Inconsolable (7 page)

“That's not your problem.”

“Yes. It is my problem. Has anything like this happened before?”

He pitched his voice low and hard. “Get off my rock.”

The air came out of her in a sharp draught. He'd frightened her. Now maybe she'd leave him alone. But she stood there, looking at him, and because it was difficult to make out her features he stared back.

“I need to tell you why I'm especially worried about you,” she said.

Stubborn, stupid woman
. “I'm not interested in anything you have to say.”

She stepped towards him, bringing the pool of light with her. “You can't stay here tonight. They might come back.”

He stepped back and noticed his tarp had been ripped too. Under his foot was the flattened, torn cover of a book. “Which is why you need to go now.”

“I'm not going unless you are. I can take you to a shelter tonight. You can come back when it's light.”

“I'm not leaving.”

The light shut off. She walked past him into the cave. “Then do you mind if I sit on what's left of your sleeping bag? I think my butt has deflated. I've been sitting on that rock for hours.” She stopped in the act of picking the bag up. “Unless you want to use it?”

He'd touched her before he realised it. He wanted her to stop, to go. He retracted his fingers almost as quickly as he made contact with the back of her arm, but it was long enough to realise she was cold and for his anger to cool, like her body temperature.

“You have no sense, woman.”

She bundled the torn-up bag in her arms and turned to face him. She was way too close and moonlight caught her face. He saw an ocean of feeling there and he had to look away.

“If they come again we can sneak out your back way.”

He grunted an acknowledgement. There wasn't much of a reason for anyone to come back. Whoever did this had their fun, had their laugh, knowing they'd left him with nothing worth anything.

“They won't come back. There's no reason for you to stay.”

She huffed. “A moment ago you were trying to get me to leave because you thought they would.”

“A moment ago, I found out my home had been ransacked and I wasn't sure it wasn't your latest tactic to get me to move out.”

She nodded. “Fair enough.” She spread the bag at the mouth of the cave, folding it so it made a blanket of sorts to sit on, then sat with a grunt and stretched her legs out in front of her, facing the ocean. It was a lovely clear night, but it would get much cooler. And he still needed to talk her into leaving.

He walked around the cave. His books had been torn apart. Had there been any wind, there could be pages of prose all over the beach and up and down the coast by now. His mug and plate were broken. There was no sign of his cooktop, though the gas bottle was still there. His esky and suitcase were missing. There was a scattering of clothing: a t-shirt, a pair of boardies, a hoodie. He picked the hoodie up and sniffed it. It smelled like the sea. It would have to do.

“Here, put this on.” He held it out to her.

“I'm fine.”

Because he was close to her, he noticed her smile. “You're cold and it will get colder.”

“We could both be warmer if we went somewhere else.”

“I'm not leaving. This is where I live. This is where I want to be.”

“Even when someone has mucked it all up for you?”

“They're just things. They're not important. I can replace then.”

“How will you replace them? Do you have a job?”

He dropped the hoodie beside her and went back into the cave and started picking up the loose pages. “I do odd jobs for enough money to buy what I need.”

“And you have your welfare payment.”

“I don't claim welfare.”

He heard the rustle of the sleeping bag. “Why not?”

He stood straight, a pile of paper in his hands, his back to her. “Because I'm perfectly capable of earning a living.”

She sighed. “So why do you live here?”

“Why don't you go back into your neat little world where things behave the way you want them to?”

Her white teeth flashed. “Nice try.”

He went back to cleaning up. If he stopped engaging with her she might get bored and leave.

“It is really beautiful here at night. So different to the day. The stars are so, so, there, just hanging there as if you could pluck them up and put them in your pocket, and it's so quiet, no traffic noises.”

Next thing she'd be trying to tell him she understood why he lived here. It was all persuasion with her, the coffee, the breakfasts, the oranges. But worse, worse was the conversation, the sense of her mind turning over, trying to understand. That's what he hated most of all.

“Don't bring things to me. I don't want your gifts, your bribery.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

What, that was it? No argument? “I'll return anything you bring me. I don't want your help.”

“Okay. I get it. I took the oranges to Cooper Park like you suggested today.”

He shook his head and stuffed the loose pages under one of the metal legs of the outdoor setting, he folded up the torn tarp and weighted it down as well. And then there was nothing left to do.

“Foley, go home.” She had his hoodie on. It hung off her shoulders and over her hands.

She rolled back the sleeves. “We need to talk, Drum.”

No, that's not what he needed. More of her words, more of her world poured in his ear. He'd given that away and she made him remember too much, phone apps and coffee shop coffee, women with shiny hair and glossy ways. He stood behind her so he wasn't tempted to look at her face. It was 2am, this was ridiculous.

“There's going to be a big event. The world's biggest outdoor sculpture exhibition. There'll be sculpture placed all along the coastal walkway and in Marks Park above us here. More than a hundred different works. Thousands of people are going to be walking all around here for two weeks. Families, little kids, tourists. Lots of media and cameras. It's too risky for you to be here when that's happening.”

“That has nothing to do with me.”

“With so many extra people around, it will be hard for you to come and go without being seen. And the more people who see you, the more at risk you are of being attacked or having your stuff stolen or smashed again.”

“I don't care about that. I can protect myself.”

“But you can't protect other people.”

He'd tried, he'd tried his hardest once he'd understood the damage he'd done, but it was true, he couldn't protect people. He only pretended he could, like with the family on the beach, like with Jonesy, Robbo and the kid.

“What if someone came down here and fell, Drum? What if it was kids? I know you wouldn't like that.”

All he could do was hurt people. “I'll go.”

She stood up so quickly he staggered back. Her hand came out and wrapped around his forearm. “Thank you.”

He pulled away. “Don't touch me.”

Both of her hands came up, flattened, surrendering. “I'm sorry.”

He backed away from her. “You've got what you want, now go.”

“Will you sleep, what will you do?”

He shook his head. He didn't want to talk to her anymore.

“Drum, where will you go?”

“When does it start?”

She gave him the dates. Five days time for two weeks absence.

“Then that's when I'll go, right before it starts.”

She shook her head. “You can't stay here now.”

“I'm not leaving till I have to. I'll be back when it's over. That's the best I can give you. I can't be away from here.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “That's not perfect, but it's better than nothing.”

He nodded. “Now go.”

“Can I ask you something?”

She was relentless. She would anyway. He sighed.

“The sunrise must be wonderful. I, ah, since I'm here, I wondered if you'd mind me staying to watch it?”

“You want to watch the sun rise here, with me?”

She nodded, white smile in the gloom. It was just a sunrise. She was just a woman.

“The sun rises all over the place at the same time. There are plenty of other places you can watch it.”

“I know, but I'm getting attached to your cave and I can't take your hoodie with me and you're right, I'll get cold.”

He looked away. It was still better that she left. “You can take the hoodie.”

“I won't talk to you. I'll just watch. It's only a few hours now.”

“Two at least.” Every extra minute was a rotation of the earth.

“I'll go as soon as it's light, I promise.”

“And you won't come again?”

“I won't come again.”

“I don't trust you.”

She stuck out her hand. “Shake on it. I'll leave as soon as the sun comes up and I won't come back. You'll leave before the exhibition starts and you won't come back till it's over.”

He looked at her hand. He'd held it once, but that was before he knew how much he liked touching her. Her small hand, so clean and sure in his. It was wrong to want that again.

She waggled her hand. “Drum, do we have a deal?”

This woman had no fear of him and yet he towered over her. His upper arm was thicker than her thigh. No one would see if he hurt her. No one would stop him, come to help her if she screamed. She was the most insane thing he'd ever seen and he was terrified of his response to her, but if he made this deal, she'd be out of his life and that was a good thing, the right thing. She'd be safe.

He stuck out his hand. She slid hers into it and he jerked at the contact, her skin so cold, her touch so sweet and brave. Her chin came up and her mouth opened, a tiny hiss of breath escaping, her eyes going wide as if she knew his heart had seized.

She gripped and held, and his fingers moved without his permission, wrapping around hers in the same way his mind had continually chased an image of her, the bell clear sound of her, around and around in his head. The pressure to move their hands came from her. All he could do was hold on as she raised them, lowered them. She let go. He held on, a beat too long.

“Drum, are you okay?”

He snatched his hand back and moved away. The sunrise couldn't come quickly enough. He could leave her here and wait in the park. He'd be close enough if she needed him, but she wouldn't, she wasn't weak, she wasn't needy.

She was refolding the sleeping bag; it'd be no comfort from the hard rock. He pulled the tarp out. He could make her a better nest to wait in. She stood back and watched while he bent to make a padding from the tarp, stuffing it with book pages and adding his towel between the folded layers and the sleeping bag on top.

“I'll bet you were good at making spaceships out of bits of nothing as a kid.”

Yes, he'd been that kid, good at making things, scavenging things, fixing things, collecting strays, but there was no good in him now. He shifted aside to let her sit.

“That's great. Thank you.”

She smiled so big, he wanted to hide his face away, and then she touched his shoulder and through his t-shirt he felt the weight of her, the importance, and he did turn away; roughly, with resentment. She had no right to make him feel these things.

“I'm sorry. I forgot you don't like to be touched. Please come and sit with me and I promise to be still, not to touch you again.”

She patted the fabric of the sleeping bag. He took a place opposite her nest of junk, his back against a wall of rock. She looked about to say something and changed her mind.

They sat. A breeze stirred. Clouds passed. A bird called. He might've meditated, but he couldn't concentrate with her there and he couldn't stop looking at her. He was slightly behind her and had a view of her three-quarter profile in the ambient moon glow.

She sat with her knees bent up and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her face was framed by his hoodie, a lump at the back where her ponytail was. She'd pulled the sleeves down and her hands where hidden. She had a sharp little nose, and cheekbones that matched, eyebrows that were cute quirks. He knew her face was a perfect symmetrical oval and her eyes were big and watchful. She had a stud in her nose, tiny, silver. It should've taken something away from her loveliness but it suited her. It was embedded in her like a star in the sky, part of her fabric.

He'd met women more beautiful. More willing to use their assets. More affected. He'd met women less beautiful, whose personalities prevented you seeing their physical selves, as if they were ashamed to be heavy, or short, or too tall, and made up for it by sparkling in other ways. All of those women were similar in a way—imprisoned by their looks.

Foley's beauty made her free, and because Drum was a prisoner, it made him want her, and he could not have what he wanted anymore, because he only knew how to ruin things.

“Drum.”

She watched the night go soft at the edges, go hazy, and he didn't answer. She'd already stolen too much of his hard fought for ease, she couldn't have his words as well.

“Drum.” She'd turned and he looked away. “I didn't know it would be like this. I've never intentionally seen a sunrise before, from the beginning. It's incredible.”

She was silent as the horizon tipped gold, but then he heard her gasp.

“Drum.” She turned her head his way again. “Do you watch it often?”

It's what helped his feet stay attached to the world. He nodded.

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

Gold became orange, became pink, became scarlet streaks on pale blue. She exclaimed and remarked, without any expectation from him to respond. He sat where he was and his knees cramped and his tailbone turned to unbendable iron, dug into the rock. He wasn't sleepy, but her head started to droop. She rested her chin on her knees and struggled to keep her eyes open, jerking to wakefulness then sliding to sleep again.