by Emily Forbes
Did he want to go there?
She had a life in England, a career, and he had a life here, a career, a family, a daughter. Neither of them could give those things up. Timing was everything and he had a feeling their timing was wrong. It was too soon.
He couldn’t worry about it now, he decided as he pushed Charli’s chair through the double doors into the butterfly house. He’d enjoy the day and pretend he knew what he was doing.
* * *
‘Sit very still, Charli,’ Ella instructed, and Pat stifled a laugh. It was one thing for Ella to issue commands but quite another for her to follow her own rules. She danced from foot to foot and watched the butterflies. There were hundreds of them, looking like rose petals swirling in the breeze.
‘Pretend you’re a tree, Ella,’ he said in an effort to get her to stand still. She stuck her arms out but continued to shuffle excitedly. Eventually the butterflies stopped fluttering and dipping and one landed on Ella’s finger, to be quickly and unceremoniously frightened away when Ella’s attention was caught by something else.
‘Charli! You’ve got a butterfly on your head! Daddy, take a photo,’ Ella ordered, used to having everything captured on his phone.
Charli had a butterfly perched on her head like an ornament. She was smiling at him as he took the photo and his breath caught in his throat and his chest went tight with desire. Another butterfly landed on her shoulder and he took a second photo.
‘They like you, Charli!’ Ella chattered. ‘I think it’s because you smell nice. Doesn’t she smell nice, Daddy?’
He bent his head and smelt her hair. ‘She does indeed, Ella.’ Charli was blushing but her eyes were shining as he straightened up and looked at her.
‘Maybe they like my hand cream.’ She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out the tube. ‘Why don’t we put some on you, Ella?’
It was the first time in Pat’s experience that Charli had voluntarily connected with Ella. Maybe she was getting under Charli’s defences. He figured that her reluctance to get attached to Ella stemmed from her own childhood but Ella was irresistible and he didn’t think it would do Charli any harm to spend time with her.
Charli rubbed cream into Ella’s hands before dabbing a bit on the end of Ella’s nose. Much to Ella’s delight, a butterfly landed on her nose and Pat knew Charli had made a friend for life out of his daughter now. All that remained was to see how Charli felt about Ella.
They watched the butterflies feeding at the nectar tables until the glasshouse began to fill with people and Ella began to get restless. He pushed Charli out past the elephants to the platypus pool, where they laughed at the curious creature as it dived and twisted in a display of underwater acrobatics before they wandered through the Australian animal section to the kangaroo enclosure.
In typical Melbourne fashion, the sun had finally decided to make an appearance, pushing weakly through the clouds, but it was enough for the kangaroos to seek out the warm spots and lie basking in the sun.
People were milling around the enclosure as Pat parked Charli’s chair near the gate and locked the brakes. ‘We need to leave your wheelchair here.’
‘What for?’
‘We can’t take it into the enclosure.’
‘We’re going in?’ He nodded. ‘With the kangaroos?’
‘If you want to feed them you need to go in. They don’t make a habit of letting them out.’ He smiled.
Charli’s blue eyes lit up. ‘We can go in and feed them? Really?’
‘Really.’ This was the surprise he’d organised. He’d paid extra for the experience but he hadn’t been able to resist. ‘And pat them.’
Charli was out of the chair before Pat finished his sentence.
‘That is amazing, thank you.’ She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek, possibly forgetting her own rules, but she’d dropped her arms almost before he’d registered her hug and held her hand out to Ella. ‘Let’s go.’
They listened quietly as the keeper gave a quick safety briefing, reminding visitors not to run or chase the kangaroos. ‘Find a spot to sit quietly and let the kangaroos come to you. They are used to being hand fed, they’ll be eager. Take some pellets and hold your hand flat, they’ll eat off your hand.’ She showed them how to hold their hands and then passed out small bags of pellets.
Charli and Ella chose a log to sit on. They sat side by side as the kangaroos fed from their hands. Pat took several photos as they fed and patted the kangaroos.
‘They feel like velvet!’ Charli exclaimed, as a young joey nuzzled her hand.
The joey turned and dived back into its mother’s pouch, legs akimbo, and Ella giggled.
‘Isn’t it a bit big to be in the pouch?’ Charli asked at the sight of its hind legs sticking out.
‘They stay in the pouch for about six months,’ the keeper said, ‘but continue to go in and out of the pouch until they are almost a year old.’
Charli shook her head as she fed the mother and laughed along with Ella. Pat watched them together with a vision of what his life could be like with someone to share it with.
‘Thank you, Pat, this is incredible.’ Charli looked up and smiled at him and his heart skipped a beat and he knew, right then, that he was starting to fall for her.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ he said, then pretended to check his phone. He didn’t want her to be able to read his expression. He was terrified she would see what he was thinking and that it would scare her. He sensed it would be too much too soon for her.
‘My food’s all gone,’ Ella said as she upended the bag to prove her point.
‘Mine too,’ Charli said. She took both bags and they had one final pat before they were ushered out of the enclosure.
‘I want to be a baby joey. Can I sit on your lap, Charli?’
Charli held her arms out and Ella clambered onto her lap. She curled herself into a ball and snuggled in. Charli tucked her coat around her, creating a makeshift pouch.
* * *
Back at the house Pat put a movie on the television and Charli and Ella fell asleep together on the couch. Ella had insisted on continuing with her joey impersonation and had refused to leave Charli’s side. She lay curled up with her head on Charli’s lap and Charli’s arm was draped over her, holding her close. It was the most relaxed he had seen her with his daughter. Perhaps, with time, this could work out for all of them.
* * *
Charli barely recognised the face staring back at her from the mirror in front of the make-up chair. She hadn’t expected the television station to bother with her make-up but now she was shocked to see that her bruises, which had been fading, had been accentuated by the make-up artist. She looked more battered than she had in days. Was that the effect they wanted?
She leaned in towards the mirror as the artist removed the white collar that had protected her clothes and started to clean the brushes.
Charli spun around in the chair, about to stand, when the door opened and Pat stuck his head into the room.
‘All good?’ he asked, before she saw him do a slight double take.
He crossed the room, coming closer. He put his fingers under her chin and Charli felt the now familiar frisson of desire with his touch, but that was quickly wiped out by Pat’s frown. She knew what he was thinking.
‘I was expecting to look better than I do in real life, not worse,’ she said, trying to remain positive and make light of the situation.
‘You’re still gorgeous, but...’ he turned her face to the side, examining the end result ‘...you look like you’ve gone three rounds with a prize fighter. I hope no one thinks I’ve done that to you.’
‘I’m not sure why they’ve emphasised my bruises. What angle do you think they’re going with?’ She was growing more nervous by the minute and worried about what questions might be asked and how she would manage.
She’d agreed to the interview on the condition that Pat would do it with her, and she’d expected they would be interviewed together. She wanted to do the entire interview with Pat beside her but the producers, and Stacey, the show’s host, had decided Pat would join in later. They felt it would be more dramatic.
She knew she was relying on Pat more than was healthy. It was so easy to let him take charge, to let him make the decisions. She didn’t want to face up to the real world yet and suddenly she wondered if the interview was about to make her. Would she have to relive the entire disaster? She could feel her heart rate quicken and her breathing become more rapid. She reached for some paper towel to wipe her sweaty hands.
Things weren’t going quite the way she’d expected.
‘It will be okay,’ Pat reassured her. ‘Take your time answering the questions, there’s no need to hurry. Take some deep breaths now,’ he said as the door opened again and an assistant came to collect Charli. ‘I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’
Charli was escorted into the studio during an ad break. The interview was being broadcast live, which was something else she hadn’t anticipated. She really hoped she didn’t make a fool of herself.
A microphone was clipped to her collar and a battery pack tucked into her pocket before she was settled into position on a very small couch opposite the journalist, Stacey, who was in a chair. Fortunately, Charli was allowed to be seated when the interview began and didn’t have to make her way to the couch using her crutches, although they had been propped next to the couch for effect.
Now that she was on set, under the glare of the lights and with no familiar faces, she wished she’d stood her ground. She could have done with Pat’s moral support. She hoped the first part of the interview would be over quickly and then he would be with her.
She took a deep breath when she heard the producer start the countdown to the end of the ad break and mentally prepared herself as Stacey began the introductions.
‘Here with me today I have Charlotte Lawson, the sole survivor of the Wombat Gully landslide that claimed the lives of fifteen people earlier this month. Welcome to the programme, Charlotte.’
Stacey’s dark hair was styled and sprayed with hairspray, not a strand out of place. Her forehead was Botoxed and her lips plump. Charli found it quite disconcerting being interviewed by someone whose face was devoid of all expression. She wished she could tell what Stacey was thinking.
There was a large digital screen to Charli’s left, positioned at the back of the studio, and on it Charli could see a photograph of Wombat Gully Resort with the big brown scar on the landscape and the rubble of the ruined buildings strewn down the mountain. She turned back to face Stacey.
‘You were trapped, buried alive, for almost forty hours. You must have been terrified.’
She should have known the interview would go for drama and sensationalism. She’d watched enough of these interviews herself over the years. But, despite the dramatics, Stacey was right. Charli had been afraid.
‘I was. I can’t remember ever feeling so afraid. So alone.’
‘Can you describe it to us?’
‘It’s hard to describe. It was so dark. Pitch black. I couldn’t see anything. I had no idea what had happened, where anything was. Water flooded the floor and dripped through the roof. I could smell sewage. It was freezing cold. I was breathing in dust—it was so thick I thought it would choke me—and I was afraid I might run out of air. I tried calling out but no one responded.’
‘Did you ever imagine that you might not be found?’
‘Yes.’ That had been her overriding fear. That she would die in a tomb, alone.
‘How did you deal with that?’
‘One step at a time. I was cold and thirsty and tired and that made it difficult to focus, to work out what to do. I tried to stay warm. I knew hypothermia and dehydration were the biggest dangers. There was nothing to drink. I tried not to move too much but I had to make noise, I had to try to get someone’s attention.’
‘And how did you do that?’
‘I found a metal pole and when I could hear people nearby I’d hit it against the bed frame—but then everything would go quiet and I thought people were taking a break. I didn’t know if they’d ever hear me.’
‘But, in fact,’ Stacey said, ‘the rescuers called for quiet on the site so they could listen for noise, for a sound that might indicate there were survivors. They were, in fact, listening for you.’
‘Yes. I had no idea I was working at cross-purposes to them. I was lucky to be found.’
‘Yes, you were the lucky one. You were found by Patrick Reeves, one of a team of Special Operations paramedics, and he joins us now too. Wouldn’t we all love to be rescued by someone tall, dark and handsome?’ Stacey said as she turned to the side of the studio and watched as Pat came into view. ‘Welcome, Pat. You’re the hero in this story.’ She stood up to shake Pat’s hand and Charli could see the introduction embarrassed him.
‘I was just one of hundreds of people searching the area,’ he said as he sat beside Charli on the tiny couch.
‘But you were the one who heard Charli’s cry for help,’ Stacey said, ramping up the melodrama. ‘How did you feel? Talk us through the moment when you heard her voice.’
‘I thought I was hearing things. I thought my imagination was working overtime initially. We’d been working hard in tough conditions, getting nowhere, and we were starting to think we wouldn’t find any survivors. When I realised I hadn’t imagined the noise, it was a huge relief.’
‘And, Charli, that must have been a miraculous moment for you. Making contact. It’s incredible to think that you could come through almost unscathed when there were no other survivors. Have you seen that before, Pat? You’ve been to lots of disasters. You’ve risked your life time and again.’
Visions flashed up on the large screen to Charli’s left. The image of Wombat Gully Resort was replaced by photos of other tragedies. Charli knew the viewers would be able to see it. She could pick out Pat in a few of the photos, not all, there were a lot of media shots, but Stacey was talking about Pat’s role in these other events—a train derailment in the Dandenong Ranges, some school students lost in the bush on an overnight hike, an airlift from a skiing accident.
‘It’s unusual to have only one survivor with something of this scale,’ Pat admitted.
‘And you were at the resort for a training exercise. Were you training for a landslide?’
‘Not as such, but the processes are the same in any disaster.’
‘Had you ever been involved in anything of this magnitude?’
‘No. And I hope I never am again. We’re in the business of saving lives and losing so many people was awful. It was an enormous tragedy.’
Charli knew he was thinking about the people he hadn’t saved, the ones he’d heard calling for help minutes after the disaster, the ones who he’d known had survived the initial landslide only to perish from their injuries or from the elements before they could be rescued.
‘But saving Charli must have given everyone hope.’
‘It was unbelievable.’
The image on the screen changed again and a photo of Charli being lifted from the rubble appeared. She was strapped to the spinal board, filthy and dishevelled, but the setting sun cast a golden light onto her. Pat could be seen leaning over her and her eyes were fixed on him.
‘Tell us what you were thinking in this moment, Charli.’
Charli remembered that moment vividly. She remembered not wanting to let Pat out of her sight but that revelation felt much too personal to share on national television. ‘I was just so glad to see the sky. I was so relieved to be out of there and the sunset was spectacular.’
‘Pat, do you think there was a reason Charli survived?’
‘A reason?’
‘Yes. Do you think this exper
ience has brought you closer? Have you forged a relationship that will endure into the future? I hear you were a frequent visitor while Charli was in hospital. That’s not normal practice for first responders or emergency personnel, is it? It’s obvious there’s a connection between you. Are you single? What about you, Charli, are you single?’
Charli wasn’t sure where Stacey was going with this angle. She was completely unprepared for the question and she could only assume Pat was too.
‘Oh, I’ve put you on the spot,’ Stacey said. ‘You’re blushing, Charli. Is there more to the story? An addition to the happy ending?’
Charli realised, too late, that it had been a mistake to ask Pat to do the interview with her. Someone had obviously done their homework. She had no idea who Stacey had spoken to or who had done the digging, but the interview was taking a turn that she wasn’t prepared for. Stacey was definitely going for drama but not in the direction Charli had expected.
She was suddenly aware of how close she and Pat were sitting. They had no choice on such a small couch but she wondered how it looked to the viewers. She didn’t want to be the topic of rumours and innuendo. She shook her head. ‘No, there’s no more to the story.’
‘You left hospital with Patrick on your discharge, though, didn’t you?’
How on earth did she know that? Charli was afraid to ask, she didn’t think she wanted to hear the answer.
Pat answered the question with one of his own. ‘Charli is a visitor who lost everything in the landslide. Where was she supposed to go?’
Pat didn’t sound as though he was going to admit to their relationship. And neither was she.
‘To her sister’s, perhaps?’ Stacey said, before changing tack. ‘I understand you’re a widower, Pat, a single dad. It was interesting that Charli chose to go with you.’
