‘I thought we said two,’ Kelly says. She’s wearing rubber gloves and her hair is piled up high on her head.
I glance down at my watch. ‘It’s two now.’
‘But you rang the bell earlier. You rang it before two.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s okay. Come in, come in.’
The kitchen opens straight out onto a deck. The house is all done up in whites, old wood and beautiful pottery tucked up on high shelves. It smells like spices and greenery, and for a moment I close my eyes, dazzled by it all.
‘It’s not very big,’ says Kelly. ‘I got it for the garden, mostly.’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Do you know anything about gardening?’
‘No. We just had a lawn. And a magnolia.’
Kelly’s jaw tenses, like something she’d feared has just been confirmed. ‘Alright. Well, this is pretty much it. Kitchen, living room, bathroom. That’s my room.’ She strides across the small, spice-smelling space and opens the only other door. ‘And this is the guest room. Your room, I guess, for as long as you stay here.’
The bedroom is about half the size of the cabin we’ve been living in at Fairyland. It has two long, narrow sash windows with gauzy white curtains. The carpet is thick and soft underfoot and there’s light-blue bedding on the queen-sized bed. I think that it’s nicer than any bedroom I’ve ever been in. I try to imagine Taylor here, colouring in her toenails with textas or trying to give herself tattoos. I can’t quite manage it. I try to imagine Mum here, with her stained clothes and flyaway hair. I shake my head a little and run my hand across the doona, which is folded on the bed like something out of a magazine. I can’t see dirt anywhere, or dust, or those ghostly spindles of spider webs in dark corners.
Kelly strides across the room to slide both the windows open.
***
I unpack my things slowly, thinking about Fairyland. When I emerge from the room a little after four, I sort of expect Kelly to be waiting for me. My stomach gurgles and I wish I’d thought to bring snacks with me.
She’s not in the house and it takes me a while to find her fiddling with an irrigation line at the back of the garden.
‘Third time this has busted since November,’ she says, not looking up at me. She’s wearing thick gloves and a droopy hat, and she leans in close to the little plastic tubing. ‘All unpacked?’
‘Yeah. I was thinking I might pop out and get something to eat,’ I say, half expecting her to offer to make me something. The idea of tramping back out in the heat makes me feel sick.
‘Alright.’ She stands up. ‘I haven’t had a key cut for you yet, so just press the buzzer when you get back.’
‘Okay.’
‘And could you maybe grab some milk?’
‘Sure.’
Kelly bends back down to the garden bed, and after a moment I reach into my pocket to make sure my wallet is in there and then I slowly leave the walled garden, blinking in the bright, hot light of the salty street.
***
I wake up curled up in a ball, the way I’ve been sleeping every night since we moved to Fairyland. Taylor has a habit of kicking me if I accidentally move onto her three-quarters of the bed.
I fan out my arms and legs. This is my bed. For as long as I’m here. Just mine. For me. I roll into the middle of the mattress and my back cracks. The sheets are new – they’ve got that smell.
Last night I’d had dinner by myself – the bag of chips and salad I’d picked up from the little grocery store two blocks away. Kelly had had an after-hours meeting. ‘It happens a lot,’ she says. ‘Many of my clients work long hours and need to make the appointments late.’ I stare up at the ceiling and it’s flawless. Down lights, sharp lines. Not a mark up there. It’s a little while before I can bring myself to get out of bed.
‘What are you doing today?’ Kelly asks me when I walk into the kitchen. She’s scrolling through emails on her laptop and doesn’t look up.
She’s already dressed and I wish I’d thought to get dressed, too. I feel shabby in my pyjamas, even though they’re my best ones. ‘Two of my friends are catching the train down this way – we’re heading to the beach.’
‘Good day for it,’ Kelly says. ‘Meant to be high thirties.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Keep the house locked up and the curtains drawn. It stays pretty cool that way.’
‘Alright.’
‘I haven’t got the key done yet for you, so come back after five, okay? I’ll be home for an hour before another meeting. I can let you in then.’
‘Okay.’
‘And I’ve shown you how to double-check that the front gate’s locked?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’ll triple-check it.’
‘Good. Good.’
I have a mouthful of muesli and gaze at the deck. ‘This must be the best party house.’
Kelly frowns and tilts her head. ‘Sorry?’
‘Your place – it must be good for having people visit.’
‘I don’t really have anyone over,’ Kelly says.
‘Really? What about your friends?’
‘My sister pops in a bit for cuppas and dinner. That’s about it.’
‘Oh.’
‘My job’s pretty full on. I have people around me all day and into the night, too, mostly, that’s all. I like my home being a sort of sanctuary. Somewhere . . . quiet.’
‘I get that,’ I say, but I’m not sure that I do. When I imagine the house I’ll live in as an adult, I imagine my friends and family dropping in all the time. I imagine people I haven’t met yet who I’ll one day love, sitting on my very pale couch and eating my very bright fruit platters. I imagine dancing and laughing and the house always being in motion. I mean, I’ll make them take their shoes off at the door and have a no-red-wine-on-the-white-rug rule. But I don’t mind things being a mess if it means people being close.
‘What about your parents?’ I ask. ‘Do they come over much?’
I’d been thinking about them a fair bit. Grandparents had always been something I didn’t have, end of story. The idea that I now have two is thrilling. I never let myself think about the grandparents that I may or may not have. It was pointless. Painful. I visualised them into the place where my other grandparents dwelled – a place of quiet imagining. Of non-existing.
Kelly shrugs. ‘My mum’s dead. I don’t really have much to do with my dad, anymore.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ I swallow. ‘What . . . what happened to your mum?’
‘I don’t really like to talk about it.’
‘I’m so sorry, Kelly.’
‘No, it’s okay. It’s just . . . there’s a lot of stuff from when I was younger that I guess I’m not okay with. It’s better this way.’
‘Stuff around me, you mean?’
Kelly drops her apple. ‘You know, I forget sometimes . . . that you’re . . .’ She shakes her head. ‘I know that sounds stupid. I mean, why else would you be staying here? But you’re that baby. The one I gave up.’
I glance down at my hands.