The Innocents (22 page)

It wasn't her fault.

‘I didn't mean it,' she called.

She took off without looking back. I didn't mean to blame Zilla. I was just mad.

She almost turned back to say the words aloud but then didn't bother.

Who'd believe her anyway?

37

Winter slowly backed up and drew itself further south. Spring stepped over the grass, melting frost and wrapping the earth in new warmth. Trees began to green and once again arms were bared to sunlight and air.

The scent of a new season made it easier for visions of Deirdre to fade and Missie found herself thinking about her birthday. She was going to be eleven, and she discovered as she stripped her shirt off one day that her chest was looking a little puffier. Not truly puffy with two proper points, but fatter so that she preferred to cover her chest with her hands as she ran along the hall to the bathroom.

Her mother noticed too and said she was too old to go racing around half-naked, and certainly not upstairs where Mr Fellows was.

It used to be Mr Fellows and Oleksander Mykola but his name was never spoken.

Ever.

Once Missie read about him in the
Advertiser.
They had a photo of a boy who didn't look too much like the Oleks she knew but who was, according to the writing under it, Oleksander Mykola Shevchenko with his young sister and his parents. Missie had taken the paper and read it secretly in the lav, not that it helped much. It just said a lot of things about courts and bail, whatever that was, and Oleksander was staying in custody. He was violent, the paper said, and had attacked a policeman. She'd asked about it when she thought the moment may have been right.

‘Staying in custody means, young lady, that Mr Shevchenko is never coming out of jail again,' her mother had explained.

‘How'd you know I was talking about him?'

They were standing in the doorway, letting the sun warm them.

‘If you don't want people to know what you've been up to then you'd better learn to pick up after yourself.' She smiled with her face still lifted to the afternoon sun. ‘Love a duck, Miss, that lavatory floor was like a papier-mâché pit! There was paper from elbow to breakfast time.'

It was really arsehole to breakfast time, Missie knew that. She'd heard it said often enough in the kitchen. She grinned at her mother and the raised eyebrow was enough of a response to know that her mother knew she knew it too.

‘Almost dinnertime, young lady.' Slowly her mother straightened. Her hands smoothed her apron and tidied a few wisps of hair back into the loop that always managed to swell outside of itself by the end of the day. ‘What do you reckon about you going down to Scott's and buying a box of ice-cream? There's only you and me for tea tonight.'

‘Three colours?' Missie said.

‘Three colours. But make sure you hold the bag and not the box to carry it home or else it'll melt.' Her mother took down her purse and took out two shillings. ‘That should be enough.'

‘Where's Max then?'

‘He's over at Lawrence's and God knows what they're getting up to over there. Belle's off with her euchre group tonight so it's just you and me.' She paused. ‘And him upstairs ... but he won't know we're having sweets in the kitchen and what he don't know won't hurt him, will it?'

Missie wandered off. The days were staying lighter for longer and the chill that threatened to snap bones had softened a little. It was possible, now, to set off in the afternoon without having to rug up in jackets and scarves.

She slowed as she went past Max's bike. She could ride it now if she wanted to. Not that Max would let her but she knew how to get her leg up over the bar and ride with her hands a little lower. It surprised her that she'd found it impossible for so long. She debated chancing it but if Max saw her there'd be hell to pay so she simply ambled on by.

Next year she wouldn't have to worry. Aunt Belle was never going to take any notice of who was riding the bike and Max was going to be safe and snug in his new boarding school in Saleby, where he was going to go to high school.

Missie grinned. The money in her hand, the promise of ice-cream with her mum in the kitchen, and maybe even listening to one of the late night theatres on the wireless, plus Max not being here next year lifted her heart. She actually felt it beat a little faster and put her hand over it to slow it.

She danced a couple of steps, sideways skips, and did a quick pirouette after she'd checked no-one was looking.

Hot diggity!

She'd reached the end of the path and from here she could skirt around over the front verandah or duck between the hydrangeas and over the grass. She wasn't supposed to duck between the hydrangeas and in summer needed no reminding. A snake, a long black snake with a ruby-red belly had been discovered there a few years back. Uncle Charlie from the races had got his shotgun and blown its head off. It writhed around though like it was still alive and Missie's blood ran cold at the thought of it.

She turned to hike up over the three steps and across the verandah but somebody else's footsteps sounded on the boards around the corner before she got there.

Missie stopped. So did the footsteps. She stayed poised, one foot on one step, the other on the lower one. The footsteps further up still didn't move.

Missie peeked around the corner.

‘Hello. It's Missie, isn't it?'

Missie nodded.

‘I thought I saw someone. Is your mum in?'

‘She's round the back,' Missie said. ‘I'll go and get her if you like.'

‘It's fine. Do you remember me?'

All too well. ‘You came when Judith Mae fell down the steps.'

Detective Sergeant Barney Spence smiled. ‘That's a good memory you've got.'

Missie didn't want any of the memories that were surfacing. ‘I'll get my mum.' She flew back down the steps the way she'd come.

‘It's that cop,' she said as soon as she burst into the kitchen. ‘The one who came before...'

‘Policeman,' her mother corrected. She untied her apron and tidied her hair again although Missie couldn't imagine why she bothered. The long bit of hair always untangled itself and curled down over her mother's forehead. At the end of the day it was always there. ‘Off you go, madam. You're buying ice-cream, remember?'

The kitchen door swung shut as her mother left and Missie knew she should have turned and gone back out the door and through the yard, up the side, over the verandah and down the street.

But the last cops that had been in the house were the ones to do with Oleksander when they came and took all the things out of this room.

Maybe this one was coming to tell them some news. Maybe this one was going to tell them that there'd been a mistake and poor Deirdre had fallen in the river all by herself. It was silly, really. Why on earth would Oleksander Mykola push Deirdre in the river? It didn't make any sense.

But if Deirdre was fighting with someone? Trying to stop them doing something to her?

Missie longed to know. It was like maggots in a dead cat by the side of the road. You didn't want to look, not one bit, but you had to. Quickly she slipped out the back door and sat down close to the wall where the shadows were deepest.

‘Nice to see the sun again.' Barney Spence was saying as he settled down at the kitchen table.

‘It is.'

Barney Spence cleared his throat. ‘I've something to show you. I'm hoping you might be able to tell me a little bit about it.'

Missie heard the crackle of a bag.

‘It belonged to Judith Mae,' her mother said. ‘Why are you asking?'

Missie longed to peek. Her heart had picked up a beat and she had butterflies hitting under her ribs. Why were they talking about Judith Mae?

‘You're sure?'

Missie could hear the smile in her mother's voice. ‘I'm very sure. I remember it well. She had another one in blue. I remember thinking it was a waste having two cardigans nearly the same.'

Now Missie could hear her heart beating so hard in her throat it was making her feel sick.

‘Children grow so fast, you see,' her mother was saying. ‘You haven't answered me, though. Why are you asking about this now?'

There was a pause and Missie imagined her mother touching the soft, fluffy front of the little cardigan.

‘I've been in Brisbane. Nice place. Too hot though. Have you been there?'

‘No.'

‘No? Well, anyway. This turned up in one of the cases ... being away and all, I didn't get onto it before.'

‘Deirdre.' Her mother's voice, softer now. ‘Poor little girl. And Judith...' Missie heard the bag crackle again. ‘Where did this come from? I mean, why have you got it if you're trying to sort out things about Deirdre?'

‘I don't suppose you'd remember if Shevchenko was in the house the day Judith had her accident?'

Silence.

Missie's throat sucked shut. Like a clam. She could almost see the sides of her neck jammed in. She longed to gasp in great gobfuls of air.

She heard her mother stand and her voice this time was hard. ‘He never had anything to do with Judith's accident if that's what you're thinking.' It was the same tone that she used when she'd been ticking off Dot Evans.

‘I don't think anything,' Barney Spence said. ‘But this jacket was found in his room and I'm wondering how it might have got there?'

Her mother's footsteps crossed the floor. ‘It might have got tangled up in the sheets perhaps. Or the ironing basket...'

‘Do you think it's likely that Judith might have gone down to his room at any time?'

‘I think it's highly unlikely that she would but she was a determined little girl and if she took it into her head to go off and do something she'd certainly do it.'

‘Would she have had time to do that on the day she died, do you think? Go to his room?'

Missie saw Judith all over again, the straight little mouth and the way she'd simply sidle around to the thing that she fancied and then snatch it.

‘The children were upstairs painting. They'd left her in Max's room – do you remember them saying that?'

‘They'd been gone a while.' Her mother was thinking about it. It was easy to imagine the way she looked when she was trying to remember, her head bent forward and her hands lifted to her forehead as if this might make the memory jump right up there. ‘Missie hadn't wanted to go and she'd hung about on the stairs hoping I'd change my mind and let them stay downstairs. I don't know ... perhaps it wasn't all that long. I remember I'd gone back to the kitchen to reline the pantry shelves. I was halfway through when Allan arrived and I'd made a cuppa for him, had a bit of a chat. Lordy, I really don't know ... it could have been an hour, half an hour ... no, more than that I'm sure.'

‘But she would have had time to wander down to his room, especially if she was invited?'

Judith Mae never went into Oleksander's room.

Ever.

And neither did her cardie. Not when she was still alive.

Such a rush of heat and blood filled Missie's face and brain she could see little pinwheels of light in front of her. She had to move, had to get away so she could drag heaps of the clear sunshiney air into her body. She wanted to feel the breeze on her arms and legs and wanted to be bent double, hands on knees, gulping it down.

Her face throbbed. Her cheeks pulsed with so much heat that she rested against the cool bricks. It was like she might just wobble over if she tried to stand by herself.

Then, when she was sure she'd make it without tripping or stumbling, she flew back along the polished planks of the verandah floor. She stopped long enough to check that her mother and Barney Spence were not following and then raced down the stairs and out into the drive. There'd be trouble if she had been seen listening.

Her mother had really ticked her off last time.

She took off, not caring about the rush and crunch of stones and the loud hit of her feet on the concrete path.

She had to get away from the place so she could think about Judith's cardigan. The last time she'd seen it, Max had it...

And she wanted a very quiet place to try to think about that.

38

Max didn't come home until after dinner. Missie was already in her pyjamas in her room when she heard Lawrence's father deliver him to the front door. She waited until he came up the stairs and then, as soon as she heard his door close, flew out of her bed and into the corridor.

She didn't knock and for once Max didn't immediately bellow at her. He simply looked up from the models he had on his desk.

‘What do you want?' he said.

‘Where'd you put Judith's cardigan?' It was out before she'd even had time to catch her breath.

‘None of your business.' He went back to tracing his fingers over his newest model.

‘It is my business and I know where you put it!' Missie declared and moved closer. ‘You put it in the room down by the hall!'

Max didn't look at her. He moved his model a little and went on studying it. ‘If you knew all that why come in here and ask me?'

‘Because you had it!'

Max stood and angled himself between his desk and the door and Missie found her way blocked. ‘No, Missie. You had it. You had it hidden under your desk and you were trying to get rid of it.'

Missie's face flamed. ‘I wasn't.'

‘You were. I came in and took it so you wouldn't be blamed for pushing Judith Mae down the stairs because you were the one who was fighting with her.'

It was like someone was pumping her full of air. She couldn't think straight. It was all crowded together.

‘You're a liar,' she said.

‘No, you're the liar.' Max moved away. He opened his top drawer and took out his pyjamas. ‘And if you're not careful I'll tell them why I had to put the cardigan in that room...'

Missie let his words sink around her.

‘Why?' she finally asked.

‘I put it there so you wouldn't be blamed for something that you reckon you didn't do.'

‘But I didn't do anything...'

‘So you say. And you know what, Missie, even if I believe you there's no way they're going to believe it. It's not the way cops think.'

He went back to his model. It was time for her to leave.

‘Get lost, Missie. I don't know why you're worrying about it now anyway. I bunged it there ages ago.'

‘Why?'

‘I didn't want it, did I? It was nothing to do with me. I was helping you. Remember?'

It wasn't making any sense. But then, why would it? The dots in this puzzle were numbered all wrong and she couldn't get them to show her the next way to go.

‘Why did you put it in Oleks's room?'

‘Why wouldn't I? He doesn't belong here anyway.'

That little cardigan had been in his room all that time. When they were talking. When Judith Mae was rattling at her window. It should have been somewhere else. A place where it'd never be found. Ever. Again.

Like socks. And pencils.

‘How come nobody found it then?' Her own words surprised her. There was no point knowing any of this. The cardigan had been there. It had stayed there and then, now, it had been found.

The piece of model in his hand was put down. ‘It's not my fault your mother doesn't clean the top of wardrobes. If she did she'd have found it up there.' He turned back. ‘Piss off, Missie.'

If she clonked him like she felt like doing there'd be big trouble. He'd said that about her mother to get her going. She knew that. But her blood still boiled. Nobody was allowed to touch the guests' stuff, whatever it was. Boxes. Luggage. None of it. Aunt Belle was going on about it all the time.

And Max knew it as well.

‘But now Oleksander Mykola's in trouble for it.'

He didn't even turn. ‘You're so stupid, Missie. He's in so much trouble this little bit won't make any difference. And you know what else? You're the one that'll really cop it if you go and tell anyone that the cardigan was hidden under your table and you tried to throw it away, so you better watch out.'

Beaten.

If she stayed there was no telling what he might do. Probably decide to dob on her and her mother would get into trouble about Missie being in the wrong place all over again.

‘You shouldn't have done it,' Missie said quietly and then, because there didn't seem to be anything else to say, she left to go back to her own room.

He was right, though. There'd be trouble if she went downstairs and told about the cardigan. They'd ask her all sorts of questions and probably shift onto the times she spent with Oleksander and she didn't want to do that. Already the things she'd told them had sounded wrong.

She might even get put in jail for taking that cardigan. No doubt about it if Max got involved. He had a way of twisting things so nothing that was true stayed true for very long. And it was an actual fact that bad girls got sent to special boarding schools where they had to scrub floors and eat sloppy food all the time. And they weren't allowed out.

Missie closed her bedroom door and sat on the bed.

Oleksander Mykola was in real trouble. Bigger trouble now because of her.

And there was absolutely nothing at all she could do about it without finding herself in a bad, bad place.

A night breeze blew through the window, lifting the curtains and bringing a memory of Judith Mae's ghost. She wasn't howling or seeking this time. Instead she seemed to sigh into the room, her presence puzzled by her cardigan being found in a place it shouldn't have been.

The weight of it sent Missie sinking deeper into her bed. It pressed her down, making her legs, arms, neck and fingers stiff and useless. She longed to shift around and curl up tight so she was a neat ball but it was all too, too heavy. It was like their old crocheted blanket. Her mother reckoned it was so heavy it still had the sheep attached.

She drifted in and out of sleep and woke feeling as if the day had started but she'd been left behind. It didn't matter how much she tried to catch it up, it moved too quickly and took all her energy.

By lunchtime her throat hurt.

By home time her neck that was stiff before was now swollen. Her legs and knees ached and the weight of her arms was more than she could carry so she'd let them rest in the pockets of her cardie. All through school her head had swum and she'd had to right herself quickly to stop from falling off her chair.

She wanted only to go back home, to lie down on her bed and close her eyes. They hurt so much as she walked home in the afternoon sun she had to keep her head down.

When she finally crossed the verandah and started down the three steps towards the back door she could smell her pillow and had already let her satchel drift down her arms. She let it fall to the ground. She'd get it later. Her mother would rouse but she didn't give a damn.

She wasn't looking where she was going, or thinking of anything more than her bed so she was so surprised at her mother's voice that her scalp prickled.

Barney Spence was with her.

Her mother was sitting on the top kitchen step and Barney Spence had lifted one of the kitchen chairs out. He sat with a cup of tea and his legs crossed. His hat was looped on his knee, a trick that Missie admired especially since any time she'd tried it the hat simply dribbled off to one side.

‘Say hello to Mr Spence, Missie.'

Missie said hello and went to sit by her mother. The sun was boring holes into her eyes and her head hurt so badly.

‘Been a rough day at school?' Mr Spence said.

It even hurt to nod and her mother's hand on her forehead was so cooling. She knew it was rude but she closed her eyes and rested onto her mother's shoulder.

‘This isn't looking too good.' Her mother swivelled around. ‘Early to bed for you tonight, little miss. Maybe even Dr Beatty...'

Missie heard Barney Spence stand. She wanted to open her eyes but it was going to take too much effort. And she knew the sun would drill pinpricks into her eyeballs when she did.

‘I'll be off then,' he said. ‘I'm sorry you're sick, Missie.'

She shaded her eyes and tried to look up to say goodbye.

‘I'll see myself out,' he said. ‘I'll be back in a few weeks to wrap up this lot ... perhaps I could call back then.'

Her mother stood up, gently lifting Missie with her.

‘I'll look forward to it,' she said. ‘Hopefully Missie will be her usual old self, too.'

It was so hard to keep walking. Her head kept nodding towards her chest and she knew she should try to keep it upright. She should be wondering why Barney Spence was going to come back. What else was there that they were looking for? She should be worrying about why Barney Spence came here in the first place. Maybe he had some more news about Oleks? Maybe he'd come to say it was all a great big mistake?

Maybe he'd come to say that the yellow jacket in the room upstairs was a mystery and somebody knew a whole lot more about that than they were saying?

That person, he'd probably say, had better watch out because they'd be going to jail for a very, very long time.

That person could even be sitting right here in this kitchen.

Missie groaned under the weight of it and gave up, letting it tug her to the floor.

The last thing she felt was her mother's arms grabbing her and, far away at the end of a darkening tunnel, her mother's voice calling loudly for someone to come and help her.