Portraits of Celina (15 page)

“I miss Sydney – our old place and my friend, Loni.”

“Same. I miss Sydney too.”

“You?”

“We lived in Mosman until I was about seven. Then I boarded near there from Year Seven till a year or so ago.”

I turn on my side. “Really? I didn’t realise. How come you don’t board there now?”

“Economic downturn.” Oliver pulls a face. “Dad lost a lot of money. His real job is in finance – the olive grove and farm and stuff is more of a hobby. And he’s pretty crap at it, to be truthful. Pop could have helped us out – he’s loaded, but he’s a bit of a tight-arse, so Mum had to start teaching music again and I came back to Tallowood High.”

“Ah, don’t say those words. They give me the creeps.”

A wickedness lights Oliver’s eyes. “What, crazy eyes? Tallowood High? Tallowood High?”

I giggle and punch him playfully on the arm.

“Tallowood High. Tallowood High,” he continues.

“I said don’t say that. It’s too scary.”

“What – you? A scaredy cat? Don’t worry; it’s not such a bad place.”

I grin at Oliver. “Still don’t want to think about it, thanks.”

Oliver turns onto his side also, props his head up with one hand and shakes his hair out of his eyes. He reaches out and strokes the back of his finger along the bridge of my nose. “You’ll have me,” he says.

I know instantly that we have just shared a moment – a moment where every possible good thing in the world has found me and is zinging through my body, and my heart surges.

But the feeling is short-lived.

Suddenly, the gorge echoes with the crack of a branch snapping and falling, a panicked scream, the scuttle of rocks skittering down an embankment, more yelling, the thump of a deep splash.

And then the most terrifying sound of all.

Silence.

For a moment or two I am disoriented, like I have woken abruptly and can’t quite work out where I am or even what day it is.

I become aware of Oliver: of him lying beside me, his body rigid, alert, straining to hear.

But there is nothing to hear, not even the sigh of a breeze. Nothing but a silence so loud that I scream to block it out.

Oliver leaps up and plunges into the creek. And then I am on my feet too, my heart thudding my ribs.

“Seth!” Oliver yells, bolting through the shallows towards the overhanging boulders. “Seth!”

I thrash through the water beside him. “Seth!” I scream. “Seth!” My cries ricochet off the gully. Bounce around me – mocking me.
Why isn’t he answering? Where is he?
“Seth!”

Oliver duck-dives. I copy, pushing my way down through the murky creek, the silty water stinging my eyes. I see Oliver up ahead, his strong legs kicking powerfully through waving tentacles of duckweed. I twist and turn, searching frantically for any sign of my brother, until, lungs burning, I push up to the surface to take a gulp of air.

He has to be here somewhere. He has to be all right.

This can’t be happening.

Not to Seth. Not to our family. Not again.

“Bayley! Here!” It’s Oliver, wading forcefully towards the bank, Seth caught up in his arms.

Relief then panic swamps me. I lurch after Oliver, but slow my pace as I near the bank where he kneels beside Seth.

Seth lies motionless.

I am seized with terror. I can’t move, can’t think. My heart pounds in my ears and every nerve ending in my body feels as if it is exploding.

My mind fills with Dad – sprawled out on the verandah, the rain assaulting his face, then mixing with the blood trickling from his mouth and washing his life away.

Oliver turns Seth onto his side. I know I should do something, but fear has rendered me useless. I sink onto the pebbles beside them.

“There’s a pulse,” Oliver says. And then suddenly Seth’s body convulses and he coughs and coughs. Water spews from his mouth and he starts to cry. It’s the sweetest sound I have ever heard.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” I grab him up and wrap my arms around him tight, my own tears dropping onto his face. “Thank God. Thank God you’re all right.” He vomits and spits and coughs and cries, until he pushes out of my boa constrictor embrace to sit beside me.

“Put him in the back of the two-man. You should both fit in there okay.” Oliver takes control and I am grateful.

Oliver bundles Seth and me into the back seat, tosses our belongings into the front. He hauls my kayak further up the bank, well away from the water.

“We’ll come back for it later,” he says as he pushes his kayak into the water and jumps in. He turns to face us. “Hold tight, Batman. We’ll get you to the doctor before you know it.” Then to me he says, “Keep him awake. Okay?”

I nod and slide Seth’s hair off his forehead and away from the nasty cut and egg-shaped lump protruding from between his eyes.

Please let him be okay. Please.

The trip down the creek and across the lake to Lakeside is both never-ending and over in a flash. Oliver grounds the boat, then leaps out, heaving it further up onto the shore. In an instant he is beside us, lifting Seth from my lap. Oliver’s forehead is wet with sweat and he is sucking in deep lungfuls of air. It is obvious he is exhausted.

I climb out and follow them. My legs are stiff from being crammed into the back of the kayak with Seth on my lap. I trudge up the grassy bank towards the nest of buildings. Once again, my stomach is turning over and I try to reject the odd sensation that seems to accompany me every time I set foot on this side of the lake.

“Mum! Dad!” Oliver shouts as we approach his house. The massive glass doors slide open. Annie and Bob rush out.

I struggle to make my legs work.

“What were you thinking?” Mum flies through the hospital sliding doors and almost launches herself at me. Her cheeks are tear-streaked, her eyes wild. “How could you let this happen, Bayley?”

I take a step back, lean out of the way of my mother’s fury. After spending forty minutes locked in the Mitchell’s four-wheel drive with the pale-faced Seth on my lap, Oliver sitting so close our thighs were touching and Bob/Robbie at the steering wheel, sneaking glances at me in the rear-view mirror, my mother’s ire is the last thing I need – or expect.

“How could you?” Mum continues. “How
could
you? He’s only six years old, for God’s sake. He was your responsibility …”

Gran places her hand on Mum’s shoulder. “Steady on, Kath. Go easy on the girl.”

“Go easy? When her brother almost drowned?” Mum jerks Gran’s hand away. “I depend on you, Bayley. I need you – need to be able to rely on you.”

“Don’t I know it,” is my reply and I am almost as shocked as Mum.

“Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady.” It is a line usually reserved for Amelia and it is clear that Mum is unhinged. “How dare y–”

“Where is he?” Gran interrupts.

“In the room opposite the nurses’ station.”

Gran takes Mum by the elbow and leads her away.

“Good one, sis,” Amelia mutters as she slumps off after them. I am uncertain if it is a compliment or a rebuke.

Across the room, Bob and Oliver sit on hard-backed chairs, their shock apparent. Annie twiddles her pink streaks and pretends to be engrossed in a “Minimise the Spread” poster.

Great. I don’t even want to think about explaining that little scene. I head in the opposite direction for the coffee machine. I need something to steady my nerves.

I pull some coins from my purse, slip them into the slot and make my selection. There is a clunking noise and then an “out of order” message flashes red on the digital display. I curse and kick at the machine, taking out my anger.

“You know you look like her, don’t you? Like Celina.”

The question catches me unawares. I swing round, a chill burrowing under my skin.

Bob is standing right behind me. His hand reaches out as if to touch my hair, and I find myself tingling.

He seems to realise what he is about to do, and whips his hand away.

I swallow; my mouth is dry.

“Celina O’Malley. How long has it been since I said that name out loud?”

“Thanks for driving us in,” I say in an attempt to divert the conversation.

It doesn’t work.

“We were together – Celina and me,” Bob continues, in that raspy, gravelly voice. “We were only kids, but we loved each other. Deeply. I’m sorry I stared at you last night; you caught me by surprise.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.” I slide my hair behind my ears. I know I sound unconvincing.

Bob grins. “I’ve never been back, you know. All those years with only that stretch of lake separating me from the one place on Earth where I had been truly happy. Sometimes the pull was so strong, I’d swear Celina was standing there on that jetty calling me back to her. But I couldn’t go. I had to resist, had to be strong. Dad drummed that into me.
Be strong, son. Put the past where it belongs – in the past
.”

Bob sits on the vinyl chair beside the vending machine, rests his elbows on his knees and laces his fingers together.

“I didn’t want anyone to move back into the house. Ever. I wanted it to be left alone. I was so grateful when it was boarded up and the bush and scrub took it over. I fantasised that Celina was my Sleeping Beauty and she was not dead, just sleeping behind the blackberries and lantana.

“And then you arrive. And there you were, standing there in that red dress, staring at me with pure honesty shining out of those eyes. I never thought I’d be looking into those eyes again. Sorry … you must think I’m mad.”

I don’t know what to say.

Bob studies his hands. It is plain that he is trying to keep his emotions in check and my heart aches for him; his grief is palpable.

I recall my vision of him and Celina. How easy they were in each other’s company. I can see them now in the hammock, curled into each other. There’s no moon or stars, and they are encased in a velvety darkness. The scent of jasmine rides on the breeze. Robbie coils a length of Celina’s hair around his little finger. He leans in close, the stubble on his chin brushing her cheek. He whispers into her ear, “Together forever, sweet pea.”

“What? What did you say?” Bob’s brow is furrowed, deep ripples climbing up to his bald scalp.

Oh no! Did I say that out loud? I open my mouth to explain, but can only shake my head.

“Sweet pea. Together forever, sweet pea. I heard you. How could you know that?” Bob is working himself into a flap. “Bayley …”

I swallow the dry lump in my throat, turn and walk out of the room. I am the one that is mad. Certifiably insane, to be exact.

I am making my escape through the hospital doors, when Gran calls out. I swing round.

“Bayley! There you are.” Gran stands with Oliver and Amelia near the nurses’ desk. “I thought we’d–”

I can’t do this now. Gran’s puzzled voice chases me out of the doors. “Bayley! Where are you going? What’s–”

I run. My thongs slapping the pavement, my shoulder bag banging against my hip, I run. Down the hill, across some kind of park, past the leisure centre, the squeals of kids’ swimming and bombing annoying the hell out of me. I run down onto the main street and right up to the end, until breathless and bent over, I am outside Deb’s store.

Of course, it’s closed. Sunday afternoon. I bang my fists on the doors, then lean my forehead against the glass and try to get my breath back.

A light flicks on and one door swings open. Deb stands in the doorway.

“No need to bang.” Deb peers down at me through tiny rectangular lenses balanced on the end of her nose, strong, spicy aromas wafting around her. “Oh. Bayley! You look a fright. Come in. What’s up?”

What’s up? What a question. How can I even begin to tell what’s up? My father is dead and my family is deranged. My brother is in the hospital because I nearly drowned him. My emotions are a mess and my heart flips every time I see Oliver, but I have an even stronger reaction when I see his father, Bob. How sick is that? And lets not forget the real doozy: I know things I shouldn’t know, remember things that happened before I was born, write as if the long-departed, probably the murdered Celina O’Malley is guiding my hand. Which one of those little gems should I share?

The answer is obvious: none.

“I was in town and thought I’d drop by.”

Deb draws her eyebrows together. “You’re standing here wheezing and bedraggled, in the main street of Tallowood in your swimmers and an Indian shirt and you expect me to believe that?”

I don’t reply. What could I say anyway?

Deb flicks her glasses off her nose and they swing down across her large breasts. “Come inside, love. And let me get some tea into you. I’m getting a truckload of negative energy here.”

Deb leads me into the tiny back room. The walls are lined with messy shelves stacked high, right to the ceiling. I hadn’t noticed them last time. I slip onto the lumpy stool in the corner. Deb fills the jug at a metal sink, balances it on the one clear space on the workbench and plugs it in, then settles on the director-style chair in the opposite corner. The space is cramped – almost claustrophobic – but I welcome the closeness, feel cocooned by it.

Deb doesn’t try to make conversation until she has made the tea and I have it cupped in my hands. “That’s Celina’s shirt, isn’t it?” she says.