For a Song [#Wattys 2015]

Chapter 6

Hilly

My mother had hoarded paint cans from the last time she and dad had done up the living room, piled a corner with a creamy yellow colour spilling down the sides like melted butter. She'd neatly folded and kept the cardboard boxes to our vaccum cleaner, washing machine and the smoothie maker that she'd absconded with when she left us. Really, all of our shit had been so lovingly kept and organised that it hardly felt like I was cleaning out anything at all- but there was precious little else. No boxes of pictures of me as a baby, none of Ralph's school awards and absolutely nothing of Izzy. Whatever I hadn't claimed; like her clothes, her guitar and the stuffed animals living in limbo at the bottom of my wardrobe, was just gone. Not content with purging her from the house, my mother hadn't even let my sister's memory take up space in our garage.

"Unbelievable," I marvelled out loud. "The woman is about as sentimental as a wasp's nest."

"It's a wonder you turned out so well adjusted, but hey...these are cool," Frankie was easily distracted from the task at hand, having been rifling through a collection of old VHS tapes and trying to prompt me into a trip down memory lane over Disney movies before finding a collection of wigs that I have to presume were from some party my parents had. He plopped a white afro on my head without asking and fluffed it up a bit for me.

"Awesome," I said flatly. "Call this a hunch Frankie but somehow I'm beginning to think you're not taking this seriously."

"I'm not the one in the stupid wig," he pointed out, though he too pulled on a long scarlet coloured one.

All at once, I found that I couldn't take it anymore, screwing up my face and sinking down onto the hard concrete floor of the garage. I pulled my knees into my chest, Izzy's shirt tighter around my body and mumbled, "There's nothing is there? I really hoped we'd find something."

Frankie sighed and sank down beside me, but before he could say anything, the automatic door to the garage whirred into life to reveal my brother, in his school uniform, about to put his bike away. Ralph was blonder than me, like Izzy, and had shot up uncomfortably like a yellow headed sunflower over the course of what felt like a few minutes. He had acne on his chin now, and a gross sprouting mustache that I'm sure he felt incredibly proud of. Mum would barely recognise him if she saw him now, I hardly did sometimes when he emerged from his room to rustle around in the fridge after dark. My house felt full of strangers sometimes.

"What are you doing?" he asked, frowning at me and Frankie, sitting on the floor in funny wigs among the boxes.

"What are you doing?" I countered. "It's daylight, aren't you afraid you'll burst into flames if you step away from your bedroom?"

"Whatever. Weirdo," Ralph muttered, wheeling his bike past us and going into the house through the side door. The longest conversation we'd probably had in about a week.

After he'd gone, I made to pull myself up, trying to summon up the energy to keep going with this fruitless task but tempted to sack it in and suggest we go watch a Quentin Tarantino movie upstairs when Frankie tugged on my arm and pointed.

"Hilly, look."

It was a box, tucked away under a workbench, near to where Ralph had just parked his bike.

A box with Izzy's name on it.

Or more specifically, I saw as I got closer a box that was marked Izzy- Medical. Inside were neatly kept folders that told the story of my sister's health through confirmation of appointments with doctors and consultants and specialists. There were the details of when Mum and Dad switched over to private health care to make sure she was looked after and an endless list of prescription papers. There were print outs of emails, ones from the doctors and curt one's from my mother. And then there were hospice care brochures, crumpled up pamphlets about bereavement and finally notes about funeral expenses.

It wasn't useful, it wasn't particularly enthralling reason and it sure as hell didn't come close to the reality of who my sister was outside of the patient and the statistic, but I wanted it anyway.

So I gathered it up into my arms and took it with me upstairs. After the film had been watched and Frankie was gone, I revisited it. Spread the papers out on my bed and looked at them, looked at Izzy's name written down on the page to remind myself that she'd existed. Despite all my mother's best attempts to get rid of her, despite the contents of her song now being passed off by somebody else as their own.

**

My mood didn't get much better as the week went on. It was why I wasn't particularly feeling up to going out on Wednesday. But I still went, of course. I always went.

Wednesday nights were Earth Club nights. If you loved playing music, or loved listening to music then there wasn't anywhere else to go. Izzy always talked about playing there, when her songs were perfect. After she died, I played there. First a rather wibbly rendition of Joan Baez number that Boy Frankie backed up and everyone clapped politely and a few of the old regulars even told me I had a nice voice. And then I went back. Again and again and again, Wednesday night after Wednesday night. I thought about Izzy each time and it felt weird doing something my big, brilliant sister never could. But I knew why; Izzy never played at The Earth Club because she was afraid she might not be good enough. Me, I had far less to lose; I'd spent my whole life knowing I wasn't.

In a way it makes people like me that little bit more free than the people who are truly special.

Normally, I'd meet them inside, but tonight the Frankies were waiting for me at the door. There was overspill from the place already- it was only small and everyone crammed in together. Among the smokers, I picked out Boy Frankie holding his guitar in a case, dressed in a black T-shirt with intricate cartoons on it and Girl Frankie wearing a white tank top stretched over her big boobs, jeans and Boy Frankie's army jacket. I was wearing a dress of Izzy's of course. As soon as he saw me, Boy Frankie rushed up to meet me.

"I'm not really feeling up for it tonight," he said quickly, for some reason looking nervous. "I thought we'd go see a movie instead."

"Don't be stupid. You brought your guitar."

"Yeah but-" he tried weakly. "Lets...not...yeah? Just leave it for one Wednesday." Frankie was a terrible liar but he persisted with it anyway. I turned my attention on Girl Frankie instead.

"What's going on?" I asked her.

She looked at me, she looked at Boy Frankie and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ugh This is too painful for words. I'm just gonna tell her- no bullshit," she said to Boy Frankie. "Hilly we shouldn't go in there, not tonight."

"Frankie."

"It's just that there's this rumor going round. We heard someone say it at the bar,"

"Frankie, don't-"

"Apparently Dylan Dorian is here."