Shift

  ‘Yes,’ said Miranda. ‘What would you like to hear?’

  ‘Oh, just say whatever you like,’ said Mum, flapping her hands. ‘I won’t understand it anyway.’

  ‘No,’ said Miranda patiently. ‘I meant what language would you like to hear?’

  Mum pressed her fingers together. ‘Which is your favourite? You choose,’ she said in this hushed voice.

  ‘It depends,’ said Miranda. ‘I like explaining things in German but I always daydream in French.’

  Mum’s eyes went all soft. ‘Who wouldn’t daydream in French,’ she said, ‘if they could?’ The oven timer buzzed and Mum grabbed a wooden spoon. ‘Are you joining us for dinner, Miranda? It’s pumpkin and fava-bean stew.’

  Miranda shook her head politely. ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘but I’m going out tonight.’

  ‘Oh, what a shame,’ said Mum. ‘I had so many more things to ask you. How do you like the school?’

  Miranda glanced at me and smiled. ‘Well, it’s way better now that I’m friends with Olive.’

  I saw Mum’s expression shift. It was only a small change – one that most people wouldn’t have even noticed. But I knew what it meant. Miranda couldn’t have said anything to make Mum happier.

  The kitchen door swung back and Toby rushed in with Ralph galloping along behind. ‘Olive!’ said Toby breathlessly. ‘Guess what I’ve taught Ralph to –’ He stopped short when he spotted Miranda.

  ‘Toby,’ I said. ‘This is Miranda. From school.’

  Without saying a word, Toby turned and dashed back out again, Ralph following.

  ‘Whoa,’ said Miranda. ‘He is shy.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ I said. ‘Hang on. I’ll go and sort it out.’

  I found Toby in our watermelon-slaughter corner, hunched up, head on his knees. Ralphy was snuffling around, chewing on old rinds.

  Toby looked up at me as I came close, his eyes wide with alarm. ‘Why is she here?’ he whispered. ‘She’s the shapeshifter!’

  I sat down beside him, between the dried remains of watermelons gone by. ‘Tobes, there’s no such thing as a shapeshifter. It was just a dumb thing I believed when my medication wasn’t right.’

  ‘Are you friends with her now or something?’ said Toby, accusingly. ‘It looks like you are.’

  I thought about this. Were we friends? I still wasn’t sure I trusted Miranda, but I’d had a great day with her. The best in a long time. I suddenly felt annoyed with Toby, like he was trying to take something from me. ‘Miranda’s just come over to borrow some clothes,’ I said, straightening up. ‘It’s no big deal, Tobes.’

  ‘You’re not supposed to give her your things!’ he said anxiously. ‘That’s how she’ll get you. That’s what you said!’

  I brushed off some watermelon pips from my jeans, deeply regretting that I’d ever told him anything about shifters. ‘She’s not going to get me,’ I said. ‘You have to forget all that. Now come in and be nice. Or I’ll never play kill-the-watermelon again.’

  I held out my hand. For a moment Toby just sat there, not moving, but then he stood up. He refused to hold my hand but he followed me back inside.

  When we came back into the kitchen, Mum was showing Miranda her Cooking with Root Vegetables cookbook. Somehow Miranda had managed to stay awake and keep smiling.

  ‘Toby’s got something to say,’ I said.

  ‘Hello,’ mumbled Toby, trying to drill his shoe into the kitchen tiles. ‘Verynicetomeetyou.’

  Miranda came over and squatted down next to Ralph. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked, holding her hand out towards our dog, who sniffed at it gingerly, his tail and ears down.

  Toby gave me an agonised look. Go on, I urged him with my eyes.

  ‘Ralph,’ muttered Toby.

  ‘He looks smart,’ said Miranda. It was obviously a lie and I could tell that Toby hadn’t fallen for it, but he nodded tightly. I decided it was time to let him off the hook.

  I turned to Miranda. ‘Ready to look for clothes?’

  When we first got to my room, Miranda spent ages just walking around – examining every ornament, every detail.

  ‘I haven’t seen one of these for ages!’ she said, picking up my Magic 8 Ball and shaking it. ‘Will Olive and I be friends forever?’ she intoned dramatically.

  There was that word again. Friends. It sounded less weird every time I heard it but there was something about it that niggled at me. Maybe it made me feel guilty – that I was somehow betraying Ami.

  Miranda smiled as she watched the answer appear. ‘All signs point to yes.’

  ‘How about asking it what you should borrow for your date?’ I said.

  Miranda dropped the 8 Ball on my bed and went over to the wardrobe. ‘I don’t need a toy to tell me that,’ she said, flinging the doors open. She went through my stuff methodically – taking an item out, examining it with an expert eye and then returning it to the wardrobe.

  Eventually she held up the skirt that I’d worn on the first night of the Retro Horror Film-Fest. ‘Now this is lush,’ she pronounced.

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘I thought I was the only person in the world who would like that skirt.’

  ‘The wonks around here wouldn’t have a clue. Take it from me, this is a classic piece.’ Miranda examined the label. ‘You’d get a heap for it on eBay.’

  ‘I knew it!’ I said.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Miranda, hand covering her mouth. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. You won’t lend it to me now, will you?’

  ‘Sure I will. So long as you don’t sell it,’ I said, grinning. ‘But it’s going to be too big for you.’

  ‘I can pin it,’ said Miranda. ‘It’s perfect.’

  She found a couple of other things she liked – a stretchy top to go with the skirt, and a necklace I’d made myself out of a couple of broken bracelets. I put on some music and stretched out on the cushions on the floor while she rifled, feeling something I hadn’t felt in ages. Happy. I mean, I’d often felt happy when I hung out with Ami, but this was different. Ami had to like me, after all. Miranda didn’t. If anything, she had lots of reasons not to like me – after what I accused her of. Yet here we were, getting along better and better. And it all felt so normal.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Miranda, holding up a bundle wrapped in a scarf.

  I stared, breath catching in my throat. My Proof. How had she found it? I thought I’d hidden so carefully. ‘Put that down!’

  The sharpness of my voice made Miranda jump and the bundle came apart in her hands. The contents tumbled to the floor – things I hadn’t looked at in months. Photos of my family having a picnic on the beach last summer. The dog-eared card with the picture of the little girl holding a basket of flowers. You’re Five Today! A charm bracelet that had fallen free of the crumpled pink T-shirt I’d wrapped it in.

  Miranda bent down and began picking up the things one by one, turning them over in her hands. ‘What is this stuff?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I snapped. I wanted to snatch everything away from her and hold it all to my chest. The old feelings surged upwards, threatening to spill over.

  Miranda opened the card and I felt that I could hear the words in my head as she read them silently. Happy birthday, Pet. I love you more than you’ll ever know.

  She picked up the bracelet next. It twinkled as she turned it around in the light. ‘This is so pretty. You should wear it.’

  I shook my head. ‘No. I can’t.’ It’s not a good idea to wear things that make you cry.

  Miranda’s eyes turned to mine. ‘It’s from your dad, isn’t it?’

  ‘He did love me you know,’ I said fiercely. ‘Once. These things prove it.’

  Miranda laid the bracelet down. ‘Of course he did.’ Her voice was soft and soothing. ‘Was he …’ she hesitated. ‘Was it because he left that you – you know – made that suicide attempt?’

  My attempt. That was how the doctors always described it. It hadn’t felt to me like I’d been attempting anything. It felt like th
e opposite. I fiddled with my sleeve.

  I’d done a great job of hiding the anger and depression. I worked hard at making it look like my life was the same happy, shiny thing that everyone had always admired. Beautiful, popular, clever little Olive. But inside, I didn’t feel like that. And the more time that passed, the more I felt like I was a fraud. Playing the part of someone I wasn’t. It was terrifying – if I wasn’t the person everyone thought I was, then who was I?

  At school I managed – just – to keep the illusion going that nothing had changed. But at home it was impossible. The black, angry feelings would swell up inside me as I walked through the front door and some evenings I could barely speak. Mum just kept pushing vitamins into me and pretending it was all fine. But not Dad. I could tell that I was letting him down. By the time he left, he wouldn’t even look me in the eye.

  ‘It happened not long after Dad left,’ I heard myself say to Miranda. ‘He went without saying goodbye and I knew it was because of me. I felt like – such a failure.’

  Miranda nodded sympathetically and suddenly it was all blurting out of me – everything that had happened that morning on the beach. I told her about how the old Olive used to head to the beach most mornings with Ralph for a run and, if it was warm enough, a swim. That morning had started the way it always did – or at least that’s how it would’ve looked to anyone else. Trackpants and T-shirt on. The run down to the beach. My towel – stretched out neatly on the sand like I had every intention of coming back to it. Then I scratched Ralphie’s ears, told him he was the best dog ever and strode into the water. When it was deep enough, I let the water pick me up and carry me off.

  It was all so gentle – that’s what I explained to Miranda. No fighting the current. Just going with it. My plan was to let the ocean draw me out further and further. I figured that either my water-logged clothes or the exhaustion would pull me down. I didn’t think it would take very long. I felt like I was half-drowned already.

  But the ocean rejected me. Instead of pulling me under, it kept pushing me back towards the shore. And on the beach Ralph went nuts, barking and barking. Even though it was probably the seaweed monsters and not me he was barking at, he still managed to alert a group of surfers. I suppose they thought they were saving me when they dragged me out.

  I was admitted to the clinic straight away, put on twenty-four-hour surveillance because I was a danger to myself and forced to go to therapy session after therapy session to talk about my feelings. I was there for weeks. Dad never once came to visit me, even though I’m sure Mum would have told him what I’d done. That’s what hurt the most – that he couldn’t even bring himself to come and see me after I’d done the worst thing you could do.

  After I’d finished explaining all this, Miranda and I sat there on my floor for ages. She didn’t try to say any of the things people usually said – about what a tragedy it would’ve been if I’d succeeded and how I had so much to live for. She just sat there, silently absorbing it. Eventually she picked up one of the photos – me, Toby and Mum at the beach, arms around each other, smiling. Even Ralph’s big hairy head had squeezed in there.

  ‘Your dad’s not in this one,’ she said.

  I pointed to a blurry shape in the bottom left corner of the photo. ‘That’s his thumb,’ I said. ‘He took the shot.’ And I started laughing because I suddenly realised how ridiculous it was to keep a photo of someone’s thumb. Miranda smiled but she didn’t laugh. She continued to stare at the photo for a long time. ‘You’re lucky to have all this,’ she said. ‘I don’t have anything to remember my parents. Everything was lost when I started being shunted around from relative to relative.’

  I picked up a cushion and hugged it to my chest, feeling suddenly guilty. I shouldn’t have snapped at Miranda before. I wasn’t the only person who’d had bad stuff happen. ‘How many people have you lived with?’

  ‘God knows,’ said Miranda bitterly. ‘I stopped counting. I’d just get settled with a new lot when suddenly I’d be told to start packing again.’

  ‘But why?’ I said.

  Miranda exhaled slowly. ‘I guess I was a handful. Hard to control. I played tricks to try and get people’s attention and they always took it the wrong way – like I was evil or something. Passing me on was the easiest option.’

  ‘I was a handful too, as a kid,’ I said. ‘According to Mum. I think that’s why there’s such a huge age gap between me and Toby.’

  ‘The difference is your mum loved you,’ said Miranda. At some point while I’d been talking she’d moved without me noticing, so that now she was positioned right in front of me on the rug. ‘Unlike the people who got lumped with me. I tried really hard at first. To make them like me, I mean. Finally I realised what a waste of time it was. So I gave up.’ Miranda was untangling the tassels of the rug with her fingers as she spoke, straightening them out strand by strand. As she did, I glimpsed a row of dark red scars along her forearm.

  ‘Oh, Miranda,’ I said, my breath catching in my throat. I remembered that day outside the Mercury with the heavy rain and the make-up on her arm. ‘That must have sucked.’

  Miranda’s face had darkened. ‘Do you know what it’s like as a six-year-old to realise that your supposed guardians are afraid of you?’ she spat. ‘It makes you despise them. It makes you want to hurt them, and the things they love.’

  Down the hallway in the kitchen I could hear Mum and Toby getting things ready for dinner. The clink of bowls, the metallic ting of cutlery. ‘Why were they afraid?’

  Miranda’s eyes, when they met mine, were stones. ‘Because I killed my parents,’ she said.

  My heart leapt. Miranda Vaile the parent-murderer. That old rumour, from so long ago.

  ‘But weren’t you just a little kid?’ I said, trying to sound calm. ‘Didn’t they die in a car accident?’

  She’s kidding, I thought, willing Miranda’s face to break into a sudden grin. For her to tease me for falling for another joke. Because if that was true – if she had murdered her parents after all – what else might be?

  Miranda’s expression didn’t change. ‘I remember the accident,’ she said. ‘Even though I was only two. We’d just driven past a playground with a slide shaped like an elephant. I was desperate to play on it but my parents wouldn’t stop. I screamed and screamed. I felt so angry, strapped in my car seat like that – and I wanted to hurt them. I remember willing the car to stop, willing it with all my might. And then it did stop … by crashing into a tree.’ Miranda’s face was grey. ‘They both died instantly.’

  I reached out my hand. ‘Miranda, that wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ she said savagely. ‘My relatives all think it was. One uncle used to love telling me that my tantrum had distracted my dad and that’s why he drove off the road. They were always so thrilled to get rid of me – passing me around like a virus until Oona finally agreed to take me in. But who knows how long I’ll survive at her place.’

  ‘It must be pretty interesting living with Oona,’ I said, picturing her strange, fortress-like house perched up on the hill. This was my attempt to change the conversation. To move on to less painful stuff.

  Miranda snorted. ‘Interesting? It’s like trying to breathe with a pillow held over your face.’

  ‘Well, you’re welcome over here any time,’ I said, and instantly felt stupid. It had sounded a bit wonkish. But Miranda raised her head and I was surprised by how thrilled she looked.

  ‘Really?’ she said. ‘You really mean that?’

  ‘Of course,’ I found myself saying. ‘Come over any time you want.’

  Miranda wiped the tears away and smiled. When I’ve been teary it takes ages for my face to return to normal. But a second later you couldn’t tell Miranda had been crying at all.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘You’ve got no idea how much that means to me.’

  Mum’s voice wafted down the hall, along with the smell of overcooked pumpkin. ‘Dinner!’

  ‘I better go,?
?? I said, standing up. ‘That stew is worse when it’s cold. Anyway, you should get ready for your date. Can’t wait to hear about it tomorrow.’

  Miranda nodded. ‘Let me just get myself together. And my things.’ She put the clothes she was borrowing in her bag, and then wrapped up all my bits of Proof in the scarf and handed them back. ‘Thanks, Olive,’ she said, giving me a goodbye hug.

  Near the door she hesitated. ‘I know this will probably sound weird,’ she said, ‘but I feel like we’ve got some kind of connection. Because of the stuff we’ve both been through. It’s like I can talk to you, tell you stuff, that I wouldn’t trust anyone else with.’ She chewed on her thumbnail and gave an embarrassed little smile. ‘It’s like we get each other or something.’

  And the weird thing was, I felt exactly the same way.

  Miranda turned up at school the next morning, dressed not in her uniform but in my skirt and top. Something’s happened, I thought. There was something spacey about her, like she wasn’t all there.

  ‘Olive!’ she said, nearly knocking me over with her hug. People walked past, staring. But Miranda didn’t seem to notice. ‘I just have to tell you about my lush date! You would’ve seriously loved it.’ She looked so happy that it made me smile too.

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘We went into town and saw a gig,’ said Miranda. She patted her cheek. ‘What was he called? Elliott Furphy? Have you heard of him?’

  ‘You saw Elliot Furphy play?’ I said. ‘At the Vault? That’s been sold out for months.’

  Miranda shrugged. ‘Dallas is friends with Elli. We got in for free.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, feeling a stab of jealousy. ‘Right.’ Of course Dallas would be friends with Elliot Furphy. Of course Miranda would see his band play for free. ‘Was it good?’

  ‘I didn’t pay much attention,’ giggled Miranda. ‘I was a bit distracted by Dallas. He’s so incredible, Olive. Look at my hands. They won’t stop trembling.’ She held her hands out. They looked pretty steady to me, although I did notice Miranda seemed to have picked up a bad habit of mine – chewing her fingernails.