The Valley of Lost Stories Page 21

  Emmie gave her a look filled with remorse. ‘I’m so sorry, Pen. I think it’s time I made that punch for us all.’

  CHAPTER 31

  Nathalie

  Everything felt warm and there was no tension in her body. She took another sip of the rich, fruity shiraz in her glass. From the kitchen she could see the kids through the serving hole, crowded around an old TV in the corner of the dining room. Macie had performed a miracle and produced the dusty old thing from somewhere, along with a DVD player and a stack of classic old fairy tales. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Peter Pan and Sleeping Beauty, much to the children’s – and adults’ – delight. An entire day of being cooped up inside had started to take its toll. The squealing and yelling were getting a bit too much to bear.

  Now they were watching cartoons, their little heads trained towards the small screen like starved saplings seeking sun. Outside the rain had stopped and night was creeping into the valley, like an animal shaking moisture from its back. The clouds were black and low, the edges tinged with yellow, like bruises, turning the air purple. There was an eerie silence outside and in, as though all the creatures were still in hiding from the storm. The children hadn’t even fought over which movie to watch. They were all just relieved to be in front of a screen. Findlay was plaiting Sim’s hair and Nathalie felt a rush of love. Why was it the simple moments – the flutter of their eyelids in sleep, the soft skin as they slipped their hands into yours – that triggered the strongest emotions? Sometimes Nathalie felt like the only time she could really feel properly was when she was drinking. But then it could also make her numb, which wasn’t a bad thing either.

  They’d already been drinking all day after Emmie concocted a strong alcoholic punch. She hadn’t realised quite how strong it was until she noticed how tactile she was becoming with Caleb as he rolled pastry for a tarte au chocolat and stuffed chickens with garlic butter and thyme. Everyone had migrated there to help out. Alexandra was peeling potatoes, Pen was cutting vegetables, she was cutting herbs, and Emmie was in with the kids.

  They had been avoiding each other since this morning. Nathalie poured herself another glass of wine and offered more to the others. They all declined, saying the punch had already had an effect. She could feel their eyes on her as she took a sip. Part of her didn’t care. She felt so exposed already after Emmie’s Instagram account. So, she needed wine. What mother of three didn’t?

  She wished she and Caleb were in that cave again, drinking wine, cocooned against the world, talking about whatever. He understood her. He didn’t judge her. God, women were so much more judgemental than men.

  She supposed she had probably overreacted a bit to Emmie’s account. She should try to make amends by taking her some wine. She fetched a fresh glass out of the cupboard and filled it. She went into the dining room. Emmie was seated with Seraphine in her lap, her arms around her. Nathalie knew that feeling. When things weren’t going well in life there was nothing like taking your child close to your body, smelling the sweetness of their hair, feeling the soft fullness of their skin. The comfort was almost instantaneous. It was a soothing drug.

  Emmie looked up at her, her eyes slightly wary. Nathalie was about to offer her the wine when she felt herself tripping. She caught herself but stumbled and the red wine spilled out all over Emmie and Seraphine. The glass flew from her hands and smashed on the floorboards beside them. For a second her eyes met Emmie’s and shock passed between them.

  ‘Shit,’ screamed Emmie, pulling Seraphine away from the broken glass and shaking wine from her wet arms. ‘What the hell? Don’t go near the glass, kids.’

  ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry,’ said Nathalie, feeling her hands start to shake, the room start to spin. ‘I tripped.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Emmie, shaking her head.

  ‘God, I don’t know what happened.’

  ‘Well, you’re clearly very drunk, so there’s that,’ said Emmie, moving Sera and the other children away, her voice low and angry.

  Nathalie tried to laugh it off, but her words felt slow in her mouth. ‘I think we’ve all had a bit too much of your punch.’

  ‘Yes, but there’s a difference between being tipsy like the rest of us, and being wasted. You’re wasted,’ she hissed under her breath.

  Nathalie felt words of response forming on her lips, but they were numb. Emmie was right. She was drunk. Very drunk. A rush of shame burned through her.

  Emmie had settled the kids across the room and was now carefully picking up the shards of glass.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Nathalie said, bending down, feeling nausea rise through her, that familiar underwater slowness engulfing her.

  ‘No, I’ll do it,’ said Emmie. ‘God, are you going to be sick?’

  Nathalie shook her head, pushing down the acid bile that had risen in her throat. ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re not fine, Nathalie. We can all see it.’ Emmie’s voice was a whisper, but it cut through Nathalie like a shout. Emmie paused, her hand above Nathalie’s as though she was about to touch her, to comfort her. But then she turned away, her voice still quiet. ‘You’re drunk all the time. During the day. What about the girls?’

  Nathalie felt her shame spike with a rush of something hotter. ‘You’re judging me? Really? After what you did? You’re accusing me of being an alcoholic? Well, at least I’m not pretending to be someone else, at least I’m not some kind of stalker.’ Even as she said it, she knew it sounded mean, absurd, but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘Maybe you should keep that Instagram account open. Alexandra said I could probably get loads of freebies, seeing as everyone thinks it’s my account. Go on free holidays, free clothes. The whole bit. I should be thanking you.’

  Emmie stopped picking up the glass from the carpet and looked her straight in the eye. She stood and took Nathalie’s arm, dragging her into the hall. Nathalie felt like a child being reprimanded and she wrenched her arm free and stumbled backwards. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she hissed.

  ‘If you’ve got an issue with me, fine, but spare the kids the screaming,’ said Emmie. ‘And fine. Fine. Take it all. I’ll give you the password. But it’s not just your beauty that’s made that account go viral. It’s my writing as well. And just in case anyone’s actually interested and can take their heads out of the sand for a second, there have been women who have gone missing in this valley. Massacres. Some weird stuff has gone down here. We’ve all felt it. It’s like this place is haunted by women’s voices. We can all feel it but I’m the only one who gives a damn. A publisher has contacted me and yes, I’m going to explore that and that means not taking the account down just because you think it’s all about you. Not everything is about you, Nathalie.’

  Nathalie was momentarily stunned by the force of Emmie’s words. She was usually so softly, softly, such a people pleaser. For a second her opinion of her shifted, very slightly. She found herself lost for words.

  ‘And also, while I’m being truthful, you clearly have a big problem with alcohol, Nathalie. No one’s going to tell you because we all tiptoe around you, but bugger it. You clearly need help. You can’t keep going like this. How do you even function for your kids? And yes fine, we all drink but not like you and, yes, we all want to look like you, but no one wants to be you. You’re drowning and frankly, it’s heartbreaking to watch.’

  Nathalie recoiled as though she’d been slapped. She felt wetness in her palm and glanced down. It was blood. Her skin glimmered with a shard of glass embedded there. But she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything. She had to get out of here.

  She turned from Emmie and walked numbly, into the kitchen. ‘Sorry, I spilled a glass of wine,’ she said. ‘We need paper towels. There’s glass on the floor.’

  She watched the other women swing into action. Macie, Alexandra, Pen. Grabbing napkins and tea towels, dustpans and brooms and rush into the dining room. Like normal people who could function and react properly to things in life. What was wrong with her? She realised how
far from these other women she’d become. How? Only Caleb remained. He was by her side, holding her hand in his, wiping away the blood.

  ‘You’ve got glass in your hand,’ he said. ‘It’s gone in quite deep. Come on, we need to get the medical kit.’

  She followed him out of the kitchen through the dining room where the women were cleaning up her mess and down the hall into a small office. No, it was a room. His room. It was sparse, almost monastic. A single bed, bedside table stacked with old books. Homer’s The Odyssey, several National Geographic hardcovers, and Magic and the Occult. The small window looked out onto the less glamorous view of the crumbling back wall ringing the rear of the hotel. But above it the dark shoulders of the valley could still be seen. There was a vintage record player on a desk in the corner, with piles of vinyl. He must have seen her staring at it.

  ‘I collect jazz and blues records.’ He opened a cupboard and took out a medical kit from the top shelf. He took her hand so gently that she felt a tear slip down her face.

  ‘Take me to the cave,’ she said.

  He looked up from her wound. In his eyes she saw concern mixed with desire. ‘Can I fix this first?’

  She knew he wouldn’t refuse her. She knew he’d leave the dinner in the oven if she asked him to.

  Her palm stung as he extracted the glass with tweezers. ‘I used to want to be an ambo. Before I realised I couldn’t leave this place.’

  ‘You’re very gentle,’ she said.

  ‘It looked like it was only a sliver, but it was big,’ he said, holding it up to the light. ‘Under the surface. You’re lucky there wasn’t more blood.’

  ‘Am I a joke?’ Her voice was tiny.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Is everybody laughing at me?’

  He shook his head as he unravelled a bandage and began winding it around her hand. ‘Do you think I care about the judgement of others? I don’t know your friends and I don’t want to. I only want to know you.’

  She took his chin and raised his face to hers. ‘I only want to know you, too.’

  CHAPTER 32

  Pen

  She found him buried in the bedclothes, his little mouth wide open. Her heart ached. It had been a hard day. Outside the cliff faces were masked behind low cloud, white and ghostly. She thought she could hear the swollen river, encircling them, hissing like a snake. Pen cracked the window above her bed and the smell of wet earth and eucalyptus filled the room. She undressed and put on her pyjamas. As she eased into bed Will stirred.

  ‘I need to go to the toilet.’

  ‘Okay. Want me to come?’ It was down the long dark hall.

  ‘Can you just watch me walk down the hall?’

  Pen’s heart ached again. Kids always wanted you to watch. As though the knowledge of your presence was all that was needed to keep them safe. She realised with a jolt that she didn’t actually want that to ever change. Perhaps it never did. Perhaps we always needed the safety that came with the knowledge that our parents were there, even when we were adults. ‘Of course, bud.’

  Will pulled the covers off and a small bound leather book slid onto the floor. He hurriedly picked it up and stuffed it under the bedclothes.

  ‘What’s that?’ Pen asked, her pulse elevating very slightly. If only children knew how obvious they looked when they were being deceitful. It almost broke her, their lack of self-awareness.

  ‘Nothing,’ Will said, rearranging the bed covers and heading for the door.

  ‘It’s not nothing. Is it a book? Have you been reading it?’

  ‘No. I’m busting,’ he said, crossing his legs and scrunching up his face.

  Pen’s fingers found the book under the covers. Its leather cover was worn with age, like a face.

  ‘What is this?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s nothing. Just something I found, and Macie said I could read it.’

  ‘Macie?’ Pen tried to keep the high emotion out of her voice.

  ‘Macie let me read the books in the lounge room. They’re on the history of the valley.’

  ‘You’ve been keeping it in your bed and reading it with a torch?’ She found the torch deeper under the covers. She sat down on the bed and opened the pages carefully. The paper was thin and blotchy with age spots, like skin. It was filled with a beautiful cursive script. ‘What is this? A diary? Why didn’t you show this to me?’

  ‘I thought you’d be mad,’ Will said, concern etching shadows into his face. ‘Mum, I think she wanted me to find this diary.’ He pointed to the corner of the room. ‘I was hiding behind the cupboard in hide-and-seek and there was some wobbly wood near my foot, and I pulled it and found it underneath. It’s like a hidden treasure map.’

  Pen stiffened and an involuntary shiver crept up her spine. ‘Who wanted you to find it?’ she asked, a surge of upset rising through her, constricting her throat.

  ‘The lady.’

  ‘Will.’ The force and loudness of her voice had a physical impact on him. ‘You have to stop this nonsense.’ She felt guilt crush her as soon as the words left her mouth and she moved towards him.

  Will stifled a sob. ‘I knew you’d be mad. You never understand.’ He covered his face with his hands and backed towards the door.

  ‘There’s nothing to understand.’ Her voice was more controlled now. ‘You’re a child and I’m an adult and I’m telling you that none of this is real. I don’t know why you get obsessed with these strange things. I’m at my wit’s end with you, Will.’

  ‘I hate you,’ he screamed, his eyes flashing with anger. He opened the door and fled down the dark hall.

  ‘Will,’ she cried out, following him. She grabbed his little body in the dark. A switch flicked in the hall and the passageway was illuminated. They both blinked as their eyes adjusted.

  Macie was standing there in her robe and slippers, a mug in her hand.

  Pen wrapped her arms around Will, whose face was white with fright.

  ‘Will, are you okay? I heard shouting,’ said Macie, moving towards them.

  Pen couldn’t dampen down her feelings any longer. She stormed back into their room and picked up the diary.

  ‘What the hell is this? How dare you give my son this. Just because you don’t have your own son, doesn’t mean you can commandeer others’ children.’ Macie’s face was impassive, calm and it maddened Pen further.

  ‘Will just asked me if he could take an old book that he found. He’s been reading books on the history of the valley.’

  Pen laughed darkly. ‘It’s a grown woman’s diary. It’s not something for a young boy to read.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know any of that. I just know he’s interested in history and loves books, which is to be encouraged.’

  Pen shook her head and her arms tightened around her son. ‘No, that’s where you’re wrong. Encouraging other people’s children when you’re a stranger is not normal, Macie. Stay away from Will and stay away from me.’

  Macie’s face registered emotion then. Sorrow filled her features. ‘If you happened to take a look at your son right now, Pen, you’ll see that he’s wet himself.’

  Shame enclosed her, gripping at her gut as she watched the wet patch spreading down Will’s leg. I am a terrible mother.

  ‘Maybe if you started to really see your son instead of criticising him, things would improve for you,’ Macie said, wrapping her gown tighter around her waist and leaving them standing in the hall, the sound of Will’s quiet sobs echoing in the dim light.

  CHAPTER 33

  Nathalie

  The night glistened as they drove. The rain had gone now but the air was heavy with the moisture the earth could not absorb. It gathered in ghostly banks and drifted coldly past them like fingers. The bush was strangely quiet as though the mist had bewitched it. Nathalie could still feel the wine moving in her veins. They’d eaten dinner and she’d drunk more. Emmie wouldn’t look at her. The red wine stain on the carpet bled like an open wound.

  She knew she shouldn’t be doing this. Run
ning. Leaving her children asleep in their beds. But after what Emmie had said, it felt like an awful self-fulfilling prophecy. She was a bad mother. A drunk. It was true. This only proved it. She knew she and Caleb would have sex. She could feel it oozing out of her own pores, out of his. It was an intoxicating haze in the close cabin. Her sensuality had been switched back on after years of being too numb, too tired, to feel. Sleeping through life. Partly sleep deprivation, partly the wound of Mike’s betrayal. What would it feel like to have another man inside her? To have this stranger pleasure her. She needed to know. She longed to be startled, to be woken.

  Caleb stopped the truck. She looked into the trees, wet and illuminated by the headlights.

  ‘We’re here,’ he said, cutting the engine.

  She felt a flicker of something run over her skin. Were they here already? She didn’t remember the trip being so fast last time. She pushed her hair back from her face and unbuckled her seatbelt. She could feel his eyes on her body. Her skin felt damp. Excitement mingled with something else, something older and more ancient.

  ‘That was quick,’ she said. ‘Are we in the same place?’

  ‘Yeah. Easier driving without the downpour and the river level held for us.’

  He must have sensed her hesitation because he reached out for her. ‘Here, how’s that hand feeling?’

  ‘Oh, it’s fine,’ she said, getting out of the car, the wine allowing her to push down her doubts and the throb of the wound.

  A fine mist enveloped them. A torch beam criss-crossed the dark and she felt for his hand beside her and took it. He led her along the narrow track, wet branches brushing her bare arms and legs. Yes, they were at the cave, she remembered now.

  Her heart was beating fast as she watched Caleb put down some cushions by a fledgling fire. She took a swig from the bottle of wine they’d brought and handed it to him. He motioned for her to sit. He’d lit lanterns and candles and their soft light cast long shadows up the cave walls. The air was dry and cool, and she felt goose bumps prick along her arms. He reached for her, his body warm. His skin smelled like fire and his lips tasted like wine. It was so strange kissing another. It had been so long. His tongue, his lips, not her husband’s. So foreign, frightening yet freeing in their difference. She wondered what other women he had been with, so alone in this valley. His hand touched her neck, ran down her chest, between her breasts. She quivered with the shock of it.