Salvage (7 page)

Helena gripped Melanie’s hand so hard she thought her fingers would snap. The woman pressed herself into Melanie’s side. Friday started yapping when he was halfway across the distance between them, then pulled up in a puff of sand a couple of metres away. His brown eyes fixed on Helena as he lifted his tail, dug his front paws in and barked like a machinegun.

The woman stumbled back, clinging to Melanie’s arm. 

Melanie shouted, ‘Friday, what the hell’s got into you? It’s me, you stupid mutt. Stop it!’

Jack jogged up, calling his dog, but Friday kept jagging from side to side, his sharp, incessant yaps slicing across the wind. Jack nudged the dog with the bucket, then put it down so he could cuff him around the head. He took a solid hold on Friday’s collar. The dog’s hackles stayed high and he kept growling, his lips pulled back to show his yellow-white teeth.

‘What’s got into him?’ Melanie asked, aware of the tremble in her voice. She’d known Friday since he was a pup; he’d never done this before.

‘Must be the storm,’ Jack said. ‘He hasn’t frightened you, has he?’

‘Just a shock. I hope he’s all right,’ Melanie said.

‘Maybe he’s getting like his owner—not used to company.’ Jack shook his head. ‘You should probably think about turning back, too. That storm’s gonna break before dark, I’d say.’

Melanie nodded, her gaze darting from Friday to Jack. ‘We were just going to check out the bunker.’

‘Don’t stay too long. She’s gonna be a good ’un.’ He gestured with his rod, even as the dog threatened to pull him off-balance with his aggravated pawing. At least the dog had stopped barking. ‘Good Friday,’ Jack chuckled.

The clouds were massive now, tumbling over themselves in their haste to get to shore. A misty wall of rain closed off the horizon.

‘Anyway,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve got my dinner and I’m taking this dumb mutt home. Don’t get wet.’ He gave them an apologetic grin and, juggling bucket and rod in one hand, he hauled Friday after him, the dog anxiously peering behind as he was dragged away. Melanie fancied she could hear the dog’s whining even after the pair had become mere shapes in the haze.

‘Maybe we should go back,’ she said to Helena. 

The woman still clung to Melanie’s arm, her eyes wide and wet and dark.

‘My God, Helena, are you all right?’

‘I’m sorry, but the dog, it scared me. It really scared me, Melanie.’

‘He’s gone now.’ She hugged Helena in close, could feel her trembling.

‘I’m sorry, Melanie, to be such a baby. I was bitten, when I was little. Dogs—they terrify me.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ She held Helena until her anxiety eased. ‘C’mon, let’s head back. I’ll make you a hot drink.’

‘I … I really need to sit down, I think.’

‘Well…’ Melanie cast an eye to where the storm loomed. The clouds glowed with lightning, as though a distant war was being fought inside them and only the muzzle flashes could be seen. She couldn’t hear thunder, but she knew it was coming. The wind chilled to the bone. She had no doubt that Jack was on the money when he said the storm would be a big one. ‘I guess we can get out of the wind at the bunker, hey? It’s just around that corner of dune. Will that be all right?’

‘Yes, yes, let’s go there.’

Helena supported herself on Melanie’s shoulder, seeming to draw courage from her proximity. Melanie put an arm around the woman’s shoulder and felt Helena’s hand circle her waist. Their hips rubbed together as they walked, and Melanie was surprised by how much she enjoyed the companionship—more than that, of being able to help someone.

Thunder rumbled and they ran up the dune, stumbling but not letting go of each other.

The bunker, a solid square of off-white concrete, appeared more resigned than resolute where it squatted on the foreshore, surrounded by a haphazard four-strand wire fence and lopsided posts. Wind-driven sand hissed around its base and stung Melanie’s calves like needles. Narrow slits in the thick concrete walls eyed the approaching storm from behind a mask of bars and mesh.

They fumbled their way through the sagging wires and made their way around the back. A barred gate blocked the doorway into the bunker, but at least they were sheltered from the wind. Melanie panted from the effort and excitement; Helena returned her grin but didn’t seem breathless at all.

Rust stains leaked from the gate’s hinges. The alcove stank of stale piss. ‘Can we get in?’ Helena asked.

Melanie rattled the gate, pointed to a chain fastened with a bronze-coloured padlock as big as her palm. 

‘Let me.’ Helena reached past and tugged. There was a sharp crack above the roll of thunder and roar of wind and crash of surf. The gate screeched opened.

‘Wow,’ Melanie said.

‘Rust,’ Helena said. ‘Everything rusts at the beach. The door will be the same.’

‘We shouldn’t go in,’ Melanie said. ‘It’s probably a protected site or something.’

‘It smells out here.’ Helena leaned against the door as though listening for a heartbeat, then pushed. A crack was followed by the definite, single thud of a piece of concrete hitting the ground. The heavy steel door, as thick as Melanie’s wrist, grudgingly opened into the darkness of the bunker.

The rank scent of mould rolled out to meet them.

Melanie dropped her sandals and slipped her feet into them. ‘Watch your step,’ she told Helena. ‘Let me go first, in case there’s something sharp.’

She crept into the murk, feeling her way with hesitant pokes of her sandalled feet. She felt twigs and rough nodules that might’ve been chipped concrete, pebbles or broken glass. An aluminium can clattered when she kicked it. Dim light penetrated through the deep, mesh-covered window slits, revealing a doorway to a second room facing the sea. Cold wind whistled through the gaps. A thrum overhead announced the rain had arrived.

‘We made it just in time,’ Melanie told Helena. ‘Listen to that. It’s really coming down!’

Helena bumped into her, pushing her up against the wall. Her lips found Melanie’s, a chaste brush tasting of salt. And before Melanie could react, Helena’s lips pressed against hers once more, this time lingering, firm yet soft, moist and teasing. Helena’s hands found her shoulders, then her tangled hair, holding her as she explored Melanie’s frozen mouth and slowly thawed it out. Melanie’s groin flamed with the contact of Helena’s hip. She groaned as her surprise, her resistance, melted into the simple pleasure of surrender. Her tongue met Helena’s; her hands, clumsy with cold and excitement, grasped at the woman’s clothes and the cool flesh underneath.

Helena’s breath gusted hot on her cheek and throat. They clung as the storm raged against the concrete. Helena’s hands moved to Melanie’s hips, her ribs, her breasts. 

The touch stole Melanie’s breath. Helena caressed her, gentle but needful, unlike Richard’s rampant pawing. Melanie felt her legs go weak even as her nipples hardened. 

Helena’s hands plucked at Melanie’s t-shirt, lifting the cloth, cool fingers brushing bra and breast. Her fingers moved lower, across Melanie’s stomach, angling towards her groin.

‘Oh God, I’ve got my period,’ Melanie whispered.

‘I know.’

Helena’s lips were on her throat, her collarbone, back to her throat, teasing at her flesh. Lightning flashed, painting the walls and floor with brightness, finding old splashes of graffiti, the suggestion of litter around the charred circle of a long-extinct fire. 

A man’s voice called from outside. 

Richard! A torch beam flashed against the stone.

The women broke apart, forehead to forehead, as Melanie smoothed her clothes with panicked thrusts, then scrambled to button her over-shirt.

‘Do you mind?’ Helena whispered, her voice so fragile against the tumult of the wind and rain.

‘No, not at all,’ Melanie said. ‘It was just … just the storm. Don’t worry about it.’ She stepped away as Richard’s voice boomed again from the doorway.

She squinted in the beam of his flashlight as he entered the room. Helena threw up a hand protectively.

‘There you are.’ He wiped water from his face and flicked it away. ‘Didn’t you hear me calling?’

‘We were just getting out of the storm,’ Helena said. ‘Can you see my hat? I dropped it.’

‘How did you know where we were?’ Melanie asked, folding her arms across her chest. The air seemed colder for Helena’s absence. Her lips and mouth still tingled.

‘I bumped into Jack up at the cabin. He said you were heading this way and I thought I might be able to give you a lift. It’s pissing down out there. Anyway, let’s go. Don’t want you girls catching your death.’

Helena laughed, her hand brushing Melanie’s hip as she followed them outside. ‘No,’ she said, ‘that’s the last thing we want to do.’

The wipers battled to keep the windshield clear as rain drummed on the roof. The silver laser beams of their headlights jagged as the Jeep bounced along the wheel ruts in the island road. Melanie huddled in the passenger seat, her saturated hair dripping down her back. She quivered as branches scratched along the sides and roof of the vehicle. Richard wrestled with the wheel while trying to shout a conversation with Helena, who sat in the back seat behind Melanie.

He was looking over his shoulder a lot, Melanie thought; she wished he’d concentrate on the road. The sand was notoriously slippery, the track narrow and the rain and wind altogether too scary. She felt sure every time he glanced past her to Helena he must be seeing marks where the woman had touched her. Had kissed her.

God, what had they been thinking? What had
she
been thinking?

She was saturated—they’d all taken a soaking getting to the Jeep—and cold and confused, trying to decide if she was thankful or disappointed that he’d arrived when he had, and what either would mean. Helena wasn’t showing any sign of similar confusion, managing to answer Richard’s barrage of inquiries despite the racket inside the cab.

By the time they drove past the turnoff to Eden, he’d managed to find out that Helena was from Europe, was married, was visiting Australia for the first time and loved the island.

By the time they’d reached Helena’s, he was inviting her and Paul to dinner. An SUV was parked near the cabin; light glowed behind the curtained windows.

‘What do you say?’ he asked. ‘Tomorrow night?’

‘I will have to ask Paul, but I would like it. Thank you for the drive.’ She leaned forward to touch Melanie’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for a lovely afternoon. I hope we can see each other again soon. If not for dinner, then another time.’

‘I’d like that,’ Melanie mumbled. She noticed Richard’s gaze, lingering on Helena’s dress, the dark points of her nipples clearly pressing through the saturated material, and wondered if her own body was betraying her recent, surprising dalliance. Maybe he would pass it off as a result of the cold.

Rain gusted in as Helena pushed the door open and stepped out, the cab rocking with the impact as the door slammed shut. They watched the white figure run on tiptoes to the stairs and pause to wave from the deck before vanishing inside.

‘Nice girl,’ Richard said.

‘Yes.’

‘Good to see you making a friend, Mel. It’ll be nice to have a proper chat, hey?’

‘Sure.’

‘Everything all right?’

‘Other than being soaked and freezing, it’s all good.’

‘Home then. Let’s get you out of those clothes.’ 

She shuddered, but then realised he hadn’t intended any innuendo. Richard concentrated on driving as he pushed the vehicle into gear and spun a tight circle, spearing them back into the night and rain, heading for Eden.

Melanie stood in the shower, luxuriating in the fall of steaming water over her shoulders and back. The bathroom door opened, the sound faint amid the hum of rain on the roof, the splash of the shower.

Richard pulled the shower door open. ‘Got enough room for me?’

His slick hair glistened. He’d taken his shirt off in expectation, or maybe just because it was saturated.

‘Sure,’ she said, stepping back from the stream to hide her naked front. Had she really let Helena grope her in that sordid bunker? Had she really welcomed that attention?
No chance of getting pregnant
, she thought, and bit it down, aware of Richard, now naked, stepping in, studying her. ‘I’m almost done, anyway,’ she added.

‘What’s this?’ he asked, a hand nudging her hair from her shoulder.

‘What’s what?’ God, the panic in her voice!

‘A scratch. It’s bleeding.’ He kissed it.

‘Probably a sandfly bite.’ She couldn’t see it, but felt a gentle sting where his lips touched her nape.

‘Hm, I haven’t noticed any. Not tonight. Not with all that rain.’

‘Maybe it was from earlier. Damn things never heal cleanly.’ She held herself still, his touch refreshing the recent memory of Helena’s lips and fingers, and her body’s urgent response. 

She flinched as she felt Richard’s hardening cock press against her. Forced herself to relax, to just let go. His hands circled to grasp her breasts, roll her nipples between his finger and thumb. Pleasure shot through her. A sigh escaped her lips. She put her hands against the wall, the shower spilling down her back, and opened her legs. Then slammed them shut.

‘Oh shit, oh shit,’ she said as he pushed against her. ‘My period.’

He paused, reluctantly, quivering, then pulled back. ‘Timing, Mel.’

She rounded on him. ‘I didn’t plan it this way.’

‘Of course not. That’s not… Oh, fuck.’ He leaned back, hand to his forehead. His rampant cock speared from the nest of his pubic hair.

‘Can you wait a minute? We
are
in the shower.’ 

 He peered back, face runnelled with water, cheeks red, eyes lustful. He nodded.

She stepped out, not caring about the water she sloshed on the bathroom floor, and crouched over the toilet. The tampon came out scarlet. She ransacked the cabinet for sanitary bags and dropped the packet in the little swing-top bathroom bin. Blood spotted her fingers and she rinsed them under the sink. When she’d finished, Richard was out of the shower with his towel around his shoulders.

Her confidence deflated, punctured by disappointment. 

He handed her a towel. ‘Come to bed.’ His cock still arrowed towards her.