by Lee Hayton
‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ he said, but Daina thought that was a lie. His smile was tight, like Bruno in her kindergarten. He always told the teacher’s aide that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Once he’d told her that after taking Daina’s forearm in both of his hands and twisting them in opposite directions. The Chinese burn had been done with such force that a trail of blood blisters popped to the surface, and there had been glee on Bruno’s face.
‘I don’t want to hurt you, but you need to tell me where your mommy and daddy are.’
Daina started to cry again. Big gulps of air were needed to keep up the momentum. She wasn’t really sad. Usually, she only cried when she was sad. But right now she was scared. Very scared. That helped.
She knew in the back of her mind that tears usually caused a reaction in adults. They’d either get all concerned and start treating her nicely – maybe give her a hug – or, they’d get all concerned and look for someone else to take over.
But the man in the grey suit did neither.
He levelled his gun at her face again and jerked the barrel back towards where the car had been parked earlier. Daina stopped crying. He jerked the gun again and Daina started to walk in the direction he indicated. She walked down into the dip where the gravel took over from the asphalt.
She could still see the indentation where she’d jumped from the car, lost her balance, and fallen down. Her hands had scraped away the gravel from the hard soil beneath. Her worst fear was true then. This was where the car had been. And wasn’t now.
The man was staring in all directions. His head turned from the treeline to the lake, to the picnic tables, to the treeline on the other side. His head jerked from position to position just like the chicken at the farm that Daina’s class visited early in the year. She giggled at the memory. The head jerked to look at her again and the giggle went away.
‘Where are they? No one leaves a little girl all alone in a park by the roadside. Where are they?’
Daina just shook her head, and the man bent down and grabbed her upper arm again. He jerked it up, and twisted it, and Daina cried out with the pain. It felt he was twisting it right off.
‘Tell me where they are, right now!’
There was a rustle, and then the thud as a wooden bat hit hair, skin, and bone. The grey man crumpled to his knees. His eyes no longer focused on Daina’s. One pupil slid out to the far edge of his right eye while the left stayed in the middle. Then he fell face forward.
Daina’s mum stood behind him with a cricket bat. The force of the blow had split the bat along an old crack secured with red electric tape. One big splinter hung separate from the main bat, the tape the only thing holding it together.
Her mum was breathing hard. The little curls in front of her ears were tight with sweat. She was shaking.
‘Mum,’ Daina yelled. She ran to her and hugged her legs. She was sure glad to see her. Of course her mum would never go off and leave her, she was daft to think it. She’d just gone so she could surprise the bad man, and make sure Daina would be safe.
‘Come on, honey,’ her mum said. There was a shake in her voice like there was some mornings when there’d been a party while Daina was falling asleep. ‘I’ve just moved the car into the shade.’
She pointed, and Daina saw it almost hidden behind a thicket of bushes. No wonder the man hadn’t been able to see it. That made sense too. If Daina’s mum slept in the sun for too long in the afternoon, she always woke up cranky.
‘Go and get in the car, that’s a good girl,’ she said and pointed again.
‘Are you coming?’
‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ she replied, kneeling down beside the man in the grey suit. His skin colour had changed with the blow. It was now almost as grey as his suit, and his hair.
Daina leant her weight on one foot and curled the other up the back of her leg. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure honey. Go and wait in the car and I’ll be right with you.’
There was an edge to her voice this time. An edge that said, do what I say right now or there’ll be trouble. Daina started to back away slowly.
Her mum bent over the man and put her fingers on his neck. It was strange. That was nowhere near where she’d hit him. Daina could see the spot even as she edged further away. There was blood pumping out of it and shading his hair and the ground around his head. His neck hadn’t been hurt at all.
Daina came to a stop and just stared. Her mother caught on within a second and gave her a look. Daina started to step backwards toward the car again.
That was when there was a whining sound above. It grew louder and louder. Louder and louder. And then there was a wrench of twisted metal. A whoosh of water being displaced. The ground shook again beneath Daina’s feet. She watched twisted metal skip on the surface of the water just as she couldn’t get stones to do. A large wave wet the stones on the beach well above the waterline, and then went back out.
And a plane was sticking out of the water. Mangled wreckage. Heat shimmers above it.
Daina ran back to the safety of her mother. She forgot about the car.
Daina 2004
Mum threw another party that night. I fell asleep to the domph, domph, domph of a bass beat and woke in the night to silence. I ran my hand up over my rib cage. I could feel the individual ribs sticking out through my thin flesh. Skeletal. After the biscuits early today I hadn’t had anything else to eat.
Tiptoeing downstairs, I clung to the left-hand wall to balance. I paused at the bottom, my head tilted as I tried to make out any sounds in the stillness. A faint growl of a snore, a rustle as someone turned over. The sounds of unconscious souls who’d fallen asleep in position after a night of hard drinking.
Reassured, I crept through into the lounge, and then further into the kitchen. There was a half-empty greasy package of cold chips and a couple of slices of pizza with the hated anchovies coating the surface. Mum loved these little fish in theory, but tended to spit them out with dismay when the reality arrived.
My stomach leapt and turned with excitement at the sight. I bundled them together and sat down at the table. From this vantage point, I could make out three bodies lying in the dimness of the lounge. There was a sharp tang of stomach acid in the air; someone had thrown up during the night and it hadn’t been cleared away. Let’s hope that had disappeared before I got home from school.
I stuffed a couple of the chips into my mouth and chewed. There was something wrong. The sound of my jaw working carried into my brain in amplified fashion. I tried to ignore it, to continue eating, but the compulsion to get the food out of my mouth grew too overwhelming and I spat the sodden mess back out.
My stomach turned over and growled with low fury. It demanded to be fed. Even the sight of the half-eaten food wasn’t enough to stem my hunger.
I picked up a piece of pizza and tried a small bite. Once again the sound filled my head. Swelled. I opened my mouth and let the food drop back onto the plain wrapping.
It was the sound of poison. That was the thought that arrived full-blown in my head. The noise of chewing was the noise of the drugs that laced the food entering my bloodstream. It was the sound of hallucination being manufactured in my brain. Somehow, someone had been at the food. It was adulterated.
I tried to force another chip into my mouth. Tried to chew. Tried to ignore the sounds and the compulsion to spit it out. Tried to swallow.
The slow progress of the mouthful down my epiglottis caused a wave of violent nausea, reversed trajectory and came straight back up. I walked to the sink and grabbed a handful of water from the tap. The normally sweet taste of Christchurch’s pure spring water was tainted with acid. Smelt like death.
I threw the water back up as well and then clung to the side of the bench as my head forgot where my body was and span in circles. I retched again, and again, until at last my mouth and stomach felt clean. My hunger had gone.
Slowly, my dizziness left. Once I could trust myself to balance wi
thout the aid of the bench I walked through back into the lounge. One of the occupants was sitting up with a lamp shining on a work in progress. A spoon, cotton wool, a lighter flame.
Great. Now my mum’s friends are shooting up.
The door opened and my mother walked through into the room. She saw me standing in the corner and gave a faint wave, then sat cross-legged on the floor next to the cook.
#
The mall was packed. The constant crush of people in motion made me feel dizzy after a while. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would suggest this as a form of entertainment. Vendors occasionally leapt out from the middle of the level to thrust various creams and concoctions in my face. I felt I needed to keep my hand up at all times, like a boxer in the ring.
Vila moved from window to window, examining and exclaiming over the displays as though they held some meaning. When I saw an empty bench to one side, I took the opportunity and plonked myself down. She didn’t notice for a whole shop window, so I yelled out, ‘Vila!’
She turned, and I waved, and she came back and sat down next to me. Her colour was high, and she twisted the ends of her long ponytail around her finger.
‘It’s a pity we don’t have any money,’ she said, ‘I could just see myself in a pair of those jeans.’ She pointed to the next window over, and I looked at the pair of wide-leg jeans. Seems that bellbottoms were on the way back in. Or not. Nobody walking past was wearing them, only the shop mannequins.
‘I do have some money,’ I exclaimed as I remembered the Grey Man’s gift. I searched in my pocket, but couldn’t find the card. What had I done with it? I pulled my bag off my shoulder and searched through there instead. It was tucked inside the front pocket and I pulled it out with a victorious cry.
‘What’s that from?’
‘Birthday present. Do you wanna see what $50 can get us?’
Vila was already running ahead. I chased after her and almost crashed into her back when she stopped short.
‘When was your birthday?’
‘Thursday,’ I said, taking the card back out of her hand.
‘You didn’t say anything.’
I shrugged and walked past her into The Warehouse. The concrete floors were stacked everywhere with items that appeared to all be entering a sale, or just about to stop being on sale. Apart from the every day low items.
The clothing section was on the left-hand side of the store. I disappeared inside there, and Vila joined me a moment later.
‘Happy birthday for Thursday, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll shout you an ice-cream after.’
My stomach turned over itself at the thought, but I shook my head.
‘What?’ she asked. Her mouth pursed.
I can’t eat with you because you keep poisoning me. ‘Teeth,’ I blurted. ‘My teeth can’t handle anything cold at the moment. I’ll take a raincheck, though.’
‘Raincheck. You sound like my nan,’ she scoffed and turned back to the more important task at hand. ‘These,’ she said and held out a long skirt in bright yellow and a white crochet top.
‘I don’t think yellow is your colour,’ I said. It was a relief to be honest about something.
‘Not for me, you dick. For you. It’s your bloody birthday present!’
She held them up against me and nodded. ‘What, you’re a size ten?’
‘Twelve,’ I said from habit, but she shook her head.
‘No way are you a twelve. Try it on.’ She pointed me to the changing rooms, and I laughed and complied.
The skirt hung off my hipbones. I handed it back through the curtains and said, ‘Size eight. They must size these ones large.’
She held the skirt up against herself, and her forehead creased into a frown. I let the curtain slip back into place and looked at the top in the mirror. It was pretty and had ties at the back so I could pull the waist in.
Vila’s hand popped back in through the curtain with a smaller skirt. ‘Thanks,’ I called and pulled it on. It fit better than the last one. The colour went well with the white blouse. I took them back off and checked the price tags. $44.90 for the two of them.
Why not?
I pulled back the curtain just as Vila stuck her head through. ‘You didn’t like them?’
‘I loved them. I’m gonna get them.’
‘Put them back on. Let me see.’
I shook my head and laughed. ‘I’m not putting them back on again. You’ll have to wait.’
‘Do you want to come back to mine? Then you can show me.’
I nodded and went through to the checkout. ‘As long as you promise not to perv.’
‘You know me.’ Vila narrowed her eyes and let her tongue slip through her lips. ‘Just pull them a bit higher, little girl.’
I pushed my elbow back into her ribs and laughed.
The girl scanned the items and I handed over the card. She ran it through the machine and frowned. She ran it through again.
‘There’s no credit on this card,’ she said handing it back. ‘That’ll be $44.90, please.’
‘Try it again,’ I said and gave it back. ‘I haven’t used it at all, there should be fifty on there.’
She didn’t take it from me. Just shook her head. ‘There’s nothing loaded on it. It’s just a blank card.’
She pointed to the display at the end of the counter. There were cards hanging there, and a sign above Load with your own value!
I looked back at the card. ‘But it’s got $50 written on it. There must be some mistake.’
She glanced at it, and then looked back at her till. There was a blush spreading across her chest, and she rubbed the keypad. ‘That’s just handwritten. We don’t write anything on the cards at all. Just in case they get stolen. That’s why you have to keep the receipt when you get them loaded. Do you have a receipt?’
I shook my head. ‘It was a present.’
She shrugged. ‘I can’t help you then,’ she said and reached for the bag.
I pulled it back over the counter. She turned to look at me then, her eyes widening. I didn’t know what I was going to do until I saw the astonishment on her face. And then the expectation. She expected me to be a thief.
So I was.
I tugged hard on Vila’s arm and then broke into a sprint. There was a crowd of people in front of me, blocking the exit gates. I pushed one of them, hard, and the rest cleared a path. There was a flash of light and sound and then we were out of the shop and running through the seating for the ice cream shop and café.
My feet hammered the ground, and I skidded around the corner. Losing traction for a second on the hard tiles. The recovery. I ran for the mall’s side exit and then was forced to stop as my speed exceeded the automatic opening function. Vila slid to a halt beside me, and we turned to see an enormous security guard jogging to a halt.
I darted forward on one side, Vila ran on the other, and we both made it past. We fell into step again, side by side, and ran back through to the other end of the mall. There was a constant flow of people in and out. The automatic doors never got a chance to close.
As we neared the exit, I felt the world fall away, and my vision shrank a narrow spot of light. It was as though I was flying, and when the floor rushed up to meet my face, it was like burying my head in a pillow.
Coroner’s Court 2014
There’s a moment when the next witness is called to the stand and I have no idea who it is that I’m going to see.
The name Mr Davies is so bland it could be anyone from anywhere, but when he’s sworn in and faces the court, I realise that I have seen his features somewhere before.
‘Can you tell the court where it is that you worked in 2004?’
‘The Warehouse in Northlands. I was the duty manager there.’
It makes sense, but I’m surprised nonetheless. How many shoplifters trawl through his department in a week? In a day?
Why the hell has my face stuck in his memory?
It’s a question that the coroner puts to him more politely
when an old CCTV recording is produced and the clerk has to find a machine as elderly as the video to play it on.
‘We kept the recording because the girls threatened to go to the police about James’s actions on the day in question. Sorry, that was the name of the guard on duty, James McWallace.
‘I didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, and so I kept the recording separated in case they followed through.’
The coroner doesn’t bother to ask him why he’s still got it in his possession when he’s left the employ of The Warehouse, but I presume that’s to spare embarrassment. Who really wants to delve that deep into the sticky belly of a duty manager’s home life?
‘I’ve also kept a recording of the day we think that Miss Harrow stole the gift card she was trying to use.’
I feel properly aggrieved at that one. I didn’t steal the bloody thing. Worst. Gift. Ever.
When they wheel an unstable looking arrangement of a video player and monitor through into the room, there are a few stifled snorts. The screen looks like it was old at the time it was first hooked up. Used to the flat offerings of a later decade, the curve of this tiny box seems ridiculous.
The video itself is in no great shape either. Grainy footage with far too much squeezed into the frame. Someone wanted to skimp on security by the looks, so there’s far too much in view to cut down on the number of cameras required.
‘You can first see Miss Harrow and Miss Fa’amoe in the frame here,’ He points at the screen.
There’s a collective intake of breath when I emerge from the dressing room. My collarbones stick so far out from my sunken chest they seem like a sculpted necklace. My face is gaunt. If it weren’t so animated, I’d look like death on legs.
My mother turns away from the view. No change in behaviour there.
There're shots of us in the clothing area. Not inside the changing booths; some standards of privacy are in motion, but the film changes to a difference camera to pick us up at checkout.
When she served me, all I saw was the disdain. On camera, the checkout operator draws her core back and her face leans forward. There're distress and pity visible even through the poor picture quality.
