The Last Summer of Ada Bloom

by Martine Murray

  32

  Nothing happened in the night. Ada forgot to stay awake and see if Tilly snuck out to have sex with Raff.

  The next day she walked home from the pool. It was too hot to skip, it was even too hot to walk but she had to so she clung to the fences where there was sometimes shade from trees. It was like walking in an oven, the sun baking her as if she was a biscuit and the sky just tired out and sucked of all colour. Everyone had said the cool change was on its way. As far as Ada could tell, the heat was fighting it. But her thoughts were drowned out by the wail of a siren, and a fire engine sped past her. Ada took off her hat and looked up. A funnel of dark smoke dirtied the sky. Another fire engine sped past.

  It occurred to Ada that her house may have burnt down. But then she shook her head. Her dad said fires come from the north. And fires don’t jump the train tracks either. So it couldn’t be her house that was on fire.

  She stared at the great cloud of dark smoke. Ada wasn’t sure. She used to believe her dad knew everything, but she didn’t believe that anymore. The air was solid as a wall and now it smelled of burning leaves and charcoal. Specks of soot swirled in the sky. Ada remembered the stalking death and the fox and the chickens. She remembered the terrible thing in the living room. And the terrible thing she had done to Toby Layton. She stopped. Her swimming bag slid off her shoulder. Now Ada was frightened, not for herself, not for Toby. Ada was frightened about the fire and where it was going and who it was aiming for? Someone in her house? Or PJ?

  Ada marched up the street. She would need to protect that person, or PJ, with a blanket. The foreboding jiggered inside her. The fire was the terrible thing. It was there. Finally. She had known it all along. She had to get PJ out of the house. Or someone.

  People were coming out of their houses. They could smell the smoke and hear the fire engines. What if it was Tilly who was up there? It wouldn’t be Ben because Ben would have known how to get away. If the fire was to get anyone it would be Tilly.

  Ada had to get a blanket. They were in the laundry, in the cupboard, on the top shelf. She would need a stool. The smoke wound around her. Her eyes began to sting. Tilly had told her of the blackened skin. She shouldn’t have. But Tilly had changed; Tilly was sly now and pretty, but she was still Tilly. And she didn’t mean to change. She didn’t mean to love Raff. She just did it because life had put its weight behind her.

  But what her dad and Mrs Layton had done in the living room was on purpose. The fire was not because of Tilly, but because of them in the living room. God had seen it and thorns of rage had sprouted on his back and he breathed a hellfire down on them, on their house. Now the sky was grey, the road stank, the grass was scorched yellow and brittle as paper. People stood in their dry gardens, sheltering their eyes. Ada began to run. It had happened: the fire had exploded; the flames were licking up the trees and burning them into nothing. Their cinders already twirled in the air like falling confetti. Ada had to get the blanket. She could see it in her mind’s eye, a ball of flames hurling through the sky.

  ‘Ada!’

  Ada spun around. Ben was on his bike coming up the hill. He was shouting. His face was red.

  ‘Ada, don’t go up there.’

  But Ben wasn’t the boss. Ada shouted back. ‘I’m going to get PJ. And Tilly.’

  Ben caught up with her. He stopped and wiped his forehead and swore. He said it was too fucking hot. He told her not to be bloody stupid. There was a fire. She had to wait. He would get PJ. But he didn’t say anything about Tilly.

  ‘Where’s Tilly, though?’

  ‘I don’t know, probably on her way home.’

  Ada shook her head. She was going for the blanket. Cars were coming down the street. Mr Staum tooted at them and leaned out his window and told them to go back.

  ‘Dink me,’ Ada ordered. She climbed on. Ben scratched his head and swore again. He said the deal was if he turned back she was coming with him. Ada didn’t care for deals.

  But then the fireman came striding down the street, waving his arms wide like windscreen wipers. ‘Hey,’ he shouted at them. ‘Go back.’

  Ada squeezed Ben like a horse she was giddying up, but Ben stopped. Ada pressed him forward. ‘He’s not the boss of us,’ she whispered. But Ben didn’t move. Ben didn’t really understand. He didn’t realise the fire’s intention. He didn’t know about the living room. He hadn’t felt the dry sucking of death in the air. He didn’t even know they needed the blanket.

  Once the fireman was close enough, Ada yelled, ‘We have to go home. It’s our house just up there and our dog PJ could be there, and he only has three good legs. And we don’t know where our sister is.’

  The fireman wore a hard hat and a shiny yellow coat. He had brown skin and grey hair on his face, just like Mr Layton. He put his hands on his hips. He wouldn’t let her through. He wasn’t as nice as Mr Layton. He was closing the street. He told them to go and wait at the oval. He said all the houses had been cleared already. No one was there. He said the fire was in the bush block. It was the one between their house and Toby Layton’s house. Ada paled. Her patch of bush. William Blake would die. And Emily Dickinson. She shook her head. The fireball was after them. She climbed off the bike and began to run again. Ben called her back. The fireman grabbed her by the arm.

  Ada shouted at him. ‘What about our sister, Tilly? She’s always in trouble. And our dog, PJ. He only has three legs!’ Ada couldn’t tell him about William Blake. The fireman wouldn’t understand.

  He let her arm go, and looked at her with a frown. His voice softened. ‘Your sister can’t be in the house. Everyone has left. I’ll make sure your dog is taken away too. But I’m not going to let you through.’

  Ada didn’t know if she could believe him. She was too afraid, and her mind was twitching. She couldn’t hear herself. Ada felt it in her bones. She couldn’t explain about the terrible thing, the old windmill’s doom, because no one would understand her. No one could see it except her. Ada pointed up the hill. ‘Our house is the one on the corner just up there. The one with the pointy tree by the gate. PJ will be on the veranda. Call out his name loudly because he doesn’t hear well.’

  The fireman nodded. ‘Where’s your mother? I bet she’s on the oval with PJ now wondering where you are. You should get going.’

  Ben began to turn the bike around. Ada twisted back and watched the red glow spread like a stain over the sky. Now the fireball would come. And she couldn’t get the blanket. She pressed her hands to her eyes, but the tears came anyway, so she closed them, and in her mind she began to plead with the fire-breathing god.

  33

  Mike was already on edge because of Joe walking in, and then not long after that Martha had rung him, hysterical. She had sobbed into the phone. He’d braced himself, thinking Joe had gone and told her. But no, she was at the hospital. A fox had bitten her. He didn’t even know foxes bit people. The hospital woman had told Martha that hand wounds were the worst, and it would require treatment as soon as possible. Foxes carried tetanus. Martha’s voice became high pitched. ‘All sorts of infections, Mike,’ she wailed. ‘I could have rabies, and I had to kill it, I knelt on its throat.’ Mike had tried to reassure her. He was so relieved his betrayal hadn’t been reported that he felt almost grateful for her neediness. And then she had sighed as if she had really believed him. As if she would let him be a man after all. She said she would stay at Anne’s for a while because she was too distressed and exhausted to face everyone at home. Mike had been relieved. He had encouraged it. Yes, stay there, that would be fine. He would deal with the kids. He didn’t want to face her.

  First Joe and then a fox and now a fire. Hell rained down on him. And had he cleaned out the gutters? Had he renewed their insurance? His reprieve had been short. He was a man with problems again. He was harried, neglectful, unprepared for the season of fires. Usually they came from the north. So he hadn’t bothered. And now he had jeopardised the safety of his family.

  By the time he arrived at the
oval, there was a small crowd of people under the oak tree. He was relieved to find Ada and Ben and Susie and a handful of other neighbours. Toby lay with his head on Susie’s lap reading. Susie only acknowledged Mike with a nod. She and Toby sat slightly apart from Ada and Ben. Ada didn’t rush out to greet him, as she usually would have.

  Ben was the only one who seemed unaffected. He glanced at Ada as Mike approached and explained, ‘She’s worried about Till and PJ. Do you know where mum is?’

  ‘I assume she is still with Anne, if she isn’t here. She’s in a state about rabies.’

  Ada startled out of her thoughts. ‘Do people die from rabies?’ she said.

  Mike shrugged. ‘She hasn’t got rabies. Where’s Tilly?’

  ‘No one knows,’ said Ben. ‘Ada is worried she was in the bush that’s burning, it’s the block over the railway, apparently someone lit it, that’s the word around here anyway.’

  ‘Why would Tilly be there?’ Mike asked.

  ‘She wouldn’t, it’s just Ada’s got a thing going. She’s, you know, seen something. It’s her bush that’s burning; it’s where William Blake is.’

  ‘A fireball, that’s what I’ve seen,’ said Ada severely. ‘And PJ is there on his own.’

  Sweat had spread on Mike’s shirt and now it stuck to his skin. The clouds were darkening or perhaps it was just the smoke had filled the sky. And the fact remained, he had cheated on his wife. And he couldn’t dispel Ada’s visions of fireballs. Nor could he make things better for Susie who was wearing a boldly patterned sundress, disturbingly reminiscent of the floral apron she had tried to undo. For once, despite the dress, she looked strangely timid, as if stunned into a disconcerted reserve.

  And where was Tilly?

  Mike rolled up his sleeves. He would go and look for her. Should he talk to Susie first? Would it be rude not to talk to her? He should ask her if she was all right? Of course she wasn’t though. And Toby was there. Whatever he said or didn’t say in relation to Susie would feel wrong, to say nothing, to say something. And why weren’t Ada and Toby playing? He should find Tilly first. Then Ada would calm. She would stop this embarrassing praying, and he could avoid Susie. Just seeing her made him feel bad. He didn’t want to see her anymore. His feelings for her were dead. Joe had killed them. The disgust that had deflated his face had reflected their ugliness, with Susie trussed up like a chicken in the floral apron she was trying to tear off. He cursed his mind’s eye for returning the scene to him.

  He crouched by Ada. ‘How about you and I go look for Tilly. We’ll get an ice cream on the way.’

  Ada didn’t even move; she only opened her eyes and fastened an unerring look of reproach on him. Did she know about Joe? Ada never refused an ice cream. Mike stood up and shook off her stare.

  After a moment she said, ‘William Blake is probably burnt to the ground. I’m waiting here for the fireman and PJ. You go with Ben and get Tilly.’

  ‘Well, I need a beer,’ said Ben, standing up and dusting off his jeans.

  For godsake, Mike needed one too. He would have to leave Ada here with Susie. He could tell she wouldn’t be persuaded. If an ice cream couldn’t ease her out, nothing would. And he had to find Tilly. He glanced at Ben. Ben wasn’t legally old enough to drink. But today was not a normal day. He fished into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and handed Ben a two-dollar note.

  ‘Ride down to the bottle shop and grab a stubbie. I’m going to go look for Tilly.’

  Ben raised an eyebrow. He tried not to make a big show of it. He slipped the money in his pocket, swung his leg over the bike and slid away in an instant. Mike watched him anxiously. Why didn’t he trust Ben? Now he began to wonder if he shouldn’t have done it. Ben’s self-assurance was unsettling. It was as if he knew the ropes so well he didn’t need to use them anymore. He was too well wired for his own good—all savvy and charm and not enough truth. He was almost the opposite of Ada, in whom truth burned so bright it made her fierce.

  A shout came from behind him. Mike turned. There was the fireman, leading PJ on a piece of rope, exactly as Ada had said he would. Ada jumped up.

  ‘PJ,’ she shouted, running towards him. The fireman was a hero. He was not a man who cheated on his wife. He was a man who had cleaned his gutters, joined the local Country Fire Authority, and rescued an old lame dog. His life was tidy, praiseworthy. Mike resented him. Everyone on the oval wandered over to hear his tale. Ada stood by the fireman hero, patting PJ. She gazed up at the fireman, smiling.

  The clouds had gathered above them. The sky was turbulent, aching. Any minute it would crack with thunder. But the fireman smiled at them all. He beamed like the sun itself. He said the fire had been contained and it was safe to return to their houses. No house had been burnt. The police would be going into the bush block as arson was suspected. People murmured disapprovingly and began to collect their things.

  The fire had been contained. The word contained struck Mike as a very human inclination; it seemed to diminish men in the face of something greater. Fire, lust, life…

  He found himself standing close to Susie after all. ‘You okay?’ he said.

  She stared at him as if she had just seen him for the first time; her face was as unsettled as the sky, her mouth trembling and her gaze rushing frantically all over him and past him too. Could she see it was over?

  She shook her head finally and clasped Toby to her. ‘I haven’t seen him,’ she whispered, and as she turned to leave, the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

  34

  Once the rain came it didn’t stop. The sky opened up and let out everything it had withheld for so long. It hammered the tin rooves and sloshed over the gutters. People were overjoyed. A true downpour—finally. Kids galloped to the creeks to see if they would fill. Ben stood in town, stubbie in hand and watched the dripping awnings, the steaming road. He inhaled the smell of rain, hot wet tar and damp clothes. The air cooled instantly. He rode his bike home slowly through the rain alongside the drains that were coursing like small streams. Water dripped down his neck.

  He was thoroughly soaked by the time he walked in the kitchen door. Rain pelted the roof loudly. A bucket on the floor caught the drips inside. PJ huddled unhappily at Ada’s feet. Both Ada and his dad stood staring out the kitchen window. They turned to Ben as he stood there dripping.

  ‘It’s even cool,’ he said. He was the messenger delivering the sodden, soaking fact of rain. He grinned. The world was clean-scrubbed. And then he even began to shiver.

  ‘Have you seen Tilly? I can’t find her,’ Mike said.

  ‘She’s probably with Alice,’ Ben said.

  ‘No, she isn’t. You should go get out of your wet things,’ his dad said. ‘Your mum will be home any minute.’

  Ben smiled lazily. He turned and headed for the bathroom. And then there was the fox. ‘Is Mum okay?’ he called over his shoulder.

  Ada ran up close to him and touched his wet shirt. ‘Don’t tell Mum about what we did?’

  Ben nodded. He was no blabbermouth.

  Ada raced back to the window where she glued her face, watching for Tilly.

  ‘Yes, she’s fine, just a bit shaken,’ said Mike.

  Ben peeled off his clothes, discarding them in a pile on the bathroom floor. He stood in a hot shower for longer than he was meant to. But the drought had broken, and he wanted to remember how it was when water wasn’t scarce, when they were kids and they played endlessly under the sprinkler and had their baths as deep as they liked. The rain still thudded down. The tank would fill. The dams would rise. Maybe even Cairn Curran would fill. He could stay under the hot water.

  Mike thumped on the door and told him to get out. Ben, wearing a towel and holding his wet clothes, headed out the door to his room when he saw a car pull into the driveway. It wasn’t Martha’s car.

  He called to Ada, ‘Someone’s here.’

  Ada flew back to the window. They both watched. For a while it seemed no one would get out of the car. Finally the passenger d
oor opened. It was Tilly. She sheltered her head with her arms, speaking quickly and smilingly at the driver, and then she ran towards the house.

  Ada ran at her as soon as she entered.

  ‘Where have you been? There’s been a fire. William Blake is dead. We weren’t allowed to come home.’

  Tilly wiped the rain off her bare arms and stared at Ada incomprehendingly. ‘Wait, so where’s Mum? Did Ada’s tree really burn?’

  ‘Who drove you home?’ said Ben.

  Tilly ignored him and stared questioningly at Mike.

  ‘Your mum’s on her way home from Anne Dresden’s,’ he said.

  ‘Where were you, Tilly?’ Ada wore the gravest expression.

  Tilly tilted her head and examined the room as if to make sure it was all really there.

  Ben knew where she had been. He could tell. She was cagey, wide-eyed, distracted. He fought against it. Why should that ruin his mood?

  ‘I went to my piano lesson. That’s all. Raff drove me home. Because of the rain.’ Tilly eyed Ben with a forbidding glare. He wasn’t to comment, obviously. But Ada did.

  ‘Is he your boyfriend?’

  ‘No,’ Tilly blushed and plonked herself on a stool. ‘What started the fire?’

  No one answered. No one knew yet. The sound of the rain seemed louder for a moment and they all looked outside. The sky was streaked with the metallic rain. Ada’s sneakers out on the grass were soaked through.

  The telephone was ringing. Ben could hardly hear it. ‘It’s like Armageddon,’ he said. The rain belonged to him. He had seen the town dripping beneath it, and now it fell to him to tell it how it was. Neither of his sisters answered him or even registered his observation. They stood together at the window in a way that excluded him. There was a quiet between them. He could tell that there was something else there too, something unconscious and constant. Their instincts moved in relation to each other like a dance. Now it had drawn them to the window and pressed them into a gentle, silent awe. It irritated him because it joined them against him, against the moment he had meant to own. Mike spoke on the phone. The rain was so heavy Ben couldn’t hear what he was saying. He would wait for it to ease and then he would run out to his room as he had planned.