Beneath the Mother Tree

by D. M. Cameron

  She walked into her lab and placed the first of the mud samples under the microscope, content in the knowledge that Riley had eagerly run off to find the lovely one with the pert breasts who conveniently lived on the island. Marlise understood well the power of sexual attraction. Once the girl had revealed her wonders, then all thoughts of leaving would fly out of his mind. She pressed her eye against the lens, entering the microcosm of the minuscule, until the slam of the screen door downstairs.

  ‘Riley?’

  ‘Yeah, only me,’ he sounded happy.

  She walked into the kitchen where he was busy preparing food.

  ‘You keep working Mum. I’ll cook dinner.’

  His eyes were shining and his face flushed, all his blood raised to the surface. She could almost smell it, pumping frenziedly around his body, just beneath his skin.

  ‘Caught up with her then?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He evaded her gaze, busily chopping onions, then stopped to scratch his abdomen and lifted his shirt. ‘What…?’

  She examined the beginnings of a welt-like rash on his torso. ‘Oh dear...hives.’

  ‘Hives?’ He stared as if diagnosed with cancer.

  She touched a swelling on the side of his face.

  He ran to the hallway mirror. ‘No. No. Why?’

  ‘It’s a nervous thing with you. You got them every time I tried you at a new school. It was easier to homeschool in the end.’

  ‘It’s the same thing that happened last year, when David took me…’

  ‘Busking and selling flutes?’

  His look reminded her of the time he had denied opening the jar of honey, with the tell-tale traces of stickiness plastered around his four-year-old mouth.

  ‘Now I understand why a simple trip to the markets brought you out in hives.’

  ‘Only the first time.’ He was still at the mirror.

  ‘What’s brought it on this time?’

  ‘The swelling’s getting worse, Mum.’

  ‘Don’t panic.’ She walked into the bathroom. ‘We’ve got some anti-histamine.’

  He was right behind her. ‘Last time it took days to go away.’

  ‘Can do. Here, take one of these.’

  He popped the pill, then checked his face in the bathroom mirror. ‘Oh great, just great.’

  She had never seen him care about appearance. He’s smitten, she thought, suppressing the bubble of laughter in her lungs.

  10.

  Marlise was woken by the intermittent scuff of footsteps on the dirt road. That wasn’t a normal walk. It was sneaking, not wanting to be heard. She jumped out of bed. Where would Riley be skulking off to so early and why would he be wearing shoes? Passing his bedroom, she saw his enormous feet poking out from under the doona. She ran the rest of the way downstairs to unlock the solid wooden door.

  Someone had left a note jammed under the security screen, the almost transparent paper ripped from a lined notebook. The writing in black pen was cursive, small and uneven: Fuck off back to where you came from. You’re not welcome here.

  She inched the screen door open. The empty road looked malignant in the ash light of dawn. Torn between fear and a desire to know who had left the threat, Marlise ran part way up the road, the gravel sharp on her bare feet. A peacock and his hens crossed in front of her, the cock blocking her way, the blues and greens of his exotic tail vibrating in the pale light, startling her with his loud cry.

  ‘Vermin.’ She waved the piece of paper, trying to move it on so she could pass.

  At the bend in the empty road, she pulled her thin satin dressing gown tighter against the chill of early morning as a gust of wind blew dust into her face, and she heard the screen door slam. She walked back to the house, reading the ugly little note again. It had to be the dog owner. If only she hadn’t complained about the damn barking.

  Riley was standing under the house in a singlet and boxers, shivering, his face lined from sleep. ‘The door banged.’

  ‘Just the wind.’

  ‘What were you doing?’

  ‘There were peacocks.’ She tucked the note into her dressing gown pocket. No point in upsetting him. ‘Your hives are gone.’

  ‘Really?’ He felt his face then raced inside.

  She observed her disappointment. He had spent the last three days moping, obsessing in front of the mirror, and had allowed her to fuss over him. She had enjoyed revelling in his need, such a rare occurrence these days.

  She entered the kitchen and heard the shower in the bathroom turn on. He would be off to find the girl now. At least it would distract him from the idea of his father. Last night she had caught him staring at that photo again, and the day before he had asked to see his birth certificate. She had lied, claiming it had accidentally been thrown out along with hers, years ago. He had scowled for the rest of the day, then asked to use her computer. She had searched the history, later. How to apply for an American birth certificate.

  She sighed and opened the fridge. They were almost out of milk and Riley had eaten the last of the bread. A trip to the mainland was necessary, which meant walking past that man’s house. A car to get around the island would be handy. Tilly had told her, ‘Everyone here ends up with two cars, one for the mainland, one for the island – too expensive bringing a car backwards and forwards all the time.’ And Marlise had learnt now, you needed to book in advance. She bit her lip. There was no avoiding it. She would be forced to walk past him sitting there, watching from under his dark sunglasses. He was probably waiting for her now, anticipating her reaction. What was he planning? The note was toxic, burning a hole in her pocket. She read it again. ‘Arsehole.’ she said to no one and felt nauseous. Her head became heavy in her hands as she sat at the kitchen table, effectively a prisoner in her new home. The excitement she had known since moving here curdled into despair. David would have stopped her from complaining about the barking. For the past twelve years, he had managed her, kept her away from people wherever possible, quietly guided her in the most appropriate way to act. If David were here, none of this would be happening.

  What if that scar-faced psycho came back at night? In such an isolated corner of the island, no one would hear a scream for help. This thought made the marrow in her bones shrink, made her clutch the table, a child again in the dark, suffocating. She left her body and saw herself sitting fully grown in a kitchen. Her son was on the other side of the wall. The sound of the shower soothing. She took a breath and drifted back into her body, alive and safe.

  A panic attack? That hadn’t happened in a long while.

  All week Ayla had frequented the beach, neglecting cleaning jobs in the hope that they would cross paths but there had been no sign of him, not even the sound of a flute, since the afternoon they had kissed.

  She stared at herself in her mother’s full-length mirror. The red and white polka dot shorts weren’t quite the look she was after, but they were preferable to her usual daggy house-cleaning gear. She began to apply her mother’s make-up.

  Why would you wear make-up to clean a house, fool?

  She washed the gunk off, hating the roundness of her cheeks and her pointy chin.

  ‘Stuff it.’

  Grabbing her cleaning trolley, she half ran, half walked, the flip flop of her thongs leaving a trail of dust all the way up the road. At the end of Long Street, she stopped. What if he was cool towards her?

  Whatever happens, keep your dignity, Ayla.

  Turning onto the dirt road that led to his house, they spotted each other at the same time. A smile lit his face. Ayla felt her heart float up her throat.

  ‘I was ah…just coming to visit you.’

  ‘I was just coming to clean your house.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Your Mum booked me to clean your house today.’

  ‘My Mum…?’

  ‘I do all sorts of odd jobs for Tilly. Means I don’t have to go to the mainland for work.’ She kept walking.

  ‘You…you can’t clean our house.’ />
  They rounded the bend and nearly ran into his mother. Her hair tied in a knot on top of her head revealed a mosquito tattoo at the base of her neck as she turned to slip a lethal-looking blade into her handbag.

  ‘What are you doing with David’s grafting knife?’ Riley sounded appalled.

  ‘You frightened me. I didn’t know what that noise was. Just your trolley.’ She pulled a key on a string out of her bag, placing it around Riley’s neck, ‘I’m going to the mainland. I’ve locked the house. This is your key. Don’t take it off. Always lock the house when you go out, please.’

  Ayla felt sorry for the woman. Had she heard the rumour Harley was spreading about her? Had someone been rude to her? Ayla cringed knowing how some locals were horrendous gossips. If only his mother understood how safe it was living here. Most islanders never locked their houses.

  She held out her hand and said, ‘Hello again. I’m Ayla, your cleaner.’

  His mother’s face went blank.

  ‘Since when do we need a cleaner, Mum?’

  ‘I forgot I booked a cleaner.’

  ‘Would you like me to come back another time?’

  She hesitated – ‘Not at all’ – then shook Ayla’s hand.

  The brief touch of the woman’s fingers was cool and limp, like something dead.

  ‘We haven’t been here very long, but the house is already a mess. Needs a good clean.’

  ‘You can’t let her, Mum. I’ll clean the house.’

  His mother laughed in disbelief. ‘I will. Really, you don’t need to clean our house.’

  ‘It’s up to her, Riley. If you need the money, you’re most welcome, but if you would prefer to delay it, that’s fine also. I know Riley’s been itching to catch up with you. Literally.’ She smirked.

  He looked away, annoyed.

  ‘I’m here with my stuff ready to go. Might as well.’

  ‘Settled then.’

  ‘Mum, no.’

  His mother called as she walked off. ‘Don’t worry about my work room, that’s out of bounds, even to Riley. And don’t move furniture or clean under beds. Vacuum around the beds, please.’ Her ‘please’ sounded more like a command than a request.

  ‘Vacuum around the beds. Got it.’

  ‘I’m not going to let you clean our house.’ He had to yell to be heard over the trolley on the gravel.

  ‘I could do with the money.’

  ‘I’m going to help you then.’

  ‘Don’t you have something better to do?’

  ‘I’ve got nothing better to do. I’m…I was…I’m sorry I’ve…’ They were at the front door. He paused, daring to take her hand.

  Her heart was beating so hard, her head was thumping. She stared into his open face and realised they were the same height. How perfect was that? She took his other hand. The warm feel of it thrilled her. ‘Thought maybe I’d scared you off.’

  She felt the pulse at the end of their fingertips racing in time.

  ‘Shall I start with your room?’ She teased.

  ‘I’ll do my room.’

  She followed him as he carried her trolley up the stairs, admiring the curve of his body under his jeans.

  Riley parked her trolley in the hallway and raced around, picking things up. She had never been in this house. There was a gloominess that sat heavily in the air, even on a sunlit day like today. Touching the old weatherboards, she remembered after the Johnstons, a young couple had moved in and renovated. When their newborn baby died of cot death, they sold to an investor and moved off. The house then sat on the market for years.

  Ayla could see into what looked like the main living area where Riley was throwing pillows onto a couch. He picked up an empty bowl with a spoon left in it and carried it to the kitchen, clearly uncomfortable. ‘Let me tidy up a bit first.’

  To the right was another door which she opened onto a dank smelling room with benches, a fridge, freezers and a large box like a walk-in wardrobe that was softly humming. She crept into it and realised it was a humidifier full of cages. At the bottom of some were dishes of water filled with little black...what were they? Wrigglers? Yuk, she’s breeding mosquitoes. Ayla shuddered and stepped out of the cubicle. On the floor was a giant canister labelled: caution liquid nitrogen, and behind a microscope sat a jar of clear liquid marked chloroform. Beneath the workbench a metal cupboard emanated a musty smell. She had smelt that smell before. What was it? As she approached the metal locker, his voice surprised her.

  ‘Like Mum said, you don’t have to clean this room.’ He sounded constricted. ‘Please…’ He gestured for her to leave. ‘She hardly lets me in here.’

  Ayla could tell he was upset, the colour of his eyes even seemed darker. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Not your fault.’ He slammed the door behind her.

  She walked into the lounge area and stared at the array of books lining the shelves. There was also a substantial record collection. ‘Wow, someone likes books and music.’ She attempted to lighten the mood.

  ‘My step-father, David. He passed away four months ago.’

  Knowing that words were useless in the face of death, she stayed silent and followed Riley down the hallway. He entered a room and started picking clothes off the floor, then quickly made his bed. The long shelf in his room was lined with flutes.

  ‘That’s quite a collection.’

  ‘I sold them at the markets.’

  ‘We have markets here twice a year.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked happier. ‘Might set up a stall at the next one.’

  ‘Is that how you make a living?’

  ‘Was trying to.’

  ‘If you need a job, I’ll ask Tilly for you. She always knows if there are any jobs going.’

  ‘Thanks. I’d appreciate that.’

  She was relieved to see him smile again.

  The flutes, varying in size, shape and colour, each had a unique pattern burnt into them. Some had retained parts of the original tree, a knot or the fork in a branch, making them look otherworldly. ‘Carved in a realm where wood elves dwelled,’ Grappa would say.

  ‘You make these?’

  ‘Burrawang had an endless supply of soft woods.’

  ‘Burrawang?’

  ‘David’s property, two hundred hectares of forest, some of it rainforest backing onto a national park.’

  ‘Wow.’ She twirled the wooden flute in her hand, feeling the essence of the trees permeating from the wood.

  ‘David got me going on the flutes, then I read a few books, mainly learnt from experimenting.’

  ‘And your bed –’ His single bed was wooden. The four pillars which formed a canopy for the mosquito net were intricately carved. ‘Don’t tell me you made that too?’

  ‘With David’s help. It’s the only thing we brought with us from the treehouse.’

  ‘Treehouse?’

  ‘When I was fourteen, David and I built a treehouse away from the main house so I could play my flutes without disturbing Mum. I loved it so much, I moved into it permanently. Wish you could have seen it, way up in the trees, like a part of the forest.’

  ‘You must hate this house after living there.’

  ‘I haven’t slept well since we’ve been here. Sounds like there’s people walking around all the time, when there isn’t.’

  Ayla felt the hairline at the back of her neck tingle. Why had the original Johnston built his house here at the end of the mangrove swamp when there was the whole beautiful island to choose from? So he could be hidden away unobserved, with no chance of being disturbed while he carried out atrocities on the native population? Then his descendants, those brothers, what they had done to that poor girl on Mud Rock…Ayla stopped herself. Riley didn’t need to know any of it.

  ‘Mum definitely bought on the wrong side of the island. The surf side where you live is much nicer.’

  Ayla stared at the snakes, frogs and dragonflies, creatures of the rainforest carved into the four pillars. ‘You’re really gifted.’

&nbs
p; He looked at the bed and a long silence saturated the too intimate space, the presence of the bed dominating the room. They stared at each other and he cleared his throat.

  ‘So, where would you like me to start?’ she felt herself blushing.

  ‘Start?’

  ‘Cleaning. What did you think I was talking about?’ Smiling at him with her eyes.

  Marlise paused at the corner of Long Street, touching the hilt of the grafting knife in her handbag for reassurance. What was the worst he could do? Run at her? A tirade of verbal abuse? If that? His handwriting was too small, too shaky. The spidery scrawl of a coward.

  She clutched at her bag and turned the corner. There was a TV blaring, but no sign of him. The couple next door, sitting on their front deck, were watching her. The woman gave a slight nod. Marlise looked away, quickening her pace up the hill. The rot of leaf litter and mud drifted from the paperbark swamp. She inhaled the damp air and felt her head clear. She had done it. She had made it past.

  By the time she reached the jetty, her dress was damp with perspiration. She scanned the community notice board in the hope that someone was selling a car, studiously ignoring Sharon’s ice-cream booth, still furious at the woman for telling Riley she ‘needed her head checked.’

  A community meeting flyer in which local council representatives were offering to discuss the resumption of insecticide spraying of the mangroves, sickened her. She made a mental note of the time and place, determined to fight for the rights of the mosquito.

  There were no cars for sale, but there was an ad for a scooter. She rang the number and stole a glance at the ice-cream booth. It was empty. The tall shaved-headed guy, Sharon’s partner, was cleaning the pool. Marlise watched the muscles on his back working as he scooped leaves and tried to recall his name.

  Josh.

  ‘Hello?’ The voice on the phone was accented.

  ‘Hello. I’m ringing about the scooter for sale.’

  ‘You come and look. Good bike. Brand new. You will like.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Big place, near barge ramp. Maria Boccabella’s. You ask. Everyone knows,’ and the woman hung up.