Free Lilian's Story by Kate Grenville Page B

Fatso fibber , he called, and the playground was not big enough to hold so much laughing.
    In the full blast of sun, I sat under the palm tree in the sea of bitumen and cried without hoping they would relent. Ursula walked in the shade with pale Anne as if things had always been like this, and Anne did not bother even to glance back to the fat girl who sat awkwardly on the knob of a palm while tears dripped from her nose. The heat was dark in my face as my hands gripped the trunk, shiny from so many years of backs and lunchtime fingers.
    In those distant groups, John was briefly the centre of attention. They fingered the plaster on his wrist until it was grey, and one or two wrote their names on it and the date. Does it hurt? they kept asking, but John shook his head, and became tongue-tied when they wanted to know what it felt like when it broke against the billycart wheel, and they lost interest again. Nothing had ever been different for John, and he climbed as he had always done into the fork of the worn monkey-puzzle tree and watched everything from above. It would have been easy for him to join all those who called out after me, but behind his thick glasses John was still brave. He did not join, nor did he not join, but took off his glasses and cleaned them and when he could not postpone any longer the moment of seeing again, said, What? What? so many times that even shouting Rick lost interest in the end.
    Father in Bed
    Mother sighed over junket and said, It is just as well your father does not have to know. John hung his head when she said, No one in our family has ever broken a bone before. A spoonful or two later, she laughed so suddenly that Alma nearly dropped the cream jug. Think of yourself as a pioneer, John, and now I remember your Uncle Harry was thrown by his gelding and broke an ankle. John stared at his junket but did not eat, and Mother leaned down the table towards him. It is manly, John, there is no need to be ashamed of protecting your sister. The sound of her spoon in the dish as she finished and pushed it all away was like a sad bell. Your father would be proud , she decided, and bowed her head as if praying, but I could see her examining her lace for stains.
    Father’s nightcap appeared to have shrunk, or perhaps it was his head growing like a gourd. His eyes moved sideways in his face as Mother poked John until he was standing beside the bed. I hung back but Father’s eyes slid around slowly until they found me. He is vastly improved , Mother said loudly as if everyone was deaf. Is that not true, Albion? But her shadow, as she thrust the curtains back from the window, lay like a weight across the bedcover. I watched Father blink several times and heard him hiss: Sssssss , he said, although I did not see his lips move.
    Mother explained laboriously about the bullies and how John had showed a lot of pluck. Father did not show any sign of hearing and did not even blink, but when Mother had said it all he whispered hoarsely, Well done, John , and fumbled among the bedclothes towards John’s hand. Mother filled the silence in which John edged away from the bed and her voice ushered both of us out of the room. We avoided each other’s eyes later, and John practised being deaf when I spoke to him, and I could not persuade him to do anything.
    Brothers Are Others, Too
    John no longer mentioned Miss Gash and never responded if I tried to interest him in her. He hid her away with all the other secret things he knew. There was a notice on his door jamb now that said “Keep Out, Please”, and he had moved the furniture in his room so he could hide in a corner. He was beginning to be someone I did not know. Everything I told him disappeared into the space behind his earth-coloured eyes.
    He had become a collector. Under his bed, in the only corner of the room not visible from the doorway, was a growing pile of exercise books in which he collected hands and feet. The pages were pocked and