The Kingdom Where Nobody Dies

by Kimberley Starr

  Jackie looked up again, skimming over me with a quick, uninterested look.

  “Hello,” she said. I could tell that she didn’t remember my name. Her husband smiled at me, though.

  “Justin, Jackie,” Rebecca said. “This is Brigid’s friend, Madeleine.”

  Justin stood and offered me his hand, like I was a grown-up. “Why, hello there,” he said. “Just Brigid’s friend? I thart we were going to meet Andrew’s little gurrl friend.” It was nice to be offered his hand, despite his drawl, as if I was his equal. His grip was firm and strong and reminded me of my knuckle-bones, vulnerable beneath their thin layer of skin.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said.

  “You, too.” I cradled the hand he had shaken against my other arm. Then I had a thought. “Surrrr,” I added, in a drawl of my own. I could see Andrew and Brigid laughing out of the corner of my eye, and had the impression Rebecca, too, was trying to stifle a smile.

  “Why don’t you and Brigid go outside and have a swim?” Rebecca made a bustling motion with her hands. In the hot weather, I always brought my swimmers to the Colemans’ house, just in case, and left them in a backpack near the door.

  “Wait, I’ll come too,” said Andrew, standing more quickly than I had seen him move before.

  If only I had a nice swimsuit, black perhaps, and in two pieces, for Andrew to see me in, I thought, I would have been perfectly content.

  After we played around outside for a bit, three of us, not two, Andrew went back inside. Still in our swimsuits, Brigid and I tied sarongs around our waists, and headed back down to the river. Her arms were brightly burnt and I was a bit pink, too. We walked idly, without any particular plan, the way you do on summer afternoons. I didn’t even have my sketchbook with me. We approached a tall old fig tree that marked the corner of the riverside park. Pre-dating even the oldest of the houses, its hollows and buttresses fascinated me.

  “Grandma told me about that tree, it’s called a strangler,” I said to Brigid. “What happens is the fig starts like a vine climbing up another tree. As it grows, it wraps the other tree as tightly as a boa constrictor.”

  Brigid wrinkled her nose. “Trees don’t act like snakes. That’s silly.”

  “Yes they do.” I said. “Nature is cruel. Eventually the fig kills the other tree and it rots and dies. That’s why the inside of fig trees are hollow and empty.”

  “No they aren’t.”

  “Yes they are.” I was getting tired of contradictions. “Go over and look.”

  I followed her, feet crunching into eucalyptus mulch. Brigid reached out to steady herself and peered into one of the many gaps in the fig’s rough trunk.

  “You can see sunlight from the other side, can’t you?” I demanded. Taking her hand, I pulled her further to one side. Here, a gap in the buttresses revealed a hollow that reached from ground level to somewhere high in the canopy above us. We were not the first to discover this; the hollow was littered with Twisties packets and Coke cans.

  Brigid jumped suddenly.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She turned round eyes in my direction and pointed through the shadows in the hollow tree. “There’s Kevin Mathers!”

  I tried to focus. “Who?”

  “Kevin Mathers!” Brigid held my arm, pulling me further into the bushes. I looked at her, feeling my eyebrows arch into question marks. I couldn’t understand her alarm. It was far too late for us to be in trouble about the stones. “So what?” I asked.

  Brigid was wide-eyed. “Everyone’s scared of him,” she insisted. “We were just lucky the other day. Even Sally Green said that Kevin Mathers once followed her home. She was riding her bike and he followed her in his car.”

  I thought about Sally Green and the plaits pulling tightly at her face like bad cosmetic surgery. Would she make something like this up? Did she have enough imagination?

  “She said he followed her right around the block,” Brigid said. “When she looked back, he slowed down too. Then he stopped the car and said something. She got scared and rode off as fast as she could.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “What did he say to her?” I asked suspiciously. Kevin Mathers had vanished into his house by now. I stepped around the tree and began walking towards one of the swing sets. Brigid followed.

  “I don’t think she heard. She was too scared.”

  I shrugged, unconvinced. It seemed unlikely that a grown man would be interested in a skinny kid like Sally Green. Most likely she invented the encounter to make her life seem a bit less dull. Meanwhile, I had a more immediate problem. A little boy was racing for the same swing as me. I glared at him.

  His forehead wrinkled into a frown and he stopped dead, before turning to race back to his mother. I looked at her, too. What was she thinking of, letting her child roam about when Cameron Seymour still hadn’t been found? I returned her resentful glare as Brigid climbed onto the remaining swing.

  “Everyone knows about him,” she went on, confidently swinging her legs. “He followed another kid, years ago. And someone said they mentioned him at the royal commission.”

  “Which royal commission?”

  Brigid didn’t know. “And once he applied to be a scout leader,” she continued, undaunted. “Everyone knows they’re all pedophiles.”

  But she didn’t remember where she’d heard that, either. I gave her a long, sceptical look as I swung higher into the air, legs outstretched.

  “If you were really worried you’d ask your mother. Kevin Mathers is just a retard.” I spoke loudly, even though we were close to his house.

  Brigid frowned. “Mum says it’s not nice to call people retards.”

  “It’s not nice to say they fancy Sally Green either.” I laughed. “Most pedophiles’d have better taste. Sally Green!”

  Brigid gave me a superior look, like she was so much better than me. We swung in silence for a while, before I stopped myself, abruptly digging my sandshoes into the ground. Strands of brown hair flew into my eyes as a jarring jolt ripped through my spine.

  “I tell you what,” I challenged Brigid. “If Kevin Mathers has something to hide, let’s have a look around his house — tonight! If there’s anything there, we’ll find it. Then we’ll talk to Rebecca.”

  Brigid stopped too, more carefully than I had.

  “You really think he’s got something hidden over there?” She looked over at his house, speculation shining in her eyes like water. “You think maybe Cameron Seymour …?”

  “Maybe.” I nodded sagely, stringing her along. “I mean, could be.”

  “What do you want to do?” asked Brigid, who seemed to think I knew no fear. “We can’t just go and knock on his door or anything. And he’s out there watching right now.”

  Wasn’t she listening? “I said tonight,” I said. “He won’t still be standing out there then.”

  “Tonight?” Her eyes were as round as bicycle tyres. “You mean, in the dark?”

  That settled it. I whooped with laughter as I used my feet to push myself as high into the air as the swing would let me go. “Tonight!” I cried. “Tonight!”

  I shouted gleefully for Brigid’s benefit, although I was sure we wouldn’t find anything, and actually felt a bit sorry about stoning Kevin Mathers’ house. After all, he’d lost his mother too. Was he as pissed off about it as me? Or do grown-ups really feel things differently? Either way, tonight sounded like an adventure. I liked excitement. It meant I didn’t have to think.

  “Brigid! Brigid! Are you there? It’s me!”

  There was no response. I waited for a moment but there was no movement in her bedroom. It didn’t matter; the lounge-room window was open. It took just a moment to climb through. Then I tiptoed noiselessly through to the dark bedrooms at the side of the house.

  The Colemans seemed to have done something about their floorboards; they didn’t squeak like my grandma’s. Escaping from next door had been tricky. A couple of times I’d been sure my grandma would wake up. But no
, she’d slept through every noise, and I’d made it. So far, I thought, so good.

  “Brigid!” I called in a harsh whisper from her bedroom door. “Brigid!”

  “Wha’ the …?” It was a shrill, surprised voice. Too late, I realised that the shape under the sheet, illuminated through moonlit gaps in the curtains, was far too big to be Brigid. The voice was female but slurred by drink and husky with smoke.

  “Are you all right?” Another voice, male this time, drawled from the ground, and I jumped to hide behind the doorframe. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I made out the long, flat shape of a mattress on the floor, and the rounded, lumpy shape of a man lying on it. Jackie and Justin were in there.

  “I thought I heard something …” Jackie’s voice, uncertain.

  There was laughter from below. “It’s this arld house creaking,” said Justin. “Yarr not used to it anymore. Go back to sleep.”

  Jackie heaved her shoulders and rolled over.

  Phew. But where was Brigid?

  Fortunately, the Colemans all seemed to sleep with their doors open. I tiptoed past Andrew’s room. In a pool of moonlight, his skin was bleached to grey. He slept with his mouth hanging open and made slight snoring noises. I wished I could linger, just to watch and listen. But I was on a mission..

  Rebecca’s room was next. I identified it by the uniform hanging against the wardrobe. Rebecca slept curled up on one side of the bed, as if Daniel had just got up to go to the toilet or something, and would soon be back. Her skin was greened by light from the clock radio on the bedside table.

  Where was Brigid? I thought about creeping through to the other side of the house. Then I remembered the sleep-out. Once a back balcony and recently screened, it would be a cool and pleasant place to spend summer nights. Brigid must be there. And she was, curled up on one of the sofas.

  Walking closer, I leant towards her ear. “Brigid!” I whispered loudly. “Brigid!”

  She sat up so suddenly that the top of her forehead crashed into my nose. “What!”

  “Ouch!” I jumped back, hands flying up to feel for blood, or even for a broken bone. Why are noses so sensitive? I seemed to have a million explosive sneezes simultaneously ignited. “Arrgghh …”

  Brigid fumbled at the lamp beside her, and a moment later the room was flooded with yellow light. Face turned towards me, her eyes were brightly surprised, her hair tangled and twisted with sleep.

  “Maddy!”

  Surely she wasn’t really surprised to see me there?

  Then she started to whisper. “What are you doing here? Are you all right? I’m soooo sorry about your nose.”

  I looked down at her.

  “Did you forget?” I hissed.

  “Forget what?”

  I moved, my feet brushing against something on the floor. Her shoes. I picked them up and passed them to her. “Put these on. We have to pay a visit. To Kevin Mathers.”

  She took the shoes, but didn’t put them on. “A visit?”

  “Yes!” I hissed again. “We agreed, remember?”

  Evidently she hadn’t thought I was serious. The skin on her forehead buckled as she reached down and pulled one of her own feet up by the ankle. There was no way I’d let her wriggle out of coming. I moved towards the kitchen door. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  Brigid would have to come out now, if only to tell me she was staying home.

  She did, and she tried. “Maddy, we’ll get into trouble. It’s not worth it.”

  “I’m going,” I told her. “Do you want me to be in danger all by myself?”

  She groaned and shrugged and I started walking. The crunching of leaves underfoot was the only noise. Even the crickets and cicadas seemed unnaturally silent. Perhaps the full moon kept the night-time insects quiet.

  Brigid said nothing, but she followed. I kept walking ahead, directing my torch at the path. When I turned to look, her head was bowed, hair falling forward over her face. I smiled to give her courage, but she didn’t smile back.

  It grew darker as we approached Kevin Mathers’ house, the moon creeping stealthily behind a cloud as if it was in cahoots with us. The old Queenslander was grey in this light, vines as well as walls. I felt a slight thrill of fear and slowed down, letting Brigid get closer.

  “We still going up there?” she asked, when I turned to check where she was.

  I felt a lump in my stomach, as though fear was something I’d swallowed, or dread grew there like a cancer. “Of course,” I said. “You want to find Cameron Seymour, don’t you?”

  “I suppose.”

  I felt oddly betrayed by her trust. Why didn’t she chicken out like she should have? Didn’t she know this was dangerous?

  I looked up at one of the high windows but there were no spooky, leering faces. My eye had been captured by the fluttering of a white curtain. I turned, signalling for Brigid to follow, and crept through overgrown plants along the property edge. Luckily, Brigid stayed behind me, where she couldn’t see how frightened I was.

  There were no lights on; it was only when we got really close that I saw the dull blue flicker of a TV set in one of the windows.

  “That’s where he is!” I pointed.

  She looked at me like I was psychic. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “It’ll never be safer,” I said. “He’ll be asleep. He probably uses the TV for company. My dad does that.”

  Brigid nodded, or at least I think she did. We reached the side of the house.

  “What now?” she asked.

  I thought of the back door, just metres away, at the top of a flight of timber stairs, and shivered. “We go in.”

  Brigid wrapped her cardigan tighter around her thin shoulders.

  Tell me you’re too scared: I tried to direct the thought towards Brigid. It wouldn’t shame me if we left because she begged. Tell me you want to go home.

  But Brigid nodded, and whispered, “Okay.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Did she already know that Cameron wasn’t there? Was she setting this up to test my bravery? The suspicion was unendurable. I grabbed hold of her arm, skinny beneath the cardigan, and pulled her towards the steps.

  “You ready?” I whispered harshly as we crossed the darker area under the house and, careful not to make loud footsteps, approached the timber stairs.

  “One, two, three, four …” I counted under my breath as we climbed. There were ten steps to the top at both Brigid’s house and my grandma’s.

  “… Five, six, seven, eight, nine,” Brigid murmured. Then we were at the top.

  At just that moment the heavy kitchen door swung wide. My jaw clunked open, and I saw everything clearly — the room in front of us was flooded with light. There, on the threshold, just centimetres from our own faces, stood Kevin Mathers.

  * * *

  Brigid’s face was white, but I didn’t know if it was from fright or from the flooding light. Her hand, beside mine, shook as if it was half-detached from her arm.

  Kevin Mathers was wild-haired and bright-eyed, his own face cast into shadow.

  “Girls!”

  He sounded surprised, his voice somewhat high-pitched. I relaxed a little. Until he spoke, I’d been completely terrified. Now, the demon image receded. Kevin Mathers was a squeaky-voiced ordinary man in a soiled tracksuit that looked far too hot for the weather. One sleeve hung lower than the other. He held a plastic grocery bag knotted at the top, full of rubbish.

  No supernatural knowledge had warned him we were here. Despite the hour, he’d simply been taking out the garbage.

  Apparently not noticing the signs, Brigid continued shaking. Beside her, I was aware of the movement spreading. Soon, it wasn’t only her hand but her arm. Then her whole body began to sway. My instinct to turn and flee down the stairs was defeated. Brigid obviously couldn’t run and I couldn’t leave her alone like this.

  “Girls!” Kevin Mathers repeated. He stepped back a little into the light. His face was white and covered in black bristles.

 
; There was nothing to be frightened of, I told myself. “Mr Mathers?” I said, thinking that if this looked like a neighbourhood call, I might as well be polite. He’d seen our faces but perhaps we could minimise our punishment.

  “I’m Maddy and this is Brigid,” I continued.

  Brigid’s jaw dropped and Kevin Mathers let the bag fall to the floor beside him. Glass clashed against glass, muffled by a mash of rotten food and plastic. Nothing fell out. No boy’s severed head or limbs, nothing sinister.

  “Um … hello …” was all Kevin Mathers said. He spoke to Brigid, who gazed at the rubbish bag through mesmerised eyes. “Um … I think I met you before, when Mum was …” He started to stammer.

  He was a bit pathetic really. Something in his eyes suggested he was actually pleased to have visitors. Beside me, I felt Brigid start to relax.

  “We have met before,” she said in a comforting tone, as if she was talking to a child. “I was sorry to hear about your mother, Mr Mathers.”

  He looked more closely at her and blinked. “You’re Brigid,” he said. “Andrew Coleman’s sister.”

  “Yes,” said Brigid simply.

  “I told you that,” I said. “I’m Maddy.”

  But he didn’t look at me. “Um … what are you here for?” he asked Brigid. “It’s quite late.”

  “It’s almost midnight, Mr Mathers,” I said loudly.

  Brigid looked puzzled and frowned. Maybe she was being clever. “Is it?” She looked at her watch. “We’d better go then.”

  In less skilled hands — perhaps even in my hands — Kevin Mathers might have called the police. Yet here we were, apparently making a casual, friendly visit. Brigid played it well.

  The weird expression on the man’s face made me pause. It was the first sign that there was anything in his mind apart from surprise. “You shouldn’t really be here now, should you?” he asked, as Brigid began to turn. “My mother wouldn’t like it. Your mother probably wouldn’t like it either.”

  Why hadn’t we come during the day? Sunlight would have made me braver. I shivered, recalling rumours that old Mrs Mathers haunted the house.

  Beside me, Brigid whitened. She was more scared of disappointing Rebecca than she was of ghosts.