***
The next afternoon, Taylor climbs up onto the roof with a sheet to protect her from the sun. ‘I’m not coming down until you promise that we’re not moving!’
Mum stares up at her from the back lawn, and Dad stands near his shed and doesn’t look up at all.
Mum cups her hands around her mouth. ‘Taylor, come down!’
‘No!’
Mum prods me. ‘Get her down, Stell.’
‘Me? I’m not going up there! I’ll break my neck! Make Dad do it.’
Mum sighs. ‘Taylor, you can’t stay up there!’
‘I can and I’m going to.’
‘Leave her,’ I say. ‘She just wants the attention. If we go inside and ignore her, she’ll come down.’
‘I can’t leave her up on the roof! What if someone sees?’
I shrug. I mean, we’re about to move to Fairyland. A neighbour spotting Taylor on the roof (for what’s probably the fiftieth time) isn’t going to make much difference to anything.
‘I’m going to make chocolate mousse, Taylor,’ says Mum.
I see Taylor stiffen for a moment. ‘You’re not.’
‘I am. And if you’re not down by the time it’s done, you won’t get any.’
‘I don’t care!’ Taylor bellows. ‘I don’t care about mousse! I’m staying here! I’m not bloody moving!’
***
‘Good mousse,’ Taylor says grudgingly, setting aside her bowl. ‘You know, kids from Sutherbend High go and egg the caravans at Fairyland.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘We’ll be there. We’re going to get egged, Mum.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
Taylor spins around to Dad. ‘It won’t be fine! We’re going to get egged and it’s all your fault!’
‘It’s not for long, Taylor,’ Dad says, his voice tired.
‘That’s not going to stop us getting egged, though.’
‘We’re not going to get egged,’ I say.
She glares at me. ‘Well, you’re such a giant the kids are probably going to be too scared to egg you. But me. I’m so tiny, I’ll be egged for sure.’
‘Hey!’ I say. Mum, Dad and Taylor are all pretty short. I shot up when I hit thirteen and I’m now hovering just over six feet.
‘No one’s going to be stupid enough to egg you, Taylor,’ says Mum.
Taylor crosses her arms. ‘I want more mousse.’
‘There’s no more mousse.’
‘I’m going back up on the roof if there’s no more mousse.’
‘I can make more,’ says Dad. He doesn’t look at Taylor, but he picks up her bowl very carefully. ‘I can make you some more mousse.’
***
Before the letter arrived, I’d seen myself in my father’s nose and my mother’s eyes and Taylor’s wide mouth and crooked teeth. I’d seen myself in my father’s abiding love of chocolate crackles and Taylor’s habit of yelling out random words in her sleep. But for some reason, now I look at them and see them only reflected in each other. I’ve never known who I look like and it’s unnerving how much it suddenly bothers me.
The next afternoon, I’m on my bed, eating cereal and reading an article on adoption, when Taylor throws my bedroom door open. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she says. ‘Are you listening? I’ve been thinking.’
I shut the old laptop we share. I’m careful to close the browser window, first. Taylor gets really impatient about anything related to my adoption. We had a newer laptop that had mysteriously gone to get serviced and never came back. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure laptops need to be serviced.
Taylor and I had got into the habit of keeping our rooms very neat and running regular inventories of all our stuff. If something wasn’t where it was meant to be, we quickly banded together and hunted around for it. Very occasionally, we’d find that we’d just put it somewhere by mistake, and sometimes we found it in Dad’s black backpack and then most often we never saw whatever it was ever again.
She tugs me upright. ‘There’s a pub next door to the caravan park. With pokies.’
‘Oh.’
‘I want to go down there and talk to the management.’ She straightens. ‘If Dad can’t sort himself out, we’ll just have to sort him out ourselves.’
‘Taylor . . .’
‘Come on.’ She tosses some of my clothes onto the bed that she’s decided will best complement her outfit, and I pull them on without complaint because there’s no point complaining to Taylor.
‘I can’t wear this,’ I say when I see myself in them.
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s too short.’
Taylor turns around to inspect the dress I’m wearing. ‘You need to stop growing!’ she says.
‘How am I meant to stop growing? Far out, Taylor. I’m not doing it on purpose.’
She sniffs. ‘I guess you can wear something else. But make sure it’s serious looking, okay? We can’t look like kids. We’ve got to look like we mean business. I’ve printed this out,’ she says. It’s an unflattering print of Dad’s face. I nod. It’s kind of giving me a rush if I’m honest. Mostly, Taylor and I haven’t done much about Dad’s gambling, beyond protecting our stuff. It’s seemed like an adult problem, something between Mum and Dad. But the whole moving-to-Fairyland-Caravan-Park has changed things. I can feel it and so can Taylor.
‘We should start going through his bag,’ I say, pulling on a pair of jeans. ‘Not just when something’s missing, but regularly.’
Taylor brightens. ‘Alright. We just need to try to control him a bit, until he sorts all this stuff out.’
***
We walk past Fairyland on our way to the River Pub. Like swimming in the river, walking past Fairyland is something kids in Sutherbend have been told to avoid.
Sagging wire fence; old cabins and caravans with red-and-pink flowers in pots. A pool with strange-coloured water and an old tennis court that has weeds growing through the cracked surface. My arms are covered in goose bumps. I feel like I’m being watched. Taylor doesn’t say anything as she walks by, but I see her shoulders and jaw tense up.
There’s an arch over the gate. When it was put up, it would have read Fairyland. The letters have dropped off since then, though. The archway now reads airyla d.
‘They say it’s not going to be for long,’ I tell her. I’m more than a head taller than Taylor, but when she’s on a mission I struggle to keep up with her.
‘Unless we stop Dad gambling, we’ll be here forever, Stella,’ Taylor says, powering across the pub car park. ‘You’re so dense, sometimes.’ She pauses at the door. ‘Keep your mouth shut, okay? I’ll do the talking. Just try to look big and tough.’
I don’t know how tough I’m capable of looking, even with my height. Before I can speak to Taylor, she’s squared her shoulders and disappeared into the pub. After a moment where I count quietly to ten and square my own shoulders, I go in after her.