“You think that’s why I was hanging out with you?”
“Just… leave me be.” She walked away, towards where Hayley was talking animatedly with a small group, all of them standing waist-deep in the water. None of them had even noticed Clay’s rescue attempt. Hayley flashed her a smile.
The farm workers spent the rest of the day rowing and trekking in and out of gorges and diving under waterfalls. Close to sunset, Eoin and Fred decided that the group should camp overnight on a sandy riverbank. The sunset was insanely beautiful, making the sand glow a deep apricot colour, layers of burnt orange and purplish sky spread wide behind the rust-red rises of the gorge.
Dharma and a group of girls picked bunches of wildflowers that Gemma was sure they weren’t allowed to pick. Dharma’s group threaded flower garlands for everyone’s hair and then made everyone sing sixties songs around a campfire. For a while, Gemma almost felt connected to the group, yelling out the lyrics to a song she'd just learned—Neil Young's Sugar Mountain. The song’s lyrics were something about adolescence and having to leave a place called Sugar Mountain when you turned twenty.
But she couldn’t completely lose herself to these people. Some of them were watching her—and who knew about the others? She had to stay vigilant. The same way she’d lived her whole life.
Gemma glanced at Hayley, who was singing louder than just about anyone, holding hands with Dharma and another girl. She had a blissful expression on her face, her eyes glistening in the light of the flames. Gemma realised that Hayley was exactly where she wanted to be.
Dinner followed. Sausages and mashed potatoes, and lentil rissoles for the vegans and vegetarians. Gemma was surprised that there were no drugs or alcohol on offer once dinner wrapped up. Dharma informed her that Tate strictly forbade it when they were out camping. He didn't want anyone drowning in the river or making stupid decisions.
People started putting up tents or walking off in small groups. Hayley wanted to stay in Dharma's group, singing songs around the fire.
Gemma wandered off on her own. She wasn’t sure where she fit in now or who she could trust.
The singing sounded distant as she walked further away.
Sitting cross-legged on a rock, she plucked a wildflower from the garland in her hair and tore it to pieces, petal by petal.
Someone walked up next to her, carrying a light.
She knew it was Clay even before he spoke.
“When I was a kid,” he drawled, looking upward. “I dreamed of seeing the Centaurus constellation. But I needed a Southern sky. And, bang, there it is. Centaurus. So clear. Half-man, half-horse.”
She let the petals drop through her fingers. “People romanticise stars. They’re just hot-as-hell suns. Not centaurs. Not twinkling little jewels to wish upon. Just suns.”
“Aren’t you a barrel of laughs?”
“Do you have to follow me everywhere? What if I’d gone off to pee?”
Climbing the rock, he came and sat next to her, so close that she could see tiny patches on his nose and cheeks where the sun had made his skin flake, and fine scars on his chin and below his lip.
“I’m not following you,” he said. “I came to apologise. Tate told me to make sure you’re okay, that’s all.”
“I’m okay. Put that in your report.”
“There’s no report. We keep a close eye on all new workers.” He exhaled. “Can we start again?”
“Why?”
“Because I like you. I was hoping that you liked me.”
She didn’t answer, looking away into the patchwork of dark spaces.
“Hey, ask me anything,” he said. “I’ll answer it honestly.”
She shrugged. “What’re those scars on your face?”
“Dog bite. When I was ten. I patted a dog in the street—back in Sugar Land, where I lived until I was twelve.”
“Ouch. That happened to me too.”
“I know. I remember what you said when you introduced yourself in the gathering hall.”
“But no one lives in Sugar Land. You just made that up.”
“I’ll take you there one day. It’s not far from Houston. One set of grandparents still live there.”
“Hmmm. Okay. Did you have fun when you were growing up?”
“Yeah. Apart from the dog bite, that is. It was a good childhood. But then my mom died and my dad ended up drifting from Texas down to Mexico. I spent most of my teenage years in Mexico. It wasn't the place that was bad—it was my father. All he did was drink.”
“My mum died when I was a kid too. And my dad's an alcoholic, just like yours. How old are you now?”
“Twenty.”
“Are you planning on working your way up at the farm—like, becoming a manager or something?”
“Nope. I was planning on heading off straight after the mango season. But I'm not sure now. There's this girl who just arrived at the farm, and I'd kind of like a chance to get to know her better…”
She ignored that. “How can a supervisor just leave?”
He hesitated. “Don’t mention it to Tate, okay? There’s a few things that I—” He sighed heavily, shaking his head. “Never mind. Can’t see myself staying much longer, that’s all.”
“You sounded so happy about the farm that first night I spoke to you. Like nothing could ever be wrong.”
“It was an act. For newbies.”
She felt her forehead crinkle into a frown. “Why put on a big act?”
“It’s just the way Tate likes it. He puts in a lot of effort to make everyone happy, so he expects a lot from his supervisors.” He paused. “Can we drop this? Clean slate?”
She wanted to get up and walk away from him. But she didn’t. Because maybe he was right and she’d just read too much into what she’d overheard. She wanted him to be right.
The look on his face was so damned earnest. Not many people were earnest. Maybe it was better to pretend that they just met each other and start again. Sometimes, pretending was easier. Reality was just someone’s perception anyway.
“Clean slate,” she echoed.
They shook hands.
He kept her hand in his. “Now, time for me to ask you any question I want. And you have to answer it.”
Moving her face close to his, she switched his penlight off and kissed him. That was easier than telling him about herself. She’d already told him enough the night of the party. Telling people too much was always a mistake.
She surprised him with the kiss. But he kissed her back. And kept kissing her.
She watched the stars overhead. Stars that were suns. Or eyes. Or sparkly silver fucking jewels. It didn’t matter. What you chose to believe was all that mattered. It was all that ever mattered. What you believed to be true in the moment.
It felt awkward at first when things went further. Two bodies that didn’t yet know each other’s curves and angles and scents.
They fell onto the still-warm sand together. Behind the rock, in the darkness, no one could see them.
They held each other, entwining, their breaths growing fast and hard.
“Can we?” he said, panting. “I mean, I have a condom—”
“Did you think you were going to get lucky tonight?”
“Better than getting caught without one.”
She couldn’t argue with that logic, but she wondered wryly if he took them everywhere he went.
He began kissing her again.
Unbidden, another face kept flashing in her mind. Tate's. One moment, it was like Tate was there—above her, murmuring her name.
It was only when Clay was done that she realised where she was and who she was with again. Clay mustn’t have noticed her zoning out. She was glad for the cover of the darkness.
She moved in against Clay's chest, numb and confused.
How does Tate manage to push his way into my thoughts all the time? What did he even say to me at the farm yesterday? That conversation was now floating in loose threads in the air, along with the scents of sunsc
reen and humid earth.
Clay stroked her hair. “Did you get there?”
She shook her head on his chest.
“Do you want me to—?”
“It’s okay. Next time.”
“I’m happy there’ll be a next time.” He continued stroking her hair, softly singing along with the group that were still shouting out songs back at the campfire.
She wanted to enjoy just being here with him, but she couldn't—not totally. They began talking again, until Clay fell into a deep sleep. She stayed awake for hours before she felt herself drifting.
They woke just before sunrise, on the other side of the rock, still wrapped up together.
Gemma startled as she noticed that people had gathered around them and one of them was tugging her hair. She angled her head backwards to see who it was.
Dharma was busily playing with Gemma’s hair. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she crooned.
Gemma gave a nervous, self-conscious smile and tried to sit. She discovered that her hair had been plaited together with Clay’s and entwined with wildflowers.
Clay started laughing, sitting up with her.
“I hereby pronounce you two engaged.” Lifting her chin, Dharma fluffed out her long, kinky locks.
“S’true,” someone else said in a wise tone. “When Dharma ties two people together, it’s official. She does this all the time.”
The group of people clapped and cheered.
Clay dropped a kiss on her temple. “Sorry I don’t have a ring,” he quipped.
Hayley appeared from between the mass of people, not clapping or cheering. Her brow was deeply furrowed. “Gemma, d'you know where Ellie is? I couldn't find either of you. Now I’ve found you, but I still don’t know where Ellie got to.”
Gemma squinted up at Hayley as the sun peeked over the gorge walls, sparking long, gold-hued rays into her eyes. “Probably in her tent.”
“No, I checked,” Hayley said. “She’s not. Ellie and I are supposed to be making porridge for everyone.”
Gemma began untangling her hair from Clay’s. “Maybe she went for a walk. Anyway, most people probably aren’t even hungry yet.”
Hayley bit her top lip. “I just want to do a good job. Show that I’m fitting in.”
“Hey,” said Clay. “Why don’t we go look for Ellie? I need a walk and a good stretch anyway.”
Gemma unpicked the last of Clay’s locks from her own and pulled herself to her feet. “I have to go pee. Then we’ll go.”
In one direction, the way was blocked with a high rock wall. The three of them headed in the opposite direction, Gemma splashing her feet in the water, her fingers catching with Clay’s. Hayley glanced across curiously.
The path was well-worn, from endless days of tourists. But there were no tourists here today.
Gemma felt the heat rising from the ground. It was going to be another hot one. Clay went to take a leak, his bare back shining in the sun. Gemma and Hayley rounded a corner, squeezing between two boulders.
At the base of a small waterfall—barely twice as high as Gemma—some wildflowers that their group had picked yesterday fluttered in the tight crevices of the rocks, squashed and trapped.
Curled up on top of the rocks was a girl, eyes closed, the ends of her dark hair floating in the trickling water. A trail of red liquid on her arm splashed red on a rock and was carried away by the water below.
“Ellie…” Gemma mouthed. Her first thought was that it had been a crocodile. But on closer look, it wasn’t that. Not anything close to that.
Thin red lines marked Ellie’s wrists.
In a blur that seemed to happen in slow motion, they rushed to Ellie.
Hayley pulled her shirt free and wrapped it around and around Ellie’s left wrist.
Gemma inhaled a breath of air that didn’t release. She wound her own shirt around Ellie’s other wrist.
Ellie murmured, opening her eyes.
Hayley moved close to hear. “Ellie?”
“Don’t take me back to the farm,” Ellie said softly.
Shocked thoughts raced through Gemma’s mind. Maybe she didn’t like Ellie, but this was bad. Why had Ellie tried to kill herself? And why didn’t she want to go back to the farm? She had everything well set up there, right? She was a supervisor. She was sleeping with the damned owner of the farm. Could the thing she’d told Gemma really be true—about something being wrong at the farm?
“You don’t have to go back there,” Gemma told her. “You can go home.”
“It's too late. Too late to go home…” Ellie shook her head. “Don’t let him…”
“Who? Don’t let who?” Hayley glanced anxiously from Ellie to Gemma and Clay.
“That man.” Her voice was weak but icy. “The man with the truck. Don’t let him near me. Promise…”
22
Hayley
Hayley had never liked the sight of blood, even a paper cut made her wince, but the moment she’d seen Ellie lying like that on the rock, she’d acted before that part of her brain kicked in. What had Ellie done? Hayley tried not to look too hard at the cuts, worried she might faint if she did, but judging by the amount of blood flowing into the water, the cuts were deep.
Why here? Why like this?
“We need to get her to a hospital,” Gemma said, and she was right.
“I have a satellite phone in my pack at the campsite,” Clay said. “I'll run back and get it.”
“Wait.” Hayley placed a hand on Clay's arm. “Shouldn't we take her with us?”
“I don't think we should move her.” Clay glanced at Ellie and then Gemma in a way Hayley thought seemed guilty, almost regretful. She watched Clay hurry away and frowned, concerned by Clay's hasty explanation. People with certain injuries couldn't be moved, true, but this wasn’t a spinal problem. Perhaps he was worried that the effort of moving Ellie might increase blood flow and result in greater blood loss.
“Maybe we should hold her arms above her head,” Gemma suggested. “And put more pressure on the wounds.”
Ellie let out a cry as they lifted her arms, but she didn't quite pass out from the pain. She certainly seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. Whenever she stirred, she began to move her lips. Hayley bent lower, trying to hear what she had to say, but everything she mumbled was in Portuguese.
Hayley squeezed the shirt against the girl’s thin arm, trying not to think about the blood seeping through the fabric. “Come on, Ellie. Don’t give up now. Tell us why you don’t want the man from the truck to come near you.” She thought that maybe if she kept Ellie talking then she might stay conscious.
“Did you mean the man that made a delivery the night of the party?” Gemma added. “What was his name—Rodney?”
“Yes, him.” Ellie closed her eyes and opened them. Her face contorted into a grimace, like someone mid-sob, her mouth opened wide and tears began to stream down her face. “You.” She stared directly at Hayley with her large, piercing eyes, half-focused and manic. “You need to leave. It’s not a good place at the farm. You have to believe me.”
“Okay, I do,” Hayley replied. “But tell us why. Tell us what happened to you. Maybe we can help. Especially when you’re better… We can tell someone if he’s hurting you.”
“It was… I don’t…” Ellie’s eyes rolled back. “My hands feel numb.”
“It’s okay,” Gemma said. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“I don’t remember things good.” Ellie giggled. “That’s not correct English. Bad Ellie. Must do better.” She paused, seemingly losing consciousness again. Then she said, “He comes at night.”
But Ellie had begun mumbling in Portuguese again. Hayley held Gemma’s gaze. What had this man done to Ellie at night?
But her thoughts were interrupted by the soft swishing of the water. Clay and Eoin were on their way towards the waterfall in a kayak, both paddling quickly. Clay kept his head turned away, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
As the boat reached the rocks, it
was Eoin who took the lead. “Quick, take these bandages and dress the wounds. Then we need to get her in the kayak.”
“What the hell?” Hayley exclaimed, catching a bandage. “Now isn't exactly the time for a paddle.”
“It's the quickest way back to the visitor's centre,” he said, watching carefully as they fixed the bandages tightly around her cuts.
As soon as it was done, Eoin wasted no time, reaching down to scoop skinny little Ellie into his arms.
“What about Ranger Pete?” Hayley asked. “An air ambulance? There has to be another way. Isn't this dangerous?”
“Trust us,” Eoin said. “We'll take her from here.”
“But where are you taking her?” Gemma got to her feet, bloodied hands placed on her hips.
No answer.
“Eoin,” Gemma said again. “Where are you taking her?”
It was Clay who answered this time. “Everything's going to be okay, Gemma. We're taking her back to the farm.”
“She's fine,” Eoin insisted. “Tate has state-of-the-art medical equipment at the farm. He doesn’t like outsiders interfering.”
“She doesn’t want to go back to the farm,” Hayley said. “Eoin, are you listening? She just said—”
“The cuts aren’t too deep,” he replied. “A few stitches, some rest, and she’ll be fine. Tate can do all of that.”
“Eoin!” Gemma called as the two men hoisted Ellie onto the boat. “Stop!”
But there was nothing they could do. Eoin and Clay were already paddling away.
Hayley sat on her bed and tried to make sense of everything that had happened at the gorge. After Clay and Eoin had taken Ellie, everything had seemed like such a blur. They'd paddled their own kayak as fast as they could, reaching the carpark too late to stop Eoin and Clay taking Ellie away. Their truck was already gone.
Ellie hadn’t wanted to be taken back to the farm and knowing that didn’t sit well with Hayley, and she knew Gemma was angry about it too. She couldn’t stop thinking about a barely conscious Ellie being bundled into a truck with Clay and Eoin. It wasn’t right.
She looked down at her hands and found Ellie’s blood still crusted over her skin. Her shirt, screwed up next to her feet, was covered in it. She kicked the bloody shirt under the bed so she didn’t have to look at it anymore.
Poison Orchids: A darkly compelling psychological thriller Page 17