‘We spent a couple of weeks in Brisbane, and this seemed a nice place reasonably close to the city. As Helena said, I thought the quiet and the sea air might be good for her. I don’t think the big city was healthy for either of us. We just aren’t used to that much pollution.’
‘So what made you decide to come to Australia?’ Melanie asked.
‘We eloped, actually. With Helena’s illness, my family did not want me to be with her, but I loved her from the first time I saw her. I had to be with her. So we ran away.’
‘How romantic,’ Melanie said. ‘To be so much in love.’
The hippies’ infant bawled, the cry slicing into her, making her flinch. From the corner of her eye, she saw the mother pat the child’s forearm. The father kept watching the telly. More football.
‘Children,’ Richard said as the screaming tailed away to a burble, accompanied by kicking legs and waving hands.
‘You don’t have any?’ Paul asked.
Melanie felt as if his eyes were seeing straight into her barren womb. She clasped the familiar shape of the locket under her top.
‘No,’ Richard said, his voice tight. ‘Maybe one day.’ He flashed what he probably thought was a reassuring smile at Melanie, but she found it merely desperate.
‘What about you?’ Melanie asked. ‘One day?’
Paul shook his head. ‘Not for us.’
Helena stared at the child where it still clambered inside its restraints, like some kind of beetle helpless on its back. ‘Such life,’ she said, as much to herself as the company, ‘it is not for us.’
The mother glanced over at them, half smiled, half frowned, then adjusted the child’s top as though the wool could deflect their attention.
Helena caught Melanie’s gaze, held it. ‘Even if I could, I don’t know if I would. The responsibility—it frightens me, more than a little.’
‘Me too,’ Melanie said, ‘but I’d still like to try.’
‘Sadly,’ Paul said, ‘Helena’s health does not allow it. We must find other paths with which to show our love. Besides, we are happy travelling, exploring…’
‘Never say never,’ Richard said. ‘As you two get older, you might find you’d like to leave another generation to carry on.’
‘There are other ways to live forever,’ Helena said.
The child chortled, blew bubbles that were wiped away by its mother.
Melanie twisted in her chair, trying to block out the happy little family. ‘I’ve always wanted to travel. How long do you think it’ll be before you return home?’
‘I want never.’ Helena’s voice showed vehemence, her fork all but striking sparks from the bottom of her plate as she stabbed down in emphasis. ‘Our island is very isolated, very backward. There isn’t even television and hardly any cars. No one comes there. This country is amazing. You’re very lucky here, I think.’
‘Circumstances change,’ Paul said. ‘We cannot always have what we want. Our families aren’t happy that we ran away.’
Helena scowled. ‘They are backward, also, you understand. Very strict, very traditional.’
‘Ouch,’ Richard said. ‘It sounds like you are in a pickle. How did you get away in the first place?’
They looked at each other, then Paul said, ‘We sneaked out, in the night, naturally. We were able to stow away on a boat by bribing one of the crew to let us on board.’
‘And now your families want you to go back?’ Melanie said, pushing her barely touched plate away. ‘Have you tried talking to them?’
Another glance. Paul said, ‘They’ve made contact, but we aren’t ready to talk to them.’
‘There is so much to the world—they have no idea,’ Helena said, waving her fork like a sword. ‘To go back, that would be a prison for us. A prison. I would rather die.’
‘That’s quite … what’s the word?’ Paul’s hands grabbed at the air for inspiration.
‘Melodramatic?’ Richard offered.
‘Yes, that’s it. Melodramatic.’
‘I tell you, I would rather die. Wouldn’t you, Melanie, if you were in my place?’
Melanie put her hands in her lap, to hide the shaking as the memory of almost drowning crashed over her. ‘I’m not in your place,’ she said. ‘I’m not a prisoner.’
Helena stared at her, the circumstances of their meeting hanging between them.
Silence settled like a blanket. The whine of a mosquito and the charge of the surf filled the space.
Chairs scraped, the baby gurgled, the parents fussed as the family prepared to leave.
Cold, Melanie thought, noting the twin bumps in the woman’s top, the goose pimples along her arms, the rainbow tea cosy jammed over her child’s dirty-straw hair.
‘Remind me to let Jack know about that lot,’ Richard said once the family had gone.
‘Why?’ Melanie asked.
‘You don’t think they’re going to pay to camp in the park, do you? I bet they pull that Vee Dub up on Jack’s place, find one of the clearings on the foreshore where they can relax in private.’ He made a gesture as though taking a very deep drag on a very thick cigarette.
Paul shook his head. ‘Smoking is bad. It ruins your taste. Your sense of taste, I mean.’
‘He’s Greek,’ Helena told them. ‘It is all about the food for him.’
‘And for you,’ Paul said. ‘You and your diet.’
Helena glared at him, then pushed her meal away and concentrated on toying with her wine glass.
‘Neither of you girls are hungry, hey?’ Richard observed.
‘The secret to their good figures,’ Paul said.
Melanie, resisting the urge to stab both men with her fork, changed the subject. ‘They’re beautiful wedding rings. Where did you get married?’
Helena covered her ring with her other hand. ‘We promised ourselves to each other before we left. Now we are permanently bound.’ She stared past Melanie, out at the sea.
Richard fondled Melanie’s hand, his fingers brushing against her wedding ring. ‘Till death do us part, hey.’
‘Past that,’ Paul said. ‘Forever. Until the seas run dry.’ He lifted Helena’s hand and kissed it.
‘The sea will never go dry.’ She pulled her hand away, pushed her wine glass towards the centre of the table. She seemed on the verge of tears, and Melanie had to restrain herself from reaching over to her. Whatever private argument Helena and Paul were having, it wasn’t her place to interfere.
A raucous burble came from the car park as the campervan fired up and nosed its way out, heading north. They all watched it leave, a welcome distraction.
Helena stared at the point where the tail lights had vanished from view around the corner of the hotel, her fingers knitting an invisible ball of anxiety. When the engine racket had subsided, she said, ‘I’m sorry, I think I need to go. I’m not feeling well.’
‘Too much sun, probably,’ Paul said, standing and offering her a hand, which she ignored.
‘Please, forgive me,’ Helena said.
She and Paul kissed Richard and Melanie on the cheeks, Helena squeezing Melanie’s arm in apology. ‘I will see you soon, once I feel better, I promise.’
They hastened from the verandah, leaving Richard and Melanie as the last diners. She hadn’t even noticed the older couple leave.
‘Oh damn,’ Melanie said. ‘She left her dress.’ She rose but Richard gestured her to sit.
‘Finish your dinner. We can drop the dress in later.’
‘I’m done. Wouldn’t do to get fat, would it?’
‘He was joking, hon. No one wants you to starve yourself. Just the opposite, actually.’
‘Not this again, Richard. You know my appetite comes and goes. It’s what happens.’
‘I just worry, that’s all.’
‘I’m fine, all right? I don’t need to eat a huge steak every night.’
He pointed at the dish. ‘It was a boiled egg and some lettuce.’
‘Whatever.’
They
sat quietly as he finished his meal, then leaned back, apparently sated. ‘So did she say what’s wrong with her?’
‘Some immune thing. Too much sun is bad for her.’
‘A shame, I bet she’d look good in a bikini.’
She hit his arm.
‘I was joking, Mel.’
‘Sure. Just like you haven’t had a hard on ever since you saw her strip off on the beach. Fuck, Richard, you can be such a dick sometimes.’
‘Jesus, Mel, a guy can’t help looking. She was nearly popping out of that top.’
‘I’m your wife, Richard.’
‘And I love you, hon. You know that. You have to know that.’
She rubbed her temples. ‘I finally felt we’d made some kind of breakthrough.’
‘Hey.’ He reached across to take her hand, to get her to make eye contact. ‘I’m sorry, okay? I got carried away. Last night … that was good, Mel. Really good. I agree, it felt like we’re getting back to ourselves again, didn’t it?’
‘A little, yes. God, Richard, I don’t want to lose that. Lose you. I’m so sorry about…’
Tears bubbled out of her. He moved his chair to hold her close.
‘Let’s go, hey? It’s cold out here. We’ll go home and have a port and just relax. Maybe I can give you a shoulder rub.’
‘A shoulder rub?’ Her laugh sounded more like a sob as she wiped her watering eyes. ‘You know how that always used to end up.’
He gave a lascivious grin. ‘Who says it won’t?’
‘I’ve still got my…’
He waved the comment away, kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips. She tasted her salt on his lips.
‘Fine, take me away from all this, Mr Sheridan.’
‘My pleasure, Mrs Sheridan.’
He stood. His mobile rang.
The tone sliced through her heart.
‘I’ll just get that.’
She slumped back into her seat, reached for her half-full glass of white.
‘Leanne, hi.’ He leaned over the railing, as though it was proximity to Melanie that was ruining his signal. ‘You’re fading in and out. What? Oh for God’s sake, I thought we’d crossed this bridge. Damn him! Listen, I’ll log on when I get back to the cabin. See what I can do. No, no problems, I understand. The foyer was my baby, yes. You’ve sent your draft through? Okay … can you hear me? I’ll email you. Cheers.’
He snapped his mobile shut and pocketed it. ‘That was—’
‘Leanne. Let’s just go home. You’re right. It is cold out here.’
Richard fussed with his laptop, shouted at his mobile and the landline. The word ‘Leanne’ kept ringing through the room. Melanie took a nightcap out onto the deck. She caked herself in mosquito repellent; it was a small price to pay to get out of the cabin which, tonight, felt like a cell.
She stood against the railing, glass in hand, and fumed. How could what had seemed to be so good go south so quickly? If only Helena hadn’t worn that dress. If only Richard hadn’t been such a letch as to fall for it. And the most annoying thing was, the woman didn’t even seem to be aware of the reaction she provoked in him. Only a night after he’d had sex with Melanie, and she’d managed not to spew, he was looking elsewhere. Did he think Helena’s scrawny little body was any more capable of bearing fruit than her own?
She searched for the moon but it wasn’t up yet. From out in the dark, she thought she heard the occasional strum of a guitar, but maybe it was just her ears playing tricks. The surf was loud, almost drowning out the cicadas. The light spilling from the cabin obscured some stars but there were still quite a few sparkling overhead. Not as impressive as the other night when she’d had her walk on the beach, but more than she could see in the city.
Movement caught her eye. A flash of lightness amongst the trees. Helena? Her entire body tensed. But no, the woman would not be out in the scrub at night. Especially if she wasn’t feeling well. But Melanie lingered, peering for another sight of that lithe body, feeling again the confusion evoked by their kiss.
A curlew called, and was answered by a scream. Goose pimples covered her arms; her nape prickled. What bird had made that piercing sound? She listened intently, but heard only surf, a faint whisper of branches in the breeze. The cicadas were silent.
There! A flash of movement. She peered into the darkness where the lights of the cabin made the palest tree trunks glow. She thought she’d seen someone, just for a moment. A face, pale, dark-fringed…
Suddenly cold, she went back inside and was relieved to find Richard off the phone, muttering as he manoeuvred the mouse.
She walked over, reaching to hug him. A pane opened up and she saw Leanne’s message window, text crawling across the square. Richard hit reply, began typing. The letters took a long time to appear. He growled.
Melanie changed trajectory and headed for the bathroom. All the times they’d come up here, she’d never heard a scream like that. The impression of a white face in the trees followed her; a face with green animal eyes shining in the night.
Ten
Melanie awoke feeling as if she’d been hung out on a washing line all night, her body stretched thin, her eyes filled with sand. A note on the table said Richard had taken the Jeep to the village. His laptop was gone.
She scrunched the note and threw it in the bin.
A cup of tea and a grapefruit for breakfast, the last of the apple and blackcurrant juice. Maybe she could ring Richard to get more juice from the store and buy something for dinner. She really couldn’t be bothered cooking.
The cabin was stifling, and ever so quiet. Outside, honey-eaters snapped at each other. A light breeze barely ruffled the trees. The tin roof creaked.
Her novel failed to hold her attention, the text blurring under her weary, distracted gaze. The bite on her neck itched like a cold sore.
‘To hell with it.’
She dressed in khaki boardshorts and a tank top under a long-sleeved shirt, and applied make-up to try to hide the worst of the dark rings and pallid cheeks. She pulled her hair back, considered a small ponytail, then let it hang mussed. It gave her a girlish appearance, youthful, almost carefree. She tried to smile but failed, and pulled on a cap to lock her fringe out of her eyes.
Melanie grabbed the plastic bag with Helena’s dress, donned her sandals and figure-cloaking serape, and walked to the door. A sweeping stare through the glass revealed nothing unusual, just a line of menacing clouds out to sea, and the chartreuse-coloured ocean, restless and foaming. She shook away last night’s uneasiness, stepped out into the bright, baking sunshine, locked the door and set off for Helena’s cabin. Should she ask about her missing underwear? Maybe it’d be best to just forget about it rather than invite such an intimate conversation.
Humidity settled on her. Sweat stuck her clothes to her skin and stung her eyes. A storm in the making, she thought, and remembered the previous one, and kissing Helena in the shelter as the lightning flashed and the wind raged. She wondered how Helena was coping with the heat, following on from her sudden sickness the night before.
The curtains were shut at Elysium, the four-wheel-drive gone. Melanie paused, wondering if Helena’s condition had worsened and Paul had driven her off the island on the morning barge. Waving away a cloud of flies, she walked up the stairs to the deck and hesitantly tapped on the door. Nothing.
The curtain moved as she was about to hang the dress bag on the door handle. Startled, she dropped the bag and reflexively leaned down to pick it up. The door slid open and she saw bare feet, a long hem, and looked up to see Helena staring down at her. The sleeveless dress revealed shapely brown arms, and her face glowed with health. Her lips were pink and moist.
Despite her make-up, Melanie felt like a drudge.
Helena pulled her to her feet and hugged her tightly. ‘Oh Melanie, I’m so glad it’s you. I didn’t know who it might be.’
‘I just wanted to bring your dress back,’ Melanie offered, pinned in the awkward embrace.
‘I told
you to keep it.’ Helena released her. ‘But come in, please. You must stay for a drink.’
Melanie kicked off her sandals, wiped the sand from her feet on the threadbare welcome mat, and followed Helena inside. A single candle lit the room, emphasising the darkness with all the curtains drawn.
‘Sit, please,’ Helena said, throwing the bag towards the sofa. It hit the arm and landed hitting the floor, spilling a patch of dull colour.
Melanie stayed standing as Helena went behind the kitchen counter.
‘Tea? Or perhaps … something stronger?’
‘Sure, yes, thanks. Tea. Tea is fine. Are you feeling better?’
‘Much, much better for your company.’ She put the kettle on to boil, then lit a cone of incense in a nearby saucer. The floral scent jarred against the darker aroma of sickly leaf mould choking the room. Melanie wished she could open a window and let some air and light through.
Helena spooned tea into a pot. ‘You must think me rude for leaving you so quickly last night. I apologise.’
‘Not at all. We’ve all felt sick before, I know how it is.’ Unable even to consider going out, let alone handling all the questions and platitudes. And that worst question of all: when do you think you’ll start trying again?
Maybe she should leave.
‘I’m happy you visited,’ Helena said. ‘I thought perhaps I might have upset you with my dress.’
‘What? Don’t be silly. You looked stunning.’
‘I’m glad. It’s a treat for me to be able to wear something nice, that makes me look like a woman.’
‘Well, you succeeded last night. I’m sure the island will be talking about that outfit for weeks.’ She hoped she didn’t sound too bitter.
‘Good. I don’t want to upset you—you are my only friend. I want you to like me.’
The kettle whistled and Helena took it off the stove. She filled the teapot, put it on a tray with two cups and carried it over to the coffee table. ‘We are out of milk, I’m sorry; I should’ve asked Paul to get some more while he was shopping.’
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