Salvage (9 page)

Paul led Helena to the door. ‘Her hat, would you please?’

Melanie retrieved Helena’s hat and handed it to her. A shock leapt between them as their fingers touched.

‘Into the shade once more, into the dark,’ Helena said as the veil fell. 

‘Thank you for being so kind to my wife,’ Paul said. ‘I hope she’ll be better in time for dinner tonight.’

‘I hope so, too.’

They stepped outside and made their farewells to Richard, then walked down to the compact four-wheel-drive that had been parked outside their cabin the night before. It had a rental company sticker on the rear window.

‘Nice couple,’ Richard said as they drove off. ‘A little strange, but nice.’

‘Yes,’ Melanie said.

‘Helena seems quite taken with you.’

‘Hey?’

‘She seems to like you.’

‘Like Paul said, she’s lonely here. I guess another woman…’

He hugged her. ‘Slight change of plan. We’re having dinner at the pub.’

‘I thought they were coming here.’

‘It’ll save us the bother of playing host. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘I guess not. You’ll want me to drive back, I take it?’

‘Sure, if you want to. I wouldn’t mind a few drinks. But I don’t think we need to worry about the boys in blue out here, eh.’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘Well, let’s not fret about it right now.’ Richard put his arm around her shoulder as he stared towards the beach. ‘So how was your sunbake?’

She followed his gaze, remembering that first glimpse of Helena, naked in the sunset, and stepped out of his embrace. ‘It was fine. Did you finish your project yet?’

‘I kind of got sidetracked when Paul and Helena arrived. He wanted to thank us for saving her from the storm.’ He shook his head, as though confused by such a gesture. ‘But I should be done in time for dinner. We can celebrate, hey? Us and…’ His brow wrinkled. ‘Do you know their last name?’

‘No, I never thought to ask.’

He nodded. ‘We’ll find out tonight.’

‘I guess. I’m going to have something to eat. You hungry?’

‘Famished.’ He reached for her but she sidestepped and headed for the kitchen. 

‘I’ll get you something. You go finish your project. We wouldn’t want to be late for dinner.’

 ‘Geez, Mel, I was just being friendly. I thought you liked the girl.’

‘And so do you, apparently. Ham all right?’

‘Fine, whatever. I think I’ll have another beer.’

Melanie ate a sandwich and washed it down with wine, then put the laundry on. She stumbled across the bag that Helena had brought and wondered what to do with the clothes. She certainly didn’t want to wear them. Finally, she unpacked them into the bottom drawer by the bed, then dug between the folds and re-checked the bag.

‘What is it?’ Richard asked from behind his computer, his voice edged with concern, or maybe slight irritation.

‘Nothing,’ she said. So Helena hadn’t returned her knickers—it was no big deal. Probably too embarrassed. She imagined the woman picking them up with tongs and dropping them in the bin. She imagined the pale blue cotton stretched tight across her mound and Helena biting her through them. She quickly folded the bag and thrust it into the drawer as well before retreating to the deck with a new novel.

Richard worked at the dining table. A couple of times he rang the office and once she heard him crawling to someone she assumed was the Mackenzie boss.

She clung to the creeping shadow on the deck as the sun sank lower. There was nowhere to go and little to do once the washing was pegged out other than read and listen to her iPod until dinner. She would’ve loved to have gone in to the bed and taken a nap, but something about the way Helena had referred to it unnerved her. And she didn’t want Richard watching her as she slept. She didn’t want to be that vulnerable, not right now. Images of her and Helena stroking each other through cornflower-coloured knickers haunted her. She was still trying to think of a viable excuse for cancelling dinner when Richard knocked on the glass door to announce it was time to go.

The Ocean View Hotel crouched at the edge of the village as though single-handedly preventing the island from washing out to sea. Two storeys of the original wooden building had evolved with time and ownership to sprout growths of brick TAB and pokies rooms, and a deck of timber and chrome stretching around two sides to capitalise on the view of the passage and the ferry landing.

Melanie remembered how, when she and Richard had arrived on the late afternoon barge, the hotel had presented an almost cheery welcome, lights blazing, its car park comfortably full, the verandah dotted with drinkers and diners. Now the building seemed forlorn, even vaguely menacing, the car park all but empty. A minivan covered in slogans about taking the high road, complete with marijuana leaf motif, stood out amidst the scattering of utes, four-wheel-drives and rusted sedans.

They walked into the main bar, its timber panelling masked by a riot of nautical and angling gear and a bevy of large, flat-screen televisions. Melanie found a table that didn’t seem as brightly lit as the rest and waited while Richard bought drinks. Through the tinted plate-glass window, she could see a band of dirty pink on the horizon, fading into the falling night.

Richard interrupted the view, placing a chardonnay in front of her as he swung into the seat opposite, ice clinking in his bourbon glass.

‘Everything okay, hon?’

‘Sure.’ She sipped. The wine tasted as though it had been strained through dirt. She grimaced and put the glass down.

‘What is it?’

‘Just not in the mood, I guess.’

‘That’s your favourite.’

She shrugged, her fingers wringing themselves like worms as her stomach churned.

‘I’ve almost finished the Mackenzie re-draw. Would’ve had it sorted if I had broadband, if I hadn’t been interrupted.’

‘But she’s so pretty, isn’t she?’ Melanie bit her lip, regretting the words as soon as she’d uttered them. She saw her ghostly reflection mirror her action, the last of the sunset colouring her image pale pink shot through with dark strands.

‘For fuck’s sake.’ Richard drank a generous swallow. ‘Can you at least pretend to be happy for tonight? They can’t be far away.’

‘Pretend?’ She swung her gaze on to him. ‘I’m very good at that.’

‘Not as good as you might think.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘God, Mel. The baby died. The labour went wrong, you had a Caesar. I don’t care about the scar. I don’t blame you.’ He rubbed his face. ‘How long is this going to take?’

‘How long’s a piece of string? I’m not a fucking calculator. You can’t just erase my memory and start again.’

‘I thought, after last night … oh shit, here they come. Can we just try to get through dinner?’

They exchanged a long, angry stare. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll dance for your new client.’

Richard assumed a smile and waved, unnecessarily given that the only other people in the bar were a couple of locals lined up in front of a plasma screen showing men running with a ball.

Helena looked stunning in a sleeveless dress that reached to just above the knee and fell open almost to the navel. Her hair glistened, so like an advertisement for hair product that Melanie couldn’t help a nervous tweak of her own lank locks.

Paul also seemed overdressed in his shiny black slacks and short-sleeved shirt, the buttons undone to show off his tanned, muscled chest without appearing like a poser.

Helena’s gaze caught Melanie’s. The bottom fell out of Melanie’s stomach. She reached for her glass and her shaking hand knocked it over, spilling white wine across the table. Richard leapt back, splashes of moisture on his jeans, a curse on his lips.

They were still mopping up with napkins when the couple reached them.

‘Everything all right?’ Paul asked.

‘A minor accident, no harm done,’ Richard answered, and apologised for the sticky handshake.

Melanie rose, muttering about her butterfingers. Paul kissed her on both cheeks. He smelled of a cologne that she found pleasant, almost heady. Like freshly cut lawn or newly dug earth. His stubble scratched deliciously, leaving her skin tingling after he’d pulled away.

‘A delight to see you again,’ he said. ‘Helena has been looking forward to this all afternoon.’

Richard extended his hand to Helena, who ignored it, and pressed herself against him to kiss his cheeks. 

‘You are so tall,’ she said with a giggle. ‘I must stand on my toes to reach you.’

She faced Melanie. ‘I hope we have not kept you waiting.’ She pushed herself into Melanie, kissing her chastely on the lips, her hand lingering on her waist. Her perfume wrapped around Melanie’s senses, stronger than Paul’s cologne and intoxicating.

‘I almost didn’t recognise you without your hat,’ Melanie stammered.

‘I feel very good tonight. Without the sun, I can dress like a woman again. You look beautiful, Melanie. I like your clothing.’

‘Oh, speaking of which, I washed yours today, thank you.’ She held up a grocery bag, yellow splotches showing sickly through the grey plastic.

‘Please, keep it.’

‘It doesn’t really fit me that well. Please, take it.’

Helena pouted. ‘I will have to find another gift for you. Something you will like to keep.’ Her eyes glittered.

‘A drink before dinner?’ Richard asked, and Melanie noticed how much effort it took him to drag his eyes from Helena. ‘Melanie seems to be up for one.’

His laugh made her feel as if she was back in high school, being teased, and as had been the case too frequently back then, she found herself without a comeback other than to grin and bear it.

Paul regarded her with what might have been sympathy. ‘We’d be happy to eat now. I’m starving. Must be the sea air.’

‘It does wonders for your appetite, doesn’t it?’ Richard said.

‘Apparently.’ Melanie snared Richard’s arm. ‘Lead the way, darling.’

The hotel’s bistro was closed off-season except for Fridays to Sundays, so they ordered meals at the bar and asked for them to be served outside.

‘You won’t be cold, will you, Helena?’ Melanie eyed the woman’s dress, the way it showed off her flat stomach and the small of her back. Melanie was wearing long sleeves and had a jumper in case the wind picked up. Helena made her feel cold—cold and fat.

‘It will be fine. I am used to the cold, I think.’

Richard said, ‘I always think of Greece, or at least the islands, as a hot place.’

‘In the summer, yes, but our island has high mountains. During the winter, not often, we can even get snow.’

They bought a round of drinks—cab sav for Paul and Helena, a lemon, lime and bitters for Melanie and another bourbon for Richard—and walked out to the verandah. Only two tables were occupied: a weathered older couple Melanie recognised as locals and a young couple with wild dreadlocked hair, hers pulled back in a purple bandana, and faded t-shirts, his showing Bob Marley. They were tucking into plates of steamed vegetables and chips as they divided their attention between a nearby television set and a tie-dye clad infant squirming in a high chair.

Richard selected a table near the rail with a clear view of the passage, the water blacker than the night sky, the silhouette of Moreton Island barely visible on the horizon. Melanie headed for the chair with its back to the hippie family, but Paul beat her to it, leaving her to sit side-on to them.

‘Do you come here often?’ Paul asked Richard as they settled in.

‘Whenever we can. Getting away when we’re both busy … you know how it is.’

‘Ah, that’s the beauty of being on extended holiday. We’ve got all the time in the world, haven’t we, darling.’ He added ‘darling’ as though he’d never used the word before. Maybe he hadn’t. What was the Greek equivalent, Melanie wondered. Babushka, as in the Kate Bush song? No, that was Russian.

‘We liked Brisbane,’ Helena said. ‘I liked the people, very friendly. But Paul was keen to see the island. He thought the air—the quiet—might help my illness.’

‘Has it?’ Richard asked. ‘You look very well.’

‘A little, perhaps,’ she replied, peering at Melanie from under her lashes. ‘I liked the storm. It was very exciting.’

‘There might be another,’ Richard told her. ‘They get some crackers here this time of year, coming in off the sea.’

‘I would like that. What about you, Melanie? Did you like the storm?’

‘I guess,’ she said, feeling herself flush. She glanced at Richard as her body reacted to the memory of her confused embrace with Helena and the lovemaking with Richard that had followed. ‘Yes, I did.’

Richard grinned at her. ‘My fingers are crossed for another one.’

‘Bigger than the last one,’ Helena said.

Paul laid a hand on hers. ‘Well, we might not be here for it. There’s so much to see in this country, maybe we’ll be going soon.’

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Helena said, withdrawing her hand to her lap. ‘I like it here. I like the people.’

Richard saluted with his glass. ‘Well, here’s to new friends.’

They drank, and the food arrived, pasta for Helena and Paul, steak for Richard, an egg salad for Melanie.

Richard cut into his medium-rare t-bone, hoisted a slice of the bloody meat on his fork, and asked Paul, ‘So how did you end up here? It’s hardly a major destination on the international tourist route.’

‘We spent a couple of weeks in Brisbane, and this seemed a nice place reasonably close to the city. As Helena said, I thought the quiet and the sea air might be good for her. I don’t think the big city was healthy for either of us. We just aren’t used to that much pollution.’

‘So what made you decide to come to Australia?’ Melanie asked.

‘We eloped, actually. With Helena’s illness, my family did not want me to be with her, but I loved her from the first time I saw her. I had to be with her. So we ran away.’

‘How romantic,’ Melanie said. ‘To be so much in love.’

The hippies’ infant bawled, the cry slicing into her, making her flinch. From the corner of her eye, she saw the mother pat the child’s forearm. The father kept watching the telly. More football.

‘Children,’ Richard said as the screaming tailed away to a burble, accompanied by kicking legs and waving hands.