Behind

by Nicole Trope

  ‘Look, officer,’ says Ben. ‘I think you must have the wrong Rachel Watson. Rachel’s father died when she was little, when she was seven or so. He died of cancer. I think this must be a mistake.’

  The constable speaking is a large man with a belly hanging over his pants. He is young with his face freshly shaved and his pants neatly pressed as though he has just begun his shift. To Rachel he looks like a little boy with an overweight man’s body.

  ‘If you are Rachel Watson and your mother is Veronica Watson, then I am sorry to tell you that your father Leonard Watson is deceased. We wanted to ask you some questions about him. Would it be all right if we came in?’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ says Ben. ‘When did he die?’ He looks from Rachel to the constables and back again, and Rachel feels her stomach sink. The room begins to spin; she feels like she’s going to faint.

  ‘We think it happened sometime in the past week,’ says the constable. ‘Maybe as long as two weeks ago. We’ll know more when the coroner has completed her examination. His body was found in his home in Blackheath. His neighbours hadn’t seen him for a while and then they noticed…’ The constable pauses and his colleague, an older man with a beard, jumps in for him. ‘They noticed a smell coming from the house and alerted police.’

  ‘Where… where was he living?’ Rachel asks as she swallows repeatedly to stop herself from throwing up.

  ‘In Blackheath as I said, the same place he’d been living for the last thirty-five years. Were you in contact with your father, Mrs Flinders?’

  White. White walls, white door, white tiles in the kitchen. White towels in the bathroom. Red. Red blood on the floor.

  The house appears before her.

  I’ll never tell, I promise.

  The room begins to spin.

  26

  Ben

  Ben stares at Rachel, at her pale face and her pink lips that have developed a bluish tinge. She looks up at him and says, ‘Ben…’ Her legs buckle and her eyes close and he catches her just before her head hits the floor.

  ‘Oh, oh, jeez,’ says the young constable. But the older man pushes him aside and helps Ben lift his wife. Together they move her to the couch.

  ‘Perhaps get her some water,’ the older man says.

  Ben nods but for some reason he’s reluctant to leave Rachel alone. He takes a blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over her.

  In the kitchen he grabs some ice from the fridge and fills a glass with water, listening to the crick crack sound the ice makes as water hits it, and he tries to process what’s going on. Rachel’s father has been alive all this time. She didn’t say that the police had made a mistake. It seems that she knew he was alive. Rachel has been lying about him for the last sixteen years he’s known her and probably for her whole life. Why would she have lied about him? He thinks about the money she took. How much doesn’t he know about his wife?

  He died in his house and no one knew he was dead until he started to smell. Ben shudders. What a way to go. Lonely and unloved and unmissed by anyone. He cannot contemplate anything worse.

  What kind of a person is Rachel to be able to ignore her father for most of her life? To simply pretend he was dead? He has so many questions and he vows that after the constables leave, he will ask her about everything. He will force her to tell him about her father and explain why she and her mother have perpetuated such an awful lie. And he will ask her about the money she has hidden in her drawer. He’s been so reluctant to discuss anything that might upset her but he’s had enough now. What is she hiding? He thinks about his little girl, safely asleep upstairs, surrounded by her flying butterflies. What if Rachel is a criminal with a terrible past? What will happen to Beth?

  Putting the glass on the counter, he then gets another from the cabinet. He fills it with some water for himself and drinks deeply, savouring the way the cold slices down his throat. His mouth feels dry. His body feels weird and his whole life feels like it’s completely out of control.

  He would like to turn around, walk right out of the back door and keep going. Is that what Rachel was planning to do? Has she been taking money so that she can run away and leave him, leave their life behind? Would she have left Beth? A couple of weeks ago that would have been unthinkable but now he’s not so sure. The woman lying on the couch in the living room is not the woman he thought she was. Her father never died of cancer. If she could tell a lie that huge, then it’s possible there are a lot of other things she is concealing, including the ability to leave both him and their child.

  Over the past few days, he has been questioning himself and his choices constantly. Now he realises that he should have been questioning everything else.

  27

  Little Bird

  When school starts again, I am happy, happy. I don’t mind walking there now because the best thing that has happened all summer is that the big growly dog moved away with his family. No one lives in the house with the red front door now and it has a big sign outside that says ‘sold’ on it. Daddy says that means that a new family is coming to live there and I hope that if they have a dog, it’s just a small dog or a dog that likes to give licks through the fence. Maybe they could have a family with someone for me to play with. Maisie says her neighbour Estella is her best friend in the whole world and that makes me sad sometimes because I want to be Maisie’s best friend in the whole world.

  At school I’m not in Mr Stanley’s class anymore. I’m in Mrs Berenson’s class and she has grey hair and a cross face and everyone in my class is very quiet because we all know that Mrs Berenson likes to shout loud, loud.

  I am very careful when I write down my new spelling words and Mrs Berenson says, ‘Now that’s nice and neat,’ and makes me show the whole class. My cheeks get red and I feel happy inside and I can’t wait to tell Mummy that Mrs Berenson didn’t shout at me because I was careful when I wrote my words.

  When I get home from school Mummy is lying on the couch having a nap because she has a ‘summer cold’. A summer cold is different to a winter cold but it still makes her nose run and her eyes water and she feels really bad. Last night I heard her cough, cough, cough all night long. I wanted to go into her bedroom and tell her to take some of the medicine she gives me when I am sick but I knew that I wasn’t allowed to get out of my bed except to go to the bathroom and I am never, never allowed in Mummy and Daddy’s room when it’s night time. Unless Daddy is not there but he is always there.

  I tell Mummy about my day and she claps when I tell her about Mrs Berenson making me show the class my work. Then she blows her nose and blows her nose. I put my hand on her forehead just like she does when me and Kevin are sick and I feel that she is hot, hot.

  ‘Do you want a drink, Mummy?’

  ‘No, sweetheart. I’m fine for now. Can you get your own snack, love? I just need a bit more rest and then I’ll get up and clean up and cook dinner.’

  ‘I can, Mummy, but I can also bring you something to drink and I can be your nurse.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ says Mummy, and she blows her nose and blows her nose and blows her nose.

  I take a big spoon of peanut butter out of the jar and I use the knife to cut some apple but my cuts are not very good and the pieces are all different sizes, not like when Mummy does it and everything is the same size. Some of the peanut butter gets on the white counter and I quickly take Mummy’s rag to clean it but I don’t clean it very well and it just smears the peanut butter. I leave it for Mummy to clean because she is better at cleaning than anyone.

  I eat my apple and then I pour Mummy some orange juice from the fridge because she always gives me juice when I have a cold and she says, ‘Thank you, love, you’re a very good nurse.’

  I sit next to Mummy on the couch and I do my homework and she coughs and blows her nose and then she falls asleep for a bit and I watch television.

  I don’t notice the time going by and Mummy sleeps and sleeps and her breathing is loud because of the cold bu
t I don’t mind. I just watch television and then all of a sudden the door opens and Kevin comes in with Daddy because he has been at cricket practice and Daddy fetches him from practice because it ends late, late. If Kevin and Daddy are home it means it’s after six o’clock.

  ‘What’s happening here, Little Bird?’ asks Daddy in a kind voice and I stand up and go to say hello to him but I get lots and lots of butterflies in my tummy because the kitchen is not sparkling clean and I am not sparkling clean and there is no dinner. I think about the peanut butter on the counter and I am scared, scared because Daddy hates mess and this mess is not even hiding – it’s right there. I want to run to the kitchen to wipe everything again but my feet feel stuck to the floor.

  ‘Oh,’ says Mummy, and she sits up. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I must have dozed off. This terrible cold is making me feel awful. I’m so sorry, Len; hello, Kevin. I’ll get dinner ready in just a few minutes.’

  ‘Oh no, my darling,’ says Daddy, ‘don’t feel you have to get up. Kevin and I can take care of things, can’t we, son?’

  ‘Sure,’ says Kevin, but his voice sounds strange like he’s not sure at all. I think that maybe Kevin doesn’t know how to take care of things. I swallow because I hate it when Daddy cooks. His food is yucky.

  ‘No, I’ll be fine now, Len, I’ve had a rest, really.’ Mummy stands up and smooths her hair. Her cheeks are red and I think that’s because her face is hot and she has a temperature. I should have been a better nurse and given her some Panadol. That’s what she gives me when my face is hot and I have a temperature.

  ‘I said I’ll take care of it,’ says Daddy slowly. ‘You go up to bed. Little Bird, go and have your shower and get clean, and by the time you’re done I will have everything shipshape.’

  ‘Tweet, tweet,’ I say but Daddy doesn’t smile at me. I don’t think he’s happy about everything not being shipshape.

  Mummy comes upstairs with me. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ she whispers.

  ‘Sorry, Mummy,’ I whisper back.

  ‘Oh, it’s not your fault, sweetheart, it’s really not.’

  Mummy helps me get all clean and sparkling and then I go downstairs and Daddy has made fish and broccoli but not the way Mummy makes it. Mummy puts crumbs on the fish and makes it all golden and crunchy and then she gives me tomato sauce to dip the fish into but Daddy has made the fish steamed and it looks yuck.

  ‘Why don’t you go up to bed, dear? You’ve had a long day and you need your rest,’ Daddy says to Mummy and then he laughs but not a happy laugh. Mummy walks slowly up the stairs to bed because everyone has to do what Daddy tells them to do.

  I eat all the food Daddy has made even though I have to chew and drink water to stop it from coming back up out of my mouth. Kevin eats it too. No one says anything and Daddy doesn’t even ask me how my first day of school was.

  Daddy hums as he cleans up after dinner. I try to help him but he doesn’t want me to and he says, ‘Just go to bed.’ I want to tell him it’s too early for bed and it’s still light outside because it’s summer but I don’t. I go to my room and I lie on my bed with my new book from school and I read it over and over again. Mummy doesn’t come to read me a story because of her summer cold.

  I hear Kevin come upstairs and go into his room and close the door and then I hear Daddy come upstairs and go into his and Mummy’s room. And then I hear a crack sound and I hear Mummy say, ‘Please, Len, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  I hear another crack sound and Mummy says sorry again and again. The butterflies in my tummy flap their wings harder and harder. Mummy is sick and Daddy should be nice to her but I don’t think he’s being nice to her. I hear her crying and the crack sound comes again. I don’t know what to do so I get off my bed and I go and knock on Kevin’s door. I always have to knock on Kevin’s door or he pulls my hair.

  ‘What?’ he says and I open the door quietly and go into his room. He is lying on his bed reading a comic book with Superman on the front.

  ‘Daddy is not being nice to Mummy,’ I say, ‘and she’s sick.’

  ‘What do you want me to do about it?’

  I look at Kevin, at his big feet and his big hands and his face that has some pimples on it. ‘You’re big,’ I say. ‘You can make him be nice to her. You’re strong, Kevin. You can be strong, stronger than Daddy. You can be the strongest.’

  ‘Go back to bed,’ he says. And he turns the page of the comic.

  ‘Make him stop,’ I tell Kevin because Kevin and I both know that Daddy is the one who gives Mummy a sore head.

  ‘Just go back to bed and mind your own business,’ hisses Kevin like a mean, angry snake.

  ‘Please, Kevin, you’re big, please make him stop.’

  Kevin throws his comic book on the floor and jumps off his bed. He smiles at me and the butterflies flap harder and harder because now I am scared of Kevin and I shouldn’t have come to his room.

  He grabs the top of my arm and squeezes hard. ‘No way am I getting involved in that shit. She’s pathetic and she deserves whatever she gets. You’re pathetic too and I told you to go back to bed.’ He pulls my arm and then he shoves me out of his room and closes the door behind me.

  ‘Ow,’ I say but not too loudly because I don’t want Daddy to hear.

  ‘Go to bed,’ Kevin tells me through the door.

  I rub my arm where his fingers have made it sore. I creep back to my bedroom and close the door and climb into bed. I hug my big soft dolly who sleeps on my bed and I cry and cry because I am not big enough to help Mummy.

  In the morning when I try to go into her room to say good morning to her, she is curled up in a little ball and Daddy says I must leave her alone.

  Daddy pours my cereal for me and I try to eat it but I can’t because there are so many butterflies in my stomach.

  ‘I suggest you finish your food, Little Bird,’ says Daddy quietly. ‘We don’t waste in this house, do we, Kevin?’

  ‘No, sir,’ says Kevin and they both look at me and I have to crunch up my cereal faster and faster until it’s all gone.

  Then Daddy leaves for work and he takes Kevin to school because his school is far away and it’s only for boys.

  When he closes the door and I hear his car drive away I run upstairs to Mummy. She is still a little ball in her bed. ‘I’m going to school now, Mummy,’ I whisper and she uncurls a little bit and looks at me with two red eyes and a puffy lip. I want to run away because Mummy looks scary but then I tell myself that she is still Mummy. ‘Is your cold better, Mummy?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, Little Bird,’ she says and then she tries to smile but her lip starts to bleed and then she is crying and crying and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I feel tears come into my eyes as well but I don’t want to cry in front of Mummy because I know she is sad enough. I don’t say anything to her. I go downstairs and I take my bag and walk to school.

  I hate Daddy and I hate Kevin as well.

  I wish me and Mummy could run away, just run away far. Far from here and far, far from them.

  28

  Kevin

  Twenty-one days after I am admitted to the Lyndon Public Hospital for observation and treatment, I am informed that I am being sent to prison. I have not been a particularly good or informative patient.

  They found my meds hidden behind the toilet while I was in my last session with Dr Sharma, a session in which I said nothing at all. When I came back and discovered one of the nurses in my room, I felt the black sludge instantly bubble up. I clenched my fists and tried to see the bucket of cold water but it didn’t help.

  ‘I found these behind the toilet, Kevin,’ said the nurse, a small woman with curly red hair. She opened both her hands to show me the sticky, damp collection of pills. Her name is Jacinta and she is perky and happy and I felt my arm move because I was going to smack her into next week. But just as I lifted my arm, nurse Bobby, great big nurse Bobby, walked in. He grabbed me hard, trapped my arms down by my side and squeezed u
ntil I thought I was going to pass out. I could tell he was enjoying himself. He’s been waiting to get his hands on me to show me just how strong he is, just waiting. They sedated me and tied me down to the bed. And now they’re sending me to prison.

  It was a long shot to believe that I could get away with doing my time in a hospital. I am obviously not suicidal. I am seeking justice. I am not going to kill myself until I feel I have achieved it.

  A woman named Annette Darcy informs me that I will be transferred to the local jail in the morning. She advises me to think about getting a lawyer. She says that legal aid will help me find a lawyer if I cannot afford one but that this may take a long time.

  ‘I’ll get a real lawyer, thanks,’ I tell her. Behind her black-framed glasses, I watch her eyes widen and I speculate that Annette Darcy is probably married to or in a relationship with a lawyer who works for legal aid. People are so easy to read.

  I call my father.

  The first three times I dial his number from a phone in Annette Darcy’s office, it rings out.

  ‘He may be out,’ I say. I have no idea where he would have gone since he gets his groceries delivered and has no friends at all.

  ‘Maybe try again in a bit,’ she says, her tone detached. She doesn’t care what happens to me as long as I am no longer her hospital’s problem. I have not met Annette Darcy before and she’s lucky that they have Bobby in her office with me. His stance is wide and his chest is puffed out and he’s just waiting for me to make even the smallest move. I can see he would love to get the chance to grab me again. I smile and Annette Darcy frowns. I am not supposed to be happy.

  I try my father again and this time he answers so I know that all the other times he was just watching the phone ring. He must have known it was me, must have loved reading a little of my desperation into the endless ringing of the phone.