Misplaced

by Murray, Lee

  Fuck, even Adam’s old man has better luck with women.

  Adam goes to the marble counter and tears open a Steinie. Downs it. Grabs another and prises off the top. There’s no shortage of booze. Ants had a pre-pay system set up. Twenty bucks a head, and they would get it in on your behalf. Adam downs another mouthful. It tastes fantastic. Cold and hopsy. Yeah, fantastic.

  ‘You okay, mate?’ Corey shouts, giving Adam the thumbs up.

  Adam takes another swallow, then tips his bottle at Corey, grinning. ‘Never better.’ Bags of chips form a pile on the counter—the extent of Ants’ catering. Corey rips open a bag and offers it to Adam. Thrusting his hand in, Adam snatches up a handful. He stuffs them in his mouth. Storming out like that, he hasn’t had any dinner. He nudges Corey to hold the bag out again and helps himself to another handful. Corey makes a pointing motion, indicating that Adam should meet him outside. Clutching a couple of full bottles to his chest, Adam follows him. Outside, the music dulls to a rumble. The air is sharp. Ants and a few others are standing around a heat lamp, smoking.

  ‘So, how’d they get the booze?’ Adam asks Corey. His ears are ringing.

  ‘Mikey’s brother helped,’ Corey explains. ‘Slipped Mikey his driver’s licence for the afternoon.’ Adam nods, takes another swig of his beer. Makes sense. Two years older, Mikey’s brother is a dead ringer for his younger sibling. Corey goes on. ‘The way Mikey told it, the guys at the liquor outlet looked at him, took a quick gawp at his ID and waved him through. Then Jared—talk about über-audacious—he picked up four cartons at the supermarket. The shift supervisor knew him from school. She didn’t bat an eyelid.’

  Corey and Adam amble over and sit on the BBQ table, their feet on the bench. They discuss the likelihood of Kieran getting Felicity back. Corey says unlikely. Adam says risky. Adam finishes his fourth Steinie, then helps himself to a can from a carton on the table. This party was a good idea. He hasn’t been here long and already he’s starting to feel better.

  Ants peels away from the group under the heat lamp.

  ‘Here, Adam, have one of these,’ he says.

  ‘What?’ Adam says blankly.

  ‘This.’ Ants is holding out something on the flat of his palm. A joint. Mary-Jane.

  ‘Hey, c’mon Ants,’ Corey intercedes quietly. ‘You know, Adam doesn’t do that stuff. No reflection on you guys, or anything. It’s a personal choice.’

  ‘Then why not let him make the choice himself?’ Ants says.

  Up until now, Adam has sworn off weed for four reasons:

  1. He’s an athlete.

  2. He never has enough money.

  3. He’s been moving cars around at the yard ever since he was big enough to see over a steering wheel. If, as a direct result of being a dope-head, he were to cause even the slightest scratch to a new vehicle, Dad would go off his head and Adam would find himself grounded for the remainder of his natural life.

  4. The stuff scares him to hell.

  Adam considers his reasons. Firstly, it’s true an athlete’s body is a temple and should be free from artificial additives. But marijuana’s a herb, right? So it’s got to be natural. Secondly, the stuff on offer here is free. He should think of it as a party favour. Thirdly, he won’t be seen dead at the yard any time soon, given that Mar-i-lyn is there. Dad doesn’t exactly have the moral high-ground right now. That just leaves his fourth reason. And the thing is, when Adam came up with his list of reasons for not taking dope, Mum had been safely at home. She wasn’t missing, possibly raped, murdered or even worse. Just thinking about what might’ve happened, what might still be happening to Mum, is way, way scarier than a pathetic little joint.

  ‘Go on, man. Take it,’ Ants coaxes. Adam takes the spliff. He’s about to light up when someone tugs at his arm.

  It’s Skye.

  ‘You don’t need that, Adam. It isn’t going to make things any better,’ she says.

  ‘Yeah, but it can’t make ‘em any worse, can it?’ Ants answers for him.

  ‘C’mon, Adam,’ Corey says, frowning at Ants. ‘Let’s go in. See what Kieran’s up to.’

  Twirling the joint in his fingers, Adam ignores his friends.

  ‘Adam, don’t,’ Skye pleads.

  ‘Who are you? His fucking mother?’ one of the surfers asks.

  ‘That’s not funny,’ Skye says. She’s right. It’s not. In fact, it pisses Adam off. No one is supposed to mention his mother. Don’t they realise he’s trying to forget?

  ‘Geez, Skye,’ Ants says. ‘Just chill. It’s no big deal.’

  Skye’s eyes are blazing, but Adam turns away. He’s with Ants. What’s the big deal? Everybody does it these days. Maybe it’ll take the edge off, help him forget.

  ‘Adam, please don’t,’ Skye says again.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Adam shrugs her off. ‘It’s just one.’

  As far as Adam’s concerned, this party is just kicking off.

  Later, Adam’s not sure how much later, there’s some sort of altercation going on.

  ‘Don’t give him any more. Can’t you see it’s not helping?’ Skye facing off against Ants and his surfie mates? Funny! She’s so tiny. Red light triangulates off the ceiling. Someone needs to tell Ants this music is giving him a headache.

  ‘It’s just a bit of fun, Skye. Lighten up, will ya?’ Is that Ants’ voice? A surfer mate? Adam can’t tell. There’s too much noise. Adam’s head throbs. He has a feeling he was going to say something but he’s forgotten what. Raised voices now. Arguing.

  ‘S’okay, Skye,’ Adam says, but the sound is hollow, spacy, not like him at all.

  Next thing, he’s being half-dragged, supported by Corey and Kieran on either side. He’s in the back seat of someone’s car. Hey, that guy looks like Corey’s dad. Oncoming lights. Shit! Adam puts his arm up to shield his face.

  Then he’s on his knees, chucking in a toilet.

  Skye’s there, looking worried, washing his face with a facecloth.

  Whose shirt is this? Oh shit, he’s got sick on it.

  He hears Mrs Shaw saying she’ll make up a bed, telling Corey he’ll have to drive Skye home. Adam imagines Corey looking awkward. He wants to say there’s no need, he’ll take Skye home, but the words are lost in a clench of nausea.

  Skye again. Kissing his forehead. Her breath soft on his face. Is she going? Has she gone? Why does everyone leave him without saying goodbye?

  Then later, he’s on his knees in the toilet again, vomiting.

  Corey’s dad is saying, ‘There you go, fella. Let it all out. You’ll feel better.’

  But Adam doesn’t feel better, and on Saturday when he wakes up, Mum is still missing.

  Saturday night. I’m here at home and I’m over it. Not the hangover. I’m not over that. My head still feels like shite, like I’ve been steam-rollered.

  No, it’s this situation I’m over.

  Do you hear me, Mum?

  Time’s up.

  Joke’s over.

  I’ve learned my lesson. Dad’s learned his lesson. We GET that you’re mad at us. But all this protracted waiting around while you make us suffer for our sins is pissing me off big time. No, I take that back. I’m bloody furious. I mean who the hell do you think you are, anyway? I’ll tell you, shall I? You’re an adult with adult responsibilities. And here’s a news flash for you, Mum: adults do not run away when things are less than peachy. They stick around, face the music, work things out. So your life sucks? So you knew about Dad fooling around with Marilyn? Get over it. No one ever said life was all sunshine and roses. I’ve been patient, Mum. I’ve waited. But I’m telling you now, enough is enough. You need to come home NOW!

  I lie on my back and listen, straining for the sound of Mum’s key in the door, but there’s only the normal night sounds: the tap in the bathroom still dripping, Dad snoring along the hall, the tickle of her hebe against the side of the house and my own pulse roaring in my ears.

  Now, please!

  I half-expect her to slip into my ro
om. She’ll take the two steps across to where I’m lying, quietly with only the faintest scuff of her slippers on the carpet, and a wisp of her hair will tickle my face as she stoops to kiss me. If I open my eyes quickly, I’ll see her!

  An orange standby light winks, telling me my computer is still on.

  Twisting, I bury my face in my pillow; whisper into the weave of the fabric.

  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of it.

  Chapter 20

  On Monday morning, when Adam is calmer (and sober), Dad contacts Detective Pūriri, who comes out to the house with Wendy Gordon. Dad talks privately to the police officers, sending Adam upstairs to email the school office to explain his absence from his morning classes. Adam suspects everyone else will think he’s still out of it after Friday night’s bender. When Adam comes downstairs, Dad is putting on his jacket.

  ‘Detective Pūriri has a few questions for you, son. I’ll expect you to answer him as honestly and fully as you can. When you’re done here, get yourself off to school, okay?’

  Adam mumbles something which could be taken for assent. Just because Dad paid for Adam’s boot camp online doesn’t mean Adam’s forgiven him. It’s fair to say, Adam isn’t too happy with his old man right now.

  ‘Right then, I’m off to the yard. I’ll talk to you this afternoon, Brian. Have a good day, Adam. See you tonight.’

  Adam doesn’t answer. He’s acting like a dickhead, but he doesn’t care. Detective Pūriri places a large hand on Adam’s shoulder, leading him into the kitchen.

  ‘Adam, I want you to know that this is quite routine,’ Pūriri says. ‘It’s common for new information to come out later when people have had time to think. And it’s important for us to follow up on that information. You need to know that by talking to us you’re not going to get your dad into any trouble, but you could be helping us to find your mum.’

  Adam nods. They sit down at the kitchen table. Pushing aside the debris from a cuppa that Dad made earlier, Constable Gordon sits alongside Adam. She opens the interrogation softly.

  ‘So, tell us how you’re doing, Adam. Are you holding up okay?’ Adam picks up an unused spoon, fiddling with it.

  ‘Yeah, okay I guess.’

  ‘It’s a tough time for you both.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Adam keeps his eyes on the spoon.

  ‘Do you have someone you can talk to?’

  ‘My mates. And I’ve been having some sessions with Mrs Paine, the counsellor at school.’ He stares at the spoon. Eventually, his eyes glazing, the spoon clones itself, turning into three. When Adam puts it down, it merges back into one.

  Wendy Gordon smiles. ‘Well, that’s something. Talking helps.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He doesn’t mention the little snoozes on Mrs Paine’s couch.

  ‘What about your dad?’

  Adam frowns. ‘He’s got someone else to talk to, hasn’t he? What does he need to talk to me for?’

  ‘Did you and your dad talk much before?’

  ‘Not so much. A bit. Mostly about sport.’ Suddenly, Adam realises that anything important he discussed with Mum: what NCEA subjects to take, would some extra French tuition help, if it was time to book himself in for a ‘flu jab, did girls really think tattoos are sexy...

  Detective Pūriri seems to read Adam’s thoughts. He nods understandingly.

  ‘Do you mind going over again what happened on the night she went missing, Adam?’

  Jeepers! Adam could recount this stuff in his sleep. He’s gone over and over it so many times now. He starts reciting.

  ‘Mum left around five-thirty to get some milk for a pudding. She said she was going to walk. It’s not that far to the shops. The end of the road.’

  ‘Did she seem upset in any way?’ Pūriri’s voice rumbles like a faraway train.

  ‘She’d just given me a lecture about me not knuckling down and doing my homework.’

  ‘So she might have been a bit tense?’

  ‘Not really. She was just having a go, you know, it was her way of motivating me, the usual mother nagging.’

  ‘Okay.’ Pūriri nods. ‘Anything else? Did she seem distracted?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Tearful, perhaps?’

  ‘Like she had her period?’ Adam asks.

  Pūriri shrugs. ‘If you like.’

  ‘No, she hasn’t been like that for ages.’

  ‘So she’s sometimes tearful?’

  ‘Well, yeah. She has endometriosis. She’s always had it. It used to make her a bit moody. And she’s in her forties. Maybe she hit menopause or something.’ Wendy Gordon holds her notebook up in front of her face. Pūriri leans across the table and places his hand on Adam’s forearm. ‘Please think carefully, Adam. Your mother’s state of mind leading up to her disappearance could be very important.’

  ‘She did say that she felt like a walk. “To blow away the cobwebs.” That’s what she said.’

  ‘What do you think she meant by that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Adam says, feeling exasperated, ‘that she needed some fresh air?’

  ‘Is it an expression she used a lot?’ Wendy Gordon asks.

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘What does that expression mean to you, Adam?’

  ‘Blow away the cobwebs? I don’t know. Maybe she wanted a change of scene?’

  ‘What sort of change of scene?’ Pushing now.

  ‘How should I know?’ Adam’s tone is belligerent. Pūriri catches his partner’s eye and shakes his head. It’s a tiny movement. Constable Gordon stops asking questions. She flips through the pages of her notebook, pretending to look for something.

  Pūriri says gently, ‘Was there anything in your mother’s behaviour that makes you think she might have discovered something about your father’s relationship with his secretary?’

  Frustrated, Adam shakes his head.

  ‘No! She was going out to get some fucking milk. That’s all.’

  There’s a silence. They’ve hit a dead end. Wendy Gordon taps the end of her pencil on the back of the pad. Pūriri switches to old ground.

  ‘Can you tell me again what your mother was wearing?’ Half the country could tell him, Adam thinks, but he rattles off what Mum was wearing anyway.

  ‘Blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a dark green polar fleece. I didn’t see if she took a jacket.’

  ‘Any jewellery?’

  ‘Just a watch.’

  ‘What about a wedding band?’

  Adam thinks hard. ‘I don’t know. She usually only took it off to do the gardening. I haven’t seen it around the house, so I guess she must’ve been wearing it.’

  ‘And you’re sure she took her wallet?’

  ‘I told you before. I didn’t see her leave, but the wallet isn’t in her handbag and she would’ve needed change for the milk. There isn’t any change in the usual places either. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been looking in Dad’s closet...’

  ‘So how much money do you think she might’ve had on her, Adam?’

  Adam shrugs. ‘Not that much. Not enough to start a new life.’

  Chapter 21

  On Monday afternoon, Adam picks Skye up at the gate as usual. Today they head into Brookfield, to the café in the supermarket entrance where he’s arranged to meet Corey and Kieran. The guys are already there. Before joining them, Adam orders a cappuccino for Skye and a Coke for himself. The blueberry muffins are enormous. Skye doesn’t think she can finish one on her own, so Adam agrees to split one with her.

  ‘Hi, Corey,’ Skye says, as she scoots in beside him with her mug.

  ‘Hi,’ Corey replies, turning as pink as the icing on his raspberry bun.

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to say thanks for the ride home last Friday.’

  ‘No problem.’ He smiles weakly.

  ‘Your parents are nice,’ Skye adds.

  It’s an understatement. Corey’s parents are terrific. Corey had called them last Friday night when things got out of hand—when Adam wa
s wasted. Corey’s dad didn’t have to be asked twice: he put his coat on over his pyjamas, drove over to Ants’ house, rounded up the four of them and brought them home to his place. Then, while Adam was upstairs chundering, Paul phoned Dad to tell him Adam would be staying overnight. Talk about a prince. He didn’t say a word about Adam being out of it. Instead, he’d explained that after drinking a few beers, the boys realised they weren’t in a fit state to drive. Even made noises about them being responsible young adults before offering to run Adam back to collect his car in the morning. The first Adam learned any of this was the following morning when Kieran and Corey explained it all to him. Adam remembers wishing they would explain things quietly because his brain was pounding out the Macarena inside his skull.

  On Sunday, Adam had dropped in to Corey’s with an apology and a box of chocolates. They’d almost finished polishing off the chocolates when Mrs Shaw said she hoped Adam would be careful not to abuse alcohol again. They didn’t know about the drugs.

  Sitting opposite Skye, Adam slides her her half of the muffin. The big half.

  Then he says, ‘Your parents were really great on Friday, Corey. You all were. I really appreciate you guys not mentioning the joint.’

  ‘That’s joints plural, Adam,’ Kieran corrects.

  ‘It was pretty dumb,’ Skye says.

  ‘And you puked on my shirt,’ Corey grumbles.

  ‘Sorry!’ Batting his lashes, Adam gives his friends his best hang-dog look.

  They laugh, Skye’s giggle playing the treble to Kieran and Corey’s bass. Adam laughs too. He’s noticed that lately his famous hang-dog look isn’t as effective as it used to be.