Mama Killed A Man

“This isn’t gonna work.” John’s eyebrows knotted together, a look of reluctance twisting his lips and scrunching his nose. He raised a hand and cupped his chin as his eyes scrutinized Celeste’s lean frame. “She’s a lot taller than you, Amber.”

Taller and thinner and prettier; Celeste and I looked nothing alike, and the frumpy AFL jumper I had given her did little to challenge that. She looked ridiculous, and I guess that lessened the void, but enough to fool twenty cameramen? I didn’t think so.

“Taller?” Celeste laughed, shifting beneath her disguise, “I was more concerned about the fact that I’m black and she’s white. But you’re right, John. Height is a way bigger issue.” She scoffed, stepping around us to the kitchen counter where she grabbed a browning banana from the fruit bowl, ripping the stalk off with her teeth.

“It’ll work.”

As he strode into the kitchen, I noticed he was wearing the same suit and the same dishevelled grimace he had left with two days earlier. He didn’t look at me, and for a second I thought he hadn’t noticed my presence. I swallowed the pulsing lump in my gullet and raised a shaky hand to my head, tilting it upwards in an awkward salute. Celeste paused mid-chew, staring at me through narrowed eyes like she had never seen someone so moronic. Lips quivering, I snatched my hand down, cringing at the heat that crept up my neck.

“Graeme’s plans always work,” my father continued, ignoring my gesture. He stepped past me, walking stick clicking on the pristine marble surface. He paused to glare at John who met his eyes with a reverential nod, determination soldering his lips. His voice dropped to a gruff whisper, “And when this one does, I want you gone.”

My face flamed and I flexed my fingers to rid them of the pulse that was pulling at every fibre on my body. As I opened my mouth to protest, John’s hand came around mine in a silencing grasp and I faltered, biting my tongue and averting my gaze to the cuffs of my shoes. Tugging his tie from his neck, my father threw me one last thwarted frown before exiting the room.

“I am so sorry,” I said quietly, the second his footsteps disappeared up the stairs.

John shrugged, pinching at the front of his white v-neck as if to release the heat trapped in his chest.

“Don’t worry about it.” He looked up, features rearranged into a strained smile. “He’s just upset.”

“Are we all ready?” Graeme entered the kitchen and I jumped as his hands clapped together by my ear. I sent him a teasing glare as he took in his granddaughter’s attire, enthusiasm waning.

Celeste tugged at the jumper gingerly. “Not quite,” she grumbled.

“It’ll do.” Graeme shook his head, unconvinced by his own words. “You’re just gonna have to keep your head down and your hands in your pockets, ok sweetheart?”

Celeste nodded, sliding on a large pair of sunglasses as we made our way to the front door and Graeme poked his head up the stairs to call for my father. He came down moments later dressed in a simple polo and khaki shorts, a jacket gripped tightly in his white-knuckled fist. Graeme took the jacket gently from his grasp and slung it over Celeste’s head, making sure to cover the curly poof framing her face.

“Ready?”

Celeste breathed hard, tucking her hands deep into the pockets of her sweatpants.

“Ready.”

John pulled me a safe distance from the door as my father flung it open and bounded outside. A clamorous noise erupted as the paparazzi caught sight of him and jumped into action.

“Out of the way!” I heard him yell. Graeme wrapped an arm around Celeste’s waist and walked her out. The noise was so loud I could feel my ears tense against its austerity, and John, observing the discomfort in my expression, sprung forward and slammed the door. I watched him bend down and crane his neck so his eye was in line with the peep hole, his jaw hanging slack and his cheek raised in a squint.

“It’s working,” he said quietly, opening his other eye to glance at me. “They’re getting in the car and...Yes!” He tore away from the hole. “The paparazzi are following them,” he smiled. “They’re gone. It actually worked!”

I grinned at his juvenile glee, finally allowing my neck to loosen and my mind to relax. Ever since the photo was leaked, the tension in the Hurley residence had been pressing relentlessly upon my shoulders, and it had reached the point where I almost wanted to be crushed. I wanted to be hated and shamed and sent back to Australia where no one knew my name, but the mere thought of leaving my father and Celeste and John had me sucking it up and taking the weight. Reading my expression, John ambled over and wrapped his arms around my waist, setting my head against his chest and taking my load. He smelt like soap suds and breakfast. I breathed deeply, memorizing the scent.

“Let’s get out of here.” His chest rumbled against my cheek.

I peeked up at him, smiling against the thin fabric of his shirt. “Sounds good but wait-” John’s hand hesitated over the door knob. “I need to get my phone from Celeste’s room.”

Nodding, John leaned down and pressed his lips to my head, the warmth of his touch spreading over my scalp, before releasing me and slumping against the door.

Bounding up the stairs, I took the first left into Celeste’s guest room, pausing at the door. Clothes of all descriptions were strewn across one side of the room, the powder-pink curtains in a haphazard twist as they let in a strip of ten-o’clock sun. The bed was unmade, the sheets rolled up in a ball and the mattress slip curling off one corner. On the other side of the room, Louise slept wrapped like a sausage in a pink paisley duvet that matched the hair rolled up around her head in bright blue curlers. A soft snore escaped her parted lips as I crept past her to Celeste’s bedside table where my phone flashed in its charger.

There was a muffled murmuring and I froze with my hand clasped around my phone, cautiously peeking back at Louise’s sleeping frame. There was a pause, and then the sound came again. I frowned, straining my ears as the voice got louder, frustration evident in its tone. Vacating the room, I followed the sound down the hall, past the music room to the last guest bedroom on the second floor. The voice increased in agitation as I approached.

“It was their plan!”

My breath caught in my throat as I registered the voice. Heart slamming in my eardrums, I leaned closer, pressing the side of my face to the door.

“No, no, no!” She huffed, pacing back and forth. “That was a diversion!”

I flinched as a fist made contact with the wall.

“She’s still here!”

My mind was spinning; I didn’t know what to do. My hand reached out to clasp the handle, but I doubled back, releasing it from my clammy gasp. I worried at my lip. If I was going to expose her, did I want her ready for it? Brookie was smarter, and at present, much more liked in the Hurley household than I was.

She sighed and the murmuring stopped. Quickly, quietly, I darted down the hall, back down the stairs and straight out the door, dragging a bewildered John by the hem of his shirt.
“Hey, hey,” he stammered, grabbing me by the wrist as he stumbled to a halt. I leaned against the gate, panting. “What’s the rush?”

“We need to leave,” I spluttered, smoothing the hair from my face. “They’re coming back.”

John recoiled, freeing my arm from his grasp as he searched my face. “What? Why?”

I turned away from him and began heaving at the gate, hissing as the metal scorched my fingers. A guttural screech grated from the rusty tracks as John reached over to help me and I cringed, eyeing the second-story windows vigilantly. My skin prickled and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

She was watching us.