Found

by Melissa Pouliot

  Here in the safety of her coastal hideaway Stevie and Linds, her two Japanese Chins who she’d named in honour of her favourite band of all time, snuggled in their luxury Fuzzyard bed. Bessie chuckled as the Russian in charge of the kitchen lay on her back with legs in the air while one of her inmates shaved the hair from the top of her big toe.

  Stevie growled first, then within a few seconds both dogs flew out of their bed with their tiny claws clattering along the timber hallway, barking and yipping at something outside.

  ‘Stop it you two,’ Bessie said as she tried to rise without spilling a bowl of orange segments resting between her oversized breasts or dropping her iPad which she had balanced on a funky striped beanbag pillow on her generous, soft stomach.

  Yip yip yip at the door, then clickety clack back to Bessie, clickety clack back to the front door, yip yip yip.

  Bessie rarely got visitors, only the courier who delivered her online shopping orders, and never at night. A shiver of something made the hairs on her arms stand on end. She admonished herself for her foolishness. Nobody from her old life would be able to track her down here, not a bloody chance. She’d been too careful, too reclusive. Then again, with all this technology and talk of Big Brother, maybe people were tracking her every time she turned on her iPad?

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, old girl,’ she snorted, as she waddled to the door. The dogs paused for a moment to reveal a quiet knock knock knock. Bessie hesitated then decided to stop being a ninny and bravely pulled open the elaborate timber and stained glass front door.

  ‘Well, ‘ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?’ she said eventually to the familiar face peering at her through the gauze.

  ‘And ‘ain’t you a turn up for the books?’ Christine replied.

  Bessie wrapped her plump, jiggly arms around Christine’s small frame, squashing her into her bosom so tightly Christine could hardly breathe.

  ‘About bloody time you turned up on my doorstep,’ Bessie said through her tears of joy. ‘I thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth.’ She stood back, holding onto Christine’s arms as she looked her up and down. ‘Look at you, all swish and fancy. Got class oozing from every pore.’

  Christine flushed, feeling awkward while Bessie gushed, oohed and aahed.

  The dogs, who had been silent for a few moments while their owner pawed all over this stranger, started up their yipping again.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Bessie said. ‘Let’s get you inside. Stevie, Linds, stop your yapping, sit down!’

  Christine laughed and kneeled down to pat the excited dogs. ‘Well hello little Fleetwoods,’ she said, as they climbed and jumped all over her. With a gentle push on their tiny, soft heads she took control and within seconds they were lying on their backs getting tummy rubs.

  ‘They like you,’ Bessie said.

  ‘More than the bloody possum in your front garden who scared the life out of me!’ Christine laughed. ‘For a moment there I thought I was going to get done in and tossed into the ocean!’

  Christine stood up, slightly awkwardly, the way Bessie remembered. ‘Yeah, those possums are a menace. Running across the roof at night like a herd of elephants. Come on, I’ll put the kettle on, still have your tea the same way?’

  ‘Yep,’ Christine followed Bessie down the beautiful wide hallway and instantly felt like a teenager again, when she first followed Bessie into her Kellett Street terrace. She looked around at the furnishings in the main living area, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar cushion, wall print, lamp or coffee table. But she could see nothing of Bessie’s old life in this seaside cottage filled with a wonderful mix of coastal country. Blues of every shade, whites, greys and rustic timber all came together in this cosy home. Bright splashes of yellow gave the room light and life. She admired a cane lounge setting facing out to a massive glass window overlooking what Christine assumed was the ocean, with plump white seats and masses of colourful cushions. A giant sea grass and sand print covered one whole wall, and a plush grey and blue rug with a touch of yellow tied in with a grey corner lounge Christine imagined herself sinking into it and never wanting to get out. Plonked in the best corner of the room, was the most beautiful, brightest yellow recliner Christine had ever set eyes on.

  Bessie watched her closely. ‘I left it all behind, every single thing. Decided to make a clean break. Fresh start. Walked out and never looked back. Figured if I was going to live in a seaside cottage I’d do everything coastal.’

  Christine smiled. ‘You’re all over that coastal country thing. It’s beautiful. I love it.’

  ‘Yeah well, got plenty of places to sit my big bum in here, a seat for every occasion,’ she roared at her own joke, then her laugh petered out into silence.

  ‘I used to just have the recliner but it felt so bare in here, so lonely, quiet…’ She put brightness back into her voice. ‘So I figured I needed a few more things to fill the spaces and once I started filling, I just kept on filling. Probably got enough now but I’m a real sucker for that online shopping. The TNT man knows me well!’

  ‘I bet he does,’ Christine hugged Bessie tight. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t written back to you, Bess. I just, um…’

  Bessie stepped back and patted Christine’s hand. ‘Don’t worry love, it’s okay. We all want to forget that life, you’re the only one I’ve held onto, you and Annabelle.’

  Christine felt her throat tighten. ‘Annabelle,’ she whispered. ‘Have you heard from her? Have you heard anything?’

  ‘No, nothing.’ Bessie sighed deeply, and headed to the kitchen. ‘Right, now. Weren’t we having a cuppa? Have you eaten? Looks like you could do with a decent feed, you’re all scrawny.’

  ‘Gee thanks Bess, some people might compliment me and say I’m looking ripped.’

  ‘Ripped? Where you been girl? Too many hours at the gym!’

  ‘Ha, well, haven’t you caught up with the times, I didn’t think you’d know what I meant,’ Christine teased.

  ‘Yeah, I’m right up with it all, not much gets past this old gal. Got plenty of time on me hands to keep up with all the mod stuff, no old dinosaur here.’

  ‘You were never a dinosaur, but I gotta say, you’ve definitely moved with the times.’

  Christine walked into the kitchen and squealed. ‘Oh Bess, you’ve still got it!’

  Bessie grinned. ‘Yes, there was one exception, I had to bring it. As hard as it was to get out of the house, I didn’t care. No way could I leave this precious thing behind. I got new chairs, the old ones had seen better days, but this baby is just the same as she always was.’

  Christine sat down and placed her cheek down on Bessie’s timber kitchen table, breathing in the familiar scent. The table she’d spent so many hours sitting around, drinking cups of tea, vodka shots, smoking all manner of things, counting out fifty dollar bills, laughing, recovering from big nights out, sharing jokes, poking fun.

  Bessie was watching her wistfully. ‘There’s some things you can’t let go,’ she said softly.

  Christine took another deep breath. ‘Oh Bess, it even smells the same!’ She closed her eyes and let the memories wash over her. ‘The times we had at this table, it can tell some stories, that’s for sure!’

  The kettle pinged and Bessie poured the boiling water over the Lipton teabags she’d dropped into two bright yellow cups.

  Christine dunked the bag up and down while she took in the rest of the kitchen, none of it familiar except for the table. More coast country. The kitchen looked new.

  ‘You’ve got yourself set up nicely here Bessie, real nice.’

  ‘Yeah, living the good life. Doing all the things I dreamed of. I like the fresh air. And the quiet.’

  ‘Don’t you get lonely?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes, I do. But I write stuff. Might put into a book one day. A blockbuster hey? All those stories from the streets. The corrupt coppers, wouldn’t I like to dob a few of those fuckers in! And then I think, leave it be Bessie. Just leave it be.’ She sighed and
took a sip of her tea. ‘So tell me, how’s your job? Got yourself a nice man? Friends?’

  Christine laughed wryly. ‘I love my job. My boss is the most generous man you’ll ever meet. He’s good to me. I’m good to him too, mind you. I’m his best jeweller and I make him a shitload of money. It keeps me out of trouble. Yes, got me a very nice man. Danny. And friends, sort of. Not many friends. Just my job and my home. I like it quiet too.’

  ‘Those scars we carry, hey?’

  ‘I’ve got my scars,’ Christine flipped into her best Billy the Kid impersonation from Young Guns 2.

  ‘You hungry?’ Bessie went to the fridge. ‘I’ve got some leftover sausage curry in here.’

  ‘The yellow one? I can’t believe you still make that!’

  ‘It’s my favourite, and the butcher here does some pretty good sausages…’

  Christine cut in, ‘…but a sausage is just a sausage until you put it in a yellow curry.’

  Bessie laughed.

  ‘You remember that?’

  ‘How could I not? You’d say it every single time you served up your curry, and that was at least once a week.’

  Christine was starving and polished off her plate of curry with rice in no time.

  Food eaten, the casual chitchat done, a comfortable satisfied silence descended.

  Eventually Bessie spoke, softly, gently. ‘What’s up my girl? What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing’s up,’ Christine protested, unconvincingly. Bessie waited patiently.

  ‘Well,’ Christine continued, suddenly feeling exhausted. ‘I saw someone, someone from The Cross. And you know, well, I feel myself unravelling and I need to make a plan. So part of that plan is coming to see you.’

  ‘I see, who?’

  ‘Some bloke, Ant. Remember him?’

  Darkness descended over Bessie. How could she forget? ‘Yes, I remember him. Dirty drug dealer, gave you some shit one time that nearly killed you. He followed you around like a puppy, obsessed with you he was.’

  ‘He wasn’t too bad.’ Christine wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to jump to his defence. ‘He wasn’t the worst of them.’

  ‘Or the best,’ Bessie was closed off to kindness towards him. Her mind travelled back in time and all of a sudden she was back in her old Kellett Street kitchen.

  …

  ‘Hold your horses, I’m coming,’ she called out as someone banged relentlessly on the brass knocker. She peered through the distorted stained glass and groaned before opening the door a crack, stopping him from pushing through.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said gruffly to Ant.

  ‘Christine, I want Christine. I want to make sure she’s okay.’ He spoke at high speed, his eyes glazed.

  ‘Well you ‘ain’t coming in here in that state, that’s for sure. You bloody moron, I’ve got a mind to whip your arse.’ There was a snigger from behind Ant, then a weedy looking bloke stepped out to reveal himself.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Bessie growled. ‘Standing here on my doorstep thinking something’s funny. Well it ‘ain’t funny.’ She dragged her accusing gaze back to Ant. ‘Looks like you’re in with the wrong crowd and you’ve got no business hanging around here anymore. So clear out and don’t ever darken this doorstep again.’

  ‘Bessie, c’mon, I didn’t know. I didn’t know.’

  ‘It’s your job to know. I’ve been relying on you for years to supply the good stuff, so if they’re gunna use they’re gunna use stuff that ain’t gunna kill them. And then you go out and undo all those years of good, reliable supply, and you’ve almost killed my best girl in the process. You fucker! You lousy fucker! Go and find a new occupation, ‘cause you won’t be getting one more scrap of business from me.’

  Ant swayed from left to right, concentrating hard to make sense of her words.

  ‘I just wanna know if she’s okay,’ he slurred. ‘Geez Bessie, I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I need to know is she gunna be all right?’

  ‘Come on you tough old broad, put him out of his misery, will ya?’ It was the weedy guy standing behind Ant again.

  Bessie called him forward. ‘I’ll ask again. Who? The? Fuck? Are? You?’

  ‘Carl, me name’s Carl. I’m one of Ant’s mates. And Annabelle’s,’ he said sulkily, trying to look past Bessie to see if anyone was in the kitchen behind her.

  ‘Annabelle hey? Well, she’s never mentioned you, that’s for sure. And you don’t really look her type. I think you’re dreamin’ mate.’ Bessie spat out her words. He had picked the wrong time to come around; she needed someone to unleash on, and he was an easy target.

  Ant pushed Carl away. ‘Fuck off Carl, you’re not me mate, and you’re not Annabelle’s. Quit ya hanging around, and push off.’ Carl turned on his heel in disgust and slunk off down the dark street, leaving Ant on his own to face Bess’s fury.

  ‘Please Bessie, go easy on me. I’m sick to my stomach. I’ve tossed the rest, rounded up any that hadn’t been taken. It’s off the streets, never to be on there again, well not from me anyway. Don’t shut me out, I care about her, you know? You’re not the only one who thinks she’s special.’

  Bessie opened the door a bit wider, giving Ant a glimmer of hope he might be invited in. ‘Humph.’ She suddenly felt very weary. ‘She’s going to be okay, but just leave her be will you? She wants to get off the stuff, so she don’t need you with your pockets full of temptation hanging around. You hear me? Leave her alone.’

  With that she banged the door in his face.

  …

  ‘You’re off in dreamland Bessie.’ Christine brought her back to her Anglesea kitchen. ‘Penny for your thoughts.’

  ‘Ah, just thinking about that time you nearly died, that time Ant nearly killed you.’

  Christine shuddered. ‘Yeah, I remembered that the other day too. Haven’t thought about it in years. Pretty lucky to be here aren’t I? Lived to tell the tale. Not like Annabelle.’

  Bessie ignored her reference to Annabelle, her mind was still on Ant.

  ‘Did you talk to him?’

  ‘No, and he didn’t talk to me. Not even sure if he knew who I was. We had that moment, you know, where someone looks familiar but you can’t quite figure it. Took me a few hours to work it out myself.’

  ‘You just saw him the once?’

  ‘Yeah, just the once. I’ve started changing my routine, catching a different train, just until I figure out what to do, whether I want to talk to him and dredge up all that old shit.’ Christine sighed. ‘Fuck, I thought that life was all behind me and I wouldn’t have to think about it again. But now I can’t get it out of my mind. I can’t stop thinking that I should try and find him. I don’t know why, but all of a sudden I feel like I need to sort out a few things I left unsorted. Like Annabelle.’

  Bessie sighed. Annabelle again.

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t heard anything, you know, since your last letter?’ Christine asked.

  ‘No, nothing. I’ve given up calling that young copper, not so young anymore but last time we spoke she still had the file. It’s started to feel a bit pointless, you know, the phone call every year. She’s just gone. Vanished. Maybe she just doesn’t want to be found.’

  ‘What do you mean? Do you mean you think she’s still alive?’

  Bessie stood up and went to the sink to rinse out her cup, exhaustion sweeping over her as it tended to do every time she trudged down this path with Annabelle.

  ‘No, I don’t think she’s alive. I think she got wrapped up with some corrupt copper and saw something, or heard something she shouldn’t have, so he’s done away with her.’

  ‘Really? That’s what you think?’

  ‘Or, maybe she went for a walk in the dark, and fell down some cliff face and crashed to the bottom, and nobody’s been by, so she’s just a pile of bones buried in twenty-seven years of dirt and leaves.’

  ‘Twenty-seven years? Sounds like forever when you say it out loud.’ Christine wept. Crying felt foreign, unnatural, when she’
d hardened her heart to tears for so long. Right now her heart felt shattered.

  ‘Sure does,’ Bessie tried not to cry along with her. ‘That means it’s about time we all moved on. Forget about her. Accept we’ll never see her again. Say our goodbyes and close that door.’

  Christine didn’t speak for a long time as she pulled herself together. Finally, her words direct, she spoke. ‘But you haven’t closed that door, have you Bessie?’

  Bessie’s back was still to Christine. It was taking her an achingly long time to clean her cup. Christine went over to the sink and put her thin arms around Bessie’s shoulders. ‘It seems I haven’t closed that door either, so how about you and me open it?’

  …

  Later that night Bessie, with darkness providing her camouflage, indulged herself in pity and misery. She had lost touch with Rhiannon four years ago when she decided it was time to move on with her life and accept Annabelle was gone. When, year after year, the conversation with Rhiannon remained unchanged, she grew tired. Tired of the longing, the frustration, the despair.

  There was only one problem, it is impossible to accept someone has gone when you don’t know what has happened to them. It isn’t like when someone is killed in a car accident. As devastating as that is, the tragedy of the accident forces you to accept your loved one has gone. Nothing can change it. You go through the motions; a funeral, grieving, finding comfort among family and friends, then gradually an acceptance she will never burst through the door again with her usual excitement and laughter. She will never hug you again, hold you again, tell you another story, hold your hand or touch your hair. She will never look deep into your eyes and tell you she loves you, or flounce off with disgust when you argue over something so trivial that years later you won’t even remember what it was.

  When there is no finality, no end point, it is harder for your mind to wrap itself around the acceptance of loss. Because what if you are on a holiday somewhere, turn a corner and end up face to face? What would you do? What would you say? Would it be a simple ‘hello’? Or, would you walk straight past in anger because you’ve been through so much agony and pain, while she’s been living a new life without you in it? Would you fall into each other’s arms with intense joy and relief that fate had reunited you, and not worry about the whys and wherefores? Or, would you slap her face, then hug her tight? Would you laugh? Would you cry?