‘I love you too,’ he said stonily. ‘That’s not the problem.’
‘I’m sorry, Ric. It won’t happen again.’
‘I can’t do this again, Lina. I went through this once before, with Tatiana.’
‘I’m not T-T …’ Paulina’s tongue tripped over his ex-wife’s name. ‘I’m not her. I didn’t mean to drink so much. I was just happy about my new job, Ric.’
‘Your blood alcohol was three times the legal limit.’
‘I know, Ric. I forget sometimes how little I am. And it was sunny … booze always hits me harder when it’s sunny.’ She took another bite. ‘It’s really good, babe. Thanks for taking care of me. Nobody takes care of me like you do.’
Rabbit lowered his head, ate in silence.
‘It was so sunny.’ Paulina reached for his hand. ‘Ric, the sun was in my eyes. That’s why I crashed, more than anything.’
He looked up from his plate, lip curled. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’
‘No, Ric.’
‘Do you think you can just do whatever you want behind my back?’ He stood up so fast, she cowered. ‘You think I’ll believe anything you tell me?’
Paulina’s chin trembled. ‘No, Ric. You’re smart. I’m stupid—’
He hit her again. Harder than the first time, but somehow less shocking.
‘Bloody hell, Ric.’ She cupped her cheek. ‘What’re you trying to do, break my face?’
‘I’m sorry.’ He turned away. ‘I’m sorry, Lina. Let me …’
As Rabbit skulked to the freezer for an icepack, Paulina stood. She wasn’t shaking anymore; her body felt taut, charged. When he tried to ice her cheek, she snapped like a rubber band. ‘Don’t touch me, arsehole!’
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. Take this. For the swelling …’
Paulina threw the icepack to the ground and screamed her lungs out.
Clutching his temples, Rabbit sat back down.
‘I’m sorry, Lina,’ he whispered. ‘It’s just … the drinking. It’s ugly.’
‘You’re ugly! Bastard!’
‘It brings out the worst in us both. Can’t you see that, darling? I’m sorry I … lashed out. It just kills me to see you like this.’
‘Like what? Shitfaced?’ She laughed. ‘I was shitfaced the first time you brought me home!’
‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘And you needed my help.’
‘Yeah? Why’d you fuck me then?’ Paulina’s voice crackled like kindling. ‘Why’d you bring me home and fuck me if I was so fucking helpless?’
He lowered his eyes.
‘Maybe that was a mistake.’
‘You reckon?’ She laughed again. ‘You know best, Ric! I wasn’t even conscious.’
Rabbit didn’t follow her upstairs. It didn’t matter, though. She was in tears by the time she reached the bedroom.
She had nowhere else to go.
MERCY COVE
It was one of those days that started so badly, it could only get better. Unless it got worse.
‘You’re a smart girl, Sara,’ Caro lectured the blue-blazered teenager lounging in the cushy chair across from her. ‘Too smart for cheating. Too smart to be cheating and bragging about it to our French exchange students.’
‘Manon told me everyone cheats on their baccs.’ Sara smirked. ‘Anyway, that was a private conversation outside school hours, Principal McCunty.’
‘What did you just call me?’
‘Principal McClusky?’ Sara widened her eyes. ‘Your name, Ms?’
Caro glared and reached for her mug of herbal tea. She knew the girls called her McCunty, of course; had heard the name whispered behind her back, seen it scrawled on bathroom walls. Girls will be girls.
‘Thank you, Sara. Just call me Ms, that’s quite alright.’ She sipped her tea and grimaced at the blandness. ‘Sara: let’s be serious. Your parents pay twenty grand a year to send you here. That might not seem like a lot of money to you, but it is for most people. Do you know what they’re paying for, Sara?’
Sara shrugged.
‘Reputation. Mercy Cove Girls’ has a reputation people like your parents are willing to fork out twenty grand a year for. It’s a reputation that comes at a cost … whether you’re wearing that blazer or a boob tube at a party full of Scots boys.’
‘So now I’m not allowed to wear boob tubes on the weekend?!’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’ Caro swept her limp hair from her face; she hadn’t had time to blow-dry that morning. ‘I’m saying, when you go to a party and brag to everyone there about paying a girl from Blacktown to write your social studies essay for you, you’re still a Mercy Cove Girl. You’re sending the message that Mercy Cove is a school for stupid, lazy girls. Is that the kind of reputation your parents are paying for? Is that reputation going to get you into a top university? Did I say something funny?’
‘No, Ms. You just splashed tea on your blouse.’
‘Oh, grow up, Sara!’ As Caro snatched a tissue from the box, her receptionist rang through to the desk phone. ‘Yes, who is it? Detective Wozniak? Can he call back in five? Ta!’
Sara was staring at her innocently when she put the phone down.
‘You should take the call, Ms. What if he found your niece’s murderer?’
‘Then he’ll tell me in five minutes, when I’m done telling you you’re expelled.’
‘You’re expelling me?’
‘Mercy Cove has a zero-tolerance policy toward cheating.’
‘You can’t expel me! That Blacktown girl isn’t getting expelled and she’s the one selling illegal services! That’s like punishing a person who buys a tab of ecstasy and letting the dealer walk free!’
‘That’s a very nice analogy, Sara. You should also know that Mercy Cove has a zero-tolerance policy toward drugs. Perhaps they’re more tolerant in Blacktown.’
‘Cunt.’ Sara muttered. ‘Cunty McCuntface.’
‘We also don’t tolerate that kind of language at Mercy Cove.’ Caro stood. ‘I wish you the best of luck in finding an institution more suited to your attitude, Sara.’
Sara jumped to her feet, cast a contemptuous glance at the family photo on Caro’s pristine oak desk, taken the Christmas before last.
‘No wonder your niece was murdered. I heard she was a real cunt like you.’
‘Get out of my office,’ Caro commanded. ‘Now.’
Despite the herbal tea, Caro’s heart leapt when the phone rang. She picked it up with trembling hands.
‘Wozzy,’ she said in the coolest voice she could muster. ‘Sorry for the wait. What can I do for you?’
‘It’s about the fingerprints.’ Wozniak inhaled. ‘We’ve found a match.’
He should’ve sounded happy. He didn’t.
Caro went straight to spin class after work; went hard. It didn’t help. Neither did the forty laps in the pool, or the forty minutes in the sauna, or the long, lukewarm shower, or the litres of water she guzzled. She was dizzy. She was spent. But she still had so much rage in her, she wanted to set the world on fire.
Tim’s BMW wasn’t in the driveway. But Bronson was home, playing GTA in the games room.
‘Can you pause that, darling?’ Caro perched delicately on the couch beside him. ‘I have some bad news.’
Bronson paused his game.
‘It’s about the fingerprints,’ she continued. ‘They ID’d the man they belong to. His name’s Saxon King. He’s a bricklayer; he uses those black sheets all the time to move around supplies. Sometimes he leaves them out in the open, at building sites.’
She wished she had a drink. Why hadn’t she poured herself a drink first?
‘He came forward willingly, with the call-out for fingerprints. He was as surprised as anyone to be linked to the scene. He has a strong alibi. He was at a barbecue.
There are photos from the day. Timestamped photos.’
‘So …’
‘So. We’re back at square one.’ Caro shrugged. ‘No, it’s not as bad as that. It’s progress. We could’ve wasted god knows how many more months fixated on those prints if this Saxon King hadn’t come forward. It’s progress.’
‘So … There’s no DNA?’
‘There’s no DNA. Not on her body, anyway. There’s never been any DNA.’
Bronson reached for her hand. ‘Mum—’
‘I’m okay.’ Caro rapped his knuckles. ‘We’re okay. This was always a possibility. Nobody’s giving up.’
She smiled resolutely. ‘Onward and upward. I’m going to take a shower.’
Bronson nodded, unpaused his game. At times like this, Caro was glad she had sons; a daughter would’ve noticed her damp hair.
She poured herself a glass of Merlot, took it upstairs. On the balcony, she took her cigarettes from their hiding place under the dracaena and chain-smoked two.
It wasn’t enough, she knew. It was more like foreplay.
Her black silk jacquard pyjamas. She took them into the ensuite bathroom with her, along with the Merlot. She locked the door. She took out Tim’s shaving kit; the one with the straight razor she’d bought him a few birthdays back, knowing he’d never use it.
She sat with it awhile, just sat.
She peeled off her yoga pants. The scars from last time were unsightly, despite the Bio-Oil she’d been applying twice-daily. She would have to wear loose slacks for the next few days. She would have to avoid the gym. Her legs would sting with every step she took, then itch as the wounds scabbed over, itch all day long.
She took a gulp of wine. Sterilised the razor.
The relief when she made her first incision was mind-blowing.
TRAMP STAMP
Paulina was on her hands and knees, singing and scrubbing the toilet of cabin six, when Jesse chucked a wrapped present on the bathmat.
‘Unhappy birthday, ulvini.’
‘Bloody hell!’ Paulina threw the toilet brush at him. ‘Don’t sneak up on a woman like that! How long have you been here?’
‘Long enough to hear you singing “Suicide Is Painless”.’ Jesse smirked. ‘I know chicks get insecure about ageing, but you take it to the next level, eh.’
As Paulina made a grab for her gift, Jesse backed out of the room. She ripped off the paper to reveal the cheesy grin of Tony ‘Tunes’ Carlyle: Tony Sings Fairfolk.
‘This isn’t a gift — it’s a curse! Oi, where’re you going? I want a refund!’
Jesse edged back into the room. ‘Sorry, but every Fairfolk Islander needs one. You can’t be a Fairfolk Islander if you don’t have a copy of Tony Sings Fairfolk.’
Gleefully, Paulina wrenched open the CD cover, got out the disc. ‘I’m gonna smash it and flush it!’
‘Hey … don’t.’ Jesse intercepted her. ‘I put a lot of effort into that.’
‘Pfft! They sell these for $14.99 at every souvenir shop.’
‘Yeah, but. There’s good stuff on there. You can flush the rest … don’t flush the disc.’
‘I bet it’s just Tony singing “Fairfolk Beautiful Fairfolk”.’
‘Nay. It’s good stuff. Trust me.’
‘Like I’d trust you.’
‘Fine.’ Jesse folded his arms. ‘Your loss.’
Smiling into her uniform collar, Paulina returned the CD to its packaging. ‘Nah. I’ll switch it with one of yours when you’re not looking. You’ll live in fear.’
Jesse handed back the toilet brush. ‘Worth it.’
‘Oi, how come you’re not at Camilleri’s, slack-arse? No fair I have to work on my birthday, and you don’t.’
‘Baz wanted to see me.’
‘Ooooooo. Bazel and Jesse sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G—’
‘It’s about the renos they’re doing in down season.’ Jesse rolled his eyes. ‘He’s hiring me to paint a mural. Mutineers and Polynesian babes with big tits and all that.’
‘Geez, that’s original.’
Jesse shrugged. ‘It’s not every day I get paid for my art.’
Paulina stopped scrubbing. ‘I’ll pay you! I want my tramp stamp.’
‘Yeah, nay. I don’t have a death wish.’
‘Pretty-please, Jesse-Camel?’
‘Sorry, but Rabbit’ll kill me for slapping a bumper sticker on his Ferrari.’
‘Pfft. I’m not a Ferrari. I’m like a Mazda Astina, at best.’
‘Yeah, well. Even if you’re that totalled Corolla of yours, he’ll still kill me.’
‘Not if he never sees it.’ She stood up and flushed. ‘Doggy-style’s pretty hard work for a man his age.’
‘Thanks. That’s a picture I needed.’
‘Oi, help me clean the rest of these cabins?’ Paulina slipped a fresh roll of toilet paper onto the holder, folded the edge into an inviting triangle. ‘Baz says I can knock off once I get them done. Beach day?’
‘Are you sure Rabbit won’t—’
‘I can go to the beach.’ Paulina crossed her arms. ‘If you don’t wanna be seen with me, fine. I’ll hitchhike.’
‘Nay. It’s fine.’ Jesse looked uncertain. ‘I’ll drive you.’
‘You’ll drive me in your Camel-mobile?’
‘Yeah. Just don’t call it that.’
‘Can I smell your air-freshener?’
‘Fine. It’s your birthday.’
‘Do you know what else is today?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Jesse cracked a smile. ‘It’s the one-year anniversary of that time some crazy mainie called me fat at the supermarket. How could I forget.’
Paulina made Jesse wait at Cookies, just in case Rabbit was home. He wasn’t; just a note saying he was at the Fairfolk Bowmen’s Club, along with a bouquet. She plucked a hibiscus from the bunch and put it behind her ear, changed into her beach gear quick as she could, and scratched a note saying: Gone to the beach! Xxx.
‘This’s like an affair, without any fun,’ Jesse complained, rolling the car out of Cookies.
‘I’m fun!’
‘Mind if we go past Fergal’s? Maybe Brooke can knock off early, too.’
Paulina pulled down the mirror. ‘Like my flower? Ric gave me a bunch.’
She waited in the Commodore while Jesse talked to Brooke. He returned, grinning. ‘She’ll come in an hour.’
‘Awesome.’
At Tombstone Beach, Paulina stripped down to her bikini, got out her sunscreen. ‘Oi, can you do my back?’
Begrudgingly, Jesse splatted some sunscreen onto his palm. ‘You’re such a mainie.’
Paulina laughed. ‘You’re a fuckwit.’
‘Only mainies get skin cancer.’
‘I swear, you’re dumber than Pellet sometimes. Even Pellet believes in sunscreen.’
‘Fairfolk sun isn’t dangerous. Our ozone layer’s thicker. Nay pollution.’
‘You’re such a fuckwit.’ Paulina kept giggling as Jesse rubbed her back. ‘Make sure you do it even.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘Don’t forget the sides of my boobs.’
‘What boobs? You’re so miggy.’
‘Don’t forget my lower back.’ Paulina giggled some more. ‘I gotta keep the skin nice for my tramp stamp.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘Show me where you’re gonna put it.’ Paulina arched her back. ‘Show me, Jess.’
‘You just told me.’
‘I want you to show me.’
Jesse sighed and traced a circle just above her butt. ‘There.’ He drew his hand away. ‘It’s not happening, but. Even if it wasn’t for Rabbit, you’re scared of the pain.’
‘I won’t wimp out, Jess.’ Paulina turned around. ‘I’m ready, whenever you are.’
‘Yea
h, but.’ He got to his feet. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Wait! I’ll do your back.’
‘I’m not a mainie.’
Laughing, Paulina watched him lope to the water and plunge in. Then she reached for his ciggies, got out her Discman, and kept perving till he emerged from the sea.
He sprawled beside her, nicked one of her earbuds. ‘Tony Tunes?’
‘Yeah.’ Paulina smiled. ‘You did good.’
They lay like that, listening to her birthday mix, till Brooke showed up.
‘Hullo, luvvies!’ She smooched Jesse, then Paulina. ‘Happy birthday, bella!’
‘Don’t remind her,’ Jesse said. ‘She’ll start singing “Suicide Is Painless” again.’
Brooke slipped her elephant-print hemp beach-bag off her shoulder and dug inside it. ‘I’ve got something to cheer you up, bella.’
‘Geez, thanks,’ Paulina mumbled as she accepted a jar of Fergal’s Farm honey with a bow around it. ‘Must’ve really gone out of your way to get this.’
‘Open it, you ingrate!’ Brooke laughed. ‘Smell it!’
Paulina unscrewed the cap. ‘Whisky? You legend!’
‘Jess, can you do my back?’ Brooke shed her sack-like sundress.
‘Um. Yeah.’ Jesse grabbed the sunscreen. ‘Hold up your hair.’
Paulina flipped onto her tummy. ‘Fuck, I’m old.’
‘At least you’re not thirty yet!’ Brooke said cheerily. ‘That’ll be much worse!’
She giggled as Jesse smoothed his hands over her curves. Paulina rolled her eyes and picked up her honey jar. ‘Be right back. I’m gonna go ask a shark to eat me.’
Squatting in the shallows, she drank. When she looked over her shoulder, Jesse and Brooke were pashing. ‘Fuck,’ she muttered, chucked her hibiscus in the water, and swam out further.
‘No luck?’ Jesse asked when she staggered back to the towels.
Paulina plonked between him and Brooke. ‘Even sharks have standards.’
Brooke offered her a joint.
‘Nah. That shit messes with your head.’
‘And that doesn’t?’ Jesse pointed at her whisky.
‘Respect your elders, Camel-shit.’
‘Don’t look now, grandma.’ Brooke jabbed her in the ribs. ‘There’s your ex.’
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