‘And made thirty-three and three-quarters,’ she says. ‘Troy, have you lost your mind?’
‘Troy, are you serious?’ Sonny says with dismay. ‘You really think—?’
‘Mum, it’s the same car.’
‘And how many Whitman Scorpiuses do you think there are in the country? The police told me over one hundred thousand,’ says Mum.
‘But Sonny has one in his quarry. Dad’s gone and he’s here and—’
‘Troy, that’s enough.’
‘But I saw—’
‘I said – ENOUGH.’ The look on Mum’s face … I’ve never seen her so fuming angry.
‘Troy, I’m disappointed.’ Sonny shakes his head, morose. ‘I had no idea you resented me quite so much that you’d automatically assume the worst.’
‘Mum, he’s hiding something. I know it.’
‘That car was in the quarry when I bought this place. Sephy, if you want to call the police and have the car forensically tested, then feel free,’ says Sonny.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Mum snaps in his direction, though it’s aimed at me. ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing any such thing. As if you’d own the car that killed Nathan. Troy, you and I are going to have a serious talk when we get home.’
Sonny reaches over to place his hand on Mum’s. He shakes his head. ‘It’s OK, Sephy. Let’s just drop it and move on.’
‘I don’t think so,’ says Mum, glaring at me.
‘Please, love,’ says Sonny. ‘For me?’
There it was again. That word. Love. I scowl at Sonny, my stomach roiling. He’s too busy gazing into Mum’s eyes to even notice. Mum, however, notices enough for both of them. She regards me, her eyes shooting fiery jets like flame-throwers. I immediately look down at my meal. Too late.
‘Sonny, let me just have a word with my son.’ She stands up and leaves the dining room, fully expecting me to follow her – which I do. With each step, my heart sinks lower. The moment we’re out in the hall, Mum carefully shuts the door behind us.
‘How dare you?’ she bursts out, her voice low, but her tone no less intense for it. ‘How dare you embarrass me like that? Accusing Sonny of all sorts.’
‘Mum, the car that killed Dad is in Sonny’s quarry – or don’t you even care how Dad died any more?’
A stillness descends over Mum. Silent moments pass. I want to reach out with both hands and snatch back the words, but it’s too late.
‘Troy, if anyone else had said that to me, my hand would now be decorating their face – and that’s in spite of being a pacifist,’ Mum says stonily. ‘I am seriously disappointed in you. Now get back in there and apologize to Sonny. Then I don’t want to hear another negative comment from you for the rest of the time we’re here. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
Mum glares at me, unblinking, her face a mask. I’ve messed up. I should’ve kept my suspicions to myself – at least until I have proof. And what I just said to Mum … Damn it. Mum still grieves for Dad and I was grossly unfair to say otherwise. An apology sits and withers in my mouth, the moment lost. I’ve messed up big time. We head back into the dining room and sit down. Mum looks at me expectantly.
‘Sorry, Sonny,’ I say grudgingly. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did. I guess my imagination is doing too much homework.’
‘Damned right it is.’ Mum’s lips are pursed, her eyes hard. I’m not used to her looking at me like that.
‘Apology accepted,’ Sonny says, with a smile as warm and cosy as a pair of slippers.
And I hate him all the more for it.
For the rest of the evening, I keep my head down, my mouth shut and my eyes open, watching Sonny every chance I get. He, on the other hand, is Mr Friendly.
‘Troy, can I get you a drink?’
‘Troy, have you had enough to eat?’
‘Troy, would you like …? Do you have …? Can I get you …?’
He’s really working it, the butter-wouldn’t-melt act. He’s also working my nerves – as my sister, Callie, would say.
Sonny offers me the chance to play the latest virtual-reality zombie apocalypse game, and I only say yes ’cause Mum is watching me. It goes some way to placating her and I need all the good will I can get. I win the first two games, but Sonny easily wins the next two, leading me to suspect he was humouring me when we first started playing. At last it’s time to leave. We are at his front door when Mum says, ‘Damn it! I’ll be right back. I left my phone in the kitchen.’
Muttering to herself, she heads back inside to get it, leaving Sonny and me alone in the hall. We both regard each other, but I look away first, unable to hold his gaze.
‘You really do believe that I had something to do with Nathan’s death, don’t you?’ Sonny sounds bemused at the idea. More acting.
I take a quick look around. Mum is still in the kitchen.
‘I know you did,’ I say quietly, deciding to be honest.
‘I don’t suppose there’s anything I could say to change your mind?’
I shake my head.
Silent moments pass as Sonny studies me. He shrugs, stating steely-soft for my ears alone, ‘Then I guess it’s up to you to prove it.’
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Tobias Durbridge is the new Prime Minister as the Democratic Alliance sweep to power
This morning the country woke up to a new governing party – the Democratic Alliance – and its first ever Nought Prime Minister, Tobias Durbridge, as voted for by an overwhelming majority of the public. Speaking to the Daily Shouter after his historic win, Tobey Durbridge proclaimed, ‘This is a great day for our country. No longer will politics be for the benefit of the few and work against the interests of the many. We in the Democratic Alliance will seek to ensure that the rights and freedoms of all in society are protected.’
Click below for a full analysis of the way the country voted.
twenty-one. Libby
* * *
My chin rests on my upturned palm as I gaze out of the window into the web of lies my mum has spun around me. A web of lies that surrounds my Monday afternoon like a net. I’m still trying to digest the information she fed me the night before.
My dad …
My dad is …
‘Libby, where is your head today?’ my biology teacher asks, exasperated.
Blushing, I turn to face her. ‘Sorry, Mrs Baxter.’
‘Tell me what I just said?’
I was afraid she’d ask me that. I haven’t a clue what she’s been chatting on about and my expression says as much. ‘Something about the forthcoming school election?’
‘I was saying that as one of the election adjudicators, and one of the teachers who’ll be acting as scrutineer and counting the votes, I want everyone to take this election seriously. This may be just a school election, but it’s important,’ sniffs Mrs Baxter. ‘Politics is important. You’re never too young to understand that. Politics is power. Politics is life.’