All That Was Left Unsaid

by Jacquie Underdown

  Lucy and Maddison looked at each other and broke into laughter.

  “Too young?” Maddison asked.

  “Much too young. He was horrified.”

  “Mortified.”

  “Couldn’t get away fast enough,” Lucy said.

  The smiles fell from their faces. Maddison sighed. “It sucks getting old. Screw dinner. Let’s just get shit-faced. I don’t care if someone has to carry me out of here.” Maddison pointed to Lucy’s empty glass. “Another?”

  Lucy grinned. “You read my mind.”

  By the bottom of drink four, Lucy and Maddison made to leave. They linked their arms around each other for support, held their chins up high and swaggered out of the restaurant. When on the street, they dissolved into giggles knowing how they would have looked to the other customers there, but they were too full of alcohol-induced merriment to care.

  A few hundred metres up the hill was a bar that also masqueraded as a night club. During the boom, every nightspot was open late most nights of the week and was filled with out-of-town workers. But a sleazy slant had also crept in—strip clubs and titty bars catering to the blue-collar crowd. Everyone was cashed up and had nowhere to go.

  All the businesses in town thought they’d be flush with cash and patronage forever. Maddison and Ben had fallen for the short-lived delusion too.

  The streets were almost empty. The gauzy glow spilling from closed shop fronts and streetlights lit their path along the cracked pavement. All the ten or so patrons in the pub turned to look when they entered the darkened, blue-tinged room. Music pumped loudly from the speakers and altered Maddison’s heartbeat. She cast a glance to the empty dance floor on their way to the bar where they ordered another cocktail. Sex on the Beach or something like that.

  A group of younger men were playing pool. Two men in business attire were at the bar, deep in conversation. A couple sat at a tall table, drinks in front of them.

  Maddison and Lucy carried their cocktails to a table and shuffled onto a seat. The only problem with places like that was that now their conversation had to be conducted at the level of shouting just to hear each other.

  The night moved on at a flurried pace. From bar to table, dance floor to the bathroom, back to the bar, over and over. Every time Maddison stood, her balance grew less reliable. Her dance moves were a series of jumps and hand pumps in the air, her hair swaying from side to side as she rocked her head to the beat.

  Each time she went to the bathroom, the louder her ears rang in the silence and the harder she plonked onto the toilet seat. No matter what she drank now, it all tasted the same.

  Her vision was a blur of colour. Her surroundings a cacophony of sounds.

  Deep into the night, she seemed to come awake again and remember where she was. The two businessmen were now sitting with her and Lucy. She looked around, unsure when that had happened. More people had arrived too. A younger crowd. Scantily clad women in high heels, with fake lips and breasts. Barely adult men in jeans and good t-shirts.

  One of the businessmen—Thomas—had his hand high on her thigh. She gazed at him when he leaned closer to speak to her. A strong jaw and defined nose. Interested brown eyes. His hair was full and well-groomed. He smelled like expensive aftershave.

  He repeated himself when she didn’t answer. “How long have you owned the gym?”

  She blinked. “Oh, um, ten years.”

  “That’s a well-established business. You must be good at what you do.”

  She shrugged, nearly mentioned that her husband was who had made it successful, but she didn’t want to reveal that to him right now. “I am.”

  Thomas smiled and she vaguely remembered a conversation where he had said he was an accountant. Explained the interest in her business. His hand skimmed higher towards the apex of her thighs. An unanticipated bolt of arousal. It had been so long since that hot, aching sensation had filled her belly.

  She cast a glance at Lucy who was kissing the other businessman.

  Thomas laughed. “They’ve got the right idea.”

  Maddison looked into his eyes. “You think so?”

  He gravitated closer until his lips were a fraction away from hers and kissed her. For thirteen years, Maddison had not kissed another man’s lips. She had never even imagined another man’s lips. Ben had been more than enough until he wasn’t. And by then, she was too broken to want for anyone else.

  Her mouth opened and his tongue dipped inside, stroking against hers like silk. A tight, squeezing pulse of need through her veins. Muscles clenched, blood swamped lower and ran hotter. Breaths were deep and rushed as she kissed him back. Her hands raked through his hair. She was off her seat, pushing closer against him, craving his touch. His arms slung around her waist, pulled her between his parted legs.

  She couldn’t get enough. So long. So long since someone had touched her. Wanted her. His hand slipped down her waist, over the curve of her backside and squeezed. Lower his caress traced the slopes of her body until he was feeling between her legs.

  Hot. Breathless.

  She reached for his hand and that’s when she felt it—a wedding ring. Like he was a scalding ember, she dropped his hand, broke free from his mouth and stumbled backwards.

  “You’re married?” she shrieked.

  His brow furrowed as he chuckled. “Yeah, and so are you.”

  Her lips parted on a long exhale. He was right, her accusation rang true both ways. But she wasn’t the one on a business trip playing up, seeking out the first easy target that came along, while the wife and kids were at home.

  But she did have children and a husband, and they were at home, tucked up in their beds, and she was in a seedy bar, kissing a stranger.

  Her head was spinning around her as she tried to keep her balance. Without warning, her stomach convulsed, and she vomited all over the ground only centimetres from Thomas’s polished leather shoes. Her stomach clenched again, and another torrent of colourful liquid streamed from her mouth. Again, and again until the floor was a technicolour pool of acrid sick.

  A rough hand gripped her arm. She looked up, expecting it to be Thomas, but it was a huge bouncer the size of a silverback. His arms were as thick as both of Maddison’s legs.

  “Out,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now!”

  “I’m sorry,” she said and tried to catch the next stream of vomit in her hands.

  “For God’s sake,” he growled. “Get out.” He shoved Maddison forward, but she slipped in the vomit and nearly fell over, but he reached out, snatched her arm, squeezed tighter and yanked her upward towards him before she hit the ground.

  Stumbling beside him, he all but carried her onto the street. Lucy followed after them.

  “Taxi rank is that way,” the bouncer said and strode back to the bar shaking his head.

  Lucy was frowning. “Bloody hell, Mads, you couldn’t tell that you were going to vomit?”

  “Obviously not,” Maddison said, barely able to shape the words into intelligible sounds.

  Lucy shook her head, shuffled a hand through her hair. “I’m so embarrassed. I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed in my life.”

  “Get the hell over yourself! Seriously.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened. “We’re grown women. There comes a time in our lives when we don’t projectile vomit all over the floor of a bar.”

  “Don’t you dare patronise me.”

  “Maybe I have to. I think this” – she gestured at Maddison – “is too far. You’ve got vomit all down your shirt. Jesus, Mads. When is enough enough?”

  Maddison rolled her eyes only because the thought of speaking was too much when she could barely see straight, let alone think straight, let alone stand upright. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and die.

  “I love you. I do,” Lucy said. “You’re my best friend. And I’m happy to go out with you. But every time we do, it always ends with me putting you in a taxi because you’re too smashed to walk.”

  “Well
then, don’t go out with me. Simple.”

  A taxi pulled up and Maddison crawled into it. Lucy buckled her into the backseat and told the driver of her friend’s address.

  “Bye,” Lucy said and shut the door. Even in Maddison’s state, she recognised the finality in that single word.

  The trip home went by in a blur as Maddison weaved in and out of unconsciousness. The next thing she knew, Ben was lifting her from the taxi into his arms, apologising to the driver, then carrying her into the house.

  When in their bedroom, he attempted to change her out of her vomit-covered clothes, but she slapped his hands away. The scent of booze and spew saturated the air.

  “I kissed a man,” she said defiantly, trying to hold her chin up high. “He wasn’t you and I don’t even care.”

  Ben didn’t say anything, simply grabbed his pillow and strode out of the room to spend the night on the couch.

  Chapter 12

  Sunday afternoon, Tina had mentally prepared herself to tackle the mundane task of piloting the ride-on lawnmower over the huge expanse of dry but too-long grass. Up and down, back and forth, stopping now and then to refill with petrol and change the catcher. Dust spewed from behind the mower.

  She enjoyed being outside in the warm afternoon sunshine, breathing in the woodsy scent of fresh-cut grass, amidst the calm stillness of her property. The only issue she had was that driving this mower reminded her of her day job, endlessly touring the same route every single day.

  When she finished up, the sun was setting and a cooler evening breeze had settled in, rustling the leaves on the tall gum trees in the bordering bush. In a dry summer, twigs and leaves were shades of rust and brown and eucalyptus-scented detritus would crackle underfoot.

  If the tropical rains descended, the thirsty dirt would soak up every last drop and take it deep beneath the surface, then sporadic bursts of grass would sprout across the ground like a rug. Leaves would deepen from fawn to pale green, but the green hints never lasted too long.

  Early into a dry autumn after a long, hot summer, the colour across her property, extending deep into the bush, were shades of beige. That’s how it looked now.

  Tina hosed the mower down from the tap connected to the water tank, then parked it in the four-bay shed that had once been home to myriad tools, spare parts and materials for projects Chris would work on during his days off. He had made some of the furniture that still stood in the house. Beautiful, durable pieces—TV unit, bookshelf, and a desk—from expensive hardwood. Pieces that could never be found in commercial furniture stores. She wondered if he made furniture for his new wife. She couldn’t imagine he’d have the room.

  The shed smelled like hot steel, fuel and hard work and she was consumed with nostalgia. Of carrying a beer out for Chris in the hot afternoons. Seeing the pleasure on his face to be thought of and taken care of. She missed those years in her life and grieved those memories like each were little deaths.

  Tina stretched high for the roller door handle, jumped and used her weight to drag the door closed with a loud metallic clang. She locked it with a padlock—something she never usually did—but with what had been going on around there, she wasn’t taking the chance for anyone to hang out in dark places biding their time.

  When done, it was late, though the orange glow behind Mount Larcom still offered some illumination. The evening chorus of birdsong was dying down as the birdlife found tree limbs to perch in for the night. At the water tank, Tina slipped off her runners and set them aside before she turned on the tap. The water was refreshing as she washed away the grime and sweat the afternoon in the yard had yielded.

  She switched off the tap and shook her hands, tiny splatters of water flicking around her. Gripping her runners, she started back to the house. Her feet crunched across the dry grass, but only a few steps away from the shed, a rustle sounded from the bush.

  Turning fast, she surveyed the bushland. Nothing stood out in the shadowy tangled mass of tree limbs and debris. She smiled to herself, at her creeping paranoia. It would be an animal of some kind. A kangaroo—they often appeared at twilight, bounding across the yard to congregate in small groups as they munched on grass. She waited a moment longer as a chorus of crickets and cicadas burst into song around her and there was a flurry of flapping wings as birds took flight, squawking and rushing from something.

  She kept her eyes focused, but the afternoon sun was sinking fast, and the small gaps and spaces in the bushland were dark. Too dark to see anything. Tree trunks morphed into thick limbed bodies. Her heart thudded hard. She blinked, shook her head slightly, and they reappeared as ordinary, unthreatening tree trunks. The small gaps between a bunch of leaves were two eyes staring. She glanced away, looked back, and they were leaves again.

  She was being ridiculous. Her mind was trying to convince her that something was there, watching her, even though there was nothing but gnarled bushland. She turned away, facing the house, only for the rustle to sound again.

  She smirked and didn’t look back for a few paces, but the crackling grew louder, and her grin fell away. A hastening slap of footsteps across the grass heading towards her. Her skin tingled. Pulse raced. She spun and looked.

  Black feathered, wide-spread wings rushed at her, flapping in front of her face. A gobble, then fast clawing across the grass as the scrub turkey darted away.

  She leaned over, exhaling a long gush of air, hands on her knees. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You stupid bloody turkey.”

  She shook her head, marched back inside, slammed the front door behind her and set the locks. For the rest of the evening, she tried her hardest to banish the slow-burning fear. It had only been a scrub turkey in the end, but it had set off her fight-or-flight response.

  After an easy dinner, she sat at her laptop in her office and navigated to an online forum. She hadn’t been able to find an explanation for the notes appearing in her home, so maybe someone else, with an outside perspective, could.

  When logged into the forum, she typed what was happening to her onto a board called ‘Strange Occurrences’. Within moments, replies appeared.

  Reaper69: If you don’t have security—get it. Set up cameras. Catch the intruder red-handed. That way you’ve got evidence.

  Naysayer92: I’ve heard of stories like this. A man was finding everyday objects in strange places around his house. Like the bleach in the fridge and fruit in teacups. Turns out his gas heater was leaking high levels of carbon monoxide and slowly poisoning him. He was the one moving the objects but had no memory of doing so. Check your heater.

  Mescaline: Stay off the drugs!

  CrumbitCroombit: A strange story hit the news in Australia a couple of years back about an entire family who became paranoid and fled their property believing something or someone was after them. I reckon they had heavy metal poisoning, like lead or something like that, and it was slowly making them crazy. If you still have old lead plumbing or paint in your house, get a heavy-metals blood test.

  Personification101: Poltergeists ooo-ooo-ooo!

  Tina read the comments. In the end, over thirty people had replied. Most were telling her to set up cameras facing entry points. But some suggestions were a little left of centre. She didn’t have a heater—they were useless in Central Queensland. But she did have an old water tank. It could be possible the pipework contained lead. Her main drinking supply came from that tank.

  It wasn’t too absurd to question if she were writing these notes herself while in some sort of stupor. Disguising her handwriting. It would explain the lack of evidence—apart from the notes—of anyone entering her house. A blood test was worth her peace of mind.

  But until she could book an appointment with a doctor, then wait for the results, she was going to install a camera as Chris had suggested.

  Her stomach lurched when she envisioned an uninvited guest moving through her house. Tingles fanned over her arms and the back of her neck. The person could be watching over her while she slept. Standing at her
doorway staring. Peeping through the windows on an evening as Tina watched television. Outside right that second.

  She spun in her chair, looked out her office window. All was black.

  Goosebumps sprang up along her skin and she shivered.

  Maybe the worst thing was her imagination.

  She typed a quick text to Chris.

  TINA: Hi. Just wondering if that offer is still open to install some cameras for me?

  His reply came back a few seconds later.

  CHRIS: I’ll be back in Gladstone Saturday. I’ll pick up a couple of cameras and stop by Sunday morning. About ten-thirty?

  TINA: Thank you. See you then.

  She sighed with relief and flopped against her chair. She had to get through until next weekend, then hopefully she would have some answers.

  Chapter 13

  Isabelle sat on the end of her bed, her jeans laid out beside her. Chris had arrived from the airport around noon and was now in the shower.

  Nerves nested in her belly. Once she and Chris were dressed, they would be taking Juliette to the local Thai restaurant for dinner to tell her she was about to become a big sister.

  She found it so odd that Juliette was five years older than she had been when Juliette was born, and only now was Isabelle finally getting around to giving her daughter a sister or brother. For over a fortnight, she had sat with the news, had a doctor confirm her result, and yet she was still viewing it through a surreal lens.

  She lifted her jeans from the bed, pulled her feet through the legs, then stood to tug them over her hips. She buttoned them up—already a little tight. Only for another couple of months would Isabelle get away with wearing jeans. Maternity pants would need to be added to her shopping list soon.

  She sat back down. When she was pregnant with Juliette, she didn’t have the luxury of such things as ‘maternity’ clothes. She had made do with her small wardrobe until she no longer fit into it, then her mother bought her some cheap, but colourful, dresses, which she’d cycled through in the latter months of her pregnancy and then until her figure finally returned after giving birth.