Chapter 1: Loss
Rebecca didn't want to go back to her house.
Going there meant facing another mouthful from her mother about why she was late. She just didn't have the energy nor patience to deal with another drunken outburst from Melanie that day.
As it was, she struggled to compose herself in front of her longtime friend – Rachael – after the final bell had chimed, signalling an end to the school day.
The two had been the best of friends since childhood, but soon that would come to an end. Or at least, be more difficult for the two girls.
Glenn had decided to ship all three of them to a remote town in the state of Victoria, called Sunbury. Soon, all of the familiar scenes of Kandos would fade away into the back of Rebecca's memory; a mere ghost of a place she'd once called home since her nappy days.
She would miss the rural, country streets; most of which were nestled at the foot of the Coomber Melon Mountain range. Tourists swept in just as fast as they swept out, usually engrossed in all the natural beauty the small region had to offer. For a few days, at least. Then after that, it was off back home to the city and its bustling roads.
The town itself was established in 1913. Not a lot of people knew that such a small, forgettable blip on the map of New South Wales had been founded to mine limestone - a key ingredient of cement, most of which was shipped off to build the great and vast Sydney.
After that, it might as well have been another has-been. Rebecca was starting to feel that way herself. When she was inevitably yanked south to Victoria, who would remember her? Aside from Rachael, she only held a small circle of friends close to her.
She liked her house, though. While it wasn't in the running for a feature on Grand Designs, it was the place she felt most comfortable and stress-free.
The one-thousand and twelve square metre property had witnessed a lot during her time there. Distantly, at the age of three, she remembered running butt-naked down the main hallway and squealing. Melanie had been in hot pursuit, weaving from side-to-side to distract her. It'd worked, for soon Rebecca had been scooped up into the warm and loving arms of her mother with a big, cheeky grin and thrown into a steaming hot bath.
The exterior — rich, thick shades of creamy white and burgundy — had been painted those exact colours by her parents before the ink on their lease had dried. Its tin, curved pale green awnings were beginning to fleck in places, showing the silver of metal beneath. And, decorating the wide wooden porch overlooking their street, Melanie had placed a large two-seater swing for herself and Glenn - or Rebecca - to sink into on hot nights, where they'd gaze at the stars and ruminate about the mysteries of deep space.
The thin, pencil-like trees and bushes lining the front of the property were beginning to grow. They weren't yet large or tall enough to obstruct the house, but anyone hoping to steal a glance past the steel mesh fence wouldn't be able to actually see much; maybe just the family dog, Misty, doing laps around the yard in her frenzied attempts to get the Australia Post man on his motorbike.
Misty was already jumping up and down in unsupressed delight when she saw Rebecca's figure come into view on the sidewalk. Tail wagging excitedly back and forth, the six-year-old Australian Shepherd barked at her with tongue already hanging out.
"Hey, girl," Rebecca said in a soothing, friendly voice as she scratched her furry friend behind the ear. "I'll come out and spend time with you shortly, okay?"
Misty licked her hand a couple of times, then dashed off across the short green grass and into the backyard. Her patchy grey-black, ginger and white coat bristled like many individual strands of golden twine underneath the auburn sun, slowly starting its descent behind the township.
Drawing the collar of her black polyester jacket forward against the slight chill rolling through, she traipsed along the footpath and onto the front porch. Just behind the fly screen door, she could only imagine which words Melanie had prepared for her in her small vocabulary.
Melanie was a beautiful woman in her late thirties, with a soft river of shimmering golden-brown waves falling over petite shoulders. Dressed mostly in an oversized white turtleneck jumper, lined with a simple grid design, she spent most of her time compulsively cleaning every inch of the house. Rebecca never understood why, especially when the particles of dust never had a chance to fully settle before Melanie was up and cleaning again.
Glenn, on the other hand, was far too engrossed in his ever-expanding culinary skills to take much notice. Before Rebecca left for school each morning, he'd amble into the small country-style kitchen with his short brown hair fastened into a top knot and a black apron wrapped around his slim waist. In his hands would be either a plate of bacon and eggs, cooked to delicious perfection, or a healthy serving of mushrooms, parsley and tomatoes wrapped in pancake-like eggs.
Although Rebecca disdainfully ate the latter, she couldn't bring herself to tell her father that sometimes she didn't want it. Whenever she peered up into his hooded, slightly upturned sparkling blue eyes, the thought vanished from her mind without even so much as a goodbye.
Her parents hadn't slept in the same bed, or room, for the past three months. Neither of them thought she knew about their situation, so she kept tight-lipped around them to maintain the illusion of ignorance.
It did nothing to stop her curiosity from being piqued. Her theories ranged from Glenn farting in bed, to Melanie driving him insane with the excessive amount of polishing she'd done to their shower door. It had to look as clean and pristine as the water in Puerto Williams, Chile.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the door knob in her hand and twisted it. As soon as the simple action was done, a feeling of sudden, immense unease coursed through her veins.
Something was wrong. She didn't know how she knew; it was like a sixth sense.
She took a calm step over the threshold, slowly scanning her surroundings for any sign of upset.
The beige, wood panel walls still hung the same family portraits from their designated nails: ten-year-old Rebecca with her small arms wrapped tightly around a puppy version of Misty, Glenn and Melanie on their wedding day - Melanie with a bright, beaming smile and her hair curled into shiny tendrils, hanging off Glenn's arm in a fairytale-like white gown; Glenn wearing a tailored dark grey tuxedo, his hard-featured face softened into a blissful smile, and five-year-old Rebecca playing jump rope with Rachael outside the front of their primary school.
Next, she strode down to the end of the hallway and turned into the living room.
Her parents had used the cramped space well. One wood panel wall was painted a striking shade of teal, while the other three were basic beige - much like the foyer. The only thing setting it apart was the square window facing out east to the backyard, and the large sliding door ahead which showed a view the rear wooden patio.
In terms of interior design, the house was as basic as a blank sheet of paper. But to Rebecca, it was still home for the next few weeks.
Melanie was sitting in her favourite red recliner chair near one corner of the rectangular space, apparently not aware of her daughter's presence. A re-run of the news was flashing across the widescreen, showing the events that'd been reported on earlier that day. Mark Burrows was recapping everything that Rebecca 'might have missed', furrowing his bushy grey eyebrows with a stern look etched onto his oblong face. She could see some of the gel product still drying in his short grey hair, making it sheen under the studio lights.
"Mum?" Her own voice echoed like a ghost's. A few moments passed.
Then a few more.
Rebecca tossed her school backpack to the floor and rushed over, touching Melanie's forearm.
She suppressed the scream that was attempting to leave her mouth, and covered it with her other hand. Her mother's skin was cold to the touch, and her arm felt slightly stiff.
"Mum?!" Panic prickled the top of her scalp, raising the hairs on her arms. She grabbed onto Melanie with both hands in a frenzy of emotion. "Mum! Wake up! Please, wake up!"
Her cries must have been heard all throughout the house, for the next thing she knew, her father was beside her.
"Honey, cover your eyes," he ordered, picking up a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam from the small coffee table beside the chair. "I don't want you seeing this."
"But dad," she croaked. "It's too late, I've already seen it."
With a big sigh, Glenn turned to her and placed his hands delicately upon her shoulders with more caution than he usually would. "Beccy, go to your room. Now."
She peered up into his big, stern eyes full of fatherly protection and knew fighting back against him would be fruitless.
Reluctantly, she picked up her bag from the floor and did what she was told.
All the while, her heart felt like it was clenched tightly between the jaws of a vice. Her cheeks were already damp with tears - tears she hadn't realised, until then, she'd been crying.
──────────
A week later, Glenn was hauling Rebecca out to Rylstone cemetery for Melanie's viewing. They hadn't spoken to each other much since her death; only when it was necessary, like when Rebecca asked him to pass the tomato ketchup at dinner, or when Glenn asked her if she'd completed all her homework for the night.
She stared down at her black and white converse, loosely clasping her hands in front of her. Shiny, mahogany brown waves were thrown across her chest in the wind blowing through the open car window, tickling her cheeks like the subtle touch of spectral fingers. If she closed her eyes for only a second, she could picture Melanie holding her daughter's face between feather soft hands.
Funerals were supposed to see people dressed in their best suits and dresses, Rebecca knew. But when she dug through the back of her small wardrobe, she found she had neither. In the end, she'd settled for a plain black t-shirt, which she wore underneath an unzipped black jacket, and a pair of freshly ironed trousers.
Half-formal, she thought.
Glenn was either too tired or too strung out to cause much of a stir about the matter. He never did drugs, she knew, but that didn't necessarily mean he refrained from picking up a bottle of Cougar or Jack Daniel's every day from BWS on his way home.
His breath reeked of stale beer when he'd pressed a kiss to her cheek earlier that morning. She kept quiet about it, though. She knew his way of grieving differed from hers.
Their white Honda CR-V pulled slowly into a parking space just inside the funeral home. It was a simple space fenced off to the neighbouring houses adjacent, blotted here and there with numerous trees. It wasn't as glamorous as funeral homes closer to the cities, making the atmosphere more mellow and relaxed.
Rebecca slid out of her seat and almost tirpped over the concrete. She quickly steadied herself before anyone could see, and smoothed down the front of her pants while she waited for Glenn to join her.
Taking a brief glance around at the assembly of people who'd gathered to say farewell to Melanie, she spotted Rachael amongst the black-and-white and bound over to her without a second thought.
"Bec," she cried, pulling her best friend of a decade into her arms. "Oh Bec, this breaks my heart. I'm so sorry for your loss, hun. I know it doesn't make things any easier, but I'm always here for you." She held her at arms length, peering into Rebecca's eyes through her own tear-clouded green irises. "You know that, right?"
Rebecca nodded, trying her best to hold back the sobs that were threatening to wreak havoc on her already fragile body and mind. When she looked across at Rachael, dressed in a pure black funeral gown-corset combo, the reality of the situation only further sunk in.
Rachael was a year older than her. At seventeen years young, she mostly wore her dirty blonde waves down across plump, close-set breasts. Outside the funeral house, she wore crop tops and ripped denim shorts that embraced every line and curve of her slender hourglass figure. She was a perfect, solid ten – leaving Rebecca far behind at five.
"I'm sorry your mother died," Glenn said, making Rebecca jump. It was the first time he'd spoken to her through the whole morning. "Try and keep your chin up. But if you can't, there's no shame in crying. You're surrounded by family and friends we've known since you were just a baby."
She simply inclined her head in response, shuffling toward the front door of the building.
The funeral home which had agreed to look after Melanie — Macquarie Valley Funerals and Monuments — had set up the chapel with sign-in books for guests to leave their names in. Behind the sheets of paper sat a silver framed photograph of Melanie's beaming face from a few years ago.
Rebecca remembered exactly what had taken place when the photo was snapped.
Melanie had just finished icing the last of the cookies she'd baked that day, planning to surprise her daughter when she walked through the front door. Only, Rebecca's class had been permitted to leave ten minutes early. A fellow student had been stupid enough to try and light a cigarette with a Bunsen burner. Instead of successfully igniting the end of the cancer stick when Mr Brink's back was turned, he'd lit up the front of his curly brown locks and set off the smoke alarm.
Hard to believe he was the same boy Rachael had been dating for six months.
When Rebecca opened the door to her home, an onslaught of laughter filled her ears. She dropped her backpack and entered the small kitchen to find Glenn's arms looped through Melanie's. Both her parents were fighting over how to properly ice the tree-shaped cookies neatly lining the stainless steel cooling rack.
"Glenn, stop!" Her mother's face stretched up into an uncontrollable smile, one that was so wide it showed her flawlessly white teeth. "I might not be a qualified chef like you, but I know how to decorate cookies!"
"Yeah, but you missed a spot here!" Glenn had dipped his index finger into the mixing bowl of white icing and dabbed her nose with it, grinning. "Sheesh Mel, you're a mess today."
Just as Melanie went to swat his hand away, Glenn had taken out his iPhone and snapped a picture of her in a moment of unstaged happiness.
Rebecca felt grief tug at her heartstrings, and hastily averted her gaze to the rows of wooden pews ahead. Without needing to do the calculations in her mind, she already knew there were more people in attendance than what the funeral director had anticipated. Looked like half of them would be standing outside the room and peering in.
I just wish I knew why mum killed herself.
"What you need to understand about adults is that nothing is ever as perfect as it might look," her father spoke in her ear, wrapping an arm loosely around her waist. She could feel the warmth from his body as he stood behind her, glancing straight ahead at one of the flatscreen monitors showing the same photo. "Your mother and I had a lot of problems in our marriage, but I won't ever understand why she chose to leave us. That's the greatest betrayal I could ever fathom."
Rebecca gently disentangled herself from his embrace and walked down the middle of the pews, slumping down in one at the front of the room. She didn't want to place blame on anyone, including Melanie. Today was the day she, Glenn and their family would share their best memories of the bright angel light that had been Melanie. She refused to allow sour road bumps in between to spoil the day.
A few beats later, Glenn sat down beside her and patted her knee. She barely felt any emotion from the chaste gesture of affection. He was too sloshed to realise that his only daughter was beyond heartbroken, so she decided that she wouldn't allow him to get under her skin. Even if he dangled her mother's past mistakes over her head, like a dead mouse on the end of a string, she would be the cat that turned her head away and walked off with her tail held high.
She knew, without being told, that adults made just as many mistakes as children and teenagers. But why should Melanie's past decisions determine the best way to grieve her absence?
