The Dollhouse

Chapter 28

"SNOGGING him again, are you?"

I was galloping across the landing, bare feet barely touching the carpet when I burst through the bathroom door. The Friday morning rush was in motion; birds were screaming outside in naked trees, the mailman was ringing the door and the breakfast bowls were soaking in soapy water.

I hoped to catch Violet before she disappeared for the day - when I'd returned home last night, she and Rudy had been speaking again. A generic exchange, nonetheless - they were talking about the news of Malcolm X being shot dead in New York City - but from in comparison to the cold silence, it was a minor miracle.

Either way, I had a smirk on my face and was ready to gloat.

God, I wish I hadn't.

"- the kind of thing you should tell people for legal reasons -"

"- you wait, everything will work out -"

Violet hadn't been dolling herself up alone. Her hair was rolled into neon pink curlers, and she was leaning forward over the basin, rimming her eyeliner into shape of a wing.

Rudy was leaning against the bathroom wall, looming behind her like an omen of death. His face was its usual deathly white and he was fiddling with his obscenely-expensive watch. He bolted up sharply at the interruption.

My sister death-glared me.

"Who taught you to speak like that?"

"What are you doing with the door closed?"

"It's called a private conversation," Violet hissed, clearly in no mood to be hounded. "Get lost, Lydia. Haven't you got a bus to catch?"

Visions of her in floods of tears resurfaced from the edges of my mind. I hadn't forgotten our discussion in the doll room. My lips parted uneasily. Rudy's steel-grey eyes surveyed me fiercely, like an eagle sizing up a mouse. There was emotion trembling behind the strung-out exterior that was his body language, but it was unidentifiable.

"I just wanted to check to see if you're feeling okay," I said half-heartedly.

"Well, you've checked." She unraveled one of the rollers from her hair with grace, a perfect curl bouncing over her face. I felt a kick of envy - I'd never achieve the same luscious look even if I wore them every night of the week - my own hair was too thick and long.

Why did Violet only treat me as a stupid little nuisance in front of other people?

I took the stairs two at a time, Betsy's distraught face swimming before me. Nick and I were going to wag from the bus, slipping away from the carpools and crowds of schoolchildren with bulging backpacks. As long as we returned by four o'clock to take the bus home, no one would be none the wiser.

I cursed my sister under my breath as I climbed on the bus. The ordinary stench of exhaust chugging from the stationary vehicles contributed to the clouded windows. Why were those two sneaks having a secret discussion for, anyhow?

Adrenaline spiking, I focused on the journey ahead.

Samuel was already sitting on a beanbag in Betsy's room when we arrived. The velvet curtains were drawn back by satin ribbons. Light shone through in streams of gold, the glossy magazine cut-out and Polaroids glittering on the wall like a mirage. Coming back made me notice things I didn't catch the first time around; the Magic 8 ball on the dresser, a sigil hand-painted over the frame of the door, Van Gogh's Irises pattered on the squashiest pillow.