The Shadow House(38)

‘My “deal”?’

‘No, sorry, I just mean … like, what’s your, ah, situation?’

‘Oh.’ I dropped my gaze and watched a school of tiny fish darting and milling in the water beneath me. How to tell my tale of woe?

‘It’s alright,’ Kit said, after an awkward stretch of silence. ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not comfortable.’

‘It’s not that.’ And it wasn’t. A part of me felt very comfortable with Kit, more comfortable than I wanted to admit. It was as if we’d already told each other all our stories. But I also knew I should be careful. Pump the brakes, keep the drawbridge up. ‘Sorry, I just don’t share stuff about myself very easily.’

‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘Neither do I.’

That was true. I realised that I barely knew a single detail about his life.

We paddled for a few more moments, our strokes growing more and more languid. Inside, I battled with myself. To trust or not to trust. In the end, I figured I could afford to share just a little. Maybe then Kit would do the same.

‘I was born in England,’ I began, keeping my eyes on the board. ‘My family are all still over there. I came to Australia when I was twenty, backpacking with my boyfriend at the time. We both loved it here, got jobs, settled down, played house. I worked as a nanny; he was a builder. After a couple of years, we both got permanent residency. And then we got pregnant.’

I took a breath, momentarily reliving the anxiety, the panic.

‘It was an accident. But I thought, why not? I love him, he loves me, we’re happy, we have money, it’s all good. I believed in destiny back then, so … anyway, my boyfriend seemed pleased at first, but then one day I woke up and he’d gone. Just like that. Just packed his stuff, got on a plane and left.’

I felt rather than saw Kit looking at me. ‘Wow,’ he said.

‘Savage, right? I don’t even know where he went. Not back to England, I don’t think, but who knows?’ I paused, waiting for the knot in my throat to ease. Even fifteen years later, it still hurt. ‘By that point I was quite far along, too far for an abortion. But I like to think I would’ve kept it anyway.’ I swallowed. ‘Him. Ollie.’

We reached the far shore of the dam. Silently and easily, we turned our boards around and set off back in the other direction.

‘How did you manage it?’

‘I had friends, and a very kind boss. She was amazing, actually. She was my immigration sponsor, helped me upgrade my qualifications after Ollie was born. No idea what I would’ve done without her. She moved to Canada a few years later; still emails to see how we’re going.’ I forced myself to smile. ‘Ollie and I were a little team. We moved around a lot. Different towns, different schools, different jobs.’

They were good memories. Port Stephens. Port Campbell. Fremantle. The Great Barrier Reef. Just me, the road and my tiny best friend.

‘I like moving. It’s kind of my thing. But then one day Ollie said he was tired of travelling around. He was nine, I think? Maybe ten. We were in Sydney at the time, so that was where we stayed.’

‘Why didn’t you go back to England?’ Kit dug in his paddle and slowed down to match my pace. ‘If you don’t mind me asking?

‘I, um …’ I never knew how to answer this question. ‘I … My dad … is not a nice guy. He never hurt me – not physically, anyway. But my mum … well, let’s just say it wasn’t a great way to grow up.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Yeah. It got rough sometimes. At home, I mean. When I was little, I built forts in my room and hid. Lay down, pretended I was dead. I always kept a packed suitcase under my bed, drew up these elaborate escape plans. I had this picture on my wall of the perfect house with the perfect family and told myself that one day I would go there.’

I could still see it in my mind, could recall every detail. White picket fence, wraparound veranda, roof like a wide--brimmed hat. Just like the farmhouse on the hill. I glanced up at the paddock, but from this angle the house was obscured by trees.

‘I thought it was normal. I thought that’s how everyone lived: on a knife’s edge, ready to go. When I finally realised it wasn’t normal, I got angry. With my mum, mostly. I just didn’t understand how she could’ve let it carry on. Why didn’t she just leave? I didn’t get it.’

I took a breath. Steadied myself. ‘She’s still there. In England. With him. I have a brother but he’s a lot like my dad.’

Kit nodded. ‘Are you still in touch?’

‘Not really. They came out once, not long after I’d had Ollie. It was painful. Nothing had changed.’ I said the word ‘painful’ in much the same way as you might describe standstill traffic on the freeway: ugh, painful, eye roll. But, in reality, the pain of that visit had been the most excruciating of my life. The sight of my mum leaving, checking her bags at Kingsford Smith Airport and disappearing meekly through security with barely a backward glance, had left a mark on me so significant it was a wonder people couldn’t see it on my skin. I knew I couldn’t reasonably have expected her to stay – after all, I had been the one who’d moved away. But watching her go had ripped my heart right out.

Don’t leave me. Please stay. She hadn’t.