NC: Yes.
IB: I’m Dr Ballantine. But you can call me Ingrid if you like.
NC: Okay.
IB: Your mum has gone into the next room to have a cup of coffee so we can have a chat, just the two of us. Is that okay?
NC: Yeah …
IB: How old are you, Natasha?
NC: Eight. I’ll be nine soon.
IB: I see. Do you think you might have a cake or a party for your birthday?
NC: Umm, I don’t think so. I haven’t been very good.
IB: Oh? You think you haven’t been very good?
NC: Mum thinks that.
IB: Does she?
NC: Yes.
IB: What makes you say that?
NC: Because I … I wet the bed.
IB: Sometimes that happens.
NC: It happens a lot.
IB: It does?
NC: Yes. I can’t help it. And Mum says, “Enough now. This really has to stop.”
IB: Does that upset you?
NC: Yes, because I don’t do it on purpose.
IB: It happens while you’re sleeping?
NC: Sometimes.
IB: And the other times? Does it happen sometimes when you’re awake?
NC: …
IB: Why do you think that might be?
NC: I try to hold onto it because I don’t want to go to the toilet.
IB: Because you’re tired?
NC: Because I’m scared.
IB: What are you scared of, Natasha?
NC: He sometimes comes in the dark.
IB: Who does?
NC: …
IB: Does somebody come to visit you in the dark?
NC: Not for a while. But he might come back. He told me he’s always watching. If I get out of bed to go to the toilet he might be waiting in my room.
IB: Who might be?
NC: …
IB: Is it someone you’re afraid of?
NC: I wasn’t at first.
IB: Where did you first see him?
NC: At Aunty Ally’s.
IB: You went to visit your Aunty Ally?
NC: Mum and Dad sent me there while Tim was being born. I think it was for two weeks. It felt like a really long time.
IB: Had you stayed away from home before without Mum and Dad?
NC: No.
IB: You missed them?
NC: I didn’t want them to be with Tim. I wanted them to be with me.
IB: I understand. Did you feel a bit left out?
NC: I was all alone. I didn’t have anyone to talk to.
IB: What about Aunty Ally?
NC: She was busy. I wasn’t allowed in the rooms she was working in. And she went out on deliveries and stuff.
IB: I see. So you really needed a friend? Someone to talk to?
NC: I wanted Mum and Dad.
IB: And then a new friend came, did he?
NC: I didn’t ask him to come.
IB: Is this a boy you’re talking about?
NC: No.
IB: A grown-up?
NC: No.
IB: Is he a toddler?
NC: …
IB: Is he a baby like your brother Tim?
NC: …
IB: An animal?
NC: I don’t know what he is.
5
NOW
Port Bellamy High School sits only two streets back from the bluff but offers not one single view of the ocean. It’s comprised of three severe brick buildings, the oldest of them built over a century ago. Even with a backdrop of cloudless sky and the school’s generous playing fields, the whole vibe still screams institution. I feel myself literally slowing down as I get closer, until the last few metres feel like I’m trudging through mud.
I text Sadie my third message for the morning just inside the school’s wrought-iron entry gates.
Where you at, kiwi?
She replies lightning-fast: On my way, kanga. Three minutes. Maybe five, tops.
First day back at school and she’s already running late, though I shouldn’t be surprised considering Sadie’s only punctual around thirty per cent of the time.
I’ll wait for you at the gum tree, I text back, so we can go to rollcall together.
And so I don’t have to face the school corridors alone. I’m not embarrassed to admit I miss Sadie like a limb when she’s not around. In Year Eight she went through a phase of wagging school every second Friday when her mum had hospitality classes at TAFE. I commiserated when she got caught, but secretly I was thrilled.
My phone chimes again.
What’s the rumour mill doing? Any cracks about you needing Pull-Ups?
I snort at Sadie’s text and find my eyes sweeping the grounds for Rachael Tan.
So far so good, I reply. But hey, the day is young.
Seeking shade under the large gum tree on the edge of the car park, I drop my bag near my feet just as a black SUV pulls into the car space in front of me. A tall sandy-haired man climbs out. When he removes his sunglasses, my stomach somersaults in recognition.
Daniel Fisher, my former orthodontist.
And father of Mallory and Morgan.
My pulse trips over itself as I watch the other doors of the vehicle. Morgan and Mallory could be right there on the other side of that dark glass. I squint in a futile bid to see beyond the window tint, like I need to prepare myself somehow. In all of my sessions with Dr Ingrid we never explored the possibility of this happening. We never talked about how coming face to face with the Fishers might make me regress.
I’m not that girl any more, I remind myself. That lonely eight year old who made up stories. That girl who told police she watched Mallory being taken from the carnival by an imaginary monster.
I can’t be that girl again or I’ll never leave this town, never go to university, never have a future. I can’t let my mind slip back into swamps I’ve managed to claw my way out of.
Before I have a chance to recall any of Dr Ingrid’s reassuring mantras, the SUV’s passenger door pops open. A lanky teenager steps out, scratching his neck awkwardly as he looks around. He’s a few inches taller than me, his dark hair a messy quiff reined in at the ears and neck with a mum-imposed trim. He wears a leather cuff watch around one wrist, the other hand slung casually from the belt loop of his skinny jeans.
Morgan, my brain thumps. Morgan Fisher.
I flush from head to toe like I’ve been caught spying on somebody in their underwear.
Retreating behind the low branches of the gum tree, I watch Morgan and his father cross the car park towards the school office.
Morgan wouldn’t recognise me anyway, and even if he did it would no doubt be a disappointment. My haircut is safe, my freckles are obvious and the only hip piece of clothing I own is a vintage E.T. T-shirt I found in an op shop. And I don’t even wear it in public because I’m not cool enough to pull it off.
“Dude.” Sadie appears at my side, making me jump. “Might have to get you a bib to go with those Pull-Ups.”
She slides her sunglasses onto her forehead as she watches the Fishers slip inside the school office.
“Please,” I splutter, folding my arms. “Not even a drop of drool.”
“Why the hell not? His look’s on point, especially his hair.”
I narrow my eyes at Sadie and she widens her own in response.
“For reals,” she says. “I totally want to get my own cut like that. Come on.”
She grabs my arm and drags me towards the door the Fishers disappeared through.
“Wait.” I attempt to dig my heels in. “You’re going to ask him for hair-styling tips now?”
Sadie smirks and rummages inside her schoolbag. She pulls out a flyer for her mum’s business, So Delish Catering. “Good idea. But no. I need to get this to Smiley Janice to put into the school newsletter. She owes Mum a favour.”
She links her arm through mine, giving me a play-by-play of who she saw on the way to school, and I feign interest with the occasional smile, all the while thin
king about the two members of the Fisher family in that office and how we’re heading straight for them.
You know the drill. Just be cool. It was years ago and the Fishers know nothing about what you told the police.
Plus, I was a kid. People forgive kids for making up stuff, right? Even serious stuff? Even if it was for attention?
I chew my thumbnail and avoid looking at my reflection in the glass door.
“Oh, and this is for you,” Sadie says, releasing my arm to dig around in her bag again. She tosses me something black and floppy in clear plastic. My eye catches the embroidered So Delish logo with its spiralled koru symbol. “We’re wearing the black shirts on Saturday. Mum wasn’t sure if you have one.”
Tucking the polo shirt into my bag, I trail behind Sadie as she strides into the office and up to the reception counter. Smiley Janice, our sour-faced school receptionist, is on a phone call and holds up a stern finger for us to wait. From the corner of my eye I sense someone sitting on the boxy couch beneath the window. I know it’s Morgan – his father is across the hall in the principal’s office.
Janice hangs up the phone without looking at us and marches into an adjoining room. Sadie rolls her eyes at me and slouches with her back against the counter. She juts her chin in greeting at someone over my shoulder.
Not just someone. Morgan.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
I know I should turn around too – it looks weird if I don’t – but I keep staring across the counter at Janice’s collection of potted mini succulents.
“So, new kid, eh?” Sadie says.
“What gave it away?” His voice is deeper than I expected. Wherever Morgan’s been, he hit puberty and grew two feet. He might have pimples. He might even shave.
“Well, for starters,” Sadie says, “no one around here can maintain that kind of elevation on their hair. It’s the sea air – it’s too moist and salty. If you were local, you’d’ve given up by now. I give you two more weeks of styling, max.”
“Uh-huh.” I hear a smile in his voice. “Go on.”
“Secondly, you’re pale. Like, sleeping-in-a-coffin pale. Prefer bookstores over beaches, amirite? Total city kid.”
He chuckles at this. “Kind of. What else you got?”
“Thirdly, this school has, like, less than six hundred students. And I’ve never seen your mug before in my life. I’m guessing you’re a Port Bellamy newbie.”
“Not exactly, no.”
Sadie shifts, her interest piqued. I keep staring at those ridiculous terracotta pots all lined up in a row.
“I was born here and moved away when I was eight,” Morgan explains. “We’ve been living in Brisbane and my parents decided to move back here to their home town.”
“Okay, wait,” Sadie says, clicking her fingers and jerking upright. “Are you a Fisher?”
The change in mood is palpable. I can’t help glancing over my shoulder to see Morgan’s reaction. His cheekbones are stained pink, his thick eyebrows set way, way low.
“Yeah …” he says, the word wrapped in apprehension.
“My mum’s catering your party on Saturday night. Tash and I are waitressing.” Sadie whacks my shoulder by way of introduction. It leaves me no choice but to smile awkwardly and nod hello.
Morgan glances at me for the first time, his frown clearing like maybe he remembers me. Like maybe he remembers sitting opposite me in Miss Suresh’s Year Two class, how he’d catch me looking at him and he’d cross his eyes at me and we’d giggle into the pages of our books. Like maybe he remembers the day I shared my lunch with him and he drew me a picture of a monkey holding a flag that read Tash is kind.
“Tash Carmody,” he says, grinning as my name comes to him. One of his front teeth is adorably crooked. How does that happen when your dad’s an orthodontist? “Wow. It’s been a few years.”
“Mm-hm. It has.”
“Still live over on Melaleuca Road? Near the old boat sheds?”
He remembers.
“Yep,” I offer cautiously. “Lived there my whole life.”
He smiles broadly at this, long dimples curling from his cheeks to his chin. “I lived two streets away on Boronia Avenue.”
“Number eleven,” I blurt.
“Yeah.” He laughs lightly, impressed by my memory. His gaze is more attentive now, his round green eyes no longer including Sadie in our conversation. “So, the last time I saw you was … Man, when would that’ve been?”
My body temperature soars from warm to blistering.
“Umm …?” I crush my eyebrows together as though trying to recall, as though that day isn’t branded across my psyche like a tender puckered scar. The shimmer in Morgan’s eyes dulls and I can tell a response won’t be necessary. His mouth slackens and I know he’s remembered.
The last time we saw each other Morgan was sitting in the back of a police car.
His legs were dangling from the open rear door, his eyes bloodshot as though he’d been crying. It was five o’clock and the Greenwillow Carnival was closing. His sister had been missing for nearly three hours and the evening search team was being briefed by police beside the carousel. The magnificent horses continued their graceful gallop, braying heads catching the lights as hollow organ music gave the impression nothing was wrong.
But it was all wrong.
It was wrong the carnival carried on as normal for hours after it swallowed up a little girl.
I hadn’t known what to do with myself as the Fishers’ initial panic gave way to helplessness. I skirted around the edges of Mallory’s parents and the search team, not sure if I should tell them what I saw. When Ally finally materialised to take me home, she turned up at our agreed meeting place looking frantic. She’d heard second-hand news in the car park.
“I thought it was you,” she’d whispered, gripping my shoulders. “They said a girl had gone missing and I thought it must be you.”
She crouched in front of me, crushing me in a hug that was too close and stifling, her blouse reeking of that sweet, smoky scent she always had. Over her shoulder, Morgan sat all alone in the back of that blue-and-white police car. I freed myself from Ally and wandered over to where Morgan sat, offering him a half-hearted smile. “See you at school?”
He’d looked up at me then, blinking back fear and guilt. “I don’t know how I lost her.”
My mind has held that image of Morgan for nine years, retracing it over and over as though with a pencil, enhancing the roundness of his bewildered eyes, the smudge of shadows around his downturned mouth. I let my aunt pull me away from him, my resistance weakened by my own need to get as far away from the carnival as possible.
I thought I’d see him again.
I thought I’d have the chance to reassure him: Morgan, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.
“So, you starting today?” Sadie asks now.
Morgan blinks at her. “Uh, no. A couple of weeks.”
“Year Twelve?” Sadie asks. He nods. “Cool. We’ll see you in class then. Hey, got any cute sisters I should know about?”
A crack snakes through Morgan’s composure. He shoots me an unsettled look and my stomach squirms.
“She’s only fifteen,” he says stiffly. “Plus, she’s not even going here.”
Sadie glances at me, eyebrows raised. “Dude, it’s okay. I’m joking.”
“She’s homeschooled,” Morgan says, “and not into girls, as far as I know.”
“She doesn’t talk to you about that stuff, eh?”
Morgan’s cheeks burn hotter still. “Actually, my sister doesn’t speak at all.”
Sadie’s about to respond when a few things happen at once: the school bell rings, Smiley Janice reappears and Mr Fisher pokes his head out of the principal’s office to beckon Morgan over.
“See you Saturday,” Sadie says to Morgan. “We’ll be the ones trying not to drop food on your mum’s rug.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Nice to meet you.” He glances at me and so
mething in his eyes relents. “See you soon, Tash.”
“Okay, Morgan. Bye.”
I ignore the looks Sadie’s giving me as she deals with Janice, the way she’s bursting to tease me or press for more details. It’s only when we’re scurrying late to rollcall that she can’t contain herself any longer. “Do we have a little crusharoo, Tashie Tashkins?”
I slide her a don’t-even-start look and she breaks into a victorious grin as we part ways at the end of the corridor. There’s no hiding anything from Sadie. She knows all of my secrets.
Well, nearly all of them.
*
On my way home from school I pick up Tim from Port Bellamy Primary, and I’m grateful to turn my mind to the inner workings of a nine-year-old boy. By the time we reach our house I feel refuelled with Tim’s energy, somehow managing to push all thoughts of the Fishers to the back of my head. But when Mum ushers Tim into his bedroom without an afternoon snack, I know my distraction was short-lived.
“Natasha,” she says. “I need to talk to you about something.”
As soon as we’re alone, Mum spins the laptop around on the kitchen counter. I’m confronted with dozens of images of Mallory Fisher.
“You left this Google search open the other day when I asked for my computer back.”
I shrug and drop my gaze to her shoulder. “Yeah, I know.”
“Do you want to explain why?” Her voice rises. “I mean, we’re well past this, aren’t we?”
She folds her arms and quickly drops them again, resting one hand awkwardly on the benchtop. Body language is important, Dr Ingrid would say. You need to appear open and receptive.
“Yes, of course we’re past it.” I nod earnestly and Mum’s shoulders relax an inch. “It’s nothing like … well, you know, like that.”
She spins the laptop back to her and lowers the lid. It’s a slow deliberate movement as she carefully constructs what she’ll say next.
“It’s just, Sadie’s mum wants me for a waitressing gig,” I say. “I found out it’s a welcome-back party for the Fishers. Did you know they’re back in town?”
Mum’s mouth drops open slightly. “Uh … no, I hadn’t heard about that.”
“It got me thinking, that’s all. I’ve had Mallory on my mind. No big deal.”
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