by Hager, Mandy
Even Mikey falls silent at the poem’s end. I’ve got to hand it to Jiao: she sure knows how to pick a poem. It’s like it was written for today.
Our hush is broken by a cough as Bodrum arrives. He sits down at the back and waits, killing the mood. I want to end this now — every second layers on more grief. I step up to the coffin, trying not to picture the broken man inside, and lay my hand flat on its lid.
‘Rest easy, Dad. I love you.’
Outside, the tui’s call sounds like a blown kiss.
Maybe Mikey hears this too. He steps up now and plants wet kisses all over the box. ‘Love you, Dad.’
I’m not sure if he really understands what’s going on here — that this goodbye is for real. I slip my arm around his shoulders. ‘We have to go now, Mikey — we have to leave Dad here. He’s dead and he’s not coming back.’
He looks up, then burrows his face into my chest. His tears soak through my shirt. ‘No coming back,’ he mumbles as I turn and guide him outside. I’m guessing he will never fully comprehend the fallout of these words. Will I?
The four of us walk to the bus stop in silence, each mired in our thoughts. Lucinda and Jiao hold Mikey’s hand, one each side. The thorn between the roses. That bloody boy has more pulling power than the moon. In many ways his life is so straightforward: crying one minute, grinning the next, never dwelling on the past. I wish to god I was the same.
The bus is twenty minutes late and bulging with passengers who clutch suitcases and packs, caged pets and bags of children’s toys. God knows where they think they’re going, with the train station out of action — though maybe they’re like us, chancing it as best they can, so long as they get out of town. We’ve just turned into Tinakori Road when three police cars, sirens screaming, overtake us. The last car waves our driver down, and he screeches the bus to a halt. As the doors open we can hear the thrum of helicopters overhead, then a policeman steps aboard and gestures to shut everybody up.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry but it’s not safe to proceed. There’s an armed confrontation outside the UPR Embassy.’ He waves for silence. ‘The bus will return to Karori. If you wish to disembark, then please avoid the area around the embassy until we’ve got the situation in hand.’
Lucinda glances at her watch. ‘But I’m due back for a meeting in fifteen minutes.’
‘We could walk through the gardens,’ I suggest. I need to do something, can feel tension boiling up inside me like a head of steam. I want to run the hell away from this death-trap city. Jeannie’s made a good call: staying here, as things continue to disintegrate, is completely mad.
We’re the only ones to leave the bus. I don’t know if this is a good sign or bad. The racket of the helicopters continues, obscene against the background of the rose gardens and glades of trees. We’re just at the crest of the hill when the air is shredded by machine-gun fire. We drag Mikey between us, can only think to race for cover behind the trunk of a huge kauri. I swivel my head to pinpoint the direction. West. The embassy. Beneath the thunder of the shots, the shriek of sirens builds. The cops must be flocking to the site like flies to shit.
We’re safe where we are, but we don’t wait around to speculate, just run like hell until we’re through the gardens and back in town. It’s chaos there. People packing out of offices. Shops boarding up their windows. Lucinda takes her leave of us, promising she’ll keep in touch. All the frantic activity underlines how stuffed I feel, not helped when Mikey whines about being hungry and tired the rest of the way home.
As soon as I’m through the door I turn on the TV. They’re filming the UPR Embassy showdown live. It started when a group of protesters tried to breach security to get inside, the guards responding with warning shots across the protesters’ heads. That’s when some dumbarse cop fired back and hit a security guard. All hell broke loose. Now it looks more like a siege: the armed offenders’ squad taking pot-shots from behind their cars, the UPR’s security quick to fire back. Meanwhile the protesters are yelling hate slogans and throwing rocks towards the embassy from the sidelines … the whole thing looks like something from the Middle East, not here. And they reckon the unrest will spread — there’s already been some looting in the rougher parts of town.
Jeezus. How safe is it to leave the flat empty once we’ve gone? I start to pack our few valuables and our important family mementos into cupboards and drawers. Not that it will stop anyone from finding them if they break in. But it helps to do something with my hands. Except now, of course, Mikey notices his frog is gone.
‘Where’s Winsome Church?’ he yells, fists on hips.
‘Gretel’s said she’ll keep him safe till we get back.’
You’d think that would console him — he likes Gretel — but, oh no, not today. Today he has to take offence. Today he has to react like he’s three.
‘He’s mine!’ he shrieks, and launches himself at me.
I don’t even try to fight, just let the little douche-bag go for gold. His punches hurt, but somehow it’s cathartic: every slug helps override the pain inside. Even when he pings me in the nose I hardly flinch, despite the blood trickling down the back of my throat.
‘Hit me again, you bastard … Go on, knock me out.’ At least this way I won’t have to be in charge.
‘Mikey, stop!’ Jiao throws herself into the fray, pushing in between Mikey and me. ‘You say sorry to Ash. He only asked Gretel because he knows frogs aren’t allowed on trains. She’ll give Winston Churchill back again when you come home.’
Okay, so she’s stretching the truth a bit — I’ve never noticed frogs among the list of banned items — but Mikey slithers off me, looking shamed.
You’ve gotta hand it to him, he does the hang-dog thing real good. ‘Sorry, Ashy. I love Winsome.’
‘I know, mate. That’s why I asked Gretel to take good care of him for you.’
One moment we’re dealing with machine guns and the aftermath of bombs, the next with fucking frogs. Life’s never dull in Mikey World — just impossible to predict.
I take myself off to the bathroom to tend to my fast-swelling nose. The face that stares back in the mirror looks nothing like the pisshead who arrived from Christchurch. The shadows under my eyes are deep indigo blue, the rims inflamed and red. But it’s not the outward look that’s changed so much, it’s what’s inside. My eyes look dead, no light projecting out at all.
How’s a person supposed to function — to protect others — when that light has gone?
CHAPTER TEN
IT’S A TOTAL SHIT-FIGHT trying to catch the train. First we have to endure the bumper-to-bumper crawl out of the city, crammed into Jeannie’s patrol car, Mikey waving like a nutter to anyone stupid enough to meet his eye. Then we find Porirua station is so chokka it’s like being trapped inside a washing machine on spin. As if this isn’t bad enough, my stupid little brother disappears two frickin’ times, chasing some crazy old woman who’s toting three caged cats. To top this whole adventure off, we’re just about to leave when Jiao dashes for the loo and damn near misses the train. What is it with girls and toilets? They need to go every bloody time you’re in a hurry and, when they do, they have this weird tendency to go in groups.
Now we’re crammed into a cosy foursome with Jeannie’s son Travis, who’s twitching like he’s got Tourettes and has a hypnotic fascination for Jiao’s tits. Jiao, to her credit, staunchly ignores him. She takes a pack of cards out of her bag and starts to deal them out for Snap — it’s Mikey’s favourite game. I wave my share of cards away and slump back in the seat, closing my eyes.
I try to focus on the rhythmic rocking of the train, but it’s hopeless — I can’t still my brain. Everything that’s happened since Friday night replays in jerky flashes: the mouldy burger under the sofa, a sad-arsed girl spewing in Courtenay Place, Mikey snotting up the window at the morgue … it’s like some ghoulish arty-fart has hacked into my memory bank and turned my private pain into a freak show — with extra close-ups on the gory shots o
f Dad. Ravaged skin. Swollen split flesh. That tiny mark of Zorro. The absence of feet.
‘Snap!’ Mikey’s triumphant shriek drags me back as he collects the winning pile of cards. I wish to god he’d shut his trap or turn his volume down. I’ve had it with his constant noise and, more importantly, our fellow passengers are pissed off with him too. By the time the other three have been lulled to sleep I’m so wound up I start to pace the aisles. Outside, the sun is setting, its orange fingers reaching back towards the clouds. They brush the rolling hills with gold and heighten all the colours in a vivid burst before they dim. It seems so wrong that nature can keep pumping out such beauty when everything’s so fucked. This whole trip’s starting to make me edgy. I know why Jeannie’s insisted we leave town, but I’m still not sure why she’d care. About Travis, sure, but why Mikey and me? And why did she want me back in Wellington in the first place? If the cops already knew the body was Dad’s, why drag me in? Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I really wish I’d talked things over with Lucinda. I reckon she’d tell me if this stinks.
Just after a tunnel outside Turakina, the train slows to an unexpected stop. I’m not the only one freaked out. I join the throng of people heading for the front carriage. When the conductor calls for silence it’s so instant and intense he stutters the first few words.
‘I’m v-very s-s-sorry b-but we’ve b-been told a threat has been made to the lines. We’re not sure where, but p-prudence dictates we go no further until we’re told it’s clear.’
We’re stuck in the middle of bloody nowhere, with night closing fast, and to make things worse, some fuckwit immediately starts a rumour that we’re sitting ducks for an attack. Another bright spark then demands they bring in buses to replace the train, but that’s plainly wishful thinking: apparently we’re about five kilometres from the closest road, which means we’d have to carry out the young and old.
I make my way back to the others, to find them just as panicked as everybody else. Word has spread fast. Travis is madly texting on his phone and Jiao is literally holding Mikey in his seat.
‘Ashy!’ he cries, breaking free of Jiao’s grip. He’s clearly picked up on the vibes, even if he’s fuzzy about what’s caused them.
‘It’s okay, mate, just a delay.’ I smooth his fringe out of his eyes and guide him back to his seat. ‘Hey Travis, how come you’re texting when everyone else’s phones are fucked?’
‘Special police network.’ He looks so pale the piercings on each nostril stand out in stark relief. ‘Mum says she’s going to find out what she can, then ring me back.’
Lucky for some. ‘Okay, then I guess we have no choice but to settle in.’ I fetch my pack down from the rack and fish out our sleeping bags. ‘Here, Mikey, we’re going to camp out on the train. How cool is that?’
His eyes widen, whites flashing fear. ‘Don’t want to,’ he grumps. He peers around at all the panicked passengers. ‘Don’t like them. Mean.’
I climb into my sleeping bag, hoping he’ll follow suit. ‘Nah, they’re cool.’ I scoop up the deck of cards. ‘Come on, I’ll whip your big fat arse at Snap!’
‘You big fat arse!’ He pokes out his tongue at me but doesn’t smile.
‘Too scared of being beaten, huh?’
‘You’re too scared.’ He’s not exactly the master of witty comebacks, my little bro.
I start to deal the cards, one eye on Jiao, who’s doing her best to melt into the seat. Her attempted disappearing act seems bizarre until I see I’m not the only one checking her out. She’s UPR. The enemy. For all I know, our fellow passengers think she’s got a bomb. Their aggro cuts the air. No wonder Mikey’s twitchy.
‘Ignore them,’ I whisper.
Now Travis’s phone rings. Jeezus, anyone would think we want to be the centre of attention. I watch his face as he speaks, not liking what I see one little bit. He looked pale enough before, but now his face drains to a ghostly white.
‘Well?’ I ask at last.
He leans in close over the table between us, gesturing for Jiao to do the same. ‘It’s not good news. Threats have been made on all the lines, and there’s been another big explosion up in Hawke’s Bay.’
‘Holy fucking shit.’
Mikey jabs me in the ribs. ‘Bad words.’
‘Yeah, sorry, mate.’ I slide my hand into my pocket, feeling for the chocolate bar Jeannie slipped me as we left. ‘Here,’ I say, and instantly his face lights up. ‘It’s your job to share it out between us four. Equal shares, okay?’ That’ll keep him occupied for hours. I turn my attention back to Travis. ‘Sorry.’
Travis jerks his head to draw us closer in. ‘Mum says two more huge WA aircraft carriers have just left Sydney with a whole bunch of marines. They’re heading straight for Wellington. It’s not been reported in the news yet, but she’s worried what will happen when it breaks.’
‘In what way?’ Jiao asks.
‘If we allow their troops on to our soil—’
‘— we’re good as fucked.’ You don’t need to know very much about history to recognise that when the WA steps in, the losers are the poor civilians on the ground. ‘What does she think we should do?’
‘Sit tight for now,’ Travis says. ‘She’ll ring again when she knows more.’
We flop back in our seats and watch Mikey play chess with little blocks of chocolate. Maybe he’s finally learned some self-control. Oh, okay, maybe not. He’s got a smear of brown on his top lip.
Before long it’s clear everyone has heard the news. I guess Travis isn’t the only one with a hotline to the people in the know. The whole carriage is buzzing — and responses seem divided between those who think intervention by the WA will stop the UPR in its tracks (now there’s a pun) and others who seem convinced we’re all about to die. But there is total accord about the villains here: the UPR. And this is seriously scary, because now they’re not even trying to hide the aggro aimed at Jiao.
Her cheeks and neck are flushed a guilty red, sweat popping on her forehead and top lip. God knows what she’s thinking: she’s donned that same closed-book face she wore when we first met.
The atmosphere’s so ugly I have to reassess my own accusing thoughts. The conflict’s clearly not her fault, or even her mum and dad’s, but she’s the one left feeling like a rabbit at a pitbull club. Mikey can sense it too, and I don’t like the way he’s staring back aggressively whenever he meets someone’s eye. So when the conductor announces we’re here for the night I know I have to act or some loon will have a go at Jiao. I signal for another huddled conversation.
‘We need to get the hell off this train.’ I meet Jiao’s eyes, and see relief ripple across her face.
Travis looks puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve got some camping gear. I reckon we walk out to the main road and take things from there. You can stay here if you want — it’s totally up to you. But I reckon it’s safer for us to split.’
He blushes a girly shade of pink, like I’ve read his deepest, darkest thoughts. And who can really blame him for not wanting to come? He’s only just met us and for all I know he could well see Jiao as the enemy too.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts to text. ‘Maybe I should check with Mum?’ he asks.
It’s not my job to interfere, but it strikes me if he’s such a mummy’s boy that he needs to ask for her permission, he should stay.
‘C’mon Mikey.’ I push my meagre pile of chocolate over to him and stuff my sleeping bag back into the pack. ‘Here, eat this up and then we’ll take a walk.’
‘In the dark?’ His mouth is full of chocolate mush.
‘Cool, huh? You can hold the torch.’ I pull it from the pack and hand it to him. This will get him off his seat.
‘Scoo-bee-doo!’ He holds the torch under his chin and turns it on, transforming into such a demonic garden gnome that even Travis laughs. But we can’t ignore the tension around us as we pack our gear — the muttered insults, the snarling mouths. This is how a lynch mob sta
rts. I’ve been bullied enough in my short useless life to recognise its ugly vibe.
‘Okay. Let’s go now!’ I shrug at Travis, who’s still in limbo while he waits for Jeannie’s call, then signal Jiao to head straight for the door. I grab Mikey’s hand and we follow at her heels. A wave of hissing chases us down the carriage, building to full-blown venom as we make it out the doors and jump down on to the scrubby ground beside the tracks. My heart is thudding like a bongo drum and I nearly lose my grip on Mikey, there’s so much sweat slicking my hand. Jeezus. This must have been how I first made her feel. For one gut-wrenching second I’m glad Dad isn’t here to see how badly I’ve behaved.
I hear the sound of running feet, and push Mikey ahead of me. My fists have risen by the time I’ve spun around to realise I’m staring into Travis’s face.
‘Stuff Mum!’ he says. ‘There’s no way I’m staying with that lot on my own.’
I clap him on the back, but my knees are still shaking. I’d truly thought I was going to have to take on some psycho loon. ‘Good on ya, mate.’
As I turn back to check on Mikey I realise I can’t see Jiao. It takes me a moment or two to find her, slipped beyond the radius of light, crouching down to dry-retch like a cat. I don’t blame her one tiny bit. Now we’re out of danger, the full impact of all those rednecks hits me too. I want to cry. Instead I squat down next to her, rubbing her back like I do with Mikey when he’s all het up.
‘It’s okay. You’re safe now.’
She shrugs, her face masked by sweaty hair. ‘It’s only the start.’
She’s right: those morons are a good cross-section of us all. I’m glad it’s dark so she can’t see me blush. ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you. They’ll have to fight me first.’
‘And me,’ Travis pipes up behind us. Bugger me. Maybe the bastard’s got some balls tucked in his undies after all.
