Maeve turned her key in the lock. She hadn’t been back to the house since the day after the funeral two weeks earlier. Andy came down the stairs in rumpled clothes, wiping the sleep away from his eyes. He gave Maeve a quick hug and then stepped back and looked at her. ‘I reckon you’ve grown, even in just a couple of weeks!’
‘No I haven’t,’ replied Maeve, smiling. It was so good to hear Andy’s dorky voice again. ‘Can I tiptoe up and see Ned? I won’t wake him.’
‘That’s okay. You can wake him up. I’ll never get him to sleep tonight if he doesn’t get up soon. You go get him and I’ll put the kettle on for a cuppa.’
Ned was asleep on the double bed, his arms flung wide. Maeve stood watching him for a moment and then she smoothed his silky brown hair away from his forehead. He opened his eyes and stared at her, heavy-lidded. But when the light of recognition dawned on his face, he pulled away and rolled over to the other side of the bed.
‘Ned, it’s me, Maeve,’ she said, attempting to draw him towards her. She tried to kiss his palms, but he kept his fists shut tight and scrunched his face up, as if he were going to cry.
‘Ned?’ she said, bewildered. ‘What’s wrong?’
Ned narrowed his eyes and made a low, growly noise in the back of his throat. When she tried to kiss his cheek, he reached up and scratched her hard across the face. ‘No!’ he cried out, at the top of his voice. Maeve touched the skin on her forehead where it was stinging.
‘Bad, Ned,’ she said, her lip trembling.
‘Go way,’ he replied crossly. Turning his back on her, he pulled the sheet up over his head and sat on the far side of the double bed.
Maeve flung herself on the mattress, burying her face in the bedclothes, and burst into tears.
‘Ned,’ she said, his name coming out as a broken sob. ‘Ned.’
Maeve heard Andy calling from downstairs but still she wept. Then she felt Ned clamber towards her until his face was so close to hers she could feel his warm breath against her skin. Very gently, he touched her tears with his fingertips. Maeve opened her eyes and saw that tears were trickling down his cheeks as well.
‘I miss you, Ned,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to go away.’
‘No go way, May,’ said Ned, suddenly wrapping his arms tight around her neck and squeezing until she could hardly breathe.
She held him tight, inhaling the sweet smell of him.
By the time she carried Ned down to the kitchen he was laughing and trying to lick her face. She used to hate it when he pulled that cheeky trick but now it only made her giggle.
‘He missed you,’ said Andy.
‘I missed him too,’ said Maeve. ‘I want to come home, Andy.’
Andy took a step back, his cheeks suffusing with colour. ‘It’s not up to me, kiddo. I’m not your legal guardian. It’s up to your grandparents.’
‘Well, you have to tell them that you want me to be with Ned. That Ned needs me.’ She framed the sentences carefully so he wouldn’t have to say he didn’t want her.
‘Look, Maeve, your grandparents . . . They have bags of dosh. I don’t. And I don’t have any legal rights over you.’
‘But that singer, Bob Geldof, he got custody of his ex-wife’s daughter.’
‘I’m not exactly a rock star, Maeve. I can barely keep body and soul together as it is. I can’t afford to take your grandparents to court. By the way, do they know you’re here?’
Maeve settled Ned in his highchair and hung her head, avoiding Andy’s gaze.
‘Don’t they know you’re here?’ he repeated, louder. He ran both hands through his hair. ‘Jesus, kiddo. You’re just making things harder for all of us.’
Suddenly, Maeve realised how exhausted he looked. She glanced around the kitchen. The sink was full of dishes, the compost bucket was full to overflowing and a crowd of small insects buzzed around a bowl of rotting grapes.
‘I can help. If I come home, then I can help with things and clean and do stuff and be with Ned. I don’t need looking after.’
‘Maeve! Things are bad enough without you stirring up trouble. You can’t waltz in here without your grandparents’ permission. I just want to keep the peace with them, okay.’
‘You shouldn’t be scared of them, you’re a grown-up.’
‘For Christ’s sake! It’s got nothing to do with being scared. They’ll think I put you up to this and then there’ll be hell to pay. I’m gonna call them, right now.’
‘No, Andy, don’t!’ But he was already in the hall, dialling. Ned stopped trying to climb out of his highchair and stared at Maeve, his face crumpled with alarm. He looked at Andy and then back to Maeve before letting out a piercing scream that made the windows rattle. Maeve covered her ears and ran down the hallway, into the hot sunshine.
12
Runestones
It was a relief to be in the street. When she’d run two blocks and was standing in the cover of a café entrance, she pulled out her mobile. There were three missed calls from her grandmother’s phone. She was glad Por Por didn’t know how to send a proper message. She deleted the calls and dialled Bianca.
‘Hey, Bunka,’ said Maeve, her voice shaky. ‘It’s me. Where are you?’
‘Oh, hey Maeve, I’m . . . kind of busy. Can I call you back?’
‘I need to see you, like now.’
‘Ummm, do you want to come to the footy?’
‘What? I can’t hear you. What’s all the shouting?’
‘I’m in Randwick. Josh and Omar are playing footy. Omar says he’s going to take me out for coffee after the game.’
‘Bianca, I need to talk to you this afternoon.’
‘I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up.’
Suddenly the line went dead. Maeve knew Bianca had hung up. Quickly, she texted Steph: B @ home. Everything sux. Coming over. M.
An unexpected shower of rain washed Darling Street clean and left the air sticky with humidity. Maeve turned into Steph’s street with relief. Going to the Maguires’ house was almost like going home. She could always count on Steph. When Julie hugged her as soon as she opened the door, Maeve wanted to hold on, to keep her face pressed against Julie’s shoulder. She wasn’t her mum but she was somebody’s mum and it made Maeve miss Sue even more.
Inside, the kitchen smelt sweet and safe and familiar. There was a big pile of choc-chip cookies on the kitchen bench and Steph was munching on one while she turned the pages of an oversized book.
‘You’re just in time,’ she said. Beside her plate of cookies lay a purple velvet bag and when Maeve sat down beside her, Steph picked it up and shook it gently.
‘Runes,’ she said, putting on her mysterious, wise-woman expression. ‘Bianca’s mum gave them to me as a special present. A sort-of “becoming a woman” present.’
Maeve laughed. It felt so good to be acting as if nothing had happened. To be talking to Steph as if it was just any ordinary sort of day. She had thought that the minute she saw Steph she’d want to pour her heart out, but to be able to pretend that nothing had changed was even better. ‘Bianca would have loved that,’ she teased.
‘You know what Serena’s like – a bit of a hippy but a really nice hippy. She gave Bianca heaps of presents when she got her first period but Bunka thought it was embarrassing. I wasn’t embarrassed. I think it’s cool. Serena says I can use the runes to help solve problems. You can sort of get answers to questions with them.’
‘I so have a heap of questions I need answers to.’ Maeve reached out to stroke the purple velvet but Steph pulled the bag away. ‘No, only the owner of the runes can use them. I had to do all these rituals to make them soak up my energy. But I can do a divination for you, if you like.’
Maeve ate another chocolate cookie. Her mobile phone was vibrating in her bag but she ignored it and took a second cookie in her other hand so she could take bites from both.
‘You have to ask a question in the right way,’ said Steph. Then you get the right sort of answer.’
M
aeve licked the chocolate off her fingers slowly. There were so many questions. Should she fight to stay with Andy? Should she make peace with her grandparents? Why had her mother died so young? Where was her real father? Her eyes started to fill with tears.
‘Let’s go up to my room,’ said Steph. ‘We have to have the right setting.’
Steph’s bedroom wasn’t much bigger than a cupboard and they reached it by climbing up a long stepladder. The room was built into the roof of the house and the walls sloped in crazy directions. Steph threw two cushions on the floor beside her bed and then made Maeve sit down.
‘Okay. Shoot. What’s up?’
Maeve gave a crooked half-smile and then told Steph about the events of the morning. When Maeve reached the part where Ned scratched her face, Steph let out a little groan and reached for Maeve’s hand.
‘So I don’t know what to do,’ said Maeve.
‘That’s big,’ said Steph. ‘That is so big, Maeve.’ For a long moment they sat in silence, staring at the purple velvet bag. ‘We could ask the runes,’ said Steph.
Maeve laughed grimly. ‘It wasn’t exactly the sort of advice I was looking for.’
‘You could ask something like, I wish the rune to comment on the issue of where I should live.’ Steph picked up the bag, shook it gently and held it in her hands with her eyes closed, as if for a moment she were praying. Then she opened the bag and offered it to Maeve. ‘Okay, choose a rune.’
Maeve shut her eyes. The stones clinked together softly as she rummaged among them.
‘Take one,’ said Steph.
Maeve held the small stone in her hand and stared at it. It had two lines in the simple shape of a sideways ‘V’. Steph leaned forward and looked at it, then she reached for her book.
‘I think that one’s called ken or kenaz. Yeah, here it is, it’s the sixth rune. It means knowledge. It’s meant to be the symbol of a flaming torch.’
‘It doesn’t look much like a flame. It just looks like a squiggle,’ said Maeve, feeling a little disappointed.
Steph scanned the page. ‘It says that it’s about enlightenment. That you’ve got to find enlightenment.’
‘I know that,’ said Maeve. ‘I want to know what the answer is, though.’
‘Well, I guess it means you have to look inside yourself. Sort of seek wisdom inside or something like that.’
Maeve groaned. ‘That’s a crap answer.’
Steph wriggled uncomfortably on her cushion. ‘Maybe it would have been better if you’d got this one.’ She peered into the purple bag and rustled around until she found the rune she wanted. ‘It’s called rad. It’s like the symbol of the cartwheel – sort of about how everything turns and passes. You know, that you get over things.’
‘What, you mean like my mother dying? You think I’ll get over that?’
Steph blushed. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘It’s easy for you to think, though. Your life goes on. You’re in the same house with your mum and your dad and your brothers. But my life doesn’t go on. My life is shit,’ Maeve said.
‘Maeve, I loved your mum too. If there’s anything I could do to change things, I would.’
Maeve stood up and kicked the cushion into a corner. She sat down on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands. For a long while, neither of them spoke. Stephanie kept glancing at her watch and frowning.
‘Look, Maeve, I’d love to stay here with you and help but I have to go,’ she mumbled.
‘What?’
‘I have to go to work. I’m babysitting the Atwell kids this afternoon.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Maeve, desperate not to be alone.
‘You can’t. They’re pretty uptight about strangers. Anyway, the kids are brats, you wouldn’t enjoy it.’
‘I’ll wait here then, until you come back,’ said Maeve, folding her arms across her chest.
‘Maeve, why are you acting so weird?’
‘Do you think,’ said Maeve in a small voice, ‘do you think maybe I could live here? Like, with you and your family?’
The silence seemed to stretch into a breathless, empty void.
Suddenly, they could both hear Julie calling.
‘It’s your grandmother, Maeve. Come and talk to her at once!’
Maeve could hear the disapproval in Julie’s voice and knew that Por Por had told her all about Maeve having a hissy fit and storming out of the restaurant.
‘I can’t talk to her,’ said Maeve. ‘What am I going to do?’
‘Take the back way out,’ said Steph.
Above their heads was a skylight opening onto the corrugated iron roof. Steph pushed it upwards and boosted Maeve through. As Maeve slid down the ladder at the side of the house and jumped the fence into the street, she could hear Julie calling her name. She ran all the way down the hill to the quay, her head fuzzy with pain and confusion.
Once the ferry had chugged out into the harbour she began to feel calmer. She sat in the bow and the wind whipped her hair across her face. She raked her hands through it and pulled it into a ponytail, her fingers snagging in the friendship braid at the base of her neck. It brought back all her rage. What was the point of having friends if they couldn’t help you out when you needed them most? She wanted to rip the braid from her scalp. Reaching into her bag, she found a pair of nail clippers and cut the matted plait away from the nape of her neck. It lay in her hand like a rat’s tail, a curling, multi-coloured tangle of hair. She raised her arm to fling it into the swirling green waters of the harbour, but a sudden gust of wind made her lose her balance. Hard rain slapped her in the face. It ricocheted off the surface of the darkening harbour waters like bullets. Maeve retreated inside, the braid still held tightly in her clenched fist.
She sat staring out at the driving rain. The clouds had turned inky black. It reminded her of a dream she’d had after the Bali bombings. The Harbour Bridge had blown up, Kirribilli was on fire, and plumes of smoke swirled above the Opera House. Maeve had been sleeping over at Bianca’s house and was woken by Bianca and Steph shaking her out of her nightmare.
Maeve rubbed the braid between her fingers, feeling its rough texture. She took out her green notebook and slipped the multi-coloured tress between the pages.
For two hours Maeve stayed on the ferry as it circled Sydney Harbour, until the ticket lady told her the shift was changing and it was time to get off. As the ferry chugged towards Circular Quay, she gazed back at the lights of Balmain. Yurulbin Point glittered in the darkness. What were Andy and Ned doing right now? Maybe Ned was having a bath, surrounded by plastic floaties. Maybe Andy was cooking his weird enchiladas. Steph would be coming home from her job, Bianca would be sitting in a café with Omar.
As she stepped off the ferry, she couldn’t believe that in all of Sydney she had nowhere else to go but back to her grandparents.
13
Out of the shadows
Night fell as she walked aimlessly across the Botanic Gardens, under the dark branches of the Moreton Bay fig trees. She couldn’t go back to the flat in Potts Point. Not yet. Maybe never. When she finally reached Macleay Street, she headed towards Kings Cross, trying to put purpose in her stride, as if she actually knew where she was going.
Ahead of her flashed the lights of Darlinghurst Road. When she arrived at the junction where Macleay Street turned into the Cross, she came to a standstill, suddenly self-conscious. What did people do when they wanted to get away from everything? Putting her head down, she turned into a gloomy side street. A drunk lay asleep in one of the doorways, his filthy, crumpled coat pulled up to shield his face, his body reeking of sour alcohol. She’d always thought getting drunk was pathetic but suddenly she understood why someone might want to climb out of their body and abandon the whole world. She had to keep walking. If she stopped for even a moment, everything might come crashing back into her head. The night air felt thick, dark and oily around her. Suddenly she found herself in Victoria Street with St Vincent’s Hospital looming
up ahead. As if compelled, she walked towards it.
At the entrance to the hospital she stood staring blankly, remembering. She could see herself walking up those steps with Steph and Bianca. She could see that moment when the doors swung open and the smell of the hospital hit them. It should have changed everything. But Steph and Bianca were the same people, worrying about their stupid boyfriends and their stupid jobs. As if everyone was simply meant to get on with their lives, as if nothing had happened. She clenched her fists and turned her back on the hospital.
At the William Street bridge, she hung over the railing and stared down at the traffic scooting into the tunnel. Car headlights hurtled beneath her, bright against the darkness. It made her shudder. She would never feel the same about cars again.
In the heart of the Cross, a crowd of laughing drunks spilled out of the doors of a pub where ‘happy hour’ was drawing to a close. One of them broke away from his friends and began to follow her. Maeve felt panic rise up in her throat. She quickly turned down one of the side streets and jumped into a doorway, pressing her back against the cool bricks, watching the man pass. When she was sure he was out of sight, she sat down on the doorstep and wrapped her arms around her knees.
On the other side of the street, two old men were sitting on the footpath, looking shadowy and forbidding in the harsh streetlight. Maeve wished she was invisible. When one of the men opposite stood up and looked as though he was going to cross over to talk to her, Maeve jumped to her feet.
‘Maeve. Maeve Kwong!’ he called. Maeve stared. It was McCabe.
‘Sir?’ she said, trying to hide her incredulity. Why was McCabe hanging out in a side street of the Cross? McCabe turned to say something to his companion and then waved for Maeve to join him.
As Maeve drew near, she could smell the other man. He stank of tobacco, alcohol and something acrid and unwashed. McCabe protected the flame of a lighter as his friend drew deeply on a skinny hand-rolled cigarette.
‘And what brings you down to this part of town, Maeve? I don’t expect to meet my students wandering around the back streets of Darlinghurst in the dark.’
The Secret Life of Maeve Lee Kwong Page 7
