Jessie's Lot

By Dorothy Cormack

Set in a fictional town in Australia that experiences the hardship of our ever changing economy. The circumstances Jessie is born into set the outcomes of her life to come. This story is driven by the characters who make the choices.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorothy Cormack
• Release date: Oct 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9780992518066

Dorothy Cormack

I am a psychiatric nurse, mother and writer. Born in the country but the city is my home and I like writing stories that use lots of Australian slang within the genre of crime. Recent selection of being runner-up in the inaugural South Australia's Clare Writers' Festival Short Story Competition for 2013 story called Mystery in the Clare Valley.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Jessie pulled her dressing gown closer as she hauled herself off the chair. A chip pan on the stove was spitting and an aroma of burnt oil filled the room. Her mind was clouded like the thick fog the boiling oil produced. She’d plans to make chips for Terry for breakfast but they started arguing after Andy left. And now he was gone, after one last line of expletives. Her face was coated with steam as her tremulous hand switched off the gas. A couple of hours sleep would make her feel heaps better.

With weary, tender steps she proceeded to the bedroom to lay on her unmade bed, put a towel over the patch of blood and pulled the quilt covers up to her chin and tried to sleep. The image of a patch of dirt in the back lawn and his angry words consumed her mind.

‘I thought I could trust you.’

Terry couldn’t talk, and she’d told him to his face he was like his old man. She recalled the time when she met his father before he passed away. A jailbird is what he called him, although not to his face; alcohol was his downfall, leading to a life of crime and gambling. The long welts of beatings and a scar from an accident. When he’d fallen against their stove, that had been Terry’s fault according to his father, for not returning towels to the bathroom. She’d have to give Terry credit, he’d come through pretty good after what he’d been through. But he wasn’t a proper stepfather for Andy. They didn’t get on. Terry thought kids should be brought up like he was and do lots of work around the house. Then there was the gambling; Terry seemed to be getting worse.

Andy’s dad Matt, where was he now? Would he ever return? How she longed for his presence. He’d made her feel strong and confident, and around him she felt like somebody. He was interested in her and listened when she confided in him and they talked about their childhood, their fears and all their insecurities. He’d been where she’d been. The argument they had and how she told him, ‘Go if that’s what you want, go!’ Maybe if she’d pleaded with him, begged him, he might’ve stayed. How she regretted those words. Everything would’ve been fine if he was still here, everything.

The afternoon sun came through the windowpane. Jessie turned her head to check the alarm clock. One-thirty, she’d better get up. At least Cheryl picking Andy up that morning saved one trip to the primary school. Hastily she chose clothes suitable to be seen by other parents. Beneath the fabric, she felt her slim frame as she smoothed down the front of a knitted dress. She needed a pair of shoes that weren’t stilettos and she searched at the back of the cupboard and put her hand on a shoe that was the same colour as her old school shoes.

Same colour, but her size. She thought of her schooldays when she’d been made to wear op-shop shoes that were a size too big. ‘Daffy Duck,’ they’d called her as she’d sat behind the sport’s equipment shed while they poked a stick at her until a teacher came and shooed them off.

Then there was Mum, how she gave her favourite doll away to a play-friend. Mum suffered her father’s abuse then lashed out at Jessie, being the only child in the family. Told her she had too many dolls and gave Belinda baby doll away in-front of her. Dad was dead now, he didn’t come home one day from the factory and later they found him. Jessie was glad he didn’t come home, and she wasn’t going to feel guilty about that feeling.

She shrugged off the memories, no-use dwelling on the past because from now on, every-time a knock came at the door she would think it was the cops. Someone had seen her last night.

Her stomach grumbled, she hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime and with the sequence of events food had been way down on her worry list. Thirty-five-years-old, and her life was out-of-control.

Jessie opened the kitchen cupboard with its brass handles and took a jar of rubber -bands to tie hair away from her petite face. A feed of honey-pops would do, not the most wholesome but eating anything was good and the cupboard didn’t offer much.

‘Don’t think about Terry,’ she told herself. He’d gone to his mate’s place the other side of the city. A week would pass before he returned, and he would’ve calmed down by then. When she’d first met Terry after Matt left, he’d wanted someone who he could buy a house with and already had a child because he couldn’t have one, so her and Andy suited him. She was attracted to him but not like Matt.

The phone rang but the call wouldn’t be Terry. He wouldn’t speak to her for at least a couple-of-days. She answered the call and hung up on someone who sold beauty products.

She munched slowly on the cereal and held a white paper serviette to wipe her mouth. Honey-pops finished, she put the bowl in the sink and left the kitchen for the bathroom to apply lipstick before collecting her son from school.

As she stood in front of a mirror auburn hair hung limply round blueish-green eyes and trails of mascara from tears streaked freckled skin, she examined her eyes. Red-rimmed with long lashes needing a clean-up, not too bad, and if she put on makeup, she’d fool her ten-year-old son. He was obsessed with his new football and wouldn’t ask too many questions.

The neat area of dirt, what would she tell him when he kicked his football near it? A patch of potatoes and don’t disturb them? Something new for their garden with its basic lawn with a metre border of cactus, an ancient lemon tree in the corner and an old shed on the other side. He’d accept the excuse and if his football landed on the dirt, she’d say nothing as long as he didn’t start digging around.

She applied a plaster of matte orange lipstick to her full lips, a spray of cheap perfume and put a comb through her long, wavy hair. Then an ornate gold-trimmed plastic clasp to hold her locks in place.

On return to the kitchen she snatched a pink handbag with plastic tassels, plunged in her hand and drew out keys to start up the battered white Commodore.

Chapter Two

The traffic was busy, being near three-thirty. Jessie pulled onto the main road and headed for Landmarsh School. A smallish city in New South Wales, Frankton was known for its high crime rate since the closure of its car manufacturing plant in 2012.

Terry had a position with them in the early days of their relationship. When life was easy they’d bought the house he’d always wanted. It hadn’t taken long for the payout to be used up. Her job at the local fruit and vegetable store, Marties, helped, but the supermarket did their specials and kept longer hours. Marties couldn’t keep up and her hours were cut. The store closed for good two years ago. She’d seen the boss lugging a box packed with cauliflowers, his ancient olive face furrowed with worry lines because he wasn’t a young man and she knew he had a bad back.

The afternoon sun sank low in the sky, clear but for a few clouds on the horizon, and Jessie picked up a book from the floor of the car, The Mists of Avalon. Flipped the pages to the book marker and started to read. Halfway through the page she stopped, her mind too busy despite her love of Camelot and Knights of the Round Table.

Where was Andy? The art class he normally took every Tuesday would be over. She watched the space between the red brick building where he usually came running with his schoolbag bobbing behind him and thought about her schooldays. How she burst into the classroom to find out that her father had changed her subjects without even discussing it with her. She’d had plans to be a famous artist and become a millionaire and live in France. So when Andy wanted to do art she’d said of course and told him he’d do well.

The time clicked over on her mobile, ten past four. The car radio played True Colours, how she loved the words of that song, and her mind drifted for a moment. She picked at the dry skin on her bottom lip.

A call came through from Andy and a muffled voice said, ‘We want the fifty thousand dollars we know you’ve got or you’ll never see your son again. No cops. We’ll use his phone to communicate with you.’

Her hand clutched her iPhone and the call ended.

Desperately she tried the number again and again. If only she could speak to him, she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Fifty thousand dollars and they knew she had it!

Her forefinger found a familiar number on the screen.

‘Terry, they’ve got Andy … Terry. Terry answer me … for fuck’s sake.’ The line crackled and her eyes brimmed with tears. With the mobile tight on her ear she cursed Telstra for their lousy service.

She knew exactly who’d sent the message. It was Frank. At least Andy wouldn’t be hurt because they were old friends of hers, but she hoped Terry would sort him out. Terry being the one who was involved with the fifty thousand dollars. It was a crazy plan of his out of desperation for their lack of cash. He’d overheard Frank, his boss, talking with his wife about the money they’d siphoned from the company into a Swiss bank account. Apparently Frank was an expert on the computer. Terry had been on an unofficial smoke break behind the workmen’s shed and he’d heard all about his boss’s crime.

Everyone knew the automobile factory was closing. People were discussing plans to make money. Terry blackmailed his boss. He’d dob him in if he didn’t hand him fifty thousand for their mortgage payment because the bank was going to foreclose on their house.

He’d handed Terry the cash, but his face seethed with anger. Things would go wrong. She’d watched them from the car and regretted going along with Terry’s plan at the time, but she’d gone straight to the bank and paid most of the mortgage.

She touched the redial button with an index finger. A gust of cold air blew in through the Commodore’s window and a fleck of rain wet her cheek. Using a crumpled tissue from her dress pocket, she dabbed the moisture and pressed a button to close the window. The glass came up slowly, stopped a couple of times and she added its malfunction to a mental list she kept for things to fix.

Finally Terry’s familiar voice came through, ‘What do you want?’

‘Frank and Claudine have Andy.’

‘Got Andy, what do you mean?’

‘They’ve got Andy and want us to hand the fifty thousand back,’ she spat angrily.

‘What, kidnapped him?’

‘Yes, it’s exactly what I mean. The mortgage crowd got most of it,’ she said. She’d known if she didn’t pay some money off Terry would go through the money. ‘Is there any left?’

‘One thousand, but I put it on two horses which didn’t come in and pokies. It’s how it is,’ his voice was distorted with static and then came good. ‘You know what I’m like. Besides kidnapping him is stupid. I’d ring Frank, but my battery is going flat any second and I keep losing reception. You ring and make him see sense.’

She fumbled with a half-empty packet of cigarettes, extracted one and lit it with a red plastic disposable lighter. Several mothers who’d come to pick up their kids from school glanced at her as she sat by herself. She guessed the gossip would go rampant. Why was Jessie Dainy sitting in her car at the school and Andy didn’t come out?

After several deep drags on a smoke she punched in Frank’s mobile number and chewed on her thumbnail.

‘Frank, the fifty thousand is spent, the bank has it. Are you crazy taking Andy? We’ll come and get him.’

She stubbed the cigarette butt out in an ashtray and went on, ‘Kidnapping is worse than fraud and besides we’ll all get punished if I have to call the police.’

‘Not us, Jessie, come and see but good on them. Now you realise what it’s like for someone to put you over a barrel.’

‘Who’ve you told?’

‘No one, how could I tell anyone?’

‘You must have.’

‘I haven’t, so fuck you.’

The call ended abruptly and her guts ached as she punched in Terry’s number. She should’ve done what her mother had said and left him years ago.

A parent from the school knocked on the window, her face was filled with concern, and Jessie waved the woman away with a flick of her hand.

The phone rang and rang. She gave up and remembered his phone was probably flat. Her head spun and she fought to compose herself. Who could this person be? Did Terry blab at the pub in his inebriated state? She called the fixed phone number of where he was staying.

It rang through to message bank, and she said, ‘It’s not Frank. Who have you blabbed your big mouth off to? Ring me ASAP.’

She extracted a bunch of tissues from a squashed box on the floor of the car, wiped wet eyes and blew her nose. Terry’s fault and now Andy would be hurt because of him. If it was his son he’d be more concerned. She flicked on the vehicle’s ignition and pulled away from the curb without looking behind her.

Possibilities of who it could be flashed through her head and her mind was numb with the terror of some unknown person having Andy. A car horn blared as Jessie sat at the traffic lights. She put her foot on the accelerator and the vehicle lurched forward to catch up with the car in front.

If it wasn’t Frank they should go to the authorities. All the films showed that in the end the law was the best option, but when questioned it was inevitable the blackmail would be revealed. They’d be up on charges and sent to jail. The money paid off their house and she took the cash to the Frankton Bank. She should’ve made Terry take it to pay the mortgage but that would have been a risk with his gambling habit. And she’d made calls and sent text messages to Frank to arrange collecting the cash from him, although she’d been careful what she’d texted. It’d be deemed as suspicious if the facts were collated, definitely.

No police, they’d told her. If only she could speak to her son and see if he was alright. She’d get the money, pay them, whoever they were, and get him back. One consolation to the day’s events – she wouldn’t need to tell Andy about his dog which … A horn blared and a passing friend waved from a car window.

She pulled into their concrete driveway, opened the door and her mobile rang.

‘Andy?’

‘No not Andy,’ the man’s muffled voice said.

‘If you don’t put him on. I’ll ring the cops!’

She heard someone call his name.

‘Hi, Mum, I’m alright.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine; just give them the money so I can come home.’

‘Who are …’

The call ended and she took a deep breath, at least he was unharmed.

She trudged along the front of her cream-brick home and slid a key into the lock of the entrance door. The phone rang when she got inside and her mother’s voice came over loud and clear.

‘You’re late. Where have you been? Is Andy okay?’

‘Yeah, course he’s alright. He’s … he’s at his friend Joey’s place and I stopped to drink coffee with Cheryl.’

‘You sound a bit rattled. What’s going on?’

‘Nothing, Mum, nothing, I have to put tea on. I’ll talk to you later.’

She filled up the kettle and flicked a switch to make a coffee. The mobile twinkled and she saw it was Terry as she touched the received-call icon.

‘He’s alright and unharmed.’

‘Did he say who took him, Jessie?’

‘No, the call ended before he could say. Who have you told, Terry? Frank said it’s not them.’

‘Nobody.’

‘Not even when you were drunk down the pub?’

‘No, why would I bloody tell people about the money?’

‘For fuck’s sake, they’ve got Andy,’ she said and lapsed into sobs.

‘We’ll have to pay them off by selling the house, but only if we have to. We’ve almost paid the bloody place off.’ The hopelessness of Terry’s voice came through. ‘We won’t get another loan to buy one.’

‘I’ll go to a credit lender and ask if we can refinance,’ she replied, and her heart flickered with optimism. ‘If I have a job I can get a loan.’

‘Don’t be dumb. You’ve got no income except Centrelink.’

‘There’s a new fruit and veg shop opened up in Landmarsh Shopping Centre,’ she said. ‘And a sign saying, girl wanted for casual employment.’

‘Why would anyone want to employ you after the last job?’ he replied.

‘The fruit shop closed, it wasn’t me,’ Jessie argued, but as usual he didn’t listen and she didn’t want to elaborate.

The mirrored wardrobe door slid open and she examined its contents. A clean, practical shirt and jeans would be the outfit to wear for a job interview. The garments from the previous position at Marties fruit and vegetable shop. Her hand clasped a striped shirt in shades of blue and green and got the next item, blue jeans, from the white chest of drawers.

Jessie pulled them on and zipped up a pair of brown leather boots, which made her five centimetres higher than her original height of one hundred and sixty-eight. She stood in front of a mirror and acted out the role she’d play to get the job.

‘Hello, pleased to meet you. I’ve come about your notice for a shop assistant. What a lovely shop you have and everything appears very fresh and edible.’ She smiled and opened her eyes wide, ‘Yes I can see why people come here.’

Her confidence wavered as she realised how stupid her speech sounded and she pulled open a drawer where she kept all her documents. She