How Do I Love Thee? (24 page)

I don’t know how long I stand there, looking into the darkness, before I go back to bed and wrap my arms tightly around Rosie. Holding her so close there’s nothing between us but the movement of our breathing.

‘I could live for times like this,’ I whisper.

The next morning we pack up our things into Rosie’s backpack and my carry bag, and clean out our hut and shuffle our way down the beach towards the meals area. We don’t say much.

Kurt and Ingrid come and sit with us and we make sure we’ve exchanged emails and contact details and make all those promises about organising to catch up with each other in Australia or in Austria some time. Kurt says they won’t be returning to Europe until the spring time there, and Ingrid says she’s in no rush to ever go back. I smile and tell them I know just what they mean, even though it’s just something to say.

Going away is easy, but you always need to come home eventually.

The boat comes put-put-putting across the calm blue sea and we carry our bags over the rickety pier, hugging Kurt and Ingrid over and over. Losana is there, as ever, to wave us away. We climb into the boat with Yoko from Kyoto and Aaron from Ireland, and then it’s all too quickly pulling away and weaving a question-mark shape through the reefs.

Looking back at the island I really wish we weren’t leaving. Not just to hang out with Kurt and Ingrid some more. Not just to lie in the hammock and consider the horizon. There are so many things I still want to know. I want to ask Yoko and Aaron why they don’t just stay together. I want to ask the sad-looking English backpacker if somebody has broken her heart. I want to ask Jill what haunts her in the darkness that causes her to sit alone like she does. I want to ask Kurt
and Ingrid if they worry about going back to Austria, and if they think life will be any different for them. And I want to ask the Fijians what they think about having to work twenty-five days straight on this small island, watching the fickle romances of Westerners, while probably having their own relationships suffer because of it.

The boat rocks a little and I look across at Rosie.

‘What are you thinking?’ I ask her. That question I always put off asking.

‘That I’m so glad we came here,’ she says, putting a hand on my arm. ‘We should come back another time, shouldn’t we?’

‘Yes,’ I say and look back to see the island starting to fade and soften like a fond memory. ‘We should.’

J
UDY
N
EUMANN

‘I love thee freely, as men strive for Right’

‘Can I help you?’ Naomi called to Lulu, a towering transvestite with hot-pink hair. Lulu was browsing through the Mega Man section of Completist Comix Store. The rhinestone-clad lady, with beard stubble showing through her make-up, politely declined Naomi’s assistance.

‘I’m fine, honey. Just some retail therapy needed here.’ She smiled coquettishly, her head cocked to one side, causing her wig to slide askew. She quickly righted her coiffure with a pair of huge hairy hands.

Naomi’s job at Completist Comix was never dull. As if to underline her point, a pseudo-vampire wearing fangs and a black cape lined in red satin came up to the cashier’s desk with several purchases. The dark, cavernous shop was lit by long, flickering fluorescent bulbs. It was housed in a quaint 1840s building smelling of dust and aged timber. Although Naomi loved the shop’s quirkiness and history, it was spooky enough to film the next sequel to
Halloween
.

She’d found the place on her first day in Sydney and had known instantly she belonged here. Kismet, fate, destiny. She’d taken the ‘Help Wanted’ sign out of the window and the rest was history.

Oxford Street was certainly a far cry from the country town where she’d grown up. Her parents still fretted over her, ringing Naomi often from their wholesome, peaceful farm.

‘How are you?’ they’d ask.

‘Fine,’ she’d habitually answer.

They never seemed to believe her, sensing their twenty-year-old daughter had changed since moving to the city last year. If only they knew how much, they’d immediately drag her home again, locking her securely in the barn until she sprouted her first grey hair. The way things were going, she’d be turning grey in a month or two anyway.

Though she’d only lived in the big smoke for twelve months, she’d already experienced a lifetime of trouble. After
a string of ruined romantic relationships, a twice-burgled flat, a stolen car and a friend dying of a drug overdose, she’d grown a hard carapace for protection. Nobody got beyond the shell these days—it was safer that way.

Despite the fact that calamity was always just around the corner, she stayed in the city. She found Sydney a stimulating, fascinating place, and a refreshing change from the deep quiet of her country roots. Oxford Street was packed with street people and eccentrics. It was always jumping—sometimes with rhythm, sometimes with lice. The misfits of the world magically fit in here.

So, what am I doing on Oxford Street? I’m just as much of a misfit as Lulu
, she decided—only a tad more normal looking on the outside.

Gazing out the store window, she saw the health-food restaurant across the street, bedecked with signs promising sunshine, spiritual awakening and renewed vigour. Next to the restaurant was an alley filled with flyblown garbage bins and winos. Two doors down was a ritzy boutique selling designer sequins and lace. It was a confusing but exciting place to live, a neighbourhood with a psychosis.

Her peaceful home town, that paragon of conservative values, was no better than the big bad city though. Recently she’d discovered an underbelly of wickedness about which her decent, loving parents had no idea, thank goodness.

Roland Marstead had been her childhood idol. He’d been the football hero, son of the town’s richest man and handsome as a god. What young girl hadn’t drooled over him?

Naomi hadn’t run in the same rarefied social circles as Roland so she really didn’t know him well. Also, he’d been a year ahead of her in school, and when you’re a teenager a year is like a decade. Their paths had hardly crossed, so she’d worshipped him from afar.

On her last visit home, His Highness, the town prince, had actually deigned to notice her. She’d been flattered and flustered. It had felt like the end of a fairytale when Cinderella goes to the ball.

‘Hey, little Nay—you’re all grown up. When did that happen?’ he’d said, giving her a thorough once-over. He spoiled the effect of his admiration by adding, ‘One minute an ugly duckling and the next, a gorgeous swan.’

She liked being called a gorgeous swan, but an ugly duckling? Okay, she’d been an awkward, skinny kid with wild curly hair and a sharp tongue. The ugly duckling comment had been a bit unfair though. No wonder he’d never looked at her in their younger days.

Roland had certainly looked at her grown ‘swan’ self. Stared actually. In fact, he’d studied her body more carefully than he’d ever looked at a schoolbook. It had given her the
creeps, truth be told. She’d felt like one of his dad’s cows being readied for the marketplace.

Still, he was Roland Marstead. It was an honour to be drawn into his crowd. When he’d asked her out to dinner, she’d quickly accepted. Her parents had been proud. Roland’s father, Micky Marstead, was the most admired man in town. From a poverty-stricken start, he’d built a huge empire and now owned most of the town. Micky was popular, generous and amiable. Her folks naturally hoped his son would be the perfect match for their headstrong daughter.

The evening had begun well. Roland had picked her up in his fancy sports car. He’d dressed in a designer shirt, complete with a logo on the pocket, and crisply pressed chinos. ‘I’ll bring Nay home early, sir,’ he’d promised as if they were still teenagers—and Naomi’s father had smiled warmly at his daughter’s beau.

‘Good man,’ her father had responded, shaking his hand as if they’d just closed a big deal.

The night had deteriorated from there. Roland had taken her to the Drover’s Dog Pub, the seediest joint in town. She’d eaten a burger and nursed a beer. She wouldn’t have minded except her date hadn’t been interested in food or conversation. From the moment they sat down in a dark corner booth, he’d drunk steadily, pouring the whisky down his throat as if it were water. On his third scotch, he began
nuzzling her and kissing her, continually trying to fondle her breasts and lift her skirt.

A long line of his mates came by the table to sneer at her and wink at Roland. They didn’t even pretend to treat her with respect—she was just Roland’s anonymous squeeze. Though she’d grown up with these idiots, they’d never acknowledged her identity. They didn’t care who she was, as long as she was stupid enough to step out with their pal.

When she’d had all she could take, Naomi had pinched her date on his upper arm, startling him into releasing his iron grip. She’d hurriedly slid out of his grasp and walked out of the bar in a huff while his mates laughed and catcalled her.

Roland had come running after her, egged on by his friends’ ridicule. But Naomi had hidden behind a nearby parked truck. She watched as her date stumbled out into the street, yelling and shaking his fist at the moon. He peered into the darkness, trying to find her. Eventually, he gave up and staggered back into the pub.

‘How did the date go?’ her mother asked, smiling brightly when she’d finally arrived home. ‘Tell me everything.’

Naomi had walked the two miles back to her home, nervous and jumpy. Every time she’d heard a car coming, she’d dived into a nearby field or ducked behind a tree. Her clothes were dirty and her hair was a mess.

In one horrible evening, Roland had changed from her dream man into her nightmare. ‘It went fine,’ she’d lied, not wanting to worry her parents. ‘Great.’

‘Looks like it,’ her mother had winked, noticing her dishevelled appearance. ‘It’s okay. You’re an adult now. A grown woman. Your father and I know what it’s like.’ She looked so chuffed that Naomi didn’t have the heart to enlighten her mother on the real reason for her frazzled looks.

‘It’s too bad you have to leave for the city tomorrow. You and Roland could have gone out again. He’s such a nice boy.’

It almost killed her to smile and say nothing. Though she missed her parents, she was incredibly relieved to leave the country and all its pitfalls.

‘I’m having a bad-hair day,’ sighed Lulu, tossing her purchases onto the counter and jolting Naomi back to the present. ‘Buying stuff always seems to help my self-esteem. Do you find that?’ She patted her pink beehive hairdo. If you heard her soft, gentle voice on the phone, you’d swear she was a woman. It was the black stubble on her cheeks, the bobbing Adam’s apple and a pair of enormous calloused hands which gave the game away.

‘I believe shopping cures all ills,’ Naomi nodded. ‘On the other hand, I think you look fabulous today, Lulu. Love the new wig.’

Lulu giggled. ‘I appreciate it, honey.’ She fished in a tiny handbag for money, though it was difficult to get her thick fingers into its innards. Finally, she came up with a few multi-coloured notes and smiled brightly. ‘Here you are, honey. Keep the change.’ Naomi wondered momentarily about Lulu’s real name, the one her parents gave her. Harvey Rickenbach? Johnny Jones? Sometimes, it was better to be ignorant. Let Lulu keep her secrets—everybody had them.

As Lulu waved breezily and flounced out the door, a vision from Naomi’s past entered like some surreal hallucination out of a fever dream. She had to blink hard, trying to dispel this trick of the light. Roland Marstead stood in the shop doorway, framed by bright sunlight as if surrounded by a body-sized halo.

There he was, like a bad dream, out of context, about to enter her dingy comic bookshop in the heart of weirdo-land. ‘Roland?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose. ‘Is that really you?’

‘In the flesh, baby.’ He swaggered inside and suddenly the shop felt smaller and dirtier.

‘You’re a long way from home. What are you doing in the city?’ She recalled the burning crush she’d had on a younger Roland and grimaced. He still resembled the well-scrubbed
athlete of her youth, but that one night had changed her perception of him forever. Today there was something even more disquieting about him. Body snatchers at work?

‘My dad has put me in charge of his Sydney operations. I’m here to learn the ropes. We’re neighbours again—isn’t that unbelievable?’

‘Unbelievable,’ she mouthed, trying not to scowl.

‘Your folks asked me to look in on you—and I’m glad I did. You’re pretty as a sunrise, little Nay.’ He licked his lips as if he wanted to eat her up. Had he always been so obvious?

‘Nice of you to check up on me, Roland.’ Maybe he was trying to make up for their last encounter by being extra polite, but his charm had no effect on her. She’d glimpsed the dirt in his soul, lurking beneath the shiny exterior.

Everybody called her Nay back home, but never in Sydney. A strange sensation of displacement swept over her, as if she’d landed in the wrong dimension. She’d always hated the nickname. It sounded like the name of a donkey.

Up close, Roland was as broad-shouldered as ever but now she was aware of his close-set eyes, the arrogant turn of his thin lips and the dusting of boyish freckles across his florid cheeks. He had presence though, standing tall as if he owned the world. An attitude he’d developed from knowing his dad owned most of her home town.

When had he gone a bit seedy? It was like those horror movies where the dolls go bad and attack their owners. His boyish charm combined with his manly voice and adult features was almost eerie.

‘So, tell me how you are, then I’ll buy you a drink.’ He said in a tone that implied he always got what he wanted.

‘Tell my parents I’m fine. I inform them of that every time they ring but they never believe me.’ She shrugged, rolling her eyes and trying to keep their encounter light and jokey.

‘Does that mean you’re not coming out with me tonight?’ His voice went hard and the charm slipped. ‘Sorry for all that drinking on our last date. I’d had a bad week, that’s all. Guess I got a bit out of hand. Let me make it up to you.’