Free Transformation of Minna Hargreaves, The by Fleur Beale

here. I ran to meet him. He jumped out of his car and hugged me. Then he kissed me and it was a kiss to remember, a kiss I could take withme to warm and comfort me. ‘Hiya, doll. Can’t stay. Here — got you something.’ He pushed a parcel into my hand.
    ‘Oh, Seb! Can I open it now?’ It was small. I hoped it was a ring. It had to be — a ring would mean so much.
    ‘Sure,’ he said, his smile warming me but killing me too. ‘Better hurry though. Gotta go in a sec.’
    I undid the ribbon and stuffed it in my pocket. I’d keep that and the paper. Inside was one of those little cardboard jewellery wallets. It had to be a ring. I opened it. ‘Seb! Oh, that’s beautiful!’ It
was
a ring — a gorgeous silver ring with a garnet set in it. ‘That’s my birthstone.’ I couldn’t say anything else so I threw my arms around him and hugged him.
    He was pleased. ‘Don’t forget me, babe.’ Another brief hug and he was gone. I slid the ring on my finger and watched him leave me.
    The girls rushed up. ‘What did he give you?’
    ‘Show us!’
    ‘Wow! Is that significant or what!’
    Then Dad was calling and I had to go, walk away and leave my friends, my life and my love. Prison was a short helicopter ride away.

eight
    The helicopter tipped and rocked so that wild shots of the city and harbour reeled into view and out again. Damn Cara. My first helicopter ride and I couldn’t enjoy it. It was all her fault. I turned my face away from her and the camera. I could get my own back by doing some dire filming, or forgetting to do it at all. Serve her right. No one would watch the programme, the channel would have to pull it and all the money she’d laid out would be wasted.
    Dad’s voice blathered in my headphones telling us to look at this mountain, that headland, this island. I tuned him out. Couldn’t tune Mum out though — she was sick, and not just once either. She vomited the entire journey. Dad ended up asking the pilot to fly as smoothly as hecould, and he kept patting Mum’s arm and saying ‘Not long to go now’, but I noticed he looked at the view and not at her. ‘There it is!’ Dad said. ‘Only a couple of minutes more, Liv.’
    Mum was sick again. I turned my head away, and there below us was the island that got Dad and Cara all misty eyed and breathless. Not me. If ever I have to live on an island, it won’t be a chunk of bare rock. Oh, that’s right — I
was
going to live on this island. Lucky old me.
    We swooped in a loop right around the island. Mum moaned again.
    ‘It’s not very big,’ Noah said.
    ‘It’ll be big enough once we start weeding it,’ Dad said.
    ‘You have got to be joking.’ I hoped he was, but even if he wasn’t he’d have a hard job getting me to weed the place.
    Dad chuckled. ‘That’s one of our jobs — eradication of tradescantia, thistles, ragwort. Lots to do.’
    ‘I’ll film,’ I said. ‘You weed.’
    The island stuck up out of the sea as if somebody underneath had slapped a hand under it and said
up you go
. Its sides were vertical rock. The pilot pointed to a scar on a cliff side. ‘See that? That’s what finally stopped the place being farmed.’ He flew us closer so we could see the narrow track snaking up the cliff. A slip had taken a bite out of it and left the scar.
    Given the choice of crawling up the track or flying in by helicopter I’d choose the helicopter any day.
    The pilot pointed out another attraction. ‘There’s your house. Used to be the farmhouse. Hope they’ve tidied it up for you.’
    And then we were down.
    Cara leapt out first, toting the camera. Dad ignored her and turned to help Mum out. She was dry retching by this time. Not a good start to our new life. Dad put his arm around her and helped her walk through the grass to the house. I followed them up the three steps on to a verandah that stretched around two sides of the house. We stepped into a big room that had the kitchen at one end and an airy family room at the