In the Shadow of Satellites (20 page)

The silence under there is heaven. It swirls around me, sucking out the restlessness along with all the other sounds of the night, surrounding me with blissful calm. I’ve never felt such relief, as if all the serenity of the universe has been channelled into me, filling the cracks and crevices where my demons hide, floating them out into the night air where they disintegrate into a million pieces, if only for a moment or two. Reluctantly, lungs burning, I push up to the surface.

I wish I could bottle this feeling and take a sip of it when I need it, when all the noise in my head makes it impossible to think. I lie there, floating on my back, staring up at the stars and thinking about the satellites orbiting far above me. Then I turn onto my stomach and take a few lazy strokes further out into the lake before rolling onto my back once more, suspended in my inky oblivion.

“Hey stranger!”

I sink under the surface of the water, gasping and coughing out lake-water when I pop up again a moment later.

“Luke?”

“You okay? I heard splashing!”

“I’m fine – just swimming!”

Man, nothing gets past him. I turn in his direction, treading water. I can see the glow from his fire, but I can’t see him.

“I thought you couldn’t swim!”

I smile in spite of myself.

“I didn’t say that – I said I swam sometimes, I’m just not that good at it! I’m doggy-paddling over here!”

His chuckle carries over the water.

“What’s the water like?”

“Wet!”

More chuckling. Then splashing, and barking.

“What are you doing?” I call.

“Joining you! Seems like the thing to do tonight.”

More splashing, and now I can see him.

“Wait – don’t come any closer,” I warn, still treading water. “I’m not, um, suitably attired, let’s say.”

He treads water not far from me, Geezer swimming around us both in a wide circle. He runs a hand over his hair, but he doesn’t come any closer. Thanks to the moon, I can see his face pretty clearly now.

“Are you telling me you’re skinny dipping?” he grins.

“No!” I don’t know why I’m so indignant. It’s not a crime. “I’m wearing my bra and undies. I’ve never been skinny dipping in my life, I’ll have you know.”

“You haven’t? Wow.”

I think he’s smiling, but I can’t be sure because the water is lapping his bottom lip.

“Is that so hard to believe?” I ask.

“No. Well, yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just thought everyone did it.”

Then it dawns on me.

“Are you? Now, I mean?”

He chuckles again, and the sound is muffled as he slips lower into the water. He spits out lake water and bobs back up again. I prefer him where I can see him.

“Relax. I’m wearing underwear too. No bra though.”

I grin. I can’t help it.

“So, what brought this on?” he asks, turning to watch Geezer as he paddles around us again, then turning back to me.

“I don’t know,” I lie. “Just felt like it. It’s warm tonight.”

“Very true.”

We tread water for a couple of minutes, but my arms are getting tired already. I’m not used to this kind of exercise. I’d forgotten how much effort swimming takes.

“I’m gonna have to go in,” I say. “My arms are about to fall off.”

“Okay.”

I can’t see for sure, but he sounds disappointed. I don’t know where it comes from, but an invitation comes out of my mouth and I know it’s a dangerous one, considering the fragile state of our friendship at the moment.

“Want to come over for a drink?”

He doesn’t hesitate for longer than a second, although he makes it sound casual.

“Sure, why not.”

I start swimming away from him slowly, conscious that neither of us is dressed.

“Grab your clothes and come over,” I call over my shoulder, in case he misinterprets anything.

I can’t hear him behind me, and I pray he’s not watching me as I get closer to the shore and my clothes. Finally, as I get ready to stand, I can hear splashing behind me, and I turn to see him making his way back to the glowing fire, Geezer bringing up the rear. When I’m sure he’s out of sight, I stand up and jog up the lawn, swiping up my dress and dashing up the steps into the cottage. I’m dressed and towel-drying my hair when I hear him coming up the stairs. I poke my head out of the bathroom, combing my hair into submission, as he appears at the French doors. He’s barely towelled off, and his t-shirt is wet and sticking to him in places. It shows off his physique in a way I never noticed before, and I have to drag my eyes away.

“Come in – beer’s in the fridge,” I say, by way of welcome.

“Thanks. Can I pour you a glass of wine?”

I think about the previous glass that I threw out over the lawn in disgust earlier. I wish I’d drunk it now. Suddenly, alcohol is sounding pretty good.

“Yes please.”

He knows his way around my kitchen as well as I do now, and by the time I emerge from the bathroom, he’s coming out of the kitchen with a bottle of beer in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

He smiles, handing me the wine, and although it’s a smile I’ve seen a hundred times before, it feels different somehow.

“Thanks. Shall we sit outside?”

Inside feels claustrophobic right now. It always does when he’s here. It’s partly his size – he seems to fill any space he occupies, with little room to spare – and partly because I need to keep some distance between us, for my own sake.

We settle into the deck chairs outside, and he puts his feet up on the railing at exactly the same time I do. It throws me. Has he always done that? I can’t remember. His knees are bent, and my legs are practically straight, given that his legs are so much longer.

“Why are you staring at my knees?”

I glance up at him, embarrassed enough to lie.

“I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, you were.” He’s smiling at me. “Care to enlighten me?”

I give in, because I’m not quick enough to think of anything clever to say.

“I was just wondering how tall you were.”

He nods, as if he’s not quite sure why I’m asking, but he’s willing to give me some leeway.

“I’m six-three – and a half.”

Like he really needs that half inch.

“And a half?”

“Don’t forget the half.”

“It’s that important?” I ask, smiling hesitantly.

As much as I’m second-guessing myself and everything I do and say around him, he seems to be perfectly comfortable. He really is pretending like nothing happened between us, and he’s doing it so well, it’s making me wonder if it really did.

“Did you just ask me if size was important?”

“H-height,” I stammer, cheeks burning yet again. “Not size.”

“Same thing,” he grins, taking a sip of his beer. “What about you? Wait, let me guess. Five… five?”

“Five-seven!”

He laughs – a full-bodied, no-holds-barred laugh. It’s deep and throaty, and I like it.

“Do you want to have the size conversation again?” he asks.

“No!”

“Well, alright then.”

I take a sip of wine. I’m used to people towering over me. James was six-one, but like Luke, he was proportionate. Except his ears. James had tiny ears. They fascinated me. We measured them once, and they were a full four millimetres smaller than mine, even though he was larger than me in every other way. That feels like a lifetime ago now. I guess it was.

“What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

I look over at Luke, blinking.

“Hmm?”

“I said your name twice. You didn’t even register,” he says gently.

I shake my head, embarrassed.

“Sorry.”

But I forget. He reads me pretty well.

“James?” he asks gently. “Or Kieran?”

I rest my glass of wine on my thigh, staring at it.

“James.”

“And? Tell me.”

I don’t want to, but I do anyway. It can’t do any harm. His playful mood is rubbing off on me.

“He had little ears, smaller than mine,” I say. “He was six-one. I always thought it was weird that he had such small ears, considering everything else about him was totally in proportion.”

“Ah,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “The size thing again. You’re obsessed, lady. I never knew that about you.”

I roll my eyes, smiling over at him.

“Can we just not do that please?”

“Fine,” he holds a hand up. “Whatever you say.”

We fall into a comfortable silence, one of the things I really like about spending time with Luke. It should feel weird, talking to him about James after what happened between us, but it doesn’t. He doesn’t seem concerned. I wonder how much of that is Luke’s attitude towards grief, being that he’s been there, and how much of it is just his personality.

“Does it bother you, when I talk about James?” I ask, giving voice to my musings.

“Of course not. Why would it?”

There is no hesitation at all on his part, and my stomach does that little fluttery thing. I think it’s relief. Maybe gratitude too. He turns to me, and I can see that he means it.

“I don’t know,” I say, choosing my words carefully. Things are settling in really well between us. I don’t want to mess it up again. “I just thought it might be… weird.”

“He was your husband. Kieran was your son. Please don’t feel like you have to hide them, least of all from me. They deserve better than that.”

My heart swells and I tell myself I don’t want to cry. I do want to, really, but not from sadness. A myriad of emotions, all mixed up inside me, vie for precedence. The overwhelming winner is harmony. I feel as if I’m in the right place, at the right time, with the right person. It’s like hope, only it’s more solid than that, more real, more tangible. It’s like faith, only there’s no leap involved, no stepping into the abyss. It’s beyond all that. It’s certainty, surety, absolute belief.

I’m exactly where I’m meant to be, and Luke is beside me, staring at me with such understanding and conviction, that for several long moments I’m speechless. Speechless and happy. And then I realise.

It’s joy that fills me.

Luke has gone into town again, something about roofing materials. He’s taken Geezer with him, so this morning I’m truly alone. It’s not like I haven’t been alone before, but this feels different. After last night’s epiphany, this feels like an anti-climax.

I want to show him how much I appreciate his patience and his kindness. I’m not sure what, but I should make some kind of gesture. He deserves that, after what he’s done for me. For his part, while I was flooded with an emotion I haven’t felt for so long it took me a while to recognise it, he seems completely oblivious.

I spent the morning tidying up the place in preparation for Ana and Chris’s arrival this afternoon, and writing in my notebook. I flip through it when I’m done, reacquainting myself with the memories. The lingering sadness doesn’t linger so long this morning, which in itself is a kind of miracle. I tell myself it’s because I’m looking forward to seeing Ana and Chris, but deep down, I know it’s more than just that. It feels as if there’s been some kind of cosmic shift in the universe. I don’t know how, but I think I know why.

As I sit at the small table, my gaze wanders, settling on my bedside table. I want that box of matches so badly. I need to send up a prayer, or a wish, or a thought into the universe, in gratitude, as payment, or just in acknowledgement. I need to mark this turning point in some way. It would be remiss of me not to. I beg patience of myself. Ana will be here later, with the matches. I can do it then.

Lunchtime comes and goes, and Luke is still not back. I sit on the deck with a glass of water and watch for him, knowing how ridiculous that is, but unable to pretend otherwise. At least I’m honest about it. Ana calls earlier than usual, and the ringing phone nearly gives me a heart attack.

“Hi!” she says, the customary car sounds absent.

“Hi – where are you?”

“I’m over on the shore, with Chris and Luke. We bumped into him in town, when I was grabbing some stuff from the supermarket.”

I’m jealous. It’s not a logical emotion, but I struggle to push it aside anyway.

“Oh, right.”

“We’re getting a ride over with Luke, so you don’t have to come and get us. He needs a hand with all this stuff he’s bought, so we’re paying for our passage with manual labour.”

I hear a laugh in the background. Luke or Chris? I can’t tell.

“Okay. No worries.”

“We’re leaving now, so keep an eye out for us. Come and meet us over at Luke’s? We might need a hand to unload. He’s got a shitload of stuff.”

I don’t tell her I’ve been keeping an eye out for him all day.

“Okay. See you soon, then.”

“Catch ya!”

There is more distant laughter, and then she’s gone. Considering the world has happily been turning without me all this time, I shouldn’t be feeling this removed from it, but that’s exactly how it does feel. I want to be part of it again, the world. I want to have plans, run into friends at the supermarket and in town. I want to do all of that, but I want to be able to do it from here, where it’s quiet and peaceful and I can run and hide if I need to.

Is there something between what I want, and what I can handle? I really hope so.

I spy the boat as it crawls across the lake, and make my way next door, watching as they pull into the little jetty that’s almost identical to mine. Everyone seems to be in high spirits, and it’s infectious. Chris makes a beeline for me and envelops me in a bear hug as soon as he steps off the boat. Just having him here makes me feel lighter.

We help Luke unload the boat, and Chris has a thousand questions for him. They really do appear to have hit it off, and watching them from a distance I’m reminded of Chris and James. Luke seems pretty relaxed around Chris, but then Chris has that effect on most people.

Ana and I sit on the steps of the old cottage, watching them stacking timber and boxes.

“So, how’ve you been?” she asks. “You look good. Did you have a good week?”

I want to tell her everything, but I also don’t. I want to keep some things to myself, especially the stuff about Luke. I play it safe instead.