by Lucy Clarke
“You’ll make some girl very happy, I’m sure.”
He smiles. He feels more relaxed out here on the water, knowing they’re not gonna bump into anyone who could make things difficult. “Eva, how about you?”
She glances up as if pulled from a daydream.
“D’you want to fish?”
She visibly stiffens.
Then he realizes: Jackson died while fishing. “Sorry, it was a stupid idea.”
“No, I’d like to.”
He catches the determination in her tone and nods once at her, then sets up both reels, attaching bright orange-and-pink squid jigs to the lines.
They move to the side of the boat and Callie joins them, perching on an upturned bucket with her arms folded. Saul passes Eva a short fishing rod that has masking tape wrapped around its handle. “It might not look like the most professional equipment, but this is my favorite. I don’t let just anyone use it—only people who I think are gonna catch me a lot of squid, you understand?”
Eva manages a smile as she nods.
“You see down there? That’s a sea grass bed. Now, the squid—hopefully—are just gonna be cruising around, doin’ their thing. I want you to let the line right out until you feel it hit the bottom. Then just wind it in a couple of feet. The trick is to catch the squid’s attention, make it look like something’s in the water that it wants to eat. So just give your line a smooth pull upward every now and then.”
She watches the motion he makes with his line, then does the same with hers.
“That’s good. You’ve got it.”
“You’re a pro,” Callie says.
After a few minutes Eva asks him, “Did you and Jackson fish together much?”
“When we were boys,” is all he answers. As he reels in the line, his mind wanders back to visiting Wattleboon for the first time. Saul must’ve been about six, Jackson eight, and their dad had given them a bucket and a net, telling them to go down to the bay and find seven living things from the water.
They caught white bait, two different types of crabs, a sea anemone, and a mussel. They searched for over an hour but were still two short of their goal. Defeated, they trudged back up the bay to where their mother and father stood with their hands clasped. Jackson had plonked down the bucket and shrugged. “That’s all there was.”
Dirk had crouched down and inspected their finds. Then he beckoned them closer and said, “You’ve got your seven, right here.” He showed them the tiny flecks of plankton moving around and a translucent shrimp that was hiding beneath some seaweed. “The ocean’s full of life. You’ve just gotta keep your eyes open to see it.”
“I was thinking,” Eva says, working the line up and down, “that I’d like to meet some of Jackson’s old friends.”
Saul feels the muscles in his shoulders tighten.
“Do you think you could get in touch with any of them before we leave?”
He pushes up his cap and wipes a hand across his brow. “Might be a bit last-minute.”
“It’s worth a try,” Callie adds. “We could go for a drink with them. We’ve got a couple of days still.”
“Don’t think I’ve got any of their numbers.”
“What about the people that went to the memorial?” Eva asks. “You must’ve been in touch with them?”
He feels beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. “Maybe I’ll have some of their numbers.”
“So you’ll call them?” Eva persists.
There is a pause as he struggles to work out how to answer. He doesn’t want to lie, but how can he say no? “Sure,” he says eventually, hoping his expression is more convincing than his voice.
Suddenly Eva’s fishing line pulls taut and she gasps.
“You’re on!” Saul says, relieved at the shift in focus.
“What do I do?”
“Start reeling.”
Eva braces her legs as the rod bows. She holds tight, keeping it close to her chest.
“That’s it, just reel it in nice and slow.”
Her hand turns steady rotations as the squid fights the line.
“Keep the line nice and taut so he can’t get off.”
Callie points to the surface. “There! Squid!”
Rising from the water a southern calamari shimmers as Eva tows it toward the boat.
“Do I keep going?” Eva asks, her expression tight with concentration.
“Yep, all the way.”
The squid’s body turns an angry red as it’s reeled into the air, tentacles writhing. “Lower it down now.”
Eva carefully lowers the squid, and as soon as it’s on the deck, Saul crouches down and holds its smooth back as he frees the jig from its tentacles.
Callie cranes forward to see.
He feels the squid begin to heave beneath his fingers. “You might wanna stand back.”
Eva shuffles away, but Callie stays where she is, stooping down to peer at it.
Suddenly the squid shoots out ink, black and thick, in two rapid bursts. It splatters across the deck, covering Callie’s shins.
“Fuck!” she gasps, horrified.
Eva’s gaze moves between the streak of black ink covering Callie’s legs and the outrage on her face.
And then Eva is bending forward, laughter roaring from her mouth. The sound rolls out in waves, loud and rich. It washes over the boat like a balm, and Saul finds himself grinning.
CALLIE SITS ON THE bottom rung of the boat ladder, her feet dangling in the water as she cleans her shins, still muttering about the squid. Once all traces of the ink are gone, she lowers herself in, gasping at the cold. She kicks away from the boat, calling out, “It’s glorious!”
Eva unties her sundress and steps out of it, leaving her in a burnt-orange bikini. Glancing down, she sees the neat curve of her stomach, the skin taut. She’d love to dive off the side of the boat, pointing her fingers and toes and slicing into the sea, but instead she makes herself climb carefully down the ladder and lower herself in.
The sea wraps around Eva’s body like cool silk as she swims with smooth, slow strokes, squinting against the sun’s fierce reflection. She’s been swimming almost every morning in the bay and feels forgotten muscles developing in her arms. She joins Callie, who is floating on her back, arms spread.
“This is bliss,” Eva says. She rolls onto her back and lets the water take her weight, her hair swaying around her head. She closes her eyes and listens to the light slapping of water against the hull of the boat. Somewhere above them a bird is calling.
She feels a tweak in her abdomen and her eyes flick open as she thinks, Was that the first kick? She waits, barely breathing, for it to come again—and it does, only this time it’s a deeper twinge that makes her wince.
“Eva?”
She treads water, working out where the sensation came from. “Just a twinge, I think.”
“The baby?”
“Yeah. I might swim back.”
“Let’s take it slow.”
Eva swims in the direction of the boat, the water lapping beneath her chin. She thinks how odd the sensations of pregnancy are; so many new feelings and physical changes. No matter how many women she’s been a midwife to, it’s different when it’s your own body.
On her next stroke, she feels as if something is pulling tight inside her and she gasps, placing a hand over her abdomen as she stops to tread water again.
“Eva?”
She exhales steadily, waiting for the feeling to pass. “I want to get out.”
“We’re almost there,” Callie says. She touches Eva’s shoulder lightly, guiding her as they swim.
The pain eases again and Eva reaches the side of the boat and rests there, holding onto the ladder.
“You okay?” Saul asks from the boat.
As she pulls herself up the first rung, the pain hits again. This time it’s not just a twinge, but a deep, stomach-wrenching cramp.
Gripping the ladder, she holds herself very still. Her eyes squeeze shut as the pain
wrings through her. “No! Please!”
She knows exactly what is happening and why the pain in her stomach is hitting like a clenched fist. She knows why Callie is suddenly gasping; why Saul has dropped his fishing rod and is holding her by both shoulders; why, when she looks down, the insides of her thighs are streaked red.
11
Nudging the door open with her shoulder, Callie moves into the dim room carrying a tray of tea and cookies. The blinds have stayed drawn all day and the air feels heavy and stale. Eva’s curled on the bed, the duvet pulled up to her chin. “Darling, I’ve brought you some tea.”
Eva says nothing.
She sets down the tray, then pulls up a chair and sits close to Eva, whose eyes are open but unfocused. Callie reaches out and gently smoothes her hair from her forehead. Her skin is waxy and cool to touch. “And cookies, too. The orange chocolate ones.”
Eva blinks but doesn’t speak. Since the miscarriage she’s barely left her room. Callie was supposed to be in Melbourne two days ago, but managed to delay her flight till tomorrow, pleading with her director to let her arrive late to the shoot.
“Have you spoken to your mum yet?” Callie asks.
Eva shakes her head.
“I really think you should.”
There is a long silence before she says, “I can’t.”
Callie understands why: Eva’s mother lost her second daughter at birth. Grief had ripped through her life and manifested itself in a fierce protectiveness of Eva. Callie always remembers how wild Eva was when she first met her at college, as if someone had just cut her tether and she couldn’t stop running. But when Callie went to stay with Eva during the holidays, she was amazed at the change: around her mother Eva was someone quieter, more sensible. It was as if she felt like her mother had suffered enough and she wouldn’t give her anything else to worry about.
“Your mum will want to know,” Callie says. “She’ll want to help.”
“I don’t need help. I need to be left alone.”
Callie forces a smile. “Why don’t you come outside? I think there’ll be a beautiful sunset tonight.”
Eva lifts her head a fraction. She looks Callie straight in the eye as she says, “Go. I want you to go.”
CALLIE SITS ON THE deck, chewing the edge of her thumbnail, the faint taste of nail polish bitter on her tongue. It’s heartbreaking seeing Eva like this.
“How is she?”
She starts, having not seen Saul approach. Lowering her voice, she tells him, “Not good. She’s still in her room.” She shakes her head slowly from side to side. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s just going to take time.”
She nods, knowing that’s the simple truth of it. “What’s that?” she asks, noticing the dish in his hands.
“Fish pie. Just some leftovers.”
Callie stands and takes the heavy ceramic dish that’s plump with creamy mash. She can tell it’s far more than leftovers. “That’s kind,” she says, trying not to sound surprised. “Thank you. I’ll just put it inside.”
When she returns to the deck, Saul asks, “Did you manage to get an appointment?”
“Yes. She’s booked for an ultrasound in two days. But I won’t be there. I have to leave tomorrow. I couldn’t get any more time.” She pauses. “I hate thinking of her going to the hospital on her own.”
Saul looks toward the shack, but says nothing.
Callie lets the silence stretch out, waiting for him to offer to go in her place.
After a moment Saul digs his hands into his pockets and says, “I better head back.”
“Why don’t you at least go in and see her?” Saul has visited every day to get an update on Eva, but hasn’t gone into the shack to talk to her.
He hesitates, seeming to consider it for a moment. Then he casts another glance toward the shack and says, “Just let her know I said hi.”
She watches Saul’s long strides as he moves back down the beach. Then suddenly Callie is on her feet, clambering from the deck and hurrying through the sand after him. “Wait!”
He turns, squinting into the sun.
“Please. Go in and see her. I’m leaving tomorrow, Saul. I need to know she’s not going to be on her own out here.”
He rubs a hand over his jawline. “Maybe she should be going back to Melbourne with you.”
Her eyebrows arch. “You don’t want her here—is that it?”
He looks down at the sand between his feet, saying nothing.
“She’s your sister-in-law and she’s going through hell. The only reason she’s even on Wattleboon is because she wanted to meet you! I don’t care why you and Jackson fell out, but don’t punish Eva for it.”
“Punish?” Saul says, eyes flashing. “I’m protecting her!”
Callie draws her head back. “From what?”
“Nothing,” he says quickly.
“What are you talking about?” She takes a step forward. “Protecting Eva from what?”
“Just forget it.”
She can see his jaw tightening with the effort of containing his anger. She wonders what exactly happened between Jackson and Saul. “That day you were collecting oysters, you said Jackson never did a degree in Melbourne. Is that true?”
He returns her gaze. “Yes, it’s true.”
“So why did he lie to Eva?”
His dark stare moves to the shack, then he shakes his head, turns, and stalks down the beach. This time Callie doesn’t stop him.
EVA STARES AT THE trail of steam curling from her mug of tea. She feels numb, empty, like a hollow tree: dead but still standing.
She longs for Jackson. She wills him to crawl into this bed, wrap his arms tight around her, tell her, You’ll be okay, darl. Just an hour, one more hour with him, that’s all she’s asking for. She would give anything, do anything, for that.
Sometime later the door cracks open. Callie again.
She comes close, bringing with her the fresh scent of the bay. Her cheeks are flushed. “Look, Eva, you’re not going to like this, but I’ve just called your mum. I told her.”
Eva feels a bolt of outrage and sits up. “No—I said no!”
“She’s going to call you in five minutes. Your phone’s here,” Callie says, sliding it across the bedside table toward Eva. “You need to talk to her.”
She starts to protest, but Callie hasn’t finished. “And when you have, I want you to get dressed. Saul’s made us fish pie for dinner and you and I are going to eat it together on the deck.”
Callie pulls open the blinds and soft evening light fills the room.
Eva blinks, shading her eyes with a hand.
As Callie leaves, she pauses in the doorway, saying, “This will get easier, Eva. I promise you.”
Then she is gone and Eva hears her in the kitchen setting out plates and cutlery. She runs a hand through her unwashed hair. Her temples throb and her tongue feels swollen and dry.
Eva glances at her phone. She doesn’t want to speak to her mother because she knows she can’t be strong. There is no game face when you’ve lost everything.
She hugs her arms around her middle, feeling the tender ache in her womb. As a midwife, she knows the risks in early pregnancy: one in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage. Still, she has no words to explain the guilt she feels: Jackson had left her with the gift of a new life, a final piece of him—and she’d let it die. All she wants right now is to be pregnant again, to fill this awful void inside her with Jackson’s child, to keep him with her. But there won’t be another baby. It’s so final and so devastating that Eva can barely breathe with the pain of it.
When the phone rings, the whole room seems to vibrate with the shrill sound. She reaches for it and presses it to her ear. Her voice cracks as she says, “Oh, Mum . . .”
TWO DAYS LATER, WHILE Callie is on a plane to Melbourne, Eva lies on an examination table watching the ultrasound monitor carefully. She sees her uterus as a grainy black-and-white image. It is empty. Completely empty.
The sonogram technician seems pleased by this as she rolls the wand over Eva’s stomach once more. “You won’t need a D and C, which is great news. It looks like all the products have gone.”
Products, Eva thinks. Has she ever used that term herself? Yes, she probably has. She knows that clinically a fetus is only referred to as a baby when it’s capable of maintaining life. But it does not feel like a fetus or products that have been lost. It feels like her baby. Jackson’s baby.
“That’s what made it so hard,” her mother had confided when they’d spoken yesterday. “I carried your sister for nine months. I loved her. But when she died—I felt like it was only your father and I who knew her.”
They’d never talked so openly about her mother’s grief, and Eva felt as if a barrier between them had finally been removed. Eva talked and cried freely and her mother didn’t tell her to come home, she just listened—and that was everything.
The sonogram tech wipes the gel from her stomach with a wad of tissues and then Eva slides off the couch and pulls down her top. Her movements feel heavy and slow. She picks up her bag and holds it to her stomach. The tech opens the door and, perhaps seeing Eva’s wedding ring, says, “You and your husband may want to wait a month or so before trying again. Just to give your body a chance to settle back down.”
Eva stares aghast at this woman. She wants to correct her, but her throat is too choked to speak. She drifts into the waiting area, which is filled with pregnant women, young children, husbands.
At the end of a row of plastic orange chairs, Saul sits with his knees wide apart, his head hanging forward and his large hands clasped.
When he catches sight of Eva, he stands immediately. He must see something in her expression because as soon as she reaches him, he says, “Let’s get outta here.”
He walks at her side as they move down a long corridor and out through automatic doors. They cross the parking lot toward the truck, and he opens the passenger door for her and she climbs carefully inside.
It’s only then that she begins to cry. She covers her face with her hands as tears stream down her cheeks, the sound of her sobs filling the truck. She feels Saul’s eyes on her and imagines he wants to get out, step away from her grief.
