Hostage

by Karen Tayleur

  If it wasn’t for Helene, I probably wouldn’t be in this mess now.

  03

  Fitzroy Police Station: 25 December, 1.28a.m.

  ‘Hah,’ Laney snorted. ‘Just like your mother. Blaming everyone else for your own mistakes.’

  ‘I told you,’ said Tully, looking at the policeman with the kind brown eyes.

  ‘Can you hurry it up, Tully? You know the old saying, Christmas is coming? Well it’s here,’ said Laney.

  ‘I must caution you to remain silent, Miss McCain,’ said Officer Fraser. ‘Please continue, Tully. Take your time. I need you to tell me everything you remember.’

  Mum’s Turkey Stuffing

  Ingredients

  2 cups mashed potatoes

  1 cup diced onion

  6 cups fresh breadcrumbs

  3/4 cup pork mince (not too fatty)

  1 egg

  1 cup chopped parsley (flat leaf best)

  1/4 cup chopped thyme leaves (less if dried)

  salt and pepper to season Method Put all together.

  Method

  Put all together.

  Put in fridge until ready to use.

  04

  Tully’s Story

  It all started yesterday with Laney. I think I might have mentioned that. It was Christmas Eve and she was doing the nervous jittery I-need-to-look-perfect act. Laney was going out some place to catch up with other middle-aged people for Christmas champagne breakfast. Bamps was trying to get the lights to work on the thing he called a Christmas tree. It was pathetic, really: a silver stick with a few random silver branches that might have once looked half-decent. He’d stuck it in a plastic bucket because the stand had broken. A half-crushed box of decorations that looked like it belonged in a museum was on the floor.

  ‘You’ll kill yourself, Dad,’ said Laney as she thumped up and down the hallway getting ready. ‘Forget about the bloody lights.’

  ‘Not a Christmas tree without lights, Miss,’ said Bamps.

  I was reading an old cookbook I’d found shoved up the back of a kitchen drawer. Bamps’s drawers were filled with lots of rubbish but he won’t let me or Laney clear them out. He even has a printed sheet that explains how to build a bomb shelter, but I’m not sure what war that was from.

  Anyway, I was trying to work out how long it was going to take to cook the turkey the next day. I’d helped Mum make turkey stuffing before but I’d never bothered to watch how long she cooked it. Laney just wanted to make do with a chook from Safeway. She wasn’t into eating much, but Mum and I always had turkey. Christmas was the only time of year she ever bothered with cooking. It was like, if I cooked a turkey she would kind of be there. Anyway, it was hard understanding the cookbook because the directions had pounds and something called oz. There were notes in the margin in scrawly handwriting—I guess they were Nan’s—but I couldn’t make out what they said. I thought about checking the internet for a recipe, but that would mean sucking up to Laney so I could use her laptop and I just didn’t feel like it. Not even for a Christmas turkey.

  Laney was making so much noise in the bathroom I could hear it over the music she had blaring. I went to see what the problem was and found her dabbing at her face with a wad of tissues. My new mascara—marked down to four-ninety-five last week in Helene’s Specials Basket—was on the bathroom bench-top.

  ‘You used my mascara,’ I said.

  ‘And it’s bloody awful,’ said Laney. ‘I’m gonna have to start all over again.’

  ‘It’s not like anyone’s gonna look at you,’ I said.

  ‘You are such a spoilt brat.’

  ‘And you are such a bitch,’ I said.

  We traded insults for a while, then Laney said something about my mum and I wanted to slap her skinny face. The only thing that stopped me was that she looked so much like Mum it felt wrong.

  Then Bamps appeared from out of nowhere to try to smooth things over. Laney pushed me out of the way and squared up to him like they were in a boxing ring.

  ‘Are you gonna wash her mouth out with soap?’ she shouted. ‘Or does she get away with it too? It’s Sandy all over again, Dad. And look where it got her. This house isn’t big enough for three of us.’

  Bamps just stood his ground. ‘Tully’s got just as much right to be here as you have, Laney. We look after our own.’

  Then Laney did the big exit scene, which got spoiled when she tripped on the ripped carpet. Bamps ignored her and asked me if I could go to the chemist for him. It was a bit early, but I went anyway. I didn’t stop to get my wallet or phone. Maybe things would have turned out different if I had. Anyway, the Loserville Party in front of the chemist was in full swing when I got to the closed doors. I guess it was Christmas Eve. The same kid from school I’d seen before was kicking at the gutter like he was trying to get something off his shoe.

  A little Asian lady was grabbing onto the jeep in front of her like it was the only thing holding her up. She was standing right up against the door like she was definitely going to be the first one in and no one was going to stop her. A guy with long black hair and short legs gave me the eye so I threw him a greasy until he looked away.

  I could see Helene behind the glass doors. There was only, like, two minutes to go before opening time, but do you think she would open the door and let us in?

  Uh uh, no way.

  The window was full of tinsel and pretend-wrapped presents and those ball things that you hang on Christmas trees. Without Mum around, Christmas was just making me edgy. Usually I didn’t miss her too much, but even she made a fuss about Christmas and presents—not like her sister who was just interested in telling people off and using their makeup.

  Helene walked past the door a couple of times but she was just pulling our chain. There was no way she was gonna open that door before time. Finally she came to the door with her bunch of keys, unlocked three padlocks, then pulled up the grille to let us in.

  The Asian lady went off to the left and entered the clinic. Short-legged man went straight up to the men’s products section. I was holding onto Bamps’s script and marching straight to the counter up the back of the shop when Helene popped from out of nowhere to serve me. I could see Ed the pharmacist behind the glass up the top and he gave me a little wave. I waved back and scooted off to the left, pretending I was looking for a Christmas present.

  A beep at the door announced that someone had entered the shop. The gutter-kicker was next in line at the counter, but some woman with bright pink hair pushed in front of him to get served first. She had a sore throat. Yes, and a cough. Then she gave us a demonstration by coughing all over the counter.

  Cover your mouth, I wanted to say, but I didn’t want to sound like Laney.

  Finally, Helene found something to help the woman. I kept waiting for Ed to come and help out with serving but he seemed busy. It was too early for Uli and Suzanne must have slept in or maybe she was on holidays already. Then the young guy slapped down a script onto the counter.

  Ms Helene/Barbara picked up the paper and sniffed, then put it down primly on the counter, like she was working in a posh department store instead of Loserville Chemist.

  ‘I’m sorry, we are unable to fill this script,’ she said. Her lips were all plumped up with the latest lip gloss promo but they didn’t fit with the rest of her face. In fact, I was surprised she was able to talk with them all puffed up like that.

  ‘What?’ The guy mumbled like he didn’t want to be there.

  Helene spoke slowly, like he was missing a brain or something. ‘We are unable to fill this script. We cannot process it,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’ The guy was looking confused and a little angry.

  Helene pointed to something on the script and I watched a red flush light up his face better than any Christmas light at home.

  ‘It’s only a day over,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t get here yesterday. It’s only a day out.’

  Helene was pouting her lips like she was considering what to do. Then she sho
ok her head slowly. A woman walked up to the counter, jingling her keys in one hand as if she was the busiest person in the world and needed to be served straight away. Helene looked up at the woman whose hair was screwed on top of her head so tight that she must have had a migraine. The woman was wearing a suit like she wanted to be a man.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Helene asked the woman.

  The woman started to talk about chapped lips and sunscreen factors and the young guy was left looking down at the script that could not be filled.

  ‘Ed’ll fill it for me,’ he said loudly.

  I looked up to the top platform, but Ed wasn’t there. He must have gone out the back, which left the young guy with nowhere to go. I heard another beep at the door warning that someone else had entered the shop.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do,’ said Helene. More lip pouting. Then she turned back to the woman, pulling out a few colourful cylinders of lip balm and talking about the benefits of sunscreen in this harsh climate.

  The young guy was still standing at the counter. He half-turned to see me watching him. I looked down at the floor and heard him mutter ‘Bitch’. I didn’t know if he was talking about me or Helene or even the lip balm lady.

  ‘Excuse me a moment,’ Helene said primly to the suited lady. She turned to the young guy. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ said Helene in her best annoying voice.

  ‘I need this script filled.’ He swore.

  I noticed the black scuff-mark on the floor and hoped that it was Helene who had to clean it off. That she’d have to get down on her knees and scrub hard. Wrinkle her perfect white uniform. The guy with the script had made the mark with his trainers that were worn at the side.

  ‘I’m going to have to—’ she began again.

  Out the corner of my eye I saw him lean over the counter.

  Then Helene screamed. I think it was her, but I can’t be sure, because I was still looking at the mark on the floor. Then I heard someone say, ‘Steady on, son.’ A blur of colour rushed past me as somebody tried to be a hero and pull the kid to the ground, but I saw the trainers kick out and the blur of colour ended up on the floor. Then the young guy grabbed me and I could feel something cold at my neck.

  ‘Look what you’ve done,’ he demanded. I think he was talking to Helene but she just screamed again like someone in a horror movie. I heard the door buzzer beep again.

  ‘Get the cops,’ someone yelled.

  ‘Stay away,’ the guy holding me yelled.

  And then he pulled me outside.

  I wanted to tell him I couldn’t go.

  That it was Christmas Eve and I was going to cook turkey tomorrow with Mum’s special stuffing.

  That I had to get back to Bamps with his pills.

  That I still hadn’t bought a present for Laney and even though she was Laney that didn’t mean I shouldn’t get her a present.

  But he pulled at me and there was cold on my neck.

  Then we were outside.

  Then we were in a car.

  Then he was driving up Smith Street like there was no tomorrow.

  05

  Fitzroy Police Station: 25 December, 1.49a.m.

  ‘You can’t smoke in here, Miss.’

  Laney scowled. ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I just like to hold one when...’ She shoved the cigarette back into its packet. ‘How long is this going to take?’

  Tully chewed her nails, avoiding her aunt’s stare. Laney leaned in close and Tully could smell stale coffee on her breath. ‘I hope you’re happy, Tully,’ said Laney. ‘You’ve managed to ruin Christmas for everyone.’

  ‘As I explained earlier, Miss McCain,’ said the officer, ‘you may not speak or add anything to this interview.’

  ‘You talked to me first,’ said Laney, her eyebrows joined in a frown.

  Tully tried not to smile. Laney had been giving up cigarettes ever since Nan had died from lung cancer, three years ago now. Laney had promised Bamps that she’d given up, but Tully had found a pack of cigarettes in her bedside drawer the day that she’d moved in.

  And that wasn’t the only thing she had found.

  Way up the back of the drawer, hidden from view, was a faded colour photo of Laney with Tully’s mother, Sandra. They were standing either side of a man whose face had been cut out of the photo so that only the pointed end of his chin remained. The young man wore a shirt that was unbuttoned down to his chest to reveal a long throat and collar bones that jutted out, stretching his smooth skin. His hands, resting on one shoulder of each sister, were a light tan, fingers long and tapered. There was nothing remarkable about the shirt, which had a pocket on one side, and the photo ended at their waists. Laney was all teeth, smiling into the camera, while Sandra’s mouth held only the hint of a smile as she nestled slightly against the shoulder of the white shirt wearer. You could tell they were sisters from the shape of their faces and the curve of their brows.

  The faceless man was now in Tully’s memory tin.

  Tully suspected the faceless man was Uncle Remo, a guy that Aunt Laney had lived with for a couple of years. Aunt Laney had turned from Happy Aunt Laney to Sour Aunt Laney when they broke up.

  ‘Miss McCain—’

  ‘Okay, I get it. Tell the man your story, Tully. Then we can get out of here.’

  Sandy

  I see you didn’t have the guts to return my calls, so I figured this was the only way I could contact you.

  I can’t believe that you did it. I know that we’ve never been very close, but still, we are sisters. Obviously that doesn’t count for anything with you.

  Remo and I were getting married in June. He tells me that it’s over between you and him but I can’t forgive him. He probably told you I’ve moved back into Mum and Dad’s until I can work out something better. Don’t bother visiting them while I’m here, because you won’t be welcome. I told them both what had happened and Mum’s furious. Of course, Dad tried to stick up for you, but that’s par for the course. You always had him wrapped around your little finger.

  You’ve ruined my life, Sandy. It’s bad enough that you had to ruin your own life, but you couldn’t leave it at that. Your daughter is the only good thing about you. She’d be better off without you.

  Don’t bother contacting me. This is all I wanted to say to you, now it’s done.

  Stay away.

  Laney

  06

  Tully’s Story

  I’m not sure how I got in the car. One minute I was standing outside of it and then I was in, so I put my seatbelt on. I wasn’t thinking, you know, so my body was just doing stuff by itself. Breathe in breathe out. That seemed to be working. Put your seatbelt on because that was the law, and I didn’t want to break the law. The car screeched—it actually screeched like in the movies—and that was when I thought, ‘I don’t want to be here’ and tried to open the door but it didn’t budge.

  We didn’t get too far up the street before we had to stop for a tram. You never see that in the movies. My driver was banging his hand on the steering wheel.

  ‘Jesus,’ he kept saying. ‘Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Christ.’

  The tram had stopped to let some passengers off. There were cars parked on the side of the road so there was no room for us to squeeze through. I tried the door handle again.

  ‘Let me out,’ I said eventually. ‘Can you just let me out—’

  ‘Shut up,’ he said.

  The tram finally moved off and my driver had stopped thumping the wheel.

  ‘Let me out,’ I insisted.

  I looked out the back window. I had visions of Helene running after us with a pair of manicure scissors. Or the Chinese lady charging us with her jeep. But no one from the chemist was following us. A cop car passed us but it was going in the opposite direction.

  ‘Hey!’ I yelled.

  I rattled the door handle as we took a right turn up a side street. The electronic window button didn’t seem to be working.

  ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Here’s good f
or me.’

  He looked at me. ‘I’m not a taxi driver.’

  We turned left then right again up a one-way street. The wrong way. He gunned the engine and we hit a dip with a thump that compacted my spine so I felt about a metre shorter.

  ‘Hey!’

  He ignored me as he pulled out onto Brunswick Street, barely missing a pod of cyclists. We roared up another block before stopping for a pedestrian crossing. Seemed he had a soft spot for pedestrians, or maybe he just stopped out of habit. An old guy crossing the road was taking his time, pushing his jeep and muttering away to himself. His grey hair was pulled back in a ponytail, his coat ragged at the cuffs. He glared at us when he got halfway across and shook his fist.

  ‘Jesus.’

  The cyclists sped past us and one kicked my door in payback before weaving a path around the dero. I banged on the window.

  ‘Please. Hey, please help me.’

  Only the dero paid attention. He held my gaze as he reached the other side of the road.

  ‘Help me,’ I yelled, as we passed the cyclists again. We sped past them so fast that the lead cyclist wobbled in our wake.

  Then we pulled out onto Victoria Street. And I closed my eyes.

  07

  Fitzroy Police Station: 25 December, 1.58a.m.

  ‘Wait.’ The Officer checked his notes. ‘So did you or did you not know this boy?’

  Tully nodded and shifted in her seat. ‘I told you. I’d seen him ... around. I know him from school, but I didn’t know know him.’

  ‘Can you tell me his name?’

  ‘But I already told you before. When we first came in—’

  ‘Just for the record.’

  ‘His name is Griffin. Griffin Sorenson.’