The Boy Under the Table (12 page)

Margie had instantly felt the truth of the words sting. She had breathed in, trying to dislodge the spike placed by her husband. He was not being cruel. He didn’t have the ability to be anything but kind and concerned, but she had wanted, just for a moment, to scratch his eyes out.

‘I’m just helping her through the first few weeks,’ Margie had said. ‘She doesn’t have a mother—or at least not one who’s interested. She’s all alone.’

‘I know, my love,’ Pete had said. ‘I was just thinking that it may be time to pull back a little. You know, to see how she does on her own.’

Margie had nodded dumbly and taken herself off for a bath armed with her chocolates and a new romance set in the sixteenth century.

She couldn’t bear to watch television or read the newspaper. Children were dispensable in the real world. They were less important than drugs and alcohol and new husbands. Children were hurt in so many ways. They were beaten and tortured and starved.They were stuffed into suitcases and buried in the backyard.

Margie would watch, open-mouthed and despairing, as yet another story of neglect filtered into her living room. There would be articles in the newspaper and discussion panels and people shaking their heads about the system, but nothing ever changed.

In the bath, the water so hot she had to steel herself against the sting on her skin, she felt the real pain loosen. Pete was right. She should pull back.

For a few days she had heard nothing from Sarah, but then the young woman had called for help and Margie had returned. She was the official babysitter and it was a role she was happy to accept. When Sammy arrived she had to force herself to give the family space but Sarah always called again.

Now she went out there whenever Doug called. He never asked. That wasn’t Doug’s way. Instead he would ask how things were in town.

‘Everything is good here, Doug. What about Sarah and Samantha? How are they doing?’

‘Yeah, well, you know, Marge. They’re okay. Sarah ate some breakfast this morning, so that’s good, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Doug,’ she would say, her heart breaking at his awkwardness and his fear of his whole world falling apart.

‘Yes,’ he would echo.

‘I was thinking of coming out this week,’ she would say.

‘What day is best?’

She would hear the relief in his voice when he said, ‘Well, Wednesday would be really good. I have to be away all day and it might be good company for Sarah. You could come when you liked and, you know, spend some time.’

‘How early do you want me, Doug?’

He would sigh and she would want to die for him. Even though they were so close it took everything Doug had to ask for help.

‘Around seven in the morning, Marge, so you can get Sammy ready for school.’

‘No worries, Doug, I’ll be there.’

Today she was only going over after lunch. Winter school holidays were proving a bit of a problem for Sammy. She could only be outside for a few hours before it got too cold and her mother, who had been the best at craft and playing dolls and games, barely managed to get out of bed these days.

Margie had thought, everyone had thought, that eventually Sarah would rally a little and manage to get on with things, and she did try, but still with each passing month she seemed thinner and more removed.

The presence of Sammy did little to help. Sarah would not take her anywhere and nor would she let anyone else take her out. She had been into the big wide world and she had lost her boy. She had no plans to go out there again.

Mostly Margie listened while she knitted and played Monopoly with Sammy. Every now and again she tried to talk sense, but mostly she listened. It was what she would have wanted from a friend when the feelings of loss and failure were almost too much to bear, and so she listened and lied to Sarah when she asked if Lockie was ever coming back. Because she would have wanted to be lied to as well, if only until she felt strong enough to deal with the truth.

On the journey out to the farm Margie admired the green that was carpeting the land. It was a beauty she had imagined she might never see again but here was the rain, despite all the dour predictions of the whole planet drying up. She knew that now the floods would come as well. Australia was a harsh country but everyone she knew was devoted to the land. They called it ‘the lucky country’, and most of the time it really felt that way. She and Pete had seen the best and the worst the country had to offer but nothing could have prepared them for the sinister violence that only came from man.

When she arrived at the farm Sammy was playing outside on the swing set. Doug had obviously only just left because she was soaring into the sky on a push that only strong hands could give.

Sammy dragged her feet on the ground and came to say hello with a series of jumps.

‘Margimum, Margimum,’ she shouted, warming Margie’s heart with the name both children used for her.

‘Hello, my love. How are you today?’

‘I was on the swing. Daddy pushed me high in the sky.’

‘Yes, I saw that you were very high.’

‘I almost touched the moon, only it’s the day.’

‘I’m sure you did. Is Mum in the kitchen?’

‘Not today,’ said Sammy, and Margie could hear Doug’s words come out of the little mouth. ‘Today’s not a good day.’

‘Oh well, love, we’ll just have to make Mum a cup of tea and then we can play a game.’

‘Yay!’ said Sammy, jumping into the house.

It was so easy to make the child happy.

So very easy.

Tina

Tina woke to a thin beam of afternoon sun. She lay still for a moment, revisiting, reliving, trying to get comfortable with the events of the night before. The sound of rustling paper got her up and the smell assaulted her again. Lockie was eating a burger, trying for slow, but failing.

He had his back to her as he perched in a corner, secretively stuffing his mouth.

‘Hey, Lockie,’ said Tina.

Lockie turned, wild-eyed and fearful. He stopped mid-chew and pushed his tongue through his teeth to spit the gooey mess out.

‘Gross, kid, just swallow for fuck’s sake.’

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Sorry for touching, sorry for eating, sorry for being a bad boy.’

‘You’re not being a bad boy,’ Tina said. She hated how pathetic the kid sounded. ‘The food is for you, do you understand? It’s all for you.’

Lockie stared. He was still and silent, as if waiting for what would happen next. Tina hated the idea that he was afraid of her, that he would have to be afraid of everyone he ever met from now on.

‘Say it, kid. Say, “It’s all for me.” Go on, say it.’

Lockie stared.

‘Say it, Lockie.’

‘It’s all . . .’ He faltered.

‘“It’s all for me.” Say it, I mean it.’

‘It’s all for me.’

‘Say it again, Lockie.’

‘It’s all for me. All for me, all for me.’

‘Okay, kid, you can shut up now. Get back to your breakfast. I might have a cigarette.’

‘The food is all for me,’ said Lockie. His voice was determined. He was telling her, but mostly he was telling himself.

‘That’s right, kid, it’s all for you.’

‘But you can share it with me,’ he said, and he gave Tina a small smile.

Someone had taught Lockie all the right rules. Someone who didn’t even know if he was alive right now.

‘I bet you’ve got the best mum and dad somewhere.’

Lockie nodded and chewed. ‘I bet I do.’ He didn’t talk anymore after that. The memory of his parents had obviously been put somewhere far away so thoughts of them wouldn’t hurt. He wasn’t ready to take them out again.

Tina had tried to put Tim somewhere so she could get to the part where memories of him made her smile. Jack had given her a book on grief and even though she had acted like she thought it was a piece of shit she had read some parts. It had mostly been about giving yourself and your grief up to God. It had mentioned God so many times Tina thought she was listening to a lecture from Jack. He kept asking her if she had read the book and if she would be willing to pray with him so she could find closure. He asked again and again and finally Tina said, ‘I didn’t read it and I’m not going to.’ But she had read it. She read some pages two or three times. It detailed the stages of grief and they stuck in her mind.

If you managed to make it past the denial, anger, bargaining and depression you got to the part where you accepted what had happened and could move on with your life.

Tina had watched as her mother zipped through the stages like she was passing some sort of test. But Tina wasn’t moving on. She had been at stage two for so long it felt like that was who she was.

She wondered what stage Lockie’s mother would be at right now. Was she still looking for her kid or had she given up and moved on?

Tina pushed her way through the broken balcony door and lit up. It was already three in the afternoon.

The boys were gone, probably getting some food and something to help them sail through the night ahead. She still had fifteen dollars. The kid needed some clothes and he needed a shower—really needed a shower.

It would be a good idea to wait until six and then she could sneak him in with the after-work rush at the gym. He would have to wear her coat. St Vinnie’s would be good for clothes and shoes, and if Maureen was on she might be happy to give Tina a bit of a discount. Maureen wore her purple hair in curlers and didn’t ask questions. People who had lived in the Cross all their lives got pretty good at not wanting to know the full story. Except the do-gooders. They wanted you to pour out your misery in a nice big puddle so they could tell you how to clean it up.

Tina went back inside. Lockie was sitting on the mattress waiting. Just waiting.

‘You need the loo, kid?’

‘May I go, please?’

‘Fuck, kid, you don’t have to ask. I’ll take you to the toilets by the park. Nothing works in here. Can you hold it?’

Lockie nodded vigorously and held onto himself.

Do you need to go, Tim?

No, I don’t have a wee.

You’re jumping about like you do, Tim. Go on, go to the toilet. We can stop the game. I’ll wait.

You come with me.

You’re a big boy now. Time to go alone.

No, Tina, you come with me.

Okay, little man, let’s go.

They made it to the bathroom just in time. Tina took Lockie into the ladies. She made him hang the coat on a hook before he went.

She made him wash his hands twice. The dirt sluiced down the plughole, leaving clean pink little-boy hands at the end of grimy arms.

‘Let’s get you some stuff to wear.’

‘For real?’

‘Yeah, kid, for real.’

Tina kept her head down and pulled Lockie out into the street. She hoped he would manage to avoid standing on anything. His bare feet were already filthy but the streets of the Cross held the worst bits of human detritus. Tina didn’t want to have to deal with a piece of glass in Lockie’s foot, or worse. He was walking on tiptoe and more than one adult stopped to look at them. Tina moved quickly, getting Lockie out of sight before the questions had time to form. People tended to ask a lot more questions in the daytime. They saw things more clearly. Tina preferred the dark, where it was easy to hide.

She had no idea what she was going to do with the kid after the new clothes and a shower. Maybe if he was warm and fed he would agree to walk into the police station and tell his story. Maybe he just needed a little time. He looked like a thinker. It was possible that she was really fucking up by keeping him. She had no idea what his body had been through. He could drop dead right now or have some kind of psycho meltdown.

He looked at the ground as he walked. He held her hand and she guided him around the obstacles. He would not look up.

He was locked up inside himself. His body was doing what it needed to do and maybe somewhere in his mind he was trying to find a key. If she got him to go to the police they would bring in a counsellor. Someone with a box of dolls and a soft voice. She had seen a movie about it. Lockie would be able to point to the doll and tell everyone exactly how his childhood had been taken. But would that help? Tina hoped he would be ready to talk to the police soon. If he wasn’t she was really screwed.

Maureen was at the counter in the Vinnie’s store.

She was smoking a cigarette and jumped when she saw Tina walk in.

‘Fuck, Tina, you gave me a right scare—you nearly killed me.’

‘You shouldn’t be smoking in here, Maureen.’

‘I shouldn’t do a lot of things, Tina, but I always have and I always will.’

Maureen’s voice had the rough edge of a lifetime smoker. She laughed at her joke and then coughed until she could breathe again.

‘You should give up now, Tina, while you’ve still got your lungs.’

‘You could give up as well if you wanted to.’

‘Too late for me, girlie. Too late for anything except death. Might as well enjoy the last few years.’

Maureen had been one of the first people Tina had met in the Cross. Running away in summer was a stupid idea. You couldn’t imagine the weather changing. Maureen had given her the coat for practically nothing.

‘You look like I did when I was your age. Such pretty green eyes. I could have been anything you know . . . anything. Try to stay off the streets, luv, there’s nowhere for an old whore to go except behind the counter at the Vinnie’s store. It’s not like there’s a pension plan.’

Tina had nodded, grateful for the long black wool coat that looked almost new. Grateful for any kindness and surprised that there were so many people willing to give when they had so little.

‘Some people have no idea what to do with their money. I bet that coat cost a few bob when it was new. I would’ve kept it meself except I’m way too fat.’ Maureen kept her large body settled on a stool all day long in the store. Sometimes she charged for the clothes, sometimes she just lost the stuff. ‘Those little girls who come in here because they think it’s ever so chic to dress like they got no money get charged double sometimes, but I always look after me mates,’ she had told Tina when they met.