The Mother Fault

by Kate Mildenhall

  ‘Yeah, nah. Just like everyone, I s’pose.’

  He offers her the joint again, but she shakes her head. One puff is all she needs, and it’s given her permission to sit here, with him, in the night.

  ‘What about you?’ she asks.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘School?’

  ‘Yeah, same. Just school.’ He takes another drag. ‘Probably enjoyed what I did out of school more.’

  She nods, the particles of the air glowing brightly now.

  ‘Being on the water, with Dad, before he left. You know.’ He dips his head and grins. ‘Summer was pretty good, hey?’

  She smiles too. ‘Yeah. Pretty good.’

  ‘We gonna talk about it?’

  ‘What? No!’ She shakes her head, half smiles. ‘We were kids.’

  He nods, puts the joint out.

  Later, in bed, she wonders what might have happened if she’d said yes.

  * * *

  The next day all she wants to do is leave the house. To get this thing moving, to careen down the aisles of the supermarket loading supplies into the trolley, to be done, to be gone. But Nick reckons they should lie low. And he’s right. After the scare in Isa. Her chest freezes in fear when she thinks what might have happened.

  Nick heads to the shops alone, says they will go down to check the boat after lunch. Tells her, as if she needs reminding, probably best to stay there, to make herself at home.

  The coffee pushes her past buzz to anxiety. She tells the kids to get out of the pool, to come inside and help her organise what to take on the boat, because she feels compelled to do something. To get moving, to feel less like a sitting duck and more like she is actually making something happen.

  ‘We’ll do it later,’ Essie says and dives under the water as Mim tries to argue.

  ‘Sammy!’ she calls, but he sticks his fingers in his ears and tucks his legs into his chest, bombs into the water from the brick edge.

  Mim yanks the gate, slams it shut behind her so that the clank of the metal reverberates through the bones of her wrist. Hurts. She stands right at the edge of the pool.

  ‘You two,’ she yells, as their heads bob up, ‘out NOW!’

  Essie laughs and it gives Sam confidence. They dive under again.

  She wants to jump in there and grab them hard and pull them out. See them dripping and sorry and compliant on the edge of the pool. Why can’t they just listen to her? Don’t they understand what she is dealing with?

  ‘I’m counting down,’ she yells quickly as they come up again. ‘Five, four…’ But they are gone, laughing and diving under again, so that she is all froth and indignation at the rippling surface of the pool, the bodies of her children made alien under the light and the water.

  She nearly breaks the safety catch as she wrenches the gate open, storms across the crackling grass and inside, slamming the door behind her. She shouldn’t leave them out there on their own, but see if she fucking cares. Little shits, not listening, making fun. She upends their bags on the bed, she’ll treat them like children all right, she throws t-shirts and undies across the bed. Serves them right.

  ‘Mum!’ A shriek from outside and her legs don’t even hesitate, already making deals with fate, sorrysorrysorry stuck in her throat as she races out, through the gate, sees them both out of the water and a long trickle of watery blood down Sam’s shin, a small rupture of flesh at his knee.

  ‘He got caught on the brick climbing out,’ Essie says, glaring at her. ‘You shouldn’t have left us.’

  Mim holds Sam’s wet head against her chest. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re all right,’ she says and it doesn’t even hurt, her daughter’s admonishment, because it is just the way it is, she will never get it right.

  14

  The sound of the marina is all clacking, tinkling, whistling. A background noise like a flock of birds used to make. She looks up at the plantation of masts and sails and ropes that stretch out into the bay.

  ‘Don’t know what condition she’ll be in,’ Nick says. ‘Might have to give her a bit of a clean-up first.’

  ‘Which one’s yours?’ Sam yells, swivelling back and forth on the spot as they wait for the gate to open.

  Nick grins. ‘Down the end, mate. You see if you can find her, called Sandfly.’

  ‘He can’t read yet.’

  ‘Ess,’ Mim warns, and Essie rolls her eyes.

  ‘Starts with an S!’ yells Sam. ‘Like me! Why’s it called Sandfly?’

  ‘Boat was my dad’s. He used to say it was like the mosquito quote – is it Gandhi’s?’

  ‘What’s it got to do with a sandfly?’ Sam asks.

  ‘Something about not underestimating a mosquito – when he’s in your room he’ll keep you awake all night.’

  Sam’s face is screwed up in confusion.

  ‘It’s about small things still being powerful,’ Mim says.

  ‘Like the mouse and the lion,’ Essie chimes in, smug.

  Nick nods. ‘Exactly. Can’t even see a sandfly, little pricks, they’re that small. Sure as hell know when you’ve been bitten though.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Essie says, pointing down into the green water, the faint sheen of oil reflecting on the surface and making it hard to see the shadowy shapes beneath.

  ‘Old yacht club.’ Nick laughs ruefully.

  Mim peers over, and yes, she can see now, a roof, the tops of poles, it makes no sense to read it like this, a bird’s eye view underwater.

  ‘The tides have always been massive up here,’ Nick says. ‘So the rise and the surges really caused some shit.’

  ‘But how come they left it there?’

  He shrugs, keeps walking down the pier. ‘Why bother trying to take it out? Easier with the floating marinas, the lock system – just float the whole thing higher every year.’

  It chills her a little, this nonchalant adaptation. The stereotypes are true, the northerners’ sneering disregard for the southern city-dwellers with their big ideology and limited experience.

  ‘Hi!’ A small smiling face appears over the edge of the yacht to the left of them.

  Sam waves. ‘Hi!’ he calls, then turns to Mim. ‘Look, Mum! Another kid!’

  Mim resists the urge to pull him back as he skips towards the edge where he can see the other kid up close.

  ‘Is that your boat?’ Sam calls up.

  ‘Yep!’ says the child, standing taller now. Maybe the same age as Sam, perhaps a little older, wild hair and the pulled neck of a faded t-shirt that has been well-loved.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Sam asks.

  ‘We live here!’ the child replies.

  ‘In Darwin?’

  Laughter. ‘On the boat.’

  Sam’s voice is awestruck. ‘You live on a boat?’

  ‘Yep.’ The child’s face is round and wide with pride. ‘Where do you live?’

  Mim rushes forward, interrupting Sam’s answer and apologising that they have to go. ‘Say goodbye, Sam,’ she says and steers him away down the jetty.

  ‘But, Mum, I wanted to see the boat.’

  ‘I found it!’ Essie yells and turns back to them, waving.

  Sam races ahead to look and they have got away with their clumsy evasion, again.

  The kids are both standing reverently in front of a yacht when she catches up. The old-fashioned blue font of the name on the side of the boat is a little scratched. Thick ropes stretch from the upright rails to heavy fasteners bolted to the dock.

  Nick is light as he moves past them, and jumps over the thin wire railing onto the deck.

  She hears him murmur under his breath, as his hand goes out to touch ropes, the yellowing fibreglass of the cabin.

  ‘Come on,’ he says.

  ‘How?’ she calls back, an edge of panic in her voice.

  Essie is shuffling forward along the edge of the dock. There’s still at least half a metre of space above the water. They’ll have to leap over to get on. She grabs Sam’s shoulder as he rushes past her. �
�Careful,’ she warns.

  ‘Oww, you’re hurting.’

  She doesn’t let go.

  Nick leans over and reaches out an arm to Essie.

  ‘Shoes off first. No shoes on deck.’

  ‘Isn’t it slippery?’ Essie asks.

  ‘Your bare feet are the best way to hang on.’

  They all take off their shoes, line them up along the jetty.

  ‘Get yourself up on the outside,’ he says to Essie, ‘then put your leg over and in.’

  Mim watches her daughter frown in concentration, stretch her skinny leg up, grip Nick’s wrist as he pulls backwards, her weight shifting from the dock to the boat.

  ‘I’ll pass you up,’ she says to Sam.

  ‘I want to do it like Essie!’

  ‘Your legs aren’t long enough, you won’t be able to reach.’

  ‘I can!’

  She feels her jaw start to tighten. It’s all the water, making her feel on edge. She’s not sure if she’s going to be able to do this.

  She keeps her grip on Sam as they move to the spot where Essie went up.

  ‘Let your mum give you a hand, mate, once I’ve got you on the edge you can do it the same.’

  Sam wriggles as she grips him under the arms.

  ‘You ready?’ she asks, the panic again betraying her.

  ‘All good,’ Nick says, arms out.

  She lifts Sam, not looking at the water, just at the hands reaching out for him, and it’s done in a second, over and in, Sam already taking off, racing around and exploring the deck as she tries to clamber on, taking Nick’s hand when she realises she can’t manage the manoeuvre on her own.

  ‘Should the kids have life jackets on?’

  She sees him trying to swallow a laugh.

  ‘Reckon they’re all right while we’re berthed, they can swim, eh?’

  ‘Can you go over the rules with them then?’ She bites off her words at the end.

  He squints at her, nodding his head slowly. ‘Yep, yep, I can, if that’s what you’d like.’

  ‘Kids! Come here and sit.’

  ‘Tour first, eh? Down the hatch.’

  ‘Down the hatch, that’s funny,’ says Sam as they follow Nick through the opening, and Mim watches their heads disappear.

  ‘So, this is the galley,’ he’s saying as she squishes in behind them. ‘Cooking, sleeping, eating – and here,’ he reaches past Essie and swings open a narrow door, ‘this is the head.’

  She cranes her neck to look inside at the tiny toilet. The space is smaller than an aeroplane bathroom.

  ‘Why’s it called a head?’

  ‘No idea,’ says Nick. ‘So, you have to hold on for a crap till we’re outside the marina.’

  ‘Why? Wait,’ Essie’s voice drops in astonishment, ‘does it just go straight into the water?’

  ‘Where else would it go?’

  ‘Gross,’ says Essie.

  ‘Awesome,’ says Sam.

  Mim wonders if she can delay shitting for a week.

  * * *

  The setting sun throbs orange along the horizon by the time Nick is done and he starts to lock things up.

  ‘I want to go now, why can’t we go now?’ Sam is whinging to Nick.

  ‘Just got to wait till this spare starter arrives, mate. Another day or two and we’ll be right.’

  Essie sees the Border Force guards first, notices the dogs, calls back ‘Mum’ in a voice that is unsure.

  It is two men in black uniform, weapons at their sides, two dogs in harnesses, coming towards them.

  ‘Nick,’ she says quietly down the stairs. ‘Border police.’

  He sticks his head up, a crease between his eyebrows.

  ‘Evening,’ calls one of the officers as the dogs both obediently sit at the edge of the pontoon.

  ‘I’ve got this,’ Nick says quietly to Mim as he steps forward to greet the men. ‘How you going?’

  ‘Not bad. You heading off somewhere?’

  ‘Just cleaning her up for a daytrip.’

  ‘Been a while since you’ve been out?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Nick keeps his body relaxed but Mim notes the tension in his neck.

  ‘Increased activity’s been noted.’

  Nick laughs once. ‘Yeah, we keep an eye out for each other down here.’

  Mim looks at the other boats, wonders how many eyes have been watching them all day.

  ‘You’re not in the system.’

  ‘Nah!’ Nick laughs. ‘Still old school. My dad’s boat. Haven’t made the switch yet.’

  ‘You got the papers there?’

  Nick nods slowly. ‘No worries, give us a tic and I’ll get them.’ As he turns he looks at Mim, smiles quickly, touches one finger to her wrist as he goes past.

  ‘You kids like sailing?’

  Essie sweeps her eyes to Mim, Sam goes to the edge of the boat. ‘It’s our first time,’ he says.

  ‘Is that so?’ says one of the officers, glancing at his partner.

  Mim moves forward. ‘We’re just visiting. Nick was determined to get us out on the water.’ Her mouth is dry. She wills the kids to keep their bandaged hands turned down.

  ‘Welcome to Darwin. Where you from?’

  ‘Southerners,’ Nick says, coming up from behind her and jumping on to the rail before he steps down to the pontoon. ‘Been telling them to head north to visit for years. I’ve told ’em lots come and never leave!’ He laughs and hands a plastic folder of papers to the officers.

  ‘So where’re you off to then?’ asks the officer holding the dogs.

  Nick crosses his arms. ‘Got a few plans, harbour cruise for sunset, maybe out round the point in the morning for a fish, haven’t decided yet.’

  The officer nods. ‘You know you still got to log your trips, yes? Might want to think about getting the network on board sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Even local trips?’

  ‘All of them.’

  ‘Righto. When did that come in? Like you said, it’s been a while.’

  ‘Since July. Simple check-in with the harbourmaster portal, should be able to do it via your nav. Be easier with OMNI, though. We can start that set-up for you now, if you’d like.’

  Nick puts his hand out for the papers. ‘Nah, all good, I’ll sort it out. Makes sense, good to know who’s where, I suppose.’

  ‘We’ve been monitoring a number of boats doing some unregistered island hopping, doing pick-ups. You ever seen any of that while you’ve been out?’

  ‘Nah, mate, keep well away from that.’

  ‘Well, keep your eyes out. Reward system in place for those who help out. When you get online you can log any unusual activity. Worth your while.’

  ‘Eagle-eyed kids on board, we’ll keep a lookout,’ Nick says. ‘If we’re sorted,’ he raises a hand apologetically, ‘need to get these kids back home for dinner.’

  ‘Of course,’ says the officer, ‘have a good day out on the water tomorrow. Keep your eyes peeled.’

  Nick leaps back on board as the officers head back up the pontoon, the dogs slightly ahead, sniffing the ground, eerily obedient.

  * * *

  Later, when the kids are asleep, she asks him for another joint. She needs to slow down her thoughts, the panic of the Border Force guards and their questions.

  ‘Wish we could just go now. Those guards spooked me.’

  ‘They get off on doing that. We’ll be out of here in a couple of days.’

  She thinks about what that means. What leaving means.

  ‘Can I use your phone?’

  He squints at her in the dim light.

  ‘There’s this website. A journalist. It’s not traceable. I just want to leave a message.’

  He shakes his head. ‘It’s always traceable.’

  ‘Not this. Encrypted. For whistleblowers.’

  ‘You reckon that shit works?’

  She laughs, shakes her head, the dope has made her sweet and reckless. ‘What are you? A conspiracy theorist?’

>   He shrugs. ‘If you trust it,’ he says, and hands over the device.

  She finds the site quickly, before she can think about it too much. Selects Raquel’s name from a dropdown list. Hesitates, then moves her fingers fast.

  Going to find him. Will be in touch. She presses the green button. Done.

  The relief in telling someone else. She hands his phone back, pulls her own from her pocket.

  ‘What you doing now?’ he asks.

  ‘Got to call Mum.’

  ‘Nah. Leave it, yeah?’ He shakes his head. ‘Wait till we’re out of here. Not worth the risk.’

  Fuck you, she thinks. You and my arsehole brother. ‘I need to check.’

  He looks at her. Seems to be on the edge of saying something, his lip twitches. ‘Be quick,’ he says and goes inside.

  In the strange orange darkness she calls.

  ‘It’s me,’ she says as soon as she hears it pick up.

  ‘Oh! Mim!’

  ‘I’ve got to be quick –’

  Her mother’s voice is shrill as she cuts in. ‘Your friend.’ Then there is silence.

  ‘There was a fire.’

  Mim cannot breathe. The light is pulsing around her, in her eyes, her mouth, it is stealing the oxygen. ‘What fire? Where?’

  ‘Heidi’s house.’

  ‘Is she okay?’

  There is a gulf of silence. ‘No, Mim, no, she’s not okay. Burns to eighty per cent of her body. They’ve put her in a coma.’

  The phone is ripped from her ear. Nick. ‘Too long,’ he says as he hangs up, ‘they’ll fucking track that. Hey, you okay?’

  She looks at him, tries to focus.

  ‘Mim? What is it?’

  ‘There was a fire.’

  ‘A fire? Where?’ He puts his arm out to steady her. The pulse, the pulse in her brain, she can’t think.

  ‘Hey, Mim.’ He shakes her arm. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Heidi. She’s in a coma.’

  ‘What? Who?’ His face is close, wrinkled with concern. The night, the words, her mum’s voice – why can’t she make it fit together, make it make sense?

  ‘She did this,’ she says, holding up her hand. ‘She cut our chips out of us.’

  Nick’s face is confused. ‘But, what happened?’

  ‘A house fire.’ And now she is clear, sharp as a tack. ‘They must have done it.’