Shallow Breath

2

Pete




‘Do you want to stop anywhere? We could have a drink … Celebrate?’

‘I just want to go home.’

Pete immediately regrets his choice of words. Celebrate? What is he thinking? He sneaks a glance at Desi as he drives, but she is absorbed by the view, her back to him. Through her thin T-shirt he can see the clenched knots of her spine.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the silence is draining. He concentrates on the drive, as the endless streak of dry, featureless bushland gives way first to industrial strips, and then to densely packed housing estates as they near the coast. The sun is low in the sky, blinding him, making it hard to follow the road. Desi barely moves, but her head leans against the padded seat, and he wonders if she is sleeping. Or perhaps she is noticing the changes, all the new billboards and half-built houses, all the bushland cleared overnight to render the land fit for human habitation. If she were really looking, she would have something to say about it. Her thoughts must be elsewhere.

How did you talk to someone fresh out of prison? Pete is out of his depth, despite the fact he has visited her every week for the past fifteen months, when they have always found something to say. The future, for so long a blip on the horizon, has careened into view. But does Desi have the courage to look? Does he?

His mind has been busy on the journey so far, trying to decide how much he should tell her. He has only kept things from her so she won’t have extra worry, but now he can’t figure out where to start. She doesn’t know how much his life has changed. She doesn’t know how worried he is about Maya. And she doesn’t know anything at all about Kate.

Desi shifts in her seat slightly, as though she is going to turn to him, and the sudden movement makes Pete tense. Then she twists away again, and he hopes she didn’t notice his reaction. Why is he so on edge today, when they have known one another for so long, and been through so much?

Because he wants to help.

He imagines Connor listening to them, laughing at him, and hears his American drawl loud and clear. ‘Hardly the time to declare your undying love, my man.’ He finds himself smiling. That was one of Connor’s gifts – to find the humour in a tough situation. She’d be better off with Connor right now, he thinks, as a gust of wind causes him to quickly correct his steering. But if Connor were still here, this would never have happened.

What Pete wants to say to her, more than anything else, is this: You didn’t deserve this, Des. I realise you made a mistake, a bad one, but anyone who knows you, even remotely, knows you didn’t deserve this.

Would it help? The right or wrong of it is irrelevant. It happened. It’s over. Now she has to adjust. But he cannot shake the notion that, until she gets herself together, her life will be harder than it has ever been before.

‘It’s all changed, hasn’t it?’ Her voice snaps the silence.

For a moment it’s as though she has read his mind. Then he follows her gaze to the half-finished concrete structure on their right, spots the sign for the shopping centre it will become. ‘Seems to happen faster every year,’ he agrees, then seizes his chance, because surely she can’t wait to see Maya. ‘I could take you to the bay if you like?’

‘I can’t face them yet. Let’s head to the shack for tonight,’ Desi says. ‘I need …’ She trails off, considers him as though weighing him up, and then says ‘… to sleep.’

He wonders what she couldn’t tell him. He tightens his grip on the wheel to stop his hands from slamming it in frustration. She will not open up to him, no matter what he tries.

They don’t talk as they draw closer to the beach house, but Pete senses the change in her. She is leaning forward, her hands grasping the edges of the seat. They take the familiar, quiet road towards the outer edge of Two Rocks, then the car rattles down a narrow track. And, hidden in the bush, ‘the shack’, as they know it, is waiting.

Desi climbs out of the car, shading her eyes against the late-afternoon sun. She walks slowly towards home, and then stops and turns back. Pete sees the uncertainty on her face. ‘I’ve got the key,’ he says, hurrying forward to let her in. He returns to grab some carriers from the boot, and sets off after her again with hasty strides.

‘I brought you some food … I thought I’d cook for you …’

At first, she stares right through the bags, then she focuses, frowns, smiles. ‘Pete … you are wonderful. What would I do without you?’

To his delight, the old Desi is back for a moment.



Once inside, she goes over to the kitchen and flicks a light switch. Nothing happens. ‘Oh.’ Her face falls. ‘I didn’t think –’

The power. Of course. Why would it be on when no one has been here paying the bills?

‘Your food …’ She sounds crestfallen as she regards the bags.

He quickly scans the kitchen. He doesn’t want his plan to fall apart. ‘Have you still got a barbecue?’

‘I presume so.’ They both go across to the window. Sure enough there it stands, on a small concrete area, dirty and rusting at the corners, surrounded by a thick cluster of knee-high weeds. Pete marches outside and reappears moments later. ‘The cylinder’s empty but I can run and get a new one,’ he says. ‘When I come back, we could cook out the front – watch the sun go down.’

‘Okay.’ Desi seems disorientated, staring at the barbecue as though she’s never seen it before. He doesn’t want to pester her when she’s obviously struggling. Instead, he unscrews the cylinder and makes for the door.

‘Can you check if Chug still works?’ she calls out.

Pete looks beyond his four-wheel drive to the decrepit campervan parked underneath a makeshift carport. He had bought it for Desi a few years back, suggesting she and Maya could go touring the state, but it had only ever been used for local errands.

‘It should,’ he says. ‘I’ve been turning the engine over for you on my visits to Maya. I bought a new battery for it not so long ago.’ He goes across and twists the key. Chug gives its usual throaty cough then the engine begins a gruff pant. Pete hops down and grabs the cylinder. ‘I’ll give it a quick run out if you like. Will you be okay?’

Desi nods, staring at the tyres with her arms folded.



Although he isn’t sure, he knows she hates being mollycoddled, so he goes anyway, mentally retracing his route to the nearest service station, estimating that he’ll only be twenty minutes.

It is more like forty-five. Pete spends the whole drive gathering the courage to bring up unpleasant subjects, trying to decide which one to mention first. But he heads inside to find a dark, empty house. Frightened, and cursing himself for leaving her, he races back out of the front door, then stops on the verandah.

He can make out a small figure on the beach, sitting close to the water’s edge, the wind making streamers of her hair. On each surge across the tide line, the sea foam kisses her toes then beats a hasty retreat. As he watches, she gets up and moves away a little, her arms hugging her body as she stares out towards the horizon.

He feels a quiet rage building at the centre of him. Knowing she cannot hear, that the wind will whip his words away and carry them inland, he shouts to her huddled form, ‘They’re not coming back, Desi! For god’s sake, they’re never coming back!’