by Marita Smith
“Can I borrow these?” Catherine held out a pair of faded jeans, a grey tee and an oversized flannel shirt. It was Robyn’s favourite one, a thick blue flannel she’d found at a vintage place in Canberra. She nodded, pleased.
“The bathroom is at the end of the corridor.” The bedsprings creaked as Robyn jumped to her feet. “You can leave your bag here,” she added as Catherine made to grab her satchel. “I think we’ll have to share anyway.”
Catherine turned sharply at the wardrobe and Robyn felt her cheeks grow hot.
“The room,” Robyn clarified with a limp hand. “I’ve got a decent camp bed.” Her face burned.
“Thanks.” Catherine disappeared with a smirk.
There was goat’s cheese in the fridge, sealed in oil. Robyn sniffed it tentatively before adding it to the platter of fresh salad and flat bread. The vegetable garden had been a mess, overrun with nasturtiums and fat hen, but it still flourished somehow, lettuce forcing its way through the weedy net.
“Smells good.” Catherine came around the corner, head tilted as she combed her long hair. Robyn stared. Catherine looked incredible. A strange tingle ran through Robyn’s spine. She looked away, feeling guilty for no real reason. Get a grip, Robyn.
Catherine flipped her hair over her shoulder, sending a hint of tea tree and sandalwood wafting in the air. You smell good, too, Robyn thought. “Just a few things from the pantry. We’ll have to stock up if we’re planning on staying here a while.” Hating how her voice was slightly too high, she brought the platter over to the table. Kate pounced from out of nowhere, stacking a plate high before bounding off.
“Setting up the tech,” Kate mumbled over a mouthful. “Kara’s gone to get Terence.” She disappeared down the corridor, leaving Robyn very much alone with Catherine. Nice-looking, lovely-smelling Catherine.
Catherine loaded up her plate. She closed her eyes as she took the first mouthful. “God, I’m hungry.” Her eyelashes fluttered as she chewed.
Robyn turned to her own plate and focused on chewing in a lady-like manner. She’d had too many nights on her own, slurping noodles with Tarantino for company. Her mother would be appalled to know how low her eating etiquette had slumped.
“They look good on you. The clothes, I mean.” Smooth, Robyn. She felt her cheeks burn for the second time. No doubt Catherine would think her a freak.
Catherine smiled. “Thanks. You’ve got good taste.” She thumbed the collar of the flannel shirt. “Vintage?”
Robyn flushed. “Yeah, though not in a fancy way.”
“Fancy’s overrated.” Catherine forked up a slice of purple carrot. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”
Robyn ducked her head. “Thank the twins.”
Catherine reached for more salad, spooning out some diced kohlrabi. “If you hadn’t come to Montreal, I wouldn’t have had a clue. This one’s on you, Robyn. So thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Robyn squirmed under Catherine’s steady gaze.
When they’d finished eating, Catherine stacked their plates and placed them on the bench.
“Can I bake something? If everyone’s arriving soon, I thought …”
Robyn steered her to the drawer of home-milled flours and watched Catherine’s eyes light up in delight.
“Go crazy.” Robyn flopped onto one of the couches. She was just going to close her eyes for a few seconds.
Sydney was bright, with voluminous blue skies that penetrated even the tinted bus windows. Terence wanted to drink it all in. The city gave way to green hills rolling down to the sea, a hint of Wales in the sheer cliffs and pounding surf. So far from home but surrounded by familiar landscapes, he imagined Bry and Val hiking here, Bry no doubt penning another geological guide as they went. Glaciation and mudstone, fossilised history in the rock. Only now his Dad would be solo.
Terence rested his cheek on the warm glass and closed his eyes.
Too soon, Ariana pushed him awake. “We’re here.”
Terence pushed himself away from the bus window and rubbed his eyes. Ariana stood in the aisle with her backpack already over her shoulders. There was no sign of the pet carrier, but a slick nose peeped out from Ariana’s jacket. Glancing at his watch, he was shocked to see he’d slept for hours.
“Cobalt Valley, right?” Ariana had her hands on her hips now. The driver popped a soft drink can open. Terence heard the clink and rush of bubbles. At least, he hoped it was soft drink and not beer. He’d read some disturbing papers on casual alcoholism in Australia.
“Yeah.” Terence clambered to his feet and snagged his duffel bag. Thirsty, he eyed the can in the driver’s stubby fingers with longing. Just lemonade.
The doors snapped at his ankles like a demon as Terence stepped onto the pavement, the bus peeling away with a splutter of exhaust. Terence rolled his shoulders and yawned. They’d been dumped opposite a picturesque mechanic’s station with ancient-looking pumps. The main street petered out after sixty or so metres, a cluster of buildings huddled together on each side as if for warmth.
A yellow four-wheel drive slowed toward them, puttering to a stop. “I think this is our ride,” said Ariana. Jericho perched on the crown of her head as she leaned into the gutter.
A woman shielded her eyes against the glare. “Terence and Ariana?” The engine let out a low whine and the woman slapped the dashboard in disgust. “That’s enough from you,” she growled.
Ariana wrenched open the passenger door. “I’ll ride shotgun,” she said over her shoulder to Terence. She turned to the driver. “Hey, I’m Ariana.”
The woman nodded. “Kara. Thanks for making the trek out here.”
Terence scrambled into the back as Kara revved the engine. The whine petered out to a tinny whistle. The mysterious Kara now had a face; in fact she was scrutinising him in the rear-view mirror. Terence wasn’t sure what he’d imagined, but she looked far too normal to be procuring fake passports and thwarting international plots.
Books and piles of clothes filled the back seat. Terence clutched his duffel bag to his chest as boxes shifted against his calves.
“Sorry about the mess. I’ve batched a bunch of errands with this trip into town. We’re a bit out of the way.”
Terence blinked and almost missed the main strip as they zoomed out past lush pastures dotted with dairy cows. The fields eventually gave way to dense forest. Out of the way. Right.
“There are only a few permitted residences out here.” Kara raised her voice over the rumble of the engine. “And no-one for hundreds of kilometres toward the Great Dividing Range. Nice and isolated.”
Terence tried not to think about the psychopaths who would love that description. He’d watched two documentaries on the plane – one on the serial killers speckled across Australia’s vast wild spaces, the other on the multitude of animals capable of killing him. He almost wished he’d stuck to the vapid fluff on offer on the main channel.
He studied the back of Kara’s head instead, her dark hair bouncing with each new bump in the road. He hadn’t noticed the change from bitumen to rough compacted dirt, but the going was tougher now. Kara slowed and turned left into a dusty red driveway, and they jiggled their way down a rutted road, forest creeping in on both sides, vines reaching out like tentacles. Now he understood the need for the four-wheel drive. He could almost feel his teeth moving around. Kara pulled into a clearing in front of a sloped mound lined with solar panels. Terence squinted, unsure why they were stopping but glad that the four years he’d spent shackled with braces wasn’t about to be undone. Then he realised – it wasn’t a hill, it was a building.
“An earthship,” Ariana said in the front, face plastered to the window. Terence smiled. She’d tried to convince Bry to build one last summer, but their father had just laughed. They’d built the yurt instead, from lean stripped saplings and waterproof canvas. Ariana loved it.
“Yeah
,” Kara replied. “Pretty cool, huh?”
Ariana leapt to the ground, tugging her backpack with her. “Car tyres and earth, right?”
“Yup. All plastered over with lime render. Completely off-grid and nigh untraceable.” Kara opened the rear door and grinned at Terence as she grabbed a stack of books. He glanced at their spines. Zoology, mythology, chromatography. Quite the collection.
“Come on, you’ve got to meet everyone. My sister, Kate, is going to go nuts over your lizard.” Kara was already halfway to the earthship. Terence clambered out, pulling his duffel coat to his chest.
A door set into the grassy hill opened and people spilled out. A petite girl with pink hair, holding a keyboard and screwdriver. A dark-haired woman in jeans and a tee.
“Oh my God, is that what I think it is?” The girl with pink hair started forward, the circuitry on the stripped-down keyboard glinting in the sun. Terence’s hand flew up to shade his eyes. Just as well. The last person out the door was a tall, blonde woman. A vision. Terence inhaled.
Kate waved the keyboard. “I freaking love amphibians.”
Ariana held out her arm and Jericho skittered across onto Kate’s hand. Kate stifled a scream of excitement.
The other two women came over. Terence tried to straighten his button-down shirt, realising he hadn’t looked in a mirror in over eighteen hours. He was bound to be a disaster, his cowlick living up to its namesake.
Kate pointed. “That’s Robyn and Catherine.”
Catherine. Such a beautiful name.
It was cool inside the building, and not dark like he’d imagined. Bracelets jingled on Catherine’s wrist as she brought over a tray of scones and a crock of butter. Terence smelled date and ginger, maybe coconut. He wondered if Catherine had made them, found himself hoping she had. A common language.
“So,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “Hi.”
Catherine smiled, pulling apart a scone and buttering it before passing the plate to him. “Thanks,” he said. The jet lag felt like a physical force, extra gravity pushing him into the couch. The scone melted in his mouth as he sank down further into the worn fabric.
Catherine spoke first. “God, it feels so weird to be here.” She placed a scone on Robyn’s plate. “And your sister …”
Terence nodded, eyeing Ariana out on the grass with Kate. Jericho leapt between them, spiralling in the air like a corkscrew. His sister, somehow caught up in all of this.
Robyn jiggled her knee as Terence talked, stifling a yawn. An hour. She’d have slept longer if Catherine hadn’t shaken her awake and thrust a mug of tea under her nose. It felt strangely normal, Catherine knowing her way around the kitchen. Robyn studied Terence. Tall like Catherine, with tousled dark hair and thick glasses. He hadn’t been freaked out by the house yet, either. Neither the wood burner nor the compost toilet had spooked him. Maybe they were all freaks. Heartened, Robyn closed her eyes. Catherine smelled like coconut and buckwheat flour now, the same wholesome embrace of the food co-op. It was nice.
Robyn stared at the steam rising from the scone on her plate. She blinked, not sure when it had appeared. Unbuttered, the way she liked it. When she looked up, Catherine had tilted her body in her direction and Terence looked at her expectantly. What did they call it? Imposter syndrome. Robyn shuddered. I’m not qualified for this.
“Sorry, what were you saying?”
“This thing, we have to call it something,” Terence said. “The unique bonds … it’s like an extreme symbiosis …”
“Convergence,” Robyn supplied. She’d been thinking about it too. The word popped unbidden into her mind.
Catherine swallowed a mouthful. “Convergence. I like it.”
Robyn took a bite of her scone. It melted in her mouth and a faint moan escaped her lips. Catherine smiled into the lip of her mug.
Derek. Derek would hate the farm, Robyn was sure of it.
Kara leaned in and snagged a scone from the pile. “Robyn, can I talk to you for a minute?”
Robyn nodded. Terence and Catherine started talking about gene loci and the sequencing they’d need to do. So much work. She felt her shoulders sag under the weight of it all.
Kara left a floury trail to the studio. “What do you think?”
The easel was folded up against the wall, her mother’s paints stacked in a crate. Two huge monitors sat on the paint-splattered bench, a wicked-looking hard drive connected by a bulky umbilical cord of wires.
“It’s different,” managed Robyn. Her mother would have a fit if she saw it. “The internet connection –”
“All up and running. Finally.” Kate swivelled on the chair to face them. “We’re useful again.”
Kara finished her scone, leaving white prints on her shirt where she wiped her hands. Kate narrowed her eyes at her sister. “Where’s mine?”
Kara froze. “Crap.”
Kate rolled her eyes and let out a theatrical sigh. “Gotta do everything yourself around here.” She shoved past Kara and headed into the hallway.
Kara dropped into one of the chairs at the bench. “I don’t get why you’re embarrassed about this place. It’s awesome.”
Robyn flicked a glance back to the couches down the hall. She heard Catherine’s voice as Kate complimented her on the scones, her laugh high and lilting.
“Not embarrassed, exactly. You were right. It’s precisely what we need right now.”
Kara grinned when Robyn turned back to her.
“What?” Robyn ran her fingers through her hair.
Kara raised her eyebrows. “Nothing. Now scoot. We’ll see if we can get a handle on what Fang is doing in Beijing. You go science it up.”
Robyn paused in the doorway. “We’re good, right?”
Kara rolled her eyes. “Yes, we’re good. Don’t worry, I’ll always have your back.”
17
Spirit World
A small boat pulled in to the fishing harbour in the crisp dawn. The trawler sounded a horn and nudged the dock, rope spooling out like wet intestines and landing heavily on the planks. An elderly man peered into the fog from the shore, fishing rod held in mittened hands. The bucket by his side brimmed with fish.
The young lads couldn’t be assed to get up before dawn, but that was when the fish were good and ready. He couldn’t sleep through anymore. The 2am piss signalled the end of peaceful slumber and he figured he might as well be on the rocks than tossing under his scratchy wool blanket. It was stained now the missus was gone, the bottles under the laundry sink a gaudy, repulsive, floral mess. He simply sloshed a cocktail into the machine these days. Still, the blanket was a comfort on the damp rock platform, tucked over his knees as if he were an invalid.
He yawned, reaching for the thermos of black coffee, already rank from sitting too long, judging by the smell. There was movement on the dock. Heavy crates, muffled voices. The thermos slipped from his grip, sending a deluge of brown liquid onto his lap. For a moment he didn’t feel it as his eyes strained for another glimpse. No.
The coffee soaked through, hit his crotch. He jumped up in pain, hips creaking in protest.
It must have been a trick of the light. Not enough sleep. He bent down to retrieve the thermos.
Imagine, a bear striding off the landing plank. Ridiculous. He shook out the blanket, eyeing the seeping diameter of the stain. He’d have to read the labels on those bloody bottles to get rid of this one.
Fletcher liked it here. It was so green, the forest stretching for miles. Different smells, unusual animals. Wombats deep in subterranean tunnels, kangaroos mowing pastures, feral cats stalking unwitting birds. Thoughts seeped in and out of his mind like the tide. He was getting better at compartmentalising, being able to dip in and snag one thread of consciousness or skim across the whole wavering frequency. He wondered if it was all part of some greater frequency. Maybe he’d ask Robyn a
bout it.
He flopped down onto his back. The thick cushiony grass was a welcome relief after the cramped confines of the ship. He stretched out, feeling his back pop. The air was sweet and clear, punctuated by the gentle burbling progress of the stream. Fletcher swallowed thickly at the memory of the diesel fumes that had seemed to permeate everything on board. Eva had hated it too, her mind thrumming with discontent and leaving him edgy and restless. Too much time to think; it had been a long few days.
It hadn’t seemed to bother Derek, who just laid on his bunk or paced the stern. The older boy had stayed quiet, never started a conversation. Maybe he had a lot on his mind. It had royally sucked.
Fletcher wriggled his toes and dug them into the grass. He was far enough from the earthship that no-one could find him to make him wash up or peel potatoes. Robyn’s farm was weird – no dishwasher, a cupboard full of jars with benign labels like ‘marmalade’ and ‘preserved apricots’ that looked like old museum specimens preserved in formaldehyde.
He closed his eyes and listened to the stream and the rustle of leaves far above him. The lazy push and pull of his mind with Eva’s was hypnotic. He cocked an eye when he heard footsteps crunch through the leaves, peering over Eva’s shoulder. Ariana.
Fletcher pushed himself upright. He’d only been here a day, while Ariana had already been here nearly three. Fletcher had barely seen her. He’d slept the whole first day and Eva had pulled him out of bed this morning; he’d skittered around the bag of dirt-crusted potatoes with a peeler balanced on top and made a beeline for the outdoors.
“Hi,” Fletcher said. “Ariana, right?” His skin felt too hot all of a sudden. He didn’t talk to girls at school. He’d always figured that when he made first string in the basketball team they’d come talk to him. Now that was never going to happen. He was going to have to come up with a new plan.