‘…there will be decorations to hang, and food to prepare, and your auntie is working all day on Sunday –’
‘Nani, I’m coming, okay?’ I tap my pen on the keyboard in front of me. ‘I said I was coming, it’s just I’ve got Sunday night shift until six-thirty the next morning. But I promised Auntie I’d drive up straight after.’
‘You will be tired,’ Nani says. ‘Driving after working all night.’
She’s right: I’ll be stuffed by the time I make it to Mildura on Monday morning. Although if I get in early I might be able to wrangle a nap before Hansa needs me in the kitchen. I can worry about that later. This bloody wedding – it’s still five days away, but Nani must be stressed about it if she’s calling me on my mobile.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I reassure her. ‘I’ll drink a lot of coffee and I’ll definitely be there.’ A car pulls into the emergency ambulance bay, which is strictly not allowed. They’d better have a good excuse. ‘Nani, I have to go, I’m staffing the front desk at work. I’ll call you again tomorrow, all right?’
I swap hurried goodbyes, and I’m just slipping my phone into the pocket of my uniform pants when a gnarled hand slaps the blue counter top.
‘I’m sorry, but you can’t –’ I start on the standard spiel, jerk to a halt.
A pair of red-rimmed brown eyes stare into mine. ‘Tell me where he is.’
Dennis Derwent has cheeks like sandstone caves, and antipathy seems to seep out of his pores. Plus booze – booze is a sour constant with Mr Derwent, as if he’s wearing vodka cologne. His clothes are dusty and there’s dirt under his nails.
I think quickly: Barb is not on shift. Penny is in Exam Room Three, dealing with an Urgent Care case. Unless another staff member walks past, I’m on my own. I consider whether to press the security buzzer.
‘I know you all know.’ He lays the snark on thick. ‘Now I’m not gonna stand here and listen to some bullshit about –’
‘Mr Derwent,’ I say evenly, ‘you can’t park in the ambulance bay. I’m happy to talk to you but first you need to –’
‘Tell me where my son is!’ His hand thumps on the counter again, fisted this time. ‘He can’t stay hid forever. He’s my son. Mine. You got no right –’
‘Mr Derwent, I’m sorry, but I don’t know where Harris is.’ The lie falls out of me easily. I back it up with truth. ‘Even if I did, we’re not legally permitted to pass on patients’ personal information without –’
‘Don’t you gimme that crap about legal permission!’ Dennis flicks my words away. ‘That fat cow said a month, and it’s been a bloody month. I know he’s around someplace – is he in Ouyen? Or has he gone back to Melbourne?’
The thick counter stands between us and I should feel protected, but I don’t. I’ve dealt with irate patients and their families before. Dennis Derwent is in a different class.
But the way he speaks to me, the way he speaks about Barb, and his own son, lends me some steel. ‘I can’t give you Harris’s address, Mr Derwent.’ I steeple my fingers against the desk top, push down hard. ‘Please go and move your ute out of the ambulance bay.’
Dennis bears forward, venom sparking out of him with every word. ‘Fuck the ute. I’m not bein’ ordered around by a bloody teenager.’ He shakes his head. ‘When I catch that boy, I swear…’
That boy. I stood next to that boy only a few days ago, heard some of his history. I think I’m starting to get a fuller picture of how Harris became the person he is now. The armour he’s constructed around himself, piece by bleeding piece, and why he needed it so badly.
My voice goes flat. ‘I’m sure Harris will tell you where he’s living when he’s ready. He can make his own decisions.’
‘Harris? Make his own decisions?’ Dennis thrusts himself so far over the countertop, I see his wrinkles and whiskers in close-up. ‘I’m his fucking father. I make the decisions. It’s not your job to interfere, it’s got nothing to do with you. Now gimme that ledger –’
He grabs for the daybook sitting open on the desk in front of me, which is ridiculous because it doesn’t even hold personal records. I’m not gonna let him snatch it, though.
‘Hey, give that back!’ I grab for the ledger. The pages scrunch and tear as I wrestle Dennis for it, and I feel it when my fingernails scrape his hand.
‘Shit!’ He holds up his red-marked hand, his expression thunderous. ‘You rotten little bitch!’
For a sick old alcoholic, Dennis moves like lightning. He grabs my shirt front in his fist, yanks me against the counter. His lips are wet with spittle. He looks demented. I’m half-stunned that it’s escalated so fast. Then my hip whacks against the edge of the desk and I react without thinking: I rear back and smack him hard across the face.
His eyes bulge and his cheek goes white. Before it has a chance to redden, he lifts his arm, fist balled –
Another hand grabs his wrist.
‘Right – no you don’t.’ Mel Stubbins twists Dennis’s arm up and back until he yowls and releases me.
I stumble, right myself; I’ve never been so glad to see the flash of Mel’s white uniform shirt.
She has a hand sunk into the scrawny meat of Dennis’s nape. ‘Back off right now, Dennis, or I’ll break your bloody arm.’
Dennis struggles. ‘You fucking –’
‘Right now, I said! I put you outta here last time, and I’m happy to do it again.’ Holding Dennis’s arm at what looks like a very painful angle and ignoring his cursing protests, Mel nods at Allan Waugh, the other security manager, as he comes running up the hall.
‘You right, Mel?’
‘All sorted, Allan. Might be good if you stick around, though.’ Mel frog-marches Dennis over to the waiting seats, spins him around and pushes him down. ‘Sit down. No – don’t you bloody move. What a dickhead you are, Dennis, I swear to god… Amie, are you okay, love?’
I’m actually a bit winded. The hospital can be a challenging place, but this has never happened to me before. I watch Dennis sneer and writhe under Mel’s arm. My god, how did Harris live with this man for twenty years?
‘I’m fine. I’m okay.’ I straighten, smoothing myself down. One of the buttons on my work shirt is only hanging by a thread. ‘He was trying to take the daybook –’
‘She fucking slapped me!’ Dennis’s eyes are still wild.
Mel rounds on Dennis. ‘You shut your mouth. I’ll slap you in a minute if you’re not careful.’ She presses on his shoulder with one strong hand before looking back at me. ‘D’you wanna call your dad? Cos if Dennis spent the night in the lock-up it wouldn’t be the first time, and you’d be well within your rights –’
‘I just want him gone.’ I glance out at the ute in the ambulance bay. ‘Put him in his car, but if he comes back here, go for it.’
‘We’ll see him out, no worries,’ Allan says.
I walk around the admissions desk until I’m right in front of Harris’s father. My voice is shaking, but I enunciate very clearly. ‘What you’ve done is illegal, Mr Derwent. If you come back here we’ll call the police. And if you come anywhere near me again, I’ll have you charged. Do you understand me?’
He mutters under his breath, looking baleful, with Mel leaning on him.
‘Do you understand me?’ I repeat. His lips purse over a curse. I feel my own lips curl down as I look at Mel. ‘I think he understands. Get him out. There’s people here trying to get well.’
Mel and Allan escort Mr Derwent to the ute and bundle him in. He mutters and swears the whole time, then finally gives up – slams his own door, guns the engine and takes off for the exit with a squeal of rubber.
‘What a pathetic man…’ Mel says when she returns. ‘Press the buzzer next time, darl, if you need me.’
‘There wasn’t time.’
She puts a hand on my back. ‘Sure you’re okay? You look like a ghost, and no wonder.’
‘I’m okay,’ I say, but I can hear in my voice how all my limbs are suddenly tired.
‘Allan, could you get Amie a nice hot cuppa?’ Mel asks. ‘That’d be great.’
Allan disappears, and Mel walks me back to the desk. I sink into the wheeled office chair, push it away from the counter; I don’t want to sit near any space Dennis Derwent has just occupied.
Mel hovers to the side. ‘You’ll need to give me a statement, love. He’s already been in strife here, we need it for the record. Just in case.’
My shift finishes an hour later. I spend the entire drive home mulling over whether to tell Dad what happened with Dennis Derwent before deciding it’s unavoidable. He’ll only hear about it on the grapevine anyway, and he’ll be hurt I didn’t let him know.
‘He grabbed you? Like, really grabbed you?’ Dad asks.
‘And then I hit him, yes.’ I glance at Dad’s expression as he puts his mug of tea down on the table. ‘Please don’t go all Dirty Harry on me, Dad. I’ve had enough of that aggro rubbish for one day.’
But Dad is still glowering. ‘Don’t tell me how to do my job. If anyone deserves a personal call, it’s that bastard –’
‘It won’t change anything. Dennis will still be a bastard after you leave.’ Harris’s comment about his father – he’s just mean – seems pretty bang-on. ‘If he comes back to the hospital he’ll be evicted on sight. And he doesn’t come in from Five Mile often enough for me to run into him on the street.’
‘But –’
‘You’d only be making it worse. Dad, it’s over. I handled it. Let it go. There’s too many bastards in the world to bother about them all on a case-by-case basis.’
‘You’ve pretty much just nailed my job description,’ Dad says, but then he stops, sighs out his nose. ‘Okay, fine. I’ll leave it. But you’re heading for Mildura on Monday morning, aren’t you? For the wedding? I want you to skip your next shift and go tomorrow.’
‘Dad –’
‘No. That’s it. You’re going. Give yourself some space and give Dennis a chance to cool down. I can’t guarantee I’ll be friendly next time I see him.’
It’s a concession, but one I’m prepared to live with. I ring work to give them the bad news, then Nani, who thinks it’s fantastic. I also contact Robbie to let her know we should get together while I’m in town.
‘Whoo, baby!’ she exclaims. ‘This will be ace. I wanna go to this club in town…’
‘Sounds good.’ It’s the last thing I feel like right now, but whatever.
‘So have you signed up for an interview yet? Girl, if you get that residency I’m gonna tell everyone how your career as a famous photographer was all because of me.’
Famous photographer – yeah, right. ‘I’m, uh, still working out a day.’
She crows down the line. ‘They’ll take you, Amie. I can feel it in my waters!’ Her voice turns speculative. ‘Hey, have you seen Harris Derwent lately? Is he out of hospital now? I thought I saw him on Langtree Avenue a few days ago, but it might’ve just been someone with a resemblance – he’s probably back in Ouyen, doing the dirty with Della Metcalfe, am I right?’
My limp smile changes. ‘Uh, he’s out of hospital, yeah. You might have seen him, I think he has mates in Mildura. But I don’t know what he’s getting up to with Della – none of my business.’
I finish the call, my stomach churning. I should be worried about Robbie spotting Harris in Mildura, but I’m not. It’s the other part of what she said that got me. I remember Harris’s pink phone, the words that went with it – me and Dell have some history. I joked about it then. Why don’t I feel like joking now?
Later that night I text Harris: Hospital appointment changed – call for further details.
He gets back to me within an hour. ‘You’re coming to Mildura? When?’
‘Earlier than expected. I’ll be arriving tomorrow to help my cousins get ready for the wedding.’ I consider whether to tell him about the scene at work with Dennis, discount the idea just as quickly. If Dad got that angry about it I’d hate to think how Harris might react. ‘We’ll need to figure out a place to meet.’
He’s silent for a second, then his voice goes warm. ‘The river. There’s plenty of quiet places along the banks, near the old pipe factory. I’ll meet you there, and we can drive further in. Lemme suss out a day and time and I’ll text.’
I finish the call quickly. I can’t deny the soft pulse of excitement inside me, like a heartbeat. Harris and I will get to meet in private, away from prying eyes at the hospital. Just the two of us, sitting on the Murray River’s bank.
But I need to flatten that feeling, squash it back down. Harris and I have become friends. We’ve shared some personal details with each other. It doesn’t mean I should let myself think our relationship is personal in a different sense. I will not be that girl – that dewy-eyed girl.
Harris has his own life, his own agenda…and a long torrid history. He doesn’t need me mooning and sighing. He knows plenty of girls who’d be happy to do that for him.
*
My aunt’s house is a single-storey double-brick with a fortress-like fence. An elaborate yellow-painted gate, much taller than me, lets you through to the front yard. In the gardens on either side of the concrete path are loquat trees, jasmine trailing everywhere, plenty of greens and pinks, flowers in bloom with the season. My aunt lost her husband, Deepan, to a drunk driver more than fifteen years ago. She plants a new rose in his honour every spring.
When mum died I spent a lot of time here at Hansa’s. After Mum’s funeral, Dad did his best to keep it together at our place. Things began to get on top of him though. I remember coming home from school one afternoon and finding Dad still slumped in the same chair at the kitchen table he’d been in when I’d left that morning. The love of his life was gone, and his whole world had fallen apart. Just like mine.
That’s when it was decided I’d go up to Mildura to live for a while.
It wasn’t until I arrived at this house that I realised how quiet my own had been. Here was conversation, colour, routine, and – for bonus points – two female cousins who let me sit in their room and look at their magazines and gossip with them. Jasminder would plonk me on her bed and brush my hair. It wasn’t a replacement for my mum, but it went a long way towards salving the wound.
So this house means a lot to me. Beyond the rosebushes on the left is the rising driveway and the carport, which provides a covered walkway to a brick studio. The studio is supposed to be a guest room bedsit, but it’s only ever been used as a place to store junk. My aunt tried to do it up once, with a nice day-bed and couch for Nani, but there was no way Nani was ever going to live anywhere but right in the thick of things, so she has her own room in the house.
Auntie Hansa waves a hand at the studio as she ushers me through the front yard. ‘Beena has cleaned up there for you if you want to stay outside. But I thought you might like to stay inside, in Jasminder’s room.’
‘Beena cleaned up the outhouse?’ That was always what we used to call it, amongst ourselves.
‘I wouldn’t really call it cleaning. More, pushing things over to the walls.’ Hansa helps me get my suitcase through the doorway. ‘But come in, have tea first, and then you can decide.’
I’ve barely dumped my suitcase when my aunt pushes me through the living room with the enormous portrait of Guru-ji above the mantelpiece, and into the kitchen. The kitchen is basically the soul of the house. Hansa positions me on a high stool at the kitchen island and bustles to get me a drink from the fridge. It’s mango cup, one of Nani’s specialities, with a liberal quantity of ice. It tastes like home.
‘Now, tell me how your father is,’ Hansa asks as she moves from sink to electric kettle to crockery cupboard, collecting the tea things. ‘And Nani says you have a friend leaving town.’
I give my aunt the potted versions of all the news, including a debrief on the CNA job. My aunt is Head of Nursing at Mallee Health here in Mildura, so she knows the ins and outs of the job. It was something she and my mum always had in common: they both knew the nursing life.
When it’s her turn, my aunt shares all the excitement about the preparations for Jas’s wedding. I find it all a bit staggering. ‘My god, Mami-ji, there’s so much organisation involved!’
‘Not to mention the cooking, and the shopping, and the cost. Oh my god, the cost!’ Hansa shakes her head. ‘Ah, well, these are my daughters. I do my best for them, yes?’ She smiles, brushes back my hair. ‘And one day, with your father’s blessing, I will do wonderful things for you, also.’
The idea I might be expected to go through something like this myself at some point is more than I can imagine right now. I take a breath, set down my glass. ‘Mami-ji, is Nani going okay? When I’ve been on the phone with her lately she’s sounded a little…disoriented.’
‘Nani hasn’t been in the best of health,’ Hansa confesses. ‘She’s all right, but she’s getting older, Amie. We’re keeping an eye on her.’ She changes the subject quickly. ‘Now, you should find a room and unpack.’
‘Is it okay if I take the outhouse? Beena’s already gone to the trouble of cleaning it up. Jasminder has her hands full, and she’ll probably need her sleep. She doesn’t need to be tripping over me in her bedroom as well.’
By lunchtime I’m installed in the little bedsit studio, and already busy helping Hansa prepare dinner. Then Beena arrives back home and there’s a lot of hugging and squealing.
‘Oh my god,’ Beena says breathlessly, ‘you have to show me what you’re wearing for Mehndi Night. And then you have to tell me what I’m wearing doesn’t look too over-the-top.’
‘Bee-bee, she’s only just arrived!’ Hansa rolls her eyes at me. ‘She’s been waiting for you to come.’
Beena drags me back down the hall to her room to do a fashion audit. She shows me the jewellery she’s borrowed for the wedding. ‘Mum is wearing Nani’s, and I’m wearing Mum’s, and Jas is wearing some from the boy’s family and some from Nani, so everyone is being placated. Are you wearing a sari to the ceremony?’
I actually have two options, a sari and a salwar kameez, so it’s good to have someone to consult about what to wear.
‘I think the sari for the wedding,’ Bee confirms, ‘and the salwar kameez for Monday. And great, you’re wearing your mother’s jewellery. What about your shoes?’
I show her. ‘Are you working this week?’
Beena is studying nursing – our family is chock-full of nurses, my god – and has been working at Mallee Health, in a different unit to her mother, for about a year.
But now she shakes her head. ‘I took two weeks’ leave, starting last Sunday, and thank god I did. Mum’s been running around like a lunatic, and she doesn’t finish work herself until tomorrow – they couldn’t spare her. I’ve been doing most of the organising and shopping.’ She grins. ‘It’s so good you arrived early. Now I have someone to whinge to. Jas won’t hear it, and Mum doesn’t have time to deal.’
‘Where is Jas? And where’s Nani?’
‘They’re together. Jasminder wanted to look at dinner sets, and Nani insisted on going, too.’ Beena re-folds my Mehndi Night kameez, lowers her voice. ‘Hey, are you going out this week? Like, to a club or something?’
‘Well, I told Robbie I’d catch up with her at some point…’ I almost don’t want to explain because I think I know where this is going.
Sure enough, Beena makes a pleading face. ‘Then will you take me along? Please? Amie, I’m dying, I need to get out. Mum keeps saying we should just concentrate on the wedding, but all I’ve done for a month is work, wedding-plan, go to college, and sit with Nani in front of the TV in the living room. If I have to watch Devdas one more time, I’m gonna spew.’
I hesitate, reluctant to be the meat in the sandwich. ‘Bee, if your Mum doesn’t want you going out –’
‘But if I go with you, and we say we’re meeting Robbie, I’m sure she’d be okay. I mean, Girls’ Night Out. That sounds pretty sedate, right?’
I pause, then nod. ‘Okay, I’ll do my best. But it depends on your mum.’
She hugs me ecstatically. ‘Amie, you’re a lifesaver!’
Nani and Jasminder don’t get home for another hour. When I hear Nani’s quavering voice saying, ‘Is she here yet? Has she arrived?’ in Punjabi, I take my hands out of the bowl I’m mixing roti in, wipe off fast and go out to greet her.
‘Amita!’ Nani’s arms are outstretched. ‘Ah, bebe, come here to me!’
She’s thinner than I remember: her pale yellow salwar kameez billows over her bony edges, and the sharp line of her nose seems more severe. Her hair, under her dubatta, seems more white than steel now, and the arm of her glasses is held on with tape. I take in all of this in an instant, like I’ve clicked the shutter on a memory.
I do namaste, and a quick ‘Sat sri akal’, but we’re both more excited to exchange hugs. ‘Oh, Nani-ji, I’ve missed you!’ My eyes well up, although I promised myself I wouldn’t make a scene.
‘Ah, my girl…’ Nani’s own eyes are shiny with emotion, and she squeezes me hard. ‘My girl has come back home.’
Later, after family dinner is over, Hansa helps me shove around some extra junk in the outhouse to make it more habitable: my aunt has an enormous collection of plastic storage boxes. I’m just making up the bed with fresh sheets when there’s a knock on the open door.
‘Turn on the heating, Amita,’ Nani’s standing there with a giant pillow, a pillow case and towel balanced on top. ‘You will get cold out here.’
I walk over and take the things out of her hands. ‘It’s warm enough, Nani-ji. It’s the middle of September.’
We stand in the doorway for a moment looking across the carport to the house. The smell of cumin and star anise lingers on my hands. The eaves of the house are bright with fairy lights to mark the approaching wedding.
This house isn’t only where I recovered from my mother’s death. It’s also the place where I realised how deeply my parents had loved each other.
For my mother to move out of her family and community and follow a white Aussie policeman to a dusty rural blip like Walpeup… And for my father – then only a senior constable staffing a tiny cop shop that served all the surrounding countryside – to woo and marry a young nurse from a culture and community so different to the one he was raised in… It really must have taken something powerful, something heroic, for both of them.
I squeeze the pillow in my arms as I study the fairy lights. ‘My mum and dad had something special, didn’t they?’
Nani reaches up to touch my hair. ‘When you fall in love, you will know. You will feel it, like it is a part of you that has always been searching, and now it has found a home.’
I think of Harris’s green eyes, push the thought away. ‘My mother had to find her home in a new place, though. Away from everything she knew.’
‘Your mother was very brave.’ Nani traces my cheek gently. ‘She knew what she wanted, and when she found it, there was no turning back.’
My mind tumbles with a dozen different things as I look at her: Barb and my job, Nick’s expression before he left, Harris’s husky voice over the phone, my father’s weathered face, Nani’s own health, the deadline for the residency paperwork I’ve brought with me in the purple folder all this way… The deadline is the end of next week and I still don’t know which way to jump.
‘I get scared sometimes, Nani,’ I whisper. ‘What if I have to be brave, take risks like Mum? I’m no good at taking risks. What if I don’t have the courage to do it?’
‘Amita, stop worrying,’ Nani chides. ‘Or worry now about catching cold out here in this draughty room.’
Nani takes the pillow back, walks over to the newly-made bed and starts struggling the pillow into its case. I hold the corners to make it easier for her. Watching her, my eyes get all leaky. ‘Nani, I’m sorry it’s been such a long time since I last visited –’
‘Shh, no, let us not say sorries. Let us only be happy you’ve come.’
I blink at her use of the collective ‘us’, keep my gaze on the pillow-battle. ‘Nanaa-ji is happy too?’
‘Of course,’ Nani says. ‘Didn’t you see him smiling all through dinner?’
*
The next few days blur into one another in a riot of silken dubatta, golden jewellery, the smells of dahl and fresh roti, as we prepare for the onslaught of the wedding.
Mehndi Night starts on Monday afternoon. Beena and I both get our mehndi done early; we need to have hands free to help with serving food. I need my hands for the camera, as well – I’ve brought it with me especially to do the photography for the wedding, on Hansa’s request.
By six it seems like the entire female Punjabi population of Mildura is occupying the living room. Women sit on the furniture or on the floor cushions, drinking, eating, crooning suhaag and making teasing jokes. Mehndi Laga Ke Rakhna is jangling from the dock, mixed with the sound of dozens of voices talking at once. The mehndi artist works her way slowly around the room, used to the demands of pre-wedding crowds and jittery brides-to-be.
Jas is patient at first, but she gets cranky once she realises she’ll have to sit still for the next four or more hours, while we dab lemon-sugar solution on her hands and feet.
‘I can’t even feed myself!’ She slumps back in her comfortable spot on the sofa. ‘I feel like a giant baby.’
I smile at her, teasing as I take another photo. ‘Lap it up, Jas. You’ll be looking after your own house and taking care of a husband after this, with no one to fuss over you.’
‘Exactly!’ Hansa sits on her low stool, feeding her daughter bite-sized chunks of samosa with a grin. ‘Enjoy it while you can!’
There are no men here tonight so the conversation in the living room quickly turns naughty. Jasminder has to sit on the sofa, pretending to look demure, while listening to all the suggestions and advice dished out by the older women. I don’t understand everything they’re saying in Punjabi, but what I do understand makes my face go red.
‘What about this girl?’ one of the elderly aunties says, lifting her chin at me. ‘Is she engaged yet?’
‘Not yet,’ Hansa says, giving me a smile. ‘Amita is only the same age as Beena.’
‘My son is a nice Sikh man looking for a wife!’ another auntie cackles.
Bee nudges me with the tray of mithai sweets she’s carrying. ‘So are you seeing anyone, really?’
My cheeks are already like a furnace. ‘Ah, um –’
I’m saved by the chime from my phone. I look down at the screen and am shocked to find a text from Harris: New appointmt Tue 25 @3pm ok?
Bee gives me a grin. ‘Is that your boyfriend?’
‘What?’
‘You’re blushing.’
I don’t meet her eyes. ‘Hard to avoid around here right now. This room is hot as a sauna.’
I scrabble a quick Ok in reply. Everyone will be busy and distracted tomorrow afternoon during the preparation for jaago. I shouldn’t have too much trouble slipping out for an hour.
*
‘What’s that?’ Harris is looking at my hands. ‘You been drawing on yourself or something?’
‘It’s mehndi.’ I put my camera down on the ground beside me and stick one hand out, palm up, for display. ‘For the wedding. I had to help at a party for my cousin, the bride-to-be. Like a bridal shower.’
The old pipe factory was signposted. Harris insisted the place was too exposed for us to talk, drove us both in the Pitbull to a spot further along the winding dirt road that follows the river. The place we’re sitting now, under trees near the water, is secluded enough for privacy. The day is bright so it’s hard to understand his caution, and the light here is so nice I want to use the camera as more than just an excuse to get out of the house.
‘A bridal shower.’ Harris leans back against a log. ‘Where they draw on your hands.’
‘It’s like a temporary tattoo,’ I explain. ‘You mix henna powder up with hot water, or black tea, or lemon juice –’
‘Lemon juice?’
‘To make it darker. Then you trace it on, leave it for a while, rub it off with mustard oil, and you’ve got this.’
‘Right.’ He sits up, grabs my hand and leans forward to look more closely. ‘It goes over the top, too.’
‘Yep.’ He’s cradling my right hand in both of his. A light warm humming has started in the small of my back.
He circles my wrist with his fingers, tracing the dark lines. ‘Show me the other one?’ I line up both my palms together, and now he’s starting to get it. ‘They match.’
‘Um, yeah.’ The pads of his fingers tickle on my skin. I clear my throat. ‘They’re mirror images, see? And then you put jewellery on – bangles and stuff. You get more jewellery around your ankles, sometimes on your toes.’
‘That’s cool.’ He releases me, sits back. ‘You’re going to a wedding.’
‘I can’t really get out of it,’ I admit. ‘My cousin, Jasminder, and her family… I lived with them for while after Mum died. They took care of me.’
‘So you feel obliged.’
‘Yes, but I want to go. A wedding is a big deal for the family. Dad’s driving up early tomorrow to attend. And Nani’s putting the thumbscrews on me to dress up properly, and put on all the make-up and jewellery…’
‘You’d look good, all dressed up and stuff.’ He catches my eye. ‘I mean, not that you don’t look good without it –’ Now his face has gone all rosy. ‘I mean –’
‘It’s okay, Harris. I get what you mean.’ I grin, rest back on my elbows on the grass and leaf litter. ‘The downside is the wedding will be exhausting. It’s, like, all day, and into the evening. We had the mehndi last night, and tonight is jaago, kind of a pre-wedding party. Then tomorrow is the ceremony. It’s just…really full-on.’
‘I’ve never been to a wedding,’ Harris says, contemplative.
‘If this is the last one I go to, I won’t complain.’ I see his amused expression. ‘I mean, it’s lovely, but I don’t know if getting married is high on my list just yet.’
‘Fair enough.’ He frowns. ‘What do you wanna do? I mean, you just finished high school. You skipped the chance to go travelling… There must be something.’
‘I don’t know.’ I study the sun on the river before making my confession. ‘Nick and Robbie put my name forward for a photography residency.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Like a scholarship. They pay for your travel and living expenses and stuff. The deadline to sign up for interviews is next Friday. It looks amazing, but…yeah, I can’t do it.’
Harris baulks. ‘Well, that’s bullshit – why can’t you?’
I frown at him. ‘I’ve told you. My family needs me here. Dad and Nani aren’t well, and my auntie –’
Harris makes a noise like he’s personally offended. ‘Come on, don’t give me that. You’re really good. You could study photography, go overseas like you planned. You wouldn’t have to be stuck here –’
‘I’m not stuck anywhere,’ I say firmly. ‘I have a job, and I have friends, and I have people who rely on me. Why would I throw all that away for some unknown quantity?’
‘But this residency thing, it’s a big deal, right? You musta thought about it.’
‘Sure, I’ve thought about it.’ I look elsewhere. ‘But there’s no point thinking about something that can’t happen. Photography is just a hobby. And I have responsibilities here…’
‘But you’re not gonna stay in the Mallee, living at your dad’s forever.’ His expression, as he glances away, is horrified. ‘Christ, I couldn’t imagine anything worse.’
I don’t know if I agree with him. ‘My cousin, Jasminder, is doing it. She was born here, and she’s married here, and she’ll grow old here. Some people are happy exactly where they are.’
‘Not you, though.’ He examines my face. ‘You got that look in your eye…’
‘What look?’
‘Like you’re searching for the horizon.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ I sit up, cradling the camera in my lap. This conversation is making me restless so I pass back his question. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘Get out.’ His response is immediate. ‘Get as far away from here, from anywhere my dad is, as fast possible.’
My head feels scrambled by the intensity of his words. ‘So you really want to go.’
‘Fuck, yeah.’ He looks away to the river.
‘And I have to stay.’ It comes out more plaintive than I intend.
He bites his lip, looking at me. The moment is awkward until his gaze returns to the water.
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to fire up.’ He reaches for a dried leaf on the ground, crumbles it into dust. ‘Guess I should tell you the big news. Leon has started batching. I mean, obviously not Leon personally. He’s got blokes to do it for him.’
I squint at him. ‘What’s batching?’
Harris picks at the gumnuts on the ground, his hands agitated. ‘Homegrown meth. Get the right gear and you can cook it up yourself. Leon’s planning to start up a local crop.’
‘And you know for sure it’s happening?’
He flicks gumnuts towards the water. ‘Saturday, I had to deliver a package. I know it’s an important package, cos Mick the Leb comes with me –’
‘How do you know he’s Lebanese?’ I cut in.
Harris shrugs, flicks another gumnut. ‘I dunno. His name’s Mick, everyone calls him Mick the Leb. Anyway, I get a big fat envelope from Leon, and Mick does the driving –’
‘You’re being chauffeured now?’
‘Special occasion. So we drive out to this shed north of bloody nowhere, and there’s a guy with a van. Here’s the plate number, I wrote it down.’ He passes me a slip of paper, which I pocket, and continues. ‘I wait in the car while Mick goes to have a look, then when he’s checked it all out, he gives me a nod. I give the van-man his money. He says to tell Leon he’s waiting on some equipment, but the first package will arrive soon after that.’
‘What’s Leon paying for?’
‘Chemicals, my guess. S’pose there’ll be a couple of boys cooking up the whole mess in that little nowhere shed, far enough away that no one’s gonna smell any fumes.’ He looks at me. ‘If I was your dad, I’d wait until the first batch is ready, then when the delivery day comes… Nail ’em.’
Harris’s face is hard when he says that. Sometimes the stuff he tells me, the things he’s doing – this thing we’re both doing – seem so divorced from real life I have trouble reconciling it all in my head. But this is real life too, just like the sari and jewellery issues I’ve been dealing with over the last few days… The juxtaposition makes my brain hurt.
He lifts his chin at me, at the camera. ‘You gonna take some photos or what? Your auntie’ll get suss if you come home without any, won’t she?’
‘Huh?’ I blink. ‘Oh. Yeah, I s’pose.’
He looks at me sideways. ‘You could photograph me. I wouldn’t mind.’
‘Oh, I don’t take photos of people,’ I say quickly. ‘I mean, I’m taking shots for the wedding, but I don’t really –’
‘Why not?’
Good question. ‘Well, you saw – all my work is in close-up. And I like the small details with people, too. The buttons on their shirt, or the corner of their mouth –’
‘Go on then. I don’t care.’ He grins, gently teasing. ‘Put the pics in with your residency application.’
I consider. The tension of our first exchange has passed, and the light here really is pretty… ‘You don’t think it’s weird? If I only photograph part of you?’
‘Depends on which part.’ His eyebrow kinks up.
I give him a look as I pull myself into a kneeling position. ‘Can you sit still?’
‘Sure. Long as you like.’ He settles back against the log with his ankles crossed. ‘Makes a change from draggin’ my arse around all day.’
Harris stretches his shoulders. He’s stripped off his hoodie and I can see how lean he’s gotten – he still looks strong, but he’s become streamlined, his muscles defined from lack of body fat. He’s trimmed his beard close, and ditched the cane: he limps, but his gait will get more natural as his leg fully recovers.
I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t photogenic, though, and now I’m intrigued by the possibilities. What the camera might show, with this light, this subject. I bring the camera up, sight through the viewfinder. This isn’t like the micro set-ups I’m used to: I have to find a different angle. I shuffle around, trying to find something that speaks its own language.
Then I see it – just a glimpse, at first. From Harris’s cheekbone, down the side of his whiskered jaw, further. There’s a long stretch of tanned neck to his collarbone where the edge of his T-shirt sags away. Over his shoulder, the rough log, and away behind that, the river is on fire: all glassy sparkling ripples. Harris’s hair shifts in the whisper of breeze off the water.
I broaden my field, open the aperture. Let my focus expand. Light is coming down through the gum leaves above us, spangling every surface. I take an experimental shot.
‘Is that okay?’ When Harris speaks I see his throat move.
‘Tilt your head to the left.’ I sight again, focus. ‘That’s it – stop.’
For about five minutes there’s only the sound of my shutter. I stare at this combination I’ve discovered in the viewfinder: fiery stars on the water, the grey texture of the log, the smooth length of Harris’s skin.
‘This is nothing like mugshots,’ Harris jokes.
I snort. There’s another pause, with clicking.
‘I heard you went in to bat for me with my dad again,’ Harris says. ‘I heard he objected quite strenuously.’
I wait a beat, clicking the shutter button on my held breath, before releasing. ‘How did you find out?’
‘Dad told me about it last time we spoke on the phone.’ His eyes glance at me, although the rest of him stays still. ‘I’ve been putting him off, finally had to let him know I was in Mildy with a sketchy job – told him best he wait for me to visit. He’d been whinging about it. He said he went to the hospital to give those bloody interfering nurse bitches a piece of his mind, and why wouldn’t they bloody pass on my new contact address?’
I sigh a little as I reframe. ‘I told him we weren’t allowed to give out that information by law.’
‘He said he tore strips off the young black-haired chick at the desk.’
I like how Dennis has only given him part of the story. ‘Did he tell you he grabbed me by the front of my uniform? Did he tell you I slapped him?’
‘What?’ The sight in my viewfinder changes, everything going wonky as Harris sits up. ‘Christ, what happened? Are you okay?’
I lower the camera. His expression has gone flat and pale, and his hands grip the earth either side of him. This reaction, more than anything else, gives me a true insight into what his relationship with his father is really like. I try not to show how much that shakes me.
‘It’s okay, Harris.’ I put my camera down in my lap. ‘I’m okay. He scared me, but I stood up to him.’
He schools his features immediately, but I think he knows it’s too late. ‘Well…good.’ He releases his hands, scrubs them together as he looks away. ‘Okay. Good on you.’
‘He’s been like that with you your whole life, hasn’t he? God, Harris, why do you put up with it?’
There’s a long pause. I’ve given up any pretence of using the camera, and now I watch his eyes move as he struggles to explain.
‘My mum and my sister.’ He slowly sits back against the log again. ‘I’ve wanted to get back in touch with them since…always.’
‘And your dad knows how to contact them?’
He nods. ‘That’s how he got me back home. But I think it was just bullshit. If he told me how to find Mum and Kelly, he wouldn’t have anything to hold over me, y’know?’
The flare off the river ignites in my head. ‘Harris, my dad might be able to find your family.’
For a split second, Harris’s expression is completely armour-free: hopeful and wanting. But the hope is extinguished just as quickly. ‘I’ve tried, hey. It’s not that easy.’
‘At least let me ask Dad when I see him tomorrow?’
‘I dunno.’ He looks away as his tongue untangles. ‘I dunno if my family’ll still want to see me. If they still…’ He breaks off – the words care about me must be somehow too hard – and shrugs. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t contact them. Maybe I’m too fucked up to be with them again.’
I shake my head. ‘How can you say that?’
Harris gazes out over the river, his voice soft. ‘I just wonder, y’know? Did my dad get so mean cos of what his dad was like? I’m a rough-head and I’m a drinker, and I can get mean. What if I get back together with Mum and Kelly and I can’t put that part of me to bed?’
‘You’re nothing like your dad, Harris. You know that, right?’
That doesn’t seem to console him. ‘But what if it’s like Wash, Rinse, Repeat? I mean, what if I make a family one day, and have a kid, and then I just…’
His words dry up and I can’t look away from his expression. I shuffle closer on my knees and put my hennaed hand on his. I’m trying to think of what to say, something more significant than just platitudes, when the phone in my back pocket chimes.
‘Oh shit.’ I check the time. ‘It’s four o’clock.’
Harris clears his throat, releases my hand and starts to rise. ‘Gotta get back to your nanna’s, huh?’
‘Um, yes. Dammit.’ I hook the camera around my neck with the strap, push myself up with the log. The tough bark scrapes my palm, and I remember. ‘Harris, I’m going home on Thursday afternoon.’
He looks crestfallen for the briefest moment before shifting into neutral again. ‘Oh, right. Sure. You just came up for the wedding, yeah?’
‘Yeah. So, I won’t get to see you –’ I stop, rephrase. ‘We won’t get to touch base again before I go.’
He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. ‘Right. Well, good luck with your residency stuff. And have fun at the wedding.’
‘Thanks.’ I give him a little smile.
‘Don’t get married yourself, by accident.’ He colours, walks to the Pitbull.
After he drops me at my car, I drive back home to Nani’s house, the sun beating down from above. I think about Harris and the conversation we had. Lately it’s as if everyone I know wants to talk about what I’m doing with my life. And I don’t have any answers. I only know I can’t leave. I won’t turn into another missing person in my family’s photo albums. It would be like a mini-death.
Harris has a plan – a getaway plan. The idea of him shooting through makes my chest feel tight. But he’s determined to escape his father’s clutches, and who could blame him?
I haven’t really been around anyone like Harris before, who’s so full of despair. There’s got to be something in me he’s seeing, some spark of hope. I survived despair. My dad survived it. We didn’t become closed-off and broken. Maybe Harris sees the possibility of an ending to sadness.
But I worry that he’s seeing a false positive in me: I don’t know if he can judge his own recovery by me or Dad. Our sad time was sudden and finite, while Harris’s started from childhood and went on and on as he grew into a person.
I don’t know if I’ve ever gone through what he’s feeling. And I don’t know if anything I said to him will resonate. I’ll talk to Dad about finding Harris’s family: maybe some good will come out of that. But will it be enough? Barb’s words roll over in my head: You can’t save people – you can only give them the encouragement they need to save themselves. God knows I want Harris to save himself. It surprises me to realise how deeply invested I am in that wanting.
I’m hot and sweaty by the time I get back. I need a nap. What scares me a little though is that I want to lie on my bed pretending to nap while I think about Harris Derwent’s bottom lip. The fullness of it, curving into this tender luscious shape. How it matches his top lip perfectly, with the little indentation there, right in the middle. How it catches on his teeth when he bites it.
I shake my head to clear it as I pull into the driveway of the house. Jaago preparations will be a distraction, Robbie wants to meet tonight in town, and there’s plenty to do.
The drowsiness is all through me, though. I shouldn’t be thinking about Harris’s lips, or wondering if he’d let me photograph them. I don’t want to check my camera for the shots of his neck – I know it’ll only make the feeling worse – but I don’t think I’ll be able to help myself. Because I want that vision through my lens. I want to hear its liquid foreign tongue. I want to see that sight again…
Harris’s sleek warm skin.
The rugged tree bark.
Flame on the water.