Every couple of years or so there would be a feral cat that made its way out of the bush looking for somewhere to birth her litter. Ellie sometimes heard mewling from under the floorboards or out in the yard.
‘Blasted feral animals, bloody cats,’ Daddy would mutter as he’d don his thick work gloves to avoid scratches and bites, ‘pissing everywhere, bloody stench.’ How he’d gotten rid of the cats, Ellie didn’t know. Grandmother Clements had let her out again one day as she had hung out the washing and Ellie had crept over to her father’s shed. She could hear a soft mewling sound and noticed one of the boards at the base of the shed was loose. She pulled it further out, a tiny act of rebellion that thrilled her, though not as much as when she spied the tiny kittens huddled beneath the shed, their eyes closed against the light. She knew she had to rescue them before Daddy came home from work and found them.
Ellie took off her sweater and reached under the shed. The smell under here was worse than it had been the last time Grandmother let her out. There was something wedged into that gap between the base of the shed and the blocks that balanced it on the uneven ground, something the kittens were curled against. Ellie screwed up her nose as she tried to wriggle closer.
‘Girl? Where are you?’ The sound of her grandmother’s voice caused her heart to leap to her throat. There was no time to waste. Scooping up the kittens one at a time, each one fitting easily in her hand, Ellie deposited them gently onto her sweater, wrapping them up.
‘Here,’ she called softly, crawling out from behind the shed, her arms clutching her sweater against her stomach.
‘Time to get inside.’
‘Yes, Grandmother.’ Without argument, she sneaked her precious bundle into the house, cradling their pathetically undernourished bodies in her hands and whispering soft words of comfort, before hiding them in the base of her closet. If they would just stay quiet, Grandmother and Daddy might never know. They would be hers to love and they would love her back. She smiled her taut, crooked smile. They wouldn’t think she was ugly or stupid. They would keep her company. Her heart leapt. Hers. Her very own friends.
‘Hush now, my babies.’ She closed the closet door. ‘Mummy’s got chores to do.’
‘What’s wrong with you, girl? Fidgeting like that. What are you up to?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then mop properly. You’re making it worse.’
‘Sorry.’
Her grandmother took the mop out of her hands. ‘You’re not helping me at all today. Go to your room. Stay there.’
‘Yes.’ Dismissed, she half skipped, half flew down the hallway. She lay on her stomach before her closet and gave the kittens light, gentle strokes with her fingers.
‘Where did your mummy go? Did she leave you too?’ Ellie picked up one of the kittens and rubbed noses with it. ‘I won’t leave you.’ She screwed up her nose. The putrid smell from under the shed had accompanied the kittens indoors. Grabbing a handkerchief, Ellie ran it along the tiny body, picking out a shred of worn plastic stuck to the kitten’s fur.
‘Naughty puss-cats,’ Ellie whispered, ‘getting in the mess.’
They wouldn’t stay still, squirming, wriggling, creeping along the carpet. She rolled along with them, taking care to make sure that each one had a cuddle. The afternoon had vanished without her noticing and when she heard Daddy’s car coming up the drive, Ellie panicked. The kittens were letting out little mewling cries.
‘Shush now, kitties. It’s time to hide.’ But they didn’t want to. They were crying, trying to suck her fingers when she picked them up. They were hungry. She put one down and another tried to crawl out.
‘Not now, kitties.’ She didn’t know how to make them stay, how to make them quiet. Daddy couldn’t know. Daddy was… here. Behind her. Ellie wheeled around, standing in front of the closet, a kitten cupped against her chest.
‘What have you done? What the fuck have you done?’
‘Daddy, I… they were crying… I found them, I…’
‘They?’ His eyes flashed.
‘No, no.’
‘Move.’ He grabbed her by an arm and yanked her out of the way. Her shoulder burned and the kitten she’d been holding, trying to corral back into the closet, slid from her grasp to the floor. Her father tightened his hold on her arm, making her gasp.
‘You went outside.’ His voice had been dangerously low, ‘How did you get out?’
Ellie had cringed, unable to speak. He had thrown her against the wall and her elbow had smacked against the thin fibro board. He’d stood over her, eyes blazing.
‘What have you fucking done?’ The kitten that had fallen from her grasp made a soft sound of want. Her father had turned and kicked out at it.
‘Who let you out? Your grandmother?’ He hit the wall, cracking it. ‘Stupid bitch.’
‘No. No, it was me. I snuck out.’ If Daddy blamed Grandmother, Ellie might never be able to get out again.
‘You disobeyed me for these little runts?’ He raised a fist to her, but lowered his arm and reached for the kittens instead. They seemed even smaller, clenched in his massive fists by the scruff of their necks. Ellie heard the back door open and the sound of her father’s footsteps retreating. She heard the sound of the hose coming on and water moving through the pipes.
No. She had made it on shaking legs to the back door. In his anger, he hadn’t locked it. Daddy was standing with his back to her, hose in hand filling the old galvanised drum near the fence, the kittens rolling around at his feet. She pushed open the screen door, ran to his side, and pulled at his arm.
‘What are you doing out here? Get back inside,’ he’d hissed, his eyes darting around the yard in horror. He let the nozzle of the hose fall into the drum. Ellie could hear it thrumming against the side.
‘Daddy, no.’
‘What did you say to me?’ He shoved her aside, picked up one of the kittens, and dropped it into the rapidly filling drum. ‘You stupid bitch, you get inside now.’
The terror she had felt looking into his eyes intensified as she dropped to her knees and seized one of the kittens, keeping it out of his reach. Tears streamed down her face as he had flung the remaining furry bodies into the water, their cries a torment she relived for weeks afterwards.
‘You get back inside the house now, girl, or you’ll pay, God help me.’ He had advanced upon her.
‘No, Daddy, please, no… I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ She held the tiny, writhing body fast against her chest. Its eyelids had opened and glittering, beady blue eyes looked up at her. Ellie couldn’t let it go. She could feel the frantic beating of its heart and clasped it tighter.
‘Please, Daddy, let me have this one, just one, please. Grandmother said a cat would catch the mice, and that’s why I wanted them and I’ll feed it and it won’t bother you, oh, please, Daddy.’ They were the most words she’d spoken in days.
‘Lower your voice,’ he’d hissed again, shooting a glance towards the neighbours’ yard, ‘and get your arse inside.’ He had reached for the cat, swearing as claws raked his forearm before he tossed it in to drown with its siblings.
‘No,’ Ellie screamed and her father grabbed her, clamping a hand around her mouth. She’d shaken her head, sobbing, mouthing the word no over and over against his palm, oblivious to the scene and noise she was making, thinking only of the floundering kittens. She flailed an arm towards the drum. Her father’s gaze followed hers to the kittens swimming in panicked circles and then dropped to the lid of the drum at his feet. His mouth twisted. Abruptly he picked one of the frantic wet bodies out of the water and thrust it at her.
‘Keep one then. Now shut the fuck up and get inside.’ He picked up the lid to the drum and smacked it down. Ellie had run back to the house, the front of her dress moist with tears and droplets from the kitten’s fur. Sharp claws had pricked the skin on her chest, but she hadn’t cared.
&n
bsp; ‘I saved you,’ she whispered to the cat with the beady eyes. ‘You’re safe now; you’re mine.’
Her father entered her room and watched her towel the kitten dry. ‘If it doesn’t get rid of the mice, then it’s gone.’
Ellie had nodded meekly. He had bent down until his lips were next to her ear.
‘If you go outside again, I’ll kill it, you hear?’
Ellie had nodded once more.
‘What do you say?’
‘Yes, Daddy.’ She’d heard him unbuckle his belt.
‘Stand up, girl.’
She had stood. The beating would be worth it; she had saved the kitten. She had stood until she could stand no more. The welts took weeks to heal and the skin on her back had never felt smooth again, but with her kitten for company during the day and to cuddle up with at night, she had known it was worth it.
‘You’re mine, little kitty cat, you’re mine.’
Little Beadie with his sharp bright eyes had been spared the desperate last moments of his siblings. He had seemed the runt of the litter and Ellie had set out to tame her tiny new friend the best she could. Daddy would hiss and kick at the cat if it came near him and the cat soon learned to avoid him. Ellie had given it milk to drink when her father was out, water when he was home, and kept scraps of food from her own meals to feed it. Over the years, more strays had arrived and been disposed of, but Ellie had always been allowed one cat to keep her quiet. First, there was Beadie, then Peaches (she’d disappeared one night after scratching Daddy’s ankle), Ladybird, Cotton (Daddy said he’d run over him with the car), and lastly, Perce. Ellie’s babies.
‘Play with your sister.’ Arthur scowled at his mother’s voice singing out from within the house.
‘Do I have to?’ He was sick of Miriam. She would refuse to go along with his games, she would get scared, say it hurt, threaten to tell, then run away and hide. He wanted to go to Jack’s place; Jack always had cash on hand for smokes and he wasn’t stingy about sharing and besides, Jack’s dad liked Arthur. Jack’s mum was another matter. She seemed to see right through him. Her eyes were always so goddamn suspicious and pained as if she had read his soul and found it wanting. As if her precious God had told her to be wary of this black-haired boy who followed her son around.
‘Where are you going?’ Miriam trailed across the yard behind him, barefoot, her pale spindly legs poking out from underneath her dress.
‘Jack’s.’ He quickened his pace.
‘I’m coming too. I want to see the birds.’ She tried to match his long strides and failed.
‘No, you’re not.’
‘Mum said…’ Her voice was needling and it grated.
‘I don’t care what Mum said. We’re not playing with a girl.’
‘I’ll tell.’
‘So?’ He stopped and looked at her in disgust. Jack wouldn’t want him hanging around if he brought his little sister along. Unless she stayed inside with Mrs Fordham and listened to her preachy ways, though Jack’s mother would probably have a fit if Miriam walked into her kitchen with bare, dirty feet. He flicked a hand towards her. ‘You can’t come like that.’
‘I’ll get shoes,’ Miriam darted back towards the house. ‘Wait for me.’ Arthur waited until the back door had slammed and then started running. He would be long gone before she made it out of the house and she would be too shy to go to the Fordhams’ by herself. Jack was his friend, not hers, and he wanted to keep it that way.
He could still remember running through the scrub to Jack’s house. In those days, there were fewer houses, more places a boy could roam and explore. Arthur had watched the coastal towns grow over the years, their dirt roads become bitumen, become more crowded with buildings, and as much as he’d grumbled about encroaching neighbours, he’d never been able to leave the district. Arthur had chosen Coalcliff for its location. Not far from where he’d grown up, just a blink and you’d miss its exit off the highway. The entire town consisted of a couple of streets that twisted around the cliff between the highway, the bush, and the ocean. When he’d bought his house, there hadn’t been many others on the street, or indeed, in the town. He’d liked that, the isolation. The privacy. A man could keep to himself there.
When he’d married Dolores—a man needed a wife—and brought her home, she’d talked of changes and improvements they could make; new wallpaper, lacy curtains, creating a small cottage garden. He’d laughed at her folly.
‘In this soil? You’re an idiot.’ Arthur Clements was not a man who liked changes.
‘I just want to make our home cosy for the two of us,’ Dolores had said.
‘It’s my home and your job is to keep it tidy, not go changing everything.’ It had taken more time than he’d liked, but Dolores had learnt her place in his house. When she’d told him there were going to be three of them, he’d been proud. At first. Then she carried on and on about doing up the spare room as a nursery and he knew he deserved something for himself, something he’d always wanted. Hunting dogs.
Arthur had built the dogs’ enclosure himself and painted it to match the house and the shed, and just like on those, the paintwork had peeled and faded in the rough, coastal conditions. The dogs slept on a couple of Hessian bags on the ground, under a rough shelf, which served as their makeshift kennel. The enclosure was only a few square metres in total. He had never gotten around to constructing proper kennels or a longer, wired-off run. The dogs didn’t need spoiling.
He had always padlocked the wire gate, the key to which hung from a silver chain clipped onto his pants or left in the wooden bowl in the kitchen. The dogs were his and his alone. No one could go near them without his permission. Except for that day Ellie had taken the key. But he couldn’t be blamed for that. He’d even thought for a while that he must have left the cage unlocked, left the key in the padlock. But it wasn’t his fault. The blasted girl shouldn’t have been near the dogs in the first place; that bloody useless wife should never have let Ellie go out, especially with food. It was not his fault. Not his fault at all.
He had kept the enclosure. After the accident he intended to tear it down and reclaim the space, but he had never been able to bring himself to do it. Even the tattered remains of the Hessian bags were still there, rotting on the ground. He’d left it all as it was. He’d thought about getting another dog or two. They’d keep people out and Ellie in. But he never had. He didn’t want anything sniffing around, digging things up. Besides, his dogs were buried in that hard soil against the far side. There they would stay, the enclosure a tomb for his adored beasts.
Early one evening there had been a knock at the door. Daddy had been working a late shift and Grandmother was cooking dinner while watching Ellie set the table.
‘Who could that be?’ Her grandmother muttered, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She glared at Ellie. ‘Not a peep out of you, now. You’re meant to be recuperating.’
Ellie nodded as she set one of the knives she’d been holding onto the tabletop. She wasn’t sure what recuperating was, unless it was staying inside all the time and being bored and quiet. She listened to Grandmother Clements’ footsteps head down the hallway and to the sound of the front door being unlocked.
‘Yes. Can I help you?’
‘Hi, I’m Carol Tillett, from next door. My daughter, Maisie, is a friend of Ellie’s.’
Ellie dropped one the knives onto the table at the sound of Mrs Tillett’s voice. Maisie’s mum was always so lovely and kind.
‘Yes.’ Ellie barely heard her grandmother’s terse reply. If Mrs Tillett was here, maybe Maisie was at the door too? Ellie took a step towards the doorway.
‘I was hoping to see Dolores. I’ve been wondering how Ellie’s doing? I’ve tried to catch Arthur a couple of times, but he’s always so busy.’
‘Dolores and Eleanor aren’t here. They’ve gone to her family
in Victoria.’
Ellie leaned against the kitchen wall, stunned. She didn’t know what was more shocking, that Grandmother knew where Mummy was or that Grandmother had told a lie. Mummy had gone away, but she, Ellie, was here, right here. Ellie shifted her feet and peered around the door frame. She could just make out her Grandmother’s back and the door, but couldn’t see Mrs Tillett.
‘Oh, it’s just that my daughter found a drawing… She thought, well, I suppose I thought too, that they’d come back, Mrs, um…’ Her voice seemed to falter and fade.
‘Clements. I’m Arthur’s mother. I’ve just popped in to help my son out.’
‘She did me a drawing.’ Ellie gasped at the sound of Maisie’s voice. Maisie was out there, just out the door.
‘It must have been an old drawing you found, Maise.’ Mrs Tillett’s voice regained some of its usual firmness.
‘It’s not, Mummy, it’s new. I found it at our letterbox.’
Ellie stepped into the hallway. She wasn’t recupertating or whatever Grandmother had said; she was here and she wanted to see her friend. Grandmother Clements turned around and gestured at Ellie to go back to the kitchen, as she angled her body further into the gap between the door and the frame.
‘Could you give me Dolores’s new address or phone number? I’d love to hear how things are going with Ellie’s recovery. I mean, it was such a shock, wasn’t it? The girls were so close…’
‘No. I’m afraid I can’t.’
Ellie started to tiptoe down towards the front door. She just wanted to see Maisie, show her she was here. Her grandmother turned and glared at her, before facing Mrs Tillett once more. ‘I’m sure if Dolores wanted to be in touch with you, she would be. Now, I must go. Good night.’ The front door was shut firmly, but Ellie didn’t care. She ran towards the door, towards her grandmother, desperate to see Maisie.
Path to the Night Sea Page 15
