The Enumerations Read online

  So much Juliet could write in her journal, but nothing she’s ready to examine that closely.

  The sound of her father’s voice won’t go away. All that hate, so much disgust. So little love for his wife and daughters.

  Juliet picks up her pen. She has to write something in this stupid journal, and she won’t be betraying anyone if her topic for this afternoon is Me and My Dad: The Wonderful World of Juliet Ryan and Bart, her Fabulous Father.

  He doesn’t say much, her father. Not to Juliet, anyway. It’s different with her mother. He’s got plenty to say to her about the state of the house: For God’s sake, Monica, can’t you keep the maid under control, what exactly are we paying her for? Her mother, quiet, always quiet, then apologising again and again and again. I’m sorry, Bart. Sorry, Bart. That’s her mother’s litany when he comes home, her hands shaking because she needs a drink.

  Juliet has seen her mom shake. Seen her scurrying, Sorry Bart, sorry, flitting from kitchen to dining room to lounge to stoep. Trying to straighten rooms that never look properly clean and tidy no matter how many times she asks the latest maid to Please do this, and Could you do that?

  Bart Ryan.

  She can’t see how her mother’s ever going to escape him. If he had his way, Juliet would be in his power too, pinned down by his hard eyes, reduced to stuttering and mumbling and shuffling and trying, always trying. And then, finally, the desired result. Sorry Dad, sorry Dad, sorry.

  Those are words Bart Ryan will never hear his daughter say.

  111.

  Gabriel is sitting on a wooden bench in a police station and Mum walks past and she doesn’t even look at him.

  Mum, he says, Mum, where are you going? Where’s Harry? but Mum doesn’t answer. She walks past him and the policeman shuts the door behind them and leaves Gabriel all alone.

  It’s hot. The policeman sitting on the bench next to him has big rings of sweat under his arms, staining the deep blue of his uniform. There’s sweat on his face too, shining on his forehead. He’s there to keep Gabriel company while they talk to his mum. And then they can all go home.

  Gabriel wants to lie down on his bed in the corner of Mum’s room, next to Harry’s cot, and close his eyes and sleep. From there, he can see out of the window, watch the moon rise and light up the roofs of the houses gathered across the street. He can hear the clank and rumble of the rubbish truck coming to collect the waste. None of the places in the old man’s house are safe, but at least when Gabriel’s in his own bed, he can escape into sleep.

  Gabriel closes his eyes and an orange glow lights up behind his eyelids. People come and go and talk and there’s a man shouting somewhere down a corridor, yelling and saying, It’s her fault. Why don’t you talk to the bitch, and the policeman on the other side of the counter is laughing at something and the phones are ringing. There’s so much noise, but it isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of fire as it sweeps along the path that’s been set for it. So fast.

  Gabriel never knew it could move so fast. Huge leaping bounds and as it runs it grows. Bright, brighter, looking for somewhere to stop and guzzle.

  So, Gabriel. The policeman sitting next to him says his name and Gabriel opens his eyes. Do you want to tell me what happened?

  Later, years later, Gabriel knows that the man should never have spoken to him. He should never have kept Gabriel from closing his eyes and falling asleep. He should never have asked the same questions over and over again while Gabriel’s mother was in the room with the other policeman, the one who’s walking up to them now.

  I couldn’t get anything from her, Gabriel hears him saying to the sweaty man sitting on a wooden bench next to him. Any luck here?

  None, says the other. All you need to do is smell the kid, though.

  Gabriel’s eyes are closed, but he hears the voices behind the crackle and pop of the fire, behind the running, jumping, munching of the fire, he hears their voices. But he’s too tired to open his eyes, too tired to speak and tell them what happened.

  112.

  Ever since Noah went to Greenhills, Maddie’s mom is doing things she’d never have done when he was home. Like reading the newspaper and then abandoning it on the couch. Not folded along its seams and neatly flipped in two and aligned with the edge of the coffee table. Today, for example, it has been left wide open, displaying the contents of pages twelve and thirteen.

  Maddie notices it shortly after she gets home from school and looks surprised. Her mom apologises and goes to tidy it away, but Maddie stops her.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mom. It’s all right.’

  That night at supper Maddie says, as she loads food onto her fork, ‘Have you noticed that now that Noah’s gone, we’re not so pernickety?’

  ‘Pernickety? That’s an odd word,’ her dad says.

  ‘Yes, but it’s a good one for how we were with him.’

  Maddie’s mouth is full now and she knows better than to continue talking. Standards might be dropping, but not that far.

  113.

  27 July 2011 / 00:57

  Kate moved through the house, from room to room, from window to window, staring out into the dark of the garden. The house was secure, a new key and remote hung from her keyring. Tomorrow, her husband said. Tomorrow he’d look at a new car for her.

  ‘Something small,’ she said. ‘That’s all I want, Dom. A car no one will go to any effort to steal.’

  Dominic agreed. There was no guarantee that anything was safe, but he’d do all he could, and more, to keep his family from further harm.

  So, a new car for Kate. That was a job for the next day, but just then Dominic had to stop Kate’s restless pacing.

  ‘Come, Kate.’

  She stood in the centre of the living room, looking around her. She’d chosen that sofa, long enough to stretch out on, doze off on. She’d chosen that table, that vase. She’d arranged those irises, tall and violet-blue, just that morning. She’d decided on the curtains, more wisp than drape, to allow a better view of sea and mountain.

  Now, she wanted curtains that were dark, double-lined, heavy. Ones she could close tight against the outside.

  ‘Darling.’ Dominic was at her side, a glass of water in one hand, a small white pill in the other. A sleeping tablet. Kate didn’t want to take it, but tomorrow there would be lots to sort out. New phones, for starters. She’d have to call the school, update their numbers. Phone Speed Key, praise the quiet efficiency of the men who had come to help them. What else? Check the kids’ timetable on the fridge. Did Maddie have another gym practice? She was so keen to make it onto the team, but would she even want to go to school tomorrow? Was there a protocol for situations like this? Did you hunker down inside your house and wish the world away, or head out in the morning with a smile on your face and a breezy hello for Audrey Parfitt, as if nothing had happened?

  Only something had, and no doubt Audrey had seen the police car drawing up outside the Groomes’ house, the Speed Key van that followed it, the lights that blazed from every room, that were still blazing at one in the morning.

  Sleep was essential if Kate was going to get through the next day.

  114.

  It’s Noah’s fifth week at Greenhills and already Maddie’s finding it hard to remember life with him at home. They’re slipping into a new routine too easily, she thinks, when she remembers how carefully, how meticulously they had to observe the demands of his timetable, to make sure that their days fitted in around his schedule.

  Now, he holds a different place in their lives, the one labelled:

  ‘Sunday Afternoon, 2.30–4.30 p.m.’ Two hours a week, that’s all.

  Maddie misses him so much. At times it feels like all the air has been sucked out of her. Now she understands the power of sorrow.

  Then again, when she doesn’t have to worry about him, think about what he needs or how he might react to something out of the ordinary, the heaviness lifts and Maddie can fill her lungs and breathe.

  115.

&nbs
p; Day 31 / 13:41

  ‘I used to be friends with a mermaid.’

  Juliet’s working hard, trying to get Noah to pay attention, look away from his calculations.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A mermaid. Jeez, dude. Don’t you ever listen to anyone?’

  No, he wants to say. Not when he’s trying to fill in his time sheets. It’s always the same story – ever since he got to Greenhills – trying to balance minutes lost with minutes gained, and on top of all that, figuring out how to fit in the latest task Ms Turner has set. Last week they walked the lawn together and he managed to cross it 3 times without having to count. Then he caved (and counted and tapped), but the next day they managed it 7 times, and the next a few more, Ms Turner at his elbow, talking, ‘about anything and everything, Noah, as long as it keeps you distracted.’

  Today, though, it’s completely different. She wants him to try it on his own. ‘Ten minutes in the morning, Noah, and ten in the afternoon, out in the grounds. Try walking across the lawn and back again without counting, without following any of the paths.’

  She’s insane, she must be, to ask him that. But no, there’s the infuriatingly understanding smile that always follows when she sets another of her stupid tasks. ‘Think of them like doing a few chores for your mom, Noah. Like emptying the trash, rather than climbing Mount Everest.’

  Does this Turner woman not understand the meaning of consequences?

  It is more like climbing Everest, even if she says he can turn back whenever he wants to, that she’ll talk him through it, show him how not to count—

  ‘She’s always there …’ Juliet’s saying and Noah drags his attention away from Ms Turner.

  ‘… or at least she was when I was a little girl. She’d be on the rocks in the far corner of the beach. Sitting, smiling. Waiting for me. You’d think I’d have outgrown her by now, and I suppose I have, I know she’s not real. But that doesn’t stop me hoping she’s still there, waiting for me to arrive.’

  He’s listening. He might as well now. Juliet’s non-stop talking, thinking about Ms Turner – his chain of thought’s completely broken. The numbers he had lined up, ready to add, are dancing around in circles.

  It’s a bit of a problem, this. He finds himself talking to Juliet, using words unnecessarily, wanting to know more about her, about mermaids, holidays Juliet went on as a little girl. So, he listens, promising himself he’ll get back to his calculations later.

  Later? And when exactly is later going to be?

  ‘Every summer, when Mom and Dad took us away, off to the seaside to play Happy Families, I’d go straight to those rocks to find her. She’d always be there, smiling, humming, waving at me.’

  Juliet’s sitting still and her voice is quiet. ‘One of these days I’ll take Lily back there and we can go mermaid-chasing, see if she’s there, if she remembers me.’

  116.

  Day 32 / 06:18

  There is no one and nothing. The space around Noah is clear and blue. He’s deep in crystal blue, shining and clean. He inhales and fills his lungs and heart with blue, his eyes, his ears, his open mouth. He breathes it in until every vein in his body runs blue.

  When he wakes up, he doesn’t try for his pulse. He doesn’t scan his room.

  He breathes in and out. He feels inside himself for blue; it’s still there. Cool, calm.

  He sits up. He has to start. Let fingers find their way to his pulse, check and check again, but for a moment he sits on the end of his bed, bathed in blue.

  There’s the clank of Amber’s cleaning trolley, the smell of antiseptic following her. Morné’s deodorant, sweet in the corridor.

  He touches his finger to his pulse again. Slow, steady, regular. He can do his check now and then go to his cupboard and take out his Tuesday t-shirt, jeans, a clean pair of blue socks.

  A quick check of the clock. He’s running to time.

  Another quick check.

  How could he have missed it?

  His organiser has been moved. It’s balancing on the edge of his desk. If he moves too suddenly, it will topple to the floor and spill pencils and pens, his eraser, Post-its. And then they will all have to be gathered up and put back exactly where they belong. He will lose minutes. And more minutes, because …

  He checks his pulse and it’s galloping. His breath is coming out in short bursts, his hands are cold. Where to begin? Where to start? He stands up, creeps across the room. Slowly, slowly, he reaches for it, slides it gently back to the solid, secure space of the desk.

  Last night, while he was dreaming, someone was in his room.

  Noah had been floating in a sea of blue. Blue above and blue below. Blue of sea, blue of sky. Blue to hold the fishes. Blue to hold the birds. Blue had allowed him to sleep, deep and cool and untroubled. He’d dropped his defences against the Dark, and in that time, someone came into his room. A prowling shadow had found its way to the desk and slid an object to its very edge.

  117.

  27 July 2011 / 01:49

  Noah’s room was dark, there was no moon to throw light from the sky. It made sense that home invaders operated on nights like this, evil unseen, slipping shadow-like from deed to deed, leaving despair and chaos, anger and grief in their wake.

  ‘We were lucky,’ his mother had said as they’d stood huddled together. ‘They didn’t hurt us.’

  But in a weird way he wished they had. He wished they’d knocked him to the ground as he tried to defend her. He wished he’d had the chance to fight back, throw them down, one by one. Tie them back to back, gag them so they couldn’t scream, their mouths filling with spit and blood as they forced their tongues against cloth, trying to bite free.

  118.

  On the thirty-second day of Noah’s time in Greenhills, Kate phones Dominic in a panic. ‘What if we’re doing the wrong thing, Dom?’ She’s standing in the hallway, her phone hard to her ear, and she hears him sigh. Not loudly, but it’s there, that small, impatient exhalation.

  Noah’s door is open, his walls are bare. Kate walks into his room and breathes. She can just about catch him on the air.

  Dominic’s voice is loud, ‘Kate? Can you hear me?’

  She turns, just as she’s seen her son doing, looking from corner to corner to corner, her head moving the same way as his.

  ‘Kate?’

  Kate can hear him just fine. She hears every word Dominic says, catches every inflection, worries about his ongoing lack of response. When was the last time he answered her properly?

  ‘Kate?’

  She’s tired of asking, tired of worrying, tired of trying to get Dominic involved. She’s alone in this.

  The thought enters like a blessing.

  She cuts Dominic off. She’s not going to tell him she’s fine, that she’s coping, that it’s all for the best. It’s not her job any more.

  Family photos line the hallway: Noah at two, Maddie dressed as one of the three kings in the school nativity play, her gappy grin beaming at them.

  She remembers Dominic’s hand on her knee, the way they shook with laughter as Maddie shouted out her line. How nothing distracted her from giving her gift to the new baby: ‘Myrrhizz mine! And! Bits! Of! Perfume!’

  That was a good time.

  The phone is silent. Dominic hasn’t called back.

  She should get busy, she should be grateful she has a daughter and husband to shop for, a house to manage, a meal to cook, a car to drive. She should be counting her blessings, not wondering if she’ll ever hear Dominic in a panic, his voice rushed and worried, anxious about Noah and where he is.

  Then she thinks about the list for Ms Turner.

  Has Dominic made his? She doubts it. He hasn’t mentioned it to her, they hardly discuss anything these days.

  Kate has other things to sort out. Noah is still growing and his white shirts aren’t tucking in as well as they should. She knows the brand, knows what the next size up will be.

  This is something she can do for her son. Go shopping, mak
e sure he always has seven white shirts ready to wear, creases ironed in, just so, pocket deep enough to hold his notebook and pen. Kate picks up her bag and opens the front door. Fifteen steps and she is at the garage. She’s counting for her son, measuring her steps in batches of five. Breathing deliberately, in two, three, four, five, out two, three, four, five. She touches the handle of the door five times, opens it and slides behind the wheel. In her bag, her phone rings. The screen glows and her husband’s name flashes up at her.

  Kate shifts into reverse and backs down the drive. The gate slides open and she eases into the traffic. She’ll get Noah’s shirts first and then shop for supper.

  119.

  27 July 2011 / 02:15

  Dominic started awake and reached for Kate. He ran his hands along her body, felt for her face in the dark.

  ‘What is it?’ Kate was groggy with sleep.

  ‘Nothing, Kate. Go back to sleep.’

  He lay there, his eyes following the shadows as trees moved in the garden.

  A man’s home is his castle, but what happens when the defences are breached, when invaders swim the moat and let down the drawbridge?

  120.

  2002

  Noah’s second day of Big School. Mom took him as far as the door of the classroom. He didn’t like it when she bent down to kiss him goodbye and he didn’t like it when Miss Jonas told him to hurry along and hang up his bag.

  His hook was still there, and his stars with their 5 points. That was something.

  ‘At least the sky didn’t fall on our heads, hey, Noah?’ That’s what Mom always said when ‘things could be worse’.

  He knew, from his first day, that a bell would ring soon. Miss Jonas called it break time. As soon as it rang he could go to his hook, take down his bag and open his lunchbox. Mom said she’d packed a surprise for him for today, but he’d have to wait to find out what it was.