by Anna Romer
We were miles from the headland. I could see it through the grey curtain of rain, a dim elephant-like blur in the distance. Morgan grabbed my hand and we ran across the beach towards an overhang of rock, a natural shelter carved out by generations of king tides. It wasn’t quite a cave, rather a long narrow shelf at the base of the cliff. I could stand upright, although Morgan had to stoop. The rain blew in on the wind.
‘We’re going to drown!’ I yelled over the din.
‘If we don’t freeze to death first.’
The wind blew harder, and Morgan looked out at the sky. ‘We can’t stay here. This isn’t going to blow over anytime soon. We need to get back to that cave.’
‘It’s miles away,’ I pointed out.
Water streamed down his face, dripping from his hair, clinging to his dark lashes. He smiled widely and hunched deeper into his jacket. ‘Got any better ideas?’
The cave was dry, sheltered from the wind and rain. Outside, thunder cracked and I saw a glimmer of lightning. While I stood shivering in the entryway, hugging myself to keep warm, Morgan gathered an armload of driftwood and small branches that had blown into the cave. He broke the branches into pieces, then fashioned them into a pyramid on the scorched rock where once, a long time ago, someone else had built a fire too.
Morgan removed his jacket and found a jutting rock to hang it from at the back of the cave, where it seemed driest. I pulled off my sodden coat and jumper, and draped them nearby. Shoes and socks came off next. I was already shivering, but squelching around in my wet clothes was worse.
I stood by the fire Morgan was building, watching him. Soon the fire blazed. I sat on the sandy cave floor in front of it, toasting my hands.
‘I’m impressed.’
‘Pity we don’t have a billy to boil. I could use a pot of tea.’
‘I’d kill for a cocoa.’
Morgan palmed the water from his hair, his face glistening. He joined me at the fireside, and we sat watching the flames consume the wood. The warmth was delicious.
‘What about the Harley?’ I wanted to know.
Morgan warmed his hands. ‘It’s been through worse.’
‘How long do you think the storm will last?’
‘At the rate it’s blowing now? It might go all night.’
‘Oh.’ I glanced at the entryway. Waves boomed on the shore, and rain hissed off the rocks outside, eclipsed at intervals by the distant crack of thunder.
Morgan snapped a stick and fed the pieces to the fire. ‘Back there on the beach, you were telling me about what you saw in Edwin’s icehouse.’
‘I was hoping you’d forgotten.’
‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’
‘Okay. I don’t want to.’
‘Maybe Adam’s right.’
I tried not to take the bait, but I could already feel the question reshaping my features. Knotting my brow, narrowing my eyes. I sighed.
‘Right about what?’
‘Sooner or later, you have to stop running.’
‘Running is what I do.’
‘It’s making you miserable. And it’s hurting everyone who tries to get close to you.’
I said nothing. A sandy gust blew through the cave entrance, guttering the flames.
Morgan fed a branch into the fire and then watched me for a while in the shifting light. ‘I know what it’s like to be on the run.’
‘You do?’
He sat back, turning his attention to the smoky updraft gathering against the cave roof. ‘After my brother died, I was angry. At sixteen, I bought my first motorbike and hit the road. Tried to outrace what I was feeling.’
‘I never knew you had a brother.’
‘His name was Dylan.’ A pause. Morgan studied the flames. ‘I still think of him as my big brother, but he died when he was twenty-three. Younger than Coby is now.’
‘What happened to him?’
I half expected brooding silence, so I was surprised when he scrubbed his hands over his face and continued.
‘Dylan was a bright kid. He wanted to go to university, study medicine. Dad used to scoff at the idea, tell him he didn’t have the brains to be a doctor. That he was useless, would never amount to anything. Dylan was desperate to impress him, so when he was old enough he followed Dad’s footsteps into the army. Then in 1966 he went to Vietnam.’
Morgan sat a long time in silence, elbows on his knees, staring into the flames. I was like a statue, observing him, willing him to keep talking. He had never spoken to me of his past, and I was burning to hear more. But as the silence stretched, I worried that he had withdrawn from me.
‘What happened?’ I prompted.
Morgan lifted his eyes and held my gaze for a moment, before looking back at the fire.
‘Soon after he got home, he took an overdose.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’
‘The following year, Dad succumbed to liver disease. He was a big man with a liking for books and whiskey, not necessarily in that order. He had the habit of flying his fists around when he was drunk. Mum made her position clear earlier on by divorcing him. Later, after Dylan died, I left home too. The following year, Dad went into hospital.’
‘Did you ever see him again?’
Morgan shook his head. ‘I didn’t even go to his funeral. I hated him for the way he’d treated my mother, but especially the way he’d been with Dylan. I carried that anger with me for years. It made me reckless, stupid. I thought I could outrun my grief, but of course, you never can. It’s a miracle I didn’t end up wrapped around a tree on the edge of some godforsaken road.’
‘Actually,’ I reminded him, ‘you did.’
He raised his face and looked towards the cave entryway. ‘Ron made me see sense, in the end. He said, “The Buddhists have a saying, son. Being angry with someone is like taking tiny bites of poison. The only person you hurt is yourself.” ’
‘So what did you do?’
‘A few years ago, I went to Dad’s grave. I was feeling a little lost. You were in London, worlds away.’ He paused, gazing into the darkness beyond the firelight.
I wanted to ask what he had meant by lost, and what, if anything, it had to do with me being in London – but before I had the chance, Morgan continued.
‘It was a grey day. The cemetery was deserted. This’ll sound nuts, but I stood ranting at his headstone, flinging insults and accusations for an hour or more. Then I sat on his grave exhausted. Too weary to stand up and go home. Sometime later, he spoke to me.’
‘Your dad?’
He nodded. ‘Clear as day. He said, “I did the best with what I had.” ’
‘Did you reply?’
Morgan looked at me and something passed between us. Not quite a smile, more a softening of resistance, an invisible barrier falling away. He inhaled deeply, and when he breathed out again the years fell away from his face. In the firelight sat the angry young man from the Polaroid, the one in grease-stained jeans who had once leaned against his bike with such attitude. But his scowl, I now understood, had been concealing the grief he felt after losing his brother.
Finally, he smiled. Hesitantly, almost warily. ‘I promised him I’d try to do better. Be a better man than he’d been. Suddenly, I had this feeling. Like slipping into warm water. Like relief, only more intense.’
I leaned nearer. ‘You forgave him.’
Morgan bowed his head, and when he looked up again he was his old self. Dark hair raked about, lines around his mouth, creases at the corners of his eyes.
‘I guess I did.’
The wind whistled through the entryway. The ocean roared as it thrashed against the rocks below. I imagined the tremors travelling up through the heart of the cliff, vibrating beneath me. I shifted closer to the fire, and to Morgan, where the ground seemed somehow more stable.
‘I understand what he meant. Your father, I mean. By doing the best we can with what we have.’
Morgan watched me across the flames, waiting f
or me to continue.
‘My mother’s death seemed too big to process. So, I just tucked it away in the back of my mind. Planning to bring it out one day, deal with it when I was older and wiser. But I’m still waiting.’
‘It’s never too late.’
I wanted to laugh. ‘That’s just the problem, though, isn’t it? Not dealing with something becomes a habit. When you discover how to avoid the big things, you start avoiding the little things too. One day you wake up and find that your whole life is built upon a lie.’
‘I know exactly what you mean.’
I looked at him, taking in the damp hair, the cheeks flushed from the fire. The eyes lost in shadow. ‘You’re the most forthright person I know.’
‘And yet for so long I was living a lie.’
‘What lie?’
‘Gwen and me.’ He searched my face and seemed surprised by what he found there. ‘You don’t know?’
I shook my head. ‘Know what?’
‘We were quite a team. We hit it off the moment we met at university. We both came from humble beginnings. Both wanted a stable family, and kids. We had similar beliefs and values.’
‘You still love her.’
Morgan only smiled, his eyes on me, thoughtful.
A shadow tied itself around my heart. The wind cried in the entryway, trying to get in. Talk of Gwen and the history she and Morgan shared, the life they had built together, felt like a wedge between us. Suddenly I couldn’t look at him. My attention drifted to the cave roof. The stone was shrouded in darkness and smoke, but I let my imagination paint stars up there, a moon with a golden aura and a city below. The moon over London. I pictured Adam gazing up at it, thinking of me. I tried to summon feelings of longing, of missing him – but felt only emptiness. Then I tried to envision myself over there, pottering about the Camden Town apartment, sitting in my little studio room, bent over a sketch.
It wasn’t working. London seemed a million light years away. My only reality was this cave, the firelight and the wind sneaking over the rocks. And the man sitting on the other side of the flames, silently watching me.
‘You know,’ he said carefully. ‘There were no secrets between Gwen and me.’
He got up and went to the wood stash, brought back an armful of driftwood and laid them by the fire. He placed one on top of the coals, dusted his hands, and settled back on the cave floor.
‘Gwen was upfront from the beginning, even before we got married. She wanted a family, she wanted stability.’ His tone changed, to something close to regret. ‘But she also wanted freedom.’
I looked at him. ‘Freedom?’
‘Over the years, Gwen had friends. Intimate friends, women. Back in the 1970s, the lifestyle she craved was still considered scandalous. So, having the smokescreen of a husband and child gave her enormous independence.’
I stared at him, grappling to process what he was saying.
‘You mean Gwen . . .?’
‘Yep.’
The world spun off centre. For the briefest moment, some chaotic force took hold, pulling me out from myself and into uncharted territory. A woman I had known most of my life and loved dearly, a woman who had been a sometimes-mum and friend, was suddenly not who I had believed her to be.
‘That’s some smokescreen,’ I murmured. ‘So, did you and she ever—’ I bit my lips, mortified that I’d actually spoken the question aloud.
Morgan laughed. ‘Sure we did. She was only human.’
‘I can’t believe you’re joking about it.’
He shrugged. ‘Gwen and I joked about it all the time. If we hadn’t laughed at ourselves, our marriage wouldn’t have lasted as long as it did. Remember that, won’t you,’ he added quietly, ‘when you tie the knot with Adam.’
I was still getting my head around Gwen.
‘So, that’s why you split? Because of her affairs.’
‘The affairs weren’t the problem. While they were casual, the marriage coped. But once she got serious about someone, she couldn’t bear to be around me. We persevered for Coby’s sake, but the strain eventually got too great.’
I shifted closer to the fire, my thoughts still flying. ‘What about you?’ I asked after a while. ‘How did you cope?’
‘I had what I wanted. A family. A stable home for Coby.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘I wasn’t exactly heartbroken, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Did you ever . . . I mean was there someone else?’ I hadn’t meant my voice to sound so small.
He sat very still, his gaze steady on my face. The faintest of smiles appeared, and he seemed to glow softly in the firelight.
‘I guess I was waiting for the right girl . . .’
‘To come along?’ I blurted, and then bit my tongue.
There was a long silence as Morgan watched me. ‘To grow up,’ he said quietly. ‘I was waiting for her to grow up.’
The wind whispered through the rocks, making a hollow sound. I stared at him, barely daring to breathe.
‘Oh.’
Morgan continued, his voice low and mesmerising. ‘But then when she did, it happened so fast, I wasn’t prepared. Suddenly there she was in my arms, all grown up and more beautiful than I could ever have imagined. Before I could collect myself, she kissed me. Wham, just like that. My head was reeling. I started rambling some stupid crap about her being too young, trying to talk her out of it.’ His gaze was steady on my face. ‘Letting her go was the worst mistake of my life.’
I froze, unwilling to move and break the spell. I must have misheard. My brain must have twisted his words, giving them meaning he hadn’t intended. My heart raced, my limbs quivered. My hands were suddenly damp. Morgan was right, I realised. I saw only what I wanted to see, heard only what I wanted to hear. Because right at that moment, I was hearing words I’d often dreamed but never thought possible.
Letting her go was the worst mistake of my life.
I drew a long breath. ‘Why did you . . . let her go?’
Morgan sat a long time in silence, elbows on his knees, staring at the sandy cave floor beneath his feet.
‘My son was crazy about her. It would have been cruel to cut in. Unforgivable. So I held back. Besides, my marriage was crumbling, and I still hoped there might be a way to keep it afloat. If just for Coby’s sake.’
I got to my feet. Went to the entrance, stared out into the storm. It was cold away from the fire. My clothes were still slightly damp. Rain blew in, and somewhere out across the ocean lightning lit the night sky.
‘I’m freezing.’ The words hadn’t meant to be a challenge, but they came out more harshly than I’d intended. I heard motion, but I didn’t look around. I sensed him behind me. Finally, I turned around. He was near, his gaze burning me up. He watched me for a moment and then tilted back his head, a subtle beckoning.
Slowly, I trod the few steps between us.
‘This girl,’ I said softly. ‘If she was here right now, what would you tell her?’
Morgan moved closer. His fingers traced the side of my face. ‘I wouldn’t have to tell her anything. She’d know what I wanted to say.’
He was right, she did know. She knew exactly.
Placing my hands flat on his chest, I lightly shoved him. The rebuff registered in his eyes, just a tiny flicker, enough to give me hope. To give me courage. Gathering the front of his shirt in my fingers, I drew him back to me.
And pressed my mouth to his.
Morgan murmured softly. Or maybe it was me. He took hold of me and my body ignited under his touch. I smoothed my hands over his fire-warmed skin, lost my fingers in his rain-damp hair. His arms went around me, tightening, pulling me hard against him. Through the thin wetness of his shirt, his skin was warm and alive. Overhead, a thunderbolt cracked the sky and I felt its electric charge in my bones.
When his kisses travelled along my jaw and then down over my throat and neck, I found myself giggling, breathlessly drunk with the pleasure of being ne
ar him. I took his face in my hands, searched his grey eyes, found my own spark reflected there. Love, I wanted to whisper. Always have, always will . . . but my lips were on his again, tasting, committing him to memory—
‘Lucy, promise me.’
‘What?’ I murmured.
‘Don’t run away again. Come home and be with me.’
I searched his face, wanting to believe. Wanting this to be a beginning, rather than an end . . . yet knowing in my heart that something this good, this perfect, could not last.
I sighed, and pulled away. ‘I can’t promise that.’
‘I’m rock steady, Luce. I won’t waver. I pushed you away once before, but that won’t happen again.’
‘I can’t.’
Morgan caught my hand and drew me back against him. ‘Why not?’
I opened my mouth, but the words – the right words – would not come. I wanted to tell him that for a while we would hum along nicely, perhaps even blissfully, just as Adam and I had done, but that sooner or later the cracks would appear and I would have no choice but to vanish into them. The nightmares, the guilt, the need to run. Morgan may be steady, but I was like the great ship that had foundered on the headland point out there on the dark sea. A vessel blown off course, lost in the night, ever wary of the dangers that lurked unseen in the water below.
23
Bitterwood, 1930
They set out along the track at dawn. Nala skipped ahead, her bare feet kicking up eddies of dust, Orah and Warra walking behind, not talking, but occasionally sharing a glance. The further they walked inland away from the sea, the cheerier they became, Orah about to bubble over in anticipation of meeting her friends’ family.
Chattering birdcall broke the stillness.
‘That was the first sound I heard,’ Orah said. ‘The morning after you saved me. I heard the birds laughing.’
Warra’s dark eyes shone in the sunlight. ‘Kookaburra. He’s not laughing. He’s tellin’ his friends it’s breakfast time.’ He pointed to the glint of water through a grove of trees. ‘He’ll fly to the creek. When the insects come out, he’ll start swooping. He’s a big fella too, hungry. Look over there,’ he added, pointing across the valley. All around were thick trees and ferns, damp gullies. And beyond that, miles of rolling ridges. ‘Our family lives on the other side of that hill.’
