by Allie Little
“Is it? I’m not so sure. The way she said it seemed to make perfect sense. I guess in her head it explains everything.”
Riley shoots me an incredulous stare, frowning with deep crease marks furrowing his brow. “Not possible, Sam. Tell me what she said.”
And then I tell him, and it feels strangely satisfying to get this off my chest. I haven’t spoken of this to anyone, not even Ben. Ben was my confidante, the only one I could unburden myself with, and then it became Jack. My Jack. Beautiful, sweet Jack. The one I’ve tried to push away. The only one I want.
“Oh, Sam,” he says when I finish, drawing me into a hug. And his arms feel good. And so, well … human. The first human arms I’ve felt around me since her words pierced my soul, the damage so deep I doubt it can ever heal. He strokes his large hands over the top of my hair, and for one short moment I want to succumb to this. To him. Because despite my protestations I do need someone. But this is Riley, not Jack.
Not Jack.
Not Jack.
As I begin to push away from his embrace a riotous bashing begins on the front door, which Riley has left gaped open to the street.
“Sam! Hey, Sam! Are you in here?”
Shit. Shit, shit. “Oh my god, it’s Jack.” His voice flashes through my heart with a jolt. And immediately I realise how this will look. Cradled in Riley’s arms, tears streaming from my eyes falling heavily on his jumper, a burning candle on the table, two glasses of wine. I push him away, struggling to rise from the couch to greet the one I want.
But not quick enough.
Jack appears in the lounge room, all six foot two of him, his smile filling his face so completely. And my heart melts at the sight of him. At that smile. But the view of me pulling from Riley’s embrace turns his expression into one of pure shock and disbelief. I watch it curl across his face, and the image burns.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Jack spits out. “So this is why? This is why you’ve ignored my calls? Jesus, Sam. You’re with him?” The acid in his tone blisters over my heart.
I move toward him. “It’s not what you think, Jack. It’s not how it looks. Please,” I beg, knowing in this moment how much he means to me. How much I’ve lost, and how much I don’t want to lose him. How I can’t lose him. My lifeline. “Please, Jack. It’s not what you think.”
“I know what I saw,” he says, choking slightly on the words in his throat. He begins to back from the room, his eyes blazing. “Just forget I came, Sam. Just fuckin’ forget it.”
Riley, to his credit, jumps to my defence. “She’s right, mate. It’s not how it looks,” he says, standing up. He takes a step forward.
“Just stay the fuck away from me,” Jack threatens. “Cause I really can’t be responsible for what I might do.”
“Jack,” I plead, as he backs away. “Don’t go.”
“Well I can’t stay,” he says, turning to leave.
And when his rattly ute starts up in the drive and he abandons me to Riley, my heart constricts so tight I don’t believe it will ever bloom again.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The day of the funeral arrives. Bleak. Riley arrives as planned, to drive me home. No protestations on my part will release me from his determination to do this. After nearly a week in Sydney my head still hurts and I want to hide away. Instead I’ve climbed into a rickety rollercoaster carriage, the wheels rattling precariously over the tracks. And all I can do is ride it. Close my eyes and ride it like a blind woman.
I pull Ben’s front door closed behind me. The finality of the thud sends a flash of nerves through my rolling gut. And to say goodbye I’ve chosen a poem, even though words cannot express what I feel today. The heaviness in my heart. The lack of air in my lungs. The hole in my soul.
Riley holds open the door of a ridiculously expensive sports car in the drive. All sleek and shiny, curving with deep-grey feminine lines.
“What is this?” I ask, gesturing at the car.
“Mercedes SLK,” he answers, matter-of-factly.
I raise my heavy brow. “And you afford this how? Certainly not on your lowly chef wage, I assume?”
He shrugs. “It’s not that lowly. But there are some things about me you don’t know.”
“Such as?” I query.
He shrugs again.
“Hang on. You can’t do that. Force me to spill my guts the other night, and now dodge my question.”
He glances across and grins as I settle myself comfortably into outrageously fine leather seats. He starts the throaty engine, hanging an arm behind my headrest as he reverses from the drive.
“So, you may as well know, I don’t just work at Café Blue. I own it. And employ George to manage it for me. I have another in Sydney, too. So coming down here wasn’t only to see you, as much as I would like to say that was the case. Blue Swimmer in Manly belongs to me, too. It’s a seafood restaurant. It does pretty well.”
I’m speechless. The fancy car. The restaurant owner. Absolutely not what I’d assumed. “You keep all that pretty quiet.”
He just nods, guilt-less, shrugging his shoulders as if to say ‘so?’
“And still not enough to afford a car like this.”
“Family, Sam. I’ve been lucky.”
As we drive south along Ocean St through Narrabeen I wonder at this man. Seven years my senior and so full of surprises. And not what he seems on the surface. Cocky Riley, with his bald-faced advances and hidden secrets. I wonder what more lies hidden behind this façade.
In the confines of the car I think of Jack. Despite the luxury pervading this vehicle I crave Jack’s old clattery ute. The way I jam myself right up beside him, his arm so close it touches mine. The way he’d haul me in even closer. I close my eyes and remember. And it hurts. And then I remember my destination and what I must do today. Say my final goodbye.
I pull the folded piece of paper from my pocket, flattening its creases in my lap.
“Read it to me,” Riley says without looking over. “I want to hear it.”
I breathe out, tears welling at how on earth I will manage this today. “Okay.”
I take another deep breath and read, my voice barely audible against the sound of the engine.
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints in snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
(Mary Frye, 1904-2004)
I wipe the tears from my cheek. Because these are the words with which I send off my father. And I want to do this justice. Do him justice. Ben will read the eulogy, while mum sits in a crumpled heap with the CWA and church ladies assembled on either side to support her through the sombre farewell for her husband.
**
A solid two and half hours later with lots of Angus and Julia Stone lullabying through the car up the M1, Riley swings the Mercedes into the driveway with twenty minutes to spare. Changing hurriedly into a simple black dress, I smooth my hair into a bun and brush rouge over my pale cheeks. Riley lingers outside to take me to the tiny weatherboard church lying close to the reed-fringed river. I move in a daze, because I can’t think too much about what I’m about to do. This. This is undeniably the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Gut-wrenching. Heart-twisting. And all I want is to get through this. Because this ache is raw. And all this I’ll do without Jack by my side. And not too far below the surface of my skin I know that I’ve done this. I’ve pushed him so far away he will never come back.
From the front pew I look back at Emily beside Riley. The café crew who have come to be my friends. The absence of Gemma is
noticed. Em gives me a reassuring smile and Riley gives me a thumbs-up, as if to say ‘you can do this’. Ben is beside me, with Lily beside him, and just as I predicted Mum sits flanked by CWA ladies keen to lend their supportive arms. But nothing is as it should be. Without Dad. The casket lies like a fallen soldier up front, draped in native flowers and sepia photographs. I imagine him in there. Inside the dark closed casket. His remains. All that’s left of him. And today I will say goodbye to the only one who was always there for me. The only one. And suddenly I’m mad, so freakin’ mad, because he’s left me behind. He’s gone and left me here to deal with all of this. His loss. The loss of Jack. And all I want to do is run. Away from here. Because it feels like I can’t sit sedentary for one more moment in this claustrophobic hall. And it takes all I have within me to remain here, sitting with my gut-curling pain. But I do it. For Dad. For Ben. And for me.
Reading the poem I break into a million pieces, tasting my tears as I choke out the words. I glance at Ben, Lily, Em and Riley. Even Mum. And every part of me wishes that just like a magical dream, Jack will come to me through those arched church doors. That he’ll be here. Forgive me for what I’ve done. But it’s a dream unfulfilled. For there is no Jack. So I get through this without him. Because that’s how it must be.
And when the curtains close over the casket I want to scream, because that’s it. So final.
***
The spread of crust-less sandwiches and frosted cakes in the shaded yard of the church is unappealing. I’m surprised that others can eat them, because no way will my stomach hold food. I kiss cheeks and murmur appropriate responses to the sympathies flowing my way. And still I hope. That Jack will come. To stand beside me. Because without him I’m lost. Directionless. Waiting stupidly for him, when deep in my broken heart I know he won’t come.
My mother makes her way toward me from the willowy shade of a tree. She looks weary but she’s upright at least, dressed in an embroidered silk dress that falls to her knees. Ben follows, always the mediator. Always arbitrating. But I’m appreciative he’s here.
“Sam,” she says. “I’m so pleased you came back.” Her tone is less icy than I expected, although her worn-out face seems drained of emotion. Like she’s let it all out. Purged. Perhaps in the solitary darkness of her room.
“I wouldn’t miss Dad’s funeral. You should’ve known that.”
She catches her breath, hooking the air sharply into her lungs. “I’m sorry for what I said. I never should have. But I’ve had time to think. Of how unfair it was, to say those things.”
She looks at me, waiting. But I’m speechless in the face of her admission. She edges forward to hug me but I instinctively move back. And because she’s my mother I feel guilty for it. God, will this day never end? I just need it to end.
“I said I was sorry.”
“Thank you,” I say. “For the apology.”
“And while you were gone, it made me realise. We’ve lost so much. I’ve lost so much. I don’t want to lose you too. You’re my daughter.”
I feel the tears spring and I want to forgive her. But it’s the forgetting that’s hard, with the bitter memories fastened tight to my soul.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
One empty week passes.
Two.
Then three.
All this time I spend broken and my heart hurts like hell. I don’t run; don’t surf. I don’t feel the waves wash over my lacklustre skin or watch them wash sinuous lines over the sand.
I don’t do any of the things that previously filled my life with sparkle.
Ben comes and goes with Lily pressed firmly to his side. His presence alone helps me bear this. Because all I do is survive. On memories of Jack. And of Dad. They are all I see. All I have. All I had.
Mum surprises me as her motherly instinct comes to the fore. Her new appreciation for what’s important in life seems genuine enough. But still I reserve my heart, for there’s been too much pain.
“Sam?” she calls through my door. “Can I come in?”
I slide myself up on the bed. For the first time I notice sunlight channelling through the portholes, falling on the floor in chutes of pale yellow.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?” I answer.
The door clicks open and she pokes her head through. “Are you okay?”
I nod, giving a half-hearted shrug. My definition of okay has shifted somewhat over the past few weeks.
She moves further into the room and sits herself down on the end of my bed, looking as if she doesn’t know where to begin. “Look, I know I’m not qualified to give advice, considering where I’ve been the last couple of months. Where I’ve been in my head, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
I wait, because there must be more.
She fiddles with her hair, hooking a piece behind her ear. “Just don’t become like me, Sam. Don’t hide yourself away. Don’t let your thoughts drag you down. Because I know from experience. You can’t let them excavate you from within.”
This all seems rather hypocritical. She is after all, the queen of deep quarries. She is a coalmine of distress, channelling ever deeper. Boring down so deep I never thought she could possibly emerge intact.
She wrings her hands nervously. “And I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough. I know I put you through hell. That I contributed greatly to your distress when your father died.”
“You did. I won’t deny it,” I say, looking her straight in the eye.
“And I know it’s probably too much to ask for. Your forgiveness. So I need to earn your trust again. I can’t promise I won’t go down again, to those depths. At times I can’t control that, but knowing you understand I’m trying, is all that I ask.”
I start to cry, because I’ve wanted these words from my mother for so long. And then she starts too, so I believe she has a heart. I just hadn’t seen it for a very long time.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Come on, Sam! Don’t be boring. Beach party on the dune at Dark Point. You can’t miss that!” Ben urges, waiting for my response. He jiggles around on his feet like an excited kid.
“Yes, you have to come Sam. You’ll enjoy yourself. It’ll be so much fun!” says Lily, tugging me by the arm. “I need you there, anyway. Otherwise it’ll just be me and the boys. And that will be boring,” she laughs.
“Hey!” Ben says, poking her in the ribs. “Don’t ever say that I’m boring!”
“Ha ha. Yeah, as if,” Lily giggles.
Their frivolity is contagious. “Oh, all right. But you guys are driving,” I say with a grin.
“You’ll come? Really?” laughs Lily. “Yay! My partner in crime. You’re driving, Ben.”
He rolls his eyes at her, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m happy to escort you girls for your fun evening out. Looks like I’ve ended up as the designated chauffeur for the evening.”
Lily and I giggle. “Good swindle,” I aim at her, and she winks in return.
“Get dressed girls,” he orders, backing from my bedroom. “We leave in half an hour.”
“You won’t regret this,” Lily adds, squeezing her fingers around my arm and then racing down the hall after Ben.
Fifteen minutes later Ben lets out a low whistle. “Wow, look at you. Pulling out all the stops.”
Lily jabs at him. “Shoosh, Ben. Leave her alone. A girl can get dressed up if she wants.”
I glance over my outfit. It’s a very short, very red, figure-hugging dress scooping low at the back. Really low. With heels it’d be a killer, but for a party on the beach? I’m wearing my havaianas. Lily’s in tiny cut-offs with a see-through cream lacy top. Her dark hair is piled in a rough bun on top of her head, leaving her fringe to frame her pale blue eyes.
Ben looks happy and it’s so nice to see. He snakes an arm around Lily’s tiny waist. “You look amazing,” he whispers, nuzzling into her ear.
Lily blushes. “Come on,” she distracts. “Let’s go.”
By the time we arrive the sun’s sett
ing low behind the dune. Ben parks the old Subaru in the tiny parking area at the base of the steep initial climb.
The dark beach is a great place for a party. Isolated. Protected. Just what I need. But the place is heaving. There are groups of us literally everywhere. In the troughs between the dunes, on the sand beside the sea, and climbing to the ridge where the rippling dune meets the darkening sky.
The yearly beginning-of-spring bonfire has already been lit so we huddle. Ben throws me a beer and I drink, sitting with Lil in the warmth of the flames. I watch as more and more people arrive, settling into the sand.
“Oh, shit. Is that Jack?” I say, pointing him out to Ben and Lil as he relaxes into the sand with Matt and a group of guys I haven’t seen before. Not locals, obviously. “Who invited him?” I ask. I really wasn’t expecting to see Jack this evening, my heart lurching at the sight of him.
“It’s a free party, Sam. Anyone’s welcome,” Ben replies. “I’m gonna go talk to him.”
“No!” I say, reaching for his arm. “Don’t!” I really can’t have Ben drawing Jack’s attention to me. The last time I saw him he was so mad. So hurt. So keen to get away.
“Jeez, Sam. What’s the problem? Just because you guys aren’t together anymore, doesn’t mean I can’t be civil to the guy, does it?”
Jack’s eyes lock onto mine from across the dune and he holds them, before glancing toward the sea. And all I want is to go to him. Hold him. Be in his arms. But I know he won’t have me. Not after Narrabeen.
Em and Riley arrive over the dune, carrying a cooler bag of drinks between them. As they make their way across to us I resolve to have a good time. I will not let this worry me. I will not let Jack’s presence spoil my night. I have spent too long lying miserable in my bedroom. Tonight I need to have fun.
Em pulls out a bottle of tequila and pours it into shot glasses. She hands one to me with a cheeky grin and I throw it successfully down my throat then bite into my wedge of sour lime. And where nothing else works, this actually feels good. Like I’m burning the heat back into my heart, where it’s been cold now for a month at least. Frozen like a frost-bitten snow-covered field, just waiting for the thaw.