by Toni Jordan
‘It’s the one at the end.’ I can hear him following behind me. ‘Ella. Stop. Ella, I don’t want you to make a mistake.’
‘How sweet of you to be concerned about me.’ As I walk I take the pins from my hair and drop them on the carpet. The twist unrolls and my hair falls down my back. ‘If you’re worried, you can always sleep on the couch.’
At the end of the corridor I open the door. There is a large bed, king-sized, covered in a plain white cotton spread. I dawdle as though admiring the walls and art but I’m not noticing anything. My heart is thumping right through my chest. I sit on the end of the bed and rest back on my elbows. He leans in the doorway and folds his arms.
‘You think I’m going to sleep on the couch? This is my room.’
‘You’re a big boy. You can make your own decisions. I’m just pointing out options.’
He walks towards me and at the foot of the bed he stops. He kneels and lifts my leg and rests it on his thigh as if he works in a shoe store. He is gentle. He holds my knee while he takes off each shoe and places it on the floor. Then he crawls to me and I fall back so as not to touch him. I am flat on the bed, arms outstretched. He holds himself still above me, his knees spread on each side of my thighs. The bed is smooth under my back and I sink into the bedspread. There is half a foot of air between us. I can see the contrast of us, how we are opposites. I lie here soft and pale and his muscles are hard and tensed, his skin is browner, his face is rougher. More than anything I’d like to run my nails along the edge of his jaw.
‘Last chance,’ he says. ‘Point of no return.’
‘I’ll make a note,’ I say. ‘Do you have a pencil?’
He shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath and then shakes his head and under his breath he murmurs, ‘Fuck,’ with such vehemence that I know his control has snapped like a thread. He drops to one elbow beside me, forces his arm under me, winds the fingers of his other hand through my hair. I am prepared for a kiss like anger but instead when it comes he is tender at first and warm and sweet and nuzzles my ear and down my neck and then only slowly does the force increase and he kisses me until I am dizzy and if he doesn’t touch me soon I’ll go mad. I take one of his fingers in my mouth and bite it and kiss my way down the scar on his palm. He kisses my forehead and the tip of my nose then flips me on my front in one quick movement and I feel his hand on the back of my neck. He sits on the small of my back, not with his whole weight, I know. He unclips my bra.
‘Hmmm,’ he says, and he shifts off me but keeps his hand firm on my neck. Then he rips down my pants and I feel a hand brush soft over my bottom. ‘While I’m here, that arse is irresistible,’ he says, and I feel a short sharp slap that makes me cry out. It stings where his hand has marked me. I wriggle and kick my legs but it’s no use. I’m pinned.
‘That’s for loading up my pack,’ he says. ‘You think I didn’t notice? I’m not an Olympic weightlifter.’
‘You’ll be sorry you did that,’ I say into the mattress. ‘I’ll get my revenge.’
‘Take your best shot,’ he says.
After a time I feel like I am watching from the ceiling, like I can see both of us in this big bed, limbs and hands and mouths moving. I am greedy and frustrated. I want more of him, faster, but he makes me wait. He is hard and finally he is inside me and he takes his weight on his elbows but I groan and pull him down upon me. He moves inside me, faster then slower, his jaw is tensed, I wrap my legs around his waist. We are joined and I am pressed on to the bed. I am grounded from below and from above and when I come I writhe hard, arch my back. I have nothing to fear. His body holds me in place.
I am awake and I reach for the wall but it is not there. This is not my bed. I am naked and alone and in a strange place where no one knows who I am. Don’t panic. Just breathe. Where is the way out? How far is it? The room is dark except for a dull floor lamp beside the door and then all at once, I remember. Last night. Daniel.
I pull the sheet up and hold it to cover myself. My body has forgotten nothing. Every inch of it is alive and much of it is sore: already I can feel four fingerprint bruises at the top of my thigh, a purple love bite forming on one nipple. My hip aches from when I misjudged the edge of the bed altogether and fell on the floor, to be followed down by Daniel. He kissed the grazes from his stubble down my throat and across my stomach. I was also strangely moved and regretful. The sight of the wild scratches on his back almost brought me to tears, but he only laughed and said that he would soon heal.
It’s not that we weren’t gentle with each other. At times we were that as well. He slept with his mouth slightly open and when I held my hand in front of his face I could feel the movement of his breath on my palm. His eyelashes made an arc like small dark feathers above his cheeks.
As my eyes adjust to the light I notice the room for the first time. The walls are powder blue and so is the chair in the corner. The floor lamp has a bronze base and cream-fringed shade. The bed head and the rug are the colour of chocolate. There is a nest of small paintings clustered on the wall behind the chair. They are only six inches by twelve but there are many and the frames all match. I squint a little in the half-light and I can make out now that they are photographs in black and white, all of nature scenes. Oceans and rocks and trees and such, the kind of art that would be in the bedroom of a nature lover.
My underwear could be anywhere under the twist of sheets and my dress is still on the stairs so I grope until I find a shirt on the floor and pull that on. It is soft against my skin and warm, though it hasn’t held him for some hours. Only then do I notice Daniel in the dark, sitting on the windowsill on the far side of the room. He is wearing his tracksuit pants, that’s all. He’s just sitting there, looking at me.
‘I got up to make sure I locked the front door,’ he says. ‘Then I put my cheque book away in my study.’
I look down at my hands, spread on the sheet. One of my fingernails is broken.
‘The study door wasn’t locked,’ he says. ‘Which is strange. I always lock that door. The Telstra guy. The workman, who was about to dig up my drive. Who was he?’
I stand and turn to face him. ‘He was my brother,’ I say. My hands find each other behind my back, I widen my stance on the carpet.
Daniel runs his hand over his chin. ‘From the first moment I saw you, in the hallway when your glasses fell,’ he says, as though I’d asked a question. ‘They were right there at my feet. I could see through the lens and there was no warping of the pattern of the carpet. When I picked them up there was no distortion at all, not like you’d expect when you look through someone else’s glasses. The frames were thick but they were only glass. I had to wonder why such a distinguished scientist was wearing frames with plain glass in them.’
Those glasses. I blink. I wish I had them here now so I could smash them.
‘Then I made some enquiries,’ he says. ‘You said you studied at Harvard. If you had, I’d have heard of you. You’re not the only one with contacts. I knew from the very beginning. At first it was like solving a riddle. To find out what you were up to. That’s how it started.’ He folds his arms. In this light, his face looks grey.
We are both crumpled by sleep, the marks of each other on our skin. Bare feet. I am wearing his shirt. I take a few paces to the left towards the door. I run my hand along the wall to look nonchalant, make my other hand into a fist to stop it shaking. Daniel steps into the room toward the right, to the foot of the bed. We are moving like this is a dance. A slow waltz without music.
‘After that you didn’t put a foot wrong,’ he says. ‘Everything was good, all the science, all the theory. Oh, one thing. You picked up a tooth without wearing gloves. You didn’t know what kind of tooth it was. It was unidentified, but that would have contaminated the sample, you see? Teeth are the best source of DNA but you can’t touch them with your hands. You would have fooled anyone who wasn’t a scientist. But it was too late. I already suspected. And I did a little digging. I found out everythin
g I needed to know.’ He steps toward me. He is looking at me now. He is taller than me, and stronger. If he holds me and pins me down and doesn’t let me go, he can hold me here until the police come. I will be trapped.
‘I know why: the money. The how is harder to figure out. This has been quite an operation. You even met me at the university. And there’s Glenda and Joshua. You can’t be acting alone.’
He takes one more step towards me. ‘Your name is Della, isn’t it,’ he says, and it’s a statement, not a question. ‘That’s what Timmy called you at the camp. Della.’
His palms are open and he is stepping slowly, like he is trying to catch a skittish animal. I swing my arm suddenly and knock the lamp over. It is heavy and as it smashes to the floor the cord pulls from its socket. Daniel jumps back instinctively to avoid it. The room goes dark. I run for the door. Slam it shut behind me. Lock it with the key, still on the outside. I have one second to spare: Daniel has reached the door and is pulling and twisting the handle. He turns the light on; I see it flooding out underneath the door. He is at the door now, kicking it and banging it with the side of his fist. Then I hear a louder, duller smack. He is running at the door with his shoulder.
‘Ella!’ I can hear him yelling as I run down the stairs. ‘For God’s sake Ella don’t do this.’
On the stairs I take off his shirt. I cannot bear it on my skin any longer. It is burning me. For a minute I stand there naked and shivering although it isn’t cold. I pull my dress back on but can manage the zip only half-way. I leave his shirt on the stairs right where my dress was. The shoes and underwear I can do without. My purse, with my car keys, is still there where I left it and I press it under my arm. As I dress I still hear him, though it grows more muffled as I run for the door. ‘Please. Ella. Don’t. Don’t do this. Just listen to me. Please.’
I leave the front door open. I run; there is no other thought but putting distance between me and him, reaching the car, Cumberland Street, safety, not turning back. Half-way down the path I hear yelling again. ‘Ella. Ella, wait.’ I look up and see him leaning out the open window. His chest is bare and I can see the line of his collar bone where I kissed it a few hours ago. I freeze then, right here on his garden path, the concrete cold under my feet. ‘Ella!’ he yells. We are both still.
‘That’s not my name,’ I whisper, but he is too far away to hear me. ‘That’s not my name!’ I yell this time, up at him, my fists clenched, my arms stiff and ready for anything.
He is leaning out of the window to reach a drain that runs down the side of the building. It cannot take his weight. This is awful. He must stop. He is leaning right out now, reaching for the drain with his feet. I feel stuck to the spot but I must move, I cannot stand there waiting for him to catch me and send me to prison. I hit my own leg with my fist and it gets the message. I run again, faster now, but I still cannot bring myself to turn the corner until I see him hit the ground. He tumbles a little, jumps into a flower bed but the fall is not enough to hurt him.
On the street I pick up speed. There is a sharp stabbing pain in my sole: I have stepped on something sharp but I cannot stop. For a moment I think I should leave the car so he will not connect it with me, but then I glance over my shoulder. He is gaining. I have no option, the car it is. I run as fast as I am able. I feel the dress tearing under the sleeve. I thrust my arms and move my legs. Any moment I expect to feel his breath on my neck, his hands on me.
At the driver’s door I fumble with the keys. I almost drop them. Come on, come on. Then blessedly the key finds the lock and I’m in, the doors are fastened and the engine started. There is a loud noise at the window—I turn my head to see him banging on the side glass with his open hand. ‘Ella,’ I can hear him say. His face is pale and there is blood on his lip. ‘Ella for God’s sake open the door. I’m not going to hurt you.’
I pull away fast without turning on the lights. He jumps out of the way and in the rearview mirror I can see him chasing the car, arms pumping like a sprinter. When it’s obvious he can’t catch me he stops in the middle of the street and holds his arms out to each side. I turn the corner and he disappears but it is not until I am five suburbs away that I pull over. I switch off the ignition but my hands are shaking so I can barely remove the key. I take a few steps away from the car to be sick.
I drive for the rest of the night, and all the time I do not think of Daniel Metcalf. Instead, I think of Cumberland Street, how much I love it. My room, that has been my room for ever and will be my room for ever. I will never take it for granted again, never think my world is small or prescriptive. There are troubles, I know. My father has mortgaged the house and we will have to find money. But the equipment can be sold and some of the debt repaid, and all of us working together can make some cash. Perhaps my father can run another sting with the emeralds: they always work.
There is nothing we cannot fix if we stick together. I love it. I love the apple trees and living with my cousins and my aunt and uncle. The way Ruby looks after us all. My family. I am so lucky. My heart is full of them, and of the knowledge of how close I came tonight to losing everything. Still, Daniel has a description of me, and perhaps the licence plate of the car which will soon be reported stolen by the people who lent it to me. I will clean it quickly at home then abandon it in a street far away. The danger is not past but I will survive this. It is over.
It is just dawn as I drive up. Cumberland Street is long, but it is usually quiet, and even four blocks away I see lights outside our house. Cars, many cars. By the time I am three blocks away I can tell they are police cars. As I drive past I can see people huddled on the footpath in their pyjamas. They are strangers and sticky-beaks wanting to see what is going on. I didn’t think I could feel worse, but somehow I do.
I park around the corner. This is wrong, I know. This is breaking the rules: if ever there was a time to go straight to the safe house it is now. But I cannot leave them. In the back of the car I find an old blanket and drape it around my shoulders to hide my evening dress. I can do nothing about my bare feet.
I stand at the back of the milling crowd, just listening, trying to blend in. No one knows anything. There are two blonde women in velour tracksuits and a man in pyjamas and a dressing gown, among other people. Perhaps they are our neighbours but I’ve never seen them before. I can hear them chattering among themselves, buzzing like bees. What’s going on? Who would have thought? In this very street. Under our very noses. Strange family, weren’t they? Never saw hide nor hair of them.
There are no police around and I sneak a peek up the drive: more cars, marked and unmarked, and the front door is open. There is no mistake. This is a catastrophe.
There is some rustling in the branches on my left, above the wall. I hear a soft sound and take a few steps back towards it. Someone is standing behind me and I hear a quiet voice in my ear.
‘Get in the car and go.’ Sam. And Beau is with him.
I turn to face him and he takes us both by the arms and drags us around the corner, behind the wall where the crowd can’t see. Then he looks at me properly.
‘Bloody hell.’ He lifts the corner of the blanket and sees my face and dress and feet. ‘What happened to you?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I was dead asleep and heard the banging on the door. I snuck downstairs and went through the trapdoor in the diningroom. I’ve been in the cellar on the far side for almost an hour listening to them talking in the lounge. It’s Dad. They’ve got him.’
‘I heard them too. I climbed out the window and onto the roof,’ says Beau.
‘It’s that stupid treasure business,’ I say, and I glare at Beau.
‘It can’t be,’ he says. ‘We’ve been so careful.’
‘I don’t know what that is,’ says Sam. ‘But it’s nothing to do with treasure. It’s the emeralds.’
‘See?’ says Beau. ‘See?’
‘You must be joking,’ I say. ‘He’s done that emerald bu
siness a dozen times. He could do that in his sleep.’
‘This time I think he must have. From what I’ve overheard and putting two and two together, this latest one with the antique earrings was a set-up from the beginning. Maybe the people he stung last time beefed about it, but anyway the marks were undercover cops out to trap him. He’s been tailed here, looks like. Probably been following his every move and he didn’t even pick them.’
His glorious career, all his adventures. Our captain, my inspiration. To meet his downfall in this ignominious way. Ill, no longer himself. Arrested. I look down at the footpath, at my bare feet. I feel like I am going to be sick again.
‘He’ll go to prison,’ I say, and think of him in a small dark room, all alone: grey uniform, cement floor, stainless steel toilet in the corner.
‘And that’s not the worst of it,’ says Sam. ‘He’s in the system now. They’ll know where he lives and what he does. He won’t be a ghost anymore. And Ruby’s inside the house too, with the cops. Somehow she’s been trapped as well.’
‘Or she decided to stay with him,’ I say.
‘He stalled for quite a while when he heard the knocking. He’s an old man, he can get away with it. Then it took ages to undo the locks so I’m pretty sure no one else is inside the house. Maybe Syd and Ava are behind the dummy wall in the downstairs bathroom. They’ll stay there until the cops go. It looks like Julius got away. We can be thankful for that. Greta didn’t come home last night at all but I texted her to stay where she is. Shame about Ruby. That’s her career over, pretty much.’ Sam bends his head forward and rubs the back of his neck. I haven’t seen him look so sad since we were children. ‘We were just waiting around for you,’ he says. ‘Now we’ll scarper.’
I stand here in front of my family home, in a torn evening dress with cut and bloody bare feet. I have not slept or eaten and my skin is covered in Daniel’s marks that I have never felt before and will never feel again. And now my father has been arrested. Surely my life can get no worse than this.
