by Anna George
In the fresh silence, Neve and her unfamiliar neighbours considered each other.
Five minutes later, Neve was on her telephone and reciting the numberplate. ‘Did the occupants of the car appear affected by alcohol?’ asked the operator: ‘Were they under the influence of drugs?’
‘Yes! I don’t know! Probably!’ Midway through the call, she could hear her baby crying. She swore. It was 8.30. But the operator’s banal questions kept coming, undercutting the situation’s urgency. All Neve wanted to say was: Help! That woman was erratic and enraged, with children in her car.
3
Leah Chalmers hiccupped along the Mornington-Flinders Road. Driving in the shoulder, she was only doing 55, but it felt too fast. The only thing she could see in the rear-view mirror was mist. But it seemed like she’d done it; there were no lights, no cops, no fancy cars chasing her. She eased off the accelerator and her heart rate slowed. She peered ahead, trying to see her way, but in the mist walls kept rushing at her. She was rattled, she guessed, by the crash. And the rest! She had no money and nowhere to go. She’d lost it in a dead-end street and been yelled at twice by the same grouchy stranger. Before tonight, she’d never had a crash, or mistaken the gas for the brake.
Squinting into the fog, she hiccupped again. The tops of eucalypts, street signs and telegraph poles whisked by . . . After a few minutes, she stopped seeing walls in the mist. She tried to think. Where to now? A caravan park? A church? Everything would be chockers with Easter. She drove, her mind empty again. Then a hiccup turned into her nervous laugh. The one Mitch hated because nothing was funny. But, man, could it get any worse? A squeak came from the back seat and she stopped. In the mirror, she could see her baby girl’s open mouth, her droopy head. ‘No, no, no,’ she said. ‘Hush, hush.’ She tried to sound gentle: the last thing she needed was more crying.
A cigarette would’ve been good but she’d smoked her last, before on the beach. She picked up her phone and eyed the cracked screen. Out of credit. Out of range too. She threw it onto the floor then grabbed the torn road directory from under her seat. Had the local towns changed in the last five years? Had they passed any since Flinders? Some of them were that little, it was hard to tell in daylight. Impossible in fog. She couldn’t remember which spots were meant to be decent, which dodgy. She didn’t know anywhere over this side. Even Mitch only knew the surfing spots. She shoved the map away. She couldn’t read a map tonight to save herself. She should’ve gone to the beach at Rosebud or Dromana, places closer to home, to give her sister a chance to cool off. She shouldn’t have driven from one side of the peninsula to the other, wasting petrol, on the Thursday before the long weekend, with the kids. Even if it was for a hundred and fifty bucks!
Not that she’d had much choice. That morning, she’d come home totally knackered from work. Overnight, one of the dears had bit her on the hand. Before that, she’d spent too long chatting with a blind woman who saw little people, dressed in circus clothes, doing cartwheels and acrobatics in her room. Right before knock-off, she’d had to look after another one who’d been late for Scouts and desperate to find his badges. Sometimes, like last night, going along with the buggers did her head in. Which was why, when she’d come home, she wasn’t ready for what she found: her big sister, wearing a full face of makeup and her uniform, about to leave. Not much call for makeup, when you’re a cleaner. Something was up.
When Leah noticed the stack of bags and clothes on the sofa, she’d understood: Kelly’s makeup was like her armour. She put her hand to the wall for support.
‘We need to get a good night’s sleep,’ said Kelly.
In the kitchenette, Leah’s eldest, Tayla, was sneaking Coco Pops as the other kids watched telly. Leah’s baby girl, Cyndi, at seventeen months was the youngest. Cyndi and Kelly and Phil’s three – all under eight – were eating toast and sitting on the timber coffee table. Any day now, it was going to break and they’d come tumbling down.
‘But Kel . . .’ She wasn’t up for a scene. ‘Where, um . . . Where are we meant to go?’
‘I’m not your mother,’ said Kelly. ‘You figure it out.’
Leah swallowed as thoughts fell out of her brain. She looked around Kelly’s two-bedroom home: the sofa she’d made hers on her nights off these last two months. The broken element on the stove top. The bathroom with no bath. The gas heater they didn’t, couldn’t, use. The big telly and the fridge that worked – thanks to her. Thanks to her, too, a lot of food was in those cupboards. A whole fortnight’s pay, which’d hurt. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. She’d probably caught Tayla’s cold, or was coming down with the flu. ‘Kel, one more week, please?’
Kelly had her bag on her shoulder. ‘I promised him . . .’ she whispered. ‘You’ve got to go by tea time or he will.’
Leah kicked at a curl of lino. ‘But it’s . . .’
‘He’s that tired he burnt himself at work yesterday.’ Kelly shook her head. ‘Give the kids a kiss for me,’ she added, without looking at them. ‘And try the camping ground . . .’ When Kelly paused, Leah crossed her fingers. Please don’t make us go.
‘There’s a job I can’t do, and I don’t want to lose it.’ Kelly dropped her voice. ‘You’re not working tonight, are you?’
‘Um . . .’ Leah rubbed her hand where the teeth marks showed. She looked at her kids. Who was going to look after them? But Kelly was scribbling on a receipt.
‘It’s a hundred and fifty bucks. It needs to be done by eight. Whatever you do, don’t break anything.’
In the car Leah shivered. She was even more tired now, tired of thinking. The thinking was more tiring than the work she’d done, and she’d worked fast and hard at that house. She’d never left the kids alone before. It would’ve been worth it though, if the money’d been in the drawer, like Kelly said. But now she was totally skint, until payday next Thursday, and driving like this was wasting petrol. She eyed the gauge, showing a quarter-tank. The gauge hadn’t moved. But that didn’t mean much. It hadn’t moved in years – not since Gran gave her the car. The road, each way, was white and shifting. In the next town, she should probably find a quiet street and pull over. Sleep.
She locked the front doors and turned to the back seat. With her chubby cheeks and blonde hair, Cyndi looked like a baby in a brochure. People often said Cyn took after her, but Leah’s hair was more mousy-red than strawberry-blonde these days, and her baby was heaps prettier. Cyndi’s looks were her one piece of luck. With a sigh, Leah checked the road ahead, then shifted her gaze to the other car seat.
She gasped. Everything she had left was in that car. Every shoe and hairbrush, doll and pillow. Everything . . . but Tayla. The only thing in the car seat was Tayla’s toy dog Mick. With one hand on the wheel, Leah leant back through the gap in the front seats. She peered into the mess of bags and clothes and shoes. The car began to veer but Leah didn’t care. She tossed sneakers and windcheaters, an empty tin of baked beans and a chip carton. The car weaved as she grabbed Cyndi’s water bottle and dug under a hoodie that used to be Mitch’s. She stuck her hand beneath the front seat, searching, as if Tayla was the size of a cricket ball and somehow she’d just rolled under.
When she sat up again she felt dizzy, and that panicky feeling in her chest was a tornado now.
She stared into the mist. Slowly, she got it. Both kids had been asleep in the car when she came out of that house, after she’d finished the clean. Super tired herself, she’d seen them and been relieved Tayla hadn’t nicked off again. But then she’d had that fight on the phone with Kelly. She’d been yelled at by that grouch. She’d kicked over the wheelie bin. When she jumped into the car, she hadn’t stopped to check on them again. There was no time. She’d been rushing to get away, then crashing into the wall.
Fear rippled up her spine. Oh no.
She yanked on the steering wheel and the car skidded and spun.
Tayla, I’m coming.
Barely a month ago, she’d been getting out of the shower at Kelly�
��s when she’d heard a car. It was eleven in the morning; not a time for visitors, not that she had many apart from the pushy guy next door. A car door banged, then someone was knocking. Cyndi was playing with blocks in her pen and Angelina Ballerina was on. Kelly and Phil were at work and their kids were at school. With her hair in a towel, Leah had thrown on jeans and a top and opened up. On the doorstep was Tayla, in her shortie pyjamas, with a grumpy-looking ginger-haired cop holding her hand.
‘Are you her mum?’ He waved a fat finger at her.
When Leah nodded, he said under his breath: ‘Not very clever for a red-head, are you?’ Before Leah could reply, he continued, ‘She’s been on the nature strip in the middle of Nepean Highway!’ His ran his hand through his wavy hair, like he was trying to control himself. ‘We’ve had a dozen calls!’
Leah moaned, as if she’d been winded. She tried to understand; the highway was two blocks away. She peered from him to her daughter, staring down at her bare feet. Tayla’s face was smeared with sweat and dirt and worry. Leah felt her stomach clench. But how? In fifteen minutes? Words broke up in her mouth. Water dripped down her neck.
The cop was getting angrier, maybe because she wasn’t saying anything. It took him half an hour to finish dressing her down. She listened and stared at the white, red and brown hairs sticking out of his nose. Turned out a neighbour had called the police first, when he saw Tayla at the corner. Probably that guy next door, the slimy hairdresser who’d asked her out. He kept poking his nose into her business. The cop wanted to know her birthdate, her full name. He said other things she couldn’t take in. He pointed from Tayla to Cyndi. She began to feel scared. When she was a kid, after their mum left, Gran used to yell at her and Kelly: ‘Do what I tell you or, I swear, I’ll get them to take you kids away.’ For years, that’d given her screaming nightmares.
She waited for the cop to take a breath. She wanted to tell him about the gate being shut; the house being locked; and that Tayla must’ve opened a window. She wanted to tell him she worked nights and her husband had recently shot through. She was only in the bathroom! She told herself: ready, set, go – say it! But he didn’t stop to breathe and besides she wasn’t one to argue. The cop told her he’d be calling social services. He told her, There’d better be a lot of food in those cupboards, for when they came ’round. When he was done, he looked like he wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her.
Once he’d gone, she held Tayla tight. She could’ve flattened her. But she stroked her hair.
‘Never, ever, do that to Mummy again,’ she’d whispered.
A week later, the Department called. They’d opened a file on her. They were coming to visit.
The trees were whizzing by on the right now, as they headed for Flinders. On the wrong side of the road. Startled, she steered to the left and tried to keep to the edge of the bitumen. As they scooted along, she didn’t give a thought to the woman and her smashed-in wall. She didn’t care about the mist. She put her foot down. It’s going to be okay. When the car shuddered, she felt another stab of panic. She tapped the petrol gauge but it didn’t move. She planted her foot again. But, again, the Holden shuddered. Please, please . . . She pumped the pedal but it was no good. Within seconds, the car rolled like a heavy, dead thing. Slower and slower. She banged her fist against the dash and pain shot into her wrist. She steered towards the bushy side of the road and, a second later, the steering went. In the mist, her one crummy headlight faded.
Shit!
She punched the steering wheel and Cyndi woke with a jolt. Her blue eyes blinked at the fog. Then her baby girl opened her pretty mouth, threw back her pretty head, and screamed her guts out.
4
Leah leapt from the car and unbuckled Cyndi. ‘Shush, shush,’ she said, though sounding calm was a joke now. Her thoughts went round and round. If Tayla stayed put she’d be right. It was a quiet street and the town seemed pretty safe. If Tayla stayed near that row of houses, no one would see her. Not if she hid. It was a quiet street . . . Leah looked down the road; she needed to get going but she didn’t fancy walking in the white clouds. Flinders was, she guessed, about 10 k’s away. Or maybe 15. There wasn’t much else she could do, and she had to do something. With Cyndi crying on her shoulder, she set off, swept up the road by the wind. The air pricked her face as it grew hotter and her nose itched. It was going to take awhile. She should probably hitch . . . She walked faster, keeping to the edge of the road. She could only see a metre or two in front of her. Before too long, she was weaving. Cyndi grew quiet and heavier, like a warm bean bag. Leah swapped her from one arm to the other. Not one car went by.
‘It’s okay,’ she whispered to Cyndi. Her voice was too high but her baby didn’t notice. ‘Your sister’ll be safe . . . She’ll be in a burrow or a nice, cosy den.’
‘Look at the grub,’ Mitch had said, that last Sunday, as he took the fins out of his surfboard on the deck. Tayla was digging another hole with her shovel in their sandy yard, while Leah sat at her sewing machine and watched through the open sliding doors.
‘What’re you doing?’ Mitch had asked Tayla.
‘Making a home for my family,’ Tayla replied.
‘Tell her not to make it too deep,’ Leah sang out to Mitch.
‘Hey, not too deep!’
Tayla nodded and dug until she could stand in the hole. Watching her, Mitch stood with his fins in his hands. Leah wondered if he was putting the board in storage. He hadn’t surfed in months, which wasn’t good for any of them. When Tayla hopped out of the hole to drag branches and twigs around it, Leah supposed she was making a windbreak, like she’d seen on TV.
‘What family’s going to live in there?’ said Mitch.
‘You know! Mick and Sally and Peter and my other African wild dogs.’
‘How many fricken wild dogs do you have?’
Mitch laughed and, through the open door, winked at Leah. Pleased to see him perking up, Leah laughed and Tayla did too. Though not for the same reason. Then Mitch came in for ‘a nap’ and Tayla grabbed Mick, her toy wild dog, and climbed into their den. None the wiser, Leah had sat, admiring her handiwork, and, happy enough, watched her daughter play.
Leah’s arms ached and she hiccupped again. What would Mitch make of this? He’d be super angry, she guessed, not that he had to know. He’d left that Sunday night, six months ago. ‘I’m going north to get my head straight,’ he’d said. While he’d been moodier than usual, she hadn’t picked him leaving and couldn’t pick him returning. She’d felt that stupid when he drove off; the whole afternoon, she’d been watching him pack. First the surf boards, then his favourite model aeroplane . . . She couldn’t’ve felt more rejected if she’d tried. He hadn’t called in a month either. She had a bad feeling, too, that the only thing he was doing now was surfing.
Walking, surrounded by clouds, she felt totally alone. Anything could happen to her and no one would know. For hours. Maybe days. The muscles in her arms were jumping and that dizziness hadn’t gone. She stopped to shift Cyndi’s weight again. On the road, the fog began to thin, blown away by fresh gusts. The wind was picking up. Beside her a rusted letterbox appeared, showing the number 1248, and beyond it a driveway, in darkness. She hiccupped. She was going to have to knock on a stranger’s door. Wake people up – again. Use their telephone. And call . . . who? A year ago, that would’ve been clear-cut. She and Mitch would’ve figured this out. But today . . . the only person she could call, really, was Kelly. They better not have another row.
She made herself step through the open wire gate. On the drive, she walked for what seemed like two hours but was probably fifteen minutes. Should she knock? Or check it out first? What if it was a bloke, on his own? A charge was in the air by the time she came to a padlocked barn, an empty carport and a low brick house. She stopped and moved Cyndi’s weight back to her other arm. Holding her baby, alone, on someone else’s land, she felt horribly vulnerable. She hesitated. Maybe she shouldn’t’ve left the road.
In each r
oom, every curtain was open but no lights were on. She sidled up to a windowsill but she couldn’t see a thing; the glass was grimy and cobwebs filled the frames’ corners. The house had that worn, unloved feeling, like half the rentals she’d lived in. Despite the cold night, sweat slid down her back. Steeling herself, she walked to the front door, knocked and waited. After a minute, she turned the doorknob. It didn’t budge. She shook the windows in their metal frames. Nothing gave.
She sighed. She might have to break in.
She was hunting half-heartedly for a decent-sized rock, when the sky thundered and she jumped. Seconds later, lightning lit up the paddocks like a silver moon. She could see cows huddling under trees and the rusted body of a car. In her arms, Cyndi woke up, shrieking. Leah tried to shush her, but the thunder was loud, that lightning was close. Her heart pumped, double-time, as she ran for cover and Cyndi cried. The paddocks lit up again and the sky boomed. Leah could feel her baby’s heart running faster than hers. In the carport, she realised she was getting hotter. She wasn’t right. The baby squirmed in her too-warm grip. The lightning and thunder kept up. Flash, boom, flash, boom, flash. The carport shook. Cyndi wailed.
It took ages for the booming to stop. Then, suddenly, the rain came.
Leah had another look at the house and its windows, getting a drenching. Thanks for nothing. For a second, she thought she saw a drawn face, scowling back at her. She shrank away. She’d watched too much TV. Heard too many of Gran’s ghost stories. Cyndi’s cheeks and nose were dripping, and Leah’s were too. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to break in. The house might not’ve had a phone anyway. She jogged, with Cyndi bouncing in her arms. She jogged in the rain back to the road and towards the Holden. A passing car, she figured, was their best chance of reaching Tayla tonight.
