Page 41 of The Vanishing Place

Effie stared out the classroom window at the tree Aiden used to swing from as the teacher explained how to make tinsel stars for the nativity. Effie was being made to play Mary, which was about as appealing as rubbing stinging nettles over her body.

“Whaea!” little Tom Taylor wailed. “Whaea! I’ve glued my fingers together.”

Effie groaned and sunk her head to the desk. Of the nine kids in the school, she was the oldest by two and a half years—and that was only because Tia was there. Tia was weird at school. Quiet and well-behaved.

“My fingers won’t open.” Tom Taylor’s wail became a sob. “They’re stuck.”

Effie pushed her forehead into the table and sighed. Maybe she could use the glue gun to stick one of the five-year-olds to the floor. That would be sure to get her sent home. June would go ballistic though.

Tom Taylor yelled as the kids giggled and Whaea tried to calm him. But Tia just sat there. Maybe it was a teacher’s pet thing.

During term time, Koraha was rubbish. Lewis was at some boarding school in Alexandra, like three hours away, and the days dragged.

At least on the weekends there was the beach and June’s death-trap bike to escape on.

But school—without Lewis, and with Tia’s weirdly good behavior—was dull as.

In an attempt to fend off death-by-boredom, Effie pulled a novel from her bag and leaned over the pages of the book.

After a few pages, the crunch of car tires on gravel pulled Effie’s focus and she dragged her eyes to the window.

Outside, the ancient police guy Griffiths pulled up in his police ute. He beeped his horn and eight pairs of feet went scurrying over to the window, followed by eight pairs of grubby hands. Even Whaea walked over and gave him a wave.

Griffiths stepped out and Effie went to look away, her interest waning, when the door on the far side of the ute opened and she dropped her book. Effie stood up, her chair toppling to the floor, and sprinted from the classroom.

“Lewis!”

She ran at him, and he pulled her into a hug with one arm. It wasn’t until she drew back that she noticed the crutches.

“What happened?”

“Fractured ankle.” He gave a sly smile. “Reckon it won us the game though. Last-minute try. Got landed on pretty hard.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Got me a sexy cast too,” he said, wiggling it at her. “All ready for your autograph.”

“I’m not signing that thing.” Effie pulled a face. “I can smell it from here.”

Lewis grinned. “Just give it another four weeks.”

“Gross.” Then she frowned. “Don’t you have to be at that fancy school of yours?”

“It’s not that fancy. But nah. Griff picked me up a couple of weeks early. Said there was something better waiting for me at home.” He glanced away, like maybe he was blushing. “Plus, the end of term’s all shows and sports and dancing. I’d be right bored.”

Effie wiped her hands down her sides. “Don’t you have some silly girlfriend who’ll be missing you?”

There were probably herds of them at the big school—girls with short skirts and boobs bulging under their tops.

Effie had seen them on the cover of Seventeen magazine: all skinny with perfect hair and “moves to make guys go wild.” June wouldn’t let Effie buy any of the magazines though, so she’d never seen past the cover, never learned what those moves were.

It probably involved a lot of butt-jiggling.

“Nah. High school girls are tough work. Stuck-up too.”

Effie shrugged like she didn’t care, like it wasn’t one of the best things Lewis had ever said.

“Why did the police guy bring you back?”

“Griff,” said Lewis. “He’s been taking me to school since I started. Nan’s not too comfortable with driving long distances.”

“Oh.”

“Come on.” He lifted a crutch and pointed ahead. “I said I’d help Whaea out, tutor some of the little ones.” His mouth curled upward. “Are you needing any help with your ABCs?”

She glared at him. “I will beat you to death with your own crutches.”

Lewis smiled. “Calm down, tiger.” Then as they walked off, he moved his arm slightly so his hand brushed against hers and the tips of Effie’s fingers touched his.

—

The next ten days were magic.

As Lewis couldn’t walk much, and his foot sweated real bad when they went to the beach, they spent lots of time in June’s living room playing cards and flicking through his textbooks.

June had let Effie skive off the baby school on the condition that Lewis taught her some maths and geography.

The world was massive, and maps were possibly one of the coolest things ever.

Lewis and Effie spent hours studying June’s Topo maps and testing each other with grid references. Lewis was a bit useless at it.

Toward the end of the first week, Effie overheard Dad and June talking about what would happen when she turned thirteen soon.

June had suggested she could board at the school in Alexandra with Lewis, and Dad hadn’t said no.

He hadn’t quite said yes either, but it definitely wasn’t a no.

Effie had smiled for so long that her face had started to hurt and Lewis asked if she was trying to hold in a fart. She had wanted to die of embarrassment.

—

One day before the nativity show—which, apparently, Effie still had to do—she and Lewis were hanging out at the rusty playground. Sea air rusted everything.

Lewis was sitting on the swing and Effie was practicing her lines. She had already hurled the baby Jesus into the bush twice for its insolence. It kept looking at her, judging her with its broken, half-shut eye.

Little shit .

“I think you’re meant to love it,” Lewis shouted as Effie rummaged through the bush. “You know, be maternal and stuff.”

“And you’re meant to be helpful, not a mouthy possum turd.”

Effie held the baby up by its hard plastic foot.

“I reckon you’ve hurt its feelings,” said Lewis.

Effie frowned. “Do you think I have to hold it? Maybe I could just leave it in its manger thing.”

“Social services might do you for neglect.”

Effie scowled, then poked a finger into its broken eye, trying to stop the fake eyelid from closing. As she jabbed at it, the distant thud of footsteps made her look up. Not the slow beat of a walk, but the hurried pounding of fear.

“Effie!”

The desperate slap of feet grew louder. Closer. Then suddenly Dad was there in front of her, his breath hot on her face, and he grabbed her arm.

“Effie,” he panted.

Before she knew what was happening, he began dragging her along behind him.

“Dad! Stop!” Effie tripped and fell, her palms depositing skin on the concrete. “What are you—”

He lifted her back up, like her bones were made of air, and kept going.

“Dad!” She kicked out in protest and tried to unpeel his clasped fingers. “Let go.”

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”

“Why?”

“Because.” His voice was cold. “I said so.”

Effie slapped his arm. “Let me go.”

“Hey.” Lewis trailed behind them. “She doesn’t want to go with you.”

Dad didn’t even blink. He just marched on, lugging Effie with him.

“Stop!” Lewis shouted. He hobbled behind, already too far away, his crutches like two paper straws under his arms.

“Dad, you’re hurting me.”

His grip eased then, but he didn’t let her go. “I’m sorry.” A single tear leaked down his face. “I’m sorry.”

His face . Oh god. She hadn’t noticed his face.

“Dad…what…” Effie swallowed.

The side of his face was sprayed with blood, the liquid gummy like tree sap, and there was an open gash under his left eye. The wound was angry and red, and his eye socket was swollen.

“We can’t stay here,” he said, and Effie spotted a gap where a tooth had been.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Home.” His voice steeled. “We never should have left.”

—

Effie sat between Four and Tia, their bodies curled into June’s sofa, as the adults whispered in the kitchen.

It was the type of whispering that thickened the air and blotted out all other sounds—that fixed three children to the spot in fear. Her siblings gripped her hands so hard that Effie’s fingers numbed, and she knew she could never leave them.

“I hurt him, June.” Dad let out a sob. “I hurt him real bad.”

There was a moment of quiet—of silent hell—and Effie’s stomach clenched.

“I had to,” he said.