‘How you goin’?’
‘I’m hot.’
‘You can say that again.’
Flattered at his innuendo, guessing he was at least ten years younger, she said, ‘I need something to cool me down.’ She was enjoying herself. It had been years since she had flirted. ‘Can I have –’ she read from the sign, ‘a double scoop in a cone, please?’
‘What flavours?’
‘What would you recommend?’
‘Coconut and Pina Colada.’
‘Perfect.’
As he fixed her order, she admired the way the towel sat under his hip bone and wondered how firm his body would feel compared to poor David’s whose skin was so soft in the end, loosened due to the ravages of time.
‘Decided to take the day off, have ya?’
‘Trying to work up the courage to jump into your pool. I can’t swim, so thought I’d better learn how to stay afloat at least, now I’m living on an island,’ she lied.
‘I could teach you if you want.’
‘Really?’
‘As you can see, things are pretty dead during the week.’ He went to hand her the ice-cream as she stepped forward and tripped over a cement block. The top of the ice-cream landed in her cleavage.
‘I’ll make you another.’
‘It’s fine.’ She took what was left of the ice-cream. His gaze felt erotic as he stared at the smear between her breasts. Her arousal had become excruciating.
He picked up a paper serviette from the pile on the counter and held it out to her. ‘Here.’
‘Would you mind?’ She found herself asking, indicating the ice-cream in one hand and her purse in the other.
He held back. The knob of ice-cream slid further between her breasts.
She gasped. ‘Cold.’
He awkwardly wiped the ice-cream from her chest. ‘There you go.’ He wiped for longer than needed.
‘Now I’m all sticky.’ She held his gaze and slowly licked what was left of her ice-cream.
His lips parted. Something behind her caught his eye. ‘Hi, June.’ He went to rinse the scoop.
‘Hi. Still up for a coffee, Marlise?’
‘Sure.’ Marlise surreptitiously threw the ice-cream into the bin. She didn’t know if it was the artificial sweetness making her sick, or the shock at what she had just tried to do.
‘I’ll have my usual, thanks, Josh.’
‘No worries.’ He kept his back to them.
Marlise smiled at the woman, relieved. June had stopped her from committing a dreadful mistake. She promised herself not to go near Josh again. He was a married man. The repercussions would be catastrophic in such a small community.
June insisted on paying for the coffees. ‘My gift, to welcome you to the island.’
They sat at one of the poolside tables and chatted about the perfect spring weather. Marlise learnt that June worked part-time as a barmaid on the mainland and that her partner Kev, who was ten years older than her, was retired. Through June’s questions, Marlise was forced to explain how her husband had recently passed away. She was amazed to see tears of sympathy forming in June’s eyes. This prompted her to describe how lonely she felt not knowing anyone on the island and how she appreciated June taking the time to chat with her.
Marlise didn’t know how to react when June said, ‘If you ever need someone to talk to, pop around anytime…even if it’s the dead of night. Things can seem really bad in the dead of night.’
She longed to move the conversation to Harley, but waited, hoping it would naturally turn in that direction so as not to arouse suspicion. As if she had read Marlise’s mind, June stated, ‘I said the same thing to Harley. Since Jip’s death, me and Trev have been real worried about him. Never seen him this down.’
‘Doesn’t he have anyone in his life? Anyone special I mean?’
‘No. He only has us. Poor bugger’
‘He’s probably got friends at work that he –’
‘Harley doesn’t work,’ June dropped her voice. ‘Sickness benefits. Ex-addict, on the methadone program. That’s why we’re worried about him. Too much time on his hands. If he gets too down, he could easily OD again.’
‘Again?’
‘When he first moved to the island…he tried it. Lucky I found him before it was too late and rang the ambulance.’
‘What led him to try and kill himself?’
‘He fled here from Rocky Point. Said he felt like scum over there.’
‘What did he mean…scum?’
‘He always talks about how he would be walking up the street on a Sunday and they’d all be cleaning their cars. They were clean, their houses were clean, their children were clean. Said he felt like a piece of filth, dirtying up their neighbourhood, living off the taxes from their hard-earned, squeaky-clean cash and they hated him for it. He was suspicious of the islanders at first, but Jip saved him. People would stop and pat Jip and chat to Harley and he started to feel accepted here. Jip opened up the island to Harley, the community slowly wrapped their arms around him and he came good.’
‘So, he feels tolerated here?’
‘Not just tolerated, accepted. That’s the important thing. He knows everyone knows what he is, and they still take the time to say hello. That means the world to Harley. No one is judging him.’
Marlise was so grateful to June, when it came time to say good-bye, her hug was genuine, even though she knew they would never connect on an intellectual level. It would be impossible to discuss the perfect breeding conditions for the mosquito vector Aedes vigilax, for instance. Still, she felt a rarity had occurred in making a new friend.
‘Thanks.’ June waved from her front gate as Marlise rode off. From the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow of Harley hiding in his doorway and almost felt pity for him.
He’s weak and sick, nothing more than an addict. She grasped at this new knowledge in the hope that it would put an end to her nightmares.
Riley was in the bathroom and Ayla in the kitchen when they heard the high-pitched scooter. They met on the lounge. He couldn’t hide his disappointment.
‘Let’s talk to your Mum. It’s the only way.’
‘No.’
He heard the door downstairs open.
‘I’ll just explain I was vacuuming and accidentally –’
‘That approach won’t work.’
His mother was walking up the stairs now.
‘But you’ve searched the whole house –’
‘Please Ayla, not yet.’
Marlise came into the room and they looked at her like a pair of possums caught up a tree in daylight.
‘You didn’t tell me you were planning on having company, Riley.’
‘I wasn’t. Ayla dropped by unexpectedly.’
‘Really? Is that why you’re wearing your best jeans?’ She threw her bag down. ‘Please don’t lie to me. Ayla is welcome anytime, but please don’t lie. You know I can’t stand liars.’
Something exploded in him. He jumped up, spitting words. ‘You can’t talk. Don’t you talk to me about lying, you hypocrite.’
‘My God, Riley –’
Ayla tried to save the situation. ‘It’s my fault Marlise. The other day I was…I didn’t mean to but I –’
‘No,’ he screamed at her. She was going to ruin his chances of reading those letters.
‘The other day you didn’t mean to what?’ His mother was intrigued now.
Ayla stared at him in shock, but his anger was too raw. ‘Fuck.’ He said it under his breath, menacing enough to make her elfin face crumple before racing downstairs. ‘Ayla.’
‘What didn’t you mean to do?’ his mother called after them.
‘Ayla. Stop.’ She was fast. It took him to the corner of Long to catch her. ‘I’m sorry.’ He tugged her elbow, turning her, astonished to see how fierce she was under the tears.
‘Confront her about it. This sneaking around and lying is making us sink to her level. Can’t you see that?’
‘You d
on’t understand the way she operates –’
‘I understand.’ She yanked her elbow out of his hand. ‘Let me know if you ever get things sorted with your mother.’ She went to walk off but he pulled her towards him, twisting her arm in the process, making her cry out in pain.
‘Sorry.’ He let her go. She held her arm, not looking back.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her. How badly had he hurt her? She was still holding her arm as she disappeared around the bend, like one of the injured birds she had told him about, the baby tern with the broken wing. His mouth went dry. Why had he grabbed her like that?
As he walked back to the house, the picture of his mother, grafting knife in hand, viciously chopping into David’s treasured plants, hounded him, her face distorted from screaming with eyes as red as the sap which had splattered all over her.
When angered, she always became physical. The amount of times David was forced to hold her as she hit out at him in pure rage. Then there was the morning she casually mentioned she suspected she had the ability to transform into a mosquito, and that each time it happened it felt like a dream, but she knew ‘it was more than a dream.’ Riley had laughed so much she hit him, hard enough for his jaw to remain swollen for two days. After that, whenever she spoke of her ‘transformative mosquito dreams’, he was careful to remain expressionless. David too had learnt to keep his face empty of emotion from fear of being hit. It struck Riley that he might be inherently violent like his mother. Was it genetic in some way? He had hurt Ayla. What kind of person was he to harm someone so gentle when she had only been trying to do what was right and honest? His bellow of heartbreak sent the first of the curlews quiet.
As he climbed the stairs, he heard his mother in her lab printing something from her computer. Crawling onto his bed, he buried his head in his pillow to block the picture of himself smashing his fist into his mother’s face until it was a mushy pulp. The printer ceased. In the silence that followed, the butterfly of a thought landed lightly on the top of his head – the box isn’t in the house. There were all the shelves and nooks and crannies outside, under the house and in the laundry.
She crept into his room. ‘What was it you didn’t want her to tell me?’
She sighed and picked up one of his flutes, examining it like she had never seen it before. ‘I’m sorry if you’re having a bad time here.’ She placed the flute back on the shelf. ‘We could always move somewhere else, somewhere less crowded…start again?’
She rubbed her eyes. He noticed her hands were shaking. She was in a bad way, not handling it here with all these people. It would only be a matter of time before something unpleasant happened. It was always the way. Watching his mother was like watching the truck crash he had witnessed on the drive here from Burrawang. There was a certain point when Riley knew the crash was inevitable. He’d never forget how time lost momentum as the truck rolled in slow motion through the red dust.
She was hovering now. He sprang back instinctively. The tears rolling down her face made him feel nothing.
‘Why did you call me a liar?’
He shut his eyes in the hope that she would leave.
‘I love you.’
She had been saying those three words a lot lately. He hated the way she made them sound, her tone pleading, begging him to say it back. He turned away from her.
‘All I want is for you to be happy,’ she whispered and left.
Her love for him was undeniable. Why was there a part of him that hated her for it?
15.
Ayla savoured the burnt, sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee as she watched the rain pelt down on the peak hour spectacle outside. The gutters overflowing dishwater brown as pedestrians, hidden under umbrellas, waited for traffic lights to change.
‘It’s not like he actually hurt my arm. I just wanted to make him feel bad for man-handling me. Maybe I did overreact?’
Mandy pushed the coffee plunger down without answering. Ayla had voiced that question so many times in the last two weeks, she was even boring herself.
‘Sorry, Mand.’
Mandy looked at her over the top of her coffee mug with a naughty twist to her face.
‘You really think he’s a virgin?’
‘Shh, mum’s the word.’
‘From what you’ve told me, Mum’s the problem.’
They erupted in laughter, flooding Ayla with gratitude for Mandy’s friendship. She had phoned at the right moment and invited Ayla to stay. ‘My flatmates are away for two weeks. We’ll have the whole house to ourselves.’ Such serendipity always happened between them, they were no longer surprised by it.
Once at Mandy’s, with Riley in the distance, Ayla gained some perspective on the situation. She was scared by how deep her feelings ran for him and realised she needed to slow things down, but it felt like trying to hold back a river.
‘If he’s been Tarzan boy, living alone with mad Mum in a tree house with lizards and frogs most of his life.’
‘And his step-dad.’
‘I thought he was dead?’
‘Only recently.’
‘He’s still grieving then.’
They exchanged a look.
‘Yeah, for the rest of his life.’
The death of their fathers had linked Mandy and Ayla in an unspoken understanding unique to their friendship. At the time of the deaths, they could appreciate the flood of pity from the island community but mutually hated it too, making an unspoken pact to stand tall and proud in the face of it.
‘You’re right, though, his grief is still fresh, and he’s only just found out his real father may be alive...anyone would be an emotional mess.’
Mandy reached for Ayla’s hand when she saw her eyes brimming. ‘Hey.’
‘I like him so much, it frightens me, Mand.’
‘Good to be frightened. Least you know you’re alive.’
The land line pierced the room, causing Mandy to jump for the phone. ‘Hello?....Hi Helen, how – yeah she is…’
Ayla wondered why her Mum had called the house phone rather than texting as usual. When she heard the way Mandy repeated the name, ‘Harley Mangleson,’ she knew the answer.
‘I’ll put her on.’ Mandy held the phone out.
Ayla didn’t take it. She didn’t need to. ‘Harley’s dead, isn’t he.’
Grappa hated the way it could bucket down for days without end. Life on a boat was miserable without an occasional break in the rain. Everything was damp and smelly, and the sight of water, fresh or salt, became intolerable. It was impossible to see with binoculars through such a deluge, so there was nothing to do but shelter in Hibiscus and wait.
Between drinks, he worked his way through the meagre collection of books on Changelings and Shapeshifters he’d ordered from the library on the mainland and then started on the 5000 piece jigsaw puzzle Dora had given him for his birthday. When he heard a foreign sound over the constant drum of the downpour, he peered through the round window and saw Riley standing on the beach, arms waving like a wind sock in a southerly. Grappa climbed on deck and called through the rain.
It was hopeless.
Cursing, he clambered into his dinghy and rowed in, his heart pumping too hard. Last night, over the roar of falling water, he thought he heard the banshee wailing. His Gran had told him the banshee’s wail signalled death, so part of him was waiting to hear who’d died. Riley waded out to meet him. They had to yell to be heard through the deluge. ‘What’s wrong, boy? Is it Ayla?’
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘Last I heard she’d gone back to the city. Why?’ The poor boy couldn’t speak. Grappa had seen that broken-hearted look on a man many a time. ‘You two have a blue?’
The boy nodded.
‘Bloody hell, I’m gettin’ soaked. Jump in.’
Riley stumbled into the boat and they rowed through the pouring rain back to Little Beaudy.
‘Tie off on the end there. Not there…here. Use the ladder to climb up.’ Jesus Christ, he was a
clumsy thing with those big feet. Once inside the cabin, Grappa cleared a space and threw him a towel. ‘Dry yourself. Want a drink?’
Grappa took the silence to be a yes and poured them both a straight scotch. ‘This’ll dry you out from the inside.’ He tried not to stare at Riley’s feet. They were the ugliest feet he’d seen on anyone. The boy was leafing through the library books. ‘Know what a changeling is?’
‘I read about them in my stepfather’s Faeries and Other Wondrous Beings book. What is this?’ He held his glass out in disgust.
‘Scotch. Drink up. Good for you. Did your stepfather have lots of books like that?’
‘David seemed to have a book on everything, and if he didn’t, he would order it. I was home schooled, so he thought it was important I learn about all the wonders of the world, real or not.’
‘Don’t think changelings are real then?’
The boy held his gaze. ‘I certainly think there’s more to life than greets the eye.’
‘And what about your mother?’
‘What about her?’
‘Did she think it was important you learn about such things?’
‘My mother thought it was important I keep out of her way and not interrupt her research.’
‘But when she home schooled you, did she –’
‘She didn’t. David did. Her idea of homeschooling was to leave me to my own devices. David picked up the pieces. He wanted to send me to school, but she wouldn’t allow it. Did Ayla say if she was coming back?’
‘Didn’t speak to her. Helen told me she’d gone to the city. She upset with you?’
A slight nod.
‘Want to talk about it?’
He shook his head, but as the scotch softened him, he began to speak of the box, producing the picture of his father, in a plastic zip-lock bag to protect it from the rain. Grappa could see verbal communication wasn’t something that came easily to the boy.
‘I didn’t mean to get so angry…I just didn’t want her to tell Mum. I know what my mother’s like.’
‘What’s she like?’ Grappa stopped himself from leaning forward in excitement, now the conversation had returned to the woman.
Beneath the Mother Tree Page 17