‘It means if I don’t stop it spreading, every mango out here will rot before it even has a chance to finish ripening.’
Claire took the mango in her hand, feeling its smooth surface. ‘Are you sure?’
He shoved the branch away and raked his fingers through his dark hair. ‘Yes, I’m very sure. It’s ruined, everything always ruins.’
‘Don’t think that, surely we can do something? Let’s visit Joe on the way back from the airport tomorrow. He used to run the farm, he’ll know what to do.’
‘I’ve talked to him. Once the infection sets in, we’re fucked. It’s my fault, I should have noticed weeks ago.’ He kicked at the dust then slid down the tree, putting his head in his hands. Claire sat next to him and held his hand as they looked out at the swaying trees, the mangos like clots of blood in the darkness. ‘I’m being punished,’ he said after a while. ‘Bad stuff always happens in September. This, what Dale did and then …’
‘Then what?’ Claire asked, her heart slamming against her chest.
‘Nothing,’ he said, jabbing his fingers into the red dust. ‘I’m bad, rotten, just like Dale, my dad, granddad and God knows who else in the James family.’
‘Oh Milo, you’re being silly, you’re wonderful.’ She wrapped her arms around him and he sunk his head onto her shoulder. After a while, he pulled away from Claire. ‘It’s getting cold, you better head in. I think I’d like to stay out here alone for a bit, is that okay? I’ll be in soon.’
‘Of course.’
But when the sun started to rise, he still hadn’t come to bed, so Claire peered out of the window to find him sitting in the same position. But this time, there was a photo in his hands – a photo of Erin, her red hair a fiery cloud around her head.
Claire’s eyes filled up with tears as she said goodbye to Holly that day. She’d miss her and still felt there was more she could do for her. When Milo held Holly, his face was heavy with worry.
With Holly back in the UK, Claire and Milo set about trying to save the mangoes. Joe – a tall wiry man with bleached white hair and wrinkled skin – came out to look at them and Milo used some of his savings trying everything Joe suggested, including injections of a ridiculously expensive copper sulphate. But the infection continued to spread from tree to tree, from branch to branch, the mangoes they’d so carefully cultivated becoming discoloured and polluted. As he worked, Claire watched him, unable to stop wondering if he really was still fixated with – maybe even in love with – Erin. She was a beautiful woman, no denying it. And he always seemed to clam up whenever Erin was mentioned. She thought of Ben’s text. Maybe Milo was starting to feel broody and Claire wasn’t enough any more.
She shook her head. She was being silly. She knew Milo loved her.
But he started to turn in on himself, worrying her even more. As his hard work failed to pay off, Milo stopped eating and sleeping, growing thin beneath his T-shirt, often staring out at the dying trees with a forlorn look on his face. He didn’t reach for Claire at night like he usually did, instead pacing up and down the rows of trees as the sun set, face feverish with concern.
So Claire sat in the house alone, trying to write, watching as Milo did what he could to save the trees. They were slipping into Australia’s spring, the sun beating down on them even harder than before, turning their small house into a sauna by midday. Milo’s body dripped with sweat, his arms bright red with sunburn. When he eventually came in to eat, he muttered to himself as he stared out at the trees as if he too had become riddled with disease.
After a week like that, Claire started to feel she was losing her mind too. The red sand clogged her lungs, the sun stifled her and her head swam with the madness of it all as she dreamt of the rainbow serpent each night, its face merging into Erin’s. She started to yearn for concrete pavements and glass windows, for people, sane people. She even wrote four letters to Jay in that week. Four long, desperate letters telling him about their problems, none of which she sent because she didn’t want to appear to be betraying Milo. And knowing Jay, he’d turn up to ‘rescue her’. She started dreaming about his smile, the curls in his blond hair, his clean crisp shirts. And one night, she dreamt of him lying next to her, reaching for her, moving inside her.
She woke burning with shame.
In the middle of one of those dreams, Claire woke to the sound of the phone ringing. She pulled herself from her bed and walked into the kitchen to see Milo leaning against the wall with the phone tucked under his chin, his forehead creased.
‘Who is it?’ she asked.
He handed the phone over to her, his face unreadable as he went to sit at the table. ‘Jay.’
Claire’s chest exploded with happiness and she grabbed the phone.
‘Hello, my princess,’ Jay said in a slurred voice.
‘Jay!’
‘I know it’s the middle of the night there, darling, but I just went for a boozy lunch and needed to hear your voice.’
‘It’s so good to hear from you. I’ve missed you.’
Milo shifted uncomfortably in his chair. She turned away from him, leaning her forehead against the wall and closing her eyes.
Jay laughed. God, she missed that laugh. ‘I’m not surprised you miss me! Must be driving you crazy out there, just you and Milo. Have any of your family been to visit?’
Things were still tense between her and her sister. She’d received an email from Alex with a photo of him picking up a football medal and a brief ‘Hope things are good, xx’ message, which also included a request to pass on his hellos to Holly. But that was it, certainly nothing from Sofia.
‘Not yet,’ Claire said.
‘I had a – how shall I put this? Pleasant conversation with your beloved just now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He refused to get you out of bed, said you were sleeping.’
‘That’s unfair,’ she said. ‘I’ll have a word.’
‘Yes, you do that. How are things out there in the sweaty Outback?’
‘Sweaty. Hard work too.’
‘Do I need to come rescue you?’
She laughed. It sounded shrill. ‘Don’t be silly. Unless you’re serious, you want to visit?’ She felt a shimmer of excitement. To see a familiar face again, a face that wasn’t twisted with anxiety and silent rage.
‘I’d love to visit, darling, but I’ve been to Oz before and I have to say, the twenty-four-hour long flight just isn’t for me. I’ll be seeing you in London next spring though, surely?’ he said.
‘No, why would I?’
‘Darling, don’t tell me you don’t know.’
‘Know what?’
‘You’ve won the Flora Matthews Foundation Prize for your piece on Otpor’s role in the Serbian elections.’
The room span. She put her hand against the wall, steadying herself.
Milo strode towards her, face heavy with anxiety. ‘Claire?’
She took his hand. ‘I won the award my dad won for my Serbian piece.’
A huge smile spread over his face.
‘You really didn’t know?’ Jay asked. ‘They sent an email.’
‘No, I had no idea. I haven’t checked my email in ages. When was it decided?’
‘Last week.’
‘God, I’m – I can’t believe it.’
She looked up at the ceiling, trying to grapple with how she felt about it. It was wonderful, of course, but all the memories it held made it difficult to digest. Her dad had left just after the awards ceremony, after all.
‘Believe it, sweetie,’ Jay said. ‘It’s a fantastic article, the way you captured those young men’s passion for their cause, your descriptions of the rally the night of the protests, just fantastic. And believe it when I tell you you are coming to the presentation ceremony. You’re guaranteed to make wonderful contacts. It’ll be perfect for your career.’
Milo leaned down and kissed Claire’s neck. She pulled away from him slightly, trying to focus on Jay’s voice. He frowned then walk
ed to the window and stared outside. Claire twisted the cord around her fingers, watching him. His chest was bare, the moonlight tickling his skin, picking out the hair on his chest, the shape of his biceps. His hair fell like a shadow over his eye, his lips slightly open.
‘I don’t know,’ she said to Jay. ‘Money’s a bit tight right now.’
‘I’ll get you tickets.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
Jay paused. ‘I think you need it, Claire. I think you need home, I can hear it in your voice.’
She noticed Milo stiffen a little. Could he hear Jay from there?
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘It’s a lot to digest. Look, I better go. It’s late. But thank you for calling.’
‘I’ll call you every week until you agree to book your trip to London. If I’m making a special trip back for the ceremony, you damn well are.’ His voice grew serious. ‘And whenever you need to talk – whenever, Claire – call me? You don’t quite sound like your old self.’
‘I’m fine, really. Take care.’
He was quiet for a few moments. ‘You too, my darling. Speak very soon?’
She placed the phone in its cradle and smiled to herself. She’d won an award!
Milo strolled back over. ‘I’m so proud of you, darling,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I tell you enough what a wonderful writer I think you are.’
‘Yes, you do. You’re the one who encouraged me to write the article in Serbia!’
He took her hand. ‘I know the awards must hold difficult memories for you but you mustn’t think of that. You should think about how proud your dad would be.’
She smiled. ‘I know.’ Then she remembered what Jay had said about Milo not waking her up. ‘Why did you tell Jay I was asleep?’
He shrugged as he walked over to the fridge. ‘Because you were.’ He pulled a bottle of wine out of the fridge and placed it on the table. ‘I think we should celebrate.’
‘But it’s four in the morning!’
‘So what? You’re an award-winner. We’re going to share this bottle of wine then we’re going to watch the sun rise.’ He walked over and took her face between his hands, staring into her eyes. ‘A new start, all right? I know I’ve been a bit rubbish lately.’
She looked into his eyes, feeling hope flourish inside. ‘New start.’
It felt like a new start that week. Milo’s obsession with the mango trees seemed to ease and they even took a break from the farm, hiking across Kata Tjuta National Park, eating lunch – what Milo called his ‘bush tucker’, fistfuls of gooseberries, round yams and bush tomatoes, all eaten under the shade of the huge orange boulders. At night, Milo was tender, his eyes deep in Claire’s as they made love, whispering her name over and over and kissing every inch of her ‘award-winning skin’ as he called it.
Yet all the time, Claire couldn’t help but think about the awards presentation taking place in a few months, especially after Jay called again to tell her a features editor he knew at Time magazine wanted to meet her at the ceremony. It felt as though all the opportunities she’d once coveted were slipping through her fingers.
And while Milo seemed excited about the award too, he never asked Claire if there was any kind of presentation and she thought she knew why: money. Though Milo still had money left over from the farm sale years ago, he was reluctant to use more than was necessary, wanting to save as much of it as he could for the life he hoped they could build together. They barely had enough to feed themselves with any other money they made either, let alone pay hundreds of dollars to fly to London. But oh, for the chance! Claire had begun to grow tired of the red sand and the endless land with no people, no purpose, no links to the outside world. She was getting itchy feet again, that urge of hers to move on. Plus she’d dreamed of winning an award like this all her life. Why did it feel like she was pushing it aside?
Milo sensed her growing unease and soon his mood began to darken again in response. He began spending more and more of his time outside, staring up at the mango trees as if they held the answer to everything.
One afternoon, Claire marched out there. ‘Milo, can you please stop fixating on those bloody trees? Surely you’re sick of the sight of them? I know I am! Not just them but this place,’ she said, sweeping her hand out. ‘It’s so isolated. I feel like I’m going mad sometimes.’
‘I don’t understand. I thought you wanted this? No people, no crowds. We both did.’
‘But that’s just the problem, it’s too isolated. I feel like we’re running away from everything here.’ She swallowed, finally admitting to herself what she’d been thinking the past few weeks. ‘We said we’d carve out a new path for ourselves and at first I loved it here. But now it’s like we’re on the same path we were on before we met, except we’re running in the opposite direction; running away from what happened in Exmoor and everyone who reminds us of it. Not just Exmoor but everything that happened before …’ She let her voice trail off as she thought of her dad’s sunken face and her defunct ovaries. ‘I think it’s time to move on, Milo. I’m sick of bloody mangoes and Uluru and kangaroo meat and—’
Milo went very still. ‘And me?’
‘Don’t be silly. I love you, you know that.’
He looked away and Claire felt a sudden thump of panic. So she stood on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around him. ‘Everyone gets homesick,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘It’s not you.’
‘I know.’ He relaxed against her and they stayed like that for a while. After a few minutes, he pulled away from her and walked to the fridge. ‘I forgot to tell you,’ he said as he pulled a bottle of beer out. ‘I’ve agreed to help Joe out with his house over the next few weeks.’
‘But he’s miles away.’
‘Yeah, I’ll be back pretty late.’
‘Then why are you doing it?’
‘It’s money, Claire. Money we desperately need.’ He sighed. ‘Look, maybe it’ll be good for us? We’ve been in each other’s pockets the past few months. Maybe this is what we need?’
Her stomach dropped. ‘What we need?’
He stared down at his beer, his hair in his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I understand how you feel, hemmed in. I was used to it at the farm, working with my family, living with them. But you’ve always been so independent. You can write more articles, read more while I’m away. And then I’ll be back in the evenings.’ He walked over to her and stroked her cheek, his fingers cold from the bottle of beer. ‘You’ll see, it’ll be good for us.’
But it wasn’t good for them. It took Milo three hours to drive to Joe’s, meaning he had to wake at five each morning, not returning until ten, sometimes eleven in the evening. When they slipped into the New Year, the heat intensified, the acrid air suffocating them. The date of the awards presentation was fast approaching and Claire felt sick to her stomach. It didn’t help that she had a tense phone call with her friend Jodie the week before who told her she was crazy not to come back to the UK for something so important.
So Claire read the faded copy of the article that had won her the award over and over, and stared out of the window at the terracotta landscape on those long lonely days without Milo. She felt as though she was being buried alive beneath those sands, the red dust seeping into her throat as she desperately tried to claw her way back up and find the life she’d left behind. When she considered her reflection in the mirror each morning, she even began to see her dad and the way he’d looked at her in that flat: face weary with lost chances and bitter disappointments.
A week before the award ceremony, it got too much. Claire woke to find Milo staring up at the trees again and the air in the bedroom felt congested, became unbearable. So without changing, without even putting any shoes on, Claire ran outside. Milo didn’t even notice as she sprinted past him in her nightie, the searing air and red dust swirling around her thighs. She just wanted to run, alone. And that’s what she did. She ran and ran until there was nothing but red and dust.
Then there was a hiss
ing sound.
She paused, eyes gliding towards the noise, whole body going rigid with fear as she saw a long brown snake curled around itself a few metres away, scales gleaming red under the morning sun.
The rainbow serpent of her dreams.
Except this snake was real, very real.
It slowly lifted its head, the rest of its body uncoiling, its green eyes settling on Claire’s. She saw something in those eyes, like it thought she’d overstayed her welcome. She could feel that inside too. She’d been so content to begin with, but now she felt trapped, old negative thoughts resurfacing: her infertility rearing its ugly head again, Erin intruding on her and Milo’s happiness. She was pushing her luck. If she stayed, something bad would happen, she could feel it.
The snake hissed and Claire stumbled, feet scrambling against the dust as she ran back towards the farm. When she got there, Milo was gone, his truck tyres leaving tracks in the sand. She darted inside, slamming the door shut and sliding down the wall. What if she’d been bitten? She closed her eyes, saw herself lying in bed and dying alone like her dad, almost hearing the sound of rain beating against the window as though she was in his New York bedsit again.
She put her hand over her ears, the rain still pounding. Was she going mad?
No, a voice said inside her. Get up, talk to someone, anyone. Don’t be alone.
She rose on shaky legs and stumbled to the phone, dialling Jay’s number. On the fourth attempt, he finally picked up.
‘Claire?’ he asked.
‘I – I’m going mad,’ she said. ‘This place, it’s driving me insane.’
‘Are you alone? Where’s Milo?
‘He’s out. He’s always out. And when he’s here, he’s tormented and it’s not just about the rotting mangoes. There’s more to it, I can tell.’
There was a sound behind her. Claire turned to see Milo standing in the doorway, a bottle of wine in one hand, a piece of paper in the other. He threw the paper across the room, then stormed out of the house.
Two plane tickets to London settled gently on the floor.
Chapter Twenty
The Atlas of Us Page 28