Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect (28 page)

I look out over the water.  Swallow-type birds are skimming the surface; the ubiquitous pelicans are still wafting by and little circles of water are appearing on the surface, where unseen fish are jumping.

We all sit quietly, taking in the silent paradise.  I think about my earlier conversation with Marcus and understand how this holiday can only serve to emphasise his unhappiness.  It’s so tranquil here, that it makes you contemplate your life; your worries seep into your conscious and leak out again, without any conclusions.  I think of Ben and Daisy and wonder what they’re doing.  I haven’t thought about them for a few hours, I’ve been so enraptured by my surroundings, but now I miss Ben and hope he’s okay.  I can’t communicate with anyone here – no internet.  It’s almost a relief to be so cut-off for once.

I have to admit, Jane and I have a few glasses of wine, as we sit watching the light fade.  Marcus, however, takes things further and seems to be downing the wine quicker than usual.  He goes downstairs to get a fourth bottle.

“Should I say anything?” asks Jane, in a whisper.

“No, I shouldn’t.  There’s no point when someone is drinking.  I think you should time your talk, when he’s sober,” I say, sounding as if I have experience of dealing with drunks.  I haven’t, however – David was never a drinker.

“Drink anyone?” says Marcus, as he slumps down in his chair.

“No thanks, I’ve had enough,” says Jane, pointedly.

“I’m going to have this and then take the kayak out,” he says.

Jane and I look at each other.  “Is that a good idea?” I say.  “The light’s going and we’ve all had a bit to drink.”

“I’ll be fine; just want to paddle about a bit.”  He’s not going to be persuaded otherwise, I can tell by the look on his face, so I drop it.

David downs his drink, as if it’s water, and stands up.  “Don’t forget to put the life jacket on,” says Jane.

“Nah, can’t be arsed,” says David, disappearing down the stairs.

“Oh God,” says Jane, “do you think I should go out with him?”

“I think maybe you should, if he’ll let you.  I’d offer, but I’ve never been in a kayak in my life.  I’d be more of a hindrance.”

Reluctantly, she gets up and disappears.  I follow her down; they’re both in their bedroom.  Marcus comes out in some board shorts and goes to the back of the boat, where the kayaks are stored.  Without waiting for Jane, he gets hold of one, and puts it in the water.  Even to my inexperienced eye, I can see that this is not going to be an easy manoeuvre, lowering himself over the edge, onto what looks like an unstable, plastic plank.  His eyes have a glazed expression and I  wonder if this is a safe thing for him to be doing.

Jane comes out in her costume and puts on a life jacket.  “Here, take this, Marcus,” she says, handing him another one.

“No … I don’t need one.  I said.  I can swim, can’t I?”

“So can I, that’s not the point.  Why are you being so pig-headed?”

“Why are you being so
annoying
?” he shouts.  “I wanted to go out on the water on my own for a bit.  I don’t want you following me.”

“Well, I’m coming … maybe if you’d wear a life jacket, I wouldn’t, but  …”

“Oh for God’s sake, I’m off.”  And with that, he lunges off the houseboat and with some miracle, lands heavily in the kayak.  It seems that even when you’ve had a lot to drink, if you’re used to this sort of thing, you can still do it.

“Good luck,” I whisper to Jane.  Marcus, by this time, is already on his way.

Jane gets on hers efficiently and starts out towards her husband.  I stand, leaning against the rail around the boat, watching them as they paddle out into the middle of the river.  It’s wide at this point, the red cliffs towering above us.  The light is fading fast and I feel worried for them.  No one else is anywhere near.  What if one of them has a problem?  What would I do?

I go to fetch my mobile to see if there’s a signal and for some reason, there is.  Well, that’s good … but who would I ring?  I’ve told the kids that I’m out of internet range for a few days and I wrote a quick email to Ben, explaining where I was going, just before I left – but I don’t know anyone in Australia who could help.

I look up from my phone and I can see the two kayaks far off now – they are not together.  Marcus is faster than Jane and has not waited for her.  They disappear from view and a feeling of sheer isolation descends on me. 

I’ll never feel alone again, when I’m in my flat in Bath, I think to myself.  Here I am, on the Murray River, in this primeval place … with no one.  Somehow, though, I feel at peace.  At that moment, a lone pelican floats by; he’s like a ghost, appearing out of the gloom.  The air is taking on a golden glow; the trees are turning into silhouettes, the ripples on the water, dark pulses.  They’ll be okay, I tell myself.  They’ve done all this before.

Ten minutes go by; the stillness invades me and I’m almost in a trance.  I watch the fish jumping, the concentric circles casting their shadows on the surface.  Then, Jane and Marcus come into view again – their kayaks are still far apart, but they seem in one piece.   They cut a sad picture though, the water separating them, like the gulf that appears to be in their marriage.

“Good time?” I shout across the water.

“Yea.  You see I survived …” Marcus says, heavy with sarcasm.

“Well, I’m glad you did,” I laugh.  “I didn’t fancy diving in …”

They both clamber back on board, Marcus going straight into the bedroom.  “God, he was
not
happy with me for going with him.  He hardly spoke,” says Jane, in a low voice.

“I saw … but I’m glad you went.  He shouldn’t have been on a kayak, after all that wine.”

The sun finally sets, painting the river with a deep orange palette.  Marcus doesn’t come out of his room and we assume he’s gone to bed.  It’s only 8 o’clock, but we’re all tired.  Jane and I read our books, with insects and moths buzzing around the lights, on the upper deck.  We can hear owls hooting in the trees – it’s completely black now.  We stand up to observe the night sky.

There are so many stars, it’s like our own planetarium.  They shine so brightly; we both stare up at them in wonder.  We can see all the constellations, pulsing and blinking, above us and stare for long minutes with our heads tipped back, trying to spot a shooting star, or a satellite.  “It’s at times like this when you realise how insignificant you are,” says Jane.

“I know.  I don’t understand physics, black holes, infinity … it’s all beyond me … all I know is … we’re just pinpricks, just grains of sand, in time.  It makes me realise that our time on this planet is so short … we’ve got to enjoy … every minute.”

“I know.  Has Marcus said anything to you?”

I wonder how much I should say … but I decide she has a right to know.  “He did talk to me a little, when you were driving.  He implied to me … I think you should know … that he has money worries, Jane.”

“Really?” She seems genuinely shocked. “What did he say, exactly?”

“Just that he wanted to sell, but you didn’t and he doesn’t think you’d want to – that you’re used to your lifestyle …”

“When we talked about selling the house, it was him who seemed to reluctant … I was happy to move, to downsize.  God, what’s going on?”

I look up at the diamonds above us and say, “Jane, I think he’s really in need of a change.  He said he can’t breathe … those were his words.  He can’t breathe.”

“Oh God,” says Jane and her eyes glitter like the stars, with tears.  I put my arms around her.

“We need to do something, don’t we?”

“Yes, I think you do.”

Chapter Twenty-three

The next morning, Jane wakes me early.  “Quick, get your camera, Anna.  Quick.”

I jump out of bed in a daze, wondering what’s the matter, and then I see why Jane’s called me.  I pull back the cabin curtains and all along the river, a thick white mist hangs suspended, just above the water.  It looks truly magical and I grab my camera and go outside.

“This is amazing … it looks … dreamlike.”  The early morning light adds to the magical luminescence of the scene.  The pelicans shift in and out of sight, shrouded by clouds of whiteness.  I take lots of pictures, but then stop and just simply look – I try to sear it into my memory.  Cameras are great, but sometimes you need to look with your eyes and not through a lens.  I can’t see the river banks, apart from skeletal trees poking through the cloudiness.  It’s as if we’re floating in cotton wool.

It passes, dissipating gently, so I go to shower and get myself presentable.  I look at my reflection in the mirror – my cheekbones are more prominent and my skin has a healthy glow.  I put on a bit of mascara and liner and even a bit of lipstick. 

“Hey, look at you,” says Jane, when I emerge.  “Who are you trying to impress?”

“Myself,” I laugh.

“We’re going to go the same way for a few more hours and then we’re turning round, so that we can moor up for the night at Dan’s place.  Do you remember those shacks we passed back there?”

“Well, they’re hardly what I’d call ‘shacks’.”

“No, they’re not shacks now
,
but they were, years back.  It’s ‘Aussie’ for a house by the river now, even though some of them are glass and metal monuments to modernity.  Dan’s place isn’t showy, it’s just ordinary, but it’s not a shack.”

“What time’s he expecting us?”

“I said about four.  But he’s about as laid back as anyone I’ve ever met.  If you want to meet an archetypal Aussie guy, Dan’s
it
! Never been known to wear a proper pair of shoes, doesn’t possess a pair of trousers and always wears an Akubra.”

“What’s that?”

“The hat … you know,
the
hat.  Oh … and he’ll probably call you ‘Mate’ all the time.  So … he wouldn’t mind if we turn up next week.  He’ll have the tinnies cooling, that’s for sure.”

I was intrigued to meet this guy.  So far, I’d only met ‘real’ Aussies, in shops.  Marcus and Jane didn’t count, as they were Brits at heart.  I could hear their Aussie accent and upward inflection, but they wore their Britishness for all to see.

“He sounds like a cross between Paul Hogan and Steve Irwin.  Does he wrestle crocs?”

“Not quite, but he loves the bush – every year, he goes to the Birdsville horse races in the middle of the bush, thousands of miles from civilisation.  We’ve never been, but he’s always telling us to go.  Maybe, one day … it would be an adventure.”  It sounded a bit too adventurous for me – would I be able to drive across dirt tracks for hundreds of miles, without worrying about the car breaking down?  I don’t know … in my present frame of mind, I feel anything’s possible.

Marcus backs us out of our mooring and we head off down river again.  The weather’s hot and Jane and I sunbathe on the top deck.  The river is busier than yesterday – a few jet skis fly past, disturbing our peace and making the houseboat jiggle up and down.  Then, in the far distance, we see a huge boat coming towards us; it turns out to be the Murray Princess paddle steamer – a huge version of our boat, painted in maroon and white, with a giant water wheel at the back.

As it passes us, we wave to all the people on deck and watch the water cascading and rushing like a waterfall, from the wheel.  Our boat is then buffeted by some serious wake and we bob slowly up and down for a while.

“I’m glad we’re on our own – I wouldn’t want to be on that.  Too many people,” I say to Jane.

“It’s expensive too … we did look into it, but it’s more fun this way.”

“Certainly is,” I say, as I drift, once again, into a light slumber.

*

We arrive at Dan’s shack at about five; the current has made our progress even slower going back – it felt as if I could have hopped on one leg faster than the boat was going.  Marcus manoeuvres it expertly in and as he does so, Dan appears, waving, as he walks across the vast expanse of communal grass that’s in front of the line of shacks.  Tall gum trees stand majestically on the land; Dan’s wooden mooring platform, serves as our point of disembarkation.

He is exactly how I imagined; as he nears the boat, I can see his craggy features, his broad smile, his muscly physique.  He’s wearing khaki shorts, a white t-shirt, leather thongs and the Aussie hat.  His hair, a kind of straw colour, straggles out.  As he looks up at the boat, I notice his piercing green eyes.

“G’day mate,” he shouts to Marcus.  “Good trip?”

“Great.  Looking forward to some beer,” says Marcus, as he flings the rope over to Dan, who catches it expertly and ties it, in seconds, round a convenient trunk.

“Hey, Jane – is that yer sister?”

“Yep, Anna, meet Dan.”  I hop down the small gang plank and Dan throws his arms around me, like a long lost friend.  His arms are amazingly strong and I’m squeezed, in a vice like grip.

I’m aware that I sound so English when I say, “Hi Dan, nice to meet you.”  He eventually lets me go and holding my shoulders at arm’s length, he studies my face and says, “Yer look just like y’sister, mate, only prettier!”

“Thanks, Dan,” says Jane, slapping him affectionately on the shoulder.  “Nice to see you, too.”