He pours another brandy into her glass, pours a large one for himself. ‘Bloody hell. Bloody hell, that was a bad time.’
‘You never found Gracie’s body, did you?’
‘No.’ He points towards the window. ‘That’s where she’ll be. Somewhere way out there. That’s where Ellie went as well.’
‘Ellie?’
‘It’s how she did it. Took every pill in the house, went into the sea. Made a proper job of it. You can imagine how I felt when Beth tried to do what she did. Poor kid came home and her mother wasn’t there. Ellie’d been bad, been in bed for weeks, wouldn’t let me call the doctor, said she wasn’t going back to the hospital. Beth knew something was wrong soon as she saw her mother wasn’t in her bedroom. She called me and we found Ellie up the coast later on that day.’
‘My God. You’ve been very strong to get through that.’
‘It’s been tough. But sometimes it’s count your lucky stars time, eh? I’ve got this place, most beautiful place in the world far as I’m concerned, and I’ve got Beth. Still got her, thanks to you.’
‘I’d say a lot of her getting better is thanks to what you’ve given her over the years.’
‘Nuh.’ He looks sheepish. ‘Think so?’
‘Yes I do.’ She smiles at him. ‘Another thing you’ve got is you and Holly.’
‘Told you about that, did she?’
‘She didn’t need to.’
‘Yeah. That’s one of the best things.’
She gets up to go. He walks over with her to the lodge.
‘I can’t thank you enough. I—’ He has his arms around her, holding her, and, for a moment she allows herself to rest against his solid body. God. So good to be held, so good to lose herself in strong, thick arms.
‘Goodbye Stephanie. I’m away fishing in the morning so I won’t see you again. But you’ll come back, won’t you?’
‘I’d like to.’
‘Make sure you do. You look after yourself, right?’
‘Okay.’
‘Take care, now. You’re a good woman, Stephanie.’
She’s not ready to sleep yet. She opens up the doors onto the terrace outside her room and steps outside. Below her, the waves are chopping up against the beach and the sea is oily and black that’s where she’ll be. Somewhere way out there. That’s where Ellie went as well.
It wasn’t that windy that night. I was on an over-nighter. If the wind had been that strong I’d have felt it.
Both Beth and Andy remembered that. The wind wasn’t strong the night Gracie was lost. So how did she get out? How could a four-year-old child open that great, heavy door?
The sweep of sky, the pinpoints of stars. She hears a door shut, watches as Holly walks below her across the path towards Andy’s, sees light beam out as the door opens and he draws her inside.
She steps back into her room and into the bathroom. She takes off her clothes, reaches up to the clothes rack for the T-shirt she wears to bed and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She straightens up, turning away from the image which gazes back at her.
Yesterday she had a massage. On the house Andy said there’s a masseuse comes twice a week. She lay on her stomach, her eyes closed feeling those hands on her, smoothing along her back, kneading out knots. Kind hands. Firm hands. Nobody touches me. The thought nagged at her like those fingers returning over and over to that spot just to the left of her spine.
She’s thirty-one and she’s never been in love. Never been loved and it might never happen, it doesn’t to everyone, love is not some basic human right available to anyone who wants it. It’s never been important to her before; she had her work.
It was never important to her but here in the dark on her own with the fume and urgent thrust of ocean below and no idea of what is ahead of her, it is. It is.
Nobody touches me. I’m thirty-one and nobody touches me. If I was lost, who would I grieve for? If I disappeared, who would care?
She’s up early, showered, dressed, her bag packed by eight. She gives her key to Holly, hugs her goodbye.
‘Come back, eh?’
‘I hope so. Thanks for everything.’
She has the map on the front seat beside her and she checks it as she drives. She finds her way onto the Gorge Road, stops at a café in Reefton for a coffee. There’s around four hours driving ahead of her. There’s no hurry as long as she gets there before it’s too late to comfortably find somewhere to stay. Another Merv’s, probably.
What if she just turned around and went back? A few more days at the lodge, walks on the beach, hot tubs, good food and wine. Then head back home. Back to work. Because, other than knowing he was headed this way some time ago, she has nothing to go on.
She checked out the College of Outdoor Pursuits on the internet. No Blacks listed among the staff members. So maybe there’s no point in going to Kaikoura at all. But then again, he may still be living there, might have shifted jobs. Or he might have taken another name. Maybe she’ll have to front up at this college and skulk about checking out every staff member who goes into the place.
It’s not like we’re living in a city where you have to keep your doors locked all the time, not like some bastard’s going to walk in off the street and take a wee girl out of her bed. Nothing like that could happen here.
Oh God, what is she doing? What is she doing? Andy’s a good man. Just as Dave is a good man. If she’s right, won’t this cause more suffering and bitterness? Your wife was having an affair with the young teacher you brought into your home and trusted. Ward Black, Ed Black took your child. How could she set that kind of devastation in motion?
The Lewis Pass. The signs on the side of the road warn sharp bends. She has her eyes fixed on the road, her hands fixed firmly to the steering wheel. There’s a logging truck in front of her, massive, swaying, the logs fastened with chains. She speeds up and passes when she gets to a passing lane, almost runs out of road. She’s sweating, feels shut in among all these towering, bulky trees packed so densely together. She takes one bend a little quickly, feels the car judder and slide slightly as she brakes.
But as she becomes more accustomed to the road she moves into the pace, the curve-sweep-curve, and starts to relax. She’s winding through beech forest, rivers down off the road and, in the distance, mountains with a hint of snow still on the tips. She pulls into the car park at a hotel surrounded by bush and follows a group of Japanese tourists along the path. There’s the hum of cicadas, sudden piercing trills of birdsong.
She buys a toasted sandwich and coffee from the bar and sits outside on the terrace. Steam rises up from the mineral pools below her; there’s a faint smell of sulphur. She picks up a brochure from the table, reads about the ‘healing qualities of the mineral springs’, the information assuring anyone who reads that the water is rich in minerals and has properties that will detoxify and soften the skin.
The sandwich is good, the coffee hot and strong. But it’s the place that holds her longer than she’d intended. The river, bush and mountains. She goes to the bar, asks for another coffee, takes it back to the table. What if she just stayed on, took the kitchen job advertised on the noticeboard and simply acquired another life? When’s the last time she did something impulsive? Why not just chill out, enjoy the six months she has? God knows she deserves it. Chances are she’ll never find him.
And even if she does, what then?
She picks up her bag, goes out to the car. Gets in, checks the map. Just over halfway there. She won’t stop again. Stopping’s too distracting. Too tempting. She starts up the engine, turns onto the main road.
She slows as she reaches the coast road and follows it into town. Seals down on the rocks, the sea broiling up oily green. The town’s busy, people and cars everywhere, and she parks along a side street. She has to find somewhere she can stay for a while, somewhere cheap. There’s motels and cottages dotted along the main road into town promising budget rates but what’s budget? Probably more than she can afford, anyway,
looking at them, and they’ve all got No Vacancy signs out. She walks along the road, finds the Visitor’s Centre sign.
‘I’m looking for somewhere to stay.’
‘There’s the bowls tournament on till next Saturday. I’ve got nothing right in town.’
‘But I’ve driven all the way from Westport. I don’t want to go on any further.’
The woman looks up sympathetically. ‘Tired, are you? Look, there’s Aline Wells. She’s got the B&B a bit out of town. I could give her a ring if you’re interested. Would a B&B suit you?’
She wants to ask if this Aline Wells charges a lot but she has to have somewhere to sleep. Even if it’s expensive she’ll go there tonight, think what else to do in the morning. ‘That would be fine.’
The woman picks up the phone. ‘How long would you want to stay?’
‘Oh, a night. Maybe two.’
‘Aline? I’ve got someone wants a bed. Just a couple of nights probably. A nice young woman. Oh, I see. Yes. Yes. Okay, I’ll ask her.’ She covers the mouthpiece. ‘She’s all full up. But she’s got a sleep-out she could let you have.’
‘Okay, I’ll take it.’
She’s in the car again. Head north, it’s up to your left off up the road you’ll see the sign. Vista’s Retreat. Aline Wells is at the door. Short curling grey hair, a floral dress, smiling; a tea-and-sympathy kind of woman. Stephanie has a sudden urge to throw herself into her arms, tell her everything, have her cluck soothingly, tell her it will all turn out fine.
‘I’ll show you where it is, love, then I’ll make a pot of tea. Come far? Oh, that’s quite a drive. I don’t usually let it out, used to be a shed until Don fixed it up, but when it’s an emergency.’
She follows her down a path to a tiny wooden square building with a small deck attached. Inside there’s the bench, a table and a chair, a wardrobe and a single bed covered with a pink quilt. It smells faintly musty.
‘There’s a heater over there if you get cold. Got it’s own wee bathroom through that door, see, and there’s a jug and a microwave on the bench.’ Aline is looking at her anxiously. ‘All right? I know it’s not much.’
‘It’s fine. Absolutely fine. Thanks for letting me have it. How much is it for a night?’
‘I’ll let you have it for $40. That’s with breakfast as well. If you want an evening meal let’s say $10 extra for that and you just need to let me know if you’re coming.’
‘That’s very reasonable.’
‘I do the B&B for the company more than anything else. I’m on my own now, you see, and it’s nice having a few guests from time to time. Are you having a wee holiday?’
‘I’ve got some time off. I thought I’d do a bit of a tour of the South Island.’
‘That’s nice. Much prefer it to the north, myself. Now while you get yourself unpacked I’ll put that cup of tea on.’
Stephanie sits on the bed. She should unpack. Though, really, what’s the point? There’s a high possibility she’ll only be here a couple of days. The only place she has to go on is this outdoors education place and if he’s not there there’ll be no point in hanging around.
There’s a tap at the door and Aline stands in the door frame. ‘I’ve brought you the cup of tea. Here’s the sheets as well.’
‘Thanks, Aline.’
‘You look a bit washed-out. Would you like dinner? There’s plenty.’
She can’t face it. The car park down the side of the house is full. She doesn’t want to walk into a room full of tourists and bowlers, make conversation, ask questions, pretend interest in strangers you’ve been bowling for thirty years? Wow, that’s amazing.
‘I’m fine for tonight,’ she says.
‘Well, if you’re sure. Breakfast’s between eight and nine-thirty. Fruit and cereal. Eggs and bacon if you want cooked.’
‘Thanks.’
She hovers at the door looking uncertain. ‘We’ll see you in the morning, then?’
She’s smiling politely yes please, thank you, thank you so much. She’s hungry and she hasn’t any food and she should drive back into town but she can’t, not yet anyway. She lies on the bed. Jesus. Is she going to spend the next six months of her life aimlessly driving up and down New Zealand in some sort of vague expectation that eventually she’ll come across Ed Black?
She closes her eyes, wakes sometime later in the dark and for a moment or two she can’t think where she possibly could be. There’s a howling, shrieking wind and the trees close to the sleep-out are knocking against the walls. She gets up, gropes around searching for a light switch, feels it with her fingers and the room is flooded with such bright, yellow-orange light that she’s momentarily dazzled.
She goes to the window. She can’t make out the main house in the darkness. There’s a clump of bushes in the way and nothing’s lighted. She hears a rattle of rain on the roof and there’s a thud and a blast of cold air as the door flies open and her heart jolts. She didn’t lock it. She’s on her own out here. Anyone could be around. She went to sleep and didn’t lock the door. She reaches for the handle but the door swings wildly outwards in the wind.
She steps out into the dark, grabs for the handle. The rain is lashing down, stinging her skin. She’s drenched and grappling with the door when she’s hit by the beaming lights of a large vehicle. It roars past, spraying up water, screeching to a standstill in the car park. She stands motionless, shocked, as the doors open and three men get out. One of them, the driver, opens up the boot, hands bags to the others. He looks up, his face half-lit, raises his hand towards her. She steps back into the cottage.
She’s freezing; the jeans and shirt she’s worn all day are soaked. She locks the door, makes sure the windows are closed, draws the curtains. Checks the time on the clock radio beside the bed. Eleven-thirty. Not that late, though it feels as if she’s slept through the night. She turns on the shower. The pipes rattle and water trickles out in a feeble stream then gushes full force and steaming. She stands under it until she’s warmed through, pulls on her T-shirt and huddles under the duvet.
28.
Kaikoura, 2001
‘Ted,’ she calls into the darkness. ‘Ted.’
When it’s dark enough, when Rosie’s stopped whining and settled down, she runs out into the night, her body feeling wild and weightless. Her feet are bare. She wears nothing but her nightie. Down the track, through the gate. Out.
‘Ted,’ she calls. ‘Ted.’
He doesn’t answer and she whirls about trying to make out the shape of him in the dark. She turns her body, twisting her head, peering into the shadows and he comes up behind her like he always does and clamps his hands over her breasts and his mouth is rough on her neck. She swivels around to face him, pulls his head close grinding her mouth onto his. He coils her nightie up in his hands, yanks it over her head. She feels the harsh cotton of his shirt against her skin. His teeth are on her shoulder and then he lifts her, shoves her up against a tree, she feels the bark grating against her back, her legs are clamped around him, he’s pounding into her and she’s laughing.
You are the best.
She leaves her nightie right out there in the bush and runs back into the house.
He had a couple of Yanks to take out. He’ll be gone at least until tomorrow, maybe another two nights, sometimes he’s away nearly a week. Rosie’s asleep. She’s a sound sleeper, thank Christ.
Cold tonight. Getting on towards winter. In a month or so she’ll be freezing her arse off out there. She’s shivering and she slugs back a shot of his whisky, then another big one and crawls into bed. She burrows down under the duvet. She can smell Ted on her, feel the sting of his teeth and fingernails on her skin.
She wakes with a start, shocked by the lights blazing in through the window. It’s the truck right up against the bedroom and she sits up not taking it in properly, not understanding, because he bursts in through the glass doors with Rosie in his arms and Rosie’s screaming, screaming her head off the man the man Daddy the man.
&
nbsp; What the—? Jesus, what the hell?
She stumbles up out of the bed and then remembers. She’s naked and she stinks. He stares at her like he’s stunned, like he can’t quite believe what he sees. Then he runs his eyes over her body as if curious, checking her out. He’s holding Rosie tightly, rocking her ssh ssh Daddy’s here, it’s a dream, you’ve had a bad dream and he lightly crosses the room with her in his arms and she hears him moving up the passage, hears the bed creak slightly as he eases Rosie into it and sits down beside her.
It’s all right, it’s all right, it’s a dream, Rosie, just a dream. Nan will be here tomorrow, darling. It’s all right it’s all right it’s all right.
She lurches into the bathroom, turns on the taps, cups water in her hands, splashes it over her face, cleans her teeth. She picks up a towel, holds it under the water and scrubs with it over her body and between her legs. She pulls on pyjamas and a robe, ties the cord tightly around her waist, brushes her hair.
He’s sitting at the table with a drink in his hand. He doesn’t look at her. ‘I’m getting Mum in tomorrow. I want you out by the time she gets here.’
‘I was asleep. I don’t even know what happened. You can’t just—’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘But. Where was Rosie? What happened?’
‘Rosie was out there on her own.’
‘She must have had a nightmare. She must have. It’s not my fault.’
‘I’m telling you to leave.’
‘You can’t just throw me out. I’ve got nowhere to go and—’
‘In the morning. I’ll take Rosie into town for breakfast and you get yourself out.’
‘But we. It’s been good. You said that. I had a drink, just one drink, okay? I was asleep. I didn’t hear her, Dan.’
He stands up, moves close to where she’s standing. He’s a big man and he looms over her. ‘I saw you,’ he says. ‘I saw you and I smelt you. By ten o’clock tomorrow you’ll be packed and out. I don’t want to see you or talk to you again so don’t forget that, Patsy.
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