The Newcomer

by Laura Elizabeth Woollett

  ‘Not always. We had a dairy farm outside Ballarat. Lots of fresh air, cows—’

  ‘I hate cows,’ Judy let slip.

  ‘You hate cows? Why?’

  ‘I just do.’

  ‘There must be a reason.’

  ‘I hate how they look. I hate the noises they make. Everything about them.’

  ‘Wow.’ John sat back. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

  John smirked like a schoolboy. ‘They’re sacred in some parts of the world, you know.’

  ‘Oh, come off it.’ Judy rolled her eyes. ‘Some people hate snakes. I hate cows.’

  ‘Alright.’ John swished his wine. ‘How do you feel about steak?’

  She smiled. ‘You’re not funny.’

  ‘Siblings?’

  ‘Just my sister, Caroline. Three years older.’

  ‘And your folks called themselves Catholic?’

  ‘They were pretty pick-and-choose with it.’ Judy toyed with her bracelets. ‘My husband was married when we met. They turned a blind eye. He was a doctor.’

  ‘Good catch?’

  ‘Dad was a taxi driver. Mum wanted better for me. I was the pretty one, supposedly.’

  ‘I believe that.’

  ‘It was different for my sister. Remember what they used to say, “seen, not heard”?’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘I was good at that.’ Judy sipped. ‘Caro wasn’t. She was always sticking her nose in everything.’

  ‘Sounds like my brother, Matt. He probably ran away ten times before he hit puberty.’

  ‘Caro ran away, too.’ Judy hesitated. ‘She sort of went off the rails after … well, something happened to her.’

  ‘Priest?’

  ‘Dad’s friend.’ She shrugged. ‘I was too young to understand. All I knew was he stopped coming over and Caro started cutting her legs.’

  ‘My sister, Bridget, used to pour hot candle-wax on her legs.’ John laughed uneasily. ‘She’d try to make shapes with the burns. Smiley faces and stuff.’

  Judy palmed her face. ‘We’re butchering this first-date conversation, aren’t we?’

  ‘I’m glad we’re calling it a date.’

  ‘I talk to suicidal people twice a week. What’s your excuse?’

  ‘Small talk’s overrated.’ John drained his glass, got up. ‘Scuse me.’

  Watching his tall body slouch off to the men’s room, Judy considered doing a runner. Instead, she topped up her wine, drank as much as she could in his absence.

  ‘You didn’t do a runner,’ John noted, sitting back down.

  ‘Neither did you.’

  ‘Not on an empty stomach.’ He picked up the wine. ‘You’ve been busy.’

  ‘Lucky you. I’ll be laughing at all your bad jokes, now.’

  ‘I should get the kitchen to leak some gas … then I’ll really have you in stitches.’

  ‘Or just frown over your textbooks? That worked the first time.’

  Frowning deeply, John filled her glass to the brim. His frown dissolved when she giggled. ‘You have a pretty laugh.’

  ‘Gawd.’ Judy clutched her warm cheeks. ‘I haven’t done this in so long.’

  ‘Try five years.’

  ‘Is that supposed to impress me?’

  ‘I reckon it’s more depressing than impressive.’ He filled his glass. ‘You?’

  Judy grimaced. ‘More than five years.’

  ‘Well, you know what they say …’ His blue eyes caught hers. ‘It’s like riding a bike.’

  ‘I never learned.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘I always thought it was unladylike.’ Judy fiddled with the stem of her glass. ‘Caro’s tried getting me to join her spin class. She’s fighting a losing battle.’

  ‘You’re close?’

  ‘She’s my best friend.’ Judy smiled. ‘She’s tough-as-nails. Her heart’s as big as a house. A mansion, really. You should see this house she lives in. That’s how big her heart is.’

  ‘And your house?’

  ‘Tiny. Like my heart.’

  Even so, Judy invited him over for a nightcap. Easier that than finding a bar where they could hear themselves over the music. At the bottle shop, John insisted on buying wine with a cork instead of a screw-top. Leaving the shop, she shivered. He looked at her. ‘Want my jacket?’

  ‘With all that cat hair? No thanks.’

  He reached for her hand. ‘How’s this, then?’

  They held hands for the two blocks to her building, eleven floors in the elevator.

  ‘This is it.’ Judy let him in. ‘It isn’t much.’

  ‘It’s enough.’ John looked towards the balcony. ‘Great location.’

  ‘I was in Cherry Hill before. Almost forty years in the same house.’

  ‘Miss it?’

  ‘I do.’ Judy folded up her scarf. ‘But this makes more sense. I’m close to work. I’m closer to Caro’s. And Field of Mars.’

  ‘Field of Mars?’

  ‘That’s where Paulina’s buried. And her dad.’ She nipped into the kitchen for glasses. ‘I visit on weekends. It’s a bit like a divorce, if the king of the underworld got sole custody.’

  John turned toward the fridge, picked up the photo she’d stuck there. ‘Where’s this?’

  ‘Oh … just the ocean. I don’t remember when I took it.’

  John turned the photo around.

  ‘“All the living things. All the treasure. All the garbage. Shipwrecks. Sea monsters”,’ he read aloud. ‘Is that a poem or something?’

  ‘I heard it somewhere.’ She opened the cutlery drawer quickly. ‘Where’s that bloody corkscrew made off to?’

  John came up behind her. ‘Is this it?’

  ‘That’s a potato peeler.’

  ‘Is this it?’

  ‘That’s for crushing garlic!’ Judy sighed. ‘I told you we should just get a screw-top.’

  ‘Sorry for trying to treat my woman.’ John fished inside his pocket. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

  ‘Keys?’

  ‘Give me that.’ He took up the bottle. ‘I’ve got it.’

  ‘Keys, John? That can’t be hygienic!’

  ‘I’m not dipping them in the stuff. I just need to loosen the thing.’

  ‘Oh, gawd.’ Watching him struggle, Judy got the giggles. ‘That’s not working.’

  ‘Have some faith in me, woman. Christ.’ His face reddened. ‘Do you have a knife?’

  ‘I’m not letting you near my knives!’

  ‘Hold on.’ He struggled some more. ‘It’s working.’

  ‘It’s not, though.’

  ‘It just needs some elbow grease.’

  ‘Oh, is that what we’re calling it?’ She noticed a glimmer of sweat on his brow, mopped it. ‘You’re cool as a cucumber.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  She laughed against his shoulder. ‘Shall I go back to the shops? That’ll be faster.’

  ‘Woman, I told you. I always finish what I start.’

  ‘Oh, gawd! Don’t hurt yourself.’

  ‘It’s in there … It’s in … Oh, shit.’

  ‘John! It’s fallen in!’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He pursed his lips. ‘If you don’t mind a bit of cork in your wine.’

  Smothering her laughter, Judy peered at the broken cork floating in the dark liquid. ‘Is this a sign of things to come?’

  ‘I got the job done, didn’t I?’

  She touched the lapel of his jacket. ‘You’re right, it’s covered in cat hair. It’s like an extra layer. No wonder you’re overheating.’

  He shrugged off his jacket, threw it on the counter. ‘Better?’

  ‘Better.’ Judy hugged his waist. ‘Let’s see those keys.�
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  John handed over his keys. ‘I think it’s bent. I won’t be able to get in my front door.’

  ‘I think you’re right.’ She slipped the keys back into his pocket. ‘You’ll have to find someplace else to sleep tonight.’

  ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘You said this is a one-bedroom apartment?’

  ‘One bedroom. My bedroom.’

  ‘Well. There you go.’

  ‘There I go?’

  ‘It’s an idea.’

  ‘You’re a real ideas man tonight, aren’t you?’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I have no idea what kind of man you are.’ She lifted her face to his. ‘You’ll have to show me.’

  ‘He’s adorable, Jude,’ Caro effused, sequestered on the terrace in front of the brazier twelve Fridays later. ‘Why’d you keep him hidden away for so long?’

  Shrugging, Judy glanced through the glass into the spacious living room, where John was frothing over Tim’s record collection. ‘He’s such a dag.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He’s a mature-age student. All the young people make fun of them.’

  ‘You think they don’t they make fun of the ancient receptionist?’

  ‘He’s too tall.’

  ‘Tall is good!’

  ‘He’s not the good kind of tall. He stoops.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘He’s got a weak chin.’

  ‘Oh, come on.’

  ‘And blue eyes. I like dark eyes; you know that.’

  ‘Who cares what colour they are? It’s the look in them that counts.’

  ‘He’s too white. He gets rosacea when he drinks.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me you’re still hung up on that boy.’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘He hasn’t been emailing you again, has he?’

  ‘No.’ Judy folded her arms. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Well, don’t go comparing him to a thirty-year-old. That’s not fair.’ Caro threw a glance through the window. ‘Besides, you can tell he was a looker when he was young. Have you seen pictures?’

  ‘Why would I?’

  ‘I love looking at pictures of Tim in his glory days. You should ask for pictures.’

  ‘What, from his first wedding?’

  ‘You can’t seriously be complaining about a man in his sixties being divorced.’

  ‘Twice divorced.’

  ‘Better five divorces than fifty years in a loveless marriage.’

  ‘He cheated on the first one.’

  ‘Throwing stones, glass houses, Jude.’

  Judy lifted her glass to her lips. ‘He’s probably a deadbeat dad. His daughters never return his calls.’

  ‘Meet them.’

  Judy shook her head.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They’re just somebody else’s daughters.’

  ‘Jude. No one’s talking about replacing her.’ Caro scrutinised her. ‘You haven’t told him yet, have you?’

  ‘He knows enough.’

  ‘What, you’re think he’ll drop you, if he knows your daughter was murdered?’

  ‘He won’t be able to drop me. He’ll pity me.’ Judy covered her face. ‘Gawd, I’m pathetic. After everything that’s happened, I’d probably go for any man who showed an interest.’

  ‘Bullshit. You’re very picky.’

  ‘He’s nothing compared to her, Caro. I’ll never love him a fraction as much.’

  ‘You’re using that word already?’

  ‘No.’ Judy set her jaw. ‘He’s nothing.’

  Caro drew up her legs. ‘Well, if that’s true, you’d better break it off before you really hurt the guy.’

  ‘Yes.’ Judy touched her lips. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Don’t you dare! I’ll start smoking again.’

  ‘That’s emotional blackmail.’

  ‘Keep him, please,’ Caro begged. ‘Keep him so Tim can have a friend, at least. Look how cute they are.’

  Judy looked. They did look cute, sitting on the floor with their shiny faces and rolled-up sleeves.

  ‘He has cats,’ Judy protested weakly. ‘They leave hair everywhere.’

  ‘Buy him a lint-roller.’

  ‘What if he wants to move in? I’ve gone to all this trouble downsizing and now this guy comes along with his cats and his long legs. They’ll take up so much space—’

  ‘Steady on, Jude. You’ve only known him three months.’

  ‘I know. But it feels like longer.’

  ‘Then don’t wait another day. Give him all the bloody details.’ Caro smirked. ‘Except for the boy. Let’s keep that between us.’

  Lining up to board the Fairfolk Tours bus, Judy rolled her eyes at John. ‘I told you. Nothing but nearly-deads.’

  He winked. ‘And newlyweds.’

  ‘I think the honeymoon’s over.’

  She didn’t recognise the bus driver, nor did he seem to recognise her. Even so, they sat toward the back.

  ‘My wife came here with her first husband,’ John boasted to the couple across the aisle. ‘I promised I’d show her a better time than he did.’

  As the bus rolled through town, Judy stared out at the faded shopfronts. Tabby’s Treasures was gone, a Chinese restaurant in its place. ‘FOR SALE’ signs screamed out of every other window. Fairfolk flags flew high. Around the corner from Rainbow Real Estate, she saw a slash of graffiti: ‘MAINIE PIGS STAY OUT’.

  ‘Isn’t that where Paulina’s boyfriend worked?’ John pointed out Camilleri’s.

  Judy blushed. ‘I’m sure he’s moved on.’

  The bus stopped at King’s Lookout. While the other couples oohed and aahed and took photos, Judy clung to her husband. ‘She loved this view.’

  ‘I can see why.’

  ‘She walked here every day. No matter what sort of day she was having, she walked here and looked at the sea.’

  They looked at the sea until it was time to re-board the bus.

  Back onboard, another passenger asked, ‘Didn’t a girl get murdered around here?’

  ‘Aye. Sydney girl.’ The driver whistled low. ‘Wild thing. Big drinker.’

  Judy glanced out at the pointy heads of the pine trees in the valley below. John squeezed her hand tighter.

  ‘Did they catch the killer?’

  ‘Good-looking guy from Perth.’ The driver chuckled. ‘He was married … she wasn’t. It got messy.’

  John let go of Judy’s hand. ‘Nice of you to blame the victim, mate.’

  ‘What’s that?’ The driver’s eyes sought John’s in the rear-view.

  ‘I said, nice of you to blame the victim,’ John raised his voice. ‘Mate.’

  The other passengers turned to look. Judy hid her face against the window, mortified.

  ‘She was just going for her walk,’ John continued. ‘She was minding her own business. You could learn something from her, mate.’

  ‘Brudda,’ the driver matched John’s tone. ‘I’ve lived here sixty-nine years—’

  ‘Yeah? Then you’re old enough to know better. That girl deserves some respect and so does her mother.’

  Judy kept her face pressed to the window, caught somewhere between laughter and tears, until the bus reached King’s Pier. Getting off, she avoided the driver’s eyes, but even so, he put it together. ‘Sorry, ma’am. No disrespect.’

  ‘We’re getting off here.’ John frowned. ‘And we’re leaving you a one-star review.’

  The tears and laughter came, together.

  ‘Oh, gawd, John!’ Judy pulled him away from the crowd of curious co-passengers. ‘You’re a dickhead.’

  ‘Me? He’s the dickhead.
Where the hell does he get off—’

  ‘You’re not leaving a one-star review. The tour came free with the hotel.’

  ‘So? People deserve to know the driver’s a dick—’

  ‘You’re the one who said “yes” to the tour in the first place. I didn’t want the thing. I know this island like the back of my hand.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He bowed his head. ‘I thought it’d be fun.’

  ‘You dickhead.’ Judy laughed against his shoulder. ‘Where’re we going now?’

  ‘You tell me.’ He kissed the back of her hand. ‘I don’t know this place like I know these.’

  She took him to the cemetery. They hadn’t been walking long before they came upon a fresh grave marked ‘MERLE ALFRED CARLYLE’.

  ‘Oh.’ Judy’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘She used to take care of this old man.’

  ‘1919? He had a pretty good run.’

  A little further in, they found a teenaged girl’s grave, eye-catching with its blue tiles and glued-on seashells. ‘Fifteen,’ Judy murmured. ‘Poor little thing.’

  The mutineers were on the far side of the yard, a stone’s throw from the beach. John paused in front of Gideon King. ‘Here’s that bugger who put his name on everything.’

  Then they pushed through the cemetery gate to Tombstone Beach, slipped off their shoes. The sand was soft as silk, dark rocks jutting through it like bones.

  ‘Careful,’ Judy warned, when John’s knobbly, thin-skinned feet ventured too close to the rocks. ‘Don’t cut yourself.’

  He’ll die before me, she didn’t say, but thought. I’ll die alone, yet.

  After a while, tired of walking, they just sat. Watching the wild water, its variegated blues and veins of white, Judy cried; first softly, then hard, very hard.

  ‘Ten years, John.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You don’t know.’

  ‘I know. But I know.’

  ‘It’s too long.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How can I live like this?’

  ‘I don’t know. Keep at it, though.’

  ‘How am I alive? It hurts so much.’

  ‘You’re very brave.’

  ‘She’s everything.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You don’t know.’ Drying her eyes on John’s collar, Judy gave him the highest compliment known to mankind. ‘She would’ve loved you.’

  There were three ‘Camilleris’ in the Fairfolk Island phone book, but he was the first one. He answered after three rings, his voice low and lovely and familiar as blood.