Red Queen (8 page)

‘ “
Is there anybody there?” said the Traveller,

Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grasses

Of the forest’s ferny floor.’

‘I like that,’ I said.

She began to drag her nails lightly up the back of my neck. My eyes involuntarily closed. ‘And that,’ I murmured.

Some purpose returned to her hands, and for awhile I drifted, close to sleep.

‘God I miss books,’ she said. ‘I miss everything about them: the smell, the print, the pages. Please tell me there’s a novel somewhere in this cabin.’

‘Apart from the Bible, it’s all factual I’m afraid.’

‘The Bible’s not a bad read. I could read it to you.’

‘Not the Bible – no way.’

She rested her chin on the top of my head and sighed, her hands on my shoulders. ‘
My heart aches, and drowsy numbness pains … on beechen green … full-throated ease
… something, something … quite forgot.’

I smiled softly. ‘You can just recite me poetry.’

‘But I can’t remember any of it – only fragments. Tell me some you know.’

‘I don’t know any. I think I did English Lit at some stage; I just never turned up to be sure.’

‘You must have read some books – what are your favourites?’

‘Telling Lies for God, Reason Versus Creationism. The Origin
and
The Origin of the Species.’

‘Really escapist stuff then.’

The wind swirled around us and we felt its chill at the same moment.

She came and sat in the chair next to me.

‘I feel like I want to sit on your knee,’ she said, ‘curl up and never get off.’

‘You can if you want.’

‘I do want to read to you, Shannon. It would be so nice to get lost in a book. And if you haven’t read many novels … there’s some I know you would love.’

‘Apart from the fact we’ve got none, what would you read by? We’d be waiting for full moons just so we could see the words.’

‘We could have an hour or something in the afternoons.’

‘You mean before Rohan gets back.’

She shrugged.

‘But isn’t the point that we’ve got nothing to read?’

‘There are books at the farmhouse.’

I nodded. ‘Oh … I see …’

‘No, don’t look at me like that. I mean it. And there are not just some, there are hundreds – it’s amazing. You wouldn’t believe it; it’s like a library. All the good authors, all the good books.’

‘And you’d pick up your clothes and things while you were there.’

‘Think of any novel you’ve wanted to read. It’ll be there.’

‘It’s not me, anyway. I understand why you’d want to get your things. It’s Rohan.’

‘But truly, it’s not just that. Don’t you see how good it would be? We could sit in the sun and forget for a while and go somewhere else, go home. I need it. And, Shannon, there are all the poets too – some that would just blow you away. Some that I know you’d relate to.’

‘It’s not me you’ve got to convince.’

‘He won’t let me go.’

‘You’ve asked him?’

‘No.’

‘Because I was going to say there’s no chance he’ll let you. On principle now – he’ll never let you. He’s pig-headed that way.’

She pulled back from me.

‘It’s because he’s so cautious,’ I said. ‘I think a lot of it is wrapped up with Dad. He carries the same guilt over being here without Mum and Dad as I do – but for him it’s … something to make right. If he survives, if he gets us through, then he gets back his peace. Atonement, or something. That really drives him. He’s so like Dad – there has to be a critical point to reach, a way that’ll make him a better person, but only to himself and in his own eyes. It’s so internal with them. Odd that they do believe in a god, cos from every angle it looks like they are their own gods. No-one to answer to but themselves.’

Denny reached for the guitar. She began to quietly strum.

‘You don’t talk about him much,’ I said. ‘Are you frightened of him?’

‘Are you?’

‘He’s my brother.’

‘Were you frightened of your father?’

‘No. I was … ready around him; prepared for lessons and to be proved wrong. Conversations, every little thing, had to be
right
. He hated stupidity. No, not stupidity – he hated complacency.’

‘And he thought you were complacent?’

‘He gave that impression.’

She tried a chord. ‘Is that right?’

‘Mmm, sort of.’

‘Show me.’

Once I had the guitar I couldn’t help but drift into a song. She brought her feet up and crossed them on my knee.

‘Lyrics are poetry,’ she said. ‘But once they’re put to music and you’ve heard it, they always need the music to make them sound right.’

I thought about what she said and played softly. She waited for a song she knew and softly sang.

And with her legs resting on mine, her voice in the wind around me, it felt as near as anything to right.

4

ROHAN LOOKED DOWN
at my cards and made a sucking noise between his teeth and I knew I had won.

Denny tossed in her hand and bounced her legs excitedly.

‘Shannon, you legend,’ she said.

‘I don’t know.’ I looked up at Rohan. ‘I don’t buy it.’

And I was right: he wasn’t concentrating, even now. Denny gathered the cards and I watched my brother’s face. Tonight the lines were deeper, and every so often he wet his lips, only to dry them again with the back of his hand. He got up suddenly.

‘We’re not having another game?’ I asked.

‘You two play.’

Denny and I watched him leave.

As soon as he was the right distance away Denny jumped up and into his chair. She brought her knees up under her chin.

‘Don’t you just fantasise about food?’ she asked.

I smiled. ‘Yes.’

‘Pizza and ice cream and whole blocks of cheese.’

‘I think about the staple things. Pasta and cereal and bread – bread, big time. Oh, and tea and coffee. Milo.’

‘You’d have that, though? Wouldn’t you? Out in the bunker, I mean.’

‘Not pasta. But yeah – there’s flour, tea and coffee. Big tins of Milo.’

She leant forward, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. ‘Is there chocolate?’

I strung her along, pretending to think. She extended a leg and kicked me.

‘Tell me.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

She fell back in the chair. ‘That’s cruel.’

‘See, you’re better off not knowing.’

‘What else? Tell me every single thing. Walk me through the shelves.’

The shower started up and we both looked quizzically in that direction.

She reached up, her elbows above her head, to grip the back of the chair, and shut her eyes.

‘Right, I’m ready. Hit me with it.’

I peered to be sure her eyes were closed, and then let my eyes drop down and over her body. The nights were warmer; she wore a grubby T-shirt and a pair of black leggings that came halfway up her calves. I’d never known before how much weight loss affected breasts; naively, I guess, I thought they were somehow impervious. I was wrong. Denny was still slim, all three of us had the hard, lean look of boxers before a fight, but her body fat was defiantly up, it was apparent in her breasts. They completed her now, and fit with the rest of her, proportioned with the curve of her hips. Other things also told of her health: the clear white of her eyes, the unbroken texture of her lips, the restless energy in her limbs.

My silence had her opening her eyes. ‘Food,’ she said. ‘Details.’

‘It’s not a supermarket. It’s only small. One of those ship containers.’

‘But it’s in the bluff?’

‘If you look, it’s in front of the bluff – angled and covered with top soil and rock. It’s well hidden, that’s all.’

‘And you must keep it locked?’

‘Oh, God yeah. Rohan’s got it done up like Fort Knox.’

‘He carries the keys, doesn’t he – or you could sneak me in for a look.’

‘It’s worse knowing what is out there.’

‘There must be a spare.’

‘Denny.’

‘Just tell me what’s out there then. It’ll be like pigging out.’

‘I haven’t got every item memorised.’

She smiled. ‘Yes you have.’

I shook my head. ‘I can’t.’

‘All right,’ she conceded, ‘don’t tell me any more tonight. I’ve got chocolate. That’s plenty to go on.’ She sunk down in the chair. ‘Tell me it’s Cadbury and I reckon I’ll come.’

‘Denny.’

She closed her eyes again and breathed out. ‘Come on,’ she murmured, ‘what sort of chocolate?’

I watched her. The fire crackled beside me. More and more she did this, pushed the envelope, but never far enough so that I knew. Strangely, it was when she did touch me that the nature of our relationship was most innocent. When she came up behind me and pushed the shirt from my shoulder I only felt the care in her hands and the will to take out the tightness. But then there were times like this, when no physical contact occurred and yet her verbal foreplay had me weak and heavy; she might as well have reached over and stroked a knowing line up the left side of my lap.

I turned and stared hard at the fire and let the heat eat at my eyes.

The shower still ran – a long time for Rohan. I knew by now she would be watching me, her gaze unreadable. She must have seen my anger.

‘I thought of another poem,’ she said. ‘Do you want to hear it?’

‘No.’

‘I felt a Cleaving in my mind
–

As if my Brain had split
–

I tried to match it – Seam by Seam
–

But could not make them fit.’

I looked over at her.

‘Emily Dickinson,’ she said, ‘my favourite poet.’ Her voice was flat.

The quiet dark of her face drew me in; I manoeuvred around the table between us and knelt in front of her.

‘Tell me what you mean,’ I said.

Her voice stayed even. ‘It’s a poem – you read into it what you want.’

‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘You said you hated it when Rohan asked you that.’

‘Because he asks for the wrong reasons.’

‘You might not like what I’m thinking. I probably can’t even put it into words …’

‘Tell me what’s unclear then.’

‘I like women poets – there’s not the need to make sense of everything, they don’t presume to know the answers.’

‘I don’t have to be crystal clear on everything, Denny, but I think it helps if the most basic things are defined. The relationships in this house are about as clear as mud.’

‘Relationships aren’t easily defined.’

‘You know what, I just wish you’d give me one word on how you feel about me and one word on how you feel about Rohan.’

‘One word each?’

‘Yes.’

Her face softened. ‘But what if you don’t like them?’

‘Just tell me.’

She reached up to hold my head, and slipped her hands over my ears as she spoke. I couldn’t hear and pulled her hands away.

‘What?’

She lightly shook her head, her eyes glowing.

‘Denny, don’t play with me.’

‘I’m not,’ she replied. ‘I don’t play games.’

‘Then tell me what you said.’

‘Rohan’s finished in the shower.’

‘Tell me.’

She put pressure on my shoulder, easing me away. I stayed, taking the resistance, holding her gaze.

‘So what if he sees me like this?’ I asked.

‘I’m in his chair. Let me out.’

‘Is that really what’s bothering you, or is it me, like this? Why can’t he see the way we really are together?’

She turned her head towards the bathroom. I heard the bathroom door open and watched the changes in her face.

‘Denny.’

‘This is not the way we are together.’

‘No. This is usually you.’ I held her thighs and rubbed my hands up and down. ‘Why don’t I ever massage your back?’

‘He’s coming, let me up.’

I held out longer, aroused by my hands on her legs and the confusion in her face. She tried to stand, to climb out over the arm rest, or maybe even clamour over the back. I stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

Rohan was in the kitchen, opening a cupboard.

‘Please,’ she whispered.

I pushed back from the chair. ‘Bloody hell.’

‘Shh …’ She got up and came low and quick to me. ‘Don’t be angry.’

I held her hand by my side, forcing her to stand near me. Rohan came into the room. It meant a lot that Denny didn’t immediately drop my hand, that she held it tighter for a second and trailed her fingers in my palm as she withdrew it.

Rohan had three bowls and spoons and a can of something, but more shocking than that was that he was clean; you could smell it. He came forward and into the light.

His clothes were the same ones he’d had on before the shower, his face was still rough with a short beard and the same deep shadows, but the mingling of soap and shampoo, his slick, combed hair, the sense of warmth from his skin, and a handsomeness I’d not seen in him before, had his presence amplified so that I could not look away.

‘We’re using the soap and shampoo,’ I said.

He ignored me and came to the table. The collar of his shirt was wet where his black hair curled against it. I looked at Denny; she was watching Rohan. His head tilted, only marginally, but I knew he was looking back at her. My eyes moved quickly between them.

‘Want some Rice Cream?’ he said to her.

‘God, yeah.’

Rohan punctured the top of the can with the can opener. Denny and I stepped forward to stand either side of him. A wet clump of his hair swung down in front of his face.

‘You had this before?’ he asked Denny.

Denny sat on the arm of his chair. ‘Only once or twice. It’s sweet, right?’

Rohan opened the can. I noticed the lid had small spots of rust.

‘Sure is,’ he said. ‘To us, it’s going to be almost painful.’

The three bowls were arranged and Rohan began to dole out the contents. He scraped the tin as clean as humanly possible and then sat it aside purposely, as if not done with it yet. The portions looked fair, but Rohan still spent some time checking they were equal. I didn’t mind the protracted build-up – it seemed only right.