Page 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

M ackenzie filled the backpack with the water bottles and left Abigail to wrap the leftover meat. They’d learnt a long time ago not to leave food lying around. Ants could sniff it out in minutes.

He followed the now well-worn path down to the lagoon and within ten minutes he heard the waterfall. The path did a hairpin turn as it skirted the cliff face and as he travelled along the edge, he peered into the valley below. Over the last couple of weeks, the glistening stream had steadily decreased in volume, and he could see a distinct line in the valley wall marking where the water once coursed through. Approaching the stream, he squinted at the sun and breathed in the damp smell of wet rocks.

Glancing up the cliff face, he reminisced about how difficult it’d been to climb the first time. Now he could simply climb up from there with the ladder he’d made from the plane’s electrical wiring and several solid branches. He strolled along the waterfall’s edge to the flat rock that served as a jetty and knelt down, washed the dried blood off his hands and splashed water onto his face.

After filling the bottles, he returned them to the backpack and buckled it on for the uphill journey back to camp. He gripped with his toes to climb the steep path and pulled himself along with the thick vine he’d woven from tree to tree a long time ago. The calluses on his hands were now as tough as leather, protecting him from the vine’s rough surface.

Arriving back at the camp, he called out to Abigail.

“I’m in my naughty corner.”

He laughed. “Okay, stay there till I call you.”

He poured the water into the large pan he’d made with the metallic cone of one of the plane’s propellers and placed it over the fire between two logs. Rummaging through the toiletries, he chose from what was left of their collection of soaps and shampoos and grabbed a hairbrush.

He placed one of the chairs on its side, then tilted another chair back onto it to test its sturdiness. Satisfied, he returned it to its original position. He fetched their towels, both of which were now looking pretty ratty, and walked toward the hole in the side of the plane.

“Are you ready, birthday girl?”

She was laying on her side, head propped up on her hand, her long legs curled up to her hip and he couldn’t help but notice how nicely tanned they were. He dragged his eyes away. “So, what’re you reading?”

“Oh, ummm, Pride and Prejudice.” She laughed at her own joke.

In their entire luggage, they’d only had one book between them, ‘Deception Point’ by Dan Brown. He’d finished it weeks ago, but Abigail didn’t seem to mind reading it over and over. Anything to escape from their new reality, he guessed.

Abigail sat up and placed the book open on her life jacket pillow. “Ready for what?” Her eyes twinkled.

“It’s a secret. Here, put this over your head.” He tossed her the towel.

She obediently draped the towel and giggled as he guided her out of the cabin with his hand on the small of her back. Mackenzie felt the slight sway of her hips as he led her to the waiting chair and although he couldn’t see her face, he imagined her smiling. “I’m going to sit you in your chair now.”

“Okay.”

He held her hand as she lowered into the seat. Then he moved behind her and began tilting her chair back.

“What are you doing?” She reached out as if to balance.

“It’s okay, just relax.”

He wedged her chair against the first ensuring it was safe then lifted the towel off her face and draped it over her shoulders. He ran his hands along her neck to catch all her hair and let it tumble over the back of the chair. “You good?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She sighed and he assumed she knew what he was doing.

“Happy birthday.”

Her hair was thick, soft and surprisingly heavy and Mackenzie glided the brush through it with long smooth strokes. He scooped over cups of warm water, and ignoring their self-imposed ration, poured a generous amount of shampoo into his palm and massaged it into her wet hair. He used slow circular movements, starting at the nape of her neck and gradually moving to the top of her head.

As a thick lather formed, he increased the pressure, but having never done anything like this before, he wasn’t quite sure how hard he should press. He was guided by her reactions, and by her subtle movements and blissful grin he could tell she was enjoying it.

It had been over a week since Abigail last washed her hair and as they were rationing their shampoo, she had barely even made a lather. But she could tell by the amount of lather right now that Mackenzie was being very generous. Abigail closed her eyes when Mackenzie’s fingers brushed her neck. The fine hairs down her nape stood up to meet him and a delightful shiver ran along her spine. His gentle fingers, touching her in this way made her wonder when Spencer had touched her so sensuously.

It was hypnotic, erotic.

Stop it! He’s gay and I’m married. Was married! My God, I’m a widow at forty.

She needed to distract her thoughts. “Tell me about your growing up.”

He huffed. “I can’t do that. It’ll spoil your birthday.”

“No, it won’t. I promise.”

“I’m serious. You really don’t want to hear about my growing up. Tell me about yours. ”

“Oh, but it’s my birthday.” Abigail pulled her best sad face and when his hands stopped moving, she sensed his reluctance.

After a while, Mackenzie resumed his delicate massaging, but it was longer still before he spoke. “Well, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.” He sighed deeply.

“Come on … how bad can it be?”

The coldness of the conditioner was like an elixir to her scalp, and once his hands began their therapy again, she relaxed even more, closed her eyes and was quite happy to wait for Mackenzie to continue. The lotions smelled refreshing and clean.

“I was born in a small suburb called Logan Village.” Mackenzie’s voice was like a lullaby adding another delightful element to her experience. “It was about an hour outside of Brisbane. Most of my childhood is a blur though. It was just Mum, Dad and I and we moved around a lot. I went to nine schools in the first four years, and I never had many friends because we were always moving. Until I was eleven. That was the year it all went to shit.”

“What do you mean?”

He stopped massaging. “Shhh. If you want me to tell my story, you’ll have to keep quiet. Rodney’s the only person who knows it all … knew it all.”

“Okay.” Abigail frowned at the sadness in his voice. So far Mackenzie had been nothing but jovial in telling his stories, but she sensed she was now in for something completely opposite.

“My dad was a bit of a drinker. He said it helped him sleep. Most nights he started with a couple of beers but then he’d turn to the rum. One night he was in a foul mood and Mum decided to take me out for ice cream. To get me away from him, I guess. It was pouring with rain, and she was driving too fast. Anyway, she missed a turn and crashed into a tree. I only got concussion and bruising. But Mum … Mum died.”

“Oh Mack,” Abigail tried to sit up to face him, but he placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back into the seat.

“Shhh, do you want me to tell my story or not?”

“You poor thing. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Abigail. But it gets worse. Are you sure you want to hear it? ”

Abigail tried to sit up. She wanted to look at him, to see if he was all right, but again he eased her back down. “As long as you want to tell it.”

His fingers began massaging again and there was a long pause before he continued. “After Mum’s funeral, Dad’s drinking got worse. He’d look at me with such hatred, like I was the devil. He never actually came out and said it, but I know he blamed me for the crash. The more he drank, the worse he got. We fought all the time, and I couldn’t do anything right. Sometimes I found him going through my things, just looking for something to yell at me about. One night he started throwing stuff and punching walls and I just wanted him to stop. So, I grabbed the biggest knife I could find. I can still remember the sound of the blade as I pulled it from the knife block. I held the knife in front of me ... you know, like a relay baton. But when Dad saw me, he just laughed.”

Mackenzie finished rinsing the conditioner from her hair and brushed it with slow methodical movements. Abigail remained silent. Her heart squeezed at the mental picture she had of an eleven-year-old boy facing up to his father with a large knife.

She dreaded where this story was going and wished again that she could face him, to see if he was okay.

She opened her mouth and took a breath to say something, but before she could decide what, he said, “I still have nightmares about that laugh. He was crazy.”

“What did you do?”

He huffed. “I threw it at him, as hard as I could. It seemed to fly through the air in slow motion. But it fell short and skidded right to his feet. Dad bent down, grabbed it and flipped it for the handle. The look in his eyes was like something unworldly had overtaken him. I still can’t believe it happened. I just stood there; my feet frozen in the doorway. When he took a step toward me, I knew he was going to throw it. So, I turned and ran.”

Mackenzie squeezed the excess water from her hair and smoothed a towel over it.

“I don’t know how long I ran, most of the night, I guess. I ended up sleeping in a big concrete pipe in our school playground. The next day’s a blur. I was petrified and didn’t want to go home.” He started untangling her hair with his fingers. “It was late the next night before I went back. Found Dad passed out in a drunken stupor on the lounge.”

He removed the towel from her shoulders and wrapped up her wet hair.

Abigail took the opportunity to slide forward and stand up. She turned to Mackenzie, wrapped her arms around him and listened to his steady heartbeat. “Then what?”

“Come on.” He stepped back. “Let’s get you dry and start the fire; I’ll tell you the rest later.”

She blinked. “But you can’t stop now.”

“Shhh, let’s get the fire going first.”

Mackenzie had that stubborn spark in his eye and there was no point arguing. She trotted into the plane, removed the towel from her hair, rubbed vigorously, then dressed in warmer clothes, re-wrapped her hair and scooted back to help him with the fire.

“That was quick! You normally spend hours in there.”

“Come on … get the fire going.” She ran into the forest and cursed at how long it took to gather wood. They had to traipse further and further from the campsite to find it. She scurried back and forth, tossing armfuls of timber onto the flames.

He smiled at her, and she playfully thumped him on the shoulder. “Stop mucking around.”

“It’s okay, we’re not going anywhere. I’ve got all night to tell my sad story.”

He was right. She’d grown to love their nightly ritual of sitting around the fire telling their life stories and getting to know each other. She bowed her head. “Okay. I’ll get the rest of the meat.”

Leaving Mackenzie to load up the fire she was flooded with extreme shame and embarrassment over how eagerly she’d told her trivial stories, all pathetic and superficial compared to Mackenzie’s revelation.

Spiralling out of control, she acknowledged her worthlessness.

Nothing about her life was important anymore. Not her friends, her money or her ideologies. She’d ruined every opportunity to do something important with her life, to be someone, and each time she failed, she’d blamed someone else, usually Spencer.

Angry with herself, she brushed away her tears, but at the same time, this was the moment where she cracked open her personality and remoulded herself.

Never again would she be the pathetic, Mrs. Abigail Mulholland.

She was Abi.

She was ready to be her own person, ready to show emotions, to love, to hurt and to cry, regardless of who watched.

Pushing her shoulders back, she wiped her eyes, removed the cold quoll meat from the cockpit and with her shoulders back, she carried it to the fire. She hoped the diminishing sunlight would stop Mackenzie from seeing her sadness.

She flopped into her chair and examined her filthy fingernails as she waited for him to join her. Once the sun set and the wind died down, the stillness allowed sounds to carry.

Many sounds she recognised. . . hooting owls, screeching bats, croaking frogs and the never-ending crickets. The whole wilderness seemed to be crying out for a companion.

Scanning the dark tree line, she watched for Mackenzie’s return and each passing moment confirmed how much she thrived on his company.

Nobody else had ever made her feel this way.

It was a pleasant thought that had her smiling like a giddy teenager.

But they were about to delve into another depth of their relationship and although she knew she was going to hear something truly tragic, she hoped she’d be able to offer him the right words at the right time.

Finally, Mackenzie walked toward her with a large stick he was using like a walking cane. His eyes were downcast, obviously deep in thought.

He sat down beside her and as he poked the coals with the stick, a darkness washed over his expression that was so bleak, her heart nearly cracked in two.