by Kylie Kaden
The evenings were when she’d remember, her thoughts darkening with the night. She rationed herself to half an hour a day of letting her mind wallow in self-pity, just half an hour, and only when alone. It was the only way to maintain things. But she’d used her quota today in the shower (crying was easier to hide there) so she shut down the thought.
Blake shook his head, rubbed his forehead. ‘The one thing – the one thing I asked was that you never mention it, so stop fucking mentioning it.’
Their bond of silence. Abbi’s throat tightened. ‘I’m sorry.’
They both retreated to their heads, to the ghastliness of it.
‘I just … Something niggles. I keep wondering about that boat, if someone saw us, down by the lake.’
Blake turned and glared. ‘What?’
‘Maybe Catfish was out that night in his tinnie, skulking like he does. He’s been funny with me in town since.’
‘You tell me this now?’
‘You keep asking me to not mention it.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re just paranoid.’
Their gaze settled on the sea once more. Blake’s voice was calm, resigned, but she knew he was trying to convince himself. ‘It was one stupid mistake in the heat of the moment. It’s over.’
Abbi nodded. She trusted him with her life. She wanted to believe him.
But now there was Hannah.
* * *
Abbi spent the rest of her birthday at work, researching white spot disease devastating local prawn farms, interviewing a local girl who made the national netball team and searching, unsuccessfully, for an orange shirt Eadie needed to wear for Stand Against Violence day at school. She was tired, and breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Will’s Mini Cooper in the drive. Eadie’s shoes were by the door. Everyone was where they belonged.
A gust of salty air brushed her face as she skipped up the stairs of their timber home, shell collections and shabby-chic furniture scattered on the verandah. Theirs was a sought-after property perched a little out of town, surrounded by bushland that was home to giant river gums and rare birds. In the distance, the deck overlooked the sandy belt that separated the lake from the ocean and hadn’t broken its banks in decades. She was surrounded by water along with all its moods and mystery.
To Abbi, home meant ocean spray on your windows and sand in your shoes. Even with the maintenance, the rust, the wind-blown hair, she loved it.
As she grabbed her door key, a fluoro pink square on the wall caught her eye. Welcome home, birthday girl was scrawled on a sticky note in her husband’s handwriting.
As she opened the door, another was stuck to the shoe rack. Put your feet up. She walked the hall, more notes, best wifey ever, we love you, followed by a trail of other little square drawings of stick-figure people frolicking in a cloud of hearts. At the end was her family; her daughter dwarfed in her husband’s arms as they sat, transfixed by the burst of pearly pink and muted orange above the coppery shrubs on the deck.
She inhaled a ragged breath, a sharp swell of emotion rattling her. This. Right here; the love of her life and the daughter they created together. Abbi realised only too well that she’d taken her idyllic life for granted. Now she felt a sense of urgency to be present, to savour every moment. Who knew when it might be lost? She swallowed hard.
‘You’re early,’ Will said. ‘Thought your workmates were taking you out for a birthday drink?’
‘Rather be home, with you.’
Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who are you and where did you take my wife?’
He was right. She was uncharacteristically becoming a homebody. Abbi had accepted her colleagues’ invitation in an attempt to appear normal, like Blake told her, but putting on the quirk and keeping it together for a few extra hours after work was more than she could handle.
Will beckoned her over to the table. They could see most of the township, tiny clusters of twinkling lights from scattered houses perched along the peninsula, which jutted like a thumb into the sea. The wrinkled ocean was just visible down the rocky embankment to the beach, a small, sandy and well-trodden path the only break in the green. Abbi dumped her laptop and joined them as they stared at nature’s display of wonder.
She kissed them both in quick succession. Abbi knew she lumped Will with the dark side of parenting. The tough love, the sunscreen, the vaccinations she couldn’t bear to watch. But he did it so well. He liked being in charge, being the steadfast, responsible one, didn’t he? She was the balance, the glitter to sprinkle on the glue.
‘Mummy! Me and Daddy maded a cake, but it got burnt,’ Eadie said as Abbi leaned into her.
Will squinted at their daughter, ruffling her hair. ‘Dobber.’
The house smelled like charred pancakes. ‘Oh, hon.’ She smoothed Eadie’s hair. A final sticky note was stuck to a glass sitting next to a bottle of Merlot. Her eyes met Will’s. ‘I love the notes. Exactly what I needed.’
‘That’s good ’cause, ah, it’s kinda all I got you. Unless you want to count the charcoal cake.’
Abbi laughed. She’d never been one to care about stuff, never the type to demand jewellery or flowers on Valentine’s Day, even under normal circumstances. She certainly didn’t deserve spoiling after what she’d kept from him. How she’d lied, and justified it in her mind as the right thing to do. Was avoiding hurt feelings ever an excuse for lying?
Eadie frowned. ‘But hey, how can you wish with no cake?’
‘I already have everything I need,’ she said as she touched Eadie on the bridge of her nose, ‘right here.’
Will arched one eyebrow. ‘You becoming a sook in your old age, hon?’
Abbi elbowed him in the ribs, then rested her head on the bulk of his shoulder and breathed him in.
Blake had been right: Abbi Jordan was a lost cause before Will. She was Abbi Adams now; a wife, a mother. It was the reason she couldn’t reveal to anyone what they’d done – to preserve what was hers.
A sap-sweet smell clung to the air, the sky so clear you could see the way the earth curved. As the sun’s fiery kiss faded, pale stars slid into view and a chorus of cicadas filled the darkening sky.
People said kids these days didn’t appreciate what they had, but Eadie noticed everything, and gawked in wonder. ‘The sky. It’s like love hearts, bursting.’
As the light faded over the township that lay before her, Abbi’s gaze rose to the stars, twinkling like a canopy of fairy lights overhead. Those stars, ever present in the night sky, witnessed all that transpired beneath, and she hoped they would keep her secret.
Chapter 2
THE DAY OF THE MOON FESTIVAL
‘Mrs Andrews?’ Will hollered, his doctor’s bag in one hand, a punnet of lychees in the other. He knew full well that his patient hated being called Mrs Andrews, but Will didn’t get many chances to be rebellious. He opened her cottage door. ‘You decent?’
‘William, I didn’t expect you,’ Gwen Andrews called from the kitchen, as she dangled a tea bag in her Harrods china cup, swung it three times against the side and dropped it clean in the bin.
‘Sure it’s your eyes failing, not your hearing?’
‘Sorry, can’t hear anything over all the noise.’
He dumped his doctor’s bag on the table, paced over to her, and stowed the cordless kettle back safely on its base. ‘What did I tell you about safety first, Missy?’
‘Who you calling Missy, Mister?’ Gwen turned on the cantankerous librarian voice, but it was such a lame attempt at crotchety that he was sure no one would be intimidated by it. It only made her more endearing.
‘How’s things?’
The lines above her mouth seemed more defined, like she’d spent the weeks since he’d seen her last pursing her lips over something. ‘Answer’s still “no”, if that’s why you’re here.’
Will had been trying to get Gwen to agree to eye surgery for as long as he’d been her doctor. ‘You act like there aren’t advantages to being stuck in a bed, face-down, for weeks. T
here’s plenty!’
Gwen scowled at him. ‘Like what?’
‘You’d be eligible for more services, so you’d get out of the housework.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘Pity points. Great excuse not to go to family events.’
She hushed him away. ‘What family events? The cat doesn’t hold any bar mitzvahs.’
‘Then there’s the delaying blindness thing.’
Gwen huffed. ‘I’ve lived long enough to know what most things look like.’
‘Yeah? What about when to raise your foot to avoid tripping on a gutter?’
‘I’ve got onto this new supplement, saffron tablets, and I still take the cod liver oil – the orange one is less ghastly.’ Gwen stuck out her tongue in a rare moment of candidness.
Will nodded. It always took a few minutes to see the raw fear surface. The fear she harboured under each thick tier of pride, independence, determination. She was white-haired, but only fifty-five. Far too young to face legal blindness. But she never spoke a word of the helplessness that macular degeneration inflicts, the terror of facing a dimming world as it closed in on you. ‘You know, I read how they’re developing cholesterol-reducing eyedrops that prevent the over-production of white blood cells on the retina.’
‘Cholesterol? I barely eat anything but fruit and oatmeal. And besides, how many years till they develop that?’
‘There are trials. I think we should apply.’
Gwen shrugged. Admitting she needed treatment was admitting that she couldn’t hack it. They were both distracted by the muffled words from a megaphone billowing over from the festival just a few blocks from Gwen’s home.
Tinny music filled the silence. Will withdrew his phone from his jeans pocket and checked the time. ‘I promised to get Eadie early so we could go to the festival before she turns into a ratbag.’
‘You go.’ She swatted him away. ‘Thanks for the lychees.’
Will hesitated. He was never one for mindless chitchat with patients, but he knew it could be as useful as antidepressants but without the side effects. ‘Fancy some mooncakes? I can take you down there if you feel like a night out. I’ll be your guide dog.’
‘No, no. I’ll have an early night. Midsomer Murders will keep me company. Bit too brisk for me out there with this autumn air.’
‘Sure? Jay’s famous for her mooncake – she makes those salty, egg-yolk-centred ones. I reckon they taste like lard balls but people line up. It makes them feel cultured.’
‘What were you saying about cholesterol?’
He grabbed a beige coat from an overloaded hook by the door. ‘C’mon. You’re not dead yet.’
‘But I need to …’ She faltered. ‘Molly often visits about this time.’
‘Molly Worthington? She’s our babysitter. Good kid, for an adolescent. How do you know her?’ Will was sure there was more than one of that girl – she seemed to be everywhere at once. ‘She’ll be working at the festival, surely? And her dad always takes her, if not.’
There were tears in the lady’s clear eyes. Will liked to push his patients, but there was a fine line between motivating and terrorising. He guided her down again. ‘How ’bout I bring some mooncakes over later? I’ll ask for a low-fat lard ball.’ He smiled.
‘Don’t be silly! Enjoy yourself.’ Her shoulders relaxed, and she waved him off.
* * *
Will wished his feet were smaller as he squeezed up the cubbyhouse stairs, drew open the red poplin curtain shading the teeny door, and found his favourite person, cross-legged on the pine-slat floor surrounded by balled-up Play-Doh. He felt more oversized than usual in the tiny play kitchen he’d constructed from recycled crates back when Eadie started kindy.
His pint-sized princess looked expectantly at her dad, her eyes alive with excitement. ‘I maded it for you!’ She shoved the sandy Play-Doh cake his way.
He chewed like it were a garlic risotto ball. ‘Delicious.’
Eadie thanked him with a gap-toothed grin.
Will noticed the peanut butter sandwiches he’d set out on the picnic blanket earlier, getting dry on the corners. ‘Make sure you have your sangas too, sweet pea. And the apple before it goes brown.’
Eadie eyed off the empty teacup and saucer she’d set up. ‘Where’s Mummy?’
Just as Will started to wonder that himself, the curtains parted, his wife’s pretty head filled the doorframe and she roared like a dinosaur, scaring Will more than he liked to admit.
Abbi kissed him and apologised for being late.
‘What happened to finishing work early?’ Will asked.
Abbi rolled her eyes. ‘Procrastination.’ Abbi gave Eadie a wide smile. ‘Is that for me?’ she asked, gesturing to her own fake cake, before nibbling the corner of the salty dough. Will leaned into her, pushing the Play-Doh firmly into the latecomer’s mouth. Abbi lurched back. ‘Stop! Stop!’ She mumbled, dropping clumps of green sandy dough all over the cubbyhouse as he pressed into her, a goofy smile splitting his face. Eadie jumped on them as the elegant tea party turned into a raucous rabble.
They could hear a muffled announcement through the casuarinas lining their yard, providing privacy from the parkland that sprawled the headland. ‘I can smell the mulled wine from here.’ Will smiled. ‘Monkey-breath,’ he tickled their daughter’s sandy feet, ‘wanna go see some lanterns?’
* * *
Walking the short stroll to the festival, led by the sound and light coming from the crowded tents, they entered the row of markets. Lanterns looped between street lamps. Council-tended gardens. Portaloos concealed behind temporary hedges hired for the occasion. Even the seniors from the retirement village borrowed buggies from the country club and came along in convoy.
Their babysitter, Molly Worthington was handing out free cake samples at Jay’s stall, and bent down and offered Eadie one of the Middle Eastern desserts. ‘Hey, guys!’
‘These new?’ Molly pointed to Eadie’s light-up shoes. ‘They’re awesome.’ A line of LED blinked. ‘Do they come in a size nine?’
‘You can have mine when I growed out of them.’
Molly laughed, and waved them off.
Will and his two leading ladies took a right at the end of the food stalls, enjoying the night breeze. He spotted a few empty cans of beer left on the makeshift stools around the fire-pits, and picked them up. ‘You know how many kids get their tendons sliced from cans? Too many.’ He went to place them in the recycling bins, just as Catfish appeared with a large plastic bag.
‘I’ll take ’em, Doc.’
Will smiled, dropped the cans in his bag. ‘Doing a good service for us, there, mate.’
Catfish nodded and picked up a few more littered around the temporary bar. Abbi noticed Eadie poking her tongue out at him, a horrible face distorting her features. ‘Eadie! Don’t do that.’
‘But he’s mean. He doesn’t let me play in their yard with their cat. And he smells.’ She fanned her nose with her fingers.
Abbi shook her by the arm. ‘Shhh, don’t be rude, young lady, or no iPad tomorrow.’
Catfish was carrying a tent pole that he used to prod things found with his metal detector, and waved it at her. ‘Stay away, Missy.’
Will observed with a little concern.
‘I know he comes across a bit strong but he’s not such a bad bloke,’ Abbi said. ‘I tried to interview him for a story when he rescued dozens of turtle hatchlings, but he didn’t want the glory.’ When Eadie pressed her head into the side of her mum’s hip and watched Catfish mutter to himself as he stomped away, Abbi pulled her close. ‘Look. You made him mad.’
‘I think he already was,’ Will whispered. ‘But don’t knock it – some of the best people are.’
Strings of lanterns twinkled along the line of pine trees flanking the point. Abbi, determined to reserve the best position for the show, spread their blue tartan picnic rug out wide, clear of any trees to block the view of the night sky. ‘I’ll wait here if you want to go find some dinner for us.’ Abbi smiled, then not
iced a couple of greyhound owners they knew who resembled their dogs and they chatted about which stall offered the best mulled wine. ‘Eadie just wants a hot dog – no sauce,’ Abbi said. ‘And, oh, hon – those vermicelli salads looked good if you don’t mind lining up twice.’ She smiled sweetly to seal the deal. Will made a mental list.
‘Can I get a milkshake?’ Eadie asked.
‘If there’s no big line.’ Will tapped his five-year-old on the nose. ‘You know how Daddy feels about big lines,’ he said, making his way through the patchwork of multicoloured rugs to the food stalls.
* * *
Paper lanterns lined the streets – mostly cheap imitations bought in bulk by the fundraising committee, but down near the shore traditional wishing lanterns were about to be lit and would, with any luck, rise as the burning candles heated the air within. With the full-moon backdrop, they were a sight not to be missed.
Twenty minutes and three lines later, Will negotiated his way back through the crowds to their metre of bagsed space. He’d dropped a handful of chips, returned for sauce and stopped again to stuff water bottles in his pockets to allow an extra hand for Eadie’s hot dog. Twilight had faded into night and excitement buzzed through the breeze.
As he tiptoed through the crowds, Will was relieved to see their tartan rug waiting for him, laid out in prime position beside the greyhound people. What are their names again?
‘Will! Abbi was hoping she’d be back before the food,’ the woman said.
‘Back? Where’d she go?’
‘Oh, she texted you – Blake locked himself out and asked her to bring his spare key.’
‘Not again?’ Will huffed.
‘She left what, twenty minutes ago so she’ll be back shortly, I’d say.’
He hoped so or the chips would be soggy and he wasn’t lining up again for anyone. Bloody Blake. He noticed Abbi’s missed call on his phone and returned it.
‘Sorry, hon,’ Abbi said. ‘I’m still at Blake’s.’