In the Shadow of Satellites (3 page)

I swallow around the pain that has lodged in my throat. Ana stands a few feet away, watching. I force a smile.

“I’m fine. Sorry. Just zoned out for a minute there.”

Before anyone can comment, I start walking again, and we make our way onto the lawn and up the wooden stairs onto the deck in silence. I didn’t bother to lock the cottage, and the door is wide open, welcoming us back.

Chris drops his backpack in the doorway.

“God, it’s good to be home,” he says, sighing loudly.

***

I can hear them talking in the living room. I try to tune them out as I turn the dip out into a small bowl and set it inside the plate of chopped celery and carrot sticks I’ve just finished preparing. I could’ve just opened a packet of chips, but I needed some time out, away from the memories. Just a few minutes, enough to get my head together. The whispers aren’t helping, though. They penetrate the thin walls and I’m overcome with a crushing case of anxiety. I don’t want to know what they’re saying about me.

I can’t hide in the kitchen forever, though. I pull on my Big Girl Panties and pick up the plate, taking it through into the small living room, which now seems smaller because there are three of us in it. Chris looks up from his place at the French doors, thrown open to the fresh air. Ana picks up her glass of wine and takes another sip, re-folding her long brown legs beneath her on the small couch. The room feels heavy with all the things not being said.

“Healthy snacks,” Chris comments, coming over to grab a carrot stick off the plate as soon as I set it down on the coffee table.

“Thought it might help to combat the jet-lag,” I say, sitting on one of the two armchairs and picking up my glass of wine.

“My body thanks you, and I thank you.”

He loads it up with dip and munches loudly, collapsing onto the couch beside Ana.

“So,” she says. “Tell us about your grand tour of Europe. The last few postcards were a little bit disappointing, I have to say. And I didn’t get the Leaning Tower of Pisa tourist shot I wanted – what happened to that?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I was a bit hungover that day. Tried my best, but it didn’t quite come off. Looked more like I was doing Tai Chi than holding up the tower.”

“Why am I not surprised? So, come on then – details.”

“Well,” he began. “Let’s see. I did the same old time-honoured tour all Kiwis do when they leave London – headed down through France, into Spain. From there, we went down into Portugal, saw fields of a million sunflowers, drank white port – incredible, by the way – and then back into Spain again. Barcelona is amazing, especially the nightlife. Andorra was cold – and expensive – but Italy was beautiful, especially in the north. And the women… Jesus, the women… ”

He falls back into the couch, his face a picture of blissful self-indulgence. Some things don’t change, and I’m glad. It’s comforting, the familiar.

“Dude, did you sleep your way through Europe?” Ana arches an eyebrow. “No, don’t answer that.”

“I love how you know me,” he grins.

“I said don’t answer that.”

“Too late.”

He takes a quick swig of beer, still grinning.

“A gentleman does not kiss and tell,” he adds.

“Then you’re safe.”

“Fuck, Ana. That hurts.” He fakes a wounded expression, his hand clutching dramatically at his chest. “Words wound too, y’know.”

She waves her hand impatiently, not falling for it.

“Whatever, you’ll live. Do all your stories involve bedroom conquests, or will we actually get to hear some sex-free anecdotes about this trip?”

“What’s an anecdote? Oh wait! I think I ate some of those when I was in Paris. They were fried in garlic, and –“

She leans over to slap him on the arm, and I cringe.

“Jesus, woman! Sian, can you sort her out? She can’t seem to keep her hands off me. I know she’s excited to see me, but this is getting ridiculous.”

Ana narrows her eyes at him, raising her hand to hit him again.

He’s too quick for her though, jumping up and making himself comfortable in the other armchair so she can’t reach.

“Yeah, you better run, beardy-boy.”

He grins at her, tilting his beer bottle at her before taking another sip. It feels like old times, which is the most surreal thing. The more he talks about where he’s been and what he’s done, the stranger the whole situation feels. Past and present, then and now.

I glance over at the French doors, and I can almost see James standing there, leaning against the door frame, smiling at him. He would’ve loved this. He would’ve teased him mercilessly, right along with Ana. Chris and James were practically inseparable when we lived in Wellington. They’d hit it off the moment they met, working together in an office in the city, not long after we moved down there. Chris’s sense of humour appealed to James, even though they were total opposites on the surface. James was the family man, the career chaser, the serious one. He had it all mapped out, he liked to plan ahead. Chris was a skirt-chaser, out for a good time and nothing more. He was just as intelligent as James, but for some reason I’ve never quite understood, he tended to hide it.

We both missed Chris when he finally decided Wellington was too small for him. London called, and off he went. We lived vicariously through his adventures whenever we got together over Skype. Texts received in the middle of the night were common. He never did get the hang of the time-zone thing.

I found out afterwards that he’d come back for the funerals. By the time I woke up five months later, he’d gone again. Since then, we’d kept in touch sporadically. With no internet or cell phone service at the lake, our correspondence was limited. He had a real fondness for postcards. Some were cryptic, some were beautiful, and some just made me wish he was home and everything was the way it used to be. He’d phoned a handful of times over the past year, and it was always good to hear from him, but the calls were usually in the middle of the night, and he was travelling, so they were short. In some ways, it was the perfect excuse. We didn’t have to go into anything in any depth. We didn’t have to address what had happened. We could just pretend that everything was fine.

“Earth to Sian?”

I look up from my glass of wine to find them both watching me, wearing matching bemused, slightly worried expressions.

“Sorry, what?”

“You disappeared again,” Ana said gently.

“Did I?”

It’s a concentration thing, connected to my injury. It’s not usually such an issue, because I’m hardly a social butterfly these days.

“Was I boring you?” Chris smiles, winking at me. “She was pretty hot, but maybe you had to be there.”

I smile, when what I really want to do is cry. Sometimes, all of this just seems so much fucking harder than it should be. The lie comes out so easily, I almost feel guilty.

“Not at all. I guess I’m just tired. Sorry. I think it’s this heat. It saps my energy.”

He smiles back, but I catch the lightning-fast glance he and Ana exchange when they think I’m not watching.

“I thought I was the one suffering from jet-lag,” he jokes. “Why don’t we sit outside, on the deck? There’s a breeze. Maybe it’ll help to wake us both up.”

I dutifully agree, and Ana picks up her drink and the plate of snacks and follows us as we head outside. We settle into the wooden chairs and automatically put our feet up on the railing, all three of us. It’s a simple gesture, but a familiar one. Another reminder, as if I needed one. It should be comforting, but it still hurts. I wonder if Chris has that same feeling I do, of James being missing from all of this. Like everyone else who knew him, he had a five-month head-start over me, on dealing with his grief. While I lay in a coma, everyone else went to the funerals and got on with their lives.

I don’t want to think about that now, so I make a concerted effort to keep up with the conversation. Chris sits between us, his tanned legs glistening with blonde fuzz in the sunshine.

“So, tell me about this mysterious neighbour of yours,” he says. “What’s his name? Thor?”

I glance over at him, and he looks so relaxed, it’s impossible, in that moment, to imagine him as anything else.

“Get it? Thor? The hammer thing?”

He waggles his eyebrows at me.

“I so haven’t missed that dumb sense of humour,” Ana says dryly.

I can’t help the smile that creeps out.

“I’ve no idea. We haven’t actually met yet.”

“How long’s he been here?”

“A couple of months.”

“He’s quite hot,” Ana says, leaning forward to glance over at me. “Especially with that beard. What is it with men and beards lately? Is it like a fashion thing or something?”

“Well, thanks. I’m guessing that was your back-handed way of telling me you also think I’m hot, because y’know, the beard thing. It’s weird, how beards turn women on. Especially in Europe. They seem to love them there. Maybe it’s the way they tickle their – “

She reaches over to smack him hard, with her open hand on his bare leg. The noise is deafening and he yelps while I struggle to hold back a smile.

“That fuckin’ hurt!” he moans, rubbing his thigh vigorously.

“Good. And no, for the record, I wasn’t including you in that general statement, you hairy big-headed man-whore.”

She chuckles, which softens the blow a little, at least to his ego.

“I mean it, though. Is it a fashion statement or what?” she says, looking over at me, as if I’m supposed to answer that.

“I have no idea. What do I know about fashion these days?”

It’s true. I don’t even have a TV. The world could be ending for all I know.

“It’s probably just a pain in the ass to shave when he’s living in a tent and doesn’t have running water,” Chris says.

She leans back and takes another sip of wine as we survey the lake in front of us. It’s late afternoon, but the sun is still hours from setting. After a temporary reprieve, the hammering starts up in the distance again.

“Right on cue,” Chris said. “Has it been like that since he arrived, with the noise I mean?”

“Yeah, off and on. I don’t really notice it much anymore, to be honest.”

“So he hasn’t been over to introduce himself? Or at least apologise for the incessant racket?”

“No, but that’s okay. I haven’t exactly beaten a path to his door, either.”

I don’t imagine that Chris would understand the value of having privacy out here. Where I usually shied away from company, he sought it out. Another thing that he and Ana had in common.

“Tsk-tsk,” he says, shaking his head. “Bit shabby, if you ask me. Neighbours in close proximity like you guys should be on first name terms. Unless he’s an axe murderer. Shit – do you think he’s an axe murderer?”

“Relax,” I smile. “If he was an axe murderer, I’d probably already be dead by now.”

He swaps a look with Ana, and then sculls the last of his beer, standing up.

“This kind of shit is normal for Wellington – or London, or any other city, to be fair – but not here.”

He disappears into the cottage, reappearing a moment later with two fresh bottles of beer.

“You should know your neighbours. You’re both on your own out here, in the middle of nowhere – sort of. It’s a rural thing isn’t it? It’s just being neighbourly, or neighbourhood watch, or whatever the hell it’s called. It makes sense.”

He’s backing away from us as he’s talking, and I’m starting to get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“What are you doing?” I ask, watching helplessly as Ana stands up and follows him off the deck and down onto the lawn.

“Come on!” he grins. “Let’s go and offer Thor a beer. It’s about time we got acquainted, don’t you think?”

It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard, but there’s no stopping Chris when he’s on a roll. For once, I wish he’d just… not. I don’t want to meet my neighbour. I like the fact that we’re not on first-name terms, I like the invisible boundary line that separates us. I like the solitude, and I’m sure he feels the same way, or he’d have been over to say hi before now.

Reluctantly, I follow them across the lawn. I’d forgotten how much these two were like a tag team. Chris was just being Chris, but I expected more from Ana.

We make our way through the undergrowth and the tall native trees that divide the properties. Chris is whistling the Smurfs theme tune, which gives Ana a fit of the giggles. Both begin to annoy me, and I consider turning back and leaving them to it, but that feels weird too. I’m duty-bound to be civil, and that pisses me off no end. I have neither the patience nor the energy for this.

“It’ll be fine. Just relax.”

I hear James’s voice in my ear, and I imagine him walking behind me, calming me down. I try to concentrate on that, rather than the deep-seated desire to turn back to my sanctuary and leave them to it.

The hammering gets louder, and the trees and ferns give way to the back of the dilapidated cottage, and a view of the lake. His bright orange tent is pitched off to the side, opening out to face the water. For a moment, I imagine what a beautiful view he must have when he wakes up in the morning. Like mine, only closer.

A dog’s barking stops us in our tracks, and out of nowhere, a large black and tan German Shepherd appears. We all freeze. I had no idea he had a dog, certainly not one this big. It’s practically a wolf, at the very least a small horse.

“Geezer!”

The hammering stops, barely noticeable over the incessant barking.

“Shitballs!” Ana squeals, hiding behind Chris.

I edge behind her, just in case, as the barking continues. None of us move. No one is taking any chances.

“Geezer!”

The call is louder this time, harsher, and the barking stops. The dog sits, but it doesn’t take its eyes off us. I stand stock still, my heart racing, as the voice’s owner appears around the corner of the building.

“That’s a hell of a guard dog you have there,” Chris says uneasily.

I hang back behind Ana, watching from a safe distance as he approaches. Chris introduces himself, offering his hand.

“Yeah, I guess he is,” he smiles, taking it.