The Newcomer

by Laura Elizabeth Woollett

  ‘Paulina! What are you doing?’

  Paulina was slow to turn. It wasn’t just the beer, slowing her reflexes; it was King’s Lookout in the dark, so sprawling and swirly with stars, she didn’t want to look away.

  ‘Kymbaleeeee!’ Giggling, she staggered to the car window. ‘I’m walking, duh.’

  Kymba was dressed in black. In the passenger seat was Merlinda, red-faced and sticky. In the back, nodding off, was Old Merle.

  ‘Geez! Three generations! You celebrating?’

  Kymba flushed and glanced at Merlinda. ‘We’re just coming back from Car’s funeral. Why’re you walking in the dark?’

  ‘Was at the Mutes’ front desk all day. Only just knocked off. You know me; I get stir-crazy if I don’t get my walk.’

  Merlinda laughed. ‘Like a dog!’

  ‘Don’t mind Auntie Merlinda.’ Kymba rolled her eyes. ‘She’s grieving … and drunk.’

  Paulina sipped her beer. ‘I’m just getting started. Gonna pop a bottle of champers when I get home.’

  Merlinda stopped laughing. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means I’m living it up.’ Paulina flipped the bird at the K-I-N-G on the sign behind her. ‘The King’s dead! Fuck the King.’

  ‘That’s my nephew you’re talking about.’ Merlinda’s nostrils flared. ‘Do you have any idea how hard he worked?’

  ‘Not as hard as he hit me, hey. Not as hard as he choked me when I said I didn’t want it. Not as hard as he stuck it in—’

  ‘Lying mainie! Why don’t you come here and say that to my face?’

  ‘Auntie Merlinda.’ Kymba sighed. ‘Please.’

  Paulina yanked the door open, slid into the backseat beside Merle.

  ‘Hey, Merle, how are ya?’ She patted his papery hand. ‘I was just saying what a bastard Car King was. He’s probably burning in hell as we speak, yeah?’

  ‘Don’t touch my father!’ Merlinda grabbed her hair. ‘Mainie bitch, you’re all the same. Using and abusing our men!’

  ‘Merlinda!’ Kymba cried.

  ‘I didn’t use him.’ Paulina dug her nails into Merlinda’s plump hand. ‘He used me.’

  ‘How much did you pay for that Mazda Astina, then?’

  ‘I paid!’

  ‘How much did you pay?’ Merlinda tugged her hair harder. ‘How much?’

  ‘I fucking paid.’

  Paulina thrashed wildly at Merlinda; caught Merle’s cheekbone with her elbow. ‘Oh!’ the old man bleated, small and startled.

  ‘Shit!’ Paulina saw his face go patchy. ‘Sorry Merle! Gawd, I’m sorry.’

  ‘You assaulted my father?’ Merlinda pulled her hair again. ‘You come to our island, you disrespect our men, then you assault one of our elders?’

  ‘It was an accident. Kymba, you saw—’

  ‘Kymbalee!’ Merlinda barked.

  ‘Kymba! Tell her.’ Paulina pleaded. ‘You know what Car was like. Tell her.’

  ‘Kymbalee!’

  ‘Kymba?’

  ‘Just shut up.’ Kymba turned around in her seat, eyes crystalline with tears. ‘Paulina: it’s done. He’s gone. Can’t you just shut up, for once?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Go home, Paulina. It’s been a long day. Please, just leave my family alone.’

  Paulina cast a glance at Merle; he was staring out the window, arms crossed over his scrawny chest. ‘Sorry, Merle,’ she mumbled, peeling herself from the backseat.

  ‘You should be!’ Merlinda honked. ‘Go back to the mainland where you belong!’

  Behind the wheel, swinging the car around, Kymba’s face was white and clenched. Paulina squinted in the headlights, then reeled in the sudden darkness. Slapped a mosquito from her neck.

  They sucked her blood all the way home.

  ‘“Closed”! Are you kidding me?’

  Paulina banged her palm against the warm glass door of the cop-shop; shielded her eyes and peered inside. There was sun on the carpet; dust motes playing in the sun. A fat blue water cooler. A table full of brochures. Not a soul in sight.

  ‘Try breaking in.’

  Flinching, Paulina spun around to look at the young guy smoking a ciggie by the hibiscus bush. ‘Bloody hell! Didn’t see you there. You waiting too?’

  He nodded. ‘Need to update my work permit.’

  ‘Wrong place, hey.’ Paulina dug in her handbag for her own ciggies. ‘There’s this office in the historical district. My ex used to work near there. Still does, I guess.’

  ‘Cheers.’ He offered his lighter. ‘You a mainie, too?’

  ‘How’d you guess?’ She laughed, cupped the flame. ‘Sydney. You?’

  ‘Perth.’

  ‘Oh, nice. I’ve got a sister in Perth. She teaches ESL at a school near Freo.’

  ‘I’m way north of the river. Marangaroo.’

  Paulina sipped in smoke. ‘I dunno where that is.’

  ‘Not worth knowing.’ His eyes skimmed her legs; she was wearing her nice-girl skirt, strappy sandals. ‘I’ve seen you walking.’

  ‘Yeah, I walk. Good exercise.’

  ‘I get bored, walking. Prefer the gym.’ He flexed his arm a bit. ‘I offered you a lift one time. You weren’t interested.’

  ‘That’d be right.’ She looked at his arms; they were muscly. Cute face. A bit pale, but; the brown hair a tad too long, greasy. ‘Anyways, I updated my permit a few months back, when I changed jobs. It’s easy.’

  ‘Cheers.’ He flicked away the butt of his ciggie; she caught the flash of a wedding band. ‘I just got a new job. They want me to get all my shit together by Friday.’

  ‘Where’s the job?’

  ‘Great-O’s. I was a chef at The Pacifica, before then.’

  ‘Ha, my first job here was s’posed to be at Great-O’s … then they burned down. They’re my great white whale.’

  ‘Need a lift back into town?’

  ‘Nah, I’m good. I’ll wait a bit.’

  ‘I waited ages. I reckon they’ve closed up shop.’

  ‘Bloody slackers. I’ll wait a bit.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She blew smoke toward the street. ‘I’ll wait. I’ll walk.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m good.’ She forced a smile. ‘My car’s parked at the school, anyways. It’s not far. Good luck with the permit, hey. They’ll help you out down there. It’s really easy.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want a lift to your car?’

  ‘Yeah, mate.’ Her voice bit like a cornered animal. ‘I’m good, alright?’

  ‘Alright.’ He ducked his head politely. ‘See ya around.’

  ‘See ya.’

  Paulina smiled tightly till the guy crossed the road, got into his white Camry, and drove off. Then she stamped on the butt, lit another ciggie, looked into the sunlit station some more, but couldn’t find whatever she was looking for.

  She was drunk on goon when she dialled the emergency number. A lady answered.

  ‘Where’s your emergency?’

  ‘Yeah, nah. It’s not an emergency. I just wanted to talk to someone about—’

  ‘You need to call the station during business hours.’

  ‘Yeah, I tried. They weren’t open. I—’

  ‘Try again during business hours.’

  ‘Lady, can I just talk to the officer on duty? I wanna report a rape.’

  The lady’s tone shifted. ‘Where’re you calling from?’

  ‘I’m home.’ Paulina’s head twanged. ‘But, look. It happened a few months back. The guy’s not around anymore—’

  ‘He’s left the island?’

  ‘Nah, he’s still here. Six feet under.’ She laughed wanly, swallowed more goon. ‘They buried him a few days ago. Only, I keep seeing his name. I read his obituary
; it said all this shit. King among Kings. Loving Husband, Father. Didn’t say he’s a rapist, paedophile, scum of the earth—’

  ‘Darl,’ the lady cut in. ‘I’m sorry, but this isn’t a police matter.’

  ‘Yeah, but. What he did. That’s a crime.’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do, if he’s dead.’

  ‘But! His name? They keep saying his name like it’s good, but it’s shit. I know it’s shit. Can’t you do something? It’s fucking shit—’

  ‘Darl. I think you need to sleep it off. Tomorrow’s another day.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘This isn’t a police matter, darl. Try phoning Vy Carlyle; she’s a psych—’

  ‘I’m not talking to anybody named “Carlyle”, bitch!’

  ‘Sorry.’ The voice frayed. ‘I can’t help you.’

  Then the line went dead.

  ‘Bitch!’ Paulina ripped the phone from the wall and stared for a long time at the cord on the floor, tempting. She clenched and unclenched her hands, drank more goon. It was ages before she picked herself up and tremulously plugged the phone back in.

  She went outside and smoked. Outside was safer. After a while, Vera’s cat Katie jangled out of the darkness. ‘Hey, puss,’ Paulina mumbled. ‘What’s up?’

  Katie dashed inside. She had something in her mouth.

  ‘Oi!’ Paulina cried. ‘What the fuck!’

  Katie dropped the thing in the kitchen. It was a cockroach, still living.

  ‘Oi!’ Paulina watched it scuttle away. ‘Why’d you drop it?’

  Katie pounced like an idiot.

  Paulina laughed. ‘It’s gone, dickhead!’

  Even so, Katie kept pouncing, yowling, walking in circles, her pupils big as coins.

  ‘Stupid cat.’ Paulina’s knees turned to jelly. ‘You’re so stupid.’

  She sat herself down at the kitchen table, clung to it like a raft. The whole room merry-go-rounded. Then she threw up in the sink; guzzled tapwater.

  A little while later, her mum rang.

  ‘Not you again,’ Paulina slurred. ‘Get a life.’

  ‘I’m just calling to see how you are. I won’t keep you long.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve got enough on my plate, without you hassling me.’

  ‘Did you eat?’

  ‘Ha-ha! Cheese and crackers. It’s all down the sink, now.’

  ‘You threw up?’

  ‘Not on purpose!’

  ‘That’s not a good dinner. Can you please eat something else?’

  ‘Too drunk to cook.’

  Judy sighed. ‘You know, if you lived in Sydney, you could order a pizza.’

  ‘Crackers!’

  ‘Oh, fine. Eat some crackers. As long as you put something in your stomach.’

  Paulina set the phone down, got the box of crackers, and picked the phone back up.

  ‘I’m eating crackers.’ She chewed emphatically. ‘Happy now?’

  ‘Not really. But it’ll do. How are they?’

  ‘Stale.’

  ‘You know, if you lived in Sydney, you could go to Woolworths and buy everything fresh, instead of stale things from a mouldy old ship.’

  ‘What, are you the spokeswoman for Woolworths now?’

  ‘Still a receptionist.’ Judy sighed. ‘At least put some peanut butter on those crackers.’

  ‘I hate peanut butter.’

  ‘Since when?’ When Paulina didn’t answer, Judy sighed again. ‘Gawd. You get fussier every day. Do you still eat cream cheese?’

  ‘Finished it.’

  ‘Did you? Good girl. Well, buy some more at Foodfolk tomorrow.’

  ‘Foodfolk, the stale food peeeeeople!’ Paulina sang and cackled. ‘Gotta buy some bug spray, hey. This stupid cat, she brought a cockroach in—’

  ‘Nasty thing!’

  ‘Calm down. It’s just a cat, geez.’

  ‘Well, sorry! I don’t like them, though.’

  ‘You’re so mean. You never let me have pets.’

  ‘I let you have those budgerigars! And goldfish. I offered to get you a bunny, too, like your cousins had—’

  ‘Nah. Bronson would’ve killed it when he came over to play. Bloody serial killer.’

  ‘Yes, probably.’

  ‘Have they found the bodies yet?’

  ‘Any day now.’

  ‘Ha-ha!’ Paulina’s eyes stung with tears. ‘But, Mum.’

  ‘Yes, child?’

  ‘I lied, Mum. Bronson didn’t kill Lappy.’ Paulina covered her face. ‘I killed Lappy.’

  ‘You killed Lappy?’

  ‘Yeah — me!’ Paulina burst into tears. ‘I mean, like, it was an accident, obviously. I played with him too rough. But it was me, all me. Then I said Bronson did it, and youse all believed me, and Aunt Caro read all those books about serial killers and was always checking Bronson’s bed to make sure he didn’t wet it and — Why’re you laughing?’

  ‘Oh, Paulina!’ Judy choked out. ‘That’s brilliant.’

  ‘How’s that brilliant, psycho?’

  ‘Keeping quiet about that for twenty years? Gawd, no wonder you drink … you’ve got a guilty conscience!’

  ‘Muuuum!’

  ‘Darling.’ Judy laughed. ‘Don’t ever change, okay? There’s no one like you.’

  ‘No wonder. Look at who made me.’

  ‘You know, sometimes I think I’ve done nothing with my life.’ Judy laughed again. ‘Then I talk to you and think, “oh, wait, yes I have. Look what I made!”’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Paulina groaned. ‘You have the lowest standards ever.’

  Paulina’s head hurt worse than usual, waiting tables at the Mutes’ bistro. So bad, she felt the individual bones of her skull grinding against each other, her vision blurring.

  When she dropped a plate of bacon and eggs, she screamed, ‘Fuck!’ and dropped to her knees, tears streaming.

  ‘It’s alright.’ Gayle, the bistro manager, crouched beside her. ‘Take a break. Wash your face. It’s alright.’

  After work, she planned to go to Foodfolk. But when she passed Tabby’s Treasures and saw that curly blond head behind the counter going about her business, she could’ve driven her Mazda right into the shopfront, mowed the bitch down.

  Instead, she parked.

  ‘Oi, Tabitha!’ She pushed inside the store. ‘Mourning period’s over already?’

  Tabby’s nose narrowed. ‘I have a business to run.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Paulina picked up a business card. ‘Still going by “Tabitha King”?’

  ‘It’s still “King”, yes.’

  Paulina’s eyes roved around the store; latched on a framed photo behind the counter. ‘You put up a picture of him?’

  ‘Yes, I put up a picture of Carlyle.’

  ‘You’re fucked in the head.’

  Tabby looked her up and down. ‘You’ve off the wagon, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m not drunk.’

  ‘You have been, though. You’re not doing yourself any favours. That’s the worst thing for it.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Your head.’

  ‘Your head’s more fucked than my head.’

  ‘Cut out the drinking. It’ll heal faster. And, if you really want to get better, go back to the mainland. I’m surprised you haven’t already.’

  ‘I’m here to stay, bitch.’

  Tabby crossed her arms. ‘I don’t know what you hope to achieve, staying here. Coming into my place of business. You’d be better off going home to your mum.’

  ‘Leave my mum out of this.’

  ‘I heard a lot about your mum, when you were with me. “Mum, Mum, Mum,” that’s all I heard. Why don’t you let her look after you?’

  Paulina shredded the business card. ‘You’ll never
get rid of me.’

  ‘What do you want from me? I really don’t understand. I looked after you. I could’ve left you for dead. We could’ve thrown you in the ocean. We talked about that, you know.’

  ‘Fuck you!’ Paulina knocked the pile of business cards off the counter. ‘You want me to be grateful you didn’t put me out of my misery? Everything hurts, every day!’

  ‘Cut out the drinking. Go back to the mainland. It’ll hurt less. It’ll all feel like a bad dream, in time.’

  ‘I need to drink, after what I saw. Bloody hell, don’t you? He raped your daughter in your own house!’

  ‘I don’t know what you think you saw, but you were a drunk long before that. It’s probably why Car went for you. Just a cheap drunk who’ll say yes to anything.’

  ‘I know what I saw!’ Paulina banged on the nearest cabinet. ‘I know you know.’

  ‘If you’re going to start destroying property, I’ll have to call the police.’

  ‘Do it! I’ll tell them everything. I’ll tell them how you kept me in her room and drugged me.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’ Tabby moved toward the phone, folded her hands over it. ‘But, just so you know, Sergeant Turner is an old friend of Car’s. Spoke at his funeral.’

  Paulina screamed, swung at the cabinet. It shook but didn’t shatter.

  ‘You nasty thing.’ Tabby came over and steadied the cabinet, her green eyes aglow. ‘I’m just trying to get on with my life. Can’t you?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘What do you want? Money?’

  ‘No! Fuck.’

  ‘I’ll write you a cheque. I’ll pay for your flight home, and some. The Car Kings will buy back your Mazda. You’ll probably get more than you paid, seeing as Car gave you that discount.’

  Paulina screamed again, hit the cabinet harder. This time, her hand went through.

  ‘Look what you’ve done!’ Tabby gasped. ‘Who do you think you are?’

  She bustled to the shopfront, locked the door and turned the sign to ‘CLOSED’. Paulina drew her hand from the glass, marvelling at the red slicking her arm, how little pain she felt.

  ‘Do you feel better now? Tabby cried, getting a broom from behind the counter. ‘Do you feel good, now you’ve made another mess for me to clean up?’