by Allie Little
He moves from Lily and looks down at me meaningfully. “Drive safe. I’ll be in touch.”
Lily looks slightly bewildered as I drive away, no doubt confounded as to why I would leave. Ben holds a similar expression on his face too.
Only once I’m driving do the uncontrollable tears once again begin to flow.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
It’s almost dark when I reach Ben’s place in Narrabeen, the blue fibro shack on Emerald St paling in colour against the twilight sky. I pull Ben’s key from my pocket and fit it into the lock, turning until it clicks. The door swings ajar, sending a shaft of dusky light over the floorboards.
His place is smaller than I recall, having not been here for months. I drag myself inside, realising in my haste to get away I forgot to bring anything other than my handbag. No change of clothes, toothbrush, nothing. But knowing I’m here alone is a comfort. In some awful way I feel like her, because the darkness is soothing.
I switch on a table lamp in the corner. Touches of Lily still adorn the room. Perhaps she’s moved back in, but Ben hasn’t said anything so I couldn’t know for sure. I find a pair of Lily’s old trackies in Ben’s bottom drawer and change thankfully into them. I drag her hoodie over my throbbing head, closing the front door behind me when I leave.
The beach from the end of Emerald St is bathed in night-lit beauty. That I can appreciate. With my feet in the sand I relish its coarseness. Rough compared to Bennett’s, and a darker shade of grain. A young couple traverses the sand, giggling with what appears to be beer bottles gripped in their palms. He curls an arm around her waist and drags her closer to the water where they fall in a tittering heap, the sound of their laughter drifting over the coiling ocean. So carefree.
I settle back, the stars peppering the sky like white diamonds. For a moment I think of Jack, of how perfect it would feel to be lying in his arms, my head on his hard chest. Hard but undoubtedly comfortable. But I know this is for the best. He needs to forget his pain, not be drawn into mine. I silently curse Ben for telling him about Dad, then shudder as I realise that of course he’d want to know.
An image of my mother flashes into my head. Of me, cocooned in her arms while she whispers soft, sweet nothings into my ear. My chest hurts with the memory, so I push it away. Push her away. Because this is why I’m here. To forget.
And then the fact that Dad is dead hits me again in a single cruel blow. And each time it happens is like a brand new jolt, brutally harsh. My body feels sick, and all I want to do is curl up on this soft Narrabeen sand, here under the sky feeling closer to where Dad must be, and sleep.
And miraculously I do.
***
I dream of Jack. And of Dad, too. Of whipping winds and voices calling me through the darkness of a moonlit beach. I glance around, puzzling at the bewildering direction of the sound. First I hear Dad’s voice, then Jack’s, alternating through the night. And then I see them. Standing side by side near the sea, lit by white moonlight. Smiling. Extending translucent hands to me under the stars. And when I don’t move, or can’t move, Dad laughs, throwing his head back the way he used to, before disappearing like an apparition over the ocean.
Jack gets that look in his eyes as he shifts closer. The look I love. The one he gets before he presses his lips against mine. But he’s ghostlike in this spectral scene. I want to go to him, feel him. Smell him. Have him here beside me. But when I stand to move toward him it’s too late. He’s already gone too. Gone like a ghost over the glinting black sea.
I wake breathlessly on the sand, sitting bolt upright and eyeballing the beach from north to south. But there’s no-one here. I am completely alone. And the realisation scares me, because there really is nothing. Just an ink-black sea with a swiftly setting moon. And a dark empty beach with a gawping girl, searching for people who are no longer here.
A shiver steals through me. I realise I’m cold and hungry, desperately craving the comfort of Ben’s couch. I stumble over the sand, back the way I’d come, through the pole-fence to Emerald St where Ben’s house waits like a trusty friend.
***
I’m not sure how long I lie here. It must be three days at least, where I rise only to make toast spread with vegemite and to swallow hot sugary tea. My head won’t think, other than to be spiked at regular intervals with the memory that my father has died, over and over, and that my mother blames me. Blames me? Perhaps if I’d listened to her, stayed home more, been there, he would still be alive. The thought curls me up inside, painfully. And still the tears flow, not only because of what’s happened, but because of her words.
After three days I turn on my phone. I find it at the bottom of my handbag, thrown into a corner of the lounge room when I arrived. Voicemail beeps. Again and again. Message after message. Ben, Jack, Emily, even Gem. And Riley too. How they all know I have no idea. Hospital whispers? Café gossip chain? But it’s Jack’s voice I listen to, over and over, until his messages are memorised like beacons for my heart.
Jack: Sammy. I heard, so I know okay? I’m so sorry to hear about your Dad. There’s nothing worse. And I’ve spoken to Ben. He told me what you’re doing. What you’re feeling. I want you to know I’m okay, all right? I’m fine. And I’ll be here, waiting for you. Because I’ve been there, Sam. I know what it feels like. To lose someone. Even to blame yourself. Because I did. Maybe I still do … I don’t know. But you’ve got to fight it. Fight it like the demons that chase you. Face them and bloody vanquish them, mate. Because it’s the only way. I’m not sure I’ve fully done that, even now. I still look for him everywhere. Hoping that somehow there’s been a mistake. But … obviously there hasn’t, so you gotta keep going. Get up each day. Just keep going, because you have to. So … I’ll stop lecturing you now. I miss you, babe. Without you I’m wrecked, actually. You gotta know that. Just come home. Because I need you, Sam. Just call me, okay?
Jack: Sammy? We’re all getting worried now. Can you call, please? Or else I’m coming to find you. I know you’re doing this to protect me. Hell, to protect yourself. But you know what? Hiding away won’t make it better. I’m worried okay? I miss you.
Ben: Sam, it’s me. You okay? You’re not answering, and it’s been days. The funeral’s on Friday and you need to be there. Obviously. To say goodbye. Hope you’re okay, Sis. Everyone’s worried. Even Mum. So can you call, please? Or if you can’t call, just come back.
Emily: Hey honey, it’s me. I heard the news about your dad. I’m so, so sorry. Big hugs to you when I see you. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling. I heard you’re in Sydney. Let me know the funeral details because I’d like to be there. Um … Gem’s doing okay. Seems a little better if anything on this new treatment. She’s been asking after you too. Sends her love. Call if you need anything, honey. Big love.
Riley: Sammy, it’s Riley. Sympathies for the loss of your Dad. That sucks, massively. And um, George says to take as much time off as you need. But, I just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. Well, you know what I mean. So, look after yourself. Call me if you need anything.
Emily: Hi again hon. Sorry to bug you, but would you mind texting me the address of where you are? George wants to send your last pay-cheque. I suggested we send it to you there, so you actually get it. Hope you’re okay. Call if you need to.
Gemma: Hey Sam, it’s me. Hospital-dweller. Transfusion girl. Just calling because I heard your awful news. I am truly sorry. I know I’m stuck in here, but if you need a chat, just give me a call. I’m thinking of you.
Jack: Okay, Sam. This is shit, okay? Just call, all right? Otherwise I’ll drive down tomorrow. No-one’s heard from you. No-one at all. So … your choice.
Your choice … your choice … your choice … It swims in my head. Do I even have one? A choice? If I had a choice, Dad would be alive. If I had a choice, Mum would never have blamed me for his death. Choices, huh? They don’t always exist.
I finger two quick texts before rolling over and submitting to deep foggy sleep.
&n
bsp; Me to Em: 27 Emerald St, Narrabeen.
Me to Jack: I’m fine. Don’t come.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
I wake to persistent knocking. Thud. Thud, thud, thud. And again, louder this time. Thud. Thud, thud, thud. Interspersed with name-calling. Hang on a minute. Front door? There’s someone at the front door.
I roll bleary-eyed from Ben’s couch, my haven for nearly four days. Glancing back, I wonder if our time is over.
Thud. Thud, thud. “Sam! Open up!”
That voice. I know that voice. Do I actually want to open this door?
“Come on Sam. Open the door.”
Thud, thud.
He’s not going away.
I breathe in, run my hands through my hair, and open the door that segregates me from the world.
Oh my god. Riley.
“Sam,” he says nervously, the white t-shirt clinging to his broad chest blinding me in the daylight.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, suddenly realising how much of a mess I must look.
Riley shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I…uh…have your pay-cheque from George.”
“You brought it all the way here?” I ask, struggling to comprehend.
“Yeah,” he says, handing over an envelope. “Can I come in?”
I take it from him and reluctantly let him inside. “I guess so, if you want.”
I move aside as he steps through the doorframe, glancing down at me as he passes. “You look awful, Sam.”
I make an attempt to smooth my dishevelled hair, realising that Lily’s three day old trackies don’t exactly add to my appearance.
“Gee, thanks,” I say, attempting a weak smile.
He steps forward and holds me by both shoulders, staring at me. “Can I make you a cuppa? You look as if you need one.”
I shrug. “Guess so.”
He moves to the kitchen and fills the kettle before flicking the switch so the light glows red at its base. “And then I’m going to get you some food. What do you like? Thai? Pizza? Chinese? Your choice.”
And there it is again. Your choice…
I giggle ridiculously. And then I can’t stop giggling, because this is all so silly. Riley. Here. With me. And if it was my choice … ?
Riley gives me a perplexed look. “Are you okay?”
“This is just … I don’t know … weird.”
“What is?”
I try to stifle the laughter. “Oh, I don’t know. You. Being here.”
“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to ambush you, but you weren’t answering any calls.”
“Exactly. So why did you come?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “To give you the cheque.”
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, right. You’ve come a long way. There must be more to it,” I say, regretting it instantly. “And anyway,” I continue. “How did you know where I was?”
He raises an eyebrow in his smart-alec fashion. “Do you believe in ESP?”
I shake my head. “Are you kidding me? No, I do not believe in ESP.”
“Would you believe I’m a sooth-sayer?”
“Hardly,” I say, cracking a tiny smile.
“Well, how about a spiritualistic star-gazer drawing inspirational messages from the stars?”
I can’t help but laugh. “No, you’re not that either.”
He smiles coyly. “Ah … okay, then. Truth is, Em told me she’d got a message from you. She was the only one who’d heard. You texted her the address here. So I took it upon myself to come and find you.” He pauses momentarily. “With your pay-cheque.”
“But why? I don’t need company, Riley. In fact, I came here to get away.”
“You really don’t know?” he asks, incredulous.
“No, I really don’t know. And on second thoughts, don’t tell me. I don’t think I want to.”
Riley seems genuinely hurt. “Sure. Okay, then. So drink your tea. I’m going to get us some food. Thai noodles. If you won’t choose, I will. Thai noodles is my choice.” He rises from the couch and heads for the door. When he reaches it he swivels back. “And have a shower, Sam. You look shocking.”
And then he’s gone.
I glare at myself in the mirror, and for once he’s right. But not even a shower can improve the haggard look settling in around my eyes. The red rims. My pale face. And I’m thin. Really thin. My hair is all over the place and messed up with knots. So I take his advice, and shower.
The steaming hot water scalds my skin and I let myself cry. The tears help rinse away the gnawing hole eating at me from inside. I’m raw, like a piece of me has been torn from within, and not even tea and Thai noodles can take that feeling away. If only… If only… I shake off those nagging thoughts.
I towel off before shoving one of Ben’s t-shirts over my head, and pull on a pair of Lily’s very tiny cut-off shorts. My wet hair is wrapped in a towel turban to dry off excess water. When I emerge from Ben’s room Riley’s already back. My stomach contracts at the wafting scent of sweet soy sauce. It’s the first time I’ve felt hunger, literally in days.
Riley lights a white pillar candle and centres it on the coffee table. “For your dad.”
I nod, grateful for the symbolism. “Thanks,” I say. “It’s a nice gesture.” One I hadn’t thought of.
He hands me a cardboard tub of Pad-see-ew, which just happens to be my favourite.
“Okay?” he asks.
“More than okay,” I reply, digging in with a fork. “But after this? You gotta go, okay? I came here to be alone. And although your tea and your Thai food and forcing me to shower has made me feel marginally better, I need to be by myself. I’m not good company, Riley. For anyone.”
“You don’t need to be good company, Sam. Your dad just died.”
To hear someone else, so removed, tell me my father has died makes it hideously real. And the tears start again, because each time I’m reminded it’s a brand new shock, shuddering through me with excruciating blows. The shockwave of death. Over and over. And then over again. Until one day maybe it will fade, rippling away to nothing. Because nothing is what I’d really like to feel. Zilch. Zero. Nada. Absolutely nothing.
“So how about a wine? I got a bottle. Can I pour you a glass?”
“Sure,” I say through the tears, thinking perhaps it’ll numb this never-diminishing pain.
“I reckon you need one.” Riley makes his way to the kitchen and returns with a bottle of white and two wine glasses. He places them on the table and pours. Rather expertly, like a silver-service waiter might pour. “Drink,” he says, handing one to me by its delicate stem and sitting closer to me on the couch. A little too close. A little too far into my personal space. Typical Riley.
I sip, shifting slightly away. The alcohol fills my veins with warmth to soothe my painful heart. This feeling I like. This feeling is my medicine. Because it actually works.
For the next hour we sit and talk, and to be honest, I’m glad for the distraction and for the company. Without Riley, I’d still be in a sleep-filled stupor, addled by grief. I never would have expected it, but I enjoy this time. This friend time. But I’m not sure Riley gets that, because at one point he curls an arm around my shoulders and I shake it away, telling him to keep his hands to himself, because that’s not what I need. He’s not what I need. And I think of Jack, and of how perhaps he is what I need. Because if I’m honest with myself I miss him. I truly miss him. His smile, his laugh, the way he makes me feel. Being in his arms, in his bed by the glass-walled river. And I realise I want that. I want him. Desperately. But maybe it’s too late. Maybe he’s given up. How long will he wait, calling, wanting to be here, while I push him away? I wanted to protect him, from my pain, and from his. I’d seen it settle in his eyes too many times. The hole that Charlie left gaping in his heart. The hole that can never be filled.
Jack told me once that the gnawing hole never leaves. That you learn to live with it, day by day. I hope that’s true. That the pain lessens so one day it just simmers
gently in the background while life carries on. I think that’s what he meant. I just hope I get the chance to ask.
And then we eat ice-cream, buckets of it, and after a while Riley asks me something I’m not sure I want to answer.
“So what’s with the running away? And where’s Jack? I thought he’d be here. Right beside you.”
“And still you came. Unbelievable.” Which it is. Riley has never been one to take a back seat, obviously.
Riley ignores my last comment. “So where is he? And why are you hunkered down here in your brother’s house?”
I sigh, exhaling loudly. “Jack’s not here because I didn’t want him here. I needed to be on my own.”
He nods solemnly as if taking in what I’ve said. “I see. And you ran all the way to Sydney because …?”
I close my eyes thinking perhaps it will block the memory. In fact, it serves to make it even more vivid. I shake my head, trying to rid the painful impression from my mind. “I don’t want to talk about this, Riley.”
He cocks his head to the side and raises a brow. “Which is precisely why you should. Come on, Sam. Talk.”
“Nuh-uh,” I say childishly, wanting him to leave. Riley the counsellor is back, and it’s time he took a hike.
“So how are you going to deal with whatever it is, while you bottle it up and carry it around. That can’t be good. Spill.”
I exhale again. “Okay. Seeing as you won’t stop until I do.”
“You’re getting to know me,” he laughs. “So what’s happened?”
“My mother happened.”
“You’ve never spoken of her before,” he encourages.
I shrug a shoulder. “No need to.”
“So how’s she dealing with your Dad’s death?”
“By blaming me for it.”
Riley nearly chokes on his wine. “What? How on earth are you responsible? That’s crazy,” he sputters.
