by J. P. Pomare
‘I think I want you to go now.’ Beau is tense beside me. ‘Please.’
Tiriana’s eyes move from my face to Beau, then back to me. She stands for a few heartbeats longer. ‘Yeah,’ she says, her demeanour becoming dark. ‘If that’s what you want.’ She turns and walks away on unsteady legs.
I close and lock the door behind her, then watch from the kitchen as she walks up the driveway. She turns back once to look down at the house, pausing before continuing on.
•
I wake early the next morning. Last night, lying there in the darkness and hugging Beau against me, I was so scared it’s a wonder I managed to get to sleep at all.
I feed Beau, then go to the front door, opening it a fraction to peer up towards the road. The coast looks clear. I walk up the driveway and check the mail. There is nothing but a square of paper with no message, only an image. My face. My dark brown hair, still long, pulled over my shoulder. My hazelnut eyes glazed with a drunk detachment. My skinny body nude. It’s a still from the sex tape. I know at once who must have put it there: Iso’s friend Mick. He was so certain he recognised me. And if he was able to find this image, it means he must have known what to search for. He must know my real name. Jim will fix this, but I can’t trust him, I can’t trust anything he says.
I look up and down the street. At first I think it’s deserted, then I spy a small head poking out from the bus shelter. Awhina.
Her head withdraws as I start to walk towards her.
‘Hello,’ I say when I reach her. ‘How are you, Awhina?’ I squat on my haunches so that I am at her eye level. Her brown eyes settle on mine.
‘Good,’ she says.
It’s a Sunday. No school today. ‘What are you doing in here so early?’
She shrugs, twisting her slim body like a ribbon.
‘Hey, Awhina, did you see someone put something in my letterbox?’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know – since you’ve been here.’
She shakes her head. ‘I’ve got to go home.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘You don’t have to. Your dad hurt you, right?’
The child looks uncertain.
‘What if I told you that I could make sure he never hurt you again?’
Children are perceptive, I know that, but Awhina’s face changes. It is filled with such scepticism that my heart sinks.
‘It’s true,’ I insist. ‘I could help you so he never hurts you.’ I remember the man holding her up on his shoulders at the park. Was it delight or terror on her face?
‘Do you want to see my house?’
The girl looks past me to the street. ‘I’m going to go home now.’
‘Don’t be shy, Awhina.’
‘I’m not. I just want to go home.’
‘I have a dog,’ I say. ‘Did you see him? He’s cute.’
‘No.’
‘Do you want to meet my dog? His name’s Beau. I could make you a hot chocolate and you could pat him.’
She bites her bottom lip.
‘Or maybe,’ I say with an encouraging smile, ‘you want me to piggyback you?’
Again the child doesn’t speak.
‘Come on, Awhina,’ I say, turning to present my back to her. ‘On you get.’
Obediently, the girl stands up on the seat and puts her arms around my shoulders. I take her legs in my hands and rise with straining calves. Her head rests against the base of my neck.
‘Where are you taking me?’ she asks.
‘Just to meet my dog, Beau, that’s all.’
She tightens her grip.
I carry her down the driveway. On the doorstep, I free one leg to open the door and she squirms. ‘Hold tight.’ I step through the door into the house. I place her onto a stool and she releases her grip. Beau rubs up against my leg, then rests his head in the child’s lap and she squeals with delight.
I remember the photo in my pocket. I take the box of matches from beside the fireplace and in the bathroom I light the corner of the image, holding it angled away from my hand. The flame creeps up, consuming the picture, flaring the shadows in the mirror. I can hear Awhina’s laughter. I drop the photo, almost entirely consumed by flames, in the sink and run water to chase away the ashes. The cameras would see us, me and Awhina. What will Jim say?
I had stared up at Thom’s camera. As drunk as I was, I knew what was happening – but I trusted him. I was so naive, so stupid, just like everyone said. I wanted it so badly, the gaze of the lens on me. The gaze of Thom. I had felt such a surge of power and excitement. His eyes caught something the mirror never did: a side of me that was beautiful. In the end he took something that had liberated me and twisted it into something that caused me immense pain. I feel a flash of anger.
‘Okay,’ I say, emerging into the lounge. ‘Hot chocolate time.’
Beau goes over to his bed and flops down. I set the kettle on the stove top and spoon the powdered chocolate into two mugs. The girl watches me from the stool.
‘What happened to your hair?’ she asks.
‘My hair?’
‘Yeah. Why’s it so short?’
‘I cut it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I needed a change.’
‘My mum and dad told me not to talk to you.’
I clear my throat, hurt but trying not to show it. I turn back to her, hands on hips. ‘Why?’
She shrugs, looking down, her bottom lip jutting out.
‘Why?’ I say, a frayed edge to my voice.
‘Because . . .’
‘Because why?’
‘You’re the crazy lady. They said you might hurt me.’
I lean forwards over the bench so my face is close to hers. The kettle begins to whistle behind me. ‘Awhina, they are lying. I would never hurt you,’ I say, before giving a little laugh over the scream of the kettle. ‘And I’m not crazy, okay? Tell them that.’
I kill the stovetop and pull the kettle off the burner. Steam rises from the mugs as the hot water splashes in. It is easy to imagine the boiling water pouring over skin.
I add milk, then carry the hot chocolates over to the bench. I climb onto the stool beside Awhina’s. The girl blows into her mug and lifts it to her lips tentatively.
‘Would you like to move away from here, Awhina? Do you want to come away with me, somewhere where you will be safe and happy?’ What could I do with her? I could get a job and maybe she could go to school wherever we end up living. Could I really look after a child? I think about my dad. He raised me alone. A twist in my heart; I miss him. I miss home.
She grimaces. ‘I want to go now.’ She puts the mug back on the bench. I see tears forming in her eyes.
‘Careful, Awhina. It’s hot.’
‘Let me go home!’
‘Go home?’
She slips down from the stool and runs to the front door. I rise and, as she reaches for the handle, put a hand to the door, holding it closed. Has she noticed that I keep an axe near the entrance way? Maybe that’s why she is afraid.
‘Just wait for one second,’ I say. ‘Why are you leaving?’
She glances up fearfully. ‘Please let me go.’
‘You haven’t finished your drink.’
‘I don’t want it.’
I step back, holding my hands up in surrender.
‘Okay, there you go.’ I begin opening the door. ‘No need to panic, Awhina.’ The child darts out, fleeing up the driveway.
I tip our hot chocolates down the drain. I do all the dishes in the sink. Jim will be annoyed when he gets back, annoyed that I had left.
I tidy up. I wipe down the benches and take the trash out to the bin. In the laundry, I put the washing into the machine, turning out the pockets for any change. I feel something flat and rigid. In the pocket of the jeans I’d worn yesterday, I find Iso’s credit card. I take it and press it deep into my escape bag at the bottom of my wardrobe.
•
I’ve just finished eating when I hear a car pull u
p outside the house. I take up a position behind the door. It could be the man in black, or Awhina’s parents. It could even be Iso’s friend from last night. A key in the lock. The door opens. I brace.
‘Hello?’ It’s Jim. ‘Kate, where are you?’
‘Hi,’ I say. He jumps.
‘Shit, Kate.’ His eyes venture from my face to the axe clutched against my shoulder. He reaches out and takes it from me, resting it against the wall. ‘What are you doing lurking with an axe? What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘I was scared.’
He opens his arms up and pulls me into a hug. I can smell his oaky aftershave. Two nights he was away, that’s all, but it feels like weeks.
‘How was your trip?’ I ask.
‘It was okay.’
‘What was it for?’
I feel his body tighten and he steps away from me. He just looks into my eyes and says, ‘I’m home now, that’s all that matters.’
Home? Is that what this is?
‘Tell me where you were,’ I demand.
Ignoring me, he takes up the axe.
‘This should be outside, Kate.’ He exits through the backdoor, taking the axe down beside the wood. He comes back inside.
‘Tell me where you were,’ I say, forcing my voice to stay loud and steady. ‘Did it have something to do with Thom?’
His expression changes, a little colour seeping into his cheeks. He brings his hands together and then drops his face into them.
‘What did you do?’ I ask.
‘Don’t, Kate. Please don’t talk to me in that tone. And what I was doing doesn’t matter; what were you doing? I saw your note to say you were taking Beau for a walk. You were gone all day . . .’ He pauses. ‘And today you brought the little girl inside. What were you thinking?’ What else does he know? Is it possible that he knows Iso is going to Auckland tomorrow and that he’s going to take me?
‘She’s my friend. She needs help.’
‘Jesus, Kate. Don’t be so naive. You locked a child in this house. I saw it all.’
‘You lock me in this house.’ My voice is low. My neck tight with anger.
‘Did you take the pills I left out for you? Did you swallow them?’
‘Shut up!’ I say, blocking my ears. ‘I don’t need those pills. Stop trying to make me take them. I don’t need them.’
‘Come on, Kate – you can’t just stop taking them.’
Frustration is quickly becoming anger. ‘Tell me why you went away. What did you do? Tell me.’
He looks at me. Eyes serious. Hands closing into fists. ‘This is not the time to talk about it.’
‘I hate you!’ I run to my bedroom and he is on me like a shot. He seizes my wrist, whipping me back. He looks down at my forearms, then up into my eyes.
‘I hate you!’ I scream. ‘I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! You made me leave everything behind – my whole life.’
He steps back. ‘Kate,’ he says. ‘Stop.’
‘I hate you.’ I hit myself once, hard, on the side of the head. I tighten my fist and do it again.
He grabs my arms. ‘Stop it, Kate. Please, stop it.’
I struggle to free myself but he’s holding me too tight. I bite his shoulder.
‘Fuck!’ he yells, pushing me away. His face is red with fury. ‘Everything I’ve done has been for you. Everything! And we were happy, until you had to go fuck it up with this business with Thom.’
I can barely look him in the eye. My hands are still balled into fists at my sides, but the urge to strike myself, to punish him, has gone.
‘You’re a child still. You think you’re not, but you are. You need to grow up because we are running out of time. It’ll all be over soon and you’re still sick.’ I can tell he is willing himself to speak calmly. ‘You invent things. You make things up because the truth is too difficult. You think I know what the fuck I am doing? I don’t.’ He shakes his head. ‘I don’t.’ He looks me in the eye. ‘He’s dead, Kate. Accept it and we can move on.’
‘You’re lying.’
He narrows his eyes. ‘Why would I lie?’ His tone is incredulous. ‘You were remembering things. Come on, Kate, think about it. The night he was hurt, what was I holding in my hand?’
‘He’s alive,’ I insist. ‘He’s alive, that’s why you won’t let me go; that’s why you keep me here. You want me to believe I am a murderer.’ Suddenly I find that I’m laughing.
He just shakes his head slowly, looking at me with something like horror. ‘You’re getting worse. Jesus Christ, you haven’t gotten better at all.’ Then, quietly, to himself: ‘What have I done?’
You’re getting worse. Despite his reasonable tone, I know what he’s doing: he’s trying to convince me it’s all in my head.
•
We eat a late breakfast, then he makes me take my pills in front of him where he can watch. There is one extra pill: a little blue diamond. He runs his forefinger around in my mouth to check the pills are gone. Does he know how tempted I am to bite down?
‘Now go have a lie-down and read, okay? I need you to relax and get some rest.’
I know what the blue pill does: it puts me to sleep. So in my room I make myself stand up and I move around to keep awake. It’s still the morning and he wants to put me to sleep but I’m not going to let him.
Soon enough I can hear him on the phone. He speaks in a low melancholy tone at first, and then his voice rises, as if he is arguing with someone. It’s when he is loud that I catch snatches of the conversation. It doesn’t matter what it costs, I’ll organise enough money that you won’t need to worry about it. Soon she’ll be alone. A tremor rips through his voice. I’m not going to be able to meet you, it’ll be too late. You’ll just have to pick her up . . . His voice lowers to a murmur again, then the call ends. I hear him coming up the hall. I slip in beneath the covers and lie there, holding my breath and keeping everything perfectly still.
TWENTY-NINE
‘I WANT TO talk to you about something,’ he says when I emerge from my room into the warm lounge early in the afternoon. His eyes are sunken, sleepless and red-rimmed. The fire is blazing. He pats the couch beside him. ‘Something we should really have talked about but I didn’t think you were ready. I have been going over everything in my mind. I thought you were getting better. I thought maybe you were nearly ready to confront everything, but now I realise it’s best for me to be honest with you.’ He is gazing into my eyes. ‘I just want us to be happy in the long term, and if that means you have to go through hell in the short term, well, I guess it will be worth it in the end. But I can’t risk you doing something rash, Kate.’
I don’t respond. I think about when I felt like I really loved this man and I’m sick with it. The silence thickens the air between us. I think about times from before where I really could have done ‘something rash’. When Willow said those nasty words, when I discovered that Thom’s video of us was on the internet. I think of Thom’s words. I’ll kill him. I had thought of it as a throwaway line, something a boy might say to sound tough. I’ll kill him.
‘I’ve organised for you to get help. But before you can leave this country, I need to know exactly what you remember.’ He drops his head forwards. Then he looks up again and grips my hands. ‘It was an accident, Kate. However you remember it, just know that it was an accident. The plan was just to scare him.’
I feel sick. Tears sting my eyes.
‘What do you remember, Kate?’
‘I remember seeing him. And you.’
‘Me?
‘Yes.’
‘What was I doing?’
‘You had something in your hand.’ I swallow. ‘You were holding something.’
His nod is almost imperceptible.
‘What else?’
‘That’s it.’
‘You don’t remember anything else, Kate? Do you promise me you can’t remember anything else?’ He’s pleading now, a sort of desperation in his eyes.
Blunt-force tr
auma to the skull is defined as non-penetrating damage – more of a crushing, twisting, knocking force. Gunshots, for example, are penetrating. A blow with a golf club or a spade is not.
Jim is still speaking but I just watch him, trying to block out the words.
‘They know you were there when it happened.’
‘They’re going to lock me away?’
‘No, Kate. You just need to tell them you were with me. Always tell them we were together and that’s all you remember. Okay?’
‘Okay.’ My voice is barely audible.
‘It might raise questions of what you were doing with me when you should have been in bed but leave me to face those questions.’
‘Sure.’
‘We can’t risk you breaking down. You need to be strong and ready.’
Don’t trust him. ‘What about the people here, who knows?’
‘No one. Did someone say something?’
I recall the image in the post. The barbecue. What Awhina said. Crazy. ‘No, it’s just –’ I draw a long breath ‘– that man, he was back here yesterday.’
‘I see,’ he says. He grits his teeth and sucks in a breath. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to worry about any of that soon enough.’
He gets up and walks away.
Whatever he is planning to do to me, it will happen soon. He wants me to be a reliable witness, to be his alibi, but he could easily decide that it’s too risky to keep me around. He’s just trying to protect himself. But what happens if I refuse to play along? What then?
•
I am lying on my bed staring at those words in the book, finding each of the underlined letters to spell Don’t trust him, when he goes out to the shed. I can’t stay cooped up here all day. I need to find my passport, and I need to see Iso to organise my getaway. I need the internet to book flights and to know the truth about what happened. The internet is traceable, but Jim made it very clear our time is almost up; by the time someone could trace us and turn up here, he’ll have done whatever it is he is going to do to me anyway. Outside a light rain has begun to fall.
To escape I need to take down the cameras – the one in my room and the one in the yard, at least. Jim’s still out in the shed, working on what? I have no idea, but I can only assume he wants to keep it from me.
