Small Spaces

by Sarah Epstein

  The first hour of the party is a blur of serving trays and champagne glasses. I don’t cross paths with Morgan in my many circuits of the house. I haven’t seen Mallory either, and I keep looking at the staircase as though she’ll make a grand entrance any moment. Although, I imagine parties are probably not your scene when you don’t actually talk.

  Mr and Mrs Fisher are in their element reuniting with old friends and meeting new ones. Francine Tan keeps clutching Mrs Fisher by the arm and dragging her to meet some local council member or other. Morgan’s mother looks radiant in a rose-patterned cocktail dress with matching red lipstick, and his father is equally dapper in a buttoned shirt and blazer, his sandy locks flopping in his eyes like some kind of ageing screen idol.

  The thing about waitressing is just how much you can eavesdrop without looking suspicious. Handing around a tray of pastizzi informed me Mr Fisher’s reopening his orthodontic practice in Newcastle next week. Collecting empty wineglasses, I overheard that Morgan is creatively inclined, though he doesn’t have a clue what he wants to do after finishing school. And serving cups of punch enlightened me about Mrs Fisher’s hope to visit the family’s holiday house in Greenwillow in March.

  My hand wobbled at the mention of Greenwillow, but I managed to keep the punch from sloshing all over the table.

  There’s a small lull in the serving as we wait for Kiri’s kumara patties to heat, so Sadie and I take the opportunity for a short break in the kitchen. Kiri fusses over a plate of sandwiches at the island counter, glancing up briefly to give us a wink.

  “Mum’s loving this,” Sadie says, handing me a glass of water. She tugs at the collar of her polo shirt and I catch a glimpse of her All Blacks rugby T-shirt underneath. “All those potential clients out there with more money than sense.”

  Across the kitchen Kiri hums, her quick hands in several places at once, always ready with a warm smile or an encouraging word. As well as Kiri’s heart-shaped face and deep brown eyes, Sadie has definitely inherited her mum’s generosity and fighting spirit. It’s been a decade since Sadie’s dad convinced them to leave Auckland for a new life in Australia, before draining their bank account and running off to Bali with a bookkeeper from his office. Kiri was left to pick up the pieces and start all over again in a brand-new country. She built So Delish from the ground up with little funding and bucketloads of tenacity.

  She garnishes the sandwich platter with a sprinkling of tiny blue flowers.

  “They’re edible,” she says in response to our raised eyebrows. Sadie makes a crack about how her mum will be tossing grasshoppers on there next. Kiri simply pokes out her tongue as she shoves the platter into her daughter’s hands.

  “This one’s for you, Tash,” Kiri says, as Sadie disappears into the dining room. She hands me a small tray with a few sandwiches, a lemon tart and a bottle of mineral water. “It’s for Annabel’s daughter, Mallory. Poor wee thing’s not a fan of parties.”

  Kiri isn’t aware I know exactly who Mallory is. Sadie and her mum arrived in town a year after Mallory disappeared from the carnival. The Fishers had already packed up and moved away.

  “Er, you want me to–?”

  “Take it up to her room. Yes please, petal.” Kiri sprinkles some flowers over this plate too. “Annabel says it’s upstairs, last door on the left. Go through this other door here for a shortcut to the stairs.” She points out a sliding door at the rear of the kitchen I’d wrongly guessed led to a butler’s pantry.

  I take the tray reluctantly. “Maybe Sadie could …”

  “I love my girl,” Kiri says, squeezing my elbow, “but she’s not exactly discreet. She’d probably talk the poor girl’s ear off. Better you do it, eh?”

  I smile feebly as Kiri thanks me and returns to the oven. Okay, I remind myself. You wanted to see Mallory face to face? Here’s your chance.

  As I follow the short hallway to the stairs, my hands are slick against the underside of the tray. With each step of the staircase my pulse gallops, whipped along by nerves.

  Will Mallory remember me?

  Can I trust myself not to pummel her with questions?

  The last door on the upstairs landing is the only one closed. An EDM song pours out of a doorway on the right, and I spot Morgan and Christopher Tan – Rachael’s twin brother – lying across his bed playing video games. Christopher notices me walking by and nods hello, nudging his black-rimmed glasses to the top of his nose. To my irritation, Rachael is squeezed up on Morgan’s other side. She glances up as I pass, her eyes taking in my uniform and tray, prompting a smirk.

  Tamping down a flare of jealousy (I mean, really? How long has she known Morgan for? She’s practically sitting in his lap!), I try to concentrate on the job at hand. I raise my fist to Mallory’s door and let it hover there, seriously tempted to leave the tray on the hall runner and skulk away. A roar of laughter floats up from downstairs and I’m momentarily distracted. My knuckles deliver two short raps on the door before I realise what I’ve done.

  There’s movement on the other side. The click of a lock. The door opens a crack and a sliver of girl is silhouetted against golden lamplight. She’s smaller than I expected and I find myself looking down at her. Half her face is covered by dirty-blonde hair, the other half hidden behind the door.

  One eye peers up at me through her hair, piercing-blue and wary.

  “Here’s some food,” I offer. She glances at the tray and back up at my face. “I’m one of the catering staff. I can just leave it out here if you like.”

  I move to place it on the floor just as Mallory opens the door wider, gesturing at an antique desk positioned near the porthole window. A few empty moving boxes are piled up beside it, a length of bubble wrap draped to the floor.

  Her room is lined with pine bookcases crammed full of colourful spines, some books shelved vertically and others stacked in haphazard piles. The walls are plastered with posters of fantasy worlds and rambling secret gardens, her pinboard dotted with postcards of far-flung galaxies and medieval castles. A hand-carved box shelf sits above the bed, filled with a menagerie of stuffed dragons, owls and foxes. A sky of fairy lights on the ceiling gives the room its otherworldly glow.

  “God, I love your bedroom,” I say, drinking it all in, this haven from the outside world. I quickly remember my role here tonight and step back into the hall. “Sorry. I’ll leave you to it.”

  Mallory tugs at the sleeves of her oversized shirt as she watches me. I try not to be obvious about snatching glimpses of her face. There’s little hint of the grinning kindergartner from her MISSING posters all those years ago. Her skin is dull and waxy now, her hair lank. She curls her shoulders defensively as though warding off some kind of threat.

  But it’s her eyes that seize hold of me, crystal clear and evaluating. There are questions there, and a sea of answers too. It sparks an urge in me to shake her, demand to know how she disappeared. Did she wander off? Was she taken?

  Did I really imagine him, Mallory?

  Please tell me my mind isn’t that sick!

  Instead I mumble “See you later”, lingering briefly for a response until I realise, of course, I won’t be getting one.

  When I return to the kitchen, I find Sadie on her hands and knees mopping up a spill.

  “Minor catastrophe,” she says. “Mum dropped a jar of mayo. She’s racing down to 7-Eleven to get another one.”

  I grab a stack of cocktail napkins and crouch beside Sadie. She picks out the glass as I swab the creamy goop into a runny pile. I pretend to come at her face with a globby napkinful, and she jerks away, landing on her backside. We erupt into giggles.

  “Oh, crap,” she says, scrambling to her feet. “Mum wanted me to get these kumara patties out while they’re still hot.”

  “I’ll finish this up,” I tell her. “Just direct me to a mop and bucket.”

  “Maybe the laundry? That’s where I found a dustpan,” Sadie says, nodding towards a doorway off the back of the kitchen. She hesitates. “It’s kin
da tight in there though. I can do it when I get back.”

  I trail over to the laundry doorway. It’s a narrow, windowless room lined with cupboards below the benchtop and above. My limbs stiffen, a slightly woozy sensation fizzing at the base of my skull.

  “I’ll be quick,” I assure Sadie, though I’m really just reassuring myself. “In and out. It’ll only take a sec.”

  I flick at the light switch until Sadie calls out, “Bulb’s blown. Just wait for me, eh?”

  This is absurd. I feel like a little kid too scared to go down a slippery dip. Balling my hands into fists, I stride into the laundry and yank open cupboard doors.

  “On a mission, are we?” Sadie says, mildly amused. “In that case, try those top cupboards for some floor cleaner. There’s a small stepladder by the back door if you can’t reach the high shelves.”

  I move towards the wooden chair propping the door open.

  “Don’t use that!” Sadie blurts. I pull my hand away like the chair is electrified. “The door closes by itself and the handle’s dodgy. Found that out the hard way.”

  She lifts the platter and hovers for a moment longer before heading back out to the party. I search as quickly as I can, trying to ignore the cupboards encroaching on my personal space.

  There’s definitely enough oxygen.

  There’s absolutely no reason to panic.

  I manage to locate a mop inside a skinny cupboard and prop it up beside me. As I reach for one of the high cupboards, the tiny room is plunged into shadows. The silhouette of a body is framed in the doorway, blocking the light.

  No.

  Backing up quickly, I knock into the wall. The mop clatters to the floor and it sets my heart racing.

  Not him. Not here.

  My right hand flails for the benchtop as the figure approaches.

  Get out get out get out.

  “What have you lost?” he says, the side of his face now illuminated by the kitchen.

  Morgan.

  I slump against the wall and release a shaky breath.

  “J–just a bucket,” I say. “Um, maybe some floor cleaner?” I turn and grope around on the floor for the mop.

  “No problem,” he says. “Here to help.”

  I don’t realise what Morgan’s doing until the swathe of light across the floor begins to shrink. I turn to find he’s dragged the chair over to the counter. The last thing I see is Morgan placing a foot on the seat before the door clunks shut, plunging us both into darkness.

  “Oops. Hang on,” Morgan says. I hear the door rattle, the useless click click click of the light switch.

  “The bulb’s blown,” I croak. “Try the doorhandle again?”

  “Just can’t seem to–”

  The door rattles again and Morgan grunts like he’s tugging on the handle. I blink rapidly, willing my eyes to adjust. All I can make out are the shadows of Morgan’s feet disrupting the strip of light along the base of the door.

  The temperature of the tiny room is climbing. Or my skin is. The air around us tastes dank and warm.

  My air.

  “Are you okay?” Morgan says. “Your breathing sounds funny. Are you asthmatic?”

  I fight to keep my voice level. “I need to get out.”

  Pacing back and forth in the corner, my knees knock into cupboards like pinballs.

  “It’s all right,” Morgan says. “I’ve just gotta …” The door rattles again and the handle makes a clunking noise. Something metallic pings across the tiles between our feet. “Okay, that’s not good. Hey, you’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

  There’s a smile in his voice, a hopeful stab at humour. I can’t answer him. Instead, I sink to my knees–

  “Do you want to play a game?”

  –the darkness pressing in. It fills my nostrils, oozing thickly down my throat.

  “Please,” I gasp.

  I can’t breathe.

  “Tash?” I sense Morgan moving towards me. “Where are you?”

  I bring my knees to my chest, wrap my arms around my shins.

  Be small. Breathe small.

  Morgan’s hands find my shoulders and–

  “You’re not playing it right. Stop struggling.”

  –my body jerks, my arm knocking some part of him away.

  “Whoa, Tash,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

  I pant tiny, minuscule breaths.

  Don’t run out of air.

  “You’re hyperventilating.” Morgan’s hand finds my shoulder. This time I let it stay there. “You’ve got to slow your breathing down. Deep breaths. Listen – like me.”

  He takes a long breath in through his nose, releases it low and steady through his mouth. His hand finds my other shoulder and he coaches me through another five breaths before we hear a clatter in the kitchen beyond. He squeezes my shoulders a final time before sliding across the floor to pound against the door.

  “Hello?” he says. “We’re kinda stuck in here. Hello?”

  I concentrate on breathing – slow and deep, long and steady – and my chest flutters with relief when I hear Sadie swear on the other side of the door. Next second there’s a loud thump and the door pops open. Sadie tumbles into the laundry in a blast of bright light.

  “What are you doing to her?” she says, when she spots me balled up in the corner.

  She shoves past Morgan and drops to her knees, her arms gathering me up and pulling me close.

  “Nothing!” Morgan says, wide-eyed. He backs into the kitchen to give us more room. “I moved the chair and we got locked in. Tash just panicked. I was trying to help.”

  Sadie helps me to my feet. “You and your small spaces, eh, kid?”

  My face must look grave because Sadie’s good-natured teasing stops there. Morgan moves to the sink and returns with a glass of water.

  “The Sparrow thing again?” Sadie murmurs.

  I nod sheepishly.

  “What’s the Sparrow thing?” Morgan asks, his gaze bouncing between us.

  Sadie narrows her eyes at him. “Hey, this is your house – how do you not know that door jams?”

  Doubt stirs in the pit of my stomach. Sadie’s right. Why would Morgan move that chair?

  “I forgot,” he says, turning to me. “We’ve only lived here for three weeks. I’m sorry, I just forgot.”

  Sadie scowls as she takes the water glass from him. She offers it to me but I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I tell her, my voice sounding a bit stronger than I feel. Sadie looks about as convinced as if I’d insisted my head is a watermelon. I glance at Morgan. “You don’t need to be sorry. It was an accident.”

  Sadie peers over her shoulder at him. “I’ve got this.” Her voice is skating a fine line between efficient and rude. For the sake of her mum’s business she forces a smile, adding, “We’re all good here. Please go and enjoy your party.”

  Morgan’s eyes find mine and I nod to reassure him. He sighs heavily and trails back into the dining room. Once Sadie’s satisfied we’re alone, she drags a stool out from under the breakfast bar and thrusts the water glass into my hands.

  “Sit down,” she says. “Drink this. No bloody arguments.”

  I give her an army salute and she flicks me on the earlobe before marching over to the laundry. Within seconds she’s yanking open cupboard doors in search of a bucket. I slide onto the stool and bring the water glass to my lips, my gaze drifting across the island bench to the sliding door in the back corner of the kitchen.

  Mallory is standing in the doorway.

  I startle, sucking in a breath and inhaling water. My chest explodes as I double over coughing. Sadie pokes her head out of the laundry. “You serious, Carmody? What now?”

  “It’s okay,” I choke out, gesturing towards Mallory. Sadie glances at the corner and frowns. “She just–”

  Words escape me when I see what Sadie is looking at.

  Absolutely nothing.

  Mallory’s disappeared like she was never there at all.

  8

&nbs
p; THEN

  11 MARCH 2008

  TRANSCRIPT FROM THE OFFICE OF DR INGRID BALLANTINE, PHD CHILD AND ADOLESCENT PSYCHIATRY, NEWCASTLE CHILDREN’S CLINIC

  PATIENT: NATASHA CARMODY, 8 YEARS OLD

  IB: Do you want to talk about Tim?

  NC: Okay.

  IB: Your mum and dad must be busy now with a new baby. He’s so small and can’t do anything for himself, can he? So your mum and dad need to look after him. Babies can be a lot of work.

  NC: Yeah.

  IB: And he’ll grow up a little more each day, won’t he? Your mum and dad need to take care of him as well as you. How do you feel about that?

  NC: Good. If they don’t take care of him he’ll starve to death.

  IB: That’s true. Your mum and dad will have to divide up their time to take care of both of you as you grow up.

  NC: I know.

  IB: You used to have your mum and dad all to yourself, didn’t you? You probably have to wait sometimes now while they do things for Tim.

  NC: Mm-hmm. And Mum’s always tired. She never wants to do crafts or make muffins with me any more.

  IB: Does that upset you?

  NC: We used to do things together. Plus Tim cries a lot. He wakes us all up at night because he’s really loud. But sometimes I don’t mind.

  IB: If he wakes you up? Why’s that?

  NC: I have bad dreams. He saves me from them.

  IB: Tim saves you?

  NC: I get stuck in bad dreams sometimes and I can’t get out of them. Tim’s crying wakes me up.

  IB: What are your bad dreams about?

  NC: I can’t remember them all.

  IB: Can you remember any?

  NC: Yes. I was trapped inside a box and it was dark. I couldn’t breathe.

  IB: Were you afraid?

  NC: Yes! I thumped on the sides of the box with my hands, and I pushed and kicked. I didn’t have any space! It was hard under my knees and I knocke d my head on the sides. The top of the box was – right here – against my back.

  IB: All right. Why don’t you sit down and move back onto the couch again? Just get nice and comfy there – that’s the way. I see that dream makes you feel worried.

  NC: And no one helps me. Even when I call out for Mum and Dad, they don’t come.