Crime Story

by Gee, Maurice

  ‘Ask your father.’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘Why doesn’t Brent come and see me?’

  Always the same, always Brent. ‘I’m here instead. Say “Nice to see you, Leeanne.” Say “Welcome, dear.”’ The same worn puffed-up face. How could it be worn and puffed up at the same time? The same kitchen heaviness and greyness. Once she had been pretty, in a round-faced way, and that was what her father had gone for, she supposed, and ignored the rest. Words came out of her like stones. And yet she kept on loving Brent. It was no wonder he kept away.

  ‘I suppose you want tea?’

  ‘Sure, a cuppa, that’s good. And a biscuit, eh. Sam’s got a new tooth, Mum. Open up, show Granny your tooth.’

  Her mother turned her back and filled the kettle, then stood waiting for it to boil. Back to Leeanne, hands on the bench. Eyes looking where? Nowhere. That was how Leeanne remembered her, standing still at the kitchen bench. Half of her life must have been spent there, switched off from things she disapproved of. Except, today, she seemed further away. She’d held Sam last time, for a minute, and kissed Leeanne on the cheek. Now her disapproval was set fast and somehow didn’t need to be shown. It frightened Leeanne.

  ‘You’re sure you’re okay, Mum? You’re not sick?’

  Her mother turned as though something had gone click in her mind and took the tray of biscuits from the oven. She put it on the bench and gave each one a tap to set it free. The kettle boiled. She warmed the pot. Warmed the cups. Made tea. Everything perfect. Everything dead.

  ‘Has Brent got a job yet?’ That was alive.

  ‘I think he must have. I don’t see him much. He’s got some money.’

  ‘Tell him to come and see me. I need to know what state he’s in.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ But she knew that her mother meant Brent’s soul. What about my soul? she thought. Why don’t you save me, Ma? Save my little Sambo bastard here. You bloody try!

  She heard her father taking off his boots at the back door. He washed his hands in the wash-house and came in wearing his socks.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ she said.

  ‘Leeanne. Hey, my grandson, give ’im here.’ He kissed Leeanne and took Sam and sat him on his arm and looked at him: all done somehow with a pause, a space in his behaviour where his wife must be looked at. ‘He’s grown, Leeanne. Well, you’re a big boy now, aren’t you?’

  ‘We’ve got a new tooth,’ Leeanne said. She wanted to cry.

  Her mother poured the tea. She put warm biscuits on a plate. Then she took her cup away and closed the bedroom door.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘She’s under a strain. Take it easy on her, Leeanne.’

  ‘She should take it easy on me. She hasn’t even touched Sam. It’s like we’ve got bloody Aids or something.’

  ‘Come outside and drink it on the lawn.’

  She was glad to. The garden shone. All the leaves were polished and the earth like chocolate. She put Sam on the lawn and let him go. Eat what you like, she felt like saying.

  ‘You haven’t lost your touch, Dad.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But what’s wrong with her?’

  ‘She’s going to some place over in the Hutt.’

  ‘What? A church? What happened to the Presbies?’

  ‘Not far enough out, I guess. This lot dunks you in a big bath. They want me too, Leeanne. There’s a guy comes round, a skinny little bloke, looks like a crab, he grins at me and says there isn’t much time left for getting saved.’

  ‘Jesus, kick ’im out.’

  ‘I can’t. Your mother. They do, tongues they call it. They talk a kind of gabble and fall over on the floor. I had to get out of there, that’s not the place for me. She can have them.’

  ‘Sure, she’s welcome. Don’t you do what you don’t want to, Dad.’

  ‘I won’t. Leeanne, I don’t know, the worst thing is – she’s got no love, it’s all dried up, her love is gone.’

  She never had any in the first place, Leeanne thought. Almost said. Instead she said, ‘She’s got some left for Brent.’

  ‘No she hasn’t. She’d burn him at the stake, I reckon, if she thought it would save his soul. There’s something called Last Days, I think, is coming. You’re a goner, Leeanne. There’s no hope for you.’

  ‘Three cheers.’

  ‘She reads this stuff about, beasts it is, and signs and so on. It’s all crazy.’

  ‘Brent couldn’t stop it.’

  ‘No one can. I don’t know what to do. I guess I just have to keep on going. I’d have you here, Leeanne, you know, I’d have you like a shot, but I can’t, with her.’

  ‘It’s okay, Dad. I’m okay.’

  ‘Tell Brent to keep away.’

  ‘I will if I see him. Don’t worry about him, Dad. He’s got a job. He gave me five dollars to get out here.’

  ‘How are you off for money?’

  ‘I’m okay.’ Lies all in a row, coming out. She wanted to pat her father and comfort him. ‘Anyway, the garden’s looking good. The peas are up.’

  ‘There’s still time for a frost.’

  ‘We’ll leave out something for the Frost King, eh?’ They had done that, the pair of them, when she was a child – a lolly, a biscuit, half a banana, and it was always gone in the morning. But her father would not smile at her. He lay on his back and gave a sigh. His cup tipped over and the tea ran into the grass.

  ‘What is it, Dad? Is something else wrong?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I got made redundant last week.’

  Jesus, she thought, one thing after another. We’ve got all the bad luck in the world. But it wasn’t luck, not only luck. The Rossers didn’t know how to work the system, they got stuck at the bottom because they didn’t know. When you were down there you turned into rubbish and they swept you out the back door with a broom. Sam was at the garden, tipping off the lawn on to his nose and grabbing dirt. She rescued him and let him start again.

  ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Did they give you some money?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Fifteen hundred. I’m using it to pay off the house.’

  ‘They’ve got to give you more than that. Jesus, Dad, you were there twelve years.’ Driving on the vans and then as a storeman.

  ‘I know. But Bostons is a small firm. They can’t afford proper redundancies.’

  ‘That’s what they say. Does the union know?’

  ‘They don’t care. Only me got laid off, they’re not going to worry about one man. Anyway … ’

  Yeah, anyway. He did not want to make a fuss. Too decent, that was his trouble. He’d creep away and lie on the lawn and not know what to do. And in the end he’d get up and look for another job, and never find one. Who wanted a man of forty-six who could drive a van and put things on the shelf? There wasn’t a place for him any more. And he had thought he had it made, house and family and job and garden.

  ‘Is everything paid off, Dad? It paid the mortgage?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘Well then. When do you go on the benefit?’

  ‘There’s some sort of stand-down. I’ve got a bit saved up. We’ll just about get through.’

  ‘So you’re okay. Nothing to get your knickers in a twist about, eh? Why don’t you work in other people’s gardens? Advertise yourself, why not? Let Clyde Rosser turn your section into a radish farm. Hey, worms for sale, worms for sale, eh?’ She fetched Sam and sat him on her father’s stomach. She went into the kitchen for more tea.

  I’ll end up carrying this family on my back, Leeanne thought.

  She went to the bedroom and knocked once on the door. ‘More tea, Mum?’ She was sitting at a little desk, almost like a student – her mother who had never read a book in her life, reading now something with a golden cross on it, and marking things in pencil; and the double bed gone,
which meant that her father was kicked out to another room. But it’s not my business, Leeanne thought. ‘Would you like a biscuit?’

  ‘No thank you. Nothing for me.’

  ‘Okay, Mum.’ She closed the door. She felt as if she was saying goodbye for the last time.

  She played with Sam, her father played. They changed him when he was dirty, wiped him with newspaper and burned it in the garden incinerator. The sun shone, her father laughed. He fetched a supermarket bag from the wash-house and together they pulled carrots and radishes and little white turnips, half grown, and cut silverbeet leaves that were not ready yet, but so tender Leeanne ate one raw – and when she left he picked a bunch of freesias by the gate. Their scent filled the bus going home.

  She felt she was taking her childhood over the hill with her to Wellington.

  Almost six o’clock and no one in the house. No tea ready, nothing on the stove. It meant that Jody had got stuck with Danny in the pub – and fish and chips for tea again, nothing surer than that. She left Sam in his pushchair and brought her washing in: bone dry, that was something. She took it to her bedroom and threw it on the bed. A piece of paper lay on the pillow.

  Hey Leeanne I’m shooting through. Can’t say where or Danny will find out. Good luck mate. See ya! Jody.

  ‘Shit!’

  She looked in Jody’s bedroom. Everything was gone. The TV gone. The bed stripped. But Danny’s stuff was still there: his clothes on nails, his stack of six-packs down behind the door.

  She went to the kitchen and fed Sam mashed vegetables and topped him up with milk. He had slept on the bus so she let him amuse himself on the floor while she cooked some silverbeet for herself and fried an egg. She would have to move fast, get Danny out tonight and look for someone tomorrow. Jody still owed rent and getting it from Danny was a no-no. She thought of what she might say to him. Telling Jody she would get him out had been easy, but now, faced with it, did she have the nerve to say, Sorry mate, you don’t live here any more.

  She put Sam in his cot. She washed the dishes and listened to the radio, holding it on an angle to get it clear. New batteries soon – another expense. She should hit Danny up for Jody’s rent. But maybe he had come in and found a note of his own and gone hunting for her, and maybe he was never coming back. Lazy sod, even his six-packs wouldn’t bring him: plenty more six-packs down the pub.

  Just stay calm, Leeanne told herself. Off you go, Danny. Close the door behind you. Don’t come back.

  At half past ten she locked the house and went to bed. She listened to the cars at the end of the street, and Sam breathing like an old man, and she told herself, okay he’s gone, I’m okay now, and she was asleep when he came.

  She heard the gate bang and heard him on the porch and at the door. ‘Come on, fucken Jody, open up.’

  Oh God, she thought, oh shit, what do I do? She got out of bed and went to the window, took the dowelling peg out, ran it up.

  ‘Jody’s not here, she’s gone. You’d better go away.’

  ‘Fucken hell she’s gone.’

  ‘She has. She left a note. You’ll have to find somewhere else to live. I’m sorry, Danny.’

  ‘Fucken hell she’s gone.’ He pushed the door.

  ‘It’s locked, Danny. Go away. You can get your stuff tomorrow.’

  ‘I fucken live here.’ He put his hip on the door and heaved. It burst open.

  Sam, she thought, and ran out to the hall and shut the door. Danny heaved her away and she went running backwards and fell on her behind and smacked her head on the bathroom door. He turned on the light in Jody’s bedroom.

  ‘Fucken bitch, she took the TV.’ He came out and stood Leeanne up against the door. He put his hand on her face, the web of his thumb and fingers under her nose, and lifted, pushed her up until she thought her nose was tearing off. ‘Where’d she go?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Leeanne managed to say, half scream.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Note. She lef’ … ’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Kitchen.’

  He let her go. ‘Show me.’

  She squeezed by him, cringing, and turned the kitchen light on. Her mouth was bleeding and her nose felt broken. She took the note from the kitchen drawer. Danny read it. He looked up red-eyed; he was breasted, bellied, huge. ‘Fucken bitch. Good fucken riddance.’ Even with her damaged nose she smelled him filling the kitchen.

  ‘So now you want me out, eh? Get rid of the fucken boyfriend?’

  ‘No … but I can’t – ’

  ‘Who you think pays the fucken rent?’

  ‘I don’t want … ’

  He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a wad of notes, took some off. ‘Here, the rent.’

  ‘No – ’

  ‘Take it, bitch. You fucken take it.’ He pulled the top of her nightie out and rammed the notes in. They scratched her breasts. She turned round and took them out, and knew that if she tried to give them back he would twist her or break her in some way, so she put them on the bench.

  ‘Okay. So now you’re my landlady. So where’s the fucken tea?’

  ‘There’s nothing. Nothing here to cook.’

  ‘What about beans? She leave some beans?’ He pulled the cupboard open and took out a can. ‘Cook those. We got any eggs?’

  ‘There’s two.’

  ‘So fry them. Go on, landlady, cook some tea.’

  ‘I want – ’

  ‘Where you going?’

  ‘I want to put something on.’

  ‘Nah, stay like that.’ He took the last can of beer from the fridge. ‘You think I want a skinny bitch like you? I like my sheilas with some meat on them. Go on, cook.’

  But she knew that he would want her. Half a dozen beers on, a feed on, she would be the next thing, he’d want her.

  She opened the beans and put them in a pot. She put the frying pan on the stove.

  ‘Fry ’em in butter. Plenty of butter,’ Danny said. He went to the bedroom and came back with a six-pack. ‘Next time you keep it in the fridge. I don’t like my piss warm.’

  I could get out, she thought, the front door’s open. I could beat him into the street. But that left Sam. There was no way she could get Sam out. Scream, she thought, scream in the street. But he’d only drag her in. Screams round here happened all the time. No one ever called the police.

  She served his meal, beans with eggs on top.

  ‘That’s a fucken useless feed. Where’s the rest of it?’

  ‘It’s all there is, Danny. It wasn’t a big tin. I’m sorry.’

  He liked her apology. ‘Buy big tins, okay? An’ pork chops tomorrow. With plenty of spuds. And some pudding. No fucken pears or shit like that. Peaches is what I like. We got some now?’

  She looked in the cupboard. ‘There’s a tin.’

  ‘So open it. Make like a landlady. And wipe your fucken nose, eh. I don’t want no blood falling in.’

  She washed her face at the kitchen sink. She opened the can.

  ‘Forget the fucken plate. Come on.’ He ate the peaches with his fork and drank the syrup from the can.

  ‘Listen, Danny, you can stay,’ she said. ‘I’ll do the cooking and your washing and stuff like that. But that’s all.’

  ‘Sure it’s all. I told you, I like my sheilas so I can get hold.’

  And tomorrow when he was at work she’d do what Jody had done and go … where, for God’s sake, where? Not Wainui. Maybe Brent’s, she could go to Brent’s and stay with him until she found a new place. Getting through tonight though, how did she get through tonight?

  He lobbed the peach can at the rubbish tin. It bounced off the door jamb and rolled into the hall. ‘Fucken missed.’

  She picked it up. The front door was open and she saw the gate beyond, open too, and the street, with a gleam of cars.

  ‘You got a skinny arse,’ Danny said. ‘Nah, give it here. ’Nother shot.’

  She brought the can to him and he missed again. ‘Not my night. Gizz a look at yo
u, Leeanne. Jeez, you’re a dirty bitch.’ He flicked his fingers at her breasts, where the nightie was stained from Sam’s feed. ‘It’s enough to put a man off his tucker.’ He raised the front of her nightie with his toe. ‘I’d never get in there, eh, too fucken small. Jody, you bitch, where’d you go … ’

  Leeanne took his plate and rinsed it at the sink. Her mouth was dry. Her hands did not tremble but gave jerks and she put them on the taps and held on hard to keep them still.

  ‘Jody,’ Danny said. She risked a look. Tears were rolling down his face. She took a can of beer from the fridge and put it in front of him.

  ‘I’ve got to go to bed,’ she managed to say.

  ‘Yeah, piss off. Get outa my fucken sight. And don’t try running out, because I’m fast. I’ll tear your fucken head off if you try.’

  She went up the hall and into her room and closed the door; leaned against it, listening for sounds. Sam was breathing softly. A radio was talking, and was suddenly switched off, over the street. She heard the hiss of Danny opening the can. Now, she thought, get Sam and run. But her arms and legs felt weak, she did not believe she could do it. If he chased her and caught her with Sam …

  She closed the window and put the peg in. There was no key for the door and nothing she could use to jam it shut. She lay on her bed and held a napkin over her mouth, tasting blood. All she could hope for was he’d drink himself blind and flake out and go to work in the morning and she would have the whole day to get out. She could go to one of those refuges, they would take her, she had a bruised mouth and nose to prove it. She stood up and crept at Sam and felt his forehead and cheeks. Warm, warm. He breathed and sighed and made sucking noises and slept again. Lucky Sam. She would kill Danny if he tried to come into her room.

  She lay down again. She heard him throw the empty can at the rubbish tin and heard it bounce and roll on the kitchen floor. She heard him open one, two, drinking through the wall, and talk to himself, and heard him belch. If he drinks enough, and goes to sleep …

  He walked up the hall and fetched another six-pack and went back to the kitchen and started those. She counted, then she dozed, a little safer, and heard him pissing at the middle of the bowl, emptying himself, five minutes long. He finished, zipped, did not pull the chain. Walked in the hall …