by J. P. Pomare
After school I walked the long way home, stopping in at Willow’s. We lay on the rug in the lounge room in front of the television. Sensing eyes on me, I glanced over my shoulder. Her dad was watching us. Or perhaps he wasn’t actually watching. Perhaps he’d glanced up from his iPad at the same instant that I’d turned around. Whatever the case, our eyes met briefly.
Willow asked me something about Thom and I directed my attention back to her. We were talking quietly, but I could tell that he was listening. I liked that he knew how mature I was, that I had a boyfriend. When the conversation edged towards sex, Willow jerked her head towards the stairs and we retreated to her room.
‘We’re still waiting,’ I told her.
‘Right,’ Willow said, quirking an eyebrow.
‘What? That’s normal. It’ll happen.’
‘Well, there’s no point waiting forever. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to marry Thom.’
‘Why do you say that?’ I didn’t want her to know that I had fantasised about just that, but I couldn’t keep the prickle of annoyance out of my voice.
‘Relax, it’s just not likely. Like, statistically or whatever. I mean I’ve been with four guys now.’
‘Well, that’s you.’
In the silence that followed, I could hear our breathing.
She swallowed before speaking. ‘So that makes me a slut? Is that what you think?’
‘No,’ I said. But I couldn’t meet her eyes.
She let out a huff of anger that spilled into laughter. ‘You don’t get it, do you? You just don’t see it at all. You’ve turned your back on me and probably all your other friends for a guy you’ve been with for ten minutes.’
‘You don’t make an effort with me either. And it’s been five months.’
‘You’re counting months?’
‘Admit it, you never wanted us to get together. You tried to ruin it from the start.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she said, eyes pinched, lip curled in a snarl.
For a single heartbeat I had the sinking feeling that I had read it all wrong, but then I remembered what she had texted me. Perhaps I still had the messages. They like each other. A lot. ‘You told Thom I had a boyfriend and you told me he was going out with Sally.’
‘Okay, firstly, Sally told me he was texting her and I told you because that’s what real friends do. I didn’t know she was lying. Secondly, I never told Thom you had a boyfriend. Thom’s either lying or not remembering it how it happened.’ She flicked her hair away from her face.
‘It won’t last anyway. Trust me.’ Doubt rinsed over me like icy water.
She was just causing trouble, like usual. Willow loved drama and was always ready to poke at sore points. She carried those sly jibes around in her pocket like thumbtacks.
TWENTY-ONE
A CONTINENT OF cloud edged across the sun, darkening the sea from cobalt to grey. The waves were high, crashing close to shore. I’d always been drawn to the beach, remembering those days with Dad down at Torquay and the time Mum, brittle in her two-piece bikini, had lifted me by the hands and carried me out into the shallows down near the house in Portsea. That’s what it was like when I was young – so happy. The sky was always an unbroken blue in those memories. Mum was always smiling. The beach was a magical place.
But now I was at the beach with Thom’s family, not my own. Thom and I walked out into the surf, diving into the first wave. The water was cold until my head went under, then it felt almost warm. The sea grabbed my ankles, pulling me back with the rush of the swell. Thom dived under and lifted me up over his shoulder. A squeal tore from my lips as he carried me forwards and tumbled into a wave. The salt water drilled up my nose into my sinuses.
When we headed back in, we sat on our towels beside his parents, me reading a book, Thom on his phone, scrolling through Instagram, taking snaps. At one point we tilted our heads towards each other and Thom took a selfie, posted it to Instagram. Another image that would eventually become newspaper fodder.
After a while Thom got up and began walking along the beach, hunched over, scanning the sand for something to shoot with his camera.
‘I hope you’ve got plenty of sunblock on; skin like yours will burn in this sun,’ Suzie, lying nearby, said.
Skin like mine? I looked down at the pale, freckled plane of my stomach, then my eyes travelled further, coming to rest on the pink scars covering my thighs. Thom would kiss the scars on my legs; he told me he loved them. Maybe it was true. Maybe he was the only one who saw them as something other than a disfigurement. When we were alone with his camera, he took photos of me – I had never felt truly sexy until then.
I rose and walked down along the beach. The stretch of sand was almost vacant except for a few couples and a small group of guys. I wanted to check out the point at the end of the beach. I walked towards it, picking up a knotted piece of driftwood on the way, thinking it might make a nice photo for Thom. I hadn’t gotten far when I heard something sprinting on the sand and I turned back just in time to see a dog leap up, printing two sandy paw marks on my thighs. A golden retriever stood, eyeing the driftwood in my hand, its long fur shaggy from the seawater.
‘Sorry about him,’ a voice said. I looked up and a guy in just his board shorts was rushing over. He seemed only a couple of years older than me.
‘Oh, he’s fine. He just wants my stick I think.’
‘Come here, boy,’ he said, but the dog stayed sitting there, waiting for me to throw it.
‘Can I throw it for him?’ I said.
‘Sure.’
I tossed the stick away and the dog sped off after it. When I looked back, I could see Thom down the beach watching me. I dusted my thighs off and walked towards him.
‘What was that all about?’ he said when I got back to him.
‘What?’
‘Who was the guy with the six-pack?’
‘The six-pack?’
‘Macho man, down there,’ he said, pointing.
‘Oh, him,’ I said, warmth spreading in my cheeks. ‘His dog jumped up and scratched me.’
He looked uncertain for a moment, then a smile broke. ‘Want me to kiss it better?’
•
That night we had a barbecue and played Scrabble while the kookaburras cackled out in the bush. At bedtime, Thom and I went to different rooms. We said goodnight, knowing when the lights had been out long enough we would end up in the same bed. Soon enough my door whined open and Thom slipped in beside me. His body relaxed against mine. I sensed him smiling in the dark.
I turned and pressed my lips against his cheek.
‘Maybe one day we could just quit school and move here. You could catch me fish and I could plant a big garden full of vegetables.’
‘So you can be close to your new boyfriend?’
‘What?’
‘Never mind.’
‘Oh my god,’ I said. ‘Are you talking about the guy at the beach?’
‘What? No.’
‘You’re jealous,’ I teased. I kissed him again, resting my hand on his warm chest.
‘I was joking, Kate.’
‘I didn’t know you were the jealous type,’ I said, climbing on top of him. ‘Lucky I only want you.’ He pulled me against him. I wanted to show him what he meant to me and crush the seeds of doubt Willow had tried to plant in my head. Our bodies pressed together, bones on bones, squeezing each other like we were drowning.
‘Kate,’ he said in the dark. ‘I . . . I think I love you.’
I wanted to say it back, desperately, but I couldn’t get the words past my throat. I felt his body tighten with anger or embarrassment. Until that moment, the day, the evening, had been close to perfect.
‘Then maybe I’ll let you prove it,’ I said at last and lowered my face to his.
> after
TWENTY-TWO
‘WHO – WHO are you? How do you know my name?’
Her face is sun-damaged and it is hard to guess her age, but the brightnes
s in her eyes suggests she is not an old woman. The car is muttering under its breath at the road’s edge.
‘I’m here to help,’ she says, smiling pleasantly.
‘Can you take me to Auckland?’
‘Auckland?’ She laughs, shakes her head. ‘Not today, doll.’
I look back at the spot where I had stood for so long.
‘Where are you going?’ My words are unravelling at the edges.
‘Why do you want to go to Auckland?’ she counters.
I don’t answer, just stare straight ahead.
‘Look, I’m not taking you anywhere you don’t want to go,’ she assures me. ‘I just wanted to get you out of the rain before you catch your death.’
‘How do you know my name?’
She grins at me again. ‘My son, Iso, said he saw you walking out of town. I’m Donna.’
Clearly he hadn’t bought my story about meeting Jim up the road. He and Tiriana must have seen my sign and known I was hitchhiking. Or is it possible Jim knows this woman?
‘I’m leaving here,’ I say.
‘Evie, dear,’ she replies, ‘whatever you are running from, surely it can wait until the rain has cleared.’
‘Do you know him? Do you know Jim?’
I can’t read her expression.
Turning back to the road, she sniffs, then winds the window down a little and spits out into the rain. ‘Jim? That’s your uncle, is it? Never met the guy. I’ve seen him about though.’ She winds her window back up. ‘People take notice when outsiders start showing up, you understand?’
She does a U-turn and drives back the way I had walked.
‘Let me out.’
‘Evie, it’s not safe out there in this weather. I can drop you back here later, or we can pull over and you can wait in the car for it to clear up. But one thing I’m not going to do is let a skinny little thing like you get sick out in this weather.’
I stare at her. Tiny feet of rain are dancing on the roof. A sixties melody unwinds from the car’s tinny speakers.
‘I can take you back up to my place, get you in front of the fire so you can warm up, dry your clothes.’
‘Do you know?’ I ask.
‘Know what, dear?’
‘Do you know who I am? What they think I’ve done?’
No confusion or alarm, just sorrow. Smile inverted, eyes shining blue. ‘What have you done?’ An asthmatic laugh. ‘You’re acting like I’m the one who should be afraid.’
What does she mean? Is she helping Jim manipulate me? I don’t remember agreeing to go back to her place, but it’s too late now. As the car speeds up I begin to hyperventilate. I can’t get enough air, my vision blurs.
Donna slows the car, glancing over with concern. ‘What is it? Are you alright?’
I reach for the door handle and yank it. I push the door open and tumble out. The gravel hits me like a sledgehammer. I roll and roll. All the clothes around me catch and twist. The car slides in the wet, hurling a wave of stones. A sharp pain stings my elbow. Before I can get to my feet, Donna is there, lifting me up. She wraps her arms around me.
‘It’s okay, Evie. It’s okay. I’ve got you. What is it, darling? What are you afraid of?’
‘I need to go home.’
‘I can drop you home – that’s fine.’
‘My home is in Melbourne.’
Her eyes are glossy and her mouth is turned down. I can see she is shaking. Before I know it, she has guided me from the rain back to the front seat. I sit there while she squats down on the gravel, looking into my eyes, holding my hands in hers. A truck passes and the gust rocks the car.
‘We need to get you somewhere safe and warm. Do you want me to call someone, maybe your uncle?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I’m here to help. Is it okay if I drive you home?’
I just shake my head and begin to cry.
‘It’s okay,’ she says, closing my door and moving around the bonnet of the car back to the driver’s seat. ‘We can sit for a while until you decide.’
She cranks the heater and turns the radio up a little. The air from the vents blows the tears back down my cheeks. A woman’s voice tells us we are listening to The Breeze. Eventually, I turn to her. ‘Please just go slowly, okay?’ I say.
‘Of course.’ She tilts her head. ‘Is there anything happening at home, Evie? Anything you want to talk about?’
They could be anywhere. ‘No,’ I say. ‘No. I just need to get to Auckland. That’s all.’
‘Well let’s focus on getting you warm and dry first. Now Evie, is that short for Evelyn?’
Why is she asking me this? The car eases onto the road. ‘Just call me Evie, please.’
Soon enough we are back in Maketu. We pull over into the car park beside the fish-and-chip shop and watch the sea through the fog and the windscreen wipers go zombp-zombp-zombp. ‘So, you’re up on the hill, right?’
‘Yeah.’ I hold my elbow. The pain still sears from slamming against the road.
‘Which street?’
‘I don’t know.’ I can’t go back there. I can’t face Jim.
‘Well, I’ll take you back to our place and then I can drop you home when you’re ready.’
She drives out around the estuary, turning into a road I’ve never been up. A goat lifts its head from a nearby paddock as we pass. I realise as the car climbs and the properties become more rural, that we are on the opposite side of the hill from our house. Soon Donna pulls over and climbs out into the rain. She opens a gate fastened to a post with wire. She gets back in and the car rattles down a potted driveway.
‘Come on,’ she says when we have parked up beside the small pale house.
The yard is flat and unmowed, dotted with plastic flowers staked into the earth, chipped clay enamel sculptures and a rusty old swing set. Around the front door, wind chimes tinkle, closing in on me like a flock of panicked birds.
She opens the door and I step into the house. The door slams behind me.
Inside, the place is small and dark. Along the hall photos are pinned to the yellowed floral wallpaper. I stop before one – a photo of Iso as a child. He holds the hand of a more solidly built, older version of himself, who I assume must be his dad. Which makes me think about my own dad, how much I miss him.
In another photo, he is holding a fish to the camera. There are photos of his mum too. Leaning on a shovel in the garden, caught mid-laugh at a restaurant. She looks younger, her features less pinched and plumper. I turn my gaze to another picture: Iso on horseback with a surfboard under his arm, riding away from the camera.
‘Always been a good-looking bugger,’ says Iso, coming up the hallway. He points to a photo of himself as a child, eyes closed, wide grin, proudly showing off a missing front tooth.
‘Go on,’ his mother says. ‘Get the girl a towel and run her a bath.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’ve damn near got hypothermia and those bones would be sore after your fall.’
‘Fall?’ Iso says. ‘Jesus, Ma. What have you done to the poor girl?’
‘Oh, don’t you worry. She had a wee knock is all.’ She turns back to me. ‘Look at you, shaking like a leaf. Give me your clothes, I’ll spin them in the washing machine, then chuck them in the dryer.’
‘My uncle –’ I begin, but she cuts me off.
‘Your uncle will have me guts for garters if I send you home looking like a drowned rat,’ Donna says, then comes that racking asthmatic laugh again. Iso shows his white teeth but I can barely muster a smile.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll get you home safe. If you were worried about him, you wouldn’t be out there alone.’ There’s a thorn in her words now.
‘Come on, this way.’ She leads me up the hall.
Glancing into the lounge room as we pass I see a fire blazing. A cat is stretched out before it. Where a tail should be there is only a knob. The smell of soup fills the narrow hall, and as we enter the kitchen I see pots and pans hanging by their handles
over the stovetop, a fridge cluttered with magnets and stickers. I hear the sound of water running. A bath. I can’t do it. I can’t have a bath. I haven’t been able to since I was little.
‘No bath,’ I say. ‘I said I didn’t want one.’
She leans over the bench. ‘Well, why don’t you take a shower instead?’
I search for an excuse.
‘Chester!’ The woman makes a clicking sound with her tongue, empties a container of ambiguous and bloody meat into a dish on the floor. The cat rushes in, its bell tinkling.
‘Iso,’ Donna calls. ‘Forget the bath, Evie here will have a shower.’
Iso enters the kitchen and hands me a towel.
My guts churn and squeeze. Something is off about this. What if they’re just keeping me here until the police arrive? Or something worse. ‘I’m not so sure –’
Donna makes an irritated noise, cutting me off. ‘Don’t be silly, Evie. Get in the shower and by the time you’re done your clothes will be almost dry. I’ll drop you home after.’
Iso shows me to the bathroom and I enter, closing and locking the door behind me. An old claw-foot bath, half full, steams beneath the fogged windows. In the corner a candle flame flickers. As soon as I’ve stripped off there’s a knock at the door. I wrap myself in a towel, unlock the door and open it. Iso’s mother steps in and scoops up my sodden clothes. ‘Let me take these. You want a cup of tea or anything? Maybe some soup?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. You’ve done enough already.’
The door closes. Now I don’t have any clothes. I hear a muffled exchange between mother and son.
I wait and wait until the water is hot. The shower burns. It’s a good burn. The water runs down my legs, over the pink of my thighs, heating my stomach. A bruise is already darkening around my elbow. It hurts to touch.
The scented candle issues a cloying fragrance. Stepping from the shower, dripping, I lean forwards and blow it out. I have escaped, but I’m still in Maketu. Maybe Donna will take me back out to the road. I could try hitchhiking again. But the fear I felt when I got into her car and we sped away was overwhelming. Would I dare to get in a stranger’s car again? A flash of memory: driving the car, then I’m outside and someone is lying flat, blood pooling around their head. But in this memory Jim is standing there with something in his hand. Don’t trust him. Dread clogs my throat.
