‘You gave me a fright.’ She flung her arms around me, then, stepping back, said, ‘You look ravishing.’ The word, ravishing, and the way she said it, rolling the ‘r’ and pouting her lips, took me back to the night of her party when she’d acted so strangely with me. She was wearing a black evening gown and patent heels which had both been her mother’s. Around her neck, she wore a diamond choker, which threw droplets of purplish-red light across the hand paintings on the wall. Her face was radiant.
‘Would you like some champagne, darling?’ Her eyes lingered over the exposed strip of my stomach, my rubied belly-button.
‘Sure.’ I felt ill at ease around this new, sexually experienced Hollie. She pulled a bottle from the ice, wiping down its sides with a linen napkin, and popped the cork with an expert twist. And all the time, my mind was flicking between the Hollie I was seeing and the Hollie I had seen on the floor of the cave, muslin skirts gathered to her waist, long legs twisted around his muddied body.
‘Where’s Danny?’ I asked as she poured into two crystal flutes.
‘He’ll be here soon.’ She handed me a glass. I took a sip. Hollie looked at me, her head to one side. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘Nothing.’ I smiled. A single bead of sweat slipped down my spine. ‘Just how lovely you look.’ And she did, but once I’d said it I felt myself falling again, like Alice chasing the white rabbit down the hole. And, here I was in the cave, with my head nearly touching the ceiling, a grown-up Alice with strange new desires stirring inside me.
Blushing, Hollie held her glass aloft. ‘To my noble Oberon.’
‘To my darling Titania, Queen of the Fairies,’ I said, adding, ‘and to Danny.’
‘Yes.’ Her eyes darted towards the entrance of the cave, then back to me. ‘To Lord Danny, Bravest Warrior of the Night.’
We chinked. Hollie sipped daintily, holding the stem of the glass in her fingers. I guzzled mine down and lowered my head, taking in the rich, lurid colours of the food. For dessert, there were three bowls of sugar-dusted strawberries, cherries and plums and a turret of whipped cream. I bent down and stole a strawberry.
‘Put that back.’ Hollie shook a finger at me, but I popped the strawberry in my mouth. ‘They’re meant for later,’ she said, coming up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She was wearing a new perfume which made me at once light-headed and aroused. I turned around and kissed her. Her lips were cool and cherry-scented. She pressed herself to me and I cupped her face and held it, the fragile jaw, the smooth polished cheeks.
‘What’s that?’ Hollie drew back from me. The sound of male voices was coming from outside. The taste of strawberry soured on my tongue. They were coming closer, their voices clear on the windless night. There were two of them.
‘Where the fuck is it?’ one was saying.
‘Don’t ask me.’
‘This is shit. It’s too dark. Here, give us the lighter.’
‘You’ve got it.’
‘No, I don’t, dickhead.’
‘The police,’ whispered Hollie. She was shaking, her eyes wide with terror.
‘Yeah. The bastards.’ There was no point in telling her the truth of who it was. Scott and Bomber. They sounded drunk and stoned shitless. Before, I’d thought it was just stupid macho talk, but now I knew it wasn’t. Before, I could have done something, warned someone, but not now. Seconds passed, Hollie tense and clinging to me. From outside, came the whiff of pot. Their voices drifted away until there was silence, except the distant rumble of burban parties. Now, there was nothing I could do but wait and pray they didn’t find him. It was nine-thirty and Danny still hadn’t showed. I poured us two more glasses and stared at the untouched oysters. Hollie nibbled on some fish-spawn. I sculled my drink, set the glass down and crawled towards the entrance of the cave. I couldn’t stand it any longer. Perhaps Scott would listen to me. Perhaps I could talk him out of it.
‘Where are you going?’ Hollie looked up in alarm.
‘Outside,’ I said. ‘For some fresh air.’
‘I’ll come, too.’
‘No. You wait here.’
But before Hollie could protest there were footsteps coming closer again, then stopping right outside the cave. They must have heard us, our voices carrying on the still night air. A giant shadow fell across the entrance. I clutched Hollie’s hand and pulled her with me behind the egg rock where we crouched rigid. They were crawling inside and there was a scraping sound, like a stick being dragged over rock. Hollie whimpered. I pressed my hand to her mouth and peered out from the rock. Danny was clambering towards us with his spear. Its bloodied tip gleamed in the candlelight and a dead possum hung around his neck.
‘It’s alright. It’s Danny,’ I said, amazed that he hadn’t run into Scott and Bomber. Hollie leapt up, ecstatic to see he had evaded the cops. He was in full aborigine mode, his naked body covered head to toe with mud and decorated with chalk markings. He wore bush turkey feathers around his wrists and ankles. When he saw us, standing like two glamour pusses with our glasses of bubbly, he grinned, the whites of his eyes luminous in the shadows, and stood up straight, letting the dead animal slump in a heap. Hollie nudged it away from the food with the toe of her stiletto.
‘We’ve been so worried about you.’ She ruffled his filthy hair and kissed him on the lips. Danny swung her about in his arms and pashed her. I looked away, not sure how to behave in front of them. Hollie laughed, her face aglow as he set her down.
‘Look, Danny,’ she said. ‘Rosie has joined us.’
I waved, feeling a bit third leg.
‘Me hunting,’ Danny boomed, and thumped his blood-streaked chest. He stood with the spear by his side, one leg bent with the sole of his foot resting against his kneecap.
Hollie chided, suddenly sombre, ‘You know the police have just been here, right outside.’
Danny scampered over to the dead possum. ‘Revenge is sweet for those with innocent hearts but for souls tarnished with bitterness, revenge is doomed to fail.’ I looked up and he caught my eye. He knew Bomber and Scott were out there, waiting for him, but Hollie had no idea what he was talking about.
‘I’ll put on some hardcore,’ I said. It was coming up to ten, time to get our strange little party revved. I whipped out the Wagner and put on one of Trish’s CDs, low so that the cops – so that Scott and Bomber – wouldn’t hear.
Danny was crouched, intent over his kill. Lulled by the hardcore vibing up through the floor, I lay belly down on the sheet, my heels kicking to the beats. Hollie sat on a cushion, sipping her champagne, as I watched Danny go to work, tipsily engrossed by his antics. Using a small blade, he skinned the possum carcass. Then he slit the belly, stuck his hand inside and scooped out the glistening guts. It made my stomach flip but I was fascinated by the deftness of his hands. I took a slug to calm my squeamishness while he rammed his spear, arse to neck, skewering the carcass like a pig on a spit. He built a tepee of twigs and dried leaves, and twirled a stick between his palms, the end drilled into another horizontal stick, until it smouldered. He blew on it, gently and then, a few minutes later, there was a fire. Cradling the spear in y-shaped branches at either end, Danny suspended the possum over the flames.
‘What about Hollie’s food?’ I said.
‘It’s no good,’ he said, scrunching up his face.
‘I heard that!’ exclaimed Hollie, pretending to be offended, as Danny and I laughed. It wasn’t long before Danny lifted the spear from the fire and began tearing off stringy sections of the blackened meat with his fingers, ripping into the carcass like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, stuffing it greedily into his mouth.
‘What’s it taste like?’ I asked.
‘Delicious,’ he said, gob full. He passed over a strip of charred flesh. I grabbed the meat from his grubby fingers and took a small bite. The overriding taste was of charcoal but it wasn’t bad – a greasy, slightly stringy version of crispy duck. I polished off my bit, washing it down with some champagne.
‘More?’ said Danny-Dilly, offering me another bit.
‘Nah, I’m OK.’
‘You’re both disgusting!’ Hollie stood over us, appalled.
Danny hooted. I laughed. She looked so funny when she was angry. I slugged some more champers, spilling it down the front of my top. Danny snatched the bottle and choked it back. The hardcore was quietly peaking. The rocks softly boomed, the walls gently shook with bass. I crawled over and turned it up, one more incy notch.
‘They’ll hear us,’ Hollie hissed.
‘Fuck ’em!’ I screamed. The drink fired in my veins. I jumped up and raved around the fire.
‘Yeah, fuck ’em,’ said Danny. He leapt to his feet and joined me, kicking up dirt and stamping, waving his arms around, chanting and clapping just like when we were kids playing aborigines.
‘C’mon, Hollie! Dance with us!’ I yelled.
I grabbed her by the waist, spinning her around and pashing her so deep and luscious with tongue she forgot about being haughty and joined in the corroboree. Danny wore the bloody possum skin on his head. We all held hands and danced around the fire, singing and chanting and drinking. After a while, it got so hot I had to strip off to my undies. Hollie did the same, getting down to her white bra and knickers. Mixing some bottled water with orangey dirt, I painted Hollie’s legs and arms and tummy with tribal stripes and zig-zags. She did the same for me; cool, pasty fingers spiralling my breasts, wriggly lines across my stomach, dots and dashes up the fronts of my thighs. God, it felt nice.
It seemed like hours went by as our shadows grew long and skinny. The candles burned low and the light dimmed to an eerie yellow, but still we didn’t stop. Our bodies ran with sweat. Our tribal markings melted away. The mud which had covered Danny from head to foot dissolved leaving streaky patches on his pale skin. As the hardcore ended, we could hear the whiz-bang of New Year’s fireworks exploding on top of Mount Coot-tha, echoing back and forth across the valley, and closer, down in burbia, BrisVegans hooting and carrying on.
‘It’s midnight!’ I screamed.
I scrambled over to crank the tunes but when I turned back, Danny had Hollie pinned against the hand-painting wall and they were pashing like lovers. He pressed into her, his hands clamped around her shoulders, his dark hair shrouding her face. Hollie’s body shuddered with desire. I swallowed hard. Crouched in the lengthening shadows, I watched them. A sharp yearning flared in me and I wanted to go to them, to be a part of it. It had always been a game with Hollie and me. Made-up names. Fantasy scenarios. Lord and ladies and pink champagne. But this wasn’t a game. Hollie’s undies were smeared with mud from Danny rubbing against her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw me and understood. She beckoned me over with a little tilt of her head. Danny was looking across at me, too. They were waiting for me. But something held me back. I slid down against the cool rock, pressing my palms into the soft ochre.
Hollie blinked and turned back to Danny. They sank, their bodies melting into the earth. She lay on the ground, her lids lightly closed, her hair fanned out behind her while he roamed over her, peeling off her underwear, rubbing his grubby hands over her small breasts, down her ribcage, clasping her feet, kissing her toes. My eyes ached with it all: her paper-white skin; his body, taut and bony, stained with the blood of his kill.
And when he entered her, I gasped. Rankness kicked in me but I banished it away, ashamed. I stared into the fire. But when, a few seconds later, she cried out, her toes scrunched in the dirt, my resistance crumbled and I crawled over, slithering up between them. I clung to her, biting at her lips, her tongue. She kissed me, while, with soft, muddy fingers, Danny pulled off my undies. I rolled over to face him and twined my fingers in his hair. He pulled me closer and our mouths locked. Hollie nestled along the length of my spine, kissing the back of my neck. I lay down flat in the dirt. Danny climbed on top of me. His body was warm, dank-smelling of charcoal and leaves and old earth. I closed my eyes and inhaled him, drawing him deep into me, and then I was falling and coming, falling and coming, as the ground beneath me dissolved away to nothing.
Afterwards, we lay in the dirt. My head rested on Danny’s stomach. Hollie was beside me, our legs entwined, her cheek pressed against my breast. From the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, I could tell she was sleeping. The last candle died and the embers from Danny’s fire cast a deep, red glow.
‘Danny?’ I whispered. ‘Are you awake?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are we bad?’
‘No.’ He was rubbing his fingers up and down the ridge of my scar. It felt nice, the warmth from his fingertips spreading through my body. We lay in silence. I listened to the gurgling of Danny’s belly, digesting possum.
‘It wasn’t your fault, you know, what happened to Matty Taylor.’
Danny stiffened. I sat up, lifting Hollie’s head off my chest. She stirred, a little murmur, and rolled away, into the pinkish dust. Danny sat up on his haunches. He closed his eyes and let his head snap back. The skin under his chin was pure white. He levelled me with his gaze, his eyes black and cold and bottomless.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
The fire flickered, then ebbed away. Darkness seeped in around us. The embers sat heavy, silent, listening. I looked up at the roof of the cave and imagined a million evil eyes staring down at me from the crevices.
‘Danny-Dilly,’ I whispered.
‘What?’
‘I’m scared.’
‘There’s nothing to be scared of.’
In the darkness, I could hardly see him when his voice came to me: small, disembodied, strange. ‘Let me tell you a story.’
‘What story?’
‘A story the spirits told me,’ he said, solemnly. He paused, poking his spear amongst the dying coals. ‘One day the three youngest children of the tribe were playing in the cave when some evil spirits came and sniffed them out. The evil spirits had the power to imitate voices and they started calling out in the voices of their mothers and grandmothers, saying they should go home because the hunters had returned with a big kill. But the good spirits, who lived in the rocks of the cave, realized the children were in great danger and warned them to stay put until the evil spirits went away. Night fell and the children lay down and slept together on the floor of the cave. Although they were frightened they trusted the good spirits to keep them safe.
‘By the third day the children were thirsty and hungry and yet the evil spirits still lingered outside the cave. That night, the rocks trembled as the good spirits called out for help across the land. But, sensing a battle, the evil spirits did the same. Weak and starving, the children could hear the hum of the evil spirits buzzing around outside the cave. They clung to each other with fear. If they opened their eyes, they could see the yellow eyes of the evil spirits peering through the cracks in the cave. No matter what the good spirits said to soothe them, they were terrified. The children had a bad feeling that the good spirits would be outnumbered. So, they made a secret pact. If the good spirits were losing, they would hold their breath until they died. Anything was better than being ripped apart by evil spirits who would gobble their livers and munch their bones and use their teeth for decoration.
‘All night the children stayed awake listening to the battle raging around them. At first, it sounded like the good spirits were winning but then the evil spirits fought back with roars and snarls and the sounds of ripping flesh. As dawn broke, the good spirits’ powers were weakening. The roar of the evil spirits was deafening and the children decided it was time to hold their breath. So, the three children held their breath and died.’
Danny stopped. I could hear him breathing. The slightest breeze blew from outside, tickling my shoulders. Hollie stirred. She sat up on her elbows, rubbing her eyes.
‘But less than a second after they died, the heavens opened and the rain came down washing the evil spirits away. The children had mistaken the roar of thunder for the sound of the evil spirits winning. When the good spirits returned to the rocks of
the cave, they looked down upon the children and thought they were just sleeping. “Wake up, children,” they said. “The evil spirits have been washed away by the storm we called for you.” But the children were dead and the rocks of the cave shook and heaved as the good spirits mourned their parting, imitating the wails of their mothers and their grandmothers.’
I felt like crying. It was a beautiful story.
Hollie whispered in my ear, ‘It’s not true. He made it up.’ She sighed and went back to sleep. Danny came towards me. He was holding something cradled in both hands which he then set on top of the egg rock. He knelt before it, tears carving white streaks down his dirty face. It was the baby skull.
‘Danny?’ I said. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘They’re calling me.’
‘Who?’
‘The spirits. They want me. Can’t you hear them?’
‘You’re imagining things. Come to sleep.’
But he stood up and paced around the cave.
‘Don’t go outside,’ I mumbled, only half-aware in my sleepiness of a vague dread, a muted fear. ‘It’s dark.’ I rolled onto my side with my arms tucked up for a pillow and watched Danny, stomping through the dead embers, back and forth, back and forth, chanting under his breath. I called out once more for him to lie down with us, but he didn’t seem to hear me.
I woke with a start, bolt upright. I didn’t know where I was but then I looked down and there was Hollie, asleep, her arms around my middle. We were both naked. My head was pounding and my mouth was dry as dirt. I checked my watch. It was seven thirty-two on New Year’s Day morning. In less than six hours I was meant to be on a plane to London. I glanced around for Danny but he wasn’t in the cave.
The Dark Part of Me Page 22