Alice shook her head.
‘I see. Tell me, how old are you, Alice?’
Alice’s cheeks were hot. Eventually, she held up five splayed fingers on one hand and her thumb and index finger on the other.
‘Fancy that, Alice. Seven just happens to be the right age for you to have your own library card.’
Alice snapped her head up.
‘Ah, look at that. Sunbeams are coming out of your face.’ Sally winked. Alice touched her fingertips to her hot cheeks. Sunbeams.
‘Let me get you a form and we’ll fill it out together.’ Sally reached over and squeezed Alice’s arm. ‘Do you have any questions first?’
Alice thought about it then nodded.
‘Yes. Can you please show me the garden where the books grow?’ Alice smiled with relief; her voice had found its way around the seedpod.
Sally studied Alice’s face for a moment before erupting in hushed giggles. ‘Alice! You crack me up. We’re going to get along like a house on fire, you and me.’
In her confusion, Alice just smiled.
For the next half-hour Sally took Alice on a tour of the library, explaining that books lived on shelves, not in a garden. Row upon row of stories called to Alice. So many books. After a while Sally left Alice to herself to sit in a big, cushiony chair by one of the shelves.
‘Browse about and pick out some books you like. I’m just over there if you need anything.’ Sally pointed in the direction of her desk. Alice, already with a book in her lap, nodded.
Sally’s hands trembled as she picked up the phone. While she dialled the station, she leant forward to make sure Alice hadn’t followed her, but she was still sitting on the chair, the worn soles of her sandals poking out from under the grimy hem of her nightie. Sally fiddled with Alice’s library form, gasping when the paper sliced into her fingertip. Her eyes filled as she sucked the blood from her finger. Alice was Clem Hart’s daughter. She pushed his name out of her mind and pressed the phone hard against her ear. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Finally, her husband answered.
‘John? It’s me. No, I’m not, not really. No, listen, Clem Hart’s girl is here. Something’s wrong. She’s in her nightie, John.’ Sally struggled to keep her composure. ‘It’s filthy.’ She gulped. ‘And John, her little arms are bruised to buggery.’
Sally nodded along with her husband’s steadying voice and wiped the tears from her eyes.
‘Yes, I think she’s walked on her own all the way from their property so, what’s that, about four kilometres?’ She sniffled as she tugged her hanky from her sleeve. ‘Okay. Yes. Yes, I’ll keep her here.’
The phone receiver slipped in Sally’s sweaty palm as she hung up.
Alice added another book to the semi-circular tower she had built around her.
‘Alice?’
‘I’d like to take all these home, please, Sally,’ Alice said earnestly with a sweep of her arm.
Sally helped her to deconstruct her tower of books, return the dozens to their shelves, and explained twice how borrowing library books worked. Alice was dumbfounded by her limited choice. Sally checked her watch. The bright light falling through the story windows had softened to pastel shadows.
‘Shall I help you pick?’
Alice nodded gratefully. She wanted to read books about fire but didn’t feel brave enough to say so.
Sally crouched to Alice’s eye level and asked her some questions – name one of her favourite places to go – the sea – and choose a favourite story window at the library – the mermaid – then with a knowing nod, she touched her index finger to a slim book with a hard cover and bronze lettering on the spine, and slid it off the shelf.
‘I think you’ll love this one. It’s about selkies.’
‘Selkies,’ Alice repeated.
‘You’ll see,’ Sally said. ‘Women from the sea who can shed their skins to become someone and something else entirely.’ Goosebumps covered Alice’s body. She clutched the book to her chest.
‘Reading makes me hungry,’ Sally said abruptly. ‘Are you hungry, Alice? I’ve got some scones with jam, and how about a cup of tea?’
At the mention of scones, Alice thought of her mother. She was consumed by an immediate desire to be home, but it seemed that Sally expected her to stay.
‘Can I go to the toilet?’
‘Of course,’ Sally said. ‘The ladies’ is just down the hall there, on the right. Shall I come with you?’
‘No, thank you.’ Alice smiled sweetly.
‘I’ll be right here when you get back. We’ll have scones, okay?’
Alice skipped down the hallway. She pushed open the door to the bathroom. Waited a moment, then stuck her head back out to peek at Sally’s desk. It was empty. The clink of cutlery and china came from further down the hall. Alice scurried for the exit.
As she ran home through the cane fields, she felt the shape of her library card in her nightie pocket, like one of her mother’s flowers. The selkie book jostled up and down in her backpack; sunbeams bounced around inside her belly. Alice was so busy imagining how much her mother would love her library book, she didn’t realise that by the time she got home her father would be back from work.
3
Sticky everlasting
Meaning: My love will not leave you
Xerochrysum viscosum | New South Wales and Victoria
These paper-like flowers display hues of lemon, gold, and splotchy orange to fiery bronze. They can be easily cut, dried, and preserved while retaining their stunning colours.
A month after Alice discovered the library, she was playing in her room when she heard her mother’s voice calling. ‘We need to do some weeding, Bun.’
It was a tranquil afternoon. The garden was thick with orange butterflies. Her mother smiled up at her from under the brim of her floppy hat. It was the same smile she used to greet her father when he came home: Everything’s okay, everything’s all right, everything’s fine. Alice smiled back even though she noticed her mother wincing, clutching her ribs when she reached for a weed.
Things hadn’t been right since the library. Alice couldn’t sit for days after her father took to her with his belt. He snapped her library card in two and confiscated the book, but not before Alice read it in one sitting. She absorbed the stories of selkies and their magical skins into her blood like they were sugar on her tongue. Her bruises healed and her father only punished her once; Alice’s mother continued to bear his rage. A few times Alice had been woken in the night by rough noises in her parents’ bedroom. The ugly sounds paralysed her. On those nights, she stayed in bed with her hands over her ears, willing herself to escape into her dreams, mostly of running with her mother to the sea, where they’d shed their skins before diving in. Bobbing together in the ocean, they’d only look back once before turning to the deep. On shore their pelts would turn to pressed flowers, scattered among shells and seaweed.
‘Here, Alice.’ Her mother handed her another tuft of weeds, wincing again. Alice’s skin burned from her want to rid the garden of every weed, forever, so her mother could just spend her days talking to her flowers in her secret language and filling her pockets with their blooms.
‘What about this one, Mama? Is this a weed?’ Her mother didn’t answer. She was as flighty as the butterflies, her eyes darting constantly to the driveway, checking for the telltale dirt clouds.
Eventually, they appeared.
He swung out of the driver’s seat in full swagger, holding his Akubra upside down behind his back. Alice’s mother stood to greet him with dirt on her knees and a bunch of dandelions clenched in her fist. Their roots trembled as he leaned in to kiss her. Alice glanced away. Her father in a good mood had the same air about him as a rain shower falling from a sunny sky – you could never quite believe the sight. When Alice met his eye, he smiled.
‘We’ve all had a tough time since you ran away, haven’t we, Bunny,’ her father said, crouching while keeping his upside-down hat out of her view. ‘But I think you’
ve learned your lesson about leaving the property.’
Alice’s stomach lurched.
‘I’ve been thinking about it,’ he said softly, ‘and I think we should get your library card back.’ She looked at him uneasily. ‘I’m willing to go to the library and pick your books out for you, if you’re willing to promise to follow our rules. And to help you keep that promise, I thought you might like some extra company at home.’ Alice’s father wasn’t looking at Alice while he spoke – his eyes were searching her mother’s face instead. She stood still and unblinking, her face stretched in a smile. Alice’s father turned to Alice, offering her his hat. Alice took it from him and lowered it into her lap.
Curled inside was a ball of black-and-white fluff. She gasped. Although the pup’s eyes were barely open, they were the same slate blue as the winter sea. He sat up and gave a sharp yap, nipping Alice’s nose. She squealed in delight; he was her first friend. The puppy licked her face.
‘What will you call him, Bun?’ her father asked, rocking back on his heels to stand. Alice couldn’t read his face.
‘Tobias,’ she decided. ‘But I’ll call him Toby.’
Her father laughed easily. ‘Toby it is,’ he said.
‘Wanna hold him, Mama?’ Alice asked. Her mother nodded and reached for Toby.
‘Oh, he’s so young,’ she exclaimed, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. ‘Where did you get him, Clem? Are you sure he’s old enough to be weaned?’
Her father’s eyes flashed. His face darkened. ‘Of course he’s old enough,’ he said through clenched teeth, grabbing Toby by the scruff of the neck. He tossed the whimpering pup to Alice.
Later, she cowered outside among her mother’s ferns, snuggling the puppy against her heart, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from inside the house. Toby lapped at her chin where her tears gathered, while the wind blew through the sweet-scented sugar cane and out to sea.
The tides of her father’s moods turned, as did the seasons. After her father burst Toby’s ear drums, Alice busied herself teaching him sign language. She turned eight, advanced to Grade Three in home schooling, and read her pile of library books two weeks before they were due back. Her mother spent more and more time in the garden, mumbling to herself among her flowers.
One late winter’s day a set of squalls blew in from the sea, so ferocious Alice wondered if they’d blow the house down like something from a fable. She and Toby watched from the front step as Clem dragged his windsurfer out of the garage and into the yard.
‘It’s a forty-knot northwesterly, Bunny,’ he said, hurrying to load his gear into the back of his truck. ‘This is rare.’ He brushed the cobwebs off the windsurfer sail. Alice nodded, rubbing Toby’s ears. She knew it was; she’d only seen her father ready himself to ride the wind across the sea a handful of times. She’d never been allowed to go with him. He started the engine.
‘C’mon then, Bunny. Reckon I need a good luck charm on today’s voyage. Hurry up,’ he called, leaning out of the driver’s window. Although the wild look in his eye made her uneasy, the disbelieving joy of being invited threw Alice into action. She ran into her bedroom to change into her togs and bolted past her mother, calling goodbye, Toby close behind. With a roaring rev of the engine, her father spun out of the driveway towards the bay.
Down at the beach, Alice’s father strapped himself into his harness and dragged the board to the water’s edge. Alice stood by. When her father called her she followed the deep groove the fin of his board had cut in the sand, all the way to the sea. He pushed his board into the waves, steadying the sail against the wind. The veins in his forearms popped from the effort. Alice stood thigh-high in the salt water, uncertain of what to expect. Her father readied himself to leap on the board then turned to her, his brows raised and his smile reckless. Alice’s heartbeat knocked in her ears. He nodded his head towards the board. Toby paced on the shore, barking incessantly. She raised her arm and held her flat palm up to speak to him: Be calm. Her father had never asked her along before. She didn’t dare refuse the invitation.
As she sprang through the sea towards her father, her mother’s voice reached her. Alice turned to see her standing on top of the dunes, calling her name and waving her arms frantically, gripping Alice’s fluorescent-orange life vest in one hand. Her calls rose from measured to alarmed. Toby raced away from the shore to meet her. In the water, Alice’s father swatted her mother’s worry away like it was an insect buzzing around his face.
‘You don’t need a life vest. Not when you’re eight. I was king of my kingdom when I was eight.’ He nodded at her. ‘Hop on, Bunting.’
Alice beamed. His attention was hypnotic.
He lifted her onto his board, his hands firm and strong under her armpits, and positioned her at the front, where she leant into the wind. He lay belly down and paddled the two of them through the water. Silver fish darted through the shallows. The wind was strong and sea salt stung Alice’s eyes. She turned back once to see her mother on shore, dwarfed by the expanse of sea between them.
Out in the turquoise depths her father leapt from his belly to his feet, and slid his toes into the straps. Alice clutched the edges, her palms scraping on the board grip. Her father heaved the sail upright, using his legs to keep his balance. Sinew and muscle rippled beneath the skin of his calves.
‘Sit between my feet,’ he instructed. She inched along the board towards him. ‘Hold on,’ he said. She wrapped her arms around his legs.
For a moment, there was a lull; the world was still and aquamarine. Then, whoosh, the wind filled the sail and salt water sprayed Alice’s face. The sea sparkled. They sailed through the waves, zigzagging across the bay. Alice leant her head back and closed her eyes; the sun warm on her skin, the sea spray tickling her face, the wind running its fingers through her long hair.
‘Alice, look,’ her father called. A pod of dolphins arced alongside them. Alice cried out in delight, remembering her selkie book. ‘Stand up so you can see them better,’ he said. Holding on to his legs, Alice wobbled as she stood, mesmerised by the beauty of the dolphins. They glided through the water, peaceful and free. She tentatively let go of her father and used her own weight to balance. Holding her arms out wide, she moved her waist in circles and rolled her wrists, mimicking the dolphins. Her father howled joyously into the wind. Seeing true happiness in his face made Alice light-headed.
Out beyond the bay they flew, into the channel where a tourist boat was circling back towards the town harbour. A camera flash bulb popped in their direction. Her father waved.
‘Do the hula again for them,’ Alice’s father encouraged her. ‘They’re watching us, Alice. Do it. Now.’
Alice didn’t understand what hula meant; was it her dolphin dance? The urgency in his voice also confused her. She glanced at the front of the board and back up at him. This moment of hesitation was her mistake; she caught the shadow as it crossed his face. Scrambling to the board’s tip she tried to make up the time she’d lost and stood on shaky legs, looping her waist and rolling her wrists. It was too late. The boat turned away from them; the camera flashes glinted off the water in the opposite direction. Alice smiled hopefully. Her knees trembled. She snuck a look at her father. His jaw was set.
When he flipped the sail around and they changed direction, Alice almost lost her balance. The sun was garish and sharp, biting at her skin. She crouched on the board and clung to its sides. Her mother’s voice carried on the wind, calling them relentlessly as they crossed the channel back towards the bay. The waves rolled deep and dark green. Her father said nothing. She sidled towards him. As she nestled herself between his feet again and clung to his calves, she felt a muscle twitch under his skin. She looked up but his face was blank. Alice bit back on tears. She’d ruined it. She tightened her grip on his legs.
‘Sorry, Papa,’ she said in a small voice.
The pressure on her back was firm and quick. She pitched forward into the cold sea, crying out as she was engulfed by waves. S
pluttering to the surface, she shrieked and coughed, trying to hack up the burning sensation of salt water in her lungs. Kicking hard, she held her arms up the way her mother taught her to do if she ever got caught in a rip. Not too far away, her father coasted on the board, staring at her, his face as white as the caps on the waves. Alice kicked to tread water. With a quick flick her father spun the sail again. He’s coming back. Alice whimpered, relieved. But as his sail caught the wind and he sailed away from her, she stopped kicking in disbelief. She started to sink. When the water covered her nose, Alice flailed her arms and kicked hard, fighting her way upwards through the waves.
Tossed up and down at the whim of the current, Alice glimpsed her mother over the waves. She’d flung herself into the ocean and was swimming hard. The sight of Agnes gave Alice a surge of strength. She kicked and paddled until she felt the slightest shift in the temperature of the water and knew she was approaching the shallows. Her mother reached her in a flurry of splashing and clung to her like Alice herself was a life vest. When they could both touch sand, sure and solid beneath their feet, Alice stood and vomited bile, her retching a croaking, empty sound. Her arms and legs gave out. She gasped for breath. Her mother’s eyes were as dull as a piece of sea glass. She carried Alice to shore and wrapped her in the dress she’d discarded before leaping into the waves. She rocked them both back and forth until Alice stopped crying. Hoarse from barking, Toby whined while he licked Alice’s face. She patted him weakly. When she started to shiver Alice’s mother picked her up and carried her home. She didn’t say a thing.
As they left the beach Alice looked back at the frenzy of her mother’s footprints on the shore. Far out on the sea her father’s sail cut brightly through the waves.
No one talked about what happened that day. Afterwards, whenever he was home from the cane fields, Clem avoided the house. Instead he did what he would always do to relieve his guilt: retreated to his shed. At meals, he was distant and chillingly polite. Being around him was like being outside without shelter during stormy weather, always watching the sky. Alice spent a few sweaty-palmed weeks hoping she, Toby and her mother might run away to the places in her mother’s stories, where snow covered the earth like white sugar and ancient, sparkling cities were built on water. But as weeks turned into months and summer started to soften its edges into autumn, there were no more outbursts. Her father’s tides were peaceful. He made her a writing desk. Alice began to wonder if maybe he’d left the stormy parts of himself out in the deep that day when she’d seen the ocean turn dark green.
The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart Page 3