by Kate Genet
There he sat down on the couch, switching off the torch and setting the lamp upright instead. He tried its switch, but nothing happened, and he remembered there was no power. Maybe that was why the place was so creepily quiet. There was no hum of the refrigerator or anything else that he was so used to he barely noticed anymore. Just the dim snoring from the bedroom.
It had been a long day. Danny poured himself a good shot of the whisky, feeling with a finger down the side of the glass how full was good, then leaned back against the sofa, wondering what to do next.
The whisky was excellent, burning a trail down into his gullet. Usually he didn’t go for hard liquor. Liked a tasty beer or glass of wine instead. Weddings were good for wine. Good music, good wine, pretty girls.
His own pretty girl was just down the road and he thought about her, tucked up in a nice warm bed. She’d be glad to see him, would cling to him, looking at him with those big blue eyes of hers. He nodded into his glass. He’d take good care of his Rose.
But first, there was still the small matter of finding his photographs. Frustration burned a copycat trail down the back of his throat and he clenched his free hand into a fist.
Colin must know what had become of his things. Danny blinked into the dimness. He was tempted to find one of the old man’s cigarettes and rig up a cheap and easy fire, burn the place down and Colin in it.
Which would work if his stuff was here after all and he just hadn’t spotted it.
But might be a disaster if Colin had passed it on somewhere else.
Danny slammed the rest of the whisky back and bit down on the desire to roar out loud with frustration. Instead he got himself under control and made himself sit still.
He’d wait here until morning, greet the old man with a nice hot mug of coffee and hope like hell that Zoe’s father had the right answers to his questions.
39
The midnight silence pressed against the windows of Claire’s room, backlit by a generous quarter of moon. She lay against the pillow, hands behind her head, and stared out into the drifting silver light. Somewhere close a dog barked, once, twice, then fell silent. Claire didn’t blink.
She was thinking about Zoe.
Zoe’s death was a terrible accident, she knew that. But nothing could convince her that something else hadn’t been going on that morning.
Or that it didn’t have to do with Zoe’s husband.
She turned over in her mind the little that she knew about Danny. Remembered Zoe’s first excited emails about him. Claire had been where then? She strained to remember. Auckland, maybe. How long ago had it been? Five or six years ago. Probably not Auckland then. She would already have been spending most of her time living overseas.
It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about her. This was about Zoe.
And Danny. Zoe had been smitten. Raved on about how quiet and unassuming the man was, but what a gentleman. There was something about his manner, she remembered Zoe saying. Something intense and shy. And all he wanted was to take his photographs, get married, raise a family. Zoe had been over the moon.
And as far as Claire knew, it had continued along a fairly idyllic line.
Her father hadn’t thought much of the man though, Claire remembered now. ‘Boy’s a sly one, mark my words,’ he’d told Claire off the plane for the wedding. ‘He’s one of those ones people always say was such a nice, quiet man after he’s been arrested as a serial killer.’
Claire had laughed at her father, knowing he was exaggerating. Zoe was a daughter to him, he just wanted the best for her, especially as everyone in the family knew Claire wasn’t going to be settling down and getting married.
Which meant they were all stuck with Danny.
There was a rumbling deep in the ground, and Claire lifted her eyes to watch the light in the ceiling swing back and forth on its wire.
Outside, a dog howled.
A thumping and bumping from the next room had her throwing back the covers and swinging her feet to the floor. She padded out into the hallway, blinking away the dazzle of moonlight.
A shadow detached itself from the doorway of the next bedroom.
‘Mummy?’ it said in a voice clogged with sleep.
‘Oh sweetie,’ Claire answered, getting down on her knees and drawing the small figure to her. The child was warm and smelled of the flowery shampoo Gracie had washed her hair with before bedtime. ‘Your mummy’s not here.’ She couldn’t think of any other way to put it. And she wasn’t going to lie to the child. Gracie had warned her against it, even if she’d thought it was a good idea.
Rose drooped against her, little hand pressed against her chest. ‘I want my mummy. Who’s going to look after me?’
The question made Claire want to scream at the unfairness of it all. Her mind flashed on Danny and she hugged the little girl tighter.
‘I am,’ she said.
Her vision was adjusting to the dimness of the hallway. Round eyes like miniature headlamps stared up at her.
‘You’re going to look after me?’ Rose asked. ‘Always?’
‘Yes.’
‘You and Grandma and Grandad and Daddy?’ The child was shaking.
‘Yes.’
The big eyes blinked at her. ‘Where is Daddy? He’s supposed to be with me.’
Claire got to her feet, scooping the little girl up into her arms. ‘He’s busy doing some stuff at the moment,’ she said.
‘Will he be at breakfast?’ Rose asked. ‘He always makes my breakfast just the right way.’
‘He might be. But I tell you what, kiddo – if he’s not, I’ll make your breakfast, okay?’ She carried Rose back into the little girl’s room, sitting down on the bed with her.
‘How will you know what I like?’
Claire smiled in the dimness and dropped a kiss on Rose’s head. The child sure knew how to ask questions. Was it normal for this age? Surely this one was especially precocious. If they were all like this, Claire wondered how parents managed to survive these early years. But she thought it with affection.
‘You’ll have to show me,’ she said. ‘Tell me exactly how to do it properly. Can you do that?’
The little head nodded against her shoulder. ‘I can do that.’ The voice was small and tired.
‘Time to hop back in bed,’ Claire said. ‘Little girls need lots of sleep.’
Rose went rigid in her arms. The nodding turned to a frantic shaking.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘This bed gives me bad dreams.’
‘What bed? This one?’
Fingers clutched at Claire’s arm. ‘I want to sleep with you.’ Rose asked. ‘You said you’d look after me.’
Claire didn’t even bother to answer. She simply stood up with Rose cradled in her arms and made her way back to her own room. They got into the big bed together and Claire drew the blankets up over Rose’s shoulders, tucking her in next to her.
‘Better?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Rose said. ‘I'm only little, you know.’
Unable to help the smile that brought to her face, Claire lay back against her pillow again. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re small but you’re mighty.’
The voice that answered her was getting sleepy. ‘What does mighty mean?’
Claire tucked an arm around the small, warm body. ‘It means brave and strong,’ she said and lay there listening to Rose’s breathing deepen into the rhythm of sleep.
Zoe might be gone, she thought. But she’d left a piece of herself behind and it was a precious one indeed.
40
Claire woke to little fingers trying to pry her eyelids open.
‘Claire!’
She blinked up at a tousled red head and tried to gather her wits. ‘I'm awake,’ she said. ‘What’s the emergency?’
The fingers had taken to tugging at her red-blonde hair. It needed a cut. ‘There’s a dog.’
‘Okay,’ Claire said with no idea what they were talking about. She squinted past the small child and sa
w the window had swapped moon for sun.
Rose slid from the bed and thumped onto the floor. ‘You gotta come,’ she said.
‘All right.’
The eyes that looked back at her were wide, serious, and excited. ‘No, you really gotta!’
‘I hear you,’ Claire said, sitting up and yawning. What time was it? She didn’t remember falling asleep the night before. Only that Rose had been warm and somehow comforting.
Not anymore though. The girl had scampered to the doorway where she stood looking back, clearly impatient. Claire got herself out of bed.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘There’s a dog,’ Rose said, as though that made everything clear.
‘You saw a dog?
The little girl’s face fell into a soft worried frown. ‘It’s hiding. I think it’s scared of all the shaking.’
Things were starting to make sense. ‘Is it hiding in the garden?’ Claire asked, pulling on a few more clothes and tucking her feet into a pair of sandshoes. She looked down at Rose’s feet, saw bits of grass and leaves wrapped around the bare toes. ‘Have you been outside?’
‘There’s a DOG!’
‘Right.’ Clearly dog-spotting excused unauthorised visits to the garden. ‘Let’s go look then.’
Relief flooded Rose’s face and she turned for the stairs. ‘No one else is up,’ she said. ‘I woke myself up early.’
Judging by the limpness of the sun above the horizon line, she was right about that. Claire wondered if this was another kid habit. Early rising.
Sounded likely.
There was a chair in front of the door to the garden, and Claire raised an eyebrow at it but said nothing. Rose was a determined and resourceful escape artist. As though she’d heard Claire’s thought, Rose turned and looked at her.
‘Hurry up,’ the three-year-old said. ‘The dog’s over there.’ She pointed at the boat in the backyard.
Claire’s heart leapt into her throat. ‘Don’t go over by the boat!’ she said. Shit. She hadn’t given it a thought the day before, never even considered checking if the damned thing was still stable up on its cradle. ‘Rose!’
The little girl’s expression was wounded. ‘But it’s a dog,’ she said, and burst into tears so sudden that they were a small explosion.
Catching up to her, Claire swung the child into her arms and soothed her. ‘It’s okay sweetheart. I didn’t mean to yell. I just got worried. Grandad’s ark might not be safe after the earthquake.’
‘Tis too,’ Rose replied with a pout. ‘I heard him telling Gramma after she told him off about it.’
Closing her eyes briefly, Claire tried to take it all in. This was an odd creature she held in her arms. All big ears and a mouth full of questions.
And fingers that pinched. ‘Claire. The DOG!’
Sure enough, something slinked in the shadows on the other side of Frank’s boat. Claire nodded.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But you’re to stay here while I investigate, all right? We’re going to be super sensible, even if you did hear Grandad say the boat was safe.’
Big eyes stared at her in reply, then red curls bounced in an affirmative nod.
‘Good girl.’ Claire carried the child back to the door, opened it, and popped Rose onto the chair. ‘Sit here,’ she said. ‘And don’t move.’
Rose made her eyes even bigger and rounder and sat up straight.
‘Good girl,’ Claire repeated, then backed away. After a few steps, she turned around and sighed, looking back over at the boat.
They called it Frank’s Ark. It was almost more work of art than a boat, made using the traditional methods that had been handed down in her father’s family from great grandfather, down through the ranks.
One day, when she retired from racing, Frank would teach her how to smooth and curve the wooden planks into a beautiful, sturdy hull.
In the meantime, he took his own sweet time about building this one, working on it when the urge took him, admiring it in-between times.
Something moved behind the boat, and Claire realised Rose really was right. There was a dog back there. Probably scared out of its skin from all the shaking. She imagined animals all over the city were feeling that way.
Rounding the bow, she dipped her head and peered down beside the fence, searching for the animal.
‘Oh shit,’ she said, and glanced back towards the house, but Rose was out of sight, still hopefully sitting on her chair.
It was a big dog. Huge.
It whined when it saw her and hunched down into the shadows of the boat, ears twitching nervously.
‘Hey boy,’ she whispered to the German Shepherd. ‘Take it easy, okay?’
Serious brown eyes looked back at her. She hunkered down on bended knees trying to figure out what to do.
The dog whined again and shuffled forward on its belly.
‘Is he frightened?’
Claire jumped at the sudden voice beside her. ‘Rose!’ she said. ‘I told you to stay put.’
‘But you were taking so long, and I wanted to see the doggy.’
Claire turned back to the dog on a sigh. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think he’s frightened, all right. So we can’t just walk straight up to him.’ Besides the fact that he was huge. The head alone must have been the length of Rose’s arm.
‘Hi doggy,’ Rose said. ‘What’s your name?’
The dog whined in answer and Claire was surprised to see the tail wag, thumping against the ground.
‘He likes me!’ Rose said, and a golden little giggle spilled out. ‘Can I keep him?’
‘Whoa,’ Claire said. ‘Let’s not rush into this.’
But the dog was on his feet, walking towards them. Before she had time to snatch Rose up out of the way, the Shepherd was right in front of the little girl. He sat down, stuck his head forward, and swiped a giant tongue up Rose’s cheek. Claire looked on, gaping.
Another giggle and Rose was burying her fingers in the thick fur of the dog’s neck. Which earned her more lashings with the wet tongue.
‘Okay,’ Claire said. ‘I guess he likes you all right.’ She reached out a tentative hand of her own and the dog sniffed it politely, then lifted a paw and held it out above the ground.
Giving the dog a sideways look, Claire took the paw in her hand and shook it solemnly. It filled her palm.
Introductions apparently done, the dog stood up and whined again, scuffling sideways until he was leaning against Claire’s side. She stuck a hand down on the ground to keep her balance.
‘He’s hungry,’ Rose announced. ‘Let’s give him breakfast!’
‘Um,’ Claire answered, feeling like a stunned mullet. ‘I don’t think we have any dog food.’ The animal stared up at her and she noticed how luminous and beautiful the eyes were, shining with intelligence like he was following her every word.
‘He can have some of my toast!’ Rose crowed. She plucked at Claire, pushing her to get up.
On her feet, Claire hesitated again, but Rose stuck a hand in hers and started off towards the house. Claire followed, the dog trotting alongside her, close enough for her to feel the heat from his thick fur. She ducked her head to the side and quickly checked the dog’s underside. Yes, it was male. Okay. They’d just found a huge male German Shepherd in the yard.
Rose let go of her hand and skipped ahead, pushed the door to the house open and called out.
‘C’mon doggy,’ she said. ‘C’mon in and have some breakfast. Claire is going to make us both some.’
The dog didn’t wait for another invitation. A quick glance at Claire, then it loped after Rose, squeezing in past the chair in the doorway. When Claire got in after them, they were both in the kitchen, the dog sitting neatly, ears alert, eyes bright, watching Rose’s every move.
‘We need to give him some milk,’ the little girl said. She was pulling open the fridge door.
Shaking off her bemusement, Claire nabbed her before she could pick up the bottle of milk.
&n
bsp; ‘Dogs like water better,’ she said.
The little face creased in a frown. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yep. It’s cats who like milk.’
‘I bet dogs do too.’
‘Maybe,’ Claire conceded. ‘But this fella looks like he’d like a nice big drink of water.’
The saucer eyes turned to look at the dog, who gave a low woof, for all the world as though he was agreeing.
‘See?’
‘Okay,’ Rose said, and looked up at Claire. ‘He’s real smart, isn’t he?’
‘He sure is.’ Someone must have spent a lot of time looking after him. She cast a critical eye over the animal. His coat was thick and shiny, eyes bright. She didn’t know what all the signs of health for dogs were, but this one seemed to qualify according to what she could see.
‘What’s his name?’ Rose asked.
Claire set her down again on the floor and reached for a bowl. Maybe the dog really would like some water. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘He doesn’t have a collar.’ Rose was with the dog again, hands feeling around his neck. She turned to look at Claire. ‘Just this thing.’ Her hands plucked at a nylon harness. There were no tags. ‘Maybe he doesn’t have a name.’
‘I'm sure his owners named him,’ Claire said. ‘When we find them, we’ll ask what his name is.’
She watched Rose’s face fall, wincing inwardly.
‘But he’s ours now,’ Rose said, voice small and uncertain.
Claire came over and pulled a chair out from the table. She sat down and lifted Rose onto her lap. The dog moved too, rested his head on Rose’s legs, looking up at both of them with liquid eyes.
‘We’re going to have to find his real owner, sweetheart. Someone’s been taking really good care of him.’
A tear rolled down Rose’s cheek. ‘But what if they died too?’ She rested a hand on the dog’s soft head. ‘Like my mummy did? What if they got squashed? We have to look after him then.’
Sitting for a moment silent, Claire gave the little girl on her lap a squeeze. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘We would look after him then.’
