Salvage (8 page)

‘Are you sure?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ He led her out to the bed and ripped the covers back. He towelled off, then rubbed her down. Slowly. Her nipples tightened. He patted down her back, her arms, her legs. Then moved her towards the bed. She lay down, hair wet on the pillow, as he crouched over her and nuzzled at her ear. The scent of bore water clung to his hair. He ran his tongue over her breasts, her stomach. He kissed her scar and she almost cried.

He manoeuvred his cock between her legs.

She was tight at first, dry, then flowing as he slipped deeper. His rhythm picked up, his testicles slapping against her as he pushed himself deeper. She sighed in time, her hands on his back, his neck, tangling in his hair, pulling him close, her eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on the sensation. She felt her climax rising and panic surged with it. She saw the image of her daughter, and her legs convulsed, her stomach heaved. Richard paused. And Helena appeared in her mind’s eye, her lips on hers in that heady, confusing moment. Richard rammed into her, igniting her clitoris, and she lost herself in the raw need. 

Later, she went and cleaned up, then came back to bed, dodging the stain of blood and cum on the sheet to cuddle Richard.

Lust still tingled between her legs.

Richard stirred. ‘It’s nice to have you back, honey,’ he murmured.

She pecked his cheek. ‘It’s a start, isn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘Maybe in the morning…’

‘Maybe.’ She kissed him again. Outside, the rain continued to fall.

Richard got up early to check his email, leaving her with a kiss on the forehead to drowse. She smelled coffee brewing, heard him cursing quietly as the modem warbled into the phone line. She rolled away from the glare of bright sunlight in the window and pushed her knees together with the memory of her husband between her legs. Was this the first step, the first real step, towards finding their way back?

She propped herself on one elbow, found him watching her over the raised screen of his laptop, and shared a smile. It was, she thought, the perfect moment. He stood and she felt her smile widen. He wore his threadbare t-shirt from a Bali holiday years ago, its pattern faded to inscrutable, and plain white boxer shorts.

‘Coffee?’

She nodded and fluffed a pillow in preparation, then settled back to watch him pour percolated into a mug. He padded towards her, a mug in each hand, the front of his shorts suggesting more than coffee on his mind. She’d have to go to the bathroom. Last night had been quick, urgent. This morning would be slow, tender rediscovery. Her pulse quickened. She cursed her period for its graceless timing. She didn’t want anything to stand between her and Richard, not this morning. It had always been a no-go zone for him in the past. Last night had been a welcome revelation.

The bed sagged a little as he kneeled and handed her a cup. His made a dull thunk on the side table. 

Knocking.

Melanie flinched. Coffee slopped but didn’t spill. She hadn’t heard anyone arrive. Richard scowled. She pulled her knees up, the sheet across her chest, and cradled her mug as he stood and walked to the door. A shadow hovered on the other side.

‘Jack,’ Richard said, loud enough for her to hear, and then lowered his voice to a mumble.

She strained to hear their conversation as a blush burned her cheeks. Checking in on the patient? She didn’t need the reminder of her … misadventure … of Sunday night. A flash of yellow caught her eye: Helena’s dress, waiting to be washed.
Helena
. The brush of her lips. One hand felt the fly bite on her neck. Her heartbeat accelerated; a cramp pushed through her belly.

‘Bugger,’ Richard said, jerking her attention. The men were still at the door, Jack’s floppy fisherman’s cap just visible past Richard’s shoulder.

‘Hope he shows up … I’ll tell her … sleeping in.’ Louder: ‘See you later, Jack.’ He shut the door and walked back to sit on the side of the bed.

‘What did Jack want?’ she asked as he leaned over her.

‘Just seeing if we needed anything after the storm.’

‘And?’

He nuzzled her cheek. ‘Wanted to know if we’d seen Friday. Ran off during the storm, apparently.’

She pulled back a little so she could see his eyes, but his gaze was focused on her breasts under the sheet. ‘I saw Friday yesterday. He was acting strange, barking and what-have-you.’

‘He’ll turn up,’ Richard said as he homed in on her throat, his hands pawing at her shoulders.

‘Well, I hope so. Jack loves that dog.’

‘I’m sure he will. I mean, it’s an island. Where could he have gone?’

Liquid heat burst across her stomach. Richard shouted, ‘Bloody hell,’ as she leapt up, throwing yet more of her coffee over them both. And then the cup by the bed was flying, spilling, taking the reading lamp with it.

Richard stood by the bed, flinging coffee from his hands, his shirt and shorts muddy, as Melanie pushed at the sheets.

‘You got both cups: that must be some kind of record.’ She stretched across the bed to put her dripping mug on his bedside table.

‘It was an accident, Mel.’

‘I know, I know. I wasn’t blaming you.’

‘I just … fuck it. I need to clean up this mess.’

‘Here, I’ll help.’ She extricated herself as he went to the kitchen. She knotted a towel from last night around her chest. The lamp was intact, but the bedside table and floor were splattered with coffee. ‘The sheets needed a wash anyway.’

‘Yeah.’ He threw paper towel on the floor and dabbed it with his foot.

‘It’s okay, Richard. I’ll handle it. Put on a fresh batch, hey?’

 ‘Fine. Sorry. Thanks.’

He stalked to the wardrobe for fresh clothes, then back to the kitchen. She mopped up, stripped the bed, showered.

When she emerged, there was fresh coffee brewing, and a bunch of withered flowers on the pillow.

‘What are these?’ she asked.

Richard, engrossed in his laptop, looked up and offered a goofy smile. ‘I found them with the groceries. I forgot about them in all the rush last night. For you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, they didn’t have roses.’

She buried her nose in the drooping blooms; the smell reminded her a little of Helena. ‘That’s really sweet, Richard. Thank you.’ She’d been getting it on with a stranger and he’d been buying her flowers. Great. ‘I’ll put them in water. Are you having a shower?’

‘Leanne’s sent through the revisions for Mackenzie.’

‘Oh.’

‘Damn dial up’s making it bloody annoying. It’s taking forever to download. But listen: once I’ve signed off on these, how about we go down to the village, maybe grab a counter lunch? I’ll be ready for a drink by then. Besides, I’ll need to stock up if the neighbours are coming for dinner.’

She put the flowers on the kitchen bench so she could hug him from behind, delighting in the feel of his chest, his back, the smell of his hair. It reminded her of their early days. If only he hadn’t invited Helena and Paul to dinner. She didn’t want anything to interfere with their fledgling reconciliation. She certainly didn’t want to see Helena again, not until she’d had time to make sense of it all.

He patted her hands, crossed over his chest, without breaking his concentration. Schematics inched across the screen, unintelligible white lines on a blue background.

‘I might go down the beach,’ she said. ‘Leave you to your swearing.’

He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest, the vibration triggering a ripple of pleasure across her skin.

‘Don’t get burnt.’

‘I’ll be careful, Dad.’ The word jagged through her and she paused. His hand held hers, squeezed.

‘I won’t be too long, Mel. Once this is done, it’s just you and me for the rest of the week. Promise.’

She was quietly thrilled to feel his gaze sweep her as she changed her clothes. She kissed him on the cheek before she patted her straw hat onto her head. ‘See you for lunch. Don’t work too hard.’

Armed with beach towel, book and sunscreen, she stepped out onto the deck. There was no sign of last night’s storm, the sky a brilliant azure, pale clouds stretched like frayed cotton across the horizon. A slight breeze tempered the heat of the sunshine.

Through the glass door, she saw him punch a number into the landline, then heard him say, ‘Leanne’. She paused. ‘She’s fine. Just going to sunbake.’ He waved, the phone to his ear. She waved back. He started to talk about a foyer and she walked away. Damn that she had called him Dad; it just slipped out. She recalled the sex from last night, the cramps of this morning, the blood on the sheet. It wasn’t too late, she told herself. He’d finish his stupid building and then they could start over. Everything would be just fine.

She stayed longer than she intended to, huddled in the shade of a whispering sheoak, its fallen needles making a soft carpet. She’d dipped her toes in the receding tide, feeling a shiver as she remembered her nocturnal swim, trying to reconcile the woman of that night with the one who stood here now. Small steps, she told herself. Small steps, back to Richard and the way they’d been. Moreton Island shimmered in a haze, gulls cried overhead, the surf sighed. Barnacles dotted the beacon’s pole; two cormorants perched atop it.

Give Richard time to sort out his contractual mess
, she told herself.
Don’t rush things.

She finished her book, glad to escape into its fiction and not worry about her own dilemmas; drowsed in the warmth; waved away the occasional fly. The bite on her neck itched and when she rubbed it, her fingers came away streaked with blood. She considered washing it with salt water, but stayed on her towel, lulled to lassitude by the heat and the surf.

Finally hunger drove her to her feet. She wrapped her sarong around her hips, did the buttons of her blouse up over her bathing suit, slipped her feet into her sandals. Maybe she should paint her nails. She hadn’t for months, not since she’d fallen pregnant. Maybe it was time.

When she reached the cabin, Richard was drinking beer on the deck with a man she didn’t know. Richard raised a stubby at her and she flourished her novel at him. His eyes tracked her as she shook sand from her sandals and came up the stairs. She leaned over Richard, the brim of her hat in the way when she went to kiss his lips so she settled for his forehead.

‘Mel, this is Paul, your friend Helena’s husband.’

She felt heat in her cheeks and chest, one hand fluttering towards her lips.

‘My wife told me all about you,’ Paul said, his accent much like Helena’s, but the timbre rich, seeming to vibrate in her lungs. His eyes were dark under black brows, the lashes long and feminine, teeth bright in his smile.

‘Helena has been very kind to me,’ Melanie said, aware of a shake in her voice.

‘I wanted to thank you and your husband for looking after her in the storm. I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you last night.’

‘No worries,’ Richard said, at the same time as Melanie answered, ‘Helena was keen to get out of the weather.’ They laughed, and Melanie finished, ‘I guess we were, too.’

‘Scary, wasn’t it?’ Paul asked. ‘The lightning and the thunder, and that wind!’

‘I guess,’ Melanie said.

‘Richard, you have a very beautiful wife. The sun loves her.’

Melanie blushed again. ‘It’s not much of a tan. I don’t tan well.’

Richard took her hand. ‘I agree with Paul. I do have a beautiful wife.’

‘If you keep saying that I’ll start to think you mean it,’ she said, head down, making Richard laugh. ‘I’ll go change.’

‘Please, not on my account,’ Paul said.

‘I’m all sandy.’

Richard patted her bum as she headed for the door. ‘Bring us back a beer, hon. Up for another, Paul?’

‘Please, if it’s no trouble.’

She darted inside, thankful to be out of their scrutiny, feeling giddy from the unexpected praise.

‘Melanie.’

Startled, she almost dropped her book. Helena lay on the bed, her hat beside her. ‘It’s good to see you again, Melanie.’

‘Helena, hi, I’m sorry. They didn’t tell me you were here.’

‘Men,’ she said with a pout, as though trying to blow something from her lips. ‘So caught up in their business, they forget about us.’ Helena’s eyes roved over her. ‘You look well. Healthy. Brown.’

Melanie put down her towel and book, her hat, feeling flustered. ‘I don’t know how. I’ve hardly been in the sun.’

Helena smoothed a spot on the bed. ‘I think maybe it is because you fucked last night.’

‘What?’

‘I can smell it. It has put the colour in your face.’

‘Helena!’

‘It is nothing to be ashamed of.’ She licked her lips, looking cheeky.

‘I’m not … I wasn’t … I was going to have a rinse-off.’

Helena smiled flirtatiously as she gestured to the bathroom.

Melanie grabbed clothes and hurried into the bathroom, hitting the lock behind her. She quickly washed her feet and face, dressed in a blouse and slacks and pulled her hair back into a short ponytail. With a deep breath, she returned to the lounge room. Helena rose fluidly from the bed to meet her.

‘What is this mark?’ she asked, pointing to Melanie’s throat. ‘Did you get hurt the other night?’

Melanie touched the fly bite. ‘It’s nothing.’

Helena leaned closer. ‘Do you remember the thing that happened? You, me and the storm?’

‘I … it was all very strange, wasn’t it?’ She glanced towards the door where she could hear the murmur of the men talking. ‘I have to get Richard a beer.’

Helena grabbed her hand and whispered, ‘Did you like it? Having him inside you? Spilling your blood?’

Melanie pulled against the woman’s grip but found it too strong.

Paul stepped through the doorway. ‘Helena!’

She released her hold, but her gaze stayed locked on Melanie.

‘I think it is time we went back to the cabin,’ Paul said. ‘You should be resting.’

‘We are joined, you and I,’ Helena whispered. ‘They cannot understand. I like you, Melanie. I need you.’

Melanie stepped back, bumping a chair.

Paul crossed to Helena’s side, an arm around her shoulders. ‘Sorry, she can be … intense … sometimes. Alone here, you understand?’

Melanie shrugged, aware of Helena’s stare boring into her, sending her pulse hammering.