Hostage

by Karen Tayleur

  ‘Bamps says he doesn’t know where Mum is,’ Tully said finally. ‘I think he’s telling the truth. I’m pretty sure that Laney knows where Mum is but she won’t tell me. It takes a lot of money to hire a detective. I’ve checked it out. But it would be worth it. As soon as I have some money that’s what I’m going to do with it. And we’ll get our own home. With a real garden. Maybe invite Bamps, if he wants to come. Laney can stay where she is.’

  One song slid into another on the radio before Nathan finally said, ‘Maybe your mum doesn’t want to be found at the moment.’ His eyes shifted sideways to catch Tully’s expression.

  ‘Maybe you should shut up when you don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Tully.

  ‘I’m just saying, she knows where you are. If she wanted to see you—’

  ‘What would you know? You’re so stupid you can’t even spell the word loser!’

  ‘Hey, what, no ... I just meant—’

  ‘Let me out.’ Tully grabbed at the door handle.

  ‘Tully, no!’

  ‘Stop the goddamned car.’

  Even before the car was stopped, Tully wrenched the door open and tumbled out into the street, giving the finger to a car that swerved to miss her.

  ‘Do you want to kill yourself?’ screamed Nathan as Tully wound her way through the traffic to the roadside.

  ‘Maybe I do,’ she screamed back.

  And then she disappeared from his view.

  21

  Tully’s Story

  So yeah, money and stuff is just a waste of time. Saying please and thank you, ironing clothes and knowing how to spell and maths and other school stuff—these are also a waste of time. And friends. Sometimes I think friends are a waste of time. They’re so much work. You can’t just tell them what you think. You have to be careful. Be around when you’d rather be doing something else. Forgive them when they make you sad.

  I think having enemies is a much easier job.

  But I used to believe in friends.

  There was this girl I knew once—Amanda—who had, like, the perfect life. Everyone at school loved her. I mean not just the girls but even the guys and the teachers. Even my mum liked her and she doesn’t like anyone.

  Amanda had an amazing house with nice carpet and those little crisscross white see-through curtains at the windows. I was always bugging Mum for some of those in my room, but she just didn’t see the point. I mean, when you’re living in rentals you don’t want to go wasting your money on making someone else’s place look good.

  Amanda’s dad was nice enough, though I didn’t see a lot of him. He had something to do with the local council and spent a lot of time at work, or talking to people on the phone about work or travelling because of work.

  Amanda’s sister Missy—I’m pretty sure that wasn’t her real name—was always nice to me, though she and Amanda would fight at the dinner table about who got the salt first or the drink or who had to say grace. I’d never been in a house that said grace, so I always hoped they never asked me to say it. And I was jealous that Amanda had a sister. I asked Mum once if I could have a sister, but she said I was all she needed.

  Amanda’s mum was like ... like one of those perfect TV mums who don’t try to dress like they are hanging out in the teenage section at Just Jeans, and whose car always has enough room to drop everyone home and who always has something great cooking in the kitchen. Not just out of the freezer stuff, but like, stuff she made with flour and eggs and that. She even made vegetables taste okay.

  But the really amazing thing about Amanda, the most amazing thing of all, was that she picked me to be her best friend. We met when I was eight. The first day I walked into class, Amanda made space for me next to her chair and showed me around the school at lunchtime. It wasn’t a huge school. But it was nice. Nice having someone show me around instead of just trying to remember where everything was from my school tour.

  Amanda was into pink, so that got to be my favourite colour too. She had this way of laughing that kind of ended on a hiccup. I practised to get it right. I learned to dot my i’s with a curly flower just like she did. She always gave me money at recess for tuck shop and I taught her how to swear in Greek.

  Every Saturday, Amanda would come to my place and we’d hang out. The place was a dump—it was officially on the dump side of town, on the pub side of the main road—but it had a great garden. Our house perched at the top of a huge block and our back garden bordered a creek. We loved that creek. Every Saturday morning Mum would tell us to stay away from it. By lunchtime, Amanda and I would have our shoes off and our jeans rolled up to our knees.

  The willow trees along the creek were the perfect hideout. Amanda’s dad hated willows. He said they were vermin and sucked up all the water that our native plants could have been using. Where he worked at the council they’d even printed a brochure about it to get people on their side. So Amanda and I never told him about the willows near my place. We didn’t want him to come and cut down our trees that hung like green curtains down to the ground. We moved rocks under the trees and made them our furniture. We’d sit for hours and talk about what we’d do when we were older. We were going to see the pyramids and Disneyland and visit a Greek island and try out our swear words.

  On my birthday, when I turned nine, Amanda gave me a tiny oval jewellery box. On the lid was a cute teddy. Inside was a guardian angel pin that had my birthstone in its stomach. ‘To keep you safe,’ said Amanda. I told her it was the best present I had ever got. We buried the box under the willows to protect our special place when we couldn’t be there.

  Every Thursday I went to Amanda’s after school because Mum had the dinner shift at the pub. It was my favourite day of the week. Sometimes I even stayed the night on a mattress on the floor next to Amanda if it got to be too late.

  At school, Amanda and I were pet monitors. Our class had a pair of budgies called Spot and Bluey and a fish tank with a hermit crab whose name was George. Every morning, Amanda and I could go into class early to feed the animals. It made me feel important walking past the hall monitors with Amanda giggling at my side.

  So there we were BFFL—best friends for life.

  But then one Thursday Amanda’s mum got a call after dinner. It was Mum asking her if she would drop me home. Amanda couldn’t come with me. She had to stay at home and brush her teeth because it was her bedtime. I remember saying something like, don’t forget to bring your glitter pens to school tomorrow. We were in the middle of a huge assignment and had only half-finished our cover sheet.

  I remember talking to Amanda’s mum all the way home about nothing much in particular. She kept smiling at me but, I recalled much later, that her smile didn’t seem to reach her eyes.

  ‘Tell Sandy to give me a call,’ she said as I got out of her car.

  I got inside to find Mum packing. My bag was already packed and standing near the door. I turned on the hall light.

  ‘Turn it off,’ said Mum.

  I turned it off and light spilled into the room from the kitchen.

  I grabbed my bag and started to unpack.

  ‘Tully, what are you doing?’ asked Mum.

  I just shook my head.

  ‘Tully?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Pumpkin, but we have to go—’

  ‘You go. I’m not going.’ I took my shoes and put them back at the foot of my bed. They looked so right there. I lined them up perfectly against each other.

  ‘Tully, we don’t have time for this,’ Mum called out. ‘Come in here and help.’ I went back to find her shoving a shampoo bottle in with a box of food.

  ‘I can go to Amanda’s. She’ll let me live with her.’

  ‘You can’t live with Amanda.’

  ‘Her mum will let me. She likes me. I could sleep on the floor in Amanda’s room.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Mum. The she tucked her hair back behind her ears and touched my cheek.

  ‘Amanda is my BFFL—
’

  ‘You’ll make another friend. Hand me that box—’

  I grabbed the box and threw it at her head. She didn’t even bother to duck and it bounced off her. ‘I hate you,’ I said. ‘I don’t want another friend. Just because you don’t have any friends. No one likes you—’

  Car headlights swept the living room in a wide arc and we both froze. They hung for a moment spotlighting us. It reminded me of night adventures I’d had with Mum’s friend, Craig. We hadn’t seen him for a little while. Craig was into shooting things.

  The lights finally moved on down the road and Mum grabbed an empty box and scraped everything from the coffee table into it.

  ‘What about Bluey? What about George?’ I asked.

  But even as I asked I was packing my bag. My breath was coming in bursts as I ran to the bedroom, grabbed my shoes and stuffed them back into the case. I grabbed hair ties from the bathroom and socks from under my bed and my book that I’d only half-finished. I pushed my memory tin into the front pocket. Then I pulled up the zips so they met in the middle.

  It hurt to be leaving my best friend behind so I stuffed that feeling down, past the hair ties and my favourite pair of jeans and the odd socks and my dressing gown without the cord. I stuffed it down so far that I couldn’t feel it anymore.

  Dear Ms McCain

  I have made several attempts over the past few weeks to contact you on your business hours number, but to no avail. Perhaps we have an incorrect number listed on our file?

  As per our discussion re: Tully’s ‘non-verbal’ condition, I would like to report that there has been no improvement, either in the classroom or the playground. Tully pays attention in class and her work is of a high standard, however relations between her and her peers are strained. Ms Forbes, her teacher, has suggested that Tully see a school counsellor and I think this would be an excellent way forward at this juncture.

  I would like to set up a meeting with you, Ms Forbes, the school counsellor and myself at your earliest possible convenience. Please understand that your daughter’s welfare is at the heart of our concern.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  Yours sincerely

  Rob Josef

  Assistant School Principal

  22

  Tully’s Story

  There was a time before Amanda when I didn’t speak at all. That time after Mum’s friend, Craig, came visiting at Christmas. Anyway, the school I was at made Mum take me to a doctor. I’d stopped talking but it took them a while to work out I wasn’t looking for attention. In fact, I was trying to disappear into nothingness. The doctors called it something—selective mutism. I don’t know why they made it sound so fancy. I just didn’t want to talk, so I didn’t. They said it had nothing to do with what happened, but Mum blamed Craig anyway.

  We moved twice during that time, but I was always waiting for Craig to come to the front door and take me for a ride. I didn’t want to go for a ride with him again. Mum said I didn’t have to, but she didn’t stop him last time so I didn’t believe her.

  School was hard. The first school was okay but the next school was small and it was harder to blend into the wall. We had composite grades, little kids in with big kids. The little kids were okay and let me be, but the bigger kids tried everything they could to make me talk. They tried bribing me. When that didn’t work they tried hurting me. They pinched me whenever they passed my desk. They would stand on my feet when we lined up for assembly. Hid my ruler. Stole my lunch.

  In my head I would yell at them. I would scream so high that glass shattered. I would roar so loud that it swept things from their desks. I would speak at home—sometimes. But once I left home...

  Teachers at school worried, but Mum thought they made too much fuss. She had her own problems. She only had enough energy for one person and that was her. We didn’t stay long. I was glad to move that time.

  Then we moved to Amanda’s school. When I found Amanda, I found my voice. She didn’t seem to notice that I didn’t talk. And then it happened. Little words escaped from my throat like canaries from a cage. Single words forced their way through the bars of my teeth. Then whole sentences. When we were together, alone, the words tumbled out of me. All those words that had built up for so long forced their way out. It was a prison break. At first it was scary. Then it became normal. I can’t remember when I began talking properly at school.

  I could still go for days not talking at high school. But it seemed that was okay, because I was a teenager. I answered if the teachers asked me questions. It was just easier that way. But if it wasn’t for Nathan I probably wouldn’t have bothered to talk to anyone else at school.

  Sometimes I still have days when I find it hard to talk. Maybe that’s why I had trouble asking anyone for help when Griffin took me.

  23

  Fitzroy Police Station: 25 December, 3.17a.m.

  ‘Tully, could I just interrupt here?’ asked Constable Tognetti. ‘Can you give me the name of the boy you mentioned. Nathan...?’

  ‘Furlong. Nathan Furlong,’ said Tully.

  ‘And he is...?’

  Tully shrugged. ‘He was my lab partner for Science.’

  ‘Right.’ Constable Tognetti made a note in her book. ‘Can I please ask you what happened after you reached Deer Park? After Griffin came out of the chemist.’

  ‘I told him I wanted to go home,’ said Tully.

  24

  Christmas Eve

  Griffin had parked in a No Standing zone. Tully only realised when a grey-uniformed man tapped on her window and signalled to roll it down so he could talk to her.

  ‘Shit,’ said Tully.

  She shook her head, but the man tapped again on the window.

  ‘It doesn’t open,’ Tully said loudly.

  The parking inspector walked around to the driver’s side and stood waiting. Tully leaned across and opened the door.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Tully.

  ‘This is a No Standing area.’ The man pointed to the sign.

  ‘Sorry,’ she repeated. ‘We’re not from around here.’

  Tully wondered if Griffin’s car registration had already been sent through to police stations nationwide. Even if it had, she thought, they probably hadn’t extended the bulletin to local parking officers.

  ‘Well, you need to move this car or I’m going to give you a ticket.’

  ‘He won’t be a moment. My friend had to go to the chemist—’

  ‘I don’t care if he had to put a fire out. No Standing means you can’t park here.’

  ‘Maybe you should just give him a ticket then,’ said Tully.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Could you just hurry up?’

  Then Tully saw Griffin. He’d come out of the chemist and stopped dead as he caught sight of what was going on. She was reminded of the first day she’d noticed him at school. He had a slightly lost look about him. She’d seen that look before. Every day she looked in the mirror.

  Griffin took a couple of steps away from the car before stopping and looking back her way. Tully wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do. If he left her now, she would be free to go. And yet...

  ‘Here he is now,’ said Tully.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Griffin’s face was nearly as grey as the parking inspector’s shirt as he walked towards the car.

  ‘This is a No Standing zone,’ barked the inspector.

  ‘I’m sorry. I—’

  ‘Your girlfriend here was telling me to give you a ticket. Have you two had a fight?’

  Griffin shrugged.

  ‘I think you’d better move this car or I’ll be giving you a Christmas present from the council,’ said the inspector, waving his ticket machine. ‘Merry Christmas,’ he added gruffly as he strode off to another car down the line.

  Griffin carefully slid into the car, then he threw a plastic chemist bag onto the back seat. His bare arm touched Tully’s as he turned back in his seat and they sparked with static electricity. Tully jumped and Grif
fin pretended not to notice.

  ‘You didn’t say anything,’ he said.

  Tully shrugged. ‘People in uniform are so bossy,’ she said.

  ‘The car looks in one piece.’ He made a show of looking at the instruments on the dash, then under the seat, then above the sun visor, but all the time Tully could tell he was checking her out.

  ‘So you got it?’ she asked. She nodded to the bag.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t understand. I thought ... I thought they just gave it to you on the spot.’

  ‘They did. It’s in the bag,’ said Griffin. He grabbed the bag from the back seat and threw it into Tully’s lap.

  Tully opened the bag and pulled out a box of pills. She read the instructions. ‘It says here that you have to take this on an empty stomach.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘It says here that it is a treatment for acne. What does this mean?’

  ‘It means that it is a treatment for acne,’ said Griffin.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Tully.

  ‘You thought I was at the chemist for the methadone program?’ said Griffin.

  Tully nodded.

  Griffin laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ said Tully.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  ‘You think it’s funny that I thought I was driving around with a ex-druggie who needed his dose of Methadone to stay sane?’ asked Tully.

  Griffin nodded, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. ‘Tully...’ he began, then stopped. ‘So, how do we get outta here?’ he said finally. ‘I need to get back to the city.’

  Tully pointed to a break in the side road that led out onto the highway.

  ‘I’ve been thinking ... I think it will be okay,’ said Griffin. ‘If you just come and tell them what happened. The police. How I didn’t hurt you or nothing. And that guy—he charged me. I was just defending myself.’