The Stranding (9 page)

At first there was a thick silence as he stood at the base of the steps with the yellow grasses tickling his ankles, looking up at her and feeling nothing but emptiness. He realised he was looking for something in her face that wasn’t there. She didn’t connect with him at all. Her whole body was wired tight with nerves and anger, and it was hard for him not to cry. The hope he had summoned as he walked back up the path to the house slumped to vague curiosity. On recent form, he expected her to blast him, hammer him to a pulp. He braced himself for it. But she stood taut on the deck, saying nothing.

Not knowing what else to do, Lex stepped up and hugged her, wrapping his arms around the thin entirety of her, holding her close, waiting for a response. In the space between them there was nothing that he could grip on to. He was expecting emotion and familiarity, but her body and smell seemed foreign, like she was a stranger. Yet somewhere in the tight space of angles and awkwardness, history invaded the hug, but it brought no warmth. It was heavy and immensely sad. Lex held on to her as if he were sinking, then she pulled away and he opened the door for her. While he made tea in the kitchen, she stayed near the windows, stiffly watching him.

She was dressed in smart beige shorts and a burnt-orange singlet top that sank low at the neckline and hugged her breasts so that he could see the faint crease between them. So, she wanted to scarify him and raise blood from the past. Lex’s hands shook so much the cup clattered as he placed it on the coffee table. He retreated to the couch on the other side of the room, his back to the wall.

The way Jilly scanned the room Lex knew she was searching for evidence of another woman—perhaps a sunhat, sunglasses, a pair of thongs, a T-shirt thrown over the back of a chair. She’d be disappointed that everything was so male and solitary. A half-empty cup of coffee was sitting on the table. A pair of shorts was discarded in the middle of the floor, and a towel slung on a chair. He’d left a paperback forked open on the couch, a stack of playing cards on the table, and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. There was nothing that she could accuse him of.

Seeing her close, he was surprised by the pointiness of her nose. He had forgotten how she plucked her eyebrows too thin so that they seemed like startled birds in flight. There was an austere severity in the way she had dragged her hair back into a ponytail. Growing her fringe out had also given her a sharper look.

‘What is this place?’ she asked finally.

‘It’s my retreat,’ Lex said.

‘I mean, what sort of place is this? Who would live out here? There’s nothing to do.’

‘There’s plenty to do. It’s very cleansing.’

‘You’re fooling yourself, Lex.’

‘I’ve been doing lots of reading. See here,’ he said, moving to the bookshelves. ‘There are all these books on whaling.’

‘Since when have you been interested in whaling?’

‘I used to cover it on radio every year. Don’t you remember?’

‘No. I didn’t listen to all your programs, Lex.’

‘I’ve been getting up to speed on the history of the industry. And I can’t see any rationale in the whole thing. Have you been following the arguments between the Japanese and the anti-whaling nations going to the IWC?’

‘What the fuck is the IWC?’

Jilly looked incredulous. This was not going well.

‘The International Whaling Commission,’ he explained. God, he sounded so pathetic.

‘Lex, I didn’t come here for a lecture on whaling.’

Jilly started pacing around the room. She was waving her hands now and Lex knew it was over before it had even started.

‘Why are you here then?’ he asked.

‘Your mother told me where you were. She said you wanted to see me. Though God knows why. I can’t see there’s anything we can achieve by this. Other than to get proceedings started.’

Lex crumpled. She hadn’t come of her own volition after all. ‘Mum set this up then,’ he said. ‘She wants us to get back together.’

Jilly looked at him without affection.

‘We could at least talk,’ he suggested.

‘There’s nothing to talk about.’

She was looking around the house again, walking down the hallway to peer into the bedrooms. Lex didn’t follow her.

‘This house, Lex. What is it? A holiday house? I mean, it’s not even your style.’

‘What is my style, Jilly?’

She laughed flippantly. ‘Not this anyway. This is hick. You’re more sophisticated than this.’ She laughed again. ‘Come on then. Talk. What is it you want to say to me?’

Lex was tongue-tied. How did he start in on all of that?

‘Oh God.’ Jilly was impatient. ‘Don’t be pathetic. Your job is words. You’re good at them.’

She opened the pantry and looked down at the bottles of wine and whisky.

‘So, you’re drinking.’ Her voice was a sneer.

‘From time to time.’

She was going to hook right in, telling him what to do again. He’d already forgotten what it had been like . . . Jilly turning into a shrew after Isabel died . . . the endless barrage of complaints about his faults. Her nagging was part of what had driven him down here.

‘This doesn’t look like the stash of a casual drinker.’ She shut the pantry door.

‘You don’t have to be the moral police.’

The look she cast over him was derogatory. ‘You’re my husband, for Christ’s sake. And you’re falling apart. No wonder I couldn’t live with this.’

She sat down on the couch and pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her handbag.

‘What’s this?’ Lex asked. ‘You don’t smoke.’

‘You weren’t an alcoholic either.’

‘I’m not an alcoholic.’

‘Borderline, if you ask me.’

‘I’m not asking you.’

‘What are you asking me then?’

‘To try again. Let’s get some counselling. Try to work it through. There’s got to be something left.’

She stood up and exhaled. Lex watched the smoke snaking up from her mouth. It looked so foreign. She turned to him and her eyes were empty.

‘Aren’t we a bit past that?’ she said.

‘We have nearly five years of history. Surely that’s worth something.’

Jilly considered for a moment. ‘I think it’s best we leave ourselves some dignity,’ she said. ‘Leave our past undissected. We’ll only pull apart what we had.’

‘Haven’t we already pulled it apart?’

‘At least we still have some good memories from before Isabel died.’ Jilly put the cigarette to her lips and sucked in deeply. ‘That’s when we were our best.’

‘We could try to build on that.’

‘I don’t think so.’

She paused and watched the sea rolling in. Lex felt despair congeal in his chest.

‘I think we should talk about a settlement,’ she said.

‘I’m not ready for that.’

‘Think about when you will be. We need to get this over and get on with our lives.’

‘What if I still love you?’ he asked.

Jilly stared at him briefly then went into the kitchen and stubbed out her cigarette in the sink. She came back and sat down. Then she spoke without looking at him.

‘Every time I look at you, I see Isabel,’ she said. ‘I can’t live with that.’

‘You could use that to remember her.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I need to forget. I fall apart remembering. Don’t you see? I can’t remember her until later, when I’m stronger.’

‘I can wait till then.’

‘Lex, it’s going to take years.’

‘Isn’t marriage supposed to be for life?’

‘Well, I’m sorry. I can’t live each day beside you wondering if it might have been different if you’d checked her just a little bit earlier, before I woke up.’

‘We couldn’t have known she was going to die.’

Jilly was crying now and her voice became louder. ‘It can happen to anyone, anytime. We should have been more vigilant.’

‘The paramedics said we couldn’t have done anything more.’

‘They were just being nice,’ Jilly yelled. ‘Can’t you see that? We should have checked her more often. We should have had a baby monitor.’

Lex was ragged with grief. ‘We couldn’t listen to her every breath.’

Jilly’s breathing was loud and she stood up slowly. ‘I’m sorry, Lex.’

She opened the door and stepped out on the deck, pausing a moment to look out, as Lex did every time he left the house.

‘I dropped some papers in your letterbox,’ she said. ‘Try to be reasonable. I know it’s going to be hard for you.’

Then she walked down the steps and went to the car without looking back.

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he breathed. But even as he said it, he wasn’t quite sure he believed it.

He watched her reverse out, swing the car in the gravel and drive away. As he turned back to the house, he thought he saw something move on his neighbour’s verandah. A shadow shifting in the dark. Then nothing. Perhaps Mrs Brocklehurst had been listening. Perhaps she was watching him. Perhaps she’d heard everything Jilly had to say. Not caring, he went inside to pour his first big whisky for the day. It wouldn’t be his last.

Lex had met Jilly five years ago, at a quiz night where he was the visiting media personality. Those sorts of affairs bored him, but being a drawcard and entertainer at community fundraisers was part of his job as a radio presenter. They always asked for him because he was good at making people laugh and feel comfortable. He’d learned it from the studio, teasing stories out of people, shuffling time through pleasantly, keeping listeners tuned in.

That night at the quiz, Jilly was on the same table as some friends of his. He noticed her straightaway. She seemed bored, as if she’d come against her will to make up team numbers. While everyone talked and drank, Jilly sat preoccupied with her mobile phone and a work document, emerging every now and then to contribute the odd answer.

Lex tried to talk to her, but she managed only a faint smile in response and pointedly continued talking to the woman beside her, closing him out with body language. He was miffed, being unfamiliar with rejection. In between short stints at the microphone, he sat and studied her—the sharp lines of her face, the blunt cut of her short hair, the paleness of her skin, her erect poise. She looked back at him with round eyes that showed her annoyance. Her lips were tight and her eyebrows arched upwards.

‘Why are you watching me?’ she asked him, when they were alone.

‘I’d like to take you to dinner,’ he said, watching her eyebrows skate higher on her white forehead up beneath her straight fringe.

‘And ravish me no doubt.’ She sounded bored. ‘I’ve heard about you and your attitude to women.’

He laughed to hide his shock. He cut his voice low and deep and gave it his best shot. ‘Why don’t you give it a go?’

‘What would make me any different?’

‘Take a chance.’

‘Sorry. I’m very busy at the moment.’

‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

‘Persistent, aren’t you?’

‘Well, do you?’

‘No. And I’m not looking for one.’

‘I can be nice.’

‘Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t think so.’

Lex was called to the microphone then, and she left shortly after. He saw her scoop up her tiny sequined handbag and stride away, neatly tucked into her fitted black suit, her legs flashing at him, long and slender on elegant black shoes.

That was it. He had to have her after that. The challenge was too great to walk away from. And she entranced him. She was different. All the other women were like autumn leaves in comparison. Jilly was strong, sharp and shrewd. She wasn’t going to be hoodwinked by charm. He was going to have to fight to win her. He was going to have to change.

And he did. It took months. He cut all the other women from his life, cleaned up his drinking, and followed her doggedly, asking her out time and again. She magnetised him with her indifference and aloofness, evading him, sidestepping politely around him. Until, finally, she allowed him to love her—and the relief was so immense that he lost himself in her completely.

And then there had been Isabel.

•

The next day was piercingly bright and sunny. Lex sat hunched over his coffee cup counting off the days since he had arrived here. Seven weeks at Wallaces Point and his recovery was going nowhere. He stared out, unable to peel his eyes from the glittering face of the sea. Jilly’s visit had stripped him again, and he was having one of those days when he could only contact the dark side of himself—black memories stretching all the way back to boyhood, with no sunlight in between. There was only emptiness yawning from within him, rising like a black swamp, sucking at him. Everything was too hard alone.

His mother was right. He couldn’t do life without Jilly. He needed her to lead him back home. But that wouldn’t happen now, no matter how much he wanted it. He had read the letter she’d left for him, and the list of their possessions. She was asking him to mark what he wanted, requesting that he try to be fair and only ask for half in value. She had even included a list of estimated prices alongside all the objects in their life. It had shocked him. Was this how it had to end? With a list of their accumulated belongings? Was that the sum total of their lives together? If that was it, she could keep the lot. He didn’t want any of it.

He stood up to fetch a bottle of wine and paused to look out the window at the steady roll of waves. The sun flashed blindingly silver off the surface of the sea, making him squint. It was too bright inside, too light, too warm. This place was too much of everything.

He went to turn away then stopped. There was something out there. He shielded his eyes with a hand and squinted again, trying to see through the glare.

As he leaned forward to the light, peering through the smeary windows smudged by salt and spring storms, a long white knobbled flipper lurched above the swell about two hundred metres off the Point. His heart jolted. Out there in the blue the flipper flashed again, black and white, glinting silver. It waved lazily from the water then slapped down with a splash that was visible even from this distance. Lex couldn’t believe it. There was a whale out there.

The flipper raised and waved, crashed into the water and lofted up again. Lex found himself straining to hear the splashes, ridiculous though it was with the space of busy sea between them. He snatched his hat off the chair by the door, took the steps off the deck by threes, and ran barefoot through the slip of grasses and across the warm tarmac to the cliff edge.