Promise (5 page)

‘Okay.’ He carried his phone and wine into the living room.

Anna put the bread under the griller. Was it so strange to be afraid of being sucked into the scary shit next door? She closed her eyes. Her simple, quiet life had turned into a bad dream.

After a few minutes, Dave appeared and set his phone on the table. ‘They’ll send someone around.’

‘This evening?’

‘Yep.’

Anna gave a long exhale. She should focus on getting food made. She’d had an big glass of wine on an empty stomach. ‘Do you want some lettuce? Olives?’

‘No. Just lots of bread and lots of cheese.’ Dave topped up his wine. ‘Did you take a photo of the bite mark?’

‘Let’s go into the living room.’ She pulled the pieces of toast from the griller and slid them onto two plates. The cheese wasn’t completely melted, but it would do. ‘Can you carry this?’ She passed him a jar of olives.

He sat beside her on the couch.

‘I didn’t think of taking a photo. I mean, I don’t know the child. It would have felt a bit weird . . . I should have though, shouldn’t I?’

‘Well, it would have been a good idea. You didn’t think of calling FACS?’

‘I . . . didn’t even know – still don’t know – that it was a person that bit her. An adult. It’s a big thing to call social services onto a family.’ She took a bite of toast.

‘Uh huh.’ He reached for the olive jar and fished one out.

She couldn’t read his tone.

They ate in silence. Anna thought how this little dose of reality had stripped their relationship back to bedrock. Without the gloss of sex and repartee, this was the real them. He seemed responsible and serious – which was undoubtedly how he was in court – and Anna’s failures and vacillations were shamefully on show.

‘What do cops do when they come to something like this?’ she asked.

Dave licked his fingers. ‘Probably nothing. You know, assuming there’s no evidence of assault. But he’ll know that they know. He’ll know that people are listening.’

‘He’ll know
I’m
listening. He could come around
here
.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Yeah. You should come and stay at my place for a while.’

‘Maybe.’

She couldn’t imagine feeling comfortable at his place for more than one night. It was an old flat close to the beach, perfectly pleasant, but stacked with surfboards and books and odd bits of furniture he’d bought at garage sales, all of it lorded over by a big old ginger cat who left hair everywhere. And who would water her pot plants? Fuck that guy next door. She put down her toast; she wasn’t hungry.

‘The thing to do is keep calling FACS and the police
every time
you suspect the child is coming to any kind of harm.’ He waved a hand through the air. ‘Reports have probably already been made for this kid. I know of a case where seventeen reports were made before FACS even visited the family. So if you make some calls, it might tip the balance and get the girl the help she needs.’

‘Seventeen reports? They have
seventeen
calls to say a child’s in trouble and they do nothing?’

‘Nothing meaningful.’ He drained his wine glass. ‘It’s a question of resources. The kids most at risk are attended to first.’

‘Did the police say how long they’d be?’

‘No. They could be a while, depending on what else is happening.’ He put the lid back on the olive jar. ‘Have you got anything sweet?’

‘Dried fruit. Or there’s some Iced VoVos.’

He gave a half grin and levered himself up. ‘Now you’re talking.’

‘In the pantry.’

She pulled up her knees to quieten the churning in her gut. What would the guy next door do when the police turned up?

Dave appeared with the packet of biscuits. ‘Do you know the kid’s surname? For when you call FACS.’

‘No.’

He dropped onto the couch and examined a biscuit. ‘They look thinner than I remember. Not as much marshmallow.’

‘I can’t imagine waltzing over and asking what their surname is.’

‘No.’ He took a bite of the biscuit.

‘So her address is not enough? Won’t the police find out her name?’

‘It’d be better if you know her full name when you call FACS.’

She stood up. ‘I’ll call someone who’ll know.’ She had to do something, to show him she was capable of acting.

•

He answered his phone straightaway. ‘Yep. Oliver Marshall.’ There was kitchen noise behind him, someone clattering cutlery or something.

‘Oh, hi. I’m Anna. I live next door . . . to your mum’s house.’ She walked to the bedroom, so Dave wouldn’t have to listen to the call.

‘Right. Anna. Hi. What can I do for you?’

‘Sorry to call so late.’ Her mouth was dry. ‘Um . . . I’m . . . a bit concerned about how the people you rented the house to . . . concerned about how they treat their daughter, and in case I need to call anyone about it, I’d like to know their surname.’

‘How do they treat their daughter?’

‘Just . . . you know. My alarm bells have rung and I’d like to be prepared.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Well . . .’

She tried to imagine how Dave would handle it.

‘What do you know about them?’ she asked. ‘Where have they come from?’

He blew out a long breath. ‘Well, the guy is the cousin or something of a plumber who works for me sometimes. I don’t know anything about them but they were happy to take the place without a lease, and happy to pay cash, which was good enough for me. You know I’m going to start work on the property in a few months?’

‘Yeah. You’ve mentioned that.’

Soon Anna would have a building site next door and then a couple of two-storey brick townhouses. One day her house would go too, and she’d end up in an apartment with a small balcony.

‘Listen, Anna, I have no idea what’s going on with their kid, but I’ll get you their name. And, needless to say, don’t tell them you got it from me.’ Oliver managed to make every interaction patronising. She’d noticed it the first time she met him at Helen’s when he came over to fix a leaking tap.

She heard a filing cabinet drawer sliding open.

‘Oh, that’s right,’ he said. ‘I’ve only got the woman’s details. The guy . . . whatever his name is . . . Harlan . . . wanted her to be the contact. Gabrielle Seybold. Spelt S–E–Y–B–O–L–D.’

‘Got it. Seybold. I wonder if that’s the girl’s name too?’

‘I wouldn’t know, Anna.’ He shut the filing cabinet. ‘Is that all you wanted, then?’

He was dismissing her.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

•

Anna sat on the edge of the bath and took a couple of deep, shaky breaths. She dialled the FACS number and planted her feet firmly on the cool tiles.

The woman who answered was reassuringly businesslike. ‘How can I help you?’

Anna described Charlie turning up at her place the night before and the bite on her leg.

‘How big was the bite?’ asked the woman.

‘Well, I think it was the size of an adult bite. I bit myself . . .’ She paused. Did this make her sound a bit nutty? ‘. . . just to compare and it looked like an adult one.’

‘And what was the colour of the bruising on the bite?’ The woman was typing.

‘Oh. Quite dark. Purply-black. And there was a little bit of broken skin and old blood . . .’

‘Did the child say anything to you about the bite?’

‘No. She was asleep.’

‘Alright.’

The woman’s voice was neutral but Anna couldn’t help feeling that she should have woken Charlie and asked her. And she should have taken a photo.

‘And how did she come to be at your house?’

‘She just turned up on my back doorstep. There was no one at home with her. I took her over to her place and went inside but there was no one there. They only moved in a day ago.’

‘What day was this that she turned up at your house?’

Anna felt less shaky as the phone call went on. The woman had an air of efficiency and competence.

‘Did the mother seem drug-affected when she arrived home?’ she asked.

‘Well . . . maybe. She seemed a bit . . . out of it.’

The woman asked detailed questions about what the man next door said when Dave and Anna knocked on his door.

‘And do you know if the girl goes to school or preschool?’

‘I don’t know,’ Anna said. ‘I was at work yesterday. But it didn’t look like she was getting ready to go to school.’

‘Okay.’ The woman typed some more.

‘We’ve also called the police.’ Shit. The police would be there soon.

‘Alright. That’s good.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘Your report will be forwarded to the local office for further assessment. And please, do call back if you have any reason to suspect that the child’s at risk.’

Anna hung up and sat there for a while, listening to the sounds of Dave washing up. How many reports would it take before they helped that little girl next door?

She was making a cup of chamomile tea when she heard a car pull up outside. From the front window she saw a cop car, double parked. Somehow, the fluorescent markings and shape of its rooftop lights were the opposite of reassuring. Dave stood barefoot on the footpath and spoke briefly to the male and female cop. Anna watched from the window, hoping the guy next door wasn’t also looking out. Dave seemed satisfied when he came back inside.

‘They’ll notify FACS too,’ he said and poured himself a glass of water.

‘Good.’

She dropped her teabag into the compost bin. ‘What if he does something crazy after the cops go?’

‘I’ll be here. And if he does, then he’s even more of a moron than he seems.’ He rinsed out his glass. ‘Your house is secure. We can call the cops again if need be. We’ll be right. And I think you should stay at my house tomorrow.’

He smiled and pulled her into a warm hug. He’d once said that he loved that she was so self-sufficient. She felt far from self-sufficient tonight. She really needed him there.

•

She lay beside Dave in bed, her veins still zinging, listening for anything from next door that might indicate what the police were doing. All she heard was someone walking up the hall and the occasional rumble of a man’s voice. The cops must have laid eyes on Charlie already. She must be okay.

Dave lay with his back to her, his breath already steady and slow. She spooned behind him and pressed her nose against his back.

Anna’s mum and dad would step in whenever they saw kids in trouble. Even the day after her mother’s death, Anna’s dad pulled the car over for a lost-looking kid on Byng Street. Anna was in the back – there was no way she would sit in her mum’s seat – and her dad did a U-turn and went back to where the kid, just a toddler, stood on the footpath. Anna waited in the car while her dad spoke to the boy, then he took the boy’s hand and knocked on door after door of nearby houses, then disappeared around the corner. It was hot in the car, so Anna got out and stood on the footpath. They’d be late picking up Luke from school; for some stupid reason he’d insisted on going. Her dad came back ten minutes later to say that the boy’s family were visiting his aunty and he’d wandered out the back gate.

Anna never confessed to her father how much she hated it when he stepped in like that. She knew he disapproved of her shyness, her desire to reduce interactions with strangers. He once said that if he got on a bus or train and there was a choice between an empty seat or a seat next to, say, an old man, that he’d always choose the seat beside the old guy because they might have an interesting chat. Anna had been mystified and slightly ashamed because the idea of sitting next to a stranger and making conversation was appalling to her.

Anna heard the police leave after twenty minutes. Dave was fast asleep, and breathing loudly. Being awake while someone was asleep beside you was more lonely than being by yourself in bed. She closed her eyes and smelt a whiff of dope smoke. The guy next door or Gabby must be awake, their smoke drifting in through the cracks around Anna’s bedroom window.

She thought of that little wave that Charlie had given her. What did it mean?
I’m okay, don’t worry
or
Please help me, I’m scared he’s going to kill me
?

A
nna leant her weight onto the spade and it sank into the soil. Her dad had taught her to dig holes, and he’d be horrified she was working in thongs, but she only needed a hole deep enough for the star jasmine that had been sitting in a plastic pot for a week. It would take her just a few minutes to get it in before she left for work.

She knelt and used her hands to scoop out the last of the loose soil. She’d train the vine up over the bath to give the frog some shade. She should really plant it in a big terracotta pot, in case she had to move, in case her landlord decided to sell to Oliver, who’d already made at least one offer, but the pots dried out so quickly. She’d dig up the bloody jasmine if she had to move.

If she had her own place, she could create a real garden. But she didn’t earn enough to repay a loan on a house with a garden. Not even a falling-down, tiny cottage like this, on the narrowest block in the street, where the floor was on such a tilt that a ball dropped in the kitchen rolled all the way to the front door. Not even something way out in western Sydney, not even a garden apartment.

She tipped the pot up and the plant dropped into her hand, the weight of it so satisfying. Her fingers fitted neatly each side of the stem and kept the soil from dropping away. She understood why people gardened, the desire to be engaged in some way with nature’s relentless unfolding. She felt defiant victory whenever she spotted a plant sprouting from a crack in a path, or from one of the brick walls in the lane outside her workplace.

Squatting there at the end of the bath, pressing soil around the newly planted jasmine, she was hidden from the house next door. When Dave left at 6.30 am, the man’s black ute was gone from out the front. She hated that someone who’d been living next door not even a week had her thinking about staying somewhere else or moving away. Even now – dribbling water onto the jasmine – she was listening out for him. Those people in the house next door were sucking her attention away from her own life, and it dismayed her how easily her life had been destabilised.