‘Kerra...’ I hesitated. ‘Do you want to be brave, like Gul in Begal’s polo story?’
I felt her nod, but then I heard her whisper, ‘I can’t be brave. I’m not strong like Gul.’
‘Brave means you do something when it’s very hard to do. If you were strong and it was easy to do, it wouldn’t be brave.’
She sniffed. ‘What’s brave now?’
I spoke slowly, hoping she wouldn’t react. ‘The bravest thing now is to let the last kitten off the hook. It wasn’t his fault.’
She twisted in my arms to stare into the box. My heart sank. I could imagine her thinking, ‘oh, I missed one’, and zap, it would be in the dam too. Her hand reached out and I watched as it hovered over the kitten. I was ready to pounce, not wanting to witness more death.
She let her hand drop and settled back in my arms, one dirty thumb in her mouth. She pulled it out a moment to speak. ‘You take it,’ was all she said. She didn’t say another word. I wasn’t sure what I expected: remorse, an admission of wrong? An ‘Oh, I’m sorry’ such as Elly would have said? But I couldn’t imagine Elly doing any of what happened that day.
One small thing comforted me: Kerra didn’t try to destroy the last kitten. Surely that was progress. I told her I was proud of her saving it. Reminding her of the others wasn’t going to help.
The sky was dark purple by the time we headed for the house to bury Sasha and the two kittens in the garden. I carried the box. Bow led the way.
12
Feeding a kitten with a tiny eye dropper was not as much fun as it looked. It was like getting white pinballs into the clowns’ mouths at the show, with no hope of a prize at the end. I was just wishing I had three hands when Kerra arrived. She said nothing, just watched, not offering to help. I dared not ask for any as I didn’t want to push her, so it stunned me when I finally realised why she’d come.
‘Leave that.’ She sounded like Blake when he spoke to her.
‘Why?’
‘You don’t need to feed it. I have a better idea.’
This I had to see. ‘Okay.’
She stretched out her hand for the kitten. I hoped she didn’t notice the way I tensed as she picked it up, nor how much of an effort it was not to offer to carry it. She held the kitten carefully though, and I followed her out, down the hall, through the back door, past Blake’s room. It was dark outside, the hum of the generator making me think of a monster purring for its dinner.
‘Where’re we going?’
‘The shed.’ To the scene of the original crime. What did she have in mind? My fertile imagination thought of numerous possibilities, none of which I liked. Then Bow was padding beside us and nothing seemed bizarre anymore. Bow reminded me of Matt; made me feel secure in my ability to cope with whatever Kerra dished up.
‘See?’ Inside she stretched up and flicked a switch to cast light on half the shed. She pointed to the ceiling. I followed the direction of her finger. The hayloft? ‘We have to go up there,’ came her quiet voice and, shifting the kitten into one hand, she started up the steel ladder. The kitten mewed weakly.
‘You sure you can manage, Kerra? Do you want me to take the kitten?’
But she didn’t answer, even though she must have heard. I didn’t care much for the ladder; it was long and bowed in the middle. The shed was high and business-like, nothing like the comfortable barns in movies.
Up there it was difficult to see as the tube-light was below us, but I crawled behind Kerra through the hay, hoping I wasn’t disturbing rats or snakes.
She stopped. ‘There.’
I peered over her shoulder and began to crawl closer. ‘Don’t,’ was all she whispered. Then, as if she knew she’d sounded bossy, she explained. ‘She’s wild, Jaime. She doesn’t know you. She might run.’ Kerra leaned over slowly, all the while murmuring in a sing-song type of mew as she gently put the kitten close to a feral cat. ‘She’s got kittens herself. See, Jaime?’
I held my breath, waiting to see if the farm cat would accept Sasha’s kitten as her own. We must have sat there for five minutes, saying nothing, just watching. She didn’t eat it, which seemed a good sign. She sniffed it all over, then began licking it. Kerra backed up through the hay.
‘C’mon, Jaime.’
‘Will it be okay?’ I was thinking how I’d know the difference between my kittens and a ring-in if I were feline, but I was floored by Kerra’s childlike faith in mother cats. ‘She can’t count. The kitten’ll be fine.’
‘How come she doesn’t run from you?’
‘I’m up here heaps. She knows my smell.’ So that’s why Kerra had to carry the kitten.
Getting down the ladder was a bit of a worry. Kerra waited for me at the bottom without hurrying me like usual.
‘Would Liana have given the kitten to another cat?’ she asked as we returned to my room.
‘Kerra, the most important thing is that you did. It was a special thing to do.’
‘But would’ve she?’
Kerra was in stubborn mode again and it was hard to shift her, so since I didn’t think it would matter, I said, ‘Sure. Liana liked animals. She was kind.’
‘And she was brave.’
I sighed. ‘Yes. She grew brave.’
‘Tell me more about her and Mr Kimberley. How he pretended to be her brother.’ She didn’t hide the yearning in her tone: that wanting to be Liana’s brother so badly showed his care. Even that first day I had seen that Blake didn’t have those feelings for his little sister, so I was encouraged that she’d mentioned Mr Kimberley. So far I’d thought the idea of an almost perfect brother was too far beyond her experience and understanding for her to accept. But I wanted her to see there was another way to live, and she could choose to have it.
Kerra settled herself on my bed, subdued but waiting. The absence of Sasha lay heavy between us and all I felt like doing was picking Kerra up and hugging her, but she didn’t have a hug me look on her face. I was learning her different facial expressions: the blank one she kept for Blake. Right now, I could tell she had a lot on her mind, but I knew she wouldn’t discuss it. She glanced at me. I wasn’t sure how much of ‘a good brother’ she’d be able to stand, so instead of telling Liana and Mr Kimberley’s adventure, I plunged in with one of Elly’s favourite folktales.
‘This is called “The Mysterious Traveller”.’ Kerra sighed. It was the relief of a weary traveller finally finding rest. ‘It’s a beautiful story from Elly’s favourite storybook.’ I told the tale of an old desert guide called Issa, who found a lost baby after a dust storm. Around the child’s neck was a gold pendant shaped like a half-star. No one knew who she was, so Issa took her home and named her Mariama.’ Kirra touched her half-ring.
‘Did he adopt her?’
I nodded. ‘As she grew she also learned how to guide people through the desert. When she was almost grown Issa became blind. “This is why God gave me to you, Baba,” she said, “to be your eyes.”
‘One day a young man and his aide arrived needing a guide, but when they realised Issa was blind, they set off by themselves. Issa and Mariama followed their tracks to check on them, when a huge storm blew up.’
Kirra’s thumb popped out. ‘They saved the men?’
‘Yes, and the young man returned to Issa’s house to thank them. That was when he noticed the pendant around Mariama’s neck. “Where did you find that?”
‘“I’ve always had it, since my grandfather found me.”
‘Hope sprang in to the young man’s eyes. ‘“What do you mean?”
‘Issa told him the story of a lost baby in the desert. “Who are you?” he asked when he had finished.
‘“My name is Abbas,” said the young man. “My father is the king of Sana and when I was young, we were attacked. I was taken to my eldest uncle and my baby sister was sent to another uncle, but she never arrived. We have been loo
king for her all this time.” He stared at Mariama.
‘“How would you know her,” Issa said slowly.
‘Abbas pulled a pendant out from his robe. “She will have the other half of this.” He stretched his open hand to Mariama and she took off her pendant to lay it in his palm. The pendants formed an eight-pointed star. Abbas showed Mariama some marks in the gold. “These words say: The Children of Sana. Salaam, my sister.” His voice cracked. “Will you love me?”
‘She nodded and he wrapped his arms around her. Then she said, “But I cannot leave my grandfather. He needs me.”
“‘Sire,” Abbas said to Issa. “Please come and live in our palace. We will become one family.”
‘Mariama put her hand on Issa’s shoulder. “I will still be your eyes, Baba.”
‘Abbas said, “And together we will heal my father’s heart.”’
Kerra was warm and floppy in my quilt. I didn’t have the heart to send her back to her own room. She didn’t comment on the story so I let her rest and checked emails on my iPhone. One from Mum. She mentioned Kerra and hoped she was getting on fine. So hard for a young child to lose a parent.
Of course I hadn’t told Mum about Blake’s reactions to Kerra. That would have worried Dad; he might have even travelled up to check Blake out or asked me to come home. Maybe I should have told Mum about the kittens but I felt a loyalty to the Townsends. I just hoped I wouldn’t regret it. Another email from Jasper to read later. One from Dad checking in to see if I was okay. I sighed. Our family seemed so uncomplicated in comparison to the Townsends. I glanced at Kerra. I was hoping she would see love as a two-way street, but I knew she wouldn’t take to anything that she hadn’t thought out for herself.
When she finally spoke, I realised she was sharper than I thought. The thumb came out first.
‘Mariama decided to love the prince?’
I nodded again.
‘Can you choose stuff like that? Did you choose to like Blake?’
‘Sort of. Most people would disagree, but my friend Liana believed that you can choose to love a person.’
‘So can it go the other way? If you don’t love someone at all, you can choose to love them?’
I bit my lip. I felt like hugging her fiercely and dancing her round the room, but I knew she wouldn’t appreciate my emotion.
‘Yes.’ And I gathered her to me gently, feeling like a scientist who’d made a brilliant breakthrough in her research.
I wasn’t ready for the next progression in her thinking; I was counting on her response, not her brother’s.
‘Jaime? Do you think Blake could ever love me like that?’
I stared at her and said the only thing I could think of. ‘Could you love him?’
She fell quiet and in that silence I realised I had been wrong about her feelings for Blake. She didn’t hate him at all.
13
The next day I needed to talk with Mr Townsend. The world seemed quieter than usual, eerie, as if a celestial being like the sun had ceased to function. Kerra snuck into my room while I was dressing and, in her usual way, acted strangely. Her behaviour wouldn’t have been strange for another child, which made it even more disturbing. She picked up the photo of her mother—she’d never shown any interest in it before—and said flatly, ‘This is my mother.’
‘I know.’ I did up my shirt buttons.
‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ She said it as though it was the first time she’d ever noticed.
I knelt by her. ‘That’s where you and Blake get all your good looks.’ She didn’t smile at my efforts to lighten up her mood, so I tried a different tack to get her talking. ‘Your mum looks kind and happy.’
‘I don’t know. She looks it, but I don’t remember.’ There was nothing else to say, nothing I could help her with. I had to get some answers. Blake wasn’t ready to talk. Besides, I kept making a botch of all our conversations; it was as if Kerra was driving a wedge between us. Matt was leaving it to the family and that meant Mr Townsend. If I’d asked Mum she would have said he was the first ‘port of call’.
I found Mr Townsend after lunch at the windmill, a spanner in hand, a toolbox close by.
‘What’s the matter with it?’ That’s what was missing in the morning: the clanking of the pump as it let the water flow up into the tank.
‘Nothing that a few bangs with a spanner won’t fix.’ He stood up. He was making light of it; he wasn’t one to explain every single detail. Like Matt. And Blake. I blew out a quiet breath. This wouldn’t be easy.
‘Where does the water come from?’
‘The dam.’ He indicated vaguely the direction of the dam nearest the house. ‘If we don’t get rain soon we’ll have to sink another bore. Expensive business that.’
He bent to do something to the pump and I wasn’t sure how to get his attention again, to steer the conversation onto his wife. As it happened, he opened the way himself. ‘Kerra says you tell her stories.’ He spoke as he worked, head down.
‘Yes, at night usually, before she goes to bed.’
‘She says you’re quite an actor.’ He banged the spanner again. ‘She seems more settled, happier.’ So he did notice what went on about him. ‘Kerra’s been through a lot, poor kid.’ He stopped what he was doing and looked up. ‘S’pose I should’ve married again, given her another mother-figure, but single women fall out of the sky even less frequently than the rain in these parts.’
I smiled politely. I wanted to ask what Kerra had been through, but I asked about her mother instead. Matt was probably right about it being related to her. ‘Mr Townsend, did Kerra’s mother die in childbirth?’
He stood up then, wiping his hands on his faded jeans. At first I didn’t think he would answer as he bent down again, putting tools in the box, one by one, as though I wasn’t there. I wasn’t sure if I was being ignored or the thought process was taking longer than usual.
‘That pump should be all right now. Should probably ditch it for solar panels.’
The pump? Was I meant to make conversation about the pump? He still hadn’t looked at me since I’d asked about his wife and my mind was lost on how to turn the conversation back to Mrs Townsend when he spoke again.
‘No, lass, she didn’t.’ The look on his face made me wish I hadn’t asked about his wife at all, but I stuck it out for Kerra’a sake.
‘Kerra doesn’t remember anything about her and I think it would help her to know.’
‘Do you now.’ He regarded me for a few moments, making me feel like a meddling fool.
I kept babbling on. ‘I really think that she needs to talk to someone. I have a sister much the same age. Kerra seems a little…’ I couldn’t decide how to put it and was surprised when he supplied the words.
‘Mixed up?’
I almost nodded but stopped myself in time. ‘Not totally. I mean, she’s clever and seems a lot older in some ways, but it worries me how she thinks she’s so bad.’
If I didn’t have his undivided attention before, I did now.
‘She said that?’
‘Often. She says Blake thinks so too.
‘Anyone else?’
‘No. Only Blake. And I don’t understand.’ I could see why Blake could get annoyed with her at times; she wasn’t the model child, but I thought I saw more than he did, from spending time with her and telling stories. I saw the façade, the blank and stubborn barrier hiding a frightened and confused little girl. I could even understand the responsibility he felt towards her; I’d feel the same if it were Elly. It was just the lack of kindness and care I found hard to fathom—he showed those things to me and everyone else. What made Kerra different?
Mr Townsend led me over to the fence, where he leaned against a post and began taking out tobacco and a paper. I thought something was coming; a man like him didn’t make a rollie for nothing when he had work to do.
Maybe it gave him time to think, get his thoughts in order, and I tried not to show my impatience. I was more hopeful after he finally lit it. But if I thought he was going to tell me anything, ‘I had another thing coming’ as I’d heard him say to Blake at times.
He’d forgotten I was there and I realised he wouldn’t say anything at all—his grief was still raw and I wondered if that’s what made him seem quiet and only ‘half there’ at times. I left him leaning against the fence, one leg on the bottom wire, his hat turned down, with his shadowy thoughts for company.
When Kerra came in to the kitchen that afternoon with her drawing book, she seemed different. At first I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. It made me wonder if Mr Townsend had spoken to her. I burned with wanting to know what had happened all those years ago. Wouldn’t it be easier for them to talk about it? I was making Moroccan pizza with the bases I’d found in the huge freezer and the inevitable lamb.
Kerra wasn’t helping but drawing a picture of her and her dad holding hands. There was a gap and then Blake. She drew him bigger than her dad. Was that because he was important to her or because he was scary?
‘Was Princess Noori in the Prince Hamid story beautiful?’ she asked while she looked for a colour in her pencil case.
‘The narrator says so. Though it’s inside beauty that’s important,’ I added, remembering Mum’s pep talks.
She spoke while she coloured the sky purple. ‘Dad told me what a beautiful person Mum was and how she named me. Tamsyn is my second name because it means “Thomas” and that was her family name. And she named me Kerra because it means “dearer” in Cornish. And “beloved”.’ How clever of Mr Townsend. ‘Dad said how she used to hug me and love me.’
Then her expression changed, and I caught the whispered words, ‘But that was before.’
I stiffened as a familiar feeling crept over me: there was something scary in Kerra’s thoughts and I wasn’t sure how to handle it.
Finding Kerra Page 9