Free Transformation of Minna Hargreaves, The by Fleur Beale Page A

other. I stood at the big windows while Dad got Mum settled on the sofa. Out the windows I could see the sea and, beyond that, the mainland where my real life waited for me.
    I turned away. I would not cry anywhere near Cara and her camera because if I did, I could be one hundred per cent sure that that particular piece of footage would end up on screen. She liked me about as much as I liked her, and if Dad kept smiling at her like that I would have to deck him. In the next second though, I decided I’d misjudged him. The scene went like this:
    Dad: (smiles at Cara)
    Cara: (smiles back, eyes sparkling, body inclined slightly towards Dad)
    Dad: Make Liv a cup of tea, would you, Cara?
    Cara: (through clenched teeth) Certainly, Wes.
    Me: (big smirk)
    Cara: (having observed big smirk) Minna — I’ll show you how the water works.
    Me: It’s okay, Cara. I know how water works.
    She shrugged at that and said, ‘Suit yourself. It comes off the roof — I guess you might like the taste of bird shit and salt.’
    One–nil to Cara. This place was living up to all my expectations — unfortunately. Cara was busy laughing her little socks off as she filled the kettle. My only comfort was that her whole programme pretty much depended on me. She turned her head to speak to me. ‘Don’t worry Minna, it’s fine when it’s filtered and boiled. The old guy who lived here drank it straight from the tank. Survived till he was eighty-one.’
    I stood in the middle of the room. Crates and boxes cluttered the floor space. Mum lay on the couch. Noah slouched in a chair beside a woodburner. Dad had disappeared. Suddenly I didn’t care about Cara and her games. All I wanted to do was get away from here and from her. I walked back outside. ‘Minna! Take the camera,’ she called after me.
    I ignored her and was at the bottom of the steps off the verandah when she caught up with me. ‘Here.’ She shoved it at me. ‘You have to get used to taking it everywhere. Remember the training?’
    I just shook my head and kept walking. Let her sweat. I hoped she’d lie awake at nights worrying that I was going to mess the whole thing up. She muttered something but went back inside.
    I didn’t get very far because Dad bounded around the corner of the house, swept me up in a whirl of
isn’t this wonderful, dream come true, can’t believe we’re really here.
Yeah, that last one I could totally relate to. He dragged me back inside because there was important information Cara had to impart to all of us. I went because the sooner we got rid of her the better pleased I’d be.
    The second she saw Dad, she went into a sickening domestic goddess routine — putting out cups, sugar (which none of us takes), milk and biscuits on a plate, and all the time she slid sleek smiles in Dad’s direction. He didn’t notice; he went over to Mum and asked her if she was feeling better yet.
    ‘No,’ she whispered.
    He took the tea Cara poured and carried it to Mum. Didn’t say thanks to Cara which pissed her off.
    Noah ate all the biscuits.
    Dad drank his tea, in between lighting the wood-burner.
    I drank tea too, mainly because there didn’t seem to be anything else and I was thirsty.
    Cara sipped her tea and the camera lay on the table in front of her. If she wanted me to be filming 24–7 then she wasn’t setting a crash-hot example.
    Dad’s attention shifted between Mum, the view, which he declared out of this world, and the woodburner, which seemed to need his attention every ten seconds. Cara didn’t rate. The frown lines deepened in her forehead. She’d need botox if she hung around the father much longer.
    She set her cup down with a click on to the saucer, which for sure we’d never use again because who wanted to wash useless dishes just for the fun of it? But as always, old Cara had a trick or two up her sleeve. ‘Right. Attention please.’ She glanced at Mum who didn’t attempt to open her eyes.
    Noah slouched lower on the window seat and