The Last Time

by Sharon Haste

  'So why aren't you in school, Tobi?'

  'Dunno. Reckon I just got slack.'

  'Well, why don't you come back with me when this is over?' Charli says, feeling a surge of generosity. 'We can do it together.'

  He's silent.

  'You'd be doing me a favour,' she lies. 'Nobody there understands what I've been through, but you do.'

  'Well, if ya need me there, of course I'll do it. But will you wanna hang with me when you go back?'

  She thinks about it. Will I? I'll be in year twelve next year, a senior. What'll my friends think if I start hanging out with him? How am I going to explain it to them? Before she knows what's she's saying, the words are out of her mouth. ‘Yes, Tobi, I'll be your friend.'

  'Okay, it's a deal.'

  He sticks out a hand, and they shake on it. Charli pushes herself up. 'We need to get going.'

  'Yep. Reckon I'm ready to rock 'n' roll,' he says.

  There's a lightness in his voice, and she realises it's because she reached out to him. Before the accident, she'd never speak to someone like Tobi. She realises she's starting to like him.

  'Let's do it,' she says, leaping to her feet with her nerves twitching. 'Is it okay if we don't tell anyone else what we're doing? I want to keep it as low-key as possible so we have the best chance of sneaking in and out without anyone noticing.'

  'That's sweet,' Tobi says, heading for the door.

  'Hey, one last thing.'

  Tobi turns to eyeball her with his eyebrows raised.

  'Can I borrow a cap or something?'

  Five minutes later, they're squinting against the scorching mid-morning sun, their bus idling at the curb in front of the house. They race toward it, the air brakes releasing just as they skid aboard. The driver shakes his head, and they find a seat as the bus hisses forward. She's wearing one of Tobi's caps, pulled low over her face, and her body is hidden beneath a loose Black Sabbath t-shirt.

  The bus jerks forward, pausing like a distracted toddler every few blocks. She keeps her head lowered, casting occasional glances out the grimy window. Her heart quickens when she recognises the landmarks near her home. They alight at her usual school-day stop and stride toward the street behind Charli's house. They walk in silence until Charli stops at a low-set house with an overgrown front yard. The gate creaks when she opens it, and they step over ambitious vines that are obscuring a narrow path to the front door.

  'Is this it?' Tobi whispers.

  Charli ignores him and raps on the door with her knuckles.

  'Whatcha doin'?' he asks, looking left and right and nudging her with his elbow.

  Before she has time to answer, the door swings open and a middle-aged woman, looking flushed and in a hurry, almost knocks them over.

  'Hello, love. Can I help you?' she asks, a quizzical smile pushing her cheeks wide.

  'I was looking for Mrs Peters,' Charli says.

  'Oh, the poor dear had a bit of a tumble and had to go to the hospital. She's all right, just a few bruises. She'll be home tomorrow or the next day. I'm just keeping an eye on things for her.'

  'Oh,' Charli says. 'I'm sorry. I'll drop in when she gets home.'

  'She'll love that,' the woman says, already halfway down the stairs. 'Sorry I can't stay and chat; I'm running late, and my bus is leaving in less than five.' She checks her watch and rushes down the path and through the gate before they have time to respond.

  Tobi's mouth opens like a fish out of water. 'What was that about?'

  'I thought the old lady that lives here might be able to help with something,' Charli says. 'And besides, her house backs onto our fence, so we can get through this way.'

  'Right, good thinkin',' he says, trotting after her lithe figure, already heading down the side of the house to the backyard.

  The headlines are foremost in her mind as they hover at the six-foot-wall separating the properties. She tries the gate, but she finds it locked. Hefting her foot onto a nearby tree, she scales over the wall and unlocks the gate for Tobi. His much shorter legs do not fare well in climbing the tree, and he sighs with relief when she pops her head through.

  'Good job,' he says, letting his leg drop to the ground and heading towards her.

  She disappears through the gate, and he almost collides with her. She stares at the lights and decorations, a stark reminder of the party night. The memories return. Christmas carols fill her ears, along with the hum of a hundred people talking and laughing at once. The tantalising aroma of roast meats, pastries, gingerbread, and the syrupy smell of melted chocolate fill her nose. Tobi is oblivious to her inner turmoil as he gazes wide-eyed at the house, a long, low whistle escaping his lips.

  'This is where you live?' he asks, voice rising.

  Charli's face is blank when it turns to him, her mind spilling over with the flashbacks.

  'What?'

  'Is this where you live?' Tobi repeats.

  'Yep, home, sweet home,' she says jerking back to the present, looking up at the house.

  'Jesus, it's huge.'

  'Yeah, I guess so.'

  She's too caught up in her own misery to realise that Tobi has never been this close to a house like hers, let alone been inside one. She hesitates, no longer wanting to go inside. Swallowing hard, she forces a smile. Ghosts swarm her on all sides as Tobi takes her elbow and pushes her into a bed of tropical plants, the tangle of red and green foliage providing the perfect camouflage. They watch the house for a time, waiting for movement. Twenty minutes pass before they make their way to the back veranda, taking slow, deliberate steps. They keep their eyes on the back door lest it should fly open and a uniformed cop throw Charli to the ground and cuff her. They make it to the sanctity of the veranda and peer in the kitchen window. There's no movement or sound. A small child's screams and the incessant bark of a dog accompany their slow crawl to the back door. They stop, hearts thudding, as a woman calls from the front of the house. Their limbs turn to jelly as they scramble off the veranda and hide in the shrubbery. Tobi creeps to the side of the house in time to see a tall, leggy brunette in a tight red dress walk past, her high heels clicking on the pavers.

  'Who's that?' he whispers, resisting the urge to whistle.

  'Let's see,' she says, pushing in front of him. 'Oh, it's Rebekah,' Charli says. 'She lives down the street. She must be here to see Dad.'

  Rebekah Lopez is tall and poised, graced with a voluptuous figure and smooth olive skin: the result of a Spanish mother and Latino father. Her bone structure, wide-eyed kitten look, and penchant for parading in tight fitting dresses had her in hot demand on the catwalk in her younger years. Now approaching forty, she has her own clothing line and spends her time travelling the globe to promote her brand. She's been around for as long as Charli can remember.

  Charli listens to the click of her heels as she crosses the front veranda. The doorbell chimes twice before the tapping heads back down the stairs and to her waiting car. Mesmerised, Tobi follows her sashaying hips to a red convertible with his eyes, and he stays transfixed as she guns down the drive and through the gate. They take a few minutes to collect themselves before Charli retrieves a spare key from beneath a plant pot, and they're at the back door. A tangle of nerves, she can't fit the key in the lock, and Tobi takes it from her shaking hand, slides it in, and turns the key in a single movement. He twists the knob, cracks the door, and steps over the doorjamb, stopping just inside. A security panel on the wall gives a warning peep, and Charli punches in the code, rendering it silent. Tobi strides into the kitchen, spellbound by the size and opulence. Charli tiptoes behind him, not daring to breathe. There's a used coffee cup on the sink, a few unopened envelopes on the kitchen bench, and the smell of her mother.

  Their ghosts fill the house. The kitchen was always the first place they gravitated when they walked through the front door. It was the heart of their home, where homework was done, stories shared, sticking plasters applied, and kisses given in liberal doses. She can see her mother at the stove, hips swayin
g with each stir of the pot, and her face captured in a dreamy, faraway look, pouring her love into the food. Ash, just a toddler, perches on a kitchen stool, drawing with his left hand and the ripe smell of fruit drifting from the bowl at his elbow. The room makes Charli ache in a place deep inside, and her eyes burn with unshed tears.

  'Where's your room?' Tobi whispers. 'We have to get a move on. Your dad could come home at any minute.'

  She jolts and walks like she is in a dream to the stairs. At every step, she expects Ash to come charging out, flinging tiny arms around the top of her hips with Mum in his wake. The house groans with expectation, the air pregnant with eerie silence. Her room smacks of her old life, and she resists the urge to dive under her quilt and hide from her new reality. Her eyes travel over the embroidered quilt cover, the familiar watercolours on the walls, and her phone. Heart leaping, she reaches for it, and Tobi's hand snakes out to stop her.

  'They can track those things,' he warns. 'Leave it.'

  Her hand drops, fingers twitching by her side.

  'Charli, ya gotta move it,' he urges.

  She clicks into gear and finds a backpack in her walk-in-wardrobe, shoving in a few clothes and a wad of rolled up bills from a purse beneath her socks. She gives her room one last look as she zips the bag and slings it over her shoulder.

  'Just gotta get one more thing,' she says, making her way to her parents' bedroom. Her heart hammers as she pushes the door open and tiptoes in. The smell of jasmine brings her mother's ghost and a hot sense of longing. She shakes the feeling, knowing the consequences if her dad catches her. She doesn't want to go to prison. She digs beneath her mother's shoe rack, her trembling fingers searching. A spring pops, and a hidden drawer glides open. She reaches in and grabs another roll of money that is tied with a rubber band. She mouths a silent thank you to her mum. Tobi enters the walk-in-wardrobe, just as the ensuite door opens. Shit, he's home. They freeze, their blood running cold. They'll be caught for sure. Tobi puts a finger to his lips and backs towards her, easing her to the back of the wardrobe. They can hear Thomas moving in the bedroom.

  'He's going to come in,' Charli whispers with rising panic.

  Tobi stays quiet. Then she remembers the cross. She digs into her pocket and eases it out. She drops the pendant over her neck and grabs Tobi's hand as her father's shadow fills the doorway.

  Chapter Nine

  A few days earlier, on the second Saturday in December, Clare Richter woke with a jolt, excitement a warm thrum in her chest. She turned to her side, smiled to herself, and stretched an arm across the king-sized bed to touch him while he slept. She gazed at him, joy bursting from her heart, and wondered how she could love someone so much. She touched his arm, careful not to wake him, and swept a golden curl from his forehead, overwhelmed by her feelings. There was a time when she thought Thomas would be the only one to own her heart. She dismissed a twinge of guilt and savoured him for one last moment before she rolled to the side of the bed and rose. She tiptoed to the ensuite and changed into a red bikini and a matching cotton robe. Tonight was their annual Christmas party and Clare's favourite night of the year. Butterflies fluttered as excitement trilled through her. She had loved Christmas since she was a small child when she was young enough to believe in Santa Claus and leave milk and cookies on the kitchen bench.

  By the time she emerged from the bathroom, he was gone. She surveyed the crumpled sheets where he lay and smiled, surging with happiness. Just outside the bedroom door, Ash barrelled into her and wrapped his arms around her waist, chattering with animated excitement.

  'Can we go for a swim?' he asked, blonde curls falling into his eyes.

  Clare squatted to his height and hugged him close. 'Of course we can, sweetie,' she said. 'Are you dressed?'

  He turned and sprinted down the corridor to his bedroom. They were in the pool for fifteen minutes before Clare decided she'd endured enough dive bombs and floated to the edge.

  'Come on, Ash,' she said. 'We need to have breakfast before the party people get here.'

  He swam to her the long way, grabbed a float toy, and used it as camouflage in an attempt to prolong his water time. Clare repeated her request, and he crawled out, dripping on the pavers with a long face.

  'Charli might take you in again later,' she said. His face changed in an instant.

  'When's Charli getting up?' he asked.

  'Soon,' Clare said, hoping it was true.

  They ate fruit and cereal at the tall stools in the kitchen, and Clare took her coffee to the back veranda. Her eyes surveyed the manicured lawn, vibrant and trimmed bushes, and festive lights strung above numerous round tables and chairs. Two young men—shirts tucked into their back pockets and bare chests glistening with sweat—sat on the lawn, guzzled cola from the bottle, and laughed at a joke she couldn't hear. They smiled and nodded in her direction when she waved good morning and complimented them on the work already done. She finished her coffee and went inside.

  Clare loved her home the moment she laid eyes on it ten years ago. Charli had just turned six and started at St Joseph's Catholic College. They were looking for somewhere close to the school with a good-sized garden and pool. They inspected so many houses; Clare was almost ready to concede defeat when they saw the ‘For Sale’ sign, nailed to two pine posts and banged into the grass out front. Instead of ringing the agent, whose number was at the bottom of the sign, Thomas parked on the curb and pressed the gate buzzer. An old man, with a strong Italian accent, answered and allowed them to come right in to have a look. Giuseppe and his wife, Maria, although aged, were warm and welcoming, treating them as if they were family from the onset. They said they were moving interstate to be closer to their children and grandchildren. Clare remembered entering the foyer for the first time and feeling the overwhelming warmth and love one has for the right house. Her eyes widened and heart swelled as the old couple moved them from room to room, pouring out their life story with tears wetting their eyes. By the end of the tour, Clare and Thomas knew they had to have the house and talked dollars over coffee and shortbread.

  Clare hummed to herself as she stretched up to adjust the lights on the stairs. Her heart sang when she flicked the switch and delicate bells lit the stair rail all the way to the top, their rainbow colours reflected on the polished wood. She clapped her hands like a small child; she was thrilled at the transformation of her home into a Christmas wonderland. The annual Christmas party was a tradition they'd upheld since first buying the house. It started with a few friends, and as time, the couple's popularity, and circle of acquaintances grew, so did the Christmas gathering. Not that Clare minded. She loved people and socialising was something she'd done all her life. Her parents often threw dinner parties and gatherings that lasted into the small hours of the night.

  Her eyes lit up at the sight of her latest Christmas acquisition. Each year she bought something new. She enjoyed hunting for the perfect bauble or trinket. This year's addition was an elegant star chandelier, lit in a myriad of festive colours. Her eyes followed the dancing crystals as they swayed in the breeze of the overhead fan, caught the light, and cast rainbows on the walls.

  She checked the time and noted with satisfaction that she was well ahead of schedule. Once she did all the preparation herself, but now the whole thing was too big for her to prepare everything, so she hired people to help. The team arrived at eight on the morning of the party and worked until around lunchtime. The caterers returned at five to serve food and drinks throughout the evening.

  Lights and baubles adorned every room. She stood at the foot of their enormous Christmas tree, stretching meters above her head; it was a vision of red and gold. Tinsel fluttered in the breeze, and the trinkets swayed gently against the flashing, coloured lights. A beautiful angel, glorious in a gold and white gown and a crown of dancing blonde curls, stood atop the tree and smiled down on the room.

  Clare moved to the kitchen to tidy the bench tops. She already had several cases of the finest champagne chilling i
n a specially-made refrigerator on the back porch, but she wanted to set up a bar on the kitchen bench with the other drinks. She smiled in anticipation of the evening ahead; a thrill coursed through her body. She was tempted to open a bottle of the champagne, but her own bubbles of excitement were enough for now.

  Ash tugged at her dress then, babbling about going somewhere with Charli. The words tumbled out so fast she could barely make out what he said. He looked impossibly gorgeous in his cut-off jeans and white shirt; a tangle of golden curls fell across one eye. Clare smoothed the hair back from his forehead and squatted beside him for a hug and kiss; she touched his round cheek with her fingers before she released his animated body to his sister. She watched as Charli took his hand and leant in to listen to what he was saying. Ash beamed in her company; excitement put a spring in his step and made his lips move non-stop.

  Feeling a rush of love for her offspring, Clare smiled. She was glad that she'd been given a second chance at motherhood. Her eyes darkened as she remembered a time when that happiness had seemed a distant dream. She didn't like to think about those dark days, or the time, after each birth, when low and gloomy clouds hung over her head. Fear pricked at her insides until she shook the memory, a familiar hollowness in its wake. Don't think of it today, Clare. Her mind wandered back to the parties of her youth: the days of dancing until her feet ached and her tongue swelled with thirst. Thomas was an expert dancer, pressing her hard against him as he stepped her through the salsa and the tango, so exotic and passionate. They would fall into their seats—breathless, exhilarated, and so in love. Her heart ached for him, even now. She glanced at her watch and wondered when he'd be home and whether he'd be on time this year. The years had been kind to her husband, and he had changed little from the hot, Latino man she'd fallen for so long ago. He'd been her rock since then, although it had taken a year to get his visa and to move him here. They'd kept their love alive through social media, and when he arrived, they were inseparable until Thomas became a politician. She sighed and laced her hands in front of her body. Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she became absorbed in party arrangements until early afternoon.