by A C Praat
Philip jumped onto the forest floor, his feet sinking into the sodden humus, and squelched along the spring’s channel, one eye on the water-cut earth and one on the bright square of light. The channel gathered pebbles and stones along its bed, and the guard of overhanging plants widened as Philip drew closer to the light.
When the flow was strong enough he knelt and scooped handfuls of water into his mouth. Moisture soaked into the knees of his trousers and the sun faded. He shivered, suddenly cold. Not much further. Bashing through the last of the bush between him and the hut, Philip smiled. He’d done it; the most unlikely bushman in England or New Zealand – or the world maybe.
Levity abandoned him when he pushed open the door and he was confronted by the same rustic walls, the same battered table and chair, the same paper he’d left behind this morning. Peeling off his damp clothes set his arms itching again and his nose began to run in sympathy. He didn’t belong here. When Rex came back maybe he would give himself up to those people who were looking for him; they’d give him some answers at least.
The thought triggered a wave of panic.
No, he wasn’t ready.
After he’d pulled on dry clothes and set the primus to heat more water he lay on his bunk beneath his sleeping bag, the paper folded in his hands. What could he do? His credentials were fake and he had no money, save for what was in the wallet, no hardware, and no contacts.
Below the ad for the local movie theatre were the classifieds that he’d already studied, but this time his attention snagged on a job advertisement. Why hadn’t he considered it before? For starters he didn’t have any relevant skills – but those jobs just needed someone fit enough to labour, didn’t they?
No one would look for him there. When Rex came back Philip had his plan.
SIXTEEN
‘You can carry your shoes,’ Ra said over her shoulder as she stormed away from the hut and into the bush. ‘The rocks aren’t sharp.’
Mishra trotted to keep up as they left the shelter of the trees and emerged back onto the beach. The rain had stopped but the clouds frowned down at them and the wind whipped heat from their bodies. Ra and Raffe had wind-cheaters on but Mishra’s cotton jacket offered scant protection.
‘What about the picture?’ Raffe murmured to her as they came even with Ra.
She shook her head. ‘Not sure,’ she muttered back. ‘Nothing good.’
Raffe sighed. ‘I feel like this place has cursed me.’
Mishra glanced at him. He was in a bad way – supernatural explanations weren’t his style. But he wasn’t decaying at the bottom of the freezing, freakin’ ocean. He didn’t have much to complain about.
‘This way,’ Ra said.
They wound through boulders almost as high as Raffe, following channels of sloppy sand. In the lee of the hill the wind dropped, and the boulders protected them from the odd gust that wrapped around the headland. The waves kept up a steady hush-hush rhythm while Mishra hobbled along behind Ra, her feet speared every other step on pebbles and shells. It was all she could do not to sit down and cry. The mosquito-like buzz of an outboard motor, accompanied by the slap, slap of the water hitting the runabout’s hull, dragged a relieved sigh from her throat.
‘Down here,’ Ra said, sliding between two boulders that revealed a patch of sand the length of a car. Ra waved, then caught the rope that was thrown to her by an older man who was bundled up in yellow waterproofs and a fisherman’s beanie.
‘Get in,’ she yelled at Mishra over the noise of the outboard. Mishra sat on the edge of the inflated rubber side and swung her legs in, slithering to the floor.
The man pulled her up, giving her a gap-toothed smile. Ra climbed in next, and Raffe pushed the nose around so they were heading back out to sea before jumping in.
‘Uncle Anaru,’ Ra yelled. ‘Mishra and Raffe.’
Anaru raised his chin and his eyebrows at each of them, then revved the engine, propelling them out to the bay, making conversation impossible. Mishra hunched inside her clothes, glad of Ra’s solid presence beside her as they bounced along, the sea spray blinding her. What would the drybag tell them? And what would Ra do about Stacey’s dad?
Three figures waited for them on the beach. As they drew closer Ra sat up, craning her neck toward the welcoming party. The tallest of the three waded out to drag them the last meter onto the sand and Ra smiled.
Mishra relaxed a little too. Whoever had hurt Ra wasn’t among the party. She scanned the two other people – teenagers in low-slung blue jeans and black hoodies, maybe the ones from the photo Aunty Ani had shown them this morning – but neither was carrying the bag.
She edged over the side of the runabout, her muscles already seized up from the cold five-minute ride. The tall man caught her elbow as she stumbled. ‘I’m Jo.’ Deep-brown eyes smiled down at her from a weathered face. He was in his late forties, Mishra guessed, and emanated the kind of warm centeredness she associated with much older people. She liked him immediately. ‘Kahu,’ he said, nodding his head toward one of the teenagers, ‘and Stacey.’
Kahu and Stacey flicked their eyebrows up and down at her but didn’t smile.
Stacey. It was his father that Ra had been concerned about. Stacey was taller than his friend, his lanky frame not yet filled out, though there was a shadow of light stubble above his lip.
‘Where’s your dad?’ Ra asked him as they trudged up the beach toward the path that led to Aunty Ani’s place.
The boy shrugged.
‘Answer your Aunty!’ Uncle Anaru poked the boy with the oar he’d taken from the runabout.
‘Dunno,’ Stacey grunted. ‘Gone for a smoke.’
Ani was waiting on the porch, a black cardigan wrapped over her apron, a somber expression on her face. ‘It’s in the shed,’ she said. ‘Here.’ She passed Ra, Raffe and Mishra a towel each.
Ra led the way around the side of the house, past a concrete water tank, to a shed set at the back of the section. Mishra wrapped herself in the towel and watched Ra slowing her pace at every corner, her head turning this way and that, as if she was expecting something to pounce on her. It added depth to her own trepidation, which peaked as they reached the side door to the shed. What if it was Philip’s bag? Her mouth dried out as she followed Raffe inside.
The daylight threading through the open door and the window over the workbench at the back of the shed did little to alleviate the dimness. A single naked bulb dangling from a joist in the center of the shed made the whole scene seem like the set of a Tarantino movie. Anaru pushed the roller door up.
Raffe was already on his knees on the oil-speckled floor, tipping the bag up to unroll the lip at the top. ‘Looks like it,’ he said.
Mishra sank beside him and pulled her towel tight around her trembling body while the others gathered round.
‘Out of the light!’ Ra demanded and the teenagers stepped aside, letting the light from the roller door draw closer.
Beside Mishra, Stacey was repeatedly tapping one sneaker then the other against the concrete floor. The noise intensified while Raffe’s movements slowed and seemed to merge, frame by frame – pulling the opening wider, pushing his hand inside, frowning, spinning the bag …
‘Nothing in here.’
The world returned to normal speed as Mishra tried to discern what that piece of information meant. The bag had been emptied? The contents had fallen into the sea?
Raffe upended the bag and thrust his hand back in. ‘Wait.’ He pulled out a scrap of paper. ‘Looks like newsprint.’ He turned it over and held it toward the light. ‘The Bay Chronicle, 1 November 2017.’
‘That’s the local rag,’ said Anaru. ‘This week’s. Must have made it to shore.’ A smile broke over his face.
Ra looked at Stacey and then Kahu. ‘Who found it?’
Stacey continued to scuff his shoes, avoiding Ra’s gaze, while Kahu stared at Ra as if he was expecting a scolding, but he spoke up, ‘It was on the rocks, Aunty, half in a pool.’
Ra
glared back. ‘How come it’s empty?’
Both boys shrugged at the concrete floor.
‘We didn’t take nothing,’ Stacey muttered. Then even more quietly, ‘Dad said you’d be like this.’
‘What!’ Ra was on her feet, grabbing for the front of Stacey’s hoodie.
Jo stepped between them, blocking Ra’s lunge. ‘Haere atu!’ he barked at the boys over his shoulder. Kahu ran, but Stacey sauntered, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans.
‘That won’t help,’ Jo said, releasing his grip on Ra’s shoulder. ‘He’s just finding his way home.’
‘He’s an ass,’ spat Ra. ‘Like his father.’
‘You’ve been gone a long time, Rawinia. Some things have changed.’
Ra glared at Jo, her face screwed up like she’d eaten something foul.
Mishra couldn’t take it anymore – Ra, the empty bag, the tension – and still nothing about Philip’s whereabouts. She pushed past Ra, dropping her towel and strode straight through the roller door, past the tank, past the house, jogging and stumbling, eyes blurred, down to the beach. She didn’t see the man, hunched into a grey hoodie, a cigarette stuck to his lip, on the other side of the driftwood log, until he called out to her.
‘You the girl looking for Damon?’
He’s gone for a smoke. Ra’s tormentor? She wasn’t ready for him. Ignoring his question, she turned and jogged back to the house.
‘There’s a man on the beach,’ she said as she opened the door and leaned in, scraping sand off her feet.
Four pairs of brown eyes and one pair of green turned to look at her from Ani’s dining table.
Ra stood first. ‘A man?’
‘He asked if I was looking for Damon.’
Ra glanced round the circle of faces at the table: Ani, Jo, Anaru and Raffe. It was Jo who responded.
‘He won’t come in while you’re here,’ he said to Ra. ‘Not till you’re ready.’
‘Too chicken, eh?’ Ra said, folding her arms.
‘Too respectful,’ countered Jo.
‘Oh, yeah. I remember all that respect he showed me when I was sixteen–’
‘Ka nui tēnā.’ Aunty Ani clasped Ra’s wrist.
In the silence that followed, Mishra wished she hadn’t spoken, and from the look on Raffe’s face he was wishing the same.
He stood up. ‘Mishra and I will walk down to the south end of the beach – see if anything else has washed up.’
Outside, Mishra retrieved the towel she’d dropped in the garage and joined Raffe in front of the house, feeling braver for his company. The stranger had gone when they emerged through the dunes onto the beach. Mercifully, the wind had calmed to a tufty breeze and the sun was battling through the clouds.
‘That didn’t sound good,’ Raffe said as they trudged south.
Mishra shook her head. ‘Ra’s never talked about her reasons for leaving. It seems pretty clear now why she did.’
‘Maybe. But it also sounds like Stacey’s dad has tried to make amends.’
She shuddered. ‘Not sure you get past that.’ Mishra had put up with her fair share of unwanted advances from men, but they hadn’t gone far, and Ra wasn’t even into guys. She’d broken up with her girlfriend Samantha before coming back to New Zealand. Or rather, Samantha had broken up with her.
Samantha had never been to visit Ra’s family – Ra hadn’t been keen to come back herself at first. But there was so much to like about this place. As the sun broke through the clouds Mishra had a mad urge to ring Samantha – it was months since they last spoke – and tell her just how beautiful Ra’s place was. Would it make a difference? Mishra suspected Samantha had pitched herself in competition with Ra’s family – and ceded the field when it was clear that Ra was choosing her family over her.
Poor Ra and poor Sam. They’d been good together. Nothing turned out the way you wanted it to. Not for them, not for her and Philip. She glanced at Raffe, hands buried in the pockets of his shorts, his gaze on the boulders ahead. Not for him and Lexi either.
‘What do they think about the bag?’ she asked.
Raffe scooped up a smooth golden pebble and rolled it round his hand. ‘It’s definitely off the boat. Had “Alice” written on the inside. The inside was dry – or it seemed to be. If he’d lost it when he went over and his stuff had scattered …’ Raffe frowned. ‘It’s been nearly four days – maybe it could have dried out by now. And there’s the newspaper. I don’t know. Maybe he emptied it when he landed and tossed it back into the sea to make it look like he drowned? Or maybe someone else found it and emptied it.’
‘But aren’t those drybags worth a bit? I mean – why would anyone throw it away?’ The smallest stirring of hope made her steps lighter. Philip could have come ashore and unpacked his bag. ‘Maybe you’re right about the drowning theory. Maybe he wants us to think he drowned.’
Raffe was shaking his head. ‘And then what?’
Could Philip have worked this all through in his head? She wasn’t sure. Seeing things from other people’s perspective wasn’t Philip’s strong point. ‘Maybe the sea snatched it away when it was empty. You said he was weak.’
Raffe stopped. And Mishra stopped too. ‘What?’
Raffe twisted the cap on his head, then righted it. ‘I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.’
‘That’s all I have.’ Was he giving up already? Well, she’d do it without him. The tide was out far enough that she didn’t need to scramble over the boulders at the headland they’d reached – she could walk around them in the wet sand.
Raffe followed, speaking rapidly. ‘He gave up his job, Mish, his career, his identity and you. He would have always been looking over this shoulder.’
Did he think she didn’t know all that? Hadn’t been over it a thousand times already? ‘Then why write the note? Why even bother puking his way across the Tasman? He could have done away with himself much more easily and quickly in Adelaide, if that’s what you’re thinking! Or any time in the last three weeks.’
‘All right.’ Raffe caught her arm.
She wrenched it free and continued her angry splashing through the sand, leaving him behind.
‘I’m sorry,’ he called after her.
He was sorry? Mishra halted and turned on Raffe. ‘I absolve you, Raffe. Go home. You’ve done enough.’
‘Mishra –’
She flung her hands, palms up, against the wind. ‘No, I mean it.’
‘Mishra!’
‘What?’
‘Just wait.’ Raffe pointed.
Up the beach a lone figure was plodding toward them, head bowed. Was it Ra? The figure raised its arm and waved. Mishra waved back. Yes, it was.
‘You find anything?’ Ra asked as she came within earshot.
Mishra looked at Raffe. ‘My temper.’
‘It’s okay,’ Raffe said.
‘What do you two reckon about the bag? Funny how it just happened to show up on the beach where those fellas were looking.’
‘What are you saying, Ra?’ Mishra asked.
‘Somebody’s messing with us.’
‘Who?’ Raffe crossed his arms. ‘And why?’
‘Stacey and his dad.’
‘And they’re doing that because …?’
‘They hate me.’
‘Ra!’ Mishra said. This was getting ridiculous. ‘You’re saying they’ve … what? Taken Philip and are holding him somewhere – teasing us with clues – because they hate you?’
Ra scuffed her sneakers in the sand and punched her hands into her pockets.
‘Wouldn’t that be kidnapping?’ Raffe asked.
‘How could they, Ra? What about your aunty and Jo? They thought Stacey was okay. And what did they say about his dad? Does he have a name?’
‘Rex,’ Ra spat. ‘That he’s avoiding me out of respect. Till I’m ready to … I dunno. Forgive him, I suppose. All these years after and he’s managing to make me look like the bad guy. Should have bloody stayed in Adelaide!�
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Mishra looked at Raffe, who turned down his mouth in a helpless gesture.
‘There’s another possibility,’ Ra said.
‘Yes?’
‘Philip’s messing with us.’
‘Ra!’ Mishra stamped her foot in annoyance. ‘He wouldn’t! He doesn’t play games like that!’
‘Like he didn’t tell you he was going to upload the code, or that he was leaving? And then he left that note? And then he bailed on Raffe and Lexi?’
Mishra’s mouth fell open. A tide of hot prickles raced through her arms and legs, stealing her strength. She dropped onto the sand, trying to catch her breath and make sense of Ra’s accusation. He wouldn’t! He wasn’t vicious. She’d done nothing to deserve such treatment, even if he was … No. He wasn’t. She rested her elbows on her knees and looked down through her legs to the sand. What if he didn’t understand what his actions would mean to them?
‘I don’t think it’s in him,’ Raffe said.
Mishra looked up at them.
‘So that leaves my cuzzies, does it? Sweet.’
Mishra climbed to her feet. ‘No, Ra. It could be somebody else completely. They might just have found Philip’s stuff. Or it could have floated off after he unpacked it.’ This was making her crazy. Where was he?
‘I’m going to talk to Jo and Ani. If Rex is involved, I’m going to find out.’ Ra turned and strode back up the beach.
Raffe waited until Ra was out of earshot, then asked, ‘Do you think we should try the beach houses without her?’
Mishra eyed the beach houses: dilapidated caravans, the rust painted over in bright reds and yellows, tin sheds fitted with an eclectic collection of doors and windows, and baches built from batten and board, plywood and driftwood. They were ingenious, an organic seaside village. None showed any sign of occupation – no lights on, no doors or windows open. Where were Stacey and Kahu and Rex? ‘I don’t think so, Raffe. This is her place. I think she gets to call the shots.’
