The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

by Holly Ringland

  ‘It was,’ Dylan said. ‘Once upon a time, this was an ancient inland seabed.’ He motioned around them. ‘The desert’s an old dream of the sea.’

  A kaleidoscope of butterflies spun in her stomach. ‘An old dream of the sea,’ she repeated.

  Their skin was painted by the fiery dawn light. He stood to the side of her. Though they weren’t touching, he was so close she could feel the heat of his skin.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispered near her ear. She shivered.

  As the world lit up, he inched closer and wrapped her in his arms. They stood that way, held together by the sunrise, until the sound of the first tourist buses broke the spell.

  Lulu waited at her back door, teetering off balance as she clutched a half-empty cup of punch to her chest. The yard was littered with streamers, butterfly bunting and bottle tops. She swayed, eyes fixed on the sand dune behind Alice’s house, where Dylan was hiding between mulga trees, the same place Lulu had seen him standing for months, watching Alice through her windows.

  It started the afternoon Alice arrived, when she drove through Parksville in her yellow truck for the first time. Lulu was filling up at the petrol bowsers when Dylan had pulled in. He was making overtly mate-ish conversation with her, which she guessed was his way of erasing their history, until he stopped mid-sentence, staring at the road. When Lulu turned, she saw what he saw: Alice with her long, dark hair streaming out her window, dog beside her. She’d looked straight at them. Straight at him. Lulu kept talking but Dylan wasn’t listening. He was besotted by Alice. The way he’d once been by her.

  Later that night, after Alice had dinner with Lulu and Aiden and walked home, Lulu was sitting outside on the dunes with a glass of wine when a movement in the shadows caught her eye. She’d remembered the smell of Dylan on her skin, and squinted to sharpen her vision in the darkness, sucking in her breath at the sight of him sneaking along the back fence line of Alice’s house. Before she could stop herself, Lulu moved to the corner of her yard to better see Dylan crouched under the stars, hidden by a mulga bush, watching Alice. Inside her new home Alice went tentatively through the rooms, as if she were a guest. For a while she sat on the couch staring at the wall, cuddling her dog. Her face was so sad. Dylan waited until she went to bed and turned out the light. Then he stood, silently, and walked home. Lulu had retreated to bed, where Aiden sleepily asked why she was shaking.

  At dusk the next evening, Lulu was in the kitchen grinding up chilli and cocoa beans when a passing figure caught her eye through the window. She waited until the gloaming before she slid out into the shadows of her garden. Again Dylan sat in the red sand, drawn by the open, lit windows in Alice’s house. Alice was dancing in her kitchen, cooking, her wet hair hanging down her back. Blues music wafted on the thin, violet air. She shook her body around the stove, set out two plates and served dinner. Some for her, and some for her dog. Dylan stayed until she went to bed, then retraced his steps home.

  Night after night, Lulu couldn’t stop herself watching Dylan as he was drawn across the sand dunes by the light falling from Alice’s windows, yet hated herself for it all the same. She began to wait for the hour when the shadows were long enough to look for him creeping among the trees. Protected by the darkness, he sat outside while Alice drank tea and read a book, or watched a movie on the couch with her dog. Or tended her pot plants and books, once she began decorating her house. He mostly kept his distance, until the night before Alice’s birthday. Alice had returned from a walk, when Lulu saw Dylan move from the shadows to slip noiselessly through the gate in Alice’s back fence. He wound through the thryptomene bushes, daringly close, nearly in the glow of her fairy lights. Watching. Seemingly waiting for something that was out of Lulu’s view.

  She didn’t bother trying to resist following him: Lulu left her yard and took a wide arc around the dune behind Alice’s house. Hid behind the thick trunk of a desert oak where she could see Dylan in the bushes watching Alice inside at her desk, emptying flowers from her pockets. She pressed them into her notebook, which she handled as gently as if it were a bird’s egg. She started writing, then paused. Looked blindly into the darkness. And that’s when it happened, when Lulu heard Dylan catch his breath, as though Alice was looking straight at him with her big, green eyes; as if he was what caused her face to fill with hope. Lulu had sprinted home hard and fast. Told herself that was why she retched stinging, hot bile in the sink.

  At the end of the surprise party, Lulu had pretended to be asleep when Dylan and Alice left together. Would Dylan’s first move on Alice be to share a sunrise with her too, like he had with Lulu?

  Lulu stood at her back door watching and waiting until, sure enough, they came stumbling over the dunes. He walked Alice home, lingering long after she’d gone inside. The sun burned high into the sky before he turned to leave, a besotted, drunken smile on his face. She couldn’t stop herself staring, long after he’d disappeared behind his front door.

  The evening after her surprise party, Alice curled up on her couch, gazing across her yard to the gate in her back fence. Silhouetted birds tumbled through the air, a constellation of inverse stars returning to their nests. On the blackened dead tree just outside her door, the evening light illuminated a rope of silk trails left by the winter procession of caterpillars. Alice had read about them in the park’s annual flora and fauna guide: they followed each other by the trails of silk they left behind, which were invisible except when they caught the light.

  Her house was quiet, except for the occasional click of the electric heater, Pip’s snores and the bubbling pot on the stove. Hints of fresh lemongrass, coriander and coconut made her stomach growl. She watched the gate. She waited. The light changed from gold to cinnamon. Dylan’s voice rang in her ears. I’ll go home for a shower and come over. Back gate way.

  She’d been on her way home from town when she’d spotted his ute on the side of the ring road and his figure at the nearby radio repeater stations. He saw her coming and waved. She pulled over and hopped out of her car. Her body grew feverish at the sight of him.

  ‘Pinta-Pinta.’ He’d beamed, tapping his hat brim to greet her.

  ‘G’day.’ She’d grinned.

  ‘Not too hung over?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, weirdly. More just sleep deprived, I think.’

  ‘Me too.’

  The air was heavy with the sweet scent of winter wattle.

  ‘How was your first day of being twenty-seven?’ he asked.

  ‘Truck delivery day. I went food shopping.’ She laughed.

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded knowingly, laughing along. ‘It was a great day.’

  ‘It was. But it’s not over yet.’ She paused. ‘What are you doing tonight?’ she blurted, looking up at him.

  His eyes searched hers. ‘Not much.’

  ‘I’m making fresh Thai green curry soup. From scratch?’ she offered.

  ‘Yum.’

  ‘So,’ she said, trying to keep her voice even. ‘Join me?’

  ‘Love to.’ He smiled.

  ‘Six?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll go home for a shower and come over. Back gate way?’

  ‘Sure,’ she’d said, breezily.

  And there it was, the beam of his torch, cutting through the spinifex, lighting his way to her. She got up and scurried into her bedroom. Stood in the shadows by her window, watching, waiting.

  He came to the back gate, slid open the latch and closed it behind him. The pale light of the stars fell on his shoulders. He flicked the torch off and wound his way through the thryptomene to the patio under her fairy lights.

  ‘Pinta-Pinta?’ he called from the door.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, giving him an easy smile as she crossed the room and opened the back door. He scuffed his feet across the mat and walked inside. She inhaled the invisible curlicues of his cologne, briefly closing her eyes. He took his Akubra off and cast an appreciative glance around her house: her pot plants, her paintings, her books, her rugs, her co
oking, her desk. She’d pretended it was for herself, but it had all been in hope of this moment.

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he replied, plonking down on the sofa.

  ‘Hair of the dog?’ she asked.

  ‘Always,’ he said. She opened the fridge and reached to the back for two beer bottles. The effervescence when she cracked the tops brought her such relief she wished she could open a dozen at once.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said, handing him one.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said with a nod. As they clinked bottles, a Catherine wheel of nerves spun through her body.

  After soup and more beer, they slouched on her couch. Their faces were flushed, from the heating, the beers, the chilli, and something else besides. They’d been telling stories, about where they’d grown up. They knew how to do this, how to reveal certain parts of themselves and not others. They’d been doing it for weeks. But now their stories dried up like a salt flat in the sun.

  ‘Those bloody fairy lights,’ he mumbled after a while.

  The heater ticked and hummed.

  ‘What about them?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘They’re all I can see from every window in my house. They’ve been distracting me for months.’

  A thrill shot through her. ‘They have?’ she asked.

  He turned to her. She didn’t look away.

  His mouth was on hers, suddenly, softly. Urgently. Alice kissed him back, deeply, unwilling to close her eyes. It wasn’t a daydream; he was there.

  They shed their clothes like skins on the floor. When he sat back to take in the sight of her, she covered herself with her arms. But he drew them away, pressing one of her hands to his chest. She felt it under his skin and bone, the storytelling of his heart.

  He’s here. He’s here.

  She drew him close; a sharp intake of breath; he pushed into her. Limbs entwined, indistinguishable. Raw, thrilling. Almost frightening. Sensory fragments in her mind. Wet sand underfoot, lightness in her lungs, salty skin, cawing with the gulls by the silver sea. The drift and tilt of wind through her hair between the green cane stalks. The hush and flow of the river. Fistfuls of red flowers being torn from the earth.

  24

  Broad-leaved parakeelya

  Meaning: By your love, I live and die

  Calandrinia balonensis | Northern Territory

  Parkilypa (Pit.) is a succulent growing in sandy soils of arid regions, with fleshy leaves and bright purple flowers, which appear mainly in winter and spring. In times of drought the leaves can be a water source; the whole plant can be baked and eaten.

  From that night onwards, they spent every spare moment together. Alice knew she was neglecting her other friends, especially Lulu, but she didn’t want to be with anyone else.

  As the winter wore on, they lit bonfires and slept outside in his swag, under the stars, Pip always curled up close by.

  ‘You should change your roster,’ he said one night as she lay in the crook of his arm, watching the sky. ‘I miss you too much on weekends when one of us is off while the other is working. I want to see you more.’

  The thrill of it: he wanted more of her. She grinned up at him, smelled the scent of his skin, earthen and green. He took his arm out from under her head and sat up. Untied his leather bracelets and turned back to her, gently taking her hands. She nodded, smiling as he bound the bracelets around her wrists and tied them in knots.

  ‘Ngayuku pinta-pinta,’ he said, his voice raw.

  As he pulled her onto him, Lulu’s voice shot fleetingly through her mind. You’re no safer than the girl in the fairytale who wanders into a dark wood.

  ‘Ngayuku pinta-pinta,’ he whispered again, his hands around her wrists. My butterfly.

  She curled her body to fit around his.

  While she awaited approval to change rosters, Alice’s desert life centred around Dylan. If they were both off for sunset, they took to walking the fire trails with Pip; Alice filled her pockets with wildflowers to press in her notebook, while Dylan took photos of her in the melting red light. When she was on night patrol and finished late, she drove straight to his house and often found him waiting with dinner, or a hot bubble bath. On those nights, he and Pip sat by the bath, leaning against the wall, while he read aloud to her. If they had a whole day off together they gardened in the sun until they were distracted by each other’s warmed bare skin; she’d mentioned working in her mother’s veggie garden as a child, and came home from work one day to find he’d made her a bed of dark earth sown through the red dirt. At night, they snuggled on the couch with the heater blazing, the television on the one regional channel with decent reception, watching BBC dramas and antique shows. On rare occasions when the winter sky was cloudy and the day didn’t yield any sun, they stayed in bed. Those days became synonymous with pancakes; Alice would fry up a tower, which they’d take back to bed and devour.

  One cold afternoon, after a syrupy feast, they lay watching dust motes float on the grey light falling through a crack in the curtains. Dylan sighed heavily and disentangled himself from her. He’d been agitated, restless, and hadn’t looked directly at her all day, even during sleepy, languid sex. Alice didn’t know what was wrong. And she didn’t know why she was so reluctant to ask him.

  She traced circles over his bare stomach and chest, reaching up to his neck and face. He didn’t respond. ‘What’s wrong?’ Alice whispered. Her love could fix it. Whatever it was. He didn’t answer. She waited. Asked again.

  ‘Nothing,’ he snapped, shrugging from her touch. ‘Sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry, Pinta-Pinta.’ He sat up, elbows on his knees, his head hanging.

  She sat up beside him. There was a familiar pit in her stomach that made her deeply uncomfortable. She chose her words carefully so as not to agitate him further.

  ‘You can tell me,’ she offered, keeping her voice light. ‘Whatever it is.’ She held a hand out gingerly, letting it hover for a moment before she pressed it to his back, holding her palm flat against his spine. He curled towards her touch.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he moaned, turning to bury his face into her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not going to fuck this up this time.’

  She stroked his hair. ‘I know that,’ she soothed. ‘I know.’

  ‘It’s going to be better,’ he said, as if to himself. ‘I’m going to be better.’ He kissed her neck, her face, her mouth, his sense of urgency growing as he gathered her into his arms.

  Alice squeezed her eyes shut as she kissed him back. What did he mean, better? He was going to be different from what? How? Her chest grew tight.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered as he lay between her legs. Whispered over and again.

  She breathed in his words and banished the questions from her mind.

  Winter started to wane. The mornings grew warmer, finches began to fly and leave their nests, and Alice’s life with Dylan flourished. As her love for him intensified, Alice found it harder and harder to ignore the strain in her friendship with Lulu. Not long after her request to switch rosters had been approved, she saw Lulu checking the noticeboards in the tea room. From the look on Lulu’s face as she read the new rosters, something was very wrong.

  ‘Hey, Lulu,’ Alice said brightly, taking two clean mugs from the sink. ‘Fancy a cuppa and catch-up before patrol?’

  Lulu’s blank expression didn’t falter as she walked right past her.

  ‘She probably just feels left out,’ Dylan said that night. ‘You haven’t known her that long. I have. She can be jealous and weird about shit like this.’

  Alice stirred the spring vegetable risotto she was cooking. It made sense. What other reason could Lulu have to be so cold to her? But the question of Lulu’s history with Dylan niggled at her. She took a sip of her white wine and shot a glance at him.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  She took another sip, not looking at him.

  ‘Spit it out,’ Dylan said, smiling. ‘I can read your face like a book, Pinta-Pinta.’

 
Emboldened, she smiled back. ‘Did you and Lulu ever …’ she trailed off.

  ‘Me and Lulu?’ Dylan scoffed, shaking his head. ‘I think she might have had a thing for me way back when we first met, but it never came to anything.’ He stood behind her, wrapping her tightly in his arms. ‘Don’t worry so much. It’s all in your mind. She’ll get over herself. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ Alice leaned back against his chest.

  Once they were working on the same roster, Alice and Dylan were completely inseparable. They drove to and from work and took lunch together. She packed picnics they never ended up eating, instead sneaking off in his ute to secluded spots behind headquarters, where they could hear their radios but have enough privacy to focus only on each other. After work they shared beers, watched the sky change, cooked dinner over the fire pit and lounged with Pip to watch the stars. Alice never went home, and avoided looking across his yard in the direction of her house, which sat in the dark.

  On their first four-day weekend off together, Dylan woke her early with a cup of coffee and kisses on her face.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said, wrapping her naked body in the doona and leading her to the front door. She rubbed her eyes and cradled her coffee to her lips as he swung the screen open with a flourish. Outside the morning was crystalline. She squinted in the sunshine. His battered four-wheel drive was packed, with his double swag strapped to the roof racks.

  ‘Wanna get out of here?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘We’re running away to the west coast?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t reckon we’d quite make it there and back in four days,’ he joked. ‘But I know a place nearly as good.’

  ‘Road trip,’ Alice sang as she sidled up to him.

  Dylan eyed her wrapped in the doona. Teased the corner of it out from under her arm so that it fell away from her body. ‘Maybe not just yet.’

  She shrieked with joy as he chased her inside.