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Back Unnecessary Drama Save as PDF
Chapters (49)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. TEXT LOGO PAGE
  3. ABOUT THE BOOK
  4. DEDICATION
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  46. ALSO BY NINA KENWOOD
  47. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  48. PRAISE
  49. NEW MARKETING PAGE

‘There’s a difference between taking no risks and living the way you do, and you know it. Sometimes, you remind me of—’

‘No. Don’t go there.’ Lauren’s voice is sharp. She knows I’m going to say Dad. We have an unofficial rule that we can only talk about Dad in certain ways, and this—talking about the dark parts of him and which of those parts might be inside of us—is not on the table for discussion. She never lets me talk about the things that would make her uncomfortable.

‘You keep throwing yourself off cliffs and hoping someone is there to catch you, and I’ve been doing it for a long time but I’m not there anymore. I can’t catch you anymore, and it keeps me awake at night.’

‘Just let me fall off the cliff,’ she says, yawning.

‘I don’t want to.’

I don’t know where we go from here. She’s not going to stop drinking. She loves drinking in ways I will never understand. And I know I won’t stop worrying. How do you change who someone is, fundamentally, in their bones? I’m a worrier. She’s a drinker. This is going to be it, for our whole lives, maybe.

‘My hand hurts,’ she says.

‘Do you want me to get you some Panadol?’

‘No. But remember when we were little, and we would get into the same bed and Mum would stroke our hair until we fell asleep?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Can you stroke my hair like that?’

‘Okay.’

I stroke her hair, over and over, until I hear her breathing deepen and she falls asleep.

30

30

I wake up to the smell of pancakes. I roll away from Lauren, my arm dead from lying in a pretzel shape all night while she stretched out. I pull on my dressing-gown and head out to the lounge room. Tristan and Kendra are asleep on the couch, Kendra tucked under his arm, with several towels draped over them in lieu of blankets. Two weeks ago, I thought he was gone from my life forever and now he’s spending the night on my couch, snuggled cosily under my towels, with my saucepan next to him in case he needed to puke, and I haven’t fully examined how I feel about this, but I think I might be okay with it.

Henry is in the kitchen making pancakes.

‘Oh my god, they look delicious,’ I say. He’s wiping down benches and cleaning as he goes, and I feel instantly relaxed.

‘I’m an average cook, but I make really really good pancakes,’ he says, smiling at me.