Salvage (12 page)

Melanie trudged along the narrow road. Scrubby trees pressed close on either side. Their branches cracked together, sounding harsh and disapproving, like rocks being piled up in preparation for a stoning. Since the incident in the bunker, the teasing promise of illicit sex had been niggling at her. But now that she’d had it, her first time with a woman, her first act of adultery, she didn’t know how she should feel about it.

Apparently, it meant a great deal to Helena, and her husband, quite fairly, would be pissed if he found out. And Richard … what would Richard think, really? Would it be the straw that broke the camel’s back, leaving her staring down the barrel at a divorce? A stillbirth and a divorce, and she almost thirty. Still time to start again, but how? With whom? Was she going to shave her head, buy jeans and a wide belt and get an axe tattooed on her upper arm? Join the kd lang fan club?

She laughed at her absurd waterfall of ideas crashing down on her. She liked men, she knew that. But Helena … Helena had been different. Tender and urgent, strong yet yielding. And the warm, wet softness of her cunt under Melanie’s fingers and tongue, the low moans and the explosive thrust of her hips, driving Melanie wild. Giving and taking in equal measure. No buzz cuts, no belts, no tatts. Just a beautiful, sensual woman who’d found Melanie desirable, no membership card required.

Why did Helena have to go sully it with her existential clap trap? Just what was all that weird philosophy about life and death? Maybe she and Paul were on the run from some kind of cult. Maybe this was part of Melanie’s indoctrination. The wild notion made as much sense as anything else.

An engine intruded, grinding louder through the clatter of her jumbled thoughts and feelings. Jack? Or Paul?

Either way, she wasn’t ready to be seen, her thighs and crotch still slick with sex, her guilty pleasure obvious, she felt sure. She ducked into the brush, pushing at the branches, her feet sinking into sand and fallen leaves.

A black shape appeared through the trees: Paul’s SUV, covered in a patina of dust, its windshield dotted with dead insects. She crouched beside a tree, the bark rough under her palms as she willed herself to invisibility. The vehicle slowed as it reached her hiding place and she pushed herself tighter against the tree, taking some comfort in being barely able to see the pale oval of Paul’s face through the window tint. And then the car was past, sand spraying from its wheels, the rental company’s sticker almost invisible under the dirt coating the rear. She remembered Helena’s warning. Would Paul really go ballistic if he found out? Those lips, those eyes: was he capable of such violence? And how would Helena—fragile little Helena—be able to stop him when she clearly wasn’t able to control her own life?

Melanie waited till the engine noise had faded before she broke cover, aware of bird calls resuming around her, not sure when they had stopped. A whipbird signalled the coast was clear, and darting brown shapes sang out their relief. She forced her way through the trees, tensing at the touch of the spiky leaves scoring her skin, and then headed for her cabin, anticipating a shower and maybe a glass of wine—a glass or a bottle—while she tried to decide what to do next.

When she reached her hut, she realised her hopes of a quiet moment to get her shit together wasn’t going to happen. Richard’s Jeep was parked outside.

Richard stood at the kitchen bench, swishing bourbon in a flat, heavy glass.

‘You’re back,’ she said.

‘Thought you might like some lunch.’ He gestured with his glass at half a roast chicken wrapped in plastic, an empty plate with the remains of a meal beside it. ‘Where were you?’

She tried to be nonchalant as she said, ‘Felt like a walk. Is everything okay?’

‘Fucking wireless broadband at the pub is even more annoying than the dial up.’ He swigged, then said, ‘You’re letting the flies in.’

She pulled the screen door shut.

‘So how was the walk?’ he asked, his attention focused out the window towards the sea. ‘A real scorcher out there today.’ Dark circles of sweat showed under his armpits.

‘Okay, I guess.’ She headed for the bathroom.

‘Hey,’ he said as she hustled past. ‘What’s happened?’

She paused.

‘Nothing. Why?’

He poked at a sore spot on her neck. ‘You’ve been bleeding again.’

‘Oh. That damn bite. It’s nothing.’

‘Better keep an eye on it, hon. Don’t want it to get infected.’

‘I’m going to go wash. Sweaty, after my walk.’

‘I’ll pour you a drink. I bought you more wine.’

From the bathroom door, she asked, ‘Are you going back to the pub?’

He sounded morose, stressed. Her sympathy flared. ‘I don’t know. This job is driving me crazy. The penny-pinching bastard’s just never satisfied.’

She felt the urge to cross to him, offer him a hug or a kiss. But she wasn’t game, afraid he’d smell Helena on her. Instead she said, ‘You’ll be fine,’ and tried to wash herself clean. It took a long time for her heart rate to settle to normal.

‘You want to go to the pub for dinner?’ he asked when she emerged from the shower, her dress sticking to her, a towel around her hair.

‘Not really up for people tonight.’

‘Jesus, Mel, there’s barely anyone around.’

She concentrated on drying her hair.

‘What if we invited Paul and Helena?’

She forced herself to keep towelling, though her heart thumped in her chest. Part of her was desperate to see Helena again, but another, larger part was petrified at the thought. Surely, both men would know what she and Helena had done. Could she hide it? The flow of heat between her legs suggested not.

‘Would it really be so hard for just the two of us to eat dinner together?’ she asked.

‘I like company, Mel. I like to meet new people. Not just shut myself away in my room with a fucking book about nonsense.’

‘Nonsense? Is that what I am to you?’

‘Not you, obviously. I love you. You’re my wife. I just don’t get this stuff.’ He walked over to the bed and picked up her novel. ‘I mean, for Christ’s sake, Mel; you’re a grown woman. Why do you read this trash?’

‘It’s imagination, Richard. It’s entertaining. It takes me away.’

‘Takes you away from what? Me? Am I really that bad?’

‘Of course not from you. Just from everything … all the crap.’

‘Jesus, Mel, the doctor said you’d get better. It happens all the time.’

‘Not everything is about the stillbirth, Richard.’

‘Isn’t it? Well, would it really kill you to come to the pub tonight and have a decent dinner, maybe some adult conversation?’

‘What am I—some kind of child?’

She pushed past him, heading for the front door.

He reached after her. ‘Mel, wait. I’m sorry. Come on, let’s talk this out.’

‘Like adults?’ She yanked the door open and ran outside, desperate to just get away, to be by herself.

‘Mel, where are you going?’ Richard shouted as he followed her onto the deck.

‘To grow up, apparently.’ She ran down the steps, hugging herself, only to stop dead and scream.

‘It’s Friday,’ Richard said.

Melanie struggled with his words, knowing it was only Wednesday, and then realised what he meant. The dog lay on the bonnet of the Jeep, his matted coat covered in sand like some kind of gross shell. Something blue shone in the gory mess of his mouth, next to the pale pink tongue sticking out through the canines. Dried guts spilled over the bonnet and bullbar like withered offal.

‘What happened to him?’ Melanie asked, hugging herself, taking sidelong glances at the corpse as she fought the urge to heave.

‘Looks like he died, got buried and then dug up again,’ Richard said, poking at the corpse with a gnarled branch. ‘The blood’s all dry. And there’s something in his mouth. Maybe he choked on it.’

‘Leave it for God’s sake. Just bury him.’

Richard prodded the stiff head, then teased the material from the dog’s jaws. Melanie’s stomach did a flip.

‘Knickers.’ He held them up towards her. ‘Don’t you have a pair like these?’

‘I do,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know if those are them, though. I mean, they can’t be. How would someone have got them?’

But she knew. They were the ones she’d left at Helena’s.

‘This is weird shit.’ Richard dangled the material up by thumb and finger. ‘Why the fuck would someone kill Friday and then do this?’

‘Tourists, maybe? Students? No headstones to desecrate so taking it out on a dumb animal?’

‘I think I should call the cops.’

‘Do you have to? Let’s tell Jack first, see what he wants to do.’

‘Mel, if these are yours, then someone’s been in the hut. Someone’s been through our things.’

‘Or just taken them off the line. But I don’t think they’re mine. I didn’t bring them, I don’t think.’

‘You don’t think? Surely you know what you packed.’

‘I don’t know, Richard! I can’t remember. I was in a rush.’

‘Yeah, in a rush to get back from Shelley’s with your latest trash collection. Too much of a rush to even get milk.’

‘I can’t believe you’re bringing that up again at a time like this.’

‘Well, if these aren’t yours, I guess it doesn’t matter.’ He dropped them, took a good scan of the surrounding scrub, then set about getting the dog off the bonnet. ‘They must’ve only just left him here.’

‘You mean someone might still be watching?’

‘Maybe.’ He gingerly picked at the dog’s legs. ‘I wonder why they dug him up to do this.’

‘What makes you think he’s been buried?’

‘The sand. It’s all over him. And in his guts. Jesus. I’ll have to bury him. Get the shovel out the back, will you?’

She walked to the back of the Jeep and retrieved his fold-up shovel from the toolbox.

‘You don’t think you should ask Jack what he wants to do with him?’ she said as she handed it over.

‘Yeah, I guess I should. I’ll go ring him.’

He went inside and she gingerly retrieved the soiled underwear. Paul must’ve done this. He must’ve found out and left her this warning to stay away. But why kill Friday? What did the dog have to do with it? Her heart thundered with the thought that he might’ve hurt Helena. How could she go check?

Richard came out and she stuffed the knickers in her pocket. ‘Jack’s on his way. Going to bury the old fella up at his cabin.’

‘Poor Jack,’ Melanie said. ‘He loved that dog.’

‘I’ll get a bucket and wash this off.’

‘Hey.’

He paused.

‘I think I’d like to go to the pub after all. Maybe we could drive over to Helena’s and ask them, too?’

‘Really? After this?’

‘Especially after this. Besides, I’d like to see how she’s feeling.’

‘You’re a strange chick, Mel.’

‘Part of the charm,’ she said.

He walked to her, caressed her cheek. ‘You okay?’

‘Sure. I just don’t want to hang around here just now.’

‘You want to go back to Brissie?’

‘No! No. I’m just a bit shaken, but I need this break. I need the peace. We need it. I felt we were getting somewhere, didn’t you?’

‘I did. I’m sorry about the Mackenzie shit. I’m doing my best.’

‘I know you are.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Please, let’s just get the car cleaned and do what we can for Jack. Maybe ask him to join us for dinner.’

‘Yeah, we should do that. I don’t know why anyone would want to do this to an animal. If I ever find the guys who did it, I’ll make them sorry.’

‘I’m sure they’re long gone.’

‘Well, someone put him here, and not long ago. Maybe I should head down to the barge and see who’s leaving.’

‘You can’t prove anything, Richard. Just let it go. A stupid prank. Let’s have dinner and try to take our minds off it, okay?’ She squeezed his hand. 

‘Yeah, you’re right. Poor fucking Friday.’

If he noticed the underwear was missing, he didn’t comment. While he cleaned the truck, she threw the knickers in the bin. She hoped Jack would arrive soon. Helena’s comment about not letting Paul hurt her looped through her mind. But who would stop Paul from hurting Helena?

Jack was devastated to see Friday sprawled out on the ground. By the time they’d drunk tea and bourbon and the old man, looking older by the minute, had wrapped the dog in a sack and driven off with a ‘thanks but no thanks’ to their dinner invitation, it was almost sundown.

Melanie had bitten the inside of her mouth so much it was bleeding. She could taste the saltiness, feel the twinge of pain. How was Helena? Paul could’ve done anything and been on the last barge to the mainland by now. She had to fight down the image of Friday, his guts out, his eyes glassy and unseeing, that tip of tongue protruding from his jaws. There wasn’t enough chardonnay in the world to wash that away, or drown the rising fear that something horrible had happened to Helena.

Her nails had scribed dark crescents in her palms by the time they’d finally got in the Jeep. The drive through the scrub to Helena’s hut was interminable. Trees crowded the road; the headlights seemed feeble. She wasn’t sure they were going anywhere at all, just stuck in the same spot or going around in circles.

‘You seem uptight,’ Richard said.

‘I’m fine,’ she snapped.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t go if you’re this upset.’

‘I
want
to go.’

He grunted and upped the volume of the stereo, flooding the cabin with bloody Cold Chisel and their bloody flame trees.

She gritted her teeth, praying Helena was okay.

Finally, they reached the hut. The rental was still parked outside, the lights on behind the curtains throwing the palest rectangles of light on the patchy lawn.

Paul appeared on the deck, carefully shutting the door behind him.

‘Hello again,’ he said from the top of the stairs as Melanie and Richard approached.

‘Hi there,’ Richard replied with a wave. ‘Looks like the girls are going to get their wish, hey?’

‘What’s that?’ Paul stared at Melanie. 

‘Another storm on the way, I’d reckon,’ Richard explained.

Paul glanced towards the eastern sky, where lightning flashed inside the distant clouds. ‘Perhaps. What brings you here?’

‘We were hoping you and your wife might like to have dinner with us at the pub,’ Richard said. ‘Take two.’