Please Don't Leave Me Here by Tania Chandler Read Free Book Online Page A

what are we going to have for dinner now? I was planning to cook the fish you caught.’
    Sam laughs.
    â€˜Yuck, you smell fishy.’ His whiskers scratch her face as he kisses her. ‘And you need to shave.’ She pushes him away.
    â€˜Fishermen don’t shave.’ He rubs the stubble on his chin.
    â€˜Go have a shower.’
    â€˜Coming with me?’
    â€˜Maybe.’ She doesn’t meet his eyes.
    â€˜Whack on a DVD for them, and come on.’
    She doesn’t go, pretending that the twins need her for something.
    â€˜Somebody lost in this house,’ Phoebe says, in between screaming about having her hair washed in the bath.
    â€˜Pardon?’ Brigitte combs the conditioner through Phoebe’s hair.
    â€˜Somebody else here. Lost.’
    â€˜No. It’s only us here.’
    â€˜Didn’t come with us.’
    â€˜What are you talking about?’
    â€˜Somebody lost in this house. Forever. A kid. A baby.’
    Brigitte shivers. ‘Don’t be silly.’
    â€˜Risotto’s nearly ready,’ Sam calls from the kitchen.
    â€˜Phoebe, I love you, but sometimes you really creep me out.’
    â€˜What that means, Mummy?’
    â€˜Nothing.’ Brigitte rinses the conditioner, and Phoebe starts screaming again.
    Brigitte lies awake in bed again, with Aidan gnawing at her thoughts like a rat at electrical cords. A mosquito buzzes around her ears. Old dreams are trapped here; family secrets push down on her and mingle with her own dreams and secrets. Maybe there are ghosts. Somebody lost in this house. Forever. Sleep. Don’t sleep — heart palpitations drag her up just as she falls into the dark dream-place. She sucks in her breath, but can’t get enough air into her lungs.
    She gets up and walks through the house, pulse racing. Tick, tick, tick: the clock above the sink in the kitchen. She drinks a glass of water and goes outside. A lot of stars twinkle in the sky. She lights a mosquito coil with shaking hands, and flops in the old black-leather couch on the porch. Breathe. Breathe . When her pulse finally relaxes, she closes her eyes.
    It’s cold in her dream, so she goes into the kitchen.
    â€˜Told you it was a good race horse, knew it’d win the Melbourne Cup.’ Nana is sitting with Kurt Cobain at the table.
    â€˜I thought it was Dune — like the David Lynch film, with Sting.’ Kurt holds a shell in his hand; he looks at it, and tosses it into a bowl on the table.
    â€˜No, Kurt, it’s pronounced Ju-ane. It’s French.’
    Nana holds a tiny baby swaddled in a yellow bunny rug. To hold that baby would be better than anything in the world. Kurt unties the white ribbon on a little blue box and, from the box, produces the red dog collar and a key attached to a glittery, silver letter-J key ring. ‘Put these somewhere safe. Don’t lose them.’ He hands them to Brigitte.
    Nana holds out the baby, and the rug unravels. There’s no baby inside — just a metal iron. Nana passes the iron and says to run. Brigitte holds the dog collar and the key, but the iron is too heavy and slippery. She looks down; it’s dripping with blood, and she drops it. What happened to the baby?
    â€˜Hurry. The tram’s nearly here,’ Kurt says. ‘Run faster this time.’
    She wakes on the porch couch, head pounding. It’s freezing, silver frost icing the grass; a few birds start to twitter. She goes inside. It’s nearly four, according to the clock above the sink. She pulls on a pair of socks, and squashes into bed between Sam and the twins.
    ***
    Ryan, Rosie, and Georgia come down on the third day. They unpack their things in the back bedroom. The house feels happy now: it needs lots of people.
    Sam and Ryan take the kids across to Paynesville for ice-creams. Brigitte makes herbal tea, and puts out a plate of biscuits on the breakfast bar.
    â€˜Wow, you’ve lost a lot of weight,