Page 17 of The Vanishing Place

It was real hot. The type of hot that peeled the skin from the tip of Effie’s nose and left wet patches under her arms. June said they should wear hats, that the sun was a nasty bugger, but Effie never remembered.

She sat on the deck peeling beetroot, the juice staining her fingers purple.

The knife snagged on a lumpy bit and slipped from her hands, landing on the deck with a clunk.

She bent forward to grab it, and when she looked up, her dad was there, stepping out from the bush. He was smaller than she remembered.

Less giant.

Effie worked the knife around the beetroot skin.

Not moving. She pressed her feet into the wood, anchoring herself to the earth like a pāua.

Her heart and chest thumped, ready to erupt, but she wasn’t about to run and flail at him like some kid.

Dad had been a right shit walking out on them, and stillness was the only way she could think to punish him.

She threw the peel on the ground. She’d be like a stone. She wouldn’t move or feel anything, not till her dad proved that he was real.

He walked across the grass to the hut, but he didn’t call Effie’s name or raise his arm.

Dad knew he’d done bad. He looked at her, both of them staring, the way Mum said was rude.

Too long. Too forceful. Christ, Effie, you’ll scare the locals doing that .

And as her dad got closer, Effie wanted to punch him in the stomach.

His red hair was a mess, and one of his eyes was black and shiny.

A black purple. Not too different from a beetroot.

Dad set his rucksack on the ground and sat next to Effie. Then he pulled a pocketknife from his bag, picked up a beetroot and started peeling. There was no way they’d be eating it; his hands were filthy. One hand was burned too. The skin was red, and his thumb was covered with gross blisters.

They sat like that for a bit, silent as their fingers turned purple. It made Dad’s blisters look worse, like angry taniwha skin. Eventually, to stop her head from bursting, Effie spoke. Not the big stuff though. Just words to fill the quiet.

“June says you’re only twenty-seven.”

“Yep.”

“She says that’s pretty young to be my dad.” Effie scuffed the deck with her feet. “Like a kid having a kid.”

Dad smiled at that, his hard face cracking a bit.

“But,” Effie shrugged, “I think you look old.”

“I feel old.”

She pushed her cup of water toward him, and something quietened in her stomach as he took a sip.

“June taught me about decimals,” said Effie.

“Maths?”

She nodded. “And how to multiply fractions. June makes us do school stuff every day.”

“Even Saturdays?”

“Yep.” A smile escaped her. “Tia hates it.”

The warm expression leaked onto Dad’s face. Then he lifted his arm, and Effie moved into him. He was dirty, and his clothes smelled like old water. But she didn’t pull back.

“You’ve grown,” he said.

“I turned nine three days ago.”

Dad’s arm tightened around her, and his eyes did a weird blinking thing. “Effie, I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged. “You’re back now.”

Then she leaned in. Dad wasn’t much good at sorries, at all the mushy stuff. The Mum stuff. But Effie reckoned it wasn’t his worst.

—

Throughout dinner—trout, finally—no one spoke.

Except Tia. Tia didn’t know how not to speak.

No one mentioned the state of Dad—the skin melted off his hand and the light gone from behind his eyes.

June looked proper mad though.

Effie’s neck tingled as the minutes crawled past, like sandfly bites wanting to be scratched. As Tia chatted, the storm bubbled in June, her face getting darker. Dad hunched over his fish, not looking up. Effie didn’t blame him—June looked scary as.

All the way through dinner, Dad’s and June’s eyes never met.

Then June declared it a no-bath night. She and Effie got the young ones ready for bed, then June read stories in the sleeping nook before kissing them all good night.

Dad didn’t touch Four even once. After tucking Aiden in, Effie hurried off to the bedroom, forgetting to brush her teeth, and closed the door.

Then she sat on the floor, running her tongue over her furry teeth, and waited with one ear to the door.

“Five days,” said June in a shouted whisper. “Five days, you said. It’s been over a month. A month since you walked out on your kids. I didn’t know if you were coming back. I wasn’t sure if…”

June’s voice trailed off and the front door slammed.

After a few minutes of silence, Effie eased the bedroom door open and slipped out.

She crawled over to the window and peered through the glass, the summer evening still light.

As she spotted them, her heart beat against her ribs and she had to stuff her fingers into her mouth to stop from yelling out.

Dad lunged forward and grabbed June’s arm. He tugged at her, dragging her away, and June stumbled behind him. She swatted at him with her free hand. A fly swatting a mountain.

Oh god. Oh god .

Effie stared at the scene, at the fear etched into June’s face and the man wearing Dad’s clothes—the man who’d put Mum in the ground.

“Stop,” June yelled. “Stop.”

Panic flooded Effie’s brain and she slid to the floor.

The dad outside wasn’t hers. He’d come back different.

Effie pushed a palm into her chest, trying to slow the pounding.

Then a sharp noise split the air, and she turned and pulled herself back up to the window.

The air ripped again. The crack of splintering wood, followed by the screech of June’s voice.

“Stop!”

Effie pressed her face to the glass. But June was alone.

Unhurt. Dad stood a few meters away, punching one of the vegetable cages.

He hit it so hard that the frame cracked and a piece of wood flew across the grass.

He kept punching and kicking at it until the heavy wooden frame lay in sticks on the ground.

Even from the window, Effie could see the blood dripping down his knuckles.

When the final piece fell, Dad collapsed to his knees, and a noise like nothing she’d ever heard burst from him.

It scared Effie more than the smashed wood.

June walked over and knelt next to him. She put an arm around his shoulders, and Dad, Effie’s mountain, buried his face into June’s body and wept.

Without making a sound, Effie inched the door open, just enough to let the sounds and the whispers of the bush leak in. The song of a bellbird carried through the air as Dad lifted his head and stared at June. His voice, small and broken, caught in the breeze.

“I can’t find her.”

Effie frowned. Dad was confused. Of course he knew. It was Dad who’d put Mum in the dirt. He knew exactly where she was.

“I’m so sorry.” He lowered his head again. “I’ve lost her.”

Then June started to cry too.

Effie wanted to run out, to sprint across the grass and grab Dad’s hand. She wanted to take him into the bush, to the mound of earth with Mum sleeping underneath.

Look, look. She’s here. Mum’s here .

But Effie didn’t move.