The call, p.11
The Call, page 11
‘Graeme, get out of my way or I will hurt you. You know I will.’ She pushed past him and didn’t look back. By the time she returned to the bar area, he and his mates had gone.
And now it was closing time, and Honey had only the black to sink. She was surprised at how sanguine Marshall was about losing; his younger version had been way more competitive. The older Marshall nodded approvingly as she doubled off the cushion to get around his snooker and clipped the eight ball neatly in, making it six games to four.
‘Excellent shot.’
‘Well.’ She looked at him. ‘I guess that’s us.’
‘I guess it is.’ He drained the melted ice in the bottom of his glass. The question of what next waited patiently to be answered.
It had been threatening rain, so they’d driven to the pub in Marshall’s Land Cruiser. Home was only a fifteen-minute, well-lit walk for Honey, so there was no real reason she couldn’t say goodnight to him now. Marshall was definitely over the limit, but he held it well and was unlikely to encounter another vehicle along the 20 k of gravel road to his place — the two cops posted in Waitutū were strictly nine-to-five, barring emergencies. But as a friend and a police officer it was her duty to offer him a safer alternative. He could always say no and that was fine too, she told herself.
The Land Cruiser was the only vehicle left in the car park. Honey was about to suggest they leave it and stroll back to hers when Marshall swore softly: ‘What the fuck?’
The near-side tyres were completely flat. So were the tyres on the other side, like big rubber clown shoes that had been strapped to the wheel rims.
Honey shook her head. ‘Those arseholes!’
But then, to her surprise, Marshall started to laugh. It was a real laugh that came from deep inside.
‘Sorry, I just—’ But he couldn’t speak. Between spasms of laughter, he tried to explain: ‘The thought — of those — some — poor — sad bastard — going to all the trouble — oh, god — sorry — it’s just too — funny—’
Honey opened her mouth to protest, but Marshall’s laughter was infectious. ‘You don’t think whoever — did this,’ she gasped, ‘is still — still out there somewhere, watching?’ She motioned helplessly into the darkness.
‘I hope so! I really hope so,’ he managed, before collapsing against the bonnet. ‘They’d be wishing so bad that I’d lose my rag, instead … instead—’
‘They’d be going what the fuck? Why are they laughing?’
‘What’s so funny!’
It took them a full five minutes to recover. Every time one regained composure, the other would set them off again. And as far as they could tell, there was minimal damage to the tyres; whoever had done it had just removed the valves. Marshall decided he’d worry about it in the morning. He could sleep in the truck, he said; he had a blanket and he had some business to take care of in town in the morning anyway. But Honey told him not to be stupid, and that settled it.
By the time they arrived at the house, they’d almost got the laughing under control, but were divided on the likely culprit. Marshall’s money was on Barry; he’d been openly aggro, and it was well known he still took flowers to Scarlett’s grave. Marshall could see him sitting in the car park, toking away at Ariki’s finest and deciding to make a statement. The thought set Marshall off again, which set Honey off again, although both acknowledged it was in bad taste due to the mention of Scarlett’s grave. In Honey’s considered and trained opinion, it was more likely to be Graeme and his dickhead mates egging each other on. She recounted how she had threatened him during their hallway encounter: cue more laughter. It hurt. Honey actually had a stitch as she pointed out it was kind of a dumb redneck kind of thing to do that was right up Graeme’s alley. On balance, she thought Barry had more dignity than that. Marshall nodded gravely then said, po-faced, ‘He bumped my pool cue.’ For some reason this was the funniest thing either of them had ever heard.
At last she regained adequate motor control to produce her extreme-occasions bottle of Polish buffalo grass vodka from the freezer, and they did shots. The conversation turned to everyday matters — what Marshall had been doing around the farm, his latest experiments in fermentation, how Honey had realised the flu had gone to Rachel’s chest although she was pretending otherwise, how Rachel had insisted Honey didn’t know what she was talking about but Honey had taken her to hospital anyway. Honey confessed that not having her mother around for a few days was bliss. Marshall admitted that he got lonely out at the farm sometimes.
Honey had sensed that there was something else lurking beneath the conversation, something that Marshall was waiting for the right moment to say, but maybe she was imagining it. Eventually, weary from the alcohol and laughter, they lapsed into a companionable silence, letting the Spotify algorithms decide their listening pleasure.
Honey thought how easy it would be to invite Marshall to her bed. But then what? Maybe it would be simple; they would undress each other, and she would probably keep the light off because she was self-conscious about her scars, and they would kiss and get down to it and she would lose herself for a time. They would lie in each other’s arms, exhausted, find their second wind and go longer and harder. She could feel herself blushing at this extended fantasy, and a warm feeling spread from her belly to her crotch.
But immediately another scenario intruded. It would be awkward and clumsy and embarrassing, and there was too much history, and both of them would be having doubts and regrets that they were ruining their friendship and would worry it was too late to call a halt for fear of hurting the other’s feelings. And all the while the ghost of Scarlett would hover over proceedings. Honey saw it all in a flash and cursed her imagination.
‘What was that?’ Marshall was looking at her strangely.
Honey realised she must have made a sound. ‘Nothing, I was just … thinking.’ She felt her face, chest and throat glowing like a baboon’s arse. Either scenario would lead to the morning after, and that would be a whole other thing.
‘About what?’
‘Nothing, lots of things, I don’t know.’ Now she just felt too warm all over. ‘Actually, I could be coming down with this flu too.’ Once the words were out of her mouth, she wondered if it could be true.
Marshall leaned towards her, a serious look on his face, and felt her forehead. ‘You are a bit hot.’
She wanted to say, ‘So are you’, but stopped herself.
His face was so close, he looked so concerned and she wanted badly to kiss him.
‘You need to keep your fluids up. Vodka is probably not the best idea. Have you got any herbal tea?’ he asked.
Honey nodded. ‘My mother has a cornucopia of magic teas.’
While Marshall made her a ginger and honey brew, Honey decided almost definitely that she was in all likelihood probably not going to jump his bones, not tonight at any rate. Lucky escape, buster, she thought. But maybe she meant that for herself. It was all very confusing.
Then Marshall served her tea and said, sheepishly, ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you. The other day, when you asked me about Scarlett and I said we hadn’t slept together, I was kind of fudging the truth a bit. I mean, what I said about us not having had sex that time was true, but I … shit … It probably doesn’t matter, and you probably don’t want to know.’
‘You might as well finish now you’ve started,’ Honey said.
‘Okay.’ He paused for a moment, hunting down words. ‘Everything I said about coming home drunk and finding Scarlett in my bed was true. But then we did try to, you know …’
‘You had sex, yes, I did manage to work that out.’
‘No, that’s not what I mean. I was so trashed and … We were getting there but then she told me she was a virgin and how much she wanted her first time to be with me, and that kind of brought it home — how young she was, and vulnerable, and with all the booze in me, after that I just couldn’t … you know … so finally I said, let’s just cuddle instead.’ He trailed off, embarrassed.
Honey let the silence thicken and set.
‘The thing is, I think it actually made her like me more for not taking advantage of her, when in actual fact, I just physically couldn’t …’
‘You’re a hell of a guy, all right,’ she said, unnecessarily. Feeling angry, knowing that she had no right to be angry. ‘And then, later on, you had sex with her anyway.’
‘No, I told you, we didn’t have sex. Not then, not ever.’
‘Then how did she get pregnant? Immaculate conception?’ Honey snapped out the words like staples.
Marshall stared at her. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I have it on reasonably reliable authority that Scarlett was pregnant, or thought she was pregnant, around the time she killed herself.’
‘Christ.’ He slumped, his face in his hands, then looked up at her. His eyes were burning, his cheeks wet. Honey knew she’d gone too far but it was too late to shut the doors now. Part of her hated herself. Part of her felt an ugly satisfaction.
‘And you thought it was me?’
‘I thought it was possible,’ she said, trying to soften the blow. ‘I mean nobody’s ever mentioned anyone else.’
‘There must have been, or your information’s wrong,’ he said flatly. ‘Like I said, I didn’t — apart from that one time when we didn’t — I didn’t sleep with Scarlett.’
‘Okay, I believe you. Not that it matters.’
She felt unaccountably irritated with him for sharing details that were now evil worms burrowing in her brain, but more so with her own unkindness.
They sat in silence while she toyed with her cup.
‘Actually I might go to bed now,’ Honey said eventually. ‘Are you all right on the couch? There’s Scarlett’s room, but Mum’s kind of funny about it and I thought probably …’
He gave an involuntary shudder and said quickly, ‘The couch is fine, it’s great. Thanks.’
Honey found sheets and a duvet and pillow, and insisted on making up the couch. Marshall hovered. ‘Honey, I’m sorry if what I said about Scarlett … if it upset you. I felt it was this thing kind of getting in the way and I just wanted to be honest with you.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ She straightened and they looked at each other for a moment, and it was so grave and serious Honey had to add, ‘I’m sorry too, for being a bitch. The fact you suffer from embarrassing brewer’s droop is none of my business.’
‘That’s kind of you to say.’
‘That’s me.’
‘Friends?’
‘Don’t be a fuckwit.’
‘I’ll try not to be but, you know, it’s hard.’
‘That’s not what I heard.’
They hugged it out and Honey was the first to break, aware they were in the danger zone again.
‘Good night, Marshall,’ she said at the door, turning off the light. ‘You should know I haven’t laughed that much in a long, long time. I really needed it. Thank you.’
‘Any time, Honey. You know I love you, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, I know. I love you, too.’
And as she slid the door closed, she knew with absolute certainty that it was true.
15
KLOE HEARD THE MUSTANG RUMBLING up beside the house, heard it stop, heard the creak of the screen door, followed by it banging shut, the step of heavy boots. Through the living-room window she could see the front lawn needed a mow, but the jacaranda was in bloom, shedding a pretty carpet of lilac. She concentrated on folding the washing.
‘Klo?’ It was Marty. She felt a flicker of hope. Of all the boys, he was the most considerate — polite towards her, a family friend. He had played with her kids, for fuck’s sake, helped them make a fort down the back last summer, let Nico ride him like a horse. But behind him, filling the doorway, was Keg, all dirty denim and leather and Ray-Ban wrap-around knock-offs.
She smiled and ducked her head, as if focused on what she was doing, as if it was just another day. The grey Snoop Dogg tee was threadbare, but she’d never even think about throwing it out.
‘What’s going on, Marty?’ She was surprised how calm she sounded.
‘You need to come with us, eh?’ he said softly.
Kloe let that hang like smoke. That’s what she could do with right now, a fucking smoke. And a gun. Maybe if they let her get changed she could grab it from the Nike box over the wardrobe. But then the bullets — where the fuck did Jase put the bullets? She’d nagged him not to leave them anywhere near in case the kids found them. But, who was she kidding? She wouldn’t have a clue, didn’t have the guts.
‘Can I talk to Renata? Let me at least call her, please?’
She reached out her hand for her phone, but he shook his head and pocketed it.
‘Let’s go.’ Marty cocked his head to indicate he wanted her to go out the back way. Made sense. Not that the neighbours would see anything, no matter what they saw. Kloe thought about offering up what she’d found, the thing she might be able to use to bargain for her life. But if she did that, there’d be no reason for them to let her live anyway. On TV they said shit like, ‘I’ve left it with my lawyer with instructions to go to the police if anything happens to me.’ Who the fuck had a lawyer on tap?
‘I want to talk to Hammer,’ she said. ‘I need to tell him, whatever he thinks I did, I fucking didn’t.’
‘We’ll see what happens, Klo,’ said Marty. At least he sounded sad.
‘The kids will be home from school soon. They’ll be here any minute—’
She was playing for time, but Marty just shook his head: school wasn’t out for another hour at least. It crunched her insides to think of them arriving home and her not being here, though Nico would get him and his sister a peanut butter sandwich while they waited. That made her want to cry.
Keg was losing patience. ‘You gonna shift your arse or we gonna have to drag you out?’
She glanced around. It was pretty tidy, all things considered. On the table there was even a glass jar of flowers that Shyla had picked that morning. Shyla was a good girl. Smart. Kloe thought she’d done all right there.
She stood a little straighter, nodded to Marty.
‘What the fuck we waiting for?’
SHYLA HAD BEEN PUTTING TAMA down for his nap in his cot next to Renata’s youngest when she heard them arguing. Both kids were nearly asleep, and she had been singing a waiata — ‘Tohora nui’, about a big fat whale — that was one of Tama’s favourites.
Renata had poked her head in and smiled, but when she heard the roar of Hammer’s Harley out front she’d tsk tsk’d and closed the door.
Renata had told Shyla more than once how proud she was of the way she was raising Tama, how she’d started looking into her own family history — something about a great-great-grandfather who’d come out from somewhere in Croatia, though it wasn’t called that then, and run off with the daughter of some rich Dutchman. How she thought that was maybe where families went wrong, not having any connection with their history. Shyla had grinned and said, ‘You sure you want to go there, white trash?’
It sounded like Renata had gone straight outside, because she and Hammer were talking down the side of the house — Shyla could hear low, serious voices through the open window. At first she thought Renata was telling him off for making all that racket, but then she heard her mum’s name mentioned a few times. She checked that the kids were asleep and went into the kitchen to stand by the louvered window nearest to where Hammer and Renata were talking.
It took her a moment to tune in. Something about a lady cop not being dead but Hammer thought Kloe was in the clear, but then somehow the Knights had found out that someone had been talking to the pigs and they wanted proof that the Reapers could clean their own house. Renata was pleading with Hammer, which was unusual, and Shyla thought for a moment it was someone else’s voice, but Hammer was saying it was out of his hands and Renata told him she thought he was in charge, and he said it wasn’t that simple.
‘Maybe if the cop had karked it, it would’ve been okay, we could’ve said we’d dealt to it, but she’s alive, and fuck knows what Kloe’s told her and what might come back on us. The Knights have a point is what I’m saying.’
Renata said something Shyla couldn’t catch. She leaned in close enough to see the back of Hammer’s head, but at that same moment Renata stepped away from the house, so that if she looked slightly up and to the side she would see her.
‘She knows what we do to rats. She fucking well knew it but she went there anyway.’
‘She’s an idiot, we both know that, but she’s my sister, I’m s’posed to look out for her.’
‘Knights don’t give a shit about that. We’re proving we can do what needs to be done.’ Shyla saw Hammer turn his head away so he wasn’t looking straight at Renata when he added, ‘Can’t stop it now.’
‘What do you mean? When’s this all meant to be happening?’
Hammer was still looking off to one side. ‘When it happens,’ he said.
‘The fuck, you already set it up?’
Shyla tried not to breathe as Renata glanced up but gave no indication that she could see her at the window. Maybe she’d known she was there all along.
‘When?’
‘Marty and Keg are gonna do it. Dunno when exactly — soon. Today, at any rate.’
‘Please don’t do this. Call them. Tell ’em we’ll find another way.’
‘You know I can’t do that, Ren.’
‘Please, I’ll get rid of her, send her away, you’ll never hear from her again.’
‘We both know that’s bullshit. Your sister couldn’t keep away.’
‘What about the kids? Say what you like, she’s a good mum to those kids.’
‘We’ll take care of them.’
‘Jesus, Hammer. Please, don’t do this!’
‘Okay, no more fucking talking. I let you know ’cos it’s your right, but you fucking pick up that phone and call your sister and you’ll be the next one and I won’t be able to stop that either.’
