As they left the beach Alice looked back at the frenzy of her mother’s footprints on the shore. Far out on the sea her father’s sail cut brightly through the waves.
No one talked about what happened that day. Afterwards, whenever he was home from the cane fields, Clem avoided the house. Instead he did what he would always do to relieve his guilt: retreated to his shed. At meals, he was distant and chillingly polite. Being around him was like being outside without shelter during stormy weather, always watching the sky. Alice spent a few sweaty-palmed weeks hoping she, Toby and her mother might run away to the places in her mother’s stories, where snow covered the earth like white sugar and ancient, sparkling cities were built on water. But as weeks turned into months and summer started to soften its edges into autumn, there were no more outbursts. Her father’s tides were peaceful. He made her a writing desk. Alice began to wonder if maybe he’d left the stormy parts of himself out in the deep that day when she’d seen the ocean turn dark green.
One clear morning at breakfast, Alice’s father announced that he had to travel south to the city to buy a new tractor on the coming weekend. He would miss Alice’s ninth birthday. It was unavoidable. Alice’s mother nodded and stood to clear the table. Alice swung her legs back and forth under her seat, hiding her face behind her hair as she digested the news. She, her mother, and Toby would have a whole weekend together. Alone. In peace. It was the best birthday gift she could have hoped for.
The morning he left, they waved him off together. Even Toby sat still until the dust clouds that trailed after him billowed and vanished. Alice’s mother gazed at the empty driveway.
‘Well,’ she said, reaching for Alice’s hand. ‘This weekend is all yours, Bun. What would you like to do?’
‘Everything!’ Alice grinned.
They started with music. Her mother tugged down old records and Alice closed her eyes and swayed as she listened.
‘If you could have anything at all, what would you have for lunch?’ her mother asked.
Alice dragged a kitchen chair to the counter to stand at the same height as her mother and helped to make Anzac biscuits, crunchy on the outside and chewy in the middle from too much golden syrup, the way she liked them best. Alice ate more than half the batter raw, sharing wooden spoonfuls with Toby.
As their biscuits were baking, Alice sat at her mother’s feet while Agnes brushed her hair. The slow rhythm of the brush on Alice’s scalp sounded like wings in flight. After her mother counted one hundred strokes, she leant forward and whispered a question into Alice’s ear. Alice nodded excitedly in response. Her mother left the room and came back a few moments later. Told Alice to close her eyes. Alice grinned, relishing the feeling of her mother’s fingers weaving through her hair. When she was done, her mother led Alice through the house.
‘Okay, Bun. Open,’ she said with a smile in her voice.
Alice waited until she couldn’t bear the anticipation for a second longer. When she opened her eyes, she gasped at her reflection in the mirror. A crown of flame-orange beach hibiscus was entwined around her head. She didn’t recognise herself.
‘Happy birthday, Bunny.’ Her mother’s voice wavered. Alice took her hand. As they stood together in front of the mirror, fat drops of rain started to fall hard and fast on the roof. Her mother got up and went to the window.
‘What is it, Mama?’
Agnes sniffled, and wiped her eyes. ‘Come with me, Bun,’ she said. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’
They waited at the back door until the storm clouds passed. The sky was violet and the light was silver. Alice followed her mother into the garden that was glossy with rain. They came to a bush her mother had planted recently. When Alice last took notice, it was just a tumble of bright green leaves. Now, after the rain, the bush was thick with fragrant white flowers. She studied them in bewilderment.
‘Thought you might like these,’ her mother said.
‘Is it magic?’ Alice reached out to touch one of the petals.
‘The best kind.’ Her mother nodded. ‘Flower magic.’
Alice bent down to get as close as she could. ‘What are they, Mama?’
‘Storm lilies. Just like the night you were born. They only flower after a good downpour.’ Alice leant down and studied them closely. Their petals were flung open, leaving their centres fully exposed.
‘They can’t exist without rain?’ Alice asked, straightening up. Her mother considered her for a moment before nodding.
‘When I was in your father’s truck the night you were born, they were growing wild by the road. I remember seeing them bloom in the storm.’ She looked away but Alice saw her mother’s eyes fill.
‘Alice,’ her mother began. ‘I planted the storm lilies here for a reason.’
Alice nodded.
‘Storm lilies are a sign of expectation. Of the goodness that can come from hardship.’ Her mother rested her hand on her stomach.
Alice nodded, still unaware.
‘Bun, I’m going to have another baby. You’re going to have a brother or a sister to play with and look after.’ Her mother snapped a storm lily from its stem and tucked it into the tail of Alice’s braid. Alice looked down at its quivering heart, open and vulnerable.
‘Isn’t that good news?’ her mother asked. Alice could see the storm lilies reflected in her mother’s eyes. ‘Alice?’
She hid her face in her mother’s neck and squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling the scent of her mother’s skin, trying not to cry. Knowing there was a kind of magic that could make flowers and babies bloom after storms filled Alice with dread: more precious things in her world her father could harm.
Overnight the weather swung about and blew in another storm. Alice and Toby woke the next morning to torrential rain sobbing at the windows and battering the front door. Alice yawned, wandering through the house, dreaming of pancakes. She tried not to count the hours left before her father would be home later in the day. But the kitchen was dark. Alice fumbled for the light switch, confused. She flicked it on. The kitchen was empty and cold. She ran to her parents’ room and waited for her eyes to readjust to the darkness. When she understood her mother was gone, Alice ran outside, calling for her. She was soaked in seconds. Toby barked. Through the downpour, Alice caught a glimpse of her mother’s cotton dress, disappearing through the saltbushes in the front yard, headed towards the sea.
By the time Alice reached the ocean her mother had already shed her clothes on the sand. Although the rain hadn’t let up and visibility was poor, Alice managed to spot her mother in the water. She’d swum so far out she was no more than a pale dot on the waves, dipping, arcing, thrashing her way through the water as if she had a fight to win. After a long time, she bodysurfed into the shallows and screamed violently at the sea as it spat her onto the shore.
Alice wrapped her mother’s clothes like a pelt around her shoulders, calling her mother’s name until her voice was weak. Agnes didn’t seem to hear her. She rose from the sand, naked, haggard and out of breath. The sight of her nakedness silenced Alice. The rain beat down on them. Toby cried, pacing back and forth. Alice couldn’t take her eyes off her mother’s body. Her pregnant belly was bigger than Alice realised. Framing it were bruises, blooming along her mother’s collarbone, down her arms, over her ribs, around her hips, and inside her thighs, like sea lichen smothering rock. All this time that Alice thought there’d been no storms, she had been gravely mistaken.