Beneath the Surface

by Tara Marlow

  At nine-thirty that night, Grace closed her till and hugged her boss Sue goodbye. She loved working with Sue. She had a dry sense of humour most didn’t pick up on, and a generous nature she only dished out to her favourites. Sue shared she was her favourite of all of them and was devastated Grace was leaving. But Grace needed to work closer to Lowell’s. Well, that was mostly true. The reality was her father knew where she worked. She couldn’t risk him finding her there. She’d applied at two supermarkets closer to Lowell’s, and Sue had called them both, providing Grace with a high commendation. She was very thankful for that.

  Walking home with the throng of other workers, Grace mentally went through what she needed to pack. She would leave the apartment behind when she left for school in the morning. There was very little she wanted, and it all fit easily into her duffel. Her ‘absolutes’, her precious few trinkets, were buried in her school backpack and her cash tucked in the special pocket she'd sewn into it. That was really all she needed. The rest was replaceable, but she knew she’d need some other basics.

  With her mind on her mental checklist, she unlocked the front door and the stench almost knock her over. The place reeked of alcohol, body odour, and that smell she still could not place. Her stomach lurched and, before realising her mistake, she let the door thud behind her. Her father staggered out of his bedroom, anger pouring out of him like hot lava.

  One more day. Just one more day. With her chin up and backpack firmly over her shoulder, she walked boldly toward her room, but at her door, her father’s hand clenched around her forearm.

  “One more day,” she whispered, so quietly no one could have heard.

  “What the fuck did you say?” he growled, but he let her go.

  “Nothing. Just mumbling to myself,” she said and moved toward the door, intending to close it, but her father's hand was on the doorframe.

  “Just like your fucking mother. She used to do that shit all the time. Mumble, mumble, mumble.”

  “It was nothing, Dad. Just mumbling about school.”

  “Think you're better than the rest of us, huh? Little Miss Superior? Well, you're not. You know that, right? I went to fucking university. I even had a successful business. A landscape designer. Then it all went to shit. Just like that.” He went to click his fingers, but he was too loaded to make them connect.

  “I know, Dad. You told me.”

  “You don't know shit,” he spat. “Do you even know what happened? Do you?”

  “No,” she whispered, fearing the answer, but needing it all the same.

  “Let me tell you what happened. Your fucking grandparents.” Grace’s mind went back to the old man on the train.

  “They fucking ruined me. And your grandmother? Hated me from the moment she met me. She was a fucking bitch. Fucking meddling bitch. Thought she was better than everyone else. Hated her little princess marrying the likes of me, even though I was far more successful than her darling daughter. Nope, she hated me the moment she laid eyes on me.”

  “I didn't know. Where are they?”

  “What?” His pupils narrowed as they tried to focus on her face. His head swayed.

  “Where are my grandparents now?” she asked softly, regretting the question as soon as it passed her lips. But something nagged at her. A memory.

  “Who gives a shit? She got hers. I showed her. Fucking cow, meddling with me. She had no right.”

  “Showed her what?” Grace whispered. An icy chill filled her.

  “Nothing. She's a fucking bitch. She deserved nothing...” He stumbled back to the lounge room, grabbed his beer and took a long swig. He swayed for a minute, then turned back to Grace with hatred in his eyes.

  “She knew her daughter was a fucking whore. She just never wanted to see it. And who did she blame? Me. She knew her daughter was a cokehead. She knew she slept with any guy who'd buy her what she wanted. Yeah, she knew. But who did she blame? Me. Well, she got hers!” He tried to walk back toward his room, but his legs weren’t moving properly. He grabbed the edge of the chair.

  “Dad…” He turned and gaped at her. She opened her mouth to say more, but there was something in his eyes that scared the shit out of her. Her gut told her to shut up. She studied her ravaged cuticles. She wanted to pick at them but controlled herself.

  “What? What?! God, you're like her. Take it wherever you can get it. Just like your mother. Probably a fucking whore, too. Are you? Do you sleep with anything that turns his head your way? Fucking useless you are. Should have left you behind. You’ve only ever been a fucking anchor. I could have gone places, done things, but noooo. Had to drag you around. Well, you’re nearly done with school, right? Yeah. Nearly. Yeah, good. Good fucking riddance to you then.” He stood there, swaying, nodding his head, living in his own mental universe while Grace stood at the door of her room, feeling faint.

  “Yeah, you’re exactly like her. A whore. That's all you'll ever be. Just like your mother.” Then he turned on his heel and walked out the front door, letting it slam behind him.

  Grace stood at her bedroom door, her mouth open. The words stung. He’d called her a whore plenty of times. That didn’t bother her. She knew the truth. But the words about her mum? Those words cut. She barely remembered her mother. Only snippets. Everything about her mother was good. She was always hugging Grace. Telling her she loved her, always playing fun games with her, like the tea parties they had with her dolls, and running around the house, playing hide and seek. Suddenly Grace remembered words. Words an older woman had said. Was it her Nanny? Oh, my God. Yes. It was her grandmother. She remembered the woman clearly now. And the words she remembered made Grace’s knees buckle.

  ‘Come home to me, sweetness. You'll be safe here.’

  Grace’s mind went immediately to a red suitcase, like the one always in her nightmares. But this time, she remembered it in a different place. The red suitcase was her mother’s suitcase, and that suitcase was sitting by the front door of their house. The suitcase was real. Shit.

  * * *

  Grace was already awake and dressed by the time her alarm went off the following morning. She was packed and ready to go, her duffel in the far back corner under her bed. The last thing she needed was her father to see the packed bag. Today was the day, her eighteenth birthday. She’d barely slept, she was so excited. She thought of her mum.

  Her mind jumped at her grandmother’s words: ‘Come home to me, sweetness. You'll be safe here.’

  Had her mother been in trouble? In danger? Was her father abusive to her as well? Was there something more to her dreams? She shook her head. She needed to focus. Now was her opportunity to get out.

  She opened her bedroom door a fraction. She hadn’t heard her father return all night. Still, she needed to be careful. She stood completely still, listening for sounds of his presence. It was quiet. All she could hear was the cacophony of cars caught up in the morning commute. She stepped out into the hallway and poked her head around to see into her father’s bedroom. Empty. She tiptoed further into the lounge room. Empty as well. She exhaled, then turned into the bathroom.

  She brushed her teeth then washed her face, going gently around the cut above her cheek, slowly healing. Grabbing some concealer from the lone drawer, she dabbed some liquid on the faded bruising, then pulled her hair up into a ponytail. Her shoulder was still painful, but she ploughed ahead. When she was done, she stopped, and giving herself the treasured moment, she smiled into the cracked mirror.

  “Happy Birthday,” she whispered. “Freedom is your gift.”

  Without wanting to push her luck, she grabbed her toothbrush and the few toiletries she had and returned to her room. Fighting through the physical misery from her injuries, she put her boots on, then, got down on all fours and pulled the bag out from under her bed. She tossed the toiletries into the bag and took one last look around. There was nothing else.

  When she walked by the kitchen table, she looked toward the notepad sitting on top of the bar fridge. There was a pen
lying beside it. She paused, thought of what she’d write if she left a note. Grace knew it would be only one word: goodbye. She wasn’t sad or angry. She was resigned to the fact that John killed any reason for her to stay. Her father was long gone.

  Walking out the door, leaving the notepad blank, she hitched her duffel up over her shoulder and took in her first breath of freedom.

  14

  Grace’s phone buzzed. With her schoolbooks open all around her on Lowell’s queen-sized bed, she leaned over and picked it up from the small wooden bedside table.

  Hey Grace. Are you okay? I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.

  She was shocked to see the text from Daniel. She’d forgotten about him since moving in with Lowell. For the last two weeks, she’d been avoiding her phone, dreading the inevitable call from her father, asking where she was. The constant worry consumed her. Daniel’s text was a pleasant surprise, but she didn’t know how to respond.

  Looking around the room, thinking of her response, she realised this room was everything she dreamed of only weeks before. The big comfortable bed, the linens that kept her warm. There was even a tree-lined street outside her window. She felt… numb. She knew from experience this could all go away any minute. She felt like she was in a dream, waiting for her dad to walk through the door and drag her back to reality. She was lucky Lowell offered her a place to stay. She didn’t want to go back to the life of living out of a car or in a cold, mouldy apartment. Lowell insisted she stay as long as she wanted, but she felt guilty. She was living someone else’s life, not her own.

  She caressed the bedcovers, felt their softness. A tree swaying in the breeze outside drew her attention, its leaves sparkling from the sunlight. She was lucky. Too lucky. Looking back down at her phone, she understood Daniel was part of that dream life fantasy too. He seemed too good to be true. Her fingers hovered over the keys before finding the words.

  Hi Daniel. Yeah, I’m good. I moved in w/ Lowell. Things are better.

  She placed the phone back on the table, but the buzz was immediate. She picked it up again.

  Oh good. Will I see u at the café soon?

  Not likely, she thought. She doubted she’d ever go back there again. It was too close to her father’s apartment.

  No. Sorry.

  This time she waited for a response, although she wasn’t too sure there’d be one. Soon enough though, she could see the text dots start, then stop. Pause. Then start and stop again. She returned the phone to the table. She felt bad, but she needed to be cautious. Since her father knew about Daniel from the note, seeing him was an enormous risk. She was shocked her father never found out about Lowell. At least she hoped he hadn’t. She went back to her essay. It was due tomorrow. The phone buzzed again.

  Do you wanna see a movie on Sat? As friends. No pressure.

  How did she respond to that? She’d never been to a movie before, not that she could remember, anyway. What would it be like? And was this a date? He said as friends. She felt … sad about that. Did she want to go on a date with him? She liked him. A lot. She felt nervous around him, giddy even. It would be nice, she mused. Maybe it was one-sided? Maybe he didn’t like her that way? Maybe he was like one of the usual guys at the café? The idea of that hurt even more. She didn’t think so. He didn’t seem like a player. And the chemistry between them was heady. Besides, he was asking her to a movie. Maybe he did like her? Lowell warned her to be careful. But then, sleep with him, get it over with, then go back to your studies. She was eighteen now. Technically, she was an adult. Not that it mattered. She could go out with a guy if she wanted to. Except… She looked around at her books and knew she had to focus. Her mantra remained, even though she’d thrown out the timing. Dots blinked on the phone again.

  Just want to make sure you’re ok. Really, no pressure. Just let me know by Friday.

  Ah, but she’d have a new SIM card by Friday. She’d been waiting for her first pay cheque from her new job at Coles. With a new SIM card, she’d lose his number and he would no longer have hers. She wouldn’t have her father’s number either. She’d be glad of that, although he’d probably changed his by now. Still, it was one more step away from the past. She grabbed her school diary, flipped to the back page, and wrote both Lowell and Daniel’s numbers down. She’d keep Daniel’s number. Just in case.

  Okay. I’ll let you know.

  She paused before pushing send. It sounded cold. She didn’t want to… what? Tease him? Was her father right? Was she a whore? Was she stringing him along? Keeping him… what was it that her father said? Panting at my heels? No. No, she wasn’t like that. She added Thanks and hit send.

  * * *

  An hour later, she heard the front door open and habitually froze. She didn’t hear a key in the door. Was it her father? Had he found her? Hearing footsteps, she leapt off the bed and ducked behind the door. She knew her books were a giveaway, but at least she’d have time to react.

  “Hey, Jelly. You home?” Lowell’s voice rang out like a bird on a beautiful spring day. She released her breath. Of course, it was Lowell. It was his apartment. She was just the squatter. Yes, she was trying to relax about her circumstances, but it would take a while not to react every time the front door opened. She stepped out from behind the door and walked into the small lounge room. Lowell was dressed casually in worn jeans, a Van Morrison t-shirt, and sneakers. Heading into the kitchen, he carried several overflowing grocery bags, his biceps bulging from the load. She followed him into the kitchen, realising his t-shirt was one she’d not seen before. He had a secret hoard of band t-shirts, something she’d never picked up on before.

  “Hi,” she said. “Wow, what did you buy? Lowell…”

  “I have a craving for a chicken tikka, so I’m making one tonight. Hope you’re hungry.” Lowell was feeding her copious amounts of food since she’d moved in, even sending her off to school each day with a packed lunch. She’d never had someone do that for her before. She was lucky if she had a peanut butter sandwich, but since schools banned those, it was usually just an apple. Not anymore. Lowell made sure of that.

  “What’s a… chicken tikka?” she asked, opening the fridge, placing the milk inside.

  “Wait. Are you telling me you’ve never had chicken tikka before?” he asked, pausing to place a gigantic bag of rice in the pantry. Her eyes bulged at the size. It must have cost him a fortune. She had to give him some money. He couldn’t afford to support her, and she didn’t expect him to, either.

  “Um no. I’ve never heard of it. And Lowell, I will give you money to help pay for all this. I’m so sorry. It’s got to have cost you…”

  “Stop Jelly. Really, you need to stop apologising. You’ve been saying sorry all bloody week. It’s getting old.” He stood staring at her, holding a new pepper grinder in his left hand. She nodded and reflexively picked at her cuticles. He gently squeezed her hand to comfort her. He knew her anxious habit.

  “It’s nothing to worry about, Jelly. Anyway, Chicken tikka is like, an English staple. Like Aussies and their Thai takeaways. Or their pizzas. And, this is my treat because I have a surprise. We’re celebrating.”

  “Oh?” He handed her a loaf of bread, which she placed in the cupboard above her head. Its usual spot, she’d discovered. Everything had its place in Lowell’s apartment.

  “Yes. I got a new client today. Well, a group of them, I suppose. It’s a group of mums who want to do more than sit in cafes, drinking coffee. They call themselves the ‘Bubs and Bubbles’ group. They want to bring in one of their nannies, or their babysitter, whatever. Someone else who will look after the babies while the mums do yoga.”

  “Wow, that’s great!” she said, although she had no clue what a babysitter was. Bringing along a grandmother, or a Nanny like hers, to look after a bunch of babies all on her own just seemed… wrong. Still, she was genuinely happy for him. He’d been pitching his yoga studio for weeks.

  “Yeah, I’ve gotten three contracts just this week from a notice I placed in th
e community paper. And this one is for six months. I think you’ve brought me luck! So, we’re having my all-time favourite for dinner.”

  Lowell leaned over and grabbed the chopping board and started prepping dinner. She didn’t know what he was cooking, but he seemed excited about it. She was happy to eat anything he was making. Turned out, Lowell was a skilled cook. He’d taken cooking lessons with an ex-lover when he was nineteen. The guy didn’t stick, but the cooking lessons had. “Are you still going with your homework? Because I’m good to go here. You can set the couch when we’re ready to eat. I’d say set the table, but um…” She laughed. He didn’t have a table.

  “I just have an essay to finish. I’ll come help when I’m done. It won’t take long.”

  “Then go finish. Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” he said, slicing the package of chicken breasts open.

  She walked back to the bedroom, but she could hear everything he was doing in the kitchen. He talked to himself while he cooked, as if he was presenting with a running commentary. When she first moved in, she initially thought someone else was in the apartment and it freaked her out. She’d poked her head out. Seeing no one there, she asked who he was talking to. Remembering his blush, she smiled. Recovering, he admitted he liked to pretend he had his own cooking show and had forgotten she was there. She found it calming now.

  Lowell’s apartment was cosy. It was barely big enough for one, but they were making it work. She loved living here. Leafy trees were visible outside every window, which was a lovely change from the damp concrete complex she’d lived in before. Lowell was fastidious about keeping the place tidy, a welcome change from her previous life. His obsession with cobalt blue was something that amused her. Almost everything around the place was cobalt blue. The neighbours, a young couple with a baby, were nice too. They apologised for their baby’s crying at night almost daily, but Grace barely noticed. She felt safe here. And yet, she waited for the proverbial shoe to drop.