Southern Storm (44 South Book 2) Page 4

  Olivia: There is nothing wrong with correct grammar.

  I chuckled to myself and then looked out of the windscreen to make sure I wasn’t being watched.

  Me: Its the fullstops tht make me :)

  There was nothing for a long moment; long enough for me to start the car. Then just as I put it into drive, the phone buzzed again.

  Olivia: Go. Home. To. Your. Girls.

  My smile slowly fell as if peeled from my face by the weight of sadness. Dani had laughed today. At this woman. At this slightly uptight, highly intelligent, redheaded school ma’am.

  I looked back down the driveway, but the house was in darkness. The rubbish already gone.

  Who was she? Something told me she was a whole lot of trouble. But Dani had laughed.

  And I’m a sucker for my daughters’ laughter. I hadn’t heard it in way too long.

  I pulled out from the kerb checking the shadows. But no hooligan stared out at me with disgruntled teenaged eyeballs. All the way back to Red Tussock, though, it felt like I was being watched.

  Watched and judged. I hoped Olivia Smith had some answers because I was fairly certain I’d be found wanting.

  I’d been found wanting for the past twelve months.

  Chapter 7

  Not That I Was Thinking Of Staying Here

  Liv

  I stared up at the penis. It looked lurid in the light of day.

  “Should have hosed it off last night,” Maggie commented mildly. She’d driven into the driveway half an hour ago and knocked on my back door. Introducing herself as Sergeant Blackmore of the Twizel Police and my neighbour.

  Apparently, she’d been at Red Tussock Station last night and missed all the action. She’d said that with a wry grin. I gathered she’d experienced some other form of action that she was unwilling to talk about.

  “I didn’t want to hang around outside in the dark,” I explained.

  Maggie made a non-committal sound and then said, “Didn’t Matt offer to do it for you?”

  “Ah, no.” Maggie frowned. “But he did offer to pick up the rubbish.”

  “Chivalry isn’t dead, then,” she said dryly.

  I smiled. I liked her. She was petite and at the same time a giant. Standing there in her blue police uniform, stab vest, and a gun holstered on her hip - a rarity for NZ cops - she seemed invincible. I decided I wanted to be her when I grew up.

  “A scrubbing brush and some mineral turps should do it,” Maggie advised. “Just swing by Wrightson’s, they should have all you need.”

  Not that there was a lot else to do on a Sunday in Twizel.

  I nodded my head but didn’t shift from my observation of the penis.

  “Why do kids draw genitalia anyway?” Maggie asked.

  “It’s to do with the pre-frontal cortex,” I said before I could think better of it.

  “The what now?” Maggie replied.

  I suppressed the sigh that wanted out. Being a teacher and only a teacher was hard.

  “Something I read once,” I prefaced. “The PFC is in constant dialogue with the limbic part of the brain. That’s the emotional part of the brain. In adults, this connection is in balance, each one inhibiting the other. But for teenagers, there’s no inhibitor to stop them acting out. They think something will be exciting, dangerous or funny, and go straight ahead and do it without the PFC telling their limbic side of the brain to slow down. To stop and think before acting.”

  “Not sure all adults have that balance either,” Maggie commented.

  “Yes, well, that’s where mental disorders come in. They upset the balance. But in theory for adults, the balance existed at one time, and the disorder just tripped it up. Unless, of course, the disorder is carried over since childhood.”

  Maggie stared at me for a long moment, and I thought perhaps I’d overdone it. It was a passion of mine, the brain. Not talking about it was harder than I had imagined.

  “Bit of light reading was it?” Maggie asked, brow arched.

  I forced myself to smile and then shrugged my shoulders. “It’s how I branched into special needs education.”

  I didn’t like lying to her. Aside from the fact that I immediately felt a kinship with the woman, she was also a police officer. Someone I should be able to trust. But if the Auckland detectives who had sent me down here to hide hadn’t informed the local police station, then I could only assume the Twizel cops fell into the ‘don’t tell them anything’ category.

  Still, lying went against everything I stood for. Open communication leads to a healthy mental state of mind. I’d always believed that. I was in danger of coming away from Twizel fucked in the head.

  “And that’s a good thing,” Maggie said, interrupting my train of thought and making me think she was reading my mind. For a second there, I thought she condoned mental instability. “Rachel and Dani need someone like you,” she added, bringing me back on track.

  “Twelve months is a long time to remain mute,” I agreed.

  “Try six years,” Maggie said, her lips pursing.

  I blinked at her. She offered a crooked smile. “My brother,” she explained. “PTSD,” she added. Then she looked back at the penis as if to indicate the topic was over.

  “Wrightson’s,” she repeated. “Do you know where it is?”

  “I have GPS in my car.”

  “Glad someone came here prepared,” she muttered. “OK, good to meet you, Olivia. Welcome to the crazy world of Twizel.”

  She waved goodbye and jumped back into her police ute, leaving me staring at a florid pink penis dripping ejaculate down the side of my rental home’s wall.

  I’m sure I could think up a joke to that somehow.

  I shook my head, locked up the house, and climbed into my car. PGG Wrightson’s was on Main Street, so really didn’t require a map to find it. I pulled into the parking lot, rolling the Volvo to a stop next to a beat up Toyota flatbed truck. There was a cow standing on the back of it, chewing its cud. It blinked down at me, swished its tail at a non-existent fly, and then started to pee. The spray of urine splashed over the side of the truck and onto the hood of my car.

  I closed my eyes and tipped back my head, staring at the cloudless sky, praying for patience. How long, he had asked. Too long, was now my answer.

  There was nowhere else to park; Wrightson’s was popular. In a farming community, that made sense. So, I breathed steadily and headed into the store, locating what I needed within minutes. The young man who served me had a purple mohawk. I thought it a strange choice of decoration, but he’d also chosen to place a ring through his nose. Reminding me of the cow currently repainting my car out in the carpark.

  “Visitor?” he asked.

  “I just moved here,” I explained handing over the cash required.

  “To Twizel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Because I have a stalker back home, who has escalated his behaviour pattern and evidence suggests I may get hurt.

  “Job,” I said instead of all of that.

  “In Twizel?” he repeated.

  I smiled. “Yes.”

  He leant forward and rested his elbows on the counter. He looked about twenty. Fifteen years my junior. He still had the odd pimple on his freshly shaven face.

  “Need a tour guide?” he enquired.

  “In Twizel?” I asked, turning the tables on him. He didn’t catch the irony.

  “Yeah. Could show you where all the good spots are for parking.”

  Preferably not next to a flatbed truck with a pissing cow.

  “You know, where it’s cool for hook-ups and the like.”

  Oh, that kind of parking. Perhaps if I’d ever done ‘parking’ before, I would have caught that a lot sooner.

  “Ah,” I said, uncertainly.

  “I drive a Subaru,” he advised. “WRX. It's got an STI trim, loud exhaust tip, hellaflush, scoop, low-line stance and underbody LEDs. It’s sweet-as. What do you drive?”

  “Volvo,” I said, feeling surreal.

  “Volvo?”

  “Yes. S60.”

  “Modified?”

  Bloody hell. Couldn’t the guy see he was way out of my league here? And that I’m way too old for parking of any kind. Let alone in a vehicle with after factory modifications.

  “Ah, no. I just bought it.”

  “Can help you with that if you want.”

  “With what?”

  “Tricking it out.”

  “Um, that won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

  He shrugged and stood up from his lean against the counter. “You know where I am,” he said, turning his attention to the next customer.

  I slowly lifted the turps up off the counter and took a step away. My eyes stuck fast on the young man’s mohawk and nose ring. I forced myself to start walking toward the door, but as it swooshed open, I heard the guy say to his next customer behind me, “Visitor?”

  “I live here,” the gruff farmer replied.

  “In Twizel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  I started laughing as the door closed behind me, the sight of the cow and the addition of a pile of shit on the flatbed not lessening my amusement.

  Twizel was going to be interesting. Maybe they needed a permanent psychiatrist.

  Not that I was thinking of staying here.

  Chapter 8

  Life Just Got Interesting

  Matt

  A black Volvo was parked in front of the house. When I climbed out of my ute and walked past it, I noticed the paint on the bonnet was dull. In every other respect, the car looked brand new. The hood was out of place, but I liked it.

  I flicked a glance back at my Ford Ranger. Dirt splattered the sides and sheep shit coated the alloys. There were insects stuck all over the grille.

  Next to the Volvo it looked like something from a post-apocalyptic movie. The Volvo had a long way to go.

  I pushed open the front door and heard Mum in the kitchen talking to Dad. I headed toward there but stopped when I spotted movement in the lounge room off to the side. I poked my head inside and watched for a moment.

  Dani was reading a book, and Rachel was scowling. Arms crossed over her chest, defiant look in her eyes, a stubborn set to her shoulders.

  I’d seen that look a thousand times before.

  Over twelve months ago was the last time I’d witnessed it.

  I stood stock still, barely breathing. My heart ached. My chest burned. I didn’t dare move, not that I could have. I didn’t want to be seen.

  “What’s this word?” Liv was asking.

  Rachel ground her teeth.

  They stared at each other for a full minute.

  “OK,” Liv said, undeterred. “Tell me what you think they mean by this?” She pointed to a line in a book placed between them.

  Rachel remained stubbornly still.

  A full minute passed as if Liv was timing it to the second.

  “Do you think it has something to do with Freddie and his dislike of Sally?” she asked.

  Rachel looked down at the book and then nodded her head.

  “Brilliant,” Liv said. “That’s exactly what it’s about.” Rachel relaxed slightly. “But why do you think he said that to her?”

  Rachel blinked. Liv waited the full minute for a reply.

  “And look here,” she said enthusiastically. “He does it again on this page. Did you read that?”

  Rachel took a second to comprehend this was a question not requiring a verbal answer and then nodded her head.

  “Why do you think he repeats himself?”

  Rachel blinked. Liv waited.

  “You know what I think?” Liv asked after a minute of silence. Rachel slowly shook her head as if she thought the question was a trick of some sort. “I think you know the answer.”

  Rachel glared at her. And then holding Liv’s gaze, reached down and picked up a pen from the table. Without breaking eye contact, she pulled a pad over and placed the nib of the pen to paper.

  “You want to write your answer?” Liv asked softly.

  Rachel nodded her head.

  “Sweetheart,” Liv said, and I sucked in a breath of air quietly. “I want to hear you say it.”

  Rachel shook her head.

  “Why, Rachel?” Liv asked carefully. “Are you afraid of something?”

  Rachel blinked.

  “Of someone hearing you?”

  Rachel just stood there.

  “It’s just us. You, me and Dani.”

  Rachel’s eyes met mine. It took a second, but Liv slowly turned around and spotted me.

  “Mr Drake,” she said, voice devoid of emotion.

  “Matt,” I corrected. “It’s time for lunch.” I wasn’t certain if it was, but I could smell something good wafting out of the kitchen. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to admit to eavesdropping.

  “OK,” Liv said cheerfully. “We’ll pick this up after lunch.” That was addressed to Rachel, who promptly slammed her pen down on the table and ran toward me.

  She wrapped her arms around my legs and buried her face in between my thighs. Like a limpet.

  I stared down at her and then slowly placed my hand on top of her head. My fingers were shaking. Rachel didn’t usually instigate contact.

  “Lunch, girls,” Mum called out from the kitchen. In the next moment, Rachel was gone. Dani chasing after her.

  Slowly Liv got to her feet and faced me.

  “You seem surprised,” she said carefully. “Does Rachel not usually run to you for comfort?”

  I shook my head.

  “Does she cry?” What sort of question was that?

  And then I thought about it. I shook my head.

  “Does Dani?”

  “Yes. Sometimes.”

  Liv smiled. It was full of understanding. “This is going to take time, Matt,” she informed me. “But I can help them.”

  She kept saying that. But all I saw was my little girl in a battle of wills when she didn’t need to be. Then running to me to make it all better afterwards.

  As if she read my mind, Liv added, “Behaviour out of the norm - the norm that the girls have established since becoming mute - is to be encouraged. Whether you believe that behaviour productive or not. I will never push them too far. But they need to be pushed.”

  She watched me, assessed me. Her eyes taking in every flinch that swept over my face.

  “It’s best if they don’t get confused, though,” she added. “I do one thing. You do another. That sort of thing. You need to encourage them to talk as well. Right now, for Rachel, I’m the dragon. You’re the dragon slayer.”

  “You want me to be a dragon, too?” I demanded. Was she trying to turn my kids away from me when they were already almost too far out of reach?

  “No. Not at all.” She took a step closer. Then another. Until she was a mere couple feet away from me. “I want them to understand that the dragon is good. That the dragon is safe. That it’ll help them.”

  “Not protect them.”

  She shook her head. “The type of protection they want is not the type of protection they need.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “On the contrary,” she argued. “You’re the parent. They’re the kids. Six-year-old kids who have experienced a traumatic episode which has altered the way they see the world and react to it. Who should be leading whom in that scenario?”

  She was right. But I was angry. I ran a hand through my hair and swallowed thickly. My throat was fucking dry. And for all the wrong reasons.

  I wanted to hit something. I wanted to shout and rage. Fucking Marinkovich. I wished the fucker was still alive. Then I could make him pay.

  I could kill him slower than I did the first time. Drag it out. Make it painful. As painful as my every single day.

  A soft hand came down on my arm and rested there. My muscles bunched. My skin tingled. Liv’s fingers squeezed tightly.

  “It’s OK to be angry,” she murmured. “It’s OK to feel that kind of rage.”

  “What would you know?” I growled.

  “You think I don’t get angry?”

  I stared down at her. She laughed derisively.

  “I didn’t exactly pick Twizel because I wanted to live here,” she said.

  “Then why did you take the job?”

  Her eyes flicked away. I reached up and gripped her chin, bringing those bright blues back to my face.

  “Olivia?” I pressed. “Why did you take the job?”

  “The girls…”

  “Bullshit. You came all the way down here without having confirmed employment. Moved into the Harrisons’ rental without a backwards glance. Why did you take the job?”

  “You said it yourself, I came before the job was confirmed. I don’t need to work. But it seemed fortuitous.”

  “Fortuitous? Is that what you’re going with?”

  “Yes.” She looked furious. Furious and worried.

  My fingers still gripped her chin, her cheeks flushed an inviting pink. She licked her lips.

  I leant forward, let my breath brush over her moist skin, and said, “You’re hiding something.” She tried to shake her head. “You’re hiding something, and I intend to discover what it is.”

  “Matt,” she said. “There’s nothing.”

  “Doll, you forget. I’m a cop. And I’m very good at it.”

  “Now look who’s entirely too full of themselves,” she muttered.

  I smiled. My thumb stroking across her jaw. And then I let her go and walked toward the kitchen.

  Life just got interesting.

  Chapter 9

  I Was A Guppy

  Liv

  It was Sunday again. A long weekend. Maggie was at the door. I’d spent Monday to Thursday driving back and forth to Red Tussock, trying to avoid Matt Drake, and making slow progress with Rachel and Dani. They still hadn’t spoken. Not that I had expected them to at this early stage. But their behaviour had altered.