It looks quiet. In the time she’s been sitting here not a soul has gone in or out. You would never think a body had been found only a few miles away, but the case is no doubt already in the hands of the state police in Hobart. All the action would be there.
Ana already knows she’s not going in but still she remains there. Not because of Rebecca Marsden. It’s her mother that holds her there now.
She imagines herself crossing the road, her legs heavy as she climbs the five steps up to the entrance just as she did fifteen years before, her grandmother’s hand clamped onto her shoulder. She shrugs Irena’s hand off and stops at the entrance, not wanting to step through that particular door into the past. She can see through the glass that the inside of the station is as quiet as it is outside. As quiet as it was that day. The place looks identical, frozen like a photo in Ana’s mind, only the once bright orange vinyl chairs are now faded with age, her one concession to time past.
Ana lingers there in her mind until she can see herself inside, head down, ears open, pretending to steadily work her way through a book of crosswords. In less than a year she’ll be a teenager but she looks younger. Innocent. Which she is, even though she’s not. She’s angry, although her face doesn’t show it. She wanted to go with them, to see her mother’s body for herself, but no one would listen. No one ever listened.
Suddenly Ana is exactly where she doesn’t want to be, sitting inside the skin of the girl she used to be. They’ve left her there, making her sit on the chair closest to reception where the woman wearing top-to-toe beige can keep a close eye on her. Ana is aware of the woman watching her and purposely keeps her face blank, giving away nothing. Still the woman persists in reaching across the counter, offering chocolate freckles from a white paper bag. She looks so nervous and out of her depth that Ana can’t say no even though chocolate always makes her stomach ache. The third time she offers she presses the whole bag into Ana’s hand. Ana doesn’t want them but she eats them all anyway, shoving the sugary treats one by one into her mouth until all she can think about is chocolate. Years later, just the thought of a chocolate freckle will make Ana feel nauseous.
Through the sickly sweet fog she hears the receptionist’s voice telling her it’s okay to cry, feels a cloying hand settling on her arm as she sits down in the chair next to her.
Ana doesn’t cry. She can’t. Not then. Not moments later when the unrelentingly nice woman cleans her up in the bathroom after her stomach has rejected all that chocolate, not even when her grandmother returns from the morgue, her distant face ashen, having left her barely recognisable daughter cold and naked under a sheet on a metal table …
The door to the police station suddenly opens and a young uniformed cop emerges. Ana is suddenly back in the car, aware of the engine running beneath her. She recognises him as the same cop she saw on the road at the crime scene, the one who, with a gesture, moved her on. As he walks to the police car parked outside Ana can tell that he likes it, the power his uniform gives him.
Ana puts her car into drive and accelerates away. It’s better this way. She doesn’t want to think of the woman she saw as dead. How would she even begin to describe it anyway? What she was doing there. What she saw. Or didn’t see. Soon it won’t matter at all what she thinks.
All that matters now is River and the time they have left.
TEN
A swarm of ants attack River’s uneaten food while he lies stretched out on his bed, oblivious to the action taking place beside him. Ana watches the industrious creatures working in unison, fully committed to the climb up over the lip of the bowl, the long trek back and forth across the floorboards from under the back door. When she was a child she could watch that sort of thing for hours but now she’s just annoyed. The ants scatter as she picks up the bowl, transporting it across the room and dropping it out the kitchen window.
A thick slab of steak sizzles in a pan on the stovetop. Ana flips it to sear the other side. It’s going to be red meat for every meal from now on, no longer just the occasional treat.
As she flips the steak onto the waiting plate she feels the tickle of a stray passenger on her hand and suppresses the urge to dash it off. Instead she transports the tiny creature to the floor and blows it in the general direction of its friends who are already reorientating themselves and making a hasty retreat.
River looks across at her, offering a single wag of his tail. He wasn’t even waiting at the end of the hallway when she got home. Apart from brief wanders around the garden twice a day to do his business he’s been happy to remain in his bed shrouded in his morphine-induced haze. Ana can’t help but feel a little envious of him for that.
‘You ready for it?’
He flips his tail again at the sound of her voice, following her with his eyes as she returns to the bench and starts cutting the steak into thin slices.
She brings the whole plate over, placing it on the floor by his snout. He rouses. It’s definitely got his interest but after a few sniffs and a tentative lick he pulls back.
‘Come on, I know you can do better than that.’
Ana picks up a slice and holds it close. This time he sits all the way up and delicately takes it from her fingers. He takes a couple more from her hand before settling back down on his bed.
He’s barely eaten anything in the last few days. Nothing of his own volition, only the small morsels she feeds him by hand. He might not be in as much pain but he’s not getting better either and if the leg was going to heal she would have seen evidence of it by now.
Ana strokes the side of River’s muzzle.
The last few days she got waylaid but that’s over now. The taste of life she was craving is quite literally dead. If she was looking for a sign, Rebecca Marsden’s death should be all she needs.
Ana collects River’s medication from the bench and crouches back down to drop some onto his tongue. Then she gets up and calmly makes her way to the phone attached to the wall by the bench. There was a message on the answer machine from Lenny when she got home earlier and another from Ruth yesterday, checking in to see how River was going on the new medication. Ana didn’t return either call but she picks up the receiver now and dials.
Her courage falters when she hears the ringtone but then Ruth picks up. Even her impersonal telephone voice is kind. A kindness Ana needs right now.
‘You promise he won’t feel any pain?’
There’s silence on the other end of the phone. Ana can hear an engine. It sounds like Ruth is driving.
‘Ana?’
In an instant it becomes real.
‘How’s River? Are you okay?’
‘Do you promise?’ Ana insists.
She hears Ruth sigh but knows there’s no judgment in it.
‘You remember all those times I’ve taken River’s blood and given him injections?’
‘He doesn’t like it.’
‘No, he doesn’t, but you’re always right there next to him and he calms down quickly. This time, because of the sedative, it’ll be like he’s floating. He won’t even notice the second jab.’
Ana remains silent.
‘I’m on my way home now but I can turn around and be there in half an hour.’
Pure panic surges through Ana’s body.
‘No, I don’t … We’re not ready … Not yet.’
‘Okay, then how about I drop by in the morning on my way to the clinic? There’s no pressure, if you’re still not ready I can just check in and see how he’s doing. How does that sound?’
Ana glances across at River. He’s looking right at her.
Tomorrow. That leaves only tonight to prepare but maybe that’s a good thing. If she can’t get her hands on Lenny’s keys she can still break the glass in the cabinet. Either way, she can do this.
‘Okay.’ Without another word she hangs up. Her hand is shaking and she clenches it to hold it still.
That’s it. In less than twenty-four hours it’ll be done. They’re not ready yet but they will be.
>
It’s just after five pm now and Lenny will be locking up soon. He might be marginally more social than she is but Ana knows him well enough to know he won’t be going anywhere on a weeknight.
Ana realises she’s still holding the medication in her other hand and stares down at it for a long moment before opening it and dropping some onto her own tongue.
She returns to River’s side and sinks down to the floor, crawling onto his bed and spooning her body around his.
River sighs and stretches out.
‘It’s okay, boy, we’ll both feel better soon.’
She lies there, waiting for the medication to take effect, hoping it won’t take long. All she wants to do now is give in and switch it all off. That feeling that she doesn’t belong, that the world out there has never wanted her in it. She’s still not entirely sure that she can do it, no matter how prepared she is. At least hers is not the hand that has to switch River off.
*
A bird’s-eye view of the body of a woman, suspended within an endless sea of green. Her naked body beautiful. An offering to some all-seeing god.
Diving down.
Closer.
Closer still.
Until the sea becomes dense forest. A tangle of verdant foliage.
Rebecca Marsden’s pale face, head pillowed by leaves and twisted branches, merging with the dark strands of her hair, becoming part of her. It looks like she’s only sleeping, whilst around her the forest pulses.
Breathing for her.
Something moves in her hair. A twig becomes a stick insect. Very much alive. It stretches out a fine limb, its whole body dancing as it takes a tentative step onto her face.
Rebecca’s eyes snap open.
Ana hangs above her suspended in the night sky, tendrils of hair floating all around her, as if submerged in water.
Gazing down at the strange reflection laid out below.
*
Ana wakes suddenly, struggling for air. Her eyes dart around the dark kitchen, disoriented for a moment, until she hears River’s light snoring. The sound immediately settles her.
Night has fallen while she dozed. By the light from the hallway, she can just make out the clock on the wall. It feels like minutes since she lay down but it’s well after eight now.
Ana rests there a moment longer, the dream lingering. Crawling its way beneath her skin. Even dead, Rebecca still holds Ana in her gaze.
Not for much longer though.
River stirs as Ana peels her way up from the floor. His sleepy eyes follow her into the hallway, where she disappears through the bathroom door.
Ana turns on the shower, cranking the taps to full. The room slowly fills with steam as she strips off, dropping her clothes in the laundry basket by the basin.
Ana steps directly under the stream, water pounding onto her head.
It’s the morphine in River’s medication making her limbs feel like they’re liquid. Not an unpleasant feeling at all.
She’s not sure if it’s the drug or Rebecca Marsden’s death that has kick-started her dreaming again, or at least helped with her recall. This one is seared into her brain and she’s tempted to write it down but for what? For who? She reminds herself to destroy the notebooks later. The thought of anyone entering that window into her head, psychoanalysing her after she’s dead, is not at all comforting. Worse even than the idea of some stranger handling her dead body.
Maybe she should just burn the whole house down, set a slow catching flame to consume it all, herself and River, along with all their ghosts.
Ana shuts the water off and reaches for a towel but stops mid-movement, captured by the ghostly image of herself staring out from the floor-to-ceiling mirror by the door. She gazes into the guarded eyes of that other version of herself behind the glass, wondering if the new owners of the house will ever feel her presence.
Perhaps they’ll hear the sharp click of River’s claws on the floorboards in the dead of night, the soft pad of Ana’s bare feet following him from room to room. Their spirits wandering together until that time, somewhere off in the future, when their imprint on the house finally fades.
Ana starts as the bathroom door is nudged open and River pushes his way in, settling himself down on the tiles at her feet.
The ghost girl and her dog gaze back at Ana through the beads of moisture trailing down the glass.
ELEVEN
Ana pulls into the drive-through at the back of the local pub. Two men are at the fridges, dragging out a case of beer. She waits, preferring to keep her distance until they’re gone. The more tired Lenny is when she arrives the better. She self-consciously adjusts her skirt and checks her face in the side mirror. She’s made some effort with her appearance but has been a bit heavy-handed with the makeup. It’s a bit like looking at a doll.
The men are leaving the counter now and as they pass by one of them catches Ana’s eye and smiles.
Is that all it takes? A bit of makeup?
Her eyes stay with him, an involuntary flutter moving through her belly when he looks back to check if she’s still looking.
In her mind she can see herself get out of the car and follow, making up some excuse to talk to him. The attraction is so immediate they have sex right there over the bonnet of his car while his mate takes a walk. It’s quick and intense and something he’ll talk about for the rest of his life. The stranger he never saw coming and never saw again.
Ana knows Kristy would say something completely lame but it would be bold enough to make a man like that laugh. Enough to hook him in. She wonders what Rebecca would say. Not the Rebecca with two kids under five. The other one.
The men reappear in their vehicle, heading for the exit. They’re in a white van.
Adrenaline floods through Ana’s body as she scrambles in her glove box for a pen. She snatches up the newspaper still on the seat beside her and is scribbling down the number plate when they turn onto the road and she gets a clear look at the back of the vehicle. There’s no red paint or evidence of a smash.
It’s not the same van.
The face Ana sees in the side mirror is flushed now. She looks down at the paper, the letters F A U roughly tattooed across Rebecca Marsden’s forehead.
Fuck Ana Up. Fuck All U. Fear …?
Why does everything always come back to fear?
Reaching into her bag she pulls out River’s pain meds. She gives herself just one more drop before slipping it into her pocket. She then pulls out some tissues and carefully wipes away most of the makeup, including the lipstick.
She wants to give Lenny the wrong impression. But not too much.
*
Ana has a bottle in a brown paper bag clutched in her hands as she climbs the external stairs at the back of the pharmacy. The morphine has done its job and dulled her heightened senses. She likes the feeling. She walks differently, her hips feel looser, more fluid. On her face, a small seductive smile appears. She’s practising, trying out a new, bolder persona, as always, lessons gleaned from watching and emulating.
A woman’s high-pitched scream halts Ana’s ascent but as the screaming continues she pushes on, climbing more quickly to the landing where she quietly approaches an open window. The woman’s screams have stopped as suddenly as they started and in the aftermath the world is eerily quiet.
Behind the glass, Lenny sits on his own engrossed in a horror film. She’s sure he’d be in his element if zombies or vampires suddenly overran the island. No doubt he already has the perfect kill weapon designed in his head.
As predicted he is well and truly in for the night. He’s changed into well-worn tracksuit pants and Uggs, although he still wears his work shirt. Take-away containers sit discarded on the coffee table next to him. On his face is an expression Ana hasn’t seen before and can’t quite read but it makes her feel like she’s caught him naked. It makes her want to retreat.
Can you really do it? Take advantage of him like this?
The movie’s soundtrack hits a peak of tens
ion, sending a sudden chill up Ana’s spine. One final scream shatters the air and is abruptly cut off, presumably signalling the grisly end to another woman’s life. Did Rebecca scream, she wonders. Did anyone hear her?
Ana resets herself and approaches the door. She pauses there, mentally adjusting the image of Lenny in her mind back to something less exposing, more generic. Only then does she knock.
The movie’s soundtrack abruptly stops, replaced by the sound of Lenny shuffling his way to open the door. His face is guarded when he sees it’s her.
‘Where did you disappear to today?’
‘I’m sorry … I wasn’t feeling so good.’ She flashes him a nervous smile.
‘Right …’
He stares back at her, giving nothing.
‘It looked like you knew her. The dead woman.’
Ana shakes her head. She didn’t. Not really.
For a moment it seems Lenny isn’t going to invite her in, until she sheepishly pulls a bottle of vodka out of the paper bag.
One of the advantages of being an observer – Ana has always rejected the label ‘voyeur’ – is you tend to pick up a lot about people. Especially the things they work hard to hide. She knows the right bait to tempt Lenny.
Sure enough, he steps aside.
As always the slightly musty smell of the place makes her want to rush to open windows. Lenny is not exactly a hoarder but the small flat is crowded with too much stuff. Only the tiny kitchen is relatively bare.
‘Have you eaten?’
Even when he’s so obviously shitty with her Lenny can’t suppress the urge to take care of her. It often annoys her but she doesn’t remember the last time she ate and she’s more than a bit light-headed from taking River’s medication on an empty stomach. That floating feeling, initially so welcoming, is vaguely unsettling now.
Ana stands there holding tightly on to the vodka while Lenny grabs bread and a pack of cheese slices from the fridge. He then flips open a cupboard, giving her access to glasses.
The short distance to the cupboard suddenly seems huge and Ana has to hang on to the edge of the bench to steady herself. She probably shouldn’t have given herself the top-up at the bottle shop.
Lonely Girl Page 7
