The Red Cardigan Page 5

  ‘Time for bed,’ Nick says, looking at his watch.

  ‘Me too.’ She kisses him goodnight. ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yes, Evie?’

  ‘That day, at school with Antonia and stuff?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What did they say when they rang you?’

  ‘They rang Robin, not me.’

  ‘Well, what did they say to Mum?’

  ‘Gosh, Evie.’ He rubs his temples. ‘I think they said there’d been an incident.’

  ‘An incident?’

  ‘Well, I think that’s the word they used.’

  She nods.

  ‘Why, Evie?’

  ‘Just wondering.’

  She sits on the toilet, her head in her hands. She doesn’t know why she asked her dad that. She knows it doesn’t matter now. But for some reason she just wanted to know how they described it. What actual word they used.

  If Evie stays very still and concentrates, she can hear Antonia’s shrieks. Sometimes she can conjure up the entire scene in her head. It plays like a movie but in slow motion, with the sound echoing through her skull. Antonia’s chair crashing to the ground. The look in Powell’s eyes as he yells, white stuff foaming at the corners of his mouth. And a tightness around her neck, trapping the air.

  Wednesday the 10th of April, Evie Simmons, a quiet girl from Year 11, walks into the art room. She walks out as someone else.

  It’s the second lesson in her elective subject of portrait drawing. She is keen and she is good at it. Powell walks around the room, explaining the various techniques used in drawing a face. The girls are taking notes. He tells them to study the facial features of the person they’re sitting next to. He gets them to draw a head shaped like an egg and to then make a vertical centre line.

  Evie sits next to Antonia Cipri, the new girl from Brisbane. Antonia seems shy as Evie studies her face, dividing it into sections on the page.

  ‘How are you going?’ Powell asks, standing over Evie.

  ‘Good, I think.’

  ‘It’s a really good shape, Evie.’

  ‘Thanks. Do I have time to try the whole face today?’ asks Evie. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of practice at home, from photos and stuff.’

  Powell checks his watch. ‘Sure. Give it a go. I like enthusiasm in my students.’

  Evie smiles.

  ‘Is that okay with you, Antonia?’ he asks. ‘Perhaps you can do Evie’s face next week?’

  Antonia blushes again.

  ‘I’m good at sitting still,’ she says to Evie.

  And she is. Evie spends the double period drawing, rubbing out, shading then adding a bit more. Every now and then Antonia smiles. Evie can see Antonia’s face in front of her and coming alive on the paper. The creation is exciting.

  ‘Do you like doing portraits?’ Antonia asks tucking her hair behind her ears.

  ‘Wow, your ring!’ Evie takes Antonia’s hand and studies it. ‘Is it old?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s beautiful. Can I try it on?’

  Antonia hesitates. ‘Ah –’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘No. No, you can. It’s … it’s my brother’s.’

  ‘Yeah? I thought it might’ve been a guy’s ring. It’s kind of chunky.’ Evie admires it on her hand. ‘I like it.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Looks better on you.’ Evie says handing it back. ‘Better get back to work. Powell’s doing his rounds.’

  ‘You’re a really talented drawer, Evie. I’ve noticed your stuff.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Evie blushes this time. ‘I hope you’ll like this.’

  ‘Give us a peep.’

  ‘Hey?’

  ‘Give us a look.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Evie snaps. She looks around. ‘Sorry,’ she whispers. ‘I don’t – know where that came from. God, I’m really, really sorry, Antonia.’

  Antonia mutters something.

  Evie’s eyes flick up to her face then back to the paper, as she tries to concentrate on the final features, but she’s restless in her chair. A humming sound has started playing in her head, a drone monotonous yet menacing, and something is happening to the drawing. The picture doesn’t seem right. Evie’s foot is tapping the floor, louder and faster. Some of the girls are looking at her; she’s sure they’re whispering.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Antonia asks.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Evie puts her hands on her forehead. Antonia leans over and takes the pad.

  ‘Let me have –’ she starts to say before the colour drains from her face.

  Antonia turns white and starts to suck in air like she can’t get a breath. The noise is loud. It’s scaring Evie.

  ‘Antonia?’ Evie stands up. ‘Antonia?’

  ‘No,’ Antonia whispers. ‘No, no.’

  She starts to scream. Her chair is knocked to the ground. She holds on to the desk, her body shaking. Powell catches her as her legs give way.

  ‘Antonia, Antonia?’ he is shouting. ‘Can you hear me?’

  The girls gather around.

  Powell is shouting at Evie. ‘What happened?’

  Evie can’t move, can’t speak. She has just seen what Antonia has seen.

  Antonia struggles out of Powell’s hold and runs to the door. It slams behind her. Silence follows and then in one synchronised move, one succinct sound, they all turn to look at Evie.

  Powell now holds the sketchpad. White foam bubbles at the side of his mouth.

  ‘What’s this?’ he’s yelling. ‘What’s this?’

  Evie turns her face. She cannot look at the drawing he is holding up in front of her. That and the noise in her head is confusing her: she doesn’t understand how it got there. It isn’t Antonia’s face any more. It’s the face of a young man. His eyes bulge out of his head and his lips are swollen. His tongue sticks out of his mouth and there is a mark on his neck. Evie throws up, bits of her insides splattering onto the young man’s face.

  Evie’s mind resurfaces. She hates this memory but it will never leave her alone. She gets off the toilet and walks to the mirror. She studies the face that stares back and thinks of her friends at Taylor’s party. Have they thought of her?

  ‘Who am I?’ she whispers. ‘What am I?’

  ‘All major work propositions due in today,’ announces Powell. ‘On my desk as you’re leaving, please.’

  Evie shuffles her papers, knocks her pencils off the table and leans down, picking them up one by one. From under there she checks the classroom has emptied. She can see Powell’s grey-trousered legs standing by his desk. She gets up and walks towards him. He doesn’t look up.

  ‘On my desk, Evie.’

  ‘I don’t have it, sir.’

  He clicks his tongue and goes to speak. She gets in first.

  ‘It’s just taking a little longer than I expected, sir.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s a good reason.’ His sarcasm stings. ‘Come on, I’m dying to know.’

  He stands there, his silence forcing Evie to babble on. He loves a game, she thinks.

  ‘Could I, I mean I know it’s, well, what I really need is a week’s extension.’

  ‘You’ve got three days, Evie. I want it by Thursday. End of discussion.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Perhaps I should get down and kiss his feet, she thinks. That’d spin him out. She settles for another ‘thank you’ and crawls out of the art room.

  Alex is in the canteen queue.

  ‘There you are,’ Evie says.

  ‘The brats raided the fridge before I got a chance to make my lunch,’ Alex groans.

  ‘No pushing in,’ says one of the CGs from Year 12.

  ‘I’m not buying anything,’ Evie replies.

  The girl mutters something. Alex spins around.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Crap. I heard what you said.’

  Evie shakes her head. ‘Leave it, Al.’

  ‘What a bitch.’

  ‘Don’t go there, Alex.’
>
  ‘God, sometimes I really hate this place.’

  Evie nods. She wonders what the girl said but asking Alex right here, in the canteen line, will only invite trouble. Evie could do without the attention.

  ‘Those CGs think they rule. Anyway, more importantly, did you hand your major work proposal in?’

  ‘No.’

  Alex’s jaw drops. ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘It’s not finished.’

  ‘It’s not finished?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But that’s all you’ve been doing the past few weeks!’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  ‘So, what’s the story, glory?’

  ‘Alex, I desperately need your help.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I need you to sit for me again. I can’t finish the initial drawings with only your photo, it just isn’t working and Powell won’t –’

  ‘Evie, I’ve got –’

  ‘It’s just for the next three days. The oldies will go spastic if they find out I haven’t handed it in. Please, pretty please? I’ll be your best friend.’

  ‘You already are.’

  ‘Be even better.’

  ‘Well, I definitely can’t do it on Wednesday, I’ve got hockey, and you’ll have to come to my place tomorrow because I have to mind the brats.’

  ‘What about this arvo? At my place?’

  ‘Today? Yeah, should be okay.’

  ‘Thank you. I owe you majorly, love.’

  ‘I know, love.’

  Evie waits while Alex orders at the counter.

  ‘A ham and pineapple pizza pocket and a hot chocolate, please.’

  Evie notices a canteen mother looking at her, a buttery knife poised in the air. Another mother whispers something in her ear. Evie knows it’s the woman who insisted her mother resign from the art committee. ‘It makes the school look bad,’ she had said. They look at Evie like a couple of magpies, then nod in unison. The first mother goes back to buttering the sandwiches. The second mother stares for that extra second. Evie quickly looks away. She’s been back at school twelve weeks and she knows now to expect this.

  At first, Evie doesn’t think the situation with Antonia is complicated. She wishes she could give an explanation, make it simple and straightforward; her mother would prefer that. But Evie doesn’t understand what happened. So she’ll pretend it was nothing, just like her mother pretends that the little girl at the pin was nothing.

  Their first session with the school counsellor reveals the situation with Antonia is complicated, very complicated.

  Evie sits on a chair facing the counsellor. Her parents sit behind her. She doesn’t like not being able to see her mother’s face. She has only her voice to guide her.

  ‘Tell me about what happened, Evie,’ the school counsellor almost whispers.

  ‘I’m … I’m not really sure, Mrs O’Leary.’

  ‘Please, call me Bernie.’

  Evie nods and tries a smile.

  ‘I didn’t draw it on purpose. It just sort of happened.’

  Bernie nods back, encouraging in her smile. Her top front tooth is grey and cracked.

  ‘Had you spoken to Antonia much, before this, er, episode?’

  ‘Not really. She’s pretty shy, being new at the school.’

  ‘Evie, did you know her brother had died?’

  Silence.

  ‘Evie?’

  Evie squeezes her fingers. ‘No,’ she breathes.

  ‘I’m telling you this because of what happened. But I want you to understand it’s a very private and distressing matter for the Cipri family.’ Bernie recrosses her legs. ‘Antonia’s brother hung himself in the park across the road from where they lived in Brisbane.’

  She hears her father gasp. She turns around to him. He stands up and pushes his chair next to her.

  ‘That’s better,’ Nick whispers and gestures back to his wife.

  ‘I’m okay here,’ she answers.

  Evie is certain her mother’s only just handling this.

  Nick turns back to the counsellor. ‘How old was he?’ he asks.

  ‘Eighteen,’ replies Bernie, passing Evie a tissue.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Evie blurts through her tears. ‘I didn’t, I …’

  Evie can’t say anything else. Her throat is swollen and aches. All she can do is choke on the memory of that day.

  ‘Evie, this is a very difficult situation.’ Bernie is whispering again. ‘My job is to help you not feel alone through this. And my job is also to reassure the students and parents that this was not – how do I say – intentional, on your part.’

  Evie nods, it’s hard to get a breath through the sobs.

  ‘There are many people who don’t know how to handle this sort of thing. They’re shocked, probably a bit frightened. This situation is – unusual. We have to think about how people may react.’

  ‘Of course,’ begins Nick. ‘Our concern is Evie and supporting her through this. Isn’t it, Robin?’

  But Robin says nothing.

  Evie touches the back of her head. It suddenly feels hot. She presses her hand against the spot, trying to deflect her mother’s stare.

  ‘Thanks for this, Alex,’ Evie says, as they walk home from the bus stop.

  ‘It’s okay. I know you’d do it for me. Hey, Seb was having a bit of a perve on you, I noticed,’ teases Alex.

  ‘Piss off, Alexandra.’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Poppy says he bashes everyone with his double bass trying to get a seat near you.’

  ‘He likes a chat, that’s all.’

  ‘He was at Taylor’s on Saturday night.’

  ‘Lucky him.’

  ‘Poppy and I reckon he was looking for you.’

  ‘God, it must have been a boring party.’

  ‘Poppy reckons she heard him say your name.’

  ‘What were you guys doing? Stalking him?’

  ‘Poppy said she walked past a group and heard him say “Evie” something or other.’

  ‘Poppy – no, you’re both sick in the head and in need of a life,’ dismisses Evie. She has always considered Seb harmless, almost trustworthy.

  They take a drink and a packet of biscuits up to Evie’s room. Alex goes to the toilet. Evie gets her pad and pencils ready.

  ‘Okay,’ Alex returns. ‘Where do you want me?’

  ‘Um, over there,’ Evie points. ‘I’m just going to the loo, too.’

  Evie washes her face and pulls her hair back into what she calls her drawing hairdo. ‘I can do this,’ she whispers. She takes three long, deep breaths and tries to push the horrible face out of her head. ‘Just relax and draw.’

  As she opens the door to her room a rush of panic floods her body. Alex is holding up the portrait in her sketchpad.

  ‘Who’s this ugly bitch?’

  Evie lurches towards her. ‘Don’t!’ she yells.

  Alex squeals. ‘What are you doing?’

  She snatches the pad and sits down. She loudly flips the pages over, looking for a blank one. When she looks up, Alex is still standing there staring at her. Evie looks at Alex but can’t think of anything to say. Her head is buzzing but her mind is blank.

  ‘Say something, Evie!’

  Evie shrugs and presses her lips together.

  ‘Tell me what it is. Come on.’

  Evie goes to speak but the sound is stuck somewhere between her throat and her mouth.

  ‘Who is it in that drawing?’

  Silence.

  ‘Why didn’t you want me to see it?’

  Silence.

  ‘Evie?’

  Silence.

  ‘Evie talk to me.’

  ‘It started out as – you.’

  ‘Me?’

  Evie nods.

  ‘But … but that’s not one of the portraits of me?’ Alex is talking fast. ‘It doesn’t look anything like me, even on a bad hair day. I mean, I know I’m not the most beautiful thing in –’

&
nbsp; ‘I can’t hand them in, Alex.’

  ‘But I saw some of the drawings of me. They were fantastic. Well, as fantastic as they can be. They certainly weren’t like that ugly scrag.’

  ‘Alex, you don’t understand. You never saw a finished one.’

  ‘So? What’s the diff? Where are those ones of me?’

  ‘Shit, Alex,’ Evie’s voice cracks. ‘Don’t you get it?’

  ‘Evie?’ Alex puts her arms around her. ‘You’re shaking.’

  ‘I’ve been feeling pretty freaked out.’

  ‘How long? You should have told me.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do!’ Evie’s body feels so heavy. ‘I don’t want anyone to know about this. God, Mum and Dad, especially Mum, just won’t handle it.’

  ‘Handle what? Evie?’

  Gently Alex holds her face but Evie turns away. It hurts everywhere.

  ‘Evie? God! I know what you’re saying now. This is like the Antonia thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Alex drops her hands. ‘Shit.’

  For a while they sit there not speaking. Evie watches Alex stare out the window. She has to give her time to digest. It’s a big ask, she knows.

  ‘It’s getting dark early,’ Alex says.

  ‘We’ve just had the shortest day of the year,’ Evie tells her. ‘The winter solstice.’ She walks to the window. The trees have lost their leaves. How ugly and naked they look against the landscape. ‘I read an article about it the other day. It’s known as the dark half of the year.’ She pulls the blinds down. ‘It’s true,’ she whispers, sensing something awful yet not being exactly sure what.

  Evie lies on her bed with just one thought: how can this be happening again? Alex sits with her feet on the desk, turning the lamp on and off.

  ‘Evie?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Can you tell me what happens with, with … the portraits?’

  ‘I don’t know, they just change. I mean, I’m the one holding the pencil, making the lines and shapes but somehow it doesn’t turn out the way I’m seeing it. If you know what I mean? It’s pretty weird to understand.’

  ‘So it’s exactly like what happened with Antonia?’

  ‘Exactly.’