In the Shadow of Satellites (2 page)

But I feel them now. I feel them so deeply, it’s almost as if they are part of me.

The toe of my shoe touches the edge of the earth, the ground falling away steeply beneath it as the hillside tumbles down through the trees to the lake edge, somewhere far below.

I close my eyes and let go of the rock. I could fall here, and no one would find me.

I hold my arms out wide, waiting for gravity to take over, or for James to stop me. Whichever comes first.

I could fall.

Seconds stretch out, time slows down. Suddenly all the energy and the positivity that was bestowed on me today is gone. My heart sinks until it’s resting beside my feet on the mossy soil.

I want to jump, I want to fall, I want to end this. Right now.

“Sian, don’t! Please!”

James’s voice is so clear, it sucks the breath right out of me. It’s as if he’s standing right behind me and I open my eyes and pivot towards his voice in the same movement, grabbing at the rock to keep my balance.

But he’s not here. It’s just me, and the trees, and the ghosts.

I stumble away from the edge, doubling over, falling to my hands and knees on the damp earth, my body tingling with an intense longing. The wet leaves beneath my palms want to swallow me up, and I want to let them.

The walk back to the cottage is slow, one foot striking out in front of the other with dogged determination. It’s not the first time I’ve trusted my life to James. It’s not the first time he’s saved me from losing it, either. I relish the times I can hear his voice. I get the feeling he’s out there, somewhere, beyond the veil, watching over me. I imagine he’s talking to me all the time, only sometimes I can’t hear him. It’s as much comforting as it is heart-breaking.

After my shower, I sit out on the deck in the sunshine with a glass of water and my notebook. I have a pile of notebooks stacked up beneath the window in the kitchen, filled with memories. It started as a form of therapy after the accident, now it’s more than that. I don’t care that I occasionally lose things, only to find them days later, somewhere I don’t remember putting them. I don’t care that sometimes I have no recollection of having had a conversation, or that I sometimes zone out in the middle of one, or that I have to write the most basic of things down on a list on the fridge. I know that my brain injury isn’t going away. This is it. Sometimes it pisses me off, but I deal with it as best I can.

What scares me is that one day, the black hole in my brain will swallow up more than just short-term memories. I’m terrified that one day, my life will disappear in there. Nanna and Grandad, James and I, Kieran – these are the memories I cannot afford to lose. So I write down everything that I can remember, the big things and the small. All of it is important, all of it matters. All of it.

Today’s memory is of Kieran, learning to walk.

He was an early walker, one of the first in his little group of friends to take the leap. He was determined, like his father. James was so proud. I could see Kieran, in my mind’s eye, making his way around the coffee table at ten months old, his chubby little hands co-ordinating with his chubby little legs as he got braver and bolder, letting go from time to time, then grabbing hold again when his balance began to waver. His dark curls and blue eyes are so clear in my memory, it’s as if he’s standing right in front of me.

I wonder what kind of man he would’ve been, had he lived. Would he have been taller than me, like James? Would he have done well at school? What career might he have chosen?

The ringing phone cuts through the silence, and I get up to go and answer it, knowing exactly who it will be. I perch on the arm of the chair nearest the phone, with its antiquated curly cord.

“Hello?”

“It’s me, babe.” Ana, as I suspected. “I’m about fifteen minutes away.”

She’s phoning from her car, and I imagine her winding her way along the road around the lakes, getting ever closer.

“Perfect. I’ll leave now and I should arrive just after you.”

“Sounds great – see you soon. Hey – I bought a surprise for you.”

“What kind of surprise?”

She just laughs, and I can see her in my mind’s eye, shaking her head, an impish smile on her face. I smile in spite of myself.

“Never you mind. You’ll find out soon enough. See you in a few.”

And then she’s gone.

I put my notebook on top of the stack of others on the bookshelf beneath the window, and the pen on top. Routine is important. If I put it somewhere else, I might not remember where it is later. Slipping into my sandals, I pick the boat keys off the key rack beside the back door and make my way outside into the summer afternoon.

Ana’s my breath of fresh air, my bright light shining out from this darkness. She’s my anchor. Our friendship has survived a lot, not the least of which is these past two years. It’s been almost as hard on her as it has been on me.

Opening up the throttle and heading out over the water towards the small store and café on the far shore, I wonder what surprise she has for me this time. In past visits, it was a coffee machine and homemade Baileys and raisin ice cream. Sometimes it was something pretty she’d seen that reminded her of me. She liked to surprise me. I looked forward to Fridays, when she would arrive for the weekend. As much as I wanted to be alone, five days could feel like either an eternity or a heartbeat. Time, again. Inconsistent, unreliable. Good days, bad days.

The water is still and clear blue. Only on the roughest days are there waves to contend with, and today is far from rough. The sun shines down on my bare shoulders as I reach up to hold my white sunhat on my head, easing off the throttle a little bit as the shore comes into sight. A familiar flutter in the pit of my stomach warns me to steel myself because I’m approaching civilisation.

I pull the boat into the small wooden jetty, tie it up and climb out. My keys dangle from my hand in a forced show of indifference as I walk up the jetty towards the shore. People are sitting outside on the veranda of the café, and I bravely ignore them, walking up the wooden stairs and through the tables, entering through the back door. Ana is already there, and she turns to see me the moment she hears the door open.

She squeals with delight, which is a little out of the ordinary, even for her. People turn to look, but I try to pretend I don’t see them. She throws her arms around me and I return the hug.

“Babe! Oh my God!”

Something is definitely up. She’s not this gushy usually.

“Good to see you, too,” I say cautiously as she lets me go.

I glance around and sure enough, everyone is watching us. I pull her off to the side as someone enters the café from the front door. The last thing I want is a spectacle, although she seems completely oblivious.

“What’s up with you?” I ask, before I can stop myself. “Are you high?”

It wouldn’t be the first time. She giggles, her large brown eyes sparkling. Ana doesn’t giggle like a normal person. Her giggle is deep and suggestive, almost erotic. I’ve often wondered what she’s like in bed. I bet she’s wild. From her long black wavy hair to her deeply tanned skin, she is certainly anything but tame. She has a Maori tribal sleeve tattooed down her right arm, from the shoulder almost to her wrist. Her dress sense is best described as a cross between African hippie and homeless prostitute. She lives to shock and she loves to stand out. She has a hundred times more confidence than I ever did, even before.

She loops her arm through mine and turns me around to face the front door of the café. My heart skids to a stop. Standing there, grinning at me, is Chris.

“Shit…” I whisper.

It’s like the past and present are merging together, muddying the waters. I don’t know which is which anymore. Am I dreaming? It wouldn’t be the first time over the past year that I’ve seen something I can’t explain.

Ana giggles again, pulling me tighter.

“Do I know how to keep a secret or what?”

Chris walks towards me with open arms. He looks different, but my unreliable brain is going in several different directions at once, and I can’t make it stop long enough to figure out why. Tears spring up out of nowhere and I can barely see him anymore, but it doesn’t matter. Ana lets go of me and he draws me into his arms, wrapping them around me in the middle of the café, in front of everyone.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to imagine that it’s James, not his best friend, who is holding me so tightly.

I let Ana take the wheel of the boat on the way back home, while Chris and I sit in the back. She takes it slow, so the noise of the outboard isn’t deafening and we can actually talk. I can’t take my eyes off Chris. I’m still trying to convince myself that I’m not dreaming. His mid-brown hair is slightly longer than it used to be, and he has an amazing tan. He also has a beard, which is new. I’ve never seen him with as much as a five o’clock shadow before. His trademark smiling eyes are still the same though. He always looks like he’s about to say something funny, or laughing at some silent joke. I’m sure that’s why he gets away with as much as he does. He’s cheeky, with a wicked streak that sometimes gets him into trouble. Luckily, he can usually talk himself out of it too. In many ways, he and Ana are the same person in different bodies.

“When did you get back?” I ask.

“Christ knows. What day is it today? I’m still on London time, and the flight was a bloody nightmare. I had a two day stopover in Dubai, which is the weirdest place on earth. The whole place is on steroids. It does your head in. Don’t ever go there – you’d hate it.”

I smile weakly, still hardly believing that he’s here. I haven’t seen him since before the accident. He and James were joined at the hip, and I keep looking over his shoulder, half expecting James to be there, even now.

“It’s Friday,” I say.

It must be, because Ana’s here. I feel ridiculously triumphant. He pulls a face, closing one eye and concentrating hard.

“Then two days ago. I’m still jet-lagged as hell. I’ve been sofa-surfing at my brother’s, in Petone. I was gonna hire a car but I couldn’t handle the long drive, so I’m bussing it instead. When I phoned Ana, she said she was coming out to spend the weekend, so I decided to hijack your girly time on my way up to Auckland to see my folks. Hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

His smile fades and he gives me one of his patented stares, as if he’s looking right through me into my soul. It always throws me, that stare.

“You look good,” he says earnestly.

He’s lying. I look like crap.

“So do you.”

He scratches at his beard, frowning.

“What do you think? It was kind of a ‘fuck you’ to the corporate world when I left London. Now it’s just annoying the shit out of me. Itches like a bastard.”

“I like it,” I smile. “It suits you.”

He smiles back. We just sit there for what feels like far too long, smiling awkwardly at each other as the boat ferries us across the lake, Ana at the helm. Then he reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing tight. His brown eyes cloud over, and I know what he’s thinking.

“It’s good to see you,” he says.

I look down at my hand in his because it’s easier than seeing the pain in his eyes. I don’t want to see anyone else’s pain. I can barely handle my own. I look up at him again, making myself smile, even though my face feels frozen.

“You too.”

I get that feeling again, like James is missing. He should be here for this, for Chris’s homecoming. Like so many other times during the past year, it feels wrong to be here without him.

“Hey, there’s your neighbour,” Ana says, easing off the throttle some more so that the boat slows to a crawl. “Hard at work, I see. Doesn’t the guy ever stop?”

Chris lets go of my hand and slips his sunglasses on, as we all turn and look over into the property next to mine. It’s the only decent view we have because his property, like mine, is only accessible by boat. He’s hammering, still. He has a small orange pup tent set up on the right hand side of the old cottage, right beside a fire-pit. We can’t see much from the water, but we can see he’s going to be busy for a while yet. I don’t envy him.

“He’s keen,” says Chris, with an amused laugh. “Or a sucker for punishment – not sure which.”

Just then, my neighbour steps back from the cottage and turns towards us. Before I can stop her, Ana waves.

“Afternoon!” she yells, her voice carrying easily across the water.

I want to crawl into the hull of the boat and hide, but it’s too late for that. I wave weakly in his direction, as does Chris. My neighbour waves back, then returns to his work.

“He seems friendly enough,” Ana says, as we coast closer to the small wooden jetty in front of my own cottage.

Chris stands up, causing the boat to rock sharply from side to side.

“Whoa,” he says, grabbing onto my shoulder to steady himself. He surveys the cottage, sliding his sunglasses up into his hair. “Jesus, this place hasn’t changed a bit, has it?”

“That’s the way we like it,” she says, grinning at him as if it’s her place he’s talking about.

I understand, though. The cottage is almost as much theirs as it is mine. When James and I lived in Wellington, the cottage became the ideal getaway. Ana lived half an hour away in Rotorua, and Chris would often stay with us on his way to or from visiting his parents in Auckland. We’d plan long weekends and lazy weeks here together, even after Kieran was born.

We climb from the boat onto the jetty, and Ana and I grab the bags of groceries she’s brought with her, while Chris lumbers along behind us with his oversized, battered backpack. I remember when he bought it. It looks very much the worse for wear now, after two years of being hauled around the world. James and I had chosen to settle down in Wellington and save for a house rather than travel overseas. If we’d taken the same route as Chris and most other twenty-somethings, would he still be here, with Kieran? Would we have cheated death – all of us, not just me?

“Hey,” Chris said, coming up behind me. “You okay?”