I hear my stepfather’s voice from the kitchen, pulling me abruptly awake. My parents’ home is a Queenslander home, a weatherboard box. Every word spoken above a whisper travels right through the house.
‘Some time in the early hours, just before the storm,’ Mum answers.
‘Good job we had the guttering cleared.’ My spine relaxes against the mattress. I’m never a topic of conversation for very long. ‘How long d’you reckon she’ll be here, she did say she’s staying, didn’t she? Did Shane make her see sense?’
My mother’s words are pitched lightly to placate. ‘She didn’t say anything in her email. Just that she was coming back for a while.’
‘Bloody typical, and inconsiderate, to boot. She’d better get herself sorted, see the fella. Put this thing straight.’
‘She’s bound to have seen sense, Geoff. I’ll call Shane. Let him know she’s back, in case she hasn’t had time.’
I pull the pillow over my head, smothering their words. I want to yell, shout that I’m not a child to be bullied into behaving how they see fit. The overwhelming urge to be in my mother’s arms diminishes quickly, switching off like last night’s storm. One minute, rain beating down hard and fast, and the next, nothing. A moment of absolute peace before the sounds of nature returned.
What was I thinking?
I’ve been here five minutes longer than I should. Running away, running back—none of it seems like such a good idea now.
Relaxing my grip on the pillow, I will myself back into the oblivion of sleep.
I wake later with the pillow still over my head. The house is quiet as I move from my bed and slip into the shower, the water a welcome relief before I have to open my case to view the chaos inside. Mismatched items and odd socks tell of the disorder in my mind. I never should’ve left; I should have gone to bed and let tomorrow be another day. As it is, tomorrow is now several days past, through time zones and travelling. I wonder if he’s realised I’ve gone. Wonder if he’s missed me, before I feel sick, thoughts moving from one to another until I see her head once again in his lap.
Rejection. It forces me back to the bathroom where I retch to be sick.
If he wants me, it’s not enough. He obviously thought he could have us both, but which both? A wife and Sofia? A wife and me? I take my head in my hands and almost scream.
In shorts and a tee, I slip out of the door, the light blinding and catching me off guard. There’s something about the quality of light in Australia, something I’d forgotten about. It’s all power and endlessness and I discover it’s entirely possible not to be seduced into happiness by the sun.
At the beach, I sit on the loamy soil beneath the pines and watch people come and go. Surfers, joggers, lifeguards, and kids skateboarding in the park. Sun filters through the tall Norfolk Pines, dappling light across the ground and making a patchwork of lace across my limbs. My treacherous memory recalls a cream leather-lace that binds.
I don’t want to go home and have no idea what to do next. I’m empty; all cried out, the veracity of my mistakes still stinging. I just want to climb back into bed and surrender to the urge to sleep. So I decide I will.
At home, my return is timed to perfection. They’ve gone out for an early dinner.Thanks for inviting me, guys. I scribble a note and stick it to the fridge using a magnet that proclaims,Smile! And it might never happen!But it already did.
My note tells them I have jet-lag, and probably flu. It’ll keep them at bay for a while longer, at least.
I crawl into bed, fully clothed, and sleep like the dead.
‘Katie?’ My name, but not quite right, pulls at me, dragging me from the thickness of sleep.
‘Kai?’ I croak. My mouth feels like it belongs to the dead. The room is dark, the only light falls from the hall, cutting an arc across the floor. My eyelids flutter, adjusting. I miss him, the weight of his body against the bed, the feel of him under my hands. He woke me and he’s not even here.
‘Yeah, babe, I’m okay. ‘Specially now you’re back home.’
I stiffen with the realization that this isn’t a dream. That’s not Kai sitting on the end of my bed. Those aren’t his hands laid on my feet.
‘It’s gonna be okay. Go back to sleep, I’ll still be here.’ The voice speaks softly as though to soothe, but it has the opposite effect. I close my eyes and will away the hallucination.If I can’t see him, he’s not there.
I stir again. It’s dark still and I’m alone as my consciousness gnaws me fully awake. It’s so hot and my room has no air. I kick off the sheet and pad to the window, cracking it open along with the blind. I stare for a moment at the night sky, the jewelled blanket above, recalling another starlit night, one that scalds my brain. A night of promises that turned to grains of sand in the light.
Slipping off my shorts, I switch on the fan, sinking back into the bed and the darkness. But a restlessness fills me now, seeping into my bones, tightening my muscles. I turn abruptly, hauling myself onto my back, my damp shirt clinging to my skin.
I can’t sleep, my mind brimming and overflowing. Thoughts and images cruelly plucked; pictures parading like a show. My hands touch my thighs, skin rebellious in its response. Skimming higher, fingers brush my breasts and I inhale sharply from the spectral lingering of his touch. Tears begin to leak and flow once more as I outline his body by memory, my fingers longing to do so in the flesh.
Longing and restiveness ease me from my bed. I pull out my laptop, placing it onto my knee as my phone is flat and the charger’s still in Dubai.
I have an email from Niamh and nothing else, the disappointment a heavy, weighty thing. My reply is one of vague reassurance because I can’t tell her the truth.
Back in bed, I find I can’t sleep anymore and I can barely think.
