She swore, licked her thumb and wiped it away.
‘How’s the physiotherapy business?’ asked Troy.
She rocked her palm in a so-so motion. ‘Why do you look so good?’ she asked. ‘You’re glowing. It’s annoying.’
‘Just healthy living, Brooke,’ said Troy. ‘Spot of microdermabrasion. Bit of tennis to keep me active. You should try it. Great sport.’ He looked at Logan’s keys. ‘You going somewhere?’
‘Mum says I need to get mineral water,’ said Logan. ‘Probably for you, now I think about it.’
‘Great. Could you make it Voss?’ said Troy. ‘That’s my preferred sparkling.’
Logan didn’t even bother to fully roll his eyes. ‘I can’t get out now anyway. You’ve blocked me in. You go get your preferred sparkling yourself.’
‘How’s the newest member of the family doing?’ Troy looked towards the house. ‘Have you met her yet, Brooke? Savannah.’ He said it as if it were an exotic foreign word.
‘Guess what she baked today.’ Brooke stole the moment from Logan. She so rarely had the chance to be wicked with her brothers. It was normally Amy and Troy sitting in a corner, making snarky comments and obscure pop-culture references.
Troy considered the question. His face changed. ‘Not brownies.’
‘Speaking of which,’ said Logan. They all watched as an unfamiliar car slowly circled the cul-de-sac with Amy in the front seat talking animatedly to the car’s driver, a young man who was laughing uproariously and not really keeping his eye on the road.
‘Has she got another new boyfriend?’ asked Brooke.
‘It’s an Uber.’ Logan pointed at the sign on the back window.
‘He might be a new boyfriend by now. Didn’t she meet the last one when he served her at JB Hi-Fi?’ said Troy. ‘The one who fixed Mum’s computer? I liked him. He added value.’
The car stopped, the driver hopped out and rushed around to open Amy’s door like he was a chauffeur and Amy emerged, tangle-haired and bright-eyed, dressed like she’d just got back from a grotty but glorious music festival. She was laden with objects: an oddly shaped, badly wrapped present, a bunch of sunflowers, a baking tray with a flapping sheet of aluminium foil and a Happy Father’s Day helium balloon that fluttered above her head.
‘Hello!’ she called out to her siblings as she hugged the Uber driver goodbye. She didn’t hug her siblings, just her Uber drivers. The guy had probably shared something deeply personal with her that he’d never told anyone before. People sensed that Amy offered the possibility of redemption.
‘Does she look hungover?’ muttered Logan. ‘It will be worse if she’s hungover.’
‘Go help her carry the brownies.’ Troy nudged Brooke.
‘I’m leaving,’ said Logan. ‘I don’t want to be here when she finds out.’ He held out his hand to Troy. ‘Give me your keys.’
‘I’ll drive you,’ said Troy. ‘I’m scared. She has that fragile look about her.’
‘Don’t you dare ask if she’s off her meds,’ said Logan to Troy.
‘I haven’t said that in years,’ said Troy, offended. ‘No-one says that anymore.’ He winced. ‘Do you think she is?’
‘Do not leave me,’ said Brooke. It wasn’t so funny anymore, now that she could see Amy actually carrying her tray of precious brownies. Now it was kind of stressful, and mean, and Brooke felt personally responsible.
She swung back and forth like a pendulum when it came to Amy. Growing up, she and her brothers had believed Amy to be a drama queen, who felt the same things everyone felt, but chose to make a bigger deal of them. They made fun of her. At times they got angry with her when she held them up or stole their mother’s attention. How could you tell what was truly going on in her head? Brooke got depressed, she got anxious, but she still managed to get herself out of bed each day. It was a choice, surely? There was no need for Amy to lean into her feelings with such gusto. But then a university friend got diagnosed with depression and described it to Brooke as a kind of half-paralysis, as if all her muscles had atrophied, and Brooke had a sudden memory of Amy eating cereal in slow motion, swaying like seaweed under water, and she realised she was offering this friend more sympathy and understanding than she’d ever given her own sister. These days she tried hard to see Amy with objective, compassionate eyes, but it was hard, because this was still her big sister, her bossy, charismatic sister, who used to call Brooke her ‘peasant’。