The River Baptists

by Belinda Castles

  Walking through the village along the road that ran behind the row of waterfronts—dilapidated fibros squeezed in among the shadows of three-storey glass palaces—he felt filthy and reeking. One of the single mums he’d broken his rule about single mums with was approaching, walking her toddler back from child care in a stroller. There was nowhere to go, she would see him coming a mile off. He kept as much distance between them as he could when he stopped for the inevitable chat, feeling even grubbier next to her fat, clean little boy and her own washed hair and bright, smiling teeth.

  By the time he drew level with the pub he would have killed for a nice big schooner of ice-cold beer, but he couldn’t go in there—even among the afternoon oystermen, drunks and junkies—smelling like this. Who knew who you might see? And anyway, he couldn’t stand the stench of himself for much longer. He’d just look in at Alf’s, give him back his keys and get home for a shower. Then he’d ring that woman about the land, see what he could arrange. Maybe he could work his charm, you never knew.

  He reached the junction where the pub sat in the glaring afternoon sun, a hulking grey slab of concrete steadfastly refusing to pretty itself up even as the river filled with yuppies. He was just about to cross the road down towards the water when he heard shouts coming from the terrace. He turned to see one man punching another in the head, down on the street beneath the terrace where the other men were drinking. It was Kane, and a dark bloke who seemed vaguely familiar. He wasn’t putting up much of a fight. He was motionless—stunned, it seemed. And then he was down and Kane was standing over him, trembling with anger. ‘Don’t fucken go near her again. She doesn’t want you, you fucken ape!’ He walked away from him, towards Danny, glaring at him as he stormed past.

  Danny walked over to the man who was picking himself up from the pavement, looking dazedly after Kane’s disappearing back. It was the guy who’d been with that blonde girl; the ones he’d taken to Rose’s place. ‘What happened, mate?’ Danny asked him as he found his feet and picked his bag up off the ground.

  ‘I have no idea. He just came from nowhere. Who the hell was that?’

  ‘Reckon it was your tenant. He lives in Rose’s shed. Complete psycho.’

  ‘That was Kane? He was talking about Rose?’

  ‘Say anything before he hit you?’

  ‘He said I’d better keep my dick in my pants, or something. Lunatic.’

  It was you, then, Danny thought, looking him up and down. Her sister’s bloke. He couldn’t help but think: everything, everything that girl touches seems to turn to shit.

  ‘I’m about to head home. You want a lift?’ Danny said.

  ‘I could do with a beer. Then I’m going back to the city.’ He shook his head. ‘This place.’

  ‘Suit yourself. Thought you might want to check in on her.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do anything to Rose.’

  ‘Didn’t worry about doing something to you.’

  ‘No, no, I guess not. OK, thanks. I’ll go and see her.’ He began walking towards the marina with Danny, nursing his face. ‘He’s full of it, though,’ he said after a few moments. ‘I mean, what would Rose see in him?’

  Danny shrugged. Could say the same about you, he thought. ‘You’d have to ask her,’ he said eventually.

  Chapter 14

  Rose chopped onions and cried in her tiny kitchen. She was a completely average cook—if only there was a food pill—but she was almost enjoying this moment. Onions always gave you an excuse to have a sob. Then you washed your face and you were fine. After the preparation was done, the bolognaise simmering, the pot full of pasta boiling away, she sat down in the living room, still teary. She was due in less than a month. She’d been cleaning all morning—a frenzied scrubbing of skirting boards and windows that was compulsive and terrifying. She had stopped taking commissions, asked for an extension on the one she’d started. It made her anxious, stopping work now, with nothing to do but wait. It seemed a waste of time off, but she was so tired and in such a remote, dreamy mood for so much of the time, she couldn’t apply herself. The material had begun to turn her stomach for the first time. It seemed too connected to her own body, and her own body was so full of the baby, the link made her queasy. She wanted to lie down, but she couldn’t. She’d fall asleep, she knew, and there was the food on the stove. Be just her luck if she burned James’s house down.

  The phone rang, and she pulled herself to her feet, made her way over to the table to answer it. ‘Hello, stranger.’ She felt her heart pound, as though she’d had to run to reach the phone. It was Ben. She couldn’t speak. ‘You there, Rose?’

  ‘I’m here,’ she said quietly, after a moment.

  ‘It’s been a while, Rosie.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I ran into Billie on Pitt Street. She told me your news.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Congratulations, right?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Come on, Rosie. Talk to me. How are you doing?’

  ‘I don’t know, Ben. OK, I suppose. The baby’s nearly due.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t approve.’

  ‘What’s there to approve? I bet you haven’t been in touch with anyone, have you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Oh, Rosie. You’ve been all alone in that house. You must have been going batshit.’

  ‘Well—’ she laughed.

  ‘You haven’t told Billie—about James. Have you?’

  ‘No,’ she sighed.

  ‘Look, here’s what I think. I think you have to. I’ll come with you.’

  ‘It’ll split her and James up.’

  ‘Well, like you said, he is a tosser. And you can’t keep this up once the baby’s born. Please Rosie, just tell her yourself, before she finds out some other way. I’ll be there.’

  ‘She’ll never forgive me. It’s unforgivable. I honestly never meant to hurt her. But how’s she going to believe that? I wouldn’t.’ Don’t cry, Rose told herself. Grow up. Face it.

  ‘I think—I think you underestimate her. I know it’s a pain in the arse. Her looks, the attention she gets. But who cares, Rosie? You’re a beautiful girl, for all it matters. I don’t know why you don’t know that. Didn’t anyone ever tell you?’

  She was quiet for a moment. ‘You haven’t seen me since I put on fifteen kilos.’

  ‘Oh Rose.’

  ‘I’ve got food on the stove, Ben.’

  ‘OK. Please, just ring me, will you? This is stupid.’

  ‘All right. I will.’

  She went into the kitchen. The pasta was boiling over. She took it off the stove and stared at it for a moment. She tried to grab hold of something, some solid case against Billie, an example of her vanity, her selfishness that she could hold up, say, look, Ben. This is how it was. All she could find was her own fear of her sister’s beauty, not just her: the girlfriends, photos of her mother—all of them, anyone who bewitched her father, if only briefly, if only from a distance.

  She left the food and went back out to the sofa, lay down, watched the water glinting through the verandah posts. As soon as she allowed her body to relax in the cool dark room, with its old mismatched furniture from another life, she lost all control; the past was there with her, a presence in the room. But her memories were not complete. They talked about pregnancy vagueness—maybe it was that—but she couldn’t follow the stories through anymore. She tried again to tap her store of childhood slights, Billie’s petty crimes of adolescence, her dad’s benign acquiescence. The memories she’d kept at hand, taken out, refreshed, kept new, were slipping from her now. Part of her panicked; once she’d forgotten all that, her dad would be gone, forever, no retrieving him. But the details were being replaced by a feeling, a warmth, a smell, and in spite of her, Billie was part of it.

  She laid a hand on her belly and let herself imagine, for the first time, how Billie would feel when she knew the truth, and she was filled with shame, not as an emotion
or a thought, but as a physical sensation. Her skin was suddenly hot, her cheeks raging. The muscles in her legs ached, and she curled them up beneath her.

  She woke like that sometime later and went out onto the deck for some air. There she watched the last of the light sink behind the island, its pinnacle glowing red—the sandstone flaming beneath the bush, then almost black. She saw a boat, small in the distance, bypass the island and head towards her. It grew larger without changing its course. Soon she recognised it as Danny’s water taxi, two men at the helm. In another couple of minutes Danny and James were climbing the ladder onto her wharf. But as they grew closer she saw there was something wrong with James. He wouldn’t look up as he walked towards her, and he moved stiffly. Something about his approaching shape seemed ashamed.

  Danny let him reach the verandah first. In the last light on the stairs she saw that he’d been beaten. His cheek was swollen and there was blood drying around his nose. His usually immaculately groomed hair was dishevelled. She looked at Danny; he shrugged and looked away.

  She moved towards James. ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘Rose, I think you should get out of here,’ he said, finally looking at her.

  ‘Why? What’s going on?’

  ‘That guy that’s renting the shed. Did you—what did you do? You’re not—together . . .’

  The baby kicked her, hard. It felt as though her heart and stomach were being pushed up into her throat. ‘What’s that got to do with you?’ Her voice was weak.

  ‘He just went me at the pub. I didn’t even know who he was. He seemed to think I was a threat to him—and you.’

  ‘Look. One thing happened. That was it.’ Somewhere on her skin, she thought, in her hair perhaps, some secret place not touched by the river or her showers, you could probably find some part of him still on her, some scraping of DNA to prove what they’d done. She studied his face. ‘You’re a mess,’ she said quietly.

  He dropped his bags on the timber boards. ‘In the morning, I’m going to arrange for someone at work to write him an eviction notice. Maybe you should come to Billie’s place tonight.’

  She stepped back. Danny had edged down the stairs and back onto the jetty. He was watching the hills across the river turn black. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m about to have a baby. I’ve just got this place clean. I mean, really clean!’ She felt close to tears again, but she couldn’t cry, not in front of him, not in front of Danny.

  ‘Rose, he’s a complete wacko. He’s got the idea you two are an item.’

  ‘Well, I’ll sort that out. But I’m not moving. Ask him to leave or something. I’ll do it if you don’t want to.’

  ‘How about we just follow the legal channels? Please, keep out of his way if you’re not going to leave. I’m going to go with the water taxi now.’

  ‘You’re what?’

  ‘Look, me being around is just going to antagonise him. I’m going to steer clear.’

  She shook her head and picked up his bag. She pushed past James to hand it to Danny. ‘Your fare’s ready.’

  He turned to look at her. ‘I’ll come back, when I’ve taken him over,’ he said quietly.

  The space around her felt close and distorted. ‘You don’t have to do that. I can make things clear with Kane. I’m sure it can be sorted out. He’s just a bit—intense.’

  ‘I’ll come back,’ he said again, and walked down the jetty with the bag towards his boat and the darkening water. James paused for a moment, before hobbling after him.

  She didn’t stay outside to watch them go. James, she thought. You bring disaster in your wake. I wish I’d never met you. She placed a hand on her belly. Then she drained and ate her cold, overcooked pasta, even though she wasn’t hungry, and went back for seconds. She sat in the darkening room, waiting. Her mobile rang. ‘What now?’ she said to the dark room and shuffled over to where it glowed and vibrated on the coffee table. Billie’s name flashed on the screen. ‘Hi,’ she said, her stomach turning over. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Me? James just called. What’s happening? Get out of there.’

  ‘It’s OK, Billie,’ but she felt a little of her sister’s panic seeping through the phone, across her skin. ‘He’s just a bit of a pothead, Bill. I’ll ask him to leave in the morning.’

  ‘And you think he’ll just go, do you?’

  ‘Why not? When it’s clear he’s crossed the line?’

  ‘Rosie! Why didn’t you let James stay?’

  ‘He doesn’t need to.’

  ‘Did he sort out the washing machine?’

  What? she thought. ‘Oh, it’s fine now,’ she said after a moment.

  ‘Listen, I’ll call James right now and tell him to get back there if you want me to.’

  ‘Danny’s coming back in a minute, don’t worry.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The water-taxi guy. He brought you across last time.’

  ‘Oh—cute! No wonder you packed James off.’

  ‘Don’t, Billie.’

  ‘OK, Rosie. All right. Listen, you be careful. And we’ll come and visit soon, I promise. I’m sorry I haven’t been back. Work’s been a nightmare.’

  ‘OK. Thanks, Billie,’ she made herself say. ‘Danny’s here. I’ve got to go.’ She ended the call and turned off her phone.

  When she reached the door, Danny was shifting quietly from one foot to another, a bottle in a paper bag in one hand. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if you’re allowed to drink, and I don’t know what you drink, but anyway . . .’

  He handed it to her. She looked inside the bag— champagne. ‘Thanks. What are we celebrating?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. Sorry. I don’t know what you drink.’

  ‘It’s OK. A glass of champagne would be really nice. Come in.’ She turned on a lamp by the sofa and he sat down.

  When she returned with glasses he said, ‘It might be easier to lay low tonight. To stay somewhere else.’

  ‘Where am I going to go?’ she shrugged, and began to open the bottle. ‘Did you see the fight?’

  He nodded. ‘Wouldn’t call it a fight so much, though.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, Kane was all over him. Moved so fast there wasn’t much room for fighting back.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Listen, Rose,’ he said, gulping his drink like he was downing a beer with the boys. ‘The yacht, just off your jetty out there, it belongs to some friends. They wouldn’t mind if you stayed there for a night or two.’ She wondered where Kane was. He could be below the kitchen window, or outside one of the bedrooms, listening.

  ‘I know he’s being a bit nuts, but I’ll talk to him. There’s been a misunderstanding. He doesn’t worry me,’ she insisted.

  ‘He worries me, mate.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Didn’t you see what he did to your boyfriend out there?’

  Blood and champagne bubbles rushed to her head. ‘He’s not my boyfriend. He never was, really.’

  Danny was silent. He drained his glass with his second gulp. The glow of the table lamp illuminated one side of his face. It seemed older than it was. Deep creases from a life on the water fanned from the corners of his eyes. His brow was furrowed, careworn. He had said that she seemed sad, whenever he saw her. Perhaps he just knew how to recognise it.

  ‘Why does he bother you so much?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘He’s just trouble. There’s no missing it. Maybe it’s the drugs. Maybe he had a bloody awful childhood. I don’t care. He’s just bad news.’

  ‘Has he done something to you?’

  He studied her for a moment.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, he’s done something to me.’

  ‘Well, what?’

  He paused for another moment. ‘When I came here, no one knew who I was. Except Rob. That’s my mate with the yacht. Rob used to work with my old man. We were on a fishing trip, me and my dad, and I went overboard. The papers reported me missing, and when I didn’
t turn up, my dad decided I was dead.’ She waited for him to go on. He seemed relaxed, leaning back in his chair, but his forefingers were pressed so firmly against his glass they had turned white. ‘Anyway, until now, Rob, and his wife Maggie, they’ve been the only ones who knew that was me. Now Kane knows, and I’m pretty sure he’s found my old man and told him.’

  So, it had been true, what Kane had told her. ‘How did he manage that?’ She didn’t ask why he didn’t want to be found. That he didn’t seemed enough of an admission.

  ‘He’s a cunning little toe rag. Look, don’t worry about that. I don’t think you’re safe. I’ve got a feeling.’

  ‘It really seems like there’s been a big misunderstanding. I honestly can’t believe he’d do anything to me.’

  ‘But Rose,’ he said, exasperated. ‘Who’s looking out for you? That joke I just put on the train?’

  She laughed without humour. ‘Well,’ she said, pouring some more champagne, unable to hold his gaze. ‘I’m a big girl. I’ve always looked out for myself.’

  ‘You don’t have eyes in the back of your head. Sleep on the yacht tonight while his dander’s up.’

  ‘I’ve never slept on a yacht before. Might be fun, I suppose. But I’m still going to talk to him, tomorrow. This is stupid.’

  ‘It’s the best place to sleep. You can hear the water. No one can sneak up on you without you hearing them first. It’s a peaceful night. You can keep an eye on your place, too, from there.’

  ‘So that’s how everyone knows what I’m doing every minute of the day.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not. Well, I saw him leave. But he told Tom, I’d say. And Tom’s not known for his discretion.’

  ‘And he doesn’t like me for some reason.’

  ‘It’s not you.’

  ‘That’s what James said. What the hell is it, then?’

  ‘There’s history between him and the Mancinis, that’s all. But for the most part, he’s just a pissed old fart. Really, no one worries about him.’

  ‘It’s like a secret club on this river. You know what Tom said to me? He said I should drown my baby! And I’m supposed to be satisfied that it’s not me he hates. Well, he worries me more than Kane. He’s insane.’