Page 35 of The Vanishing Place
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 paua. 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.
