by Kathryn Hind
‘No need to rush off, angel girl,’ the man said, soft and sweet, grabbing her wrist. She yanked it away. ‘Peace, little lady, peace.’
The man with the bracelets had disembowelled her bag. She grabbed handfuls of stuff, shoved them back inside. He sat down and watched her, crunching on her rice crackers.
Amelia swung her pack over her shoulder, moved towards the door.
‘Why don’t you stay and have a smoke, chill out a bit,’ the first man said, tugging at a pocket on her pack. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing, angel girl.’
She leapt out the door and swore as she lost her footing, landing in a heap outside.
‘You right?’ the man said from inside the carriage, laughing.
A bang sent her running, Lucy beside her, charging across the field back the way they’d come. She could feel clammy hands beneath her T-shirt, how the hard flesh of that man would feel pinning her down, the burn as the other one held her wrists; the sound of flies unzipping, the tearing of her clothes, the screech of her skin against the table. And the whole time the man’s soft voice, trying to make her calm as if she were a beast and he knew what was good for her.
She plunged under the fence, ripping something on her bag, got to her feet and kept running. The men hooted somewhere behind her. The way back seemed much longer, impossibly long; her breath was jagged as it entered her chest, rain running down her forehead and into her eyes.
She burst out of the scrub and onto the side of the highway. Lucy panted beside her. They ran down the white line of the road, didn’t stop until there were headlights, the hum of an engine. Amelia stuck her thumb out.
The driver of an old Land Cruiser kept their foot steady on the accelerator. As the vehicle drew closer she stepped out onto the road, waved her arms. The car veered around her. The thrum of the engine died down. Brake lights. She ran to the vehicle, some of her things still bundled in her arms, wet, heavy. She asked no questions, didn’t look into the dimness of the car for a face. She leapt up into the front seat, Lucy at her feet.
‘Well, whadda we have here,’ the man said.
‘Hi,’ Amelia said. Then, between short breaths: ‘Sorry.’
‘You will be,’ the man said, chuckling. Lucy was squashed in the footwell next to the backpack, and Amelia couldn’t get the door closed over dangling straps and buckles.
‘Let’s get ya sorted out, eh,’ the man said. ‘Gee whiz.’ He lowered himself out of the vehicle, squinting in the headlights as he walked around the front of the car. He had a dark beard, thick and rounded off. Long, thin arms swung out of a navy blue singlet. He walked too slowly; Amelia scanned the scrub for signs of pursuit. She jumped as he opened her door.
‘Give this beast to me,’ he said. The back of his arm slid along her calves as he wrestled her pack out of the footwell. Lucy got out of the truck as the pack shifted beside her, then scampered back up in a hurry, as if afraid she’d be left behind.
‘Good girl,’ Amelia said, running her hands down Lucy’s sides. ‘We’re okay. We’re okay now.’ Lucy was panting, her chest moving as she caught her breath, heart fast beneath her fur.
The car smelled of petrol and wet wool; the seat was greasy beneath Amelia’s thighs. The man threw her pack in the boot, the suspension giving beneath its weight. She twisted around to see her bag but the seats and a caged divider blocked her view. He returned and took the bundle of things from her lap. She was suddenly bare. She pulled the legs of her shorts down as far as they would go, rearranged the stretched collar of her T-shirt so it didn’t dip at her chest.
The boot banged shut, confirming she was here, now; it sent a shudder through the vehicle. She gripped her knees, tried to settle. She scanned the dark car for weapons. A small container of toothpicks was tacked to the dashboard.
The man hefted himself up into the car in one movement. Springs clanked beneath him as he adjusted himself on his sheepskin-covered seat.
‘Thanks for stopping,’ Amelia said, struggling to pull her seatbelt across.
‘Didn’t see much choice … you looked pretty stuck out there.’ He reached across her, his rough knuckles scraping her arm as he gave the seatbelt a tug, buckled it in. His armpits released an acrid smell. It lingered in the stuffy air, surrounded her, as if she’d been marked by his animal scent.
The headlights cut through mist as they accelerated onto the road. She checked the side mirror for bare chests, for glow-in-the-dark bracelets, but there were only the posts lining the highway flickering by into darkness. The man let the car roar in each gear before shifting, the gearstick trembling near her legs.
A clock read 11.07 pm. The numbers gave the car’s interior a green glow.
‘It’s a few minutes off,’ the man said. She hadn’t seen him look at her.
‘Right,’ she said.
A drip splashed onto her head, slithered down her scalp. She shivered.
‘Cold, eh?’ the man said.
‘Just a shiver. There was a drip or something, I dunno.’ She spoke loudly over the sound of the engine.
‘Oh yeah, I got a leak. Keep forgetting about it and then it rains and the seat gets wet. Then it dries, and I forget again.’
She was quiet, but he grunted as if expecting something. ‘Yep, yep, know the feeling,’ she said. Her mouth was dry, her Mount Franklin tucked away in the boot.
‘They call me Pops.’ He reached across the console with his right hand, keeping his eyes on the road.
She accepted his hand, took hold of it firmly. ‘I’m Amelia. This is Lucy.’ His handshake was soft; she loosened her grip for fear of him thinking her too eager.
‘G’day to the two ’er ya, and welcome aboard,’ he said, his voice changing into some kind of tour-guide character.
He released her hand and an oily residue remained; she tried to rub it off on her shorts without him noticing.
‘And where might I be taking you on this lovely evenin’?’
‘Just as far as you can get us,’ she said. It was the wrong thing to say; she should have had an answer planned. ‘Melbourne,’ she corrected. ‘We’re aiming for Melbourne. But anywhere that way would be great. Where are you headed?’
‘You’re lucky it was me who picked you up, darl,’ he said. ‘This time of night, god knows who’s out and about, looking for trouble.’ He leaned forward and fiddled with something beneath his seat; the glow of the dashboard showed deep frown lines in his forehead. ‘You want my advice, you shoulda waited till daybreak before hitching a ride. Not your first time, but, is it?’
‘No,’ she said. Lucy squirmed at her feet.
‘Well, you know better than me then,’ he said, raising his hands off the wheel in surrender. The vehicle headed into the opposite lane, and he corrected it with a soft wobble.
‘I wouldn’t usually look for a ride at night – I mean, I don’t. I just … well, I’ve got somewhere to be.’
‘Right, right.’ He sucked at something in his teeth. ‘Whatever floats ya boat, darl.’ The thing dislodged, and he chewed on it. He looked at her, caught her watching; he flashed the white of a smile. He turned his head slowly, looked back at the road. She was grateful for the darkness; her face pounded with heat.
‘Everything okay?’ he said. ‘Do I need to be worried about you? That wild face of yours all lit up in me headlights …’
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said. She thought about the men in the train, about telling him, but instead she poked at the bruise on her thigh, tried to relax into the ripples of pain.
‘Have it your way then, darl, suits me. Ask me nothing and I’ll do the same for you … deal?’ His hand snaked across the car again, searching for hers. She left it hanging there, pretended for a moment that she had a choice, then shook it.
Lucy struggled to get comfortable in the cramped footwell; Amelia tucked her knees up to her chest to make more space, her feet on the seat.
‘Uh-uh,’ Pops said. He swiped her feet off the chair. ‘Not in my baby,’ he said.
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br /> ‘Sorry,’ she said. Her shoe had caught Lucy on the chin, and she cried out. ‘Sorry,’ Amelia whispered, and she cupped Lucy’s face in her hands.
Nausea stirred in Amelia’s stomach. She leaned back against the headrest, pressed into her temples, moving her fingers in small circles.
‘Doesn’t mean we can’t chit-chat,’ Pops said. Amelia stiffened, lowered her hands to her lap. ‘The no-asking-questions thing. I didn’t mean, you know, that we gotta sit here in silence.’ He slapped a hand down onto his thigh; the movement made its own little wind.
‘Yep, okay.’
‘Maybe you’re just a quiet one,’ he said. ‘I get that. I’m a bit of a shy guy myself.’ He moved his hand across the car, let it kick and vibrate on the gearstick.
She flicked the rubber bands at her wrist, tried to spark life into herself, to make herself do better. ‘Thanks again for picking us up,’ she said.
‘Well, now, you’re very welcome. Your type is rare out here these days … Very rare. Wouldn’t want to miss the chance to pick up a real-life hitchhiker. And a chicky, at that!’ He clapped loudly. ‘You’re a bloody endangered species!’ He laughed, punctuated by a whistle through his teeth, a bobbing of his shoulders. The movement released the smell of beast from his underarms.
‘I’ll kick off then, how’s that?’ he said. ‘Where ya from? That’s a nice easy one for ya, eh?’
‘Sydney.’ It was right for her to choose a big, anonymous city, but it got stuck in her throat, a slight shake at the end of it.
‘Right, right, which part?’
‘Bondi,’ she said, surer and stronger this time.
‘Oh yeah, the beach and that,’ Pops said.
‘Yeah, the beach is good. Love the water.’
Lucy stood up in the footwell. She lifted her paws onto Amelia’s seat, her eyes a soft glow.
‘Uh-uh,’ Pops said in reprimand.
‘Off please,’ Amelia said. Lucy held her position, defiant for a moment, before scraping her paws to the floor.
‘Topless, isn’t it?’ Pops said.
‘What’s that?’
‘The beach. Bondi. You can go topless if you want. You know, take off the bikini, even out the tan. Not that those little triangles cover much.’ He looked over at her.
‘Right,’ Amelia said. ‘There’s a pretty relaxed vibe there, I guess.’
He pulled out a toothpick from his container on the dash and held it in the side of his mouth as he spoke. ‘That’s just what I remember about the place. All these tits pokin’ out at ya. Hard to know where to look, if you ask me. All shapes and sizes, too. All sorts, honestly. Even fatties, they didn’t care.’ His voice grew louder as he continued: ‘Half-naked women runnin’ after their kids, hot chicks all lean and long, blonde, most of them, then the tourists … Some of ’em so dark of skin they definitely didn’t need a tan. And others still who won’t get their kit off. They’re trying to swim in tracksuits! The lifeguards are dragging them out of the surf fully clothed!’ He turned to her, his teeth bright within his beard. ‘You know?’ He shook his head, whistled through his teeth.
‘Right.’
‘Yeah, and some of them get that lobster colour and you just wanna tell them they’ll spend the rest of their holiday locked away in their fancy hotel, sheddin’ skin like a brown snake.’ His voice was high as he reached the punchline.
‘Sounds about right,’ Amelia said, nodding along. She clenched her jaw and kept nodding, nodding.
‘Yeah, I liked that place, actually, come to think of it. Bondi Beach. Got a good ring to it,’ he said.
A car approached in the opposite lane, headlights catching the grey in Pops’s sideburns. His forearms were sinewy and smudged with black. The approaching car’s high beams were on and Pops flashed his lights at them, clucked his tongue.
He cleared his throat regularly as they drove. Amelia braced herself each time, the sound a threat that he would say something new. The inside of her elbow itched but she didn’t dare scratch it; she sat as still as possible, shrank into the seat, made sure that even her breathing was undetectable. She got away with this for ten minutes, fifteen, half an hour.
He rounded a bend in the road. Her shoulder pushed into the door and Lucy tensed at her feet as she slid across the floor.
‘You’re not really from Bondi, though, are you darl,’ he said, accelerating out of the curve. He turned his head towards her. ‘I call bullshit.’
She wriggled in her seat, moved closer to the door. ‘Yeah, I am,’ she said, straightening her shoulders. ‘We weren’t right on the beach though … we had to walk to get to the water.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he said, and there was a tone of resignation, of injury. ‘You just don’t seem like that type.’ He rubbed the side of his nose, sniffed. He looked towards the driver’s window, muttered ‘Bullshit’ and a string of other, indecipherable things. She held her breath until the onslaught ended.
The white trunks of gum trees lined the road ahead, skirts of bark discarded at their bases. The trees were her only witnesses; they’d watch if she jumped from the car, observe her injuries as she hit the ground and rolled to a stop at their feet. Perhaps her blood would spatter far enough to paint them.
Pops didn’t speak and neither did she. Another drip fell and she was still, let it trickle down into her shirt. She was cold and sticky.
Approaching an uphill, Pops’s hand knocked her leg as he changed into third gear.
‘Sorry,’ she said, snapping her leg away from the gearstick.
‘You’re all right, darlin’, you’re all right,’ Pops said, revving the engine to get to the hilltop, then finally sliding into fourth, then fifth. The surface of the silence was broken, and it was easier, then, to speak.
‘So, where are you from?’ she said, putting her energy into the words, designing them to be sweet and sincere.
‘What’s that, darl?’
She tried to match his volume: ‘Where are you from?’
‘Ah, well. Now, that’s a question. Don’t you remember the rules?’ He laughed, shoulders bobbing again. ‘I did ask you, though, didn’t I …’
He said nothing more so Amelia offered, ‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘All right, fair’s fair. I’ve moved round a lot, here, there and everywhere. I’ve lived all over, except Tassie, would you believe,’ he said. ‘Born in Broken Hill, though, so I guess that’s me answer.’
Amelia nodded with feigned enthusiasm.
‘Been to Tassie, though. Bloody beautiful,’ he said. ‘Now there’s a place you should be hitchin’ around. Can’t go wrong over there.’
‘Huh,’ Amelia said.
‘Bloody beautiful,’ he said. ‘A special old place, that.’
He seemed happy to leave things there; she didn’t have to talk about Tasmania, about doing the Overland with her mother. He sank deeper into his seat and sighed; his breath reached her at a delay, stale and sour. His nose was runny and he sniffled every few seconds. When it became too much, he collected snot on his arm in a firm, fast wipe, keeping the toothpick lodged in his mouth.
‘There’s some errands I gotta do,’ Pops said, breaking the quiet.
‘No worries,’ Amelia said. Something in her chest loosened, let go. ‘Just drop me off wherever works for you … Anywhere here will do.’ The last part was too much, too obvious.
‘Calm ya farm, sweetheart, I don’t mean right now,’ he said. ‘Down the road a bit, I gotta drop in on a mate’s place there – told her I’d keep an eye on the joint while she’s away. Water the plants and that, you know.’
‘Right,’ Amelia said. ‘Well, just let me know when and I’ll leave you to –’
‘She’s off in Bali or Thailand, one of them places,’ he went on, speaking over her. ‘You might like them places, being from Bondi.’
‘Oh, yeah, guess I would.’
He left her alone again then, returning to his pattern of sniff, sniff, sniff, wipe and repeat. Occasionally he lifted his singlet t
o blow into the material, exposing skin on his stomach.
Never trust a bad driver, her mother often said, but Pops was a good driver, smooth and steady, as if the car was an extension of his own body.
He’s a good driver … he’s a really good driver.
Lucy was restless. She stood, pushing against Amelia’s legs. Amelia rested a hand on her, tried to push her bum down, but Lucy mouthed at her wrist, refused to settle.
‘How’s your temperature, darl?’ he said, holding a hand out to the air vents.
‘Yeah, fine thanks,’ Amelia said.
‘No air con in here,’ Pops said. ‘Just a blower … I’m a windows kinda man myself, so I don’t miss it. Know what I mean? Insects get in at this hour, though, with the window down,’ he said. ‘They smash against your face, on your lips, they don’t care. Bloody kills if one gets in your eye,’ he said.
Amelia managed a laugh to match his, and he looked over at her with a big smile, then laughed harder, thumping the wheel a couple of times in appreciation of his own comment.
‘Well, it sure is nice to have the company,’ Pops said. He said it with a new gentleness and Amelia straightened up in her chair, took a deep breath.
‘Yeah, you can say that again … So, where are you headed?’
Pops shook his head. ‘Remember that deal we made?’ he said. ‘No questions?’
She waited for the bounce of his shoulders, for permission to laugh. He turned to her, serious, beard revealing no teeth. He looked back at the road, and then he was laughing; the whistle, the shoulders. ‘If I told ya, I’d have to kill ya!’ he said, then quickly: ‘Nah, nah, nah, I shouldn’t make those jokes around you, you poor thing.’ He continued to chuckle to himself. ‘I’ve got you all scared now, haven’t I?’
‘No,’ was all she could manage. She tried again: ‘Guess I just don’t get it.’
‘No questions, remember? Simple. You got a memory like a sieve, darlin’ … Unless you want to start answering some?’
‘You said that we could still talk, so I just thought …’ Amelia paused. Her throat dried and she tried to swallow, her saliva thick. ‘I wasn’t sure about the rules.’
‘That’s fair enough, sweetheart, fair enough,’ Pops said. ‘Gosh, I’m a bastard, aren’t I? Making your life difficult, huh, when you’ve obviously got enough on your plate.’