Page 68 of Lost In Kakadu

“What do you mean?”

He stopped massaging. “Shhh. If you want me to tell my story, you’ll have to keep quiet. Rodney’s the only person who knows it all … knew it all.”

“Okay.” Abigail frowned at the sadness in his voice. So far Mackenzie had been nothing but jovial in telling his stories, but she sensed she was now in for something completely opposite.

“My dad was a bit of a drinker. He said it helped him sleep. Most nights he started with a couple of beers but then he’d turn to the rum. One night he was in a foul mood and Mum decided to take me out for ice cream. To get me away from him, I guess. It was pouring with rain, and she was driving too fast. Anyway, she missed a turn and crashed into a tree. I only got concussion and bruising. But Mum … Mum died.”

“Oh Mack,” Abigail tried to sit up to face him, but he placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back into the seat.

“Shhh, do you want me to tell my story or not?”

“You poor thing. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Abigail. But it gets worse. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Abigail tried to sit up. She wanted to look at him, to see if he was all right, but again he eased her back down. “As long as you want to tell it.”

His fingers began massaging again and there was a long pause before he continued. “After Mum’s funeral, Dad’s drinking got worse. He’d look at me with such hatred, like I was the devil. He never actually came out and said it, but I know he blamed me for the crash. The more he drank, the worse he got. We fought all the time, and I couldn’t do anything right. Sometimes I found him going through my things, just looking for something to yell at me about. One night he started throwing stuff and punching walls and I just wanted him to stop. So, I grabbed the biggest knife I could find. I can still remember the sound of the blade as I pulled it from the knife block. I held the knife in front of me ... you know, like a relay baton. But when Dad saw me, he just laughed.”

Mackenzie finished rinsing the conditioner from her hair and brushed it with slow methodical movements. Abigail remained silent. Her heart squeezed at the mental picture she had of an eleven-year-old boy facing up to his father with a large knife.

She dreaded where this story was going and wished again that she could face him, to see if he was okay.

She opened her mouth and took a breath to say something, but before she could decide what, he said, “I still have nightmares about that laugh. He was crazy.”

“What did you do?”

He huffed. “I threw it at him, as hard as I could. It seemed to fly through the air in slow motion. But it fell short and skidded right to his feet. Dad bent down, grabbed it and flipped it for the handle. The look in his eyes was like something unworldly had overtaken him. I still can’t believe it happened. I just stood there; my feet frozen in the doorway. When he took a step toward me, I knew he was going to throw it. So, I turned and ran.”

Mackenzie squeezed the excess water from her hair and smoothed a towel over it.

“I don’t know how long I ran, most of the night, I guess. I ended up sleeping in a big concrete pipe in our school playground. The next day’s a blur. I was petrified and didn’t want to go home.” He started untanglingher hair with his fingers. “It was late the next night before I went back. Found Dad passed out in a drunken stupor on the lounge.”

He removed the towel from her shoulders and wrapped up her wet hair.

Abigail took the opportunity to slide forward and stand up. She turned to Mackenzie, wrapped her arms around him and listened to his steady heartbeat. “Then what?”

“Come on.” He stepped back. “Let’s get you dry and start the fire; I’ll tell you the rest later.”

She blinked. “But you can’t stop now.”

“Shhh, let’s get the fire going first.”

Mackenzie had that stubborn spark in his eye and there was no point arguing. She trotted into the plane, removed the towel from her hair, rubbed vigorously, then dressed in warmer clothes, re-wrapped her hair and scooted back to help him with the fire.

“That was quick! You normally spend hours in there.”

“Come on … get the fire going.” She ran into the forest and cursed at how long it took to gather wood. They had to traipse further and further from the campsite to find it. She scurried back and forth, tossing armfuls of timber onto the flames.

He smiled at her, and she playfully thumped him on the shoulder. “Stop mucking around.”

“It’s okay, we’re not going anywhere. I’ve got all night to tell my sad story.”

He was right. She’d grown to love their nightly ritual of sitting around the fire telling their life stories and getting to know each other. She bowed her head. “Okay. I’ll get the rest of the meat.”

Leaving Mackenzie to load up the fire she was flooded with extreme shame and embarrassment over how eagerly she’d told her trivial stories, all pathetic and superficial compared to Mackenzie’s revelation.

Spiralling out of control, she acknowledged her worthlessness.

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