Inconsolable Read online

  He looked away. It was still better that she left. “You can take the hoodie.”

  “I won’t talk to you. I’ll just watch. It’s only a few hours now.”

  “Two at least.” Every extra minute was a rotation of the earth.

  “I’ll go as soon as it’s light, I promise.”

  “And you won’t come again?”

  “I won’t come again.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  She stuck out her hand. “Shake on it. I’ll leave as soon as the sun comes up and I won’t come back. You’ll leave before the exhibition starts and you won’t come back till it’s over.”

  He looked at her hand. He’d held it once, but that was before he knew how much he liked touching her. Her small hand, so clean and sure in his. It was wrong to want that again.

  She waggled her hand. “Drum, do we have a deal?”

  This woman had no fear of him and yet he towered over her. His upper arm was thicker than her thigh. No one would see if he hurt her. No one would stop him, come to help her if she screamed. She was the most insane thing he’d ever seen and he was terrified of his response to her, but if he made this deal, she’d be out of his life and that was a good thing, the right thing. She’d be safe.

  He stuck out his hand. She slid hers into it and he jerked at the contact, her skin so cold, her touch so sweet and brave. Her chin came up and her mouth opened, a tiny hiss of breath escaping, her eyes going wide as if she knew his heart had seized.

  She gripped and held, and his fingers moved without his permission, wrapping around hers in the same way his mind had continually chased an image of her, the bell clear sound of her, around and around in his head. The pressure to move their hands came from her. All he could do was hold on as she raised them, lowered them. She let go. He held on, a beat too long.

  “Drum, are you okay?”

  He snatched his hand back and moved away. The sunrise couldn’t come quickly enough. He could leave her here and wait in the park. He’d be close enough if she needed him, but she wouldn’t, she wasn’t weak, she wasn’t needy.

  She was refolding the sleeping bag; it’d be no comfort from the hard rock. He pulled the tarp out. He could make her a better nest to wait in. She stood back and watched while he bent to make a padding from the tarp, stuffing it with book pages and adding his towel between the folded layers and the sleeping bag on top.

  “I’ll bet you were good at making spaceships out of bits of nothing as a kid.”

  Yes, he’d been that kid, good at making things, scavenging things, fixing things, collecting strays, but there was no good in him now. He shifted aside to let her sit.

  “That’s great. Thank you.”

  She smiled so big, he wanted to hide his face away, and then she touched his shoulder and through his t-shirt he felt the weight of her, the importance, and he did turn away; roughly, with resentment. She had no right to make him feel these things.

  “I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t like to be touched. Please come and sit with me and I promise to be still, not to touch you again.”

  She patted the fabric of the sleeping bag. He took a place opposite her nest of junk, his back against a wall of rock. She looked about to say something and changed her mind.

  They sat. A breeze stirred. Clouds passed. A bird called. He might’ve meditated, but he couldn’t concentrate with her there and he couldn’t stop looking at her. He was slightly behind her and had a view of her three-quarter profile in the ambient moon glow.

  She sat with her knees bent up and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her face was framed by his hoodie, a lump at the back where her ponytail was. She’d pulled the sleeves down and her hands where hidden. She had a sharp little nose, and cheekbones that matched, eyebrows that were cute quirks. He knew her face was a perfect symmetrical oval and her eyes were big and watchful. She had a stud in her nose, tiny, silver. It should’ve taken something away from her loveliness but it suited her. It was embedded in her like a star in the sky, part of her fabric.

  He’d met women more beautiful. More willing to use their assets. More affected. He’d met women less beautiful, whose personalities prevented you seeing their physical selves, as if they were ashamed to be heavy, or short, or too tall, and made up for it by sparkling in other ways. All of those women were similar in a way—imprisoned by their looks.

  Foley’s beauty made her free, and because Drum was a prisoner, it made him want her, and he could not have what he wanted anymore, because he only knew how to ruin things.

  “Drum.”

  She watched the night go soft at the edges, go hazy, and he didn’t answer. She’d already stolen too much of his hard fought for ease, she couldn’t have his words as well.

  “Drum.” She’d turned and he looked away. “I didn’t know it would be like this. I’ve never intentionally seen a sunrise before, from the beginning. It’s incredible.”

  She was silent as the horizon tipped gold, but then he heard her gasp.

  “Drum.” She turned her head his way again. “Do you watch it often?”

  It’s what helped his feet stay attached to the world. He nodded.

  “Thank you for letting me stay.”

  Gold became orange, became pink, became scarlet streaks on pale blue. She exclaimed and remarked, without any expectation from him to respond. He sat where he was and his knees cramped and his tailbone turned to unbendable iron, dug into the rock. He wasn’t sleepy, but her head started to droop. She rested her chin on her knees and struggled to keep her eyes open, jerking to wakefulness then sliding to sleep again.

  He caught her when her body softened, before she jerked awake again. He sat beside her and let her rest against him, and when she slumped further into sleep, he wrapped an arm around her to stop her falling, to hold her in her exhaustion.

  She murmured, nothing noises. Her breathing deepened. She was utterly helpless, hopelessly at his mercy.

  She had no right to make him feel so safe.

  7: Vulnerable

  Foley woke with the sting of the sun on her face. She had a crick in her neck and half her body was numb. The rest of it was stiff and creaky and she was starving. She lay on a bed of torn-up sleeping bag stuff and stiff tarp. She could smell the sea and something of the scent from Drum’s hoodie. She sat up and pushed the hood back and the world was so bright it hurt to look at. It was 6am, she was alone and needed her head examined for brain damage.

  She’d fallen asleep in front of Drum.

  There was no way she could’ve made herself more vulnerable.

  Now the sting was embarrassment. She’d known she was tired. Known she was drifting. She should’ve gotten to her feet and gone home. But he’d settled beside her after spending hours so far apart, isolated in body and spirit from her, locked in whatever private space he inhabited where living in a cave made sense, and having it trashed didn’t make you feel outraged. After showing such anxiety about being touched, out of nowhere he was there offering his shoulder.

  It’d felt like the most amazing gift. More immaculate than the sunrise. She could’ve roused herself, but he was warm and he smelled like spicy raisin toast, she couldn’t not lean toward him, take the strength of him as her pillow. To reject his offer of comfort would be sacrilege.

  But now it felt like mystical thinking, such stupidity. He might’ve done anything to her and she’d have had no way to fight him off.

  He didn’t slouch last night, curl into himself like he’d done when they first met. He’d been surprised, distracted, threatened. He’d stood tall, and he was imposing in a way she’d not fully grasped before. She’d remembered him as less somehow and then been stunned to realise he was more, and then staggered with how gentle he was, how hesitant to be near her, as though he didn’t trust himself.

  She needed to remember he was different, not easily categorised for convenience, likely troubled and because of that she could never be sure of him.

  She pulled his hoodie off and as it brushed
her face, she caught a fruity toasty scent again amidst the salt. She rolled her neck and redid her ponytail, then eased her way to standing past the cricks and creaks inspired by her hard bed.

  The cave was a shambles. A tidy one, but there was nothing of the organisation and purpose he’d created there. All his books had been destroyed. The camp bed was in pieces. He couldn’t cook, he had no clothing, nothing to keep him warm for winter when it came.

  And there was no comfort in wondering how this had happened. She’d spent hours waiting, texting her last A-okay to Nat at midnight, wondering whether Drum had done this himself, and she’d never see him again.

  Part of her hoped he’d moved on to somewhere safer, somewhere better, part of her desperate to lay eyes on him to know if he’d been caught up in a bad scene and was hurt.

  Once it was clear Drum was confused by his trashed cave, she’d had a terrible moment of doubt. It would be nothing for a ranger or a maintenance worker to come here and do this. But it would’ve been more efficient to simply cart the stuff away, trashing it made a shocking statement. Made her feel slightly sick.

  She searched for her bag and found it crammed between the tarp and the ledge she’d sat on for the first half of the night. It felt strange leaving without saying goodbye to Drum. It felt strange having that thought. What she needed most was to say goodbye to him.

  She sent a text to Nat—checking in, knowing she’d cop an earful when they spoke—went home, showered and made it to the office on time.

  She spent Friday trying not to let her suspicions run her emotions all over the place. She made some discreet enquiries about Drum. Nothing that satisfied. It was Adro’s shout for coffee and she had a planning meeting over lunch and they got triangle sandwiches in, so it wasn’t till she was ready to leave for the day she noticed her wallet was missing.

  It could be in the car. It could be in the flat. She borrowed a fifty from Hugh just in case it didn’t show up, knowing Nat was good for another fifty, and that would hold her over if her wallet didn’t turn up, and the first time she could get inside a bank was Monday.

  It wasn’t in the car. She beat Nat home. It had to be somewhere in the flat. Somewhere not so obvious, because it wasn’t on the kitchen bench, or the table, or the hallstand. She ditched work gear for a pair of comfy old denim shorts and a t-shirt, too knackered to be bothered with going out for the night and ready to look in all the less obvious, fallen down behind somewhere places.

  She’d pulled the sofa out from behind the wall and noted dust bunnies and no wallet, when there was a knock at the door.

  She flung it open, expecting Nat. Grateful she’d get to make a dig at her before the real dressing down started. “You forgot your key again.”

  Drum stood there. “You forgot your wallet.” He had it in his hand.

  “Oh.” She was so surprised to see him she took a step back, then had to snatch the door to stop it shutting.

  His eyes swept over her then nailed his own tattered runners. “I would’ve brought it to you sooner but I only found it a little while ago.”

  “I can’t believe it.” She felt her face colour from his very obvious inspection, but he was clearly more embarrassed about it than she was. He kept his eyes down. “Did you walk here? Would you like a cold drink?” She pulled the door wide. “Come in, please come in.”

  He held the wallet out and she took it from him. Ten minutes in the car, but it might’ve taken him an hour to walk here from the beach. Eyes still down, he turned to go.

  “Wait, don’t go.” She dumped her wallet on the hallstand and stepped out into the hallway with him. “You can’t just go.”

  He stopped, gave a tight nod. “Check it. It’s all there.” He stood side on, his face angled towards the stairs and the street below.

  Ah, of course, he’d think she thought him a thief. “Drum, I don’t need to look. I trust you.” Hollow words, he was a homeless man who’d found a wallet. True words; she knew, with no logic behind it, all he’d done was check inside for her address. “Let me get my keys, I’ll drive you back.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, I’m driving you back. I’m buying you dinner. I thought I’d lost it. I was ready to start making calls to cancel credit cards. I want to do something to thank you, and since you don’t want to come inside and it’s dinnertime and I need to eat too, I’m buying you dinner.” She gestured to herself. “Totally casual, come as you are. A burger. You can’t say no to a burger.”

  He said nothing, but he didn’t move.

  “It’s going to rain. If you get wet you don’t have anything to change into.”

  A flick of his head in her direction. “That’s not your problem.”

  “Better not be my problem.” Nat, coming up the stairs. She hit the top, came face to face with Drum, said, “Hello,” then, with deadly curiosity, “Foley?”

  Foley peered around Drum. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  Nat to Drum again. “Can I help you with whatever it is you don’t think is her problem?” What Nat’d heard put a thick layer of defensive sarcasm in her tone.

  “No,” he said.

  Nat stood in Drum’s path, arms full of grocery bags. He was tensed to move as soon as she stepped out of his way.

  “Drum, wait.”

  Nat said, “Oh hell, yeah.”

  Foley grimaced, hearing the rat in Nat’s brain spin the wheel. She stepped around Drum. “We were just going.”

  “Not yet you’re not.” Nat shoved the bags at Drum, “Here, hold these,” dropping one at his feet with a clink. He took them, surprise arching his brows. “Wait here, she’ll be back.”

  Nat grabbed Foley’s arm and dragged her inside the flat, shut the door, backing up against it. “That’s him. That incredible bronzed god is the homeless, hermit squatter caveman who I’m not supposed to know about. What is he doing here?”

  “Ah.” She’d never told Nat his name.

  “Who you spent the night with.” Nat slapped Foley’s arm. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Shhh. I didn’t spend the night with him. He doesn’t like to be touched.”

  “So you tried.”

  “No. Oh shit. Nat. No. I left my wallet there and he brought it back. I’m going to drive him home.”

  “To his cave, which you’re trying to evict him from?”

  “Yes, we have a deal.”

  Nat jammed her hands over her ears. “La, la, la, la. Don’t tell me if I can’t know this.” She dropped her hands. “You’re messing with me?” She glared. “No, you’re not, are you? His shirt hardly has any buttons. If those boardies were any more faded you’d see skin. He’s not your friendly Friday night fuck, he really is your destitute cave-dwelling bum.”

  “Nat, stop, please.” How could she see the details of other people so clearly and not know she was still only wearing one earring?

  “Me, stop. What are you doing? You can’t hang around with him like he’s a normal guy.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re just driving him back to his cliff top hideaway with its billion dollar views like a chauffeur service then.”

  “I’m buying him something to eat and driving him home.”

  “Oh my God. Foley. You’re going on a date with a homeless dude.”

  They stared at each other. Of course it wasn’t a date. That was ludicrous. Nat moved. She put her hand to the doorknob. “I’m going to talk to him. This is not a secret anymore.”

  Foley planted both hands around Nat and pushed on the door. “No, you’re not.”

  Nat was half turned with her elbow up. It poked in Foley’s chest. They were locked awkwardly against each other, like in a bad TV sitcom. Neither of them were giving in.

  Nat jostled her arm against Foley’s sternum. “He came to my home. Open game. If he won’t talk, I won’t harass him, but he’s a story and you can’t protect him from me anymore.”

  “Nat, please.”

  “He brought your wallet home. Oh, be still my beat
ing heart. You talked to him all night, didn’t you?”

  “No. He hardly says anything. I’m taking him home. He’s troubled. Please, please, don’t do this.”

  Nat took her hand off the knob, and put her back to the door. She bopped Foley’s nose. “So long as you remember that.”

  Foley pushed her away from the door. “It’s impossible to forget.”

  Nat moved past her then spun back. “Oh, the groceries.”

  Foley opened the door and poked her head out. “Sorry about—” The groceries were stacked neatly against the wall and Drum was gone. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “He’s gone.” She turned back to find her wallet, her bag, her keys, snatching them up.

  Nat grabbed her arm. “Foley, let him go.”

  “No. He probably heard every word.”

  She fled into the hall and hit the stairs at a run.

  How far could a pissed off man on foot in bad weather get?

  8: Falling

  A saner man, a man who enjoyed walls and refrigeration, a decent bed and a bathroom that wasn’t chained at night, would’ve known what a crazy idea it was to go to the house of a woman who annoyed the crap out of him and he couldn’t stop thinking about.

  A man more in control of his faculties wouldn’t have stood there, eyes bugging out of his head when that woman opened the door wearing what barely passed as clothing.

  All that bare tanned leg, the slice of flat belly when she reached to stop the door closing. Dear God.

  But he wasn’t a saner man. He was troubled, like she’d said. Not normal. He didn’t need to hang around to hear more. And he certainly didn’t need a chauffeur.

  He dumped the grocery bags against the wall and got out of there. On the street he paused. The sky was dark, a purple underbelly. There were a couple of ways he could go. Uphill would hurt more but it was the most direct route and the climb would give him somewhere to channel his anger. He set off at a pace he’d struggle to maintain. Good, let it burn.

  Ever since she’d rock-hopped into his life, Foley had been a nuisance with her bribery and her wheedling and her big-eyed appraisal of him. She didn’t judge, she didn’t censor or moralise or hector. She didn’t patronise or try to manipulate him. She was straight up with a sweetening of sorry to inconvenience you. She treated him with decency and respect, she tried desperately to understand him and it pissed him off.