For twenty years Sally had yearned for the moment when Alice Hart might fall like a star back into her life.
Here she was.
Alice drove through town, following Sally’s hatchback, reeling from the scene that unfolded in the library. When Sally had spotted her, her eyes had lost focus, almost as if she was looking straight through her, but then she swiftly enveloped Alice in a fierce hug, rocking to and fro, repeating her name. Alice stood unmoving, overwhelmed by the memory of Sally’s rose-scented perfume, unsure of how to react.
‘Let me have a look at you,’ Sally cried, sniffling, wiping her cheeks. ‘What a beautiful woman you are.’
Alice’s face flushed with unexpected pleasure.
‘How about we have that cup of tea, hey? All these years later?’ Sally asked, her eyes shining.
Alice nodded shyly.
‘Everyone, library’s closing early today, I’m afraid,’ Sally announced. She swept the library clean of people, and ushered Alice out into the car park. ‘Follow me, Alice, honey.’
Alice pulled up beside Sally’s car at the front of a cottage on a cliff overlooking the ocean. It had wraparound timber decking, covered by a fragrant frangipani vine. From the roof hung wind chimes made of shells, sea glass and drift wood. Flamingo grevillea bloomed in the garden. Chickens pecked at the grass beneath a silver wattle tree.
‘Wow,’ Alice murmured.
‘Come in,’ Sally called, waving. ‘Let’s get that little dog of yours something to drink.’
Inside, Alice sat at the kitchen table with Pip at her feet. Sally made tea and conjured a fruit cake from the cupboard, which she cut and slathered in butter. Outside the ocean roared. Sally drew a chair and sat, sliding a laden plate and a steaming cup of tea in Alice’s direction.
‘Eat something,’ she urged.
Alice was taken aback by the sense of comfort she felt with Sally. They’d met twenty years earlier just for an afternoon, and yet here she was, welcomed into Sally’s home as if she were long-lost family.
She took a bite of the fruit slice. Sally did the same, and sipped her tea, watching Alice carefully. They sat together in companionable silence. The ocean sounded so close, as if it were rolling through the house. Memories pulled at Alice like a riptide. Prickles encroached on her vision. She gripped the table to steady herself as she grew increasingly dizzy.
‘Alice?’ Sally asked, alarmed.
She tried to speak but could only groan. Sally put her arms around Alice and rubbed her back.
‘Oh, sweet girl. Steady, now. Deep breaths.’
Alice watched the ocean, breathing deeply, following a silver line of waves crashing blue-green on shore. The desert is an old dream of the sea. His voice ran through her. Ngayuku pinta-pinta. She danced barefoot around their winter fire, his eyes on her body, watching her twirl through the flames, drinking her in. Ngayuku pinta-pinta. My butterfly.
‘Deep breaths, Alice. Focus on my voice. Just stay with my voice.’ As Sally held her, memories stirred. Stay with my voice. The ocean of fire. Sleeping Beauty. Feathers aflame. Flap, flap, swoop. Up, up, away.
Alice clung to Sally, clutching fistfuls of her shirt, suddenly fearful that if she didn’t tether herself, she would fall apart, off the cliff, over the edge of the world.
Dusk. Sally made leek and potato soup while Alice lay on the couch, watching as the sun finished painting the clouds and passed its brush to the stars.
They ate without talking, the silence between them filled with the clink of cutlery against china, the music of the wind chimes, the rolling sea, the warbling of the chickens, and Pip’s occasional yawns.
‘You’ll be needing a place to up stumps,’ Sally said, wiping her hands on her serviette.
Alice tore a piece of bread in half and mopped up the last of her soup. She nodded as she chewed.
‘I’ve got more space here than I need,’ Sally offered. ‘The spare room is all yours. It gets full morning light, and has a view of the garden and the sea.’ She fidgeted with her soup spoon. ‘Bed’s made up.’
‘I couldn’t —’
Sally reached forward and put her hand over Alice’s. Warmth spread up Alice’s arm.
‘Thank you, Sally.’
Sally raised her glass with a nod. ‘Cheers to you,’ she said, her eyes full.
Alice copied the gesture.
‘And you,’ she replied.
When dinner was cleared away Sally showed Alice to her room. She gave her fluffy towels and extra-plump pillows.
‘Do you two have everything you need?’ Sally rubbed Pip’s ears. Alice nodded.
‘I’ll see you in the morning then,’ she said, hugging Alice.
‘See you in the morning.’
Alice turned off the light and left the curtains open. Moonlight poured through the windows. The view of the sea was wide and full. She lay on the bed and pulled Pip into the curve of her body, holding her tightly through the ebb and flow of tears.
The next morning Alice found her way around the kitchen, made a cup of coffee, and took it into the garden before Sally was up. She was grateful for the solitude. The sky was cloudless and powder blue. The sea sparkled, serene. Pip chased her tail. Bees hovered by a blooming lilly-pilly. Alice smiled. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. Her sleep had been fractured; the ocean and her memories were too loud. She wandered around Sally’s garden, sipping coffee, stopping to admire the grevillea and talk to the chickens. As the warmth of the sun unknotted the tension in her spine, Alice noticed a lush alley of potted tropical plants alongside the house: monstera, bird of paradise, agave, staghorns and ferns.
Alice was filled with a sense of wonder; it was a garden within a garden, so meticulous and well-tended in contrast to the wild beauty surrounding it. The sumptuous blends of greens. The varying, glossy foliage. But as she walked on, Alice’s wonderment began to fade. She gripped the handle of her coffee cup. Cracked and discoloured plastic toys stuck out of the dirt in some of the pots: a waving mermaid, a seashell, a smiling dolphin, a starfish. Alice’s steps faltered.
In the centre of the garden was a life-sized wooden statue. A young girl, offering up a flower. A statue Alice had seen before.
‘Alice.’
She spun around, her heart racing. Sally stood at the end of the alley, her face lined from sleep and heavy with sadness.
‘What the fuck is that doing here?’ Alice asked, her voice too high, her hand shaking hard as she pointed to the wooden statue. ‘Why do you have one of my father’s carvings?’
Sally took a step back. ‘Come inside.’
Alice didn’t respond.
‘Come in, Alice. I’ll make more coffee. We’ll sit and talk.’
Inside, Sally set a fresh coffee pot on the table by the couch. When she gestured for Alice to sit, Alice obliged.
‘God.’ Sally laughed awkwardly. ‘I’ve been praying for the chance to have this conversation with you for years, and now I’m tongue-tied.’ She fidgeted with her hands. ‘The truth is I don’t know where to start. How about you ask me questions, Alice, anything you want to know, and we’ll go from there.’
Alice leaned forward, struggling to control her voice. ‘Start with why you have one of my father’s statues of me in your garden,’ she said. ‘Or start with why my mother left guardianship of me and my brother to you in her will.’ The question she’d been carrying ever since she’d opened Twig’s thick envelope came out in a rush.
Sally’s face paled. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Okay.’