by Bowes, K T
Leilah grimaced and clambered over the top rail of the fence in her dress. Corey raised an eyebrow at the flash of leg he got and she glared at him. “I’m old enough to be your mother, so pack that in right now.”
“I like older women.” Corey grinned and Leilah smirked at his gangly attempt at charm. “I’m nineteen,” he said as though that might convince her.
“Shut up.” Leilah approached the mares, hoping the small penned area would give her an advantage and stop her needing to chase Hinga. The strappy sandals clip clopped on the hard ground and both mares raised their heads in alarm. Hinga blew out a blast of hot air, the snort a warning as her ears flicked back and forth in a rapid movement. “Hey, girl,” Leilah crooned. “Is it nice to be home? I need to look at your cuts and make sure they’re healing. And those hooves look terrible too.”
Hinga didn’t appreciate the unflattering appraisal and tensed her body ready to run. The pen ate up twenty metres by twenty which sounded a lot, but not when shared with two half-tonne animals who would much rather she left. Leilah continued towards the mares, concern for the open wounds making her careless. Hector Dereham’s voice screamed in her head that she was doing this all wrong and she pushed him away in foolish rebellion. “I know I should be patient but I need to look.”
The other mare stood with a quizzical mask of curiosity on her face, a blade of grass hanging from her lip. Hinga’s belly gurgled with the contents of most of the pen’s grass and she lifted her tail and spattered dung in a stream of wet nerves. It hit the fence rails and rebounded in shuddering drips, splashing onto Leilah’s dress. “Aargh!” she exclaimed and took a step back. The action was enough to act as the starting gun for the frightened mare and she took off in a standing leap, hurtling around the pen like an item of clothing in a manic washing machine. Whipped up by excitement and fear, the other mare joined her. Leilah heard Corey’s swearword and Vaughan shout a warning from the porch but too late. The young male’s entrance into the pen proved too much for the man-shy Hinga and she changed direction, cutting across the centre to avoid Corey and flattening Leilah. Hinga’s shoulder laid her out flat and knocked the air from her lungs. She lay face down in the dirt with her chest heaving in an agony of suffocation.
The other mare only just managed to avoid trampling the fallen woman as she ran, pushing Hinga away and deflecting a spiteful aimed kick at Leilah’s head.
“Get up! Get up!” Corey urged, dodging hooves as he shoved Leilah onto her back and dragged her up by her arms.
“Is she ok?” Vaughan sounded anxious as he jogged across the lawn, a shaking hand gripping his stomach.
“Just winded,” Corey called back, lifting Leilah into his arms. “Keep them over there.” He jerked his head towards the mares who hovered near the furthest fence and Vaughan climbed onto the bottom rail and waved his arms. His faithful mount nodded like she enjoyed the game but Hinga postured and stamped in fury, white rims circling her terrified brown eyes.
“Gilroy’s messed that horse up good,” Corey remarked, fumbling the gate catch whilst still clutching Leilah. “That’s gonna take some sorting. I hope ya gave him back less than he paid for her.”
Vaughan shook his head and climbed down. “I paid him the same. Don’t need the aggro.” He closed the gate after Corey and followed him to the front steps. Leilah clutched her chest and gasped for air as the young man sat her upright on the porch steps.
“She’s bleeding.” Vaughan took Leilah’s chin in his hand and used the bottom of his shirt to clean blood from her chin.
“Maybe bit the inside of her mouth as she fell.”
“You shouldn’t have gone in there. Harvey’s made her terrified of men.”
“The woman?” Corey sounded surprised and eyed Leilah with apprehension.
“No, the bloody horse! Get her a drink of water.”
“The horse.”
“No! Leilah!”
She heard Corey’s quick steps up to the house and the sound of the ranch slider opening. Leilah’s body felt battered and her breath came in heaves as her lungs fought for equilibrium. Humiliation prickled up her spine and she figured Corey must have seen her knickers as she lay face down on the ground. So much for dignity.
“How you feeling?” Vaughan slumped next to her on the step and Leilah covered her eyes in misery. “I did everything wrong,” she muttered. “Dad would say it served me right.”
“Yeah, well he’s not here.” The comforting rumble of Vaughan’s voice negated the cruelty of the statement. “And it’s probably been a long time since you broke in a horse.” He reached for Leilah’s hands and pulled them away from her face, rubbing course fingers over hers. Glancing across at Hinga, he said, “She can wait until tomorrow now. It looks like the cuts are scabbing on her face and the others will have to be ok. I’ll nip to the vets in the morning and grab some antibiotic powder to put in the dry feed. We’ll start from scratch with her; it won’t take long.”
“But she seemed fine with me on the way home.” Leilah heard the unattractive whine in her voice.
Vaughan turned her face to look at her and his words were eternal, striking at an inner wound in Leilah’s soul. “Yeah, but we’ll latch onto anyone when we’re scared or need an escape. It doesn’t mean we’re happy with our choices afterwards.”
Leilah nodded and sighed, her lungs burning and her cut lip jagged and painful. “Ain’t that the truth,” she muttered. “It’s the story of my life.”
Chapter 15
Old Faces
“They’ll be ready in an hour.” The pharmacist took the prescription and smiled at Deleilah with faint recognition in his eyes. He screwed up his face and then shook his head, focussing on her split lip for a fraction of a second. “Go for coffee,” he suggested, his white hair wispy in the breeze from the front door.
Leilah nodded and turned away, relieved the old man didn’t remember her but saddened in a bone weary ache that felt like the familiar twinge of rejection. The cafe next door thrummed with voices, the tiny space packed with the afternoon tea crowd and she hovered on the threshold and turned away, not ready for either notoriety or ignorance. “Why should they remember you?” she sighed under her breath. “It’s been years.”
“Do you want them to?” The female voice took Leilah by surprise, causing her to whip around and see no-one. Dropping her gaze she saw a woman sitting on a bench under the cafe window, her brown eyes glistening with mischief.
“Mari.” Leilah felt a lump build in her throat, constricting her lungs and making her breaths shallow. “I should’ve guessed you’d know me.”
“I’d know you anywhere.” The old lady rested her mug of coffee on the bench, the black, greasy liquid staining the wood as it slopped over. She stood with difficulty, her back bowed under the weight of her delicate head as gravity fought for dominance. She reached out birdlike arms towards Leilah and smiled up at her sideways.
Leilah walked towards her, allowing the embrace although her reluctance showed in the stiffness of her body. Uninhibited, Mari squeezed her around the chest and kissed her chin. “Good girl; I knew you’d come home.” Wizened fingers with gnarled joints seized Leilah’s hand and dragged her towards the bench, stopping to wipe the coffee ring from the crusted paint work. “Sit youse nono down,” the old woman said, patting the wood onto which she collapsed her legs.
Leilah glanced through the cafe window behind, seeing only the steam from hot food and human bodies and sat, her hands pressed between her thighs and her head bowed. Mari resumed her coffee sipping and eyed Leilah sideways. “Why’s you in disguise?” she asked innocently. “What’s them?” A curious finger poked the augmented breast poking from the top of Leilah’s blouse. The escaped flesh bounced with firm delight at Mari’s second prod and Leilah stifled a snort.
“What do you think they are?” Her voice held humour and she realised she’d forgotten what her own laughter sounded like. “They’re boobs!”
Mari shook her head and giggled. “Mine
do scrape on the floor and I remember your boobs, young lady. Thems were no more than hītaratara, like two wee pimples, not them big uma.”
Leilah put her forearm across her breasts and pursed her lips, the assault on her fake persona begun and the sting reminding her of who she used to be. “My husband paid for them to be made bigger,” she hissed. “It was my thirtieth birthday present.”
“Some present!” Mari snorted. “Happy birthday, here’s a scalpel and some scar tissue. Jewellery would be nicer.”
“It wasn’t like that!” Leilah felt alarmed at the anger which surged upwards, threatening to spew from her mouth. She stood and glanced back at the pharmacy, deciding to drive back later. Soft fingers gripped the balled fist at Leilah’s side and gave it a tug.
“Nohonoho,” Mari ordered. “Sit down!”
“I can’t stay here!” Leilah’s words sounded loud in the quiet street, scraped from the bottom of her heart with a jackhammer. “I ended up here by accident but it’s a mistake.”
“No such thing.” Mari hauled herself to a standing position and pressed her fingers into Leilah’s palm, holding her hand like a child. Her coffee mug tipped sideways, pouring the vile brew between the slats of the bench and onto the pavement. “Everything’s meant to be kōtiro. Everything. If you’re here it’s because you need to be. Te whakamahuru. Calm down.”
Leilah worked her jaw, clenching her teeth to still the panic which created ocean waves in her stomach. The familiar strategy began to work, tried and tested on the worst days of her marriage. “I’m ok,” she breathed. “I’ll be ok.”
Mari cocked her birdlike head, understanding Leilah’s assurances were not really for her ears. “What did he do to you, Leilah?” she whispered.
Pity was the last thing Leilah needed to hear; pity and the use of her old name. She held her breath while its cadence washed over her brain, expecting scorn but feeling only pleasure. Leilah. Her memory recalled her father’s voice calling her from the paddock, his tongue caressing her name with affection. It seemed so gentle and lyrical compared to the harshness of Dee, a name adopted for Auckland circles when nobody seemed able to spell Deleilah on place cards at fancy dinners.
Leilah glanced back at the noisy cafe again as another eruption of laughter drifted through the open door. “They don’t remember me,” she said. “Maybe it’s better that way.”
“They don’t remember youse because youse not Leilah,” Mari said, raising a hand to stroke Leilah’s face. “Youse some hard bitch from the city with the wrong coloured hair and no curls. Come. Nau mai.” She led Leilah by the hand, shuffling along the street with her bent spine and fluffy slippers, her coffee forgotten. Leilah followed, dragging her feet even as curiosity burgeoned in her soul. Mari pushed open a shop doorway and made a dramatic entrance, knocking shampoo bottles flying from a shelf as she turned to beckon Leilah inside. Embarrassed, Leilah pursed her lips. “Still the same, ain’t it?” Mari grinned, showing gum in place of an incisor. “Not changed a bit.”
Leilah nodded and stared around the hair salon. The same furnishings adorned the small space as though she’d never left the town of her childhood. She closed her eyes and drank in familiar noises and scents which reminded her of her mother. “You used to bring me here when I was little,” she said, awe in her voice. “I wanted my hair to touch my bottom but Tori snipped the ends and said it would help.” Leilah’s face clouded. “I stopped coming eventually and it’s amazing how quickly it grew.”
Mari shook her head. “Nobody wants their hair to touch their ass! That’s what toilet paper’s for.”
Leilah rolled her eyes and restored her face to a neutral position as Tori emerged from a back room wiping her hands on a towel. She stopped in surprise at the sight of Mari and grinned, age claiming nothing from her looks. “What do you want?” she exclaimed. “You finally gonna let me deal with them wispy hairs on yer chin?”
Mari shook her head and covered her chin with her hand. “No!” she snapped. “Ted likes ‘em!”
“Pick them bottles up yer clumsy old woman!” Tori snapped, putting manicured hands on her ample hips. From a distance she painted an illusion of agelessness but as Mari hustled Leilah closer, she saw how make up filled the cracks in Tori’s skin, hiding sixty years of wear and tear from the casual viewer. Leilah remained quiet, seeing the same flash of recognition dispelled in a heartbeat.
“She needs a makeover,” Mari said, yanking on Leilah’s arm. “I want her back the way she was.”
Tori rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know how that was and who’s gonna pay for it?”
Mari patted Leilah’s arm. “She is. I’ll come back in an hour for a look. You got no other customers, Sandra told me when she came in for coffee. You sent ‘er home early.”
Mari lifted Leilah’s fingers and administered a kiss complete with smacking sound. “See you in an hour,” she sang over her shoulder, tripping over the fallen hair products as she exited the shop. Leilah closed her eyes and imagined herself taking a holiday, lying on a beach in the sunshine alone. The idea of being alone ruined the illusion and she opened them to find Tori studying her at close hand. Leilah took a step back.
“Deleilah Dereham!” Tori’s exclamation was accompanied by a broad grin. “What brings you home?”
Leilah shrugged. “Fate. And really rotten luck.”
Chapter 16
New Start
Dee Hanover disappeared before her eyes as Tori set to work restoring the image in the mirror to her former glory. The finished effect left both women speechless.
“I hated hearing them call you Dee on the TV,” Tori said, pushing product through the brown curls and watching them bounce away with satisfaction. “You’ll always be Leilah to us in this town.”
“I want to be Leilah,” the woman breathed. “I need to become her before this other person drowns her again.”
“No chance of that.” Tori kissed the pink flesh of Leilah’s temple between the dark tresses and squeezed her shoulders. “That’s took years off ya, girl. You’re not quite the wee lass who went off to university but you’re not far off.” She plumped the curls again and eased the dryer hood back down over Leilah’s head. “It’s like them twenty years never happened.” She winked and left Leilah staring at her altered reflection, transfixed by the reappearance of a girl she believed dead. Michael buried her in his obsession with blondes, straight hair and curvaceous bodies; setting her on a road to perfection which still left her flawed in his eyes.
“I wish they hadn’t sometimes,” Leilah sighed and Tori nodded, returning with a trolley wheeling in front of her like a battering ram.
“He looked like an arsehole when he come strutting down ‘ere like we was all hicks from the wop-wops. We couldn’t believe he sold up yer dad’s place without a care. Hector would’ve been...” Tori stopped, seeing Leilah’s eyes close to hide her pain. “No matter,” she said. “You’re back now.” She seized one of Leilah’s hands and examined the fingernails. “Tsk, tsk,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Them posh Auckland places aren’t so good after all.”
“They were fine. I used to get them done every two weeks but I haven’t bothered.” Leilah peered at the ratty, broken nails from working as Harvey’s personal slave.
“They’re not too bad.” Tori lifted an index finger up to peer at it. “Reckon if you use some special nail hardener on them, they’ll come right again.”
Leilah nodded, thinking of Vaughan’s cottage and the cleaning it would require before she could leave him there with a clear conscience. “I’ll use rubber gloves,” she said, watching as Tori clipped the split nails shorter. The one from her thumb released with a pop and shot across the floor like a frightened mouse.
“Why are you back, Leilah?” Tori thumped her bifocals back onto the bridge of her nose, leaving a crease across her perfectly coiffed beehive. “Yer dad’s place is up for sale again. You gonna buy it?”
Leilah’s eyes widened. “I’m just passing throu
gh, Tori. I didn’t know it was for sale.” She closed her eyes and conjured up an image of the clapboard house perched on the foothills of the mountain. Curiosity made her wonder what it looked like twenty years on. Grief made her shy away.
“Well, ya know now.” Tori bent over Leilah’s nails, creating a haze with the volume of hairspray shrouding her up-do. Heavy foundation hid the wrinkles which adorned most sixty-year-old faces and Leilah found herself yearning for the past; for a time less complicated or fraught with misery. Tori sighed. “Reckon they can’t sell it because of what happened to the last owner.”
“What happened?”
“Died.” Tori clicked her tongue and filed the rough edge of Leilah’s thumbnail. “Collapsed in the paddock two months ago.”
“So everyone thinks the place is cursed because of how Hector died?”
“No, you egg!” Tori snorted. “Your pa died from a good old heart attack but this guy got shot in the face.”
“What?” Leilah’s eyes widened. “That can’t be right. It would’ve been on the news.”
“It was!” Tori exclaimed. “Guess you were havin’ yer own problems with that blondie you married.”
Leilah nodded, her expression wistful. “I guess. That’s awful. Was it an accident?”
“Na. Local cops are keeping quiet about it but I don’t reckon it’s possible to trip over the muzzle of a shotgun and swallow your own bullets.”
Leilah shuddered and closed her eyes. “That’s sick.”
“Where ya stayin’?” The question made Leilah draw breath and swallow before answering.
“Vaughan’s just got out of hospital and seems in a bad way. I intended to leave as soon as I dropped him home, but I’m not so sure now.” Leilah stopped, wincing and waiting for the backlash. It didn’t come.
Tori grunted and sat up to admire the nails. She dusted Leilah’s fingers with a large brush, creating a ticklish sensation. “You’re big enough to know what yer doing I suppose,” she said. “Be careful. He’s not the same kid yer used to knock around with at school. He’d be locked up if it weren’t for that mate of yours.”