Skeletal (18 page)

She turned, and I waved, and she came back and sat down next to me. Her colour was high, and she twisted the ends of her long ponytail around her finger.

‘It’s a pity we don’t have any money,’ she said, ‘I could just see myself in a pair of those jeans.’ She pointed to the next window over, and I looked at the pair of wide-leg jeans. Seems that bellbottoms were on the way back in. Or not. Nobody walking past was wearing them, only the shop mannequins.

‘I do have some money,’ I exclaimed as I remembered the Grey Man’s gift. I searched in my pocket, but couldn’t find the card. What had I done with it? I pulled my bag off my shoulder and searched through there instead. It was tucked inside the front pocket and I pulled it out with a victorious cry.

‘What’s that from?’

‘Birthday present. Do you wanna see what $50 can get us?’

Vila was already running ahead. I chased after her and almost crashed into her back when she stopped short.

‘When was your birthday?’

‘Thursday,’ I said, taking the card back out of her hand.

‘You didn’t say anything.’

I shrugged and walked past her into The Warehouse. The concrete floors were stacked everywhere with items that appeared to all be entering a sale, or just about to stop being on sale. Apart from the everyday low items.

The clothing section was on the left-hand side of the store. I disappeared inside there, and Vila joined me a moment later.

‘Happy birthday for Thursday, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll shout you an ice-cream after.’

My stomach turned over itself at the thought, but I shook my head.

‘What?’ she asked. Her mouth pursed.

I can’t eat with you because you keep poisoning me
. ‘Teeth,’ I blurted. ‘My teeth can’t handle anything cold at the moment. I’ll take a raincheck though.’

‘Raincheck. You sound like my nan,’ she scoffed, and turned back to the more important task at hand. ‘These,’ she said and held out a long skirt in bright yellow and a white crochet top.

‘I don’t think yellow is your colour,’ I said. It was a relief to be honest about something.

‘Not for me, you dick. For you. It’s your bloody birthday present!’

She held them up against me and nodded. ‘What, you’re a size ten?’

‘Twelve,’ I said from habit, but she shook her head.

‘No way are you a twelve. Try it on.’ She pointed me to the changing rooms, and I laughed and complied.

The skirt hung off my hipbones. I handed it back through the curtains and said, ‘Size eight. They must size these ones large.’

She held the skirt up against herself, and her forehead creased into a frown. I let the curtain slip back into place and looked at the top in the mirror. It was pretty and had ties at the back so I could pull the waist in.

Vila’s hand popped back in through the curtain with a smaller skirt. ‘Thanks,’ I called and pulled it on. It fit better than the last one. The colour went well with the white blouse. I took them back off and checked the price tags. $44.90 for the two of them.

Why not?

I pulled back the curtain just as Vila stuck her head through. ‘You didn’t like them?’

‘I loved them. I’m gonna get them.’

‘Put them back on. Let me see.’

I shook my head and laughed. ‘I’m not putting them back on again. You’ll have to wait.’

‘Do you want to come back to mine? Then you can show me.’

I nodded and went through to the checkout. ‘As long as you promise not to perv.’

‘You know me.’ Vila narrowed her eyes and let her tongue slip through her lips. ‘Just pull them a bit higher, little girl.’

I pushed my elbow back into her ribs and laughed.

The girl scanned the items and I handed over the card. She ran it through the machine and frowned. She ran it through again.

‘There’s no credit on this card,’ she said handing it back. ‘That’ll be $44.90 please.’

‘Try it again,’ I said and gave it back. ‘I haven’t used it at all, there should be fifty on there.’

She didn’t take it from me. Just shook her head. ‘There’s nothing loaded on it. It’s just a blank card.’

She pointed to the display at the end of the counter. There were cards hanging there, and a sign above
Load with your own value!

I looked back at the card. ‘But it’s got $50 written on it. There must be some mistake.’

She glanced at it, and then looked back at her till. There was a blush spreading across her chest, and she rubbed the keypad. ‘That’s just handwritten. We don’t write anything on the cards at all. Just in case they get stolen. That’s why you have to keep the receipt when you get them loaded. Do you have a receipt?’

I shook my head. ‘It was a present.’

She shrugged. ‘I can’t help you then,’ she said and reached for the bag.

I pulled it back over the counter. She turned to look at me then, her eyes widening. I didn’t know what I was going to do until I saw the astonishment on her face. And then the expectation. She expected me to be a thief.

So I was.

I tugged hard on Vila’s arm and then broke into a sprint. There was a crowd of people in front of me, blocking the exit gates. I pushed one of them, hard, and the rest cleared a path. There was a flash of light and sound and then we were out of the shop and running through the seating for the ice cream shop and café.

My feet hammered the ground, and I skidded around the corner. Losing traction for a second on the hard tiles. The recovery. I ran for the mall’s side exit and then was forced to stop as my speed exceeded the automatic opening function. Vila slid to a halt beside me, and we turned to see an enormous security guard jogging to a halt.

I darted forward on one side, Vila ran on the other, and we both made it past. We fell into step again, side by side, and ran back through to the other end of the mall. There was a constant flow of people in and out. The automatic doors never got a chance to close.

As we neared the exit I felt the world fall away, and my vision shrank a narrow spot of light. It was as though I was flying, and when the floor rushed up to meet my face, it was like burying my head in a pillow.

***

Coroner’s Court 2014

There’s a moment when the next witness is called to the stand and I have no idea who it is that I’m going to see.

The name Mr Davies is so bland it could be anyone from anywhere, but when he’s sworn in and faces the court, I realise that I have seen his features somewhere before.

‘Can you tell the court where it is that you worked in 2004?’

‘The Warehouse in Northlands. I was the duty manager there.’

It makes sense, but I’m surprised nonetheless. How many shoplifters trawl through his department in a week? In a day?

Why the hell has my face stuck in his memory?

It’s a question that the coroner puts to him more politely when an old CCTV recording is produced and the clerk has to find a machine as elderly as the video to play it on.

‘We kept the recording because the girls threatened to go to the police about James’s actions on the day in question. Sorry, that was the name of the guard on duty, James McWallace.

‘I didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, and so I kept the recording separated in case they followed through.’

The coroner doesn’t bother to ask him why he’s still got it in his possession when he’s left the employ of The Warehouse, but I presume that’s to spare embarrassment. Who really wants to delve that deep into the sticky belly of a duty manager’s home life?

‘I’ve also kept a recording of the day we think that Miss Harrow stole the giftcard she was trying to use.’

I feel properly aggrieved at that one. I didn’t steal the bloody thing. Worst. Gift. Ever.

When they wheel an unstable looking arrangement of a video player and monitor through into the room, there are a few stifled snorts. The screen looks like it was old at the time it was first hooked up. Used to the flat offerings of a later decade the curve of this tiny box seems ridiculous.

The video itself is in no great shape either. Grainy footage with far too much squeezed into the frame. Someone wanted to skimp on security by the looks, so there’s far too much in view to cut down on the number of cameras required.

‘You can first see Miss Harrow and Miss Fa’amoe in frame here,’ He points at the screen.

There’s a collective intake of breath when I emerge from the dressing room. My collarbones stick so far out from my sunken chest they seem like a sculpted necklace. My face is gaunt. If it weren’t so animated I’d look like death on legs.

My mother turns away from the view. No change in behaviour there.

There’s shots of us in the clothing area. Not inside the changing booths; some standards of privacy are in motion, but the film changes to a difference camera to pick us up at checkout.

When she served me all I saw was the disdain. On camera the checkout operator draws her core back and her face leans forward. There’s distress and pity visible even through the poor picture quality.

When we run, she hesitates. She turns her head back to her line, maybe to check if anyone else saw. Her shoulders slump as she picks up the people shuffling to get a better view.

She grabs the microphone and calls it in. The security guard had clocked us anyway. He’s running through the frame before she had time to finish.

The show ends.

***

Daina 2004

‘Yeah, well if you
do
want to call the police then I’m quite happy to tell them what I saw. And what
I
saw was your gorilla tackling my friend. My friend who is now covered in blood with her head split open. So you go right ahead and make that call.’

Whose head was split open?

I opened my eyes and saw Vila in full stomp. She looked furious and confident. Something that the manager did not.

‘You were stealing.’

‘We had produced payment. Your checkout operator refused to accept it. And then when we try to leave quietly, you set security on us so we had no choice but to run.’

That sounded perfectly logical to me. I smiled and opened my eyes.

‘Sir I… I didn’t…’

‘James do you want to take your break now? Then resume your post.’

‘But I didn’t…’

‘I know. We’ll talk about it later.’

I heard the man leave the room, and felt a bit sorry for him. I couldn’t work out what had happened, but I didn’t think he was responsible for my current state. At least I hoped he wasn’t. That would be a waste of my pity.

Vila’s face appeared in front of mine. Her face relaxed as I blinked my eyes.

‘What’s going on?’ I whispered. ‘Where are we?’

‘We’re being held unreasonably by the store manager after his security thug assaulted you,’ she said in a loud voice. Then she leaned forward and whispered, ‘You fainted and the guard caught us. Next time I think we should just leave the bag, okay?’ She giggled and poked me in the ribs.

‘Help me up, would you?’

She looked back over her shoulder at the manager, then turned to me. ‘I don’t know if you should be moving about. You knocked yourself pretty badly.’

‘I feel fine,’ I replied, and tried to sit up on my own. My head swirled, and then pain set in. I gritted my teeth and forced a smile.

‘Whatever,’ she said, and grabbed my arm to help me down off the bench and to a chair instead. ‘You don’t look fine. I think he’s calling you an ambulance.’

‘I don’t need an ambulance! Sir? Sir?’

The manager turned around to look at me. He wasn’t even on the phone. Vila giggled again. ‘I told him not to,’ she whispered, ‘There were half a dozen people said he should, but I just told them all you’re epileptic and falling down was the normal course of business,’ she giggled again. Her breath was sweet and hot in my ear. ‘They couldn’t get away from you fast enough after that.’

‘I think I should call your parents,’ the manager said and walked over to us. ‘Given the circumstances I’m happy to let you go with a warning, but I won’t release you to go about the mall on your own. What’s your parents’ number?’

‘My mother won’t be there,’ I said quickly. Vila rolled her eyes. ‘She
won’t,
’ I repeated and poked out my tongue.

‘You can call my dad,’ she offered. I’ve got his number here.’ She dug in her handbag and pulled out a tiny pad. She flipped to the page she wanted and handed it across.

‘Wouldn’t your mum be better?’ I asked softly. Vila’s mum was generosity and happiness and baking. Her father was trouble.

‘Like I want that bitch driving us home from here. There’ll be enough lectures in the coming weeks. I don’t need a preview just now, thanks.’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a doctor?’ The manager asked, looking at me. ‘Your head looks like you bumped it quite badly.’

I put my hand up, and then jerked my fingers back as they encountered a sticky lump full of pain. ‘Nothing a couple of aspirin won’t cure,’ I said. When he continued to look at me I followed it up with a big smile. He turned back to his desk and picked up the phone.