by Candice Fox
He turned in the doorway, looked the cop in the eyes, and drew a breath.
Then a dog barked. Search dogs at the automatic doors to the foyer, being led in by a team of officers in navy blue.
The maintenance man gripped at his throat, stopping the words before they could fall from his lips.
He shook his head and walked quickly away.
I got a cab home at 11 am, my mind turning over completely from worries about Richie Farrow to my own child. My ex-wife, her boyfriend and Lillian were due to arrive at my house at midday. Kelly and Jett were both personal trainers, and together they’d left the gyms where they worked and started their own company, training clients for marathons and body-sculpting competitions. A week-long exercise retreat for their customers in the Tropical North was the perfect opportunity for Lillian and me to have a practice run at being together, alone, for the first time since my incarceration. At least, that had been the plan.
I picked my fingernails on the way home, the anxiety creeping up again as I thought about how I was going to explain to Kelly that I now could not take a week off work to spend every minute with my child. There was also guilt, that though I burned to see my daughter a part of me wanted to turn around and rush back to the search for Richie, to forget about Lillian and go after a boy I didn’t know while the hours he was missing ticked slowly by. One concern fed into another, and in time I was staring blankly at the walls of corn-yellow cane narrowing into eternity before me, trying to decide where I would bury Peeper if she died. When the cab pulled in to my driveway and I saw a familiar car parked on the grass, the anxiety melted away.
Dr Val Gratteur was standing on my back porch, a lit cigarette hanging from her lip, her withered arms folded across her narrow chest. Celine spotted me from her bed on the end of the porch and came running, barking in a high pitch with sheer relief at seeing me, I supposed, after I was abducted right before her eyes by strange-smelling men.
Val saluted with her cigarette as my animals gathered around me, the geese waddling to my sides and pecking at my pockets, looking for grain pellets.
I’d explained the false alarm to Val on the phone, but she sat on the porch steps beside me anyway and listened as I explained again, trying to make sense of it all, bouncing ideas off her about Richie Farrow’s disappearance. She didn’t ask me the inevitable question about who would care for Lillian while I was working on the case, as I’d hoped she would. I sat jogging my knees nervously, watching the water, a smoke trail on the distant shore probably signalling the campsite of some fishermen stopped for lunch. I’d just taken the deep, resigned breath I needed to broach the topic when she put her hand on my knee.
‘I watch your geese and your dog. Why wouldn’t I watch your kid?’ she asked.
‘Oh,’ I sighed. ‘Thank you, Val.’
I wanted to say something meaningful, something that might hint at how grateful I was to have this woman in my life. There was no way I could explain it in its entirety, and so trying to say any of it seemed impossible. The truth was, Val was my only option as a babysitter for my dogs, my geese, my child. I had no other friend within a thousand miles, beside Amanda.
‘When is she supposed to arrive, the little pickle?’
I glanced at my watch. ‘Any minute now.’
‘Maybe I’ll take a walk,’ Val said.
‘No, stay. Please. You should meet Kelly and her meathead boyfriend.’
‘I dunno.’ She stood, pushing herself up with a hand on her knobbly knee. ‘I get the feeling the handover will be tense enough.’
I didn’t know what that meant. I had been hoping the handover wouldn’t be tense at all, but I didn’t argue. Val left me, and I wandered the house nervously, straightening the chairs at the dining-room table and peering in at Lillian’s room.
I was immensely proud of Lillian’s room, partly because it had been so difficult to assemble. Being who I am, I can’t wander around department stores in the children’s section, browsing the pink model bedrooms with their fluffy pillows and polka-dotted coverlets, trying to decide between fairy and mermaid themes. I can’t buy toys or children’s clothes without the threat of being verbally abused, intimidated or outright chased out of stores, so everything had to be purchased online. I’d asked Kelly a limited number of questions, not wanting to sound like I didn’t know what I was doing, or that I didn’t know the size of my own kid’s shoes, when of course I didn’t. I’d picked up in conversations with Kelly that Lillian was out of a cot and into a ‘big-girl bed’, a half-size bed that was low to the ground so she could get up and go to the bathroom when she needed to, so I’d purchased one of those and probably more pillows than was required.
As I stood in the doorway, looking at the room, it seemed like a little girl’s paradise to me. I’d added touches that probably weren’t ‘necessary’ for the short amount of time I’d have her, but that I thought she’d probably enjoy. I’d found a thick shag-pile rug in fuchsia that really gave the room warmth, and I’d added a little bookcase and a pile of books I guessed she’d like. The paint I’d chosen for the room was a soft purple, and I’d hung a butterfly wind chime over the window that chimed in the breeze.
My confidence plummeted when a car pulled into the driveway, and I looked out the screen door to see Jett behind the wheel, squinting at the boarded-up windows at the front of my house. Celine nosed my fingers, having snuck in from the porch while I was distractedly rearranging and perfecting things around the place. She can open the door by scratching at the dented bottom of the frame if the catch isn’t closed properly. I led her back outside, fixed my hair in the hall mirror and fluffed the front of my shirt where the midday heat had stuck the fabric to my chest with sweat.
They were out of the car when I opened the door, Lillian bigger than I remembered her and Jett and Kelly smaller. My ex-wife had taken to her fitness passion with concerning enthusiasm since our break-up – concerning at least to me, who knew nothing about women’s body mass and fat percentages. Her cheekbones were sharp and high in a way I’d never seen them, and she and Jett wore a matching caramel-brown tan that made them look like they’d lived their whole lives on the baking sands of the Gold Coast.
But I only had eyes for my daughter. I jogged down the porch steps and swept her up into my arms, noticing immediately that she was heavier against me, even though it had been only two months since we’d last seen each other.
‘Boo!’ I squeezed her against me. ‘I’ve been waiting for you! My beautiful Boo is here!’
I lifted her into the air, arms outstretched, and the little face looking down at me was exhilarated but wary, like a kid sitting impatiently while the rollercoaster car clicks up the incline. She looked at Kelly for confirmation and then gripped my hair as she usually did, wrapping her legs around my chest.
‘Hello, Daddy!’ She giggled as I covered her in kisses.
My daughter vaguely knows who I am. That sounds terrible, but it’s a grand improvement from the days after my incarceration when she not only didn’t recognise me but was actively terrified at my appearance. While in the early days Kelly had trained her to recognise me with an old photograph at home in Sydney, pointing and smiling and saying ‘Daddy’ at regular intervals, Lillian and I saw each other at supervised and then unsupervised visits in a range of public places full of distractions for very short periods of time. Sometimes I was bearded, sunburned, wearing glasses as a disguise. Sometimes I was tired and depressed, and sometimes so wild with longing to see her I had to restrain myself from squeezing the breath out of her little body. She always warmed up to me gradually, that collection of memories fusing in her mind into a fractured familiarity. It hurt, but at the time it was all that I had of Lillian, and stressful or anxious meetings were so much better than nothing.
‘I’ve got so many exciting things to show you,’ I told Lillian, sweeping her shiny black curls off her forehead. ‘We’re going to have so much fun while you’re here.’
Kelly and Jett, the two sc
ulptures in bronze, were hovering nearby, examining the burn marks on the low brick wall from vigilantes blowing up my letterbox. I went over, Lillian on my hip, and put an arm out, in case Kelly wanted to hug me. Sometimes she did and sometimes she didn’t. She gave me a half-hearted pat on the shoulder and I shook Jett’s hand.
‘How was the trip?’
‘Long,’ Kelly said. ‘And hot. The air-conditioning in the car is useless. I don’t know how you stand this humidity.’
‘It’s good for you.’ I joggled Lillian up and down against my side. ‘You fitness people are all about sweating out toxins, aren’t you?’ Jett gave a snort that might have been laughter or derision.
I took them into the house and set Lillian down, swelled with pride as she walked into the bedroom I’d made for her and looked around.
‘This is your room, Boo-love,’ I told her. I took her to the bookshelf and showed her a handful of the colourful titles I’d ordered, books I’d remembered from my childhood. Clifford the Big Red Dog and Dr Seuss. The urge to squeeze her and kiss her was biting at me, a longing held for too many days, to smell my own child’s scent, her soapy skin and milky hair. I lifted a curl off her shoulder and extended it, let it spring back. My curls. ‘Look how big you are. You’re a real girl, Lilly.’
‘Who this room?’ she asked, lifting a fluffy pink bunny rabbit from the shelf.
‘It’s yours, baby. You’re going to stay here with me.’
‘She’s not going to get it,’ Jett said from the doorway. I could hear Kelly wandering around my kitchen, assessing my ability to care for myself and our daughter. ‘She’s going to have an epic meltdown when we leave.’
‘We’ll deal with it,’ I said, rising to my full height, a good foot taller than my wife’s new partner. ‘It’s the first stay. I’m sure it’ll take some adjustment. She’ll be fine.’
Jett gave another little unconvinced snort, leaned in the doorway, looking at the purple walls. Lillian ran by him and down the hall, and I wanted to follow, but didn’t want to push past my adversary.
‘You’ve done an … interesting job on the room.’ Jett took a moment to appreciate the fuchsia rug. ‘You ever hear the phase “gender stereotyping”?’
‘You ever hear the phrase “Go fuck yourself”?’ I asked.
‘Ted!’ Kelly called. Her tone was sharp. I pushed past Jett and jogged towards the kitchen. Celine was at the screen door to the porch, thumping the boards with her tail. She and Lillian had locked eyes, and my daughter was approaching the dog at a crouch, like she might run at any minute.
‘Ohhh,’ Lillian gave an exaggerated sigh of excitement. ‘Puppy!’
Kelly turned on me. ‘You didn’t tell me you have a dog.’
‘I have a dog,’ I said.
‘You … We …’ Kelly’s face was so tight I could see the muscles working in her temples. ‘We haven’t discussed this!’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘What do I want to know?’ Kelly looked at Jett for help. ‘Is it aggressive? How long have you had it? Is it safe with children?’
‘I’ve had Celine for a few months,’ I said, shrugging. ‘She’s not aggressive. Although I heard her growl for the first time this morning. It was pretty badass, actually.’
‘What was she growling at?’
‘Just a couple of morons who stopped by for a visit.’
‘Ted.’ Kelly worked her throat with her fingers as though trying to force herself to swallow. ‘Lillian is at the prime age for being badly injured in a dog attack. She’s not experienced with dogs. She doesn’t know the warning signs.’
I looked at my daughter. She was pressing her fingers against the screen and giggling as Celine tried to lick them through the mesh. I looked at Jett, but he was frowning at the wine bottles on my windowsill, probably calculating their calorie content.
‘I think she’s going to be fine, Kelly.’
‘What breed is it?’
‘She’s a northern pointy-eared lard-arse.’
‘Jesus, Ted.’
‘Settle down, Kelly.’ I could hear my own tone changing. This was not the tensionless handover I’d hoped for. ‘Come outside and meet her.’
I opened the door and Celine rushed at Lillian, licking her face and whimpering with excitement. Kelly and Jett watched the display but seemed no happier with the whole dog situation. I picked Lillian up and walked down the steps into the yard, the feel of her arms around my neck making my heart ache.
‘I want to show you something, Boo.’
‘What is it?’
‘What do you see down there, in the shade?’
‘Ohhhh.’ She gave that full-chest gasp again. ‘Ducks!’
‘Not ducks, geese.’
‘Cheese?’
‘Geese, baby.’ I kissed her head.
‘Cheese?’
‘Okay, ducks will do.’
I set her down near the birds, who were resting like round, grey stones with their feet tucked beneath them. Celine bounded between the birds and Lillian, eager to facilitate an introduction but instead disturbing the flock and making them rise and waddle away. Lillian looked to Kelly, her grin spread wide, her humourless mother approaching me with her arms folded.
‘Ducks, Mummy!’
‘Yes, I see them. Leave them alone, honey. They’ll probably bite you too.’ Kelly smiled tightly. She stood beside me for a while, watching our daughter chasing the geese around, Celine keeping up until she was out of breath. In time Lillian and Celine settled in the dappled shade of the palms lining my property, Lillian trying to catch Celine’s foamy tongue jiggling between her jaws as she panted.
‘Don’t worry about the dog,’ I told Kelly. ‘I won’t leave them alone together. And if there’s a hint of anything, I’ll have Celine go and stay with a … friend.’
My throat tightened as I remembered Richie Farrow and the case in Cairns. Kelly’s face had softened a little, but I could see the familiar hurt there, the weariness at yet another challenge set down by our broken marriage, our ruined family. It was times like this when I looked at Kelly and saw the woman I had fallen in love with, hiding, faintly showing through her new tanned and terrific exterior. She didn’t deserve to have to navigate access to my child with me. She didn’t deserve to have to share her baby between homes, to be apart from her, to worry about her safety. All these new pains stemmed from one man’s actions years earlier, on a roadside, with a teenage girl. Twisting, poisonous vines stretching out from a planted seed. The man who had done this to us was dead, and yet we were still dealing with the fallout. I took a deep breath and prepared for the next stage of Kelly’s anger.
‘We have to talk,’ I said. ‘I can’t be here during the day with Lill.’
‘What?’ Kelly’s eyes grew wide. Jett was circling the goose coop, picking at the paintwork. As I explained the situation to Kelly, he pretended to be consumed with interest in the structure, but he smiled as Kelly descended into a swearing fury.
‘Who the fuck is this woman?’ Kelly howled.
‘I’ve told you about her. She’s my friend. The medical examiner.’
‘That morgue woman?’ Kelly let her hands flop by her sides. ‘You’re leaving our child in the care of a morgue woman?’
‘I don’t like to discriminate between morgue women and gym women, Kelly.’
‘Would you do me a favour, Ted?’ she said. ‘Would you make some friends who don’t have anything to do with dead bodies? No one who creates dead bodies, and no one who plays around with dead bodies.’
‘I’m not sure those are the exact job descriptions of either of the women you’re referring to.’
‘This is bullshit, Ted,’ Kelly sighed. ‘I can’t believe you’re laying all this on me today. What else don’t I know?’
‘Nothing. I have a dog, and Lillian will have to be babysat during the day.’
‘I can’t take Lillian to the retreat with me!’ Sweat was rolling down Kelly’s neck. ‘I’ll be working! Jett and
I will both be working!’
‘That’s why I arranged a babysitter.’
‘This is absolute bullshit!’
‘Well, I’m sorry, Kelly!’ I snapped, finally pushed over the edge. ‘Let me just call the guy who kidnapped the kid in Cairns and ask him to put the boy back where he found him. Just one sec.’ I whipped my phone out of my back pocket and held it to my ear. ‘Excuse me? Yes, hello. Is this the child abductor? Hi. Ted Conkaffey here.’
‘You are such an arsehole.’ Kelly’s eyes were narrowed and black like a snake’s.
‘This kid is missing, Kelly. He’s gone. Minute by minute, he’s slipping away. Our child is safe. I have to prioritise the unsafe one.’
Kelly and I turned away from each other. Lillian was watching us from the shade, her hands buried in Celine’s fur, her bottom lip fat and trembling. Our anger dissolved.
We went to her together. Kelly picked her up, and though putting my arms around my family was no longer my privilege, I stood as close to them as I could, listening to them breathe, wanting them with every muscle in my body.
‘When I go, it’s going to be bad,’ Kelly said quietly, over the top of Lillian’s head. ‘Just … hang in there, I guess.’
‘We’ll get through it,’ I assured her. ‘It’ll be fine.’
It wasn’t fine. I watched my child out of the corner of my eye as Kelly briefed me on how many phone calls and texts and photos she wanted, aware that Lilly indeed wasn’t ‘getting it’. Kelly and Jett said their goodbyes and Lillian accepted them, happy and wide-eyed, coming along to the car with them anyway, convinced the goodbyes were some sort of game and that they were all leaving together.
When the car doors shut without her, Lillian burst into tears.