Read an Excerpt
My name is Caitlyn Carson, but you can call me Cate or CC. This is mainly about me. I’m thirteen years old and not especially remarkable, which, I know, is not the most compelling reason to read on. But it’s not only about me. I have parents that play significant roles in this story. My father is Michael Carson and he loves me. My mother is Lois Houseman and she loves me. They don’t love each other. I suppose they must have at some stage, but if so, no one talks about it. Now they just nod or exchange neutral words, and I think if it wasn’t for my presence (and I am always there when they are together) they would make judgements about the other’s character and possibly resurrect old wounds or grievances. Worlds of pain lurk there. Keeping all that in check is tiring. Some- times I feel resentful that I was given the role when no one asked me if I wanted it. Most times I just feel tired. I love my parents, so that’s good. But sometimes I think love isn’t enough. Even though I’m only thirteen years old, which, let’s be honest, does not add up to an impressive lifespan, I’ve learned that love isn’t necessarily what it says on the pack. I know it can inject pain, destroy lives, twist people into shapes that quickly turn monstrous. In some ways we’d be better off without it. I suppose that’s what this story is about. Love, pain and the mysteries that are people. It’s also about madness and why we need it.
Chapter One
It was dark, it was late and I had no idea why Dad had driven us out from the city for over an hour. I’d seen dark and I’d experienced late. But Dad normally has his reasons. Normally. When I tried to discover them, however, he wasn’t completely forthcoming. ‘It’s just a drive, okay, Cate? Into the Dandenongs to a secret place I know.’ He glanced over at me and gave a chuckle. ‘Actually, it was a place I used to go to with your mum. When we were courting. And a good few times after we’d stopped courting and got married.’ ‘No one uses the word “courting” anymore, Dad,’ I said. ‘Not if you’re under a hundred anyway.’ I didn’t want to discuss the rest of his statement. Courting, as I understood it, meant trying to impress the other person with how wonderful you were. Did that stop once you got married? Apparently, from Dad’s point of view, it did. I found that sad. ‘In fact,’ said Dad, ‘we came up here slightly over thirteen years ago.’ He reached over and punched me lightly on the arm. ‘This place I’m taking you to . . . well, it’s possibly where you came into being, Cate. Know what I mean? Isn’t that worth the trip?’ It only took half a second before the meaning hit me. ‘Oh, yeew,’ I squealed. ‘That is so gross, Dad.’ ‘But . . .’ I stuck my fingers in my ears and started humming. I glanced over from time to time and he was smiling, but he wasn’t talking so I unplugged my ears. ‘What’s so special about this place that it’s worth driving for . . .’ I glanced at my phone. ‘. . . sixty-seven minutes?’ I stabbed at him with a finger. ‘And nothing about what you and Mum got up to, okay?’ ‘You’ll see,’ said Dad. ‘You’ll see. Unless I got this seriously wrong, we should be getting there in the next couple of minutes.’ He muttered to himself, ‘About twenty minutes past Kalorama Park, on the left . . .’ If I’m going to be honest, I was starting to get grumpy. We’d left at nine in the evening, and it was now nearly ten past ten, so even if we got to the place, turned around and headed home, it would be close to midnight by the time I hit bed. I know how sad that sounds, but I was tired, okay? And grumpy. I opened the passenger window and stuck my head out. It was so dark out there. It was strangely unnerving to be travelling down a narrow, winding road with just the headlights to show the way. They cut a tunnel in the darkness but didn’t show much of what was to each side. The night air was cool and smelled like trees and earth. I tilted my head and looked at the sky. The branches of trees whipped by, but in those moments when the sky was clear I could see the dusting of millions of stars. Wherever we were stopping, the night sky would be fantastic. You don’t really get to see the Milky Way properly when you’re close to Melbourne. Humanity has washed it away with streetlights and football stadiums and television sets. But out here? Out here there was no filter. The universe stared down at us and it was naked and brilliant and never-ending. Dad finally stopped the car at the side of the road and we got out. It was really quiet apart from the ticking of the engine as it cooled. Dad opened the boot and handed me a blanket, took out a torch and a wicker picnic basket and locked the car. ‘Just down this path here, Cate.’ I could barely see the path, even with the torch, but I grunted and followed him through a small gap between two bushes. We stumbled down a rutted track for probably no more than ten metres and then Dad turned off the torch. I gasped. We stood on a clearing at the top of a rocky outcrop. The Milky Way coiled above us, a vast ribbon of points of light, some red and orange and white and yellow and all the colours in between. Far off, glittering in the light of a quarter moon, was a band of water. Dad put his arm around my shoulder. I shivered a little because it was cold.
‘Worth the drive, Cate?’ he asked. I just nodded. ‘I don’t think many people know this is here,’ said Dad. ‘I found it by accident.’ ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ I said. They’d only put up viewing platforms and pay-for-view binoculars and vans selling convenience food. ‘Our secret,’ said Dad. We stood for a few minutes and I did know that this was worth the drive. It was worth getting back at midnight. Why was I being so bitchy? It was Friday night. I wasn’t going to be up at six thirty in the morning. I wasn’t going to be up in the morning. ‘It’s amazing,’ I said. No words could capture what was above my head. No words I could find, anyway. When I managed to tear my gaze from the lightshow above, he’d laid out the blanket on the ground and opened up the picnic basket. There were two insulated containers with a couple of coffee mugs. I love my dad.
