Chapter 11
the eleventh chapter
MARK
Fixing my eyes on the linen stacks, I trace a finger down the fabric to calm myself.
Beth is leaning in the door frame, waiting for an answer.
Up close, her hair smells of the same shampoo I used to share with my mum.
The shampoo I will share once again, now that I’ve sealed my fate.
Because I’m trespassing.
I’m a thief.
Naturally she’ll call the cops.
And the police will take me somewhere far worse than any prison.
A prison of a different kind.
One with fists and belts to greet me, as soon as the door has closed.
A familiar hell, at least.
A prison with blankets, and occasionally food.
A chance to hug my mum goodbye before I try to hitch a ride all over again.
Next time I’ll bring something warm to wear.
And my damn birth certificate.
“You gonna call them, then?” I ask.
“Call who?”
“The cops.”
A paused hush fills the air between us.
“Should I?” she replies. “Nothing has been taken. Not yet, anyway. And I'm guessing you wouldn't be here unless you were out of options.”
I almost hug her, but that would be a dumb thing to do right now.
So I keep looking at my shoes.
“You in some kind of trouble?”
The warm shift in her tone surprises me.
I nod slowly.
“Somebody hurt you.”
It isn’t a question.
She’s stating the obvious, and not judging me for it.
Another nod.
“Your parents aren’t in town. You don’t have any ID.”
Her sigh is heavy as she connects the dots.
“And you need a tablecloth because...?”
“I was cold,” I mumble.
“Sleeping rough, huh?”
“In the park.”
“Christ.”
She steps closer to take a proper look at my face and arms.
“You've been through quite a bit, haven't you, hun?”
Something about her words saddens me.
I feel ashamed, but also grateful.
For years, the locals back home have turned a blind eye.
None of our business, I hear them whisper.
Mrs Ambrose is the exception.
She does her best to comfort my mum and offer what little respite she can.
But most people choose gossip over remedy when it comes to our family.
And in a town that small, who would dare challenge Ray and his police buddy?
Yet this woman, a near stranger, has noticed me.
She’s done a double take.
She’s shown compassion.
So the tears on my cheek can’t be helped.
“You must be hungry,” she says.
Again, it’s not a question.
Now my tears flow freely.
An ugly snotty sob as I let my guard down at last.
“Hey, sweet boy,” she soothes.
Beth rests a hand on my shoulder with caution.
Not because she’s scared of me.
It’s because she knows that being touched hasn’t always felt safe.
Not for me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I didn't mean to steal your things.”
“And you didn't,” she says. “But I refuse to let you sleep outside, you hear me?”
Her tone is somehow both firm and kind.
Once again, all I can manage is a nod.
She leads me into the kitchen.
The restaurant is now dark.
The chefs have gone home, but as the manager she has keys for every door.
Including the fridge.
We sit at one of the tables, a bowl of pasta reheated and placed in front of me.
“I'm guessing that home isn't an option for you?”
My awkward seat shuffle confirms it.
“And you've hitched your way from who knows where?”
I’m too scared to tell her where ‘who knows where’ is.
“I think you're incredibly brave, kiddo.”
Brave?
Aren’t brave people happy?
Marching off to battle with a smile on their face?
Fighting aliens with a grin?
I’m not brave.
I’m lonely.
And scared out of my mind.
Still, so far this side of the road is much better than the park.
“You're safe here, Mark. Whatever you tell me is nobody else's business.”
I want to believe her. Really.
I hesitate at first, and then cave.
Even then, I keep my answers short in case I’ve been wrong to trust her.
In case this is all a ruse until the authorities arrive.
◆◆◆
“You can sleep in here,” she tells me, opening the door to room seventeen.
“But keep it tidy, and be considerate of motel guests. I mean it.”
I promise her that I will. And I mean it, too.
The bed is glorious, at least three times the size of my bed at home.
Much softer too.
Crisp white sheets with no rips or stains.
A hot shower all to myself.
No beer bottles or broken doors.
No mould or clutter.
Nobody yelling or smashing things.
It feels like heaven.
“Get some rest for a couple of days. I'm sure you need it.
But I meant what I said, I really could use an extra pair of hands in the kitchen.
You can wash dishes until those cuts heal.
Then I might let you serve tables. You'll get three hot meals a day and a small allowance each week if you stay out of trouble. Sound good?”
Unbelievably good.
So good that I actually do hug her this time.
And with a polite pat on my back, she lets me.
Beth even leaves a small cupcake on the bench for me the day I turn sixteen.
“Eat it before the others see. Don't want them thinking I'm a softie,” she grins.
That afternoon, she rummages through the lost property.
Three shirts and a pair of pants are all I brought with me.
She finds me something clean to wear.
It’s a little big, but it will do.
◆◆◆
By week four, I’m fairly certain that Beth has no intention of contacting my dad.
Not now, not ever.
I can stay as long as I behave myself, which I do.
And this morning when I open my door, a parcel is waiting at my feet.
Hope these are your size, says the inky pen on the note.
New clothes.
Never worn by anyone else.
Not from a well intentioned family two blocks over, or a church sale.
Real clothes from an actual store.
A blue W logo on each bag.
An online credit note for more than a hundred dollars.
The shame that briefly rears its head is soon eclipsed by a thank you.
A thank you so big that I can barely hold it in my chest.
I lug the box indoors before anyone can see me cry.
The pants and shirts fit perfectly.
The pajamas too.
Underneath the bags I find a smaller box.
A pair of sneakers. A new toothbrush.
A thick wad of socks and underwear.
She’s even bought me an electric razor, now that my face has begun to heal.
I lay on the bed, tags still on, grinning so wide it hurts.
“Here, let me grab the scissors,” she laughs.
I’ve come back from serving a table with cardboard dangling from my collar.
“And there's something else, too. Consider it a late birthday gift.”
Beth hands me a small plastic rectangle.
It has a barcode on one side.
Longreach Regional Council, it says.
When I flip it over in my palm, it’s as if every Christmas and birthday have come at once.
My first library card.
“Are you trying to make me cry again? Cos it's working.”
She gives real hugs now.
Not just polite pats on the back.
“Now you can stop borrowing mine,” she scoffs.
That smile always gives her away.
She tries to act tough as boots, but she’s really an angel.
“Thank you a million times.”
“You’re welcome a million times. And… there's something I wanna talk to you about.”
Shit.
I knew it was too good to be true.
I’ve always assumed this day would come.
Have I done something wrong?
Has she decided that I’m too much trouble to keep around?
My stomach clenches, heart rate doubling.
Where am I going to live?
“No, no... it's nothing scary, I promise,” she assures me. “It's something good. But I do need your consent. Let's chat about it this arvo.”
◆◆◆
When the lunch rush has finished and the tables have been cleared, we sit in the corner.
I’m still nervous, but decide to take Beth at her word.
“I mentioned to you the other day that I’d spoken to my sister in law, Amanda? The one who was saintly enough to marry my brother?”
“Yeah, I remember you saying something about that.”
“Well, before she started her candle business, she used to be a social worker.”
“A what?”
“Someone who helps kids and teens who are in tricky situations. Like you.”
My body tenses again at the thought of leaving her.
Is she sending me away?
“It's okay, love. Nothing is gonna change unless you want it to.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. Mark…” She looks me in the eye. “I promise.”
“Okay.”
My shoulders ease slightly.
“You're welcome here as long as you like. You have my word on that.”
She gives my arm a gentle squeeze.
“What I was gonna say is... Amanda has contacts with people who can help sort a new birth certificate for you. And your own bank account.”
“For real?”
“It’ll open up so many doors, love. You could get a driver's license or do a TAFE course in the city. If you want to, that is. Earn some proper cash one day, create a wonderful life for yourself. Maybe even choose a new name, like you said.”
It’s a lot to take in.
I grip the edge of my seat to hold myself steady.
“You don't have to decide anything until you're ready,” she continues softly. “But the option is there if you want it.”
“Options are good.”
“Just to keep things fully transparent, it would involve a confidential meeting with me, you, Amanda, and one other lady. Nobody else. You'd be very well looked after.”
She leans closer, holding my hand in hers.
“Mark, you'd never ever have to speak to your dad, or go anywhere near him at any time. Amanda would handle all of that on your behalf. He won’t find out where you are, okay? Your parents won’t even be told that I’m your legal guardian. We won't let that happen.”
The relief washes over me as she speaks.
But I feel a wave of guilt about my mum.
I really hope she understands.
Getting a visit from a social worker will scare her.
Maybe I’ll explain it to her in a letter.
The ‘I’m okay, but can’t tell you much in case he reads this’ version.
Not with a postal stamp from Longreach, though.
Not until I’m further away.