My eyes were watering as I tried to clear my throat. I looked at the table. ‘Aah, it’s not been so bad …’
‘Deb’s been more focussed on Mum,’ George intervened, rescuing me. The Lorikeets had started their cheerful afternoon bickering.
‘Bloody birds,’ he added.
‘They’re beautiful though,’ I said.
Nick’s eyes returned to me. I managed to hold his gaze for a moment before the intensity became overwhelming. The breeze caught his hair making the curls flicker like fiery embers across his face. My mouth fell open, but I couldn’t speak as his gaze dropped to the nape of my neck and lingered there. I was no longer perspiring, I realised. Instead my skin felt dry and salty. The air, which carried the tiniest breath of coolness, felt like light fingertips on my skin. I closed my eyes, but when they opened I became aware of George shifting uncomfortably and forced them back to him. He slapped at a mosquito that was humming a little too enthusiastically around his legs and I heard the birds again.
‘They’d make a nice head piece,’ George said, nodding towards the birds and breaking the moment.
I laughed. ‘George the milliner.’ He grinned looking mightily relieved at the change in atmosphere.
Our streaky overhead palette was slowly becoming more varied with splashes of carrot and plum, even a little charcoal, against the pale backdrop. It was one of those charmed spontaneous evenings. Unrepeatable.
‘I should get going,’ Nick said as day finally lost its battle with night and the wind turned the garden into a bush disco.
‘How are you getting home?’ I asked, holding my hair away from my face. I didn’t have a clue where he lived, but it wouldn’t be far, surely, would he walk?
‘If I could use your phone I’ll call someone to pick me up.’ Time and the weather had broken the spell, had stolen the moment. I wondered whether there would be others.
‘No problem, it’s just next to the front door,’ George replied, leading him inside. I let the stirring darkness buffet me until they returned.
‘I’ll wait out the front,’ Nick said.
‘Oh? Already?’ I felt unprepared for his departure.
He smiled, but it seemed polite, like he was already distancing himself, or maybe that was only my projection. ‘They won’t be long.’
I nodded. ‘Thanks,’ he added, taking my hand and giving it a brief squeeze before turning away.
‘No worries,’ George said. I stood mute.
He waved and walked down our short uneven path, past the upended bird-bath and through the gate. I stood on the porch watching, noticing the distant white horses tripping across the ocean under the moonlight and hoping that he would glance back at me. He didn’t. Soon a dark sedan pulled up and he opened the door and slid in quickly. The car didn’t fit. It was too stiff, too formal. With a polite drone it glided away.
‘He’s a nice guy?’ George said, after he had left and we were sitting on the sofa, watching television and drinking hot chocolate before bed.
‘Is that a question or a statement?’ I asked, confused. ‘Don’t you think so?’
‘I think so.’ He fidgeted and then stopped and turned to me. ‘Just be careful though.’
‘What does that mean?’ I asked, jumping up and following him into the kitchen where he had taken our empty mugs. I blocked his path, forcing him to face me.
He shrugged. ‘I saw the way you were looking at each other.’ I sighed loudly. ‘It was hard to miss,’ he added.
‘Oh come on George!’ I felt embarrassed. This was a new game.
‘I’m just doing my big-brother duty, Deb, so don’t be mad. This is new territory for me too! You’re my baby sister and I haven’t seen you like this before. I can see stars in your eyes when you look at him. I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.’
‘George, you’re sweet, but I’m not a complete idiot.’ I retreated with a sigh and flopped back down onto the sofa. Not that I was completely confident on that point, given my inexperience, but I didn’t think he needed to know that. He collapsed next to me.
‘I know you’re not, but he’s older, more experienced … more sophisticated than you are. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. I just want you to take it easy, is that possible?’
I sighed loudly again. ‘Give me a break, I’ve only just met the guy. He’s okay …’ I couldn’t hide my irritation, but I was also mortified about the obviousness of my affliction. I hoped that if Nick had picked up on anything it had been that I was alluring and not desperate.
‘Yeah right, absolutely,’ he said sarcastically. ‘He’s okay!’ he mimicked in a high pitched whine, breaking the tension. I thumped him playfully with a cushion.
‘Apparently his family are a pretty weird bunch, very stuck up. There are lots of rumours at school.’
‘What sort of rumours?’ I asked, intrigued.
‘Well, they’re rich … and weird!’
‘Mmm, and the rest of us are just plain weird,’ I replied, disappointed at the predictability of the information. ‘I guess no-one’s envious of their success?’
‘Yeah, there is that, of course. I guess everyone’s pretty jealous.’
I laughed. ‘Rumours. To be fair we should give him the benefit of the doubt. Even if it’s true it’s not his fault he comes from a weird family. I mean is there any other kind?’
He ruffled my hair in an annoying way as he pushed himself off the sofa and stood. ‘You’re right. I just don’t want you to get hurt that’s all. Get to know him first, Deb!’ I could see the genuine concern in his eyes and had learned enough about life not to take it for granted.
I smiled and shook my head. ‘I doubt he’s interested in me anyway!’
He shook his head back at me but with a much more exaggerated motion, like I truly was an idiot. ‘Deb, do you really think it was my company he was after this evening?’
I raised my eyebrows, afraid to hope.
‘I don’t think so!’ George said with what seemed almost like despair as he turned in for the night.
Butterflies took flight in my stomach. Nick was nearly a man. One definitely worthy of cracking your head on a rock for. He might even be interested in me. Maybe secret wishes had hidden power.
‘Night George,’ I cried, leaping off the sofa with vigour and pecking him on the cheek as I passed him in the passage. Now was a time to retreat to night-time fantasies and forget the threat of reality.
7
KATE
I organised to catch up with Nick in the city at Southbank, along the edge of the Yarra. I caught the train to Flinders Street station and then walked over the bridge and down onto the sidewalk alongside the lethargic river, merging with the hustle and bustle of tourists, trendy students, well-groomed business people and lively street performers.
People queued for river cruises on flat-bottomed boats, and a red and white helicopter ferried passengers off for scenic flights from a helipad on the opposite side of the river. The activity distracted me from the knot in my stomach and helped me leave my nails alone. They were only just starting to grow.
A cool south wind blew making tiny waves leap in snowy flickers across the dark water. I shivered into my jacket, pulling it tightly around me and abandoning the rebellious wisps of hair which escaped from my pony-tail.
As I neared the pedestrian bridge, I recognised him immediately. He was leaning against the rails at the end, still big and powerfully built, wisps of grey flourishing at his temples giving way to a medley of mocha tones which might have been lighter years ago. He seemed to sense my scrutiny and looked up, his jaw dropping open for a moment as he noticed me. I knew why. My own reaction had been similar. There was no mistaking our likeness, even though it was down to a single feature.
The one and only image Deb had sent me of him was black and white, and so it was his eyes which most surprised me. Even though she had said I had his eyes, I hadn’t realised that she meant exactly that. Our eye colour and the strange swirls and st
riations were identical. It seemed strange then to admire his, but they sat with such exquisiteness in his face, the emerald, vivid, like a light shone beneath, against the tan of his skin. So striking, that whatever his age, he would always draw second glances.
Furrows across his brow logged the hardships of his life but he was still ruggedly handsome. He’d chosen casual beige chinos and a blue and red checked shirt for our first meeting, but his posture was tense.
‘There’s no mistaking it, is there,’ he said, by way of greeting. Until he’d seen me in the flesh he hadn’t completely believed, he’d needed the proof, which was certainly his now.
‘I guess not,’ I replied cautiously, our startling similarity making me feel strangely vulnerable.
‘Kate.’ His eyes, too much like mine, appraised me, noticing every aspect of my appearance and I felt almost unbearably awkward. I hoped he wasn’t disappointed, that it wasn’t, ‘I guess she has my eyes, so I can’t really deny her, but if I could …’
Before any more hideous thoughts could disregard the no-entry sign into my mind, he reached out tentatively and touched my arm, distracting me. Suddenly he pulled me close in a suffocating bear hug which, although surprising, felt warm and reassuring. Even better it gave Sam, the evil snake, source of aforementioned thoughts, the finger.
Just as I was about to expire, he released his grip and held me out at arm’s length. His face was a jumble, eyes sparkling with what looked like regret, but happiness in the creases around them, pride too. His mouth was assembled in a grim smile, but only managed to turn up on one side, and the muscle in his cheek quivered. It was an intense experience. For a moment I had no words; I was newly-born, a baby looking up into the face of her proud new father.
Eventually I managed to speak, but my voice was slightly unsteady.
‘This must seem so strange to you. You didn’t even know I existed a few weeks ago.’
‘Why now?’ he asked, his voice a little gruff, his expression still intense, judging me by my response.
‘It’s been a while coming, Nick. Eighteen is one of those big moments in life I guess. Finally you can lock the toilet door.’
He nodded, still holding onto my fingers. His hands were like the paws of a bear, large and tanned and strong. He could break my fingers with a gentle squeeze.
‘I’ve always wanted answers. I’ve wanted to fill in the void … but I didn’t want to hurt Mum. This is hard for her.’ I chewed on my cheek and then shrugged. ‘As you get older you realise that a time will come when answers will no longer be available. I don’t want to live with that sort of regret.’
He squeezed my hand and finally let it drop, severing our physical connection.
‘No, of course you don’t.’ His words were at odds with his expression which had darkened. He turned away to the dense, sluggish water. Tossing a little emotional garbage in that direction would not slow it further. For an instant I wondered what it was that had caused the shadow to cross his features. Had it been my reference to my mother, not contacting him until now because of her, or was it something I knew nothing about? But then a helicopter lifted from the opposite bank, the whir and movement distracting us and when I glanced back at him his moment of gloomy reverie had passed.
‘These things are a bit easier at my age,’ he said, ‘I have no parents left to disapprove, or give me grief!’
‘I’m sorry it’s taken me so long though.’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t be sorry. This happened to you,’ he said. ‘If anything Deb could have let me know a long time ago, but she didn’t.’ His irritation was unmistakeable, but then it was gone again, hidden under some semblance of neutral and another quick flash of regret. He’d said more than he wanted to, shown too much of himself.
‘It wasn’t easy for her,’ I said, immediately claiming the defensive. He looked at me and sighed.
‘I know you’re right, Kate.’ I became aware of the people around us as we walked in silence. ‘Please don’t judge me too harshly,’ he said, ‘I’ve lost my whole family over the years and never managed to establish one of my own. I guess I’ve turned into a bitter old man …’
I relented. ‘Of course, it’s understandable.’
‘It still seems unreal, I mean even now that you’re right in front of me. I never saw Deb noticeably pregnant.’ He frowned. ‘Although she must have been the last time I saw her, I just didn’t realise it.’ Self-loathing settled on his features. He tried to dispel it, but it sat there stubbornly. ‘I was distracted at the time … self-absorbed.’ I nodded.
‘It must have been so hard for her,’ he continued, ‘she would have been so young.’
‘My age.’
He looked out at the unfathomable murkiness of the water. It was impossible to read his expression. Then his eyes returned to me and they had changed again.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked suddenly, and I nodded.
‘Let’s get something to eat.’
We walked past a number of restaurants and cafés. He made sarcastic comments about the Melbourne weather, which was rather diabolical for January when one shouldn’t get hypothermia walking five minutes to a restaurant.
‘It’s just the wind,’ I said, pulling my jacket around myself tightly and looking up at the sun which had chosen to come out from behind a cloud and shine brightly, but without heat. As if happy to be mentioned, the wind gusted a little more forcefully filling my mouth with hair from my pony-tail.
‘God help us, we’ll be frozen before we find shelter … and my will is not even up to date.’ Nick winked at me as he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a small, bustling, Italian bistro. The aroma of garlic, basil and oregano wafted pleasantly above the eager chinks and clinks of cutlery as patrons devoured plates piled high with pasta and seafood. We settled into a booth at the back where it was a little more private and I thawed slowly.
‘I can’t really see Deb in you,’ Nick commented, after our lips had softened enough to speak.
‘I can’t either,’ I agreed, a little more comfortable with his scrutiny now, and even managing a small smile as he continued to examine me.
‘You remind me a lot of my brother,’ he said, angling his head to the side. After a moment he reached out and touched my cheek. ‘It’s the way you smile … and also your hair, it’s darker than the rest of ours, and definitely darker than Deb’s family. Daniel was a lot like you …’ He seemed contemplative, his eyes on me but his gaze drifting inwards and the light behind his irises dimming.
I smiled uncertainly. ‘And his eyes? Were they like mine too?’
‘The eyes,’ he said, considering his answer, ‘are a bit of a genetic peculiarity in our family. You wouldn’t see the same on someone who wasn’t an Edwards.’
‘No,’ I agreed, ‘but I assume that not every Edwards has exactly the same eyes.’
‘No, well of course not, but they run in our family the way red hair runs in others.’
‘And your brother,’ I prompted, like a dog with a not nearly well enough chewed bone.
He nodded. ‘My brother had the same eyes. All three of us did.’
I regarded him for some moments before I spoke. ‘It’s a bit like that freaky old movie, isn’t it, what was it called?’ I tried to remember the name, so that my comment wouldn’t be so ambiguous.
‘The Village of the Damned,’ he supplied helpfully, surprising me. I wondered whether he was a movie buff or whether he was like me and had seen it a long time ago, but been haunted by the creepiness of it.
‘That’s the one,’ I nodded. ‘The pathological kids with the shiny eyes.’ I’d watched it on my own with only Noodle for company and she’d deserted me halfway through due to the eardrum torture every time the kids’ eyes lit up, which was a lot by the end.
‘It was based on a book, The Midwich Cuckoos by John Wyndham,’ he added.
‘I’ve felt like a cuckoo sometimes,’ I observed, and then bit my lip wishing I hadn’t. ‘Silly though,’ I babbled, to cover m
y discomfort, ‘my folks wanted me in their nest, which by definition means that I couldn’t really have been a cuckoo … and there were no other chicks to kill.’
He raised an eyebrow and passed me a menu. After opening it he spoke. ‘My father’s eyes were different, green but…’ He paused and I found myself finishing his sentence.
‘Not as weird.’
He regarded me carefully, a little surprised. ‘I couldn’t have put it better,’ he said. ‘They were nice eyes, but they were more of an ordinary green.’
Ordinary green compared to what? Something strange, something NQR. Looking into his eyes I felt disconcerted. They were like portholes and outside lay the sea and the sky, another place where light and shadow were reflections of a different reality, one which regarded you back with added intensity and curiosity. Were those my eyes? Was that why my brain fought so hard against what was there? Or was my discomfort related more to the revelling of a jolly serpent who couldn’t resist an opportunity to snipe, to reduce what was extraordinary to a peculiarity unsuited to one so ordinary?
When I applied eye-shadow or mascara I focussed on my eyelids or lashes. I avoided the depths, they made me uncomfortable. Photos weren’t too bad because a photo couldn’t capture the sense of the passengers, or movement within. My brain didn’t have to twist and turn to try and understand photos.
‘You’ve got my curls too, you know,’ he said, as though reading my thoughts and wanting to distract me. It worked.
‘Yes, thanks for that!’ I answered, relieved to abandon my complicated, madly imaginative speculations. ‘I spend my life trying to control them, they’re so wild.’
‘You’re beautiful, Kate,’ he interrupted and I didn’t know where to look.
‘And you blush, just like Deb!’ He banged the table lightly with his hand, his laughter a deep rumble. ‘You should be used to compliments,’ he admonished, shaking a finger at me in a mock reprimand.
I shook my head. ‘Not really.’ My parents never commented on my physical appearance, except when making a recommendation regarding what I was wearing. ‘Beige is not your colour, Kit …’ Mum’s heart was in the right place, but her comment inappropriately timed as I returned to the stage to perform with a little less confidence. They regularly complimented me on my performances or compositions, but not my looks.
Awakening: Book 1 The Last Anakim Trilogy Page 6