Misplaced

by Murray, Lee

  ‘That’d be great. Thanks.’

  Adam notices Skye sits on her hands, the backpack with her overnight gear stowed by her feet. She shakes her left leg, the brushing sound of her jeans against the bag accentuated in the cavernous lobby. Beside her, Adam puts his hand gently on her knee, holding it still. He can understand her feeling apprehensive. The first time she’s met her dad. Pretty momentous. Adam hasn’t thought much about what Michael Whitworth will be like. He wonders if he’ll turn out to be anything like Skye imagined him. Adam hopes he measures up.

  In a few minutes, a man enters, a black document folder in his chubby fingers.

  Skye’s dad.

  Christ, he’s got a wicked receder, like an upside-down letter W. Looks as if he’s eaten plenty of roast dinners too, with a comfortable paunch tucked away under his lilac shirt and casually unbuttoned suit. But his eyes are the same soft green as Skye’s.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry about this, kids, but I really don’t have time to interview you today. Katie should have told you that right now I’ve an important—’

  ‘I’m Skye...’ Skye interrupts. On Whitworth’s face, there’s a flash of recognition, then his expression clouds over. Suddenly, whatever important appointment he has organised can wait.

  ‘Come through to my office.’ He turns on his heel with just the smallest squeak of his shoes. ‘No interruptions, Juliet, please,’ he snaps.

  ‘But what about Mr Ruttersmith... from the Carlsford Development?’

  ‘Tell him to wait. No, better call and cancel.’

  He doesn’t wait for a reply.

  ‘Excuse me a minute.’

  Whitworth steps into the adjoining bathroom, and Adam can hear the tap running. Skye wrings her hands.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Adam says. They sit down in two white leather chairs opposite Whitworth’s black executive one and wait. A leather key fob bearing a silver trident sits on the desk—only the second one Adam’s seen. Whitworth comes back, wiping his hands dry on his suit pants. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

  ‘I’m your—’ Skye begins, but she’s cut off.

  ‘Yes, yes, I know who you are. Look, you two don’t actually know Katie, do you?’ Katie: the name Barbie at reception used. ‘I asked if you knew my daughter?’

  ‘Your daughter?’

  Skye looks as if she’s been hit full in the face with a bucket of water. That’s when Adam notices the black and white photographs behind Whitworth’s desk. There are six of them, and they’re mounted in sleek silver frames arranged in a line. Each photograph is of a smiling girl, around the same age as Skye, and with the same startling eyes. A half-sister.

  ‘But I’m...I don’t know, didn’t know about Katie.’ Adam’s heart wrenches. He gives her hand a squeeze.

  ‘But when Juliet paged me, she said—’

  ‘Skye wanted to meet you,’ Adam interrupts. ‘When the receptionist mentioned Katie, we just agreed. We don’t know your daughter, sir.’ Adam pauses. ‘Your other daughter.’

  ‘Right, that’s okay, then.’ There’s an awkward silence, which Whitworth seems keen to fill. He waves vaguely at the photographs behind. ‘Katie’s just sixteen,’ he goes on, ‘but she’s a bit of a bright spark. She’s off to university next year—early entry,’ Whitworth boasts. Now that he’s certain Skye and Adam don’t know Katie, he seems perfectly happy to tell them about her. Skye says nothing. Her face is pale.

  Adam says, ‘Skye’s hoping to go to university too. She wants to study science.’ Whitworth ignores him, addresses Skye.

  ‘Did she send you, then? Aroha?’ Skye looks up sharply.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Because I told her that first day, if she wanted to go ahead with it, she’d have to do it without me. It’d be her kid, not mine.’

  ‘S-she d-doesn’t even know I’m here,’ Skye stammers. ‘It’s not why... I thought that maybe we could, we could—’

  ‘Look, I imagine you kids thought you could waltz in here, and after a joyful teary reunion, we’d all play happy blended families.’ He looks away. ‘But that sort of thing only happens on television. I’m sure Aroha’s invented all sorts of fanciful romantic stories about me. The way she told it, I was the love of her life. But it was just a bit of fun, you know? Nothing serious. I told her then I wasn’t interested in playing Daddy to her Mummy, and I’m still not. I’m sure you’re a nice kid and all, but if you’re looking for a father, I’m not it.’

  ‘But...’ Skye looks crushed.

  ‘For all I know, you might not even be mine. Your mother—’

  ‘Hey!’ Adam slams his hand on the desk, startling himself with the force of the blow. He hopes the noise is enough to make Whitworth back off because in a fight Whitworth’s extra weight will make mincemeat of him. Whitworth looks hard at Adam.

  ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Adam Creighton.’

  ‘And you’re with Skye because?’

  ‘I’m her friend.’ Whitworth makes a small sound in the back of his throat and turns his attention to Skye. ‘Listen, maybe you didn’t intend to make trouble. I can see Aroha’s done a great job raising you, but my wife and daughter aren’t aware you exist. And I’m sure you’ll agree that they don’t deserve to be hurt by some stupid mistake I might’ve made in my twenties. They’re just decent people trying to live their lives.’

  ‘But Skye doesn’t want—’

  ‘Good!’ Whitworth cuts Adam off. ‘So we understand each other. What my family doesn’t know can’t hurt them.’ Adam and Skye are quiet. This hasn’t turned out at all as they expected. A small tear collects at the corner of Skye’s eye. Adam stifles an urge to reach over and brush it away with the back of his finger.

  Whitworth stands up, pushing his chair back. The interview is over.

  ‘Look, seeing as you’re here, what do you kids say to a night on the town? You could take in a show and have a dinner in a nice restaurant. My treat. Have a grand old time on the Gold Coast before you go home.’ He gets a couple of one hundred dollar notes out of his wallet and flings them over the table. Skye’s face looks as crumpled as those notes. Adam burns to up and hit him. But Skye has her hand on his knee, her fingernails digging into Adam’s jeans...

  ‘No, thank you,’ Skye says carefully. ‘It was... good to meet you at last.’ She fixes him with a level look. ‘You’re just as I imagined you would be.’ Then she flees.

  Left behind, Adam’s about to turn on his heel when he remembers the key fob. A Maserati: Whitworth’s ride is a Maserati. Not short of a bob, then. His eyes fixed on Whitworth’s, Adam scoops up the notes and dashes after Skye.

  Chapter 31

  Adam finds Skye outside on the street, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face pale and tense.

  ‘What now?’ Adam says. Skye shrugs and shakes her head. She’s close to tears. ‘Let’s just walk a bit, then.’ Taking her hand, Adam leads her away from the concrete high rise and her father. For a while, they follow the shoreline northwards, the sea on their right. Cool breezes pick up Skye’s hair. The salty strands dance around her face, taunting her. She pulls them together and tucks them into her t-shirt as they walk. To their left, columns of luxury high-rise apartments throw horizontal bands of shadow across the beach, creating a virtual boardwalk. But as Adam and Skye continue on, the high rises get smaller and the beach front bars and restaurants become more dispersed. After an hour or so, Adam notices a modest motor hotel announcing room vacancies. Maybe the rates will be cheap. He leads Skye to a bench on the beachfront.

  ‘I’ll be back in just a sec,’ he tells her. Then he crosses the road and enters the motel reception. He takes a quick look around; a laminate counter top, a couple of wicker armchairs about a glass coffee table, and a display stand full of tourist brochures. Not exactly luxury, but at least the coffee table is free of finger marks and the brochures are tidy.

  Adam looks over the counter. The receptionist looks like hot Donna from That 70s Show: bleached bl
onde, wearing a sleeveless purple tank, and a shell necklace swinging between her breasts. She’s playing solitaire.

  ‘I’d like a room for tonight, please.’ Adam shuffles his feet nervously.

  The girl looks up from her game. ‘Just you?’

  ‘Two of us. My mum’s outside parking the car.’ The girl doesn’t seem to care. She points to the sign on the counter, indicating the room tariffs.

  ‘We’ve got one left. No sea view, though.’

  ‘That’s okay. It’s only one night.’

  The girl takes a clunky key off a row of hooks behind her, the shell pendant swinging as she turns. ‘Breakfast is included. Just fill out the form in your room and hang it over the door before eight p.m. Do you want the paper tomorrow?’

  ‘No, that’s fine, thanks.’ She crosses to a small fridge and takes out a tiny carton of milk. Adam hears the sucking sound of her thongs on the fake wood planking.

  ‘How will you pay?’

  He pulls Whitworth’s money out of his pocket. ‘Cash okay?’

  The girl smiles. ‘Sure.’

  After taking the money, she comes around the counter and points to the back corner of the motel block. ‘That’s yours there. Room 103.’ She hands him the milk and the key, with its bulky plastic label requesting the finder to please return it to the Sun Plaza Motel. ‘Have a nice stay,’ she says, and goes back to her game.

  As soon as the doors have closed behind them, Skye drops her backpack, throws herself on the bed, and begins to sob. Adam kicks off his shoes and lies behind her, his large body spooned about her smaller one. He buries his face in her hair while she cries. After a while, he shuffles backwards a bit, slipping his hand under her t-shirt to caress her back in long slow strokes, tracing the soft smoothness of her. They stay that way for what seems a long time. Eventually, the arm underneath him is wooden, the room is nearly dark, and Skye’s sobs have become occasional involuntary sniffs.

  ‘Skye? I’m really sorry.’

  ‘What an arsehole.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I hate him.’ Skye’s voice is a whisper. Adam says nothing. Pulls her closer to him. ‘You want to know what’s really sad?’

  ‘That he didn’t come to your first netball game?’

  She snorts. It’s not really a laugh, but it’s close. ‘Nah, now that I’ve met him, I’m glad he didn’t stick around. I think maybe I’ve been lucky not to have a dad. Not one like him, anyway.’

  ‘Yeah. I reckon.’

  ‘What’s really sad is now I’ve lost a sister, too.’ She’s crying softly now. ‘I’ve never had a sister before,’ she says between snuffles. ‘There was never anyone but Aroha and me. It would’ve been nice, you know? Maybe we could’ve been friends.’

  ‘Shhh,’ Adam soothes, thinking how he’d like to be spirited back into medieval times just so he could march into Whitworth’s holdings, whip out his blade and hack off a few limbs, or at least slice that immaculate silk suit into ribbons. It’d serve him right, too.

  Skye is still crying, but it’ll pass soon. Adam knows how it is. After Mum, after that first week, he’d cried like a baby, cried until he was exhausted. It’d felt childish and indulgent at the time, but afterwards he’d felt better. Sooner or later, Skye will cry herself out. Adam just needs to be patient.

  Still facing away from him, Skye slips off her t-shirt, offering him better access to the curve of her back. She isn’t wearing a bra. Adam’s insides do a quick flip, but he tries not to read anything into it. As his hand glides along the hollow from Skye’s shoulder to her hip, he drops his head and breathes in the scent of her. It’s light, like cinnamon, with a suggestion of cheese pizza.

  After a while, Skye turns over. Stares up at him.

  Adam’s heart leaps. She’s beautiful, perfect. How could he have ever thought she was skinny? Looking down at her, Adam feels invincible, like he could take on the whole world. Linking her arms around his neck she pulls him down to her, kisses him. In his jeans, Adam can feel his erection hard against her thigh.

  Oh God.

  Skye slips her hands under the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it upwards. He lets his weight rest on her briefly, lifting his arms, freeing his torso. Skye sighs as their skin touches. Adam could swear there are fireworks going off somewhere.

  ‘Adam?’ Her green eyes widen. ‘I want...’ she says, her voice trailing away. She buries her face in his chest. Her breath is warm. ‘Please?’ Adam’s heart thunders like a train in his chest. She’s asking him? That train’s hurtling along the track now.

  ‘You sure?’

  She nods quickly.

  It’s all Adam can do to roll away. He dives for his backpack, rummaging around in the side pocket for the hopeful packet of condoms that’s been in there for over a year.

  Shit! Where are they? Adam hopes they’re still good.

  His fingers are shaking. The bloody wrapper won’t open! Still fumbling with the foil, he slides alongside her again. She’s shucked off her jeans and is naked on the bed. In a glance, Adam takes in her skin, her breasts, the cleft of hair between her legs. He groans, her image already imprinted in his mind.

  Suddenly shy, Skye drops her eyes as she takes the condom from him, their fingertips touching. Her hands slide down his chest, to the top of his jeans. She pops the dome, releasing his erection. Adam feels like he’s going to explode. And then, Skye, bolder now, her eyes holding his, her fingers exquisite, slips the condom over his dick.

  ‘Skye...’

  ‘Shhh...’ She guides him in between her legs, just a little, then all the way. He bites his cheek to hold back, tastes blood. For a second, Adam wonders if she’s done this before, if he’s her first, then he realises it doesn’t make any difference. It’s Skye, and he’s moving inside her, and this is the first time he’s ever made love to a girl. He plunges, thrusting deep. She whimpers, making Adam draw back. He searches her face. Did he hurt her?

  ‘Skye?’

  ‘No! It’s okay, I’m okay.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Shhh...’ She puts her hand on his cheek and smiles at him. He bends his head to kiss her, and finally he gets what all the fuss is about. Those guys at school, Mikey and Ants and even Kieran, the way they try to come over offhand, like they could take it or leave it. Like they’re the Man.

  Yeah, right!

  Adam knows they’re all full of bullshit because after just the smallest taste, he’s already totally addicted. Or maybe it’s just Skye? Because it feels to Adam as if there’s nobody else in the world, just him and Skye.

  After making love to a girl, you’re sent into a blissfully restful sleep. I slept for hours. But I guess my body clock is set to that ‘pattern of wakefulness’ because I wake in the night around my normal time. Nothing else is normal, though. Milky orange light winks through brocade curtains and, outside, the night is punctuated with sounds: a car door slamming, a woman’s laughter, a truck—probably a rubbish truck—beeping as it backs up. Beside me, Skye’s body curves perfectly into mine. She’s so tiny, so perfect. She makes this girly huffy noise and suddenly I’m drowning in this flood of soft-focus tenderness. I have this urge to protect her again, like I’m some kind of bloody super-hero. I want to keep her safe. Never hurt her. Geez, listen to me. I’m the lyrics of a love song.

  But the thing is, I did hurt her, because it wasn’t Skye’s idea to come here searching for Whitworth. It was mine. I made her do it with my talk about connections and opportunity. I even used my mum-card. I feel pretty stink about that. I manipulated Sky, made her imagine a new start for her and her dad. A line from Earnest pops into my head about the truth not being quite the sort of thing one tells to a nice, sweet girl. Ha! The truth is, I led her up the garden path to a callous, self-centred git who slammed the door in her face. She doesn’t blame me. I know she doesn’t. But it was my fault.

  Bastards, both of us.

  I ball my fists, thinking about it. In her sleep, I think maybe she senses my tension, because Skye shifts sligh
tly. I listen to her breathing and make myself relax. Curl myself closer around her. Rest.

  Chapter 32

  Back home the next day, Pūriri is waiting in the airport Arrivals area.

  Seeing him is like a round-house kick to the solar plexus. Adam’s knees go soft. How did Pūriri know they’d be here? Gripping tight to the strap of his backpack, Adam whispers to Skye out of the side of his mouth.

  ‘Police.’

  ‘Oh heck.’ Skye edges closer and takes Adam’s hand. For a second, Adam contemplates making a dash for it, grabbing Skye and pulling her through the side entrance where the line of taxis and shuttle buses wait like cows at a milking shed. But this isn’t prime time television and he isn’t Jack Bauer. Besides, Pūriri’s already spotted them. Cutting a line through the arriving travellers, the detective marches over, his shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum. ‘Your father thinks I’m picking you up from a training camp in Whakatāne,’ he says, without preamble.

  Still in shock, Adams says, ‘But how did you...?’

  ‘Long arm of the law,’ Pūriri replies. ‘Immigration has been monitoring departing passengers named Creighton. When your name came up, my colleague there called it in. Any baggage?’

  Adam lifts the strap of his backpack off his shoulder. ‘Just these,’ he says, grimly. ‘We packed light.’

  ‘Right, then.’ With a curt wave, the detective directs them out of the crowd. Adam places his hand in the curve of Skye’s back.

  ‘Sir, this isn’t Skye’s fault. Going to Aussie had nothing to do with her.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Pūriri says, stopping clear of the crowd. ‘Sources tell me it had everything to do with Miss Wētere. Give me your car keys, please.’

  Sources? What sources? But Adam is too flustered to think. Crouching, he scrabbles around in the pocket of his backpack and, after a few minutes, stands up and hands the detective the Mazda keys and the long-stay parking docket. Pūriri promptly passes them off to a young officer hovering to his left. Until now Adam hadn’t noticed him.