by J. P. Pomare
They’re out there for some time, still talking. Five minutes, maybe more. What are they saying about me? The door opens so abruptly he catches me standing there.
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Friend of yours?’
I shrug one shoulder, feigning nonchalance.
‘I’m not mad, Kate.’ Now he shows me his teeth. Despite everything, it makes me feel a little normal. He fetches the first-aid kit and begins carefully cleaning and bandaging my blistered, weeping hands.
‘You’ve been a little erratic lately. Have you been swallowing your pills every time?’
With my forearm, I scratch my head through my short hair. What does he know?
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Are you certain, Kate? Don’t lie to me.’
I nod.
‘Well I’ll be making sure you are.’
•
That afternoon we walk together to the headland. Beau sniffs at patches of grass, stopping frequently to cock his leg against a fence post or power pole.
On our way back we see two children coming up the track from the beach, each carrying a plastic bag full of sharp green mussels. The elder of the two is a boy with a faint scowl. He doesn’t say anything as we pass each other. Then I hear the smaller of the two speak. ‘Hi, Kate.’
I look back. It’s Awhina. I notice that her right eye is bruised. She gives me a small wave, then continues on her way.
When I turn back I see that Jim has stopped and is staring at me. ‘Kate,’ he says quietly, his eyes fixed on the children. ‘That child just called you Kate.’
I resume walking but he snatches my wrist.
‘How does she know your name?’
‘I accidentally told her.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know. A week or so ago.’
His lips tighten to a white line and he shakes his head. ‘Jesus Christ. Use your fucking brain, won’t you? I’m busting my arse trying to plan my way out of this mess and you’re being careless.’
‘She’s just a child.’
‘Children have big fucking mouths, Kate. In case you hadn’t noticed. What if she tells her parents your real name? What if they’re curious why you’re calling yourself Evie?’
‘I’m sorry.’
He sighs, anger ebbing, and we start walking again. ‘Did you see her eye?’ he asks.
I don’t say anything but I know already where the bruise came from: her father. Maybe when I go, I could take her with me?
‘Someone has been hurting her,’ I say.
We have reached the fence, and he opens a gap between the wires for me to step through. ‘I think that’s pretty obvious, Kate.’
‘Maybe someone should help?’
‘It’s not our business.’
‘But –’
‘That’s enough, Kate. I don’t want to hear it. My only concern is keeping you safe – and that should be your only concern too, quite frankly. Someone died, do you think this is going away?’
Back at the house, he pauses at the front door. ‘Shh,’ he says, suddenly alert. Beau whines on his leash. Jim pushes the front door; it creaks open. Signalling with his palm for me to stay where I am, he slips off his shoes and creeps into the house, stopping to pick up the axe from beside the door. From the driveway I can hear him moving about, opening doors and checking rooms. I wait for a new voice, or the muffled thuds of men fighting, but there is nothing. Finally, he comes back.
‘What?’ I say. ‘What is it?’
‘The door was ajar. And . . .’ He pauses. ‘Here,’ he says, gesturing. ‘Look at this.’
He points at marks on the linoleum in the kitchen. Partial footprints, two or three of them. Could they be from my muddy bare feet when I fled Iso’s?
‘Did you leave the door unlocked?’ he asks. ‘Was the house unlocked when we left?’
‘I don’t know.’
His face reddens; he grits his teeth. ‘You were the last one out, Kate. Try to remember.’
I want to protest: I wasn’t the last one out, he was. If anyone left the door unlocked it was him.
‘Check your things, make sure nothing is missing.’
I can see his nerves are fraying; it’s only a matter of time until he snaps. Who is the mad one, me or him?
My room seems the same, but I can’t tell for sure if anyone has been in here. The floor is clean, the bed made. My book is where I left it on the bedside table. I open it at the marked page, then close it again. Who would send me this message? Death is the only escape. I never meant to hurt you. I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Jim handed it to me at the airport to read on the flight. But I’ve seen it before, somewhere. Maybe in Dad’s collection of books? Then I found it again in my wardrobe in this house. Jim must be sending these messages; perhaps he’s trying to express himself. Perhaps the old Jim is in there, trying to tell me something.
I can hear him making a phone call out in the lounge room.
Eventually he comes down the hall to my room. ‘Good news,’ he says.
I turn my head to look at him.
‘I just called Terry from next door and told him I was worried someone has been breaking in here. He reckons it’ll be the old bloke that used to rent the place. He’s done something like this before, apparently. Has dementia and has probably forgotten he doesn’t live here. He might even still have a key.’
As he walks back up the hall, I whisper to myself: Don’t trust him.
•
A couple of hours later a locksmith arrives. I stay in my room until he’s done. After he leaves, I go out to the kitchen. A shiny new set of keys waits on the bench. Jim has put the white key ring on my new set. Also on the bench is a series of identical white boxes.
‘What are those?’ I ask.
‘These,’ says Jim, ‘are surveillance cameras.’
‘Cameras?’ I pick up one of the boxes. ‘What do we need cameras for?’
‘I’m installing them to keep you safe. Turns out this guy here –’ he nods at Beau, who is sleeping on his lamb’s wool bed ‘– is a better companion than guard.’ He takes the box from my hand. ‘They run twenty-four/seven. State-of-the-art, night vision, motion detection, completely wireless. I can patch the feed through to my phone so I’ll know exactly what’s going on at the house, even when I’m out.’
‘Where will you put them?’
He opens a box and pulls out the black tube. ‘I’ll show you once I’ve installed them.’
I think of the man in black that I saw up at the top of the driveway. ‘What happened with the guy who found us?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m on top of it. There were some photos. I think they came from him. But I’m sorting it all out.’
‘Photos?’
He just shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry – it’s nothing, really.’
‘Do others know where we are?’
‘So far it looks like he’s the only one. But if he found us, others might. It’s just a matter of time and we better be prepared.’
As afternoon fades into evening, he drills the camera mounts into place and installs them while I begin emptying the soil into the garden boxes I dug. My hands still burn beneath the bandages and the gloves but it’s bearable. I feel the eye of the cameras as I work. Eventually, he walks down into the backyard, staring into the screen of his phone.
‘You want to see?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, okay.’ I drop the spade and the gloves and move in beside him.
He switches between the cameras. First we see the driveway, looking up towards the road. He touches the screen. Next we see ourselves standing in the yard, hunched over his phone.
‘Watch,’ he says. He lifts his hand towards the camera and the man on the screen does the same.
The third camera is in the lounge room. It is placed at an angle so you can see into the kitchen and the front door. The final image is of my unmade bed, my pyjama bottoms twisted on the floor and my open door.
‘That’s my room.’ I look up
at him.
‘You can never be too careful,’ he says before putting his phone in his pocket and walking back up to the house.
before <
TWENTY-FOUR
‘WHY DON’T WE play spin the bottle?’ Thom’s friend Rick suggested. He was pimply, with a belly that poked out of his T-shirt.
‘That’s fucking lame,’ Willow said, not even looking up from her phone. She took a sip from her cup. ‘Is this the best you got, Thom? I might have to find us some others, hey, Jodie?’
Rick looked hurt.
‘Put some music on,’ I said to distract Willow. She had, after all, organised this gathering. I thought it was an olive branch, a way for her to hang out with Thom and me.
‘You do it,’ she responded.
I got to my feet and plugged my phone into the speaker in the corner of the room.
‘Why don’t we go to that party in Elwood?’ said Jodie.
‘How would we get to Elwood?’ Andrew asked, draining his cup of wine and reaching for the bottle to pour another.
‘We could walk,’ Willow said. ‘It would take half an hour.’
‘Do you plan on running? Because that’s the only way it would take anywhere close to half an hour.’
‘You’re an idiot.’
‘It’s more than half an hour, Willow,’ I said. She threw a fierce look in my direction.
Willow jabbed at her phone screen with her finger. ‘So, according to Google it will take thirty-eight minutes to walk.’
‘That’s not half an hour.’
‘Fuck off, Thom,’ Willow said. ‘It’s always slower on Google anyway.’
‘I think I know which party it is,’ Thom said. ‘Footy boys, right? So basically, a room full of gorillas drinking each other’s piss.’
‘Not all of them,’ Jodie said.
Thom snorted. ‘Not all of them will be drinking each other’s piss? Well, that’s reassuring.’ I laughed, we all did. All but Willow, whose eyes stayed on me.
‘And what do you propose? Go on, Thom. I’m sure you’ve got loads of other parties to be at.’ Willow said.
‘Why don’t we vote?’ Jodie suggested.
‘No point, Thom wants to be boring and sit here all night because he doesn’t let Kate have any fun and Kate will just do whatever Thom says,’ Willow said. ‘So they’ll just vote no.’
‘I vote no to a vote,’ Thom said.
Willow tipped her head, raised her middle finger at him.
Thom rolled his eyes, then said, ‘Alright, show of hands, who wants to check this party out?’
Everyone, including me and Thom, raised their hands.
‘That settles that,’ Thom said with a smirk at Willow. ‘What were you worried about?’
We walked along passing the wine between us, drinking straight from the bottles and keeping them hidden from the lights of cars speeding along the roads.
Jodie smoked a cigarette while she walked and pitched it into the road when she was finished with it. The boys trailed behind, talking about football.
Willow took a long suck of wine from the bottle, then said, ‘Don’t bring these losers to my house again.’
‘You told Thom to bring friends. And they’re not losers.’
She snorted. ‘Defensive much, Kate?’
With the booze thrumming in my veins and my body numb, I could feel myself letting go of any restraint. ‘You’re jealous. That’s it, isn’t it. You’re jealous that nobody wants you. Why buy the cow, right?’
‘Oh my god, you’re such a bitch,’ Jodie said.
‘Just leave me alone,’ I said, eyeing Willow as her plump lips stretched into a tight smile. I dropped back and hung with the boys for the rest of the walk, taking longer and longer drinks whenever the wine ended up in my hands.
By the time we could hear the thumping bass of the party and see the spill of bodies stumbling out on the footpath, we were all drunk.
Despite not knowing anyone, Willow fit in naturally. Her long legs shrink-wrapped in black jeans, her dark chaotic hair and eyes thick with charcoal eyeliner. She spoke loudly, demanding an audience, demanding to be seen and heard. She abandoned me to Thom and left Jodie with the first group of guys we passed. They were crowded around the door, taking turns pouring beer down a funnel into their mouths, cheering each other on. She didn’t look back once after she was inside.
The party was a whirlwind. Willow quickly found some boy – a man, really, with a real beard – and before long their faces were locked together in the hallway. Thom and I stumbled out into the backyard but not before pilfering a bottle of beer from the fridge in the kitchen. A guy took it out of my hand to open it, but Thom snatched it back and twisted it open himself. He had shown his jealous side a little lately, but it was only because he cared for me.
Out in the yard I bumped into Tara, a girl from my school. Her blonde hair was scraped back in a ponytail and her face was rosy with alcohol.
‘Kate!’ she screamed, throwing her arms around my neck. ‘Oh my god, what are you doing here?’
I could hardly string a sentence together, I just found myself back inside swaying, trying to dance with Tara but barely able to stay upright.
‘Let’s do a shot!’ she yelled over the music. Suddenly a cup was in my hand, and we were throwing them back. It scorched my throat.
I felt a rush of cool air on my legs, then looked down and realised what was happening. My dress flew up. Someone had a hold of it. Everyone looked over. ‘Show everyone those scars – freak.’ I turned back to see Willow’s nasty smile.
Gasping, I pushed my dress down with both hands. I looked up at Willow’s face. There was no regret. My gaze swung wildly around the room at all the staring eyes. Someone was holding a phone up, filming me. She wanted to show everyone my scars. She wanted to embarrass me. I reached for a cup and flung it to splash her in the face but she only continued to laugh. Others were laughing too. I realised her face was dry, the cup was empty. Hot tears stung my eyes. ‘Well?’ she said. I stepped towards her, then felt Thom’s arm wrap around my waist pulling me away.
‘You bitch!’ I raged. ‘I hate you!’
Willow looked about her, shrugging at the others, that stupid smile plastered over her face.
The alcohol hit me like a wave. I was stumbling from room to room. Thom held me too close and I fell down. I tried to get up and realised I was weightless; someone had me by the arms and someone else held my legs. We were outside now, and the streetlights swayed above me. The hands helped me to my feet. Show everyone those scars. I was breathing fast. I wanted to rush back and snatch her hair but Thom kept me hard against him. We walked unsteadily through the streets.
A car, yellow, a light pinned to the roof. She’s not going to be sick. Thom’s voice.
It seemed a long drive. The taxi dropped us near the park, the spot.
‘You need to act sober and be quiet, okay? My mum will kill us if she sees how smashed we are.’
Thom gripped my arm to keep me upright, but he was tripping over his own feet too. We laughed and spun, our foreheads pressed together. As he twirled me, my hands slipped from his; I fell softly to the grass. He pulled me back to my feet. It seemed like we’d been there for hours, although it must have only been minutes. I was sobering up; my feet were beginning to follow each other.
‘Dad,’ I said, slurring the word.
‘What about him?’
‘He thinks I’m at Willow’s. I fucking hate Willow.’ The anger, now cooling, was morphing into something else, something cold and sharp deep inside of me.
‘You can stay at my place.’
‘Hey, Thom?’
‘Yeah?’
I felt the tears building. Everyone had seen me. It wasn’t like swimming, when I was younger. ‘My scars are disgusting.’
‘No, Kate. Your scars are beautiful. Like the rest of you.’
‘I hate her.’
‘You don’t need Willow, you have me. I’ll always be here for you.’
We stumbled back towards the road. So close to his house. He dragged me inside, into his room, shushing me. His table lamp was aimed against the wall, muting the light.
‘I love you.’ It was the first time I’d said it. I wasn’t sure where the words came from, if it was alcohol or gratitude that formed them, but in that moment I meant every syllable. ‘Thom, I love you. Thank you for looking after me.’
He had been taking off his jeans, but stopped then and stood swaying in the centre of the room. ‘Really? You mean it?’
‘Did you mean it? About my scars. Do you really think they’re beautiful?’ I looked down, examining my body through my clothes.
‘Yes,’ he said, his eyes softening, ‘I meant it.’
‘She pointed them out to everyone.’
He pulled his jeans off and stood straight again. ‘Who cares what everyone thinks? All that matters is what you think.’
‘And what you think.’
‘You know what I think, Kate,’ he said, stepping forwards, taking my cheeks in his palms. ‘If you could see yourself through my eyes, you wouldn’t have any doubts.’
I could, I realised then. There was a way for me to see myself through his eyes. You’re beautiful through the lens. Hadn’t he told me that, the first time I went to his house?
‘Shoot me,’ I said.
His eyes narrowed. ‘What?’
‘Where’s your camera? I want you to shoot me.’
‘Kate –’
I turned from him, bent and dragged the black case from beneath his bed. ‘Show me what you see,’ I whispered, handing it to him. Then, closing my eyes on a deep breath, I pulled my dress over my head.
The silence ticked on between us. Then I heard the shutter click once, again. I moved to the bed, sank down on it, limbs splayed. The shutter clicked, then stopped. When I finally got the courage to look at him, his brow was lowered in concentration.
‘Come here,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘You’ll see.’
I slipped from the bed to join him in the middle of the room. He turned the screen to me, and I watched myself. A video of my legs, twisting and turning, striking poses. My scars could have been a map of the world, they made me different, like my own tattoos. Maybe they really are beautiful.
