Cassandra Behind Closed Doors. Linda Sorpreso

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СКАЧАТЬ him. I hated it when people sat in my chair. Mum said I was a demon child while I was growing up. If anyone I didn’t like sat in my spot, I would start screaming and kicked them out of the house. I must have been imitating my father because he did the same thing. Not kicking people out, but he just stared at you and you knew you needed to get off his chair. When Mum told me about these incidents, I just laughed. I couldn’t believe grownups would actually listen to a three-year-old. I must have looked scary though. I never used to brush my hair, and it was wild, knotty and all over the place. People must have thought I was evil or just too loud to argue with. Whatever it was, no one sat in my chair after that and I could understand why Carla called me a brat when I was younger.

      “Who set the table tonight?” I asked.

      “I did,” Carla said.

      I picked up the utensil in front of me. “Do I eat with this?” I asked.

      “Oh Cassie, get over it, it’s just a fork,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

      “No, it’s not and you know I prefer the other one.” I got up from the table and grabbed my fork. My sisters thought I was stupid for using the one set of cutlery but I had always used it. I had abnormally tiny hands and my fork was smaller and easier to grip, while the others in Mum’s collection were huge and the tip barely fitted in my mouth.

      Dinner was promptly at six o’clock every night and no one missed it, unless Carla and Abby worked late. Dad was very strict about dinner. He liked us to all eat together. The problem was we had to watch the news and if we tried to change the channel he cracked it.

      “I heard you’re going bowling tonight,” Carla said.

      “Yeah, with Tess and Sav. It should be fun. Abby’s coming too,” I said, helping myself to some turkey.

      “How come you’re going Abby?”

      “I thought I might as well, since you’re going out with Peter tonight.”

      “Cassie, move your head,” Dad said.

      Every night was the same thing. Dad couldn’t see the TV because my head was in the way. No matter what I did, if I moved in closer or kept my head down lower, he always complained. Then we would get into an argument about it, because he wanted me to sit on the other side of the table, and I wouldn’t because I didn’t want to sit next to him. However, I didn’t want to fight with him tonight, he wouldn’t let me go out otherwise.

      I moved an inch closer, the table jabbing into my stomach. “Oh, so we’re your back up because you don’t have anything better to do,” I said to Abby.

      “No, I didn’t mean it like that…”

      “No, that’s okay,” I said interrupting. “It’s okay to be used once in a while.”

      “Shhh,” Dad said.

      We all tried to be quiet. The weather was about to come on and Dad needed absolute silence so he could hear the forecast for the sea. I didn’t understand why he had to hear it. Couldn’t he just see it?

      “I didn’t mean it like that,” Abby whispered over the table.

      “Relax Abby, I was only joking,” I whispered back.

      Dad pounded his fist on the edge of the table. He got up quickly, his chair slamming against the wall. We all froze our forks and knives in mid-air.

      “Madonna mia, what did I fuckin’ say?” He screamed, his face red, his eyes gorging out of head. “Sta zitta or I swear you’re all going to get it!”

      “Gianni, sit down, the weather’s on.”

      He sat back down. “Geez Christ.”

      We ate the rest of our dinner in silence and fear, hoping Dad wouldn’t live up to his promise. He had before. I spent one dinner crying because I couldn’t leave the table after he hit me. I nearly choked on my potatoes that night. He wasn’t always like this. Sometimes, he joked around with us and we all had a peaceful dinner. It really depended on the day he had, how much he had to drink or how much money he lost at the TAB.

      I was still eating when Abby started to clear the table. I was probably the slowest eater in the world. While the others scoffed their meal down in five minutes, it normally took me twenty minutes just to eat a bowl of pasta. It was a horrible curse to have while living in the Romanelli household. It meant I was always stuck drying the dishes. In my books, that was the worst job to do.

      It was double the work. Drying, then putting the items away and because it was the longest job ever, usually the others fled the scene and left me by myself in a long, uncomfortable silence with Dad. And, I hated that more than drying!

      I preferred to wash, though Carla rushed to the sink first and never let anyone else have a turn. If the chores were rotated, maybe I wouldn’t create a stink whenever we had to do it, but they weren’t and it was the same repetitive thing every night.

      Carla was already at the sink, fidgeting with the taps to get the right temperature. It was the cue I needed and I had to make a quick getaway before anyone noticed. I walked slowly through the lounge room, sneaking into my bedroom, grabbing my book, and then I hurried through the corridor — not too fast to make it noticeable but kind of like the cha-cha. One, two, quickly shuffle along and repeat the steps again until I was safe in the toilet and I could relax. It was a technique I had perfected and knew very well.

      I pulled my pants down and sat on the seat. I didn’t have to do anything but I had to pretend I was, in case one of my sisters came barging in. Just as I was really getting into the novel Carla called out my name.

      “What?” I yelled back.

      “Come and dry!”

      I groaned as softly as I could. I swear I hated drying!

      “I can’t, I’ve got cramps!”

      “It’s amazing how every night, when it’s time to do the dishes, you suddenly have cramps!” Carla screamed.

      I tried not to laugh. “It’s not my fault, I can’t digest food properly!” That was true. Most of the time I did suffer from cramps — either period pain or concerning my bowels. Sometimes the pain was so sharp, I lost my breath. Tonight though, I really couldn’t be bothered.

      “Whatever! You’re just lazy!”

      Lazy…the one word I hated with a passion. Carla knew it too, hence the reason she said it. I wasn’t lazy. Okay, I didn’t do much around the house but I had better things to do than to waste my time vacuuming the carpet or doing the beds. I was not a maid, nor was I going to be the perfect housewife, preparing meals and doing the household chores. I couldn’t see that in my future and even if I didn’t end up becoming successful in the writing industry, I still wouldn’t clean. I would hire a maid and let them do the jobs I truly hated and refused to do.

      I thought I would ignore the comment this time. Usually I would snipe back and defend myself but Dad was already in a bad mood and if he got involved, that was it. I wouldn’t be allowed to go out. I could still hear Carla bitching about me though and it was getting me angrier. My sisters always did it in front of Dad, just so they could get me into trouble.

      Ten minutes later, СКАЧАТЬ