The next morning as I went through Lynette’s wardrobe looking for something to wear to my picnic with Jake, I was struck with the sudden sensation of burning gas in my stomach. I opened shoeboxes and pushed aside coat-hangers and still the feeling persisted, not entirely unpleasant, but uncomfortable enough for me to notice. I pulled a green floral housedress from its hanger, the sleeves short and billowy, and as I measured it against my body I heard footsteps behind me.
‘That’s vintage,’ Lynette said from the doorway.
I turned around, the dress still against me. Lynette looked exhausted. She’d just arrived home from the office, the night’s work hanging heavily beneath her eyes. She threw her keys on the table, lay down on the bed and sighed loudly.
‘Sorry,’ I said, embarrassed I’d been caught in her cupboards, in her bedroom.
‘No no, it’s fine,’ she said, sitting up. ‘You’re welcome to borrow anything you like. I got that dress at a market stall on Venice Beach when I was a teenager. It cost me five dollars. I’ve never had a tear in it.’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I used to imagine who had owned it before me. I’d make up stories about who might have worn it, and where. I liked to think it had belonged to some Hollywood starlet. More likely it belonged to some suburban housewife who wore it to church. I love vintage clothes. They already have a story to them, and you get to add to that story. It’s funny you chose that one.’
‘Why?’
‘Because your mom really liked it. She used to borrow it without asking. Drove me mad.’
I threw the dress on over my head. Already I felt closer to my mother, like I could feel her presence through the fabric. I looked in Lynette’s full-length mirror, disappointed.
‘The pink kind of ruins the effect,’ I said, pointing to my hair.
‘I like your pink hair.’
I laughed. ‘You do not!’
‘I do. It’s very you. Strong, rebellious, distinct.’
I didn’t say anything, embarrassed by the compliment, one of very few I had ever received from Lynette. I smoothed the dress, slipped my feet into my sandals and lay down on the bed next to my aunt.
‘Where are you off to today?’ Lynette said, closing her eyes. ‘Surely you haven’t gone to all this trouble for Benji.’
‘I don’t really see Benji anymore,’ I said. Saying the words aloud immediately made me feel guilty, like I had abandoned him. I could feel the desperation in Lynette to say something, to leap in the air and whoop for joy that her niece was no longer friends with the strangest boy in the neighbourhood, but she resisted.
‘So where are you going?’
‘On a picnic with a friend.’
‘A male friend?’
Normally this kind of comment would have irritated me. Instead, I found myself wanting to tell Lynette all about it. ‘I have a stomach ache though,’ I said.
‘You’re probably just excited. You’ve got butterflies in your stomach.’
I couldn’t remember the last time I was truly excited about anything. I was excited before I went to gravesites and places where people had died, but this was different. I felt giddy, euphoric. Most of all I felt stronger than I had in a long time.
I looked at Lynette. Her eyes were closed, and I could tell she was already drifting off to sleep. I sat up, removed her shoes and socks, and rolled her over. She groaned.
‘Have a good sleep,’ I said, and she opened her eyes to slits.
‘Hilda?’ she mumbled.
‘Yes?’
‘Sorry I’m not around more. After this next case, I’ll take some time off. After I have some sleep.’
‘Okay. After you have some sleep.’
She closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply. I turned off the light and tiptoed out, careful to close the door quietly. I took one last look in the bathroom mirror, ran a brush through my hair, and made my way out the door.