Care Factor Zero Read online

  ‘No voices!’ she said in awe. ‘It must be this room.’

  ‘Or maybe the sedatives they gave you last night have calmed you down,’ said Kaz. ‘Maybe it’d be a good idea to stay on them until you work through your anger and learn to manage negative feelings in a better way.’

  ‘And maybe you should shut up with the psych shit!’

  ‘You’re right. Sorry.’ Kaz helped herself to the salad. ‘Want some?’

  ‘In a minute. How did you know I was given sedatives last night?’

  ‘I do have certain responsibilities in my job, Larce. The cops were searching for you all over the city.’

  ‘There’s a warrant out?’ Larceny tensed.

  ‘No. They were worried about your safety. So were the hospital staff.’

  ‘Oh, sure. There’s all these loonies out of their heads wandering round the streets because the government’s shut down a heap of mental homes and psych wards, and they’re worrying about me. Forget it. They couldn’t give a shit about my safety. Anyway, you can tell them all from me that they don’t have to worry. I can look after myself. I don’t need their help and I don’t need your help!’

  She jumped up, flinging her arms about in her agitation. One hand caught on a dream catcher and the feathers went whirling round and round like a spinning top.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Kaz. ‘I’m not going to help you. I’m eating your fettucine and letting you sleep in Diana’s bed, that’s all.’

  Larceny sat back on the sofa, looking suspicious.

  ‘Who’s this Diana?’

  ‘My friend.’

  ‘Are you a lezzo?’

  ‘No. I don’t give myself a brand name like a box of soap power.’

  ‘But do you sleep with her?’

  ‘No. I live with her.’

  ‘Do you sleep with anyone, then?’

  ‘Yes, myself and about half a million stuffed teddies and gorillas.’

  ‘You don’t sleep with guys?’

  ‘I’m not in any sort of sexual relationship at the moment,’ said Kaz. ‘I’m too bloody tired from sorting out the sexual confusions of the rest of the population to be even vaguely interested.’

  ‘Well, say you had really bad sex with a guy — no a couple of guys — and then, say, you had good sex with a girl, does that mean you’re gay? A lezzo?’

  ‘No, it just means you had bad sex with two guys and good sex with a girl.’

  ‘You need to speak to Comma,’ said Larceny with satisfaction. ‘The stupid slag’s being taken for a ride in more ways than one.’

  ‘But on the other hand, she could be a lesbian,’ said Kaz.

  ‘How’s she s’posed to know, then?’

  ‘It’d feel right.’

  ‘That’s crazy. How can you know what’s right unless you do it, and then if it’s wrong you’ll feel lousy for the rest of your life?’ yelled Larceny.

  ‘If you make a mistake, it doesn’t mean you have to feel guilty for the rest of your life. Mistakes are part of learning about life, and different people learn different things in different ways. But guilt and shame are such negative emotions. Do you know that there’s two kinds of shame, Larceny? There’s healthy shame — like your conscience that tells you that you’ve done something wrong, something unlawful. And then there’s toxic shame. That’s all your childhood crap you’ve had dumped on you by your parents or step-parents or foster parents or teachers or whoever. But you can’t blame them — because they had stuff dumped on them by their parents, and their parents, and so on down the line back to Adam and Eve.’

  ‘Not that religious Adam and Eve thing again,’ snorted Larceny. ‘I’ve sat through a million sermons on the Garden of Eden and the Tree of Life. It was a real stupid set-up. If it hadn’t been Eve who ate the apple it would’ve been someone else. Some dumb chick would’ve had a bite of that apple eventually, or some even dumber guy. The sins of the fathers and all that —’

  ‘The point is that this toxic shame is poisonous stuff. It eats into you and destroys you so much that you begin to believe you’re a worthless mistake. And it destroys any chance of having a decent, honest relationship with another person. We’ve all got some toxic shame, but some people have got more than others. We all have to learn to deal with it in order to feel happy.’

  ‘Yeah? This is just religious crap.’

  ‘No, Larce, it’s life!’

  Larceny screwed up her face in concentration. This toxic shame idea. It made sense. She’d felt worthless for as long as she could remember.

  ‘I’ve got a high IQ,’ she blurted out.

  ‘Are you pleased about that?’

  Kaz was clever. She hadn’t asked who said, why Larce had been tested, how the tests were done, where, when and what for. She’d sort of turned it round.

  ‘I dunno. Hasn’t done me much good except get me into trouble.’

  ‘But you seem pleased to tell me that you’ve got a high IQ.’

  ‘It’s the only thing I’ve got,’ said Larceny simply. Then to her astonishment she found herself pouring out her life story: it usually had to be prised out of her, and then she only ever revealed the bits she wanted to share. Kaz sat and listened. She was a very unusual person. Most adults immediately tried to tell you what to do, when to do, and how to do it. Kaz didn’t interrupt at all: she just listened. Eventually Larceny ran out of words. She felt drained, like someone had pulled the plug and let her life go seeping through the carpet.

  ‘Want some coffee?’

  Larceny nodded, too worn out to speak. Kaz went into the kitchen. While she was rattling cups, Larceny could hear her talking to her animals as she fed them. Then Reuben and Sir Tom came marching in with Kaz, both looking indignant. They’d been out in the cold for hours. They stretched side by side near the fire and fell asleep as Kaz put down two mugs.

  ‘Milk, no sugar.’

  ‘How did you remember?’

  ‘I always remember the important things in life, and milk-, no-sugar equals Larceny!’

  ‘Yeah. This toxic waste stuff …’

  ‘Toxic shame.’

  ‘If you think you’ve got it, how do you get rid of it?’

  ‘Well, the most important thing is to realise you’ve got it and it’s not your fault. Then you probably need some sort of counselling to help you deal with it.’

  ‘No way. No counselling! All that’s ever done is stuff me up completely, made me feel worse.’

  ‘The techniques are improving all the time. It depends who’s doing the counselling, of course.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘There’s some books and video tapes by an American guy called John Bradshaw. If you read the books they’ll help you understand yourself and help you get rid of toxic shame.’

  ‘Have you got rid of yours?’

  ‘I’m working on it, Larce, I’m working on it.’

  Kaz yawned. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to call it a night, Larce. It’s nearly twelve and I have to be up by seven. I’ve put on your electric blanket, and the bathroom’s just across from your room if you want a shower. Sleep tight.’

  It was years since anyone had said “Sleep tight”. One of the foster mums; she couldn’t remember which one. Her life was a mish-mash of different family values, sayings, customs and habits.

  ‘Yeah. ‘Night.’

  Larceny went into the bathroom and washed her face and hands. She stripped off her clothes and rinsed out her underwear so it’d be dry in the morning. If it wasn’t she could run the hair dryer over it, an old trick she’d learnt on the streets when she’d dried her undies under the hand dryers in public toilets.

  Looking round, Larceny decided it was the most unusual bathroom she’d ever seen. Someone (probably Kaz) had stuck up all these postcards, stickers, articles torn from magazines, and photocopied poems and sayings. All were positive. “Trust in yourself”, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life”, “Smile and be happy”. None of them seemed religious: no mention of God. Larc
eny came to the conclusion that Kaz was running her own religion with her crystal collection and her visually positive bathroom.

  Her bed was lovely, warm and cosy, the mattress slightly saggy so that it folded round her like a cocoon. She should’ve been dog-tired but amazingly she was wide awake. She went over in her mind what Kaz had said. Toxic shame? She could invent a whole list of toxics. Toxic love. Toxic hate. Toxic greed. Toxic envy. Toxic lust. Toxic power. Could you have toxic guilt and anger?

  Kaz didn’t seem like a religious freak. Apart from crystals, feathers and wolves she seemed cool. Maybe she’d let her stay for a while. It would be nice to have a safe place without someone trying to unscramble her head. Maybe Kaz had been trying to unscramble her head, but at least it wasn’t intrusive. Or uncomfortable. Or threatening. She fell asleep to the comfortable tick tock of Diana’s alarm clock near the bed, her first naturally deep and peaceful sleep for a long time.

  ‘Wake up. Breakfast’s ready.’

  Kaz stood in the doorway with a towel wrapped round her head. Larceny blinked. Where was she? Who was this weirdo wearing a pink turban?

  Then she remembered where she was and sat bolt upright.

  ‘I meant to get up early.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I dunno. I thought I could make you some toast or something.’

  Larceny felt confused. She seldom ever offered to do anything for anyone. Even making the fettucine the night before had been a rare occurrence. Maybe Kaz had sprayed the walls with weird drugs that made a person feel comfy and eager to please. Or maybe it was just Kaz.

  She swung her legs out of bed.

  ‘Oh, hell,’ said Kaz. ‘You’re wearing your t-shirt. I never thought to get you a nightie or PJs. Hang on, I’ll get you a dressing gown. You can try wearing Diana’s slippers but she’s got feet like kayaks. They’ll probably fall off your feet.’

  Kaz disappeared and came back with an old faded blue chenille robe that had seen better days.

  ‘Here you go. It’s practically an antique but it’s clean.’

  Breakfast was stewed apples, toast with Vegemite or honey, and coffee.

  ‘I’d like you to come with me, Larce. I’ve got a couple of kids who are in deep shit, and I think you could help them,’ Kaz said as she drained the last of her coffee.

  ‘Me? Help someone? Get real, Kaz, I can’t even get my own shit together.’

  ‘You’ll be surprised how useful you’ll be. Trust me!’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Larceny ran down the road, her tote bag banging wildly against her hip. Ducking down an alley she weaved along the narrow one-way thoroughfare before bursting onto another main road. Cars zoomed past, their drivers in a hurry to get to work before the peak hour slowed them to a snail’s pace. Her lungs bursting, screaming for air, she panted to stop, heaving in great gulps of misting morning smog.

  ‘Trust me,’ Kaz had said.

  They’d got to the office, only been there minutes, when two cops had arrived, a male and a female. Kaz had done a great acting job feigning surprise: she could’ve won an Oscar she was so convincing. The babe from Peer Ed in the grey blanket thing had stood there smirking like a fat slimy slug.

  ‘Are you Larceny Leyton?’ the female cop had asked.

  Larceny had been too choked up with shock, betrayal and anguish to answer. She’d just stared at Kaz with bleak hatred.

  ‘I didn’t have anything to do with this,’ Kaz had argued, as the other cop took out his notebook. ‘You only have to give them your name and address. You have rights, Larce.’

  ‘Address? Should I give them yours?’ Larceny had spat, her eyes flashing with rage. She’d begun to tremble, she was so angry at herself for getting conned. To trust Kaz and get kicked in the teeth yet again. It was too much. With a savage cry she’d swept her arm across Kaz’s desk, knocking the phone and papers flying before whirling for the door.

  ‘Get her,’ yelled the cop with the notebook.

  The female cop had lunged after her but when Larceny was scared she was as slippery as an eel. She twisted out of reach and pounded out the door, her long legs carrying her rapidly down the street. She could hear Kaz shouting at the cops and shouting for her to come back but it was all mixed up. She’d done what she’d always done when there was trouble with the law — run like hell.

  A black shiny car pulled alongside.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked this middle-aged guy in a business suit, winding down his window.

  ‘Something bad’s happened. I have to get to my mum,’ lied Larceny.

  ‘Should I call the police? I’ve got my mobile.’

  ‘No. If I could just get a ride to the city —’

  She climbed into the front seat and he pulled smoothly back into the traffic. He had his radio tuned to some classical music station. She hoped the cops didn’t broadcast an APB.

  ‘What happened? Did someone hurt you?’ asked the man, driving fast towards the city. Larceny wished he’d slow down. It’d be just her lousy luck for him to be pulled over for speeding.

  ‘My stepdad. He … well … you know … he …’

  Larceny pretended to burst into tears. She was brilliant at spinning shit. She’d been doing it for years.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want the police?’

  ‘No. I want my mum.’

  ‘Where’s her office, dear?’

  ‘In Flinders Street, near the station.’

  ‘All right, we’ll be there soon.’

  His idea of soon and Larceny’s idea of soon were light-years apart. All she wanted to do was jump on the first train to some remote country town. No, wait. She’d be better back in the city: she’d be harder to find, then. Get some black hair dye, visit the ladies — no one would be looking for a girl with short black hair, cause she’d buy some scissors and hack it off. Get rid of the jacket, nick something less obvious. Junk the tote bag. Pity it was her lucky bag. But then maybe it was unlucky. It’d never brought her good fortune, had it? There were real advantages in having a high IQ. Real advantages.

  He turned into St Kilda Road: the traffic was creeping along like a giant slug.

  She had never found out where Kaz lived, didn’t even know the suburb. Pity. It would take her a while to find it. She needed to do it because one day she’d go back there and rip the place apart. Pull all those dumb sayings off the wall, smash the crystals, burn the feathers, grind her heels into those wolves, shred that dumb doona into tiny pieces and hack all the rose bushes off at the roots.

  The man was talking to her and she hadn’t been listening.

  ‘Sorry. What did you say?’

  ‘I’ll park the car and come with you,’ he was saying.

  That’s what you reckon, she thought. The traffic moved then stopped again.

  ‘Thanks for the ride, mister.’

  She wrenched open the car door and was out onto the road, running down the footpath and round a corner. She’d double back when she thought it was safe. He’d be stuck in the traffic, could only turn left. She’d be back onto St Kilda Road before he had time to go round the block. She’d cross over the road, He had no hope of seeing her with four lanes of traffic as a shield.

  Fear and anger always gave her extra energy. She was Larceny Leyton. She could conquer the world. She sped back onto St Kilda Road, catching the lights near the Shrine. Maybe she could hide in there? No, best back at the station, get a train to the suburbs, disappear for a while. The crafty feral was taking over, planning and plotting. A high IQ and native cunning: she’d beat them all yet.

  She slowed to a walk. Running attracted too much attention unless you were dressed for it, and she wasn’t. She reached the bridge and crossed back over with the lights.

  Flinders Street station was home. It smelt safe and secure. The smell of the sweat, grease and grime of human bodies, engines, food and machines were far sweeter to her nostrils than the traitorous scent of roses.

  She found her familiar spot against the wall a
nd paused to get her breath. Looking at her watch she saw that it was ten to nine. Good. The shops would be open then, and she could nick the scissors and the hair dye, and —

  ‘Well, well, well. We meet again!’

  Her blood froze. She knew that voice. Nick Farino.

  She looked up defiantly. His shrewd eyes took in her blotchy, tear-stained face and drawn, haunted expression. He smiled to himself. He had her where he wanted her, vulnerable and helpless. She was a wild one all right. He’d followed her progress as she’d rampaged about causing chaos and confusion. She had half the cops in the city chasing their tails. He had unfinished business with her. And future plans.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’

  ‘Oh yes you are, or I’ll turn you over to the cops and they’ll lock you up in Ararat Prison. The criminally insane section. How would you like a life behind bars with a lot of gabbling, demented fools?’

  ‘You’re bluffing. I’m too young.’

  ‘Who’s going to defend you? They can do what they like. Who’d miss you? They could stamp DEAD on your records and how would anyone ever find out that you’re still alive? Who would want to? You’re mad. Insane. A killer.’

  Larceny sagged against him as he propelled her through the exit and down the steps. As before, his car was round the corner. How had he known she’d show up? He bundled her unresisting body in and shut the door.

  ‘My bag!’

  She’d left it back in the station.

  ‘You won’t need it.’

  He shot away from the kerb down Flinders Street, turning left into Kings Way and round the block, getting straight onto St Kilda Road on the green light. Smoothly he drove up Domain Road and into Park Street. It was no use trying to jump out: he had his hand on the power switch for the door locks. And if she did, where would she go? There was no place to run.

  They reached his apartment building and he slid the car into his space.

  ‘Pity the cops didn’t get you at that youth work place as instructed and bring you straight here,’ he said as they went up to the third floor. ‘I guessed you’d head for the station. You’re a nuisance: I had to leave my breakfast.’