All too soon they were pulling up in the driveway at home. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting but it wasn’t this. That nothing had changed and everything was the same. That the house would look exactly as it had when she left. Houses don’t feel pain.
But her grandfather did.
He had aged terribly; hunched and hobbling and bent with his loss.
“Oh my darling girl,” he said, his voice cracking, “come here.” And he held her tight, for so long and so silently and in such a stupor that she eventually had to gently pull away.
“Do you want to – talk, about - it?” he asked.
“No.”
And his gratitude was obvious.
“Ok,” he said, “ok.” Then he turned to Craig and they started to discuss the journey home, as casually as if discussing the weather but she knew they were just tiptoeing around the topic neither of them could bring themselves to discuss. That neither wanted to open the floodgates as they feared they could never again be closed. She used the opportunity to steal away, up the stairs. At the top she paused; she had to pass her mother’s room to get to her own. The door was shut she realised with relief, and she released the breath she’d held and crossed the floorboards quickly, entering her room and closing the door behind her.
Home.
She kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged with the bag in front of her.
“We’re home guys,” she whispered, and she undid the clasps and lifted out the box containing all that was left in this world of her family.
It was a simple box. White with pale grey flecks and only with a sticker attached to one end betraying its grim contents.
This box, it read, contains the ashes of the late Patricia Anne Carlton (06/04/1959 – 02/10/2002, and June Rose Carlton, (15/09/1975 – 02/10/2002)
As if those words, those dates, with a bracket slapped on each end could somehow sum up their lives. She stroked the box softly, let her tears fall on to the lid.
In the bag she heard her phone beep, not for the first time since she’d landed back in the country. She knew who it was, that he was desperate to see her. But not tonight. She had nothing to say, could take no more comfort, wanted only to see the two people in the world that she would never see again.
She lay down with the box in her arms and numbly closed her eyes, waiting for the terror to hit her all over again.
Chapter fifteen
“Why doesn’t she answer? Shall I go to her?” Walt paced the kitchen and dining room of his parent’s house, frustration evident in his voice.
He needed to see her, to touch her, hold her, hear her and taste her; to reassure himself that she had indeed survived, had come home to him. The days since he woke to hear what had happened had been the worst days of his life. In the initial confusion he could get no answers from anyone as to whether Ivy had survived. He joined Craig at Ivy’s grandfathers house and the three of them had passed hours making calls to anyone they could contact in Bali and the embassies. He would never forget the other men’s faces when word eventually got through; of the seven women who had left, only Ivy survived. Pat and June and two of the other girls had been killed instantly. Of the other two, one died in a Bali hospital the day after the bombs went off and the other died on the emergency flight back to Australia.
For Walt there was an immense flooding of relief, but he kept it inside because Craig and Leo had lost so much. For them there was only shock, pain and disbelief. The questions over how this could have happened would come later but for now, nothing about the whole thing seemed real.
Even when they watched the coverage on the news and saw the explosion and the aftermath they could not believe that Pat, June and Ivy and the others had been there. It was something that only happened to other people. The phone started ringing off the hook with people wanting news of the women. They couldn’t bring themselves to say the words, so they took the phone off the hook, knew that the word would spread in other ways.
Craig had swung into action; booked his ticket on the next available flight. Walt wanted to go with him but Ivy told him no. Wait there, she had said, I will be home soon. And he had to physically sit on his hands to stop them from disobeying and booking a flight.
“Shall I go?” he repeated the question to his mother, still pacing the floor.
“No dear,” Walt’s mother said. She watched him pace and wished she could hold him and make everything all better. He was hurt, but it was nothing to what she imagined that poor girl Ivy was going through. To lose her mother and her sister in such a way? She couldn’t begin to imagine the damage such a thing would inflict on a person’s psyche.
“Why won’t she answer?” he asked her again, tortured.
“Give her time. She’s been through such an horrific experience. You need to wait until she’s ready.”
He stared at her, or rather through her, his mind mulling over her words.
“No,” he decided, “she needs me. I have to see her,” and he left and ran the few miles to Ivy’s and as he ran his feet kicked up sparks on the pavement, such was the strength of his emotions.
At the house he rang the doorbell and hopped from foot to foot impatiently until Leo opened the door. It seemed to take a few heartbeats for the old man to recognise Walt, his eyes blurry and shot through with sadness.
“Walt,” he embraced the young man when the fog cleared enough for him to make the connection, “I’m glad you’ve come.”
“How is she?”
“It’s hard to say. She doesn’t want to talk. I guess I can understand that.”
“Where is she?”
“In her room. She wouldn’t come out for dinner. I’m worried.”
“Let me see if she’ll talk to me,” Walt said, pushing past the old man and taking the stairs two at a time, pausing outside her door long enough only to catch a breath, before opening it and stepping inside.
She was curled up on the bed, her back to him. He could see the bandages on her arms, shoulders and across the top of her back; and her hair, her beautiful long hair was gone, replaced by a thin layer of stubble over her scalp. She was barefoot, wearing a loose white dress from which her bones jutted sharply, her elbow a dagger and her ankle a flint. He wondered if she had eaten since that night.
She didn’t move; he thought she was asleep. He walked softly around to the other side of the bed and was planning on camping out in the window seat until she woke, but when he got there he realised he was mistaken, she was awake but with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears spreading into a damp spot on the quilt.
“Oh my darling,” was all he could think to say, and he went to her, holding her gently while her shoulders shook and she wept. They stayed like that, in that position, for hours. While the room darkened and the shadows lengthened on the walls. Her breathing slowed, softened, as she faded into sleep in his arms. When the temperature dropped he reached down for the blanket folded neatly across the bottom of the bed, pulling it up and over them, a little comfort and warmth.
In the morning he woke and she was gone, a lingering sense of sadness tainting the air. He followed it and found her on the deck, curled up in the hanging seat, eyes scanning the horizon blankly.
“Hey,” he said, sitting beside her and reaching for her hand. She flinched when he did and he tried not to take it personally, remembering what she had been through. He needed to be gentle, allow her to come back to him when she was ready. This was easier said than done though, when all he wanted was to wrap her up in his arms and keep her safe and protected for all eternity. He would never let her out of his sight for so long again he vowed, knowing it was an impractical and impossible desire.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked, “a coffee? Toast?”
“Coffee,” she said, “please.”
He was pouring the boiling water into the cups when Leo joined him at the bench.
“How is she today?”
Walt shrugged. “She’s very quiet. Sad. I d
on’t know what else to tell you sir. I have to admit this is beyond anything I’ve ever had to deal with. I have no idea what to do or say to her. I feel a bit useless, to tell you the truth.”
Leo sighed deeply, leaning against the bench and rubbing his eyes tiredly.
“You and me both, lad. You and me both. Did she say anything about the service?”
“No. What service?”
“A funeral, well, more a memorial I suppose. We’ve planned for this Saturday. I don’t think she’s ready. But we need to do it. For all the people around here who loved Pat and June and need a chance to say goodbye. Pay their respects.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a really good idea. Doesn’t she think so?”
“I don’t know. I’ve tried to include her in the preparations but she’s not showing any interest. It’s so hard to tell what she’s thinking. She’s barely said more than four words since she’s been home.”
“You can hardly blame me for that,” Ivy said and they both jumped a little, not having heard her come inside.
“No,” Leo said, reaching out his arms and doing his best to hide his hurt when she chose to sit at a breakfast stool instead. “Of course not, you’ve been through something horrific and –”
“Stop,” Ivy shook her head violently, reaching her hands up and covering her eyes for a minute. “Stop right there. I don’t want to hear about what I’ve been through thanks, it’s not like I’ll ever forget it.”
“No love. Sorry,” Leo mumbled and then shuffled sadly from the kitchen, broken.
“Ivy, he’s only trying to help. Don’t be so harsh on him, he’s grieving too.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped.
Walt took a deep breath. She was angry; it was understandable. He wasn’t qualified to deal with this.
“Tell me what I can do,” he said, “please.”
“Nothing.”
“I want to help.”
“I know you do but you can’t. Unless you can turn back time and bring back my mother and sister, can you do that?”
“I wish more than anything that I could. I would do anything to change what happened, believe me.”
“Yeah, well you can’t. So stop going on about it.”
And she got up and walked away from him, heading for the stairs.
“Ivy,” he called after her, “don’t shut me out.”
She whirled back towards him, “This isn’t about you!”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what? What do you want from me?”
He went to her, took her in his arms although she stiffened at the embrace.
“I just want to help, support you and be here for you.”
She sighed. “And I appreciate that, I do. But don’t push me ok, please. If I don’t want to talk don’t try and make me.”
“Ok.”
“And Walt, I need some space.”
“Oh.”
“I feel - suffocated. I need some time, to try and process what’s happened.”
“but –”
“Don’t take it personally. It’s nothing to do with you, you’ve done nothing wrong. I just want to be alone.”
“Of course, it’s just I -”
“Please Walt.”
“Ok. Alright. But you know where I am if you need me, you can call me at any time, day or night.”
“I know.”
“Promise you’ll call if you need me?”
“I promise.”
“Ivy –”
“What?”
“I love you, you know that right.”
“Yes. I know.”
“I’m always here if you need me, for anything. Just a cuddle, to talk, to scream at if that’s how you feel.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll call if you need me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
They had walked to the door and now she held it open for him, but he was reluctant to leave her. Emotionally she was shutting herself off from him and he could feel the distance growing but felt powerless to stop it. All he could do was hope that somehow they would get through this intact.
“I’ll see you Saturday?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He leaned in to kiss her but she dipped her head so his lips landed on her forehead instead. He lingered, as if trying to leave an imprint, some sign of the depths of his feelings so she could wear it with her constantly and feel the warmth of his love like a blanket. But as he pulled away he felt the chilled night air swoop in and with a gentle whisper the kiss was peeled from her skin and blown far away.
He shivered, but not from the cold.
Chapter sixteen
Saturday dawned fresh and clear and crisp. The air was of the brisk sort that when breathed in made your mouth feel like you’d just sucked on a peppermint. The sun was in the sky but heat from its rays failed to reach the village; and people dove into closets for jackets and into drawers for thick socks and tights when dressing that morning.
Friends and relatives of the deceased women spent the dawn hour setting up chairs at the reserve beside the mouth of the estuary and with the beach right in front; the view over the ocean from there was extraordinary, and seemed a fitting backdrop for the service.
Marie, a florist who’d worked for Pat and who was keeping the place running until the affairs could be sorted out, pulled up just after nine in the pink florists van and they helped her unload the flowers from the back. She had stayed up most of the night working on the flowers and they all agreed that she had outdone herself. Unusually, although perhaps not for someone who was surrounded with beautiful flowers daily, Pat had never been able to settle on a favourite flower. When pressed by one person she might say “Oh a rose is most delicious!”, but the next day if asked by someone else she would smile and say “You can’t beat the intoxicating smell of a Daphne.” She loved them all equally.
So Marie had sent out the call through emails far and wide and florists from throughout the country had responded, sourcing her flowers from all over, ones that weren’t currently in season in one place due to the climate were flourishing elsewhere, and the courier had delivered so many chilled deliveries of flowers in the last 48 hours that getting into his van smelt like you were rolling in a meadow of wildflowers.
She had made the most enchanting bouquets, tall and flamboyant and filled with all the colours of the palette, soft pinks and dusky reds, burnt oranges and cornflower blue; the cheeriest of yellows and the most sombre and stately of whites. They hung garlands of peonies along the backs of the chairs and scattered rose petals on the grass. They placed vases on the table where the ashes would sit during the service and on the table at the back where framed photos of the women were set up. Candles in coloured vases surrounded the photos.
Gary from the local school had set up a sound system run off a generator, and they piped soft music from speakers on stands at the back, honeysuckle and jasmine woven around the bars. The breeze was gentle and obliging, stirring up the air just enough to carry the scent of the flowers.
Around noon the villagers started to arrive, collecting service sheets and taking seats, conversation sombre and muted as the occasion called for. In a place so small such as this, the loss of the six women affected nearly everyone in some way or another. As well as the immediate families people had lost colleagues. The high school itself had lost two of its own, as Georgia had been a teacher and Kelly the librarian.
When it was nearly time for the service to start there was still no sign of Ivy. Walt leaned forward in his chair and tapped Leo on the shoulder.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“I don’t know, she should be here by now.”
“She didn’t come with you?”
“No, she wanted to walk, get some fresh air. She’s been cooped up in her room the last few days. I thought it was a good idea” but his face betrayed his worry. He was almost certain she wouldn’t miss this, but a fraction o
f doubt lingered. He thought he knew his granddaughter well, had played a huge part in raising her, but things had changed. She had changed.
I’m sure she won’t be long” he said, more to reassure himself, then his face lightened as he spotted her. “She’s here.”
Walt turned and his breath caught in his throat when he saw her.
She was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. But oh how she had changed in the month or so he had known her. She wore her grief and her pain like makeup, smeared across her cheeks and dusted across her eyes. Her shorn hair gave her an elfin appearance. She was thin and dainty and so pale, as if she was a ceramic doll and he worried that if the wind kicked up it might knock her to the ground where she would shatter into a million pieces. He knew that if it did he would spend his life trying to put her back together again.
People tried to talk to her, touch her comfortingly as she passed them by but something about her, an impenetrable force field signified her desire to remain untouched, and their hands fell to the wayside and their words trailed off awkwardly into nothing. She kept her eyes to the ground and made her way through the people to the front where she sat beside Leo.
Walt had to fight the urge to lean forward and kiss the back of her neck, the vulnerable area just under the hairline. Or the tips of her ears, pink and curved and beckoning.
An inappropriate time, he told himself. Probably the most inappropriate time there could be. As if sensing his thoughts she turned in her seat and gave him a wan smile. It fed the hunger he had for her, but only slightly.
“Hi,” she said.
“I’ve missed you,” he told her, which was an understatement. “How are you?”
She pulled a face. “People keep asking me that and I honestly don’t know how to answer. Do I lie and say what people expect me to say? That I’m doing ok thanks, all things considered. Or do I tell them the truth, what I’m really feeling, that my world has collapsed and I feel like shit and I wish I was dead as well”
When Stars Collide Page 7
