by Sarah Bailey
The baby started to cry inside the house and I remembered Ben’s needy wails at that age and wondered whether I could look after such a tiny creature like that now. Give myself up to its primal need. I looked at the tower again, the wailing baby gathering volume behind me, and pictured Jacob throwing himself from the top, crying as he fell.
We finish our glasses of wine. Jazz crackles through the speakers. Felix peels off my clothes. He’s inside me. Everything is suddenly clear. His hands are on my face, then my breasts, then pulling at my legs. He can’t get enough of me and I want to give him whatever he needs. For a few minutes nothing matters except us and then he shudders on top of me as he comes and my breathing slows and I realise that I’m cold. The air-con is set too low and there’s a dripping sound coming from somewhere, drip, drip, drip, and suddenly I can’t bear it anymore. My son was missing only a few days ago. Christ. What is wrong with me?
‘This doesn’t feel right.’ I’m like a toddler picking at a scab. A child pushing at a loose tooth.
Felix half sits. His body blocks the lamplight and the soft curling hairs on his chest look darker than normal in the shadow. I get up and wrap a towel around myself. Goosebumps have erupted all over me and I can feel each one. Craig and Laura are at the farmhouse for Christmas so Felix and I are at a hotel around the back of a pub that is popular with backpackers, about half an hour out of Smithson. It’s risky, but being Christmas Eve we assume that everyone we know will be home with their families.
‘I thought it felt great.’ He laughs, and the lightness of his tone hits my wall and is swallowed up instantly. ‘I’m sorry, Gem.’ He leans back against the plump pillows, his face serious. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘I almost kissed someone the other night,’ I say, remembering Fox’s lips on mine. ‘I went to a party and I almost kissed someone. Someone I used to know.’
His right eyebrow lifts. ‘Okay.’ He places his hands behind his head as if he might launch into sit-ups. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
My legs feel funny. I start to pace, trying to shake the itch away. ‘No, I don’t want to talk about it. But I wanted to tell you, I felt like I should tell you.’ My face starts to fall and then I actually think the words, can see them being written down, No, no more crying over this, and manage to halt the tears mid-spill.
‘Well, I’m kind of used to the idea of you being with other guys. You are basically married.’
‘Hang on. You’re saying you wouldn’t mind if I was with someone else?’ I sound middle-aged and worn out, like I’m yelling for my naughty children at the park. I lower my voice. ‘So my being with someone else would be totally fine?’
‘Gem, c’mon. Come sit down.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I have to go soon and I already want you again.’
I want that too but I also want him to answer the fucking question. ‘Well?’
He sighs. ‘Look. It’s not fine, but I guess … I don’t know, I guess it’s like how I know you’re still with Scott sometimes and I deal with it. So I guess I’d put it in the same place I put that stuff.’
‘I haven’t slept with Scott since May.’
Felix is surprised, I can tell: it spreads quickly up his face followed closely by a gentle guilt.
‘Do you still sleep with Mary?’ I demand.
‘Gemma,’ he says warily.
‘Well, do you?’
‘Gemma,’ he says again, with a sharpness that pushes me back, away from him. Then he shakes his head and speaks more softly. ‘I just don’t see how it will help to lay our lives out side by side. To compare every little thing. We both know it’s difficult. The past few days especially. We make it work the best we can. Do you know what I mean?’
I know what he means and I understand that I can choose to let this go, put it down and shove it away to the back of the shelf. I can pull him into me, get lost in the smell and feel of him and let this pass around us. ‘I guess I just assumed that your relationship wasn’t like that. How often are you with her?’ The words tumble from my mouth and mingle with the images I have of them together. I wonder whether he acts the same way with her as he does with me. Whether he presses her down, heavy and strong, and whether he looks at her with the same wonder when he pushes inside her.
‘Gemma, please. I won’t do this with you. It’s stupid.’ He gets up and pulls on his clothes. Rubs his eyes. When he looks at me again his gaze is weary.
I’m making him so old, I think.
‘We need to go home. You need to see Ben. Put out a stocking for Santa. Whatever.’
‘I know what I need to do. Don’t patronise me.’
His hands rise in the air. ‘Gemma! I’m not. I’m just saying normal things. Don’t make it out like I’m attacking you.’ His accent hits rare high notes and cuts at the air.
‘Okay, fine. Let’s just go.’ I dress quickly, remembering my watch and bracelet on the tiny writing desk. I pick up my bag. I comb my hair with my hands and pull it into a ponytail. I swallow past the ache that has set in my throat.
The air-con whirs from its place on the wall, the sound needling my brain.
‘Hey.’ He takes my hand, holds it briefly to his heart and looks at me with a pained expression. There’s nothing left to say and not enough time to say it anyway. We’re certainly not going to solve our future tonight. We leave the room and he holds my hand even as we walk down the stairs to the small brown lobby. Brown walls, brown carpet.
‘Okay. Well,’ he says, dropping my hand. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Bye.’
He steps away from me and I immediately want to be back in the room. I want to take back what I said. I want him to touch me again. Like a piece of driftwood, I float out of the hotel, careful to ease the door shut rather than let it bang, and step out into the blustery car park. The air is hot and dry. Dead dry leaves scatter across the asphalt and disappear under cars. Felix follows me a few moments later and through my windscreen I watch him walk the short way to his car. He fumbles in his pockets for his keys. I start my car and crank the fan up to full power. Just as I am about to flick on the lights I notice a girl watching Felix from a parked car at the petrol station, parallel to the hotel, about fifty metres away. Her face is almost yellow in the streetlight. She stares at Felix intensely, her mouth open. Suddenly she looks over in my direction and I flick the headlights on, shielding myself from view. She must be one of the students from Smithson, their made-up, young faces blurring into a hazy MTV montage.
I am halfway home when I realise that the girl is someone I see almost every day, smiling serenely from the wooden frame on Felix’s desk: his eldest daughter, Maisie.
Chapter Fifty
then
‘Is it true? Did you and Jacob break up?’ Janet shoved a plastic cup into my hand and sticky red liquid sloshed over my fingers. Janet’s eyeliner was too dark. Her eyes looked piggy in her broad face.
I shrugged, trying to hide the pain I felt. ‘We’re on a break,’ I said, sipping at the cup, the sharp tang of vodka hitting the top of my throat.
Janet’s eyes bulged. ‘Wow! No way! So it’s true? I thought you two were the forever couple … Come on, let’s go outside, it’s way too noisy in here.’ Janet pulled on my hand.
I followed her through the dark wood-panelled kitchen. There were people everywhere. Kids from Smithson. Kids from the surrounding schools. All high on freedom and booze. High on the future. There was a glass panel between myself and the others. I wondered if they could see it too. A guy pushed past me and his sombrero scraped across my face. ‘Sorry!’ He laughed and a wave of beer fumes made me wrinkle my nose.
‘Ugh. Everyone has gone mad.’ Janet was laughing. She looked at me and her face dropped. ‘So what happened with Jacob?’
What happened? What happened? That was all I had wondered since Jacob pulled me aside at school the week before and smashed my world apart.
‘I don’t know. It’s like the exams just made us a bit crazy or somethin
g. I mean, we’re basically adults now so I guess it makes sense that we spend a bit of time apart. You know?’
Janet looked at me dumbly. I wanted to slap her fleshy cheeks. Slap the stupid away.
‘You’re so cool about it,’ she said.
I shrugged. I needed to eat: it had been days. The vodka had gone straight to my head and I imagined it sitting behind my eyes, shooting out silver sparks. I had to sit down. I pulled Janet into the porch swing. She lit a cigarette and smoked it awkwardly. I spied Fox watching us from the back of the garden, the grey tails of his cigarette disappearing into the night.
‘I always thought you and Jacob would be forever, I guess. It didn’t seem like a high school thing. It seemed more … real or something.’
It was. It is! I wanted to scream at her. ‘Well, we’ll see. I don’t know that it’s over, over. Like I said, we’re on a break.’
Janet bit her lip. She sucked hard on her cigarette and then coughed out a burst of smoke. I pushed at the ground with my toe and rocked us forward gently. My heart sank into my gut and my voice sounded strange when I finally spoke.
‘What is it, Janet?’
A glass smashed onto the floor inside, the noise tinkling down my spine.
‘Well …’ Janet swallowed. She stuck her foot out, pausing our swinging seat. ‘It’s just that Lauren told me that Jacob hooked up with Rose Ryan at Mark’s thing last night. But maybe it’s not true. Or maybe it’s just like a dumb, nothing thing.’
Squeals of laughter exploded from somewhere and a dance song started up in the house. The beat pulsed through the deck as the blood rushed through my body. Janet rested her head on my shoulder and in that moment I missed my mother so intensely I thought I might faint.
Jacob and Rosalind twisted into my thoughts. It didn’t seem possible, but at the same time it made perfect sense. How dare he? How dare she? She was everything I’d ever wanted to be and he was everything I wanted. I couldn’t get the two of them touching out of my mind.
‘Do you want more?’ asked Janet.
‘Ah, yeah,’ I said. ‘Sure.’
She got up and left me alone on the swing. Laughter poured out of the house again and I looked at the dirty cigarette smudge on the ground, watching as a few tiny spots glowed fire for a few beats before fading to black.
Chapter Fifty-one
Thursday, 24 December, 9.52 pm
I don’t know what to do about Maisie and have no idea whether she’ll say something to Felix, but equally I’m feeling stressed about being home late. I promised Scott I’d be home by 9.30.
‘C’mon, c’mon.’ I tap on the wheel as I drive. My heart races and my thoughts flit madly between Maisie, Felix and Ben, and John Nicholson’s confession. Did he fly into a rage at the thought of losing his daughter again? Did Rose confess something to him? Perhaps she told him she was pregnant? Or who the father of her child was? A child that he thought was his grandkid. Or am I simply refusing to consider that Rodney might be guilty, just like Felix says?
My hands clutch at the steering wheel as I turn into our street. I feel high, light-headed, as if someone else is driving the car.
The weight of the disappointment I cause weighs heavily on me as I step inside. Ben, up unusually late, hears my footsteps and squeals, the sound growing louder as he races down the hallway. Scott appears behind him, a tall dark shape. I keep my eyes on Ben.
‘Mummy!’
‘Darling! Were you waiting for me? I’m sorry. Are you excited about Christmas tomorrow?’ I bend down and Ben’s tiny arms wrap around me and I close my eyes and hold on tight.
‘Santa, Santa, Santa!’
I laugh. ‘Yes, Santa! We should put out some biscuits and milk for Santa.’
My voice sounds hollow, as if I’m on stage trying to remember my lines. Trying to remember how to move around my family, what props to pick up, what furniture to navigate. How to feel about them. I remember back to Christmases from my childhood, hazy montages of helping Mum wrap gifts, and Dad putting out red wine for Santa. Mum taking photos of me as I opened gifts, always so careful not to rip the paper.
‘Okay,’ I say brightly. ‘Well, come on then. Let’s see what we’ve got.’ Ben pads along happily after me into the kitchen. Scott doesn’t follow us but I can still feel his eyes on me. The smell of pine is everywhere, sickly sweet. It mixes with the heat. I flick on the light and see a plate of biscuits, a carrot and a glass of milk already laid out on the bench.
Chapter Fifty-two
Friday, 25 December, 6.27 am
As we sleep, Smithson is surrounded by fire. The relentless heat has finally boiled over and sloshes across the landscape in a burning rage. It leaps across the thirsty bush, taking out houses and dancing gleefully around waterholes.
The fires roll on through the darkness.
A small town about two hundred kilometres north is consumed just after 5 am. Three people dead. Many more injured.
The fires breathe closer still.
My dreams are red and navy.
Blood and flames mix together and melt into blackness.
I wake to the sound of Ben banging on the rails of his cot just as a text shudders onto my phone. I glance at Scott who, already awake, looks first at me then at my phone before hauling himself out of bed. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I quickly read the message from Jonesy: body found at Westley Reserve. 20 yrs. male. thinking suicide but he’s ex-Smithson High so we’re checking it out just wanted you to hear it from me but don’t come in. Enjoy xmas with Ben. Keep an eye on the fires.
I picture John Nicholson’s tired watery eyes. At least this didn’t happen at the school. Or at the tower.
I text back: Are you sure you don’t need me? Keep me updated.
I know Jonesy won’t reply. I can hear Scott taking Ben into the lounge. He squeals when he sees the pile of presents. I get up and swap my frayed singlet for an oversized t-shirt.
Heat lurks in the house like a white film. In the bathroom I splash some water over my face and wipe the cold wetness down my arms and legs but my skin still feels puffy, like my bones have grown larger during the night. The smell of pine is like a cake baking. I think back to the Christmas after Mum died and the one after Jacob had jumped. With Jacob it was worse: it hadn’t even been three weeks by then and the hole he had left in my world was just becoming clear. I recall Dad and me half-heartedly going through the familiar yet jarring motions of Christmas, with Aunt Megan fussing around, convinced that if I just ate a decent amount of turkey and ham, then things would be alright. I remember how even though she put carols on, all I could hear was the sound of rushing, like water crashing through a tunnel.
‘Mummy, look! Presents!’
I take Ben in my arms. ‘Merry Christmas, baby.’
‘Merry Christmas.’ Scott’s voice is gruff and he looks at the floor. ‘Do you want a coffee?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Ben and I count his presents while we wait for Scott. He claps as I say each number. I wonder about Felix, what his Christmas morning is like. Has Maisie said something about seeing us? Does he even know she was there last night? He can probably explain pretty much anything away with work. I was just investigating a case, darling. Following up a lead. But the explanation falls flat even in my head. She would know if she saw us together: our energy crackles around us like a thunder cloud. Maybe Scott heard the buzz of our connection when he arrived at the house the other day. Saw the sparks. I think about what might happen if Maisie tells her mother, and I realise how careless we’ve been. So sloppy. He makes me so needy, so thoughtless. My giddiness has led to snatched moments, me clawing at windows of light in the darkness. The foolish assumption that the universe will protect us.
Ben’s head looms into my vision. I’ve stopped counting and he’s impatient, wanting to open his presents.
‘Here.’ Scott hands me a mug overfilled with milky coffee.
‘Thanks.’
‘See about the fires?’
I re
member Jonesy’s message. ‘No.’
‘They’re pretty bad. Like the ones back in the eighties, they’re saying in the paper.’
‘Presents, presents!’ Ben looks like he might burst.
‘Was that work before?’ Scott tips his head towards my phone.
I nod. ‘Yep.’
‘Do you have to go in?’
‘No.’ I take a slurp of the coffee. ‘There’s a body, but they think it’s a suicide. Jonesy’s got it.’
Scott nods. ‘He’s a good guy.’
‘Yes.’
I watch Scott smile at Ben and want to avoid cracking the careful Christmas morning equilibrium we have created. We are alkaline levels in a pool, both trying to keep the waters safe. Neutral enough that we can bob past each other without turning toxic.
‘Okay!’ My voice is a bright fuchsia pink. ‘Presents?’
‘Presents for the lucky little boy first, I think. Right, Ben, here you go.’ Scott hands him a gift and Ben tears into it with the wanton abandon that only a child on Christmas Day can exhibit. His face is pure joy, his red cheeks flushed. My heart is tender and pulpy.
‘Mumma, look! Trains!’
I nod and smile at the little imp that is my son.
‘Here. This is for you.’ Scott looks past me as he holds out the gift.
‘Thank you.’ My voice is a shadow. ‘Here.’ I reach around to where I’ve wedged a small envelope between two bottles of wine under the tree. ‘It’s just a gift voucher.’
He waves my excuse away as he opens the envelope and gives me a curt nod.
I slide my fingers underneath the folded flaps of the blood-red wrapping paper. A small set of wind chimes is folded inside the box.
‘I remember how you liked the sound of them at the place we went to just after your birthday. I bought them ages ago.’
‘Show me, Mummy, show me!’ Ben yells into my face.
I pull out the chimes and let them touch. They make a tinkling noise that lulls Ben into a long stare. ‘Thank you,’ I say again.