Fiction

Boots

It’s pizza Friday and Saoirse won’t be here. The neighbours are coming, so we need to double the batch of dough.

Dad says there are four of us and three of them after Mum comes home. But actually not, because Saoirse won’t be here. There are seven pieces of dough. Dad says there will be one piece of dough left. “Such a waste,” he says, as the bin drawer rolls to a close.

Suddenly Saoirse walks down the stairs in Mum’s red boots. The afternoon sun makes them shine. Dad told me to say “suddenly” at the start of sentences in my stories because it gives them dramatic effect. I don’t know if it works, because people laugh. Saoirse waltzes past the pictures on the walls. I want to be that, to make everyone look at me with only the clip-clop of my steps.

I lie upside down on the couch watching the last bit of Barbie & the Diamond Castle with Haylee, our legs dangle and the blood rushes to our heads. She is my always best friend forever. Mum’s not home so we are eating icy poles before dinner. I sit up and everything starts to even out in my body. Summer night creeps in bringing the smell of flowers and cooked concrete.

As Saoirse walks towards the door the red boots gleam. Why would she take them? They are Mum’s. She doesn’t look like pictures on the wall: smiling with no front teeth, running from Dad. She is one of the princesses from the movie.

“I’ll be back soon; going to Sam’s.” The door closes.

I can’t wait to be older. I take my mum’s shoes sometimes. Jimmy Choos. I took them one time when she was home and I ran down the hallway. “Charlotte, you pest.” She has always said naughty is spelt “C-H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E”, but I wasn’t naughty, I was a princess running from the evil witch. Her claws stretched out to grab me. I hiked up what was left of my dress, ran as fast as I could, but Jimmy Choos weren’t good for outrunning evil. And then the darkness closed in. That’s how Dad describes it in his stories.

The clip-clop thud as I tumbled onto the threshold. She got me. Blood stained the carpet and the shoes. Mum yanked them from my feet. “Now, Charlotte, you can’t just cry when something goes wrong.” I wasn’t going to cry. And she wasn’t looking at me, so how could she know?

She sat me on the kitchen counter and wiped my knees with something that stung. A lot. She looked into my eyes and I looked back. It was like she wanted me to be scared.

“Don’t ever take my shoes again.”

Tonight only Dad and Haylee and Haylee’s parents are home. I feel that jumpy feeling, like I did when I wore the shoes. Clip-clop.

Keys jangle. Haylee whispers: “Are you okay?”

The sides of Haylee’s mouth are glossy with icy pole. As the first pizza goes into the oven Dad’s reflection stares at me on the oven door. Everything about him seems normal but his eyes. I hear a booming voice inside my head.

“BOOTS!”

I think Dad hears it too, because he drops his head. Mum is home and Saoirse is gone.

“Hi, uh, where’s Saoirse?”

I think I should say something because then maybe I can help. “She’s at the…”

Mum’s head snaps to me. “Why is she not here? Phil!” She looks at Dad like he is a bad dog or one of the kids.

Everyone is different after Mum says that. Mum makes jokes about how Dad let Saoirse go out. Haylee’s parents laugh but look at the ground. And then Haylee goes home and it is lonely.

I am meant to go to bed but I don’t feel right because he is supposed to kiss me and Saoirse on the head before bed. “One for Ireland”, for Saoirse. “And one for Australia”, for me. But he can’t, because Saoirse is not here. The house feels loud or like it is going to get loud. I hear a car door slam, so I swish around to look into the night.

The screen door in the kitchen squeaks as Saoirse steps in. Water runs down her body and onto the boots. Someone is squeezing my heart. I stare at the boots with dread. Dad says to use “dread” about something bad about to happen.

Mum looks at Saoirse’s face then at the boots. “Where did you go? What are you doing in my boots?”

“I went to Kate’s house”

“Why are you all wet?”

“It was raining.”

“How am I supposed to go out anymore when I can’t trust my own family to make good choices?”

“I asked Dad.”

“Your father is not the owner of this house or those boots.”

I see Dad in the kitchen cleaning up. He says: “Actually, I think it’s okay for…”

“Shut up, Phil.” That made the room go silent but also loud. Everybody looks at me. I feel my nose block and my lips sting.

Everything happens quickly. Mum drags Saoirse into the kitchen. Dad kneels in front of me.

“Time for bed.” Little tears fall onto the stairs. I watch them get closer and further away as we go up. Dad probably thinks the fireman’s carry will make me laugh, but not tonight.

Dad turns on the tap extra loud to drown out the voices. My face doesn’t feel different when it goes under water because it is already wet. Dad gets the bottle of soap with the least amount of stuff in it so it will make more squelch.

“Now, Charlotte, you have to stop crying.” Why do people say that? It feels easier to cry until it’s gone.

Out of the bath feels cold until I put on my pyjamas. I take Dad’s finger and he leads me down the hallway. I get into bed and Dad walks to the shelf that’s so filled with books it almost falls over.

“Which one tonight?”

I have the cry hiccups. “I don’t want one.” How am I supposed to go to sleep right now? Or listen to stories about other people in other places and not about Saoirse and what is happening to her. What is happening to her?

The shelf falls slightly more to the left as he shoves the book back. He comes close and kneels to meet my eyes. He kisses me on my forehead.

“Goodnight, baby.”

This article was first published in the print edition of The Saturday Paper on April 19, 2025 as "Boots".

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