Lost In Kakadu (19 page)

Mackenzie finished rinsing the conditioner from her hair and brushed it with slow, methodical movements. Abigail remained silent. Her heart squeezed at the mental picture she had of an eleven-year-old boy facing up to his father with a large knife. She dreaded where this story was going and wished again that she could face him, to see if he was okay.

She opened her mouth and took a breath to say something, but before she could decide what, he said, “I still have nightmares about that laugh. He was crazy.”

“What did you do?”

He huffed. “I threw it at him, as hard as I could. It seemed to fly through the air in slow motion. But it fell short and skidded right to his feet. Dad bent down, grabbed it and flipped it for the handle. The look in his eyes was like something unworldly had overtaken him. I still can’t believe it happened. I just stood there, my feet frozen in the doorway. When he took a step toward me I knew he was going to throw it. So I turned and ran.”

Mackenzie squeezed the excess water from her hair and smoothed a towel over it.

“I don’t know how long I ran, most of the night I guess. I ended up sleeping in a big concrete pipe in our school playground. The next day’s a blur. I was petrified and didn’t want to go home.” He started untangling her hair with his fingers. “It was late the next night before I went back. Found Dad passed out in a drunken stupor on the lounge.”

He removed the towel from her shoulders and wrapped up her wet hair.

Abigail took the opportunity to slide forward and stand up. She turned to Mackenzie, wrapped her arms around him and listened to his steady heartbeat. “Then what?”

“Come on.” He stepped back. “Let’s get you dry and start the fire, I’ll tell you the rest later.”

She blinked. “But you can’t stop now.”

“Shhh, let’s get the fire going first.”

Mackenzie had that stubborn spark in his eye and she knew there was no point arguing. She trotted into the plane, removed the towel from her hair, rubbed vigorously, then dressed in warmer clothes, re-wrapped her hair and scooted back to help him with the fire.

“That was quick! You normally spend hours in there.”

“Come on … get the fire going.” She ran into the forest and cursed at how long it took to gather wood. They had to traipse further and further from the campsite to find it. She scurried back and forth, tossing armfuls of timber onto the flames.

He smiled at her and she playfully thumped him on the shoulder. “Stop mucking around.”

“It’s okay, we’re not going anywhere. I’ve got all night to tell my sad story.”

He was right. She’d grown to love their nightly ritual of sitting around the fire telling their life stories and getting to know each other. She bowed her head. “Okay. I’ll get the rest of the meat.”

Leaving Mackenzie to load up the fire she suddenly felt extreme shame and embarrassment as she recalled how eagerly she’d told her trivial stories, all pathetic and superficial compared to Mackenzie’s revelation. She felt herself spiralling out of control as she acknowledged her worthlessness. Nothing about her life seemed important any more, not her friends, her money or her ideologies. She’d ruined every opportunity to do something important with her life, to be someone, and each time she failed, she’d blamed someone else, usually Spencer.

Angry with herself she brushed away her tears, but at the same time she knew this was the moment where she cracked open her personality and remoulded herself. Never again would she be the pathetic Mrs Abigail Mulholland. She was Abi. Now she was ready to be her own person, ready to show emotions, to love, to hurt and to cry, regardless of who watched.

Pushing her shoulders back, she wiped her eyes, removed the cold quoll meat from the cockpit and carried it to the fire. She hoped Mackenzie couldn’t see her sadness in the diminishing sunlight.

She flopped into her chair and examined her filthy fingernails as she waited for him to join her. Once the sun set and the wind died down the stillness allowed sounds to carry. Many sounds she could now recognise, hooting owls, screeching bats, croaking frogs and the never ending crickets. The whole wilderness seemed to be crying out for a companion. Scanning the dark tree line, she watched for Mackenzie’s return and with each passing moment she realised how much she thrived on his company. Nobody else had ever made her feel this way. It was a pleasant thought that made her smile. But she felt they were about to delve into another depth of their relationship and although she knew she was about to hear something truly tragic she hoped she’d be able to offer him the right words at the right time.

Finally, Mackenzie walked toward her with a large stick he was using like a walking cane. His eyes were downcast and she could tell he was deep in thought. He sat down beside her and poked the coals with the stick.

* * *

Mackenzie watched the end of the stick glow bright orange as the intensity of the moment bristled in the air. Rodney was the only person who’d known his history and the importance of someone knowing, now that Rodney was gone, weighed heavily. When Rodney died, he felt like a spell had been broken and his heart became hollow, empty. He wanted to tell Abigail everything but even after all these years the hurt was so fresh, so close to the surface, that he wasn’t sure he could actually speak of it. But after everything they’d been through, the moment seemed right. Abigail seemed right.

As if reading his mind, she reached out and placed her hand on his leg. The warmth from her palm flowed up to his heart, and he knew he was ready. He breathed deeply and exhaled a long slow breath. “I blamed myself for Mum’s death.”

She sat forward. “It wasn’t …”

“Shhh.” He touched his finger to her lips. “Mum died trying to protect me from him.”

“But it wasn’t—”

“Shush.”

Abigail sat back and stared at the fire. Her hand remained on his knee.

Mackenzie made her wait a full minute before he continued. “When I saw Dad lying on the lounge snoring, with a glass of rum still clutched in his hand, I knew he was never going to change. I had to get away. So I gathered a few things, ridiculous things really. I took a chocolate bar, my PSP and one of Mum’s rings.” He fiddled with the silver signet ring that hung around his neck. “I didn’t think to take any food, money or extra clothes and once I left, there was no way I was going back.”

“Didn’t you have family to go to? Aunties, uncles? Did they look for you?”

He shrugged. “I never met any relatives. I guess there would be some, but I certainly didn’t know them. And I don’t think anybody bothered looking for me.”

“Of course they would have. The authorities must’ve known about you, there’d be records and photos.”

“Will you stop interrupting or we’ll be here all night.”

“You said we had all night.”

“Shhh.” He held up his index finger.

Her frown darkened her eyes even more in the fire light and he didn’t like that. Her eyes were always so full of expression.

Abigail folded her hands between her knees. “Sorry.”

He looked back into the dancing flames. “So … I took my things and left. I never looked back. At first I spent several nights in the park. I slept on a park bench and ate food I found in rubbish bins, I didn’t go hungry. Eventually I made my way into the city where most people just turned away when they saw me.”

He shoved the stick into the fire and a frenzy of sparks jumped up. “Christmas Eve was the worst night, not that Christmas was ever anything special at home, but Mum always made me a triple chocolate sundae as my special treat.” He smiled as he remembered. “Anyway, one night I hopped on a train and just rode it all night long until I fell asleep. They kicked me off when it stopped at Central Station. While I was standing at the platform, I noticed a train was leaving for Sydney in an hour. I begged for enough money in that hour for the train ticket and I remember thinking it was my ticket to freedom.” He paused and shifted in his seat. “I changed my name and within a few months I was living at Kings Cross. I stole food and clothes and pinched a sleeping bag from some poor backpacker’s car. My prized possession.” Mackenzie sighed as he remembered dashing from the beat up Combie van with the sleeping bag under his elbow.

Abigail reached for his hand and when their fingers intertwined the reassurance that he wasn’t alone welled up inside him. It felt good. She squeezed his palm, motioning for him to continue.

“I was twelve when I met Grace and Pete, brother and sister. They were living on the streets like me. We just clicked, it was like the three of us had been together forever. We slept in a tunnel in a playground and begged and stole just to get by. Grace was my first girlfriend.”

Abigail twisted toward him, her head cocked in a question.

Ignoring her, he leant forward and tossed another log into the fire. “At fourteen, Pete and I both got jobs pushing trolleys at the local supermarket and it wasn’t long before the three of us could afford to rent a room. Things were good for a while. It was fun.” Mackenzie smiled remembering the shopping trolley races and other crazy things they got up to. “You’ve heard of a soup kitchen, right?”

Abigail nodded.

“Well there were many days when that was our only food. I reckon that’s where my love of cooking came from.”

The night was still, not even a whisper of breeze, as if the jungle was listening to his story. The smoke rose in vertical spirals from the fire and disappeared into the night sky.

“We started doing drugs.” He glanced over at her to see her reaction, but she didn’t move. “At first we smoked marijuana, but then we got into heavier stuff.” He took a slow breath. “Pete died of an overdose, right in my arms.”

“Oh Mack, that’s terrible.” Abigail leant forward to look at him.

He looked into her green eyes and the intensity he saw in them made him happy he’d shared his history. “The irony is, his death saved me. I cleaned myself up, went cold turkey on the drugs and never touched them again. A lady named Susan who volunteered at the soup kitchen offered me a job in a coffee shop. We started dating and once again everything was great for a while. But one day Susan left me a note.” He shrugged. “Said she was getting married and I never saw her again.”

“You had no idea?”

“No. But that’s when I met Rodney. He was going through a rough divorce and I was heartbroken over Susan. Each morning we’d mourn over a cup of coffee together.” Mackenzie sighed again.

“I don’t understand. You … dated women? Did you just not know you were gay? I thought …”

“I was always attracted to both. Guys and girls. It’s just easier, more socially acceptable, I guess, to go out with women. But then I met Rodney. There was something about him. We fell in love.” He looked over at Abigail and she was smiling as if she’d just heard the ending to a wonderful fairytale. And in some ways Mackenzie’s life had been like a fairytale, full of tragedy and triumph. Most of it would be unbelievable if he hadn’t lived through it himself.

“I moved in with Rodney when I was nineteen. He owned a beautiful penthouse overlooking Manly marina and I felt like I was finally in a loving home.”

“I can’t imagine a childhood like that. So tragic. It’s a wonder you survived.”

“I guess … a part of me didn’t. But I’ve learnt to make peace with my past. It didn’t do me any good to be angry about it. And to some degree it’s shaped me, it’s part of who I am.”

They were quiet for a very long time and gradually the creatures in the bush began to sing again. Abigail squeezed his hand. “So what’s your real name?”

“It was Malcolm Turner. My mum used to watch those midday TV shows, you know, General Hospital, Bold and the Beautiful, shows like that. She always talked about a man called Mackenzie. She called him a gentleman. So I became Mackenzie. The last name I made up, I thought Steel sounded strong.”

“It’s perfect.” She tilted her head in a way that he could see the depths of her dark green eyes. They were the eyes of a goddess, intensely beautiful.

“So there it is,” he said. “That’s how Malcolm became Mackenzie. I told you it would ruin your birthday.”

She reached over and wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders and as he hugged her to his chest, he inhaled the sweet scent of her clean hair.

“This may seem weird, but this is the best birthday I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

“You’re a strange woman, Abigail.”

“Abi. From now on I’m Abi.”

The plane creaked as the sun’s rays dried up the morning dew and Abi woke to the sound of Mackenzie’s rhythmic breathing. She rolled onto her side to face him. He hadn’t shaved for days and the scar on his chin was now barely visible through his dark beard. His ritual was to shave once a week and she was always pleasantly surprised in his changed appearance each time he strolled up from the lagoon cleanly shaven. Careful not to wake him, she crawled out of her bed and stepped out of the cabin.

The morning sun gilded the dew on the leaves high in the trees and small birds skipped across branches in the canopy as she walked barefoot along the marked track. She’d grown to love her morning swim and surprised herself by running toward the tumbling water, giggling as she ran, savouring her freedom.

Her timing was perfect to see the sun crest as a golden glow above the distant trees just as she arrived at the ridge. Digging her toes into the damp leaves, she raced down the cliff and was panting when she reached the bottom. She skipped onto the rock pontoon and sat cross-legged on the rock wall that formed the waterfall. A beautiful dance of orange, yellow and white hues shimmered in the stream below her as the sun flashed its morning brilliance.

The heat of the sun penetrated her skin and, closing her eyes, she breathed in the crisp air. For the longest time she listened to the therapeutic sound of water tumbling into the valley below.

She bent over the cool water to scoop a handful to splash her face, but its silvery surface caught her reflection and she recoiled in shock. It had been at least four months since her last hair appointment and the damage was showing. Her chic hair style had grown out. Her fringe fell below her eyes and a dark line split the part in her hair like a racing stripe.