Thyla - Kate Gordon [5]
I didn’t ask you what a ‘movie’ was.
You told me all about Cascade Falls in the car while I simmered in grouchy silence. ‘It’s a good school, Tess. You’ll love it there. It’s actually quite posh, but they have a good scholarship programme, and funding to help disadvantaged girls. There’s a trust – the Lord Trust – that helps girls like you to go there. When the trustees found out about your situation, they were really eager for you to be a recipient. Oh, I just know you’ll love it there, Tess.’
I didn’t reply. You carried on, regardless. ‘It’s in a really nice setting and the main schoolrooms are in a huge, beautiful old sandstone building. I think maybe it was used once as offices for the Cascade Brewery – that’s pretty much next door. When it was first built it was just that one building. Now there are some modern outbuildings, where they teach art and drama and a few other bits and pieces. There’s a little courtyard in the middle of it all that I think you’ll like. It would be nice to sit there, out in the sun.’
You stopped talking for a moment while you negotiated a large circular structure in the road. I looked out across the suburban streets, at the sunlight being drained away by the dark tar of the road. I wondered if there would be grass at Cascade Falls. I wondered if there would be trees. Sunlight on tar was nothing like sunlight dappling through the leaves of a tree.
‘You’re lucky to be going to Cascade Falls, Tess,’ you said, once we had rounded the circle. ‘I remember when I was a kid, at Taroona High, I always wished I could go to a posh private school like Cascade Falls. I used to see the girls in their straw boater hats and little white gloves and feel so envious of them. I thought life there must be really fun. I probably had that impression from reading one too many Chalet School books when I was younger. Although, of course, Cascade Falls isn’t in the Austrian Alps. But it is halfway up a mountain!’
You told me I got into Cascade Falls because the school is one of only three in Hobart that still has boarding houses (and one of the others is Valley Grammar, which is an all-boys school), because of the Lord Trust, and because the headmistress, Ms Hindmarsh, is one of your closest friends.
‘You’ll love Cynthia,’ you said. ‘She’s really friendly and funny and passionate. I’ve known her for years, from back in Campbell Town. We grew up there together – her and me and Raphael. That’s … that was her husband. He’s … gone now.’ You were silent for a few moments, before shaking yourself and going on.
You asked me if I was nervous.
I humphed and looked out the window.
You asked me if I’d remembered to pack my new black stockings.
I rolled my eyes and started drumming my fingernails on the top of the car door.
Finally, you gave up asking me things, and started pointing out landmarks. I looked despite myself. Everything was so foreign and new. Nothing at all looked familiar.
I played with the thought that maybe I was a refugee from another place – British India, perhaps, or the Americas – since it really did feel like I was in a foreign land.
But then I would look different, wouldn’t I? And my accent would be different from yours and Vinnie’s, but it is exactly the same (only sometimes you say different words from the ones I use).
The memories will come back, I told myself. That thought was at the same time comforting and terrible. After all, I wasn’t entirely sure that I wanted the memories to come back. Not if they were full of darkness and screaming, like my dreams.
‘That’s the police headquarters,’ you said, pointing at an ugly, box-like structure. ‘That’s where I work. Back that way is the botanic gardens, and the domain, and the cenotaph. I’ll take you to the gardens soon. You’ll like them. They’re really pretty. Down that way is the river and the waterfront. My favourite restaurant, Mures, is there. I’ll take you there one day. And just over that way is Salamanca. Hang on, I’ll take a detour and show you a bit of it.’
You turned left and went down a