The Coordinates of Loss

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘You feel what?’ the housekeeper asked, softly.

  ‘I feel excited! Really excited!’ She bounced in the chair and decided to ignore the pained expression on the woman’s face.

  ‘We need to keep steady.’ Cee-Cee spoke calmly. ‘We need to keep steady and we need to breathe slowly.’

  Rachel watched her head for the sink and gingerly opened up the computer, letting her fingers caress the keys that knew well the touch of her son as he scoured Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel in search of his beloved cartoons. She hesitated as the search-engine page sprang to life and she typed the word ‘Kelpie’ into the Google bar. Running her finger over the text, she read aloud: ‘Shape-shifting water spirit inhabiting the lochs and pools of Scotland. It has been described as a horse, but is able to adopt human form.’ She leaned closer to the screen and, squinting, she read on: ‘Narratives about the kelpie also serve a practical purpose in keeping children away from dangerous stretches of water.’

  She sat back and considered this, before typing ‘Mermaids’, and again reading aloud: ‘Mermaids are sometimes associated with perilous events such as floods, storms, shipwrecks and drownings.’ She felt the breath stutter in her throat and swallowed, leaning in again. ‘In other folk traditions they can be benevolent or beneficent, bestowing boons or falling in love with humans.’

  Cee-Cee walked behind her; Rachel turned in the chair. ‘Can you imagine anyone or anything not falling in love with Oscar if they met him?’

  The housekeeper smiled. ‘Well, as the Lord is my judge, I can say that it was certainly that way with me.’

  Rachel noted the tremble to the woman’s bottom lip. ‘That’s what I am talking about, Cee-Cee. This is why I am so excited!’

  James was a little late home.

  It was a whistling sunset with the tree frogs out in force, providing the Bermudian night music that had so enchanted them when they first arrived, but now was simply part of the background. Tonight, however, it was as if she heard it afresh.

  Cee-Cee had left a chicken curry in the pot on the oven, the cushions were plumped, floors swept and steamed and the lamps were switched on. The atmosphere was one of peace. Thankfully the rain had stopped and, as ever, the island seemed to glow in the aftermath of the downpour. Leaves were shiny, roads and buildings washed free of dust and the air smelled damp, earthy and full of promise that things might bloom.

  ‘Hey.’ His smile was hesitant but genuine. He looked around the room and she guessed he was trying to gauge the reason why she had left the refuge of the bedroom and balcony and was seated in the kitchen for the first time in as long as either of them could remember.

  ‘That rain was really something today.’

  ‘Yes. I got drenched,’ she added.

  ‘Woodlands Road has flooded again and apparently there has been some water damage in St George’s.’

  She nodded, trying to keep interest, but bursting with all the things she wanted to tell him.

  ‘How are you doing?’ he asked with caution, placing his backpack on the floor and slowly rolling up his shirtsleeves.

  ‘I’m good,’ she answered truthfully. ‘Really good!’

  ‘Really?’ He walked towards her, his relief palpable and his tone cautious. ‘That is wonderful news.’

  ‘Cee-Cee left you a curry.’

  ‘That’s great. Are you hungry?’ She was aware that they had not sat and eaten together since that night on the boat, the night before. . .

  Rachel shook her head and tucked the wisps of her long hair behind her ears, as she sat up straight. ‘Sit down, James.’

  He sat.

  ‘I need you to listen to me. Listen very carefully.’

  ‘Okay.’ He smiled at her.

  ‘I was sitting in the rain earlier and I saw something in the ocean and it got me thinking.’

  ‘Right.’ His smile faltered a little and he bit his bottom lip.

  ‘There are things in this world that we do not understand.’ She gesticulated with her hands, as if this might help enforce the point.

  His eyes scanned her face. ‘Yep, I guess there are.’

  She watched him knit his fingers and place his hands in his lap.

  ‘In olden times, people thought the earth was flat. They thought if they sailed far enough they would fall off the edge!’ she continued, with a slight smile playing about her lips. ‘But now we know that’s not true, we laugh at the idea.’

  He nodded, trying to follow. She sensed his unease.

  Get to the point, Rachel !

  ‘What I am saying, or trying to say, is that there are things we don’t understand right now that one day might seem very ordinary to us. And we should not discount those things.’

  ‘I’m not sure I am following.’ He scratched his scalp.

  She threw her head back and laughed. ‘Okay, things like kelpies, merpeople and giant sea turtles that can carry a person for hundreds and hundreds of miles across the ocean! Underwater cities! Atlantis! Air pockets inside ships where lost fishermen can live! There are legends and stories that persist and have persisted for hundreds of years! Now, don’t you think that’s interesting? I mean, if these things were to be discounted, then I think they would have been by now; but they are not. Stories keep cropping up all over the world – tales from fisherman who see things, experience things, and they know the ocean and all its secrets like no others.’ She sat forward, her words bubbling from her on a river of excitement. ‘There was this guy in Peru I read about who was lost overboard from a ship and his crew searched and searched until reluctantly they gave up; they had to go back to shore and tell his wife and family that he was lost! Can you imagine? They even had a funeral! A funeral, James!’ she stated, wide-eyed. ‘But then months later, he walked up a beach unscathed and he told them he had been living in an underwater cave, carried there by a giant sea turtle!’ She watched his mouth twist, but he stayed quiet. It was her cue to continue. ‘If anything had happened to Oscar, I would feel it.’ She held her chest. ‘I would. I am sure of it, James! But I don’t, I don’t. Instead, I believe he is being cared for by something we don’t understand!’ She cocked her head to one side and leaned towards him. ‘That’s what I think.’ She laid her hands flat on the table, as if in conclusion.

  There was a moment or two of silence while both allowed her suggestions to permeate. This was followed by his sudden and surprising gasp of sadness that seemed to start in his throat, as that was where he placed his hand, as if struggling for breath.

  His apparent distress took a little of the shine from her discovery; she had hoped that he might be as excited as her at all the possibilities.

  ‘Do you know what a kelpie is?’ she pushed, convinced that if she could make him understand, as she did, his sadness would be replaced with hope.

  James shifted back in his seat and held her gaze. ‘There’s no such thing,’ he whispered, squeezing his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘But, James, there are many tales of kelpies who can take on human form and—’

  ‘There is no such thing, Rachel,’ he interrupted, speaking a little louder, as he shook his head. ‘I wish there were . . .’

  ‘But, James, I have spent the day reading about—’

  ‘No!’ he yelled. ‘No! There is no such fucking thing! This has to stop! You have to stop or we are both going to sink under the weight of it! I am stretched so thin I think I might break!’

  ‘This is not about you!’ she countered. ‘It’s about the fact that our little boy might be out there somewhere.’

  ‘No!’ He stood and slammed the chair to the floor, kicking the table leg so hard it shifted from its position. He put his fingers in his hair, pacing, as he spoke. ‘No! That is not true, that is not the case. Oscar died. He died! He drowned, Rachel. He jumped off the boat or slipped from the boat or hit his head or whatever and he drowned and that is it!’ His voice cracked. ‘And as well as missing him, hurting for how he was lost, I am also going nuts tiptoeing
around you because you are so fragile! And I don’t know what you are going to come up with next.’

  She felt herself shrink in the chair, fear and a loss of reason lapping at her heels. ‘I . . . I can’t help it, I . . .’ she began.

  ‘I know, I know you can’t.’ He seemed to calm a little, as if this was what was required to make the progress he so desperately craved. ‘But I am so lonely, working so hard through my exhaustion and the truth is’ – he drew breath preparing himself to utter the words that he knew would cut, as surely as drawing a dagger from its sheath – ‘I can’t look at you. I don’t want to look at you. I’m able to distract myself with one million small things during the busy day, but the very second I step back through the door, just the sight of you drags me back to that moment with you staring at me from the cockpit of the boat, and me with two mugs of coffee in my hands with absolutely no idea how everything, everything was about to turn to dust! My whole life and everything I thought I could rely on slipped through my fingers in a matter of minutes! I will never forget the expression on your face. I see it all the time and I can’t stand it and I can’t stand that it is you, my Rachel, who I feel this way about.’

  Your Rachel has gone. She left on that boat with Oscar.

  She stared at him, taking in every comment, laying it down as law in her heart and noticing that, despite the intense nature of his words, she felt very little.

  James carried on talking. ‘And you are lost in a world of kelpies and fucking mermaids and I can’t help myself, let alone help you! These conversations, these obsessions, they divert your grief but don’t help you heal, and watching you, listening to you – it feels like losing Oscar again, every single day!’

  ‘I do lose him every day! Every day!’ she shouted.

  ‘But, Rachel, you need to try, try really hard to move forward, to look up and see the world.’ James held the countertop.

  ‘HE WAS MY WORLD!’ she screamed.

  James whipped around. ‘I think we both know that’s not true and I guess that’s the problem. You were busy on the island, you built walls of gin, tennis and having lunch with your girlfriends – and you lived within those walls; often you didn’t see him when you had the chance because you were out with the girls, shopping or hanging out at Brown and Co., and now those walls have fallen and you are left with nothing at all! You have nothing to say because the world you created has gone and you are aflame with guilt that stops you seeing clearly.’

  She felt her body fold, as she sank to the tabletop, as if the hooks that held her up had finally been removed.

  I wish I could go back, I wish I could go back and be a better mum, a different mum . . .

  ‘I loved him! He is my little boy and I love him, James!’

  He stood with his hand at his throat, eyes ablaze, panting, until he calmed a little.

  ‘Oh my God! My God, Rachel, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know you loved him, I know you did,’ he croaked, pushing his thumbs against his eyes.

  ‘And I thought I had time,’ she whispered. ‘I thought I had time.’

  ‘We both did.’

  She heard him give in to the tears that had been building, not that she made any attempt to comfort him. She couldn’t; her mind was entirely occupied with an earlier thought, which was loud, invasive and provided a single note of clarity.

  Your Rachel has gone. She left on that boat with Oscar.

  Sitting up, she dried her eyes on her sleeve, as an idea formed. A brilliant idea. The answer.

  ‘Are you working tomorrow, James?’ she asked with an unexpected lightness to her enquiry.

  ‘No, it’s Saturday.’ He sniffed. ‘I’ll be home.’

  ‘Can we . . . can we do something together?’ She asked slowly, holding his gaze, flattered by the wide smile that now broke across his face.

  His words when they came coasted on something that sounded a lot like relief. ‘Yes, of course we can. Anything, we can do anything you want to Rach, together.’ He laughed through his tears.

  Rachel hadn’t slept. Not that this was anything new, but what was new was how she spent the longest hours waiting for dawn. She let the cool, cotton sheets caress her skin and got lost in memories of carrying Oscar, of giving birth. The moment her parents laid eyes on him for the first time, her dad looking at his tiny feet and declaring with certainty that he could play for Rovers. Welcome, happy thoughts.

  At mid-morning on the bright, sunny Saturday, Rachel shrugged off her pyjamas and showered, both of which were unusual for her of late. She slipped into her cut-off jeans and a T-shirt and sat on the balcony off the bedroom, letting herself get lost in the churn of the ocean, drawn as powerfully as ever to the dip and swell of the water, watching boats come and go from the dock and always, always looking out to the horizon, as the sun dappled its surface with sea diamonds.

  She sat for some while enjoying the quiet and in deep contemplation, until she stood calmly and kissed Mr Bob before placing him on James’s pillow. Then she wiped her eyes and made her way down to the kitchen.

  ‘James?’ she called with a sense of urgency, wary that he might have changed his mind about an outing.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ He looked up from his laptop.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong, but . . . but I’m ready now, ready for us to go out together.’

  He closed the computer and stood, smiling. ‘Where do you want to go?’ His tone was curious and at the same time she could see his concern for her latest whim. ‘I mean, I don’t mind, we can go anywhere. It’ll be good to get out of the house together, get some fresh air, walk a bit.’

  She stared at her husband and spoke with hesitation. ‘I want . . . I want you to take us out on the boat. I think we should go out on Liberté.’ She watched the colour drain from his face as he double blinked.

  He shook his head. ‘We haven’t . . .’ He paused. ‘I don’t know what to say. Do you think that’s a good idea?’

  ‘I do!’ She smiled her enthusiasm. ‘I really do, James! I wasn’t ready before, but now I am. I want to go out on the boat and I think it will make me feel close to Oscar, make us feel close to Oscar,’ she enthused. ‘I think it might help, I really do. I have been on the terrace going over everything in my head and something struck me last night while we were talking. I keep thinking of the last time we felt happy when we woke on the boat – in those minutes, those glorious minutes before . . . when everything was good, when we were wonderful!’

  ‘We were wonderful,’ he whispered, his expression one of sadness.

  ‘I think we should go out on Liberté and clear our heads! What do you think?’

  ‘I . . .’ He was seemingly at a loss for words. ‘Truthfully? I don’t know what to think. I feel nervous.’

  She took a step closer and held his arm. ‘I do too, but that’s okay, James. I have spent so many hours staring at the ocean and what I want to do is be on the ocean. Please! Please!’

  He rubbed his palm over his face, looking concerned. ‘I haven’t taken her out since . . .’

  ‘I know, I know. But that’s why it’s a good thing to do. Together. Please, James! For me?’ she implored, squeezing his arm and staring at him with a look of desperation.

  ‘Okay.’ He nodded, his response measured. ‘Okay.’

  As the car drove along, hugging the coast road that took them around to Spanish Point, Rachel felt the swell of anticipation in her gut. It took all her strength not to turn and look at the back seat, which would confirm that Oscar was not sitting there, humming away to himself, as he did in her mind.

  ‘Thank you, James, for doing this.’

  ‘I have to be honest, Rachel, I’m still not sure it’s the best idea.’ He glanced over at her.

  ‘I think it is.’ She leaned towards him. ‘I realised that all I want, all I have ever wanted, is to be close to Oscar, and I can be by being on the boat – the last place he was – and by being on the water.’

  ‘I’ll go with it, Rachel, but if at any time you feel it’s t
oo much; if you change your mind or you just want to come home, then just say the word.’

  ‘I will.’

  She looked across at the man she had married, Oscar’s dad, and she felt a wave of affection for all that they had shared.

  ‘Just because I am lost, it doesn’t mean that somewhere in my mind there isn’t a perfect picture of the three of us. I think about us in Richmond.’ She smiled. ‘I think about our wedding day and I think about the day he was born and the look on your face when they handed him to you, all wrapped up, like I had given you the world.’

  ‘You did, Rach, you did give me the world.’

  ‘I did.’

  They drove the rest of the way in silence, both smiling and with a feeling of quiet contentment, but for very different reasons.

  Rachel walked behind her husband on the dock, inevitably thinking of the last time she had done so with Oscar running ahead. Be careful, darling! she had shouted after him.

  Liberté had been cared for by Leonard and his crew, who had kept her clean and her engine primed. She felt a punch of nausea as she looked at the deck and the porthole on the side, the window into the cabin in which her boy had laid his head for the last time.

  Night night, Mummy!

  Love you!

  ‘Are you okay?’ James asked rather sternly, his way when trying to control his anxiety.

  She nodded.

  ‘Don’t forget what I said, we can go home at any time; even making it down here is a huge step forward, Rach.’

  ‘I know. And I’m fine,’ she lied.

  Rachel took a deep breath and gripped the narrow stanchion, placing her foot on the deck with trepidation. She had forgotten how the movement of the boat was quite unlike any other and closed her eyes briefly. The feeling underfoot was enough to take her back to that last day, the events of which now played in her head like a speeded-up showreel, ending with her on the floor of the police boat with the weighted blanket about her shoulders pushing her down, down until Dr Kent gripped her arm on the dock at Spanish Point, where he stood waiting with his needle poised.