After the Smoke Clears, page 12
‘I hope not.’ Margo assessed me as if she were a detective. I must have passed the test as she spilled a crash course on August Nash and the life he had before changing his name to Silverfell, and about halfway through the synopsis she’d fed Otto some brunch before stepping up her drink from tea to whiskey. At 11am.
I said yes when she offered me a nip on the rocks, even though I hated the stuff about as much as I hated what she had to say. ‘Is Otto’s father dead?’
‘I wish. Piece of work, that one. Still in town, hence my concern.’ She took another sip, her hand unsteady. Had she started drinking before breakfast? Something was a little off with her. ‘A bloke called Joel Harris – arguably the most toxic of the Harris brothers. I used to change his nappy, think that would have earned me some respect but that man doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Never had to. His father unofficially runs the town.’
‘Take it he’s not the type to get involved then.’
‘We didn’t give the toad the chance – Freya was too switched on for that, choofed out of town before she was three months gone. That was never common knowledge so keep it to yourself, Charlotte Hill – we don’t want no trouble concerning the lad, do we? And when she died, August adopted Otto like his little sister wanted – without hesitation.’
It still didn’t excuse the fact he’d lied every day, in every interaction with that precious boy where I’d assumed they were father and son.
‘I woulda taken the boy in second, but I was so happy he got to stay in the family, not that August has kept me in his life … He hated me for sending him to that home. Decided I’d given up on him – I hadn’t. I thought it would heal him. I was wrong. I’ve never forgiven myself, but Gus was lost to me, after his mum died.’
‘Lost to you?’ August was a devout atheist and I wondered if that was part of their relationship breaking down.
‘At first it was just lighting fires in the bath, but it got worse when he was fifteen. At the time I thought Brightside would find the good kid I saw inside, keep him on the straight and narrow, you know? I’ve seen God’s light turn around so many lives.’
Brightside. The word jarred. ‘He stopped there the other night before coming to town.’
‘Says who?’ Margo’s eyes flared for a millisecond, but then looked away. ‘Doesn’t sound right. He hated it there. Resented everything about it – especially since I kept his sister, but chose to have him made a ward of the state. That was the kick in the guts. He felt I’d put him in the too-hard tray. I was single. I had no clue about raising an angry, grieving young man.’
A rumble of engine noise flooded the kitchen as a car stopped outside. I paced to the front windows and saw a woman about Augie’s age in what looked like an all-black hospitality uniform, staring at my car in the drive with concern. The striking redhead unbuckled a toddler from a car seat and installed the child on her hip. She had a Cate Blanchett kind of elegance, and a sense of urgency as she climbed Margo’s front stairs.
‘Margs?’ the woman called from the shaded verandah.
Margo opened the door to the woman, whose green eyes were framed under a furrowed brow, and tickled the toddler in her arms. ‘Hello, Princess Ruby.’ Margo melted at the sight of the little girl. ‘Becca, love.’
So, this was the Becca Otto mentioned.
Margo’s voice changed to one of panic. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘My bloody brother again. He just called from the station when I was on the way to work. Troy’s hauled him in for something. Had him there all day and night just to be a prick.’
‘Sorry love, I just heard.’ Margo said with disappointment. ‘They came looking for him the other day. Drugs again?’
‘Not this time,’ Becca said, eyeing me off. ‘Who’s this?’ Margo told her my name.
‘Hi, sorry to hear about your brother,’ I said, stepping forward.
‘How do you know Brookes?’
‘I don’t…’
She frowned, as if waiting for further explanation on who the hell I was. When I didn’t give it, she focused back on Margo. ‘He said something about bones dug up at the new housing estate. Seemed shaken up about it.’
Bones? I gave up on hovering out of the way to appear polite and forced myself into their chat.
Margo’s face paled. ‘Nothing like that in the local rag. Probably cow skulls from the old dairy farm and they’re just bullying the poor lad.’
‘I dunno, Margs. Got me thinking about, you know who, how she disappeared in grade eleven all those years ago …’
Margo frowned. ‘What are you saying, love? My brain’s slowing down – it’s the menopause. Who do you mean?’
Becca looked over at my sticky beak, hovering with interest, but continued. ‘Stephanie Lawley – the exchange student? Blonde? Cheekbones?’ Her eyes widened.
‘Oh, course. The one with tickets on herself.’ Margo frowned. ‘That girl’s still missing? If they thought it was her, wouldn’t it be all over the news? They always do stories if the victims are pretty. Look at Schapelle Corby and that pot in the boogie board scandal,’ Margo added.
‘My uncle won’t let this out,’ Becca said. ‘He doesn’t want the publicity to threaten his project. I gotta go down there, see what’s going on.’ Becca placed her hand on Margo’s shoulder, inspected her face. ‘Are you feeling better now? Up to watching Rubes for a bit? You know what my brother’s like. Still needs someone to sign off on the words before he spits them out.’
‘Of course, love.’ Margo dismissed her concern over her health, then took the toddler from the woman’s hip with familiarity. I felt a wave of tension between them as Brookes’ sister noticed Otto on the lounge-room floor.
‘How do you know Margo?’ Becca asked me. The woman was as guarded as an ATM. She just stared at me, at Otto.
Margo filled the silence, the child on her hip pulling on her swirly earrings. ‘Told ya petal – this is Lotti. She’s alright, love, keep your knickers on. She’s the boy’s teacher from the city.’
‘I’m also, ah, Augie’s girlfriend,’ I spat out. Considering the lies he’d told me, even that statement was uncertain right about now. Anything seemed possible – for all I knew this pretty redhead might be his wife.
Her posture changed. Becca’s attention turned to Otto, lounging on the shag carpet, oblivious to their conversation. ‘That’s not who I think it is, is it?’
Becca’s hand covered her mouth in a gush of an emotion I couldn’t name.
Margo’s eyebrow cocked. ‘I was filling Lotti here in on the situation … I’ll explain when you get back, you’ve got enough on your plate.’
‘She brought him here?’ Becca asked. ‘Margs – what are you doing?’
Becca huffed, went to leave but turned back to have a final word. ‘All the things she lost to keep him safe. She’d never want him here.’
Margo gave a thin-lipped smile as the little girl pulled from her arms and went and sat by Otto watching TV on the big boxy set.
Becca looked me over once more. ‘Anyway, Troy’s had him and Gus down at the copshop all night.’
I butted in. ‘Did you say bones? I went down there but they wouldn’t let me in.’
Another silent look exchanged between Margo and Becca.
‘Troy’ll fill me in,’ Becca said. ‘I’ve got too much on that prick for him not to.’
Margo rubbed Becca’s arm. ‘I’ll look after Rubes, you keep us in the loop, hey?’
I was torn between wanting to follow, gather more evidence, and wanting to step back a moment from the unravelling. I had no clue what I’d stumbled upon.
Otto snatched the remote and started rubbing his eyes, complaining about the new girl dancing in the way of the TV. He was getting crotchety.
Margo read my mind. ‘You need a place to stay, Charlotte? Or we could keep Otto?’
I frowned, the idea of leaving him here unnegotiable. ‘We’re at the pub.’
‘The pub?’ the ladies said in unison.
‘That’s a bad idea. Too many locals,’ Becca said.
‘It’s not like they’d have any reason to link me to Freya, or Augie for that matter. And, believe me, I’ll be laying low – I don’t know anyone in town.’ I gathered up the shoes Otto had kicked off across the lounge and turned to Becca. ‘Maybe you could let me know how you go?’ I gave her my room number and phone contact.
Becca nodded and left.
Was this fire-haired woman one of the four in that dog-eared photo I’d seen in August’s van, all those months ago? She was obviously a key player in his life. My chest was tight with something I couldn’t name – I wasn’t sure if it was grief for the life I thought I’d had, or fear for what I was about to find out. As I grabbed my phone, checked for missed calls, I couldn’t help viewing the man in the background photo in a new light.
Otto grabbed my hand as we negotiated the stairs. I’d grown attached to the kid, more than a teacher should. I may have even been stupid enough to picture making him a cake on his birthday next month. That was something parents did, not teachers. What was I thinking?
I barely knew this man. I had no business falling for him. And I definitely shouldn’t be falling for his kid. It didn’t stop me curling Otto’s fingers in mine, and taking him home.
Otto complained the whole drive back to our crusty pub room.
‘Straight inside, Stink-breath.’
He kicked his legs against my chair with the fury of a caged possum. ‘You said you’d play hide and seek!’
It was early afternoon but he was exhausted. So was I. This is why my interaction with kids was best concluded by 3 pm. ‘Cars movie and chill time?’
‘You said the police lady gave directions to snacks!’
‘Dude, I’m sorry, I did say that but you ate at Margo’s and we just got back.’ He seemed to tire quicker than hearing children and I put it down to the effort required to keep up. I tried to appease him with something from the minibar.
‘It’s just nuts, and I hate nuts! Snacks then hide-and-seek!’ A bottle shop drive-through was attached to the back of the pub and it had bright signage for specials that included Pringles. ‘Chips!’ Otto called.
I parked in the drive-through area to duck in. ‘Stay in the car this time – count how many boxes are on that pallet while I’m in there and let me know in two minutes? Stay! Right! There!’ I rushed inside, grabbed a big bag of overpriced crisps and a bottle of white to calm my nerves and lined up behind a tall, jet-black-haired man paying for a six pack. I craned my neck to check on Otto through the signage on the window, pointing at the boxes as he counted like a sweetheart. He was just like his father – prone to high emotions but easily distracted.
Then it hit me. He is not just like his father. Otto doesn’t know his father.
I wasn’t comfortable with any of this – surely even a rotten bloke had a right to know they’d fathered a child, and for a child to know that man at some point and determine for themselves just how rotten they were? Plenty of losers I knew turned out to be reasonable fathers later in life. How bad could he really be?
As I waited to pay, I turned it all over in my mind. Freya was Augie’s dead sister. Augie was Otto’s uncle. Brookes linked with old bones. None of these weird facts seemed to connect.
The customer in front was rabbiting on to the cashier. He had biceps bulging from a black Silverchair-concert singlet. I read the whole 2007 tour venues to distract my mind from churning. He was tall, dark and attractive in an obvious, John Stamos kind of way. That changed when he opened his mouth.
‘Mate, I can live off a roo for a good month – bonus if you get a joey – sweet meat.’
I threw up a little in my mouth. I eased my bottle into the prime bench spot, and the joey killer turned and noticed me for the first time.
‘Who have we here?’ the disarming man said. ‘New to town?’
‘Just passing through,’ I replied then turned to the shopkeeper. ‘I’ve got cash if that’s quicker …’ I slid over a twenty.
‘Anyone ever said you look like Mila Kunis? You know, from That 70s Show?’
I said nothing. Was he going to tell me how beautiful my eyes were now, and how he’d give them a sight to see?
‘Where you from, sweet cheeks?’ There was something a little too direct about his gaze. Maybe I should have watched Wolf Creek.
‘City girl.’
‘Long way from home, then. If you need a place to crash, I’ve got a spare couch – plenty of grub.’
‘No thanks,’ I said, wanting to add that I was all good for murdered baby wallaby but also wanting to avoid ending up in a body bag in the dusty ute outside. I grabbed my change with a smile and shuffled out, peering through the dark tint of the back seat of my car. No Otto.
Otto? I scanned the drive-through, the road in the foreground. No Otto. I ran over to our motel room across the carpark, thinking he’d gotten bored and restarted on the hide-and-seek. Not there. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ I chanted under my breath.
Returning to the bottle shop, I heard a muffled scream. Banging, from the storage room. ‘Oh, no, you didn’t.’ I ran over, pulled at the lever. The door was locked at the base. I let out a guttural cry, bashing the metal door with my fists, knowing Otto couldn’t hear it, but might feel it and be reassured.
‘Excuse me!’ I yelled inside the grog shop. ‘There’s a kid locked in there.’ The banging grew more desperate.
The young cashier heard me and left the counter, keys jangling as he approached and took out his keys. ‘Gets stuck all the time.’
‘I’m sorry. He wanted to play hide and seek …’ The door shook, a loud thud as if the poor kid was trying to body slam it open with his tiny shoulder.
‘It’s okay, mate, we’re gonna get you out real soon,’ the nose-ringed cashier called.
Kicking. Screaming. My heart was in my throat.
The other customer appeared from the store, with two six packs when I was sure he’d only paid for one. He noticed the commotion and swaggered over. ‘Need a hand, mate?’
The young staffer had found the right key. We both wrenched on the lever, but it wouldn’t budge. ‘The bugger’s bent out of shape.’ Otto’s wail grew more desperate, and I started crying too, imagining him alone in the cold dark space, unaware help had arrived.
‘Guys, leave it to me,’ the roo shooter ordered, dismissing us with a shake of his head.
We stepped aside. Tendons in his neck strained and his white knuckles yanked the lever hard, and it came unstuck.
Otto lay on the floor between stacks of cartons, wide-eyed, one black jogger raised for another kick. He flinched as the door opened, the sunlight flooding in. He pulled himself up and bolted to my arms, snot dripping from his nose, his fingers cold, his face flushed from exertion. I kissed his soft brown hair, then crouched down. I didn’t know the sign for ‘safe’, so I finger-spelled it. But I saw there was no need, he could see it, he could feel it.
‘Thank you so much,’ I blubbered to the two men. ‘I’m so sorry to take up your time.’
Otto continued to hide in my chest, his shoulders still heaving with sobs.
‘What do you say, mate?’ The rescuer raised his jaw, the arrogant smile fading from his face, brushing his palms together as if his dirty work was done.
Otto wasn’t looking so would have no clue he was spoken to. He pressed his head back into my stomach, his arms gripping my waist.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Roo Shooter sneered. ‘Stuffs this man’s lock, made me late, now he can’t even say thank you?’
‘He’s upset, but I really do appreciate it. And, of course, we’ll pay for the door if it is damaged,’ I said.
The young staffer waved away my suggestion. ‘Nah, nothing a good bash won’t fix. I’m just happy the little fella’s okay, huh?’ He grabbed a can of lemonade from the cold room for Otto, checked there was nothing more he could do and returned inside.
We stepped across to our car, desperate to park it near our room and stay put inside when I heard Roo Shooter call, ‘Nah, where do you think you’re going? If he’s not going to say thanks, I think you should be the one to repay me, sweet cheeks.’
I cringed at this egotistical arsehole, fought the urge to scream at him and squatted again next to Otto and asked him to say thank you.
‘Thank you,’ Otto said. He was usually so articulate. He’d learned so much before his hearing declined that you would never know he was deaf, but with all the emotion the words came out guttural and dense with the lisp of a younger child who hasn’t quite learned how to command his tongue.
Otto gazed back at me, and I nodded with a smile, turned his face away from the man. The neon lights. The giant man. His skin, still cold to the touch. It was all too much for me, let alone a little boy. But the arsehole wouldn’t let up.
‘What was that kid? You one of them retards or somethin’?’
I resisted the urge to explode, tucked Otto under my arm, thankful he could not hear this man. But then I couldn’t let it go. I turned back. ‘He can’t hear, but you know what? Most of what you have to say isn’t worth listening to.’
‘Hoohoo! You’ve got a bit of fire in ya, hey, love?’ He smiled then made a disgusting display of mocking Otto’s tone that said more about him than it did about anyone else. ‘The names J-oe-l.’ He spread out the consonants like a twerp. ‘Can you say “Thank you J-oe-l”?’
Otto turned his head back to the arsehole, just as the name clicked in mine. I grabbed Otto’s hand tighter than I’d ever held it before, my knuckles white. This can’t be the Joel Margo had mentioned, the Joel Augie had gone to such lengths to keep Otto away from.
Stupid, stupid girl. This is why nature decided you should never be a parent.
Joel did a pretend stomp in front of us, a waft of dust flying in the air, then cackled to himself, mimicking what he thought he heard as he reverse-pedalled his long legs back to his ute, hopped in the driver’s seat and skidded off.
