Like I Can Love

by Kim Lock

  Is this even real?

  Fairlie is waiting to wake up and discover that the past couple of weeks have all been some sort of catastrophic, horrifying nightmare. Thunder cracks and rumbles across the sky again, closer this time. The birds have gone silent.

  Slowly, she opens her eyes.

  A flat grey concrete floor, swept free of dirt and dust. Plasterboard walls, twin fluorescent tubes in the plasterboard ceiling. In the far left corner, pushed against the back wall, a plain brown cardboard box with She’s Apples stamped on one side. Otherwise, the unit is empty.

  Fairlie stares at the box, hands hanging limp like chicken carcases at her sides. Jenna didn’t like apples – the skin got stuck in tiny annoying pieces between her teeth. She flicks a light switch and the fluoros tick and buzz overhead.

  The box has no lid. Approaching slowly, Fairlie squats, her fingertips touch the concrete.

  Inside the box is a large stack of spiral-bound notebooks with hard covers, held together with two giant elastic bands. Fairlie counts eight in total. Pulling one book out, she flicks through the pages. Columns of dates and figures, it looks like old-style accounting books. Headings like Month, Sales, Cash, Supplier. Were these the books Ark was looking for? She slots the notebook back in the box and continues to flick through the contents. An A4-sized envelope filled with papers. On top of the stack of books is a creamy yellow manila folder, a large paperclip affixed to the top, from which the edges of a few sheets of paper protrude. Scribbled in red pen on the front of the folder, in Jenna’s handwriting, are the words, I love you.

  Fairlie’s hand descends into the box, towards the final item. Small and square, and not much bigger than a teacup, the hinged box is covered in dark, padded red velvet. It’s the larger variety of jewellery box, the kind that encloses bracelets or watches. Taking it into her hand, she runs a thumb over the tiny hinges, over the snug closure between the two halves.

  Her mobile phone shrills into the silence. Fairlie startles, her fingers snapping tight around the box. Fumbling in her pocket, she withdraws her phone.

  It’s Ark.

  Henry.

  When she answers, her voice echoes around the bare walls.

  ‘Fairlie? How does . . . how did Jenna get Henry to eat anything?’

  ‘Oh hey, it’s nice to talk to you, too,’ Fairlie says.

  A frustrated huff comes down the line. ‘I can’t get him to eat anything.’

  Fairlie frowns, unable to tear her eyes from the velvet box clenched in her fist. ‘I’m sure he hasn’t been starving for a fortnight.’

  ‘Of course he’s eaten something,’ Ark snaps. ‘But he mostly just cries. I’m getting . . .’ She hears the resignation in his voice. ‘I’m getting tired of it, Fairlie. I need my life back. I need . . .’ He breaks off.

  Fairlie’s heart squeezes. ‘Hey, it’s been rough on him.’

  ‘Rough on him?’ Ark repeats. ‘You have no idea.’

  Clamping her teeth, she pushes down a swell of anger.

  ‘You think this is easy for me?’ he asks, exhaling forcibly.

  Fairlie uncurls her fingers from the jewellery box. A large clap of thunder judders the shed walls and the first drops of rain tick against the tin roof.

  ‘You there?’ he says after a while. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I got rid of all those boxes of Jenna’s stuff today, and I want to get on with my life. With Henry’s life.’

  He got rid of everything of Jenna’s. Everything.

  ‘Give yourselves some time,’ she says, running her thumb over the velvet box. ‘You can’t rush grief, Ark. And try some pear slices,’ she adds, clearing her throat. ‘Poached in a bit of brown sugar and cinnamon. Oh, and raisins.’ She swipes a tear from her cheek. ‘Make sure you lay them out in a line or a shape and he’ll go nuts. I’m . . .’ Her own voice leaves her then; what can she say? Does Ark know about this storage unit, the jewellery box she holds in her hand?

  This is between you and me only, sister.

  ‘I’m in the middle of something,’ she finishes. ‘I’m in the Mount, but . . .’ She hesitates, looking out into the sunlight. ‘I would like to come and see Henry again. I feel terrible about it,’ she admits. ‘I’ve been slack not coming to check on him.’

  ‘He’s with his father, Fairlie.’

  ‘Oh. I didn’t mean to imply –’ She shakes her head. ‘Of course he is. But please – I won’t stay long. I have some things of Jenna’s to drop off, anyway,’ she lies.

  A short silence issues down the line. ‘Actually, there are some things I need to do. If you’re really insistent on seeing him maybe I can drop him at your house for a few hours?’

  ‘Yes!’ Fairlie says. ‘I’d be delighted to babysit. Any time.’

  ‘This weekend?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Fairlie tells him. A smile tugs at her mouth.

  Hanging up and snugging the phone back into her pocket, she feels a small weight lift from her shoulders.

  Her hand flat, she regards the jewellery box in her palm.

  She picks it up and carefully opens the lid.

  14

  THEN

  ‘Keep your eyes closed,’ Ark murmured, his breath tickling her ear. ‘Watch out for the step.’

  Jenna squeezed her eyes shut and gripped Ark’s hand. The warmth of him brushed against her back, their feet shuffled together, toe to heel. He leaned away momentarily to hold open the front door as she clumsily navigated the step.

  ‘What’s going on?’ She giggled nervously.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Their feet clunked across the deck; a delicate breeze trembled across her bare ankles.

  ‘Is this going to take long? I don’t know how much longer Henry will nap for.’

  ‘Relax, would you?’

  Just as she prepared to navigate the steps from the deck to the driveway, Ark halted. ‘Okay. Open them.’

  Sunlight flared bright and she shielded her eyes with her hand, squinting against the abrupt change. She searched the front yard: the rustling of new grape leaves, streaky cottonwool clouds dashing across the sky.

  ‘What am I looking at?’ She glanced back over her shoulder at Ark. He was jiggling on the balls of his feet.

  ‘Your car,’ he said, smiling.

  Jenna looked along length of the verandah to where her car was parked beside the shed. Going on ten years old now, she’d bought the Ford Laser with her first loan when she’d finished TAFE. It had been faithful and reliable and that was all that mattered. Over the past few years the cherry red paint had begun to fade, but now it gleamed. Light bounced from its contours and the alloy wheels shone polished silver.

  ‘You washed my car!’ Jenna exclaimed with a laugh. ‘Thanks. It needed it.’

  He gave a gallant bow. ‘There’s a surprise for you on the front seat.’

  Giving him another quizzical smile, she approached the car and peered through the window. ‘Oh, you didn’t,’ she said softly as she opened the door. A sweet and damp floral scent wafted out. On the passenger seat sat an enormous bouquet of white lilies. Blooms brushed the roof and leaned to the dashboard. A knot formed beneath her ribs. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Ark wrapped his arms around her, pressed his lips to her forehead. ‘I’m so proud of you, facing the depression,’ he said. ‘You’re trying so hard. I know things have been a bit . . . rough, between us, and I’m sorry for that. But I want to make a fresh start.’

  ‘Ark . . .’ she began.

  ‘You don’t need to say anything.’ He drew away and gave her a fond look. ‘We both say things we don’t mean when we’re angry. We’re both to blame.’ He hugged her again, rested his chin atop her head. Taut ropes of muscle running up his spine shifted beneath her palms; he smelled of fresh laundry and cologne.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he whispered. ‘I know you love me, even when you don�
�t show it.’

  Irritation flickered through her. She wanted to tell him she was frightened; she wanted to remind him that she had heard this before, that he didn’t have to make these dramatic gestures – she just didn’t want to fight in the first place. She wanted to feel trustworthy, useful, respectable. Guiltily, she heard an echo of her own harsh words. In her mind’s eye flashed the calm mask of his face as her frustration erupted into throwing things, clenched fists pounding her own breast, scathing accusations spitting from her lips like darts.

  And as she swallowed a curl of nausea, her thoughts slunk down to what was growing in her belly and she wanted to tell him what could not happen – the truth that could not eventuate.

  ii

  Despite growing accustomed to it, hitting send on yet another rejection to Fairlie still gnawed at her. It had been weeks since she’d seen her. Shoving the phone in her pocket, Jenna drew her legs up to her chest and rested her cheek on her knees, leaning sideways into the couch. From across the lounge room floor, Henry made growling noises as he slammed a wooden block into the colourful toy xylophone.

  Her excuses were growing more pathetic: Sorry, I’m not feeling well; or Ark’s out and Henry needs to sleep; or even, I need to go to the supermarket.

  The hard edge of her phone dug into her hip, as though burning a hole in there, and she knew that she wouldn’t receive a reply from Fairlie now. Although that was easier in one respect, in another it hurt far more. Because, if she didn’t see Fairlie, that was one less thing for Ark to complain about.

  But the less she saw Fairlie, the more pieces inside her turned to stone.

  Henry stood and ran clumsily to her. The way her face felt slack and expressionless when she looked at him failed to shock her now.

  He blinked up at her, then opened his fist. ‘Mumma?’ Inside his hand was a marble. Clear glass with a toothpaste-like swirl of green trapped inside. Ark had taught Henry to give any small items – choking hazards – he found to adults. As a result, throughout the day Jenna was handed all manner of small items: pebbles, dead insects, hairclips. He was giving her the marble. Not even two years old and he was already more responsible than her.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she told him. ‘You can have it.’

  There was a knock at the front door. Jenna paused, ear cocked towards the rear of the house, but there was silence from Ark’s office. The knock came again so she sighed and slipped from the couch, stepping over Henry on her way past.

  A white van idled in the driveway. A slow rain was falling, swirly and mist-like. The deliveryman smiled at her from under a red cap, holding a thick parcel. ‘Jenna Rudolph?’

  The package was a book she had ordered online. Struggling to find any motivation to prepare healthy dinners, she had ordered a collection of recipes for the slow cooker. Set and Forget, the book was titled.

  ‘How’s this weather?’ the deliveryman said, rubbing his arms briskly.

  ‘Typical southeast,’ she said. ‘Wait twenty minutes and it’ll probably be too hot.’

  ‘You’re Jenna Walker, right?’ he said. ‘We went to Mount High together.’

  Jenna looked him up and down. ‘Sorry, do I know you?’

  ‘Jeremy Lukas. I think we had drama together. Or something.’

  ‘Oh! Of course. Sorry, I’ve still got baby brain.’ She hugged the parcel to her chest. In the lounge room, Henry gave a drawn-out whine. ‘Anyway, thanks.’ She patted the parcel, making to step back. ‘I’d better . . .’

  ‘No worries.’ The man nodded, then shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Great place you got here. Yours?’

  ‘My husband’s.’ She couldn’t help the small swell of pride that rolled through her – the acknowledgement of fortune, of being someone with something to talk about. But almost immediately, as that realisation dawned, her pride turned to shame. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, she thought bitterly.

  The deliveryman whistled, turning to take in the long gravel drive, the picturesque lines of grapes just bursting into bud.

  ‘It’ll look better in summer, in a few weeks,’ she told him, ‘when they’re in full leaf.’

  Henry wailed.

  The boy from high school turned back to her. ‘It was good to see you. You’re looking well.’ He said it genuinely, respectfully.

  She rolled her eyes as Henry gave an indignant shriek to rouse the dead. ‘Yeah, mashed carrot is great for the hair.’

  Jeremy Lukas laughed and started to respond, but a hand appeared from behind Jenna and pulled the parcel quietly from her arms. An arm wrapped around her shoulder and she took a step back, into the doorway.

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ Ark said quickly, ‘cheers.’

  Jenna saw a look of surprise flicker across the deliveryman’s face, before the door was pushed closed.

  In the lounge room, as Henry cried and grabbed at her pants, Ark raked her from head to toe with his gaze.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘No one,’ she answered. ‘We went to school together.’

  He took a step closer. ‘You fuck him?’

  Jenna’s voice was icy. ‘No.’

  His stare took in her every detail: undone hair, tracksuit, tense posture.

  ‘You should pay attention to the men in your life that matter. Your husband and your son. Not some dickhead who comes to the door.’

  iii

  ‘Are you asleep, babe?’

  Ark’s voice sounded muffled, barely breaking through the swampy haze in her head. Swimming: she was swimming. Floating. It was peaceful, and warm, and she ignored the sound of his voice. Blankets slipped away as Ark moved closer, a breath of cold air stealing over her skin. Hair lifted away. Strokes and kisses on her neck.

  ‘I love you,’ he was saying in her darkness. ‘Let’s talk about today.’

  She forced out a response so he would leave her alone. ‘Don’t worry,’ she slurred, the words like sticky lumps of dough. ‘Tomorrow. Sleep.’

  ‘No.’ His voice grew insistent, shards slicing into her peace. ‘I shouldn’t have scolded you for talking to that delivery guy. I recognise that as a time where you’ve felt not trusted. It’s only because . . .’ His lips traced along the line of her shoulder. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he murmured into her skin, ‘and you don’t see it. You don’t see what I see – every other man looking at you, like he wants you. And you’re mine,’ he finished, pressing his body against hers as his fingers tracked a line down her belly.

  Her own hand was heavy and slow to respond as she groped for his, wanting to stop its path. ‘I need to sleep.’

  ‘Whatever.’ He laughed softly, his fingers delving between her thighs.

  Groggily, she tried to move away from him but he followed her, hands roaming her body. She went limp against the press and caress of him, forcing her breath to slow and deepen, to remain unresponsive. But it didn’t matter. He still tugged her to him, he still worked himself into her and finished with a self-satisfied cry of triumph.

  And she slid away into the narcotic blackness, again.

  iv

  ‘Where’s Henry?’ Ark asked as he entered the kitchen.

  Jenna plunged her hands back into the hot water in the sink. ‘In bed.’

  ‘Already? It’s only six.’

  ‘He’s been grating on my nerves all day,’ she said, with more than a hint of exasperation. ‘It took me two hours to scrub all that crayon off the walls. Then he took a shit on the living room carpet –’

  Ark sighed. ‘Look, I should be around the house tomorrow afternoon, so I can help.’

  ‘Really?’ She turned to face him again.

  ‘You can take a couple of hours for yourself. Have a bath, go for a walk or something.’

  She stilled, searching his face for a catch. Finding nothing, she let out a breath.

  ‘Really? Because . . .�
�� The words wouldn’t come. ‘I could use a couple of hours,’ she finished, weakly.

  ‘I know; you’re tired.’

  ‘Sure, that, but . . .’ She hesitated, searching for a way to tell him without spoiling the mood between them. ‘I was actually hoping to go to the hospital, see Marg Dunbower.’ She scrubbed at a plate beneath the suds. ‘Marg emailed me the other day, saying she hoped I might be able to come back and pick up a few shifts.’

  It wasn’t a complete lie. Marg had emailed, and Jenna did intend to go and see her old nursing unit manager about returning to work. However, what she didn’t tell Ark was that she’d also made an appointment to visit Doctor Jones.

  And the clock was ticking.

  Before she could lose her nerve she went on quickly. ‘I told Marg that I’d come and chat to her. It sounds like a good idea.’ The words tumbled out, rolling into one another like stones. ‘We could use the extra money, plus the doctor did say I should do things that are for me, you know, not just ­mothering. Work is healthy.’

  As she heard her sentence close, she tasted what she’d left unsaid: her appointment with the doctor, the impossible pregnancy she needed resolved. Immediately.

  Behind her, she could feel the tension radiating from Ark’s body like electricity. The hall clock ticked; a cricket jittered outside the window. The last of the setting sunlight drifted behind the eucalypts, leaving Jenna and Ark standing in the stark artificial white of the kitchen. Hot water swirled up over her wrists as she scrubbed a bowl. She rinsed it under the tap, set it to drain. Washed a coffee mug, rinsed it, set it to drain.

  Ark still hadn’t replied.

  The mood was over. She wondered if her heart would stop altogether.

  After a while she thought he might have left the room, so she hazarded a glance over her shoulder.

  He was standing behind her, his face thunderous.

  ‘We’ve talked about this,’ he said softly. ‘Why are you even bringing it up?’

  ‘Because she emailed me,’ Jenna said, as calmly as she could. ‘And like I said, my doctor suggested it was a good idea.’