by Máire Fisher
I didn’t know what further disaster could befall us as a family, so instead I asked callously: ‘How are you going to work out which bones belong to Oz and which to Ollie?’
Annie gasped. But I didn’t care. ‘Think about it, Mom, Dad.’ I said. ‘Their bones are all jumbled up. That’s what the coroner said, remember? Over the years the sand beneath them subsided and the two bodies joined together. That’s what was meant to happen, don’t you see? They started out as one cell, Mom. And then they divided. But they were always part of each other. They were always Oz and Ollie.
‘I wish we didn’t even have to bury them in the family plot,’ I said. ‘Not in the same place that she’s going to be resting for eternity.’ I jerked my head towards the stairs and Annie looked upwards automatically.
‘Shh, Bird,’ she said.
‘Well, it’s true,’ I said. ‘They shouldn’t have to lie next to her, ever. Nor should we, if you think about it.’
‘But Bird,’ Annie said, ‘don’t forget I’ll be there too one of these days, and I like the idea of being close to my boys.’
‘And you, Dad?’ I asked. ‘What do you want?’
Orville just looked sad. ‘I want whatever makes your mother happy, Bird. One of these days you’ll understand.’
I never would understand, but I did know I had my work cut out for me. Once my parents had teamed up on any issue, they made a formidable duo.
Later that afternoon, I went out to Orville’s darkroom. I knocked on the door. Years of training had taught us never to open it for fear of destroying beautiful images as they emerged from their chemical baths.
‘Who is it?’ His voice was muffled.
‘It’s me, Dad. Bird.’
‘Just a minute, let me cover this up.’ He opened the door a crack. ‘Come in, Bird, quickly. What is it?’
We stood close together in the confines of the room, lit by the red glow that photographers work in.
‘Their bones, Dad. Don’t you want to at least see them?’
‘See them?’ His face was as horrified as Annie’s had been earlier. ‘No, no. I don’t, Bird, and nor will your mother.’
‘But Dad—’
‘Bird, why can’t you let them rest?’
‘They won’t be able to,’ I said. ‘Not until we’ve done everything for them. Everything that would have been done if they’d died normally, or their bodies had been found earlier. It’s not fair, Dad. They were my brothers. They were—’ I stopped. I couldn’t accuse my father of not loving his sons enough to smooth their passage between one dark cave in the earth and the next.
But that didn’t mean that I could ignore what I was being called to do. I’d have to follow my heart and leave my parents to follow theirs, and my heart was telling me I had to reach out and touch them and let the warmth of my hands reach down into the dried-out marrow of theirs and let them know they were still connected to me, to us. And when I had said goodbye, when I’d been able to send them on their way, perhaps a day would pass when I didn’t think of my brothers, and then a week, or even longer.
16
While plans were being made to chop the earth into a clean deep square for my brothers, I got on my bike and rode down to the police station. It rose in tidy red brick, an apron of tar surrounding it like a black moat behind the diamond mesh fence.
I parked my bike inside the front gate, hoping no thief would be bold enough to steal it from there. And then I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath and walked inside.
Two constables leaned against the counter drinking from thick white cups. They were laughing loudly. They stopped when they saw me hesitating in the doorway.
‘Come in, Missy,’ the one said. ‘What can we do for you?’
‘I need to see Detective Ace,’ I said.
‘He is out for now,’ the younger, smaller of the two said. ‘Can we help you?’
‘No, no,’ I said.
‘Are you sure? You look very worried.’
I realised then that I been holding my breath, my arms clenched tightly at my side.
‘I’m sure,’ I said, and relaxed my breath in a long sigh. ‘Do you have any idea when he’ll be back?’
‘I’m sorry, no. But if you leave me your name, I’ll get him to call you. Is that okay?’
‘I don’t know.’ I looked around the room. Pale-green walls, scarred wooden counter, a poster, a sign warning employees to practise sanitation at all times and a large whiteboard scribbled on in small blocks.
Detective Ace must be out in the field, solving cases. Only coming back to the station to write up his reports. I didn’t want to leave. If I didn’t do this now, it would all slide beyond my limited control and into the hands of my parents. I looked outside to where the sun was moving down in the sky. I had to wait. Even if it meant riding back home in the dark.
‘Is there any way you could call him?’ I asked. ‘And tell him that Amelia Little needs to see him, that I’m waiting here, at the police station? I can wait as long as he needs me to.’
The two constables looked at each other.
‘Little?’ the younger said. ‘You mean – are you family of—’
‘The two boys? Yes,’ I said. ‘They were my brothers.’
It hit me, all over again. Everything, at once. Detective Ace and his visit to our house. Dirk Stone and all the awfulness connected to him. Ma Bess’s nasty jibes. And above all of that, two boys. My brothers.
I moved off autopilot, and went into shaking reverse. I backed out, one step, two, my mouth open to suck in air. Because if I couldn’t breathe and do something to hold my voice inside me, it would escape in a howl that would last for ever.
‘Missy? Are you okay?’
‘Ag, man, can’t you see she’s not okay?’
‘Sit, sit.’ The older policeman took me by the arm and led me to one of the benches. Then he said to his junior, ‘Sweet tea,’ and to me, ‘Does that sound good to you?’
I nodded, and he sat next to me, the leather of his wide belt creaking as his stomach settled over it. ‘I tell you what we’ll do,’ he said. ‘I’ll radio Detective Ace and find out when he’ll be here. Unless whatever he is doing is very important, he can come back to the station. And we’ll both have a nice quiet cup of tea while Constable Magqaza does all of my work for me. How does that sound?’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I—’
‘No, no, don’t you worry. You save your talking for Detective Ace.’
Constable Magqaza reappeared, carrying two cups of tea. He gave one to me, and I took it, surprised to see that my hands were steady. I sipped the tea, milky and thick with sugar, and then, as he had promised, the other constable sat quietly next to me as we waited.
A rumble of words over his shoulder, a burst of static from a hand-held radio and there was Detective Ace, taking me by the arm, leading me to his office. He directed me to a chair and moved behind his desk.
‘What’s this now, Miss Bird? What can we do to help you?’ His face was pale, dotted with dark stubble.
‘I’m sorry to worry you so soon after— You know.’ I found it impossible to mention Dirk Stone by name. ‘I didn’t know who to ask, though. What to do.’
‘Easy does it,’ said Detective Ace. ‘Tell me what you need.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I need advice.’
Detective Ace leaned back in his chair. ‘Fire away,’ he said.
‘It’s my brothers,’ I said. ‘Their bodies.’
He said nothing, and I filled the silence, my words coming out faster and faster. ‘My parents. They don’t want to see the bodies. They just want to bury them. They don’t want anything to do with the last parts of their lives. And nor do my sisters. They keep telling me I should remember Oscar and Oliver as they were when they were alive, but I can’t do that. It’s not fair on them. Someone has to care, all the way. I keep saying that – my family say it isn’t healthy. But it’s the way I feel.’
Detective Ace nodded. ‘So what do
you want me to do?’ he asked.
‘Well, Annie and Orville were saying that their bodies would be released soon. They want them to go straight to the undertakers. But they don’t want to see the boys before they put them in a coffin.’
‘I see,’ said Detective Ace.
‘I don’t know if I’m right,’ I said. ‘It feels like I’m pushing people into doing things they think are weird. Like I’m weird for wanting them.’
‘You’ve been through a lot, Miss Bird,’ Detective Ace said gently. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you want to do?’
‘And you promise you’ll tell me if it’s too …’
‘Too weird?’ he said. ‘I promise.’
‘Okay.’ I drew a deep breath. ‘I want to see them. Say goodbye before they’re buried. Because then they’ll be gone for ever. I don’t know what happens at the undertakers.’
Detective Ace nodded again. ‘That seems fair, Miss Bird. I’m sure you can see them there. Let me see what I can do. The one problem is, you’re a minor. I don’t know that I can organise anything for you without your parents’ permission.’
I slumped in my seat. Of course, I hadn’t thought of that.
‘However, I have an idea once they are at the undertakers, the family … Give me one minute.’ He moved into the room next door and closed the door. I heard his voice, but I couldn’t make out a word. Doors in police stations probably have to be extra thick, I thought.
I looked around his office. Detective Ace worked at a large wooden desk, piled high with folders. Behind his chair was a set of shelves, also filled with files, and close to that a grey filing cabinet. So many people, I thought, each file holding a story of misery and loss.
There were no family photographs on his desk. Better that way. Who would want to bring the faces of their children into a room saturated with so much unhappiness? Rather keep them safe at home.
Detective Ace came back into the office.
‘Well, Miss Bird,’ he said, ‘Oscar and Oliver will be with Mr Leonides on Tuesday morning. I’ve asked him to arrange for you to be with them quietly and in private. He’s getting back to me on that.’ He looked at me over the thick frames of his glasses. ‘You should tell your parents what you plan to do. But you should also know that, according to Mr Leonides, family members – any of the family – are welcome at the funeral home.’
‘Thank you, Detective Ace,’ I said, getting up from my chair. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ he said.
I turned as I reached the door, ‘Oh, and Detective Ace?’
He lifted his head.
‘Thanks for calling them Oliver and Oscar. Everyone else is talking about the bones, or the remains.’
Detective Ace was as good as his word. The next day, Thelma called me to the phone.
I raced down the stairs. ‘Hello?’
‘Miss Bird?’
‘Yes.’ I stopped and drew a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ I said again.
‘I’ve had a word with Mr Leonides. Can you get there tomorrow, before ten?’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much, Detective Ace.’
‘No problem. Listen,’ he said, ‘there’s something else.’
‘Yes?’
‘I can see why you want to do this.’ He spoke quickly. ‘There are too many children out there, the missing ones who will never be found and buried.’ His voice faded and I waited.
‘So, for the ones we do find, it’s important. We have to listen to their stories – even when only their bones are left behind to do the talking. It’s our duty, Miss Bird, to learn as much as we can, to make sure their horror is shared, so that people like Dirk Stone are deprived of easy targets like Oscar and Oliver. And to do that we might have to push a few boundaries, do some things other people mightn’t understand.’
‘I just don’t think we should leave them alone,’ I said. ‘Does that make sense?’
‘Of course it makes sense,’ he said. ‘Perfect sense.’
‘There’s one more thing,’ I said. ‘I’d like it very much if you came with me.’
‘I would be honoured,’ said Detective Ace.
And that was how, at nine on a Saturday morning, I found myself at Serenity Home, Harbiton’s Leading Funeral Services.
17
‘Can I help you, Miss?’ the small woman behind the counter asked.
‘Yes, please. My name is Amelia Little. I think Mr Leonides—’
‘Ah yes, Miss Little.’ She looked at me curiously. ‘Mr Leonides told me you’d be coming. He asked me to take you through.’ She led the way beyond the white flowers and polished wood of the reception area, beyond the showroom where coffins stood open, showing off their plush silk-lined interiors, and into a smaller room lit by fluorescent lights. There, on a surgical trolley, was a large cardboard box. A white label was stuck to the side. Little it said. Beneath that, smaller script I couldn’t read.
‘Will you be all right here, Miss Little,’ the receptionist asked, ‘or should I wait?’
‘No thank you. I’ll be fine,’ I said politely. As she turned to leave I called after her, ‘You haven’t seen Detective Ace have you?’
‘Detective?’
‘Never mind,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ll just wait here.’
I moved close to the trolley and laid my hand on the box.
‘Hello, Oz,’ I whispered. ‘Hello Ollie. It’s Bird. Remember me?’ I stroked the top of the box. The cardboard was warm under my palms and I pressed down on it hard, willing a response, but there was nothing, just a tick-tick from the fluorescent bulb and faint voices outside the door.
It swung open with a hiss of pressurised air and I saw Detective Ace’s anxious face.
‘Bird? Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said.
My hands were still on the box and I removed them slowly.
‘Is Mr Leonides—?’
‘No, no,’ said Detective Ace. ‘I told him I’d be here – that I’d do it.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
He pulled a penknife from his pocket and ran the blade along the tape that sealed the box.
‘It’s all so ordinary,’ I said.
Detective Ace looked up enquiringly.
‘This room, the light. A cardboard box. I don’t know what I expected. Something that made it more important.’ I shook my head. ‘Never mind.’
Detective Ace pulled open the top of the box.
‘Are you all right, Miss Bird?’ he asked. ‘Are you sure you want to continue?’
I closed my eyes and remembered my brothers the way I had last seen them: fishing rods over their shoulders, waving to me.
‘Bye, Bird.’
‘We’ll be back soon.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon be big enough to come with us.’
And now, here I was, bigger than either of them would ever be. They said they’d be back soon, and it had taken them ten years to get home.
I opened my eyes. ‘I’m ready,’ I said.
Bones aren’t frightening. Especially not when they are so small. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe for them to be whiter, like bleached ivory. But my brothers had died and decomposed in a mountain cave, far from the whitening of the sun or the wash of the sea, so their bones were a smooth yellowish grey. Their skulls were so little. And so beautifully shaped.
‘May I?’ I looked at Detective Ace.
‘Of course,’ he said.
I reached inside the box and took out a skull. One of my brothers. Along the hairline were a few blond strands, and teeth still lined the grin of his jaw. I raised his skull to my lips. The bone was smooth and warmer than I thought it would be and I let my lips rest there. Then I set his skull down on the rubber sheeting of the trolley and turned back to the box. I kissed the other twin’s skull, smoothed my hand along the line of his brow, then placed him next to his brother.
Reaching into my rucksack, I withdrew a small velvet box. As I lifted th
e lid, the ballerina rose, older and slower now, and the music that accompanied her pirouette was softer. But her tutu still shone under the fluorescent lighting.
I removed the hook and line the boys had given me.
‘I looked after it for you,’ I said to them. ‘Kept everything safe. But now it’s time to give it all back.’ I placed the fishing line in front of their skulls, the first of my mementos.
‘There’s more,’ I said. I showed the box to Detective Ace, the jumble of bits and pieces I had gathered through the years, the bead from Angela’s glimmering dress, part of Ma Bess’s boa, the feather from Pa’s hat, a spiky yellow curler, a stone with rough edges, two small shrivelled daisies, a scrap of police tape – reminders of life over the last ten years. Finally, a photograph I had removed from its frame the night before, one Orville had taken: two boys squinting into the sun, their arms around each other’s shoulders.
‘This is all for them to take with them,’ I said to Detective Ace. ‘My parents want them to be buried in our family plot, but I want them to go to sea, to travel all the oceans and all the countries of the world.’ I blinked away tears. ‘That’s not going to happen now.’ I looked at the skulls, sitting empty-eyed on the trolley, and the collection of odds and ends suddenly looked silly and childish. I tipped everything from the ballerina box into the cardboard container.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to them. ‘This is so stupid.’
I made for the door, but Detective Ace stopped me. ‘No, Bird,’ he said. ‘This isn’t stupid. It’s just right. May I?’
I nodded and he picked up the skulls and laid them gently on their bed of bones and little bits and pieces – bits and pieces of Little. He took the empty jewellery box from my hands and laid it on the trolley next to my brothers. He peered into their box and felt carefully for something. And then he dropped two small bones into the empty ballerina box.
‘Finger joints,’ he said, and winked in response to my wide-eyed look. ‘I don’t think anyone will miss them. They can hitch a ride all the way around the world.’ He raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘Right?’
I managed a smile. ‘Right,’ I said.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘anything else you want your brothers to know?’ He walked towards the door.