No One Can Hear You

by Nikki Crutchley

  Chapter 24

  Faith brushed the knots out of her long blonde hair and tucked it behind her ears. The music from the flat below vibrated up the walls and floorboards, tickling her bare feet. The start of a headache wound its way from the base of her head and up behind her ear. She grabbed at the lit joint sitting in a saucer and inhaled deeply, feeling the effects almost immediately. She took three paracetamol and swallowed them down with the dregs of her beer.

  Her ticket had her returning from Crawton on Wednesday night. Work had allowed her time off. She never took annual leave and when she said she had a funeral to go to Magda had been surprisingly sympathetic. She’d have to hire a car in Auckland and drive down to Crawton, plus needed a couple of nights in a motel. She had some savings but not much. But it was worth spending the money to see the Magic Man in the ground where he couldn’t hurt anyone again. She had lived in Crawton for such a short amount of time all those years ago, but it was probably the place that had felt most like home to her. She had never known her father, and could barely remember her mother, a blurred outline of someone who was either shouting at her or an unconscious lump on the couch of their flat. Faith remembered a day when she was five, standing in front of her, looking at the syringe hanging out of her arm and wondering if she should go and get the neighbours, but remembering her mother’s warning that if ever Faith saw her like that she was just having a nap and to leave her be. Late one afternoon the next year Faith was found outside the Papakura public library where her mother had abandoned her.

  Faith had been trouble from the beginning for anyone who tried to take her on. She’d been mad at the world for as long as she could remember and never stayed with a foster family for more than a year. When she was fourteen she was moved to a halfway house in Mangere where there was a bit more freedom, which was like a drug to Faith. There were a lot of tough nuts there and she learned that if she kept her head down she could get away with most things as long as she attended school and was back by 7 p.m. curfew. She put on such a good act that after eighteen months an attentive social worker found her a spot at Sonya’s: ‘You should be thankful. You’re really too old to be placed with a foster family but you have the potential to get out of here, Faith, to make something of yourself. Have a good couple of years at school and who knows what you’ll be able to do.’

  Crawton had been a rude awakening. After Mangere it seemed small and nothing exciting ever happened. But she did make friends. She remembered Alex Buchanan and Zoe Haywood and wondered whatever happened to them.

  Faith shook her head, as if to rid herself of the memories, and zipping up her knee-high boots, grabbed her small suitcase and keys and locked the door behind her. Her neighbour Barry was sitting on the shared balcony that ran the length of the apartment block. He spent most of his life out there, no matter the weather, spending all his pension on beer and horses. She dodged remnants of the Marmite sandwich he’d thrown on the ground for the hordes of sparrows that gathered on the birdshit-covered balcony rail every evening.

  ‘Hello, my beautiful Faith,’ he slurred. His weathered skin looked as if it was slipping from his body. Thick folds hung from his chin, but the skin was tight around his balding hairline. Barry waved his Best Bets. ‘Buckshot or Lakota? C’mon, Faithy, make me rich.’

  Faith squeezed past him, breathing shallowly. ‘Lakota. It’s a sure thing.’

  ‘Hey, you off somewhere?’ he shouted back at her.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Anywhere nice?’

  ‘Yeah, a funeral. I’ve got some dancing on a grave to do.’ She smiled at him and disappeared down the stairs.

  Chapter 25

  Zoe walked around the supermarket on Tuesday afternoon, only half-focused on what she was putting into the trolley. As was usual for the last couple of days, she was thinking of Megan and Tania — two women she had never met who were probably alive and well and as far away from Crawton as they could get. But she still felt there was something wrong and was determined to find out more.

  ‘Zoe Haywood! I thought that was you.’

  Zoe looked at the woman in front of her, trying to dredge up past names from Crawton High. She ran her fingers through her long wavy hair, speaking at a volume that was a couple of levels too high for Zoe’s liking.

  ‘Linda,’ she said, her palm to her chest.

  ‘Linda, hi.’ They’d played on the same netball team in the last year of high school; her parents owned the appliance store in town where she’d gone to work straight out of school. ‘How have you been?’

  ‘Oh, you know, busy, busy,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘How are you? What do you do these days? Married? Kids?’

  Why do those always have to be the first two options? How about opening with career or travel for a change? The kid question always bugged Zoe. She’d never wanted them. Lillian didn’t exactly foster a need in her to have children. But the hints were always there from other people; friends, work associates, who felt it was OK to ask how she felt about kids. Like the colleague at a school in England who’d asked if she felt her time was running out at twenty-eight, implying that if she didn’t procreate then what was the point of life.

  ‘No kids or hubby.’ Zoe smiled widely, desperate for Linda to know it didn’t bug her. She asked about Linda’s own children, one of whom was pulling cans of baked beans off the shelf and rolling them down the aisle.

  ‘This is Madison,’ she said, pointing to the drooling baby in the shopping trolley, ‘and this is Ethan.’ She grabbed Ethan by the hand and led him away from the canned goods. ‘I married Don Phelps. He was a few years ahead of us at school, and now we run the shop since dad retired last year.’

  Zoe nodded and started edging away to bring the conversation to an end. They both agreed they needed to have a proper catch-up. Neither had each other’s contact details, Zoe realised as she walked to the next aisle.

  On her way back from the supermarket, she passed St Joseph’s church on the corner and noticed Daniel Hepi leaning against the side of his car, the bonnet up. She deliberated before performing a U-turn in the middle of the busy main street. Pulling up alongside him, she wound her window down. ‘You look a bit stuck.’

  ‘Hey, Zoe! Yeah, I’ve rung the local mechanic. He’s coming to tow it as soon as he can.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, curious.

  ‘Just been to Gabe Baker’s funeral.’

  ‘Gabe Baker?’ The name wasn’t familiar.

  ‘Yeah, local guy. He was the handyman at school.’

  ‘Can I give you a lift somewhere?’

  ‘They’ve all just headed out to the cemetery. Would you mind giving me a lift out there?’

  ‘Of course not. Hop in.’ She watched him walk around the front of the car — he did look good in a suit.

  ‘Thanks for this. Nate from the garage knows where the car is. He can just collect it when he’s not busy.’

  ‘How trusting of you.’ She eased her car onto the road. They passed Crawton Tavern on the way out of town and Zoe tried not to look at the place that had been on her mind since she’d visited.

  ‘This isn’t the big city you know,’ he teased. ‘Crawton’s perfectly safe.’

  ‘Did you know Gabe well?’

  ‘Not really. He was the handyman for the last seven years or so. Not sure what he did before that. He was a simple kind of guy, maybe not quite right.’ Dan tapped his head. ‘Anyway, Barbara wanted someone to go to the funeral to represent the school and I drew the short straw. I shouldn’t say that, really.’

  At the cemetery cars were parked haphazardly on the side of the road as there was no real car park. Zoe eased into a small gap and killed the engine. ‘I’m happy to wait.’

  ‘Are you sure? I can get a lift back with someone else.’

  ‘Happy to wait,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks.’ He moved to get out of the car
, hesitated, then sat back down. ‘Would you like to go get a drink or dinner sometime? To say thanks for taxiing me around.’ She grinned as the signs of a faint flush spread up from his collar. And was surprised at how pleased she was.

  ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘Great.’ He got out and marched over to the small gathering huddled under a magnolia fifty metres away.

  Zoe picked up the piece of paper Dan had left on the seat. The photo of Gabe Baker showed a big man with broad shoulders, more like muscle gone to fat. There was a slight list on the left side of his face as if he’d suffered a stroke, and a scar ran down the right side starting from his forehead and finishing just above his top lip. She felt sorry for him. She looked over at the neat lines of headstones, many of them sitting protected underneath giant oaks and birches. It was only two weeks since she buried Lillian. She got out of the car and walked towards the gathering, stopping about twenty metres away to stand in front of Lillian’s gravesite. The earth was still exposed, a dirt mound covered with half-dead bouquets and wreaths. She collected them up and deposited them in the bin, the cloying smell of rotting flowers lingering in her nostrils. She stared at the small wooden cross marking Lillian’s site and reminded herself she’d need to get a headstone done. Her booted foot pushed the dirt around and she wondered if she’d still be here when fresh grass replaced the raw dirt.

  She could hear mumbled words from the priest. Jeff Worthington was there. Another man looked up, smiled and nodded — Richard Bailey. Zoe looked away without offering a smile.

  A silver car pulled up. A woman about her age got out and walked slowly towards the gathering, lighting a cigarette. She looked familiar, not so much her face but the way she walked, head down, shoulders slightly curved as if willing people not to look at her, the fidgety way she tucked her long blonde hair over her ear. She came within a few metres of Zoe and hadn’t looked in her direction yet. Zoe waited for her to join the group, but she seemed stuck to the spot.

  Her memory finally kicked in. ‘Faith?’ she said.

  The woman started slightly, looking over at Zoe and then back to the group, frowning, as if her cover had been blown.

  ‘Faith Marsden?’ Zoe repeated, smiling, sure now that it was.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Zoe. Zoe Haywood.’

  ‘Zoe?’ Immediately Faith’s face changed. She walked towards her with a smile on her pale face, stumbling slightly as her heels caught in the soft ground.

  Zoe took in Faith’s appearance: bleached blonde hair with a dark track running through the centre part, dark pouches under her eyes, and the smell of nicotine coming off her body. They stood in front of each other and Zoe awkwardly pulled her in for a hug and felt Faith’s body immediately tense. She let go and stepped back. ‘You look … good.’

  ‘Yeah, nice try, Zoe,’ Faith said, playfully pushing her shoulder. ‘This is me. This is my look. Tragic chic.’ Zoe could hear the hardness under her joking.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good.’ Faith’s eyes drifted back to the gathering.

  ‘How long have you been back?’

  ‘Just arrived last night. You? Do you live here?’

  ‘No. Lillian died a couple of weeks ago and I came back to sort out her funeral.’

  ‘Huh,’ Faith said, flicking ash onto the grass.

  Zoe felt absurdly happy that Faith didn’t offer her condolences or ask how she was.

  ‘God, it’s been a long time,’ Zoe said. They had been a funny group: geeky Alex, shy Zoe and outcast Faith, but they had had fun together. They’d often cut school on Friday afternoons when everyone else was taking electives, ending up at the little lake eating ice blocks and messing about on the playground. On weekends they’d often walk out to the big lake and sit all day on the small beach watching water-skiers shoot past, ostentatious spray fanning out like a peacock’s tail. One of them always managed to get some alcohol from somewhere and Zoe remembered getting home on many Saturday evenings tipsy, sunburnt and happy. They would often climb the fence of the public pool, strip down to their underwear and swim in the moonlight. Every time the security light came on with a distinct click but was as useless as a spotlight on an empty stage. No one ever came.

  Zoe felt she needed to ask. ‘You just disappeared, Faith. Alex and I never saw you again.’

  Faith didn’t get a chance to answer because Jeff came up to them. ‘Zoe, what brings you here?’

  ‘I gave Dan Hepi a ride out here. Car trouble.’ Zoe turned to Faith. ‘This is Jeff Worthington. Jeff, Faith Marsden, an old school friend.’

  Jeff shook Faith’s hand. ‘You knew Gabe, I take it? I didn’t see you at the funeral.’

  ‘Yes, I just arrived from Wellington and didn’t make it to the service.’

  She told me she arrived last night. Zoe tried to work out Faith’s connection with Gabe. ‘I didn’t realise you knew him,’ she said. Faith had lived in Crawton for only a few months before she ran away. She’d always thought she and Alex had been Faith’s closest friends. Obviously not.

  Faith ignored Zoe and asked Jeff, ‘How did you know him?’

  ‘He worked for my property development company for almost ten years. Hard worker, even though he was a bit … challenged,’ Jeff said.

  ‘What’s Richard Bailey doing here?’ Zoe asked.

  ‘Ah, I lost Gabe to Richard some years ago.’

  ‘So Gabe worked for Richard as well?’ Zoe asked.

  ‘Yes. At one stage Richard Bailey was poaching my employees. Petty, petty business. It’s not like Gabe was a high-flier at all. But that’s Bailey for you. Anything he could do to get under my skin.’ Jeff shook his head. ‘Offered them more money, promises of better working conditions. And a lot of them took it. I don’t hold it against them, though. Many were labourers with young families and extra money is a hard thing to turn down.’ Jeff saw Pam waving. ‘Better go. Nice to meet you, Faith. Zoe, no doubt I’ll see you around soon.’

  Zoe saw Dan making his way to her car. ‘Faith, I should get going, but I’d love to catch up if you’d like? I’m staying at Lillian’s. Do you remember the address?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’ Faith turned and started walking towards the gravesite. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’ She waved her hand at Zoe, her mind obviously on something else.

  *

  Faith peered down at the coffin, which was dotted with rose petals and handfuls of dirt. She knew Zoe had wondered why she’d told that Jeff guy that she’d just arrived in Crawton. She had arrived last night and checked into the cheapest accommodation she could find. A motel at the southern end of town, as far away from the lake as possible, underneath a bar-cum-nightclub that pumped out music till 1 a.m. She hadn’t realised Crawton’s nightlife on a Monday even existed. But she couldn’t bear to sit in a church, of all places, and listen to family and friends speak of the wonderful life Gabe Baker had led when he’d ruined hers and who knows how many others. She thought of Claire again, the girl who had been next door to her in the house. Her screams echoed in her head. She took one last drag of her cigarette and threw it on top of the coffin.

  She looked around her. She could see Zoe staring at her from inside her car; everyone else had their backs to her as they returned to their vehicles, farewelling each other with hugs and kisses. Nothing like a funeral to bring people together. She leaned over, her heels sinking into the fresh dirt and spat into the open hole. ‘Go to hell, you piece of shit,’ she said. As she walked away, her fingers lightly ran down the back of her head, following the jagged scar.

  Chapter 26

  Megan was sure she hadn’t seen Tai in over twenty-four hours. Her grumbling stomach cut through the silence of the room. She sipped at water, trying to satiate the hunger and the thirst, but she needed the water to last. Who knew when he’d be back? Her stomach cramped violently, and she yelled out in pain and anger. It had been too long
. No one was coming.

  She started rubbing at her skin. It had become itchy and dry and the more she rubbed at it the itchier it became. She clawed her nails up and down her arm, tearing at the skin. She chewed and bit at her cuticles until they bled. A bad habit, one that Garth was constantly admonishing her for: ‘The customers don’t want to see you picking your nails.’

  ‘As long as they get served and can perv down my top the customers don’t give a shit what I do,’ she’d retorted. He’d walked away, knowing she was right.

  She slapped her hand on the mattress and hit out at the shelves, feeling the sting as her hand met the hard wood. It made her feel better and she did it again and again until the pain in her hand overtook the pain in her gut.

  She was sick of feeling sorry for herself. She’d been on her own for almost three years now. When both parents had died in a car accident three years ago she was seventeen, had recently dropped out of school and was squatting with her violent boyfriend in an inner-city Christchurch apartment building that had failed an earthquake safety test. She was at that tricky age where unknown extended family were reluctant to take on an already rebellious teen. They consoled themselves with the fact she was old enough to look after herself and refused to go with them anyway.

  Soon after, she left David and had slowly made her way north, trying to outrun memories of a family that had never been close but which had now been obliterated. She would fruit-pick and waitress where she could.

  One night in Hawkes Bay at the end-of-season party, one of her fellow pickers cornered her in the packing shed, his thick sweaty body pinning her against the chiller in the dark corner. She couldn’t move but managed to grasp at a spade leaning against the bench. It was big and unruly, but he was too busy making suggestions in her ear, his breath hot and violent, his hands busy easing their way into the waistband of her shorts to notice. She grasped it in her right hand and brought the metal down on one of his jandalled feet. A line of blood opened along the top of his foot. He yelled in pain and she dropped the spade and ran.