Hostage (9 page)

Fitzroy Police Station: 25 December, 3.47a.m.

‘So Griffin wasn’t ready to return home,’ said Constable Tognetti. ‘Where did he take you after Deer Park?’

‘He didn’t really “take” me anywhere,’ said Tully. ‘I guess I just stayed in the car.’

‘You stayed in the car?’

‘Well, I didn’t really have enough cash to get home—’

‘You could have gone to the nearest police station.’ Constable Tognetti’s voice was firm.

‘I ... I guess I thought I could change his mind. I didn’t want him to get into more trouble. I mean, I thought it would look bad if I turned up without him. Anyway, Griffin ended up just driving to a town where I used to live, which probably isn’t such a coincidence considering how often I’ve moved.’

‘Just randomly?’

‘That’s right.’

Tully’s Story

I wanted to visit my old house. I guess he was feeling guilty about the chemist and driving off with me, so he agreed to drive me around a bit. I checked out the back garden of my old home and found something that I’d buried there when I was a kid. Then I asked Griffin to stop off at a friend’s house for me. My friend Amanda. Mum always says you can never go back. But I did.

The name on the letterbox still said Dunlop. So I figured either her family had moved and the new owners hadn’t bothered to rename their letterbox or they were still there. There was a new four-wheel drive parked out the front and a small white car in the driveway with a P-plate stuck on the back window. I walked slowly past the house. The rose bushes lining the path leading to the front door looked the same. Someone had added a shiny brass nameplate near the fusebox—Shangri-La. There was a Christmas wreath hanging on the front door. I could hear the whine of a whippersnipper coming from the back garden.

On my return walk past the house I noticed the lady next-door—I think her name was Val—peering at me as she pulled out some weeds from her garden bed. She looked more bent over than I remembered, though her hair was in the same helmet-shape—the signature hair style of Denise the local hairdresser. I could see she was going to talk to me, so I marched up the path and pretended to push Amanda’s doorbell. The doormat was new. The front room curtains were pulled back and I could easily see inside. Amanda’s mum was there, wrapping a large box in Christmas paper. She just looked the same, although her hair was short and straighter than I remembered and she was not as tall, although I suppose I was shorter when I had last seen her. She was laughing and talking to someone I couldn’t see, someone in another room. I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

The front room was just as I remembered it, with the addition of a Christmas tree standing in the corner. It looked like they had one of those new large-screen TVs, but the fireboxes and the painting above the mantle were the same. I’d always liked that painting. There was a little hut at the front of the picture with smoke curling from the chimney. An old man with a pipe stood at the door and looked off into the distance at a pair of twin peaks covered in snow. It reminded me of a story that Mum used to tell me about a girl named Heidi. It was the only story Mum knew.

Someone walked into the room carrying a step stool. I couldn’t see her face until she turned around. It was Amanda. I would have known her anywhere. Her hair was a little lighter, like she’d dyed it, and it was styled with a fringe. She’d obviously gone to town for her hair cut. And she was taller of course. I heard her laugh which ended in the trademark hiccup. Then she looked up and saw me looking through the window. We stood still, eye to eye. It hurt that she didn’t know me. I could see it in her eyes—she was looking at a stranger. It had been eight years, but to me it was like only yesterday that we’d been best friends. Her look was like a punch to my stomach.

‘Hello?’ she called out.

I ran. I didn’t stop running until I got into the car and told Griffin to drive. I expected an argument about what the rush was, but with one look at my face he took off until the houses became a blur. We screeched out onto the main street, past Boydy’s, past the pub and light pole that marked the outskirts of town.

I thought about the teddy-bear jewellery box that I’d dug up from under the willows and left on Amanda’s doorstep. I wondered if she’d remember. I figured she wouldn’t.

I was sitting in my seat and the sun was beating through the window but I felt like I’d just been dunked into ice water. Griffin didn’t ask me any questions but I was ready with an answer, just in case he did.

‘Mum always says you can never go back,’ I would say. ‘I guess she was right.’

Christmas Eve

They drove in silence for around half an hour until Griffin leaned forward to fiddle with the radio. Instead of returning his hand to the wheel, he casually draped his arm across the back of the passenger seat, his fingertips resting on Tully’s shoulder. At first she shrank towards the passenger door, but gradually, when he didn’t try anything else, she leaned back so that she could feel his touch once more.

‘Am I going the right way?’ Griffin asked and for the moment Tully wondered whether he was asking about his hand.

Then she nodded. ‘It’s about thirty kays back along this road until you get to the highway.’

They stayed silent for a while.

‘So, what are you going to do? Now that you’ve left school,’ said Tully.

Griffin shrugged. ‘Not sure. I thought I’d take a gap year. Do a bit of work. Get a bit of money,’ he said.

‘So, how was your ENTER score?’

‘Well, not so good,’ he said finally. ‘Which is another reason I might take a gap year. May not have a choice. And you?’

Tully remembered the day her ENTER had arrived. She hadn’t told Aunt Laney or Bamps that the scores were due. They were so out of touch they thought the scores weren’t out until after the new year. She didn’t bother to go online, but waited for the mail the next day, snatching the letter from the postie and putting it under her pillow. When she finally opened it, later that night, she had stared at the ENTER score of 82. So, 82 out of 100. Imagine if she’d tried.

‘Yeah, not so good,’ she said.

‘What do you want to do?’ asked Griffin.

Tully shrugged. ‘I’m not really sure.’

Tully felt Griffin’s thumb move once across her shoulder. She wondered if it was on purpose or just that he needed to move his thumb. Her palms were sweaty and she casually wiped them down the front of her jeans as if she were having a stretch.

Finally, Griffin said, ‘You didn’t come to Damo’s party.’

‘Didn’t feel like it,’ said Tully. ‘Anyway, I don’t even know Damo.’

‘Of course you do,’ said Griffin. ‘Everyone knows Damo. He’s the guy that did a nudie-run through the staffroom last term.’

‘Oh. That was Damo?’ Tully managed a weak laugh. ‘Why would you bother doing something like that?’

‘Someone offered him fifty bucks.’

‘Oh.’

The radio crackled and threatened to drop out altogether. Griffin removed his hand from Tully’s shoulder and reached forward again to auto-search a station.

‘...on radio 3BO. And now, an oldie but a goodie from George Michael when he was just half of Wham.’

George Michael’s song about last Christmas when he gave someone his heart filled the car.

‘Sorry,’ said Griffin looking flustered. ‘That’s local radio for you.’

Tully smiled and Griffin’s hand returned to its perch on her shoulder.

‘So Damo’s party was good?’ said Tully quickly. She was trying to ignore the warmth from Griffin’s hand that was spreading straight down her arm.

‘It was okay,’ said Griffin. ‘So what’s with you and Nathan?’

‘He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.’ She felt Griffin’s hand relax a little on her shoulder.

‘Well, that’s good to hear,’ he said.

‘It is?’

‘He turned up to the party with Desi. I thought I was going to have to tell you that he was cheating on you.’

Tully laughed.

‘Nate only stayed an hour. Desi got wasted and he had to take her home.’

‘Oh.’ Tully wondered if she should mention that she saw Griffin at Ravel’s party. Instead she said, ‘Desi’s actually okay. Nate seems to like her.’

‘So just friends?’ asked Griffin. ‘You and Nate?’

‘Good friends,’ said Tully.

‘Did you have a class together this year?’

‘Science,’ said Tully. ‘We met in science.’

‘And?’ Griffin prompted.

So she told him. How she’d walked into her first science class and the only seat left was the one next to Nate. How Nate had seemed annoyed and hadn’t even looked at her when she’d mumbled, ‘Is this seat taken?’ then introduced herself. How she couldn’t seem to get a handle on what the teacher was talking about and how Nate leaned over his work, covering it so she couldn’t get an idea about what to do. How she had tripped over her seat when they were in stage three of their experiment and had knocked the Bunsen burner rubber hose from the wall. How the naked flame had tipped towards the leaking gas from the valve in the bench and how that had exploded into a fire-jet.

‘I heard you did that on purpose,’ said Griffin.

‘I wish,’ said Tully.

She didn’t tell Griffin about Nate’s reaction. First, the look of surprise. Then a roll of the eyes as he leaned in and turned the gas off.

‘What was your name again?’ he’d asked.

‘Tully,’ she’d said. ‘Tully McCain.’

He held out a hand and she shook it in a daze.

‘Nice to meet you, Tully McCain,’ he’d said. ‘Please remind me to get a new lab partner for science.’

But she hadn’t and he didn’t mention it again and they’d been friends ever since.

‘Do I turn left here?’ Griffin asked, removing his hand again to change down gears.

Tully nodded.

‘Straight home?’ he asked.

‘More or less,’ she said.

Tully’s Story

I finally talked Griffin into driving back home and talking to you guys. I hate that I had to wait until he decided it was time to come back. I can’t wait until I get my licence. Can’t wait until I just get in my car and go whenever I want. I was always waiting for Mum. She was always late picking me up from school. At some schools they’d have after-school care and I could go there, but sometimes Mum said it cost too much so I’d be left standing at the pick-up post waiting for her. Some teachers wouldn’t leave me there alone and I’d have to go back inside while they called Mum to come and pick me up. Other teachers believed me when I said that she’d be there any minute, and they’d leave me to wait outside alone.

And then there were the times when Mum decided just to pack up and go. Sometimes I’d recognise the signs. She’d get jumpy at loud noises. She’d peer through the curtains like she was spying on someone. Other times she’d be happy in the morning then crabby by night. One day she picked me up from school and we just kept driving for a hundred kays or so until she got tired and we slept in the car. Some days she’d totally forget to pick me up from school and I’d have to find my own way home. The forgetting to pick me up happened a lot when we lived at Coolidge Street.

In my memory tin is a scrap of wallpaper no bigger than a postage stamp. It has a tiny rosebud on it. I loved that wallpaper. When we moved into the house on Coolidge Street, I chose the smallest bedroom because of that tiny rosebud wallpaper. I loved that wallpaper so much that one night I tore some of it from the wall near my bed. I’d only meant to tear the smallest bit off, but when I pulled it I was left with a large ribbon of wallpaper curling in my hand. Then I tore a small piece from that and I shoved it into my tin so that I would never forget the beautiful rosebud pattern. And then I went to sleep.

The next day I had an excursion for school. I remember it because we went to the zoo, and even though I was happy to go, I was a little sad that I didn’t get to see it with Mum and Roo, my favourite one of Mum’s boyfriends. He was the only one that had ever tried to keep in touch with me, but Mum wouldn’t let me contact him. So I tried not to think about Roo and just had a great day. Mrs Beilhartz, my teacher, even bought me an ice cream from the kiosk.

I should have known. It was my fault. I should have seen the signs, but I’d been so worked up about going to the zoo. Mum must have had one of her headaches, must have had it for days, but I’d missed it. She didn’t pick me up from school. Our neighbour, a nice lady called Theresa, offered to drive me home. Her daughter, Steph, was in my class but I never spoke to her. Steph sat in the front of the car and I sat in the back and pretended I was in a limousine. When they stopped outside my house, I waved them a thank you and ran up to the front door steps and grabbed for the key from under the mat. But it wasn’t there.

I should have known.

I banged on the door and yelled out. ‘Mum! Mum, I’m home.’

I checked again, but the key wasn’t there. I could hear someone walking around inside muttering. I heard something heavy being pushed across the floorboards, getting closer and closer and then a thump against the door. Then I heard someone panting through the keyhole.

‘Mum?’ I said.

I rattled the door.

‘Let me in,’ I said.

‘Stupid,’ she shrieked through the keyhole.

The word clutched at my throat and threatened to choke me.

‘Mum?’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t find out? How am I going to fix that wall? We won’t get our bond money back. You stupid girl.’

‘Let me in. Let me in, Mum,’ I whispered.

‘You’re staying out there until I’m ready,’ she said.

I heard her shuffle away from the door, and up the hallway. Then a door slammed.

It was cold that night. I stayed on the doorstep, in case she changed her mind. I took my plastic raincoat out of my bag and used it as a blanket and in the morning it was wet with dew. When I woke the door was wide open and a lounge chair sat crooked to one side of the hall. I crept into Mum’s room and looked down at her sprawled out on top of her doona.

Her fringe covered one eye and I pushed it back gently so I could see her face. Her mascara had made a black river down one side of her face. She was dribbling on her pillow in her sleep. I grabbed her coat from the end of the bed and draped it over her to keep her warm.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ I whispered.

Then I got myself some breakfast.

The house on Coolidge Street had high ceilings and heavy doors with tarnished brass handles. It smelled of old and secret things and I used to wonder who had lived there, long ago when it was first built. Some of the rooms in the house still had the owner’s furniture and the doors to these rooms were locked to keep us renters out. A long strip of lino ran the length of the hallway and curled up at the edges. One day, a week after Mum had locked me out, I was trying to look under one of the locked doors and found a silver coin under the lino edge in the hallway. I showed Mum at dinner that night. She took it and held it up to the kitchen light and said, ‘It’s a sixpence. Old money.’

She handed it back to me.

‘Give it here.’ That was the first night I met Craig. I had come home from school that day to find him nailing down the edge of the laminex in the kitchen. At first I thought he was a handyman, but he turned around when I came in and said, ‘You must be Tully.’

His jeans were low-slung, the kind that sit low on the hips because the wearer has a pot belly. He wore large wraparound sunglasses that took up half his face and I wondered why he was wearing them inside. When he held out his hand to introduce himself he smelled of stale cigarettes and old sweat.

That night Craig sat at the head of the table, a splash of gravy from Mum’s famous meatloaf perched on his moustache. Meatloaf, Christmas turkey and takeaway—her three recipes.

‘Give it here,’ he repeated.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to give my old money to this stranger. He smiled at me, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a shiny coin.

‘I’ll swap you,’ he said.

I shook my head again and turned my left hand into a fist that cocooned my special money.

‘Don’t be silly, Tully,’ said Mum.

She had her cobra smile on. Her eyes bored into mine and they narrowed even while her smile became wider. I watched her take a sip of her coloured drink which she’d poured into a fancy wine glass. Usually she just drank it straight from the bottle.

‘That’s okay, Sandy’ said Craig. ‘She doesn’t have to.’

I could see that he was trying to be nice to me, but I couldn’t stop looking at the gravy on his moustache and the bit of meat from the meatloaf stuck between his front teeth. He grabbed me and slapped his coin into my palm. When he let go there was a white mark where all the blood had been pushed away from the skin on my wrist.

‘No, thank you.’ I tried to be polite, but it didn’t help.

‘Don’t be bloody rude, Tully,’ said Mum.

‘I don’t want it—’

‘Go to your room,’ she said. ‘And leave that bloody wallpaper alone.’

When I got to my room I hurled the fifty cent piece across the room. I put the sixpence under my pillow, crawled into bed and pulled off another curl of wallpaper with a satisfying riiiip.