The Innocents

by Nette Hilton

  Max had already walked to the door. Now he turned around. ‘I won’t tell them,’ he said. ‘That way they’ll never know.’

  He walked back into the room. ‘She must have fallen after she put him back ... when she came back along here to try and find you...’

  ‘But she went after you,’ Missie said before she could stop herself. ‘And you must have seen her.’ A sudden flash. A torch beam finding the cat’s eyes in the dark. ‘How’d you know she had Buster, then?’

  Max leaned closer. His face was almost against hers then he drew back and jabbed his finger at her.

  ‘You just told me, dummy! And I told you I didn’t see her. She never even found me.’ He took his finger away and put his hands into his pockets. ‘I reckon she got a bit worried about Buster and put him back and then she couldn’t find you. She was probably getting scared and holding her breath as well.’ He turned again, opening the door right up this time, bringing in a breath of cooler air. ‘Or else you found her and knew you’d cop it because she had Buster and when you took him back she tripped and fell all the way down the stairs. So ... it really was your fault whichever way it goes.’

  Missie leapt forward to stop him. To make him stay so she could convince him that Judith Mae wasn’t looking for her ... was she?

  And she’d never touched Buster. Not once. Only that time to hand him across to Judith Mae so she’d start breathing again and not fall down.

  ‘I won’t tell, though, Missie.’ Max slipped around the door. ‘I promise.’

  As quickly as he disappeared he ducked back. ‘Here.’ He grabbed the cardie. ‘Give it to me. I’ll hide it for you.’

  She let him have it. There was no point trying to stop him and it was easier anyway if he looked after it.

  Whichever way it went it was all her fault.

  She didn’t like crying but there was no-one to see and it was too hard to try to keep it back there any longer. She was going to get into dreadful, terrible trouble.

  She could see her mother’s face, blotched already from crying, pinched and worried because they’d have to leave. And then what would they do? She couldn’t bear to think of it. She’d maybe even get put into a home; she’d heard about them, for children whose mothers couldn’t care for them any more.

  Tears splashed onto the magic painting book and made blue and red and lovely purple patches where they landed.

  It added to her misery. You didn’t even have to stay in the lines to make the painting work.

  5

  SATURDAY NIGHT

  MISSIE’S ROOM

  The water bottle warmed her feet but they were still clammy and cold and stuck to the sheets. She pushed the bottle around trying to dry them in the hot patch it left behind.

  A book, a lovely pop-up book of The Chimney Sweep that had belonged to her mother when she was a little girl, lay beside her. Flat and neat and square at her side.

  ‘Not reading?’

  Missie’s heart leapt into her mouth. Her face was going pink too. She could feel it and knew it’d make her look like she was doing something she shouldn’t. It was the same at school with Miss Martin. She had a way of creeping up on you as well.

  Her mother said his name was Barney Spence and he was a policeman just like all the others that she’d seen at the station in town.

  He didn’t look like one.

  If she’d seen Barney Spence down the street she wouldn’t even have known that he was one. He wore a suit for starters, all browns and paler browns. It was a dizzying pattern that made her feel sick. She looked away at his shoes. They were shiny brown. It was easier to look at them.

  ‘Missie?’ Her mother’s voice.

  The boy on the cover of The Chimney Sweep was watching her. She looked back at him. And felt the pressure of Barney Spence as he moved into the room. He was so big. It was like the air moved out of his way to make space.

  ‘Can I sit down?’ he said.

  ‘Missie.’ Her mother moved the book away. ‘Say hello.’

  ‘I want to talk to you about what happened today, Missie. Is that all right?’

  It wasn’t.

  Missie felt her head nod.

  ‘Judith Mae fell down the stairs. Did you know that?’

  Again Missie felt herself nod.

  ‘I’ve been downstairs talking to everyone, Missie, and I’d like you to help me out a bit.’

  He waited.

  Missie wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. She looked to her mother for help.

  ‘Just tell us about this afternoon,’ she said.

  It wasn’t a hard thing to do and normally she’d just leap right in and follow her mouth as it told the story. But now there didn’t seem to be a clear starting place. It was holding her up and, try as she might, nothing was giving her a ‘start here’ signal. Was it when they were downstairs and Allan Mae had sent them up? Or when they arrived at the top step?

  Barney Spence cleared his throat. ‘How about this,’ he said. ‘Did you see anyone else up here today besides Max and Judith?’

  There seemed to be something wrong with the part of her brain that linked the words coming in and the words going out. She knew what she wanted to say but it stayed jammed tight inside.

  ‘The boarders,’ her mother explained. ‘Mr Fellows or the other one with the tricky name, Mr Shevchenko? Did you see them this afternoon?’

  ‘No.’ It was such a relief to find an answer it came out as a sigh.

  ‘Did they stay in their rooms?’

  Again Missie wasn’t too sure what he meant. He’d think she was a dummy the way she was going on and trying to see past him so her mother could explain. But if they were in their rooms, well, they must have stayed there, because she didn’t see them.

  ‘Yes.’ She was pleased it sounded so clear and firm. ‘I think so.’

  ‘You think so?’ He was leaning forward like he might miss something important.

  ‘I think I heard the one who’s not John Fellows. I think I saw him hurrying.’

  Her mother pressed forward. ‘The children aren’t allowed into the guest wing,’ she said. ‘So they really wouldn’t know who’s in and who’s not. Or who might or might not have been in the hallway.’

  Barney Spence smiled at her. Not a proper one though. It was the same one Miss Martin used when somebody called out the answer to the question when really she was waiting for Jimmy Johnson or one of the others to tell her.

  He stepped towards the bed and slowly sat down. ‘Now,’ he said softly. ‘Did you see Judith fall?’

  In her room where there was no sound at all except the crease of one trousered leg against another, she heard the thud and the thud and the awful crack as her head, Judith Mae’s head, hit the tiles. It was there between her face and Barney Spence’s patient one.

  An awful little shudder shook itself all the way up her spine. Her head rattled so hard she was sure her brain shifted.

  Her mother squeezed into the small space at the top of her bed. It was lovely to feel her arm along her back.

  ‘Just tell Mr Spence, eh?’ Now her mother’s cool hand drifted across her forehead, lifting her hair away and then cooling a path across her cheek.

  ‘Take your time, Missie.’ He was picking at the creases on his trousers and looked as if he didn’t mind if she took all night.

  Missie found herself watching him and felt her mouth drying up and her head making strange buzzing sounds.

  ‘Missie? Did you see her fall?’ Perhaps it was because her mother was so close that it sounded as if she was holding her breath. ‘Missie? Did you?’ Almost like her mother was scared of the answer. And when she said no, mum, I wasn’t there, she’d know that Judith Mae had been left alone. Just like she wasn’t supposed to be.

  ‘No.’ Missie’s voice seemed to come too slowly behind her mouth opening. ‘I saw her...’ She swallowed hard. ‘I ... saw...’ She pointed to where the bottom of the stairs would be.

  ‘You saw her down there on the floor, M
issie?’ Barney Spence said.

  Missie nodded. Her belly was swaying now like a cork in a bottle of oil every time she had to think about the bottom of the stairs.

  And her feet were so cold and so sweaty.

  ‘Were you playing up here with Judith Mae?’

  Again Missie nodded. It was nearly right. She couldn’t find any words at all now. Her stomach was so rocky she thought it might empty if she opened her mouth. She pointed to the book that was back on her little table.

  ‘Ah ... a painting book. You were up here painting. It’s a magic paint book, isn’t it?’

  She tried to stop it but she saw herself painting the toadstools and the elf’s cap. She saw her meanness as she hurried so Judith wouldn’t know. Her stomach lurched and there was no time to even turn away.

  Out if flew. Everything. All over her bed and the bedspread and strands of her hair and Barney Spence and it wouldn’t stop.

  ‘Poor old love.’ She heard her mother saying, and then ‘sorry, sorry’ to Barney Spence while she kept Missie cocooned against her shoulder at the same time as she stooped about trying to make the dreadful mess seem not so bad.

  It reeked and seeped warmly through the blanket and sheets and what was left behind pressed heavily against her legs.

  ‘What’s up?’ Max’s voice from the doorway. ‘How come Missie’s sick?’

  ‘Hop back to your room, Max.’

  Now the blankets were being peeled off and finally she was peeled out of the bed as well. Her nightie was slowly folded so the mess wouldn’t drop further than it already had while the crochet throw was wrapped around her.

  ‘It’s all in her hair,’ Max said.

  ‘Run along now,’ Barney Spence said. He didn’t seem surprised by the mess all over his trousers and calmly scooped at it with a hanky. ‘There’s a good lad.’

  ‘How come Missie’s sick?’ Max asked again. ‘She wasn’t sick this afternoon when we were painting...’

  His voice drifted off as he wandered across the rug to the open book on the table. ‘We painted this one.’

  He found the page. ‘It took ages, didn’t it, Missie?’

  Everyone turned to look her way. Too many eyes trying to read her.

  It was an awful lie, a horrible lie but it was so easy to simply let it be. Max smiled across at her and then idly turned to another page, then another, as if seeking the ones that they had already completed.

  She nodded.

  ‘You were together then?’ Barney Spence gave one last determined wipe at his trouser leg before looking at them.

  Missie kept her eyes on the rug. Her stomach was threatening to lurch up again and her knees weren’t as strong as they should have been. If she was a puppet she’d fall in a crumpled heap.

  ‘Answer please, Missie.’

  ‘Only while we did the painting,’ Max piped up. ‘I was in my room with the trains when Missie came up.’

  ‘When Missie came up with Judith Mae?’

  ‘With Judith Mae. Yes.’ Max had moved closer to Missie. He stood between her and the policeman.

  ‘Now, young man...’

  Max stood up straight and tall. It was what was expected of young men and he did it well.

  ‘...perhaps you can tell me where Judith was while you were painting.’

  ‘Judith Mae...’ Max corrected in his best voice. ‘Judith Mae hung around in my room. She wanted my trains.’

  ‘Did you let her have them?’

  ‘Well, no,’ said Max. His hand rested on the back of Missie’s little chair and he glanced, once more, at their magic painting book. ‘I should have, I suppose. I didn’t know she wanted it so badly but it’s a boy’s toy.’

  The detective smiled as if he understood perfectly what problems small girls and train sets can be.

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘We told her to come and do some painting with us. Missie got the water and we just came down here to her room.’

  ‘Did Judith ... Judith Mae come with you?’

  Max looked at his hand lying along the top of the chair. He drifted one finger along the crease in the timber.

  ‘She got cross.’

  ‘She got cross? How?’

  ‘She held her breath,’ Missie said quietly. It was the truth. That one little bit was the truth and she had to say it.

  ‘It makes her faint,’ Max went on. ‘She holds her breath and then she goes all white and then she falls down.’

  Barney Spence glanced across to Missie’s mother. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘She did it when she wanted to get her own way.’

  Her mother sighed, as if it all made sense now. When she lifted her face it looked like someone had blurred the edges a bit. Softer somehow.

  Barney Spence sat on the bed. ‘Did you see her faint?’

  Max shook his head. ‘We just left her standing out there. She was supposed to come in here and do the painting and then ... and then...’ His finger was still and he drew a deep breath before he moved to stand in the shelter of Missie’s mum. ‘We heard...’ His hand pointed to the door amplifying the silent sounds of the fall.

  Barney Spence moved forward and gently ruffled his hand against Max’s hair. ‘That’s a brave lad. Thank you.’

  Max leaned comfortably against the bed while Missie crawled deeper under the old quilt, the only thing left to cover her, and rolled on her side so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  Barney Spence was looking at both of them, though. She was sure of it. And before she’d turned onto her side she’d seen the way he’d looked at Max.

  ‘Don’t go to sleep yet, Missie. I’ll be up to get your bed made again,’ her mother said. ‘No more questions, Mr Spence?’

  ‘From the children?’

  Missie held her breath. She wanted to hear his footsteps going down the stairs but now she waited desperately for his answer.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No. I don’t think we’ll be needing any more information from these two. Just a quick chat with the fellows up the hall here. Perhaps they might have seen something. Especially if Missie noticed one of them? What’s his name, by the way? The one she thought she saw?’

  Her mother still stood in the doorway. ‘Oleksander Shevchenko. He’s a New Australian and doesn’t have very good English.’

  ‘Dotty Evans calls him a wog, doesn’t she, Marcie.’

  ‘Off to bed, Max.’ Her mother was already leading Barney Spence away from them. ‘Mr Spence doesn’t need your help any more.’

  Beside her the bed creaked as Max angled around to face her. His hand was sneaking along the pattern on the bedspread, creeping closer to her. She didn’t want to look up at him but knew he was waiting for her to do so.

  When she finally looked his way she remembered the fox and the knowing look she read in its eyes when it knew it was safe and had got away with a close brush with danger.

  6

  WINTER

  JUNE

  For weeks after the funeral Missie never once stepped in the place at the bottom of the stairs, slightly to the right of the corner of the flared final step, where Judith Mae had finally stopped. One week drifted to another, all of them unremarkable and unmistakable from the previous except, perhaps, for the colder days and naked trees.

  It was some weeks before she could even bring herself to walk along the wall side of the stairs. There was a mark, she was sure of it, that wasn’t there before and her blood ran cold when she thought what might have hit against there to leave a stain like that. Her mother didn’t need to remind her now to keep her hands off the walls. There was not a chance in hell that she’d let any part of her touch them.

  There were twenty-six stairs. She counted them to keep her mind off other things. Same number as the alphabet.

  And then, when she reached the bottom step, she’d list all the ways she was truly sorry about Judith. Once or twice in the beginning small waves of panic filled her belly making her hiccup when she couldn’t quite remember actually liking
Judith. Now, though, she knew all the reasons off by heart and it took no time at all. She could even tick them off on her fingers.

  She didn’t really like Judith but then she didn’t hate her either.

  That was good.

  She had wanted to paint with her and had only painted one page without her.

  That was good.

  And she hadn’t actually given her a shake when she was the one who dobbed on them for taking all the jelly beans and that must count for something.

  And she was the one who gave in and went to fetch her when they’d hidden around the side of Scott’s shop and were going to leave her behind. She was a bit sorry about leaving her there long enough to really, truly cry. Not just crocodile tears.

  She was sorriest of all about the secret that she shared with Max. That was definitely not good. It prickled at her whenever she thought about it, and that was every time she saw him.

  No matter which way she looked at it, it had finished up being her fault and the very thought of that started her off chanting again, just in case the ghost that was Judith Mae was thinking about paying her back.

  It was hard to be truly happy with the fear of a ghost hanging over you. At night the fear kept her awake and in the daytime it seemed wrong to do too much smiling and laughing. Not that there was anything much to smile and laugh about.

  It would have been nice if someone had taken notice and sat her down, like they did in the Lassie pictures when someone was looking glum, but nobody did. Her mother suggested she buck up and get moving. The girls at school didn’t bother about her anyway and Miss Martin gave her a star because she was the quietest in the class. She might as well have been invisible so it was a surprise then that the new girl at school chose to sit beside her.

  Girls like Zilla Trumble didn’t usually choose quiet girls who were ordinary.

  Zilla Trumble was beautiful. She had blonde hair. Proper blonde hair that wasn’t just light brown. And it was long and she wore it in two fluffy pigtails that curled right down over her shoulders and her front. And she had true blue eyes with lashes as thick as paintbrushes.