Portraits of Celina (17 page)

I try to wiggle free of his hold, but he clutches me tighter and pulls me to him. He goes to say something, but instead presses his lips fiercely against mine and I am surprised by the way my body responds. We bend into each other, heads on each other’s shoulder.

My face is wet with tears. That was so good. But this is so not the right time.

The river, thick with mud and silt, slides around the edge of town like a languid brown snake. It’s early morning, and Oliver and I stand at the top of a grassy verge and watch a pair of grey ducks ride the current around the bend, bobbing skilfully under a series of low overhanging branches.

Oliver cups his hands around his mouth. “Duck!” he shouts to the ducks.

“You nut,” I say and laugh.

“Just offering some friendly advice. Those branches pack a powerful punch.” He leads me down the mushy bank to the water’s edge, the sodden earth squelching beneath our thongs.

It is already muggy, and I am aware that I should be heading home. Mum will be pissed about me staying the night at Deb’s so the chance to spend some time alone with Oliver first is too tempting to pass up.

“This track goes all the way to Wongawilli Bridge,” Oliver says and there is an element of pride in his voice as he shows me his town, his place.

I nod – soak in the morning peace and enjoy the intimacy of walking hand in hand with Oliver Mitchell along the banks of the Wongawilli River. Just us and the ducks. Oliver brings my hand to his lips, and it’s as if my veins have been filled with sunshine.

We walk for a bit longer until we find a grassy patch and sit down. He pulls a curl of hair from my mouth, brushes my cheek with the tips of his fingers and sweeps his lips ever so softly across mine. It is so tender and sweet and sexy.

Oliver’s cheeks are rosy and his eyes intense. And it scares me a little – I am way out of my comfort zone here, but hey, bring it on.

We look out over the river. Oliver puts his arm over my shoulder and draws me in closer. “How was it staying at the witch’s place last night?” he says, making conversation. “Spooky?”

“Witch? Deb? Don’t be mean.”

“Not being mean. She used to scare the crap out of me when I was in primary school. She was really big … and that hair … and that white face.” He contorts his face and cackles. “She scared all the kids.”

“You big wuss; Deb’s not scary.” I could sure show him a thing or two about scary.

“Ah, but you haven’t met the mysterious Madam Moon yet, have you?”

“Madam Moon? What are you on about? You are so cracked.”

“I will ignore that last comment on account of you being a newbie round here. But there is more to Deb than you might realise. She used to have this fortune-telling tent at Tallowood Spring Fair. Marco and I loved it. Lined up for ages, so she could give us a year’s worth of nightmares.”

“Okay. Confused here.”

“It was a fundraiser thing for saving the whales or spiny anteaters or something, but she was good.”

“What, crystal balls and stuff?” I can imagine Deb doing this, see her dressed as the mysterious Madam Moon.

“No crystal ball, but her tent used to stink something awful and she had these freaky cards and she’d gaze into her coffee mug–”

“Teacup.”

“Whatever. And then she’d stare up at you and say in a spooky voice, stuff like,
beware the insects that follow you
.”

“Yeah, real scary that.”

“Do you know how many insects there are around here? I was looking over my shoulder and freaking out for months. One time she told Marco to avoid dark public places at all costs – I don’t think Marco went to the toilets at school ever again – he’d bolt home every afternoon, busting for a pee.”

“And you guys believed her?”

“We were kids, and she was convincing. She’d always finish with ‘Be good, study hard, listen to your parents, and good fortune will find you’.”

“Reckon your parents put her up to it.”

“Probs.”

I reach for his hand, turn it palm up. “I can read palms, you know.”

“Yeah? What does mine say?”

“It says that if you don’t get me home soon, my mother is going to string you up and hang you by your toenails over the gorge.”

“Reckon you’re crap at fortune-telling.” He grabs my arm, bends it up to his face, squints at my elbow then traces his fingers around it.

“What are you doing?” I try to twist my arm free.

“Palm reading is for beginners, crazy eyes. I read elbows.”

“Elbows?”

“Yes. And your elbow says that you are way desperate. That’s desperate with a capital D.”

“Must be if I’m hanging out with you, I guess.”

“Sh. Remember the self-esteem, and don’t interrupt – you’re breaking the energy flow.” His finger tickles the skin around my elbow. “Let me see. Ah, yes, desperate – desperate for a handsome young rower to kiss you.”

“Is that so?” I am giggling now – he is such an idiot.

“Wait, there’s more. Your elbow says that you don’t just want one kiss – you want lots.”

And his fingers are in my hair and he smothers kisses across my face and neck, and down my arms and I am laughing so hard, I could burst. But, hey, elbows don’t lie. I desperately want Oliver to kiss me all over and never stop.

“Where the hell have you been?” Mum is upon me before I even have one foot out of the car. “I’ve been worried sick. Frantic. What’s going on with you, Bayley?” Mum’s hair stands out from her head like twisty grey twigs. When did she get that grey?

I step out gingerly, guilt festering. “I was at Deb’s like I said. Oliver drove me home.”

Oliver stands beside me. “Hi, Kath.”

“Don’t you ‘Hi, Kath’ me. I’ll deal with you later.” I feel Oliver tense beside me. “I’ve been to the store. You were
not
there. I was standing out the front, banging on that door for half an hour and no one was there. No one. At eight o’clock in the morning. The phone number you gave Gran rang out and, anyway, why haven’t you even rung me for God’s sake?”

“My phone’s dead,” I answer lamely, struggling not to give in to the tears that threaten to spill at this second unwarranted attack. “I was there. Deb does yoga in the park at dawn, so Oliver picked me up to bring me home. He was staying at a mate’s place in town.”

“Is that right? How long does it take to drive from Tallowood, Bayley? It’s almost eleven.”

She has me there.

Gran and Amelia step out onto the verandah to watch the show. Then the door flings open and out flies Seth. He bounds down the stairs, and it’s been a long time since the sight of his Batman cape flapping in the breeze has brought such a smile to my face. He leaps into my arms and nestles into my neck, crying, “I’m sorry, Bails. I’m sorry.”

I drink in the warmth of his scrawny little body, thirsty for the solid beating of his heart. “No need to say sorry, Seth. It was an accident. I’m glad to see you’re all better though.”

“Sorry,” he says again.

“Hey, quit with the sorries – how about a thank you to Oliver for plucking you out of the water?”

Oliver holds up his hand for a high five. Seth slaps it. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” says Oliver. “All in a day’s work for us superheroes, eh? Kapow, buddy!” Oliver lands a couple of pretend punches into Seth’s side. Seth giggles and squirms and lands a volley of punches into Oliver’s open hands. “Great to see you have your strength back, Batman. Power to you.”

“Enough,” says Mum and she pulls Seth out of my arms. “Scoot inside now. Doctor’s orders – you have to lie low for a bit. Remember?”

“Come on, Seth,” calls Gran. “Let’s put on another DVD. Bayley and Mum have some things to sort out.”

Oliver and Seth exchange a secret wink and a couple of pretend kicks, then Seth heads up the steps and inside with Gran. At Gran’s insistence, Amelia follows behind them. The wire door slaps shut and Mum gets stuck right back into me.

“Where were you last night? And don’t give me any cock-and-bull stories.”

“I was at Deb’s – at the store. Upstairs in her daughter’s old room.”

I grab my bag out of Oliver’s car. “You better go,” I say to Oliver. “Thanks for the ride. And sorry about this.”

He goes to protest, but I silence him with a shake of my head and a whispered, “please”. Then he nods, his face like a sad puppy’s, gives me a quick wink and slips into the driver’s seat. I walk towards the house, deserting him, flipping between extreme embarrassment and extreme anger.

“You knew I was at the hospital,” Mum shouts at my back over the hum of Oliver’s car starting up. “You never thought to stop in there? To see your brother? To come home with us?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “No – you’re too busy gallivanting round town with some boy you hardly know. Too selfish even to ring or to see if there was anything you could do to help out. Seth has been asking for you since he woke. I will get to the bottom of this, Bayley. Rest assured.”

I glide up the stairs and inside without looking back.
Too selfish
. Yeah, that’s me. The one who’s been holding this family together for the past eight months. Selfish to the core.

I weave my way past Seth and Gran and Amelia who are sprawled out across the floor of the lounge room in front of the telly, not daring to make eye contact with any of them for fear of losing it, and take the stairs two at a time, reminding myself that I should know better than to think I could ever be happy.

I open the door to my room, and glare at Celina’s shiny blue eyes in the portrait on the wall, and I’m thrust back to my conversations with Deb. “Well,” I say, full of shivers. “Are you ever going to tell me what it is you want me to do, so I can get on with my life?”

That night I sleep the sleep of the dead. But some time during the night, I become vaguely aware that the temperature has plummeted. It’s freezing – some kind of cold snap must have blown in. I rake up my doona, pull it around my ears, snuggle into it and slip straight back to glorious sleep.

I wake to magnificent sunshine and a room that is already warm, and I am frying under all these bedclothes. I toss off the doona and spring out of bed to open the window, when I notice my notebook is tucked under my pillow and I become chilled once more.

One page is dog-eared. Something that I never do. I open to that page and writing is scribbled across the spread in messy blue pen.

And it is clear that I have been visited.

I told you you’d love Robbie, didn’t I?

And don’t worry your pretty little self about it, Bayley – it was just me making you hot for him. I couldn’t help myself. I needed you for a tiny while. It was the only way I could really experience him again. So I went along for the ride with you a couple of
times
.

And it was so worth it – so divine. Seeing Robbie again, really seeing him. Being that close to him, with your warm blood coursing through me. You can’t begin to imagine. He might be balding middle-aged Bob to you, but to me he is still my Robbie, my beautiful, beautiful Robbie
.

Did you hear him call me his Sleeping Beauty? He still loves me, like I knew he would. A love like ours never dies. Not even that sweet-as-apple-pie Annie can steal his love away from me. So thank you, cuz; I am still dancing from the joy of it
.

Deb and Suzie were jealous of Robbie at first, you know. I guess that was to be expected. We’d been a threesome – the Peace Sisters – for as long as we could remember, and the arrival of a boyfriend ruffled their feathers some
.

But I wasn’t too concerned. I knew they’d come round, like they always did. Those two were as pliable as that plasticine we used to make coiled pots out of as kids. They needed to see things from my perspective, that was all
.

To be honest, I felt that I was outgrowing the Peace Sisters anyway. Deb was a fool and Suzie a spoilsport, and I was getting tired of being the one with all the ideas all the time. They were both too needy. And the whole Peace Sister thing was feeling a little stale. Stifling, in fact
.

But I did have plans. Escape plans – Tallowood and all it represented was suffocating me; I could barely breathe and I knew there was much more for me out there
.