by Laura Elliot
‘Amelia and I are in constant touch with each other,’ he says. ‘I knew immediately that something was wrong when she didn’t answer her phone. But not this. Not with her fear of water. I’m heartbroken but still clinging to the hope that somehow she is alive and will be returned to me.’
Amelia Madison had never learned to swim. Elena, who could swim before she could walk, finds this incredible. With such a childhood history, she must have been terrified when the waves lashed over her red Subaru. Elena looks at a photograph of the pier with its slanting slipway and imagines the horror of being unable to stop that slow, relentless slide. Oblivion. She hopes death came swiftly.
Three
Hi Elena,
I’ve sent you a link to the rental management company I mentioned when we met at KHM. If you decide to rent, I can guarantee their reliability.
I hope you are well and managing to cope with the difficult task of clearing Isabelle’s possessions from Brookside. She loved you very much so use her love to keep you strong. Such memories give us succour and so does friendship. Perhaps it’s too soon to look upon me as a friend but if you feel like responding to this email, I’d be delighted to hear from you.
Sincerely,
Nicholas
* * *
Hi Nicholas,
Thank you for your email and the link to the rental company. I’m very undecided about my future plans at the moment. Thanks, also, for those kind words about my mother. They come at a good time as I’ve been battling with feelings of guilt and some anger, too. She should have told me the truth. I would have come home immediately if I’d suspected anything was wrong. She was always the same, keeping her feelings to herself yet blaming me for not appreciating them… that was one of the reasons why I moved to Australia.
I always hoped she would move on and find someone new who would give her the happiness she was denied when my father died. He died too young but I never grieved for him. I was five years old, for Christ’s sake… what did I know about sorrow? Sorrow was my very best friend leaving me for another VBF or jeering me because I was the first girl in the class with nits, my mother being too demented to notice me scratching!! She never moved on, even though there were many in work who fancied the pants off her, and I couldn’t cope with her oppressive memories any more. So, I left and met a guy from Sydney called Zac and he certainly wasn’t the solution to my problems. In fact, he thoroughly messed up my life and now I’m struggling with depression, which I’ve probably inherited from my mother, and the only thing that’s lifted my mood was your email because, impossible as it seems, I find myself very attracted to you, even though you’re not my type, too much of a ‘suit’, if you know what I mean, and I generally fall for the more outdoor type. The dangerous ones like Zac who up and leave as soon as the going gets tough…
Elena rests her hands on the keyboard and blinks. What is she doing? Pouring out a stream of consciousness to a man she hardly knows? Crazy… downright crazy. She deletes most of the email and begins again.
Hi Nick,
Thank you for your email and the info about the rental company. I’m undecided about my future plans at the moment. How is New York? I’ve never been there but I believe it’s the most exciting city in the world. All well here. I’m tackling the house and clearing it out. Thanks for your kind words about my mother. I appreciate them. Keep in touch.
Best wishes,
Elena
Nicholas emails regularly. Chatty missives about his life in New York. His apartment has a view over Manhattan. At night, standing on the balcony, he feels as if he is part of a vast, starry constellation. How is Elena? He asks this question and she, afraid she will repeat her first frantic email and press ‘send’ before she comes to her senses, writes about jogging sessions, visits to the gym, painting the house to prepare it for sale, photographing the sun as it rises above Broadmeadow Estuary. Reading over what she has written, she marvels at her ability to lie so easily. Her fingers fly over the keyboard and, as the weeks turn into months, Nicholas’s emails begin to penetrate the fug of confusion that has trapped her.
A parcel arrives from New York. Inside it, she finds a red umbrella and a card with the words, I saw this umbrella in Macy’s. It reminded me of the first time we met, albeit under such sad circumstances. I’ll be home soon. I’d like to meet you again. Is that possible?
Warmest regards,
Nicholas.
Her heart leaps, then it steadies again. It’s too soon. A rebound romance is not the answer to her problems. Nor does she want to be involved with a man who must be carrying his own burdens. As for Zac… she can’t go there, not yet, but something is changing within her. An awareness that she wants to emulate this energetic person she has created through her emails. If that means rising at dawn to capture the sun’s reflection on the estuary, that’s what she’ll do. She joins a gym, jogs in the evenings and bins the pizzas. When the house is clean, she takes Isabelle’s possessions to the local Oxfam shop and moves into her mother’s bedroom. She begins to sleep more soundly and when she awakens in the night it is Nicholas, not Zac, who fills her thoughts.
* * *
Sun-bleached sands and challenging rollers, passionate nights and idle days; these are the memories that have tormented Elena. She and Zac were made for each other, she believed when they first met. When their money ran out, they took part-time work until they had saved enough to return to the beach. Freedom – Elena had fought hard for it. She had had no idea what she would do with her life when she headed for Australia but the lure of the waves decided her. This would be her future; but a time came when she needed something more than dreams to pay the rent. She was offered a permanent job with an advertising agency after temping there for two months and decided to take it. The money was too good to turn down and, as she had graduated from college with a degree in communications, the skills she had acquired could finally be used. Zac was working irregular hours in a bar and his evening shifts allowed him the freedom of the beach during the day. Elena tried not to feel envious when she left their apartment in the mornings, trim skirt and jacket, high heels instead of sandals, her heedless days on the surf behind her.
Her pregnancy was unplanned. She was as shocked as Zac when it was confirmed. She sensed his panic, which he tried to hide in the beginning, thinking there must be some mistake. Elena was on the pill. Taking it in the morning was as habitual as cleaning her teeth. They had been away for a long weekend at a rock festival that month and, perhaps, the late nights and the hash, the shots that had her leaning into the bushes to be violently sick… perhaps… perhaps. Zac rocked her in his arms. He told her they were too young and carefree to be burdened with parenting and the responsibilities that came with it. Termination. He made it sound like the end of a bus journey. He accompanied her to the clinic and followed her back to their apartment when she stood up in the middle of the consultation and ran. They faced each other, ships passing in the sunlight, and discovered there was nothing left to say.
Alone in the apartment they had shared, Elena longed for her mother. She organised a flight home, planning to surprise Isabelle with the news that she was to become a grandmother. Two nights before her flight she awoke, her insides in spasm, blood on the sheets. Isabelle understood when Elena broke the news to her. She agreed that Elena had no option but to cancel her flight until she had recovered. Soon they would be together. Two weeks later, the phone call came from Rosemary.
* * *
The red dress is an impulse buy and the heels of her designer shoes should come with a health warning, Elena thinks as she slips them on. She loves their precarious height. Her reflection satisfies her, the shadows gone from under her eyes and her skin lightly tanned from working in the garden. She clips her hair upwards into a casual knot and secures it with a comb, then stops, her hands still raised. Her lips are too red, too shimmery, her dress too revealing. Suddenly, filled with an unreasonable fear, she decides to cancel and tell Nicholas that a headache has laid he
r low. She is about to call him when he rings. He has organised a taxi to bring her to the restaurant. It will be with her in five minutes.
‘I didn’t expect you to order a taxi for me,’ she protests.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ he replies. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting you again.’
On Dawson Street, people are dining outdoors under colourful awnings. Lights glisten on trees and the city basks in the balmy summer air. He stands to greet her, fixing his eyes on her with that same concentration, and she knows that her red dress was the right choice.
Throughout the meal they talk about music, films, Brisbane, New York. Safe subjects. Anyone seeing them together, relaxed in each other’s company, would never suspect the stories they both hid. He asks when she is returning to Brisbane.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she says. The thought of setting up her own company no longer holds any appeal. ‘I’m going back to university. I’ve a degree in communications but I’ve lost interest in working in advertising. I’d like to do media studies or social justice. Last night, I thought it would be wonderful to study zoology… as you can see, I’m all over the place at the moment. All I know is that I need to focus on something. How did you decide to become a fund manager?’
‘I’ve always been a good communicator and I’ve an analytical mind,’ he replies. ‘I make correct decision quickly and am a problem-solver. Throw in a first in maths and my career choice seemed inevitable.’
‘Is making decisions on how people should invest their money a huge responsibility?’
‘Not when you know what you’re doing.’
‘Do you always know that?’
‘Always.’
‘How come you didn’t add modesty to your list of accomplishments?’ she jokes. ‘Or self-confidence.’
He grins and fills her wine glass again. ‘Modesty is only an excuse to hide one’s weaknesses but self-confidence will always help you to achieve what you want. That’s what you need to get back, Elena.’
‘I never thought I lacked confidence.’ She is surprised by his comment.
‘I’m not saying you do,’ he replies. ‘But confidence takes a battering when you receive a sudden shock, as you did. Don’t worry. It’s a natural reaction.’
Is he remembering his own tragic experience? She waits for him to mention Amelia but he asks her to tell him more about her time in Australia.
‘I have a sense it was your natural home,’ he says. ‘Isabelle was afraid you’d settle there for ever.’
The wine has relaxed her and it is easy to talk about the exhilaration of bodyboarding. To describe how she and Zac met when they were carried ashore on the crest of the same turbulent wave. She is nervous talking about the ocean in case it triggers thoughts of Amelia. She searches his face for signs of distress but he shows no indication that his dead wife feared the waves as much as Elena embraced them. She longs to tell him everything about Zac but it is too soon to share such intimate secrets.
‘I’m talking too much,’ she says. ‘Tell me about yourself.’
‘Another time, Elena. Our waiter is hovering nearby so I suspect he’s hinting he’d like to see his bed before dawn.’
She is surprised to discover that the restaurant has emptied out and they are the only diners left. Nicholas insists on taking her home. Will she have to invite him in? And, if she does, what will happen then? She is flustered and flushed from too much wine. ‘I live in the opposite direction,’ she protests. ‘I can easily call a taxi.’
‘It’s no trouble. I’d like to see you safely to your door.’
‘But we’ve both been drinking. You should also take a taxi.’ She tries to sound casual and fails.
He smiles, sensing her nervousness. ‘I’m under the limit.’ He gestures towards his wine glass, still half-full. The water jug is empty. Elena doesn’t remember drinking from it, which explains the muzziness in her head. She’ll have a hangover in the morning, while he’ll awaken clear-eyed and remembering everything she said. And everything he didn’t have a chance to say because, tonight, she hogged the limelight on anguish?
‘It’s okay… okay.’ He leans across the table and holds her hands. ‘My nights are long and I often drive to pass the time. Tonight, you’ve given me a reason.’
He steadies her when she sways on the steps of the restaurant. The sensation of his fingers on her arm remains with her even though they are now walking sedately apart. He drives at a leisurely pace from the city and brakes outside the bungalow.
‘You don’t have to ask me in,’ he says. ‘I’ve enjoyed your company and you’ve shortened the dark hours. I’m grateful for that.’
‘Thank you for listening to me, Nicholas. I’m sorry if I talked too much.’
‘You didn’t,’ he assures her. ‘If I helped a little by listening, I’m glad.’
After he has driven away, she sits before the mirror on the dressing table and studies her face. Her lips feel voluptuous, as if he has crushed them with kisses instead of politely shaking her hand at the door.
‘I’ve fallen in love with him.’ She utters the words to her reflection, then repeats them. Her stomach lurches, as if caught unawares by the giddiness of desire. She believed she was in love with Zac but that emotion now seems like a feeble pulse compared to this sensation of bliss and wonder and terror. She is not ready to be consumed. Not now, when she is so vulnerable, so prone to mood swings that leave her listless or filled with a manic energy. They plan to meet again next week. This feeling that has come upon her like a low fever turned delirium cannot be denied. No more talking about Zac. That conversation is over. She wants to know everything about Nicholas Madison, about Amelia, about their marriage. When he speaks of Amelia she will be as sympathetic as he was with her tonight.
* * *
She believed Zac had broken her heart but she had only suffered a mild fracture. Losing her baby and Isabelle had shattered it into tiny pieces – but hearts can mend. Does Nicholas believe that? She hopes desperately that he does. She sways forward, her arms wrapped round her chest, and thinks of Zac, pictures him riding towards her on the belly of a wave… then lets him fall.
Four
When they are not seeing each other, Nicholas rings her late at night. An hour later, they are still talking. They tease each other over who will be the first to end the call.
Flowers are delivered to the bungalow when Elena is not expecting them. He books tickets for the theatre and the Concert Hall, takes out membership for both of them at the Irish Film Centre. The films he chooses are interesting, sometimes difficult to understand until later, in a pub, he explains the concepts behind them. He enjoys classical music. This is more than just a preference, he tells her after a Bach recital by a Polish pianist, whose name Elena has already forgotten. Classical music has been proven to help people process grief and other traumatic events from their past. That is why he prefers it to popular music. This is the moment, Elena thinks. The perfect opportunity for him to confide in her. The moment passes.
She has checked everything that is available online about Amelia Madison. In back issues of glossy magazines, she has read about her high-flying career in interior design. She has watched on YouTube her television appearances, where she demonstrates how to achieve harmony and unity within the living and working space.
‘Perhaps I should sign up for a course in interior design,’ Elena says one night when they are dining in a restaurant. ‘I’ve always believed I’ve a knack for optimising space.’
He turns his head away. His jaw clenches. Elena wants to bite down on her tongue. She must be more sensitive, more understanding of his emotions, as he is of hers. He has remained a good listener, pressing her hands gently if she becomes agitated, holding her to him when she tells him about the tiny life she and Zac created and lost. He has opened her up in a way that no one else – not even Zac at the height of their relationship – has done.
When she tries to understand the uneasiness she sometimes feels after con
fiding in him, she can only describe it as being undressed, emotionally. It’s as if he can see deep into her soul. Not that Elena believes in the concept of a soul or in a life that continues after the grave. Isabelle’s spirit is not haunting the bungalow, nor is Amelia Madison’s wraithlike hand on his shoulder when Elena is with him. It’s just the power of memory that gives lifeblood to the dead.
She thinks about Zac, his rumbustious passion that petered out as soon as it was challenged. In bed she imagines Nicholas beside her, his probing tongue, his muscular arms and hard, thrusting body. She moans and tosses off the duvet, seeking relief, whispering his name as her body shudders. How long can this continue before her desire spills over and demands more from him than reticence and a chaste kiss on her cheek at the end of each date?
He rings her late one night. ‘Would you like to come to Kinsale with me for the August holiday weekend?’ he asks.
She swallows, her mouth dry. It is three days since he was in touch, his phone going directly to message each time she tried to contact him. She had been distraught, convinced he had decided to end their friendship. That is all she can call this liaison that can sometimes feel more like a therapy session.
‘Elena, are you there?’ He sounds puzzled by her silence.
‘Yes, Nicholas. I’m here.’ She hopes he can’t hear the shake in her voice.
‘So, what do you think?’
‘Yes. That would be wonderful.’
What will they do in Kinsale, she wonders when the call ends. Go for long, bracing walks? Enjoy the gourmet restaurants, then kiss each other chastely as they go to their separate rooms? She breathes deeply and exhales. There is only one way to find out.
