Drawing a sharp breath and with a mouth dry with nerves, she steadied herself on the windowsill and looked down, trying to make out detail, features that the darkness denied her. This was both a disappointment and a relief, figuring if she couldn’t see him too clearly then he couldn’t see her. Her limbs trembled and yet her stomach jumped with something that mimicked excitement.No!It was more than she could handle.
‘Come down!’ he called. ‘Please! Come here!’ He could obviously see her. This fired a bolt of exposure right through her that made her feel weak.
His voice! Oh, his voice!It was a beacon, a code that punched life into her soul. It sparked joy, fear, lust, and longing – yes, just those few words enough to remind her of what he had meant to her. And she to him.
‘Shut up! Just be quiet!’ This she spoke out loud to silence the voice that haunted her dreams, to quieten her interior monologue and to prevent Daisy in the room next door or Marty who slept in the front room from hearing his call.
‘Come down! I need to talk to you!’ he half whispered, half yelled, and her heart felt like it might jump right out of her chest.
This man standing in the shadows had the power to blow up her whole life right now! The very thing she had spent the last three years dreading, he could do it – this very second! The thought was more than she could stand. Knowing every nuance of his tone, she could tell he’d been drinking and knew she needed to make him stop talking before he did or said something stupid. She needed him to go away.
‘Go away! Just go away!’ she pleaded.
‘If you’re not coming down, I’ll come over to you then!’ he called back with an undertone of amusement in his voice as he lifted his leg as if to hightail it over the fence.
‘Okay! Okay.’ He had won. Again.
It felt like she had little choice other than to do his bidding. A thin film of cold sweat covered her.
Running her hand over her face, she tried as best as she could to smooth her thick, wavy hair, which was a little matted at the back, a little greasy and flat on the top. Taking a tentative step out on to the landing, she checked that Daisy hadn’t heard and was up and about, investigating. She could see the lamplight in her daughter’s room filtering beneath the door, which, thankfully, remained closed. Likewise, when she reached the downstairs hallway, she could hear Marty snoring on the couch.Marty...I love you!She sent the silent refrain in advance of the disloyalty she was about to display.
Her heart beat so loudly in her ears she thought it must sound like a gong to the rest of the house. Yet miraculously no one stirred. With shaking fingers, she unlocked the kitchen door and turned the handle, staring out along the alleyway towards the gap at the end of the fence that had always been there. A space of twelve and a half inches where the fence ended and the wall of the Kelleways’ carport started. How did she know it was a gap of twelve and a half inches? Because they’d once measured it. The side of their house was lit by the Kelleways’ festoon of lights that hung artfully around their gazebo and barbecue area. It didn’t bother her, having grown up in the shadow of the family who shone so brightly, festoon of lights or not.
She took a step outside and looked down at her bare feet on the concrete, noticing the dead autumn leaves still gathered in the corners of the path and clogging the small drain cover that sat at the bottom of the drainpipe. It only occurred to her as she trod the path that she was in pyjama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt with baked bean juice on the front. Not that there was a whole lot she could do about it at this point, and not that he was likely to notice, especially as he had been drinking.
The storm of emotions that swirled inside her were complex and multi-faceted. Rage certainly, at being summoned in such a fashion, as if she were still that sixteen-year-old who responded to a whistle. There was excitement, too, at the prospect of being in such close proximity to the man, and naked fear at what might pass. He was powerful and she was not and that sent a wave of nausea to lap inside her gut. The fact that he’d been drinking made him doubly unpredictable – she needed to be brave, face him, talk to him, and get the interaction over as quickly as she was able.
Don’t worry about your greasy hair and the state of your t-shirt – what does it matter? He’s seen you naked, touched your body, kept watch while you peed in a bush, lay next to you, bathed with you, swum with you, held you close, brushed your hair, put cream on your sunburn, had sex with you during your period, bleached your hair, read to you...
Yes, what did a smear of baked bean juice really matter in the grand scheme of things? Hesitating as she neared the gap, she placed her hand on the cool fence that felt rough, splintery and aged beneath her fingertips. She looked down again at her bare feet and saw the toes of her teen self, nails painted red, one toe sporting a silver ring, tanned, and running around at the whim of a heart so full of all it tried to contain. Bare feet that would run with energy along this very path, excitement jumping in her gut and desire in her loins, the moment her parents left for church. It was clichéd, it was sincere, and it was love.
Off to meet the boy next door. To put her hand through the gap where their fingers met, to give him the signal that the coast was clear. And not just any boy, but Lawrence Kelleway. Her Lawrie who was going to be a professional footballer and who would love her forever ... not that she cared about his future job, not really. She only wanted him. Him for always, him forever no matter what ... Knowing that each night she got to climb into bed naked next to him, to inhale the scent of his skin and to watch his faceas he moved slowly above her was all she would ever need. He was like a drug, and she was addicted.
‘Lee?’
She heard his call and her stomach folded. No one else called her that. It had been their thing. She called him Lawrie and he called her Lee – they had been studyingCider with Rosieat school and it felt fitting despite the difference in spelling.
‘Shush! You need to be quiet,’ she called, looking over her shoulder towards the back door in case Marty had stirred. Ironically, she knew it would be cider that ensured he slept soundly on the sofa.
Approaching the gap, she stood back, meaning she could only see him, and he her, in shadow. It felt safer that way and provided a distance that made her feel a little more comfortable. Sickness threatened and her limbs shook as if icy. She could see he had slimmed, narrower now across the shoulders and his face a little gaunt. This in stark contrast to the confident, muscled man who had been about to leave for a new life in Oz. To say she felt terrified was an understatement; this was her very worst nightmare come true.
‘I needed to see you.’ He spoke softly.
His words of longing tinged with desire were familiar and intoxicating and she hated the way it made her feel. She was married to Marty – lovely, kind, hardworking Marty who gave his all to keep his little family safe and provided for. A tolerant man, a man who loved her no matter what ...
‘You gave Daisy a big tip. She was very happy.’ Her voice was raspy, not used to chitchat of any kind, and with a quiver to it that belied her nerves.
‘I’m glad she was happy. She’s a good kid.’
‘You don’t know her.’ She looked up. ‘But yes she is, a very good kid.’
‘How are you?’
She heard the snap of a twig as he took a step closer so she took a step backwards, until she was pressed against the kitchen wall, as if aware in that moment of what he represented and, indeed, that the man himself was a very real and present danger. Her mouth was dry, her heart pounding and, screwing her eyes shut briefly, she hoped that when she opened them this whole encounter would be revealed to be no more than the ghastly dream she had often.
‘How are you?’ he repeated, forcing her to open her eyes. This was no dream.
How was she?
