by Janene Wood
“Why!” repeated Kate angrily.
“To get proof, of course!” As if that should be obvious.
“Proof of what?”
“Proof of that crazy stuff you do! I did it so I could watch you heal him. I needed to see for myself.” Heather shrugged. “I've never actually seen you do it, you know.”
Kate stared at her, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Let me get this straight: you almost killed my brother in order to satisfy your curiosity about something that is none of your business?” Kate wanted to scream at her but it was in no one's best interests to have Mrs Colacino come out and start asking questions.
“It wouldn’t have been a big deal if he had just stayed still for one second.”
“So it's Jack's fault?”
Heather shrugged again, refusing to take responsibility.
“I can’t believe you!”
“And then you had to go and get bitten by a stupid snake!”
“What! Now it's my fault?” Kate was incredulous. The gall of her was unbelievable! “If you hadn’t shot my brother, I wouldn’t have been stumbling about and it would never have bitten me!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t possibly blame me for that,” argued Heather, but not so vehemently as before.
“Wanna bet! I’ve had plenty of time to think about it,” declared Kate, “and I totally blame you.”
“How was I supposed to know that was going to happen?” asked Heather with a bravado that wasn’t at all convincing.
Kate had never been so furious in her life. “Well, it doesn't matter anyway. I couldn’t have healed Jack anyway because I wasn’t there any more. When I passed out, it wasn't just from the snake bite.”
“What do you mean? Are you saying you fainted at the sight of all the blood?” scoffed Heather.
“No. I told you. I wasn't there!”
“What are you talking about? I was watching you the entire time. You didn't go anywhere!”
“My body was there,” explained Kate, as if to a simpleton, “but my mind had gone somewhere else. I was in hospital healing my real best friend.” Kate hadn't intended to sound quite so bitchy; the words just slipped out. She was so angry! “George was dying of heart failure but I got there just in time,” said Kate smugly.
“That doesn't make any sense, Kate,” said Heather reasonably. “You can't be in two places at once.”
Kate sighed in exasperation. “You know that voice I hear sometimes?”
“Yeeaah,” said Heather warily. “Listen, Kate, you really should stop talking about the voices in your head or the men in white coats are going come and take you away.”
Heather's words were like a punch to the guts. Kate stared at her incredulously, searching her face for some sign that she was joking.
“I think you've known all the time why I shot Jack,” accused Heather, “and you deliberately chose not to help.”
Kate was wide-eyed at such a ridiculous assertion. “Why would I do that? He's my brother!”
“To get me into trouble, of course. You know you've always been jealous of me, Kate. You try to hide it, but I see it in your eyes.”
“Jealous?” repeated Kate. She stared at Heather with her mouth open. Who was this person and where had her friend gone?
“Well, it didn't work.” It was Heather's turn to be smug. “And no one will believe you if you try and tell them the truth, so don't bother. Everyone will think you're nuts. Like I do, you psycho.”
“What's wrong with you, Heather? Why are you being so mean?”
Heather smiled sweetly, as if she had nothing but Kate's best interests at heart. “If I were you, I'd go and see a doctor now, before they put you in a straight-jacket. Best to save yourself the humiliation.”
Kate stood up without thinking, forgetting the empty plate on her lap. It fell onto the ceramic tiles and smashed into a thousand pieces. She turned to look at Heather one last time, but couldn't think of anything to say. Too much had been said already. She ran to her bike, crying.
New Friends
September 1964
Without warning, the heavens opened and the rain that had been threatening to fall all morning came bucketing down. Ice-cold globules of water thrummed upon the asphalt road, quickly soaking Kate to the skin. She continued running, unfazed by the sudden drenching. A minute later, the deluge ceased as abruptly as it began and a glorious shaft of golden sunlight streamed through a rent in the clouds, almost as if the sun was mocking her.
Kate’s surprise at finding she enjoyed running was surpassed only by the discovery that she was good at it. Sport had never really been her thing, but running required no hand-eye coordination, nor any other great skill beyond the ability to put one foot in front of the other. With the wiry build and fluid grace of a natural long-distance runner, it took only a few weeks of serious training to improve her stamina sufficiently to run the school cross-country course without becoming winded by it.
As part of the second term PE curriculum, cross-country training was intended to prepare Kate and her fellow students for the compulsory annual carnival at the end of term. Most students dreaded the two periods a week devoted to it and tried their best to get out of it with a wide range of imaginative excuses. Kate had been no different at first but soon changed her attitude. It was a tough course – particularly if, like many students, the only exercise you got in the course of a normal week was walking to and from the bus stop – but the sense of achievement and exhilaration at the end of it made it worth the effort.
On the day of the actual carnival, Kate had come second in her age group. It was a respectable result, yet disappointing after putting so much effort into training, not only during PE class, but every day before school too. Her new friend, Ruth, finished ten seconds ahead of her, which was perhaps the main reason for her dissatisfaction. Ruth was easily as competitive as Kate, and had the additional advantage of five years Little Athletics training. At least there would be another opportunity to square up against her friend, since the first four over the line qualified automatically to represent the school at the Zone carnival. Kate would beat Ruth next time if it killed her.
To make things interesting, the two girls decided to make a friendly wager. The loser at the Zone had to submit to having her hair dyed jet-black by the victor. With social ostracism and personal humiliation at stake, the bet was guaranteed to motivate them to train harder than ever over the holidays. Robyn and Renee, the other members of their small clique, were solemn witnesses to the bet, and as soon as the combatants shook hands, they ran off gleefully to purchase the requisite instruments of torture.
Kate was adamant it wasn’t going to be her with her head in a basin in three weeks’ time, but it was going to be tough; she had yet to beat Ruth over that great a distance. Every day during the school holidays she trained, running further and faster than ever before, but she knew Ruth would be working just as hard. Neither of them wanted to turn up at school looking like Morticia Addams.
But even without the race to train for, Kate would still have been running every day. Running had become an addiction. She loved the way it made her feel: strong and powerful and in control of her body and her destiny. A sense of peace came over her when she ran, sharpening her mind and allowing her to believe anything was possible. Even teeming rain and squelching shoes couldn’t dampen the feeling of well-being running gave her.
Distracted by her thoughts, Kate edged ever closer to the side of the road, not noticing the shoulder had eroded away, leaving a three-inch drop-off below the level of the road. Her foot landed on the cusp, twisting awkwardly and causing her to lose her footing.
“Oooof!” she grunted, as she tried to break her fall, landing on her hands and knees and shredding her tender skin on sharp twigs and gravel. Her twisted ankle felt like it had been stabbed with a knife. Both her palms stung and one knee had begun to bleed. Adjusting her weight, she inelegantly plopped down on her backside.
What a klutz! Despite the
re being no witnesses to her inglorious tumble, her cheeks burned with the indignity of it. She took a moment to calm herself before gingerly flexing and rotating her ankle. It hurt, but it was bearable. How could she have been so oblivious? How hard is it to watch where you’re going? Impatient to get moving again, she positioned her foot flat on the ground and tried to stand up…until a sudden explosion of pain burst along every nerve fibre in her foot, making her shriek and collapse back onto the ground.
Gradually, the stabbing pain ebbed away, leaving a dull, throbbing ache. She decided to try again, but take it more slowly. She couldn’t just sit here and do nothing; it might be hours before help came along.
“Okay, that wasn’t so bad,” she muttered through clenched teeth. It didn’t hurt so much if she only put weight on the front of the foot.
After limping along for what seemed like an hour, with all the speed and finesse of a drunken tortoise, the sound of an approaching car was music to her ears. This was by no means a busy road, particularly on a week-day afternoon. It was probably Frank, acceding to her mother’s wishes and coming home early for a change.
Jane was forever telling him he worked too hard. Although he hadn't officially moved into the house, he was there most nights. He and Jane were like a cute pair of newly-weds: always cuddling and touching and smiling at each other; seemingly oblivious to the exaggerated eye-rolling and simulated gagging of the boys, who were nevertheless ecstatic that Frank and Jane were back together. Their reunion was the one good thing to have resulted from the “accident”.
The approaching car didn't sound like Frank's truck, though, and Kate wasn’t surprised when an unfamiliar vehicle came flying around the bend. Making an unimpressive but distinctive dak-dak sound, an orange VW Beetle pulled up beside her. Taking all of her weight onto her good foot, Kate bent down to check out the driver. She was surprised to see a fresh-faced teenage boy she didn't recognise smiling cheekily through the open passenger window at her...surprised, because she thought she knew every school-aged kid living in Fiddlers Creek by sight. This boy was a stranger.
“Want a ride?” offered the boy. He didn't look old enough to have a license, but perhaps he was older than he looked. He had the prominent brow, dark wavy hair and coffee coloured complexion of a Pacific Islander, but his green eyes, thin, angular face and strong French accent implied at least a fraction of European blood. Noticing the way Kate favoured her injured foot, which by now felt as huge and ungainly as a watermelon, he remarked, “Lucky for you, I'm going your way.”
Narrowing her eyes, she peered at him curiously. “And how would you know that?”
“I've seen you round. You're Kate, Sam's little sister. Hop in,” he invited casually.
Kate didn’t need to be asked twice. She carefully maneuvered herself into the front seat and sighed with relief. “So who are you?”
“I’m Tayo,” he replied, depressing the clutch and shifting into first.
“What sort of a name is that?” retorted Kate.
“It's short for Théodore.” He pronounced it the French way: Tay-o-dore.
“Oh,” chuckled Kate. “That's cute.”
The VW slowly gathered speed as Tayo changed gear. They had only been driving for a minute when he cocked his head suddenly, listening to a sound Kate couldn’t discern. All she could hear was the loud dak-dak of the engine. “No way!” growled Tayo.
“What is it?”
Tayo brought them once again to a stand-still. They had only gone about 200 metres – though that was 200 metres less Kate had to walk. Wordlessly, Tayo threw open the door and stalked to the rear of the car. “You've got to be kidding,” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust.
Kate climbed out after him and hobbled around the car to find her companion giving the rear driver's-side wheel a kick. There was a stick protruding between the rim of the wheel and the deflated tyre. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “That doesn’t look good.”
“You can say that again.” His shoulders slumped, Tayo moved to the front of the vehicle, where he lifted the bonnet and pulled out the spare tyre. Kate looked at him askance. Even she, who knew nothing about cars, knew that that was where the engine was supposed to be. She watched curiously as Tayo went about the business of changing the wheel. Fortunately, he knew what he was doing and didn’t need help. He quickly jacked the car up and began unscrewing the bolts.
Kate eased herself onto the asphalt, extending her injured leg onto the road before her. Her mood had lightened considerably in the last ten minutes; even the company of a total stranger was better than being alone with her sore foot. Even a stranger in a bad mood.
“So you're new around here?” probed Kate casually. Sam hadn't mentioned befriending a new kid, but then Sam wouldn't. He kept things pretty close to his chest. Now if it had been Jack...
“I moved here a couple of months ago to live with my aunt. My parents are both dead.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Kate was momentarily taken aback.
“Where does your accent come from?”
“What accent?” he asked, deadpan.
“Funny,” said Kate, matching his expression.
Tayo relented with a small grin. “I was born in New Caledonia.”
“Oh.” That would explain it, since French was that country's official language. “I learned a bit of French at school, but my accent is probably atrocious,” responded Kate fluently in that language.
Tayo turned his head and raised one eyebrow at her, suggesting that was the last thing he had expected from a chick in this hick town. He shrugged and responded, also in French, “It needs a bit of work, but it's not too bad.” Of course, his accent was perfect.
“I'm sorry about your parents. You must miss them terribly.”
“My father was a bastard, but yeah, I miss my mum.”
His matter-of-fact dismissal of his father shocked her, but she tried not to show it. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
Tayo shook his head and gave a wry smile. “I have a ten-year-old cousin, though. She’s as annoying as two sisters.”
“I’m ten,” she said ingenuously, “although I'll be eleven next week.”
Again, her words took him by surprise; she appeared several years older. “Seriously? How come you're in high school already?”
Kate shrugged nonchalantly. “I have a brain the size of a planet.”
Tayo laughed aloud. It was brittle and overly-loud and Kate didn’t think he did it very often. She wondered if it was because he didn't often find things funny, or if there was no one in his life to make him laugh. Either way, it was sad.
“Is that right?’ he commented, still smiling.
“Not really,” she said, laughing. “I just pick things up easily; it’s no big thing.” She looked at him quizzically. “So, you’re what? Fourteen... fifteen? How come you’re driving a car? Does your aunt know?”
Tayo gave a careless shrug. “I like to drive,” he replied casually, “and I'm much better at it than my aunt...and, yeah, she’s knows; she’s cool with it. Saves her driving me around.”
“But it’s against the law!”
“And?”
“But...”
“Chill, Kate. It’s not hurting anyone. Like I said, I'm good at it.”
Kate didn't see Tayo again until the fete at St Agatha's church a few weeks later. She and Sam were eating fairy floss and watching Frank in the tug-o-war when Tayo approached them. He took one look at Kate and burst out laughing.
It was four days after the Zone cross country, and not only had she lost the bet with Ruth, it had been a landslide victory. Kate didn't like to make excuses but she knew her ankle let her down. While she could walk and run on it, usually without pain, it was weaker than before and hadn't been up to the challenge of a grueling five-mile race. She conceded to Ruth with as much grace as she could muster, and allowed “The Three Ahrrrs!” (as Frank had jokingly dubbed her three friends, Ruth, Renee and Robyn, while doing his best pirate imitation) to go ahead wi
th her gruesome transformation from blonde to brunette. It looked to Kate like she was wearing a very cheap, very ugly wig.
“What happened to you?” asked Tayo, once he stopped laughing.
Kate folded her arms across her chest and glared at him briefly before turning away. “None of your business, Theodore,” she pouted, pronouncing his name the English way, knowing instinctively it would get up his nose.
“She lost a bet,” said Sam, returning Tayo's grin. “Don’t you reckon she looks like the bride of Frankenstein?”
Tayo's eyes crinkled as he examined the damage. “Didn't anyone tell you to only ever bet on a sure thing, Little M?”
“What did you call me?” she demanded.
The grin remained plastered across Tayo's face. “Little M. I was going to call you Baby Mac, but I figured you’d probably deck me.”
“What makes you think I want you to call me anything at all, Frog-boy?” she retorted, glowering.
“Because you like me, Little M; I can tell.”
“Why, you big-headed–” Kate stopped abruptly mid-tirade, her attention suddenly diverted. All the colour drained from her face, further highlighting the contrast between her skin tone and hair colour.
Sam followed her line of sight and saw immediately what had shaken her. A couple in their late fifties were standing in front of the White Elephant stall, talking quietly with Father Peter, the parish priest. Standing beside the trio but taking no part in the conversation was a thin, pale girl in loose-fitting denim jeans. She stared at Kate uncertainly, as if she wasn’t sure she recognised her. Kate’s black hair was disconcerting if you weren’t used to it, making her appear older than her blonde self.
Heather was thinner than the last time Kate saw her. Her face was pinched, the skin tightly drawn over her cheekbones. The brown hair protruding from beneath her wide-brimmed straw hat was a shaggy mane, but her eyes were as sharp and unforgiving as ever.
Kate lifted her chin and deliberately turned her back.
After Kate confronted Heather about shooting Jack, Heather never returned to school. Today was the first time they had lain eyes on each other since that Friday afternoon in May. She assumed Heather made up some story and talked her parents into letting her change schools; everyone knew her parents indulged her in ways they had never indulged her much older brothers and sisters. And while her absence hadn’t exactly been cause for celebration, Kate was glad not to have to be reminded every day of her duplicity.