Free Thyla by Kate Gordon

parents to think that this is an unsafe place to send their girls. Cascade Falls is a very safe place for girls …’
    Ms Hindmarsh’s voice trailed off and her eyes became dreamy and wistful. I thought, not for the first time, that while she seemed effervescent and jolly on the outside, there were worlds inside Ms Hindmarsh that were very well hidden.
    She cleared her throat. ‘I know you know about Cat Connolly,’ she said. ‘And while her disappearance was, oh … just horrible for all of us, I wouldn’t want you to think that this school was at fault, Tessa. Nobody knows exactly what happened that day, but it wasn’t our fault.’
    I wondered who Ms Hindmarsh was trying to convince. Me or herself.
    Ms Hindmarsh continued. ‘I think it’s a really sensible idea to tell your classmates you have been in hospital. ‘It will help them understand you.’
    I agreed with her. I wanted to be understood.
    I had seen some of them giving me curious looks. I suppose they were wondering about the exact nature of my ordeal.
    But none of them knew about my memory.
    That became obvious when I answered Mr Beagle’s question and none of them looked surprised or even very interested.
    But Mr Beagle did. Or, at the very least, he looked curious.
    When I found out Mr Beagle was to be my history teacher, I was somewhat anxious. I remembered his grouchiness towards Laurel and Erin on the day I arrived at Cascade Falls.
    In class, he still seemed grumpy most of the time, but not so very scary.
    He was still wearing the same tweed suit as far as I could tell, unless he had a wardrobe full of tweed suits, and I noticed it sagged slightly at the knees and elbows. It looked quite threadbare and, as I looked at Mr Beagle’s ruddy face and tired eyes, I noticed that he looked a bit threadbare, too, and a bit saggy. He looked like a popped balloon, and I wondered what had been the pin that had made him deflate.
    He had spent much of the lesson looking at his desk, or the book in his hand, or the floor. He looked up, briefly, when others answered his questions, but he seemed almost bored by their answers and simply nodded as acknowledgement and then returned his attention to the book. When I answered the question, however, his eyes fixed on me, and he inclined his head to one side thoughtfully. ‘So you haven’t …’ he began. Then he shook his head and said, ‘Well done, Tessa. Did everybody hear Tessa’s answer?’
    Twenty-nine girls shook their heads. Beside me, Rhiannah nodded.
    I felt a warm glow knowing that Rhiannah had heard my answer; she cared enough about me to listen, when my other classmates obviously found the lesson too dull to bother.
    ‘Tessa, can you repeat what you just said?’ said Mr Beagle.
    ‘The first name for Tasmania was –’ I began.
    That’s when I felt it.
    Between my legs. Wet and hot.
    And in my belly, a pang like a branch being snapped.
    ‘What’s wrong, Tessa?’ asked Mr Beagle.
    ‘Nothing, nothing,’ I said, feeling my face reddening.
    ‘Then finish what you were saying. Go on. The first name for Tasmania was …’
    ‘Van Diemen’s Land. Named after Anthony van Diemen, Governor-General of the Dutch East Indies, who was the one who sent Abel Tasman, on his voyage in 1642. Mr Beagle, may I please be excused for a few moments?’ I said very quickly.
    Mr Beagle narrowed his eyes, and I could see his mouth starting to form the word ‘no’.
    ‘Mr Beagle, I don’t think Tessa’s very well.’ I turned around to see Rhiannah looking at me, a concerned expression on her face. ‘You know she’s just been in hospital. I think she should go to the sick room. I can take her, if you like.’
    ‘Is that true, Tessa?’ asked Mr Beagle, his face turning from grouchy to something close to concern. ‘You’re ill?’
    I nodded. ‘I’m not quite … right,’ I said, which was true.
    Something was happening. And it wasn’t quite right.
    Mr Beagle rubbed at his wrinkled forehead and grumbled,