The Newcomer

by Laura Elizabeth Woollett

‘Of the Mutiny on HMS Fortuna! Gideon King and his swashbuckling men and their beautiful Polynesian wives!’

  What the fuck! Paulina giggled. ‘Yep. That’s me.’

  ‘Oh! How exciting! Bob, did you hear—? Oh, he’s snoozing.’ The lady lowered her voice another octave. ‘May I ask — your surname?’

  ‘Novak!’

  ‘Novak?’ The lady screwed up her face. ‘That sounds … Slavic.’

  ‘Yep!’ Paulina beamed. ‘See, my mum’s an Islander. Only, she married a Slav, so Novak’s my name? But we’re totally descendants of that other guy, King. Yep.’

  ‘Oh!’ The lady clapped her hands. ‘Slavic and Fairfolk! How exotic!’

  ‘He-he-he.’ Paulina sipped her rum and Coke. ‘You’re funny.’

  Then she slipped her headphones back on, before she got in too deep.

  The flight took three hours. She only got scared twice: when the ceiling of the plane shook, and when she accidentally flushed the toilet with her back and had to get up fast so her intestines wouldn’t get sucked into the sky. She wasn’t too scared when the plane started descending: the sea was so gorgeous and glittery, then out of nowhere these green-green cliffs, and creepy old buildings, and loads of pine trees, so dark green they looked black.

  ‘Cows!’ Paulina squealed. ‘Aw, baby cows!’

  ‘Has it been a long time?’ her friend across the aisle asked. ‘Since you were here?’

  Not this shit again! ‘Yeah, yonks!’

  There were people on the tarmac, some holding signs. Paulina saw her name on a sign and felt excited — and then scared shitless. It had just occurred to her how small an island could be.

  The person with the sign wasn’t Merlinda Carlyle, like Paulina expected. It was a chick called ‘Kymbalee’. That’s how it was spelled, on her name tag. Paulina tried to be polite.

  ‘Kymbalee! Is that how youse spell “Kimberley” here?’

  ‘Oh … no. My mum just wanted to give me something different.’ Kymbalee looked embarrassed. ‘You can just call me “Kymba”.’

  ‘Kimba, the White Lion!’ Paulina sang.

  ‘Just “Kymba” is fine. Kymba with a “Y”.’

  ‘Kimba, the White Lion!’

  Kymba turned bright red. Paulina tried harder to be polite.

  ‘You don’t have to help with my bags. They’re heavy, hey.’

  ‘It’s my job.’ Kymba’s face turned redder when she felt how heavy Paulina’s backpack was. ‘It must be hard, deciding what to bring.’

  ‘Not really. I made sure to pack lots of booze, but. I heard it’s way expensive here. And Merlinda’s pretty stingy, no offence. Where is she, anyways?’

  ‘Oh, Auntie Merlinda thought it’d be nice for you to meet a young person.’

  Paulina didn’t realise those two were related. She also didn’t realise Kymba, with her chubby body and granny glasses, was young. Paulina reminded herself to be polite.

  ‘Here’s my car. Merlinda thought it might also be nice if I, um, gave you a tour before taking you to Merle’s. Um, I don’t have to though. I mean, if you’re … tired?’

  ‘Tour!’ Paulina skipped to the car. ‘Thanks, Kymba-lee!’

  ‘Just Kymba is fine. Really, I prefer Kymba.’

  ‘Ooo, Kymba, forgot to tell ya.’ Paulina slipped into the suicide-seat. ‘Scariest thing happened on the plane! When I sat down to piss, yeah? I accidentally pressed the flush with my back, and it flushed while I was sitting! It was soooo scary.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Kymba, behind the wheel, finally cracked a smile. ‘That is scary.’

  ‘I know, right? Almost lost my intestines! Then there was this lady across the aisle; she was off her rocker, hey. Asked if I was part Polynesian and if I was related to some guy Gilligan King? I told her yeah and she loved it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Kymba lost her smile. ‘I mean, you probably shouldn’t … do that. King’s a big name here. It might upset some people, if a mainlander pretends — also, it’s “Gideon”, not “Gilligan”. You mean you’ve never heard of the mutiny on the Fortuna?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one she said.’

  Even so, Kymba told her this long story. Paulina sort of listened, sort of just stared out the window at the thickets of palms, splashy-bright flowers, cows, whose cows? When Kymba finished, Paulina whistled. ‘Geez, those sailors must’ve been horny, chucking their captain overboard and kidnapping those Polynesian chicks like that. Why didn’t they just bugger each other?’

  ‘Well, anyway.’ Kymba smiled tightly. ‘That’s some Fairfolk history.’

  Later, Kymba added. ‘Just so you know, I’m a descendant.My surname’s “King”. Actually, “Burney-King” now. I married an Englishman—’

  ‘You’re part Polynesian? No way!’

  ‘I know, I don’t look it.’ Kymba sighed. ‘A lot of us don’t. A lot of us are named “King” here. Lots of things are named after Gideon King. It’s a big name. I don’t personally mind … but some people take it very seriously. Our tourist trade sort of depends on it.’

  After that, Kymba drove her into town. It was so bloody small and ordinary-looking, like the main strip of a seaside village where people came to die.

  Next was ‘King’s Lookout’. Paulina liked how the ocean looked, spread out into eternity like a sparkly blue blanket. But it scared her, too. She could see the island’s edges.

  Next was ‘King’s Pier’.

  ‘Geez, I see what you mean about all the Gideon Kings,’ Paulina said uneasily.

  ‘It’s a big name.’ As they hopped out of the car, Kymba added brightly: ‘Anyway, you chose a good day to come. The supply ship’s arriving.’

  ‘Supply ship?’

  ‘It’s very exciting. It only happens every month or so.’

  There were some people standing around on the pier already, mostly old. Kymba pointed out a big ship on the horizon, then some smaller boats rippling towards it.

  ‘Our men go out on the lighters to get the supplies. Because of the reef and the cliffs, big ships can’t come any closer.’ Kymba spoke with great passion. ‘All large freight comes in this way. Building supplies. Livestock. Cars!’

  The boats moved slower than snails. A tour bus full of old people pulled up to watch, oohing and ahhing and taking photos. Paulina was chilled to the bone.

  ‘No offence,’ she said, very politely. ‘But is this what youse do for fun here?’

  Some exciting things happened later, though. The first was when they passed a restaurant with a sign in the shape of a great white shark, jaws wide open.

  ‘That’s Great-O’s. The Great-O White Shark Grill,’ Kymba said. ‘They had a big fire last month. They’ve had to shut down for repairs.’

  ‘Ohh, Great-O’s!’ Paulina’s heart swelled. ‘That’s my great white whale!’

  ‘Great white shark,’ Kymba corrected her. ‘It’s a shark.’

  ‘It’s my great white whale.’ Paulina clutched her heart. ‘Like, the thing I want but can’t have? Oh, I love it!’

  ‘They had a big fire,’ Kymba repeated. ‘They’ll be closed for a long time.’

  The other exciting thing was when Kymba took her to the bowls club for something to eat. ‘Nah, I’m full of plane food.’ Paulina poked her tummy. ‘Let’s get beers.’

  They had to walk past a table full of blokes in hi-vis to get to the bar. The blokes were, miracle of miracles, not old. They all checked Paulina out.

  She leaned over the bar extra-sexy, back arched and singlet crawling up to reveal a stretch of skin. When her beer came, she tasted the foam and glanced over her shoulder.

  ‘Whew! New mainie in town,’ one bloke said, and all his mates laughed.

  Kymba steered her toward the door. ‘It’s nicer outside.’

  The only blokes outside were old coots playing bowls. But the sun was nice, roasting
Paulina’s ponytail against her nape. She pulled up her trakkies, stretched her legs on a chair, glanced at the tinted-glass windows. ‘What’s a “mainie”?’

  ‘Oh. It’s not exactly a nice word,’ Kymba said delicately. ‘It comes from “mainlander”, as in mainland Australian. But it can mean … lots of things.’

  ‘Like … sexy things?’

  Kymba sighed. ‘Look. Can I give you some advice?’ She had that mum-look, which told Paulina she was getting advice, either way. ‘Don’t get involved with any Island men. At least until you know who everyone is. Other mainlanders, that’s fine. But try not to get involved with Islanders.’

  ‘All them in there are Islanders?’

  ‘Yeah, and they’re all married. They’ll act like they’re not, if they see you as a “mainie”. Then when it all hits the fan, they’ll pretend it was all you, and you’ll get the blame, and a reputation. A lot of girls have gone home in tears.’

  Paulina didn’t want to go home in tears, not yet.

  ‘Thanks, Kymba,’ she said sweetly. ‘You’re a really good friend, hey.’

  Still, Paulina folded and unfolded her legs, smiled towards the glass every now and then. No harm in being looked at.

  GOOD NEWS

  ‘The good news is, she wasn’t raped.’

  That was the detective from Canberra; Judy had already forgotten his name. Something Polish. He’d made a big fuss about being Polish, assuming they had this in common — until she told him, actually, her late-husband was Yugoslavian. Judy didn’t know how to keep new names in her head; anything new, really. All new things smelled like death. She yearned to be back in bed, with the T-shirt that smelled like Paulina.

  ‘Oh. Wonderful.’

  That was Caro. She thought she could fix anything with sarcasm. She couldn’t fix this.

  ‘I suppose …’ It was like Judy’s lungs were full of lead, how hard making words was. ‘… It’s good she wasn’t. But. Why, then?’

  ‘We haven’t ruled out a sexual motive,’ the detective spoke slowly, as if to match Judy’s leaden speech. ‘The way her clothing was tampered with, along with the … frenzied nature of the attack. And Cook’s Falls — “Cookies”. It may not be significant, but locally it’s known as a place for … couples.’

  Judy couldn’t help it; she was crying again.

  It kept happening, the crying. Involuntary as bleeding.

  The detective nudged his tissue box her way, though she already knew it was there.

  ‘Ms Novak. We can stop anytime.’

  Earlier, Caro had jumped down the detective’s throat for calling Judy Mrs Novak. Caro was almost as bad as the detective. Judy thought some more about the nest of things she wanted to get back to: the pillow, the T-shirt, the photo of Paulina on the hillside in Croatia, looking more beautiful than anything in the universe.

  ‘No,’ Judy mumbled. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I want you to know, we’re looking into all avenues, all motives.’ He was still speaking slowly. A slow, drippy voice — like Chinese water torture. ‘The nature of this case … it’s unique. We’re talking about an isolated population of less than two thousand. It had to be someone who was on the island that day, and still is—’

  ‘You said locally, Mr Wozniak,’ Caro interrupted. ‘Locally, Cookies is known as a sex place. So, surely it had to be a local?’

  ‘As I said, we’re looking into all avenues.’ Detective Wozniak splayed his fingers. Pale and stubby, with a too-tight gold wedding band. ‘Which brings me to the next point: fingerprints aren’t as reliable as other forms of DNA, but we’ve lifted a pretty solid profile from the sheet of plastic she was found under. Best-case scenario: we identify the fingerprints, we identify the perpetrator. As such, we’re strongly encouraging everyone on the island to come forward for fingerprinting.’

  ‘“Strongly encouraging”?’ Caro bristled. ‘Can’t you force them? As if the killer’s going to give up his DNA because you encourage him.’

  ‘We can’t force anything without a warrant. But we’re working with the Island Administration to put it out there as a matter of civic duty.’ Wozniak nudged the box of tissues even closer to Judy; it’d fall into her lap, at this rate. ‘Ms Novak. If you’d like to take a break—’

  ‘No!’ Judy flapped her hands. ‘Just get on with it, please.’

  ‘As I was saying … we’re asking everyone who was on the island that day. It’s just a formality, Ms Novak. But, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t—’

  Caro jumped in. ‘Mr Wozniak! Can’t you see how much pain she’s—’

  ‘Shhh, Caro. I don’t care.’ Judy closed her eyes, held out her hands, as if for shackles. ‘Take my fingerprints. Take my blood. It’s all gone anyway. What do I care?’

  It reminded Judy of kindergarten, the ink on her fingers. Paulina in kindy, with her fingerpaintings, her pretty homemade dresses. There was so much to cry about.

  ‘She was always bossy. Even when she was a tiny thing,’ Judy volunteered, when it was time to sit down with Wozniak again. ‘Her first report, in kindy. It was so silly.’

  She faltered, hands twisting.

  ‘Something about how her husband would be henpecked,’ Caro supplied. ‘I remember. I was a teacher, too. I thought it was so silly and old-fashioned.’

  ‘It was the silliest thing.’ Judy shook the tears from her face. ‘I wasn’t a bra-burning feminist, but I thought it was so silly, worrying about husbands when she was just this tiny thing. So what if she liked her own way? She was an only child. She was used to getting it.’

  ‘Judy had some trouble conceiving,’ Caro explained. ‘She never spoiled her, though.’

  ‘So what if she was spoiled? She was the beautifullest, smartest, funniest girl; she deserved it.’ Judy was crying hard again. ‘She had her own mind. I wasn’t going to change it.’

  ‘The “henpecking” comment,’ Wozniak ventured. ‘Was there any truth in it?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Men strung her along. Men used her.’ Anger was almost a nice change. ‘She had low self-esteem. She didn’t henpeck.’

  Caro nodded. ‘My sister’s right. Boys were always stringing Paulina along. That Greek boy? She worshipped him, and he just threw her away like rubbish.’

  ‘Vinnie.’ Judy shook her head. ‘She was practically suicidal with guilt, and he wouldn’t forgive her. She never got over that.’

  Wozniak took notes. ‘This “Vinnie”? He was before Fairfolk?’

  ‘He’s in the Air Force now. He went away for basic training and she … well, they’d never been apart like that, and she was stressed at work and got drunk one night, and some prick took advantage. That’s all. She was twenty-six. They’d been together five years, they’d been backpacking, and suddenly this separation? Of course she was confused!’

  ‘You couldn’t pay me to be twenty-six again.’ Wozniak’s wrinkles deepened. ‘The drinking. Was it a problem, before—?’

  ‘She was stressed,’ Judy repeated. ‘She didn’t know how to be without him. Then he dumped her. It was hard for her. Things sort of spiralled.’

  ‘It’s helpful, Ms Novak, if I can understand who your daughter was, the kinds of relationships she had, even before Fairfolk. The bloke she cheated with—?’

  ‘She didn’t cheat. He took advantage.’

  ‘My mistake. But any relationships, serious or casual—’

  ‘Paulina didn’t have many relationships.’ Judy resented his implication. ‘Everyone thinks … just because she flirted. She was very inexperienced, before Vinnie. A late bloomer. Naïve.’

  Caro smiled wryly. ‘More than we were, at that age.’

  ‘Thank you for your candour.’ Wozniak kept writing. ‘You mentioned “suicidal” feelings. Would you describe Paulina as suicidal?’

  And just like that, Ju
dy’s righteous indignation jumped off a cliff, into the saddest, coldest depths of the ocean.

  ‘I apologise, Ms Novak. I don’t mean to imply your daughter didn’t want to live. There are defensive wounds that prove she did, she absolutely did. I know it’s cold comfort — but the extensive nature of the defensive wounds proves beyond all doubt. She fought for her life.’

  Judy cried herself blue in the face. Blew her nose, loud as an explosion.

  ‘I know she fought.’ She glared. ‘She thought about suicide, yes. But she always fought. I know better than anyone, how hard she fought.’

  ‘You did well,’ Caro reassured her, driving back to Vera and Rocky’s. ‘You did very, very well. He knows who’s boss now.’

  Judy clutched her head. ‘You’re giving me a headache.’

  ‘I’m just saying, good on you. They’re always trying to turn it on the victims — or the mothers, god forbid. It’s always somebody else’s fault besides the bastard who did it. You told him, Judy.’

  ‘All I did was tell the truth.’

  ‘Well, that’s what they need to hear. Look: I know this Wozniak seems pretty stodgy, but maybe that’s the best thing, for a place like this? And he’s very experienced. Better an older guy than some cocky young thing straight out of the academy.’

  Caro slowed for a lilac cow, dawdling across the road.

  ‘I hate cows,’ Judy seethed. ‘Gawd, I hate them.’

  ‘Want me to run it over?’ Caro scrabbled inside her handbag for a cigarette; she was smoking again. ‘I hate this whole island. It’s barbaric. I half expect them to start burning wicker men.’

  ‘Don’t be racist,’ Judy said listlessly.

  ‘How’s it racist?’ Caro honked at the cow. ‘They’re no darker than me after a day by the pool!’

  As they reached the scenic bend where that horrible graffiti was, Judy held her breath. A couple were standing at the lookout, innocently looking out — but nothing was innocent anymore. They were standing on Paulina’s name.

  Caro read Judy’s mind. ‘Want me to run them over?’

  Judy closed her eyes. ‘I just want to go to bed.’

  Bed was where Judy felt closest to Paulina. Bed, where there was no life or death. She swallowed some pills, changed back into the T-shirt.