The Protected

by Claire Zorn

  ‘I think my mum would be too depressed to go on dates. And Dad’s pretty much a cripple now …’

  ‘So he’d need to go out with someone who could like, carry him? That’s awkward on a first date.’

  ‘Yeah. True.’

  ‘I don’t get it, Jane.’

  ‘Don’t get what?’

  ‘I don’t understand why you used to cop it. You seem all right to me.’

  ‘No one else thinks that. I’m too serious. I take things too seriously and I’ve got a stick up my butt.’

  He cracks up.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to make light of your problems.’ He bites his lip, watches me. ‘You’re serious, sure. But that’s a good thing. You take people seriously, Hannah. You listen.’ He pushes his hands through his hair and leans back against the wall. ‘Do you know how rare that is? Most people just wait till the other person finishes so they can talk about themselves again. It shits me. They don’t listen. But you …’ He looks away. ‘You act like the way I feel is important. You make me feel valid.’

  ‘Okay. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He clears his throat and takes a pen from his pocket. ‘Moving on toward Henry. Four letters.’

  ‘Ford.’

  ‘You see, this is why I hang out with you, Jane.’

  Anne hands me a mug of jasmine tea.

  ‘I’d give you something stronger, but I’d lose my job,’ she says. She sits opposite me and takes up her notepad. ‘Remember what I said, no talk about the weather, although it is appallingly hot.’

  ‘Yeah, it is.’

  ‘I heard a rumour, and this is crazy, that you might have a friend here. An actual friend. That true or am I being gullible and optimistic?’

  ‘It might be true. I guess.’

  ‘A male friend.’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘Do you want him to be?’

  Katie chips in, Don’t ask her about guys, she’ll freak out.

  ‘Um, I don’t really see why I have to talk about that.’

  She smiles. ‘Wait. Have I found something you’re even less keen to talk about than the car accident? Is that possible?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Great, well, let’s talk about the car accident, since you’re so keen. There’s going to be a hearing soon. Yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And as a witness, the police want to question you at the trial.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Under oath. But you need a psych assessment first.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You haven’t given them any information.’

  I look at her and she does the same old thing and looks right back at me, unflinching.

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Sometimes when faced with really traumatic stuff, our minds sort of shut down to protect themselves. You’ve heard that before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think maybe that’s what’s happening for you.’

  ‘I hit my head.’

  Anne shrugs. ‘Sure. But with most concussions, when the person hasn’t been knocked unconscious, the missing pieces fall back into place after a time. That hasn’t happened for you, has it?’

  I don’t answer her.

  ‘You know, when you’re ready, you might start to remember things, Hannah. I want you to be prepared for that.’

  How do you get ready for that?

  ‘Hey, Jane.’

  The last bell of the day has rung and students spill out of classrooms and head towards the bus bay. A mass exodus. Josh stands in front of me, blocking the flow of people and forcing everyone to go around us.

  ‘How are you?’ he asks.

  ‘Um, good. But I need to get the bus.’

  ‘No, see, you should come to the skate park. There’s a bunch of us going. Take a load off, see me attempt a kickflip three-sixty, it’ll change your life.’

  ‘Change my life?’

  ‘Yeah, the sheer beauty of it will change your perceptions of the world, Jane. You will never see a skateboarder more average than myself.’

  ‘I’m supposed to come and watch you skate?’

  ‘Yeah. Bring me refreshments and stuff.’

  ‘How liberating.’

  ‘Very. There’ll be other girls there, you can talk about how cute I am. Seriously, come hang out. Talk to some other humans. You might like it. I know you’ve got your whole solitary-confinement thing going on, but you might actually not have a crap time.’

  Soon my bus will arrive and open its doors, ready to take me off into another afternoon of predictability. Safe predictability.

  ‘Janie, come on, offer is closing.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘But I’m not bringing you drinks.’

  ‘We’ll see. To the car park, Jane. Sambo awaits.’

  ‘Sambo?’

  ‘Sam Wilks. You know him? No, you don’t know him. Year twelve. Lives next door to me. Has a ride, which means I have a ride, which means you have a ride. One of the many benefits of being mates with me, ’cause you seem to need reminding. You’re getting that Captain Square look in your eyes. It’s not a stolen car, Jane. We’re not “joy-riding”. It’s Sambo’s mum’s station wagon. A Volvo for frig’s sake. C’mon, move those feet, sister.’

  When we get to the car park I see that Sam Wilks is leaning on the driver’s door of what is indeed a Volvo station wagon. His uniform is even less … uniform than Josh’s. He has a shaved head and about six holes in each ear, which he is methodically filling with earrings fished from his shirt pocket.

  ‘Bit tardy there, Joshie,’ he says. ‘Gotta boost this joint. Workin’ tonight.’ He looks up, squints a little in my direction. ‘Hannah, yeah? Sam. Get in. And you,’ he points at Josh, ‘no eating in the car. You get crumbs on the seats and my mum will kill me. I don’t need that crap, man.’

  Josh gives him a salute.

  ‘And youse are gonna have to squish up in the back, yeah? Got Mark and Ollie comin’ too. If they hurry the frig up.’

  Mark and Ollie do turn up right as Sam is starting the car. They are ex-Reacher Street, like Josh. One of them (I don’t know which) is drinking a carton of iced coffee, which Sam makes him finish before getting in the car. Perhaps sensing my reluctance to be squished between two guys, Josh offers to take the middle seat. I slide in next to him and our shoulders touch. When we leave the car park Sam drives at a pace that would put most nannas to shame.

  I send Mum a text: Be home later, going to skate park. If she bothers to read it she will probably think it’s Katie’s ghost texting her.

  It’s probably not much of a surprise to hear that I haven’t spent a whole lot of time hanging around the skate park (or loitering as the case may be). I discovered upon exiting Sam’s car that it is not the debauched drug den the local paper predicted it would be when it was opened. On this particular afternoon, though, it does seem to be a popular hangout for teenagers whose fake IDs were outed by the Bowlo long ago. Josh seems to know most of them. He must notice my face when I spot a group featuring a few Clones because he says in my ear, ‘Don’t worry, Jane, those punks give you grief and I’ll give ’em a kickflip to the head. Just give me time to practise first.’

  There’s two more ex-Reacher Street girls who came to St Joseph’s at the same time as Josh. They sit on the concrete in the shade and give Josh a wave. He goes over to them and I follow, trying not to feel like the lost puppy that used to follow Charlotte around.

  ‘Ladies,’ he says by way of a greeting. Maddie, whom I recognise from my English class, rolls her eyes in a way that is more friendly than anything else.

  ‘Afternoon, Joshua.’

  Maddie has wild curly hair like Katie’s was and I notice her blue school skirt has been hemm
ed with bright red thread.

  ‘You bring food?’ the other asks. She’s Asian and very beautiful, straight black hair to her waist.

  ‘Yes, Lola. You’re lucky I haven’t eaten it. You know what Sambo’s like with his car.’

  ‘Oh she knows,’ says Maddie.

  Lola gives her a death look. ‘One more word, Maddie and I will hurt you.’

  Maddie holds up her palms in surrender. Lola looks at me and smiles.

  ‘Hannah, yeah? I’m Lola. Way to go with the introductions, Josh.’

  He’s not listening, too busy watching Sam attempt a jump which looks like it could end in death.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi. Sit.’ They both shuffle over to make room in the shade.

  ‘So Josh has dragged you along to watch,’ Maddie says.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Always desperate for an audience.’

  ‘Poor guy,’ says Lola.

  Josh turns. ‘At least wait till I’m out of earshot.’

  I sit next to Maddie and Lola and neither seems to mind that I am mostly silent. Josh, as it turns out, is more gifted with a skateboard than I’d expected and while he’s skating Maddie raids his bag and finds a packet of corn chips.

  ‘So what’s the go with you and Josh?’ she asks, offering me a chip.

  ‘Like it’s your business!’ says Lola. She turns to me. ‘Maddie and Josh were, like, married for two years. Now she acts like she’s his mother.’

  ‘I do not! I’m just asking.’

  ‘We’re not together or anything,’ I say carefully. Maddie smiles and shakes her head, her hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Lola’s talking about ages ago. There’s no problem, I’m just curious.’

  ‘Like I said,’ says Lola, ‘she thinks she’s his mother.’

  ‘Would you shut up? I’m trying to have a civilised conversation here.’

  ‘You’re interrogating the poor girl. Ignore her, Hannah.’

  ‘Should we talk about Sam Wilks then, Lola?’

  ‘Arghh, shut up!’

  ‘Look, Hannah, I’m not interrogating you. It’s just, I’ve known Josh a long time. Promise me you won’t break his heart?’

  I can’t imagine having the capability of breaking anyone’s heart.

  ‘Oh God, you look scared. I’m not saying anything! Relax!’

  ‘I told you not to threaten her,’ says Lola.

  ‘I’m not! I didn’t!’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I understand. There’s really nothing going on, he’s just … we’re friends.’

  ‘I know. Sorry.’

  ‘Like I said, you think you’re his mum,’ says Lola, offering me a Malteser which is also from Josh’s bag.

  ‘Do not.’

  ‘Do too. You need therapy.’

  ‘Most people need therapy,’ I say, and this seems to go down quite well.

  Sam Wilks pulls the station wagon up in front of my house. I get out and Josh follows me. He hands me my bag, walks around and leans on the back of the car, maybe in an attempt to get out of earshot. He folds his arms and looks at me, right at me.

  ‘I like you, Hannah.’

  His eyes really are very green.

  ‘I know you think you’re the most screwed-up person in the world, maybe you are, but I want you to know that I like you and that everyone is screwed up to some degree. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I don’t expect anything from you. I just want you to know that.’

  ‘Okay.’ My voice is barely a whisper.

  ‘I’ll see you later, yeah?’

  ‘Okay.’

  He grins. ‘You’ve gotta stop being such a flirt. It’s killing me.’

  Mum comes out of her bedroom as I step through the front door. I wonder if maybe she is going to ask who my friends are, who gave me a lift home. She doesn’t.

  Later I am in my room when the doorbell rings. I go out to answer it, but my mother is already there. Mrs Van stands on our doorstep. I watch from behind my mother. She doesn’t know I am there.

  ‘We don’t need more cake, Mrs Van,’ she says.

  ‘I am not bringing you cake. Here.’ She leans down and picks something up. A plant in a plastic pot. ‘It is an orchid.’

  My mother doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Take it. Plant it. It will be good for you. It will be purple when it flowers. Katie told me she liked my orchids.’

  That would have been a Christmas-cash ploy.

  ‘Take it.’

  My mother rubs her forehead and sighs.

  ‘Why don’t you want it? Tell me.’

  ‘You’re always bringing me things. I don’t need things.’

  ‘You need this plant. You need to plant it.’

  ‘What? Am I supposed to remember her with a plant? Is that the idea? I’m supposed to be content with the fact that I have lost my daughter, now that I have this stupid plant? Why do you think something like this is a substitute for my daughter?’

  ‘You didn’t lose her,’ Mrs Van says. ‘It isn’t your fault. Do you think I am an idiot? This plant is not supposed to be a substitute. No! You plant it outside, in your garden––’

  ‘It’s Andrew’s garden.’

  ‘You plant it in your garden. You go outside every day into the sunshine and you water it, you pull out the weeds. If you can’t do anything else, this is okay. All you do every day is water your plant. If you can do that for two weeks I will bring you another. Take it, go on.’

  ‘I don’t think I want it.’

  Mrs Van sets the pot down on the doorstep. ‘You should talk to me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You must talk to somebody. I am right here.’

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘I did not hear you.’

  ‘GO AWAY!’

  ‘Aha! That is it. You want to shout and yell? You shout and yell at me. I am a tough, old woman, I can take it. You can’t keep it all inside here,’ she points to her chest. ‘It will dry you up and you will be no use to anybody.’

  Mum says nothing. Mrs Van stares up at her, squinting through her glasses. She picks up the plant and hands it to my mother.

  ‘Water it. It will flower next winter.’

  It takes me a moment to realise Mum is crying.

  Twenty

  DVDs on Katie’s bookshelf:

  *Breaking Bad box set

  *Six Feet Under box set

  *Friends box set

  *Breakfast at Tiffany’s

  *Rear Window

  *Carrie (original version)

  *Pulp Fiction

  *Project Runway (seasons three to five)

  *The September Issue

  *Trainspotting

  *Psycho (original version)

  *The Birds

  *Sex in the City box set

  Wednesday. There is heat in the day before there’s even shadows on the ground. A creamy brown clug of smoke haze hangs in the air. My bus pulls into the bus bay and most people are silent, feet heavy, knowing the revolting day that’s in store: airless classrooms, useless ceiling fans, morning assembly in a sun which could ignite us.

  I have been awake most of the night. Not for the usual reasons. And there is a twist in my stomach that’s different to all the other ones that have been there before. I realise I might actually be looking forward to the day.

  I leave the bus, begin the walk up the hill to the quadrangle. Scuffs of other students straggle up the paved path. A small cluster sits amongst a clump of grevilleas, they are my grade. Some of them were at the skate park yesterday, Josh’s friends, or the people he’s friends with when he’s not doing the crossword at the ag plot. Maddie and Lola are there. So are Charlotte and Tara.

  ‘Hey, Hannah!’ one of the guys calls out.<
br />
  I turn.

  ‘It’s Hannah, isn’t it?’ He has short dreadlocks, fierce eyes.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What you up to with our Joshy, aye?’ Charlotte nudges him, shakes her head. He shrugs her away. ‘He sez you guys are gettin’ to know each other very well.’

  I swallow. There is breath, there is breath somewhere inside me, but I can’t get at it.

  ‘Sez you’re a very talented young lady.’

  ‘Nick, shut up,’ Maddie says. The boy laughs.

  ‘I’m just trying to make friends!’

  ‘You’re a dick.’

  ‘Yeah, but what a dick.’

  I am walking. I am walking away, but it feels as though I’m not moving at all. There are footsteps behind me, someone touches my shoulder. It’s Maddie.

  ‘Are you okay? Ignore Nick, he’s an arsehole. You okay?’

  I nod. I don’t know what to do with this. I do not know what to do with it.

  Josh follows me out of roll call. ‘Fishing trip today, Jane Eyre? I’m thinking third period, Maths.’

  ‘Can’t.’ I walk faster.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘Janie—’

  I stop. ‘Leave me alone.’

  People hear, they pause, look, then keep walking.

  ‘What?’ The confusion in his eyes almost makes me change my mind.

  ‘Just leave me alone.’

  ‘Jane, what’s up? Is this about yesterday? Um, can I say I was drunk and to forget what I said? Will that help?’

  ‘My name is Hannah. But you know that, don’t you? Told your mates. Told them all sorts of stuff. What else are you going to say about me?’

  He grabs my hand. I try to pull away but he pulls back, steers me into an empty classroom.

  ‘Let go of me!’

  ‘Hannah, what the fuck?’

  ‘What else are you going to say about me, Josh?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’