by PJ Vye
“None of the bakeries can get access to flour. Increased demand and all that.”
“We’re not actually running out of food, though,” Sunny reassured, aware Atali could hear. “It’s people starting to hoard, just in case.”
“Same as the COVID-19 outbreak.”
“Exactly. And that turned out okay.”
Mataio’s face showed signs of strain. “But COVID-19 was different. Back-to-back droughts. The agricultural sector is strained.”
“The government will stop the panic buying.”
“It’s just a matter of time. The supermarkets already are restricting some of their products.”
Atali scrapped the bottom of the yogurt tub and both adults watched her lick the spoon clean.
“I heard use of C2HO is the highest it’s ever been, despite the warnings about food supply,” said Sunny.
“I heard that too,” answered Mataio, morosely.
“Would you have done it differently, if you’d known?”
His face glazed over and she realised she’d asked the wrong question.
Atali interrupted. “I’m finished. Can we go to the playground now?”
They put on their coats and walked to the park, Atali between them, chatting endlessly about how many words she could read from the Cat In The Hat, and would Taio like to hear her read.
“Who would you like to push you on the swing?” asked Sunny.
“Just you, Mummy,” she said, and Sunny obliged. Mataio sat on the park bench, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with the other parents. He put on his sunglasses, even though the sun sat behind a heavy grey cloud the entire morning.
Atali made a friend of a little boy with dark hair, tight curls like her own, and they climbed around each other on the ropes. Sunny sat beside Mataio and asked, “Thanks. For coming back, I mean.”
“I’m sorry I bolted.”
His voice gave nothing away, so she couldn’t tell if he meant it. “So, what do you do now?” She stopped short of saying, now you’re out of prison. “Are you working?”
“I can’t get a job.”
“Because of the criminal record thing?”
“Because of the celebrity thing.”
“Oh.” Who would hire the most famous ex-doctor in the country? “So, how do you live?”
He shrugged.
“Do you have any long-term plans?” She held her breath and stared out at the playground. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear, but she wanted to hear whatever it might be. His hand brushed hers as he folded his arms across his chest. The touch made her tremble. It didn’t appear to affect him at all.
“I want to practice medicine again.”
“Will they let you?”
“Not in Australia. Banned for life.”
“That seems unfair, considering the millions of people you’ve saved.”
“I knew the risk. Rules are rules.”
Rules. His salvation. Maybe she should make some rules for him to follow.
“So, where can you practice?”
He looked off into the distance. “Samoa.”
“They’ll give you a licence?”
“Sort of. I have to do another residence. But eventually, yes.”
“When do you start?”
“I can’t get a passport until my parole is up.”
“When’s that?”
“Soon.”
Evasive as ever. “Right.”
The little boy in the playground picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them at Atali. She cried out and covered her eyes with her hands. As he bent to pick up more stones, Mataio leaped over and knocked the stones from the boy’s hands. “No,” he growled, then turned to Atali, all before Sunny had even risen from the park bench.
Both four-year-olds were crying, as Mataio scooped up Atali and brought her over. Sunny splashed some water onto a tissue and tried to clear away the sand from her eyes, while Atali screamed and brushed her mother’s hands away.
The mother of the little boy gave them both a dirty look but Mataio didn’t notice. He took over the eye cleaning and spoke smoothly and gently to Atali until she stopped fussing long enough for him to finish the job. It reminded Sunny of the way he’d spoken to the man who’d had his fingers cut off, how he’d taken an easy control, gently soothing until paramedics arrived. He had the bedside manner of a saint. Yet he had the temper of a killer.
“I thought you were going to punch that kid in the face,” said Sunny, lightly.
Mataio didn’t laugh. “So did I.”
“You sure scared him.”
“Yes.”
Mataio put Atali on the ground and she ran to play on the slide. “I can’t be a father.”
“Why?” Sunny asked, but she knew.
“I might hurt her.”
“You think you can’t control it?”
“I can’t.”
“You controlled it for twenty years. Why not now?”
“I was following ‘The Rules’ then. I can’t do it now.”
“Not even for her?” Or me?
“I’m not prepared to take the risk.”
“What about supervised visits?”
He shook his head. “She needs a father. It can’t be me. Find someone else. I won’t get in the way.”
“Just like that. How easy for you.” Sunny couldn’t keep the resentment from her voice.
Mataio stared at the ground. “I’d like to set up some money for her. For school. Whatever she needs.”
Sunny kicked the ground with her shoes. “Well, that’s not hard. Be the guy who pays for everything, just not the guy that does any of the work. It hasn’t been easy, raising her myself, you know?” She wanted to throw stones right now, like that little boy had.
“I can’t do this, Sunny. I can’t be here with you.”
“Now, or ever?”
“Ever.”
“Mataio, do you care about what I want, even a little?” Tears pricked and she blinked them away. Atali mustn’t see her crying again.
“I don’t want to know what you want.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Because I can’t give it to you.”
“I want to be a family.” She reached for his hand but he moved away.
“We will never be together, Sunny.”
“Mataio, pl—”
“This family thing. It’s not me. I’m not that man.” He stared straight ahead at the girl on the slide. “I will never want this.”
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.
He turned to her with a gaze of steel. Impassive and emotionless. “Believe it. I don’t want you. Or her. Find your life somewhere else.”
Angry tears flooded her face. She couldn’t stop them now. “I hate you, Mataio. For what you’ve done to me. For making me love you like this. I hate it and I hate you. It’s not fair.”
“Take this.” He pushed a key into her hand. “The studio is yours. I’ll send you money to care for her. I have to go.”
She watched him walk away.
Again.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Do you want more coffee?” Laurence called from the kitchen.
“No thanks,” Sunny answered. Since the milk shortage, she’d tried to drink her coffee black but still hadn’t really gotten used to it. The one coffee a day she rationed with powdered milk made her want to give up coffee altogether.
She refocused on the email on the screen. It might have been a scam, but it was pretty detailed. “Laurey, can you have a look at this? Tell me what you think.”
Atali was at kindergarten where she spent three mornings a week, and Sunny and Laurence used the time to work from home. They’d fallen into an easy routine since he’d arrived. Mataio never came back after leaving her in the playground, and after a month of crying herself to sleep, Sunny called Laurence. For Atali’s sake, she had to stop the constant over-thinking and analysing, and take control of herself. Which meant getting over Mataio. This was her life now and Laurence had never let her down.
She wanted what he offered. Stability, family, love.
Laurence arrived in Australia within a week of her call and moved in immediately.
They’d spent every day and night together since. Sunny knew it wasn’t a traditional kind of love. She didn’t ache for him. Didn’t daydream about him when he wasn’t there. Laurence was sensible. And she needed sensible. Love hurt. It sent you into a spiral of self-hate and misery. She needed Laurence and he needed her. His love was enough for both of them.
They were happy. He was a selfless lover and a great father.
What was wrong with making a sensible choice?
Love would come.
It made good sense.
Laurence leaned over her to read the email and she smelt his collar. “Are you going out?” she asked.
“I’m recording an interview. I mentioned it last night.”
“Oh yeah, right.” He may have, but she often tuned out when he talked about C2HO being the catalyst for ending civilisation. She liked that he was a passionate citizen, but hearing about it all the time was exhausting. Still, she was proud of the work he was doing. And if he went out today, she’d have the house to herself. After months of sharing the studio apartment with him, she felt the stirring of restlessness. While the studio was in a great location in Richmond, the bathroom was the only room for privacy. And even a closed door wouldn’t keep them out at times. She needed a bigger place. Or a change. She wasn’t sure which.
“It looks legit,” said Laurence, staring at her laptop screen.
“You think?”
“Have you tried Googling the company?”
She flicked to their website. “They’ve produced a couple of other apps. Simplyguitar is one of them. It’s a really good app.”
“What do they want from you?”
“They want to build an app aimed at middle year kids to help them learn English as a second language, with my songs as the focus.”
“Well, it can’t hurt to meet with them. They’ll probably offer a good-sized retainer.”
“Yeah, but I’m making a living from YouTube views at the moment. And this way the songs are free for everyone. I just don’t know.”
“Should music be free?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, but he’d already kissed her and was working on a text as he walked out the door.
“See you tonight,” he called out.
A whole day to herself. She wanted to throw her hands in the air. “Have a good day,” she called after him.
She turned on the coffee machine, thinking she might get back into bed with it and read when she heard the keys in the door. She tried not to acknowledge her despondency. Had his interview been cancelled? Was it normal to feel disappointed when your boyfriend returned home early?
“Forget something?” she chirped, the melancholy hidden from her voice.
He looked excited. And a little bit ill. He didn’t quite know where to put his hands. “I was thinking…”
“Should I be worried?” she asked, trying hard not to give away the annoyance she felt at his return.
“You should think about the Japanese offer to buy your music.”
Why did he look so worried? “I said I’d think about it. Why?” She knew she sounded snippy.
“What I mean is, with your retainer and my payout for the doco, we’d have enough for a pretty nice deposit on a house…” He stopped, then added, “Somewhere.”
Sunny went cold. Just a few minutes ago she had thought she needed a change; that the apartment was too small. “What are you saying?”
“Let’s buy a house together.”
It sounded so perfect. Security. A home. A family. Maybe they’d have a baby. Laurence looked so certain. “That’s a pretty big deal,” she said eventually.
“I love you. I love Atali. We can’t keep living here. Why don’t you go online and look at some places?” He looked worried. Was her face not reacting the way it should? “Will you think about it?”
She knew she was supposed to say, yes, let’s do it. But the words just wouldn’t come out.
She turned on the coffee grinder and the volume saved her from having to answer. He came over and wrapped his arms around her. She let herself be comforted, even though he was the source of her fears.
“You look worried,” he said.
“It’s a big step.”
“It’s what I want.”
She couldn’t say the same, because she didn’t know.
He pulled back and forced her to meet his gaze. “I’ll wait. Whatever it takes.”
Sunny sighed. “I do love you. I’m just…just…”
“I know.”
No, he didn’t. How could he know, when she didn’t know herself?
“Imagine Atali in her own room with her own toys. She’ll be in school in a few months. We have to make a decision on which country that will be.”
Sunny didn’t miss the ‘we’ in that statement. Laurence thought of Atali as his daughter, and why shouldn’t he? He provided for her and took care of her. All the things a father should do. He deserved a say, at least. Buying a house together made good sense. So, what was with the pesky voice inside her head telling her it wasn’t a good idea? There was no good reason not to; at least, no sensible reason. Only one very stupid idea. A stupid, stubborn idea that refused to be quashed.
“I have to go,” he said. “See you tonight. Remember to pick up Atali at two today. Want me to put a reminder in your phone?”
“I’ll remember.” It upset her that he thought she needed reminding. It also upset her that she probably did.
If Laurence was out all day, maybe she should make the dinner. She felt like pasta. She always felt like food that wasn’t available. They hadn’t been able to buy wheat products in weeks. She even missed Tulula’s pork buns. When was the last time they’d had spaghetti with meat sauce and parmesan cheese?
She wished she’d stockpiled pasta before Laurence released his documentary. She hadn’t hoarded anything, not wanting to be a part of the problem, but now she wished she’d made an exception with pasta. She could still buy Twisties. Maybe she’d go get some. And some Clinkers.
What was wrong with her? Laurence was a good man. A great man. Why did she feel like bingeing on junk food again?
Sunny finished making her coffee and took it to bed with her laptop. She made an account with Realestate.com and began browsing Melbourne. Houses were expensive. If she committed to a mortgage with Laurence, would she be able to continue sending money back to the refuge?
She slammed down the lid, forgetting her coffee, and curled up under the covers. She remembered this feeling but it took her a minute or two to place it.
Powerlessness.
Where had all her power gone? The last time she’d felt like this was when she’d been living a half-life with Judd.
She’d been making decisions for her and Atali, getting by, making a living. Managing. Why did she want to curl up and disappear again?
When she heard the knock on the door, her head was full of conflict and confusion, and she didn’t realise she should have checked who it was through the window before she opened the door.
“Hi. Sorry I’m not interested—”
The stranger’s foot wedged in the doorframe, and he grabbed her arms and pushed his way into the room before she even realised what had happened.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Mataio banged on the studio door sometime later, sensing he was too late. He pushed his way through the bushes at the back bathroom window and tried the latches. All locked. A phone rang inside and he stopped and listened. When he could hear no movement, he found a large rock and smashed the window with a quick snap. He took off his shirt and used it to slip out the pieces of glass that remained in the frame. Once he’d made a large enough opening, he pulled himself up and through. The bathroom smelt different to when he’d lived there—kid’s shampoo, moisturisers and makeup on the vanity. He tried hard not to notice the male deodorant an
d cologne.
The phone rang again and he followed the sound to the unmade bed. Thirteen missed calls. Five had been from him. He answered, “Hello.”
“Oh, finally. Hi. Is Sunny Johnson there? We still have Atali here. She was supposed to be picked up an hour ago. How soon can you get here?”
His stomach twisted. If Kimbo so much as touches a hair on her…
He forced himself back to the woman on the phone. “There’s been an emergency,” he explained. “Can you hold onto her a while longer?”
“No. Sorry. We’ve got no-one to look after her. Atali needs to be picked up immediately.”
Mataio had to think fast. “I’ll come now. Where are you?”
“24 Pateron St, Richmond.” The woman hesitated. “Do you have authority to collect her?”
He didn’t know how he managed it, but the words came out on their own. “I’m her father.”
“That’s fine. Bring ID.”
He checked the location of the pre-school and began to run. What would he do with the girl once he’d collected her? He had no friends. No-one to leave her with while he found her mother.
His phone rang and he recognised the number. “What do you want?”
“I’ve met your friend. She’s lovely.” Kimbo’s voice drew out in long notes and caused Mataio’s blood pressure to rise.
He stopped running and focused on staying unemotional to the man on the line. “Where are you?”
“Where are you? We had an arrangement.”
Did Kimbo know Sunny had a daughter? “You touch the woman, you’re dead. No matter what the cost, or how long it takes, or what needs to be done, you hurt her, you will die. You know I’ll stop at nothing. Put her on.”
“Stop telling me what to do, Fuckface. I’m in charge.”
“Fuck off, Kimbo.”
“You owe me.”
“I owe you jack shit. I called off the hit.”
“We made a deal.”
“That’s bullshit. It’s not my problem.”
“Well, I’ve just made it your problem. I want my money.”
Mataio knew Kimbo’s type. It wasn’t just about the money. Reputation and power were commodities. And Kimbo would mess up Sunny a bit just to make a point. Maybe he already had. A familiar heat rose up and he took a long breath to steady it. Save the anger for when he found Kimbo. “Let her go and we’ll re-negotiate.”
