Call Me Evie

by J. P. Pomare

  Beau rushes off again, this time rounding the corner. I pick up my pace. When I pass the bus shelter and the spot where Jim almost crushed the boy on the bike, a chill runs through me. ‘Beau,’ I call tentatively as I round the bend. ‘Here, boy.’

  Beau is there. But he’s not alone. A group of boys in baggy pants, caps and hoodies have gathered around him. They’re stroking his back, touching his head. Beau is clearly relishing the attention. I stop walking. They are still thirty metres away, yet I feel too close. What are they going to do to him?

  At once they seem to notice me and turn to look up like three heads of the same beast, fixing me with their dark eyes. They’re young – eleven or twelve. Old enough for cruelty. I can’t read their expressions from here, but I realise I’m squeezing the clip of the leash too tight. I pat my hip gently. Come on, Beau.

  Beau doesn’t move, looking up at the strangers for more attention, but their eyes are on me now. Finally, Beau bolts back to me. I squat down, grasp his collar and clip the leash in. Rising, I start dragging him back to the house. After a few steps, I break into a run. I don’t turn back to see if they are following.

  I head inside, unclipping Beau’s leash.

  ‘What happened?’ Jim asks.

  ‘Nothing, I just don’t feel like walking anymore.’

  ‘I have to go out to see a man about a potential place to stay. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but we can go out together later. It’s good to exercise, Kate.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Why don’t you heat up some soup for lunch?’

  I put the soup on, then go to my room. I sit on the bed and pick up the book. I’ve only read seventy pages since I found it, because my mind refuses to stay focused. The words are always evaporating between my eyes and my brain. I think again about the night before, when I thought I saw Thom; that night in Melbourne comes to me and I clutch at the short threads of memory, trying to plait them together.

  In the middle of the book I notice a page is loose. Tearing it out, I realise the page is not a page at all. It’s a photograph. Sun-faded, one corner torn away. It’s a photo of a baby in a bassinet, mouth open and a fat starfish hand raised, clutching at nothing. The baby is me.

  I turn the photo over. There is a date scrawled in the corner beside my name. Beneath that is written: I never meant to hurt you.

  I glance up at my door instinctively, then back to the words. The handwriting is neater this time. Again I recognise the t’s. I write one myself for comparison. Flipping the photo over, I stare at my button nose, cherub face.

  ‘Soup’s ready, Kate.’ he calls from the kitchen.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’m off now. I’ll be back later on.’ When I hear the front door open and close, I go to the wardrobe and grab my escape bag.

  The engine grunts into life and accelerates up the driveway. The sound fades as he rounds the bend.

  I go to his room and search it, pulling back his sheets, peering under his bed, emptying his drawers. Surely he can’t have taken our passports with him? I’ll deal with that problem at the airport, I decide. Ready to scream with frustration, I head back up the hall. Tearing the flap off a cardboard box near the fire, I take a black marker from his desk and write AUCKLAND on the cardboard in large block letters.

  Two big scoops of dog food into the bowl for Beau. I scratch his head and squat down to let him lick my face. ‘Be good, okay?’

  I draw one long breath to calm myself and set off.

  Thankfully I find the boys are not at the same stretch of road as I trek down the hill to the beach. I am nearing the edge of town when I see the shop and realise I didn’t eat the soup. I should get some supplies, something to snack on.

  Tiriana is serving a customer when I enter, but she raises her eyebrows in my direction.

  I recognise the customer from somewhere, cheeks patchy with stubble, tanned skin, coils of blond hair.

  ‘Hi, Evie,’ Tiriana says. ‘Have you met Iso?’

  ‘Hi,’ I say, realising when he turns to me that he’s the horse rider.

  ‘Hey, Evie. You’re up on the hill, right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say.

  ‘Cool, well it’s nice to meet you properly. Tiri’s told me all about you.’

  Has she? ‘Nice to meet you too.’

  ‘Sorry about those kids giving you a hard time. This really isn’t such a bad place. How are you settling in?’

  I don’t have time to chat. ‘Fine, thanks. I’m in a bit of a rush, sorry. I just need a couple of things.’

  ‘Where you heading?’ Tiriana asks, eyeing my backpack.

  ‘I’m – I’m going away. Not for long . . . Just out of town for a night or so.’

  Tiriana looks over my shoulder and out to the car park. ‘Where’s your uncle?’

  Iso’s eyes are on me.

  ‘My uncle? Oh, he’s coming with the car now.’

  ‘Is that right?’ She looks dubious. ‘Well, why don’t you wait in here?’

  ‘No need,’ I say, walking to the back of the store.

  ‘Where you meeting him?’ Iso asks. ‘I’m heading out of town, could give you a lift if you like.’

  ‘Oh thanks, but I told him I’d meet him up the road.’ I pull a bottle of Coke from the fridge and a bag of chips from the shelf, then I grope in my backpack for some cash.

  ‘No, it’s on the house this time, Evie.’

  I look up, meet her eyes. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘But just sit with me before you go.’

  Iso unscrews the bottle of water he bought and puts it to his lips; his eyes don’t leave me as he drinks.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘But he’ll be waiting so I’d better get going now.’ I wonder if she notices the piece of card folded under my arm.

  ‘It’s really good to meet you, Evie,’ Iso says. ‘Hope to see you round a bit more.’

  Tiriana comes forwards and I throw my hands up in defence, but before I know it she has her arms around me. I squirm in her grip.

  ‘Relax, girl,’ she says, ‘it’s just a hug.’ Then she adds, ‘Listen, I heard the kids have been giving you guys hell. I’ve had a word with them – they’re alright.’

  I think of the mean, ugly faces they made at me, the stones they threw, the words spray-painted on our windscreen and I doubt it. But I let her hold me before I say, ‘I’ve really got to go.’

  She releases me and steps back.

  ‘Right, well, I’ll be seeing you again.’ She’s frowning as I turn to leave.

  Pausing at the threshold, I turn back. ‘There’s a girl – Awhina. I think her dad has been hurting her. Someone should help.’

  ‘Yeah, I know the family, Evie. Not much anyone can do from the outside, you know?’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘You think they give a shit? Awhina is going to be a lot worse off if they get involved, trust me.’

  I turn back one last time as I step through the door. She’s still watching me, but now she’s holding a phone up to her ear and is speaking into it, her voice low and urgent. Iso is looking down at the screen of his own phone.

  I resume walking, focusing at each intersection, taking the turns that I had memorised. Left, right, straight, right. The gravel on the shoulder of the road slips beneath my feet, but I must be prepared to drop from sight if I see his car. Don’t trust him.

  Soon the houses, with their peeling paint and windows creeping with moss, are replaced with paddocks. Sheep stand nearby picking at grass. A wind comes, hitting me like a wave, but I am warm from the walk, charged with purpose and energy. Cars roll past in ones and twos. Occasionally a cattle truck rattles by, dragging the stench of shit and piss, and for just a second I can see terrified eyes staring out between sheets of steel.

  It takes a couple of hours of walking up and down hills and along vast straight stretches, but finally I reach the highway. My feet are numb but my heart is pulsing. I’ve done it. How easy it is to escape; easier than I could have ima
gined. I think about returning to Melbourne, the surprised faces, but then I think about the tape, what we did, Thom and I . . . who would have seen it? And there are bridges to cross before then. I will need to organise an emergency passport at the airport. Will they believe me? Will they believe I am stranded in this country? Perhaps the police will be waiting for me in Melbourne.

  I hold up my sign and thrust out my thumb.

  Cars pass without stopping. The clouds darken and thunder follows; the air is cold and damp. Fog rolls in over the hills, and soon I can no longer see my surroundings. Headlights herald new sets of passing cars. The rain starts, light at first, then getting heavier, and it’s not long before I’m wet through, trembling with the cold. A truck slings a wave of spray off the road that bends the cardboard in my hand. I keep my thumb out and the sign held against my stomach. What if this was the wrong time? The wrong decision? I force the thoughts out of my head. There’s no room for doubt. I’m here now. I can’t give up. But still, moths of anxiety fill my chest.

  Cars approach. Please stop. Please. They pass. I drop my head, retracting my hand into the warmth of my sleeve. Then I hear a sound behind me. A car horn. I turn. Up the road a car has stopped and its red tail-lights are approaching. It’s reversing. I run towards it, my bag bouncing against my spine. Relief washes over me; I could collapse beneath the weight of it. The passenger-side window is lowered and I see the driver: a lady with blonde-grey hair pulled back in a low ponytail. The air coming from inside the car is tangy with stale cigarette smoke.

  ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Before you get even more soaked.’

  I open the door and drop into the seat. The car pulls away from the kerb.

  I’m dripping everywhere. ‘I’m so sorry for making your car wet.’

  At first the woman doesn’t answer. I hear the thunk of the doors locking and the woman turns to me, a tight-lipped smile on her lips. ‘So, you must be Evie.’

  before <

  TWENTY

  WHEN THE DOORBELL rang I leapt from my bed and didn’t even stop to look in the mirror. My ponytail was too tight, and I wore a little make-up for Thom but not too much for Dad. Will he notice that I act different around my dad? Will he see what I’m really like?

  I ran quickly downstairs and got to the door first. Dad, arriving from the kitchen, made a go ahead gesture.

  On one of my driving lessons a week earlier Dad had insisted I invite Thom for dinner.

  ‘I knew the day would come when you would have a boyfriend. Fortunately you got your mother’s looks,’ he had said.

  It must have been the flowers in a jar on my dresser from one of our anniversaries that tipped him off.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I said.

  ‘I want to meet him.’

  I reached with my index finger for the indicator.

  He was not mad or annoyed, but the tone of his voice knotted something within me and the words wouldn’t come.

  ‘Thom,’ he said. ‘That’s his name isn’t it, Kate? Didn’t you used to swim with a Thom?’

  Another knock at the door. I reached for the handle and turned.

  Black jeans but not the ones with holes at the knees; a faded plaid shirt; hair neatly combed back.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, bubbles expanding and bursting in my stomach. More quietly I added, ‘Sorry if this is awkward.’

  ‘Wow,’ he said, stepping inside. His eyes roamed the walls. ‘This place is a palace.’

  In a second Dad was striding across the room, hand outstretched.

  ‘Dad, this is Thom.’

  ‘G’day,’ Dad said, pumping Thom’s hand.

  ‘It’s so nice to finally meet you.’ Thom spoke like he had something wedged in his larynx. A flush crept out of the neck of his shirt yet he stood tall, his spine straight and as taut as a guitar string, his chest thrust out.

  Dad, too, was stiff and overly formal. ‘Welcome,’ he said.

  It’s a strange thing seeing two people you know so well suddenly acting differently around you. I only wanted Dad to like him, that’s all.

  ‘Come on through to the lounge – dinner won’t be far off.’

  Dad got himself a beer, offering one to Thom and asking me if I’d like a glass of wine. I was grateful that he wasn’t treating us like little kids.

  Thom and I sat next to each other on the couch, our legs touching at the thigh. Embarrassed by the intimacy, I shuffled over a little.

  As Thom grew more comfortable in Dad’s company, he started to ask him questions.

  ‘So you’re retired now?’

  ‘No, not entirely. I stopped playing rugby but I’ve been working. What about yourself, Thom? Any plans for the future?’

  Thom shifted in his seat. ‘I want to be a photographer.’

  They seemed to be getting on, yet still the silences filled the room like rising water.

  ‘I’ll put some music on,’ I said, standing up from the couch to put on the playlist Thom had made me for our four-month anniversary.

  ‘What’s this crap, Kate?’ Dad said and Thom blushed.

  ‘It’s my playlist,’ I said. ‘I love it.’

  Dad raised his eyebrows at Thom.

  When we ate dinner, Thom led the conversation, asking questions and following up the answers with more questions.

  Dad asked him if he followed the rugby at all.

  ‘Yeah, I kind of do. But I’m not that big on sports in general. I like to watch UFC.’

  A small flicker of irritation behind Dad’s smile. ‘The blokes trying to kill each other in a cage? That still counts as a sport, Thom.’

  ‘Well,’ Thom began, looking to me for a second, then back to Dad. He seemed embarrassed. ‘I mean, it’s not really a sport. I’m not that big on it anyway.’

  ‘You don’t participate in any combat sports, do you, Thom?’

  ‘No,’ Thom said with a small smile. ‘I don’t have it in me.’

  ‘Too bad. You’ve definitely got the build.’

  Dad looked down at his plate for a second then, looking up, he studied Thom’s face. Thom, busy helping himself to more salad, didn’t notice the way Dad’s stare lingered.

  Dad washed up the dinner dishes. Thom offered to help but Dad waved him away. ‘No, you kids do your own thing,’ he said.

  I showed Thom up to my room for the first time, leaving the door open behind us. We stood close, leaning in, and Thom draped his arms around me, his fingers laced at the small of my back. I kissed him softly with my eyes open, watching the door.

  ‘Remember when your dad used to confiscate your phone? I can’t even imagine it. He’s a nice guy.’

  ‘Yeah, he is.’

  ‘He likes me, I can tell.’

  ‘Yeah. You were great.’ But you’re wrong.

  ‘I was just shooting the shit with good ol’ Bomber Bennet.’

  He wandered around my room looking at the photos on the walls, running his hand along the top of my dresser and touching all the trinkets and seashells I had carefully lined up. The postcard he took from the art gallery, the saltshaker from a café, a small crystal from a store in Fitzroy, a torch, a yo-yo. All those pilfered keepsakes that were special because Thom had stolen them for me; he had risked something for me. Those otherwise meaningless items were freighted with memory.

  I had a few other keepsakes on my dresser. A mini Statue of Liberty Dad had brought back from a trip to New York when I was a baby. Mum’s wedding ring strung on a silver necklace. The photo of me as a baby in Mum’s arms.

  ‘Seriously, Kate, your dad is fine. I don’t know why you made such a big deal of introducing me.’

  I closed the door a little further. Clearly sensing I didn’t want to talk about it, he smiled and took my cheeks in his hands, kissing me again. It felt like burning where my chest touched his. He ran his hand down my back and around my waist, unpicking the front button of my jeans.

  ‘Don’t, Thom.’ I placed my hands on his chest, pushing gently. He grabbed my wrists and made a n
oise like he was holding back a sneeze. He gripped with such force I felt a sort of ache where his thumbs dug in.

  ‘My dad’s downstairs,’ I reminded him.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, still with that intensity in his eyes. Then abruptly he let out a laugh. ‘Relax, Kate. I wouldn’t do anything – we’re not ready, remember?’ He was repeating my own words back to me. We had been going out for five months – from September through most of summer. We were both sixteen. He had presented so many clever arguments but still it didn’t seem right yet.

  I felt bad, like it was my fault and I should somehow be different. And that’s how they get you, boys like Thom. The obligation to protect them from their insecurities by conceding, bending. I leant in and kissed him gently on the lips. I thought about one time when I had been at Thom’s and, while he went to the kitchen, I had opened his laptop. The screen had filled with naked flesh, a manufactured sensual whine issuing from the speakers. I knew most guys were into porn, but until then I’d thought Thom was different. There was something almost forceful about it. I had watched on for a few seconds, curious.

  That afternoon we’d had our first fight. I could tell he was embarrassed by what I’d seen and that his embarrassment made him angry. He told me never to go through his things again. He said if I did, we would be through. I cried and he didn’t apologise, but eventually we swept that episode aside, never mentioning it again.

  ‘It’ll happen soon,’ I said now.

  •

  Later that week Willow texted me. It has literally been a month since I saw you. Please can you visit me soon?

  I thought for a moment. She always had lots of friends. Basically all of my friends were her friends first. At least Thom was all mine. I suppose he was the reason why Willow and I hadn’t been seeing much of each other, that and the needling fact she had lied to me about him.

  Not a whole month but we’ve been slack. We should hang soon?

  We’ve been slack? Not we, Kate. You. But I’ll forgive you if you come see me soon. I’m dying for the goss.