Angela Jooste

The Falling Girl

Losing a dream—what you love—isn’t necessarily the end. 

novella

1

free-fall

In the night dark, it glowed. This lambent image like drawn light upon a wall

“Magic,” she said to no one. It had to be.

Zoe hadn’t seen it at first and then with a swing of headlights from a car going past, it was there, on the wall of a street branching off the route she was walking. This glimmer that caught her eye. 

            Once she’d seen it, she couldn’t unsee it. Whatever this was made from, and maybe it was paint, it shimmered in the dark with a greenish, whitish kind of luminescence. 

            And the image. A girl wearing a shift dress, hair like octopus tendrils floating around her face as she was falling through space. She could tell the girl was falling: the parachuting of the dress, arms aloft as if trying to find something to grasp, legs dangling, useless.

            It was so simple. And yet, beautiful.

Zoe couldn’t help stepping closer. The cool, blue-white of the streetlight nearby didn’t dim the fact this image had an inner light. Normally she was pretty alert, but not for this. 

She had to admit, it was an odd place to paint it. The street was residential and quiet. The wall was the side of a two-storey duplex. Zoe couldn’t help taking another step to touch it. Felt the scraping texture of the brick and the bare slick of paint. 

            Zoe’s breath puffed in the night air. Her head was warm from the beanie, but her nose was cold. She shoved her hands back into the navy puffa jacket and stepped back, needing the distance to see it better. 

            Every night for three weeks she’d walked past this street. Had it been here all that time? Or had she been so focused on just putting one foot in front of the other that her peripheral vision sucked? Probably. 

            The wet-cold of the pavement was seeping through her Converses. Thick socks didn’t help. She was standing stiffly against the chill; her right leg taut and cautiously she eased the knee to bend, wanting to alleviate the weight. The fear that was coiled in her chest and had taken residence. 

Permanently it seemed.

            And that’s what broke the magic. The momentary surrender she’d thought she was no longer capable of. To give herself over to something in pure wonder. To be lost in it. Suspended. This simple reminder of what she tried to outwalk each night because she couldn’t sleep. One more thing to add to the checklist of fuck-ups in her life right now: 

Insomnia. Check. 

Crap knee. Check. 

Zoe’s eyes darted wildly at the sound of a car going past.

            Alone. Check. 

            But her eyes couldn’t help but gaze again at the image that was eerie and strange and lovely. That’s when she noticed it. The writing on the wrist of the girl.

free-fall

She just stared. Seconds, then minutes of staring.      

Was that the name of the piece? The words reached through her eyes, bypassing her brain and punched her gut. 

free-fall

“Like me,” she whispered into the night. 

The girl was falling, just like her.

2

Her

Josh thought he was imagining her. 

            But the tense gait of the girl’s walk was recognisable, as well as the feral hair capped by a white wool beanie. It stuck out in the night gloom.

It was her. 

He’d just finished doing one of his wall paintings having picked a spot off Domain Road near the Botanical Gardens. He’d been hitting the area for nearly a month, with its criss-cross of side streets, bare walls virtually untagged just begging to feature his work. It was also convenient, not that far from his place in Prahran so he could hit and split not having far to drive, minimising the risks. He hoped. But that was part of the kick and so far—touch wood—he’d never been caught.

The girl, he’d noticed her walking out late just as he was about to get in his car and scram. At first he’d got just a glimpse, but later, if he found himself near the track that ran the circumference of the Botanical Gardens called the Tan, he’d seen her nearly every night he’d done a painting. A series he’d been working on. 

The flying girls.

Or falling. Caught somewhere in-between.     

Except tonight he’d added a guy, and they were free-falling, arms outstretched from each other, hands touching, and bodies floating. The guy was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and the girl had on her characteristic shift dress. On the guy’s wrist was Josh’s signature: just free. With the flying girls, he’d tagged the pieces free-fall. He liked mixing things up, confusing people about who was making this stuff. But tonight, he used his actual tag. 

Just as he was packing his gear into the back of the banged-up Subaru that was technically still his sister’s—she’d passed it on to him with the caveat she got to use it if desperate—he saw her.  

She was walking with a barely noticeable limp. More like a hesitation. That’s what first grabbed his attention: the fact of a girl walking late at night, a dogged determination in each step. Josh was close enough to see her breath feathering the winter night with its fluttery nervousness. He saw how she lowered her head to avoid looking at the few passers by. How her face turned away from the glaring headlights that caught her quarter moon profile. Skin paled by the harsh sudden light, the bones of her face too sharp. She was hunched in a feather down jacket that bulked her torso, but her legs were finely muscled thin. It was the hair that was most recognisable.

Crazy hair. Masses of curls that under the lights appeared dark brown but with a weird bronze tinge, like a patina. Untameable. Like it was a creature in its own right.

Most nights he didn’t linger, but tonight he did. 

Josh watched her bend over one of the bottle-green bollards near the garden gates. She seemed to be pulling something onto it, but from a distance he had no idea. He stood riveted, his breath coming in puffs. She straightened abruptly, walking away and Josh’s eyes never left her until he could barely see her retreating form in the shadow dark of trees and night.

            He felt like he was walking through viscous air, everything fluid and unreal until he came to the spot that had held her attention. He touched the bollard. Wrapped tightly so that you would have to inspect it closely to realise what was there: something akin to a knitted skullcap. It fit so snug that it was almost a seamless extension. Josh burst out laughing, his voice hacking through the silent night. 

            “What the fuck?” he muttered, intrigued but not sure what to make of it. And creeped out, because maybe she was a bit of a kook. It was weird enough that she walked alone this late, which worried him despite not having a clue who she was. 

Now this.

He was tempted to grab the green knitted thing, wanting something of the girl, proof he wasn’t simply making her up, but he didn’t. Instead he followed her, puzzling over why the hell she’d done it in the first place. 

Josh kept a careful distance, watching her steady progress along the Tan. Her back was now facing him and he could see more clearly the tumbling tangle of her hair. Tonight it was the colour of peaty soil dampened in the dark light so that his eyes played tricks, imagining it as trailing seaweed alive with seawater, dripping down her back. He had this mad impulse to touch it, dig his fingers into the messy curls and see if he could pluck out little creatures, tiny fish maybe, or shells.  

            The girl looked back once, but her eyes never caught him. She wasn’t looking into the shadow spaces, she was checking to see if someone was directly behind her. That one gesture decided it for Josh. He crossed the road, willing his feet to move as quietly as possible. For her safety he reasoned, as if that’s all it meant. He was just looking out for her, making sure she was okay. Bullshit.

Suddenly she stopped and then veered towards a tree with a low hanging branch. He watched from beneath a leafy canopy, partially hidden by a massive trunk. He saw the action, the movement of her arm, her hands fumbling in her pocket and then she was holding what appeared to be a wad of fabric. The tree limb was broken and touched the ground. The girl wrapped the limb with the fabric, a glimpse of blue in the hazy street light. He was transfixed. Then she seemed to be stitching it, one hand looping a thread, the other holding it in place. He leaned forward, not sure he could trust his eyes. 

What the hell was she doing this time?

            When her task was done, she retraced her steps. Josh ducked behind the trunk. A few heartbeats later he jogged to where she’d just been. He chanced that she might look back and see him there, but she was walking away purposefully as if distancing herself from what she’d done. 

He felt the fabric, wool. Felt the ridged line where she’d stitched the two sides in place. Unthinking, he took his Swiss Army knife from his pocket and with a quick neat slice he cut the knot holding the stitching together. 

            It unravelled, the blue sleeve hanging by a loosened thread like sagging flesh, until he yanked it free

3

Never be that girl

It was too quiet. 

            Quiet like a tomb. Haunting words to wake up to,

            Zoe’s eyes scrunched against the light coming through the windows. She’d forgotten to pull the blinds down. Again. Swiping the sleep gunk from her eyes, she blinked dazedly. 

She would never get used to the quiet in the apartment. Her father rented “Fort Knox” in South Yarra after her parents decided to have a “break”. Their word. A “break” that had lasted over a year and a half and involved them seeing other people. Well, at least her dad was seeing someone else. 

“Why don’t they just fucking get a divorce like normal people,” growled Coop. It was the day before she was set to move in with her dad and her brother had picked up Zoe in his second-hand, silver VW Golf to take her to a physiotherapist appointment. During the drive she’d made the mistake of mentioning how their mum seemed to be excited about going to India to the yoga retreat. It was a trip planned before Zoe’s injury. Her mum had put off the trip until Zoe had convinced her she’d live with her dad. It had taken a lot of convincing.

“And what the hell do you think you’re doing? Staying with him?” Coop was working himself into a rage. His anger at their parents, especially their father, hadn’t abated since the separation. Coop moved out to live in a share house with his friends, Henry and Jake, in Carlton after his final year 12 exams, the same year of their parent’s ‘break’.

“What do you mean? I’m doing this so Mum can go.”

Coop looked at Zoe like she had two heads. “You’re still recovering, and he’s never home.” 

She didn’t want to argue. “Just keep your eyes on the road.” Coop snorted. “I mean it! I can manage, Coop.”

Coop only shook his head. “This is so fucked up.” 

Slumping in the seat, what little energy she had seemed to drain with each word. So, Zoe kept it simple. “Yeah.”

And the family home in Elwood, that modest house close to the beach, the only home she’d ever known, was being rented out while her mum was in India.   

            There was one bonus to living here. The apartment building was over the road from the Botanical Gardens. It was a box hemmed by trees. When Zoe was inside, she’d throw open the windows and the balcony doors to bring in life. 

Still, it was weird how she couldn’t even hear the neighbours. During the week her dad was up and out to the door heading for work by 7.00 a.m. Weekends weren’t much better. And it only triggered how alone she felt, especially with her mum now halfway around the world.

            At my insistence, she thought tiredly.

Her phone buzzed with a text from under the pillow. Grabbing it with one eye open, Evie’s name and face glared at her. The fact Evie’s brown hair was dyed a bright red in this photo, kind of added to the spawn-of-Satan vibe. Currently her hair was grass green. It was Evie’s version of mellow, and just one more way to piss off her parents and rebel against her only-child, Italian Catholic upbringing. 

            Where were u???? I waited for you! Like a moron! I waited outside the pub and only went in after 10! I nearly missed the start of u’re brother’s gig!

            Zoe groaned. She’d messed up. Again.

Biting her lip, fingers hovering about to answer, she stopped. Zoe decided to call Evie later. Right now, she didn’t want a diatribe, and Evie was sure to be pissed. Zoe didn’t blame her. She’d bailed on Evie more times than she could count. Like last night, at the last minute she’d left a voicemail on Evie’s phone saying she wasn’t coming. Being in close proximity to people and shoved in a crowded room would have tipped her over into panic. Zoe’s anxiety was a hair-trigger. Making a spectacle of herself wasn’t high on her list of a fun Friday night out. 

Zoe mindlessly flicked through the photos on her phone, and found one she’d taken from the other night. Another falling girl. So far, none had been painted over or cleaned off. Whoever did them was a ghost. She’d tried googling #freefall. Nothing. Tried Instagram and came up with some images, but no account. She stopped at one image of a girl falling vertically. Zoe’s stomach had dived seeing it. She’d taken a photo of it, and every time she saw one, she’d take another. She was documenting them. Keeping them. What she wanted to know, to ask was:

Why are you making these? 

Like it was personal. Like it mattered.

Tossing the phone on the floor, Zoe stretched her body under the duvet. She wriggled her toes, bending her legs and breathed through her abdomen. Small movements she performed before getting out of bed. After months of this ritual it was second nature. Yet there was always that hesitation when she got up first thing, of not wanting to put any weight on her right leg. Of wondering if this time it would just give way, crumble beneath her like dust.  

And like every other morning, Zoe had to breathe deeply to block the anxiety. 

“Routine,” her mum kept insisting after the fall, “small things that you do every day will help you get through this, Zoe.”  

Zoe’s mum’s reaction to stress was to get practical. Everyone had something to say. Her dad spoke about discipline and focus. Her aunt Lily emphasised physical and psychological therapy. Gran had started her knitting to keep her occupied, and Coop kept on about not pushing her limits and being careful, while contradicting his own words by saying sheer willpower would get her back to fighting fit. Also, coming from the guy who went to Queenstown in New Zealand for a holiday to do extreme sports for fun—yeah, not pushing limits was a major irony. 

Still, they didn’t get it. What she was going through. How could they? She fell. They didn’t. End of story. The girl they were waiting to reappear once her leg healed was gone. Pretty much. To work through the physical and emotional pain, Zoe had choked her voice, gritted her teeth, lips clamping shut; all to make sure she didn’t scream or yell. Like she could swallow the tearing sounds and all the shitty words she wanted to say along with it. There was a fair dose of self-pity that was more akin to despair. She didn’t care.

Zoe could never be that girl again. 

Especially if she couldn’t dance.

4

Mermaid

Josh dreamed and he woke remembering it. 

Not about dregs from the day before embedded in his subconscious. And not the recurring nightmare from the summer he turned fifteen. He dreamed about a girl swimming in water that could be the sea, could be a lake. It was a rich, briny green and her hair rippled, a living thing in the deep. Underwater she was graceful. Her skin luminous. She was naked but completely free in her skin, the water her element, a cloak that folded and enclosed her, made her seem whole. 

He reached to touch her, felt the liquid slip through his searching fingers. Bubbles popped and frothed from her mouth and nose, her river-green eyes splintered with refracted light. She was breathing. Breathing underwater. A mermaid without fishy fins. He was so close; skin slipstreaming in the water as he moved. It was frigid but there were pockets of warmth. He followed her, but she wasn’t swimming away, no, she was almost playful: dipping and diving, twirling and then her body formed a wave as she dolphin kicked deeper. 

So when she surged up towards the light and the membrane of water meeting air, he moved also, a longing to be near enough to press his skin against her, the urge so strong it was a force propelling him, wanting to leap from his chest. She broke the surface and gasped. He was there beside her, blood thrumming in his ears, loud enough to sound the beat of his heart. She’s breathing, but she’s struggling, her arms flailing. Briefly, his fingers touched her hand, but she smacked them away. Her wet skin was clammy cold. He was trying to say something, felt his mouth opening as he tread water, but she’s splashing and kicking and it registered, a lightening thought: drag her down, pull her back under. 

Because she couldn’t breathe. 

She couldn’t breathe air. 

There’s salt in his mouth. He could taste it. It’s water. It’s tears. 

            Josh jolted awake. That horrible sensation of falling. The kicking lash of his body woke him. He rolled onto his back on the futon, throwing off the duvet. He’s wrecked. Washed up like flotsam on a shoreline. He forced his chest to rise, to take air into his lungs. His heart was thudding to escape and he’s shivering with cold. He’s scared to see if he’s actually soaked, that he must be, he was swimming wasn’t he? And the touch of her skin through the water. He groaned, rolling over onto his stomach. 

It was haunting, sensual, but the implications were horrible.

It was so real he could still taste the salt in his mouth. He licked his lips. They’re wet. He tentatively touched his cheek. Wet. Slick. He pressed his fingers to his lips. Salt. 

            He’d been crying as he slept.      

5

Finding Rex

It’s all confusion and noise. 

Yips, barks, yelps, whimpers. Fluorescent overheads, bleached light. It cut clean through Zoe’s head as she tried to concentrate. Paws scraping linoleum. Jagging cage wire. Water and food bowls slopping. Small and middling bodies jostling, shuddering. The smell of disinfectant masking pee. 

            Zoe felt completely lost. And her arm and back were throbbing. Soon, her head would be, too. 

            “You could go and come back.”

            The guy’s voice was low at her side, but she heard it. Human and anchoring while she was adrift.  

“I don’t know.” Her throat and mouth were dry.

            “It’s often a gut thing. Choosing, that is.”

            “You think?” 

            “It seems to be.”

            Her eyes darted to catch his. Coal dark, the pupils barely there. Light on oily water at night eyes. Looking thoughtfully at her.

            “Was it like that for you?” The guy had been sitting at the desk when she’d entered the Lort Smith Animal Hospital and Shelter, next to a vet nurse in blue scrubs. 

Evie had dropped her off. After some grovelling to get back into Evie’s good graces, they’d gone out for a catch-up coffee before Evie’s acting class that afternoon. Zoe had deflated seeing her go. She’d also been a little relieved. Evie’s excitement at Zoe’s exploits that day was exhausting. The fact I made it out of the apartment, she thought wryly. The fact I decided to actually DO something.

            His smile was quick then slipped away, his face masked. As if he was protecting something. “I can’t remember. I was a kid when we got Kip. A Kelpie. We got him from a neighbour’s litter.”

            Zoe was quivering. Uncertain. Too much. Too much for one day, she thought helplessly. A gentle touch jolted her. The guy’s hand was at the elbow of her bandaged arm. There was a gauze bandage taped to her back as well, between her shoulder blades.

            “Hey. Come sit outside for a bit. I’ll make tea.” And her body was on a string, tethered, guided by him as she followed. 

            Zoe plonked down on a blue plastic chair, her head bumping the wall. She gingerly leaned back. God, please don’t let me faint. That would just make her day.Seated, she had to admit she felt a little calmer, less queasy, and she closed her eyes then blinked to open them when she heard squeaky footfalls. She blinked again and the guy was standing beside her, balancing tea in paper cups. He sat on the chair beside her and handed over a cup. A cup within a cup, two layers for insulation so she wouldn’t burn her fingers. It was a thoughtful gesture.

“You were going white,” he said. Observant.

            Zoe took a sip, her tongue burning. “I know,” then, “thank you.” The warm liquid trickled, an intravenous drip of glucose and caffeine. Zoe sighed. When the guy smiled his mouth spoke with his eyes.

            “Do you work here?” she asked. He’s not wearing clinical blue anything, just a long sleeve black T-shirt going dark grey with too many washes and jeans. Converse sneakers like hers. Both navy. Their feet were twinned, although his were considerably larger.

            “I help out occasionally. On the weekends. My name’s Josh by the way.”

“I’m Zoe. Are you a volunteer?”

            “Yeah, I am.” He looked at her as if he wanted to solve something, with eyes old and kind. Also a little wary. Closed off. Eyes she imagined that could speak a silent animal language. And whenever their eyes met, his widened. Close to gawking, but not quite, not too weird to make her uncomfortable. She registered the sharp edges of his cheekbones, high with a strong yet curving jaw. He’s more than cute, the angular lines tipping him into territory that could be gorgeous—although in this light, the colours were off and anyone’s face would appear sallow and sunken. His nose was a little beaky while the stubble hid his skin, darkening his face, already shadowed by the shaggy long cut of his walnut-brown hair. 

            Josh took her empty cup. “Come. You’ll be ready this time.”

            He was right, because the one she’d been searching for was quivering like she’d been just moments before. A wiry haired Jack Russell cross. His snuffly nose pushed through the cage. Sniffing her out. Josh opened the cage door and Zoe knelt awkwardly, palm facing up, while pup nudged and licked, her fingers cupping his chin which tilted a bit as she scratched. 

Josh crouched beside her. “See, not so hard.”

            Pup raised a paw and she took it. 

            “His name’s Rex,” Josh offered. Zoe gave him a look, amazed. Pup had a name. “It happens,” he continued. “The owners had to move interstate.”

“He’s still a pup,” she said helplessly. He was too small for such a name. Tyrannosaurus. Runt. Oh dear. Oedipus. Runt. Tears squeezed from her eyes. There was an orange lumped in her throat. 

Once, what seemed like another life ago, she’d had a small golden cocker spaniel, a stray that she and her brother Coop had rescued. They’d found him with an injured leg, abandoned not far from where they lived in Elwood. They’d got their mum to drive them to the vet and after his wound had been strapped and he’d been vaccinated, it was discovered he hadn’t been microchipped. They’d posted flyers trying to find the owner. No one came forward. Zoe’s dad hadn’t been pleased to find his daughter and son had adopted a one-year-old puppy. Everyone, except their father, had adored Riley. 

The tears dripped when Zoe thought of how Riley had lost Coop when he’d moved out of home, but how not long after, a speeding car had killed Riley.      

Zoe started shivering. Perhaps this is a mistake, her thoughts tumbling with the onset of panic. Becoming anxious was all too easy these days. Maybe I’m not ready to take this on. She suddenly wanted to flee. Her chest was tightening up and if she took a deep breath, she knew she’d hear a rattling wheeze as her lungs compressed like an accordion. She could feel herself getting ready to stand up and run out of there. Or walk very fast. 

Josh scratched behind Rex’s ears. “But he’s got you now. Look, he knows.” 

It’s too much to speak. Their hands touched as they petted and gentled a delighted, shivering Rex. Zoe sat on the floor with her legs outstretched. Her right leg was angled, slightly bent. Josh’s wise eyes seemed to take in everything. 

Rex clambered onto her lap. I’m a goner, she thought ruefully. She bowed her head; long tangled curls curtained her face and the tears that hopefully, only Rex could see.

6

Rewind

Oh shit, was all Josh could think. He was glad the words didn’t shoot out of his mouth when he spied the girl with a slight limp and amazing hair walk into the Lort Smith. 

            So he stood, like an idiot. 

            “Josh?” came Alyssa’s low-pitched query, the vet nurse sitting beside him. Well, until he’d stood up to attention. 

            “What?” Josh glanced at her and sat back down just as quickly. The girl had stopped to look at the notice board featuring pictures of their current adoptees. 

             “You know her?” Alyssa nudged. She was grinning wickedly. Her spiked, peroxided blonde hair with pink streaks reminded him of a punk albino racoon. But he’d never say that because he’d decided she was one of those few souls he liked without having to share much. 

            “Uh, well—kind of,” he muttered, hoping the girl’s hearing wasn’t super sharp. He didn’t know how to explain how he didknow her. Not without divulging certain extracurricular activities that Alyssa was mostly unaware of. 

            “Dish it. Before I go outside for a fag break.” Josh knew she wouldn’t budge until he did. And he was desperate for Alyssa to leave. If he was finally going to meet the girl he’d been noticing without trying to be a stalker, he didn’t want any witnesses. There was a tremor riding his legs and his hands were sweaty. He clenched them underneath the counter. 

            “You know when I said I did some street art?”

            Alyssa pursed her vivid pink lips. Not quite a match for the hair. “Sort of. You were vague about it.”

            “Well, I’ve seen her walking out nearby where I’ve been painting.” And that didn’t explain half of it. 

            “Oh,” said Alyssa, sounding deflated. As if that was nothing. 

            Yet it was everything for Josh in that moment. 

            “Okay, well, I’m going out then I’ll be in consults for the rest of the afternoon.”

            “Sure,” said Josh, vaguely, eyes darting at the girl who was carefully studying each picture. He noticed how she kept that right knee slightly bent when she stood still. He could only wonder at why she favoured that leg, had been since he first saw her. Sometimes she walked fine, but then she stuttered, as if remembering something was wrong and she’d limp.

            Josh didn’t even notice Alyssa leaving. His mind was skittering between a hyper awareness at the girl’s presence and straying to the first time he’d seen her almost a month ago. 

            She’s here, he thought dumbly. Numb and tingly all at once. Bloody hell, she’s actually here.

            Josh wasn’t sure whether it was excitement coursing through him, or a weird kind of dread.

7

Balloon on a string

There was a hitch.

            A stomach plummeting oversight on Zoe’s part. While signing the adoption forms, she realised she had no way of getting Rex home. But Rex’s eyes, the warmth in her arms, how he sighed—yes sighed—when he rested his chin on her knee, it prompted a thought.

            “I’ll just be a moment. I need to make a call.”

Josh looked slightly confused, his cheeks flushed. “Sure, I’ll finish the paperwork.” 

Outside Zoe walked, searching for the number on her phone. 

            “Are you alright?” was Lily’s first, and lately, predictable greeting.

            “Yes—no, don’t worry Lil. I’m fine, really.” She felt a rush of relief, a flush of blood heating her face at hearing Lily’s voice. That she’s there. It took a minute to explain. The silence at her end was suspenseful. 

            “I’ll be there in ten.” Zoe’s forgotten Lily lived in North Melbourne. Her mind was pocked with craters.

            “You don’t need to come here now. Just when I pick him up next weekend. He needs some shots and stuff first.”

            “No, I’m coming now. I want to make sure it’s all legit.”

            “Of course it’s legit! I’m eighteen. I’ve adopted a dog, not a baby!”

            “Zo, I’d like to see this puppy and I’d like to see you.” Lily’s voice was stern but gentle. She’d brook no argument and Zoe gave none.

            “Fine. See you.”

            Josh was still at the desk. Reading a book.

            Zoe cleared her throat. “My aunt is coming. She’ll be here soon.” A quizzical look crossed his face. “She wants to meet him.”

            “Of course.” Josh smiled while Zoe felt like a dolt for needing help to work out the logistics of getting Rex home. 

Josh looked down at the form. “She’s not coming from South Yarra? She might not get here before we close.” 

            “No. She lives nearby. I live with my father.” And hoping not to inspire thoughts of an unfit parent while thinking otherwise, “He’s away a lot. Lily’s going to help me to pick up Rex.” Which was the truth. Josh nodded with that confused, slightly flushed look.

            The book was now closed, the cover facing up. He was reading Jeanette Winterson. Zoe’s thoughts were a winking neon sign. Oh boy. Written on the Body. Oh. And the opening line, stamped on her brain since she’d read it, memorised it: “Why is the measure of love loss?” She couldn’t breathe for seconds just thinking those words while Josh was curiously watching her reaction, then—  

            “Zoe.” 

She’s all arms and legs like Zoe’s mum, but with a bump for a stomach that surprised Zoe, even after seven months of knowing Lily was pregnant. Those arms folded Zoe into her body; the bump prodded and traitorous tears vied with pain. Zoe gasped, a hissing inhale. Lily misunderstood and grasped Zoe’s arms as she pulled back, her hand tight over the bandage and tears threatened to fall.

            “Zo?” she exclaimed in alarm. River and the sea met in the estuary of Lily’s eyes; so like her own and her brother Coop’s. Josh stood up, ready for action.

            “My arm,” Zoe whispered and pulled away. Lily was puzzling at how she gingerly moved it to her side. 

            “What—are you hurt?” 

Why today? Why did she pick today to do this?

“No, not hurt. Just…” And she was lost again. Zoe unzipped her dark grey hoodie. Josh’s eyes widened, this time with surprise, and once upon another time, she would have laughed at that look. Zoe slipped the sleeve low, exposing the sterile gauze bandage wrapping the top of her pale limb, peaking from beneath the navy T-shirt. 

“What happened?” asked Lily sharply.

“I had it done this morning. Also, I’ve got one on my back.”

“Done?” And then comprehension and incredulity scribbled all over Lily’s face. A face as radiant as the moon last night when Zoe went walking. That’s what her mum once said about her younger sister because she saw the poetry of things. A face not unlike Zoe’s. In shape that is, wanting Zoe to think she had some uniqueness despite borrowing bits from her immediate family. Strangely, nothing obvious from her dad. Except the hair. Taffy hair. Molasses hair. Something sticky. Yet, as she got older a bronze tint appeared that in certain lights could be mistaken for a bay leaf green. And no one, no onein the family could lay claim to that. 

“Oh, Zo.” Lily sat heavily on a blue plastic chair, as did Zoe and then Josh. Now he was amazed. Quietly so.

“When I said do whatever makes you happy, I didn’t think tattoos.” It’s a smile Zoe saw when she furtively glanced up. There’s a slumping sense of a weight dispersing and she’s a lump of flesh, no bones. Josh was grinning, pleased at this revelation, although Zoe’s not sure why. 

“It’s a little sensitive,” she said shyly. It’s too new. Like contact lenses, and that took months to get used to. When she’d danced she couldn’t wear glasses so contacts were necessary. These days Zoe preferred not to wear anything at all, liking the fuzzy edge to the life around her, softening the impact, making it less harsh to take in.

“I bet. But,” and Lily twisted in the chair to get up, “we’ll talk about it later. Let’s go meet the newest member of our family.” So casually she said it, and then she acknowledged Josh who jumped up to help her, while Lily waved him away with a smile. His eyes washed over Zoe as she passed with a questioning intensity that had her catching her breath. She wanted to float and swim in that look. She wanted to close her eyes against it, make a run for it. 

Zoe introduced Lily to Rex who was eagerly pressing against the cage door, begging for release. Lily was immediately smitten and they took turns holding him, his tail wagging, paws needling, snout truffling, making small yipping sounds until Josh informed them the adoption centre was about to close. Reluctantly Zoe said goodbye, hoping Rex didn’t understand what leaving meant in the way she did. Although in a way he must. A week and Lily would accompany Zoe with transport to take Rex home. 

            “I’ll see you then, Zoe,” Josh said by way of goodbye. She felt like a rag doll, somehow managing what felt like walking. She smiled dazedly and waved.

Lily clasped Zoe’s hand, leading her in the opposite direction from where Zoe originally came from, towards her and Nick’s house. Zoe tugged against her, thinking of her dad’s apartment she currently called “home”, but more so, her bed. 

            “No,” Lily said, quickly. “You need food and rest. Actually, it might be good for you to stay tonight, love. In case those adornments flare up.” Zoe had forgotten. Lily had her own “adornment”, what passed for a butterfly low on her back near her butt.  

            Once more, Zoe was a balloon on a string. She’s a wisp of herself, nodding silently and marvelling at the day.

8

Sanctuary

“Hey, you look like a block of ice, Josh,” chided Mel.

            Mel had never liked her actual name, Melissa, because it sounded so prissy and as kids, Josh and his older brother, Blu, constantly ribbed her about it. She got up from the sofa where she’d been wrapped in a hideously bright crocheted blanket that their mum had sprung on her the first year she’d left home. The TV was flickering without sound. 

            “What’s with the silence?” Josh shrugged off his duffle coat and flung it over the back of an armchair, but he kept his beanie on. His sister dashed over to the kitchen space to put on the kettle. It was basically a strip along one wall separated by a long island bench from the large lounge area in the converted warehouse apartment. He saw the laptop she’d dumped on the sofa.

            “Just catching up on emails. Mum’s are like essay length. Probably easier than calling me,” she said wryly.

            “Not the same as hearing your voice.” Josh knew he was a bit of a Luddite. Working part-time at a second-hand bookshop just a few streets over from where they lived, kind of added to his retro vibe. He rubbed some life back into his hands and went to stand in front of the wall-panel heater.

            Mel turned to him; black-rimmed glasses casting a stern look to her otherwise serene face. “We also use FaceTime.”

            “Got you.” Hardly. Josh could barely get his head around using the video function on his phone. 

The heater toasted his butt and the backs of his legs. He’d driven home without even turning up the heating in the Subaru. He was locked in that moment of seeing mermaid-girl walk into the Lort Smith—wanting—he didn’t know what he wanted. His head was crazy with confusion.

            “Where’s Ben?” he called out to Mel. She was opening and closing drawers and cupboards, and there was the clink of cutlery and mugs. She was getting him something to eat. Mel was like their mum in that way, always thinking he needed a feed. Given she was the oldest of the four kids, she’d often stepped in as the protector when their parents couldn’t give Josh or Blu what they’d needed. Their brother, Will, had never needed anyone’s protection, except from himself.

            “Out for dinner with a couple of friends from work.”

            He could feel his body thawing out. He’d morphed into a human popsicle without being conscious of the fact. Mel came over carrying a tray. The waterfall of dark brown hair made him think of mermaid-girl—again. 

            “Mum sent some fruitcake and lemon slice.” She’d heaped a small plate for him. His stomach growled and Mel grinned hearing it. “Did you eat something after work?”

            “Yeah, grabbed a pizza with Ash.” He reluctantly left the heater and sat beside her on the sofa, tugging the lurid rug to throw over his legs as he picked up the plate. Mel’s partner Ben was an architect and a bit of a design freak. The rug was there under sufferance.

            “Want some?” he asked sheepishly.

              Mel just rolled her eyes, “All for you.” He gave a goofish grin as he proceeded to stuff his face. Mel curled up with the laptop, pulling at the corner of the rug to cover a bit of her legs. Josh leaned back and felt the energy leak out of his body with the effort. 

            “Good day with the strays?” Mel never pried, but she was curious. She had an idea he was going out and painting or pasting stuff up, and to her credit, she never riled him about the fact he could get caught. As far as she was concerned he was old enough to deal with the consequences. It was one of the many qualities he loved about her, that she kept her nose out of his business. He’d been living with her since he was fifteen, three and a half years now; same age as when Blu left the family farm in South Gippsland to live with Mel a couple of years before Josh. They both felt like they owed her for giving them a sanctuary. For saving them. Josh still had a hard time admitting he’d needed saving.

            “Not really,” he said around chewing. He was making short shrift of the cake, watching the weird movements of a girl cop on screen with a guy morphing into some kind of monster. “What the hell are you watching?”

            “I’m not really watching it. Well, I started to. Beauty and the Beast—something like that.”

            “Weird.”

            “Monsters are weird.”

Josh popped the last piece of cake into his mouth. He’d wolfed it down. He put the plate on the coffee table and picked up the steaming mug. Blu had made that coffee table. A simple rectangle of Victorian Ash, a blockish shape, but that’s what Mel and Ben had wanted—something elegant yet rugged in its simplicity. It was one of the first pieces of furniture Blu had designed and made himself while he was an apprentice to Mick, a furniture designer in Sydney. Mel had got teary when she saw it. 

Josh had taken the road trip with her and Ben to see his older brother. Mel had hugged Blu hard when she saw the table, murmuring, “It’s beautiful. Truly.” They’d loaded it into the back of the old Volvo when they drove home to Melbourne. Blu had given Josh a small carving, a bird, it’s wings spread out. He’d puzzled over the significance of Blu’s gift, not wanting to acknowledge it might have something to do with his friend, Holly. But Blu said nothing, and Josh never asked.

Mel seemed lost in thought, tapping at the keys. Josh sipped his tea. The hot liquid soothed. The whole day was unravelling as bizarrely as what was happening on the television screen. 

He almost told Mel about the mermaid-girl. If he could speak about her, she might feel more real. Then he remembered the blue wool in his coat pocket. That and the limp, and the tears she’d tried hiding while holding Rex spoke of something sad and troubling about her. He was able to sense that from years of observing people and a keen sixth sense from growing up with Will, whom he’d made it his mission in life to avoid. 

“I think I might go to bed,” Josh said, bypassing the urge to confess, needing to curl up under the duvet and wait for the forgetfulness of sleep.

Mel closed her laptop. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Josh cranked a tired grin. “Might be coming down with a cold. It’s bloody freezing in here.”

Mel swatted his arm. “Get gone. And don’t be a wanker. You’re not the one paying the heating bill!”

“Hey! I contribute.”

“Ugh. Stop reminding me. This place is ridiculous to heat.” The warehouse was difficult to heat, and expensive, a fact Ben had tried to address when he re-designed the former two-level storage space he’d inherited from his uncle into a home. Mel had flouted Ben’s wishes and got a couple of gas space heaters for seriously cold days and nights. The look on Ben’s face at seeing them had been priceless. 

Josh stretched to get up and then leaned over to give Mel a light kiss on her head. His nose tickled with the citrusy scent of her shampoo. 

“Sorry, sis. I’m being a dick.’

Mel scoffed but her cornflower-blue eyes softened; eyes like Blu’s. Josh had his mother’s dark brown eyes. “Yeah, I know. See you in the morning.”

Josh gave a wan smile before heading off to his room upstairs. He didn’t bother turning the light on in his room, he just kicked off his Converses and stripped to his boxers and T-shirt, diving under the covers. The minute his eyes shut, mermaid-girl was there. Images strobed of her walking; pulling the beanie on the bollard, and then sewing that stupid bit of knitting onto the branch. 

Briefly he wondered if mermaid-girl was crazy.

That made him smile. Until he remembered her tears.

Cocooned in warmth, he willed himself to sleep.                                

9

Let it go

Nick struggled not to laugh. Lily’s glare was famous and fierce. They ate leftover vegetable lasagne with a side order of pizza. Just smelling it was giving Lily gas. 

            Zoe could barely eat. Her stomach was a clutching claw. When she’d called her dad about staying at Lily’s he’d sounded guiltily relieved, hiding behind the excuse he’d planned to go out, so it was good she was staying overnight. Evie had texted asking how things had gone. Zoe sent a photo of Rex that incited a string of excited emojis overflowing at least two text bubbles. There was also a text from her mum. A simple photo of the sun rising over a lake spread thick with lotus flowers at the yoga ashram she was currently in residence for the next three months. It had zero calming effect despite its beauty.

            “Zo, let’s go check your arm and back and clean it up to be sure,” said Lily, noticing her fiddling attempts to eat. Nick had the eyes of a vulture set to devour the remaining pizza. Zoe was safe from his boy humour with his mouth stuffed full. 

            “You’re not eating, Zo.” Lily efficiently set about cleaning Zoe’s back and arm. But of course, she was a nurse. 

            “I am.” A little too obstinate and brusque, but she was eating, just not the kind of food Lily would consider appropriate, namely takeout care of money from her dad, and the occasional meal at Gran’s.       

“What is it?” Lily eyed her arm curiously, the delicate circling lines and silhouettes. “Zo?” 

            “Birds.” As if that explained everything. Lily humphed, neither impressed nor disapproving. The birds were perched on the lines, like sitting on electricity wires on her arm, and then across her back, a small flock took flight. When the tattooist drew it, it looked as if they were flying from the wires on her arm, and her back was the sky. When he’d finished, the angled mirror only gave a hint of what it would look like once her skin was no longer flared red. And she’d been dizzy from the pain. She’d chosen the tattooist for his artistry, the fact he used vegan inks, was super vigilant about hygiene, and didn’t think she was an uptight dork for not wanting cling film on her skin, preferring cotton gauze and tape. 

            “The offer to live with us still stands, Zo. At least while your mum is away. Longer if you want.” 

Zoe looked at her bump helplessly. 

“Even more so,” she said gently. “Bub will need a big sister.”

            “And a dog,” Zoe countered weakly.

            Lily’s lips twitched. “Yes, and a dog.” 

Slathered with antiseptic cream, Lily guided her like a stray lamb. It was the mother thing. Not that Lily ever tried to mother either Coop or Zoe. Mostly while their parents were still together, Lily was happy to pop into their lives without getting too involved. There was all this stuff between her mum and Lily that was pre-history, meaning pre-Dad, Coop and Zoe. 

When her parents decided to have their “break” her dad had moved out, and not surprisingly, her mum had kept Lily at a distance refusing to talk about what was going on. She also wouldn’t talk to Zoe. Coop said to let it go. Let what go? He’d muttered, “You don’t want to know, Zo. Believe me.” And he was right. A few months later Coop finally told Zoe one of the reasons why their parents separated. 

Coop’s expression had been stoic, and really pissed off. “Some people—some people you can’t rely on. Or trust.”

            “Who?”

            “Dad,” came his clipped reply, but the hurt was palpable. Coop’s river-green eyes were like glass. “No one wants to say it, but he’s changed. A lot. Since he started at that corporate law firm. The thing is—it’s highly likely he was having an affair with one of the junior lawyers at the firm. And fuck it– I want nothing to do with him right now!” 

Zoe had been too shocked to speak. She couldn’t get her head around her father doing that—having an affair. Betraying her mother. Betraying all of them. It hit hard, that he was even capable of such deception. How little she actually knew him. Coop’s vehemence shut Zoe right up. Being honest about how she was feeling seemed impossible. Yet later, there were days when anger carved deep grooves in her heart. 

The opposite room to the bathroom was the spare bedroom. Currently the baby junk room with a futon, next to another small room with yet more junk. Storage space was at a premium in the tiny Victorian cottage. Depending on available funds, Lily and Nick were slowly fixing it up so it always had the feeling they’d just moved in. Nick had kindly made the bed. Probably out of guilt. Zoe collapsed while Lily proffered a long sleeve T-shirt to sleep in. 

“Stop you greasing the sheets with all that cream I put on,” she said wryly. 

Suddenly, Zoe couldn’t move.

            “How is it, at the apartment?” Lily could barely say her father’s name. Stuart. In Lily’s eyes, he’d let his kids down. Her anger was electric. In Zoe’s stupor she jolted with it. 

            “The same.” Anything more was too hard. 

            “Is she still around?” Lily bit each word. Zoe still wasn’t sure of the extent of her dad’s relationship with Karen while he’d been with her mum. She didn’t want to know. No one wanted to talk about it.

Zoe nodded. Again, too hard and Lily let it go because no good would come of it.

Lily wanted to ask; she could feel it. And she did, finally. “Have you heard from Coop?” By now Zoe could barely move her head. 

            Voice rasping, “Yeah. He called yesterday.” 

“Come.” She heard Lily’s voice and Josh’s in that one word, and she was seeing his eyes as her own closed. 

How strange—to remember his eyes.

“Rest, you’re exhausted.” Lily’s fingers trailed through her hair that Zoe rarely brushed. She felt the featherweight of a duvet. Her cheek cupped by a palm. 

“Forgive the mess. The baby’s room is under demolition.” Zoe smiled drowsily.

            “Sleep. Just sleep.” Lily’s voice was a fading lullaby. 

10

Ophelia

The gateway to Zoe’s subconscious had been barred for months now. She’d padlocked it, soldering the keyhole closed.

            Tonight, it opened of its own volition.

            And she was walking into a lake. 

A watery pool. Fully clothed in what she was wearing as she slept. With each step Zoe was weighted and then, floating. 

I’m drowning. Or, I’ve drowned. I’m Ophelia. The Pre-Raphaelite painting version with flowers in my hair and hands. I’m a mollusc body, pliant as clay. A dough-like dummy, rigidly still. 

There was no life here.

Face-up to the sky, but her eyes were blind to see it.   

11

Breathing underwater

“Hey, aren’t you normally at yoga?” asked Josh, still groggy after another dream of mermaid-girl, scarily similar to the night before, and a little put out at seeing Mel seated at the dining table with her iPad and a coffee. She was wearing jeans and a hoodie, definitely not yoga gear, which was where she should be on a Sunday morning. The yoga studio was downstairs, taking up the entire ground floor, so she literally fell out of bed most mornings for an early session before work.

            “Morning to you too, sunshine,” she smirked. “And no—not today. Ben’s gone into work and I’m giving the place a tidy since Blu’s meant to be here this evening.”

            Josh’s hand stopped mid-air from pouring hot water onto his teabag. “What?” 

            Mel’s eyes widened over her glasses. “Shit! I forgot to mention it. He called early this week and said he was coming home with Roan! Oh my God! I’m so sorry Josh.”

            Josh poured the water and let it sink in. His brother was coming back to Melbourne. He’d been in Sydney for nearly three years. 

“Is it a holiday?” Josh dangled the teabag and tried to shake the fuzzy feeling from his brain. 

            “Nope. He’s setting up a workshop for Mick in Fitzroy. They’ve got a shopfront and Blu and another guy are going to run the store and make the furniture here. And Roan is continuing her art course in Melbourne, so the timing’s perfect.”

            “Wow, that’s a great opportunity.” Josh understood Blu needing to leave to take up the apprenticeship, although he’d always wondered if there was more to Blu living in another city. He could have found an apprenticeship here, but getting away from Melbourne seemed his primary motivation. Then after a year of being away he’d come back suddenly, surprising them with the story of how he and Roan were back together, having split up before Blu left, and she was moving to Sydney to be with him.

            Mel had been ecstatic. Josh had felt bewildered. He’d been happy for Blu. He hadn’t been happy about feeling that he was being left behind in some way. How it tugged at a deep abandonment he could barely touch upon.

            Mel grinned, hugely. “It is! And he’s excited about it. I’m so sorry I didn’t mention it.” 

            Josh went to sit on one of the benches that flanked the long oak table. Blu hadn’t made this, although he’d recommended someone in Melbourne who’d crafted it. 

            “Are they staying here?” There was a spare bedroom that Blu crashed in when he came to visit.

            Mel nodded. “Yeah. They’re driving down, said they’d be here this afternoon.”

            Josh sipped his tea and got up to put some bread in the toaster. “Want some?” he asked Mel, who nodded. Like him, she wasn’t much of a talker in the morning. 

            “I’ll have honey on my toast, thanks.” Mel was reading a newspaper or something. Josh cringed at the device she’d become so attached to lately. Reading off a screen made his eyes ache. He loved the feel of a book in his hands. The antiquarian and second-hand bookshop where he worked was on the ground floor of a warehouse building similar to this, and had so many bookcases it resembled a maze. 

            Josh piled a plate with toast and put butter and condiments on the table. He brought over knives and plates and sat, suddenly exhausted. He either needed to go back to bed, or take a long shower. 

            “Are you okay?” Mel was way too astute. Josh must have looked particularly shabby for her to ask. 

            “Tired. Weird dreams.” 

            Mel’s eyebrows hiked. “How weird? And tell me if they’re the kind of dreams that should be censored before speaking.” She grinned cheekily and he flipped her. She stuck her tongue out, thankfully without food. 

            Josh scraped butter and strawberry jam on his toast, took a bite, his stomach rumbling. “You’re into dreams and their meanings, aren’t you?” 

            “Well, I used to be. I even kept a dream journal for a while. Why?”

            “What if you had a dream about someone and they were swimming, but when they went up for air, they couldn’t breathe air, they could only breathe underwater?” It still made him shiver just thinking about it. He’d grabbed the sketchbook he kept close at hand, trying to capture the dream in swirling, fluid strokes of the pencil. He’d pinned the images to the wall in his bedroom that was covered in his drawings, so that he could almost see the dream as it unfolded. What he kept seeing was mermaid-girl’s face.

            Mel gave him an indecipherable look. “Not sure. That does sound bizarre. Do you think it means something?”

            “That’s why I’m asking you!”

            “Okay! Don’t get your boxers in a twist.” Mel chewed her toast and then sipped her coffee. There were crumbs around her plate. She was a messy eater, which Josh thought was kind of endearing.   

            “The fact she can’t breathe like a normal person means she feels more at home in the water. So—you’ve either had a dream about some mythical mermaid, or on a symbolic level, the person isn’t at home on land, earth. It’s kind of a strange reversal of drowning. They’re drowning, or unable to breathe air.”

            Josh swallowed and nearly choked. He coughed and Mel got up and thumped his back. “Thanks,” he rasped.

            Mel sat back down, frowning. “I’ve never known you to be interested in dreams.”

            “Well, I’m not usually. This was just out there. And it felt like it meant something.”  

            They ate in silence. Josh could hear the distant traffic from Chapel Street. He found it comforting, the sense of life outside the building.  

            “One thing I know,” Mel began, “sometimes the meaning of a dream only comes to you later, maybe a few days or a week. I’d write it down and look at it again once you’ve had time to stew over it.”

            “Okay,” he said absently, the dream-images swimming before his eyes like a film. 

            “Josh?” Mel was waving her hand to get his attention.

            “Sorry, still feeling a bit out of it.” 

            “Ben and I thought we’d go out tonight. Take Blu and Roan to see a gig or something. Want to come?”

            He had no plans and his friend Ash, whom he’d probably have hung out with, was working at the wine store tonight, so he was free. Why not? He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.” 

            Mel smiled happily. She loved having her family around her. Despite what they’d endured. Josh had a strong feeling it was because of their family that Blu had escaped to Sydney. 

He’d never asked and he wasn’t sure if he would. 

12

Not that kind of love

Whether Zoe was simply bone weary, or her body was reacting to the drama of the previous day, she slept most of Sunday.

            She dazedly got up to pee. She fell asleep again. She blearily heard the door open. Lily kissed her forehead gently. A whispered goodbye. 

            Early afternoon, Zoe surfaced, venturing into the kitchen. Passing a mirror in the hall she met a scrawny body in skinny jeans and Lily’s long sleeve T-shirt with a haystack attached for a head. Since the fall, nearly six months ago, she avoided mirrors as much as possible, unable to recognise what she’d become. Or maybe she just didn’t want to see. In the kitchen Zoe grabbed the first accessible source of food, a box of cereal. Propped on a barstool, she ate it dry, shovelling it into her mouth in handfuls. 

            “I hear milk goes well with that.” Nick padded into the kitchen on bare feet, leaned against the sink, curiously eyeing her primitive eating. Zoe was primal. Possibly a chimp or an orangutan. She snarfled. Grunted. She pawed more food into her mouth, rather liking the idea of having gangly limbs and an innocent, mobile face.

“I’m hungry,” she crunched around the words.

            “I can see that,” Nick said, clearly amused. He filled the electric kettle with water. 

            “Tea?” he asked and she nodded. “You had quite a day yesterday.” He leaned again, arms crossed, but not defensively. He was as sloppily dressed as she was, with a rumpled T-shirt splashed with “No one gives a f**k about your blog” in white on black, and straight jeans with ripped knees.

            “Is Lily working?” Zoe asked sidestepping, dredging through the haziness of sleep, recalling the sensation of Lily’s light touch. 

            “Yeah, Royal Children’s.” 

Through the glass doors of the living room connected to the kitchen, there’s a courtyard and converted garage at the back that’s now Nick’s office where his computers were lit up. “You too?” 

            “Uh huh, project deadline.” He’s a web designer who worked from home and kept his own hours. It sounded appealing to Zoe and suited Nick’s laid-back attitude. 

Sufficiently full on dry wheat, Zoe dumped the packet on the island bench. Nick promptly nabbed it, shoved his hand in and then he’s happily munching. Her mouth was a small desert. She knew she’d been lax on the nutrition front while living with her dad, although protein shakes were easy enough to make. She happily glossed over this fact when she spoke to her mum. Hugging the box, Nick procured cups and teabags, pouring the steaming water and it’s like Josh from the day before, plying her with sweet beverages.

            “Lily’s happy with you being here. She hates it when she doesn’t hear from you.” 

            Zoe sighed. “I know. It’s—” She was losing words in the potholes of her brain.

            “Don’t need to explain, Zo. Just—she means it you know, that she wants you to come and live with us.”

             It’s surprising how they’re persuading her in tandem. “And you?” It’s one thing for Lily to want her here, but Nick wasn’t blood. Lily first suggested it after Zoe insisted on her mum going to the yoga retreat. That’s when her dad was suddenly in the picture, offering Zoe a “home”. In the end she’d accepted his offer because it seemed easier. The sterile apartment beckoned with some familiarity from brief visits to stay weekends. She could live there and not really care that it wasn’t a home, only temporary. After that she was certain Lily wouldn’t ask again. But Lily kept asking, while Zoe played dumb to hearing her.

            The steam from the cups swirled with dewy heat, moistening Nick’s face. Such an affable face. After seeing him, she always forgot how his features were put together, but in his presence it’s such a comforting face to behold. Open and agreeable. There was no artifice with Nick, no guile, just a direct simplicity. Zoe felt safe knowing where she stood with him; that she could trust what he said, although Zoe was never too sure if she could trust her own judgement of other people. 

            “I come from a family of four kids. Three sisters, Zo. I’m used to being surrounded by women who know better than me.” He wiggled his eyebrows, dangling the teabags. Zoe actually laughed. It sounded squeaky, rasping hinges that had rusted on an unused door. 

“So, one more female won’t matter?”

Nick chuckled. “No, it’s not like that. Of course I’d be happy for you to live here. You’re family. It will make Lily happy, and with the baby coming—”

“Live in help?” she joked.

He shook his head, splashed milk in their tea and handed her a cup. “She misses you and Coop. And you know that she and Rosie haven’t been close for some time. Especially after the separation. But I think she misses her, too.” Zoe could relate. She missed her mum despite wanting her to leave. Nick didn’t need to say more. They were silent. It hit her, his unsuspecting gentleness. 

“You love her, don’t you?” She blew ripples in her tea-pond.

His smile was genuinely bemused. “Why do you need to ask?” As if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world.

Zoe was thoughtful, bricking the words carefully. “I guess it’s just rare to see it.” She didn’t add that maybe she stopped trying to see.

“But there’s love around you, Zo. Your grandparents, Coop, your folks—us.” She was impressed how he didn’t stumble over including Stuart.

Zoe took a long sip. “Maybe. It’s—not that kind of love. I mean—” She shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

Zoe didn’t want to single out her dad and the mess of feelings that came with talking about him. And the fact her relationship with her mum changed considerably after her injury. Mostly, Zoe wanted to distance herself, to feel less smothered by her mum worrying about her rehabilitation. Or what she was going to do with her life. 

Sometimes Zoe wondered if her mum’s involvement in the drama of her rehab meant not having to think about herself. Which was a big reason why Zoe persuaded her to go to India: to do something that might make her happy. Zoe had also hoped it would give her space to breathe.

“I get it,” Nick said quietly. Yet this saddened him, his winter-grey eyes clouding like the steam around his face, and that evaporated just as quick. 

He nodded knowing exactly what Zoe meant.   

13

Until now

It was a mistake coming here tonight.

            It was great seeing Blu and Roan, and Josh didn’t mind being dragged to the Vegie Bar in Brunswick Street for dinner, before going to the gig. He barely said a word in protest despite craving a hamburger with substance, only partially focusing on everyone, as he was mostly thinking about mermaid-girl-Zoe. By the look on Blu’s face when he saw the menu, he was thinking the same thing as Josh. But when they got to the gig they realised they hadn’t noticed Punt was in the line-up to play. Coop’s band.

            “Oh shit,” muttered Blu, just before a wall of sound blasted the five of them at the back of the packed room. From what Josh gathered, Blu hadn’t left for Sydney on good terms with Coop. Not that Josh new Coop that well; he’d been more on the periphery of Blu’s friends when he came to live in Melbourne.

Mel reflexively stuck her fingers in her ears, while Ben got a glazed look on his face, steamrolled. Roan similarly looked overwhelmed, her tea-coloured eyes widening, her hand gripping Blu’s arm as if for support. Josh felt the music crackle through him like thunder, pinning him to the wall. Blu, who seemed to have bulked up and was a couple of inches taller than Josh, had his eyes fixed on the stage and Coop.

            Coop played guitar and was so into it from the first reverb that the crowd was a blur of bodies gyrating, jumping, slamming and generally trying to move to their chaotic sound. The lead singer Zeke was yelling into the mic, with Leo, a distant acquaintance playing bass, and Henry on drums. Punt was a straight balls-to-the-wall rock outfit with a nod to punk. Tonight they were going all out sounding more industrial-metal than hard rock. 

            “What the fuck?” yelled Blu to Josh, or anyone who could hear. Roan laughed, that fly-away chestnut hair slithering around her face as she moved her head to the beat, and Josh just shook his own head and took a slug of his beer. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to stay or go.

            “I KNOW!” screamed Mel in understanding. 

            “God. This is—WOW!” yelled Ben while Mel just eyeballed him like he was insane. 

Josh’s beer bottle was slippery in his clammy hand. His eyes were glued to the stage, which he could barely see through the bodies. Sweat sprayed from Coop’s dark blonde hair, longer than Josh remembered it. Coop played basketball, like Blu, and his hair had always been cropped short. That’s how he’d met Blu, playing on a public court in Prahran. Coop had loosened up a lot since then. 

The energy was streaming off the four of them despite the sound not really making sense to Josh. He had to admit, he liked to hear the lyrics, to follow the words, but he couldn’t help admiring the sheer swell of sound carrying the crowd into a frenzy. Josh could barely breathe in the rising heat of the room. Blu looked equally strung out.

             “I. Have. Got. To. Get. Out. Of. Here,” yelled Mel, pointing to the door and trying to grab Ben who was shaking his head in a daze.

            “Your. Funeral,” was her parting shot before disappearing through the throng.

            Josh wasn’t sure how long he stood transfixed, maybe three or four songs, but just as quickly as the music started, it stopped. Suddenly the lights brightened and the guys were filing off the stage. Coop was slicking his hair back and heading for the bar. A couple of girls were plastered to him, but he seemed oblivious, his eyes intent on the guy behind the bar who pulled a pot for him without Coop having to say a word. Coop turned a fraction in their direction. His eyes swept the crowd as he gulped the beer like water. When they swept back again, they landed on Blu like a fist hitting a gong. 

            Coop’s eyes narrowed and then he was pushing his way through the crowd. Blu stepped back as if trying to escape. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Roan, but Blu just shook his head.

Josh also didn’t know whether to make a run for it or put his beer down to get ready for bloody hell knows what. Coop didn’t look friendly in the least.

            “When the fuck did you get back?” Coop was right in Blu’s face, ignoring both Josh and Roan. They were roughly the same height. Blu’s jaw was clenched and Josh could tell he was tamping down the heat of anger rising to meet Coop’s fury. This kind of confrontation smacked so much of their brother, Will, that Josh’s legs were shaking. God, he felt like a fucking kid. And he could hate Coop for pegging Blu down just like Will used to.

            “Today, actually,” Blu said, voice steady. His hand gripped Roan’s and she was standing strong and looking fierce in the face of Coop’s anger. Josh warmed to her for that.

Coop’s eyes drilled into him. “Slunk back did you? Where the fuck have you been? I haven’t heard from you in forever, man!”   

“You know where I’ve been, Coop. I’ve been working in Sydney.” Blu kept his voice low, too aware of a battalion of eyes upon them. Ben had sidled up to them, ready to butt in and help. Josh kept quiet, not sure whether Blu would want him to get involved in what was obviously a slapdown that had been brewing for some time. 

            “So why the silence? It was like you bailed, man.” Coop wasn’t exactly slurring. He wasn’t drunk. But the emotion was distorting the words.

            “I’ve been completing my apprenticeship, Coop. I’ve been working,” he repeated as if Coop hadn’t heard him. “I didn’t bail. And last time I called you hung up.” Josh had a crazy urge to laugh. Coop apparently didn’t handle people leaving very well. 

             “Work? Yeah. Right. That’s a great excuse for dumping your mates.” Coop took a step back and Josh breathed out with relief. He had no idea that Blu might have stopped contacting Coop. 

            “Ease up,” piped Ben.

            “I’m easy! I’m being real easy! What have you got to say for yourself? You just left!” Coop sounded almost child-like. Roan was about to butt in, but Blu gave her a sidelong look.

            “It’s cool, Bird,” murmured Blu. Josh perked up at the nickname. Blu had used it a few times that evening, and he wondered what it meant.  

Blu stepped forward and stared Coop dead on.

            “I came round to see you the last time I was in Melbourne. You weren’t home. I hung out with Henry. He must have told you. And you hate emailing and ignore texts. What am I supposed to say, Coop?”        

  “Hey, what’s up? Blu?” It was Zeke. He was just under six foot with his dark hair tied back in a ponytail and acid-green, rectangular frame glasses that gave him an edgy look. “Wow. Good to see you, man.” He backslapped Blu with a grin. Coop on the other hand glowered. 

            “What’s the tension?” Zeke asked, hands up as if fending off a vibe. 

            “He left. That’s what. Left without saying when he was coming back. It was like radio silence.” Coop sculled the rest of his beer and Josh swore his grip could crush the glass. Like he wanted to ram it into Blu’s face. Great. Just great. 

            “Whoa, Coop. Blu’s a friend. He had things to do. We all gotta go sometime. Make our own way out there.” Zeke was so laid-back it was a wonder he got it together to front a band, study and do his own artwork. Josh had always been inspired by his passion. 

            “Exactly,” came a voice from Josh’s right. Mel. She’d slipped back in and the fresh chill of the night air was clinging to her coat and hair. She was glaring at Coop with as much ferocity as he was. 

             “Mel?” said Coop, like he couldn’t believe it.

            “Yeah. Remember me Coop? I bailed your sorry arse out of jail when you were picked up for getting in that fight? Remember? You called our house wanting Blu and got me.”

            Josh almost grinned at the comeback. Blu just looked relieved.         

            “I know Mel. Can’t thank you enough. You know that. I didn’t have to call my dad because of you.”

            “So what’s going on?” Mel asked in her prim schoolteacher voice. Eight-year-olds must stand to attention when she spoke to them. Coop was standing straighter, that’s for sure.

            “Just welcoming Blu back,” Coop had the temerity to say.

            “With a fist fight?” asked Mel innocently. Josh chuckled and for the first time, Coop’s eyes honed in on him and squinted. 

            “Josh? Bloody hell! Where have youbeen?” His voice edged with anger, again.

            “Here. Melbourne. I didn’t leave.”

            Coop just stared, as if looking at an apparition. Blu cut in. “Coop, it was work that kept me away. And I needed timeout.” 

            “Whatever.” Then he honed in on Roan, eyebrows hiking. “I thought you guys broke up?” 

Blu reached for Roan’s hand and she stepped forward, her head tilted defiantly as if daring Coop to have a go at her, too. “We got back together a while ago. Roan’s been living with me in Sydney.”

“You’re kidding me?” Coop looked at the two of them accusingly. “Isn’t that something you’d share with your friends?”            

            Blu looked guilty and Josh wanted to get the hell out of there. To escape from Coop’s laser stare and the awkwardness of it all. 

            “I told Jake. I thought he would have mentioned it.”

            “No. He didn’t.” 

It was like they were the only two people in the room. Up close, Josh saw through Coop’s glassy hard stare to the roiling hurt that laced every word. 

            “So are you back for good or leaving again?” barked Coop. 

Blu stepped away. “I’m back.”

            Coop nodded and turned abruptly, pushing towards the bar for a refill before the next set. 

            Zeke was shaking his head. “You know how he is, Blu. He missed you. He just can’t say that because of his history with his folks and all. And his sister’s had a rough time lately, so he’s pretty beat up.” Zeke gave Blu’s arm a friendly slap, smiled at Roan and nodded to Josh and Mel before heading back to the stage. Zeke never said much, but what he said counted. Blu would never get a confession like that from Coop because he was a runner, avoiding anyone who raked up his emotions. 

            “Let’s go,” Mel said, tugging at Blu’s sleeve. He’d barely touched his beer. 

            “Yeah, before we get assaulted both aurally and verbally,” said Ben dryly. 

            Blu just nodded and propped his near-full bottle on a table. Roan slid her arm around his waist, kissing his cheek. Josh was fixated on how they seemed joined, connected on a level he’d never been aware of before. Coop was onstage, his gaze on Blu until he tried to wave goodbye. Coop turned away. He wasn’t going to make it easy for Blu. Not at all.

            The cool air was bliss after the sauna-like room. Josh’s breath puffed wisps of clouds and he stood looking at the charcoal sky, the city lights smudging a chalk haze across it. 

            “You okay?” Mel touched his arm, her head tilting up to study him. Ben was on the curb hailing a taxi. Blu was standing with Roan, looking at the cars streaking by, his thoughts taking him somewhere else. He also looked drained, probably from the drive from Sydney, but his expression was hollow; inexplicably sad, his mouth compressed as if he was holding back a tide of feeling. 

            “Not sure,” Josh said honestly. Having Blu back was dredging up stuff that he tried hard not to think about. Like how distant his brother seemed right now. 

            “He’s a hot head.”

            “I don’t know him that well, but I don’t remember him being like that.”

            “Yeah, from what Blu told me his parents split up and it wasn’t good. And then his sister fell and hurt her leg. A dance injury or something. Blu tried contacting him, but Coop’s been freezing people out.”

            “That sounds shit. I didn’t know he had a sister.” The revelations just kept coming and Josh felt more and more out of the loop. Like, what planet was he on if he didn’t know this stuff about his own brother? 

            Mel gave him a one-arm hug. “I only met her after the jail incident. Zoe. I think her name’s Zoe.”

            Josh’s brain jammed. He stared at Mel who was looking at Ben as the taxi pulled up to the curb. 

            Zoe.

            Zoe who had hurt her leg.

            It couldn’t be. 

            Josh’s body was in lockdown as images of Zoe from the day before—so incredibly close—flickered through his addled mind. The hair. Her wild hair. The fine bones of her face. Her eyes. Green. Swimmy green. Like Coop’s. 

            Oh shit.

            All this time, she’d been at the edge of his existence. And maybe, just maybe, he could have met her through Blu and Coop. 

            But that had never happened.

            Until now. 

            The taxi came and Mel grabbed his hand, pulling him along. 

He felt this urge to say something, to make sense of the inexplicable sightings and meetings of a girl who just happened to be Coop’s sister. As if Mel could somehow unravel the coincidences, the strangeness. The fact it surely had to mean something.

Instead Josh kept the chaos of his thoughts to himself.                     

14

A girl with wings

She’s nowhere. 

Zoe wasn’t going to show. Josh was sure of it. Close to dawn and she should have been and gone by now. 

            He’d got home from the pub, his body thrumming with the energy of the music, the confrontation with Coop and the startling possibility that Zoe was Coop’s sister. 

In Josh’s bedroom on the floor he trod on the piece of blue knitted wool from the tree. He’d been holding it, toying and wondering over it before tossing it onto the floor. Speckles of dirt grit the wool from his thrown shoes. 

            Josh didn’t get it. He wanted to. Having witnessed her efforts, how carefully she’d sewn it onto the tree limb, he was sure it had meaning. But he was nervous, truly wondering about this girl’s sanity. 

            He tried to see it and something clicked in thinking of her leg. How the limb of the tree was broken. How she’d bandaged it with a careful melancholy, like trying to heal the broken wing of a bird, but knowing there was nothing that could fix it. And just thinking of her leg, of the fact she’d fallen, he choked, remembering the dream and wondering if being hurt meant living on earth was too hard. He understood that. How some wounds are invisible, not just physical, and just seeing a way through each day was akin to navigating a road pitted with sinkholes, the way forward horribly unclear.

Josh placed it on his pillow, a bright cipher for a girl who could be crazy or quietly marking a trail with thread, as if she could find herself if she were lost.

He got in the Subaru and drove towards the gardens. He parked close to where he first saw her then walked to the tree, the limb still broken. 

            Defeated, he lumbered back to the car. He didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to give in to the curdling disappointment that she wouldn’t somehow appear like the other night. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he saw her. But he wouldn’t barrel up to her out here. He knew that much. Perhaps the simplest thing to do would be to find Coop and ask for her phone number. Although he couldn’t imagine that going well. Coop would probably interrogate him and throw in a few threats. There was also the record of her details at the Lort Smith. He could call on the pretext he was following up about Rex. He just had this insane desire to meet her, not simply imagine her. 

            Josh had one paste-up with him. It was small, the size of his hand.

            He found the bollard Zoe had capped with the fuzzy green knitted beanie-thing. He pasted it quickly, deftly.

            It was a girl with wings; hair loose, flowing and wearing a simple shift dress, her feet bare. The wings were new. He’d added them without thinking. But he hadn’t been thinking about Zoe when he drew them. No, he’d been thinking about Holly, despite trying so hard not to. How she’d wanted to fly. A throwaway line about getting away from the country town they’d both been born in and that she’d chaffed living in, because it was nowhere near big enough to contain her, or her dreams. 

She’d never fly away, not now. 

For this piece, Josh signed it, free-fall.

Josh went back to the car and sat, watching as the sky lightened, leaching the ink of night, and clearing his eyes of any hope of a glimpse of her. Finally, he turned the key in the ignition, the Subie choking its grating cough to start. He only drove away when he didn’t need to turn the headlights on to find his way home.

15

Drowning

The tree with the severed limb was no longer wrapped in wool. 

            Zoe wasn’t surprised. For the past month she’d wrapped tree limbs, bike poles, bench legs and lampposts with her knitting in Prahran, South Melbourne and South Yarra. 

            Studying the amputation, she stood sentry still as if honouring the site, a monument to an anonymous soldier. She observed a minute’s silence.                        

It was Monday, late afternoon. 

            Her feet slowed as she walked along the Tan, reluctant in their destination. The satisfying bite of her sneakers on the gravel was lost in a stampede of jogging feet. From early in the day until late, people converged to run the Tan, running rings around the Botanical Gardens. Lycra clad, the latest workout gear, plugged into headphones, a few walking briskly with phones, pushing baby buggies like lawn mowers. Groups of women talking, swinging their arms. Sometimes carrying weights. It’s a zone of energy, ramped up by bodies pumping blood into breath. During the week, those who ventured inside the garden gates were mostly tourists. And lovers.

            “Need a lift?” came the voice of a Grammar boy from the school over the road from the gardens. He was one of three walking past, and he’d noticed her slight limp. Which was getting better. Zoe kept reminding herself of that. She was just tired and it was more noticeable. It was a lame pick up line with a twist. He was smiling, not snickering and another guy, too shy to look at Zoe, elbowed him in the gut. Zoe’s right hand twitched to swing upwards to flip him, but she opted for silence, glad for the fuzzy view since she wasn’t wearing her contact lenses that meant she couldn’t quite make them out. 

Zoe tried walking faster but she was worn out, having taken the tram from Lily’s and then walking along St. Kilda Road, cutting through past the Shrine of Remembrance. She should have more stamina with the swimming, but erratic sleep patterns weren’t helping. She could feel the guy’s eyes following her, but refused eye contact. She just didn’t want to be noticed. 

A patch of white flickered in her periphery. She hadn’t thought to check if the small skullcap she’d knitted for the bollard was still in place. But there was something pasted on the bollard that caught her eye. Slowly she walked to it, could see the lumpy wool where she’d left it. She bent and stopped. 

It was small and could fit in the palm of her hand. A paste-up of a girl. Signed free-fall. Zoe didn’t even think about her knee as she crouched. She anchored her body with one hand on the gravel path while the other tentatively touched the paper. Her finger traced the black outline of the girl. She seemed more solid than the painting. More stark. What intrigued her was how she wasn’t sure if the girl was floating or falling in this piece. She had wings. She was flying. Zoe’s fingers lingered before grabbing the phone from her jacket pocket and taking a photo. 

Standing, she stepped back and looked at her own strange addition and the paste-up placed beneath. A spark of wonder: Was this deliberate? Or random? She’d purposely made the knitting for this spot. She kept walking past the bollard and thought—why not? So, did the person who made this do the same? It was smaller than anything she’d seen before, but she was only familiar with the paintings, not this. Although maybe they pasted elsewhere, which made sense. She had no answers except this intuition that the two pieces were positioned as if in conversation. 

And then she shook the thought from her mind as being ridiculous, but not before taking another photo of her own work next to that of the girl who seemed to be flying, not falling.          

It was a mystery and would remain so. She had no clue who the artist was. Maybe that was a good thing. She placed her own knitting publicly with no intention of anyone knowing why she did it, or who was responsible. The anonymity of the act had been part of the attraction. Evie had no idea she was doing it. Neither did Coop. It was her secret, an inexplicable need that she didn’t question. It was freeing not to have to explain to anyone why she did it, or what it meant.

Turning away, Zoe entered the garden gates. Immediately her breathing changed: lungs inflating, air sweeping into her abdomen, cleaning everything in its path. The variegated green of trees, the lush scrub of hedge plants—it’s a bower for her body.      

There was a patch of lawn she favoured. Sloping grass with a view of the lake, close to Gate D. 

Zoe collapsed onto the spongy grass, lying on her back. It was one of those places where she felt at the edge of things. Just beyond the trees of the gardens, city skyscrapers appeared to loom and recede. The turret of the Governor’s house, flag flying, nestled in the treetops spearing up like an archaic sculpture. The sky was a giant arcing dome that contained everything.

Closing her eyes, she was in a variation of corpse pose. Zoe used to do yoga with her mum who was good enough to teach, with a body pliant as a green limb of a tree from years of practice. Yoga, strangely, became a safe way for Zoe to move after the fall.  

In all the years she’d been dancing, classical since she was five, and contemporary since she was ten, Zoe had never had an injury serious enough to make her think she’d ever stop. All it took was a simple jump during the warm up after barre exercises. A grand jeté. Zoe landed, ankle twisting hard. Her right knee gave way. She heard a sickening pop, but her brain didn’t connect the sound with something in her body breaking. Then Zoe was sucked into a spiralling pain that blacked out into a merciful oblivion. She came round in the hospital doped up on pain medication. 

Gran was there, stroking her hair like she was a kid again. Gran’s second husband, Hugh, sat quietly, his worry communicated in the ruffled spikes of his hair. He’d been dragging his hands through it, which he only did when he was upset. Lily hovered with Nick holding her. Her father looked worn, his suit rumpled. Coop was reading a battered Phantom comic, but he looked like he hadn’t slept, his eyes bloodshot. And her mum, she was on the opposite side of the bed to Gran, holding Zoe’s hand, soothing small circles onto her skin.

Her family, together—finally. Zoe couldn’t enjoy the fact of them being here because of the why: she was hurt. And then, she was broken. The patellar tendon was torn from the kneecap and she needed surgery. Post-op she’d need physical therapy. There was a timeline with this kind of injury indicating progress, but everyone was different and there was no certainty of the length of time it would take to get back to dancing, or the facility of movement she’d have. 

Breathing, Zoe focused on her toes, consciously moving up towards the crown of her head, relaxing bones, muscle, skin. She was a shell, emptied out, unfamiliar with this body. She’d hijacked a suit of flesh from some other person. Someone she’d known—past tense. Except she was thinner, too conscious of her extremities. Perhaps that was the way of it. Moving through experience, through change, the self and the body didn’t quite fit.              

Zoe had a week, no, five days to pluck up the courage to speak to her dad about Rex. She was well aware of Stuart’s aversion to pets. A part of her didn’t care. But it’s more than that. Spending the brief time with Lily and Nick, it had seeped out of her in tears stifled by a pillow, in amnesiac sleep. It was a gnawing hunger that she loathed to admit was loneliness. 

There were days she was drowning in it.

A vast black sea with waves that could knife up and knock her under, rendering her unconscious, wondering if she’d ever surface to breathe. 

16 

The yarn bomber

It was while he was walking down Johnston Street that he saw it.

Josh had hitched a ride with Blu, who was on his way to the Fitzroy warehouse, jumping at the chance to spend more time with his brother before making his way to meet Ash in the city. A couple of shops down from the furniture showroom there was a bike-ring and it was covered with striped, multicoloured wool. 

            “Bloody hell,” he muttered, stopping in front of it. He crossed his arms, staring at this incongruous sight. Had Zoe done this? His heart hammered thinking she might have been here, but he shook his head denying the possibility, crouching to take a closer look. He felt like a dork as he touched the wool, its nubbly, greasy texture almost had him recoiling, then he noticed at the bottom of the ring, stitched into the wool was a piece of fabric with a website address printed on it. 

            This just kept getting weirder. 

            He managed to take a photo of it and sent it to Ash, with a question: WTF is this stuff?

            Ash called back immediately. 

            “Dude, it’s a bike ring wrapped in knitting,” said Ash, stating the obvious and snickering quietly.

            “I can see that! But what does it mean? Have you seen this kind of thing before?”  

“Yeah, it’s getting popular,” came Ash’s blithe reply. 

            “What’s popular?”

            He could hear Ash yawning. “Late night?” asked Josh, amused.

            “Yeah—and I’m not spilling.” Josh guessed from the abrupt, yet cheeky tone, that it had something to do with the guy who kept popping in at the liquor shop where Ash worked. His brother owned it, and crankily reminded them it was a wine store, because he’d studied viticulture and was mostly interested in stocking boutique wines. When Ash started he hilariously couldn’t distinguish anything much by taste, only by colour. He’d improved, although he was no wine buff, but it paid well while he studied animation at VCA. 

            “And yes, he did ask me out!” Ash couldn’t keep it to himself. Josh laughed, the first carefree feeling he’d had all day. 

            “Well, he’s made it pretty obvious he likes you. He must have spent a fortune on all that high-end booze he keeps buying.”

            “Ha ha. But I’m not saying anything except his name’s Peter, and yes, I will be seeing him again.”

            “Enough said. Now the knitting thing—what do you mean it’s popular?”

            “Well, lately I’ve been seeing it a lot more.”

             “But what does it mean?” He was on repeat and felt stupid for having to ask. Now that he was on the tram heading for the city, he felt even more ridiculous with other passengers listening in to his conversation. He kept his voice low.

            “I don’t think it has to mean anything. My friend Kerry is doing drawing at college with me. You remember her? She bumped into us outside the State Library that day with the knitted thing around her neck that you couldn’t figure out?”

            “The weird chick with the eggs?”

            Ash snorted. Josh could almost see his friend pulling at his dark blonde hair in frustration, probably pulling off his glasses and wiping them as he did when he was either tired or annoyed. “That’s almost funny—except I know you’re not being funny. And she’s not weird—she’s creative! They were egg warmers, and she knitted the little holders so she could keep the eggs warm under her armpits.”

“And you don’t think that’s weird?”

“It’s part of her artwork.” Josh kept quiet, unconvinced. Ash gave an exaggerated sigh. “Anyhow, she’s into it. It’s called yarn bombing. Kind of like knitted graffiti.”

“What?” 

“Yarn bombing.”                                

            Josh’s face scrunched in disbelief and a guy in a business suit opposite him was staring, unsure whether the look was directed at him. Josh turned his face towards the window. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Yeah, I know it sounds crazy. Kerry does it for fun. Says she likes how you can soften and decorate these really hard surfaces. You know—make them funny and obsolete. Like they’re not what they originally were designed to be.”

            Josh digested this, wondering if that’s the reason Zoe’s doing it. He knew nothing about her to make that call. Still, it made sense why he’s seeing so much of it. He crazily imagined people arming themselves with lengths of woolly coverings. The idea was too bizarre. A kind of fuzzy guerrilla warfare waged on inanimate public property.

             “Josh?”

            “What? Sorry, I’m thinking about it. Just—someone I know might be doing it.”

             “Interesting thing to do. Who is this yarn bomber?” There was a teasing edge to Ash’s voice.

            “No one you know.” 

            “Just asking.”

            “More like fishing. I won’t ask about Peter if you don’t ask about the yarn bomber.”

            “Deal. But I’m curious. Didn’t know you had such interesting friends.”

            “Noted. And be mindful about what that says about you.” 

            “Bastard.”

            “Freak.”

            “Ash is now leaving the building.” It was his sign-off.

            “And always having the last word,” quipped Josh.

            “Ha bloody ha. I’ll see you at Journal for coffee. Might be a bit late, though.” 

            “Okay.”

            “Leaving now.”

Josh was still grinning after the call ended. He could use some fun. Some lightness. It’s one reason he’d gravitated to Ash during art classes at Melbourne High. How he could see the positive side of situations, while Josh had been mired in heartache, in a state of shock from moving to the city and a new school, and incapable of seeing much light at all. If Ash had sensed his turmoil during those early days, he never let on. He was just there for Josh when he wasn’t even aware he needed someone.

Josh rested his head against the window. He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about Zoe. Any form of escapism sounded good.

            At least that’s something you’re good at—escaping.

Ha bloody ha, indeed.

17

Atlas

Zoe’s dad was in the apartment when she got home, sitting on the sofa, sprawling with an empty packet of chips beside him and his sock feet crossed, perched on the glass coffee table. Smudging it with sweaty sock feet. The flat screen TV was on and he was watching the news.

            It was stunning to recall how ordinary this scene was—plucked from that before time. She could almost hear her mum calling from the kitchen in Elwood, asking if there were any chips left and her dad, smiling sheepishly, waving the empty packet while she threw a dishtowel. But the warmth of that memory dissipated leaving her chilled in the harsh white of this room, punctuated by black leather, the granite tops of the open plan kitchen, the gleam off the tiled floor.

            “You’re home.” His head swivelled and grey-blue glacial eyes briefly pierced, then retreated. Zoe had no idea what he was thinking. Or feeling.  

            “Yes.” She unceremoniously dumped her backpack on the floor and climbed up on a barstool, noticing the plastic shopping bags on the island bench. Not cloth bags. Zoe bit back the retort about single-use plastics. Her dad just ignored her on the subject. It could be a prop for an ad or a window display, better yet, a petrified art installation: Remnants from an Expedition. 

            “You’ve been shopping.”

            “Mmm. Supplies were low.” His attention was grabbed by a murder. An Indian teenager in Melbourne. Once, her dad would have been involved in such cases, working for the OPP. Prosecuting murderers, rapists, paedophiles, thieves—a list of everyday horror. Zoe had wondered why he stopped. Why he chose a different path. 

            She peeked into the bags. By supplies he meant the basics: milk, bread, cereal, orange juice. Packets of potato chips. Laundry detergent.

            “You forgot the almond milk.” Zoe felt both detached and a little pissed off.

            “What…oh, sorry Zoe. I did forget.” Indeed. Her eating habits had never crossed his radar, and he’s not into organic anything like her mum. 

An ad after the news for a documentary screening later that night: Occupy Wall Street. Denouncing corporate greed. Politics and money. Rallies and sit-ins: New York, Sydney, London, Melbourne, Europe. Her dad’s jaw clenched. Eyes narrowed into grey-blue slits. He stopped working for the OPP for a job in a law firm specialising in corporate law. The switch was, to say the least, dramatic. He’s now representing the very companies and institutions these people were protesting against, attempting to make them accountable for their incredible profit margins, the role of investment and commercial banks, and the mismanagement of funds. Politics skewed by investment capital. A global financial crisis.  

            Zoe opened a packet of chips. Lily and Gran would cringe at her pre-dinner snack that might end up being dinner. She chomped pondering a world going mad by spiralling debt, loans, banks—the kind of wealth many people will never benefit from. Monopoly capitalism, globalisation, the perception of value—it’s all up for grabs and if you’re not in it, you can’t win it (her dad’s words after one too many glasses of wine). It’s all about risk, he would say and her silent comeback: but with other people’s money. Also, easy to say when you’re in a position of power. Well, he’d say, that means contracts, responsibility, taking measures to be accountable. And here we are, Zoe wanted to say, in an ongoing crisis because all these corporate and legal assurances haven’t resulted in so-called accountability, if anything then corruption seemed baked into the system. And what she really wanted to ask:

            “How much money is enough?”

            And his vague reply, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Deeper still: Weren’t we enough? Mum, Coop and me? Because, once it seemed they had enough. They had family. Her parents had work they enjoyed. Her mum had her own landscape design business. Their work seemed to mean something to them. Enough money to live, not heaps, but they weren’t struggling. A home. Friends. Each other. And love. Zoe was sure there was love.

When did all that stop being enough? 

But he’d argue, and he’d win. 

Zoe’s mouth stayed shut. 

She noticed packets of 2 Minute Noodles underneath the toilet paper. With a bit of butter, that could be dinner, minus the flavouring. 

“I thought we could go get a bite to eat—something cheap and cheery.” He’s still in his suit. No posh restaurants for Zoe. Not that she wanted to be wined and dined. That was reserved for Karen. 

“What did you have in mind?” She swung her left leg, banging her foot against the stainless steel bars of the stool

  “Asian? Victoria Street—something like that.” Rice Paper Rolls for her, Singapore Noodles for him. Easy. Zoe dumped the chip packet, still open in the shopping bag. Next to the loo paper.

“Sure.” She got up, reaching for her backpack. She needed to change her T-shirt under the hoodie. Worn three days straight, a quick wash and dry at Lily’s and it had run its course for the week. Her dad folded over to put his shoes on. Good old-fashioned brogues. They’re from another era. It surprised her that his girlfriend hadn’t attempted to change his dress sense, which was boringly conservative. But he was prosaically fuddy-duddy, still whippet thin despite countless corporate meetings over food and beverages, except his hair was now silver at the temples, speckled grey, no longer brown like Zoe’s—or in her mum’s language, molasses. Treacle hair. Syrupy. Going a weird bronze-green, like its mouldy.

Zoe was about to turn towards the hall leading to her bedroom when she noticed her dad’s head was bowed, shoulders hunched over and his elbows were resting on his knees. He’s made of stone, marbled flesh. Immovable. Ancient. If Zoe pushed would he topple? 

It was a singular moment, but the weight he’s carrying was immense. The weight of the world. The heavens. He’s Atlas. Hard and enduring. 

And he’d brought it upon himself.     

18

Sweet & Sour

Riding high in the front passenger seat of her dad’s BMW four-wheel drive, Zoe had a strong impulse to give the royal wave. She sunk lower in the seat instead. 

She’d never get used to being driven around in it. It was a recent acquisition, or it’s a lease car, care of his law firm and his status as senior partner. Perks of the job. Or encumbrances. The higher you got, the more stuff you got. In her dad’s case, it was gadgets, bespoke tailored suits and being bumped up to business class when he travelled. Sometimes she felt like an interloper, an observer to his 5-star life. The metamorphosis was gradual but it peaked when he moved into Fort Knox. The brief visits on weekends cemented the feeling Zoe didn’t quite fit into his new lifestyle. The contrast with life before their family fell apart—his life once upon a time—was too great.     

Zoe sunk even lower in the seat, then the seat belt was up against her nose and she smelled a sickly sweet perfume. It was Karen’s perfume and she twisted away, an urge to vomit on the tan leather upholstery. Quickly, she sat up and opened the window. 

“Zoe, you can’t be hot?” Her dad was incredulous, but she braved the look for clean air, holding the seat belt away from her clothes.  

He managed to park the boat-car with the ease of practice. It’s a wonder that he could find a space to fit it in. They entered the restaurant and Zoe felt conspicuous; the utilitarian space cavernous with rows of chairs and tables was mostly empty. It was a weeknight and quiet. They wouldn’t be staying long because this place was about no-fuss dining, quick service and good food. They used to come here as a family when her mum was too tired to cook, or her dad had a craving for Singapore Noodles, which he ordered. Rice Paper Rolls and Sweet and Sour soup with a side of sautéed greens for Zoe. Tiger Beer for her dad. Coke Zero for her.

  And Zoe was amazed when he asked—

“How’s Lily? The pregnancy?” 

She just stared—what the fuck? Leaning back, her mouth agape. He obviously hadn’t felt Lily’s wrath in a while to even dare ask that question. 

Zoe was stunned enough to answer. “Good.”

Another clanger. “And Nick?”

Jesus. “Very well.” He nodded and took a swig. They’d all but shunned him the moment he moved into the apartment.

“Why?” It slipped out, but she was too shocked to stop it.

He shrugged. “I can ask, Zoe. I know Lily’s having a hard time forgiving me for things breaking down with Rosie, but I was still part of their lives.”

It’s the snowball effect. It just kept coming. “Why ask, if you know they hate you?” Zoe knew that wasn’t entirely true. Hate was too strong a word. It was his actions and his perceived weakness that they disliked.

He actually winced on that word, putting the beer down. For once he had no comeback, but he tried. “I can’t control how they feel. I’m not asking them to change their opinion, but I can still care, Zoe.”

Now she had nothing to say. Their meal arrived and Zoe pounced on it like she hadn’t seen food in a week. She chewed, mulling. It was a chink in her dad’s armour to say that, because there was a time when he and Lily had been friends, and not just because he was married to Lily’s sister. They’d liked each other. Nick, too. The Rice Paper Rolls stuck gluey in her mouth. Zoe wanted to spit like a camel. She took a slurp of Coke Zero. 

Her dad stared intently at his food, toying with it. For the second time tonight a bubble of empathy welled up. Zoe crushed it. His sadness, care—whatever it was—she didn’t want to feel it. 

So she blurted it out. “I’ve adopted a dog. Rex. That’s his name. He’s a Jack Russell cross.” Zoe should have felt victorious at the absolute dumbfounded look that descended on her dad’s face. Mouth dropping open. With food in it. He swallowed quickly to speak. 

“Zoe—why?” And she was worried? This was his response? Laughter gurgled in her throat. 

“I’ve always wanted another dog. You know that.” It was a challenge. For him to remember his daughter. What she was like, her wants and needs. 

He shook his head. “Yes, but Zoe, you didn’t talk about it with me—” 

“Like you talk about all the life changing stuff you do that affects me?” 

He’s going white, then red. Streaks riding up his throat. It reached into the cement-grey fuggy aura that cloaked him. He breathed deep. “Zoe, be practical. A dog needs looking after.”

“Which I intend to do. And I’ve had practice you know. Riley,” she said quietly, but firmly. 

“Yes, I understand, but it’s a huge responsibility.”

“Like having kids?” The anger coiled and reeked like smoke.

It’s a standoff. They stared at each other. Zoe’s stomach was fluttering. She was holding her ground but there’s unease lurking. She was seeing her dad, knowing he didn’t want this and still, she went ahead and did it. For herself. Regardless. But the queasiness came from seeing him, his resistance, and seeing him in that apartment, a human stone. Zoe was worried because she was bringing Rex into a place that’s not a home. To live with someone who didn’t want him. Her mum wasn’t back for three months, and Rex would be dependent entirely on her. Suddenly she was having visions of her dad locking Rex out on the balcony and her eyes pricked with hot tears, stomach tightening. Zoe was beginning to freak out. Shit, what had she done? 

“Zoe?” He’s talking, but she wasn’t listening. Zoe sniffed hard, looking down at the soup, she thought of Lily and her offer to live with her and Nick. She’d never asked her dad why he’d insisted she move in with him. Apart from the obvious fact he was her father. And then Zoe got it. He wanted her mum to have the opportunity to do something she loved, because she’d tried to give him the space to make the changes he’d felt necessary for his own career. If Zoe was really cynical, perhaps it’s a means to alleviate his guilt. 

It was all crashing in, feelings, sensations, words. For too long, Zoe had been on autopilot, except when she was walking and targeting a place to wrap with a woolly covering. A grim smile shaped her lips, wondering how her dad would respond to that.

“I’ll get a job,” she blurted before vetting what’s coming out of her mouth.

“What?”

“I’ll get a part-time job. I’ll pay for everything he needs. He’s my responsibility.” 

He threw up his hands. “But what are you going to do? You’re not at uni at the moment—” 

“I’ll find something, Dad.” Zoe stopped him before they had that conversation about deferring, again. But he’s persistent.

“I know you’ve had a rough time, but now that you’ve got that obsession out of your life—”

His words stunned Zoe. There’s static in her ears. Did she hear him correctly? “What?” She couldn’t tell if she’s shouting, but one of the waiters glanced their way. The shock of his words ricocheted in her skull. 

Her dad lowered his voice. “I’m just saying—now that you’re not focused on dancing…”

“What do you mean obsession?” she prompted.

He visibly took in air. “I meant it in a good way, Zo. Don’t take it wrong. I’m just saying, when you were dancing, you didn’t want to consider anything else.”

Zoe sagged against the bars of the chair digging brutally into her spine. “And I was supposed to? That’s what you want to say, isn’t it? That it wasn’t what I should have focused on?” 

Her dad’s using every ounce of his oratory skills to weigh up what to say. Zoe instantly wanted to retaliate. Her legs twitched to move and walk out of the place. She knew he’d been thinking this for years. But to say it now. Now that it was too late. She could hate him for it. 

“I never thought it could lead to a serious career. That’s what I thought. You’re mother had doubts—”

  Zoe leaned forward. Her dad moved back. Their movements were almost choreographed. “Don’t talk for her. You don’t know what she really thinks. Not anymore.” 

He relented. “Maybe. But we only thought of you. I only thought of you and your future, Zoe. Having a backup plan makes sense. Dancing is tough, highly competitive and there was never a guarantee of success.”

“Success? Is that all that matters to you? And being a lawyer is easier? Look at what happened to you! You had to get out of what you said for years was a career you believed in. You weren’t happy and yet you keep suggesting it might be good for me. Unbelievable!”

“I changed. We all change. Jobs change. Yes, I wasn’t happy, but I made an effort to correct that. Having options allows you to make changes.”

Zoe scoffed, shaking her head. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. “That’s the thing. What you can’t see. Dancing was never about a job. It wasn’t an obsession.” She spat the last word.

He sighed. “Then what…make me understand.”

Levelling a hollow stare at her father, all emotion drained. “It was what I loved. Do you even get that? I loved dancing. I felt happy—alive—when I danced.” 

She’d finally stumped him. Her dad’s expression was blank. He had no real comeback because even to talk about dancing on the side while she found a real job, which he’d tried in the past, wouldn’t right the mess she was now in. 

  He was smart, she’d give him that, because he changed tack. “Did Lily have anything to do with this?” 

“Why?”

“Because I can’t believe you would have done this without telling anyone.”

Zoe sniffed hard wishing she had a tissue, wondering if she should take offence that she wouldn’t act on her own volition. She opted for conciliation. 

“Look, she’s helping me to pick him up this Saturday. He’s house trained, vaccinated—all of it. I paid with my own money. I’m sorry. But this is important to me.”

He was still stupefied, angry, but there’s something else chipping at the steely depths of his eyes. It’s in his expression, in the slouch of his body. And it’s weird to see it. Relief. Not simply because Zoe was letting him off for broaching the issue of her dancing. For the first time since she’d moved in, Zoe was asking for something. From him. She was taking a stand, because a part of her didn’t care what he wanted.  She’d actually made a choice and acted on it.

Picking up a spoon, Zoe began eating the Sweet and Sour soup. 

19

Too fast (not fast enough)

There’s a message on her phone from Josh when Zoe got back to the apartment.

            It’s strange to hear his voice. She didn’t recognise it at first as it wavered, but he was pretty confident by the end of it. 

“Hey Zoe, um it’s Josh here. We met at the Lort Smith. I helped you with adopting Rex. Just want you to know Rex is happy and is ready and eager to see you,” pause, “um, if you want to give me a call and get some info on what he needs—food and stuff—yeah, feel free. My number is—” And he gave his number. Not the Lort Smith landline.

            Zoe stared at the phone. It’s not too late, just before 9.00 p.m. She wanted to call immediately to find out about Rex. She was oddly anxious about talking to Josh.

            Rex won out.

            “Josh here.”

            “Hey, it’s, uh, me—Zoe.”

            “Hey! I’m glad you called.” He sounded like he meant it. Zoe blushed, her hands shaking. She was Rex’s quivering humanoid twin. 

            “I—you said Rex is ready.”

            “Yep. And he can’t wait to go home with you.”

            She smiled at the thought. “How do you know?”

            “Well, I just have to mention you’re name and his ears prick up and his tail wags. And he pants.”

            “Maybe it’s because you’re feeding him.”

            Josh laughed. It’s rumbly rich and she thinks, chocolate, soft centre, a coffee cream. “Possibly. But I invoke your name as well and it seems to have the same effect.”

            “I thought you worked there on weekends.”

            “Got some free time, so I thought I’d help out. My sister Mel helps out occasionally as well. She’s the one who roped me into volunteering.” 

            “Oh.”

            “Yeah, she also has a friend who works at a vet clinic in Clifton Hill that’s into alternative therapies. She’d be happy to give you a run down about organic options for food, home cooking for Rex, that kind of stuff.” 

Zoe was dazed by his eagerness. “Um, I would like that, really. That sounds great.”

“Look, I’m finishing up at the bookshop where I work around four tomorrow. Or, have you got uni or something?”

            “I—well, I’m not studying at the moment. I mean, I’ve finished high school. But I’m not at uni or anything.”

            “Well, that works out then.” Zoe could hear his confusion. She was a mystery, that’s for sure.

“It’s a long story,” she said evasively.

“I’ve got time. Want to meet for coffee? I can be in the city by four thirty. Do you know Journal?”

Crap. Zoe was breathing quick, her stomach knotting. “I’d like that, but not tomorrow.” She didn’t want to elaborate that she had physio and pilates; that she’d also agreed to meet with her dance instructor, Anna. Just thinking about it had her ready to vomit. She breathed deeply. “But Wednesday suits me.” If Zoe said anything else, she’d botch it, while not exactly certain how they’d got to this point, or why she actually cared. 

For some reason, he’s pleased. “Cool. I’ll see you Wednesday then, four thirty at Journal. I’ll text you.”

Zoe was left staring at the phone.

How did that happen?

And why did she agree to it?

Zoe let the phone fall to the floor, slowly walking her hands along the wall as she bent her legs, lowering herself. There was strength there in her right leg. The hours of physio and physical exercise were paying off. But she still had no confidence in her leg being able to do what it once had. 

Her confidence zeroed out thinking about seeing Josh. 

Zoe didn’t have a lot of experience with guys. Between dance and school, she simply didn’t have the time. She’d had her crushes—cringeworthy since some had been Coop’s friends. If it weren’t for Evie dragging her to the occasional party she probably wouldn’t have met many guys at all since she’d gone to an all-girls school. 

            She had no idea how to feel about Josh wanting to see her. But she wasn’t sure about much these days. Especially who she was now, compared to who she’d been before her fall. Often she’d block thinking about her life “before”. Because not being that girl from before her injury made it easier to walk on a leg that Zoe kept thinking couldn’t possibly stand up to the stress of dancing. That’s what she kept telling herself. Because not being that girl meant she could survive this; be a girl who didn’t have the same dreams, needs, desires. Who knew her limitations; who kept people at a safe distance.

            Like what she should have done with Josh.

            But if the past few days signalled anything, it was how tired she’d become of living in limbo; that the truth of how she really felt about so many things falling apart was threatening to keep her grounded, never reaching for more. Never thinking she could one day leap from the earth, that feeling of being unbound, beyond gravity. 

Of being free. 

            Rex had been one step. This guy, Josh, well, he might be another. And tomorrow, against all her self-preservation instincts, it felt like she was about to jump without any reassurance she’d be able to land safely. 

            But that was the point. It was all about risk.

            It was happening too fast. Yet, deep down, she knew it wasn’t happening fast enough, and she was the only one holding herself back.

20

Guilt

Josh periodically stared at his phone. Lying on his bed, he wondered what he was waiting for. Maybe Zoe would change her mind and that mad, desperate confidence that had him calling, wanting to make something happen, would come back and smack him in the face. 

            Life had a way of doing that.

He’d been galvanized to make the call after Mel had tried to set him up at dinner that night with the younger sister of one her work colleagues called Felicity. Mel’s intentions were good. She wanted him to be happy. However, while trying to be polite and engage with Felicity, his thoughts were preoccupied with Zoe. Mel’s actions had only fuelled his urgency to contact her. Zoe was in his orbit, and it seemed as good a time as any to see if he could get closer. 

And some chances, you never got them again. 

            He was also looking at the phone wondering whether to call his mum. She’d left a couple of messages in the last two days, and like always, guilt warred with kindness. He wanted to call, and then he didn’t. 

            His hands shook as he noted the time, close to 10.00 p.m., found her number, it rang and then—

“Ma? It’s me—Josh.”

            There was a moment where he could hear the intake of breath, a soft sighing sound before she said, “Oh love. It’s good to hear from you.”

            “How are you?”

            “Good. I’m glad you called. Mel said she might be coming down this weekend. I wasn’t sure, but I was hoping you might be coming too.”

            Josh groaned, holding the phone at a distance. Mel hadn’t said anything because she already knew he wouldn’t want to go. Not without considerable prodding. He wondered if Blu was going. Highly unlikely.

“I might,” was all he conceded.

            “That’s something.” There was a glimmer of humour in her voice, a welcome sound.

            “How’s the farm?” 

            “Well, I know you won’t believe it, but Will is doing well. He sowed canola crops this year.” 

            “That’s gold. He should make some money out of that.” If he kept it light, his gut wouldn’t twitch with the anger he usually felt when thinking about his brother.

            “He’s got a good head for making the farm work. And surprisingly, your dad is happy with the changes.”

            “Really?” Josh couldn’t believe his father would give in so easily. Yet he’d handed the reins over to Will when he signed up for AA. He was smart enough to know he couldn’t manage the farm and deal with getting sober.

            “Yes,” she said softly. “The two of them have turned the place around. But it takes time.”

            Josh’s jaw clenched. The rage he felt towards his dad and Will was usually dormant. Only that morning he heard Blu confess to Mel, thinking they were alone, that his own anger felt like a living thing that he’d been trying hard to tame for years, to get it to bend to his will rather than overtake him. Blu admitted to her that was one of the reasons he’d gone to Sydney, to figure out how to live with it—all of it: with feeling scared because his own brother could beat the crap out of him, and that their parents had trouble stopping him. Josh knew Mel felt guilt at how their mum protected her as best she could, but between their dad’s drinking and the farm going to shit, it was like Will was one more thing they couldn’t handle.

Josh had felt the same. But he’d had Holly and Dan. They always gave him a place to crash without having to ask why. Maybe it was fucked that they just accepted he had shit going down at home and there wasn’t anything strange about that. All he cared about was he’d had an escape so Will couldn’t find him, and he could ignore the fact he didn’t feel safe in his own home.

            Josh was still trying to get his head around his mum’s ability to forgive his father. How she tolerated and forgave Will.  

            “As long as you’re happy,” he said, sincerely hoping that was true. 

            “I miss you. And Blu and Mel. So much.” Which meant not seeing them regularly was a dent in what happiness she may have felt. Perhaps it was enough she sounded content. 

            “I know, Ma.” Josh tried to call once a week, a ridiculously small effort to keep in contact. However the need for distance won out over more regular contact. To find a way to exist beyond the past, the loss and despair that outweighed anything he felt abut Will, and had everything to do with people he’d loved and who were now lost to him.

            His mum went on to speak about family members he couldn’t remember and about some of the kids he’d grown up with that hadn’t left the district. She’d recently been able to leave the job at the bakery she’d taken just so they could make ends meet. The relief was plain to hear. If nothing else, he was glad his brother was making things work if his mum was having an easier time.  

            “I’ll see about coming this weekend, Ma. I might have to work at the bookshop. I’ll let you know.’

            “It is different here, Josh. But I understand if you don’t come.”

            “Thanks, Ma,” he said, but his words rang empty. 

Josh lay on his bed, shutting his eyes after his mum said goodbye.

            The last time Josh had gone to the farm was for Christmas. He and Mel and Ben made the trip for lunch. The fact there’d been extended family, cousins and aunts and uncles he rarely saw, helped to make the few hours bearable. Blu hadn’t come home for Christmas, instead he’d spent it with Mick’s family in Sydney, pleading he didn’t have much holiday leave to make the trip down. The lie was obvious.         

            And what he’d hated. How Josh had to sink into himself the moment they hit the outskirts of the town, to let the numbness set in. How he kept his eyes focused on the front windscreen so he didn’t look to the left as they went down the main street, to the third turn-off where Dan’s family home stood. Josh didn’t even know if he was still living there. And then as they took the right turn-off out of town, the stretch of farmland had him shutting his eyes. He breathed and listened to the car tyres on the blacktop. Holly’s farm was just outside of town, while theirs was at least a fifteen-minute drive. He kept his eyes shut until he knew the gate leading to the drive to their house would be visible. 

He was only fooling himself. Nothing would ever make him forget. The minute he’d smelled the musty earth scent mixed with soaking dirt and grass; the sour, fetid odour from the cow manure, the air clean and sharp. That’s all it took for him to be tumbling into memories that were all too painful, sharp and real.  

21

Escape

“Fuck I’m bored,” slurred Holly.

            “Might be the weed your dragging on,” said Dan. He pulled the joint from her slack fingers. He sucked hard, and Josh knew he’d be feeling only slightly lightheaded. He was bigger than both of them and rarely got intoxicated.

            “Nup, Dan, I’m fucking bored of this place.”

            “Language,” Josh muttered. 

            “Yeah—right,” Holly drawled.

            Dan passed it back to Holly and she took another drag. She waved it in Josh’s face. “This makes it tolerable.”

            “Good word,” he concurred as he took a hit. 

            They were sprawled on a stack of hay bales in a shed in the back paddock of Holly’s farm. Far away from the house so that no one was likely to find them. Will was always poking around Jim Fisher’s property. He grew crops and bred cattle for meat. The Fishers made money and Will wanted to know how. Josh hung around because Holly was his best friend. Holly and Dan. The only friends he’d stuck with since junior school. Holly said he’d looked like a runner bean needing a good feed when she first laid eyes on him. He’d barely been able to speak when she’d sat next to him in their first class together and continued to seek him out through the day. Dan had picked a fight with Josh simply because Holly had taken a liking to him, only to have Holly intervene. Somehow, they’d bonded, but Josh always knew Holly was the glue. Without her, he doubted he and Dan would have got to know each other. He always wondered what she saw in them, because she was so much more out there, effusive. Alive. 

Holly was the first person at high school to dye her hair blue, then every other colour imaginable. She’d taken a Swiss Army knife to it, wanting a layered punk look like Patti Smith. She loved music and was always hanging out at the secondhand music store in town that specialised in vinyl. She managed to wheedle a casual job there and Josh was pretty sure they paid her in records. Holly gave him his first toke sending him barrelling off a stack of hay bales wanting to fly. Holly dubbed him Superman for a whole year and swore she’d fatten him up with her mum’s baking which he loved, and loosen him up with her drug of choice even if Josh hated smoking. 

            “I’m out of here,” she said. “When school’s done. I’m out of here.”

            Josh closed his eyes against the smoke. “That’s a few years yet.”

            “I know. Not soon enough.”

            The school year was over and Josh had barely had a week off before he was working extra hours at the only bookshop in town. He’d always been a reader and while Holly got lost in her music, he got lost in books and his drawing. Holly had insisted they at least all go camping down Johanna Beach the week after school ended. She and Dan ended up going. Josh pleaded needing the money from work, but he hadn’t wanted to feel like the third wheel. Not since Holly and Dan had hooked up mid-year after Dan had carried a torch for her since junior school and she’d snubbed him mercilessly for years.

            “Come to Melbourne with me. Both of you.” Holly’s voice had that wistful, smoky quality that brushed against Josh’s skin. He blushed. He’d never let her know how he’d fallen for her just by lying here on these bales, listening to her talk. Way before she and Dan became a thing. 

            “And do what?” asked Josh.

            “You can go to one of those fancy art schools. And Dan can always get a mechanics apprenticeship.”

            Dan chuckled. So laid back it was like he was asleep. Josh spied how he’d reached for Holly’s hand. He shut his eyes against it. Against the ache at seeing it.

            “Maybe,” Josh said. Holly’s arm shot out, slapping his hand. “Maybe? That’s a first. Next time say yes.”

            “Yes ma’am.” They all cracked up, laughing. She gripped his hand tight then curled her fingers to lock with his. And like that, they were all links in a chain, but always at the centre was Holly.

             “Will’s a prick. He told dad you and Blu didn’t have the balls to take over the farm.”

            “I don’t,” Josh admitted. Blu didn’t want it, either. 

            “That’s not about balls.”

            “He knows we don’t want it. It just makes him feel better to say it.”

            “He’s a right prick.” Josh never told Holly that he’d said more than that to his face. That Josh didn’t have the balls to go for her. As if he’d figured out one of his deepest secrets. But Josh knew it was Will stabbing in the dark, prodding for any weakness. Josh’s lack of a girlfriend had only been ignored by the kids in his year because of Holly. Somehow having her for a friend rated higher.  

            “Don’t you just want to get as far away as you can?” Holly whispered.

            Dan was silent. Josh knew that wherever Holly went, he’d follow. He didn’t have to say it. Josh opened his eyes, the aluminium sheeting of the roof gleamed silver. He reached his hand up wanting to touch it.

            “Every day, Hols,” he murmured. She squeezed his hand tight.   

            “Maybe I’ll just grow wings one day and fly away.”

            Dan laughed and all Josh could think was if anyone could, it would be Holly.         

* * *

That was the last time they’d all been in the hayloft together. The last time Josh heard the yearning in her voice for freedom. For more. 

            Josh was the only one who’d escaped. But he didn’t feel free.

22

Broken wings

Zoe wanted to barf. She couldn’t believe she’d agreed with Anna to do this.

            A week ago her dance instructor, Anna, had called to check in on how Zoe was progressing. Zoe had been good at deflecting, except this time Anna blindsided her. 

Anna was the only one who came close to understanding what Zoe was going through having also injured her leg, a torn tendon that left her with limited flexibility. She was unable to perform, but she could still teach. 

“I can’t compare and I won’t,” Anna had said the first time she visited Zoe in the hospital. “My injury came later in my career. There is no comparison.” Zoe was grateful for her directness. Anna wouldn’t lie. A torn patella tendon was too serious. Anna had supervised finding Zoe a physiotherapist who specialised in dance injuries. She’d recommended Hatha yoga as a means to gently reconnect with her body. 

“But there are ways back into dance, Zoe. Maybe you won’t perform, but it can still be part of your life. Maybe you will get strong enough to dance again. Or, it may be that you have to leave it all together if you can’t accept what you’re body’s capable of doing. I’ll be here no matter what you decide. And when you feel ready, you can come back to the studio, one-on-one, and we can explore what’s possible together.” 

Anna had held her that day as she’d wept. There was no magical cure for a dream shattered. She couldn’t reassure Zoe that what she’d once hoped for could ever be realised, but it gave her some strength knowing Anna was there to support her. That someone could sense the magnitude of the pain she was feeling that went beyond the physical. 

Without any preamble, Anna had dived in after saying hello.            

             “I spoke to your physio yesterday. She says you’ve improved markedly. The Pilates is helping?”

             “It seems to be,” Zoe said, although she’d lost perspective on what was a real improvement. She moved more freely, her knee could take her weight and there was greater flexibility. She knew her limits and didn’t push, mostly because she feared reinjuring her leg, and the pain.

            “Recovering from an injury takes time. We knew that. But someone has recently come to work with me at the studio and I think it’s an opportunity for you to possibly begin dancing again.”

            Anna’s voice was steady, but Zoe’s mind went blank. Horribly blank.

            “Too soon,” she murmured, feeling her head shaking, but not feeling much of anything except a kind of shock. They hadn’t spoken about this since that day in the hospital. 

            Anna sighed. “Okay. But just listen. I’m not saying you come back and ease into your previous routine. I’m thinking of approaching the possibility of you dancing from a completely different angle.”

            This was puzzling, and a little intriguing. “What do you mean?”

            “Dance isn’t simply movement, you know that. It’s a language. A way for you to express and communicate through movement. To incorporate a range of creative expressions and disciplines to tell stories. That’s always the way I’ve approached teaching you, especially through improvisation and choreography.” Zoe nodded mutely. The words didn’t make sense. She was struggling with thoughts of putting her body under any pressure. She felt nauseous.

             “I get you’re scared.” Zoe could hear Anna’s empathy. “Especially about reinjuring your knee. But what I’m hoping is we can approach this by thinking we need to find out how your body can speak, right now. Not what it used to say, how it used to express itself. But what it can say and do, right now.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “Anthony is a young dancer and choreographer. Exceptionally talented. He’s begun teaching the adult classes with me in improvisation and using dance techniques from a wide range of forms. Even classical Indian.”

            “Seriously?”

            Anna rushed on enthusiastically. “Yes! He’s wonderful. He’s teaching to supplement his performance work. He tends to work with different choreographers and companies, rather than stay with one company. He’s currently doing a project with Chunky Moves and he just finished a season with the Sydney Dance Company. One day I think he’ll form his own. But he loves the freedom to teach, and he’s incredibly knowledgeable.”

            “How—how can he help me? Does he know what happened?” Her heart was racing. Her thoughts leaping ahead of her words.

            “Yes. And the thing is—he worked through a dance injury. He ruptured his Achilles tendon. It took some time, but he got back to performing. When I told him about you he asked specifically if he could work with you. He feels he has a lot to offer. And I think he’s right.”

            Zoe’s mind had been chaos. The words made sense, but her body was breaking out into a cold sweat. Anna would only suggest this if she believed it was right. Zoe had absolute faith in her. Yet she was swinging between hope and torture. This could either be a chance to get back to what she loved, or the final nail in the coffin.

            Mouth dry, hands clenched, and with a strong urge to throw up, Zoe finally spoke. 

            “Okay.”     

            So here she was and Anthony was not what Zoe was expecting.

            Or, maybe she just had no idea when Anna had spoken about him. 

            Zoe arrived at the dance studio, a converted church hall that had a huge main room with soaring, gabled ceilings and windows, and immediately she got the shakes. She kept her sneakers on, having dressed in layers. She wore grey cotton drawstring pants she could roll up over her black leggings. A flexible athletic brace was on her right knee. She’d put on a hoodie and a cotton long sleeve T-shirt over a singlet top. Anthony was similarly attired. 

            Zoe had a moment before either Anthony or Anna noticed her. She latched on to Anna’s presence, the familiar caramel-brown curls twisted into a chignon; freckled skin lightly tanned from a recent holiday with her partner up north in the Daintree. The graceful curve of her body, leaning against the barre that circled the room, each movement elegantly precise. Zoe knew the language of Anna’s body, almost as well as she knew her own. Actually, no, now her own body stuttered, stumbled and quaked. Was barely recognisable these days. She breathed in the smell of the sprung wood floor, a faint whiff of citrus scent from cleaning products, or perhaps the oil burner she spied near Anna’s bag. The light was golden from the tinted windows, the room a perfect temperature, but she felt frozen. 

            And Anthony. He was medium height, muscled like he spent hours at the gym. A powerful physique, his body lithe not heavy, and that was a little intimidating. He stood perfectly poised, but Zoe sensed he could move swiftly at a moment’s notice. Could imagine him soaring into the air like a magnificent bird. Majestic. 

            The moment he sensed her, they both turned: Anna’s face wreathed in a smile, while Anthony watched Zoe, openly curious. She was a little surprised to see a rather wild mane of hair that he’d pulled back in a ponytail. Thick and blonde. Eyes warm and brown. A face that at that moment was calm, expectant, but that she imagined could express a range of emotions. Handsome was too simple a word, his face malleable like he could appear any way he wanted or needed to.

            So many impressions as she felt her stomach sinking towards the floor and her body seizing up, leaden and brittle. Just walking towards them felt like climbing a mountain. 

            “Zoe,” Anna saved her by coming over to hug her, and with her arm around Zoe’s waist, she walked with her as Anthony met them in the middle of the room.

            “Zo, this is Anthony.”

            Anthony reached for her hand and held it. He didn’t shake it, just held it, and she felt immediately warmed at the contact. When he smiled, it was beautiful. His face just opened up, his eyes gleamed, there was something so magnanimous and inviting about his face, that Zoe couldn’t help smiling herself. 

            “Hey, Zoe. You can call me Tony.” He spoke with a British accent, clipped yet mellow. 

            “Hey,” Zoe managed to squeak out. 

            “Okay, I’ll leave you both to get started,” Anna said, pulling away but she touched Zoe’s arm. “I’ll just get a cup of tea and then sit in if that’s okay?” 

            Zoe nodded. “Sure, that’s fine.”

            “Good.” Anna grinned at both of them before leaving.

            Anthony had let her hand go and was standing, legs apart, balanced. Strong. Zoe sensed his strength and felt as fragile as a twig. 

            “How about we sit and just talk for a bit?” 

            “Sure.” 

It felt awkward. Anthony’s fluid grace at simply sitting cross-legged was a counterpoint to Zoe gingerly navigating her way to the floor, sitting with her right leg slightly bent and left leg straight. Yet there was no judgment when he looked at her, only a lingering smile on his face, eyes noticing everything. 

“I was thinking of beginning with a basic warmup, and if you’re comfortable, perhaps an improvisation. How’s that sound?”

It sounded pretty ordinary. Zoe was expecting some big spiel about method and how to work with her leg. 

Anthony smiled widely at her obvious confusion. “I think we can save talking about your injury until later. It’s enough that you’re here and willing to try. I’d like to start with that. Small steps. Literally. I’d like us to get to know each other first, take it slow?” 

Zoe had an insane urge to laugh. It sounded like the proposition for a relationship. Just as quick, she sobered because this was a relationship. She’d forgotten how over the years she and Anna had built a foundation of trust; a knowing that allowed Anna to tailor specific exercise programs for her, to choreograph pieces for Zoe, giving her the confidence to express herself. Anthony knew nothing, except perhaps what Anna had divulged. But both he and Anna were in the same boat, neither knowing what Zoe was now capable of. 

“Yes, that sounds good.”

“Great.”

That’s how it began. By the time they’d gone through a warmup, Zoe felt loose, less self-conscious. 

Anthony moved with a liquid grace, and it was encouraging to be near him. She could feel him watching how she moved, assessing, but she never felt intimidated. Anna’s quiet presence was also reassuring.

“So,” he began as they sat once more. “The first exercise I thought of is straight forward. I want you to remain seated and to only use your arms and hands. Nothing else. It requires you to maintain a solid core of strength along your spine, lower back and abdominals. And I want you to express anything that comes to mind about how you’re feeling with your arms.”

Zoe was mesmerised by the words, Anthony’s eyes, and his encouragement. It sounded so easy, but she knew what he was asking required her to work within a restricted range of movement, to be economical and precise. She nodded as he stood to put on some music. He chose something on his iPhone then put it on the dock. He sat leaning against the wall.

“Relax, Zo, but be utterly focused and present. Tell me something, anything about you.”

The music started. Zoe didn’t move at first, eyes closed. It was a fluid electronic piece that swirled around her. It felt airy, light. Like breathing. Her spine straightened, neck stretching and her face was centred. Eyes shut, she pulled energy from her abdomen as she’d learned through yoga and breathed deep. She imagined that breath travelling upwards as she opened her mouth to let it free. 

For the first time since her fall, she let herself respond to the music. She’d stopped listening to anything that might call to her body to move. Now, she listened and allowed her muscles to relax, but she remained poised for…she moved her arms, leading with her hands, she let them rise, slightly bent at the elbow, she let them rise and rise, holding it, hovering…and then she twisted her elbows in, her arms hinging with jagged, spikey, splintered movements that she repeated as her arms fell and rose again. Fingers stiff and crooked, her arms were jerky marionettes. Over and over, she expressed this disjointed, stuttering flight that could never result in catching the current of air. Such movement would keep her earthbound, graceless. Broken. 

Or, she’d fall.

Zoe wasn’t sure how long she moved, only that she stopped. When she opened her eyes, Anthony was riveted. 

“Yes,” he said softly. “Yes.”

It was only then that Zoe realised she was crying.         

23

Stupid mushrooms

Josh couldn’t focus on his book, seated and waiting for Zoe to arrive at the café in Flinders Lane, his coffee half drunk, legs bouncing under the table. The place was packed, but he’d found space at the big communal table. 

Zoe stood hesitantly in the doorway, looking for him. Josh felt the smile on his face, felt this zinging, nervous energy course through his body, better than any caffeine hit.  

            “Hey. Good timing. I just got here,” he said, dragging the neighbouring stool back for Zoe to sit on. He placed a scrap of paper in his book, marking the page. He noticed Zoe staring at the cover as she had the other day.

            “A fan? Or, you hate her?” Josh asked. Jeanette Winterson was a favourite of his, and his battered copy of Written on the Body he’d got from work. One of the perks of working at the bookstore was being able to scrounge through the boxes of books people dropped off, or from auction and catalogue sales before anyone else.

            “I’ve only read that one. My mum gave it to me. But I really liked it.”

            “Me too.” He waved at the girl serving, “What would you like?” he asked Zoe. 

            “Hot chocolate.” The girl smiled as she wrote down the order. “But no mushrooms, thanks.”

            Both Josh and the girl looked bewildered. Zoe’s cheeks flamed adorably. She looked ready to sink to the floor and escape through a vortex beneath her.      

“Um—I—I mean, no marshmallows.” 

“Gotcha,” said the girl cheekily. Josh was trying hard not to laugh at her mistake, quickly noting how she was clenching her hands into fists under the table, her eyes focused on the book. 

“Hey, that was actually funny. Unintended or not,” he said gently, feeling as if he had to calm her like one of the newly arrived strays. 

“Thanks,” she said, not a little sarcastically. 

            Josh tried a diversion. “So, do you like reading?”

            Zoe’s eyes lightened. “Yeah. English was one of my favourite subjects at school.” Her hot chocolate arrived and she crinkled her nose at the pale round shapes on the saucer. 

            “Here you go,” said the girl brightly before slipping away. Josh guffawed with laughter, a veritable waterspout of sound. Two small mushrooms sat beside each other. Zoe looked mortified, but then she snorted, giggling.  

            “Now that is funny,” insisted Josh. Zoe nodded, daring a look at the girl now standing by the counter, a couple of guys behind it were grinning hugely. Zoe waved, acknowledging the joke and mouthed “thank you”. “You’re welcome,” one of them yelled. Josh could tell she hated the attention, but this was pretty harmless fun. Josh took the mushrooms and stacked them on top of each other on the table. Two little caps. Now everyone at the table was focused on this oddity. Zoe playfully flicked the top one so it toppled. Josh beamed a smile at her. 

            She cleared her throat. “You mentioned you had a sister. Is she older than you?”

            “She’s twenty six. The oldest of the kids. There’s four of us. Mel was born old, that’s my theory. Won’t say it if you meet her. But she’s an old, old soul.”

            Zoe smiled, stirring her hot chocolate with a steadier hand, licking the spoon, taking a deep sip.

            “Good?” He could see by her face that it was. 

            He took a gulp of his coffee. “So that tattoo you got, what is it?” 

            Zoe blushed. Again. Josh wanted to keep teasing her just to see it, and gave himself a mental slap, because while she was obviously on edge, he was feeling more relaxed, and was hoping Zoe would relax as well. 

He’d also slipped up because she wasn’t exactly happy to be reminded about it. “Um, birds. On my arm and back.” 

            Josh stared, sensing there was more to her words, a reason behind the tattoo. 

“Any significance?” he asked directly. No teasing, or ridicule. He was just intensely curious about her, soaking any details like a sponge. 

            “I just like birds,” she murmured, sipping her hot chocolate.            

            They were quiet, not exactly awkward, merely a pause. 

  “What are you listening to?” Zoe asked having noticed the headphones attached to his phone.

            He shrugged. “Just some electronic music. My friend Ash is trying to get me to like more diverse stuff.”

            “I get that. My brother Coop, he’s in a band and is always shoving music my way.” 

Josh grinned sheepishly. He’d wondered if this would come up. “Yeah—I kind of know that. Actually I have a confession. My brother knows your brother.”

Zoe’s mouth hung open. “You’re kidding? What’s his name?”

“Blu. Blu Wakefield.”

“I’ve heard Coop mention him. Actually I’ve met him, but it was a while ago.”

“Yeah, he moved to Sydney for work. But he’s back. We went to Coop’s gig on Saturday night.”

Zoe grimaced. “I was supposed to go Friday and missed it. I think I owe him an apology.”

  “He was in a dark mood about Blu. Zeke mentioned something about your parents. How he wasn’t good with people leaving. Sorry. That’s vague.”

Zoe nodded slowly. “Yeah, he’s been pretty upset. My parents split and Coop’s been incredibly angry, mostly at Dad.”  

“That’s hard.”

She shrugged, playing with the spoon. Josh noticed how fine her fingers were. “It’s not something either of us have any control over.”

Simply said yet laden with meaning. Josh wanted to dive in but if she was anything like him, she’d guard her secrets, not divulge them. He changed tack. “You mentioned you aren’t studying?”            

Annnd that was so not the best thing to ask. He could have kicked himself when her skin went from flushed to alarmingly pale. He had no idea what he’d triggered. 

Zoe sidestepped. “What are you doing at uni? Where do you go?”

Now he was squirming. “Actually, I deferred. I got into Arts, but decided to chill from the whole school thing.” He’d only applied because Mel insisted and threatened to kick him out if he didn’t at least try for something. Josh knew she’d never do that, but since Ash seemed set to pursue further study, he’d thought, why not? Couldn’t hurt.

“I get that. I did the same thing.” Zoe’s smile was tentative, but it warmed Josh, seeing that glimmer of openness through the tight shell around her. 

  “What were you going to study?”

The smile was replaced by a grimace. Josh nearly laughed at the comical switch. She had an expressive face that hid little. “Law.”

He couldn’t help it, Josh laughed and Zoe actually joined in. “Not what you expected I bet.”

“Actually I wasn’t sure what to expect. But Law, nope. Didn’t see that coming.”    

Zoe gave him a thoughtful look. Like she was weighing up how much to say. He’s on alert, not even sure why he was hoping for so much more, but he wasn’t going to push. Any sense of understanding why he’d wanted to meet her was bound by the inexplicable tug he felt watching her those nights walking. Her solitariness was a pull as much as a deterrent, too close to his own need to isolate himself. 

  “During year twelve I was training to audition for the VCA dance school,” Zoe began and Josh’s eyes widened. “My teacher Anna believed I had a good chance of getting into the course. And that’s what I really wanted to do, even though I also applied to do Law at Melbourne and got in—because that’s what I was expected to do—well my dad and a few teachers encouraged me. We had an agreement I guess. I had to keep my studies up alongside my dancing.” 

Zoe stopped, probably at seeing the look of raw amazement on Josh’s face. 

            “Did you audition?” he asked quickly.

            She paused. “Yes.”

            “Did you get in?” 

Zoe kept her eyes on her drink. “Yes.” She glanced at him, and he was smiling, encouraging her to go on while his gut also tensed knowing something was off because of her leg, and then—

  “I fell, Josh.” That was enough to recast his grin with an almost blank uncertainty. She pressed on, “It was close to Christmas. I went for a jump during class and I fell. The patella tendon in my right knee tore, came clean off.” 

Josh breathed in sharply at hearing the thickness in her voice, his coffee curdling in his stomach. Imagining her hurt, the pain—he almost leaned towards her, wanting to offer comfort, but she held herself stiff as if fending off any reaction.

Zoe’s eyes were fixed on those mushrooms. “I had surgery. That was just over six months ago. It’s slow going with this kind of injury and everyone is different. I’ve been getting physio, stuff like that. I walk a lot. I’m healing. But it’s going to take time.” 

He held his breath, wondering at everything she must be leaving out. “So, I deferred my dance and law courses. I don’t know if I can take up the dance course next year. It’s possible, but it’s also uncertain.” 

Zoe lowered her head, squeezing her eyes. She swiped a serviette and blew her nose. Josh gently laid his hand on her forearm. His fingers were light. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t know what to say. 

            Zoe sniffed hard and summarised the rest. “I live with my dad at the moment. My mum’s away at a yoga ashram in India. I’ve been working on getting my physical strength back, so no decision about uni or anything.”

            It’s a bit of a mishmash. Josh was still reeling. The pain was obvious and now he knew the reason for the limp. A part of him would have been happy not to know, to remain ignorant, because whatever she’d been through, it was hell and she was struggling to make sense of it. There was no self-pity in her voice. It was flat, as if she was deliberately emptying herself of emotion. Josh was scrabbling in the dark, wondering how to relate, except his own experience of loss he could barely cope with. And while she might get to dance again, there was no coming back from someone no longer being in your life, with no chance of coming back. Still, he had a strong urge to hug her.

Zoe stared at the table warmed by the yellowish glow of the overhead light. 

            “You’re right. That’s quite a story.” He smiled and while it’s laced with sadness, it’s compassion, not pity. He could never feel that for her, for anyone in pain. His hand slipped to hold hers and Zoe jolted.

            Then she’s shaking her head, standing abruptly, her eyes huge. “I’m—I’m sorry. I—I can’t do this.”

And just as quick, she picked up her bag, pulling out some coins from her pocket which she placed on the table, darting him a sharp, apologetic look before dashing out of the café, not giving him a chance to open his mouth to say ‘stop’.

            Everything felt still. As if all air and motion had been sucked out of the room with her leaving. He could feel the weight of stares but didn’t give a fuck. All he saw was the space where Zoe had been and now wasn’t. He stared at the coins. He stared at the stool. Stared at those stupid mushrooms. He just stared. 

            He picked up the twisted serviette lying next to her half drunk hot chocolate. It was the sudden absence, a null space in the room. He knew that feeling. It opened up like a pit in his gut, and he was standing on the rim as it beckoned for him to fall into its depths. 

            Only a shadow of a much greater absence. Of a much more devastating leaving.

            Slowly, he got up, paid the bill, walked out and stood on the pavement.

            He didn’t know what to do, where to go.

            He needed to step away from the edge of this feeling.

            Josh could try and call her but he was sure she wouldn’t answer. He was pretty sure it wasn’t about him, but he felt crap all the same. 

            Struggling and not wanting to end up alone in his bedroom, he called Ash, fingers numb, so he could barely hold the phone. 

            He might have said something like: “Can I come round?”

            “Sure,” was all Ash said, had to say. One thing he’d always appreciated about Ash, he didn’t need explanations. If Josh wanted to hang out, that was fine. Ash’s easygoing acceptance reminded him of Holly. It was yet one more thing that had drawn Josh to him when he was resisting letting anyone get close. But the truth was simple—an unconscious part of Josh wanted to be known. He didn’t want to walk through life alone. 

            Like now.

            Somehow he put one foot in front of the other, making his way towards a tram stop to get back to Prahran.

24

Idiot

Idiot.

            Worse than that. Zoe jogged down Flinders Lane. Turned right into Swanston Street and headed towards the Botanical Gardens. It was the direction of the apartment, and the only safe space she could think to aim for. 

            Idiot.

            Smearing the tears on her face, she weaved through people, crowding their way to Flinders Street Station. She barely registered being jostled, despite the hypersensitivity she felt at having just dumped all her crappy baggage onto a complete stranger. No matter his kindness. No matter his interest. 

            She moved, not caring about straining her leg, she just moved. Wanting the distance and hoping it would bring some kind of amnesia that she didn’t just bail on Josh. 

            Slowly, slowly she began to walk with a steadier, longer gait. Slowly, she moved out of the crushing crowd and then down a set of steps that would lead her towards the Tan. The wider paths and flowerbeds became known coordinates and with every step the air loosened in her chest. 

            She stopped. Threw her backpack on the ground and bent over, sucking in gulps of air. She straightened, head tilting to a mockingly beautiful clear sky. 

            “I am such an idiot!” she yelled. Not caring about the jogger heading her way, or the couple making out on the grass.

            She had the frantic urge to call Evie who had way more experience with guys. She held back because if Evie laughed or was overly sympathetic, she didn’t think she could handle it. 

            Zoe would never be able to speak to Josh again. Or see him. Her mind was already racing to picking up Rex and maybe getting Lily to do it while she waited outside in the car. Crap! Why couldn’t anything be easy? 

            Why did she have to freaking make a mess of stuff that anyone else would probably find normal and just plain nice? To have a coffee with a guy who seemed to want to get to know her. 

            What was wrong with her?

            Zoe didn’t want to give in to the throb in her throat about to escape from her mouth. Or the hot wetness threatening to spill from her eyes. She needed to walk and keep on walking. So, she picked up her backpack, shouldering the weight and tried not to think at all. 

25

Shattered

Josh wasn’t surprised that he dreamt of her.

            Crashed out on Ash’s bedroom floor in a sleeping bag he kept there for just this purpose.

            In this dream there was no water surrounding them, no sense of weightlessness in a briny deep. Zoe knelt in a field. Wearing what he’d seen her in that day. He walked towards her, pulled beyond reason. Her head was bent, hands on her thighs. He wondered if she way praying.

            And then he saw them. Bent and grimy. He sucked in air. Protruding from her back were crooked, brittle wings. Dirt smeared, feathers missing. It hurt to look at them. He didn’t want to see if there was actual blood. 

            He stepped forward and she moved. Her head rose, the hoodie falling back from her hair streaked blue and violet. Like the last time he’d seen her.

            It wasn’t Zoe staring at him, eyes hollow and anguished. 

Shattered.

            It was Holly.

26

Belief

After her session with Anthony, he’d invited her to sit in on a rehearsal for a dance work he was guest choreographing and performing in. Only a day after the event she was trying desperately to forget, Zoe walked from St. Kilda Road, past VCA to Southbank, destination the Chunky Moves dance studio. 

The walking eased her nerves and the fact her thoughts kept rattling like marbles in a jar, annoying and clinking and distracting. Josh. She’d mucked up. Big time. Her cheeks blazed every time she thought about him. She didn’t want to know what he must think of her: insane, freak—or something on the freak-idiot scale. And leaving him like that… 

Who cares what he thinks? She toyed with this, but somehow she obviously did. There was something about him, the fact she’d opened up about her leg, how there’d been no pity in his eyes, just kindness, understanding. A willingness to listen. 

Those eyes. They haunted. She’d gone to sleep again seeing them. Dark and deep and kind. She knew so little, and she’d blown any chance of getting to know more, not after her crap exit.

“You’re kidding,” Evie had stifled a laugh, failing.

“Thanks,” Zoe said sarcastically. She’d finally caved and called Evie to debrief. 

“Oh Zo, don’t take it the wrong way! It’s actually great you met the guy, and it’s not as bad as you think.”

“Elaborate.”

Evie chuckled. “You were upset, and you don’t like exposing yourself. My feeling is being that vulnerable set off your flight response, which is super sensitive right now. And everyone fucks up, Zo. We all do things that make us feel like dorks.”

“Yeah, but I just left him! What do I do? Do I apologise?”

“Only if you mean it and don’t expect a response. Otherwise, let it go.”

She’d been trying to let it go. Zoe was torn between the exposure factor and feeling she seriously owed Josh an apology. What made it worse, walking back to the apartment after her mini meltdown, she’d veered off the Tan and into the side streets where she knew she’d see the mural of the girl falling. Instead she came smack up against a work that was fresh and new. A larger version of the girl, but with wings. Splayed out and shimmering slightly in the light of day. Faded because it was only at night she’d truly come alive. Her arms extended as her wings caught an updraft. 

Yes, Zoe had thought, tears pricking and this time it wasn’t because of Josh. Yes. She so wanted to feel that again. To feel that sense of suspension, of anything being possible. What motivational words, therapies, and endless hours of dwelling on her leg had tried to do, these images cut through to a deep seated need in her that dance had filled. A spark of inspiration to see if she could still do that—fly. To forget who she was and become someone who could make that leap, could move and become whoever she wanted to be through dancing.                        

  Stopping outside the contemporary art gallery that was part of the dance studio complex, Zoe took out her phone and looked for the hundredth time at the image of the girl with wings. She’d gone back later that night to see it glowing. She so wanted to reach out to this person making them, to tell them just how much their work meant to her. Stupidly, she’d taken a piece of knitting, all blues and striped, and wrapped a sign post standing in front of the wall mural from the base upward. It didn’t reach far, but it was a small token of acknowledgement: that she was here and she’d seen the artwork. Tucked in to the top of her knitted sleeve, she’d left a note. A vain hope cast into the world, because the artist would probably never see it, but she felt compelled:

To whoever created this beautiful painting, I just want to say thank you. Your work means so much to me. Z     

Zoe shoved her phone into her pocket. Looking around she noted she was close to the dance school she would have attended if fate—whatever—hadn’t thrown a curve ball. Her body felt stiff, wanting to shield itself. 

“Be conscious of how you move,” Anthony had advised her after their first session. “If you like, write down how you feel about your movement, what you’re thinking or feeling when you notice certain things.”

It was strange to think of taking notes about dance again. Zoe had even thought of getting a special notebook like she’d had years ago, but settled for taking notes on her phone. Right now she would have written: coward, with a dose of self-pity. Regret. And: I wouldn’t mind being a ghost right now.

She came to the entrance of the studio and stalled. She was eager to see Anthony dance. She was worried how she’d react to being in a professional dance context that was beyond her reach. Zoe stepped inside.

Moving to slip into the rehearsal space, she found a spot by a wall, quietly seating herself on the floor. Anthony saw her immediately and smiled so warmly Zoe’s body sagged in relief. 

He was showing two dancers a particular sequence of movements graduating from floor to standing and ending in a lift. It was fast, fluid and Zoe felt like his body was merely a skin of water. She stopped breathing at the sheer beauty of the sinuous lines he created. There was a tense longing in the movements, as Anthony asked one dancer to twine their body with the other. It was intimate, sensuous, a sense of being lost within each other.

Zoe was mesmerised: by the forms, the bodies, the emotion, the quiet encouragement of Anthony, and the seamless instruction he gave while the dancers performed. 

When it ended, she could still see the movement playing out before her. A part of her desperately wanted to be able to join in.

That yearning stopped her short. Made her take a mental step back.

“Zoe?” Anthony crouched before her and she had to shake her head a little to free her eyes from what felt like a dream.

“Hey,” she smiled shakily.

“You came. I’m really glad. We’re taking a break, would you like to grab a coffee?”

“Sure.” Anthony stood and gave her his hand to help pull her up. The defensive aspect of her would have resisted, getting up by herself, but the softer part of her that had opened at just watching Anthony dance let him assist.

“What’s the dance about?” she asked as they sat with their coffees outside the Malthouse Theatre which sat adjacent to ACCA and the studio. 

“Relationships,” he gave a wry smile. “I got the idea for it when I was recovering from my Achilles.”

Zoe took a welcome sip of her coffee. It hit her system like fuel. “Anna told me, although she didn’t say much.”

“Yeah, it’s not something people get unless they’ve been through it. Anna’s brilliant though. I met her in England when she was doing a residency.”

Zoe wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject. It was too close to home. “How,” she began, clearing her throat, “how did you get through it?”

“Like you—rehab and time. I had a great support team. Mostly, I’d put it down to my partner. My mum and sister live in the States, so they could only visit initially after I was injured. But Fiona, he was the one with me every day. She helped me the most.”

The tenderness in Anthony’s face had Zoe’s chest tightening. “How did she inspire the piece?”

“Fi’s is an artist. A brilliant painter. Being creative she understands what it means not to be able to express yourself. He had a period after his father died when grief kind of halted everything. She just couldn’t paint. Sadly that experience helped her understand mine. The frustration, anger, the pain. The sense of loss.”

He stopped, his eyes honed in to gauge Zoe’s reaction. Zoe nodded for him to continue. “The fact she loved me deeply enough to put up with the mood swings, the fear—all of it, that gave me strength, made me determined. I discovered something pretty important which was the physical aspect of the injury can be healed, but the will needs to be there, the motivation and the belief that you can heal and get back into performing. It was like laying down a completely different foundation, and Fi was crucial to that.”

Zoe found it hard to speak. “You’re very lucky.”

Anthony smiled hugely. “Very. So that’s what inspired the piece. We initially worked on each of the dancers coming up with what matters to them in relationships, whatever might be significant, the whole range of experience, and finding a language for that. We’re slowly weaving it together as stories.”

“That sounds wonderful. I loved what I saw before.”

Anthony looked at her thoughtfully. “So, if I was to ask you what you believe is significant in relationships, how would you answer it?”

Whoa, that stumped her. Zoe’s eyes went huge and Anthony laughed. He had a great laugh, big and generous. 

“That’s hard.” 

“Exactly. Relationships aren’t easy, so answering isn’t straightforward.”

“What would you suggest helps to answer that question?”

“You’re a dancer, Zoe. Doesn’t matter if you’re not as mobile yet, but at the level of how you make sense and relate to the world and experiences, from the little I’ve seen my feeling is you’re a dancer.” Zoe bit her lip, hoping to stop the embarrassing flood of tears threatening to make an appearance. “So, approach it like a dancer. Find a space, go inside yourself, listen to music if that helps, but work through the question with your body and your mind and heart.”

Zoe realised that Anthony had found a way to talk about her injury without ever referring directly to it. He’d also tapped into her biggest fear, that dance was no longer a part of her life, but the way he’d called her a dancer, he affirmed that intrinsically it still was. How she was going to go about making it more a part of her life was up to her.

They finished their coffees and before going back into the studio, Anthony stopped. “That’s your homework by the way. I’d like you to figure out what matters to you in relationship. Any kind of relationship. Doesn’t have to be a lover—it can be friendship, family, whatever.”

Zoe felt a surge of nervous excitement at exploring the idea. Of finding a way through dance. It felt like reconnecting to a spark she thought had been extinguished. 

She reached to touch Anthony’s hand, surprising herself at initiating the contact. “Thank you. I can’t tell you what this means.” 

  “I know exactly what it means and it’s my pleasure to work with you.”      

27

Don’t know

So far Ash hadn’t asked why Josh had been camping at his place. Josh had merely turned up the day before, and began sketching in one of his books left on the table designated as his in the studio. 

            It was a basic set-up, the space filled mostly with Ash’s easels and trestle tables. The Parker’s family home was a single storey, double fronted brick house with no distinguishing features in a street with renovated Victorians, Edwardians, and fancy new townhouses. The Parkers didn’t care. Ash’s folks bought it when they first got married and with a few renovations over the years, it had happily accommodated their three kids. It was Josh’s favourite place to be, other than his room at the warehouse and the bookshop. The fact all three places were in walking distance from each other was an added bonus. But it was the two-car deep garage that Ash’s folks let him convert into his studio that was the killer. 

            “Why wings?” Ash asked absently from behind a canvas. It was angled on the easel so that Ash was only partly visible. But Josh knew his friend would be fixated on what he was doing, his glasses edging down the bridge of his nose. They had the door to the garage open to let the fumes dissipate, but it was edging towards evening and the space heater would be turned on soon, the door shut. 

            “Just feel like it,” Josh answered, noncommittal. But he’d been obsessively drawing them. He could imagine them big. Huge. On a wall as a paste-up. That’s what he could see.

            Josh was sprawled on the two-seater faux-leather sofa they’d found on the street during a hard rubbish collection. It was comfy. The concrete floor was layered with plastic sheeting and an odd mix of carpet they’d pilfered from renovation jobs done by Ash’s dad’s building company. Larger canvases were hanging from batons on the brick walls. Every bit of space was taken up with materials they both needed. Josh offered to pay rent. Ash had laughed saying he couldn’t imagine the space without him. So Josh supplied the drinks kept in the minibar fridge and any food they might have a hankering for. Today it was cinnamon donuts from the bakery round the corner. 

            “Bad answer. Those falling figures are beginning to look like angels.” 

            “You’re talkative.”

            “You’re deflecting.” Ash put down his paintbrush on the mobile shelf unit that housed his paints, brushes and a slab of glass he mixed on. He rolled on his chair and pushed his glasses back, arms crossed.   

            “What?” Josh really didn’t want to get into this.

            “You’ve been less talkative than usual. Which is cool. But something’s bugging you.” Ash got up, wiping his hands on a rag and put on the kettle. He put teabags in two mugs without asking if Josh wanted tea, but it was unspoken that he drank gallons of the stuff anyway. Biting into a donut, Ash waited, those blue eyes of his piercing from a distance. 

            “If you couldn’t paint, what would you do?” Josh dumped his sketchbook on the floor and sat up. Ash poured water and brought over the two mugs, the half eaten donut still in his mouth. Sitting on his chair, Ash chewed, thinking over the question. 

            “I don’t know,” he said. 

            “Same. If I couldn’t draw or make work on the street.”

            “Where’s this coming from?” 

            “I met this girl and she used to dance. She hurt her leg and now she’s not sure if she can keep doing it. But the thing is, it’s that thing, you know—well it seems that dance is her thing. What she really wants to do. That makes her feel more her. If that makes sense.”

            Ash slurped his tea. “Yeah. I get that.”

            They sat and drank. Josh got up to grab a donut, sitting back down. They’d seriously lucked out with this sofa.

            “That’s really horrible to think about,” Ash mused. 

            “Yeah. I know.” Because he couldn’t imagine not doing what he did. It might not be a career like what Zoe wanted to pursue, but at the level of why they did it, it was similar. Like Ash and his painting. The animation course was a way to earn money eventually, but his real love was painting. Mostly landscapes, and mostly the sea. It bordered on an obsession. But Josh understood because he’d gone camping with Ash and his family where they had a bit of land down the Otways close to the wild beaches. The smell and sound of the ocean. Waking and going to sleep with it. The Parkers never built on the block. There was a mobile home, a fire pit, and not much else. The kids set up tents and used the facilities in the trailer. Josh loved it. Ash took endless photos, or sketched. Josh walked and swam. It was as close to peace as he’d got since moving to Melbourne. 

            “What’s she like?” Ash asked, wiping cinnamon sugar dust from his jeans. 

            “I don’t know.”

            “Are the wings for her?” Yep, he was sharp. 

            Josh hesitated for a beat, an image of Zoe stuck in his mind. Like she’d taken up residence in his head and wasn’t in a hurry to leave. “I don’t know.” 

28

Small steps

There’s a suitcase on the floor in the lounge room and neatly folded bundles of clothes on the sofa and coffee table. Zoe stood and stared at the evidence of her dad’s imminent departure. 

            “Are you going somewhere?” she asked, a prickly irritation beginning to needle at her skin.

            Her dad walked out of his bedroom, his toiletry bag in hand and he’s momentarily startled at the sight of her pointing at the case. 

            “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.” Zoe had left a note, not sure when she’d be home. She’d got a lift with Nick after taking up Lily’s offer of dinner, needing a serious meal after all she’d been through. Her dad placed the toiletry bag in the case then methodically stacked the neat piles in the compact space.

            “It’s nearly eleven, Dad.” 

            He straightened wearily. “Sorry, I’ve been flat out all day and I just got home.”

            Zoe nodded at the case. “So, are you going somewhere?”

             Sitting on the sofa, her dad scraped his hands through his hair. She could tell he’s tired even before he does it. Or maybe it was spending the night at his girlfriend’s. Although he stayed home last night, so she bit her lip not to say anything.

            “I’m sorry, Zoe. I thought I mentioned I’m going to Sydney for a few days. I’m seeing a client in the Sydney office and I’m attending a law conference at the university over the weekend.”

            Zoe sat opposite, suddenly exhausted as well. “No, you didn’t mention it.” 

            “I’m sorry.” His eyes were cloudy, on the verge of a storm. “This isn’t great for you—”

            “Yet you wanted me here,” she stated flatly, wondering why she should be bothered by it.

            He’s not fazed. “You knew my life was a lot about work when you moved in. I need to go away occasionally.”

            “This isn’t simply about that, Dad.”

            He fell back against the sofa, hands raised to grasp air then they collapsed by his sides. “Then what is this about?”

            Zoe’s arms stretched out, fingers splaying, measuring an infinite distance. “How about everything we don’t talk about? How about you and Mum separating yet not getting a divorce? Or Coop not wanting to talk to you? Or about your lawyer girlfriend and how long you’ve actually been with her?”

            “I thought we agreed to keep her out of it.” His jaw was tight, each word clenched.

            “Maybe. I mean I didn’t want her sleeping here—”

            “Same thing, Zoe.”

            “Well, what’s going on? Maybe we should talk about it.” She’s not sure why out of everything she could say, that she brings that up. It rattled her, the sudden anger; the heat that wanted to shoot from her in flames. 

            Her dad’s quiet, slouching and drained. “Maybe I don’t talk about her because we’re not that serious.” His voice faded, like it’s too much to defend himself yet again. “I know that doesn’t sound good. But I’ve barely seen her lately.”

            Zoe sat back, arms crossed and she’s not sure if she’s holding herself because her whole body is trembling or it’s armour, protection against whatever’s coming next. Her dad got up and walked with his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, stopping to stare out the sliding doors at the dark of night.

            “So, what happened between you and Mum? Was it Karen or work?”  

  He didn’t turn when he said, “I’m not sure what you want, Zo. But if I was to pinpoint when things began to change, it began when I wanted out of public prosecution. Rosie understood me wanting to leave, but it was the direction I wanted to go in – she didn’t understand that.”

            “None of us did.”

            “I know. And the truth wasI just wanted out of the daily horror of people hurting each other. Sometimes I was just sick to my stomach, and I couldn’t sleep, eat—like it was poisoning me. It was punishing work. The turnover of lawyers was high. Rosie knew that. She knew I was struggling. That I didn’t know what I was becoming. That I was scared.”

            “Sounds like a mid-life crisis,” Zoe snarked. She was resisting his confession, didn’t want to bend when for so long, she’d been blindsided, kept in the dark. Her dad sighed, stretched his neck. He walked back to the sofa and sat, legs crossed, seemingly relaxed, but there’s a hint of defeat in the downward turn of his mouth, the sag of his shoulders.

  “Maybe. Call it what you want. But there was all this weight. Pressure. I couldn’t just stop working, Zoe. We needed an income other than Rosie’s. There was more to it. I wanted out, a clean slate, and a friend from my law school days who went down the corporate route gave me another option.”

            She’s holding herself rigid. “That’s not all, surely.”

            He scraped a hand over his eyes. “You’re right. Rosie didn’t like the idea of it and I guess she wasn’t able to understand why I’d want to go down that road. Said it was soulless, too focused on the money and not what we were about. It wasn’t why I went into law.’

            “Was she right?” 

            “In a way. She knew me better than anyone. I think I just wanted change. Was desperate for it. I wasn’t thinking the way Rosie was. And a lot did change after I began working at the firm. There were the long hours, the huge jump in salary and the expectations of corporate life. All of it. Rosie didn’t like it and yet, I blindly kept going because I thought I was giving her and you guys everything.”

            “You never asked us! You didn’t ask me or Coop what we wanted!”

“No—I know that now. I thought I knew what was best, and I lost sight of everything we had.”

            “You mean not thinking of the consequences?” she asked, a shrill note creeping in. 

            He shook his head. “I couldn’t see that far ahead, Zo.”

            Zoe’s arm swept out from her chest, gesturing at the room. “Is this what you really want?”

            He visibly jolted, eyes caught, reflecting a sharp steel grey in the downlights in the room. “No,” he finally admitted. “This isn’t what I want. But I never thought it would end this way when it started.”  

Zoe’s holding her breath, waiting, waiting for—what? She’d wanted to hear some kind of honest explanation from him for so long now. Yet whatever truth was in the words, they provided little comfort. Merely confirmation. It’s the look in her father’s eyes that said more, devastation at the memory, twin wastelands in his weathered face.

            It still pained him to think of it.

            “I’m sorry,” Zoe said finally. 

            “Nothing for you to feel sorry about. Or Coop.”

            “So why did you leave? Was it Karen?” She felt like a child, or the girl she’d been when her father left: numb, confused, scared and lost.

            Her dad slumped against the sofa. “No. I hope you can believe me, but I wasn’t with Karen while your mum and I were together. I did meet her when I started working at the firm. She was interested. I said no.”

            Zoe couldn’t help it. “That was big of you.” 

            Her dad winced. “This is hard to talk about, Zo. Relationships—they’re difficult, especially long-term. I can’t document all the small things that contributed to Rosie and I becoming so distant, but there came a point when it seemed best to have time apart. So, no, Karen wasn’t the reason.”

She let that sink in, never thinking she’d get such a confession. A part of her felt relief to hear it hadn’t been about Karen. She hoped that was true. She also wished Coop could be here, to vent, to yell, to find out the truth. 

            “So what do you really want? You say you and Karen aren’t close and you’re not happy here—so what do you want?”

  She could tell he’s taken aback by the question. “Well, it’s over with Karen. I think that’s a fact.”

“You don’t love her?”

“Not all relationships are about love, Zoe,’ he said, not a little shamefully.

“I’m getting that.” She couldn’t help asking. “And Mum?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “I never stopped loving, Rosie. Never. Same with you and Coop. You all mean everything to me. Everything.”                         

Zoe’s not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. For her dad, her mum, Coop, and herself. The glass of the windows reflected the two of them, sitting in the cold room, the heating not turned on, and night had shuttered the outside from view. She’s exhausted. So was he. 

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Perhaps I should ask you what you want to do, Zoe?”

“Lily asked me if I wanted to move in with her and Nick. Again.” Her dad bowed his head at this. “She asked me before Mum left as well, but I said no.” 

When he finally met her eyes there were tears perched to spill on his lashes. “Is that what you want? And the baby? What about—”

“They’re both fine with it,” Zoe said, her voice softer, the anger, the edginess leached out. Her dad was looking at her and she came up blank trying to figure out what he’s thinking. This might have been the most direct and personal conversation they’d had in years, but it couldn’t bridge the distance and all that’s happened. It felt like being on the brink—of something—but she’s not sure what. 

“It might be good for you, Zoe.” She could tell it’s taking everything for him to say it and not break down in front of her. “They love you and it will be a home for you. This isn’t a home.”

Zoe’s stomach felt like a seismic shift was happening internally and it hurt to breathe. She’s caught, wanting to move forward, to grab whatever made her feel alive and close to the lightness she’d felt when she danced, close to happiness, but it feels like she’s having to break something inside her to do it. Antony said small steps. Well, she was taking them.

“I know. I think, for a while, I’d like to stay with them.”

Zoe stared again at the reflection in the window. Then she braved a look at her dad. He’s silently crying, losing it in a way that’s stoic and vulnerable. A fierce tenderness shot through all the anger, frustration and hurt. She got up and went to sit next to him, tentatively wrapping an arm across his shoulders. He turned and held her and Zoe let him. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d hugged.

They sat like that for a long time.

29

Let’s nail this

“This is so not a good idea,” groaned Ash.

            They were sitting in Josh’s Subaru, on the quiet street scoping out the apartment building where Zoe lived.

            Weird, bordering on stalking, but with a purpose.

            “You agreed to help,” Josh reminded him. Ash had been more than happy to tag along to scout while Josh did a paste-up. Until Josh revealed the extent of his plans.

            “Is she worth it?” Ash had helped to make the paste-up. It was huge, just like he’d imagined it. Josh sighed, hunching into the seat, the engine off, so the air was frosty. He rubbed his hands together and breathed into them for heat. There was a substantial wall at the front of the exclusive block with a hedge of trees. No obvious security cameras, just a security gate to get in. The street was illuminated by streetlights, but the fact one side of the street was the Tan and the gardens, cast a dark shadow across the road. And all the houses and apartments were walled off; meaning any activity on the pavement was less noticeable. What Josh had to be careful of were cars driving past or the odd pedestrian, and at this early morning hour, there wasn’t anyone in sight. 

            “You know when I asked about the yarn bombing?”

            “Sure.”

            “Well, the girl who hurt her leg and the yarn bomber are one and the same.”

            “You’re kidding?”

            “Nope. And I’ve been seeing her around for weeks. Then she adopted a dog at the Lort Smith and I was there. And then I finally asked her out for a coffee but it ended badly.” 

            Ash’s expression was almost comical. Like, WTF? “So you’re prepared to do this and you don’t even know if she likes you?”

            Josh laughed. “It’s not just about her liking me. And I don’t think she bailed because of me. It was because she’s just got all this hurt inside her and it came out and I think it was too much to be that vulnerable with someone she barely knows.” He knew that plenty.

            Ash huffed in the silence. “This is crazy shit. You know that, right?”

            “Yep.”

            “I’ve never known you to go all out like this for any girl.” Not that there’d been that many. Those blue eyes of Ash’s were almost neon in the night. “You must really like her.”

            “I don’t even know her.”

            “Sometimes it’s not about knowing, dude.”

            “Well you won’t believe it, but I also found out she’s actually Blu’s friend, Coop’s sister.” 

            “No way!” Ash was a Punt fan. Since the first gig Josh had taken him to, Ash had been crushing on the drummer. 

            “All this time she’s kind of been around and I could have met her.”

            “Well, that’s twisty.”

            “Yep.” The whole situation was convoluted, including sitting in the Subie scoping out the wall.

            “So what will this achieve? I mean she won’t even know you did it.” 

Josh hunched further in his seat, hands under his armpits for warmth. “I’ll let her know.” Hopefully she wouldn’t freak, or worse, call the cops to report vandalism, except after all the public property she’d wrapped with her knitting, he had a feeling she wouldn’t rat on him. He felt buzzed with the anticipation. That odd mix of desperation and longing had him wanting to reach out one more time, even if it led nowhere. Maybe just to let her know she wasn’t alone—not in losing a dream, not in having to figure out how to live again after shit had happened. All he knew was he didn’t want it to end with her walking out like that. 

Ash was quiet, digesting this sudden download of information. 

“You’re not—you’re not thinking you can save her or something?”

“What do you mean?” But Josh knew where he was going with this.

“Like she’s obviously going through shit and maybe, I’m just saying, maybe you’re thinking you can help her, because you couldn’t help Holly.”            

Ash was staring fixedly out of the front windscreen. He never brought up Holly, despite Josh having told him the truth. If he’d wanted Ash’s friendship, the price had been honesty. Josh had never minded telling him because Ash had picked up something wounded about him from day one, and had simply waited until Josh could figure out how to speak about it. 

“Holly never needed saving.” 

“I know. But you do have a tendency towards helping those in need.” He gave Josh a lopsided grin. 

“I just like animals,” Josh snapped back. Ash’s grin widened, lightening the mood. “And what does that say about you?”

“Hey! I was kind of a stray at that school, just like you.” Yep, they had been. “Okay, let’s nail this. We’ll use the roller, unless you prefer the broom. But we’ve got to be super quick. It might not be a neat job, but as long as she sees it, that’s all that matters, right?”

            Josh could have hugged him. “Thanks.”

            Ahs grinned. “Who am I to get in the way of true love?”

            “You are so full of shit. Let’s go.”                  

30

Paper wings 

“That is seriously cool.”

            Zoe had been standing mesmerised for so long she’d lost track of time. Evie had come to stand beside her and she hadn’t even noticed. Evie’s incredible green hair was a shock of colour in daylight. She’d come over that morning with bagels for breakfast and to help Zoe pack. Zoe had texted about her dad and some of what had been said. Evie intuited the rest and brought carbs and cream cheese to lift her spirits.

            “I know,” Zoe said, not having the words to untangle her feelings. 

            She’d found a text on her phone when she woke.

            Go out to the front of your apartment. There’s something you should see. Josh

            The fact he’d texted was surprise enough. The fact there was something to see freaked her out. What she saw stole her breath.

            He’d made her wings. In a soft grey he’d detailed the feathers. They spanned the wall, magnificent yet delicate.

            “Whoever did this has serious balls,” Evie said in admiration. “And mega talent.”

             “Yeah.” Zoe couldn’t stop the grin breaking across her face.

            Evie missed nothing. “You know who did it, don’t you?”

            “Yeah. The guy I walked out on.”

            “What?” exclaimed Evie, and then softly, “Well, fuck.”

Zoe took photos of it, focusing especially on a small section of text: “for the girl who wants to fly”. It meant nothing to anyone else. It meant so much more to her. 

            How could he know?

            What truly stumped her were the puzzle pieces slowly clicking into place. Josh had made this. The wings. She recognised the writing. 

            Josh had made this, but he’d made more than this. And there was evidence of it on her phone and all the streets nearby. 

            The spread of wings seemed enormous against the wall. Zoe was stunned that Josh pulled it off. Even more stunned he’d done it for her.

            It’s beautiful, thank you,she’d texted earning a smiley face and ghost emoji that made her laugh. It gave her courage to add: I’m sorry, for the other day. As if sensing the weight she was trying so hard to shift, he made light of it: It’s okay. I get saying things that rakes bad stuff up.

She didn’t think she could say everything buzzing in her brain right then, that his thoughtfulness had her shaking at the knees. Life never came together like this, where the desire to know and meet someone, could miraculously be resolved. She’d never thought she’d figure out the mystery of the artist. She’d given up, thinking it didn’t matter, not when she had the work. And now, she could maybe get answers to what was behind the images. Yet the sheer enormity of what was before her, his boldness and generosity, it humbled her. It frightened her. She didn’t know what to make of it, especially after running away from him. 

            “Zo, this guy is seriously into you.” 

            “Maybe,” she said still miles away, wishing she could strip the wings from the wall and paste them in her bedroom. 

            Evie was way astute. “You want it—don’t you?”

            Zoe smiled. “Totally.”

            “We could try and peel it off later.” Evie felt along the edges, smoothing her hand over the wings. “Bet it will be gone, though.” She stood back. 

            “You think?” Zoe was horrified at it disappearing.

            “Yeah—I can’t imagine whoever is in charge of maintenance here would leave it. You can see how he focused mostly on pasting the edges, see—it’s sagging in spots already. Quick job.”

            Zoe loved it too much to leave it to get ruined. “Can we get it down?” she asked.

            Evie was thoughtful. “We can try. I think I know how to do it.”

            It took Evie five minutes to procure a spray bottle, sponges, sudsy water, dishtowels, and what looked like a couple of cake spatulas. “It’s wheat-paste glue, so normally tough to get off. But it’s so roughly done we might be able to salvage most of it. Help me wet the edges where the glue is, we might be able to loosen it enough to lift it off the wall.” 

            It was a fiddly operation, but they got a system happening of Evie dampening the paper with the spray bottle of water, while Zoe used a sponge, and then they both tried easing the paper off the wall surface with the spatulas. How Evie knew to do this was beyond intriguing. It was far from perfect, the edges of the wings were mostly lost, the paper got a bit too soggy in places, but they managed to get the bulk of the wings off the wall. Thankfully Josh had been so quick in his attempt to get it up, he hadn’t had time to paste it thoroughly. 

They also found themselves fending off curious pedestrians and a couple of tenants who demanded to know what the hell they were doing. The fact they said they were cleaning it up, not putting it up, seemed to win them over.

            Laying the paper on the pavement to dry, the design mostly intact, although the wings were smaller with abraded edges, they sat on the curb, heedless of the cars driving past. 

            Evie leaned back on her hands, head tilted to the sun. “That’s probably the most fun we’ve had together in ages.”

            Her tone was so dry that Zoe hacked a surprised laugh. She kept on laughing at the wry smile spread across Evie’s face, just glad she was here.  

31

Holding air

He’d been on such a high from Zoe’s text, from knowing he’d reached out and she’d reached back, that it didn’t even register when Josh got home Friday afternoon from work, that there were more people than usual in the apartment.

            “Hey, I’m—” he began saying as he walked in, and then it was a blur of faces: Mel, Blu, Roan…Will.

            And another young woman he’d never seen before.

            Will. 

            Josh stiffened like a plank of wood. Blu’s face was horribly vacant. Mel looked tense, but calm. Roan was stricken, keeping to Blu’s side as he stood. Both Will and the mystery woman were seated next to each other on one of the sofas.

            “Josh,” Will said by way of a greeting. Funny how Josh had forgotten how his brother sounded. Deep, gravelly, but not menacing. Not today. He seemed wary. Josh wanted to laugh hysterically. 

            “Will,” he said, not knowing what else to say, whether he should just turn around and walk out because he had nothing to say to his brother. 

            Mel sensed he was considering flight and stood quickly. “Josh, Will dropped by and brought his friend, Rachel. They were in Melbourne visiting her parents.” 

            Okaaay. Way too much to take in at once.

            Blu was staring at Will, saying nothing, but Josh sensed he could let rip any time. Mel was defusing the situation. Josh wasn’t sure how he was going to play along with this. It wasn’t a game, and Will’s audacity at bringing a stranger into their home, a home he’d never visited before, was mind boggling to say the least.  

            Josh dropped his backpack on the dining table and sat on the bench seat. His legs folded like wet noodles. He nodded at Mel and she sat back down, relieved that he hadn’t bolted. 

            “So, how long have you known each other,” Mel asked politely.

            “A while,” Rachel said, and she spoke with a gentle, yet nervous voice. Josh was staring, couldn’t help it. The girls Will used to go out with were mostly from the local Tech college he’d attended. Local girls from neighbouring farms and the town. Rachel was a city girl. She was nothing like Josh imagined Will being with. “About eight months now.” Rachel was as politely tense as Mel, looking at Will when she spoke as if asking what was actually going on. 

            “Bit of a record for you,” Blu aimed at Will.

            Will shrugged. “It’s about meeting the right girl.” He gave Rachel’s hand a squeeze. Josh was wondering if he was hallucinating.

            “I bet you haven’t exactly filled her in on the family dynamics.” Blu was barely holding in his anger. He’d come a long way, but seeing Will sitting there as if nothing had ever happened between them, was insulting.

            Will shifted uncomfortably. “She knows the basics.”

            “The basics? That’s rich and this is bullshit. Unless you’re here to apologise for being an arsehole, I’m not going to pretend everything is okay between us.” With that, Blu marched out of the apartment, Roan following. The door slammed behind them and it was like the air had been vacuumed out of the room.

            Mel sighed. “It’s a bit much coming here after all this time, Will. Especially given your history with both Blu and Josh.” 

Josh was grateful she wasn’t going to pretend nothing was happening and sweep it under the proverbial carpet. But Mel had always been his and Blu’s staunchest advocate. She had their absolute trust.

            Josh wanted to feel nothing for the girl who’d somehow found herself in a relationship with Will. She obviously saw a completely different person, and that alone was a mind-fuck for Josh. Rachel’s face was flushed, her hand still holding Will’s, but she was barely holding back the shock.

            Welcome to the family, Josh thought sarcastically.

            Will was full of surprises. “I know, Mel. But things are different. I’m different. I know you don’t know that. Mum and Dad could probably tell you, but I’ve changed.” Again he looked at Rachel, his normally blunt features softening. 

            “It’s not enough to say that,” piped Josh. He wasn’t just going to let this slide, either. Will had been a brute. He’d made life hell for them. 

            “Would it help if I said sorry, Josh? Because I am. That anger and frustration—it fucked me up. I know I gave you guys shit.” He shot Rachel an apologetic glance as she openly winced. “You both left because of me and the fact things were going downhill at the farm. But things have changed. Dad’s cleaned up. You know that. We turned the farm around and it’s profitable and working.”

            Again, not enough. “Maybe you have, but if you came here with every intention of trying to apologise, make amends for what you did—maybe if that was your intention to turn up here—maybe Blu and I might actually listen. But you didn’t. So you can sit there and say you’ve changed and all that, but it changes nothing between us. Nothing.” Josh was yelling, his face burning with so much anger and hurt he’d buried deep. Yet, Will seemed almost innocuous now, sitting with his pretty girlfriend, dressed in his best jeans, RM Williams boots and a checked shirt tucked in. Innocuous and far from the devil Josh had drawn repeatedly over the years.

            Josh couldn’t bear it any longer, he got up, grabbing his backpack and hiked the stairs to his room. Slamming the door he threw himself on the bed.

            The guy had a nerve, and a completely screwed perception of what he’d done, how he’d been. 

            Josh’s throat constricted with trying to choke back the sob that threatened to escape. No way was he going to lose it while Will was still in the apartment. He wouldn’t give him that power. Josh shut his eyes and breathed. He tried thinking about the wings he’d made for Zoe. Anything good. He looked at the drawings on his wall. What he’d created. What he’d made of himself despite the fucked up things that had happened. 

            He flipped onto his back and that’s when the bad things jostled in his brain, pushing the good things out. Like the last time he’d seen Dan. He’d bumped into him in the parking lot of the Coles supermarket in Walden. Mel had gone in to get some groceries for their mum. It was some time last November and he’d just finished his year 12 exams, stupefied with the freedom. He couldn’t hack being in the car and got out to lean against the hood when he’d heard him—

            “Josh!” 

            Turning, he didn’t know who was yelling at him until Dan was standing close enough that Josh could see the hard lines of his face. Jeans skidded with motor oil stains, Blundstone boots scuffed, and a T-shirt that had seen way too many washes. The clothes hadn’t changed but the look in his eyes had. He was stoned. Pinwheel eyes stoned. 

            “Josh!” Quieter, but still loud. 

            “Dan,” he said and it came out kind of choked. 

            “Hey, where’ve you been?” Dan knew, but he always asked this as if he’d seen him only a week ago.

            “Melbourne. Just visiting Mum with Mel.”

            Dan checked out the car thinking Mel might pop out. Then he checked out Josh. He was trying to focus, his face flushed and worn. He looked way older than eighteen. But Josh was still seeing that kid of fifteen.

            “What have you been doing?” Josh asked, not sure he wanted to know.

            “Working for Stan.” 

            “That’s good.” Stan had probably been the only one who tried to anchor Dan, giving him an apprenticeship when he was still at school. Stan and Dan. It used to make him laugh. Holly too. She might have wanted to leave, and Dan might have followed, but working for Stan might have kept him back. That’s what always bothered Josh; that Holly chose Dan knowing he might never want to leave the district. He’d wondered if that was deliberate, knowing he might stay while she left. But Dan had always wanted Holly, like he’d always known he wanted to work with cars. Josh had envied that simplicity of focus until Dan was left with only half of his life intact. The drugs, Josh knew, made it bearable. Although Stan had a zero tolerance policy at work, so he wasn’t sure how Dan was managing it.

            Well, by the looks of it, he wasn’t.

            They’d stood there in the parking lot and the words dried up between them. Dan had nodded goodbye and Josh was left teetering on the void they were both trying to live with. 

            And lying on the bed Josh couldn’t stop the memories of the only time Dan had cracked before him, that void wide open and threatening to drag them both down, speaking about the only girl he’d ever loved—

            “She’s gone. She’s just fucking gone.” Falling to his knees, Dan had cried so hard the sounds ripped right from his gut. And Josh stood there with unseeing eyes and his heart just…he’d grasped at his chest through his T-shirt trying to feel it, feel something. 

            What he would have given for a different ending—that Holly had somehow grown those wings. That she got out of that town and wasn’t coming back. He could live with that. Eventually. And crazily, he might have tried following her, finding her. 

But this ending—no. Not this.

            Dan wasn’t the one who found her. When she hadn’t made the early morning milking her dad went looking. He was the one who discovered her broken and lying on the ground outside the hayloft. They’d just brought in extra hay bales from a neighbouring farm to supplement feed. The hayloft had been full and when there was no room to climb to the top bales, the three of them always ended up on the roof. 

That’s where Holly must have been. 

            Josh squeezed his eyes, wanting to yell like he had the day his mum got the call, how she’d cried, struggling to get the words out to tell him that Holly was dead. That she’d fallen. But what Josh heard in the following days, trickling through the numbing pain that was the only shield he had, was that they couldn’t prove if it had been an accident, or intentional.   

            And that—that thought—it nearly did him in.

            His Hols, full of life, full of dreams. 

            They’d never know, and it’s what he fought against each day to think she’d have chosen to do that. He couldn’t believe she’d ever choose to do that. Couldn’t imagine the Holly who would ever consider taking that leap. And yes, there’d been that one time they’d played chicken on the roof, with Holly leaning over the edge, arms outstretched, and she’d been stoned. But Josh and Dan had been there, holding on to her, ready to yank her back if she showed any sign of falling. Just thinking about it had him choking to breathe. They’d found a joint on her but the toxicology report recorded she’d had nothing in her system. Josh knew she rarely smoked alone; he knew she loved lying on that roof to be closer to the sky. She’d never needed drugs to find the wonder of it. It had simply been a place where they could all find some release from their lives.

            Josh was left with never knowing the truth of that night. He’d never come to terms with how to live with not knowing. It kept him in limbo; kept Holly falling, never at rest. Suspended between the truth of her death and the unbearable possibilities of how it happened. 

            This was supposed to be life, right? As if breathing was the only qualifier. 

Holly who couldn't wait to leave. Dan who'd follow her beyond the moon if she'd asked. 

Both lost. And Josh hadn't been too far behind. 

Her death had left hollows inside of him that doubled as weights. Like some days, getting up and putting one foot in front of the other was more about carrying a load than existing.

He didn't see himself as a survivor. That felt like something to be proud of. Or an acknowledgment of getting through something, not this struggle every day to make sense of whether it was worth the effort—just being here. 

Where was the safety net when what you loved vanished leaving you holding air, freefalling, and holding nothing at all? 

            So he left and Dan stayed and the chain between them busted and there was no going back. And every time they saw each other after that, they never mentioned Holly. They didn’t need to. Just seeing each other brought her back and it was too much for either of them to deal with, the fact they’d always be hooked together by the one person they’d both loved, but was forever lost to them. 

32

Fallout

A gentle knock on the door. “Josh? They’ve gone.”

            “Come in.”

            Mel opened the door, paused briefly taking in Josh’s prone body and sat on the bed. She looked wrung out. 

            “I’m sorry. I was shocked when he just turned up. Mum mentioned he was in the city, but I had no idea he’d visit. You guys weren’t home so I let him in. I’m sorry. I should have turned him away.”

            “Nothing’s your fault, Mel.”

            Mel lay down. “He wanted to tell us in person. They’re engaged.”

            All thought just fled. Josh’s brain was having a meltdown. “Fuck.”

            Mel giggled. “Yeah. It’s a shocker.”

            “Did you know about her?” 

            “Mum mentioned Will was seeing someone. Said she was lovely. I guess I didn’t take it seriously, especially when she said he’d changed so much as well.”

            Josh couldn’t get his head around it. “Do you believe it’s possible? That he could change?”

            Mel rolled to her side, head resting on her arm. “It’s possible. Dad did. They’ve turned the farm around, that’s a fact. Since none of us want a stake in the farm, Will’s lined up to inherit it, unless they sell. I think Dad finally relenting and giving Will the freedom to run it has made a huge difference. As unbelievable as it seems, he may have changed. We just haven’t witnessed any of it.”

            Josh swiped his gritty eyes. They were quiet until Mel asked, “Do you really want him to apologise, own up to everything? Would that help?”

            “It would be a start. It’s not stuff we can forget. That’s why I stay away and I’m pretty sure Blu’s the same.”

            “Well, he tried to reach out today. Whatever it means. She seems like a lovely girl, so he’s either a brilliant liar or she sees something good in him that we can’t.”

            The evening light was shifting to dark. The day felt like it had lasted forever.

            “I don’t know if we could ever be part of that life again,” Josh said. “We’ve made a home away from it all, and even though I still feel connected to Mum, I barely speak to Dad and until today, I’d hoped I’d never see Will again.”

            “Then focus on Mum and let Will and Dad go. You don’t have to have a relationship with either of them if you don’t want.” She reached to hold his hand. “But don’t let your anger hurt you, Josh. Blu got help and even he’s far from ready to forgive Will. But he’s got Roan and a lot happening that’s helped him to move on. So, please, focus on the good and live your life. They don’t have to be a part of it and you know who your family is.”

            “Sometimes I think that place is cursed.”

            “What? Walden?” God, he hated the name of that town. 

            “Yep.”

            “I get why you’d think that. But when Mum and Dad settled there, Mum said they both felt like they’d been blessed finding it. So, I don’t think it’s the place, just the people.” 

            “So if it was so good, why did it get so bad?”

            “Life happens, Josh. Bad and good. And yeah, they didn’t handle Will. Not at all. You can call them weak for that, or bad parents. They’re both far from perfect people, although I think there’s good in both of them, and at least three of their kids turned out okay. And the economy didn’t help with the farm, not unless Dad was prepared to change how he did things. Maybe it comes down to that—change. You just have to keep being open to it or else opportunities just pass you by. I can’t stand Will, but he has turned that place around and he’s helped to change Mum and Dad’s life for the better, at least financially.”

            “It’s still screwed.”

            “I agree. And it’s okay to think that and never wanting to go back there.”

            “Somehow, that isn’t much comfort.”

            “You might not want to hear this, but Mum made a lot of sacrifices so you and Blu could have something better. I’ll always be grateful to her for that.”

            And that just brought the guilt on because he knew it was true. He loved his mum for it and also, wanted to stay far away because he couldn’t untangle her from all that still hurt. She’d always be a part of his life in some way, even if he couldn’t see how.

            “I know,” Josh conceded, not able to say much else.

            Mel looked at him and the sadness was tempered with resolve. She’d made her own choices and stuck with them. Josh knew he’d have to find some kind of resolution. One day perhaps. But not today.

            “God I miss her,” he choked out. Everything just felt raw. His skin abraded, his gut churning. Will turning up. Mel’s empathy.

            Mel didn’t even have to ask. Didn’t offer platitudes, because words never filled that scooped out feeling that expanded and contracted. When the hollow wasn’t so big it was a good day. Today too much crap had pried it wide open.

            “Some days I just don’t want to feel anything. I just don’t want to remember. I don’t want to keep holding onto this.” It wasn’t exactly exasperation, more like desperation. Mel picked up on it. 

“You want to stop missing Holly?”

            He swiped his eyes and the tears he was sick of falling. Years later and they still fell. “I want to stop feeling like this hole inside is never going away. Like she’s taken something from me, a chunk of me, and I’m never going to get it back.”

            “I don’t think you’ll ever stop missing her. And grief doesn’t have an expiration date. When you lose someone…I don’t know what it’s like for someone to be there, and then they’re gone.”

            “I hate it so fucking much.”

            Mel tightened the grip on his hand, as if trying to hold him here in the present. Keep him from losing himself in a past that would bury him. “I’ve never lost someone like you have. And every time I think I might lose Ben, or you, or Blu,” her voice faltered. “I stop myself because it’s pain I’m not sure I’d ever be able to live with.”

            And Josh couldn’t help the words spilling out, “But a part of me is so angry with her. Still. For being so fucking careless being on that roof at night. And God, if she actually did jump.” He fisted his hands, loosening Mel’s grip. “Fuck! I had no idea. None! Why would she do that? I mean why?” He couldn’t even raise his voice; it just came out on a rasp of air.

            How many times had he asked that? Too many. Way too many. It felt so fucking helpless to have to keep asking that question. He was fed up with himself and her and that shitty town that seemed to breed so much unrest and suffering. He felt done. Done with wanting to keep dealing with the fallout.

            Mel sat up cross-legged, facing him so that he could see her shining, wet cheeks. Eyes that saw too much, rimmed with tiredness. 

            “You choose to live, Josh. You can choose to fill yourself up with what makes you feel good. You can also choose to never go back to Walden or have anything to do with our folks. And you can choose how you want to remember Holly. You can keep focusing on that one event, or all the other days, hours and years you had with her. If her death is what defines her for you, I can only believe it will bring you misery and I don’t want that for you. She was more than that. Focus on why you loved her. Miss her for that Josh. Not because she left you behind to deal with questions that you’ll never answer.”

            She bent over and kissed his cheek. Then she got up and walked out as quietly as she’d come. 

Josh just lay on the futon, eyes shut. It could have been hours before he heard the front door open, then footsteps on the stairs. Blu filled the doorway.

            “We got pizza,” he said as if he and Roan had just popped out. Josh blinked at him, barely able to lift his head.

            “You okay?”

            “Would you believe me if I said yes?” Josh countered.

            Blu smirked. “No.”

            “Stupid question then.”

            Blu extended his hand to pull Josh up. “Well can you eat pizza?”

            “Better question.” 

            “Let’s eat then.”

            And they went downstairs together.

33

Anything is possible

Zoe didn’t have much stuff, so moving proved easy. Her dad had left for work early Friday morning as usual, and was heading to the airport straight after. It wasn’t so much a “goodbye”, as making plans to catch-up the following week. Their parting felt like when she’d stayed for weekends, except the ground had shifted beneath them, and they were still trying to figure out where they’d landed. 

What she hadn’t expected was Evie jumping at the chance to help, with Nick providing transport since Coop had a gig that night. 

            Zoe’s new bedroom was the room next to the one she’d crashed in last weekend, emptied out except for a futon, dresser and wardrobe. Across two walls, she and Evie managed to pin up Josh’s wings. 

            Standing back she felt the similar sense of awe. The fact they graced her room immediately gave her a sense that however long she stayed, she’d at least made this space her own unlike her dad’s apartment.

Lying on the futon later that night, Zoe finally called her mum, not wanting to have this conversation by text. It was a bit after the fact, but better if it came from her than someone else.

            There was a long silence after Zoe told her mum about her sudden relocation. 

            “I’m glad,” her mum said. Zoe breathed out, not realising she’d been holding it in.

            “Really?”

            “Yes. Lily spoke to me about her offer before I left. I said it was your choice. I have to admit I was surprised you chose Stuart.”

            “It was easier.”

            Another pause. “Sometimes that’s not always what’s best.”

            “Tell me about it.” Zoe didn’t hide the sarcasm. “It wasn’t totally bad.”

            “Stuart said you talked.”

            “What?” 

            “He called me to tell me you’d moved, Zo. We do talk to each other still. He wasn’t sure if you’d got hold of me.”

            “Yeah—we did talk.”

            “Did it help?”

             “I guess. I mean it was good to hear his side of things.”

             “I’m glad you could hear him out. I don’t think either of us helped you and Coop like we should have.” Well, Coop would definitely agree. He’d been rapt that she’d moved out and Zoe didn’t have the guts to tell him about what their dad had said. She wasn’t sure whether Coop would ever want to hear it.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Neither of said much about the reasons why we did what we did. Only parts I guess. The truth is, we weren’t talking much to each other, either.”

            Zoe wasn’t sure she wanted to know, especially after her father’s revelations, but she asked, “And now?”

            “There’s distance. Knowing the truth about his relationship with Karen helped.”

            Suddenly it was hard to breathe again. “You thought he cheated.” Which was what Coop believed.

            “I did. I just couldn’t hear what he was saying. He wasn’t entirely innocent but he didn’t go that far. But given all the other issues we were dealing with, it became horribly distorted. I was so hurt I wanted to blame him. I’m sorry, Zo. This isn’t the stuff you expect to have to talk to your kids about.”

            “I probably wouldn’t have wanted to know at the time. It was enough you guys splitting up.”

            They were silent, Zoe squirming with this sudden openness from not just her dad, but also her mum. She didn’t think she had room for their troubles on top of her own. 

“Anything is possible, Zo.”

“Meaning?” She hoped this wasn’t a segue into talking about her life issues.

“I’m just saying, Stuart and I are at different places in our lives. We’re finally able to talk about what we went through. I owe you an apology, both you and Coop. Stuart also. We could have handled this so much better.”

Zoe was speechless. 

Her mum laughed. “Zo? I can’t believe I’ve surprised you. You’re usually so perceptive.”

Obviously not, because she didn’t see this coming. 

“Just—well, thanks. For apologising.” 

“Maybe it’s time for change. I think you’d agree with that?”

“I totally agree.”         

“Love you, Zo. Say ‘hi’ to Lily and Nick. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah. I will. Love you, too.”             

Clutching the phone she tilted her head back, staring at the wings. In the lamplight, it was a mesmerising play of shadow and light. Like two feathered arms about to embrace. 

As if they were protecting her.           

34

Find you

“You’re so wired the animals will feel it.”

            “Thanks for the observation, Lyss.” But Josh was on his third coffee and he’d only been here an hour, so Alyssa was only stating the obvious. 

            “So, what’s up?” She parked herself next to him behind the desk at the Lort Smith adoption centre. It was like déjà vu, except this time he was expecting Zoe to walk through that door. He wasn’t sure if that made it worse. 

            “Just edgy.”

            “Cleaning out the litter trays might cure that,” she shot back.

            “You’re in fine form.”

            “I’m about to have a break.” She nodded at his empty mug. “Want me to get a take-out for you. Better than that rocket fuel.”

            “Yeah, that—” 

            Any thought of coffee went right out the window as Zoe walked in with her aunt. He couldn’t think of her aunt’s name because his brain was short-circuiting with Zoe’s presence. Because this wasn’t like the last time. Zoe walked more confidently, straighter and he had a flash image of what she must have been like before her knee injury, a kind of fluid grace that was so innate it would be like breathing. Despite her shyness, Zoe looked straight at him with a slow, hesitant smile that kicked his gut. 

            “Aah. Rex’s mum,” said Alyssa, not too loud, but Josh wanted to tell her to shut up and leave. Rude, but this wasn’t the time for observers. Not after how messy things had got between them. Even if they’d eased up since the texts, Josh still wasn’t sure where he stood with her. 

            “Hey Josh.” Zoe’s voice was low and lilting and it made him smile.

            “Hi,” said her aunt who was looking between them amused, and too much like the mirror of what Alyssa was aiming at them.

            “Hi, I’ll go and get Rex,” said Alyssa. He could tell she was itching to give him a thumbs-up. She winked instead. Josh wanted the world to swallow her up.

            “Hey,” he said, kind of aiming it at both of them, although Zoe’s aunt had discreetly moved to look at the noticeboard, trying to give them space when there really wasn’t any. So many words juggled to come out and yet, again he said “Hey,” and Zoe smiled. 

            “Here he is,” announced Alyssa before exiting for her break, and whatever Josh was going to say, it couldn’t compete with Rex who charged excitedly at Zoe. She picked him up and hugged him tight while he wiggled and yapped. Her aunt was cooing and it was a bit of a madhouse. The smile that lit Zoe’s face was enough to make Josh lose his self-consciousness, hoping he could see her again and maybe get her to smile at him like that. Pure joy. He ached seeing it. 

            “Thank you,” she said through Rex’s licks to her face, which had her laughing. As if he’d been responsible for finding and giving her this happiness. 

            “He just needed to find you,” he said. Alyssa rolled her eyes, and her aunt grinned at him. 

            Amid the fuss of handing over papers and picking up food, Josh tried to catch Zoe’s eye and it took walking out to the car with her and her aunt and Rex before he dredged up the courage to say something. Anything.

            “Hey, um, I was just wondering if we could see each other. Again.” He felt like a dolt for reminding her about that other time, but Rex was wriggling and Zoe was struggling with either getting in the car or putting him down. Maybe he had Rex to thank for the fact she was so quick to answer.

“Yes. Sure. Text me.” She gave him a quick smile before getting in the car and driving off. But not before waving Rex’s paw at him. Josh laughed despite feeling dazed at how quickly she’d come and gone.

            A tap at his shoulder and he turned to see Alyssa offering him a paper cup.

            “That was quick.”

            “Thought you might need this. Strong. How you like it.” She couldn’t resist adding wickedly, “Real smooth by the way. Real smooth.”

            He grabbed the coffee. “Thanks. For the coffee not the commentary.”

            “Huh! But I really loved that line about Rex only having to find her! Killer, absolute killer.”

            Josh flipped her. Alyssa just flipped him back. 

35

Magic

Second chances and all that, Zoe was playing it safe. She and Josh were going to the park down the road from Nick and Lily’s house, taking Rex for his first outing. It was a date that included a dog. 

            Zoe was mostly preoccupied with settling in Rex who had no problems sniffing every spot in the house, checking out his bed and everyone else’s. He’d latched on to Nick and his office, and Nick had latched onto him. Even Lily was surprised to find her husband had a secret love of puppies, a wish he’d never had fulfilled with three sisters overriding every decision about pets in their family home.

            Walking to the park, Zoe’s anticipation was tempered with her absorption of Rex’s every move, the way he trotted, stopping to sniff flowers, weeds and other dog’s pee spots. If she hadn’t been stressed at the fact she was meeting Josh, Nick would have been the fourth member of their date. 

            “He’s mine this evening,” Nick insisted, lifting Rex up to take him into his office. 

            “I seriously hope he’s as eager to take the baby out in the stroller,” Lily said. “Or get up in the middle of the night.”

            “I’ve got a feeling Rex might be accompanying them.”

            Lily wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

            Zoe spied Josh sitting on a rug and Rex tugged on the lead, making a charge for him. It wasn’t exactly the kind of entrance she’d been expecting to make, but it beat the hasty retreat from the other day. 

            “Hey!” Josh picked up Rex and cuddled him. Zoe untethered the leash from Rex’s collar and then he was madly trotting and dashing in circles around them. It was crazy for a moment, trying to figure out whether to sit or stand or keep close to Rex.

            Zoe opted to park her butt on the picnic blanket Josh had kindly spread out. Rex seemed to be herding them both, and then he was on a sniffing hunt, but not too far from them.

            “He’ll be fine. New territory so it’s all fun,” Josh said to allay her obvious anxiety. They weren’t close to the road, but she still couldn’t shake the memory of Riley. She hoped she wouldn’t become Rex’s helicopter parent. Maybe Nick would balance her out. 

            “Thanks,” she said shyly, but way more relaxed than their first date. Or whatever that was.

            “See, I knew he’d be happy with you.” Josh grinned and it melted something, being near that kind of warmth.

            Zoe pulled out her phone and found the photo she’d taken of the wings and their current location. 

            “Here, I thought you’d like to know I saved them.”

            Josh stared, holding the phone, not saying a word. “You can flick through some of those photos. They’re mostly of your work I’ve seen. Which I love by the way.”

            Zoe wanted it out in the open that she’d figured out what he did. Josh nodded, face flushed, looking and flicking through them. “I never take photos.”

            “Why not?”

            He shrugged and handed the phone back. Rex dashed towards them and snuffled for one of the treats Zoe had in a small bag. She’d also brought a chew toy and a ball. Josh picked up the ball and threw it way more impressively than anything Zoe could have managed. 

            “I really mean it. I love your work. Ever since I saw them I wanted to know why you made them.”

            Josh’s eyes tracked Rex who was now playing throw-chase-grab-run. It was a little mesmerising. Zoe wasn’t sure if it was a deflection, or maybe there wasn’t a lot to say. 

            “I think that’s why I don’t take photos of them. I don’t really want to think about them too much after I’ve finished.”

            “Why?” She hesitated, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

            “No, it’s cool. It’s just I don’t really talk about my street work with anyone. Except my friend Ash. He sometimes helps out. Like with the wings.” He flashed a grin. “It’s more not needing to say anything about them after they’re done.”

            She could understand that, but he was skirting, not giving her much and she wondered if that was going to be the extent of their conversations. Not revealing too much, just enough to want to know more. 

            And she wanted to know more. 

            She’d connected with those images of the girls and the guy sometimes reaching out, sometimes touching. On those night walks, she’d found a sliver of light and magic in those paintings. Like she could step inside them and be that girl.

            “Well, they mean something to me.” She tickled Rex under the chin as he dived onto the rug with the ball, scratching his belly as he rolled. Then he was up and chasing as Josh threw the ball again. 

            “There’s something I have to fess up about,” he said sheepishly.

            “What?”

            “I noticed you way before we met at the Lort Smith. While I was painting in your area, I saw you doing the yarn bombing.”

            “That’s—”

            “I wasn’t stalking or anything,” he said quickly.

            Zoe laughed. “No! I just don’t know what to say. I mean I noticed your work before meeting you, too. So, I’m not surprised you probably saw me hanging around. Although it’s weird when you think about it.”

            That eased his tension. Enough that he asked, “What did you mean that my work meant something to you?” He wasn’t looking at her, but it was like his whole body was tuned into her answer.  

            “The feel of it. That girl. How she was falling. And she always seemed to be falling. I—” she grappled for words and came up with raw impressions instead. “I know that feeling.”

            This time when Rex came back he rolled in the grass and sat. He surveyed them and his new domain and found it very pleasing. Zoe gave him a doggie biscuit and was grateful for his vibrant presence easing her anxiety. God, when wouldn’t she feel like this?

            “It’s about a girl I knew. That’s what they’re about.” Josh was staring into the distance when he spoke. Zoe edged towards Rex so she could stroke him, settling into the contact.

            Josh plucked some grass then threw it. “The guy. Sometimes I think it’s me or it’s the guy she was dating. We all knew each other.”

            Zoe couldn’t help noticing the past tense and her gut did that tightening thing, knowing she’d stepped on territory that was intensely private, possibly painful.

            “Sometimes she’s falling and that’s how I see her and paint her. I’ve done paste-ups too, but they’re so big and painting just seemed more immediate.”

            “And the paint? It only really comes out in the dark, doesn’t it?”

            Josh gave her an appreciative look. “Yeah. It’s specially made for that. Which I liked because I’m painting in the dark, too. But I like the surprise of it. Like I can imagine people not really seeing it in the day which protects it, but then at night they come alive.”

            “That’s how I saw them. It was magic.”

            That earned her a grin. “Yeah, I get that.”

             Rex trotted away, ran back and then collapsed onto the rug. Lying down begging for belly rubs which Zoe and Josh both obliged. It was like that first day she’d met them both, except no cages or antiseptic smells, or feeling crowded, brittle and helpless. 

            “She must have meant a lot to you,” Zoe said without knowing why she said it or how she found the courage. She didn’t want to dig into a raw place having too many of her own. But she didn’t want to leave it unacknowledged, how important his work was to her, and obviously now, how much they meant to him.

            “She did. She does.” He cleared his voice, eyes downcast and fixed on Rex. “Thanks for noticing.” 

            Their hands touched and Rex jolted suddenly yipping and nudging the ball and Josh laughed picking it up, giving it a good long throw. Rex charged and the heaviness of so much emotion held in check lessened. 

            “Is it okay for me to ask about your dancing?” 

            Rex continued playing and when Zoe spoke about Anthony and Anna, of easing back into her dance, it felt light years away from just a week ago. She didn’t ask about the paintings again but she felt that if she tread carefully, one day, he might tell her more, just as she was beginning to reveal more of herself than she had with anyone outside of the small circle that counted most to her. 

As they walked back to Nick and Lily’s from the park, Zoe didn’t bolt when his hand touched hers, searching, so that she searched back and their fingers found a way to hold together, however briefly, without her wanting to pull away.

36

Touching the sky

“Are you ready?” asked Anthony.

            Zoe sat on the floor of the dance studio; her only audience was Anthony and Anna. Today she was performing the piece she’d choreographed about what mattered to her in relationship. 

It had been six weeks since Anthony had asked for her to think about what she’d create. She’d been able to reveal small sections in the sessions they had, mostly to get his feedback and reassurance on moving safely with her leg. Slowly, she was regaining her confidence. Today was a marker in time, a significant step forward, and one she desperately wanted to take.   

            She was curled like a shoot in a bean. Legs tucked into her chest, arms wrapped protectively around them, her head resting on her knees.

            “Yes,” she said loud enough for him to hear, and a cue to start the music she’d chosen. She wore a simple black leotard and tights, her feet bare. She wore a brace on her right knee for support, light enough to allow movement, but otherwise she felt exposed, stripped and vulnerable, and that’s exactly how she needed to feel to begin.

            The music was the same piece Anthony had originally asked her to improvise to. When it started, she began to unfurl. The sense of newness, of a life beginning. Of a butterfly being born. But it was like coming into the story halfway through. To truly metamorphose, a butterfly comes from a primordial ooze in the chrysalis, having begun life as a caterpillar that crawled, unable to fly. She was that instinctual, crawling, earthbound creature. She was not fully formed. As she grew, growing the wings that would take her into the sky, those fledgling wings broke. Wounded, hunted, struggling to survive, she moved as she had that first time, a hinged marionette, a broken toy. A husk of a being that barely existed. Her damaged but healing leg was central to the dance—she’d choreographed the piece to emphasise the limitation of mobility. 

Slowly, she began to heal. All of her movements had been low, weighted by gravity, the barest intimation of finding release through flight, until the fall. Like a flower unfurling, a butterfly released, a bird finding flight, Zoe’s movements became more confident, fluid, and she began to rise.     

             As part of the piece, she’d asked Josh to make her a smaller set of wings. He’d managed to fit in making them around taking art classes with his former art teacher from school and working at the bookshop. She’d pinned them to the wall of the dance studio. So, as she rose, her body straightening with her arms outstretched and held softly, gracefully but with true strength to her pose, those paper wings haloed her body in an arcing sweep. 

Zoe lost all sense of time. All sense of place. She lost herself so totally in the dance, she became that being, that creature transforming to become this. Not a winged creature. Something more, someone more than she’d ever been.

           She poured into the piece her hurt, her pain and grief, but also the crawl towards a different foundation: of being kinder to herself, of her desire to heal, her efforts to take care, to want change. To be generous when she stumbled, to be thoughtful when she doubted, to be compassionate when she cried. To try and like the person who she’d been, broken but healing, but wanting to move beyond that, to become more because of all she’d been through.  

            She’d practiced the piece with Evie for an audience. Her lack of words had been compliment enough. And the tears. Josh had been different. He had no basis on what she’d been like before, only what she could do now. With him she’d felt raw, closer to that instinctual creature shaping from sludge to become a whole other being. She was stripping layers by dancing for him, showing him this piece, and it was another step towards an intimacy that was still new, still forming, but that mattered more than she thought possible. He didn’t have the words when she’d finished, but the kiss had said enough. 

            She stood as the music ended, as quietly as it had begun. When she opened her eyes, it took time to refocus, but what she saw made her heart leap. Anthony and Anna stood as well, both smiling hugely they could barely contain it with tears streaking down Anna’s face, Anthony’s eyes also shining, and they clapped. 

            “Brava, Zoe! Wonderful. Brava!” said Anthony with so much pride for her in his voice it held her aloft. 

            It was a dance expressing the relationship she had to herself and that she’d fight to be the person who still dreamed about taking that leap to fly. 

            To risk touching the sky. 

            Her kind of magic.

© Angela Jooste 2018