by Emma Taylor
I cringed. It was later than I had anticipated calling.
“Yeah, sorry for that. I had a bit of a fight with Mum this morning, so pretty much just hung out at the beach all day. Just got back.”
“That’s cool, I really just wanted Reed to know that he was responsible for getting you home safely and that I knew about it if he didn’t.” She laughed.
“He was a perfect gentleman. Actually I saw him down at Spring Beach today. He’s been pretty nice to me, Grace. Why don’t you like him?”
Grace hesitated before she spoke. She sighed. I could almost hear her brain searching for the right words.
“Look Jayde. I was totally in love with him. Reed was my first love. It’s not that I don’t like him. It’s just because he broke my heart. But it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t like him. He had a bit of a reputation when he was a bit younger. All the girls in town loved him and still do, but if he breaks your heart, I’ll kill him.”
I smiled to myself over Grace’s need to protect me.
“Go for it, just be watchful ok?”
“Of course. How was Lucas’s party?”
“Oh we stuck around for an hour or so. He really didn’t pay much attention. I thought he wanted me there, but he spent most of his time talking to Kelly Lowndes and her friends. It was really quite depressing. They were hanging on his every word.”
“Damn groupies. Who do they think they are?!”
We chatted for another 20 minutes before the noise of bickering siblings started to drown out Grace’s voice and the sombre silence of my house became too distracting. We agreed to catch up one day this week, any day for me was good, with my busy social life and all! It was nice to have something to look forward to and I did like Grace. She had guts, not as ballsy as Haylie, but still much more outspoken than me.
It was silent outside my bedroom door. It was getting too cold for my parents to still be outside. Back down the steps. 5th from the bottom is creaky, not the fourth, much slower going down. I hadn’t noticed the wood fire burning when I came home. I must’ve been in too much of a hurry to ring Grace. But I could feel it now. The warmth of it was travelling slowly up the stairs. Glad I left my bedroom door open. It was bitterly cold in the early hours of the morning. I had closed my bedroom door last night before going out. More to hide the chaos from mum that had resulted from choosing an outfit than for any other reason.
I could hear the wood crackling as it burned. It was a very unfamiliar sound, yet a strangely comforting one. I walked through our display room, as dad and I have affectionately nicknamed it. Dad for his many, many books he has collected. Every trip he goes on, he takes 3 or so books with him and usually returns with double that. He’s a freak. 25 years in his line of work, you can only imagine his enormous collection. Mum keeps reminding him that a library might be a cheaper option, but he is incredibly proud of his achievements. It’s his wall of honour. My father was diagnosed at 8 years old as being dyslexic. Before that, he was just the naughty kid who didn’t want to learn. So his display of all the novels, biographies and history books that he has read feels like a wall of medals to him. It’s a reminder to him where he has come from. Dad likes to break up the book spine display with his favourites of my artwork. Usually sketches, but there were a few photos I had taken that had landed in his most prized collection. It was our room. I guess it was our wall of honour.
“Owh! You startled me!”
I had startled her. Mum was standing there with a huge kitchen knife, held up in a defensive pose.
“Mum, calm down.”
She took in a deep breath, closing her eyes and smoothing her apron. She swallowed hard.
“Sorry sweetheart. You just snuck right up on me. You looked so much like your sister.”
“Funny that. We were twins.” I smiled. She seemed a little on edge.
“Yes dear.” She returned to her chopping block.
Hmmm, I was looking forward to this. Mum had obviously spent the day at the grocery store. Everything looked so fresh!
“What’s on the menu?” I asked, grabbing a recently peeled carrot. Mum tapped me on the hand.
“May-be Jayde, if you hadn’t run off in a huff this morning, breakfast might’ve sustained you for the day.” She turned to me and smirked. Oh give me a break.
“Yeah, whatever.” I rolled my eyes. Guess Dad’s 3 weeks away will be long after all.
“Jayde, I was only trying my attempt at sarcastic humor.”
My right eyebrow raised itself instinctively.
“Look, don’t worry about that. Listen, I thought we might head into Hobart tomorrow. You know, have a girl’s day. Do a spot of shopping, maybe get our hair done, our nails…” She trailed off, or maybe I just turned off. Hair? Nails? Please. I couldn’t think of anything worse than sitting in a hair salon for 3 hours to only come out with $200 less in my purse and still look the same. Perhaps a little frizzier and fluffier. I mean, red, wavy hair, there’s not a lot you can do with that. However, shopping on the other hand. I could definitely do with a new climate appropriate wardrobe.
“Yeah.” I cut her off. She was still foreseeing all the activities she could cram into one day.
“That sounds great Mum, I would really enjoy that.”
“Enjoy what?” Dad asked coming through the back door, logs of wood in his arms.
“Jayde and I are going shopping tomorrow. We’ll get our hair done, nails, massages…”
Here she goes again!
“I’ll just go shopping Dad.” I laughed.
Dad couldn’t help but let a little giggle escape from his mouth. Defeated, Mum joined us for an honest, warm family moment.
FIVE
Early hours of the morning a question repeated through my mind. Do I call them nightmares or do I call them dreams? Perhaps they are visions or maybe even messages to decipher. I guess they are all of the above. She was getting angry with me. I could tell from the look in her eyes. There was only one time in nineteen years of living that Haylie looked at me like that. We were around twelve years of age. Haylie had one of those musical glitter balls that you buy from jewellery stores. She had saved her birthday and Christmas money for two years to buy it. It was a carousel design with white and caramel horses, broken up by pink carriages with gold trim. The faintest, prettiest lullaby played in the background as the horses pranced around in a circle whilst glitter raindrops fell to the ground. It was magical. She loved it. Until I accidently broke it. I didn’t mean to. It really was an accident. I cried. I just wanted to hear it play and watch the magic dust settle on the hooves of horses. After winding the silver knob on the bottom, I returned it to its sitting position on Haylie’s chest of drawers. She had it sitting in front of a picture of her pony club horse, Tico. Obviously, I hadn’t returned the carousel to the exact spot because as I turned my back, Tico slipped and Haylie’s cherished music carousel was shattered on the floor. She was outraged and didn’t speak to me for a week. That felt like a lifetime. Yet here I was now, receiving that same angry look and she still wasn’t talking to me. Except, she has been dead for over six months and that is a lifetime.
I wanted to scream so loudly. Scream because I was so tired. Scream because I didn’t know what she was trying to show me. Scream because she wouldn’t talk to me and scream because I loved her.
“Help me figure this out Haylie.” I demanded. Now I was angry.
I headed for the shower to warm me up and wake me up. That certainly didn’t go to plan. After five minutes, the water ran cold. Icy cold. I still had conditioner in my hair!
“Mum!” I screamed, heading down the stairs.
“What the hell is going on with the water?”
Not waiting for a reply, I turned the corner, unbridled in my attack.
“My shower was frigging freezing.” Oooh, my. Reed Harper was in my kitchen. I no longer felt cold. Dressed only in a towel, hair dripping wet, I would’ve been forgiven if I was shivering. But once I saw him there, smiling like a cheshire
cat, I felt my blood return to my body-fast.
“Good morning.” He grinned.
“I’ve made you a coffee dear. I’m going to change for the day.” Mum said, heading for the stairs.
“What?” I sighed.
“Perhaps you should do the same.” Oh, yeah, right.
“I’m just going to do a few stretches first in my room. Have your coffee dear and give me a holler when you’re ready to leave.”
I raced upstairs, overtaking mum on the way up. My calves were feeling better today. My trusty rider jeans were on the window seat, so I grabbed those. The only flat shoes I could locate quickly were my running sneakers (bad look with jeans, although, I could probably get away with it here) or my thongs. Thongs won out in the end, but I did promise myself a shoe shop would be first port of call on our girly shopping expedition. I slipped on a long sleeve t-shirt and grabbed a turquoise cardi (that I use to wear with singlets in the middle of Winter in Queensland) Oh, my hair! I ran my finger through it and it felt disgusting. I decided to bun it quickly and cover it up with a straw fedora. I caught a glimpse of myself on the way out.
“It’ll do.” I mumbled.
Reed was sitting in the display room. In my chair, actually. I knocked a book from the table as I entered, grimacing myself.
“Your coffee.” He turned to greet me, my coffee in hand. “Wow. You are beautiful, Jayde.” I blushed.
“Even with clothes on. Although, I do have to say, the half-naked, draped with a towel look was a pretty fine, too.” His hand brushed mine as he handed me my caffeine fix. I felt a spark that almost caused me to drop my coffee. Reed felt it too. He reached down to emulate our connection, but we both pulled back when we heard my dad entering the room.
“Here you are. Ross needs you to give him a hand when you finish your cuppa.” Dad said. He sunk down into his dark chocolate leather armchair, current novel beside him.
“I believe I owe thanks to you for getting my baby girl home safely Saturday night. Muchly appreciated.”
“Indeed.” Reed replied. He’s so intense. Dad paid no attention, but Reed was starring at me. It was almost like he didn’t blink. He just stood there with his coffee in one hand and with the other hand he was fighting to hold it back as to not reach out for me.
“See all these sketches?” Dad asked, oblivious to Reed’s infatuation with me.
“Jayde’s.” He nodded matter-of-fact. Oh, so proud.
“You’re kidding?” Astonishment was written all over his face. “You serious?”
“It’s a little hobby of mine.”
“Wow, Jayde, these are superb. You could sell them, make a living from it.” He enthused.
“Well, actually I do. That’s my job. That and also photography. I’ve been selling my work for 5 years or so now.”
“Aah, rocks are that interesting.” He mused.
I giggled, forgetting that my dad was in the room. I saw the corner of his mouth rise slightly. Oh my God, was my dad smirking at my attempt at flirting? Or worse, was I attempting to flirt while my dad was in the room?
“I’d like to see some of you other work.” Reed said sincerely.
“Some other time, hey? Mum and I are off to Hobart. Retail therapy.”
“You don’t need therapy, Jayde.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised!”
Reed looked at me suspiciously.
“Some other time then. Best I go help Uncle Ross. Incidentally, next time we should probably wait till all the showers are done before we start pressure washing.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re the reason I had a cold shower?”
He leaned in and whispered closely in my ear. “You’re the reason I have to have a cold shower.” His shoulder brushed mine and I again felt a spark. It was more like a warm, fuzzy tingle than an electric zap.
“Thanks for the coffee Mrs. Miller!” He called out to my mum, who had just descended the stairwell.
“Oh, you’re more than welcome. Anytime.” She gushed.
“Have a nice day, Jayde. Remember, I’d like to see more of your work at some stage.” He winked at me.
“No doubt you do Mr. Harper.”
“What a charming young man.” Mum said once Reed was out of earshot.
“You certainly made that obvious.”
The drive down to Hobart wasn’t that bad. I got to see just a little more of the Apple Isle. No apple orchards, though. I did expect to see some. The first half of the drive was country side, farmland with mostly cattle roaming free. There were properties that had planted row after row of pine trees. From the road it looked like structure in nature, but I’m sure from the middle of the arrangement, it would still be a floor covered forest with no light to guide the way out. I shuddered at the thought. I loved nature and all its beauty, but I never want to be alone there. Insects, spiders, little animals—big animals, they all freaked me out. If I could encounter natural surroundings without its inhabitants then I would be in creative bliss. I suppose it’s not even encountering them. I mean, most of the time you don’t even see them, but I think it’s just knowing that they’re there and the fact that you don’t see them until they are crawling up your leg or slithering and scuttering across your path. Oh, I shudder again.
“You alright, honey?”
“Hmm. Just taking it all in.”
There was still so much land available here. It makes me wonder what the Gold Coast was like 100 years ago, if then it even came close to the wide open spaces I see here now. I’m sure if the weather was warmer in Tasmania, it would probably be just as built up as Queensland. The cold, I don’t think I will ever get used to, but the expanse distance between dwelling to dwelling, well that felt free, unrestricted and I’m sure that was a great thing.
“That’s the Tasman Bridge.” Mum nodded as we got closer. She took it on herself to play tour guide. She was really just reading the signs on the side of the road, pretending to be knowledgeable. I found it quite endearing, so I went along with it, if not just for the fact that she was trying, but maybe for a little entertainment too. Here’s the built up area of the CBD. Suburbia was scattered all over the mountain and its base, fanning out in all directions.
“It looks cold.” I said, eyes directed at Mount Wellington.
“Yes, honey, it does get cold. You know in winter there will be snow on the mountain.” She said matter-of-fact. I must have missed that road sign.
“Will it snow in Orford?” I asked both mortified and intrigued. My mother laughed at me.
“Oh no, dear. We live in the tropical part of Tasmania. What do they call it? Sandy Bay in shorts.” She chuckled to herself. “Sandy Bay is the elite area honey. Where all the affluent people live.” Yep, must’ve missed that sign, too. “Hobart’s old, Mum.”
“Historic dear, be polite.”
“Ok. Historic. But history is old.”
We did a little bit of shopping before mum left me so she could go to the hair salon. I’m not entirely sure what I was expecting, but there wasn’t a huge amount of shops to choose from. I guess the population dictated that. I was quite pleased with what I bought though. Usually when I went shopping with the intention to buy, I would come home empty handed. But today I found the essentials and seemed to tick all the prerequisite boxes.
Closed in shoes? Check. Jumpers? Check. Beanie? Check. Jeans, trousers. Check. All good. I thought to myself. Now what to do? From previous experience, I’d say I have a good two hours to kill. Mum will come out of the hair salon, looking stylish and on trend only for her to complain that the hair dressers have used ‘far too much product’. Then only to wash her hair first thing the next day and style it the exact same way she has for the last 25 years. No matter how many compliments she received, she still had the same process. Year in year out. Appointment after appointment. She still managed to look perfect, primed and slightly restricted. I decided to take a stroll and see where my legs would take me. I felt a gravitational pull toward the wa
ter. The Derwent River. One of the deepest ports in the Southern hemisphere, second only to Rio De Janeiro. Well, that’s what the information sign said at the Princess Wharf. It did look deep. Perhaps because it was the darkest blue water I have ever seen. Bitterly cold, too. I bet even in the middle of summer it would still be cold.
There was something so alluring about the waters of Queensland. Sure, 9 times out of ten it wasn’t cold, but I think it was the mixture of different shades of blue and green and crystal clear that instantly made you think of holiday bliss. You know, sun, sand, surf. That kind of thing. But this in front of me, the second deepest port in the Southern hemisphere screamed lonely, monstrous, infinite space. A big, dark, hole. The boats moored at the jetty on the outskirts of the Derwent River had character. They weren’t the typical elaborate yachts I was used to from the elite Marina Mirage. These were boats. There were sailing boats, sails rolled up, looking naked. There were fibreglass boats and even a few aluminium dingys. I could see a rescue boat and also what looked like a floating restaurant. Lots of fishing boats, mainly fishing boats but one boat stood out and caught my attention. An old wooden boat circa 1800s. It was grandeur. Standing alone in all her splendour. They were all unique. I could get lost in their beauty. For a moment there, I did. I completely lost track of time. I turned my back on the boats that were very patiently waiting their turn to glide through the waters, welcoming their chance to bob about on the big, dark, hole. That infinite space called the Derwent River. My pace quickened as I noticed professionals leaving their scheduled jobs for the day. All sticking to the programs and timetables. I’m so grateful I have freedom in my work. I don’t think I could be so restricted. Clock in, clock out. Lunch breaks at the same time, day after day. The same people stuck in traffic next to you every day. It was quite a contrast. The loneliness of the Derwent River and the now overly crowded streets of Hobart.
“From one extreme to the other.” I said out loud. A strange habit I picked up since Haylie’s death. Talking out loud. Letting my thoughts verbalise and escape the mostly safe mind, all before I had time to asses the words. My therapist, Eleanor Carver had explained it was my brain’s way of dealing with the loss of my other half. Instead of finishing each other’s sentences, like we did all the time, much to the annoyance, but sometimes fascination of others, it was like my own mind, talking to itself, blurting out the sentence before I could even think of it. Once the pain of Haylie’s death subdued, so would the impulse.
