Swimming on Dry Land

by Helen Blackhurst

  Maddie orders drinks and sets a plate of sandwiches down in front of me. ‘Eat up,’ she says before going back over to Vera. I watch her dig her hands into her shorts pockets to retrieve her loose change, which she throws on the counter, leaving the linings of her pockets hanging out. I got her to try on a dress of mine once. I’d worn it when I was pregnant with Georgie: hyacinth blue, short sleeves, high waistline. No idea why I brought it with me. When Maddie finally got it on, she flounced around for a while, lifting up the skirt, doing a fine lady impression, all the time knocking back the beer until she broke into song – some Australian number about cakes and buns which sounded vaguely sexual – and then she caught herself in the mirror and that was it; she was doubled over, roaring with laughter, her face wet with tears. She said: Some Sheila might look awful sharp in this, but it ain’t me. I cut up the dress for dusters after that.

  Moni tips the beetle out onto the table. ‘Go on,’ she says, egging it along. The beetle doesn’t move; probably scared to death. I have the urge to crush the damn thing under my thumb. She waits a while and then scoops it back into the matchbox.

  ‘You shouldn’t keep it closed in like that. It’s cruel,’ I tell her. ‘Wash your hands before you eat.’ She’s too busy making notes in her book to reply. Her sketches are quite good, scientific-looking. Michael thinks she’s going to be an entomologist.

  Maddie sets her beer and my water on the table and slides over the Coke, which I can guarantee Moni will not touch.

  ‘Cheers,’ Maddie says, though not in a celebratory way. She flings her head back, taking a deep gulp, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her man’s shirt. ‘Why aren’t you eating?’

  I pick up one of the meat-spread sandwiches to please her.

  Maddie holds up her glass and studies the beer. ‘I can’t really believe that we’re leaving. Not that I’ll miss the place.’ She takes a few gulps.

  I keep chewing but it’s hard to swallow with the acid taste in my mouth.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Maddie asks.

  When I finally manage to down the sandwich, my eyes well up and I blubber like a fool. Moni looks at me vacantly for a moment, then she carries on drawing.

  Maddie offers me a paper napkin she has plucked from the metal holder.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, blowing my nose.

  ‘What the hell should you be sorry for? For Christ’s sake, we’ve all got our crying to do.’ She drinks the rest of her beer and waves her empty glass at the bar.

  Vera comes over with another one. ‘Might as well get rid of them. We’re not going to cart a load of crates with us.’ She sets down the glass and scrapes a hand through her short curls, holding a tea-towel in her other hand.

  ‘Cheers,’ Maddie says. ‘I’ll help you clear up later.’ She draws the fresh glass towards her.

  While Vera mops a spill from the table, she says: ‘Our Mr Harvey must be knee-deep for them to repossess like this. Houses aren’t much good to the bank out here. It’s no wonder they’re moving them by the dozen.’ She flashes the silver fillings on her bottom back teeth as she yawns. Then she peers over Moni’s shoulder at the open book. ‘That’s brilliant,’ she says, narrowing her eyes to see through the watery light. ‘I should get you to draw me.’ She laughs, a big round ball of a laugh. Maddie laughs too. And when Moni says she’s running out of paper, the pair of them start howling like wild dogs. I try to smile, I really do.

  Once the laughter dies off, Vera’s face stiffens into a series of deep-cut lines. With her cloth stretched out between both hands, she says: ‘Had you any idea how much trouble your brother-in-law was in?’ Her eyes settle on my shoulder. ‘There’s probably a lot you don’t know about that man.’ She is trying to absolve me of any responsibility.

  Even so, I resent the way it’s said. What I know or don’t know about Eddie is none of Vera’s business. ‘We all make mistakes,’ I say.

  The two women nod, although they clearly disagree. Which prompts me to add: ‘He might be a selfish bastard but he’s not a criminal.’

  I can feel Moni listening. She makes you think she’s busy with her own thing, but I know she’s listening and taking note. One day all this will be thrown back in our faces, word for word.

  Vera flexes the cloth as she speaks. ‘I wasn’t suggesting he’d broken the law.’

  ‘Mind you,’ Maddie says, ‘you don’t get that kind of money from chopping wood. I like Mr Harvey. He’s been good to us. Jake thinks he’s a gentleman. But you have to wonder. That bloody fence would have cost a small fortune, which, evidently, he doesn’t have. He’s going to be hit for a massive sum of compensation. People won’t take this lying down. Removal costs will be the least of it. I feel sorry for him, but in a way he’s had it coming for a long time.’

  Vera turns to the women at the end of the bar, signalling them over with a flick of her cloth. As they approach, Maddie draws her stool closer to mine. ‘Look,’ she says, ‘I don’t know what the hell is going on. The whole thing is a bloody nightmare. What I do know is that a new town like this shouldn’t have so many dark corners. If she was here, we would have found her. I’ll bet there won’t be a sinner left in this town come Sunday. You can’t stay.’ We both turn to watch Moni stretch out along the bench and close her eyes. The medication must be working. Maddie lowers her voice. ‘You know what’s funny; I keep remembering things … things I’ve spent my whole life trying to forget. Do you ever wonder what life would have been like if you’d done something else?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Married a different fella.’

  ‘We’ve all got regrets, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Course we have. And harping on about them does no one any good.’ She drains the last of her beer and stands up to let the other women in around the table. ‘We’ve had a collection, nothing much. Just wanted to give you something to remember us by.’ One of the women sets a small brown paper package in front of me. The thin blue ribbon reminds me of a gift Michael gave me on my first night in the country club: a gold-plated watch with my initials carved on the inside. I think I lost it at the swimming pool that summer. I didn’t wear one after that, not until Eddie bought me this one last year.

  As I look up at these expectant women staring down at me, I get that terrible ache in my chest. I shouldn’t have come. It would have been better to wait at the service station until the search is over. I don’t want their pity. The red-necked woman, who has an Irish name that is hard to pronounce, says: ‘We’d have done the same for anyone. God knows, it’s hard enough living in a town like this, without all the heartache.’ She sounds like she’s reciting lines from a play.

  ‘Sit down,’ Maddie says, gesturing to the remaining three before sinking back into her own chair. ‘You’re making the poor woman nervous.’

  A few of them laugh.

  ‘Go on then, open it; it won’t bite.’ Maddie lifts the package and puts it squarely in my hands. I pull the ribbon loose and tear at the brown paper.

  For a few seconds, I just stare at it, and then I say: ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Maddie fastens the inlaid opal bracelet around my wrist. ‘There you go,’ she says. Then the women put their warm sweaty hands on my skin and squeeze my arms and shoulders.

  ‘You can’t go forgetting us now.’ Vera laughs.

  I hug her. I hug each of them. ‘So kind, thank you.’ I keep saying thank you. And I mean it. From the bottom of my heart.

  ‘To the Akarula women!’ the red-neck says.

  We all join in: ‘To the Akarula women!’ Glasses are raised and chinked in solidarity before the real drinking begins. I float between conversations, catching snippets, moving on before I get involved, keeping my eye on Moni, who is asleep despite the noise. It’s amazing how loud seven women can be. At one point I lean in close to Moni’s mouth to check she is still breathing.

  Three rounds later, the red-neck stands, announcing that she is going to finish packing, and the momenta
ry thread that has bound us together snaps. One by one the women leave. No one knows how to say goodbye.

  ‘Why don’t we all go?’ Maddie says to those still drinking.

  ‘That’s right, desert the sinking ship.’ Vera grins and flaps her hands. ‘Go on then, bugger off. It’s about time I got this lot cleared up. The men will be in soon.’

  She clutches an armful of bottles, which clank together tunelessly as she retreats behind the bar. Without another word we gather our things. I jostle Moni awake and follow the others out. Gradually the women separate, each heading off towards their own front door.

  ‘Why don’t you wait with me?’ Maddie asks, dragging us along the road. Her eyes are heavy with drink; she is no longer able to hold a smile.

  ‘We’ll go and meet them,’ I say, pulling back. ‘Thanks. For everything.’

  ‘Next time,’ Maddie says, lurching towards me and clutching my face between her hands. She kisses me on the lips and then kisses Moni’s forehead before staggering off towards her house. There won’t be a next time.

  The heat has fallen out of the day. It is impossible to say how much time has passed. Moni spots the men out on the far side of the Wattle Creek road, small and indistinct from this distance. She says: ‘Do you think they’ve found her?’

  I set out towards them, but have to stop and wait for Moni; she’s so slow. ‘Stop dragging your feet. I’m tired too.’ I attempt to lift her and my back gives way. The men are heading towards us; they must have finished. I drag Moni by the arm and walk as fast as I can with this drilling pain at the base of my spine.

  Eventually we get close enough to pick out faces from the line of men. I check between their legs for Georgie, even thought I know. Michael trails at the back of the group, and what I think of is that wet stormy day in Whitley Bay when my seven-year-old self got washed out to sea by a freak wave and nearly drowned. A man with a stripy wool scarf swam out and rescued me. He carried me along the promenade. It all happened so quickly, there was no time to be afraid.

  Detective Delaney towers head and shoulders above the line. When we are close enough, she signals in her abrupt way. We turn as she approaches and accompany her to the detectives’ portacabin, which I thought they had vacated. Moni walks between Delaney and me, clutching her matchbox.

  When we are at the door, Delaney explains. ‘There are a few papers to sign. I’m sorry.’ She’s not sorry; she doesn’t even try to sound sorry. Michael comes up behind us and rests his hands on Moni’s shoulders. He scarcely acknowledges me.

  ‘Where did you go?’ I start to say, but he has moved on into the portacabin and my voice bounces off his hard back.

  The room is cramped; there is a damp papery smell. I get lodged in a corner behind a plastic table, amidst boxes, which I can only assume contain items found on various searches. The insects get louder as the heat dies away, drowning out any thoughts that try to surface, except one that punches the inside of my head. She’s gone.

  Delaney reaches across the table and takes up a folder, which she hands to Michael. ‘I’ve marked the places where you need to sign.’

  Then she pulls down a polythene bag from the shelf above my head and passes me Moni’s orange cardigan. I take it out of the bag and press the wool against my cheek; it still smells faintly of Georgie: powdered, musty, eggs on toast. Moni steps out from behind Michael and yanks the cardigan from my hands, and then she puts it on. She stands there in that orange cardigan as if she’s making some kind of statement. I have to stop myself from slapping her. I want to scream. I swallow hard; it rises up, again and again, like a surge of vomit, not quite breaking through.

  While I’m signing my bit, Eddie comes in looking shattered. I almost feel sorry for him. Detective Walsh is right behind him.

  ‘We’re not finished,’ Eddie says, staring wildly around the room.

  ‘Sit down.’ Delaney offers him one of the flimsy deckchairs. ‘We’ve been over everywhere a dozen times,’ she says briskly. ‘We’re as baffled as you are.’

  Baffled? How can she say she is baffled, as if this is a quiz or some crossword puzzle?

  ‘I thought you might have stayed until your job was done,’ I say.

  ‘The only option now is to widen the search. We just needed to tie up these loose ends today.’ Delaney pulls back her lips, showing off her obtrusive front teeth.

  In my rush to get outside, I knock over one of the boxes. I follow the track back across to the street, running until the wire fence stops me. Finally that scream bursts out, taking with it the last shreds of hope, scattering them about like breadcrumbs for those wretched birds to eat.

  The remaining houses loom ghostly white against the reddening sky as I make my way back … I was going to say home, but this is not home; it has never been my home. There is nothing that reminds me of what I’ve done, people I’ve known, familiar landmarks. Whatever was here before we came is hidden in a mass of rocks and scrub and red brown wilderness that no one cares enough about to name. What was it that Eddie found so captivating about this place?

  I get to the caravan without knowing how. Moni and Michael must be over at Eddie’s by now. Switching on the light, I stand for a moment, trying to register the changes. There are boxes everywhere, and a suitcase laid out on the bed with clothes flung in randomly. Michael’s clothes. Without thinking, I take the clothes out, fold them neatly and repack them. He has crammed some of Georgie’s things into a box with Moni’s books: toys and shoes, the sponge crocodile Eddie bought her for the bath.

  The table is covered with scraps of paper: Michael’s notes for his new article. These last few days he’s been working on it through the night. With the boxes in the way, I don’t see Moni at first; there is so much clutter. Part of her leg shows, just above her knee.

  ‘Moni?’ I step over the boxes to get to the table, and bend down to speak to her. ‘What are you doing?’ She is lying on her back with her arms stretched out by her sides, eyes closed.

  ‘Practising,’ she says.

  ‘Practising for what?’

  She opens her eyes.

  ‘Get up,’ I say. ‘The floor’s filthy. Where’s Dad?’

  ‘He told me to wait here. We’re leaving tomorrow. Georgie’s dead, isn’t she?’ She climbs out from underneath the table and sits cross-legged on the cushioned seat opposite me.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll see her again,’ I say, gripping the edge of the table between us.

  Moni nods. I do everything in my power not to cry, swallowing over and over until the pain is pushed right down. It’s easy to forget that Moni is only eleven. We look across at each other.

  ‘You hungry?’ I ask, swallowing again.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Me neither. We should eat something though. Let’s go and see what Uncle Eddie has in the fridge.’

  We step out into the crisp evening air. It’s amazing how quickly the heat disappears once the sun goes down. I keep Moni close to me as we make our way across the tarmac, and then I shout, ‘Race you!’ running as fast as I can towards the shop. I slow down when I get to the pumps and watch Moni speed past me, her arms flapping as if she is trying desperately to fly.

  We fall into the shop breathless, and both collapse against the counter. The shutters are down. After a few heavy breaths, I catch Michael’s voice coming from the sitting room.

  ‘Who was it?’

  Eddie’s there too. ‘I don’t know. All of them.’ He sounds defensive.

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you stop them?’ Something crashes, a thud; I can’t tell what.

  ‘Who is looking after him?’ Michael’s voice again.

  Moni looks at me and whispers, ‘Why is Dad shouting?’

  I march up to the door and am about to grab the handle when it swings open. Michael stands there, staring wide-eyed at me. Neither of us speaks.

  And then Moni steps between us. ‘We’re going to make some supper. Are you hungry?’

  He puts his hand on her head. ‘Not now.’ Look
ing at my chin, he says, ‘There’s been an accident.’ His voice is squashed.

  I call after him as the door closes. ‘What accident?’

  The sitting room is a mess, the model town strewn across the floor. The base is broken in two parts. Moni scrabbles around retrieving all the buildings, and attempts to piece the model back together. It will never be the same as it was.

  Eddie’s voice comes out of nowhere. ‘They were like a pack of hyenas.’

  I spin round to find him pressed up against the back wall. The sight of him makes me shudder. ‘Did Michael hit you?’ He is covered in blood and his shirt is torn.

  He shakes his head, stuttering: ‘I tried to stop them. They wouldn’t stop. Kept shouting things, horrible things. They tore him apart.’

  I move closer to examine his face. There are no cuts.

  ‘Mr M’s in a desperate state,’ he says.

  It takes me a moment to understand what has happened. ‘I’ll go and help Michael,’ I say, but Eddie bars the door.

  ‘It’s not safe. There was too much drink, too much free drink, with the bar closing.’

  Mr M’s blood is drying on Eddie’s face as he leaves.

  Moni asks me to explain. I tell her there was a fight, which Uncle Eddie tried to stop. As I go through the door I say, ‘It’ll be alright.’ If she could see my face, she’d know I was lying.

  There are days-old dishes piled up in the kitchen sink, breakfast still on the table. I open the fridge and throw out the rotten milk, cheese and sliced ham that hasn’t been covered. I make some pasta and stick a plate of sweet biscuits on the tray. Mr M loved my girls, I know he did. How could they think that he would hurt my little girl?

  Moni is scribbling in her book when I return with the food. She has managed to piece the model back to its original order. ‘The train station is broken,’ she says, putting her book down and picking up the small model station.