The Best Australian Stories 2013

by Kim Scott

  I have spent hours aching for Gina’s life. To sleep in, to work four shifts a week, to study painting, to have boys lie on lawns with me and talk about all the things we’ll do – together or separately. I want her Nirvana posters, I want her broken spring mattress, I want her Chagall on the wall, her drunken dreams, her abandoned craft projects, her competitive, intimate friendships, her high hopes, her shifting plans to be a human-rights lawyer, an installation artist, a painter in Mexico, or a drop-out documenting everyday life and waiting to become famous. Why can’t it last forever, this sense of becoming? Why have I failed so entirely at being an adult? I want to go to afternoon matinees, to reward an assignment completed on time with gulps of cask wine, to have men look at me again, to have someone say, as Cam once did, ‘When I am fucking you it feels like falling.’

  Gary puts me on the cash register and I try to remember not to reach with my right arm, the sling one. Gina is talking about Christmas. She was meant to go to Indonesia but has decided to stay until January so she doesn’t miss all the parties. She stole a Christmas tree from Coles for her friends who live in a squat.

  ‘Does Coles sell Christmas trees?’ I ask, freeing twenty-dollar notes from their thick pile under a rubber band.

  ‘Uh, no, Abigail, they don’t … I took the Coles one, like, you know, the one they have for customers to see and think they’re a festive corporation.’

  I am aghast at this girl and her nineteen-year-old nonchalant beauty. ‘You took the charity tree where people leave food for poor kids?’

  ‘Fuck, no. I’m not … I took the cardboard one they have at the door saying Merry Christmas from Coles.’

  ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘We just walked up – it was Sarah and me – and picked it up and just walked out. Nobody even blinked.’

  I wince. I wish I were the sort of person who knew to walk out, walk away from things.

  ‘Shit, Abigail, is it hurting?’

  I nod.

  ‘How did you even do it?’

  ‘I fell in the shower,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t looking. I slipped.’

  Even when the day turns wet, our regulars come. Gina loads their orders onto paper plates and they all ask about injury. They tell me stories of daughters and boyfriends and siblings with broken collarbones and bad backs. They tell me not to put strain on myself. They joke about the walking wounded and ask if I am going to be okay. They say you can’t drive for six weeks. They say the bones you can’t put casts on heal slower. They tell me not to push myself.

  All day, while Cam is in his new house with his girlfriend who may or may not be pregnant and Jessie is in hospital getting thiamine injections, people look at me and see the sling. What happened to you? they say. What happened to you?

  Kill Your Darlings

  Snow on the Mountain

  Chris Somerville

  Caroline was sitting in the passenger seat while Eliot sat behind the wheel, trying to get the engine to start. She tried not to show it but she was freezing; her hands were pressed between her legs for warmth. She was wearing a scarf and a large coat because she knew the heating in Eliot’s car didn’t work. The coat had belonged to her ex-boyfriend Tom, but when he moved out he left it behind, sitting in his side of the closet, flanked by empty coat hangers. Caroline liked the way the coat was too big for her. When she stood the sleeves hid her hands.

  ‘It just needs to warm up,’ Eliot said. ‘Give it a minute.’

  Eliot lived with his parents across the street. Caroline had asked to borrow his car because she didn’t own one anymore. It was early and there was frost on Eliot’s well-kept lawn. She could see their footprints on the frozen blades of grass. Tom had always made a big deal about keeping their own front garden in check and now, in his absence, Caroline had let things go.

  ‘The engine sounds broken,’ she said.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘It just wants the attention.’

  Apart from the sound of the car engine the street was quiet and still. Eliot was eighteen and had bought the car, an old Volvo station wagon, from his uncle. Caroline pressed her hands together tightly, then released them to rub at her nose. The engine coughed and started.

  ‘Okay, my dear,’ Eliot said. ‘Are you ready to go on our mystical adventure?’ He said it in a flat voice and Caroline couldn’t tell if he was being serious.

  She smiled at him. She was thirty-five and often wondered if Eliot was her closest friend. She’d once mistakenly said this to Tom and he had nodded in a way that had made her feel naive. It had been the same when he’d left her: Tom had presented the information like it was the most simple thing in the world, and that she should have known it was coming all along. Caroline had nodded because she’d felt like she ought to agree, even though she hadn’t been completely sure what was happening.

  When Tom had left he’d said, casually, ‘See you around.’

  Eliot drove through the empty streets of West Hobart. In the past Caroline had ordered firewood from an old man and his grandson, both rake-thin and surprisingly strong, who would turn up and throw logs to each other as if they were fruit, but this winter she’d wanted to try and save the money. She’d asked to borrow Eliot’s car to collect the wood herself. She’d been trying to cut back on expenses. Last winter she and Tom had burned through at least five tonnes of wood, but she felt she could reduce that, at least for a little while. As soon as the temperature began to drop Tom would start angrily pacing around their living room, rubbing at his arms like he’d been attacked and grimacing. The way she remembered him, he only ever smiled when he was upset. When Eliot had heard Caroline’s plan he’d insisted on coming along.

  None of the stores they passed were open. Eliot was wearing jeans and a wool jumper and Caroline wondered if he was cold too. He was wearing a bright red woollen hat. Eliot looked at her for a second before turning his attention back to the road.

  ‘My grandmother knitted it for me,’ he said.

  ‘It suits you.’

  ‘Did I ever tell you that when I was around four I was with my grandmother in her car. I think we were driving across the bridge and we hit a patch of ice. The car spun around in a complete circle. She never told anyone else in my family about it.’

  ‘Have you told them?’ Caroline said.

  ‘No, she swore me to secrecy.’

  The tape player in the car was broken and a cassette was stuck inside it. Now and then Eliot pulled at it absent-mindedly when, Caroline liked to imagine, he was deep in thought. It was endearing. She wondered if she would still spend time with Eliot if he didn’t live across the street.

  It wasn’t long before they’d left the city and were in the national park that headed up the mountain. When they didn’t talk Caroline felt comfortable, like they were a married couple. It wasn’t like her house where, in Tom’s absence, the silence was like someone holding their breath. She wondered if she was in love with Eliot.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘any wood up here is probably going to be damp.’

  ‘That’s true,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe we should have tried the beach instead. Driftwood burns pretty well, that’s all we ever use when we’re camping.’

  Caroline shrugged, but wasn’t sure if her movements were visible under the coat. The road climbed steadily past small trees and rocks. There was snow, she knew, towards the top of the mountain. She’d seen it from her house.

  ‘I brought a thermos of tea,’ Eliot said. ‘When we pull over I’ll pour you some.’

  They drove past a lookout and for a second Caroline saw the city and, hanging above it, thick grey clouds before they were obscured by the tree line.

  ‘Am I weird?’ Eliot said.

  ‘For bringing a thermos?’ she said.

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know, like more in general.’

  ‘No,
’ Caroline said. ‘I don’t think you are.’

  The first time Caroline had met Eliot he’d helped her hang a painting in her living room. Tom had been at work. Eliot had made slight adjustments at the wall while she stood back from it, telling him when it looked straight. After they’d finished with the painting Eliot had looked over the living room and said, ‘Now let’s move the furniture around,’ and once they had, moving the table and chairs and couch, the room had looked larger and better.

  Eliot swerved dramatically around a line of four cyclists and into the other lane, even though he didn’t have to. He always drove erratically, over the speed limit, taking corners wildly. Even so, Caroline felt safe with him behind the wheel.

  ‘We should stop around here,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s see the snow first,’ she said. ‘We can always come back.’

  They pulled over into the first clearing where Caroline spotted snow. They were close to the top of the mountain. The snow wasn’t very thick; rocks and the leaves of small shrubs poked through it. They got out of the car. Outside it was quiet. Eliot opened the car’s rear door, leaned inside and pulled out a thermos and two mugs.

  ‘I forgot the milk,’ he said.

  ‘Black tea is fine,’ she said.

  ‘And I know the lid turns into a cup, but I prefer a mug.’

  Caroline was wearing tennis shoes and so was Eliot. When she stood her coat came down to below her knees. Eliot put the two mugs on the bonnet of the car and poured them each a cup of tea. Caroline picked hers up and held it between her hands. Steam curled from it.

  ‘I used to bike-ride up here,’ Eliot said, looking around. ‘When I was younger. I don’t know why I stopped.’

  Caroline nodded. They were in a clearing about the size of a swimming pool, with a path leading off at the far end of it. The snow on the ground had settled in patches, and a small stream of water was running down beside the road. Eliot put his mug back down on the bonnet and walked into the clearing. He walked carefully.

  ‘I don’t want to disturb it, you know what I mean?’ he said. ‘Ninjas used to walk across sheafs of rice paper without cracking them, as a test.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ Caroline said. It sometimes worried her to remember how young Eliot was. She leaned against the car. A breeze stirred the trees and it felt cold against her face. She shivered and glanced at the sky. She remembered driving near here with Tom once and anxiously watching clouds coming over the peak of the mountain, thick and grey and carrying snow. They’d had chains in the boot if they needed them. She’d asked Tom to drive more carefully, but he’d told her that they needed to beat the snowstorm and didn’t slow down.

  ‘Otherwise we’ll be up here all night,’ he’d said. ‘Can you just let me drive?’

  ‘I just wish you’d take me more seriously,’ Caroline had said.

  Eliot was at the end of the clearing picking up logs and inspecting them, or flipping them over with the toe of his shoe. Caroline walked over.

  ‘Most of these are too damp to burn,’ he said. ‘We shouldn’t have waited this far into winter to do this.’

  ‘After here we can try somewhere else,’ Caroline said.

  They walked to the edge of the clearing, but the snow was no thicker. She wanted it to be white everywhere, and deep enough to come up to their knees as they trudged through it. Eliot coughed and she noticed for the first time that he was shivering.

  ‘You’re cold,’ she said. ‘Take my coat.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said and crossed his arms. ‘You lose most of your heat from your head anyway. I read about it.’

  ‘Do you want to go back to the car?’

  ‘No, but we should walk for a bit.’

  They walked out of the clearing and down the path that led away from the road. Caroline followed Eliot’s lead and walked through the thin layer of snow carefully, with her arms outstretched a little for balance.

  After they’d walked for about a minute Eliot said, ‘Look,’ and pointed at something with his foot. He had his hands in his pockets.

  Just off the path there was a small grey lump. Eliot walked over and Caroline followed, a few steps behind. When she came close enough she saw that it was a dead pigeon, lying facedown in the snow.

  ‘It probably froze to death,’ Eliot said. ‘They’re not supposed to be up this high this time of year.’

  ‘Maybe it got lost,’ Caroline said.

  ‘Maybe.’

  Eliot took off his hat and held it between his hands. Caroline leaned forward, with her hands on her knees, to look at the bird more closely. There was no blood in the snow or even any misplaced feathers. The pigeon’s eyes were closed and peaceful. One wing was splayed out as though it was greeting someone.

  ‘Poor thing,’ Caroline said.

  ‘I’ve heard freezing to death is like going to sleep,’ Eliot said. ‘Unless I’m thinking of drowning.’

  ‘Maybe they’re the same.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I mean how can they tell anyway?’

  Caroline wondered if they should bury it, but then thought it would be a stupid thing to suggest. She considered covering the body with something, leaves or a branch, but decided to leave it as it was. It was starting to snow lightly. A breeze moved like a wave through the leaves above them.

  ‘We should head back in case it really starts to snow,’ she said.

  ‘I think it’ll be all right,’ Eliot said.

  Caroline had started to head back towards the car when she stepped awkwardly on a round stone which rolled out from underneath her. She fell silently and put her hands up to guard her face. She crumpled to the ground and felt a sharp burn of pain in her left ankle.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said immediately. ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Eliot said. ‘Is your head all right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Help me up.’

  When she pushed herself off the ground her hand was caught in the sharp leaves of a shrub. Eliot helped her stand and propped her up. They were suddenly close and his body was surprisingly smaller that she’d thought. It felt like he could be folded up as easily as paper.

  ‘Try and walk on it,’ Eliot said.

  She carefully put weight on her left foot and again felt a jolt of pain. She couldn’t help but make a noise, a strange kind of gurgle. She felt embarrassed.

  ‘I think it’s sprained,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Just stay off it for now,’ Eliot said.

  She hadn’t smoked for years but right then, surrounded by falling snow, she wanted a cigarette. She wanted the smoke to cloud out from her mouth and lift into the air. Eliot smelled like damp wool mixed with basil.

  They walked back to the car slowly. Caroline leaning heavily on Eliot. Now and then her foot bumped against the ground or Eliot’s leg, and when this happened she tried to stay silent, though she couldn’t help inhaling loudly.

  ‘Sorry,’ Eliot said, each time.

  ‘For what?’ she said.

  He didn’t say anything else. When they got to the car she leaned against it while Eliot opened the passenger door. She sat down sideways on the seat, so her legs pointed out of the car.

  ‘Let me check it for a second,’ he said, leaning down and untying her shoe. He placed it on the passenger-side floor and cupped her ankle with his hands.

  Caroline was wearing tights and felt Eliot press down lightly on her leg, then again and again in different places.

  ‘Does any of this hurt?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Maybe a little.’

  His hands were soft and he moved them carefully, frowning while he worked. Outside it was snowing more; flakes were landing on the windshield, sticking for a moment, and then melting and running down the glass.

  ‘I think it
’s just a sprain,’ he said. ‘If you want I can drive you to a doctor.’

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ she said.

  ‘We should drive down the mountain a bit though. There’ll be wood down there that you can actually burn, not all this damp stuff.’

  ‘I should probably stay off my foot,’ she said. ‘Let’s just go back.’

  ‘I’ll get the wood, I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘It won’t take that long to fill up the boot anyway.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘What difference does it make? I’m here now anyway.’

  Caroline nodded. She was grateful but she also wanted to go home where, instead of a fire, she’d just cover herself with blankets. She’d wear more clothes. She pictured each empty room of her house as if she was photographing it for a real estate advertisement. Each angle trying to hide how unattractive the place was. It made her unhappy. She thought that maybe she should get a cat.

  ‘All right, let’s go,’ she said.

  Eliot was still bent down on one knee, holding her ankle. When Caroline swivelled back into the seat, he held her leg for her as she moved. Eliot reached out and, for a second, Caroline thought he was going to stroke the side of her face. He pulled a twig from her hair. It had a small leaf attached to it.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  Eliot closed her door, grabbed the mugs from the bonnet and got in behind the wheel. He leaned between the seats and put the mugs in the back. The car started on the first go and he turned it around.

  When they paused before pulling back onto the road, Caroline reached over and put her hand on Eliot’s. She felt the back of his knuckles. He didn’t move his hand away immediately, which she had worried about, but instead he looked at her and smiled in a pained kind of way.