by K T Bowes
“Good luck with that!” Helen snorted. “Those guys are like hen’s teeth and I know Melissa in Year 6 has been waiting a year to be seen on the state. The only other way is to pay privately and I can’t see our boy’s aunty having four hundred dollars in spare cash lying around.”
I nodded and wished I had it, figuring it would be a good use of my money. I jerked my head towards the mess on the two tables and whispered to Helen. “If you could run to the staffroom and check the last few trays of cookies, I’ll clear up here. He’ll be fine for a few minutes.”
Helen rolled her eyes and peeked through the wide windows into the playground. “If you’re sure. The other babies were quite shaken up when he started throwing stuff around. Emma’s sitting on Carly’s knee outside the window and Dannie only just stopped crying by the looks of it.”
My eyes strayed to the classroom assistant from Year 4, who cuddled one of my children on the bench outside and watched a ball game in progress. Lawrie’s body still appeared bunched and tense on the carpet, no energy left in his small frame. I’d never seen a child morph into a Tasmanian Devil; not in nine years of teaching various age groups. It was spectacular and terrifying and neither Helen nor I had the faintest clue what kicked it off.
“Lawrie?” I approached the little boy and waited until he gave me eye contact before smiling. “Feel better?” I asked, noticing the delay before he nodded.
“Bet,” he said and his chest hitched. I sat in the miniature chair I used for group teaching and reading stories and held my arms out to him. “Want a cuddle?”
“Cuggle,” he parroted and I saw the powerful need in his eyes. I beckoned with my fingers and he stood, his gait listing to the left as he lurched into my arms, a bundle of fragile bones and overlarge clothing. I settled him on my knee and controlled my breathing, desperate to infuse love into this confusing child. His eyes looked sticky from salt tears and his nose stuck to his sleeve as he swiped across it. Reaching next to me I offered him a tissue and felt my heart crack as he showed ineptitude with the simple task.
“Blow,” I said, laughing as he huffed into it and we spent an amusing five minutes with me showing him something Alysha’s son learned as a toddler. I cleaned up his face and straightened his hair with my fingers as he sat on my knee with his chest giving an occasional hitch.
“What am I going to do with you?” I whispered and he nodded.
“Do wiff you.”
I pressed him into me and rested my chin on his head and when Helen returned she found the child peaceful and the classroom still a mess. “You’re a soft touch,” she mouthed and I pulled a face at her and stuck my tongue out.
“I need to clear up the mess, Lawrie. Would you like to go outside with Mrs Morris? She needs someone strong to hold her hand and keep her safe.”
Lawrie looked at his palm, the tiny fingers splayed out like a rose. “Hand,” he repeated. “Ho han.”
“Yeah, hold hands.” I smiled at him and filled my expression with reassurance. He hopped off my knee and wobbled and I straightened his metal framed glasses on the neat little blob of a nose. “Be a good boy with Mrs Morris.”
Lawrie watched me leave the room and I heard the click of the outer door as I strode to the front office. Putting my head around the door frame, I caught the eye of Julie, the school secretary. “Hey, Jules,” I said, chewing my bottom lip. “Have the files come from the kindy yet? I wanted the one for Lawrie Hopu, in particular.”
Jules wracked her memory, staring at a white space on the ceiling for inspiration. “I don’t think so. We’ve got the others but I remember you asking for that one at the start of term.”
“Yeah, I really need it,” I replied. “I don’t want to go rushing in and call his family for a meeting without all the facts, but my gut tells me there’s something going on with that little boy.”
“Hmmmn.” Julie ran a hand through her blonde hair and nodded. “He lives with his aunty in a state house not very far away. There’re heaps of children and the place is a mess. She’s on her own and to be fair she works long hours to feed them.”
“He doesn’t have siblings or cousins here though, does he?” I asked, feeling a headache build as my brow knitted. “I wonder where they go.”
“Oh, he does. There’s three cousins here and the older ones are at high school. They’ve got nothing, Ursula; it’s really sad. I’m fairly sure Lawrie’s mum’s in prison and there’s an older child farmed out somewhere else.” Julie watched me with concern. “I’ll ring the kindy while you’re in class this afternoon and pop down if I find anything out. I’ll also take a wander outside after school and see if I can pick up any gossip, but I doubt it. She keeps to herself and is often rushing off to her next job.”
“Thanks. I’ll take him out myself and see if I can chat to whoever comes for him.”
I strode back to the classroom and tidied up the mess as fast as I could, using cream cleaner to get the impacted cookie dough off the plastic matting. By the time the bell rang for the end of lunch the classroom was its usual orderly self and I had steeled myself for the firemen visiting, a session on the last five letters of the alphabet followed by a story.
The visit from the fire brigade proved a success, with the children squealing at the awful sound of the two-toned siren and the colourful, flashing lights. Helen grumbled about the lack of young firemen although the men looked pumped and muscular. “They only sent the crusty old ones!” she complained and I laughed as the children clambered over the huge truck.
“There isn’t one over forty!” I snorted. “Stop being a pervert.”
“I wouldn’t kick that one out of bed for farting,” she conceded and winked at a dark haired man whose tee shirt fought to contain his rippling muscles.
“That’s sexist!” I rebuked her under my breath. “You’d have Bert in here waving his fists if someone said that about you.”
The fireman ignored Helen and gave me the slowest, laziest wink I’d ever seen and I flushed with embarrassment. My teacher aide glared sideways at me. “Typical!” she sniffed and went to retrieve one of the little girls who’d managed to get her pinafore caught on the gear stick and embarked on ninja moves to free herself. A sound of ripping material met Helen at the truck door.
At the end of the school day I led Lawrie outside to meet his carer, feeling a tug on my hand as he gravitated towards a fretful looking girl near the back of the playground. With dark hair scraped back into a severe ponytail and a curvy body, she had Polynesian roots and a similarity to Lawrie. I caught Helen’s eye as she delivered the other children to their waiting parents, one at a time. “Hi.” I made my voice sound bright and the girl glanced around her as though irritated at being singled out.
“What’s he done?” she asked, her tone acerbic.
“Nothing.” I watched her with my senses on alert. “He wanted me to meet his aunty. Is that you?”
“Not whaea,” Lawrie muttered and I maintained my smile, hiding my misgivings.
“I’m his cousin,” she answered, relaxing as I kept smiling and stroked a lock of dark hair out of Lawrie’s face. “My ma picks up her other kids from their school so I get this one.” She chewed her lip and moved from foot to foot. “What’s he done?”
“Nothing.” I brushed away the earlier meltdown and bent my knees to meet Lawrie’s eyes. “Bye, mate,” I said to him with gentleness. “See you tomorrow.”
“Morrow,” he said and gave me a beautiful smile, complete with missing front teeth.
I watched as the girl led him out of the school grounds and away from my protection, wondering what waited for the small boy at home. She didn’t reach for his hand and he trooped along next to her, shoulders hunched and eyes raking the ground through his silver-rimmed glasses.
Standing in the playground made me accessible to the other parents and I answered the same question five times about lost items of clothing and heard four excuses relating to incomplete homework.
“They only have to colour
a bloody sheet!” Helen grumbled as we packed up for the day and turned off the lights. “You didn’t ask them to work out the theory of relativity in their little heads, for goodness sake!”
I shrugged. “We’re just trying to form good habits for when they’re at high school. It’s not compulsory at this age but it helps the class move along faster if they’ve talked about it at home.”
“Don’t know how you stay so cheerful,” Helen intoned as I closed the classroom door behind me. “They drive me nuts!”
“Perhaps you’re in the wrong job.” I grinned and she narrowed her eyes at my teasing.
“The kids are fine; it’s the parents who need shooting.”
I stuck my head in Julie’s door but found her talking to an irate parent who waved an allergy leaflet in the air and complained in a nasal, irritating voice. “It’s not my fault that kid’s got a peanut allergy,” she raged. “My son’s always had peanut butter in his sandwiches. He won’t eat anything else.” I raised my eyebrows to ask Julie if she needed help and the slight shake of her head meant the mother was about to be dispatched with good grace and politeness without winning her argument.
Vanessa’s attendance at a conference for primary school principals postponed the usual Monday night staff meeting and I caught the bus back to my apartment with sore feet and a sense of relief. My apartment felt even emptier and I ate a wilting salad from the tiny supermarket near my street. I’d just curled up on the sofa with a mindless soap opera when the buzzer sounded for the outer door.
My hand shook as I wielded the receiver and answered, my heart thudding at the thought it might be Teina. I needed to talk to him; not knowing where I stood caused a hard knot in my chest. If he’d lied about having a wife or girlfriend, I needed to hear it so we could go our separate ways instead of hankering after a man I couldn’t have. I regretted my juvenile overreaction and needed to say the words out loud.
“We’re looking for Ursula Saint,” the dismembered voice said and I heard the noises from the street behind him.
“Why?” I asked, keeping my tone short. I’d had too many crank calls, people trying to access the building and a homeless woman with a shopping trolley who tried to get in and sleep in the downstairs lobby.
I heard the male clear his throat and then he replied. “We’re with New Zealand Police, Mrs Saint. We’d like to talk to you.”
Chapter 13
I hung up the phone and to be on the safe side, used the lift to get downstairs instead of buzzing them in. At the front door stood two intimidating police officers, both over six feet and five inches apiece. My footsteps faltered as I walked towards them and judging by the look they gave each other; I knew they’d seen my hesitation. Feeling like a criminal without having done anything wrong, I opened the front door and allowed them to walk past me. They turned in unison and I stood in the hallway in my bare feet with wariness in my face. “How can I help you?”
They glanced at each other again; the proverbial double act. The family from the ground floor emerged and clattered past with the average noise of two parents and three small children. The smallest child rode on her father’s shoulders and he ducked to negotiate the front door lintel without braining her.
“We’d like a chat in private,” said the cop with blonder hair than his counterpart and I shrugged.
“Do you have ID?” It sounded ridiculous to ask when they stood before me in police issue uniform, stab resistant vests and chattering radios on their left breasts. Without comment, both reached into their trouser pockets and pulled out wallets with identifying cards in them. The numbers matched those on their epaulets and despite a chronic case of hat-hair on blondie, they looked like their pictures. “We can go up to my flat then,” I said, noticing the father of the dark-skinned little family glancing backwards with an anxious look on his face as he closed the front door behind him.
I padded to the lift and it was a silent and awkward ride up to my floor. I used my key to let my new friends into the apartment and then indicated the lounge. “Do you guys want drinks?” I asked out of politeness and they shook their heads. Blondie sat forwards on the sofa and flipped out his pocket book, readying his pen while his companion cleared his throat.
“Can I just stop you?” I asked, raising my hand palm outwards in a universal stop sign to emphasise my point. “I don’t want to press charges; it was a family dispute and it’s over. He lost his son a few months ago and hasn’t got over it yet. The family’s really angry at him and I know my aunt rang him and gave him at yelling at which he won’t forget in a hurry.” I touched my sore face and tried to ignore the cut on the inside of my swollen lip. “We’re good thanks.”
Blonde cop looked at his darker haired mate and there it was again, the exclusive communication. “Have you been assaulted, Mrs Saint?”
My jaw hung open and I closed it with a snap. “No, I felt lonely so bashed myself about a bit in the hope that someone would visit and I could use the sympathy vote. Why are you here?”
“Not about that.” The dark haired man stood up and approached me, his eyes widening at the left over make up covering my cheek, now visible under the glare of my kitchen spotlights. I should’ve kept them downstairs in the dim lights of the lobby. He stood over me and leaned his hand on my kitchen counter. “Did you report this?”
“No!” I shook my head and frowned. “My cousin did but I don’t want to press charges.”
“Assault’s assault, miss,” he said, tilting his head to assess the damage. “Who hit you?”
“Why are you here?” I repeated, backing away and occupying myself with filling the kettle and flicking it on to boil.
“Do you know a man called Mark Lambie?” the blonde cop asked, joining his colleague at the counter but leaving the fake marble surface between me and them. I turned and leaned my bum against the dishwasher.
“Yes, of course I know him,” I said. My eyes widened. “Why? What’s happened?”
“What makes you think something’s happened?” the dark haired man asked and I blanched.
“Because you’re asking questions about him.” I stared from one to the other and resisted the urge to roll my eyes like a stroppy teenager. “If he’s at home right now eating his tea, why are you here asking if I know him?”
When they stared at me with deadpan expressions I reached for my mobile phone and dialled Dad’s number. Blondie wasn’t quick enough and Dad answered after one ring. It was a lottery whether he kept it in his shirt pocket or the back of his trousers but he’d complained it gave him a dead leg from his wheelchair in the ass pocket, so I banked on him having moved it. “What?” he snapped and I body blocked blondie as he tried to lean over my head.
“What’s happened to Mark Lambie?” I asked and even the cops heard his aggravated yell which echoed around my small kitchen. It started with five expletives and continued in the same vein.
“He’s done a runner!” he shrieked. “In-the-bloody-season!” He inhaled and I looked at the cops with something like apology as he launched again. “Bleedin’ selfish bugger. What the eff does he think he’s playing at?”
“Ok, thanks,” I squeaked and at blondie’s look of pure menace hung up, palming my phone behind my back. I could tell by their look of shared exasperation they hadn’t expected me to do that.
“He’s missing,” I said with assurance. “Dad said.”
“What do you know about his disappearance?” the blonde cop said and I blinked and stared at him. I felt tempted to repeat my father’s string of dirty words but felt the mood change and didn’t want to find myself being processed at the police station in town.
“Dad says he’s done a runner and he’s cross. The season started on Saturday and Uncle Mark’s the coach for the first team.”
“Is he your actual uncle?” the dark haired cop asked and I nodded, shook my head and then nodded again.
“I’m not sure. We all grew up calling him Uncle Mark. Dad’s generation call him Lambie.” Or Lardarse, Lazy
Scheister and Lecherous Lambie. I kept those to myself.
Blondie leaned his bum against my counter and I realised it rested at the same height as Teina’s. The thought gave me a sick feeling and I tried to concentrate. “Mrs Lambie reported her husband missing on Saturday morning when he failed to return from a wedding reception.” His eyes flicked over his notebook. “Other members of the wedding party report seeing you go outside with Mr Lambie after the main course.”
I nodded, my eyes wide and a sick feeling in my stomach. “That’s right. He went outside for a smoke and didn’t seem that drunk at first but then he got worse and worse and ended up sitting on the floor. Another guest at the reception helped to get him into their car and we drove him home. We sat him on the doorstep. I don’t understand why his wife says he didn’t return. We sat him there and rang the doorbell.”
“So you didn’t see him into the property?”
“To his front door, yes. He threw up all over the grass verge outside and covered himself in it.” I wrinkled my nose. “He’s really heavy and there were only two of us. We propped him upright against the front door and rang the bell. He seemed fine.” My colour rose as I contemplated what might have happened. A vision of Mark wandering into traffic or falling into a waterway made me cringe in my gut. I swallowed. “We should have made sure he was safe, shouldn’t we?”
I stepped around the counter and dragged out a dining chair, skirting the two intense males as I slumped into a seat. “Damn!” I said. “I feel terrible. Where could he have gone?”
“Who were you with?” the dark haired cop asked and my stomach took a flying flip and plummeted south.
“I’d never met him before.” I shrugged, playing dumb. “He was on his phone in the car park and knew Uncle Mark. He was a guest at the reception and offered Mark a ride home. I helped him to the car and didn’t want to go with them, but he said he couldn’t manage on his own so I went.”
“You got into a car with a stranger?” I deserved the accusatory barb in blondie’s voice.