Okay, here are my ugly truths.
The first ugly truth is my old man. He was all right when you got him sober. Even kicked the footy with me sometimes. Trouble was, he didn’t stay sober long. And he slapped Mum round when he was off his face. The meth made him come alive, he said, but it used up all his happiness in one go. They found him OD’d in the park across town when I was seventeen.
The second ugly truth is that just cause he was gone didn’t mean his debt was. He owed a ton of cash to guys you wouldn’t want to meet. The first warning we got to pay was a petrol bomb. Whoosh against the side of the house in the middle of the night and the kitchen windows exploding. Mum was ghost white and my brother, Sammy, he was screaming. Sammy’s no coward either. A few years younger than me, but he’s seen enough shit over the years to handle himself.
In Gulgara, you can’t just go to the cops. Everyone knows each other, and these guys had too many mates. I told them I needed time to pay it back. I told Mum, Don’t worry, I got this. She waited till the next Centrelink money came in and gave me every dollar she had. I told her it was enough. It wasn’t anywhere near enough.
I wasn’t waiting around for a second warning. The third ugly truth is that I needed to repay the debt somehow. They weren’t going to let up. So I made a choice and that’s how I got here. It was a bad choice, Bel, but you gotta understand it was the only one I had. Sometimes there are only bad choices.
It’s taken me all day to write this letter. I don’t go there in my head or talk about it – messes me up just thinking about it, but everyone’s got a story. Now we’ve traded ours. Like secrets, ha.
Anyway I better go, cause I’m making something for you. Want to get it out in my next letter. I’m keeping it a surprise but.
Peace out,
Micah
I fold the letter back along the creases. Hold it to my lips.
I’ve had messages from boys before. I kissed Ben from St Martin’s at his school dance. And there was a double date Tash organised – both the boys were called Jack. My Jack kept texting me afterwards, and her Jack was silent. Neither Jack worked out. Then there was the time Tash set me up with one of her brother’s friends, and he turned into a stalker, suffocating me with text messages.
But there’s never been anything like the surprise of this.
Micah. He’s making me something. With his hands. Something I can hold in mine.
But there’s also the horror in his life. His Dad. Drug debt. A petrol bomb. It’s a world I can barely imagine. Where even home isn’t secure.
Micah spilled so much of himself, but I must be greedy because I want more. I want to know what happened after.
10th December
Dear Micah,
SPOILER ALERT: DON’T READ THIS LETTER UNTIL YOU’VE OPENED YOUR PARCEL.
I hope this reaches you in time for Christmas.
I know you’d like more food so there’s some in the parcel, but I wanted to get you something else too. The portable CD player is the only music player I could find that runs off batteries (included). I’m guessing you don’t have access to power. I’ve sent you The Hottest 100 from the last two years so you can catch up on what you’ve missed. You said you don’t get to listen to music, so I’m hoping now you can. It might help during the long stints in your cell. I’ve included headphones so you don’t piss anyone off!
From your photo, I guessed you were a Nike fan. I may have gone a little overboard with the shirts and hat, but I was trying to guess the right sizes and what you might need. I just kind of felt like you probably needed everything. What was left from my allowance is glued between two pages in the Open Road magazine. On the website it says not to send money, but hopefully the guards won’t find it. Anyway, spend the money on food or whatever else you need.
Your three ugly truths get the ugly award. I’m sorry that happened to you, Micah. Have you heard how your family’s doing now? Are those guys still after them for the debt?
You asked why I wrote to you. The truth is, I had this assignment for Legal Studies where I had to pick a cause. Some girls chose victims of crime groups and rape crisis centres, others went for animal rights and nuclear disarmament programs. Our school captain Airlie Smith tackled global warming.
But I spent enough of my childhood drowning in politics. Dad was actually a lawyer to begin with, but after Mum died he started rallying for victim’s rights and ran for Parliament.
I was on the verge of refusing to do the assignment. But then I found the Foreign Prisoner Support page. And you. That changed everything.
Can I ask you something? I hope this doesn’t upset you, but why don’t you write to your mum? I wrote a letter to my mum once. Haha, stupid, right? Even more stupid was how much it hurt when she didn’t respond. As if she could! Dad doesn’t tell me about her, never has. His focus is righting the wrong, even seventeen years later, so I don’t ask him. It’s worse now because I look like her, and it’s obvious that whoever she was, I don’t stack up.
I stop myself. I’ve written too much. This has never come out to anyone before, not even Tash. The difference is, Micah has lived his own hell. He won’t baulk if I tell him – so stuff it, I’m telling him.
You said you don’t believe in miracles, but I believe they happen every day.
See, I was born two weeks early. If I had come out on time, I would have died with my mum because she would have still been pregnant when she was shot. She was gone in minutes – no time to save me. Marcella says it’s because I was meant to be here, but I’m still trying to figure out why, what I’m meant to do with my life.
I bet you’d have no trouble figuring out what to do with your life if you got it back.
Ask for a miracle, Micah. Somehow, some way, you’ll be free again. I know it. If there’s ever a time for miracles, Christmas is it.
Merry Christmas, Micah.
Bel
P.S. I’m hanging out for your next letter, especially my ‘surprise’!
Eli’s family Christmases have a sweet smell, and it hits me as I walk through his front door for dinner. Eli’s wearing a light-blue collared shirt that shows off the tan I’m not used to seeing.
Eli’s parents are in the living room just out of view. I can hear them fussing.
‘Is that Bel?’ Mr Young calls out. ‘Eli, bring her in!’
‘Dad, she doesn’t need to see –’
‘Yes, she does. She’ll love it.’
Eli’s Dad takes me by the elbow and leads me into the living room. Eli trails behind us. That’s where I find the source of the sweet, earthy smell. Pine needles as long as tassels droop from the branches of the biggest indoor tree I’ve ever laid eyes on. The star on top sweeps the ceiling. And the ceiling must be three and a half metres high.
The tree stands there in quiet majesty, twinkling with LED lights and shiny baubles.
‘The biggest tree they had, and I cut it down myself,’ Mr Young says proudly.
‘It was a nightmare to decorate,’ Mrs Young says, but Eli’s dad wraps one arm around her waist.
‘I only get the real thing because you like it.’
‘It smells like a real Christmas,’ she says wistfully, turning to us. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘It’s nice, Mum,’ Eli says.
I just nod, because Christmas doesn’t have a smell at Dad’s place. It’s not the sort of thing we count down for either. Marcella puts up the decorations before she takes leave to spend Christmas with her family, and Dad takes them down on Boxing Day.
Even though the day is still a week away, presents are spilling out from beneath the base of Eli’s tree. By next week, it’ll be a landslide. Eli’s Christmases are like that. Epic.
I try not to let the tinsel-decked staircase bother me. Or the festive centrepiece adorning the dining table. But I’m glad when Eli’s curries are steaming on the table to wipe out the smell of pine.
We try the Tom Yum Goong first, and it gives me the hiccups. Everyone laughs.
; ‘Sorry, that’s the chilli,’ Eli says. ‘I might have been a bit heavy handed.’
‘No, it tastes – hic – really good,’ I say.
We finish dinner and Eli talks about his time in Thailand, but I get the impression his Dad has tuned out. He has his ear cocked towards the TV in the background. As he’s scraping together the remnants of Eli’s yellow curry, he gives Eli the only compliment I’ve ever heard him give.
‘Not bad, Elijah.’ He raises an eyebrow at him. ‘Might have to get you in the kitchen more often. Out of that room of yours anyway.’
‘Charles, he’s just spent six months out of his room,’ Mrs Young says quietly.
Eli sculls his water as the table falls silent. I think of the photos Eli sent his parents to prove he was swimming. I wonder if that impressed his Dad. But Mr Young’s from the world of finance. He’s probably more impressed by balance sheets. Sometimes I wonder if Eli and his father even share the same DNA. Their ideas of success are so different.
I clear my throat and turn to Eli. ‘So I was thinking we could learn a new game. Do you have a pack of cards?’
‘This sounds scary,’ he says, brushing the hair from his eyes.
‘You steered a leaky canoe through a floating market. I’m pretty sure you can handle being thrashed at poker.’
‘Poker?’
I laugh. ‘Don’t worry, all you have to do is keep a stone face.’
Mr Young laughs. Then he winks at me and grins through his designer stubble. ‘So long as it’s not strip poker.’
Eli and I exchange glances, and I laugh awkwardly.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Definitely no stripping.’
‘Good. Because I don’t think Elijah would want to lose that one, would you, son?’
‘Ah, no.’ Eli’s face flushes and he avoids his father’s eye.
I don’t know where to look. Eli’s Dad is treating him exactly the same way he did before he went to Thailand. He doesn’t seem to have noticed how much Eli’s grown, how different he is. Maybe Eli took the exchange to escape his dad. Or to prove himself.
Mr Young pushes back from the table. ‘Relax, Elijah. You’re not her type anyway. Right, Bel?’ He tousles Eli’s hair as he passes, knocking his glasses off-kilter.
‘Dad, I’m not scared of taking my shirt off,’ Eli says. ‘Unlike you, who’s got the middle-aged spread happening.’
Mr Young hesitates a moment. ‘Hey, when you notch up a certain amount of experience,’ he says, rubbing his rounded belly, ‘you’re allowed to get a little comfortable.’
Then he heads for his spot in the cream recliner by the TV.
Eli readjusts his glasses and nods at the staircase to his left. ‘Let’s get outta here.’
I follow Eli upstairs to his room, where we spent many nights playing board games last summer. Me being the thrasher – him being the thrashee. Probably because his head was in his phone most of the time. His social media pages generate some serious traffic. Eli’s always getting new gadgets sent to him so that he can rate them on his YouTube, and the last time I asked he’d made around fifteen thousand dollars. He wants to get a degree in Comms.
Eli rummages in his desk drawer for cards, bringing out a shiny deck still in its packaging.
We sit cross-legged on his dark woollen carpet as I open the pack and begin shuffling. The cards glide through my fingers with their slippery newness.
‘It’s not going to be as much fun with just two,’ I say, gathering the errant cards. ‘You’re meant to have three or four players, minimum. And you’re meant to play for money.’
‘Is that a challenge? Cause I can put money on the table.’
‘Can you just?’ I tease. ‘Is YouTube still your money cow?’
Eli loosens his shoulders. ‘Daddy doesn’t deposit money into my account every week, but I get by.’
‘Oooh.’ I laugh. ‘And because that was a low blow, I’m going to call you on it. We’ll start with five bucks. Then we’ll double it.’ I omit the fact that I don’t have a dollar to my name. I spent it all on Micah.
‘You’re on.’
I deal us five cards each. Explain the rules, as best I can remember from looking them up last night. Fan out my cards and scowl. Whoops. First rule broken. Back to stone face as I discard two and choose a couple of new ones from the deck. I’ve got what Micah would probably call a bad hand. Nothing to work with.
‘Your turn,’ I say, and while he’s considering his cards, I peer through his bedroom window. ‘Wow, you can see right into my room at night, huh?’
He laughs. ‘Yep, but you usually have your curtains shut.’ Then he ditches three cards and collects three more. ‘Yeah baby,’ he says, examining his new additions.
‘Note to self: make sure curtains are closed when changing.’
‘Now where’s the fun in that?’
I punch him in the shoulder, and hurt my knuckle. He doesn’t budge.
‘Why aren’t you a weakling anymore?’ I say, shaking my fist.
He looks down at his fanned-out cards.
‘Oh, shit, sorry – I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘It’s cool.’
It’s really not. Calling him weak is something his Dad would do.
Luck is not on my side. It’s a game of chance and skill, but I refuse to fold my cards. I double the bet. Eli matches it.
Dammit, he’s better at poker face than I thought.
‘So your dad’s still on your case, huh?’ I flick my cards absentmindedly.
‘Yep. If I told him I’d decided to do Finance, he’d get off my back. It would lessen his disappointment in me.’
‘He’s not –’ But I stop. We both know he is. ‘You’re not going to do Finance just to make him happy, are you?’
He eyes me like I’m stupid. ‘He’s spent the last seventeen years telling me what I should be doing. I’m not letting him do it for the next seventeen.’
I study my cards again. Just two pairs. I have nothing to work with.
‘Twenty bucks,’ I say.
Eli looks dubious as he scans my face, but I do my best to shield my poor fortune. Don’t even blink.
‘Okay, I’m folding,’ he says. ‘You win.’
He turns his cards face up.
‘Shame about that,’ I say, clicking my tongue. ‘You had yourself a full house.’
‘And what have you got?’
I flip my cards over and give him a victor’s smile. ‘Nothing. I bluffed. And you owe me a twenty.’
‘Pfft, cheater.’
‘It’s not cheating. I told you bluffing was allowed. You just happened to believe me.’
He throws his cards into the middle of the pile, and grabs his phone, scrolling through his music.
‘What do you feel like?’ he says. ‘Bit of Ed?’
‘Ed it is,’ I say.
He works up a playlist while I pack away the cards. Then he lies back on his bed, hands laced behind his head. I lie with him, both of us staring at his ceiling, listening to the stories in the music.
After a while, Eli taps my leg with his. ‘I missed you, hey. Missed doing this.’
‘Me too.’
Up close, Eli smells of my childhood. The fabric softener his mum has used since the beginning of time. Dad’s house really was so much more awful this year because there was no Eli.
Without Eli to spend the long afternoons talking to, there was just the house. And Marcella when she was there. Otherwise, a cold house. And Dad.
‘Actually, I think I might have missed you more,’ I say suddenly.
‘I doubt that.’ He lowers his voice. ‘I was so lonely the first couple of months in Thailand.’
A pain twangs at my chest. ‘I should have Facetimed you. Worst friend ever.’
‘Nah, you couldn’t. I tried to Facetime Mum, but the wifi kept dropping out. Could only access my social media half the time too.’
‘So what did you do over there? Tell me more about it,’ I say.
‘You don’t h
ave to be polite.’
‘When have I ever been polite to you? I’m interested.’ I prop myself up on one elbow.
‘Since when have you been interested in Thailand?’ He narrows his eyes.
‘Since … now. I’m thinking I’d like to go there one day.’
‘You mean, like, backpacking?’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘For real? You know I’m going back, right? We could go together.’
‘Together?’ The thought hasn’t crossed my mind and it suddenly seems brilliant. The solution to my biggest problem – Dad. He would never let me go on my own, but with Eli … maybe.
‘Not together together,’ he says quickly. ‘Just, it can be tough in a foreign country where no one speaks your language.’
A thrill runs down my spine. A thought that was vague last week is materialising in my head. It’s like Eli has been put in my path to help me.
‘When are you thinking?’ he says. ‘Hopefully the timing works out.’
‘Well, I’d have to work up some serious money. Dad usually gives me cash for Christmas, and he trusts you, so …’
‘He trusts me, huh?’ Eli raises one eyebrow and grins. ‘Silly man.’
‘Yeah, for some inexplicable reason, he thinks you’ve got good character. Go figure.’
‘I always liked your old man. He has good taste.’
I whack him lightly on his chest, and he catches my hand.
‘There’s so much I didn’t get to see, like the country up north. So I was planning to go back first term break.’
‘I’m more interested in Bangkok,’ I say.
He laughs, eyes gleaming. ‘Know what they say about Bangkok? If you’ve spent four nights there, it’s four nights too long. Bel, Bangkok is crazy busy and dirty and hot. You want to see the real Thailand.’
‘No, I want to stay in Bangkok,’ I say firmly. ‘At least for a few days.’
‘Why, what’s in Bangkok?’
I inhale deeply. ‘Lights … city … action.’
‘You mean seedy bars, prostitutes and drugs? I picked you as more an off-the-beaten-track kinda chick.’ I sense his enthusiasm for the trip waning.
Inside the Tiger Page 6
