‘Well, what are you doing? How about using a light, mate?’ He turned his headlights on him. Kane, smoking a doobie. That figured. ‘Dip shit,’ he muttered as he put his engine back into gear and chugged across the river to the island. Who sat on the river in the dark? Couple of weeks back someone fishing before dawn without a light had been hit by the garbage barge. Lucky to be alive. His kind of bloke always shot through for some reason or another. Be good if he found a reason soon.
Kane drew on his joint to steady his nerves. Told his mum he wouldn’t smoke anymore but he had to test it. Be no good if he sold dodgy stuff to some mug who came looking for him afterwards. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.
And it helped him out, calmed him. He’d been sitting here—beautiful night, stars out, most of the yuppies in bed, the night and the river all for him—just listening to the voices float across the water. Hadn’t realised it was that Danny bloke. Hadn’t been thinking, just enjoying the night, listening to voices, gleaning obscure gossip, wondering idly what it might be about.
Maybe it was just as well Danny had stirred him up when he did. He needed to be up early for work. He’d missed today, called in sick then had to hide in his shed all day. Last night had been the first time he’d smoked in a month and he couldn’t get out of bed till he’d had a quick cone, then he couldn’t work. He was seeing things, shadows on her jetty, just some blokes fishing, drinking, but shadows. He knew they weren’t there.
Tomorrow would be different, though. That was what the book told you: you slip back, you just keep going. He’d only got hold of the stuff in the first place because he needed that boat. You couldn’t just wait for the ferry all the time; it was like being an old lady, like his mum, spending half her life at the bus stop, her old car on blocks, surrounded by graffiti and the stench of some scabby teenager’s piss. Tam the foreman wouldn’t give him an advance, said he needed to prove himself first, so what choice had he had?
Tomorrow. He’d turn up for work, moan about a stomach bug, shift the stuff at the pub in the evening, pay the dealer back his loan and he’d be square, ready to live his life, make himself someone he wanted to be, someone who was good enough for anyone.
Chapter 5
Danny had been on for four hours already—long ones, only three fares —when he saw the woman wandering along the deck of the marina, somehow managing not to get her heels caught in between the slats without looking down. You got a lot of pretty girls on the river, especially in summer. Tourists from the city, people visiting friends on the island for a barbie. They were always fresh, loose, happy to be here. But this woman was out of the ordinary; she wasn’t the kind you’d just notice if you got a smile from her or happened to be her mate. No one would walk past this one; she was like something from a commercial for a holiday somewhere exotic. You saw her hair first, slippery blonde, falling down the back of her singlet to her backside. Her arms and legs were long and lightly tanned with silver glinting at her wrist and ankle. He sat at the café table and willed her to face him. She drew level with the shop and turned, looking for something. Sometimes their faces let you down. Not her. She saw him and smiled, a wide-open beam of white teeth, smooth skin and green eyes, not a care in the world. She came back towards him and he smelled her perfume. She was a creature from another world—the one they lived in on TV or maybe in some suburb of Sydney where you saw American tennis players in the restaurants and actors at the markets.
‘Hi,’ she said. Who, me? he thought. ‘Are you the water-taxi driver?’ He nodded. ‘Hold on,’ she said. ‘We’ll be back in a minute.’ He watched her sway back up to the entrance to the general store and speak to someone inside. He emerged a moment later, a guy from the same world: tanned, polo shirt, long shorts, smart backpack, just-cut hair, always just-cut hair. Danny touched the curls growing over his collar. Time for a backyard buzz cut. He’d been neglecting himself, taking his luck with girls for granted, settling for whoever seemed interested.
On the boat she took the seat next to his, her long legs taking up all the available space in the cabin, her presence absorbing the air around him. Her mate took the plastic seat behind him. Danny couldn’t think of a thing to say for a few long seconds. She didn’t seem in any hurry. These were people who didn’t find silence uncomfortable. They had too much to be confident about for a bloke like him to even begin to unsettle them. ‘Where are we going?’ he eventually asked her as they approached the end of the channel.
Her eyes were half closed in the late morning sun. It took a moment for her to answer. ‘Over at the beach. It’s my boyfriend’s place,’ she said, nodding behind her. ‘Mancini’s. With the jacaranda.’
‘Oh, right. Where Rose has been living.’
‘That’s the one. She’s my sister.’
She is? he wondered. These women seemed to be from different species, never mind families. He had never really looked at Rose, he realised now as he studied this woman’s face for as long as he dared before starting the motor. He knew her hair and height, the general outline of her, but couldn’t bring to mind her figure or her face—just a feeling that there was something, some secret she carried. She was one of those people who just didn’t draw attention to themselves with their looks, moved quietly through the world without asking anyone to see them. Perhaps she was as pretty as this, behind the glasses and the loose clothes and the pregnancy. But this woman, it wasn’t just prettiness; the way she moved, the way she watched you, screamed ‘Look at me’, and she knew you would.
‘You know her?’ the woman asked.
‘Not really. I just know who lives where. She’s got that guy Kane in the boatshed, too. He’s your tenant, I guess.’
‘James’s.’ She gestured behind her again. He glanced behind her as they pulled out of the channel. The man had not said a word, watching the river from behind dark glasses, legs open and stretched out across the floor of the boat, an arm draped along the stern. ‘James grew up here, when he was a boy,’ she said, smoothing her hair as they picked up speed. ‘He’s really a local, when it comes down to it. Only started using the place again recently, though. His mother left it to him.’
Danny wondered why the man didn’t speak for himself. It seemed odd to be talking about him while he was right there.
‘I haven’t seen you before,’ she smiled. ‘I’ve spent a bit of time here myself. I’d remember you.’
Once again, all words left Danny’s head. He brought the boat round to face the opposite shore, stood up and pulled open the throttle. She stood, too, matching his height, balancing gamely on her heels. Gorgeous as she was, he was looking forward to dropping these two off at Rose’s. He felt as though he was in a room close with unspoken words, everyone waiting for him to leave.
‘Mind if I drive?’ she asked. He looked at her. Was she joking? ‘I’m pretty handy with a boat. Go on, I won’t tell anyone. He taught me,’ she said. ‘He’ll tell you.’ Danny glanced back at the man. You couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open, his glasses were so dark.
‘She knows what she’s doing,’ he said, without moving.
Danny didn’t know what to do other than stand aside and let her take the wheel. He shuffled behind her onto the passenger side, reaching around to grip the rail in front of her with one hand. The boat tilted for a brief moment in the handover, but then she was bouncing it confidently over the flat water towards the sandstone cliffs, smiling wholeheartedly, hair whipping around her face. He watched her, he couldn’t help it. She was so full of life, and her boyfriend back there was so flat and dull. He’d always believed you could never know people’s stories just from looking at them. You just couldn’t tell what kept people together, what passed between them in a room while everyone else went about, oblivious. Here was a beautiful example.
He’d planned to take the wheel back as they approached the shore but she was slowing down, steering expertly through the moorings, her hair flat again now on her shoulders. Her exhilaration had passed, replaced by a quiet focus
as she took them in to Rose’s jetty. He thought for a moment he could see the similarity between them now, that quietness and absorption.
Rose was out on the verandah in a loose white shirt and pants, squinting out into the sun from beneath her hand, still, only visible because of the brightness of the cotton against the backdrop of shadows. She was waiting, but the shape of her body didn’t seem happy, just patient. ‘Oh my God,’ the woman said. ‘She looks—she’s pregnant.’ Danny gave her a sideways glance. The man sprang into action, galvanised suddenly, stepping on and off the boat with the ease of someone brought up on the water, to tie off to what was presumably his jetty, fetch bags of groceries, pay Danny, help his girlfriend launch herself off the bow and straight up onto the pier with one sure movement of her hips and legs. Danny was standing right behind her, down in the cabin, low enough for it all to be at eye level. It hurt to watch her gleaming, scissoring limbs; her lack of care. The whole time they were tying up, Rose stood motionless in the blaze of light at the edge of the stairs.
The woman turned back towards him as the man carried the bags along the rickety jetty to Rose. There was still a box of groceries sitting in the warm sun next to the ladder. ‘Give me a hand with the shopping?’ she said.
He nodded and stepped up onto the bow, and then the ladder. He followed her towards the house, his legs heavy. She hadn’t known her sister was pregnant? What was that all about? But now he remembered something he’d overheard, in the island shop. People were saying Rose was having this guy’s baby. He hadn’t made the connection at first. They’d said it was the one whose dad left after all that old business with Tom. The kid had come back when his mother had left him the house. This was the kid. This was who they were saying was the father of Rose’s baby. He wanted to be on his boat again and out of this. He couldn’t imagine what these people were about to say to one another.
‘Come in,’ the woman said, just ahead of him. ‘Bring the box to the kitchen.’
Danny stepped through the sliding glass doors after her. The man was in the kitchen with Rose, taking things out of bags, putting them on the bench and in the fridge. He’d never been inside this house before, though he knew the front of it well enough from sitting up on the deck of Rob’s yacht. The living room was darkish—there were blinds on the verandah against the western sun—but big. There was room for a dining table at one end and a couple of large sofas at the other, covered with bright throws. The kitchen was off to the back; he didn’t want to go any closer to the silent pair in there, so he edged the box onto the bench and backed away. Next to him, the woman said, ‘Rose! Why didn’t you tell us?’
Rose wore a look of bewilderment. Her sister strode across the room and hugged her. The man backed out of the crowded little kitchen. Danny watched Rose’s face above her sister’s shoulder, trying to see the similarity between the women’s features. It was there, in theory. They were the same structure: heart-shaped, with apple cheeks and pointy chins, wide mouths, straight teeth, green eyes. But there was something in the life behind each face that was totally different—in intent and feeling. Rose was watching, processing. The other one was glowing with her sense of herself, triumphant. Wherever it was she’d been headed, she was already there. Rose was looking sideways at the silent man. Could it really be true, what they were saying? He retreated from the room quietly, with a small nod to Rose. He had stepped into a stifling, private world and needed to get out again.
He took it fast on the way back over. Alf had tried to ring his mobile twice. The cabin seemed spacious, full of fresh air, with the woman gone. At first he caught her scent, clinging to the upholstery, but by the time he passed the island it had gone. He pointed the boat at shore, closed his eyes against the sun for long seconds at a time and breathed in the wind.
Rose couldn’t believe she’d actually had sex with him. And not just once. For a month, at weekends, regularly enough for it to be expected. Now part of him was lodged in her belly, kicking her. Perhaps it felt the presence of its other DNA donor in the room and was responding in some primeval way. His back was to her, out on the verandah. Billie was next to her, talking to her, at her, on the big, too-soft sofa. You fell into it and against whoever was sitting next to you. Billie’s leg lay alongside hers. Not longer, not different in any tangible sense except that it was bare, and it held a mysterious power over men, over everyone, that hers did not. ‘So you don’t want to tell me who it is, this one-night stand.’ She threw a hand in the air. ‘It’s not Ben, is it?’
‘No! God no.’
‘OK, all right. Be sweet if it was. There’s so much to think about! You won’t stay here, will you? You can’t drag a baby all over the river. It’s a shame we’ve sold Dad’s place now; you could have gone there. My apartment is really too small, or we’d love to have you. When’s it due, anyway?’
‘Seven weeks.’
‘Seven weeks! Oh my God. When were you going to tell me?’
Rose let out air. She watched James, unmoving, leaning on the balustrade. ‘We were going to ask you to move soon,’ Billie whispered. ‘We need somewhere to take the boat at the weekends. Of course, there’s no rush now. What are you going to do?’
Rose sighed. She’d stopped thinking about what was next when the tenant came, pushed it to the back of her mind. It didn’t guarantee anything, though. She had no rights. Stupid, she thought. Stupid! She’d even gone so far as to imagine herself hopping on and off the ferry with the baby, painting the spare room pale purple—she had the paint chips—so it didn’t matter if it was a boy or a girl. ‘How long have I got?’
‘Oh, Rose. Don’t be silly. As long as you want. No one’s kicking you out. I had no idea you were pregnant. How would I know?’
‘Why mention it, then?’
Billie stared at her, then laid a hand on her forearm. ‘You’re tired, aren’t you? What a time you must have had of it lately. James,’ she called out to the verandah. ‘Put the kettle on for Rose, would you?’ She started to talk about her job, as a lawyer in the city—she’d been promoted recently. Her new apartment, paid for with her share of their father’s money from the sale of the house. Rose’s own share sat in a savings account. She couldn’t bring herself to touch it. James placed a mug of tea in front of her. He knows how I take it, she thought. He should have asked. He caught her eye briefly. Perhaps he had realised his mistake. She watched him retreat onto the verandah, tried to retune to Billie. She thought about the old house as Billie talked, the things in it. She hadn’t wanted anything to keep; she’d let Billie clear it out. But now something hit her. She felt breathless, suddenly, as though the baby had lodged itself against her lungs.
‘Listen,’ Rose spoke across her. ‘I need to ask you something. When you sorted out the house, what did you do with his guitar?’
‘I gave it to the school. They always needed things like that.’
‘But why that one? We could just buy them a new one.’
‘What’s the big deal? He wouldn’t mind the kids having it.’
‘Not his kids, no, but then there’ll be kids who didn’t even know him. They’d be better off with a new one.’
‘What’s the problem? You’ve got a guitar. Why didn’t you tell me if you wanted another one?’
‘It’s not just any guitar, Billie.’ She couldn’t say any more. Tears threatened.
‘Well, look. I’m sorry.’ Rose sensed that James was listening to them, in spite of himself. His body was very still. Billie spoke more quietly. ‘Rose, I did ask you if you wanted to come and get anything. How could I know you wanted it?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.’
Billie looked at her. ‘I know it’s hard on you.’
‘What?’ snapped Rose. ‘What’s hard on me?’
‘Dad.’
‘He was your dad, too.’
‘I know. But everyone knew how you doted on him. It’s all right to be sad. And now this.’ She dipped her chin at Rose’s stomach.
‘L
ook,’ Rose said, her hand held up, open-palmed in front of her. Stop, it said. ‘I didn’t dote on him, and I know it’s all right to be bloody sad. It’s all I do, all right.’ How dare she? Billie had always been his favourite—she was the one who’d always worked on him to maintain her advantage. Rose looked out the window, blinking. James’s back, dark against the sun, remained motionless. Rose wished they would disappear.
Billie paused for a moment. ‘We’ve got to head off in a minute. I’ll just go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.’
Rose watched her sister glide across the room to the corridor. She’d been watching her glide across rooms all her life. So had everybody else. She took her fury out onto the verandah.
‘You guys seem to be going well,’ she said.
He flinched a little; he hadn’t heard her approach.
‘What are you going to do?’ he said, without turning.
‘Well, have a baby, I guess. Why?’
He looked her up and down. ‘You know what I mean. Christ, Rose, what a nightmare. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You’re assuming it’s yours,’ she said through her teeth.
‘Isn’t it?’
She shrugged. He took his glasses off and peered at her in the shade. She couldn’t believe she’d gone to bed with him. He looked like a doll. She hoped the child would be a girl; perhaps it would look less like him. ‘Are you going to tell her?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I barely think of it as yours, if it helps.’
‘Whatever that means,’ he muttered. ‘Jesus.’
She sighed and looked away. ‘Do you want me to move out?’
‘Stay as long as you want. I’ve got that bloke paying rent.’
‘Sounds like Billie wants it back to use at the weekends.’
The River Baptists Page 5
