One day, she handed me a glass of juice, looking at me like she didn’t remember who I was. My mother had turned into a ghost. A ghost doing the dishes. A ghost cutting our sandwiches. A ghost sitting alone for hours and hours in the dark, staring at nothing.
And then one day when I was about ten years old, the ghost vanished and never came back.
I glance at the kitchen bench, blinking in surprise at how clean it is. Always there was a fresh snapper or whiting there, eyes bright, mouth bloodied. Or a dozen maroon-red arrow squid, chopped into slimy rings.
One morning before school, I slung my bag over my shoulder and paused at the front door. On the kitchen counter was a plastic tub, the air above it, gory. And inside it, a bloodied row of kangaroo hearts.
I tiptoe past the sagging couch, my eyes fixed on the closed door down the narrow hallway. Dad’s room. I wait for him to come storming out, my jaw clamping so tight my teeth hurt.
My bedroom is opposite the laundry. The stench of Dad’s unwashed fishing clothes used to drift into my room like they were being carried by a slow-moving tide. When Mum lived here, my bedroom sheets smelled of vanilla and cherry blossom. After, they reeked of blood and brine.
I sit straight-backed on my childhood bed, and Jessie hovers at my door looking embarrassed, like she’s not sure what to do with herself. Same. I pat the bed, and she hops up.
Slowly, I open the third drawer of my bedside table. It’s still there. The bundle of newspaper clippings. I pull them out, rest them on my knee, and read.
Local man missing
February 8, 2000
Police are appealing for public assistance to locate a man missing from Kangaroo Bay, Victoria.
Peter Greenwood, aged 52, is the owner of the fishing charterDeep Sea.He was last seen fishing at beach 3, Kangaroo Bay, at 11p.m.He is of Caucasian appearance, about 175 cm tall, with a stocky build and black hair.
Family and police hold concerns for his welfare.
Anyone who sees him or has information about his whereabouts is urged to contact local police or Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000.
Missing Kangaroo Bay man Peter Greenwood had allegedly been threatened before vanishing
February 15, 2000
A 52-year-old fishing charter operator who vanished earlier this month was allegedly threatened a week before disappearing. A man acquainted with Peter Greenwood allegedly attacked him at his Kangaroo Bay home.
The man is considered a suspect in his disappearance.
The man obviously wasn’t much help. My father has been missing for over twenty years. I was there the day Dad was threatened, playing in the front yard when the man rushed past, jaw set, eyes burning. He grabbed the screen door handle, rattled it, swearing. Dad appeared, voice pained and pleading. He reminded me of a frightened animal. I watched the man reach out with heavy hands,shove my father backward through the screen door. Watched Dad’s head hit the floorboard with a cartoonish thud. The man stormed off, screaming threats, and Dad lay motionless as if playing dead.
A week later, he went night fishing. I did not see him leave the house. Did not see him return.
I stroke Jessie’s head, remembering. I’m about ten years old, sitting opposite a policeman, his eyes soft with sympathy.We’re gonna do everything we can to find your dad, okay? That’s a promise.
I curl my body around Jessie’s, remembering the kindness in the policeman’s voice and the free bottles of Coke he gave me as I sat there, shaking.
But mostly…
I close my eyes.
Mostly I remember praying to God that my father would never return.
Chapter 4
I hate this boat.
I freeze at the dock, staring grimly at my father’s fishing charter.I hate you back,it says, unconcerned. In the fading sunlight, the bone-white logo glows:Deep Sea Fishing Charters.
There are two teens in front of me, three behind, and one sleepy-looking blond kid and his dad, fishing rods slung over their shoulders. It’s just after 8p.m.;Jessie and I slept for hours, limbs tangled, breathing deep and steady.
It’s a pretty evening, all golden bright and still. Three pelicans gather in an impatient knot near the dock, eager for the fishermen to hurl them slimy scraps.
