Wife on the Run

by Fiona Higgins

  They stopped at a children’s playground less than a kilometre away. It was drenched and deserted, as everything in Darwin seemed to be. They sat on the swingset, their feet trailing across the paperbark chips below.

  ‘I’ve made some mistakes in life, Pow-la,’ Marcelo began. ‘But this is the biggest.’

  She looked out at the flat suburban wasteland. Darwin in monsoon season, a town in tears.

  ‘My name is Marcelo,’ he insisted.

  She desperately hoped it was true.

  ‘For many years, I wanted to come to Australia, but it took me a long time to save up the money. When I had enough, I told my family my plan. They wanted to help me, of course. We don’t have much, but my father gave me some of his savings for the visa. My younger brother Pietro helped me get a passport, my big brother Lucas booked the flight. The night before I left, we had a family churrasco. Not like your barbecues—a real one.’ He smiled. ‘Even the big cattle boss came. And Lucas came from the favela, to say goodbye. We sang songs, remembered my mother, we got drunk.’

  She waited.

  ‘When I woke up the next morning, the sun was already high. My brother Lucas told me, you were too drunk last night, idiota, you are late. Here is your luggage, I will drive you to the airport.’

  He shook his head. ‘It was all so rushed. I said goodbye to my family and we drove to Porto Alegre. I almost missed the flight to Sao Paulo. I checked in my backpack, my guitar, my surfboard, but I kept my mother’s urn in my carry-on bag. When I got on the aeroplane, I was so nervous, I had to use the white bag . . . what is that called?’

  ‘The travel-sickness bag.’ Paula noticed that Marcelo’s almost-perfect command of English seemed to slip the more upset he became.

  ‘In Sao Paulo, I transferred to the international flight. There was a stopover in London and then Hong Kong, so I had time to read my guidebook. The map showed that Adelaide is very far from Darwin. I couldn’t believe that Lucas had booked me on that flight.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I collected my luggage in Adelaide and went through customs. The lady there opened my carry-on and said, “What is inside the cylinder?” I told her about my mother’s ashes and showed her the document from the Brazilian authorities. She said, “I’ll check with my supervisor.” When she came back, a man was with her. He looked at the papers and after a while, he let me go.’

  Marcelo gazed across the empty playground.

  ‘I was standing at the taxi rank when a man came up to me and said in Portuguese, “Are you Marcelo?” He told me he was Lucas’s friend and could give me a lift to the city. I was surprised, because Lucas never mentioned this. But that is my brother, very spontaneous.’

  Paula didn’t like the sound of this.

  ‘We drove twenty minutes to a house somewhere and the man said, “Come inside.” He wasn’t smiling anymore, and he took my luggage with him.’

  Paula grimaced. ‘You didn’t follow him, did you?’

  ‘I wanted my stuff back. But inside the house, the man pulled out a pistol.’ Marcelo raked his fingers through his hair. ‘He took everything out of my backpack and stripped it open with a knife. Inside the lining were bags of white powder.’

  ‘Drugs?’ Paula gasped. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Marcelo looked stricken. ‘What could I do? The man weighed the bags. Then he gave me a new backpack and told me to leave. Lucas has paid his debt, he said.’

  Marcelo bowed his head. ‘Lucas used me for his business in the favela. I was his courier to Australia.’

  Paula flinched. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘The man pushed me out the door. He gave me my guitar and surfboard and said, “Keep walking.” And he told me what would happen if I ever talked.’

  Marcelo exhaled. ‘I walked fast for thirty minutes, maybe more, and then I got angry. I telephoned Lucas straight away and asked, “Why did you do this to me? I am your brother.” Lucas told me that he had no choice; if I didn’t deliver the coca to Australia, they would’ve killed him. And maybe come for our father too.’

  ‘Who would’ve killed him?’ Paula’s mind was spinning.

  ‘The favela boss in Porto Alegre, the drug king.’ Marcelo’s mouth twisted. ‘He is an evil man. He took my brother into his business when Lucas was a teenager, when he first left for the city. Within six months, he had Lucas delivering and selling coca. My mother tried to get Lucas back, but she died trying.’

  His eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Lucas set me up. I was lucky to get through the airport. Maybe it was a miracle of God, they were only interested in the urn.’ Marcelo crossed a hand over his chest.

  ‘What did you do?’ Paula asked.

  ‘I was in shock, walking the streets. After a while, I came to a club, there was a party, many old people wearing hats. It looked like a safe place. So I went in and ordered a drink and then . . . I met Caitlin. And you.’

  Paula shook her head in disbelief. ‘You mean the Walkerville RSL? On Melbourne Cup day?’

  He nodded.

  ‘But that means you lied to me about how long you’d been in Adelaide. You said you’d been there three days, when we first met.’ She studied his face. ‘Now you say you arrived that same day.’

  ‘I am sorry, Pow-la, I couldn’t be honest with you straight away. I didn’t know you. But when we talked later at the barbecue, I felt like I could trust you. After we began travelling together, I got worried the police were following us. I even hurt your husband, thinking he was police.’

  ‘You met Hamish?’ She was dumbfounded by this revelation. ‘Where?’

  ‘On the Nullarbor, in two places. He was persistent. He thought I liked Caitlin.’ Marcelo looked heavenward.

  Paula was having trouble processing all of this information.

  ‘In Norseman I discovered he was your husband, not a police officer,’ continued Marcelo, ‘so I decided to tell you. But that same night, I fell sick and we drove to Perth and I lost your number and . . . well, you know the rest.’

  ‘I don’t actually,’ said Paula. ‘We looked for you in Perth, Marcelo. We stayed longer in Cottesloe, wondering if you might turn up. I was really worried.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Marcelo. ‘It took three days for my stomach to get better, then Lucas called me. Something went wrong in Adelaide after the drop-off, his contact there was being watched by police. Lucas told me to disappear quickly, to fly back to Brazil using a new ID, just in case the police linked me to the drop-off.’

  Marcelo shook his head. ‘I panicked. Where could I get a new ID? But Lucas gave me a contact in Perth so I went to see him, and he made me this.’ He pulled out his wallet and showed her the driver’s licence she’d seen earlier.

  ‘He’s making a new passport too, but that takes three weeks. It’s a more complicated job, I had to pay a thousand dollars upfront. He’s going to call when it’s done.’ Marcelo sighed. ‘So, while I wait for his call, I hitchhiked to Darwin to put my mother to rest.’ He crossed his hand over his chest again. ‘And to find you.’

  She frowned. ‘This person in Perth, can you trust him?’

  ‘He is my only chance. Lucas said it is too dangerous to use my real papers now. The police could be following me already.’

  ‘But couldn’t you just go to the police and tell them everything?’ she asked. ‘About Lucas, I mean, that you were his unwitting courier. You’re the victim here, Marcelo.’

  He shook his head. ‘I can’t do that to my brother. I am angry with him, but he is still blood.’

  She couldn’t repress her frustration. ‘So you’d rather be caught trying to leave Australia using a fake passport than report your brother to the police for using you as a drug mule?’

  Marcelo opened his palms, as if surrendering. ‘Family is everything. If Caitlin or Lachlan were in trouble like this, would you call the police?’

  Paula knew, she wouldn’t.

  She sighed. ‘We’re in a mess, Marcelo.’

&nb
sp; There wasn’t really a ‘we’, she knew. They were two individuals from completely different worlds, thrown together by a random set of circumstances. There was little past to anchor them, no future to anticipate. And yet they’d shared a rare connection in the present; one of vulnerability and tenderness, laughter and physical attraction. Sensations and emotions of which Paula’s life had been devoid for too long.

  He reached for her hand.

  ‘All I wanted was to come to Australia to put my mother to rest. I didn’t know I would become a courier for my brother.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Or that I would fall for you, Pow-la.’

  He pulled the chains of the swingset together, until they were face to face.

  ‘I’m ashamed,’ he said. ‘For involving you and your family in this. You don’t deserve it. You are a good person.’

  It struck Paula that no one had ever said that to her. And yet, that was what she’d tried so hard to be, all her life. A good daughter, sister, wife and mother.

  ‘What do we do now?’ she asked.

  ‘Kiss,’ he said. ‘It will come to us.’

  He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against hers.

  They arrived back at the camp site just after seven o’clock.

  As the ute drew closer, Paula spotted her children and her father, with a bucket and sponges, washing the caravan. Wet season in the Northern Territory hadn’t been kind; the van’s gleaming cream exterior had turned a muddy brown. Caitlin had been agitating to wash it for the past week, but Paula had been unable to summon the energy.

  They’d obviously had dinner, too, judging by the dishes propped up on the drying rack. Thanks to their grandfather’s ‘life lessons’, the children had become almost entirely independent when it came to meals: shopping, cooking and cleaning up after themselves. It was a turnaround which she could only attribute to this trip.

  The three of them looked up as she parked alongside the caravan.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, smiling as she hopped out. ‘Look who’s here.’

  Caitlin gasped as Marcelo stepped out of the passenger door.

  ‘Is that Mar—?’ Her face dropped. She looked Paula up and down. ‘Where are your clothes, Mum?’

  Amid Marcelo’s revelations in the playground, Paula had forgotten she was wearing his clothes.

  Caitlin looked between her mother and Marcelo. ‘Are you two . . . ?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marcelo responded, his tone even.

  Paula whirled about, pulling a face at Marcelo. They hadn’t discussed talking to the kids about them.

  Caitlin looked horrified. She turned to her brother. ‘Lachie, let’s go home with Dad. Gramps, can you please take us back to where Dad’s staying?’

  Sid looked at Paula for direction.

  ‘Catie, I know this is a lot to take in . . .’ she started.

  ‘I’m sick of surprises,’ her daughter spat. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Lachie. ‘We’ve had enough of your trip, Mum. We’re going back to Melbourne with Dad.’

  ‘Did your father suggest that?’

  Lachie shook his head. ‘It’s our choice, Mum. There are too many rules on this trip that you don’t follow. You get to do whatever you want.’

  ‘Yeah,’ added Caitlin, her tone indignant. ‘You chuck out my Playboy nightie because you think it’s too sexy, but what are you wearing, Mum? You look like a dirty ho.’

  Paula felt crushed to the core.

  ‘Let them go.’ Marcelo’s voice, soft in Paula’s ear. ‘Let them go with their dad, if they want to.’

  She turned back to her children.

  ‘Don’t you even want to stay for Christmas?’ She choked on the words.

  ‘We’d spoil the romantic atmosphere,’ Caitlin sneered.

  ‘Kids,’ she begged. ‘Please don’t do anything rash.’

  ‘What, like you?’ Lachie’s tone was caustic. ‘You’ve always said honesty is the best policy, Mum. But you’ve broken your promise.’

  She averted her gaze. Wearing Marcelo’s clothes, she really didn’t have a leg to stand on.

  ‘Alright,’ said Paula. ‘It’s your decision. Gramps can take you over tomorrow.’

  ‘Now,’ said Caitlin quietly. ‘We want to go now.’

  ‘Okay, if that’s what you want,’ said Paula.

  Sid looked worried. ‘You sure?’

  Paula nodded. ‘I’ll call Hamish. But I can’t watch them go.’

  She strode to the ute and took her telephone from the glove box. ‘If you need anything, kids, just call.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye. Without another word, she fled the camp site.

  When Sid returned from dropping off the children, he was gloomy and withdrawn. Marcelo attempted to cheer them up by cooking a Brazilian-style barbecue, but neither Paula nor Sid were remotely in the mood.

  Then, when Marcelo tried to seduce her in the caravan just before midnight, she brushed off his overtures. He said he understood, murmuring words of consolation.

  How quickly things change, she thought. Here I am, in a position to live out the very fantasy I’ve harboured since Adelaide—just me and Marcelo, alone in the caravan—and yet, I can’t think about anything except the kids.

  They were safe with Hamish, she knew, and soon would be back in their family home in Glen Waverley. But it felt so wrong to be separated from them after spending two months in such close proximity.

  She lay motionless next to Marcelo, until his steady breathing told her he was asleep. The silence was punctuated by his phone vibrating irregularly, but Marcelo didn’t stir.

  She watched his face as he slept, a face of beauty and symmetry, for which she’d fallen, harder than she’d imagined possible.

  But I don’t really know this man at all. And I never should have let my children go.

  Paula rolled away from Marcelo and sat up at the window, pushing the curtains aside. The caravan park was bathed in silver moonlight.

  She’d made an error of judgment, but there was still time to fix it.

  Tomorrow, she decided, she would set things right with Catie and Lachie. Apologise for everything and ask them not to return to Melbourne with their father. They mightn’t be dissuaded, but she had to try.

  With the comfort of resolution, she lay back down next to Marcelo and, eventually, fell asleep.

  ‘Pow-la.’

  She sat up. He was as beautiful as ever in the morning light. His lips, soft and full, begged to be kissed. But first she had to tell him what she’d resolved.

  ‘Marcelo, I—’

  ‘I’m sorry to wake you, Pow-la. I need your help.’ He pushed his phone into her hand. ‘This message came in from Perth last night.’

  Flight QR901 to São Paolo transit Doha, exit Perth 1230 Mon. Collect passport 0900 at airport.

  ‘How am I going to get to Perth by Monday?’ Marcelo’s face was ashen.

  It was just before eight o’clock on Friday morning.

  ‘You’ll have to fly,’ she said. ‘There’s no other way. It’s four thousand kilometres.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he objected. ‘It’s too risky. I have to fly back to Brazil, but Lucas told me to stay out of airports and go by road.’

  His hands were shaking as he reread the message. ‘Please, can you drive me, Pow-la?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Marcelo. I can’t do that.’

  His face fell.

  It was too far to travel in three days, and besides, she’d already determined her course of action. She couldn’t abandon her children, not even to their father. And Monday was Christmas Eve.

  ‘Please.’ His forehead was beaded with sweat. ‘Help me, Pow-la.’

  Looking into his eyes, she knew she couldn’t abandon Marcelo, either. She thought for a minute, then said, ‘I think I might know someone who can help. He’s a tour guide in Darwin. Maybe we can pay him to take you back to Perth.’

  ‘But I have no money, Pow-la,’ said Marcelo.

  ‘I do.’

  He gripped her
hand. ‘Can we trust him?’

  ‘He’s looked after Hamish before,’ she said.

  Paula found her phone and began composing a message to her husband.

  Hamish’s friend Frank was on the verge of leaving Darwin, when she called.

  ‘Farken crazy tryin’ to get to Perth that quickly,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to drive all night, in the farken silly season too. It’ll cost you.’

  And so Paula raided the caravan freezer again, counting out one thousand dollars before driving on to an address in Brinkin.

  Fifteen minutes later, they found themselves standing on a dusty kerb next to a colourfully painted mini-bus.

  Frank emerged from a white cement house surrounded by an orderly yard.

  ‘G’day,’ he said, extending his hand to all three.

  ‘Where’s Hamish?’ asked Paula, looking down the drive for signs of her children.

  ‘Took ’em out to the airport already,’ said Frank. ‘They’re waitlisted on an earlier flight.’

  ‘Oh.’ Paula felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. Hamish hadn’t mentioned that when he’d sent her Frank’s number.

  She’d planned on talking to the kids again in the clear light of day, persuading them to resume their trip with her, especially now that Marcelo was leaving.

  Tears blurred her vision.

  Frank fixed his gaze on Marcelo.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘This is my . . . friend, Marcelo,’ explained Paula. ‘He needs to get to Perth quickly.’ She fished around in her handbag and found the white envelope stuffed with notes. ‘Here’s the payment.’

  Frank nodded, looking Marcelo up and down.

  ‘Ever heard of aeroplanes, fella?’

  ‘I get very plane sick.’ Marcelo grimaced. ‘I go by land wherever I can.’

  Convincing, Paula thought.

  ‘You’d better not vomit in my bus, fella,’ Frank said, taking the envelope from Paula. ‘I’ll count this inside.’

  He turned back to Marcelo. ‘Get ready to go, Michaelo, I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Paula didn’t highlight his mispronunciation.

  She watched as Marcelo unstrapped his surfboard from the roof racks and took his backpack from the ute.