Call Me Evie, page 20
“Oh, no. I’m from Melbourne,” I say.
“Far out, the big smoke, eh?” He shakes his head, taking a plate. “I know you from somewhere, though. I’m sure I’ve seen you before.”
I shift in my seat, staring down at the grass. They’ll find you. The bag in the bottom of my wardrobe seems so far away now. I will never outrun what Thom and I did. Jim took all the sharp objects, anything I could defend myself with, but not the ax. Despite the heat emanating from the brazier, I am suddenly cold. I wrap my arms around myself.
“Uh, I don’t know, I haven’t been here long.” I can feel my cheeks burning.
“You used to have long hair, right?”
A pulse of fear runs down my back. “No.” Within hours of arriving in Maketu I was bald. That was—what?—four weeks ago, I realize. “It’s always been short.”
Whiskers poke through beneath his long pink-tipped nose. “Maybe it was someone else. She looked exactly like you, though.” He dips his head but I catch his sly grin.
“You’re a tripper, man,” one of the other guys says.
“So why’d you leave Melbourne?” It’s Mick again.
Everyone falls silent. I find myself scowling at him. He takes a lamb chop and pulls the meat away with his teeth.
“We wanted a change.”
He doesn’t wait to swallow before speaking again. “A change, huh?”
Can they hear my heart, see the pulse in my neck? I count my breaths slowly in and slowly out.
Mick is looking down at his phone.
I still have food on my plate, but I can’t eat for the foaming anxiety in my gut.
The others begin chatting and laughing, teasing each other. Iso rocks back with his empty plate in his lap and the legs of his white plastic chair bow beneath him.
Donna is busy with her hands and I realize she is rolling a joint. I put my plate down, thinking about running away, but I stay still, with Beau at my feet. Iso tosses him half a sausage and Beau snaps it out of the air. Mick is still staring at his phone, his lips curving in a nasty smile.
“I’ve been wanting to get one of those,” Iso says, reaching over and touching the key ring I’m fiddling with. “Expensive for what they are, though.”
“What?”
He takes the keys from my hands and holds the key ring between his thumb and forefinger. I notice it is slightly thicker at one point. “This thing, here?”
“What is it?” Mick asks, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
Iso tosses my keys to him. “That has a chip in it that tracks movement. You pair it with a phone and it has all sorts of settings. I was looking at getting a couple and embedding one in the tail of my surfboard to see how far I paddle and how fast I move along the wave. But some people put them in their car so if it gets stolen they can track it. That sort of thing. Pretty handy really.”
My stomach sinks. Jim is one step ahead again. “Just going to the bathroom,” I manage to gasp. It comes on quickly, that fizzing rush. I just make it to the toilet in time. Lurching forward, I aim the spray of vomit into the bowl. It rocks me, leaching my energy and throwing my stomach into jolting spasms.
When the nausea passes, I splash water on my face. I can’t go back out there. I think about running but I can’t leave Beau behind.
He has my keys.
When I return to the table, Mick has Beau on his lap. He watches me take my seat again.
“Can I have my keys?” My words slur. I blink.
“What?”
“My keys?”
“Where did I put them?” Mick pats his pockets. “I must have dropped them.”
“Please,” I say, willing my voice to stay steady.
“Oh,” he says, pulling them from his pocket. “Here they are.” He tosses them to me and continues stroking Beau.
“Jesus,” Donna says, rising. The herby tang of pot floats on the air. “Evie, you don’t look so good.” She touches my back and my skin crawls, my shoulder blades rise. Her eyes are half closed.
Someone presses a glass of water into my hands. I take it and sip. Jim was right, as usual. I should have stayed home. I should never have come here. The joint comes around to me and I take a small puff, hoping it will quell the panic.
I rise on unsteady feet. Everyone is watching me but there is something loaded in their looks. I find Beau’s lead on the grass and clip it to his collar. “I think I might go. I need to get home and lie down.”
“I’ll give you a lift, if you like.” It’s Mick again. He knows.
I shake my head.
“Are you sure you don’t need a ride?” Donna asks. “I’ll run you back home myself.”
“No, it’s fine. Come on, Beau.”
“We’ll see you again soon, doll.”
“Let me know about Monday, Evie,” Iso calls.
I look back at him, trying to decipher the expression in his eyes. Eyebrows angled upward; kind, open face.
“Sure,” I say.
As soon as I’m out of sight around the side of the house I quicken my stride, almost stumbling in my haste, up the driveway to the road. I have only moonlight to see by until I reach the bottom of Iso’s road near the beach, where the streetlights glow. The keys I hold firm in my hand. He has always known where I’ve been. I wonder if Jim is watching me now, if I’m a dot on a map that he can follow.
I start up the hill toward the house. The incline is easier now than when I first arrived. I’m fitter and stronger, but still the anxiety burns in my gut and the cold crawls over my hands and face. I try to keep the pace up, reminded of the park, the spot near Thom’s house. Those nights I walked home and my dad told me to take the long way unless I was with Thom. Dad would know what to do, he would know exactly how to escape. Don’t cut through the park; it’s not safe for a girl to walk alone. His warning drew to mind images of grown men waiting in the shadows. There had been incidents there. A team of football players drinking at night and a teenage girl. There were no CCTV cameras and no security. Her word against theirs. I had cut through the park a lot, but always walking quickly, my pulse fluttering. Never looking back. I think of this as I climb the hill in the darkness. A car approaches from behind but I don’t look over my shoulder. I sense eyes staring out the window as it draws alongside and slows a little. Eventually it creeps past and disappears around the bend.
I imagine Mick, with his sly grin, showing everyone his phone. I’m sure he has found the video of me and Thom. Soon enough the whole town will know.
I can hear the harsh strain of air rushing into my lungs, the thrumming pulse in my chest. Inside, I sink down on my heels and Beau leaps up against me as if to hug me, as if to say, It will all be okay.
Twenty-eight
A scratching sound in the night. It’s coming from up on the roof. Down below, twigs snap. The sounds are amplified by the stillness within the house. Then comes a knock at the door. My heart leaps up into my throat. Beau barks.
I wait in the stillness, holding my breath. Two more firm taps echo through the house.
“Hello?” someone calls. Beau’s barking grows louder. “Hello? Evie, are you in there?” It is a woman’s voice.
I climb out of bed silently, my thighs aching from the horse ride. I inch toward the front door, leaving the lights off. My body quakes with the cold.
When I get to the kitchen, I scissor open the blinds and peer outside.
The shape by the front door is stooped, with dark hair, hooded eyes, and a pale stare. The eyes turn on me; I am frozen to the spot. My hands tremble and blood thrums at my temples. The figure smiles. “Evie,” she says, her voice thick with booze.
“What do you want?” My own voice is high.
She lifts something up. “It’s me,” the figure says, too loud.
“Tiriana?”
“Open up, girl, it’s chilly out here. I brought you leftovers.”
With Beau pressed against my leg, I open the front door.
Tiriana is on the doorstep. “What took you so long?”
“I didn’t know who it was.”
“It’s all good,” she says with a sniff. The stink of alcohol fills the room; she must have just finished up drinking at Iso’s. She holds up the plastic bag. “I brought some sausages and snapper—you hardly ate anything tonight.”
“Thank you,” I say. “But I’m not really hungry.”
Her face seems to fall with disappointment. “Well, you can heat it up for breakfast then.” She hands it to me.
“How did you know where I live?” I demand.
Her head tilts to the side. “You told me, when you arrived. The lodge. Remember?” She looks about the interior of the house from the doorstep with a grin. “Looks a bit different in here these days.”
I glance back toward the oven. “It’s almost midnight.”
If Jim were here, with his rifle, what would have happened?
“Oh, not so late for a Saturday night. Can I come in?”
“I was in bed.”
She nods, puffs out her cheeks. “I see. Well, I’ll get out of your hair then. Just thought I’d say hi. Iso said your uncle was out of town and I thought you might want some company.”
“Iso told you that Jim was out of town?” My stomach heaves. Either Iso is lying or Tiri is.
She takes a step forward and my fingers itch for the safety of the ax behind the door. Almost unconsciously I find myself stepping toward it.
“I think I want you to go now.” Beau is tense beside me. “Please.”
Tiriana’s eyes move from my face to Beau, then back to me. She stands for a few heartbeats longer. “Yeah,” she says, her demeanor becoming dark. “If that’s what you want.” She turns and walks away on unsteady legs.
I close and lock the door behind her, then watch from the kitchen as she walks up the driveway. She turns back once to look down at the house, pausing before continuing on.
* * *
• • •
I wake early the next morning. Last night, lying there in the darkness and hugging Beau against me, I was so scared it’s a wonder I managed to get to sleep at all.
I feed Beau, then go to the front door, opening it a fraction to peer up toward the road. The coast looks clear. I walk up the driveway and check the mail. There is nothing but a square of paper with no message, only an image. My face. My dark brown hair, still long, pulled over my shoulder. My hazelnut eyes glazed with a drunk detachment. My skinny body nude. It’s a still from the sex tape. I know at once who must have put it there: Iso’s friend Mick. He was so certain he recognized me. And if he was able to find this image, it means he must have known what to search for. He must know my real name. Jim will fix this, but I can’t trust him, I can’t trust anything he says.
I look up and down the street. At first I think it’s deserted, then I spy a small head poking out from the bus shelter. Awhina.
Her head withdraws as I start to walk toward her.
“Hello,” I say when I reach her. “How are you, Awhina?” I squat on my haunches so that I am at her eye level. Her brown eyes settle on mine.
“Good,” she says.
It’s Sunday. No school today. “What are you doing in here so early?”
She shrugs, twisting her slim body like a ribbon.
“Hey, Awhina, did you see someone put something in my letterbox?”
“When?”
“I don’t know—since you’ve been here.”
She shakes her head. “I’ve got to go home.”
“No,” I say. “You don’t have to. Your dad hurt you, right?”
The child looks uncertain.
“What if I told you that I could make sure he never hurt you again?”
Children are perceptive, I know that, but Awhina’s face changes. It is filled with such skepticism that my heart sinks.
“It’s true,” I insist. “I could help you so he never hurts you.” I remember the man holding her up on his shoulders at the park. Was it delight or terror on her face?
“Do you want to see my house?”
The girl looks past me to the street. “I’m going to go home now.”
“Don’t be shy, Awhina.”
“I’m not. I just want to go home.”
“I have a dog,” I say. “Did you see him? He’s cute.”
“No.”
“Do you want to meet my dog? His name’s Beau. I could make you a hot chocolate and you could pet him.”
She bites her bottom lip.
“Or maybe,” I say with an encouraging smile, “you want me to piggyback you?”
Again the child doesn’t speak.
“Come on, Awhina,” I say, turning to present my back to her. “On you get.”
Obediently, the girl stands up on the seat and puts her arms around my shoulders. I take her legs in my hands and rise with straining calves. Her head rests against the base of my neck.
“Where are you taking me?” she asks.
“Just to meet my dog, Beau, that’s all.”
She tightens her grip.
I carry her down the driveway. On the doorstep, I free one leg to open the door and she squirms. “Hold tight.” I step through the door into the house. I place her onto a stool and she releases her grip. Beau rubs up against my leg, then rests his head in the child’s lap, and she squeals with delight.
I remember the photo in my pocket. I take the box of matches from beside the fireplace and in the bathroom I light the corner of the image, holding it angled away from my hand. The flame creeps up, consuming the picture, flaring the shadows in the mirror. I can hear Awhina’s laughter. I drop the photo, almost entirely consumed by flames, in the sink and run water to chase away the ashes. The cameras would see us, me and Awhina. What will Jim say?
I stared up at Thom’s camera. As drunk as I was, I knew what was happening—but I trusted him. I was so naive, so stupid, just like everyone said. I wanted it so badly, the gaze of the lens on me. The gaze of Thom. I had felt such a surge of power and excitement. His eyes caught something the mirror never did: a side of me that was beautiful. In the end he took something that had liberated me and twisted it into something that caused me immense pain. I feel a flash of anger.
“Okay,” I say, emerging into the lounge. “Hot chocolate time.”
Beau goes over to his bed and flops down. I set the kettle on the stovetop and spoon the powdered chocolate into two mugs. The girl watches me from the stool.
“What happened to your hair?” she asks.
“My hair?”
“Yeah. Why’s it so short?”
“I cut it.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed a change.”
“My mum and dad told me not to talk to you.”
I clear my throat, hurt but trying not to show it. I turn back to her, hands on hips. “Why?”
She shrugs, looking down, her bottom lip jutting out.
“Why?” I say, a frayed edge to my voice.
“Because . . .”
“Because why?”
“You’re the crazy lady. They said you might hurt me.”
I lean forward over the island so my face is close to hers. The kettle begins to whistle behind me. “Awhina, they are lying. I would never hurt you,” I say, before giving a little laugh over the scream of the kettle. “And I’m not crazy, okay? Tell them that.”
I kill the stovetop and pull the kettle off the burner. Steam rises from the mugs as the hot water splashes in. It is easy to imagine the boiling water pouring over skin.
I add milk, then carry the hot chocolates over to the island. I climb onto the stool beside Awhina’s. The girl blows into her mug, then lifts it to her lips tentatively.
“Would you like to move away from here, Awhina? Do you want to come away with me, somewhere where you will be safe and happy?” What could I do with her? I could get a job and maybe she could go to school wherever we end up living. Could I really look after a child? I think about my dad. He raised me alone. A twist in my heart; I miss him. I miss home.
She grimaces. “I want to go now.” She puts the mug back on the counter. I see tears forming in her eyes.
“Careful, Awhina. It’s hot.”
“Let me go home!”
“Go home?”
She slips down from the stool and runs to the front door. I rise and, as she reaches for the handle, put a hand to the door, holding it closed. Has she noticed that I keep an ax near the entranceway? Maybe that’s why she is afraid.
“Just wait for one second,” I say. “Why are you leaving?”
She glances up fearfully. “Please let me go.”
“You haven’t finished your drink.”
“I don’t want it.”
I step back, holding my hands up in surrender.
“Okay, there you go.” I begin opening the door. “No need to panic, Awhina.” The child darts out, fleeing up the driveway.
I tip our hot chocolates down the drain. I do all the dishes in the sink. Jim will be annoyed when he gets back, annoyed that I left.
I tidy up. I wipe down the counters and take the trash out to the bin. In the laundry, I put the washing into the machine, turning out the pockets for any change. Then I feel something flat and rigid. In the pocket of the jeans I wore yesterday, I find Iso’s credit card. I take it and press it deep into my escape bag at the bottom of my wardrobe.
* * *
• • •
I’ve just finished eating when I hear a car pull up outside the house. I take up a position behind the door. It could be the man in black, or Awhina’s parents. It could even be Iso’s friend from last night. A key in the lock. The door opens. I brace.
“Hello?” It’s Jim. “Kate, where are you?”
“Hi,” I say. He jumps.
“Shit, Kate.” His eyes venture from my face to the ax clutched against my shoulder. He reaches out and takes it from me, resting it against the wall. “What are you doing lurking with an ax? What’s going on?”
