by Wendy James
Almost Hannah’s entire extended family is still here in Arding, or around New England – and she wonders whether this geographical torpor is as genetically inevitable as the webbing between her toes. Her mother’s father, who she has never met, is the only one of her immediate family to have left. She wishes for the first time that she knew more about him, that she could meet him, perhaps discover someone who can provide a blueprint for her own escape. Because escape is what she craves, escape from the immediate situation, but more than that – escape from a future that seems fixed. Her own ambitions go far beyond the town limits, and far beyond the small and stagnant pond that is her parents’ world. Marry one of those popped-collar boys in boating shoes? Become one of those women with their bobs and pearls? Hannah would rather die.
They watch the orange and pink of the sunset, the lights of the town twinkling below them as the gloom deepens, and eventually Hannah’s mind is calm, and then clear, purposeful – she knows exactly what she wants, what she needs to do.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Where to? D’you want to go home? Or back to my place?’
‘I mean, really get out of here. Out of town.’
‘Now? You mean it?’ She can’t see his expression in the dark car, just the white of his teeth, his eyes, gleaming.
‘Oh yeah. I mean it. Let’s go.’
‘What about your parents? Won’t they freak?’
‘I’ll just tell them I decided to go to Cosmic two days early. They’ll be shitty, but who cares? And by the time they find out that I didn’t go, well, it’ll be too late, won’t it?’
He grins, laughs; she can hear his excitement now. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Let’s just go for a long drive.’ She doesn’t want to reveal her plan too early, wants to take it slowly, bit by bit, in case she changes her mind. ‘Let’s go to the coast.’
They drive in almost complete silence. Hannah has the seat (uncomfortably vintage, she can feel the springs just beneath the thin vinyl) wound back as far as it can go, and although it’s dark outside she has left her sunglasses on. Wes has made no effort to talk, after the first attempts at conversation petered out, just giving her the occasional quick glance. She is surprised and impressed (and glad, for once, not to fear for her life!) by his cautious driving, the way he keeps the car within its limits, considering its age and state of decrepitude. He barely even reaches the speed limit, takes the corners carefully, makes his gear changes smoothly. She lets her head fall back, relaxed for what seems like the first time in weeks. The breeze from the window rushes over her skin, shadows of the trees flicker over her face, dark light dark light dark. She gives in, sleeps.
They are almost at the bottom of the ranges, approaching the point where they have to enter the highway, to decide whether they want to head north or south. Wes makes a suggestion: his eldest sister lives in Coffs Harbour – they could stop there for the night. Take their time deciding where they’re heading next. Adds in the laidback way he has, ‘and you could give your parents a call, you know – let them know you’re okay.’
Hannah ignores his suggestion that she call – she has no desire to alleviate in any way the fear she knows her parents will be experiencing – but agrees that they should stay with his sister. ‘And then tomorrow,’ she says, unable to keep the excitement from her voice, ‘I know where I want to go. I’ve had this genius idea.’
He gives her a quick sideways glance. ‘What idea?’ he asks. ‘What’s going on, Han?’
‘My grandfather. Mum’s dad – I’ve never met him, but I know where he lives.’
‘Yeah?’
‘It’s up past Coffs somewhere – he runs this tiny little servo just off the highway. Where you turn off to Moon Bay, Moontown … Moon something or other, anyway. Up past Sapphire Beach. We’ve been past it heaps – every time we go to Queensland. Moonee, that’s it. Mum always mentions it as we go by the turn-off – she ducks down in the seat just in case he sees her. It’s like this stupid family joke.’
‘Han.’
‘Yeah?’ She’s too excited to notice the reservation in his voice.
‘You don’t think there might be a good reason …’
‘A good reason for what?’
‘Why your mum doesn’t keep in contact with her dad. I mean maybe he’s —’
‘Mum says he’s a prick. Of course, not in so many words – she barely even mentions him actually. But Mum’s such a fucking snob – he probably just drives the wrong car. What a hypocrite. She actually grew up in a housing commission place in Milton, one of her brothers is totally retarded, and the other’s a crim. And Granny Evans – well, you’d have to meet her to believe her. She’s hilarious – a total crazy bitch.’ Hannah is raving now. ‘She’s in a nursing home – she’s not all that old, but she’s kind of demented, I think, probably from grog. She’s really skinny, wears all this lycra – looks like a stick with make-up. Totally terrifying. Actually,’ her voice sharpens, ‘you probably saw her – everyone else in town did. She went on Today Tonight – totally dissed Mum in front of the whole of Australia. Said she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d killed the baby. I had to go to school the next day and hear all these kids talking about my baby-murdering mother and bogan grandmother.’
‘Yeah, I heard,’ he says gently. ‘So what makes you think that this grandfather’s going to be any better?’
‘I dunno. I just keep hoping that someone in my family’s normal. All Dad’s family are pretty awful, too – though in a different way. And he’s the only one of them who’s actually got out of Arding. The only one who managed to escape. It’s got to mean something, doesn’t it?’ She shrugs. ‘Anyway, it’s just a destination. Somewhere to go. Oh God. How much longer?’ She’s bored now, and hungry. Wishes they could pull over. She yawns, stretches her hand beyond the gear stick, runs her fingers lightly up the inside of his thigh to his groin.
He starts, catches her hand, frowns unconvincingly. ‘Oi. Stop it. You want to get us killed, bitch?’ He removes her hand, pats it down firmly on her thigh, clamps his own back around the steering wheel. ‘It’s serious business, this road. I’ve got to concentrate if we want to make it in one piece.’
‘Oh God.’ She yawns again. ‘I’ll call,’ she says after a moment. ‘When we get back in range. I suppose I should let them know I’m alive, I guess. But I’m not going to tell them where I’m going. Or when I’ll be back.’
She can hear the smile in his voice, the approval. ‘Good girl. Just say you’re going to stay at my sister’s place. You don’t want them to think I’ve kidnapped you or anything.’ He touches her face lightly with his finger. ‘Why don’t you go back to sleep? Won’t be much longer. I’ll wake you when we’re there.’
His sister, Eileen, a single mother of two small children who is studying primary education at the local university campus, welcomes them grandly despite the odd hour of their arrival, and the lack of warning. She looks a lot like Wesley, the same honey skin and golden hair, the same full lips, but her eyes are bright blue, and she is tiny – only just five foot – and perfectly shaped. Hannah is slightly envious of the obvious affection between the siblings – they hug fiercely, kiss, laugh, hug again. There’s a barrage of questions and answers, and then family conversation, that she’s happy to tune out of.
Eileen has made them up a shared bed on the lounge room floor, a comfy nest of cushions and quilts. Despite their best efforts at keeping their voices down, her two young children have woken up and in no time at all there’s an impromptu party taking place. Wes is obviously a favourite with the kids – Robert and Lola – who insist on elephant rides, flip-overs and tickles from their energetic young uncle, who is more than willing to oblige. Hannah, who is not fond of children or small animals, hunches up on the lounge, watching. Eileen sits down beside her with a sigh. ‘They’ll be crappy all day tomorrow,’ she says, ‘but they’ll kill me if I didn’t let ’em see Wes. So, have you guys been going out long? He hasn’
t told us anything about you.’
Away from her brother, Eileen is a little less friendly, her manner brusque, and Hannah feels slightly intimidated by her frank stare, her blunt questions. ‘Not that long. I mean, we’re not exactly going out. We’re just friends, really.’
‘Right. So do you want me to get out another bed then, mate?’ Eileen pokes at the makeshift mattress with a toe. ‘I can put one of the kids in with me, and you can have their bed, if you’d rather.’
‘Oh. No, it’s fine. It’s just that it’s not … official or anything.’ She hesitates again, aware of the lameness of her remark, and looks up to find Eileen grinning widely.
‘Hey. Don’t worry about it, mate. I’m just stirring. You’re just a kid. Having a bit of fun, eh? Been there. Done that.’ She sighs again, claps her hands together. ‘Okay, you little buggers, you can get back to bed now. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. C’mon Wes,’ she says to her brother, who has pinned down his young nephew and is attempting to tie him up in a sheet. ‘You let him go, now. You’ve wound ’em up nicely – now you can put ’em to bed. Hey kids,’ she gives another wicked grin, ‘maybe you can get Uncle Wes to read you another chapter of that book.’
The two children noisily endorse this, and Wes groans pitifully, gives Hannah a comically hunted look, lets the children drag him down the short hallway and into the bedroom.
Hannah sits awkwardly on the lounge, looks down at the mess of bedding longingly, wishing she could just curl up and go to sleep, wishing she was back home. She leans back, half watching the images on the muted television, drifts.
The next thing Eileen’s shaking her gently, handing Hannah her mobile. ‘Wes just told me your parents don’t know where you are, that you ran off today without telling them you were going. Now you turn your phone on and make that call, girl,’ she says. ‘Whatever they’ve done, it’s not that bad. Call before you scare ’em sick. And before they get the cops onto you.’
Hannah grabs her phone. ‘I will,’ she promises.
The woman glares down at her, all her former friendliness suddenly evaporated. ‘You wanna make sure you do. You don’t want to cause Wes any trouble, do you?’
Later – it’s past two in the morning – Wes is sound asleep, curled around a pillow, snuffling softly. He has resisted all of her efforts to get him aroused, or to touch her. (‘No way. Not here,’ he’d said, panicked. ‘Sis’ll hear. And what about the kids?’) Hannah takes the phone out onto the verandah. The night air is warmer here than at home, and there’s a faint tang of salt in the air, on her lips. She turns on her mobile. It registers more than fifty unanswered calls – most from her parents’ mobiles. There are texts too – from her parents, from Assia, even one from Tom. She doesn’t stop to read them, clicks through the list of names, pauses over her father’s mobile, finds her home number, presses call. She lets it ring a few times, takes a deep breath, hangs up. She can’t do it; can’t face any of it right now. She turns the mobile off and goes inside. She strips down to her T-shirt and undies, climbs back into bed. She wrestles the pillow away from Wes, manipulates his arms around her. His arms tighten, he gathers her up, kisses her sleepily on the forehead. ‘Did you ring ’em?’ he murmurs. ‘Did you let ’em know you’re okay?’
Hannah mutters something positive-sounding and he’s satisfied, drifts back to sleep. She shoves the mobile, still clenched in her fist, under the pillow, tries to lose herself in his warm, clean smell, snuggling as close as she can. She closes her eyes; prays for sleep.
32
Angus’s first instinct is to chase Hannah. He jerks away from Manon, pulls his pants up, pushes his feet into his shoes. He would have thundered down the stairs in desperate pursuit, regardless of any interested townsfolk, but for Manon’s restraining hand, her hissed command that he stay. He looks down at her, perched on his desk, half dressed, slightly dishevelled, but somehow still in control, and still with that feline half-smile.
‘There’s no point, Angus. The damage has been done. She’s either going to run home to Mama or not – you chasing after her is only going to make matters worse.’
‘You don’t know Hannah – she’s —’
‘Oh, but I do know Hannah, actually. I know that she admires you. You’re her favourite parent – currently, anyway. I know that she’s highly unlikely to tell Jodie. If you chase her, you’ll be showing a weakness that she probably doesn’t need to deal with right now. I know teenage girls: she won’t despise you for adultery but she will despise you for begging.’
The sense of what she’s saying gradually sinks in. Manon relaxes her grip, and he sinks down on his office chair, his body numb, legs jelly.
‘Fuck. Fuck.’ He puts his head in his hands. ‘I can’t believe that just happened. Now. What a fucking nightmare.’
Manon is regarding him with undisguised amusement now.
‘Angus, really – it’s not that big a deal. She knows you have affairs, surely? It’s not like I’m the first, is it?’
‘No – I don’t know. But this is, well, obviously this is a really bad time.’
‘Is there ever a good time?’
‘Christ. What am I going to do?’
Manon slides down from the desk, walks over to the office door and locks it. She saunters back towards him, her hips swinging. She kneels down before him, cradles his face between her hands, kisses him on the forehead, eyes, nose, lips.
‘I know that I’d feel so much better if you would finish what you’ve started,’ she says. Angus feels his blood move again, the heat return to his limbs. ‘And I think perhaps, Angus dear, that you will too.’
When he arrives home, close to midnight, the anxiety returns. But it’s manageable anxiety this time, different to the attacks. Anxiety with a reason, a focus. He walks slowly up the front steps, his gut churning as he thinks of the confrontation that’s possibly awaiting him. How will he face Hannah? What will he say? Even more frightening to contemplate – what will Hannah say? What has she already said? He is about to turn the key in the lock, his hand shaking slightly, when the door is pulled open from inside.
‘Oh, Angus. It’s you. I’d hoped it was Hannah. I can’t get onto her. You haven’t seen her, have you?’ Jodie is still dressed, unusual at this late hour.
‘No.’ He tries not to let his relief show, affects a nonchalance he’s not really feeling. ‘Have you tried her mobile?’
‘That’s the thing – she must have it turned off for some reason. It’s not like her.’
‘Have you tried her friends?’
‘I’ve rung everyone I can think of. Evidently she was with Assia until late this afternoon. Assia thought she said she was heading home, and no one’s seen her or heard from her since. It’s probably stupid to be so worried, I mean she is nearly seventeen. And she’s probably just with Wes, too busy doing whatever it is they do.’
‘Well, you should remember what they do – surely we’re not that old.’
She continues as if he hasn’t spoken, ignoring his lame attempt to lighten things. ‘But I just can’t help it – I am worried.’ She pauses, takes a breath. ‘Angus, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen this, and it probably has nothing to do with it – I’m probably overreacting. But there’s this site, on the internet. There are so many of them. But this one – it worries me. There are all these photos of us. It must be someone here, someone local. Look …’
He follows her to the study and watches, suddenly worried himself, as Jodie brings up a site on the computer: jodiegarrow.com.au. The site has no header, no text; is simply a montage of uncaptioned thumbnail photos of Jodie, Angus, Tom and Hannah, individually and together, going about their daily business, oblivious. The snaps are recent – there is one of him, walking out of his office, Manon following close behind, that can only have been taken in the past few days.
Angus pushes past her, reaches for the phone, anxiety morphing seamlessly into fear. ‘We need to call the police.’
33
They leave early
in the morning, before Eileen or the kids are awake. Wes insists that they tidy up their bed before they go, so they fold their blankets quietly, put the lounge back together, straighten up the room. Hannah would like coffee, but Wes says no, that they can get breakfast on the way, stop in at Maccas, a servo.
They travel silently, Wes absorbed in his driving, his own thoughts, Hannah anxious and weary.
‘So. What did they say?’ Wes asks eventually.
‘Who?’
‘Your olds. When you rang ’em last night.’
‘Oh, yeah. No one picked up. I just left a message. Said I was all right, that I’d call again today.’ The lie is necessary, comes easily.
‘Did you tell them where we’re going?’
‘Nah. Wasn’t any point.’
‘Right.’
The highway is virtually empty at this time, and they travel quickly, arriving at the Moonee turn-off in less than ten minutes. They’re not travelling to the town itself, just to a tiny outpost at the junction of the freeway and the road that heads to the larger town, which is on the coast proper. It’s just a small clump of buildings set too close to the freeway to be comfortably habitable. It looks to Hannah as if there’s never been a point to living here, the long-abandoned houses are fibro, dilapidated – nothing more than shacks. There are two commercial premises, one a bait shop that looks as if it’s open less frequently than it’s closed, and an old servo with a single petrol pump – presumably the one that’s run by her grandfather. It’s not open, either, and like the bait shop it doesn’t look like it’s been used in a while.