by Kylie Kaden
There he was, in blue plastic scrubs, going about his heroic business, oblivious to the fact he was the reason she’d dumped her life and boarded that plane. A minute later, a stretcher made from an old door was carted in by two Haitians. ‘Translator!’ Will called. ‘I need to know when this man last ate.’
Abbi stepped towards the Haitian man Will had just attended to, took the man’s hand, looked him in the eye and asked, ‘Avezvous mangez?’
The patient shook his head. ‘Pas pour les jours.’
Will paced over to another patient who was spewing blood, using gesture and basic local dialect to determine what treatment was required. He pointed to the supply tent and two other men carted the injured man there. Meanwhile Abbi had just stood there, stunned stupid. All that blood.
‘What do you need?’ Abbi asked Will in a voice that was barely audible. No one had even noticed her.
He’d rattled off something to the nurse following him on his rounds, but Abbi barely heard it with the ringing in her ears, the heat clouding her mind.
Another parade of locals entered the ward, and his attention had turned her way.
Will’s eyes clicked with hers. He stood and stared, then immediately paced across the makeshift triage clinic, straight for her, and stalled. ‘Abbi?’
She exhaled. ‘Thank fuck for that.’
He frowned, confused. ‘Sorry?’
She realised she’d said that out loud. ‘You remembered my name.’
His hustle eased. His body stilled. ‘What …’ He looked sideways, like this was some mistake, a delusion from lack of sleep. He rubbed his eyes with those clean, soft hands. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m here to help,’ Abbi said. It was true, in part. She needed to learn a few of life’s lessons. To grow up.
‘Help?’ he scoffed.
‘I volunteered.’ She laughed it out, barely believing it herself.
‘You’re working here?’ His eyes narrowed as he looked at the ID card swinging from the lanyard around her neck stamped ‘Media’. ‘Do you even speak Creole?’
Her chin dipped down. She was going to explain how her uni course offered prac placements like this for credit, that she needed the reporting experience. But that wasn’t the reason she applied. It was an excuse. ‘I wanted to see you.’ What was it about this guy that made her so transparent?
He shook his head, glared at her like a plantar wart; a benign inconvenience. ‘I don’t have time for this insanity right now.’
Abbi nodded, gripped her elbows. ‘Don’t worry, I get it.’
‘It’s gangrene. I have to go,’ Will said, a hint of regret for his attitude but not enough for her liking.
She had felt herself tearing up, but tried to look in control. ‘Can’t I help? Just tell me what to do.’
‘I don’t have time.’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t get it – I haven’t slept in three days.’
She watched his fast-paced stride as he walked away with an acute sense of purpose, while her legs felt weak. Maybe he was just a drunken mistake. She could see Blake saying, ‘I told you so.’
Afterwards, Abbi had wandered around trying to look helpful, moving supply boxes, smiling at people. She felt useless. Like an imposter: she was foolish to assume her mediocre high-school French would stretch to be of use with locals fluent in Haitian Creole. She didn’t want to waste anyone’s time, but was in deeper than she feared and felt like a fraud. She fought the urge to run, to crumble, to hide behind a post, and spent the rest of the day fumbling through, trying not to cry.
When the clinic closed, she took to the streets. She’d found most were strewn with chunks of concrete, rubble and whatever tropical rains had flooded into the spaces in between. Abbi tried to stop the tremble in her lip from taking over her face. All her problems – missing an assignment deadline, scrimping to cover her rent – all seemed so trivial now, compared to this impoverished land lacking even basic essentials. It had opened her eyes like nothing else.
Then Abbi found her footing over the next week and started feeling less foolish as she found ways to help. As her tired legs carried her to the volunteer village after a day of interviewing locals, the humidity stifling, Abbi had heard a fumbling in the bushes, and then the distinct sound of water rushing like a tap. A Haitian woman squatted in a ditch next to her humble home – a tarp tied to an old crate for shelter from the blistering sun. Everything was done in public here; peeing, bathing, grieving. Life for Haitians played out in full view – even for families who hadn’t lost their homes entirely, not trusting what remained to withstand the aftershocks, the threat of more.
Abbi looked away, continued her walk to the volunteer camp, writing phrases in her mind that she could report on when she returned to Australia. Even if she was no use here, perhaps her words could entice further aid, additional resources to the area. If she’d learned anything at uni, it was that words were powerful. Words could change people’s views.
The rain that had threated all afternoon began to hammer down on the dusty road, and Abbi relished the coolness it brought. She’d stopped to let it wash over her face – at least the water was fresh. She laughed at herself – walking in the torrential rain as others ran for cover. Who was she? Dancing in the rain like a hippie. Being in the Caribbean in the first place. She was spontaneous, impulsive, sure, but she had never done anything like this.
Heavy steps closed in behind her. She tucked her dark wet bob behind her ear, and turned.
‘Abbi?’ Will was following her, pulling off his blue plastic scrubs, discarding them in an overflowing medical-waste bin, as indifferent to the rain as he was to her the day she’d arrived.
She turned, her arms falling to the sides, lifeless. Droplets caught on her eyelashes and she blinked rapidly. ‘I get it. You’re not interested. You don’t need to explain.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You flew to this hell zone to see me, now you can’t wait a sec?’
Thunder had rumbled through the sky. She’d wanted to run for cover, from him and the storm, but his long legs were fast like skis, ploughing closer, his clothes darkening with rain. She’d built herself back up since he’d turned her away, she couldn’t do it again.
But then she took pause.
Abbi turned to the dripping mess behind her. ‘On second thought: I know you’re a big-important-doctor person but you didn’t need to be such a prick.’ She stood solidly, her neck exposed, her jaw set. ‘I know you didn’t ask me here, but after the lengths I took to see you again – the applications, the training, feeling like a complete git the whole time – for you to then dismiss me as an inconvenience …’ Abbi gave a slow, disbelieving shake of her head, the water streaming down her face. ‘And after all your bullshit about wanting to help me, about not accepting anything less than respect …’
He’d become absolutely still. His eyes were direct, enquiring, and then his face fell to hide the smile he was trying to suppress. If she’d known him better, she’d say Dr Arsehole was impressed. His hair, already impossibly dark, was now jet black and dripping. But he didn’t fuss.
When he looked up again he was Mr Serious again, eyes focused, but a residual smile played on his lips. ‘Forgive me. I was exhausted. Two nurses were down with gastro. I know I was a bear that day, and not just to you.’
She wrinkled her nose, folded her arms. ‘You do have that back fur.’
He sucked in a quick breath, water beaded on his fringe. ‘You said I was a mistake, so forgive me for not expecting you.’
He remembered. Abbi’s eyes closed. She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.’
Water trickled down her cheek. She thought it was rain but couldn’t be sure anymore. He stepped towards her and wiped it away with his thumb and her breath caught.
Through a curtain of silver rain, he contemplated her, like the answer was written on her face. ‘How sorry?’ Will stood, inches away. He’d leaned in so close that their breath mingled.
Her eyes locked on
his, she whispered, ‘Really sorry.’
His lips curved up, his face came alive; empathetic, intelligent, attentive.
The rumbling cloud above couldn’t distract her from the look he gave her; a rebellion against the elements, a moment that could have easily been washed away, but instead had set something between them like colourfast-ink, indelible.
Without words, the tall doctor had guided her through the mud-drenched alley and into his sleeping quarters – superior to hers, but still a canvas tent with ‘US AID’ stamped across the roof. All to be seen was a mattress in the corner with hospital-issue sheets, an oil lamp, empty water bottles and a paperback novel in French.
He folded the flap of the marquee closed, but the water seeped at their feet, dripped at the corners of the tent.
Drenched clothes were peeled off, forming a soggy pile. Will pulled her close with such force, lifted her so high that her feet raised above the canvas floor. Lips, soft as silk, gently pried hers apart, and she felt every cell of her tired body respond. Their hands, their arms a hurried tangle of urgency as he guided her over to the mattress. They both stumbled to their knees. Her legs folded beneath her as his damp body pressed down on hers. His lips travelled down Abbi’s neck to her chest.
He slipped off a lace strap, his finger tracing the hill of her breast, the seam of her bra, now see-through, and sending a charge through her. He continued down the sweep of her neck with ragged breaths. She felt the play of muscles on his back, and remembered the unexpected passion of their first night. Remembered all the reasons she’d chased him here.
Abbi’s breath hitched in her lungs as his fingers stroked along her thigh, towards the tangle beneath her thin cotton knickers. His eyes never wavered from hers as he slipped them off. She quivered as he hunched down, a burst of ecstasy rising as his lips followed where his fingers left. All she could hear was the rhythm of the rain. All she could feel was need. As she began to shudder, her head writhing from side to side, she felt the familiar tightening between her legs before the night air filled with her gasp.
Chapter 28
40 DAYS AFTER THE MOON FESTIVAL
After eating her hummus and rice crackers in the staff room, Hannah grabbed her hat and reported to the playground. As she wandered the school grounds, children’s squeals and chatter in her ears, she was unable to focus. Hannah kept picturing young Abbi Jordan and her great boobs, flicking off her bra strap at the bedside of her impressionable young Blake, vulnerable from his mother’s abandonment. What a little tart. Somehow knowing Abbi had crossed a line with Blake, even if long ago, made it less traitorous for Hannah to think about Abbi’s husband the way she’d started to.
Dr Will Adams. She kept seeing the colour in his cheeks when all of her was on show at the lake yesterday. His floppy hair. His broad shoulders. How good it would feel to be under all that virtuous manhood, knowing exactly where you stood. She couldn’t get Will out of her mind; a marbling of guilt and intrigue, self-loathing and excitement. And how shitty a person she was for thinking any of it.
She could hardly act on any feelings. She’d never do that to Blake. To Abbi. It was preposterous – the guy wasn’t even interested. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Them. The secret that made him run.
If Abbi and Blake’s indiscretion was well in the past, why had Will left?
Eadie saw Hannah mid-way down her slippery slide, and her eyes filled with happiness. She waved, and almost dipped off the side. ‘Hannah Banana!’
Hannah crouched down at the bottom of the slide. ‘Remember, Miss Worthington at school, hey? Don’t want the other kids getting jelly.’ They did their top-secret handshake and Eadie’s eyes widened like she was in the most special of underground clubs.
‘Want to walk with me?’ Hannah asked.
‘Can Phoebe come too?’
Hannah looked around. ‘Phoebe?’
‘My cat. She’s invisible.’
‘Ah. They’re the best kind.’
‘Mummy lets me take her everywhere.’ Eadie’s features had the symmetry and sharpness of Will’s and the smooth skin and brown eyes of Abbi. Slightly bug-eyed, she was a perfect little human, unsullied by the world.
As she held the girl’s hand, Hannah noticed Eadie’s compulsion to walk in step with her. She stopped when Hannah stopped, continued on only when she did. That will get annoying fast. ‘Your feet. Are they copy cats?’
‘My feet aren’t cats! Phoebe is the cat. She likes to sit on the steps when it’s sunny and likes peanut-butter sandwiches, same as me.’
‘Is that, right? Well, Miss Adams, that’s news to me. I know you like bunny rabbits, but I didn’t know you liked cats, too.’
Eadie looked at Hannah like she was a bonehead. ‘She misses her friend Kaos.’
‘Chaos?’ Hannah thought of the evil double agents in Get Smart, but Eadie was too young for that reference. ‘As in, out of control?’
‘I think it means grumpy in cat language.’
‘You think? Is she invisible, too?’
Eadie rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘Kaos lives through the hole in the fence, like Alice, and Mummy says I can’t chase her anymore.’
‘How come? Does she make you sneezy? Cat hair makes Uncle Blake sneezy.’
Eadie grew quiet. ‘Kaos lives with Bad Man. We leave out food for her now, though. Because Bad Man wented away.’
The words had barely left Eadie’s sweet lips before Hannah felt a stab of alarm.
‘Bad Man?’
Eadie was silent.
‘What makes him bad? He takes care of a cat. That’s nice. What else do you know about him?’
‘He gives me Freddos. That was nice, too.’
Hannah’s heart raced. It was a dance, when kids started to talk, and she had to be careful not to overstep, but she was barely controlling her own emotions, let alone keeping Eadie’s in check. Hannah knew, as a teacher, reporting any suspicion of child abuse was mandatory. It was her duty.
‘What else does Bad Man do?’ Please don’t tell me.
‘He lets me chase his cat around his shed when he’s making my dollhouse, then he let me sit on his lap and tickled me.’ Eadie’s chin started to wobble. ‘But Mummy said it was wrong.’
No. Hannah’s legs felt full of worms, her whole body restless, but she was desperate not to push away. ‘Where does Bad Man live?’
‘Near the lake, with us. But he’s goned now.’
Eadie was humming away now, piling bark into little mounds, dirt lining her fingernails, sticking to her knees. ‘Do you still think Mummy will let me have the dollhouse?’
Hannah had been so focused on Eadie’s words, she hadn’t noticed the school bell had gone, and the playground was abandoned.
* * *
Hannah hated keeping secrets. A static hum persisted in her head for the rest of the day. She tried to ignore it. To piece it all together. She had to be careful not to overreact. Kids made stuff up all the time, especially when parents were having difficulties.
Bad Man. That wasn’t an expression kids used. She’d told someone something, and they’d reframed the experience, adult-ified the language, no doubt distorting it in the process. Eadie was five, after all, with an invisible cat.
Eadie hadn’t actually described an assault, but her gut told her it was implied. Sue Harrison did also mention she was concerned about Eadie. Was this what sparked Will and Abbi’s blow-out? Was this another piece of the puzzle?
The thought ballooned in her brain until she was afraid it would burst.
* * *
Blake had kitted up well before his general shift started: baton, OC spray, taser, firearm and cuffs, all organised in his loadbearing vest. But the real weight was in his mind. He stared at the three stripes of his rank insignia stitched on his epaulette. Blake leant against the cladding of the cop shop, as he mustered the mojo to go about his day. To enforce the law. With honour, we serve. He closed his eyes, as if that could shut out the hypocrisy.
The la
bs would be back today with the results on Trevor’s vehicle. And Blake’s latent prints, if found, might have him reprimanded for sloppy incident-management processes, at best, or at worst place him as a suspect in Trevor’s disappearance.
The ping of rubber on gravel alerted him that his partner had arrived for her shift. Constable Penny Ho: Police Liaison Officer. She was shiny and new and incorruptible. Blaring boy band beats bellowed from her car as she opened the door.
‘Afternoon, Ho.’ It had taken Blake ages to stop cringing when he called her that.
‘Saw you out back. Not sneaking a puff-puff? Girls don’t like kissing ashtrays, hmm?’ Penny Ho gestured as if she had a cigarette between her fingers, her long silky plait flicking as she walked.
As Ho stepped out back to kit up, another familiar vehicle rolled into the car park.
Blake watched Hannah pace up the access ramp towards the police station doors. When she reached the desk, he leant in and kissed her cheek. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure,’ he said. ‘Wagging playground duty?’
Hannah inhaled, sat down at a visitor’s chair, her hand to her mouth. She looked up at him. ‘I have to ask you something.’
Blake sat next to her. ‘Babe? You’re freaking me out, here.’ He shifted in his chair.
She stared at the wall, deep in thought.
Blake panicked. She knows something, but what? Which part? His mouth was desert dry. ‘Talk to me.’
‘Now, I’m not saying it’s true, but I’m worried Eadie might have been groomed or even touched inappropriately by a man.’
‘Eadie?’ The tuna sandwich from lunch felt like a stodgy mass in his gut. It could have been worse, but it was a slippery slope from what she had discovered to his lowest point: searching for a runaway corpse.
‘She’s been saying things, at school,’ Hannah said, then went on to spill forth her knowledge like a gush of torrential rain. ‘She said a bad man made her sit on his lap, gave her Freddos.’
‘She said that?’ The vile image made heat crawl up his throat. Classic grooming, the bastard. Abbi had assured him that she’d questioned Eadie and was sure it was an isolated incident. That Eadie had never been alone with the man before. Or was that just what she wanted to believe?