by John Larkin
I close my eyes, but not seeing makes my heart thump even harder. I swear one day it’s going to just explode. I look back across to the strip of light. It’s punctuated by two black lines. He’s standing outside. Waiting. Thinking. I can’t see the handle turn but I hear it. Slowly, like the second hand of a clock and softly, like the dial of a safe being tricked open. And then he’s pushing. Gently at first, then harder and harder. But he can’t get in. He tries to shoulder it open but only the top half moves and it bounces back against the frame with a loud clunk.
‘What’s going on, Tony?’
Thank you, Saint Serena.
‘Nothing. I was just checking if she’s warm enough.’
‘Well come back to bed, I’m getting cold.’
The top half of the door bends again. It doesn’t bounce back this time because he’s using all his strength to hold it there.
‘You little bitch!’ he hisses. ‘This is my house. Don’t you ever block this door on me again! Do you hear me? I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.’ Then he eases the door back into position so that it doesn’t clunk again.
I crawl out of bed and scramble over to the door. I reach down and feel my lifesavers. I could kiss them. Two little rubber door wedges. Two-fifty each from the hardware store. I snuck out of school at lunchtime – just after writing my story, before things kicked off in another direction and I was summoned to the principal’s office. It’s the best five bucks I’ve ever spent. Actually, considering I took the money from Creepo’s wallet (which even as a good Catholic girl I figured was okay because I was spending it on him), it was the best five bucks he ever spent.
The wedges have moved a little bit during Creepo’s onslaught so I reposition them, shoving them so firmly under the door that my fingers are almost at breaking point. But he won’t be back again. Not tonight, anyway. Aunt Serena will hold onto him.
I crawl back into bed and snuggle down deep. This will probably be my last night with them. Tomorrow when I take my letter up to school and see Father Kelliher, things will start to get serious.
And tomorrow night I will either be very rich or very dead.
SO REMIND ME. WHY DID YOU THINK YOU WERE GOING TO BE RICH?
Remember I told you about Creepo and Serena stuffing those big bags into the back of his car and then I had that dream that we all went for a drive out to the forest? At least, I thought it was a dream.
You thought he’d buried all your parents’ money out there? Why would he do that?
Well, he couldn’t just put it in the bank. Even I knew that. It’d look too suspicious.
Hold on a minute, I’m confused.
What about?
He can’t have buried any money from the sale of your parents’ house, because he didn’t sell that until later.
Glad to hear you’re paying attention. My parents had other stuff. Jewellery, cash. So I figured that’s what he’s buried out in the forest. And then when they sold the house, he could have added that money to the hoard.
So you wanted him to lead you to it? How?
My plan was to make him think that the police were going to come and start sniffing around. I reckoned if I could get him to move it to another place, even another place further out in the forest, then all I had to do was remember where he’d put it and come back later and take it. It was mine anyway. So then I could go off and live somewhere else, in a hotel or something, and not have to worry about him coming into the bathroom while I was having a shower, or having to stuff rubber wedges under the door.
But how were you going to follow him? On a bike or something?
A bike? I didn’t have one. I was going to hide in the back of his car, out of sight.
But why on earth would he move the money if he thought the police were going to come around? If anything, that’s the one time he wouldn’t.
I didn’t say it was a great plan.
Even if you somehow got hold of the money, where were you going to go?
I had no idea. The plan just involved getting the money. After that, who knows? Rent a granny flat or something. Con some old dear into letting me move into her garage.
But you were thirteen.
Well, I couldn’t stay in that house. You know that. I thought maybe I could go to a refuge or even foster care. Maybe even an orphanage if they still existed. Could even pretend that I was anorexic. I was skinny enough. Go and live in a psycho hospital with my eyelids sewn shut and be fed through a tube. Anything would have been better than staying with Creepo.
Why didn’t you just go to the police?
And say what? I tried to tell the school that something was up and where did it get me? I tried over and over to figure out what I’d say to the police and it sounded sillier – more fanciful and paranoid – each time I practised the words. I had no proof that he’d done anything wrong. The cops couldn’t do anything until I could prove it.
That’s not strictly true. Not when it comes to child protection. Your safety would have been paramount, and your uncle’s rights and reputation a minor consideration. If there was just the slightest doubt that you were in danger, they would have removed you immediately.
I didn’t know that then. I’m not sure I believe it now. But if it is true, I’d have lost the money. I had to stay close to have a chance of getting it. I mean, I’m not stupid. I reckoned it would have taken more than a few rubber door wedges to stop him the next night, so I figured that I had one more chance. If he didn’t panic and move it that night, then I’d go to the cops or Father Kelliher or Mrs DeSnooza or the principal because no way in hell was I sleeping in that house again.
HE LEAVES EARLY AS USUAL. SAY WHAT YOU LIKE ABOUT CREEPO, HE’S got a good work ethic. Though I suppose if he’s ripping people off, it’s easier to get to his ‘business associates’ when they’re coming out of their homes, yawning and stretching on their first coffee and smoke rather than later when they’ve woken up a bit more
Even though my rubber wedges were doing their job, I didn’t really sleep for the rest of last night. The sound of the trains was carried to me on the wind. I fantasised about where they were heading. To white sandy beaches where you could sit in the shade with a cool drink and read all day. To bazaars with intoxicating smells and maybe just a faint whiff of danger. To tree-lined boulevards with cafés and restaurants and bookshops that never closed. Of course, the trains were probably just crawling around the suburban rail network, marking their departure with that electronic burping sound. It’s not easy to conjure up romantic fantasies when the steam train age is ancient history and the only thing stopping your uncle slithering his way into bed with you is that your aunty is hanging onto him, still trying to hold on to dreams of her own.
After breakfast I spend the morning packing. One way or another I’m gone tonight. I stuff my backpack full of warm clothes but they’re bulky and don’t leave much room for my books. I decide to limit myself to two, my old favourites Matilda and The Old Man and the Sea. I’m a bit sad at having to leave Bleak House. Even though technically it doesn’t belong to me, I’ll miss hiding out in its labyrinth. My imaginary grandmother will have a whopper of a fine to pay when the library catches up with her. Maybe I should write a letter on her behalf. Kill her off like they do in soap operas.
Aunt Serena gives me a letter to take up to school and then goes out for coffee with the girls. She tells me not to tell Uncle Tony that she’s making me walk up by myself because he wanted her to take me. I give her a hug and tell her thank you. She says that she doesn’t know what I’m going on about. But she does. The elephant enters the room, so I let it pass.
She looks nice today. Spectacular in fact. She always looks gorgeous when she goes out for coffee with the girls.
When she’s gone I have a bit of a snoop around their bedroom, but there’s no incriminating evidence. No maps of buried treasure with
the edges all burnt and a big X marking the spot. I open up Serena’s bedside drawer. There are credit cards and some cash, which I think about taking but then change my mind. She’s been good to me – well, she’s been okay – and I don’t want to be responsible for her landing in it when Creepo finds out that I’ve taken some of their cash. And of course if everything goes to plan I’ll be rich later tonight. Or dead. Either way my life is about to change.
I take the letter up to school and hand it in at the office. Father Kelliher emerges from the inner sanctum trying to make it look like a coincidence, as if he was on his way somewhere vitally important but he can spare me a moment if we hurry. We sit down and have a chat and everything he says is comforting. He has no reason for saying anything to me. I’m no longer his problem. His student. His parishioner. But he says it anyway. Talks to me about life, about education, about books. About Shirley Jennings coming to school today but then suddenly remembering my story – the knife, the spurting blood – and having to go home again. And although he could benefit from a little geography revision, particularly as far as the Americas are concerned, it’s obvious that he is an intelligent man. I know I’ve been a bit hard on him. I also know that if I don’t get hold of the money tonight, I’ll be out on the streets without a cent and he will be the first person that I’ll turn to for help.
When I get back, Aunt Serena is still out having coffee with the girls. Creepo might come home unexpectedly, but I risk having a shower anyway. A quick one. It might be my last for a while. Then I take my backpack and hide it the garage cupboard for later.
We have dinner together. Happy families. As usual it’s Serena’s and my job to serve him. He wants another beer: one of us has to get up. Wants more sauce, a second helping: one of has to leap into action. We never know which. He decides on the spur of the moment. Mind games. Power games. Bullshit.
I have to wait until they start talking. I can’t just leap in or they might suspect something. My comment has to be in passing – a ‘by the way’ sort of thing.
‘Did you take the letter up to school?’
Finally.
‘Well? Did you?’
‘Yes. Yes she did.’
‘She did. You didn’t drive her?’
‘No, but she did. She went.’
‘Then how do you know, stupid? Jesus! I told you to take her. Do I have to do everything round here?’
‘I did it. I got there just before lunch. You can check if you want.’
‘Don’t get smart with me, girl!’
The tension is building. In a minute I hope to crank it up a notch.
‘Get me another beer.’
Aunt Serena and I look at each other. I start to get up.
‘Not you!’ he snaps. ‘Serena.’
While my aunt is rummaging around in the garage fridge, Uncle Creepo reaches over and grabs my wrist.
‘You didn’t say anything to anyone, did you?’
‘About what?’
He squeezes my wrist harder, his thumb digging into the bone. I wince but try not to show it or scream out. Any harder and it might snap. ‘I told you not to get smart.’
But I’m not. There are so many things I could tell someone about, I’m genuinely unsure which one specifically I’m not supposed to mention.
‘About . . . you know.’
Fortunately Aunt Serena is on her way back, coldie in hand, which she twists open for him. He lets go of my wrist but there are red burn marks on my arm and a sharp pain deep in the bone. I put it in my lap. Rub it with my other hand.
‘Did you speak to anyone at school?’ He asks this like it was a social call.
‘Just the office ladies.’ I let his relief hang out there for a while. ‘And Father Kelliher.’
I swear I can hear the adrenaline shooting through his system. His sphincter tightening.
‘What did you talk about?’ asks my aunt who, for all her help, has a different agenda from me.
‘The usual stuff,’ I offer, loving this more than I ought to despite my sore wrist. ‘Grades, friends, church, school, books.’ Buried treasure, wife beating, paedophilia, I add to myself.
I can feel him relax a little. He takes a long pull of his beer. In the clear. But I haven’t finished with him yet.
‘And then, just as I was leaving, two cops walked into the office.’ From the corner of my eye I watch Uncle Creepo turn a ghostly white. Your turn to squirm, you slimeball!
Aunt Serena tries to act all casual. ‘What did they want? Was there a break-in or something?’
‘I don’t know, but as I was walking out the door, I heard one of them say to Father Kelliher, “Is that her?”’
Aunt Serena gasps.
‘Go to your room!’ snaps Creepo.
Even though I’ve stabbed the beast and am in mortal danger of it lurching in retaliation, I have to twist the knife a bit further. ‘Geez, do you think it was something to do with my story?’
‘I SAID GO TO YOUR ROOM!’ He bangs the table and the cutlery leaps into the air. His fork does a triple somersault. I desperately want it to spear the back of his hand, pinning him to the table. But life’s not like that. Not fair. It just clinks harmlessly to the floor.
I practically skip over to the stairs and run all the way up. Then I tiptoe back down again.
‘What are we going to do?’
Here we go. Game on.
‘Shut up, woman! I have to think.’
There’s a lengthy silence.
‘I told you she was a loose end,’ he says. ‘I wished I’d had the guts to do it before.’
‘Can you remember where you buried them?’
‘Ssshhh!’ hisses Creepo.
Yes. He’s going to move the bags. I’ve done it.
I slip out to the garage and crawl into the back of Serena’s car. Creepo wouldn’t take his car for this. Not his bloke bling. He’ll take Serena’s, just like last time.
I wedged myself down behind the driver’s seat, in his blind spot. There’s almost nothing of me and I could probably cram myself into one of the seatback pockets if I had to.
He’ll be in there now telling Serena to keep an eye on me, but unless she goes up to my room for a little chat, which in her current state of mind I seriously doubt, I’ll be okay. If she checks on me from the doorway she’ll see my doona bulked up with blankets and spare pillows and assume it’s me. Asleep.
It’s uncomfortable in the back of Serena’s car, and not just because it’s cramped wedged down behind the front seat. It makes me think about that dream I had about that trip out to the forest with them. Them and their bags. And now I know that I wasn’t supposed to come back. That it wasn’t a dream.
Everything’s been a bit of a blur since Mum hurt my father. Serena’s taken me home and put fresh sheets and blankets on the spare bed and tucked me in, but she’s been crying the entire time. And then she leaves but I can hear her downstairs talking on the phone.
Uncle Tony comes back about an hour later. I look out the window as he backs his flashy ute up the driveway and then I hear the garage door clunk open. Serena is down there with him and I watch through a split in the curtains as they lift two bags from the back of his ute and into Serena’s boot. Serena is still upset – I can see her wiping her eyes when they’ve finished. Uncle Tony hugs her and rubs her back. I can hear him saying something to comfort her but I can’t make out what it is. He then gets back in his ute and drives off.
Serena comes back up to me. I pretend to be half asleep and she pats me on the leg and tells me that everything is going to be okay. I ask her where Uncle Tony went and she says that he’s just going to the chemist because he has a bad headache.
She strokes my face until I fall alseep.
It feels as though I’ve just drifted off when Uncle Tony is stan
ding over me with a mug in his hand.
‘Drink this,’ he says, offering me the mug.
‘What is it?’
He smiles at me and says that it’s hot chocolate.
I think I’m going to like living with them. My father never made me a hot chocolate in my life.
I sit back and sip the hot chocolate. When I’ve finished I want to go back to sleep but I feel him gather me up in his arms. I’m lying over his shoulder as he hobbles down the stairs. He carries me through to the garage and lies me gently on the back seat of Serena’s car. I hear them get in the front but I’m too fuzzy to open my eyes.
‘She’s cold,’ says Serena, her voice breaking. ‘She’s only wearing a nightie.’
‘She won’t be cold for long,’ he says.
‘That’s right,’ I slur. ‘You gave me a hot chocolate and I’m all warm inside.’
‘Good girl,’ says Uncle Tony, and I know I’m going to like living with him, even though Serena is blubbing again.
‘And she’s not wearing any shoes,’ sobs Serena.
‘Relax will ya!’ snaps Uncle Tony. ‘I’ll carry her.’
He’s so nice.
I don’t remember much after that because everything was just a blur. I sort of remember them dragging the bags away from the car and then it all went quiet for a while. And the next thing I know he’s carrying me through the forest and he stands me in front of a hole that he’s dug and I know that this is where I’m going to be sleeping tonight. But my nightie’s all white and it’ll get muddy.
I turn around to tell him this but now he’s crying too.
‘Don’t look at me,’ he pleads.
And then Serena comes clattering through the trail.
‘No, Tony. Not like this.’
‘Shut up! We have to.’
‘We can’t,’ she says.
‘I told you to stay in the car.’
‘Please,’ I say.
‘Turn around!’ he snaps.
