All These Perfect Strangers

by Aoife Clifford

  Climbing is hard work. I’m wearing Mum’s gumboots which barely have any tread. The track is slick with mud, and I have to stop several times, just to breathe and question my sanity.

  On a clear day, you can see the entire town sprawling through the valley, from the saleyards in the south to the fibro government housing in the north, and then the open plains stretching up to the mountains on the horizon.

  When I get to the top, half-drowned, legs heavy, I sit down on a bench and see the damage. No mountains today, the clouds hang too low, but the rain is easing and I can still see the town. The river surges so fast that there are patches of white foam on top of it like the sea. The brown water has burst its banks in places and leaked across the fields below me. Trees have fallen and the town is cut in two. I wonder if Terry has made it across.

  I can just make out the activity around the edge of town. The school hall has been opened as a relief centre. It was supposed to be the Welcome Parade today with bunches of kids dressed in crepe paper over their t-shirts and shorts to represent blossom season, the high school brass band playing out of tune and the local dance academy putting on the entertainment. Instead, everyone is wet and making sandbags or cups of tea.

  Rain begins to pelt down again as I cross the road to the car park and the reserve up the top. The ground is swollen with water. It seeps out with every step. I want to find the place where Tracey lit the fire that night. She made me pick up twigs in the dark while she got it started with a pile of dried grass and paper. The fire was how he found us. There was always a police car at the bottom of The Hill to catch the joy-riders and drunks, to issue speeding tickets or to offer rides to underage girls.

  ‘We’ve got to head back,’ I said. ‘Mum’s expecting us.’ A lie because Mum was watching TV, thinking we were tucked up in our beds.

  ‘C’mon, I won’t be long. You keep the fire going.’ She got into his car, the red and blue twinkling above the dash like lights on a Christmas tree, the only unmarked police car in town. Tracey’s face was visible through the window. A wave goodbye. The wheels spun on dirt which flew up and stung my face. At the crest of The Hill, I watched the backlights drop down through the sharp turns and then disappear behind the trees. I heard the sound of braking and I waited, looking for where the road turned again to see the car tracing the curve, taking her for a ride around The Hill’s circuit just for fun, but the car never reappeared. Accidents were notorious on that stretch. Usually tourists who didn’t pay attention to the tight corners, but anyone can hit a tree, especially at night. I stood there, waiting. Silence. Maybe I had missed them. But still no lights.

  I waited for what seemed ages but I kept telling myself that time plays tricks in the dark. Coming up here had been Tracey’s idea and now she’d got a better offer and probably wasn’t coming back. I had to get home by myself. I put out the fire that Tracey had made. That would show her. Puffs of ash rose as the embers gave a dying gasp. I stamped down hard, suffocating it of air. The cutting was too dark to walk alone, so I decided to follow the road.

  The car had pulled into an old track, still high up on The Hill, before houses got too close. An isolated spot. You couldn’t see it from the road because he had turned off all his lights. It was the crackle of the police radio I heard. He was supposed to be on duty.

  I didn’t understand why it was there. They were only supposed to have gone for a quick spin. He was going to let Tracey drive for a bit. I thought I should check to make sure they were all right and then yell at Tracey for leaving me. The car had both right doors open, and I could see some movement. He was speaking as well, but I couldn’t make out the words over the radio.

  I walked towards the car, uncertain.

  Tracey’s arms were caught above her head and handcuffed to the door handle. He was lying on top of her, squashing her. She lay there naked, a broken doll, with his large hairy hand pressing her neck, a blank look on her face.

  As I stood there, she looked at me. I found a rock at my feet and held it up in my hand. She shook her head with the barest movement and then moved it to the right, turned back, looked at me and repeated the motion. On the front seat of the car was his gun and holster. As I crept towards it, he was already turning, sensing my presence. In his haste he smacked his head into the roof and stumbled forward, falling out of the car. Standing there, pulling his trousers back on, he looked at the gun in my hand.

  ‘Now, give that to me. You don’t want anyone to get hurt.’ He was back to being the nice policeman who did the stranger danger talk for primary schools. But I looked at Tracey naked in the car, red blotches across her body where he had been hitting her, and I took a step away from him and held the gun tighter.

  He followed my gaze.

  ‘OK, OK, I’ve got the keys. Only a bit of fun. Tell her, Tracey.’

  My mind was speeding up like it was on fast forward. Mum’s boyfriend Shane with his guns, Tracey taking me rabbiting. I’d used a shotgun before but this was different. I held the revolver in front of me with one hand and braced my wrist with the other, just like television. A flash of red rage overwhelmed me as I thought of all the dickheads my mother had brought home. Dickheads like him.

  He reached into his trouser pocket, held the keys in his hand, dangling them so I could see. With a sudden movement, he threw them past me and moved forward. Panicked, I squeezed the trigger hard. A crack, and he was on the ground, clutching his chest.

  He looked up at me. ‘Stupid bitch,’ he murmured. I could see his shirt beginning to darken.

  Scrabbling in the dirt for the keys, I ran around to the other side of the car and unlocked Tracey. She wobbled as she stood. Her voice was hoarse but calm. ‘Give me the gun.’ I handed it to her without question. I didn’t want to touch it any more.

  Tracey walked around the car to face him. He was making these soft keening noises of pain. I knew what she meant to do. Put him out of his misery. She raised the gun, holding it steady with two hands. He realised as well and began pleading, his voice wet with blood. I shut my eyes and put my hands over my ears.

  · · ·

  I sit there until I cramp, my body heavy with the memories. It takes a long time to trudge back.

  At home, I pull off the gumboots and leave them outside on the verandah that will never be a sunroom. The rain can wash the mud off them. I hang up my coat in the bathroom but I am wet through so I walk down the hall into my room to get changed. The house is quiet and I wonder if Mum has gone back to bed.

  I open the door to my room and see clothes all over the floor. Every drawer has been emptied. My university books have been pulled out of the bookcase. Some of their covers have been ripped off. Scraps of grey are everywhere. I pick one up. My new suit shredded. So is the pink bag it came in and the receipt for good measure. Immediately, I run to the cupboard, empty of clothes and shoes. Boxes have been shifted but my hiding place has not been noticed. The plank is undisturbed and my book is safe.

  Sitting on my bed, I clutch a piece of the suit in my hands. Running a finger along its edge, I pull at it and see how it frays. Nothing is ever a clean break. Everything has threads, even if you cannot see them.

  I take a long time getting dressed before I go find Mum. She is sitting on the couch in the living room, waiting for me. On the coffee table in front of her, next to the ashtray half full with fresh cigarette butts, is a piece of paper, the letter that I had placed in the bottom drawer on top of my suit.

  ‘Smoking again?’ I say.

  ‘Can you blame me?’ She picks up the letter and waves it like a starter’s flag.

  ‘Had to hear it from Terry,’ she says. ‘My own daughter wins a settlement and I’m the last one to know.’

  I should have known she would find out somehow. This is a town that spends its life peering out from behind the curtains at other people’s business.

  There is a silence that threatens to grow and fill the room. I am waiting to see what she will say but she just keeps staring at me.

&nbs
p; ‘What was he doing in my room?’

  A flicker of uncertainty from her.

  ‘Ran up to the shops to buy some cigarettes. Thought I’d give him time to grab his stuff. When I got back he showed me this.’

  I stop myself from screaming at her. Terry must have been in there for ages. I try to work out what he was doing in my bedroom again. If trashing my stuff and destroying my suit is his version of a goodbye kiss then I’ll live with that. With the amount Bob got, I could buy countless suits. I’m glad Terry knows how much money I’m getting and how he’ll never see a cent of it.

  ‘Well,’ she says, waiting for an answer from me. ‘More than I’ve ever had in my life and all of it yours.’

  ‘I only found out a couple of days ago.’ This sounds weak, even to me.

  She flaps the letter again. There are two separate pages. One is the settlement offer on Bob’s letterhead. The other has the Southern Cross around an open book at the top of it. The emblem from Marcus’s office. I have been accepted into the fancy sandstone university he had worked at before coming to Scullin. Bob sent them letters threatening to publicise the fact that they hadn’t investigated Marcus’s drug activities but instead let him resign and then arrive at Scullin with an unblemished record. Still, their offer didn’t go so far as to include free accommodation or a scholarship. All my settlement money will have to pay for it.

  Seeing it in her hand makes me wonder about Marcus. His court case isn’t going to be heard for another year. I have made it through unscathed, and he is the only one being held to account and will probably end up in jail. Despite everything, I almost feel sorry for him.

  ‘Were you going to tell me before or after you left town?’ Mum asks. ‘I expect you’ll be running away the moment you can.’

  She flings down the pages on to the table in a dramatic gesture, but paper like that only flutters. They separate and zigzag gently through the air, miss the table and end up on the floor.

  ‘You can’t expect me to stay here,’ I say, reaching down to pick them up, tucking them safely into my back pocket. ‘A place where half the people hate me.’

  ‘They hate me too. Had plenty to say to me over the years. That you were raised all wrong by a stupid slut. Think I don’t hear that?’

  ‘You could leave,’ I say.

  ‘With what? All my savings went on paying Bob Cochrane to keep you out of jail.’

  I have no answer to that, because it’s true. I can’t even bring up the suit now, because she’s got me. Checkmate.

  ‘You know, the day I found out I was pregnant with you, I was actually excited. I mean, I knew that there would be a fuss, but I didn’t care. Thought we could be our own little family. And then your dad’s parents arrived in their shiny car, taking charge. Money to shut me up and your dad transferred to another boarding school in a different town and none of this ever to be mentioned again. That’s when I thought about running away. I was dumb enough to think he’d want to go too. But he was on their side. Said he’d pay to get rid of you. I told him I was having the baby and didn’t need his money.’

  My father was more generous than Terry, I think. Not the highest standard.

  Mum isn’t going in for the kill. In fact, she’s looking pretty defeated. The fight has gone out of her and she sits back on the couch, grey-skinned without her war paint. I’ve seen her act this way about a boyfriend, but never over me. Normally, it’s all slamming doors and shouted exchanges. I stare at the mantelpiece because I don’t want to see her like this. I concentrate on the tarnished silver photographs: my grandparents’ wedding photo, the picture of Mum as a debutante. She looks peaky, morning sickness, and then next to it is a photo of a pigtailed preschooler hugging her and she is laughing at the camera.

  Once we were happy, just the two of us.

  ‘But I decided the only place to bring you up was here, a proper home to live in, with your grandparents. Had to grow up and make the best of it. That’s why I stayed. Everything has consequences. If you don’t deal with them, others will have to.’

  Her words sting.

  ‘I’ve dealt with what’s happened,’ I say.

  ‘Really?’ she says. ‘I’ve always told them you didn’t do it, Pen. That Tracey Cuttmore was the troublemaker. But I don’t know. Tracey’s not here any more and you still get into trouble.’

  ‘I’m the victim,’ I say. ‘That’s what this settlement means. That I’m the one who got hurt. That it wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘Really?’ she says. ‘Look me straight in my face and tell me you didn’t do anything wrong.’

  I don’t do that because I can’t. Instead, I pick up the china shepherd I gave to her that year for Mother’s Day.

  ‘You know, I heard you that night, sneaking out. Tap squeaks when you step on it, climbing out the window.’ Rubbing the side of her face with her hand, she looks old. The smoker’s pucker has reappeared around her mouth. ‘I did it heaps when I was at school to see your father. Didn’t go to sleep until I knew you were back home. Two of you next morning, all pale and quiet. Telling me Tracey had to go back to the farm early to do homework. Should have known something was wrong but I thought you were hung over. And instead . . .’ She shrugs her shoulders. ‘Maybe they’re right. I am a bad mother.’

  I didn’t know the answer to that. I’d never thought of her as bad or good, more as an obstacle in my way. Something to get around. Perhaps I should say I’m grateful that she didn’t disown me like Tracey’s father did, that she paid for Bob, but the words disappear before they can reach my mouth. That just isn’t who we are.

  ‘Oh well, off you go then. Better start packing. Terry says the north road may be reopened in the morning. The two of you are so alike. Rats deserting a sinking ship.’

  Her voice cracks and I wonder if she is going to start crying, but her eyes are dry and somehow that feels worse.

  ‘I’ve got my appointment with Frank in the morning,’ I mumble.

  ‘Does he know you’re leaving?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘You tell him the truth. Should tell someone.’

  She closes her eyes like she is sick of the sight of me. The room is even quieter than before and I realise that the rain has stopped.

  Chapter 23

  My hand shook so much that the torch’s light danced around Nico’s room. When I could get my legs to move, I stumbled back along the corridor, ricocheting off walls. Moving through the front room, something snagged my foot and I kicked out in terror at the hand I thought that held it. But it was only one of the chairs, which tipped over and fell as I stumbled towards the door. I stood there bent over, waiting to be sick.

  Nico died the day he went to the police. He had talked about people being killed. There had been no sign of a struggle but the room was so bare it was hard to tell. The marks on his arms suggested that shooting up was a common occurrence. But it would be so easy to get rid of an inconvenient junkie. Give them something too pure or something not pure enough and they’ll do the job for you. I tried to picture the look on his face the last time I saw him alive, clutching something in his hands, a perfect mixture of greed and fear.

  There was no point getting an ambulance and I didn’t want to bring myself to the police’s attention over another body. Whatever else I did, I had to make sure that when he was found, I would be far away. But first I had to give back the torch.

  I had no idea how much time had passed but the boy was still cooking when I entered the room.

  ‘Find him?’ he asked, barely glancing in my direction.

  ‘I knocked on his door but no answer.’ I sounded choked, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘Thanks for the torch.’ I laid it down on the bench near him.

  ‘What college are you at?’ he said.

  A pause. ‘Maggies,’ I lied. ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re a law student, aren’t you? Might be needing a lawyer pretty soon to help me with these criminal damage charges.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. Relief made me s
ound over-bright, the way Leiza used to talk when she was trying to get you to do something for her. ‘I’m only a first-year, though. You might be better off finding someone who has passed Criminal Law. The student law clinic at the Union might be able to help.’

  He didn’t seem to think that sounded useful.

  As I began to walk away, he started humming to himself and then began to sing out loud. He had a good voice and it echoed through the room. The sound was unexpectedly comforting and I stood there in the shadows listening to him, wanting him to keep on singing. It wasn’t until well after he stopped that I stepped alone into the dark.

  A thick ribbon of bushland ran along the entire back of campus. Parts of it were expected to disappear by the end of the year with rumours of new buildings, but it was still dense enough to walk through unseen at night. I had to put as much distance between myself and Nico’s body as possible without being noticed. I could follow it from where I was until I reached Scullin, about a twenty-minute walk. I just needed to get to the trees.

  The moon had already been out for most of the day, overshadowed by the sun. Now it lit the sky to a rich dark blue. The trees were a stark black up ahead. I chose the tallest one I could see and started walking. Running might attract a roaming eye. My legs wanted to do neither. I stumbled as the ground became rougher, feeling every stone under my shoes. When I reached my tree, all I wanted to do was sit down and never move again, but I had to keep going.

  Heading east, I stayed within the tangled line of trees. I could smell the tang of eucalyptus and the dried leaves under my feet cracked like delicate bones. I concentrated on a tree ahead and then another, but I was starting to shake.

  ‘You’re too soft,’ came Tracey’s voice in my ear.

  ‘Don’t spoil the fun,’ she said, as she pulled a silver hipflask out of her pocket.