She reached for her phone, unlocked it with her thumb, handed it to me.
That image of Licia with the gun. Someone had photoshopped Tvist’s head on the left side of the card, as if Licia had him in her sights. Underneath were the words:
THIS IS WHAT THE #ARYAN #RESISTANCE LOOKS LIKE
I said, ‘So weird the way this thing mutates and mutates.’
She nodded. ‘It’s the opposite of what it was when it started. The opposite of who Licia is. But it’s an exact encapsulation of what those men believe. Pretty white girl taking out the country’s first black police chief. Fuck, Cal. Our daughter became a white supremacist meme.’
She picked up her glass, drained it.
‘My love,’ I said.
‘I can’t stand the way all this hatred seems to seep into my soul. I don’t have the stomach for it. I want us to go home, and we can’t. So I guess we stay here and we pick ourselves up off the floor and we set about finding Licia. All over again.’
‘My poor tired horse,’ I said.
She leaned in to me. ‘Promise me you won’t have me euthanized.’
When we laughed our laughter felt very close to tears.
We sat for the longest time, arms around each other, watching as the sky turned from gold to the deepest red.
I know. I should have asked her about the gun.
37
The prosecutor was playing the video in short segments, taking the court through the timeline, reading from her notes: the names of the dead; the manner of each death. Elsa looked weary. Vee was alert, desperate to know what other people thought of the footage.
We could see whose children the prosecutor was talking about, simply from looking at their backs. A small group would stiffen in anticipation. The Andersens would stare at the mothers and the fathers, the brothers and the sisters of the children they had cut down. The family would clasp each other tightly, sit stock still while the prosecutor read out her text. No one cried; no one was willing to hand the Andersens that victory.
The brothers showed neither pleasure nor shame; their eyes were unblinking and clear. In the face of such cruelty, the families’ quiet courage was almost too much to bear.
When the helicopter crossed the fjord, when the screen showed the tactical unit foundering in their red rubber boat, people murmured. The chief judge sat with her hand across her mouth. Here and there people laughed in outrage, an eerie sound in this solemn place. When the boat turned around the laughter increased.
The Andersen brothers looked out across the rows of seats, at the survivors and the families of the victims, taking in the shock and the laughter. Then John Andersen turned to Paul Andersen, and the brothers laughed too, as if joining in a shared joke.
The laughter amongst the families stopped. Only the brothers were laughing now, hard and cold and cruel.
Vee leaned in. ‘Dad, is this making people feel worse?’
I pulled her to me. ‘People have a right to know the truth. You did a good thing.’
The courtroom was silent but for the rustling of clothes and the catching of breath. The camera was above the shower block, silently looking down, while inside nineteen children were murdered.
When I looked up it was into the face of Paul Andersen. He made sure he had my attention, then gave the smallest of nods. He turned and said something to his brother, who laughed.
It was our turn.
They were staring hard at Vee, trying to lock on to her gaze.
‘Eyes on the screens, Vee.’
Elsa took Vee’s right hand; I took her left.
There was the girl who matched Licia’s description, down at the cliff’s edge on Garden Island.
Vee leaned in to me. ‘Strange once you know it’s not her.’
‘Very.’
It wasn’t Licia, and didn’t feel like Licia now. Hard to believe we could have thought it was.
I looked across at Elsa. She nodded. She was thinking the same thing. And so we emptied our faces of expression and kept our eyes on the screen. All the while I felt the eyes of the Andersen brothers boring into ours, trying to take pleasure in a pain that we no longer felt, because the girl on screen was another family’s missing daughter. You could feel the hope in this girl, in the way she stood, could feel through the screen the certainty that she was being rescued, that she was saved.
A terrifying cosmic joke. There would be no rescue.
You saw it as the camera drew away. You felt the melting away of certainty, as if the breath were gone from the girl’s body. You saw beside her the other children who were to die with her, and the boy Arno who would survive but would never speak of it, and you saw in those children that same lack of hope as you saw in the girl. You saw the grown man in a torn T-shirt pushing through the children, deciding they were lost, but that he might yet be saved.
I felt Vee gripping my hand.
‘Vee, are you OK?’ I said as quietly as I could.
‘The picture is wrong.’
The blue of the dress was off. Too bright, too saturated. The rock beside the girl was too red. The grass beyond too green. Everything felt miscalibrated, over-intense.
‘It’s the colours, Vee.’
‘No. It’s something else.’
She looked about her. ‘Vee, eyes, on the screen.’ But the brothers were no longer trying to lock eyes with her. They were staring at the screens, that same hungry look on their faces. The man in the T-shirt dropped out of shot as the camera outpaced him, racing along the path that led towards the cabins. They were curious, I guessed, to see the moment of their victim’s death.
The helicopter stopped, abruptly, staring down. An empty frame. Nothing but yellowed grass, cut diagonally by the path. Then Paul Andersen stepped into shot at the right of frame, moving towards the steps in the rock. He looked up at the helicopter. This time he did not raise his weapon. Instead he stopped; he looked left across frame, down the path towards the steps.
A moment of nothing; of waiting. Then the man in the torn T-shirt stumbled into shot, left of frame. He stood, as if dazed, facing Paul Andersen. I looked about the courtroom, trying to locate the man’s family. If they were there, I could not see them.
On the screens Paul Andersen raised his pistol. He fired. The man in the torn T-shirt stopped. Paul Andersen fired again.
Two silent shots.
Around us people gasped.
The man in the torn T-shirt, crumpling, his body folding in on itself.
The camera held steady. The short man looked up towards the helicopter. He did not raise his weapon. He walked towards the dead man. He paused at the man’s side, then continued out of frame towards the steps that led down to the fjord.
The helicopter veered off towards the mainland, leaving the children to their fate.
We marked the end of the first trial week with pizza. Elsa and I sat up drinking beer on the sofa, watching bad films on Netflix.
At one Elsa fell asleep. I covered her in a blanket, went to check on the children. I found Vee at her computer, fingers hovering above the keyboard, the shower block on her screen. She looked up. I frowned. Vee mock-frowned back. ‘Why aren’t you drinking beer, Dad?’
‘Why aren’t you asleep, Vee?’
‘Because … So, I took this picture of the footage in the courtroom. It’s a little hazy. But look.’
She squinted at the picture, then adjusted it, tilting it so the top and bottom of the TV screen were roughly horizontal. She cropped it so all you could see was the image on the screen. The roof of the shower block, too red, against too-yellow dried grass above and below.
She double-clicked on a file. Pavel’s helicopter footage opened, crisp and clean. Vee pulled the window down so that you could see the image of the roof, began scrolling till she found what she was looking for. The shower block.
She scanned backwards, found the men as they were about to enter, clicked the image backwards and forwards until she was satisfied. ‘There.’
I looked
from the blurred image to the crisp image and back.
‘Dad, it’s the exact same frame.’
‘OK. What am I looking for?’
‘They resized it for the court, Dad.’
I squinted. ‘I mean, maybe.’
‘No, Dad, they really did.’
She adjusted both windows so they were exactly the same height, placed them side by side. Then she turned to look at me.
‘Look at the grass.’
‘I’m looking at the grass.’
‘At the sides.’
She was right. The courtroom version cut off the side of the image. Everything was larger. The grass and the steps were missing.
‘Why do you think they enlarged the picture for the trial?’ she said.
‘I’m guessing there’s some simple technical reason.’
‘And what if they were disguising something? This matters, Dad. It should matter to you.’
‘Vee,’ I said, ‘we’re all exhausted. Please go to bed.’
I was up at six, showering, when I heard the scream. So very loud it was. So piercing, and so very close. I heard Elsa spring from our bedroom past Franklin and into the kitchen.
I pulled a towel around me, was there seconds behind her.
Elsa frozen by the sink, her eyes searching for the source.
Another scream.
She nodded towards Vee’s room, and we were off, Elsa in front of me.
Vee’s voice: ‘Get the FUCK away from me and out of my room!’
Elsa threw open the door. There was Vee, sitting upright in bed. And there, tall and angular in her simple grey dress, was our lost daughter Licia.
38
‘Hello,’ said Licia as she turned towards me.
I heard myself speak her name.
‘FUCK!’ shouted Vee. ‘LICIA? REALLY?’
Only Elsa was silent. She stood there, her mouth open, gulping air.
I could feel the adrenaline coursing through me. ‘Licia,’ I said. ‘Oh, my Licia.’
‘Licia,’ said Vee, calmer now. ‘Licia, Licia, Licia.’
‘Alicia May Curtis,’ said Elsa. ‘My God. How?’
‘Yeah,’ said Vee. ‘Actually, what the fuck?’
‘My window was unlocked,’ said Licia simply, as if that were an explanation.
She had grown her blond hair. It hung in a simple plait halfway down her back. She was taller, too. More like her mother than ever, though her clothes were formal. A plain grey smock. A grey skirt, unpleated. White socks. Around her waist a small grey cloth bag hung on a simple belt.
I laughed. ‘I knew it. Elsa, didn’t I say she was alive?’
Licia smiled the most beautiful smile.
Elation spread through me. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ I looked at Elsa. ‘Didn’t I promise you she would come back?’
‘I don’t think you ever did.’ Elsa was dabbing at her eyes with the base of her palms. ‘But that’s OK. Oh, Licia, honey …’
‘Fuck,’ said Vee again, quieter now. ‘Licia.’
‘You can stop cursing. I’m here.’ An odd little formal smile.
I could feel the smile on my own face, a true smile, a smile over which I had no control. It was an alien feeling after all this time. Almost an ache.
‘Oh, fuck, Licia,’ said Vee. ‘We all thought you were …’
‘I’m home,’ said Licia. ‘There really is no need to swear.’
‘Where have you been?’ said Vee.
Licia sat on the bed. ‘I’m home.’
Vee threw her arms around her sister, crying and laughing.
I could see the weight beginning to lift from Elsa’s shoulders. I felt that same weight begin to lift from mine as Licia sat there, all angular and long.
‘Licia?’ I said.
‘Dad,’ said Licia. She was on her feet again, stepping towards me, and I was crying and laughing too, and brushing a stray hair from her eyes. She smiled – the most heartbreaking of smiles – and I threw my arms around her, lifted her from the floor.
‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘You must have grown four inches.’
‘I guess. Again, no need to blaspheme.’
I set Licia carefully down on the floor. ‘You’re taller than your mother.’ I turned to look at Elsa. ‘I think.’
Elsa was not laughing. She sent me a look that I could not read.
‘What happened?’ I said. ‘Licia, what happened to you?’
Licia turned to face Elsa. ‘Hello, Mum.’
‘Dad asked you a question.’ Vee was looking at her sister. Her eyes narrowed. ‘What did happen to you?’
‘Hello, Mum,’ said Licia again. ‘I’ve come home.’ She stepped towards Elsa.
Elsa reached out, took Licia’s hands in hers. Halfway to embracing they stopped, the air between them electric. Elsa’s eyes sparked and flashed. I saw the tears that welled there, after all those months of strangulated fear, the long hard battle against despair.
‘Oh, Licia,’ said Elsa. ‘Licia, my sweetest child, where have you been?’
‘Safe with friends.’
Elsa drew away slightly, searching Licia’s eyes.
‘What friends? What happened, Licia?’
‘Yeah, what kind of friends stop you from coming home?’ said Vee. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s been like here?’
‘And I do want to talk about that,’ said Licia, still looking at her mother. ‘And why I really couldn’t contact you. Only please don’t ask me. Not yet.’
‘Why not?’ said Vee.
Licia turned to her. ‘I’ve been safe,’ she said.
‘What, like safe as in chained-to-a-pipe safe, or safe as in I-fell-in-love-with-my-captor safe?’
‘Very, very safe.’ But she stammered as she spoke the words.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Vee. ‘Not an actual real question.’
Licia laughed, relieved.
Vee smiled. ‘You hungry?’ she said.
‘So hungry!’
Vee disappeared from the room.
‘So,’ said Elsa, ‘where have you been, Licia?’
I said, ‘Who were you with?’
‘What did they do to you?’ said Elsa.
‘It’s the same questions again,’ said Licia. ‘Why are you asking me all the same questions?’
‘Because we all thought you were dead.’ Vee was back, standing in the doorframe, eyes blazing.
‘Vee,’ I said, ‘go get your sister some food.’
‘Sure,’ said Vee. She began to turn. ‘Although …’ She stopped. ‘I mean, at the start Dad and I both thought you were coming back. Mum never did, though …’
Licia looked stricken.
‘Vee,’ I said.
‘All right,’ said Vee, and headed for the kitchen.
Licia turned to Elsa. ‘There’s so much I want to tell you, Mum, and I really promise I will. But this is … it’s a lot …’
I could hear Vee in the kitchen, rummaging in drawers and cupboards, opening the fridge.
Elsa was clasping Licia’s hand, trying hard not to cry. ‘The holes in your ears closed up,’ she said very quietly. ‘Did you stop wearing earrings?’
Licia seemed to hesitate. Her smile seemed to break; it faded from her face. There was something constrained about her gaze, something apprehensive and lost. Her right hand broke free from her mother’s. Her thumb brushed her right ear, then her nose, then her left ear. An involuntary gesture, strangely nervy. She seemed to catch herself doing it; her smile returned; she took both her mother’s hands in hers.
‘Were you safe, at least?’ said Elsa.
‘I said that, Mum. Always. They took good care of me.’
Vee returned, carrying a glass of orange juice and a plate stacked with cold pizza.
‘Man,’ said Vee, ‘the police are going to freak when they see you. Those guys are completely convinced you are dead.’
Licia stared at her sister. She gave a half-smile. ‘I didn’t eat pizza for a year. Can you believe that?’
&nb
sp; ‘I can fetch you some toast instead. Or anything. What do you want?’
‘No,’ said Licia. ‘Cold pizza is perfect. This is all perfect.’ And her smile could have lit up a room.
And so Vee sat, watching Licia eat her cold pizza, and Licia smiled at Vee, and Vee smiled back, and I began to wonder if perhaps we could be a happy family once more. And Elsa led me into our bedroom and I very quietly shut the door, and we argued in hushed whispers about when to take our daughter to the police. I was certain that now was the time. But Elsa could see, she said, that our daughter was in the most fragile state, and she convinced me to wait a few hours. ‘If she left us again, Cal, how would we ever find her?’
39
At seven Licia fell asleep on the living room sofa, her arms folded across her chest. Elsa tucked her in with a light quilt, though the day was already hot.
At seven thirty Franklin padded out of his crib and into the living room. He took one look at his sister and screamed.
‘Hey, buddy,’ I said. ‘It’s your sister Licia. She’s home, Franklin.’
‘Plaster,’ said Franklin, pointing at a small scrape on Licia’s hand, eyes wide. ‘Plaster.’
Vee fetched a plaster, which she opened and handed to Franklin. Franklin reached out and half-stuck the plaster to Licia’s hand. He smiled. ‘Plaster plaster.’ Licia did not stir.
I carried Franklin’s high chair through from the kitchen. We threw open the windows and the door to the terrace so we could watch Licia as we ate. Elsa, Vee and I drank coffee, seated on the edge of the planter, while in his high chair Franklin sucked a smoothie from a plastic pouch. From time to time we would catch each other’s eye, and we would all grin.
‘So, Dad,’ said Vee. ‘Aliens or Christians?’
I frowned, not sure what she meant.
Vee mock-frowned. ‘Which one abducted her?’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘Christians, right, Mum?’
I looked at Elsa. ‘I’m not sure your mum’s ready to joke about this yet, Vee.’
Elsa smiled. ‘I’m going with militant atheists.’
‘OK,’ said Vee. She sat down beside her sister, unhooked the cloth belt from her sister’s waist.
The Island Page 27
