Page 53 of The Good Sister

I cross my arms. I don’t like sleeping at other people’s houses as a rule, not even Rose’s. I never sleep well. Admittedly, I don’t exactly sleep well anywhere, and it’s worse than usual lately as I have to get up multiple times a night to pee. But tonight, especially after everything that’s happened, I just want my own bed.

‘Fern. I don’t have time for this. I had back-to-back meetings today and was only just on my way home when I get the call that you’ve had a spectacular meltdown and I have to come and rescue you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to do it, but I’m tired and the least you can do is come inside.’ She gets out of the car.

‘If you’re too tired to drive me,’ I say, also getting out, ‘I’ll walk home–’

‘Fern Elizabeth Castle!’ Her tone is sharp, like a school-teacher’s. ‘You’re staying here, and that’s final.’

‘It’s not final. I’m an adult, Rose. I can choose where I sleep.’

Rose raises her eyebrows. ‘If you’re an adult, why do I need to be your round-the-clock carer?’

Rose and I face off for several moments. That’s when I notice what she is wearing. ‘If you were on your way home from work, why are you wearing leggings?’

‘Really, Fern?’ Rose stares at me. ‘After I’ve driven across town to rescue you in the middle of the night, you want to talk about what I’m wearing?’

I want to tell her that yes, I do want to talk about that, but I can’t because Rose turns and stalks into the house before I have the chance. I remain where I am for several moments, huffing and sighing, before finally following her into the house.

As suspected, I sleep badly. Among other things, the sheets on Rose’s spare bed are some sort of polyester blend that makes my skin crawl (I make a note to talk to her about it tomorrow). But the sheets aren’t the main reason for my insomnia. The main reason is that I can’t stop replaying last night, reliving the horror over and over again. Me crawling under the table, covering my head with my hands. Cowering like a child. Having to be rescued by my sister while on a date. It’s little wonder Rose treats me like a child. That’s exactly how I’m behaving. What on earth must Wally think?

Around 6 am, I give up on sleep, pull on my rainbow dress and head to the living room. Rose is already up, sipping a cup of tea on the couch in her dressing gown.

‘You’re awake early,’ she says.

‘I don’t sleep well at other people’s places,’ I say, stretching my neck. Even though I told her this last night, I feel it bears repeating.

‘That dress looks itchy,’ Rose says. ‘Polyester?’

‘Yes. Like your sheets.’

‘I can give you a T-shirt and shorts if you like?’

‘No, thanks,’ I say. Unlike the sheets, the dress is worth the itch.

Rose sits forward on the couch and places her mug on the coffee table. ‘Tea?’

I’m about to decline but then I realise I won’t get out of here without at least having a warm drink with Rose, so I ask for a coffee. I intend to drink it quickly so I can go home to do my yoga and get the rest of my day back on track.

While Rose is making my coffee, I notice Alfie scratching at the door, so I walk over and let him inside. I am closing the back door when I notice the base of a structure in the far corner of the garden. It looks like a cubby house in the process of construction. ‘What’s that?’

Rose walks out of the kitchen carrying a pink mug. ‘What’s what? Oh.’ She gets a sheepish look about her. ‘Actually, I want to talk to you about that.’ She hands me my coffee and points at the couch. ‘Sit.’

I remain standing. ‘What is it?’

Rose sits and crosses her legs. ‘I know you don’t like staying at other people’s houses, Fern. I know how important your routine is. And that’s why . . . I was thinking . . . well, what if thiswasyour place?’

I put my coffee down. ‘I don’t understand. Where areyougoing?’

She frowns. ‘Nowhere. I will stay in the main house. And you . . . would move in there.’ She points outside at the structure. ‘It’s a granny flat. It could be your own little place . . . at my place.’

‘You’ve already started building it?’

‘I was going to surprise you. But . . . now you’re here and . . .’ She gives a little shrug and a guilty smile. I look again at the structure. It looks like a children’s playhouse. An oversize dollhouse. Not a place for an adult to live.

‘It will be bigger than it looks now,’ Rose says, reading my thoughts. ‘Once it’s finished, obviously. It will have a bathroom and a kitchenette. It will even have air conditioning!’

‘My flat already has air conditioning.’

‘But your place is blocks away! This way, you’d be right here.’