Eventually being thirteen got the better of Duncan and he launched into all his earthquake stories, stories he’d told so many times before, the edges were smooth. That got Mum angry. We weren’t supposed to be talking about that now, she said. This was supposed to be a happy time. So we sat silently again, because none of us could think of much to say that was happy.
Then the questions came, questions that had to come eventually, but which I still wasn’t properly ready for. They told me the others had all come out together a week and a half before, and they were sure I was lost, or…they didn’t say the word. There had been searches. Where had I been? What had happened? I told them all the half-lies that had to be told. I escaped. I became lost, wandered, caught another eel, found some food in a hut. I finally came out over on the west coast. I found a farm house but there was no one there and no phone I could see. I took some money, and some clothes, and caught a bus down. It felt shabby, telling them those stories, the two most important people in the world, and the more I told the more it felt like I was only visiting, like it wasn’t my home at all.
Later on Mum sent Duncan off to bed. I knew why she’d done it, what she wanted to say, but she circled around it for a while first. She reeled off lists of people we knew who’d lost their homes, and people whose names I sort of recognised who had died...a couple of kids from school but no one from my year. She talked about how good people had been, and how hard it was at first, not knowing. Her hair looked greyer to me, and her face hung more heavily on its bones. She told me there were still problems with the electricity, and how the phones weren’t reliable. Then she stopped and took a breath, and looked at me more closely.
‘Of course they’ve all been around here, Rebecca and Jonathon and Lisa. They’re lovely aren’t they?’
‘Yes,’ I nodded, they are.
‘They’ve told me of course, about what happened, what you saw. The police have been here too. They’ll want to talk to you.’ I knew that. I nodded again.
‘And her parents too. The others have been to see them. They would like to see you too I think, if you think you can, when you’re ready.’
Another nod. Yes, yes, yes. All things I had expected. All things I would get through.
‘There was a lovely funeral Marko. I went along. I thought I should. They haven’t found the body. It must be so hard for them.’ She stopped then, like a person hurrying through a city who suddenly realises they’re lost. Her face looked puzzled, then worried. She stood and walked over to me. Leaning down she pulled my head close to hers and gripped my back, as if she was frightened of falling.
I looked past her, to the familiar wall braced now with an unfamiliar iron girder. I knew then this wasn’t a beginning. It was the middle of something else I had come back to, and I was too tired to think how that might be.
I stood up and hugged her too, but as much as I loved her and as much as I’d looked forward to holding her it didn’t feel real. It felt as if my arms might pass right through her if I squeezed too hard. So I told her I loved her and asked her if I would be able to ring Jonathon.
Uncle Bruce rang back first, to tell Mum that the police wanted to send someone round straight away to interview me, but Mum told him to put it off till the morning. I got through to Jonathon first time. I had to look his number up in the book. His was the only surname I remembered.
‘Fuck, Marko!’ he said when he heard me. Then he thought about it for a moment more. ‘Fuck, Marko!’
It was worth a scream. Then I had to wait while his end of the phone was crowded out with half-conversations.
‘Yes, it is him. He’s alive. I don’t know, he hasn’t said. His place maybe. No, I don’t know that either okay? Look, let me talk to him first will you? Sorry about that man, it’s just everyone’s been so...Fuck, Marko! How are you? Are you all right?’
‘Yeah. Yeah I am.’
‘So what happened? I thought they’d got you.’
‘Nah, I got away.’
‘But you saw them, right? You must have seen their faces. Have you talked to the police?’
‘They’re coming round tomorrow.’
‘Good, good. So, ah, how are you?’
‘Yeah, you know. All right. Bit rough coming back.’
‘Have you rung any of the others?’
‘Nah, you’re first.’
‘I can ring them, if you want. Tell them.’
‘Yeah, okay.’
‘Ah, we should get together eh? You can come round here. How about tomorrow night?’
He said it like he was inviting me to a party. It felt wrong. It was like he was meant to be saying different things, although I didn’t know what.
‘Um, sure. Suppose so.’
‘Be good for Lisa. You heard about her, eh?’
‘What? No.’
‘Yeah. Awful. Her little brother was one of the ones killed. She’s, well you know, how you would be. I’ll see if I can get her to come round though. I mean, fuck, Marko!’
‘Yeah.’
I wanted to say more but not like that, not down the phone, with Mum still waiting in the background. It would be different the next night, going round, seeing them. And Lisa’s brother. That threw me. Jonathon was having another conversation at his end.
‘Yeah, I know you are, but it’s Marko isn’t it? Okay, okay. Hey look, sorry man, I have to go okay?’
‘Nah, that’s all right.’
‘Tomorrow then, seven?’
‘Yeah, yeah for sure.’
‘Right, bye.’
‘See ya.’
‘I bet he was relieved,’ Mum said, when I’d hung up.
‘Yeah. You didn’t tell me Lisa’s little brother had died.’
‘Oh yes, I forgot, somehow. There’s just been so much.’
‘I should ring. I should have got her number off Jonathon. You don’t know her surname do you?’
‘No. There was something about you all in the paper but I don’t think I’ve kept it.’
I tried Jonathon again but the phone wouldn’t connect. Neither could I. Maybe tomorrow it would be better, I thought. Maybe tomorrow would be real.
‘Look, ah, I’m tired as. I might just go to bed.’
‘Oh yes, of course, you just...oh dear.’ Mum put her hand to her mouth, horrified that she’d only just thought of it. ‘A doctor. We need to take you to a doctor.’
‘No, no,’ I assured her. ‘I’m fine, honestly. It hasn’t been so bad. I just need sleep, that’s all.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am.’
‘Well, as long as you’re all right.’ She hugged me again. ‘I’ll try to ring your father again. Bruce wasn’t able to get hold of him.’
I lay awake for hours, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. I tried to think of the dying Doctor. I tried to enjoy all the feelings of victory I had promised myself but there was nothing there. I felt empty and cheated.
The police came round early the next morning. My cereal bowl was still wet with milk and my mind was still fuzzy with bad sleep. Mum tried to hover in the background but they asked her to leave us alone. They seemed eager to get on with it. They were both in plain clothes, a bald one with a moustache and a coat he didn’t take off and a younger thinner man in a navy suit, who wrote everything down and never smiled.
The interview dragged. They wanted to know everything and kept getting snagged on the tiniest, most unim-portant details. I just wanted them to leave. There was no work for them here. It was already sorted. The bald one kept on saying ‘You know how important it is don’t you?’ like there was some chance I might not have worked that out. Like I hadn’t been there. I worked through it one slow detail at a time, being honest as much as I could, but always avoiding the truth.
They didn’t hide their disappointment when it got to the attack in the dark, where I got split from the others. I could tell they’d been saving that bit up, like they hoped they’d find all the answers there. But it was dark, I told them. I was pan
icked, and tired and confused, and no, I didn’t see any faces. I didn’t see anything new.
They lost interest. They asked me more, about where I went then and how I got out, and I told my lies again. They came easier, now I’d practised them. They weren’t listening that closely anyway. The thin one had stopped writing. I don’t think they got much. Later, when the Doctor is found dead and questions are asked, they won’t have anything to make a link between a patient who ran away and a boy who got lost in the bush.
There were other visitors during the day, friends of the family mostly, but I was fidgety and found it hard to concentrate. Probably I was rude to them but there were lots of understanding smiles. Mr Camden called round, just for a minute, to bring back my bike and tell me how pleased everyone was that I was safe. He made a joke about how I’d have lots to write in my assessment journal. He’s a good guy.
There was a journalist from the paper with a photographer in tow but I got Mum to make them go away. I’m not that stupid. Jonathon rang again, to say hi and give me directions to his place. Seven o’clock, too long to wait. I so needed to see them. Seeing them would make me feel better.
I watched some television to try to make the time go faster but the programmes all annoyed me. Around five there was another knock at the door. Mum had gone down to the supermarket and Duncan was round at a friend’s place. Apparently it was Sunday. I thought about ignoring whoever it was until they got sick of knocking and went away but a part of me knew who it would be and I couldn’t leave them standing.
They were both in their forties. They looked awkward and formal and as much as I stared I couldn’t see any of their daughter in their faces. I led them through to the lounge. They started off by apologising and they meant it. They told me how glad they were I was all right and they meant that too. Mr Jenkins has the sort of face that can carry a lot of meaning. It’s long, flanked by bushy grey sideburns, and deep lines run either side of his mouth. He is tall, even sitting down. He didn’t slouch at all, but sat upright on the edge of his seat, and when he wasn’t speaking he would stare straight at me and nod. Mrs Jenkins was shorter and more interested in the clutter of our lounge. When I looked at her I saw all the pain and confusion that Mr Jenkins had somehow managed to hide.
‘I know how hard it must be for you, Marko,’ Mr Jenkins said. He’d been using my name from the moment we met. ‘But the others tell us you were there, that you saw Carol die. We need to know, you see. We need to hear it. Please, tell us how it happened.’
A story should blunt with the retelling. By the fourth time there should be a distance, you shouldn’t still be right there, in the middle of the things you’re describing. I was though. The story I told them was a story filled with pain and sadness and empty of meaning and as I told it I saw the way they were both still struggling to understand. When I finished there was a tear on my cheek and Mr Jenkins was still staring, still nodding, like the words were still sounding inside his head.
‘So in a way it was an accident,’ he said, with an emphasis on the ‘was’, as if it was something he’d believed all along.
‘He meant to hit her,’ I told him. ‘He was angry.’
‘But,’ he stopped, like he was straightening a picture inside his head. ‘Her head hit the tree you think? And she fell, and they thought she was dead straight away? It was the head then, against the tree. I’m sorry, but without a body you see, there’s nothing anyone else can tell us, and we do need to know.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘it was the tree, but…’
‘An accident. In a way.’
‘No, Malcolm. Let him finish. You said but. But what?’
‘Well, I was just going to say it wasn’t an accident, was it? He hit her and she died. He meant to hit her.’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘That’s the thing I don’t understand. Why? Why was he so angry? What did he want from her? Was it some sort of misunderstanding, do you think? Why wouldn’t they just let her go? I don’t understand.’
‘Sandra, don’t. We’ve been through this with the police, and the others. We can’t know what they were thinking. It was one of those things, a moment that went wrong. There’s no point speculating. It won’t do us any good. And it’s not fair on Marko. He doesn’t know either.’
But I did know. I knew more than I was saying. I heard their voices, the way they talked. I saw his hand on her breast. I saw myself too, just watching, not yelling out, not helping at all. I know what he is, the Doctor, I know he’s a killer, same as I know where he is and how he’s suffering now. So many things I knew but couldn’t tell, sitting there across from them, knowing too that nothing I could say would make it better.
‘Maybe they’ll catch them,’ I said. ‘Then we might know some more. Then they might get what they deserve.’
They looked at me, then at each other, like this was something they’d already spent a lot of time talking about.
‘No,’ Mrs Jenkins told me, shaking her head. ‘That wouldn’t help. That wouldn’t help at all.’
They both stood up and Mr Jenkins thanked me again. He shook my hand before he left and Mrs Jenkins thought about hugging me but changed her mind. She was right. She hardly knew me at all.
I was the first one round to Jonathon’s. He didn’t hug me either, but we both hesitated before deciding against it. Back in the bush we would have. Maybe if he’d known about the hospital we would have too. I’d decided on the way over I was going to tell them about the Doctor, as soon as they asked. I needed someone else to know.
The pizza Jonathon had ordered arrived but not the others.
‘Rebecca’ll be late on purpose,’ Jonathon told me. ‘To make sure she doesn’t have to spend time alone with me.’
‘Not going so well then?’
‘No, I pissed her off somehow. It wasn’t my fault though. It was never going to last. It was a bush thing. It’s different back here, you know?’
‘Yeah.’
Jonathon told me more about the things I’d missed. About Ms Jenkins’s funeral and how they still had a coffin, and a burial, even though they never found the body. (They found something, where we said, but they’re not saying what. You know how the police can be.) He told me how the whole school had been there, and hundreds of other people too, and even though it had only been one funeral in the middle of so many, how the TV and newspaper reporters all showed up and it made the news. He told how Mr Jenkins gave a speech and although it was ‘quite amazing’ he couldn’t remember much about it. (Have you met him? He’s quite intense isn’t he?) Jonathon said that the three of them were told they could say something at the funeral if they wanted, but Lisa was too beaten up, with her brother, and Jonathon didn’t want to, and Rebecca wouldn’t if she was the only one. It was what they’d argued about. (But you know, I didn’t know her, so what could I say? There were all those people there who were really really sad and I didn’t want to get up there and just pretend.) I asked how Lisa’s brother had died but he wasn’t too sure (earthquake shit, something collapsed.) He was just starting to ask me about my whole adventure, and I was thinking of ways to block him, when Rebecca arrived.
Rebecca did hug me. Just a short one, as soon as she walked in, like she’d thought about it in advance.
‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, all right. You know.’
‘I’m so pleased you got away. I mean, I was so scared that…well, we all were. Did Jonathon tell you we went back to look for you?’
‘Nah.’
‘Typical.’
‘Thanks for doing it, though.’
‘No worries. Did you hear they moved the body somewhere? They had dogs in and everything but they couldn’t find it.’
‘I reckon they cut her up.’
‘Jonathon!’
‘No, I do. How else did they move her? A little bit in each pack and…ow, what was that for?’
‘For being you.’
‘There’s pizza left. You might want to microwave it.’
>
‘Get a vegetarian?’
‘I forgot.’
‘Wanker.’
And then they were fighting again, half-hassling, half-joking, like we’d been transported back in time. Like nothing had happened. They started on school gossip next. Any other time it might have been all right, not then. I tried to join in and kept one eye on the door, waiting for Lisa to arrive. Then I could tell them. Then it would all be different. Then we’d all have to stop pretending.
It was just after nine when she finally arrived, not looking all that much like Lisa. Same face, same hair, even clothes I recognised from school. Different eyes though, and a different way of holding me.
‘Marko,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so glad.’ But there wasn’t much gladness left in her.
‘Hey, I’m so sorry to hear about your little brother.’ I’d forgotten to ask the others his name. ‘I was going to ring you last night but the phone’s been dodgy.’
‘That’s okay. Thanks.’
And then silence. A careful silence, like any step now could be in the wrong direction. It was up to Lisa to lead the way.
‘So where’s the pizza?’ she asked, with a smile that looked like a lie to me. ‘Hey, is this movie just starting? I wanted to see this.’
Her way of saying ‘I don’t want to talk’ and if Lisa didn’t want to then we wouldn’t. It was her call. So I sat there, close to the others at last but still a world away, with stories of hospitals and Doctors and killing trapped inside of me while the TV told some other story I couldn’t much believe in.
I looked at Lisa a few times, curled up at the end of the couch. I tried to catch her eye but she was locked on the screen, out of harm’s way. Rebecca finally asked me, in the ad break, with only fifteen minutes of the movie left.
‘So how did you get out, anyway?’
‘I already told you,’ Jonathon said.
‘I want to hear it properly.’
Properly, but in under four minutes, so there was nothing to do but trip through the lie I had built; fighting clear, running, eel, hut, more food, farmhouse, bus. Then the ads finished. No time for questions. As soon as the film was over Lisa stood up.
Jolt Page 12