Hunting BLind: It's Every Family's Deepest Fear Read online

  PADDY RICHARDSON

  Hunting Blind

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Contents

  PART ONE

  1. Wanaka, 1988

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  PART TWO

  7. Dunedin, 2005

  8.

  9.

  10. Westport, 1996

  11.

  12.

  13. Dunedin, 2005

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  19.

  20.

  21.

  22.

  23.

  24.

  25.

  26.

  27.

  28. Kaikoura, 2001

  29. Kaikoura, 2005

  30.

  31.

  32.

  33.

  PART THREE

  34. Wanaka

  35.

  36.

  37.

  38.

  39.

  40.

  41.

  42.

  43.

  44.

  45.

  Acknowledgements

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  HUNTING BLIND

  Paddy Richardson has written two collections of short stories, Choices and If We Were Lebanese, many of which have been broadcast on Radio New Zealand National. Richardson’s work has also been highly commended in the Katherine Mansfield and Sunday Star-Times awards. Her first novel, The Company of a Daughter, was written during her year as the Burns Fellow at Otago University, Dunedin, 1997, and Penguin published her second novel, A Year to Learn a Woman, in 2008. Paddy lives in Dunedin, where she writes and teaches part-time courses in creative writing.

  For my family

  PART ONE

  1.

  Wanaka, 1988

  The locals are saying it’s going to be a cracker summer, best in years. Take today, the first Saturday in December, School Picnic Day. Remember what happened last year? Pissed down, had to get a tent in for the barbecue. And remember the kids? Soaked to the skin, turning blue some of them. It was all over by two o’clock, didn’t even have the races.

  But today’s a beauty.

  This summer has exploded out of a dank, grey spring saturating the town with tangs of lavender, hot mown grass and steaks on the barbie, with cries of children at the lake until dusk, with runners pounding the pavements at 6 a.m. before it gets too hot, with waking up in the night, the air almost too sticky and heavy to breathe.

  School Picnic Day. Rugs spread out almost touching. Pink, yellow, turquoise, red-green tartans, candy stripes and checks fusing together making a vivid slash of patches, a flamboyance of riotous colour among the stones which glisten silver.

  The lake is purely and extravagantly blue, the sky so cloudless that they ripple together like a great, unrolled wad of silk. Across the water there’s the mountains, brown then mauve then sugary-silver. Usually they seem a long way away, such an immense distance, but today it’s so clear they appear almost close enough for anyone to swim across the shimmering, sapphire water and touch the other side.

  This is why they live in Wanaka. The lake. The sun. The mountains.

  Most of the kids are down at the lake, the older ones racing out to the buoy, fair churning through the water, looking over their shoulders and grinning. Some of the littlies are bobbing about near the edge on blow-up canoes and lilos don’t go out any further put your hat on come over here and get some sun screen. The young mums in yellow, red, orange swimsuits and sundresses are holding onto the wee kiddies’ hands as they totter about in the shallows. Every year there’s more young families moving in, houses going up all the time, more and more kids. The school needs another classroom, maybe two.

  There’s no doubt about it, this place is going ahead. They’re building a new town hall next year and there’s a gym starting up. McDonald’s is coming, there’s that new bar on the lakefront and another restaurant opening any day now but we don’t want it like Queenstown, not another Queenstown. Wanaka needs to stay like it is; a family town, a good, safe place to bring up kids.

  The dads are round the barbecue. Plenty of beers in the cooler, they’re putting on more chicken nibbles and sausages. Good thing they got loads in, good thing they have enough left over from lunch. It’s been such a beauty day everyone’s staying on for their teas.

  There’s the Kings sitting a bit away from everyone else over near the jetty. The King kids live with the grandparents for most of the year but today their mum and dad are here as well, must be back from the shearing. Two younger guys are with them, probably brothers, look just like Billy King except for the tats. They were all up in the queue for the barbecue but otherwise they’ve pretty much kept to themselves. Tama and Georgie and Miri joined in for the races, though. That little fella, Tama, can he run? Got first in his own grade, then he lined up with the big kids, thrashed them as well except he wasn’t allowed the prize. The older boys kicked up a stink, he was in the wrong race, against the rules. Fair enough. Though he did win.

  Beside the lake, just along from the others, there’s the wee Anderson and Patterson girls. Always together those two, right in each others’ pockets. Off on their own at Playgroup, making cubby-houses, little teapots and cups and dolls inside, they hardly even notice the other kids. They’ve got Barbie dolls dressed up in bikinis and hats, made a pool with stones they’re trying to keep filled up with water. Cute as buttons. The Patterson girl’s fair with pale blue eyes and white-blonde hair. Gemma’s dark. Friendly little thing. She’s got this soft, husky voice, this way of staring up at you, taking you in then smiling like you’re her long-lost buddy. Looks like her mother. Though you don’t see Minna smiling very much.

  Some of the kids are away from the others over on the green space by the pines, near the toilets and changing rooms. Mainly they’re the older boys playing cricket; they’ve got to practise for the tournament coming up in January. And there’s the kids who’re afraid of the water and don’t want anyone to know and a few of the littlies tagging along after the big ones, watching the cricket. Then there’s the two or three nobody likes much skulking about under the trees. Casey Wilson’s there. Picks up a stone and chucks it at one of the fielders when he thinks no one’s looking. Never fitted in, that kid. Something not right about him.

  At first it’s only a muted sound, a dull rasp. But then it gets louder, rises to a high-pitched snarl and you see it. A two-seater biplane, bright white with a sunny yellow trim, soaring up from behind the mountains, skimming across the sky, coming low down over the lake. The kids are pointing, calling out, and the adults shield their foreheads with their hands and squint upwards.

  Then it plummets. Falls swiftly out of the sky.

  They hear the shift in the engine. See how it plunges through the air. The kids are yelling, some of them starting to cry, and the older boys drop their cricket bats and run, run, run towards the lake. But it glides smoothly down, begins to plough through the water, the nose curving upwards and the tail submerged, gouging behind it a great, gushing, frothy V.

  One of the little ones yells it out the aeroplane fall, Mummy, the aeroplane fall down and everyone laughs because it’ is not an accident after all, everything’s okay. The two guys inside the plane bring it in closer and they wave and everyone’s waving back and for a full half-hour, maybe more, they motor across the lake and take off, tipping behind the mountains, then reappearing, landing and flying, landing and flying. Until everyone starts to move away. It’s almost five o’clock, there’s a wind come up, the sa
usages and chicken nibbles are ready the kids are getting tired how about we have our tea then get away?

  Stephanie and Minna Anderson barely looked up when the plane came. They’re lying far apart and silent on a black-and-white checked rug. Stephanie has been so seriously bored all day. She didn’t want to come, she’s at high school now and none of her friends are here. Mary-Anne laughed at her when she said she was going. But Dad said she had to, Mum needed help with Gemma and the boys it’ll be a good day, family thing, eh Steph? She wanted to say what about you, why aren’t you coming, why don’t you ever come if family things are so goddam important?

  Great word. No one else says goddam; it makes her feel different; grown-up. What she wanted to do today was hang out with Mary-Anne, watch a video, put on face packs together, do their nails. Go down town, try on clothes and look at the guys. Fun things. Guys like Mary-Anne. She’s got bold eyes and a wild, loud laugh. Stephanie wants to be with her, with her friends, not stuck down here with little kids at the school picnic. She’s nearly grown-up so why’s she always being forced to do what Minna and Dave say instead of the stuff she wants? She can’t wait to get out of here. Wanaka’s the pits.

  Why didn’t Dave come? Why doesn’t he ever come? Sorry love I just can’t make it this time. She heard him and Minna. His voice was muffled, hers loud and harsh. I fail to understand why you have to hold open homes on the day of the school bloody picnic but have it your own way you always do.

  They’re always fighting.

  And Minna’s always in a bad mood. Like today. Lying there on the rug with her sunglasses just about covering her whole face up, not saying anything other than to tell Stephanie what to do. She’s had to look after Gemma all day. Take her to the lake, take her swimming, get her a sausage no tomato sauce thanks wrap it up in bread the way she likes it, take her over to the ice-cream truck, make sure she has her hat and sunscreen on and all the time Minna’s been lying on the rug. This is the first time for the entire day Stephanie’s been able to sit on the rug herself and look at her magazine.

  She wants to say Gemma’s your goddam kid. She says it in her head and her body turns tight with glee. Glee and guilt.

  Because she loves Gemma. She does. Loves the way Gemmie follows her round, asking questions, staring up with her dark, grave eyes. But Minna’s always leaving her. Just watch Gemma for a minute, Steph, I have to pop out.

  I have to pop out I have to pop out I have to pop out.

  Gemma. Our wee afterthought. She heard Minna say it, heard her laugh when she’d had a few wines and the Andersons and Mr Black were round for a barbecue. It sounded wrong and hard for her to say that, like she didn’t even want Gemma. And Stephanie knows Minna had her only seven months after she and Dave got married so does that mean she didn’t want her either?

  She never wanted you, never spends any time with you, all she wants you for is babysitting. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair.

  Minna feels sweat mixed with sun cream running down her arms, running down between her breasts. She’s wearing her new bikini. Black. She’s stretched out on her back. The bikini looks better when she’s lying down. She got one with high-cut pants. Hides the stretch marks.

  Not that there’s many. She’s in pretty good nick for someone who’s had four kids and she’s not so old, only just past thirty. Not many women her age have kids ranging from fourteen down to a four-year-old. Had Stephanie when she’d just turned nineteen. Too young. You think you know everything when you’re that age, think you’re in love. Then the others came along as well, she never got any better at organising those things. None of the kids were planned. Not that she’d be without them.

  He’s just over there. With her. He puts his hand on Lisa’s shoulder, bends close to her ear, says something. Lisa’s packing food into the hamper. She stands up, shakes out the rug, then folds it up. She’s wearing a yellow bikini patterned with small white daisies. Lisa’s legs are long and pale and thin, her hips are narrow and her breasts small.

  He squats down, picks up the beer cans and puts them in a plastic bag. He straightens, looks behind him, pushes his sunglasses up on his forehead. He’s looking right at her.

  Flashes her a swift smile. She feels the tingle and warmth blush across her skin.

  Last night. Is he thinking last night?

  Just over there a little away from where the kids are playing cricket. Underneath the pines. In his car. Dave had a meeting. Dave always has a meeting. What does he expect? Leaves her on her own night after night, no talking, no listening, a quick hop-on-and-off fuck twice a week, what does he expect?

  The car hidden, tucked away under the trees, her knickers on the floor, her bra undone round her neck, astride him on the back seat. Oh oh Jesus.

  She didn’t mean for it to happen. Dave brought him home. Dave’s on the school committee, he’s on everything. Minna was on the sun lounger, Gemma playing in her sandpit, and he brought Ed through the gate. Young teacher, new in town, doesn’t know anyone, you don’t mind an extra for dinner, eh Min? Ed glanced over then he looked again, looked properly at her, and he grinned.

  First thing I thought about you, Minna, was that’s an unhappy woman. Next thing I thought was that’s the woman I want.

  Eddie-Teddy. My Eddie-Teddy toy-boy. She teases him. He nuzzles her neck, nips and sucks at her breasts. She loves him, she’s sure of it. Lisa’s talking to him as she bends over to pull on her sandals. She ties a sarong around her waist, stuffs suntan lotion and a carton of juice into her bag. Lisa’s young body. Lisa’s tiny bikini.

  It’s you I want Minna. I couldn’t give a fuck about Lisa, I have her around so nobody starts wondering about you and me.

  But you fuck her don’t you? Don’t you?

  Do you fuck Lisa?

  She doesn’t want to hurt anyone but she’s been bored and aching with loneliness, aching for something, anything to happen for years and years and years. You’ve got to think of yourself, don’t you? Sometimes she feels such guilt she’s almost sick with it. She knows she’s doing the dirty on Dave and the kids but she feels more alive than she ever has. Oh Christ, how can she ever keep him? He’s so much younger and here she is, four kids, stretch marks, sagging boobs and now he’s leaving.

  We could never get together here. They’d crucify us. It’s a good job. More money. You’ll come soon as I’m settled. All the places you’ve talked about wanting to see, all the things you’ve missed out on, I’m making up for it. The kids’ll be okay. They can come whenever you like.

  Whatever you want, Minna. I’ll give you whatever you want.

  She watches them go. Watches as he lightly rests his hand on Lisa’s shoulder blades as she walks up the track in front of him.

  It’s past five. The men are scraping down the barbecue. Stephanie’s pretending to read though she wonders if that’s what she really should appear to be doing or if she simply looks like some loser kid out with her mother for the day and reading. Because Nick Baker’s over there by the barbecue. He’s only just arrived some kids aren’t made to stay for an entire day at the school picnic and he’s walking towards Mr Baker, grinning at him. He drops a bunch of car keys into his father’s open hand.

  He must have his licence. Nick Baker’s got his driver’s licence. Imagine if Nick was her boyfriend. Imagine if he took her out in the Bakers’ flash car. She’ll tell Mary-Anne he was at the picnic. Maybe she’ll tell Mary-Anne he talked to her. That’ll serve her right.

  Minna stands up and pulls jeans and a T-shirt over her bikini. Stephanie doesn’t feel all that good about her mother wearing that bikini; it’s not really right for her, she is quite old. She takes off her sunglasses and starts picking up the drink bottles and plastic cups.

  ‘Steph, go and find the kids. I want to get to the supermarket before it closes.’

  Stephanie screws up her face. She doesn’t want to race around calling out Jonny–Liam–Gemma, doesn’t want Nick Baker seeing her herding up little kids. Minna looks at her, starts to frown
, starts to say something but then the boys race up.

  ‘Did you see the plane, Mum?’

  ‘It’s not just a plane. It’s an amphibian, isn’t it, Mum?’

  They’re in their baggy shorts and striped T-shirts, peering out from under cowboy hats. Freckle-faces, rusty hair, skinny legs. Everyone says the boys take after their dad but Stephanie and Gemma are like Minna.

  Minna picks up the rug and shakes it out.

  ‘Where’s Gemma?’ she says.

  2.

  The boys look back over their shoulders. ‘She was there,’ Liam says.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘There.’ Jonny turns around and points towards the pine trees.

  ‘Steph, you go and get Gemma and meet us by the car,’ Minna says. ‘Hurry up, now. We’ve only got half an hour before the supermarket closes.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to the supermarket. Liam and Jonny can get her. I want to walk home.’

  She’ll go past Nick Baker. She’ll walk quite slowly, close enough so that he’ll see her. She smoothes her hair with her hands, straightens up. She won’t look at him but he’ll notice her walking by, aloof and mysterious, on her own. She’s glad she wore the new green top.

  ‘No, you go and find her. I want the boys to help me pack up the car. Hurry up, would you?’

  ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘Just do it and for God’s sake get rid of that face.’

  Just to piss Minna off, she bends down and takes ages pretending to tighten the strap on her sandal then slowly saunters off. Probably she’ll meet Gemma dawdling along, stopping to look up into faces, picking things up off the ground, staring towards the road at cars driving by. Gemma, hurry up. But she hasn’t seen her by the time she gets to the wide, grassy stretch beneath the trees. She goes into the changing sheds, calls out Gemma. There’s no one there. Her voice ricochets round the concrete walls. She goes into the toilets, bends down to look under the doors of the cubicles in case Gemma’s hiding from her. Nobody.