Across the Water

by Ingrid Alexandra

  Rob wasn’t – isn’t – like that. You think I wouldn’t know if he was? But there are parts of him, parts put together by other men, by women, by society, that can’t be fixed. I can see it in him now; the disappointment in his eyes, the disdain. The judgement. What is that saying? They want a lady in the street but a whore in the bedroom? Well, you can’t have your cake and eat it too. I think he knows that now. Or, at least, he suspects it.

  Even still, back then Rob was something new. A revelation. A type I hadn’t seen before, and one I didn’t know existed. Not where I was from, anyway. And certainly not in the middle of a strip club on a Friday night.

  My future husband sat nursing a glass of soda water while his mates grew steadily rowdier around him. I noticed him, staring into his drink, paying attention to his phone rather than the stage.

  I was fascinated, curious, and somehow knowing he’d say no, I asked him if he wanted a lap dance. He just smiled and said he’d rather talk. And I thought bullshit. What kind of line is this? But that’s what we did. Talk. For two and a half hours, and then an hour more in the parking lot outside. And then at dinner the next night.

  Apparently, he was getting over some girl at the time, hence his mates’ generous gesture of hauling him into a den of naked women, as apparently this is the antidote to male heartbreak. He never expected to meet someone, but from the moment our eyes met, he said he knew he’d found himself there for a reason.

  He’s the only one who’s ever seen me. Beyond the mask. I suppose I never thought I deserved him. And maybe I proved myself right. You let people treat you how you think you deserve to be treated. That was always my problem. Still is. Men were always attracted to me for the wrong reasons, and I suppose I ended up placing my worth in men’s hands, giving them too much power. Which is funny, because I always thought I was taking the power back, doing what I did. Exploiting their weaknesses for my own gain. But you grow up thinking you’re nothing but a piece of meat and voila! That’s what you become.

  Rob treated me with respect, in the beginning. He still does, I suppose, but there’s a distance – like he’s on the other side of a growing chasm that I don’t have the energy to jump. I feel him slipping further and further away and I find myself yearning for the days when it was just him and me. Before I’d let old habits interfere in our happiness, when we existed in a bubble of lazy Saturday mornings in bed, foot rubs, daily sex, restaurants and bars and pubs and picnics. Early morning hikes and moonlit swims. God, I had it so good. How did I not understand that before it was too late?

  It’s been different since Ruby. Sometimes I’m convinced he knows what I’ve done. I find my phone in places I haven’t left it and wonder what he’s seen.

  I’m afraid. Afraid of what’s coming. Every time I see a car parked outside the house, someone I don’t recognise standing across the road, I panic.

  I’ll see him in the street, and he’ll nod in greeting, lips curved in a grim smile, and hope he’ll keep our secret.

  I hear them fighting next door, muffled shouts through the wall, and I wonder if it has anything to do with me.

  Chapter 19

  Liz

  June, 2017

  Saturday, 7:34pm

  It’s been three days since Dee’s impromptu visit when I’m woken by a sharp wailing. I jerk awake, heart pounding. Ruby. Dee’s back! I scramble to a sitting position and throw back the shutters. The lights are on in the middle house, two squares of soft orange light above and below. I wait, but no one materialises in the window. It’s like the lights have been left on by accident and nobody’s home.

  I go to call out for Adam before remembering myself. He’s gone to town today; says he’s putting in extra hours so we can be out of here sooner. Sooner can’t come soon enough.

  I rub my gritty eyes and sigh. I’ve gone and napped again so now I’ll be sure to have another awful night’s sleep. Did I dream the sound of a baby crying? I study the orange squares across the creek for a minute or two. Nothing. Perhaps Dee’s in the shower or has gone out and forgotten to turn out the lights. I scrunch my nose, trying to remember if the lights were on last night too.

  I know I’m over-thinking, but I’d feel better if I’d spotted her at least once since that night. I wish she’d given me her number so I could check she’s okay. If my memory of the other night is accurate then maybe there’s cause for concern.

  I sip the half-empty glass of red I’ve left on the stool beside the day-bed when something flickers in my peripheral vision. There’s a beam of light bouncing around in the Haddads’s yard, and it takes only a moment to recognise what it is. Torch light.

  Without thinking, I grab the binoculars and aim them at the window. I spot the torch light immediately, a conical beam in the dark, but the vision is out of focus and I can’t see who’s carrying the torch. My heart pounds as I adjust the focus and struggle to follow the bouncing light. The frame lands on a face, so close-up it gives me a start. Erica.

  What’s she doing out there in the dark? I watch as she walks with purpose through the darkness until the torchlight lands on a small structure. I recognise it as the shed that sits on the side of the yard closest to the creek. Erica disappears inside and a square of light appears. I adjust the focus, zooming in, but she never appears in the window. I wait for several minutes but nothing happens.

  What on earth …? I have the urge to rub my eyes in a cartoonish manner. How does a person walk into a structure that small and not be visible through the window?

  I’m about to lower the binoculars when they snag on movement from above. I lift my gaze and am eye to eye with Samir. With a gasp I pull back from the window. Shit. My heart is pounding; it felt like I was looking directly into his eyes, as close as if he was standing right in front of me.

  Don’t be an idiot, I tell myself. He can’t see me. The lights are off and I’m all the way over here. He just happened to be looking in this direction.

  From my vantage point, I can see Samir shake his head and run his hands down his face. He’s probably just tired. And Erica didn’t disappear, she’s probably just fixing something or looking for something and there’s more room in there than I think.

  But the image of Samir dragging that garbage bag out of Dee’s house, and the way he looked at me on the porch the day after, has my hands clammy and my throat tight and I can’t shake the feeling that something terrible has happened.

  He asked me what I was doing at Dee’s house … but what was he doing there?

  ***

  8:40pm

  ‘I’m so sorry I’m later than I said,’ Adam drops his satchel and scoops me up, kissing my forehead, my lips. ‘What’s been happening?’

  ‘Nothing, as usual,’ I sulk. ‘Why didn’t you call?’

  Adam’s brow furrows. ‘What? I sent you several messages.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ I glance at my phone. ‘Shit. Bloody signal’s out again. Fuck’s sake!’ I throw my phone on the couch. It bounces off one of the cushions and lands on the floor with a thunk. ‘Adam, this place is driving me mad!’

  Adam’s jaw drops slightly, and I realise just how mad I must appear. He holds his phone out and I see that he’s telling the truth. Just then my phone pings three times in a row and I lunge towards the couch to grab it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say as I read his messages, and suddenly my lower lip trembles and my eyes sting. It scares me how quickly I can fear the worst. I suppose it’s what happens when you have so much to lose. ‘You did message. I didn’t know.’

  I step into his open arms, feeling exposed and more than a little foolish,

  In the very beginning of Adam and me, I’d weighed the possibility, the likelihood, of cheating. Of course, I had. That’s part of the elimination process when courting: is this person going to hurt me? And the men I’d had relationships with – dated briefly or slept with, more accurately – all rated pretty highly on the probability scale. But I’d convinced myself it didn’t matter, that it would remain a No
n Issue as long as I didn’t get properly involved, as long as things didn’t get emotional. Cheating didn’t rate on my list of things to worry about.

  Now, I can’t imagine a worse betrayal, a single thing that could injure me more. I never realised how much fear comes with having so much to lose – or perhaps it was that I did realise this, unconsciously, after Mum and her transgressions which brought about my subsequent abandonment issues, and that was why I’d made it my mission to avoid commitment. To dodge the very possibility of being betrayed. Not wanting to be tied down by kids probably has something to do with that too.

  I feel Adam’s sigh more than hear it. ‘Of course, you didn’t, darling. There wasn’t signal, as you say.’ He pulls back and looks into my eyes. ‘This is my fault. I’ve dragged you into all of this. If it weren’t for what happened with Brett, I’d have had money, been … been someone you could depend on. I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?’

  ‘No,’ I sniff. ‘You haven’t. None of that was your fault, and it’s all going to be fine in a matter of weeks.’ I glance at my phone and look up at him with a sheepish smile. ‘I’m sorry about my … well, I suppose they’re good old-fashioned trust issues, really. After Mum … Anyway. You’ve done nothing to make me feel that …’

  ‘Baby, I know. And I understand, really. Getting worried about not hearing from your husband when you’re stuck in a place like this? I think maybe that’s pretty reasonable for anyone. But I promise, I’m going to spend the rest of my life convincing you you’re safe with me.’

  ‘Shit,’ I sniff and look away, embarrassed. ‘How did I get so lucky?’

  ‘I’m the lucky one,’ Adam beams at me and plants a kiss on my lips. ‘Now let’s get you a glass of wine.’

  ‘Oh God, yes. Did I mention you’re perfect?’

  Moments later, Adam hands me a glass of wine and a brown paper bag. ‘I got you this.’

  ‘Oh, what is it?’ I reach into the paper bag and pull out a gossip magazine, an Australian version of the sort you find in every hair salon, which is the only time I’d ever bother to look at one. ‘Oh. Thank you.’

  ‘I know it’s silly, but I thought a bit of gossip might help take your mind off things. You know, you could have a bit of a chuckle at all the celebs falling drunk out of nightclubs or being caught with their trousers down.’ He winks and I force a smile so as not to appear ungrateful.

  ‘Thank you. That’s very … thoughtful.’ I shake away the feeling that this is the last sort of thing I would get for myself – it’s only been just over a year, time still to learn each other’s quirks and interests – and decide it actually is quite thoughtful, considering I’m in need of any distraction I can find.

  Adam puts his feet up and sips his red as he flips through the newspaper.

  It occurs to me to mention the night I spent with Dee – we didn’t have a chance yesterday, what with all the sex – but I don’t want to spoil the mood. We sit in silence for a few minutes when Adam swears under his breath.

  ‘What is it?’

  I look over at him and he’s staring at the newspaper as if it’s a snake. He looks up at me with wary eyes, all his earlier contentment drained from his expression.

  ‘What? Adam, what is it?’

  ‘You might want to sit down for this.’

  ‘I am sitting down. For God’s sake, Adam …’

  Adam’s face is grim. ‘Dee’s been reported missing. And the baby, too.’

  I feel the blood drain from my face. ‘What?’

  Adam nods. ‘She was last seen on Wednesday, so it’s been three days already.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ A wave of nausea washes over me. I knew it – I knew something was wrong.

  ‘Are they looking for her? Why has no one reported it until now?’

  Adam holds out the paper for me to see. ‘It says here she was reported missing on Thursday morning, by a neighbour. I imagine some time has to pass before it becomes a priority for police. They’re searching for her now.’

  I take the paper with trembling hands and my gaze immediately catches on her name – Delilah.

  Fears grow for missing Oyster Creek woman, Delilah Waters, 31, and her infant daughter Ruby, six months, who have been missing since Wednesday evening. Mother and daughter were last seen on a small footbridge that crosses the water at Oyster Creek at around 3pm by a neighbour.

  The alarm was raised when Mrs Waters’s friend and neighbour called in at the Waters’ residence on Thursday afternoon for a scheduled babysitting arrangement and found the front door unlocked and no one at home. Mrs Waters has not been answering her mobile phone and it has been confirmed that no one within her circle of acquaintance has seen or heard from her since Wednesday afternoon. Last seen in a location known for its dangerous currents, and where several tourists have drowned in recent years, there are grave fears for both mother and child.

  Mrs Waters’s husband, who is overseas on business, has been informed of his wife’s disappearance and is on his way back to Australia.

  If you have any information regarding the matter you are urged to contact Brave Cove Police.

  Dee is missing. I feel like the air has been knocked out of my lungs. My mind explodes with thoughts and memories, a jumble of everything that happened the night Dee came to visit, everything that’s happened since.

  I’m certain of one thing. Her ‘neighbour and friend’, most likely Erica, wasn’t the last one to see her.

  I was.

  Chapter 20

  Dee

  May, 2017

  Sunday, 4pm

  He’s there again. Does he think I can’t see him sitting there in his beat-up car, or does he want me to know he’s there? Another letter was pushed through the mail slot earlier. I tore it up without reading it. I already know what it will say. And I’m growing more and more fearful that time is running out; another reminder isn’t any help.

  I yearn to confide in Rob. I still crave him – for comfort, for stability. For love. Yet I know this is something I have to sort out on my own.

  Sometimes he seems on the brink of saying something, and I ask him what’s on his mind, but as soon as I do, he shuts down and turns away. My heart breaks a little each time. Although, in truth, I deserve the dismissal. He could do worse to me. Much worse.

  I miss him. Miss us. I miss a time before I was nothing more than a milk bar to a greedy infant, when our days were long and lazy and our nights filled with laugher and love-making. But the time of ‘me’ has passed and now there’s only her.

  The man gives a little wave and I shiver and draw the curtains closed. I can’t just sit here any longer. I fumble for my phone and call him. An answer after two rings, ‘Hello?’ Shit. ‘Who is this?’ But it isn’t his voice, it’s hers. I panic and end the call, my heart in my throat. It was so stupid of me to call the land line! I send a hasty text instead.

  It strikes me that I need a plan for if the worst happens. What might become of Ruby if I’m gone? So I grab a pen and scrawl it across a notepad for several minutes, thinking carefully about each detail. I can’t forget anything. When I’m done, I tear the page from the notepad and slip it into an envelope, then write Erica’s name on the front. That’s something sorted, at least. Just in case.

  I pace the room, breathing to calm my nerves. My throat is parched and I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve eaten or drunk anything. I go to the kitchen for some water but, in passing the fridge, change my mind. I take out a bottle of wine, clasp its neck and drink straight from its cold glass mouth.

  Several gulps later I place the bottle back with trembling hands, reassuring warmth pooling in my stomach. I sigh and lean against the fridge door, tilting my head back. My back aches, my head aches and my breasts are full and sore, straining against the buttons of my blouse. I pray Ruby will have an appetite when she wakes or I’m going to have to pump again. I hate that thing. Makes me feel like a bloody cow being milked.

  Behind my eyelids, I see Ruby’s father’s face. Sh
ame swells within me and a tear slips down my cheek. What I wouldn’t give to go back. To erase the past. But then I wouldn’t have her. My sweet baby. My angel.

  A smile touches my lips. I make my way to Ruby’s room, open the door and tip-toe to the cot. The room smells of her: pure and milky-sweet. As always, my heart squeezes with a love so strong it’s painful. I lean over the rail and brush my fingers over her soft, downy hair, her cheeks full and soft as rose-petals. If I can see him in her, I wonder if Rob can too. My stomach churns with acid and I’m suddenly aware of the sour taste of wine in my mouth.

  There’s a knock from downstairs. I glance at Ruby – still sound asleep – and throw on the silk kimono Rob bought me for Christmas.

  ‘Oh. Hello.’ I open the door to let Samir in. He looks over his shoulder, then closes the door behind him.

  He takes one look at my face, steps forward and takes me in his arms.

  I lean against his shoulder, a single sob escaping.

  ‘It’s okay, darling,’ he whispers. ‘We’ll sort it out. Whatever happens, we’ll sort this thing out.’

  I smile up at him, but my lower lip quivers. ‘I’ve made such a mess of things.’

  His smile is kind and I’m reminded that that’s my favourite thing about him. His unconditional kindness, despite his knowledge of what some people are capable of. It’s a rare quality. One I thought I’d found in Rob, but it seems his love had conditions, after all.

  ‘Is Rob coming home tonight?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He doesn’t really … we don’t really communicate much anymore.’

  Samir’s lips thin, his eyes unreadable. ‘Call him. Make sure he’ll be here. You know I would, only …’