Saving Rose

by Kate Genet

Moana sighed. ‘I'm afraid, for the next little while, it’s going to be about a lot of grunt work. Seeing what’s on the computer, trying to track down the family in Australia.’

  ‘-- Finding out where Danny actually is, right this minute,’ Claire interrupted.

  ‘According to his phone signal, he’s on the way to or from Lyttelton over Dyers Pass Road.’

  Claire gazed out over the roof of Moana’s car, not seeing anything of her surroundings. ‘I think we need to find him,’ she said.

  ‘And do what?’ Moana shook her head at Claire. ‘Look, I know how hard this is – I mean, I really do, but we have no case against him. Not enough for an arrest, that’s for sure. Except maybe for unlawful entry, and that would hold him only for a few hours.’

  ‘The photos…’

  ‘He’s not even in the pornographic images, and we didn’t find them on his person or even in his possession. The one of him at the park is enough maybe to question him, if the case wasn’t already closed. I need to officially open it before I can bring him in for any sort of conversation.’

  Claire didn’t have to like it, but she did hear what Moana was saying. She opened her mouth to suggest some sort of compromise, when Moana’s phone rang.

  It was answered a moment later and Claire watched the woman’s face grow stern as she listened.

  ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll be going there myself.’ She ended the call and stared at Claire.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Claire asked her.

  ‘Dyers Pass Road,’ Moana said, opening the car door and climbing in. She passed the backpack to Claire and strapped on her seat belt. Claire followed suit and waited for the explanation.

  It wasn’t long coming. ‘The road crew found something very interesting when they checked the outlook area,’ she said, starting the car and getting it back on the road.

  Claire stared at her.

  ‘A metal rubbish bin, with evidence that someone had burned something in it.’

  Claire held her tongue, waited.

  ‘This someone had gotten careless by the end,’ Moana said. ‘The last photograph album wasn’t altogether burnt.’

  ‘Photograph album?’

  Moana nodded. ‘Plenty enough of it left to see that it contained a number of Polaroids, according to the guys who found them.’

  They looked at each other, and Claire knew there was a question on her face. Moana nodded. ‘There’re a couple guys up there right now who are never going to let their daughters out of their sight ever again.’

  Claire turned and stared out the front window. ‘Did they find Danny Fry?’ she asked.

  ‘Nope. Just his phone.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’d thrown his phone away. It was about ten meters away in the grass.’

  ‘Thrown it away?’

  ‘Yep.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe he had a little tantrum and biffed the thing.’

  ‘So what are we going to do?’ Claire pulled out her own phone and checked that she hadn’t missed any messages. None showed. Rose would be fine. She had her grandparents, and also now a very big German Shepherd. None of those three would let anything happen to her. Still, uneasiness spread through Claire like a cold Antarctic chill.

  ‘I'm going to drive us to the Dyers Pass Outlook, and you’re going to go through the paperwork in this bag and see if there’s anything that will tell us how to get in touch with the sister in Australia.

  ‘Oh, and in case you’re wondering,’ Moana added, ‘we’re going to take the road through the tunnel. It’ll be faster.’

  ‘The tunnel’s closed!’

  Moana’s smile was grim. ‘Not to emergency personnel.’

  Claire picked up her mother’s nylon backpack. Might as well get started, she thought. Give her something to concentrate on other than the imminent collapse around their ears of the Port Hills quarter-mile long tunnel.

  63

  It didn’t happen until he was on the outskirts of Lyttelton itself, which, he supposed, was a stroke of luck. Now that he was stranded on the side of the road, the harbour water a dull glinting at his right, he supposed he ought to have thought of filling the petrol tank.

  It was because he needed some decent rest. That was why he’d forgotten. And he needed some decent rest because his ridiculous wife had got him into a stupidly unnecessary situation. He was only doing his best to make it right.

  So close. He was so close that there was no thought of stopping. Probably, he decided, standing on the side of the road looking at the station wagon, it was even a good thing. The vehicle had his name right there on the side, after all. And though he’d done nothing wrong that anyone could pin on him, it was better to be safe than sorry, as the saying went.

  He’d find another car, even if he had to steal one. Probably would have to, come to that. But someone around here would have left their door unlocked, car keys somewhere handy. No one would be on the lookout today of all days. They’d all be pulling together, joining up in a show of community spirit and all that shit.

  Like they had when his parent’s house had burnt down with them in it. There’d been all sorts of stuff. An outpouring of grief in the community, was the way the local rag had put it. Flowers at the gate, people cluttering up the place snivelling into their hankies. Crying their pathetic hearts out for the couple who had done so many good works around the tiny little shithole of a town, and for the golden-haired princess they’d left behind. No one had given a toss about him, of course. Not that he’d been bothered by that.

  No, what had really annoyed him had been his aunt, swooping down and gathering up Rachel like she belonged to her. Taking her away across the state when she knew full well that he had been going to look after his sister. Had found a job and a place for them to stay and everything. Had it all arranged before the fire.

  Then she wouldn’t even let him visit. Just clammed up on him a few months later and said he couldn’t come around. Called Rachel fragile. Said he’d make her worse – as if he could make Rachel worse! He was his sister’s closest protector!

  And then the greatest betrayal to both of them when the aunt had stuck Rachel in the looney bin. Where she languished to this day.

  But not for too much longer, he vowed, setting off to walk the rest of the way into Lyttelton. Soon, he’d be back over there, job and house again, and no one there to block him. His aunt wouldn’t get a say. He was a grown man now and if he wanted to take care of his sister, then there was no one who would stop him.

  All he needed was a car.

  64

  He’d never liked Lyttelton and now, after the earthquake, it was a total dump. They should raze the whole place down to the ground, he decided, and not bother rebuilding it. Consider they’d been given a helping hand with starting. He counted six buildings reduced to rubble along the main road. And then he ducked off up the hill in amongst the houses, looking for a car.

  He found what he was looking for at the fifth house he scouted around. No one was home and there was a pretty good reason for that – a corner of the house had collapsed. Along with the carport, which had fallen down to make a tight fit over a fairly new Holden Calais. Hands on knees, he bent down and squinted at the car, the roof of the carport only an inch or two above it.

  He had a slim build, he decided; he could shimmy his way in the passenger’s door and clamber over the console into the driver’s seat. He already had the keys in his hand, courtesy of a sneaky stroll around inside the house, the keys found gleaming in the dusty shadows on a chest of drawers in the main bedroom. He guessed the owners trusted their neighbours. Which they did in little pissholes like Lyttelton. All very chummy, they were, a proper little community.

  Whatever. He had the keys, and a little sharp-edged something else, just in case, and that was a damned nice car sitting in the ruined carport. He’d back it out and at worst it might get a few scratches. But a lot of cars would have a few scratches now.

  Best thing was that the police would be too busy
taking care of other things to worry about one little stolen car. He decided he and Rose would be super comfortable in this one.

  The question was whether to pull the car out first or go get the kid. It only took a moment’s thought, then he was bending down under the broken carport roof and sliding himself along the side of the car, trying to be careful where he put feet he couldn’t even see in the dimness. He pressed the unlock button on the key and the car beeped at him like it was telling him to hurry up, it was ready and waiting.

  There was a litter of personal possessions in the car, but he didn’t bother with any of them. It was time to get into the driver’s seat, get the engine running, and get out of there. He’d find somewhere to park just down from the Wilde’s house and go get Rose from there. Knowing the damned Wilde’s they’d know the owners of this particular Holden and recognise the car. He did not need their questions.

  He flicked the cardboard pine tree hanging from the rear vision mirror and the car flooded with the antiseptic smell of pine. Sniffing, he put key in ignition, turned it, and listened in satisfaction to the quick rumble of the engine.

  There was a squeal of protest as he backed out and the beams of the carport connected with the roof of the car at their lowest point. His foot stayed pressed gently to the accelerator and the car edged backwards, the beam grinding its way along the roof.

  Until he was free. The desire to whoop with delight was hard to resist but he kept it in like a breath held underwater and turned the car around in the driveway instead, edging it back down and out onto the road, looking left and right for traffic that just wasn’t there. A stroke of luck for him.

  God, but it was going to be good never to see the Wilde’s house again and their smug faces. He’d never liked them. And Claire was insufferable. With her bland expressions that he knew perfectly well hid a devious mind – didn’t he too perfect a similar disguise? He’d always wondered what she was hiding though. The woman had everything.

  Maybe she wasn’t hiding anything except all her judgemental thoughts. He didn’t care.

  Rose was who he wanted. His own sweet Rose.

  The car would be fine parked under an overhanging tree. Getting out, he laughed, holding out the key and pressing the button to lock it, like it really was his own. He’d always wanted a flash car like this. And now he had one.

  It was eerily quiet up here on the Wilde’s winding residential street. Danny guessed a lot of houses around the town would be empty today.

  Frank and Gracie would still be in theirs, though. It was built to withstand anything, and Frank was a bit of a survivalist, to Danny’s mind. That’s how it seemed, taking into account the solar panels, the racks of battery banks, the water tanks, and all the other shit that turned out to be pretty handy when you’d been hit by an earthquake. He guessed too that Gracie had a very nicely stocked pantry.

  The thought made his stomach grumble. The only thing he’d had to eat in the last thirty or so hours had been that pie on the way to Jeanette’s house. For once, Gracie’s home cooking made his mouth fill with saliva. Right now, he’d even have a good tuck-in to her lentil hot-pot with dandelion salad on the side. Especially if it came with her freshly baked hot rolls.

  He imagined he could smell the hot rolls right now, walking up to the garden gate. Hesitating at the letter box, he sniffed then wrinkled his nose. Fresh rolls, sure enough.

  It took an effort to bring his mind back to the matter at hand. Rose. Maybe he’d be able to swipe a bit of lunch for the both of them.

  Which made him realise he’d given no thought as to how he was going to approach this.

  He shrugged. All very well, that was, but it didn’t change the fact that Rose was his and he had every right to come get her.

  No one could say anything against it. Just let them try, he decided.

  There was no one in the house. He walked through the ground floor, peering into rooms, then picked up one of the rolls from the kitchen counter and took a big bite out of it as he climbed the stairs.

  No one upstairs either. Frowning, he chewed the bread and went into one of the rooms facing the backyard to look out the window, see where everyone was.

  It was Claire’s room. The bed was unmade. Lying on the rumpled covers was a small pair of pink pyjamas, tiny white rabbits cavorting all over them.

  He snatched them up, clenching his fist around the soft cotton. What had Rose been doing here in this room?

  The roll sat in his stomach, a half-chewed lump of dough. Inside his head images of Claire Wilde dressing his little daughter burned, her hands brushing against that warm soft skin.

  It was time to get Rose. This couldn’t be allowed to go on a minute longer. Rose was his and he would take her with him and they would start a new life, and no one would be able to stop him. There were all those compassionate flights organised to Australia – they’d get on one of those and leave this city and these people well and truly behind.

  His daughter was poking about in the garden, wearing a sunhat that he didn’t recognise. He could see her from the window, crouched down, absorbed in whatever bug was skittering over the dirt. Gracie Wilde sat in a chair beside the lettuces and Danny could see her mouth moving in a constant stream of boring, boring, boring.

  No one else was around. Scooting sideways, he could see Frank’s car gone from the driveway. Out somewhere, and from the looks of things, the interfering Claire was with him.

  That made it all a great deal easier.

  Moving quickly now, Danny swept out of the room and into the one he knew his daughter would have used. The little pink suitcase was on the floor next to the bed and he scooped it up, threw it on the bed and unzipped it. Her frothy princess dress was still in it and he stuck the pyjamas on top, looked around, found some more of Rose’s things and stuffed them all in. The kid would feel better if she had her own gear with her. She’d need some more bits and pieces, of course, but that could wait until they hit the ground in Aussie.

  Done, he was on the move again, down the stairs, into the kitchen, casting sidelong glances out the windows, catching glimpses of Gracie and Rose, but satisfied they were still perfectly occupied.

  On silent soles, he moved around the kitchen, picking up one of Gracie’s cloth shopping bags from the pantry and throwing an assortment of stuff in, not caring if it was loose. The bag was clean, you could count on that sort of thing with Gracie. And all the shit was homemade, so no nice packaging.

  The rolls, a handful of cookies, and opening the fridge, a couple pots of yoghurt. Enough to keep Rose happy for the trip back into town. He wasn’t stupid. You kept the kid well fed and she didn’t whine so much.

  Suitcase and shopping bag went by the door and he was ready. Straightening his shoulders, he went to the French doors, twisted the handle, and stepped outside.

  65

  ‘Daddy!’

  The little girl squealed in delight, racing towards him, arms outstretched, but it wasn’t her he had his eyes on.

  There was a dog. Scratch that, thought Danny, there was an enormous dog. With extra-big teeth. And it was running toward him.

  Barking too, a bark so deep and wide he felt it rattle in his own chest, getting his heart to skip beats.

  ‘What the fuck!’ It was out before he could censor himself, and he didn’t care anyway, he was moving too.

  Towards Rose. Maybe he should have ducked back into the house but then there’d be glass separating him from his daughter, as well as the dog.

  For a moment there, it looked as though jumping back through the door into the house would have been the best idea, then Rose was in his arms, flinging her own around his neck and giving him slobbery kisses all over his face.

  The dog didn’t stop barking, but it did stand-off, as though somewhere in its gigantic hairy head it knew that attacking him would be attacking the child as well.

  ‘It’s my doggy, Daddy,’ Rose told him over the racket. ‘His name’s Pilot.’

  He was already shaking
his head. No way was this his daughter’s dog and whoever had told her so was irresponsible. No one made decisions like that for his child.

  ‘Make it shut up,’ he said, loud enough for Gracie to hear.

  Gracie was walking towards him and he didn’t like the look on her face. But she touched a hand to the dog’s head when she drew even with it and like a miracle, it stopped barking. It didn’t take its dark brown eyes off him, but it stopped sounding like it would kill him if he made so much as a step to the left or the right.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Gracie asked.

  He blinked at her, then looked back at the dog. ‘When did you get this thing?’ he asked.

  ‘Daddy, I founded him!’ Rose yelled in his ear and he leaned slightly away from her.

  ‘You found him, sweetheart?’ he asked.

  ‘He was scared,’ Rose said, her voice lowered confidentially as though she didn’t want the dog to overhear and feel bad. ‘Cos of the earthquake. Claire said I could keep him until we find his real mummy and daddy.’ Her little voice broke on the last words and she snuggled in close. ‘I miss Mummy,’ she whispered. ‘Did you go back and get her?’

  Danny didn’t know what Rose was talking about. What had Claire been filling her head with?

  ‘Mummy’s dead, Pumpkin,’ he said. ‘It’s just you and me now.’

  ‘And Gramma and Grandad and Claire and Pilot,’ Rose said.

  He shook his head, just a twitch, still eyeing the dog which was still eyeing him. ‘We’re going for a little drive, Pumpkin,’ he said. ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘You’re not taking her anywhere, Danny,’ Gracie said, and the damned dog started up its barking again.

  He took a step backwards and the dog took a step forward in some sort of macabre dance.

  ‘You don’t get a say in this, Gracie. I'm the child’s father and we have things to do.’

  Gracie was shaking her head. ‘You’re a pervert and a menace, Danny and we know what you’ve been up to!’