by Amos, Gina
It was a two hour drive to the beach house and she put her foot down when she spotted the 110km speed sign ahead. Suellyn loved the Porsche and found the speed and power of the vehicle exhilarating. As she sped down the freeway and passed the traffic on her left, she felt strangely satisfied. For the first time in her married life, she suddenly felt she was in control.
A Cold Chisel CD was playing and she turned the volume up loud when her favourite track began to play. The air-con was set at a comfortable twenty-two degrees and her body felt cocooned and safe. She was glad to be leaving the traffic and the bustling confusion of the city behind. The weather was clear and being a weekday, there wasn’t much traffic about apart from a few transporters heading north, exceeding the speed limit, trying to meet their unrealistic deadlines. Suellyn made a sharp exit at the turn-off to Tommy’s house and as she drove along the deserted gravel road she was suddenly reminded of why she loved it here, especially during autumn. The air was clean, her mind was more settled and she could stretch her eyes towards the horizon. There were solitary walks to the headland to look forward to while Tommy was content to sit in front of the open fire, lost to a book and a bottle of red wine.
The beach house was designed to take advantage of the water views and the surrounding coastal habitat. The sandy soil was perfect for growing Australian native plants and the heath banksias and grevilleas Tommy had planted thrived and attracted lorikeets and king parrots which appeared at sunrise and sunset to feast on the sweet nectar. Tommy loved gardening, a hobby which he had shared with his father, but Suellyn didn’t care much for his passion. It was too much like hard work for her liking. A makeshift wire fence was all that separated the garden from the beach.
Pebble Beach was a tranquil and safe place to swim. North facing, it was visited by families with young children who enjoyed the beach with its thin line of creamy coloured sand and gentle waves. It was quiet at this time of year apart from the occasional retired couple who could be seen walking along the shoreline and the small groups of mothers, who with their determined faced toddlers splashed in the shallows; the children armed with brightly coloured plastic buckets and spades.
Suellyn loved the beach house. She loved lying in bed with Tommy late at night and also before the pale dawn when she couldn’t sleep, looking out the bedroom window, watching the waves as they gently caressed the beach, watching for the sun to make its appearance and always feeling safe in Tommy’s arms.
He told her the beach house would be hers if she married him, promising he would transfer the title to her. The idea of owning the beach house, appealed to Suellyn, but she wasn’t so sure about his marriage proposal - she already had a husband. But she wasn’t thinking about that just yet. It was enough for her to be with him. Life wasn’t complicated with Tommy Dwyer and the thirty year age gap didn’t bother her either. Tommy at sixty-four, was more like a father to her than a lover, and she didn’t have a problem with that. Spoiling her and treating her like a princess was how he had managed to weave himself into her life.
The tyres crunched on the gravel driveway and came to an abrupt stop in front of the house, firing bursts of gravel in all directions. The driver’s door swung open and Suellyn’s tanned, shapely legs planted themselves firmly on the ground. A green and red parrot swooped down to greet her, she squealed and ducked as it flew off towards the beach.
‘Sues!’
Suellyn smiled and laughed at Tommy as he attempted a lighthearted skip down the timber steps to greet her. He ran one hand through his hair and grabbed her overnight bag with the other. He kissed her long and hard on the mouth and pressed himself into her.
Suellyn released herself from his grip and stared at him with a not now look.
‘I can’t wait to get changed,’ she said, as she grabbed her bag back from him and pulled open the screen door. ‘Great weather. I love this time of year, don’t you Tommy?’ she called to him from the bedroom. She dumped her opened overnight bag on the floor. Her clothes formed a pile in one corner of the room and the contents of her handbag spewed out onto the bed. She released her feet from her uncomfortable high heels and replaced them with a sensible pair of sandals. ‘Are you coming Tommy?’ she called out as she pulled up her tracksuit pants and tied a knot at the waist.
‘No, you go, I’ll get dinner started.’
Suellyn quietly slipped out of the back door with a towel and a book under her arm. The hazy autumn sunshine warmed her body. Without a trace of cloud or hint of a sea breeze, Suellyn soon found herself daydreaming as she sat staring out at the gentle movement of the ocean. She felt part of its rhythm, unrelenting, unforgiving; lost in thought she gazed at the distant horizon through wrap around sunglasses. The breeze tainted with the smell of the sea gently drifted towards her, across the empty expanse of the ocean, coated with memories. Memories of family holidays catching small fish in nets, racing home to proudly show her father, then leaving them in a plastic bucket by the back door to slowly suffocate, while she went off to play with her cousins on the sandy dunes.
It was late afternoon, the sun was thinking about setting when the back screen door opened. Tommy removed his reading glasses and listened as Suellyn’s footsteps hit the timber floorboards.
‘How was the beach?’ Tommy asked, as she collapsed next to him on the bulky sofa in front of the fireplace. Suellyn hugged herself and brought her feet up onto the lounge. The crackling fire warmed the chill from her bones and cast its warmth and light into the room.
‘Peaceful. I’m so relaxed, the tension just disappears when I’m here. Must be something to do with the salt air.’
‘I thought you were going to say it had something to do with being with me.’
She smiled back at him, feeling guilty, sensing that his feelings were hurt. She leant into him and pinched his cheek and watched as a dimple formed.
‘So, tell me Sues what have you been up to? You got something on your mind you want to unload?’
Tommy Dwyer was the only person to ever call Suellyn, Sues. She loved the familiarity and casualness between them and as she shrugged her shoulders, she grabbed the soft, check mohair blanket from the back of the sofa, wrapped it around her and nuzzled into him. He couldn’t understand why she was playing with him, why she just didn’t come out and tell him what she had done to persuade Rose to move out of the house. He arched his eyebrows and waited patiently for an answer to his question. But there was none. There was no use pressing the point. Tommy knew Suellyn Phillips only too well, she would tell him what she had been up to in her own good time.
The next morning, Tommy filled the cafetière with the ground coffee beans he had bought from an organic farm on the outskirts of Byron Bay and watched as the mist above the waves rolled in towards the beach. He knew Suellyn would have to go back to the city after lunch. They had to talk. They had to go over the plan again. He had to be sure that Rose’s house would sell but he had decided to wait until she was up and showered before talking to her.
‘I’m going to the shops to get a few things. Do you want me to get you anything special from the deli?’ he called out from the kitchen.
‘No.’ Suellyn groaned. She was still in bed, her head thick from too much wine the night before.
‘Where are your car keys?’
‘Coffee table, lounge-room,’ she replied.
‘Got them, won’t be long. I’ll bring something back for lunch.’
Half an hour after Tommy left, Suellyn yawned openly, rolled over onto her side and looked at the display of red numbers on the clock radio. It was ten-thirty. Her stomach rumbled and she needed to go to the bathroom. The mirrored wardrobe was ajar and as she examined her reflection in the mirror, she saw the silk robe hanging amongst Tommy’s clothes. She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She slid the glass door open. The robe slipped from the timber coat hanger and fell to the floor. She picked it up, pulled it on and wrapped it around her body. She was surprised to find it was a perfect fit.
The raw silk against her naked body felt soft, cool, and luxurious and as she looked into the mirror, she moistened her lips, tightened the belt around her narrow waist then turned away and walked into the bathroom.
Suellyn had been drawn to Tommy Dwyer out of loneliness and longing. From the moment she looked into his eyes she felt a connection. Their relationship began with a chance meeting at a bar in the city. After turning up for Friday night drinks with friends, she spotted him. He was propped up at the bar with a glass of red wine, tapping his fingers gently in time to the music. He was well dressed in a dark jacket, white shirt and a neatly knotted tie. Suellyn had instantly liked what she saw. He had the darkest eyes she had ever seen, thin sensuous lips and a dimple which creased his cheek when he smiled. Even though he appeared to be in his sixties, she was immediately drawn to him and in hindsight, his likeness to William was probably why she was attracted to him.
Suellyn Phillips had always preferred older men, they knew how women liked to be treated. He was ten years older than William and surprisingly he was an only child, as was William. The first thing he told her was that his mother had recently died and Suellyn felt sorry for him. From his description of her, they had obviously been close.
‘What did you buy?’ Suellyn asked as Tommy flung the plastic shopping bags across the bench and looked at her standing in the kitchen doorway.
‘I see you found the robe. I was going to surprise you with it; it belonged to my mother. Suellyn fondled the silk with her fingers and loosened the belt, it fell away easily, her eyes glinted, her chest rose and she held her breath.
Chapter Four
It was nine am. Ambah St John inspected her makeup in the mirror on the back of the sun visor before she stepped out of the car and walked towards the front gate of the dilapidated house. Her client, Suellyn Phillips, had phoned and said she couldn’t meet her this morning, something unexpected had come up, but she assured her that her mother-in-law would be at home and would be expecting her.
The steel gate groaned as she pushed against it. A rusty hinge came away and landed on the ground in front of her and Ambah made a mental note to mention it to Suellyn the next time they met. After all, first impressions were important, especially in a buyer’s market. Ambah carefully closed the front gate behind her and walked along the brick path and across the verandah towards the front door. She knocked twice and waited, allowing enough time for the elderly woman to answer her knock. She knocked again but realised that the woman she had come to see didn’t seem to be at home. She was annoyed. Suellyn had assured her that the old woman would be expecting her.
Rose Phillips was elderly and Ambah knew that most elderly people were early risers and most were forgetful. She was reminded of her own grandmother. Nana Rey was up and dressed and having her first cup of tea of the day by five every morning and in bed by six every evening. Ambah checked her watch and wondered if she should come back later, but she had a full day of appointments scheduled and this was the only opportunity this week she would have to inspect the house. She knew how anxious her client was to have the marketing campaign underway.
She knocked again, this time a little louder. Still, there was no answer. From somewhere inside the house a cat whined. Ambah stood on the front steps and looked out at the street to check if any of the neighbours were watching before she made her way to the side of the house. She walked down the narrow side passage taking care not to scratch her black patent heels or snag her stockings. She walked on tiptoes through the overgrown weeds, sidestepped the empty paint tins, broken bricks and the plastic crates filled with empty beer bottles.
Suellyn had given her a set of house plans and she had carefully studied them before leaving the office and now as she stood beside the house, she was annoyed with herself that she’d not thought to ask for a set of house keys as well. She couldn’t contact the old woman by phone to confirm their meeting according to Suellyn, the phone had been disconnected years ago.
Ambah raised her head and looked up. The kitchen window looked out across the next-door neighbour’s yard and she recognised that the leafy outlook would be a good selling point. From what she had seen so far, the property had potential, but she was eager to discover how the inside of the house presented.
An empty, plastic milk crate lay on its side, propped up against a wheelbarrow filled with damp leaf litter which had fallen from the neighbour’s gum tree. She turned the crate on its end and pushed it down into the soft grass with her foot, stepped on it and dug her toes deep into the narrow points of her shoes. She slung her handbag over her shoulder and criss-crossed it against her body so it rested comfortably on her hip. Bracing herself against the brick wall of the house she stretched her body to its full height, a petite one hundred and sixty-four centimetres. Loose, paper-thin flakes of green paint from the window casement came away in her hands.
Ambah tried to imagine what she would do if the old woman was at home after all and caught her peering through the kitchen window. How ridiculous she would seem.
The windows were thick with dust. A layer of grime and lacy cobwebs covered the glass. A spider with a small, black body and long, hairy legs scurried across the pane and lodged itself in the corner of the window sill. Ambah watched it for a moment from the corner of her eye, keeping her distance, before she turned and cupped her hands against the glass pane. She narrowed her eyes and screwed them tightly, her eyebrows flexed as she tried to distinguish the features inside the room, but the morning sun made it difficult to make sense of the scene before her. As her eyes focused, a raw, primitive scream clawed its way up from the back of her throat, exploded and cut through the silence like a knife through a block of butter. Her eyes widened. This was the last thing she had expected, nothing she had ever done or seen before had prepared her for this.
‘Oh my God!’ Ambah’s face brushed against the window, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
A hip-hop ring tone pierced the silence. Beads of perspiration had already formed on her forehead, a strand of bleached hair fell across her eyes and her heart thumped as her pulse climbed. She unzipped her handbag and grabbed her phone with both hands. The caller ID read ‘Mum’. She answered it. ‘I can’t talk now Mum, got an emergency. I’ll ring you back.’
‘Ambah, what’s the matter? I...’ her mother called down the phone. Ambah pushed the ‘end call’ button and punched 000 into the phone. With shaking hands, and legs that felt like jelly, she tried to keep her balance on the crate as she spoke to the emergency operator. She took a deep breath, silently reminding herself it was important that she remained calm. She was trying to sound as if she had control of the situation, but it was no use. Her speech was halted, she was breathless, agitated. ‘...15 Eden Street and please, please hurry,’ she heard herself say before the milk crate slipped from underneath her. She fell to the ground, landing on her knees. She rolled over into a sitting position and pressed her back hard up against the brick wall of the house. Grabbing her knees, she brought them up to her chest and touched her cheek with the palm of her hand. Her cheek was hot and sticky with blood.
Sirens screamed in the distance. But Ambah knew she had to take another look before the police and the ambulance arrived, if only to convince herself of what she had seen. She kicked off her shoes and stepped back onto the crate. She did not want to lose her balance this time and wedged the crate firmly against the house. She grabbed the window-ledge tightly with her sweaty palms and looked again through the window at the lifeless body of the woman she assumed was Rose Phillips. The woman’s head lolled to one side, her arms hung loosely over the side of the kitchen chair at an awkward angle.
Ambah had never seen a dead body before; she was still young enough not to have been affected by death. She was repulsed by the greenish-red tinge of the woman’s flesh. She bit down heavily on her lower lip and tasted her own salty blood.
The sirens were close now. Ambah stepped off the crate and pushed her feet back into her shoes and made her way ar
ound to the front of the house. She ran her hands through her long hair and straightened her skirt.
‘Over here!’ Ambah called out to two police officers as they walked towards the front gate. Jill Brennan and her partner pulled on their black leather gloves.
‘Hello. I’m Senior Constable Brennan and this is Constable French. And you are?’
Ambah gave her full name and a brief description of what she had seen before leading the officers down the side of the house.
Ambah and Brennan stood back and watched as Daniel French stood on his toes and looked through the window. He was lanky, somewhat awkward and she estimated that he was at least one hundred and ninety centimetres tall. Jill Brennan on the other hand, was short and petite but had an air of confidence and maturity about her that Ambah recognised in herself and other women of her generation. She looked like she didn’t take crap from anyone.
The morning sun was bouncing off the filthy window, throwing shadows back at him. The young police constable cupped his hands against the window pane just as Ambah had done ten minutes earlier and he saw the old woman’s body slumped against the kitchen table. Jill joined her partner and climbed onto the milk crate and stood next to him, balancing herself on one leg with her arm resting on his shoulder.
‘We’re going to have to cordon off the front of the house with tape and while you’re at it Dan, call in another police truck - we’re going to need some assistance here to protect the scene.’
‘I’ll have to ask you to remain outside,’ Brennan said to Ambah as she opened the screen door and pushed her shoulder against the front door which was unlocked. As Brennan made her way down the hall towards the kitchen, the two paramedics took their cue from her, and followed close behind. Jill Brennan had a feeling that this wasn’t going to be a good day, and she was right, they all smelt Rose Phillips before they saw her.