His arm on her, gentle against her sudden rage.
She pulls away from him. ‘FUCK!’ She yells it, the sound ripping up into the trees above them. A dog barks next door.
‘Keep it down,’ Nick says quickly. ‘Come inside.’
He leads her through the door, sits her on the couch. He sits beside her but seems so far away. And he is not Ben. She needs Ben. What the fuck has happened? What has she done? What have they done to Heidi?
She feels it gurgling and frothing up from her guts, tries to move then vomits on to the floor next to Nick.
‘Jesus,’ he says, jumping back.
She is racked by it. Again and again she brings up the weak yellow bile, until she rests her head on her knees. Can only lift her hand to wipe her mouth, taste the acrid sour of it. Then a noise comes from somewhere inside her. A howl.
She is aware of Nick moving, cleaning near her feet.
‘This is my fault.’
Nick looks up to meet her eyes.
‘It’s not.’
‘Yes.’ She stands up. ‘Yes, it is. If I hadn’t asked her, they would never have…’
He stands up, blocks her pacing. ‘Hey.’ He puts his hands up to absorb the impact of her walking into him. ‘You don’t know that’s what happened. If it’s the Department, they would have taken her in, right? She’d be in an estate, worst case. Maybe it was an accident.’ He tries to pat her arm and she shakes him free.
‘No, you’re wrong.’ It’s all so obvious. ‘This is exactly what they do. This is sending me a message.’ She paces again. ‘Can’t you see? Can’t you see how they do it?’
He holds her. Tight. Hugs her close and slows his breathing until hers slows too. ‘You’ve had a shock,’ he says quietly. ‘You need to sleep. We’ll work it out in the morning, huh?’ She allows herself to be led. To take the half valium he gives her. To be put to bed next to the kids. She allows it, but she knows that come the morning she must find a way to get back to Heidi, to fix what she has done.
* * *
She wakes later, snagged in a knot of sheets. Drenched in sweat. Her hands stretch out to feel the kids, pat around until she touches flesh, slows her heartbeat until she can hear their quiet breathing in the bed next to her. She dreamed she was under a boat. Floating in the cabin – water, cups, pots and life jackets suspended in the green murkiness around her. And she could see where she needed to swim to get herself out. Knew, in that deep knowing of dreams, that if she just swam forward, pushed through and kicked up she would break the surface, there would be air, she would survive.
Except, except. Somewhere, just beyond her vision, down there in all the little rooms, bunkered cupboards, doors flown open, water now in every place, filling up every space, there are the children.
She opens her eyes wide against the dark of the room, breathes in tandem with her sleeping children, here with her. On land, breathing air, not water. Safe.
This dark press on her heart, on the inside of her, a growl that is building in the back of her throat. She is mad for taking them out to sea. Mad to stay. She pushes herself up and out of bed. Remembers Heidi coming to her in the dark. You have to go, she had said, you have to go now.
Nick’s room is dark, fuggy with the smell of him when she opens the door.
‘We have to go,’ she says.
He rolls in the bed, brings his arm up to cover his face where the light from the hallway is crossing him. The dark thatch of hair in his armpit.
‘We have to go in the morning.’
He groans softly. ‘Can’t yet.’
‘We have to.’
‘Gotta wait for the spare.’
‘Nick.’ She moves further into the room. ‘It wasn’t an accident. We need to go.’
‘Can we talk about it in the morning?’
‘No.’ She straightens up, anger splits in her now. ‘It wasn’t Heidi they’re after, it’s me, the kids, Ben.’ She raises her voice. ‘She’s lying in some fucking hospital bed and she might die, she might fucking die, Nick, but it’s me they’re after. I’m paying you, Nick,’ she is hissing now, ‘I’m paying you to get me out of here. I don’t really give a fuck if we are just floating out there, I want to be away from here. Do you understand? I need to get the fuck out of here.’ A tiny fleck of spit flies out of her mouth and lands on the doona.
They are both quiet.
‘We go tomorrow,’ she insists.
Nick blinks long. ‘All right. Your call.’
15
The sun pinks the sky as they motor out of the marina, Nick slowly manoeuvring them into the tight space of the lock. She watches the way the light falls on the trees at the marina edge and wonders when she will next have her feet on this land.
She just wants to be away. For a moment when she woke this morning she didn’t remember. Her mouth dry and ashy, pain like a pin above her right eye. Then it came like a wave. Heidi. What did they do to you? There is no comforting image she can lock on to in her mind, it keeps scudding away so that she sees flames bright and consuming, Heidi’s body blistered and blackened.
She took Nick’s phone again. Found the link on The Advocate site.
Heidi Fulton. House fire.
She doesn’t know if Raquel will look, or follow up, or find anything at all. But she has to do something. Has to try.
The children cannot know. She repeated this, low and urgent, to Nick as they packed the last things, as he asked her for just one more day and she said, ‘No. No, we have to go now.’
* * *
There’s a man standing high above them on the edge of the lock, a cigarette balanced on his lip. He would reek of salt and fish if she got close.
‘Hold her there,’ the man calls down.
Nick has the wide wheel of the helm in his hand, and uses his other to pull back the black lever next to him.
‘What do you need me to do?’ she asks.
‘Grab that sheet there, in the middle. Throw it up to him.’
She looks to where he is pointing.
‘The red one,’ he says.
‘The rope?’
‘Yeah, you call it a sheet.’
She clambers over the back of the seat in the cockpit.
He motions to Essie. ‘Come hold this steady, yeah?’
Essie rushes to hold the helm and Nick, sure-footed, leaps across the seat behind Mim, up on to the front.
‘Let’s go, careful there,’ calls the lockmaster, ‘throw it up, love.’
The rope is coiled perfectly and she’s not sure how to pick it up off the deck.
‘C’mon, love!’
‘Here you go!’ Nick calls, and the lockmaster quickly moves forward along the edge of the wall. Mim sees the white mooring rope that Nick throws from the front, looping up before the lockmaster grabs it out of the air.
Mim collects herself, steadies her breathing, picks the top loops of the coil and throws. It goes wide, but the man stretches out to grab a handful of it.
‘That’ll do it,’ he says, and she feels a momentary surge of pride.
Nick is back at the helm.
Sammy yells and points. ‘The gate’s closing!’
‘Hold this,’ Nick says to Mim, and she holds the helm steady, as Nick leaps around again, tightening ropes, leaning out over the edge and adjusting the fenders. It’s close enough to push against the wall as the water begins to gush in around them, lifting them higher. Then there is quiet as the water stops pouring in and they are still.
‘Here we go, then,’ yells the lockmaster, sticking his head out from the little box at the edge of the wall, and the gate in front of them begins to open and, suddenly, there is the harbour, all stretched out before them. Ripples of wind across the morning light in the water, boats bobbing, picturesque. There’s a pain in Mim’s chest, just looking at it.
‘You all good, Essie?’ Nick says.
‘Like this?’ Essie says, her hands steady at the helm.
‘You got it. Just keep the bow –’
> ‘The point?’
‘That’s it – the point at the end – you keep that aimed right at that marker out there.’
‘With the black arrow?’
‘That’s the one.’
Essie holds her arms straight. Eyes not moving.
‘Relax a bit. You’re okay. It’s not like a road, yeah? You can’t fall off the edge!’
‘Mum! Look at Essie! Can I? I want to!’
Nick leaps across the surface of the boat. ‘Where are you going?’ she calls urgently.
‘Gotta do these ropes. She’s got it!’
She frowns after him, shitty at his nonchalance. ‘You okay, Ess? You feel okay with it?’
‘I’ve got it, Mum. It’s easy.’
She hovers, moving a little closer to Essie. ‘Where are those life jackets?’ she calls out but there is no reply. ‘Nick!’ she repeats.
‘Mum! Don’t worry about it, we’ll be careful!’ Essie seems completely in control as she laughs off Mim’s nerves.
‘Humour me, huh?’ she says, steadying herself on the handholds and lifting the seats to look for the life jackets. Eventually she finds them, dragging out the fluoro orange puff of them. They are enormous. All of them adult-sized.
Nick is not perturbed when she holds them up.
‘They’ll do the job if we need them,’ he says, moving quickly away to his next task.
She makes a noise in exasperation. ‘They won’t do their job if they don’t fit properly!’
‘Hey, Mum,’ Essie says, ‘come watch me do this.’
Mim clutches the useless life jacket in her hand as she sits next to Essie, slowly calming her breathing.
‘You can have a go next, Mum, okay?’ Essie laughs and keeps her eye steady.
* * *
Nick is all action, barefooted, skipping from one end of the boat to the next, knotting and pulling and hoisting. Mim feels useless. He calls instructions to her – Hold this, Pull here, Through there, No, there. She cannot imagine ever knowing how to do this. He says it will take them four days, seven at most, perhaps she will not know herself by the end. Around the boat the sea is a green she could not have imagined. There are other boats, lots of them, at least this makes them kind of inconspicuous. He hasn’t logged the trip. He shrugged when she questioned him, told her that an omission would be easier than a downright lie. She figures it doesn’t matter in the end. As long as they don’t get caught.
‘Gotta get this sail up,’ Nick says.
‘Can I help?’ Sam is buzzing with it all, fingers flittering near his sides.
‘Is it safe?’ she says.
Nick shrugs. ‘Long as he does what I say.’
‘He’s six.’
Nick points to where a silver handle is resting in a slot on the smooth edge next to the bench seat. ‘Grab that out, mate.’
Sam reaches over and pulls it out. The handle is longer than his own arm, and awkward for him to manoeuvre over the top. Nick doesn’t try to help.
‘Good one,’ Nick says as Sam manages to get it into position, ‘now slot it in there.’ He points to a spot on the top of a rounded winch. There’s a red rope already wound a couple of times around the base. She follows the trail of it with her eyes as Nick explains how it works.
‘So, I’m gonna be up the front winding this up, right?’ He points to the configuration of ropes and tackle above their heads. He’s enjoying it. His total control of the boat, his knowledge. The way they are in his thrall. ‘What I need you to do is, when I say, you got to wind this up, all the way, and then you got to lock it off.’ He touches Mim’s arm, pulling her in slightly so she can watch how he does it, sliding the end of the rope into a notch, removing the winch handle.
‘Now, Sam, you got to watch us get this right. First time, I reckon your mum should do it, next time you get to.’ He ducks under the canopy and heads to the foredeck.
‘Wait,’ she calls, ‘I’m not sure –’
‘You’ll be fine,’ he calls back.
Essie and Sam watch her. She can feel panic building in her gut. This is bullshit. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do, he hasn’t told her properly. They’re on a fucking boat on the fucking ocean and if she stuffs things up there will be real consequences, for the boat, for her kids.
‘I don’t know what to do!’
‘Mum,’ Essie cuts in when Nick doesn’t reply, ‘you’re okay. You can do it.’
Sam adds, ‘Take a deep breath, Mum.’
‘Okay,’ Nick calls, ‘start winding.’
Above them, the whisper and whoosh of fabric, the clank of metal as the sail begins to unfurl.
‘Come on, let’s go!’ he calls.
She grabs the winch handle and begins to turn. The rope immediately goes slack, curling back from the base.
‘Shit,’ she murmurs, tries again. ‘It’s not working!’
Nick’s voice comes back. ‘Unwind the sheet!’
‘What?’ The panic vibrato in her throat now.
His voice carries under the rigging, she cranes her neck to try and see his face, to understand.
‘The rope,’ he calls. ‘It might be wound on the wrong way. Unwind and put it back the other way.’
‘This bit, Mum,’ says Essie, leaning over and pointing to the end of the red rope.
She can’t do this. She’ll stuff it up.
Essie starts to unwind the rope, and Mim grabs her hand.
‘Careful, I’ll do it.’ She unwraps the three loops, switches hands, hesitates for a moment as she tries to work out what the other way is.
‘How you going?’ Nick calls.
She loops it back on, winds it around, once, twice, three times, then takes the crank in her hand again. She feels it grab, then starts to wind. Heavy. It’s heavy. There’s no way the kids could do this.
‘That’s it, keep going, let’s go.’ Nick’s voice is far away, and she can hear his breath in it – this is hard work, even for him.
‘Go, Mum! It’s going up!’
The sound of the wind in the sail is eerie, flapping and whistling. Her arms burn, she has both hands on it now, doesn’t know if it is helping or hindering, the muscles on her left arm are no match for the right.
‘Nearly there, let’s go!’
She grits her teeth, it’s slowing now. So much pressure on the rope.
‘Okay. Hold it there. Lock it off. I’ll come in a sec.’
She slots the next loop of rope into the jaws of the catch, feels it lock. Breathes. Shakes her arms, feeling the ache in them.
‘Good job, Mum!’ Sam is grinning.
Essie has her chin tilted right back, looking up at the sail. ‘Wow,’ she breathes.
And it is like that. This first look. The wind catching it. The arc of it so big. It is at once so strange and so familiar, a thousand paintings and pictures and movies and books where she has seen this white shape and yet has never known the way it sounds, the way it moves, how alive it is above them.
She remembers the first time she got a fire going on her own out in the back paddock. Seeing the smoke, then that first tiny flame licking up the twig. Later, seeing the huge fire, all the stuff they heaped upon it, and knowing that she’d made it happen. The power of that.
This feels a bit the same.
She is smiling when Nick arrives beside her, nods his chin in acknowledgement and grins back. ‘See.’
* * *
‘Muum! Where are my earbuds?’ Essie’s voice is on the edge of whinge and Mim feels it prickle up her spine.
‘Stop it, stop it, they’re mine! Mum!’
Mim pulls her head out of the cupboard.
‘Stop it, you two!’
They are both at the table, Sam is clutching a pair of earbuds and Essie is levering his fingers to get them out.
‘These are mine!’ Essie uses her other hand to push him away.
‘Hey! Stop!’
‘But these are mine, Mum. I know they’re mine, I left them on the table, and look, here,’ S
am opens his hand to reveal the buds, ‘there’s red texta on this one and I know it’s mine, it’s been there for ages.’
‘They’re mine.’
‘They’re not!’
‘Just stop.’ She raises her voice, holds up both hands. Breathes. ‘Come on, you’ve been doing so good. Essie, come on, you’re too old for this.’
Essie grits her teeth and pushes Sam’s hands away from her. Hard. His clenched hands fly back into his face and he howls in rage and pain.
‘Essie!’
She rounds on Mim. ‘I hate you!’ she yells, her face twisted. She clambers out of the bench seat, muttering in frustration at how tight the space is. Mim can almost see her looking for a room to hide in, a door to slam, but there is nothing. Essie stomps up the steps of the companionway. Mim hopes Nick keeps his mouth shut this time.
She goes to Sam.
‘There’s blood!’ he says, holding his hand out from his lip in astonishment at the blood smeared on it.
‘It’s okay, Sammy, lips bleed. It’ll be fine.’ She hugs him to her.
He mumbles into her shoulder. ‘They are mine, Mum, I promise.’
She goes to the drawers and pulls each one out until she finds paper towel. Wets a corner at the tap, takes it to him to hold on his lip.
‘Has it stopped bleeding?’ he asks.
‘It’s all good.’ She kisses his head. Leaves him with his screen.
* * *
She sticks her head up through the hatch, squinting in the glare.
‘Ess?’
She is lying belly down on the bench in the cockpit. Nick is at the helm and he catches her eye. ‘I gotta duck under for a bit.’
‘You want me to take that?’ she asks.
‘Nah, autopilot, all good. Just keep an eye out.’
Mim touches his arm in thanks as he passes her, and he smiles quickly with his eyes averted. She sits on the bench beside Essie, takes the sunscreen and begins to rub it into her own arms.
She begins, ‘Hun, that wasn’t –’
Essie’s voice is muffled, her head resting on her arms, as she cuts Mim off. ‘I know. You don’t have to say it.’
The Mother Fault Page 15