Bone Song (9 page)

The moment has come that I’ve managed to avoid very successfully for nearly six months. So successfully that I’d even kidded myself that ‘The Accident’ hadn’t really happened. That I’d always been Dobie, the girl with an attitude, the troublemaker, the one with the horrible mother who deliberately made her life a misery.

Who was I kidding? All I’d done was reach for kitty treats and it’d all come crashing back in on me. Now I have a girl with kind eyes who wants to give me a big hug, I know, and she’s waiting to hear my sorry story.

‘I was a dancer.’ Was. That’s a good place to start. ‘I won every competition I entered, right up to state level. I was training for the nationals, my teacher had worked out this piece, choreographed it to my favourite music,
Clare de Lune
.’ Goody knows it, which surprises me. ‘I’d worked on it for weeks, practising every night, doing extra classes. My teacher’s aunt made my costume, all purple and silver, because my mother refused to have anything to do with it all.’ Bitterness is creeping in and I force it back. ‘There were going to be people at the nationals, people who were talent scouting, looking for young dancers they could train on scholarships. I could’ve gone to Chicago or New York, maybe, attended school there while I was dancing. It would’ve been a dream come true.’ This is as far as I can go for a minute or two. I take a swallow of coffee and then stir it again, scraping the sides of the cup.

‘It didn’t happen, huh?’ Goody’s voice is soft. I blink hard.

‘My mother had a regime we all had to follow. My two older sisters had performed
to perfection, followed every rule, done everything her way. Gone to school at Barton, had ballet lessons, not ‘tawdry modern dance’ like me, learned a suitable musical instrument and had weekly riding lessons. The only way she would allow me to keep going to modern dance was if I obeyed every other command.

‘I hated the riding instructor. He expected you to love horses like he did, to think that riding was the best thing in the world. He yelled at me all the time, said I had a seat like a pregnant pig. When I told Mother I wasn’t going to go any more, she said if I stopped riding, I had to stop dancing.’

‘Didn’t she realise how important it was to you?’

‘That didn’t matter. It wasn’t important to her. I didn’t tell her about the dance companies and their scouts, but someone must have. She held it over me… so I had to keep riding.’

Goody waits quietly. I’m glad she’s not asking lots of stupid questions.

‘One Saturday my usual horse wasn’t there. It was away or something, so I was told to ride this black thing called Robust. It was a dumb horse, wouldn’t do anything it was told without a whip. I hated the whip but I had to use it. We were practising jumps. I’d never been able to jump very well on my old horse, and this one was hopeless. I kept sliding half-off and looking like an idiot. The teacher yelled at me for not using the whip and made me go around again.

‘The horse clipped a rail and landed funny. I went forward over its head and the whip caught the horse in the eye. When I hit the ground, that was when my arm broke. That was bad enough, but that horse… that bloody-minded, shitty horse…’ I breathe deep, grind my teeth, force the words to keep coming. ‘It came back and stomped on me, on my broken arm and shoulder, like it knew where to get me the worst.’

‘God, you must’ve been terrified!’

‘I didn’t really know what was happening. The pain just took over. Then they carried me off to hospital.’

Images spear through my head. The trolley speeding along the corridor, the overhead lights flashing past like milestones on the way to Hell. The tubes, needles, the smells of acid, disinfectant, fresh blood. The stiff sheets locking me into the bed. The pain. The doctors and nurses who lied and lied, day after day, telling me I would be fine. The specialists who lied, telling me the same. The one who finally told me the truth so
matter-of
-factly that I wanted to kill him. And after all that, my mother patting me on the head, saying,
Perhaps it’s for the best
. Meaning
I’ve won.

‘She said what?’

I jump. I realise I said the last bit aloud. ‘That’s what Mother said, after I’d done the physio for months, killing myself with the pain, refusing the painkillers because they made me like a zombie. When I’d finally bitten
the bullet and given up hoping.
Perhaps it’s for the best.’

‘No wonder you hate her.’ Goody nods. ‘That’s one dragon. Your mother. And your second one is..?’

I try to shrug the question off. Now I’ve told her all this stuff, I feel pathetic. ‘I don’t know. I guess…’ She waits patiently. She should be a shrink. ‘Me. I can’t move on from it. I should grow up, get over it. Instead I’m training to be a juvenile delinquent, bent on revenge.’

‘Hey, it might not be the best thing for you to do, but at least you’re doing something. I mean, you could be hiding in a corner, still hooked on morphine or snorting coke, feeling like shit.’ She grins. ‘You probably do feel like shit. Sorry. But you know what I mean. You’re tough, you’re strong. That’s a good thing.’

‘Hmm, I suppose.’ I think of her mum on tranquillisers and decide not to say any more. I’ve said quite enough already. I check
my watch. ‘It’s nearly three. We’d better head for our pick-up point. Don’t want to keep your mum waiting.’

Goody grimaces. ‘Yeah, I hope she finds her way back here OK.’

‘She will.’

Dobie sounds so reassuring when Mum isn’t waiting at the entrance for us, that I don’t worry too much. We sit on a bench in the sun and talk for a while, but when I check my watch again and it’s nearly 3.15, that familiar worm of worry starts to twist itself into knots in my stomach. I stand, walk up and down a couple of times but I can’t see our car anywhere. I’m hoping she’s arrived early and gone into the mall to look at the shops. Then I start checking for Dad’s car. I have no idea what he might be driving. I look for something expensive, shiny and big.

‘Do you think maybe she is lost?’ Dobie asks. ‘I shouldn’t have directed her. It’s
better if you find your own way to a place.’

‘It’s not that. I’ve just got… I don’t know, it’s not like her, that’s all. We usually have this thing about being on time. We always have to know where the other one is.’ Except if she’s taken two pills again, she might be flaked out at home. Damn her! She knows how important it is, and that I’ll worry.

She joins me on the kerb and scans the cars around us. ‘What will you do if she doesn’t turn up soon?’

‘Call her first. Just to check.’ Not that she’ll answer her mobile if she’s passed out.

‘Here, use mine.’ Dobie hands me her phone, already turned on. ‘Go on.’

I press in the numbers and listen to it ring. No reply.

‘That must mean she’s on her way,’ Dobie says. ‘She’s just late.’

Or passed out
, I nearly say, but I get a feeling like an icy finger suddenly running down my spine. I spin around and scan the crowd by the doors.

‘Something’s wrong, I know it.’ I want to jump up on the tub nearby that’s full of bright orange marigolds, scan the parking lot from end to end, but if Dad’s around somewhere, he’ll see me. I can’t afford to be obvious, this of all times.

Dobie stares at me, then she says, ‘You stay out of the way while I look.’ And I know she really does understand and wants to help. My eyes burn and I blink hard.

‘OK.’

She climbs up on the tub, ignoring grown-ups who glare at her, and hunts slowly from left to right. ‘Nothing.’

‘Any big, expensive cars cruising around?’

‘Nup. None that stand out anyway.’ She climbs down again and stands, hands on
hips, frowning. ‘I guess we just have to keep waiting. Do you have, like, an escape plan?’

‘It’s simple. We get in the car and drive. That’s what we’ve done the last two times. There’s no point making detailed plans because we never know when we might have to leave. Both times so far Mum has been at work. She’s had to walk out without even collecting any wages that’re owed to her.’

‘Wow, that’s pretty drastic.’ Dobie shakes her head like it’s too hard for her to imagine.

I guess it might be. It hits me like a slap in the face –
this is a really stupid, bizarre way to live a life
. No wonder Mum and I are both freaking out all the time. Normal people don’t hide like criminals, they don’t live like tramps, they don’t push away anyone who wants to be a friend.

Then I remember that little gap in the door, the whimpering noise Mum was making, the picture I’ve never been able to
get out of my head of Dad running his knife across her skin and the blood leaping up behind the blade in a long, wet, red line. I have to grip my elbows with my hands as tight as I can and force the picture away.

‘Melissa? Are you OK? You’re shaking. Here, sit down.’ Dobie leads me to the bench and we sit.

I have to tell her she has to go, right now. ‘Leave me here. You go. Catch a bus home. You have to.’

‘Why? I’m not leaving you. Your mum will be here in a minute.’

‘
He
might be here instead.’

‘Your dad? We’ll run inside, get help.’

‘No. It doesn’t work that way. He doesn’t work that way. If he’s got her…’ I try to breathe. I feel like I’m choking. ‘He has a knife. And a gun. He’s said lots of times that he’ll use them, either or both. He doesn’t care. If he’s got her, he’ll come here
and make me get in the car. You have to go home. You won’t be safe either.’

Now she is looking at me like I’ve got a screw loose. ‘How can he do that here? Where everyone could see?’

‘You have to go!’ I shout.

‘No. You’re worrying for nothing, because she’s late. I’m staying.’

I want to scream at her, hit her, make her go away, but all the time a little voice inside me is squeaking,
she might be right, you might be carrying on for nothing, you’ve made these mistakes before, getting all upset for nothing.
I can’t let that voice win. In my guts, I know I’m right.
I know
I’m right.

But I do want her to stay. I’m so tired of fighting on my own, looking after Mum, being the brave one, the one who takes charge. If we do have to run though, Dobie’s got to stay behind. That’s all there is to it.

I hunch down on the bench, my face in my hands. I want it all to go away. I want to be high up on a mountain, with no other people for miles and miles.

‘Hey, here’s your mum. See, I told you, she just got –’

Brakes screech, Mum screams, ‘Melissa, get in the car! Hurry!’ and I know I was right all along. I stagger to my feet, try to walk but it’s like my shoes are full of concrete. I can hardly move. Dobie grabs my arm and drags me to the car. We fall onto the back seat, her shoving me over, slamming the door behind her. Mum lets out the clutch too fast and the car jerks a few times before it takes off.

‘Slow down, Mrs McCardle, it’s OK. Take it easy.’ Dobie’s staying calm, leaning forward over the front seat, talking to Mum, directing her. I slump in the corner. ‘Is he following you? Can you see him?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I think I got away, oh God, I hope he didn’t see me!’

Mum’s half-sobbing and the car veers across the road.

‘What kind of car is he driving?’

‘A black Mercedes, I think, or a Lexus; no, a Mercedes. Tinted windows.’ Mum glances in the mirror, looks wildly over her shoulder, the car swerves again.

‘You drive and I’ll keep a look out,’ Dobie says. ‘Take the next left and head down past the lake, OK?’

‘OK.’ Mum seems to be calming down a bit, thanks to Dobie. I sit up a bit straighter. I know I should be asking Mum questions, sorting out what’s happened, whether she really did see him or not. She’s made this mistake before, but she sounds certain this time. I stare out the side window and stay silent.

After a few more minutes, Mum and Dobie decide that we’re not being followed. Past the lake, Dobie directs Mum to drive into a large cemetery. ‘It’s quiet in here,
and no one will expect you to be in a place like this.’

Mum pulls the car up next to a huge statue of a weeping angel and rests her head on the steering wheel, crying quietly. Dobie looks at me.

‘Now what?’ she says.

I shrug. ‘We’ll have to drop you home, I guess, and then keep going. Head south, maybe, we haven’t been that way yet. Or backtrack. I don’t know what Dad will expect, what he’ll try next. If we don’t know either, it’ll be harder for him.’

‘What about your clothes, your school stuff? Your furniture?’ She seems to find it hard to believe that all of that will have to stay where it is.

I lean forward. ‘Mum? Where did you see Dad? How did you know it was him?’

Mum has almost stopped crying, thank God, so she can talk properly. It doesn’t
sound like she’s taken any pills either. Hopefully they’re inside the apartment too. I know that’s mean, but they’ll make things worse.

‘After I dropped you girls off, I went to buy some groceries and a little gift for Bobby, to say thank you. I parked down the end of our street where he lives, to drop it off to him and tell him how well the car was running. Bobby was on the phone, talking to his mother. He said she’d heard knocking, had gone out to see who was visiting. Thank God for nosy neighbours!’

‘You mean Dad was at our front door?’ The skin on my face pulls tight like a rubber band. I can’t get my mouth closed.

‘I thought maybe it was someone from my work. I prayed it was. But Bobby took me up on the roof of his building. You can see all up the street from there. Your father was just standing, leaning against his car, smoking a damn cigarette like it was the most natural thing in the world –’ She takes a shaky breath. ‘Most natural
thing you could imagine, waiting for your wife so you could beat her up and drag her home again.’

‘What did Bobby say?’

She laughs shortly. ‘He wanted to go down and beat the crap out of him. I had to yell at him to make him see sense. Your father would just get him arrested and see that he was sent away for as long as possible.’

Her words settle inside me like slugs of lead. ‘So he’s here. We need to get moving. The sooner, the better.’

‘I’ll catch a bus home,’ Dobie says quickly. ‘Just drop me off on the other side of the park.’ She hesitates. ‘Is there any way I can go to your place sometime, pack up your stuff for you and send it somewhere? I want to help.’

‘Not a good idea,’ Mum says. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

I take stock of what I own – is there anything worth the risk? Dad will have used a private detective. He’s got one who works for his law firm. Would he pay the guy to hang around for a week or two, just in case? Possibly, especially if we get away again. He’d be really mad this time.

‘No, don’t bother. We’re better off leaving it all, aren’t we, Mum?’

‘Yes, you’re right. Just as well I’ve been sending money to Lesley. It won’t be so hard to start again.’

‘Lesley is Mum’s sister,’ I tell Dobie. ‘We went to her first when we left. Big mistake. Made us too easy to find.’

‘Um…’ Dobie’s face has gone bright red.

‘What? What’s wrong?’

Mum whips around in her seat. ‘Have you seen something? Is it his car?’

‘No, it’s …’ Dobie swallows. ‘It’s
Midnight
. What about the kitten?’