About Lonely Girl
This voice is something else, it belongs to her as surely as the things in this room do.
It’s one thing Ana has always known about herself.
She can be cruel.
In the shadow of a mountain in small-town Tasmania, a woman named Ana is watching the clock, marking the days until she ends her life.
The strange, reclusive daughter of the local pariah, that’s how people will remember her, when they remember her at all. No one will mourn her, she reasons, not really. Not even her faithful dog River. The only thing she’s waiting for is the opportunity.
But then, on the very day she planned to end it all, the police find the body of local woman Rebecca Marsden. And for Ana, that changes everything. Because Ana was the last person to see Rebecca alive. Because Ana thinks she knows who killed her. And because Ana has decided to keep him for herself…
‘Lonely Girl is dark, disturbing and utterly compelling. Lynne Vincent McCarthy has created a unique protagonist in Ana, and an atmospheric story that will keep you reading long into the night. I can’t wait to read more.’ Emma Viskic
CONTENTS
Cover
About Lonely Girl
Dedication
Epilogue
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Acknowledgements
About Lynne Vincent McCarthy
Copyright page
For Jim
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
Sylvia Plath
He followed the track by the river. Feet guided by sound. Her skin cool against his. The night inky black around them.
He remembered the darkness choking him. The harsh embrace of the water haunting his every step.
He knew he had to let her go but he couldn’t. Not like that.
He remembered leaving her there, sleeping. Curled up under a tree.
Her scent on him still.
After that, he remembered nothing.
ONE
Her old black dog sits where she left him on the bank of the river, camouflaged against a backdrop of dense forest. One paw asserts guardianship over the backpack on the ground by his side, while his well-chewed ball, dropped at the shoreline, lies forgotten. He stares intently out at the water, eyes alert. Searching.
In a sudden movement the dog stands, body stiff with attention. He’s spotted something.
Small ripples disturb the perfection of the upturned world painted on the flat metallic surface. The dog barks once, the sound echoing out across the river. Ears pricked, he waits, but the only reply is the soft lapping of the water meeting the shore.
In the shallows, following the motion of the turning tide, tendrils of her hair float into view. A hand just beneath the surface, pale fingers adrift.
Surrounded by dark water, Ana’s body, shrouded in a loose singlet, turns slowly in the current. Pale and lifeless. One arm anchored in the long reeds.
Under the weight of the water, the forest sounds are as muted as the refracted light, but the distant echo of the dog’s now frantic barking finds its way down through the opaque flow.
A small bubble escapes her mouth, rising to pop on the surface. Her eyes open. Through the water, clouds move across the sky above. It’s another world. Like looking up through a skylight. Almost peaceful.
Until it’s not.
Ana’s body convulses, shattering the stillness of her watery grave. Fear crosses her face as she tugs at her arm, trying to free herself from the clutch of the reeds. Ripping herself away, Ana breaks through the surface and stands, waist deep, water streaming off stinging flesh. Hunched over, she pulls in deep draughts of air and wades quickly to shore where the dog now paces, his sharp barks splintering the air around them.
‘It’s okay, River, I’m here.’
River, an Australian kelpie, more like his wild ancestor the dingo than a domestic pet, meets her at the water’s edge, stiff gait giving away his advanced age. Silenced by her presence, he licks the beads of moisture from her legs as she struggles to calm her breathing. She focuses on the familiar rasp of his tongue on her skin until she returns to solid ground. Ana crouches to his level, cradling the grey shadow of his muzzle in her hands, gazing into cloudy brown eyes. Eyes she can both lose and find herself in.
‘I’m here.’
Pulling his warm body close, she looks back at the river, lips stiff with cold, fine hairs on her arms standing on end, pricking at every inch of her skin. She rubs at her arm where a crisscross of faint welts has formed from the sharp edges of the reeds.
She went out there, into the cold, because she wanted to know what it might feel like to be close to death. Now every nerve in her body is screaming with life. It hurts.
Ana shrugs off her wet singlet and grabs dry clothes from the backpack, pulling sweat pants and a heavy old jumper over clammy skin. River keenly follows her every move, scrambling for his ball as she slips her feet into an old pair of sneakers and picks up the rest of her belongings.
They move off together. Ana glances back just once, clutched by that eerie sensation of someone walking over her grave.
The river continues its quiet exhale, as the girl and her dog slip away through the curtain of forest, leaving only the imprint of their footsteps in the mud as evidence of their presence.
TWO
On the outskirts of Hobart, Tasmania – a place already teetering on the edge of the world – a hulking mountain broods over the industrial town below. Encircled by forest, it casts a broad squat shadow across the valley, a constant visual reminder to its inhabitants of their smallness. Not an unpleasant reminder. Simply an observable fact.
It’s early autumn and a light mist shrouds the tops of the tallest trees. On the moss-heavy ground, dappled sunlight flickers through verdant foliage. There’s a chill in the air that the pale autumn rays cannot touch.
Ana drifts through the trees with River, who is still carrying the ball in his mouth. The two stay close, bonded within the silent bubble of their morning walk. Movements perfectly aligned – her pace attuned to his – life in slow motion.
Ana steps lightly, like a young deer, acutely aware of her surroundings, senses like antennae feeling the vibrations, the textures, all
around her. The wet crunch of dead leaves under her feet. The scurry of tiny creatures disrupted by their passing. The watchful presence of the trees towering over them. The same trees that under cover of darkness will crack their limbs and lurch into the night. When there’ll be no one there to witness it. Even now Ana sometimes wakes in the dark and listens for them, out there in the forest surrounding her house. The mysterious creaks and groans of their ancient language for her ears only. It’s part of a story her grandmother used to tell, intended to stop Ana wandering at night, but it never scared her. Peering out her bedroom window, scanning for moving shadows in the dark, she only ever felt comfort and a kind of kinship. She knows what it feels like to be a creature that can only emerge when no one is watching.
River’s nose picks up a tempting smell and he drops the ball to investigate. Ana stops with him and patiently waits, watching his intense focus as he channels every bit of his energy into the savouring of his one still faithful sense. Not for the first time she envies his total immersion in a single small moment. His joy in the little things. Through him those small things have been her joy too.
The wind lifts her hair and she glances up, captured by the rolling wave-like motion of the canopy above. A shiver runs through her body. The cold embrace of the water hasn’t left her yet. A distant part of her still submerged. The river refusing to let her go, even though her flirtation with it has passed for now.
A faint echo of voices pulls Ana firmly back to earth. Laughter. She scans the terrain. She can’t tell where it came from but River heard it too. Someone is out there.
River stares up at her, eyes shining. Waiting for her sign. Ana knows she shouldn’t but he looks so alive. So like he did when he was young. He needs this. She needs it.
She grins as she squats, fingers digging into the damp earth, smearing it across her face like camouflage or war paint.
River wags his tail furiously, head-butting her shoulder in excitement. Waiting for the words he knows are coming.
She teases him, eyes locked onto his, drawing it out for as long as she can, delighting in his anticipation. Finally she gives the command.
‘Check it out.’
With a yelp he scoots off. Ana snatches up his ball and follows. She moves covertly, her body swift and low to the ground, sure feet easily navigating fallen branches in her path. Like the dog, she comes to life, giving herself over to pure physical sensation. No longer entirely human, she shadows River as he moves in and out of her sight. Hunting.
For a brief moment she is transported back to her childhood, revelling in the simple animal pleasure of running with her dog. Eyes full of the surrounding forest. A kaleidoscope of rushing green …
Ana pulls up abruptly, lungs burning from the cold air. She’s spotted River ahead, standing still, his whole body alert. The soft hum of voices reaches her but it’s the pungent smell that alerts her to the proximity of their prey.
She creeps closer, taking cover in the shadow of a huge tree as she peers through the gloom. Just a few more steps and she would have broken through the tree line and been exposed.
On the far side of a clearing, lit up in a stray patch of sunlight, two teenage boys lean close together, sharing a joint.
At first she’s disappointed. Ana has shared the forest with truant kids before and spent many hours doing the same throughout her own school years. She avoided them back then and still avoids them now – the urge to conform, to fit in, branding them even more than the identical school uniforms – but as she lingers she senses something different about these two. There’s an unmistakable air of intimacy that’s confirmed when the taller one leans closer and gently blows smoke into his friend’s mouth. Their youthful bodies are alive with the presence of the other.
Ana breathes in the heady but still innocent aroma of their connection, filling herself with them from a distance.
The inaudible murmur of their conversation floats across the clearing and she shifts position to get within earshot. She’s only taken a couple of steps when it happens …
The kiss.
It’s their first, Ana is sure of it. She holds her breath as she witnesses their tentative grappling morph into something more sure, feeling the pleasurable warmth of their appetite for each other reaching out for her, spreading its way up through her body. She gets no time to savour it before they break apart. Flushed with awkwardness and laughing like six year olds, they scramble in the dirt, almost knocking heads in their haste to retrieve the fallen joint. To suck back the last of it.
The moment is over and Ana immediately returns her focus to River, intending to start the trek home, but he is no longer by her side. Ana looks around but can’t spot him anywhere. She sends out a low whisper, ‘River?’
The silence that comes back pushes her into full-blown panic. Something is wrong, she knows it.
‘River!’ she calls, stepping out into the open.
‘Fuck!’ The word reaches Ana’s ears as the tall boy tosses the butt back in the dirt and buries it with his boot. The other just stands there staring across the clearing, the look on his face betraying his fear of exposure, not knowing that Ana’s fear is much greater than his.
For a split second she sees herself through his eyes – a crazy woman with a dirty face. Like some abominable forest creature. If only he knew.
She wants to reassure him, to let them know no one has done anything wrong here. Not them. Not her. But the boys have already grabbed their bags and are scurrying off down the walking track.
In their wake, Ana moves quickly, eyes scanning for River as she skirts around the edges of the clearing, until finally she spots him. He’s fallen into a shallow ditch and is struggling to pull himself out, legs caked in mud, vainly scrambling for purchase. The sight almost undoes Ana but then her capable hands are on his body, carefully lifting him up and setting him on his feet.
‘It’s okay, boy, I’ve got you.’
She can feel his distress through her fingers as he stands there rigid, with no energy left to even shake off the mud. He takes a tentative step but then stops dead. One of his back legs is lame.
River’s eyes find hers and Ana’s world stops. She stands there as rigid as her dog, fighting the panic, trying to empty her mind of it. To focus on what needs to be done.
You should have been watching him, not them …
Ana glances back the way they came. They’ve wandered further than she intended and even though River’s body is more slight than it used to be it’s still a long way to carry a 15-kilogram dog. She zeroes in on that – the simple practical problem of getting him home.
Ana crouches and leans her head briefly against River’s.
‘Hey, buddy, we can do this. Let’s take it slowly.’
She walks a few steps, willing him to follow, but River isn’t moving.
Ana feels the fear but doesn’t let it in. He’s hurt his leg, that’s all. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that. Not yet.
She scoops him into her arms and starts back the way they came.
THREE
The old house blends almost seamlessly into the bordering forest, its once sharp edges softened by wild weather and years of neglect. It’s not exactly camouflaged but, like its solitary occupant, rests comfortably in the natural environment, its isolation ensuring it belongs more to the wilderness around it than to the small town at the foot of the mountain.
The front door hangs open, forgotten by Ana in her haste to transport River down the long bare hallway to his day bed in the corner of the kitchen at the very back of the house.
He lies there now, his familiar old man snore enveloping Ana, who sits at the heavy wooden table in the heart of the sparse but functional room. Mud still smeared across her face. A half-eaten bowl of muesli in front of her. Fingers absently tracing the pattern of marks and fissures on the surface of the table.
It’s the same table she hid under as a child, probably spending more time under it than sitting at it back then, sheltering
amid chair legs from the chaotic rain pelting down from her mother. An island in the midst of Ellen’s storms.
Ana has a sudden urge to crawl under it again and probably would if she could raise the energy to move. The twenty-seven-year-old grown-up she’s supposed to be has vacated, leaving the strange unloved child alone and floundering in her wake.
She would almost have preferred her mother to be physically violent but she never was, at least not intentionally. Not when she was sober. Instead she’d simply pretend Ana wasn’t there, no matter what she did or said.
It’s no wonder she ended up the way she did, stalking around the edges of other people’s lives, silent and unseen. It was her mother she first fixed on, well before Ana had any conscious awareness of what she was doing. When it was simply a means of survival. Pregnant at fifteen, Ellen wasn’t ready to be a parent to anyone and didn’t recognise herself in the squalling alien thing she had pushed painfully into the world, fighting her all the way. If she could have sent her back she would have. She tried hard enough in those first few months of her pregnancy, while she could still convince herself that it was just a parasite bloating her belly. It didn’t matter how many scalding baths she sat in or how much bad behaviour she indulged in, the thing inside her wasn’t going away.
Ana knows all this because her grandmother made sure she knew it. Made sure she knew her mother wasn’t worth loving.
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