The Boy Under the Table E-Book

Nicole Trope

• Herausgeber: Allen & Unwin
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 362

Beschreibung

Tina is a young woman hiding from her grief on the streets of the Cross. On a cold night in the middle of winter she breaks all her own rules when she agrees to go home with a customer. What she finds in his house will change her life forever. Across the country Sarah and Doug are trapped in limbo, struggling to accept the loss that now governs their lives. Pete is the local policeman who feels like he is watching the slow death of his own family. Every day brings a fresh hell for each of them. Told from the alternating points of view of Tina, Sarah, Doug and Pete, The Boy Under the Table is gritty, shocking, moving and, ultimately, filled with hope. A harrowing glimpse into the real world behind the headlines, this is a novel of immense power and compassion-one that will not fail to move all who read it.

Leseprobe

Nicole

TROPE

The Boy Under the Table

First published in 2012 Copyright © Nicole Trope 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

Sydney, Melbourne, Auckland, London

83 Alexander Street

Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone:   [phone]

Fax:       [phone]

Email:    [email protected]

Web:      www.allenandunwin.com/uk

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australiawww.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74237 927 2

E-book ISBN 978 1 92557 601 6

Internal design by Lisa White Typeset by Midland Typesetters, Australia

To Mom, Dad and David who know how much this means and

Contents

Tina

Doug

Tina

Sarah

Tina

Pete

Tina

Margie

Tina

Doug

Tina

Sarah

Tina

Pete

Tina

Pete

Doug

Tina

Sarah

Tina

Doug

Lockie

Other books by Nicole Trope

Acknowledgements

Tina

The boy was tied up under the table, scrabbling his way through an empty packet of biscuits, licking his fingers to gather the crumbs.

The kitchen was freezing; Tina could see the warmth of her breath in the air. It got like that sometimes in winter. The cold got trapped inside.

Her first glance had made the boy a dog, just a mongrel tied up to the table leg, but a second glance told the truth. People saw what they wanted to see. Tina hadn’t wanted to see the boy. She thought she had perfected the art of tunnel vision. There were a lot of things she didn’t want to see.

But she saw everything in the kitchen, everything.

She felt it too. The despair in the air had a familiar feel. Hopeless defeat. It came off the boy in waves and she had to hold on tight to prevent it knocking her over.

There was a thick piece of rope tied around the boy’s ankle and another thick piece of rope tied around his neck. Both pieces of rope were connected to the central table leg.

It was one of those old fold-down laminate tabletops that had been around in the 1970s. Tina came from a house with the exact same tabletop, although in her house it had been replaced with a stone benchtop that swept away the past and looked to a future of steel appliances and automatic vacuum cleaners.

The rope was short. The boy couldn’t have made it onto either of the bench seats alongside the table. Not without strangling himself.

The knots on the rope looked like they meant business. What did they call them—sailors’ knots?

They would not be loosened. They would not give way. The boy wasn’t going anywhere.

Tina began to breathe in a little of the boy’s despair. It crept up her spine and tingled at her neck. Right now she wasn’t going anywhere either. Her first instinct had been to run. When she had recognised what was tied up under the table she wanted to run screaming from the house, but she knew enough to wait and keep her mouth shut. She was in real trouble. Panic was stupid.

A rancid sweet smell filled the space. Tina wrinkled her nose.

The boy was skinny to the point of nothingness and dirty enough to be an animal. His lips and fingers were tinged with blue. His breath formed puffs of cloud in front of his face. His huge watery blue eyes met hers for a moment and then darted away.

The man smiled down at the boy and gave him a pat as though he were, in fact, greeting the family dog. The man’s nondescript face was enveloped in a smug grin.

‘See what I have here?’

Tina heard the unspoken words as though the man had shouted them aloud. There was no reply worth making. Instead she swallowed a piece of the boy’s despair and stared at the wall.

His body had become a statue as soon as the man’s hand made contact. He was perfectly still on his bed of newspapers. When faced with attack most animals instinctively know to become motionless. If you didn’t move and you didn’t breathe it was possible that you would not be seen. The boy’s skinny ribcage filled with stale air while he waited for the hand to leave his head.

Tina held her breath as well. If the man did more than pat the boy she would have to do something. She would have to do anything. There are some things that cannot be tolerated. If he did more than pat the boy Tina would not survive. She was completely sure of that.

She looked away from the man and the boy and tried to convey the idea that the only thing she was interested in was her twenty dollars.

Twenty dollars, twenty whole dollars, twenty preciousdollars.

Those were the words she kept repeating in her head, hoping they would blot out all the other words making a grab for her attention.

The man looked back at her, almost daring her to ask about the frozen starving child under the table. Wanting her to ask?

Tina met his stare. She was here for her twenty dollars. That was it.

The man nodded at her. He had chosen well. Tina could see him putting her into the harmless category. She was someone who wouldn’t make trouble. If you want someone to keep your secret, pick the person who has more secrets than you.

He was right. Tina knew now that she had made a mistake with the man. If she got out of the house it would be a bonus. If she got out unscathed it would be a miracle. Her best hope was silence. Silence and acquiescence. If she did make it out the only story she would have to tell would be the one about her own survival. She would be quiet and she would acquiesce, agree, comply, assent, concede and concur with whatever the man wanted.

‘Fuck you know a lot of big words for a kid,’ Ruby had said. ‘How come you didn’t just stay in school? What are you doing here anyway?’

Tina had shrugged her shoulders like she hadn’t been asking herself those questions ever since she packed her bags and headed to a place she could lose herself in.

On the day she left she went to the station because trains took you away and she needed to be away. She got on a train waiting for a plan to form, waiting for an idea to take hold, but her thoughts were trapped in anger and grief and she could not get past these emotions. So she sat on the train and stared out of the window and let the click clack of the rails decide for her. The train passed through station after station and each time the doors opened Tina leaned forward and looked for a reason to get off the train. Each time she let the doors close again without leaving her seat. Then the train stopped at Kings Cross and when the doors slid open the platform was teeming with people. In the warm gust of air that blew into the train Tina heard a woman laugh. The woman laughed loud and long and Tina got off the train, wanting to find the woman. Wanting to find the laughter. She found herself in the Cross instead and she roamed the streets that never emptied, feeling lost. Safely lost.

So she stayed.

Her lack of money kept her there and her desire to disappear from a life she could no longer live meant that she stayed longer than she should have. Not that anyone, anyone at all, should ever stay in the Cross.

Nothing shocked Tina anymore. Ruby’s words and her red leather mini had shocked her at first. Ruby’s sallow skin and the sores on her arms that she scratched at constantly but always covered with makeup had drawn her eyes. She had felt a jolt of stunned recognition at seeing the real deal. She had forced herself to look at her shoes so she could pretend she hadn’t seen.

The people putting needles in their arms as casually as though they were drinking coffee had shocked her too, and the filth and the all-pervasive anger had been terrifying. But it had been two years now and she barely registered the horror of her surroundings anymore.

She didn’t see what she didn’t want to see. The women on the street were pretty girls waiting for a date and she was a princess waiting for her prince. The world could be a lot easier to deal with if you lived mostly inside your own head. Probably all the same ugly, sick, twisted stuff went on behind the pretty fences of her childhood anyway.

She had built herself a fairly impressive wall in the last two years, but then she had been building that long before she got to the Cross. She could watch the world shit itself up right in front of her and not feel a thing. Sometimes she thought that any feeling at all would have been a luxury, but nothing got through. It meant that nothing could hurt her but it also meant that nothing could move her either. It was a price she was willing to pay. It was one interesting fucking trade-off.

The boy under the table was quietly battering against her walls, but she held firm.

‘Take care of yourself first, before you think about anything else,’ Ruby had said.

Ruby handed down the same advice that had been given to her. She had been in the Cross for five years and it was a tradition to help the newbie.

Some didn’t help. Some led the younger kids in the wrong direction and then didn’t stick around to pick up the pieces. But Ruby liked to educate. Knowledge is power and all that shit.

Usually Tina knew better. Ruby had taught her better. Usually she knew better than to get into a car with one of them. Usually she would never have dreamed of allowing one of them to take her to his house. Usually she would never have put herself in this situation.

Usually it wasn’t fucking freezing and she wasn’t fucking starving.

Twenty bucks could stretch to cover a week if she was careful.

She could almost taste the burger and fries, but before she was allowed to put any food in her mouth she had to put something else down her throat.

‘You know it’s just a blow right?’ she said.

‘’Course I do, luv, that’s what we agreed. I just thought it would be more pleasant if we got out of the rain.’

She had been standing on the street for almost an hour when he came along. An hour of cars that sped past and an hour of the wind biting at her body. An hour of the trickling rain down her back that the umbrella did little to stop. An hour of thinking time.

There had been no one to talk to. Everyone else had given up and gone home but Tina had stayed.

Tina is a determined student with a great deal of potential.

When she saw the gold sedan finally slow down she had breathed a sigh of relief. She had watched him go past three times already.

She opened her coat so he could get a proper look. The window slid down and she leaned in just a little, squeezing her breasts together. She was wearing a tight red singlet with a back mini and sky-high silver heels.

All ready for the club dontcha know.

‘Cold, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘You’ve got that right,’ she said, and smiled. Like me, wantme, like me, want me.

‘How much?’

‘Twenty for a blow, fifty for the whole thing.’

‘Twenty is good.’

‘I can meet you in the alley at the back.’

‘It’s really cold. Why don’t you get in here?’

‘Okay,’ she said. Her mouth responded before her body processed the idea. The car was filled with heat. She could feel it coming out of the window. It was irresistible.

‘Stupid, stupid girl,’ Ruby would have said.

‘My house is just a few blocks away. It will be better there— for both of us.’

Tina knew she should get out of the car. But she just sat there and nodded. She was so grateful to be out of the rain. She willed her legs to move but they knew what was good for them. Her legs stayed put.

She sat there and let him drive off. It was so cold. Tina never knew that cold could become your whole body, not until she spent a night on the streets. It burrowed in through your clothes and went straight for your lungs and your bones. It became all you could think about. You could not imagine ever being warm again.

So she sat in the car and she let him drive and she tried not to see the boy under the table. The little boy under the table licking the empty biscuit packet. The little boy who should not have been there.

Tried/failed.

‘I want my money now,’ said Tina. She glanced around the kitchen again, sniffed at the air. The smell must have been coming off the boy because the kitchen was spotless. It was clean enough to be in one of those adverts that tried to convince the public that their crappy lives would be perfect if they could just kill enough germs.

Her mother was like that. Her kitchen cabinet was stacked with the best germ killers. A whole arsenal dedicated to wiping out anything that dared to live on her surfaces.

In the clean kitchen in the man’s house not a single thing was out of place. Even the tea towels were folded into perfect squares and sitting together on the draining board.

Not a single thing out of place except for one thing so very out of place.

The man’s car had been clean as well. Free of the usual debris of a life lived moving from one place to another.

No coffee cups or water bottles or burger wrappers. Nothing.

Nothing but the pine smell and the heat.

In the kitchen Tina stamped on her fear and forced herself to look around. She was in enemy territory. Time to work out the lay of the land.

‘If you’re dumb enough to let one of them drag you home always plan an escape route,’ Ruby had said. ‘But mostly don’t be dumb enough to let one of them take you home.’

Ruby carried a knife, hidden from prying eyes. Tina had never needed a knife. Correction: Tina had never needed a knife before.

She could see a small window and a back door that the man had locked three different ways after they used it to enter the house.

Shit, she thought. You could turn one lock and get out before you got caught. If you were quick you could maybe turn two locks. Three would be impossible.

She looked at the window again.

There was something a little off about the window. Tina stared at it without staring at it and then she realised what she was seeing.

The latch was broken. It was hanging off the window at an odd angle. With a little bit of work she could get through it in no time. It was a small imperfection in the perfectly maintained space.

She kept the triumphant detail to herself. She stared at her feet and went over the movements that would get her through the window and out of the house.

The man held out a crisp twenty-dollar note.

There it was.

Who said money can’t buy happiness? No one who had ever been hungry, that’s for sure.

Tina grabbed the note and stuffed it right down the bottom of her cloth backpack, underneath her wallet and the few bits and pieces of her life she carried around.

It stopped her thinking. That was the one benefit of hunger. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else occupied your thoughts.

‘Come into the lounge room,’ he said. ‘I’ve got the heat on in there.’

It was a lot warmer in the lounge, and Tina felt her hands begin to thaw again. The boy under the table was wearing a pair of shorts and a torn T-shirt.

I’m just here for my money, Tina thought.

The man sat himself down on a leather recliner. He unzipped his pants and opened them a little.

Tina felt the bile rise in her throat as it did every time.

‘Just think of the money,’ Ruby had advised.

‘Sometimes it’s good to feel a woman’s lips,’ said the man, giving her a creepy smile.

Tina said nothing. She got down on her knees.

‘Don’t talk to the fuckers. Just do your thing and leave. They love to think that we actually enjoy it because they are so special and so different from every other fuck who ever handed us twenty bucks. Well fuck ’em, I say. They’re all the same,’ Ruby had said.

Tina had listened and learned, grateful for eighteen year old Ruby and her brash kindness.

‘They’ll love you.’ Ruby was looking at Tina’s clear skin and green eyes. ‘You still look like a little kid. How old are you, anyway? Don’t shit me.’

‘Fifteen.’

‘Shit, you look twelve. All the daddies in their four-wheel drives will be after you. Poor bitch.’

The man groaned and it was over.

‘Can I use your loo?’

‘Yeah, sure, it’s over to the right. You could stay awhile, you know. I’d be willing to pay extra. I could make dinner.’

And we could play house, thought Tina. Do I give the kidunder the table a pat as well?

Tina looked at the man. He was so clean. No extra hair on his face and he smelled of soap. He was even cleaner than his house, but the kid under the table told her that there was plenty of dirt where she couldn’t see it. Black stinking dirt.

‘I’m good,’ she said. ‘I have to get back. Billy will look for me.’

‘Billy your pimp?’ asked the man.

People were stupid. The whole fucking world was raised by the television. Tina nodded. ‘Big bloke from Tonga. You must have seen him when I got in your car. I told him I was coming here. He usually likes to follow me to make sure he gets his money.’

‘Now let me tell you about Billy,’ Ruby had said. ‘He’s the best fucking thing I ever thought up.’

The man knew there was no Billy but he wasn’t one hundred percent sure. None of them ever were. Mostly they didn’t take the chance.

In the bathroom Tina used some of the man’s mouthwash. She used it twice. She wiped her hands on the white towel and then she wiped her nose as well. She made sure the towel was lying perfectly straight again.

There was a uniform hanging just outside the shower. Tina felt her heart in her throat until she looked closer. It was the wrong colour for a cop’s uniform. The blue was different and the pants could have belonged to anyone but the badge made it official. But it was just a security guard’s uniform. Just a security guard.

‘Jumped-up fucks. Think they’re more dangerous than they are,’ Ruby had said about the ones who told them to move away from the front of the ritzy stores.

‘Jumped-up fuck,’ said Tina softly, enjoying the sound of the words and the memory of Ruby.

The man was dozing in his recliner.

‘I’m going now,’ said Tina, focusing on the large fireplace and the iron poker standing next to it.

‘I’ll give you a lift,’ said the man, opening his eyes. He stood and zipped up his pants. He had been more awake than asleep; waiting for her. Listening for her.

‘Nah thanks. Billy just rang me. He’s waiting around the corner.’

‘Oh,’ said the man, and he gave Tina a small smile. ‘I didn’t hear a phone ring.’

Tina sniffed and said nothing. You can’t argue with silence.

‘Why don’t I just walk you to his car? I’m sure Billy would appreciate me taking care of you. You can’t be too careful these days.’

Tina’s heart began to hammer in her neck. She knew exactly who she had to be careful of. She had to play this right or she was fucked.

‘I’m going now,’ she said in what Ruby called her teacher voice. ‘I’m going alone and if you want to see me again you know where to find me.’

‘Always let them know they can see you again,’ Ruby had told her. ‘The stupid fucks like to think it’s been a fucking date!’

The man gazed at Tina for a moment and then he seemed to come to the conclusion that staying inside was easier. The possibility of ‘Billy’ was a risk he was not prepared to take.

He sat down again.

Tina nodded again and turned to make her way through the kitchen and out the back door.

The boy was curled up as small as he could make himself and he was whimpering and shivering in his sleep.

She moved her arm without thinking but quickly clenched her fist and shoved it in her pocket. He was not hers to touch. But whose was he? Could the man who had made him a dog be his father? Did he belong to the clean man?

Tina felt her stomach contract. Don’t look, don’t look,don’t look.

Acid burned her throat but she kept going until she was out of the house and down the path. When she got to the road she started to run and she didn’t stop until she hit the main road. She ran with the exhilaration of having done it again and survived. She ran with the joy of having made the mistake of going with the man but living to tell the tale. She ran to keep warm and to get out of the rain. She ran but she would never be able to run far enough. She couldn’t quite believe her luck. The man had taken her home when he could have just had his blow in the car. There was a chance that he had wanted the warmth of home but there was also a chance that he wanted her in his house for something else entirely.

He had wanted her to see the boy. He had smiled and waited for her to show some reaction. He wanted her to see his prize. ‘Sick fuck,’ said Tina to the night air. She pushed the man and the boy from her mind and concentrated on moving her body. She was feeling lucky tonight. The universe only offered you so many chances.

The first time she did it she thought the disgust and self-loathing would kill her but they didn’t. Hunger could kill you, cold could kill you. All your thoughts could do was torture you so you wished you were dead. Big difference.

She felt her feet pound along the pavement and listened to the click of her heels.

She could run fast in heels now. Being able to run was important. Ruby had made her practice.

In a few minutes she was back where she started.

It wasn’t far to her usual spot. She could make it back to the house from her squat in ten minutes if she wanted to. But why would she want to?

Doug

There were times when Doug would forget. It would only be for a moment but he would forget.

He’d be driving the ute, rounding up the sheep. Jarred and Sean would be calling to each other, trying to keep the horses moving in the right direction, the dogs would be barking and he’d be so focused on making sure he didn’t let any of the sheep stray he would forget about his boy.

He would watch the young boys—boys whose lives centred around the pub and the girls who they could meet there—and he would smile as they whistled and made jokes. He would feel the sun on his body and breathe in the smell of the sheep.

And he would forget.

It would only be for a moment and then it would all come surging back like a wave hitting the beach. Like a tsunami destroying everything in its path. And he would have to stop the ute because he couldn’t breathe properly. His eyes would prick with salt and his throat would scratch and his lungs would collapse under the memory.

The boys would carry on without him for a few minutes as he tried to get his body under control. They knew now just to carry on. At first they had looked lost. They had stopped too and ignored the sheep and looked at him, wondering what to do.

He was the boss. He was supposed to carry on regardless. If he stopped what were they supposed to do?

Now they just went on with the work and waited for him to get himself together. It had happened enough times that they knew to pretend the ute hadn’t stalled right in the middle of the sheep. They kept on talking and laughing and moving the stock, and even though the jokes had a hollow sound they kept making them.

They didn’t know what to say to him. When he first came back they had mumbled words of sympathy to their shoes. They were young, so very young. Doug had never felt the gap between his age and theirs so acutely. He felt ancient now. He had been regarded as a man who’d kept everything going through the worst years on the farm. The old men in town had nodded at him with respect when he ventured in for a cold one.

Now he was an object of pity.

The old men in the pub didn’t meet his eye. They offered to pay for his drink but they didn’t make the offer to him. They spoke to Will, the bartender and owner. Will would shuffle up to him slowly and whisper the gift of a beer. Doug never took it. A beer bought because you were a mate or because you’d survived the drought along with the others or because you could be counted on to lend a hand or give a bit of advice was different from a beer bought because you had been stupid enough to fuck up your whole life.

People respected strength. They took advantage if they felt pity.

He had caught the boys slacking off in the weeks after he came back and he had to pull out his own old-man voice and give them a reason to get back to doing things his way.

They were just boys really. Jarred was only seventeen; he only shaved every second day. Sean was nineteen but so innocent Doug knew he was still waiting to find the right girl.

Doug had yelled and thrown things and used some pretty foul language and the boys had jumped back into line.

If only everything could be solved that simply.

He was always struck by the irony of his ability to keep his sheep safe. To keep them from straying and getting lost.

He had lost his child.

It sounded ridiculous. You lost your keys and your sunglasses. You lost your job and, if the bad luck had you in its sights, you lost your house and your farm.

What kind of person lost a child? And to lose him in a place where there were so many other kids? Thousands of families went to the Easter Show every year. Thousands of families and thousands of kids and all of them went home stuffed with food and loaded up with toys and whatever other crap they could find. But not Lockie.

Not the Williams family.

At first they hadn’t been worried when they found Sammy in the stroller alone, her cheeks flushed with sleep and her hair damp with sweat. Lockie had been too excited to stand still. He had been darting ahead of them all day.

‘Did you see that, Dad, did you see that? Look at the people—have you ever seen so many people? Wow, what’s that, Dad? Can I have an ice cream? Can I have a toffee apple? Can I, Mum? Can I, Dad?’

So they weren’t worried when he wasn’t standing where they had told him to stand. They had lost him for a few minutes more than once, but even though they had scolded a little they had both been made indulgent by his excitement, his enchantment with everything. And they hadn’t even told him that he would be able to choose the bounty of two show bags yet.

Two show bags, one filled with toy cars and another with chocolate sat unopened in his bedroom. Doug had bought them hurriedly on the last day and he had to take what he could get. He was worried that when they found Lockie he would be disappointed to have missed out. So he bought the bags and showed them to Sarah, who thought it was a good idea.

They had both refused to lose hope.

Refused. To. Lose. Hope.

Lockie would be found.

The judging and prize presentation in the cake-decorating section had been boring for the kids. The speeches went on and on. Lockie had worked himself up into a whine until Sarah reminded him of the promised lamington.

The one distinct feeling Doug remembered from the time he now thought of as before was a feeling of pride. The whole day he had felt puffed up with pride.

He had been so proud of Sarah, beating all those Sydney people for the prize. She was a true artist. The kids’ birthday cakes were always the talk of the town. He had also been proud of his kids, of the way they launched themselves into the excitement of the Show. He had stopped once and watched as they walked along in front of him—Lockie occasionally grabbing Sammy’s hand to point out something he wanted her to see as Sarah pushed the empty stroller, waiting for Sammy to grow tired of walking. He had felt the kind of happiness he knew most people never got to feel.

Sarah’s mother had hated him from day one. Her daughter was meant to marry a lawyer or a doctor. She was supposed to drive a fancy car and live in a house in a leafy suburb like the one she’d grown up in. The idea that Sarah might marry a farmer had never even entered Sarah’s mother’s mind.

They had met at a mate’s wedding. He’d taken time away from the farm to come up to Sydney, which had been pretty stressful. In those days he was still running things mostly by himself.

He hadn’t expected to fall in love with anyone, let alone a north shore girl from a private school.

Sarah always said she came up to him because he was the only one who hadn’t drunk himself into a stupor. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to drink, but he was planning to drive back down to the farm that night.

They had sat out under the stars together and listened to the dancing going on inside and Sarah had handed him her life to be discussed and examined. She hadn’t asked for much from him and Doug preferred it that way. If he had something to say he liked to get it said, but otherwise he liked to listen. You learned to live in the silence when you ran a farm alone. Either you loved it or you went mad.

Sarah was bored with all the university boys. ‘Their conversations just circle around the same topics,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to discuss the meaning of life anymore. I want to start living a real life, a life that has meaning because you work hard and get something done.’

If he was honest with himself, Doug knew that he had caught her at the right time. She was looking for an adventure and it was either him or a year in London. From the day he married her he was always aware that she might just wake up one day and be done with him.

Sometimes at night, when the heat stopped him sleeping, he wondered what he would do if she ever left him for a life in the city. He couldn’t imagine it.

She seemed happy most of the time, especially after the kids came, but he knew the isolation got to her every now and again.

Doug understood how there could be days when you questioned your own sanity, days that could not be separated from one another. The routine never changed and sometimes those repetitive days could chafe at a person; especially if they were used to a different kind of life.

There had been days in the beginning, when he was just getting started, that he found himself singing every song he could remember, beating the silence with words. Beating the silence and stopping the endless thoughts from going round and round in his head. It didn’t happen so much since he’d hired the boys and found Sarah but now, in the time he knew was after, in the time he was terrified would be the rest of his life, the thoughts were so terrible he sometimes hummed under his breath so that the monotone of his voice gave him something else to focus on. Sarah stopped the thoughts in her own way. She had grown used to being on the farm but things were different now. No one could get used to this.

He had known when he married Sarah that she would need more than just the farm. Four years ago, when Sarah started making cakes, it was like she had found a part of herself she had been looking for. Doug hadn’t understood at first, but then she had shown him the cake she had made for Lockie’s fourth birthday—a train made out of icing running across chocolate tracks that went over cake mountains. He had been in awe.

Winning the prize at the Show was the culmination of years of work. Sarah had glowed on the podium. She had lit the place up. She always lit the place up. They were so alike, she and Lockie. They both shined regardless of where they were.

She had won the prize and then, as the applause died down, they had returned to their kids. Sammy was too big for a stroller but she hated all the walking. She was fast asleep in the sea of people, not bothered by the noise or the movement of her stroller as people bumped into it.

But Lockie was gone.

‘Oh that boy,’ said Sarah, her face still flushed with her success. ‘He drives me mad sometimes.’

At that moment, the only thing Doug was feeling was irritation. ‘He’s probably in here somewhere. But he has to learn that he can’t just wander off. He needs to accept that sometimes he has to be responsible for Sammy.’ It was important that Lockie grew up knowing how to take care of someone other than himself. There were times when the farm needed both him and Sarah. Times when the floods came and the stock had to be moved, times when the fires came and the stock had to be saved. Lockie would need to be responsible during those times.

Doug circled the room a few times and then moved outside. It was only after about twenty minutes of looking that he considered the possibility that Lockie might actually be lost. Again he felt irritation flare. The boy was going to lose his ride on the rollercoaster for this infraction. Doug never once considered the possibility that they would not find him, though. Kids didn’t just disappear. They were always somewhere. They were down by the river when they knew they weren’t allowed unless accompanied by an adult. They were climbing trees when they should have been doing their home work. They were hiding under the bed waiting to be found. Kids didn’t just disappear. It was only after they had enlisted the help of the security guards and announcements were being made that he began to think they might be in real trouble.

Kids didn’t just disappear unless someone made them disappear.

‘Relax, mate,’ the head of security said. ‘We’ve never lost one yet.’ Lots of kids wandered off at the Easter Show, he told them. They were always found, usually somewhere near the food.

Doug had tried to relax, to stay calm, but he could feel the panic building inside him.

The place was too big.

There were too many people.

Lockie could be anywhere.

The police were called. It took hours for everyone to leave the showgrounds because every family was stopped. Every parent was questioned and every child identified. It was way past midnight when everyone had finally gone home, and still they had not found Lockie.

The head of security changed his tone. The police held whispered conversations in groups. They began to look at him with sympathy in their eyes.

Doug felt his heart slow down. There was a ringing in his ears. He was underwater and he couldn’t swim.

Lockie was gone.

They had lost one.

Sammy had gone from impatience to hunger to exhaustion. She didn’t understand what was happening.

Sarah sat next to the pram twisting her hands. She did not cry. She didn’t cry for days, but every time Doug went near her he could hear her muttering the word ‘please’. ‘Please, please, please, please.’ It drove Doug mad and he had to move away because he wanted to hit her, to snap her out of her trance. He had never lifted a hand to his wife or his children, but now he had to close his fist and dig his nails into his palm to keep himself from lashing out.

Sarah didn’t believe in hitting children; she believed in time out and consequences. It was different to the way Doug had been raised but he had come around to the idea. The thought of anyone—especially himself—hurting Sarah and the kids was almost too much to bear.

Doug sometimes wondered, after, if whoever had taken his son had hit him. When he did think about someone hurting his boy he could feel his hands curl into fists. He would embrace the rush of heat that came with the anger because at least it was a different feeling to the sorrow and despair. Anger felt constructive. He wanted to kill everyone, even himself. But as fast as the anger came it would recede and he would be back at the place he hated to be. Mired in his own helplessness. There was fuck-all he could do.

They had stayed on even after the Show closed. They stayed at the motel in Sydney for a month, living on microwave food and waiting. At least, Doug and Sammy had eaten. Sarah had begun her existence on dry bread and coffee. She told him she couldn’t swallow anything else. Doug went back to the Show every day and walked up and down the aisles of the different pavilions, paced around the rides and food stands, even though he knew that wherever Lockie was, he was not there. The anger and the fear rose and crashed and twisted inside him. Every time there was a sighting their hopes would rise, only to be dashed. People only wanted to help, but after he and Sarah had gone on television all the freaks came out of the woodwork.

Lockie was in Canada.

Lockie was in the city, living as a girl.

Lockie had been drowned in the harbour.

Lockie had run away because he’d been abused. (Sarah had woken up for that one. Her denial was so vehement that the police didn’t push it any further.)

None of it came to anything. The police divers found nothing. There were only dead ends.

He had called Pete and Pete had come. Pete had wrapped his arms around Doug the same way as he had at the funeral for Doug’s father. Back then, he had let Doug know that he would step in for his old friend and be around when Doug needed a guiding hand. Now he came because having a cop—even a small town cop—on your side was a good thing. But eventually the city police just found Pete annoying. His belief in the basic goodness of human beings was misplaced in the city.

‘Where’s Lockie?’ Sammy asked every day.

‘We’re looking for him,’ Doug told her.

She had stopped asking the question lately and Doug had taken it as a sign. It was time to give up. Lockie was never coming home.

He had started saying it to himself as he worked, repeating the words again and again—‘He is never coming home’—in the hope that eventually they would sink in and he could accept the truth.

He wanted to die sometimes. He wanted to get into bed and not have to wake up.

He wanted to die but he had to take care of Sarah and Sammy.

When they had to return home because they were running out of money and the farm was suffering, Doug felt like he was leaving his boy to die alone. He had felt his heart tear as they pulled out of the city in the ute. The drive down had been filled with Lockie’s voice and demands for ice cream and bathroom breaks. The drive home was silent. Sammy and Sarah slept most of the way back.

When they stopped for food only Sammy could eat.

There was an unreality about the days and months that followed. Doug was alone, trapped in his bubble of pain. He wanted to help Sarah but he couldn’t help himself. What words could soothe her? What words could soothe any of them?

He and Sarah didn’t talk anymore.

They exchanged words about dinner and the farm and what avenue they should pursue next but they had nothing to say to each other.

Sarah blamed him.

Doug could see it in her face. She blamed him but that was okay. He blamed himself. He should never have left the kids.

He should have let someone else carry the cake when they asked for it to be put on the podium, but he was so damn proud of Sarah. It felt like his whole world was being applauded. It felt like the end of the bad times. The rain had begun to fall and the sheep were getting fat. After so many years of questions from the bank and late-night discussions about selling the farm they were finally back on track, and now Sarah had won first prize.