The Boy Under the Table (11 page)

‘That’s all you got,’ stated Arik.

Tina nodded and swallowed.

‘You’ve ordered a lot of food,’ he said.

Tina nodded again. ‘We’re all hungry.’

Arik sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He looked over his shoulder to the kitchen at the back.

Tina still held the money in her hand.

‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and keep that?’

Tina felt her eyes get hot. ‘Thanks, Arik, you’re a mate.’

‘It’s almost time for the breakfast crew anyway. You can finish up what I’ve got left.’ Arik waved them away and they seated themselves at one of the back tables. The stink coming off the kid was intense.

Tina rolled up the sleeves of the coat so the boy could use his hands. He had tucked his cold blue feet under his body.

The boy was wide-eyed and watchful. Tina could see he was smart. He was biding his time, waiting to see what would happen next. She wanted to ask him about the man but she could see he would have nothing to say. There were a lot of people wandering around the Cross with nothing to say.

No one would ever know the truth of what had happened to the boy. The man was dead and he would never be forced to explain what he had done and why he had done it.

Tina wondered if it was better to know your tormentor was dead or in prison. If it was her she would choose dead every time. In prison the man would have been able to tell others the story of his life. Whatever reason he had for taking the boy it would have been turned into some bullshit sob story. ‘Boo-hoo, my mum didn’t love me, my dad was mean and I had no friends.’

It didn’t justify anything. It didn’t excuse anything. Everyone had a story to tell, but not everyone spread the pain around in such a big circle.

Once Tina had seen a program about paedophiles where they had interviewed the animals and asked them why. It had been a whole lot of sitting in a circle and crying about their childhoods. Tina had switched it off in disgust.

She would choose dead every time.

Arik came over with a tray loaded up with food. He was followed by one of the counter staff holding a tray of drinks.

‘No noise, you guys, okay? And I leave in an hour so you’d best be gone by then. The day guy doesn’t like night-time leftovers.’

‘You’re a proper mate, Arik, you really are,’ said Mark.

Arik looked at the small boy. ‘Yeah, whatever.’

Arik had brought out at least ten burgers and as many cartons of chips. They all just stared at the bounty. The boy’s eyes widened but he didn’t move. Tina leaned forward and took a burger. She opened it up and took a bite. The boy watched her mouth move.

‘Come on,’ she said, indicating the food.

The boy’s hand, with its long black-rimmed fingernails, moved towards one of the drinks.

‘Wait,’ said Mark, and the boy’s hand dropped instantly back into his lap. Something flicked across his face. Resignation. He had known the food wasn’t for him.

‘What the fuck, Mark?’

‘Listen, Tina, he might not have eaten for a while. I know what that’s like. Take small sips, kid. Small sips and small bites. Take it slow or you’ll just chuck it up before it gets a chance to go down.’

Tina put down her burger and said to the boy, ‘Mark is probably right. Take it slow. We’ve got time and if we get kicked out we’ll take it home with us. I’m not picking up my food until you pick up yours, okay?’

Mark put his burger down as well and they both waited for the boy’s answer.

The boy nodded and his hand moved towards the food again. He closed it around a handful of chips and shoved them into his mouth, chewing and swallowing with epic speed.

‘Slow down,’ Tina said in her teacher voice.

The boy nodded again and breathed in before taking a small sip of Coke. He looked up at Tina to see if he’d done the right thing.

‘Good, that’s good,’ she said.

The boy ate for about forty minutes. He took small bites and small sips of Coke and only made his way through two small burgers, but Tina could see his cheeks colour slightly. Tina and Mark just watched him without speaking. He was in his own private world. A world of sensations. Taste and smell and satisfaction. He ate with his eyes closed.

Tina wondered if each bite would change his memory of being starved. Would he be able to remember what it felt like? Or was it like eating a big meal and never being able to imagine being hungry again, but then wanting something else only minutes later?

Why would the man have starved him? Was it for reward and punishment? Was it to keep him weak? Was it just for kicks?

Tina shook the thoughts away. She would definitely choose dead
.
Every time.

Finally the boy gave an impressive burp and his eyes drooped a little.

‘You had enough?’ said Tina.

The boy nodded. And then he looked frantically at the food. Who knew when he would be able to eat again?

‘We’ll take it home. You can eat it later. I promise, okay?’ A Maccas burger could last forever, especially in this weather.

The boy nodded and his whole body seemed to subside.

Tina wondered how long he had been on alert for. How long he had been terrified and panicked, waiting for the next dreadful experience.

‘What’s your name, kid?’ said Mark

‘Lachlan . . . but they call me Lockie,’ said the boy. His voice sounded a little lighter.

‘I’m Christina, but they call me Tina.’

‘I’m Mark. They, whoever they are, call me Mark.’

Tina and Mark laughed and Lockie gave them a small smile.

Who are you? Where do you come from? What happened to you? Where are your parents?
Tina wanted to ask, but she kept her questions to herself.

‘Tired?’ she said instead.

Lockie nodded.

Tim had been like that. A good dinner and he was practically asleep on his feet.

‘I’ll take the food. Mark, you carry him.’

The trio wandered through the Cross in the breaking light. The strip clubs looked pathetic, winking their promises in the cold dawn. Patches of vomit littered the streets and some young boys from the suburbs slept off their big night on the benches. The Cross looked like an old hooker in the weak rays of sun. Broken and filled with despair.

Tina didn’t think about what she did for a living and what she would look like one day. She closed her eyes to the seediness surrounding her and walked. Her head hummed and there was no more room for thought.

The boy was asleep in Mark’s arms. Children understood a lot more than most people gave them credit for. The kid—Lockie—had known she was there to help him and now he was asleep in Mark’s arms because he knew she would take care of him. It should always be like that. Kids should grow up assuming that everyone was basically a good guy who would help them.

Tina barely noticed the filth on the streets and the junkies dozing in the alleys. The street sweepers and the cops would be along soon, cleaning up the debris. It was a good time to get off the streets.

When they got back home Tina opened her sleeping bag and covered both of them. They lay close together on the mattress. The smell coming off the kid filled the whole room. He was so fast asleep she had checked he was still breathing. She let the kid stay wrapped in the coat even though she was cold under the open sleeping bag.

It took her a while to get to sleep, but at last she drifted off to the sounds of the snores coming from the other room.

In her dreams there was blood everywhere and an iron poker.

Margie

Margie got herself ready to go out to Doug and Sarah’s again, although the new romance novel and block of imported chocolate were calling to her. There were many ways to lose yourself, to avoid your life or to numb the pain, and a romance novel and expensive chocolate were not the worst things she could possibly do. Pete had his work and Doug had the farm and, right now, Sarah had sleep. Who would have thought that a body could be so tired?

Before taking the drive out to the farm she stopped at the bakery to get something for the kids. Kid.

Now, only Sammy would enjoy the chocolate-chip muffin. Lockie had loved them too. He would begin by picking out each precious chocolate chip and saving them for when the muffin was finished. He always made the most godawful mess but Sarah indulged him. She had always indulged him. She
had
indulged him. Would she ever get the chance to indulge him again?

‘Stop thinking like that,’ Margie told herself. Lockie still loved chocolate muffins. Lockie was still here. Lockie was somewhere. She refused to think of him as anything but lost. They would find him, they had to find him.

Well, that wasn’t true really. They didn’t have to find him. Just because the pain was intolerable didn’t mean that it would end. Margie knew that better than anyone. The human spirit could not be defeated because it was impossible to believe that an end to your suffering wasn’t just around the corner. All those years she had waited in the bathroom, all those months, all those cycles she was convinced that she had to get it right at least once. But the pain didn’t always have an end. There was no universal law that said it would. But she couldn’t get herself out of bed every day if she didn’t believe Lockie was going to be found, even after all this time.

It was what she told Sarah every time she went out to the farm. She told her he would be found. She told her she was sure of it.

Today was Wednesday and there was fencing to be repaired so Doug would not be able to return home to throw on some washing and get Sammy lunch.

‘I won’t need the whole day—I did a fair bit when you were here last week,’ Doug had said. Margie was happy to help.

In the bakery Susan greeted her with a smile. ‘On the way out to Doug and Sarah’s?’ she said when Margie ordered the chocolate-chip muffin and some grain bread.

‘Yes, I thought I might drop in and see how they’re doing,’ said Margie, keeping her voice casual, unwilling to begin the conversation but knowing it was coming.

‘How
are
they doing?’ asked Susan.

Margie shrugged. ‘Well, you know, Suze. As well as can be expected.’

Susan nodded gravely. ‘That poor family.’

Margie winced inwardly. She knew what it was like to be ‘poor Margie’. Sometimes, when she was still the right age, she would catch a few words drifting on the air around the supermarket.

‘Five IVF attempts, poor girl.’

‘Breaks my heart just to look at her.’

‘Too old for adoption.’

‘That one terrible miscarriage.’

‘Poor Margie.’

If you weren’t careful the anger could consume you and then every time you saw one of the kindly souls who felt so sorry for you, you would have to bite back the desire to spit.

Margie was good at biting her lip. Some days she literally made her mouth bleed rather than scream across the supermarket, ‘I don’t need your pity, you smug bitch.’ She was grateful now that she had kept quiet, of course. It didn’t do to make enemies in a small town. People were still a little careful with her when the talk of grandchildren came up, but then she had Lockie and Sammy to boast about and everyone just accepted her status as de facto grandmother.

Truth be told she wanted to climb into bed alongside Sarah and wait until Lockie came walking through the door, but she couldn’t succumb to grief. Her job was to take care of the family when they needed help and to field all the whispered questions.

Margie knew she shouldn’t resent the questions. Everyone meant well. They just wanted Sarah and Doug to know they cared.

Sarah never came into town anymore except to drop Sammy off at school and then pick her up. And even that she did rarely.

She would stand at the school gates wearing a baseball cap and dark glasses and stare at some distant point. The other mothers had tried to talk to her at first but she would smile vaguely at their enquiries and then just walk away. She walked away and she faded away. Sarah was so thin now that Dr Samuels was dropping in once a week just for a chat.

Margie understood a little of her reluctance to talk. She had no new information to dispense. Lockie was still missing. Her heart was still broken and she still did not know how she would manage to force herself out of bed every morning.

The kind glances filled with sympathy could make your skin jump with rage eventually. Margie knew that. The one time she had managed to perform the basic female function of getting pregnant they had spotted it before she had even allowed herself to be aware.

‘Oh goodness, I can see it in your eyes,’ Edna at the pharmacy had said. And then she was surrounded by a cluster of women and she was forced into the discussion when she had been trying to pretend it was not happening. Trying to pretend that she was not pregnant in the hopes that the universe or God or whoever was watching her would let their attention drift somewhere else and allow the small cluster of cells inside her to grow into a living being.

The desperate desire to have a child of her own had never really left her, and each time her body had failed her there had been those kind looks filled with sympathy. She had to stop herself from screaming at them, from letting her white-hot rage at the unfairness of it leak out all over the nice people who only felt sorry for her.

Even now when the hot flushes burned her up on the coldest winter nights she still yearned for a child of her own.

Doug and Sarah had been generous enough to share.

Sarah had needed the help when Lockie was born—her mother had absolutely no interest in her own grandchild. It made Margie want to hiss with bitterness. People were never grateful for things that came too easily.

Margie had loved those long hours holding a wide-awake Lockie while Sarah got enough sleep to get her through the next long night. For a little while Margie felt as though her arms were finally full.

‘You know, new families sometimes need a little space to get used to things and whatnot,’ Pete had said one evening when she had come in late full of stories of Lockie’s first smile. He had said the words gently and quietly, without looking up from the newspaper.