Misplaced

by Murray, Lee

  But Dad, unaware of the roiling in Adam’s gut, goes on, ‘Pūriri says the police are doing the best they can and I trust him. He’s a good guy. But we have to be realistic; they can’t allocate the kind of manpower we’ve seen indefinitely. Pūriri said it himself: they’ll finish the door-to-door enquiries and follow up any outstanding leads, but unless they see some tangible new development, that’ll be it.’

  ‘But they haven’t found her yet!’ sobs Aunty Mandy.

  ‘I know.’

  The atmosphere is stretched thin, like a frayed bungee cord. Sighing heavily, Dad puts his elbows on the table and rests his face in his hands. Gran picks up a paper serviette and dabs at the corners of her mouth, waiting for him to go on. After a moment, Dad folds his arms across his chest, and Adam knows from experience that he’s getting to the point of his speech. ‘We just can’t mope around here waiting forever for news of Tiff. It’s not practical, it’s not even healthy, and I don’t think it’s what Tiffany would want us to do.’ Dad’s chest caves inward, shoulders sagging with the weight of his declaration.

  ‘What she’d want? What she’d want? She’d want us to go on looking. She’d want us to find her!’ Aunty Mandy rails hysterically. ‘For all we know, my sister could be still alive, buried in someone’s basement!’ She wrings her hands, her knuckles white.

  ‘Mandy, that is quite enough.’ Gran raps the table to make her point. ‘I won’t have you scaring Adam with that kind of talk. There is an official investigation underway, and that investigation is proceeding according to a set course of action. Everything that can be done is being done. Phil is not suggesting we give up. Not at all. None of us want that. We want Tiffany safe home with us. But at this point, sitting around waiting isn’t going to help her or any of us. We need to carry on as normal so there is something here for Tiffany to come home to.’ For a second, Dad sits like a chump, his mouth agape, clearly surprised to have found an ally in Gran.

  ‘That’s exactly right, Wynn. We need to get on.’

  Adam balls his fists. No! It’s too soon. They shouldn’t be giving up yet. How can they turn their backs on Mum? Leave her lost in the forest with no trail of stones to follow?

  But Adam has to admit that these have been the longest days of his life. Inside, his emotions have been swooping and diving—one moment frantic with fear, and the next nearly mad with frustration. And all the while, in the background, there’s the interminable tedium of waiting. He’s waited for news while flopped on the sofa, he’s waited while pacing the living room, and with one eye on the telly or the computer. And apart from Aunty Mandy’s continual chatter, his daily activities have been limited to catch-up calls from Wendy Gordon, occasional texts and emails from his mates, and brief episodes of meaningless small talk with the neighbours when delivering back their empty casserole dishes. Let’s face it: his life has been in hiatus. Maybe getting back to normal isn’t an admission that Mum isn’t coming home. Maybe it’s just a change from their current passive waiting to something else, something more positive.

  ‘I’ve got a business to run. I really should be getting back to the yard.’ Dad does his best to look assertive.

  Suddenly, Mum’s voice is in Adam’s ear. Honestly, Adam, this is your last year. You really have to sort out your priorities and knuckle down, love.

  ‘I should probably get back to school. I’ve got exams.’ It’s a shock to hear himself say it out loud. Gran, not normally the demonstrative type, pats him on the shoulder.

  ‘Good lad. And I think it’s time for you to go home, Mandy.’ Gran’s voice is pillowy-soft.

  ‘But...’

  ‘Phil and Adam need to find their own way,’ Gran insists.

  ‘And I bet Peri misses you, Mandy,’ Dad adds in a rush. ‘He must want you to come home. Please, don’t think we’re not grateful. I honestly don’t know what we would’ve done without you.’ He forces a little chuckle. ‘Starved, probably. But we’ve tied you up long enough.’

  Aunty Mandy’s lips quiver, but she manages not to cry again. ‘Well, Peri did say he’s getting a bit sick of pizza...’

  ‘There, you see?’

  ‘You’ll keep me posted though, in case anything happens?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And you’re sure you two boys can manage...?’

  ‘We’ll be calling you straight back if we can’t. Isn’t that right, Adam?’

  Adam hopes his nod has the right mixture of assurance and pathos. Aunty Mandy starts collecting up the dishes, scraping the scraps all onto one plate.

  ‘I guess if I get a load of towels in the drier tonight, at least that’ll be the washing up-to-date. I’ve already put some dinners in the freezer; proper nutritious meals...’ She stops her scraping and shrugs. ‘Okay then, I’ll head home tomorrow. After I’ve seen Adam off to school.’

  ‘There’s my good girl,’ Gran says, as if Aunty Mandy were a toddler with a biscuit who, without any prompting, has remembered the magic word. In the background, the television flickers soundlessly.

  Aunty Mandy sniffs. ‘Maybe Tiff will be home tomorrow, anyway.’

  Gran’s smile is sad. ‘Let’s hope so, dear.’

  I lie awake long into the night, thinking.

  It’s been only days since Mum vanished. Not even two full weeks. Hardly any time, really. I’ve been away from Mum for longer: on school camps, on holiday with Kieran and his family, once when Mum and Dad went to Australia on a work conference for Dad, and that time Mum went to hospital and then, when she came out, to Aunty Mandy and Uncle Peri’s bach. But those times, I always knew I’d see her again.

  This time, I don’t know. I’m hoping... it’s the not knowing that’s hard.

  Sometimes I kid myself she’s just stepped out for a bit; that she’s at the shops, or over at Resthaven visiting Grandpa. When I’m up in my room listening to Aunty Mandy fluffing around in the kitchen opening and closing cupboards and clinking cups, it’s easy to pretend that it’s actually Mum downstairs and any moment she’ll call me down for dinner: the first time calling Adam, and when she gets a bit steamed, using my whole name.

  Once this week I was scrolling through the channels filling in time, and I ended up watching this doco—it was about useful skills kids learn through computer gaming—and I was like: ‘Yeah! Can’t wait to tell Mum when she gets home.’ Realising I have no idea when that might be was like taking a sucker punch to the gut.

  It’s not like I have to have Mum around all the time. We all grow up and move on. I’ll be eighteen in a few months, and I like to think I’m reasonably capable, although I admit in the past I used to make out I couldn’t do stuff. Turns out it’s a good tactic to get out of work. Later, when she cottoned on, Mum referred to this practice as ‘learned incompetence’. That’s when you demonstrate how useless you are at cleaning or ironing or some other chore until, totally exasperated with your crappy efforts, someone else comes along and does the job for you. I had it down to a fine art: I managed to con Mum into cleaning my grotty cross country trainers for a whole season! She used to make my bed for me, too. But my handiwork at the yard grooming cars knocked it on the head. Mum argued that if I could make a vehicle sparkle, then I could do the same with my stinky old trainers! She wasn’t peeved or anything. I think she knew all along that I was playing her. What can I say? Mum liked doing stuff for me. But there comes a time in everyone’s life when they have to take responsibility for themselves, and nowadays I’m independent: I drive myself around, cook basic meals and can load the washing machine if I have to. And uni was always part of the plan, so I would’ve been leaving home to go flatting in a few months anyway. I wouldn’t have seen Mum and Dad for ages, probably the entire first semester. It’s not cool to take your parents to university with you! In some ways, it’s a pity I’m not at uni already. That way I could be getting on with my life while imagining Mum is still here at home, waiting for me to come back.

  And she would be the one missing me.

  Chapter 11<
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  ‘Hey, Adam.’ Corey gives Adam a nudge.

  It’s Adam’s first day back at school after a lifetime at home twiddling his thumbs waiting for news of Mum. In some ways, it’s a relief to have something else to focus on, even if it’s only Maths and French.

  Walking through the school grounds first thing had been an ordeal. Some of the students had pointed as he passed, others pretended not to see him, and one or two even came up and said how sorry they were about his mum, that they’d seen it on the news, and if there was anything at all they could do, well, Adam just had to ask. Of course, it wasn’t that simple. If there was anything to be done to get Mum back, then Adam and Dad would’ve done it by now, wouldn’t they? It was all so redundant: the deliberately hushed voices and overacted compassion. Most of the kids approaching Adam didn’t even know Mum, hadn’t even met her. Adam thinks he might suggest to Mr Penny, the Deputy Principal, that the school introduce a new module in Creative Writing. He’d call it, Talking Trauma: Composing New Ways to Address Those Suffering Loss Without Spouting the Same Trite Platitudes You’ve Heard Your Parents Use. Adam’s heard them all. They’ve been running around and around in his head for days now, like a hamster on a treadmill:

  ‘Hey, Adam, everything will work itself out.’

  ‘I really feel for you.’

  ‘It’s just a matter of time.’

  ‘If there’s anything we can do, just ask.’

  ‘Something will turn up soon.’

  ‘Everything’s going to be fine, you’ll see.’

  ‘You’ve got to stay positive.’

  ‘She’d want you to be strong.’

  ‘These things happen for a reason.’

  That last one made Adam’s hackles rise. Yeah, right! What reason? Name one good reason why a mother would just drop off the face of the earth. At least then they’d have a start-point for finding her! Adam had forced himself to smile gratefully, trying not to break his stride as he made for his form class. Thankfully, Kieran and Corey had hooked up with Adam by the time he’d reached the far end of the canteen, each of them flanking him and shielding him from the world with their camaraderie and their usual brand of idiocy. Kieran had fended off any further rubberneckers with a snarl and a flash of his lime green orthodontic fangs.

  ‘Out, out, damned spotted!’ Kieran chortled, delighted at his own pathetic joke.

  ‘Adam? Teacher’s talking to you, mate.’ Corey’s voice penetrates Adam’s thoughts.

  ‘Huh?’

  Whoops. Adam is no longer in the school grounds. He’s in second period French, and Madame Hourdin and the rest of the class are staring at him.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch the question...?’

  ‘En français, s’il vous plaît, Adam,’ Madame Hourdin says deliberately. A traditional school ma’am, she insists on as much spoken French as possible in her classes.

  ‘Euh... bien... pourriez-vous répéter la question, Madame?’ Adam rolls out his own stock answer—could you repeat the question—a phrase he’s used regularly in French to buy himself precious time.

  ‘Très bien...’ With a mouth like Mick Jagger, Adam’s teacher exaggerates every sound. She could be talking to a toddler. ‘CON-ju-gez le SUB-jonc-tif du verbE se dé-TENdre...’

  Adam climbs desperately through the fog in his mind to translate the teacher’s words. She wants him to conjugate the subjunctive of the verb se détendre. The verb se détendre.

  To relax.

  Shit.

  There’s a flash in his mind, a picture of Mum, and her saying, ‘I could do with a bit of a walk. Blow away the cobwebs. So long as you keep on conjugating whatever that verb was...’

  But he hadn’t carried on, had he? He’d gone straight back to his game and not given her another thought, not until hours and hours later when Dad came home and it was probably already too late. All that time he’d been working his way through Level Six, where had she been? What had happened to her? While he was battling with the Beast of Orpheus for the stupid golden sickle, was she being bundled off the street into the back of a car? While he was in the fairy palace of Celestialle, was she being tied up and dumped in a garage somewhere? When he finally terminated Morterain, was someone doing the same to her? Adam’s heart squeezes. The whole thing feels like some kind of bad joke, as if he’s being cruelly punished for not doing his French homework when he’d promised he would. As if at any moment Mum will jump out from behind the blackboard, laughing about how clever she’s been, sneaking off like that and giving him the shake-up he needs.

  That’ll teach him for stuffing around.

  ‘Adam!’ Corey hisses. He nudges Adam again, harder this time. Adam nearly falls off his chair.

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t understand the question, Adam. Could you translate for Adam please, Corey?’

  Corey looks down at the desktop, avoiding Adam’s eyes. Adam can’t blame him. Who wants to be mates with the loser who can’t even remember where he left his mother?

  ‘Er... Madame Hourdin would like you to conjugate the verb to relax,’ Corey mumbles into the desktop. Adam knows Corey hates it when Madame Hourdin calls on him in class. That’s why Corey prefers to sit at the back. But it’s not Corey the class is staring at.

  Right now, their eyes are on Adam.

  Waiting for his response.

  Expecting him to have an answer.

  Well, he doesn’t, does he? He didn’t do what was expected of him and because of it, his life is completely fucked up. Now he and Dad are suffering Morterain’s curse of chaos and despair, and all because of Adam.

  ‘Adam?’ Madame Hourdin asks gently. ‘Did you hear what Corey said?’

  Tears burning his eyes, Adam snatches up his backpack and runs from the room.

  Adam spends the rest of the period on the spectator stands staring out over the playing fields. Now that he’s calmed down, he feels a bit sheepish. Imagine freaking out in the middle of French. On his first day back too. Merde! Everyone will think he’s a basket case. He should probably go home, but he can’t stand the thought of more endless waiting. Besides Aunty Mandy might not’ve left yet.

  It’s peaceful here with everyone inside in classes. The only sound is the chatter of a couple of boys carrying stuff back to the sports equipment room and the occasional car on the road that runs along the outer edge of the playing fields.

  Kieran and Corey find him ten minutes into Interval.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Adam,’ Corey says, ‘Madame Hourdin didn’t flip out. If anything, she’s upset with herself for calling on you. She said you were facing a difficult situation and needed our understanding. At least, I think that’s what she said. You know my French isn’t that hot. Anyway, she was cool. She still marked you present for the class.’

  ‘Enough about that,’ Kieran interrupts. ‘Did you see Felicity giving me the come on in Maths this morning? She couldn’t keep her eyes off me. Move over, Mikey, she wants this back!’ He points to his body and makes a lewd motion with his hips, causing the three girls at the opposite end of the stands to titter. Kieran does love to be the centre of attention.

  ‘I’m not so sure it has anything to do with concupiscence,’ Corey says, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘I think what Felicity was trying to tell you is that you still have Marmite on your face from breakfast.’

  ‘I don’t, do I?’ Kieran wipes around his mouth with the back of his sleeve before realising he’s been taken in. ‘Bastard!’ he says, but his eyes are full of mirth.

  Adam smiles. His mates are doing their best to cheer him up.

  When the bell signals the end of Interval, Adam packs up his bag and heads off too. But as soon as Kieran and Corey have turned to go to their respective classes, Adam makes his way back to the athletics stands. He doesn’t feel ready. He won’t be able to concentrate. What’s the point of school anyway? What’s the point of anything? Why bother putting in an effort when at any moment your life could be shattered by something as pathetic as milk? Instead, Adam r
esumes his quiet contemplation of the grass. Minutes later, a group of Year 9s converge on the soccer pitch. Dressed in their regulation hunter green PE tops and black shorts, they make a midwinter garland as they run onto the field. The PE teacher organises them into two teams, gives one team a fistful of red sashes that they slip over their shoulders, and the game begins. The red team are winning the match by two goals to nil when the Deputy Principal zigzags his way up the stands towards Adam.

  ‘Madame Hourdin mentioned there’d been an incident,’ Mr Penny says, seating himself diagonally one pew below Adam on the stands.

  ‘Why don’t you just fuck off?’ Adam says under his breath.

  Unfortunately, Mr Penny isn’t deaf. ‘I’m going to ignore that last comment as being out of character, since I know things have been unusual at home just recently. However, it’s the last time. That kind of language is not acceptable.’

  ‘I’m not going back to class,’ Adam barks, causing a couple of the players to turn their heads in his direction. ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll excuse you from your afternoon classes, but if I’m going to do that, I’ll expect you to come with me to the sick bay.’

  ‘I’m not sick.’

  ‘Yes, I realise that, Adam,’ Mr Penny says deliberately. He and Madame Hourdin must’ve gone to the same finishing school. ‘I’d like you to speak with the school counsellor.’

  ‘I’m not crazy either!’ More players turn to follow Adam’s voice.

  Mr Penny lowers his voice. ‘No, Adam, you’re not crazy. But you’re under a great deal of pressure and pressure can make people do crazy things. Mrs Paine is trained to support our young people through these kinds of issues. I think she can help you.’

  ‘Do you have a lot of kids here whose mothers go missing, then?’ Adam says sarcastically.