Lonely Girl

by Lynne Vincent McCarthy

  This morning she had a sudden impulse to try on Kristy – perhaps it was seeing her applying lipstick yesterday – but just thinking about being Kristy proved too exhausting, especially on top of the lack of sleep. Before a single customer appeared she’d already dropped it. Only the forgotten smudge of red on her otherwise pale face remains as evidence of her intent.

  Thankfully it’s been quiet since then and she’s been able to spend the last hour or so rethinking her plan. It’s frustrating that the drugs she needs are right there in the cabinet but she can’t reach them and it hasn’t escaped her that if she had found a way to hang in there she would have completed her degree by now and have access to any drug she wanted. In retrospect, relying on the random deposits of people’s discards was also not the smartest move.

  If she hadn’t played it so safe when she had first done her research she might already have what she needs and wouldn’t have to involve Lenny or the shop. You can get most prescription drugs online for a price, including Nembutal – the barbiturate most used for illegal euthanasia. It’s what Ruth said she’d be using for River, which would have mirrored Ana’s experience to his. She liked the synergy of that but the chance of the package getting intercepted through customs had spooked her too much. Now it’s too late to go down that path, even if she was prepared to take the risk.

  Ana is startled out of her thoughts by a customer crashing in from the street. So much for her capsule keeping them out. He’s standing on the sensor, which is annoying enough, but even more so is the fact that he’s dripping all over the floor.

  ‘Do you sell umbrellas?’

  She’s going to have to get the mop out or someone will end up flat on their back.

  ‘Umbrella?’ he clearly repeats for the dummy, not bothering to hide his irritation.

  Ana mutely points to the stand by the door, wondering why he’s even bothering when he’s already soaked to the skin. He throws her another pissed-off look, as if it’s her fault he couldn’t see what was right in front of his face.

  He snatches up one of the generic black fold-ups and hurries to the counter where he slaps it down while digging into his coat pocket for his wallet.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Five dollars.’

  It’ll come apart with the first gust of wind but he can find that out for himself.

  It’s the rude pricks – as Lenny calls them – that are Ana’s preferred customer. Especially since Lenny gave her and Kristy free rein to mirror their behaviour straight back, so with them – man or woman – Ana doesn’t even have to try.

  Without a word of thanks he drips his way to the exit as Ana watches on, satisfied he’ll be cursing that umbrella before he gets to the end of the street.

  Shaking him off, she goes to collect the mop and bucket from their place near the back door and is there when she hears Lenny’s keys in the lock. Normally on his mornings off he comes down bang on her finish time but today he’s an hour early, which immediately has Ana on edge.

  Lenny looks as surprised as she does when he steps through the door to find her standing on the other side, as if waiting for his arrival. It doesn’t help that they’re in almost the same position they were when they kissed, only it’s Ana’s body now blocking the way to the shop.

  ‘How’s the morning been?’ He looks a little ragged, like he might have had a heavy drinking night.

  ‘Good. Quiet mostly.’

  Lenny raises an eyebrow, a mannerism that needs no translation – what’s good for Ana isn’t necessarily good for business. Ordinarily that’s something Lenny would manage to laugh or tease her about but not today.

  He’s looking at her strangely, eyes lingering on her mouth, and Ana remembers she’s still wearing the lipstick. She resists the urge to wipe it off on the back of her hand.

  Apologise, just tell him you freaked out.

  It should be easy, for most people it would be, but Ana can’t get the words out.

  ‘You’re early.’

  Lenny gazes back at her, his frustration clearly written on his face.

  ‘I’ve got some things I need to take care of back here … assuming that’s all right with you.’ Lenny has always been partial to sarcasm but it’s usually Kristy, or the rude pricks, on the receiving end, not Ana. Dismissed, she retreats back out into the shop where she pulls a tissue from her pocket and rubs the residue of Kristy off her mouth before she starts mopping up the trail of water leading from the counter to the entrance.

  She still hasn’t solved the problem of how to get into the cabinet. Even though she has keys for the shop and the code for the alarm she can’t just smash the glass. If she can get her hands on Lenny’s keys and return them before he realises they’re gone, then no crime will exist until the missing drugs are discovered. If she times it right it won’t matter by then. She’ll be gone.

  Ana turns back to the counter to find Lenny standing there and even though she knows he can’t read her mind she can still feel the guilty flush spread across her face.

  ‘Are we going to talk about it, Ana, or do you want to spend the whole week pretending it never happened?’ It comes out stilted and a bit superior, like the beginning of a speech he prepared earlier.

  Ana is way out of her comfort zone but then so is Lenny and she knows she can use that.

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just …’

  It’s not you, it’s me. Isn’t that what people say in these sorts of situations?

  Ana forces herself to meet his gaze. ‘It’s River.’

  Invoking River might be a cop-out but it works. She can see it in his face. The man who has been her friend would have already asked after River. He certainly wouldn’t be hitting her when she’s down.

  ‘Have you taken him to the vet?’

  Ana nods.

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘She said I should prepare myself …’

  Ana doesn’t have to fake anything now.

  ‘Tell me what I can do.’

  Finally, there it is, a glimpse of the Lenny she knows.

  ‘I don’t know, Lenny … I don’t even know what I’m going to do.’

  *

  Throughout the morning, Ana was too preoccupied with her criminal intent to think much about the couple but she’s been aware of them lurking there in the back of her mind. Now that she’s back on the road home they’re with her again.

  Rarely over the years has she become fixated on any one window into the lives of those around her, preferring to discover the unexpected, or take advantage of whatever stumbles into her path. Once she’s had her fill she’s usually keen to move on to her next fix but this one feels different. They feel different.

  She feels nowhere near done with them.

  Too edgy to go home Ana makes a detour, turning onto the winding road leading up the mountain, heading for the wide-open skies of the summit. Lenny must have been feeling guilty because he let her go early. River won’t be waiting for her yet, which gives her the grace of unexpected time.

  Halfway up she pulls her car into a small parking bay and climbs out, heading for the lonely tourist lookout jutting over a steep cliff face.

  Ana pulls in a deep breath as her eyes take in the valley below. In one direction is the town and in the other, linked by the river, the dense forest that leads to her home. The rain has passed now and the sun is doing its best to break through. The wind is doing its part, pushing the clouds further inland.

  It’s like that here, you never know when the weather will turn, good or bad, so you have to be prepared for anything. Winter, summer, it’s all the same. Right now it’s that in-between time, when it could go either way. Everything glistens like new, the tree trunks dark and textured, the air popping with freshness.

  Ana steps one foot up onto the bottom rail, and then another, leaning her hips into the cold metal barrier. Her hands skim the damp edges of railing as she leans as far out as she possibly can. She steadies herself before carefully unhooking one foot and then the oth
er until she is anchored only by the slight but perfectly balanced weight of her body. The wind is strong and unpredictable, forcing her to constantly adjust the small muscles in her core, fine-tuning her position as she hovers there above it all, sure of what she’s doing.

  She’s been here many times over the past months. Not always this exact spot but places like it. Testing the edge, seeing how close she can get to it. She likes the rush, the experience of balancing in the in-between, that the mountain gives her. She likes just as much the feeling of being in control of her own fate, even if it is only a momentary thing.

  There’s no reason to hurry today because there’s no River sitting in the car, ears pricked, watching her from behind the windscreen. She doesn’t have to judge the point at which he’ll start to get frantic like he did at the river. On the road below, she spots a car starting its ascent but there’s no need to hurry for that either. It’ll be a few minutes before it gets here and she wants to see how long she can last.

  In the end it’s not River, or the arrival of the car, that pulls her back onto solid ground but the faint sound of a siren. From her view above, Ana can see it coming in from the direction of Hobart. Her eyes follow the unmarked car’s passage through town, other cars veering to let it pass. It slows briefly at the intersection out of town before it turns off and disappears amongst the trees on the road leading to her house.

  *

  Ana hasn’t driven far when she spots the flashing lights of a marked police car pulled over onto the embankment ahead. Stopped on the other side of the road is the same vehicle she saw from the lookout, its lights also flashing. There are no other vehicles so whatever has happened, it’s recent and not yet public knowledge. Car accidents are not uncommon around here, young men mostly, hoons joy-riding, misjudging the damp surfaces.

  She slows as she approaches but both cars are empty and there’s no sign of anyone on the road. No skid marks either. It’s not a car accident.

  Ana brakes and winds her window down. Voices carry up from the river below the road. Whatever it is, it’s down there.

  Ana assumes someone’s dead, drowned most likely. The river has always been unpredictable in the rain. Banks give way and unseen hazards exist under its bloated surface. Last year a kid died, playing where kids shouldn’t be playing, and fishermen have been known to get into trouble.

  Ana feels again the clutching tangle of reeds wrapped around her arm and has a moment of déjà vu. It could be her down there, her body guarded for days now by the faithful dog who, despite the rain, would not have left the river’s edge until she emerged from the water, one way or another.

  Ana catches a glimpse of a uniformed policeman stepping up onto the embankment. The sound of her car must have brought him up but he doesn’t even bother to approach. A simple gesture tells her to move on.

  What is it they say? Nothing to see here.

  Whatever it is she’ll find out soon enough. Nothing stays hidden in this place for long.

  *

  In the dream Ana is trapped inside her house, the doors and windows sealed shut. There is no way out. Beyond the impenetrable glass of the living room window everything is normal, a picture perfect day. She is so frozen with panic that it takes a moment to realise River isn’t with her. She’s alone here, but she’s not. She can hear voices, people moving around her but she can’t see them. She’s a ghost and River’s gone.

  That’s when the wave comes, the muddy river water smashing hard against the window.

  Hard enough to wake her.

  Ana sits up on the couch, her hand automatically reaching for River, the dream already receding. She tries to rein it back in but it disappears to wherever it is that rogue dreams go.

  River is lying on the floor next to the couch, exactly where he was when Ana drifted off. She only meant to take a nap but can tell by the soupy light coming in from outside that the day is almost gone.

  She gets up and peers out the window but there’s nothing out of the ordinary in the sight she sees through the glass, despite the uneasy sensation twisting her guts.

  Since she was a child her dreams have been a reliable escape. A door into another world in which the Ana she felt burdened with could be reinvented. At times that world has been more real for her than this one. During the long days she’d look forward to disappearing into sleep and each morning she’d linger there, quickly jotting her dreams down while they were still fresh. She has books full of them hidden away in her bedside drawers, a weird and wonderful treasure trove, worthless to anyone except her. But since River got sick, small fragments are all that remain when she wakes. If the way she feels on waking is any indication she’s not sure she wants to recall any more than that.

  In the time she’s been standing there by the window night has been slowly falling, the world disappearing before her eyes. She always feels calmer when the night kicks in. Like the dark has the power to wipe everything clean – a biological restart.

  Dying will be like that, only without the restart.

  She waits for it to wash over her – the calm – wanting it to wipe her clean, but it doesn’t come. Has refused to come for a while now. She remains there, willing her body to relax, trying to remember what it was like when home still felt like a refuge. It was her grandmother’s parting gift. This house. Her shelter from the world.

  This albatross around your neck.

  The smallest sounds are suddenly too loud: the movement of the blind thumping softly against the window in the kitchen; the annoying flutter of a moth on the light shade in the hallway; the constant low hum of the globe. She hears it all now, the life of the house, like she’s in the belly of some great beast that has swallowed her whole.

  Ana turns away from the window, eyes seeking out the slow rise and fall of River’s breathing, trying to stop the white noise in her head.

  It usually works but not tonight.

  She liked the bar. Liked their visits to what she called ‘the wrong side of town’. It grounded her, she said, reminded her she was alive.

  For him it was different. Somewhere he’d been before and didn’t want to return. He went there because it was the only place she’d see him.

  She thought he was one of them and didn’t want anything to contradict that picture. She asked nothing about his life. About his wife. Didn’t know if he had kids, or even wanted them. He was a construct to her. Her creation.

  Her creature.

  He could feel it, the trouble they were barrelling full speed towards, but he was powerless to stop it. Nor did he want to.

  After that first time out there in the forest, all he knew was that he wanted it to keep happening. Even then he knew she would be the one dealing all the cards. All he could do was wait.

  It was weeks before she reached out to him again and then all he got was an anonymous text of a map with a single pin that led him to the bar. By that time she had become like a dream to him, which was exactly what she wanted.

  As if together they had somehow stepped into another dimension.

  The real world was still there but with each encounter it felt less substantial.

  EIGHT

  When she left the house Ana had intended to take a walk in the dark to clear her head. She took the big torch with her for that reason but instead of heading off on foot she got into her car. She knew exactly where she was headed but it was almost like she was driven by someone, or something, else.

  The carpark isn’t even half full but it’s early yet. As she stands there gazing at the empty space where the white van was, Ana becomes aware of it again – that creeping sensation of the couple under her skin. This time, she welcomes them.

  The only sign the van was ever there are the wheel indentations, which have collected small pools of muddy water from the rain. For a brief moment she imagines herself as the old woman she will never be, reminiscing on her life, wondering if the couple were ever real or part of a dream she couldn’t let go of.

  An eerie stillness settles
around her; the muffled hum of human activity at her back only makes it more pronounced. She can feel the pull of the music and turns to face the building. She stands there, summoning up courage, but only manages one step forward before the sound of approaching motorcycles stops her.

  Two bikers pull in close to the entrance.

  There’s nearly always a row of motorcycles pulled up outside when the bar is open. It’s a popular rest spot on the road for the bikers who cross the strait on the ferry from the mainland, lured to the island by the scenic rides. She’s heard Lenny talking about it with Henry. It’s how he and his wife first came here. He boasted that they’d once circled the whole of Tasmania in twenty-four hours, just because they had heard it could be done.

  The bikers throw Ana a curious look as they head towards the entrance. She must look strange, a still figure lurking amidst the cars in the inadequately lit carpark, like something out of one of Lenny’s horror movies. The music surges as the two disappear inside.

  It takes a moment for Ana’s mind to catch up with the rest of her, to realise she’s following them in. The panic almost takes hold but she doesn’t let herself falter until she’s pushed her way in through the door.

  Ana’s eyes quickly take in the room. She is completely out of place amongst the regular rough trade and is painfully aware that as the new arrival she’s the object of everyone’s attention. Thankfully, they lose interest quickly. It’s that kind of place. Questions aren’t asked and no one has to try too hard. She keeps her eyes down and makes her way over to a clear corner of the bar.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  Ana stares back at the barman, mute with shock. All she sees are the tousled strands of dark hair, so similar to the man in the van.

  ‘Vodka,’ she finally manages to squeak out.

  ‘Vodka what? Let me guess. Orange juice.’

  ‘Just vodka.’

  It’s Lenny’s preference though something about the fiery but clean taste has always appealed to her too.

  ‘Make it a double.’

  If she’s going to channel Lenny she may as well go all the way.

  The barman raises his eyebrows and pours two nips into a glass and puts it down in front of her, lips curling with amusement as he watches her take a small sip. He turns away to serve someone else and Ana sees the distinctive tattoos snaking out from under his T-shirt, down the full length of one arm. He’s not her man. His shoulders and arms were bare. No tattoos. She may have seen him only in fragments but she is sure of that.