Beneath the Mother Tree

by D. M. Cameron

  Marlise sank behind the tree and thought of Harley’s face with sunglasses for eyes in the car mirror, watching. Surprised at how she had broken into a sweat, she dared another look.

  Harley was speaking to an older couple standing to his left. ‘I don’t have the strength to bury him Trev, June I…’ He almost dropped the dog.

  June stepped forward. ‘We’ll take care of him for you, won’t we, Trev?’

  ‘What are neighbours for? Here, let me carry him, Harl.’ Trev held the dog out with a respectful formality.

  June took Harley by the elbow. ‘Come on, Harl, let’s go home.’

  Organ music continued to drift from the church as the parishioners watched the odd little funeral procession disappear down the hill. There was a murmured consensus: it was a sad day. The island had lost its favourite dog.

  As people dispersed, Marlise, trapped, stayed close to the tree, pretending to pat the horse. A short elderly lady in a big hat addressed the animal, untying it. ‘Did you see, Toto? Our friend Jip is dead.’ She spoke with a thick Italian accent.

  The tears in the woman’s eyes surprised Marlise but she persevered. ‘Excuse me, do you know where the ferry comes in?’

  ‘The jetty. Straight downhill. Easy. No turn left. No turn right.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The old lady had no idea she was the suspected dog killer.

  At the jetty, a few tourists lingered outside the resort around the ice-cream booth. When she saw that bitchy Sharon woman serving behind the counter, Marlise kept walking up the pier where a group of despondent teenagers sat fishing.

  ‘Jip was a legend.’

  ‘I reckon.’

  She nearly tripped over in shock at how quickly word had travelled. A pelican perched on the stump at the end of the jetty glided off at the sound of the ferry approaching. She saw Riley sitting by himself, on the top deck, his head bowed.

  Poor baby.

  He stepped off the boat and looked through her, walking straight past, making her feel as inconsequential as the stinky fish scales stuck to the jetty under her shoes. She fell in beside him, wanting to ask where he had been all night. By the look on his face, questioning was not the right tactic. He waved at Sharon in the ice-cream booth who waved back with a smug smirk.

  ‘You know that woman?’

  ‘She said you need your head checked.’ He powered up the hill.

  She had to run to keep up. ‘Why did she say that? Riley? Talk to me.’

  He increased his pace, forcing her to catch her breath between words. ‘I’m sorry I lied, but it wasn’t far from the truth. He might as well be dead. He only stayed for a couple of years, then left. That’s it, end of story.’

  He stopped. ‘It’s not the end of the story if he’s still alive. Where were you when he left? America?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, he’s still in America?’

  ‘Need a lift?’ It was Grunter, hanging out the window of a beat-up Holden station wagon, one hand on the wheel.

  ‘Grunter.’ Her voice betrayed her embarrassment at being caught in such an intimate exchange. ‘This is my son, Riley. Grunter works on the barge. He’s keeping his eye out for a job.’

  Grunter sized him up. ‘Come down sometime. We’ll give you a try. Nothin’ goin’ yet, but never know your luck.’ He winked at her.

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’ Riley mumbled, studying his dirty feet.

  Grunter watched her. ‘So, need a lift?’

  ‘If it’s not out of your way?’

  ‘I’ll just spin her round.’ He did, before the exhaust fumes had left the pipe. ‘Jump in.’

  She climbed into the back, forcing Riley to sit in the front. Grunter twisted to look at her, disappointed. ‘I don’t bite you know, unless you’re into that sort of thing.’ He winked again. Alarmingly, he kept turning back to talk to her. ‘I’m on the first of me days off. On the barges, we have seven days on, three days off. Great job if the weather’s good. If the weather’s crap, it sucks. Poor old Harl.’

  He slowed to take in the scene. The dog owner was digging a hole in his front yard. The dead dog at his feet. His two neighbours stood beside him, beer in hand. Marlise slid down the seat as they stared at the passing car. This was why she had accepted the offer of a lift.

  She saw Grunter give them a nod. ‘Won’t know what to do with himself now Jip’s gone. Poor bugger.’ He manoeuvred the corner. ‘Like fishing, Marlise?’

  ‘It’s something I haven’t had much experience with.’

  ‘We better get you some experience then. Free this arvy? Thinking of taking the tinny for a spin, drop a line. What you reckon?’ He pulled up outside their house and turned his sun red face to her, pockmarked and hopeful.

  ‘We’re barely unpacked...maybe next time? Once we’ve settled in. Thanks for the lift.’ She smiled graciously then slammed the door as he opened his mouth to protest. Riley murmured a thank you. They watched Grunter reverse, swinging the big car around, tooting as he drove off.

  Riley frowned. ‘Are you really going fishing with him?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Then why lie?’

  ‘I didn’t. I said maybe.’

  ‘You touched him on the arm as you said it, leaning in, smiling, teasing. That man now thinks you’re going fishing with him.’

  ‘Well, I’m not.’ She held the door open.

  ‘You lie continually. You don’t even know when you’re doing it.’ He scowled as he went past.

  ‘I was being polite. He gave us a lift. He might give you a job. What did you want me to say? I find you very unattractive?’ He headed up the hallway, looking worn out by life, making her wish he was still small enough to rock to sleep in her arms. ‘Aren’t you hungry? Why don’t you have a shower? Freshen up?’

  Grateful to have him home, she ignored the slam of the bathroom door. He was safe again here with her, where she could protect him from the rest of the world, like a mother should. There were people out there with the potential to hurt, to take him into dark places. She knew that darkness. It would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. He had yet to learn these things.

  As soon as Ayla woke, she threw her swimmers on, ran down the track to the beach and dived into an oncoming wave. Relaxing her body, she let the push and pull of the surf tumble her around, hoping the fizz and pop of white froth would wash away the sad visions from last night.

  She emerged to flump on the sand. Glad for the first time that Grappa never anchored off Mud Rock. He avoided the open sea, preferring the sheltered bays of Hibiscus and Three Mile, or out beyond the mangroves if the easterlies blew. He was the last person she wanted to see today.

  Her mother appeared from the track with two mugs of tea and handed her one.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Thought you were staying on the mainland?’

  ‘Changed my mind.’

  ‘Woman’s prerogative.’

  A large wave crashed against the shore.

  ‘Jip’s dead.’

  ‘Yes, I heard. Harley’s claiming he was baited.’

  Ayla clicked her tongue. ‘I told him it looked viral.’ She kicked at the sand. ‘Poor Jip.’ The piece of pumice stone in her hand was so light, when she tossed it toward the shoreline, it landed at her feet. The failure to throw it further brought tears.

  Her mother wiped them from her cheek. ‘Hey, hey, hey, Aylee. It’s not your fault. You did everything you could.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Everything I attempt, I fail at.’

  ‘That is not true.’

  ‘Then why aren’t I at uni? Why am I back here, hiding away, cleaning houses?’

  ‘You deferred because you wanted a break, not because you were failing. God Ayla, get some perspective. You were top of your course. It was that vile narcissist, Harry. He broke your heart. If I ever get a chance to, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. Selfish bastard.’

  ‘Wasn’t just him. Even last night…it was lovely to see all my friends, but I stil
l felt like I was observing everything from outside. I can’t explain it –’

  ‘Once you start back at uni that will change.’

  ‘Will it? Feels like I don’t belong anywhere.’

  ‘You belong here.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘You were born here. Literally. I didn’t even make it to the boat, remember? If anyone belongs here, you do.’

  ‘No. Aunty Dora does, Rayleen does, Mandy does. We don’t.’

  ‘Codswallop. On my mother’s side, you are fifth-generation Australian. How many generations back do we need to go before we can call a place home?’

  ‘We’re still aliens here though. It’s not our ancestral home.’

  Her mother looked stunned. ‘You’re being far too intellectual about this. As Aunty Dora would say, you’re thinking too much in white feller terms. You can’t honestly say you don’t feel a strong connection to the island?’

  ‘I thought I did when I was a kid, but now...’ Ayla couldn’t stop the new wave of tears.

  Her mother put her arm around her. They touched heads.

  ‘You’ve just lost yourself for a moment, Aylee. I have full faith in you. You’ll get there. It doesn’t help having Grappa fill your head with so much nonsense. When you were little, you believed him with all your soul. I knew this day would come.’

  ‘What day?’

  ‘When the universe he created for you would collapse. Grappa was your world. You always took his word over mine. That really annoyed me.’

  ‘He’s the annoying one. Sick of the way he carries on.’

  Her mother blew on her tea. ‘He dropped by earlier. Said I wasn’t to let you out of my sight.’

  Ayla buried her feet in the sand. ‘Did he tell you how he left that poor guy stranded there, all night?’

  ‘Who? The dark-haired agent of the faery queen? The son of the changeling in the guise of a woman that’s moved into the old Johnston house?’

  ‘Mum, it’s not funny. He’s humiliating.’

  ‘He shouldn’t drink so much.’ Her mother’s voice was steeped in disappointment. ‘He has a good heart and loves you beyond words. You have to remember that.’

  Ayla groaned.

  ‘Why don’t you visit the young man and apologise? Tell him your grandfather’s a little mad. I’m sure he’ll understand.’

  Ayla wriggled her toes so the sand around her buried feet caved in. ‘I feel so embarrassed. I don’t know how to explain Grappa.’

  Her mother’s arm around her wet body felt safe and warm. An image of Riley standing mystified on the end of the jetty in the moonlight came to her, making her jump up. She helped her mother to her feet.

  ‘You’re right. I should make sure he got home, at least.’ They hugged. ‘Thanks Mum.’

  She brushed the sand from Ayla’s back. ‘You should go see Grappa, make amends.’

  ‘Too angry with him.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  They walked into the house, quietly going their separate ways, linked by mutual love and frustration for that silly old man bobbing about in his boat somewhere beyond the island.

  By the time Ayla walked past Harley’s, there was a mound of fresh dirt in the front yard and a makeshift cross on top with the first hibiscus flowers of the season scattered around the base. Harley, Trev and June were sitting on the verandah, drinking. Ayla was relieved to see Harley had his sunglasses on. She tried to rid herself of the memory of his tiny red eyes, too close together.

  He called out. ‘Want a beer, man? Trev bought a slab.’

  Ayla opened the gate. ‘No thanks, Harl. Just wanted to say how sorry I am. Wish I could have saved him.’

  ‘No one could save him. Damage had already been done. Fucking bitch.’

  ‘Harley thinks he knows who did it.’ June looked apologetic.

  ‘If he’d been poisoned he would have been vomiting, Harley. He didn’t vomit once, did he?’

  ‘Nup.’ He turned to June. ‘It was like his heart just fuckin’ seized up on him.’ June patted Harley while he struggled to speak. ‘Was good as gold couple of days ago. No dog gets that sick overnight unless some fucker’s done something to him.’

  The violence with which Harley said this disturbed Ayla. ‘No one would want to hurt Jip.’

  ‘Unless his barking got to them…not that he barked that much. He was a one bark kind of dog.’ Trev punctuated this with a burp.

  ‘Just because that woman complained, doesn’t mean anything, Harley.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, I haven’t told you this bit – I caught a lift home with Tilly the day Jip got sick and that bitch was in the car. When we pulled up and Jip didn’t run to greet me, that bitch smiled, a real knowing look she had on her face.’

  ‘The woman smiled, not Tilly,’ added June.

  ‘And when June saw her walk by earlier that morning, she swears that bitch looked over at Jip lying there and laughed, man. Laughed. June remembers, ‘cause she wondered what the fuck she was laughing about. Who would laugh at a fucking dying dog?’

  ‘Maybe it was a coincidence Harl? Maybe she was thinking of something funny at the time?’ June said hopefully, always trying to see the best in people.

  ‘June’s right, without proof, you can’t go accusing her.’

  ‘My dog is dead. How much more fuckin’ proof do you need?’ Harley grabbed his shirt and wiped his face with it, almost knocking his sunglasses off in the process. There was a lull in the conversation as they stared at the grave. Ayla stood to leave.

  ‘Sorry about the language, Ayla. Not meself today. Don’t usually drink.’

  ‘Get yourself a puppy. That’ll be the best way to get over Jip.’

  ‘That’s what we’ve been saying to him,’ Trev and June almost cheered in agreement.

  ‘Nup. No one can replace Jip.’ His pursed lips and jutted jaw ended the conversation.

  Ayla walked down Long Street and turned into the dirt road that led to the mangrove swamp. Her stomach flipped, remembering the feel of Riley’s skin when they touched hands.

  The house had a graveyard silence. It had been years since she had come near this place. All the macabre stories attached to it assailed her. What acts had those Johnston brothers committed here, where no one but the mud crabs could hear them? Were there really human remains buried under the house, or was that island gossip? She took a breath and knocked lightly on the door, the dead stench from the mangroves filling her head with gruesome thoughts.

  The place was too quiet. All she could hear was the whine of mosquitoes, circling. As she turned to leave, his mother opened the door. Ayla was struck by her beauty. The brown of her eyes so deep it was almost black. The same almond shape as her son’s eyes. She didn’t look like a changeling or a dog murderer.

  ‘Yes?’ The woman whispered.

  ‘Um, I was wondering if Riley was home?’

  She looked indignant now. ‘How do you know him?’

  Ayla couldn’t place her slight accent. ‘We met on the jetty last night.’

  She examined Ayla like something in a Petri dish. ‘He’s asleep.’

  ‘Good. Just wanted to make sure he got home.’ Ayla turned to leave.

  ‘Why aren’t you killing them?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The mosquitoes. You’re brushing them away, not killing them.’

  ‘They have as much right to live on this planet as the rest of us.’ Ayla shrugged, not wanting to explain how, as a child, Grappa had told her the Nor folk probably use the mosquitoes as spies, information gatherers from the human realm, so from an early age she had developed a habit of not killing them.

  The woman looked at Ayla as if she was an angel fallen from the sky to land on her doorstep. ‘Good for you. I’ll make sure to tell him you dropped by.’ She shut the door.

  Ayla decided there was a definite aloofness about his mother that wouldn’t endear her to people, but once she warmed to you, she seemed lovely.

  She intended to walk her favourite
way home via the beach, until she saw Little Beaudy anchored in the bay. She darted down Hibiscus Beach Drive instead, to cut through the bushland behind Mud Rock. Anything to avoid Grappa. The sight of his boat sent her awash with anger and guilt, creating a dull ache in her chest. She realised the dream walls of her childhood were made of sand. Grappa had built them around her so high her view had been obscured. In her mind’s eye, she could see him now, pouring booze over them, melting them away to a sodden mess.

  9.

  Riley was exhausted. He slept into the night and most of the next day. When he woke, his mother was sitting by the bed, watching. He hated it when she did this. He had asked her not to once, because he found it creepy. She had screamed, ‘Now I’m creepy, am I?’ and stormed off, refusing to speak to him for the rest of the day.

  ‘You must be hungry. I’ll fix you lunch.’ She brushed the hair from his forehead.

  He should try not speaking to her for a day, see how she liked it, he thought, following her into the kitchen.

  She kept her back to him while making a sandwich and asked too casually, ‘That money…did David give it to you?’

  ‘Earned it myself.’

  She turned, ‘How?’

  ‘Our weekly trips to the Sunday markets, we weren’t only buying food. I set up a stall, sold my flutes, busked.’ He relished the shock this produced.

  ‘If you ever need money, just ask me.’

  ‘It was David’s idea. He organized everything. Said I should know that what I created was worth something.’ The more he talked about David, the more pain he inflicted. ‘He insisted we go behind your back because he knew you wouldn’t allow it.’

  ‘I see.’ She handed him the sandwich.

  ‘I made friends at those markets. David encouraged it.’

  ‘I’ve never stopped you having friends.’

  She sounded so indignant, believing her own lie.

  ‘In fact, a young woman dropped by asking for you yesterday. Pretty little thing. I thought she was very nice.’

  He stopped chewing and studied the chair leg. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Wanted to know if you made it home safely.’ She opened the cupboard and reached for a can. ‘I’m glad you’ve made a friend on the island. When you’ve finished lunch, you should go catch up with her.’