Forest Spirit (6 page)

‘How long before you kick me out of my home?'

‘Oh, come now. We are not that cold-hearted. Your er, eviction, would not be undertaken for at least six months. Perhaps you can get back on your feet again in that time, get your affairs in order.'

Without a word, Evelyn pushed back the chair and rose to her feet. She tossed her head in the air, turned and walked from the office, leaving an open-mouthed Michael staring after her.

That very same day, during the long drive home, she had devised a plan. A way to clear her debts and move out of the town that she had grown to hate. She would leave Timber Creek for good. She had to. She would find a place where the people did not prattle on about the football results, the timber prices, their crops or cattle. No, she would find a town where she could enjoy her life. It would be a place where she did not feel hemmed in and isolated from the good things in life, like restaurants and theatres.

Now, three months later, sitting in one of her old lounge chairs, hating its drabness and its dirty brown colouring, she continued to stare, dreamlike, out of the window. Sighing, she tore her eyes away from the lifeless street and the blunted, tree-covered mountains that surrounded her. She hated the mountains. Their dull green-ness loomed in every direction. They're suffocating me, she said to herself. Just like the rest of this town. Suffocating and staring, always staring. She drank the last of her coffee, then, rising to her feet, strode through to the kitchen where she placed her coffee mug in the sink. She walked over to the back door and opened it. Then, standing on the sloping ramp that led to the backyard, she yelled out to her two brothers.

‘Arnie! Hector! Have you finished loading yet?'

Hector, she saw, was slouched against the side of the storage shed smoking a cigarette. Arnie was loading the boat.

At the sound of her voice, Hector looked up, and even from where she stood, she could see the defiance in his eyes, the thin, dark eyes of a rodent.

She marched across the yard towards her brothers.

‘Finished, Arnie?'

Arnie hoisted a large box over the side of the boat then turned to face his sister. ‘Ah, yeah. Finished. I, ah, loaded all the boxes and things like Hector told me.'

Evelyn eyed her two brothers.

They were as different as chalk and cheese. Big and ox-like, Arnie was the youngest. He was also the largest. Standing well over six feet, he towered over both Evelyn and Hector. He was hairless, except for thin eyebrows set above pale eyes. His skin the colour of chalk. Most people who met him immediately thought he was an albino. Which, in the true sense of the word, he was not. As always, he was in shorts, blue singlet and work boots. He stood patiently, waiting for his sister's directions, his mouth slightly open, his lips parted in a half smile.

Hector, on the other hand, was dark-skinned and greyhound thin. His lips wore an almost permanent twisted snarl.

Evelyn's eyes turned towards Hector. ‘Don't just stand there lounging, help your brother. Get the boat hitched up.' Her words were sharp, demanding. ‘We have to leave in a few minutes.'

Hector flicked his cigarette onto the ground, pushed himself off the shed wall and sauntered over. ‘Yeah, yeah. All right. You don't have to nag.' He thumped Arnie on the arm. ‘C'mon,' he said, pointing towards the boat. ‘You heard the lady. You lift the boat, I'll back the car.'

Sighing, Evelyn turned on her heel and hurried back into the house. She had some last minute things to do.

Up until now, her plan and preparations had gone without a hitch, although the final stage would be dangerous – she knew that. But it would be worth it. Then she'd show that pompous bank manager a thing or two. She would tell him what he could do with his bank. Then she would sell up and leave Timber Creek forever.

She'd be free. Free from the nosy, gossipy people in the town, and free from the memories of her father, which, like gathering waves, flooded back to her from time to time. She walked into the lounge room and sat on the drab lounge chair once again. Closing her eyes, she remembered the days and nights of her childhood – especially the nights.

Her father had been the cause of their troubles. At first, when their mother had been alive, he had been as a father should be – hard-working, caring, fun to be with.

That changed.

Their mother had died giving birth to Arnie, and from that day on, their father had begun to die too. Except his had been a slow process.

Towards the end was the worst. It was a time that left scars; scars in her mind that refused to heal. Every night without fail, he would come home in the darkness … drunk.

First, there would be the rattle of keys, mingled with his curses as he tried to open the front door. That was the signal to set his evening meal on the kitchen table.

It was always the same. She could still hear his words, still see him now. He would lurch, then stumble, into the kitchen, the inevitable cigarette dangling from his lips, the bottles tucked under his arm. When he spoke, the words were always slurred and accusing. ‘Get my dinner! And get those two brothers of yours. I want to see 'em. Now!'

Sometimes he'd sweep the meal from the table. Then he'd turn on the two boys.

Arnie was always the first to suffer – beaten on all parts of his young body; then it was Hector's turn. Cringing and sobbing after the beating, he would be shoved into the hall cupboard. When their father had emptied his bottles and collapsed into a drunken sleep, she and Arnie would free Hector.

She always escaped her father's fists. Maybe this was because she had taken over the role of her mother – cooking, shopping, housework – which made her needed, a thing that had to be preserved. Maybe that's what saved her. She didn't know.

She found him one morning still slumped at the kitchen table. Empty bottles and cigarette butts surrounded him. His eyes were closed and he had stopped breathing.

The torture had ended. But not the damage.

Arnie had never grown up. Inside the body of a man, the intelligence of a child remained.

Hector had become withdrawn and sullen, and desperately afraid of any closed space.

Evelyn, physically unscathed, but left with a mind crammed with demons, had fallen into the job of looking after her brothers and making ends meet – a task that had proved to be impossible.

Until now.

All she had to do was make her plan work.

Arnie and Hector were waiting by the station wagon. Evelyn walked over, opened the driver's door and sat behind the wheel. ‘Get in,' she said. ‘It's time.'

The car rolled out of the yard and onto the main street. Arnie, who was sitting in the back seat, leant forward and tapped his sister on the shoulder. ‘Ah, what's happening now?'

Hector rolled his eyes. ‘How many times do we have to tell you? You and me are gonna camp out. Sis here is gonna drop us off at the far end of the lake, then collect us later.'

‘Right,' Evelyn said. ‘Just make sure you two do the job properly and be ready tomorrow night for the pick up.'

‘Yeah, yeah,' Hector said, unable to keep the sneer out of his voice. ‘And you make sure you clinch the deal with Mr what's-his-name.'

‘Oh, you can be sure I'll do that. When I've finished with him this afternoon, he'll be eating out of my hands. Making a fast dollar is all he thinks about.'

Evelyn smiled to herself and pressed her foot on the accelerator. Everything was in place. A new start, somewhere far from Timber Creek, would soon be hers. Yes, she had planned well. Her scheme was underway and if she had to, she'd move Heaven and Hell to make it work. That much she knew.

‘Wow! Just look at you.' Snook, hands on hips, looked Jars up and down as she climbed from the car. He let out a wolf whistle. ‘New jeans, new shirt, new shoes, new everything by the looks of it.'

‘Jealous, Snook?' She posed and cocked her head to one side.

‘Nah, not likely. I don't like new stuff. Cramps your style it does, having to keep clean and all that.'

Jars smiled. She'd had a good morning. Her aunt and uncle had taken her to the shops in Queenstown, refusing her offer to pay for the purchases. ‘No, you keep your money,' her uncle had said, ‘but I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee if you want to buy us one.'

They were sitting in a small cafe, sipping drinks. Her aunt turned to face her. ‘Jars, we know how hard it is for you, being forced to come to a strange place, but we want you to try and relax and think of us as your new family.'

Her uncle nodded, agreeing. ‘Yeah, well that's right. Maybe you can help keep that son of ours in line as well.' He grinned, then added, ‘Mind you, that'll be no easy task. He's a right tearaway, that's for sure. Anyway,' he said, changing the subject, ‘this camping trip we're going on should help us get to know each other. Sort of get us off on the right track.' He took a sip from his coffee mug and looked towards his wife.

Jars' aunt smiled. ‘Oh, I'm sure it will. The three of you and the Quigley boy will have a great time, I'm sure.'

‘There's no doubt about that,' Jim Kelly said, rising. ‘Anyway, if you've finished your drinks, we'd better get back. Make sure Snook's loaded the trailer.'

‘So,' Snook said, ‘you had a good morning, eh? Well, we're about to change that. We gotta go see Quigley directly.'

Jars raised her eyebrows as she looked at Snook. ‘You really don't like him. Do you Snook?'

‘Can't stand the little twerp. Don't like his old man either. He's a real pain in the butt. You'll see. So as soon as you're ready, we'll go see him.' Snook turned on his heel and disappeared into the shed to finish loading, leaving Jars standing and wondering what they were in for. After he'd finished the job, he came out to fetch her.

Walking up the main street of Cray Bay, they had a clear view of the Quigley house. ‘It's that big place on the hill,' Snook said. ‘Old man Quigley reckons he can keep an eye on the town from up there.'

Jars hurried to keep up with Snook. ‘There's a lot of shops with his name on them.'

‘Oh, yeah, he owns half the places in town – the deli, the hardware shop, the souvenir place. And he's got the cray boat that dad skippers.'

‘He must be very rich,' Jars said.

‘That's what he tells everybody. He's always raving on about how important he is too.'

‘Is he important?'

‘I suppose so. He's on the school committee and he's President of the Piscatorial Society. He's a church elder too.'‘

He sounds like a real bigwig.'

‘Yeah, whatever.'

They came to the beach and Snook drew to a halt. ‘That's the boat Dad skips, over there, tied to the jetty.' Jars followed Snook's gaze, her eyes travelling first to the cray boat, then to the long sandy beach. ‘This is the first time I've seen it.'

‘What?'

‘The sea. I've never seen the sea before, except when I was on the plane, but that was from a distance.' She watched as the waves, hissing and coughing, curled onto the sand before retreating with a slurp, back into the shallows.

‘What are those birds?' she asked.

‘What birds?'

‘The white ones, the ones flying around and sitting on the water.'

Snook laughed. ‘Where have
you
been? Don't you know what a seagull is when you see one?' He shook his head. ‘Bloody hell, have you got some learning to do, or what?' Without waiting for a response, Snook pointed towards the big house on the hill. ‘C'mon. We follow the beach along the esplanade, then turn off at Quigley's driveway further up.'

The driveway that led to the house wound through a large, neatly mown lawn, where a few shrubs had been planted in a tasteful design. They came to the door. Snook pushed a button and waited.

Behind her, Jars could still hear the constant lapping of the waves and the cries of the guIls. Then, without warning, she reached out and grabbed Snook by the arm.

He turned to her. ‘Hey, why the worried look on yer face? It won't be that bad. Trust me.'

‘It's not that, Snook.'

‘What is it then?'

She bit her bottom lip. ‘A cockatoo. Over there. In that gum tree. I heard it cry out.'

‘So what? Cockatoos, seagulls, whatever. They're only birds.'

Jars let go of Snook's arm. ‘They scare me,' she said, ‘it's like they're always watching.' But Snook wasn't listening.

Mrs Quigley answered the door. At first sight, Jars immediately thought of a sparrow – tiny, watchful, twitchy. She was dressed as though she was going somewhere – elegant blue dress, expensive looking necklace and brooch.

‘Hi, Mrs Quigley,' Snook said. ‘Is Quenton home? We gotta see him about going camping. Mr Quigley told my dad he wanted him to come with us, so I gotta tell him where we're going.'

‘Hello Snook. How nice to see you and your, er, friend. Yes, Quenton is in the games room I think. Please, come in. I'll take you to him.' The words gushed from her mouth in shrill squeaks. ‘And who is your friend, Snook?' Mrs Quigley chirped, starting to lead the way.