The shop is decorated with scrunched-up bits of pink and white tissue paper to celebrate the Blossom Festival. Ros was once Blossom Princess. There is a black and white photograph of her on the counter next to the till, a sash cutting her in two as if she’s a prize heifer at the show.
‘The last mother of the bride we had in here chose a dress that made her look like a jellyfish, but you can’t help some people. God knows what Julie will think of her mum.’
‘Julie Cuttmore?’
Donna looks up and bites her bottom lip. ‘How’d you guess? Shit, you’re not going to it, are you? Sorry, no offence.’
I shrugged to show I wasn’t bothered.
‘But then you’d know all about it. I only said weddings are nice to have the family all together and she began to cry and told me all about her other daughter. Terrible. A policeman and everything. She says she visits every Sunday but her husband doesn’t. Can’t even bring himself to say her name.’
I had heard that as well. On the night Tracey got charged he had disowned her. According to Mum, he told everyone he no longer had a second daughter, as though his family was so large he could afford to throw one away.
‘But why would you do that? I mean jail’s not that bad. Not even jail, more one of those juvenile correction thingies. I had a cousin in one. They’re not as terrible as you think.’
She pulls the dress off the ironing board and gives it the critical eye. It passes the test, is put on a hanger and then back onto the rack next to her.
I take out a yellow patterned dress. Someone could have thrown up on it.
‘Try it on,’ Donna says. ‘Nice detailing around the collar.’
She comes round and takes it from me. ‘I’ll hang it in the cubicle. You keep on looking.’ She walks across the room and goes behind a curtain, talking the whole time.
I pretend to be enthralled in the next row, green dresses hanging like limp seaweed. I find one that is the least objectionable.
‘How about this one?’ I ask, heading towards the change room. I should have acted like I didn’t know Julie.
The first cubicle has the dress Donna chose, so I go into the second one and pull the curtain shut.
‘I’ll just get the curtain right for you,’ Donna says. ‘Got to be careful, or you can be standing there in the altogether and half the shop can see you.’ She twitches the material, first one way and then the other. ‘Do you know why she shot him?’
I wonder how Tracey’s mother would describe what happened. Would she say that her daughter killed someone in cold blood as the prosecution said? An ‘unprovoked attack’ was the phrase used over and over again.
I know that’s not right.
‘You’re not to tell anyone,’ she said. ‘Promise. Not a word. I don’t want anyone knowing what he did to me.’
She turned and faced me, the gun pointing in my direction and for a moment I was worried she might shoot it again. I could barely see her face in the dark but felt her eyes watching.
‘Promise?’
‘OK,’ I said. My voice was shaky and weak. I thought I might throw up. ‘I promise.’
Tracey stood over the body. I could hear the radio crackling from inside the car, static voices talking half sentences. I focused on that, which was why I didn’t hear Tracey kicking him at first. She was kicking and swearing, crying too. I ran around the car and pulled her off but it didn’t really matter. He was already dead.
We walked home on dirt tracks, avoiding the roads, two ghosts in the moonlight, falling into bushes if we saw any headlights coming near. Down the back of The Hill with the smell of gum leaves and the howling of a dog in the distance, Tracey clutching the now unloaded gun in her hand, we made our way back to my house. My bedroom window was still open, the television still on. Mum had fallen asleep in front of it again. Later, she’d tell the police that we’d never left that night, that she was home the whole time with us, but no one believed her. If she’d been a different sort of mum they might have.
Balancing on top of the outside tap, which squeaked in protest, Tracey leant her arm through the window and flung the gun onto my bed. Then she heaved herself up to the sill. As I stepped on the tap, she turned and grabbed my hand tight in hers, digging her nails between my bones.
‘It was my fault what happened. I won’t forget what you did tonight. I’m going to take care of everything.’
I nodded my head and then she helped me to scramble inside.
· · ·
‘How ya going for sizes?’ Donna sticks her head in, saying the words in a way that makes me think she is repeating herself and I haven’t been listening. Up close I can see hard speckles of hairspray and the freckles under her make-up.
‘Doesn’t suit me.’
‘Try this one then.’ Donna has the pink dress. I bow to the inevitable. At least I can tell Bob that I put on everything Ros suggested. I get out of the dress and leave it on the floor.
‘Must be nice catching up with old friends since you’ve been back.’ She passes the pink one to me.
‘Been pretty busy,’ I say, trying to be vague about how many old friends I have. I feel exposed standing here in my non-matching bra and knickers. ‘I ran into Kim Stephens.’
‘I know Kim. Always down the pub. Did you hear she’s pregnant?’ asks Donna. ‘Only found out last week. Was seeing the guy casual. She says it was an accident, but I reckon she might have done it on purpose. He’d spun her a line about building this massive house on a property out of town and she’s desperate to get out of her mum’s. Turns out it wasn’t even his property, just his mate’s.’
‘What about Lee?’
‘He knows nothing about it. Kim’s decided better the devil you know and wants to work things out with him cause he’s moving back here in the summer. Got a job at the butcher’s. She’ll get rid of it.’
I nod and she gets out of my cubicle after grabbing the green dress. I take the pink one off the hanger. It looks worse close up. Stepping one leg into it and then the other, I pull. It’s tight on the hips and I have to wiggle it higher. As I struggle to get my arms in, I look at myself in the mirror and shake my head. Not even Ros would make me buy this dress.
‘Show us when you’ve got it on,’ Donna calls out.
‘Doesn’t fit,’ I yell back.
‘Bugger, only one left.’
I thank my lucky stars as I peel it off, careful not to rip it and have Ros try and charge me. Then I remember what Jan said about seeing Kim at the pub with Terry.
I peek out of the curtain. Donna is at the counter untangling the bead necklaces.
‘Who was the guy with Kim?’
‘Dunno his name. Tall, tanned. Kim says he’s skinny cause he doesn’t eat meat. Bit of a joke really, seeing Lee works in an abattoir.’ She starts walking back over to me, holding a dress and a pair of shoes. ‘Course this new bloke doesn’t want anything to do with her now. She’s told him that he needs to pay for the abortion and he said he’d only pay half, the cheapskate.’ She shakes her head. ‘Now, what about this one? Still a dress but it comes with a jacket. A suit really. Need to try it with heels. Not too business?’ She is holding up a slate-grey outfit that will make me look like a professional ball breaker.
‘No,’ I say, smiling, ‘that’s just perfect.’
At the cash register, grey suit neatly wrapped in tissue paper in a bright pink bag, I sign the receipt for Ros’s records, having managed to avoid Donna’s attempts at accessorising with cheap gold necklaces and big colourful scarves.
‘Thanks for all your help,’ I say to her, grateful to have finished this before Ros got back.
‘You won’t tell anyone what I said about Kim? Probably shouldn’t have said anything. Supposed to be secret and that.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘No one will hear it first from me.’
· · ·
Terry is sitting on the couch alone in my living room when I walk in. His head jerks up when the door opens, a six-pack of beer at h
is feet, an empty rolling on the floor.
‘Thought it was your mother,’ he said. ‘Getting takeaway for dinner.’ He grunts and turns back to the idiot box which he has stopped pretending he never watches. A game show host, slicked hair and a plastered-on smile, is telling an anecdote about greyhound racing to his bored blonde side-kick.
Normally, I would head straight to my room and lock the door. I haven’t been alone with Terry since the day he was laying traps. It’s my turn today.
There’s a coffee table between me and him. I should have just enough time to get to my room if this turns ugly. Under my mattress is a kitchen knife. There is another in my backpack. It’s attached to its own sharpener, so that it wouldn’t make a hole in the side. Only for emergencies.
I put the bags carefully down on the floor at my feet, another obstacle he’d have to get over. My backpack’s zip is not fully closed.
His eyes flick towards me when the show breaks for a commercial. He scratches his balls and smiles. ‘You playing nice today. I can be friendly too.’ He grabs his crotch with his hand, waiting for my reaction. I look at him and he shrugs, picks up another beer and frowns at the bag with the suit in it.
‘You been shopping? Thought you were broke.’
‘About as broke as you are,’ I say.
He shifts in his seat as if he gets the scent of a fight.
‘Your lawyer money turn up then? You can stop free-loading now.’
‘So there’s more for you?’
He grunts in denial. ‘I’m going to be doing some building here. Soon as Shirl gets some cash together.’
‘What do you need to buy?’
‘This and that. Nothing you’d understand, Little Miss Lawyer.’
‘Like Kim Stephens’s abortion.’
Immediately, he’s on the alert. ‘What did you say?’
‘You heard me.’
If he makes the slightest twitch in my direction, I’m grabbing my bag and running down the hall. I’ll finish this when Mum gets home.
Instead, he puts his beer down, his eyes expressionless. ‘That Kim’s a stupid slut. Could be anyone’s.’
‘Not what she’s saying. People have seen you at the pub with her. Leaving together.’
He rubs a finger along the side of his nose as he thinks through his response.
‘So?’
‘Mum’s not going to like that. Getting someone her daughter’s age pregnant. Then I’ll tell her about finding you in my bedroom, going through my undies, pushing me onto the bed. How I didn’t want to tell her but then I heard about Kim. Might even cry about it.’
A muscle pulses in his jaw. His fist clenches around his beer. He’s weighing up his options. Hurting me is definitely one of them. I lay out my terms.
‘I’ll give you twenty-four hours to tell Mum you’re leaving. Give her some excuse. Fruit picking up north, your grandma died, whatever, I don’t care. But before you leave town, if I was you, I’d pay Kim the money. The full amount.’
‘You’re gonna make me?’ He laughs like I have made a tactical mistake, overreached myself.
‘That’s up to you. I just thought what with Lee coming back . . .’
‘Lee?’
‘Kim’s boyfriend. Father of her two kids. Works up at the abattoir. Don’t want him filleting you once he hears what you’ve been up to with his childhood sweetheart.’
‘She said they’d broken up.’ A plaintive note creeps into his voice. Not as confident now.
‘You can be the one to tell Lee then, because I’m not sure Kim’s bothered.’
He stares at me and licks his lower lip, but not in a sexual way this time. He’s nervous, trying to assess the damage. ‘That’s her problem.’
Music bursts from the television and the game show is back on. Terry leans back in the chair, puts his feet up on the coffee table, and pretends he isn’t worried. I pick up my bags and leave the room, but I keep watching him from the corner of my eye as though I’m walking past a savage dog.
Chapter 21
The Admissions Building was a single-storey brick, the colour of cardboard. I had lined up there in my first week to get the photo taken for my student card. As I stood in front of a white screen, my rigor mortis smile drooped just as the light bulb flashed. The girl smirked as she handed me the card, still warm from the laminator. It looked like a miniature wanted poster. Perhaps appropriate, seeing the police had now taken over the place.
I tried to convince myself that the detectives would know nothing about my past. I was a juvenile at the time, the court records were sealed and it was a different jurisdiction. All valid and all unconvincing. It only took a chance encounter from someone in my town, a transferred police officer or one phone call to my local station, and everything would be known.
As I opened the fly-screen door, my sweaty hand slipped on the handle. Walking inside, I was surprised to see Nico. He wasn’t wearing his full suit, only his white jacket, over a t-shirt and jeans. Leaning across the counter, his hands were grasping on to Constable Morriset.
‘I need to talk to Durham now . . .’ He was so strung out I thought he might hit her. Constable Morriset’s face looked worried about that as well. ‘Now, now, NOW.’
She took hold of his wrists, trying to pull them off. ‘Let go and take a seat. Then I’ll see if he is available . . .’
‘Fucking can’t wait. I said NOW.’ His voice was rising as was hers.
‘Sir, you must take a seat.’ She wrenched herself away from him, her blue shirt crumpled and untucked. I took her advice and sat down on the seat furthest away from Nico.
Nico started scrabbling through his trouser pockets. He pulled out several pieces of paper with blue scrawls over all of them. ‘Here . . . see . . . here . . . I’ve written everything down.’ He flapped the pieces in her face. Constable Morriset took a step back. Nico stank.
‘Please take a . . .’ but before she could finish, he had lunged forward and started smacking his head against the counter.
‘Listen to me,’ he began screaming.
Sergeant Durham rushed out of an office door and grabbed him, tackling him to the floor. ‘Calm down, Nico, calm down. You don’t need any more trouble.’ Nico tried kicking out with his legs, but Sergeant Durham had him pinned.
‘OK, mate. Nice and easy, I’m going to let you up.’
Nico turned his head to one side and I could see the deterioration in his face. His eyes were a crusty red, eczema stretched down from his neck to the collar of his grubby t-shirt and probably beyond. His ribs stuck out under the material. Eventually, Durham got off him and Nico pulled himself to all fours and then slowly stood up. His hands shook as he took out a cigarette.
‘No smoking in here,’ said Durham.
Nico acted as if he hadn’t heard. He put the cigarette in his mouth but made no attempt to light it. There was dried blood on his knuckles and his head was cut from where he hit the counter.
‘Think we need to clean you up, mate,’ said Durham.
‘I’m OK,’ mumbled Nico. ‘Just need a smoke.’
‘Let’s take you outside.’ Durham opened the screen door.
‘But then you’ll listen, right?’ Nico started to get a wild look again. ‘I’ll do a deal. Give you information about the bar . . . how they’re killing people . . . and you’ll drop my charges. I’ve got it all written down.’
‘Sure, sure,’ said Durham, and Nico walked out the door. A smell of sweat and urine lingered.
Durham looked over to Constable Morriset. ‘You OK, Sam?’
Her face was strained but she nodded. Durham gave her a wink and picked the pieces of paper up off the floor. ‘Christ, the smell.’ He flapped his hands in front of his nose. ‘Make a cup of tea for yourself,’ he said. ‘I’ll deal with him.’ As Constable Morriset moved up the corridor, Durham hopped behind the counter and I heard the sound of a drawer opening and shutting. Then he came back, kicked open the door and walked outside.
I waited until Constable M
orriset returned before I went up to the counter. Her shirt was now tucked in but a lock of hair had escaped from her slicked-back bun.
‘Can I help you?’ she said in a clipped tone that made me think she was embarrassed by what had happened.
‘I’ve got an appointment,’ I said. ‘Pen Sheppard.’
‘I know who you are,’ she said, sharply. ‘Take a seat.’
‘Do you know how long . . .?’ I began to ask.
‘No.’ She turned away and walked to the back of the counter and out of sight.
I was going to have to wait, something I had hoped to avoid. Waiting is when the lies start to sound weak and the truth sits in your throat waiting to tumble out. You sit there telling yourself not to look guilty, which only makes you seem more so. Cops always make you wait.
There was a window next to where I sat down, a grimy grey that almost matched the wall colour. The glass rippled so you had to put your face right up to it to see through. It overlooked a small concrete alcove outside that was sheltered from the elements, a smokers’ corner currently occupied by Nico and Sergeant Durham.
His cigarette now lit, Nico looked almost sane and Sergeant Durham had his back to me. Twisting, I angled my head to the window. Sergeant Durham was listening, occasionally nodding as Nico talked and talked. Durham had rolled the pieces of paper he had picked up from the floor and held them loosely in his hand.
As Nico threw his cigarette butt down, Sergeant Durham quickly moved forward, blocking my view. It wasn’t until Nico stumbled backwards that I could see him again. He was holding something in his hand. I couldn’t see what it was but Nico clutched it tightly. The surprise on his face turned into another emotion I couldn’t read. Anger. Fear. Greed. He moved too quickly to tell. And then, without warning, Nico ran away.
Durham stood still, watching him go. Then he turned and I could see him in profile, smiling to himself. The glass distorted it into something cruel. I had seen looks like that before, from the police in my town, and suddenly, I felt as if I had been spying through a keyhole. I shrank back from the window and quickly changed seats. Mouth dry, I picked up a university pamphlet lying in a pile next to me and started reading, waiting for Durham to walk through the door, but he didn’t.
All These Perfect Strangers Page 21