The New Girl (Downside) (22 page)

‘They can’t find him. He’s run away. Stole some school equipment, went into hiding. Sybil says that his ex-wife accused him of... interfering with his
own
daughter as
well. And Julie is just hysterical.’

‘Julie?’

‘She volunteers at the tuck shop. You know her, Artemis’s mom. Apparently she’d asked Ryan to do some handyman stuff around the house. God, when I think what she must be going
through, knowing that she actually invited a monster like that into her own
home.
With her husband away all the time.’

‘That’s awful.’

‘It’s worse than awful, Tara. I mean, he’s been rubbing shoulders with our kids, hasn’t he? When I think he’s been around Ruby and Sienna... A pervert like that?
God, it makes my blood run cold just thinking about it. Seriously, if anyone did anything like that to my girls, well, Jase would just shoot them.’ She pauses. Tara catches her staring at her
hand, waits for her to ask about it. ‘You look nice today, Tara,’ Malika says, without mentioning the bandage.

‘Thanks.’

‘So what do you think we should do about it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I think everyone should know, don’t you? I mean, for all we know he could have been doing anything, interfering with kids here.’ Malika shudders dramatically.

‘I’m sure the cops know what they’re doing.’

Malika gives her a look of disgust. ‘Sheesh, how long have you
been
in this country, Tara?’

Clara enters the library, shoots them an enquiring glance. ‘Better get back to it,’ Tara says.

‘Yeah.’ Malika nods, obviously disappointed with Tara’s lacklustre reaction.

Tara helps Skye choose a starter text, and tries to lose herself in the tale of
Brian the Bullying Bunny.
Being one of Duvenhage’s books, it doesn’t end on a happy note
(Brian winds up being baked in a pie and eaten by the bunnies he previously teased).

The bell rings for break and the children quietly put their books away and file into the corridor. Malika sighs with relief and reapplies her lip gloss. ‘Best head off to Woolies before I
fetch Sienna and Ruby for their tennis lesson. So you really think I should keep it quiet?’

‘I’m not sure what to do, Malika,’ Tara says. She, more than anyone, is aware of the consequences of starting a witch-hunt. She should also think about heading home, but
she’s dreading the hours she’ll have to kill before it’s time to collect Martin. ‘Hey, is Sienna going to that Encounters group again this afternoon?’

‘Oh, absolutely.’

‘You haven’t noticed any... I don’t know... weird behaviour from her? I mean after she came back from the first meeting?’

‘Are you kidding? She’s like a different kid, thank God.’ Malika leans in closer. ‘You know she’s been in therapy?’

‘Has she?’

‘Ja.’ Malika rolls her eyes. ‘You hear about what happened last year?’

‘I don’t know the details,’ Tara says, assuming that Malika must be referring to the Facebook bullying scandal her daughter was embroiled in.

‘It was all blown out of proportion, of course. But Jason said she should get help. Speak to a child psychologist. Said she was becoming too bolshy, uncontrollable. He’s paranoid
that she’ll end up some bratty teen who’s only interested in make-up and boys.’ Well, you can’t fight genetics, Tara thinks uncharitably. ‘Four hundred rand-plus an
hour down the pan. But since she started going to Encounters she seems to have calmed down. Hasn’t used any bad language, actually cleaned her room without being asked. It’s like
she’s a different child.’

Yeah, Tara thinks, uncomfortable with how closely this account mirrors Martin’s transformation – a Stepford child. ‘You know what goes on at these meetings?’

Malika shrugs. ‘They sit around and talk about their feelings, as far as I can tell.’

‘So you’re not worried about it?’

‘Worried? Christ, no. It’s a godsend if you ask me.’ She hooks her bag over her shoulder. ‘Whatever they’re doing at those meetings, it’s working. So what do
you think?’

‘About what?’

‘About the pervert, of course. Should I let the other parents know?’

‘Like I said, you’re asking the wrong person.’

‘Ja. I think I’ll just mention it on Facebook, just in case. See you.’ With that, she clacks her way out of the library, leaving Tara alone with her thoughts.

Tara jerks awake, wipes drool from her mouth. Suddenly panicked that she’s slept the whole of the afternoon away, she checks the time. 4.45 p.m. Thank God. If she leaves
now, she’ll have more than enough time to see what the hell goes on in those Encounters meetings. She hopes she’s not over the limit. She’ll just have to take it easy; it’s
unlikely that there will be any roadblocks this close to rush hour.

Still aching from Baby Tommy’s demise, the first thing Tara did when she returned home after library duty was pour herself a slug of Stephen’s Johnnie Walker Black. She’s not
much of a drinker, and the alcohol made her gag as she knocked it back, but she needed something to get through the rest of the day. The second shot went down easier, as did the third. Numb and
blurry, she spent the rest of the afternoon slumped in Stephen’s La-Z-Boy, flicking through the DStv channels and dozing.

She doesn’t feel inebriated, although her mouth tastes as if she’s been licking the toilet bowl. She should really brush her teeth, but she can’t be bothered to slog upstairs
to the bathroom. She stands up and stretches, stumbling slightly. She’s light-headed, but she reckons that’s probably because she hasn’t eaten today. She didn’t have
that
much to drink.

Her phone buzzes. Strange, she doesn’t remember turning it back on. She digs it out of her bag, checks her inbox. Surprise, surprise, it’s another message from the tenacious
Batiss.

Tara sighs. What part of ‘no’ does this freak not understand? She taps in a response.
refund>

Clearly Batiss is not going to give up. Does she really want to be hounded by this weirdo day and night? What should she do?
Could
she start again? Create another Tommy? The thought
makes her sick inside – you can’t just replace a child, can you? She taps in:

She’s expecting a flurry of beeps, but there’s no response.

She grabs her bag, finds herself hesitating next to the drinks cabinet. One last shot won’t hurt. She’ll still be fine to drive, won’t she?

She’s about to turn into the school gates, even goes so far as to flick on her indicator, then finds herself driving straight past. Doesn’t dare second-guess
herself as she cruises up to Jane’s house, marvelling again at the outrageousness of that exterior wall. She pulls up on the verge on the opposite side of the road, just outside the entrance
of a townhouse complex. The complex’s guard steps out of his cubicle, eyes her suspiciously, fingers the walkie-talkie on his belt. She waves at him, smiles reassuringly. He nods and
disappears back inside.

Why is she here at all? She’s not responsible for Jane, is she? So what now? If she wants to check on Jane, then her only choice is to knock on the door and ask to see her. But is she
really up to facing Jane’s freakish mother again?

Then again, there’s nothing wrong with being concerned about Jane’s welfare, is there? She’ll make it quick, check Jane’s okay, then race back to the school, insist on
being allowed to sit in on the Encounters meeting. Decision made, she slides out of the car, stumbling over the curb. She’s not drunk exactly, but she’s definitely slightly unsteady,
and the alcohol is adding an aura of unreality to the afternoon light.

She crosses the road, pushes through the gates, straightens her back as if she has every right to be there. Glances at the dark mouth of the garage next to the house, suddenly hit with an image
of Martin’s drawing. The bogeyman, he’d called it. For an instant, she’s sure she can see something moving in its shadows and she feels an overwhelming compulsion to flee back to
the car.

A door slams. She sighs in relief when she sees Jane waving at her. She isn’t wearing her school uniform – in fact, she’s dressed like a mini Barbie in high-heeled plastic
shoes and a pink dress that’s several sizes too large for her.

‘Hi, Jane.’

Jane totters towards her. She doesn’t look at all surprised to see Tara standing in her driveway.

‘I heard you weren’t at school today. Are you sick?’

‘Sick?’

‘I mean, have you been ill?’

Jane smiles. ‘No, miss.’ Jane moves closer to Tara, sniffs the air. ‘You smell funny, like he does.’

‘Like who does?’

‘The brown.’

Tara sighs. Not more of this shit, she thinks. ‘So why weren’t you at school?’

‘I’ve been watching Ryan, miss.’

Oh shit, Tara thinks. She swallows, hit with a sudden wave of nausea. ‘Who’s Ryan?’

‘The brown, of course. He tends the garden, miss.’

It can’t be the Ryan the cops are looking for – what would he be doing at Jane’s house? But she needs to be sure. ‘Jane. This Ryan. Is he the one who used to work at the
school?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Listen to me. You need to stay away from him. I think he might want to...’ Might want to what? Just how in the hell is she going to explain the concept of molestation to this child?
‘Has he ever tried to... touch you, Jane?’

Jane smiles again. ‘Yes, miss.’

Tara fumbles for her phone, realises she’s left it and her bag in the car.
Goddammit.
‘I need to speak to your mother, Jane. Right away.’

‘She’s not available, miss.’

‘And where is Ryan?’

‘He’s with the beans, miss.’

She must mean the garden. The last thing Tara wants to do is spook him, or even worse, confront him. He could be dangerous. There’s no knowing what he’ll do if he’s
cornered.

But she can’t leave Jane here alone with him, can she? ‘I think you should come with me, Jane.’

‘Where to, miss?’

‘Um... It’s not safe for you here, Jane. Not alone with that... with Ryan.’

‘Oh. I’m not alone, miss. Danish is here.’

‘Can I talk to this Danish, Jane?’

‘I don’t know, miss. Can you?’

Jesus.
‘Can you fetch him for me?’

‘No, miss. He’s helping.’

‘Can you take me to him?’

‘No, miss.’ She laughs as if she’s just thought of a private joke. ‘Today’s forespecial. Trespassers will be corrected.’

Tara weighs up her options, aware that thanks to the whisky she’s battling to think clearly. Decides that the only thing to do is to run to her car and fetch her cellphone. Call the cops
and wait here with Jane till they arrive.

‘I’m just going to fetch something from the car. Wait here, okay?’

Jane laughs her shrill laugh again. ‘See you later alligator in a while crocodile.’

Tara slips through the gate, crosses the road, dives into her car, her fingers trembling as she fumbles in her bag for her phone. Where the hell is it? She roots through her stuff, resorts to
tipping it out onto the passenger seat. Nothing. It’s not here! Goddammit! Did she leave it in the house after she received that last message from Batiss?

‘Fuck!’ she yells.

She looks up, sees the security guard watching her distrustfully again.

She slams her car door, hurries over to him. ‘Hi. I need help. Do you have a phone I can use?’

‘A phone, madam?’

‘A cellphone.’ She grabs twenty rand out of her pocket, thrusts it in his direction. ‘Please. Can you call the cops?’

‘Why, madam?’

‘I have reason to believe there’s a very dangerous man staying at that house.’

His eyes flick towards the gate of Jane’s house.

‘Please. Will you just do that for me? Tell them that Ryan...’ Shit, what’s his surname? ‘The maintenance man who used to work at Crossley College is hiding out in that
house. They’ll know who you mean.’ At least Tara hopes they will. Surely there must be some sort of APB or whatever they call it in this country out on him.

The guard looks her up and down, then nods. ‘Which police station?’

Tara’s about to say,
Just call 911, stupid
, but stops herself just in time. If there is a national emergency number in South Africa, she doesn’t know it. ‘I
don’t know. The closest one. Please. A child could be in danger.’

The guard nods again and steps back into his cubicle. Tara hopes to God he’ll do as she asks.

She hustles back across the road, pushes against the gates. They don’t budge. That can’t be right. She didn’t see anyone locking them behind her. ‘Jane?’ she calls.
‘Jane?’

She peers through the gap between the gates. The sandy area in front of the house is deserted. Jane must have gone back inside. And –
goddammit
– without her phone she
can’t let Martin know she might be late, or call Stephen and ask him to collect his son. It must almost be time to pick him up now.

What the hell should she do?

It will only take a few minutes to collect Martin, then she could head straight back here. By then the cops should have arrived. And then what? Hopefully child services will have the good sense
to take Jane away from that horrendous family. She can only hope that nothing will happen to the girl while she’s gone.

She jumps into the driver’s seat, guns the engine and pulls out into the traffic without looking in her side mirror for oncoming cars. A black Mercedes swerves past her, narrowly avoids
swiping her car. Ignoring the scream of a car horn and shouted abuse from the furious driver, she puts her foot down. She cuts through the side streets, taking chances. In her haste she takes a
wrong turn and ends up in a cul de sac, has to backtrack to the main road, aware that she’s losing valuable minutes. Her shirt is damp with perspiration when she finally pulls through the
school gates. She’s in time to see Malika driving away, makes out the shape of Sienna’s head slumped against the passenger side window.