by Anna Willett
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Belle found Lea in the kitchen making tea. With her back turned and her long dark ponytail swinging, she looked younger. But then Belle didn’t know the girl’s age. In fact, Belle realised she knew nothing about the caregiver who was sharing her house. Nothing except she had a prosthetic foot. It was a strange and somehow deeply personal thing to know about someone who was almost a stranger.
“I’m making some tea.” Lea spoke without turning around. Belle guessed she’d heard the chair approaching. “I thought we could have it on the deck.” She turned away from the cups and opened the fridge. “You know, get some fresh air.”
At the mention of fresh air Belle realised she really did want to get out of the house. “That sounds nice.”
After some manoeuvring and a few false starts, Lea wheeled Belle through the back door and across the deck. The sun was shining, the clear winter sky managing to look flawlessly blue and austere at the same time. Belle took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of damp grass mingled with the sharp odour of chlorine coming off the pool. When Lea went back inside to fetch the cups, Belle wheeled herself closer to the wooden railings so she could stare down on the pool.
The water rippled under a slight breeze. She imagined how shocking it would be to plunge in and felt her heart flutter with excitement. It won’t be long, she told herself. One of the things that kept her going was the thought of swimming again. There’s air in my lungs, enough to make it to the end of the pool. Her mantra, the one she used when swimming to push that little bit longer, to go that bit further; it worked it’s magic and she felt her thoughts even out. She would swim again, even if she couldn’t write she’d still have the water.
“Where do you want it?” Belle turned to see Lea holding two mugs, the steam snaking upwards from the cups and disappearing on the breeze.
“Just here.” Belle tapped the flat-top of the railing. “I like looking at the pool.”
Lea set the cup down and leaned her hip against the balustrade. “Why did you get such a big pool?”
Belle rubbed her temple, feeling the damp crinkled tape that held the patch in place. The dressing would need to be changed, but she’d do it herself, later. After speaking to Guy, she’d taken her pills and the almost out-of-body feeling that came with the first wave of relief hit her.
“I always wanted to be a swimmer. An Olympic swimmer.” She chuckled despite the sudden wave of sadness that threatened to bring tears. “I still like to swim laps.” Belle picked up the mug, relishing the warmth in her hands. “At least I used to before the accident.”
“Why didn’t you?” Lea watched her over the top of her mug, steam making the girl’s eyes appear misty. “I mean, why didn’t you become a swimmer?”
Belle took a sip of tea before answering. It was hot and sweet. She almost told the girl she didn’t take sugar, but decided to bite back the criticism and just enjoy the sunshine. “I was pretty good. Well, there was potential, but...” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, enjoying the sun on her eyelid. “I was too short. Didn’t have the reach to be competitive so I concentrated my efforts on writing.” Now I can’t even do that.
“Did that make up for it?” Lea was staring at the lawn, her elbows on the railing top.
Belle frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Becoming a famous writer, did it make up for not being able to do the thing you loved?”
Belle opened her mouth to answer, but hesitated. Did it? She wasn’t sure she had an answer. Even if she had been tall enough and pursued her dream, she was thirty-nine. Her competitive days would have been long over. Maybe she could have done both, but she doubted it would have been possible to split herself two ways. No, swimming would have been her life.
“I don’t know. Probably not.” She had no idea why she was telling Lea something she’d never even shared with Guy. “I’m not complaining. Writing has given me an amazing lifestyle and,” she drew out the word. “I do love it.”
“But it’s not your first choice?” Lea was looking at her now, not just in a casual way, but really staring as though trying to see inside her.
The intensity in the girl’s stare made Belle uncomfortable so she deflected the question. “What about you? Did you always want to be a carer?”
Lea looked away, her head turned towards the trees. “No. I was a dancer before.”
Belle looked down at Lea’s shoes, taking in the way she leaned to the left. Belle knew the pain of being forced to let go of your dreams, but nothing she’d been through compared to what Lea must have experienced. Not letting go, but having it torn away. Suddenly the girl’s curt manner and closed off countenance made more sense.
“I’m sorry.” Belle watched the back of Lea’s head, not knowing if she was upsetting her. “How did it… How did you lose–”
“There’s a man hiding in the trees.” Lea’s voice was calm, unhurried. For a moment Belle wasn’t sure she’d heard her correctly. “He’s watching us.”
The last part hit home and Belle leaned forward too suddenly, knocking the mug off the railing. “Jesus. Are you sure?” Ignoring the mug, she tried to see around the girl and follow her gaze. “Where is he?” Belle’s hand crept up to her throat, her fingers circling her neck.
She caught a glimpse of someone on the far right of the lawn. What looked like a shoulder edged out from behind a gum tree. Under her fingers she could feel the blood pulsing in her neck.
“Stay here.” Lea pushed off the railing. “I’m going to see what he’s up to.”
“No.” Belle’s voice was like the crack of a whip, bouncing off the pool and filling the garden. “You’re not confronting some creep hiding in the bushes.” Belle’s eyes danced between Lea’s face and the trees. The shoulder disappeared.
“I’ll be okay.” A wisp of steamy breath escaped Lea’s mouth. She turned to go, but Belle grabbed her wrist.
“No. It’s dangerous.” Lea’s face changed when Belle touched her, the colour in her cheeks leaching away, suggesting shock was setting in. “Let’s go inside.”
Lea shook off Belle’s hand. For a second she thought the girl would bolt for the stairs, but she nodded. The chair bumped over the doorstep, entering with more ease than when they’d exited.
“Lock the door.” Belle wasn’t sure why she was whispering. “I’ll check the patio doors.” She pushed through the kitchen, not waiting for Lea to answer.
Belle’s fingers were quivering as she tried the lock. Her mind spun trying to remember if there was any other entry point. He could smash his way in. The windows were locked, but if he really intended to enter all he had to do was smash a window.
Belle was gnawing at her nails, this time migrating from the thumb to the index finger. The logical thing to do would be to phone the police. A sharp crack split the air making her jump in the chair and jolt her knee. Her head whipped around, tracking the noise. Lea appeared in the dining room, her mouth slightly open as though about to ask a question.
The sound came again and this time Belle’s mind worked past shock and panic and recognised it as a knock on the door. A firm no-nonsense knock that demanded immediate attention.
“Shit.” Belle looked up into Lea’s face. To her surprise, the girl looked composed. “Now what?”
Lea put a finger to her lips and turned back to the kitchen. “Where are you going?” Belle leaned forward in her chair, her voice a whisper. “Lea?”
There was a third knock, this one loud enough to shake the heavy door on its hinges. Belle reached for her phone and remembered she had left it on the bedside table after talking to Guy.
Lea returned with one hand held behind her back. Belle opened her mouth to speak, but the caregiver held up her hand and walked towards the door.
“Are you crazy?” Belle’s voice was louder than she intended, but her heart was pounding so violently it was hard to hear herself.
Lea headed into the sitting room. As she approached the front door, Belle could see what she had
behind her back. A large can was gripped in her fist. Belle’s fleeting reaction was to wonder why the girl chose pineapples. But as the reality of the situation hit home, she let out a cry of alarm and wheeled forward.
“Don’t go near the door.” Belle’s voice was louder now, high and tight with panic. “Lea, don’t.”
But there was no stopping the carer. Her hand was on the door, turning the knob. Belle thought of heading for the bedroom, grabbing her phone and calling the police, but she couldn’t leave Lea alone to face whoever was on the other side of the door. Instead, Belle rolled to a stop halfway into the sitting room and tried to keep her laboured breathing under control.
The door opened inward. Lea stepped to the right, filling the crack so all Belle could see was her back. For a single beat, there was silence.
Chapter Eight
“Where’s Belle?” She recognised the croaky voice immediately: Arthur. And, judging by the slushiness of his words, he was drunk.
“She doesn’t want to see you.” Lea’s hand gripping the can moved down almost to her side. “We know you were watching us. Get lost or I’ll call the cops.” There was steel in the girl’s voice, a hard threatening edge than sent a tremor down Belle’s spine.
“You’d better get out of my way.” Arthur was shouting now, with all the indignation of an angry drunk. “She needs to know what y–”
Lea struck with unexpected suddenness. Arthur was shouting and then there was a thud like the sound a mallet makes hitting a piece of beef. The girl stumbled back and Arthur slumped into the room. A gash hanging open on his forehead.
Belle rammed her fist into her mouth and muffled a scream. His eyes found her and his mouth moved as a line of blood ran into his left eye. Arthur’s legs bent, but he managed another step before crumpling to the floor.
Belle was crying now, her shoulders shaking with each sob. “Is he… Did you kill him?” The question seemed absurd, something she couldn’t imagine herself having to ask.
Lea set the can on the table near the door. It sat beside a carved bowl that Belle and Guy tossed their keys and loose change into. The girl stood over Arthur, knees slightly bent, head turned in a listening posture.
“No. He’s breathing.” Her voice was flat, without any trace of fear. “Go in the kitchen and get the extension cord from the back of the fridge. We need to tie him up.”
Belle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “No. No, I’m calling the police.” The tears had stopped, but her voice still shook. “And an ambulance.”
Lea turned from Arthur, her eyes wide with shock or anger, Belle couldn’t tell which. “Okay, but it’ll take a while for them to get out here. What if he gets up? You heard him. He wanted to get to you.” She nudged his leg with her foot.
“Don’t.” Belle snapped out the word. “Don’t touch him.”
Lea pointed to Arthur’s head. His eyes were closed. “Do you want him coming after you?”
Belle was biting her nails again, wrestling with the idea of tying up an injured man. He’d seemed terrifying when he was shouting for her at the door, but now he looked frail and pathetic.
“Go before he wakes up.” Lea stepped behind Belle’s chair and turned her around, shoving her towards the kitchen. “I’ll watch him.”
When Belle returned with the cord, she meant to ask how the girl knew there was an extension cord at the back of the fridge, but the question slipped her mind when she saw Lea crouched beside Arthur. “Look.” She turned and held up a knife. “I found this in his jacket.” As the girl’s wrist moved, a shaft of light bounced off the long blade. “It’s a good thing I stopped him before he had the chance to use it.”
“Oh, God.” Belle grimaced and watched as Lea set the knife down on the rug. She’d always thought there was something strange about the man. Always felt uneasy around him, but never for a moment did she think he was capable of… She pulled her gaze away from the knife. She had no idea what Arthur meant to do with the weapon and, thanks to Lea’s quick actions, she would never find out.
Lea was binding the man’s hands. He was still out or at least he seemed to be. His arms were limp and heavy looking in Lea’s grasp. She tied them in front of him then she sat back on the rug.
“We’ll need something for his legs too. Tying his hands is no good if he can get up and run at us.” Lea looked around the room. “That will do.” She stood, the manoeuvre slightly off balance. Despite the terror of the situation, Belle couldn’t help marvelling at how well the girl managed on her prosthetic.
Lea pulled the extension cord out from behind the television and unplugged it. Belle turned back to Arthur and noticed something sticking out of his mouth. She moved in closer then pulled back in surprise.
“Why’d you put your scarf in his mouth?”
Lea was on the move again, bending over Arthur then sitting on the floor next to his feet. “It’s better if he can’t speak.” She had her back to Belle, wrapping the man’s ankles with the black extension cord.
Belle lifted her glasses and wiped the bridge of her nose. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach, like things were spiralling out of control. They should be calling the police, not hog-tying the man.
“But he might choke. He might need to–”
“For fuck sake.” The anger in Lea’s words took her by surprise. “I don’t want him yelling and making threats. Do you?”
When she answered, Belle tried to keep her tone even. “This has gone far enough. I’m calling the police.”
“I’ll do it.” Lea scrambled to her feet. “I left my phone upstairs, where’s yours?” She held her hand out, waiting for Belle to hand over her phone.
“I left it in the bedroom. I’ll go and make the call.” Belle pulled back and started turning the chair.
“No.” Lea grabbed the handles and pulled her back. “You watch him. It’ll be quicker if I go.” Before Belle could argue, Lea was out of the room.
The wound on Arthur’s head was seeping, the stream of blood had slowed to an ooze that pooled on the rug, forming a dark halo around the man’s skull. Belle watched Arthur’s unmoving form. He’d come to the house with a purpose, it was clear in his voice when he demanded to see her. And the knife proved his intent. Yet slumped on the floor, head bleeding, he looked older, less like a threat and more like someone who needed help.
Belle moved, turning the chair around, then headed into the kitchen and returned with a clean tea towel. When she returned to the sitting area, she slowed her progress and approached Arthur with caution. He was tied up, but he was still capable of lashing out.
She pulled up near his head. Keeping the chair’s wheels out of the blood meant she had to lean low and stretch to place the folded wad of fabric on his wound. When the compress touched his head, Arthur groaned and his eyelids fluttered.
She wanted to say something, tell him she was trying to help him, but he’d come to the house with a knife. He’d been worked up about seeing her. Maybe her voice would only provoke more violence. Instead, Belle held the tea towel to his injured head, hoping applying pressure was the correct course of action.
“What are you doing?” Lea spoke from over Belle’s shoulder. For someone with a prosthetic foot, the girl managed to move with stealth.
“I’m trying to stem the bleeding. You’d know more about this sort of thing than me. Is that what I should be doing? I know that’s what you’re supposed to do with cuts and things, but on the head...” Belle glanced over her shoulder. “Is pressure the right thing?” She was babbling, waiting for Lea to jump in and take over the first aid.
“Mm. Yes, pressure’s good. But you shouldn’t be touching him. He’s dangerous.”
The bleeding seemed to be slowing. Belle left the wad of towelling on Arthur’s head and sat back. “What did the police say?” She had to turn the chair to look at the girl.
Lea took a long breath and scratched her neck. “The operator said there’s a big bushfire just outside of Mandurah so it could be some time
before they’re able to get an ambulance here.”
Lea was moving again, this time towards the kitchen. Belle wanted to follow her and ask for details, but didn’t want to leave Arthur alone. Her concern for the man was mostly based on fear. Fear he’d die, but also a stronger more urgent dread that churned in her gut. Belle didn’t want to take her eye off the man in case he tore off his bindings and crept up behind her.
“Lea, wait,” she called after the carer but got no response. Arthur’s legs moved like he was asleep and changing positions.
Belle pulled back and positioned herself at his feet, leaving a metre between the chair’s wheels and the unconscious man. The tingle of relief she’d felt after taking her tablets had abated, leaving her nerves raw and her leg aching. It was less than twenty-four hours since her husband left and in that time the world had shifted into a surreal drama that seemed to have no end time.
Lea returned from the kitchen carrying more drinks. Belle wondered if the caregiver knew how to do anything but make endless cups of tea. Belle’s mind flashed back to the moment Lea struck Arthur with the can. She knows how to hurt. The thought set off a rash of gooseflesh on her forearms.
“I’ve made coffee.” Lea set the cups down on the coffee table. “I think we both need it.”
Belle wheeled around the couch. She was wrong about the tea. It seemed Lea’s skills also stretched to coffee. She watched the carer lean back into the couch eager to sip from her cup. She looked calm, oblivious to the man tied up on the floor that might or might not be dying.
“How long did the operator say it would take before someone gets here?” Belle’s hand crept to her mouth, teeth and fingernails drawn together by anxiety. She forced her hand back into her lap.
Lea shrugged still holding the cup. “An hour and a half, maybe longer.”
There was a detached look on the girl’s face that reminded Belle of the way doctors looked when they gave you bad news. She had the urge to hit the cup out of Lea’s hand, but reminded herself that the carer had most likely saved both of them from being attacked.
