Swimming on Dry Land (13 page)

‘There's some pasta in the pan.' He turns away. ‘I made it about an hour ago. I'll sleep with Moni tonight.'

‘Will you stay for a minute?'

His boots echo against the tarmac as he leaves.

I lie on our bed, fully clothed, and gaze up at the peeling yellow paintwork on the ceiling. There is a crack running right down the wall. Michael didn't want to move here; he came because of me. I convinced him, making out this place was a palace, our very own holiday home. It was me who stuck those stupid pictures on the wall. I bought them in Wattle Creek: Sydney Harbour, Ayres Rock, a dazed-looking koala bear. Who was I kidding? I thought if we were somewhere new, things might go back to normal, to how they were before Michael drove into that boy. I thought we could build the kind of life we always wanted for the girls. I actually believed it was possible to live that dream Eddie had spun so perfectly. Eddie doesn't care about me, not really. What he cares about is his precious town. But these people aren't cardboard cut-outs he can just move around and buy off every once in a while. They'll move. We'd still be in England if I hadn't insisted, getting on with our small lives that weren't that bad. All four of us.

A few weeks ago, Michael was talking about going home. I told him we should stay another month. Eddie had promised us a house; I wanted so much for us to have our own house. Or was it that I wanted Eddie? Why didn't I listen? I knew he was right.

While we wait for Maddie, I pace in front of the sitting-room window, going over the words of a new song in my head. I revise the longer lines, knocking out surplus notes, and then I try singing the whole thing out loud. Moni stops writing in her notebook and listens intently. Because I can't get through the whole verse, I end up whispering the last line.

Moni says, ‘Georgie will like that.'

‘Do you like it?'

‘Not much.'

‘Why not?'

‘It made you cry.'

I look out at the caravan for a while, and then say, ‘Why don't we make your dad some lunch.'

‘It's not lunchtime.'

‘It will be.'

Moni grudgingly follows me into the kitchen. I cut the bread and do the pasting while she wraps. We make a few extra rounds for the women.

As I'm packing the sandwiches into a bag, Moni asks, ‘Do dead babies float?'

I have no reply, so she goes on.

‘If their stomachs blow up like balloons, they'll float. I was wondering….'

‘Pass me that knife.' How does she get such thoughts in her head?

Thankfully Maddie arrives, but the damage is done. Now I have this image of babies floating down a river, hundreds of them, bobbing around like plastic dolls.

‘What are you up to?' Maddie asks, her broad face creased in a thin smile. ‘By the way, I just saw the Wartons leaving. I think Queeny's taking over the store until the place clears out. Her hubby's decided to jack in the mine and help too. They've said they'll stay to the end.' Though she is still smiling, the lines on her forehead deepen.

‘There's plenty of beer in the cool box. Help yourself,' I say.

‘Don't be out there all day.' She taps my arm.

‘Thanks for this.'

I check around, feeling as if I've forgotten something. ‘I won't be long,' I tell Moni as I leave. She ignores me, too busy drawing some poor insect she has imprisoned in that matchbox of hers.

Michael is standing on the tarmac, squinting up at three parrots perched on the roof. His legs have regained their muscular appearance; he looks fitter with his brown skin.

‘I forgot my sunglasses,' he says when he sees me.

I stand close to him and watch the birds gather air under their wings to cool off. ‘I made you sandwiches.'

‘No thanks.'

(We're all sick and tired of sandwiches.)

‘They look sad,' I say. The largeness of the sky seems to shrink the parrots into mantelpiece ornaments. ‘Can I come with you?'

‘If you want. Eddie is on the other side of the mine.'

Michael suddenly takes off. I try to keep up. We don't talk, just scan the road for signs. A sense of hopelessness takes over me; the farther we go, the worse it gets. When we reach the scrub grass on the other side of the street, Michael says: ‘I'd prefer to do this on my own.'

I nod and start walking away from him; it is as though we are already miles apart. After some time, the sandwiches weigh heavy, so I take them out of their wrapping and break them up, letting the crumbs fall to the ground.

Moni makes me wear the plain green thin-strapped dress with the patent cream belt and cream piped edging.

‘It's Dad's favourite,' she says. ‘He'll be disappointed if you don't dress up.'

(I always dress up for Michael's birthday.) She pulls out the pair of pearl earrings Michael bought me for our fifth wedding anniversary, and insists I paint my lips and spray perfume on my wrists.

‘That's disgusting,' she says, flaring her nostrils at the smell.

I switch off the oven and lift out the cake. Perhaps she's right. We can't go on ignoring life.

‘Have you got Dad's present?' I ask. The David Attenborough book we ordered came in on the mail plane last week.

After a slapdash icing session, Moni mounts the cake on a plate and carries it outside. It seems to take us for ever to reach the house, with Moni doing pigeon steps so as not to upset the cake. As we pass through the shop, Karlin tells us that Eddie has been out since daybreak. Thank God. I can't bear the idea of seeing him.

‘Dad!' Moni shouts from the sitting room.

Michael comes out of the office. On seeing me all dressed up, his face tightens with confusion. I feel ashamed. It's wrong to do this when Georgie is… but for Moni's sake, I carry on.

‘What's this?' he asks, staying where he is.

‘Nothing,' Moni says, grinning at him as she hides the cake behind the settee and then bobs down to light the candles.

We sing Happy Birthday. It feels like the saddest song in the world. But then he smiles at Moni and acts the clown, dancing around her like he always does on
her
birthday. Keeping my promise to Moni, I dust off the record player and flip through Eddie's albums, choosing Elvis Presley, one of Michael's favourites. He used to do a great Elvis impression.

While he cuts the cake, I set the needle on the record. The first track is ‘Blue Suede Shoes'. Moni takes Michael's hand and gets him dancing. She reaches out for my hand too, and all three of us dance in a sort of wavy line around the room, joining in with the song.

When the next track begins, Moni stops dancing and asks: ‘Where is it?'

‘Where's what?' I am afraid she's going to start raving on again about Georgie being locked away, but instead she peers around the back of the settee and underneath the table.

‘Dad's present,' she says.

‘By the record player.'

‘Not that one. The present from Uncle Eddie.'

‘You'll have to ask him. Here you go.' I hand her the book to give to Michael, which she thrusts at him impatiently.

He makes the usual fuss and the pair of them sits together on the settee, flicking through the photographs. I continue to dance on my own, even though the music has stopped.

The next day Eddie bursts into the caravan, jabbering something about the mine closing down. He hangs onto the doorframe as he speaks. ‘It's not legal. We have to stop them. Where's Michael? Let's go.' He's hyperventilating from running in the heat and can barely see for the sweat clouding his eyes.

‘I have to stay with Moni.'

‘Come on, Monica, we need your help.' He claps his hands at her.

She is absorbed in a new book she has found, but eventually she looks up, nodding at her uncle as she slides her feet into her flip flops.

I wrap a scarf around my head. ‘What's the rush? I ask. ‘If they're closing the mine, there's not a lot we can do about it.'

‘Not enough miners they say. That's bullshit.' He shepherds Moni out as he continues. ‘They've been against me from the start. If John was still alive, he'd have sorted this out. I should have seen it coming.'

I've no idea what he is talking about. His obsession with this town would be almost comical if it weren't so grotesque. But I follow him across the tarmac anyway; we both do. He has developed a stoop from constantly tilting his head towards the ground. Michael has somehow grown taller and Eddie looks like a stunted old man.

Moni drops back and yanks my arm. ‘When are we leaving?' Michael's been filling her head with the idea of moving to Adelaide. He thinks we should carry on looking for Georgie there, but we won't find her in Adelaide. She didn't disappear in Adelaide. He says it will be better for Moni. Seemingly the doctor, Susan, agrees, although I suspect the whole thing was her idea in the first place.

‘We're not going anywhere just yet,' I tell Moni.

‘Everyone else is leaving.'

‘Well….'

‘Georgie isn't here.'

‘Shut up.' I don't mean to snap.

Eddie leads us past the service station and on towards the bend in the road, continuing to jabber away to himself. His save-my-town speech would have infuriated me a few days ago, but I am past caring. He spins around to face us, gesturing at Moni until she speeds up to walk beside him.

‘Why did those men put up that fence?' she asks.

‘To keep us safe.'

I elaborate on Eddie's weak explanation. ‘It's your Uncle Eddie's idea of a joke.'

Moni narrows her eyes, looking utterly confused.

We continue walking in a line. Just before we reach the bend, Eddie says: ‘They don't feel safe. Nobody gets a good night's sleep. I see my houses being driven off and I can't stop them. There'll be no one left.'

‘Stop it,' I tell him.

Seconds later, Moni shouts, pointing frantically at a small group of people who are watching one of the houses being craned onto a removal truck.

‘I thought they were your houses, Uncle Eddie?' she says.

‘They are.' Eddie breaks into a run.

I search the faces, looking for Michael, but he's not there. Maddie calls me over, waving a piece of paper in the air. When we reach her, she thrusts the paper towards me.

‘We've been given our marching orders,' she says.

I scan the notice, and look up to see Eddie barging his way through the spectators towards the crane.

Maddie goes on to explain, ‘The bank is taking the rest of the houses within the week. Someone's not been paying the bills.' Her voice dissolves into the wash of noise.

I watch Eddie on the other side of the road. His face pales as another of the houses gets winched up onto the back of an articulated lorry. He darts over to the lorry, shouting, and tries to pull the driver out. There is so much noise and dust. And suddenly Eddie is lying right in front of the lorry in the middle of the road. I feel myself drifting off, up and away, as Mr M emerges from the crowd and crouches down beside Eddie. I see all this from a height. Someone throws a stone; it catches the side of Eddie's head. Mr M takes Eddie by his arms and drags him to the side of the road. That's when I come crashing back down.

The morning heat is thickening. I flick on the fan. My legs are aching and there's a blister on my neck where I forgot the sun cream. My reflection in the dark-veined mirror on the back of the wardrobe door startles me. I am all bone. No one can tell you what it's like to lose a child. Wherever you go, whatever you do, the sense of loss clings to you like a rotten corpse. But it's not like that either. It's not like anything.

They are calling today the final search. Surely the final search is the one where we find her? You don't stop looking because someone decided eighteen days was the deadline. There are no deadlines when people disappear. I mark the calendar nailed onto the back of the caravan door with another diagonal strike of blue ink. As I step back, the strikes seem to topple like a stack of dominoes.

I lift the net curtains above the sink and tuck them over the plastic-coated wire. Michael is standing by the pumps talking to Jake, whose large mouth sags a little as he points out something on the map they are holding between them. The map sags too. They must be planning the search. I've agreed to stay with Moni. All the women – there aren't many – are sitting this one out: packing up, getting ready to move apparently. What do they imagine will happen if we don't find her? That the book will be closed? A line will be drawn under this whole unfortunate incident
– which is how I've heard people talk about Georgie's disappearance. I don't blame them. I would have left at the first sign of trouble had Georgie been someone else's child. But they can't leave; we're all jailed in by this ridiculous fence.

Michael glances up from the map and sees me – at least I think he does – but then he looks back down, shielding the side of his face with one hand against the sun. Jake Brenton gets into his blue station wagon and drives off. And I watch the man I fell in love with sixteen years ago walk around the petrol pumps and disappear behind the front wall of the service station.