Call Me Evie

by J. P. Pomare

  ‘Is that right?’ he responds derisively. ‘You’ve accepted it, have you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He puts his cutlery down, rests his elbows on the table. ‘You don’t believe a word I say, do you? I know everything that goes on inside that head of yours.’ Now he leans forwards over the table and grabs my wrist. ‘Before you can even think about going anywhere, I am going to heal you. Do you hear me? I. Am. Going. To. Heal. You. You’d better start believing that.’

  He drops my wrist and resumes eating. It aches where his thumb dug in.

  I look down at my food. But what about the man at the road? I’m afraid to ask him. I’m afraid of what he will do to me if he realises how much I know. ‘I’m sorry. I just get confused.’

  ‘The rules for while I’m away are the same as always, but the consequences for breaking them are much greater. Don’t leave the house unless you absolutely have to. Don’t open the door to anyone. Don’t eat or drink something you shouldn’t. Don’t hurt yourself or anyone else. I’ve got the camera feed on my phone and I will be watching. I’ve got the police on speed dial, Kate. You fuck up this time and I will call them myself. Understand?’

  ‘Who is the man?’ I say. ‘Remember? You said someone found us.’

  He exhales. ‘He’s an investigative reporter. He’s been taking photos and selling them. He’s trying to find other things out about us. But he’s going to go away now. I’ve taken care of it.’

  He’s lying again. He’s paying the man to scare me, to keep me trapped. ‘Can I see them? Can you show me the photos online?’

  ‘Not right now,’ he says. ‘There are things you still don’t understand, so you will just have to trust me.’ He rises and takes his plate to the sink. Then he gathers the knives in a container, carries the container outside and puts it in the shed, which he locks. Back inside, he strides up the hall to his bedroom. When he returns he’s dragging a small suitcase and wears his laptop bag strung from his shoulder.

  ‘Do I need to lock you in your room while I’m gone?’

  ‘No, I’ll be good.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘I won’t go anywhere,’ I say. ‘I’ll just work on the garden.’

  ‘Leave the door locked at night and when you are out. Do not open the house for anyone. You should be safe, but please be good, Kate. Look after Beau, make sure you feed him. If for any reason you find yourself off the property, stay away from the roads and the village.’ He nods up at the camera. ‘I’ll be watching. Make sure you always have your keys on you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.’

  He pulls on a beanie and comes back over to the table. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Give me a kiss.’

  I stand and hug him, feeling the muscles of his back stiffen as he squeezes me, then kiss him, but he turns his head so my kiss lands at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Before I go, I need to see you take your pills, okay?’ He takes the bottle from his pocket and taps a couple into his palm. ‘Open.’ He places them on my tongue. This time I swallow. He pokes his finger into my mouth, feeling inside my cheeks, under my tongue. ‘Good girl,’ he says, taking another two pills from the bottle and putting them on the bench. ‘Take these tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘One more thing before I go.’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a mobile phone. A wafer-thin amalgamation of glass and aluminium. I find myself listing towards it, tempted to snatch it from his hands. A portal to the unseen digital world.

  He drops my phone back into his pocket and walks to the front door. ‘You can have it when I get back, okay?’ There he turns. ‘Lock this behind me.’ Then he is gone.

  I stand alone in the house, the night closing in around me. I can feel the pills slowing everything down.

  •

  The evening brings wind, pressing the windowpanes; the storm rises. Rain lashes the husk of the house. The wind wails like a widow and the old structure creaks. Beau barks at first, and then is reduced to whimpering. Lightning flashes outside, followed instantly by a concussive thump of thunder. I think I hear horses galloping, though perhaps it is just a quirk of the storm. I reach under the couch and place my hand on Beau’s back and find he’s trembling. The storm could strike us all from the country. This thumb of land could be sent sliding into the sea. Somewhere amongst it all is the endless lolling of the waves. Always folding over themselves onto the shore. One wave coming in while another recedes and the rain drills down. Between the two waves they make an ever-widening grin, some dark thing laughing in the face of the girl in the wooden box up on the hill. There’s a loud thump against my window. It’s too loud to be a branch, I think, but I can’t summon the courage to look outside. It could have been a stone or a fist.

  ‘Come on, Beau,’ I say. ‘You can sleep on my bed tonight.’

  before <

  TWENTY-SIX

  THE BATHROOM DOOR wouldn’t budge. I could hear the hurl and splash of someone vomiting, so I went outside and squatted down in the backyard beside a bush, hitching my dress up to my waist. Thom found me wandering back towards the house. The music throbbed. He took my hand and guided me along. Thom liked to keep me by his side at parties. I’d learnt he didn’t like it when random people, especially guys, spoke to me.

  His friend Rick was speaking to someone about the police, yelling to be heard over the music. ‘They were just doing their job.’ A girl, one of Thom’s friends, had been arrested and charged with urinating in public on her way to the party.

  I leant close to Thom’s ear. ‘Be right back.’

  I wanted to get away from the noise. I headed for the backyard. People were dancing as I passed through the lounge, while others sat around playing a drinking game with cards.

  It was awkward, just standing there. I spotted a girl I’d only met once before and asked her for a cigarette. Willow was at the same party, but so far I had managed to avoid her. The morning after the party in Elwood, I’d woken up to five messages from her. She texted me about how sorry and embarrassed she was, how she was never getting that drunk again and regretted ever hurting me. I deleted the messages without responding. All she had ever done was try to create tension between me and Thom and try to stop us from getting together. Now, months later, she’d stopped reaching out.

  The girl with the cigarettes went back inside, leaving me alone with a group of guys standing in the dark. Those were the only times when I missed Willow. If she had been there, she might have broken the silence with something ironic or crude or funny. She might have drawn the guys’ attention away from me. But she wasn’t there. I reminded myself of what she’d done and realised she would never be there again.

  The guys were quiet; some were watching me out of the corners of their eyes as they put their beer bottles to their mouths and tilted their heads back. The music spilt from inside, growing louder in gasps as the back door opened and closed. This was where things happened at parties. Not inside, but out on the fringes, the places between.

  ‘Shit music,’ one of the guys said and they all laughed together. They were older, I realised. I was used to seeing guys awkwardly trapped between the soft edges of boyhood and the vastness of adulthood, old enough to be at nightclubs yet most weekends standing about at high school parties.

  I soon realised that they were talking in a sort of code, a language I couldn’t follow with the alcohol swirling in my blood. I just stood there swaying, drawing on the cigarette. The night was fading. I would go back inside and kiss Thom, then ask him if we could leave.

  ‘A lot of pretty guys here, if you know what I mean,’ one of them said.

  I leant closer to hear, then stumbled. My legs ached from dancing. A murmur of laughter.

  ‘What about the pussy?’ another asked. ‘It’s everywhere – take your pick, boys.’

  A couple of them laughed louder now and looked at me, then back to each other. There was something about the way they looked: like hungry dogs. The shortest one, with a shaved head
and a tight white T-shirt, reached for my hand. I gave it to him and he leant forwards and touched my knuckles with his lips. His friends snickered at his audacity.

  ‘What’s your name, girl?’

  ‘Kate,’ I said. I took my hand back and pulled on the cigarette coolly; I was growing uncomfortable but I didn’t want it to show. If I just walked away now it would be awkward.

  ‘That’s a nice name. Kate.’ He said it like he was savouring something sweet on his tongue. ‘You got any more cigarettes, Kate?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Trying to quit?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, so you’re the type who always smokes men’s cigarettes at bars, never have to buy your own, right?’ He turned to his friends, his eyebrows raised. ‘Don’t worry, I’m only teasing.’ He shuffled a little closer.

  I took a last drag of the cigarette, dropped it on the grass and stamped it beneath my shoe.

  ‘So what are you doing after this? You heading out?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m going home soon.’

  The man’s eyes cut to something behind me. Another gasp of music from the house, then footsteps, and soon Thom’s muscular arm was resting across my shoulders. I took most of his weight as he leant in in a drunken stupor. ‘What’s going on, Kate?’ His words were slurred.

  ‘Hey, brother,’ the short man said. ‘Dean.’ He held out his hand.

  Thom looked at it, eyes narrowed. I could hear a car horn sound from out on the road. Laughter came from inside the house. The guys around us had stopped talking. At last Thom took the man’s hand and gave it a firm pump.

  ‘This your girl?’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  There was a shiver of movement among the others.

  ‘Hey, Thom, it’s fine, relax,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t tell me to relax.’

  ‘Listen to your girl, Thom. Relax before you hurt yourself.’

  I could feel him tense against me.

  ‘Please?’ I said. ‘It’s fine.’

  He ripped his arm from across my shoulders. He looked confused for a second, then he looked angry again. ‘Why are you even out here, talking to these creeps?’

  ‘Who you calling creeps, bro?’ one of them said. The air was charged with an invisible electric current. Dean grinned and dropped his empty bottle. It chinked softly on the grass. He was clearly not afraid of Thom, despite Thom’s height and size.

  ‘I was just talking,’ I said.

  ‘Just talking.’ Thom’s voice was stretched as though it were going to snap.

  ‘Thom, don’t,’ I said. I hated how needy my voice sounded. Why didn’t he realise that I couldn’t just order people not to talk to me? Didn’t he see how unattractive his jealousy made him? How it pushed me away?

  ‘Plenty of other options over here, you know, if you get sick of white rice.’ It was Dean. He was talking to me.

  Thom didn’t look away from me. The anger, the embarrassment burned in his gaze.

  ‘Please don’t make a big deal.’

  ‘Shut up, Kate.’

  Dean twisted the cap off a fresh beer and took a long swig. He smacked his lips and said, ‘Has anyone ever told you, Thom, that you’ve got a really bad attitude?’ He was still grinning. Murmurs from behind us were growing louder.

  ‘You’re acting like an asshole, Thom, let’s just walk away,’ I said.

  Thom gave me an ugly look, then turned his gaze back to Dean.

  ‘You can fucking have her,’ he said, loud and cruel. He pushed me in Dean’s direction. ‘You deserve this scum,’ he told me.

  I wanted to cry, could feel tears welling in my eyes.

  ‘Fucking creeps,’ Thom said as he walked away. Then, a little louder, ‘Can’t find girls their own age, that’s their problem.’

  Dean strode past me. ‘What’s that, tough guy?’

  Thom’s school friends had come outside by now; voices were rising in argument around me. But I barely noticed; I was watching Thom as he stormed inside.

  ‘Fuck off and leave, right now,’ someone said to the older guys.

  And then it was on: people pushing, grabbing each other, the dull thump of flesh being struck. Me in the middle of it all.

  Girls shrieked. Someone bumped into my back. I stumbled forwards and a second later a full bottle of beer exploded against my skull.

  > after

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE FIRST THING I notice when I open the curtains in the morning is the sea. The waves look like ripples up here but down by the beach those ripples would be tall snarling things, peeling along, folding into the estuary. There are a few surfers out, more than usual. It’s Saturday; the weekend crowd must be in town. The second thing I notice is the havoc wrought by the storm: leaves, branches, strewn across the flood-swept grass in the yard.

  I dress and go straight down into the garden. The garden bed I was working on yesterday is flooded. The green shoots that were beginning to sprout are leaning with their tiny roots exposed. The trellis against the fence for the tomatoes has blown over. Beau is sniffing at something down near the base of the ladder leaning against the house.

  ‘What is it, boy?’ My shoes squelch as I walk over to see.

  At the tip of Beau’s snout a soaked fantail lies with its feet curled, its feathers matted and head back like a drowned infant. It must have hit the window last night. I take the spade and dig into the wet soil. When I have opened a square of earth, I flip the fantail’s limp body into it, then turn the dirt back over.

  I’m conscious of the camera in the yard, so I walk slowly, with Beau at my side, towards the back of the block. The door of the shed won’t open; I shake it, but it won’t budge. I slam the head of the spade against it, turning back and looking up at the camera as if it might remonstrate me. The door still does not give. What is he keeping in there?

  He said that if I was good, he would return my phone. In my desperation, I wanted to trust him. With my phone, I may be able to access the internet and I could finally learn the truth. Of course, the online world is not without its dangers. Do you know what it is like to have a sex tape out there in the world? For a while, anyone could see every part of me; they could see how far up my legs those scars reached, and there was nothing I could do about it. Despite what Jim says I know that once something has been on the internet it will always exist somewhere. The internet is everywhere. I never thought I would be without it, but that was before he dragged me here.

  Everything was different back home. I had Thom, Willow and my dad. The thought of everything I have lost drains me.

  I gnaw at my thumbnail, trying to decide what to do. I will never have a better opportunity to escape. I run back inside to my room. I quickly jam more clothes into my escape bag, remembering how cold I was when I tried to hitchhike. Is it possible he is watching the cameras right now? I leave the bag in my room.

  I open the front door to check that the coast is clear. Up beside the mouth of the driveway a white sedan sits. From inside, the barrel shape of a camera lens is aimed towards me. I slam the door and lock it. It’s the man in black; it has to be. He’s still here.

  Of course Jim has a plan B for if I don’t stay inside. He would never leave me here alone unless he knew someone would be watching me. The man is not a reporter at all, he’s a guard, a co-conspirator that Jim has paid to make sure I don’t go anywhere. How can Jim trust him? This man knows that I am alone in the house . . .

  I am startled by a knock at the door.

  Beau leaps up from his bed, barking. He rushes to the door and hurls himself up against it, scratching with his paws. My heart pounding, I listen as whoever is out there tries the door handle and finds it locked. I hear footsteps receding up the driveway.

  It must be the man but then again, he knows I am here, why would he knock? I go to peer out the kitchen window. No one is there. Whoever it was has gone.

  I eat lunch quickly and feed Beau, then I place the pills in my mouth in fr
ont of the camera for Jim to see. Immediately after I go to the bathroom, where I spit them into the toilet. The rain may hold off and if the man wasn’t out there I could run, I could try the highway again. I open the door to check for his car at the road, finding something on the doormat. A note is scribbled on the back of a petrol receipt.

  Hey, Evie, sorry I missed you! Heading out for a ride and wondered if you wanted to meet the horses. Otherwise, we’re having a barbecue later if you’re free. I’ve got good news and Mum would love to see you again so I hope you can come by.

  Iso

  Iso has ‘good news’. My pulse quickens; could it be a letter from home? I need to get down there. There is no sign of the man in black up at the road. I print a message in large letters and position it in front of the camera in the kitchen.

  Beau is desperate for a walk. Won’t be long. Will be careful.

  I put the leash on an excited Beau, step out the front door and head up the driveway.

  Beau pulls me along, sniffing at the grass. I reach the road and begin down the hill. Somewhere a car door opens and thunks closed. ‘Kate,’ a voice says. Kate. I turn back. The man in black is rushing down towards me with his phone held out, a camera strung about his neck. Where did he come from?

  ‘Kate,’ he is saying. ‘Kate, slow down.’ Kate . . . not Evie. His accent is Australian.

  I begin to run, Beau streaking ahead.

  A car engine starts up behind me and the car accelerates past, then swings in against the kerb, blocking my path. The man climbs out.

  ‘Kate, please stop,’ he says. ‘I just want to talk to you for a minute.’

  Beau is growling, his body rigid.

  ‘Did you kill him, Kate?’

  I look him in the eye before I can stop myself. There’s a sudden movement at the side of the road and from my periphery I see someone leap over the fence. Another follows. It’s the boys who threw stones.

  ‘I can get your story out, give everyone the truth. The public wants to know.’