Path to the Night Sea

by Gilmore, Alicia;

  Ellie emptied the final bag and cupped a palm-sized shell in her hand. It was not jagged like the one that had torn her foot last night. That one was still indoors, hidden within the jacket pocket. That shard had sliced easily through the skin on her heel; this shell was lustrous on the inside and glorious. She let her fingers slide over the smooth, sleek inner surface. There was a beauty out there in the world, a beauty she hadn’t been able to see at night. She placed the shell reverently at the head of the grave. With Daddy gone, there would be no one to stop her from going out in the daytime. Soon she would be able to see the world in the light, with all of its promises of splendour.

  Soon.

  She wasn’t done. There was one more shell. Soon, soon, soon: the words spun around her as she hobbled back to the kitchen. I’m almost done. Her father’s jacket was draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs where she’d left it. She felt in the pocket for the slicing edge of broken shell. This was for him. For Daddy.

  Ellie placed the shell where she imagined his heart to be. This one had drawn blood. This one would keep him down.

  Done. Done and gone and dead and buried. She rocked back on her heels, mindless of her sore foot. She supposed she was meant to say something. Ellie thought back to the words of the Illustrated Bible. God had created the world and the heavens in six days, and on the seventh day he’d rested. She smiled. Daddy could rest now. Ellie could rest now. She wasn’t sure who she was without her Daddy, but she’d be able to find out.

  Ellie stood. Despite the stiffness and aches of her weary body and pounding heel, she felt weightless. Her long-carried shame was buried with him, under the dirt and shells. She knew what to say.

  ‘I’m going to live in the world now, Daddy. I’m going to live.’ She could feel the taut, scarred skin pull as her smile broadened. ‘I don’t need you anymore.’

  Ellie backed out of the enclosure and into the now-bright yard, the plastic bags in one hand and the shovel in the other. She felt the warmth of the morning sun against her back and quickly ducked her head before remembering there was no longer anyone to tell her to hide. Maybe she didn’t have to anymore. The light was hers now.

  Leaning the shovel against the wall of the shed, Ellie quickly gazed around the interior of the shed, the tools, the shelves. The wooden case that held his gun. This had been his space. ‘No more.’ Pulling the door closed, Ellie made sure she heard the latch click. She didn’t want to come in here ever again.

  As she re-entered the house, Ellie stripped off her grave-dirtied clothes, dropped them on the floor, and walked naked to the shower. The dirt-sullied water pooled at her feet and she remained under the spray until the water ran cold and what circled the drain was clear. For the first time, she realised she didn’t need to scrub to feel clean.

  The water had softened and reopened the flap of skin on her heel and as she dressed, it began bleeding afresh. Ellie limped to her room and sat on the edge of the bed, her foot in her lap, trying to staunch the blood. She slipped her foot into a thick pair of socks and smiled. They had once been Daddy’s socks. Mine now.

  ‘My socks.’

  As she spoke a velvety head butted against her good leg.

  ‘Hi, Perce.’

  The cat leapt onto the bed beside her. She rubbed the top of his head with her knuckles and he pushed against her hand with a loud, satisfied purr.

  ‘It’s just you and me now, Perce. Really. He’s gone.’ Ellie stood, grimacing at the pain in her foot, and finished dressing. Percival miaowed loudly in the doorway. She followed him to the kitchen.

  ‘You’re always hungry,’ she muttered, dumping the last of the leftovers into his bowl. You need food. We need food. She took a few hobbling steps and leaned against the wall for support. Her foot throbbed. What if she needed stitches? She could try and sew up the wound herself but when they’d given her stitches in the hospital, they’d also given her medicine. A few times when she’d been sick Daddy had given her horrible tasting tablets that he’d forced her to swallow. ‘Stop complaining and take your medicine,’ he’d say. But it was his medicine from his doctor. How would she find a doctor for her? She frowned as she watched Percival bury his face in his bowl. Ellie looked around the kitchen. Her kitchen. Her house. This had been her domain for so long. She wasn’t sure she could bear to spend another second inside this room, inside this house, but she was so sore and tired, her body craved rest.

  ‘Oh, Perce.’

  The sound of an engine starting caught her attention. The neighbours’ car. Timmy and his wife who liked wind chimes and their boy, who was a brat, just like Maisie. Percy liked the boy. Ellie took a deep breath. They might know where the doctor was. Where the shops were to buy food. Timmy would know. And if she told him that she had found Maisie, maybe he wouldn’t think she was weird, maybe he would help her find a doctor.

  Ellie took a few more hobbling steps over to the bench and grabbed the key ring from the wooden bowl. She limped into the lounge room and gazed down at the skeletons laid out on the carpet.

  ‘Bye bye, Mummy. Bye bye, babies.’ She looked over to Maisie. ‘See you later, alligator. I’m going to be brave, okay? I’ll come back though. Don’t worry, I’m not leaving you. Not forever.’ She nodded her head. ‘You’ll be safe now. The bad man’s gone.’

  At the front door, her fingers ran over the different keys. It was the second one she tried that slid into the dead bolt. The lock was heavy and stiff from lack of use and she needed both hands to open it. Ellie left the keys dangling from the lock and opened the wire screen door. Morning sunshine struck her face, and for a moment she was dazzled. She closed her eyes and lifted her face towards the brilliant glare, basking in the red flashes behind her eyelids. The warmth on her face was delicious, but her enjoyment was tempered by the sound of the car next door reversing down their driveway. She had to catch them before they left.

  Ellie didn’t know how many steps it was to the nature strip from the front door but she didn’t have to count. Not today. With the morning sun on her face, Eleanor Clements stepped into the world.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank the following people who read early drafts of Path to the Night Sea and offered advice, enthusiasm and support—Eva Balint, Rachel Barratt, Ralph Bergman, Cathy Bray, Adrienne Jerram, Fiona McQueen and Julianne Wargren. Thank you also to David Brooks for your encouragement.

  Thank you to everyone at Regal House Publishing for taking a chance on my novel, especially Jaynie Royal, and to Ruth Feiertag for her editorial expertise.

  Parts of this work were undertaken during residencies at Varuna and the Tyrone Guthrie Centre, and I am grateful for the opportunities, generosity and hospitality I received at both locations. Thank you to Peter Bishop for his insight and wisdom.

  Thank you to my mother, Elaine, who has never stopped listening to my stories.