Once she left, his thoughts turned to his mother and anger seethed out of him; a noxious vapour leaking into the peaceful solitude of Ayla’s room. He was shocked to discover he had her pillow between his hands, twisting it like a neck, wringing the life out of it. He knew there was no way he could go home tonight. How would he react to the sight of her, the presence of her, now he knew what he knew? He did his best to shake the tension from his body before walking out to join Ayla.
‘You hungry Riley?’ Helen’s warmth helped him unfurl.
Together they prepared a simple meal of garden picked salad, fresh fish (courtesy of Grappa), and baked potatoes. Riley was acutely aware of the way Ayla and her mother communicated from a place of love and respect. He couldn’t help comparing it to the volatile relationship with his own mother.
After they had eaten, Ayla washed up and he helped Helen dry the dishes, surprised by how at ease he felt.
This is what it would be like to be part of a regular family, he thought, before his mind jumped back to the sad story of his parents’ break-up and the anguished tone of his father’s voice in the letters.
He caught Helen watching him. ‘You okay?’ She asked.
‘Today Riley had confirmation that his father might be alive. His mother told him he was dead.’
Helen didn’t speak at first. After a while, she announced, ‘Sometimes mothers do things, and at the time you don’t understand why, but later you realise it was coming from a place of love, or sometimes fear.’
Riley knew now where Ayla’s generosity of spirit came from. He tried to contain the fury in his voice. ‘I think my father wasn’t rich enough for my mother. She saw an opportunity where she could conveniently rid herself of him to find someone with money.’
Ayla tilted her head in contemplation. ‘Or maybe she genuinely thought he had abandoned her? She looks so in love in those photos. Maybe the pain of feeling abandoned by him sent her into a spiral of destructive actions out of self-protection? Sounds like she was already damaged from her childhood.’
Both women were looking at him questioningly. How could he explain his mother? Every time he thought he had a clean glimpse of her, she slipped out of sight.
‘She’ll have her reasons. Don’t be too hard on her.’ Helen hung up the tea towel. ‘Don’t know about you two, but I’m done for. Nighty-night.’
Riley watched her hug her daughter. She held Ayla by the chin. In one intangible look, he saw a conversation take place between them.
Helen turned and embraced him. She smelt how a mother should be, warm, spicy and comforting.
In Ayla’s bed, Riley and Ayla lay entwined with the events of the day a black ribbon winding through them, tying them together, rendering them silent.
He spread out the letters and photos, studying each one, committing them to memory. ‘I want to keep all this. It’s all I have of him.’
‘I’ve an idea.’ Ayla sat up. ‘Today when we rode past Stan’s, I noticed his caravan was back. His wife is a photographer. They have a colour photocopier. We can go over first thing in the morning and get them copied. I’m sure they won’t mind, especially if we pay for the paper and stuff.’
‘I have to work tomorrow.’
‘I’ll do the copying and then you can sneak the box back when you get a chance.’ Ayla’s eyes widened at a new thought. ‘What do you think your mother will do if she finds it gone?’
‘If I go home in the morning before work and act perfectly natural, she will assume all is well. There won’t be a need to check, will there?’
‘What if she already has?’
‘She’d be here, pounding on the door.’ Riley didn’t like the little frown lines that appeared on her face. ‘What?’
‘Yesterday, your Mum – when you went out of the room – she said if I turned you against her, she would...’
‘She threatened you?’ He pressed his lips against her temple, his mind reeling with possibilities.
‘The look in her eyes Riley, it frightened me. She looked insane.’
He moved so he could see her face. ‘I have a plan. She doesn’t like it here. Wants to move away, off the island. She’s expecting me to go with her. What if I pretend I’m happy to move away? I’ll help her set up in the new place, settle her in and then I’ll start to leave, only for a few days, then slowly, bit by bit, increase the time I’m not there, until I leave for good. Hopefully she won’t follow me back here. I know it means more deceit, but I think it’s the safest way – to leave gradually. Otherwise, she might lash out at you. I…I honestly don’t know what she’s capable of.’
He pulled her toward him. Riley wanted to lose himself in her velvet wetness and not think about the mother, who, through all these years, had denied him his father’s love.
19.
Marlise backed away as the man came towards her. It was too dim to see his face. She turned to flee but he caught her by the hair and smashed her head hard against the kitchen bench.
She woke with her face resting on the table, staring at the bench featured in her dream. She had fallen asleep waiting for Riley. Marlise knew dreams. That one was a premonition, a warning that some man was going to enter this room and slam her head against that bench. At the sound of the screen door, she jumped, grabbing her phone as the footsteps mounted the stairwell.
Riley walked in and embraced her. ‘Sorry, should have told you I was staying at Ayla’s. Hope you weren’t worried?’
‘No, I guessed that’s where you were,’ she lied. It had been another sleepless night imagining him in pursuit of his father. It didn’t matter now. He was back and hugging her of his own free will.
‘I’ll save my number into your phone. Then you can always text me if you’re worried.’
She watched him, stunned. He was so warm and – the box – he hadn’t mentioned the box. So obsessed with that girl’s twat he didn’t think to call. Her repressed smile turned into a yawn. Maybe Ayla wasn’t that bad after all. He headed to his room and she sank back down. The relief spreading through her body relaxing her so she almost fell asleep again. The night had been a long and lonely trawl through real estate sites, until, in the coldest hour of early morning when the tide was at its lowest, she found a place, a house on a mosquito-infested river, a four-hour drive south. The closest town, with a population of 490 people, was thirty kilometres away via a dirt road. She decided she would take a visit to see how healthy the mosquito colony was.
‘Got to get to work.’ He was now in his work clothes
‘What about breakfast?’
‘Had it, at Ayla’s.’
‘Riley?’
‘Hmm?’ He was half way out the door.
‘I might have found a place. You’re not becoming too attached to this girl, are you? I mean, if we move –’
‘I’m still young, Mum. Not ready to settle down yet.’
‘What about your job?’
‘There’ll be other jobs. Don’t want to mow lawns for the rest of my life.’
He was a wise boy. ‘I was thinking of taking a trip to look at the place. Stay in the area for a week or so. See if we could rent the house before we commit to buying. I’m sure you’ll love it. It’s on a river. When would you like to go?’
‘Since all that rain, the jobs have piled up. You go. I’ll be fine on my own.’
‘I couldn’t leave you.’
‘Mum, I’ll be safe here. Nothing or no one is going to hurt me. Promise.’
Marlise considered. This was an opportunity to regain his trust. And, if he did stay, it would give her a chance to destroy the contents of the box. Every time she had thought about making a fire to burn it, she hadn’t pursued it, in case he caught her in the act. Away from him, she could safely do it. The idea was tempting.
‘You sure?’
‘Mum. How old am I?’ He rolled his eyes.
‘Okay. The sooner we get off this island the better.’
‘You’re not going right this minute?’
; A wall of fatigue hit her at the thought of the long drive. ‘Later. I need to rest first.’
‘Can you wait until I get back from work, so I can say good-bye?’
She was touched. ‘Of course.’
‘Thanks Mum.’ He briefly gathered her in his arms, then left.
Another hug. All his aloofness had dropped away. Sex with that girl was working wonders on him.
Marlise sat and imagined their quiet life on the river. Maybe Riley would take up kayaking? The sharp knock on the door startled her. Feeling vulnerable in only her satin dressing gown, she pulled it tighter, then crept out onto the verandah.
There was a bicycle, but no owner. ‘Who is it?’ Josh emerged from under the house. She didn’t like the look on his face. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Want to talk to you.’ His bitterness punctured the air.
She heard him thud upstairs. Tousling her hair and loosening the front of her gown, she met him in the hallway. ‘What a lovely surprise. Would you –’
‘Who the fuck do you think you are, moving here and fucking round with people’s lives, destroying people’s lives? Sharon had no fucking idea about me and Samantha. You fucking lied to me.’
She had to think quickly. ‘I was trying to save your marriage.’
‘Save my marriage? She’s fucking kicked me out.’ He had her cornered against the wall.
Marlise slipped sideways and backed into the kitchen, toward her phone. ‘She was going to find out sooner or later. Isn’t it better she heard it from you?’
‘It’s not fucking better. She won’t let me see the fucking kids. Samantha’s not talking to me. Who the fuck do you think you are?’ He was in her face, a vein under the skin of his shaved head, swollen and throbbing.
‘Once Sharon gets over the shock, she’ll love you for being honest, you watch.’
‘She hates my fucking guts.’ He stabbed his finger at her, trapping her against the sink. ‘She wants to fucking kill me, you stupid bitch.’ He grabbed her by the shoulders.
The déjà vu hit. His next manoeuvre could be her head against the bench. She changed tactic. ‘Sharon should understand you can’t help it if you’re God’s gift to women. Look at you. Every woman on the face of this earth should experience a body like yours at least once in their lives. Sharon has no right to deny you to the rest of the world. I can’t stop thinking about you.’ She skimmed her hands over his crotch. ‘Please? I’ll do anything.’
She saw his anger disperse. He stood away from her, walked in a circle and stretched his arms over his head, then covered his face. ‘Fuck!’ he screamed it at the ceiling and stood there motionless. The clock on the wall grew louder. ‘I don’t understand why I…first Samantha, then you.’ He looked dismayed. ‘I love Sharon. I honestly love her.’ He was about to cry.
If Marlise had been a different kind of woman, she could have felt sorry for him.
‘What kind of man am I?’
An easily manipulated one, she wanted to say but the memory of the feel of him inside her, stirred. Now David wasn’t around to satisfy her, she had to be resourceful. ‘You poor thing, you can’t help it if women throw themselves at you. Look at this body.’ She lifted his shirt.
He pulled away. ‘Don’t you get it? I feel nothing for you. You disgust me. I want Sharon back.’
She undid the sash of her gown and let it drop to the floor. ‘Do I really disgust you?’
He ran his eyes over her nakedness and looked away. ‘I disgust myself,’ he muttered.
She moved to him. ‘I’m leaving this island. You’ll never see me again. She’ll never know. I promise.’ His smell of chlorine and sweat aroused her sense memory. ‘Why not one more time, as a parting gift?’ She unzipped his jeans. ‘No one will ever know. Please?’ She knelt and glanced up at him, fascinated. He had his eyes shut and a pained expression on his face. She knew he was trying to resist what she was doing to him, but his magnificent body had a will of its own.
She slid up his torso and he pushed her back against the table, his glazed eyes not seeing her anymore, wanting flesh. Anyone’s flesh. She was nothing to him. No one. He pinned her down and entered her. A reoccurring terror from her twelve-year-old self tried to surface but she conquered it with the thought that Josh was something to her: he was her victim, her obedient fool. I am the one in control, she thought, as she angled herself so he hit that pleasure spot. His grunts in her ear sounded like a desperate animal as he thrust harder and harder.
‘Good boy.’ She managed to say before the strength of her orgasm took her voice somewhere else.
Mother-of-God.
Grappa nearly dropped his binoculars when he saw what Josh was doing to that woman on her kitchen table. Even from where he was, he heard her cry out. At the sound of her, it seemed the whole swamp came alive with the whine of mosquitoes and the shrill of cicadas.
He watched Josh pull his trousers up.
Josh, you bloody idiot.
He thought he heard a cooee over the ruckus of the insects, listening so hard, his ears hurt.
‘Cooee.’
He fired up the engine and manoeuvred out of the swamp. If the wind had been blowing, he wouldn’t have heard Dora on Hibiscus.
He rowed in to find her waiting with eggs from her chooks and greens from her garden.
‘Bit early for dinner.’
‘Shut up.’ She climbed into the boat. ‘And you can get that look off your face.’
‘What look?’
‘That smug, I told you so, look.’
‘Didn’t say a word.’
‘Didn’t have to.’
‘At least tell me why I’m meant to be smug?’
Dora glared. ‘You were right about that mosquito woman. She’s bad news. The whole island’s gone mad. Craft group ladies aren’t talking to the barge blokes because Tilly and Grunter had a falling out. The craft ladies have sided with Tilly and the bargemen are supporting Grunter. Samantha and Sharon have had a mighty row. Half the women are on Samantha’s side, half are with Sharon. It’s out and out war all over the bloody island. The whole community’s falling apart. So I’ve been doing some research of my own. Did some asking around and found out all this quarrelling stems back to her, that mosquito woman. A real trouble maker that one. We’re going to have to do something about her. Got any plans? You better not be laughing at me.’
‘Grab the rope woman,’
Dora gave him her ‘deadly’ look as she tied the dinghy off and they climbed aboard Little Beaudy. ‘No wonder she likes mosquitos. She is one, buzzing round here and there in people’s ears, spreading gossip. Seems to me she likes stirring up trouble, must see it as a form of entertainment.’
‘Doesn’t just like it Dora, she feeds on it. Her sustenance doesn’t come from food. It comes from other people’s pain. That’s what keeps her alive.’
‘Well, I say we go round there and suggest if she doesn’t behave herself, she can move somewhere else. This island isn’t big enough for the likes of her.’
‘That approach won’t work.’
‘What’s your plan then, smarty pants?’
‘Let’s think on it while I cook us up a feed. I’m starving.’
‘So, you got no plan?’
‘Nothing’s occurred to me yet.’ He grabbed a couple of onions out of the cupboard above Dora’s head.
‘Fish are biting off Pearly, apparently,’ she offered as a truce.
‘Maybe we should camp there overnight? Be good to have a change of scene.’
‘Why don’t you turn your bloody phone on now and then, silly man? Tried to ring last night, and this morning. What’s the point of having it if you never turn it on?’
‘Damn thing. Always forget about it.’ He located his phone and switched it on. ‘There. Satisfied?’
‘No point now, is there? I’m here.’
Grappa’s phone signalled a text. ‘Blasted thing.’ He went to turn it off but saw it was from Ayla, sent yesterday. True name Marlise Griffin.
<
br /> ‘Griffin…?’
‘Hey?’
‘Her last name is Griffin. Now we’ll know what we’re dealing with.
You want to chop onions or google?’
‘Chop.’
He handed her the knife, went outside, detached his laptop from the solar panels, brought it into the cabin, fired it up and typed ‘Surname Griffin’ into the search bar.
‘Seventy-sixth most popular surname in Ireland.’
‘Ireland? That’s where your Gran was from.’
‘Ah, ha.’
‘She’s from your country then?’
‘Just as I suspected.’
‘How can we make it clear she’s not welcome on my country?’
Grappa watched as Dora finished chopping the onion. She looked up. ‘What?’
‘That’s it. We should talk to her in her language, her own native tongue. What we need is an ancient curse.’ He searched, ‘Irish language curses,’ and scrolled down until he found the perfect one.
‘Imeacht gan teacht ort.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘May you leave without returning.’
Dora laughed. ‘Worth a try, hey? Chuck me the garlic, will you?’
‘Imeacht gan teacht ort,’ Grappa loved the way the words bounced off his tongue, as if they had been hiding there all his life waiting to be pronounced.
Ayla stared at the time on the computer screen: 7:45am, wondering if it was too early to go to Stan’s. She drifted outside and sat on the back steps in the sun amongst the red geraniums as the black Bantam scooted out from under the house, making a ridiculous fuss. The surf rolled in beyond the paperbarks, calling to her. Normally, she would swim, but something niggled at her. Every time she tried to bring it forward as a conscious thought, it scuttled away to hide in the back of her mind.
The letters hadn’t clarified Marlise. If anything, they had made her portrait murkier. His mother was a growing conundrum. Once Riley had left this morning, Ayla decided to do an internet search on Marlise Legros.
Doctor Legros, formally known as Doctor Griffin, was a leading expert in mosquito-borne viruses, particularly those belonging to the Flavivirus group. The paper that set her on her pathway to fame was published in the prestigious Science journal. It was titled, ‘Isolation of the Saint Louis Encephalitis virus (SLEV) in Horses.’ While in America, Marlise was the first to discover that SLEV caused fatalities in animals. Once she moved to Australia, her speciality became Murray Valley Encephalitis virus or MVEV, a disease which had produced sporadic outbreaks through many parts of the country and caused multiple human deaths. Ayla discovered several papers written by Marlise on MVEV. One titled: ‘Experimental Infection with Murray Valley Encephalitis virus in Pigs, Mice, Birds, Dogs, Kangaroos, and Horses.’ She had gone on to write a controversial paper claiming to have genetically engineered a ‘hot strain’ of the virus with the ability to cause fatality within two days. Marlise’s work, from then on, seems to have become contentious in the entomological world, generating major debate and eventually setting her up for ridicule by other renowned entomologists. From what Ayla could discern, scrolling through media reports and journal articles, Marlise developed such a reputation that certain universities formally disassociated themselves from her, one even accusing her of not considering the negative consequences of her research, stating that her deadly strain could be utilised by bioterrorism groups. Marlise’s counter argument remained the same: with established cases of viruses naturally mutating in the field to become highly pathogenic, her investigations could help researchers discover ways to combat such occurrences. She was simply trying to obtain a greater understanding of the way a hot virus behaved.
Beneath the Mother Tree Page 23