A Shot at Freedom (5 page)

The waitress
sat down beside her again. “Is there anyone you might need to ring?”

“I can’t contact him.”

“Who’s him?”

“My friend.
We got sort of separated.”

“The boy that was here with you
earlier today?”

She nodded. “Well, I can see why you’d want to keep him. He cleans a mean bathroom, that one.”

Brooke raised an eyebrow, looking at the waitress for signs of sarcasm.

But the waitress shielded her eyes and looked up the highway. “So you’re out here waiting for your man.”

“He’s not coming back for me.”

“
You two had a fight didn’t ya?”

Brooke shook her head as though to wipe
a memory from her brain.

The waitress rubbed her arm, “Don’t worry
sweetie, that’s what we boys and girls do. They just leave until the anger dies down. He’ll be just around the bend, I’m sure.”

“His
dad died. He was killed. It was his mum. She shot him. I got all these messages on my phone.”

“He left and he doesn’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

4
13 cars passed them on the highway. 46 had pulled into the station.

*

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Aim

*

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Chapter
Seven

David

David squeezed his eyes shut until his face ached, “Farrk,” he mouthed. Losing himself to the sounds of the thrashing waves over the rocks far below, he felt himself sway. In his imagination, the cliff edge he was standing on eroded, grains of sand crumbled to pebbles and rock, stopping just short of his toes. It felt so real that the ground seemed to shift under his feet. Sickened, he crouched and hugged his knees to his chest in an effort not to topple over, “Faaaaarrrk!” he shouted. “Fuck, you’re an idiot.”

Salty spray sprinkled over David’s skin. The lonely stretch of coast swirled and churned before him.
Seagulls called out to him as they circled above. Springing up, he charged back to the old farm ute, a wart-like reminder of his old life. He clambered into the humid cabin. When he slammed the door it bounced open again. Ignoring it, he gunned the engine, kicking it into reverse, rolling down into the gully and then backwards up the track. He paused and yanked the door shut, collecting his thoughts and making a decision. Ramming the gears into first, he let the brakes go and accelerated, back towards the cliff edge. He picked up speed and went straight to third. With his foot flat to the floor he began the ascent. The engine backfired. It slowed down, chugged, forcing him to drop back to first. The bitumen ran out. He only had enough momentum to tap the barricade with the bull bar and roll to a stop. The impact wouldn’t have been hard enough to leave a mark. The truck rocked to and fro in the wind. He took his foot off the clutch. It didn’t even lurch forward. The engine cut out.

With the ocean again, spread out before
him, waves sucking and bubbling below and seagulls in full flights of freedom, David made up his mind to give into what was. He hauled his bag across the seat, wrenched the door open and stepped out.

At the cliff edge, he closed his eyes, and felt the
breeze wipe the tears from his cheeks. The bag on his back, unbalanced him, pulling him backwards, towards safety.

I
t wasn’t the time for him to die. But it could be a good spot to let the world think it was where he let himself just tumble over. Free fall. Last moments of agony, his body ripped open by jagged outcrops, splattering across rocks below, cleaned up by the sea. Fish food.

With everything he owned on his back,
he left the truck behind and headed for the highway. The decision was made for the moment. He would live with all he’d done to leave ugly jagged marks on the lives of the only people he let get close to him, Brooke and his own mother.

***

David tried to stick to the grassy spots as much as he could, choosing not to drag his feet, as he walked along with his thumb held high. It was obvious there hadn’t been much rain around in a while. A cloud of dust shrouded his split farm boots. Grit had made it through the hole in his sock and rubbed between his toes.

The cars drove past, at speeds that pushed him further off the road. He wondered what it would be like for one of them to lose control, not giving him enough time to get out of the way.
Just to clip him, drag him under giant wheels, take him to his death. It wouldn’t be quick enough. Better to step out in front of one, hit the bumper bar, roll up the windscreen, across the roof, fly through the air skidding across the bitumen, scraping skin to the bone, blood red and dead.

But they’d take hi
s body home, back to Brooke. She would be at the funeral. It wouldn’t be fair. Leaving was bad enough. She needed time away from him. With distance, she’d have time to forget. Then his death wouldn’t hit her so hard.

A truck rumbled to a stop, way in front of him. The truckie
yanked on the horn, blaring up and down the highway. David paused, considering his options. His feet made the decision for him. He loped towards the truck.

Chapter Eight

Brooke

The room Brooke had been ushered into was small. If you swung a cat you’d kill it. The youth worker, Josie, shuffled papers and rolled around the room on the office chair, from filing cabinet to the desk, from the desk to the shelves and back to the desk again. She had loads of questions. Too many questions. Questions that really didn’t need to be answered when all a person needed was a place to stay until things worked themselves out.

“Is anyone out there likely to be worried about you?”

Perched on the edge of the couch with clasped hands pressed between her knees, Brooke surveyed the poems, artwork, photos and posters that lined the walls. The pieces of work reminded her of David and all the drawings he’d shown off to her over their lifetime.

“Look at me, Brooklyn.”

“Is there someone you need to call to let them know you’re all right?”

Brooke pulled her mobile out of her pocket. “I have a phone.”

“Have you used it?”

“It’s turned off.”

Josie grunted, and shoved the papers into a folder, writing on it. “Are you a missing person?”

“I don’t think so.”

Josie rolled closer to Brooke, resting her elbows on her knees. “You’ve shown me your licence. I have all your details. If I track down the phone number for this address, will I have a frantic parent on the other end of the line?”

Brooke tried to smile, tried to appear a little friendlier, but by the time the dust
from the open road had settled around her feet earlier that day her world had changed. Since then she just felt numb, her face paralysed and strained. “I can’t go back home.”

“
You don’t have to. But being on your own, it’s not going to be easy either.”

“I’d like to call my friend, but I can’t. He doesn’t have a phone.”

“Before I’ll even consider letting you settle in here, you need to call somebody. Your mother or your father. An aunt or an uncle. Someone.” Josie held the phone out to her and pressed 0, bringing up a dial tone. “Dial the number. I won’t look.” She turned away.

“You can look. You have my address and you can get my number.”

“Just call.”

Brooke sat forward on the couch
to dial. When it picked up, she heard her mother’s clipped Hello. Brooke listened to the line crackle between them. “Hello,” her mother said again.

“Talk,” Josie encouraged.

“Brooke?”

“Mum,” she croaked, clearing her throat
. “Let me speak to Dad.”

“
Brooke what are you doing?”

“Where’s Dad?”

“You need to come home. You and me, we’ll have a talk…Where are you?”

“I want to speak to Dad.”

“He’s not here. He knows the money’s gone. Not a good way to get him on side.”

“I want to speak to …” She heard
her father in the background, but the phone was muffled. “I know Dad’s there.”

“Where are you Brooke
? I’ll come and pick you up and we’ll get this sorted out.”

“I
don’t want to.”

“I’m begging you to come home and we can all pretend nothing has happened. Just go on as usual.
This whole town is making stuff up about us. We can stop it all if you come home now. I’ll talk your father into forgetting about the money. Pay him back what you have left.”

“
I don’t want things to go back to usual. All you can is about what the town thinks. I am nothing to you.”

“
Don’t be ridiculous, Brooke? Where are your brains? How could you be so stupid? You’re a stupid, stupid girl. You have everything you could possibly want here.”

“I don’t,” Brooke whispered, quietly.

Brooke could hear her mother rant about ingratitude as she hung up the phone, quietly. She looked up at Josie. “I can’t go back.”

Josie raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

“If I find my friend everything will be fine,” Brooke explained.

“And if you don’t?”

“I have to try to make it on my own.” She felt her top lip curl. “I hate everything about her.”

“Your
mother?”

Brooke nodded.

“You didn’t give her a chance.”

“She didn’t deserve it.”

“This isn’t over, Brooke.”

“I need help moving forwards not backwards.”

***

Josie was Brooke’s only protection as she
hid behind her and followed her down the hallway. The keys jiggled in the worker’s hand. A song played on the stereo. A ball bounced on bitumen in the backyard. Her ears were on alert, straining for hints of the strangers she had to get to know without David beside her.

Brooke was
unable to look up until she found herself standing in the lounge room. A Christmas tree glittered in front of her, she’d forgotten all about it. It felt like she was alone, bigger than usual, hard not to notice, like everyone could see her staring at a stupid Christmas tree. Everyone there was close to her in age, but not like her in any other way, faces of strangers. The table had been set and two guys were carrying food out from the kitchen.

“Ah, just in time for dinner,” Josie grinned
, making a beeline for the cd player. “Can I just turn this down a bit?”

No one protested.

A curse came from the kitchen, “Holy Shit!”

“
Tash, that’s not what anyone wants to hear from the chef. Ever.”

Josie disappeared, before Brooke could reach out
and remind her that she was there, in a strange new place where she knew nobody. She felt the room spin. The boys were smiling as they zoomed by her. She turned the opposite way to counter the dizziness but the room began to rock. One of the boys stopped and looked into her eyes. She stared back at him. It felt weird to have him take her by the hand and lead her to the lounge.

“Sit down,” he said.

She obeyed.

“Do you want a drink?”

His face blurred.

“Tyler, get the girl a drink of water.” He turned back to her, looking her up and down. “
You taken anything?”

Brooke shook her head, dumb.

“Are you hanging out for something?”

“Huh?”

He smiled at her. “I’m Foley.”

She gave him a limp smile
. “Brooke.”

“Tyler!” he shouted, not taking his eyes from her.

She had to look away.

“Coming through
,” Tyler sang, as he charged through the doorway, past a gawking Josie.

“What’s going on?” Josie asked,
coming over to kneel down in front of her.

Tyler handed her
a glass of water.

“Just sip it,” Foley said. “Slow.”

“I’m okay,” Brooke replied. “I don’t mean to cause all this fuss.”

“Fuss
? What’s ‘fuss’?” Tyler said, one pierced lip heading east and the other heading west. He scruffed up his thin spiky hair and snorted. “Where the hell are you from?”

Foley took the water from her shaking hands and held it for her.

Brooke became aware that someone else was there. She sat up taller, looking over the concerned faces. In the kitchen doorway, with her temple pressed against the frame, stood a girl, with creamy skin, honey blonde hair tinted with shades of pink. One foot rested insolently against the other. “I
am
here you know,” she announced.

Josie shook her head
. “And this is Natasha.”

Foley stared across the room at the girl.

Brooke felt him nudge her hands with the glass. She took it back from him and held it steady with two hands pressing it to her knee.

He
followed Natasha into what looked like the kitchen. From behind he looked a lot like David after the haircut.

***

Somehow, it worked out that Brooke sat opposite Natasha at the dinner table. Between them a mix of tattooed hands with dirty fingernails grabbed spoons and tongs, assembling mince, salad and sauce into tacos.

Natasha tapp
ed at the table top.
Nerves? Madness?
Brooke couldn’t tell. She was on alert, helping herself to what was left over when the boys started eating. She was only half aware of the dirty jokes that Foley and Tyler were sharing.

“Okay that one was
offensive. Bring in a bit of censorship, eh?” Josie sat down at the table, beginning to fill a couple of taco shells.

Tyler started on another
joke.

Josie held up her hand to him
. “Next one goes and eats on their own in the kitchen. Just ignore them Brooke, they’re showing off for you.”

After spooning in the mince, Brooke offered the serving spoon to Natasha.
Their gazes met, but Natasha didn’t extend her hand. Josie took the spoon from Brooke instead, “Not hungry tonight, Natasha?”

Natasha shoved her plate aside.

Brooke heaped her shells with salad, the tongs pinging in her nervous grip.

“A nun, a priest and a lesbian walked into this bar
- ”

“Foley, you got your tacos finished matey,” Josie
interrupted, surveying his plate, “Up you get and take it to the kitchen.”

Foley stood up
exchanging a grin with Tyler and then winking at Brooke, as he shoved his chair in and disappeared to the kitchen, mumbling, “It wasn’t even goin’a be dirty. That was the freakin’ joke.”

“
Love the effort to tone down the swearing. Duly noted,” Josie replied.

Natasha stood up
and strode down the hallway, slamming the door to the girls’ bedroom.

“She hates sharing her boys,” Tyler said.

“She doesn’t have to share no one,” Foley called out.

“Can’t hear you mate,” Josie said.
“You’ve been banished.”

When Brooke took the first bite of her taco it collapsed in her hand.

***

With the phone on charge beside her bed, Brooke slipped it under her pillow.
The bed rocked as she turned over, smothering her face with the doona, flashing back to the ute disappearing up the highway leaving her standing there alone. Brooke longed for the moments before it back, imagining what she could have said to stop him from driving away, now that she knew what had been on his mind. It was all the little arguments that kept drumming through her mind most. She hated anyone who said they had no regrets. It was crap. When it came to losing David, if she could turn back time, she would.

“What are you doing in that bed all by yourself?” Natasha snipped
from the bunk above. “Moaning and groaning like that? Are you sick or something?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, I mean sick in the head. I tell ya I’m sick of sharing this room with weirdos. Every fucking intake, strange, sick, perverted…”

“Sorry.”

Natasha peered over the edge, full lips curled. “You’re so weird.”

Brooke turned to the wall. “Sorry,” she muttered.