I glared back at him and his smile widened.
‘She’s clean?’
‘Well she didn’t die on the journey back, so, yeah, she’s clean. The boy she was with is clean too,’ said Laurie.
The man nodded. ‘You still have to have a good scrub, first.’
‘B…before what,’ I stammered.
Somebody nudged me in the back and I fell forward, tripping over the welcome mat. The tattooed man caught me before I fell.
‘Easy, mate.’ He eased me to standing and patted my shoulder. ‘You need a wash before you meet my kids. That’s all I meant. You look like you were dragged face first in dirt for half a mile.’ He eyed me from head to toe. ‘You’ll need a good feed, too. Skin and bone is no good.’
He shouted orders over his shoulders and I could have sworn he mentioned eggs but I was too busy staring over his shoulder at the lit up rooms of his home. I’d never eaten chicken eggs before — if that’s what he’d meant by eggs — only falcon and emu.
‘Well, come in then,’ the man said, before stepping back. Despite the promise of food to ease my growling belly, I dug my heels into the welcome mat and protested.
‘We’ll untie your hands once you’re inside, okay? Come on.’
I stopped struggling at the promise of free hands. The ropes were burning into my skin and had already worn red bracelets into my flesh.
Tentatively, I took a few steps forward. I couldn’t help but admire the interior of this home, so bright, so well lit, the different pieces of furniture somehow put together in a way that was casually appealing. We had odd furniture at home, nice enough, but because of the lack of light, it all remained unappreciated.
Catching a whiff of the savoury cooking smells, my nose led me forward. Nothing had ever smelt so good and I could imagine it only tasted better. My mouth watered and my stomach growled, making me think of Patrick. Right now he was in a cold, dark shed while I was inside this beautiful house about to eat eggs. It was unfair.
‘Shower first,’ the bearded man said, blocking my way to the food.
Laurie steered me left where the carpet gave way to black and white tiles which continued through to a large, square room that, judging by the washing machines (we had one that we’d never used) and the huge sinks, was a laundry.
‘In there — ’ the tattooed man pointed at a pale green door, ‘ — is a shower, loo and all the rest. Get yourself scrubbed up and then you can have a feed. You’ve got five minutes.’
I met his gaze; his blue eyes were bright and clear. His weatherworn face seemed kind. I wanted to believe in his kindness.
‘Will Patrick be getting some food?’
‘Of course, love.’ The man smiled and then shook his head as if I’d said something silly. ‘All our men get a good feed. They need it for training and for battle.’
‘Except Carriers,’ Barry said, from the veranda where he was smoking a rolled up leaf with the blond guy. ‘Food’s wasted on them fuckers.’
The boss gave Barry a stern glare and flicked his head in the direction of the others.
‘Alright you lot, cut her ropes and clear out. I’ll take it from here.’
Barry stuck his head in. ‘She might try to bolt on you, Boss.’
‘Don’t question me, Baz. She’s a kid for shit’s sake. Now cut the friggin’ ropes or you’ll be out on your ear.’
It was getting harder not to like this guy.
Laurie nodded to the blond, who came toward me with a knife, his big knuckles bulging as the blade hacked through the tough rope.
‘Easy, Mattie,’ said the boss. ‘First fucking female in five years and you’ll slash her wrists.’
Mattie wedged a hand between mine, to ensure I didn’t get cut, and continued sawing until the ropes fell away and my hands came apart.
I cried out with relief and rubbed at my burning wrists.
‘Now piss off, the lot of you,’ the tattooed man, who I now presumed was Luke, said to the men, before indicating with a nod that I go clean up.
‘Make sure you wash everywhere,’ Barry called through the slit in open door. He wore a filthy grin that made me feel like a thousand ants were crawling on my skin.
Laurie stepped out and pushed Barry down the veranda steps. ‘You dirty bastard.’
Luke threw me a grimace. ‘Pardon all the French, mate. But you’re probably gonna have to get used to it around here, with all us blokes.’
I shrugged. My own mother had a filthier mouth. And I couldn’t talk. My first word was a swear word, the f-word. Mum said Alice had taught me.
The man stepped into the bathroom, drew back the mauve shower curtain and turned on the taps. From behind the walls a deep, rattly groan sounded.
‘Pipes are pretty rooted,’ he said with a shake of his head. Clouds of steam rose to the ceiling while water gushed out of the showerhead.
‘You’ve got running water?’ I asked in disbelief.
‘Rainwater tanks and solar power,’ he said with a nod. ‘You’d better get started. The hot doesn’t last for long. Shampoo and soap is in the shower and there are some clothes near the basin.’ He pointed at a pair of small army fatigues and what looked like a black singlet with a frangipani print on the front.
‘These were my wife’s clothes, they should fit. Same size as you, she was as small as a bird,’ he added, his rough voice softening.
‘Will Patrick be okay?’ I asked, my words catching in my throat. ‘I don’t want him hurt.’
The man sighed and his face relaxed into a kind smile. ‘Nobody will lay a hand on him, I promise. He’s part of the family now, as are you.’ He frowned and said, ‘Now get in!’ before stepping out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.
Chapter 15
Hurriedly I stripped off my clothes. They were stiff with dirt and sweat. I caught a glimpse of my skinny, naked self in the tall mirror on the back of the bathroom door, the bony image blurry with condensation, before I entered the shower.
At first the water felt too hot against my skin and I jumped back out, my wet feet slippery against the shiny tiles. But after dangling a foot and then an arm and the other foot and so on, I eventually submerged myself fully beneath the hot stream. It felt like thousands of tiny, pin-sized fingers, massaging my scalp and the aching muscles beneath my skin. A deep sigh escaped my lips.
There was a narrow blue bottle with lavender blooms on the label and a large cake of yellow soap in a dish. I twisted the cap on the bottle and sniffed. The scent of wild lavender filled my nostrils and I hurriedly squeezed some of the thick, purple gloop into the palm of my hand and began to lather my body with it and then my hair.
After I rinsed off all the foam, my skin and scalp tingled in a way it’d never done before. For a while I just stood there, allowing the warm water to wash over me until its temperature started to cool, after which I turned the taps off.
Cool air bit into my skin when I stepped out from the behind the shower curtain. Shivering, I gratefully wrapped a thick, brown towel that hung from the nearby railing around my body. After rubbing myself dry, I felt slightly warmer and hurriedly dressed in the man’s wife’s clothes. He’d been right. They did fit, perfectly in fact.
I rubbed at the mirror with my towel, clearing away the steam.
My face had a pinkish tint, but my eyes had sunken shadows beneath them. I was probably dehydrated. I licked my chapped lips and winced at the cut on the inside of my top lip from when Patrick’s skull had collided with my teeth in the back of the vehicle.
Somebody knocked on the bathroom door and I hastily hung the towel on the rail and scooped my dirty clothes into my arms.
‘Are you done?’ It was the tattooed guy. He pointed to a basket beside one of the washing machines. ‘Leave your clothes in there. Streak will wash ‘em later. Food’s ready.’
I stepped out of the bathroom, running my fingers through my wet hair and ruffling it up.
‘Better?’
I nodded, tossing my stinki
ng clothes into the basket, glad to be rid of them for now. But I’d make sure I wore them when I left this place.
‘Good. The boys call me Boss. But you can call me Luke. What’s your name?’ He offered a large, hairy hand.
‘Lena,’ I said, staring at the hand.
He withdrew it and laughed.
‘Nice name.’ His face turned serious. ‘Your parents’ still alive?’
I hesitated. If I told him about Mum, they might try and hunt her down, capture her, too.
‘Both dead,’ I answered, trying to maintain steady eye contact and resisting the urge to scratch my nose — a dead giveaway to lying. I’d read about it in one of Dad’s books.
‘Good. I’d like you to think of these army barracks as your new home.’
I wanted to ask what had happened to his wife but realised I didn’t want to know, in case it was something horrible. My face must have twisted up at the thought, because Luke sighed.
‘Look, you’re safe here, Lena. Nobody is gonna to touch you because you’re gonna be living here with me and be a part of my family, my immediate family, okay?’ He disappeared back into the bathroom, where I heard the sound of the basin cabinet opening and shutting, before emerging with a jar of ointment. He seized my hand and pressed the jar into my palm. ‘This will help ease the rope burn.’ Then, with a wave of a hand, he beckoned for me to follow him down the hallway.
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled, remembering that he’d mentioned the kids earlier. Then a horrible thought crossed my mind. Surely he didn’t want me to replace his wife? He looked old enough to be my father, or even grandfather. I shuddered, but shook it off before following him through the house and into the kitchen area, where the smell of delicious food had me trembling with hunger.
Luke nodded to a muscular, golden-skinned Asian man who wore an apron with a woman’s bikini-clad body printed on it. The man looked at me when I entered, smiling wide and nodding his head slowly. But as his dark brown eyes drank me in from head toe, his smile turned apologetic, as though my appearance warranted sympathy.
‘Hey, kid,’ he said, adjusting his apron strings. ‘Welcome to Streak’s Kitchen.’
I opened my mouth to speak, but was cut off.
‘Lena here needs fattening up,’ said Luke. ‘Make sure she gets a good feed.’
A plate of fried eggs — chicken eggs by the looks of them, glistening with oil, the yolks a pale, almost iridescent yellow — rested upon the wooden table. A hunk of damper-like bread leant against the edge of the plate.
My dry mouth began to salivate. Something brown and meaty was stewing in another pot, a rich and earthy scent I couldn’t quite place.
‘Have a seat and tuck in, Lena,’ the boss ordered and I practically threw myself into the chair before snatching up the cutlery and digging in.
I swallowed the eggs whole, one by one, closing my eyes when the yolks burst against the roof of my mouth in a warm, creamy gush.
Streak spooned the brown stew onto my plate and I loaded my fork before shovelling the food into my mouth. It was hot, the texture soft and silky, definitely not meat, but it was the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten and I hurriedly scoffed up the rest.
‘Christ, she’s eating like a pig.’ The cook laughed. ‘You like my herby mushrooms, hey?’
The tasty mushrooms crammed into my mouth preventing me from answering politely, so I nodded instead. When the plate was clean, I placed my knife and fork in the centre, my cheeks heating up with embarrassment at eating under such scrutiny.
‘Here, have a drink so you don’t choke.’ Streak, who wore an amused grin, slid a glass of water my way, a look of satisfaction in his eyes.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered through a mouthful of seedy bread, and promptly swallowed several gulps of the cool, refreshing water until the glass was half full and the large lump of food slid down my throat. I set the drink back on the table with a clank. Scraping my chair back, I collected my plate, cutlery and glass and took it to the counter by the sink.
‘Thank you,’ I said, looking at Streak and then at Luke. ‘That was delicious.’
‘I thought you said you were an orphan?’ Luke asked, his blue eyes narrowing.
‘I am.’ What had I said? My cheeks prickled with heat and I resisted the urge to scratch my itchy nose.
‘Manners like that come from a good upbringing,’ said Luke.
Shit…
‘They um…they died a couple of years ago.’
Streak smiled a sad, upside down smile, but when I met his gaze he winked.
‘Don’t knock the manners, Lukey boy. She might not be so polite next time.’
Luke ignored Streak’s comments and continued to stare at me for a few seconds longer before he wrapped his knuckles against the table and stood up.
‘Go and get some sleep, Streak. Your ugly mug needs some friggin’ beauty sleep.’
The cook gave a careless shrug. ‘In that case, you’ll need about a century of rest.’
I glanced up at Streak and he winked again. ‘You won’t believe he fathered such cute kids, seriously.’
‘Get out of here,’ said Luke with a flick of his head.
Streak grinned and disappeared down the hallway and out the front door, the screen smacking shut behind him.
‘How many kids do you have?’ I asked Luke, who was filling the sink with water and soap.
‘Two.’ He said, the cutlery noisily scraping against the bottom of the sink while he washed the dishes. ‘You’re going to be their teacher, or governess, if you like.’
What?
I shook my head. No. I wasn’t going to bring up somebody else’s kids, not when Patrick’s brother’s needed us. More importantly, I wasn’t staying here. Full. Stop.
‘I don’t know anything. I’m not a teacher. I…’ My words stuttered out while I struggled for reasons why I couldn’t stay and ‘teach’ his kids. ‘I only know from books.’
‘Even better,’ he said, as though my words had impressed him. He stacked a plate on the dish rack. ‘You can teach the kids to read.’
‘But I don’t know anything about kids. Really, I don’t.’ I rested my elbows against the countertop and rested my head in my hands. Hot blood coursed through my veins. A thumping headache seemed to have come out of nowhere.
None of this seemed real. From being hunted down by a motor vehicle to having my first shower and then eating eggs and mushrooms. I wanted to take a step back in time and be with Patrick again, walking the trail to his house. I hadn’t left my mum and the confines of Desert Downs to become some stranger’s children’s governess.
‘This is a mistake. You’ve got to let me and Patrick go!’
He dried his wet hands with a faded blue chequered tea towel, refusing to meet my gaze.
‘This is deprivation of liberty.’ It was hard not to scream and yell that Patrick’s brothers were out there waiting for us, starving to death. But I had to keep my mouth shut for their safety. Who knew what these men would do to the boys? They’d already locked Patrick inside a dark shed with God knows who or what. The very idea of someone like Barry finding the boys twisted my gut and rattled my heart with fear. Hopefully the eldest, James, had found the dried meat stash that Patrick had mentioned, and hopefully it was enough to keep them going until we escaped from this place.
‘If you’ve finished up, I’ll take you to your bedroom.’
My hands gripped the table. The idea of being taken to a room and possibly being locked up terrified me. I’d had enough of being hidden away my whole life. I wanted to be back outside with Patrick, hunting for rabbits in the bush, where for the first time in my life I had felt true freedom.
‘It’s okay. Remember, I’m going to treat you like family member from now on, and as long as you don’t cross me, that’ll be a promise.’
‘Family’s don’t keep each other prisoner,’ I blurted out, but then realised that what I had just said was rubbish. Mum had kept me locked up for sixteen and a half years. Perhaps this
man was no better or worse.
‘You’ll see come morning that this is probably a better life than whatever one you had with that boy, running about starving. Is he your brother? Do you have any other siblings? We wouldn’t want to leave anybody starving.’ His blue eyes pierced my own as though he could read my mind.
I shifted my eyes and stared at the countertop. ‘He’s not my brother. He’s my friend. We’re both orphans.’
‘Don’t lie to me,’ Luke snapped, slamming his hand against the aluminium sink and sending a plate shattering against the tiled floor.
‘Bugger!’ He bent down and started to collect the largest pieces of broken china. Bent over like this, his arse exposed, I could probably race around the counter, give him a shove with my foot and run for it. But where would I go? Even if I reached Patrick’s shed without being caught, he was probably in no state to run yet, with that gash to his head.
‘Daddy?’
I spun around to see a little girl and boy dressed identically in striped flannelette pyjamas emerge from the hallway, rubbing their eyes and yawning simultaneously.
The boy had dark hair that curled in every which way around his head. His large blue eyes widened and he clutched his ratty brown bear tighter to his little chest while he watched me. The girl stood an inch taller than the boy.
They shared similar features — the same eyes and hair, though the little girl’s hair was much longer, spilling down to her tiny waist and her eyes watched me with open curiosity, and maybe hostility, rather than fear. The children were small. I took a wild guess at their age: five, maybe six years old.
‘Bugger,’ Luke said again, with a heavy sigh. He glared at me, silently admonishing me for waking his children, as though I’d asked him to bang his fist against the sink and break a plate.
I glared back before turning to face the kids. Though cute in their own way, they weren’t the kids I’d planned on seeing tonight. It was Patrick’s little brothers who I had wanted to meet, not this stranger’s children.
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