Trail of Lies, page 21
“I won’t tell Jase,” Sadie said intuitively, kissing the spot on Calli’s stomach into which she snuggled. “But please come and see me again?”
Calli felt shaken. It was as though Sadie thought her sister had come to the street primarily to see her, such was her naive affection. Calli gulped, struggling now to control the avalanche of misery which trembled inside and she nodded, allowing her the lie and letting go of Sadie once she was stable on her bike. She turned to leave after one last stroke of the blonde hair and then turning back said finally, “Sadie, no matter what, please remember I love you and I’ll always be your big sister. Don’t listen to anything else they say about me. Just remember that. Promise?”
Sadie nodded solemnly and carefully placed one foot back on her pedal, instantly detached and ready to continue her ride up the road. Calli turned and ran, a torrent of emotions escaping from her eyes and nose with abandon. Declan’s mother made her feel like trash and then a small, blonde girl made her feel like the most important person in the world. It was all too hard and Calli registered an unfamiliar click inside her heart as the strings spectacularly snapped and she knew she would never be the same again.
Chapter 22
Alison showed Calli how to mix the dough for the scones. Calli listlessly sifted the flour and butter between her fingers, watching the lumps plop softly in the crumbly mixture. “How was your day?” the older woman asked softly.
“Fine thanks,” the girl replied, but she knew Alison was concerned for her. Calli could see it questioning in her kind face.
“That’s good,” Alison said and Calli cringed, the lie suddenly visible and damaging between them.
The girl felt numb and empty as she watched the clean white sugar dispersing into the gluten free flour, trying to muster up enthusiasm for a coveted activity and failing. The scones emerged from the oven, tall and delicious. “Is it ok if I take one up to my room please?” Calli asked. “I’ve got homework.”
Alison’s face betrayed fear for the child who had given her more sleepless nights, than all the others put together. But she agreed anyway.
When she finally got home, Calli had apologised for her lateness, not offering any excuse but distinctly distant and showing signs of emotional trauma, if such a thing could be read in a person’s face. There was blood on her sleeve and Calli knew Alison raked her silently with her eyes, seeking the source of the injury. Calli’s frequent self-medicating with the razor blade rendered numerous small cuts on her inner arms and legs, carefully hidden from general view as she tried to dull the constant ache in her heart, managing for less and less time between each breach of her delicate skin. She knew Alison was getting suspicious and half wished the woman would catch her doing it, show her horror and evict Calli from her home as the monster she knew she was. It would be nothing less than she deserved.
Taking her steaming scone gingerly on a tea plate, Calli escaped to her room, hearing Alison texting someone as the girl made her way up the broad staircase. The razor blade called seductively to her from the tin of treasures on a shelf over the bed and Calli opened it up with fingers which eagerly sought release from the emotional pangs. Her gran’s angel was uppermost, his strong face looking out at her from his place amongst the odds and sods of her life, beauty among her pathetic memories. Calli carefully took him out, feeling the smooth curves of his metal and the solidity of his sword. The razor blade was tilted expectantly and Calli glanced at it momentarily, before turning away and sitting down at her desk with the angel in her hand. Something had changed and she felt around in her psyche, trying to identify what. “I’ll hold you, instead,” she said softly to the brooch.
Calli’s desk faced the window and a full expanse of garden and trees, the roof of the house next door glinting in the afternoon sun. It had been raining, a heady shower designed to satiate the parched earth and please the farmers, for a few days anyway. Calli heard it pounding on the roof and windowsills as she wordlessly followed Alison’s direction and made small, neat balls of dough earlier.
A rainbow caught her eye as she fondled the angel-soldier, a parade of colour and prism light intermixed and spectacular. “Look,” she said to the little warrior, holding him up by his pin and showing him the glorious freak of nature. “Gran says, hi.” She felt stupid as soon as she did it, rendering herself as ridiculous as Jase with his Action Man, who had to go everywhere with him and see, taste and smell every nuance of life at the same time as its owner. But she kept her hand raised so the little man could witness the light show anyway, drawing support from the strong, vibrant colours and hues. Calli undid the blood stained shirt, handling the cuffs carefully to avoid disrupting the healing of the myriad cuts on her arms. She got changed into casual clothes, covering the wounds self-consciously under jeans and a sweatshirt before returning to her desk to study and finding the scone and the angel still waiting for her.
The butter had melted into the scone, pooling on its heated surface, shiny and enticing. Calli mentally reached for the click which she felt in her heart a little earlier and heard its responding vibration. She poked her finger into the butter and licked it off, knowing something had snapped and changed within her. She wasn’t the same person anymore. In the spirit of change, she ignored the call of the razor blade with its promised release and tucked into the scone, but not before she secured the fearsome looking angel onto the front of her sweatshirt, taking comfort from his peculiar ferocity and knowing somehow, someone stood guard over her soul.
“I’m just nipping out, love,” Alison stated, sticking her head round the door an hour later. She seemed pleased to see the greasy smears on the tea plate, proving the scone had been eaten and not thrown away.
Calli did her homework and concentrated on her biology report, flicking through Sadie’s photos and smiling at the odd pictures interspersed between the broad bean stalks, measured by a child’s pink ruler. There was one of the inside of Jase’s mouth and another sneaky one of Simon wandering around in his boxer shorts scratching his backside. The photos brought a pang of isolation but were more humorous than wrenching. The small girl had done more vain selfies than a pop star. She’d clearly also been at Calli’s make up, but hadn’t known lipstick was only for lips. “Look at these,” she said to Alison, smiling up with bright, sparkly eyes.
Alison ventured into the bedroom with the house phone in her hand and admired the photograph of the little blonde girl sticking her tongue out. She had a line of bright red lipstick on her mouth and two round circles of it on her cheeks. Alison smiled at the childish innocence on the screen. “Oh, she’s so gorgeous.”
“She’s an idiot,” Calli laughed. “Sadie should be on the stage my...Marcia used to say.” Calli bit her lip, all mirth gone.
If Alison noticed the curious brooch pinned above Calli’s left breast, she said nothing. She ran a shaking hand over Calli’s rigid shoulders. “It will all work out eventually my love. Things always seem to. Hey, if the phone goes, please can you answer it?” She sounded concerned. “I’m expecting someone to ring for Allen about a quote for cabinet work. Please can you write down what they say and tell them he’ll get back to them tonight as soon as he’s home?”
Calli smiled and placed the handset next to a blank notepad, her pen in her hand. “Ok,” she replied with a sweet smile. “Do you want me to start dinner or anything?”
“No thanks, darling. It’s already in the oven.” Alison stroked Calli’s head gently as she turned to walk away, the yearning of motherhood raw in her face. Calli felt the pull of affection and congratulated herself she hadn’t succumbed to the lure of the blade. Alison deserved better than to have a lunatic in her home, especially one to whom she showed nothing but unconditional love and acceptance.
Alison limped painfully from the room and Calli’s brow knitted in concern. Her foster mother moved more gingerly of late and seemed out of sorts. Calli hoped she wasn’t getting sick. She studied for a while longer and then went down to the kitchen, laying the cutlery on the kitchen table and preparing everything for when the food was done. By five-fifteen, still nobody was home and the casserole began to catch around the edges. Calli turned it down and picked up a library book, settling in the rocking chair by the large French doors and enjoying the sense of peace and timelessness of the house.
The phone rang out shrilly from its position on the table, destroying the fragile tranquility and making Calli jump. Grabbing the notepad and pen from beside it, she answered in her best telephone voice, “Hello, Harland residence.”
“Oh, hello, I wanted Alison or Allen.” The voice was elderly, female and a little shaky.
“They’re not here right now,” Calli replied politely, “but Alison did ask me to take a message and let you know Allen would ring back as soon as he got home. He shouldn’t be long.”
“Oh, all right then. No need for him to call back unless he needs clarification,” the voice trembled. “Here goes then. I’ve had a prayer chain message from Carol. She’s asked that we all pray for her son. He’s got mixed up with bad company and she can’t seem to get through to him at the moment. She’s asking for God to drive this influence away from him and that he’ll settle back down. Oh, she also asked that we pray for peace for her family.”
Calli wrote it down dutifully, dotting the ‘i’s’ and crossing the ‘t’s’ and wondering if she should write it out again in neater handwriting.
“Thank you dear,” the voice said politely as Calli read the message back to her and then they both hung up. Alison appeared a few minutes later, relieved to find the table set and having encountered her husband on the driveway. He emerged carrying supermarket bags and Calli looked across at Alison’s struggling form.
“Can I come with you next time you go shopping?” she asked, concern etched on her face. “I can help you if you let me.”
Alison looked up in surprise from undoing her shoelaces and smiled beautifully at Calli. “I would love that. I just assumed you had better things to do, sweetheart.”
Calli shook her head and Allen came up behind her and placed his arm lovingly on her shoulder. “Thanks, lovely,” he said sighing. “That would be a huge help.”
Calli smiled, feeling happy and part of their world, noticing for the first time how they used the sweetest words in conversations with her. They hardly ever used her name, preferring instead to call her, beautiful, lovely, sweetheart or darling. It felt nice, like a tickling feeling inside and Calli allowed the realisation to percolate through her spirit, reviving and enthusing her for the first time in an age.
“Oh, did someone ring?” Alison asked as they cleared away after dinner. She fingered the pad and the scribbled note on its surface in blue biro. Calli inwardly kicked herself for not making time to rewrite it neatly.
“Yes,” she answered guilelessly. “I hope you can read my writing.”
Alison smiled warmly at her, nodding even as a curious emotion akin to anger crossed her tired features. Calli figured it was because the caller hadn’t wanted Allen to work for them, just dumping someone else’s silly problems on her fragile shoulders. Alison went off down the hallway to a small room at the end which she laughingly called her ‘prayer closet’ and closed the door. The room was comfy but sparse. Calli vacuumed it the previous week when she tried to help with the housework. A battered old armchair took centre stage and a low coffee table with a pad and pen. A picture of Jesus on his cross hung over an aged, ornate mantelpiece, which no doubt Allen would restore eventually in his hungry march through the house in the name of renovation. But the far wall was dominated by floor to ceiling bookshelves, all bearing strange titles of a Christian nature. Disappointed with God was the title of one book and Calli found herself answering yes as she dutifully dusted the shelves.
Allen smiled cheerfully as they loaded the dishwasher and wiped the crumbs from the table. Hopeful, he reached into the dresser for the game of Scrabble and waved the box at Calli. She laughed and nodded, settling down at the table to be beaten horribly by a remarkably literate carpenter.
Alison emerged from her room looking saddened. She made tea and took herself off upstairs for an early night, limping heavily and carrying the weight of the world on her delicately boned shoulders. Calli was worried, but Allen seemed unconcerned and the girl took her cue from him and threw off the concern, like an unwanted blanket.
Chapter 23
Unfamiliar flashing lights woke Calli in the early hours, red strobes revolving and decorating the walls of her room with colour. She sat up slowly, shaking her head to clear the dream, realising with horror it wasn’t make believe but there was an emergency vehicle somewhere on the property. Going to the bedroom window, Calli saw nothing outside, but for the reflection of the strange, eerie lights strobing across the garden. She opened her doors onto the veranda and stepped outside in her tee shirt and long pyjama pants, shivering as the chill night air enveloped her and stroked her skin.
The sound of voices attracted her to the front of the house and Calli swiftly made the journey traversing the building using the balcony. An early autumn nip was in the air and as she passed Allen and Alison’s bedroom, she saw it was brightly lit but empty. Panicking now, Calli worked her way around the outside of the house to the front, where the sight of an ambulance parked on the driveway met her. Alison’s hair was strewn out over the stretcher, blowing around her face in the strong breeze and Calli’s hand went automatically to her mouth. Her foster mother’s prone body was loaded into the vehicle, followed by Allen, who climbed in behind her, his jeans flapping at his ankles and his feet bare. Just as the doors were about to close, he glanced up and saw Calli on the veranda. His face lit with compassion at the sight of her lonely form, alone and lost, high above the action and he waved his hand once. The single motion conveyed calm, telling the girl everything would be ok. Then he moved his hand to his ear, promising to call her.
Calli’s hair flew back from her face as she waited on the veranda for the ambulance to hit the main road. Oh God, oh God, she muttered into the wind, feeling fearful and abandoned. The strobe lights stayed on for the entire length of Borman Road and she watched until its aura was long gone, winding its way to the Waikato Hospital in the south of the city. Loneliness and isolation crowded in on her almost as fast as the cold and she waited outside until her toes were freezing on the wooden decking. The house was lit up like a Christmas tree, realisation creeping into Calli’s numb brain slowly that she should go inside and sort it out, ready for Alison’s safe return. She worked her way back round the outside of the veranda and through her bedroom doors, closing and locking them behind her against the silence of the night.
Calli began in her own room, cleaning, polishing and vacuuming before moving out into the hallway, leaving every area spotless in her wake. The ambulance left at two in the morning, carrying away the girl’s last bastion of hope and she rubbed and scrubbed in honour of them, occupying herself until after school began.
Allen called her at nine thirty and reassured her Alison was much better. He sounded exhausted. “It’s just her condition,” he said tiredly. “It happens like this sometimes. They’ve said she can come home at the weekend this time.”
This time. The finality of the Multiple Sclerosis which racked the graceful woman’s body hit Calli like a wave. Nothing lasts forever, it was the first simple premise of human existence. Yet it was the one people chose to ignore most, perpetually convincing themselves tomorrow would be the same as today and next year could be planned for with certainty. Allen arrived home after lunch, looking haggard and grey. Despite his apparent exhaustion and worry, the gentle man still made a comment about his immaculate home and praised the effort Calli had made. He went off to his marital bedroom to sleep, falling onto the huge king size bed with the freshly laundered sheets and literally passing out fully dressed. Unable to concentrate on school work, Calli fired up the lawn mower and tidied the garden, mowing and trimming for a solid three hours in the sunshine.
Allen got up at six in the evening, poking around in the fridge and eventually settling on left overs from last night’s casserole for dinner. He gave Calli an enfolding hug, patting her lovingly on the back and trying to soothe her tattered nerves, while he dished up two portions which neither of them could finish. “Come on love,” he said, touching Calli’s fingers across the table, “we can’t have you getting sick as well.”
Calli pushed her food around on the plate, moving the sausage pieces from one side to the other and back again, when the sound of the front doorbell echoed through the house. Allen attended to its deafening clang, appearing in the kitchen with Declan behind him.
Calli exhaled and sat back in her chair, too tired to even contemplate the kind of emotional detritus a conversation with Declan might involve. Allen perceptively noted her reaction and turned politely to face the boy. “Does your mother know you’re here?” he asked, concern etched into the lines on his face.
“No, sir,” Declan replied, hanging his head slightly.
Allen’s eyes darted back to Calli, who watched the scene unfold with interest. It was clear Declan knew her foster family, but the connection was hazy and indistinct. Declan’s eyes were appealing and begging in some kind of masculine communication which escaped Calli’s understanding and she saw Allen relent suddenly. “You know my wife is in the hospital again?” the older man asked and Calli’s curiosity was pricked. “So,” Allen continued unabated, “Calli has kindly cleaned the house and mowed the lawn for me. I’m sure she would be grateful for help stripping down the mower and putting it away.”
Calli sat up straight. She had dug around underneath the implement with a stick, dislodging the crusty green rings of compacted grass and locked it safely in the shed already. Allen went to the dresser and opened a drawer, pulling out the shed key and placing it carefully into Declan’s outstretched hand. The boy’s fingers closed around its metal form, the fluffy teddy on the key ring dangling from his palm. Allen jerked his head in the direction of the outside shed and then looked expectantly at Calli. Reluctantly she pushed her chair back, scraping it along the tiles in a protest which was wasted on the two men. Declan waited while she collected her gum boots and clumped outside, waving her arm expansively in the direction of the shed and then turning to leave.
