by Nicole Hayes
‘See, you say “fabulous”, but your voice …’
‘I’m glad it’s over. For sure.’
‘Is something wrong?’
The pause was overlong. ‘Just the olds. Nothing new.’
‘What are they doing?’
‘Banging on. Endlessly banging on.’
‘About …?’
He let out a long sigh. ‘The usual.’
‘Yeah, I wouldn’t know about that.’ She looked up as her mum wandered through the living room, and felt the heat in her cheeks. Things were closer to ‘the usual’ than they’d ever been. Still, there was that watchful distance, and she wondered if, had they been normal, Nick would be the sort of thing they’d talk about as mother and daughter.
Ellen grinned knowingly at Tessa, who looked away to study the sandal strap around her ankle, the faint crease in her skin where the narrow strap had striped it pink. She tucked her finger in against her foot and tried to rub it smooth.
‘I guess. Your mum seems good, though. Yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ she said quietly, resisting the urge to add ‘so far’.
Ellen disappeared into the laundry and returned with a basket of clean washing. She plonked herself on the couch opposite and started folding and sorting, her face a picture of concentration as she attempted to do the impossible and find a pair in the pile of socks.
Tessa stood up and headed for the kitchen, lowering her voice. ‘Can I ask a favour, Nick?’
‘Sure.’
‘I need to go into Beringal first – pick up drycleaning. Come with me?’ She started putting away the dishes, collecting one piece at a time from the dish rack.
‘I thought you were coming here?’
She held a glass up to the light, saw it was smeared and set it back on the sink. ‘Can we do this first?’
‘Sure.’ She could hear the disappointment, but he cleared his throat and added, ‘Of course.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Tessa?’
‘Yeah?’ She stood still at his tone.
‘I …’ The phone crackled and she didn’t know if the silence was his or the signal wavering.
‘Nick – are you there?’
‘Yeah. I’m here.’
Tessa felt the shift in his voice and straightened. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes. I just … I want to see you.’
Tessa leant against the fridge, felt the cool on her back. How was this possible? All of these moments … Each one building from the other, growing into something larger than herself. It was almost too much. And yet she was greedy for it, gulping it all down.
‘I want to see you too,’ she said simply, her heart a rocket in her chest.
The path leads to a wide ledge, opening up the view of the other side of the mountain. The landscape is so different there, like a whole other country. Where beneath them it’s dense with bush and scrub, further round it’s sparser. As though someone has taken an enormous paintbrush and swept a wide arc across the top. Tall, withered gum trees blackened from tip to base, dotted with the hopeful, fragile shoots of regrowth, as green as grass. The bushfire from two summers before must’ve come through here quickly, carving its devastating path.
How random, the way fires choose one direction and not another. Tessa has been living in the area long enough to know that it’s mostly about wind and fuel loadings. Those brutal northerly winds that tear through the town every summer, bringing the equatorial heat with them, bouncing off the mountains, and the hot, dry roads, the parched landscape, the stretches of flat desert north of them, form the perfect storm. In seconds, a whole tree alight; in minutes, an entire mountain. Or half of it.
Tessa scans the blackened swathe. The whole area is off limits to the public now, and the trails dividing it have been cut off for the past eighteen months while they repave the road and rebuild the park facilities. They won’t find anyone that way, not even by chance. But the other direction – the green, vibrant, living landscape – is riven with rocky outcrops and large, impassible tracks of stone and granite. She can’t see the river anymore. The cliff drops off below, disappearing into a thick wood that stretches as far as the eye can see. Will they be able to force their way out?
Her eyes follow the sloping black, aware that their chance of survival would be somewhere between slim and none if a fire swept through today. The smell, though absent for the moment, is as sure as the pain in her shoulder.
They have to change direction. They can’t make it down from this ledge. The drop is too steep and the path they’ve followed trails off. Either they head away from the river or go back the way they came. Whatever they decide, it’ll take longer.
She scans the mountain opposite and sees the smoke. Thicker now, still distant, but not distant enough.
Nick stands beside her, his gaze following hers. ‘That’s not good.’
Panic is clawing at Tessa’s belly and her hands are shaking. ‘Define good.’
‘Um, the opposite of this?’
‘At least we know where it is.’ She looks at Nick, daring him to argue, every fibre of her being trained on holding it together even as it screams at her to let go.
Nick doesn’t respond for a long minute, then there’s the barest nod. ‘So now what?’
‘God. Can you sit still?’ The brush hovered over Yuki’s hair, the electric-blue dye glistening in the light. ‘For once, Yuki, sit entirely still.’ Tessa stuck the end of the brush in her teeth, felt blindly for the comb and attempted – again – to separate Yuki’s hair into measured chunks.
Yuki ignored her, belting out the second verse of ‘My Immortal’, strangling the upper register with abandon.
‘Seriously, Yuke.’
‘I’m practising.’
‘But Evanescence? Do they even exist anymore?’
‘It’s a classic. Shows off my range.’
‘Maybe wait till we’re done here?’ She paused, unable to resist. ‘And you’ve left my house?’
‘You don’t know talent when you hear it.’
‘That’s probably true,’ Tessa conceded, catching her fingers in a segment of Yuki’s hair, tugging on it awkwardly.
‘Ouch!’
‘Sorry.’ Tessa eased her grip. ‘Better?’
‘No!’
But Yuki stayed put, and Tessa was able to part the twelve segments evenly enough to return to applying blue streaks. They’d had to bleach them first, for the dye to take to her rich black hair, so now she was two-toned, or three, if you counted the single blue streak Tessa had already painted.
‘How much longer?’ Yuki moaned, lifting her feet to rest on the edge of their small bath.
‘Hold still. Oops! Sorry.’
‘Jesus.’
‘We’re almost there.’
‘How many have you done?’
Tessa bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. ‘One? I’ve done the hard bit – really.’
Yuki wailed. ‘This is your idea of helping? I should’ve just waited for Mum.’
Tessa was shaking with laughter now. ‘And surrender this precious girl time?’
‘You’re enjoying this a little too much,’ Yuki sniffed.
‘How could you possibly say that?’ Tessa said, grinning. ‘Besides, Mia would be driving you crazy, and you’d end up here complaining about her anyway.’
Yuki shrugged. ‘She’s cute but annoying.’
‘Like her big sister.’
‘Are we done yet?’
‘Not even close.’ Tessa sighed. ‘Okay – take a second, get comfortable and we’ll go again.’
Yuki straightened her back, stretched her neck left then right, as though having just finished a yoga class, then settled into the chair Tessa had set out by the bathroom mirror. ‘Okay. I’m ready. Again.’
Tessa took a segment and spread it across her palm. She thought about the many times her mum would do her hair, trying to tame the ‘ridiculous curls’, as her gran used to call them. But her mum would persist, training the wis
ps to sit flat, or flatter at least, knowing they’d fly loose again as soon as the wind got hold of her, or the rain or air. Just breathing seemed enough to set it free. ‘Like wildfire,’ her mum used to say.
‘So Lara’s known Nick for a while?’
‘Yes, Tessa. They’re old friends.’ Yuki’s voice like a pre-school teacher talking to a three-year-old.
‘She’s really pretty, isn’t she?’
‘If you like that sort of thing.’
‘She doesn’t look real,’ Tessa continued, ignoring Yuki. ‘She even has adorable freckles.’
‘You have freckles.’
‘Hers look like they were painted by Matisse. Mine look like someone vomited on me.’
Yuki sighed. ‘She’s really nice.’
‘I know.’ Tessa held her breath, chose another segment of hair. ‘Nick and Lara dated.’
‘For, like, a minute.’
‘Still.’
‘Jesus. It’s like you want to screw things up!’
‘I don’t. I’m just …’
‘He adores you. It’s irritating and inconvenient and makes my stomach crawl, but he does. And – god, it pains me to say it – he’s a good guy. You should just be –’
‘Happy?’
‘Yes – happy. It’s okay, you know? To feel good? It’s going to be all right, Tess.’
‘What is?’
‘All of it.’
Tessa looked at Yuki in the mirror and met that steady gaze, the confident lift of her chin, and wondered if she, Tessa, would ever feel like that. And what it would take to get there. She smiled and nodded. ‘Okay.’
They head back the way they came, forking off some way along to risk the alternate route. They walk for more than an hour. The path that’s barely a path ends at a small clearing, and they stop. It’s so quiet, so empty among the rocks and the trees, like they’re a thousand miles from anything. They could be the only people on the planet, and Tessa feels a kind of falling, a plunging, at the idea.
Focus.
She sniffs. Is it fainter? Sharper? She can’t tell. It doesn’t matter. There’s only one way to go.
They continue on, across the clearing, into thick bush, away from the river, their fear and urgency increasing as they go, Nick’s laboured gait and Tessa’s arm, now a familiar throbbing ache, fighting against them. The pain jars with each step, screams at her to stop, but she can’t. They can’t. The dense growth surrounding them closes in. If they get caught here, they’re dead. No question.
They pick up speed, haul their broken bodies as fast as they can under the relentless heat of the sun.
They reach a drop-off and scan the area for easier access to the next level. There’s no path, just gaps in the thinning bush, but it seems to close up not far ahead and Tessa isn’t sure they can force their way through.
They edge along the drop-off, continuing away from the river for a time until Tessa spies an opening where the scrub thins and the gradient of the land is more gentle, and they head towards it.
After what feels like days but is only a couple of hours, Tessa notices Nick lagging behind. They’ve slowed immeasurably, and the land has again become more difficult to navigate. They’re both feeling it.
‘Let’s take a minute,’ she says, though it galls her to stop. The day has been so still and quiet, but every now and then she feels a breeze tug at her hair. For an instant she welcomes it, then remembers why it’s a problem.
She does her best to scan the area in front of them. The river is no longer in sight; she’s working off memory and, she’s almost afraid to admit, hope. She can feel Nick’s eyes on her.
‘Are we going the right way?’
‘Yes.’
He tilts his head.
‘I think so.’
‘Listen, I –’
‘Not now.’ She can feel the wave of fear tug and pull her from all directions. ‘Not now.’
Nick searches her face, the set of his jaw the only sign of protest.
‘Please,’ she whispers.
His fingers like a breeze against her cheek, light as air. ‘Okay.’
The road into Beringal was wide and straight, bathed in the glaring afternoon sun. The dry, stalky grass at the edge of the road was yellow and overgrown. Tessa stretched her legs in the passenger footwell, leant against the seatback and watched the countryside slip past them. Memories of family drives rushed in. Visiting Gran and the Frasers meant all the best things – picnics at the beach, camping in tents, sleepovers at Yuki’s. The drive there always seemed impossibly long, nothing but the occasional car passing or evidence of roadkill – a kangaroo, usually, or sometimes a wombat. Once an echidna. The radio would dip in and out, reception fading when they rounded corners or climbed higher into the mountains. Window wound down, hot air blowing in her face. The murmurs of her mum and dad in the front seat, those secret bubbles of conversation rich with deep-throated chuckles, dotted with the lilting rise of her mum’s smiling observations, and backward glances at Tessa. The smell of burning car vinyl. The feel of the sticky seat under her legs, sun on her skin. Happy and relaxed like they had their whole lives to get there. Like it never had to end.
And when they’d arrive in Carrima, Gran would pile on the food – light sponges or dense, oversweet Madeira cakes, and scones topped with strawberry jam and fresh whipped cream. There were long hours with the Frasers: Doug cooking, Keiko entertaining them with stories of Japan or how she and Doug met in a small bar in Roppongi. Laughing anecdotes about Yuki’s school concert, or the ballet studio’s end-of-year performance. In that last year, before the Gilhams had moved to Carrima, Yuki had begged Tessa to perform in one of her ‘original’ plays, a scene from a story they knew but with characters stolen from other books or movies and the ending changed. The sound of their parents clapping wildly, Yuki taking her bows with grand, sweeping gestures, the feel of warm summer night against her skin, the sweet smell of marshmallows and Japanese mochi in the wind. Laughter everywhere.
Then Gran died, and they moved to her house in Carrima and her dad got sick. It felt like it happened all at once, though it took some months. Still. Those nights stopped completely, and she couldn’t remember seeing her dad laugh properly like that again.
Tessa rubbed her eyes, pushing the image from her mind, angry with herself for letting those memories ruin this moment. She looked at Nick concentrating on the road ahead and resolved not to let the past poison the present any longer.
They collected Ellen’s drycleaning first, hanging the gunmetal-grey business suit on the hook in the back of Nick’s car, the overlong garment bag bundled on the seat, smelling of cleaning solvent and plastic.
‘Now what?’ Nick said, locking the car.
A soft smile crept across Tessa’s face. ‘Now let’s go shopping.’
‘Seriously?’
She took his hand, relishing the idea that she, Tessa Gilham, could do this so freely – could take Nick Kostas’s hand and lead him down the Beringal main street. She squeezed his fingers. ‘I promise it won’t be as bad as you think.’
Nick slid his arm across her shoulders, pulling her closer, their strides almost matching. ‘I don’t care,’ he said, his lips brushing her forehead gently, absently, as though this were the most normal thing in the world for them to do.
Because it is.
‘In here,’ she said, stopping outside the art supplies shop, feeling like an eight-year-old on Christmas Day.
It was the smell that struck her first, a flood of memories as confusing and chaotic as the shop. Reassuring somehow. Beringal was the nearest town to Naroondah Estate, a famous artists’ retreat on the coast, and The Art of Art was the go-to shop for their supplies. It had everything. More than Tessa could ever need. Possibly the only shop in the whole district that could be described that way – the area too sparsely populated to justify a proper department store, or any of the chain hardware, liquor or discount stores. One small shopping strip with a couple of pubs and a string of family
-run businesses was about all Beringal had to offer. And The Art of Art. But compared to Carrima, it was a virtual metropolis.
Tessa breathed in the smells, separating them out in her mind: lead, turpentine, oil paint and varnish. Maybe clay too? Even the thought of these things was enough to generate ideas in her mind.
She led Nick to the paints section: tubes in pigeonholes in order of colour, shade, hue. Watercolours on one wall, oils on the other, acrylics and pastels clustered together in the corner. She scanned the displays, seeing all kinds of images form with each new shade, each combination. She could have stayed there for hours, taking it all in, but she remembered she wasn’t alone. She smiled at Nick. ‘My kind of shopping.’
‘Lara told me about the painting. That it was really good,’ Nick said.
Tessa felt a prickle. ‘Did she?’
Nick entwined his fingers in hers. ‘Yeah. Said the whole class just stopped to look.’
Tessa felt the familiar blush, but she didn’t look away this time. ‘I don’t know about the whole class …’
‘Lara was very specific. Said Ms Alessandro made a big deal out of it too.’
Tessa shrugged, a mixture of pleasure at the idea and also discomfort. She wanted to ask about Lara – to understand Nick and Lara’s friendship – but she bit down on her questions and squinted at the boxes. The coloured caps were in a rough order based on material and use. The longer she looked at them, the more they leapt out at her, these colours, and formed themselves into things she longed to capture. Red as ripe and virulent as a beating heart. The cerulean blue of a clear Australian sky. The burnt gold of a vast and empty desert. The palest orange, like the flesh of an unripe apricot. They called to her, begged her to give them form. She could have stood there all day. ‘I can see it,’ she said, trying to give this feeling words. ‘The shape of them. The possibilities.’
Nick smiled. ‘I don’t get it.’ But it didn’t sound like criticism. It sounded like admiration. He traced her cheek with his fingers, the silence full between them.
She felt a heady rush, the sense of something enormous hurtling towards her. Was she even breathing?