‘Well, you have always been beautiful to me, Gemma. Anyway, I remember hearing about her dying. Such a tragedy, leaving behind four children and never really meeting her baby daughter. Very sad. And now this.’
‘Yeah.’ My heart is beginning to pound as I piece something together in my mind. The photo of Mum and me. The old newspaper photo of Olivia and George. Olivia’s photo on the Ryans’ mantelpiece. The photos of Rosalind staring at me from the pin board at work.
‘So many things just don’t make any sense.’ Dad shakes his head as he sips his tea and watches Ben, who is licking his biscuit, turning it to mush. ‘I hope you figure it all out soon, sweetheart. And please be careful.’
A whistle screams inside my head as I give him a smile. My thoughts are wild. I’m pulling things together and checking them over, either pushing them aside or grasping at them to make sure they fit. I force myself to stay seated. Breathe. I shift Ben’s weight away from my stomach, which still feels slightly tender.
‘So,’ I say, a little too brightly, ‘what else have you been up to, Dad?’
‘Oh, this and that. Did some gardening on the weekend. Finally fixed Mrs Potter’s shed door.’
I’ve long suspected that there is something between Dad and the long-widowed Mrs Potter, but he has never said anything and I’ve never asked. That’s just how it works between us.
‘Was Ben good when he stayed with you on Friday?’
‘Sure was.’ Dad glances at my son adoringly. Ben’s mouth hangs slightly open, showcasing a dainty string of drool. ‘Slept like a little champion. What did you get up to, darling? Did you and Scott end up going out?’
‘No. Scott had a work thing. I just got takeaway and went to bed early. Ended up being a good thing seeing as it’s been crazy ever since.’
Dad nods, looking at me, his eyes worried.
I swallow back the rest of my tea and place the mug hard on the table. My throat is sore like I have the beginnings of a cold. I quickly stand and pull Ben onto my hip. Dad looks up at me, blinking, as if emerging from a dream.
‘Dad, thanks. This was great but we have to go.’
In the car I feel breathless, my thoughts whirling as I drive. My mind steadily working through my new theory in between glancing at Ben in the rear-view mirror, catching the exact moment his eyes close into sleep.
Chapter Twenty
then
Jacob gently pushes Gemma onto her back and sits astride her, pinning her against the bed. ‘Your eyes are the coolest colour,’ he tells her and she rolls them skyward in response before closing them and pushing him away. He can tell she is pleased though.
About six months ago his mother took him and Rodney to visit her sister, who lives in a small beach town south of Sydney. Jacob, who had never seen the sea before, trailed behind the others as they walked along the narrow curve of beach, kicking at the salty water and staring out into the endless blue. He cut his foot on a piece of glass, an old beer bottle worn down by the tide. Washing the sand off the glass in the shallows, he noted that it was the exact pale green of Gemma’s eyes. He watched with interest as the blood from his foot reached out into the water before merging with it and disappearing completely. He felt a pang of longing, almost jealousy, at the ease with which things in nature seemed to just happen and how jarring his own existence was in comparison.
Nothing flows in his world; it’s all sharp edges and impossible corners. Except for Gemma.
Jacob runs his fingers down the side of her face and she turns back to him, her eyes sparkling and her mouth angled for more kissing. She is so responsive to him, the nerves on her body come alive at his touch, her lips glow red when they kiss.
When he is with her he is happy, he’s sure of it.
‘Do you love me?’ she says, playfully, so sure of the answer.
‘Of course,’ he says, automatically leaning forward to kiss her.
And he does of course but there is a darkness too. He feels the weight of her need sometimes, tight around his neck, pulling something deep inside, and it makes him think crazy thoughts. He feels the weight of everything. He’s not sure where it’s come from but it is there all the time now, heavy and painful, across his chest and shoulders. Sometimes he can barely breathe.
‘What was that?’ she says, half scrambling into a sitting position, the blanket falling away to reveal her small creamy breasts, her soft stomach.
‘What?’ he says, kissing the side of her face and noting the fine blue veins pulsing in her neck.
She pauses for a moment, eyes wide, before relaxing back next to him. ‘Nothing, I guess. I thought I heard Dad’s car.’
Ned Woodstock is at work. Jacob and Gemma came straight here together after school instead of going to the shopping centre with the others. They’ve been doing that more and more lately, spending time alone together, blocking everything else out. Being with her is like being by himself, an intense, amplified version of it. He carefully stores their moments together so that he can pull them from his memory and observe them, turning them over before putting them back in his mind.
But lately he has imagined alternate versions of their moments together. Versions where he smashes it all apart, breaking the precious glass of their bond and watching it shatter all over the floor. The pull of the drama, the desire for this intensity has been overwhelming sometimes, and he worries that he will just do it. Break Gemma’s heart. A strange ripple of want runs through him whenever he thinks about her reeling away from him in horror, but it’s always quickly followed by the unthinkable terror of destroying the person he loves more than anything in the world.
Just a week ago he stood on the side of the highway, on the sharp corner near the Smithson Town sign, and wondered at the possibility of stepping out onto the road. He imagined the rushing wind that would come as a truck bore down, the sheer joy in that moment of nothing. The temptation of being gone: no longer a person, no longer anything.
‘Hey,’ says Gemma, with only lightness in her voice.
Jacob blinks, refocusing on her lying next to him. She is his soulmate, he is sure, but she doesn’t understand. No one does.
‘Kiss me,’ she says, and he does, deeply, holding her tightly, grabbing at her frantically as they move together. Everything is clear and good again. He kisses her hard when he pushes inside her and she moans softly and he wishes that he could bundle her up and protect her, keep her safe from the darkness that is within him and everything that is to come. As he shudders into her he can’t help thinking that the safest place for her might be as far away from him as possible.
Chapter Twenty-one
Wednesday, 16 December, 7.41 am
‘Felix! Felix, I’ve got something, I think.’ I sit down opposite him. He looks up, interested but tired. A clump of gel makes his hair stand up oddly and I stop myself from reaching out to smooth it down.