She reversed to unload her shopping. The waiting walk-on passengers, all silently watching her, clutched wheeled upright trolleys which carried their goods. She made a mental note to buy herself one. Forced to leave her purchases exposed by the side of the road for all to examine, she drove to the long-term car park.
The barge was already at the ramp when she arrived back and the lucky pre-booked vehicles were driving on. As she struggled to pick up her groceries, the red-faced bargeman came to her aid. ‘One of the downsides of living on the island’, he grunted, taking most of the bags, leaving her looking stupid carrying one.
‘Me name’s Stewart by the way. Feel free to call me Grunter. Everyone else does.’ He placed her shopping on a bench at the side of the boat.
‘Thank you.’
‘Happy to hold your bags anytime.’ He winked, then weaved through the cars to the opposite side of the boat where a group of locals gathered on the only other seat. Between the cars, she spied them sneaking glances. Were they discussing her?
As the barge pulled out, they yelled and waved at the driver in the tower. The boat ground to a stop with the ramp part way up. A thin man wearing sunglasses, torn jeans, and a black t-shirt leapt onto the ramp. He slipped as he landed, his long greasy hair flying out like rope. In unison, the group ran forward, wrenching him to safety. The gracefulness of their coordinated movement struck her. Like mosquitoes when they swarm, she thought.
Marlise stared at sunglass man, almost certain it was the dog owner. She couldn’t remember the hideous scar running down his right cheek, but he had been standing behind a screen door in the dark. Wanting a clearer look, she pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head in the hope he would do the same. Grunter moved toward her and she handed him her money.
‘Thanks, Marlise.’ He appeared to enjoy the shock on her face.
‘You know my name.’
‘You bought the old Johnston place. Everyone knows who you are. Everyone, this is Marlise.’
To her dismay, the group of locals had followed him over. They began to introduce themselves. Only sunglass man remained seated on the other side of the boat. She couldn’t see his eyes but swallowed when she suspected he was staring at her.
By the time they reached the island, she had four offers of a lift and the promise of home grown pumpkin. Tilly the real estate agent, whom Marlise had bought the house through, was dropping someone at the barge ramp. She called out, ‘Need a lift, love?’
‘That would be great.’ Marlise turned to Bob who was waiting in his ute. ‘Actually, I’ll go with Tilly. Thanks anyway.’
They all welcomed her to the island again and joked with each other as they parted. Unused to people en masse, the general camaraderie made Marlise so uncomfortable, she had a silly smile frozen on her face.
Grunter had to wake sunglass man, who walked gingerly off the barge as if it was an effort to place one foot in front of the other.
Tilly called, ‘Want a lift Harley? Going right past your place… Harl?’
‘Hey?’
‘Need a lift?’ Tilly closed the boot on Marlise’s shopping.
‘Yeah thanks, man, if it’s not too much trouble.’
Marlise was already in the passenger seat when Harley slid in behind her. A sharp mixture of dog and body odour filled her nostrils. She wished now she had gone with Bob.
Tilly squashed the butt of a cigarette and lit another before starting the car. ‘Harley, this is Marlise. You guys are almost neighbours. Harl? You awake back there?’
‘Hey?’
Tilly gave up. ‘How you settling in, Marlise? Tell me if there’s anything you need or want. “Fix it”, is my middle name.’
‘I love the house, the view over the mangroves. And from initial observations, the mosquito population looks vibrant.’
‘Vibrant? One way to put it.’ Tilly laughed so hard she started to cough.
In the side mirror, Marlise watched the dog owner, his sunglasses too dark to decipher if he was asleep or staring. Tilly was asking if she wanted a regular gardener or cleaner.
‘A cleaner would be handy. I hate housework.’
‘I’ll send her along next Friday then, love. See how she goes.’
David had always done the housework and now David’s money would pay for a cleaner. Bless his soul. She turned her face toward the window, horrified by the sudden lack of control. When would these stupid tears end? Marlise noticed his sunglasses in the mirror again. Was he watching her? She felt like she couldn’t breathe and wound down the window as Tilly pulled up in front of the fibro cottage with the dog lying on its side in the yard.
‘There you go, Harl.’
‘Thanks, Till. Shit.’
‘What?’
‘Jip. Wasn’t himself this morning when I left. Now look.’ He slammed the car door too hard and raced to the dog who wagged its tail but didn’t lift its head.
‘Hope he’s okay. Harley would be lost without Jip.’ Tilly drove off puffing smoke as Marlise glanced back at the prone dog. She caught Tilly watching her and saw pity settle in the large woman’s face. ‘I know you’re still in a state of grief, but I won’t take no for an answer. You’re coming down to the Resort tonight to meet the girls.’
‘There’s a resort?’
‘Sounds fancier than it is. Just a restaurant and bar, few units attached, but it’s the only place to go on a Friday night. ’Fact, it’s the only place to go any night. Us locals lovingly refer to it as “the last resort.”’ She stopped in Marlise’s driveway. ‘But don’t let that put you off. I’ll come back on dark and pick you up. How does that sound?’
‘Thank you but I’m not up for socialising. I was awake half the –’
‘It’s Friday, love. You’ve got the rest of the week to sleep. Told you, won’t take no for an answer. Everyone’s dying to meet you. See you tonight.’ She drove off, leaving the vile smell of her cigarette lingering in the air.
Ayla searched the cloudless sky for the moon as she pulled the trolley of cleaning equipment along the dirt road. Grappa called days where the sun and moon shared the sky ‘sun moon days’. He claimed, ‘Good things happen on a sun moon day.’ But the moon was nowhere to be seen. She checked her pocket to ensure the key was there and not left in the door like last time. Only one house cleaned and already her hands were itchy. She couldn’t understand – all the products she used were organic, fully bio-degradable. Her Mum, as always, was right, she needed to wear gloves.
Her mother had been appalled at Ayla’s decision to defer from veterinary science to become a house cleaner. But the monotonous physical repetition suited Ayla for now. The last year at uni had left her jaded. Her curriculum didn’t seem relevant, the ice caps were melting, species were dying out by the minute, and it appeared to Ayla that no one seemed to care; too obsessed with their earning potential, they wanted to party and shop. Ayla knew money was necessary – here she was cleaning houses for money – but surely there was more to life? She had even joined a radical young activist group hoping to discover answers but found their angry meetings pointless in the end.
She listened to the rattle of her trolley as she pulled it along the gravel, remembering the moment she had seen footage of the plastic islands floating in the oceans. How it had unleashed a tsunami of questions within her. Would all the sea be covered in plastic one day? What was the point of studying when the planet was dying? These thoughts weighed her down until she couldn’t drag herself out of bed to attend lectures. She had no choice but to come back to the island. On the ferry trip, dolphins had played in the wake of the boat, jumping until she was laughing and wiping tears from her cheeks. She knew then, it had been right to come home.
Ayla parked her trolley in front of the faded sign: ‘Tilly Little Real Estate. We Make Big Things Happen.’ This was the epicentre of the island. If anyone had a problem, they called Tilly who always knew who was where on the island and what they were doing when. All sales and rentals went through Tilly. No one could com
e or go without her knowing. The mother hen of the community, she thrived in her position, and even though she perpetuated most of the gossip, her heart was as big as an island.
Ayla heard Tilly on the phone as she entered the small office thick with cigarette smoke.
‘She’s a recent widow.’ Tilly waved her cigarette at Ayla without a pause. ‘Yes, I know…a short version of Angelina Jolie, don’t you think?…Nice skin. I said that to Wayne. He said, “I didn’t notice her skin I was too busy looking at her you-know-whats”…Darlene you’re awful…trace of some accent. Can’t pick it…Wayne reckons she’s American…One thing I do know, she’s loaded. Bought the place sight unseen and paid cash...I know…Moved down from up north, huge property that backs onto a national park near the Atherton Tablelands…I searched it on the net – beautiful house… god knows what she sold it for…I know…I said to her, I’ve got much better properties. That place hangs over the swamp, it’s filthy with mosquitoes. “That’s exactly what I want”, she said…I know…She’s an antiologist or something or rather. A mozzie expert.’
‘Entomologist,’ Ayla offered, embarrassed she had been listening, and placed the key on the desk.
‘Entomologist…I know.’ Tilly gestured for Ayla to wait. ‘Can I call you back, Darl?’ She took a quick puff and hung up. ‘Harley Mangleson’s dog’s sick. Would you mind, love? Harley’s beside himself. Called me twice in half an hour.’
‘Me?’
‘Stan’s still away caravanning.’
‘Just because Stan’s away, I’m suddenly the island vet.’
‘You’re the next closest thing we’ve got. Told Harley I’d send you down. Would you mind, love? Never heard him so wound up.’
‘Of course, I’ll have a look, but caring for injured wildlife is one thing, domestic pets is a whole different –’
‘Forget number ten Three Mile, that can wait ‘til tomorrow if you get caught up. Oh, and I’ve got some more work for you. Woman that’s moved into the old Johnston house wants a regular cleaner every fortnight on a Friday.’
‘Sure. I’ll have to leave my trolley.’
‘I’ll give you a lift, love.’ She grabbed her car keys and lit another cigarette to smoke on the way.
Ayla had known Harley Mangleson most of her life but had rarely spoken to him, he was that shy. She had never forgotten the time she and Mandy approached Harley’s house, selling chocolates for a school fundraiser. The door was wide open with the TV blaring, while Harley, sitting in a chair, slept with his head almost resting on the floor as if someone had folded him in half. He looked so unnatural they thought he was dead, until Mandy noticed he was breathing. Too young to understand the sharps kit on the coffee table, Ayla recalled how Harley’s greasy hair stuck to the side of his pale neck like a stick insect.
As they pulled up, Harley was in the front yard bent over Jip. June was with him. June lived next door to Harley with Trev. Trev and June didn’t have a last name on the island. They were simply known as Trev and June. At twenty, Trev had been conscripted and sent to Vietnam. He never spoke of it and most of the time the rum and coke held it at bay. When it didn’t, June understood, so she stayed. Try as she did, she never quite managed to hide the bruises. Ayla was with a freshly bruised June once on the end of the jetty when she heard the whispering: ‘Why doesn’t she leave?’ June pretended she hadn’t heard.
Ayla watched as June tugged her cardigan tighter, waved, and hurried toward her house, letting her hair drop over the side of her face.
‘Leave you to it. Got to meet a potential buyer off the next barge. Don’t know why I bother. They come, they look, but they never buy. Still, one lives in hope.’ Tilly attempted to laugh but it turned into a coughing fit.
‘You should really stop smoking, Till.’
‘Tried to once, almost killed me.’ Smoke trailed from the window with a wave of her hand as she drove off.
Harley was on his knees with his head against Jip’s chest, listening to his heart. Jip was his heart.
‘Thanks for comin’, man. Sorry to put you out.’
‘Not at all. Just hope I can help.’
‘He can’t stand for long and when he does he’s all unco.’
The dog was listless and didn’t respond to her voice or touch.
‘Hurts to even lift his head, and check this out.’ Harley pointed to a circular welt on Jip’s underbelly where the skin was naturally free of hair. ‘What the hell’s that?’
Ayla examined the perfectly round mark, the skin inside the circle full of lumps. ‘Maybe some kind of allergic reaction?’ She pulled her phone from her pocket and searched: round lumpy welt dog’s underbelly, to no avail. She searched Jip’s other symptoms, but the possibilities were endless. She felt Jip’s nose again. The poor dog had a fever. ‘Has he been off his food or lethargic?’
‘Nup. Good as gold. I was down volunteerin’ at the youth hut most of yesterday. When I come home, he seemed fine. Noticed this mornin’ before I went to the mainland…’ Harley paused and stole a glance at Ayla. It was common island knowledge that each morning Harley went to the Rocky Point Pharmacy to swallow a paper cup of methadone, his legally prescribed amount, in front of the chemist. ‘He was actin’ like he’d had a rough night or somethin’. Kept pressin’ the top of his head against the fence post. Thought he might have a tick. Didn’t find nothin’. When I got back, he was like this. Yesterday he ate all his dinner. Happened overnight, man.’
‘Has he eaten anything different to what he normally eats?’
‘Nup, unless someone threw somethin’ over the fence.’ Harley’s forehead creased. ‘Woman that moved into the old Johnston house complained he was barkin’ too much. Maybe she…? Fuck…’ He rubbed his temple.
A spasm racked Jip’s body.
‘Has he vomited?’
‘Nup.’
‘Then it’s not a bait. Looks viral, with the temperature. We need to take him to the mainland, to a vet.’ There was a long pause. ‘Harley?’ A tear rolled from under his sunglasses.
‘No money.’ He said it so fast, she almost didn’t catch it.
‘I could lend you –’
‘Nup.’
Jip struggled to his feet, gave up and pressed the top of his head into the earth instead, whining. ‘Wish Stan was back. We really need to get him to a vet.’
Harley stood up. ‘Just caught a bad head cold or somethin’. Not a spring chicken no more. He’ll pull through.’ He folded his arms, unfolded, then folded them again.
She thought for a minute. ‘Where’s Jip’s favourite spot on the island?’
‘Hibiscus, man. Loves that beach.’
‘Let’s get him there. Might cheer him up, at least.’
Harley brightened, handing her Jip’s water bowl. He took a towel and wrapped it around Jip, picking him up with such care, Ayla’s heart went out to Harley for all the possibilities a different life would have allowed.
He carried Jip the short distance to the beach and laid him under a large scribbly gum. The markings on the trunk like drawings of a mad man, strangely echoed Jip’s incessant whine.
Harley soothed him. ‘Come on, man. Don’t want to miss your next Whale Welcoming Day. Whole island’s counting on you.’
Ayla remembered the year Jip became famous for riding at the head of the gigantic whale float which led the annual parade around the island each Whale Welcoming Day. Everyone on the island was expected to take part in the parade and Harley had been allocated to old Bob Morgan, whose ute was transformed into the whale float, obscuring Bob’s visibility. Harley’s job was to lie on the hood of Bob’s ute, hidden under the fibreglass whale, and call out for Bob to stop or turn as required. Jip, who always wanted to be where Harley was, unbeknown to Bob or Harley, climbed on top of the whale above Harley’s head and sat there utterly still, leading the parade. The following year Bob placed an old sailor’s hat on the dog and Jip became the official Whale Welcoming mascot.
Harley sat with Jip and Ayla on the b
each but kept nodding off. He shook himself awake, cursing under his breath. ‘If you need to lie down for a bit Harley, I’ll sit with him until you get back.’
The unspoken acknowledgement of his drugged state lay thick in the air between them.
‘Nah, can’t leave him like this, man.’
Ayla stared at the angry scar running from the top of Harley’s cheek bone to the corner of his mouth.
‘Ex-girlfriend pushed me through a glass door.’ Harley said, in answer to her stare. ‘Don’t ever deal with anyone in a psychotic state, man. Their psychosis gives them the strength of ten men.’ Harley almost nodded off again, then scratched his arm. ‘Just popping home. Back in a tick. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine, Harley. Why don’t you ring a few vets? Just ask about the price?’
Ayla couldn’t see his eyes for sunglasses. She wasn’t sure if anyone had seen Harley Mangleson’s eyes, but everyone had seen his shame. She could feel it now, pouring out of him as he shuffled away, arms crossed, fingers tucked under his armpits.
At the end of the beach, Mandy’s grandmother, Aunty Dora, was gathering morning glory off a Bribie Island pine. Since retiring from nursing, she weaved baskets out of weeds to supplement her pension, selling them through the tourist gift shop at the resort. Dora had accepted that she couldn’t rid the native landscape of exotics. They were here to stay, and some of them were quite useful, like her asparagus which popped up in the same spot every year to feed her. But Ayla knew, for Aunty Dora, it was about balance. That’s why she worked every day to help keep the weeds under control and give the native flora a fighting chance.
She approached, arms full vines. ‘What’s up with Jip?’
‘Not sure.’
‘Don’t look too good. Hey, you heard from Mandy?’
‘Not for a while.’
‘Her Mum’s dirty on her for not ringing.’ Dora giggled. ‘Mandy’s too busy uptown with her new mates, living the high life. Good for her, I reckon. Get off the island, live a bit. What are you doing back here, girl? Should be out there strutting your stuff. Only young once.’
Beneath the Mother Tree Page 4
