I stopped and turned around. He was standing on the footpath now, looking … rueful was the word for it, I think, and for the first time I saw how he might resemble Jem. I put my bag down, not sure what to do.
‘Promise it won’t happen again,’ said Simeon.
‘No,’ I said, picking up my bag and turning to go. ‘Well, that’s easy to guarantee.’
‘Look,’ he said, ‘no silly buggers, I promise. I like seeing you. I like talking to you. Christ, I like you. That’s cool, isn’t it?’
I thought for a moment. I knew it was better not to see him. I should go on home and do my art history assignment.
‘Got any Jaffas?’ I said.
‘Fresh box,’ he said, gesturing lavishly towards the car. ‘Let me show you the improved decor at Galbraith Garrison.’
‘Garrison?’ I said, settling into my old seat and reaching for the Jaffa box. ‘You’re at war now?’
‘You could say that,’ said Simeon.
I went to the Garrison with him twice that week. The police asked me about that — about my visits to the factory. Why did I go there, what did I do, what did I see? Surely I knew what Simeon was up to? I was helping him, wasn’t I? C’mon, I was part of it, wasn’t I?
‘Part of what?’
‘C’mon, don’t play the innocent,’ said the one with the ginger moustache.
‘What did you see, Catriona?’ said the nicer one, more gently.
It was simple, I said. I only ever went into the parts Simeon called the entrance hall and his private quarters. He’d somehow got a sofa and chairs in there, a low table, a heater—
‘He had a heater?’ said Ginger. The policewoman sitting in the corner made a note.
‘It was cold,’ I said, remembering how I sat down on the pretty rag-rug with my back to the heater, how Simeon passed me a blanket, a cup of coffee. ‘He had a kettle, too. He fixed up the wiring. It was a home away from home. A bide-a-wee.’ I started laughing. The policewoman wrote some more.
‘He’s multi-talented,’ I said, still laughing, not caring what I was saying. ‘He can do electrical stuff, build things, sell things, charm the hind leg off a dog. He’s good with his head and good with … good with his hands.’ I couldn’t stop laughing. They stared at me.
‘Sergeant Te Karu,’ said Ginger to the policewoman. She came over and put a hand on my shoulder.
‘Very good with his hands,’ I said, choked up with the hilarity of it all.
‘We’ll take a break,’ said Ginger. He and the nicer one exited without a backward glance.
‘It’s okay,’ said Sergeant Te Karu, patting my back. She had big brown eyes.
‘Fantastic,’ I spluttered into her face.
Later, they tried again. I must have seen things, they insisted.
‘I didn’t see a thing,’ I said. Only the light, light blue of Simeon’s eyes, his ugly hands expertly rolling a joint, the hip flask of rum he laced the coffee with.
‘You weren’t curious about what he did there — what was in the loft?’ asked Ginger. ‘You never inquired?’
‘No,’ I said. So much for detection skills. ‘I thought he had a bed up there. I didn’t want to ask, in case he thought I was interested.’
‘Why did you go there then, Catriona?’ Nice One asked.
‘Look, you bastards!’ I shouted, losing it completely. ‘I’ve told you and told you. I was only interested in Cleo, I just thought about her, getting her out — I didn’t give any thought to what Simeon did, I couldn’t have cared less!’
‘Why did you go there then, Catriona?’ repeated Nice One, his face watchful, patient.
Oh God. Surely it’s obvious. Because, you turkeys, it was inevitable, of course, that Simeon could help us. Days before Jem had his brainwave over the axolotl tank it had stared me in the face, though I tried to avoid it.
Of course Simeon was the one to help. The one and only. He wouldn’t care about Cleo, but he’d leap at the adventure. He was a sure bet.
Hello disaster.
Chapter Nine
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Miriam, when she returned to the room.
‘You didn’t like the comparison with Stella?’
‘Would you?’
‘I like the sound of her,’ said Miriam, knocking me sideways.
‘Why?’ I was confused.
‘I can see that she’s been a tricky mother. But she seems tough. Sure, she’s made mistakes, but she’s slogged on, and she’s always been there for you. Don’t you think?’
‘Yeah? So where is she now?’
‘My understanding,’ said Miriam, speaking carefully, ‘is that you told her to go away, get out of your life. You refused to see her.’
‘I wasn’t well,’ I said, a prickling cold spreading upwards from my feet. ‘She knew that, she shouldn’t have listened, she knew I didn’t mean it.’
‘Perhaps she honestly thought you’d be better for a while without her.’
‘Very convenient.’ I tried to breathe calmly, thinking of the last time I had seen Stella, six weeks before, whey-faced, her eyes huge, as she reeled under my verbal assault.
‘You say the word, Cat,’ said Miriam. ‘You say the word and I’ll get in touch with Stella.’
There was a long silence.
‘Where were we?’ said Miriam.
I sighed heavily, dragging myself back to it all. I thought of Jem, unfolding the Canterbury-Westland map on the desk in my bedroom, stabbing Arthur’s Pass with his finger. I remembered the ache in my throat and jaw at the stress of being with Simeon and Jem, my deep, deep regret at having deceived Jem, the impossibility of fixing it all. I remembered the look of incredulity on Simeon’s face as Jem explained the plan, tightly worked by then. I remembered the reluctant admiration in his eyes as he watched us both, the slow-dawning pleasure as he gazed at me.
‘The beginning of the end,’ I said to Miriam.
‘Well, Sim was predictably keen,’ said Jem, as we lay in bed that night. ‘Anything anarchic.’ He laughed shortly. ‘He’ll come to a no-good end, that boy.’
‘We might, too,’ I said, hugging him tight. I had momentarily lost my absolute conviction that freeing Cleo would be snag-free, smooth as jelly.
‘Nah,’ said Jem, reversing our usual roles. ‘I hate to admit it, but having Sim will be a big help. He’s a very efficient operator. I should know. God, the shit he used to get away with when we were kids.’
I could imagine.
‘The hard part will be with the police,’ I said, shivering. ‘Good thing I’ve practised lying a bit lately.’
‘I know nothing,’ said Jem, ‘nothing at all.
‘Except,’ he said, a moment later, ‘that I love you. Terribly. Awfully.’
‘Me, too,’ I said, a little desperately, kissing him and kissing him, thinking, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.
‘Well,’ said Simeon, scrutinising me at length when I sat down beside him in the van several days later.
‘Well what?’ I said, looking in the glove box for Jaffas.
‘Who’s a dark horse, then?’ he said. ‘Not a word in two months, no indication you’re about to become a zoo terrorist.’
‘Animal liberationist, please,’ I said, with dignity.
He flicked my plait lazily. ‘I’m impressed, Red. Mum’s the word, big way.’
‘Why would I have trusted you?’ I said, moving away from his hand.
‘You’re a genuine enigma,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘I didn’t even know you liked animals.’
‘You never asked.’
‘Coffee?’
He turned the ignition without waiting for an answer.
‘What’s with the panther, Red?’ said Simeon, when we were sitting in the Garrison. He was opening a fresh bottle of rum.
‘She’s miserable,’ I said. ‘She’s a prisoner. She’s gone nuts being caged. It’s horrible. And I’ve read enough about panthers to know she could survive outside the Sanctuary. If you saw her as often as we do, yo
u’d understand — if you saw the whole place … you’ll see when you come and check it out.’
‘I will, Red. Looking forward to it, too. Do you wear nice overalls?’
‘Shut up.’
He just kept looking at me goofily, a spacy, opaque look in his eyes.
‘Are you stoned?’
‘Moi?’
‘Simeon?’ I said, taking a deep breath.
‘Catreeona?’ he said, coyly.
‘Simeon, I’ve never said anything about us to Jem—’
‘Us, US?’ he said, sliding off the couch, kneeling in front of me, a silly beseeching look on his face. ‘You mean it, Red, we’re an us, we’re an item?’
I looked stonily at him. ‘Simeon …’
‘Hey, Red,’ he said, waving his hand dismissively. ‘This is Simeon you’re talking to. Master magician. Trust me Red.’ He poured a messy splash of rum.
‘Mum’s the word. Big way.’
‘Next step is …’ said Jem, as we sat drinking coffee in the shed at the Sanctuary.
Coffee, coffee, I seemed to drink gallons of it every day, one way or another. Perhaps that was why I couldn’t sleep. But I was so tired during the day I needed coffee to keep me alert. I’d even resorted to Stella’s poisonous brew in an effort to study. I had opened my Hamlet copy and stared and stared at it. Hamlet takes the skull, I read. ‘Alas, poor Yorick,’ said Hamlet. ‘I knew him well, Horatio; A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy …’ I closed the book and began to think about Cleo and the countdown and then I started making a list about what we had to do. A bit later I decided to memorise the list and destroy it — what if the police searched our house and found it? Incriminating evidence. Evidence of intent, of premeditation. I tore the list into a trillion tiny pieces and burnt them in Stella’s pottery ashtray. Then I flushed the ashes down the toilet. I went to bed and lay awake for hours, mentally reciting the order of activities. At two o’clock bright light from a half-full moon flooded my bedroom and I got out of bed and checked out panther adaptability again in one of the library books. Somewhere around 4.30 I drifted off to sleep.
‘Next step,’ I answered Jem, ‘is checking out Arthur’s Pass. Let’s do it this weekend.’
It was the Tuesday before the end of term. Simeon had visited the Sanctuary the previous Saturday. We had introduced him to Jeannie and the Old Man, and after he had them eating out of his hand he strolled out to see the animals.
‘Good to see you’re taking this seriously,’ said Jem when, no one else about, Simeon put on his dark glasses and cased Cleo’s cage with exaggerated strides and a furtive expression. I leaned against Jem, laughing with him, and I had a sudden feeling that perhaps everything was okay after all.
‘We have to be able to get the van in here,’ said Simeon, removing his glasses, inspecting the opening to Cleo’s cage, the width of the path. Cleo carried on pacing as usual, unaware of the momentous plans underway on her behalf.
‘Hello, beautiful,’ I whispered, leaning against the cage. She gave a tiny snarl of greeting but didn’t look my way.
‘Is there rear access?’ Simeon asked. He was very brisk and businesslike now, his eyes narrowed, considering.
‘There’s a shared drive,’ said Jem, ‘and a gate in the macrocarpa wall. But it’ll be a tight squeeze around the ponds.’ To reach Cleo’s cage Simeon would have to reverse through the fence and past the aviary, two ponds and an empty cage that had once had ocelots.
‘She’s a big bitch,’ said Simeon, assessing Cleo with cold objectivity. ‘And I bet she can be a nasty piece, too.’
‘No,’ I said, disliking his detachment. ‘She’s not well. She’s not her real self. You wait until she’s out of the cage.’
‘Out of the cage is precisely what I’m thinking of,’ drawled Simeon. ‘We’ll have to give her the dope in the cage, then haul her into the van. Rope. We’ll need rope. I’ll get that.’
Neither Jem nor I questioned his competence or this assumption of authority. It was like having a parent take over, or a teacher — which was odd, I thought, considering that Simeon stood for everything that was opposed to parental authority and order. Or did he? I thought of the tidy custom-made box of tools, the strange, cosy domestic order he had brought to the Garrison. No doubt his dope grew in neat straight rows as well. I guess it’s possible to be an organised anarchist.
‘Your brother is a truly strange mixture,’ I said to Jem later, then shut my mouth, thinking it wiser not to elaborate. Theoretically, I wasn’t supposed to know all that much about the way Simeon ran his life.
‘Extreme’s the word,’ said Jem. ‘He used to be an extreme Christian — when he was fourteen. Now he’s probably an extreme criminal, though I’m only guessing. I try not to know.’
‘What do you mean, an extreme criminal?’ I said, nervously. ‘He just grows a bit of dope, doesn’t he?’
‘I think he’s into other stuff,’ said Jem.
For a fraction of a second the Garrison flashed across my brain. ‘What other stuff?’ I said.
‘Stuff,’ said Jem. ‘It’s better not to know.’
‘Do you think it’s safe to include him?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Jem. ‘But necessary.’ He sounded very tough; it was one of those rare moments when I saw that he was indeed Simeon’s brother.
Meanwhile, there was the business of reconnoitring Arthur’s Pass.
‘Angus and Jeannie leave Thursday,’ said Jem, ‘but Simeon isn’t free till Saturday, so one of us will have to stay behind here with the animals.’
‘I’ll stay,’ I said quickly, knowing immediately that I shouldn’t travel six hours alone with Simeon in his van.
‘Actually, I think you’d better go with Sim,’ said Jem. ‘He and I will kill each other if we’re alone in an enclosed space for more than an hour.’
Oh, great.
‘Cat?’ said Jem, looking at me hard, his beautiful black-brown eyes searching my face. ‘Are you okay? You look so tired. And you’re all thin.’
‘Cat,’ said my aunt Toni, over the kitchen table. ‘We’re worried about you.’
‘Are you?’ I said, hoping I looked concerned. ‘You and William?’
‘Me and William, Nan and Stella.’
‘Hey, you forgot Dr Paul,’ I said.
‘You’ve got it wrong about him, Cat,’ Toni said softly.
‘That’ll be the day,’ I said, in a good imitation of Nan.
‘Cat,’ said Freddy, plastering taramasalata on his pita bread in Santorini, ‘I’m going to talk turkey to you. I want you to see someone, talk to someone. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but you need to get it out.’
‘Freddy,’ I began, smiling at him. ‘What do you—’
‘Don’t do that, Cat,’ he said, very firmly. ‘I won’t be fobbed off.’ He put down his knife and looked at me. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘You’re my daughter in every way, except biologically, and I care deeply what happens to you.’
‘Freddy,’ I said again, speaking carefully, as if to a brain-damaged child. ‘I really appreciate your concern—’
‘If you don’t agree to see someone,’ said Freddy, ‘I’m going to call Stella.’
‘A needless torture,’ I said, looking at him over my glass, seeing his dear familiar face recede into the distance, hearing his voice from far away.
‘I know someone. A woman, she’s really good. I can get in touch with her for you.’
I shut off his voice and thought about Cleo, imagining her bounding out of Simeon’s van, running slowly at first, then faster and faster, down the Otira Gorge, stopping at the river to drink, looking up from the water, an undiluted happiness settling over her at the extent of her new home.
I wasn’t going to any shrink. No way.
‘Cat!’ said Penny, her mouth wide open. ‘You look terrible! What’s the matter with you? Are you sick?’
Penny had her driver’s licence now and had driven over in her mother’s bright whit
e Fiat. It was the first we’d seen of each other in six weeks.
‘Just tired,’ I said airily. ‘Not sleeping. The moon keeps shining in my window and waking me up.’
‘But you’re so thin.’
I shrugged.
‘Cat,’ said Penny. Her I’m-going-to-fix-this voice. ‘Something’s wrong. I know it. Honestly, Cat, tell me, what’s wrong?’
‘Pen,’ I said, looking her very sincerely. ‘Honestly. Nothing’s wrong. Everything is totally fine. A-okay. Cool.’
‘Cat,’ said Ms Hattaway, on the last day of term. ‘Would you like to see the school counsellor? A number of your teachers, including myself, are quite worried about you. There’s been a discernible decline in the standard of your work.’
It was Friday, sunny and promising. Yesterday, Jem and Peppy and I had waved the Salters off to Blenheim.
‘This is it,’ said Jem. ‘Why do I feel so bad?’
‘Don’t think about them, don’t think about it, don’t think about anything,’ I said, making him a present of my current philosophy.
‘Cat,’ said Ms Hattaway. ‘You are a talented young woman. None of us likes to see you throwing away opportunities like this. Hell, Cat! Mrs Wilson says your history assignment was rubbish, barely rated a D.’
Hellcat, I thought, smiling thinly. Hellcat, Alleycat, Wildcat, Catriona. I blinked quickly, trying to focus on Ms Hattaway’s furrowed face.
Today was Friday, tomorrow was Saturday, and Simeon and I were driving to Arthur’s Pass to reconnoitre.
‘I’m going to call your mother,’ said Ms Hattaway.
‘Okay,’ said Stella, planting herself in front of my desk where I was looking at my Bursary exam timetable. ‘This is where it stops. Enough. Finito.’
‘Go away, Stella,’ I said, deciding in that moment definitely not to sit Bursary.
‘You will talk to me,’ said Stella, not moving. ‘I’ve given you a good long time, Cat, and now it’s over. Look at me.’
I looked at her, mutinously, thinking, what an irony. We were finally acting like mother and teenage daughter, only it was a bit inconvenient right now.
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