“Why do you have to make such a big deal about it?” I said once. I mimicked her voice: “You’re so kind to think of us. So generous.”
Her eyes narrowed and she grabbed me by my upper arm, pulling me into the bathroom where he couldn’t hear. “Well, he is generous. You try making ends meet on a benefit, missy. Rent, food, electricity. Your school fees. It all adds up. And he doesn’t have to help. It’s not like he’s your dad or anything.”
That made me think about phoning WINZ because he’s not supposed to stay here all the time or she could lose her sole parent benefit. In the end, I didn’t. It’s not like it would’ve made a difference. Without Mum’s benefit, there’d be no groceries, and anyway, everyone knows WINZ are as useless as tits on a bull.
The TV is still blaring next door when I fall asleep.
In the morning, I take the school bus and sit near the back with Aaron.
“Bags the window,” he says, pushing ahead of me.
Ours is a friendship of convenience. Every day, we get on and off the bus at the same stop; have done since I started school. When you wait in the rain and fog with someone day in and day out, you get to know things. For example, I know that Aaron is gay, and he knows about Uncle Bradley. Not the gory details, but the general gist. It’s not as though Aaron can do anything about anything, but it’d been a relief to tell him, and have him believe me.
“Anyone ever tell you, you look like shit?” he says when I slip in beside him, twisting my backpack around until it’s resting on my knees.
“Yeah, someone was sick, so Mum picked up an extra shift at the Fish & Chip shop.”
The bus roars, slowly picking up speed. Aaron nods. “You okay?” he asks.
I stare down the aisle. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He clutches at the straps of my backpack, leans closer, and whispers in my ear, “We should go, Kayla. Leave here. We could take the bus to Auckland.” His eyes are big and round and hopeful.
“And then what?” I say. “Get lost in the big smoke? It’s all right for you. You’re already sixteen. You forget I’m only thirteen. When you’re thirteen, they glue your face on every milk bottle in every supermarket in the country.”
He rolls his eyes. “And take out full page ads calling for information about your whereabouts.”
“Someone will start a Kickstarter.”
“They’ll call in a psychic.”
“My mum will cry on TV.”
Aaron grins. “Your mum would love that.”
I smile in spite of myself. “I know.”
“Think about it though, Kayla. You only have to survive two years. Auckland’s big. I can help hide you. When you’re sixteen, they can’t make you come back. He won’t be able to do anything.”
“Two years and two months,” I say, savouring the feel of the words in my mouth.
“So? It’s not impossible.”
I think about leaving Mum and how much it would hurt her. Uncle Bradley was right when he said that everything she does, she does for me.
Everything except see what I need her to see.
I pleat the fabric of my skirt in my fingers and shake my head. “If they find me and haul me back, Uncle Bradley will kill me.”
Now it’s Aaron’s turn to look out the window. His breath fogs the glass an instant then disappears into nothing. When the bus has bunny-hopped over the potholes outside the Skelton’s place, he turns to face me again. “What about your father?” he demands.
“What about him?”
“Why can’t you go and stay with him?” He looks at me hard. Honestly, if he doesn’t stop picking that pimple at the corner of his mouth, it’ll never heal up.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Just ask him.”
“I can’t.”
Aaron stares at me like I’m the Prime Minister trying to evade a tricky question.
“Look, I have a father—obviously—I just don’t know who he is.”
“Seriously? You don’t know anything about him?”
“I know he was a poet and a dreamer. Mum says he wasn’t like other boys. He wasn’t normal. His family wasn’t from around here.”
I pause.
“What?”
“Don’t laugh, but she used to tell me the reason he couldn’t stay with us because he was a patu-paiarehe.”
Aaron scoffs anyway. “A fairy? A legendary creature from the forest? That’s crazy.”
“I know, right?” It is kind of sad. It’s not like I’m a little kid who believes in fairy stories, but I like to think my dad was legit, that he had a real reason for not being with Mum and me. Before I started school, I had this picture book of Cinderella and in it there’s a drawing of her meeting the prince in the forest. It’s silly, I know, but back then I convinced myself that the prince was like my dad, and he was hiding in the forest, just waiting for us to come and find him.
The bus pulls into the bay outside the intermediate school. The doors sigh open and we all pile out.
Aaron stands up, shouldering his backpack. “More likely, if your dad split, it’s because he didn’t want to pay child support.”
“Yeah,” I say, but my heart says something else.
When we get off the bus in the afternoon, Uncle Bradley is waiting at the side of the road. He’s never done that before. The back of my throat tightens.
I jump down after Aaron and the doors hiss. The bus pulls out, spitting gravel.
“Hello, Mr Sterns. Kayla’s coming to my place today,” Aaron says. “We’ve got an assignment.”
Uncle Bradley lifts his chin. “Like hell she is. And who the fuck are you trying to kid? You’re not even in the same class.”
The bus labours down the road. Watching it go, I realise we should’ve got back on.
Too late now.
Hitching my backpack up on my shoulder, I straighten my back. “I’m going to Aaron’s,” I say. “It’s all arranged. Mrs Waugh invited me over for afternoon tea.”
Uncle Bradley cocks an eyebrow. “So, it’s tea and cookies now, is it? I don’t think so.” Quick as ever, he steps forward and shoves Aaron full in the chest, sending him backwards into the road. Aaron stumbles, then recovers, moving off the road and onto the verge again. But now Uncle Bradley’s bulky body is wedged between us. Aaron drops his backpack on the gravel.
In my head, I will him to go home.
He stands his ground. This time, when Uncle Bradley shoves him, he springs back like a piece of fencing wire.
“I’ll teach you for messing with my stepdaughter,” Uncle Bradley roars.
“She’s not your stepdaughter and I’m not the one messing around with her,” Aaron spits.
No! Don’t let on you know. He can’t know you know…I stare around Uncle Bradley at Aaron, praying for him to understand.
Uncle Bradley draws a line in the gravel with his toe. “You’re right. She’s a slut: there’re probably half a dozen like you taking a turn with her behind the bike sheds.”
“Bullshit!” Aaron shrieks, and my stomach sinks.
“No!” I shout, but already he’s running at Uncle Bradley, his head down like a wild boar on attack. Uncle Bradley dodges the charge with a neat sidestep. Twisting, he punches Aaron full in the stomach as he come around again. Aaron doubles over and Uncle Bradley lifts his knee, slamming it into his nose. Blood spurts all over Aaron’s t-shirt.
“Stop it!” I croak, my voice echoing over the paddocks. The sheep nearest the fence skitter away. But Uncle Bradley rounds on Aaron, punching him in the guts a second time.
Aaron goes down hard. “Run, Kayla,” he chokes, his arms wrapped around his middle. “Get away from here.”
“You run, and I’ll kill him,” Uncle Bradley says quietly.
I freeze.
“He’s bluffing,” Aaron says, getting to one knee, blood in his teeth. “If he kills me, the police will come after him.”
“Is that so?” Uncle Bradley scoffs as he kicks out
Aaron’s knee. The action is swift and cruel, pushing Aaron back into the gravel. Uncle Bradley stoops, jamming his face close to Aaron’s. “I could kill you and walk away and no one would even bat an eyelid. Not when I tell them how you’ve been fucking my stepdaughter, and when I called you out for it, you came at me.”
“Except it’s all lies!”
Uncle Bradley shrugs. “Question of perspective, isn’t it?”
“Nobody’ll believe you,” Aaron says, but his face has turned as pale as butter.
“Of course they’ll believe me.” Uncle Bradley kicks him in the ribs with the toe of his boot. “My cousin’s the superintendent of the local police.” Grinning, he stamps on Aaron’s leg. Aaron whimpers. Like a hedgehog, he curls into a ball, his skinny arms crossed over his head. Uncle Bradley kicks him again and again. In his back. His stomach. His head.
After a while, Aaron goes quiet.
“Please,” I beg.
Uncle Bradley gives him one more kick for good measure. Then, panting, he wipes his hands on his jeans. He turns on his heel, grabs me by the arm and drags me back towards the house. I glance over my shoulder to where Aaron is a motionless lump on the side of the road and pray Uncle Bradley hasn’t fractured his skull.
Afterwards, when he’s finished his business, I run back to the bus stop to look for Aaron, but he’s gone, His backpack, too. I’m about to head up to his house, when Mum turns into the driveway. If only she’d come home twenty minutes ago.
Slowing the car, she slides down the window and calls to me. “Kayla? Where do you think you’re going?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Nowhere.”
“Well, what are you doing out here on the road?”
“Just checking the mailbox,” I improvise. “It was empty.”
Mum gives me a suspicious look. “Come inside, then. I bought some lamb chops for dinner.”
I look towards the Waugh’s house, and then trudge after the car, my gumboots scuffing in the gravel.
Aaron doesn’t come to school on Wednesday. Or on Thursday. When he doesn’t come on Friday, I ride past our stop, get off at Cooper’s corner, and walk back to Aaron’s place.
His mother opens the door. “Kayla.”
“Hello, Mrs Waugh. Is Aaron okay? He hasn’t been at school.”
“You’d better come in,” she says, opening the door wide.
I take off my gumboots and follow her into the kitchen. It’s only four o’clock, but the amber pendant above the dining table is already on. I take a seat. The Waugh’s sheepdog pads over and I give him a scratch under his chin.
Aaron’s mother goes to the kitchen bench, where she’s been cutting up a pumpkin. She picks up a knife and uses it to slice off the grey skin. “What do you know about what happened on Wednesday?”
I shrug and ruffle the dog’s ears.
“Someone beat Aaron up after school. He wouldn’t say who. I had to take him to A&E.”
I pretend to be surprised. “Is he okay?”
She slices the pumpkin and places the pieces in a pot. “Yes. But he took the bus to Auckland first thing on Thursday. He’s done with this place. His father and I weren’t happy, but he’s sixteen, seventeen in a week, so there wasn’t much we could do about it.” She stares at me hard. I want to tell her what really happened, but if I do, something bad will accidentally happen to Mum. Something bad could happen to Aaron’s mum, too. Uncle Bradley knows where she lives, and Mr Waugh spends a heap of time down the back of the farm.
So I say, “There are some kids at school—”
“Yes, I know,” she interrupts. “Bullies. A dead-end town like this—forcing people to pack up and leave just because they step to a different drum.” She puts down the knife and sighs deeply. “It doesn’t do to be different, does it?”
I shake my head. “No.” The dog nuzzles closer. I give him another pat. “So where is Aaron staying? Does he have an address?”
Mrs Waugh scrubs away a tear with the back of her hand. “He knows our number here at home. He’ll call us if he needs anything.”
She gives me a piece of ginger crunch and a glass of Fanta.
Before I leave, she says, “You take care now, Kayla. Any trouble with those kids at school, you know you can always come to Mr Waugh and me.”
I know she doesn’t really mean it. It’s what people say to be polite, like asking ‘how are things going’ and not really caring about the answer. I smile and nod. “If Aaron calls, please tell him I said hi.”
She rests a hand on my shoulder a moment. “Of course.”
Aaron’s dog follows me into the yard and down the driveway to the cattle grate.
“Go home!” I tell him.
His tail down, he heads back towards the house.
Mum will be another hour, so I cut across the Waugh’s paddocks, then cross Henderson’s to get to the edge of the forest. Henderson’s dog is barking its head off at something in the bushes. His ears are cocked and the fur on the back of his neck is standing up. He doesn’t even see me when I climb the fence. I step into the gloom. Today, I don’t need the creek, so I wade to the other side and head further into the trees.
It’s windy. High up where the branches touch, the bark squeaks. Through the rustle of the leaves and the gurgle of the creek, I hear a flute or a clarinet playing somewhere up ahead. It’s faint, but there, the melody wistful and eerie, like an Adele song, the kind that makes your heart ache. For a second, I think it might be Aaron. Maybe he hasn’t gone to Auckland yet. Maybe he stuck around to say goodbye.
Or to take me with him.
My heart racing, I speed up, plunging deeper into the beech trees, pushing aside the branches, grazing my hands on the bark. It’s hard work, the wet ground sucking all the time at my gumboots. The mist rolls around me, cold on my muddy legs.
“Hello? Aaron?”
Three people step out of the trees. My heart stops in its tracks. I can hardly believe it. Patu-paiarehe. Tall and willowy, they have fair hair and brilliant diamond eyes. There are three of them, all dressed in skins.
“Kayla,” they say, and I jump to hear their voices in my head.
I hug my arms to my body, my boots sinking in the soft mud. “You know my name?”
Their answer drifts towards me on gusts of wind. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
The drawing of the prince from that old picture book flashes into my head and I can hardly breathe. They’ve been waiting for me? I’m almost too scared to ask. “Is my dad here?”
“Yes, yes, we know where,” they whisper in my head. “We can take you.”
“Take me where?”
“This way. Come.”
I follow them further into the forest, clambering over rotting logs and ducking under fronds. Up ahead, the patu-paiarehe let the branches swing back and hit me.
“Hey!”
They giggle and smile. Well, they’re known for being pranksters. I want to reach out and touch them, only they dart forward on their long legs, keeping just out of reach.
I hurry to catch them up. In the dim light, everything is shadowy and grey and my gumboots slip in the mud. Arms out, I tumble into a ditch. My hands break my fall, pain flaring in the webbing. I bite back a cry. A sharp twig speared me when I tripped. I lift my palm to my mouth and suck away the blood.
It’s while I’m standing there, dealing with the cut, that I notice the barking. Somewhere in the distance, Henderson’s dog is going ape shit. All at once, I realise how late it is. Behind me, the forest is so dark, the tree trunks are a blur. How did I even get this far?
“It’s getting too dark: I’m going to need my torch,” I tell the patu-paiarehe. But when I take it out of my pocket, they melt into the trees.
“Hey, come back,” I call.
The forest groans about me, the shadows thick and dank.
“I don’t know where to go,” I say.
The patu-paiarehe don’t answer.
The days go by. A week. I hear nothing from Aaron. No l
etter. No phone call. Not a whisper.
“You only have to survive two years,” he’d said that last Wednesday morning on the bus. He’d made it sound so easy. Now, with no one to talk to, those two years stretch out in front of me like a dead-end road.
I’m in the kitchen doing the dinner dishes when Mrs Arnott calls my mother and tells her I’m getting behind on my schoolwork.
“What’s this all about?” Mum asks when she gets off the phone.
“It’ll be because that boyfriend of hers shot through,” Uncle Bradley calls from the living room where he’s watching the telly. I imagine his smug look and wish I could stuff the kitchen brush down his throat.
“Is that it?” Mum asks. “Is this about Aaron?”
“I guess so,” I say and it’s not entirely a lie. Since Aaron left, I’ve lost a lot of weight—I’ve had to put a safety pin in the waistband of my skirt—and lately I’ve been forgetting things. It’s as if my brain’s been getting blunter, worn down like a pencil.
The school makes me see a counsellor. With scraggly hair and big rimmed glasses, she looks like Professor Trelawney and asks me the usual things about what I want to do when I leave school, and if my falling grades have anything to do with the kids at school. I tell her no.
“And what about things at home?” she asks.
“They’re okay.”
“Just okay?” Through the glasses, her cheeks are an odd shape.
I shrug. “It’s alright.”
“It’s just you and your mum at home, right?”
“Hmm.” I don’t mention Uncle Bradley. I can’t, I can’t mention him or something bad will happen to Mum.
Only, the counsellor must catch me pause because she says, “You know, anything you tell me is confidential, don’t you? That means it’s just between you and me.”
“You can’t tell anyone?”
“That’s right.”
“Like a priest?”
“Exactly.”
I suck in a breath. Maybe I could tell her. Not because she can do anything, but just to be able to tell someone the way I told Aaron. Someone who’s not going to pick a fight with Uncle Bradley and get herself beaten up and left on the side of the road. The knowledge makes me feel strangely light, like an old candy wrapper carried along by the wind. I’m opening my mouth to tell her, when she goes on, “That’s how this works: unless you’re at immediate risk, nothing you say here will get past me.”
Cthulhu Deep Down Under Volume 2 Page 7