Misplaced

by Murray, Lee

  ‘What’s your name?’

  The boy gets up and brushes the grass off jeans. ‘I tell you my name, you promise you’re not going to tell the police?’

  ‘Nah.’

  The boy grins. ‘Simon. What ‘bout you?’

  ‘Adam.’

  He grins again. ‘Hey, I’ll be seeing ya, Adam.’

  ‘Yeah, see you around.’

  Chapter 18

  A few days later, Dad’s already gone for the day when Adam realises the money for the athletics boot camp is due today. Mum signed his permission slip at the beginning of term but if he doesn’t pay today, he won’t be able to go. Adam has his own money in his savings account, but he hasn’t been to a money machine lately, and anyway Mum and Dad usually pay for school trips and course fees and stuff—that’s their job. He’s supposed to be saving for university. Adam tries Dad’s bedside table, pulling it open and poking around in the junk. There are two spy thrillers, a pack of tissues, some nail clippers and a couple of till receipts, but no cash.

  Damn. This rate, he’s going to be late for school.

  As a last resort, Adam decides to look in Dad’s jacket pocket. That’s where he finds the phone. Adam turns it over in his hand, puzzled. Why would Dad have a second phone? A cheap pre-paid.

  His heart pounding, still half-standing in the wardrobe where there’s a hint of Mum’s perfume, Adam snoops through the messages. There are plenty. And all to the same number. Adam opens a message. He opens another. Then he checks the text history.

  What the...?

  ‘Hey,’ Adam says curtly while the car idles.

  ‘Hey, yourself.’ Skye throws her bag over the headrest into the back and slides into the seat beside Adam. He pulls out as soon as she closes the door.

  ‘Where's the fire?’ she says, clicking her seatbelt together.

  ‘No fire. Just gotta get out of here, that's all.’ He turns left, driving in the opposite direction from the Domain and Skye’s flat.

  ‘We're not going to the track?’

  ‘Not today.’

  ‘Oh.’ Skye shrugs. ‘Okay.’ Adam swings around the roundabout onto SH2. He heads north towards the mountains, following a stream of lifestyle block mothers driving their kids home from school in shiny SUVs. Gunning it past them in the outside lane.

  ‘Adam...’ Skye says, and Adam hears the question in her voice. Ignoring her, he switches on the radio and rarks up the volume. Stan Walker’s Loud blasts through the speakers. When they reach Te Puna, Adam turns hard left and zooms up the winding road past the kindergarten. A man out walking his dog leaps to the left, nearly forced into the hedge.

  ‘Adam!’ Skye’s voice is sharp over the boom of the radio.

  ‘What?’ When she doesn’t reply, Adam glances over. She’s gripping her seatbelt with her right hand, her lips pursed in a thin line. He’s scaring her! He hasn’t even told her where he’s taking her. Adam slows down.

  ‘Sorry. We’re nearly there.’

  A few more minutes and they’ll be at the top of Minden Peak. From the wooden lookout, there’s a view from one end of the Bay to the other: a line of townships huddled up against the coast and all cradled in the lee of the mountains. Maybe up there, with his back to the mountains and almost touching the sky, he’ll be able to get some perspective.

  Adam parks in the vehicle bay. Pocketing the keys, he climbs the mossy ramp to the lookout tower. He leans over the wooden handrail and inhales deeply. The air is a mixture of citrus and salt. He contemplates the outlook. After a moment, Skye joins him. They watch in silence in the afternoon sun, occasionally picking up a reflective sparkle from a car window or a rooftop.

  ‘It’s pretty here,’ Skye says eventually.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose.’

  ‘So what’s up?

  ‘Nothing.’

  Skye raises her eyebrows. ‘Something’s bothering you.’

  Adam shakes his head. How can he tell her? He can hardly believe it himself.

  ‘Adam, we charged up here like you’d just robbed a bank. Something has you peeved off and I’m pretty sure it isn’t your time of the month.’

  Adam grunts. ‘It’s nothing. The usual stuff: school, teachers, zits, a missing mother.’ But Skye won’t let it go.

  ‘And here I was thinking you brought me up here for a romantic little interlude, just the two of us, you know.’ She's teasing, but Adam's hands tighten on the rail. The words ‘romantic little interlude’ boom in his ears. He squints across the bay to the north, avoiding her eyes. Maybe if he doesn’t look at her he’ll be able to hold it together. Maybe he’ll be able to tell her. Keeping his gaze on the horizon, Adam tells Skye about looking for some stray cash, discovering the phone, and the raunchy messages that leave no room for speculation.

  ‘So that’s it. What do you think?’ he says, picking at a flake of paint on the rail.

  Beside him, Skye says, ‘You don't know your dad’s actually having an affair. Might just be a virtual hook up, not anything real.’

  Adam whirls around to face her, his eyes flashing. ‘There're dates here, Skye. Places. They were together before Mum went missing! It’s disgusting.’ He shakes his head in disbelief. Skye takes a step toward Adam. She puts her hand on his forearm.

  ‘Shhh...’

  ‘I called Mum’s friend at lunchtime. To see if she knew. If Mum knew Dad was having it off with his secretary, she definitely would’ve told Maria. She even knew about me before Dad did.’

  ‘So what did she say?’

  ‘Nothing. She didn’t answer her phone. I left a message, said it was urgent, but she hasn’t called back.’

  ‘That’s weird, her not calling you back. You could’ve had news about your Mum. You’d think she’d want to know.’

  Adam frowns. Skye has a point. Why didn’t Maria call him straight back?

  ‘Have you talked to your dad about all this?’ Skye asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, maybe you should.’ Adam grunts. ‘Adam, you need to give him a chance to explain.’

  ‘But what if...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘But what if he wanted Mum out of the way?’ Adam blurts. He turns away. Grips the handrail again.

  ‘What do you mean, out of the way?’ Skye says, puzzled.

  ‘You know... do you think he could've... killed her?’ It’s crazy. Even Adam thinks it sounds crazy, but to his relief Skye doesn’t laugh.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says quietly. ‘Do you think your father's capable of killing your mother?’

  ‘No, but I didn’t think he was capable of having an affair either.’

  ‘Come on, Adam, there’s a big difference between an affair and a murder. People don’t go bumping off their wives because they've met someone else. Not these days. They just get a divorce. Easy-peasy. None of that messy murder business required. It's got so hit men are doing it hard. I put it down to laziness...’

  ‘Okay. Okay. So I’m getting carried away.’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Then where is she, Skye?’ Adam stares across the bay, scanning the vista, straining his eyes against the afternoon glare, as if he might possibly spot his stray mother cleverly hidden in the trees, in the dip between two slopes, between the waves, floating by on the clouds... Skye slips her arm under his and lays her head on his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t know, Adam,’ she says softly.

  It’s later. I’m sitting in the lounge. Waiting for Dad. I don’t move from the sofa. The afternoon drags on into the evening, the light softly fading as the day slips away. The house is cold. I stare at the wall. Wait.

  Where I’m staring, there’s a painting hanging on the wall. The light’s almost gone so I can hardly see it, just the outline of the canvas and some random grey and black shapes.

  It’s my art project from Year 4.

  Even though it’s dark, I can describe the picture. I can see it in my mind. The background is a checkerboard of blue and black with an occasional red koru shape�
�some of them more like shark fins surfacing from choppy water than emerging fern shoots. In the centre, I’ve drawn a bulbous red kiwi, its feathers designated by wide strokes of black felt-tip and its golden proboscis extended. My kiwi has piddly legs. In real life, those legs wouldn’t support a 7 gram rifleman. Proportion wasn’t my strong point back in Year 4.

  The pictures were supposed to be for the school end-of-year calendar, but someone on the PTA hadn’t recorded the deadline dates or something because in the end the fundraiser never went ahead. The art simply went home at the end of term in the big cardboard art sheaths meant to keep our masterpieces safe. Only I had taken mine out on the way home to compare it to Taine Loughlin’s pukeko, and my kiwi got a bit ripped on the corner.

  It hadn’t mattered. Mum had loved it regardless. She’d wanted to frame it so she could hang it on the wall, but it was an unusual size (schools seem to make it a rule never to hand out standard paper sizes) so getting a cheapie frame from the Warehouse or K-Mart wasn’t an option. It might’ve been possible if we’d chopped off the bottom and the kiwi’s undersized feet. After seeing the perfect proportions of Taine’s pukeko, I probably wouldn’t have minded, but Mum wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, she’d jumped online for the best deal to get it printed onto canvas because she loved the whole thing. She said she could tell my kiwi was teetering on the edge of something important, that he reminded her we have to stand on our own two feet and face the world head on, whatever the barriers, tiny feet or otherwise. Even back then, Mum’s comments had surprised me. She would always look past the superficial and find something exceptional in me. Maybe it’s a chicken and egg kind of thing, her belief in me that made me want to try harder and do better. Maybe she didn’t know anything about art. Anyway, after that I paid more attention in Mrs MacLean’s art class and less attention to what Taine Loughlin was doing.

  When Dad comes home, Adam is still waiting in the lounge, his school bag littering the hall where he dumped it on his way in.

  ‘You’re home, then,’ Adam says. Dad gives a startled jump.

  ‘Christ, Adam, you gave me a fright! I nearly had blimmin’ heart failure. What are you doing sitting in the dark?’

  ‘Did you think I might be Mum?’ Adam says, his voice steely.

  ‘What’re you talking about? Has Pūriri called?’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me why you were late home that night, Dad? Where were you, anyway?’

  ‘What’s this about, Adam? You know where I was. I was locking up the yard.’ Dad turns on the lights. White light floods the room, forcing Adam to blink, but not before he sees Dad tugging at his ear lobe.

  ‘The thing is, I checked with the security firm, Dad. They keep records about when a business’ alarms are armed, when they’re tripped, that sort of thing. You know that.’

  ‘So, what about it?’ Dad sounds defensive. He takes off his jacket.

  Adam says, ‘Their technician swears on the life of his mother, that the alarms at Creighton’s were armed at five-thirty, and we both know you weren’t home until close to eight.’

  One arm still in his jacket, Dad turns sharply to face Adam. ‘You checked up on me?’

  ‘You weren’t at the yard.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I was at the yard.’ Dad slings the jacket over the back of his armchair. Trying to seem relaxed.

  ‘The security firm says otherwise,’ Adam says.

  ‘Then it looks like I need to change security companies. They’ve made an error, son. I was at the yard. In the office. Catching up on a mountain of paperwork.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Adam scoffs.

  Dad runs both hands through his hair. ‘Adam, what’s this about?’

  ‘It’s about your bullshit, Dad, that’s what it’s about. Where were you that night?’

  Dad sighs. ‘Look, why don’t you ask Marilyn where I was? She was there when I locked up. Since you gave up working on the yard after school, she’s been doing some extra hours to help me keep on top of things. After I locked up, I ran her home.’

  Marilyn.

  Adam pulls the phone out of his pocket and holds it on his lap where Dad can see it. Dad goes white.

  ‘Would Marilyn be the M you’ve been calling on this phone, then?’ Adam sneers. ‘So, tell me, Dad, what does the P stand for? Would that be Phil, or Mr President?’ Adam parodies the last words, drawing out them out like the third line of Marilyn Monroe’s ‘Happy Birthday, Mr President.’

  Dad launches himself across the room.

  ‘How the hell did you get that phone? Give it here! Have you been going through my things?’ He makes a grab for it, but Adam snatches it back, quickly tipping himself sideways and stuffing the phone in his back pocket. The phone safely under his arse out of reach, Adam glares at Dad.

  ‘So M is for Marilyn. Jesus, Dad! Couldn’t you have been a bit more original? Boffing your secretary!’

  ‘You watch your mouth. I’m still your father.’

  ‘So how long has your little fling been going on then, Dad?’ Dad looks awkward. Adam half expects him to deny it, to insist that Adam has misunderstood, but instead his shoulders droop.

  ‘Not long,’ he says. The words are flat and dry, like squashed grass.

  ‘Not long? Funny. Because the earliest message on this phone is July. A whole month before Mum disappeared. A month!’ Adam’s shout reverberates through the house.

  Dad bristles.

  ‘Watch yourself, Adam!’

  Adam leaps up. Tears sting his eyes. ‘How about YOU watch YOURself!’

  ‘Okay, son. Let’s calm down, shall we? I know you’re upset.’

  ‘You think?’ Adam is more than upset. Crossing his arms, he stuffs his hands in his armpits to keep them from trembling.

  Dad blows out. A long tired breath. He slumps into his armchair. After a moment, he says, ‘Look, son, Marilyn and me, well, we didn’t mean for it to happen. And nothing was happening. It was just some flirting, a bit of fun to while away the time on the yard. But since your Mum’s been gone, I’ve been sort of adrift, you know. And Marilyn, she... she...’

  Adam doesn’t want to hear it. Adrift! As if Dad’s the only one feeling adrift! Doesn’t he realise this whole thing with Mum hasn’t been a picnic for Adam either?

  ‘I needed someone to talk to...’

  Adam snorts derisively. ‘Sure, you just talked!’

  ‘Adam, this isn’t helpful. You have to let me explain. When your mother left us...’

  ‘Mum did not just leave! She wouldn’t do that. Not deliberately.’

  ‘We don’t know that, son.’ Dad shakes his head.

  ‘She wouldn’t just leave me!’ Adam shouts. ‘I know she wouldn’t. She was only going to be away fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes! That’s all. She said she’d be back.’ Adam’s hands are curled into fists now, his knuckles white with fury. He breathes heavily, as if he’s just finished a hundred metre sprint.

  Dad sinks further into his armchair and puts his head in his hands. Adam thinks he might be crying. After a time, he looks up and nods his head sadly.

  ‘No, you’re right, Adam. Your mother loved... loves you very much. Ever since you were born, she’s called you her miracle baby. We’d tried for so long and with her endometriosis it was a miracle she was able to carry you to term. She’d never have walked out on you.’

  Suddenly, an idea grows in Adam’s mind. Like a clay pot, it starts out lumpy and unformed but gradually it takes shape as he turns it over in his mind. His eyes widen.

  ‘But she might have left you! What if she found out about you and Marilyn?’ Adam spits out the name of Dad’s lover. ‘What if Mum knew? What if she rifled through your pockets the way I did, looking for change for the milk? What if she found the phone, found out about Marilyn, found out about your grotty little affair? Is that what happened, Dad? Is it? Well, is it?’

  Dad opens his mouth to respond, but before he can answer, Adam splits.

  Chapter 19

  The par
ty’s been going for a while. The street is full of cars. When Adam steps inside, the bass beat is thumping so loud his heart keeps time.

  Doof. Doof. Doof. Doof.

  He peers about. Nice place. It figures. Ants’ parents are both dentists. In the red glow, Adam makes out about twenty people, mostly girls, milling about, drinks in hand. No adults, though. Ants’ parents are visiting his sister in Auckland: she’s just dropped another sprog.

  Suddenly, Kieran is there. He throws an arm around Adam’s shoulders and shouts into his ear: ‘Mate. You made it.’ His breath smells pleasantly of beer.

  Adam gives him an exaggerated nod. This noise, it’s easier.

  ‘Corey?’ he mouths.

  Kieran disengages his arm and points to a computer nook normally concealed behind a bi-fold door. Half inside the cupboard, Corey and Mikey are bent over an iPad, studying the screen. Checking out Ants’ playlist, Adam guesses.

  Kieran puts his hand on Adam’s shoulder, dragging Adam’s attention back. Shouting again, he says, ‘I think I’m gonna say hello to Felicity.’

  Frowning, Adam shakes his head. ‘Leave it. She’s Mikey’s girl now.’

  ‘Yes, but a girl’s allowed to change her mind, isn’t she?’ Kieran winks at Adam, then peels away towards Felicity. Adam makes a grab for his sweatshirt, but Kieran is out of reach. Adam shrugs. Let him try. Adam’s got enough going on without worrying about Kieran.

  Who else is here? Adam recognises Jase, Callum and one or two others from the track team. The other guys here must be Ants’ surfie mates. Ants is mad on surfing. Loves his board so much, he probably wears the same wax. He’s in most of Adam’s classes, but his attendance is dependent on the morning surf report. If the announcer says the waves are the business at Raglan, then Ants’ll pull a sickie that day. The Attendance Officer hasn’t caught on yet. This is Ants’ second year at Y13. Adam reckons the probability of his seeing out the year is as likely as a holiday without homework.

  Adam sees Skye on the other side of the room. She gives him a little wave, but she doesn’t come over. She’s with the girls: Donna and Lauren, and Ants’ girlfriend Tayla. They’re all gathered together around a window seat. Adam wishes Skye wouldn’t just wave. He wishes she’d walk across the room and slip her hand in his, as if she were his girlfriend. He stares at her hard. Willing her to do it. But her head is bent towards Lauren’s and she’s laughing at something her friend is saying, not paying him any attention. Adam had been starting to hope they could have something, him and Skye. But when Adam stops to think about it, what’ve they shared really? A few rides home. An afternoon on the sofa. A band-aid and a bowl of popcorn.