The Vanishing Moment Page 9

  22. BOB

  This he remembers:

  He ran away to the city, and when his money ran out, he slept under bridges, in doorways, in the parks. He made friends with some other homeless men, Jeremy and Ned. In summer he persuaded them to go with him to the south coast. Jeremy didn’t mind one way or the other. And Ned was subdued after he’d provoked a bashing that left them with cracked ribs, broken teeth, black eyes. Ned couldn’t cope with living rough. Too many little things drove him berserk. One day he might really hurt someone.

  So there they were, the three of them, camping in a cool, dry cave above the Shoalhaven River, listening to those feathery trees, she-oaks, singing in the forest dark. What were they telling the sky?

  He was happy – swimming, fishing, hitching to town once a fortnight to collect the dole and buy food, smokes, beer. Jeremy was contented, too, but Ned brooded, his head jerking, as if something was agitating to get out.

  One morning, two men in ranger uniforms scrambled up the cliff. They poked about the cave, their faces tight with disapproval.

  ‘You fellows can’t live here,’ the men said. ‘This is national park.’

  ‘Sorry, boys,’ they added, not looking at all sorry. ‘We’re going to have to evict you.’

  They would’ve, too, if Ned hadn’t erupted.

  23. ARROW

  Arrow wakes in a strange bed, in a strange room. She slams upright. After being off the pills for only a few weeks, she’s sleepwalking again, and may well be in the bed of an axe murderer.

  She relaxes as she recognises the yellow walls, wooden blinds, small bookcase and cane chair in the corner.

  She’s in her old house, in Marika’s room, and she’s wrapped in a soft white dressing-gown. She hops out of bed and puts the robe on properly, then ventures along the passage.

  Marika’s in the kitchen, making toast. ‘Hungry?’

  Her voice is calm as if Arrow is the usual sort of house guest. Her cheeks are damp.

  ‘Starving.’

  Arrow sits down at the kitchen table. Marika is quick and efficient, setting out cutlery, cereal, jam, butter, toast, milk, coffee.

  ‘Sorry about this. I guess I was sleepwalking?’

  ‘You were soaking wet. I took off your clothes and put you to bed. I hope that doesn’t embarrass you.’

  Arrow laughs. ‘I’m beyond embarrassment. When I was younger I used to sleepwalk in the nude sometimes. Scandalised the neighbourhood.’

  ‘Have you been sleepwalking for long?’

  ‘Since I was ten.’

  ‘Where were you walking from last night?’

  ‘From the house I’m staying at. The empty one in Weston Street.’

  Marika gasps. ‘The house where those children were murdered?’

  ‘They were my friends.’

  ‘How awful for you!’

  Marika is so warm and sympathetic that Arrow finds herself relating what happened to Fergus and his sisters.

  ‘The police said their mother drugged them, then smothered them,’ she says, her voice breaking. ‘They died together in Fergus’s bed. I found them there in the morning.’

  Marika utters a little moan, as if she’s in pain.

  ‘I’ve never stopped feeling guilty. If only I’d told someone the children were left alone at night and were scared of their mother…If I’d told my mum, she would have made sure Mrs Jackson got some help.’

  If only. If only.

  Marika lets out a sigh. ‘This is so terrible. I can hardly believe it. What happened to the mother?’

  ‘She disappeared. The police never found her. She could be anywhere.’

  She and Marika stare at each other. Marika looks spooked. ‘Why on earth are you staying in that house?’ she asks. ‘Aren’t you afraid?’

  Arrow shrugs. ‘The caravan parks were full, and, no, there’s nothing to be scared of. Besides, there’s something I’m trying to make sense of—’ She breaks off. She doesn’t want to tell Marika about the voice and the offer of Interchange. The girl will think she’s crazy.

  Marika gets up, starts clearing away the breakfast things. It’s then that Arrow notices the drawings on the floor of the dining room.

  ‘Can I have a look?’ she asks daringly, remembering how Marika had hurriedly packed away the drawings of a child the other day.

  ‘I don’t mind. They’re just quick sketches.’

  Arrow recognises the dog and the man. ‘That’s Bob and Frankie! It’s exactly like them.’

  ‘So those are their names. I saw them on the beach.’

  ‘Bob’s a magician, apparently. Roberto the Magnifico. He’s doing a show at the bowling club tomorrow night. Do you want to come along? According to Hazel at Vinnie’s, he’s brilliant. And Sheree from the café finds him rather attractive.’

  Marika laughs. ‘Let’s meet here at seven and go together. I could do with a meal out.’

  Arrow’s clothes are still wet so Marika puts them in a plastic bag and lends her a pair of jeans and a jumper.

  They’re so big on Arrow she feels like a kid dressing up in her mother’s clothes, but at least they’ll get her respectably home.

  Arrow spends the morning scrubbing windows and getting the house in order. She’s pleased with the sturdy table, old blue sofa and faded rugs. Already the house is beginning to feel a bit like a home.

  She’ll have to go back on the pills. Just as well she didn’t throw them out. It makes her feel flat and defeated.

  She thinks of the first time she walked in her sleep. It had been shortly after the murders. Everyone, including her parents, was locking their doors, something previously unheard of in the quiet town. Sometime during the night she must have turned the key and let herself out because when she woke up, she was sitting on the Jacksons’ front steps, with no idea what she was doing there.

  She still remembers her mother’s panic, and her relief. Her mother clasped her so fiercely Arrow didn’t think she’d be able to breathe again.

  She kept on sleepwalking, kept on going back to the house. No wonder her mother wanted to flee the town. How worrying to have a child so stubbornly drawn to a place of murder.

  But if you are fearful all the time, if you are always anticipating disaster, what sort of life is that?

  24. MARIKA

  The bowling club is incredibly ugly. It hurts Marika’s eyes to look at the sticky, garish carpet with its red and purple and orange flecks, the bright blue walls, the brown vinyl chairs and the amateurish flower paintings.

  She and Arrow buy a beer at the bar and order fish and chips. As they glance around, searching for a table, Sheree, the waitress from the café, recognises Arrow and indicates two empty chairs.

  ‘I’m in love with Bob, or at least with his amazing brain,’ Sheree confides with a giggle. ‘Just don’t tell my boyfriend!’

  The place is already packed. Not only is it Saturday night, but Roberto the Magnifico is going to be performing.

  The whole town has come, it seems. Arrow points out Isabel from the real estate office, and Mr Jackson, beside a very pretty woman with a fat, red-cheeked baby battened on her hip.

  Mr Jackson catches Arrow’s eye and comes over. ‘I’ve got something for you,’ he says. ‘May I drop by with it tomorrow?’

  ‘Sure,’ Arrow says. ‘What is it?’

  The baby starts to struggle and cry. ‘See you tomorrow,’ Mr Jackson says, hurrying away.

  Andy the Handyman is with his wife, Emily, a capable-looking young woman with a warm smile. He waggles his fingers at Marika, showing smooth, unblemished skin.

  ‘We managed to get a babysitter,’ he tells her. ‘I had to throw money at her and bribe her with a huge box of chocolates.’

  ‘Well, you can’t blame the girl for not wanting to miss the show,’ Emily says. ‘Everyone will be talking about it for a week.’

  ‘What’s so special about it?’ Arrow asks.

  Hazel, passing by, overhears. ‘He’s a genius, my dear. Just you wait and see.’r />
  Marika is feeling uncomfortable. Her tears have attracted some attention. A group of teenagers openly stare, poking each other in the ribs with glee.

  Arrow gives them a withering look. ‘Just ignore them,’ she hisses, but Marika wishes the evening was over.

  The lights dim. The club-goers put down their knives and forks and fall silent as Bob strides onto the small stage. Marika doesn’t know what she was expecting. Perhaps that he’d be wearing a top hat and black redlined cape, or a dinner suit with flashy bow tie. But, no, he’s in his old coat. And he has no props at all, apart from some decks of playing cards. No rabbits, no wand. Not even a silk scarf.

  The compere does his best to spice things up with a bit of razzamatazz. ‘And now for an evening of intrigue and mathematical genius. Introducing the one and only, the marvellous, the magnificent, the amazing Roberto the Magnifico!’

  The audience claps and cheers.

  Bob gives a small bow. He clicks his fingers and Frankie ambles onto the stage. He sits on his haunches next to Bob and raises a paw, as if he is saying hello.

  The audience waves back.

  ‘I want you all to think of a number,’ Bob says. ‘It can be big or small. Starting from the back row, I want each person to stand up and say that number. Remember what it is – write it down if you like. I will then repeat all the numbers in the exact order.’

  The first person says, ‘Three thousand five hundred and twenty.’ Everyone laughs, glancing at Bob to gauge his reaction. His face stays blank.

  The next person goes one better. ‘Thirty-five thousand nine hundred and forty-four.’

  And so on and so on. Marika feels sorry for Bob – the numbers are immense and impossible to recall. She says, ‘Twenty-one,’ and Arrow also chooses something small.

  How many people are in the room? Marika wonders. One hundred, at least.

  When the last number has been uttered, Bob closes his eyes, his hands clasped in front of him. The room is quiet. Not even a glass clinks.

  Bob begins. As easily as if he’s reciting the two times table, he reels off each number. Not only that but he also mimics each person’s intonation or accent.

  The audience claps and whistles. Bob inclines his head. Frankie inclines his head, too.

  The crowd roars with adoration.

  ‘Now for my next trick,’ Bob says, twirling his hand and pulling up a chair. ‘I want each of you to tell me the date of your birth. Lie if you wish,’ he says, grinning at Hazel. She blows him a kiss.

  ‘This time we’ll start at the front table and work our way back. Again, I will repeat the birthdates in the exact order.’

  The first person, an elderly man, stands up. The date he gives would make him eighteen years old. ‘Wishful thinking,’ someone calls. Everyone chortles.

  ‘Silence, please,’ Bob orders. The room subsides. One by one, people stand up and speak. Some of the birth dates sound genuine. Others are as outrageous as the old man’s.

  Impeccably, Bob recites the dates in order, and again everyone is awed. But one of the teenagers calls out, ‘You got my date wrong, mate.’

  ‘Don’t be a silly duffer,’ Bob says. ‘You know I didn’t.’

  The boy’s friends guffaw and cuff him on the head. ‘Silly idiot!’

  He reddens. ‘Just joking,’ he mutters.

  Frankie puts his paw on Bob’s knee and barks twice. Bob bends down, his head cocked, as if he’s listening. Frankie growls softly.

  Bob straightens up. ‘Frankie says he knows most of you, but he doesn’t know your middle names – and he’d like to very much.’

  The audience laughs.

  ‘So, one by one, take it in turns to reveal your middle name if you dare – and I will memorise them in order.’

  Some of the most ordinary looking people have the most outlandish names. Marika is surprised by names like Cyrano, Melody, Tiara, Quintina, Sylvester.

  Tossing her hair, Sheree says, ‘No middle name.’

  Bob looks sceptical, and Frankie barks twice.

  ‘It’s true,’ Sheree insists. Frankie barks three times.

  When everyone’s stopped laughing, Marika says ‘Beatrice’ and Arrow says ‘Katherine.’

  And Bob gets every one right from Annalise to Zara.

  He does a final memory feat, involving five packs of shuffled playing cards. After seeing each card only once, he recites the order of the cards perfectly.

  ‘I’m definitely in love with him,’ Sheree says.

  When the show’s over, people want to buy Bob a drink, but he declines. Sheree waves her green fingernails flirtatiously at him and calls out, ‘Hey, Roberto. Come and talk to us.’

  He hesitates, then stalks over to the table, Frankie at his side. He perches on the edge of a chair. There are dark shadows under his eyes and he seems exhausted.

  Marika hopes he won’t remember her. A vain hope, of course, with the kind of memory he’s got.

  ‘I’m Marika,’ she says, shifting in her seat. She hopes he won’t mention the swimming episode.

  ‘Your show was great,’ Arrow says. ‘How do you do it?’

  He looks bored. Marika gets the feeling he’s been explaining himself all his life. ‘I have a condition called synesthesia. I code information in a number of sensory ways.’

  ‘Huh?’ Sheree says.

  ‘We have five senses, right? Sight, sound, touch, smell and taste. Well, my senses cross over. I hear colours, see sounds, smell letters, taste numbers. It happens automatically. I can’t control it.’

  Marika leans forward, fascinated. ‘So all that richness of association helps you to remember things?’

  Bob gets up so abruptly he nearly knocks his chair over. ‘I remember everything,’ he says, ‘and that’s the problem.’

  As Arrow and Marika are walking home, Marika feels a little woozy. She’s had one beer too many. ‘It must be awful remembering absolutely everything,’ she mumbles. ‘Your brain would be crammed with trivial slights and hurts, as well as more tragic stuff.’

  Arrow grimaces. ‘I’d never be free then of my mother’s nagging and worrying.’

  ‘Sometimes I want to forget what happened,’ Marika says, so quietly that Arrow has to strain her ears. ‘I want to wipe my mind clean, but that would be so selfish and cowardly and disrespectful…’

  ‘Forget what?’ Arrow asks.

  In a tumble of words, Marika spills out the story of Jasper’s disappearance.

  ‘Oh,’ Arrow breathes. ‘That’s awful. I’m so sorry, Marika.’

  ‘I feel guilty. I let go of his hand.’ Marika digs a tissue out of her pocket. She blows her nose loudly, then wipes her eyes.

  ‘Now you know why I’m such a cry-baby. My mother can’t cry. My tears upset her, that’s why I’m living here.’

  ‘Those pictures you drew of that little boy – that was Jasper? He looks like a fighter – I mean, let’s hope he’s all right.’

  Marika stumbles. She wants to sink to the ground and tunnel to the ends of the earth. She feels Arrow’s arm around her, steadying her.

  ‘Tonight, it’s my turn to see you safely home,’ Arrow says. ‘Come on, not far to go now.’

  Not true. The journey has just begun.

  25. BOB

  This he remembers:

  When he was released from gaol, Dean wouldn’t have him back in the house and his mother was too scared to argue with Dean. Ellie was gone. She’d run off to the city, just as he once had. But she was only a kid.

  Alone in a tiny caravan on the beach, he watched a TV program about bees. Millions of bees couldn’t find their way home. They were dying, hives empty, honey abandoned.

  Scientists blamed chemicals, stress, warm winters: ‘Colony Collapse Disorder’.

  He thought of those disappearing bees, of the confused survivors struggling to use magnetic fields or rays of the sun to locate dead hives.

  Where was she? He thought of her struggling on the streets, navigating a fix, meal, bed.

  He
wanted to tell her: for the time being this hive is warm, well, living.

  Ellie, please home in.

  26. ARROW

  Arrow can’t stop thinking about the kidnapped child. She recalls seeing the heartbroken parents on TV, begging for his return. And the boy turns out to be Marika’s brother! Poor Marika. Poor little Jasper.

  She feels guilty about Fergus and his sisters. How much more guilty must Marika be feeling? Should she go over and see if she’s all right? But Marika had mentioned that she wanted to sculpt all day…

  The sky’s rolling with grey and black clouds. It’s probably going to rain, but Arrow puts on her jacket anyway and walks to the beach. She dawdles along the sand, admiring the neat little holes made by crabs, or is it worms? She can’t remember. Each hole is round, perfectly formed, surrounded by a frill of sand.

  Usually perky seagulls are hunched on the sand, looking as though they’re roosting as they withstand the wind. Arrow admires their stoicism, but wonders about their sense.

  There’s hardly anyone at the beach. A man is fishing, standing immobile in the water, his legs mottled blue and purple. Perhaps he’s too macho to wear waders. She says hello, but he’s not chatty, so she moves along, pausing only to smile at some children nearby who are building an elaborate sand castle.

  She watches out for Bob and Frankie, hoping they’re going for a walk, too. It would be good to talk to someone. She’d even put up with Sheree. Perhaps she should go to Vinnie’s on Monday to see if they’ve got a cheap TV.

  She trudges back to the house. It’s colder inside than out. Wrapped in a blanket, she lies on the sofa and mopes. She tries reading, but she doesn’t feel like more Borges and the other books she’s brought are too bleak. Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro is depressing; Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, about a father and small son journeying through a post-apocalyptic land, is hauntingly beautiful, but so sad! She fears the boy is not going to have a happy ending.

  She wants solace, comfort. A laugh or two.