by Nette Hilton
Now Missie could hear her heart beating so hard in her throat it was making her feel sick.
‘Children grow so fast, you see,’ her mother was saying. ‘You haven’t answered me, though. Why are you asking about this now?’
There was a pause and Missie imagined her mother touching the soft, fluffy front of the little cardigan.
‘I’ve been in Brisbane. Nice place. Too hot though. Have you been there?’
‘No.’
‘No? Well, anyway. This turned up in one of the cases ... being away and all, I didn’t get onto it before.’
‘Deirdre.’ Her mother’s voice, softer now. ‘Poor little girl. And Judith...’ Missie heard the bag crackle again. ‘Where did this come from? I mean, why have you got it if you’re trying to sort out things about Deirdre?’
‘I don’t suppose you’d remember if Shevchenko was in the house the day Judith had her accident?’
Silence.
Missie’s throat sucked shut. Like a clam. She could almost see the sides of her neck jammed in. She longed to gasp in great gobfuls of air.
She heard her mother stand and her voice this time was hard. ‘He never had anything to do with Judith’s accident if that’s what you’re thinking.’ It was the same tone that she used when she’d been ticking off Dot Evans.
‘I don’t think anything,’ Barney Spence said. ‘But this jacket was found in his room and I’m wondering how it might have got there?’
Her mother’s footsteps crossed the floor. ‘It might have got tangled up in the sheets perhaps. Or the ironing basket...’
‘Do you think it’s likely that Judith might have gone down to his room at any time?’
‘I think it’s highly unlikely that she would but she was a determined little girl and if she took it into her head to go off and do something she’d certainly do it.’
‘Would she have had time to do that on the day she died, do you think? Go to his room?’
Missie saw Judith all over again, the straight little mouth and the way she’d simply sidle around to the thing that she fancied and then snatch it.
‘The children were upstairs painting. They’d left her in Max’s room – do you remember them saying that?’
‘They’d been gone a while.’ Her mother was thinking about it. It was easy to imagine the way she looked when she was trying to remember, her head bent forward and her hands lifted to her forehead as if this might make the memory jump right up there. ‘Missie hadn’t wanted to go and she’d hung about on the stairs hoping I’d change my mind and let them stay downstairs. I don’t know ... perhaps it wasn’t all that long. I remember I’d gone back to the kitchen to reline the pantry shelves. I was halfway through when Allan arrived and I’d made a cuppa for him, had a bit of a chat. Lordy, I really don’t know ... it could have been an hour, half an hour ... no, more than that I’m sure.’
‘But she would have had time to wander down to his room, especially if she was invited?’
Judith Mae never went into Oleksander’s room.
Ever.
And neither did her cardie. Not when she was still alive.
Such a rush of heat and blood filled Missie’s face and brain she could see little pinwheels of light in front of her. She had to move, had to get away so she could drag heaps of the clear sunshiney air into her body. She wanted to feel the breeze on her arms and legs and wanted to be bent double, hands on knees, gulping it down.
Her face throbbed. Her cheeks pulsed with so much heat that she rested against the cool bricks. It was like she might just wobble over if she tried to stand by herself.
Then, when she was sure she’d make it without tripping or stumbling, she flew back along the polished planks of the verandah floor. She stopped long enough to check that her mother and Barney Spence were not following and then raced down the stairs and out into the drive. There’d be trouble if she had been seen listening.
Her mother had really ticked her off last time.
She took off, not caring about the rush and crunch of stones and the loud hit of her feet on the concrete path.
She had to get away from the place so she could think about Judith’s cardigan. The last time she’d seen it, Max had it...
And she wanted a very quiet place to try to think about that.
38
EVENING
‘CHARMAINE’
FRONT BEDROOM
Max didn’t come home until after dinner. Missie was already in her pyjamas in her room when she heard Lawrence’s father deliver him to the front door. She waited until he came up the stairs and then, as soon as she heard his door close, flew out of her bed and into the corridor.
She didn’t knock and for once Max didn’t immediately bellow at her. He simply looked up from the models he had on his desk.
‘What do you want?’ he said.
‘Where’d you put Judith’s cardigan?’ It was out before she’d even had time to catch her breath.
‘None of your business.’ He went back to tracing his fingers over his newest model.
‘It is my business and I know where you put it!’ Missie declared and moved closer. ‘You put it in the room down by the hall!’
Max didn’t look at her. He moved his model a little and went on studying it. ‘If you knew all that why come in here and ask me?’
‘Because you had it!’
Max stood and angled himself between his desk and the door and Missie found her way blocked. ‘No, Missie. You had it. You had it hidden under your desk and you were trying to get rid of it.’
Missie’s face flamed. ‘I wasn’t.’
‘You were. I came in and took it so you wouldn’t be blamed for pushing Judith Mae down the stairs because you were the one who was fighting with her.’
It was like someone was pumping her full of air. She couldn’t think straight. It was all crowded together.
‘You’re a liar,’ she said.
‘No, you’re the liar.’ Max moved away. He opened his top drawer and took out his pyjamas. ‘And if you’re not careful I’ll tell them why I had to put the cardigan in that room...’
Missie let his words sink around her.
‘Why?’ she finally asked.
‘I put it there so you wouldn’t be blamed for something that you reckon you didn’t do.’
‘But I didn’t do anything...’
‘So you say. And you know what, Missie, even if I believe you there’s no way they’re going to believe it. It’s not the way cops think.’
He went back to his model. It was time for her to leave.
‘Get lost, Missie. I don’t know why you’re worrying about it now anyway. I bunged it there ages ago.’
‘Why?’
‘I didn’t want it, did I? It was nothing to do with me. I was helping you. Remember?’
It wasn’t making any sense. But then, why would it? The dots in this puzzle were numbered all wrong and she couldn’t get them to show her the next way to go.
‘Why did you put it in Oleks’s room?’
‘Why wouldn’t I? He doesn’t belong here anyway.’
That little cardigan had been in his room all that time. When they were talking. When Judith Mae was rattling at her window. It should have been somewhere else. A place where it’d never be found. Ever. Again.
Like socks. And pencils.
‘How come nobody found it then?’ Her own words surprised her. There was no point knowing any of this. The cardigan had been there. It had stayed there and then, now, it had been found.
The piece of model in his hand was put down. ‘It’s not my fault your mother doesn’t clean the top of wardrobes. If she did she’d have found it up there.’ He turned back. ‘Piss off, Missie.’
If she clonked him like she felt like doing there’d be big trouble. He’d said that about her mother to get her going. She knew that. But her blood still boiled. Nobody was allowed to touch the guests’ stuff, whatever it was. Boxes. Luggage. None of it. Aunt Belle was going on about it all the
time.
And Max knew it as well.
‘But now Oleksander Mykola’s in trouble for it.’
He didn’t even turn. ‘You’re so stupid, Missie. He’s in so much trouble this little bit won’t make any difference. And you know what else? You’re the one that’ll really cop it if you go and tell anyone that the cardigan was hidden under your table and you tried to throw it away, so you better watch out.’
Beaten.
If she stayed there was no telling what he might do. Probably decide to dob on her and her mother would get into trouble about Missie being in the wrong place all over again.
‘You shouldn’t have done it,’ Missie said quietly and then, because there didn’t seem to be anything else to say, she left to go back to her own room.
He was right, though. There’d be trouble if she went downstairs and told about the cardigan. They’d ask her all sorts of questions and probably shift onto the times she spent with Oleksander and she didn’t want to do that. Already the things she’d told them had sounded wrong.
She might even get put in jail for taking that cardigan. No doubt about it if Max got involved. He had a way of twisting things so nothing that was true stayed true for very long. And it was an actual fact that bad girls got sent to special boarding schools where they had to scrub floors and eat sloppy food all the time. And they weren’t allowed out.
Missie closed her bedroom door and sat on the bed.
Oleksander Mykola was in real trouble. Bigger trouble now because of her.
And there was absolutely nothing at all she could do about it without finding herself in a bad, bad place.
A night breeze blew through the window, lifting the curtains and bringing a memory of Judith Mae’s ghost. She wasn’t howling or seeking this time. Instead she seemed to sigh into the room, her presence puzzled by her cardigan being found in a place it shouldn’t have been.
The weight of it sent Missie sinking deeper into her bed. It pressed her down, making her legs, arms, neck and fingers stiff and useless. She longed to shift around and curl up tight so she was a neat ball but it was all too, too heavy. It was like their old crocheted blanket. Her mother reckoned it was so heavy it still had the sheep attached.
She drifted in and out of sleep and woke feeling as if the day had started but she’d been left behind. It didn’t matter how much she tried to catch it up, it moved too quickly and took all her energy.
By lunchtime her throat hurt.
By home time her neck that was stiff before was now swollen. Her legs and knees ached and the weight of her arms was more than she could carry so she’d let them rest in the pockets of her cardie. All through school her head had swum and she’d had to right herself quickly to stop from falling off her chair.
She wanted only to go back home, to lie down on her bed and close her eyes. They hurt so much as she walked home in the afternoon sun she had to keep her head down.
When she finally crossed the verandah and started down the three steps towards the back door she could smell her pillow and had already let her satchel drift down her arms. She let it fall to the ground. She’d get it later. Her mother would rouse but she didn’t give a damn.
She wasn’t looking where she was going, or thinking of anything more than her bed so she was so surprised at her mother’s voice that her scalp prickled.
Barney Spence was with her.
Her mother was sitting on the top kitchen step and Barney Spence had lifted one of the kitchen chairs out. He sat with a cup of tea and his legs crossed. His hat was looped on his knee, a trick that Missie admired especially since any time she’d tried it the hat simply dribbled off to one side.
‘Say hello to Mr Spence, Missie.’
Missie said hello and went to sit by her mother. The sun was boring holes into her eyes and her head hurt so badly.
‘Been a rough day at school?’ Mr Spence said.
It even hurt to nod and her mother’s hand on her forehead was so cooling. She knew it was rude but she closed her eyes and rested onto her mother’s shoulder.
‘This isn’t looking too good.’ Her mother swivelled around. ‘Early to bed for you tonight, little miss. Maybe even Dr Beatty...’
Missie heard Barney Spence stand. She wanted to open her eyes but it was going to take too much effort. And she knew the sun would drill pinpricks into her eyeballs when she did.
‘I’ll be off then,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry you’re sick, Missie.’
She shaded her eyes and tried to look up to say goodbye.
‘I’ll see myself out,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back in a few weeks to wrap up this lot ... perhaps I could call back then.’
Her mother stood up, gently lifting Missie with her.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she said. ‘Hopefully Missie will be her usual old self, too.’
It was so hard to keep walking. Her head kept nodding towards her chest and she knew she should try to keep it upright. She should be wondering why Barney Spence was going to come back. What else was there that they were looking for? She should be worrying about why Barney Spence came here in the first place. Maybe he had some more news about Oleks? Maybe he’d come to say it was all a great big mistake?
Maybe he’d come to say that the yellow jacket in the room upstairs was a mystery and somebody knew a whole lot more about that than they were saying?
That person, he’d probably say, had better watch out because they’d be going to jail for a very, very long time.
That person could even be sitting right here in this kitchen.
Missie groaned under the weight of it and gave up, letting it tug her to the floor.
The last thing she felt was her mother’s arms grabbing her and, far away at the end of a darkening tunnel, her mother’s voice calling loudly for someone to come and help her.
39
JAIL
MELBOURNE
Oleksander Shevchenko didn’t move. He couldn’t have moved far even if he had wanted to. Parts of him were broken and other parts bruised and so swollen it was unimaginable that he would not be this shape forever.
The bed beneath him was cool and clean and the floor squeaked as soft shoes passed in the corridor outside. A uniformed guard sat by the door, a blue blur in a white, moving sea.
He would die in this place. If not this time, it would be the next time. They would beat him again, of this there was no doubt. And, if he had done this thing that they were thinking he had done, the beatings he would surely deserve.
It was unforgiveable.
But it was not his crime. He had hit a policeman, yes. He had done some damage, yes. And his punishment had been to have no bail and to be treated as a violent man is treated. You will stay in this jail for three months until your case is heard.
And then they let everyone know about Deirdre.
And the beatings started.
He was innocent.
And he would die here. He would not move, or speak, or eat. He would let his life drift away.
It was worthless anyway. There was no feeling left in it. No anger, no fear, no joy ... nothing to give his day a meaning.
Barney Spence had come in, had stood by the end of the bed and looked at him. It was possible to feel the contempt with eyes closed. It crept up the body like a serpent, soiling its way with slime.
‘I would like you to talk with me,’ Barney Spence had said.
It was pointless to talk.
It would not change the path he was on.
40
SEPTEMBER
‘CHARMAINE’
For how long she stayed in her room, in her bed, Missie wasn’t sure. Sometimes her mother was beside her in a nightgown and sometimes she had her apron on as if she’d just rushed up from downstairs.
Once Aunt Belle was there when she woke, seated on a chair beside the bed with her pen in her hand and a book spread out in her lap. It didn’t seem right for Aunt Belle to be upstairs in her room, and Missie tried to sit up and straighten the bedclot
hes but Aunt Belle’s cool hand stopped her and had held the glass of water to her lips before she had time to think too much more about it.
Gradually she found she was staying awake more. Mornings became morning again and the smell of bacon and eggs rose up the stairs as it always had done. The hours stretched out between the times when her mother could sit by her mending the clothes that had been delivered downstairs.
Dot Evans popped in one morning and stayed until her mother could come up. They played cards and Dot said she was already starting to look like a pretty good rummy player. The afternoons filtered into sleeping times and then night which brought with it cold, sweaty feet and the strangeness of going to bed when you’d been in bed all day.
Dr Beatty was there sometimes when she woke. He called once when Dot was playing cards with her and even checked out her hand before saying that she seemed to be getting better. Glandular fever, he called it. He said that it was called a kissing disease and who had she been kissing lately. He tried to make a joke about Max and said thank goodness it wasn’t Max as he was sure Max wouldn’t be such a good patient.
And then he called less often.
He said that she could start doing some schoolwork and arrangements should be made for some to come home. It was time for her friends to call by, for short visits, and for her to venture downstairs for lunch. She wasn’t to get too tired and she wasn’t to go outside into bright sunlight or get chilled.
Max had been sent to stay at his uncle Allen Mae’s house until the crisis had passed although, Missie heard Aunt Belle saying on the phone, too much time was being spent at Lawrence’s house sprawled out around the new Master’s Voice. One radio was the same as another, she said, and they’d have been better off outside playing cricket or working on their Cub badges. It was time, she’d said, to think about sorting out some very strict rules about homework. Missie was pretty sure Max wouldn’t be doing any more homework even if the rules were put in place. Sprawled out beside Hop Harrigan or Biggles or Jason and the Argonauts was where he would always be found after school. In her wildest dreams she couldn’t even think of Max playing cricket.