Swimming on Dry Land

by Helen Blackhurst

  I’ve been waiting for this moment, picturing Michael’s fury in my head. But this silence is worse than anything either of us might have said. Michael has always hated conflict. Every argument we’ve ever had ends up with him taking refuge in a newspaper, or walking out, while I carry on shouting. But in a strange way, now that it’s done, I feel lighter, anaesthetised. You had it coming. Serves you right. Don’t come crying to me.

  The tape is still running when I pick up the cine-camera, just a blank screen. I go into the sitting room and throw the vile thing onto the settee, along with the lunch box.

  Moni is bent forwards, holding onto her knees, gibbering at the wall in front of her. ‘Did you see them? Who locked them behind those doors? Georgie can’t get out.’

  When I go over, her voice gets more panicked. I kneel beside the camp bed and take hold of her arms. ‘You were dreaming. It’s just a dream. Come on, let’s blow it away.’ I blow, letting go of her arms, and tinkle my fingers in the air as if I can see the dream fritter into nothing. But Moni can’t see it; she can’t see anything. She is no longer four years old, when these things used to work magic. Where did the time go?

  I can feel her shrinking away from me. The loneliness of the last two weeks sits between us like a judge – she doesn’t seem to recognise my face.

  ‘Moni, please,’ I beg. She turns to the wall.

  She has grown thin, withered, like a victim of war. Everything has changed. Even this room looks starker, or else I hadn’t noticed the lack of paintings before. And it scares me. It terrifies me, being this close to the edge.

  Eddie doesn’t come back until mid-afternoon, when he collapses in a chair and closes his eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask, laying down the book I’ve been reading to Moni. He knows something; he has found something. I stand up, feeling my body go hard so that whatever he throws at me won’t get through. ‘Eddie?’ He doesn’t answer me, keeps his eyes shut. ‘Eddie!’ I go over to him, reach out and grab his arms tightly as I shout into his self-affirming ears: ‘Where have you been?’

  His eyes flash open, and for a second he stares at Moni – she has picked up the book and seems engrossed – then he clutches the seat cushion on either side of his legs, straightening up, and starts in a whisper. ‘I thought I’d find her. I woke up knowing where she was. I ran as fast as I could to the mine track. She was lying on the ground. I saw her, I almost saw her there.’ He stops, defeated. When he eventually carries on, his voice has levelled out into a flat bass note. ‘I was so sure she was there.’ He lets out this pitiable cry that frightens Moni.

  I help her out of the bed and coax her into the hall. ‘Wait here.’

  Then I go back to Eddie. ‘Did you see Michael? Did you talk to him?’ He shakes his head. I don’t tell him that Michael knows. It hardly seems to matter. ‘Are you trying to say that after all this time you’ve decided to look for Georgie? Is that it?’

  ‘I looked everywhere.’

  The storm inside me finally breaks, and it is over, wiped out, as if we never really began. When I leave, I feel as if I’m closing the door on a stranger.

  Karlin is serving the red-necked woman who lives opposite Maddie. She lifts up the counter flap and pushes out a stool for me to sit on. ‘You alright, honey? Can I get you anything?’

  I bundle Moni onto the stool. The other woman – it is not just her neck, her whole face is red-swollen with a grainy finish – pushes her petrol coupons across the counter. She says: ‘I’ll be going out again this afternoon,’ obviously feeling that she needs to excuse herself for doing something else.

  ‘I appreciate your help,’ I say. And I do, I really do; they’ve all been so good. The red-necked woman presses my arm before she leaves. Though I smile, I could scream at her. None of them have any idea what it is like: being plagued by the fear of what Georgie might be going through, and not being able to help. There could not be a worse form of torture. I sometimes think it would be easier if we knew Georgie were dead.

  When the door closes behind her, I ask Karlin to mind Moni for an hour or two. ‘Maddie said she’d help me look around the mine road again.’

  Her breath stops just short of a sigh. ‘You do what you have to do,’ she says, scooping the money and coupons off the counter and slipping them into the register. ‘Of course I’ll watch her.’ She swings round to Moni. ‘We’ve got plenty of pricing to do.’ Then she runs her hand up along the length of her other arm from her wrist to her elbow, as if she’s pushing back a sleeve, before grabbing a handful of mint mojos from the jar beside the till. She tips them into Moni’s hands.

  ‘What do you say?’ I prompt, hating myself for sounding like my dad.

  ‘Thank you,’ Moni says in a perfunctory way, adding, ‘These are Georgie’s favourite.’ She is right; they are Georgie’s favourite, those and the strawberry ones. Karlin nods, attempting to hold a neutral face, but the corners of her mouth twitch a little.

  I wave back at Moni, who is peeling the wrapper from a sweet, and wonder how we ever reached this point.

  Maddie meets me on the road. With her plaid shirt tucked into the waistband of her trousers, she looks like a man.

  ‘I was just on my way,’ she says, tugging her cotton head scarf further forward to shield her eyes. ‘Saw Michael this morning. He needs to take a break. He was staggering. You don’t look much better yourself. I suppose you’ve heard the latest?’ I wait for her to carry on. ‘There’s a fence being put up, a great big bastard of a thing. The gates are already rigged across the road.’ We walk together as Maddie points over to the men in the distance working on the fence. It looks hideous.

  ‘Do you know where Michael is?’ I ask.

  ‘Heading to the mine with those detectives.’ She doesn’t say it, but I know she’s thinking what they are all thinking – that we’ve looked everywhere.

  We walk towards Mr M, who is sheltering underneath the tree. It’s a beautiful tree, maybe more so because it’s the only one. With its white bark, and the way the branches twist out like arms, it seems almost human.

  ‘Look at him,’ Maddie says scornfully. ‘You’d think he’d be ashamed to sit around while the rest of us are searching night and day. God knows we’ve raked every inch.’ Maddie sucks in her lips for a second before starting to say something else, but then she stops halfway through a sentence. Once we get level with Mr M, I turn and head straight over to the tree without knowing quite why. I’ve never spoken to him before. We’ve exchanged smiles and waves when I’ve picked up the girls, but we’ve never actually spoken. Yet I feel as if he knows me. Moni used to sit with him for hours. Of course now she’s not allowed out on her own.

  I try to speak but nothing comes and so I stand there in a haze of silence.

  He remains motionless, a quiet silvery expression playing across his face, and then he says: ‘I’m sorry your daughter’s gone. I don’t know why it had to be a child.’ He doesn’t look at me but at my shadow, running his eyes along the outline.

  I gaze at him for a while, speechless.

  Maddie’s voice makes me flinch. ‘Caroline!’

  And still I can’t find a way to leave. Georgie thought the world of him. She and Moni drew his portrait. I’ve got them stuck up on the caravan wall: squiggles really, in Georgie’s case anyway, but somehow she managed to capture him. As he slowly lifts his eyes to look at me, I feel as if I know what he is thinking, almost, as if he is telling me whatever it is I need to know. I don’t move until I feel Maddie’s hand on my arm. She yanks me away forcefully.

  When we get back to the road, she starts. ‘You’re better off leaving him alone. Let the police sort it out.’

  ‘Sort what out?’

  ‘Let them do their job.’

  I haven’t got the heart to continue this discussion.

  We walk right through the street and out the other side, picking up ten or so women on the way. I can’t get Mr M out of my mind. He has one of those oak-aged faces that are timeless: full of trees a
nd rivers and wild animals. He blends into the landscape as if he belongs, as if he was born from that tree. Georgie used to call him Markarrwala; he even warranted her favourite word, BLAST, a word reserved for the privileged few.

  We spread out in a line and study the ground. It’s like a ritual we are bound by, these daily searches. When I’m out, raking the ground for clues, I feel released – the simple act of moving frees my mind. Do I believe she’s still alive after fifteen days? I don’t know. Not really. The odds are close to impossible, but there is always that tiny whisper of hope. Without that, I couldn’t go on.

  After an hour or so, my neck starts to ache and the ridges and small mounds that jut out just above the surface seem huge and insurmountable. I forget I am surrounded by endless space. We don’t talk much; there is nothing to say. Every now and then someone finds a drinks bottle, a pen or a coin, and we all take a look to see if it can tell us more than the fact that someone dropped it there. Every time something is found, I feel myself break away from my skin. The objects are put into a plastic bag, just in case, and passed on to the detectives.

  We find a crisp packet that has been shrunk in a fire, what looks like the needle from a watch, and a ring, a copper ring. I try to inject them all with meaning, but it’s hard, after all this time. I am so tired.

  In a few hours we head back, past the stretch of fence that snakes around the street and part of the old mine, penning us in like cattle. Against the fading light, the wire looks ominous. Maddie suggests a drink.

  ‘I’m going to check on Moni,’ I say, thanking the women individually.

  But Maddie insists. ‘You’ll be no use to anyone if you don’t mind yourself.’

  The rest of the women hustle me into the bar before I get a chance to object.

  A few men playing pool look up as we take our seats. They don’t know what to say. No one really knows what to say anymore. The two detectives are sitting at the counter having supper. When Delaney spots me, she comes over, pulling up a stool next to mine. She doesn’t need to explain that they have found nothing more. It’s written all over her face.

  ‘We’ll be leaving tomorrow,’ she says, prodding a finger in her teeth, fishing out the remnants of whatever she has just eaten. ‘Your daughter may have been taken away, either by road or air. We’ve alerted police stations across the country. They’ve all got a photograph of Georgina. There’s nothing more we can do, I’m afraid.’ She locks her hands together in a patronising way. ‘If she’s been taken away, we have a chance of finding her. Your husband gave me a recent photograph.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  She shrugs; it seems an effort for her to lift her bulky shoulders.

  I’m glad to escape.Dusk reddens the sky as I walk through the street towards the service station, past what would have been the last house, now a naked patch of land with a poorly kept lawn in front. I stop at the edge of the bush, where the road bends round, at the point where you can no longer see the street. With what is left of me, I make my plea: Please come back. I should have told you every day how much I loved you. We’ll keep looking. We’ll look for as long as it takes. Pleeease come back. I can’t tell whether the words leave my mouth or not. My legs give way and I slump down in the dirt. I keep talking to Georgie, trying to see her in my mind’s eye, but everything is blurred.

  Michael’s voice echoes in my ear and then I feel him wrap his arm around my waist and pull me up. Even now, I can’t tell if I am dreaming.

  ‘Come on,’ he says, gently easing me forwards as I lean into him. We follow the beam of the torch, staying in the centre of the road to avoid the ruts that have been driven deep by removal trucks. I want to beg him to forgive me, but I can’t seem to find a single word, and so I let him talk.

  ‘Karlin went home. Eddie’s looking after Moni. He was out all day. Says as soon as I get back, he’ll go out again.’ There is no trace of anger or sadness in his voice, just quiet resignation. ‘You need to sleep.’

  My mouth is so dry it hurts. He leads me through the open area of the service station towards the caravan and helps me up the steps.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say something?’ I ask, willing him to shout at me.

  ‘There’s some pasta in the pan.’ He turns away. ‘I made it about an hour ago. I’ll sleep with Moni tonight.’

  ‘Will you stay for a minute?’

  His boots echo against the tarmac as he leaves.

  I lie on our bed, fully clothed, and gaze up at the peeling yellow paintwork on the ceiling. There is a crack running right down the wall. Michael didn’t want to move here; he came because of me. I convinced him, making out this place was a palace, our very own holiday home. It was me who stuck those stupid pictures on the wall. I bought them in Wattle Creek: Sydney Harbour, Ayres Rock, a dazed-looking koala bear. Who was I kidding? I thought if we were somewhere new, things might go back to normal, to how they were before Michael drove into that boy. I thought we could build the kind of life we always wanted for the girls. I actually believed it was possible to live that dream Eddie had spun so perfectly. Eddie doesn’t care about me, not really. What he cares about is his precious town. But these people aren’t cardboard cut-outs he can just move around and buy off every once in a while. They’ll move. We’d still be in England if I hadn’t insisted, getting on with our small lives that weren’t that bad. All four of us.

  A few weeks ago, Michael was talking about going home. I told him we should stay another month. Eddie had promised us a house; I wanted so much for us to have our own house. Or was it that I wanted Eddie? Why didn’t I listen? I knew he was right.

  While we wait for Maddie, I pace in front of the sitting-room window, going over the words of a new song in my head. I revise the longer lines, knocking out surplus notes, and then I try singing the whole thing out loud. Moni stops writing in her notebook and listens intently. Because I can’t get through the whole verse, I end up whispering the last line.

  Moni says, ‘Georgie will like that.’

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It made you cry.’

  I look out at the caravan for a while, and then say, ‘Why don’t we make your dad some lunch.’

  ‘It’s not lunchtime.’

  ‘It will be.’

  Moni grudgingly follows me into the kitchen. I cut the bread and do the pasting while she wraps. We make a few extra rounds for the women.

  As I’m packing the sandwiches into a bag, Moni asks, ‘Do dead babies float?’

  I have no reply, so she goes on.

  ‘If their stomachs blow up like balloons, they’ll float. I was wondering….’

  ‘Pass me that knife.’ How does she get such thoughts in her head?

  Thankfully Maddie arrives, but the damage is done. Now I have this image of babies floating down a river, hundreds of them, bobbing around like plastic dolls.

  ‘What are you up to?’ Maddie asks, her broad face creased in a thin smile. ‘By the way, I just saw the Wartons leaving. I think Queeny’s taking over the store until the place clears out. Her hubby’s decided to jack in the mine and help too. They’ve said they’ll stay to the end.’ Though she is still smiling, the lines on her forehead deepen.

  ‘There’s plenty of beer in the cool box. Help yourself,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t be out there all day.’ She taps my arm.

  ‘Thanks for this.’

  I check around, feeling as if I’ve forgotten something. ‘I won’t be long,’ I tell Moni as I leave. She ignores me, too busy drawing some poor insect she has imprisoned in that matchbox of hers.

  Michael is standing on the tarmac, squinting up at three parrots perched on the roof. His legs have regained their muscular appearance; he looks fitter with his brown skin.

  ‘I forgot my sunglasses,’ he says when he sees me.

  I stand close to him and watch the birds gather air under their wings to cool off. ‘I made you sandwiches.’

&nb
sp; ‘No thanks.’

  (We’re all sick and tired of sandwiches.)

  ‘They look sad,’ I say. The largeness of the sky seems to shrink the parrots into mantelpiece ornaments. ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘If you want. Eddie is on the other side of the mine.’

  Michael suddenly takes off. I try to keep up. We don’t talk, just scan the road for signs. A sense of hopelessness takes over me; the farther we go, the worse it gets. When we reach the scrub grass on the other side of the street, Michael says: ‘I’d prefer to do this on my own.’

  I nod and start walking away from him; it is as though we are already miles apart. After some time, the sandwiches weigh heavy, so I take them out of their wrapping and break them up, letting the crumbs fall to the ground.

  Moni makes me wear the plain green thin-strapped dress with the patent cream belt and cream piped edging.

  ‘It’s Dad’s favourite,’ she says. ‘He’ll be disappointed if you don’t dress up.’

  (I always dress up for Michael’s birthday.) She pulls out the pair of pearl earrings Michael bought me for our fifth wedding anniversary, and insists I paint my lips and spray perfume on my wrists.

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ she says, flaring her nostrils at the smell.

  I switch off the oven and lift out the cake. Perhaps she’s right. We can’t go on ignoring life.

  ‘Have you got Dad’s present?’ I ask. The David Attenborough book we ordered came in on the mail plane last week.

  After a slapdash icing session, Moni mounts the cake on a plate and carries it outside. It seems to take us for ever to reach the house, with Moni doing pigeon steps so as not to upset the cake. As we pass through the shop, Karlin tells us that Eddie has been out since daybreak. Thank God. I can’t bear the idea of seeing him.

  ‘Dad!’ Moni shouts from the sitting room.