they would take the hammock outside and string it between
two trees and lie in it together, staring and reaching out when the feeling took
them to touch. Often in these moments Elena would look down amazed at her own unblemished
body, remembering the times in her bedroom at home in front of the mirror when every
inch of flesh was covered with a red rash, scratch or weal. Sometimes, remembering,
she would stroke her skin with the back of her hand, amazed, even aroused, by its
softness.
On one particularly memorable afternoon the pair dragged the old enamel bath out
of the shed, set it up on rocks, filled it with the hose and lit a fire beneath.
That evening they arranged candles in bottles all around, pushed the coals away,
added saucepans of cold water to temper it, then stripped and got in. Elena lay back
in Aaron’s arms, her white breasts showing above the water. The flickering candlelight
threw shadows on the steam, up onto the house nearby, the bush around, the trees
above. They were happy. Aaron blew out the candles so that for a moment everything
was deep black; when their eyes adjusted there appeared above a sky full of stars
and a flock of white gulls drifting past. Birds called from down on the lake, animals
talked and skittered in the bush, the waves crashed on the shore. Elena shivered,
just for a moment, but Aaron held her tight.
The weather turned, cold wind and rain, and Aaron stopped coming. That had been their
summer of love. One night in her hammock Elena was woken by a noise; she lit a candle
and as the flame rose up on the wick she thought she saw, briefly, Lyall’s face in
the window. But it might have been the shadows.
The next day, with a towel held over her head, she traipsed through the wet bush
to see him; the drops spitting off the leaves, water splashing down the gullies.
The dog whined, but Lyall wasn’t there. She pushed the door and it opened. She looked
into the little kitchen alcove, behind the bedroom curtain. Then she realised where
she was, what she was doing. A black flutter came to her heart. She turned to go
and as she did she heard the crunch of leaves and twigs outside. The dog didn’t whine—in
fact, it seemed all the animals had gone quiet.
Aaron’s father told the police he thought they’d run away. Aaron liked the girl,
he said, and had been spending a lot of time with her. The police recorded them as
missing. But then shortly after a walker found Aaron’s battered body washed up on
the beach out of town. A couple more days’ searching and the cops found Elena’s body
in a shallow grave in the bush. The dead dog was still on its chain, black liquid
oozing from its mouth. It took the police a while to piece it all together and to
track Lyall down to his hideout near Ballina on the northern New South Wales coast.
The autopsy dated Elena’s death to the day, more or less, that an elderly couple
saw Lyall’s old station wagon speeding out of town.
Sorry it was so sad, said Hannah, I’d forgotten how sad it was. It was all that talk
about getting away that made me think of it and then, Lauren, your story—and yours
too, Marshall, about Tilly’s uncle. But I didn’t think through how creepy and sad
it all was.
Did all that really happen? said Evan. What do you mean? said Hannah. She’s told
me that story before, said Leon, unless she made it up then too. It sounded true
to me, said Adam, the bit about the allergist especially. I agree, said Marshall.
I believed it, said Lauren.
Hannah rested the stick on the arm of the chair. Marshall poured the wine.
Should we do another one? he said. Maybe we should leave it till tomorrow, said Lauren.
There’s tiramisu in the fridge, said Hannah. Yum, said Leon. Everyone started stretching
and standing up.
Tilly’s still in the car, said Evan. He was standing at the window, looking down.
Marshall? Tilly’s still in the car. I’ll go and see what she wants to do, said Marshall.
He drank his wine, hitched up his
two trees and lie in it together, staring and reaching out when the feeling took
them to touch. Often in these moments Elena would look down amazed at her own unblemished
body, remembering the times in her bedroom at home in front of the mirror when every
inch of flesh was covered with a red rash, scratch or weal. Sometimes, remembering,
she would stroke her skin with the back of her hand, amazed, even aroused, by its
softness.
On one particularly memorable afternoon the pair dragged the old enamel bath out
of the shed, set it up on rocks, filled it with the hose and lit a fire beneath.
That evening they arranged candles in bottles all around, pushed the coals away,
added saucepans of cold water to temper it, then stripped and got in. Elena lay back
in Aaron’s arms, her white breasts showing above the water. The flickering candlelight
threw shadows on the steam, up onto the house nearby, the bush around, the trees
above. They were happy. Aaron blew out the candles so that for a moment everything
was deep black; when their eyes adjusted there appeared above a sky full of stars
and a flock of white gulls drifting past. Birds called from down on the lake, animals
talked and skittered in the bush, the waves crashed on the shore. Elena shivered,
just for a moment, but Aaron held her tight.
The weather turned, cold wind and rain, and Aaron stopped coming. That had been their
summer of love. One night in her hammock Elena was woken by a noise; she lit a candle
and as the flame rose up on the wick she thought she saw, briefly, Lyall’s face in
the window. But it might have been the shadows.
The next day, with a towel held over her head, she traipsed through the wet bush
to see him; the drops spitting off the leaves, water splashing down the gullies.
The dog whined, but Lyall wasn’t there. She pushed the door and it opened. She looked
into the little kitchen alcove, behind the bedroom curtain. Then she realised where
she was, what she was doing. A black flutter came to her heart. She turned to go
and as she did she heard the crunch of leaves and twigs outside. The dog didn’t whine—in
fact, it seemed all the animals had gone quiet.
Aaron’s father told the police he thought they’d run away. Aaron liked the girl,
he said, and had been spending a lot of time with her. The police recorded them as
missing. But then shortly after a walker found Aaron’s battered body washed up on
the beach out of town. A couple more days’ searching and the cops found Elena’s body
in a shallow grave in the bush. The dead dog was still on its chain, black liquid
oozing from its mouth. It took the police a while to piece it all together and to
track Lyall down to his hideout near Ballina on the northern New South Wales coast.
The autopsy dated Elena’s death to the day, more or less, that an elderly couple
saw Lyall’s old station wagon speeding out of town.
Sorry it was so sad, said Hannah, I’d forgotten how sad it was. It was all that talk
about getting away that made me think of it and then, Lauren, your story—and yours
too, Marshall, about Tilly’s uncle. But I didn’t think through how creepy and sad
it all was.
Did all that really happen? said Evan. What do you mean? said Hannah. She’s told
me that story before, said Leon, unless she made it up then too. It sounded true
to me, said Adam, the bit about the allergist especially. I agree, said Marshall.
I believed it, said Lauren.
Hannah rested the stick on the arm of the chair. Marshall poured the wine.
Should we do another one? he said. Maybe we should leave it till tomorrow, said Lauren.
There’s tiramisu in the fridge, said Hannah. Yum, said Leon. Everyone started stretching
and standing up.
Tilly’s still in the car, said Evan. He was standing at the window, looking down.
Marshall? Tilly’s still in the car. I’ll go and see what she wants to do, said Marshall.
He drank his wine, hitched up his
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