Portraits of Celina (4 page)

In the darkened kitchen I sit at the table, exhausted and nervy.

Mum stands to the side of the window, raises the curtain slightly and peers out, one hand holding her dressing-gown together at her throat, a slight tremble in her fingers. It’s a timid pose that reminds me of those nightmare days after Dad’s accident.

“Can’t see a thing, Bails,” Mum whispers. “Nothing on the lake, that I can tell. No movement along the shore.”

“Maybe he’s hiding somewhere,” I offer. It’s not an encouraging thought.

“Perhaps. But why would anyone do that? It’s all rather strange.” Mum sighs and moves away from the window. She sits opposite me and places her hands over mine. “It’s sure to be perfectly innocent, you know. I guess, when you think on it, this place has been deserted for decades – it could have been someone who has camped or fished here for years, not realising that people have moved in. You probably scared him half to death too.”

It sounds logical enough, but regardless, I am not convinced. The vile chemical smell of this stranger has stuck with me, making me feel sick to the stomach and my instincts scream that there was something not right about what happened.

“But his face … I couldn’t really see much of it, but it was sinister, Mum – scary and … ugly,” I say, struggling to conjure a clear image in my mind.

Mum gives a small grin. “Ugly doesn’t equal axe murderer. And anyone would look scary if you’ve frightened him.” She rubs my hands gently. “Now, Bails, how about you tell me what the heck you were doing out there in the middle of the night – and why you’re dressed in those clothes from the chest again. Huh?”

I hang my head and shrug.

“Come on, Bails – what’s going on?” Mum leans towards me and searches for my eyes. “This isn’t like you at all.”

I keep my gaze on the table, slipping my hands out of Mum’s. How can I explain what I don’t understand myself? “I don’t know, Mum,” I say. “I was mucking around with the clothes and then I saw something on the lake and … I started running. I didn’t think about it … I just ran down to the lake …”

Mum sighs. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s get to bed and try to get a few hours shut-eye, okay?”

I shake my head. I couldn’t possibly sleep.

“I’ve locked all the doors and windows. He’s probably long gone by now. If it makes you feel better, we’ll report it to the police in the morning, okay?”

“What about now?”

“Ah, no phones yet, remember? Besides, I don’t think country police stations are manned at night.”

“We were safer in the city,” I say. “I don’t know if I can get used to this wholesome country life.”

Mum draws her collar together at her throat again, her eyes troubled. She hesitates. I feel as if she is about to dissolve, to admit what a useless situation she has got us into.

But instead, she says, “You will in time. Now, how about a quick shower to get that sand and mud off, and then why don’t you bunk with me? Like when you were little?” Mum smooths my hair out of my eyes, tucking it under Celina’s scarf and her lips wobble into a tentative smile. “Yes?”

I give a weak smile back. It’s been a long time since Mum has comforted me like this and it feels good, but I shake my head; I think I’d rather be alone and scared, than beside my sad mother all night.

“And, Bails …” Mum says as we leave the kitchen, “let’s keep this to ourselves for the time being, okay? I don’t need to give Amelia any more ammunition to hate me for bringing her here, and Seth, well, you know how panicky he gets these days.”

I nod. I understand completely.

It takes forty-five minutes to drive into Tallowood: the trip slowed by a long stretch of narrow unsealed road that winds out of the valley and up to the highway. For this, our first trip into our new town, the car feels charged with energy – though the energy is polarised somewhat. At one end of the spectrum is Amelia, sitting in the front, sour-faced and silent, her iPod earbuds jammed into her ears, wearing her disdain like a fashion accessory. And then there’s Seth, so bouncy that he tangles himself in his seatbelt twice and squeezes his juice box so fiercely that it sprays the back of Amelia’s hair.

Mum and I sit somewhere in between, our enthusiasm dulled by our shared secret and also by Mum’s obvious annoyance with me when I came down for breakfast wearing Celina’s clothes again: flared jeans, T-shirt and purple scarf. I don’t have a clue why I am wearing them – but I simply couldn’t resist. To Mum’s credit, she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

Sitting in the back seat with Seth, I can’t get last night from my mind. I play the scene over and over: hear the raspy voice,
Holy mother of God! Holy mother of God!
Can almost feel that sour breath in my face. I fiddle with the scarf tied round my forehead and tell myself to forget it, to think of something else.

The road rises up and over a bumpy mound and a ferny gully appears ahead. Thick rods of morning sunshine angle through the bush canopy above, lighting the lacy fronds below, and once again I have that strong sensation of deja vu, as if I have taken this drive before. Many times. But not in Mum’s four-wheel drive, in an old van of some sort with a rumbly engine and a gearstick.

Images crowd my head. I can see myself in the van, riding up front, can feel the vibrations as it bumps over the corrugations in the dirt road, the tyres losing traction on the loose stones. I can see the way the road twists up the mountain, and then down again, the forest thickening, rocky cliffs rising up from the road on one side, tiny plants dangling out of cracks in the wall. I can feel my excitement. An almost uncontainable excitement. I am going to town to meet Suzie and Deb and I can’t wait to tell them my news. They’re not going to believe me when I tell them what I’ve planned. They will be so shocked.

Hang on! I don’t know anyone in town. I don’t know any Suzies or Debs. I don’t have any plans
.

And I am flung back to reality, to the rear seat of Mum’s four-wheel drive, my stomach turning over. Where did that come from? It can’t be a memory. Did I invent it? But it felt so real. So intense.

Then a chilling realisation strikes me: I wasn’t seeing myself at all; I was seeing Celina.

Celina in the front seat of her parents’ kombi van
.

But how? Did they even have a kombi van?

This is stupid. I have Celina on the brain. And I am nuts even to consider that I know squat about Celina or her life.

I think back to the “visions” of Celina I had on the first night when I discovered the chest. How real they felt. Same as the vision I just had. I play with a loose thread on the pocket of my jeans – Celina’s jeans – mulling these images over. By the time Mum pulls into one of the many empty parking spots angled along the wide main street, I have broken into a cold sweat. Something seriously creepy is going on here.

Tallowood is so vintage country, it is almost a cliché.

Mum and I scuttle down the main street to the police station like a pair of criminals, Mum having bribed Amelia into taking Seth up the hill to do a “walk past” of his new school.

A female officer greets us with an open smile. “Hot one, eh?” she says, then folds her arms onto the counter. “What can I do for you today?”

Mum fidgets and stumbles over her words as she tries to explain last night’s incident. Now, in the light of day, in the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting of Tallowood police station, it sounds lame, even to me.

The police officer takes down a few notes. “Did this man harm you in anyway, Bayley?”

I shake my head.

“Did he say anything that was offensive or that would give you reason to be concerned about your safety?”

She is making me uneasy. “No, not really. He said ‘Holy mother of God’ and then he yelled ‘No!’ But he was creepy and what was he doing there anyway?”

“Good question – but one could ask what you were doing there in the middle of the night also?”

“I saw the boat and went to investigate.”

“By yourself? Was that wise? Why didn’t you wake your parents?”

The word “parents” is like a slap across my face. It stings.

“Bayley isn’t on trial here,” Mum says. “The point is, some strange man was lurking about on our property in the middle of the night. We are new here. My hus–” Mum falters. “My husband passed away last year and that has left us feeling rather vulnerable.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Mrs Anderson.” The response is automatic and insincere. “Look, I’ll ring around your neighbours and see what I can find out. Your property has been vacant and unused for a long while – boundaries blur over time, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes. Thanks,” mumbles Mum, smoothing her hair nervously behind her ears.

“In the meantime, I suggest you take a drive over to the neighbouring properties and introduce yourselves – let them know you’ve moved in. That’s how we do things here in the country.”

The officer sounds friendly, but I don’t miss the barbs in her words. Numbly, I follow Mum out of the station and into the oppressive heat of main street Tallowood.

We meet Amelia and Seth in the only cafe in town. It’s all metal chairs and square tables, a dirty fan whirring ineffectually from the ceiling in the middle of the room. I am so twitchy that it takes all my resolve not to yell at it to shut the hell up.

“The menu is decent enough,” says Mum, over-brightly. A blast of heat surges inside as a bell dings and the door opens, and I am surprised that the laminated menu doesn’t melt in my hands. “As good as any cafe along the mall in Cronulla,” she adds.

Amelia rolls her eyes and slides down in her seat.

“Well, what does your new school look like, Seth?” Mum tries.

“It’s old,” says Seth.

“Ancient,” adds Amelia.

“And small,” continues Seth. His eyes flit around and he pulls at his ear.

“It’ll be great,” says Mum, guiding Seth’s hand away.

Seth reaches for the salt shaker and fiddles with the shabby “salt” sticker on the side.

“After lunch, we’ll hike up to the high school on the hill and check it out. We’ll need to organise uniforms–”

“Don’t bother,” Amelia snarls.

“What?” Mum seems wary.

“Don’t bother. I won’t need any uniforms because I’m not going. Simple.”

I’ve been dreading this. Amelia confided as much before we left Cronulla, but I had held onto the dim hope that it was an empty threat.

“What do you mean, not going?” Mum says, her voice climbing to match the temperature outside. “You’re in Year Twelve – of course you’re going. You’ll be finished in October.”

“Exactly,” says Amelia. “I’m not changing schools halfway through my final year. End. Of. Story.” Amelia crosses her arms and glares at Mum, both defiant and triumphant.

“Yes, you will, young lady. You are not throwing away your future out of stubbornness. End. Of. Story.”

“You should have thought of that before you dragged us out here. What kind of mother makes her daughter leave school in the middle of her final year?”

Mum is dumbstruck.

“A crap one,” hisses Amelia. She stands up from the table and saunters out of the cafe, the door closing with a ding behind her, bringing another wave of heat to slap us in our faces.

Seth slips off his seat, and onto Mum’s lap. She puts her arm around his shoulders, and says, “Go see which way she went, Bails.”

My stomach feels as if it is filled with rubble. I hate the way Amelia plays us like this – always the one to make a scene and wreck things. I bash through the doors, my temper swelling. The door flies open and straight into someone who is about to step inside. He moves back quickly, but not before the door bops him on the nose.

“Hey! Watch it!” he shouts, covering his nose with one hand.

“Sorry!” I say, embarrassed.

The guy uncovers his face and the rubble in my belly flips over and liquefies as I realise that I am staring into the blue-green eyes of Oliver.

“Hey, you’re the girl from the lake.” His face lights with recognition.

“Yeah. Ah, Bayley,” I say.

“Ah, Bayley …” He grins and rubs his nose.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No worries, Ah, Bayley. In a hurry?”

“Oh … I was … you didn’t see a girl walking down the street, did you?”