Hostage (8 page)

Christmas Eve

Five minutes from the roadhouse, the road turned from a straight line to a series of dips and twists.

‘Faster!’ urged Tully, but Griffin slowed the car to move in a sinuous smooth line as he followed the marked strips down the middle of the road.

After a few wrong suggestions from Tully, they finally rounded a bend in the road. Chalky grey cliffs, fringed with scrubby trees, rose before them like a curtain.

‘It’s here,’ she said. ‘Turn right.’

Griffin pulled into a cleared section off the shoulder of the road and Tully thumped the door and left the car before the engine had stopped.

‘This is definitely it,’ she called out over her shoulder. ‘I can’t believe it’s still here.’

Griffin followed slowly with their makeshift lunch. A stick reared up as he stood on one end of it, and for a moment he thought it was a snake.

‘Jesus,’ he grumbled.

Just when it looked like the path became a dead-end, he heard a splash and followed the noise through a faint track in the scrub.

‘Tully?’

The scrub opened up to a cleared space and a narrow ledge overhanging a waterhole. Tall bulrushes lined the bank and narcissist saplings dipped towards the water. In the middle of the pool a set of concentric circles moved out in ever-widening ripples.

‘Tully?’ Griffin counted to thirty then thirty again. It had been at least a minute and a half since he’d first heard the splash. How long could a person hold their breath? ‘Tully!’ It was too long.

He threw the chips and drink to the ground, stepped out of this shoes and dived into the waterhole.

Griffin opened his eyes to a swirling mass of murky water as he grabbed wildly about him. Slimy reeds slid through his grasp and the darkness below him was impenetrable. He rose to the surface to grab a lungful of air, only to dive again and again. On his third ascent he broke the surface to see Tully looking down at him from the overhanging ledge. She was totally dry.

‘How is it?’ she asked.

‘I thought ... Jesus...’ A tremor shook him. ‘Didn’t you hear me? I thought—’

‘You thought I was in there? I threw a rock. Do you have all your clothes on? Where are the chips?’

Griffin hit the water, sending a spray in Tully’s direction.

‘You’d better hurry or you’ll miss out,’ she said, smiling.

Griffin swum lazily to the overhang. ‘Can you help me out?’ he asked.

Tully reached for his outstretched hand, realising too late his intent. ‘No!’ she cried, as he pulled her in with him. She dropped under the surface then immediately shot up like a cork out of a champagne bottle.

‘Oh! Oh!’ she cried. ‘That’s freezing. You pig!’

Tully listened to Griffin laughing behind her. She tipped her head and floated on her back in the water and watched the world spin above. Ribbon clouds threaded through the sky. The ghost limbs of dead trees reached towards it with bone-dry fingers, their trunks showing where the water level had once been. A bird perched on a branch and ruffled its feathers in the cool of the breeze. She could hear her heart thudding in her ears.

Griffin dived under the water and pinched her toes. Tully rolled over then treaded water, looking for Griffin in the murky water. When he popped up right in front on her, he was so close their noses almost touched. Tully found it hard to breathe.

‘Hello,’ he murmured.

Tully could feel his breath on her face and the heat from his body through the water. The trees threw his face into shadow, reminding her of another time with another shadowy face. A burst of white feathers exploded into the sky from a nearby tree. The cockatoos wheeled left to right as one, their raucous cries mocking those below them.

Tully laughed and turned onto her back again, creating a wall of water as she thrashed her legs about. ‘Take ... that!’ So focused was she on her task, she failed to notice Griffin had dived beneath the water. He surfaced behind her, pushing down on her shoulders and forcing her under the water. Again she popped up, this time coughing and gasping for air.

‘You ... idiot!’ she gasped.

Griffin reached toward her and she batted his hand away.

‘Don’t touch me!’ she said.

‘I was only...’ Griffin watched Tully swim to the overhang and hoist herself to the top of it, using a minimum of footholds. After a moment he followed her lead.

Tully sat on the bank and stretched out her legs, kicking the Dunlop Volleys from her feet. ‘Been meaning to wash those,’ she said casually.

Griffin sat down heavily on the ground next to her. ‘Hey, I’m sorry—’

‘It’s great here, isn’t it?’ said Tully, brushing salt from her lips. She shoved a chip packet his way.

Griffin hesitated then finally reached for the chips. ‘How do you know about this place?’ he asked.

‘We used to live nearby. We’d come here for picnics. This was my favourite place in the world. There’s no signs or anything, so not a lot of people know about it. I thought it might be dried up.’

‘Maybe it’s fed by a bore?’

Tully shrugged. ‘Or maybe it’s magic.’

‘How did you find it?’

‘Craig found it.’ Tully chewed her lip.

‘Is Craig your dad?’

‘No.’ Tully’s mouth closed over the word like a trapdoor.

Griffin munched his chips. ‘My brother would like this place. He has swimming lessons at Fitzroy Pool.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘My brother?’

Tully nodded.

‘I thought you knew all about me.’ Griffin poured the remaining salt and chip pieces into his mouth. ‘His name is Josh.’

‘How old?’

‘He’ll be six next February. Going to school. Hitting the big time.’

‘That’s a big age difference.’

‘Different dad,’ said Griffin. ‘You got any brothers? Sisters?’

Tully shook her head then. ‘I always wanted a sister.’

‘A dad?’

Tully shook her head again.

‘My dad wants me to spend some time at his house during the hols, but there’s nothing to do there. And he’s got little kids of his own. I just want to be in my real home.’

‘So you have other brothers?’

‘Two sisters. Half-sisters. I never think of us belonging together.’

They were quiet for a while, then Tully pointed to a skink sunning itself on the overhang.

‘Have you ever seen any snakes around here?’ asked Griffin.

Tully shrugged. ‘Once. Snakes are okay. You’ve just got to make enough noise so they can get out of your way.’

‘What is it with you and the girls at school?’ asked Griffin.

‘I thought we were talking about snakes,’ said Tully.

‘You mentioned magic before. Sara told me you were into black magic.’

‘Really? Sara’s never even talked to me. So how would she know
what
I was into?’ Tully stood up and brushed herself down.

‘Well, you know girls. Who knows what they think?’

‘
I
know. I know what they’re thinking before they even think it. I know stuff about them their best friends don’t even know.’

‘So you
are
into black magic?’ Griffin grinned as shoved the empty chip packet into his pocket.

‘I know stuff,’ she repeated. ‘Let’s go.’

Tully’s Story

Anyway, Griffin got his stuff from the chemist at Deer Park and then we left. I asked if he could take me home, but he said he still hadn’t figured out what to do and just needed to drive and clear his head. He told me some stories about his little brother, which were pretty funny. I could tell you those stories, if you like, but I don’t think they’d help you with what happened. They were just stories about what a goofy kid his brother is. They seemed to have a good connection.

I don’t read a lot fiction but I like true stories. I’m not talking about reading non-fiction, although I guess that’s what it is.

That tin on the table ... I call it my memory tin. It moves house whenever I do. There’s a special front pocket in my suitcase and that’s where my tin lives. You’ve looked inside but it probably doesn’t mean much to you. My tin is packed with true stories—with bits of other people’s lives. They have no idea that I know about them. I clean the tin out every now and again when it gets too full and the lid doesn’t close. It’s usually easy to pick the things that need culling.

To other people, the stuff in my tin is rubbish. They don’t look below the surface. They don’t read between the lines. A ticket or a receipt can tell you a lot about a person. I’ve been thinking that I could go into solving crimes when I leave school. Maybe I should join the police force?

I read people’s body language. I learnt how to do it from a guy on TV. I can always tell when someone’s lying to me. Or is feeling nervous, even when they’re pretending they’re not. I can always tell who the murderer is on a show, even when all the evidence points to someone else. Mum used to say I should write TV scripts. She’d like that. Maybe I will.

The oldest thing in my tin is a photo of my dad. At least I think it’s my dad. We were never introduced, but Mum casually pointed him out in a photo one day. I don’t think she noticed when I took the photo and kept it. I used to keep it under my pillow and talk to him at night about stuff. Sometimes I’d tell him what happened at school or how I hurt myself when I jumped off the swing too early or how I was in trouble with Mum because I lost my coat. Sometimes I’d just look at the photo and pretend I could see a hint of him in me. Around the eyes, maybe, or that pointy chin that made his face look like a teardrop.

I used to look for his face in crowded places. In shopping malls or footy grounds or train stations, I would look at the men going about their business, one of them never realising that I was his daughter. I imagined finding him one day and saying, ‘Hi, Dad.’

Later on I figured out that he probably wasn’t such a nice man and that’s why Mum didn’t want him around anymore. But I had just wanted to call someone Dad and for it to be true. Mum tried to make me call Craig Dad, in the early days, but I never would. There were a couple of other guys before him, but I only called any of them by their first name.

There is a square piece of coloured paper in my tin folded into quarters. I haven’t opened it in a long time but I could tell you what it says without looking. It’s a party invitation to Bronnie’s birthday. The page is filled with party balloons and neat handwriting that says I am invited to Bronnie’s fourth birthday. I spent ages picking out a present for that party. I remember that I made Mum late for work because I took so long to choose. In the end I picked out something and we wrapped it at home that night with a wide gold ribbon. I never did get to that party. We moved in a hurry and I didn’t get to give Bronnie her present. I can’t even remember what the present was. I don’t remember what I did with it. But sometimes I pick the folded paper up and close my eyes and think of Bronnie. Of the scrappy way her hair would stick out from her plaits and the way her face always had food around the edges.

And it’s not just paper stuff I put in my tin. I have a shiny fifty cent coin that some boy in a park gave to me once when I was four. And a hairclip with a butterfly with one broken wing. And a clear cats-eye marble with a swirl of purple in the middle.

But there was something that never made it to my tin. A present that I left behind a long time ago. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten it.

Christmas Eve

The road curved, first left then right, in serpentine bends that made Tully’s stomach lift then fall to her toes. The roadside trees leaned in over them and a rabbit skipped to the side of the road.

‘We’re nearly there,’ said Tully.

Griffin grunted.

Drunken electricity poles took turns holding up the loose power lines. A lone streetlight pole on the horizon marked the outskirts of town.

‘I need a coffee,’ said Griffin.

‘You’ll have to wait. No fast food here,’ said Tully. ‘Maybe Boydy’s is open. Don’t know if they make coffee, though.’

‘Boydy’s?’

‘The local milk bar.’

‘Great.’

‘You’re such a baby.’ She threw a near-empty water bottle into his lap. ‘Here. Use your imagination. Pretend it’s a latte.’

‘How long is this gonna take?’ asked Griffin. ‘Tell me why we’re here again.’

‘I told you already. Just something I have to do—’

‘Well, I have something to do too. I have to get home—’

‘And what? Hook up with the nice policeman who’s waiting for you? Even if they didn’t get your rego as you left, they could just ask your mum. Eddie knows you.’

‘Yeah, well, I have to get home and get it sorted. I tried ringing Mum from the servo but I couldn’t get through.’

‘Did you try your dad?’

Griffin shook his head.

Tully slapped the dashboard. ‘Hey, slow down. That’s a sixty sign.’

Griffin tapped on the brake pedal a couple of times and the car slowed a little.

‘All the way down,’ said Tully. ‘There’s nothing the local cops like better than bagging some tourist money.’

The car slowed down to a crawl up the main street. The wide street was a dual carriageway divided in the centre by a strip of green lawn. The lawn was interspersed with parking spaces, used by the locals and busloads of travellers who sometimes stopped to use the public toilets.

A close inspection of the shopping strip revealed over half the stores were vacant. A menu board stood drunkenly on three legs outside the hotel. A large plastic Santa head hung from the awning outside the hotel.

‘My old watering hole,’ said Tully. She wondered if Eric Hampson still worked behind the bar. He used to give her red lemonades when her mum worked there. A couple of utes and a four-wheel drive were parked out the front under the deep veranda and a red kelpie lifted its head from one ute tray as their car cruised past.

‘Where am I going?’

‘Turn left here.’ Tully pointed to a street sign past the public toilets.

Griffin drove down a side street then left at Tully’s direction.

‘All the way. To the intersection,’ said Tully. Then, ‘Turn left here. All the way to the end.’

The weatherboard house hugged the road, with no front garden to speak of. The dust from the road hung onto its peeling skin of paint. A battered letterbox, tilted to one side, announced that it was number one. A wire fence held a fringe of weeds and the front door screen gaped in parts. The doorbell, half-pulled out from the architrave, stood mute. The windows peered out into the street through halfdrawn blinds.

‘Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,’ said Griffin.

‘I was counting on that,’ said Tully.

‘How long is this going to take?’

‘Give me five,’ said Tully. ‘Wait here.’

Griffin pushed the window button down and cut the engine, watching Tully disappear up the path alongside the house. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and tweaked the rear-view mirror so that he could see up the street. Griffin opened the drink bottle and grimaced at the plastic taste of the warm water. Another minute of finger-drumming and he grunted, opened the car door, and followed Tully’s path up the side of the house.

At the back of the house, the land fell away steeply until it levelled out abruptly onto what once might have been lawn. Several willow trees hung listlessly in the heat.

‘Tully!’

He watched her appear out of the trees and wave him back to the car, but he stayed where he was, feet planted firmly. She disappeared back into the green curtain of the willows and he waited as a light breeze fanned the sweat on his brow.

After five minutes he called out again. ‘Tully!’ Then he marched back to car, got in and turned the engine on. He lowered the driver’s side window, fiddled with the radio to find a station, then did a u-turn.

The passenger door suddenly yanked open and Tully fell inside onto the passenger seat beside.

‘Didn’t I tell you to wait?’

‘Who put you in charge?’ said Griffin.

‘Were you going without me?’

‘Maybe,’ he said.

Tully snorted. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, wiping her hands on her jeans.

‘Did you get what you came for?’

She nodded. ‘We need to go somewhere else.’

Griffin followed Tully’s directions back to the main street then over to the other side of town.

‘Is this the rich side of town?’ he asked.

‘I guess you could call it that,’ she said. ‘Can you park there? Right there under the tree.’

Tully pointed out a native bottlebrush that was spreading some shade onto the road.

‘Won’t be long,’ she said. Then she left.