Salvage (5 page)

She almost slipped over when she opened her eyes to find Helena watching her through the misted glass. The woman held up a bundle of white cloth: ‘I think this might fit. Although you are much larger than me.’ She indicated her breasts with a gesture that might have been an apology.

‘I’m sure it will be fine, thank you.’ She held one hand across her breasts, the other across her groin, but Helena’s eyes stayed fixed on her own. 

‘I will take your clothes and make tea.’

She left the door open behind her.

Melanie washed the last of the sand from her feet and bum, allowed another quick spray across her shoulders, then stepped out and, once she’d shut the door again, towelled off. An empty hook and patch of colour marked where a mirror probably had hung on the wall; the only other one she could find was hand-sized, sticking out of a leather toiletry bag on the bench. She kept one towel turbaned around her hair. Helena had given her a long sundress dotted with daffodils. It hung loosely around her hips and breasts, making her wonder how svelte Helena managed to keep it on. The topmost button was missing, allowing the sleeveless dress to hang open, revealing her locket and more cleavage than she was comfortable showing. It hadn’t always been that way—she revealed more when she went dancing. Correction.
Had
revealed more when she
had
gone dancing. Richard never took her to clubs any more. Too busy working, too much to do. And now her friends were having babies, so even a girls’ night out was getting harder to arrange. She missed nightclubs, that feeling of looking fabulous and losing oneself in the beat. Of laughing and teasing and coming home late with aching calves and sore toes and a head full of music going round and round.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the main room. More candles flickered on coffee tables and window ledges, giving the room a welcoming glow. A classical string piece played softly on the stereo. Helena sat on the sofa, a mug in her hands, another sitting on the table beside a teapot. The smell of the brew tickled Melanie’s nostrils, reminding her she’d skipped lunch. And breakfast.

Clean and warm, her muscles drained, Melanie slumped into the nearest armchair facing Helena and poured herself a cup. Her hand shook with the weight of the pot. She tucked her legs up and smoothed the hem of the daffodil dress across her knees. It smelt faintly dusty and was a little worn, but it felt lived in—comfortable.

The first swallow of tea made her gag as it hit her sore throat and stomach, but then the heat suffused her body and she began to relax.

‘There,’ Helena said. ‘You are alive now. I can hear your heart beating.’

Melanie laughed, too fatigued to query the woman’s words. Lost in translation, perhaps.

Helena leaned across to touch a lock of hair that had escaped the towel and dangled against Melanie’s cheek. ‘Would you like me to comb it for you?’ She let the moist strands run through her fingers.

‘It’s fine,’ Melanie said. ‘Honest. It’s not like there’s anyone around to see it, hey?’ She tucked her hair into the towel, pulled her knees up more tightly, clutched her teacup like a shield.

Helena bit her lip and leaned back. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’

Melanie smiled apologetically. ‘No, it’s okay, honestly. I’m not used to having people do my hair. I think I’m still a little shaken…’

‘I like to have my hair combed,’ Helena said. ‘It is easier than doing it yourself.’

The sound of a vehicle interrupted them. Helena’s eyes widened in alarm. Melanie’s heartbeat quickened.

‘What is it?’

‘My husband must be home. He won’t like finding you here. He doesn’t like me to have company.’

‘He what?’ A burst of outrage cut through Melanie’s lethargy. Being too busy to go clubbing was one thing; being kept a prisoner in your own home was quite another.

‘It is old fashioned, but he worries about my health. I’m sorry, but you must leave.’ She stood, twisting her fingers, her eyes darting from Melanie to the door as the sound of the vehicle grew louder. Headlights flashed across the window, the front door, making Helena seem even more ashen.

Melanie levered herself out of the chair to peer out the window.

‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I recognise that truck. It’s Jack.’

‘Jack? Oh.’ Helena broke into a relieved smile. ‘That is all right, then.’ She went to the door.

Heavy thuds sounded on the stairs; timber creaked as a figure loomed outside the glass. A cigarette glowed redly, like a lone demon’s eye. 

Helena slid the door open before Jack could knock.

‘Hello, Mr Robinson.’

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, young lady, but I’m wondering if you’ve seen—ah, I see you have. Hi, Mel.’

Melanie saluted Jack with her cup as he took in her ensemble of dress and towel.

‘Everything okay?’ he asked. Melanie blushed, realising she must look a mess in her over-sized dress, no make-up, tired and half-drowned.

‘Went for a dip.’ She collapsed back into her chair, lacking the energy to stand any longer, let alone explain.

Jack dropped his cigarette and toed it out. He removed his cap before he entered. Friday’s barking carried from outside, pounding into Melanie’s fuzzy mind with all the annoyance of a hammer on a nail.

‘Damn Friday,’ Jack said. ‘Not used to night-time adventures.’ He offered an uncertain grin. ‘I was just heading back from the pub and saw the lights on here, so thought I’d pop in and make sure everything was okay.’

Melanie studied him over the rim of her cup. ‘Richard rang you, didn’t he?’

Jack twisted his cap in his hands, nodded.

Melanie shook her head, spilling a tiny wave of tea over the lip. She licked it up. Helena stood beside her.

‘Richard?’ Helena asked.

‘My husband. He got called back to Brisbane on business.’

Jack put his cap back on. ‘Since I’m here, can I give you a lift to your cabin?’

‘Sure.’ Melanie put her cup down, unwrapped her hair and held out the towel to Helena. ‘Thanks for the tea and everything.’ 

Helena let the towel fall to the floor and hugged Melanie fiercely, then pecked her on both cheeks. ‘Thank you for visiting, Melanie. Maybe I will see you again soon?’

‘I’d like that,’ Melanie said, automatically, and realised she meant it. ‘You know, you should put a coat on, Helena. You’re freezing.’

‘Oh? I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Your chariot awaits.’ Jack gestured her outside. Friday tangled in his leash as he chased his tail in the back of the Rover, still barking non-stop. The noise jagged at Melanie’s hearing, making her wince.

‘Stupid mutt,’ Jack said.

Helena waved from the doorway as Melanie scrambled into the cab. Jack hit the starter, cranked the four-wheel-drive into gear and headed for Eden. The dog stopped barking once they were moving, content to run from one side of the tray to the other, hanging his head out the side, drooling.

‘Everything okay?’ Jack asked again, his eyes flicking to Melanie’s before returning to the road. He smelled of cigarettes and fish, a hint of whiskey on his breath along with the tobacco.

‘Sure. I just didn’t plan on getting wet, that’s all. Oh shit. My clothes. I left my clothes…’

‘Get them later,’ Jack said. ‘We’re almost home and you look like you could use a good, long sleep.’

‘True,’ she said. ‘I’m knackered.’

‘You know, if Richard doesn’t make it back tomorrow, you can come have dinner with me. I might throw a line in, see if the whiting are biting.’ He winked.

‘That’s sweet of you, Jack. We’ll see.’

He didn’t say anything, making a show of concentrating on the twisting road as they cut between the thin tree trunks. He left the headlights on when they pulled up at the cabin and walked Melanie to the door. Friday stood in the tray, hackles up, ears cocked.

Melanie reached for the door handle, then realised she didn’t have her keys. Had she even locked up?

‘Let me.’ Jack opened the door for her. ‘I don’t get to play the gentleman very often.’

‘Thanks.’ She made a mental note to get down to the beach early and retrieve her stuff. She’d have to wash Helena’s dress, too, before she took it back to swap it for her own clothes. That would give her something to do in the morning, at least.

‘You sure you’re all right here by yourself? Friday and me can stay the night if you’d like.’

‘Honest, I’m fine. Helena was very kind to me. I enjoyed her company, actually.’

‘She’s a fair young thing, isn’t she.’

‘Did her husband say what was wrong with her?’

‘Not in any detail.’

‘She seemed … worried … about him finding me with her,’ Melanie said hesitantly, hoping she wasn’t telling tales out of school, but curious just the same.

‘Really? Seemed fine at the house when they checked in, though she did stay in the car. Overprotective, perhaps? He said something about her not being well. Some disease or another. Said she needs lots of rest and can’t handle the heat.’

‘She’s visiting the wrong state then, isn’t she?’

‘That she is,’ Jack agreed. ‘Should’ve gone to Tassie, hey? Still, if you want to get away from it all, the island is just the place.’ He inspected her once more, as though searching for evidence of what had really happened, something he could report back to Richard. Melanie felt annoyed at the scrutiny, and embarrassed: Richard had felt the need to check up on her, and had actually had reason to.

‘Next time I feel like a late night dip, I’ll settle for a bath.’ She forced a chuckle but it sounded brittle.

‘Good idea. You sure you don’t need anything?’ Jack asked. ‘Soup? Tea? Maybe I should—’

‘I’m okay, honestly. It was nothing, Jack. Nothing. I’m fine, okay?’ She held the man’s hands in hers, squeezing them to show how hale she was, desperate to have her cabin to herself now, to be able to collapse and sleep forever. ‘And please, if he rings again, don’t tell Richard. He doesn’t need … he won’t understand. His plate’s full enough as it is.’

‘Nothing to tell,’ Jack agreed. ‘But I might pop by tomorrow, see how you’re going. Okay?’

‘Please, you don’t have to do that.’

He seemed poised to argue, so she added, ‘But I’ll make sure there’s a beer in the fridge. Goodnight Jack, and thanks for the lift.’ She rushed inside, shut the door and managed to hold off the outburst of tears until he’d driven off. The last thing she heard before she switched off the light and collapsed onto the bed was Friday, barking over the growl of the Rover’s fading engine, to be replaced by the irrepressible wash of the tide.

The next morning, her mind was in so much turmoil Melanie could only sprawl on the bed with her palms over her eyes. The overcast morning was too bright, the birds too loud. She wished she’d thought to close the curtains last night before collapsing into bed.

The events of the previous day strobed through her fatigued mind. Richard, the phone call, the beach, Helena…

And now she had her period, earlier than expected. Great.
Kick a girl while she’s down, why don’t you.

She’d have to see Helena, if she wanted her clothes back. But then, the bottoms were gone and the t-shirt was old. She could just lie here, feeling depressed. That was what this was, right? The old black dog nipping at her heels, sitting on her chest, stealing her breath. She’d considered talking to a shrink. But for what? The social worker at the hospital had been quite enough. It wasn’t as if counselling would bring Claudia back. She would heal, in time—if she stayed away from the ocean, apparently. Or regardless. The ocean hadn’t wanted her.

Helena’s sundress seemed to glow where it lay draped over the back of a chair. Melanie should return it.

A knock on the door startled her. She pulled the sheet up around her throat.

What was the time? Who could it be? Richard? Had Jack called Richard and told him … everything? Tears ran down her cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. She didn’t want to deal with Richard now: the accusation, the disappointment. And the smell of Leanne on him, salt in the wound.
You couldn’t even kill yourself and let me be free to be happy.

The knocking came again. A shape moved on the deck. A face peered through the window. 

‘Melanie—are you in there?’

Helena.

Melanie’s locked joints loosened, her lungs sucked in air. Her tears stopped as quickly as they’d started. She rubbed her cheeks, feeling the stickiness.

Her dry throat refused to work on the first try, but she kept at it until she was able to croak, ‘Just a minute.’

She squirmed out of bed, dug through the drawers for clothes and hurried to the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror showed a train wreck. She splashed water, gargled to ease her parched throat, teased her hair with the brush until some kind of order had been restored. It was in moments like this she wished she’d kept her hair short; it had been, back when she’d been pregnant. She’d thought having short hair would be a good idea, one less thing to worry about while nursing. Richard had loved her long hair. Now it just tickled her shoulders, neither long nor short. She wrenched her hair into a miserable ponytail with a vow to cut it as soon as she got back to Brisbane. Maybe get it coloured: black, perhaps, like Helena’s. It would go well with the permanent dark circles around her eyes.

Helena called again.

‘Coming,’ Melanie shouted, and dressed quickly in three-quarter pants and a daggy t-shirt after swearing at the bra clip that defied her for longer than it should’ve.

One more glance in the mirror: chafed lips, sunken cheeks, red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes. Lovely.

When she re-entered the main room, Helena was a white blob pressed to the glass. Melanie waved and the woman returned the gesture.

She heaved the bed covers up, gave them a quick, ineffectual smooth, donned a long-sleeved shirt and went to the door. A cloud of flies buzzed in and she dodged backwards, swiping frantically.

Helena, her face indistinct under her veiled hat, was clad in all-white, from her lace-edged gloves to the dust-rimmed skirt hiding her feet.

‘I brought your clothes, Melanie,’ Helena said, offering a paper shopping bag with string handles.

‘Oh, how kind. Thanks.’ She took the bag and ushered Helena in. ‘Come inside, away from these mongrel flies. I’ve never seen them this bad, except at Christmas.’