Path to the Night Sea

by Gilmore, Alicia;

  ‘Sleep now, Daddy,’ she whispered, ‘keep sleeping.’ Stay there, like that. If he came back again—Daddy had said he would never leave her and he always meant what he said—and she was very, very quiet and very, very careful, he wouldn’t hear her. He would never know what she had done and what she was about to do.

  Clutching the map in one hand, Ellie reopened the wooden back door and looked through the wire screen. The plants were shadowy green sentinels around the boundary of the yard. Ahead, she could see Daddy’s shed and, to the left of the yard, the dogs’ enclosure. She shuddered and looked to the sky. The orange and rosy light had faded already. The air was colder now, the sky dirty and unkind. The forbidden world looked unwelcoming, but Ellie couldn’t bring herself to retreat. The desire to be a part of that world, to relive the excitement she’d felt just going to the bin was too strong. She looked down at her map. From the back door, she could walk past the bins and the side of the house, along to the gate that led to the front yard and onto the driveway. From there to the street, to the corner, down the road and finally the path, and there would be the beach. Ellie traced the route with her fingers. Tonight, she would leave. It would be her secret.

  She could hear the raucous screeches of the cockatoos in the bush as they prepared to settle for the evening. They weren’t scared; they were free. Ellie wanted to be free, too. Bending down, she slipped her feet into her father’s shoes. Her feet slid forward. The shoes were too large, but they would have to do. She didn’t have any shoes of her own. Ellie touched the handle of the screen door. Just a turn of the wrist, that was all it would take. Her palm felt sweaty and, as she stood there, immobile, the twilight withered away and the night took over. She had already done it once. She could do it again.

  ‘I can do this,’ she told the dark. Down the steps: one, two, three she counted silently as she made it down to the concrete path. Just ten steps along the back of the house to the side path. Then ten more steps. Counting had always made things bearable. Ellie clenched her fists. Ten steps weren’t so scary. Ten steps she could do.

  There was a strong smell of humus and rot at the side of the house where the ferns had taken over the shadowed path. The hinges on the side gate were rusty and despite her efforts, the squeaking gate moved mere millimetres, the noise amplified in the night.

  ‘Shush,’ Ellie pressed at the gate. ‘Daddy’s sleeping. Don’t wake Daddy.’ The vision of her father, the life gone from his body, rose before her. Dead. He wasn’t sleeping; he was dead. But he’d come back, hadn’t he? He wouldn’t leave her all alone. He couldn’t.

  ‘No.’ Ellie didn’t want to think of him. Not now. I want to do this. She managed to lift the gate slightly and squeezed through. Not alone. She would never be alone. He was not dead, just sleeping.

  ‘Dead to the world.’ Ellie stopped, her voice jarring in the dark. What if somebody heard? The people who stayed sometimes in Maisie’s house, where were they? Ellie closed her eyes and listened. She could hear the wind chimes the neighbour lady had hung along the tiny verandah at the back of Maisie’s house. Ellie loved the tinkling sounds they made. Though Daddy had always complained about the noise and muttered about shooting the blasted contraptions, he never had. She opened her eyes. From here, she couldn’t see any light coming from the house next door.

  Ellie knew that when the neighbours came to stay, Daddy would complain about things being tossed into the back yard, about stickybeaks and busybodies who couldn’t mind their own business. Ellie knew that sometimes the neighbours played music, and that they owned two cars, one louder than the other, but tonight there was no noise. All was still. Even so, she would be quiet. She knew how to be quiet.

  A rustle in the bushes startled her and Ellie clutched at the wooden gate as two glittering yellow eyes peered out.

  ‘Perce.’ He brushed against her leg and she squatted down to pat him. Stroking his spine, she knew he was real. That she, in this night, was real. ‘I’m trying to be brave, Perce. I’m trying.’ Percival rubbed his head against her hand and headed towards the front yard. Illuminated briefly by passing headlights, his eyes flashed supernatural green. The lights made the shadows move and flicker. They were hostile and alive. Be brave, be brave, be brave. She waited for the car to vanish and then counted to twenty. It didn’t come back, but she counted again, just to be safe. Perhaps she had gone far enough?

  ‘Perce?’ She could no longer see him. He had disappeared into the night. Ellie’s legs trembled as she stood up. She placed a nervous hand on the gate, gripping it tightly. Be brave. I can be brave. She took a deep breath before pushing the gate open, one hand still clutching the top railing as it were the only thing keeping her grounded. If she let go, she’d be adrift, lost in the world. Ellie took a deep inhalation and stepped forward, releasing her grip and leaving the gate ajar. She could return quickly if she had to. I can come home; I can be with Daddy… From the side of the house she could see the glow of streetlights, but it was the shadows she sought. If she stuck to the side of the nature strip, the gloom would hide her scarred side. Surely, no one would be outside at this time. People lived inside houses, not outside in the dark.

  She took a deep breath and smelled cigarette smoke. Daddy? Ellie whipped her head around, but there was no one there. Still, that acrid burning odour remained for an instant before fading.

  I can do this. She took another deep breath, then another. One, two, three. With hesitant, agonisingly slow progress, Ellie threaded her way down the dirt path that ran alongside the house to the front yard, counting each footstep. Each tentative step from the side of the house and down the concrete driveway was agonising. The weight of the house behind her and the indefinite world before her bore her down. How long had it been since she’d been this far? She’d never been out here alone, never the front of the house, even in the Before. Ellie fingered the map in her pocket. It wasn’t all unknown. One more step. The front yard looked different from what she remembered. There were more plants now, tall plants. She took another shuddering breath, another step, and then another, until she was standing next to the letter box at the top of the driveway. She touched it almost reverently.

  ‘I forgot you,’ she whispered. Then it struck her. She was outside. She was no longer trapped with Daddy. ‘Daddy won’t ever know. Daddy is sleeping.’ The night was hers to explore.

  Ellie gave the letterbox one last pat. ‘Daddy didn’t stop me. He’s … he’ll never know.’ She fought the urge to run back inside and hide. She could do the unforgiveable. Under the cover of darkness, Eleanor Clements would breathe the night air and be a part of the world.

  It took three more steps until finally her foot lifted off the concrete and onto the grass nature strip that separated Arthur Clements’ property from the world. Ellie was trembling, but whether from fear or exhilaration, she didn’t know.

  ‘Oh!’ She heard a dog bark and almost lost courage. Of course there were dogs out here in the world. She forgot to breathe. Daddy was right. It wasn’t safe out here. Ellie willed herself to be calm, to be safe, her eyes scanning the street before her. Shadow pooled in the gaps between the streetlights. The house was behind her; she didn’t have to go any further. She had breathed fresh air. In the distance a voice called out, telling the dog to shut up, and after a resounding bark, the dog quietened down. Ellie picked and scratched at the skin on her fingers. I can do this, I can do this. One foot after another and the dark world beyond the boundaries of Daddy’s house would all be hers. Hers to explore.

  'I see you.’

  A whisper on the night.

  ‘Daddy?’

  There was no response, no voice, no sense of her father’s presence. For years she’d sensed his moods, known when he was near, and now… ‘Stupid girl.’ Ellie gave the words to the night. She must have imagined that voice, his voice. No one else could see her; no one else knew she was alive. A memory of playing hide-and-seek with Maisie came to her. I c
an see you, I found you. If only she had someone with whom she could play… She shook her head. Tonight she was Ellie and she was outside and she would be brave. Pulling the map from her pocket, she squinted at it in the dark. She could go forwards or she could go back. Further down the street was the path that led to the beach. It had to still be there. She had pictured it for years and the new houses that had sprung up might as well have been invisible. She was going to the beach.

  It was easier to meld into the night than she ever would have supposed. The shadows were hers. The knack of disappearing in an empty place, of blending in with sparse surroundings was one she’d had years to master. She had inhabited the solitude of the humble house behind her. Years of being invisible, as dowdy as the faded wallpaper, had paid off. There was no one who could recognise her either within those fibro walls or without.

  ‘The stars… the world… it’s so big.’ Ellie could hear the sea as it scourged the shoreline. For too many nights, the sound of the waves had haunted her sleep with their song, taunting her. The water. The beach. She could already taste the salt-laden air.

  The sound of a distant car caused her to falter, her breath to catch in her throat. Instinctively she stepped backwards and stood in the gloomy shadows of a tree on the nature strip. Her hand touched the roughened bark. Her fingers tapped in time with her pulse, slowing as the sounds of the car faded. Could she make it down to the beach? Was she really so brave? So free?

  ‘Yes.’ The word was barely audible. She clasped her hands together and held them against her lips. Her ragged breath was moist and hot on her skin. Closing her eyes, Ellie took a deep breath through her nose and the scents of the world washed over her. She opened her eyes and lowered her hands, still entwined. The beach was waiting for her. All she had to do was follow the fragrance of the sea.

  Calmer now, Ellie reached the corner of the street. She turned back to look uphill and face the house, still visible from where she stood. There was the faintest hint of light creeping around the blinds. She had left the lights on in the kitchen and lounge room. Daddy had often grumbled about electricity bills, and he had cursed her if she’d left a light on in an unoccupied room. She wasn’t allowed to have the lights on at all if he wasn’t home.

  ‘Daddy’s home.’ The lights were for him.

  From here, the house looked small and ordinary amongst the other houses and yards. Her fortress was nothing more than dulled, grey walls. Tonight she could have the beach, the ocean, and the night sky to surround her. She raised her head and looked at the stars; she wanted to breathe them in. She imagined they would smell like the strike of a match: the light, the heat, the fire. They were glorious, and it was as if they had all come out to welcome her.

  ‘Hi.’ Ellie smiled. Just as she had counted her tremulous steps from the front yard and along the side of the road, she continued her methodical chant. One step, two steps, right foot, left foot, her focus solely on the mantra that kept her moving.

  She headed towards the beach, away from the main road, down the uneven path that wove a trail to the darkened, striated sands. Here the surf rose and fell, illuminated by the glowing yellow moon that emerged from blue-grey-tinged clouds. The coastal pines, banksias, and gums stood silhouetted in the moonlight. The pine trees rose straight and tall, their branches signposts to nowhere. Ellie took off the too-big shoes and socks, dropped them on the sand, rolled up the legs of her jeans, and felt the mix of coarse sand, broken shells, pebbles, and pumice beneath her feet.

  She stood hardly daring to breathe as the sounds and the scents of the ocean assailed her. Ellie laughed. The world was huge. The sky. It was true. Daddy, did you know? How big, how much space, what was out here? Was she truly standing here on the beach braving the night? In the distance she could hear faint traffic and rustlings, birds perhaps, settling for the night, accompanied by the constant, hypnotic lapping of the waves. She stepped closer to the water, delighting in the rough textures underfoot. Her feet sank into sand that felt colder, damper.

  ‘Oh!’ Icy water kissed her feet. The shock rippled through her as she stepped forward again and again, moving ever nearer to the mesmerizing deep. The chill of the water was thrilling. Clammy, calloused fingers touched her calf and Ellie squealed, kicking out, her toes flicking wet, slimy strands away with a splash.

  Seaweed. Ellie exhaled. One more thing she’d forgotten. She grinned; it was just a piece of seaweed floating beside her. As the wave retreated, she noticed movement on the sand. One, then two bubbles, then more, followed by small creatures scurrying.

  ‘Crabs!’ Tiny little crabs, something else she had forgotten existed. She squatted for a closer look. Crouched as she was, she ignored the waves until a larger one rolled in and soaked her from behind. Laughing, she fell onto the damp, forgiving sand. She was wet, she was cold, and she was outside. It was bliss. The moon floated across the waves. E-L-L-I-E. She wrote her name in large, uneven letters on the beach, revelling in the feel of her fingers in the coarse sand. Her name was one of the words she knew, along with so many others she had never been able to share with the world.

  Eleanor Clements

  Arthur Clements

  She wrote their names together in the sand.

  ‘Ellie and Daddy.’ She shivered, clasping her knees to her chest. She could feel the chill seeping through her damp pants. She tried to wipe the sand from her feet and struggled to put on her shoes and socks. Her skin was prickling and her fingertips were burning with cold. She tried blowing on her fingers to warm them up and realised her teeth were chattering. She wished she had brought a jacket with her and thought longingly of the blanket on her bed.

  ‘Stupid girl.’ She didn’t want to leave, but it was too cool in the autumnal dark to spend the entire night on the beach. She picked up one of the shells at her feet and cradled it in her hand. If she had to return home, at least she could take a part of the beach with her.

  She stood, taking a last look at the waves. Her sandy feet felt wet and scratchy within her shoes. Another bout of violent shivering overtook her. She had to leave; she had been out here too long. It was time to return to Daddy. He needed her. She compulsively squeezed the shell and could feel it warming in her palm. A talisman to ward off the dangers of being out alone in the midnight world. The thought was reassuring.

  Daddy won’t know. Daddy won’t mind because he is sleeping. Ellie made her way back up the track that led to the street.

  ‘Sleeping… no.’ She stumbled over loose stones but didn’t fall. No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t breathing. And yet, somehow still there, his voice, his presence, in the house. Dead. She let her footsteps beat in time with the words in her head. Left foot—Dad, right foot—dy’s, left foot—dead. Daddy’s dead. Dead, dead, dead. As she fingered the shell and felt its rough indentations, she remembered.

  There had been a grave at the cemetery where Grandmother and Grandfather Clements were buried, a grave that had a simple tombstone in front of which were smooth pebbles, ringed in a border of larger, white stones. Daddy had grown frustrated with her one drunken night when she had asked too many questions about where Grandmother was and when she was coming back, so he had yelled and sent her to her room. Much later he had woken her up, his eyes red and his breath flammable with whiskey, instructed her to keep quiet while he made sure there was no one out and about in the street, then bundled her into the car, her feet sticking out under a musty old blanket—even with her legs scrunched up—and had driven to the cemetery, high above the sea. The drive along the winding roads, crouched under the blanket, had made her nauseous. When Daddy had let her out, she had stood shaking, gulping the fresh night air. She remembered the blustery wind, the crashing of the waves at the foot of the cliff and the many tombstones, some old and some more recent, dishevelled in the hardened earth. The terrifying sight of so much space and the drop to the water had made her dizzy. Her old nightgown, which now barely co
vered her bottom, had blown up in the wind and she had to keep pulling it down. Ellie had stayed close to her father’s side, despite her fear of his unpredictable mood.

  ‘Won’t it all break off into the sea one day?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, girl. Here.’ He had pushed her towards a bare pile of earth with an unadorned white cross that lay next to an overgrown patch of weeds that bore its own worn wooden cross. ‘You wanted to see your grandmother? Meet your fucking grandfather? Well, here they are. Dead. Dead and gone and back to dirt. Good riddance too.’

  Ellie had stared down at the ground in horror. Her grandfather she’d never met, but her proud, proper grandmother was now under this dirt?

  ‘How?’ Tears welled in her eyes. Dead and gone? She had sniffed and cringed as he had kicked at the soil with his foot.

  ‘Ain’t nothing to cry for, girl; we’re all dirt in the beginning and the end.’ He had taken a swig out of the bottle he’d brought with him, then knelt to pick out a weed from the mound. He had groaned as if disgusted by his own sentimental gesture and thrown it back on the ground. He had stalked off towards another grave, whilst Ellie had stood there, shivering in her pyjamas and bare feet.

  Fear of the dark had propelled her back to his side, unwilling to be left alone in such a place. The grave he stood before bore a large marble tombstone and an image of an angel.

  Jack. She knew that name. She’d seen it in Daddy’s old book. Ellie leaned forward, her lips parting as she read the rest of the words.

  Jack Fordham

  1941—1957

  Beloved son of William and Sarah

  Rest in Peace.

  Her father was humming a tune she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Daddy, who’s Jack?’

  Her father had jolted when he’d heard her voice.

  ‘No one. Let’s go.’ He had pushed her onto the back seat of the car and thrown the blanket over her. ‘Don’t move.’ When they had gotten home, he had left her alone. He had sat slumped in his armchair, the Boys’ Annual on his lap, the half-empty bottle of whiskey by his side.