Ora's Gold Read online

  I lift my chin as Slug comes in followed by a new man carrying a file. He’s small, with short dark hair, long sideburns, a sharp nose, grey eyes.

  ‘This must be Ora! I’m Shane Wilkins, Managing Director of the Department of Public Relations and Media.’ He holds out his hand.

  I look at it like it’s a poisoned mitt. No way am I going to touch any SIF worker voluntarily. I nod in acknowledgement and he frowns just slightly, withdrawing his hand.

  ‘Now … Ora, we’ve asked you to start coming in for …’ He checks the file, but I reckon he knows it already, ‘a weekly appointment.’

  Indignant rage is roaring inside me, battling my fear for top billing. Neither will translate well into words. I purse my lips together tightly. He goes on.

  ‘An unfortunate …’ He pauses, looking for the right word, ‘…development has transpired.’

  This time he pauses for effect, looking at me directly.

  ‘The man who brought your case …’ He pauses again. This guy is so slow. Bumbling. How is he the head of anything? ‘…to our attention in the first place … has been in touch with … the free media. For money, no doubt,’ he says scornfully to Slug. ‘It seems, Ora … you’re going to be news …’

  I stop twiddling the ring on my finger. ‘Remember to breathe, Ora,’ Snake whispers.

  ‘So as this is a … delicate situation … As Head of Media, I’ve been asked to … guide you through this.’ He isn’t used to being a bully, that’s for sure.

  Slug is.

  ‘And you will cooperate, as will your boyfriend, do you understand?’ she says, shoving her face close to mine.

  I nod, taking a deep breath. This is why I’m here. They don’t know about Gumnut! Dad hasn’t dobbed us in! They haven’t even asked about Dione. I start to relax as relief spreads through my body in a warm rush.

  Slug’s fist bashes the table. I jump, and so does Mediaworm.

  ‘This is not a smiling matter, you little shit.’ She’s starting to show her colours. Mediaworm’s eyes bulge before he remembers who he is—a big knob. ‘I know you have something to do with this, and even though I didn’t get you before, it’s not going away.’ Her spittle lands on my cheek. ‘As soon as we find that couple, we’ve got you.’

  ‘It is important that you follow our instructions fully,’ Mediaworm continues in his scratchy voice, trying to take control. ‘This is a very … delicate situation.’

  I nod. I need to get some enthusiasm happening; the sooner I give them confidence that I’ll ‘cooperate’ the sooner I’ll be out of here.

  It takes another two hours. Once Mediaworm finds his flow he goes on and on and on. My forearms hurt like hell from leaning on the table, but it’s the best position to hide Gumnut. I don’t stop playing with my ring.

  I see Slug look at it a couple of times. She clearly thinks it’s hideous. But to her, all of me is hideous.

  I hear some of what he says: report them as soon as they show themselves; don’t talk to the press full stop; repeat ‘No comment’ over and over; under no circumstances let them into the house; if they do persuade me to talk to them, deny I was ever held by the SIF. He pushes a card across the table.

  ‘That’s my mobile,’ he says, pointing. The whites of his fingernails have been cut into right-angled corners. ‘And that’s the office.’

  I nod again. I haven’t said one word to him. Slug, who’s been leaning back in her chair for most of the lecture, is fidgeting. I am longing to move. To talk to Jake. My mobile has vibrated twice in my bag.

  ‘So if you haven’t any questions … you just need to sign this.’ He pushes a three-page document across the table.

  ‘It’s a lot of legal … blurb. Basically you need to promise us that you won’t talk.’

  I read it. Twice. It’s hard to understand. I don’t think I sign my life away.

  ‘So,’ he says. ‘We’ll see you next Tuesday. We’ll use each session to … debrief and give you … advice on how to … proceed.’

  I want to roll my eyes. His voice and his stilted speech have got under my skin like parasites. I am sweating and my arms are bruised lumps of lead.

  I nod again. Yes, yes. Hurry up.

  ‘I estimate … they will visit you tomorrow … or the next day. We have a legal injunction out on them … but they are finding a way around it as we speak.’

  I sigh and a yawn comes out. I close my mouth too late. He’s seen it. Slug grins. He stands up abruptly, nods a curt goodbye and leaves.

  She gestures at me to get up. We stand at the same time and she goes through the door ahead of me.

  ‘Just remember,’ she says, stopping in the doorway, ‘stick to the rules, otherwise we’ll get you—it would be my personal pleasure. Stay out of the way. That’s the best place for you.’ And with that she is gone.

  I have to find my way back to the exit, willing myself not to run. As I escape into the bright daylight, there is Jake, pacing up and down, and a wave of love floods through me. When he sees me, he sprints over and scoops me up in a big hug.

  ‘It’s okay, Jake. I’m okay,’ I say in a muffled voice against his chest. He looks at me for reassurance, then we remember where we are. ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘I’ll tell you in the car.’

  I am bubbling over with relief—I’m free! And away from the SIF! Gumnut is mine still, they’re not going to take him.

  Jake says he’s happy, but he isn’t pleased about the free media.

  ‘They’re not called hounds for nothing. Now we’ve got two lots of bullies on our backs. We’re going to have to be extra careful.’

  He is quiet on the drive home, brows knitted, as he thinks of more plans and ways to stay safe. Slug was right about one thing. We’d all be a lot safer if I was hidden away.

  29

  Change of Plan

  It’s Jake’s turn not to sleep. He’s a lot noisier about it than I was, sighing loudly and tossing from side to side. I’ve never seen him so jittery. By the time morning creeps in he looks manic, like he could be brewing a fever.

  My night wasn’t much better, packed full of replays of Mediaworm and Slug. What if a camera caught me at a bad angle and revealed my pregnant belly? Or worse, what if Slug clicks that something was up and calls me back in again?

  Maybe that’s why we change the plan.

  By the time we’re out of bed, both Jake and I have lost our cool. When he suggests we go up to Tom and Melissa’s together with all our gear, I jump at the idea. We go into rush mode, like we know someone’s coming to get us.

  Jake is really spooked by the press situation. When he was seventeen a friend of his died in a car crash and the media made a huge deal out of it, turning the tragedy into a flashy news story about drink driving and misguided youth. He says they’re only interested in making a story, not the truth.

  ‘They could muck things up for us,’ he says quietly. ‘The last thing the government wants is a big birth saga. Not now that things are running smoothly for them.’

  I hear what he’s saying but am so consumed with my own worries that I don’t have room for any more.

  It’s only when our car tears up Tom and Sarah’s driveway that we breathe out and smile again—a safe haven. But Tom is not pleased to see us. He’s full of scowls as he walks towards the car. He was up a ladder, tending to one of his beloved plum trees.

  ‘What’s with the change of plan?’ he says hotly, leaning in. Maybe he’s worried.

  ‘The media dogs are onto the story,’ Jake says in a rush. ‘We wanted to get away before they start on us.’

  Tom shakes his head slowly. ‘What am I meant to do with Dione’s car? That could lead me right into their hands. Besides, the boat’s not ready.’

  ‘But the press are onto us. That’s why Ora had to report to the SIF.’

  ‘We’re not leaving early, Jake. Don’t change a good plan unless you have to. That’s when mistakes happen.’

  They stare at each other for a long time.

  ‘You
can handle it.’ Tom sounds adamant.

  ‘We’ll go back then,’ Jake looks crestfallen. ‘We’ll unpack the gear and get back.’

  Tom nods and breaks into a smile. ‘But you’re here now, so let’s have a cuppa. There’s even some cake.’ He chuckles, ‘The little ’un will be pleased to see you, even if I’m not!’

  We’re quiet as we stand in the kitchen, drinking our tea. It has shocked me the way Jake gave in so quickly, like a puppy wanting to please his master. It’s the first time I’ve seen weakness in him, and I don’t like it. I want him to be strong all the time.

  ‘Best we drive the car into the barn and unpack from there, Jake,’ Tom says as he puts his cup on the bench. ‘Ora, you stay here. I know you’ll want to see Dione, but the quicker we get back to plan A, the better. Once we’ve emptied the car you two should head home.’

  I want Tom to come with us too. Even though his bossiness is annoying, it’s also reassuring. He is older and wiser than Jake—eight years older—and he’ll know what to do if the SIF catch up with us. Or the media.

  I suddenly feel bad for comparing. If ever there was a time Jake needs me to believe in him, it’s now. I think about how much he’s giving up. He could be hanging out at the beach and having fun at uni rather than organising a grand vanishing act and preparing to become a father.

  Sarah and I sit on the veranda steps waiting, neither of us in the mood for small talk. I want to see Dione, but I remind myself I’ll be with her the day after tomorrow.

  We drive back up the hill to Dione’s with heavy hearts. I’m about to tell Jake how amazing he is when I’m distracted by a dark car speeding by in the opposite direction. The windows are tinted, so I can’t see who’s in the car, but instinctively I know it’s the media. My hand goes to my belly.

  ‘Great,’ Jake says, two minutes later. ‘We’re being followed.’

  I look back and sure enough, the car has turned around.

  ‘We can do this, Jake,’ I say, squeezing his leg. He blows out of his mouth, sounding like a horse, and I want to giggle. But laughter won’t help.

  Surprisingly, I feel okay—surely I can handle a couple of press guys? My biggest challenge will be holding my tongue. I have so much pent-up rage bursting to cut loose, and more than a few ideas about how messed up our system is.

  We speed up the driveway, jerk to a halt and race inside. Jake grabs a black pen and writes in thick letters on a piece of paper, ‘No comment.’ He puts it on the doormat and slams the door just as they’re crowning the driveway. I race around closing blinds and bolting doors. We stand in the kitchen, wordless, the tension swimming laps around us.

  Two pairs of feet sound on the veranda boards. They pause, probably reading the note. One of them rings the bell anyway. Jake takes my hand and we look at each other, barely breathing.

  The bell rings again. We continue to find solace in each other’s eyes. They have a brief, mumbled conversation and then start walking around the veranda. I can tell they’re trying to look through the windows.

  Jake pulls out his phone. ‘I’m calling the SIF,’ he says in a croaky voice. And again, shouting, ‘I’m calling the SIF, NOW!’

  They must hear. They talk to each other in low voices. Two men. They ring the doorbell again. We stay planted to the spot and only breathe properly when we hear doors slamming and the car receding.

  ‘They’ll be back tomorrow,’ Jake says.

  ‘I know, but we’ll be gone the day after,’ I reply cheerily.

  Jake punches the wall. ‘Tom should have let us stay.’

  I pull the blinds up and a movement catches my eye outside the window.

  ‘Shit!’ I say. ‘We forgot the chooks.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We forgot to take the chooks to Tom and Sarah’s.’

  ‘Huh,’ he says, so not bothered.

  I look at him coldly.

  ‘Well, we can’t do anything about them now!’ he snaps. ‘We’re not going again.’

  ‘We can’t just leave them to die! Dione loves those birds. And so do I.’

  ‘You eat those birds.’

  I look at him, surprised by the swipe. I’ve started eating meat again after years of being a vegetarian. Dione suggested it as a way of relieving my tiredness. She guessed my iron levels were low because of the pregnancy, so once a week we buy a chicken from the guy down the road.

  ‘Hey, I know,’ Jake says. ‘How about I give them a quick and kindly death instead of a fox’s massacre and we take them with us in the cool bag?’ He thinks it’s a joke, but it’s just more nastiness, and I crumple. The stress of the past few days combined with the thought of the chickens dying undoes me. I sit at the table, put my head on my arms and let out a wail.

  Jake storms up the corridor, shouting and growling. He sounds like an animal. The stress is getting to him too.

  He comes back a little later and sits beside me. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘That was a bad joke. There’s just too much to think about, Ora.’ He pauses. ‘Finding a foster home for the chickens isn’t a priority right now.’

  I am so tired. I can’t move. I can’t believe I’m crying again. He leans in and hugs me.

  ‘I feel like all I do is cry.’ Some of my tears have made it to the floor. I sit back and sniff.

  ‘I love that you cry,’ he says, handing me a tea towel.

  I blow my nose and smile. ‘Are you some kind of masochist or something?’

  ‘No!’ He laughs. ‘I just think it’s good that you let it out. Think how messed up you’d be if you didn’t.’

  ‘Thanks a lot!’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just … what you’ve been through in your life is not normal.’ I start to reply but he steams on. ‘Most people would be on some kind of drugs by now, or have turned psycho. But you just keep on keeping on. You’re really strong. That’s just one reason why I love you, by the way. But if you didn’t cry, where would you put all the pain?’

  I don’t know what to say. It’s confronting to hear him acknowledge my pain. It makes it real, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing.

  ‘I …’ I say. ‘Maybe I should try drugs?’ It’s a lame joke.

  ‘Well, that’s up to you,’ he says, not even smiling. ‘But crying is completely fine with me.’

  ‘How did you get to be so good at therapy?’ I give him a little shove.

  ‘I was the only male in a house full of females, remember?’

  I smile. ‘Well, being around women that much must have rubbed off on you.’

  ‘Ha!’ he gives me a little shove back and we hug again.

  ‘Ora, if anything happens to me, I—’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Jake.’

  ‘I need you to know how much I love you, Ora James.’

  We hold each other tightly. ‘None of this feels real,’ he says. ‘It’s all so fragile.’

  ‘And if anything happens to me,’ I whisper, ‘will you be everything to Gumnut?’ He squeezes me. Tears roll down my cheeks again. ‘Will you let him know that I love him fiercely? Like a lioness?’

  I look into his eyes and feel like I’m seeing into his heart. It makes me want to look away. But I don’t. I hold his gaze and feel the final veil fall from my heart, allowing him to see all of me.

  ‘When Mum and Holly were killed, I promised myself never to … I didn’t think I’d ever let myself … fully love. Completely, but I …’ I take a breath, ‘My heart feels whole again,’ I say, and then we kiss for a very long time.

  *

  Much later, after we’ve slept away some of the afternoon, Jake gets up and goes outside. Gumnut is doing a workout so I don’t manage to get back to sleep, but I lie there with my eyes closed, enjoying the feel of his movements.

  I hear some hammering, and eventually wander out to have a look. When Jake sees me walking over he screams at me to get back inside. I realise I’m just in a T-shirt and undies. The media could be lurking anywhere and my pregnant belly is completely on
show. How could I be so stupid?

  I feel stifled again, caged in. It’s definitely time to leave. I walk from room to room and wonder whether Gumnut will ever know this house. I have a sudden flashback of me and Holly bouncing on the sofas.

  ‘Hey, Ora,’ Jake shouts through the back door. ‘Come and have a look. But put some clothes on.’

  I pull on my skirt and jumper and go outside.

  ‘I did it for you, not them,’ he says with a grin, looking at the chicken coop. ‘There’s enough feed to last a couple of months.’

  I clap my hands and do a silly jig. He’s amazing! He’s rigged up a feeding shoot from the drum of grain to the chickens’ feeder, so that once they’ve eaten a certain amount, more grain will be released. The water system is the same.

  ‘You’re a genius!’ I say.

  ‘Well, hopefully it’ll work until Tom or Sarah get here to pick them up.’

  ‘You won’t be eaten by Mr Fox after all,’ I say in a silly voice to the chooks as they scratch contentedly in the dirt. I give him a big hug. ‘I LOVE you, Jake Seaboy, father of my child!’

  ‘Shhhh!’ he says, looking around warily. ‘Come on, let’s get inside.’

  30

  Leaving

  The next day, we hide inside, spending most of it in bed. We won’t have much privacy on the boat, so we might as well enjoy ourselves now. We have another visit from the media in the afternoon, but they don’t stay for long.

  The following morning, we pack up the house wordlessly, clean out the fridge and turn off the electricity. If anyone looks closely they’ll soon realise we’ve shut it up. We just hope we’ll be long gone by then.

  I say goodbye to the chickens and the veggies and walk around to the front of the house, avoiding the front door. I feel like if I walk out that door, I’ll never return. Instead, I watch Jake close it firmly and walk down the veranda steps. He takes my hand and, without a backwards glance, we walk down the driveway.

  I am in my raincoat. It doesn’t look like it’s going to rain, but it’s as good as my green jumper for covering me up. I haven’t walked to the bus stop in ages—since my pregnancy started to show and I stopped going to the beach. A bubble of excitement builds inside me.