Felicity Young - Take Out

Monty shook his head. ‘Feisty old bird.’

A wail cut into their conversation, Izzy made a crash landing and both parents rushed to her aid. She reached out to Monty as if Stevie wasn’t there. The grazed knee wasn’t life threatening; he kissed it better and carried her to the tap at the top of the steps and cleaned the wound. Minutes later she was back on the swing as if nothing had happened.

Monty returned to the bench. Sensing Stevie’s despondency he took her hand. ‘She only came to me because I’ve been home so much lately.’

‘I’m not much of a mother, am I? I might have spent weeks reuniting Mai and her child, but I’ve totally neglected my own.’

‘You’re a wonderful mother. Don’t over-analyse things.’

Stevie swallowed down her emotion. ‘I think it’s time for a change.’

There was an awkward silence. Monty’s gaze dropped to their clasped hands. ‘What kind of a change?’

‘I’m going to put in for a transfer, something less demanding, more regular hours. I’ve had enough of sleaze and exploitation.’

He expelled a breath of relief, ‘Christ,’ and pressed his hands to his eyes. ‘I believe they’re after a lollipop lady in Maylands.’

Pulling his hands away she kissed him on the lips. ‘Sounds perfect.’

He got up from the bench and headed toward the icecream van in the carpark.

‘Hey,’ Stevie called out to him. ‘Where are you going? You know you can’t have ice-cream.’

He ignored her, walked past the van and stopped pointedly at the top of the beach steps near the shower. Then he turned back and grinned at her through the fading light. (Image 31.1)

Image 31.1

EPILOGUE

Niran’s mother holds his chubby hand as they make their way through the busy market. All around people yell, selling food from their stalls. Niran whines, says he’s thirsty. The earlier train journey was fun, but he doesn’t think much of all this walking. Eventually his mother gives in, buying him a coconut with a straw in the top of it. He sucks the sweet juice and listens to his mother talk to a walnut – faced old woman behind the stand. A boy with a machete works behind her, skilfully hacking the husks away from the nuts. Niran thinks it looks like a fun job. He’d like to ask for a turn, but he knows he is still too small; he is barely strong enough to hold the coconut with two hands and he knows his mother would never let him try. He puts his drink back on the stand and hides among the folds of his mother’s silk dress, inhaling her perfume.

He hears her asking for directions to the house his mother wants to visit. The old woman says it is not far away, just a short walk. Niran turns his mouth down; his legs are burning, he hates that word ‘walk.’ He wishes they could hire a tuktuk but he hasn’t seen any of sign of the cheap Bangkok taxis in this dusty old village. When the old woman finishes telling them how to get to the house, his mother rewards her with a folded note from her diamond purse.

A little further on from the market stalls they stop at the village tap. Niran’s mother pulls a handkerchief from her sleeve, wets it and wipes Niran’s face and sticky hands. She reminds him to bow when he meets these strangers, keep his eyes lowered and say nothing unless he is spoken to first.

She increases her pace and Niran has to jog to keep up with her. Her hand grips his so tightly he almost cries out. They eventually arrive. Still gripping his hand, Niran’s mother speaks to a girl smaller than he is, playing with some empty bottles under a bamboo house. She has filled them up with water and they make ding dong sounds when she hits them with a stick. Niran would like to play too, but remembering his mother’s warning, he stays silent. The girl runs up the wobbly steps, calling out to her father. Another older girl dressed in shorts and a T-shirt looks at them from the house for a moment and then disappears. She comes back, minutes later, wearing a blue dress. Her father brings her down the steps and then hands her a plastic bag. Niran thinks it must contain clothes, it looks squashy. The girl in the blue dress looks back up at the house, sees her mother looking down at her and begins to cry.

‘Don’t cry, Pi,’ her father says with his hand upon her shoulder. ‘This woman is here to help you if you will help her.’

Niran’s mother looks the girl up and down. ‘She’s not very big.’ For some reason, Niran’s mother looks sad when she says this. ‘I thought she was older. I don’t like to start them off too small.’

Pi’s father makes circles over his chest with both hands. ‘She’ll grow. Meanwhile, she can look after your son while you work—she’s good with children.’

Niran’s mother runs her hand across her chin as she thinks. Pi’s mother looks down at her from the house, holding hard onto the veranda rail.

‘Say hello to Pi, Niran,’ Niran’s mother finally says. ‘This girl is to be your big sister.’

Pi’s mother lets out her breath and claps her hands with joy.

Pi is still crying.

Niran bows to Pi as he has been taught. He has to tell his feet to stand still and not jump all over the place. He has always wanted a big sister. He hopes the girl will stop crying soon and play with him.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

There are several people I’d like to thank for helping me to get this novel to print. Firstly, three of my harshest but most valuable critics: Carole Sutton, Trish O’Neill and Christine Nagel. Also my daughter, Pippa Young (RN), for updating me on nursing practice in the noughties; my agent Sheila Drummond; Wendy Jenkins for her advice and assistance; and Georgia Richter, my talented editor from Fremantle Press. Last but not least I’d like to thank my mother, Angela Wilmot—Mum, you know why.

OTHER STEVIE HOOPER TITLES AN EASEFUL DEATH

She was naked, her body was hairless and she’d been sprayed with bronze paint. She was posed in a provocative manner with her legs open, her chin resting in her hand and her elbow on the stone table in front of her. I think the intention was to make her look like she was some kind of nude supermodel or a mannequin even.

The woman’s face was an expressionless mask... Easeful Death was printed down the length of her right thigh in black marker pen.

Someone is killing beautiful young women and taking extraordinary risks to carefully pose their painted bodies in public places. The first is bronze, then silver—who will be gold?

Detective Sergeant Stevie Hooper, young, hard-edged and newly seconded to the Serious Crime Squad, finds herself haunted by disturbing flashbacks as the bizarre case unfolds. As she closes in on the killer, the carefully drawn line between her professional and personal life becomes increasingly blurred until Hooper no longer knows who she can trust.

Available from www.fremantlepress.com.au

HARUM SCARUM

Bianca thought of Katy Enigma... would Katy go with this man? He had soft brown eyes and, despite his strange nose, his face looked kind. He smiled. Bianca placed her hand in his and felt him shiver. She didn’t know why, it wasn’t cold at all.

When the body of eleven-year-old Bianca Webster is found dumped, it is soon clear to DS Stevie Hooper that the murder is connected to paedophile Internet site, the Dream Team. Another murder leads her to suspect that she might have a vigilante on her hands.

Cyber technology spins at the heart of this thriller: Katy Enigma, Lolita, Harum Scarum—just who or what lies beneath these Internet nicknames? Stevie Hooper finds herself racing against time to discover the identities before another child is taken.