Across the Water

by Ingrid Alexandra

  ‘Sorry! I’m Liz. We met the other day, remember …?’

  Erica appears agitated, her eyes darting over my shoulder. I turn around, but there’s nothing there.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  I move towards her, but she rears up like as if under attack and, instinctively, I step back again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she mutters, eyes downcast. ‘I’m in a hurry. I have to go.’

  Her eyes connect with mine briefly before flitting away as she strides past me. I watch her walk the length of Cockle Street and then disappear around the corner.

  I shake my head as I continue down the road. She is a strange one. The image of Samir outside Dee’s house flashes in my mind, and I wonder if Erica’s odd behaviour has anything to do with her husband.

  Looking up at Dee’s house now, grand and tall, windows reflecting the morning sunshine, I can almost imagine the whole of last night was a dream. This place is doing things to me. It’s the isolation. The cabin fever. It’s spending a night without Adam, without his gentle calm, waking alone in this place. I can’t face the thought of sorting through the junk in the cellar today, can’t fathom diving into the ocean of forbidden emails in my inbox, the endless Messenger check-ins from concerned ‘friends’, so I’m fixating on Dee and the baby. It’s perfectly natural. Especially after what happened before.

  Still. Dee had a bruise on her eye she didn’t properly explain. And she seemed afraid. I’m certain I didn’t imagine that. And then there was the man I saw – who, apparently, couldn’t be Rob as he’s away. Could she be lying? Protecting him, perhaps?

  I hesitate only briefly before approaching the house. If Dee was in danger and I didn’t bother to check, I’d never forgive myself.

  I tread tentatively up the stairs to the porch, stepping over a child’s rattle and a lone high-heeled shoe to reach the door. Strange to leave just one shoe there like that. It gives the impression that it has been abandoned in a hurry.

  There’s no doorbell, so I knock on the door and wait. When no one appears, I try once more but, again, there’s no response. Not even a peep or the creak of a floorboard from within.

  The door handle is an old-fashioned brass knob, embossed with a geometric art-deco motif. Quite pretty really, but somehow at odds with the rest of the architecture. Without quite knowing why, I reach out and place my hand over it. The metal is ice-cold and gives under my hand. The door opens inwards slightly, and I realise it’s off the latch. Odd. Didn’t Dee say she’s always sure to lock her doors?

  ‘Hello?’ I call, pushing the door open further and poking my head through the gap. ‘Is anybody here?’

  I think I hear a faint creak, but it could just be the house settling. I step tentatively around the door and find myself in the living room. It is strange, as Dee said, to find yourself looking at the place from inside, and from the opposite perspective to how you usually see it. I get a funny sense of déjà vu as my gaze touches upon the familiar objects – the rows of book shelves, the vase on the coffee table. I have the strange sense of having entered the set of a play I’ve been watching, only to find the actors have left the stage.

  To the left must be the stairs leading to the upstairs bedroom, I think, and across the other side of the living room must be the kitchen or the bathroom. There isn’t a window facing the water on that side, so it’s hard to say.

  I step further into the room and, sure enough, to the left of the giant bookcase, is a short passageway. Beyond it, the first two steps of a polished wooden staircase are visible.

  The creak sounds again, louder this time, followed by several more. They’re coming closer. Someone’s on the stairs.

  ‘Hello?’ I call, not wanting to startle whoever it is.

  The creaks stop.

  A funny little shiver moves through me.

  ‘Hello?’ I call again. ‘It’s only Liz from across the creek. I just wanted to check …’ I trail off. What if it isn’t Dee? ‘Erm. I just wanted to check that everything’s okay.’

  There’s no response, and the silence gives me a chill. Why isn’t whoever it is answering? I step backwards slowly until I’m back in the doorway. I’m about the clear the threshold when something clamps onto my shoulder.

  I shriek and whirl around, my heart hammering in my chest. It’s a moment before I collect myself enough to realise who I’m looking at.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Samir asks. His voice is deep and gruff; it’s the first time I’ve heard him speak.

  ‘I’m, uh … I just wanted to come and check on Dee.’

  ‘Ever heard of knocking?’ Samir looks at me with large, dark eyes that give nothing away.

  I give a nervous laugh. ‘Yes, of course, and I did knock but no one answered.’

  His answering silence makes me uncomfortable, yet I find I can’t stop staring at his unusual eyes; the deepest of browns flecked with gold. He is actually quite a handsome man. Or at least he would be, if he had any manners.

  ‘She must be out,’ I say. ‘I’ll … I’ll come back again later.’

  In my eagerness to get away, I don’t mention that I heard someone inside. Whoever it was didn’t seem to want to be bothered, anyway.

  Without saying goodbye, I scurry down the driveway, leaving Samir standing on Dee’s front porch. As I reach the footpath I spot a figure across the road. The same scruffy-looking man standing in the same spot as yesterday. He turns his head and catches me looking. He winks and I turn and hurry away.

  ***

  10:31am

  The wind has picked up and has turned the air ice-cold, so I decide to skip the rest of my walk and head back to the house.

  I’ve just cleared the bridge – low tide, safer – when a shadow crosses my path. I let out an involuntary shout, stumbling as I reach a sudden halt.

  ‘Sorry, sorry.’

  I look up and see a man – a mess of brown hair and electric blue eyes. The guy from the pub. The zing of adrenalin fades and I bend over, hands on thighs, catching my breath.

  ‘Scared you again,’ the gravelly voice says with a hint of amusement.

  ‘Yes. Thanks for that.’ I push a damp strand of hair back from my cheek and run the back of my hand across my sweaty brow. I meet his gaze. ‘What are you doing over here?’

  There’s the hint of a smirk on Pub Guy’s lips. What on earth is so funny? Is he deliberately trying to intimidate me for whatever stupid, male reason?

  ‘Oysters.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I’m collecting the traps.’ He stretches out a brown, muscled arm and points to the mangroves growing amongst the rocks on the muddy shore. Occasionally, there’s a hint of silver glinting in the murky water. Oyster traps.

  ‘Ah. Okay.’

  ‘Pub speciality. They thrive here in the creek; it’s the best place to farm them. They pay me extra to lay the traps and collect them. Not many people willing to venture over this side of the creek. Not many sane people, anyway.’ He looks me right in the eye, irises like lasers, and I stare back before glancing quickly away.

  ‘I’m Zac, by the way.’ He extends a muddied hand and I hesitate before taking it. His skin is warm and rough.

  ‘Elizabeth. Liz.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Liz. Officially, that is. See you didn’t take my advice about the creek.’

  ‘The tide won’t be coming in for a while yet,’ I say, defensive.

  He stares some more, making a strange grunting sound. ‘Try the boat.’

  ‘I don’t know how.’

  ‘Your boyfriend didn’t show you?’

  ‘Husband. And … well, no. He didn’t. But he told me about the footbridge. I suppose he thought that would be easier.’

  Zac grunts, an indecipherable sound. I look at him, but his expression is neutral. It’s then I notice a bulky, black plastic bag at his side.

  ‘What are you looking for? I thought the oysters were over that side.’

  ‘I’m …’ He stops and looks down into the water as
if looking for the answer. ‘Rubbish. You know, that sort of thing.’

  I get the sense he’s hiding something. Shaking away the feeling, I tell myself he’s probably just fishing illegally or something equally harmless and stupid. I imagine the local fishermen wouldn’t be too happy about him stealing their fish.

  ‘Right. Okay.’

  He exhales harshly. ‘Sometimes people camp out here – illegally, right? – and they tend to chuck things in the creek. I do a bit of maintenance for the area – mowing, fixing bits and pieces, grounds-keeping, you know the sort of thing. One of my jobs is to trawl the creek for rubbish. Satisfied?’

  There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes my heart skip. Whether in fear or excitement I’m not sure. I’ve learned the two can be very closely linked.

  ‘There can be some weirdos around,’ he goes on. ‘Not this time of year usually – it’s too cold – but it’s not unheard of for campers to set up illegally over here. We’ve had a lot of trouble with them lately. People who come over the mountain, wayward kids, drunks, druggies, trouble-makers. There’s no one over this side, usually, you see. They think they can get away with it.’

  The sweat on my skin has cooled and I rub my hands over my arms. ‘Yes, I did see some … evidence of that, the other day.’

  ‘You see? I’m not trying to scare you. Just letting you know the score. What are you doing over here all alone, anyway?’

  ‘I’m not alone,’ I say quickly, forcing a smile. ‘My husband’s with me.’

  Zac doesn’t smile back. ‘Is he? Can’t see him.’

  I frown. I don’t like his tone, his implication. ‘He’s working down in Sydney. We’re staying for a few weeks then we’re heading back home, to London.’

  Zac’s answering silence riles me. What is it with the men in this town? ‘He was trapped outside of town last night,’ I feel the need to add. ‘Because of the fires.’

  ‘Right,’ Zac nods, his expression giving nothing away. ‘Well, if you’re ever in trouble, give me a yell. I’m just across the creek.’ He pauses, holding my gaze. ‘If you scream loudly enough, I’ll hear you.’ And with that he flashes me a grin and trudges off, boots squelching over the sodden carpet of leaves.

  It takes me a while to find my pace again. My heart’s beating out a funny rhythm. Who does he think he is? And why does he get to me? Is he being funny, or should I be wary of him? I hate that I have to wonder.

  Angrily swatting at twigs and vines, I emerge with relief from the damp, mangrove scrub and into the clearing outside Tim’s house. There’s a freshness to the air now; not a trace of smoke, nothing to indicate that yesterday the landscape was ravaged by fire, then flood, other than the occasional puddle.

  A little thrill runs through me. Adam will be home tonight.

  ***

  6:45pm

  The power’s been intermittent since the storm but I think it’s staying on at last. I could do a little dance of relief! And Adam will be here any minute, which has me giddy with excitement.

  I sit in the kitchen, which is the warmest room in the house thanks to it being so small and readily heated by the ancient Aga. From my position by the sink, I can see all three houses bathed in moonlight. Both Zac and Samir are hunched over dining tables having solitary dinners – I can tell Zac’s is a TV dinner, even without binoculars – but Dee and Ruby are nowhere to be seen.

  I sip my wine and run my fingers through my carefully blow-dried hair. I’m wearing lingerie underneath my favourite silk robe and have turned up the heat on the Aga, and in the bedroom, just in case.

  As I sip and wait, Erica appears behind Samir and leans in to give him a hug. It’s the first time I’ve seen her show him any affection. I do worry that Dee hasn’t shown up, but it’s hard to think of much else when I’m bursting out of my skin for Adam to come home.

  ***

  7:25pm

  I’m in Adam’s arms the second he’s through the door. ‘Darling girl!’ he peppers kisses all over my face before landing one right on my lips. ‘God, I’ve missed you. What a shitty twenty-four hours that was.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I murmur into his neck, inhaling his familiar, comforting smell.

  Adam steps back, his face alight with mischief. ‘Hang on,’ he says, disappearing back into the hallway. He returns with a flourish, brandishing a bunch of flowers – cheap, service station ones, but never mind – and wearing the most ridiculous grin.

  ‘Happy anniversary!’ he declares.

  ‘What?’ I giggle as he draws me to his chest and nuzzles my neck before kissing me long and slow. ‘Mmmm,’ I sigh. ‘Not that I’m complaining – these are lovely, thank you – but what anniversary are we celebrating exactly? It was our year anniversary last month and we’ve been married only three and a half weeks!’

  I take the flowers and look in the cupboards for a vase.

  ‘It’s a different sort of anniversary,’ he says, waggling his eyebrows. ‘It’s a year since we first … you know.’

  ‘What? What other anniversary do we … Oh.’

  Having found a vase, I focus on arranging the flowers, but I know I’m turning pink. Even though my cynical side says this is all a bit cheesy and over the top, inwardly I’m thrilled. Adam has a way of making me feel like the only woman in the world, and while it’s taking some getting used to, I can’t say I mind it one bit.

  ‘You’re adorable when you blush,’ Adam whispers in my ear, planting kisses down my neck.

  ‘Stop it,’ I whisper, sighing with pleasure.

  ‘Do you remember having to stop five times so we could make out on the way back from the restaurant?’ He bites my earlobe gently and I gasp. ‘And my flat was only a five-minute walk away!’

  ‘Do people still say “make out” these days?’ I shiver as his hands slide up my waist towards my breasts.

  Adam chuckles. ‘Why don’t you tell me, you young thing.’

  I turn and kiss Adam urgently, my fingers in his hair, and he presses against me with a moan. I shrug off my robe and reach for him again, but he grasps my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length.

  ‘Wow,’ he murmurs, his eyes moving over my body, lingering on every scrap of lace and exposed skin. If I weren’t so aroused I’d have laughed at his naked admiration.

  ‘Less looking, more touching,’ I urge.

  Adam’s eyes lift to meet mine and they’re sparkling with passion and mischief. ‘Can’t I do both?’

  ***

  It’s only once we’ve been holding each other for several minutes, our breathing slowing, skin cooling, that I register that I’m on the kitchen counter.

  I giggle. ‘That was … unexpected.’

  Adam lifts his head and gives me a lazy grin, his eyes still slightly glazed. ‘Mmm. It was amazing.’

  ‘Oh God,’ I clap a hand over my mouth. ‘I hope I wasn’t terribly loud. Sound really travels across the water.’

  ‘You were. As usual.’ He winks and kisses me, lips moving languidly down my throat.

  I let my head fall back to rest against the window pane, and when I tilt to the right I can see the only light still on across the creek is Zac’s. He’s standing in the window, staring out.

  I shiver, suddenly cold.

  If you scream loud enough, I’ll hear you.

  Chapter 18

  Dee

  May, 2017

  Saturday, 5:14pm

  The envelope trembles between my fingers. It makes a satisfying rip as I tear it in half, but I know it won’t stop more coming. I peer out of the letterbox slot to see if he’s back, but the street is empty.

  Whenever an envelope arrives, I am quick to snatch it up before Rob sees it. It’s my mess, and I’ll be damned if I let him get involved. We’re on shaky ground as it is and finding out just how deep the hole I’ve dug myself is would drain whatever remains of his respect for me.

  Although I know it’s irrational, I’m annoyed at Rob about what’s happened. I’d done a pretty g
ood job of cutting ties with my past, but his social media obsession would have made it pretty easy for me to be tracked down. He toned it down for a bit, when I asked him to, but it was the photo of us as ‘proud home-owners’ that would have given me away. It was only up for a bit – I made him take it down as soon as I spotted it – but that’s all it would have taken. Oyster Creek is a small town and the photo showed our home in all its glory. You’d only have to come to town and drive around for a bit to find us. But I can’t blame Rob really, of course. You can’t live the kind of life I’ve lived and escape scot-free.

  It feels like everything is unravelling. My mistakes are coming back to haunt me and I keep thinking of the past, and where I might have picked up the thread. If I could choose one moment in time to return to, when would it be? When did it all start? Or was it always inevitable that I would end up right here?

  I’d certainly never have said yes the night Gus asked me to be his main girl. I’d have walked out of that seedy bar and found myself a nice waitressing job. Or any other job, really. It makes me shudder to think what my life would be like now if I’d stayed with him. And yet he’s still managing to terrorise me from afar. Making his problems mine. Gambling was always the greatest of his many vices. And now he’s in debt so deep they’re using me to get to him. Unless one of us comes up with the money, I can only imagine what might happen. And I can’t let anything bad happen – to me, and most of all to Ruby. I’ll do anything to make sure she’s safe.

  ***

  My mind often likes to revisit the night I first met Rob, especially when there’s tension between us. It’s a hopeful sort of story, I suppose, or at least it was at the beginning. I owe him a lot. If it weren’t for him, I might never have got out of there.

  We met at a strip club – romantic, I know. I worked there, so I’m not one to judge. Rob was dragged there by friends, you know the type. It’s all just a bit of fun, a standard alcohol-fuelled lad’s night out, and there’s always the guy who’ll suggest it. The same guy, usually. Or a couple of them, egging each other on. I know their kind all too well. They’re the ones in the front row, eating wings and buying rounds of shots, red-nosed and laughing too loud as they watch and sweat. The first to proclaim their girlfriend / wife / partner’s ‘cool with it’ (real talk: she’s not), the first to decree it a man’s right, a basic need. The first to rate a woman he ‘wouldn’t touch’ when you know five minutes later he’s getting off in a bathroom stall, mind crammed with images of her.