Sweet Lorraine

           Whangarei. Morningside street. I slowly drive past. I park my car a few houses up the road and casually walk toward number sixteen. The house where I grew up. It is empty, and the lawn is overgrown with weeds. The business meeting I came for was over sooner than I had planned, leaving me some spare time. I’ve never been back here since I left for the navy after high school and thought I’d drive past on my way back home. I walk around the house to the back. The pool is empty except for some rainwater that had collected at the deep end. Green and slimy. The big old tree is still there, causing memories from my youth to flood my mind. And memories of Lorraine. Sweet Lorraine. From across the street.

           I wonder whether her family still lives there. I decide to go find out. The house looks forlorn and in need of attention. The roof is rusted in places, the gutters have sagged, and the garden is unkempt. The bell is out of order, so I knock. A girl of about twelve opens the door. If I didn’t know better, I would swear it was Lorraine!

           “Hi. Is this where Lorraine lives?” I ask, taking a fat chance, knowing that Lorraine had disappeared about thirteen years ago. Before the poor girl could answer, an older woman pushes her aside and steps forward.

           “Melissa Duncan! What did I tell you about talking to strangers? Get inside!” I recognise her as Lorraine’s mother, now grey and wrinkled, but still as grumpy as she was then. “Lorraine is where she deserves to be. Now beat it and leave us be!” after which she closes the door in my face. I turn to leave, utterly shocked. Where could Lorraine be? Dead maybe? How? Why? No, cannot be!

As soon as I get home, I find my old school yearbooks and locate a photo of Lorraine’s class. What a gorgeous redhead she was. Tall and athletic. And on the school’s swimming team too. I page to the photos of the swimming team. She looks stunning in the school’s red and black one-piece swimsuit. With an exquisite athletic body like that, it was no wonder she was popular with the boys. Even I had had a secret crush on her. Fortunately for me, I had one advantage over the other boys. Lorraine used to live across the street, and she was friends with my sister, Amelia. We had a pool in our backyard and the two of them would often tan beside the pool. I can still vividly recall Lorraine clad in her tiny yellow bikini. I remember with fondness the many hours I had spent at my bedroom window ogling them.

I smile as I think back to the prank my sister had played on me on my fourteenth birthday. Because Amelia knew I was a nerd and totally tongue-tied and shy in girls’ company, she had invited Lorraine and some of her friends over. They had all cornered me and threatened to throw me in the pool, naked. Unless I allowed each girl to kiss me for at least fifteen seconds each. “My birthday gift to you, little brother. It’s time you were kissed,” were my sister’s words. And what a gift that had been. Lorraine went last and had French-kissed me for much longer than fifteen seconds. What a gift that had been. I was in seventh heaven.

But that was the last we saw of Lorraine. The next day she wasn’t at school. According to her brother, she had been sent to live with her grandparents in Australia. No reason was ever given. Her cell phone number had been disabled. It was as if she had disappeared without a trace. Even her social media presence had been erased. For weeks I had wondered what had really happened to her. Her family’s lips remained sealed. Two years later, I graduated high school and joined the navy. While abroad, my parents were killed in a car accident. Although I had a few casual relationships over the years, I could just never forget Lorraine. And that kiss.

After a few days of pondering Lorraine’s whereabouts, I decide to mail a letter addressed to Melissa, hoping for some information about Lorraine.

           Only after three more letters and weeks later do I get a reply from Melissa. No date, no salutation. Just a single line, Lorraine is in jail. Wow. I heave a sigh of relief, knowing that at least she is still alive. But jail? Why? What had she done? Where? After many attempts, I finally find out that she’s an inmate at Arohata Women's Prison in Tawa. To visit an inmate, you must apply and get permission from the prisoner. Lorraine refuses that I visit her. It took three more applications before I realised I had to try something else.

           I write to Melissa again to hear when her mother would be released. She replies, again with a one-liner, a date two weeks hence. I take leave for a few days and fly to Wellington the day before she is to be released. After renting a car, I book into a hotel close to the airport. The next morning early, I drive to Tawa and park at the edge of the parking lot. Gradually more and more cars arrive and wait in the parking area. At about noon the gates open and a few females exit accompanied by exuberant chants, whistling and hooting. All are met by family and boyfriends with hugs and kisses. Soon the parking lot is empty again. Maybe I have the date wrong, or Melissa purposely gave me a wrong date.

Disappointed, I was about to start the car when a taxi arrives and waits by the gate. After a while, the gates open again and a tall, thin woman walks out. Dressed in jeans, a green blouse, and a large hat shadowing her face. Lorraine. My heart misses a beat, and my palms are sweaty. What had she done to have ended up here? She looks around slowly, casts her eyes in my direction, but then heads for the taxi. I have parked a distance away under the shade of a tree so she would not have recognised me. Anyway, we hadn’t seen each other for thirteen years.

I follow the taxi at a safe distance. He drops her off at a motel close by, the Bucket Tree Lodge. I wait while she enters reception to book a room. After a few minutes, a motel maid walks Lorraine to her room, carrying a clean set of towels. Ground floor, room 107. After waiting a while, I walk over and knock on the door.

“Who’s there?” she asks from the inside.

“Lorraine, it’s me, Leonard,” I reply softly, “please let me in.”

“Go away! I don’t want to see you! I’m a bad person!”

“Please Lorraine. I’m not here to judge you. I’m the only friend you have at the moment. I just want to talk. Come on. Please let me in.” Silence. After about five minutes, I slide my business card under the door. “Okay, I’ll leave then, but here’s my cell number. Please phone me.”

I return to my car and sit there for a while. I have no idea what to do next. Maybe I should never have returned to Whangarei. Should just have let sleeping dogs lie. What was I thinking? I make up my mind. I’ll return to the hotel and fly back. I tried, I lost, and life must go on. Lorraine is a phantom from the past. So be it. I start the car and drive back to Wellington.

That night I struggle to sleep. I lie awake thinking about who Melissa Duncan is. She looks like Lorraine. Her daughter. Who is the father? I open my laptop to Google her name. What I find shocks me to the core. Lorraine Duncan had killed her father because he had raped her repeatedly, getting her pregnant and was about to start abusing her daughter Melissa. She had stabbed him multiple times. I am stunned. While on the laptop I book my flight back home. I want to check my phone for any messages or missed calls, but the battery is dead. And I never brought my charger along. Tough. The next morning I drive to the airport and fly back to Auckland. The first thing I do when I arrive home is to plug in my cell phone charger and check for messages. There are three missed calls from an unknown number in Tawa. I suppose Lorraine tried to contact me while my phone was dead. I ring the number. Gail at the motel’s reception answers.

“Do you know a woman by the name of Lorraine Duncan?” she asks.

“Yes, I do. May I speak to her?” A silence follows.

“Sorry, Sir. She committed suicide this morning. The last three calls she made were to your number. Are you her next of kin?”