Inconsolable Read online

  Foley slid into the bench seat with her back against its wall. Drum sat opposite, but he was being dripped on from the roof. He dodged it, a second drip started up, he dodged that too, until a whole line of drips came down on him.

  She patted the seat beside her and he moved into it. They faced the ocean and drank their coffee. If this had been a proper date, this is where they’d have talked, told each other secrets, kissed, made out in the rain with the salt drift, the smell of barbeques hastily abandoned, and the thrill of each other’s hands, sheltered from discovery by the bad weather, by their lack of care what anyone thought.

  Drum sat stiffly beside her, holding his body away, but he was less remote, less anxious than he had been at the beginning of last night. Looking at each other was awkward, but she was intensely aware of him all the same.

  “You let me touch you last night. You held me.”

  There was something wrong with her that she wanted to prod at him like this, wanted to be with him at all. Nothing stopped someone being friends with a homeless person, but what she was doing was inappropriate, it was unprofessional. She was tense inside out for his reaction.

  He angled his chin to look at her out of one eye. “You were asleep.”

  She blushed. “I was aware of you. I knew you put your arm around me.” She was an idiot. Maybe she was the one with a mental illness.

  He grunted, shifted, banged his knee on the underside of the table.

  She sipped the last of her coffee and tried to feel bad about being caught out, about what she was doing, about flirting with a homeless guy it was her job to help.

  “Did you hear anything my flatmate said?” If Nat could see her now, hear her. Shit.

  He shook his head, looked out at the beach. She wasn’t sure she believed that. Nat was loud, but he can’t have heard it all, or he wouldn’t have been so far up the hill.

  “It’s going to rain all night. And even if it doesn’t, you’ll be drenched before you get home. Let me take you somewhere dry for the night.”

  “You need to stop.”

  Foley looked down at her hands, fingers twisted together in her lap. “I can’t stop.”

  It was the simplest thing she could say when her chest was crawling with feeling, writhing with the sense of him. It was more than the desire to make sure he was safe. This wasn’t the job that was making her throat tight, making her desperate to touch him again, lean her head on his shoulder and have him put his arm around her.

  She hadn’t felt this way about a man for a long time, not since uni and Jon and his lies, maybe not since that smirk of Hugh’s drove her libido mad. That’s all this was, surely. Drum was a beautiful man, an interesting puzzle. It was the equivalent of Jon’s incredible intellect and Hugh’s once maddeningly sexy grin slammed together and bound up with ropes of intrigue and a manner that put her body on red alert.

  Drum would be oblivious to the turmoil that seethed in her. They sat there saying nothing, not touching, facing out towards the beach. They might’ve been two strangers waiting for a bus as the rain fell in a steady pattern, bringing cooler air with it.

  “I shouldn’t be around you, Foley.”

  Her breath snagged. She looked at Drum and their eyes caught, strung like party lights. Her stomach flipped. What did he mean by that? He shuffled sideways and stood up, rain pelting at him. He lifted his face to it, baring his throat like it was an act of worship.

  “Drum.” He didn’t have his tarp to keep the weather out of the cave. She’d convince him to go to a shelter.

  “Look at me, Foley.”

  She double blinked at him, at the command in his tone.

  He pushed wet hair off his face. His shirt was already soaked. “I’ll keep my part of our deal. You need to keep yours.” He stepped away from the little dry island of the picnic pavilion into the weather. He looked directly at her. He said, “I don’t want to see you again,” and walked away.

  She watched him till he was part of the gloom, a dark, moving, low-hanging cloud in the distance, then made a dash to her car and drove home. She was wet through, but she had a hot shower and fresh, dry clothes to put on, a soft bed to lie in, waiting for her.

  She should’ve felt good about all that. About the deal with Drum, about being able to tell Gabriella she’d done what she’d set out to do, found an acceptable solution to the problem of the homeless man cluttering up the sculpture exhibition. But she felt like crying instead.

  When she got home and Nat told her about the petition, she felt like throwing up because she was sick with the knowledge she’d have to break her promise and see Drum again.

  10: Shaken

  She didn’t keep her promise. It made Drum irrationally angry because Foley only did what most people do. She lied. Acted in her own best interest.

  He’d kept to the cave most of the morning while the rain blew about in feathery strings, this way, then that way, buffeted by the wind, blowing old cloud out, bringing new cloud in, an ever replenished buffet in the sky.

  She’d shown up when the sun did. A shout, a plastic carry bag in her hand. He considered taking the back way out, but in the wet it could be slippery and she was stubborn enough to try to follow him. He stayed put on his new couch. Both of them wet. Both of them would dry. The couch was black vinyl, torn in places, but sturdy still and waterproof enough, as well as being long enough to do for a bed. It hadn’t been easy getting it here, he owed a favour to Noddy and Blue.

  Foley wore office clothes, a dress, shoes that had no business being on a rock face. He’d never seen her dressed like this, the flipside of her lovely casualness last night. She’d gotten too comfortable coming here and that was his fault. He should never have let her stay for the sunrise. Never have gotten in her dinky little car. Never have agreed to go with her to Fat Barney’s. He should never have touched her. It was bad enough he could no longer stop himself looking at her.

  He looked at her now with her shiny hair and her sunglasses, with her bribery in hand. He could smell Chinese food and his traitor gut rumbled. She stepped down onto the lower ledge as if this was a shopping centre or a movie theatre and she was here for the entertainment value. He should go out the back way and be damned, she couldn’t follow him in those shoes, she couldn’t make the jump in a dress that was slicked to her hips and thighs.

  He stood up to go and she said his name and smiled as if there was a reason he might like his name on her lips, those lips curved to smile, that he might like her.

  That did it. She couldn’t stand here and smile at him like that, because he did like it.

  The raw, dark anger that lived in the sinews of his body, wrapped tight and restrained so it didn’t cause more hurt, broke free. “Fuck off and leave me alone.”

  She took a step back, her lipstick mouth making a round shape, her body tensing in surprise. “Drum, it’s me, Foley.”

  She thought he didn’t recognise her. But he knew who she was. She was bright and fresh, light and hope, and all the entrancing things he’d given up and no longer deserved. He roared at her. Incoherent sounds of noise and hate and fear. She had to get away from him, before he infected her, made her dirty. He had to make her understand that.

  She dropped the food, her bag, and she put her hands up, but he kept on, voice raised, swearing at her. He had no way of knowing how long he raged, how little sense he made, but after a time there was nothing left of her but a huddle of knees and red and black fabric, jammed against the rock. He stopped, hands to his head, tongue so unstuck he could rip it out, towering over her as she hid from his verbal assault.

  He left her there. He was a monster. She’d see that now. He went to the edge and curled his toes over. The sea was churned up, cut, choppy from the wind and rain. He needed this. He listened for her, ached to hear her scrambling away.

  “Drum, please come away from the edge.”

  He closed his eyes and softened his knees. He’d hurt her when he’d been trying not to. Why did she keep coming to him? Why di
d she make it so hard?

  “I promise. I promise I won’t ever come back if you step away from the edge.”

  The wind scoured his skin, but didn’t rub the filth of him away.

  “I didn’t mean to break my promise. I didn’t mean to. I want you to be safe. Please come away from the edge. You didn’t hurt me. I’ll go when you come away from the edge. Please, Drum, please, please, please come away.”

  Her voice wrapped around him and held him steady. She should be gone. He should be alone.

  “Please Drum, please.”

  She was frightened. And so was he, frightened of what she made him feel, of how much he wanted to hear her voice, see her smile, touch her skin and have the life of her close to him. He took a step back from the edge.

  Her breathing was all broken up, choppy like the sea. He took another step back and another and another, then turned to face her. Her shoes were off, her sunglasses, her hand was over her mouth and she shook like the wind was inside her.

  What could he say? What would she understand? He took a step towards her and she nodded, turned to pick up her shoes.

  “Stop.” He put his hand out. He no longer wanted her to go. He needed to explain.

  She straightened up but kept her eyes down. She was ready to run, her shoes in her hand. His reality was bad enough; he couldn’t send her off with nightmares.

  “I would never jump. I would never kill myself. That’s too easy. You don’t need to worry about me. You need to stay away.”

  She sobbed aloud, then clamped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were shocked into hard marbles, glistening wet and fixed on him.

  “I’m sorry.” Useless words. He’d said them so often and they’d never mattered, but he didn’t have any better. “I’m bad news for you. But I won’t hurt myself.”

  She heaved a breath. “I don’t believe you.”

  He took another step away from the edge, closer to her. He could smell sweet white flowers; her perfume. He lifted his hand to her, wanting to take the fear away, not knowing how, but she reached her hand out too and their fingers brushed, then her hand was in his, like that one time before but different too, because this time she truly knew to fear him and still she touched him.

  And he couldn’t take it. It mattered that he’d scared her. It mattered that she was here. He closed his hand around hers and stepped closer. She dropped her shoes. He watched as her breath settled as she blinked slow, squeezed her eyes to stop them tearing up.

  “I am sorry, Foley.”

  She lifted her chin, her hand squeezed his. “If you ever do that again I’ll …” She was so fierce, but she knew she had nothing to threaten him with. She launched herself at him, slapping his chest and arm. “You fucking scared me. You fucking great shit of a man. I thought you were going to jump and it would be my fault.”

  He let her hit him, shake him, his arms at his sides, until she exhausted herself, one hand resting on his chest. “I have never been so scared in my whole life. I nearly wet myself.”

  If he’d been a better man he’d have known how to soothe her, known how to hold her. She was so slight, so small compared to him, but she was stronger, so much stronger. When she broke away he thought he might fall. “I’m sorry.”

  She lifted her face. “Can we sit? I need to sit for a minute. My legs are made of wobble.”

  He let her go. The longer he had her, the harder it would be. He took off his shirt, wet but the driest thing he owned, and wiped the couch down, made a place for her. She sat beside him, and they both faced out at the ocean. She should want to be on another planet to him.

  He closed his eyes. “Why did you stay?”

  “I didn’t think you’d hurt me.”

  He’d never wanted to hurt anyone. Never meant to. But he’d been the architect of such pain for so many.

  “I know you won’t hurt me,” she said.

  How could she have that belief, that faith, after what he’d just done? “I am not right, Foley. I am not good and you can’t be around me.”

  “I don’t believe that either.”

  “Belief is ridiculous. It’s like sea spray. It’s nothing of substance.”

  “You’re calm now. You got angry because I broke my promise and then you—” She shook her head. “I hate that you did that thing on the edge, but I have no choice but to believe you don’t want to kill yourself if you tell me that’s true.” She put her elbows on her knees and hid her face in her hands.

  “Why did you come?” It should’ve been the only thing that mattered; what made her lie, break her promise, but she didn’t understand the only part of the promise that had mattered to him was not seeing her again.

  She sat upright again. “I need to tell you about something that makes it unsafe for you to be here.”

  He could hear distress still in the hesitant quality of her voice. “Go on.” She took a deep breath, fortifying herself. He knew she was watching him, measuring. “I won’t shout at you. You can tell me. I’m back in my head now.”

  “Too many people know you’re here and someone started a petition. Hundreds of people have signed it. They’ve formed an action group. Neighbours for Resident Safety. They say it’s not safe for you here and they want council to make you move, even if it means having you arrested. They want council to board up the cave so no one can use it.” She put her hand down on the couch, too close to his, but kept her eyes away. “If it was ever safe for you here, it’s not now, Drum.”

  He moved his hand to his knee and looked out at the horizon. It was raining out there. “When will they arrest me?”

  “No one is going to arrest you. It’s all meaningless if you move. It will all go away.”

  “I’m not moving. This is my home.”

  “Oh, Drum. This is serious. This group wants a meeting with the mayor and the mayor is a nervous man. He doesn’t want any fuss.”

  “I understand.”

  “You say that, but I don’t think you do. There is no downside for the mayor in siding with the action group. He can have you removed and board up the cave.”

  “He will do what he must. I can’t change that.”

  He felt Foley drop her head to the back of the couch. She was distressed and he’d done that to her. He would keep doing that to her, because he didn’t know how to stop. “When do they meet with the mayor?”

  “I’m not sure, but the local paper knows about this. They’ll run a story as early as tomorrow. People might come looking for you. People like whoever trashed your stuff. It’s not safe, Drum.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She lifted her head and looked at him. “You are an exasperating man.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No. You’re not.” She laughed, a brittle sound. “You’re sorry you yelled at me. You’re sorry you scared me stupid, but you’re not sorry you’re being a shit. If you’re staying then we have to make a new deal. You’ll move out in four days time for the two weeks of the Sculptures by the Coast event. Between now and then we’ll check in with each other every day.”

  He stood up and stepped away from the couch. “I don’t want this new deal.” This new deal was a disaster if it meant he had to keep seeing her.

  “Well, I already broke the old one. I know you don’t want me here. I understand that, but I can’t let you be here and not know you’re safe. You can choose how we do this. We can meet somewhere, or I can give you a loaner phone and you can call me.”

  “I don’t want a phone.”

  She nodded. “Why don’t you choose somewhere for us to meet? It need only be for a minute. I only need to see that you’re okay. We don’t need to speak.”

  He didn’t want any deals. He didn’t care about petitions and if they boarded the cave up he’d have firewood, or maybe even half a wall; that would be useful. He watched the rain drift on the horizon, coming closer.

  Last night he’d tried to make sure not too many people saw him and Foley together. She shouldn’t be seen with him. There we
re hundreds of places he could meet her, but unless the weather co-operated or they met in the dead of night, people would see. He didn’t want to meet her and he didn’t want to stop.

  “In the park, at the bent tree,” he said. “We can meet there.”

  11: Dishonest

  Hugh put his hand to the top of his head and blew out a breath. He reminded Foley of a steaming kettle, all handle, spout and lid. Gabriella reminded her of a slow loris, terminally cute, but deadly.

  Nat’s paper with the story about Drum, the resident action group and their two thousand signature strong petition was front page of The Courier, and front and centre on Hugh’s desk. The slow loris stood on Hugh’s right, blinking her big brown eyes.

  Foley stood by the bookshelf with the perspex dust collector in her hands. For the second day in a row she was under attack and perspex made a better weapon than Chinese food.

  “Run this past me again, Gab,” said Hugh. He was being reasonable; being cautious with the slow loris. They were one of the world’s most poisonous animals, secreting toxins and sending their victims into anaphylactic shock with their bite.

  Foley wanted to shoot, tag and bag Gabriella, turn her into a hideous taxidermy model and throw darts at her.

  “Like I said, I felt we needed a backup plan in case Foley failed,” said the slow loris, turning her toxin into poison.

  Foley moved the perspex from hand to hand. It had sharp corners. “I wasn’t going to fail. I haven’t failed. We have a deal.”

  Hugh took his hand off his head. “Foley, you’re not helping. Let Gab finish.”

  “There’s no way this can be traced to us. I am one hundred percent confident of that,” she said.

  Foley jumped in. “The fact that you’re—”

  Hugh said, “Foley.” This time sharper than perspex corners.

  The slow loris went on with her blinking, tree hugging, poison secreting ways. “It’s a technique we used at my old council—”