The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

by Holly Ringland

  After the impromptu housewarming, Alice’s resolve began to crumble. She wouldn’t admit that she went out of her way to at least see his ute, or hear his voice on the park radio. It was a hunger unlike any she’d known. She started breaking afternoon plans with Ruby, and lying to Lulu about needing time alone. Something’s going on with you, chica. I can feel it, Lulu said to her. Alice brushed her off.

  For a long time, she’d told herself her afternoon walks had nothing to do with him. Every time Alice walked the dusty red dirt track around the crater, she inwardly denied she was driven by one thing: the moment she would come around the bend by the scraggly gums and rest her eyes on his face. She ignored that she deliberately timed her walk so she’d ‘coincidentally’ bump into him at sunset at Kututu Puli. He held the full attention of the afternoon tourist group while he told them the story of Kililpitjara. But he always looked up just as she passed; she thrilled at his eyes drifting over her body.

  And so their charade went, day by day. She would walk on, timing her pace to her best guess of how long it would take him to finish, and make his last patrol lap of the ring road. If she thought she needed to slow down, she’d amble under her favourite archway of mulga trees, which reached over the track, the fingers of their branches entwined. Or she’d gather a fistful of desert wildflowers to press in her notebook. But if she thought she needed to quicken her pace, Alice broke into a jog. She didn’t stop to take in the light or the birdsong, or notice the baked scent of the earth as the day cooled. She didn’t pause to wonder at the mulga archway or give a thought to wildflowers. There was only ever one thing on her mind. It was only ever him.

  At Kututu Puli she stopped to fill her empty-on-purpose water bottle. She always sat on the side of the water tank, facing the full light of the setting sun. She knew her legs and feet were visible from the road. It was his call whether he pulled up and stopped to see her. She stared at the red sky while she waited.

  He’ll be here.

  No matter how many times she heard the sound, the thrill of his tyres crunching on the dirt did not wane.

  His engine would cut silent. His car door would open.

  He was there.

  And, if anyone was watching, all they’d see was two friends bumping into each other, meeting by accident. Every day of the week.

  ‘G’day,’ he’d say with a smile.

  ‘G’day,’ she’d reply, always expressing just enough surprise to see him, never having to force her warmest grin.

  As the sun set the two of them sat talking, taking their time to carefully reveal pieces of themselves to each other: they never talked about who she was before she’d arrived at Kililpitjara, or who else was in his life. Instead they talked around those things, showing each other their best half-truths.

  ‘Have you ever been to the west coast?’ he asked one day, without looking at her.

  Had he heard her thoughts and daydreams? She didn’t look at him. ‘Not yet,’ she said breezily, swatting flies away, fixing her gaze in the same direction as his, on tussocks of spinifex backlit by the sun. ‘Love to though. To see where red dirt meets white sand and aqua sea.’

  He laughed. ‘What the hell are we doing hanging around here?’

  She grinned at him. Yellow butterflies swooped over the grass, drunk on the orange light. The lichen turned black in the shadows, and the crater wall reflected the blaze of sunset colours.

  Though his presence soothed painful memories she wanted to forget, every time they met, the life Alice had left behind began to creep like a vine into her heart, tendril by tendril and leaf by leaf, until she realised one day while they were talking that she was always mentally gathering him bouquets, silently telling him her deepest longings the only way she knew how: through the unspoken language of Australian native flowers.

  23

  Desert heath-myrtle

  Meaning: Flame, I burn

  Thryptomene maisonneuvii | Northern Territory

  Traditionally, Anangu women beat pukara (Pit.) with a wooden bowl to collect dew containing nectar from the flowers. Thryptomene, derived from Greek, means coy or prudish; this bush appears modest but in winter through to spring produces a cloak of tiny white flowers with red centres, blooming as if revealing a secret.

  Alice’s twenty-seventh birthday fell in the middle of her four days off. She hadn’t told anyone about it. Not even Lulu.

  She lay in bed watching the winter sky and naming the changing colours – soft navy and lilac to peach and champagne pink – before the sun rose and lit up the red earth. She’d taken to leaving her fairy lights on day and night. She thought of the gossip she’d overheard in the staff kitchen at headquarters: Dylan had taken leave to visit his girlfriend, Julie. It had hit her hard, especially as Dylan had met her at Kututu Puli the day before but hadn’t mentioned it.

  Alice propped herself up in bed. Her breath puffed little steam clouds into the air. Pip scampered out of bed to scratch at the back door.

  ‘Only for you, Pip,’ Alice groaned, dragging herself up to let her out. She switched the heater on, shivering while she waited for its warmth to kick in.

  On her way back inside, Pip gave Alice a lick. Alice nodded.

  ‘Birthday drinks are an excellent idea.’

  She went into the kitchen and warmed a pot of milk, pouring half into a bowl, which she set down for Pip, and the rest into a mug with a shot of espresso coffee. She took a book from her bookshelf and scurried back into bed. Pip followed, licking her milky chops.

  Alice propped herself against her pillows. She sipped her coffee and opened her book, but the world outside was too beautiful a distraction. Overnight frost melted on the thryptomene flowers, glittering as it caught the sun. The sky was china blue, dotted with plump clouds. In the distance, the crater wall was luminous in the morning light. Her mind swirled with the stories she’d learned about this place, of the mother who put her baby down to rest in the stars, and lost her child to the land. The story and the landscape were one and the same; even the arcing path of the stars over the northern rim of the crater mirrored its circular formation.

  She snuggled further under her doona, watching as yellow butterflies hovered over the flowering bushes; were they in Dylan’s garden too? What was he doing, right at that moment, while she was at home, on her birthday, alone? Alice’s eyes welled. She didn’t often let herself wonder who she might be if her life had been different. Today she couldn’t stop herself. If June hadn’t intervened, would Alice be in Europe with Oggi now? Would she be his wife instead of Lilia, and would Iva be their daughter? If Alice hadn’t found out how June betrayed her, would she ever have left the flower farm? And, underneath, the most painful question: would her mother be alive if she’d never gone into her father’s shed? The next thought hit her hard, straight in her heart: Alice was a year older than her mother was when she died.

  Someone knocked sharply at her front door. Alice pushed the doona back off her head. The skin around her eyes was tight from tears. Pip licked her salty cheeks. Another knock.

  ‘Chica? It’s me.’

  Alice sat up and wrapped herself in her doona. She got out of bed and shuffled to the front door, opening it a crack.

  ‘Dios mío,’ Lulu said under her breath. ‘Alice, what’s wrong?’ She pushed the door open and bustled inside, carrying an enormous pair of handmade butterfly wings and a small bag. ‘These are clearly not important right now,’ Lulu said, putting everything on the table. Alice allowed herself to be guided to the couch, where she curled up in a ball. Lulu flicked the heater off and flung the back door open to let warm winter sun and fresh air into the house. She made two cups of honeyed tea, and settled herself beside Alice. Pip bounded outside to chase butterflies.

  ‘What’s going on, chica?’ Lulu asked gently. ‘You haven’t been your normal self for ages.’

  The image of Dylan’s face consumed her. Alice couldn’t look at Lulu. ‘I just miss my mother, Lu,’ she whispered. ‘I miss my mum,’ she repeated, her
voice breaking. She didn’t think she had any tears left, yet a new stream flowed freely down her nose and dripped into her teacup.

  ‘Can you call her? Or your dad? Or one of your brothers? Life out here can be hard, being so away from family, especially one as big as yours.’ Lulu rubbed Alice’s arm. Alice didn’t understand, until she tasted the ashen lie of her fairytale family. Her face crumpled.

  ‘Hey,’ Lulu said, her eyes heavy with worry.

  Alice shook her head and wiped her face. She reached under her shirt and pulled out her locket. Offered it to Lulu. She took it from Alice and ran her thumb over the desert pea inlay.

  ‘That’s my family.’ Alice popped it open for Lulu. Her mother’s young and hopeful face looked up at them. Alice eyed her garden of wild thryptomene flowers. Flame, I burn. ‘The truth is, I don’t have a big family. I don’t really have anything left of a family at all.’ Somewhere in the distance a crow cawed. Alice braced herself for anger, but after a moment Lulu smiled warmly.

  ‘So, this is your mother?’

  Alice nodded. ‘Her name was Agnes.’ She wiped her nose.

  Lulu looked between the photograph and Alice. ‘You look so much like her.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Alice said, her chin wobbling.

  ‘Don’t answer this if you don’t want to, but, I mean, how did she …?’ Lulu trailed off.

  Alice closed her eyes, remembering the feeling of muscle and sinew under her father’s skin when she held onto his legs on the windsurfer. The bruises on her mother’s naked, pregnant body as she came out of the sea. The brother or sister Alice would never know. The lantern she left alight in her father’s shed.

  ‘I don’t really know,’ she answered. ‘I don’t know.’

  Lulu took Alice’s hand and placed her necklace in her palm. ‘This locket is beautiful.’

  ‘My grandmother made it.’ Alice closed her hand around it. ‘In my family, desert peas mean courage,’ she said. ‘Have courage, take heart.’

  They sat together in silence while they drank their tea. After a while, Lulu stood with her hands on her hips.

  ‘You can’t be alone today,’ she stated. ‘Aiden’s got the fire going and the skillet oiled up. We’re having an afternoon barbecue and you’re coming over.’

  Alice started to protest.

  ‘No, this one’s non-negotiable, chica. Besides, I’ve made extra guacamole.’ Lulu knew Alice’s weaknesses and how to use them.

  Alice sniffed and looked over at her kitchen table. With the butterfly wings splayed out, it seemed ready to take flight. She raised an eyebrow at Lulu.

  ‘Oh, I’m making a costume for my cousin. She’s in a play, and is about your size. I need to know if it fits,’ Lulu stated.

  ‘What? You want me to get dressed up? Right now?’ Alice glanced down at herself.

  ‘Yes. Although, can you shower first? Maybe wash your hair?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Chica, I can’t send my cousin her costume with your tears and snot all over it. Besides, my abuela always said cleaning yourself up was one of the best remedies for sadness. In addition to her guacamole. Which, I may have mentioned, I have made fresh and have waiting for you at home.’

  As Alice stepped under the hot shower, she listened to the sounds of Lulu clacking dishes together in the sink, humming as she tidied. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but smile.

  Freshly showered and dressed as a giant monarch butterfly, Alice followed Lulu down the dirt track between their houses. The burnt orange of her wings was the same fiery hue as the red dirt.

  ‘Why have I let you convince me to wear this out of my house?’ Alice asked.

  ‘So Aiden can take photos for my cousin. I forgot to bring the camera with me to yours. Besides, who cares what you look like, chica? In case you’d forgotten, we’re in the middle of fucking Woop-Woop.’

  Alice snorted with laughter. She was reluctant to admit that putting on the costume did make her feel better. Lulu had spared no detail: from the wire antennae pinned in Alice’s hair, to the black and white dotted dress and the carefully hand-painted monarch wings strapped to her back, she was unquestionably transformed.

  They walked through Lulu’s front yard into her house.

  ‘Aiden must be out at the fire pit. Let me grab the camera and we’ll go out.’ Lulu scurried down the hall. Alice spotted the guacamole on the counter and darted over to it, fumbling with the cling wrap covering to dip a finger in.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Lulu hollered from one of the bedrooms. Alice laughed as she sucked guacamole from her finger.

  ‘Okay, got it.’ Lulu returned holding the camera. She narrowed her eyes at Alice. Alice held up her hands in innocence.

  They walked outside. ‘Aiden?’ Lulu called.

  A single paper streamer curled around the corner of the house, and then another. And another.

  ‘Lu?’ Alice asked uncertainly.

  Lulu came to her side and wrapped an arm around her waist, walking her into the backyard and full view of most of their workmates.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ Ruby, Aiden, several other rangers, even Sarah, stood with plastic cups raised.

  Alice’s hands flew to her face. Lulu and Aiden had turned their yard into a birthday bazaar. Butterfly bunting was hung around the patio, and brightly patterned fabric awnings were strung between the trees. A fire was glowing in the pit. There was a pile of cushions and a couple of beanbags on a huge rectangular rug, with streamers tied haphazardly in the bushes. Dips and salads and corn chips were spread over a trestle table, alongside what must have been a fifty-litre cylindrical Esky, with a hand-drawn sign that read Dangerous Punch. And, to Alice’s absolute delight, everyone was wearing butterfly wings.

  ‘As if we didn’t know it was your birthday.’ Lulu grinned.

  Alice gaped at Lulu, her hands pressed to her chest in gratitude.

  ‘Come on,’ Lulu urged, laughing. ‘Dangerous Punch time.’

  Someone put music on. Aiden manned the kebabs sizzling on the skillet over the fire pit. Alice, light-headed from the surprise and rush of booze to her head, greeted everyone with exuberant hugs and cheer. She refilled empty punch cups, stoked the fire and offered around nibblies. She did all she could to avoid focusing on the one person who wasn’t there.

  When the sky was dark and the punch was flowing, Alice sat with Lulu under a blanket by the fire. Flames reached for the inky sky, shooting sparks like stars.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Alice said.

  Lulu squeezed her hand. ‘It’s my pleasure.’

  The fire burned in a sea of colours: yellow, pink, orange, cobalt, plum, bronze.

  ‘Can I tell you something?’ Lulu asked.

  ‘Please,’ Alice said, smiling.

  ‘I knew there was something special about you, chica, the first day you arrived and I saw your truck.’

  Alice gave Lulu an affectionate nudge. ‘Well, that’s a bloody lovely thing to say.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ Lulu said as she took a sip of her punch. ‘In my family monarch butterflies are daughters of fire. They come from the sun carrying the souls of warriors who fought and died in battle, and return to feed on the nectar of flowers.’

  Alice watched the fire as it hissed and popped. She tightened the blanket around her, thinking about everything hidden under the monarch butterfly stickers on her truck, and whose daughter and granddaughter she was.

  ‘When I first saw the fire warriors on your truck, I knew that you’d change everything about life here,’ Lulu said.

  Fire warriors. Alice didn’t know how to respond.

  ‘Dangerous Punch! Get your fresh Dangerous Punch refills here!’ Aiden called across the yard. His wings were lopsided and sagging. One of his antennae was broken and flopped over his eyebrow. Lulu snorted with laughter. Relieved for the distraction, Alice joined in.

  ‘C’mon.’ She pulled Lulu’s hand in the direction of the Esky. ‘More Dangerous Punch.’

  The
y drank and danced under the winter stars. As Alice twirled in the light she caught sight of her monarch wings. She couldn’t shake Lulu’s story from her mind. Daughters of fire.

  He came in the early hours of the morning when the music was mellow, the fire burned bright, and everyone who hadn’t passed out in their swags or stumbled home was snuggled in beanbags with blankets. Alice watched over the flames as he swung out of his four-wheel drive and headed for the Esky. Aiden clapped him on the back and offered him a cup of punch. Dylan downed it in one gulp.

  ‘Rough trip?’ Aiden raised his eyebrows, refilling his cup.

  Dylan downed it again.

  ‘How’s Julie?’

  Dylan shook his head. ‘Not my problem anymore.’

  Aiden gave him a third cup of punch. ‘Ah, mate. Sorry.’

  ‘It is what it is.’ Dylan shrugged.

  He turned to scan the yard. Through the fire, his eyes found hers.

  When the sky started to lighten, Alice and Dylan were the only two awake.

  ‘Is this your first desert all-nighter?’ he asked.

  Alice nodded, smiling drunkenly as she chewed on the lip of her plastic punch cup. His attention was hypnotic.

  ‘Well,’ he said, looking up at the sky, ‘I dunno if anyone’s told you, but it doesn’t count unless you see the sunrise.’

  They left Lulu and Aiden’s swag-littered yard and, wrapped in blankets, made their way up a sand dune.

  ‘Here comes the sun,’ he said, his voice low, his eyes on her. Her skin tingled. The sky was so clear, so alive with shifting colour, that Alice flung her arms out wide as if she might soak it in.

  ‘It reminds me of the ocean,’ she murmured. ‘So vast.’ Her head spun with memories.