‘What are you doing?’ she asked the girl with the tanned skin and the eyes, hooded with wine. But there was no answer.
CHAPTER 17
The party went on into the night. The fire pit was lit and people sat on logs in the clearing, warming their hands against the cool river air. Frogs chirped and the laughter became louder as the fire crackled in the darkness. Tommy and his mates passed a bottle of Scotch between them, taking swigs, their knees spread, necks tipped back in bravado. The spirits made them sentimental, arms hooked around each other, voices husky with emotion.
Phoebe sat nearby, painfully sober by now. She was grateful for the warmth of the fire on her face and the hot chocolate in her hands. A headache throbbed from the base of her neck, up into her skull. The beginnings of a hangover. She would have gone home but she needed to talk to Jez. The whole day his warm mouth, the look in his eyes at the table, jealous and yet restrained, had haunted her. The knot of anxiety in her stomach would not unfurl, even after all that wine. Some of the others had gone to bed. Jenna and Harry and Flick all retreated as the sun slid behind the trees. She watched the Texan and Wendy frying the last of the sausages on the barbecue, near the house. She envied their easy way with each other. Wendy snapped at him playfully with the tongs. They seemed able to give each other freedom as well as security. The power was spread evenly, not tipped to the extreme as it felt with her and Jez. She had been so powerful at first. Jez’s underbelly had been exposed; his immediate attraction and his neediness for emotional connection was stronger than hers. She wasn’t sure why or when or how, but somehow it had tipped. Now it felt as though she was at his mercy. She hadn’t realised how starved she’d been of emotional connection. It was his letters, so simple, in some ways, so innocent, that had hooked her.
She thought of her own parents. Did they have a good marriage? It was so hard to see them objectively. She knew in the deep, unexplained way children do, that her father had given up much of his freedom in marrying her mother. This place was his only concession—one she had grudgingly given him over the years. Phoebe knew her mother had suggested they sell after Karin died, but he refused. She wondered if he missed it down here. He must. I could invite him, she thought. He could drive down for a weekend. The feeling of warmth took her by surprise. Of course, he’d come. It was the anniversary of Karin’s death. Phoebe had always loved her dad but they weren’t close. He struggled to express his emotions in the same way so many Australian men did. Instead they were conveyed in the fixing of broken things. A toaster here, a car engine there. She had long ago understood that it was his way of showing love. She realised sitting here, as the night cooled around her, that he was the only one she could bear seeing. She warmed her hands against the bright flames. She would call him tomorrow.
There were loud hoots over by the barbecue as drunk, starving men picked sausages off the hot plate with their fingers. Tommy and Jez threw a sausage back and forth between them until it landed on the ground and everyone bent over, defeated by laughter. Phoebe felt a stab of longing. She and Karin had had that closeness. They had laughed together until tears squeezed out of their eyes. She hadn’t thought about that in a long time. She tried to remember back to the last time they’d laughed like that. It had been on the phone. She’d been telling Karin about Nathaniel’s weird tan mark. Their niece, Sophia, had put a sticker in the middle of his forehead and he’d gone sailing without realising. A pale love heart had been etched into his forehead for a week. It had been funny at the time but telling her sister had made it deliciously so. She realised that she still hoarded anecdotes from her life to tell Karin, waiting for them to go from the banal to the sublime by sharing them with her. There was still some part of her that expected her sister to come, ready to sit down with a cup of chamomile tea with honey, to be filled in on everything that had happened since she went away.
She remembered the first person she wanted to call about Karin’s death had been Karin. She had dialled the landline and let it ring and ring and ring, sure her sister’s sing-song greeting would eventuate on the line.
Phoebe felt her heart vibrate and she brushed away tears. She watched the men eat the sausages with their fingers and wipe their greasy hands on their shorts. They were back to drinking VB. Maybe Jez was too drunk to talk tonight. Phoebe was tired and the thought of sleep nestled in her mind. She was shaking her numb legs in readiness to stand when Charlie, the flirtatious guy, sat beside her. He held a sausage in one hand and a joint in the other.
‘Care to join me?’ he asked, holding out the sausage suggestively.
She shook her head, exasperated, as though he was an annoying older brother. ‘I’d prefer the joint actually. But hang on, can’t you arrest me? Is this an undercover sting?’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘You don’t even want to know what these boys get up to.’
She sat forward, resting her arms on her knees. She was sweating now in front of the fire. She pressed her palms against her burning cheeks. ‘But . . . call me naïve but you’re cops. You can’t just go around giving drugs to people. Can you?’
‘Haven’t you watched TV?’
‘Really?’
He nodded and produced a lighter, lit the joint and inhaled with more drama than was necessary. Phoebe’s muscles stiffened as the smoke curled around her. She knew Jez’s aversion, and the thought of Tommy even smelling it made her heart race. Charlie offered it to her and she shook her head.
He scoffed and kicked his boot in the dirt. ‘You think these guys care about a bit of marijuana?’
Phoebe felt him watching her and it made her squirm. She shrugged and pulled her knees to her chest.
‘You worried about Tommy?’ He shook his head and laughed.
She locked eyes on him, searching them. She found only heavy-lidded redness. ‘As I said, watch some cop shows on TV. Least of our worries,’ he said, his eyes narrowing against the plume of smoke coming out of his mouth. ‘Let me tell you something. I haven’t been a cop for long but the biggest thing I’ve learned in my training when dealing with anyone—housewives, murderers, kids, whoever—never assume you know someone.’
A shiver slid down Phoebe’s back, as though someone had traced her spine with a shard of glass.
‘Not that I’m going to reveal all the Feds’ secrets to you. No matter how pretty you are.’
Phoebe grimaced. She didn’t like this guy. He was drunk and obviously talking shit to try to impress her.
Asha and Wendy appeared as though sensing her discomfort.
‘Come in, we’re making more cocoa,’ said Wendy, holding out a hand to help her up. ‘It’s getting cold.’
Charlie made a face. ‘Party pooper.’
Phoebe shot the girls a grateful look.
Inside was warm and Wendy had laid out some shortbread biscuits and was pouring cocoa from a large thermos. The Texan had started on the piles of washing up in the sink. Phoebe grabbed a garbage bag and cleared beer bottles from the table.
‘You’re like the mother we never had,’ she said to Wendy, sipping her cup of hot chocolate. ‘Thanks for rescuing me from that guy.’
‘What about me?’ asked the Texan.
‘Oh, yeah, you too, Dad,’ said Asha, pulling up a seat next to Phoebe. She smelled of wood smoke but not cigarettes.
‘I’m sure your own mothers would never let you drink so much.’ Wendy shot Phoebe a knowing look.
Phoebe held up her hands in defeat. ‘I may have had too much white wine earlier.’ She took a sip of the warm, sweet milk.
‘My mum’s worse than me,’ said Asha. ‘Don’t forget, I’m a bogan at heart.’
‘Well, I think you were the only one who stayed sober.’ Wendy nudged her. ‘And why exactly was that?’
Asha’s face flushed crimson and she shook her head and picked up the thermos. ‘Is this ready to pour?’
Phoebe felt a rush of blood in her ears. Her heart hammered so loudly she was sure Asha could hear it. Panic burned the back of her throat
and she could taste white wine and sausages. Her stomach turned. This was it. This is what Jez was going to tell her. This was the dread that had sat in her belly like a dead weight all day.
Wendy’s eyes flashed and a look of mischief came into them. ‘Are you avoiding my question, Asha?’
She looked uncharacteristically flustered. ‘I . . .’ Her face broke into a smile. ‘I can’t hide anything from anyone in this house, can I? Jez will kill me if he finds out I told you.’
Wendy clapped her hands under her chin. ‘I knew it. As soon as I saw you playing with Harry. And you’ve stopped smoking. Good girl. How many weeks?’
It felt like the world fell out from underneath Phoebe and she was falling. Everything was spinning and she knew she was going to be sick. Everything was mashing together, guilt, anger, confusion, jealousy. How could Jez have let this happen? He knew how much Asha wanted a baby. He knew he didn’t want one with her now. He’d said so in the letters. What was the word he’d used? Relieved. Now that he could see clearly, he was relieved not to bring a baby into such a toxic relationship. But he’d known Asha was pregnant when he’d kissed her, under the table today. He should have told her, not kissed her. Her fingers made fists and she clamped her jaw to stop the tears. How long had he known?
The front door slammed and Phoebe jumped. Jez and Tommy came into the room, laughing, drunk.
‘Why are you all drinking tea already?’ asked Tommy, swaying slightly. His hair was wild, which made Phoebe flash back to when he was young. ‘It’s my party and I command that you all drink more beer. Or wine. Or something else.’ He produced a fat joint and a cigar from his pocket. ‘Someone bring me a lighter,’ he said, putting both in his mouth and extending his arms dramatically.
Jez lunged at Tommy and grabbed them from his mouth. ‘Dirty,’ he said, flinging them away.
‘Hey,’ said Tommy, wrenching Jez’s arm behind his back so hard he cried out. The two of them wrestled and ended up on the kitchen floor laughing. Phoebe wondered if he’d got the drugs from the dodgy new recruit. It was obvious Tommy was smashed.
‘This man is turning the big four O and you’re drinking tea at, what is it? Nine o’clock?’ said Jez from the kitchen floor, slapping his brother on the back. ‘You’re all lightweights. Lightweights!’
‘You listen to my little brother,’ said Tommy, getting Jez in a neck lock and ruffling his hair.
Wendy cocked her head. ‘It’s ten actually, and someone has to look after your wife, now, don’t they?’ She paused for effect. ‘And you better start get used to going to bed early, Jez.’ She winked.
Jez’s face froze mid tackle. All the colour drained from it. He looked at Asha and she beamed at him, at them all. ‘Sorry, they got it out of me. I would have been telling them soon anyway.’
He was drunk and Phoebe could tell he couldn’t mask his emotions. Their eyes locked and his face passed through shock, into anger. And then she could see before she looked away, sorrow. She didn’t pause to wonder if anyone else had seen this strange reaction from a father-to-be who had hoped for a child for so long. Phoebe put down her mug and rose unsteadily. Her chest felt tight, as though her heart was an oyster that had been prised open, the contents stolen. How soft, how ripe she had felt these past weeks. Now everything inside her felt like rubber. How stupid she’d been. He was never going to leave Asha. She was simply a diversion in the bump of their marriage.
She heard Jez admonish Asha, something about her not being far enough along and it being too soon to tell. But he was drowned out by everyone’s joy. She watched it all play out in a strange slow motion, as though it wasn’t real. Tommy was slapping him on the back, eyes glistening. Wendy was hugging Asha, the pair of them jumping up and down until the Texan suggested that it may not be good for the baby.
Phoebe realised she needed to contribute to the generally jovial atmosphere or it would look odd. She swallowed back the bile in her throat, hugged Asha and said, ‘Congratulations, you must be thrilled,’ as warmly as she could. She felt like a traitor, a fraud, and hoped Asha wouldn’t feel the cold clammy sweat on her skin. She tried to find a place within her that was happy for this woman who had finally gotten what she’d longed for. But it was too soon. All she could see was the sadness in Jez’s face. She knew he would stay with Asha now. And he should, but he didn’t love or respect his wife anymore. He had admitted to that. He hadn’t written for days because he was trying to figure out what to do, even though he knew what he must do. His torment, his loyalty, made Phoebe want him even more.
Jenna appeared in her pyjamas, shielding her sleep-addled eyes against the light. It didn’t take her long to realise the reason for all the noise. She and Tommy shared a weighted glance. She slapped him playfully on the chest, telling everyone she’d strongly suspected Asha was pregnant but Tommy hadn’t believed her. She hugged Asha, patting down her hair and placing a hand on her flat belly. The pair whispered the secrets of mothers, as though Asha now spoke that soft and knowing language, too. And for the first time Phoebe felt the full hollowness of being outside—outside of that special realm of motherhood and outside now, of the group. How could she remain? It would be too painful for her and for Jez.
Tommy and Jez sobered up quickly and dismissed the last of the revellers. Jenna pulled up a seat at the table and they drank the hot chocolate while Asha told them all about it. She’d had blood tests and her hormones were strong. She was feeling nauseous constantly and the doctor said it was a very good sign. So Jez had known for weeks that she’d been pregnant? Surely Asha wouldn’t have kept it to herself. Phoebe longed to talk to Jez, to hear his side of things. But to what end? It would only be more painful for them both.
Everyone was tired and the excitement of the last hour had smoothed a silence over the gathering at the table. The Texan clapped his hands and reminded everyone it was bed time and that they’d been drinking since midday. Normally Phoebe might have crashed on the lounge, or someone would have walked with her up the road, but tonight was different. No one noticed as she slipped into the night without saying goodbye.
A letter was there the next morning, flimsier than usual, folded into a tiny square. Phoebe’s heart leaped as her fingers found it but her brain admonished her heart. What was the point in hoping?
I’m so sorry. Please meet me at my usual lunch place at midday so we can talk. J
He usually signed off with a kiss but today there was nothing.
The wind whipped against the sea wall with a violence that caught her hair and stung her cheeks. Sails flapped and rigs rattled as the boats on the water braced themselves. Someone upwind was eating fish and chips. The oily, salty smell was the only comfort as she waited for Jez in her car, the window down. How many times had he sat here writing to her when he knew Asha was having a baby? She tried to push the thought out of her mind but it clung on. A cheap motel sat like a squat and ugly temptation across the road. The flashing red vacancy sign hypnotised her.
She got out of her car and pulled her hair back into a ponytail to stop it flying around her head. His ute pulled in beside her. He cut the engine. Her stomach did the same thing it always did whenever she saw him. But this time it was laced with pain rather than excitement. He wound down the window.
‘Do you want to hop in?’
‘No,’ she said, her voice lost in the wind. She couldn’t bear the smell of him in the close cabin.
He had work boots on even though it was Sunday. Maybe he had an emergency job to go to after this, or maybe he’d pretended he was working to get out of the house. She was angry at herself for even caring. She braced her arms against her stomach as he approached. His eyes were red-rimmed, as though he hadn’t slept much either.
‘Is your hangover as bad as mine?’ he asked, rubbing the back of his head. He was awkward. There was a distance now.
‘I think my hangover happened last night, about the same time as Asha’s announcement.’
His face fell. ‘Phoebe, I’m sorry. It wasn’t m
eant to happen like that.’
A sour taste piqued the back of her throat. ‘Like what, Jez?’ The anger in her own voice shocked her but she went on. ‘Letting me fall in love with you while all that time your wife was pregnant?’
‘I didn’t know, I swear it.’
She couldn’t look at him. ‘When? When did you know?’
He rubbed the stubble on his chin and he squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them wide as though trying to wake himself up. ‘It’s going to sound bad, but there’s a reason.’
She waited, the wind roaring in her ears.
‘I’ve known since about five or six weeks but—’
Her laugh was a bark. ‘So basically all the time you’ve been writing the letters.’
‘We’ve had miscarriages very early on, Phoebe. Neither of us thought it would get past six weeks.’
‘But then it did, and you never told me.’
‘I know, I should have. But I wanted you. I could feel you falling in love with me. I was selfish, but none of this changes the way I feel. I don’t want to be with Asha. I don’t want to bring a child into this marriage. I want to be with you.’
Tears stung behind Phoebe’s eyes but her voice was hard. ‘None of that matters now. How you feel is irrelevant. You made a choice and this is the result. I know you. You can’t leave her and I won’t let you.’ She wiped her cheeks. ‘I’m so torn. I’m just so sad.’
She stilled herself, holding her breath, willing the tears to stop. She could tell he wanted to reach out for her but her whole body was steeled against him, against the wind. She wanted to scream at him, This was it. This was our chance at a big love. Not everyone gets that but we had it.
Instead she shook her head and took a step away from him. ‘I feel so sorry for Asha . . . sorry for us. The whole thing just keeps going round and round in my head, as though there’s a solution if I just think hard enough. But there’s not.’
The Lost Summers of Driftwood Page 18
