Starting from Scratch

by Penelope Janu

  I check my pyjama top. The buttons are all lined up. I straighten my shorts and pull down the legs as far as they’ll go. My face is hot and so is my neck. I plant my feet on the floor and look around for my sweater and my key and …

  The mattress dips. He mutters under his breath as he crawls across the bed behind me. Without touching me in any other way, he kisses the side of my neck. His mouth is open. His tongue is wet. ‘Sapphie?’ he growls. ‘Turn around.’

  I squirm on the bed, just as aroused as I was. I clench my fists and shake my head. ‘I don’t know what you want.’

  ‘I told you what I want,’ he says, wrapping an arm around my front. He leans over my shoulder and tips up my chin. ‘I want you.’ He runs his thumb along my cheek. He lowers his head and kisses my mouth. It’s a kiss full of promise. His tongue finds mine, but only for a moment. He lifts his head.

  ‘Matts?’ My voice is husky with need.

  ‘I want you. I’ve waited.’

  ‘Then why …?’

  He steps off the bed and kneels in front of me. He kisses me again. Briefly. Possessively. He sits back on his heels and takes my hands.

  ‘I’ve waited.’ He squeezes my hands so tightly it hurts.

  ‘Ow.’

  He loosens his grip a little. His jaw is clenched. He prises it open before closing it again.

  ‘Matts? What’s going on?’

  He runs his thumb over my fingers. ‘You said you have relationships with strangers. Nothing long term?’

  ‘I—no.’

  ‘We were friends once.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He looks over his shoulder to the bed. ‘I’ve waited.’

  ‘You’ve said that three times now.’ His fringe is messy. I tidy it. ‘What have you waited for?’

  He kisses my wrist, the movement of his lips soft against my skin. ‘I want you to take a risk on me. I want you to trust me.’

  I hesitate. ‘I trust you much more than I did.’

  He stills for a heartbeat. He returns my hand to my lap. ‘Sex won’t be enough.’

  ‘No, but …’

  He glances at the bed again. He gets to his feet and pulls me to mine. ‘I want more.’

  CHAPTER

  32

  Matts wants me to take a risk. He wants me to trust him.

  The universe tilts when we kiss. That’s not friendship, it’s …

  I freeze at the bottom of the stairs.

  Is it time to put a name to it? Am I in love with him?

  We arranged to meet in the courtyard where the hotel serves breakfast. What will we talk about? Rivers. Wetlands. Frogs and birds. Droughts and floods.

  More. What is that? Commitment? Short term? Long term? Forever?

  What about my home?

  ‘Are you lost, love?’ Last night’s barman is wearing a red-checked apron and carrying a basket of bread. ‘You looking for breakfast? He points to a door at the end of the corridor. ‘The others are already there.’

  The courtyard is paved with bricks, the perimeter marked by rectangular planters. The mint, parsley and rosemary are thriving, but the coriander is wilted and yellowed. Shaggy, bright green carrot tops burst from the pot closest to the table where Matts is sitting. His back is to me, but Cassie sits opposite him. She waves.

  ‘Sapphie! Good morning!’

  Matts turns in his chair, but I’m not yet ready to face him. I lean over the table to hug Cassie. ‘This is a surprise.’

  ‘Very last minute, but Matts thought having another committee member might help to take the load off you. We had no intention of gatecrashing breakfast, but Ray’—she smiles at the middle-aged man wearing a Crocodile Dundee hat sitting next to her—‘wanted to meet up early.’

  Ray stands and holds out his hand. ‘Ray Bainsbridge. Nice to see you again.’

  ‘You’re an ornithologist, aren’t you? From Bathurst?’

  ‘That’s me.’ He smooths his neat goatee beard between his thumb and index finger. ‘Thanks for having me along.’

  Matts stands. He smiles stiffly. ‘Sapphie. Can we talk?’

  His jaw is perfectly smooth. His shirt is tucked in. I walk to the far side of the planter box with the carrot tops, much deeper than the one I have outside my classroom. I run my fingers over the lacy fronds.

  Matts frowns as he stands in front of me, blocking the others from view. ‘I didn’t know they’d be here.’

  Less than an hour ago, he was tousle-haired and … I clear my throat. ‘You asked them to meet us later this morning though, didn’t you? Cassie said it was very last minute.’

  ‘I called her the day before yesterday.’

  ‘When you called Hugo and Mr Chambers? Is your whole life like this, Matts? You click your fingers and people come running?’

  He kisses my lips so swiftly that they barely have time to soften. ‘Not you,’ he mutters.

  My skin heats. ‘They’re waiting for us.’

  When he crosses his arms, it pulls his shirt tightly across his shoulders. ‘I want to tell the truth, Sapphie. That we grew up together.’

  The orange part of the carrot is the root. Some folk end up where they should have started out in the first place. For me, that’s Horseshoe.

  ‘Why is it so important?’

  ‘It’s our past.’

  He’s not touching me, but I wish that he would. I wish we could go back to bed so he could hold on to me and I could hold on to him. We could think things through together. We could tell the truth.

  I clear my throat. ‘I talked to Gus about you, but I didn’t tell him about our childhood. Gus is like you—he values honesty. I’d want to tell him first.’

  Cassie’s laughter peels out. ‘Ray!’

  ‘We have to go.’

  He takes my hand as if I haven’t spoken. ‘You’re pale, Sapphie. You’re tired.’

  ‘It’s you who stayed up all night. I’m okay.’

  ‘Your father, the roads … Today won’t be easy.’ He turns my hand in his. ‘Do you want to stay here? I’ll come back as soon as I can.’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s better to be busy and …’ When my hand flutters, he tightens his hold. ‘I’ve come all this way.’ I try to smile but it wobbles. ‘I might as well see your wetlands.’

  His lip lifts. ‘Yes.’

  When we return to the table, Ray shuffles over on the bench, so I slip into the seat next to him. He offers me the bread basket and I take a roll, sprinkled with poppy seeds and shaped into a knot. I dip a spoon into a jar of marmalade.

  ‘I ordered tea,’ Matts says. ‘Is that what you wanted?’

  ‘Thank you.’ I lower my gaze as I break the roll in half. Poppy seeds, scores of black full stops, spray across the plate and onto the table.

  Cassie smiles. ‘That reminds me. How are you progressing with Gus’s Remembrance Day flowers?’

  ‘I’m almost done.’ I spread marmalade on the roll. ‘He needed extra poppies this year, because there are so many children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren attending the services in November.’

  ‘Sapphie makes crepe paper flowers,’ Cassie tells Ray.

  Matts’s head was bowed, but he looks up. ‘You make poppies?’ he asks.

  The memory dances between us. A Remembrance Day afternoon tea was held at the Governor-General’s residence in Canberra every November. I’d agreed to attend with my father not only because I knew that Matts would be there, but because it would be one less thing he could hold against Mum. Dad hadn’t gone into politics yet, but often mixed with MPs. By then I was fifteen, and understood what was required. I had to listen closely, nod with interest and answer questions politely.

  There was a vase of fiery red poppies on each of the tables. It would have been too late in the year for poppies to grow in Canberra, so they must have been grown in a greenhouse or flown in from Europe. They’re an old-fashioned flower, so it was surprising that Gran and I had never sat at her laminated table and made them together. I took one of the poppies from
the vase and walked to a shady spot to examine it more closely. I’m not sure why my father followed me, but by the time he’d caught up, I’d carefully pulled the flower apart and was pondering the shapes of the petals, filament and anther. He was telling me off for destroying an emblem of courage and sacrifice by the time Matts joined us. He took the pieces of the poppy out of my hand and shoved them into his pocket as if to hide evidence. ‘Sapphire wouldn’t intentionally offend anyone,’ he said to my father.

  Matts had been avoiding me all afternoon. Is that why I was as furious with him as I was with Robert, who hadn’t given me a chance to explain? As soon as my father walked away, I turned on Matts. ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘To get rid of him.’

  My fists were clenched. ‘Why do you care how he treats me?’

  ‘You think I don’t?’ He glared. ‘When will you grow up?’

  Walking away, he swung a foot as if booting a ball and a clod of earth flew into the air. When he came back, his hands were shoved into his pockets. I was midway through my growth spurt, but he was seventeen and far taller. We stood toe to toe and he looked at my mouth. His lips were slightly apart. He dipped his head and I lifted my face. For a fraction of a second I thought that we’d …

  I keep my eyes firmly fixed on my poppy seed roll, the knot untied and the soft white bread sticky with marmalade. Even though I’m still waiting on the tea, I turn the cup in its saucer, pick it up and put it down again. It’s taken a long time to work it out, but now I know.

  Matts had wanted to kiss me.

  I’d wanted to kiss him back.

  The following week, my mother was taken away.

  My plate is awash with poppy seeds by the time I’ve finished my roll. As the others talk around me, I lick my thumb and press it against the tiny black dots, picking them up in twos and threes.

  ‘Sapphie.’ Matts’s brows are drawn.

  I take my thumb out of my mouth. ‘Yes?’

  He opens his mouth and slams it shut. His gaze slides to my thumb. His colour deepens as he leans across the table and puts a blue-and-white striped teapot to the left of my plate.

  ‘Drink your tea, Kissa,’ he says under his breath. ‘It’s almost time to go.’

  CHAPTER

  33

  Cassie’s car, an old troop carrier, is parked next to Matts’s car in the hotel carpark. By the time I’ve run to my room and brushed my teeth, she’s behind the wheel. As I throw my bag into the back of Matts’s car and he slams the boot, Ray appears. He takes off his hat before pulling the strap of his satchel over his head.

  ‘I want to pick your brains about the Ramsar criteria,’ he says to Matts. ‘And while I’m at it, I can answer your questions about the waterbird breeding cycle. I’ll fill you in on the Australasian bittern too. It’s been on the critically endangered list for a number of years now.’ He opens the front passenger side door and throws his bag on the floor. He smiles. ‘Cassie says she’s happy to go on her own. Okay if I hitch a ride with you?’

  ‘No,’ Matts says.

  Ray’s smile disappears. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Sapphie gets car sick.’

  Blunt. Misleading. I put a hand on Ray’s arm. ‘We’d like to have you with us, Ray, but would you mind sitting in the back?’

  ‘No problem,’ he says, smiling again as he scoops up his bag. ‘One of my daughters gets car sick.’ He opens the back door as I climb into the front. He sits in the seat in the middle and fastens his seatbelt. ‘Have you tried nibbling on a piece of ginger? Joy swears by it. Or drinking lemon and ginger tea before you set off?’

  ‘It’s a recent thing.’ I clip up my belt. ‘I hit a kangaroo last year. It’s made me anxious on the roads.’

  ‘Valerian will do the trick then. That’s a relaxant, but not on the prohibited substances list as far as I’m aware.’

  Matts looks into the rear-view mirror. ‘She doesn’t need advice.’

  I attempt a smile. ‘I’m much better than I was.’

  ‘Wind down the window,’ Matts says quietly as he releases the handbrake. ‘It’ll take over an hour.’

  As soon as he pulls out of the carpark, I tip back my head and take deep breaths. The anxiety is much better than it was. Matts is helping with that. He takes note when I swallow more than usual, or link my fingers so my hands shake less. He slows at the blind corners and on the crests of the hills. He follows my gaze when he can, as if to communicate that he’s also aware of the dangers out there.

  After a couple of failed attempts, Ray leaves me out of the conversation. ‘The Macquarie River doesn’t run out to sea, it runs inland,’ he tells Matts. ‘And fifty kilometres north of Wilson, depending on rainfall and environmental water allowances, it runs into watercourses that create thousands of hectares of wetlands, a nirvana for birdlife. At the northern end of the wetlands, the channels unite to form a river again, and the Macquarie meets the Barwon, which eventually flows into the Darling, and then Victoria and South Australia’s Murray River system.’

  Ray’s vowels are long and drawn out and his syllables and sentences run together. When Matts occasionally gets a word in, he speaks precisely, his sentences short and direct.

  ‘The sheep and cattle farms up here do quite well,’ Ray says, ‘and other agricultural interests such as cotton farming give a boost to the local economy.’

  ‘Irrigation is unsustainable,’ Matts says.

  Ray’s smile falters. ‘We need a certain amount of it.’

  ‘Without policies to guarantee environmental water for the wetlands, you lose the reed beds, essential for birds and other wildlife. Thousands of hectares have already been lost.’

  I hold my breath and grip my belt when a four-wheel drive with a loaded trailer thunders towards us. Matts veers onto the side of the road. He glances at me.

  ‘Okay?’

  I nod jerkily. ‘Yes.’

  Ray leans forward. ‘How about tourism?’ he says brightly.

  Matts mutters under his breath. ‘Not without water management.’

  ‘But surely—’

  ‘The river’s flow is fucked—upstream and downstream.’

  I look for Ray’s reflection in the visor mirror. ‘I suppose that’s one way of putting it,’ he says, his lips tightly pursed.

  When the road narrows to a strip of bitumen, not wide enough for two cars to pass without one moving onto the reddish earth, Matts slows even more. We pass a dead kangaroo. Within a kilometre, there’s another one and then another two.

  Ray whistles through his teeth. ‘For a road barely used, there’s a lot of road kill.’

  ‘People shouldn’t drive through here at night,’ I manage.

  Matts glances at me. ‘Do you need a break? Should I stop?’

  I remind myself that the country is where I belong. And that means dead kangaroos at the side of the road are a part of my life. The sadness and regret I’m feeling is natural. I didn’t hit these kangaroos and whoever did hit them didn’t do it deliberately.

  My mother died in an accident on the road but this has nothing to do with her.

  ‘I’m okay,’ I croak.

  Coolabah trees with thick straight trunks throw circles of shade on the ground. The grasses are greener here, and the low scrubby plants more numerous. Handsome glossy cows—cream, russet and chocolate brown—look up cautiously up as we pass. Many have calves by their sides.

  Matts slows even more. ‘Ray,’ he says, ‘look up ahead.’ He points to two white, black and grey birds swooping in front of the car.

  ‘Black-shouldered kites!’ Ray exclaims. ‘Magnificent!’

  Within a few kilometres, Matts checks his odometer and turns off at a nondescript gap in the fence. Driving over a cattle grate, he heads towards a group of grey gums. Cassie’s car and another four-wheel drive come into view. A tall, well-built man, dressed in a khaki shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows, sits on the bonnet and chats to Cassie. He tips his Akubra forward and ties his curly black hair into a bun at the
nape of his neck.

  ‘Hello, mate,’ he says, as Matts steps out of the car. ‘Rory Ablett. Welcome to the marshes. My boss tells me you’re a big shot.’

  Matts returns Rory’s smile as they shake hands. ‘Not out here. Thanks for taking us out.’

  I’m undoing my seatbelt when Rory crouches and looks through Matts’s window. ‘Sapphie Brown, right?’ His white teeth sparkle. ‘Thought it must be you. My niece was in your class a couple of years back.’

  ‘Georgie Ablett? Is Missy your sister?’ When I get out of the car, he offers his hand. ‘Georgie never stopped talking about her Uncle Rory.’

  ‘Only good stuff, right?’

  I laugh. ‘Teachers get to hear a lot of things they shouldn’t. Missy moved to Brewarrina to be closer to your mum, didn’t she?’

  ‘You got it. Georgie still wants to be a teacher because of you.’

  ‘Give her a hug from me. I’m looking forward to seeing Missy at April’s wedding.’

  After Rory opens the gate marked STRICTLY AUTHORISED ACCESS ONLY, we drive single file along a roughly graded and increasingly soggy road, past hectares of reeds and grasses as tall as the car. There are gums and coolabahs dotted around us, with thick stands of trees in the distance.

  Ray leans forward in his seat. ‘In the eighteen-twenties, the white settlers followed the river up from Bathurst. When they saw the water stretch out in front of them, they thought they’d found an inland sea.’

  We drive away from the reeds onto an expanse of floodplain. Water laps around the tyres of the cars in front. Matts glances at me. He smiles reassuringly as he stops the car.

  ‘There’s a mob of emus to your left.’

  At least twenty emus sprint across the shallows, their strong and sturdy legs supporting thickly feathered bodies, long straight necks and small heads with broad dark beaks. Silver spray shoots into the air behind them. Smaller birds, adolescents and larger chicks, run along behind.

  I unbuckle my belt and rest my arms on the dashboard to watch, only straightening again when there’s nothing left of the emus but a blur in the distance.