Ana has to take a few more quick sips before she gains courage enough to look around. Through the music she’s able to pick up snatches of conversation around her. Just words here and there but then the high voice of a woman carries over the rest, complaining about how her ‘cunt of a daughter’ never lets her know where she is.
‘She could easily end up dead in a ditch somewhere and I wouldn’t know about it until the cops came knocking at my door.’
Ana had almost forgotten about the drama she saw earlier on the road but as she continues to listen she pieces together that someone did indeed die out there in the river but it was neither a reckless fisherman or a kid. It was a woman.
Once again that strange feeling of déjà vu overtakes her, like she’s the one lying dead, by now shut away in a body-sized drawer in the morgue, and this part of her perched on the barstool is merely a ghost of her former self. A shadow.
Maybe they’re all shadows here tonight, all like her, blindly reaching for something they can’t quite see. Ana shudders, freaking herself out now.
It’s too hot and as Ana unzips her jacket she becomes aware of a giant of a man with a thatch of ginger hair and a recently messed-up face, also sitting alone. He’s been watching her eavesdropping on the conversation around her. He throws her a lopsided smile, perhaps recognising something in her. Shadow to shadow.
Ana looks away, not used to being the object of attention. She awkwardly slips out of her jacket but regrets it immediately when she feels his eyes moving over her body, burning into her skin. She hooks her jacket over her barstool and sits on it, not knowing where to look. On the periphery of her vision she sees him get up and head in her direction.
For a moment she’s frozen to the spot but as she feels him step in beside her she downs her vodka in one fiery gulp and stands too. Snatching up her bag she scurries to the safety of the nearby ladies’ room.
*
Ana shuts herself in one of the tiny stalls, trying not to look too closely at the residue of other people’s filth all around her.
Is it so hard to leave it clean for the next person?
There’s plenty of toilet paper at least and she pulls out a thick wad and wipes the seat before she sits on it.
She’s in the middle of pissing when she hears the outer door clunk open, bringing with it a blast of bad nineties rock. With the sound, an image crashes into her head, both comical and horrifying, of him waiting outside her cubicle, pants already around his ankles. Enormous cock sprouting up from a bed of pubic hair the exact same shade of red as the thatch on his head.
The sharp click-clack of heels on tiles makes its way through Ana’s panicked fantasy and she starts to breathe again. She hears the sound of piss hitting the toilet water. Hardly a tinkle, more a stream.
Sounds like she has a dick.
Ana has to hold her hand over her mouth to stop from spluttering with laughter, already tipsy on just one vodka. She hears the toilet flushing and then the woman making her way over to the basin. Whatever she’s doing there it’s not washing her hands. Not that that proves anything. Women, Ana knows, are just as filthy as men.
She hears her leaving but remains in the safety of her cubicle.
What are you going to do? Hide in the toilet until the place closes? At least two people out there saw you come in here. Someone will come looking.
She can almost hear the gravelly voice of the barman – Haven’t fallen down the shit-hole have you, luv? – like she’s some small town, low rent Alice in Wonderland.
There’s a window. You could always climb out. Leave them wondering where you disappeared to.
All she really wants right now is another vodka but she’s guessing toilet service is out of the question.
Ana steps out of the cubicle and approaches the basin. She thoroughly washes her hands and then gazes into the grimy mirror, studying her face, trying to see what those others out there might be seeing.
It’s in the genes, this latent desire for self-obliteration. It’s not the first time Ana has felt its pull even though she learned self-control from the best. Her grandmother had exactly one nip of top shelf whisky every night, nothing more nothing less, and even Ellen, her greatest provocation, had to push hard to make her lose her cool. Although Ana has consciously tried to follow Irena’s example it hasn’t always been easy.
She wonders if her grandmother felt it. This desire to crash through her own carefully constructed boundaries. She was always an old woman to Ana, someone without vice or sexuality, but perhaps she too was hiding something behind the silent wall she used to keep the world out. Did it scare her? Is that why she was so hard on her daughter?
Ana dries her hands and contemplates the window.
It’s small and high up but if she upturned the garbage bin she could probably snake her way out. That would be the smart thing to do.
You’ll probably get stuck! Then what? I’m sure the redhead would be happy to help.
That’s when she remembers her jacket, still slung over the stool.
When she emerges from the bathroom, Ana spots Red between her and the exit. He’s playing darts now while chatting up a woman who looks much more his speed, but he still clocks Ana’s return to the bar. She turns her back on him and orders another drink.
*
Ana pushes her empty glass towards Tug, which she now knows, courtesy of the two bikers who entered before her, is the name of the barman. Or at least his nickname.
By the look on his face it’s clear he thinks she’s had enough. He’s right but she gestures for more anyway. She really had intended to grab her jacket and go straight home but the barman was looking right at her and the tempting lure of one final drink was hard to resist. That was almost an hour, and several final drinks, ago now.
As she waits for Tug, who is taking his own good time getting to her vodka, Ana’s eyes fall on the framed photo of a man hung on the wall behind him. A plaque proclaims him the namesake of the place. He bears more than a little resemblance to the man in front of her.
‘So where’s Rocky these days?’
Tug glances up at Ana in surprise.
‘Nursing home. Did you know him?’
‘No, but I bet my mother did.’
She laughs at that while Tug settles her drink in front of her and then not so subtly pushes a bowl of peanuts within her reach.
‘Last one. Then you need to go home.’
Home to River.
Ana knows where she should be and doesn’t need Tug the Barman or anyone else to remind her. The nuts slide off the edge of the bar, pushed by Ana before she defiantly slams the shot straight back and flashes a wide sloppy smile.
The barman isn’t impressed but the redhead is. He got the message and left her alone after she emerged from the bathroom but has been watching her steadily drink her way to oblivion ever since. After her second vodka Ana ceased to be bothered by it. In fact the more she drank the less scary he looked. The barman, however, is a dick.
‘I’m calling you a cab.’
Ana looks away to see Red now openly leering at her and is surprised to find herself leering back. She regrets it immediately as her stomach tenses and a wave of nausea suddenly hits, along with the emotion she’s been trying to drown. Tug is right. She needs to get home.
Ana stares down at the surface of the bar, the stale air of the place closing in around her. It’s hard to breathe.
‘Sorry about the nuts,’ she mutters in the barman’s general direction whilst peeling herself off her stool. This time she makes sure to grab her jacket.
She’s unsteady on her feet as she navigates her way to the exit but keeps her eye on her goal, not stopping until she is through the door.
The cold air hits with a sobering shock but Ana gulps it down, falling into it with relief as she heads in the direction of her car. The neon sign casts a faint sickly glow over everything. It’s like wading through watery vomit. She’s not quite there when she hears the music surge and quickly ducks d
own behind the nearest car to hide.
Sure enough, Red saunters out, the neon doing nothing for his sallow complexion. She can almost see him deflate, becoming a little bit smaller when he realises she’s given him the slip. She nearly laughs out loud as she watches him taking a surreptitious peek around the side of the building just in case she’s waiting for him there. He looks so disappointed Ana almost feels sorry for him.
In the absence of a fumbled root against a brick wall he takes a long piss instead and Ana takes the opportunity to awkwardly crab-crawl the rest of the way to her car. It’s a struggle finding her keys but she gets the door open and slips inside, pulling it quietly shut behind her.
A taxi pulls up to the entrance and Ana watches Red step out towards it. He takes one long look around the carpark before returning inside. As soon as he’s gone the taxi moves on.
Ana collapses over the steering wheel with relief but the movement immediately has her head spinning.
You are so fucked up right now.
The other cars are tilting around hers, the carpark having turned to oily liquid. All she wants to do is disappear into sleep.
She does a quick check to make sure all the doors are locked and rolls her body over into the back seat where she curls into a tight ball, pulling River’s blanket over her head.
The comforting smell of dog envelops Ana and she closes her eyes, imagining she’s already home curled up in her bed with River. She can feel the room spinning slowly around her as she lies there listening to the music from the bar slip further and further away.
At least her grandmother wasn’t there waiting up for her, shrouded in disappointment and judgment. It gives Ana a whole new perspective on her mother’s experience. The courage it must have taken to stand up to the old woman. Ana knows Ellen never forgave her for the time she locked her out in the freezing night with only a blanket left on the porch. In retrospect that was when everything changed.
Ana stood petrified at the end of the hall, forbidden by one to go anywhere near the front door, entreated, cajoled, and then threatened by the other to open the fucking thing or else. She was afraid they were going to kill each other that night, once Ellen finally managed to smash her way back into the house. It was Irena who retreated and from then on she let her daughter do whatever she wanted, even bring her men to the house. She still expressed disapproval but she was reduced to dirty looks and muttering. Her power gone.
NINE
Ana has little memory of the drive home in the early hours but is grateful to have made it in one piece. Years of driving back and forth along this road has to count for something. She’s going to be late but couldn’t face getting in the car until she was sure the vomiting had stopped. Luckily, today is her one afternoon shift of the week, otherwise she’d still be hanging over the toilet bowl.
Despite her uncharacteristic binge of the night before, Ana’s uniform is as crisp and white as it always is. She’ll look the part even though she has no idea how she’ll get through the day. Everything hurts.
On autopilot, her attention drifts, straying to the human-like limbs of the trees that line each side of the road. Their shadows give the impression they’re leaning in on her. A bit like the fragments of dreams she’s been trying to remember. Every morning now there’s something curled tightly in her gut that doesn’t unravel for hours. Today, in her weakened state, that something feels closer to the surface, like the clawed creature inside her has found new purchase. Ana might not be able to see it but she knows the feeling it provokes well enough.
She swerves abruptly as her wheels hit dirt at the side of the road, jolting her firmly back into the here and now. On the embankment ahead, she sees what she missed when she drove by in the dark. At the spot where she saw police cars yesterday, long strips of tape now cut a barrier along the edge of the forest, travelling down the incline towards the river below.
It’s a crime scene. Or at least it was. Already a strip of the tape has been ripped free by the wind and is dragging on the road.
*
Ana hurries into the pharmacy but slows her approach when she sees Kristy and Lenny drinking take-away coffee. They look all chummy as they lean side by side over the counter, sharing the same newspaper. She feels an unexpected stab of envy at the ease of their casual intimacy, compounded by the fact that Lenny gives her only a cursory glance before returning his focus to Kristy.
For a horrifying moment Ana wonders if he told her about the kiss, but the smirk Kristy sends in her direction is the same as always. Uncharacteristically, she seems in no hurry to leave.
‘I’m telling you, it’s the same woman.’
‘I seriously doubt it, she’s not even from around here.’
‘Exactly! I remember her because she didn’t look local. Had a stuck-up accent and everything.’
Ana can see the upside down face of the woman pictured in the newspaper, her features framed by dark hair. Ana’s feet suddenly feel like they’re encased in concrete. She can’t move.
‘You know you’re late?’ Kristy says, without even a hint of irony.
‘Who are you talking about?’ Ana finally asks.
‘The dead chick, where the fuck’ve you been?’ Kristy shakes her head disparagingly as she grabs her bag from under the counter.
Still she doesn’t leave and Ana still can’t move.
‘Do you think I should tell the cops she was in here?’ Kristy asks. ‘It might be crucial information for the case.’
‘What did she buy when she was here?’ asks Lenny. It’s his way of saying Kristy is full of shit but only Ana picks up on that.
‘How should I know? I can’t even tell you what the last bloke who came in today bought. I remember his dodgy haircut though. Some things you can never forget.’
Ana feels Lenny watching her, having noticed she is just standing there.
‘Ana, are you okay?’
Don’t let it be her. Please, don’t let it be her.
She glances at Lenny, her eyes fixing on the tiny blob of cream on his chin, a vestige of the half-eaten cream bun sitting on the counter in front of him.
The newspaper is within reach. All she has to do is turn it around.
It’s a snapshot, the photographer catching the woman unawares, her surprised smile wide and generous. A nice smile, the kind that makes you want to send one back in return.
At first Ana doesn’t recognise her but her relief is short-lived. The more she stares at the face looking up at her the more she sees her. It’s the eyes that do it. This woman’s expression might be carefree and open but the dark eyes are the same, gazing intently out at Ana. Seeing inside of her.
Ana is aware that both Lenny and Kristy are looking at her oddly now.
‘I have to go.’
She makes for the exit, leaving Kristy still holding her bag. She starts to protest, calling Ana back, but Lenny silences her with a gesture.
Once outside, Ana stands for a moment in the middle of the footpath. She doesn’t know where to go but she can’t stay here.
The sound of Lenny coming after her snaps her out of it and propels her down the road.
*
Ana sits in her car, a freshly bought newspaper propped up by the steering wheel in front of her. She’s trying to reconcile the image of the woman she has in her mind with this new knowledge that she’s dead. The two things don’t connect.
Rebecca Marsden.
Even the name doesn’t seem to fit.
She sees again the colourful scarf clutched tightly in her hand, her face caught in an endless state of rapture. Dark eyes burning into hers.
For the second time, she scans the print under the photo. It offers only scant details. It was a fisherman who found her but the paper gives no cause of death, just that there is evidence of foul play.
She was reported missing after not returning from a night class she took at TAFE. It doesn’t say what she was studying – clearly not a detail the media see as relevant – only that her husband
had assumed she’d gone for a drink after class, as she had done every week. But this time she never made it home.
That was the same day Ana saw her – two nights ago – but when Ana came upon them it was the middle of the afternoon. It doesn’t make sense, Rebecca wouldn’t have even been to her course by then and the campus is on the other side of the city from here. If she doesn’t live locally – and the paper is clear about that much – then what was she doing this far from home? Did he bring her here? Had he been following her? Waiting for his moment? Was the struggle Ana witnessed from the road Rebecca Marsden’s last attempt to escape?
She wasn’t restrained but she could have been drugged. Was what Ana saw on her face literal intoxication rather than desire? And those eyes locked onto hers – was that nothing more than a silent plea for help, one Ana couldn’t hear through the shroud of her own twisted desire?
The more Ana looks at the face smiling up at her the more she doubts herself. This woman looks so normal. She looks exactly how they’re describing her – a happily married mother of two kids under five.
Ana felt so certain when she first saw the photo but now …
Does it matter who she is? Dead is dead. There’s no bringing her back.
Ana glances out her windscreen at the police station across the road. She drove straight here after leaving the pharmacy, stopping only to buy the newspaper, but hasn’t been able to get out of the car.
The flat-roofed building was constructed sometime in the seventies, except for the recent addition of a disabled ramp out the front, a concession no doubt to the increasing age of the population. It wasn’t there the last time Ana had reason to be. Twelve years old, still reeling with shock and loss. Much of that time is a blur now but Ana can still remember every detail of the inside of that building like it was yesterday.
Lonely Girl Page 6
