Kate Hamer: The Girl in the Red Coat

Sometimes Mom says we should have brought you with us. I think she misses you too and she says that you could have made a fortune here on account of the Mexican mind being so gullible to religion. Then she says it would have only brought in trouble. I miss you all the time Carmel and wonder if you still write your name everywhere and if you still want to go work in a hospital, like you told me.

Silver puts on a fancy dress most days and goes and sits on the bench outside hoping to attract boys. But it’s so quiet here, most days there’s only the old yellow dog walking by and all that happens is that he might decide to stop and have a scratch at his fleas. I don’t care about it being quiet and all but I would like you to be here Carmel and we could read and write stuff together. Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever see each other again though I guess not,

Your loving sister,

Melody.

I touch my finger to her name and think of their pink house in the bright sunshine which must have been got with all the dollars Dorothy stole. I’m glad for Melody but it doesn’t seem quite fair what with me and Gramps and the truck dying. I creep under a spare corner of the blanket with Gramps and say a prayer for Melody and then one to Mum. I tell Mum I love her still and hope maybe she can see us here if she’s made it into heaven. But then I change my mind about that because I’m not sure I’d like her to see me sleeping in a ditch with only a blanket over me.

*

In the morning I wake up much sooner than Gramps. There’s a strange and beautiful colour in the sky — grey and purple — and it seems to make the air around us that colour too. I slide out from underneath the blanket that’s got tangled round us in the night. I’m stiff and cold from sleeping on the ground so I pull my knees up to my chin and blow on my hands to try and warm up.

Gramps is sleeping peacefully. The blanket moves up and down as he breathes. A bird jumps on top of him and it’s bobbing its tiny head and pecking at the blanket, as if it’s going to find food there. There’s a soft lovely wind blowing round us that makes the grasses rustle. Then Gramps starts to wake, muttering and grumbling, and the bird jumps off him and flies away. Gramps sits up with the blanket half falling around him.

‘Where are we?’ He looks around us, then remembers. His face goes all hard and gloomy. ‘What now, Carmel? What now for us?’

I don’t know how to answer this so I blow on my hands some more.

He turns his eyes up towards the sky. ‘Please God, look upon our time of need …’

I look up too and watch the purple-grey clouds shift about. He carries on, praying beside me. He runs out of prayers in the end.

‘You should put your hands together when we pray,’ he says.

I shrug a bit instead, hoping we can change the subject. Thinking we should be deciding what to do now, not praying. Anyway, I feel angry with God today and sometimes I remember how Dad didn’t believe there was one and even Mum said she wasn’t sure.

Gramps takes his glasses out of his top coat pocket to clean them. Without them, his eyes look naked and pale.

‘Wilful child. God is listening to us, how can you think He’s not?’ Sometimes he seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. It’s creepy.

I don’t want to have an argument with him — even though I can see he does. I start doing star jumps to get some feeling back into my legs.

‘Well. What have you got to say?’ He doesn’t want to leave me alone. I can feel I’m getting annoyed now.

‘All this talking to the sky — the sky doesn’t care about us, it just cares for itself. And pretty soon it’s going to rain on us so we better make a move.’

But he buries his head in his hands. ‘How can you, you of all people, say such a thing? I’ve taken you on, I’ve nurtured you and now you utter this nonsense about talking to the sky. To deny when God has chosen you to be His instrument. It’s a desperate sin, child. You’ll kill me with this talk. I’m half dead from it already.’

I don’t like it when Gramps makes out I’m an angel or a saint. I just want to be a real person.

‘It’s the people, Gramps, I think it mostly comes from the people themselves.’

‘And me? What does that mean? In all these years nothing could be done for me.’ His shoulders are heaving and I think he’s about to start sobbing.

All I can say is, ‘That’s the way it is; it just is, is all. I don’t know why.’

We go quiet for a while, then he starts talking through his fingers because he’s still got his head in his hands.

‘Sometimes I think someone is after us, Carmel.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘I see him. I catch glimpses of him. In the mirrors of the truck, or through a window …’

‘Who, Gramps? What are you talking about?’

‘He wants you. He wants what’s mine. He’ll go to any lengths …’

I shout then, because it seems that’s the only way anything will get through to him. ‘Gramps, who? Why would he be after us?’

‘To rescue you. To take you back.’

‘Rescue me from what?

‘From me …’

‘Gramps, you’re not making any sense. Who is he? What does he look like?’

He opens up his fingers so I can only see one eye. ‘I don’t know. All I’ve seen is a hat. Sometimes a raincoat. He looks different every time.’

I sigh. ‘Gramps, I think you’re imagining things. You have to stay calm, you can’t go round thinking about men in hats. Why are you always thinking that I’ll be taken off you?’

‘You’re right. You belong to me.’

‘No, I don’t belong .’ I kick at some tall grass. ‘I’m not a parcel. Anyway, I’ve never asked why you got to keep me?’ My forehead might look like a garlic bulb now.

‘You know why, child. Your father didn’t want you. I took on the burden, the responsibility, that he was too selfish to bear.’

‘But,’ I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, ‘he might have changed his mind by now?’

I stick my toe in the dirt and scrape it around because I know I shouldn’t have said all this but he’s silent and when I look down at him again the expression on his face makes me freeze. Without warning, the prickles are there, racing right over me.

‘Maybe we should just end it here,’ he says.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I mean, end it. For both of us, for once and for all.’

I really shout then. ‘Shut up! You stupid old man. You —’

He stands up like his hip’s not hurting him at all, and the blanket falls to the ground. I see a terrible flash of his old power then and his shoulders go back and his arms seem to grow bigger.

‘You’re not a child, you’re a fiend.’

Then it flies out of my mouth. ‘Who’s Mercy, Gramps? Who is she?’

‘She’s you.’

‘No, the other one. The real one in the passport. What did you do with her? Where is she?’

He goes quiet and still. ‘What do you know about Mercy, snooper?’

The prickles nearly make me fall over they’re so strong.

‘Nothing. I want to know she’s alright. Is she? You hurt her, didn’t you?’ I’m yelling now. ‘What happened?’

He looks like if he punched something now it would fall down dead. ‘Be quiet, fiend,’ he roars.

But I don’t stop, I can’t. ‘So I’m a fiend now? Suit yourself then,’ I yell and I shove my hands in my pockets and jump out of the ditch and start marching down the road. Then I stop and look back. ‘You know what? I reckon Mum was right all along not talking to you. It was your fault you fell out, wasn’t it? She wouldn’t have wanted you to keep me.’ I turn and start walking off again.