biting into the toast, Jessica looked at me and chewed. Her mouth was open and I watched the oily butter seep off her teeth and onto her lips. If she wasn't careful she would have had long yellow drops all down her orange jumper. Yellow and orange just didn't match.

This was our Saturday morning ritual. Usually all four of us – Dad, Sam, Jessica and myself – sat down to breakfast. Of course Alex never made it because she was at her boyfriend's. Why he stayed with her I had no idea.

'She treats you so badly,' I said to him one day when he was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

'Oh, she's okay. She just likes to have fun. That's all,' he said.

'And what about that thirty-year-old millionaire she kissed?'

'That was a one off and she said she'd never do it again. I believe her, Keisha.'

He was the only one who did.

He was brainwashed.

Brainwashed like my mind.

Boys were drawn to Alex like I was to routines. I knew she was beautiful but embedded deep under those perfect looks was a sly little feline.

She was definitely my least favourite.

Unfortunately, Dad wasn't here today either. He was working. He was a barman and had to go to work to help with the deliveries. I loved him being at home. He was always so kind to me.

He was a big soft bear.

A big soft bear in a fantasy world.

He thought all things were good even when they weren't.

That's why I loved him so much.

'What are you both doing today?' Sam asked getting the detergent from the sink cupboard.

'I was going to the movies with Dougall but his parents won't let him go now, so I'm just going to lounge around and do some homework,' I said smoothing the margarine over with a knife to make the surface nice and level. I was surprised there was any margarine left after Jessi had plunged her chubby little fingers into it.

'I'm going shopping with Karen,' Jessica said pushing her chair back.

Sam turned around.

I stared at Jessica.

We never knew her to go shopping.

We never knew her to do more than bury herself in lard.

'Oh,' Sam said. 'And um... are you going to buy anything in particular?'

'I'm going to buy some clothes. Must rush, I'm going to be late.' She bustled through the kitchen doorway. She was either oblivious to our shock or had eaten so much breakfast it had gone right through her.

Sam turned to me and smiled. 'So, kiddo, what are we doing today?' It wasn't often we had time to spend alone together.

'I really don't know. Do you have any ideas?'

'Well, I was thinking about the movies. Maybe see that new film with Brad Pitt in. You like him, don't you?'

'Yeah, but I think that film goes on forever.'

I couldn't sit in one place for longer than two hours. After a while I became fidgety and found myself counting my teeth three times over. That was one of my childhood habits that went hand in hand with my ant checking ritual. It started after the orthodontist wanted to cage my teeth in with revolting metal because my two front ones had a gap the thickness of a fifty-cent piece.

'You'll need braces, I'm afraid, Keisha. It's all we can do now. It's because you've been sucking your thumb for too long,' the dentist said.

I panicked.

I wasn't wearing braces.

I had to suck my thumb differently.

When I went back to the dentist two years later he said, 'hmm, that's amazing, Keisha. That gap has really closed up.'

'Yes, I sucked my thumb on the right side instead of in the middle,' I spluttered while his rubbery fingers poked and prodded the inside of my mouth and while I tried hard not to think about gagging.

'Very good,' he whispered to himself.

Now I had a gap at the front the thickness of cotton thread and a small gap at the side, but anything was better than having all that metal in my mouth.

I still had my teeth counting ritual.

Only when I was bored or stressed though.

And it was always three times.

'How about shopping? I can buy you some new clothes. I think you need some actually.' Sam frowned as she looked down at the bottoms of my jeans. They always seemed to be riding up my ankles. I was growing too fast.

'Yeah, that sounds good, but are you sure it's okay? I can buy them myself.'

Sam loved to treat to me to new clothes.

'Of course it's okay,' she said stroking my head. 'I don't think you're getting enough pocket money from Dad anyway, Keisha, and I know how girls of your age love clothes.'

'Thanks, Sam. Dad gives me what he can though. He is only a barman and doesn't earn heaps like other dads do. He works from six every night until two in the morning.'

'I know. That's why I want to help you a little myself. Poor Dad never seems to have any money.'

Sam was my merchandiser.

I was her favourite sister.

*****

Chapter Five

Sam had a black Holden Astra convertible.

My favourite car.

It was neat and compact.

'Don't forget your seatbelt, sweetie. I think we'll have the top down today. The sun's out,' she said.

She looked in the rearview mirror, pouted her lips and drove out the driveway. 'So, what clothes do you need?' She looked down at my ankles from under her sunnies and smiled. She was beautiful. 'You need new jeans, that's for sure.'

'Yes, I know but really, Sam, you don't need to get me new clothes. I don't want you to feel obliged because you earn money and I don't.'

'Keisha, I buy you clothes because I like doing it. If you hadn't noticed I buy enough for myself, and besides, I think it's nice to treat my little sister.' Sam worked hard for her clothes.

She always looked stunning.

I wanted to be just like her.

'Okay, I'll park over here and we'll check out Myer first,' she said turning into a car spot at the Mall after a twenty minute drive.

Before we walked through the entrance I was careful not to step on an ominous dark patch in the bitumen.

Probably a vomit stain.

Definitely a germ fest.

I saw Sam shake her head. 'The stain won't bite, you know.'

'I know, but it's just something I can't do yet, Sam, okay?'

'I'd understand better if you tried to help yourself more and read about _The Four Steps_.'

She was beginning to infuriate me with her Four Stupid Steps. Once she had an idea in her head that was it. She went on and on. She was like a blowfly trapped in a car on a long drive.

Buzzing and touching you until you set it free.

How I would set Sam free I had no idea.

'I am going to read about _The Four Steps_ , okay. Just please don't keep going on about it.'

We walked to the teenage clothes department and looked at the jeans. I tried on a number of pairs but it took an hour to find a pair I was comfortable with.

'They look fine to me, Keish.'

I sighed.

'Come on. You look gorgeous in them. Nothing would make them look any better.'

I sighed again.

'We've been looking for ages. I'm sure you've tried every pair on now. Would you please just take these ones.'

My clothes had to be symmetrical in colour.

Symmetrical in style.

And fit every part of my body perfectly.

After examining every angle of myself in the mirror I said, 'okay, I'll take them.'

With lots of bags and three hours later we decided to get some lunch. I used to be very suspicious of restaurant and food court meals.

I imagined the cooks would have chef meetings out the back where I couldn't see them and I was on the agenda for them giving me an overload of germs. Their meetings would go something like this. The head chef would stand with his hands on his hips, belly out in full view, and to the other chefs he would growl, 'on today's agenda is the usual topic of Miss Keisha Morgan. We must come up with a plan to give her more germs, germs that are going to make her vomit from every orifice. Do you cooks have any suggestions?'

Then there would be answers like: 'gather up huge slimy balls of mucus and spit them out on her food,' 'lick your fingers and run them over her food,' and 'drop her food, stomp on it and smear it all over the floor before putting it on her plate.'

I was better now.

I still had the imageries going through my mind though.

But I tried not to think about them.

'So, what shall we eat? What do you fancy?' Sam asked, carrying five bags of clothes for herself while I carried two.

She wasn't fussy like me.

She didn't have to be symmetrical like me.

'How about some pizza?' she asked and walked over to an Italian place.

'Um, yes, I suppose that's okay.' I looked through the glass at the pizzas. The outlet looked clean and the pizzas okay.

We ordered two Hawaiian slices each and took them over to a table.

Sam bit into a piece and said, 'it's good, isn't it?'

'Yes, it looks nice.'

She looked at me and frowned.

'What are you thinking?' I asked.

'I was just wondering why you have your obsessions, where they come from in our family.'

'I've asked you that before, but you haven't really given me much of an answer.'

'No, I guess you're right.'

She leaned in further and put her hand on top of mine. 'I'm sorry I never really looked into it after Mum's death, but I've never known anyone in our family to have anything like it.'

'I did some research a while ago on the net and found out it is sometimes connected to strep throat. I had that tonsillitis for years until I was nine and then I had my tonsils out,' I said.

'How on earth could the two be related?'

'Well, it has something to do with the streptococci bacteria caused by strep throat. The bacteria build up a huge amount of antibodies in the body's immune system, and for some unknown reason these antibodies attack the basal ganglia, which sits at the back of the brain. This part has trouble communicating with the orbital cortex, which is the front of the brain. There is a big link between streptococcal infections and neurological disorders, and strep throat can cause Tourette's Syndrome too.'

She widened her eyes and smiled. 'Wow, you're such a clever girl, Keish. I didn't know you knew so much.'

I wanted to say, 'yes, that's because no-one takes the trouble to really know me, to really know what goes on inside my head, to really know how my brain cells use up serotonin like it's their last meal', but I didn't.

I knew Sam tried her best to comprehend me but my brain had a mind all of its own. Even I didn't understand it sometimes, why it pondered over the things it did and why it was always so active. I felt like one of those naughty kids in a toy shop that screams, cries and stamps their feet when they want the most expensive toy in the shop. At least some parents had a harness to have some power over their kids.

I never had power over my mind.

My mind had power over me.

But it was something I couldn't live without.

'I read up on a lot of things.'

She bit into her pizza crust, chewed and swallowed. 'Yes, I know that Keish, but you are very intelligent.'

She often flattered me.

I liked it.

I hated it.

She was always so sincere, not like one of those sales assistants you meet who suck up to you with their big toothy grins and say, 'wow, you look so good in that and it makes your bum look so small,' even if you're wearing a skirt the size of a handkerchief with the viscosity of masking tape.

I didn't like words like 'bum' and 'arse', or 'tits' and 'boobs'.

They were dirty.

And I didn't like dirty.

I looked at Sam and said, 'thank you. You're quite intelligent yourself,' and then scrubbed my hands with the disposable wipes I always kept in my purse.

'Thank you, Kiesha. You're a real sweetheart.'

It was late afternoon when we walked back to the car and put our bags in the boot.

'We'll keep the top up because it looks like rain,' Sam said, screwing her face up as she looked out the side window.

Then she looked at me and said, 'So....'

I hated the 'So...'.

It was time for The Four Bloody Steps again _._

'Yes, Sam?'

Driving out of the car park she said, 'I've um noticed your symptoms don't seem to be getting much better. I mean, I know you're on the medication and everything, but...' Then she turned to me. 'I really think this _Four Steps_ could help you, Keisha.'

'Sam, just please stop going on about the bloody Steps! I will look into it in my own time. You can't force me, you know.'

'But what's stopping you? It's not hard. In fact it's quite simple.'

'Sam, no therapy is simple. I should know, I've been there.'

'I'm just saying I think you should give it a try. I'm sure there's no harm in that, is there?'

'No, but when I'm ready to, Sam. I'm not going to do it until I'm ready.'

'And when will that be?'

'I don't know! I have so much schoolwork at the moment, I just don't have time to read a book that's not on the curriculum.'

That wasn't true.

'Well, don't you think that by trying to help yourself mentally you'll be helping yourself academically too and in turn increase your grades?'

She was frustrating me.

'Why, Sam? Do you think my grades are that bad? Is that it? I'm getting As and B pluses for God's sakes!'

'I know you are, and there's no need to shout. I just think you'll feel better about yourself if you try out different methods, and this one I read about was the best I've seen yet.'

'Sam, you can't keep on pushing me, okay. I will read it in my own time. Just stop pushing me... please! You're driving me mad.'

'Fine, suit yourself then. I won't help you if that's what you want. If you prefer to be a bloody martyr, that's fine.'

'A martyr? Why on earth did you call me that? I'm not a martyr at all. How dare you say such a thing!'

She slammed on her breaks at a red light and turned to me. 'I didn't mean it like that, okay. What I meant is that you shouldn't complain about yourself so much if you're not prepared to do everything you can.'

'But I am, Sam! I've already explained that to you. I will read the book when I get time.'

She swerved round a corner and almost landed us on the curb.

'Watch out, Sam!'

'I'm sorry, okay. I'm only worried about you, Keisha. I want what's best for you. That's all.'

'Yeah well, don't worry about me so much. I'm old enough to look after myself. I'm sixteen for God's sakes.'

I had never seen her so angry.

Her face was a flaming red.

She was going to burst.

Then with her eyes bulging and through clenched teeth she said, 'you might be old enough to do what you want but I'm your mother and I have some say!'

*****

Chapter Six

Sam finally spoke. 'Yes, you are my daughter, Keisha.'

I was amazed. Was it a lie or some stupid sick joke?

'You're telling me the truth, aren't you?' I managed to whisper.

'Yes – yes, unfortunately I am.'

I didn't know what to do, what to think.

And for the first time in my life I felt such hatred for her.

Her skin was inflamed, her eyes so red I was scared they would start offshooting blood.

It wasn't the face I was used to looking into.

It was the face of a stranger.

I wanted to shout out all the words swirling around in my head but I couldn't. My mind was teeming full of crazy obsessions, an army full of brutal occupation.

There was an open CD case on the coffee table I had to close.

Fingermarks tainting a film of dust on the TV I had to clean off.

A DVD case lying down in the cabinet I had to fix.

It took what seemed like hours of deep breathing before I could respond. How was I to fathom out something as unexpected, as mentally incomprehensible as this? It didn't fit into my orderly life. It wasn't something I could count. It wasn't something I could use as a ritual. It was a disturbing aberration.

Like the cracks in the pavements.

Like the ants under my pillow.

Like my mind all over.

'I – I er don't know what to say. Why didn't anyone tell me?' I whispered because it was all I could manage. I lifted my gaze from the coffee table to look at her. 'Why didn't _you_ tell me?'

'It wasn't that easy, Keisha. I'm twenty-nine. You're sixteen. What age did that make me when I had you?'

'Thirteen.'

'Yes, exactly. To have a baby that young makes me look like a slut, doesn't it?'

'Well, what else are you if you're not a slut?'

'I guess you have a right to your own opinion.'

'Why didn't anyone tell me earlier?'

'Because of what it looked like. Because it was much easier for Mum to bring you up as her own even though I always wanted to take care of you myself. Mum and Dad didn't want anyone to know.'

'And what about Jessica and Alex? What do they think about it?'

'Only Jessica knows. That's why she tends to leave you and me alone. Alex was too young to tell. She thinks Mum was your birth mother.'

I sighed and buried my head in my palms. 'I just can't believe it. All these years. Sixteen years and no-one's ever told me! Why? Why, Sam?'

Tears cursed her eyes again.

Tics cursed her bottom lip.

'We couldn't tell you because Mum was always your mother. She was so good with you and you idolized her. You thought she was the most perfect person in the world.'

Then it occurred to me.

The mother I loved and adored had lied to me too.

'Then why didn't _she_ tell me?'

'You don't understand, Keisha. It's not as easy as you think. Do you think I wanted to give you up to Mum? Do you think Mum wanted to keep that deep dark secret from you all those years? No, neither of us wanted to hurt you like that, but what were we to do?'

'What made it so hard?'

'A lot of feelings were involved, Keisha. Most importantly, we had you to consider. If we told you when you were young that I was your mother, you would have felt so hurt by the woman you idolized and thought was your real mum, you probably would've neglected her. We just couldn't tell you, Keish, as much as we wanted to.'

'But why wait until now? I understood things when I was ten. I think I was pretty mature then, so why didn't you tell me then?'

'You wouldn't have understood. You would have been really hurt. Look at you. You can't take it now.'

What did she expect?

Did she want me to go over to her, give her an enormous hug, a kiss on the cheek, look lovingly into her eyes and say, 'oh, Sam, thank you so much for finally telling me after all these years you're my real mother when I always thought you were my sister. I'm really proud of you. You just don't know how much'?

Unfortunately I couldn't do it.

I would have been more comfortable walking through pile upon pile of fresh vomit or being held prisoner in a bed full of ants, or even being forced fed a piece of steak that a bum (I felt dirty) with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of phlegm had spat on.

Reluctant tears tumbled from eyes.

Unwillingly I was sounding like an animal in pain.

But I managed to bark, 'how do you expect me to act? You have just told me that you are not my sister but my mum!'

Her bottom lip continued to tremble as she leaned forward and palmed her hands together. I didn't know if I was more put off by her being my mother or the tics in her lip.

'I'm so sorry. I really am. I didn't mean to say that the way it came out. What I am trying to tell you is that at whatever age I had told you about Mum not being your real mum you would've taken it badly.'

'Okay, I can see what you're saying, so if that's the case, why didn't you tell me sooner?'

'We just kept putting it off, hoping that if we ignored the issue for long enough it would just go away.'

'Something like that never goes away. You should know that, Sam,' and I leaned back in my chair. 'How did Mum feel about the situation?'

'She wasn't happy about it of course, but with us being Catholic I certainly couldn't have an abortion and there was no way I could have had you adopted, so I had to go away and live with Mum's sister and her husband until I had the baby. Then Mum told everyone you were hers.'

'How did she feel about that? She must've been pretty old and to have a baby at that age could've made her sick. Plus, what did you do about school, and how could Mum all of a sudden have had me without being pregnant? It would have looked a bit odd.'

Sam laughed quietly.

Yes, I found it humorous too her telling me she was my mother and that she had lied to me for sixteen years.

'I took a year off school. We told the teachers I was sick, and Mum was big anyway, as you know, and so people weren't surprised when they saw her with a baby after nine months.'

She sipped her coffee and continued. 'And you never made Mum sick. We were lucky you were a good baby. You slept through most nights and didn't wake up until seven every morning. I helped out when I could.'

She walked over to me and knelt below my feet.

Just close enough to show me kindness.

Just far away enough to show me coldness.

'I really didn't want it to be like this, honestly I didn't, Keisha. I love you. I love you more than myself.'

'Would you have told me at all?'

'I don't know.'

'So you might never have told me?'

She put her head in her hands and said, 'maybe,' then paused for a while before saying, 'I was going to see what Jessica and Dad thought I should do. Of course I wanted you to know, but I was considering your feelings. I didn't want you to get hurt.'

'So you prefer I found out this way? I'm not some stupid kid who has no understanding, you know. It's one thing to hurt because something in your life isn't what you thought it was, but it's another because you've been completely lied to.'

'Don't you think I realise that? I'm not proud of what I've done Keisha, far from it, but I did what I thought was right. Okay, it might not have been the best decision in the world but I did what I felt at the time.'

'I think I should've been told before Mum died because right now I'm feeling betrayed by her too.'

'You're right, and we did want to tell you, but Mum died all of a sudden.'

And suddenly I couldn't breathe.

'I – I'm going to my room,' I croaked.

Once inside I slammed the door and leaned against it.

My mind was full of nothing.

That was a change at least.

I looked at my CD rack. Each CD was in its place, arranged in alphabetical order. I had thought about arranging them to colour match because that would have looked neat, but it wasn't practical.

Then I looked down my bed and the thick snug quilt which I always tried to smooth over but which was never smooth enough. And I looked at the Salvador Dali painting called _The Sacrament of the Last Supper_ that usually gave me such comfort but certainly wasn't right now.

'Why do you like that painting so much?' Sam asked me one day.

'Because I love thinking about it and what it means. It's so mysterious, don't you think?'

'Yes, but it's a bit morbid looking with everyone's faces bent low like that, and that person in the middle looks like he or she's dead.'

'True, but look at how symmetrical everything is. It's amazing. Salvador himself said "it's an arithmetic and philosophical cosmogony based on the paranoiac sublimity of the number twelve".'

Twelve was my favourite number.

It was even and safe.

Like the twelfth night.

Like the epiphany I tried so hard to reach.

I wanted floorboards in my room. I knew they were cold but they had their advantages. Firstly, you could keep them cleaner than carpet so they didn't retain germs. Secondly, they looked far nicer and more modern than carpet.

Instead I had this awful cream coloured carpet that reminded me of poodle's fur and had so many stains on it you could join the stains up. Maybe I could join them up to make a symmetrical picture. One day, when I was a famous writer or geneticist, people from all over the world would come to look and say, 'that's what Keisha Morgan did when her sister broker her heart. She's come such a long way since then.'

There were no noises from downstairs.

Sam was probably crying quietly or staring at the wall contemplating her sins. At least I hope she was.

I went over to my bed and curled myself up into the fetus position. I wanted to suck my thumb but I was too old. I wanted to fall asleep but I couldn't.

So I counted my teeth.

I tried to hypnotize myself into a tranquil sleep.

It would never happen though.

I eventually felt myself dozing off and entering a hypnagogic adventure. I learnt that word, 'hypnagogic', in one of my philosophy books. It refers to the state of drowsiness we enter before we sleep.

In my dream I watched Mum and Sam argue.

Mum was shaking her saying, 'who's the father, Sam?' over and over.

Suddenly I woke up.

It hadn't occurred to me until now that Dad was not my real father. How was I so stupid not to think of that?

I got off the bed and ran downstairs. Sam was sitting in the lounge staring at the wall.

'Who's my real father?' I asked, trying to compose myself.

She continued to stare.

She had the tics.

I was beginning to worry they wouldn't go.

'I wondered when you'd ask me that,' she whispered after a long pause.

'I'm surprised I didn't think of it earlier. I must've been in complete shock.'

'Yes.'

'So who's my father then? Some teenage boy you had a one night-stand with?'

She shook her head and started sobbing.

'Well, who is it?'

'I – I was raped, Keisha,' she said looking up at me.

I was the product of a rape?

That was sickening.

My father was a rapist.

I didn't know how to react. Part of me felt sadness but another part felt betrayal.

'That's how I had you. I'd never even kissed a boy before it happened.'

'So do I know the person who raped you?'

She was quick to answer. 'No, no it was a boy at school.'

'Were you in love with him?'

'No, he just did it.'

'That's disgusting. Did you tell anyone about it? Mum or Dad? A school counsellor?'

'No, not at first. I told Mum eventually and she was really upset. She didn't want to see her thirteen year old daughter with a baby. I didn't tell Dad, and Mum didn't want to worry him so he never knew I was raped.'

'But what did she think about you being raped?'

'Oh, at first she thought I was making it all up and that I was really having sex, but then I had a physical and it was confirmed I'd been raped. I was checked for diseases and luckily I was free of those.'

'What happened with the guy then?'

She looked at the rug and smoothed a corner with her foot.

Stress does some strange things to you.

Obsessive behaviour being one of them.

'I don't know. I can't remember, Keisha. It's so long ago.'

'Have you got contact details for him?'

'No! He raped me, Keisha. Why? You think I should tell him about you?'

'I want to meet him, not now but eventually.'

'You can't meet him. Why on earth would you want to meet a guy who raped me?'

'He raped you and for that I'm so sorry, but he is still my father, Sam. I need to meet him, even if it's only just the once.'

'You can't meet him, Keisha. I don't even know where he is. He could be in prison for all I know.'

'Well, I still need to see him, even if I have to go to prison to visit him.'

She stood up, slapped a hand on her thigh and shook her head. 'No, Keisha. It's totally out of the question. You can't see him.'

'I will see him, Sam, whether you want me to or not. If he went to your school he shouldn't be too hard to track down. Even if I have to hire a private investigator I'll find him.'

'You're too stubborn for your own good. You are sixteen, Keisha, and you cannot go and find him until you are eighteen. That's the law.'

'I won't give up. I can't. I'm sure you must still have his name. And you haven't answered my question – did Mum and Dad meet him?'

'No, they didn't, okay.'

*****

Chapter Seven

'What's going on in here? I heard you both arguing from outside.' I turned around to see Jessica.

She looked different.

Brighter somehow.

Radiant almost.

'What have you done, Jessica? You've got makeup on,' Sam said trying to compose herself by wiping her eyes and smiling.

'Yes, I had a facial, but more importantly what has been going on here? I've never seen you both so mad at one another.'

'Sam told me, Jessica,' I muttered.

'Told you what?'

'She told me she's my biological mother and that she was raped when she was thirteen.'

Jessica frowned and stared into Sam's eyes like she was looking through them. 'You never told me you were raped, Sam. You didn't tell any of us.'

'I couldn't tell you all that, or Dad. I told Mum though. We didn't want to worry you and Dad more than we had to. He had enough supporting four girls. Can you imagine what he would've done if he found out I was raped anyway?'

'Yes, I know, but that's still no reason not to tell us. How could you have coped with that at thirteen? You told us you got pregnant by a boy you were going out with at school.'

Jessica walked over to the couch and sat down.

I had never seen her so involved with us.

'You really should have told us, Sam. We might've been able to help you. So which guy at school was it?'

Sam went to sit on the couch next to Jessica, and rubbing the back of her neck she said, 'it was just some guy I didn't know very well. Doesn't matter. I don't want to think about him.'

Jessica turned to me. 'So, how are you in all of this?'

'As good as can be expected, I guess, but I really want to meet my dad.'

'Hopefully he's in prison now,' she said.

'Even if he is, I still need to see him.'

'Well, it's up to you, but I can't imagine he'll be a nice person, Keisha, not if he could rape your sis– um, Sam like that.'

'I don't want Keisha to go looking for him,' Sam said.

Jessica turned to her. 'Why not?'

'Because I don't want her to get hurt, and it'll cause a lot of trouble for the family. We've had enough trouble already.'

'I agree, but if Keisha needs to see him surely she can, even if it's just once.'

'No, she can't, and that decision is final.' She stood up quickly and ran upstairs.

I normally chased after her.

This time I didn't.

My own pain had taken over.

Jessica walked over, sat on the arm of the couch and put her arm around me.

So unlike her.

I burst into tears.

'Come on, let it all out,' she whispered before making those 'shh' noises mothers make to get their babies to sleep. I thought about Sam.

I felt sad for her. It wasn't her fault she was raped at thirteen and had a baby. It was just the lies I hated.

Then I realised it.

Jessica had lied to me too.

She had continued the whole sisterly charade just as Sam and Dad had. I ran up to my room leaving Jessica to call out after me.

Back in the organised sanctum, I stood against my door before throwing myself down on the bed.

On top of an unsmooth quilt.

It was all going to get worse now.

I thought about my father. I really needed to see him.

I wanted to know what he looked like.

I wanted to know what he was like as a person.

Theoretically, I had half his genes, half his mutations.

Maybe Sam was hiding something.

I had to ask her.

I heard her in the bathroom.

'Sam, please let me in. Come on, I need to talk to you,' I said, knocking on the door.

'No, Keisha, you'll keep on insisting you see him.'

'I won't, okay. I just need to talk to you.'

There was a pause and a quiet click. I turned the handle and went inside. She was sitting on the edge of the bath, looking out the window.

There was only the toilet seat to sit on. I put disinfectant on some toilet paper, rubbed the top of the seat and washed my hands, then sat down.

'You know, when I was younger I used to look up at those stars and think they were my guardian angels. As soon as I saw them I knew I was safe. I knew nothing would ever hurt me because wherever I was I saw them and knew,' she whispered.

She had the tics again.

She was crying now too.

Then she continued in between sobs. 'But the stars were still there when he came to me that night. They didn't look after me then.'

I walked over slowly and put my arm around her. She cried louder. She cried like I had done in Jessica's arms.

'So the boy came to you at night?' I asked.

She looked up at me quickly.

Her face was so inflamed.

The tics were getting worse.

I wondered if she'd ever be the same again.

She nodded. 'Um, yes, he did.'

Her stars story made me sad. She had placed so much trust in the stars and they betrayed her. Her stars were like my family.

There were noises downstairs.

The front door opened.

Silence.

Then feet running upstairs.

'Hi Dad,' Sam said looking up towards the doorway where he stood.

'Jessica told me what happened. I'm so sorry it had to be like this, Keisha,' he said.

He bent down to hug me but my body resisted. I was a stiff board in his arms.

'Keisha, will you look at me?' he asked.

It took me some seconds before I could. He was frowning and his eyes were red. He had aged ten years since I saw him last night.

'I am really sorry we didn't discuss it sooner, Keisha. I really am.'

'Discuss it? It's not a matter of discussion. You should have told me, Dad.'

I was looking into the face of a stranger.

That stranger I had called 'Daddy' for so many years.

He was no longer my Daddy though.

Someone else was.

'I know we should have told you, but we didn't want to hurt you. We didn't want you to think your mum and I were your parents for all those years and then take that away from you.'

'So, why didn't you tell me when I was old enough? I'm not stupid.'

'I don't doubt that at all, Keisha. We just didn't want to hurt you. I know it probably seems like we were all thinking of ourselves, but truly we were only looking out for you. We did it wrong, and I'm so sorry you had to find out like this.'

I wanted to believe him.

I wanted to forgive him.

My mind wouldn't let me though.

I felt like one of those cats stuck up a tree, wanting to jump down but being too scared. Not that I would have gone up a tree in the first place because ants liked crawling into the bark.

I remembered a time at school when my best friend and I were peeling the bark off a thick stick. All of a sudden she had jumped up shouting, 'ants! Quick. There are ants in it!' We ran away screaming and shaking our dresses.

'Did you know Sam was raped?' I asked Dad.

His eyes widened and he looked at her. 'Is this true, Sam? Were you raped?'

'Yes – yes, Dad.'

'Why didn't you say anything? I thought you were in a relationship with this boy.'

'I didn't say anything because I didn't want to worry you, and no, I wasn't in a relationship with him at all.'

Dad's bottom lip began to tremble.

Now I knew where Sam got her tics from.

He put his arms around her and held her. They rocked backwards and forwards and cried. Jessica came and stood in the doorway.

'Hi, I'm just letting you know Alex is here. Her boyfriend just dropped her off and she'll be in the door any minute now,' she said.

Dad sighed, let go of Sam, and stood up.

'Well, I don't know how this is going to affect her. I guess it depends on the mood she's in. She will take it either seriously and act all emotional or she will act like she doesn't even care.'

And he left the bathroom.

Dad and Alex were downstairs for half an hour. I sat in the bathroom with Sam but we barely said a word to each other.

Sam stared at the stars.

I studied and counted the tiny tiles.

Jessica went to her room.

Eventually, Dad called us to come down.

'Well, now that Keisha's real paternity is out in the open, I think we have to consider the consequences.' Sometimes Dad made up for not working in an office by talking office language.

'All four of us need to be here for Keisha to support her because she is going through a really tough time at the moment.'

I looked at Alex.

She hadn't been crying.

Just as I thought.

Her tears were reserved for a broken nail or discontinued lipstick line.

'I want to meet him,' I said quickly.

Dad looked at me and gave me the same stare Jessica gave Sam earlier. 'Why do you want to meet a man like that, Keisha? He was a rapist. He could be in prison for all we know.'

'Did you know him, Dad?' I asked.

'No – no, I didn't meet any of Sam's boyfriends when she was at school. Maybe if I had have - maybe if I was a better parent - this would never have happened.'

Jessica put her arm around Dad's shoulder and said, 'you can't think like that, Dad. Whatever happened was something no-one could've prevented, you or Mum.'

Jessica was odd.

She was austere at times, soft-hearted at others.

I hated unpredictability.

'Did you even know his name, Dad?' I asked.

He shook his head.

'Well, I guess I'll just have to go through the old school albums and see if I can find him myself. It shouldn't be that hard.'

'I don't think that's wise, Keisha. You don't know what you're going to find,' he said.

Alex huffed, stood up in her usual elegant fashion, and said, 'I've got to go and make a call. It's getting late and I don't want to keep anyone awake when I'm on the phone.'

She might as well have said, 'oh well, boring, I can't stand this any longer.'

Sam made eye contact with Jessica and Dad. She clearly wanted time alone with me.

'Well, I'm going to make some dinner,' Dad said.

'Yes, I'll help you,' Jessica smiled and followed him into the kitchen.

Since when did she help cook?

'Keisha, I really don't want you to try and find your father. I know how much it means to you, but honestly, it isn't going to make things better. If anything it'll make things worse.'

'I have to, Sam. Please just stop asking me.'

'Keisha, if you go and find him you will regret it, I promise.'

'And why's that, Sam? Why will I regret it?'

'You just will, okay. He isn't the man you think he is.'

'And how do you know so much about this man if you haven't seen him since you were thirteen and raped by him?'

She cried.

Those dreaded tics again.

She shook her head, almost violently. 'No – no, Keisha. You are not going to look for him and that's final!'

I stood up and clenched my fists.

I stormed out of the lounge.

She followed me upstairs and grabbed my arm. 'You can't look for him because your father isn't some boy at school. I lied.'

*****

Chapter Eight

'So, you've lied again! Who is my real father, Sam?'

She looked at me and muttered, 'come on, let's go to your room. We need some privacy.'

'So, are you going to tell me?' I said sitting on my bed after smoothing over the creases in my quilt.

Sam watched me.

She clearly disapproved.

Probably an opportunity for her to bring up her Four Bloody Steps again.

'I see you still have to make sure everything's neat and perfect then?'

'You're changing the subject, Sam, and you know it. Why say such a trivial thing at a time like this?'

She put her hands together and sat about a ruler away from me. I knew it was a ruler's length because I once measured the tiny diamonds embroidered in my quilt just to make sure they were all equal length apart.

Mum had said to me, 'what are you doing?' when I first put the quilt on my bed.

'I need to make sure the diamonds are all equal, otherwise I won't be able to sleep.'

She muttered, 'I do hope we're not paying Mr Robbins for nothing.'

'Okay, I know I'm changing the subject, but this is so hard for me, Keisha. If I don't tell you you'll just keep on persisting with me.'

I nodded.

Sam was finally understanding.

'Please know that even though I was raped by this man, I always wanted you. You were the most precious thing in my life even though I had to give you up to Mum when you were born. Nothing stopped me from loving you though. You know that, right?'

'I do know that,' and I paused before saying, 'do I know the guy?'

She looked at her lap.

And she nodded.

Now I was confused. Who could it have been? There were only a few uncles scattered throughout Australia.

And not scattered equally either.

Two in Queensland.

One in New South Wales.

One in South Australia.

None on the left side of Australia.

'Well, I know for sure it's not Dad, and there's no-one else I can imagine it would be. Come on, who was it, Sam?'

She focused on her shaky hands.

'Are you going to tell me? You know you can't back down now.'

'I know. I'm just scared what you'll do.'

'What do you mean? What I'll do? You think I'm going to go and punch this guy out? I can't hit a big grown man.'

'I know that. I'm not stupid, Keisha. I'm worried who you'll tell. You know if Dad finds out he'll go insane.'

'Look, just tell me who it is and we'll work it out after that.'

She sighed and paused before saying, 'it was Stan, Mum's brother.'

Stan.

The man who came to all our Christmases.

The man who had the lovely wife.

His wife always made apple pie for Christmas. I had no idea why. She cut little holly leaves out of the pastry and put them on the pie. It was like putting apple and banana shapes on a Christmas pie.

And Stan. He had that round smiley face, those thick busy eyebrows, those dark sultana eyes and a big round Santa stomach.

They stopped coming to our Christmases about six years ago when they won some lotto money and moved to Queensland. How could he have raped his own niece? His sister's daughter?

'Are you going to say anything, Keisha?'

'I – I don't know what to say. I mean... I just can't understand it. I always loved that man. How could he have done such a thing?'

I couldn't breathe.

I was horrified.

Stan was my father.

She turned around and I watched her fingers play with the edge of my bedspread.

She was pulling it down too far.

It was going to look very untidy.

I wanted to stop her.

'I hope you don't think I'm making it up because I'm not. It's true. It didn't happen just once either, and she looked at me to say, 'that man was evil, Keisha.'

'Oh God, I know. I'm just amazed he could've done something like that.'

I thought back to all those Christmases with Nell and Stan.

'Come on, darling,' he had said after one Christmas lunch before stroking her cheek. 'Don't you want to pull the cracker with me?'

Sam hadn't said anything. She flinched and pulled her face away. I know I would have been only five but why hadn't I realised what was going on? Worse still, why hadn't Mum?

My uncle, my mother's brother.

My biological father.

My trepidation.

After tidying up the edge of the bedspread I walked over to my book cabinet. Every book was arranged in alphabetical order by author name.

Every book looked new.

I hated the covers peeling.

If they peeled I threw the books out.

'So what are you going to do now?'

'I really don't know, Sam.'

I turned around. 'I still want to see him. I know he hurt you and I know he's part of our family but I still need to see him.'

She stared at me. 'You are joking, aren't you?'

I went to sit beside her. 'I understand how you feel and how bad that man treated you. He was evil. He should've been put in jail for life, but he is still my father. He is my flesh and blood, and even though I used to see him a lot when I was younger, I need to see him again now, more to give him a piece of my mind than anything else.'

'Give him a piece of your mind? What do you mean? How could you possibly do something like that? You're a little girl for God's sakes.'

A little girl?

Were little girls told to read the Four Stupid Steps?

Did little girls have to go on Zoloft?

'I'm not little at all. I've been through a lot, Sam, and I certainly know how to look after myself.'

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You're right.'

'So, you don't mind if I see him then?'

'Of course I mind. Why don't you put it off until you're eighteen? I don't want Dad to find out because he could go and kill Stan.'

'Sam, if I see him I won't tell Dad, I promise, even though I think he has a right to know. It's up to you to tell him though.'

She looked at her lap and shook her head. 'I won't support it and I don't want you to go, but I guess nothing can stop you.'

When Sam left I lay on my bed.

It was getting dark.

I couldn't see the diamonds on my quilt to count them.

So I stared at the ceiling.

I remembered when I was five Sam had stuck tiny luminous stars and moons on my ceiling. I requested she place them all the same width apart so they formed symmetrical images.

'You are an odd little girl, Keish. And annoying! I can't believe you have me standing up here with a ruler just for a few stickers,' she said.

'They have to be neat. I wouldn't be able to look at them otherwise.'

I had watched her short skirt climb further up her long tanned legs.

I always wanted legs like hers.

They were flawless.

They were symmetrical.

Sam had been able to draw the boys in too. I remembered her picking me up from school one day. She had on a skirt just shy of her bottom cheeks. I remembered wondering if the skirt had been one of Dad's handkerchiefs.

'Come on, gimme some,' a hormone raging teen had said while we were walking home. He was making kiss faces at her.

She slapped him. 'What did you do that for?' he asked.

'Just piss off before I slap you again,' she said, and he ran off. Turning to me and grabbing my hand she said, 'don't you ever let any guy talk to you like that or touch you if you don't want it, you hear me?'

Her eyes widened and her lips firmed.

She was scaring me.

So I nodded.

While I looked at the ceiling I thought about my random thoughts.

The thoughts that entered my head and caught me unawares.

The thoughts I had when I talked to myself.

I often had conversations with my mind. I remembered walking along the street one really hot day and saw a dog laying outside a shop like it was dead. My mind was saying to me, 'you need some water, dog. Yes, I'll get you some water.' I was having a really bad day that day and thought, 'get him some water or something bad will happen. He could get up and attack you, or even worse – he could throw up on you.' So I knew I had to get him some water even if I had to travel home, which was an hour away, to get it. As it turned out there was a tap a few blocks up. So I was lucky.

As I was beginning to fall into a hypnagogic sleep I had a knock at my door.

'Hey, Keish, it's me, Jessica. How's it going in there?'

How did she think?

I paused before shouting back, 'yeah, okay considering.' I started playing with the end of my belt. It curved and stuck out, much to Sam's chagrin. It was a _Guess_ belt. She had bought it for me for Mum's funeral.

'Why do you keep on playing with it?' she had asked just a few weeks ago when driving me to Dougall's.

'I don't know. I don't even think about it when I'm playing with it.'

'Well, it cost me a lot of money so please try to stop it,' she said with a smile.

'Okay then.'

I was nervous about going over to Dougall's. He told me his mum got a letter from her sister saying her daughter had been throwing up for ages.

The mum's sister and niece lived in England.

But the vomit germs could have travelled in the saliva on the envelope.

'Can I come in?' Jessica asked. Her voice was muffled and I could tell she was leaning against the door, her lips probably touching the wood.

Someone's hands had been touching that wood too.

She was disgusting.

'Yeah, okay.'

She threw herself on my bed, spoiling the bedspread. 'So tell me what you're feeling, Keish.'

'Did Dad send you? You don't usually ask me what I'm feeling.' I turned towards the blinds.

My blinds all had to face the same way.

They had to be the same width apart.

They had to be symmetrical.

'Keish, you're my little sister. I care about how you feel. I might not always be easy to talk to but I feel well, you know, sad about what's happening with you and Sam.'

I paused before saying, 'I don't know how I feel. I guess numb, in shock and I don't know what to do. I don't know whether to stay here, lying down, because that's what my body wants, or to go for a long walk somewhere I've never been before. What I really want to do though is to go into a mind state where I don't have to deal with all this... all this confusion.'

'I'm really sorry Keisha.'

Unexpectedly she put her arms around me. I tried not to flinch, only because I wasn't used to big hugs from her. When I looked at her I was even more surprised when I saw tears in her eyes. She only ever cried if someone had polished off the last slice of chocolate cake.

'Are you okay, Jessica?'

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. 'Yes – yes, I'm fine. I'm just sad you had to find out this way and I can't begin to imagine how you're feeling.'

It was odd being this close to Jessica.

I kept myself at a distance.

I didn't want to, but I felt uncomfortable.

'Is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can help you with?'

I wanted to say 'you can help me find Stan,' but I didn't because Sam would have wanted the status of my biological father kept secret.

'No, it's okay.' I tried to smile for her.

'Alright, but always know I'm here for you, okay?'

I nodded and she walked over to the door.

Before turning the handle she said, 'anything okay, I'll do anything for you.'

'Thanks, Jessi. I'll bear that in mind.'

'Good. Bye then.'

I smiled and she closed the door behind her. I really wanted to tell her about Stan but I had to respect Sam.

Tomorrow I would find out how to get a plane ticket to the Gold Coast.

*****

Chapter Nine

Borrowing Sam's credit card wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. She always left her purse lying around. For a super organised person she treated her wandering purse like it was a gypsy. It always had a different home.

I knew I shouldn't have taken the card but she should have told me about my true paternity sooner. I was just fortunate we looked alike. In her driver's licence photo she had long dark hair like mine. All I needed was the makeup. And a fair bit of it too. I couldn't remember a time when I saw Sam without her veil on. She always had foundation caked to her skin and eyeliner doodled around her eyes. Actually her makeup wasn't that bad. I was just being nasty.

I booked an early morning flight so I could leave without anyone knowing. I had enough money for a cab to the airport. I rummaged through my suitcase and checked it for the eighth time. I had to check it twelve times before I checked in.

I had t-shirts and shorts because the Gold Coast was hot.

A long jacket and jeans just in case it was cold.

My toothbrush, makeup, and hairbrush.

Cleaning wipes and soap.

Medication.

I thought about leaving a vague note for my family to let them know I was safe but I didn't because I didn't want them to find me in a hurry. I could just picture Dad and Sam running after the taxi in the dark.

Sam would be saying, 'quick, Dad, go back and get the car!' while puffing and panting trying to gather up speed.

Dad would say, 'no, Sam. There isn't enough time. Come on, we have to hurry before the cab gets up to the main road.'

Poor Dad, sometimes I wondered how he raised four girls. Not only was he a big soft bear but he was quite often a space cadet as well. And I loved him for it.

I was just lucky no-one heard me come down the stairs and outside to the taxi. I had planned my escape the night before. I would be a _Charlie's Angel_ in no time.

I unlocked the front door when everyone went to bed.

I only wore socks until I was inside the taxi (and replaced them as soon as I was in the cab. You never knew what germs were growing on the pavements).

I rang the taxi service to warn the driver not to beep his horn.

I was quite the sneaky conspirer.

The last time I went on a plane was to Sydney with Mum when I was five to see one of umpteen specialists.

'Well, he wasn't really any good, was he?' Mum said when we were walking out of the shrink's office.

'I guess not.' I was quiet because the specialist had implied there was nothing wrong with me and that I was looking for attention.

'And to think what he's going to charge us.'

'Yes, Mum,' I said half-heartedly while staring at an ominous stain on the window.

While I was in the cab I pondered over a conversation I had recently with Alex. It was like trying to have a conversation with a mute. I remembered saying to her, 'what do you think about?'

She looked at me and said, 'what?' so I repeated the question.

'You really are mad, more retarded than I thought. It's a good thing you're seeing all those shrinks. That's all I can say,' and she continued watching TV.

So it was true.

I really was odd.

I had my own encyclopaedia of confusion in my mind.

I had thoughts I didn't know how to control.

Thoughts that didn't seem to belong to me.

Thoughts I wanted to be free of and thoughts I never wanted to leave.

When I was at the airport I had an hour to board and another two checks to go. I had to empty out my suitcase.

I parked my case on a chair and opened it up.

An old skinny lady stopped and said, 'is everything okay?'

I didn't know what to say back so I smiled, but she continued to stand and stare.

'It's just you look like you've lost something,' she said and coughed. It was horrible and gag-like.

I quickly bunged everything back into my case, zipped it up and walked away.

She called out after me but I was scared she would throw up.

Check-ins had begun and I still had two of my own checks to go. The lady had interrupted my first check so I had to do that one again.

I went into a baby's change room.

I checked the case in there and put on some foundation and eyeliner.

Now one more check to go.

I walked towards the check-in counter worried I was going to miss the flight. I knelt down in the queue and opened the case to make my final check, but it was like walking in a strapless thong tied to the case while going through it. I just had to keep moving.

People stared and frowned.

I didn't care; I needed to check.

Otherwise the plane might crash or even worse, the person next to me on the flight might throw up.

When I was finally at the counter I did my case up (I was surprised the zip hadn't broken under my constant pulling at it) and handed over Sam's licence. I crossed my fingers behind my back.

'There you go,' the check-in lady said, handing me back the licence. 'You'll be boarding at 6.55am,' and she smiled.

I smiled back.

I had passed off as Sam.

Makeup and all.

The woman I sat next to didn't seem like she was going to throw up but the ailment she had wasn't much worse. She had a cold so bad it sounded like her nose had a life of its own.

She sounded like a train.

She was chugging.

She was whistling.

I would get a cold for sure.

I put my left hand over the side of my face and made sure I didn't get close.

Once the plane was in the air the stewardess handed me a small bottle of juice that I wiped down with one of my wipes.

'Can I get out please? I need to use the toilet,' the train nose asked as I took my first sip.

'Er, yeah, sure,' I said, shocked she could talk with all that gunk clogging up her nostrils.

I stood up quickly and walked half way down the aisle hoping she wouldn't pass me on the way. Luckily she went in the opposite direction.

When she came back I did the same again.

I thought about my family and if they had discovered I wasn't at home yet. Sam would have gone into my room to wake me up and found my bed empty. I did not bring her credit card with me because I had some money of my own. I didn't want her to check her readings to find out where I was until I'd had a chance to see Stan.

Even though Dougall was my best friend I didn't tell him because I couldn't risk anyone knowing I was going to the Gold Coast. I knew my family would track me down eventually though.

I took my hand away from my face because the train nose was facing the window. She was asleep and thankfully so was her nose.

I was surprised the landing was easier than expected. In fact, I enjoyed it. I took a taxi to my cheap motel.

'Is it always so hot here at this time of the morning?' I asked the driver.

'Yeah, love. It gets even hotter than this some mornings. Where yar from, love?'

I didn't want to continue the conversation but he seemed nice enough. 'I'm from Melbourne.'

'Ah, nice. You come up to visit yer folks, have ya?'

'Er, yeah – yes, you could say that,' and I looked out the window to imply I didn't want to talk anymore. I think he got the hint.

It was so humid here.

Germs bred quickly in the heat.

My room wasn't bad. You couldn't complain at seventy dollars a night for a place on the Gold Coast. At least it was clean even if it was only a bed, wardrobe, toilet and shower in a shoebox.

I lay on the bed for a while thinking about Sam. How she thought she could keep the secret from Dad, I had no idea, but I found it fascinating to think we have thoughts and feelings so deep down inside us we deny even to ourselves they are there. It is like we build up a barrier to prevent the negative emotions getting too close to our full consciousness. A defense mechanism we use to survive.

I unpacked.

I had some lunch.

And I decided to go to Stan's.

I couldn't believe I was standing there on my biological father's turf. And what a whopping share of turf he had. A garden so full of palm trees the ants would have had a field day.

It was a beautiful place housing not such a beautiful man. He was so different in my mind he had become a stranger.

He was no longer the chubby little round man with a smiley face.

He was desperate.

A man with no grasp of humanity or morality.

He was disgusting.

Everyone had become a stranger to me lately – Sam, Dad, Jessica. I was worried I was going to turn into a xenophobe. Fortunately for Alex though I always knew where I was with her. She was like a lagoon – depthless and way too predictable.

I screwed my nose up at the enormous house, a big creamy hunk of brick with small windows.

I knocked on the front door, a tall chunk of black wood.

I heard footsteps on a wooden floor.

Polished wooden floorboards, no doubt.

Nell answered. 'Hello. Oh, Keisha, what are you doing here?' and she peered over my shoulder for the rest of the family, I guessed.

'I um came to see Stan actually.'

She frowned. 'Oh? Well, that's nice, Keisha, but – but why?'

'Do you mind if I come in please? I've come all the way from Melbourne.'

'No, of course not. Come in, please.'

I walked into the foyer. It was huge and even more disgustingly appealing than the front of the house. To my left was a white-carpeted staircase.

'Come this way. Stan's in the kitchen.'

I looked around. The benches were made of black marble, and the fridge, dishwasher and stove of chrome. Polished floorboards ran all the way through to what I thought could be the dining room.

There he was.

Sitting on a stool, eating a sandwich.

He smiled and clumps of meat and bread squeezed through his teeth.

That smiley face made me cringe.

'Keisha, what are you doing here? It's lovely to see you.'

He stood up and came over to give me a hug but I pulled away.

'Is something wrong, love?' he asked and looked me up and down. 'Wow, how much you've grown. How long has it been now?'

When I didn't answer he turned to Nell who was filling the kettle. 'Nell, how long's it been since we've seen the girls?'

'Oh, I don't know. I'd say two or three years,' and she rubbed the back of her neck. She had lost weight and aged so much she wouldn't have looked odd in a field of crop to scare the birds away. Stick her in their garden and she could have scared the likes of me coming around to abuse Stan.

Then she looked at me and said, 'we can't get down to see you so much these days, love. You know, with Stan and his heart, it's not good we travel as much.'

'That's not good. How long has he had a bad heart for?' I asked. It was the first I'd heard about it.

'Oh, it must be almost a year now, love. Yes, he has something called angina. It means we can't travel in a plane. The doctor said so.'

That was like saying I couldn't travel in a plane because of all my obsessions. It was the first I'd heard about angina getting worse with flying. He had more of a chance dying in a plane crash than of a heart attack up in the sky. After all, great hunks of metal weren't made to fly. Gravity was there for a reason, and we should leave flying up to the birds.

'No, that's okay,' I said.

My heart started to palpitate.

My hands clammed up.

I was feeling hot and cold.

How was I going to approach it?

'Are you okay, love? You're looking a bit pale all of a sudden,' Nell asked.

'Yes – yes, I'm fine. I've just been feeling a bit odd since the flight.'

'Oh, you poor dear. Come over and sit down on the couch for a while. I'll get you a hot drink.'

I knew I had to tell them now. If I didn't the anxiety wouldn't stop torturing my mind. It took all the courage I had to ask Stan if I could have a moment alone with him.

'Of course, love. We'll go into my study.'

I sat down in a large black chair, cleared my throat and kneaded my hands together.

'Stan, I – I've come here to tell you that you're my father.'

He stared at me.

His eyes were wide and still.

'What? What did you just say?'

'I said you're my father.'

'And – and how have you come to that conclusion?' He had Dad's office talk. The office talk must have been reserved for men who didn't work in an office but wished they did.

'You raped Sam when she was thirteen.'

He leaned back in the other big black chair and covered his face with massive hands. I thought they would've been hairier but there were only some little clumps of hair below the knuckles.

I was glad I hadn't inherited them.

He didn't say anything for ages.

Finally he looked up at me. His face was red and raw. He hadn't been crying, just pushing his hands hard against his cheeks.

I was glad I hadn't inherited that red face either. If I'd have inherited both his red face and Sam's I would've been able to stop traffic in no time.

'And who told you this? Sam?'

I nodded.

'Does the whole family know?'

'No, only Sam and me. I forced her to tell me who my father is. I only found out a few days ago.'

I suddenly felt calm.

I felt I had some control of this powerless man.

'You're not going to deny it then?' I asked.

He paused before saying, 'no – no, I can't deny it now. I've wanted to forget about it, forget it ever happened, and here it is stabbing me in the butt again.'

At least I hadn't inherited his foul tongue either.

He heaved and continued. 'I didn't know she had a kid out of it though. I always thought you were the product of some kid she met at school. My sister told me you weren't really hers but Sam's. She kept up that lie because she didn't want the neighbours or kids at Sam's school to know.'

'So you thought Sam was having sex with boys at thirteen? You're sicker than I thought.'

Now I felt my face go red.

Maybe I was going to inherit it after all.

I just hoped I didn't get the tics too.

'I never really thought about it. I thought I always had trouble conceiving. That's why Nell could never have children, because my sperm count was too low. That's why I never considered you were my daughter.'

'So, it never occurred to you at all?'

'No, not really.'

'What is that supposed to mean? Not really. That it did occur to you or it didn't?'

'Oh, it might've flashed through my head once or twice, but I quickly disregarded the thought.'

'And what if it's Nell who could never have the children? Were either of you ever tested?'

'No, we weren't. We tried having kids but it never happened, so we gave up trying. I guess we never wanted them badly enough.'

'Why did you do it, Stan?'

The big red heifer had tears in his eyes.

Tears of regret or tears of guilt?

Or just tears of anger at being found out?

'I don't know, I really don't. It's something I hate myself for now though and I don't ever want to do it again. I don't even want to think about it.'

'So you think you can just do what you did – and more than once too – without it having any effect on anyone else? Is that what you think?'

He shook his head slowly and said, 'no, no, of course I don't. I know what I did to Sam must've hurt her, but I don't like to think about it.'

'You don't want to think about it? Can you imagine what goes through her mind every single day? That poor woman's life has been affected by what you did to her. She was never the same girl. I didn't realise that when I was little but now I know what happened to her, I know why she was the way she was.'

'What do you mean, the way she was? What was wrong with her?'

'She became a little flirt, trying to pick all the boys up, even at the age of nineteen, but when they got near her she scolded them. It was as though she wanted to attract them but when they got too close she pushed them away. It was kind of like she was trying to punish them for something they didn't do.'

'Well, that's kind of how she was with me and with me being a weak old man, I just couldn't restrain myself.'

He couldn't restrain himself.

If every man said that we would have a world full of rapists.

'That's a poor excuse and you know it, Stan. In fact, there is absolutely no excuse on this earth for what you did, especially since you did it so many times to her. You're pathetic.'

There was a knock at the study door. 'Is everything alright in there? I can hear arguing,' Nell asked.

'Er yes, dear. Everything is fine,' he called back.

'Good. Just remember what I told you about not giving money,' I heard her whisper.

'Are you going to tell her then?' I asked.

He looked across at his huge desk and said, 'I don't know, I really don't. I suppose I'll have to now.'

'Well, she'll end up finding out.'

'I know.'

There was silence.

I was angry but the shock had finally gone.

By seeing him and talking to him, and seeing the way he reacted, I was softening to Sam's decision not to tell me sooner.

'Where do we go to from here then?' I asked.

'Do you want me to give you some money? Is that why you've come here to tell me this? Because you need money?'

'I don't know what you're thinking, Stan. I wasn't even thinking about your stupid money so Nell has nothing to worry about. For all I care, you can throw it all away on grog or at the pokies. It doesn't bother me. I just wanted to see my real father, see you for who you really are instead of the person I thought you were.'

'So why come and see me now even though you saw me so much when you were young?'

'Because back then I loved you to death. As I said, you were my idol. You could do nothing wrong in my eyes. Now, I wanted to see your face and see if it was as smiley as I once remembered, those eyes as kind as I once thought they were.'

'And are they?'

'No, I don't know what I saw in you, Stan. I really don't. It's as though that Stan is a different Stan to the one I'm standing in front of now. It's funny how you perceive someone completely different once you know them, and I mean really know them.'

He looked sad.

I calmed my voice.

I didn't want old Nell pussy-footing outside again.

'So, what are we going to do now?'

'I have no idea, Keisha. What do you think we should do seeing as you're so mature about everything now?'

'Maturity doesn't even come into it. I'm just trying to deal with things.'

'Well, if you ask me, I think we should just let everything lie for the moment and keep everything as it is, for the sake of peace.'

For the sake of peace.

And was it peace he thought about when he was raping Sam?

No, he didn't want to damage his precious life and reputation.

'I don't think so, Stan. You know we can't keep all this quiet. It's not fair on Sam or me, and it will eventually come out.'

'But if you start telling the family you know what'll happen, don't you? Your father will come at me with a wooden axe.'

'Yeah, and it's probably something you deserve. I'll make sure he doesn't though. As for Sam, she doesn't even know I'm here.'

'She doesn't know. Why not? I thought she might've sent you.'

'No, I came out of my own free will. She tried to stop me, persisted with me in fact. She knows what Dad is capable of.'

'Yes, exactly. She's a wise girl, trying to stop you from coming.'

'What do you expect? You raped Sam - the girl up until a few days ago, I thought was my sister. Then I find out you're my father while I've been thinking all this time Dad is my real father. Don't you have feelings for anyone but yourself?'

He came closer and grit his teeth before saying, 'of course I do, but what do you think this is going to do to Nell and the rest of the family? Keep your voice down.'

'She'll find out eventually, so why not now?' My voice grew.

'Because I want to tell her in my own time. I don't want her to find out like this. Can you at least give me that?'

'I don't want to make trouble but I do want what is fair.'

There was that same old Nell knock at the door.

'Are you both okay in there? I can still hear shouting and you've been in there a long time.'

'Yes – yes, we're fine. Keisha is just about to leave.'

'Fine, I know when I'm not wanted,' I said.

He leaned in close to my ear again.

Sweaty skin and onions.

I cringed.

'Can we settle this? I can give you some money, say fifty grand, to keep it quiet.'

'You've got to be joking, haven't you? Haven't you listened to a word I just said? I don't want your filthy money.' I hurried to the door but he grabbed my arm.

'Just think about it.'

Hot onions in my ear again.

I hoped I didn't inherit the bad breath gene.

*****

Chapter Ten

I missed not having stars on the ceiling.

They usually helped me get to sleep.

I couldn't sleep at all tonight.

I wanted my own bed.

I always lay on my back with both arms behind my head. One week when Sam was waiting for her king-size bed to arrive she slept in my bed. The last night she said, 'I don't know how you sleep on your back all the time. I can't do it.'

'I like looking up at the stars and always remember the first time you stuck them up there for me. That helps me get to sleep.'

'Really? That's so sweet.' She kissed my cheek and hugged into me.

Another thing that helped me sleep was sucking my thumb. I was reformed after the braces incident but took it up again when Mum died.

I was addicted like a smoker. I could imagine forgetting myself one day and taking in one long puff only to exhale a big long breath of confused anxieties. If only it were that simple, I'd have taken up smoking in a flash. Just so long as I didn't get that whooping like cough.

Before I went to sleep every night I had to make sure everything was turned off and everything was tidy. My blinds all had to face the same way and be crack-free and my pillowcases free of stains. I had to take the TV plug out and check it three times because I was scared of having a fire in my room.

When I was younger my obsession with checking the TV plug became so desperate I could never escape the thought of fire.

Mum found me one night crying and pulling at my TV plug when I was four. 'What on earth are you doing? You'll electrocute yourself,' she said.

I whimpered and said, 'I don't know what to do, Mummy. I need to make a fire in my room because I can't get the thought of it out of my head.'

I remembered the still look on her face. 'But Keisha, if you don't want a fire in your room then why are you trying to make one?'

'Because if I do, the horrible thoughts might go away and I need them to.'

Fortunately the Zoloft helped control those thoughts now.

When I woke up in the motel it was to Dad's presence. He was standing over me and weeping.

He had the red face.

And the tics.

I was sure to inherit both.

How could I not?

'I'm so sorry, Keisha. Sam told me.'

I sat up. 'Have you been to see Stan yet?'

'No – no, I wanted to find you first, but I'm going to kill that son of a bitch for doing this to us. Why didn't you tell anyone where you were going? We were worried sick.'

'Sam didn't want me to come so I came without telling anyone. She didn't want you to know.'

'I know. I drummed it out of her. When I went into your room to get you up for school I saw your bed made and you were nowhere to be seen. I called Sam. She came into your room and started balling, so I shook it out of her. I'm not denying it took hours but I found out eventually. I think the poor girl must have cried so many tears she won't have any left.'

'Where is she? Is she okay?'

'She's at home. She was still crying when I left. I had to get a last minute flight to the Gold Coast. Jessica is looking after her though.'

I had caused all this stress.

I shouldn't have come to see Stan.

But I had to.

'Poor Sam. Didn't she want to come with you?'

'No, I didn't want her to come. It wouldn't have been good, and besides, I don't think she'd want to see what I'm going to do to Stan.'

'What do you mean?'

'Oh, never you mind. All I can tell you is that it won't be pretty.'

'Dad! You know hitting him isn't going to solve anything. What's done is done. How is beating him up going to help?'

'It'll make me feel a whole lot better, I can tell you. What that rapist has done to my Sam... whoa, the man deserves nothing but a quick kick to hell.'

'But really, Dad, what is it going to solve? You'll be just as bad as what he is.'

He shook his head. 'No, I won't. What that man did is evil and he deserves everything he's got coming to him.'

'And do you think that's what Sam wants?'

'No, but it's what he deserves.'

I sat up straight. 'Well, I'm going to come with you.'

'No, you're not. You're going to stay here. I'll go and see Stan, then come back for you, and we'll go home.'

'No, Dad, I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not.'

'Okay, but you're to stay behind me, you hear?'

'Yes. By the way, how did you find out I was here?'

'When Sam finally confessed, it was obvious you'd come to the Gold Coast, and I rang almost every Gold Coast motel before I found you.'

An hour later we were outside the front of Stan's house.

Dad rang the bell.

We heard hurried footsteps.

Then silence and faint voices.

Dad rang again and waited a minute before Stan answered. Stan's face had experienced a transformation. Now instead of stopping traffic he could blind drivers with his deathly white skin.

And he had tics.

'Come in,' he whispered.

Dad walked straight through the doorway, shouldered Stan and stood in the hall with his arms firmly by his side.

'What can I do for you?' Stan said

He kept his eyes locked on Stan's moon-face.

'You've got a nerve, you great son of a bitch.' Dad was barely able to get his words out.

'Come on, we can talk about this sensibly. Let's go and sit in the study.'

Only so the old scarecrow didn't hear.

She hadn't done a good job of scaring me and Dad away though.

'No, we're not going into the study. We are going to stay out here.'

'Okay,' Stan said watching the stairs. 'But let's please be civilised about this.'

'How dare you! Were you being civilised when you raped Sam?' and he darted over to Stan.

He threw his hands around his neck.

He held him up against the wall.

I hadn't seen Dad like this.

'Please – please, Tony, let's not do this. Let's talk about it. We can do that, can't we?' Stan said.

'No! No, we're not going to talk about it because what you did was disgusting. It was sick. Do you know what that poor girl went through? Do you, Stan? You filthy old bugger!'

Nell was walking slowly downstairs with her hands over her mouth. 'Stan – Stan, what's going on?'

'Er, nothing, darling. It's all okay. It's just a family tiff. It'll be over before you know it,' he said looking up.

'Just some family tiff, eh? What a load of pig's waddle! I see you haven't told the poor woman yet, Stan, but that's typical of you, isn't it? I don't know how you've kept it a secret this long. Sam only did because she didn't want me to kill you, which is precisely what I'm going to do.' Dad tightened his grip.

Nell stared at them. 'Stan, tell me what's going on. What has Sam got to do with all this?'

'Tell her, Stan. Go on, tell her what you did to Sam.'

Stan had tics in full strength.

His face was going into an annular eclipse.

He looked at Nell, then at Dad and back at Nell.

'Well, if you're not going to tell her I will,' Dad said.

'No! No, please don't,' and he started to cry.

'Oh, don't start crying, you big old wus.'

'Will someone please just tell me what the hell is going on,' Nell said and ran downstairs.

'Oh, I'll tell you what's going on, Nell. Your wonderful husband here is a rapist,' Dad said.

'He's a what?'

'He's a rapist. Do you want me to spell it out for you?'

'But – but, he's never raped anyone in his life.'

'That's right, darling, I haven't,' Stan said.

'See, he's telling you he hasn't raped anyone. What more do you want?'

She was more naive than I thought.

Her scarecrow brain was certainly scarce of a brain cell or two.

'Come on, Nell. Your husband is a rapist! He raped Sam when she was thirteen, for God's sakes.'

'No – no, that's not possible. He always loved Sam. He loved all the girls and he would never have done anything to hurt them.'

'What? How do you think Keisha came into this world?'

She gasped unexpectedly.

It was a loud gag-like gasp.

Surely she wouldn't throw up at a time like this.

'No – no, Stan would never do such a thing.'

'Well, what about Keisha? She's his daughter.'

She looked at me and said, 'no, she's not his daughter. She doesn't look anything like him.'

Dad looked at me too, and back at her. 'That doesn't mean a bloody thing. Keisha has very blue eyes like Sam. She doesn't need both parents to have them.'

Dad seemed to know his genetics.

I had underestimated him.

I had underestimated his temper too.

He didn't seem to fit the big soft bear category anymore.

'Dad, watch what you're doing. You're going to suffocate him,' I said as I watched his grip get tighter.

'And you think I care? The son of a bitch deserves it.'

'Dad, do you really think killing Stan is worth it? Please just stop it now. Let's go.'

'No! No, I'm not going to let him go. He harmed our Sam.'

'Please, Dad. Killing or injuring him won't be good for anyone. You'll both end up getting hurt or you will end up in prison. Do you really want to stoop that low for him?'

Dad looked at me and paused before saying, 'I don't care, Keisha, so long as he pays for what he did.'

'Dad, he is paying. He's paying now, isn't he? Look what you're doing to him. Just let him go. You don't want to go to prison just for his sake, do you? You know you'd hate it in there.'

'Of course I don't want to go to prison, but if it's what I have to do...'

Nell and Stan were looking at me.

They looked like albino twins with Tourette's.

'Do you think Sam would want you to do this? No, of course she wouldn't. That's why she didn't tell you in the first place. Do you really want her to have to deal with a rape as well as a father who's a murderer?'

Dad frowned.

He had the tics too.

They all had them.

'Dad, think about it. She's been through a lot. She doesn't want to come and visit you in prison. None of us do. Even Alex. And that's what it'll be. All for the sake of some pathetic rapist who just isn't worth it.'

He turned quickly to Stan. 'He isn't worth it alright.'

'Good, well let go of his neck.'

He loosened his grip.

'Come on, Dad. You can do it. Let go of him and we'll go.'

He sniffed and took a hand away to wipe his nose. 'No, I can't.'

'Look at it this way, Dad. I know I don't necessarily have a good father, but aren't you happy I came into this world?

He looked at me. 'Oh, Keisha, of course I am.'

'Well, please stop what you're doing. Please, do it for me. Do it for Sam.'

He took his hand away.

There were four red fingermarks on Stan's neck.

Dad came over to hug me.

He was hot and sweaty.

Thriving with germs.

'I'm sorry, princess, I never want to hurt you or Sam.'

He hugged me tighter.

Now I was thriving with germs too.

Nell had her hands up against her mouth while Stan was coughing and wheezing on his knees.

Dad turned to Stan and said, 'what do you think your sister would've thought of what you did? I bet she's turning over in her grave right now, doing a full one hundred and eighty degree turn.'

I must have gotten my imagination from Dad.

'I know what you're saying, Tony, and I know what I did was wrong and I'd love to go back and change it but I can't, so I have to live with it.'

'Yeah, well I hope you live in hell for the rest of your pitiful life.'

Dad looked around and paused. 'Typical for a man like you to get what he wants, hey? This house. All that money. But you'll be sad for the rest of your life, just you wait and see. You've committed a deadly sin and you'll pay for it. The evil thing you did will eat away at you, chew at your insides so badly that you'll feel nothing but pain for the rest of your life.'

I definitely got my imagination from Dad.

Suddenly Nell broke in. 'What? What's going on, Stan? You told me you didn't rape the girl. What's going on?'

Stan had forgotten about his wife.

'Nell, I'm so sorry. I did have um - you know - with Sam when she was young. I'm really sorry. I should've told you but she was a very impressionable teenager. She came onto me and I couldn't help myself.'

Dad flung his arms towards Stan's neck again.

I ran over to him.

'Stop this, Dad. You know he's lying. Sam would never have done that. Come on, we'll leave now so they can discuss it.'

He relented and let go of Stan.

It took all my strength to pull Dad out of the house.

*****

Chapter Eleven

'So what do we do now, Dad?' I propped myself up on my elbows so I could see Dad. He was drinking coffee and sitting in a chair.

'There is nothing more we can do so I think we should just go home to see how Sam is.'

'Do you think Sam could press charges against him?'

'Yes, of course she can. I hadn't really thought about it, but that's something I'll have to talk to her about.'

He stared at edge of the quilt.

I wanted to smooth it out.

He was clearly in deep thought.

'So he could go to prison then?' I asked running my hand over the creases.

'Er, yes, I think so. We'll talk to Sam about it when we get home,' and he looked at his watch. 'We'd better start getting a move on. I'll find out what flights there are and we'll take the first available.'

'Okay, Dad,' I said and got up to give him a hug.

He was still sweaty.

He was thriving with germs.

But I waived that thought for now.

'What's that for?'

'Because I'm happy you didn't do anything bad at Stan's.'

'But the swine deserved it.'

'I know but it would've brought us all down. You wouldn't want that, would you?'

He shook his head. 'No, I wouldn't want that for you girls. I will talk to Sam about pressing charges though because that man needs locking up at the very least.'

There was a knock at the door.

'I wonder who that is. No one knows you're here, do they?' Dad asked.

'No. No-one except you.'

'That's strange.'

He opened the door.

Standing in the doorway was Nell.

'Nell, What are you doing here?'

She barged into the room.

It wasn't often you saw a walking scarecrow.

'I want to talk about this. There is a lot I don't know. I want to hear your version of the story,' she said.

'Here, have a seat.' Dad said giving her his chair.

'Thanks.'

'Look, I know this is a very difficult situation but I don't want there to be any animosity between you and I, okay?' he said sitting next to me on the bed.

'How can there not be? This is my husband we're talking about. It's my husband you're accusing of rape.'

'Nell, your husband had sex with a thirteen year old girl. How can that be anything but rape?'

'Sam was coming onto him. You know what she was like when she was that age. She was a little slut.'

Dad's face reddened.

I felt my face redden.

It was becoming a family trait.

All of us would be capable of stopping traffic soon.

'Don't you call my daughter a slut. How dare you! Whether she was or she wasn't, which she most certainly wasn't, there is no excuse for what he did. Even if it was consented sex, which it definitely wasn't, your husband was with an underage girl. That's illegal. Surely you're not that naive you believe Stan, Nell.'

'He told me he didn't even go the full way with Sam and I believe him.'

Dad put his hands to his face and shook his head quite violently.

At least it wasn't his lips shaking this time.

'You believe him? And where do you think Keisha came from?'

Nell looked at me.

'She's not Stan's at all. Look – she looks nothing like him. She is the product of one of those boys at school your daughter slutted around with.'

Dad clenched his teeth.

I clenched my teeth.

Tics, beetroot faces and now lockjaw.

We were an attractive family.

'How dare you say that about my sis... my mum! I've spoken to her myself. I've cried with her. I've been with her all my life. I know Sam better than anyone else and I know she wouldn't make this up. As much as I hate it, I'm Stan's daughter. Do you think I really want him for a father?'

'Stan is a good and decent man. He was going through a lot during those times and couldn't help himself when a good-looking and flirty young girl came his way, but I know you're not his daughter, Keisha.'

'Oh, and what makes you so sure of that? Just because I'm not the spitting image of the man, it doesn't mean I'm not his daughter. Trust me, Nell, I don't want him to be my father any more than what you do, but it's something I have to live with.'

She stood up.

She put her hand on her hip.

And pointed her finger at me.

'Stan is a good man, Keisha. You'd be proud to have him as your father. Look at the way he treated you and the girls when you were younger. He used to take you all to the beach and even to Surfers Paradise for a week. He paid for it all as well.'

Did she think of nothing but money?

She was clearly onto a good thing with Stan.

And exactly why did he take us to Surfers for the week? Most likely to get up to his old tricks with Sam. I remembered Mum was with us the whole time so he couldn't even get a finger near her, dirty old bugger. I thought back to a time on the beach. I was building sandcastles with Sam. I was four and she must've been almost eighteen. She helped me line my sandcastles up.

Stan had been insistent she go for a swim with him and play in the surf.

'No, Stan, I told you I don't want to swim.'

'Come on, girly, it's beautiful weather. The sun is out, there's not a cloud in the sky. Please come for a swim with me.'

'No, Stan. I don't feel like it. I'm playing with Keisha anyway. Go for a swim by yourself.'

He winked at Sam and said, 'how about we go and get an ice-cream then? We can bring some back for the girls.'

Then Mum intervened.

'She doesn't want to, Stan. Just leave it. We'll go and get ice-creams when we leave.'

He sighed and lay back down in the sand. Sam shook her head and said 'dirty old perve'.

Now I knew what she meant by it.

'You want to know why he was always so nice to the girls, Nell? Isn't it obvious?' Dad said.

'No, why?'

It was my turn to intervene.

I was losing my touch by letting Dad do all the talking.

'He used to take us on trips so he could be near Sam,' I said.

Nell firmed her lips, put her head down and started pacing the small room.

'How dare you say such a thing! What he did was innocent. He just wanted to take you girls away because he had no kids of his own. We never could have kids.'

'That's rubbish and you know it. Okay, he probably wanted to take the girls out to be kind but he had ulterior motives, Nell, and you know it. He wanted Sam,' I said.

'No – no, he just wanted to be kind to you girls, and when he saw Sam flirting with him he couldn't help but do it back. That's what happened. I want to talk to Sam myself.'

Dad shook his head vigorously. 'No – no, Nell. You're definitely not going anywhere near Sam. Not now. We need to let this all settle before we do anything about it, anything drastic anyway. And that includes you going to see her. She's been through enough.'

'But I need to see her to find out her version of this story and to explain things to her.'

'No. I said no and I mean no, Nell. You're not going anywhere near that girl. She's fragile as it is, and what would you have to explain to her anyway?'

'That what Stan did wasn't rape.'

Dad looked like he'd been on the wine all night. His face was red and he had enough stubble to give anyone a good session of acupuncture, and so many contours around his eyes and mouth, we could've used his face to navigate our way back to Melbourne.

'I think Sam can form her own opinion so you have no need to go and tell her.'

'She was only a young girl. What she thought might've been rape could've been something completely innocent.'

Her ignorance was driving me insane.

It wouldn't be Dad going to jail for killing Stan.

It would be me going for killing Nell.

'And where do you think I come from then?'

She firmed her lips so tight they disappeared.

'No, you're not Stan's daughter. Will you stop saying that!'

'Look, Nell. We aren't going to sort this out now. We need to let things rest for a while and then deal with them. But for now, I think you need to leave. You're upsetting all of us,' Dad said.

'Very well then, Tony, but we're not finished yet. Nowhere near finished.'

Once Nell left, and Dad booked our evening flight to Melbourne, we sat on the bed together to watch TV.

'Are you sure you don't want me to buy you dinner, Keisha?'

'No, I'm okay really. We'll get some dinner on the plane. I don't think I could handle any food right now anyway.'

Apart for the _Neighbours_ tune playing in the background, it was silent for what seemed like the next ten hours.

Dad finally broke the silence. 'Keisha?'

'Yes.'

'I – I'm really sorry about all of this. I know what this must be doing to you, especially with your condition too.'

'No, I'm alright really. I'm actually coping better than I thought.'

He frowned. 'Are you sure? Are you sure you're not just telling me that?'

'No, of course not. I wouldn't do that. If I was suffering mentally because of all this I'd tell you, Dad, so please don't worry. How do you think Sam is though?'

'Oh, I'd say she's probably not good, but within time she should be okay. Poor girl, I really shouted at her when I wanted to find out what was going on with you being gone. I hope she's okay.'

'Well, we'll be back in Melbourne soon and I'm sure if anything happened you'd have been called by now.'

'Actually, no. I brought the mobile and forgot the charger, and the battery's out, so we're technically without a phone.'

'We'll be home soon anyway,' I said.

Dad looked at me and smiled.

'Tell me, Keisha, how are you really doing, knowing that Stan is your father and Sam is your mother?'

It was hard to say how I was feeling. Right at the beginning when I found out Sam was my mother I was shocked beyond anything that had ever happened to me. Now I felt like a collage of emotions, like someone had taken photos of me pulling many different expressions and pasted them onto a big canvas. When I found out Stan was my biological father it was like I was looking at this collage through a magnifying glass. Betrayal, anger and sadness infiltrated my mind and paid homage to every cell in my body. My stomach was constantly like a mass of metal pips all intertwined, grinding and screeching against one another.

It was just as well I didn't have Asperger's.

I wouldn't have had a clue what I was feeling.

On the other hand, maybe that would've been a good thing.

'I'm okay, Dad. I think I'm coping pretty well with it all, especially as it's all out in the open now. I was worried about you doing something to Stan, but I hope that's all in the past. Is it?'

He paused and said, 'yes, I won't go after him, but you know my feelings.'

'Yes, I do.'

Then he huffed and smiled. 'So, what do you think about me being your grandfather instead of your father?'

I laughed.

But I was sad.

Technically I had more of Stan's genes than I did Tony's.

At least I was still related to Tony even if he was my grandfather instead of my father.

I was the product of an interfamilial affair.

Was it a wonder I was mentally challenged.

'I haven't processed it all properly yet, Dad, but now that you ask me and I think about it, it all makes it pretty revolting.'

He looked at me. I could have sworn there were tears in his eyes. 'Don't you want me to be your grandfather?'

'Well, it is a bit odd and I'm still going to think of you as my dad. It's just the whole interfamily thing. I can't believe Stan raped his own niece. Do you think that's maybe why I'm mentally crazy?'

'No – no! Don't you say you're crazy, Keisha. You're not at all. Unfortunately, you have a condition but that certainly doesn't make you crazy. It just makes you special and unique. Your intelligence is no worse than anyone else's. In fact it's probably better.'

'Thanks, Dad, but I do feel crazy. I always get all these thoughts running through my head and I can't control them.'

'Oh, darling, I know, and that's what makes you special. Just think that while you have all those thoughts, others have none going through their heads. It makes you aware of the things going on around you. Look at it this way - can you imagine sitting in a busy café and not having the interest to know what's going on around you? Can you imagine how boring that would be? At least you are always pre-occupied with something. At least you'll never get bored. And I know for a fact that people find you interesting.'

That was like saying people found the Pope fun and exciting.

'Interesting? Are you kidding, Dad? If people found me interesting, how come the only friend I have is Dougall? And he's only my friend because he doesn't have any.'

'That's because kids of your age are impressionable. There is a lot of peer pressure going on so they feel they all need to fit in. Because you're different to them, more mature, more of a thinker, they find you a threat. You impose on their already superficial bubble with your deep thinking and down to earth approach to life. Which one would you sooner be? Like you are or like them, only concerned about being like everyone else?'

Dad was right in a sense. I didn't fit in with the other kids because I liked doing things my way and didn't need to answer to anyone. I didn't have a need to fit in like all the others did.

'Thanks, Dad. I would sooner be myself. If I had to change just to adapt to the way other kids are I wouldn't be myself.'

'Well, I'm glad you don't feel the need to change just to fit in.'

Then he paused and said, 'so how do you feel about me being your grandfather and Sam your mum?'

Sam always felt like a motherly figure to me anyway.

She had even scolded me once when I was little. I called my nextdoor neighbour 'a silly old man' because he couldn't drive.

Sam was playing with me out in the street and said, 'Keisha! How dare you talk to Mr Reine like that. He's not a silly old man at all. Now apologise to him.'

I had looked up into the old man's face.

His pale blue eyes, dotted with tiny black cataracts were watery.

He had spiky white hairs sprouting out of the crevices either side of his mouth the way grass sprouts out of the cracks in pavements.

'It's alvight, Samantha. De girl is only little. She doesn't understand vas she says,' he said with a smile so genuine I couldn't take my eyes off him.

His sad face still haunted me.

'I don't really feel a lot different knowing Sam is my mum because she's always been like a mother to me, plus I'm older now so I don't have to answer to her so much. As for you being my granddad...' and I paused before saying, 'well, you're a lot older than most of the girls' dads in my year.' Then I forced a smile.

'Well, that's the first time in a long time I've actually seen you smile so you must be a bit happier.'

'I'm glad it's all out in the open now. I just hope there are no more surprises to come out of this. I'm not ecstatic about Stan being my real father but there's nothing I can do about it, so I'll just have to live with it and make the most of myself being the individual that I am.'

'That's so true, and I'm really impressed you have such a mature attitude about it all. We might be the products of our parents but our individuality is something we create ourselves. I'm so proud of you, Keisha.'

He came over to hug me.

'I'm so proud of you too.'

'What for?'

'For the way you're handling this and for not doing anything to Stan.'

'Come on, sweetheart, we'd better get ready to go to the airport.'

*****

Chapter Twelve

The taxi pulled up outside our house and no-one seemed to be home. How annoying. I expected a big welcoming like I had just come home from the barracks. I expected everyone to have crowded outside, tears in their eyes, warmth in their hearts and their arms wide open and ready to give me big hugs. When I walked inside I expected to see a huge banner saying 'Welcome home, Keisha,' and a gigantic chocolate cake on the coffee table.

No such luck.

No Sam or Jessica either.

Maybe Sam was in bed after devouring a few bottles of red and maybe Jessi was out on a date. A chance would be a fine thing for poor Jessica. She certainly didn't have the knack for pulling guys like Alex did. Jessica was hardly a magnet, more like an annoying fly that buzzes around and latches onto you when you really don't need it.

I thought about a time when she arranged to meet a boy at a club (it was her second date) and waited four hours for him. At 3am she walked into the kitchen (I was checking for ants because I had dreamt about them) saying, 'that's it, I'm giving up on men. They're just pathetic and hopeless. I'm going to ring that Chris and give him a piece of my mind.'

I heard her walk into the lounge, call his voicemail and say, 'I'm really not impressed you didn't turn up tonight and if you want to continue seeing me you've got a great deal of sucking up to do. I don't tell a guy I'm in love with him for nothing, you know! So you'd better call me back.'

I would've stood her up too if she told me she was in love with me after only one date.

'Where are the others?' I asked Dad when he finished paying the driver. I wasn't up to calling him 'Granddad' just yet.

'I don't know. It's odd Jessica isn't even here though. I called when I found you and there was no answer, so I left a message on the machine. I just presumed they were out looking for you.'

'I hope everything's okay.'

'So do I. I thought they'd be home to see you.'

When we were inside I spotted a note with 'Dad' written on it in large letters. It was on the bottom stair. Dad ran over to it and opened it up quickly.

His eyes widened.

His face turned almost as white as the meager hair on his head.

'What is it?' I asked.

He put his hand over his mouth and said, 'oh my God, it's Sam. She's been sent to hospital. Jessica found her passed out in her room with a broken bottle of Absinthe beside her. She – she had blood on her...' He couldn't continue.

'Where Dad? Where was the blood?'

But he shook his head and the tics started all over again. I didn't get an answer so I took the note from his limp hand.

Sam had blood on her wrist.

'Oh no. Poor Sam. We have to get to the hospital now. Which hospital?'

'It's in the note. Come on. I'll just get my keys and we'll go.'

Sam was linked to a whole chaos of white tubes and monitors when we went in to see her. She was a lifeless body enshrouded beneath mesh upon mesh of thick sterile tubes. I should've been happy – in my element – there with all that sanitary equipment but I wasn't. I would have walked through piles of vomit if it meant Sam wasn't in this mess. I would have gladly broken my arm, my leg, my heart if it meant Sam didn't have to hurt like this.

'She looks awful, Dad. Do you think she'll be alright?'

'Of course she will, Keisha. She'll be just fine in a few days.'

Was he denying Sam's ill-health for his own benefit or mine?

I wanted to say to him, 'if you can't admit it to me at least admit it to yourself. And say it out loud so I can hear!' but I didn't.

Jessica sat by Sam's side. She was crying and holding what looked like one of the tubes but I think it was the closest thing she could get to Sam's hand.

'What happened, Jessica?' Dad asked as she stood up to hug him.

'I don't know. I just went into her room because I hadn't heard her for a while and there she was lying on the bed, the broken bottle in one hand and all blood from her wrist in the other. She – she looked almost dead, Dad.' Jessi started getting the tics and burrowed her head in Dad's shoulder.

An unusual display of emotion.

She certainly had mellowed out a lot lately.

'Come on, Jessi. Sssshhhh... she'll be fine. You'll see.'

How many more people could Dad deny it to?

'Yes – yes, you're right. She'll be okay. We just have to look after her.'

Jessica had caught the denial bug too.

You would think Sam was in there for a sprained ankle or broken toe. I was born into a family of brainwashers who chose to repudiate everything in their lives that didn't go as planned.

Jessi looked at me and smiled.

'How are you, Keisha? You're looking well.'

She would say I looked well if I were standing there in front of a hefty man clad in a balaclava and holding a gun to my head.

'Yeah, I'm fine thanks. Just worried about Sam.'

'Yes, we all are, but she'll be okay. We just have to keep willing her to get better, you know.'

Yes, I did know.

I knew that Sam might not make it.

Trouble was, no-one else did.

Then Jessi looked behind me. 'Where's Alex? I thought she'd be with you.'

'No, I haven't seen her since last night. When did you last see her?' I asked.

'I think it was yesterday as well. She must be at her boyfriend's.'

Alex was definitely the bad egg in our batch – as rude as I was obsessive and as bitchy as Dad was soft. She worked in a fashion shop and I remembered going into the store about six months ago so she could help me pick out some clothes. She said to me, 'no, Keisha, those pants give you thunder thighs,' and 'no, those shoes give you clown's feet,' so once was more than enough for me, thank you.

It was bad enough going shopping with myself.

'Maybe we should call Alex,' I said.

'No, she'll be okay. She never lets us know where she's going. We have too much to worry about with Sam at the moment. She will call when she's ready.'

Usually Jessica had the patience of an irascible driver behind a herd of dawdling cows, but now she was one of the cows. Not a care in the world.

I sat beside the bed and put my hand on Sam's two end fingers. That was the only skin I could find to touch.

Poor Sam.

She looked so fragile yet so serene.

Her skin was pale; her veil was off.

I loved her so much.

I started to cry. The tears poured effortlessly down my face and my body strained under the pain of letting them free.

'Come on, darling, let it all out. It's okay,' Jessi said, coming over to hold me. I let her, and clung to the back of her jumper. Dad reached out and hugged us both. I listened to the breathing machine. It sounded like inaudible bagpipes, repetitious and unchanging.

We stayed like that for ages.

We wanted Sam to join us.

But her eyes didn't even flutter.

'How much Absinthe did she have?' I asked, finally pulling away from Jessica to wipe my eyes.

They looked at me and paused.

'It's okay, I know what she tried to do.'

'She had almost a full bottle and cut her wrist,' Jessi said.

That was a lot of alcohol.

She must have cut right deep into her veins to be this sick.

'How did she cut herself?' I asked.

'She broke the bottle and cut herself with the edge.'

'It's all my fault,' I said shaking my head and starting to cry again. Now I had been blessed with the tics too.

Jessi put her arm around my shoulders. 'Don't you dare say that, Keisha. It's not your fault at all. You had absolutely no idea Sam would do this, did you? You just needed to see your real father, that's all.'

'Why did she do it then? Why do you think she went that far?'

'I really don't know, Keish. All I know is she must've felt unhappy and depressed, like she couldn't do anything to change her life. Maybe she thought she made some wrong turns and thought she was doing everyone a favour if she ended her life.'

'But surely she would've had more sense than to think that.'

'Yes, in a normal state she would've done but Sam was so depressed she couldn't see outside the unhappiness in her head.'

It was strange but Jessi was sounding like me.

God, please help me; don't let Jessica be my mother too.

Some people think suicide is a selfish act but I was disinclined to agree. I defined selfishness as greediness. How could suicide be defined as this? And when people say suicide is an attention-seeking act, what attention do suicidals receive when they're dead? It would take a hell of a lot of guts and fearlessness to push yourself over that final edge.

Although I often considered suicide as a way out, I had never come so close that I wasn't able to pull myself away from the edge. When people do reach it they are so caught up with their self-loathing and depression they become deliriously sad and have to set their pain free. There is no way back to reality.

I imagined it like someone standing on the edge of a very high building in front of a huge, black velvet curtain. In the crevices of this curtain, blind and searching fingers poke their way through trying to find something to latch onto. The fingers would know they are searching for someone to save – someone to save from pain, from the world, from themselves.

Jessi turned to Dad and said, 'do you think she really meant to um – you know?'

'I don't know. I don't think she was in her right mind at all though.'

'Why do you think she drank Absinthe and then cut herself?' I asked.

'Because she wasn't in her right mind.'

'And cutting herself with glass. Why did she do that?' Jessi asked.

Dad looked at the ground and whispered, 'she wasn't in her right mind.'

Now he was like a broken record and couldn't get off that one line.

Combine that with the tics, beetroot face and lockjaw and he was well on his way to a mental institution to be stuffed into a straight jacket.

'Come on, Sam, please wake up,' I whispered as I stroked her fingers and looked at Dad. 'Can you please go and ask the doctor how she's doing? They're not giving us any feedback at all. We don't know what's going on.'

'You're right. I'll go and find someone who can help us.'

He came back after fifteen minutes exactly.

I watched the hand travel every second.

It seemed like fifteen hours.

The doctor came into the very small cubicle. There was only a thin blue curtain surrounding us and Sam. The room was no bigger than your average sized bathroom. The doctor matched the room the way miniature dolls match miniature dollhouses. He was a tiny man, probably in his forties, with dark teased up hair. The high hair did nothing for his height, only made him look more like a dwarf than he would have already.

'Samantha is stabilised. We've done tests on her and as far as we can see there's no damage. We were particularly concerned about her brain but as her CT scan predicts, we suspect no permanent damage.'

He shined a torch in her eyes.

'She is still comatose but we think she will pull out of it soon. We are hoping it is just temporary damage to the brain caused by her very large intake of alcohol and blood loss.'

He looked at Dad, said, 'she's very lucky, Mr Morgan,' and left.

'Well, he was forthcoming,' Jessi said.

'He's a busy man, and he said Sam is going to be okay. She'll be out of the coma before we know it.'

'Dad, he didn't say before we know it. He said soon,' I said.

'Alright, Keisha, but we have to remain positive.'

It was one thing to be positive but another to be so positive you deny the truth to yourself. Then again I was so negative I looked for things that weren't even there.

'I agree, Dad, but I also know that something bad could happen.'

He shook his head. 'No, nothing is going to happen to her. You wait and see.'

'If it does, it'll be my fault.'

'Keisha, I don't want you to ever say that again, you hear. Like Jessica said, you had no idea what would happen when you went to see Stan. Sam probably didn't even know herself.'

'Then why did she do it? Was she so scared and depressed about it that she had to try and take her own life?'

'As I told you before, Keisha, she wasn't in her right state of mind. You know what Sam can be like when she worries about something. It completely weighs her mind down.'

Well, that was one thing I got from my mother.

*****

Chapter Thirteen

We were forced out of the hospital while the moon was hanging on its precarious thread in the sky. There was no change from Sam. She was still the serene mannequin in her hospital bed, ethereal almost, betroth to a world marked by the living dead. When she was asleep she reminded me of a little girl - a little girl in her garden of innocence, believing in everything, and her heart knowing nothing but the love and happiness inside it.

That was how I saw her now.

That was how I hoped she felt now.

We walked into the house to see Alex sitting on the couch and laughing at the television.

'Guys, what's going on? Where have you been? I was worried, man' she said, her eyes turning from the TV for just a fleeting second.

'Don't say you were worried, Alex. 'Worry' isn't a word in your vocabulary. The only thing you were worried about is who was going to cook you dinner,' I said.

'No - well, okay, if you put it like that I am kind of hungry. Who is doing the honours tonight anyway?' She looked at the three of us and smiled.

The stupid girl.

She really was an anomaly.

She was an alien sent down to earth from Mars to spy on the human race. Unfortunately, the Martian designers did some dodgy investigational work when they did their research. They probably analysed a crummy bunch of humans to use as blueprint in effort to make Alex quickly. God knows what the boss Martian would think when she returned with all her 'secret' knowledge.

Ok, I knew I was being far-fetched but I quite often wondered how Alex survived in this world with other humans.

'So, who's it going to be then?'

'It's almost eleven at night and you haven't even thought about getting your own dinner, Alex?' Jessica said.

Jessica was being far from patient now.

She was the irate driver behind the herd of cows.

'Yeah, I guess so. Someone always cooks so I thought I'd be in on it.'

'Yeah, in on the eating, not the cooking though.'

'So? If I eat your food that's a compliment to you, isn't it? You should be eternally grateful I'm paying you a complement, sis,' and she threw Jessica a cocky wink.

She definitely wasn't a Morgan.

I was convinced she was a Martian.

'You're right selfish, Alex. Can't you look at us and see what's been happening?'

Jessica was not only the irascible driver but his screaming wife too now.

'Er, no, you all look fine to me. Is this about Keish going up to the Gold Coast?'

If someone told me Alex was a poorly designed robot I'd have believed them. She should have worn a t-shirt that said, 'my other body will fit in with the human race even if this one doesn't'.

'Well, we're not fine, Alex. And Keish going to the Gold Coast was just the beginning of it. She met her real father and Sam tried to commit suicide. She's lying in a hospital bed now holding on for dear life.'

For a moment there I thought I saw a glimpse of shock in Alex's eyes but...

'She'll be right. She always is. You'll see. And Keisha, so you met your dad eh? Has he got all the problems you have?'... I was mistaken.

'Yes, I met my father and no, as far as I know he doesn't have my problems.'

'Why do you have to be so harsh, Alex?' Dad said.

'Am I? I didn't think I was being harsh. So when's Sam going to come home then?' She was probably waiting for the black _Revlon_ nail polish Sam had promised her a week ago.

'Didn't you hear a word I said? I said she's holding on for dear life. What do you think that means, Alex? That she's going to walk out of her hospital bed in a coma?' Jessica said.

'No, I guess not, and what a sight that would be!' she laughed. 'She'll be fine though. You wait and see.'

The roles had reversed.

Jessica was acting like me, a pessimist.

Alex was acting like Jessica, an optimist, though with far less care.

God help me if I ended up thinking like one of the family, like Dad for instance – a romanticist who believed everything had a happy ending.

'Do you want to come and see her tomorrow with us?' he asked.

Alex paused, clearly perusing the question, and said, 'er, I don't think I have anything on, but if James takes me out to buy the new jacket I want, I'll give it a miss. Sorry, Dad.' And she turned to face the TV, crossed her legs and folded her arms.

I could picture it now, Alex at the hospital.

She would go into the Sam's little room and say it was too small. Then she would look down at her and all the machines, and say something like, 'God, doesn't she look awful? You can see makeup certainly does wonders for her when you see her like this,' and, 'poor Sam. I just hope you don't die looking like that,' all the time shaking her holier-than-thou head.

It was a wonder the girl could walk normally with the invisible long stick she had implanted up her as a permanent fixture.

'Suit yourself then, Alex, if you have to take that attitude.'

After a long pause she looked at me and said 'so, Keish, who's your father then? Maybe I know him. Maybe I had a piece of him myself,' she laughed.

'You are so disgusting, Alex, and I can assure you that you didn't.'

'So who is it then?'

I looked at Dad for approval.

He nodded.

'It's our uncle, Stan.'

I couldn't believe it. I saw more than a glimmer of shock in the girl's eyes, more than a gaping mouth trying to get words out. She looked like she had seen herself in the mirror with a barber shaving all her hair off for a part in the Sydney Mardi Gras.

'You're kidding, aren't you? He's an old man,' she managed to say after a very long pause.

'No, I'm not kidding.'

'I can't believe it. Our own uncle, Mum's brother. The dirty old swine was having it off with Sam. That's gross, completely feral,' she said, screwing her face up.

'It's true, but he wasn't having it off with Sam as you put it, he was raping her. It was unconsented sex.' I had to make sure she knew the truth.

'Wow, that's really disgusting, but I always knew that man was a dirty old perve.'

'Why do you say that? He never looked that way to me at the time,' Dad said frowning.

'Oh, you know, he always a flirt, and he thought he was God's gift.'

I looked at Alex.

She was always a flirt.

She thought she was God's gift to men.

Perhaps she was a product of him too.

And suddenly she turned away from us all.

'So, do you think Sam will die?' she said. It was an obvious change of subject.

'No,' Dad said, 'and don't change the topic on me, Alex. I want to know why you called Stan a dirty old perve.'

'Oh, he just looked the type to me. That's all. Quit asking me questions, man.'

Dad walked over to her and looked into her eyes. 'No, Alex, there's more to this than you're letting on. Come on, please tell me.'

As unbelievable as it might've sounded I thought I saw tears in her eyes.

'No, Dad, there's no more to it. Please just leave me alone,' and she ran upstairs.

'Alex, please. I only want to talk to you. Please don't shut me out,' he said running into the hall. I followed.

'Please just leave me alone, for God's sakes. I don't need this, alright. Just bugger off the whole lot of you,' Alex shouted from her bedroom.

Dad has his head against her door. He tried the handle but it was locked.

'Dad, she'll come out when she's ready. Maybe we should just leave her for now,' I said.

I couldn't believe I was supporting her but I hadn't seen her cry since she was a little girl. I had never seen such a transformation, not in Alex. It was like seeing Anna Nicole Smith transform into The Pope. It just didn't happen.

'No, I want to know why she said it.'

'But, Dad, you know what she's like. She doesn't open up to anyone and she certainly won't tell you until she's ready.'

So we sat outside her room for a while until we heard her turn the doorknob.

'Okay, you can come in now. I know you've been sitting out there.'

We stood up and went inside.

'So what do you want to know?' Alex said sitting down on her bed.

It had been a while since I had been invited into her room. It looked like any normal teenage girl's room (excluding mine) with posters of tanned and muscle-clad boys. She seemed to have a thing for guys with messy blond hair and brown glistening muscles.

Her room was messy and covered in magazines and makeup. I had no idea how she could let her bed go unmade. Even her Venetian blind wasn't sitting straight. I didn't know how she survived in that room.

Her eyes were red.

Could she have been crying?

I stood by the door with my arms crossed and watched Dad sit next to her on the bed.

'I just want to know why you think Stan is a dirty old pervert.'

She breathed in deeply and looked at the ceiling.

'Well, he um – he just flirted with me a bit when I was little, that's all.'

'He flirted with you? What exactly did he do, Alex? I need to know. Please tell me.'

'That's all, really.'

'Come on, Alex. What did he say? Did he touch you in anyway?'

'I was a little kid for God's sakes. How am I going to remember that?'

That was just it. Nothing ever really left our minds, our hearts or our lives. Even if we were blind to them they were always there burning inside us. One of my favourite sayings is from a 1958 film called _World Dies Screaming_ (also known as _Terror in the Haunted_ House). It goes like this:

You hold the answer deep within your own mind.  
Consciously, you've forgotten it.  
That's the way the human mind works.  
Whenever something is too unpleasant, too shameful for us  
to entertain, we reject it.  
We erase it from our memories.  
But the imprint is always there."

I especially liked the last two lines. I imagined our mind a dark chamber full of thoughts running around like free spirits. The bad memories we push deep down into pitch-black crevices hoping they'll disappear, but they wait there quietly until one day something or someone sets them free.

'Alex, you would remember something like that,' Dad said.

'I can't remember what he did, okay. Please just give it a rest.'

Her eyes were watery again.

It was a new thing.

Dad needed to approach her differently. Alex, although she was selfish, liked to believe she was independent and didn't need help from anyone.

So I sat beside her and said, 'Alex, it's not that we're trying to help you. We need to know because Stan has already raped Sam. We need to know how long it's been going on for and how many people he's done it to. I'm sure you want to see him punished just as much as we do.'

'You know I'd love to see Stan punished, but –' Alex paused.

'But what, Alex? He can't get away with what he's done. It's wrong and you know it too,' I said.

'For God's sakes, Keisha, what is it you want me to say?'

'I want you to tell us what happened.'

She paused before saying, 'he wanted me to touch him, okay. Is that what you want to hear? That he used to get me to touch his thing? I was six. Sam was pregnant so that's why he went for me. He said it was a special snake and that if I touched it, it would grow. So I did.'

Dad looked as shocked as I felt.

'I feel so bad,' she said over and over as tears rolled down her cheeks.

'Why do you feel bad? You shouldn't feel bad at all. You didn't know what you were doing,' Dad said. He put his arms around her and cried.

'But – but at the time I – I thought it was fun watching the snake grow.' Alex shuddered.

Dad put his head up, grit his teeth and said, 'God, if only I could get my hands on that man again. This time I'd really kill him.'

Alex looked up at him. 'No. No, Dad. You mustn't. He warned me never to tell anyone. Please, please don't.'

For the first time in my life I felt such empathy for her. Even though she was a spy from Mars she didn't deserve this.

'Well, you're a bit older now, Alex. I think you understand it all. Can I ask you something? Did he ever penetrate you?' Dad asked.

'No – no, me touching him, that's the furthest it ever went. Please, Dad. Please don't say anything.'

'Why, Alex?'

'Because he said if I ever told anyone, however old I was, something bad would happen to me and my sisters.'

He pulled her closer and hugged her tight.

'You poor child. I jut wish I knew all this was going on. That son of a bitch has ruined another daughter. How long did he do it for?'

'It – it was for a while, perhaps a couple of years, but in the end I worked out what he was doing, and I threatened to tell you. That's when he said something bad would happen to us.'

Dad's tics were taking over his mouth.

He had half-moon dents in his lower lip.

'That's it. That man is going to jail for life. If it takes me until the day I die, I will see he is put in for life. He is not doing that to my daughters and getting away with it.'

He called Jessica from downstairs.

She came in too quickly for my liking.

'Yes, Dad?' she said coming in.

'Jessica, I don't know how to ask you this, but has Stan ever touched you or done anything you were uncomfortable with?'

'No – no, he hasn't. Definitely not. Why do you ask?' She frowned but I knew she knew why.

'Because he has done it to Alex as well, and I need to know if he's touched anyone else in the family.'

'Dad, he didn't touch me. He just got me to touch him,' Alex said.

'No, he did absolutely nothing to me,' Jessi said.

Then he looked at me and said, 'I'd know if he had done anything to you, Keisha. I'm sure you would've told me.'

'No, he's never done anything to me. I was as shocked as you were about Alex,' I said.

'That swine saw Alex as an easy target because she was young. The nerve of the man,' Dad said and yawned.

'He deserves to be locked up,' Jessi said.

'Come on, I think we all should get some sleep now so we can go and see Sam tomorrow. The hospital said they'd call if anything happened so I'll take the cordless to bed with me. Are you going to be okay, Alex, or do you want to sit up for a while with me?'

She shook her head, said 'no, I'll be fine' and wiped her face.

I had many thoughts running through my head that night.

Poor Sam in hospital.

Poor Alex being abused.

Poor Dad for not knowing all this was happening to his daughters.

And lucky me

*****

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sitting by Sam's side was becoming a daily custom. She had been in the coma for almost a week now. I didn't think I could handle it anymore. I hadn't been to school for days. Dougall was calling and leaving messages but I didn't speak to him. He even came to see me, and I watched from my bedroom window.

'Is Keisha alright, Mr Morgan? She hasn't been at school for almost two weeks and I'm worried about her. She won't return any of my calls,' he said to Dad.

'Please call me Tony, Dougall. Keisha is going through a rough patch at the moment. Her sister is in hospital and she's had some things to deal with herself, but she should be better soon. I'm sure you can expect to see her back at school next week.'

'Can you please give her my best regards. I really hate to see her sick, Mr – er, Tony. She's my best friend and I need her to come back.'

'Of course I'll do that for you, Dougall. You take care, okay.'

I watched Dougall walk away.

His head was down and his hands were in his pockets.

He was a nerd.

He was my sweet little nerd though.

Dad was trying hard with me and Jessica was kinder than usual, but I needed Sam. She was my best friend and I needed her to come back to me. No-one could ever replace her.

No-one stayed up at night with me to alphabetise my books like she did.

No-one helped me put everything in my room so it was symmetrical like she did.

No-one smiled at me when I wiped my knife and fork with a serviette in a restaurant the way she did.

I liked going to the hospital by myself so I could talk to her. I didn't tell her I wasn't going to school in case she could hear me. I usually told her about the books I was reading and what the others were doing at home.

My obsessions had become worse. If I wasn't thinking about her I was thinking about how many times I needed to wash my hands before I ate.

I remembered a time when I was younger asking Dad why he worked in a bar and not an office.

He said, 'because office desks have four-hundred times more germs than your average toilet does.'

I thought about it and wondered how it could've been true. Then it dawned on me that maybe he was right.

Take your average dirty person. That person goes to the toilet, does number twos and manages to get some excrement lodged in his or her nails (I was being gender non-discriminating), walks out of the toilet and doesn't wash his or her hands. The person goes back to his or her desk and while biting the fingernails on one hand he or she is tapping his or her fingers on the desk with the other. The excrement falls onto the desk, smudges and stays there.

Another worker comes along, sits at the desk and puts his hands on the smudge. He or she might have a job as a chef after work. The worker doesn't wash his or her hands before he or she handles food and so the excrement gets onto someone's plate and into their digestive tract, and so the process continues.

Thank God for my rigorous hand-washing ritual.

When I left Sam each day I always ended my solo conversations with, 'I love you so much, Sam, and I need you to come home because – '. I had a different reason every night. One day I said 'because I miss your smile'. Another time I said, 'because you are my best friend.' The last time I saw her I said, 'because I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart'. That was my favourite line from my favourite poem, _I Carry your Heart with me_ , by EE Cummings.

Every day I thought of something new to say because I was so scared something could happen to her.

We were sitting down for dinner one night. Jessica said, 'Dougall has been coming around, Keish. When are you going to see him?'

'When I'm ready to, but I'm not at the moment. Besides, I'll be back at school soon so I'll see him then.'

I didn't even need to look at Dad to know what his reaction would be.

'I spoke to him the other day too. He's a nice boy, Keish. You shouldn't be keeping your distance from him like this. You need a friend right now. You're always in your room unless you're coming down for meals, and that's not often.'

What did he want me to do?

Give Dougall my Ken doll?

Take out my Barbies and play happy families with him?

'I'm alright, Dad. I have what I need. I don't need anyone to talk to. I'm perfectly okay.'

Jessica gave me a long lingering look. 'Are you punishing yourself because you think you are to blame for Sam being in a coma?'

'Don't be silly, Jessi. I'm not punishing myself. I just don't feel like dealing with anyone at the moment. Can we please just drop it?'

'It is that, isn't it, Keisha? You do think you're to blame, don't you?' she asked, ignoring my request and acting like I'd said nothing at all.

Jessica really was deviating from her usual languid stiff zone.

She had me worried.

We didn't need a shrink in the family.

We had enough with me needing to be shrinked.

'Jessi, don't worry about it, please. Can we just forget it?'

'No, we can't. I need to know.'

'Okay, I do think it's partly my fault because I went to see Stan. We wouldn't have had all this if I didn't go. Sam would be sitting at the table with us now.'

'That may be so, but you wouldn't have known the true Stan and we would never have found out about Alex either. Don't worry, she'll come round from the coma, you'll see.'

I hated that.

Jessica and Dad in denial.

If Sam was lucky enough to pull out of it she would probably end up with memory loss or paralysis. It was my fault.

'Why are you and Dad always so optimistic about everything? There's no guarantee Sam will come round,' I said.

Dad had tears in his eyes. 'Please don't say that, Keisha. There is every chance she'll come out of it fine, and I have to believe that. It's what's getting me through this.'

I wish I had the same capacity to be optimistic like they did.

My mind was a china shop.

My thoughts were a ball in that shop.

They roamed around and played havoc with everything in sight.

Dad's mind was a bandaid he thought he could use to cover up wounds.

The next day when Dougall came to the house Dad told him to come up to my room. My room was prepared but my mind wasn't.

'Hi Dougall, how are you?' I said, opening the door to him.

'I'm good thanks, but more importantly, how are you? I've been trying to call you, Keish, but you haven't called back.'

'I know. I'm sorry. I've just been under a lot of pressure with things lately, you know.'

Poor Dougall.

He was looking plainer than usual.

He could have auditioned to be Dobby's understudy in _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,_ if he shaved his greasy hair off that is.

'I've been really worried, Keisha. What's been going on?' he asked.

'What's Dad told you?'

'Nothing, he thinks you should tell me.'

I sat down on my bed and patted the space next to me.

'It's one hell of a story. You sure you want to know?'

'Keisha, you're my best friend. Of course I want to know. I want to know so I can help you,' he said sitting down slowly.

Everything he did was awkward and slow.

Poor Dougall was awkward right through his very core.

I told him the whole story from when I found out Sam was my biological mother to her trying to commit suicide. He was really upset about her being in a coma.

'I just can't believe it, Keisha. Why would your sis – sorry, Sam, want to take her own life? She has so much going for her, you know. She must've been really upset.'

He looked at the floor and put his hands in his pockets. 'Wow, it's an amazing story, and just so hard to believe.'

'I am telling you the truth. I wouldn't lie to you, and why do you think I've been off school all this time?'

He threw me a look of shock. 'Oh no, I wasn't doubting you, Keisha. I'd never do that because I know you're always so honest. It's just so totally bizarre, like something you see on a film.'

If only it were all a film.

'So, what do you think is going to happen to Sam? Do you think she'll be okay?' he asked.

'I hope so. I keep willing her along and when I go there alone I talk to her.'

'Yeah, that's a good idea. I'm sure if anyone can shake her out of the coma you can. You two are really close, almost like you're identical twins or something.'

I wanted to tell him to stop talking about Sam. It was hard enough having her always consume my thoughts but it was even harder to listen to someone outside my mind talk about her. It made it all seem too real. I couldn't tell myself I was only dreaming because here was Dougall trying to wake me up and find me.

'Are you okay, Keish? You seem to have gone off to another planet or something.'

'Oh yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about Sam.'

He smiled awkwardly.

At least he knew there was a possibility she might not make it.

At least he didn't live in the world of denial with Jessica and Dad.

Then he looked down at his hands and said, 'can I ask you something, Keisha?'

'Sure, go ahead.'

'I – um, I wondered how all this is affecting your head and all. Are you okay?'

'I'm okay, I guess. There's no need to go calling the men in white suits to come and take me away just yet,' and I laughed before saying, 'there is something I'm a bit worried about though.'

'What's that?'

'It's a bit difficult to talk about, and if I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone else?'

'Of course.'

'Not even my dad or Jessi or Alex?'

'No, of course I won't. Why? What is it, Keish?'

Something had happened I couldn't share with anyone.

Something had entered my mind I had absolutely no control over.

It was something I had never dreamed of doing in my life before.

And I told him. 'I – I was sitting by Sam's bed one day. Actually it was a couple of days ago, and all of a sudden I had this awful evil thought come into my mind.'

'What?'

'Well, Sam has a drip attached to the back of her hand. She used to be on a heart monitor but she doesn't have that any more. Anyway, I was sitting there all by myself falling asleep, when suddenly I thought about taking the drip's needle out of her hand to stab her with it. This thought just festered and however much I tried I couldn't get rid of it. It just went on and on. In the end I was so scared I'd do it I left the hospital in a panic. I was sweating and everything.'

'Wow, that's kind of scary, isn't it?'

'Yes, but I haven't had really bad thoughts like that, not when they've really tried to take over. I think it's all the stress and everything. My body is just experiencing overload at the moment, including my brain. It's called something like overvalued ideation, I think. I hope that's all it is.'

'Yeah, I read something about it. It doesn't mean you'd ever do it though.'

Dougall had been investigating my problems for me.

'I know, but I worry every time I go and see her now. I've even thought maybe I shouldn't visit her.'

But then I wouldn't have been able to give her my reason every day why I wanted her back. I didn't tell Dougall the extremity of my situation, my catch twenty-two. I tried so hard not to even think about it in hope it would disappear. I didn't even talk to my mind about it because I needed the thoughts to vanish or at least to go down to that dusty crevice where they wouldn't re-surface for a long time.

My thoughts seemed so real yet in reality it was impossible for them even to be legitimate. I envisioned myself being taken away from Sam by the men in white suits after I had stabbed her so many times with the needle.

'It wasn't me,' I would say flinging my arms around, while the men tried to stick a needle in my bottom.

'Come on now,' one man would say, struggling to pull the top of my pants down so he could inject me. 'If it wasn't you who was it?'

'It was my mind. It kept on telling me to do it.'

The man would take one look at me, shake his head and say, 'yes, I'm sure it did, and that's why we're taking you away. You're one crazy chick.'

I would be carried out of the hospital doped up to the eyeballs and muttering, 'it wasn't me. It was my mind.'

I really did need help.

'I've actually been doing a little research on the topic and came across something called Cognitive Therapy. It might help you,' Dougall said as I was trying hard to plummet back down to reality.

'Yeah, I've heard about it myself. I think Sam talked to me about it the day I found out she was my mum. It's something called The Four Steps. We haven't talked about treatment since. I've been to so many therapists and psychiatrists though, Doug, I don't think I could handle anymore. To tell you the truth, I don't think there is anyone who can do a single thing for me.'

He looked at me.

He really did look like Dobby now.

A long nose, gaping mouth and huge eyes brimming with anticipation.

'Keish, you shouldn't say that until you try it. You can't say something doesn't work unless you've done it. Okay, you might've been to heaps of shrinks but I bet none of them have actually ever gone to the trouble of doing this cognitive therapy thing with you, have they?'

No, most shrinks told me to forget about the thoughts running through my mind. That was like telling Dougall to forget about all his chemical combinations.

'What does this cognitive therapy involve anyway?' I asked.

'Well, there are a few steps to it. I'm not sure of the order exactly but I know it's kind of based on the Greek philosophy that "nothing in life is actually bad lest we perceive it to be so". You are taught to get rid of the anxious thoughts in your brain by repeating what makes you panic. If you have thoughts like you're having about Sam, you say to yourself something like, "come on, I am going to stab Sam with the needle" over and over again until your brain somehow gets sick of it. Then you keep on saying to yourself that the thoughts you're having are irrational. See what I mean.'

Dougall was quite an intelligent and resourceful boy.

Or just very compassionate.

'But I can't go and do that, Dougall. It sounds like everything else I've been through already. It just wouldn't work.'

'Like I said, you won't know until you try, and don't say you've done it before because you've never been to one shrink for long enough. It's a long process, you know, and you can't be impatient. It's not something that'll happen over night.'

There was a knock at my door.

'Keisha, are you okay? Did you two want anything to eat or drink?'

'No, Jessi,' I call back, 'we're fine, but thanks anyway.'

'Alright. Just come down when you're hungry.'

I turned back to face Dougall.

'But I really can't see how it'll work. It's some kind of chemical imbalance. How can something therapeutic change my brain? I need substances to do that.'

'How long have you been on that drug for now? I'm sorry, Keish, but it hasn't cured you, has it?'

'It's Zoloft and I've been on it for a long time. It does help me, but I don't think anything will ever cure me. I'm stuck with it and I'll die with it.'

'Yeah, that may be the case, but with this cognitive therapy you'll learn how to manage it properly. Don't you just want to give it a try? Come on, Keish, it really might help you.'

'Oh, I don't know.'

'Come on. Tell you what, how about you give it just a couple of sessions and if you really don't like it or if you really don't see it working, you can give it up? But at least give it a go. I never knew you to be a quitter, Miss Morgan.'

Dougall the nerd was becoming Dougall the persuader.

Funny boy, he really must have cared about me.

'Well, maybe,' I said, 'but please let me think about it.'

'Okay, but if you don't do it for yourself, do it for Sam. I'm sure she'd want you to. She's been trying to get you along to more shrinks for ages, hasn't she?'

He really knew how to win me over.

I was sure he was clambering to the title, Dougall the Crusader.

He would be forcing me to call him Julius Caesar before long.

'Okay, I guess you're right. I suppose it's the least I can do for her. Maybe I'll even be a bit better for her when she comes out of the coma.'

Look who was becoming the optimist now.

He smiled and gave me an awkward hug.

'Oh, Keisha, I'm so proud of you. I'm really pleased you're going to do it. You wait and see. It'll really help you, I can see it now.'

'Whoa, Dougall, don't get your hopes up too fast. I said I was going to give it a couple of trials to see if I like it or not. I didn't say I was going to complete the whole thing.'

'Okay, okay. I know what you're saying. I'm just proud of you, Keish.'

He took his arms away from me slowly and looked at the floor.

'What is it now, Dougall?'

He paused and said, 'how can read me so well?'

'I've known you for years. I know all your little quirks and habits. So tell me what's wrong.'

'Nothing's wrong really. I just wondered when you're coming back to school. People have been asking about you.'

That was unlikely.

The kids wouldn't have even noticed if I was captured by aliens coming out of a humongous spaceship right in front of their very eyes.

I would be lucky if the teachers noticed me.

'I'm sure they haven't, Dougall. Don't lie to me. The other kids would be glad to be rid of me.'

'No, it's true. They've been asking me what's wrong with you.'

'And who exactly is "they"?'

'Oh, you know, the usual kids.'

There weren't any 'usual kids'.

It was just me and him.

'What usual kids? I don't remember anyone really noticing whether I was at school or not.'

'Well, all the teachers have asked me.'

'Come on, Dougall. Only the teachers have asked, haven't they? None of the kids would even know I've been away.'

'No, Keisha.'

'Don't lie to me, Dougall. You know how much I hate lying.'

He gave me a sappy Dobby smile and changed the subject.

'So when are you coming back to school?'

'I'll probably come back next week when I've sorted out what I'm going to do about this therapy, the specialist I'm going to see, that sort of thing.'

'That's great. I can't wait for you to come back.'

That night I searched the internet for sites on Cognitive Therapy. CT seemed to be a kind of thinking and behavioural approach towards treating my type of problems. My designated therapist would need to form a rapport with me and encourage me to treat myself. I knew it was going to be hard.

I wouldn't be allowed to give into my fears. I would need to identify them and own them.

And there were my thoughts to work on. My thoughts were worrying me in the extreme but what I needed to do was focus on removing my guilt about hurting Sam. It was my unconscious mind that produced this unreasonable thought, and my mind worrying about it and becoming over-anxious.

I discovered I probably had an overly sensitized amygdala. This is the part of the brain responsible for preparing us for emergencies. My amygdala was definitely more active than it should've been. It needed deactivating.

I should have been a computer game, a deep voice saying, _'your amygdala is deactivated. You will experience some numbness but you will be in control of your thoughts. You can press 'A' to re-activate your amygdala but it will be 'Game Over'._

I needed to develop a confidence in myself so I could take the risks. It wasn't going to be easy but I needed to do it for Sam's sake.

*****

Chapter Fifteen

I made it to Mr Matthews' suites after a very compelling chat with Dougall. I had an appointment almost immediately. The general practitioner, who I saw with Jessica, must've thought I was in urgent need of treatment.

The waiting room certainly didn't comply with the mind of an obsessive person. In the middle of the room was a small wooden table covered in stacks of magazines. The magazines looked like a tornado had erupted. They were tatty edged and plonked on top of one another like they were sitting in a recycled bin ready to be thrown out.

The reception desk left a lot to be desired too. There was a bell on top in severe need of a polish and a filing rack drastically overloaded with papers. Maybe it was all in aid of my visit. Maybe Mr Matthews had come out of his office and said to the receptionist, 'make it look as disorderly and messy as possible. We've got another crazy, obsessive tidy freak coming in'.

I opened my book to try and stop myself from thinking about the mess. I wished Sam were with me. She was the only one I found easy to talk to. We had our comfortable silences where we were both quite happy not to talk. We were certainly having one of those silences now. I hadn't spoken to her in two weeks.

A man came into the waiting room. He was tall with brown hair and blue eyes, quite nice-looking. Terrible clothes though. Brown cords and a green shirt. He looked like the type of guy who rode his bike to work, took doorstep sandwiches in a brown paper bag for lunch to work and who smiled at every passer-by in the street.

'Hello, Keisha, would you like to come in?' he said holding an arm out to his door.

His office was modern with a homely feel. There was a worn black leather couch in the corner. Orange cushions with leafy folds coming away sat at either end. There was a bookcase full of old and unkempt books. His arrangement was awful. Some books were lying on their backs and some weren't even closed properly.

Definitely a ploy to irritate me, I thought. He probably said to his receptionist, 'and don't forget to go into my office and mess everything up. This girl's really crazy and in urgent need of therapy.'

I had started putting myself into some kind of category, a segregated group dissociated from the rest of the world. It was odd because I hated stereotyping. I even thought about creating a secret sect for obsessive freaks and calling it the Obsessive Freaks Society. One could only become a secret member if they complied with the Seven Deadly Obsessions.

  1. Pride - thou shalt be obsessed with small imperfections like creases in clothes; wanting everything symmetrical.

  2. Envy – thou shalt be so obsessed with someone you would go through their garbage.

  3. Lust – thou shalt sometimes have highly disturbing obsessive sexual thoughts and images.

  4. Gluttony – thou shalt fear some foods are bad and must be avoided.

  5. Anger – thou shalt have obsessive violent impulses or images you think could be real.

  6. Greed – thou shalt be obsessive in collecting everything.

  7. Sloth – thou shalt never be lazy. An obsessive person is never slothful.

'So tell me about Keisha Morgan,' Mr Matthews said as I sat on the couch and he sat in a chair behind an old wooden desk.

I hoped the couch hadn't had anyone dirty sitting on it. I tried not to think about it.

'About myself. Um, well I came here today because I can't stop my mind from ticking over and over, and I thought you might be able to help me.'

He smiled and leaned back. 'Well, I'm pleased about that, Keisha, but I want to know about you as a person. What you do, the things you like, your hobbies, your favourite subjects, pets – those sorts of things.'

'Well, I um – I don't have any pets. I like reading and listening to music. My favourite subjects are Biology and English.'

'Good. What sort of music do you listen to, Keisha?'

'Mainly contemporary music, and um, I know this might sound a bit odd but I like classical and opera music as well.'

He frowned. 'Why would that be odd? I have a daughter of fourteen and she loves opera music. Her favourite opera is La Traviata.'

Mr Matthews seemed very nice but when was he going to get to the nitty gritty?

'What sort of books do you read?' he continued.

'I like science-fiction mostly but I've started getting into philosophy lately.''Yes, philosophy can be very interesting. I like ancient philosophy myself. I find it really interesting to see what made our ancestors tick. Greek philosophy is my favourite.' He put his hand through his hair and said, 'brothers and sisters, Keisha? Do you have any?'

I smiled and looked down at the floor – a tough one. 'Yes, I have three sisters – well, two actually.'

'Oh? So you have two or three sisters?'

'It's a complicated story but I've always grown up with three sisters until a few weeks ago when I found out my oldest sister is actually my mum.'

He didn't seemed fazed at all. He smiled, leaned forward and put his hands on the desk.

'Aren't all family tales complicated, Keisha? I think it must be really something to find out your sister is your mum. So do you get on well with your sisters? Are you all like peas in a pod?'

'No, definitely not, but I'm beginning to understand them more lately so I have more tolerance for them now. I get on best with my oldest sister, Sam. She's actually my mum. Then there's Jessica. I get on well with her but nothing special. Then there's Alex. She's the black sheep of the family.'

'Well, it sounds like you are all very different girls, which is good. We wouldn't want you all to be the same now, would we? That'd be too boring. And what about your mum and dad?'

'Mum died when I was eight and Dad is lovely. He does so much for us all, too much sometimes. He works in a pub.'

'Does he? I'm sorry about your mum though, Keisha.'

I liked Mr Matthews but he seemed to be forgetting why I was there.

I didn't come for a general chinwag.

I could do that with my mind.

'So what do you think of this office, Keisha? I watched you walk in and you eyed it up very carefully. You paid particular attention to the books over there. Did you want to look at any?'

'Er no – no, that's okay. I was looking at them for another reason.'

'Oh, really? What's that?'

'Because – because I thought they look untidy.'

He looked at the books and smiled. 'You're right, they could do with a tidy up, Keisha. I'll have to do it on my day off.'

There was a short silence while he took notes.

'Excuse me, Mr Matthews. I don't mean to be rude but you do realise I'm here to be treated for my obsessions. You haven't really asked me anything about them yet.'

'Keisha, I know, but before we get into that I want us to be comfortable with one another. I want you to get to know me and I get to know you. Do you think it's okay to do it that way?'

I nodded.

This shrink was good.

'I'm pleased you agree. So, Keisha, if someone were to write an article about you and what you're like as a person what do you think they'd say?'

'I guess they would say I'm kind and probably mature. Perhaps a bit too deep for my own good. I'm definitely a thinker and I tend to cut off at times with my own thoughts. Most definitely a perfectionist but I always try to do good things for people.'

He continued to ask me questions about myself. I felt very comfortable talking to him about my fears and phobias. I even told him about my fear of hurting Sam. He didn't frown once but sat and listened, mostly with a smile on his face.

'Well, I'm sorry, Keisha, but we have to finish here for today. I want us both to start progressing with the Cognitive Therapy next time you come in, that's if you feel comfortable enough with me. I'll let you have a think about it for a while, but I'm glad you came to see me.'

'Oh, yes, I would definitely like to come back. Should I come the same time next week?'

He smiled and said, 'yes, that will be perfect. I just want to give you some homework to do for me though. Don't worry, it's nothing like Chemistry formulas. I just want you to walk on the curb some time for me. Do you think you could do that?'

I knew I had to do it. Anyway, I'd been through enough panic attacks to know they didn't last.

'Yes, it's going to be hard but I have to do it.'

'Well, I'm glad we agree. I look forward to seeing you next week, Keisha.'

'So, how did it go?' Jessi asked almost too eagerly as I walk into the kitchen. She and Dad were at the table with cups of coffee.

'It was good.'

'Really? So you felt comfortable with this doctor?' Dad asked.

'Yeah, he seems really nice and we got on well.'

'That's fantastic, Keish. Do you think you'll go back to him?' Jessica asked.

'Yes, I have an appointment to see him again after school next week.'

Jessica stood up and came over to hug me.

She was bordering on being the head of her own hug support group with a mission statement like, 'if you're in a muddle come for a cuddle'.

'So what sort of things did he talk to you about?' she asked sitting down again.

'Jessica! I'm not supposed to discuss that with you. All I can say is that he was just very nice, more like a friend than anything, and someone I could really talk to. He's given me a task to do though.'

'Oh? What's that?' Dad asked.

'He wants me to walk on the curb.'

'That doesn't sound hard. I'm sure you'll be fine, Keish.'

For Dad maybe it was fine but for me it was almost equal to lying on the train tracks not knowing when the next train was going to come.

'Well, I guess it'll help you though, right?' Jessi asked.

'Yeah, I guess so. By the way, where is Alex? I haven't seen her for a few days.'

'I don't know. Since she told us about Stan she has been trying to avoid us. I thought when I had that heart to heart with her everything would be fine, but now she's gone deeper into her shell. I don't know what to do about it,' Dad said.

'Oh no, that's bad. Hopefully, she'll come round soon. Maybe it's just going to take time. Anyway, I'm going up to my room. I'm tired,' I said and left the kitchen.

I went back to school the following day and was the most nervous I could ever remember being. I could hardly breathe as I walked up to my locker.

And when I walked into Biology I heard a group of girls at the back whisper about me. I tried not to pay attention as I sat in my seat next to Dougall.

'See, it's not so bad, is it?' he said.

'It is, Dougall. Look, they're all talking about me. Can't you hear them?'

'I know, but it won't last long, trust me. Once they've got something new to talk about they will. They have to keep up with their gossip, Keish. You know what they're like.'

He was right.

Kids always needed something to gossip about.

Why couldn't my life hurry up so I didn't have to contend with this bitchiness?

I set my books in front of me in a neat pile and parallel to the desk.

Mr Matthews hadn't worked miracles yet.

'Keisha, you're back. How are you?' my teacher asked.

'I'm good thanks.'

I was lying.

I wasn't good.

Sam was still in a coma.

My father was a rapist.

And Alex was living in a cave.

Dougall looked at me and sighed. He knew.

'So, how did the psychotherapist go yesterday, Keish?' Dougall asked when we were sitting outside the library having lunch.

'Cool, you remember the correct name for him. Most people just call him a shrink or a doctor. But he was really good and treated me just like a friend.'

'So I did a good deed then?' he smirked.

'Ha ha, you think you were responsible for getting me to go see him, don't you?'

'Of course. No-one else was going to get you to go, were they?'

'I'll have you know I actually thought about going back to a shrink even before you mentioned the CT treatment to me.'

'Yeah, I'm sure you did. And you love Chemistry. Not!'

'I was! Don't you believe me?'

'Of course I don't. I got you along to see that Mr Matthews.'

'Fine, have it your way, but I know.'

We joked and laughed for the rest of lunch, the first good laugh I'd had in a long time. It felt good.

When I was closing my locker door at home-time I was so shocked to see Craig standing behind it. He was smiling too.

'Hi Keisha, it's good to see you back at school,' he said.

He extended the right side of his mouth to reveal a tiny dimple. Oh, so cute.

'Oh, thanks,' was all I could manage.

'That's cool. Well, I'm off to play footy now. I just wanted to tell you that it's good to have you back.' He extended the right side of his mouth even further and ran up the corridor to his friends.

I was speechless.

He had spoken to me.

Craig had spoken to me.

Craig Foerster had spoken to me.

'Hello. Earth to Keisha. You look a bit flushed. You okay?' Dougall asked waving a hand in front of my face.

I didn't answer. I was still watching Craig.

'Keisha? Hello?' Dougall said waving more frantically.

'Er, yes, sorry. I um just got a preoccupied.'

Dougall looked down the corridor, spotted Craig and looked back at me.

'Yes, and I can see why. I really don't know why you like that dropkick. He loves himself way too much. Look at him.'

Oh I was looking alright.

'He just came up and spoke to me.'

'And what did he say? How good it is to see you back?'

I looked at Dougall. Viewing Dobby after looking at beauty certainly wasn't easy on the eyes. 'Yes, that's right. Why?' I said.

'He says that to all the girls. He just likes to think he's Mr Cool and that all the girls fancy him.'

'No, he's never really spoken to me before, Dougall. I really think he was being genuine.'

'Alright, believe what you like, but I'm going home now. Are you coming?'

'Yeah, sure.'

I was still in shock.

Craig Foerster had spoken to me.

Craig still wasn't out of my mind when I was sitting at the dinner table. Jessi asked why I was so happy and I told her I was excited about starting my new treatment. Alex was at the table too and asked me why I had a permanent smile on my face.

'I don't believe you, Keish. That kind of look has only one answer and that's love. I think you're in love, Keisha.'

She was always interested in other people's love lives and even more so their sex lives.

'Keisha, it's nothing to do with that. Please just drop it.'

'Whoa, look who's getting defensive. I bet it is. What's his name?'

'Come on, please stop it, Alex. There's nothing going on with anyone.'

'I'm sure there's not. Come on,' she said tickling me.

'Okay, okay. Please stop it! His name is Craig.'

She started laughing and making fish-lips.

'Keisha and Craig sitting in a tree – K-I-S-S-I-N-G,' she sang and smirked.

'Okay, Alex, that's enough now. Can't you see the poor girl is getting fed up with it?' Dad said.

'You're no fun, Dad. I could have said F-U-C--.'

'Okay, that's enough now, Alex. Please, no swearing at the table.'

Before I went to bed that night there was a knock at the door. 'I'll get it,' I shouted. I was still thinking about Craig and secretly hoping it would be him. I imagined what I'd say to him when I saw him standing there on MY doorstep.

'Oh hi, Craig, it's so great to see you. Why don't you come in?' I would say.

'Oh um, that'd be great,' he would say nervously.

I would lead him into the lounge and offer him a drink.

'Thanks, Keisha, but um there is a reason I've come around.'

I would act surprised and ask him what.

'Well, it's hard to say this but I can't stop thinking about you. I'm in love with you.'

'Oh, Craig,' I would say and go over to him to sit on his lap. Then his lips would meet mine and we would kiss passionately.

'Wishful thinking,' I thought trying hard to lunge back down to reality as I opened the door.

It wasn't Craig at all.

'Mr Matthews,' I said. I felt my eyes getting wider. 'What are you doing here?'

'Keisha?' he said. He looked confused. 'I – I didn't know you lived here.'

'Well, er, yes, I do, but what are you doing here?'

'I um – I came to see Jessica.'

What was happening?

Was he shrinking her too?

Was that why she had been so 'cuddly' lately?

'Why?' I asked.

'Well, we've been seeing each other for a little while.'

'What?' My mouth was gaping now.

'Yes, we have been but I had no idea you knew Jessica.'

'She's my sister.'

I turned around and called Jessica into the hall. She came out of the kitchen and smiled.

'Oh hi, Jerry. So you've met Keisha then?' she said.

'Yeah, we've met alright. He's my shrink, Jessica,' I said.

I was angry.

She looked at me and frowned. 'Yes, yes, I know. I knew he was a really nice guy and that's why I suggested to your GP you see him.'

'So why didn't you tell me?' I asked.

She paused before saying, 'because – because I knew you wouldn't go to Jerry if you knew we were seeing one another.'

She was right.

It was unethical.

I ran upstairs while Mr Matthews – Jerry – called out to me. No wonder she had become so compassionate, so understanding lately. She was in a relationship with a shrink, my shrink of all shrinks.

Again I felt betrayed.

I couldn't see him anymore.

*****

Chapter Sixteen

I was in Maths when the Year Ten Coordinator came in to ask if I could be dismissed. She asked me to pack my books up too.

I followed her into her office and sat in the chair opposite.

'I have some good news for you, Keisha,' she said.

'Oh really? What is it?'

'I had a call from your father. He said Samantha has come out of the coma and she has been asking for you.'

Was this true?

Sam was alive and well?

For the past three weeks I had been dragging my feet along like I had a ball and chain attached to my ankle. My only small stumbles of excitement were seeing Mr Matthews and having Craig talk to me.

I was disappointed in Jessica not telling me about Mr Matthews but realised why she didn't. I was happy she finally had a boyfriend though even if it meant he could no longer shrink me. She was so thrilled and I couldn't take that away from her.

I had nothing more to worry about.

Sam was back in my world.

'Really? She's really out of the coma?' I said.

'Yes, she came out of it a few hours ago.'

'Is she okay?'

'Your father said she's a bit groggy but she has been asking for you, so I told him you'd be along as soon as you could. Are you okay to get to the hospital?'

'Yes, I'll get the bus. That's what I've been doing all the time.'

'Alright,' she said smiling, 'you hurry up and get going. Go on.'

On the bus I couldn't contain myself. I wanted to shout out, 'Sam is alive!' but I didn't. I was nervous about seeing her. I had no idea what to expect.

Sam was smiling up at Dad when I walked into the room. She was a picture of beauty. I felt an overwhelming sense of pride. I was so proud to have her in my life. Sam was the most important person in the world to me.

She was my best friend.

My mum was my best friend.

'Sweetheart,' she said, slowly outstretching her arms as I walked towards her.

I was so pleased she knew who I was. She hadn't changed apart from being paler and thinner.

'Oh, Sam,' I said, running into her embrace. Tears were streaming down my face. I was getting the tics terribly.

'I'm sorry I put you through all this, Keisha. I'm so sorry,' she said. Her voice was quiet and croaky.

She tried to hug me tightly but her grasp was weak. Even though she felt so much smaller the feeling I had was phenomenal. It was like she really was my mother, like she owned me.

We stayed like that for fifteen minutes.

We cried.

We stroked one another.

'Oh, Sam, I don't care. I'm just glad you're back. I'm so happy.'

She wiped the tears from my face, smiled and shook her head. 'God, I'm so proud of you, Keisha.'

'Oh, Sam, I'm so proud of you! You look so thin though, Sam. I'm going to have to cook some nice big dinners for you,' I said sniffing and wiping my eyes.

'And I'm the one who usually does all the cooking. What are you going to cook me?'

'Oh, anything you want, Sam. Absolutely anything.'

I had questions for Sam but this wasn't the time for them.

'Guess what, Sam?' Jessi said, coming closer to the bed and putting her arm around me.

'What?'

'Guess what our little sister has gone and done? You'll be very proud of her.'

'Really? What's she done?'

'Go on, tell her, Keish,' Jessica said.

'Don't embarrass me, Jessica. Oh, I've just started doing Cognitive Therapy.'

Sam's eyes widened, and she smiled. 'Oh, Keisha, that's absolutely wonderful news.' She stroked my hand as her eyes started to water.

'I really am proud of you.'

I had a long way to go yet. When I became President of the Reformed Obsessive Freaks and sent Alex back to Mars a Martian to be proud of, that's when they could say they were proud of me.

'Okay, that's enough already. I've only been to see the psychotherapist once.'

'And what's he or she like?' Sam asked.

'He's actually lovely, more like a friend,' I said and looked at Jessica. She smiled at me and I continued, 'but I'm probably going to change and go to someone else.'

'That's really good but why do you have to change?'

I explained what had happened the other day when Mr Matthews knocked on the door for Jessica. Sam thought it was funny but knew I shouldn't continue going to him.

Sam came home after a few more days in hospital. I was so happy to have her back. I asked her about her attempted suicide when we were alone in the kitchen one night. I was the only one who dared to.

'It was actually an accident, Keish,' she said, looking shocked I'd thought otherwise. 'I was really depressed but I didn't try killing myself. I just drank too much and broke the bottle on my wrist when I collapsed on the bed.'

'I'm sorry. I really thought you had meant to do it,' I said cupping my hands around my mug.

'God, no. I wouldn't go leaving you like that. No way, Keisha. I hope you don't think that still,' she said putting one hand on mine.

I told her I believed her and we spoke about Alex being abused by Stan too. She wasn't surprised.

There was a knock at the door. I heard Dad call from the lounge he'd answer it.

'Nell, hello. What are you doing here?' I heard him say.

Sam almost dropped her coffee on the bench.

She was shaking.

She looked the palest I'd seen her yet.

'I need to talk to you all,' Nell answered back.

None of us had spoken to either of them since Dad and I left Queensland.

'Okay, come in,' he said.

She walked into the kitchen.

She looked very pale and thin.

She and Sam could have been the _Casper_ twins.

'Where's Stan?' Dad asked.

'He's at home. He doesn't know I've come.'

'You'd better take a seat. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?'

'Er, I'll have a tea please.'

She sat next to me.

Sam watched her squeeze her fingers one by one. She was mesmerized.

'So what can we help you with, Nell?' Dad asked pouring hot water into a mug.

'I've come to talk to you about Stan.'

'Well, I guessed it would be that, but we have nothing more to say about it, Nell. It's all been done and said.'

'No, it hasn't. There's a lot more to this than you realise.'

'What more could there be? That Stan is sorry for what he did? I don't think so, Nell. And sorry wouldn't cut it anyway.'

Dad was angry.

The tics were resurfacing.

'Of course he is sorry. He is a changed person, and I still believe Sam led him on.'

I looked at Sam. The poor girl didn't know any of this.

Her mouth was gaping.

Her eyes were wide.

She looked like a ghost that had seen a ghost.

'Yes, that is the truth, there's no doubt about it,' Nell said before taking a mouthful of tea.

Sam suddenly leaned forward and pointed her finger at her. 'Hang on a minute, Nell. If you're referring to me as a slut, you can apologise. Your husband raped me. I had no control over it whatsoever.'

'Yes, Sam, you were a slut. Look at those short skirts you used to wear, those low cut tops. You reeled Stan in with your youth and cheap clothes.'

Sam stood up now.

But I expected her to levitate.

'How dare you, woman! How dare you say that about me. If that man has told you I led him on he is nothing but a lying Nazi. I can't believe you think I'm some cheap slut.'

'Well, you are, Sam. Surely you can admit that.'

'For God's sakes. Will you just listen to yourself, woman! Please, just for one minute. Even if I did consent to having sex with that man, he would have been having sex with a minor. I was thirteen. Doesn't that count for anything in your small, ignorant mind?'

'Of course it does, but Stan was going through a lot of stress at the time and when you fluttered your eyelids at him and tarted yourself up, he thought he was in for a real treat.'

Both were standing up and staring at one another across the table.

I thought they were going to go in for the kill.

But if they did their limpid bodies wouldn't even touch.

Then, like an apparition, Alex materialised from the doorway.

'Don't you dare say my sister is a slut, you hateful woman. Your husband is a rapist.' Her voice hollered above all of ours.

Nell was stunned. 'Where did - ? How?'

'That's right. Your husband is a rapist. Sam wasn't the only one he did it to,' Alex said.

'What?'

Nell didn't know where to look.

She was overwhelmed.

I almost felt sorry for her.

'Yes, your so-called wonderful husband molested me too.'

She was surrounded by a gang.

It was like we were in the schoolyard.

Soon we would be throwing stones at her and calling her names like 'geeky imbecile'.

'I er – I – that can't be true. You're just saying that because Sam is your sister.'

'I wouldn't say it, Nell. Do you really think I wanted to come down here to have an argument with you? No way, man. I was quite happy up in my room until I heard you calling my sister a slut. If your pathetic excuse for a husband said Sam came onto him he's one lying swine. He got me to touch him too.'

'No, no, that can't be true. You're making this all up to get at Stan. No, it's not true.'

'It is. Why don't you just come to your senses and see what your precious husband is really like. Just because the swine won all that money and now lives on the Gold Coast it doesn't mean you have to stick up for him. I wouldn't put it past him if he's up there right now having sex with a load of underage girls.'

'Alex, that's enough,' Dad said.

'No, Dad. It's got to be said. That man goes for little girls and it's sick. Nell needs to know what he's really like.'

Alex put a firm arm on Nell's and shook her.

'Come on, Alex. That's enough now. Let go of her,' Dad said.

Alex took her arm away and Nell sat down before taking a tissue out of her pocket.

Once she had stopped sniffing she looked at me and muttered, 'whatever you might think of Stan, he is not your father.'

'Come on, Nell, we've been through all this before. It's not like we want your money. We just want justice,' Dad said. 'Why did you bother coming down here?'

'I came down to tell you that he is not her biological father.'

'And why are you telling us this now?'

'Because Stan and I tried for a baby for years and I could never get pregnant.'

'So, what makes you think it isn't your problem? That you have faulty eggs or something?' Sam asked.

'Well, we tried conceiving for a long time and just gave up because it wasn't happening. We had considered IVF but it was too expensive for us then.'

'But why are you telling us this?' Alex asked.

'Because Stan had his sperm tested, and he has a low sperm count. That was the reason we couldn't get pregnant and that's the reason he is not Keisha's father.'

'That's not possible, Nell. Stan was the only one I was ever in sexual contact with when I was thirteen,' Sam said.

'Are you sure about that?'

'Yes, of course I am. That is something I should definitely know, I think.'

Nell turned to Dad. 'She's lying, Tony. There's no way Stan is Keisha's dad.'

'She's not lying. I think you need to prove this low sperm count thing to us.'

She rummaged around in her bag.

What was she going to pull out?

A Petri dish full of nothing?

An ultrasound scan of her uterus with no baby in it?

'Here you go, Tony. Here's proof from his doctor. Call the doctor if you don't believe me,' she said handing Dad a piece of paper.

He read the contents. 'She's right, he does have a low sperm count.'

'You're kidding. Let me see,' Sam said, taking the paper.

'This can't be right. He really did get me pregnant.'

Sam handed it back to Nell.

'Well, not as this proves. Sorry, Sam, now you'll have to start hunting for Keisha's real dad.'

'Unfortunately, Nell, Stan is my real dad. There's something wrong with those tests,' I said. As much as I wanted the tests to be true I knew Sam wouldn't have lied to me.

'I don't think so. I made him have the tests.'

'Do you want to know why he has a low sperm count, Nell? Because he's molested so many girls he has no sperm left in his ancient fat body. That's why.'

'Alex, I told you to stop!' Dad said.

'Well, she makes me angry, Dad. Her coming round here and sticking up for that rapist, then trying to say he's not Keisha's father. She's nothing but an interfering old biddy and a liar!'

'Alex, that's it. If you don't stop this you can leave the kitchen.'

'Okay, okay!'

'Well, I'll be off now. I came to tell you what I had to. I'll show myself out.'

'You do that,' Sam said.

I couldn't sleep that night. My mind was brimming with thoughts and a myriad of emotions. I was overjoyed Sam was home, and we were slowly getting our home back to normal. I was making steps to treat my obsessions. But I had worries I couldn't comprehend. They were there but I didn't know how to decipher them, arrange them into any kind of order.

Mr Matthews suggested I do something I enjoy when I felt as though my thoughts were controlling me, so I wrote a poem.

Forty scrubs

Will they wash away my fears?

Will they take away my tears?

Will I stumble down the road of sadness?

Or will I surrender to my utter madness?

Will Craig and I ever merge as one?

Or am I destined to be an unloved nun?

Will my obsessions ever fade to night?

Or will my mania take a whopping flight?

And will my life always be one big test?

Or will I reach the finish line as first best?

*****

Epilogue

I was still seeing a shrink but it wasn't Mr Matthews. It was his brother. I just prayed he wasn't doing hanky panky with any of the other Morgan girls. He would've been too old for Alex although she had been known to have her fair share of good old Samaritan men. And if he was seeing Sam, that would've been just weird. I wanted this shrink all to myself because I liked him.

He helped me acknowledge my fears.

He helped me embrace them.

He helped me realise it was okay to have them.

So for the first time in my life, after the challenging journey I'd been on, I began to recognise I was equal to everyone else. I wasn't the castaway on my own crazy island garnished with nothing but obsessions and phobias.

My fears were unique.

My life was unique.

I was unique.

And for the first time in my life, I was happy. It wasn't an induced or brainwashed happiness either. It was my own because I was finally beginning to like myself.

At school Craig uttered the occasional sentence to me – 'hey, how you going?' – but my contact with him was nothing to write home about.

Dougall said Craig always asked the girls how they were going but it didn't worry me. I knew I would have a boyfriend when I was ready but right now I was too busy finding out who I was.

I didn't find out if there was any truth to Stan not being my biological father because I knew there wasn't and I couldn't be a Charlie's Angel or Mrs James Bond anymore. I had grown tired of trekking the country, checking in and out of hotels, inspecting wealthy homes and meeting dirty old men. Only joking. If the truth be known I was tired of hurting people. I was tired of hurting myself.

But I knew things would be okay now because I had my family, I had Dougall and I had myself – fears, obsessions, phobias, forty scrubs and all. If I wasn't certain of anything I knew I was certain of two things in my life:

I loved my mother, Sam.

I loved myself.
