Misplaced

by Murray, Lee

‘Yeah, the Gold Coast. Skye’s dad took off before she was born and we were trying to find him,’ Adam says quickly. ‘I’m sorry.’ His voice is just a murmur.

  ‘You went to Australia?’ Dad whips his feet out of the water, and they thud dully on the boards. ‘Without telling anyone? For Christ’s sake, Adam, you can’t be serious!’ Dad’s shout carries through the night.

  ‘I said I’m sorry, okay?’ Jesus! Hunching forward, Adam folds his arms across his chest. He curls his toes in the water.

  ‘What about the girl? Did her family know?’

  ‘No.’

  Dad’s shape gets up, the silhouette black against the grey sky. It paces to the edge of the clearing and says, ‘For crying out loud, Adam, I ought to lock you in your room and swallow the blasted key!’ The shape widens, arms akimbo.

  He ought to?

  ‘What am I supposed to say, Adam, aye? What’s a bloke supposed to do?’ Moving back to the pool, Dad sighs deeply. ‘Just before I left the hospital, Brian said I should try and keep my cool. I’m guessing he already knew about your little jaunt.’

  Adam’s nod is invisible. ‘He picked us up from the airport.’

  Dad gives a little snort. Adam imagines his head shaking. ‘Well, that figures. He made a point of telling me you were a good kid facing a tough situation.’ In the darkness, Adam grins. Detective Pūriri is a bro. Dad goes on, ‘But I didn’t think he was telling me that because you’d gone off on some wild goose chase. I thought he was talking about your reaction back there at the morgue—about you thinking that body was your mum.’

  A morepork calls from somewhere nearby, its pure notes carried on the drifting steam.

  ‘I wanted it to be her,’ Adam says, his voice barely audible. The morepork ululates again, making Adam shiver. No wonder the Māori believe the mournful little owl has connections to the spirit world.

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t mean it,’ Dad says. Not so sure, Adam’s grateful for the steamy gloom. The silence stretches out. Dad sits down and drops his feet into the water again. Eventually, he says, ‘So you went looking for someone else’s dad, huh?’

  ‘That someone else is my girlfriend, actually.’

  ‘That so?’ Dad flicks water in Adam’s direction. ‘Your girlfriend, huh? I’ve really dropped the ball, haven’t I? Look, mate, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I know I’m not the world’s greatest parent. You know what I wish? I wish you’d come with an owner’s manual. That way, I could look up troubleshooting. I mean, what’s a parent supposed to do when their kid goes off AWOL to Aussie?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Adam mumbles.

  ‘Nor do I, mate. And since you didn’t come with a warranty either, I guess we’ll just have to live with it.’

  Adam brushes the water droplets off his sweatshirt and smiles.

  Can’t sleep. Wish I hadn’t nodded off in Pūriri’s car.

  My alarm clock says 4:47am. I’ve been lying here trying not to think because thinking leads me to pale waxy corpses laid out on stainless steel benches, severed body parts in bin bags... don’t think!

  Shit. I’m scared to think.

  Try remembering instead, something safe... There was that time, I must’ve been eleven and I caught some bug—I don’t know what—but I was hot and shivery and my head felt like it’d been hardboiled. I woke up in the night with snot crusted on my face, my eyes full of grit and my mouth feeling like my last meal was a pile of dry Weet-bix. I didn’t turn the light on. I knew it’d stab at my eyes and make my head worse. I padded down the hall in the dark to Mum and Dad’s room. I went straight to Mum’s side of the bed. I always did. Even back then, I knew Dad would be useless. Whatever it was, Mum would fix it. I gave her a shake. She woke up and felt my forehead with the back of her hand.

  ‘Oh darling, you’re burning up!’

  She got up, telling me to hop back into bed while she rustled up some paracetamol. While she was gone, I turned my pillow over, away from the snot and drool that’d leaked out of me earlier. Mum came back with supplies: Pamol, water and a bucket.

  I’ve never been good at taking medicine. Mum sat on the edge of my bed and poured a tiny graduated cup of sickly red liquid, holding it up towards the hall light to check the measurement. She handed the cup to me. I held my nose and swallowed half of it. Disgusting.

  ‘Drink it up, love,’ Mum said. ‘It’ll make you feel better.’ I held my nose again and forced myself to drain the cup. The liquid was thick and slow-moving. It took ages. When I handed the cup back to Mum, I added a little shiver so she’d know how brave I’d been.

  ‘Good boy.’ She offered me a glass of water to chase away the taste of the syrup. ‘I’m going to leave the bucket here, just in case you need it later.’ I thought she was going to go back to bed then, but she didn’t. Instead, she said, ‘Shove over.’

  I wriggled over towards the wall and she squeezed in beside me, propping herself up on the pillow and pulling the sheet over the both of us.

  ‘Come here, then.’ She dragged me up on her belly. It took some shuffling because I was nearly as big as her; my shoes were already a size larger. I lay across her with my face nuzzled in her neck feeling the rise and fall of her chest. She smelled of soap and the perfume with a red lid that she kept on the bathroom vanity. My nose was clogged though, so maybe I imagined that. I sighed deeply, letting her know that I was only letting her cuddle me because I was sick. She kissed me on the forehead, smoothed my hair and lifted the wet tendrils off my neck. Then she slipped her hands under my BMX pyjama top, and I sank further into her as she smoothed away my fever with her velvet strokes.

  Up and down, along my spine.

  Up and down, tracing my breath.

  ‘Shh, sleep now, my darling...’ she whispered in my ear...

  Oh God, Mum, I miss you so much.

  Chapter 35

  Today is Grandpa’s birthday. This year, because of Mum’s disappearance, it’s not going to be flash. Gran says that wouldn’t be appropriate, so instead it’s just afternoon tea with some of the other Resthaven residents. Adam was planning to impress everyone by bringing Skye along but, since she’s grounded for what’s left of the holidays, he’s signing himself in solo. He puts the pen down and is picking his present up off the counter when Mrs Kirkham and her pearls pass purposefully through the lobby on their way to somewhere.

  ‘Hello, Adam. John and Wynn are in the dining hall. Better be quick, though. They’re about to sing Happy Birthday.’ Smiling, she points a finger over her shoulder before heading down the corridor in the opposite direction.

  Tucked under Adam’s arm, Grandpa’s present crackles as Adam makes his way to the dining room where a dozen oldies are sitting around one of Gran’s famous fruit cakes. Gran is standing next to Grandpa, her hand resting on his shoulder. From the back, Adam gives his grandparents a cheery wave as the song starts.

  ‘Happy Birthday to you,’ the thready voices sing. Adam mouths the words. Luckily, one of the nurses has pretty good pipes and her voice carries over the others. When the song finishes and everyone’s caught up, there’s a round of applause followed by another delay because poor old Grandpa has forgotten what he’s supposed to do next.

  ‘Very wise, my darling,’ Gran says to Grandpa. ‘You’re far too mature for such silly shenanigans.’ She blows the candles out for him.

  ‘You get to John’s age, you need every breath!’ a chap quips.

  ‘Did I hear you say you didn’t want any cake, Mr Borrell?’ Gran’s tone is imperious, but it’s clear she’s doesn’t mean it because she hands Borrell a slice anyway. Adam ambles over and joins the party.

  ‘It’s our grandson come to wish you a happy birthday, John,’ Gran says, dropping the Lady Bracknell impersonation and embarrassing Adam by kissing him in front of everyone. ‘Hello, love, let me get you some cake.’

  ‘You sure this fellow hasn’t come to kiss my best girl and eat my cake?’ Grandpa laughs and holds out his hand. Adam gives it a good firm shake because, a
ccording to Grandpa, a man’s quality can be measured in his handshake.

  ‘Happy Birthday, Grandpa.’

  ‘Another birthday. I must be getting on. How old am I again, Wynn?’ But Gran is busy rustling up a spare plate, so Adam answers.

  ‘You’re seventy-four today, Grandpa,’ he says.

  ‘Imagine that. Seventy-four. I’m seventy-four years old and still no one thought to get me a stripper!’

  ‘You wouldn’t know what to do with one, dear,’ Gran says, turning back with a stack of saucers in her hand. As she stoops to cut Adam a slice of cake, Grandpa throws him a twinkly look over her head, two men-of-the-world sharing a secret. Adam smiles back. Grandpa’s having a good day.

  The gift stowed under his chair, Adam eats his cake and makes small talk with the oldies, most of whom are either bald or have purple hair-dos. The ladies ask if he’s done his School Certificate yet—what is it, twenty years since that went out?—and the men want to know who he’s picking for the Rugby Championship.

  ‘South Africa!’ Grandpa roars, throwing in his two cents’ worth and nearly causing a riot. When the laughter dissipates, one of the women says her daughter is planning on fostering a kiddie, and that sets them off on a debate about nature versus nurture:

  ‘She wants to be careful. Bad genes will out,’ Borrell says. ‘My sister’s boy ended up in prison. Light-fingered, just like his old man. Nearly broke his mother’s heart.’

  ‘Yes, but that could’ve been nurture, or a lack of it,’ a purple-do lady says, ‘a case of the boy imitating his father. They say it’s a cycle, don’t they?’

  ‘Well, we’re happy enough to claim it when they do something good, aren’t we? Telling folk that this one’s got her mother’s talent for music, and that one’s the dead spit of his father.’

  Intent on finishing his second slice of cake, Adam listens with only one ear. When the conversation comes back around to whether Adam has done his School Certificate yet, Gran gets up, brushes the crumbs off Grandpa’s jumper with a paper serviette and announces it’s time to take him back to his room for some quiet time before dinner.

  Adam accompanies Gran and Grandpa back. After a bit of fussing about, they get Grandpa settled under the candlewick bedspread, a couple of fat pillows at his back. When he’s all set, Adam offers him his present.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It’s your birthday present, Grandpa.’

  ‘My birthday? I must be getting on. How old am I, then?’

  ‘You’re seventy-four, John.’ Perched on the end of the bed, Gran pats the bump in the bedclothes where Grandpa’s knee would be. Grandpa tears at the wrapping paper.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s a stripper in here, is there, son?’ Gran rolls her eyes. Finally, Grandpa pulls the gift out, pushing the paper out of the way. It’s a digital photo of Mum, one of the last ones taken before she went missing. Leaning over a mountain of washing, Mum’s holding up a single sock and she’s laughing: her cheeks are pink and her eyes are creased and merry. She looks happy. Clutching the picture in both hands, Grandpa stares at it.

  ‘It’s Tiff.’ He looks to Gran for confirmation, who mouths yes. ‘She’s our daughter,’ Grandpa tells Adam. ‘Lovely girl she is too. Sensitive. Loyal.’ He considers Adam for a moment. ‘You remind me a bit of her.’ The rheumy eyes fill with tears. Gran slips off the bed. She takes the image from Grandpa and hands it back to Adam.

  ‘It’s a beautiful gift, Adam,’ she says as she busies herself with Grandpa’s pillows again. They both know the pillows were perfectly fine.

  Adam rubs his thumb over the silver frame, picked out from Farmers when he went in to apologise to Aroha yesterday. Choosing the frame had been the easy part. Adam had spent half an hour pacing outside on the street before he got up the courage to go in. A cashier with a purple name tag—Sandi—pointed him through into the back stockroom where Skye’s mum was busy unpacking a box of baby clothes.

  ‘Um, Ms Wētere?’

  ‘Uh-huh?’ She continues counting, her lips moving, not wanting to lose her place.

  ‘I’m Adam Creighton.’ Dark eyes flash. She stops. Straightens up. Her hands go to her hips.

  ‘You! You’ve got a cheek. Do you know I nearly had a heart attack when the police officer brought Skye home? What on earth were you two playing at? Anything could’ve happened to her, did you think about that?’ Adam almost smiles. It could be Skye, telling him off after he went on that bender.

  ‘I know. I came to say I’m sorry. It was totally dumb, looking up Skye’s dad, going there, everything. I should never’ve talked Skye into it. I’m so sorry.’ There’s a pause. In the low wattage of the stockroom, Aroha’s expression softens. She picks up a lemon baby grow and holds it to her chest, smoothing the flat plastic packaging as if it were a baby.

  ‘Really sorry,’ he says again.

  ‘Skye says that your mum is the lady who went missing.’

  Adam nods. ‘Mum’s been gone since August.’

  Aroha stops her stroking and tilts her chin upwards. ‘That still doesn’t make it right.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No mother likes to learn her child is lying.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Skye must really like you to lie to me like that.’

  Adam grins.

  Aroha replaces the baby grow back in the pile. ‘Well, don’t go looking so happy, young man. She’s still grounded.’

  It’s exhausting, pretending you recognise people when you don’t. For Grandpa, even remembering how to use his toothbrush is hard. After bluffing it out for most of the day, the birthday boy has dropped off to sleep. He snores gently, his mouth open.

  ‘Full of beans, isn’t he?’ Gran sighs. ‘I’ll have to stay through to dinner. John hates to wake up and find me missing—it disorients him, and he gets all out of sorts with the staff.’ She balls up the discarded wrapping paper and drops it in the rubbish bin.

  Adam arranges the photo of Mum on the nightstand next to a box of tissues and Grandpa’s other presents. It’s hardly cheery: a few cards, including one from Adam’s cousin Gabe and another from the Alzheimer’s people, some crystallised ginger, a block of chocolate and a pack of cards for Grandpa’s Rush Hour game. On the window ledge on top of some crumpled racing car paper, Aunty Mandy and Uncle Peri’s present is a dark green polar fleece...

  A green polar fleece.

  Suddenly, Adam can’t help himself. He breaks down in tears. Gran discreetly closes the door, then comes back and lays a hand on Adam’s shoulder.

  ‘What is it, love? Is it Grandpa?’ she says in an undertone.

  Shaking his head, Adam waves in the direction of the fleece.

  ‘The sweatshirt?’ Gran looks pained. ‘Oh, Adam, you know what Aunty Mandy’s like. She just doesn’t think. She probably bought it weeks ago. Really, she didn’t mean any harm.’

  ‘It’s not that...’ Adam can hardly speak, his body racked with sobs. ‘The other night... the body... I wanted it to be Mum!’

  Adam expects Gran to be horrified by his admission. Instead, she steps back to the bed and checks on Grandpa. When she’s sure he’s asleep, she pulls a tub chair up closer to Adam. Sitting down, she pats him on the hand.

  ‘Let me tell you a story.’ Adam shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear a story. How’s a stupid story going to help? He sniffs loudly, disturbing Grandpa, who shifts a little before dozing off again.

  ‘Shhh, I’m not letting you go home all teary-eyed, so you may as well listen,’ Gran says. She leans across Adam for the tissues, yanking out a few and handing them to him. Then, keeping her voice low, she says, ‘A year ago, a friend of mine from my book club lost her husband. I hardly knew him, only to say hello to when he dropped her off or picked her up, but I went along to the funeral because Jenny is my friend. Adam, the floodgates opened, and I cried and cried just like you are now. I used up an entire pack of tissues.’ As if to prove her point, Gran waves the tissue box. ‘People at the funeral thought I was a c
lose friend of the family. I was so distraught, one lady even rushed off to make me a cup of tea. But Adam, I wasn’t crying because I was sad. I was sad for Jenny, but mostly I was jealous of her.’

  ‘Jealous?’ Adam blows his nose and crumples the tissue in his palm.

  ‘Yes, jealous. You see, I wanted to be the widow.’ Alarmed, Adam looks over at Grandpa. He’s still snoring.

  ‘You wanted Grandpa to be dead?’ he whispers.

  ‘No, darling. That’s just it. I didn’t want your grandpa to die. I still don’t. I just wanted it to be over. I couldn’t cope, you see. I was exhausted— getting up three or four times in the night for Grandpa—and I was angry and hurt that this had happened to us. And John was always the strong one. I miss the man he was so much. That’s when your mum convinced me it was time for Grandpa to come here to Resthaven. The thing is, love, we can’t struggle on forever. Even we Norcliffs have our limitations. Sometimes, for our own sake, we have to let go.’

  Gran’s right. Keeping Mum alive like this is just too hard. Hoping and waiting. Looking for her everywhere. I should leave the searching to Pūriri. That’s his job and until a missing person is found, the case never closes. Mum’s become like the Bunbury character in Earnest: just too complicated to maintain. That’s why I wanted her to be dead that night. Not literally, although for a while I thought maybe I did. Maybe I just need to let go a bit. I need to have a little less hope.

  Something else. It’s a paradox—I thought it up while I’ve been lying here—probably my subconscious at work from listening to the oldies at the rest home. It’s like this: I can let go of her because, in a way, Mum will always stay with me, she’ll always be a part of me.

  Geez, all this analysis, Mrs Dickson better give me a Merit for English.

  Chapter 36

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you, but I’m still grounded,’ Skye says on the phone. ‘Can you come over?’ Adam’s stomach drops to the floor. He should’ve known that condom was past its use-by date. But surely it’s too early to tell? It’s only been a week... His pulse quickens.