Call Me Evie

by J. P. Pomare

  ‘Leave her alone, cunt.’ The tallest boy shoves the man hard against his car.

  The man looks at me. ‘What is this?’

  I dip my head to avoid his gaze and walk around them, continuing down the hill, dragging Beau behind me.

  ‘That’s assault,’ I hear. ‘You can’t touch me.’

  I hear something hit the ground – maybe the man’s phone.

  ‘I’m calling the police.’

  ‘Call the pigs, see if we give a shit. Fuck off and do it somewhere else, though.’

  ‘Where are your parents?’

  I just keep walking quickly with my heart thrumming. The car starts again. It zips past me. I hear the boys running down the hill and I brace myself. They pass me and hurl stones but the car is already rounding the bend.

  ‘Hey, lady,’ they’re calling.

  I don’t stop.

  ‘Hey, lady – you all good?’

  Someone touches my shoulder. I shrink away. My hair has grown a little but I wonder if they remember the harsh words they spat at me when my head was bare. Beau turns back and jumps up on one of the boys, who strokes his head. ‘Here, you dropped these.’

  I take the keys from his hands. When I meet his eye, I see warmth, but I can’t forget all the nasty words.

  ‘Just tell him to fuck off next time. Fucking palangi bastard.’ He screws up his face like he’s bitten into a lemon.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I will.’

  Beau is reluctant to leave, nuzzling the boys. Traitor.

  At last I’m able to drag him away and continue towards Iso’s place. Did you kill him, Kate? Jim could have paid him to scare me, to make me believe that I’m guilty. Jim’s book said scientists asked questions rather than making statements to manipulate memory.

  When I’m near Iso’s house I stop and stand on the road trying to balance my thoughts and calm my body. Did you kill him?

  Passing through the gate at Iso’s, I walk down the long, muddy track that is the driveway. As I approach the house there’s no sign that anyone is home.

  ‘Hey.’ Iso’s voice comes from the vegetable garden behind the retaining wall. ‘Is that you, Evie?’

  ‘Hi,’ I say. ‘I got your note.’

  Beau pulls at the leash. I reach down to unclip him and the dog rushes forwards, sniffing at the earth. Iso squats down and scratches behind Beau’s ears, letting the dog lick his face.

  ‘So,’ I say, too impatient to wait. ‘You said you had good news. Did you get a letter for me?’

  His face goes blank. ‘No,’ he says, frowning. ‘No mail on the weekend, and didn’t you only just send your letter?’ Of course it would take more than a day – why did I let myself become hopeful? He plunges his trowel into the dark soil and changes the subject. ‘I’m just waiting for Mum to get back and then I’m going to take the horses for a walk.’

  ‘Well, what was the good news?’ I demand.

  ‘You said you wanted to go up to Auckland, right? I’m going to be heading that way on Monday if you want a ride.’

  That was only two days away. That’s all. If I waited two days I could get a ride with someone I knew, someone who might pull over and help me if I had a panic attack. I smile. ‘Thanks, Iso. That would be really great.’

  ‘Well, I’ll pick you up after lunchtime on Monday, if that suits.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘No, don’t pick me up. I’ll meet you down here.’

  He shrugs. ‘Well that works too. So are you coming for a ride today?’

  ‘A ride?’

  ‘Yeah, on the horses. You could use Mum’s saddle.’ He scratches his head, indecisive suddenly. ‘I suppose it would be alright for you?’

  Alright for me? His mum must have told him about the panic attack in her car. ‘Well, I’ve never really ridden a horse before. I mean, I rode like two times when I was a kid.’

  ‘You’ll have to wear a helmet and be careful.’ He seems reluctant now. ‘I’m sure it’ll be safe. Mum’s old hack is perfect for beginners.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ I say.

  ‘Great.’ He brushes the dirt from his hands, takes a mobile phone out of his pocket and fires off a text message. I could ask now to use his phone, but Jim made it clear it is all traceable. The man in black had already found us. Would others follow?

  ‘Just checking in with Mum,’ Iso says, ‘to see how far off she is.’

  We chat as he continues working in the garden.

  ‘Your mum respond yet?’ I ask.

  I note the guilty shift of his eyes as he looks up at me. ‘Nah, not yet.’

  Soon Iso’s mum pulls into the driveway. As she climbs out of the car, Iso gestures for me to get in.

  ‘Hello again, Evie,’ she says.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘We’re just heading over to the horses, Mum. We’ll be back later.’

  ‘Alright, see you then.’

  ‘Is it okay if Beau stays in the yard?’ I ask.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Iso says, then to his mum, ‘Can you keep an eye on him?’

  He wheels the car around and we set out.

  We’re not far from Maketu when the bitumen becomes gravel, which doesn’t slow Iso down. The wheels flick up stones and the car bumps along. Soon we arrive at a farm, turning down a muddy track that runs between two empty paddocks, and at the end of it there’s a long wooden shed. Nearby a chimney stands, like a solitary finger pointed at the sky. There’s not much left of the house to which it once must have belonged.

  Near the shed I can see three horses, two grey and one the colour of a coffee bean. I recognise the smaller of the greys from a photo I saw at Iso’s house.

  Iso moves in and out of the shed fetching what we’ll need for the ride. When the saddles are ready on the fence, one with a helmet for me balanced on top, he produces two halters and hands me one of them. ‘Like this,’ he says, concealing the halter behind his back. I do as he says and we set off across the lush paddock.

  ‘Are they friendly?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, really friendly,’ he says, reaching down to tug at a thatch of grass. He extends his palm with the grass on it and walks towards the horses. They watch him approach, curious. The brown horse comes forwards first.

  In the midday sun, I can see the veins in Iso’s arms, the cords of muscle. He is wearing a singlet and his hair is knotted, falling in thick ringlets about his head. He worries the steel bit of the halter with his fingers.

  ‘How old are you?’ I ask.

  ‘Twenty,’ he says. ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know – I thought maybe you were older.’

  He turns back with a grin. ‘Gee, thanks.’

  I could almost feel happy but there is something grinding within me, knowing I am going to have questions to answer when Jim returns. Watching through the cameras, is he wondering where I am? Where is he? Will he be angry that I went out when it wasn’t an emergency?

  The brown horse sniffs Iso’s hand. It curls its lips back from its teeth and nibbles the grass. Iso works the halter up over the horse’s head, running his fingers to the flat of its nose between the eyes. ‘Good boy.’ He strokes the docile beast’s neck lovingly, then leads the horse away and ties it up to the rail running along beside the shed. I stand still as the other two horses approach and crowd around me. My breathing must be loud, or maybe Iso senses my rising panic, because when I look over he is striding towards me. He takes my halter and quickly guides his hand up the larger, grey horse’s neck. He passes the lead rope to me.

  When I walk, the horse follows close behind. I keep looking back, anxious that it might decide to run over the top of me, but it just stares straight ahead passively. I begin to breathe more easily.

  Iso saddles the horses. Mine is called Cracker, he tells me. I’m relieved to note that Cracker is as still and compliant as a tree stump. Iso doesn’t even tie him up once the saddle is cinched on. I put on the helmet. Even after I’ve tightened the chinstrap it feels loose. The extra space would normally be filled by
hair, I suppose.

  ‘Alright,’ Iso says. ‘It’s like riding a bike but easier.’ He points to the reins. ‘Pull this side and he’ll turn left; pull the other side and he’ll go right. Pull back to slow him down, dig your heels into his sides to make him go faster. Easy enough?’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Just don’t let him run or anything.’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’ He crouches down and makes a cradle out of his hands for me to step on. ‘Hold my shoulder if you want.’ I do. I feel the tense ball of muscle. I put my foot on his hands and he stands, lifting me up. ‘Get your leg over.’

  When I do the horse walks a few steps. My pulse is uneven. It’s not like when I rode a pony when I was a child; I feel much higher up now.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Iso says, taking the bridle. The saddle squelches beneath me. ‘Pull on the reins.’ I do and the horse stops moving.

  Iso puts one foot in his stirrup and swings his other leg over his horse’s broad back, and soon enough he is leading us along the muddy track out towards the road. Cracker’s spine rolls beneath my hips. As we ride along, the track at the gate becomes gravel beneath us, then further still the road becomes bitumen. Iso points out landmarks, things he remembers from his childhood like the spot where a passing car had beeped at them and his horse, spooked, had thrown him off onto the shoulder of the road. He broke his collarbone, he recalls – a fact that does little to abate the panic that’s growing in me. When cars pass, most with blacked-out windows, their mufflers emitting a sonorous thrum, Iso raises his hand and nods to each one.

  We pass a burnt-out house. Licks of black creep up the rotting weatherboards. One wall has collapsed, leaving the interior exposed. Roof tiles have detonated on the concrete. Inside, the walls are covered in red graffiti.

  ‘Tiri’s old spot,’ he says. I watch it as we pass.

  ‘What happened? Was there a fire?’ I ask.

  ‘Yep. It changed a lot of lives, that fire.’ Iso continues as if he can anticipate my next question. ‘My old man died there when I was young.’

  You never truly understand about death until you meet it head-on for the first time. It’s a foreign thing, like a war in some place you’ve never been. When you are introduced, suddenly you think about life, you think about a body rotting in the ground, and all you want to know is: what comes next? I met death earlier than most. On occasion, I can’t help but think about how different my life might be now if Mum hadn’t died. I understand then that Iso is the same as me. Perhaps that’s why I’d thought he was older. When you only have one parent you grow up twice as fast.

  ‘He was a paramedic and was driving home when he saw the fire. Mum raised me alone from the time I was eleven.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Iso.’

  ‘Not your fault. It’s probably the reason me and Tiri are so close.’ I recall the scars climbing up over her collarbone and neck.

  ‘Did he save her?’

  ‘Yeah. He couldn’t save her sister though. He ran back in and neither of them came out.’

  We ride on in silence but for the clip-clop of hooves and the distant boom of the surf. A shed comes up on our left, bare wood with patches of flaking white paint. The windows and doors are open like the eyes and mouth of a screaming face.

  ‘We found a hanged sheep in there once. Someone must have dragged it in from the paddock and strung it up. I know people wrangle and pinch them for meat, but some of these kids just do shit for the fun of it.’

  I see Thom’s face again in a passing car. When I go to speak, the words are trapped in my throat. I’m trembling, so I focus on my breathing.

  We start to wind downhill. The helmet scratches the stubble on my scalp. The road is lined with native ferns in thousands of shades of green. There is no longer a shoulder next to the road as the scene opens up to a view of a sweeping river mouth and flat peninsula, so we ride single file on the edge of the bitumen. Fortunately, only a couple of cars pass us as we descend. When the road levels out we leave the bitumen and ride through a campsite to the beach. Seagulls swirl above.

  We’re on the sand now. I don’t bother using the reins; Cracker moves of his own accord, as if he knows where he’s going.

  ‘Iso,’ I say, once again feeling rather than thinking I can trust him. Perhaps he’s the only person left that I can trust. I need him to side with me, to not tell Jim my plans to leave. ‘Can you keep a secret?’

  ‘What secret?’ he asks warily.

  ‘Promise me you won’t tell anyone?’

  He turns his head to me, raises his hand to block out the sun. ‘I don’t know if I want to get involved in this.’

  ‘Involved in what?’

  He grimaces slightly. ‘Look, your uncle asked us to watch over you, to make sure you don’t do anything to put yourself in harm’s way.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I figure you’re going to do what you want anyway, so I don’t mind telling you.’

  ‘I’m not hurting myself – he’s hurting me!’ Now I’m regretting the urge to confide in him.

  Iso frowns. ‘How old are you, Evie?’

  ‘Seventeen.’

  ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Well, I don’t know the full story, but I have the impression that he cares about you and just wants to look after you. If that’s not the case, then you should say so.’

  Jim is playing his games; he has gotten into Iso’s head.

  ‘What exactly did he tell you when you came to the house?’

  ‘I’ve said my bit, Evie. I don’t think I should say any more.’ He’s clearly uncomfortable now. His frown deepens. ‘Come on, up here,’ he says.

  We turn up a steep set of steps. Iso leans forwards, and his horse blows out its breath, then quickly mounts the rise to the beaten dirt of the car park.

  ‘Lean over his head and dig in your heels,’ Iso calls.

  I feel the horse lurch forwards when my feet touch his ribs.

  We cross the car park, then start up the steep road. I realise we are heading back through Maketu. A pair of old women sit at the top of the track and further along a few kids wait, leaning up against an old shed with their BMX bikes. The iron roof is rusted and peels up like the cover of a well-thumbed paperback.

  ‘Please tell me what my uncle said, Iso. I won’t let him know you told me.’

  ‘It’s not about telling. The way he put it, it’d be dangerous for me to involve myself.’

  ‘Dangerous?’ I say, anger coming on hot and quick. ‘Dangerous how?’

  ‘I don’t know. Look, if you want to come to Auckland with me, I’ll take you, but only if your uncle says it’s okay.’

  ‘I need to get back to Australia, Iso,’ I say desperately. ‘I need to get home to the people who love and care for me. That’s why I need you to take me to Auckland with you. I can get money, I can pay you.’

  ‘It’s not about money, Evie.’ Iso stares in silence at his hands crossed over the saddle horn. Then, as if remembering something, he abruptly pats his pockets. ‘Shit,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing. I left my phone in the car.’

  ‘Are you expecting a call?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ he says. ‘Look, why don’t you just ask your uncle to take you home?’

  I nod, focusing to keep the tears from coming. ‘He said we were going on a holiday, then he brought me here.’ I hesitate; I only need to tell him enough to keep him from going to Jim, but not so much that he involves the police. ‘He doesn’t let me out at nights. He lies to me about what is happening back home, saying people are trying to find me to lock me up . . .’ I stop. I’m in dangerous territory, edging too close to the truth. ‘He didn’t want to bring us any attention. All I’m asking is if you are going to Auckland, you have to let me come with you. I promise you I’m telling the truth. He’s been taking away my freedom bit by bit. I’m almost an adult now.’

  ‘Jesus, Evie. That’s full-on. Why don’t you go to the police? I can take you down there.’

/>   ‘No,’ I say, realising how quickly my plans could backfire. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I can’t –’ Deep breath in, slow exhale. ‘I can’t tell you that. We can’t involve the police.’

  ‘Well,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘What do you want me to say, Evie?’

  I don’t speak again. If I tell him the truth, or what I know to be true, he could do his own research; he might side with Jim, or worse, go directly to the police. If I can just get him to trust me, he will take me to Auckland. I don’t need to tell him everything, just enough.

  We continue along the road in silence. Back at the stable, Iso dismounts, then helps me off Cracker. I slide from the saddle and he holds my hips as I land on the soft grass. We are so close. I’m gripping his forearms. But Iso is already looking away. He scrubs his palms on the front of his thighs, quickly takes Cracker by the reins and leads both the horses away towards the paddock. I twist my bottom lip between my teeth to feel the pain. How long have we been riding for? A couple of hours at least?

  When Iso has put all the gear away we get back in the car. Before turning the key Iso opens the glove box, lifts out a charger and a book, and finally locates his phone. It’s so tempting to ask if I can use it for a moment but according to Jim one Google search could undo everything.

  At the gate, he leaves the car idling as he steps out to open it. I notice a wallet sitting in the centre console. He comes back, drives through, then climbs out to close it again. The second he gets out I snatch the wallet. Opening it I see colourful cards. A coffee loyalty card littered with stamps. His driver’s licence. He is reaching for the door. I find a credit card. Don’t hesitate. I shove it into my pocket, tossing the wallet back as he slides into the driver’s seat.

  ‘It’s not my business, Evie. But you can do something if he is hurting you; there are options other than the police. There are youth and family centres.’ He doesn’t say it but I read between the lines: who will end up going to the police if you are telling the truth. He holds the steering wheel in one hand and eases the car down the gravel track. ‘I don’t understand what’s stopping you.’

  I ask myself the same question all the time. Part of it is Jim. I don’t want to be wrong. If Jim is telling me the truth, then I can’t go back to my old life and I definitely can’t go to the police.