The Newcomer

by Laura Elizabeth Woollett

  Around seven, Rocky put on his good dark flannel shirt and told her he was going to the bowls club. A little after that, a shrill-voiced woman rang, calling herself Judy’s sister.

  ‘How can you tell me there’s no flights till Tuesday? How?’ she interrogated Vera. ‘My niece is dead. My sister’s stranded. Is this how you treat grieving families on that godforsaken rock?’

  ‘We’re a tiny island.’ Vera measured her words. ‘Two thousand people. Nothing like this has ever happened here before.’

  ‘Two thousand! And not one of you can give me a straight answer.’ The sister inhaled raggedly. ‘I know for a fact there’s a charter flight from Canberra arriving tomorrow night.’

  ‘Bes’ talk to someone in Canberra, then.’

  ‘What I want,’ the sister said haughtily, ‘is to talk to my sister.’

  But the mother wouldn’t.

  ‘No!’ she cried, eyes firmly shut, like she was having a nightmare. ‘No! Go away.’

  There was nothing for Vera to do but let the sister give her another earful. By the time she hung up, she was ready for a stiff drink, and bed.

  She was woken a few hours later, though, by Barry White calling her to come get Rocky from the RSL. ‘He’s been fighting with Kobby.’

  It was a sorry sight, pulling up to the bowls club and seeing Rocky, shirt untucked, squinting into the headlights.

  ‘You miggy ul’tane.’ Vera looked askance at his welted jaw. ‘Kobby’s twice your size.’

  She started up the engine. Backed out. Rocky’s chest started shuddering.

  ‘He talked bad on …’ He gestured, struggling to remember the name. ‘… That girl.’

  Next morning, getting ready for the Easter Sunday service, Vera bumped into the mother coming out of the loo. She bugged her bloodshot eyes at Vera’s skirt, woven hat.

  ‘Church,’ Vera explained.

  ‘UTI.’ The mother winced. ‘Have you got any ibuprofen?’

  ‘I’ll check.’ Vera rushed back to the mother’s room a couple of minutes later with a sleeve of pills and a fresh jug of water. ‘I’ll swing by the doctor’s after church. Get you some antibiotics.’

  The mother popped some tablets into her mouth. Sank deeper into her nest of tissues and bedding and stared at the TV’s low-volume flicker.

  ‘Shouldn’t take those on an empty stomach.’ Vera eyed the cold toastie on the bedside. ‘Can I get you something else?’

  The mother shook her head, then changed her mind.

  ‘Cranberry juice, if you have it. And maybe … chocolate?’

  Vera hurried to the kitchen. Returned soon after with a carton of apple juice and some Delta Creams. ‘This’s all we have. I’m sorry.’

  The mother looked at the biscuits with disinterest. ‘It’s her birthday today. Did you know that? She’s supposed to be thirty.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Vera repeated. Then: ‘Your sister called last night? Caroline?’

  ‘Caro.’ The mother sighed. ‘She probably thinks she can fix this. She can’t.’

  The mother raked her fingers through Miss Katie’s fur.

  ‘That stupid girl. She didn’t want to be thirty. She was so stupid.’

  ‘Sharp as a tack, mind,’ Vera offered. ‘Witty. Cracked me up, the things she came out with.’

  The mother’s face distorted, a savage mask of grief.

  ‘Please go away now.’

  Vera scurried from the room; barely had time to shut the door before the wailing started.

  Something. Something had to be done. If not for the mother’s sake, for Vera’s — that sticky, dark grief that was entering her lungs like a contagion.

  It wasn’t a crime scene, the cottage. Easy to think of it that way, but whatever had happened hadn’t happened there — and whatever they’d wanted for evidence, they’d taken. All that was left now was a sad mess of things belonging to a girl who wasn’t alive to put them back in order.

  Vera snatched up a pillow. A band T-shirt, soft and fragrant with old sweat. A perfume bottle, which had somehow made its way onto the bedroom floor. Last of all, a photo.

  Too much? Even for Vera, looking at the photo was hard. But then, the mother hadn’t seen Paulina’s face.

  ‘Some things from the cottage.’ Vera averted her eyes as she re-entered the bedroom. ‘Perfume. Pillow. Just some things of Paulina’s.’

  The mother looked up. Tentatively, Vera sprayed the perfume.

  ‘Give them to me,’ the mother demanded.

  It was a muggy sort of day; Vera could feel it already. The hot-box stuffiness of the van, sweat-pits forming under the sleeves of her blouse. But it wasn’t just that. It was the curve of Klee Welkin Road, cuddled by hills and sea, lined with police tape.

  Paulina walked here.

  How many times had she seen Paulina walk here? Paulina Novak, like clockwork. Busy, narrow hips in lycra. Dancing ponytail. Discman clipped to the band of her shorts. Seen her and thought — well, all sorts of thoughts.

  That girl is deranged.

  That girl likes being looked at.

  That girl will get herself killed someday.

  The road, though. She could have tolerated the road on its own; even the police tape. It was the people clustered at King’s Lookout that really brought it home. The people, pointing not at the view, but something spray-painted on the tar.

  Vera parked. Got out of the van to look at what everyone else was looking at.

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAULINA

  ‘They’re saying this is where that girl was taken,’ a woman with a baby, familiar to Vera by sight, clued her in. ‘It’s her birthday today.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You knew her?’

  Vera nodded. ‘I was her landlady.’

  In the distance, church bells chimed the resurrection, for whatever it was worth.

  HONEYMOON

  ‘As a matter of fact, one of our waitresses at Great-O’s is heading to the mainland for uni next month,’ the lady on the phone, Merlinda Carlyle, told Paulina when she called Fairfolk Tours. ‘If you’re interested, I’ll get Mick Greatorex to phone you, and you can work out terms.’

  Paulina decided to forgo the gym that day, and get two rum and Diet Cokes after work instead, in addition to her usual trip to the bottle-O.

  She got off the Cherry Hill bus smiley and starry-eyed, loving the blobby look of the trees in the twilight, the blurry people watering lawns. Her mum had bought a roast chook.

  ‘Guess what?’ Paulina plonked her wine on the kitchen counter. ‘I’m moving to Fairfolk Island!’

  ‘You’re moving where ?’

  ‘Fairfolk Island.’ Paulina kicked off her heels. ‘You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s this beautiful paradise island in the Pacific, between New Zealand and—’

  ‘I know where Fairfolk Island is! I went there on my bloody honeymoon.’

  ‘Oh yeah, you did, didn’t you? Ha-ha-ha. Anyways, that’s where I’m moving.’

  ‘Does Westpac know this?’

  ‘Nup.’ Paulina skipped over to the cupboard for wineglasses. ‘I’m gonna tell them to get stuffed first thing tomorrow, though. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Paulina!’ Judy sighed. ‘Please. Not the good glasses.’

  ‘It’s a celebration. Dad’d want us breaking out the good stuff.’ Paulina placed two wafer-thin crystal glasses on the counter, then got distracted by the tennis on TV. ‘Ooh, who’s he in the red shorts? I like him.’

  ‘Sit down.’ Judy sighed again. ‘Let me do it.’

  Paulina sat eagerly, giggled as the guy let out a loud, carnal grunt.

  ‘Oh, he’s nice.’ A plate appeared in front of her. ‘Ugh, Mum. Why’d you get chicken? You know I’m vegetarian.’

  ‘Half the time you’re vegetarian, half the time you’re not. Half the t
ime you don’t even eat.’ Judy griped. ‘Fairfolk, Paulina? What are you on about?’

  ‘I’m moving there.’ Paulina peeled the skin off her chicken breast, put it to the side. ‘This March. I got a job.’

  ‘A job? On Fairfolk Island?’

  ‘Yeah. Waitressing.’

  ‘Waitressing?’ Judy gulped her wine. ‘On Fairfolk Island ?’

  ‘Oi, where’s mine? I bought that wine with my own money.’

  ‘Eat some chicken first.’ Judy hawk-eyed Paulina as she chopped her chicken into tiny pieces, mixed it into her salad, ate a dainty mouthful. ‘More, Paulina.’

  Paulina obliged. ‘So, the thing is, you keep telling me I need a change. So, I was talking to Carli today. She just came back from her honeymoon and says—’

  ‘I thought you said Carli was a c-u-n-t.’

  ‘I was joking!’ Paulina clicked her fingers for wine. Judy shook her head. Paulina forked up the last of her chicken, swallowed without tasting. Clicked again.

  ‘Be careful.’ Judy brought her glass. ‘Those glasses have seen more of the world than I have.’

  ‘Like that’s hard.’ Paulina smirked. ‘Anyways: I talked to this lady Belinda Carlisle at the Fairfolk Tours place, and she says even though it’s minimum wage, every dollar I earn is tax-free. Also, there’s loads of jobs not even advertised so really I just need to get my foot in the door. Also, they have the best beaches. Palm Beach is shithouse compared. Also, more importantly, you keep saying it’s time I moved out. So? I’m moving to Fairfolk!’

  Judy clutched her temples. ‘I don’t feel good about this.’

  ‘Ugh! You’re such a hypocrite.’ A hot tear slid down Paulina’s cheek. ‘You’re always saying how I’ve overstayed my welcome since the womb, and you wanna turn my room into a sewing room? Well, here I am trying to be master-of-my-own-fate, captain-of-my-own-soul, and you can’t even say one nice thing!’

  ‘No need for Shakespearean drama, Paulina.’ Judy cringed as Paulina stomped to the kitchen for a refill. ‘Calm down. We’ve both had long days at work.’

  ‘Ugh! You! The thing with you is, you’re only happy if I’m miserable.’ Paulina emptied the last of the bottle into her glass, scrabbled in her gym bag for the second bottle. ‘You were ecstatic when I told you me and Vinnie were broken up! You love having me here, washing my sheets, making me eat meat. Mum, you know I’m vegetarian—’

  ‘Careful.’

  ‘You just want me to be miserable with you. Well, too bad. I’m gonna have the best life on Fairfolk and there’s nothing you can do!’

  ‘Careful.’

  ‘Whoops! He-he-he.’ Paulina licked up the wine that had sploshed on her hand, then slit her eyes at Judy. ‘Excuse me, mother? Fuck you.’

  ‘Oh, come off it!’ Judy yelled as Paulina stormed out, bottle in hand.

  In the privacy of her bedroom, Paulina cried hysterically. After that, she scrawled in her diary and, after that, turned on the TV and giggled at the tennis players making sex noises. A little while later came her mum’s soft knock.

  ‘Piss off!’

  ‘Just let me in for a minute,’ Judy pleaded. ‘Let’s just talk.’

  Paulina opened the door warily, and there was her mum, looking so daggy in her PJs, photo album tucked under one arm and holding a bowl of choc-ripple ice-cream.

  ‘I thought you might like to see some pictures,’ Judy said. ‘Since you’re so serious about this.’

  As it turned out, the waitressing job fell through.

  ‘There’s been a fire at Great-O’s,’ Merlinda Carlyle told Paulina, three weeks before she was due to leave. ‘The whole place is gutted. They’ll be out of commission for a while. I’ll let you know if something else comes up.’

  ‘Oh, geez,’ Paulina said, absolutely gutted herself. ‘Keep me in mind, hey.’

  When a week passed without any news, Paulina called Fairfolk Tours. ‘Nothing,’ Merlinda said. ‘Unless — do you have a forklift licence?’

  ‘Nah, not really. Don’t you have anything in the finance area? Banking? Sales?’

  ‘It’s not a good time for retail.’ Merlinda sighed. ‘I’ll let you know.’

  Merlinda never called and didn’t answer the messages Paulina left. ‘This Merlinda Carlyle’s a lying bitch!’ Paulina told anyone who’d listen — which, now she’d quit her job, was mostly just the housewives at the Cherry Hill Fitness Centre and her smug cow of a mum.

  ‘Why don’t you cancel your flight, while you still can,’ Judy suggested, fifty times a day. ‘You can work with me at the Student Help Desk till Fairfolk gets its act together.’

  ‘I’d rather scrub toilets, thanks.’

  Five days before Paulina’s departure, Merlinda finally phoned back.

  ‘I’m sorry. You seem very eager. But high season’s winding down; I don’t expect there’ll be much till Mutiny Day in August. Why don’t you call back then, if you’re still keen.’

  ‘Merlinda.’ Paulina clawed at her eyes. ‘Help me out. I’ll do anything! I’ll scrub toilets. I have to get out of this city, it’s killing me.’

  ‘Oh, really? I quite like Sydney. I can’t wait to get over there for the Olympics.’

  ‘Merlinda!’ Paulina took a deep breath. ‘I dunno if I ever told you this, but my parents honeymooned on Fairfolk Island? All my life, I’ve been hearing how it’s the prettiest place on earth, then my dad got cancer and made me promise I’d go there with my own husband someday? Only, I met the most perfect guy, but he broke my heart, Merlinda. I’ll never love again. Then the other week I was sitting in my office I had this epiphany, like: you don’t have to wait around for the life you want, Paulina. It’s the new millennium; you’re an independent woman. So I said to myself—’

  ‘Okay,’ Merlinda interrupted. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Look: this is strictly under the table, okay?’ Merlinda groaned. ‘My dad’s been a bit dotty since Mum passed, and god knows I’d rather not be putting out any fires at his place. I hope to inherit it someday! Why don’t you go stay with him? Meals and board and a small allowance, and maybe you can help out here at Fairfolk Tours now and then.’

  ‘Small allowance?’ Paulina said meekly.

  ‘Fifty dollars a week. Tax-free.’

  Paulina bit her fist.

  ‘Alright.’

  Paulina moved to Fairfolk carrying as much liquor as she could in her 65-litre backpack — and more in her 30-kilo suitcase, and also bags of duty-free. ‘Bloody hell, Paulina, you’re going to Fairfolk, not the Prohibition era!’ Judy complained as they packed the car for the airport, and again while unpacking it, and again when messing around with the luggage trolleys. Then it turned out they were in the wrong terminal — domestic instead of international — and Paulina cried, and Judy laughed at her. When they finally got in line for the flight to Fairfolk, Paulina was happy to see it was shorter than all the others — but dismayed seeing the other passengers.

  ‘Mum, they’re all ancient.’

  ‘I told you. Newlyweds and nearly-deads.’ Judy smirked. ‘I guess wedding season’s over.’

  They argued again after going through security check. ‘I’m almost twenty-eight! I can have a beer for breakfast if I want!’

  ‘No, Paulina.’

  ‘Last drink together! Live a little, Mum.’

  ‘I’m having a coffee, and so are you.’ Judy looked concerned. ‘Honestly, you worry me. How do you expect to hold down a job over there if you’re drinking round the clock?’

  That hurt, bad. Stiff-backed, Paulina walked to the counter, told the girl:

  ‘Two flat whites. But make mine skinny, alright?’

  The girl nodded, got out two coffee cups and a texta. ‘My name’s Milica,’ Paulina volunteered. ‘Need me to spell it? M-I-L-I—’

  Judy sighed loudly at Paulina’s ba
ck. Smirking, Paulina swished her ponytail in Judy’s direction. ‘She’s Ljubica. I’ll spell that too, when you’re ready.’

  Shaking her head, Judy stormed off to find a table. The coffees took ages, tasted like shit. ‘This tastes like shit!’ Paulina proclaimed, loud enough for the girl to hear.

  Judy sipped fastidiously. ‘Are you trying to make me not miss you? Because it’s working.’

  ‘You’re the one who took the day off to drive me — Susan from the gym would’ve done it.’ Paulina tried her coffee again. ‘Blergh! I’m gonna buy some magazines.’

  Of course, her mum still cried at boarding-time. ‘Call me as soon as you get there!’

  ‘I’ll try. Not sure if this old man’s place has a phone, to be honest.’

  ‘If he’s creepy … Paulina. Don’t even stay one night. I mean it. I don’t care if you have to go to a hotel, I’ll pay. Trust your gut, okay?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Okay.’

  ‘Love you. Gawd, I love you.’ Judy sobbed. ‘Finally — quiet time!’

  ‘Yep. Whole house full of yarn. Love ya.’ Paulina hoisted her duty-free bag onto her shoulder, blew kisses over it. ‘Bye! Stop crying. You’re embarrassing me. Bye!’

  On board, there were so many empty seats, Paulina got a whole row to herself. She got out her magazines and Discman. The flight attendant told her off for stretching out before take-off, and Paulina said, ‘Sorry!’ to her face and, ‘Bitch,’ to her arse. At take-off, her hands gripped the armrests, white with fear. She was happy above the clouds, shoes off, magazine in her lap — especially when bar service started.

  ‘Rum and Coke,’ she told the flight attendant. ‘But make it Diet, okay?’

  ‘Diet!’ A white-haired lady across the aisle teased her. ‘You young girls!’

  ‘Ha-ha!’ Paulina giggled. ‘You’re funny!’

  ‘Excuse me, but you’re so pretty, my husband and I were wondering—’ The lady lowered her voice, like she was asking for a threesome. ‘Are you an actual Fairfolk Islander?’

  ‘Uh … yep? Sure am!’

  ‘You’re a descendant?’

  ‘Descendant?’