Gith

by Else, Chris

  'Oh yes, Mr McUrran, sir. Oh yes.' A quick look at me, a sneaky look. He was grinning. At least I think it was a grin. 'Would that be a ten-dollar job, sir?'

  Something about him was really getting to me. I was so wound up I didn't know what I was doing. I wasn't thinking straight, that's for sure. I went into the shop and he followed me, right behind. He stared at me while I opened the till. I gave him another ten bucks.

  'Now go,' I said. 'Get out of here and don't come back.'

  'Oh no, Mr McUrran, sir.' He stuffed the note into his pocket and turned towards the door. He stopped just outside, looking to his left. I could tell by the angle of his body that Gith was there, even though I couldn't see her.

  'Fuck off!' I yelled at him. He looked back at me, his mouth hanging half open. I went for him. He turned and ran. Well, it wasn't real running. It was more like his usual shuffle, only twice as fast. I watched him go.

  When I turned round I found Gith standing in the open side of the workshop, wiping her hands on a rag. She was frowning and staring after Billy. Then she pulled a face like she had just missed stepping in a puddle of spew.

  'You okay?' I asked.

  'Gith.' She seemed to remember what she had been doing before. 'Thylinder,' she said. 'Thtuffed.'

  'Brake cylinder?'

  'Gith.' Her eyes went back to where Billy was still heading off down the road.

  'Thick,' she said. Maybe she meant 'sick'.

  'Weirdo,' I said. 'Keep right out of his way.'

  'Gith.'

  I figured I better tell her everything.

  'You know who he is? He's a rapist. Spent eight years in jail. Cut up a woman in Palmerston North with a broken beer bottle. A prostitute.'

  She started to get tense, I could see, the stare-y look coming into her eyes. I put my arms around her and hugged her. I was shaking too, like there was something nasty on my skin.

  'Just keep out of his way.'

  'Gith,' she said into my shoulder. We stayed that way for a while. I guess we must have looked a bit odd to anyone passing by: two people in overalls hugging on the forecourt of a service station. I just needed to hold her. It seemed the only thing that could get rid of the feeling Billy Cleat gave me. It worked after a little while.

  ***

  BY FIVE-FORTY-FIVE WE had everything done and the vehicles had all been collected. We were just about to shut up shop when an old flatbed ute trundled onto the forecourt. Moss Vield was behind the wheel. Two weirdos in one afternoon, I thought. I stood by the pumps waiting while he got out.

  'Gidday,' I said. 'You want gas?'

  He didn't answer, just walked up to me and stood so close I could see the whiskers sprouting on his chin.

  'No,' he said. Blue eyes with tiny dots of pupils, mouth like the jaws were wired shut.

  I knew he didn't want gas. It's two cents a litre cheaper down in Katawai. He would never buy from us if he could help it.

  'Quad bike,' he said. 'Want one?'

  'Quad bike? No.'

  'Got a buyer?'

  'Me? Hmm.' Gith and I sometimes did up vehicles and flogged them off. It was a nice little sideline but we had to watch how often we did it in case the IRD got on to us.

  'What's wrong with it?' I asked.

  'Nothing. Need the cash.'

  'All right,' I said. 'I'll come and have a look at it if you like.'

  'When?'

  'Don't know. Tomorrow maybe.'

  Moss turned like he was on a swivel and walked straight back to his vehicle. He started up and backed out. For some reason I waved to him. Maybe I was trying to get some sort of reaction. There wasn't one.

  Gith was standing in the doorway. I pointed to the ute as it headed off up the road.

  'You see him? That's Moss Vield. He was at the show. He wanted to talk to Monty. Real tall . . .'

  'Gith.' She nodded.

  'He wasn't driving the white wagon at pump six the day Anneke went missing, was he?'

  'Narg.'

  'Good. That's what I thought.'

  She pulled a face like she wanted to know why I'd asked.

  'Just checking,' I said.

  It was near enough to six by then so we shut up shop.

  'Listen,' I said. 'I'm going to take a walk to the Arms and buy some beer. Want to come?'

  'Narg.' She pointed to the house. 'Thower.' She wanted to get cleaned up.

  'You sure?' I was a bit worried about leaving her alone.

  'Go,' she said. 'Go.' She flapped her hand at me.

  I did the till and the alarm and then set out along the main road, past Len and Kath's place. The next house along had been empty for a while and now, I saw, it had a For Sale sign in the garden. It belonged to the Chung family, who ran the Big Asia Takeaway, but they'd built a new place down towards Basingstoke. Moving up in the world.

  The takeaway was open. There were three kids sitting on the bench outside. Each of them had a can of softdrink and they were sharing a bag of chips. Dong was inside behind the counter. I waved to him as I went past. The kids stared at me: two boys and a girl, about eleven years old. I didn't know their names but I'd seen them around. There always seemed to be kids hanging round, even in the daytime when they were meant to be at school.

  On the southern corner of Maungaiti and Main was Bank Antiques. It was in the old BNZ building, just about the biggest thing in the town and made of the local stone. It had a frontage with two pillars like one of those Greek temples. The Smeeles had bought it a year or so before I moved back to Te Kohuna with Gith, and they seemed to be doing good business. Next door was Brenda's place, Café Allegro. I think having the antique shop and the café side by side was a good arrangement. People passing through would stop for one and finish up looking into the other as well.

  When Brenda had taken the building over a couple of years earlier, it had been an old shop with a double window front, the glass covered in faded old newspaper. She had done it up real smart, with curtains hanging on thick brass rails. They were thin enough to let in the light but not so thin that you could see inside from the street. Right now the place seemed empty, but there was still an Open sign in the glass panel at the top of the door. I stopped there for a second and then, I'm not sure why, I went in. A little bell rang as I stepped inside.

  There were maybe a dozen tables of different sizes. Everything was wood, with a shine to it. Not the dark finish like in the lounge at the Arms though. The walls and furniture here were a light yellowy colour. There were little salt and pepper things in blue and white china on the tables, and a couple of big travel posters on the walls. The counter was opposite the door. It had a big bowl of flowers on it. I think they were paper, except for three or four bits of toetoe. On one side behind the counter was a way through to the back. It was lighter out there than it was in the café. I could see a wall of cupboards with a bench under it. The air smelt of food but it was a nice smell — like baking only spicier.

  After a couple of seconds Brenda came out.

  'Hi there,' she said, giving me a big smile.

  Suddenly I felt awkward. Here I was, in this trendy kind of place, still in my overalls and with grease on my hands, still sweaty from the day's work.

  'Good to see you,' she went on, coming towards me.

  'Yeah, um, I was just passing and . . . well, I wanted to say thank you again.' This sounded pretty lame but I guess it was why I was there.

  'No problem.'

  'I'm . . . er . . .' I showed her my hands. 'I'm pretty filthy.'

  'Don't worry about it. Come out the back. I was just about to shut up shop anyway.' She moved to the front door and, reaching up, flipped the sign around so that Open was on the inside. Then she snibbed the top of the two locks.

  The back room was a kitchen with a bench in the centre and a couple of stoves and sinks down one wall. In one corner were two refrigerators and a big pantry.

  'Do you want a beer?' she asked. 'Or a wine?'

  I wasn't sure I should have anything. I needed to
get back to Gith.

  'Have a wine,' she said. 'Go on. Live dangerously.'

  I laughed.

  She fetched a bottle from the fridge and some glasses from a shelf. We sat down on two high stools at the bench.

  'Trying to civilise me,' I said while she poured.

  'Is there any chance of that?' She gave me a sideways kind of look.

  'Not much.'

  'I'm not that fond of civilised, actually. I just like things nice.' She gave me a glass. 'Cheers.'

  We clinked and drank. It tasted all right as wine goes.

  'What's new?' she asked.

  I wasn't sure what she meant.

  'You mean developments?'

  She shrugged. 'Well . . .'

  'A couple of things.' I told her about the dog and the white wagon and how Ray Tackett was off the suspect list.

  'So that leaves who, then?'

  'Rick Parline, Colin George and Wayne Wyett. Does Colin own a black dog?'

  'Don't know,' she said. 'But half the population owns a dog, as far as I can see.'

  'It's the hunting. Dogs and guns — the place is full of them.'

  'Yes,' she said. 'I remember one thing about Colin, though. A while back we had a conversation about that other girl who went missing. He said he thought that girls who went hitchhiking on their own were asking for it. It seemed a really strange thing for him to say. I mean, he's not usually at all like that.'

  'Hmm.'

  'Is that something I should tell the police, do you suppose?'

  'If they were looking for a van driver I'd say yes, but they're not so I don't think they'd care.'

  'You don't have much faith in them, do you?'

  'I just think they've got it completely bloody wrong.'

  'So you do your own investigating? Private detective?'

  I thought about Billy Cleat and what I'd asked him to do. He wouldn't bother though, would he?

  'Private idiot, more like,' I said.

  'You know what they call detectives in the States?'

  'No.'

  'Dicks.'

  'Yeah, well.'

  'Oh,' she said. 'Sorry.' She pulled a little face and reached out and put her hand on my sleeve. 'I'm teasing you.'

  'That's okay.' Had she got her fingers dirty?

  'I guess you don't get teased much,' she said. Her hand went back.

  'I get teased all the time. Only not in words.'

  'It must be hard. For you as well as for her.'

  'Well . . .'

  'I mean never really having a normal conversation.'

  It's not like that, I wanted to say, but in a way she was right.

  'I've forgotten how to have conversations,' I said.

  'Oh, I think you do okay.'

  'Thanks.' I could have said that it was easy talking to her.

  I almost did.

  'How long have you been back in Te Kohuna?' she asked.

  'This time around? Three and a half years. My folks have a farm up Tacketts Valley.'

  'Yes, I know.'

  'How about you?' I asked. 'Where're you from?'

  'Originally? From Christchurch, but before I came here I was in Wellington.'

  'You always been in the café business?'

  'For ten years or so. I started up a little place in Cuba Street. With my partner. Husband.' She changed the word. 'We split up. We sold the business.'

  'And you came here?'

  'Yes.'

  'Why Te Kohuna?'

  She laughed. 'Why not? Actually I just wanted to get out of Wellington. The divorce was pretty nasty and I felt I needed some air. One day I jumped in the car and took off. Came through here and liked the look of it. Stupid thing to do, really. I had no idea whether a café would work here.'

  'Seems like it's done all right.'

  'Oh yes,' she said. 'I think it's working out. But, you know . . . a small town's a small town.'

  'Not much to do in the evening.'

  'Not many people to do it with.' She sipped her wine, looked at me over the rim of the glass. For a second I got the feeling she wanted me to touch her. I knew I couldn't do that. I turned my palm over and showed it to her.

  'Pretty filthy,' I said. It had left greasy marks on the wine glass.

  'Yes.' She didn't seem to mind.

  'I'd better go,' I said.

  'Okay.' She eased back on her stool. 'How was the wine?'

  'Good.' I knocked back the last of it and stood up.

  'We'll educate you yet.' She showed me to the door. 'Stop by anytime.'

  'Thanks.'

  'And say hello to Gith for me.'

  'I will.'

  She stopped. 'She's your niece, right?'

  'Er, yes.'

  'She's a lucky girl.'

  I walked up the road to the Arms but then, instead of going into the bottlestore, I cut across the car park into Basingstoke Road. Brenda had said that Colin George lived about three down from the pub. The third house was a wooden thirties-style place with a tree in the middle of the front lawn and an open porch. A drive went down the left-hand side. No sign of a white van. Maybe it was round the back. I took a few steps, got about three metres onto the section, before a dog started to bark inside. I turned and walked quickly away, feeling dumb. But a dog, though, eh.

  I bought a dozen Tui and headed back the length of the main road to our place. It was a warm night with a clear sky. By the time I got as far as Len and Kath's gate I was feeling more relaxed and not worrying too much about white vans and murders.

  Gith was sitting in the kitchen with her hands folded on the table in front of her. She looked like somebody had told her not to move.

  'You okay?' I asked.

  She nodded, nothing else.

  'Sorry I took so long,' I said. 'I bumped into Brenda. Had a chat to her for a bit.' I didn't think I had to say anything about being stupid at Colin George's. As I walked past her I leant over her and kissed her on the head. She didn't move.

  I took a bottle of Tui from the cardboard pack and bent down to put the rest in the fridge. I didn't hear her get up, didn't feel her there behind me. The first thing I knew was a thump on my back between my shoulder blades. It was only her fist but the force of it just about knocked my glasses off.

  'Jesus!' I said, dragging myself upright.

  She was gone. I just caught a last look of her, a flash of pale down the hallway. Her bedroom door slammed.

  6

  SHE SEEMED TO have forgotten about it the next morning and I didn't bring it up. I guess I felt bad because I'd left her on her own longer than I'd said. She sometimes got upset when I did that and there was no other reason, was there? It's not like anything happened between Brenda and me or was ever going to. Anyway, I figured it had all blown over because when I talked to her about Moss Vield's quad bike she was fine about me going up there. I called Pita. He was always on for a bit of spare cash, as long as we didn't bother him too often.

  'No problem,' he said. 'Be right over.'

  ***

  I'D NEVER BEEN to the Vields' place before but I'd driven past it enough times. Gith and I liked a trip up into the hills now and again, just to get away from the flat and feel a bit of the wild country. Pakenga Valley wasn't our favourite drive but we sometimes did it for a change. You could get up to the lake that way, although the top end of the road was narrow and a lot twistier than Maungaiti.

  There are five or six houses in the first stretch of the road, after you turn off the main highway: fairly ordinary places most of them, weatherboard with iron roofs and sections that are nothing but dirt or grass. After that, once you get beyond the slope of Bobrown Hill, the valley opens up into pasture. Monty's place is on your left and the Vields' on the right. Both farms are long and thin — a couple of k wide and sloping back up from the road and the stream to the hills on either side. Pretty rugged hills for the most part and dark green that day, with a faint misty feel to their tops.

  The way into Monty's place was first: a gap in the fours
trand fence, a tarsealed driveway with a cattlestop. Next came his stockyards — wooden fences here and a turning area at the roadside for the trucks. Then on the right was the Vields' stockyard, pretty much the same except the opposite way round, and after that the Vields' driveway.

  No cattlestop here. Instead, there was a chain-link gate. I had to pull up, get out, open the gate, drive through, stop and get out again and shut the gate behind me. A dirt road but it was in good repair. I drove up in a steepish, looping curve that seemed to take me halfway to the back of the farm before it levelled out into a concrete yard. Ahead and to my left were sheds. The house was on the right, clean white weatherboards with a red iron roof.

  I stopped and got out. The sun was right up above but the air was a bit cool. To the north the hills were crowding close. It would be a cold place in winter, I figured, with the midday warmth cut off. When I turned around, though, I found a good view up the valley, of the slope down to the road and the top end of Monty's pasture on the other side. The western hills seemed lighter from here, and beyond them, in the whitish air, was Mt Maungaiti at the back of the lake. I remembered the day Gith and I had gone up there and the weird feeling I'd had — the sound of that silent screaming. Just for a second I thought I heard it again but then a magpie called from the pine trees up behind me and the moment passed.

  I started to look around for Moss or his old man, Dagmar. No sign of them out there in the paddocks. Maybe they were round the house or yard. It was pretty quiet. My boots scraped on the concrete. No one in the sheds — nothing much at all. One of them looked like it had been used for vehicles, with oil stains on the floor and a two-hundred-litre drum with a hand pump. The other shed held a crutching cradle and a bale of fencing wire, bundles of metal posts, and a long set of shelves with plastic drums and bottles on them. In the back was something under a blue tarp. The quad bike maybe.

  I turned away towards the house. There were three kennels beside the back door but no sign of the dogs. The windows that I could see were all shut. I headed off round one side, where a narrow gravel path led down beside a vegetable patch. There was a row of runner beans and some late potatoes still with their tops green. A couple of white butterflies flapped among the cabbages.