Free Louis Beside Himself by Anna Fienberg

of bed in the mornings when Mum left for work and I left for school— ’ ‘You’re still at school?’
    â€˜I was – I didn’t finish this last term of Year 11. Oh well, I’m certainly not going on to Year 12 now, am I? Anyway, Jimmy didn’t seem to do anything during the day, and then went out at night. He was nice to me, sort of, when Mum was around, but otherwise he didn’t bother. And then this thing happened . . .’
    â€˜What thing?’ we all asked.
    â€˜Well, I came home early from school last week – I had free periods all afternoon, and I wanted to catch up on an essay about this Roman emperor, Caligula, who made his horse a senator.’
    â€˜How would you spell that?’ I asked, thinking aloud. It was such an unusual name. ‘With a K or a C?’
    â€˜Oh shut up, Lou,’ said Singo.
    But Cordelia said, ‘It’s Latin, so there’s no K. Not many people know that.’
    â€˜Well, it probably wasn’t the most important thing about the guy,’ said Singo, looking at me S ARDONICALLY .
    â€˜Anyway, I came home and Jimmy was there in Mum’s room, going through her drawers. He had everything out on the bed: scarves, stockings, underwear – and a rolled-up wad of cash she keeps for emergencies. He looked startled when he saw me and quick as a flash, he pocketed the cash. I was so angry. He yelled that it was none of my business what he was doing, that Mum and he shared everything, and I was a nosy little . . . whatever. So I said, Well then, you won’t mind my telling Mum that you’ve taken her secret stash. He came up really close to me, so I could smell his rank wino breath, and he grabbed my shoulder, yanking it back. See, I’ve still got the bruise. He said, you keep your mouth shut or you won’t know what hit you, then he flung out of the house and took off in his blue van.’
    â€˜But you told your mum?’ asked Singo. ‘And she threw him out?’
    Cordelia looked away. She picked at her jeans again. ‘No.’ Her voice was so soft, you could barely hear her. ‘I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen. She said there were things I didn’t understand, that Jimmy was all right, he just needed a woman to understand him, help him get back on his feet, that he’d never had anyone who’d been there for him, I didn’t know him like she did, blah blah . . . I guess I just couldn’t find the right words to . . .’
    There was silence. Hassan and Singo and I exchanged a quick glance.
    â€˜That’s awful,’ murmured Singo. ‘Did she see your bruise?’
    Cordelia shrugged. ‘No. I just sort of, I don’t know, there didn’t seem to be a point to anything after that.’
    We all looked at our laps.
    â€˜And so you couldn’t stay there, at home, in that situation,’ Hassan finished for her.
    â€˜But that was last week!’ I blurted. ‘What have you been doing since then?’
    â€˜Oh, well, you know, hanging out in the library, sleeping at a friend’s, a bus shelter, the bush once but . . . but then tonight, I saw Jimmy again. See, I went to that café on Nimbin Street, you know the one? Near the theatre, next to the pub where Jimmy drinks. I knew it might be dangerous but every Friday night there’s a soup kitchen out front – you know, free meals for the homeless. They cook up food not used during the week, and . . . it’s really good.’
    â€˜Oh, I’ve seen it,’ Hassan said. ‘They’ve got those long benches set up on the lawn, and people serving from big pots. My uncle wanted to begin something like this at his restaurant— ’
    â€˜Yeah, once I was walking past and it smelled so good I was gunna line up too!’ Singo gave a crack of laughter then went quiet when Hassan frowned at him.
    â€˜So anyway, I rocked up there,’ Cordelia went on, ‘and