When I walk through the front door of the Emporium, Vinnie’s serving a couple who are all over each other.

‘Out,’ she says.

The couple give me freaked-out possum eyes. They probably think I’m some kind of crazy person, banned from every kebab joint in Melbourne.

I start backing up. ‘Okay.’

‘Not you. Them.’ She jabs a nail at the couple, one at a time. ‘You two,’ says Vinnie. ‘Out. Now.’

My bum bumps into the edge of a table as I back up.

The couple don’t stop to argue, bushy possum-tails between their legs as they scurry out. That’s another shit review for Terry’s Kebab Emporium.

Vinnie marches over to the front door and flips the sign. Closed.

Hey, at least she’s talking to me again.

Vinnie’s got one hand pressed to the closed sign, the other on her hip. ‘Take one guess where I had to go this afternoon.’

‘Another “appointment”?’

That’s right, Frankie. Poke the bear.

She thumps the heel of her palm against the door. The glass rattles. ‘You better think twice before giving me some smart-arse response,’ she says. ‘I’ve been down at your school being made a fool of again.’

She turns round.

‘I can –’

‘You wander in late and act like a spoilt brat when you get there? You’re given yet another chance to defend yourself and you throw it away?’

She leans against the counter, like staying upright is a challenge. This is Vinnie – Vinnie who could run a marathon in stilettos and pick up a date at the end of it. I swallow the great lump of bitterness in my mouth.

‘They don’t trust me to speak in front of the board so I have to write an essay on why I’m such a screw-up. You think that’s a genuine chance?’

‘Someone in your position, Francesca, takes every chance thrown her way. What are you waiting for? A golden bloody ticket?’

I grab the thing nearest to me – a serviette canister – and throw it to the ground. Just to hear something crashing. Just to make a noise. ‘What am I supposed to write?’

For the first time in my life, Vinnie looks afraid of me.

I hate myself for it.

‘What do I tell them, Vin? That I’m some psycho freak who doesn’t know how to control herself? That I rearrange some guy’s face just because I don’t like something he says? Who does that?’

Vinnie stares at me, brow furrowed and mouth open. I hate it when people say ‘her lips formed a perfect “o”’ because they just don’t make that shape. Not perfect. It’s distorted, ragged, deflated.

She shakes her head, voice quiet. Too quiet. ‘You’re going to lose everything you have if you keep acting like this. Everything.’

Joke’s on you, Vin. Pretty sure I’ve already lost everything.

‘Well, that’s what we Vegas do, right?’ My whole body is shaking, rattling. ‘We rid ourselves of whatever doesn’t fit. Whatever isn’t fun, or exciting or useful anymore. We dump it at the Collingwood Children’s Farm and fuck off to Queensland.’

‘Don’t you –’

‘Or maybe that’s just me. Because she kept him. Did you know that?’ I grip the side of the table, hold myself upright. Just. ‘Thirteen years she kept him and could barely make it through four years with me. I’m the common denominator, aren’t I? It’s me people run away from. Juliet, Xavier, Cara, Mark, Nate, you.’

I can’t take it anymore. Can’t stay here and look at her face, at her disappointment. I can’t hear her say the words that are surely coming: I’m sorry, Frankie. Sorry I ever gave you a chance in the first place.

I turn, my foot kicking the canister along the ground. Crash. Clang. Bang.

Everything’s a blur but somehow I make it out of that place. Somehow I run up the stairs and into my room. Somehow I make it behind the closed door before the tears start.

__________

It was grandparents day at school. I guess I was six. Maybe seven. Vinnie had found the note scrunched up in the bottom of my bag the night before.

‘What’s this?’

I looked at Nonna chopping tomatoes in the kitchen.

‘Nothing,’ I said.

Vinnie flattened out the note against the coffee table. ‘Like hell it’s nothing. Ma,’ she shouted. ‘Ma, vieni qui!’

Vinnie held out the note for Nonna. She wiped her hands carefully on her apron and squinted at the note.

‘Sono troppo occupata,’ said Nonna.

‘Too busy?’ said Vinnie. ‘Doing what?’

I went to sleep to the sound of them arguing. But the house was silent when I woke up. I found Vinnie in the kitchen making my lunch.

I gripped my stomach and groaned. ‘I’m too sick to go to school,’ I said.

She walked round the end of the bench and placed the back of her hand against my forehead. ‘Get your uniform on. You feel fine.’

I wasn’t feeling fine when I got to school. Grey hair, yellow smiles, look-at-me-Grandma shouts echoing through the playground.

Vinnie grabbed my hand and walked me to where my class were lined up. I looked up at her as I stood in line, my little fingers squeezed in her grip.

The girl in front of me stared at Vinnie. I wanted to kick her but I couldn’t reach, and Vinnie wasn’t letting go of my hand.

Mrs Ibrahim came over. ‘Mrs Vega,’ she said. ‘Are Francesca’s grandparents coming today?’

Vinnie stared back at the girl in the line until she turned around with red cheeks.

‘I’m here,’ said Vinnie. ‘It’s aunt and niece day.’

If I gathered all my memories like that and tried to bury them in a time capsule in the backyard, the Earth would bulge and the old willow tree would fall down.

As I lie in bed, facing the wall, I listen for sounds of Vinnie returning to the flat. I wait for stomping through the apartment, the pantry door squeaking, kettle boiling, toilet flushing, tap running and lights clicking off one at a time.

It never comes.

I fall asleep to the sounds of silence.