by J. P. Pomare
I rise and place both the croissants on a plate and put the plate in the microwave.
‘It looks nice there, doesn’t it?’ she says.
‘Mum, did you know Henrik is coming out?’ I say, turning back to face her.
She closes her eyes, either in pain or trying to recall something long forgotten.
‘Mum?’
She opens her eyes. ‘He’s coming out of where?’
‘Prison.’
‘Oh yes, of course.’
‘He hasn’t tried to get in touch with you, has he? He hasn’t tried to find out where I am?’
‘Is he still in prison?’
I let my breath out. It’s exhausting trying to get sense out of her. This woman whose sarcasm could once draw blood can now barely follow a simple conversation. What was I thinking? Of course she doesn’t know about Henrik. Last time I visited her here, she caught me going through her drawers. She’d taken my hands in hers and pulled them away. ‘Don’t do that, please,’ she said. I wonder if she told Jonas.
I carry the croissants to the table and begin tearing them apart. Mum just watches me. I wonder what she is thinking? Or more importantly, what does she think I’m thinking?
‘Could we maybe look at some photos together, some photos from the past?’ I say.
Her gaze seems to sharpen, but she merely reaches out and takes a piece of croissant. We eat for a moment in silence.
‘What photos?’
‘I was wondering if you had any photos from when we were younger? Photos from my childhood. Where would they be? I can get them so we can look at them together.’
‘No,’ she says. ‘No photos here.’
I turn away. How many times have I visited? How many times have I searched for the old photos? They must be somewhere. She can’t have just thrown them out. I think about Billy. I look up at the clock above the door. School is out in a little over an hour. I’d better get moving.
AMY
ADRIENNE WAS GONE last night and when a dark car with black windows turns up in the morning, I rush out with all my brothers and sisters to see her. Adam arrives first, and Adrienne gently embraces him. Then we all gather around and take turns hugging her, touching her, being close to her.
One night without her and I missed her so much. She wears big sunglasses and when she removes them, her eyes fall on Asha, the new girl. Adrienne looks at her with such love that I feel a stitch of jealousy.
‘Asha,’ she says. ‘You, my daughter, are settling in and don’t you look so beautiful.’ Asha lets her eyes drop to the long pale grass of the Clearing. She is still adjusting. She doesn’t know that it is rude to look away from Adrienne when she is speaking to you. ‘My new angel, welcome to Eden.’ Adrienne reaches down and tugs a loose thread from Asha’s dress, snapping it between her long manicured nails, before she sets off towards the Great Hall.
Adrienne seems to float as we follow in her wake. She turns back to Anton, who is lumbering along behind her.
‘I can see Annabelle’s roots, and Alex is scratching like a leper. Can you check the bunks for lice?’ Anton simply nods.
The minders – Tamsin, skinny and sweating, and Indigo, her wrists folded against her hips – stand near Adrienne in quiet reverence. Jonathan is there too.
She turns to me. ‘Amy,’ she says. My name from her lips warms me. ‘Look at your cheeks, so tanned. You are looking healthy, child. But you must protect your skin. And your dress is far too short. Lower that hem – do it today.’ I wonder if she knows about the sketch. I still haven’t been punished, no one has even mentioned it.
My face flushes with heat. ‘Yes, Mother.’ I must have grown. I should have thought about how my clothes would change as my body did. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise. Just don’t act like a little whore,’ she says to me. Then she stops walking at the foot of the steps up to the Great Hall and turns back to the entire group. ‘As you know, we have been searching for your brother, one more child to make up our perfect twelve.’ She smiles. ‘And I believe that we have found him.’
— Amy’s journal —
Clouds of tiny flies.
The sting of the sun where my hair parts.
Shreds of eucalyptus bark.
Hard dusty earth.
This is what I think of when I think of the bush. We were out there today.
A low branch opened a red scratch across my cheek. It still stings. Adam wanted us to witness a miracle, and we did.
We all wore our brown boots. It was even hotter in the bush. Adam says the humidity makes the air thicker, like you’re wading through it, and that’s what it felt like to me. I could feel all the crawling bugs and spiders. I can still feel the dust clinging to my calves.
Adam was talking about the natural world. He talked about our pure blood and God’s slow vibration of energy. He talked about Adrienne and how she can control the energy.
My earliest memory is from before my brothers and sisters arrived, when it was just me, Anton and Adrienne. I was nude in the shallows; Adrienne’s hands were holding my hips, keeping me afloat. I remember cucumber sandwiches and my hat with the neck flap. I remember the path through the bush. I’ve walked it so many times over the years. I know it like the back of my hand. I know the trees and the rocks, I know the parts where you can find blackberries and other edible plants.
Mind where you tread. Snakes don’t care for your boots and they might snap at your ankles. That was what Adam told us.
He had these big yellow rings of sweat under his arms, and his shirt had faded and stained like an old sail. His blue jeans were cinched with a brown leather belt. He must be so different from when he was a doctor.
We reached a fork in the track; a big gum tree divided the path. We stopped for a moment to drink from the canteen. Then we continued up an incline. It’s all sticky and crusty out there. My foot sunk into a rotten tree trunk and filled my sock with wood crumbs. The heat got into my clothes and settled against my skin like a warm hug.
Adam had warned us so many times about snakes. Every summer we see a few of them at the Clearing, weaving between the diamonds of the chain fences or up our windows. If they ever get too close Adam or Anton crush the snakes’ heads with the back of the axe or a spade. Today Adam wanted me to show leadership. He told me there was a snake that had been killing the chickens and we were going to find it.
We hadn’t walked far when, near the path, a snake rose, S-shaped and hissing.
Adrienne says sometimes our bodies do things our mind doesn’t want them to do. She says we meditate to understand and control this better. I know at that moment I lost control of my body, just for a second. I froze dead still, and even though I wanted to move I couldn’t.
‘Children,’ Adam said, his voice even, ‘that is an eastern brown.’ He said that if the snake bites someone their kidneys will fail and they will die within hours.
The snake watched me, tongue flicking.
Why was I so scared? Adrienne would protect me, I knew. Adrienne can control all the snakes and all the spiders. But still I was scared, staring the snake in the eye. I felt something pushed into my hand and looked down to see Adam had handed me the machete.
I said, ‘No.’
I said, ‘Please, no.’
Adam stepped in behind me, holding me in place. I could have cried, but I knew it wouldn’t help.
He asked if I trusted him, except he whispered it all breathy in my ear.
I was so nervous that my jaw was shaking, I could barely speak. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Kill it,’ he said.
There is a line in the Bible about how, when the snake deceives Eve, God punishes all snakes.
The Lord God said to the serpent, ‘Because you have done this, Cursed are you more than all cattle, And more than every beast of the field; On your belly you will go, And dust you will eat all the days of your life.’
I’ve been thinking about that line a lot. Whenever one person does so
mething bad at the Clearing, we are all punished. If I disobeyed Adam now, not only I but all my brothers and sisters would be punished.
The snake coiled tighter. Adam pushed me towards it. The snake reared back. I saw its fangs. I held the machete. Then it struck.
My breath was trapped in my throat but as the snake lunged towards me I swung the machete. The blade went through it, cutting it clean in two. It fell to the ground and I could see all the pink inside its head. It twitched on the path right in front of us. The trapped breath inside of me came out and I was shaking all over. I had done it. I was so proud and still so scared of the dead snake. Asha was there close by, and on the way back I walked with my arm around her.
Then Adam came up to me. This is what he said, right into my ear: ‘Now do you see how it feels to have that power over another creature?’
FREYA
Three days to go
BILLY’S BOWL CUT frizzes out in the heat and his nails are crusted with dirt. I remember when he was a baby I would bite his nails down so he wouldn’t scratch himself.
‘What happened at school today?’
‘Me and Eric found an ants’ nest.’
‘Be careful – some ants can bite and it is very painful.’
As we drive towards home, I pull in at the bottom of the road near the drain. The van is still there. I type the number plate into a text message to Corazzo and send it off.
Back at the house, Billy drags his easel out. I find the brochure that had been stuffed in my letterbox a while ago advertising home security and call the number. Billy squirts some paint out; it misses his palette and splatters on the floor.
‘Billy, watch what you’re doing,’ I say, taking my phone to my ear. While it rings, I switch it to my left hand and reach down with a paper towel to scrape up the paint.
‘Good afternoon, Edinson Security.’
‘Yes, hi. I’m hoping to have an emergency button installed at my property.’ I drop the paper towel in the bin. ‘If you can do it today, I’m happy to pay extra.’
•
At around five a man arrives in a white truck. Billy retreats to his room. I order Rocky to stay where he is. He sits up, ears pricked, watching with curiosity. I let the man in. He wears shorts, revealing thick calves, and a cap with the company’s logo emblazoned on it. Though brown hair sprouts from beneath the cap, I can imagine a bald spot underneath.
‘Hi,’ he says, offering his hand. His tanned arms are dark with swirling tattoos.
I shake, discreetly wiping his sweat on the hip of my jeans.
‘Where do you want it?’ he says with a little side-mouthed smile, his eyes tiny and dark.
Rocky watches him intently.
On my instruction, the man drills a red button into the wall of my bedroom.
‘You want another one?’
‘How many can you do?’ I ask.
‘As many as you like.’
‘One in the kitchen and one in my son’s room, just through here,’ I say, crossing the lounge and pushing Billy’s door. It doesn’t budge. ‘He’s a bit shy,’ I say, turning back to the man. ‘Billy, will you open up, please?’ I can hear him breathing behind the door, pressed up against it. ‘Billy?’
The man makes a clicking sound with his tongue. Billy doesn’t like strangers – something else he inherited from his mum.
‘How about I start with the kitchen,’ the man says, stepping away.
I push the door again, but it still doesn’t open. Frustrated, I push harder. It’s for the best; Billy needs the button more than me. I shove with all my weight and the door swings half a foot then stops with a thump. Billy howls.
I turn back to see the man watching me. I roll my eyes, give him a smile.
Billy is sobbing now. I step into the room and pick him up, holding him against me.
‘It’s okay, where does it hurt?’
‘My eyeeeeee.’ He drags the word into a wail. His chest quivers against me. Well, if you listened to Mama, this wouldn’t have happened, would it? I could squeeze the life out of him. I paste a kids, huh? expression over the embarrassment and carry Billy away, out onto the back porch.
‘You’re okay,’ I say, over the din of the drill. ‘You’re such a brave boy. That must have hurt. Let me see.’ I pull his hand away from his eye. I don’t show my concern, but I can see his cheek is already swelling.
Back inside, I lay Billy on the couch and find an icepack to hold against his eye. While I press it to the skin, I run my hand through his thin corn-silk hair to soothe his crying. Rocky comes over and licks Billy’s face. Billy pushes him away.
‘Silly to try to lock Mama out, wasn’t it, Billy?’
The man goes into Billy’s room and I hear the drill start up again. I cringe at the sight of the red button shining in the wood of the kitchen, right beside the fridge. It’s ugly, but it’s necessary. What point is a beautiful home without the comfort of knowing you’re safe within it?
The man goes outside to install a receiver near the fuse box, with a battery locked inside and black aerials poking out.
He tests the buttons with his mobile phone in one hand and his eyes fixed on the screen.
‘Yep, they’re all set.’ He looks about him. ‘Mind if I have a drink of water?’ Sweat is running into his eyes.
‘Sure.’ I lower the temperature of the air-conditioning and pour him a glass of water.
Billy is still lying on the couch.
‘Always better to go with private companies for this – faster response time than the police in most cases out here. Plus, it’s a silent alarm.’
‘Great,’ I say.
‘Where’s your phone?’
‘My phone?’
‘Yeah, do you want me to set up the app? Just another measure. You can choose who the panic button connects you with; you can go direct to the police or us. You can also use it outside of the home.’
‘Right.’
‘Make sure location services are on, so if you’re in trouble we can find you.’
I unlock my phone and hand it to him then watch as he downloads an app and configures it.
‘All done,’ he says at last.
‘So, what happens when I press one of the buttons?’
‘If you press it once, we’ll come out. If you hold it down, the police will come. I’ll just take a picture of you and your son to keep on file so our security guys will recognise you if they’re called out. Anyone who is not supposed to be here will be escorted from the property.’
‘Between the buttons and the dog, I think we have all bases covered,’ I remark.
The man looks towards Rocky. ‘Sure.’
‘He might seem friendly now, but he’s trained to attack.’
Rocky hears the word and rises, eyes alert.
‘Oh, I don’t doubt it.’
‘Lie down,’ I say.
Rocky lowers himself back to the floor, still tense, with his ears pricked. He doesn’t like the man.
‘Can you stand one at a time in front of this wall?’ I pick Billy up off the couch and carry him over. The man takes a photo of each of our faces with his phone. I try to shape my mouth into a pleasant smile when it’s my turn. ‘Alright, I’ll send that off. Now, did you want me to quickly do a free security check before I go?’
I glance at Billy who is back on the couch now and let my breath out. ‘How long will it take?’
The man gulps down the last of his glass of water then picks up the drill. ‘Oh, five minutes. You can read and sign the paperwork while I do it, if you like.’
He wanders down the hall while I vacuum the wood chips left by the drilling. I sign the paperwork. His broad shape moves about, room to room. I hear him tapping on the windows and doors, the roller shutters winding up and down. He even gives the steel security door a firm pull, staring closely at the hinges. I brace myself for the upsell …
‘Everything is actually really secure here.’ Well, that’s a pleasant surprise. ‘You get many break-ins out this
far?’
‘No,’ I say, smiling. ‘It’s very safe around here.’
‘Worried about an ex or something?’
I sigh just loudly enough for him to notice and get the message. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’ I’m smiling as I say it. He looks shy for a moment, his eyes darting away.
‘Oh right, sorry. I, um, I just wanted to make sure you’re all covered, that’s all. Most of our work is domestic stuff, you know. I don’t normally say this, but if anything this place is probably too secure. Your roller shutters are on the main power not batteries, so they won’t work in a power outage. If they’re down, and there’s a fire or a blackout, you could be trapped inside.’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Well, I leave them up mostly.’
‘You don’t want to have everything latched up this time of year when the fire risk is so high. Is it just you here?’
‘Me, the kid, the dog.’
‘Sure,’ the man says, a single tear of sweat running down from his left temple. ‘Well, I mean, I can give you my card. You know, if you’re ever feeling worried about something …’
Jesus, he fancies me. No, thanks. ‘I’m fine – I have the buttons now,’ I say, adequately blunt. ‘Thanks, anyway.’
‘Okay, Freya.’ He’s big. Even his head is big, squeezed into the cap. ‘Well, just in case you ever want to call me for anything else, I’ll leave my card.’
I glance over at Billy, who is standing on the couch, cheeks still damp with tears.
I sweep a strand of hair away from my face and turn back to the man. It’s easy to feel flattered.
‘I’ll keep that in mind …’ I look at the card ‘… Jock.’
I walk him to the door.
Outside kookaburras are perched in the high branches of the paperbark tree near the house – five of them, pointed beaks, chest feathers the colour of damp hay and dark wings tipped with iridescent blue. One begins that long jerking cackle and the others join in.
Koo-koo-kah-kah-kah. The chorus grows as Jock drives away.
I go to the bureau in my study and pull open the third drawer. I lift out my passport, Billy’s passport – unused – and fish for the small blue folder I keep tucked underneath. Sliding the rubber band from around the folder, I open it and look down at the documents I’ve assembled. I can’t tell you exactly why I first decided to keep them. Wayne’s driver’s licence. Wayne’s old passport. Bank statements, utility bills. Photographs of his home. Photographs of Aspen as a three-year-old, a five-year-old, a seven-year-old. Wayne’s medical records. I began actively collecting this stuff a few years after he left. I had no idea where he’d gone, Mum didn’t help much but eventually a private investigator found out where he lived. After that I made frequent trips up to Queensland to watch his house. He steered clear of all social media so it was the only way to keep tabs on him.
