Cassandra Behind Closed Doors. Linda Sorpreso

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      “True, but I want a larger kitchen,” Mum said.

      Mum always complained about the size of the kitchen but I thought it was just right. Sometimes it was a little crowded with five hungry people trying to find something to eat, but most of the time, it was okay. I thought our house was cosy. Mum made it seem like we lived in a closet but we didn’t. It was a spacious three-bedroom home with a medium-sized lounge room. Mum even had a small ensuite in her bedroom with a shower and sink but never used it. The dining area and kitchen were smaller than most, but who needed a big house anyway? We had all the necessities: a toilet, bathroom, laundry and most important, a roof over our heads. It was all that really mattered anyway.

      The toast popped up and I took out the slices, spreading butter on them. Then I smeared a small circle of straw-berry jam in the centre. My family thought I was weird for doing that, but I was strange with food in general. I liked jam but on toast, not a lot of it; however, I loved jam donuts, the more jam the better. I loved pumpkin but hated pumpkin soup; I hated peas, couldn’t have them by themselves or mixed with egg or carrots, however I didn’t mind eating them in cannelloni or arancini, and I couldn’t stand the sight, smell or taste of fish, yet I loved fish fingers. Only the ‘no name’ brand though because it didn’t taste like fish. I admit I was a freak, but I either felt sick or broke out in hives when I ate those certain foods.

      “Well, I think our house is perfect. If I had to add something, it would be another toilet. It is annoying when you’re busting and have to wait in a queue and I would prefer to have my own room,” I said, looking at Abby.

      “Shut up, you should feel privileged to share a room with me.”

      “Privileged my arse. If I had my own room maybe I wouldn’t be bugged all the time,” I said, taking a bite of the toast. Then I put my hands on my hips and raised my nose in the air. “Cassie, clean the room, Cassie wake up. Cassie, get your stuff off my side. Cassie!” I said, impersonating her.

      “Shut up,” she said, flicking the tea towel at me, laughing. “I don’t do that. Actually, speaking of rooms, why don’t you go clean ours?”

      “I was planning to after I finished eating. Is that okay with you?” I replied.

      ‘No! It should have been done weeks ago!’

      ‘Sorry, I’ve been busy!’

      She rolled her eyes at me, which only frustrated me even more. It was the same story around the Romanelli household. Being the youngest member of the family meant my opinions and dreams weren’t important. I respected their thoughts and I wished they would do the same with me or hear what I had to say first, before cutting me off and putting me down. I didn’t know everything and I didn’t claim to, but I considered my point of view to be just as important as theirs.

      The bathroom door opened and Carla strolled into the kitchen, wearing a red, silky dressing gown with Japanese embroidery. The gown was a gift from Lorissa and Phillip. Abby received the same present too, except hers was in yellow. I had sulked for days because I didn’t get one.

      “Hey Mum, did you wash my jeans?”

      “Did you put them in the laundry?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Are you sure? There’s nothing in there,” Mum said.

      I finished eating my toast, put the empty plate in the sink and went into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. It really was a mess. I couldn’t be bothered cleaning it but I knew I had to before World War III broke out between Abby and I.

      I decided to start with my clothes. Half of them were lying on the carpet and the other half were thrown on top of Abby’s desk. I picked up my black skirt from the ground and hung it in the wardrobe.

      The door opened. “Hey Brat, did you take my jeans?” Carla asked.

      I shook my head. “Why would I?”

      “I’m just asking. I can’t find them anywhere.”

      “Like I would borrow your jeans! I wouldn’t be able to fit one of my legs in them,” I said.

      “Okay, okay. Sorry for even asking,” she said, closing the door.

      She should be sorry, what a stupid question. Carla was a size six while I was a size twelve but with Carla, if anything happened or went missing, she automatically blamed me, which usually brought on an argument between us.

      I tried not to fight with Carla, however I was a Scorpio, she was a Leo and it was a well-known fact these two signs fought constantly. When we did, it hurt — emotionally and physically. Carla was shorter than me but she had the same temper as a bulldog. One minute she was okay, and the next, she snapped and attacked. When I was younger, she used to grab me by the arm, pin me down on the ground, her weight on top of mine and slap me across the face. They weren’t hard slaps however but one after the other until I apologised or Mum noticed and pried her off me. Now that I was older and taller she didn’t do it anymore, though the memories hadn’t disappeared and the anger hadn’t faded away yet.

      Carla was dating Peter Burello and they had been together for about three years. He was bearable — barely. I used to like him until he read my diary five months ago. I was furious with him. He invaded my privacy and I would never forgive him. Plus, he knew how upset I was with him, yet he continued to bring the subject up and tease me about it. If only he could read my diary now. Currently it was filled with obscenities about him.

      I was the closest to Abby; we were only four years apart and although we got on each other’s nerves, she was one of the few people I trusted completely and was always there for me. From a young age, I had always admired her. Abby was a beautiful person, inside and out. She complained about her weight and looks, but to me, she was perfect — funny, gorgeous and smart. Except for one thing — she smoked and I was against it for many reasons. Maybe it was the smell, the fact that I developed asthma because my dad had smoked in front of me from an early age or most of all, it killed people. When I discovered Abby smoked, I didn’t speak to her for three days because I was so angry and disappointed in her. I never thought she would do that and I couldn’t believe she would risk her life for a couple of drags. If Dad found out, he would kill her. Her boyfriend Jim hated it too and we both wished she would give up the nasty habit.

      There wasn’t much I could say about Lorissa, my oldest sister. She had married Phillip Cuiscio a week before my sixth birthday, and over the past seven years, they had been living on and off in Los Angeles, California. They only came back permanently to Australia seven months ago. Honestly, I didn’t know her as well as I would like to. We did have quite a bit in common though. We both loved to read, listen to seventies music and she introduced me to I Love Lucy. She had many of the episodes on tape and we could both sit there for hours, watching them. We had never had an argument, never really had a chance to, except this one time when she called me a slut and I burst into tears, running into my room. I was only seven-years-old and didn’t even know what the word meant. All I knew was that it sounded terrible. Abby told me later that it meant a dirty woman who had sex with many men and I definitely wasn’t one of those. At that age, I didn’t know much about sex, only from what I watched on TV and movies. A man and a woman on top of each other, kissing and just rubbing their hands over their bodies, then sometimes the lady became fat and ten minutes later out popped a baby. СКАЧАТЬ