Wintering

by Krissy Kneen

  ‘Oh, Gus, I would love to, but Matthew’s got this—’

  ‘No worries. Just wanted to say you’re welcome. Any time. We catch up most Fridays, you know. And other nights. Just saying if you want to hang out…’

  ‘I’d like that. I will. Another time.’

  But she wouldn’t. Her smile felt fake now. It felt like it belonged somewhere else. Beneath it there was just a blank stretch of mouthless skin.

  ‘Soon,’ she said with her fake mouth. ‘I promise.’

  Jessica shifted on the damp bench and her raincoat creaked under her. She pulled the zip up higher around her neck. Two weeks till the solstice and how could it get colder? Her hair was damp already but she pulled her hood up against the rain. Looked at her phone. No bars at all—just an SOS ONLY in the corner of the screen. It dropped out entirely when she shuffled to her left. A dog, even a feral one, would not attack an adult human. She shifted back to her right. She could call triple zero if she saw it, and an hour later the police might arrive. She thrust her hands into her empty pockets and thought again about her gun. She didn’t usually carry it; hadn’t held it since they bought the thing. Matthew insisted that she buy it, living so far south, down at the end of the world. It had seemed an unnecessary extravagance—dangerous, ridiculous. Less so at this moment, though.

  Matthew should have been here by now. Even if he stopped in Geeveston for petrol he’d still have plenty of time to make it down to Hastings Cave by eight o’clock. It was tempting to go through the rigmarole of unlocking the building and turning the alarm off just to sit inside, out of the cold. There was a landline in there and she could call him. She drifted between anxiety and anger. He should be here by now. He should know to be here by now.

  She needed a puffy down jacket. They were expensive, but it was just one of those things, like her boots, like her boat. Just an essential part of living down here. She would get one in Hobart when she went back to see David, her supervisor. She’d have to plan for it, take the money out in stages. If she took it all at once Matthew would get funny about it. They were pretty expensive. It was an indulgence, really. Maybe she could find something on eBay.

  Finally, shivering, she stood and began to walk down the concrete ramp towards the front door of the gift shop.

  The sound of tyres on gravel, the slush of mud spraying up the side of the car. The swing of headlights on high beam. He was driving too fast and for once she didn’t mind. She really didn’t want to be left here in the cold dark. He could do a hundred and twenty in the mud for all she cared.

  He beeped, as if she wouldn’t hear him slam the brakes on and skid to a halt. Beeped again, and she raised a hand. Of course she had heard him. She was already hurrying back up the ramp.

  ‘You were ages,’ she snapped as she pulled her muddy feet into the car.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry, hon. Seals in the pens.’

  ‘Did you have to dynamite them again?’

  ‘You don’t want to know. Carnage, that’s all I’ll say.’

  She slammed the door and turned the heat up to full. ‘Dead possum in the cave this morning.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Do you remember that feral cat on the track two years ago?’

  ‘Ha. Yeah. Size of a dog.’

  ‘Small dog,’ she said.

  ‘Big enough. You going to go out hunting this one?’

  ‘I reported it to Parks.’

  ‘I’ll ask around. See if anyone’s lost pets or stock.’

  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and there was that smile she loved as he swung the car around, skidding, fishtailing. She would pick up her car tomorrow; not a day too soon.

  Riding with Matthew she could see the teenage boy she never knew. The roo shooter, the drunk driver who lost his first licence at seventeen, the smart teenager who hadn’t had the opportunity to go past Year 10. He was a different man now, but sometimes she caught a glimpse of that boy behind the wheel.

  She closed her eyes.

  ‘God, it’s a long day,’ she murmured, winding the passenger seat back so she could recline a little.

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Jessica was on a boat. But no. The slow rocking from side to side was not the gentle rise and fall of the tide. She was in a car. Matthew’s car. He was driving her home from work. She opened her eyes to a world dark as nightmare. Tried to sit up, struggling against her seatbelt. She could see nothing.

  Suddenly the tall trees appeared, highlighted in the headlights where there had only been darkness before. The car adjusted to this new view of the road. She must be sleeping. She blinked, blinked again and the world disappeared. One minute there were the thin, tight pickets of tall trees, lined up so close you could never hope to push between them, then they were gone. Snap to black.

  This was the southern forest, a packed mass of eucalypts. Sometimes she peered at the ranks of trees and wondered about the first settlers, how they managed to push their way into the forest, felling one huge trunk at a time. Before this, before the saws and scythes of the white folk, how did the Aboriginal Australians do it? Leave it be, avoid the thickest parts, probably. Live with it.

  She must be dreaming these trees, popping into focus and then blacked out as if the moon was suddenly turned off.

  Not the moon. The headlights, the headlights of the car. She could feel the forward motion, the curve of the tyres on the dark road. She could feel the potholes under the bouncing car. And then the forest blazed to vibrant life again. Two little eyes on the side of the road, glowing red. A wallaby, standing still in a ditch, staring at the car, surprised, just as she was surprised by the way the headlights suddenly appeared out of the blackness, pulling the metal bulk of the car with them.

  ‘What the fuck!’ she snapped.

  Fucking Matthew playing chicken with the headlights. Again. While she was asleep and unsuspecting.

  ‘Matthew. What the fuck?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you have the headlights off?’

  ‘What?’ All mock hurt, falsely accused, for a moment. Then he slapped the wheel and laughed. ‘Just for a second. Only a second, honestly. I didn’t think you’d wake up.’

  ‘Fuck you! Didn’t think I’d wake up? Get fucked.’ She ratcheted the seat to upright.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Hey, hey. No harm done.’

  She tried to calm herself but she could feel her chest catch, her shoulders huffing up and down with her wet breath.

  ‘Hey.’ He reached over to touch her knee. ‘Hey. Hey.’

  ‘I’ve told you not to…You could have…We could…’ Her voice caught and hiccuped as she spoke. She was beginning to sob.

  ‘Oh, baby.’ He was patting her knee as if she really were a baby, patting her to make her stop crying.

  She took a deep and halting breath. Steadied herself.

  ‘I still have to finish the revisions to the introduction when I get home.’

  ‘I’ll make dinner, I’ll make us tuna and rice, okay?’

  She nodded. Her breath shuddered.

  ‘You like that? Tuna and rice?’

  ‘It’s just,’ she blew her nose. ‘Oh God, I’ll never finish.’

  ‘Yeah you will. No need to rush it. You’ve been working on it for years. Stupid supervisor can wait.’

  ‘He can’t…’

  ‘You’re so smart, baby.’ He reached over and mussed up her hair. ‘Look at you. My girlfriend the doctor. Doctor Weir. Doctor Jessica Weir!’

  He beeped the horn once, a long excited drone.

  She slapped him on the arm. ‘Stop doing that. And don’t fuck around with the lights ever again. I’ve told you.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘So fucking stupid.’

  ‘Okay, doctor,’ he said. ‘Okay,’ and he grinned so wide she couldn’t stay mad at him. She leaned over and kissed his shoulder and he smelled warm and earthy and safe.

  She opened her eyes. She was always so tired in the morning, but today she felt like
her arms were leaden. Her head throbbed. Her eyes felt puffy. She had been crying. She remembered. Blinked the memory away.

  Stupid fight, anyway.

  Flower. A gorgeous bright circle of yellow on Matthew’s pillow, staring at her, wide-eyed. She dragged herself up to a sitting position and reached over for the flower.

  Her head was pounding. Stupid, stupid fight.

  But here was a flower and the sun already up outside the window and a bright patch of yellow shining through the curtain and falling onto her feet under the blanket.

  Gorgeous sunshiny day.

  She slipped her feet onto the floor, breathing in the smell of bacon. He was cooking breakfast.

  ‘Matthew?’

  Bacon and eggs.

  She slipped her feet into her ugg boots and pulled a jumper on over her pyjamas. It was still cold but the light from the window warmed her spirits.

  She bent down and picked up another flower from the floor. A daisy chain looped around the doorhandle. She slipped it over her wrist and opened the door. Classical music on the record player. Bach. She felt her love for Matthew flood into her chest along with the waft of bacon and the sad, slow gathering of the notes.

  More flowers, laid in a deliberate line. Like her mother’s Easter egg trail, a line of little chocolate eggs leading to a chocolate bunny hidden somewhere in the compound. She remembered the hunts they set for the kids every year, her excitement, waking to it. She bent, plucked, bent, plucked. It was as if the music was perfectly timed to her footsteps. The cello swelled upward and she turned the corner and there was the dining-room table draped in paper daisies, a huge bunch of red roses in the centre. Boiled eggs, toast soldiers, fresh baked bread. He must have started before dawn. Had he picked the flowers?

  She stood with a bunch of yellow in her fist and watched him emerge from the kitchen with cultured butter on a plate. He had made butter too.

  He stopped when he saw her. He smiled and she watched as his eyes filled up and a single tear spilled over and traced a line down his cheek.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jessica. I love you so much.’

  The fight. She glanced over to where her laptop was resting on her desk. It was fine. No damage. Nothing broken. She felt her own eyes swelling with tears and wiped them away with the back of her hand.

  ‘Forgive me. Please.’

  ‘You baked bread.’ She heard her voice waver. She swallowed.

  ‘I just wanted…’ He put the butter dish down beside her plate.

  The music ushered her to her seat. She sank into it. The light from the window warmed her face as she glanced out to where the ocean lapped at the sand. The sea was so calm today. She watched a shell roll onto the shore and then slip back into the ocean again.

  She buttered the slice of bread on her plate and raised it to her lips. Still warm, the butter melting into it. She took a bite and felt her breath catch in her throat. She heard a sobbing sound. It was coming from her own mouth. She tried to swallow it.

  ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘I love you, just…Don’t leave me.’

  ‘What?’ He stepped towards her, wrapped his hands around her shoulders. ‘I’d never leave you. I was frightened…’

  ‘I…’

  ‘You’ll be finished study soon. You’ll be a doctor. You could go anywhere. Why would you stay with me? You’re so smart. You could do anything. Go anywhere. I’m a dumb nothing.’

  She sank into the hug. Clung to his arms. Stupid fight. She could barely remember…

  ‘You’ll leave me,’ he said.

  ‘I won’t.’ She turned towards him, pulled his face towards her. There was butter on her fingers and she kissed a trail of it off his cheeks.

  ‘But I’m just a dumb fuck from the bush. I’m just a hick.’

  ‘Don’t say that. You’re the smartest man I know. You’re the only man I know who’s read Kant and Foucault, and Deleuze and all of Hemingway…’

  She kissed him again, gently. He kissed her back.

  ‘It’s not about a doctorate, high school, that’s just…nothing… stupid. Look at this?’ Jessica nodded to the table. ‘Look at what you have to teach me. I’d be lost without you. You know that.’

  ‘You’re not leaving?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘Stupid fight. I’m an idiot! I’m so sorry. I’m just—’

  ‘Stressed.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I know. I wish it hadn’t—’

  ‘It’s gone. It never happened.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘You swear by your Arachnocampas?’

  ‘I swear by my colony: we never had that fight. Today is going to be the best day ever.’

  He smiled. He took his seat at the table next to her. ‘I’ve packed a picnic basket. The weather’s amazing. Let’s go—’

  ‘To Winter Cave?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to go in to work?’

  ‘I called in sick already.’

  ‘I love you, Matthew.’

  ‘I love you too, Jessica.’

  She grinned. The record ended and the needle arm lifted, made a slow journey back to the edge of the record, and then lowered itself delicately into the groove. The music began, stern yet gentle. Jessica lifted the freshly baked bread to her lips. Her wrist was a little sore. There was a darkening of the skin there, barely noticeable. It would fade quickly. She bit down into the warm bread. This was exactly what her love tasted like, sounded like. It was going to be a wonderful day.

  That one sunny day.

  A brief thaw and then winter crashed over them again, settling into her bones.

  She stamped sand from her boots and shrugged the heavy coat from her shoulders, unwinding the thick woollen snake from her neck. Her mother had given her the scarf, but Jessica wore it anyway, the only thing she owned that could battle the deep chill of the winters here. Still, when she unwrapped it and hung it on the hook by the door she breathed easier, as if she’d removed the hands of her mother from her throat.

  ‘Hey,’ she said into the dark emptiness of the cottage. The sea hushed back at her. Matthew wasn’t home. Of course. She checked her watch. He would just be finishing his shift, then the long drive. The flowers were still bright in their vases, but the roses were fully blown now, a few petals resting on the tabletop. She picked one up and nestled it against her upper lip. It felt like velvet; it smelled rich and thick as honey. A warm scent, even in the bone-chill of the cabin.

  Her laptop was still on the coffee table. She hadn’t booted it up since…that night. It felt like years ago now, but she still had to finish formatting the bibliography. She would have to face it sooner or later.

  Jessica bent to the fireplace. Twigs, torn paper, a little bundle of kindling. She built the wood up as Matthew had taught her. A log on either side, one balanced neatly on top. Her hands were still shaking with cold; she laced them together in her lap. Watched the fire catch. Their lives had been rendered down to this. Everything was all about the fireplace now, they tended it like a child. The first responsibility in the morning, the last thing to feed before bed. Is the wood chopped? Is enough of it dry? Have we got kindling? She sat back on her heels and watched the flames as they grew fat and red and sucked all the minutes out of her evening.

  The fridge was full of fish. A cray in the freezer that she had pulled out of the pot yesterday morning, salmon cheap or ‘borrowed’ from the fish farm. Half-a-dozen filleted flathead that she had pulled into the boat with her own hands. She should be sick of fish but she wasn’t. Down the road at Cockle Creek there was a woman who put a boat out every day. Matthew had told her about it. Ninety years old, and still setting out with her net and line. Jessica wondered if that would be her one day, old and hunched and gutting her catch right here on the ocean.

  The phone buzzed.

  Just leaving now x.

  She responded with an x of her
own and turned to the freezer. Fish stew—there were always little plastic containers in the freezer. Stew and soup and pie and lasagne. She felt loved whenever she peered into the fridge.

  Matthew would be home soon, smelling of brine, hungry and cold to the bone. She put one more log on the fire, opened the flue all the way, listened to the roar and crackle. Outside the wind dropped to a low whistle. The ocean breathed.

  * She woke, hungry. She checked her watch. Maybe he had been called back at the last minute, someone late for their shift, some accident at the pens and all hands needed. Where had she put the phone? She searched blearily on the couch for it. Maybe it had slipped under a cushion.

  It was cold. The fire was dying.

  She lurched sleepily towards it and added a handful of sticks, a couple of logs. That should be enough to get them through till morning. It wasn’t the first time Matthew had been late. She shuffled into the kitchen. The stew was defrosted but it was too late for dinner now. She ate a little of the salmon that Matthew had smoked under the house.

  Teeth, pyjamas, bed.

  He would find his meal in the fridge when he returned, although by now he must have eaten at work, especially if he was on overtime. These small domestic details, the comfort of them.

  She opened the door to the bathroom and the cold met her. Like someone had died in there—a thing her mother used to say. She turned on the hot tap and dipped her toothbrush under the stream, dreading the shock of cold water on her teeth. All these things that she had learnt since leaving Queensland, coming as far south as you could go before you hit the icy deserts of Antarctica. As far away from her childhood life as was physically possible without shifting to a different continent.

  Footsteps in the front room. A rattling nail-click on the floorboards. Jessica sat upright in bed. She reached out for Matthew. She could smell him breathing beside her but when her hand touched the pillow it was cold, with the faint reek of old sweat. She should change the sheets. She blinked. The book he had been reading was facedown on the bedside table. She hated the way he did that, cracking the spine.