One Lucky Summer

by Jenny Oliver

  She could picture Dolly’s broken little face though as she put the torch on her. Seeing that she’d wet her pants in fright. Knowing they had no other clothes. Unsure of the way back to the cottage from here in the darkness. Hearing the scuttle of mice or rats as they curled together wrapped like a burrito in their foil blanket. Waking with a spider crawling across her face. Silent in horror so as not to wake Dolly. Cold and damp from morning dew.

  That was where the police found them. Huddled in the shed. Their mother sobbing with relief. Their father feigning remorse but chucking Olive a wink and a thumbs-up when no one was looking, proud that she’d managed to find a good place to bunk down.

  She had always wondered if things would have been different if she’d got them home by teatime. Whether her dad would have been prouder. Whether he would have been proud enough to stay. Certainly there wouldn’t have been the massive row between him and her mother that saw him overseas for six months. That was probably when her mother’s affair started, for all Olive knew. If only she’d been able to get her and Dolly back by teatime.

  With his knuckles rapped, their father never left them alone again, but his tasks and challenges persisted. There was always a frisson of danger that she learnt never to admit to their mother. Every adventure that bit crazier than the one before. It was sink or swim. No whining allowed. That was why Dolly always got left behind.

  Thinking about it now, it was possibly a bit nuts to deposit your children alone in the woods. She’d be furious if Ruben left Zadie out there and she wasn’t even her daughter. But it wasn’t so simple. To Olive, while maybe it was madness, she couldn’t escape the fact her father had made her who she was. Over time, what had once instilled terror became instead excitement. Fear became adrenaline. Life had been exciting. She was suddenly gripped by sadness so acute she struggled for breath. That had been her childhood. Her fearless father. Her – perhaps justifiably in retrospect – emotionally wrought mother. Her little sister. Her big eyes and plump hand. She remembered the smell of Dolly’s hair as they were wound up in their burrito blanket in the shed. Like cherries, it smelt. Cherries and childhood.

  Olive closed her eyes again. She could feel the hovering threat of tears. But she wouldn’t cry here in front of Marge. The impact of loss however seemed to be catching up with her like a fast-forward button. Images fast and blurred.

  She heard Marge’s chair creak and felt her come and stand next to her. ‘I didn’t want to upset you, I’m sorry.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ Olive replied.

  Marge smiled.

  Olive surreptitiously dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her finger. She remembered the day her dad came back for the last time. Gold supposedly weighing down his pockets. ‘This is it, girls! I’ve hit the big time!’ he shouted, unable to contain his excitement, dashing off to lay the clues before he’d even unpacked. The treasure hunt was meant to mark the end. He was home to stay this time. They were going to be a family. It occurred to her now that all their lives they had fitted around him and his restlessness. Him being with them had felt so much like second best that she had done what she could to make it great. To make his time free from boredom. Is that what her mother had done, too? Was that why there were the parties? The beautiful frilly dresses and the long, long blonde hair. She thought how they had lived with nothing, waiting for him to return with riches. And he’d finally done it. He’d proved himself right. There was gold at the end of the rainbow.

  But would he really have stayed? Or would he have always chased the next adventure? He used to cup her cheek and say, ‘I’m doing it for you, kiddo. For you and your sister and your mum.’

  She wondered now if she might reply, ‘No – you’re my dad and I love you – but you’re doing it for yourself.’

  The life of an explorer was, she realised, an addiction to the thrill of possibility and, however hard he tried, it always came before all of them.

  ‘Neither of them were perfect, Olive, but that didn’t make them bad people,’ Marge said softly, her hand tentatively coming to rest on Olive’s arm. ‘They let you down, they built you up. But in the end, they were just human and you have to forgive them. We’re all just human.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dolly walked along the side of the rocky stream fed by their little waterfall. Ten or so metres further on the stream tumbled into a larger waterfall that plunged into a dark pool of jagged rocks and giant ferns.

  Dolly sat with her legs dangling over the edge, feet hanging over nothingness. Leaves of the moss-covered oaks reflected back at her in the glassy black water below. Spray from the waterfall splashed her legs.

  She felt Fox coming to sit beside her. ‘Can I ask you another question?’ he asked, leaning back on his hands, his arm muscles bulging, his fox tattoo grinning.

  Dolly looked at him, on guard for subtle negotiator tactics. ‘If you must.’

  He chuckled. He sat up, rubbing the earth off his palms, resting his elbows over his knees and looking out over the waterfall. Dragonflies swooped in the air. One landed on a big gunnera leaf next to them, brilliant blue against frozen pea green. ‘What the hell is going on with you and your sister and this Ruben guy?’

  Dolly bristled. ‘Nothing.’

  Fox studied her. ‘Your reaction tells me otherwise – pupils dilated, cheeks reddening, sudden uncomfortable body movements. Do you know how you tell if someone’s lying, Dolly?’

  Dolly sighed. ‘Look at their movements when they’re telling the truth.’ Basic training.

  Fox tipped his head as if she’d nailed it.

  Dolly ran her tongue over her top lip. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Can I guess?’

  ‘No,’ she said, shifting so she was facing away from him.

  Fox rubbed his hands together with what looked like glee. ‘OK. You didn’t want to wear the sling when you saw him so I’m guessing that’s because of vanity. Was there something there between you?’ He bit his lip and thought, ‘No. His reaction would have been different. You’re the youngest, so … I’m guessing it was a crush.’

  Dolly huffed. ‘Can you stop, please?’

  ‘Yes!’ He punched the air a tiny bit like he’d sailed through the first round. ‘Now you said you were young and naïve for your age, so did something happen—’

  ‘Stop!’ said Dolly, holding up a hand, feeling her cheeks burn as her brain did a speedy run-through of her failed clinch with Ruben. Of watching him with doe-eyed adoration as he took all the little baby birds that had fallen out of the nest and talked to them jokingly as he gently put them in one by one, stroking their fluffy heads. He was such a hero. She’d thought her heart might burst out of her chest that very moment. He was her absolute perfect man and no part of her could conceive that with hidden feelings so intense they might not be reciprocated. God, in retrospect he’d just been bunging some birds back in a nest and there she’d been gearing up to pounce. She covered her face with her hand. ‘I was fourteen, all right. I misread all the signs. He was in love with my sister. He was basically really nice to me because they were together – which I didn’t realise. I attempted a very misjudged seduction. It was a humiliating moment in my past that I’d rather not talk about. All right?’

  A grin spread across Fox’s face. ‘Oh, please do.’

  ‘No!’ Dolly felt like her whole body was on fire. Why did this guy have to be so good at his job? She could barely bring herself to replay the event in her head, let alone talk about it; occasionally snapshots of it popped into her mind at inopportune moments, winding her with momentary embarrassment.

  ‘Are you thinking about it now?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Dolly, half laughing. ‘Stop asking me about it!’ It was like watching some excruciating moment on TV between half-closed fingers, while quietly dying inside. Her infatuated heart thrumming like the wings of the baby birds. The feel of his lips under hers. The touch of her palm to his cheeks. His mortifying laugh of shock. And then of course he told
Olive, who gave her the most humiliating talk about relationships, made worse by the gentleness of her tone. All the while hiding the fact that Ruben would never love Dolly because he was in love with her, Olive. The shame when Dolly discovered that they were an item. But it wasn’t a patch on the discovery of her mum and Lord de Lacy. Dolly had retched every time she shut her eyes and pictured her mother’s affair. She hadn’t slept for what felt like months afterwards. All these clandestine relationships merged into the dark, destructive secret of adulthood that Dolly and her childish romantic fantasies would always be on the outside of, would never fully understand.

  ‘And now you want to show him you’re all grown up and gorgeous?’

  Dolly arched a brow. ‘You think I’m gorgeous, do you?’

  It was Fox’s turn to blush. ‘You’re not ugly,’ he conceded.

  Dolly turned away, a smug little pout on her lips.

  Fox stretched out in the sun. ‘Do you know the definition of madness?’

  Dolly said, ‘No, but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.’

  Fox spoke looking up to the sky, ‘Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.’

  Dolly opened her mouth to reply but found she had no rebuttal, afraid what he was saying was too close to the truth. Instead, she said, ‘You’re so smug and annoying. Do you know that?’

  ‘You have told me on a number of occasions,’ he replied.

  ‘Right, well now it’s my turn,’ she said, riled. ‘Shall I try and guess what happened to you?’

  ‘If you want,’ he said, rolling so he was lying on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. ‘This should be good.’

  Dolly ran her tongue along her teeth as she thought. She took in his open, smiling face. His calm. ‘Well, you said you left the Marines and went on your bike to the Himalayas to recuperate. So it can’t have been something good.’ She paused. ‘I don’t know if I should guess because it’s going to be something bad.’

  Fox shrugged, non-committal.

  Dolly raised her eyes heavenward. ‘You’re so annoying.’

  He chuckled.

  ‘Well don’t get upset if I say something insensitive, OK?’

  ‘Dolly, you’re always saying things that are insensitive.’

  ‘Shut up!’ She gave him a playful shove. He rolled onto his back then sat up. ‘Come on, keep guessing.’

  Dolly narrowed her eyes to scrutinise him, as if the answer were on his face. ‘I don’t think you were fired. The suspension from work was too much of a shock for you to have been through it before. I reckon you left voluntarily because of something that happened.’

  Fox tipped his head, ‘Correct.’

  Dolly grinned smugly. ‘I could be a negotiator.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

  Dolly paused, reassessing him to prove her prowess. ‘You’re quite brooding so I think whatever it was, it was something you felt responsible for,’ she mused, searching for an example. ‘You know, like in one of those films when someone blows up their best friend or something hideous like that, but not that obviously.’

  Fox tilted his head. ‘Why not that?’

  ‘Oh my God.’ She put her hand over her mouth. ‘That’s not what happened is it? I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘Dolly, it’s fine. It’s dealt with. It’s OK,’ Fox replied.

  ‘No but …’ She felt awful. ‘How can you have let me guess?’ She bashed him on the arm.

  Fox grinned. ‘I shouldn’t have done.’

  ‘No,’ she said, blowing out a breath before turning to look him in the eye. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Dolly, honestly, it’s fine. It was a long time ago. A very good friend of mine had been taken and I was the one trying to get him out. I made a judgement that turned out to be wrong.’

  She winced. ‘Oh God.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve come to accept that whatever had happened, I don’t think we would have got him out alive. I just … Well, I’ve learnt that you can drive yourself crazy with what-ifs.’ He ran his hand through his hair, then let his arms flop over his knees.

  ‘Wow,’ said Dolly after a moment’s silence. ‘No wonder you’re like how you are.’

  Fox laughed. ‘How am I?’

  Dolly made a face, unsure how to put it into words. ‘I don’t know, like, closed. Unemotional.’

  ‘And you’re not closed?’

  ‘Oh, I’m closed,’ Dolly laughed. ‘But I make that obvious. You hide it behind Buddhist quotes.’

  Fox frowned.

  Dolly laughed. ‘It’s not a bad thing. It’s good. It’s good to be calm. To not feel stuff. I wish I didn’t feel anything.’

  Fox said, ‘You know there’s a difference between not feeling things and having felt them and come out the other side? I’m not closed, Dolly, I’m just considered, careful.’

  Neither of them spoke.

  It seemed suddenly so silent, despite the rush of the waterfall. The earth warm under her hands. Her feet over the side weightless.

  ‘You see feeling things as a problem?’ Fox asked, moving forward so his legs were hanging over the side, too.

  Dolly licked her dry lips. ‘Maybe,’ she admitted.

  Fox glanced across at her. ‘Do you know I went nuts for a bit? Like totally renegade. I’m lucky I wasn’t court-martialled. There’s no way of not feeling stuff, I can tell you that for nothing; I suppose I’ve just learnt how to channel it.’ He kicked the rock under his heels. ‘Because it comes out, you know, whatever?’ He paused, smiled. ‘Like pinning blokes to petrol station floors. Bitching at your sister and getting angry with your heroic new partner at work.’

  Dolly rolled her eyes.

  Fox laughed.

  There was a pause. Then he said, ‘Just don’t ever think you can outrun something.’

  ‘No,’ said Dolly with blasé certainty.

  But as they sat there, side by side in silence, the words did something to her body. She tried to shift position to make the feeling go away but she couldn’t do anything too obvious. She was too aware of his all-seeing presence. But her mind was being flooded with images that she felt an overwhelming compunction to flee from. Dark beasts that had lain waiting, baying in the wings. The things she was constantly avoiding from the moment she woke up in the morning to the time she went to bed. If she woke up in the night, it was with a dread that the darkness might pin her down. Dolly was always moving forward. She outran. That was what she did. Her feet hadn’t touched the floor in years.

  Sitting on the edge of the waterfall, she had to put her hands up to her mouth. The sudden, unexpected emotion was like a torrent. She had absolutely no control over it. ‘Oh, God!’ she said with surprise.

  ‘What?’ Fox turned, concerned.

  ‘Nothing, I just … what you said, about outrunning things.’ She moved her hands to her cheeks, warm and suddenly wet, wiping away tears that she couldn’t dry fast enough.

  ‘Dolly, why are you crying?’ Fox’s brow creased. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, through hiccupping sobs. ‘I don’t know. God, what am I doing? I’m crying.’ It was like her brain was collapsing. Like a stomach held in by a belt and trousers suddenly spilling forth. She saw the moment her dad had seen her mother and Lord de Lacy together, the sun blinding off the broken glass of the greenhouse. The tree stump she tripped over as she took a step back. The look of fury that Olive gave her that punched deep into her core and never left. Seeing her great heroic dad crumple into incoherence. Olive trying to reason with him. Olive phoning Aunt Marge. Olive putting their mother to bed. Dolly running round like the world was on fire, crying, clutching anyone she could find to ask what was going to happen. Then add straight-talking Aunt Marge into the fray – ‘Always destined for this kind of mayhem.’ ‘No one kayaks those rapids without death in mind!’ ‘I warned him, you can’t leave a person for months on end on their own; loneliness is akin to madness.’ She sa
w herself as a child running through burnished bracken behind Olive and Ruben, breathless to catch up. She thought of perching on her tiptoes in front of Ruben, the smell of cigarettes on his breath, in her head whispering, ‘I love you,’ before pressing her lips to his. She thought of her eager anticipation of her dad walking through the door, dirty and rugged and laden with silly souvenirs. She thought of watching him and Olive yomping off on their own, waiting one day to be invited, always second best. Willing herself not to be the weak one who was scared of the dark and the noises and the heights. She thought of the loneliness of living with Aunt Marge in a flat in the city. Wishing for the acres of green space and freedom of Willoughby Park. Wishing for her mum. The mum of her childhood who stroked her hair and hugged her tight. She thought of Jake – The Destructor – and his motorbike and the time he ripped the phone out of the wall when he caught her using it. Of the cigarette burns on her skin. Of the first time she arrested someone for domestic abuse and wanting to smash his face against the floor so he’d never be able to smirk the way he smirked at Dolly as she cuffed him. She saw her whole life from a cherished childhood innocence bursting with love to a gaping hole of nothing, filled only with hatred and anger and loss. A hole she’d never quite been able to climb out of.

  She saw it all. Like a merry-go-round. Dolly frantically brushed at her cheeks to make the tears stop. ‘I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

  ‘Stop press, Dolly King is crying.’ Fox smiled. ‘Dolly, no one cares.’