| |
“Deleilah! Up!” Hector pushed her bedroom door open and peered inside. A worn electric razor waved in his hand, cord dangling and the detachable head held on with black duct tape. “School.”
“Hector! Get out!” She pulled the covers over her head and felt a draught as the action exposed her bare toes.
“Get up then. I’m going for a shave.” Hector’s footsteps retreated along the hall and Leilah heard the clunk of the razor’s plug sinking into the socket in the kitchen. The one in the bathroom stopped working years ago. Hauling a dressing gown over her bra and pants, she stumbled to the bathroom and closed the door, stripping and stepping into the rusty tub. A beach towel nailed to the ceiling created a makeshift curtain and Leilah used the rubber attachment on the bath taps to give herself a rudimentary shower. The soap made the welt on her neck sting and every time she moved, static made the wet towel attach to her skin and create a miserable sensation of cool dampness. She emerged feeling worse than when she woke, tired and overwhelmed with circumstance and her wet curls pulled limp and straight down her back. Her school blouse looked filthy and she unearthed a replacement from the scant contents of her wardrobe. The bra spewed from her summer school skirt as she lifted it from the carpet and a knot clenched in her belly. What if Malcolm didn’t steal her underwear? What if it was someone else?
Leilah swallowed and pushed her fears aside, no longer sure which seemed worse. That a dead boy approached the house and stole her smalls, or someone still living took it and could return for more. Leilah clattered around in the laundry instead of eating breakfast, her guts churning as she set off a wash. She stood over the swirling water, watching her school blouse dance with a pair of Hector’s grey apologies for underpants.
Her father’s brow creased as he stamped into the laundry and found her staring into the washing machine. He pulled the lid down to cover the contents and cocked his head as his fingers reached for hers. “Sorry about yesterday,” he said and Leilah started, unused to hearing apologies from the giant who ran her home.
“It’s okay,” she managed, her teeth grabbing at the inside of her lip.
“I know that kid’s your mate.” Hector swallowed and Leilah waited, but he offered nothing more. To her surprise, he pressed a kiss against her forehead and released her hand. “Come straight home after school,” he ordered. “There’s stuff going on and I want you here where I can see you.”
“What stuff?” Leilah turned to watch his retreating back in its characteristic chequered work shirt. His jeans hung low on his backside as though he’d lost weight.
“I need you to start training the filly,” he said, shooting her a glance over his shoulder which offered no discussion. “I don’t care if you want to or not, Deleilah. She’s got a buyer already and you’re breaking her in. We need the money.”
He didn’t wait around to hear Leilah’s protest. He never did. She closed her eyes and felt the vibrations through the floorboards as Hector opened the ranch slider and slammed it closed behind him. A flare of temper buried the shared moment of uncustomary affection.
Leilah reached the bus stop last, nodding to Vaughan as he perched astride the fence. Dark shadows hollowed out his eyes and he held his jaw in a determined lock. She dropped his school bag at his feet and saw relief flood through his face. “Thanks,” he said. “I daren’t come near your place. Horse always said Hector would shoot me in the head at point blank range. I believe him.”
“I did your homework.” Leilah ground her teeth and shoved her fists into her skirt pockets. A popping sensation in the right one indicated she’d overtaxed the stitching. “Wish I hadn’t bothered though!” she snapped.
“What?” Vaughan’s dark irises flashed and his jaw slackened. “What’s up?”
“The yellow thread!” She stopped herself expanding on the statement as a station wagon drew alongside and disgorged a family of children from another rural farm. Vaughan slid from the fence and retrieved his bag, pushing himself closer to Leilah in the throng.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I couldn’t let you take it. Horse didn’t do it and neither did your dad. The truth needs to come out and us interfering with it won’t help.”
Leilah’s mouth opened wide and she struggled to swallow, her eyes growing round. “Interfering? Hell yeah! You’d know all about that.” She did a rude impression of his deep voice and he jerked back in alarm. The group of nearby kids shuffled at the electric atmosphere, turning their unwelcome attention to her. Vaughan sighed and moved away, reminding her of Hector and sending her sense of righteous indignation into overdrive. When the bus arrived, Leilah sank into a window seat and blanked Vaughan as his weight dipped the worn fabric next to her. Turning her face to look through the cloudy glass, she ignored him for half an hour as the bus lumbered around country lanes collecting students for the local school.
Another girl jostled her on the bus steps during their crowded exit, giving her a rough shove in her haste to prove herself superior. Miriama stared down her nose at Leilah and sneered. Leaning close so she could whisper, she delivered her parting shot. “Big tits don’t get you everything!” she hissed, elbowing Leilah in the ribs and narrowly missing her breast. Colour shot to Leilah’s cheeks as the girl surged forward onto the last step and made her escape. She slid her gaze south, thinking her breasts seemed no bigger than anyone else’s. Mari called them little more than fried eggs, but the ill-fitting bra forced them upwards into a false cleavage and gave them an inappropriate bounce. Chastened and ashamed, Leilah slunk from the bus and tried to walk without flinging her boobs around. Vaughan waited for her and a host of mixed emotions flooded her brain. Dark and brooding, his unpredictability kept most predators at bay and she acknowledged her need of his umbrella of protection. But his theft of the yellow thread burned deep and temper mingled with fear.
In their tutor class, Miriama winked at Tane from across the room. She drew her tongue around her lips in a suggestive action and Leilah’s eyes widened in horror as she caught the tail end of the exchange. Tane’s cheeks burned red hot and he shot Leilah a look filled with guilt. “It’s nothing.” He leaned across the gap between their desks and reached for her hand. “She’s messing with your head.” Sure enough, when Leilah looked back at Miriama, the other girl flipped her the middle finger. Leilah ignored Tane’s outstretched hand and opened her bag, pretending to look for something inside.
School passed in a blur of activity and Leilah remembered little of it. A weight hung over her shoulders and she sat by herself at lunchtime while Tane and Dante joined a game of rugby. Vaughan served an hour of detention for not bringing in a new exercise book, Leilah’s attempt at his homework using up the last few pages. He emerged into the sunshine and shaded his eyes with his hand, just in time to make an afternoon English class.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The art teacher kept her behind as the rest of the class filed out. Her gaze slid from the welt on Leilah’s neck to the healing cut on her lip. The bruise from Kevin Donnelly’s fist added a green and yellow hue to the picture. “Is there anything you wanted to tell me?” Leilah shook her head and the woman’s eyes narrowed. “Is someone hurting you?” Leilah swallowed and thought of Hector’s wrath. Short lived and shouty, it never involved physical assault. She couldn’t imagine him raising his hand to a woman, his dinner plate sized fists bruising delicate female flesh.
“My dad doesn’t hit me,” she replied, feeling unwelcome tears prick behind her eyelids. The injustice of it caused unexpected emotion. Nobody remarked on Dante’s regular bruises, one on his back so big he couldn’t remove his shirt last swimming sports’ day. It seemed unfair that she should live beneath a microscope when others suffered unaided. Just because she was born a girl.
“Then what is it, Leilah?” the teacher persisted. “I know there’s something.”
Leilah’s arm clutched her bag to her side, the hideous pencil drawing safely hidden within. She cursed herself for allowing her feelings to spew out on the page, the dark background of the bush bisected by the highlighted tendrils of supplejack. A likeness of Patch huddled in the undergrowth, a sense of foreboding occupying the art pad’s textured surface. Leilah knew she’d seen it. The art teacher looked expectant and time marched on, heralding the arrival of the bus home. Leilah licked her lips. “I need to leave,” she whispered. “The bus won’t wait for me.”
Vaughan’s face appeared in the window and he shielded his eyes and peered through the glass. Sunlight back-lit him like a halo. The teacher’s eyes rested on his earnest expression and she smiled. “Okay, Deleilah,” she said. “I’m here if you need to talk.”