by Joanna Baker
It was Liz from Miriam’s shop. Drippy Liz.
‘Is he all right?’
‘Don’t go in.’ She gestured meaninglessly again, pulling Veronica by the arm, back to the cars. ‘They’ve just got him asleep. They’ll kill you.’
‘He’s all right?’
‘He’s a nightmare. The doctor said he was all right. Malcolm. Miriam’s friend. He’s your friend too, isn’t he? So gorgeous. God. He fixed something on his head. In the kitchen. It was like … something on TV. Just with Betadine and things. We were all running around. Then he wouldn’t sit down.’
‘Who?’
‘He totally wrecked the place. There is stuff just everywhere and you know what Miriam’s like. I said the little clip things on the cut would come undone but Miriam said they wouldn’t. In the end, Britta and Miriam just basically sat on him and Joss started singing. It was unbelievable. It ended up with all of us on the bed and eventually he went to sleep and everyone else did too, or Britta might have been pretending. But I can’t sleep. Joss is snoring. It was just hilarious. So don’t go in there. They’ll kill you.’
‘All right.’
‘They told you about it, did they?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘They’re hiding him from his dad. He’s violent. They can’t go to the police or he’ll end up in a foster home. In the morning they’re going to find his real dad or his grandparents or something like that. Joss’ll have to do it, though. Miriam’s got the shop. I’ve got a week in Noosa.’
‘All right.’
‘So don’t go in.’
‘All right.’ Veronica went back to the car, huddled into a rug and her down jacket, and waited.
There was a soft knocking, a quiet voice at the window. ‘Yoo-hoo.’
Morning. Britta was here. Veronica opened the door.
Britta. The practical one. The farmer, deliverer of calves, used to sleepless nights. The one who could handle everything and was never flustered.
She put a hand on Veronica’s arm. ‘Come and see this.’
Chapter 25
______
At first she felt so stiff that she wondered if she could move at all. But she tried not to let Britta see that. As they walked to Miriam’s front door she pressed her stomach, moved her shoulders and neck, fished the card of paracetamol out of her bag, punched out two more and swallowed them with a swig from her water bottle. Britta didn’t mention it. A night spent in the car was enough to explain morning stiffness.
It was not yet seven thirty, but Georgie was here. Britta or Joss must have picked her up last night. Georgie seemed to be in regular communication with the Snarks. Now they were all sitting on the floor in the family room: Georgie, Miriam, Joss and Mayson. The TV was showing cartoons, muted. Mayson, wearing only girl’s underpants and a safety pin, was playing with a cardboard carton, a shoebox and some pieces of styrofoam.
Georgie stood up, came straight over and threw her arms around Veronica, held her tight, squeezed, drilled her forehead into her shoulder.
‘Hi George,’ said Veronica.
‘This is …’ Georgie was teary. Not like her.
‘Yes. I know.’
Miriam stood up. ‘Roland brought him yesterday evening. He said the child is his – I don’t even want to go there. Apparently he needs to be hidden from a violent man. Are you all right?’ She was giving Veronica the concerned look again.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘You were sleeping in the car.’
‘I didn’t want to wake you all up.’
Miriam frowned, but didn’t pursue it. ‘Roland said you’d be looking for him and the boy but he said I should leave a message in the house and not ring you. He didn’t explain why, but he was pretty agitated, so I just did what he said.’
Mayson pushed himself to his feet and started whacking the wall with a piece of styrofoam. He hit the back of his hand on the TV and stopped moving suddenly, looking at his fingers. Joss gathered him up and sat him on her lap, but he struggled free.
Miriam said, ‘So I rang Joss and Britta and we’ve been looking after him. Britta called Malcolm Reidy.’ This was a paediatrician, a friend of Veronica’s and Miriam’s. ‘He looked at the cut on his head and put some clips on it and said he’d be all right.
‘But that’s a matter of opinion. He’s a little delinquent. We’ve given him other things to play with, but every now and then he hurls something or bashes it into a wall. Joss thought this stuff would do the least damage. But now all he wants to do is break it up.’
There were lumps of styrofoam on the carpet.
‘Don’t let him swallow any of that,’ said Britta quietly.
Experienced mothers, they were already prepared for this danger. Joss threw her long hair gracefully back, leaned forward over crossed legs and pushed the crumbled foam behind her.
Miriam bent down, swept it into a dustpan and straightened again.
‘Anyway, I thought Georgie should be here. I mean, technically she is the aunty. And this is one of those kids every young career woman should see.’ Mayson whacked Joss with the shoebox, then threw it at the TV. ‘What we call a good contraceptive.’ The Three Snarks. Her friends, helping her with her grandchild. Veronica felt her face go warm, and tears, which she managed to stop.
Britta started rolling down the sleeves of her checked shirt. ‘We’ve washed him. More or less.’
Georgie stood beside Veronica, both arms still wrapped tightly around her waist. There was a silence in which they all smiled fee-bly at each other. There was a lot more to say, but no-one seemed to know where to begin.
Miriam said, ‘I’ve sent Annie off to Woolies for some clothes and nappy pants. They open at seven. Annie’s happy. Any excuse not to do assignments, and she was up anyway because of the noise. We’ve all had about two hours’ sleep.’
In the middle of the floor there was a discarded cotton blanket and Miriam’s orange pashmina.
‘His stuff’s in the dryer. He was covered in a kind of mouldy dust. We let him sleep in it last night.’
Mayson threw himself sideways into Joss’s back. The hair above one temple had been shaved. There were a few white clips there. It was a very short cut. No visible bruising.
‘We’ve tried avocado, cheese, pears and Savoys. We’re not getting very far. I said give him sugar but Joss won’t let me.’
Veronica went over to Mayson, still with Georgie close beside her. She knelt down beside him and picked up a piece of packing material, but the child ran to the opposite corner of the room. So far he hadn’t made a sound.
Britta picked up the pashmina. ‘Do you think he’s cold?’ When no-one answered she added, ‘He seems all right.’ Then she looked at Veronica. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I …’
‘Veronica’s all right,’ said Miriam. ‘She has to go in a minute, to find Roland.’
‘Yes.’ She looked around the room, unable to come up with any more words.
‘He went off looking for Paul Sopel,’ said Miriam. ‘I don’t know what it’s all about but there’s some drama going on. He said Mayson couldn’t go to hospital because of some big custody issue. Do you know anything about it?’
Veronica shook her head. Her thoughts were sluggish and she was struggling to keep up. But Mayson was all right. He was safe.
‘Anyway, Mal agreed to deal with the cut. I don’t know what his legal position is, but I can’t see that it’s a problem. Then we thought we would just …’ Miriam waved a hand at Mayson and Joss and the TV, ‘… wait for things to sort themselves out.’ Britta and Joss looked at each other. Miriam swept up more foam. ‘Do you know what’s going on? Roland said something bad had happened. Related to the girl who died on the mountain.’
‘Oh, no, I … I do have to. Yes. I do have to go and find Roland.’ Everybody seemed to be in a daze. Mayson picked up his piece of foam, hit the carton with it and then began sliding it around on the walls.
Veronica knew she should go to
wards him again, touch him, try to generate some tender feeling.
She said, ‘That’s all I seem to do, these days. Look for Roland.’
To her own ears she sounded weak, teary.
‘I’ll come,’ said Georgie.
‘Oh, Porge. I think you should stay here. At least he’ll have one family member.’ She looked at Miriam, who understood.
‘Oh, yes. You’re not getting out of this,’ said Miriam. ‘You’re related to this person. You can jolly well help.’
She gave Veronica another curious look. Veronica realised that after saying she had to go, she was just standing there, in the middle of the room.
Miriam said, ‘I know you have to dash off, but first I need you to sit down. We’re all awash with tea, but you should have some. Or Britta’s going to make coffee. And we’re living on carrot cake. Seeing as it’s a crisis. But that’s a vegetable, isn’t it.’
Britta went into the kitchen. Miriam led Veronica to the couch and she sat down. Georgie sat beside her. The light from the TV was vivid, shifting, nauseating. Mayson put his polystyrene down. He leaned forward over his knees and put his forehead on the floor. Miriam picked him up and took him to Veronica. ‘He’s got funny toes.’ She put him on Veronica’s knee, then gave him a small plastic food-storage box, which he snatched and pressed to his bare stomach.
Veronica put the side of her mouth on his hair. It smelt of coconut shampoo. Under it, the skull was hard and hot. She had been so worried about him, desperate to get to him. He had been hurt in front of her. And now here he was. Her grandchild. It no longer seemed real.
‘See?’ said Miriam. ‘They’re webbed. Like a duck. Oh, he’s freezing.’ She grabbed the pashmina and threw it over him, then sat next to Veronica and took his feet in her hands, trying to warm them up. ‘Not webbed, exactly. And it’s just two toes on each foot. The skin between them is longer and thicker than normal.’
He was so quiet. She had never heard him utter a word. She wondered about his language skills. There was so much that needed to be fixed. What was he? Nearly three? She didn’t know his birthday.
Mayson threw the pashmina aside, then leaned sideways against Veronica. He pushed one of the box’s blue clips down, struggled to open it again. A blob of dribble had fallen on his chest. Veronica wanted to wrap her arms tightly around him to keep him warm, but something told her this would be resisted. She put her arms either side of him, hands on her knees.
Britta came back and put a mug and a plate with cake on a side table. She said, ‘I had an aunt with a double little finger. It was as if she had six fingers, but two of them were welded together. No-one else in the family had it. I used to wonder if there were two bones, but I was too shy to ask. And I can’t remember anything that was actually said, but I grew up knowing it was a bit shameful, that because no-one else in the family had it, it meant she might not be one of us. Now I think maybe they were suspecting she had a different father. I remember Mum saying something about my nan and her friend Dennis as if it was very significant, but I never found out who Dennis was.’
Veronica said, ‘Oh. Ha …’
‘You don’t look like somebody’s grandmother,’ said Miriam. ‘Too young?’
‘You look like somebody’s nightmare.’
‘Oh, well.’ Britta laughed. She was trying to be lighthearted. Not her forte. ‘The things we do, eh? The things life brings us.’
Veronica drew in a breath. Mayson. Mayson was safe. She could leave him here for as long as was necessary. And now, the weight of him, the smell, the reality of him, had Veronica thinking about Belle and Treen. If Dane was to be believed, and she couldn’t help thinking he was, Belle was the one who had hurt the child. Treen had failed to prevent it. Roland and Paul had dropped hints, hadn’t they? She couldn’t remember. Maybe they weren’t sure. They had known the two girls were wild and erratic, that Mayson was neglected, but they would have found it hard to believe that Belle would actively hurt him. It was much easier to suspect Dane. But the way Dane had talked about it, his rage, his lack of calculation, convinced her that what he had said was true.
Belle had hurt the little boy, thrown him around. It was impossible to imagine. This tiny, silky body. His left forearm still had faint marks. Veronica wanted to look at his back to see if there were traces of the bruises. She looked at his head, fine light-brown hair. Somewhere under it there was a healed fracture.
Veronica didn’t know Treen. She had met her once, turned away. And she had seen a photograph. And Belle? She remembered Belle’s face: soft, blank, calculating. Then she saw the same face distorted with rage and also mad happiness, eyes hot, swinging an iron chair over Mayson’s head. It was possible the two women had been hurt themselves. They were unhappy, drug dependent, damaged. But to injure a child? That was unthinkable.
And what did that tell her about their deaths? Dane had been trying to protect Mayson. That might be a reason to kill Belle. But when Belle had fallen, Dane had just left Veronica in the yard and he’d been heading for Murray Street. There was no time for him to get back in and up the stairs. And Treen? He was a violent partner. If he had wanted to kill Treen, he wouldn’t have done it by leaving her on the mountain. And he didn’t know about the Slipping Place. For Dane to choose to take Treen to that hidden rock … it was too much of a coincidence to be believable.
Judging by the way he spoke, Dane thought Roland had killed Treen. Or that Veronica had. He thought Roland or Veronica had killed her to get to the child. He had been in a rage, illogical, but that’s what he’d said. It didn’t look as if it was Dane who killed either of them.
Britta said, ‘Veronica. You need to eat.’ She held out the mug and Miriam took Mayson. They were all being careful with her, watching her, speaking gently. She must look terrible. She drank obediently. Fortunately, no-one wanted to interrogate her about what was going on. Georgie sat quietly beside her. Miriam helped Mayson play with the plastic box and Britta and Joss went back to the kitchen.
Mayson was safe. Veronica had to keep thinking, to sort out the problem of Roland and the dead girls. She finished the tea and picked up the plate.
On the day she died, Treen had said she was going for a drive with someone. She was going to be given money. It was Belle who had told Veronica that, and she was unreliable, but Roland had said it too, hadn’t he? She tried to remember. Treen had gone for a drive with someone and had texted him from the Slipping Place.
What about Belle? Someone had unlocked that door, removed the protective barrier, piled it up to hold the door open. The whole time Veronica had been in the building, she had heard footsteps.
Belle was a difficult person, unlikeable. She had been insisting on staying with Mayson. If Roland was to live with Mayson he wouldn’t want Belle around. Belle would have been a constant problem. But that was not enough reason to kill her.
On the other hand, Belle had been saying she knew who had killed Treen. That was a motive.
That was to be all the time she had to think. Mayson got off Miriam’s knee and went back to Joss. She was sitting on the floor, bright gypsy dress spread around her, unable to be anything but graceful. Mayson hit her on the thigh with the plastic box, put it down and picked up the carton. The TV was showing an animation of a barren planet. Large lumpy reptilian things were lumbering around on two legs, holding tennis racquets. There was a splash of water and one of them fell over. Mayson snapped a piece of polystyrene and took half of it to Miriam, still sitting next to Veronica on the couch. He tried to climb back onto Miriam’s knee and she helped him. Veronica smelt Miriam’s perfume: light, floral, fresh. Miriam put the pashmina around him. Mayson snuggled into her chest and started crumbling the broken ends of his polystyrene stick. He looked the way he had in his bedroom, downy hair, his face smoothed and softened in concentration. Miriam swept polystyrene crumbs onto the floor. Joss came over with the dustpan.
Mayson’s feet were sticking out of the pashmina. For the first time Veronica realised what Miriam had b
een telling her. She could see now, his third and fourth toes were joined with a piece of skin, almost to the joint.
‘Thank you, young man.’ Miriam prised the last of the styrofoam from Mayson’s grip and gave him a bangle to play with.
Veronica held the feet in her hands, rubbed them, trying to think. There was something she should know. It was there, just out of vision. She had to talk to Roland.
She stood up. ‘I need to go.’ Suddenly she was teary again. She took Miriam’s hand and put an arm around Georgie. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’
‘Stay,’ said Britta.
‘No. I have to …’ She scoffed at herself before she said it, recognising that she had been repeating this line for days. ‘I have to find Roland.’
Chapter 26
______
As always, the best way to find Roland was to look for Paul. Roland had gone to look for him. And that was her only lead. There was no other way of approaching this catastrophe. She just had to keep going around in the same circles.
Paul and John had an apartment by the water in lower Sandy Bay, but they were having a floating myrtle floor put in, so they had been living above John’s workshop, in an old seed store at the top of Collins Street. Veronica parked in a laneway at the side, in front of a skip full of broken plasterboard. The building was of heavy red brick, with black bricks in a diamond pattern. The side wall was windowless. There was a stack of old metal signs leaning against it and, low in a corner, under two air conditioners, a small wooden door. She had been through this way once before. She hammered on the door, assuming they were both still in bed, and kept hammering until she heard footsteps.
Vicky opened the door. She’d either come to stay here after delivering Mayson to Roland, or she’d come here very early in the morning, probably because there was a lot she wanted to discuss with John and Paul. Now she stood with her mouth open, as if she was going to say something, but instead she turned away. She led Veronica across an empty room, through a short Japanese curtain and down two steps to the workshop, a large room with a concrete floor that took up most of the back half of the building. John was sitting at a workbench just inside the door.
