Contrition

by Sheldon, Deborah;

  “How’s the vegie patch coming along?” she said.

  “Good. The plants are growing like Topsy. I had to stake them the other day.”

  A quick slapping of moccasins against tiles and Cassie hurried into the lounge. “Hey, John, I thought it was you,” she said. “I heard your voice.”

  Damn, he was pleased the girl had sought him out to say hello. The way to a woman’s heart was by making friends with her child, he knew that for sure. “I figured you’d have run away with the circus by now,” he said. “Been practising your juggling?”

  “Not really.” Cassie meandered to the fireplace and leaned on the mantel. She stared at John, pensively sucking on her bottom lip. “Can I ask you something?”

  A prickling of foreboding moved through him. “Sure.”

  “Oh, for the love of God,” Donna said, clanking her wineglass onto the coffee table. “Honey, can’t we give it a rest? I thought you had homework.”

  “I’m finished already.”

  “Then go and play on the computer or something, okay?”

  “I will, Mum, just as soon as I ask John about it.”

  “Fine.” Donna sighed. “Hurry up.”

  The child had dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept. John put the stubby on the coffee table and wiped his sweating palms along his jeans. Tiger strolled into the room, glanced around, and strolled back out again.

  Cassie said, “It’s a stupid question, I guess.”

  “Ask it anyway,” he said.

  “Do you believe in witches?”

  His stomach fell. Donna was watching him, he could feel it; watching for his reaction. “Witches?” he said. “You mean warts, flying broomsticks and black cats?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  But he knew. A crawl of adrenaline began to wend through his belly.

  “I saw a witch last night,” Cassie said.

  “No,” Donna said, “you were dreaming.”

  “Mum, I was not! I saw it, I really did.”

  “Saw what?” he said.

  Cassie approached and sat on the edge of the coffee table. How young she looked, John realised; how vulnerable and small.

  “I woke up because I heard something at my window; a kind of scratching, but not up-and-down. More like in a circle.”

  Meredith’s long fingernails came to mind, how she liked to move them on laminate, around and around and around. He felt sick, as if the day’s beer had collected and risen in a bitter tide to the back of his throat.

  “I got out of bed and pulled aside the curtain.” Tears came to her eyes and brimmed, trembling against her lower lids, threatening to spill.

  “Come on, that’s enough,” Donna said. “We’ve talked about this, remember?”

  “And I saw a witch.”

  “No, you had a dream,” Donna said.

  “Shut up, Mum, it wasn’t a dream, I keep telling you.”

  “And I keep telling you—”

  Quickly, John interjected, “What did the witch look like?”

  Cassie edged closer along the coffee table. “Pale,” she said. “But really pale, like she was dead.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake—”

  “With white hair and white skin and the boniest hands I’ve ever seen. She stopped clawing at my window…”

  John said, “And then what happened?”

  The girl’s lower lip began to quiver.

  Donna opened her arms. “Honey? You need a hug?”

  But Cassie had not broken eye contact with John. “The witch bared her teeth and waggled her tongue like she wanted to eat me. And I screamed.” The girl hiccupped on a sob. “I called for Mum.”

  “And when I came into your room,” Donna said, slowly and delib­erately, as if she had said these same words again and again, “you were tucked up in bed.”

  “That’s because I jumped back under the covers!”

  “And I turned on every light and looked through every window, and honey, there was nothing there, okay? Please believe me, there was nothing there.” Donna, with an emphatic nod, gestured at John, and said, “It was a dream, right?”

  He leaned back in the couch, sweating.

  Trapped…

  They were waiting for his verdict. If he sided with Cassie, he might alienate Donna. But if he sided with Donna, he would alienate Cassie which, in turn, would ruin his chances with Donna. A lose-lose situation.

  Shit.

  Resentment began to build within his chest and squeeze his heart. Fuck you, Meredith, he thought. You’ve poisoned my life once again.

  Finally, he looked at Cassie and said, “Have you watched any horror movies lately? Read any scary books?”

  She recoiled, insulted. “You don’t believe me either.”

  “Oh, I believe you, no worries.”

  He heard Donna gasp. But Cassie smiled, tentatively, hopefully.

  Encouraged, he went on, “Lots of things in this world don’t make any sense. God knows things have happened to me that I can’t explain. But I reckon I can explain what happened to you last night.”

  They both straightened up and stared expectantly at him.

  “We’ve got lots of homeless people around here. What you saw wasn’t a witch, but some poor old woman who’s had a rough time of it: somebody’s grandma.”

  “A grandma?” Cassie said. “Like an old lady burglar?”

  “No, nothing bad like that. Maybe she’s got nowhere to sleep and hasn’t any money for food. Maybe she walks around at night and eats out of dog bowls.”

  “Dog bowls?” Cassie said. “Oh, that’s awful. Wouldn’t she have any family?”

  John made a hushing motion with one hand. “It’s all right,” he said. “Homeless people look after themselves pretty good. They have their own community. And there are lots of places that help them out, like the Salvation Army. So put the experience out of your mind, okay?”

  The girl’s eyes shone with tears. This time, however, her emotion was not fear but compassion, he could tell; pity for the non-existent, vagrant grandmother. Unexpectedly, Cassie leapt up and flung her arms about him, just for a moment. Shocked, he felt the tender skin of her cheek, smelled the talcum powder scent of her body, and heard her breath at his ear, and then she pulled away. She looked relieved, almost joyful.

  “Mum,” she said, breathless and excited. “We should leave out food for the poor old lady: a picnic.”

  “Okay, we’ll talk about it.”

  “Hey, whoa, hang on a second,” John said. “Don’t go trying to make friends with this grandma. Sometimes, people end up homeless because they’re crazy, all right? Feel sorry for her, yeah, but don’t trust her if you ever happen to see her again. Crazy people can do crazy things…like eat out of dog bowls. All right?”

  Cassie sobered for a few seconds, quietly thinking.

  “All right,” she said. “Thanks for explaining things to me. I’ll see you later.”

  He nodded. Cassie flashed a smile at her mother and raced from the room.

  “I’ve seen people like that,” Donna said, “hanging around the railway station. Druggies and drunks. Maybe I ought to call the cops.”

  “Nah, don’t worry. Just keep your doors locked.”

  “I always do.”

  “To be honest,” he said, lowering his voice, “I reckon she dreamt it all too.”

  And now Donna was gazing at him with amazement and…desire? Well, what do you know; lying had worked its magic, as always.

  “Incredible,” she said. “I’ve been trying to reassure her, getting nowhere, and you’ve fixed everything within thirty seconds.”

  Smiling, he gave a little ah, it was nothing shrug.

  “I stupidly kept telling her it was a nightmare,” Donna continue
d. “Thank you.”

  “No worries.”

  She sat next to him and put her hand on his thigh. There was no mistaking the signals. He kissed her, gently. She parted her lips. An electric jolt shot down his spine as their tongues touched.

  She drew back. “I’m free from nine on Wednesday, as soon as I’ve dropped Cassie at school.”

  “I’m at work on Wednesdays.”

  “Oh, shit. You’re Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, aren’t you? And I’m Sunday, Monday, Tuesday at the café.”

  In reply, he kissed her. He liked the way she worked her tongue. It promised a certain skill. Blood suffused his cock. He trailed his fingers through her ponytail, the hair soft and thick, silky. Tenderly, he nuzzled at her neck.

  “What about when Cassie’s asleep?” he murmured.

  “No. I’m too noisy.”

  Holy shit. His cock strained against the zip of his jeans. He clutched at one of her small breasts through the t-shirt and kneaded it. The nipple butted against his palm. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  “When does she stay at her father’s place?” he said.

  “Not for a couple of weeks.”

  The slapping noise of moccasins on tile sprang them apart. Donna sat on the other couch and smoothed her hair. John picked up the stubby. Cassie appeared, her arms filled with Tiger, the cat looking fluffy and contented.

  “I want to tell you something,” Cassie said to John.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “I liked the circus.” She blushed. “Some of the acts were lame, but I had fun. There was good stuff in the show-bags too. Anyway, thanks for taking us.”

  “No worries.”

  Bashful, the girl scurried from the room.

  “Hey, you’ve got yourself a fan.” Dropping her voice, Donna added, “Just so you know, her father never takes her anywhere.”

  In like Flynn.

  Donna sat next to him. They kissed again, and yet…

  And yet his stomach churned as he recalled Cassie’s wan and frightened face, her words: And I saw a witch…really pale, like she was dead… She bared her teeth and waggled her tongue like she wanted to eat me…

  Donna rubbed her hand over his zip, but he was losing his hard-on.

  “I should go,” he said.

  “You’re right. We shouldn’t torture ourselves. Hey, listen, I’ll try to swap a shift tomorrow. We can spend the day together if you want. How does that sound?”

  “Like music to my ears.”

  She followed him to the entrance hall and kissed him goodbye. As soon as she closed the door, John sprinted across the road towards the miner’s cottage with its two myopic eyes for windows.

  Panting, he threw open the door and slammed it behind him.

  “Merry?”

  No response. He scanned the surroundings. She must be in one of her rooms.

  He went to the hobby room first and put his ear to the jamb, listening for the familiar clattering noises. Silence. He took a few steps to her bedroom and tapped on the closed door.

  “Merry? Answer me. We’ve got to talk.”

  As he waited, he became aware that his heart still galloped and he couldn’t catch his breath. It wasn’t due to the brief run from Donna’s place. No, this was fear. The tension in his shoulders, the quivering in his legs, the hesitation of his hand as he went to knock again. All of it: fear.

  Never, in the eight years they had been living together, had Meredith deliberately shown her face to a neighbour.

  Once or twice, a neighbour had spotted her through a window, but only by accident. Meredith would have been lifting the slat of a venetian blind to swear at something—a barking dog, a cooing pigeon, a car hitching over a speed hump—just as a neighbour happened to look. Meredith avoided people, would no more show anyone her face than go out dancing.

  Until now.

  He knocked again, more forcefully this time.

  “We can talk in the kitchen,” he said. “It’s important.”

  She would be lying face down on the bed, he knew, legs straight and arms by her sides, as if at attention. How she didn’t smother herself, with her nose and mouth pressed into the pillow, he had no idea. Did she sleep like that?

  “Meredith, I mean it,” he said. “Come out right now.”

  He knocked, hard, and put his ear to the jamb. Not a sound. It was as if her bedroom was empty. An awful thought occurred. Perhaps her bedroom was empty. Perhaps she had slipped outside and was even now across the road, slinking across Donna’s yard, aiming to try the back door or find an unlocked window—but no; Meredith never left the house during the day. Except when she had brought him a glass of water while he’d been building the vegie patch. Oh, Christ.

  “All right, that’s it,” he said. “I’m coming in.”

  He twisted the knob and began to push open the door.

  It slammed shut with great force, rattling in its frame.

  John staggered back. Goddamn… Meredith had been standing directly on the other side of the door this whole time, her face separated from his by nothing more than three and half centimetres of hollow-core Masonite and cardboard webbing. He brought a hand to his mouth. Just the suggestion of such close proximity made him queasy. There was something rat-like about her gaunt and pinched features, those yellowed teeth artificially elongated by receding gums.

  “Please come out,” he said to the door. “I’ve something to ask you. It’s about our neighbours. Donna and her daughter. Will you please come out? Merry?”

  After a moment, he strode to the kitchen. It was too early for dinner, just on 5.30 p.m., but fuck it, he had to do something with all this nervous energy.

  She bared her teeth and waggled her tongue like she wanted to eat me.

  He threw a few sausages into a fry pan, cracked in a couple of eggs, a halved tomato, and drank two stubbies one after the other, pouring them down his throat, while the whole mess of dinner crackled and spattered in butter on the stove. He opened another drink. What the fuck was he going to do about Meredith?

  Well, he couldn’t lock her inside the house.

  He’d tried that before. Within a few months of finding her in the park and moving her into his apartment, he realised she didn’t eat. At least, not the meals he prepared for her. So he had started taking more notice, had begun spying on her, in fact. Every night, she left the apartment a few minutes after midnight, and returned by five. He never followed her. The thought of encountering her in the dark gave him the heebie-jeebies. Around that time, he had started to realise the blood stains he occasionally found on her clothes weren’t from menstruation after all. When the neighbours in the apartment building had got nosy—which hadn’t taken long once pets started to disappear—he had moved her into a two-bedroom unit and decided to keep her inside at night. However, deadlocking the doors had failed. She had escaped through a window. He had then fitted deadlocks to the windows. Her solution had been elegant but simple: break a pane. And if he boarded up the windows, she would no doubt find an exit through the roof. Her night-time excursions could not be denied.

  John finished the stubby and lined it up with the other empties; a baker’s dozen so far today, not counting the one Donna had given him. He jabbed the tip of a knife into the sausages, over and over. Beads of liquefied fat began to ooze.

  Nothing would stop Merry from prowling at night, he knew that.

  But why frighten Cassie? Was Meredith trying to locate Tiger? Was she trying to figure out a way to kill the bloody cat?

  “Merry,” he yelled. “Dinner’s up.”

  He put a sausage and half a tomato on one plate and piled the rest of the fry-up onto another. Even though she didn’t eat regular food, he offered it to her anyway, one meal every day, in the hope she might take a few bites. It was a habit he couldn’t shake. Christ, she probably had every nutritional deficiency
under the sun: beriberi, scurvy, anaemia, that one that makes your bones thin and brittle…

  He sat at the table with a knife and fork.

  “Merry,” he called, looking up from his plate.

  He startled. She was already standing in the doorway.

  “There you are,” he said, and tried to smile. “Hungry?”

  Her eyes were unfocused, her mouth hanging open with a thin line of spittle stretched between her chapped lips. John’s stomach turned over.

  Putting down his cutlery, he said, “Why did you tap on the neighbour’s window last night?”

  Meredith looked behind him as if somebody were standing there.

  Undeterred, he continued, “You scared the shit out of Donna’s little girl, and for what? Tell me why you tapped on the window and let that girl see you. Well? You’ve never bothered neighbours before. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  She ran her hands through her dead tufts of white hair and slumped against the wall, as if the floor were tilting beneath her feet. This was a sign of stress. No doubt he had upset her with his questions. He was about to apologise when she suddenly put her back to the wall and glared at him.

  Jesus, her eyes were blazing with fury, her teeth gnashing together. A hoarse growling noise was coming from deep in her throat.

  Panicked, he jumped up from the table.

  “What the fuck?” he gasped.

  Grabbing her plate with its meagre dinner, she reeled and lurched from the kitchen, back along the hall to her hobby room. The door slammed.

  John fumbled with the chair and sat down again.

  Honest to God, he had thought she was going to attack him. Her moods were changing so fast, so unpredictably. Adrenaline surged through his veins, so intense he could almost hear it, like overhead power lines screaming in a strong wind. He ate quickly, mechanically, his mind racing. Throwing down his cutlery, he rummaged through the kitchen bin and pulled out a crumpled sheet of glossy paper. He smoothed it flat on the bench and hunched over it, reading the text.