No One Can Hear You

by Nikki Crutchley

  ‘So she should’ve been!’ Zoe laughed.

  They sat in silence for a moment. Sitting here with Alex, speaking out loud, sharing her worry seemed to put everything back in perspective.

  ‘Zo, I’m not saying there isn’t anything in what Lillian’s saying. But as we’ve told you, she wasn’t well. I wasn’t going to tell you this, didn’t think you needed to know, but a couple of weeks ago Lillian was dealing with a Year Nine student who’d been caught vandalising school property. It wasn’t his first time. He’d been sent to Lillian for a bit of guidance. Turns out she kept him in her office almost the whole day. Didn’t let him out for toilet breaks and didn’t allow him any food.’

  ‘Holy shit. She didn’t get fired for it?’

  ‘We kept it quiet. I dropped in at about two o’clock and found her with him. He was pretty upset. But he was a staunch little bugger. I don’t know if it bothered him too much. Little shit was probably happy he got out of school for the day. I talked to Barbara Keegan about it and she decided Lillian would have to retire at the end of this year.’

  ‘Did Lillian know that?’ If she knew her career was over, maybe she did take her own life.

  ‘Yeah, Barbara talked to her. And I’m pretty sure Lillian had started to face facts then that she couldn’t keep working with her health the way it was.’

  Zoe moved closer to Alex and put her head on his shoulder.

  ‘What are you going to do, Zo?’ he asked, putting an arm around her.

  ‘I don’t know, pretend I never found the notebook?’ But she knew she couldn’t just forget about it.

  ‘No, I mean, the funeral’s over. Lillian’s gone. What are your plans?’

  ‘I’m thinking about staying.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Alex sounded hopeful.

  ‘You’d like that?’

  ‘Having my best bud back in the same town would be great.’

  ‘I have no job, no real friends in Auckland that miss me.’ The last part was said as a joke but she realised how pitiful she sounded.

  ‘No harm in staying just for a bit, eh?’

  ‘No harm at all. I talked to Dan Hepi on Thursday. He suggested I do some relief work at the school. I saw Barbara yesterday and she seemed keen.’

  Alex clapped his hands together like an exited child. ‘Excellent!’

  *

  That night as Zoe was lying in bed reading, Barbara Keegan rang, sounding quite harried and apologising for the hour and asking if Zoe could come into school on Monday.

  ‘There’s some kind of spring flu going around, and my teachers are dropping like flies. I need you for a Year Eleven science class Monday morning.’

  ‘Of course,’ Zoe said, excited at the prospect.

  ‘Pop in and see me Monday morning before class and I’ll show you around a bit. It’s the least I can do before I throw you in the deep end.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll see you then.’ Zoe returned to her book, a smile on her face, thankful for the distraction.

  Chapter 21

  Sunday afternoon at the Old Wellington was quiet, the lull before people came in for drinks and dinner. Most of the Sunday lunch patronage were couples feasting on oysters and champagne while talking about where they would holiday next or the hideous week that was coming up. Faith noticed that a lot of the husbands seemed to do the talking; the women, often vacant-eyed and at least two decades younger, weighed down by jewellery and the latest oversized handbag, would nod and down a bottle of champagne on their own. Whatever gets you through.

  Faith, who wasn’t even supposed to be on, had agreed to cover for one of the waitresses who was sick, which was code for hungover when someone got a phone call at 10 a.m. on a Sunday morning. The tips for lunchtime service had been good so she couldn’t complain. Tables still needed to be cleared but she took a seat at the empty bar, stretching her legs out in front of her. She’d been on her feet for the last four hours.

  ‘Don’t let Magda see you,’ Tammy warned. Their manager was a slave driver and handed out written warnings as if they were nothing.

  ‘She left ten minutes ago,’ Faith said. ‘Won’t be back till five.’ She got up and walked around the bar and poured herself a measure of vodka — the good stuff, top shelf.

  ‘Faith!’ Tammy hissed.

  ‘Jesus, Tammy, settle down. She’s not going to notice a nip of vodka going missing.’ Faith finished the drink in one gulp and poured another.

  Tammy had been working at the Old Wellington for just over six months. She had all the exuberance of a hyperactive puppy and Faith had to bite her tongue most of the time to stop herself from saying something that would hurt Tammy’s feelings. She was annoyingly positive and on top of it all was perfect, from her naturally blonde hair to her French manicure. Faith had learnt from Tammy within five minutes of meeting her that she was from Crawton, that she was sick of living there and needed to get away. Faith and her at least had that much in common. Tammy squealed in delight when Faith told her she’d spent some of her teens in Crawton. Faith had smiled grimly, cursing New Zealand’s three degrees of separation. No matter how much you wanted to get away from something, it seemed impossible. She didn’t bother telling her that she’d been in Crawton for only six months and that she’d run away, or any other details. Tammy was at least ten years younger than Faith, so they found they didn’t have too many people in common, but that didn’t stop Tammy bringing up her home town when she could.

  Tammy rummaged in her bag under the bar, took out a thin newspaper and sat next to Faith on one of the high, padded stools. ‘Hot off the press,’ she smiled, waving the Crawton Chronicle in Faith’s face. ‘Mum sends it down to me every week so I can keep up with news at home.’

  Faith refrained from rolling her eyes and returned behind the bar.

  ‘Faith,’ Tammy admonished.

  ‘Just one more.’ She winked at Tammy and began to cut lemon wedges for the night ahead.

  Tammy began to flick through the newspaper. ‘Ooh, do you remember this guy? Gabe Baker?’

  Without looking Faith shook her head and continued cutting.

  ‘He worked at the high school. General handyman, I guess. Maybe he wasn’t there when you were. He was so fucking creepy. Us girls used to steer way clear of him. He was so gross.’ She did a full body shiver to bring her point home.

  Faith glanced up and looked at the upside-down paper and dropped her knife. She jumped out of the way as it landed on the floor.

  ‘You OK?’ asked Tammy.

  Faith bent down and picked up the knife, feeling light-headed on the way back up. She started cutting the lemon again, but the knife was shaking so badly she had to stop. She stared at the paper. ‘I’m fine. You should get back to work. We need more Gordon’s, Bombay Sapphire and 42 Below.’

  ‘OK.’ Tammy grabbed the paper.

  ‘Mind if I take a look?’ Faith asked.

  ‘Course not.’

  Tammy disappeared down the corridor to the basement and Faith pulled the paper over to her side of the bar where she pressed her hands hard onto it, either side of the newspaper, to stop them from trembling. The photo took up half a page. Gabe Baker had been born and lived in Crawton his whole life, which apparently warranted a newspaper article on you when you died. It had been sixteen years, but it was him. Muscle gone to fat, sporting a jagged scar down the left side of his face, courtesy of Faith herself. It was the Magic Man.

  It had been day six at the house. Claire was gone, and no other girls had turned up. Faith knew they would take her to wherever they’d taken Claire. That night she’d been standing by the window covered by bars, waiting for the rumble of a car engine. A moth flew up to the window, attracted by the light coming from her room, and started bashing itself against the glass. She reached through the bars and tapped at the window with a fingernail, and it flew away. Withdrawing her arm, she had a thoug
ht — a surprising, exciting, why-the-fuck-didn’t-I-think-of-it-earlier thought. She put her hand back through the bars and banged against the window, hard. She ripped off her T-shirt and wrapped her hand in it. She drew back and punched the glass. On her first attempt she swore as her knuckles connected with one of the bars. Her second, third and fourth attempts weren’t hard enough. On her fifth try, just as she was ready to give up, the glass cracked. On her final attempt the glass splintered then broke. Most of it went out the window but a triangle dangled from the frame. She broke it free. It was long and thin, not even ten centimetres at its widest point, and one of the tips had a slight curve to it. It looked lethal. She smiled for the first time in days.

  The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. She hadn’t even heard the car approach. Had he heard the glass breaking? Faith didn’t even have time to tidy up. She put her T-shirt on, grabbed the glass and hoped like hell he didn’t notice the gaping hole in the window.

  He unlocked the door and placed a tray and a bucket full of water on the floor before closing the door and locking it. He picked up both items again and walked over to her. ‘Clean yourself up. You stink.’

  She lunged forward, an animal growl coming from her throat as she knocked him over. Water splashed across the floor as he dropped the bucket and the tray fell to the floor with him in a crash of broken crockery and glass. Faith straddled him and drew the glass down the side of his face in one quick motion. The cut opened wide and he screamed in pain. He grabbed at her but she jumped off him and kicked him between the legs and then in the head. Her fingers searched in his tight jean pockets for the old brass key for her room. She pulled out two keys and ran. His arm shot out and grabbed at her ankle, but there was no strength in his grasp and she shook him off. Shaking hands inserted a key into the lock. It was the wrong one. She tried the other one and let out a manic giggle as the lock opened. She ran down the hall and around the corner to the front door. Using the other key, she unlocked it and ran outside. There was an old ute parked at the front of the house. She wrenched open the door. No keys. She looked back at the house. There was no way she was going back in there.

  She looked around. There was farmland up behind her, and in front of her some kind of aerial tower — maybe a satellite, she had no idea. The grassy hill led down into a reserve that was blocked by a copse of trees. She knew where she was. Mosely’s Hill. Only a couple of weeks ago she had come up here with some kids from school and smoked weed while Sonya was busy with the other kids. On legs that felt as if they had never run before she sprinted down the hill, relieved she had some idea of where she was. She got to a barbed-wire fence and climbed over it. There was no sound from the house up on the hill behind her, and she wondered if the kick to his head had killed him. Shit, I hope so. Faith could hear the steady beat of a magpie’s wings as it left a tree and landed on a fence post. There was a low hum of traffic far off in the distance but everything else was silent.

  Get moving.

  Then she heard the ute door slam and an engine revving, the sound of gravel being shredded as the ute pulled away. There were no main roads around her and she heard the ute disappear. Her heart pumped loudly in her ears and she let out a sob. She ran through the trees and into the reserve. There was thick bush to her left and a gravel road stretching out in front of her that ended in a car park. There were picnic tables grouped under mahoe and pukatea trees. Faith chose to follow the winding road down and out of the scenic reserve. She glanced left and right, occasionally stopping, her ears tuned to the sound of an engine. She reached the main road and heard it. An engine. A slow rumble.

  He’s looking for me.

  Headlights appeared around the corner and illuminated her. She turned and ran back into the reserve as tyres squealed on the road and the ute turned into the entrance to follow her. She left the road, weaving into the thick bush and hiding in an old three-sided building covered in graffiti. She pushed herself into the corner, ignoring the damp-earth smell and the cigarette butts and broken glass at her feet. Her head wound throbbed to the beat of her racing heart.

  Tyres crunched on the gravel, moving slowly through the reserve. She heard him get out of the ute and swear. A minute later the ute’s door slammed and he drove away.

  Faith waited until there was absolute silence before she came out of hiding. She walked to the entrance of the reserve and started walking down the steep hill towards Crawton. She could make out Lake Waitapu in the darkness, a silvery disc under the moonlight. To the left were the lights of Crawton’s main street, plus people’s houses and street lamps. There were thousands of people settling in for the night, watching television and putting children to bed.

  Soon the bush-lined road gave way to driveways. Not many. Only one every three hundred metres or so. She could see lights on in a couple and debated whether to go in but had a sick realisation she wouldn’t be believed. She knew she had a file as thick as her arm about her behaviour over the years; everything from truancy to shoplifting to getting into fights. No one would believe her and, even worse, she’d have to leave Sonya and go back to the group home. She made up her mind. She had to get back to Sonya’s, to her bedroom, the only safe place she knew, and then she could make a plan.

  She walked on the verge of the road. There was enough light from the moon to show her where she was going. There were no cars at this time of night, so after almost an hour of walking when she heard a car engine again she knew it was him. She dived into the bush on the side of the road, mostly ferns and overgrown grass. She cocooned herself into a ball. The sound got closer. He was driving painfully slowly and even with her head buried into her knees and her eyes clenched tight she could see the headlights illuminate the bush she was in but just as quickly disappear as he moved on. She waited in the bush, the seat of her pants soaking. She told herself to count to one hundred and if she didn’t hear anything she could get up. But she stayed a lot longer than that. Every small noise or distant car engine she heard grated on her nerves and she would start to count all over again.

  Finally she made her way into Crawton and started recognising some of the street signs. She knew she wasn’t far from Sonya’s. Her head wound ached and her fingers and feet were numb. The adrenalin that had torn through her body for the last hour was dissipating and she felt she could sit down on the kerb and fall asleep. But the Magic Man could still be driving around so she snubbed the footpaths in favour of walking along fence lines and hedges.

  Hours after she escaped, she saw Sonya’s house. She walked up the driveway. Mrs Hutchinson’s light was still on in the lounge. It wasn’t even a week ago she’d walked down the drive and given her the finger — the last thing she remembered about that night. She didn’t want to go in the front door. She wasn’t ready to tell her story, so walked around the lemon-coloured weatherboard house with the peeling paint and found her window. Standing on the concrete breeze blocks she’d placed there the last time she snuck out, she dug her nails under the window and prised it open. It was buggered and wouldn’t lock anyway. With some effort she hoisted herself up and fell into her bedroom. She lay there, frozen, waiting for someone to wake up.

  She felt around in the dark for the light switch on the other side of the room. Her purple jandals were still in the corner. Kurt Cobain in all his black-and-white angst stared at her from the wall. She lay down on her bed and fell into a fitful sleep. She dreamt she was being chased up a never-ending darkened street for hours, a figure always behind her, looming close, but not close enough to get her.

  *

  Faith started as Tammy banged down a box of bottles on the bar.

  ‘You look sick,’ Tammy said, eyeing Faith up.

  ‘Yeah, I’m not feeling great.’ Faith pulled at her shirt, feeling uncomfortable damp patches under her armpits. ‘I think I need to go home. Can you finish here? Tell Magda I’ll be back for the late shift.’

  ‘No problem,’ Tammy said, no idea wh
at Crawton’s innocent little newspaper had dragged up.

  ‘Can I take this?’ Faith asked, grabbing the paper.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  Faith disappeared down the corridor to the staff toilets and read the article sitting in a cubicle. She had hoped that Gabe Baker — it was strange to give him a normal name — would have died a horrible, painful death, but the forty-one-year old had died of a plain old heart attack. She walked into the staffroom and slid the newspaper into Tammy’s locker and left by the back service entrance. The man who had ruined her life, the man who had caused her to run from the only family and friends she knew, the man who made closing her eyes every night impossible, was dead. She was free. But it doesn’t feel like it.

  Chapter 22

  It was Monday morning and the last thing Aroha felt like doing was packing her bag for school. But Mrs Keegan had already contacted her dad once this month about cutting school. He’d give Aroha another lacklustre speech, one eye on the racing on TV, saying she had to get her arse to school or else. His pitiful threats meant nothing, but Mrs Keegan would take things further if she continued to take the piss. Her dad was snoring on the couch: after too much to drink last night he didn’t make it to his bed so it wouldn’t be much fun at home anyway. Whenever he was around, as small and wiry as he was, he seemed to take up the whole house and when he’d been drinking he was louder and even more obscene. The last thing she wanted to do today was stay locked up in her room so school it was — eventually. She forced down a mouthful of toast in the kitchen. This thing inside her was making her tired and sick. She decided to put it out of her head for now and left out the back door without waking her father.

  She had English first, which she hated, all that analysing poetry and authors — always long-dead men, it seemed. A waste of time. And if the book was halfway decent in the beginning, by the time they’d talked about the characters, the plot and the themes, it was ruined. She walked down to the little lake. At this time of morning there weren’t too many people around. A few joggers and oldies walking their overweight and ancient dogs. She sat on the swing and eased her way back and let go. The sudden lurch did nothing for her nausea, and she rooted her feet to the ground to stop herself. She saw Gus in the distance, outside the toilet block. He stared over at her for some time and then, recognising who it was, gave her a wave and walked towards her.