Names for Nothingness (26 page)

He walks over to where Essie sits, unable to trust his ability not to break down. He wants the warmth of Essie in his arms and he holds her tight.

‘I've never filmed her,' he tells Caitlin when he finally speaks again, and he is surprised for a moment at this realisation.

‘You still can.'

They look at each other, and they are both aware that this statement holds no answer, only possibilities. It is not, as it could be seen to be, a suggestion from Caitlin as to the course
of action that he should take. That is up to him. He kisses Essie and he wants to be able just to let her go, to let everything go, but he does not know if he can. He is alone and he must act. He looks up at the sky, and in that moment the breeze stirs above them, fanning out the leaves of the traveller palms, the sound like the slow rush of the wheels on the track when a train departs from the station, pulling out from the platform.

She is moving.

As Essie rocks safe in Liam's arms, Sharn sways gently in time with the motion of the carriage, her eyes fixed on the window, watching it all; the houses, the cars, the roads, beginning to dissolve, receding now, blurred streaks vanishing behind her as the train picks up speed.

Liam holds Essie tight, the sweetness of her skin filling his senses, helping him to surrender to the loss – him, Caitlin and Sharn, a trinity that has bound him for as long as he can remember – while giving him the strength to do what he knows he has to do. He has Essie and that is right. As he stares up at the sky, he can do no more than keep this child close and admit that all he once held nearest to his heart has changed.

Miles away, Sharn, too, looks at the past disappearing before her eyes. For her the only change that now matters is the one that she hopes she can effect. With the glass cool against her skin, she watches the speed make a mockery of all that appears to be permanent, there and then gone. This is what she wants: the present to recede into a nothingness, so that she can get there more quickly, onwards, forwards, fast enough to go right back to the beginning, to another place, a better place than here.

Thank you to everyone who helped me in bringing this book to its final form: Nikki Christer and Sarina Rowell at Picador; Jo Jarrah, who did an absolutely wonderful job with the edit; Fiona Inglis, my agent; and the Australia Council for the grant that enabled me to take the time to write.

I would also like to thank Jo-anne McGowan and Philip Braithwaite for sharing stories that helped me in shaping the material; and, finally, a big, loving thank-you to Andrew and Odessa.