Nature of Ash, The (6 page)

SUNDAY STARTS WITH A BANG
when Mikey insists he help Jiao to make porridge and then drops the whole bloody lot on the floor. The day does not improve. The internet and mobile phones are still off-line — rumours are the government’s shut them down indefinitely. I’m stuffed without access to the web. With TV and radio now the only news outlets, I know damn well we’re only being told what Death-Star Eyes wants us to hear.

Overnight there have been some skirmishes between our army and people loyal to the UPR. Two guys were shot in Tauranga and the police defused a bomb under a wharf at Auckland’s port. There are mini-riots everywhere as rumours grow of shops running out of basic supplies and people rush to stockpile food and bottled water. The PM’s called an emergency sitting of Parliament, despite its being the weekend, and there
are rumblings that he’s considering martial law. I don’t even really understand what this means but it sounds seriously dodgy.

Apparently today’s also the day people feel compelled to visit us, rather than phone, to check that we’re okay. By lunchtime we’ve already had five groups of guests — each bringing food and sympathy, though little cash. I know I should be grateful (and I guess I am), but I still can’t shake the feeling that they’re mostly here to talk about their own reactions to Dad’s death — making me a captive audience while they comb over every detail of the breaking news. The only upside is that Mikey laps up the attention — he’s in fat-boy heaven when every single bloody visitor brings a cake. Do they
really
think an overload of sugar can put things right? In Mikey’s world, perhaps. Meanwhile, Jiao earns her keep by making pots of tea.

Just after one o’clock, the undertaker, Mr Bodrum, calls to say that now the autopsy’s complete it’s important we have another talk. He comes at two, complete with folders filled with photos of expensive coffins — velvet-lined crates of overpolished wood and garish brass. They’re all so totally not what Dad would want. Only when I’ve turned up my nose at every single one does he pull out a shabby flier for a recycled cardboard box.
Thank god
. Dad always said he’d be cremated, so what’s the point of flashy shit when it’s just going to be nuked? Hard-arsed, maybe, but I reckon Dad would think the same.

It’s so surreal discussing coffins, readings, songs to sing, wording for the notices … It’s just not right. Not fair. Parents are supposed to die when you’re old enough
to cope alone. I’m not. I’m shaky, shitty, plain worn out already, and the thought of having to stand up and speak in front of strangers at his funeral freaks me out.

I ask Mr Bodrum how I can explain all this to Mikey — how I can help him through — but all he offers me is yet another leaflet, this one about handling grief. What’s the bloody point? Mikey can’t even read, and if I follow its instructions and tell him about life cycles and autumn leaves he’ll think I’ve lost the plot. Dad is dead, not cyclical — even Mikey’s got the nous to figure
that
.

Bodrum suggests we set the date for Tuesday afternoon at Old St Paul’s. At least we can agree on this. Dad loved that building. But then, as Bodrum starts to pack away his creepy folders, he says, ‘I take it you’re happy for him to be embalmed?’

I’m not too sure what embalming involves, but when he tells me I’m completely grossed out. My father’s been blown to bits, cut up for the coroner, and now this guy intends to drain what’s left of his blood and pump him full of toxic shit?

‘No way.’

‘The problem is the body starts to decompose …’

‘Then stick him in a freezer.’ Bodrum gets all spewy now, but I refuse to budge. Dad’s body has been through enough. I’ll not be held responsible for more abuse.

I win the argument, but by the time Bodrum’s left I’m so wound up I feel like I need air or else I’ll self-combust. Mikey and Jiao have cabin fever too, so the three of us head off up the bush track behind the motorway. It’s a cool, clear afternoon, sunlight dancing off the slight chop of the sea. Usually the harbour would be littered with yachts and kayaks but today it seems ominously
bereft of life, only the ferry slowly chugging out towards the south. We climb right to the top of Tinakori hill and sit on pine stumps amid the bracken, staring out across the city to the sea beyond.

Below us the motorway is backed up with traffic heading north. It’s a sobering sight. Even the people who still own cars hardly ever take them out — it’s too expensive to fork out for petrol and all the emission fees. Now I guess they figure it’s better to brush off the cobwebs and fork out the dough than end up being trapped in the city if the military takes over or when the food runs out. I’m jealous, but know I have to hang around to do the ‘proper’ thing for Dad. If it was up to me I’d can the whole bloody performance and grieve in private, but Dad worked so hard — he deserves a public sending-off. Besides, he’d not forgive us if we didn’t stay for George’s funeral as well. Dad loved George — he used to joke that they were once conjoined twins, separated at birth. It’s true they even looked alike, had the same tinges of red hair.
Dad looked so old without his hair
. I can see the scorch marks on his skin as if he’s right here in front of me, all red and—

‘Look, over there!’ Jiao is pointing towards the harbour entrance where a big-arse warship is nosing in towards Barretts Reef. Sharp-snouted and painted an ugly grey, it looks for all the world like a giant robotic shark. It’s still too far away to tell if its flag belongs to Them or Us, but just the sight of it’s unnerving. This is all getting
way
too real.

I keep my eye on the ship as we descend through the scrub. By the time we’ve reached the motorway overpass, it’s passed Seatoun and is heading towards the
inner harbour. On its stern, the insignia of the Western Alliance flutters in the breeze. This can’t be good. New Zealand’s frigates are trailer-sailers compared to this bloody great death machine. A missile fired from its flanks could wipe out hundreds — maybe thousands — in one hit. No doubt it’s here to protect the interests of our government and the WA, but I don’t trust our PM to place his citizens’ safety first. Surely this ship’s very presence puts us more at risk? It ups the stakes — turns this from a South Seas argy-bargy into a proxy war between the WA and the UPR. Talk about meat in the sandwich.
Dad always feared this
.

When we get back to the apartment the answerphone is full of messages again, so while Jiao and Mikey start to prepare our evening meal I work my way through them, taking down names and numbers but not bothering to call back. Only the very last message is urgent. It’s Jeannie, sounding tense. She wants me to call her straight away.

I dial her number, hoping maybe she’s had a breakthrough on the threatening notes or news of Mum.

‘Are you free if I come round right now?’ she asks.

‘Yeah. Is something wrong?’

‘I’ll be there soon.’

She’s either seriously nearby or worried, because she’s here within ten minutes, all uniformed up.

Mikey takes one look at her and flings up his hands. ‘I didn’t do nothing wrong.’

Jeannie laughs. ‘It’s all right, Mikey. I’m here to speak with Ashley, that’s all.’

I point the way to Dad’s study, but she shakes her head.

‘Let’s catch the last of the sun, eh? I’ve been stuck inside too much today.’

‘What’s up?’ I ask as soon as we’re settled on our tiny balcony.

‘Have you been following the news?’

‘We just watched the warship come in. I’m guessing that’s not good?’

‘Understatement of the century,’ she says. ‘This whole thing’s escalating hour by hour. Confidentially, the word is that the PM will announce martial law before the evening’s out. He and the Cabinet have been flown to an undisclosed location, and they’ve put the call out for the Territorials to report asap.’ Her hands are two white-knuckled fists.

‘And so?’

‘Someone’s let the cork out of the bottle and every-thing’s bubbling up. There have been more outbreaks of violence in the last twenty-four hours than the last three months — attacks on businesses and anyone suspected of connection to the UPR. Threats to power, water, communications … By tomorrow we could well be in the middle of an outright war. Parliament has called on the UN to try to calm things, but that could take weeks. Right now, we’ve all been told to defuse
anything
that has the chance of flaring out of control.’

There’s a deliberateness to her words that suggests I should take extra note. ‘What’s this got to do with me?’

She shakes her head slowly. ‘There are threats of protests at the funerals of those killed by the bomb.’

Jeezus!
Why didn’t that occur to me? Funerals are hijacked every day in other countries, so why not here? They’re often the excuse for people’s anger to erupt on the streets.

‘You think this’ll happen at Dad’s?’

‘It’s definite. The unions have put out a call for a
demonstration, and already there’s talk of counter-protests by supporters of the UPR.’

‘But I’ve only just confirmed the time and place.’

‘Word travels fast, even without access to the net.’ She shifts in her chair. Crosses her legs. Uncrosses them. Clears her throat. ‘I think you should consider calling off the funeral — just have a private farewell, then get out of the city. With Parliament just down the road from here, you’re right in the thick of it should things get rough.’

‘Whoa! Hold on! Dad didn’t give in to threats, so why the hell should I?’ Even as I say this I realise it’s a load of crap. Dad played the silent hero, and now he’s dead. I flick my gaze up to Jeannie: she knows I’ve clicked. One of Dad’s favourite phrases pops into my mind.
Irony is just hypocrisy with style
. I never quite understood what he meant but now, for some reason, it seems to fit.

‘I’ve been instructed to ask you to make a statement to the media, saying there will be no public funeral. The other families have been approached as well. It’s a matter of security for everyone involved.’

‘Bugger off! I’m not talking to those bloodsuckers again. All they want’s a juicy headline to sell the news. I’m buggered if I’ll give them the satisfaction.’

‘We won’t let them question you. All you have to do is read a prepared statement and then I’ll whisk you off. The Silvermans are down there now.’

George’s family have already agreed? ‘Then I don’t have much choice, do I?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jeannie says, and it’s clear from the strain in her voice she means it. ‘These orders come directly from the top. I’m just the messenger. But look, I want to
tell you something that’s definitely off the record. You understand?’

I nod, though it’s like an invisible hand is clenching in my gut.

‘There are things happening that don’t seem right. Okay? Stuff I can’t quite put my finger on. But I promise I’ll try to find out. For now, all I can tell you is that those threatening notes sent to your father have been commandeered by the top brass, and when I tried to chase them up this morning I was cautioned to butt out. But I think the threats about possible riots at the funeral are real … I’m just not sure who’s driving what.’

‘What do
you
think’s going on?’

She shrugs. ‘God only knows. I
will
find out, but right now I want you to say your goodbyes as quickly as possible, then leave. I’m sending Travis off to my mother’s farm near Inglewood first thing tomorrow on the train. I want you and Mikey to go as well. She’ll take good care of you — there’s plenty of food and water — and it’s well off the beaten track. Just for now, until it’s clear how things will pan out.’

It’s so bizarre. I only met this woman the night before last and now she wants to send me to her mum? ‘I’m quite capable of looking after Mikey on my—’

‘I know,’ she interrupts. ‘You’re one hell of a brother. But I believe that if your dad was still alive he’d want the same.’

Ouch
. Of course Dad would want to see us out of danger’s way, but that’s not the point. ‘Couldn’t we go
after
the funeral?’

‘Listen, Ashley.’ She grows all stern. ‘I like you, you’re a real cool kid, and I know how much you love
your brother — and your dad. It’s nice to see; most often I get stuck working with families so dysfunctional it makes me despair for the whole human race. Do this for Mikey, if nothing else. I promise you I’ll keep fighting on your behalf. But it’s easier for me to do this if I know you’re safe — and even Tuesday may be too late.’

There is more to this than she’s said. Has to be. But my head’s so bloody overloaded there’s no way I can fill the gaps right now. If Mikey weren’t so freaked out by police uniforms, I’d ask him what he thinks — he can smell phonies a mile off. All I can do is take a punt on trusting her, which I
think
I do.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘But not until tomorrow night — I still have to see Grandma, and I’m meeting with the lawyer tomorrow morning first thing.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, offering me her hand. ‘I think you’ve made the right choice.’

I’m surprised by the strength of her grip. ‘So, what now?’

‘Can your friend stay with Mikey for another hour while we sort the statement?’

I nod but then remember Jiao’s own family disaster.
Oh shit, we can’t just up and leave her
. I’ll have to talk it through with her when I get home.

THE POLICE STATION IS CHAOTIC,
and Jeannie has to take me by the arm to guide me through the crowds. There’s a wall of noise inside the conference room where I’m scheduled to speak, but the journalists fall deathly quiet as I approach the empty chair at the front of the room. Jeannie takes the chair beside me as the police commissioner, Jim Hargraves, stands to give a brief introduction. I can’t look up, just stare at the statement on the piece of paper in front of me, trying to stay calm. I feel sick.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, Ashley McCarthy will make a brief statement. There will be no questions at this time.’ He looks over at me and nods. ‘You can stay where you are, lad, no need to stand.’

I’m on
. I clutch the speech notes Jeannie helped me write and start to read, so freaked out the text swims
up and down between the lines. ‘Due to the uncertain situation there will be no public funeral for my father, Shaun McCarthy, as previously announced. I urge all those outraged by his death to respect my family’s wishes and wait for the outcome of the police investigation into this dreadful act.’ My throat is so tight I sound like I’ve been sucking helium. ‘We will hold a private family service followed by cremation. When the situation has settled back down, we will organise a memorial service for all those lost in Friday’s attack.’ It’s all so bloody matter-offact. I could be reading out the frickin’ sports results.

I glance over at Hargraves, who’s watching from the wings. I’m supposed to end now, say
thank you very much
, and leave. But, fuck it,
this last bit’s for you, Dad
. ‘My father spent his whole life battling for human rights …’

I can feel Jeannie stir beside me as she realises I’ve gone off-script. I daren’t look around, just stare straight into one of the TV cameras to make my point.
Screw
you all
.

‘It caused him great frustration that our own government sold us out to global corporations and corrupt regimes.’

There’s a buzz starting up around me now and Jeannie puts a warning hand on my arm. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Hargraves sidling in my direction.
Need to be quick
.

‘On behalf of Dad and all the others who have lost their lives, I call on all the factions in this ego war to respect human rights — including our own puppet PM.’
Kapow!

All hell breaks loose. There are reporters shouting questions at me and cops leaping from the woodwork to
shut me down. Jeannie hooks her arm through mine and literally drags me from the room, not stopping till we’re halfway down the hall. ‘You little bugger,’ she hisses, but when I meet her eye I swear she winks. ‘Like father like son, huh?’

‘I wish.’ I should be chuffed — my first ever public speech and I’ve stuck it to the PM! — but all I feel is another overwhelming impulse to cry. I’m exhausted. I just want to go home.

Jeannie must guess, because she doesn’t hassle me further, just drops me back at the flat and says she’ll meet us at the railway station at six tomorrow night. For convenience, she’s put Travis’s departure off till then as well. I thank her, though I’m still a little puzzled why she’s willing to get so personally involved, and dawdle up the stairs. How the hell am I going to break all this to Jiao?

She’s playing cards with Mikey when I come in. Mr Bad-Loser’s grinning like a jack-o-lantern, so I’m guessing she’s letting him have it all his way. I flop down on the sofa, trying to decide how best to begin, when Mikey shrieks out, ‘Snap! I win! I win!’

‘Thanks for not rubbing it in!’ Jiao laughs, and gets up to perch on the side of Dad’s empty chair. ‘How did it go?’

‘Shit-fight,’ I say, too tired to explain. She’ll see it on the news — unless, of course, the PM’s henchmen pull the plug. ‘We need to talk.’

She slides into the chair, her face stiffening. ‘You want me to go.’ She says it like she always knew I’d let her down.

‘Jeannie wants me and Mikey to catch a train north
to her mother’s farm tomorrow night. She reckons it’s not safe to stay down here. You can stay in the flat after we’re gone if you want.’

‘What’s the point?’ she mumbles. She sits there, eyes downcast, and I know she’s on the edge of tears. I feel a total shit.

And Mikey’s spotted it in an instant. ‘Why’re you crying Jow Jow?’ He glares at me, his eyes narrowing. The little turncoat’s instantly presumed I’m to blame. Even though it’s true, it still pisses me off.

‘Just a sore eye,’ Jiao says.

Jeezus
. I can’t just desert her. Right now she’s the only thing keeping Mikey from a major meltdown. He can’t lose Dad and her as well.
Fuck’s sake
. All I want to do is sleep.

‘Why don’t you come?’ I blurt out, before I’ve had time to think it through. ‘I’m sure Jeannie’s mother won’t mind.’

‘Come where?’ Bloody Mikey doesn’t miss a beat, especially when you wish he would.

‘We’re going on a holiday, mate.’

His face is slack as he decides if this is good or bad. I hurry on before he chooses, trying to sound enthused.

‘On the train!’

Mikey jumps up. ‘Whoo whoo!’ he yodels, pretending to pull on a whistle cord. ‘A big long train?’

‘I guess.’ Much as I need his cooperation, I don’t want to build up his expectations, just in case he makes a scene tomorrow night. I can’t control what’s in his head: he likely thinks the engine has a face and answers to ‘Thomas’ or ‘Percy’ or whatever-the-hell-else those stupid old toys are called.

He beams at Jiao. ‘You coming too?’

‘Why not?’ I say, trying to catch her eye. ‘It’s got to be better than going back to where you live.’

Jiao shakes her head. ‘You don’t understand. I have to help my parents.’

I can’t remember if she’s told me precisely where they are. If she has, and I ask again now, she’ll think I don’t care. I try to make it sound like it’s just slipped my mind. ‘So where exactly are they again?’

‘The farm’s just out of Eltham.’

It’s a bloody miracle: for once my luck is in. ‘Perfect! Jeannie’s mother lives just out of Inglewood! It’s virtually down the road.’

Now she looks directly at me for the first time. ‘You’re sure?’

‘I’ll get a map—’

‘No. I mean, you’re sure it’s okay for me to come?’

‘You come Jow Jow! The train goes fast!’ Mikey rushes her and slops a kiss on her cheek.

Note to self: I’ll have to sort this soon, before the tragic little tosser takes it all too far
.

‘I’ll ask,’ I say. ‘I’m sure she won’t mind.’ If need be, I’ll get down on my knees to Jeannie’s mum and beg. So long as I can get Mikey on that train without a fuss, I don’t care.