Red Rocks (7 page)

J
ake went to the window and watched Ted’s back disappearing in the direction of Red Rocks. He scanned the beach, scared that he would see Cara — what would he say to her if he did? Would he tell her about the skin? Perhaps he shouldn’t have come looking for Jessie and should have looked for Cara instead. But he was here now — he’d wait and see what Jessie had to say. He got himself a drink of water and as
he stood drinking it, looked around the room. A glint of gold, behind a pile of newspapers on a shelf, caught his eye. He put the water glass down and went to investigate. It was a photo frame, carefully polished, which seemed strange in the shabby house. In the photograph, a man sat with a little girl on his knee. Beside him was another girl, a few years older, and in the back, a woman. The woman looked a little like Cara, and the older girl a little like Jessie — they had the same pointy faces and dark eyes — but it definitely wasn’t them, and besides, the photograph was black and white so he couldn’t tell what colour their hair was. The man was handsome, with dark hair and a beard. Ted, when he was younger, surely. Something nagged at Jake about the photo, but he couldn’t place it, so he put it back carefully where he had found it, and sat down to wait.

Soon the door opened and Ted came in with Jessie. She wore holey shorts and the black jumper Ted had taken from by the fire. She
didn’t smile when she saw Jake, but turned to the old man and said, ‘You can go now,’ as if he was her servant and she was dismissing him. Jake waited for Ted to tell her off, as his dad would if he spoke to him like that; instead, Ted shrugged, murmured something about going fishing, and left them alone.

‘It is about the skin, is it not?’

Jake nodded. He knitted his hands together, staring at his entwined fingers.

‘It’s Cara’s, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘You told her I had it. She’s hanging around us to get it back.’

‘No. I did not tell her, Jake. If I had she might have …’ Her voice trailed away and she looked pained. ‘Jake, she would have hurt you. I could not tell her. I am scared of her, of what she could do.’

‘Then why was she at my window last night?’

‘She has been looking everywhere for it. You have seen her, just walking the streets, the beach, have you not?’

Jake nodded.

‘She has sensed it is near but she does not know for sure. Ted has explained it to me. He says that if a skin is taken, the selkie will be drawn to the person who has it, but may not realise why.’

‘So she was drawn to me?’

‘Yes, but you are so young. She might think it is your father that is drawing her to your house. She might think she is in love with him. If you put it back where you found it, she will go. If you keep it, Jake, you are in danger. She must not find out that you have it. And she must be able to return to the water, to be with her people, or she will die.’

Jake sat down and covered his face with his hands. ‘I tried to bring it back. But Dad found it. I think he’s in love with her or something. He wouldn’t let me have it.’

Jessie went pale. ‘Does he know what she is?’

‘I don’t think he did before, but he said he’s lonely. He knows about selkies; he just didn’t
believe in them. But I think now he does. I think he’s going to keep it and not let her go.’

Jessie shook her head sadly. ‘I did not know your father was lonely. I thought he was safe. It is always the lonely men who are the most dangerous. That’s what Ted says.’

‘How does he know so much?’

‘He just does.’ She did not invite further questions. Jake studied her face. She seemed to have grown up so much in the time they had known each other. She wasn’t like a little kid. Sometimes the way she talked was like a wise old woman.

‘You have to steal it back, Jake, and you have to do it soon.’

Jake was scared to go home. Dad had told him to be home in time for dinner but it was only lunchtime. Still, he had to make a start at looking for the skin. He had left the house without eating anything and he was starving. Jessie stayed at the shack and Jake biked slowly
towards home. The wind had started to come up again, and grey clouds were advancing from the ocean like a thick blanket. The beach road was dotted with people out walking, attracted by the sunny morning. Some of them were now looking at the sky, frowning, wondering whether to turn back.

The car park at the beginning of the beach road was fuller than he had seen before. Dark figures stood in the unmanned information centre, looking at maps and reading about the seals and about the rocks, which were burnished red by iron oxide. Or, according to Maori legend, by the spilled blood of the explorer Kupe and his daughters. What the information didn’t say, thought Jake, was that if you find a sealskin in a cave, leave it there and run for your life!

He left the car park and crossed the road, his tyres humming. As he came around a corner, he saw two familiar figures standing with their backs to a brick wall, smoking cigarettes. It was the two boys, Mark and his blonde friend,
who had been torturing the friendly dog. Just as Jake thought about moving to the other side of the road to avoid them, Mark stepped in front of him. Jake braked and tried to swerve, but Mark grabbed the handlebars as he went past and Jake’s wheels skidded out from under him, knocking him sideways. The gravel road rose up to meet his hands and he felt a sharp pain through his wrist. He rolled to one side to avoid any cars that might come around the corner, and sat up.

‘Nice bike,’ sneered Mark. He had a fresh cut on his lip, as if he’d been fighting. ‘What d’ya reckon, Dan? Too good for this dickhead.’ He was still holding the bike, and his friend came to join him.

‘I reckon,’ said Dan. He had a sullen face, with small blue eyes and blonde eyelashes, which should have given him an angelic appearance, but somehow had the opposite effect.

Jake’s face burned and he cradled his sore wrist. Hot tears welled in his eyes. He was
furious with himself: he didn’t want to give these boys the satisfaction of making him cry. But the pain was real and he couldn’t help it.

‘Please give it back,’ he said. ‘My wrist really hurts.’

Dan and Mark looked at each other and laughed. ‘So polite!’ said Dan, then his voice kicked into a high and whingey register. ‘
Please give it back
,’ he mimicked. ‘
My wrist really hurts
. Boo hoo hoo.’ He rubbed his eyes, pretending to cry. ‘What a baby.’

‘Come on,’ said Mark, straddling the bike. Dan jumped on the carrier at the rear, and the two boys wobbled off on it, back in the direction of the beach, cackling.

‘Hey!’ called Jake. But the boys made a rude gesture without turning back and disappeared around the corner, leaving Jake there on the ground, rubbing his wrist, with furious tears in his eyes.

I
t wasn’t just the pain, or the bullies, that were bringing the tears. Once he started, he couldn’t stop thinking about what a mess he’d gotten himself, and his dad, into. It was all his fault.

He sat there on the curb for a long time. A few cars went past and the occupants gave him curious looks, but nobody stopped, and the boys didn’t come back. Eventually he stood up
and walked towards home, passing the house with the dog. The Labrador was lying at the front doorstep and as Jake went by their eyes met. This time, it didn’t wag its tail, just raised its head and watched him go by.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jake whispered, but the dog just sighed and laid its head back on its paws. Jake wished he could make the dog understand him.

The front door was locked when he finally got home. He found the key in its hiding place under a loose brick in the wall and let himself in. The house was quiet but Jake knew instantly that Cara had been there. The rooms smelt of the sea. All except Jake’s room, and he breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t been in there. Although, why would she? The skin was no longer there.

He sat down on his bed, feeling sorry for himself. Where was his dad? How could he just go out and leave him like this? He really needed to talk to him, to tell him about the bike, and what the boys had done. Dad would probably
call the police. Jake would feel safer once it was out of his hands. He crossed the room to the window and looked out. What if the boys knew where he lived? He really didn’t want to face them again.

Then it came to him. If Dad was out, and Cara had been here, his father must have hidden the sealskin somewhere. Now was his chance to find it! But where to start?

Ignoring his rumbling stomach, he went into his dad’s bedroom. The curtains were shut and he disturbed a blowfly, which buzzed lazily from the lightshade to the wall, where it sat watching him. Jake knelt on the floor and looked under the bed. He pulled out a cardboard box, which brought dust bunnies with it, tickling his nose and making him sneeze. But all that the box had inside was a pile of papers — research notes for Dad’s book probably. Jake shuffled through them quickly and something caught his eye. He pulled out a photograph of himself and his dad taken a
couple of summers ago. Jake was smiling into the camera, hair bleached by the sun and his freckly nose pink with sunburn. Dad had his arm around Jake’s shoulder and Jake was shocked to see how sad his father looked, as though he might be about to cry. It was not long after his parents had broken up.

He looks lonely, thought Jake, and dropped the photo back in the box, brushing the thought away. He didn’t have time to be looking through these things. Dad could be back any moment, and worse — Cara could be with him. He had to find the skin before they got back.

He pushed the box back under the bed, wincing as the pain in his wrist flared again, and stood up. Next, he tried the closet. More boxes, which, once he had struggled to lift and open them with his one good arm, turned out to contain more papers. He sat down on the bed. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought. But of course — why would his dad hide the skin so close? It would have to be somewhere
Cara couldn’t find if she went looking.

He thought about the selkie story Dad had told him by the fire that night. What had he said about the fisherman? That he had hidden the skin in a chest in the cellar, under the house, and the wife had never known it was right beneath her the whole time.

Jake opened the front door and walked around the small house, looking for a door to the cellar. It didn’t take him long to work out that the cottage didn’t even have a cellar. It was sitting close to the ground on concrete foundations and there was nothing but a narrow space of dirt under the house.

He looked up at the writing shed. Surely it must be there? He ran up the narrow track and tried the door. Locked of course. He looked in the window and thought about smashing it to try and get in, but then if it wasn’t there, his dad would figure out what he was up to and it could spoil his plans to find the skin. He’d just have to take his time. He could see his dad’s
computer sitting on the desk, untidy stacks of paper teetering beside it. Dad said his deadline had come and gone, so he should be working night and day on his book, and yet, here it was, sitting alone while its author was out. How could Dad earn any money if he didn’t finish his book? Jake felt the stab of guilt again — it was his fault that Cara had entered their lives.

Jake searched the rest of the house. He munched on an apple as he looked through the kitchen cupboards, then moved on to the cupboard in the hallway, under the couch, and finally, up the chimney. His hands came away blackened, and when he went to wash them in the bathroom he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Soot marked his face and his eyes were red from crying. The bare bulb hung above his head, casting sharp shadows. He looked like a ghost.

He had just finished washing and drying his face when he heard the front door open and footsteps in the hall.

‘He’s not home,’ he heard his father say. ‘His bike’s not here.’

A soft, tinkling laugh, and Jake felt ice in his veins. He shivered. His hands were frozen to the basin and as he stared at his face in the mirror he saw it go pale. What should he do? Pretend he wasn’t there, and see what they did, what they talked about? Or tell them he was home?

The voices moved into the living room and through to the kitchen, where he could barely hear them. He breathed steadily but quickly, paralysed by indecision. He really didn’t want to see Cara. After all, she’d had some kind of spell over him before — what if she still did? Should he go out there and tell her that Dad had the skin, just to get rid of her? But no. Jessie had warned him that she could get angry. He had seen what Jessie could do when she was angry, and he imagined Cara would be much stronger. Then a chilling thought hit him — he had just compared Jessie to Cara, as though
Jessie were a younger, smaller version of her aunt. Could this mean …?  

He pushed the thought away. He refused to believe that Jessie was anything other than a normal little girl. But when he closed his eyes to gather himself, he saw Jessie’s dark eyes and sharp little teeth, her strange immunity to the cold, the way she didn’t seem to mind being wet. Her borrowed clothes. So many things were adding up now in his head that he wanted to yell to shut them out. But he didn’t want his dad to know that he was home. Instead, he decided to sneak out, to get away from Cara.  

Music had started up in the kitchen. Jake had never heard his dad listen to modern music — just the drone of the radio: the talking kind, or boring classical music. He risked a peek around the door of the living room and through to the kitchen. He could see movement in there, and hear laughter, from both of them.

‘How long can you stay?’ His father’s voice was raised over the music.

‘I don’t know,’ said Cara.

‘Forever, I hope!’ said Dad with a soppy tone, and Jake winced.

‘Maybe,’ she said, but quietly, and Jake could have been mistaken.

Suddenly they burst through into the lounge, dancing. Cara was in Dad’s arms at first, then she was being spun around, twirling like a ballet dancer, with the skirt of her
flower-print
dress ballooning around her. Dad’s eyes were fixed on her, and one thought flashed into Jake’s head:
I’ve never seen him look so happy
. He was so astonished he forgot that he was supposed to be hiding. As the couple danced, Jake took in the rest of the room. Spread all over the couch were shopping bags, some with food spilling out — wine, chocolate, springy tufts of celery and a stick of French bread — and others with the names of fashion stores emblazoned in gold letters on the side. He looked again at Cara and realised that if he had passed her on the street he might not have recognised her.
Her dirty coat was gone, and over her flowery dress she wore a bright red cardigan. Her feet, for the first time since Jake had known her, had shoes on them, which were silver. Her hair, instead of sticking out wildly around her face, was pulled back into a ponytail, making her appear smaller, more … human.

Jake felt sick. They looked so perfect, alone together. Why would his dad want him around any more while Cara was there? He would only get in the way. He stepped back into the hall without being seen. Every muscle in his body felt rigid. He wanted to punch the wall. He went right up to it, fists ready.

Then he stopped. He realised that he could get angry, could run away even, but that he had got himself into this mess and it was up to him to do something about it. Clearly she had Dad under some kind of spell. What else would explain the shopping bags, the expensive-looking shoes on her feet? Dad didn’t have any money. It was a struggle for him just
to afford Jake’s airfare down from Auckland; Jake’s mother had paid for half of it. And yet here he was, buying Cara fancy new clothes and expensive food. Jake had to do something.

He turned away from the wall, and gasped. Cara was standing in the hallway, looking at him calmly. She was fixing him with those dark eyes, and Jake felt himself falling into them. He looked away quickly, before she caught him up in her magic.

‘Hello, Jake.’ Her voice was low and quiet, like distant waves. She came towards him and reached out. Her hand alighted on his bare arm. Her skin was cool and slightly damp and he looked down, alarmed to see thick blue webbing between her fingers.

‘Is that Jake?’ His father’s voice came from the living room, and Cara dropped Jake’s arm and stepped away from him. Dad’s head popped around the door. ‘You’re home early.’ He didn’t look too happy about it. ‘We were just going to start cooking some dinner. Why
don’t you go to the movies? I think one’s due to start soon — that one you wanted to see.’

‘No thanks,’ said Jake.

Dad came towards him, rifling through his pocket. ‘Not really a request, mate,’ he said. He pulled out a twenty-dollar note and handed it over. ‘Off you go. You can bike down. I’ll pick you up after since it’ll be dark by then.’

Jake took the money and pushed past them, head down. He didn’t really want to hang around them anyway, watching them be all lovey-dovey. But once he was outside he remembered that his bike had been stolen. He didn’t want to tell his dad in case he got mad — who knew how he would react? His father just wasn’t himself at the moment, and Jake didn’t want to risk provoking him, so he set off to Island Bay on foot in the dying afternoon light.