by K T Bowes
“What did you fall out over?”
Larry rolled his eyes. “The syndicate went crazy after what he did. He took out loans to pay them off, but I was already maxed out.”
“You’re not even on the club’s executive,” I breathed. “How could you organise all this?”
I swallowed, waiting for the names of people I loved and respected to be dragged through the mud. My body tensed and I balled my fists in anticipation.
“Lambie wanted out this year. He couldn’t take the pressure. Terry stayed in but that’s because Margaret forced him to and they don’t have two cents to rub together. There’s a few players who do as they’re told for a few hundred bucks a time and we’ve got other teams on the payroll. It wasn’t a problem when we stuck to the low key games but we got greedy.” Larry chewed his lip in frustration. “It would’ve been fine if Pete stuck to the plan.” His eyes flashed and he turned towards me, his irises grey pits of smoke. “He wanted to go straight because of you. Your honesty shamed him out.”
“He told you that?”
Larry smoothed his hand over a bristly chin. “Yeah. Said he loved you. Did you even notice he’d stopped the nights out after the games? We all got together at Lambie’s house for beers and a yarn instead.”
I shook my head. Out was out, but he’d returned home earlier and not so drunk. We hadn’t shared a bedroom, so it never mattered. “Where’s Mark?” I held my breath as I asked the question, figuring Pete’s death was accidental but drug induced and Mark appeared suddenly wasted and ill in a short amount of time. “You and Pam were at the wedding. Did you drug him?”
“I just needed to talk to him.” Larry licked his lips. “But I didn’t leave the wedding reception. I heard you’d taken him home, you and that cop, but the syndicate boys got to him before I could. He’s in the Manukau Harbour somewhere. Shark food.”
My brain ducked Mark Lambie’s fate and amplified the word ‘cop’ and I shook my head. “Jack wasn’t there.”
“The other one, the referee. I knew the game was up then. The syndicate wanted a referee on side but we couldn’t risk it, not with him on the circuit.”
“Teina’s a cop?” I choked on the sentence, betrayal and heartache flooding in to overtake the shock. My legs buckled and I struggled to stay upright, sickness flooding through my body like acid. I pushed on the wall as my mind turned back to my own plight.
“You know him?” Larry’s eyes narrowed and his grin spread from ear to ear. “Awesome! There’s money in it for him and I can tell you what to say.”
“No!” I raised my voice into a strangled yell. “You killed my husband but you’re still not finished? What’s wrong with you?”
I lurched for the front door but hit the wall of Larry’s body and found myself tumbling sideways. My cheek struck the tiny hall table and I grunted with the impact, lying dazed on the cold tiles. I tasted blood in my mouth where I bit my tongue.
“Sorry, sorry!” Larry raised his hands up to the sides of his head, his face ashen. “I can’t do it, Ursula. I can’t hurt you but the syndicate guys will. You need to help us.” He bent and tried to gather me to him and I smelled the fear oozing from his pores. Pulling my arm, he got me to a sitting position and ran to the kitchen for a tea towel to stem the blood dripping from my lip and coating my chin. “The minute I make that call, you’re dead,” he said as I heard him yanking open drawers to find one. “They know I’m here,” he called, his voice husky as he settled on a roll of paper towel. I heard the paper tearing as he balled up more than he needed. “I called them from the spare room when I couldn’t find the damn laptop. Told them you knew everything.”
The door buzzer sounded and I hauled myself upright, my head beating a bass note in a protracted throb. My addled brain screamed danger but temper superseded it. I wanted to see these big syndicate names. They took my husband, sullied the legacy of five generations of Saints and pitched me into poverty through greed. I wanted to look them in the eye and knew it would probably kill me.
My hand touched the receiver as Larry pounded across my kitchen and into the hall. “No!” he shouted as the handset fell, dangling from the curly cord and bumping against the wall. I reached for the door release switch next to it but he rugby tackled me and crushed me beneath his weight, winding me and knocking an ear-splitting scream from my lungs. A painful pop issued from somewhere in my back and the locking of the surrounding muscles informed me it was serious. Breathing in hurt like a firebrand in my chest and breathing out stopped being a viable option.
Larry got off me and reached for the handset, listening before replacing it. “Probably just kids,” he gasped. “Nobody there.”
I rolled onto my side and shrieked in pain. My torso plunged into a debilitating spasm of pins and needles and I sobbed with the agony of it.
“Get up!” Larry tugged on my arm and my words emerged without meaning as I begged him to leave me alone.
One second he stood there, pulling on my right arm and bending over me and the next he disappeared like a magic trick with an enormous bang which left splinters and dust in the atmosphere. My airborne arm crashed back into my side and I wailed, noticing a small puddle of blood beneath my face, sticking my left cheek to the floor. The inside of my mouth swelled so I couldn’t speak and then a knee appeared in the blood with a shoe next to it. The black work shoe nestled against the navy blue knee and I heard his voice. “Ursula, speak to me.” Clicking and chattering ensued as Teina called for an ambulance and I willed the pain to draw me into oblivion.
Chapter 35
I didn’t lose consciousness because good things don’t happen to people like me. It would’ve been preferable to the zombie like state I became pinned in as cops and ambulance staff crowded my tiny hall, stepping over me as though I was the bristly doormat. I screamed in agony as they laid me on a backboard and braced my neck, clamping my swollen, bleeding tongue forward so I didn’t swallow it in my shock. I remember the ambulance ride and the technical x-ray machine as it hovered around my sitting body.
Three broken ribs had detached from my spine but would allegedly fix themselves, the doctor hoped. After two nights in hospital and a painful stitch in my tongue later; I sat on the bed awaiting my ride. Nurses bustled around the busy ward, changing sheets and wishing me gone so they could return my tiny space back into a sterile area again.
“There’s a guy outside,” Helen said, gathering my blood-soaked clothes into a carrier bag. “The nurse said he’s been here the whole time.”
“I don’t care.” My hair hung lifeless around my face and she didn’t push her luck, privileged to be the only person I’d allowed near me in the last few days.
The ride home felt like agony despite the painkillers and I insisted Helen drive me to my apartment, refusing her kind offer of sanctuary. The normal jolting of the lift caused multiple groans to issue from my pursed lips and I stood in the hallway and stared at my reinstated front door.
“Do you have a key?” Helen asked and I shook my head, not having thought that far forward.
“Someone put the door back on,” I said with a sigh, grimacing as the stairs' door clanged shut behind me. Edgy and nervous, every harsh sound brought panic to my brain which went into overload and tried to force my damaged body to hide, run away, anything to avoid further injury.
“It’s ok.” Helen placed a gentle hand on my arm. “It’s your neighbour from downstairs.”
I turned and saw Ahmed hovering behind me, his face shrouded in awkwardness. He pointed to the door and gave a watery smile. Helen patted my shaking wrist. “He rehung your door and helped clear up. It was his wife who called me. My phone number was in your fruit bowl.”
I smiled at Ahmed and nodded my thanks, my tongue swollen and the ends of the stitch catching every time I tried to speak. “I’m grateful,” I said and he nodded with understanding, holding out a new door key.
“Change lock,” he said. “Smashed.”
“Thank goodness it was!” Helen re
plied, taking over and slipping the key into the shiny, silver lock. “If that policeman hadn’t decided to call round here, you could’ve been dead.” She winced and bit her lip. “Sorry. I’m not known for my tact.” She busied herself letting us into the flat and Ahmed stooped to collect the bag.
“Wife wash,” he said, dangling the bag in front of his face and turning to leave.
“Thank you.” My voice sounded feeble in the echoing hallway and I offered him a more genuine smile, marred by a swallow. “I can pay you for your time and the lock,” I slurred and he shrugged.
“Man already did.” He waved over his shoulder and the door clicked behind him. I listened to his footsteps skip down the stairs and the loose window in the hallway clanged against its frame. Curiosity budded in the back of my brain, wondering who the mysterious man was who slept in a hospital reception and paid for my damages. I shuddered as Jack’s face drifted through the halls of my inner vision and I dismissed it, not wanting to think of his betrayal.
My apartment looked spotless; much cleaner than I left it. My eyes followed the marks of a mop on the tiled floors and gentle Syrian fingers had wiped and cleaned every surface. My dead phone sat next to the kettle and I remembered the sight of my hands putting Helen’s new mobile number into the fruit bowl; my chosen go-to place to find lost things when all else failed. The scrap of paper sat next to a browning apple and a lurid, overripe banana and I felt a flash of gratitude to Mrs Ahmed. Of all the people she might have called, Helen would’ve been my first choice. The couple’s kindness made me glad he’d nicked my parking space although shame still blossomed at my behaviour over it. It seemed like such a stupid issue against the backdrop of the past week.
Helen left at my insistence, popping back and using a spare key to furnish me with a bag of groceries. I spent a week by myself, growing used to her visits after work and her easy chatter about school and the children. One evening she brought cards made by my class and I waited until she’d left to sob over the sweet messages copied off the blackboard and their depictions of me in various states of injury and undress. Lawrie seemed to think hospital involved nakedness apart from a mummified head wrap. Laughing hurt my ribs, so I cried instead.
After two weeks of isolation, ignoring the door bell and keeping my phone off, boredom finally bit and I decided to return to work on Monday. Helen’s eyes widened in horror as she sat on my sofa and drank tea. “The hospital said three weeks!” she chided. “It’s too soon. Free flowing breaks can lead to other problems. What if one of the children wants to sit on your knee, or you get hurt by accident? You could puncture a lung!”
“I’ll be living my life,” I muttered, hearing the sullenness of my tone. “Instead of hiding here.”
“That detective keeps ringing me,” Helen confessed. “Every bloody day. He asked for the spare key yesterday and I said I didn’t have one. He said he’s been coming here daily, but you won’t open the door.”
“I don’t want to know what happened.” My breathing hitched and I winced in pain. “I don’t care anymore.”
Helen nodded, not mentioning the gossip I could see crowding in her face and showing her allegiance to our friendship by squashing it. I’d avoided all forms of news and social media, reading books and watching reruns of old serials on the ancient DVD player. Baths helped the pain and I’d weaned myself off the medication once it started making me throw up.
“Have you seen your father?” Helen asked, sipping her tea. I realised I’d made it too strong for her taste but my right arm still locked if my brain thought the action might jar my ribs. I didn’t take the bag out quick enough. I watched her nose wrinkle like a rabbit and felt useless.
“No. I haven’t seen anyone.” My voice sounded hard. I knew they’d all tried, Dad, Aunty Pam, Alysha, Jack, Detective Inspector Odering. Senior Sergeant Teina Fox.
The detective managed to get past the downstairs door by flashing his warrant card at my Indian neighbour, but he only got as far as my front door. His incessant banging sent me into the bath with a book and my CD player turned up and I didn’t hear him leave. He put a note outside on my doormat but I threw it away without reading it. I couldn’t face anything he might have to say and didn’t want to talk.
Helen picked me up on Monday morning and I admitted to feeling much better. Getting out of bed hadn’t been such an ordeal and I’d even managed to get a bra on without passing out. The children greeted me with enthusiasm and kisses and the staff behaved with awkward cordiality.
“Someone’s very quiet,” I said to Helen as Lawrie snuggled on my knee with his thumb between pink lips. “Has he been like this the whole time?”
She shook her head. “No, we’ve had a few meltdowns, but I used the strategies we put together and everything seemed fine. He missed you, but we all did.”
The child groaned when I tried to move him off my knee and I found myself pinned on the tiny chair for the whole of morning tea. Helen brought me a drink and the boy fell asleep, enabling her to carry him to the beanbags in the corner and cover him with a blanket. “I think he’s sick,” I commented as the children filed off the carpet to begin putting their new mathematics skills into practice. “Can you manage if I ask Julie to call his aunt? He needs to go to the doctor.”
“I’m good here.” Helen gave me a smile of contentment and moved around the classroom, breaking up scraps over pencils and setting the children to their task with a few, well-placed looks of fake irritation.
I found Julie at her desk and asked her to make the call, popping my head around Vanessa’s door. “Ah, glad you’re back,” she said, barely looking up from her emails. Her face showed strain and I felt a flicker of sympathy. “Just make sure you take it easy this week,” she said. “I know you didn’t have to come back so soon.”
I tensed, expecting her to venture into the questions surrounding my absence and the carefully worded medical certificate but she put her head down and went back to her emails. “About Lawrie,” I said. Vanessa looked up as though surprised I was still standing there. “You were going to book him an assessment.”
The principal slipped her glasses off, dropping them to the desk with a clunk. She squeezed the bridge of her nose in a painful finger vice. “There’s no money,” she said with a sigh. “His family will have to pay. I can ask around and see if anyone will do me a favour but the going rate is four hundred dollars.”
“I think he’s autistic.” I balled my fists in frustration. “He only lets certain people touch him, doesn’t like eye contact or changes in routine and he suffers from significant communication problems. Yet he’s highly intelligent.”
“Then he should be at another school,” Vanessa concluded, reseating her glasses on her bony nose. “You know the game, Ursula. We’ve been here before. We’re teachers, not social workers, police officers or doctors. His family will have to pay for the initial assessment and then the gates to the money might just slide open enough to get him some help. I’ve got too many other children on the list waiting to be seen; I can’t shunt him ahead of them. It’s not fair and it doesn’t work like that. Some of these mothers come to see me weekly, shouting, crying and threatening. Lawrie’s hasn’t been in to see me and at the moment, the ones who shout the loudest get the attention.”
“I’ll pay for it,” I said, swallowing at the memory of my cornflower blue car still sitting in the parking garage at home. I didn’t know if I would be able to feed myself next week, let alone source a special needs assessor for a child with nobody to shout for him.
“That would be highly unprofessional.” Vanessa’s reprimand coincided with the lowering of her eyes back to her emails and I accepted the dismissal.
“No answer,” Julie said as I turned to face her. She sat at her desk outside Vanessa’s office. “She’s probably still at work. I think she’s got more than one job.”
I nodded in thanks and walked back to the classroom, working hard to keep my torso still as I moved. My back ached from standing and the me
rits of my early return seemed foolhardy.
Lunchtime arrived and Lawrie surfaced, his cheeks pink and the rest of his face pained and grey. “Where does it hurt, Lawrie?” I asked, squatting next to him as he slid from the bean bag to the carpet.
“Hurt, Lawrie,” he repeated through lips which looked dry and cracked.
“Do you think it’s bad enough for the ambo’s,” Helen asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t know,” I replied, fixing a smile on my lips for the child’s benefit. “Try his family again. Talk to the other children; I think he’s got a cousin in Year 5. Ask her for an alternative number.”
Helen nodded and I stroked the tiny boy’s damp hair away from his forehead as he balled himself up, knees raised and his chin resting on them. “What am I going to do with you?” I whispered and he blinked.
“With you,” he repeated.
Chapter 36
“Hey, Urs.” The gentle tones send a wave of disquiet through my soul as I cuddled the sleeping child to my breast and rocked him, aware of his soaring temperature.
“Go away!” I hissed, not wanting my work self and my messed up love life to mix in a swirling mess of greasy oil and dirty water. “I’m busy.”
Teina approached me and I heard the chatter from his radio buzzing through the earpiece like wasps around an overripe apple. “I needed to see you,” he said, his tone laden with guilt and regret. “I wanted to apologise. I waited in the hospital but you wouldn’t see me.”
I snorted and the child in my arms jumped and whimpered in his discomfort. I shifted the cold flannel on his burning forehead and stroked his cheek. “It’s ok, Lawrie,” I whispered. “Whaea will be here soon and she’ll take you to the doctor.” He groaned and put his small hand over his stomach. “I know it hurts, baby,” I whispered. “It’ll all be over soon.”
