Hitch

  ‘Oi!’ Jez called from the steps of the house. ‘Oi, I’m talkin’ to you.’ She kept running, the ground already hot beneath her feet. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ He ended in a high-pitched tone, then he was laughing. ‘Run, bitch, run!’

  Amelia reached the car park. She turned and Will was outside, bare chest, grey undies, his hands open to the sky. ‘Wait up,’ he yelled. He whistled and Lucy turned to face him, a low growl in her throat.

  Amelia headed around the side of the pub, Lucy at her heels, and ran up onto the verandah. The door moved in its frame, but it was locked. She peered inside, her nose streaking the glass; the lights were off and there was no sign of movement within. She knocked on the door with a fist and waited, but no one came. There was a flash of colour beside her and she whipped around; the mongrel from the night before approached and sniffed at her feet.

  She left the shade of the pub. Each step was harder than the last as she ambled towards the servo, grit sharp beneath her feet. Lucy was ahead, her nose to the ground.

  There was an alcove at the entrance to the shop and she sat Lucy there. Amelia pushed the door open, setting a bell ringing; a woman sat behind a fan at the counter. She watched as Amelia walked down an aisle, following signs to the bathroom at the back of the shop. She passed through coloured streamers.

  The toilet was spattered with piss. She hovered over it, gagged, but whatever was inside her wouldn’t leave. She pulled her T-shirt over her head, stepped out of her shorts and undies. Lukewarm water trickled out of the tap when she pushed the button down; she collected it in the cup of her hands and poured it over her head. The tap timed out and she pressed it in again, throwing handfuls of water down her back, over her belly, washing out her mouth and spitting down the sink. She wet a wad of toilet paper and scrubbed at her skin, between her legs. She did it again, rinse and repeat, and again, scrubbing and scratching till skin peeled off her and the paper disintegrated in small bundles.

  Brown water pooled at her feet.

  She picked up her T-shirt, wiped it over wet shoulders; it released a smell of Will, and she threw it back to the floor. She unbuckled her pack and pulled out items till she found a new shirt, new undies, new shorts. The clothes were too tight, too close against her. She picked up the discarded shorts and, making sure her hands were completely dry, she transferred her mother’s list to the special pocket in her pack. She pulled on her shoes. Her abandoned favourite shirt lay crumpled in the corner. She couldn’t bear to leave it; she scooped it up and pushed it down the side of her pack.

  A bang on the door. In the slit between floor and wood, there were two shifting dark patches. More banging: three hard, decisive knocks.

  ‘Oi,’ said a woman’s voice.

  Amelia shoved things down in her bag, the items damp now from the wet floor.

  ‘That your dog out there?’ the woman said. ‘It’s going nuts, barkin’ at me customers. Get out here and fix it, would ya?’

  Amelia swung her pack onto her shoulder. As she opened the door, Lucy’s barks became piercing. The woman from the front counter stood with her hands in fists on her hips, an apron with native birds spread across her front. Amelia pressed past her, trapped for a second against the pillows of her breasts. She ran down the aisle and to the door.

  Jez squatted at the entrance, holding a crust of bread out to Lucy, speaking to her softly. Lucy was quiet now, though her lips still twitched.

  ‘Well, what are the chances,’ he said when Amelia stepped out of the shop.

  The door closed behind Amelia, bumping her pack. ‘Stop it,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t like you.’

  He looked up, touched his thick neck. ‘Dunno why, I’m a nice guy. She just doesn’t know me.’ He adjusted his shirt collar as he stood. Amelia turned her back to him and crouched down to stroke Lucy’s side. He loomed over them, and Amelia watched his shadow as he took a step closer.

  A truck pulled into the service station; she stood, grappling with her pack.

  ‘Where do ya think you’re goin’?’ Jez said.

  He stepped in her way, smiling, as she tried to pass, and when she changed her course he blocked her path again. He was laughing at her as she managed to dodge around him. The truck stopped beside a bowser. She summoned Lucy to follow and they approached the vehicle as the driver lowered himself from the cab.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘Hi.’

  He was an older man, hunched, with golden eyes beneath a faded red cap. He looked at her quickly then walked past her to unhook the petrol pump.

  ‘Can’t help ya, love, sorry,’ he said.

  ‘Please,’ she said, taking a step forward. ‘Even if it’s just to the next town.’

  ‘I’ve got a job to do. Sorry.’ He wiped a chequered hanky over his face. ‘Need something to drink? Food? I can help you with that.’ The hanky disappeared into the pocket of his shorts. He dug around and brought out a handful of coins, which glinted in his worn hand.

  ‘No, no,’ she said, and stepped backwards. ‘We’re fine, thank you.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ He returned the money to his pocket, lowered his cap.

  ‘Sorry to bother you,’ she said, lingering in case he changed his mind. The man shrugged.

  Amelia looked out to the still highway. She hefted her pack higher and walked back between bowsers towards the car park.

  ‘Rejected, huh,’ Jez said. He caught up to her, nudging her shoulder as he matched her stride.

  ‘It happens,’ she said. She stepped away from him and he quickly filled the space.

  ‘Yeah? Well how ’bout I take ya?’

  ‘No thanks.’ She walked faster, and Lucy broke into a trot at her side.

  ‘Why not? Too good for me, eh darlin’?’ He stopped and she put her head down, walked as if she had somewhere to go. He jogged to catch up to her. ‘Well you weren’t too good for young Will boy, were ya. Had a good old ride with him.’ He stuck his elbow into her side.

  There was no action in the car park, no one packing vehicles, setting off for the day. She turned back to the servo, heat prickling her scalp.

  Jez turned too, continued walking beside her. ‘C’mon, sweetie,’ he said, his tone softening; he sounded like Will had the night before. ‘I’m just kidding with you. I’ll give you a ride.’

  ‘Hey,’ someone called, ‘wait up a sec.’ She turned and saw Will trotting towards her, fresh shirt, combed, wet hair.

  ‘Oi, what are you doing?’ he said, stepping past Amelia and going chest-to-chest with his brother.

  ‘I was offering the lady a lift. No need to be so greedy, Will boy.’

  ‘What’s your problem?’ Will said.

  ‘You gotta share the love, brother. You can’t be keepin’ all these needy young things to yourself.’ He slapped Will’s chest and rested his hand there.

  ‘For christ’s sake, stop messing around,’ Will said. ‘You’re upsetting her.’

  Amelia turned, tried to adjust her face to stop it from giving her away. She walked towards the servo.

  ‘Harden up, mate,’ Jez said. ‘You’re a fucking pussy.’

  Footsteps caught up to her and she felt a hand on her shoulder. She pushed it off and turned around. For a moment she met Will’s eyes, saw a flash of whatever it was that had coaxed her into this.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry, okay,’ Will said. ‘I’ll get you some breakfast. We can get back on the road. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.’ He looked down at her, long lashes, creased eyes. Jez stood behind him, watching.

  ‘Oi!’ The woman from the service station made her way across the car park, plastic sandals squeaking. ‘What do ya think you lot are up to?’ The woman was out of breath, her cheeks glistening, hair stuck to her sweaty neck.

  ‘Come on, Will boy, let’s go. Leave these whiny bitches to their own devices,’ Jez called.

  ‘That’s right, rack off and stop causin’ trouble,’ the woman said.

  Will took a couple
of steps backwards, still looking at Amelia, eyebrows raised. A truck drove by on the highway, its shadow passing across them.

  ‘Clear out, eh?’ the woman yelled over the last sounds of the vehicle. ‘I got work to do.’

  Jez walked away, shoulders back, long arms swinging. He turned. ‘Come on, mate,’ he said, walking backwards while he spoke. ‘You’re better than this. She’s just some girl, givin’ it out by the side of the highway.’

  Will hung his head and spun around. He followed his brother, dragging his feet so that dust filled the air behind him.

  ‘Come back inside, darl. I’ll get ya a drink,’ the woman said.

  They crossed the car park. Amelia slowed her pace to keep time with the woman’s waddle, while Lucy scampered ahead in pursuit of a fly. A chip packet skittered along the ground near one of the bowsers.

  ‘Get that for me, darl,’ the woman said, pointing a stubby finger. ‘Me back’s shot.’ Amelia grabbed the packet and stuffed it into an overflowing rubbish bin.

  The bell above the door chimed as they entered the shop, and the woman unleashed: ‘Bad idea bein’ out here alone,’ she said, hobbling down the aisle towards her perch in front of the fan. ‘You hear what he said about ya? That what you want people to think?’

  Amelia stood at the drinks fridge, its coolness touching her cheeks. The woman spoke loudly from the front of the shop in order to reach her. ‘Just bad news. Askin’ for trouble, I reckon, a pretty young thing like you … You don’t want people taking advantage … you never know who you can trust. Do ya?’

  Amelia looked at her hand, bent her fingers towards her. ‘Nope,’ she said. Dirt mixed with dried blood in little cuts around her nails.

  ‘You gotta be so careful these days, switched on …’ the woman said. ‘There are some lonely fellas out here is all I’m sayin’, you catch my drift?’

  Amelia peeled a thread of skin back from the nail of her index finger. She pulled it slowly, as far as it would go until it tapered and broke.

  ‘You just don’t know what people are capable of … Didn’t used to be that way, but now? Well, it’s just another kettle of … You listening?’

  ‘Yep,’ she said, examining the triangle of new, pink flesh before blood welled to cover it.

  The woman sniffed. ‘Good, ’cos you think that dog of yours is gonna make any difference? Reckon you’re invincible with that by your side? Whatever them boys were gonna do to you, they certainly wouldn’t have shown it any mercy, believe you me.’

  Amelia bit around the nail, tasting earth and blood. She softened the skin with her saliva, then slowly pulled back a new strip. She wiped blood on her shorts and watched more ooze out from the vertical wounds, puzzled at how a colour so vivid could come from within her.

  ‘Have the purple one, darl,’ the woman said. ‘Hardly anyone buys it, dunno why.’

  Amelia picked up one of the bottles of apple and blackcurrant juice, the glass wet and cold against her throbbing fingertip. The lid popped as she twisted it off.

  ‘Ordered that one in from Townsville, would ya believe, but no one bloody wants it,’ the woman said.

  Amelia walked down the aisle to a rack of postcards, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. As she spun the rack, images of desert and coloured skies swirled in front of her. She stopped the spinning at random and pulled out a card: Uluru in cartoon, a caricature cockatoo perched on top of it. Dust stuck to her fingertips as she took the card to the counter.

  The woman was absorbed in a magazine spread of celebrities without make-up, the wet tip of her thumb poised over glossy paper. She flipped the page before turning her attention to Amelia.

  ‘Found something you like, darl? And like I said, the drink’s on me.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Amelia said, almost at the end of the bottle.

  The woman held the postcard close to her face, squinting. ‘Sixty cents,’ she said. ‘Got stamps. You want one?’

  Amelia walked behind the building and swung her pack down, shoulders aching. She sat in the shade, back against the wall, legs up to her chest. She turned the postcard over and over, picturing its journey from her grasp to Sid’s. His gardener’s hands would be rough from hard summer soil, and he would read it as he walked slowly down the path and into his home. Last time she’d seen him he said he was worried, and he’d been all squinty in the sun, rogue red hairs in his dark hair catching the light. He had a gift for her, a pen with a plastic rocket on top, flames running down the side; he held it up between them, smiling. ‘Don’t crash and burn,’ he said, ‘but if you do, you know where to find me.’ He clicked the pen up and down, up and down as they sat in her backyard, Lucy lying across their toes, the smell of star jasmine lingering on the breeze.

  She moved things around in the side pocket of her pack, searching for the feel of plastic. She flipped the card over, wrote Sid’s address in boxy letters. For the rest of the message she used the symbols of a code that had been devised by the two of them as they hunched behind a tree overlooking their suburb. It was a simple system, designed as a way to keep their childhood secrets intact while using the adult world of the letterbox. Each letter was represented by a symbol: M was a four-leaf clover, D a trapezium, T a fish. She wrote:

  Made it to the middle. Still not enough space … maybe you were right. Got red sand between my toes. I’ll save you some.

  She put three small stars at the bottom, which meant missing, wishing, thinking, then added: PS. Don’t worry.

  She leaned her head back against the brick wall of the shop, clicking the pen up and down. Lucy nudged the postcard out of the way, seeking a pat. Amelia stroked Lucy’s hot fur and closed her eyes. Bright specks rushed across her vision. Moments from the night before pricked at her, trapped under her skin. She wondered if her mother had seen Will’s hands moving over her body, if she’d seen the images of Zach in her head; wondered if she knew now what Amelia had never told her. And was her mother able to turn her head away in disgust, or did death’s all-seeing eyes mean she must endure it?

  Gravel popped beneath tyres. She stood, heart pounding. The sun angled in towards her, hitting her shins. The skin there was pink and warm to the touch. She shoved the postcard into the back pocket of her shorts. Lucy stood at her heels as she peered around the edge of the shop.

  A white Subaru was stopped at the bowser; a woman sat in the front passenger seat, still and staring ahead while a man filled the car with petrol. He was compact, tucked tightly into pale, acid-washed Levis that fell short above white sneakers. Amelia returned to her pack and lifted it onto her shoulders. She practised a smile, the skin on her cheeks feeling stiff, her lips cracking. When she caught her reflection in the glass of the shop she quickly looked away, but not before a surge of violence; she imagined smashing in her glass face, making shards of her nose, her eyes, her mouth.

  She crouched, cupped Lucy’s head in her hands. ‘We’ve got this.’ Lucy’s dark eyes were a balm; she wagged her tail, her rump swinging from side to side. As Amelia left the cover of the building, she composed herself: long, steady strides, lifted chin. Confidence is key, her mother would have said. Shoulders back.

  As she neared the car, the man’s aftershave cut into the air, citrusy and strong.

  ‘Excuse me sir – hi.’ She raised her hand in a half-wave but it was too desperate, so she tucked both hands behind her back.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. After a nod and a curt smile, he returned to watching the numbers on the bowser ascend. His face was immaculately shaven and his hair was gelled into spikes. A cold sore crusted in the corner of his thin lips.

  ‘Hot one today, eh?’ Amelia said.

  ‘Yup.’ The man turned away from her. Dimples in his pale skin gave away a clenched jaw. Amelia bent to acknowledge the woman through the passenger window, but she continued a flat, straight stare ahead.

  Amelia stepped around the man, tried to catch his eye. He moved his stocky figure further so his back was to her.

  ‘You, ah, headed south at a
ll?’ she said.

  His shoulders rose, his cotton shirt smooth across his back.

  ‘I was just wondering if –’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, giving a sharp sniff. ‘We are.’

  She nodded slowly, held one arm tightly in her other hand behind her back. The shifting ligaments in her wrist helped her to stay focused, in character. ‘I’m headed that way too, actually.’

  The man pulsed the petrol pump, the cents creeping up.

  ‘Any chance you might be able to give me a ride?’ Amelia said.

  The man continued to pump bursts of petrol. Beyond him, crows gathered around a red patch on the highway, fighting each other for strips of leathered skin. She shuffled her feet, wondered if he had heard the question. She spoke louder: ‘Even a lift just a bit further down the road or something would be great.’

  The cost of the petrol reached a clean fifty-five dollars. He hung the pump then turned to face her.

  ‘And the animal?’ He moved his head in the direction of Lucy, who was snuffling at the tyres of his car.

  ‘Yeah, her too.’ Amelia tried not to stare at the shine of the man’s forehead, the place where his hair receded. ‘She’s good company, actually.’ She clicked her fingers and Lucy returned to her side.

  The man moved around the car and Amelia got out of his way. He licked a finger and rubbed at a mark on the bonnet. ‘I don’t pick up hitchhikers,’ he said. ‘It’s dangerous and I’m with my wife.’

  Amelia glanced towards the passenger seat again and the woman looked away. ‘Well, I don’t want to –’

  ‘Wait,’ the man said, lifting his palm to her. ‘I’m trying to think.’ His tongue flicked out and moistened his cold sore.

  Amelia stepped back. Lucy held her ground, looking at the man, her head tilted sideways. He turned away and faced the highway. The passenger window lowered; the woman looked out with wet, red-rimmed eyes that wouldn’t settle on Amelia. ‘Ron … sweetie? You’re not forgetting how tired you are, are you?’

  Ron turned and rolled his eyes. The woman continued, her long, heat-rashed neck extending from a vibrant floral dress: ‘And you wouldn’t really want a dog on your nice new leather seats, would you?’