‘She will be a real loss to this community,’ he continued, his voice soft and sincere, his brown eyes sorrowful.
Zoe nodded, not sure what to say. Pam filled the awkward silence that followed by telling Zoe and Alex to set the table. They grinned at each other as they laid the pine table with knives, forks, napkins and wine glasses. Zoe felt dizzy, as if she’d just been transported back in time twenty years. They sat down for dinner as the four of them had done countless times when Zoe and Alex were teenagers. A motley crew: the divorcee, her son, the girl from next door with no place to go, and the big-city businessman who always looked slightly out of place. There was silence for a beat and then Pam said, overly loud, always desperate to fill any dead air, ‘Isn’t this lovely? Just like old times.’ She took plates one by one, starting with Jeff and piled them high. Pam was at her best when she had people to care for and feed.
Zoe turned to Alex. ‘So what kind of fancy career did that business degree get you in the end?’
Alex pushed his fringe out of the way. ‘That degree got me nothing. However, the certificate of counselling I got at tech the following year, while you were on the other side of the world, got me a job at Crawton’s community house.’
‘Are you serious?’ Zoe looked from Alex to Jeff. There had always been a plan as far back as Zoe could remember: Alex took accounting and economics all through high school and after completing a business degree would join Jeff in his business.
Jeff spread his arms wide. ‘Zoe, I had it all laid out in front of him. He was to take over my empire but, alas, teenagers and those below the poverty line have become the winners.’
Alex looked far from upset about what had happened. ‘I’ll be forever grateful to Lillian for getting me the job. She put in a lot of hours there while still working at the school. I started work part-time at the high school about eighteen months ago. I’m thinking that might result in more work now that … Sorry,’ he ended awkwardly.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Lillian had been the counsellor at the high school ever since Zoe had attended, and now it looked as though Alex would be taking over. ‘You enjoy it?’
‘Love it. I was born to do what I do.’
Pam beamed at her son and Jeff asked, ‘How about you? Still teaching?’
Zoe took a deep breath. ‘I was a science teacher at St Clement’s in Auckland.’
Alex raised his brows, questioning.
‘But I quit. Today, actually.’ Saying the words out loud made it a lot more real.
‘Why?’ Alex asked.
‘It was a school full of rich, spoilt children run by a board made up of rich, pretentious parents. The principal was a dinosaur. It was never going to work.’
‘Sorry, Zo. Sounds like it was a good job.’
‘Good job for the CV, but it wasn’t for me. I’m glad I’m finished there.’
‘So what are your plans?’ Jeff asked.
Zoe shrugged, trying not to look bothered that she had no idea what she was going to do next, when in fact she felt her heart rate increase every time she thought about being unemployed.
‘Leave the poor girl alone, Jeff,’ Pam scolded, heaping more pasta onto Zoe’s plate. ‘She just lost her mother.’
Zoe waited for the sting at the mention of Lillian’s death — nothing.
‘I’m just saying it’s good to have a plan,’ Jeff said. ‘Intelligent girl like Zoe, it’s good to have a plan.’
Zoe smiled at him. She knew he meant well. To Jeff a plan — money, a house, a secure future — was everything, and Zoe admitted to herself she had thought the same. Lillian had always provided her with a roof over her head and there was always food in the fridge, but emotional support was always lacking, and Zoe knew when she left home that would be it — it was all on her. She’d always saved money, had a job lined up, prospects.
Alex, no doubt noticing the look of panic on her face, reached across the table and squeezed her hand. ‘You’re fine, Zo-zo. Always have been, always will be.’
‘Who’s for dessert?’ Pam said, clapping her hands to dispel the sombre mood that had settled.
Over custard tart Pam said, ‘You’ll want to be organising the funeral. Alex and I are around if you need any help. Contact Graham at Smythe’s Funeral Directors. He’s the best one.’
‘Is there really a best one when it comes to funeral directors, Ma?’ Alex asked, smiling.
‘Of course there is. You don’t want to go with the Mason family. Sting you for double the amount and nowhere near as caring.’
‘Well, there we go.’ Alex rolled his eyes at Zoe. ‘I’m around tomorrow, Zo-zo. Give me a shout and we can organise a proper send-off for your mum.’
‘Would you like to stay here?’ Pam asked. ‘I can make up the spare room in two minutes.’
Zoe was touched that Pam realised how awkward it was going to be setting foot into her home again after all this time. ‘I’ll be fine, honestly.’
‘You just sing out if you need anything.’ Pam pressed a key into Zoe’s hand. ‘Spare key for Lillian’s.’
Zoe said goodnight and left Pam and Jeff doing dishes, Jeff leaning down and kissing Pam’s neck, her flicking detergent bubbles onto his shirt and laughing.
She and Alex swapped cell phone numbers with the promise to meet up the next day. ‘It was good to see you, Zo,’ he said.
‘Good to see you too.’ And it really had been. She had felt their friendship ease into its old familiarity as soon as she saw him. It was a comfort.
She crossed over the grass to Lillian’s house and, not for the first time, felt she should be sadder than she was. She stood in the dark at the front door and looked up at the clear sky, willing the tears to come, trying to prove — to whom? — to herself? — that she did care Lillian was dead.
Chapter 7
‘Oi! Wake up, sleepyhead.’
Megan felt someone kick her leg and she opened her eyes and immediately closed them again as bright light from the open door pierced her pupils. She squinted at the man in front of her. ‘Tai?’ Her voice was raspy from disuse and she coughed to clear her throat. ‘What the hell?’
She knew him well enough and disliked him intensely. They worked at the Crawton Tavern, him as a barman and errand runner for their boss Garth, her as a barmaid. He was a sexist prick and a bully. He was constantly feeling her up every chance he got at work. She didn’t bother to complain to Garth who wouldn’t do anything about it except laugh it off and say something like, ‘You should be flattered.’ She took in the smug look Tai always had on his face, as if he always knew something you didn’t. This time he had every right to wear that look.
She grabbed at the bottle of water Tai threw on the mattress. After she’d drunk her fill, she squinted, her eyes still getting used to the light. ‘Where am I?’
‘Here. Food.’ He put two pieces of bread in front of her. ‘I’ll be back later. Don’t know when, so make that last. The bucket’s there for your convenience. I’d use it if I was you. You’ve been pretty much out of it for four days.’ He sniffed at the air and she realised the smell coming off her was urine.
‘Four days!’ She hadn’t realised it had been that long. This was the first time she felt properly conscious since … when? She searched her mind, trying to remember something of the last few days. All her addled brain offered up was someone, Tai she now knew, offering her water. She remembered being so thirsty and, ignoring the water’s salty taste, sipping at it and chewing on bits of stale bread. Every time she woke up it seemed she was in darkness. ‘I don’t understand.’
Tai nodded at the water bottle. ‘Magic water.’ He raised his brows and grinned as if letting her in on a secret. ‘GHB.’
She picked up the water bottle and threw it, the contents splashing him. He dodged it and said, ‘Calm down. That’s fresh water. I’ve probably been overdosing you a bit, but I can cut back a bit now �
� as long as you behave.’
‘Fuck you.’ She was familiar with GHB, otherwise known as the date rape drug or liquid E. She glared at him then picked up the water bottle and took a tentative sip.
Looking around her properly for the first time she saw she was in some kind of storage cupboard. It was big enough, measuring two metres by at least five metres, and was lined with wooden shelves on three sides. The single mattress rested hard up against the back wall of shelves. ‘Where am I? Tell me where I am,’ she said, her head snapping left and right.
‘Can’t do that.’
She changed tack. ‘I can’t see, when you close the door. I can’t see.’ She knew she sounded pitiful and hated herself for it.
‘LED lantern up there on the shelf.’
Megan scrambled up off the mattress, properly awake now, and grabbed the lantern. ‘Wait. Tai. What am I doing here? Please, please tell me.’ She wanted to be strong, but the last part came out pleading, whining. ‘Why did you bring me here?’
‘Got nothing to do with me.’ He picked the bottle of water up off the ground, his heavy dreads falling either side of his shoulders. ‘I’m just your babysitter.’
‘This has got something to do with the same people who took Tania.’ She remembered everything she’d overheard over the last few months. Conversations between Tai and Garth, including how she was going to be next. She wanted Tai to be shocked at what she knew. She wanted him to know that she knew they had taken Tania. From the recesses of her brain she said, ‘The secret garden.’ And watched for Tai’s reaction.
The look of shock on his face was gone in an instant, but she saw it. He rearranged his features and shrugged. ‘No idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Liar. Who took me? Whose idea was all this? Not yours, I bet.’ Megan didn’t care if she angered him. She needed answers and Tai was too much of a dumb-ass thug to engineer something like this. She’d overheard the words ‘the secret garden’ months ago when she was listening in to Garth and Tai, but they never mentioned it again.
‘You really don’t remember anything about being taken the other night?’ He smiled. ‘He said you wouldn’t, but I wasn’t sure.’
Megan wondered who ‘he’ was. Garth? ‘Does it sound like I fucking remember?’
‘I’ll be back later.’ He swung towards the door, the movement causing Megan to be engulfed with the scent of marijuana. It was Tai’s scent. She had never known him to smell of anything else — sweat, soap, nicotine — it was always the pungent smell of marijuana.
‘Tai please, don’t go.’ She needed more. And she hated to admit it, but it felt good to talk to someone. The fog was lifting, and the danger had become more real. All those days she’d already spent here were like a nightmare that she’d been waiting to wake up from.
Without another word Tai swung the door shut, leaving her in darkness.
She started yelling then, screaming as loud as her parched throat would let her. Someone had to be out there. She stopped for a second, listening, but all she heard was Tai, his laugh gruff and deep behind the locked door. ‘Give it up, Megs. No one can hear you out here.’
Fucking Garth. She turned the lamp on and sat on the mattress. She ran her hands through her long black hair, her fingers catching on the knots. Garth had been so good to her. David, the abusive boyfriend she’d left behind in Christchurch, had tracked her down to the Crawton Tavern six months ago. At first he’d been kind, apologetic and affectionate — the holy trinity of the abusive partner trying to get his woman back. But not this time. She’d been away from him long enough and she now looked at him and saw him for what he was. A leech. Weak. Only strong when he was abusing her. She’d told him to leave and when he reached across the bar and grabbed her wrists, Garth appeared and threw him out — but first gave him a broken nose and black eye. She’d been grateful, and at that time didn’t know Garth well enough to realise she’d swapped one controlling male for another.
She felt she owed him after that and put up with the sexual innuendo, and when he’d hooked her up with meth, her first time, she became even more indebted. She hated him and adored him at the same time and she still didn’t realise he had a hold on her — a stronger one than David ever had. So when Tania went missing she ignored it for a while, but when she overheard those snippets of conversation between Garth and Tai she couldn’t ignore the fact they were involved. By telling Lillian she’d felt she’d done right by Tania and opted to stay. She’d been stupid. She could see that now.
Megan punched the mattress in frustration. She could tell herself as much as she wanted that she was worried about Tania and stayed because she wanted more information for Lillian. But she had to admit now that she stayed because of Garth’s so-called kindness, the security he gave her — and the drugs he supplied. She had willingly stayed in a job when she knew her life was in danger.
Chapter 8
Zoe could still hear chatter and laughing over at Pam’s as she unlocked the front door to Lillian’s house. She remembered the last time she drove away from the place. She’d wished the summer away, so she could leave Crawton — and Lillian. She kept her university acceptance letter in the pocket of whatever pair of shorts she wore that summer. She was scared it was all some joke, that she didn’t get a scholarship to Auckland University, that she was going to have to stay in Crawton, with Lillian, and find a job in the supermarket. The letter had been opened and refolded so many times there were tears at every edge. Alex had been waiting for her next door, sounding the horn and laughing, eager to get going. She’d given Lillian a hug goodbye and had got the same tense pat on the back that she’d received ever since she remembered, even when she was a toddler and hurt herself falling over, or as a nervous new entrant on her first day of school.
She pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold onto the worn carpet. Sitting on the mat, slightly bent from being shoved under the door was a business card. Zoe picked it up.
‘Richard Bailey Property Developer,’ it said. She turned the heavily embossed card over in her hands. She’d never heard of him. The house smelled slightly musty and that same unfamiliar smell everyone’s house has except yours. She walked down the hallway. Everything looked smaller through her thirty-three-year-old eyes. The distance from the front door to the lounge on the left, the size of the kitchen, even the back yard outside the kitchen window had shrunk.
She stood in the centre of the lounge. Pam had said at dinner that she’d popped over to Lillian’s that morning after noticing she hadn’t left for work and saw her through the window slumped over on the couch. Assuming Lillian had fallen asleep she knocked on the window, then banged, but there was no response. ‘She looked peaceful though, love,’ she said grabbing at Zoe’s hand. ‘Like she had just fallen asleep.’
A cat appeared and pushed its head against Zoe’s leg, its body following, its tail encircling her calf as it did a figure eight and moved onto Zoe’s other leg. ‘And who are you?’ she asked, her voice loud in the silence. She scooped the cat up and read the silver disk on its collar. ‘Elvis.’ She smiled, placing him back on the carpet, remembering Lillian’s fondness for the King.
Zoe wandered around the lounge with Elvis a few steps behind. The pine bookcase, taking up almost an entire wall, was filled with books. Psychology and counselling books, books on grief, divorce, dealing with anxiety, but also novels by Jodi Picoult and Maeve Binchy. Where other people would have family photos or old baby photos were pieces of art, mostly abstracts, wild splashes of colour juxtaposed to the dated mustards and browns of the lounge suite and carpet. Zoe crouched down and took in the well-stocked CD rack in the corner by the stereo. The first half of the rack was taken up with Elvis CDs, everything from 1960s GI Blues to his last album Moody Blue. She ran a hand along Lillian’s desk which sat under a window looking out onto the front yard and onto the street. It was an orderly array of stacked textbooks, manilla files bearing th
e Crawton High School emblem and New Zealand Association of Counsellors magazines, with Post-it notes at various pages. There wasn’t a magazine or book out of place. The carpet was pristine; the furniture showed no sign of stains or even cat hair. Lillian’s need to keep things neat had almost been a compulsion. Her favourite saying, ‘Everything has its place and every place has its thing,’ was always said in a strange sing-song voice to disguise how serious she was. It was a mantra and anything out of place would throw her off, causing her to go on a wild cleaning spree, muttering under her breath how ungrateful Zoe was — the mess was always Zoe’s fault.
It was past ten o’clock and she was tired. There was no doubt she would sleep in her old bedroom. She ignored Lillian’s bedroom door at the end of the hall, but knew she’d have to go in at some stage. An outfit would have to be picked; later, possessions would have to be cleared.
Later.
She laid a hand on the door handle to her room. She didn’t know what to expect. A library? An office? A spare bedroom all dull beiges with a feature wall and fancy cushions on the bed? She turned the handle and walked in. She didn’t know if she should feel happy or disappointed. Everything was as she’d left it all those years ago. The dream catcher above her bed, the orange-and-red feathers and fabric now muted with age; coloured glass bottles on the window sill; a black-and-white poster of a Native American stating that once all the trees had been cut down and streams poisoned only then people would find money cannot be eaten. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, which showed that Lillian at least entered the room. It made Zoe wonder what Lillian thought about when she was in here dusting and vacuuming.
She made up her bed with sheets from the linen cupboard that were older than she was. There was a chill in the air and she found one of her grandmother's crocheted blankets at the back of her wardrobe. Her grandmother, gone for almost five years now, while Zoe was half a world away, a whisper of a memory, heavily perfumed and supremely huggable, the absolute opposite of her daughter. Maybe that love, that natural maternity, sometimes skips a generation.
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