Amy. Oh great. I get to wear his girlfriend’s gumboots. Super.
“Thanks, that would be awesome,” I lied.
I watched him drive away with a disconcerting feeling of domestic contentment that stayed with me as I rinsed our cups then threw my wet clothes into the washing machine. I had to remind myself that we weren’t a married couple; I didn’t watch him drive away to work as a daily ritual and I certainly didn’t then content myself with tidying the house. But that was how I felt. The whole package of the house, the lake, Bruno and me, and Jackson, disconnected my reality and took me to a place in my head that felt more real, even though I knew it was an illusion. I had to physically shake myself and stamp my feet to pull my emotions back into my actual life. Then the guilt kicked in as my work ethic started to nag at me. I imagined my boss’s reaction if she found out I had been wandering around the lake when I should have been counting boxes of books. I checked my phone, almost expecting her to have known that I was slacking off and to have sent me a terse text, but there were no messages, not even from Simon. Could he have finally got it through his head that I wasn’t coming back? With a sigh of relief, I tightened the cord holding up my pants and stepped through the secret door into Maggie’s hoard.
In a fit of enthusiasm I began with the boxes I had already looked at. Without Jackson to worry about, it was easy to prop the front door open and drag them all out onto the deck where I piled them up as high as I could manage without them falling over. By the time Bruno’s Land Rover rattled back into the driveway, I had emptied the room, filled the porch and completely covered the sliding doors to the guest bedrooms, leaving just enough space to get down the stairs. I stacked the box I was carrying and watched, puzzled, as Bruno didn’t stop but carried on around the back of the house, pulling the vehicle tightly in beside the laundry steps.
“Why have you hidden your truck?” I asked as he emerged around the side of the house, proudly waving a parcel of fish and chips.
“Because, if Carlton turns up tonight, I don’t want him to know I’m here.”
“Do you think he is going to come back tonight?” I asked as we made ourselves comfortable on the rug, Bruno opening out the fish and chips in front of us.
‘Yeah, I reckon he will. He’s got to feed those pigs and he knows his mate shot Jackson. I’m surprised he hasn’t turned up already.”
“So what are you planning to do that’s made you hide your truck? Shouldn’t we just lock up while it’s still daylight and get the hell out of here?”
Bruno sucked seductively on a long, succulent chip and smiled. “Well, I’m not forcing you to stay but I was hoping you’d let me hole up here and keep watch. Plus, I brought my waders, because I want to have another search for Gunna. I’m damn sure he’s down at the lake. Oh, and if you do want to join me, Amy did have a pair of gumboots spare.”
Amy again. Whenever the mood gets interesting, Amy pops up. I wish she would run away with Carlton. But how can I be jealous of someone I’ve never met over someone I‘ve only known a day or two. Seriously, Andrea, get a grip!
“Awesome,” I faked.
“And I borrowed some overalls from work for you, unless you’ve become addicted to those exotic pink pyjamas.”
At least they weren’t borrowed from Amy too. No, that was an ungrateful thought. If I was going to go back down to the lake, overalls and gumboots would be much better than getting my jeans, which I had forgotten about, wet again. I gave myself a mental telling off then thanked Bruno with genuine appreciation.
“How is Jackson?” I changed the subject.
“Doing fine. He’s awake and responding to his name. I’ve given him some more pain medication and tucked him up on a heat pad. He’s a good dog. He’s tougher than he looks. You’ve been busy, too. That’s quite a pile you’ve dragged out onto the porch. Are any of the books valuable or are they all destined for the dump?”
“The dump, I’m afraid. Some of those boxes are mouldy and the mice have had a field day in them, so it’s not even worth offering them to a second hand book shop, which is where they all seem to have come from in the first place.”
“Did you find the gun cabinet behind the boxes?”
“No, I didn’t. The room’s empty apart from the boxes, although I’ve only made it through about half of them, so I haven’t found the back wall yet, and that’s only the first room. There’s another just as full. If the cabinet is there, it’s probably in the second room. You’re welcome to have a look.”
“Yeah, I will, if that’s okay with you. You’re going to need to find the guns for your inventory anyway and I’d be happier if I knew they were all there and still safely locked up.” Bruno rolled up the now empty fish and chip wrapping paper, tossed it into the wood burner and stood up. “But, I think I will stick to my original plan and go back down to the lake while it’s still light enough to see where I’m going. I don’t think the gun cabinet is going anywhere.”
“Neither am I,” I replied. “Going anywhere, that is. You can yomp off by yourself, because I’m staying here to attack a few more of these boxes or I’ll never get back to Wellington.”
“Do you want to?”
“Sort more boxes of mouldy books? Oh hell, yeah, I’m having a ball.”
“No. Do you want to go back to Wellington?”
“Well... I ...” I had to stop and think. “Actually, no, not really. It’s like another world down here. But of course I’m going to have to go back. It’s where I live.”
Bruno raised his eyebrows, tilted his head and shrugged. “You never know. Things change.”
Then he was out the door and gone, leaving me to work out why I found the thought of going home so distasteful. I walked to the window, expecting to see him striding across the paddock, but he had disappeared. Had he fallen? Was he hurt? I peered out the window, my heart racing, then just as I was preparing to rush out the door, I saw him sauntering towards the fence, rubber thigh waders flapping over his shoulder. I stepped back from the window in case he looked up and saw me. How could I have been so stupid? He had told me he had brought his waders and he wasn’t wearing them in the house, so of course he had gone to the truck to get them. Why did I panic? Maybe it was time to go back to Wellington.
Telling myself that I was being silly, I still couldn’t resist the temptation to look out the window again. Bruno was moving fast, unencumbered by me to slow him down, and was almost at the lake’s edge. I watched for several minutes until he stopped to pull on the waders, then turned back into the room and the job I was being paid to do.
It didn’t take long to fall back into the rhythm I had developed earlier in the day, so I made good progress, although this time I left the sorted boxes in the room, against a cleared wall, as there was no room left outside on the porch. I quickly got back into the routine I had established before – check for signs of mould or mice, open the box, pull enough out so I could take a look at the ones on the bottom then throw the top ones back in and close the box – so I worked fast and was almost at the back wall when I found the first box of papers.
It looked like all the others when I opened it, another box of second-hand pulp romances, but the books were only two layers deep. Under them I found a pile of transparent plastic files, each one full of hand-written notes. Each file was labelled with the same sort of code I had found on the legs of the stuffed birds in the shed, so I assumed that the files were the details of each piece of taxidermy. But why were they stuffed into a box of romance books, under a pile of other boxes? Why were they not in a filing cabinet or, at least, in a sensible place? I considered stopping to read through them, then decided that could wait. Instead, I repacked the romance novels into another box and carried the box of files through to the lounge so I could look at them later.
Through the lounge window I was surprised to see the light fading. I had spent longer sorting the boxes than I had thought. Where was Bruno? He should have been back by now. Had he fallen in the lake? Should I have gone w
ith him? What was that banging? I hadn’t noticed the noise when I was in the secret room but now I could hear a repetitive thudding. Carlton? Was he here? No, it wasn’t a rifle. Then it stopped and I heard footsteps. I froze. The feet climbed to the porch but before I went into a full-blown panic attack, I recognised Bruno’s voice.
“Hey, Andy, open up. My arms are full.”
Laughing at my own stupidity, I opened the door and Bruno entered, carrying a load of firewood that explained the thudding.
“I thought I’d stock up,” he said, kneeling to stack the logs beside the woodburner. “It’s getting cold out there. I don’t suppose the jug’s on? I need something warm.”
For the next few minutes we could have been any contented couple – Bruno tended to the fire then went to wash his hands while I rummaged in Maggie’s pantry and found a can of pumpkin soup which I heated and served in two giant mugs. Bruno took the one I handed to him and flopped down in front of the fire, stretching his legs so that I was forced to step over them to find my own place to sit.
“Did you find Gunna?” I asked as I made myself comfortable on the rug.
“Yes and no. I waded out to the mai-mai and I could tell that he’s been there recently, he’s made himself a nice little camp, but he wasn’t there when I was there. Knowing Gunna, it’s possible he wasn’t far away and he was probably watching me, but the only living beings I saw were swans and ducks. But I left him a message. I tucked one of my business cards into the reeds that make up the wall. If anyone else sees it, they’ll just think some shooter put it there in case they needed a vet urgently, but Gunna will know it’s new and realise I was there. He doesn’t miss a trick. I’m just hoping he’ll have the good sense to get in touch.”
“I found something, too, while you were away. That box over there. It had romance novels on the top but underneath them were a whole lot of files, all coded like the dead birds in the shed. I was just going to look through them when you came in.”
“Okay. Drag them over here and I’ll give you a hand.” Bruno looked at his watch. “It’ll be a couple more hours before Carlton shows his face, if he’s going to; this’ll give us something to do while we wait.”
“Are you seriously going to tackle Carlton when he turns up to feed those ghastly pigs?”
“Hell, no! I’m going to sneak over to the shed as quietly as possible and take pictures. I’m after evidence that’ll stand up in a court. I am going to take that bastard down this time. Speaking of bastards, I meant to ask you earlier – who’s Simon?”
“What?” Bruno’s change of topic took me by surprise.
“Simon Bastard. In your phone. Sorry, I wasn’t prying but way earlier, when we were looking at the photos of the swans, you had a couple of texts come through, which you ignored, but I couldn’t help noticing the name. Is there really someone with the last name Bastard?”
“No,” I laughed. “His name is Simon Briggs, but he is a bastard, so I changed it. He’s my ex. He didn’t want me to come down here. I was supposed to stay in Wellington and hang on his arm, but I finally realised what a control freak he was and I left. This job was the perfect opportunity to get away from him. He’s been texting me ever since. He even bought me plane tickets so I could fly back to go to his mother’s birthday party with him. I cancelled them and I bet he was livid when I didn’t get off the plane and fall apologetically into his arms. Before you yomped off, you asked me if I wanted to go back to Wellington and I guess the true answer is no, I am dreading running into him again. I will have to sort out a new place to live when I get back, and change my phone number so he can’t find me. At least I know I won’t run into him in the Waihola pub.”
“He sounds like a real prick. He’d probably get on well with Carlton.”
“Oh, bitchy!” We both laughed. “Now, enough about Simon, he is past history. Let’s look at these files and see if we can figure out what Maggie was filing away. Oh, hang on,” I reached for my inventory that I had left on the couch, “let’s check the numbers on the files against the tag numbers on those birds. I wrote them all down with a description of the bird.”
Bruno picked the first folder from the box, studied the front page then scanned my inventory list until he found the matching code number. His eyes flicked from one sheet to the other, his concentration creating deep lines across his tanned forehead.
“I’ve figured out the numbers,” he said, flicking his hair from his eyes in his habitual move as he grinned at me. “The first set of letters and numbers are a grid reference that nobody but Gunna and Maggie would understand and the second set of numbers are a date, written backwards - year, month, day, time.”
“What’s the grid reference to?” I asked.
“The lake. I told you Gunna and Maggie were, are, ardent conservationists. I’m sure Gunna knows every bird on the lake individually. Between them they know which birds are nesting, which areas have the best food. Anything and everything you might need to know about the birds on this lake, Gunna knows. He and Maggie drew themselves a map of the lake and drew a grid over the top of it to make it easier to keep track of things – it’s easier to say there’s a nest in section R3B than say it’s in the patch of reeds just after the fallen tree but before you get to the bend, if you see what I mean. It was purely for their own use.”
“Okay, so if the first part is the where , what does the date refer to? The day the bird died?
“Yeah, I think so. That would make sense.”
“But, if Gunna and Maggie were such great conservationists, why were they killing the birds and stuffing them?”
“Good question. I don’t know. What was that?” Bruno sat straighter, his head cocked to the side.
“What was what?” I asked as Bruno got to his feet, motioning towards the door.
“Shh, someone or something is outside,” he whispered. “I heard a footstep on the gravel.”
Then I heard it too, only now it was on the steps, followed by a muffled cry and a swear word as whoever it was side-swiped one of the piles of boxes. Bruno moved quickly but without a sound. With hand movements, he indicated that he was going to sneak out the laundry door and make his way around the outside of the house. I stood where I was, rooted to the spot, unable to make my legs propel me anywhere as my flight or fight reaction chose the third option of freeze.
The door shuddered under the weight of the determined knocking. A voice called my name. The freeze spell broke and I sank onto the couch. Surely not. He couldn’t have found me here.
“On-dray-a! I know you’re in there. Open the damned door immediately. It’s bloody cold out here.”
From the kitchen Bruno turned and mimed me a message that asked who it was. The act of mouthing back “Simon Bastard” turned my fear into anger and now it was my fight reaction that kicked in. I strode to the door and flung it open, facing Simon with my arms firmly crossed across my chest. Mustering all the control techniques he had used on me, I kept my voice as calm and as low as I could.
“Get the fuck out of here and piss off back to Wellington.”
Behind me I heard the laundry door close.
“Step back and let me in so we can discuss this rationally,” Simon blustered. “I’m bloody freezing. Why did you make me come to this godforsaken hole to get you. Why didn’t you come home when I told you to. I sent you the ticket. Mother says to tell you it was very rude.”
“Tell Mother to get fucked.”
“That’s enough! I will not have you using such foul language. Now step aside and let me in!”
“No.” I straightened my back to give myself as strong a pose as possible, fighting the instinct he had drilled into me to bow my head and apologise. Not this time. “Go away, Simon. We are finished. Over. Defunct. I am not coming back to you, ever. Do you get that? Ever! Now turn around and bugger off.”
For a second, Simon looked surprised. I guess he was. In his world people did as he ordered, especially “his woman”. Then he got angry. I could see him swallow
ing back his desire to shout at me. He squeezed his hands together alternately, hand over hand, in a gesture I remembered as part of his technique for channelling his fury so he could deliver it with the cold violence I had come to fear. I held my ground.
“Don’t. Be. Ridiculous,” he snarled, his voice flat and quiet. “You WILL come back with me. Right now. You will let me in. You will put on some proper clothes. Why on earth are you dressed like that? Have you lost your mind? Then you will get in my car and we will leave. You do not have a choice. I am not giving you one.” He took a step towards me, expecting me to step aside and let him in but I didn’t move. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, On-dray-a, hurry up and get on with it.”
“No. What part of no did you not get the first time I said it? Do you ever listen to yourself, you pompous jerk? Look at you in your pin-striped suit and your slicked back hair. How did I ever let myself become so subservient to you? You’re a nasty, bullying, abusive psychopath and I am not putting up with your crap anymore.”
That was when I made my mistake. I took a step back and relaxed my arms in preparation for slamming the door in his face, but Simon was surprisingly fast. He darted forwards, grabbed the arm I was raising and hauled me towards him, his left hand coming up just as quickly to deliver a sharp slap to my cheek. Then, whatever he was going to say was stopped as his hand was pulled away from my arm and his body swung around. As I raised my hand to feel my stinging cheek, Simon’s whole body lifted in front of me and slammed into the doorframe, held in place by Bruno’s fierce grip on Simon’s pin-striped lapels.
“You heard the lady,” Bruno growled, punctuating his sentence by slamming Simon against the door frame between each word. “Get on your bike, Bastard, and don’t come back, because if you do, I’ll be waiting for you.”
Bruno let Simon go but stood between us. Simon tried to muster some authority but failed, his Wellington city bluster overwhelmed by Bruno’s natural confidence.
Deep in the Shallows Page 10
