In the Shade of You

Chapter One: Aster

I have never thought I was beautiful. Although looking at pictures of myself as a child I can see the cuteness; big brown eyes certainly helped. But something happened along the way. Perhaps it was my Dad getting sick, or my Mum collapsing after the funeral? Perhaps it was having to live with my Granddad until I was ten... whatever it was, I forgot to be somebody, instead I disappeared. I became invisible.

Aster stared at the cursor on the computer, watching it flicker on then off, on then off, waiting for the next stroke to the keys. She leant on the backspace key until the screen was nothing but whiteness. Without hesitating she clicked off the computer and stood up, collected her bag and walked away. The autobiography Mrs Jamieson wanted was going to have to wait until Aster could pull something together that wasn't the truth that screamed through her mind.

The bell pealed through the school and what students had not been dismissed by frazzled teachers streamed from classroom doors, making their way noisily into the weak sunlight. Aster walked through the midst of it all. They bumped into her and made murmured 'sorries' but not one met her gaze or traded a smile of the shared joy that was home time. The small group of senior schoolers were more frenzied in their joy then most as exams and the TEE loomed all too soon in their horizons. Aster watched them divide into smaller groups and pairs to make their way to bus stops or to waiting cars or to walk, as she did, the short distance home. No one turned to face her, to wait and see if she would join them.

The walk home was uneventful; it always was. There were no friends to talk with her and keep her company; no swapping of gossip and high pitch squeals of excitement, disbelief or scorn that threaded through groups of young girls the world over. Even when she had lived with her Grandfather, in the tiny small town south of Perth where everyone knew everyone else by sight if not name, there was no special someone to giggle and share with. She was Aster: the little girl who's Dad had died; the granddaughter of the Major; the serious, quiet child with eyes that saw too much and revealed nothing. She was just Aster.

Aster walked up the worn stone steps of her house and unlocked the door. Even if her mother was home she had a hyper-strict sense of safety and it was not unusual for Aster to come home and find her mother had locked herself in her room, again, frightened of the world and its germs outside. The house was spotless, it always was. Aster went straight to her pristine room, undressed and showered before quietly knocking on her mother's door.

"I'm awake, sweetie."

Bethany Bristol had been a beautiful woman once. The traces of it was still in her bone structure and in the delicate grace of her hands; but fear and grief had worn much of her beauty away, leaving a husk that had little energy to live for all her desire to do so.

Aster's heart constricted once as she stared at her mother. Today was a good day; she could see it in the way her mother struggled to sit up in bed, the fact that her hands were not bandaged from rubbing them raw.

"Have you showered?"

"Yes, Mum," Aster answered and only then did Bethany open her arms and let Aster sit down and snuggle with her on the bed.

"How was school?" Aster's mother ran her fingers through Aster's hair; it was a deep, rich brown, almost black. Aster loved days when her mother could rise and share. They were becoming rarer and rarer as the prison she had built herself closed ever inward, sapping her strength.

"Normal, although Mrs Jamieson has set a new assignment," Aster said.

"On top of everything else you have to do?"

Aster smiled at the fire in her mother's voice, faint and fluttery but still there.

"It's okay, Mum. I'm on top of it."

"Of course you are, sweetheart," and Aster smiled again for there was the pride. "So what is this new assignment?"

"She wants us to write our autobiographies."

Her mother's hands stilled and Aster closed her eyes and held her breath.

"I can write you a note of exemption."

Aster sat up. She needed to see her mother's face.

"I can lie," Aster offered and the relief that touched her mother's eyes shamed them both.

"I'd rather you didn't," Bethany sighed. "I'll write you the exemption tomorrow morning." And Aster knew that their time was over. She cuddled her mother as gently as possible and kissed her lightly.

"Sweet dreams, Mum."

"G'night, my Aster flower."

Aster tucked the bed clothes tighter about her mother's shoulders, checked the curtains - steamed clean that morning - then quietly closed the door.

The remainder of the evening was spent in the routine she had lived for well over seven years. Aster ate the meal her mother had prepared for her then cleaned the kitchen with bleach. Next she studied, finishing what little homework she had before looking over her class notes and reading ahead a little in her texts. Finally, before sleep could seal her eyes shut, she wrote and printed off a selection of possible people she could do biographies on, each one with a paragraph to list their pros and cons as choices. After all, it was always best to be prepared when you faced down a teacher in year twelve.