The Ottoman Motel

by Christopher Currie

  He had hardly slept all night. He and Pony had come in late, eaten a dinner of cold pea and ham soup. Ned had not asked them where they’d been; he’d seemed distracted. Simon’s sleep had been punctuated with nightmares, sudden lurches of anxiety. Pony showed him how to lock the door from the inside, showed him how the windows were extra secure. He told Simon not to worry, but of course he did.

  Now the party was in full swing. Gin had his favourite silver spacesuit on and was running around the garden with friends from his school in a chaotic noisy game of their own making. Ned and Audrey had presented him with his new BMX that morning, which he was ecstatic about but refused to ride, for some reason, until the party had finished. He had taken his new bike helmet, however, and covered it immediately and completely in tinfoil.

  He wore it now, the chinstrap framing his small oval face,

  the helmet transforming his head into a silver reflective mess

  with a crinkled, superhuman brain.

  A bunch of adults Simon didn’t know were sipping from disposable cups and eating the small pastries Ned had made that morning. Madaline was there, in a flowery summer dress, looking as far removed from a police officer as Simon thought was possible. The ever-present group of fishermen was inexplicably there, too, huddled under a tree, playing cards. Tarden and Kuiper were with them.

  Simon kept hoping he’d imagined what happened in Tarden and Kuiper’s shed. What they said about his parents. About what they’d do to him. The car tyres showing underneath the tarps. The shock of the kiss. He didn’t want to know. Especially, he didn’t want to believe the whole town was part of some giant plot to hide his parents. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

  Megan, the waitress from the Ottoman, sat alone sipping from a bottle of Fanta she must have brought herself.

  ‘What’s she doing here?’ Pony came and stood beside Simon. His voice was muffled by the cupcake he was feeding himself, piece by ever-larger piece.

  ‘I guess Audrey invited her.’

  Pony shrugged. ‘Right, whatever. What’s in that?’ He pointed at the toasted sandwich in Simon’s hand.

  ‘Banana and bacon. I just made it.’

  ‘Ugh.’ Pony screwed up his face. ‘Budge up then.’

  Simon shuffled over to let Pony sit down.

  ‘How are you?’ said Pony.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s a simple question.’ He fixed Simon with his unnerving gaze. Simon thought maybe this was his new friend’s version of concern.

  ‘I’m okay.’ He looked up. He watched the gauzy grey clouds that seemed to materialise in the air. ‘It’s just…I want to tell someone.’

  ‘Trust me,’ said Pony. ‘We have to tread carefully.’

  Simon felt a fresh wave of anxiety. ‘I can’t believe they’re here,’ he said, nodding at the group of fishers. Tarden and Kuiper, playing cards on the lawn.

  ‘Why wouldn’t they come?’ said Pony. ‘They don’t know we heard them.’

  ‘But they…did something to my mum and dad!’ Simon dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘We’ve got to tell someone.’

  Pony took off his felt hat and scratched his head. ‘Look around you,’ he whispered back. ‘All these people might already know. They might be keeping it quiet. Might be in on it too.’

  ‘But how? Even Madaline? Even Ned?’

  Pony nodded solemnly. ‘There’s always been something wrong with this town,’ he said. ‘I’ve always thought so.’

  ‘Are you saying the whole town’s bad?’ The word sounded so tiny, inadequate.

  ‘What I’m saying is I don’t trust anyone here. Only you, because you’re the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on.’

  ‘But Ned? Surely we could tell Ned?’

  ‘Do you want to know what happened to your parents or not?’ Pony slapped his hand on the grass. ‘This is the only advantage we’ve got.’

  ‘But the whole town? That’s crazy.’

  ‘That’s what I used to think,’ said Pony. ‘But I’ve seen things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like what? Like the dru—’ Pony lowered his voice further. ‘Like the storeroom with the cans. Like what Iris does in her room.’

  ‘My grandma? What do you mean?’

  Pony put his hat back on. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘No, tell me.’

  Pony ran his tongue over his teeth. ‘She has a lot of…visitors.’

  ‘Visitors? What’s—’ A tennis ball whirred by Simon’s head and smacked into the fence.

  ‘Sorry!’ Audrey came jogging over, red-faced and smiling. ‘We’re playing French cricket.’ She waggled the ball in one hand. ‘Want to play?’

  ‘No,’ said Simon. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure? I can teach you the rules.’

  Pony’s voice came out coldly. ‘Simon said he’s fine, Audrey.’

  ‘Well Pony, I know you won’t play. You never play anything you know you can’t win.’

  Pony’s face set still. ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Yeah right. Catch!’ Audrey threw the ball into Pony’s chest. He grappled at the ball and it spilled to the ground.

  Audrey laughed. ‘Round one to me!’

  Pony silently stood up again, the ball in his hand. ‘Let’s play,’ he said, stalking off to the centre of the lawn.

  Audrey smirked. ‘You know where we are, Simon, if you want to join in.’ She ran off, racing Pony back to the game.

  Simon went about finishing off his sandwich. The wind blew back into his eyes. He felt more alone than ever. All the kids in one group, all the adults in another. The fishers under the tree. Simon looked over to where Megan sat, in the full sun, by herself, her white-blonde hair whipping in the wind. She swivelled her gaze to stare at him. Her weird eyes—one blue, one green, shocked him somehow. She got up without using her hands, pushing herself up off crossed legs. Simon stared at the ground. He didn’t want her coming over. There was something about her he didn’t like.

  ‘Hey.’

  Simon saw a pair of black boots in front of him. He looked up.

  ‘What’s happening?’ said Megan. ‘Mind if I join you? Simon, isn’t it?’ She stood right in front of the sun, so her face was hidden in shadow.

  ‘Yeah, it’s Simon,’ he said. She sat down. Simon smelled bergamot on her—his mum and dad had a hand cream that was bergamot—and something else, pungent and thick.

  ‘How’re you holding up?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Megan sniffed. ‘Man of few words. Yeah, I get it. What you eating there?’

  Simon held up the uneaten wedge of his sandwich. ‘Banana and bacon.’

  ‘Wicked. How old are you, anyway?’

  ‘How old are you?’

  Megan laughed. ‘Twenty in a couple of months.’

  ‘I’m eleven.’

  ‘Fucken heavy. Oh.’ Megan clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry. Pardon my French. But…man. All by yourself. Here.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘No offence. Just that it’s horrible. What’s happened, I mean. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘Nah, but I mean I saw you at the Ottoman, with your folks, just before. You must be really missing them.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Simon. ‘I really am.’ It was strange to put it so simply. If anyone had asked him only a few days ago whether he’d be better off without his parents, he would have said yes without hesitation.

  Megan scratched at her arm with purple-tipped nails. ‘Bloody awful,’ she said. ‘Just like Stephanie Gale. You heard about that, right?’

  ‘Ned’s wife.’

  ‘Yeah. Saddest thing. Really screwed up the kids, you know?’ Megan shuffled closer to Simon. Her perfume was too much. Simon could see flakes of mascara falling from her eyes when she blinked. ‘Gin’s like a permanent Superman, right, and Audrey? Tried to top herself. I mean, fuck. Shit—sorry. Sorry.’

  ‘Audrey tried
to kill herself?’

  ‘In the bath, apparently, with scissors, you know? Hardcore.’

  Simon’s chest tightened.

  Megan blew air from her cheeks. ‘Shouldn’t be bringing all this up. I mean, Stephanie—it was in the ocean, which is like—’ she swung her arms wide. ‘But your folks, at the lake, they’ll turn up in no time.’

  Breath caught in Simon’s throat, hot and ragged. Something else, think about something else—‘You don’t live here,’ said Simon, ‘do you.’

  ‘Nah, live with my folks up the coast. Stay down here sometimes.’ She rearranged her legs. Her black jeans had perfectly round holes all down one leg. ‘Stay here when it’s busy, otherwise help at the Ottoman.’ She drummed her fingers. ‘Fucking Reception. Sorry. I mean, it’s pretty good, but I never really, you know, belong.’ She made quotation marks with her fingers.

  ‘Like you’re being left out.’

  Megan closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the fence. ‘I’ve got Cody down here, I guess, but he’s…a bit of a fucking idiot, actually. This is like my other life, in a way. People back home don’t know what I’m like here. And vice versa I guess.’

  Simon smiled. Vice versa was one of his dad’s favourite expressions. Simon didn’t quite know what it meant; he wasn’t sure his dad did either. Suddenly, Simon wanted to tell Megan everything. About the drugs, about Kuiper and Tarden, about everyone in Reception keeping something from him. He thought maybe—

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ Kuiper’s voice slid down Simon’s back like cold water. He was standing about a metre away, feeding himself corn chips from a pile in his hand.

  Simon didn’t say anything.

  ‘Asked you a question,’ said Kuiper, coming closer. ‘Are you having a good time?’

  Kuiper kissing Tarden. Simon shook his head. ‘I’m fine,’ he said.

  Megan sat up. ‘How are ya, Robbie?’

  ‘Tip-top, Megan,’ he said. ‘Tip-top.’ He finished off his chips, brushed his hands together. ‘You’ve got to love this weather, don’t you?’

  Simon fixed his gaze on the ground.

  ‘Did I see you and that dirty kid in town yesterday?’

  Simon froze. ‘What?’

  ‘Pony, is it? Saw you and him skulking around town yesterday.’

  ‘I…we were just having a drink. At the pub.’

  ‘A drink at the pub. Priceless. You and Nat serving underage patrons, Megan? Going to have to report you, am I?’

  Megan scowled. ‘Soft drinks.’

  Kuiper laughed. ‘Don’t worry love, not giving you the third degree. Word of warning though Simon, that Pony kid. He’s a compulsive liar. Wouldn’t listen to a thing he says.’

  ‘He’s not a liar,’ said Simon boldly, inwardly spinning with his courage. ‘He’s the best friend I’ve got in this…this place.’

  ‘This place? Gratitude, hey?’ He produced a cigarette and lighter. ‘A lot of other towns wouldn’t have bothered.’

  ‘Jeez, leave him alone,’ said Megan.

  ‘Stay out of this,’ hissed Kuiper. ‘Boy needs to learn some manners.’ He went to light up.

  ‘A lot of other towns,’ said Simon, wondering where the confidence had come from, ‘would’ve looked harder for my parents.’

  Kuiper dropped his hands from the front of his face, cigarette unlit. ‘And what does that mean, exactly?’

  ‘It means,’ Simon stood up, ‘that as far as I can see, no one in this town wants to find my parents. I’ve been fed and…given clothes and somewhere to sleep, but I’d much rather be hungry and naked and have no home as long as my parents came back.’ Simon’s hands shook. He had never been this brave in his life. This was the man who had killed his parents, but he hardly cared what Kuiper did to him.

  Kuiper moved his jaw around like it was out of place.

  Megan stood up too. ‘How about we calm it down.’ She smiled strangely at Kuiper.

  ‘Shut the hell up,’ he said, without looking at her. ‘I’ll deal with you later.’

  Simon got ready to run. He had overstepped the line; Kuiper was about to drag him away and murder him. And he would have run if he hadn’t noticed everyone else running. Ned came first, puffing with effort and flushed.

  ‘It’s Gin,’ he said, putting a hand on Kuiper’s shoulder. ‘He’s gone.’

  As Simon followed Ned back across the lawn, an unease rippled through the party guests; you could see it. Parents corralled their children, some of the other guests had formed a barefoot search party. They walked around peering uselessly, holding sodden paper plates and going no further than the garden’s edge.

  Simon thought he caught sight of Audrey’s white skirt. He followed her around the corner of the house, and found her by a cardboard cubby-house. ‘Audrey—’

  She turned to look at him. Her eyes fat with tears, her mouth a red, sad line. She had ripped off the cubby-house door, held it in her hand. Simon could see the interior held no more clues than a used dinner plate, some comics and a plastic sword.

  ‘He’s gone,’ said Audrey. ‘Gin’s gone.’ She handed Simon the door.

  ‘He can’t be far.’ Simon set the piece of cardboard down. ‘Have you checked the house, places he likes to hide?’

  She nodded. ‘He wouldn’t just run away on his birthday. He’s been talking about it for months. And we haven’t even had the cake.’ She started to sob.

  Simon thought about what Megan had said about Audrey. After her mother…the sadness. ‘Wait,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Audrey tried to dry her face with her sleeves.

  ‘Audrey, when…your mum—’

  ‘No!’ She slapped Simon on the arm so it stung. ‘Shut up about my mum! She’s got nothing to do with this!’

  ‘No,’ Simon tried to brush away her flailing arms. ‘No, where did she go?’

  ‘How the hell am I supposed to know? If I knew—’

  ‘I mean, where did she go missing? Whereabouts?’

  Audrey went to hit him again but at the last second held her hand. ‘You think—’ and then she was off. Her feet exploded from the ground as she half-ducked half-slid under a low hanging tree at the edge of the garden and was gone. Simon ran after her. He crawled under the same tree and realised it covered a gap in the fence that led to a faint track through the scrub. Audrey was some way ahead, weaving through branches, legs pistoning, her canvas shoes pounding through the tussocky grass.

  ‘Audrey!’ With a grunt of frustration, Simon set off behind her, the whip-thin branches lashing his cheeks as he ran. His bare feet laboured in the soft sand and his breath soon spun in ragged spirals, but he kept his eyes on Audrey, never letting her out of his sight.

  Just as she crested the top of a dune, her left foot caught an exposed tree root and she fell in a flash of white, tumbling onto her arms, her shoe flipping off behind her. Simon caught up to her as she struggled up.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he said.

  ‘Fine. Just my ankle. We’ve got to get—ow!’ She winced as she stood on her left leg. ‘The beach. By the bluff.’

  ‘That’s where Gin is?’

  She nodded. ‘That’s where Mum went missing.’

  Simon looked up. Beyond the dune was simply blue-grey sky, the death-drop of air that meant the end of land. He retrieved Audrey’s shoe and she slipped it back on.

  ‘This way,’ she said, limping to the top of the dune.

  Simon joined her. The beach opened out below them, shimmering away in both directions. Ahead, the water was unsettled iron all the way to a storm-smudged horizon. A crisp human detail caught Simon’s eye: the white glint of a ship way out to sea. The bluff sat to their left, waves roiling at its base. It was sheer, scooped from the sand like a wave itself, a huge dark rock caught in an elemental wedge.

  ‘There!’ Audrey pointed to the bluff’s base, and Simon made out the flash of tinfoil. Gin’s helmet. The boy was a tiny speck on the sand.

  ‘Gin!’ Audrey shouted, but her voice was carried away. �
�Gin!’ Hands cupped at her mouth. Gin didn’t move. He was sitting among a collection of driftwood, swinging his legs back and forth. ‘Come on,’ said Audrey, grasping Simon’s hand. She led them carefully down the other side of the dune, stepping down sideways with careful steps.

  Simon thought of Pony and the grandstand, stepping over the rotten seats. Audrey grimaced with every step as they half-slid to the bottom of the dune then began to jog towards her brother, dragging her left leg along with her. When they were close enough, she shouted again, and Gin lifted his head. Beneath his helmet, his cheeks had been stung pink by the wind. The piece of driftwood he was sitting on was enormous, and Simon realised it was part of a ship, eroded slices of hooped wood from a hull.

  Audrey let out a loud sigh. She flopped down on her knees next to Gin and looked into his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’ she said. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I just came to the beach, Audrey.’

  ‘I know you did. But you should have told me.’

  Gin nodded solemnly. ‘I wanted to come alone.’

  ‘But it’s your birthday. There’s going to be cake soon. Don’t you want all your friends around you? And your family?’ She smoothed down creases on her brother’s shirt.

  ‘I came to see Mum,’ he said.

  Audrey’s eyes had fresh tears. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You did, didn’t you.’ She struggled to her feet and sat next to Gin on the wood.

  Simon stood a little distance away, unsure.

  Gin waved at him. ‘Do you want to sit down, Simon? This is a ship, but you can sit on it.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Simon. ‘If that’s okay.’

  ‘It’s for everyone,’ said Gin. ‘It was my mum’s favourite spot, but everyone’s allowed to use it.’

  Simon walked over and sat down next to Gin. Audrey stayed silent, staring out across the water.

  ‘My mum liked birthdays,’ said Gin. ‘She would make us something. From wood. Animals.’ Gin’s crinoline space-suit crackled as he moved.

  ‘Do you still have the animals?’ said Simon.

  Gin nodded. ‘I keep them in my room, side by side.’

  Audrey sniffed. Her voice came out quietly. ‘She’d tell us the sea made them. She’d say she’d found them on the shore.’ Simon looked over to see her smiling. ‘The same way the water washes rocks smooth. Million-to-ones, that’s what she’d say. The only pieces of wood in the world to have travelled just the right distance and touched just the right amount of water and salt and tumbled and turned in just the right way to come out looking like an animal.’