farm, right?’
I shake my head. ‘Only Felicity and Harry are allowed into the farm. Your territory ends at the garden gate.’
Lucille’s face creases into an expression of resentment and annoyance that is becoming all too familiar. ‘But that’s not fair! Why don’t I get to go to the farm?’
‘Because your area is the house and garden.’
‘But I want to go wherever I like!’ She pouts. I half-expect her to stomp her foot.
‘Want has nothing to do with it,’ I shoot back. This girl should be happy that she at least gets to go into the garden. My territory ends with the verandah.
Lucille sulks for the rest of the day.
‘Leave her be,’ says Harry, when I tell him. ‘I think she’s close to coming round.’ He doesn’t mention the countdown for Lucille’s expected re-entry to the house, but I am sure he’s thinking about it just as much as I am.
I am not so optimistic, but when I take in her evening meal, she asks me what Lucille is supposed to be like. ‘I need something to help me remember,’ she explains.
I hurry to the bookshelf in the parlour and bring back Lucille’s leather-bound remembering book. My hand is shaking a little as I open it to the section covering the sorts of questions Lucille takes during evening chat sessions.
What is true love and how can I find it?
What makes someone beautiful?
Why am I always so lonely?
Each question is accompanied by various Lucille-esque responses to select from, depending on the nuances of the situation.
Lucille flips through the section, the gilt-edged pages glimmering. Then she looks up at me. ‘Am I expected to learn all this off by heart?’
‘Yes,’ I say and wait for the inevitable eye-roll or face-scrunch.
But they don’t come. Instead, Lucille simply stretches out on her bed, the book open before her.
Later, when Harry asks me how the day has been, I tell him that I think Lucille is starting to accept who she is. I can hear the surprise in my own voice.
‘That’s fantastic,’ says Harry, clearly relieved. It’s not just that Lucille is expected back in the house in only a few days. We’re also overdue for a verification, and when that comes Lucille will need to be perfect.
The following morning when I go to the changing room to give Lucille her breakfast, I’m almost excited. How much of her remembering book will she have read?
I unlock the door and go in. ‘Lucille?’
There’s a whooshing sound and a terrible pain in my head that crumples me to the floor. The room whirls, ceiling and walls spinning wildly. I look up, skull throbbing, to see Lucille leaning over me with one of the bed’s wooden legs in her hand and a venomous smile on her face. She jumps over me and runs out the door into the corridor.
‘Lucille!’ I’ve bitten my tongue and my mouth is thick with blood. ‘Come back. Don’t be stupid.’ There’s no reply.
She doesn’t get far. Harry overpowers her before she’s even reached the kitchen. Despite my thumping head I manage to stagger out to help him, and together we tie her up again, rapidly passing the rope between us as the Lucille thrashes and sobs. Felicity sits eating her breakfast in the kitchen, watching us impassively. The girl’s hysteria doesn’t seem to bother her any more.
‘She’s not Lucille, you know,’ Felicity says just as we finish tying her up. ‘She’ll never fit in here.’
I frown at her. It’s dangerous to speak like this. But secretly I think she’s probably right.
Only when Lucille is safely back in the changing room does Harry untie her. Immediately she drops to the floor like a dead weight, all the fight seemingly drained from her. I sit outside her door for a while, running my fingers over the sore bump on my skull, even though I have lots of chores I should be getting on with. Maybe I’m hoping my being here will help. Maybe I’m just too exhausted to do anything else. I sit there for hours, watching as thin slits of light slowly trace a path
I shake my head. ‘Only Felicity and Harry are allowed into the farm. Your territory ends at the garden gate.’
Lucille’s face creases into an expression of resentment and annoyance that is becoming all too familiar. ‘But that’s not fair! Why don’t I get to go to the farm?’
‘Because your area is the house and garden.’
‘But I want to go wherever I like!’ She pouts. I half-expect her to stomp her foot.
‘Want has nothing to do with it,’ I shoot back. This girl should be happy that she at least gets to go into the garden. My territory ends with the verandah.
Lucille sulks for the rest of the day.
‘Leave her be,’ says Harry, when I tell him. ‘I think she’s close to coming round.’ He doesn’t mention the countdown for Lucille’s expected re-entry to the house, but I am sure he’s thinking about it just as much as I am.
I am not so optimistic, but when I take in her evening meal, she asks me what Lucille is supposed to be like. ‘I need something to help me remember,’ she explains.
I hurry to the bookshelf in the parlour and bring back Lucille’s leather-bound remembering book. My hand is shaking a little as I open it to the section covering the sorts of questions Lucille takes during evening chat sessions.
What is true love and how can I find it?
What makes someone beautiful?
Why am I always so lonely?
Each question is accompanied by various Lucille-esque responses to select from, depending on the nuances of the situation.
Lucille flips through the section, the gilt-edged pages glimmering. Then she looks up at me. ‘Am I expected to learn all this off by heart?’
‘Yes,’ I say and wait for the inevitable eye-roll or face-scrunch.
But they don’t come. Instead, Lucille simply stretches out on her bed, the book open before her.
Later, when Harry asks me how the day has been, I tell him that I think Lucille is starting to accept who she is. I can hear the surprise in my own voice.
‘That’s fantastic,’ says Harry, clearly relieved. It’s not just that Lucille is expected back in the house in only a few days. We’re also overdue for a verification, and when that comes Lucille will need to be perfect.
The following morning when I go to the changing room to give Lucille her breakfast, I’m almost excited. How much of her remembering book will she have read?
I unlock the door and go in. ‘Lucille?’
There’s a whooshing sound and a terrible pain in my head that crumples me to the floor. The room whirls, ceiling and walls spinning wildly. I look up, skull throbbing, to see Lucille leaning over me with one of the bed’s wooden legs in her hand and a venomous smile on her face. She jumps over me and runs out the door into the corridor.
‘Lucille!’ I’ve bitten my tongue and my mouth is thick with blood. ‘Come back. Don’t be stupid.’ There’s no reply.
She doesn’t get far. Harry overpowers her before she’s even reached the kitchen. Despite my thumping head I manage to stagger out to help him, and together we tie her up again, rapidly passing the rope between us as the Lucille thrashes and sobs. Felicity sits eating her breakfast in the kitchen, watching us impassively. The girl’s hysteria doesn’t seem to bother her any more.
‘She’s not Lucille, you know,’ Felicity says just as we finish tying her up. ‘She’ll never fit in here.’
I frown at her. It’s dangerous to speak like this. But secretly I think she’s probably right.
Only when Lucille is safely back in the changing room does Harry untie her. Immediately she drops to the floor like a dead weight, all the fight seemingly drained from her. I sit outside her door for a while, running my fingers over the sore bump on my skull, even though I have lots of chores I should be getting on with. Maybe I’m hoping my being here will help. Maybe I’m just too exhausted to do anything else. I sit there for hours, watching as thin slits of light slowly trace a path
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