The Atlas of Us

by Tracy Buchanan

  For the first time in a long time, I’m desperate for Mum’s advice. I imagine her right here with me, twirling around in the swivel chair, her dark hair flying about. She stops suddenly, grabbing the table to steady herself, her face growing serious as she looks at me.

  ‘If your first feeling is one of apprehension instead of happiness when you see your husband, my darling,’ I imagine her saying, ‘something isn’t right, is it?’

  ‘But he’s the father of my children,’ I say, lowering my voice so Will doesn’t think me mad.

  I see her getting up, a sad smile on her face as she walks over to me, taking my hand. I can almost smell her perfume, the soft smell of lavender. ‘If that’s the only value you can place on him, that he’s the father of your children … oh darling, don’t waste your life with him.’

  I feel angry then. What does she know? She never put family first, put me first. So how can she understand how important keeping my family together is?

  I look towards Claire’s atlas and the awards ticket lying on top of it. It can’t be a coincidence Mum wanted to attend an event Claire Shreve had a ticket for. If Mum wanted to find Erin – hence why she came out here after seeing photos of Holly in the papers – what made her go to the awards ceremony? Was she hoping to find Milo there so she could ask him about her best friend’s whereabouts?

  So many questions and not enough bloody answers!

  ‘I need answers, Mum!’ I say to her imaginary figure. ‘Why did you come here? And why did you attend Claire’s awards ceremony? Why the hell did Claire have your bag? Is it all about Erin? And for God’s sake, where are you now?’

  I reach out to her, tears falling down my cheeks, but she just fades away.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Red Centre. Australia

  2001

  The Red Centre of Australia is a land on fire, burned up with fever, hot and agitated. A few weeks into the New Year, Milo drove Claire down the Red Centre’s dusty roads flanked either side by the sparsest, driest land they’d ever seen, trees just spindly stubs in the distance. The further away they got from the sight of people, the more Milo’s shoulders relaxed, the smile returning to his face.

  This hadn’t been the plan initially. In fact, there’d been a brief period when Claire thought they might go their separate ways.

  When she’d confronted him as they’d lain in their lavvu that night about hiding Holly’s red glove, he’d denied it and that had infuriated her. She knew what she’d seen.

  ‘Think twice before you lie to me like you did about you and Erin. I won’t take it again,’ she’d said.

  He’d hesitated a moment then he’d sighed. ‘When I saw the glove, it crossed my mind Holly might have ruined your sister’s stuff, she’d been so angry with her after all. So I took the blame, I just did it without thinking properly.’

  ‘You “just do” a lot of things without thinking properly,’ Claire had said, thinking of poor Luna. ‘Sometimes it’s better to just leave things as they are, let the chips fall as they may. Holly’s a big girl now, she needs to take responsibility for her actions.’

  ‘I need some air.’ He’d tugged the zip of their sleeping bag down and jumped out of it, pulling on his boots and coat.

  ‘So you’re pretending this discussion didn’t happen then?’ Claire had said, kneeling up in bed now. ‘Just keeping quiet and walking away like you always do?’

  He’d looked down at her, his dark eyes blazing in the light from the lantern they’d lit. Then he stormed from the lavvu, the freezing cold air rushing in at Claire.

  The next morning, she woke to find she was still alone. When she went outside there was no sign of Milo … nor Holly. And their car was gone. By the time lunch arrived and there was still no sign of Milo, she was furious. How dare he just leave her like that with no word? Filipe gave her a lift back to Iso-Syöte in the end and when she’d found Milo sitting in their living room, Claire had turned on her heel and stormed right back out again, jumping into Filipe’s car and asking him to take her to his. See how Milo liked being abandoned for an evening. An hour later, the doorbell went and Filipe walked in with her atlas in his hands, Milo having dropped it off. When she’d flicked through it, she’d noticed more items had been placed in the pockets: her dad’s postcards, a copy of that photo Filipe had taken in Serbia, then a leaflet from Nunney Castle, bringing back memories from how it had felt that day to feel Milo so close as they’d watched the sun set above the broken structure.

  Then, next to the map of Australia was a postcard showing rows and rows of trees with pale green fruits hanging from their branches – mangoes. Scrawled across it was a note in Milo’s writing:

  Claire,

  I understand how upset you must be, it must seem like I just left with no word.

  But the plan had been for me to be back by the time the sun rose. After thinking about what you’d said, I went to Holly and she confessed what had happened. Then she got very upset, talking about Dale. She begged me to take her back to the cabin so I did, planning to be back to get you. But then the car broke down and I couldn’t call you. I’m so sorry, Claire.

  But as we waited for help, I had time to think. There’s an Aboriginal saying, ‘Those who lose dreaming are lost’. Remember that conversation we had about our dreams of just being free and travelling? And remember what you said about the Outback making you feel like you’re the only person on the planet because it’s so vast and so wonderful? I think that’s what we need, just for a few months. Just us, masters of our own universe, no distractions so we can see if we can make something of our dream; of US.

  I’m sorry. I love you, the atlas of my heart.

  Milo x

  Claire had read that note over and over, then she’d grabbed her coat and ran from Filipe’s. As she’d neared the long road leading towards their cabin, she’d seen Milo sitting on a bench, his head in his hands. When he’d looked up, she’d run to him and pressed her lips against his cold ones, promising herself things would be better. But in the back of her mind, Claire couldn’t help but worry about Holly. Sofia had been a bitch but had her harsh words been enough to justify what Holly had done?

  A month later, with Archie back at Ben’s and Blue with Jen and Holly, they arrived in the Red Centre and the mango farm Milo had bought fifty per cent ownership of from his friend Joe. The deal was done the first night they arrived in the tin house that came with the farm as the sun set in the background, a wad of cash from Milo’s savings and a handshake sealing the deal. As far as the Australian government were concerned, they were there on an extended holiday visiting Joe, meaning they could wrangle a visa allowing them to stay for twelve months. Claire knew this made their situation precarious – what would happen after twelve months? And surely the government would find out they were actually working there, despite the fact it was all done under the table?

  But she tried not to dwell on that too much. Instead, she did what the Aborigines do with plants that get infested: burned the negative thoughts away so new ones could grow in their place.

  And it worked for a while. In those first few months in Australia, they felt they were masters of their own world living alone among the rows of green trees motionless in a windless terrain. It reminded Claire of when she used to stay in isolated caravan parks in the States as a kid, all wrapped up in her tight family unit. Except now her family were barely talking to her, apart from the occasional letter from Alex, though Claire suspected half the reason he kept in touch was for news of Holly, who he said hadn’t replied to any of his letters or text messages.

  The farm kept them busy as they prepared for the high season in September, the sun beating down on them, making their skin so scorched they’d have to stop and dunk themselves in a metal bath of cold water. When their work was over, they ate whatever meat they could afford, grilled over a barbeque as they watched the sun set over Uluru.

  It was good to work with Milo, no distractions from other people. They got back into that c
omfortable routine they’d shared in those first couple of months in Finland, Claire regaling him with the stories her dad had told her of Aboriginal Dreamtime and the rainbow serpent that created all humans then swallowed them whole. And later, in the bed Milo had created for them with narrow crates and sacks stuffed with old clothes, he’d whisper the stories back to her as he explored every inch of her dusty skin.

  Her hair grew long and light, bleached gold by the sun just as it had been when she’d travelled as a teenager. Milo’s hair grew long too, so long he had to tie it back with an old cord he’d found. Their skin was constantly sunburned and dusty, the red earth seeming to sink right into it, making them merge with the land around them. Sometimes, Claire imagined their feet rooted into the sand, entwining them together like one of the parched trees dotted here and there. At the same time, she knew she could pull those roots from the sand any time she wanted. That gave her a special sense of satisfaction. Many people needed to set down long-term roots to feel content, the idea of travelling from one place to the next every few months disorientating. Not her.

  Claire was starting to understand herself more and more: she was like her dad, able to feel secure and comfortable anywhere she chose to travel, settling in just fine as long as she knew she could extract herself when the need for flight overwhelmed her. Milo was the same, and knowing that gave her a sense of contentment she’d not felt in a long time, that bubbling restless energy she’d struggled with while living with Ben finally quiet. Her writing helped too, the change in direction from generic travel articles to issue-driven global features making her feel like she was carving a place for herself. Who needed a fixed long-term dwelling when you had the consistency of one man’s love and a calling like her writing?

  Holly came to visit near the end of her summer holidays just in time to watch the mangoes begin to appear. She was taller, thinner, even more grown up, her red hair curling down to her waist now. Claire had been surprised to hear she’d signed up to study English Literature at a university in London after all her talk of travelling. And now there she was, on the other side of the world, her long legs stretched over Claire’s as she lay across the red soil like a lizard, Claire’s head on Milo’s lap, the evening sun twinkling through the branches as though it were spying on them. She was aware Claire had guessed it was her who’d destroyed Sofia’s belongings so Claire had been hoping for some sort of apology when she’d met her at the airport with Milo. But instead, she got a big smile and a huge hug, with no mention of their time in Finland, just like she’d never been there.

  ‘We should make wine from the mangoes next season,’ Holly said.

  Milo laughed. ‘Wine?’

  ‘What?’ Holly exclaimed. ‘They sell mango wine in that farm we passed, didn’t you see? Maybe we should go talk to them about it?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure they’d be thrilled to give all their secrets away to the competition,’ Milo said.

  ‘We’ll go in disguise,’ Claire said, winking at Holly.

  They both burst out laughing and Milo smiled, his face soft with contentment. He seemed at his happiest when it was just the three of them together, like those evenings in the log cabin in Lapland. Claire thought she might be happiest in those moments too. Despite what Holly had done, Holly had this knack of making Claire feel special and wanted.

  ‘Fine, then let’s make mango soap instead,’ Holly said. ‘I think people would like that.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Claire said. ‘We can go into town to get some ingredients.’

  ‘Do you even know how to make soap?’ Milo asked her.

  ‘My dad showed me once, he …’ Claire paused as something occurred to her.

  ‘You okay?’ Milo asked her.

  ‘I just remembered it would’ve been my dad’s birthday tomorrow, that’s all. He would’ve been sixty.’ Milo squeezed her hand and she smiled to herself. ‘The last birthday we spent with him, my sister and I hung piñatas from trees, like we’d learned in Mexico one summer.’

  ‘Piñatas?’ Holly asked.

  ‘You know, those paper donkey things,’ Milo explained. ‘Kids smash them apart and sweets fall out.’

  Claire nodded. ‘They’re used there to honour the gods who then give their thanks by helping the crops grow. I still remember the way Dad smiled when he saw all the colourful shapes hanging from the trees outside the hut we were renting. I miss him,’ she added, her voice trembling.

  Holly took her hand as Milo leaned down and kissed Claire’s forehead, his eyes deep in hers. ‘He’d be very proud of you.’

  She smiled at him. This is what he did to her, make her feel special, important, just like Holly did.

  ‘Look,’ Holly said, pointing into the distance. ‘The sun’s starting to set.’

  They all turned towards the horizon and watched as the huge orange sun began to dip beneath a hazy Uluru in the distance. Claire watched Milo and Holly, smiling to herself as she thought of the quote in Milo’s note. Those who lose dreaming are lost.

  She wasn’t lost, she was home.

  The next morning, Claire woke to find Milo and Holly gone, the house very quiet. So she took the chance to lie in bed a few extra moments, thinking of her dad and wondering what he’d think of Milo. He’d like him, probably call him the ‘salt of the earth’, a phrase he used for men who worked with their hands, who liked the outdoors. He’d understand his fiery personality too, maybe even respect him for it. He’d especially respect what Milo had done to save all those people in Exmoor all those years ago – maybe he’d understand his secrets too.

  ‘A man needs to keep some of himself to himself,’ he used to say.

  She thought of the secret Milo had kept from her about Erin and the way he’d tried to cover for Holly. They didn’t talk about any of that now. But there was always something niggling at the back of her mind.

  ‘Oh, just leave it,’ she snapped at herself as she jumped out of bed, pulling the curtains apart to let some sun in. She let out a gasp. Dozens of piñatas of all different shapes and sizes – nine-pointed stars, pink, yellow and turquoise; thick-legged donkeys, green, brown and red – were hanging from the trees. They swayed in the breeze, their colours twinkling in the sunlight. Sitting at a table laid out with food and wine in the middle of it all were Holly and Milo. Milo jumped up, beckoning her outside with a huge smile on his face.

  ‘This is amazing,’ Claire exclaimed as she walked outside.

  ‘It was Milo’s idea,’ Holly said. ‘We thought we’d celebrate your dad’s birthday. We went into town this morning while you were asleep and got everything.’

  ‘You made the piñatas while I was sleeping?’ Claire asked.

  Milo looked at his watch. ‘It is eleven thirty, Claire.’

  She laughed. ‘God, I’m terrible.’ She took his hand, staring into his eyes. ‘But you’re wonderful. Thank you so much for this.’

  ‘You won’t be saying that when I get all the sweets.’ He handed her a stick he’d fashioned out of an old branch. ‘Ready?’

  She laughed. ‘I’ve been ready all my life.’

  They all raced each other to the trees and started bashing the piñatas, sweets falling to the floor.

  Later, they sat in the shade finishing their second bottle of wine, sweet wrappings littered on the ground around them. It was strange to see Holly drinking but then she was eighteen now. As Claire sipped wine and watched as Milo and Holly chattered away, she felt her heart contract.

  This is what it’s like to have a family, she thought to herself.

  ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you!’ Holly said, her cheeks flushed from the wine. ‘We got ingredients for soap too so we can start doing that later.’

  ‘Excellent. In fact, I know who can be our first tester,’ Claire said, lifting Milo’s sleeve up and kissing the grimy skin there. Then she paused. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, noticing an angry red circle just above his bicep.

  He peered down it and shrugged. ‘I don’t know, a bite?’

  �
��A bite? What if it’s a Black Widow bite? Or a snake bite?’

  He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be here if that was the case. I’d be six feet under with red dust in my mouth.’

  ‘That’s a horrible image!’ Claire exclaimed.

  ‘I’d rather be six feet under than paralysed with pain from a toxic snake bite.’

  ‘Milo, stop being so bloody morbid!’

  His fingers danced up and down her bare arm. ‘Don’t get upset, Claire.’

  ‘He’s right though,’ Holly said, covering her eyes with her hand and blinking up at the sun as she took another sip of wine. ‘Sometimes, death’s a better option. Like what happened with Dad.’

  Milo’s fingers paused on Claire’s arm and they both looked at Holly in surprise.

  ‘I miss him loads, of course,’ Holly continued, still blinking at the sun, taking yet another sip of wine. ‘But now I’ve had time to think about it, I’m pleased he died.’

  ‘Holly, honestly!’ Claire said, Milo’s face dropping.

  ‘But he would have shot us,’ Holly said, shrugging.

  Milo leaned forward, clasping Holly’s hand. ‘Holly, please …’

  ‘But I don’t understand why Claire’s looking so upset?’

  ‘I just – I’m not sure how comfortable I feel about what you just said.’ Holly frowned and Claire quickly took her other hand. ‘What I mean is, he was still your father so—’

  ‘Oh, Claire,’ she said, her hand slipping away from Claire’s. ‘I love you but you’re so naïve sometimes.’

  ‘Holly,’ Milo said in a low voice.

  ‘What do you mean, I’m naïve?’ Claire asked her.

  Holly shrugged. ‘It’s little things, like when you got upset about Milo having to shoot Luna, the bitch that ate her pups.’

  Claire turned to Milo. ‘You told her about that?’

  He looked confused. ‘Of course.’

  Holly tangled one of her curls around her finger and examined its ends. ‘I guess it sounds cold to you, but when you’re brought up on a farm, you’re taught to make snap decisions for the greater good. Kill one animal to save two, like Milo did to save those pups.’