Crossings Read online

  “Call me if you need,” she called over her shoulder as she strode to her car.

  Lisa made for the office, jamming her keys into the lock. That bastard. He had no right to come back. To her town. Shit. Had Ben left the animal entrails on her front step? Shit. She flung the door open and snatched the sign from the window, tossing it behind the counter.

  “Is something wrong? Who’s Ben?” Robert asked when he caught up.

  “My ex,” she said, following the sign to rummage around in the backroom. “I just need a minute, Robert.” She found her bag and went out back, fumbling with a lighter and a crumpled pack of 25s. She ripped one out.

  “Shit.” She paced beneath ferns, cigarette in hand. A huge terracotta pot sat near the door – empty of plants but instead, in black dirt, pale orange butts sat like dead worms.

  Robert appeared at the screen door, eyebrow raised. “That bad?”

  “Don’t tell me,” she said.

  “Tell you what?”

  “That I shouldn’t smoke.” She put the cigarette back and jammed the pack into her bag. “Because I know that.”

  He raised his hands. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” He frowned as he leaned against the doorframe. “What’s wrong? What’s the go with your ex?”

  She stared at Robert a moment. He was new – relatively – only having volunteered for a few months now. The other guys, Sally and Colin, they remembered Ben. Five years he’d been gone, and now he was back and asking after her. Lisa exhaled. Did Robert really need to hear about more of her problems? Was he at risk of being drawn in to them?

  Lisa took a breath; he’d find out soon enough. “Ben’s a controlling scum-bag that used to hit me.”

  “Seriously? I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, it’s fine. I got out.” She kicked the terracotta. “God knows what he wants now, though.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Ignore him.”

  “What if he drops around?”

  “I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

  Robert’s mouth hung open a moment before a laugh escaped. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that.”

  She had to grin. “I usually keep it to myself.”

  “So what now?”

  “Do you mind covering for me? I want to go and check on Dad.”

  “No probs.”

  “Thanks. And if Ben turns up, tell him I’m done for the day.”

  Chapter 3.

  Lisa crossed the verandah of the old weatherboard house, stepping over the squeaky board and pausing at the door to rub her temples. The chatter of the radio drifted through open curtains. Horse scratchings; he was listening to the races.

  The right key came easily to hand but she didn’t open the door.

  Please be okay, Dad.

  A breeze rustled elm leaves in the driveway and chimes tinkled. The wind picked up, buffeting her back. It brought the smell of charred leaves with it – someone burning-off in preparation for fire-season, no doubt. “All right then,” she told the wind.

  Lisa turned the key and stepped inside.

  Her father sat, perched on the edge of a faded green armchair. Dressed in brown slacks and white shirt, he faced the old radio with its big silver dial. He had a pen and newspaper in hand but didn’t write. Embers glowed in the fireplace despite the summer heat. A row of pictures lined the mantle – she couldn’t stop a smile; they ought to have melted by now.

  “Hush, Annie,” he said, without looking from the radio.

  Damn.

  Lisa closed her eyes as she rested her bag on the table, but soon went for a glass of water from the kitchen. She drank while the scratchings finished. Best to wait – even when he was well; he never heard a thing she said when the scratchings were on.

  She joined him, crouching by the chair. “Dad, it’s me, Lisa.”

  He blinked at her. “Lisa? Oh, when did you get here?”

  “Just now.”

  He turned to the door. “I thought Annie just...”

  “Dad, Mum’s been gone for a long time now.”

  Her father said nothing.

  She took his hand. “Have you eaten?”

  Now he snorted but his smile was warm. “Of course I have, don’t be daft, sweetheart.”

  “What did you have?”

  “What?”

  “To eat.”

  He ran his free hand through white hair as he stood, moving to the table to spread the newspaper. Checking on the next race no doubt. “Ham and cheese sandwiches.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t believe me?” He laughed. “Want me to open my guts?”

  She shook her head – trying to stop another smile. He was so close to being his usual self, but she had to be sure. “I’m going to check, I don’t want you skipping meals.”

  “Go for your life.”

  She opened the fridge and drew out a block of cheese. Sealed. “Dad, didn’t I buy this for you yesterday?”

  “Maybe. Guess I finished the last of the other block.” He frowned, mouth twitching as confusion passed over his face. But he glanced at the radio; a race had just begun. “I better keep an eye on that.”

  “I’ll make you something for later, then.”

  He nodded and Lisa let him go, replacing the cheese before moving to the study. A few bills lay on the heavy desk – unopened and unpaid. She sat down on the hard chair, drew out his chequebook from a drawer and got to work.

  *

  Back home, Lisa flicked on a lamp and moved through the yellow light. It fell across paintings lining the walls, half of them painted by Dad. She paused before one, raising a hand to hover before the ridges in the paint. A brilliant purple butterfly was bursting from a cocoon – the first in his series actually hung in her study, a red caterpillar cloaked in its wrapping. She forced back a lump in her throat, then moved to close the blinds.

  Finally, she slumped into her own armchair – the twin of Dad’s – and sighed.

  Tea with Dad wasn’t too good; mumbled responses as he stared at the television. The clink of cutlery on plates. Trying not to let him see her watching him. At least he stayed in the present for the rest of the evening.

  “Chin up,” she muttered. A bitter laugh followed. What a stupid saying – as if lifting her chin would change anything. He was getting worse and she couldn’t help. Couldn’t stop it, couldn’t do a fucking thing. Maybe it was time for the doctor, to get him checked for dementia. She had to talk to him about it next time, no more putting it off.

  Headlights flashed beyond the curtains.

  Lisa straightened in the chair. Who was visiting so late? Steph with more news? Or was it Ben? Had he found her new place? She stood and rattled the door handle. Locked. Good. And the curtains were drawn – but with the crunch of feet on the stone walkway, it was probably too late to hit the lamp and pretend no-one was home.

  The footsteps stopped at the door.

  Hard raps on wood followed.

  She kept still, holding her breath. If it was him...

  More knocking. “Lisa, it’s Ben.”

  Go away.

  He stopped and his sigh cut through the night. “I know you don’t want to see me, but I’m not leaving until we talk. That’s all I want.”

  She shook her head; he’d tried that one before. The memory of a deep bruise tingled on her upper arm, then her leg and her ribs – there weren’t many places he hadn’t hurt her.

  “Please. We owe each other.”

  Lisa folded her arms, even though he couldn’t see. Her jaw was clenched.

  “Fine, I’ll sleep out here and we can talk in the morning.” His tone straddled anger and coercion.

  “Piss off, Ben.”

  “I knew you were home,” he said, and she could hear the smirk in his
voice. “Come on, can’t we talk?” The handle jiggled and she flinched.

  She stamped a foot – at herself as much as him. It was locked, he wasn’t getting in. “No.”

  “Now you’re being childish.”

  She slipped across the room and grabbed her mobile. “Ben, I don’t want to see you. Get off my front step.”

  “This is bullshit, Lisa. How can I make amends if you won’t let me in?”

  She clenched her teeth. Prick. Who did he think he was fooling? “You can’t. And why do you think I care after five years? After what you did?”

  He raised his voice. “I’m serious. Let me in.”

  That was too much. She strode back to the door, body trembling. Adrenaline or fear? Didn’t matter. “No – and that’s the end of it. Unless you want to kick the door in and hit me again. You still like that, right?”

  He swore and his footsteps crunched away, followed by the slam of a car door.

  Not until his engine faded did she move back to the chair and collapse. Her pulse was racing. She rested her mobile on the soft fabric of the arm, the shaking of her hand almost knocking the phone to the floor.

  Holy shit. Shouldn’t have provoked him. Had she pushed too far?

  He could have broken in and then who knows what would have happened? No. She wasn’t a victim. But she was a realist. She dialled Steph’s number. “Steph, I’m sorry to wake you – but can you come over? I need you.”

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “Ben was here.”

  Steph’s voice hardened. “I’ll be there.”

  Lisa paced the dim lounge until someone knocked on the front door. “Steph?”

  “Let me in, it’s cold out here.”

  Lisa opened the door. “It’s summer – it’s not even...” she trailed off. Steph wore striped pyjamas beneath a fuzzy blue dressing gown but other details were fleeting. Her friend held a splitter. It looked to have been wrenched from the chopping block moments before she arrived – a splinter fell to the lino when she rested it against the wall.

  “What’s that?”

  Steph pointed a finger at her. “For you, for tonight. If he comes back.”

  “I’m not going to murder him.”

  “I just want you to feel safe.”

  She shook her head, but already tension melted from her shoulders. It was good to see Steph, even if she was overreacting. Probably. “I have kitchen knives, you know.”

  “Then go get one and put it near the bed.”

  “Isn’t that a bit much? He won’t be back.”

  Her mouth spread into a thin line. “I know what he’s capable of. Remember the last time?”

  Lisa frowned. Her forefingers strayed back to the surgical scar beneath her forearm. Which ‘last’ time? Time he put her in hospital? Or, when he ‘only’ broke her arm. Or maybe when he accidently killed their cat.

  Or so he claimed at the time. And she’d wondered about that. He could be so, so petty.

  “Well? I took you to the hospital myself, remember? I know what he’s like.”

  “Sorry, yeah. All right.” Lisa looked to the lamp, the front door, anywhere but her friend’s expression. “I’ll make up the spare bed.”

  *

  She woke to a sound outside her window. Moonlight exhaled through a slice in the curtains. She held her breath. From the spare room came the faint grinding of Steph snoring and the subtle hum of the fridge slipped out of the kitchen, but no new noises from outside.

  What had it been? A scrape of something against the wall? A thump? Had something hit the glass?

  She peeled back the sheet. The rustle of cloth against cloth was a storm.

  Her bare feet sunk a fraction into the carpet as she crept to the window. If she opened it, would there be something waiting? What if Ben was back? She made a fist. That piece of shit! Lisa leant to take the kitchen knife from her bedside table. Her hand shook but she ground her teeth.

  None of that.

  With her free hand she reached out to pull the curtain open.

  Nothing.

  Only moonlight spilling across the backyard lawn. The clothesline stood at the end of a concrete path, unmoving. Garden boxes lined the fence. Up the back, the big elm was silent. Nothing amiss.

  Lisa sunk back to the bed and waited.

  She’d imagined it. Dreamt it maybe. Lisa put the knife down and slipped beneath the sheet. Only the passage of her breathing, hum of the fridge and Steph’s snoring, still faint.

  It was nothing.

  Lisa pulled her knees up and stared at the window.

  Chapter 4.

  “Lisa, wake up.”

  Lisa blinked as Steph’s curls and wide eyes resolved from the shadows. Golden sunlight singed the edges of her hair.

  “What’s wrong?” She frowned, casting a quick glance at the open curtains – nothing but green leaves and blue sky.

  “You’re out of bin liners and I’m making us eggs for breakfast and so I went to take some rubbish out to the recycle bin and there’s something there.” Her words ran together. “You have to see it.”

  Lisa threw back warm sheets. “Is it Ben?”

  “No, just come on.” Steph pulled her out of bed. Lisa stumbled after, nearly smacking into the dresser on the way out and then dodging a hall table, bare feet slapping on the floorboards.

  “Wait, let me put some shoes on,” she said. “And a top or something.” All she wore was shorts and a thin singlet, not really an outdoors outfit. She found an old t-shirt and dragged it over her head while Steph waited by the front door, tapping a foot.

  “All right.” Lisa stepped into a pair of thongs.

  “I think it’s dead,” Steph said as she opened the door and pointed.

  Lisa paused on the doorstep. “Is that...” A kangaroo lay across her front path, a tuft of fur stirring in a soft breeze. She dashed over, kneeling on the grass. Its fur was grey and white, mottled. Not like a regular wallaby – this was a big eastern grey. Only it was pale, even its cracked claws were without colour. The empty eyes were clouded with cataracts and its whiskers were long and white too, she’d never seen a roo so old.

  Was this the kangaroo Pumps Johnson had seen?

  It was hardly a giant. And not albino either – just... ancient.

  Why had it chosen her front yard as a final resting place, rather than stay in the wild? Or, had someone dumped it here?

  “It’s dead, isn’t it?” Steph called from the door.

  “Yeah.” She stood with a sigh. “Can you bring me some salt?”

  “Your thing?” There was no judgement in her voice – Steph had seen the ritual often enough, the first time was probably the family dog, Patch. The old blue heeler had died in his sleep back when they were still girls, after a sleepover.

  Dad had taken them to the backyard to explain what happened and then produced some salt, letting it trickle from a big, calloused hand. It fell into Patch’s fur. When she’d asked why, he put the other hand on her shoulder. “Tradition. My father taught me, and his father taught him and now you can do as we have. Make sure you ask that someone looks after him too,” he’d said.

  Lisa gave Steph a nod. “Yeah, my thing.”

  When Steph returned with salt she tiptoed over, stretching her arm across the path. Lisa took the shaker. “You the same girl who brought an axe over for me to use on my ex?”

  “It’s not funny. I don’t like dead animals, you know that.”

  “It’s okay.” Lisa bent down, twisted the shaker into her palm then sprinkled some salt into the fur. “Watch over him.” She removed her phone and took a photo to show Pumps – keeping the roo’s eyes out of shot. It didn’t seem right to photograph him, like he was a trophy, or a ‘kill’.

  “I better call the centre then.”

  “Great idea.” St
eph led the way back inside.

  Once dressed properly, Lisa called the office and got a hold of Robert, explaining what had happened. “Be there soon,” he said.

  Lisa ate her eggs with Steph while she waited. “Thanks for coming over last night.” She took another mouthful – good stuff; Steph had mixed cheese and pepper into the scramble. “Something else happened, but I didn’t mention it and I feel silly now though. Light of day and all that.”

  “Don’t. I’m happy to help.” She set a coffee mug down. “Tell me.”

  “I found a heap of entrails on my front step the other day.”

  Steph’s eyes grew wide. “What? I didn’t see anything in the dark – that’s sick.”

  “Yeah. So what do you think?”

  “You mean Ben?” She frowned. “Doesn’t make sense. The timing might be right, but it’s hardly the way to win you back.”

  “I know. But maybe he’s trying to get me off-balance. Make me feel vulnerable. Swoop in as the hero.”

  “Didn’t think he was that smart,” Steph said.

  “Me either.”

  “And the kangaroo? Do you think that was him too?”

  “Maybe.” She wasn’t going to ask him.

  “So what’s next?”

  “I’m going to the station.”

  Steph took her plate to the sink. “You hoping your boyfriend Gerry will be there?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Come on, I reckon he likes you,” Steph said with a grin.

  “Do you just?”

  “Yes. Since school.”

  “What?”

  Steph chuckled as she rinsed her plate. “He couldn’t do anything because of Ben. And we’d have freaked out; called him a cradle-snatcher or something.”

  “He was only two years ahead of us.”

  “Making excuses for him now, huh?”

  Lisa put her fork down. “Want me to go get the kangaroo? Bring it in and put it up here with us so it can share my eggs?”

  Steph laughed. “All right, I’ll shut up. But I don’t know why you don’t go for him.”

  “Look, I’m just going to report the entrails and maybe Gerry will go and speak to Ben, okay? Is he staying with his parents?”