Salvage (11 page)

Despite her make-up, Melanie felt like a drudge.

Helena pulled her to her feet and hugged her tightly. ‘Oh Melanie, I’m so glad it’s you. I didn’t know who it might be.’

‘I just wanted to bring your dress back,’ Melanie offered, pinned in the awkward embrace.

‘I told you to keep it.’ Helena released her. ‘But come in, please. You must stay for a drink.’

Melanie kicked off her sandals, wiped the sand from her feet on the threadbare welcome mat, and followed Helena inside. A single candle lit the room, emphasising the darkness with all the curtains drawn.

‘Sit, please,’ Helena said, throwing the bag towards the sofa. It hit the arm and landed hitting the floor, spilling a patch of dull colour.

Melanie stayed standing as Helena went behind the kitchen counter.

‘Tea? Or perhaps … something stronger?’

‘Sure, yes, thanks. Tea. Tea is fine. Are you feeling better?’

‘Much, much better for your company.’ She put the kettle on to boil, then lit a cone of incense in a nearby saucer. The floral scent jarred against the darker aroma of sickly leaf mould choking the room. Melanie wished she could open a window and let some air and light through.

Helena spooned tea into a pot. ‘You must think me rude for leaving you so quickly last night. I apologise.’

‘Not at all. We’ve all felt sick before, I know how it is.’ Unable even to consider going out, let alone handling all the questions and platitudes. And that worst question of all: when do you think you’ll start trying again?

Maybe she should leave.

‘I’m happy you visited,’ Helena said. ‘I thought perhaps I might have upset you with my dress.’

‘What? Don’t be silly. You looked stunning.’

‘I’m glad. It’s a treat for me to be able to wear something nice, that makes me look like a woman.’

‘Well, you succeeded last night. I’m sure the island will be talking about that outfit for weeks.’ She hoped she didn’t sound too bitter.

‘Good. I don’t want to upset you—you are my only friend. I want you to like me.’

The kettle whistled and Helena took it off the stove. She filled the teapot, put it on a tray with two cups and carried it over to the coffee table. ‘We are out of milk, I’m sorry; I should’ve asked Paul to get some more while he was shopping.’

Melanie followed, taking a seat opposite Helena. She felt uneasy, as if she was back on the barge as it hit the swell of the open passage. Her memory of their kiss clouded her mind, sending her pulse racing, electrifying her skin. Helena poured and Melanie took her cup, determined to drink it quickly and make up an excuse to leave. She needed fresh air. She needed space. Helena was fascinating, but unnerving, and she didn’t want to drag this out any longer than she had to. Why had she come? To return the dress. It had seemed like an important thing to do. Now it lay on the floor at her feet and she felt like she had when she’d been dating Richard for the first time, feeling him stripping her with his eyes.

Helena leaned back in her chair. Her eyes shone with a faint green glow in the candlelight.

‘How have you been, Melanie? You seemed … unsettled last night.’

‘I’m fine. Not sleeping so well. Maybe it’s the weather.’ She sipped her tea, too hot to gulp. She leaned back, trying to mirror Helena’s relaxed pose, to convince herself there was no ulterior motive in her being here. Helena was just a lonely foreign woman who was too direct in expressing herself, and Melanie was too insecure to know how to react. A fresh runnel of sweat trickled down her spine and she bent forward to ease the discomfort.

Helena plucked at Melanie’s sleeve. ‘You always wear such baggy clothes, Melanie. Yet you have a wonderful figure, full, like a woman’s. Me, I have a boy’s body, don’t you think?’

‘Not at all.’ She thought of Richard ogling Helena’s cleavage the night before. He’d spit chips if he thought he’d been drooling over a boy. The idea made her grin.

‘It’s funny?’

‘No, no, it’s nothing. Just remembering something.’

‘So why, Melanie? Even when you swim, you wear your clothes. I find it strange.’

Melanie shrugged, the humidity bearing down on her, the cabin closing in. She put her cup down, her hand shaking.

‘Here.’ Helena kneeled, pushing the coffee table out of the way. ‘It’s all right, Melanie. I am your friend. Your dearest friend.’

She caressed Melanie’s cheeks, her eyes locked on hers. In the semi-darkness, Helena’s face shone like sunlight through dark honey, her teeth bright against her lips. Lips that moved closer. Melanie’s heart thumped in her chest but her limbs were weighted down. The world was dark except for Helena’s eyes and the glint of light on her parted lips, the tip of her tongue. Her lips met Melanie’s. Quietly, gently, patiently pressing against hers. Melanie breathed out and Helena sucked in her breath.

Indecision made a statue of Melanie as she felt the gentle pressure, heard the distant smack as the contact was broken and then resumed, this time with nibbles of lips and teeth, teasing at her mouth sealed tight. She had to leave. This was not right. But she didn’t move, couldn’t move, just breathed and stared into Helena’s eyes. She blinked, the resistance broke; she opened her lips and sighed. Helena’s hands fell to her throat, her shoulders. She worked Melanie’s lips until Melanie returned the pressure.

Helena stood, drew Melanie to her feet and led her upstairs to the bed. By the time Melanie lay down, she was naked. Helena leaned over her, stripping to reveal her lithe, flawless figure, her budded breasts anointed by nipples with no aureole at all, a thick thatch of pubic hair between her legs. 

Good on her for not shaving, Melanie thought, for flying the flag of her maturity. Much to Richard’s chagrin, she hadn’t waxed in months, but that wasn’t defiance: it was camouflage.

And then thoughts of her scar and of Richard fled as Melanie surrendered to Helena’s touch. She saw dark wetness on Helena as she lifted her lips from between Melanie’s quivering legs and straddled her chest. Musk flooded Melanie’s senses. She resisted, momentarily, then fingers found her and she opened again and her tongue moved hungrily of its own volition. Helena clamped Melanie’s face to her groin, grinding into her lapping tongue until she came with a breathless moan.

Melanie lay next to Helena, breathing in the heady scent of dead roses, so strong in the heat of the cabin. She could feel stickiness on her lips and chin, salty when she tasted it. She wanted to wash, but her limbs were limp, and she didn’t want to disturb Helena, lying so restfully beside her, her eyes closed, a faint smile on her lips. A single smear of blood, like smudged lipstick, dotted her chin.

Melanie slowly rolled on to her back, wanting to dissect what had just happened, but wanting also to simply accept and bask in the affection, in the satisfaction. A blowfly, the size of the tip of her finger, buzzed lazily across the ceiling as though eyeing them for a suitable place to land.

She didn’t want to think what Richard would say if he knew—probably something crude about a threesome—or what it meant for them, if it meant anything at all. He was at the pub, sucking down broadband and beer. This had nothing to do with him.

‘What will Paul say?’ Melanie asked.

 Helena smiled, teeth white in the corner of Melanie’s vision. The fly buzzed lower.

‘It’s none of his concern.’

‘Really? He won’t be jealous or angry?’

‘It’s none of his concern,’ she repeated sternly. ‘Don’t be afraid. I won’t let him hurt you.’

Melanie tensed. ‘Hurt me?’ 

The fly spiralled closer, as though sensing her impending death.

‘No one will hurt you.’ Helena’s hand flashed out, a pale blur. There was a crunch as she made a fist in the air, right next to Melanie’s ear. And then she wiped her hand on the sheet, leaving the remains of the blowfly as a smear of guts and wings. ‘Not ever.’

‘I need … I need to pee.’

Melanie hurried downstairs to the bathroom, collecting her discarded clothes on the way, and rinsed her face, relishing the fresh water. She dried off then wrapped the towel around herself while she searched for tampons.

‘What are you looking for, Melanie?’

She started, not having heard Helena’s approach. The woman stood naked, leaning against the jamb.

‘A tampon, a pad … I didn’t think you’d mind.’

‘I don’t use them. I no longer suffer that affliction.’

‘Affliction?’

‘A small benefit of my “illness”. On my home, they expect you will marry and have children, many children, so that they can marry and have children, and on and on. There is no leaving, only breeding. They are like birds or fish that always come back to the one place to have babies. That is the way of it there. But me, I always wanted to see over the ocean, to know what was out there. My … condition … freed me to do that, even if it has restricted me in other ways. I might have been a good mother, but I don’t mind not knowing. I prefer to see this world, even if my own people don’t understand. Even if they hate me for it.’

‘It sounds horrible, though, not to have had the choice.’

‘But I did choose.’

Melanie suspected she’d missed something, but assumed Helena meant she’d chosen to leave rather than stay on her island. She’d eloped, after all. The thought of being childless in a small community with such an abundance of prams… She could understand running away and convincing yourself that you didn’t object, that in fact you had somehow caused it to happen.

‘And Paul doesn’t mind, obviously,’ Melanie offered. ‘That he won’t be a father.’

‘You don’t need to worry about him. I’ll protect you. We will protect each other.’

The comment sparked Melanie’s anxiety once more. She dropped her towel and began to dress, as quickly as she could without appearing scared, and staying side-on to Helena, not wanting to reveal her front nor turn her back. There was an undercurrent here she couldn’t fathom; she was completely out of her depth.

‘Do you really think Paul would hurt me?’

‘He’s possessive. That’s why he brought me here. Somewhere isolated but close to a big city. Somewhere I cannot leave without his help.’

‘Why can’t you leave? Has he hurt you?’

‘No, not really. He just likes to be in control. He doesn’t believe I can survive without him—without someone. He’s afraid that I don’t want him anymore.’

‘But your condition’s not that bad, is it? It’s not as if you can’t walk or talk. Not that that’s … oh, I don’t know what I mean. I don’t understand what he would be worried about. But you and me—Don’t get me wrong, Helena. I really liked sleeping with you. It was … different. Wonderful. Beautiful. But I don’t want any trouble. I don’t want you to get into trouble.’

Helena crossed the distance between them so quickly, Melanie pulled back in surprise. Helena cradled her face. ‘Don’t worry. Nothing will force us apart.’

Melanie took the woman’s hands and stepped free. She eyed Helena’s body that she had enjoyed so intimately. ‘That scratch—did I do that? Did I hurt you?’

A livid mark ran along the inside of Helena’s left thigh. ‘Not at all. It takes a lot to hurt me.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t even realise—’

Helena stepped into her, kissed her lips. ‘I liked giving you my blood. We are one, now, you and I.’

‘Your what?’ Melanie stepped out of the embrace again. ‘Helena, I need to slow this down. I don’t understand what’s happening here—what you think is happening here…’

‘Oh Melanie, isn’t it obvious? We are falling in love.’

‘Love?’

‘Too strong? Too much? You don’t believe in love at first sight?’

‘No, I … I don’t know. Maybe for some.’

‘But not for you. Why do you do this—deny your feelings, your hopes?’

‘I don’t, I’m not. It’s just that this is all so sudden.’ She felt as if she was on a carousel, whirling too fast, way too fast.

‘You fascinate me, Melanie. So much to live for, but walking so close with death.’ She lifted Melanie’s locket by its chain and let it drop with a gentle thud. Melanie covered it protectively with her hand as Helena said, ‘You wear it next to your skin. You live in the past.’

‘How can you say that? How can you presume—? Do you think you know me so well? Just because you found me on the beach. Because we’ve fucked?’

She spat the words out, aiming to offend—the best defence—but the attack failed to penetrate Helena’s implacable demeanour. The words bounced and struck her, hard.

‘Shit, I’m—’

‘Don’t apologise.’ Helena clasped Melanie’s hand, pushing the locket into her breastbone. ‘I have taken you into myself. I have given you a part of myself. We are linked now, you and I. I share your loss, and I can offer you this: you don’t need to feel it again. There is more to life than giving it to another.’

‘I don’t understand what you mean. Are you saying that there’s more to life than being a mother? I realise that. There’s more to being a woman, but that’s not why I wear this. This is all I have left of her. Claudia deserved her chance.’

‘I’m saying I can give you—share with you—life without death. No fear. No loss. The whole world to explore and no reason to rush.’

‘Helena, I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, but it’s freaking me out. I really have to go and try to make sense of all this.’

For a minute, she thought Helena was going to argue with her, but then she stepped away to give her access to the door.

‘Of course, I understand it has all happened very quickly. Please.’ She gestured to the door, followed Melanie through and leaned against the sofa, stroking her stomach languidly as she watched Melanie pull on her serape.

Melanie felt the woman’s eyes on her, both sated and hungry.

‘I’ll see you tonight,’ Helena said as Melanie reached the door.

‘Richard will be home.’

Helena shrugged. ‘Tell me one thing, Melanie: can you drive?’

Melanie blinked, the question taking her from left field. ‘Yeah, sure I can.’

‘Good. That is good. I’ve never learned.’

‘Um, okay. I’ll see you later.’

‘Tonight.’

Melanie stumbled from the hut, so confused she could barely see, let alone breathe. What the hell had she got herself into?