by J. C. Burke
She goes back to bed and stares at the ceiling. She doesn’t think about her visit to Victoria’s or the girl’s face and what it means. It’s enough just to lie here listening to her breath, smelling her skin, absorbing who she is.
When her dad comes into her room he is shaved, showered and dressed in his Friday clothes, jeans and a black poloneck jumper. The eight o’clock news plays on the radio downstairs.
‘I’m not going to school, Dad.’
Nick nods. ‘I’ll try and get home after lunch.’
‘Okay.’
‘Are you all right, Evie?’
‘Are you?’
‘I feel … sad,’ he says. ‘Sad that I couldn’t make things different between you and your mother – all of us, really.’
‘It’s not your fault, Dad.’
‘Let’s just try and get through the weekend,’ he says softly. ‘I’m sure she’ll phone.’
Evie feels her insides shrink as he turns and walks out. She has gained and he has lost. Pulling the doona over her head she tries to find that sleep again.
Evie dreams of being at a fair. She walks behind a man with dark hair. He is nearly as tall as her. He is leading her towards brightly coloured lights. They are in the shape of a star and go around and around. Watching it makes her giddy. She lifts her hand to her head and sees her sleeve is made of red silk. The cuffs are embroidered with black and gold flowers. She doesn’t want to walk towards the lights but the man is holding her arm firmly.
The ground trembles and a loud noise rushes past her. It makes her trip. She looks down at silver lines running through the footpath. The black suede shoes she is wearing have a mark on the toe. Why can’t they stop walking?
It’s so dark and everyone’s gone. She can’t see where they’re going. She falls against something and cuts her hand. It’s a wire fence. She doesn’t want to keep following him. She doesn’t like him. He’s not nice to her.
‘Are you there?’
Alex’s voice on the answering machine wakes her.
‘Evie, are you there? Pick up the phone.’
She doesn’t. Instead she records the dream in her book.
The next time the phone rings, it’s her father’s voice.
‘It’s Dad. Pick up the phone.’
She runs to answer it.
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Did I wake you up?’
‘No. I was just watching some TV.’
‘Not the midday soaps?’
‘How’s your day?’
‘It’s busier than I expected. I won’t be able to get home till about six.’
‘That’s okay. I’ll see what’s in the fridge.’
‘Don’t bother, let’s have takeaway.’
‘Okay.’
‘What do you feel like? Japanese? Thai? Pizza?’
‘How about Greek?’
‘Greek?’
‘Yep. I keep thinking about those yummy lamb kebabs. Theo’d be proud of me.’
‘I’ll bring some home from that place he takes us to.’
‘Great, and some vine leaves, too.’
‘Has Robin called?’
‘No. Sorry.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll see you tonight. Bye.’
‘Bye, Dad.’
They eat their takeaway straight from the plastic containers. No fancy table setting or good manners tonight.
Evie has eaten five vine leaves and is now up to her third lamb kebab. She looks at her dad’s plate. He’s hardly touched his.
‘Did you hear from Mum?’
‘Paula rang as I was leaving the office.’
‘Oh. How did she say Mum was?’
‘Upset. Angry. With me, not you.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Evie, it’s not your fault. Things have been bad between us for a while. We should’ve talked about it years ago.’
‘But it’s because of me.’
‘Look, at the moment she can’t handle things. It’s just the way she is. The way she was brought up. I thought she’d change, that eventually she’d understand, but when I come to think of it, even years ago …’ He buries his face in his hands. ‘When, when. God.’
‘What?’ She lifts his fingers off his face, curling them around her own. ‘When what, Dad?’
‘You know, I haven’t thought of it for so long and yet today it’s all I could think of.’
‘When what, Dad? Tell me!’
‘When it saved you.’
‘Saved me?’
‘The Christmas you were two years old.’ His voice wavers and he rubs his temples as he speaks. ‘We were away. We stayed at these holiday flats up the coast. There was a swimming pool. One morning the phone rang; it was my mum. She said, ‘Where’s Evangaline?’ She sounded in a panic. I gave the phone to Robin and went to look in your cot. You weren’t there and the front door was open. I ran out, I was calling and calling you. Then Robin flew past me. I remember she kept screaming ‘the pool, the pool’. There you were casually walking around the edge, like you were about to dive in and swim ten laps. We still don’t know how you got out of the cot or the front door. Someone must have left the pool gate open.’
‘And it was Grandma who told you?’
‘Yes. She could see you standing at the edge of water. If she hadn’t rung you probably would have fallen in and drowned. It was the most terrifying thing. We felt sick for weeks. I was so, so grateful to Mum and, and – her insight.’
Evie hears Victoria’s words: ‘She should be thankful.’ This is what she’d meant.
‘Was Mum – thankful?’
‘Darling, of course she was. But it freaked her out much more than I ever realised. She was a minister’s daughter. She was taught to regard those things as wrong and evil. She couldn’t help it. Looking back on it I was so naive. I thought what happened was maybe even a blessing in disguise, maybe the thing to make her think about it differently, be less paranoid. I was wrong. That should’ve been the point we started talking about the possibility of you being like – that.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No. We didn’t.’ Her father hangs his head. ‘You see, she wanted you to have a normal life. That’s what was important to her, and when you began to show the tiniest sign of being like grandma, even though you were so little, it scared her. I think she felt bad she couldn’t protect you, like she wasn’t a good enough mother. Maybe that became her thing.’
‘Protecting me? Controlling me, you mean?’
‘I don’t know. I thought things would be okay but that episode with Antonia Cipri, well, it was big, bigger than we imagined. I think she felt like it was out of control and she didn’t want it –.’
‘So if we didn’t talk about it,’ Evie blurts, ‘then maybe we could pretend it wasn’t happening? For me, Dad, that’s what it’s always been like.’
‘I’m sorry, Evie. I should’ve taken the lead. I was the one that understood.’
‘Dad? I think I should show you something.’
For a second Evie hesitates at the doorway of her bedroom. She understands this will be hard for him.
‘Fantastic!’ he says as she comes down with her art folder.
She passes just a few drawings to him, watching him admire them as though they’re someone else’s work.
‘They’re very good, Evie. Wow,’ he squeezes her hand. ‘This one looks like one of Theo’s nieces. Who is it?’
‘I don’t know?’
He laughs. ‘What do you –?’
But she catches his eye. She tries to make her look gentle. As he studies the portrait the confusion on his face transforms to recognition. ‘Are you saying …’
She nods and looks away. She can’t find any words of comfort.
‘When? How long?’
‘A while,’ she whispers.
The weekend is quiet. Nick wants her to see their family doctor about her eye. He rings but they can’t get an appointment until Monday. Evie is relieved
; she doesn’t feel like Dr Malouf’s friendly chatter.
She tiptoes around the house. Her dad lies on the couch listening to music, reads every word in every newspaper and troubleshoots the phone calls from work.
‘Damn, damn,’ he shouts from the living room. She wonders if it’s just the Sunday afternoon Rugby League. He hates it when the Wests Tigers get beaten.
‘Evie?’ he calls.
She stands at the doorway.
‘Bloody Carla was meant to pick up some tapes from the police headquarters in Surry Hills,’ he says, screwing up the newspapers strewn across the floor. ‘She forgot and she’s in Melbourne for the weekend. We need them for a story we’re running tomorrow. I’m going to have to go in and get them.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Are you sure? I’m just going there and back.’
‘I’ll come for the drive.’
‘Does that mean you’re going to get out of your pyjamas?’
‘I will if you will.’
Evie throws on a pair of cords and grabs her peacoat. She doesn’t brush her hair. She hates feeling the sticky knot. It’s getting bigger. It gives her the creeps.
They drive into town. The four o’clock news tells of fighting in the Middle East, a flood somewhere in India, the proposed national budget and who’s ahead in the golf. Evie thinks how removed these events are from her life. She makes up her own headlines. ‘Teenage psychic’s mother walks out.’ Or ‘Teenage psychic artist draws realistic pictures of people she’s never seen before.’
Her dad is singing along with Bob Marley, ‘No woman, No cry’. The words make Evie self-conscious. She stares out the window. Eye contact only makes it worse.
They drive into an underground carpark. A police officer in a security booth checks his journalist ID, ticking his name off a list.
‘Who have you got there?’ she winks.
‘This is my daughter.’
She winks again. ‘Haven’t you got better things to do than drive around with your old man on a Sunday afternoon?’ She seems to think this comment is hilarious.
Evie tries a laugh too but it doesn’t come out right.
‘Do you want to come up with me?’
‘Well, I’m not staying in this spooky carpark with that nut.’
The lift opens into a sterile foyer. Their sandshoes squeak as they walk across the granite floor to the inquiry desk.
‘Nick Simmons from Radio News,’ he shows his ID again. ‘I’m here to pick up some tapes from Detective Sergeant Brian Gould.’
‘This way please, sir.’
‘I won’t be long, sweetheart.’
Her father disappears through an electronic security door. She sits on one of the grey flannel couches. There is nothing to read. The waiting room is empty. It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon in the city.
She wanders around the foyer reading the notices alerting staff to security changes, positions vacant, social events and the upcoming Missing Persons Week.
Evie considers writing an advertisement for her mother. ‘Robin Simmons. Last seen in Canberra. Stressed-out woman. Late forties, medium build.’ She scans the missing persons poster to check she’s following the right criteria. Name, date of birth, build, eyes, circumstances.
She is looking straight at her. Her face has become so familiar it takes Evie a while to register her photocopied presence here on the police station noticeboard. She looks and she reads but she isn’t taking it in. Her father’s voice is behind her.
‘Okay,’ he’s saying. ‘Let’s go.’
She cannot move. Her body seems paralysed. She barely manages to lift her arm and point to the face.
‘What’s wrong?’ His voice is bouncing off the granite floor. ‘Evie?’
She feels him standing next to her. It takes all her strength to move her head to look at him. But he is staring at the poster, too.
‘Evie?’ he whispers. ‘Oh god, Evie.’
MISSING PERSONS
CAN YOU UNRAVEL THE MYSTERY?
ATHENA POULOS
DOB: 02/02/82
HAIR: Dark auburn
BUILD: Medium
EYES: Brown
CIRCUMSTANCES: Athena was last seen at
West Terrace, Adelaide on 2 March 2002.
She was living in Mile End with her family.
It is believed she was headed for the
Glendi Festival, Western Parklands.
She has not contacted relatives since the
date she went missing and there are grave
concerns for her safety and welfare.
Report missing to: Keswick Police Station, SA
Missing Persons Unit Index No: AP56813740kh
‘Can you unravel the mystery?’ It’s like a games show host shouting these words in Evie’s head. She feels like she’s losing her balance. She reaches out for her father’s arm. Her throat feels tight. She’s struggling to get a breath. Everything is going fuzzy. It’s like a black curtain closing down on the set.
‘Evie? Evie? Have a sip. It’s okay. I’m here.’
She recognises the voice. She opens her eyes and sees her father’s face.
‘I’m here,’ he says again.
‘Dad?’
She is sitting on a cold, hard surface. Something is pushing into her back. She sees it’s the same granite floor and a drinks machine behind her. She tries to stand up.
‘We’re still at the police station?’
‘That’s right. Put your arms around my neck.’
Her father sits her on the chair and holds a cup to her lips.
‘Here, have some water.’
‘Did I faint?’
‘Nearly. I sort of caught you on the way down.’ Some of her hair is falling into the cup. He takes it out and wraps it behind her ear. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Can we go home, Dad?’
‘Let’s get you down to the car.’
‘Okay.’
Her father puts his arm around her and slowly they walk to the lift. As the lift doors open he calls out something about a virus to the officer at the desk.
Nick brings her doona and pillow down to the couch. He sits with her feet on his knees. Evie wonders how they will start this conversation.
‘I called Theo,’ he says, wrapping the doona around her feet.
‘How come?’
‘Well, I’m not really sure how we should approach this.’ Nick scratches his stubble. ‘It could be a bit tricky.’
‘She’s from Adelaide, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. She has a Greek name. Theo has lots of contacts in Adelaide. He’s the one who’ll know where to start. I haven’t a clue.’
‘Why has this happened?’
‘Evie, I wish I could give you an explanation.’
‘I’ve never seen any of these people before, Dad. First it was Antonia’s brother and now – her.’
He squeezes her foot. ‘We’re going to get through this. Okay?’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Athena Poulos.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Twenty.’
‘Did you say she was Greek?’
‘Yes.’
‘Remember you told me my drawing looked like one of Theo’s nieces?’
‘I do.’
‘I’m really tired, Dad.’
‘Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll wake you when Theo gets here.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Ten to seven.’
‘It’s cold.’
‘I’ll get you another blanket.’
‘Can you get my cardigan?’
Nick brings down her red cardigan. She slips it on and curls back under the doona.
‘I’ll be in the kitchen if you want me.’
Evie lifts her arm to her face, the soft wool stroking her chin. She runs the sleeve along her nose catching the smell of freshly mown grass. Burying her head in her arm, she whispers in the darkness, ‘My red cardigan. My red cardigan’s from Ade
laide.’
Theo’s voice is coming from the kitchen. Evie sits up and rubs her eyes. It feels late. Theo’s reciting a list of names; he rolls them off with precision. ‘Carl, Andy, Les Hargreaves, Deidre – the list goes on and on.’
‘Who would you trust?’ Nick’s voice now.
‘They’re all pretty reliable but I guess I know Carl the best. Yeah, Carl’d be the one I’d trust the most.’
‘I’d like to ring him tonight, Theo. She’s okay at the moment but maybe it hasn’t quite sunk in. I want to have something – positive to tell her.’
‘Okay. He’s in London but he should be able to pull some strings from there. You just tell me what you want me to do. Okay?’
‘Thanks, mate.’
Theo’s voice drops. ‘What about Robin?’
‘I don’t know what to do there.’ From the couch, Evie hears his voice is trembling. ‘She doesn’t know about this. God, Theo, I don’t know how she’ll take it.’
‘Hey,’ Theo is saying. ‘We’re going to get her through this. It’s okay, buddy. I’ll talk to her. Robin and I’ve always been able to talk.’
Silence.
‘I should wake her up.’
Evie lies down and pretends to be asleep.
They’re still sitting around the table at 2 a.m. Evie doubts any of them could sleep anyway. She has brought down the exercise book Victoria gave her and the portraits to show Theo. The horrible one, the one she drew last, is hidden in a drawer.
‘Bloody hell! They’re identical,’ Theo shouts when he compares the missing persons leaflet with Evie’s sketch. ‘No wonder you fainted.’
They lean over her diary, reading it together. At first Evie feels self-conscious but the more they talk, the more she realises how seriously they’re taking it.
The phone rings.
‘That’ll be Carl,’ Theo says. ‘It’s 5 p.m. in London. I might take it upstairs.’
‘No worries,’ says Nick.
‘Dad, I’d like to call Alex tomorrow. She’s sort of in on it, too. I feel like I should tell her.’
‘She’s a good friend Alex. You’ve – no – we’ve been lucky to have her.’
‘She’s been so cool. I don’t reckon there’s many who could handle it like her.’
‘How do you feel about calling Mum?’
