“Good. You deserve it.”
He put his arm around me.
“I know. I meant to come round. But the motor negotiations took longer than I thought. My dad and I didn’t get back until ten in the evening. I was going to give you a bell, but…here I am. Fancy a spin?”
I’d forgotten Jason and Vanessa didn’t know each other. They’d been briefly introduced at the cinema on Friday, but Vanessa was hanging back now, sidling off into the distance and giving a convincing impression of a fifth wheel. I grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her back.
“Can Vanessa come? You remember Vanessa, from the cinema?”
Jason smiled again, all flashing white teeth and gleaming olive skin.
“Yeah, of course. There’s room in the back.”
Vanessa went scarlet.
“No. You guys go. I’m fine,” she spluttered.
But I wasn’t letting her get away with that. I had to repair the earlier damage.
“No chance. You’re coming with us, isn’t she, Jason?”
“Sure. Hey, what about going to Waterworld? We could get there in twenty minutes.”
Now this made me more excited, if that was possible. Waterworld had only just opened a week ago, and I wanted to check it out. I’d heard it was brilliant, with scary slides and fountains and waterfalls and everything.
“Fantastic,” I said. “Can we drop into Crazi-Cheep so I can get my pay and then stop off at Vanessa’s place and mine to pick up bathing suits?”
“Sorted.”
Vanessa continued to object, but Jason and I overrode her. The thing was, Vanessa loved swimming. It was the only thing she showed any enthusiasm for. Mention swimming and both her eyebrows would lift fractionally—the Vanessa equivalent of screaming “You beauty!” at the top of her lungs. I knew she really wanted to go and it was just a case of applying enough pressure.
I slung her bag into the back of the car and bundled her in after it. Jason helped me into the bucket seat at the front.
What a gentleman.
And then he went around to the driver’s side and slipped into the seat without opening the door.
What a stud.
He turned the ignition key.
“Hey, matey,” I said over the engine noise. “Just so you know. I am not impressed by speed, risk taking, and general dickhead driving behavior. Any of that and I’m out of the car and you’re history. Okay?”
“Anything you say, Calma,” he replied, putting the car in gear, releasing the clutch, and leaving the car park as if from a greased slingshot. But I didn’t have to worry. Jason was a good driver and he didn’t drive fast. There’s something about sports cars, though, particularly convertibles, that gives the impression of speed. Perhaps it’s to do with being close to the ground, but even at 30 mph I felt the exhilaration associated with extreme sports. I missed having hair. It would have been great to have had locks fluttering in the slipstream. I could have tossed my head and laughed, like they do in movies. As it was, small insects kept colliding with my scalp, like asteroids impacting the moon. They bloody hurt too.
The image of the moon bothered me. I hoped I wouldn’t get out of the car with craters all over my head.
We stopped at my house first and I grabbed my suit in record time. By an amazing stroke of luck, I found it in the first drawer I opened. Given the mess in my bedroom, this was akin to finding a needle in a whole field of haystacks. Then it was off to Vanessa’s house.
Mrs. Aldrick opened the door, took one look at me and Vanessa, and jumped behind a six-foot wall of sandbags positioned in the center of the living room. Well, actually, she didn’t. But I was amazed, as always, by the air of terror she exuded in the most commonplace of circumstances. I didn’t get time to think about it. Vanessa grabbed her suit and a towel and then it was on to Crazi-Cheep.
Candy was chewing slowly behind the customer service desk. I wondered if she slept there, standing up in an unconscious state like horses are rumored to do, jaws moving in dreamlike rumination. Then I thought, Who cares? and got my paycheck. It was pitifully thin but at least it made me feel independent. My first wages! I couldn’t wait to spend the lot, even if that would only take five minutes. Provided I was frugal.
I was approaching the automatic doors when a woman grabbed me by the arm. It took a few seconds to place her. It was my first customer, the woman I had overcharged. I remembered the kindness of her face and the infectious laughter. She wasn’t laughing now. Her face was crinkled into lines of worry and she held on to my arm with a firm, almost desperate grip.
“Oh, Calma,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
I was puzzled and it must have shown on my face because she continued.
“I read about it in the newspaper. How dreadful. And how brave, the way you tackled him, a crazed gunman, with just a frying pan. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I replied. “We’re trained for this sort of thing. It comes between the session on how to stack spaghetti and the one about mopping up milk spills. ‘Methods of disarming homicidal maniacs with domestic appliances.’”
I regretted the remark as soon as it passed my lips. She was so nice she didn’t deserve sarcasm. But sometimes I can’t help myself. I needn’t have worried, though. Her eyes sparkled with humor and she laughed. The entire store stopped and stared and I noticed some of the customers were laughing too. Even Candy, not known for a well-developed sense of humor—any sense of humor, come to think of it—twisted her mouth in a passable imitation of a smile. And they didn’t know what they were laughing at.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, “but I’ve got people waiting for me. I must dash.”
The woman wiped her eyes with one hand and waved at me with the other.
“Go on, go on,” she said between gasps of laughter. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”
Just occasionally, you need your faith in human nature restored. I thought as much as I got into the car, still chuckling, and Jason pulled out of the car park. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a small, balding man waving. Then he was gone and in three seconds I had forgotten he was ever there.
We headed off along the coast road. It was one of those days when it felt good to be alive. The sky was powdery blue, with little wisps of cloud arranged artistically for maximum aesthetic effect. The ocean was a glorious green with feathers of white breakers. A warm wind buffeted our faces and my skin tingled in the sun. It was lovely.
Talking was difficult. The wind whipped the words away as soon as they left my mouth. So I leaned close to Jason’s ear and yelled. I could smell his skin, earthy, with the faintest tinge of aftershave, and my blood pumped with dangerous excitement. I asked if he could make it for the meal on Wednesday with me, the Fridge, and Vanessa. He frowned a little, eyes fixed on the road.
“What’s the occasion?” he yelled.
“My birthday,” I screamed back.
“Shite,” he bellowed. “Just my luck to get a girlfriend a few days before her birthday. Bad financial planning, that.”
“Maybe you should dump me on Tuesday and then get back together on Thursday,” I suggested.
“Hey,” he said, “good thinking, Calma. I like the cut of your jib.”
“Course,” I continued, “you’d be financially in the black, but emotionally deep in the brown stuff.”
“Yeah. Point taken.” He took a sharp corner and the muscles in his forearm flexed as he moved the wheel. Back on the straight, he turned his eyes toward me. “I’d love to come. I’m supposed to be working, but I’ll get out of it.”
There was silence for a while and then he spoke again.
“Meeting your mother? It’s not the first step to marriage, is it?”
“I’ve no idea,” I said. “You could try proposing to her, but it’s risky on the first date, and anyway, I’m not sure she’s your type.”
I felt happy. I hadn’t felt really happy for a long time and I was enjoying it. I didn’t want the drive to end. I could have
stayed there forever, yelling stupid comments into Jason’s ear, the wind against my head, the sun and the clouds and the sea spread before me, as if for my eyes only.
Waterworld was awesome. It was huge, stretching out over acres against the backdrop of the sea. From the entrance it seemed to go on forever, as if there was no boundary between the main pool and the limitless ocean. There wasn’t just one pool, either. There were four. One was a regular lap pool, with people relentlessly swimming back and forth. There was another place for small kids, with a fountain and all kinds of play equipment. Then there was a huge, circular pool with a spa where families were hanging out, splashing around, and duck-diving. It was the fourth pool that attracted our attention most, however. It was the biggest of the lot and it had diving boards, water chutes, slides, and big corkscrew slippery dips that started way up in the heavens and flung you, screaming and yelling, into a froth of bubbles at the deep end. The three of us didn’t have to say anything. We knew where we would be spending the rest of the afternoon.
Nessa and I got changed, took a quick shower in our suits, and headed toward the slides. Jason emerged from the men’s changing rooms a minute later. I was relieved he wasn’t wearing a Speedo. I can’t stand Speedos. It’s almost impossible to keep your eyes off them, even—especially—when you can’t bear to look. If you want my opinion, Mother Nature demonstrated a fine sense of the absurd when she designed that portion of the male anatomy.
Nonetheless, I wasn’t averse to checking out his general physique, though this wasn’t as easy as it might sound. I mean, you can’t say something like, Hang on, Jason. Take a few steps back while I scan your body for imperfections. You have to stare into someone’s eyes while at the same time trying to check out the rest of their body without them noticing. I suppose you could pretend you’d just seen a UFO and, while he’s peering into the sky and shielding his eyes with his hands, have a damn good perv. But this seemed lacking in finesse to me, so I waited until he swept his gaze around the pool.
It was worth the wait, let me tell you. He had one of those wiry bodies, all subtle muscle definition with a flat stomach and a cute belly button that stuck out. His skin was a beautiful olive shade all over, with none of those nasty, pasty patches where the sun hasn’t reached. It was all I could do not to drool.
Anyway, I was aware he was doing exactly the same thing to me. When I pondered the assembled multitudes, I could tell his eyes were darting all over me. Mind you, he had less to go on than I did. I don’t wear bikinis, mainly because, as I might have mentioned earlier, I have boobs the size of a medium family saloon. They don’t look good in bikinis. They don’t look good in anything. Keep everything safely gathered—that’s always been my motto.
Even in a one-piece, I attracted attention as I walked along the edge of the pool. Maybe it was my shaved head. I probably gave the impression of training so seriously I was prepared to go bald to cut one-hundredth of a second off my personal best. If that was people’s impression, I quickly dispelled it once in the water. I’m more of the float-around-the-pool-like-a-large-inflatable type than a serious swimmer.
I’m not like Vanessa. She’s part fish. On dry land, she’s out of her element, all languid movement, like a pale snail. Throw her in water, however, and she’s transformed. She jets through the wet stuff like a torpedo, tumble-turns at the end of the lap, and pushes off. If I tried a tumble turn, I’d dash my head against the tiles and need resuscitation. I watched Vanessa swim and wanted to check behind her ears for gills. She was beautiful.
We had a fantastic time. The best was going on the long slide. We climbed steps for what seemed forever, and when we got to the top, it was all I could do to stop clinging to the rail or sinking to my knees in panic. I’m talking high! Mind you, the view was brilliant. The pool was laid out beneath us like a blue carpet, small figures frolicking in the water. Then we had to get into the mouth of a huge chute, with water churning around, and we were swept into darkness. The first time I tried it, Vanessa and Jason nearly had to pry my fingers away from the side of the chute with a chisel. I was petrified. And then I was plunging, whirling in the void, sweeping around bends, legs flinging up into the air in the most inelegant fashion, before I was catapulted into the pool, water rushing and roaring in my ears. I was suspended for a while in the calm blue before popping to the surface like a demented cork. I screamed the whole time. Including underwater, which explained my purple-faced coughing fit by the side of the pool.
I leaped out and raced up the steps for another go.
After a couple of hours, the crowds thinned as people went home, I supposed, for their dinners. Night fell, floodlights came on, and the whole place was even more beautiful. The water reflected the lights; it was alive with shimmering flashes. Jason came up behind me in the deep end and gave me a dunking. I bobbed to the surface, spluttering, and he wrapped his arms around me. He kissed me briefly, his lips on mine like an electric shock, but I pulled away. It didn’t feel right somehow. Not there. Not then.
Eventually, we got out of the pool and sat at a table in the café area, with Cokes and packets of chips. I was starving from all that sun and water and laughter and exercise. Vanessa’s face glowed. She looked happy and animated. I felt infused with warmth, for her, for Jason. I tell you, things didn’t get much better than this.
I should have known it couldn’t last.
Jason glanced at his watch but we already knew it was time for home. Reluctantly I gathered my things together and Nessa and I took off for the changing rooms.
I got under the shower in one cubicle, while Nessa disappeared into another. I felt I could not get enough water over me, standing there, face upturned to the jet. I rubbed my hands over my skin, the faint smell of chlorine like a perfume. Of course, in the excitement and the rush I hadn’t brought any shower gel. I wondered if Nessa had been more organized.
I stepped from the shower and tapped against the door of her cubicle.
“Nessa,” I said.
I hadn’t realized the cubicle wasn’t locked. The door swung open.
“You don’t have any shower gel, by any…”
She was naked. I apologized as she turned her back to me. I pulled the cubicle door closed.
I felt sick to my stomach. Not because I’d seen her naked. But because I’d seen the damage. Cuts, welts, and scratches on her stomach, and one bright laceration at the top of her left hip. They burned in my brain. Injuries hidden from the world, covered even by a bathing suit.
I went to the toilet and threw up. The shower was still running. I don’t think she heard me.
No one said much on the drive back. I sat quietly in the front seat and tilted my head toward the stars. I stared at one spot in the sky. I called it Vanessa. Before long, the periphery of my vision was filled with spots of light. They began to make a pattern.
Chapter 20
A different kind of statement
There was a message on the answering machine when I got home. The police. They wanted me to come to the station to make a statement about the attempted robbery at Crazi-Cheep. I called back. They asked if I could come as soon as possible. The Fridge wasn’t home, so I took the bus. The last thing I felt like doing was sitting at home. I welcomed the distraction. The police told me the lateness of the hour made no difference. There was someone there who could take a statement. The cop shop didn’t close.
I went through the doors of the station and gave my name at reception. The officer told me to take a seat, that someone would attend to me soon. I sat in a torn vinyl chair and studied posters of missing persons. Last seen in Townsville in 1995. Parents anxious for information. A wife who went to the local shops in 2001 for tea bags and had never returned. Children who went to parties and were never seen again. So many lives with holes in them.
Eventually, I was taken by a female police officer into an interview room. She chatted in a friendly fashion until a plainclothes officer arrived. He asked me questions about the attempted robbery, while t
he other officer jotted notes on a pad. The whole thing must have taken about half an hour. When we were done, the note taker left the room, presumably to type up my statement. I sat in the chair, nursing a dull headache.
The plainclothes officer talked, but I didn’t pay attention. To be honest, I didn’t want to look at him. I could feel his eyes, like a stain on my body, as if he was mentally undressing me. It had happened before. I suppose it will happen again. It makes me feel sick. In other circumstances I would have reacted. In the past I had humiliated the sleazebags whose gaze lingered on me longer than necessary. But I wasn’t in the mood today, so I kept my eyes down and answered his questions in monosyllables.
The female officer returned. I signed the statement. I was taken back to reception and told I might have to appear in court as a witness, unless the guy pleaded guilty. They’d be in contact.
I caught the bus home. The Fridge still wasn’t in.
I was desperately tired. All that sunshine and water and exercise. I went to bed.
I didn’t sleep all night. I don’t think I even closed my eyes.
Chapter 21
Time for action
Tell me I got it wrong. Please.
This is the way I thought it through. Not so much a logical argument, more a series of images that coalesced. Stars on the edge.
Mrs. Aldrick. Nervous. Not a comic figure, after all. Not someone to laugh at or make stupid jokes about how she seemed constantly on the verge of panic. No. Someone with a history. Someone who had been made that way by years of cruelty. Someone who, even though she no longer lived with the source of terror, had it ingrained in her responses. A door slamming, a voice raised. Enough to make her blood race, her nerves twitch. Seeking a place to hide, even years later. Someone who knew better than to give out unauthorized phone numbers.
Vanessa. Withdrawn, shy, no confidence. Reluctant to share feelings. Scared when the weekend for her visit with her dad was approaching. Tears on a bench. Afterward, more withdrawn than normal. Aggressive, distracted—sometimes at the same time. Cuts and scratches in places where cuts and scratches should not be. Fresh wounds. Recent wounds. Inflicted in areas normally hidden.
Am I Right or Am I Right? Page 12