Callista tugged on his arms, drew him up. She pressed against him, kissed him, flicked her tongue lightly along his eyelashes.
On the bed she was powerful, even on her back, arched up against him, so much in control. Her moan slid through him deliciously, and then the contraction of her orgasm as he caved into her, unable to hold back.
They lay damp with sweat and lovemaking, spooned against each other, angled across the bed where they had fallen. Lex’s cheek was in her hair, his hand soft on her belly, their legs enmeshed. Time slid over them, late and mellow and threaded with the early evening calls of the bush; the slow piping of the eastern yellow robin, the last late whooping of the wonga pigeon, the cackle of a kookaburra.
Lex breathed the sweet apple smell of her hair. His fingers drew tiny circles on her belly. He had forgotten that silken smoothness of a woman’s skin, that particular feel of it against the hairiness of his own body. Losing Jilly, he had blanked out everything, even the memory of this drunken post-coital euphoria.
Then he remembered. The thought passed through him like a shock. Even as he fought against it, his body tensed. In his delirium he hadn’t thought of protection. What if he got this woman pregnant? He didn’t even know her. What was he doing? One afternoon of conversation and here he was, out of control and forgetting all the rules.
Callista must have felt him tense. She lay against him a little longer then moved away, pulling the sheet up around her and hugging her knees to her chest. There were tears in her eyes.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, walling him out. ‘It’s just fine. You don’t have to worry. I can’t get pregnant.’
They looked at each other. Lex felt his nakedness. All that smooth air between them had gone.
‘You’d better go,’ she said, as he pulled on his clothes.
Callista lay curled up in the bed as the dark seeped in. She heard the Volvo start, saw the glow of the headlights in the trees, heard the familiar crackling bush silence resume after the car ground up the steep hill. The sheet was damp from her tears and from their lovemaking. She could smell the sweet-sour muskiness of it.
That black hole was opening up in her again. She had fought so hard to hold it back over the past year. Why did it have to come now, with Lex wrapped warm around her? Was it just because he’d tensed? Was she still so brittle about it all?
It was that painting. She knew she should have put it away.
In the blue of dusk, she rolled off the bed, went downstairs naked and blasted some cask wine into a tumbler. Placing the painting on the chair as Lex had done, she sat down in front of it and drank the wine like water. Even now it was difficult for her to look at this painting, still so hard to go back there. Ah, the vault of memory—it had a habit of cracking open.
She remembered sitting on the beach on a still evening, Luke Bennett holding her hand. He was her husband. Earlier that week they had found out she was pregnant, and Luke had been overwhelmed by it. He’d insisted they get married straightaway. So they had. He said he wanted to be a real father. And he’d been so serious and intense about it, he’d even asked her to change her name. Why not, she’d thought. What’s a name if it’s not a gift to give away? If it was important to Luke that she was Callista Bennett, then she was happy to do it.
They had been married in a registry office, so excited, aflame with it. The celebrant had been dry and bored, annoyed by their joy and spontaneity. But it hadn’t mattered. They had four blissful weeks. Callista sang and dreamed and painted. She had been so serene. Doped on progesterone. She had been floaty and doughy and beautiful. The beach scene just poured itself out onto canvas. She was so full, so optimistic.
Luke drifted in and out of her harmony. He left each morning, clean and shower-damp, hooking his tool belt off the kitchen chair as he waved out the door. He came home sweetly sawdusty and amorous. They made love each evening in the shower, with the dust running off him in rivulets, and then made love again on the bed or on the kitchen table after dinner.
Later Callista wondered if they had done it too much—if you could cause a miscarriage by having too much sex.
The night she miscarried, Luke wanted to make her have multiple orgasms. He had teased her into a frenzy till she was begging for him. Then he went on, after she thought she was spent. He went on till she screamed at the ecstatic agony of an orgasm that wouldn’t end. They both listened to the echo of her voice in the gully.
Luke released her gently after that. The smile on his face was contented triumph. He rolled over with her hand in his and fell asleep. Until her spasms woke them in the night. And she started to bleed.
Callista couldn’t remember how long Luke stayed. She had been in such a fog, so sick and so weak after all the bleeding. The blood had soaked the bed and Luke had taken her to the hospital. She could barely remember the drive. There was pain and more blood and weakness and a sinking blackness she had never known before. They both came home from the hospital hollow and pale, shocked by the loss. One minute there was a child and a whole future between them, the next minute there was a vacant space echoing with betrayed hopes.
It seemed to Callista that they were both ghosts, not of substance. In that time after they came home from the hospital, she couldn’t remember any conversations—although they must have said something to each other. What she did recall was Luke’s dejection, his patent disappointment—not through words, but by the long sad look on his face. During the preceding weeks he had imagined his future around this child. He had married Callista for it. And now there was nothing. No baby. No child. No future. After a couple of weeks he went away for a while. He said he needed to mourn alone.
But he came back after a month. At least, the shadow of him came back. He was as empty as she was. When Callista was well enough, they tried to get pregnant again. They weren’t sure if it was what they wanted, but they did it to fill the emptiness, to see if they could replace what they had lost. But time went by and Callista did not fall pregnant.
They tried again and again, Luke’s anger escalating with each month slipping away. Six, twelve, eighteen months of it. She couldn’t fall pregnant. They had lost their chance. And, with time, Luke’s lovemaking became rougher. The tickles became slaps became hits. Until he pushed her down the stairs one night, then snatched his bags that were already packed. He went out into the night, and never came back.
That was when Callista painted the black and white self-portrait.
Eleven
Lex nursed a wicked hangover with a strong coffee at Sue’s. He had driven home from Callista’s like a maniac and crashed in on his whisky stash. She had cleaved him open like a watermelon and now he couldn’t control the leak of his emotions. Even the whisky didn’t help. He knew it had been stupidity to go over there, knew he wasn’t strong enough to stay in control. And he had lost it. He had fallen into the magic of her, and it had left him bruised and shaken. He wasn’t ready for a relationship. The healing had barely begun. But the memory of her was still strong in his hands.
Sue came to top up his cup. She looked down at him with a careful blank face.
‘Hungover?’
Lex stared into his cup. ‘I’ve had a tough week.’
‘I heard you had some visitors out at the Point recently.’
He set down his cup. ‘I didn’t realise my life was public property.’ Somewhere in his chest, anger simmered.
‘You didn’t expect privacy in a country town, did you?’
‘How silly of me.’ Lex’s anger was popping to the surface. ‘I thought I could come here and hide away for a while.’
Sue smiled knowingly. ‘Life has a habit of dragging you in, doesn’t it? There’s no hiding away.’
He forced the anger down and hunched over his cup again. ‘My wife visited,’ he said. ‘Ex-wife, by now. And then my mother dropped ’round for a chat.’
‘You don’t have to tell me anything.’
‘Everyone knows everything anyway. Isn’t that what you’re telling me?
’ Irritation fizzed under his skin.
‘No,’ Sue said. ‘The details are yours to keep. But you can’t hide in a small community like this. Better to be honest up-front.’
‘I’m not hiding anything.’
Sue raised her eyebrows. ‘Just being selective about who you tell.’
‘I’m not here to tell. I’m here to forget.’
‘Sure.’
Lex shoved some money on the table and walked out. He strode angrily down the street, past the butchery, past Beryl’s and all the way to the supermarket before he started to calm down. Then he turned around and walked back. He had to be quick before it was too late.
Beryl leaned out the door of her shop. ‘You okay, honey?’ she asked.
He waved and walked by fast. ‘Fine, thanks.’
With a crack, he opened Sue’s door, startling her from the kitchen.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
She wiped her hands on her tea towel, looking at him seriously. ‘That’s all right. I’m pretty thick-skinned.’ She nodded towards a table. ‘Do you want another cup? I think you could use one.’
Lex sat down and the hangover returned with great intensity. When Sue came back, she set a fresh cup of coffee in front of him and joined him at the table.
‘How are you going in that house out there?’
‘The house I’m not supposed to own?’
‘People been giving you a hard time about it, have they?’
‘Nothing direct.’
‘You know how these things are,’ Sue said. ‘It’s always awkward when someone changes their will and leaves their property to someone else. Especially in a small town.’
Lex shrugged.
‘Have you been over to introduce yourself to your neighbour yet?’ she asked.
‘Other than the run-in with the peacock, no.’
Sue grinned. ‘Perhaps you should. Mrs B’s not a bad old stick. And it’d be nice for you to have someone to talk to out there.’
‘I see Sally and her kids from time to time.’
‘Sure, but I think you’d like Mrs B. What about that whale-watching tour you were asking me about one time?’
‘What about it?’
‘You said you might invite Mrs B.’
‘You think I should?’
‘Why not. She can only say no.’
‘But it’s a Wallace thing, isn’t it? Wallaces and whales again.’
‘We’ve been through this. You go and see. Jimmy’s a very good operator. You’ll have a good time.’
‘I suppose I should reserve judgment until I’ve been on one of these cruises.’
‘Perhaps you could try to enjoy yourself instead,’ Sue said. ‘That’d be healthier for you.’
When Lex got home, he found Evan sitting on the steps. He hadn’t seen Evan in a while. It was mainly Sash who dropped in for visits, or occasionally the three of them— Sally and the two kids—asking Lex if he wanted to come for a walk on the beach. Today, the boy looked miserable, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth. Lex sat down beside him.
‘You got some stuff going down at home?’ he asked.
The kid nodded without looking up. He was struggling not to cry.
‘There’s a man in our house,’ he said. ‘He’s in Mum’s bed.’
Lex tried to look suitably concerned. ‘That’s full on.’
‘Me and Sash usually hop in bed with her on the weekends. Now this big fat bloke is there all the time.’
‘Where’d she find him?’
‘At Sue’s. He was there for some tucker.’
‘At the café?’
‘Yeah, Mum helps out down there sometimes. For extra money.’
‘But this is a bit too much extra, hey?’
‘Why can’t he just leave us alone?’
‘Maybe he likes your mum.’
‘’Course he does. She’s nice.’
‘Sure, and maybe she’s a bit lonely.’
‘How could she be lonely? She’s got us.’
‘It’s a bit different, don’t you think? Giving you guys a hug or snuggling up with a fella?’
Evan gestured back up the street. ‘His truck’s up there. Did you see it? Parked outside our place? Everyone’ll know.’
‘Lucky hardly anyone comes down here.’
Evan looked at him incredulously. ‘People will know about it. I’ll be dead at school.’
Lex tried to find a constructive angle. ‘What sort of truck does he drive?’
‘Big Mack.’
‘I thought a kid like you’d be impressed by that. A big truck.’
‘He’s in bed with my mum. And it’s not his house.’
Lex backed off and they both watched the sea. There were gannets fishing out there.
‘What’s “chemistry”?’ Evan asked. ‘I heard Mum say something to Sue about chemistry. What is it?’
Oh God, Lex thought. Do we have to do this? He drew a deep breath and tried to explain. ‘It’s this thing where a man and a woman look at each other and they just know something’s going to happen.’ He thought of Callista and his stomach shrivelled. Despite the lack of wisdom about their lovemaking, he was still wishing he could see her again, yet he was afraid to contact her.
‘Like what? Like a car crash?’ Evan asked.
‘A bit like that. They know they’re going to kiss.’
Evan looked appalled. ‘That’s disgusting,’ he said. ‘Has that ever happened to you?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ Lex could see he had gone down in the kid’s estimation. ‘Where’s Sash?’ he asked.
‘Shut in her room. With her dolls and Rusty. Rusty hates him. I wish he’d bite him.’
‘So this isn’t the first time.’
‘No. He’s been coming every week.’
‘It’s a happening thing then.’
‘What am I going to do?’ Evan’s voice wobbled.
‘Can you find a way to like him?’ Lex asked.
‘Why should I?’
‘Because you might have to live with it.’
‘But I don’t want to.’
Lex contemplated another tack. ‘How’s your mum?’ he asked.
Evan looked suspicious. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, does he make her happy?’
Evan considered a moment and his face fell. ‘She sings,’ he admitted. ‘And smiles to herself.’
‘So he’s making her feel better.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well then. What’s he like? I mean, is he okay?’
‘He doesn’t even talk to me.’
‘What about talking to your mum? Could you do that?’
‘Like tell her not to let him come back?’
‘I don’t think that’d work, do you? Maybe you could ask her to keep the cuddles for the bedroom.’
The boy suddenly looked like he might cry. ‘He’s not my dad.’
‘No,’ said Lex. ‘You’ve got your own dad.’ So that was the issue. The kid didn’t want his dad replaced.
Evan leaned back against the steps.
‘Have you been for a ride in the truck?’ Lex asked.
The kid shook his head.
‘Maybe you could ask him to take you for a spin.’
‘Do you reckon he would? I don’t speak to him.’
‘You could try. He might be all right when you get him away from your mum. He might notice you’re a cool kid.’
Evan looked a little less worried. They sat for a while. Then he jumped up and put his hands in his pockets.
‘Think I’ll go and ask him,’ he said, glancing up the road.
Fifteen minutes later, Lex heard the truck start up.
The peacock was on Mrs Brocklehurst’s porch when Lex went next door to invite her out whale-watching. The house was such a contrast with his that the fence seemed to mark the boundary with another world. Lex’s place was all straight lines and simplicity, whereas Mrs B’s was shadows, verandahs, tacked-on rooms and junk. From the rusted bus dow
n the back to the old green Peugeot parked on the front lawn, everything spelled decay and disorder.
As Lex mounted the front steps, the peacock inspected him from the railing, then flounced down at his feet and dragged its tail in front of him. He stepped around it and knocked, rattling the flywire door.
‘Who is it?’ a raspy voice called from within.
‘It’s your neighbour. Lex Henderson.’
Lex heard some banging and shuffling, and a white head loomed out of the dark. She looked up at him piercingly with washed-out blue eyes.
‘Lex, did you say?’
‘Yes. Lex Henderson.’
‘What do you want then?’ She frowned at him and then a smile tickled the thin straight line of her mouth. ‘I hope you’re not after my bird.’
‘No,’ said Lex. ‘The bird wins.’
‘At least you’re better dressed today than the last time I met you,’ she said, looking him up and down.
The peacock tapped along the porch and slid past Lex’s legs into the house.
‘Actually, I wondered if you’d like to come whale-watching with me. I was thinking of going on a tour.’
‘Now why would I want to do that?’
Mrs B’s eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed deeper.
Lex shifted his weight, unsure. ‘I thought it might get us off on a better footing than our last meeting . . . in the backyard.’
‘Yes, I haven’t forgotten it.’ A real smile stretched her face. ‘More excitement than an old woman like me has had in a long while. Old Percy here was none too happy about it though.’ The peacock strutted and threaded between her legs. ‘Why do you want to go on a whale-watching tour?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you get a good enough view of them from here?’
‘I do get a good view here,’ Lex said. ‘I just thought it might be different out on a boat.’
‘Jimmy Wallace runs those tours, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes. That’s what they tell me.’
‘Who tells you?’
‘Sue from the café.’
‘Jimmy’s been doing those tours a few years now,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing if he’s any good at it.’
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