‘Fish?’
‘Yes, fish. Very good.’
‘Ow!’ Paulina yelped as Tabby pulled it over her face.
‘I’m sorry. Please don’t touch your face. It’s very tender.’
‘Why, Mum?’
‘It’s very tender. We got all the glass out, though. You’re lucky it didn’t get in your eyes. How do your eyes feel?’
‘Sore.’
‘We’ll put a cold compress on them later, when you’re nice and warm. Can you see okay? Can you see the colours on the fish?’
‘Rainbow.’
‘Good girl. Here’s your knickers, now.’ Tabby lifted her feet one by one, put them through the holes, and pulled them up her legs. ‘Can you lift your bum? Good girl.’
‘Fishing. On a boat.’
‘Not now. When you’re well, maybe.’ Tabby smiled wanly. ‘Isn’t that better? Warm and dry.’
‘Better.’
‘There’s a pad in there, just in case, but I don’t think you’ll need it. You’ll tell me next time you need to go, won’t you?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
Later, Tabby put the light in her eyes again and asked, ‘What’s your name?’
‘P-P …’ It was too hard to say. ‘Lina.’
‘And your surname?’
‘N-Novak?’
‘Do you remember my name?’
Paulina looked at her. She had light hair, like her mum; she wanted to say ‘Mum’. The face was different though, and the green eyes.
‘Cat’s name,’ she said.
‘Cat’s name. It starts with “T”.’
‘T-T …’ Paulina closed her eyes. ‘I don’t give a fuck.’
‘There’s no need for that. You know, the reason I ask is, I want to make sure you don’t have brain damage. You don’t want brain damage, do you?’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Can you tell me your birthday?’
‘No.’
‘Have a go.’
Paulina shut her eyes tighter.
‘How old are you, then. Can you tell me how old you are?’
‘Twenty …’ Paulina sighed. ‘Nine.’
‘Twenty-nine. You should be married with kids. Not falling down drunk.’
‘He said we would.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Car said.’
Tabby flinched.
‘That’s a load of crap. You’re a stupid girl, believing Car’s crap.’
Then there was a nice, dreamy feeling, like riding a chariot through the clouds, a clamshell through waves. Riding. Wet pearls and ocean spray.
‘Yeah, Car,’ she moaned. ‘Please, yeah.’
Tabby wrinkled her nose.
‘I’m just checking your pad. Do you need the toilet?’
‘No.’
‘I think I should take you, just in case. It’s been a while.’
Paulina sighed, shook her head, and tried to go back to the waves, the riding.
‘I’m just thinking what’s the best way to do this.’ Tabby stood over her. ‘I think, if we shift your legs off the bed first, then you can put your arm around my neck and lean on me.’
‘Shhh.’
‘Come on.’ Tabby moved Paulina’s legs; her feet touched soft carpet. ‘Just a little way. Then you can go back to your … whatever that was.’
Paulina hugged Tabby’s neck, swayed to her feet.
‘Ow!’
‘Sorry. That’s that bruise on your hip. Nasty place for a bruise. Very bony.’
‘Why, Mum?’
‘Never mind. We’re going to the bathroom. Not far, now.’
The carpet changed to floorboards. ‘Cold!’
‘You’ll be back in your nice, warm bed soon.’
Tiles, even colder.
‘Cold!’ Paulina cried — then she saw a girl in an oversized T-shirt with a fish on the front, legs too skinny for her fat, misshapen head. ‘Who … ?’
‘Never mind that.’ Tabby led her away from the mirror. ‘Good girl. Down on the toilet now. You can go now.’
Paulina tried to go, but her ribs hurt. Her hip. Nothing much came out.
‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘That’s alright. Take your time. Sit.’
Paulina sat. Shivered.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ she repeated.
‘Never mind.’ Tabby broke off a few squares of toilet paper, handed them to her. ‘Can you wipe?’
Paulina wiped, shivered.
‘I’m just thinking, since we’re up …’ Tabby scrutinised her. ‘It’s just, you already missed work. If you miss too much, people will wonder.’
‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘That’s alright. I’m just thinking.’
‘Cold, Mum.’
‘Just a minute. I’m just thinking.’ Tabby petted her hair. ‘Darling: do you remember where you work?’
Paulina didn’t remember, but when Tabby said the name, Mutineers’ Lodge, it had a wistful familiarity to it, like songs from kindergarten. Puff the Magic Dragon. Never Smile At A Crocodile.
‘I fell on the stairs,’ she told the man on the phone. ‘I’m hurt. I can’t work.’
‘Were you drunk?’ Baz asked.
‘No. I mean, yeah. But that’s not why I fell.’ Paulina clutched her head. ‘I dropped the glass cos I was drunk, but that’s not why I fell.’
‘Gayle’s been run off her feet. That tour group from Melbourne arrived today.’
‘S-Sorry.’ Paulina looked at Tabby. ‘I fell on the stairs. I can’t work.’
‘How long do you need?’
Paulina looked at Tabby again. ‘Three weeks,’ she mouthed.
‘Three weeks, the lady says.’
Baz exhaled.
‘If you’re not back by the seventeenth, I’ll consider this your resignation.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Sir?’ Baz’s tone switched. ‘How many meds have they got you on, Westpac?’
Tabby took the phone from her and hung it up.
‘Why did you say that? About not being drunk?’
‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘I don’t know why you said that.’ An angry line appeared between Tabby’s brows. ‘You think they don’t know you’re a drunk?’
Something started leaking from Paulina’s eyes, searing her face like acid.
‘Well, don’t cry. What’s done is done. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.’
Paulina let Tabby help her up from the chair. ‘The man was annoyed?’
‘Don’t worry about Baz. He’s a faggot.’
Paulina stopped in front of a photo of a girl. Was it her, ‘Paulina’? No.
‘I know her,’ she said.
‘Come on. Back to bed.’
Paulina kept looking at the photo. ‘I know her. I saw her photo.’
‘Oh?’ Tabby’s voice caught in her throat. ‘That’s Tiffany, yes. You probably saw her shrine by the road.’
‘Tiffany.’
‘My daughter.’ Tabby guided Paulina back to bed. ‘They think it’s respectful, but I can’t stand driving past it. It’s like a knife in my heart, every time.’
‘Not that photo.’ Paulina closed her eyes. ‘The other one.’
Car was arguing with his wife in the hall, but Paulina wasn’t afraid; he couldn’t see her.
Then Car caught sight of her through the open door. Sidled into the room, bug-eyed.
‘Nay, Car!’ Tabby slapped his arm. ‘She’s frayd!’
‘She’s nay frayd.’ Car laughed. ‘She looks rubbish, eh?’
‘Aye.’
Car edged closed to the bed. ‘You look like rubbish, sweetheart.’
Still, Paulina wasn’t afraid; he couldn’t really see her.
‘Anybody in ther
e?’ Car clicked his fingers in her face. ‘Eh?’ Then he turned to his wife. ‘She brain-dead?’
Tabby shrugged, tugged on his arm until he left the room.
‘A man came before,’ Paulina told Tabby, when she came in with a tub of yoghurt.
‘What man?’ Tabby peeled the lid off the tub.
Paulina looked at her for a long moment. ‘The one who beat the shit out of me.’
Tabby breathed deep, held a spoon to her mouth. ‘Do you remember his name?’
Paulina nodded, swallowed the yoghurt, and licked her lips.
‘You’re hungry, aren’t you?’ Tabby fed her another spoonful. ‘Is it yummy?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘You don’t eat much, do you? You’re skin-and-bone.’ Tabby murmured indulgently. ‘Do you remember why he “beat the shit” out of you? What you did to deserve it?’
Paulina thought for a bit. ‘He’s married.’
‘That’s right.’ Tabby smiled. ‘You shouldn’t be hassling married men.’
Paulina ate more yoghurt, continued thinking. ‘I didn’t deserve it.’
Tabby looked alarmed. Then she took up the yoghurt tub, stood.
‘Just so you know, I put some sleeping pills in there for you.’
Paulina needed to piss. She got up on her own, stumbled to the hall before the pain seared up her sides, her knees buckled.
‘What are you doing?’ Tabby cried, finding her crumpled on the floor like a used tissue. ‘You can’t walk by yourself!’
‘Don’t touch me!’
Tabby crossed her arms, watched Paulina lift herself and hobble a few steps further. She was there to catch her the moment she lost her footing.
‘Get off, bitch!’
‘Not “Mum” anymore?’
‘You’re not my mum!’
‘No, I’m not.’ Tabby led her across the cold tiles to the porcelain bowl. ‘I’d be ashamed, if I was. You’re a nasty piece of work.’
Paulina squatted. ‘Stop perving!’
Tabby slipped out of the room.
Paulina pissed. Remembered another time naked, happy, pissing, a man snoring in the next room. A shadow over the memory.
She wiped. Flushed. Staggered to the sink and looked in the mirror.
It took her a while to realise it was her face: cloudy-red eyes; chipped brow and nose; berry-coloured bruises; a blood-spotted, cottony bandage on her cheek. Then she lost it.
‘Don’t do that!’ Tabby threw a towel over the mirror. ‘That’s a very silly thing to do!’
Paulina cried all the way back to bed.
‘Shh. You’re alright.’ Tabby pulled the blankets over her. ‘You won’t be pretty for a while, but that’s alright. Pretty’s what got you here in the first place.’
She was staring at the pale-aqua walls, trying to figure them out, when Tabby came in with a bowl of water and a purple cloth. A black-and-white poster on the wall of a lady with upswept dark hair, jewels around her neck. Was it her, ‘Paulina’? No. An actress?
‘Is that Winona Ryder?’
‘No!’ Tabby scoffed. ‘It’s Audrey Hepburn! In Breakfast at Tiffany’s !’
‘Tiffany.’ Paulina pondered. ‘Like that girl.’
‘She loved that movie.’ Tabby swished the cloth in the bowl. ‘This is a warm compress, for your eyes. We’re done with the cold ones. Close your eyes?’
Paulina closed her eyes. Thoughts furled in the blackness.
‘Where’s her dad?’
‘Tiff’s dad? Missing in action.’ Tabby softly pressed the warm, damp cloth to Paulina’s bruises. ‘He was a mainie. Doctor at the hospital where I worked.’
Paulina remembered a man’s face: craggy, familiar. A man’s foreign accent.
‘My dad’s a doctor.’ A thought like a birthday candle. ‘Can I see Dad?’
‘Not till you’re better.’
‘He’ll fix me.’
‘You don’t need a doctor.’ Tabby pressed her eyes some more. ‘They’re useless. All they do is swan around in their white coats, thinking they’re important.’
‘Dad …’ Something happened in Paulina’s chest; a landslide. ‘He died?’
‘Oh? Sorry to hear that. Don’t cry, though. It’ll sting.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Your long-term memory seems to be coming back; that’s good,’ Tabby encouraged. ‘Don’t worry too much about remembering the accident. Long-term is what matters. Do you remember your birthday?’
‘March 31, 1972.’
‘Good. You couldn’t tell me that, before.’
‘I was … late. Born late?’
‘You were overdue, were you? Better than being premature. Tiffany was a premmie. She had a machine breathing for her. I didn’t think she’d make it.’
‘I saw her photo.’
‘Yes, you said. She was a pretty girl. Smart, too. She could’ve been a doctor.’ Tabby withdrew the cloth. ‘Do you remember what you do for a job?’
‘Financial advisor.’
‘That doesn’t sound right.’ Tabby scowled. ‘Here, on Fairfolk Island. Where do you work?’
‘Mutineers’ Lodge.’
‘And what do you do at Mutes’?’
‘Clean the cabins … waitress.’
‘Good. Not too complicated, eh? You’ll be back on your feet in no time.’ Tabby surveyed her proudly. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘You need to stop calling me “Mum”.’ Tabby shook her head. ‘I know you know better. What’s your mum’s name? Your real mum.’
‘Judy.’
‘I feel sorry for her. You’re a wild thing.’
Paulina didn’t mean to smash the glass. She was thirsty; her hands weren’t working.
‘What happened?’ Tabby rushed into the room, pink-cheeked.
‘Accident.’ Paulina’s heart raced. ‘Drunk.’
‘Stay still. Don’t you dare get up.’
Tabby went out; came back in with the dustpan and broom. Paulina watched her crouch among the mess, the deep line of her cleavage, the part of her gold hair.
‘I broke the glass.’
‘I know.’ Tabby harrumphed. ‘Don’t I know it.’
‘I broke the bottle.’ Paulina smelled something strong, over-sweet. ‘Johnny Walker.’
‘No alcohol for you.’
Paulina squeezed shut her eyes. ‘I broke it, then he hit me.’
Tabby looked up. ‘That’s what happened? You broke Car’s Johnny Walker and he hit you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘He loves his Johnny Walker.’ Tabby sighed wistfully. ‘No alcohol for you.’
‘Rum and Diet Coke!’
Tabby swept the last of the glass into the dustpan and stood.
‘You’re really a drunk, aren’t you? No self-control.’
‘Bitch!’ Paulina thrashed at the air. ‘Bring me a rum and Diet Coke!’
Later, Tabby tried to give Paulina some medicine; she wouldn’t take it. A bit later, Tabby came back in with a can of drink. ‘Here’s your rum and Diet Coke.’
Paulina sipped greedily, then pulled a face. ‘There’s no rum in this.’
‘Yes there is.’
‘No there’s not.’
‘Yes there is.’
She took another drink. ‘Lying bitch.’
‘There’s no need for that. You owe me your life. I could’ve left you for dead.’
Paulina upended the can.
‘You nasty thing!’ Tabby scolded her. ‘I’ll have to change the sheets again!’
Paulina swung her legs out of bed.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Tabby grabbed her arm.
‘Let go or I’ll piss the bed!’
Paulina reeled to the door,
like she was on a boat on a stormy sea. Tabby followed her to the bathroom like a shadow.
‘Don’t perv!’ Paulina pulled down her knickers, squatted. ‘Get out!’
‘I don’t trust you not to make a mess on purpose. Nasty thing.’
Paulina looked around for something to throw at Tabby.
‘Why’s that towel on the mirror?’
‘To keep out the vampires.’
‘Ha!’ Paulina cackled. ‘The bats have left the belltower, bitch!’
‘Yes. Okay, then.’
‘Ha-ha!’ Paulina’s piss sizzled between her legs. ‘Undead, undead, undead!’
The phone rang. Then the ringing stopped. Paulina got up, walked to where Tabby was talking, low and harried.
‘Aye, she remembers.’
Tabby noticed her in the doorway, glowered.
‘She’s up. Nay, Car! Stay out.’
She hung up. ‘What’re you doing up? You need to rest.’
Paulina looked at the sunlight on the floor. A table with a lamp on it, paper, foam, boxes. Outside the arched window, a blaze of ferns and fruit trees.
‘Car lives here?’
‘He’s staying on the boat for now; don’t worry.’
Paulina approached the table.
‘That’s my work. Don’t touch.’
Paulina sat, picked up a pale-aqua box. ‘Tabby’s Treasures.’
‘I’m sending some things to the mainland.’
Paulina looked at her. ‘Can I go home?’
‘Not yet. I wish you could be out of my hair, but you’re not ready.’
Looking at the box again, a chill went through her.
‘I wanna go home.’
‘Later.’
‘Mum’s worried.’
‘I’m sure it’s not the first time.’
‘Please.’
‘Soon.’
‘Car …’
‘He’ll stay away.’
‘He raped me.’
‘That’s a load of crap. Do you know how many people saw you throwing yourself at him on Mutiny Day?’
‘He did it to her, too.’ In Paulina’s hands, the pale-aqua box blurred. ‘Tiffany.’
Tabby snatched up the box, her face blotchy.
‘Don’t talk about my daughter, ever again.’
‘Don’t!’ Paulina thrashed, waking up to Tabby checking her pad. ‘Don’t touch me!’
‘I have to make sure you haven’t soiled yourself. You stink.’
‘Fuck off!’ Paulina squirmed.
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