Come Back to Me (12 page)

Despite the dusk's warmth, the day's sun was almost spent. It flooded the sky with fiery colour in a last blaze of defiance as it sank towards the horizon. Except for the small motel, every turn revealed bushland, stretching on and on until it ran beyond sight.

Amy had thought such vast emptiness would make her nervous, and yet she was entranced by the fullness of this unspoiled land. They were going from east to west, taking the highway that had riven a harsh grey line in the red-brown sand, like a rogue thread within the great cloth of scrubby grass and bush that cloaked the southern reaches of Australia.

As she stood on a patch of dirt watching the sky change colour, she felt Alex's arms envelop her, and leaned into him. He rested his chin on her head and his breath was warm in her hair. She reached her hand up to stroke his stubbled
cheek, and he lightly kissed her palm. Then his arm shot out, and he held a camera in front of them, and pressed the button as she laughed.

‘You've just taken a photo of my tonsils,' she said, swinging around to see that there was a carrier bag by his feet. She peered inside and groaned. ‘Not again.' It was the third night running that their evening meal had consisted of pre-packaged pies and soggy chips. But she guessed it was harder to come by fruit and veg in these isolated, barren parts.

They sat down on the veranda step in front of their small room, and took unenthusiastic bites of their dinner.

‘Are you sad?' Alex asked between mouthfuls, his shaggy sun-bleached hair quivering as he turned to look at her.

She smiled, knowing what he meant. Their time away had gone so fast, in a couple of weeks they would be back home – in bustling, dark, frosty England, neon-lit with Christmas cheer – the complete antithesis to the hushed, sparse place they were part of right now.

‘Not really,' she murmured. ‘I mean, we're coming back, aren't we – well, at least away again.' They had spent most of the past five months discussing where else they would like to travel, having fallen in love with being on the road, and would have been tempted to stay if they hadn't promised families and friends that they'd be back for Christmas and the frenetic Millennium celebrations.

‘Of course,' he said, running a hand down her bare thigh, leaving a few crumbs on her skin that he then lightly swept off. ‘Although I don't think I'll be around when you tell your dad, if you don't mind.'

Amy smiled, but he was right. Her dad had become a
complete nightmare when they'd announced they were going away, first trying to dissuade them, and then, when he couldn't, attempting to organise them to within an inch of their life. He'd spent a fortnight buying them all sorts of gadgets and gismos that they'd hardly ever used, and made them both get complete medical records from the doctor, just in case they happened to need a blood transfusion or three. Then, at the airport, he had given Alex a lecture about his responsibilities in front of Amy and her mother, while Alex looked petrified. Her father had ended the talk by shaking Alex's hand and saying, ‘Take good care of her for me,' to which Alex had replied, ‘Yes, sir,' as though they were in some midday melodrama. Amy and her mother had laughed, but neither man had seemed to find it amusing.

Now, she shook her head despite her smile. ‘Poor Dad, he finds it hard letting me be grown up. He's got no one to be a kid with any more.'

They sat in silence for a moment. In the time it had taken them to eat their meagre meal, the sun had vanished, the bold colours thrown out in its descent now fading to pastels as the sky darkened.

Amy was remembering everything they had packed into the past few months. Riding tuk-tuks in Thailand and visiting temples teeming with people in Bangkok; then the rickety, laborious train ride to the north, to find themselves on the backs of elephants or sitting skimming the water on bamboo rafts as they floated through small rapids. Their skin had become bronzed, making their teeth glow whiter. They had lost weight on a diet of rice, fish and chicken, and their hair and nails had seemed to grow faster than they did at home.

Then Sydney. Alex had found a few weeks' casual work in a pub, while Amy waitressed in a café nearby, on the strip at Manly where tourists ventured through night after night, traces of sand and salt lingering around their hairlines.

And then had come this whistle-stop road trip – first to Melbourne and then along the Great Ocean Road towards Adelaide, before this final journey over the deserted, treeless plains of the Nullarbor, the hire car churning steadily through the endless kilometres.

‘Come on.' Alex jumped up and held out his hand, and they headed into their room. He went over to the esky and dug around in it, pulling out a couple of stubbies of beer. ‘Here you go.' The ice they had poured in there that morning had done its job of cooling them, although the rest of the grocery stores were now floating in melted water.

Amy set about pulling things out and drying them as Alex spread a map on the bed. He studied it for a while and then said, ‘I reckon we can make Perth in two or three days. What do you think?'

‘Let's take our time,' she replied. ‘It's bound to cost more when we get into the city. And we'll still have a week there.'

‘It's such a shame we didn't plan this better.' Alex shook his head in frustration. ‘There's so much cool stuff on this side when you start looking – we'd need at least a month to explore the coastline, for a start.'

‘We've made the most of the time we've had,' Amy reminded him. ‘We can come back, you know.'

‘I know.' He looked up at her and grinned. ‘I'm just having so much fun.'

‘Me too.' She smiled back at him, and headed across to
the bedside table where her washbag was propped, rummaging in it. As she did so she felt Alex's presence behind her, then his lips on her neck, and a blissful shiver ran through her. She turned to face him and he pressed against her, sending them both back onto the bed.

 

Once the motel closed for the evening, the outback darkness became absolute except for the pinpoint lights of stars billions of miles away. Amy couldn't sleep. Around her it was so black that it was better to keep her eyes closed, for if she tried to open them the lack of anything to focus on caused her brain to invent strange wispy whirls of colour within the darkness that pulsated into being and away again.

‘Alex?' she whispered, wanting to hear his reassuring voice.

‘Hmm?' he replied, but he sounded sleepy, too close to his dreams to want to begin a conversation.

Amy sighed and turned over onto her side. As her body shifted so did something in her, and their happiness suddenly became a trepidatious thing – precariously balanced on these small moments in time. She wondered what it would be like when they got home, and wished she could see the bigger picture. But for now she pushed her body towards Alex's, grateful for his arm coming mechanically across her, unnerved by the sudden, compelling urge she had to hide from the dark.

As Chloe negotiated the bustle of Oxford Street she wondered again about how her life was unfolding. It was as though she were being carried by a rip-tide and had no choice about where she was heading. Even the throngs of people now pressing against her seemed to be trying to submerge her within their smooth current.

She didn't enjoy the crowds, but this was by far the most obvious place to find a dress to wear at the law ball. She really wanted something hot, bright and sexy that would enslave Mark to her for the evening, but since it was a work function she was thinking black and minimalist might be more the way to go.

She wasn't enjoying her vocational training as much as she had thought she would, which meant she spent every other day wondering if she was really cut out for a legal career. If it wasn't for Mark's encouragement she would have felt even
more adrift, but his enthusiasm was palpable, and although he could be a little patronising he was helping a lot; particularly by shielding her from some of his father's stinging sarcasm, which someone seemed to bear the brunt of every day.

She had been almost surprised to find that she and Mark were an item, but more and more she was growing to like the feeling of it. They had gone out with a group from work one Friday night, and the numbers at the bar had gradually dwindled until Mark and Chloe had tipsily called a cab to his place. Although she had felt mortified – not to mention ill – when she had woken up on his sofa the next morning, Mark had breezed in with filtered coffee and an easy smile. Since then they had gone out a few times – although without it resulting in such wicked hangovers, for which Chloe was extremely grateful.

She walked out of the biting cold and into a brightly lit shop with an array of party dresses in the window. Browsing the racks, a slip of black satin caught her eye. That might serve as a compromise, she thought. She found her size, made her way to the changing rooms and slid the dress on. It slunk over her skin, nestling against the curve of her hips, although as she turned sideways she realised she might need to breathe in for most of the event to really minimise her stomach. But she thought she could get away with it. She beamed at herself in the mirror. The woman smiling back had a face flushed pink with cold, and looked excited.

 

Back in the crisp, cold night, Chloe made her way home, thankful that the shopping trip hadn't turned out to be too
arduous. She was sharing a poky flat with two friends, both of whom had one of their numerous Christmas events on that night, so Chloe would have the television to herself. She smiled, thought briefly about the paperwork in her bag, and dismissed it. She was determined to relax this evening.

At the flat she fiddled with the awkward lock, and finally fell through the door as it gave way with a jerk. She shook her head; she'd been living there for three months and it still happened every time she tried to unlock the door. They really needed to ask someone who knew about DIY.

In the hallway Post-it notes adorned the small telephone table. She glanced over them. Most were old ones that no one had got around to throwing away, but there was a new message in Sandra's handwriting. ‘
Mark phoned, says call him about tonight. Keen or what?!
'

Chloe sighed. She liked that Mark was calling her, but she had tonight planned. She was about to get changed out of her suit, when there was a knock at the door.

Her heart sank. She really wished Mark would wait for the invitation before actually coming around. Wearily, she went to the front door and pulled it open.

‘Anthony!'

‘Sis!' Her brother gave her a hug, his bristle of close-clipped hair shining in the hallway light.

It was a nice surprise to see him but Chloe was still thinking a little wistfully of her alone-time.

‘What are you doing here?'

‘Well, I'm going to a party tomorrow night, and it's so much cheaper to get the train down on a Thursday, so I made a last-minute decision to see if I could bunk with you.'

Chloe folded her arms and smiled. ‘And if you can't?'

‘Then I'm on the streets, sis,' Anthony said, strolling past her and throwing his bag into her room. ‘But I know you'd never do that to your little brother. Mum would kill you!' He walked into the lounge and sat down on a sofa. ‘Have you got a takeaway near here? I'm starving. Unless you haven't made dinner yet, of course?' He grinned cheekily.

Chloe gave him a sarcastic smile back, went over to the table and chucked a sheaf of takeout menus at him. ‘Be my guest.'

 

They munched on pizza while half paying attention to the television. Despite her thwarted plans, Chloe was enjoying this rare time with her brother. It was strange getting used to one another as independent adults after living in close proximity for all those years – knowing someone inside out and yet hardly at all.

‘I think I'm full,' Anthony announced, throwing down a chewed crust and sitting back in his chair.

‘Me too,' Chloe agreed.

Anthony was watching her, an indiscernible expression making his features more intense than usual. ‘Chlo?'

Something in his voice made her senses become alert. ‘Yes?'

He paused for a moment, then said, ‘I'm going to tell Mum I want to find Dad.'

Chloe closed her eyes for a second as tension rippled through her body. She sat up.

‘Ant, I really don't know …'

Anthony leaned forward. ‘Chlo, I don't feel this is a choice any more. It's eating me up. It's on my mind all the time – if not in the forefront then always at the back. I have to know.'

‘But what makes you think Mum will react any differently this time?' Chloe asked, thinking back to the arguments Anthony had had with their mother while he was a teenager, when he was disillusioned with Charlie's lack of get up and go, and desperate to believe that his real father was an action hero of some sort. She had thought that Anthony was past all that.

Margaret had always been elusive about their dad. They hadn't even been sure of his name until Anthony had found it written on some old photos. Chloe vaguely remembered Charlie coming into their lives, but for a while when he was quite young Anthony had thought Charlie was his father. When they had approached their mother, Margaret had told them, ‘You have to trust me – we're all better off without him.' The high level of mystery only intrigued them both further, until in the aftermath of one particularly virulent row sixteen-year-old Chloe had overheard Charlie comforting Margaret, saying, ‘Wouldn't it be better to tell them than to have them blaming you like this?' And Margaret had replied, ‘Oh god, Charlie, how can you say that? Absolutely not. You know they're better off this way.'

The conviction and desperation in her mother's voice had sent a tremble through Chloe. What if her father were a criminal? Or a wife-beater? Perhaps he was in prison. She was glad to be sheltered from the truth. But even though she had repeated the conversation to Anthony, he had not taken
the same view. Perhaps it was because he was that much younger, or because he needed to keep the myth of his father alive more than she did. All these years later he still couldn't let it drop.

‘Look, Chloe,' Anthony began, his hands working frantically as he tried to explain. ‘She doesn't need to even talk about it. All she needs to do is to write down the facts she knows on a piece of paper, and I can take it from there.'

‘I don't know,' Chloe said, as the phone started ringing. She got up to answer it.

‘You didn't call me back?' Mark said without preamble.

‘I know, sorry,' Chloe answered. ‘My brother turned up unannounced.'

‘Oh. Well, I was going to see if you were up to anything but I guess that means you are?'

‘You can come over,' Chloe offered half-heartedly, not relishing the thought of introducing Mark and Anthony right then.

‘No, it's okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep well,' Mark said, and hung up.

Chloe returned to the lounge feeling disgruntled at how the evening was turning out. While she'd been gone Anthony had switched chairs, found football on another channel and turned the sound up. She thought about starting another difficult conversation, then decided against it, and went to run a hot bath instead, thinking that surely there she would get some time to herself.