by Dawson, H A
‘Where can I find her?’
Queenie held the bottle into the light, gazed inside at the dregs, and swirled them around, biding time.
‘You know something, don’t you?’ Leanne persisted.
‘Might do.’
‘Where is she?’
‘I’m not sure she’d approve of you. You’re too much like Janet.’
‘I’m nothing like her.’
‘Spitting image I’d say. She’s got to you.’
‘I make my own decisions in life. Janet had nothing to do with it.’
‘Such a fool . . . she brought you up, made you into a replica of Fiona. That’s all she ever wanted. She didn’t care about . . . about Karen. Do you have any idea how hard she had it? How she could never compete with her sister?’
‘I’ve heard bits.’
‘Probably not even the half of it. Karen was desperate for attention but she couldn’t get Janet to listen. They were opposites, didn’t understand each other, so she went to her uncle’s house. He listened, he cared, and he understood. There, she felt as though she was part of something, and the more time she spent with them, the less she wanted to be at home. Her parents and the Coombs’ were such prigs. Admittedly, she did do some things to wind them up.’
‘Like what?’
‘Janet used to follow her. Karen knew, but Janet didn’t know she knew. She used to flaunt herself.’
‘Are you saying she . . . she stripped?’
Queenie gawked. ‘You know about that?’
She held a stiff gaze.
‘It was meant to wind her up – she knew somehow word would get back - but it backfired. Janet locked her in the house. Once she got out, she went straight to her uncles and they called the police. They got into all kinds of trouble.’ Queenie grinned. ‘Nothing could be proven, but it was worth it to see their faces.’
‘You were there?’
‘Yes. All that time. I virtually lived with Karen. We were forever having sleepovers. Sometimes we would sleep in the barn.’
Leanne stared vacantly, her mind in a spin. The fire was in the barn. There was shouting and blood-curdling screams. Something terrible had happened. ‘How did the fire start?’
Queenie folded her arms and closed her legs. ‘What fire?’
‘There was a fire. Karen wasn’t seen after that.’
‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘But surely-.’
‘Like I said, I don’t know anything.’
‘So you weren’t there?’
Queenie clamped shut her mouth and scowled.
Leanne refused to relent and reiterated her question.
‘I’d met someone,’ Queenie offered, ‘it must have happened after we’d gone our separate ways.’
‘Was that why Karen returned home?’
She gave a vague nod. ‘Everything that happened was because of Janet. If she hadn’t been so strict and set in her ways, Karen wouldn’t have had to run off in the first place.’
Leanne nodded, encouragingly.
‘Would you stay around if you were treated like scum?’
‘No, probably not.’
‘Karen never did half of what Janet imagined. I know, I was with her.’
‘She did drugs.’
‘Did she? You sure?’
‘I . . . that’s what was said.’
‘I’m sure it was. In the end, Karen did do stuff, but only because she had already been accused of being that way. Janet forced her hand. Karen wasn’t nearly as bad as everyone implied.’
‘So Karen proved Janet right?’
‘I suppose.’
‘That’s a bit childish.’
Queenie swung one of her legs over the arm of the chair and stared, causing Leanne to regret her comment. She had wanted to remain impartial, and not act like judge and jury. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.’
‘So what did you mean?’
‘I . . . I think I would have done the same.’
Queenie nodded, expressing satisfaction.
There was a moment’s silence. Queenie was holding her in an intimidating stare. Who was she and how did she meet Karen? Remembering the photo, Leanne reached into her bag and passed it to Queenie. ‘I think the girl on the left is Janet. Do you know who the other children are?’
‘No, why would I?’
‘I wondered if one of them was related to you. A mother or father perhaps.’
‘Never seen them.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course, I’m sure.’ She thrust it into her hand.
She placed it back into her bag. ‘So how did you meet Karen?’
‘At school. How else would we meet?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘Steven said you’re gentle person, and easy going. Is he right?’
She looked away. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know a lot, do you?’
She swallowed and looked at her lap.
‘Do you have children?’
‘A son, Tyler. He’s sixteen.’
Queenie smiled.
‘Do you have a good relationship with him?’
‘I like to think so.’
‘I have a son too. He’s just become a father. He has a gorgeous baby girl.’ Her eyes glazed. ‘Madison. She is sweet.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Only thing is, he doesn’t want to know me. I offer advice and he loses his temper. That’s not fair, is it?’ Their eyes locked. ‘What would you do Leanne?’
‘I’d give him a bit of space and hope he changed his mind.’
‘Wise words.’ She sipped her lager. ‘Then you’d forgive him?’
‘Of course. You should always forgive your children.’
‘Do you forgive easily?’
Leanne shuffled, wondering about the question and fearing a trap. ‘I don’t have much time for holding grudges.’
‘Will you forgive Karen?’
Her pulse quickened. ‘Where is she?’
‘Will you forgive her?’
‘Yes.’ She edged forward on her seat. ‘Of course I will. Please, tell me where she is.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you’ve heard from her?’
‘Not in years.’
Leanne tensed. ‘So why did you want to see me?’
‘If I find her, she’ll want a report.’
‘Is that all?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
Exasperated, she raised herself to her feet. ‘I’ve things to do.’
‘As you wish. Let yourself out.’
She picked up her bag and strode out of the room and towards the door. Just as she placed her hand on the handle, she caught site of a letter on a narrow unit. She leaned across and looked to the address label. It was addressed to Mrs J Taylor. Leanne peered back towards the living room door. She hesitated. She thought of Luke Adams.
Chapter 28
Queenie dragged herself down the stairs wearing a long sloppy t-shirt she’d slept in, and made a coffee, lit a cigarette, and relaxed at the kitchen table. The smoke wafted towards the ceiling clouding the air.
Her thoughts were on the monotonous hours ahead. With little to do with the day, and her options to either head into town and wander around the shops or stay at home and watch television, she lacked motivation. What she wanted to do was to see her baby granddaughter. She reached for her mobile phone, yearning to see a message or missed call from Kyle, and was tempted to have one more try at apologising. The blank screen forced her hand. This time she would wait; she wasn’t that desperate.
The clarity in her mind was burdensome, her isolation from her family and the perpetual drudgery weighing her down. Drifting through time, she searched for happy moments in her life, and saw internal pain, misunderstandings, missed opportunities, and betrayals. More than anything, what disappointed were people. Some claimed to be friends and fled at the first signs of trouble, some wanted only to share their own woes and not liste
n to anyone else’s, and some always thought the worst. It seemed as though everyone jumped to erroneous conclusions. Queenie glanced up. Everyone except Rusty.
‘I saw Jenny last night,’ Rusty said, ‘remember her?’
‘From school?’
‘Yes. Those were the days. We were quite the group. No one would mess with us.’
‘Everyone always said we were non-achievers. I guess they were right.’
‘I don’t think we’ve done too badly. We’ve both had partners and kids. What else is there?’
Queenie rested her cigarette on the ashtray. ‘It would be nice if mine talked to me.’
‘Give him time.’
‘That’s what Leanne said.’
She caught her eye. ‘About that. What did you say?’
‘Nothing. I’m not stupid. I know when to keep my mouth shut.’ Queenie saw a look of disbelief in her friend’s eyes. ‘I promise you, I said nothing. As if I’m going to! I’m trying to stop this bloody mess from exploding. I just wanted to know what she’s like.’ She reached for the cigarette and inhaled. ‘You know, I often ask myself why I got involved back then. I should have just stayed out of it.’
‘We didn’t have a choice. She needed our help . . . and we did it for Leanne.’
Queenie exhaled. ‘She expected too much.’
‘But could we have said no, really?’
‘That day, I was so angry. I had my own problems to deal with, and . . . and I wanted my life back. I never meant . . .’ she held her breath, fought her tears, and enjoyed the warmth of Rusty’s hand resting upon hers. ‘How could I return after that?’ A lone tear trickled down her cheek. She brushed it aside and reached for the cigarette packet.
Rusty maintained her silence.
‘No one will believe me . . . no one will understand.’
‘You might be surprised.’
‘No. I’m not going to say anything. Look at me. Why would anyone believe this? I attract trouble.’
‘So why speak to Leanne?’
The chair scraped on the floor as Queenie leapt to her feet and headed to the window, where she stared into the small garden that was withering and dying in the cooling weather. ‘I was curious.’
‘The more contact you have, the more likely the truth will come out.’
‘I know!’ She spun around. ‘But the only person who could tell her is Teresa. We can stop that.’
‘I think they went out again . . . despite our warning.’
She was ablaze with fury. ‘What?’
‘I saw Teresa’s car heading to Steven’s. Four of them left in his car.’
‘And you think-’
‘Who else would he take on a double date?’
‘Leanne said they weren’t seeing each other.’
There was silence.
‘Look,’ Queenie continued, ‘Teresa’s easy to manipulate. We just have to be a bit more forceful.’
Rusty was pensive, and Queenie could sense her apprehensions. It may not be the right approach, but if she intended to stay in the village, she had no alternative. Where else could she go? Her partner had kicked her out, and her son wanted nothing to do with her. For the moment, she had to stay. Therefore, she had no choice but to dampen down the embers.
Placing on her black shiny jacket, Queenie crept out of the house and into the darkness. It was a cool starlit sky, and the frosty air pinched at her exposed skin. She lifted her collar, pulled up the zip, and nestled her hands into the soft-lined pockets.
A car ambled by. Lowering her gaze, she maintained a rhythmical hurried walk, stepping through the streets, away from the village hall and to a familiar desolate track. Her mind was swimming with her plan, but the waters were far from clear and her anxieties bubbled. She fought for anger and assertiveness. She craved the courage of youth.
Being unnecessarily violent was not in her nature, and she wondered if she would have the physical strength and the energy to proceed. Fearing an emerging weakness, she eliminated her doubts and crossed the street, avoiding a man with a dog. Then she turned left past a double-fronted detached dwelling with a large paved front garden. Fleetingly, she peered through the window, looking beyond an ornamental wrought-iron structure in the centre and to a woman. She was staring. Unnerved, Queenie lowered her head, scanned the concrete path, and increased her pace.
Her pulse quickened; she was too old for this. She thought of the Jefferson family, she focused on baby Leanne, she remembered the blood-curdling screams. Her blood pounded her veins.
Within minutes, she had arrived in a darkened alley, and leaned against the wall, hiding in the shadows. Grateful for the seclusion, she looked to the far end and reached for a cigarette. There, she breathed in the calming substance and waited.
Footsteps sounded, causing her adrenaline to surge. Glancing along the path, she saw it was Teresa, the arm in a sling the giveaway. Careful to maintain her element of surprise, she hovered out of the moonlight near the wall, dropped her cigarette and extinguished the smouldering butt. The gap between the two women closed.
Teresa was metres away, in a world of her own and gazing at the ground and paying no attention to the wafting scent of smoke. Biding her time, holding her breath and forcing still her itching muscles, Queenie waited two more steps and two more heartbeats. Then she pounced. Ignoring Teresa’s pained cries she forced her back to the wall and pushed her arm against her throat.
‘I told you to stay away from her,’ Queenie said.
Her face contorted, her agony visible.
Queenie thrust her elbow into her stomach. Once. Twice. Teresa gasped for air. She did it again and her colour drained. Then Teresa started to fight, raising her knee and pushing out with her arm, so she grabbed her by her shoulders and thrust her backwards. Her head crunched against the wall. She sank to the ground.
‘Stay away from her!’ Queenie said.
Eliminating the groan from her mind, she carried on walking. Her focus was steady, her body anything but.
Teresa could hear Queenie’s gentle pad of footsteps fade, but she could not raise her head to look and remained squatted to the ground, clutching her stomach in the darkness and with her head ringing. Her breathing was heavy, her groans intermittent. She was shaking and cold.
The night was silent. There were no passing cars, no people wandering, and no music sounding from the nearby houses. She was alone and tormented by the pummelling and lost in a terrifying world.
She sank to the cold, hard floor and lifted her arm to her face, sweeping it across the scarred surface. She twitched, unable to restrain her dancing nerves, unable to gain lucidity. Her eyes were wide, yet she saw nothing. She was cold, oh so cold, but she could not move, frozen to the spot and captured by a traumatic past.
Flames had leapt towards her, vivid and haunting, surrounding her like demons, bending, weaving and teasing. A little distance away was her beautiful young daughter, innocent and undeserving, screaming and terrified. Her young feral eyes entrenched in panic, and her round face, framed by her lush chestnut-coloured hair, glowed in the heat. The child cried out. Her helplessness was crisp and clear. It was crushing, restricting Teresa of life.
The image faded and a new sense of panic took hold. She scanned the alley, searching left and right, looking for her daughter so cruelly taken. Unfathomably it had seemed only moments ago, yet in truth, decades had passed. She wanted her baby back and wanted to change paths, wishing she had not taken the track that had led to a lifetime of unhappiness. Although no excuse, irrepressible emotions had been her driving force.
If only she had not been in the barn on that fateful day.
Afterwards, Teresa’s suffering had been extreme driving her to the precipice of human survival. Geoff had helped her cling to life, pulled her away from what had appeared to be imminent self-destruction. He had protected her, nurtured her, and removed her guilt, telling her repeatedly that she was innocent. For many years, she had nestled into his body, focusing only on his confidence and s
ecurity, and listened to his reassuring words that reminded her that she had already suffered enough.
The gunshots resonated in her head. She moaned, she rocked back and forth, she twitched, and she pulled at her fingers. The haunting visions would not depart. She was spinning in an abyss, out of control, tormented and terrified.
‘You okay?’
The words floated in the turmoil. A hand reached down.
‘Teresa?’
A man whom she recognised from village functions was leaning over her. She gawked. His face disappeared into imaginary flames.
‘Are you all right?’
She did not answer.
‘Has someone hurt you?’
Silence.
He was crouching, searching for something, scrutinising her. He seemed concerned. She could not understand why. Then, he reached into his pocket, retrieved a phone, and dialled a number. Teresa watched, guided by curiosity, but could not focus on what he said or with whom he was speaking to. After he had ended the call, he continued to ramble, this time to her. She wanted him to stop, irritated by his nasal-sounding voice and craving solitude.
Moments later, a figure darted from the street and into the alley. He was recognisable and Teresa lifted herself to her feet. ‘Steven . . .’
He gave her a concerned look. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Have you come to take me home?’
Steven exchanged a few words with the man and the stranger headed away.
‘What happened?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘Who did this to you?’
Her eyes flitted, her head swirling. ‘I killed my girl! I killed her!’
‘What are you talking about?’
She stared wide-eyed and helpless.
Ignoring her desperation, he linked her arm and encouraged her out of the alley. ‘Come on, I’ll drive you home.’
She leaned into him, quaking and nauseous, searching for his warmth and stability. Together, they stepped into the artificial light and the open space. There, she jolted to a standstill.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
She scanned the streets, searching for Queenie.
Steven followed her line of sight and then looked back at her, his eyes narrowed and questioning. She wanted to tell him what had happened, but it was out of the question. She carried too many secrets, things she could never share.