The Bridge

by Enza Gandolfo

  All through her childhood and into adolescence, Jo had dreamt about the tanks exploding, and the flames chasing her and her mother. Often in these dreams she ran, exhausted and breathless, not knowing whether they would make it, whether they would escape, whether the house would survive. When her mother told her about the actual fire, those dreams stopped. She’d told Ash about the dreams and their sudden departure. Ash had laughed. ‘My dreams are set in forests or deserts, places I haven’t been, beautiful places. I can’t believe you, anxious even in your sleep.’

  ‘Portarlington must be a big change,’ Justin said.

  ‘It is, and I know it sounds strange to you, but I love our house and I miss it.’

  ‘So why did you leave?’

  These were the sorts of questions she couldn’t answer. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to stay. She became adept at changing the conversation, at steering it in other directions.

  Jo regretted changing her name to Ashleigh. It was a stupid, spur-of-the-moment mistake. She lived with the dread of Sue and Laurie and Justin finding out. If a cop walked past the restaurant or if patron seemed vaguely familiar, it sent her into a panic. But she liked the way Ashleigh, the name, transformed her into someone else. Not Ash, but also not Jo. It was liberating. Ashleigh wasn’t a killer. Ashleigh could live. Ashleigh could laugh. Ashleigh could be funny. Ashleigh deserved to be happy, to be loved. At school Jo had avoided taking drama. Now she was playing at being Ashleigh, like an actor in a play, she could see the attraction. To be given a name, a personality, a life that isn’t yours, and to be allowed to become that person. There were moments of exhilaration, when the world was open with possibility.

  If only she’d chosen another name — she could’ve become Melissa or Annabelle or Chelsea or Jodie — then maybe Ash would’ve stopped plaguing her, stopped occupying her dreams, taunting her with nightmares.

  You’re not me.

  I know.

  You can’t take over my life.

  I know.

  My family won’t let you.

  I know.

  Well, stop using my name.

  Jo volunteered to work Christmas Day. Sue and Laurie were in Melbourne, having Christmas with Laurie’s sister. A number of the permanent staff wanted the day off, so no one seemed concerned that Jo wouldn’t be spending time with family.

  On Christmas morning, Jo sent her mother and grandmother messages, but didn’t return their calls. The connection between them and Ashleigh, the girl rushing off early to set the tables and help with the carving of the roasts, was tenuous; she couldn’t think what she might say to them.

  Once her shift started, there was no time to think. The customers were large extended-family groups, mainly from the caravan park. There were balloons and tinsel, and the music — Christmas-themed — was loud and eclectic, including old Bing Crosby classics and songs by Billy Bragg and Coldplay. There were kids running around, and most of the adults were drunk before the entree was served. By the time they had cleaned up after lunch, they had to set up the dinner buffet. When the staff gathered for a quick meal at four-thirty, she sat quietly at the end of the table while the others told anecdotes about the silly, rude, ridiculous things some of their customers had said and done. It was then that she thought about Ash, and Ash’s family. Last year, she’d gone to Ash’s for pudding after Christmas lunch at Mary’s house with her mother and an elderly couple who were long time neighbours of Mary’s. She could hear Ash’s family, their laughter, their animated conversations, from the end of the street. There was a cricket game in the driveway and people spread through the house and the backyard. Ash’s father was playing the Eagles and singing along. And Ash and Jane were teasing him.

  ‘Great, Jo’s here,’ Ash said when Jo walked in the door. And there was a boisterous Merry Christmas, Jo from Ash’s family.

  She felt a wave of sadness and grief. There would probably be no Christmas lunch at Ash’s house this year. No laughter or singing. No Ash. She could feel herself sinking.

  Jo was relieved when Justin shouted across the table, ‘Sorry to break this up, but we need to get back to work, guys.’ He pointed outside and they could see that the first of the dinner bookings were lining up outside the door.

  It was well after midnight by the time she got to bed, grateful to be too exhausted to think.

  The week between Christmas and New Year, the stream of holiday-makers arriving in town increased severalfold; cars toeing jetskis, caravans, or boats, or overloaded with bikes, toys, and children, clogged the main street. Every night the restaurant was full, and on New Year’s Eve they were booked out again. By the time they finished cleaning up and Justin suggested champagne, it was 3.00 am and she was not the only one too tired to hang around. She walked home past houses where the parties were still going, music blaring, voices streaming out of open front doors, partygoers too drunk or too tired to stand sprawled on front lawns. ‘Happy New Year,’ they yelled out to her, holding up their glasses and bottles.

  It was a new year. 2010. Twelve months ago she’d spent the night with Ash, Laura, and Mani. They’d made New Year’s resolutions standing on the balcony of Laura’s house, silly, ordinary resolutions — to study hard, to exercise, to lose weight — and danced until early morning. They’d been excited, and anxious too, as they looked forward to their last year of high school. One last hurdle. Around the corner, freedom and the beginning of their ‘real’ lives.

  Jo crawled into her bunk in the dorm. 2009 had turned out to be Ash’s last year. Everything had gone to shit. She curled up, knees to chin. She would not make any resolutions; there was no point.

  Happy New Year.

  Last year, she and Ash had seen the year out together, had woken up next to each other the following morning. By the time they’d had breakfast, it was mid-afternoon. The whole twelve months stretched out ahead of them.

  On your own in 2010.

  I miss you, Ash.

  I’ll always be missing.

  No matter how bad 2010 turned out to be, 2009 would always be her worst year ever.

  Before New Year’s Eve, Jo had kept her distance from the other staff, making excuses not to join them for after-work drinks or excursions to Geelong on nights off to see a movie or go to a club. Partly it was to avoid the inevitable questions, partly to avoid the alcohol. She hadn’t had a drink since the accident. Some nights the smell — of the beer especially — or the sight of a group of drunk young women made her nauseous. But in the first weeks of 2010, The George continued to be busy and, exhausted at the end of her shifts, Jo could not face going back to the dorm alone, to Ash’s taunting voice, to the relentless memories of her life before the accident. So she gathered with the others in the courtyard after they closed. She drank Coke or lemonade and didn’t say much. She let the talkers talk, she laughed at their jokes and deflected the occasional questions, but otherwise she was invisible, the quiet child in a big, boisterous family.

  So she was surprised when one night Margaret, the other regular waitress, whispered in her ear, ‘Justin has the hots for you.’

  After that night, Jo became wary around Justin, more conscious of the way he sought her out, and of the way she anticipated her time with him. When she was with Justin, she forgot about Ash, about the accident, about the future. When she was with him, she was calmer. But if Justin did like her, who exactly did he like? A girl called Ashleigh he knew nothing about?

  She didn’t want to start a relationship with him, with anyone. She tried to avoid him after that. Took her breaks when he was out or busy. Found a new grassy spot to sit, away from the restaurant, so he wouldn’t find her. But in the quiet times — at night in bed, on her long walks — she thought about him, she daydreamed a romance she knew was impossible, could only happen in a parallel universe where Ash was alive.

  Justin wasn’t at all like the boys she went to school with. Or like Ian, or Craig, th
e first guy she’d slept with, what seemed like centuries ago but was less than twelve months. Justin worked, he fished, he spent time doing odd jobs for his father, volunteering with the SES. He wasn’t ambitious; he had no plans to study or travel. It was this quiet contentedness, plus his kindness and care, that drew her to him. This idea that life could be lived day by day, in a series of small movements, without climax or crescendo, without taking things too seriously.

  One afternoon, Justin called the staff together between the lunch and dinner shift to discuss changes to the menu. Afterwards, they all sat at an outdoor table having a drink. The conversation turned to fishing, and one of the other waiters asked Jo if she liked it. ‘I’ve only been fishing once,’ she said. ‘Down there, actually.’ She pointed to the pier. ‘I was little, and I came here with my grandfather. I think to give my mother a break. We spent most of the week on the pier fishing.’

  ‘Did you catch anything?’

  ‘I can’t remember. I think a catfish, or something that we had to throw back. I remember it was fun, but maybe it was hanging out with my grandfather.’

  ‘It was the fishing too,’ Justin said, and the others laughed.

  ‘According to Justin,’ Margaret said, ‘fishing is the cure for everything. He’s worse than those religious fanatics. Come to Jesus, no, come to fishing.’ Margaret was in her late twenties with two children, a ten-year-old and an eight-year-old. According to the others, her partner was a ‘wanker who doesn’t deserve her’. She was tall and skinny, with short blonde hair, and from a distance she could be mistaken for an adolescent boy. People gravitated to her, and she was often at the centre of their after-work gatherings.

  Justin hit Margaret playfully on the shoulder and she called out, ‘Harassment, did you guys see that? The boss is hitting me!’

  ‘You wish,’ Rob, the chef, said, laughing.

  ‘You can make fun of it, Mags,’ Justin said, ‘but when life gives me the shits, I get in the boat and head into the middle of the bay and forget everything.’

  ‘As long as you don’t forget how to swim,’ Margaret said. The others laughed.

  Justin ignored her. ‘I find it hard to imagine life without fishing.’

  ‘That would be great,’ Jo said. ‘To have something that lets you forget everything else.’

  ‘Come fishing with me. I’m going out tomorrow arvo, around four-thirty.’ The invitation caught her by surprise.

  ‘You should go,’ Margaret said, giving Jo a kick under the table. ‘I’ll do your shift. Mum’s visiting so she’ll look after the kids.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t want to spoil your fishing.’

  ‘You won’t. Come on, I’d love the company.’ Justin smiled.

  Jo wanted to go. She wanted to spend the afternoon on the bay, in a boat with Justin. What harm could it do?

  The small aluminum boat was just big enough for the two of them, the fishing basket, and the rods. Justin gave her a life jacket and put one on too. When he started the motor, they flew out into the bay. It was too noisy to talk. Jo sat holding onto the sides, enjoying the sea spray and the wind, while Justin steered the boat into the middle of the bay.

  It was her first time on a boat. Once, she’d been on the Blackbird ferry down the Maribyrnong River on a school excursion; it came with a history lesson and a quiz. On that trip, she, Ash, Laura, and Mani had talked about going on a cruise. One of those ten-day cruises to the Caribbean. What were Laura and Mani doing? She supposed they had finished their VCE and were now on summer holidays, waiting to hear about university and beauty school. In another world, their lives were moving on, gaining momentum, forging forward.

  Finally, Justin stopped the boat, turned off the engine, and threw the anchor into the water. ‘This is my favourite spot,’ he said.

  They were surrounded by water, and Portarlington was a speck in the distance. Melbourne, a faint outline dominated by skyscrapers, was a ghost city. The water swirled around them, grey-blue and then green-blue, as the setting sun appeared and disappeared behind the clouds.

  ‘Does each fisherman have his own favourite spot or do you fight over the best ones?’

  Justin laughed. ‘The bay is big enough for all of us. Are you ready?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He picked up a fishing line and lifted the lid on bait bucket. Once he had threaded a small prawn onto the hook, he reeled the line and sent it flying through the air and into the water. It was impossible to see the line’s point of entry.

  He gave Jo the second rod and then the bait. A fleshy prawn. Helping her hook it, he explained the process step by step. Jo made several attempts to throw the line. She struggled to get it out as far as Justin’s.

  ‘No matter,’ he said after her fifth go, ‘it’s far enough.’

  With the rods slotted into the small holds on the side of the boat, they sat back and waited.

  ‘When I was a kid my dad took me fishing every day during summer. The first time, I was only two years old. I can’t remember, of course, but that’s what I’m told. After the first time, I was hooked — excuse the pun — and he couldn’t get rid of me.’

  ‘Is your whole family into it?’

  ‘No. Mum hated fishing. My brothers both fish occasionally, but they get bored. My sister used to like fishing, but we had an accident one day when she and Dad and I were all out together. The weather was bad. The boat overturned. And I nearly drowned — we all nearly drowned, in fact, but I was in the worst shape. She saved me actually, but it put her off going out in the boat.’

  ‘Understandable.’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’m not worried,’ Jo said. She didn’t worry about dying anymore, although she couldn’t say that to him.

  Justin was looking at her, his blue eyes fixed on her face. ‘Tell me, Ashleigh, tell me about yourself. I don’t know much about you.’

  Hearing Ashleigh’s name brought her back with a jolt. ‘Telling lies is hard work,’ Mandy had said to Jo when, as a child, she told fibs and Mandy caught her out. ‘You have to have a good memory.’

  ‘Not much to tell.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ashleigh. Give me something? This is like pulling teeth. How come you’re in Portarlington on your own and not at uni or something?’

  ‘Just needed to get away.’

  ‘A dark past.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Jo managed to change the conversation back to fishing and then there was a tug on her line. They caught a small snapper, but they threw it back in. ‘Will it live?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Justin said. ‘Fish don’t have as many lives as cats, but this one will have at least one more.’

  Half an hour later, they caught two whiting. Justin said they should be fried lightly and served with a squeeze of lemon. ‘I’ll cook you dinner tonight,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘We can have the whiting?’ He was holding the fish up for her to assess, as if the dinner invitation were a casual thing, and her decision based only on the quality of the fish. Jo hesitated. It was tempting to go home with Justin, to watch him cook, to eat dinner with him, to go to bed with him. So tempting to think she could be that girl, become that girl. The boat swayed. Justin waited, with his broad smile and his hopeful expectation.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘So you can cook?’

  With the engine back on and the boat set towards the shore, Jo stared out at the horizon, avoiding looking at Justin. Ian was her last infatuation, and he’d been all fantasy. Justin was real, and he was attractive and fun and gentle. Maybe he was ‘the one’, her soulmate. Maybe he was her only chance to find love. How easy to move towards him, to fall into an embrace, to spend the night curled up against him. To make love.

  Are you for real? A soulmate?

  At the sound of Ash’s voice, Jo felt the panic rising, the shortness of breath, the chill in her spine; she tu
rned away from Justin, closed her eyes, and willed herself to breathe, to calm down. To act normal. But her body was a traitor, her heart racing, her head spinning. She gripped the side of the boat. It was impossible. It was impossible to keep spending time with Justin and keep lying.

  By the time they reached the pier, her breathing was returning to normal, and she distracted herself by helping him unload the gear and the fish. ‘Thanks, Justin, I had an awesome time. I didn’t expect to enjoy fishing, but I did,’ Jo said, already moving away, but Justin stepped closer, until he was so close his breath skipped across the surface of her skin. No, she thought, but even as her mind said move away, her body gravitated closer, and they kissed.

  ‘I like you. It’s been a long time since I met anyone I liked as much you, Ashleigh.’

  Ashleigh. Jo touched her lips with her finger. The kiss lingered, but she moved away. Justin had kissed Ashleigh. Flushed and nervous, she wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t want him to call her Ashleigh again. But she couldn’t tell him about the accident. About not being Ashleigh. What would she say: ‘My name’s not Ashleigh. My name is Jo. I killed my best friend and now I’ve stolen her name’?

  ‘I’m sorry, I forgot I promised to have dinner with Sue and Laurie,’ Jo lied.

  ‘Ring them, they’ll understand.’

  ‘No. Sorry, I can’t.’

  She saw his smile drop. She saw the disappointment and hurt on his face.

  ‘Sure. Well, you better go then. I imagine Sue and Laurie don’t have a late dinner.’ He turned away, picking up the bucket with the whiting. ‘You can have the fish. Give them to Sue.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m running late,’ she said. ‘I have to go. Sue and Laurie, they’ll have it ready … They eat at the same time …’ She didn’t wait to hear Justin’s response. She ran the full length of the pier, past several groups fishing off the side. ‘What’s the hurry, love?’ a man called out. He was part of a small family group, whose rods hung over the rail while they sat on chairs. Next to them, a toddler slept in a stroller. As she left the pier, their laughter ran up the hill towards the town.