Beneath the Surface
Page 7
“Hurry up! I’m going to get a ticket.”
“Geez. Okay, okay. God, what’s up with you?”
“Shit day. Got an email from my mother. Not good. Come on. Toblerone awaits.” Lowell yanked the car door open for her, the hinge screaming in protest. He walked to the driver’s side and, when he slammed his door, she jumped.
“Sorry, Jelly,” he looked over at her. “John on a roll again? That bruise is new,” he whistled. Then he looked up into his rear vision mirror and turned the ignition.
“It’s okay. What’s happened with you?” Grace asked, changing the subject, putting her seat belt on. Pain blasted through her shoulder.
“Dad happened,” he said, putting the car in gear. “He found out that Mum’s been meeting me once a month. So, he showed her how unhappy he was with that piece of information. With his fists.” He looked over his shoulder to check for an opening in the oncoming traffic, then darted out into the flow. “She emailed to tell me she couldn’t meet with me next week. Geezus, Grace. I don’t know if I should go home to help Mum, or just call the cops. The thing is, I know they won’t do anything about it. Dad is in deep with some of those boys. Has been ever since we moved to Australia ten years ago. Pays to be a corrupt politician, I guess. Maybe I should just wait until things settle down?”
“What does your gut say?” she asked, gripping the seat as he rounded the traffic circle too fast.
“Right now, go home and beat the shit out of him. But that would only make it worse for Mum. And I know that’s my anger talking, not my gut. I don’t know what to do at this point.”
“Is your mum alright?” Grace was relieved when they stopped at a red light. When he navigated the curves, her seat belt kept locking, which wasn’t helping her discomfort at all. But she didn’t want to tell Lowell how to drive, either.
“Yeah, she is,” he said, after taking a moment. He looked over at her in the passenger seat. “Thanks for asking me that.”
“Why wouldn’t I? She’s your mum. She’s the person you love most in the world. Is she going to leave your dad? I mean, she has choices,” she said, too quickly. She wasn’t surprised when Lowell shot her a look, one he had given her a million times before. The one that read: So do you.
“You know, I wish she would. But she won’t. She’s too afraid of the repercussions,” he said. They were silent for the five-minute drive to his apartment. Lowell pulled into the parking garage underneath the building, parked his car, and jerked the handbrake in frustration.
“Now, grab that bag at your feet, Jelly, and let’s go and overindulge in chocolate.”
They walked up to the second floor, and he unlocked the heavy steel door, holding it open for her. Grace walked through and dropped her battered backpack beside his couch and carefully sat down. Lowell threw his keys on to the console table and collapsed onto his faded blue loveseat.
“What’s the latest about the café guy? You got his number, you said? That’s new for you.” Lowell reached into the bag Grace carried from the car and pulled out two Toblerone bars, tossing one to her. She caught it, mid-air.
“Thanks!”
“Of course. So? Details please,” he said, unwrapping his chocolate.
“He…” she didn’t want to admit that Daniel knew about her latest beating. She was usually so careful about that, as Lowell well knew, but she had no other way to explain it.
“He asked about the bruise on my face,” she said. Lowell raised his eyebrow. “After he bought me a coffee,” she added.
“Well, I will say nothing about someone else supporting your coffee habit. So, what did you say when he asked about the bruise?” Lowell asked, popping a chocolate triangle into his mouth.
“Um, I told him I walked into a door since it was really dark, and I couldn’t see. Except that I forgot it was a super moon that night. Everything was really bright.”
“That’s not like you,” he said, concern lacing his tone. “You’re usually good at covering John’s indiscretions. But then, he’s usually pretty good about where he strikes. And you’re babying your shoulder. What’s with that?” Damn, she’d hoped he wouldn’t notice.
“I have a cut on it. Where I hit the chest of drawers.”
“Have you treated it?” She shook her head. All she had at home was toilet paper, so she’d used that to stop the bleeding on her shoulder. Lowell got up from the couch and headed to his bathroom. She thought about his comment of her slipping up.
Lowell returned with some antiseptic cream and alcohol swabs.
“I guess I got sloppy, just as my dad is lately,” she said. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
She pulled her shirt down enough to show Lowell the cut and noticed his face go dark with anger. She hated adding to his worries, especially since his mother was dealing with the same thing.
“Geezus, Jelly.” He got up and went back into his bathroom. She heard him rattle around in his medicine cabinet and came back out with a handful of supplies.
“This has got to stop. He’s going to kill you one day,” he said, tossing butterfly bandages and more alcohol swabs into her lap. The aggressiveness made her jump.
“Sorry. Guess I’m just fed up with fucked-up bullies beating on their loved ones,” he said and turned her to inspect her shoulder in better light. Facing away from him made it easier for her to plunge forward with her question.
“I know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I keep asking myself why I stay. I guess I don’t know anymore. You’ve asked me that and Daniel asked me the same question too. Last night, I had the nightmare I’ve been having for months now. It’s like my brain is trying to tell me something, but I don’t know what. I can’t sleep anymore because of them. They’re horrible. And I know I don’t have enough money but…” She sucked in her breath when she felt a burning sensation explode over her shoulder.
“Sorry Jelly, I don’t mean to hurt you. Look, I’ve said it before. Move in here. It’s small, but you can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.” She scowled at him. No, she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to put him out. “Don’t worry, it pulls out into a bed. We’ll make it work.”
“I feel so bad Lowell. Asking you… asking for help.”
“You said my mum has choices,” he said as he squeezed some antiseptic cream into his fingers. “So do you. This is yours. Stay. It’s better than ending up dead.”
“Thank you. I was going to ask if it was okay if I stayed just a little while. I’ll find a place soon…” His fingers gently spread the antiseptic cream across her wound.
“Stay as long as you want,” he said as he applied the bandage. “Really. Throw in whatever you can for the groceries, and we’ll call it even.”
“I’m just scared he’ll find me,” she whispered. He pulled her shirt back up.
“Does he know about me? About our friendship?” She shook her head. Of that, she was sure.
“Then you should be okay. Maybe take the long way home from school for a couple of weeks, just in case. I’m sure you don’t want to change schools at this late stage, since you only have, what? Five months left?”
“Four,” she said. “And no. I’d rather stay and finish the year.”
“Then we’ll take precautions. Maybe Daniel can help you with that, too. You know, give you lifts here and there…” She gaped at him, stunned at the suggestion.
“I’m teasing Jelly. Although it would be good for you to date.”
“I don’t need the distraction. You know I don’t date,” she replied, and unwrapped her chocolate when he got up to wash his hands in the kitchen. He came back in, wiping his hands on a tea towel.
“Girl, you’re not dead. If you don’t want to date him, then just sleep with him, and get it over with. Then you can move on and go back to your studies.”
“No. I…. I can’t do that,” she looked up at him and added, “I’m not a slut.”
“No, you’re not. But the fun you are missing out on! I’m not sa
ying give it out to every guy you meet! But he sounds hot and if you like him, then…”
“I do. Like him, I mean,” she stumbled over her words. “I just don’t want to get involved. I have enough on my plate.”
“Just take it slow. Trust your instincts,” he said, dropping another Toblerone wedge into his mouth. “Only you know what you’re ready for. But Jelly, the world really is a lovely place. People are kind if you open yourself up to them. I know you’re scared. I would be if I had your dad. He’s a lot like mine in his bullish ways. Yes, it will take some adjustment. But Jelly, once you’re away from him, you’ll have freedom like never before. Trust me on that. You’ll see.”
12
“What the fuck took you so long?” Her father’s gravelly voice greeted her, when she opened the front door two nights later. The place was as dark as the night outside and it felt icy cold.
She opened the door further, allowing the hall light to illuminate the room. Her father was slouched on the futon in the far corner, the balcony’s sliding glass door wide open.
“I had work,” she said, pausing a minute longer at the front door.
“More like whoring around.”
“What? No. I’m turning the light on,” she said and flipped the switch. Turning, she gasped. The apartment had been turned upside down. A shiver went down her spine. She slowly closed the door, regretting it the minute she heard the metallic thud. What the hell happened in here? The two dining chairs were upended, the table pushed against the wall. The garbage bin was lying on its side, its contents littering the floor. There were cups and dishes all over the kitchen counter, but they looked clean. She had to find out what happened, but was too afraid to ask. Did this mean they were moving again? Had her father done this? Or someone else?
“Who the fuck is Daniel?” he barked, getting to his feet. He unsteadily moved toward her. She stepped backwards, her back hitting the front door.
“What?” she stammered, feeling the blood drain from her face.
“Daniel. Who’s Daniel? I found this… in your room.” He threw a piece of paper at her, hitting her shoulder before it fell to the floor. She picked it up. It was the note Daniel wrote when she’d first met him. God, he was just buying her coffee.
“Where did you find this?” she asked, knowing full well she’d hidden it in her bottom drawer, buried amongst some school papers.
“I told you, in your room. I was looking for my money.”
“What money?”
“The hundred dollars in my wallet yesterday. It’s not there today, so I went looking for it. It’s my house, I can look wherever I want. Now, who the fuck is Daniel?”
She stayed silent.
“What’s the matter? Are you knocked up? Your whore of a mother got knocked up. Had to marry her.” He walked back toward the couch but stumbled over its edge. In frustration, he kicked the edge of the milk crate the television sat on. The TV crashed to the floor. Shattered glass littered the floor like broken memories.
“Fuck,” he slurred. He turned back to her.
“So, you’re now a whore. Just like her. Are you pregnant?”
“What? No.” Grace walked quickly toward her bedroom. She needed to escape. She needed to get her things and get out. Now.
“Why not? Like mother, like daughter.”
“Dad. Don’t say that. It’s not true,” she said, standing halfway between the table and her bedroom, dumbfounded.
“How would you know? You don’t even remember her.” Fear made her freeze when he staggered toward her.
I do, she thought. I remember her.
“So, tell me. Do you string them along like your mother did? Make them beg for it? Keep them panting at your heels? Or is this, this Daniel guy… is he your pimp? Maybe that’s it? Are you turning tricks? Is this your way to hook them? Maybe that’s why you’re home late.”
“No. I was working. Really.” She picked at her nails, her cuticles. She traced the ravaged edges and picked, feeling the skin slicing back.
“Then where’s my hundred dollars? It was in my wallet yesterday.”
“I don’t know. I don’t have it.”
“Like hell you don’t. You’ve taken whatever money you want before. Who else would take it?”
“I don’t know.” Although she guessed it was some other junkie he hung out with. She stripped more skin around her nail beds. She was panicked. She felt the wetness from blood seeping out from her cuticles as she picked, picked, picked at them.
“Fucking liar. That’s what you are.” He rushed toward her and caught her by the throat, slamming her against the wall.
“Where is it? Where’s my fucking money?”
“I don’t know,” she gasped. She wrapped her hands around his wrists, trying to pull his hands away from her neck. He threw her to the side and her injured shoulder slammed into the doorframe of her bedroom. She teetered but stayed upright. The wound reopened with the impact, and she felt warm blood running down her back.
“Where the fuck is it?” he bellowed.
He came at her again, swinging. This time, she ducked, retreating into the lounge room. She spun around, then stepped back. She needed to get out, flee. Grace reached down to grab her backpack by the table when her father caught her chin with a right hook. She flew backward onto the couch. Sprawled out, he grabbed her hair and yanked her down hard, his mouth foaming.
“Where the fuck is it, you whore?”
“I don’t have it! I didn’t take it. But you can have the money in my wallet,” she begged. He yanked her back up with a fist full of hair. She was tall, but he was taller. Grace reached her arms out in defence, and her father caught one arm and twisted it behind her. She heard the pop. She wanted to scream, but he swung again and caught her hard in the right kidney. This time, her scream came. Where were the neighbours? Why weren’t they helping her? Surely, they could hear what was going on in this apartment? Her father tossed her forward, and she flew straight for the table. She reached out and caught herself on the edge, narrowly missing her head as she fell.
She lay helpless on the floor. She tried to grab her backpack, but her father snatched it from her.
“Oh no,” she whimpered, although too quietly for her father to hear. “Please, no.” She couldn’t afford for him to find her treasures. She almost cried in relief when he pulled out her wallet, dropping her backpack to the floor. She had thirty dollars tucked inside of it. Money she was going to add to the secret pocket in her backpack. He whipped out the cash and threw the wallet back at her, landing it squarely in her face.
“Well, that’s a deposit on what you stole,” he said as he plunged the cash into his jeans pocket. “I’ll expect the rest tomorrow.” He left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
Grace whimpered, afraid to move. After a moment, she slowly stood, grimacing with every movement.
She retrieved her things and stumbled to her bedroom. The room was turned upside down. John hadn’t just gone through her drawers, he’d ripped through her mattress, broken her cell phone charger, and ripped her school uniform, most likely trying to get into the pocket in his rage. Grace stood at the door. She stared vacantly into the space, emotionally stripped bare. Tears welled and tumbled down her cheeks. It was all she could do. She felt completely broken.
13
It had been a hell of a week. She was still in agony from the too-frequent beatings. The last one resulted in a dislocated shoulder. She heard the pop when her father wretched her arm, giving her no choice but to go to the medical centre to pop it back in. She told the staff she’d been thrown from a horse. Somehow, they believed her. She’d seen horse farms when she’d driven around with Lowell, so she figured it was a valid excuse.
Her father had not been home since that night. At least, not when she was there. The television remained broken on the floor; glass still scattered around it. She left it that way, along with the rest of the mess around the apartment. He made the mess. He could clean it up for once.
Heading to work, the near empty train to Macquarie Centre rocked her into a zone. She gazed out the window into the blurred suburbs, watching the world rush by with the speed of the train. Grace went through her exit plan for the umpteenth time. She was set.
When she finally looked beyond the seats before her, an old man sat at the end of the carriage. The scowled look on his face screamed: 'Leave me alone!', his hands clenched around the daily newspaper. Wrinkles creased his eyes, his mouth turned down, and his brow seemed to be in a perpetual frown. When the train stopped at the next station, a young mother boarded with her little girl in a stroller, taking a seat in the same section as the old man. The little girl, dressed in polka dot leggings and a long shirt, wore her hair up in a high pigtail. She exuded sunshine and happiness. She peered around the stroller at the old man and wiggled her fingers at him, her voice squeaking out a perky hello.
His face lit up, turning Mr. Hyde into Dr. Jekyll. The expression on the gentleman’s face removed twenty years from his age, especially when he began playing peekaboo with the little girl. He laughed when she giggled, the sound of his laughter booming through the carriage. The transformation of the man caught Grace completely by surprise, making her laugh out loud.
Grace tried to remember if she had a grandfather. Was he at all like this man? Had she ever been like this little girl, full of life and wonder? Those memories were hard to remember now. Even her memories of Nanny were distorted, but she remembered love whenever she thought of her. Where was she? Had she looked for her? Grace turned to look out the window again. She sighed. She’d never know about her grandparents now, and she couldn’t ask her father. Not now. She needed to stop thinking about the past and get on with her future.