Through the Cracks (20 page)

N
ewspapers had been rare at Joe’s house. People like Joe probably didn’t have much interest in the news. When Adam had opened the paper in Hayden’s car he’d not fully understood. Had Adam thought that one newspaper was the
only
newspaper printed that day? Watching the TV he’d understood. Everyone watched TV. People on TV watched TV. Young people, old people, children, every person passing in the street, the people in cars, the ones sunbaking on the beach, lining up at discos, shopping in supermarkets, the girls walking to the corner shop, they all watched TV. Adam turned the gun around to face him.
There’s no place in the world for you, a boy like you.

It was okay, though. Adam wasn’t sad, not really. He’d had time. Time being a boy. Climbed up on things, jumped down, balanced on things. He’d sat in a barber’s chair, eaten a hamburger in a café, seen the beach, walked through the city, felt the rain, got sunburnt, slept in the grass; he’d laughed with a friend and listened to him giggle, smelled the scent of a girl, had a bath . . .

Not sad, but crying. Adam took the gun from between his teeth, so he could wipe his nose and brush away the tears. Squashed and compressed memories shouldn’t take up a lot of room in a person’s head, but they did. Adam put the gun back between his teeth, sat with the barrel pointing at the back of his throat, tasting the steel, feeling the size, the awkwardness, the weight.

Sook and I’ll make you sit there with it in your mouth all night.

There was a sudden rap on the door. Adam jumped. It gave him such a fright, not the knock, but the way that he’d startled, the way his finger had twitched on the trigger and the way his arms had tightened, so close . . . a heartbeat, less, away from having blown his brains out. Adam’s vision whitewashed with fear. He swayed back against the tiles, took the gun out. He gasped for air, filled himself with it.

Billy was knocking on the toilet door, one room over. ‘You in there?’

Adam called weakly, ‘I’m in here.’

Billy spoke through the bathroom door. ‘I’m taking you to the hospital.’

‘Okay.’

Billy began to leave, but paused. ‘What are you doing?’

He opened the door.

Adam hid the gun beside his leg. He moved the shower curtain.

‘What are you doing in there?’

They looked at one another, two tear-stained faces.

‘I know you were there, Billy.’

He nodded.

‘You did give me the tiger.’

‘Yes.’

‘I won’t tell anyone. I know they won’t understand.’

‘Come on, I’m taking you to your parents.’

This time he was.

Adam got up from the shower. At the sink he splashed his face. He put the gun down the back of his jeans, pulled the T-shirt over it.

‘One hour,’ Scotty was saying to Billy in the kitchen, ‘that gives you time to have a flat tyre. But if in one hour I’m not hearing on the TV that he’s with his parents, I’ll go the whole row on you, Billy. I swear I will. I’ll tell them everything you just told me. Don’t think I won’t. No fucking around.’

‘G
otta do one thing.’

Billy drove out of the caravan park, turned right, went up the road, alongside the caravans. The vans backed onto a tall wire fence. Each home had a clothesline, a single carport and a garden. Billy drove up the gutter onto the nature strip. They sat, car idling, looking through the wire fence at the back of a van. It was long with purple awnings. Billy cut the engine. He took out the bundle of money, tugged down the peak of Adam’s cap.

‘Don’t look at no one. I’ll be real quick.’

He went to a tear in the fence and paused there, looking at Adam through the windscreen. It was a back road. No passing traffic. Across the road was a boarded-up building with rusting machinery parked in a dusty yard alongside big piles of sand and gravel. The bushy hill emerged steeply from behind the last few caravans in the park. It was the kind of bush Skippy bounded through. Strong wind rocked the car. Adam wound down the window. The interior was heating up. Beneath the citrus was a mild trace of Brother Hayden, enough to turn Adam’s stomach.

Billy returned.

‘Someone’s gonna see you, you better come.’

They went sideways through the tear in the fence. Adam pressed the gun to his back to stop it catching on the wire. They cut through one yard and into the yard of a van with purple awnings. As far as caravans being places to live went, they struck Adam as perfect – small, thin walls, safe with everyone around you. Billy made Adam stand under a flowering gum, next to a wheelbarrow with daisies in it. A stone path led to the van door. Washing flapped on the line. A couple of plants dotted the vegetable garden. The closer Adam looked, though, the more unsettling the yard became – not a single weed, not a blade of grass out of place, the white stones in the path gleamed as though individually cleaned and polished. Just as it had been in Joe’s overrun and messy yard, there was something unreal about this place. It wasn’t a home. It wasn’t a place to come home to.

‘Stay here. Do not move,’ Billy said.

He went into the van.

From Adam’s spot he could see one or two other caravans. He could see down the track, almost all the way to Scotty’s house. He could see through the fence behind him, to Brother Hayden’s car on the grass. If not for the wind Adam would have been able to hear Billy’s movements in the van – as it was he did hear some thuds and footsteps. He heard talking. Billy came back out.

‘My mum’s coming,’ he called across. ‘She’s getting some stuff together. She’s being quick.’

He went back in.

Billy’s mum was pregnant. She was wearing a summer dress and sandals. Billy carried her suitcase. She had long dark red hair and freckles across her shoulders. The skin on her face was pale and thin; it wrinkled easily. Her lips were back and her teeth were set in a grimace. Her eyes were narrowed. She and Billy were rushing. She slung her handbag over her shoulder.

‘Hi,’ she said to Adam.

‘Hello.’

The three of them went through the fence. The case was left until last. Billy’s mum held the wire apart and Billy hauled the case through. When she turned and saw Hayden’s car she stopped.

‘That’s Brother Barry’s car.’

‘Hayden’s. I’ll explain when we get going.’

‘Why are you in his car?’

‘Please get in, Mum.’

‘Do they know you’ve got it?’

‘I’m taking it back.’

‘The church knows you’re here?’

‘No.’

‘They’ll tell your father.’

‘They won’t. Please get in, I’ll explain.’

‘The church will call him, Billy.’

A gust of wind blew her dress up. She caught it and pushed it down. Adam saw a glimpse of her cotton underwear and round belly. He saw the tops of her legs. She had the same scars Billy had. Hers weren’t shiny or raised like Billy’s. Hers were angrier. Red and knotted jab marks in her upper thighs. The wind pushed up her dress again. Her belly made the dress hem sit out and catch easily in the gusts. This time she was less concerned and she let the dress flutter. Adam couldn’t help but stare. The scars were healed but raw. Violence branded into her. In Billy it had faded. Adam looked at her face; it felt to him that he knew her better then, she was more like Billy’s mother. She was staring back at Adam, but not with the same understanding. Billy closed the boot, loaded with the case. She backed up.

‘Take my case out.’ She checked her watch. ‘Take it out.’

‘No, Mum.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Get in the car.’

‘He’s the boy from the news.’

‘I’ll explain.’

‘You’re the other one.’

Billy took the money from his waistband. He held out the bundle like it might draw her towards him and coax her into the vehicle. Whatever she was feeling, though, was stronger than the pull of the money. It had got her that far, but it didn’t get her any further.

‘Get my case out now.’ She pointed up the road. ‘Get it out now!’

‘Mum, please. That’s why we have to go. You can’t be here.’

‘Get my case out of the car and inside now!’ She pushed blindly through the wire. Her dress ripped. She staggered and fell, got up and gripped the wire. ‘Get it inside!’

‘I’m not bringing it in.’

‘You’re not doing this to me! Get it in there, Billy!’ Her knees were grass-stained from where she’d fallen. Her hair had been blown around in the gusts. She was gripping the wire and screaming through it. She looked crazed, with her huge belly and wide stance, her dress still flapping. ‘Get it inside before he gets here!’

Caravans were bigger inside than Adam had imagined. The kitchen and lounge were all together. The furniture was fixed down. There was something satisfying about that – no two ways about it. The lace on the windows was cream and clean. The stove and sink looked like something out of a doll’s house. On the sink was a plate with crumbs on it and a crust. On the other side of the kitchen was a narrow doorway with a colourful curtain pinned up to the side. Through there was a bed and wardrobes, very little floor space; everything could be reached from the bed. Billy was bringing in the case. He moved without energy. He put it on the bed and unzipped it. She pushed him back. He stood mutely, watching her unpack.

‘Get out! Go!’

‘I told you, Mum.’

‘Get away.’

‘I told you.’

She noticed the rip in her dress, pressed her hand to it and screwed up her face as though to will it mended. ‘It will be all right,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll handle it . . .’

‘It was Kovac.’

‘If you don’t get out now . . .’

‘Kovac took him, I told you I was there. They’re going to release his name. My name will come out. Dad’s gonna find out.’

On the wall above the bed was a cross. There was a figurine of Jesus by the phone. In the case she’d packed clothes and some ornaments, photos in their frames, a carton of cigarettes, a tied-together pile of letters. She’d packed shoes. She took a glass dish out of the case and pushed past the two of them to put it on the coffee table. She turned it, straightened it, fanned a set of cork coasters inside it. Her hands were shaking. She kept murmuring things about handling it and how it was going to be all right.

‘He’ll kill you,’ Billy said.

‘Don’t talk to me. Get away from me. Move.’ She pushed him aside to pull out a drawer and put a bundle of baby clothes away. ‘If he does kill me, it’s your fault.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘It’s always your fault.’

‘Please don’t say that, Mum.’

Unpacked, and after sliding the case under the bed, she took off her dress. She did it in plain view. The skin on her belly was drum tight. There were faint blue lines through the swelling. The scarring on her legs, compared to the porcelain smoothness of the rest of her body, was gruesome. It was the only place she was scarred. Her bra was white with wide straps. She balled the torn dress and hid it in the bottom of the wardrobe. The dress she pulled on was a snug fit. It came to her knees. She licked her fingers and rubbed the grass stains.

‘Go!’ she shrieked at Billy.

He started slowly towards the door. His mother opened a kitchen cupboard and took out a bottle of vodka. She drank it like water. Licked her lips. Took another long swallow before capping the bottle and putting it away.

‘Leave the money.’

Billy turned and put the bundle on the bench.

Before leaving, he said, ‘Have it. Spend it on being off your face and wasted for the next kid’s life too. I was eight. You did nothing. I needed you. You hurt me more than any of them did. You always have. You always do. Don’t expect anything else from me. Don’t call yourself my mother.’

‘Get out!’

They got as far as the trunk of the flowering gum. Its blossoms were pink. Out on the road a green car was driving slowly by Hayden’s car. The green car picked up pace once past it. Billy rolled his body around the tree trunk until he was leaning against the far side. He stayed there, staring ahead through the fence, his gaze fixed off in the distance. Adam stepped in behind a jasmine bush. He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. Billy wasn’t trying too hard to hide. He paid no attention as the green car came down the track. It pulled in under the carport. The jasmine plant had been trained to grow over some lattice. The leaf cover was patchy. Adam was able to see through the gaps.

Billy and his father looked alike – the same shape face and light-brown skin – but they weren’t altogether similar. The man getting out of the car was slightly built, wiry. He walked with a lift to his chin and a cold sideways glance either side of him. He wasn’t handsome, not like Billy. He might have been if not for his eyes. There was ugliness in them and it made him ugly. He was dressed in overalls and white sneakers. There was a word on his breast pocket and on the back of the shirt. The straps of the overalls crossed through the word. He carried a workbag and shopping bags. He glanced towards Billy and Adam, was looking past them, though, out at Brother Hayden’s car. He sat the shopping down, took away the heaviest bag, the one that clinked with bottles, and returned it to the car, put it on the driver’s seat and shut the door. He patted his springy hair, felt to see that the straps of his overalls were straight. He picked up the shopping again. Billy stayed staring off through the fence. Washing flapped. The jasmine scent was sweet. Billy’s father went in.

Going by the occasional words he heard, Adam could piece together enough to know that Billy’s father was asking about Brother Hayden’s car. He was speaking in a low voice. He used short sentences. He only asked things once. Billy’s mum wasn’t good at hiding her fear (at one point while unpacking Adam had heard her teeth chatter; that kind of fear was hard to hide). Her explanations weren’t working. The van curtain pulled back and Billy’s dad looked out, over towards the car, seeing if it was still there. He let the curtain drop. He opened the van door and leaned against the doorframe, stood there, not making it too obvious that he was looking around for somebody. He stepped down and crouched to look underneath the van. Having to do that made him angry. He was stiffer when he straightened. Billy’s father went back in and shut the door. Adam could hear Billy’s mum’s voice clearer now. She didn’t know where Brother Hayden was. He must be visiting other people in the park. Billy’s father’s anger didn’t build. It would have been there before he’d stepped inside the van, before he’d come home. There while he’d been at work. It lived in him. From outside the van you could feel it roll its shoulders, crick its neck, crack its knuckles and stretch. His anger liked getting a run.

He didn’t shout. Billy’s mother did.

‘Please! Let me tell you. Don’t be upset. He didn’t come. Billy did. Billy took his car. It’s Billy. Billy’s been here. He’s caught up in something. It’s not his fault . . .’

He didn’t give her a chance to say any more. There was a sharp cry, the sound of her short distance run through the van, and thud of her body as it landed from being hit or pushed or thrown. They heard her falling to the floor, the muffled cries and the restrained struggle. He was covering her mouth. Adam could guess, Billy’s father didn’t like to draw attention. He didn’t hit to leave telling marks. He needed it to happen
just so
, so that it could happen
just so
again and again. He had her on the floor at the lounge room end of the van. The lace curtains swayed.

‘Go down to Scotty’s,’ Billy said in a trance voice. ‘He’ll take you to the hospital.’

Billy walked over to the van. But his father had locked the door. Billy came back.

‘You got that bottle opener?’

Adam took it out for him.

Billy gave the bottle opener a little shake. ‘This has been good, hasn’t it? Cheers.’

He returned to the van door and used the blade to jimmy the lock, broke the blade in the process, snapped it off, but got the door open anyway. He went in.

Billy had a sore arm. He’d inhaled too much smoke the day before, fought, lost blood, almost passed out, he hadn’t slept, they hadn’t eaten very well for all the days they’d been together, and the dogged way he’d climbed the step suggested he wasn’t even going to try to fight. Adam wasn’t the least bit confident Billy would stop his father. He took the gun out, checked that the two bullets remained in it. He turned the baseball cap around. Pushed it down firm on his head, the peak at the back. He didn’t want the brim to obscure his vision. He figured he’d need clear sight.