Promise

by Sarah Armstrong

  ‘She can stay here,’ Pat said as he put the cheese back in the fridge. ‘You go.’

  There was the distant sound of a car driving along Pat’s track, its engine changing tone as it started to climb the hill.

  Pat said, ‘It’ll be okay. I’ll hang out with Charlie. You go.’

  ‘I promised Charlie I’d stay with her.’

  Charlie looked up. ‘What’s that sound?’

  ‘A car . . .’

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked, wide-eyed. ‘I’m coming!’

  She let Anna hurry her down the steps, past the veggie garden and onto the path. As they turned a corner in the track, Anna looked back and saw a white four-wheel drive appear between the clumps of bamboo.

  Charlie ran ahead and called back to Anna, ‘Quick! Hurry!’

  •

  Anna was surprised how well she recalled the track and the way it made an S-curve between two old buttress-rooted trees before meandering down the hill. The path had the same dream-like, enchanted feel, with branches arching overhead and filtering the sunlight, and lichen-mottled palm trunks streaked wet by the night’s rain. Anna tried to breathe it in, the peace and the timelessness.

  She helped Charlie down a muddy stretch of path and guessed that the girl had been afraid it was Harlan in the car.

  ‘You know, the person in that car back there was the woman who will help Sabine when her baby is born.’

  Charlie looked at her with a frown.

  ‘Did you know Sabine is having a baby?’

  The burbling, rocky creek was to their left now, down a steep bank.

  Charlie shook her head.

  ‘Well, in a few months, she’ll have a baby. That’s why her tummy is so round.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Charlie.

  ‘They just need to be on their own to meet the woman.’

  Charlie stopped and looked up at the hillside of palms above them. The dried fronds rattled quietly in the breeze. Anna hoped Charlie found it a reassuring sound. The palms seemed to her like calm sentinels, standing guard, murmuring among themselves. Anna had walked this path the day she realised she was pregnant; she’d gone down to the waterhole to tell Pat, her bare feet taking in the smallest sensations underfoot, her skin detecting every shift in the air’s temperature. Anna felt sad to think of that younger, hopeful self who’d imagined that her life was about to change completely.

  They reached the final steep descent down the bank to the waterhole. Anna held Charlie’s good arm and steadied her as they made their way down the slippery bank, tree roots forming occasional uneven steps. She took hold of the rope that someone had tied to a tree root.

  The shallow, fast-flowing creek slid over a broad bed of grey rock, then dropped into the waterhole. Big boulders, a couple of them nearly as tall as Anna, were scattered in the rushing water. Trees overhung the creek, their twisted roots forming the bank. Anna helped Charlie over the stepping stones to the big flat section of rock where there were small wet footprints and trails of water. The kids must have just left.

  ‘It’s a waterfall,’ said Charlie. The creek dropped about a metre into the oval-shaped waterhole, half the size of an Olympic pool.

  ‘Yes,’ said Anna.

  She crouched beside Charlie, to see it from her perspective. She wanted Charlie to feel that same thrill she’d had the first time she saw the waterhole, ringed with ferns and palms and tall trees that grew right to the water’s edge. Maybe this place could give Charlie a sense of entering another world, or being outside time, so she could forget for a while what had happened.

  Charlie regarded the scene, but her face was tight. ‘It’s deep,’ she said.

  ‘Well . . . over the far side it’s deep, but not here. We can stay in the shallow bit. Would you like to have a little paddle?’

  Charlie shucked off the pink sneakers and made her way sideways down the sloping rock to the small pebbly beach.

  Anna followed her to the water’s edge. ‘You probably shouldn’t get your bandage wet but you could just sit at the edge and cool off.’

  ‘How deep is it?’ Charlie waded out ankle deep and swished her foot about.

  ‘Not deep at all just here.’ Anna took off her shorts and t-shirt and stepped into the water. It was blissfully cool and the small stones crunched underfoot. ‘Shall we take off your shorts so you can have a paddle?’

  Charlie shook her head and looked over at a sudden flurry of wrens in the bushes on the other side of the waterhole.

  ‘Okay,’ said Anna. ‘I’m just going to go out a little bit deeper. You stay here.’

  She waded out, the cool water inching up her body until finally she let it take her weight. When she closed her eyes, her whole body quaked.

  Oh God, what had she done? She was deep in the forest with a child she didn’t know, with half the cops in the state after her, her photo in the news and it was a nightmare that Anna had brought on herself. She turned away from Charlie as loud sobs burst from her, terrible sounds that she couldn’t stop. They would find her in the end, wouldn’t they? She’d be led away by a cop. She’d end up in jail. And there was no turning things around now. She tried to mute the noises coming from her but they just kept coming.

  ‘Anna?’ Charlie’s voice was thin. She stood at the water’s edge, her shorts dripping. ‘Come back.’

  Anna dunked underwater then slowly breaststroked to the girl, trying to bring her face back to some equilibrium. She sat beside Charlie in the shallows but couldn’t speak. She was shaky with disbelief that she’d put herself in this situation. She’d started something she simply didn’t have the capacity to follow through.

  Charlie touched Anna’s thigh, and Anna had to stop herself from moving her leg away. ‘Is Mummy with him?’

  Anna spoke without looking at Charlie, her voice croaky, ‘Yes. She is. I know you love your mum and really want to see her. I understand that you miss her.’ Because I miss my mum, too. Tears filled her eyes. Oh shit. She pressed her hand to her mouth in case she started crying again.

  Charlie was silent.

  Anna cleared her throat. ‘And you will see your mummy again. I’m sure you will.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I don’t know, exactly.’

  Charlie swished her hand through the water and spoke very quietly. ‘He’s a bad man.’

  ‘Yes, he is.’ He’s the one the cops should be pursuing and locking up.

  ‘He did the fag to her.’

  ‘The fag?’

  A small blue bird swooped and dipped its beak in the water.

  ‘He put it on her. The red . . .’

  Anna’s scalp tingled. ‘He burnt your mum with a cigarette?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘And you came to the door.’

  ‘I did come to your door.’ Did he do it that night?

  Charlie patted the surface of the water. ‘Why didn’t you come in?’

  ‘I don’t think Harlan would have let us in.’

  He’d burnt Gabby with a cigarette. Jesus.

  Charlie’s voice was so quiet. ‘I thought you were coming in.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Anna whispered. She remembered the burn mark in the bodice of Charlie’s tutu. She’d have a better look for a mark on the girl’s stomach. ‘Why did you want me to come in?’

  ‘So I didn’t get in trouble.’

  ‘I would have come in if I could.’

  So Charlie knew now that Anna was afraid of Harlan, too.

  ‘You know it’s not okay for anyone to push or . . . hold you upside-down. Harlan and Mummy did the wrong thing. Grown-ups are not allowed to hit kids or hurt kids. Never. Okay? I will never hurt you. I promise.’

  Charlie shuffled forward on her bum, then lowered herself and lay back until her head rested on the pebbles, her feet pointing into the middle of the pond. Her bandage was soaked, but the cool water probably felt good on the bruise. Charlie’s bottom sank to the rocks and she used her good hand to push herself up again.

  ‘Would you like me to help you f
loat?’ asked Anna. She couldn’t get out of her mind the image of Harlan holding a burning cigarette to Gabby’s skin.

  Charlie gave the faintest nod.

  Anna knelt on the rocks and reached her hands under the girl’s narrow back and thighs and lifted her so she floated. Charlie squinted up at Anna. The air around them was thick with sound: whirring cicadas, a crescendo of birdcalls and water falling into the pool.

  ‘Okay?’ asked Anna. Her dad used to float her around the pool in Orange, even after she was well able to swim, and she could still conjure the sensation of his hands under her, and the caress of the water as he swept her from side to side.

  ‘Yeah,’ whispered Charlie.

  Anna held her just on the surface of the silky cool water, and waded out a little further. She slowly swished Charlie back and forth, and looked up to the trees that circled the waterhole, so quietly steadfast. They were here seventeen years ago and would be here long after this was all over. Anna couldn’t run away now, couldn’t walk down the driveway and hitch into town like she had the day that it ended with Pat. She’d refused his offer of a lift; she couldn’t bear being dependent on him for even one more thing. No, Anna wouldn’t run this time. She would do everything she could to make sure Charlie didn’t go back to her mother and Harlan. If the girl went home, all this would be for nothing.

  Charlie closed her eyes and laid her hands on her belly. The bandage had worked loose and trailed in the water.

  Anna wondered how long it took stress to leave a body. She’d once read that children who grew up with trauma had stress hardwired into them. She wanted to think that Charlie felt safe with her but why on earth would Charlie feel safe? Anna – a virtual stranger – had plucked her from her home and everything and everyone she knew, and surrounded her with more strangers. Maybe Charlie closing her eyes was not a sign of relaxation but of hopelessness.

  Charlie’s eyes were still closed. ‘Where’s Mummy right now?’

  ‘Well . . . in the same house, I’d say. The house next to mine.’ My house.

  Charlie opened her eyes and turned to look in the direction of a dog barking not too far away. ‘I want to go to the caravan with just me and Mummy.’

  ‘Mummy’s not at the caravan now. She’s at the house with Harlan.’

  ‘I know that,’ Charlie said quietly.

  A shimmer of exhaustion and frustration ran through Anna. She knew that nothing would stop Charlie wanting her mother, even though Gabby had failed her daughter in every way possible.

  Charlie tried to sit up, her arms flailing at the water.

  ‘Hang on.’ Anna floated her back to the water’s edge.

  In the shallows, Charlie twisted out of Anna’s grasp and stood, water streaming from her clothes, the soaked bandage hanging down to her knee. She clambered back up to the big flat rock where Anna had left their towels and bag of food.

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Okay.’ Anna followed her. ‘Let’s get your wet clothes off before we eat, eh?’

  Charlie let Anna take her shorts down but shook her head when Anna started to take her t-shirt off. As Anna dried herself roughly and dragged her top on over damp skin, there was the sound of something blundering through the underbrush up the hill. A wallaby? The kids?

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Charlie, her face serious. She wound the loose bandage around her arm.

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe an animal.’

  The dog barked again, close by this time, and Anna heard a man’s voice. It didn’t sound like Pat.

  Shit.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She walked over the rock to get a clear view up the path. A brown kelpie appeared at the top and tilted its head and looked down at Anna. A man carrying a gun came into view. Michael, the guy they met on the driveway yesterday. Yesterday a machete, today a gun.

  ‘Hi,’ he called. ‘I see you found Pat.’

  He carefully placed the gun and a bag on the path, and scrambled down the bank, sending a small cascade of pebbles and dirt to the bottom. What did he want?

  The dog barrelled past the man, leapt over the creek and sniffed Anna and the bag of food, then moved on to Charlie and nudged the girl’s bare leg with its nose.

  The girl stepped away, her body stiff. ‘Its nose is wet.’

  Anna grabbed the dog’s leather collar. ‘Come back here, you,’ she said. The dog strained away from her.

  ‘Your girl will be okay.’ The man came to stand near Anna on the rock. ‘Sit!’

  The dog sat.

  Anna felt like saying, I’ll take care of my girl, thanks. My girl.

  ‘She’s got a sore arm, that’s all. I don’t want her knocked over.’ Anna adjusted her damp t-shirt. She wondered if she could pull on her shorts without it seeming too awkward.

  ‘Yeah. I see that.’

  He looked younger than he did the other day; she guessed he was in his early fifties. He wore patched jeans, a faded green work shirt and a long grey plait down his back. He crouched and patted his dog’s head, then looked up at Charlie.

  ‘All dogs have wet noses, you know. It helps cool them down in hot weather.’

  Charlie bent to examine the dog’s brown nose then laughed nervously and reared back when it tried to lick her.

  ‘What’s its name?’

  ‘Her name’s Ralph.’

  ‘Ralph!’ said Charlie in a stern voice, her brow furrowed. The dog pricked its ears and tipped its head to one side, eyes fixed on Charlie.

  ‘You said that like the boss,’ said Michael. ‘She likes to know who’s the boss.’

  ‘Are you her boss?’

  ‘I’m her boss. But it’s okay for you to talk to her like that, too.’ He stood up. ‘I can teach you how to talk to her, if you like.’

  She gave a small smile.

  ‘I’m Michael,’ he said to Charlie, then turned to Anna.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Anna. And Charlie.’

  Oh, shit. Why didn’t she invent some names? But then she’d have to explain that to Charlie.

  He nodded. ‘I’m on my way to do some hunting up the valley.’ He lifted his chin upstream. ‘I’ll be far away, but you’ll hear it. Pat suggested I come down and tell you.’

  ‘What are you hunting?’

  ‘Well . . .’ He scratched an ear and looked over the waterhole. ‘Wild dogs.’ He roughly caressed the kelpie’s head. ‘I hear you made your escape from the big city.’

  ‘Oh?’ Pat must have told him the violent-husband story.

  ‘Pat told me to keep it quiet that you’re here. No problem. My lips are sealed.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Michael squatted and cupped creek water into his mouth. He had an earnest, steady quality that made Anna inclined to trust him. He wiped his mouth and glanced over at Charlie. There was something particularly watchful, even tender, about the way he regarded Charlie. Anna wondered if he had kids.

  ‘Did you two leave a dog behind?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Anna. She hoped he wasn’t settling in to ask more questions. ‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked.

  ‘Five years. And I’m not planning to leave, ever.’ He stood and wiped his hand on his jeans. ‘I have almost everything I need right here. I do labouring work on nearby properties. There’s food here, power, heating. All here.’

  He pointed to a green heart-shaped leaf growing on the bank. ‘You can eat that, you know. And that. There’s food all around us. And medicine. I even feed her feral cats.’

  Charlie said, ‘I want a dog. I want Ralph.’

  Michael nodded slowly. ‘Mmm. You can’t have Ralph, though.’

  ‘I know,’ Charlie said in an irritated voice.

  ‘You can play with her, though. Come over and visit me one day. But it’s time for us to go now. Ralph! Come on.’

  As they watched him climb back up to the path, Charlie said, ‘What’s feral cats?’

  ‘They’re wild cats. That maybe used to liv
e with people but took off into the bush.’

  ‘Oh.’ Charlie took the sandwich that Anna passed her. ‘Are you my boss?’

  ‘Well, I’ve made some decisions about what I think is best for you . . .’ But I’m refusing to give you what you want: your mother.

  ‘So, are you my boss?’ Charlie lifted the top slice of bread to look at the cheese.

  ‘Yes. For the moment I am, yes.’

  Charlie took a bite then dropped the rest of the sandwich onto the rock.

  Chapter Eighteen

  On the lawn in front of Pat’s house, Anna emptied everything out of her car: stinking, urine-soaked shorts, the towel and blanket, her bag of maps, insect repellent, tissues, torch, mobile-phone charger, notepad and three pens. Each of them a relic from a distant life.

  On the verandah, Sabine tied an apron around Charlie’s waist while the girl ate a guava and spat the seeds onto the grass. Beside them was Anna’s red first-aid kit, which her dad had given her last Christmas. Anna had a moment’s thought that her dad might try to track her down, that he’d set off in his Commodore to all the places he could imagine she’d go.

  Would he think of Pat’s? It would be so lovely to see her dad right now, except that he’d want her to hand herself in.

  The laundry was behind an overgrown monstera deliciosa, and was built of corrugated iron and heavy-duty clear plastic. The twin-tub washer looked exactly like the one Pat owned seventeen years earlier.

  She dumped the clothes on the rough cement floor, turned the tap on and watched the water rush into the tub. Ordinary, swirling water. Life went on. The washing still had to be done.

  Pat appeared in the doorway with a pillow under each arm.

  ‘I’ve tidied up the bails for you two.’ He smiled. ‘Even given you a fancy bed I made. The only thing I need to find you is a bedside lamp.’

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t need a lamp.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ He waggled his head from side to side and smiled. ‘The overhead fluoro is pretty intense. I guess they needed strong light for milking in the dark.’

  She smelt a whiff of dope on him. He didn’t used to smoke in the daytime.

  ‘No rush on that. Thank you. And here’s your phone. Can you save that photo of the bruise on her bottom for me? Until I need it.’