Shadowed Dreams & Rippled Water

Family Photograph

Six

Family Photograph

“Ah!” I clutched at my throat and bolted upright, struggling for air to fill my lungs. “Help me…!”

“Hey Lucy, you’re alright, it was a nightmare…”

“Where am I?” I patted the space around me, cotton sheets brushing against my fingertips. “How did I get here? What happened?”

“You’re safe, Lucy lady.”

“Dean!” I almost shouted, realising it was his voice. “Where are you? Am I dead, too?”

“Dead...” He sounded hurt by the idea. “I’m not dead, as far as I know. And neither are you.” His thumb caressed my cheek, his hand heating my entire face.

I placed mine over his and clung to him. “You’re dead. I saw it. I saw your coffin… You were dead.”

Dean’s calming touch lingered for a moment, and then he brushed the matted hair from my view. I blinked until his familiar shimmering blue eyes came into focus. His eyebrows were pinched together with worry. But it was still Dean, perched on the edge of my bed, not buried in some storm-torn cemetery.

“I don’t understand,” I said, ruffling his mousy-brown hair. “It was so real.”

“I promise. You had a nightmare. See ...” He shifted my hand to his bare, heaving chest and sucked in a deep breath.

The hum of his heart vibrated through my arm. I counted each individual, accelerated beat, and refused to let go until I felt satisfied that he was fine.

“It was so real.” I breathed, removing my hand. “Oh, geez, I’ve never been so frightened.”

“Don’t worry, everything’s okay now,” Dean reassured me. “Hell, maybe I should get my heart checked after that.”

“Why?” I asked, accidentally shouting the question. I lowered my tone when I realised what I had done. “Was it because of my dream?”

“Wow, don’t look so worried.” He chuckled, elbowing my arm. “I was mucking around. Your scream was the thing that scared the hell out of me.”

“I scared you?” Huffing, I folded my arm into my lap. “I dreamt you were dead. And ever since the dream about Dad…” I trailed off.

It had been thirteen months since his death—since I had dreamt about anyone like that. I had woken from nightmares over the week, but I had forgotten them instantly. But this dream was different. It was more ridiculous than anything. Why would a swell of dirt pull me under? Such a thing didn’t happen. Did it?

“You know what,” I half-smiled at him. “This was just a dream… not like the other one…”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he stood and scanned me from head to toe. “As you can see, I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. That’s the third time this week you woke me with your screams. I thought you were being murdered or something.”

Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I blinked up at him. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I tried. Believe me… I did. It must’ve been one hell of a nightmare.”

I massaged my throbbing temples, fighting a foreboding headache. “I don’t—I mean, it doesn’t make sense. I saw everything as clear as crystal... but…”

“It was only a nightmare,” he reassured me, flexing his large arm muscles. “As you can see, I’m still alive and as healthy as a horse on a race day.”

“It was terrifying,” I admitted, refusing to take my eyes off him, afraid he would disappear. “I’m so glad that’s all it was...”

Dean stretched his arms above his head, making his pecks dance. “I’m still here, and I’m still my awesome self.”

Laughing through my nose, I rolled my eyes at him. “Joke all you want, Dean. But after that nightmare, I realised…” I turned to him, “If anything happened to you, I would miss you…”

His smile softened as he relaxed his arms. “It must’ve been pretty bad then, hey?”

“It was.” I sighed, attempting to untangle myself from the twisted quilt cover. “You have no idea...”

Finally, I found my way out and threw the quilt back. Dean’s eyes flew open, and his face flushed crimson. He turned his back to me and shook his head.

“What’s wrong? What did you–?” I realised why the second I climbed to my feet and looked down. The strap on the top of my nighty had untied revealing half of my left breast. “Ah, shoot!” I fumbled for the stubborn strap as adrenaline rushed through me. By the time I had tied the strap back together, the heat from my cheeks had engulfed the rest of me.

“I–I’m covered now.” I stammered, nervously biting down on my bottom lip. I can’t believe that happened. Why me?

“You sure?” he asked, peering cautiously over his shoulder.

“It’s fine… if you call feeling completely humiliated fine... then yes, I am.”

“Ha, you’re embarrassed?” He faced me and started backing towards the door. “How the hell do you think I feel?”

“Probably as bad...”

“Try, worse. I didn’t need to see that.”

We stared at each other for a while, waiting for the other to speak. The air between us grew thick with bemusement.

Eventually, Dean cleared his throat and headed for the door. “I should err... go.”

“Even though I’m completely mortified about what happened, I’m happy to have you around.”

“Hey, what can I say?” he winked at me. “You’ll always be my Lucy, lady.”

I stared at him, unsure what to say.

“Anyway,” he brushed his hair back, and something in his eyes sent goosebumps across my arms. “Mum’s waiting for us downstairs...”

I swallowed a nervous lump that seemed to linger in my throat. Something about that look was different, and I had seen it more and more lately.

“Right,” he dropped his gaze. “I should... umm, let you get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs in the kitchen.” Flashing me a sideways grin, he turned for the doorway and called back to me, “I should warn you, Mum’s cooking breakfast instead of me. So… if you’ve got any complaints, take it up with her.”

“Mum’s a good cook too, you know.” I rolled my eyes.

“I’m still better…” He paused and glowered at me. “Stop rolling your eyes.”

“What...?” I half laughed. “Why?”

“Because the wind will change one day, and you’ll be stuck that way.”

“If you’re waiting for an apology, you’ll be there awhile.” I taunted, sticking out my tongue.

He raised his eyebrows—the right one higher than the left. “Na, I’m waiting to see what clumsy thing you’ll do next.”

“Ha, very funny!” I stepped behind him and shoved him into the hallway. “You kind of need to leave now…”

“Okay, I’m going.” Throwing his arms up in defeat, he headed down the hallway. Moments later, he reappeared in the doorway. “One more thing, no flashing the neighbours, okay?”

“Oi, that’s not funny!”

His booming laughter filled my room as I closed the bedroom door between us. Ah, geez, he’s a clown.

Stretching my arms above my head, I stood before my dressing table mirror, wriggling my toes through the soft shag rug beneath me. In the last thirteen months, my body had shed its youthfulness, revealing a perky woman’s chest and shapely hips. The gangly look was far more attractive than it was back then, but that jealous pang about my differences from the rest of the family was still there.

Unsure what to wear, my sleepy gaze darted from the neat pile of clean washing at the foot of my bed to the clothes I had worn yesterday, which I had thrown carelessly over the dressing table. Hmm…

I decided on a white shirt from the clean pile and denim shorts from the day before. I tossed the top with my jeans and collapsed onto the dressing table chair. A wiry streak of light snuck between the dark maroon curtains—the only sign of early morning visible in the darkness of my room.

“I’m still tired.” I yawned, propping my elbows against the table.

My dressing table was immaculate for a piece of antique furniture, proudly a part of Mum’s collection. The vanished flaxen wood shone like new, and the four brass knobs on the front drawers appeared untouched. As I dressed, I looked at the photo on my dressing table. All my happy memories were trapped in there. It held the last captured smile and embrace we had shared with Dad before his death. I can’t believe it’s been over a year…

The photo portrayed everything attractive about him—everything. His white-blonde hair gave the impression angels had cast their glow upon him. When he smiled, you could find yourself lost in it. Mum’s breathtaking looks were nothing short of beautiful. Compared to her, Aphrodite was a mere mortal. There had never been a couple so destined to be together. They were perfect in pictures as they were in life.

Each time I looked at rosy-cheeked baby Stacey, cradled in Mum’s arms, I found Mum staring back at me. The resemblance between them was uncanny. I studied the photo and agreed with myself—Dean was a mixture. The gene pool had taken what was perfect from each and moulded a masterpiece.

Then there were the twins. Dad had a tiny freckle on his neck, and Dylan and Kane had that, too. They had the same white-blonde hair, deep blue eyes, straight nose, strong jaw line and dimpled chin. Sometimes, I had to remind myself it was Dylan who never smiled in photos so I could tell them apart. The only person who looked like they didn’t belong was me, with my straight, jet-black hair and dark brown eyes. There was no doubting I stood out—the black sheep amongst the rest.

I kept the little jewellery box my Aunty Valery had given me on my twelfth birthday beside the picture. The tiny dancer inside had never been given the chance to perform her complete performance. But each time Valery visited, the slide-out draw beneath it was filled with more expensive jewellery. Each item was heavy and uncomfortable, so they never ventured beyond the dressing table.

That was the least of the problems when it came to Aunty Valery. Over the years, she had brought numerous hideous outfits, and I was forced to wear them for each visit. These were clothes that no teenage girl in their right mind would consider.

“This is designer clothing,” she would say, handing me a puffy-sleeved shirt or multi-layered dress that resembled a lace doyley, and you could barely move in. “A proper lady should always dress well, no matter the price.”

“Proper lady?” I dusted off my trusty shorts with frayed hems. “Give me a pair of these any day.”

I never knew a person who could irritate me the way Valery could. She could make my blood boil with a simple passing glance or snide remark with her haughty upper-class tone and clearly pronounced words. Even though she never said it, I know she thought her rich world was beyond our middle-class, hardworking lifestyle. The thing I despised most about her frequent visits were the hours I was forced to listen to dreary stories about family members I had never met.

“You look so much like your grandma, Shiralee,” Valery stated, more as a disheartening fact than a compliment. “Oh, she was beautiful, alright, with hair as black as ebony and eyes as dark as midnight. Your grandma was as graceful as an elegant swan.”

I found it challenging to agree with the resemblance when I had never seen a photograph of the lady.

The familiar twittering of birds filled my room. I followed their song, throwing open the curtains to find a beautiful Autumn day.

“Lucy,” Mum sang from downstairs. “Time to wake up, lazybones. Valery and Malcolm are on their way.”

“Damn, there has to be a way to escape before it’s too late!” I grumbled under my breath.

“Lucy Marie Birdsly, hurry up!” Mum called again.

“I’m up already… I’m just getting dressed,” I shouted back to her.

As I brushed my hair, attempting to defuse the matted knots, I concluded that the only way to escape Valery’s visit was to sneak away to my best friend Lorrie’s Victorian mansion on the other side of town. At least there, I knew Valery would never find me. Lorrie was the sweetest friend I ever knew, and she would cover for me.

I closed the door behind me and strolled down the hallway, distracted by the sticking sound my bare feet made against the varnished floorboards. I didn’t see the linen cupboard door until it was too late, and I walked face-first into it.

“Ow, ouch...” I snorted, shoving the door closed. “Of course, it would be me…”

A cheerful whistle flowed into the hallway from the closed bathroom door across from me. The whimsical tune was familiar and made me think of Dad. He had whistled the same tune while he worked, and Dean whistled it when he was happy. Since Dad’s death, it had been rare to hear it, but when I did, I welcomed the memories.

Pipes rumbled through the surrounding brick walls, and the clunk of the metal shower curtain rods followed. This was a regular sound—a familiar sound that informed anyone listening that the shower would be free shortly, but the water might be cold.

Continuing down the hallway, I found myself humming in tune. When I reached Kane’s room, I half expected to see him folding clothes or rearranging his room while music blared from his stereo. Kane had a little OCD and liked things in a specific way. I peered through the doorway to say good morning, but he wasn’t there. His bed was made, and his pyjamas were folded at the end of it. I figured he had been up before dawn. As Kane would say, everything has a place, everything in its place.

I reached Dylan’s room next, on the opposite side. It resembled his personality in every way—dark and brooding. Since Dad’s death, his room had become a tomb. The curtains were drawn over, casting dark shadows across his unmade bed. Clothes were scattered on the floor and over a lounge chair in the far corner. If Dylan wasn’t outside working on something for Stacey, our beloved little sister, or at work, he moped about in there, avoiding me at all costs.

“Where are you?” Mum called, her voice bordering on annoyance.

“I’m coming right now, Mum,” I replied.

Dylan’s temper didn’t compare to Mum’s, which had also magnetised since Dad’s death. When I could sense anger, I tried my best to avoid her. She never took it out on us—her five children were what she valued above all, but there was a tone and look she gave that you knew meant you had done the wrong thing, even if you hadn’t.

The aroma of sizzling bacon reached me at the staircase landing. It mingled with fried eggs and made my tastebuds squeal with delight. If I had to choose a favourite breakfast, it would definitely be bacon and eggs. Yum!

Before I descended the staircase, I paused before my childhood hiding hole. It was a pitch-black corner where the banister rails met the cocoa-coloured wallpaper, creating a tiny, shadowed gap perfect to hide in during our family game of hide-n-seek. When we were kids played it at least three times a week, and usually, Dad was always it. All four of us, Dean, Kane, Dylan, and me, would hide throughout the house until he found us, and then we would help him find the others. When Stacey was born, Mum would play too. Life here was as much fun as any playground. I stared at it, remembering Dad’s smile when he found us. I could hear his laugh in my mind. That pain his memories brought clawed at my heart, so I turned away.