Little Wing (8 page)

Emily replied slowly, ‘All the time, Pete, all the time.'

‘Are you two ready for lunch?' said Martin.

Out in the kitchen Martin steered Emily to her seat. She seemed so dreamy that she needed to be guided. Sinking onto the chair, Emily knocked a fork onto the floor; she and Martin both bent to pick it up, and she smiled at him as though he was a stranger, a bright, empty, polite smile.

‘So, you're from the north coast, Emily?' said Cat, putting down a basket of garlic bread.

‘Yes, I am.' Emily pushed her hair behind her ears and looked at Cat earnestly, like someone having a job interview.

‘It's lovely up there,' said Cat. ‘Before I met Martin, a girlfriend and I went to Byron Bay on the train, and slept on the beach under the stars.'

Emily smiled politely, tucked her elbows in as though she was remembering her best manners, and dug her fork into the slice of quiche that Martin had put on her plate. ‘I did that once,' she said. ‘The parents of one of the girls at school had a beach house there. We went to the New Year's Eve parade and got really ripped – almost passed out. Slept the night on the beach instead of going back to the house.' Her voice was soft and dull and matter-of-fact, as though there was no emotion attached to that event. She sipped a glass of juice, and Martin saw that she'd mashed her quiche into crumbs and not eaten a bit. He looked at Cat and she shrugged, and everyone continued to eat in silence. Pete looked at them all and took it all in with big eyes. ‘I hate eggs,' he said, pushing away his plate. ‘Did you know they come out of chooks' bums?'

Lunch took very little time, and as Martin started to stack plates, Pete tugged Emily to her feet and dragged her away to his room.

‘What on earth do you ever find to talk to her about?' said Cat.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Is she always like that?' said Cat.

‘Not quite.'

‘Quite?' said Cat. ‘You mean, just a little bit?'

‘Well, sometimes. She can be funny and charming.'

Cat gave him an
Oh really
look. ‘She needs help. Can't you see there's something not quite right with her?'

‘I know. She's unhappy. But she's dealing with it in her own way . . .'

‘I worry about Pete with her. He told me the other day they walked to the shop and bought lollies. Martin . . . how can you trust her with Pete crossing roads? – she seems so . . .
out
of it!'

Martin found himself bristling, but he bit his tongue. ‘I'll go and tell them dessert's almost ready,' he said, as Cat took a chocolate cake from under its cover and reached into the fridge for chocolate and cream.

He saw that Emily was lying on Pete's floor again. ‘Do you need a sleep, Emmy, do you?' said Pete, solicitously, putting his face close to hers and staring with unblinking eyes.

‘Pete, just leave it,' she said, pushing him away and rolling onto her side.

‘Sometimes I hate you,' he said. ‘I think you're a pooey bum.' He upended a box full of plastic blocks onto the floor with a crash.

‘Chocolate cake!' announced Martin. ‘Anyone want any?'

Pete ran out of the room at once, and Martin squatted down beside Emily. ‘How're you going?' he said.

‘Okay,' she said in a little voice. He smiled, and squeezed her shoulder. She closed her eyes again.

‘Come out soon,' he said.

In the kitchen, Cat gave him a bowl of cream to whip and started grating a block of dark chocolate.

‘You didn't answer me,' she said. ‘
Do
you think it's okay for her to take Pete out on the roads?'

Martin paused. Pete had gone to play in the garden and seemed to be out of earshot.

‘Someone has to give her a chance sometime,' he said, knowing that it sounded feeble.

‘Maybe,' said Cat, sarcastically. ‘But with
our
child?'

Martin beat the cream so fiercely it turned as stiff as butter. ‘Okay,' he conceded. ‘I won't let her take him out to the shops again.'

He thought he heard a sound near the doorway that led into the hall, but he went on. ‘Don't you remember being that age?' he said, his face incredulous. ‘Because I do. Didn't
you
ever stuff up?'

He slathered cream over the top of the cake.

‘Shit!' said Cat.

‘What?'

‘I've grated my knuckles along with this damn chocolate.' Martin heard the sound at the doorway again and he turned as if to go out. But he went to Cat and took her hand to see what she'd done.

‘I'll be fine,' she said, shaking him away. ‘I'm a nurse, remember?'

When Pete ran in clamouring for cake, Martin went to get Emily, but Pete's room was empty. At the front door step he found a scrap of paper with a flower from the garden on top of it.

In crayon was written:

Thanks for inviting me.

It was a lovely lunch.

i have to go.

Emily.

That night, as he found himself thinking about Emily, Cat rolled over to turn off the light and put her arm round him. She said, ‘Just remember that
we're
your family, Martin. Us, me and Pete.'

6

She didn't come round again after the day of the lunch.

One day it was so hot that Pete wanted to go to the pool. ‘Can we take Emmy?' he asked, pushing his swimming things into a bag. So they went to see if she was home.

It was early afternoon, and Emily, who answered the door, was ruffled and frowsy as though they'd woken her from sleep.

‘Emily, hi.' Martin was shy, unsure of what sort of mood she'd be in, or even if he and Pete would be welcome. ‘We were on our way to the pool. Would you like to come?'

‘I – I don't have any togs,' Emily said.

Charlotte came up behind her. ‘I have some bathers that Ruby left here.' She disappeared to the back of the house and came out dangling a red swimming costume by its straps. ‘My granddaughter's,' she told Martin. ‘She's only twelve, but Emily's so tiny . . .'

Emily took the costume and went to change. She came out looking hot and flustered. If she had the swimming costume on it didn't show, because she was dressed in a tracksuit, top and bottom, far too warm for the hot weather.

At the pool she lay in the shade fully dressed, and it was only when Pete urged her to come into the water that she pulled off the tracksuit quickly, revealing the red costume underneath. She ran to the edge of the pool and dived in.

Afterwards, they all lay like lizards on the warm concrete surrounding the pool, not speaking, basking in the warmth. And then they all went into the water again, staying until Pete started to shiver. His mouth turned blue. So Martin pulled him from the water and wrapped him in a towel, and took him to the kiosk to buy iceblocks. They lay on the hot concrete again, Pete still swathed in the towel like a cocoon.

‘Dad?' said Pete. ‘Where was I before I was born?'

‘I've told you,' said Martin. ‘In Cat's tummy.'

‘I know that! I mean . . . where was I before that?'

‘You've got me there,' said Martin. ‘That's a really big question, Pete. I don't know.'

‘Because I must have always
been
here, somewhere.'

‘Maybe,' said Emily, ‘you were in the same place you'll be after you die.'

‘Where's that?'

‘I don't know,' she said grudgingly, finishing her iceblock and lying back down on her stomach on the concrete. ‘It depends on what you believe.'

Pete shucked off his towel and headed back into the water. ‘Stay where I can watch you,' Martin called to him.

‘Hey,' he said to Emily. ‘I'm sorry that lunch the other week wasn't so great for you.'

She shrugged and didn't look at him.

Martin had never before seen Emily with her arms uncovered. Even on the day she'd come to lunch in the red dress, she'd worn a thin knitted cardigan over the top. Now she lay fully stretched out in the sun. The skin of her inner arms was soft and pale like a fish's belly. And it was covered with a network of fine, pale scars.

Martin reached over and ran his finger over them. ‘Emily,' he asked softly, ‘what are these?'

‘Nothing,' she said defensively, twitching away.

‘Emily, you can tell me . . .'

‘It's none of your business!' she said, reaching for the tracksuit top. She put it on and sat on the concrete with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped tight like a straitjacket.

Martin got up and went to call Pete.
If that was the way she wanted it
. . .

‘Pete, come on,' he called. ‘It's time to go home.'

‘Oh, Da – ad!'

‘Come on, you've had enough – and I want to get home to do stuff.

‘See you, Emily,' he said, but with less warmth than usual. He could feel it in his voice.

‘Maybe,' she said.

She half turned as he walked away and gave a sort of gesture of farewell.

7

The trouble with Emily was . . . (he found himself starting a lot of his thoughts with
The trouble with Emily
) . . . was that he never quite knew when she'd turn up, and when she did, it wasn't always convenient.

The next time she arrived, the place was full of little boys dressed in super-hero cloaks, jumping off chairs they'd dragged into the back yard, or racing toy cars up and down the hallway.

‘I'm a success at last!' said Martin, trying to be upbeat in the face of the woebegone expression on her face (
Not another bad day!
). ‘Guess who was the lucky person chosen to look after all these kids while their mothers go off and have a girls' lunch?'

Emily stood there unresponsive, and when he next saw her she was lying on Pete's bed staring at the ceiling.

The children were always hungry. They clamoured for chocolate biscuits. ‘Guys, guys!' Martin stood at the clothesline, folding up towels. ‘Just hang on a bit and I'll make you some proper lunch.' He went to where Emily still lay on Pete's bed and said, trying to keep the impatience from his voice, ‘Do you think you could show the kids how to make some sandwiches?'

To his surprise, she got up and made her way to the kitchen, and actually organised them all with piles of sandwich ingredients. When they'd all eaten, she went back to the bed.

But after the children had finally been picked up (all at the same time, swept away by their mothers in a whirlwind of noise and confusion) he remembered her. She had actually been asleep in the midst of all that, but now she was awake, standing at the door of the living room looking as though she didn't know where she was.

Martin was slumped in a chair. ‘Hey,' Pete bounced in. ‘Remember that thing we got for Emmy?'

‘What thing?'

‘You know.'

‘Oh, I know, the present.'

Pete ran into Martin's room and emerged with something wrapped in Christmas paper. He stopped, and threw it at Emily. ‘Catch!'

‘A present?'

‘For Christmas!' yelled Pete.

‘Pete . . . slow
down
.'

‘Christmas?' said Emily. ‘It isn't Christmas yet.'

‘But we're going away,' said Martin. ‘I told you. I'm sure I did. We're going to the coast to camp.'

‘When are you going?'

‘In about a week.'

‘We're going to
swim
and
surf
, and . . .
swim
, and collect
shells
and it's going to be
fun!
' chanted Pete.

‘Pete, not so
loud
.'

Pete ran over and started to pull the wrapping from Emily's present. It was a crocheted hat, like the one of Cat's that Emily used to wear, but purple, with a yellow flower on the side. Emily picked it up and held it. Not looking at the hat she said, panic-stricken, ‘But I don't want you to
go
.'

‘We haven't had a holiday for years,' said Martin, feeling put-upon. ‘We're really looking forward to it, Emily – it's not often we get to go away.'

‘Put it on,' urged Pete. He took the hat from her hands and jammed it on her head.

‘Pete, just calm down a bit.' Martin leaned forward to look into her face. ‘Emily,' he said, ‘you'll be all
right
.'

Three

1

Emily walked, and mostly she noticed nothing. But one day a woman went past with a baby strapped to her front in a sling. The baby, whose head was still wobbly, used its arms to push back against its mother's chest; it looked up into her face and smiled.
Her
baby used to do just that. She was just about that age when Emily went away.

Mahalia.

She slept and woke with the cat on her chest. Had she dreamt of her baby? It was the first thing she thought of each morning – nothing as definite as
baby
or
Mahalia
, or a particular image; it was more that there was a continuing presence that didn't even need to be named.

One morning Charlotte came and sat beside her on the bed. In her hand she had something Emily had almost forgotten about: her logbook for learning to drive. ‘Your father sent it,' said Charlotte. ‘He says you were almost ready to get your licence; that you probably only need a few more lessons before taking the test.'

Emily took the booklet and flipped through the pages that recorded all the places and conditions she'd driven in. It seemed such a long time ago.

‘Would you like to keep learning?'

‘Okay,' said Emily, lying back against the pillow.

‘Would you rather go to a driving school, or would you like me to take you out?'

‘Would you?' said Emily.

‘Of course. Do you have your permit with you?'

‘I think so.' Emily took her wallet from the night table and looked inside. ‘It's still here.'