Huia Short Stories 11 Read Free

groceries.
    Aroha saw her chance and darted forward. ‘Can I help you Miss?’ she called.
    The woman, Pene Walker, stopped and smiled, relief lighting up her face. ‘Oh Aroha, could you bring in the rest of the groceries for me? I’m running late this morning and this piece of sh … the car wouldn’t start.’
    â€˜No problem Miss,’ and before the teacher could change her mind, the girl had dived into the car and gathered up the plastic bags of supermarket groceries.
    The rain was more persistent now, and the woman and girl made for the classroom, running through the parking area, splashing into puddles and across the playground. Pene Walker fumbled for the key in her bag, slipped it into the lock and opened it with a loud clunk. ‘Need to get that oiled.’ she said. ‘Damn thing sticks half the time and it either jams tight or doesn’t lock at all. Worse than my car.’
    Aroha didn’t think anything could be worse than Miss’s car, but she said nothing.
    Earlier, the caretaker had turned on the heaters and the room was warm. Aroha also noticed the residual smell of bread from yesterday’s cooking class and her stomach rumbled.
    She lifted the bags onto one of the benches. ‘Can I put them away for you Miss? I know where everything goes.’
    The teacher had a towel in her hand and was busy rubbing her hair and dabbing at her clothes in an effort to dry them. She looked over at Aroha, and for the first time noticed she was soaking wet. ‘My God girl, you’re wetter than I am. You can’t go to class like that. You’ll get your death of cold.’ She thought for a minute. ‘Go out the back into the laundry. There’s a couple of old spare school uniforms there. Try them on for size and see how you go. And take this towel and dry yourself off. When you come back, I’ll make you a cup of Milo.’
    Aroha went into the back room where the washing machine and drier were kept, used for washing tea towels and oven cloths. She took off her uniform, wincing as she pulled it over her head, trying not to look at the dark purple bruises that flared over her ribs and down her legs, a legacy of the beating Uncle had given her the night before. She had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for them to come home. And by the time they did, the dinner she’d cooked had burned and gone cold.
    She was used to being hit, having bruises and welts, but last night the man her mother made her call Uncle was roaring drunk. Picking up the broom, he’d hit her over and over again. She’d curled up in a ball like a hedgehog she’d once seen when she came across it during the day. But there were still parts of her body she couldn’t defend. He struck her legs and back, and when she tried to stand and run, her stomach and ribs.
    She didn’t sleep – too sore – and although she thought there was no longer any room for crying, her sobs and whimpers soaked the pillow.
    This morning she left the house early not bothering to try and find anything to eat. There was nothing anyway – only some stale milk. The rumbling snores where her mother and Uncle lay sleeping, echoed round the bedroom. They would probably be gone when she came home from school, back to the pub to play snooker, cards or drink until the money ran out.
    Aroha carried her wet uniform out to where Pene Walker heated milk in a saucepan. ‘Shall I put it in the drier Miss?’
    â€˜No, leave it in the laundry and I’ll sort it out later. That is if you don’t mind wearing what you’ve got on.’
    Aroha didn’t mind at all. This dress smelled clean and sort of like flowers – she supposed it was the washing liquid, but whatever it was, she liked it. When her uniform got dirty, and she only had the one, she had to wash it by hand and it never seemed to be completely clean. The stains didn’t come out, and in summer it was hard to get