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Chapter 2
When Carts arrived at his parents’ home, the kid who’d been torturing the piano was leaving.Even from a distance he could see Mum had her teaching face on, nodding and smiling, though he knew all she wanted was for the helicopter parent to take her daughter and go hover over her at netball or tennis or whatever class she had next.
He could see dark rings under the kid’s eyes even from the footpath.
As the woman and her daughter got into their car, Carts headed up the path.
Mum’s mouth tilted into a relieved smile at the sight of him, but the furrow between her eyebrows remained.He hugged her hard.Rosemary Wells was on the up-side of six foot, but she seemed small and fragile in his arms.
She ushered him inside and shut the door.
“Where is she?”he asked, shrugging off his jacket.
“In her room with the door barricaded.”
“You’ve locked her in!”
His mum sighed.“No, love, she’s lockedmeout.”
“Fuck!”
“Carter, can you please not swear.”
“Sorry.So, what’s happened this time?”
This timewas getting to be the standard phrase with regard to Avery.Not even a year ago, Avery had been a model kid—studious, quiet, dedicated to her music and intent on getting a scholarship to the Conservatorium in Paris.
Then something changed.She became sullen.She avoided eye contact.Grunted at Mum and Dad.Even grunted at him.Like,what?Avery had always adored him.He’d been fourteen when she was born and he remembered holding the tiny bundle in his arms, marvelling at those teeny-weeny fingers, her crumpled, plum-coloured newborn face with all that dark fuzz on top of her head.He’d been totally smitten ever since.
And up until a month ago she’d adored him too.As she grew from a baby to a toddler, her nappy hanging low on chubby legs, Avery had followed him around the house like his shadow.He was there when she started Kindy, and for her first day of primary school.Had watched with pride as she received the music prize each year, and attended each and every one of her concerts.
“You need to talk some sense into her,” Mum said, as Carts strode into the music room and flung his jacket on the old leather sofa.
“I need the full story first.”
Mum busied herself tidying music sheets.“She’s—” stopping abruptly, she pinched the bridge of her nose.Was she about to cry?After a second, to his relief, she dropped her hand and continued to sort papers.“She’s saying she won’t take the scholarship if she gets it.”
“Where’s this suddenly come from?”
“We had a fight.”
“What about?”
Mum closed the piano lid with a thud.“Oh, some party she wants to go to next weekend.That awful girl Zany—or Zammy or whatever her name is.You know the one, with skirts that practically show off her knickers.”
“Urm—“ He didn’t.He’d occasionally dropped Avery at school, but he wouldn’t be able to tell one kid in uniform from another.Unless they had purple hair or something.
“She’s the one who dyed her hair purple,” Mum supplied.
“Oh, yeah, right.”Now he recalled a conversation at dinner a couple of weeks ago, about Avery wanting to put silver streaks in her hair because her friend had dyed hers.Goodness, me, Mum had said, you’ll be old before you can blink, why on earth do you want to speed the process up?Dad had muttered his standard line of listen to your mother, then focused on cutting up his lamb chop.
A sudden bass beat raised both their gazes to the ceiling.Mum shook her head and pursed her lips.“See!This is what I have to put up with every day after school.”
Carts’ ears pricked.“Triple J radio.”
“Sounds like a cat fight to me,” Mum grumbled.
“What does Dad say?”
