Salvage

by Jason Nahrung

  ‘So we’re both marooned, hey?’

  ‘Abandoned, yes.’ She touched Melanie’s arm, her fingers cool through the thin cotton gloves. ‘I am glad you’re here. It’s nice to have company. The island is very nice, but it is also quite … quite quiet.’

  ‘It is. I like the quiet.’ And then she hastened to add, as she saw the beginning of a frown of doubt on Helena’s face: ‘I like your company, too. Company is nice.’

  For a long moment, Helena clasped her forearm, held Melanie’s attention with a stare of unfathomable intensity.

  The kettle clicked off.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ Melanie asked, glad of the excuse to break that unwavering, almost challenging, gaze.

  ‘Tea, please,’ Helena answered, stepping back just far enough for Melanie to pour. ‘Black, not too strong.’

  The aroma of Earl Grey wafted into the room. Melanie became aware of another scent: the heavy smell of dead roses and mulch.

  ‘That’s an unusual perfume you wear.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Melanie felt her stomach lurch. Had she committed a faux pas? ‘I like it. It’s … rich. Earthy.’

  Helena nodded in acknowledgement as she took the cup.

  ‘You smell very nice, too, Melanie. Fresh, like the ocean.’

  ‘Um, thanks. Shall we sit?’ She gestured to the sofa and two easy chairs arranged in a U-shape around the entertainment unit.

  Melanie sat in the chair closest to the kitchen, Helena in the sofa at her side. She sipped her tea, an action so dainty Melanie wondered if she’d even tasted it.

  ‘It’s good, just the way I like it,’ Helena said.

  Melanie drank, feeling self-conscious under the woman’s steady scrutiny. It was as if Helena was looking inside her head. It made her blush as she remembered the night before.

  ‘So: where is home?’

  ‘Greece, a little village. It is on an island, but high, on a mountain. You wouldn’t have heard of it. They are very secluded there.’

  ‘And you came to Australia because…?’

  ‘We have family here. Doesn’t everyone in Greece?’ She giggled. ‘Besides, I needed to get out. To see more of the world.’

  ‘But now the holiday’s over. Because of your health? That’s a shame.’

  ‘Yes, it is. I was enjoying it here. Everyone is very friendly, very open. You have very nice beaches. Melanie, may I ask you, last night: weren’t you frightened?’

  ‘Frightened?’

  ‘To go swimming in the dark.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She paused, closed her eyes, waited for the memory of last night’s ordeal to sink away. ‘I’ve been coming here for years.’

  ‘Not afraid of the sharks? Of Jaws?’

  ‘No. I didn’t even think about sharks, to be honest.’

  ‘That is the best way, I think. Not to worry about the worst thing that can happen, but just hope for the best.’

  Melanie sipped her tea, the momentary lull filled by the surf and the chirrup of cicadas.

  ‘What’s the best thing that could happen to you, right now, do you think?’ Helena asked.

  ‘The best thing? Right now?’ Her hand shook. Images of the blood-smeared baby, her daughter, being handed to her, still, lifeless. The emptiness, rolling up from her insides, filling her with vacuum, sucking down to oblivion all the love that had been entwined around this new life.

  ‘There must be something you want more than anything else,’ Helena said.

  ‘No, no there isn’t.’ Melanie stood up and walked to the kitchen bench, her back to Helena, tears burning in her eyes. ‘Would you like more tea?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Melanie put the cup down before she dropped it. She grasped the locket with her daughter’s hair in it. Breathe, woman. Don’t let this lovely woman see what a basket case you are. ‘Would you like something to eat? I have some biscuits, some chocolate? I should’ve offered earlier, I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, thank you. I am not needing food.’

  Melanie shook her head. The woman spoke very proper English, clearly as a second language, but sometimes her phrasing made Melanie laugh. An intriguing woman, ingenuous but strong. Assured. Melanie filled her cup, watching the tea stain spreading out from the bag. She’d been like Helena, once: young, confident, curious.

  Helena’s hands were on her shoulders, then around her waist as she pressed herself against her.

  Melanie tensed against the sudden confinement. She hadn’t heard the woman approach. Too deep in thought, too focused on rebuilding her façade of normality.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Helena’s breath brushed Melanie’s nape and cheek, smelling of mint and something else, like stale coffee. The aroma of rose petals closed around Melanie. A fly buzzed. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. It was just a question.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’m just … a little sensitive at the moment.’ She palmed her eyes, sniffed, pushed hair from her forehead as she collected herself and then tried to extricate herself from the surprise hug.

  ‘You are a very nice person. You deserve to get what you want.’

  Helena stepped back as Melanie stirred sugar into her tea.

  ‘I would like to be your friend, Melanie. Would that be all right?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’d … I’d like that.’

  ‘Good.’ Helena squeezed Melanie’s forearms. ‘We should go outside. The fresh air, it will do us both good.’

  ‘Will you—?’

  ‘I will be just fine if I don’t stay out too long. But you mustn’t tell Paul. He will be very mad if he knows.’

  ‘That must be nice, to have someone worry about you.’

  ‘There is such a thing as too much worry. He treats me like a child sometimes, even though I’m older than he is. Men can be such, well, men.’

  She pouted. Melanie felt a giggle rising, and was surprised to hear it when it broke free. ‘Yes, they can be.’

  ‘Luckily, we have each other,’ Helena said. She let Melanie’s fingers fall through hers, then retrieved her hat. ‘Come, finish your drink and let’s go walk on the beach.’

  ‘It’s a bit windy, isn’t it?’

  ‘I like the wind. It smells of the sea. And it’s cloudy, which is good. I still have to be careful, but at least it’s not, well, bright.’ She pushed her sunglasses on.

  ‘Okay, some fresh air would be nice, I guess.’ She dumped her tea down the sink. ‘A short walk, yeah?’

  Helena nodded; the wattage of her smile penetrated her veil as she adjusted her hat.

  A stroll on the beach would be pleasant, Melanie thought as she followed Helena outside and pulled the door shut behind them. What could possibly be wrong with that? Besides, she still had to get her keys and sandals.

  Helena waited by the rail. She’d lifted her veil and tucked it into the brim of her hat.

  The eastern sky loomed grey with cloud, and the horizon was indistinct, only white caps showing where sea ended and sky began.

  The phone rang.

  Melanie stared at it through the window.

  ‘I can wait here,’ Helena said.

  ‘It’s probably just Richard.’

  ‘Your husband.’

  ‘Telling me he won’t be home tonight. He’s in the city. Working.’

  ‘So is Paul. Not working, but doing … something. Whatever. Anyway, it’s their bad luck, isn’t it? Look what they’re missing.’

  Melanie regarded the storm-tossed sea, the ominous clouds. She could already taste the rain on the wind. She thought of Richard in Brisbane with Leanne.

  ‘Yeah, he’s missing out all right.’

  Helena scowled, then took her hand with the enthusiasm of a child.

  ‘We will have fun, and he will be jealous. You’ll see.’

  Six

  Only a metre or so of the beacon’s platform remained visible when Melanie and Helena stumbled down the eroded lip of sand and ran out onto the beach. The tide was still on its way in, the wind driving waves
against the beach with a determined voraciousness. The women laughed as gusts plucked at their clothes. Helena held her hat on with one hand.

  ‘Which way?’ Melanie asked, feeling revitalised as salt spray wafted across her. She carried her sandals, retrieved half buried with her keys from where she’d left them last night.

  ‘You choose,’ Helena said, pale but eyes alight.

  Melanie leaned close to be sure Helena heard her over the hum of the wind and the thunder of the surf. ‘Are you sure you’re okay with this?’

  The woman nodded. ‘I would feel ill regardless. I might as well be here with my new friend as back in my cabin. Besides, it’s getting late, and the sun isn’t so strong.’

  ‘Cloud’s no protection against sunburn.’

  ‘Sunburn is the least of my problems,’ Helena said. ‘Let’s go look at the bunkers. There’s one not too far away, isn’t there?’

  ‘They’re a bit smelly, and you can’t go inside, not any more.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Closest one is this way, towards the village.’

  Melanie led them south, sticking to the firm ground closest to the sea. Helena tried to avoid the swash—probably afraid of getting her dress wet—and she held Melanie’s hand tightly. She grimaced on those occasions when the tide swept in farther than expected and soaked her feet. Despite the dance, her hem became wet and grimy.

  ‘You don’t like the water?’ Melanie asked after Helena had dodged another surge in some private game of tag.

  ‘On no, but I do. I love it. It’s been washing up on this beach since the very first ray of light hit the Earth, and it’ll still be doing it when the world ends. The sea is life, Melanie, eternal life; how could I not love it? It’s just … it frightens me too.’

  ‘Because of the sharks?’

  ‘I guess, maybe. It’s not safe, is it? It’s wild and deep and forever. Today, it seems angry.’

  ‘It’s the storm. I think it’s getting closer. See there, we can hardly see Moreton Island; it must be rain or mist or something.’

  Helena turned to the sea, her cheeks shining and rosy. Melanie felt a tingle of fear—was her companion getting sunburnt, as she’d warned? Too many people forgot that even if the sun wasn’t bright and burning, the radiation was still getting through. But if Helena was in discomfort, she wasn’t showing it. She pushed her hat back as she stuck her red-tipped nose into the wind and breathed deeply.

  ‘I love this smell.’

  ‘Maybe we should head back. It’s getting cold and I think it’s going to rain.’

  ‘I don’t feel cold. Do you?’

  ‘It is kind of brisk.’ Melanie wished she’d worn longer pants or at least a coat. Her ankles were pale and splotched. The water was icy around her feet; she could barely feel her toes. ‘Let’s walk a little higher, hey? Up where it’s dry.’

  They trudged up to the powdery sand, the grains squeaking under their feet. The light grew dimmer and the temperature dropped. But Helena seemed entranced by it all, and Melanie didn’t want to be a party pooper. The bunker wasn’t far. They’d have a quick look and then retreat to the cabin. Maybe take the road behind the dune, where they’d be more sheltered from the wind.

  A figure approached out of the murk: a man with a bucket and a fishing rod, his pants rolled up above his knees, a cap stuck defiantly on his head as the wind tore at his shirt.

  ‘It’s Jack,’ Melanie said, raising her sandals in greeting.

  Friday jogged at Jack’s feet, nosing around where the waves washed in, his tail wagging uncertainly as he sprang back from the surging foam.

  When Jack shouted hello, his voice snatched away by the wind, the dog raised his muzzle, his ears pricked, and then came charging towards them as though Melanie was carrying fresh steaks rather than a pair of sandals.

  Helena gripped Melanie’s hand so hard she thought her fingers would snap. The woman pressed herself into Melanie’s side. Friday started yapping when he was halfway across the distance between them, then pulled up in a puff of sand a couple of metres away. His brown eyes fixed on Helena as he lifted his tail, dug his front paws in and barked like a machinegun.

  The woman stumbled back, clinging to Melanie’s arm.

  Melanie shouted, ‘Friday, what the hell’s got into you? It’s me, you stupid mutt. Stop it!’

  Jack jogged up, calling his dog, but Friday kept jagging from side to side, his sharp, incessant yaps slicing across the wind. Jack nudged the dog with the bucket, then put it down so he could cuff him around the head. He took a solid hold on Friday’s collar. The dog’s hackles stayed high and he kept growling, his lips pulled back to show his yellow-white teeth.

  ‘What’s got into him?’ Melanie asked, aware of the tremble in her voice. She’d known Friday since he was a pup; he’d never done this before.

  ‘Must be the storm,’ Jack said. ‘He hasn’t frightened you, has he?’

  ‘Just a shock. I hope he’s all right,’ Melanie said.

  ‘Maybe he’s getting like his owner—not used to company.’ Jack shook his head. ‘You should probably think about turning back, too. That storm’s gonna break before dark, I’d say.’

  Melanie nodded, her gaze darting from Friday to Jack. ‘We were just going to check out the bunker.’

  ‘Don’t stay too long. She’s gonna be a good ’un.’ He gestured with his rod, even as the dog threatened to pull him off-balance with his aggravated pawing. At least the dog had stopped barking. ‘Good Friday,’ Jack chuckled.

  The clouds were massive now, tumbling over themselves in their haste to get to shore. A misty wall of rain closed off the horizon.

  ‘Anyway,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve got my dinner and I’m taking this dumb mutt home. Don’t get wet.’ He gave them an apologetic grin and, juggling bucket and rod in one hand, he hauled Friday after him, the dog anxiously peering behind as he was dragged away. Melanie fancied she could hear the dog’s whining even after the pair had become mere shapes in the haze.

  ‘Maybe we should go back,’ she said to Helena.

  The woman still clung to Melanie’s arm, her eyes wide and wet and dark.

  ‘My God, Helena, are you all right?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but the dog, it scared me. It really scared me, Melanie.’

  ‘He’s gone now.’ She hugged Helena in close, could feel her trembling.

  ‘I’m sorry, Melanie, to be such a baby. I was bitten, when I was little. Dogs—they terrify me.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ She held Helena until her anxiety eased. ‘C’mon, let’s head back. I’ll make you a hot drink.’

  ‘I … I really need to sit down, I think.’

  ‘Well…’ Melanie cast an eye to where the storm loomed. The clouds glowed with lightning, as though a distant war was being fought inside them and only the muzzle flashes could be seen. She couldn’t hear thunder, but she knew it was coming. The wind chilled to the bone. She had no doubt that Jack was on the money when he said the storm would be a big one. ‘I guess we can get out of the wind at the bunker, hey? It’s just around that corner of dune. Will that be all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes, let’s go there.’

  Helena supported herself on Melanie’s shoulder, seeming to draw courage from her proximity. Melanie put an arm around the woman’s shoulder and felt Helena’s hand circle her waist. Their hips rubbed together as they walked, and Melanie was surprised by how much she enjoyed the companionship—more than that, of being able to help someone.

  Thunder rumbled and they ran up the dune, stumbling but not letting go of each other.

  The bunker, a solid square of off-white concrete, appeared more resigned than resolute where it squatted on the foreshore, surrounded by a haphazard four-strand wire fence and lopsided posts. Wind-driven sand hissed around its base and stung Melanie’s calves like needles. Narrow slits in the thick concrete walls eyed the approaching storm from behind a mask of bars and mesh.

  They fumbled their way through the sagging wires and m
ade their way around the back. A barred gate blocked the doorway into the bunker, but at least they were sheltered from the wind. Melanie panted from the effort and excitement; Helena returned her grin but didn’t seem breathless at all.

  Rust stains leaked from the gate’s hinges. The alcove stank of stale piss. ‘Can we get in?’ Helena asked.

  Melanie rattled the gate, pointed to a chain fastened with a bronze-coloured padlock as big as her palm.

  ‘Let me.’ Helena reached past and tugged. There was a sharp crack above the roll of thunder and roar of wind and crash of surf. The gate screeched opened.

  ‘Wow,’ Melanie said.

  ‘Rust,’ Helena said. ‘Everything rusts at the beach. The door will be the same.’

  ‘We shouldn’t go in,’ Melanie said. ‘It’s probably a protected site or something.’

  ‘It smells out here.’ Helena leaned against the door as though listening for a heartbeat, then pushed. A crack was followed by the definite, single thud of a piece of concrete hitting the ground. The heavy steel door, as thick as Melanie’s wrist, grudgingly opened into the darkness of the bunker.

  The rank scent of mould rolled out to meet them.

  Melanie dropped her sandals and slipped her feet into them. ‘Watch your step,’ she told Helena. ‘Let me go first, in case there’s something sharp.’

  She crept into the murk, feeling her way with hesitant pokes of her sandalled feet. She felt twigs and rough nodules that might’ve been chipped concrete, pebbles or broken glass. An aluminium can clattered when she kicked it. Dim light penetrated through the deep, mesh-covered window slits, revealing a doorway to a second room facing the sea. Cold wind whistled through the gaps. A thrum overhead announced the rain had arrived.

  ‘We made it just in time,’ Melanie told Helena. ‘Listen to that. It’s really coming down!’

  Helena bumped into her, pushing her up against the wall. Her lips found Melanie’s, a chaste brush tasting of salt. And before Melanie could react, Helena’s lips pressed against hers once more, this time lingering, firm yet soft, moist and teasing. Helena’s hands found her shoulders, then her tangled hair, holding her as she explored Melanie’s frozen mouth and slowly thawed it out. Melanie’s groin flamed with the contact of Helena’s hip. She groaned as her surprise, her resistance, melted into the simple pleasure of surrender. Her tongue met Helena’s; her hands, clumsy with cold and excitement, grasped at the woman’s clothes and the cool flesh underneath.