Across the Water

by Ingrid Alexandra

  It’s cold, dark. Using the light from my phone, I found an unopened box of tea candles in the cupboard above the refrigerator, lit seven of them and arranged them around the kitchen. They’ve cast their eerie, dancing light on the walls and ceiling and it gives me the feeling of being surrounded by ghosts. I can’t see anything across the water – obviously, with the power out – and my imagination runs wild, picturing all the horrors that could be just outside the window in the pitch blackness, so the curtains have been drawn, sealing me in.

  My phone isn’t working – no internet, and I can’t send messages out – my texts to Adam bounce back with: ERROR! MESSAGE NOT SENT. For fuck’s sake. There’s not even reliable phone signal around here.

  I can’t help it. It’s foolish, but I’m frightened. Or is it foolish? I’m in a run-down old house, alone, in the dark in the middle of the bush. Access – or escape – is boat-only, or a trek into the wilderness followed by a treacherous bridge-walk over the creek (which I now know should not be attempted at high tide) and the only other people for miles live across a deep body of water. Horror-movie material, if you think about it. Maybe it’s perfectly natural to be frightened.

  I feel a surge of anger towards Adam. How could he leave me here? How could he possibly have thought this was a good idea? And then I remember his offer of the short-stay in Sydney, and I remember why that’s impossible, and I’m so frustrated I almost burst in to tears.

  ***

  10:02pm

  I can hear the roar of the ocean from all the way across town, and the distant whistle of a train. Sound travels at night, I suppose, and it’s eerily quiet on this side of the water.

  None of the across-the-creek residents have appeared tonight; the three houses stand in darkness. There are squares of flickering light beyond them, in the windows of the houses further into town – families acting out their evening routines in candlelight, making dinner, tucking children into bed. It’s a small comfort, seeing people going about their normal lives.

  I think of Dee, of Erica and sweet little Ruby and wonder where everyone is. I feel terrible for the social faux pas I made and how my conversation with Erica ended. Perhaps she was in her rights to be cross. Maybe if more women felt able to speak their minds as she had, we’d have a better understanding of one another.

  Having children isn’t everything. Doing what I do for a living, I see how much harder it is for them with children, particularly for those in domestic-violence situations. Children complicate things. Complicate everything. Freedom as it was known prior is non-existent. That’s why Mum left, I imagine. In a way I don’t blame her.

  I didn’t really know my mum. She left when I was a baby, and my gentle dad raised me all on his own. I’m happy to see him settled down with Ruth now; she’s a kind woman and he deserves to be taken care of after all he’s sacrificed. I do wonder at times whether my aversion to having children stems not only from not having had a maternal influence, but from fear. What if I take after my mother? What if it’s something innate? I couldn’t live with myself if I abandoned my child. It would haunt me forever. Best just to avoid the possibility altogether.

  An image of a child’s face, not dissimilar to Ruby’s appears in my mind and I shake my head against the guilt. I take another sip of wine. And then there’s a spark in the darkness. My heart skips. It’s Dee, lighting a candle. Her face is lit from beneath, her tangle of dark curls dangerously close to the flame.

  I blow out the candle next to me and fumble for the binoculars. The smell of melted wax and smoke fills my nostrils as I press the cold metal to my eye sockets. I don’t know why I’m doing this and I don’t stop to think.

  She’s walking across the top floor, past the cot – it must be where she sleeps – they sleep. Is he there, the husband, Rob? Sleeping, perhaps? She disappears to the left. There’s a staircase there, I think. The dancing light disappears for a few seconds and reappears on the bottom floor. I can see so much more through the binoculars, even in the feeble candlelight. It’s a living area, bookshelves crammed with ornaments and books, a coffee table, an enormous wide-screen television. There’s a vase of wilted flowers – roses, it looks like – on the coffee table.

  Dee’s crossing the room and I realise with a jolt that she’s naked. Up close, I can see the contrast of her fair skin and dark hair. A straight, sharp nose. Almond eyes, full mouth. The image is so clear it’s like I’m watching her under a microscope and, with a rush of shame, I yank the binoculars from my eyes.

  What am I doing? This is sick. Sitting here in the dark spying on some poor woman. I take two large swallows of wine. I hunt in my dressing gown pocket for my pills and swallow one with another slug of wine. Stop. Shit. I’ve already taken one tonight, haven’t I? I screw my eyes shut, trying to think, but I can’t remember.

  This place is sending me loopy. How did I end up in a loft watching the neighbours through a pair of my husband’s dead father’s binoculars? Sure, in our London flat we saw people through their windows all the time, but you didn’t go looking for it. They were just there, airing laundry, cooking, fucking, arguing, watching television with their backs to the window. That was high-density living. That was east London.

  This is different. Shaking my head, I retrieve the soft, crushed pack from between the cushions and light a cigarette. I’m practically a smoker again, what with Adam gone most of the day and nothing better to fill my time. I could read, of course. Candlelight would allow that. I could try to sleep, although the pills have yet to induce even a twinge of tiredness.

  But I can’t stop the memories coming, can’t quell the restlessness in my bones, can’t find a position that feels comfortable. So I finish my wine and smoke my cigarette, ignoring the flickering light in my peripheral vision.

  And then I see it. Movement, just out of my line of sight. I turn my head to see a dark figure standing in Dee’s doorway.

  My breath catches. Who is that? Rob? There’s something strange about the way he’s standing. Something that makes my skin go cold. He – I know from the build it’s a he – is standing perfectly still, a shadow in the open doorway. Dee’s left a candle on the coffee table but there’s not enough light and I’m too far away to see details.

  My mind snags on a memory – earlier, the man watching her house. The beer bottles and campfire behind in the woods. Are the two connected?

  Dee is nowhere to be seen. She must have gone to take a shower; I’m pretty sure the bathroom is on the top floor, on the right, and she was headed that way.

  The figure stands, unmoving. I hesitate before grabbing the binoculars, searching blindly in the new close-up perspective for a moment before landing on the doorway. But there’s no one there. I swing the binoculars sideways but the living room is empty. I swing upward but there’s nothing else to see. The upstairs is pitch black.

  There’s a soft thunk and a plink! and suddenly the lights come back on. Momentarily blinded, I blink rapidly until my vision returns, lunge for the lamp switch and turn it off.

  I peer through the binoculars again but there’s no one in Dee’s doorway. The house, from this perspective, appears to be empty. But if anyone is out there, there’s no doubt they’ll have seen me, watching.

  Chapter 14

  Liz

  June, 2017

  Wednesday 10:40pm

  She’s watching me, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, pupils deep like black pools. They are luminous eyes, almost like a child’s, but her play at innocence doesn’t fool me. There’s something unsettling in them. Something dark. Her unwashed fringe hangs in clumps, obscuring her face as she shoves the bundle into my arms.

  ‘Here. Hold her. I won’t be a sec.’

  She disappears, ostensibly to go to the bathroom but I suspect there’s more to it than that. The bundle squirms in my arms and I feel a twitch of anger. How am I meant to help her when she won’t help herself? Won’t help her child?

  I stand in the grubby kitchen with its cracked tiles and stained wal
ls and the clock on the wall that says it is noon when it’s morning. Sadness washes over me. What would it be like, to be here, alone? With this? I look down at the pale wisp of hair protruding from the blanket and cannot name what I’m feeling.

  The kettle whistles and I jolt, startling the bundle in my arms. Her plaintive cry, now familiar, pierces the silence and instinctively I cradle her closer to my chest. With my free hand I lift the kettle from the stove then, using my elbow clear a space to set it down on the cluttered counter.

  Over the acrid notes of smoke and filth, the smell of new life fills my nostrils. I bend down and inhale, and a primitive awareness brings goose bumps to my skin. I smile. The crying stops, and the downy, pink head turns until crystal-blue eyes blink up at me. Long lashes rest dark against skin so new I can see her veins. A hand appears, and tiny fingers, surprisingly strong, wrap around my thumb.

  ‘Hello,’ I whisper, charmed. She answers with a voluptuous giggle, and then I spot a mark – between her chest and her little rounded shoulder – and inhale sharply. It’s a dark, purple thumb print, tinged yellow around the edges.

  There’s the sound of a toilet flushing and footsteps drawing near. Panic blossoms, and I clutch the precious bundle to my breast.

  ***

  10:50pm

  My senses return to me slowly. Cheek squashed against something musty and rough, mouth stale with smoke, I lift my head and groan. Shoving away the ratty old cushion, I gulp back a slug of water and blink out at the night.

  The three rooftops across the creek are lit by silver light, and an answering glimmer paints ripples on the water’s surface. Images of a nude Dee and a shadowy man seep into my consciousness, but I can’t reconcile them with the darkness across the creek. The odd plink on the tin roof tells me the rain has dwindled, and the warm trickle of drool on my chin means I can’t have been out long. Will I ever sleep properly again? I grapple with the thoughts that linger in between sleep and consciousness, and that’s when I hear it.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  I frown and rub my eyes. Surely there can’t be anyone at the door? I must be hearing things. But then,

  Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

  I sit upright, mind snaring on a hopeful thought. Adam! Maybe the road’s been cleared and he’s come home to surprise me. I check my phone – no missed calls, no messages. But then I remember there wasn’t any signal earlier and – sure enough – there’s only one flickering bar of signal now.

  Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

  Jumping up, I flick on the lamp and head downstairs. The stairs creak underfoot as I descend and my shadow dances on the wall. Has Adam forgotten his key? Or maybe it’s not working. These locks are so old, my own key doesn’t work half the time.

  At the front door, I lift the blind on the little square window at the top.

  ‘Adam?’

  There’s nothing out there but blackness pricked with stars.

  I lean closer to the glass. ‘Adam?’

  Nothing. Just the clouds passing over the moon.

  I open the door a crack, leaving the deadlock latched. Icy air rushes in, but there’s no one to be seen. A cold feeling that has nothing to do with the night air steals through me. I close the door, turn the lock and am reaching up to draw the blind when a face appears at the window.

  I stumble back with a shout. A white face stares at me and for a terrifying second I think I’m looking at a ghost. It’s a moment before my brain makes sense of what I’m seeing and then I realise it’s not a ghost. It’s her.

  ‘Oh gosh, it’s you,’ I gasp, clapping a hand to my chest.

  Dee smiles and nods, an eager gesture, all big eyes and wild, dark hair. I make myself breathe before opening the door a fraction.

  ‘Dee?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Sorry … I know we’ve only met once, but I thought …’

  ‘No, no! Erm, it’s fine. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m all right, I just … Wait, Tim isn’t in, is he?’

  ‘Er, no. No, sorry. Adam’s in Sydney I’m afraid and Tim, ah … Tim passed away recently and we’ve come to tie up loose ends.’

  Dee gasps. ‘Oh! Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. How awful. Poor Adam. Poor you. Were you close to his dad?’

  ‘To be honest I’d never met him. Adam and I only recently married.’

  Dee nods and tilts her head. ‘Oh, I see.’

  It strikes me how odd it is to be having this conversation with a relative stranger through a crack in the door late at night. What on earth’s possessed her to come across the creek so late at night to see someone she barely knows?

  ‘How did you get over? Isn’t the tide awfully high tonight?

  ‘Yeah, but I’ve been boating this creek for years. And Rob’s dinghy has a strong motor.’ She smiles and I remember Pub Guy’s comment about boat motors.

  As I take in her pink cheeks and trembling lips, it dawns on me that she must be freezing. Appalled with myself, I unlatch the door and yank it open. ‘I’m so sorry, you must think me terribly rude. Would you like to come in? I’m Liz, by the way.’

  A grateful smile and a cold handshake. ‘Yeah, thanks. Nice to meet you properly, Liz. And I’m the one who’s sorry, showing up like this so late.’ She shrugs off her coat and looks around for somewhere to put it. ‘Is Adam home?’

  I take her coat and hang it on the hat rack behind the door.

  ‘No. As I said, he couldn’t get back into town due to the road closure, so he’s staying in Sydney tonight.’

  She nods vaguely, looking around the cramped, dimly lit hallway. ‘It’s so strange seeing it from the inside. Is that the kitchen through there?’

  ‘Yes. Come through,’ I say, turning on the kitchen light as I lead the way. The dining chair squeaks along the cheap linoleum as I pull it out and gesture for her to sit.

  ‘Sorry, there isn’t much room in here,’ I say with an apologetic shrug.

  ‘It’s fine, I find it cosy.’

  ‘It’s a bit dilapidated, I’m afraid. Tim wasn’t around much to maintain it, apparently. And then of course he got ill.’

  ‘Oh yeah, right. I think I vaguely remember something about him being ill. Poor old thing. So have you moved here now, or did you say you were just passing through …?’

  ‘Just passing through. We’re actually selling the place.’

  Dee’s eyes widen. ‘Ooh, you should get a good price then. I guess you’d know that they’re planning to put in a road and a bridge to Sandbar, that big town over that way,’ she gestures to the back of the house. ‘It’s got a train line straight to Sydney. They’re going to sell these places for a mint. Prices are skyrocketing at the moment, what with so many people moving up from Sydney and that train line coming in. That and the view, of course.’

  ‘Yes,’ I smile, ‘That’s what we’re counting on.’ I refrain from mentioning that, if the real estate agent is to be believed, we’re certain to get an almost inconceivable sum for this run-down old place.

  ‘So … what part of England are you from?’

  ‘London, East. Adam and I met there, where we both lived at the time. We’ll be going back once the sale goes through.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to go to London,’ Dee sighs. ‘But we never got around to it. And now, with the baby, and everything going on … I don’t think we’ll ever make it.’ She seems to catch herself, ducking her head with a shy smile. ‘You must think I’m super weird showing up here like this.’

  ‘No … well … Are you … is everything all right?’

  Up close, I can see the toll the sleepless nights have taken in the sunken hollows of her eyes and in her tangled hair, though it does little to diminish her beauty. Every part of her is full, and the roundness makes her appear youthful. She has the kind of beauty you can’t help but admire, that larger-than-life quality that leaves you a little awe-struck.

  She shrugs and gives a funny little laugh. ‘I’m all right. I saw lights on across the creek and thought I’d pop over and
say hi … You’ve been staying here, haven’t you? I didn’t know you were Tim’s wife. I thought Tim’s wife had run off with a Frenchman!’ She claps a hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry, that was a shitty thing to say.’

  ‘Er … I’m Adam’s wife. Tim’s son, Adam?’ Strange, I think, to be confusing what happened between Adam’s parents with Adam and me.

  Dee blinks slowly and it’s then I realise she’s more than slightly drunk. ‘Right, of course. The old man. I’m so sorry about that, by the way.’

  ‘It’s okay. Like I said, I’d never met him. And he and Adam didn’t really get along, so …’ I shrug. ‘Would you like a coat or something?’

  ‘No, it’s nice and toasty in here. Honestly, I was just after some … company.’

  I recall the loneliness I sensed in her, even from afar, and I can’t help but wonder where her baby is.

  ‘Well,’ I say. ‘I could use some company myself. Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Wine?’

  Dee relaxes back in her seat and gives me a warm smile. ‘I’d love some wine, thanks.’

  ‘Red or white?’

  ‘White.’

  I pour our drinks and hand her one and she grins and winks and clinks her glass with mine. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers!’

  We sip and smile, and it feels nice having someone to share this space with. I was letting my imagination run away with me, jumping at shadows, but Dee’s energy fills the room and warms it.

  ‘I couldn’t handle her tonight,’ she says conversationally, apparently at her ease with glass-in-hand.

  ‘Who?’ I ask, already knowing.

  ‘Ruby. My sweet little baby.’ Her smile is tinged with sadness but there’s a light in her eyes I’ve seen more than once before. That fierce, proud love, at once warming and overwhelming. The thought of ever having to feel it terrifies me.

  ‘Sometimes she just screams and screams and it’s all I can do not to tear my hair out.’