Hide

by S. J. Morgan

  ‘Yeah, same here!’

  It was a relief to have her there; the warmth and comfort of that hand in mine. Yet, at the same time, her presence nearly crippled me. While I was dealing with practicalities, I could convince myself I was in control, knew what I needed to do. But having Daniella there was like putting a finger on the pause button, and that’s when I started to question what the hell I was thinking. I could be arrested; we could all be arrested. And if Minto knew about any of it, he could orchestrate our downfall for himself; get his sweet revenge in one easy swoop.

  Daniella reached forward and undid my scarf. I watched her as she took it off and wrapped it around her own neck. It looked good against the stark whiteness of her sweater and the colour was a perfect match for those violet-blue eyes of hers.

  ‘You’re hardly going to need a scarf over there,’ she told me. ‘It’s the middle of summer.’ She grinned at me and rolled her eyes. ‘What an idiot.’ We both laughed, but I saw her smile begin to collapse. She grabbed me and pulled me towards her.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said, as I held her. I began to recite my own assurances back at her: ‘I’ll be home in a couple of weeks. I’ll find Sindy’s family, make sure she’s okay, then be back in time for Christmas.’

  Daniella forced a smile and nodded a little too vigorously. Neither of us tried to say any more. She wanted to linger there, I could tell; just the two of us, in the midst of the airport mayhem. But my nerves were firing, and it felt like my insides were about to combust. I had to keep moving. I felt her resistance as I guided us through the crowd towards the others.

  Sindy was in tears when we got there, the excitement replaced by something messier. She had one of Mum’s tartan hankies pressed to her face.

  ‘Just nerves,’ Mum explained to me.

  Dad ruffled Sindy’s hair. ‘It’s certainly been a fraught few weeks, hasn’t it?’

  It felt hot, stifling as we all stood there, and I knew I was going to throw up if we didn’t get moving.

  ‘Time for the off, I think,’ Dad said, watching me.

  Sindy let out a sob, clutching more tightly onto Mum. I hadn’t expected her to be upset; I’d imagined her excitement carrying her through, keeping her buoyed and bubbly, but now she finally seemed to realise the significance of what we were doing.

  Even as I watched her hug everyone, though, it struck me that none of us ever knew what was going on in her head. Perhaps it was Minto she was crying for; or her dad. Nothing about Sindy could ever truly surprise me.

  ‘Come on, love,’ Mum said, pushing a strand of hair from Sindy’s face. ‘We all have to be brave.’ She squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

  ‘Take care, Alec,’ Dad said, pumping my hand up and down. ‘Look after her, won’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, I will, Dad.’

  In a different life, we’d’ve hugged and slapped one another on the back, but this was me and Dad at Heathrow not Pop and Junior in Hollywood.

  Mum, on the other hand, almost strangled me with her farewell. ‘Come back soon, love,’ she whispered. ‘Come back safe.’

  Over Mum’s shoulder, I could see Daniella looking more uncertain than I’d ever seen her. Something about her dazed expression summed up all the craziness of the last few months.

  When we’d met, I’d been living a half-baked existence, nothing on the horizon to either dread or look forward to. And now, here I was, running from a savage mob with a strange girl in tow, heading for a far bigger unknown. It wasn’t what I’d had in mind for my future, but at least it was living. It was movement.

  Daniella wrapped her arms around my neck. ‘I’m going to miss you,’ she said into my ear. ‘I love you.’

  My throat seemed to have an invisible hand around it, squeezing all the air from it. I couldn’t reply, could barely look at her. All I could do was nod and turn away.

  I guided Sindy to the glass doors and all the while, she kept that snot-ridden hankie pressed to her face. We joined the snaking queue.

  ‘I don’t know if we should go,’ Sindy said, looking behind her. ‘My horoscope said I was heading for trouble.’

  I tugged her arm to keep her moving. ‘Well, you can prove those stupid things wrong then, can’t you?’

  ‘And I saw on telly they do have snakes there,’ she said. ‘Loads of them, all deadly.’

  I kept pulling her arm. ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘You won’t see any.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Sure.’ We were almost at the first counter. ‘All right, Gina?’ I said.

  ‘Show your passport, say nothing.’

  From the corner of my eye, I sensed the others waving, watching – a little trio of tears and trepidation.

  Sindy stepped forward, gave in her passport, kept right on sobbing and sniffing. And she looked so deathly miserable that the officers hardly even paused.

  Chapter 44

  December 1983 – Queensland/Northern Territory Border, Australia

  ‘That’s right. It’s all about Sindy.’

  As we sit there, unmoving, the truckie’s pointed features stretch to a smile. This is what he’s been waiting for – the moment he gets to whip away the black cloth and uncover the sawn-in-half lady. Or whatever else he’s got hiding.

  I’m determined to give nothing away. ‘What about Sindy?’

  He looks at me long and hard, like he’s taking a deep drag on one of those smokes of his. Except this time, it’s me he’s inhaling: my fear, my nerve, my resolve. The longer he stares, the more depleted I feel, as if he really is filling his lungs with my last remnants.

  ‘Does a clever college boy like you seriously think Minto’d just let you and Sindy...’ he looks skywards and flutters his fingers, ‘disappear over the rainbow?’

  ‘She didn’t want to go with Minto,’ I say.

  ‘What’s it got to do with you, what Sindy wants?’

  ‘I...’

  ‘I’m her father,’ he barks. ‘She’s my kid; my responsibility. Capiche?’

  When I hear the sharp intake of breath, I know I shouldn’t have picked that moment to look away.

  He yanks my T-shirt and yells in my face. ‘Got something to say, pretty boy?’ His knuckles dig into my breastbone as he tightens his fist.

  ‘No…no. I was just...I didn’t mean anything.’ I hold up my hands in surrender, shrinking as far from him as he’ll let me.

  He eases off, a satisfied smile softening those sharp-angle features. He got what he wanted – terror, a begging tone, a companion shitting himself. Pretty much the same as Minto seems to look for in a mate.

  He sits, gazing out the windscreen like he’s only here for the view; all the time in the world. I know we’re both aware of the heaving of my chest as I breathe, the spring tight tension of every joint. He’ll wring every bit of fear he can out of me; get me so scared I can’t even think straight. He mightn’t have dirt under those neat fingernails, but it won’t be the first time he’s done something like this. I can sense it: it’s just another day at the office for him.

  Neither of us is willing to blink first. I remain as quiet and still as he does. Outwardly, at least. Much longer and I’ll be a pool of sweat on the floor. The backs of my jeans are almost welded to my skin. I risk a glance in his direction – eyes only, of course. My head stays rock solid, facing front. He’s got one arm on his leg, the other furthest from me lies along the ledge of the door, pressed against that tight-shut window.

  I glance again and this time I see his profile turned away from me. He barely blinks. I follow the curve of his eyeball and get a sense he’s watching something, attention no longer solely on me. Maybe it’s my moment: the lapse I’m meant to be waiting for. My eyes slide left, checking the lock’s still down. And that’s when I spot it – a sandy trail moving across the length of my side mirror, getting bigger as it approaches. No wonder he’s so quiet. Maybe, finally, he’s the one shitting himself.

  This new development has an instant effect on my breathing and
my sphincter. When I swallow it’s so loud it’s as if my tonsils have hit the pan. He looks over to me and our eyes meet. I tilt my head deliberately to the wing mirror, just so he knows that, yeah, I’ve seen it too.

  What I don’t expect is for him to undo his seatbelt and clamber down from the cab. The lock clunks back into position as soon as the door slams.

  I stay bolt upright; home in on the vehicle approaching.

  I pray for a car but all I see is chrome. Chrome and two wheels. Chrome and two wheels. Chrome and two wheels. The throaty engine confirms what I already know. Story of my fucking life. There’ll be no rescue mission; no tourists in a campervan haplessly blundering into the fray. It’s just another weapon in laughing-boy’s armoury; a nice bit of back-up so the odds are kept firmly in his favour.

  The realisation makes my insides collapse: I’m nauseous with letdown. The blistering heat of the cab seems to intensify and all at once I’m the ant beneath the magnifier. Dashed hopes have ripped my nerves and my whole body gets the shakes. I swallow, breathe, swallow, breathe.

  It’s hard to ignore that distinctive movement as Minto gets off the bike. Half a world away yet here he is, right on my doorstep. He pulls off his helmet, steps forward in front of the truck to shake hands with my chauffeur. No smiles are exchanged. It occurs to me that I should be scrabbling around, grasping under the seats for heavy objects to fill my pockets with but instead the windscreen becomes my personal TV and I sit glued to these two soap-opera villains. It’s like it’s not really happening. And certainly not to me: I’m just a guy in a truck, waiting to be taken the rest of the way to Alice. Aren’t I?

  Sindy’s dad strides off with a new-found sense of purpose. In the wing mirror, I follow his progress towards the back of the van until he returns with something in his hand. He’s weedy compared to Minto’s solid bulk: the shit-green sweater hangs on his body as much as Minto’s black leather encases his. They’re an unlikely pair, these two. As Minto turns, I read the insignia on his back – ‘Apache MC Morriston. It seems so laughingly small town in this vast, baking, other-side-of-the-globe landscape.

  Minto’s giving instruction, pointing to something behind, nodding his fat skull. Sindy’s dad listens, unmoving. He’s got a sheet of paper in his hand like he’s a real truckie, delivering goods.

  My nerves judder the minute they look up at me. Minto removes the cigarette from his mouth and chucks it into the dirt as he strolls over. He jangles the key in the lock on my side and eases the door open a fraction, like he’s waiting for me to spring out at him. When I don’t, he throws open the door and grabs the front of my T-shirt. In one movement, he hauls me out of my seat, and I struggle to get my footing. He grabs me by the chest again and hurls me against the cab, keeping a firm hand on me the whole time. The back of my head ricochets against the door, bringing tears to my eyes. It all happens so quickly, it’s like the stuffing’s fallen out of me and I’m left with arms swinging this way and that as I’m tossed around.

  His black eyes lock onto mine and a ball of fear punches me. It’s hard to reconcile that this is the old Minto from the flat; Minto I’ve shared the odd pint with; Minto I’ve seen getting in from the supermarket. Now he’s that other Minto: the Minto on the other side of the wall giving Sindy what-for; the Minto of the knives; Minto of the clubhouse.

  ‘What the fuck’s your game, you little cunt?’ he yells at me. He crushes me hard in the chest with the flat of his hand. ‘Who the fuck d’you think you’re playing with?’

  I shake my head, stuttering words: whatever words he wants me to say. The ones that’ll make him back off and get his face out of mine. ‘I don’t know what...I haven’t done anything.’

  His features mash into a crazy, dark madness and I know they’re not the right words. I trip over my tongue flailing for different ones. ‘I just wanted to get away,’ I said. ‘And Sindy…’

  His nostrils flare at the mention of her name and he pushes harder on my chest so I can’t breathe, can’t say any more. The metal of the truck is white-hot, I sense it sizzling my skin through the T-shirt

  ‘Sindy’s not your problem,’ he says. ‘Sindy was never your problem.’

  ‘I know, but...’

  ‘Sindy was only ever my problem.’ His voice has sunk to a whisper. There’s a long pause as he stays there, eyeing me. ‘But now Sindy’s not anyone’s problem. She’ll never be anyone’s problem again.’

  He keeps those pebbly eyes drilled into me, checking reactions, gauging responses. His lips ease into a smile. He moves closer, his breath suddenly close to my ear. ‘Isn’t that good, Alec? Isn’t it good that she’s...no longer a burden?’ And he kind of croaks it, like he’s warming me up for more of his sweet nothings. ‘You, my friend, sealed her fate.’

  I know he wants me to flail at the notion; to whimper; to curse. But I don’t. I just swallow and nod as if I’d expected it all along. I can’t even take in what he’s saying.

  ‘Do you want to know what happened to her?’

  I shake my head. Whatever he wants to tell me, I know I won’t want to know.

  ‘Too painful for you, eh?’ he says. ‘You always did have a soft spot for her, didn’t you, Alec?’

  ‘I just –’

  ‘She fell,’ he says. ‘Straight down. From a great height.’

  When his gaze lands on me again, I make sure my own gaze isn’t there to greet him. I feel my lips part as I struggle to take in more air. My breath is as shaky as the story he’s spinning me.

  The sun’s cooking the top of my head and sweat trickles into my eyes. I can hardly keep them open but I daren’t close them, even for a second.

  He forces me to stand up straight then strolls around me, like a pissed off sergeant major. All I can do is brace myself for the jab of his fist which I’m certain will come any second.

  When he’s behind me, he comes close to my ear again. His breath is warm, and I feel the sweat run down my back as the sun’s rays scorch my neck. ‘Better hope they never find her eh, Alec? To lose one girlfriend like that could be seen as unfortunate. But to lose two, well, what are the odds?’

  I still can’t speak. Daren’t. I know that, whatever I say will be used against me.

  Behind me, I hear him unfold papers. It’s not what I’d expected.

  A crumpled white sheet slides in front of my face. ‘Touching,’ he says.

  My writing stares back at me and I recognise the torn paper I placed on Sindy’s bed before I left. ‘Sorry, Sindy,’ it says. ‘I know you understand. Love Alec.’

  I close my eyes at the absurdity; at the innocent-guilt of the words.

  Minto will have laughed his socks off when he found it: really, it couldn’t have been more perfect. As far as he’s concerned – as far as anyone’s concerned – this is my own confession. A pen and paper admission of guilt.

  Chapter 45

  By the time Sindy and I touched down on Mt Isa’s little airstrip, we’d become almost used to handing over our passports, and having them handed back to us with a smile. I could’ve become fooled into thinking we were doing nothing wrong or that we were perfectly safe.

  Sindy looked edgy and wired, though: she’d not slept the entire journey. Her eyes seemed to be everywhere as we made our way through the tiny building that served as a terminal. This was the Australia I’d come for; not the modern, bright lights of Sydney’s airport where we’d had to transfer. There, it was all glass frontage and massive ceilings and it could’ve been anywhere in the world. The fake snow and Christmas baubles had looked laughably out of place in that sunny space.

  By contrast, Mt Isa airport had only managed a few bits of tinsel. But as we stepped outside into the blistering heat and the blinding sun, I knew this was the red-dusted country I’d always imagined.

  Sindy’s massive suitcase – the one with the raspberry-pink splash – was proving to be a nuisance. The handle was dodgy, and the wheels had come loose so it was just as well the bus left from directly outside the terminal.
<
br />   Sindy had barely said a word since Sydney, and all the exuberance I’d expected from her seemed to have dripped away. I found myself having to be the cheerleader as our bus trundled towards the township.

  ‘Mt Isa, established in 1923, is located in the state of Queensland, Australia,’ I read to her from my travel guide. ‘The mine which dominates the town, produces lead, copper, zinc and silver. Locals know Mt. Isa as The Isa.’ I gave her another cheer-up smile; one of the many I’d had to offer over the past few hours. ‘Sounds cool, eh?’

  She shrugged and looked out into the nothingness.

  It was hardly a tourist town; when we checked into the backpackers, there was apparently only one other group of travellers staying there. The rest were miners, working at the big plant we’d passed on our way in. At least it meant there was enough space for me and Sindy to have a bunkroom to ourselves.

  I was itching to get started. My body-clock was all over the place, so I was wide awake at five the next morning. Sindy clearly had no such problems, and even by the time I left the backpackers at nine, she was still dead to the world on that top bunk. I wrote a note to tell her where I’d gone then headed for the post office.

  Even at that time of the morning, the air had that ‘baked’ quality about it, and I had to smile as I passed a spray-on Santa in one of the office windows, and caught the strains of ‘White Christmas’ belting out from the tyre shop on the corner.

  I took my time, and as I paused to read menus in café windows and to glance into grocery stores, it struck me that I felt relaxed. Safe. I hadn’t felt that in a while: even Cardiff – normally my safe haven from the flat – had taken on a new and menacing air the last few weeks. Here, on the other side of the world, I could hardly have been further from Minto’s reach. I could breathe again, long, deep, greedy breaths and now they wouldn’t be cut short. I could look over my shoulder and not fear what I’d find there.

  There were rows of phone books on the shelves in the post office. They were sorted by state and I was surprised by how thin a lot of them were compared to the ones back home. It made me realise that, despite the vastness of the land, it was still an empty and isolated place.