Five Years From Now by Paige Toon
‘That sucks,’ he murmurs.
‘It’s just the way it is.’
‘Is she still with the guy who sells yachts?’
‘Robert. Yeah, they’re still married, thankfully. At least I know she’s being looked after.’
The longer we stare at the sky, the more stars we see. Now it almost seems milky-white with them, countless tiny galaxies bursting through the inky blackness.
‘Do you want kids?’ Van asks out of the blue.
‘Um, yes. I mean, definitely, one day, with the right person. I’ve always wanted a big family. I was kind of lonely until you came along, so I’d prefer not to have an only child if I can help it. What about you?’
‘Yeah. Same.’
Before I can find out why he wanted to know, he asks another question. ‘Has your dad ever had another girlfriend?’
‘No, he never moved on from your mum. At one stage, I tried to encourage him to get out more, but he wasn’t having any of it. She was the one true love of his life and nobody could replace her. It’s kind of tragic.’
‘What do they say?’ he asks. ‘Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?’
‘Yeah.’
I reflect on that statement. Would Dad have chosen a stable, uniform life rather than the five wonderful years he had with Ruth, followed by the crushing pain of losing her?
No way.
He would have taken one year, if that’s all he’d been offered. He probably would have settled for a month.
Sometimes I wonder, if Ruth hadn’t died, if she and Dad had stayed together, if I didn’t have to worry about his health – all of it resting on my shoulders – would I still be in London, working at a magazine and pursuing my dreams?
Would Van and I have ever felt an attraction if we’d grown up together from the ages of five to now?
You could do your head in, thinking about it.
I take a deep breath. ‘Dad once said to me, “Five years from now, you’ll look back and understand why this happened”.’
‘When did he say that?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you because it reminded me that we overheard your mum saying a similar thing.’
I don’t know if he recalls it himself or if he’s waiting for me to fill in the gaps, but he listens as I continue.
‘We were five years old and we were eavesdropping at the top of the stairs. Your mum was talking about how scared she was when she found out she was pregnant with you and had to go back and live with her mother. She said she thought her life was over.’ Van tenses and I instinctively reach for his little finger and hook it, protectively, just as I did all those years ago. My voice sounds choked as I continue. ‘But then she said, if she had known where she’d be in five years’ time, she never would have worried. She was so happy with Dad, with us. She loved you to the stars and back.’
He tightens his grip on my finger.
‘You should call your mum,’ he whispers. ‘She might be shit, but she’s still your mum.’
Van isn’t working the next day so he takes us on a tour of Uluru. The heat when we stepped off the plane came as a bit of a shock, and today it’s the same when we climb out of his air-conditioned jeep.
I’ll be honest, I was a bit underwhelmed at the thought of visiting a big rock in the middle of nowhere, but last night I was blown away by the sight of this huge mass drenched in light from the setting sun. Even more surprising is how breathtaking it is up close. You can’t get a sense of the size and shape of it when it’s towering above you – it’s absolutely enormous.
Uluru is sacred to the Pitjantjatjara Anangu, the Aboriginal people of the area, and it’s considered disrespectful to climb the rock. That doesn’t mean people don’t still do it, though – it’s not illegal, unbelievably – and I’m disgusted at the sight of dozens of tourists trudging their grubby feet up the side. One heavily overweight man is practically on his knees as he hauls himself up by the rope and, astonishingly, there are children climbing it, too. Dozens of people have died doing this trek since the 1950s.
‘Are they completely stupid as well as ignorant and disrespectful?’ I mutter.
Van clenches his jaw. ‘Yeah, it bothers me, too. Don’t get Sam started, though, you’ll never hear the end of it.’
We wander along a path, under the shade of a surprising number of trees. Elsewhere, everything seems so dry and arid, but here the grass is green rather than yellow.
‘You should see it in a storm,’ Van says. ‘The water cascades down in dozens of waterfalls.’
Dad is loitering by a cave, staring in at some Aboriginal paintings.
‘It’s so beautiful up close like this,’ I murmur, trying to take it all in. ‘The sandstone glitters under the sun.’ Shards of rock have slid off the surface, leaving behind speckled patches of grey-black which contrast with the orangey-red. ‘It’s almost like a living, breathing thing, shedding scales,’ I say.
Van stares at me for a long moment, then he asks, ‘Do you still write?’
I shake my head and pull a face. ‘I haven’t felt very inspired lately.’
I try to ignore his look of disappointment and glance over my shoulder to check where Dad is. We’re only walking slowly, but he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to catch us up.
‘Did you get hold of Nick last night?’ Van asks.
‘No.’ I remembered when Van dropped me back to the hotel that I’d promised to call him. ‘He’d already gone downstairs to work, so I left a message. The mobile reception at the pub is terrible.’
‘I can’t believe you work at The Boatman.’ His tone is as arid as the sand we’re walking on.
‘Why?’ My hackles go up. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing, if you’re me. Forget it,’ he says before I can get to the bottom of his comment. ‘I know you’ve had a lot of shit to deal with. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.’
‘It’s all right. He’s my dad.’
‘I care about him a lot, too.’
‘I know you do.’
We walk on in silence.
‘I love this cave here,’ Van says, coming to a stop. ‘It reminds me of a wave.’
It’s big – three times the height of Van – and it curves way up behind us and right over our heads as we walk inside. I can almost imagine Van surfing the face of it before he disappears from view into a barrel.
‘I can’t wait to go surfing again,’ he says.
‘Not long now. Sam isn’t coming with us, is she?’ I double-check.
‘Nah, she didn’t want to take the time off work. We’re going home for a break at the end of January.’
‘Not for Christmas?’
‘No. It’s one of our busiest times of year.’
I nod, turning to smile at Dad as he appears.
We end up back at the cultural centre, where Sam works. It’s interesting, reading about Tjukurpa, the traditional law that guides Anangu daily life, and I love the Dreamtime stories that claim to tell how Uluru came to be.
Sam is serving a customer when we go into the shop that sells Aboriginal arts and crafts. Two Anangu women are sitting on the floor, painting, and I stand nearby and watch, captivated, as they dab tiny, perfect dots onto a canvas to create a colourful picture. They don’t so much as look at me as they continue to work, chatting to each other the entire time.
‘How was the rock?’ Sam asks when I go over to say hi.
‘Incredible. So much prettier up close than I thought it’d be.’
‘Did you climb it?’ From the judgemental look in her eyes, I’m very glad to be answering no to that question.
‘So you’re an artist, too?’ I glance over at the Aboriginal women again.
‘I dabble,’ Sam replies.
‘Have you ever tried to get Van back into painting?’
She frowns. ‘It was his mum who could paint, not him.’
‘No, he could paint, too. He was really good when he was younger.’
&n
He spins around. ‘What?’ he snaps.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you could paint?’ She sounds accusatory, but I’m not sure if she’s being serious or jesting.
His eyes dart towards me and then he frowns at her, displeased. ‘I can’t paint.’ He looks over at me again. ‘I was ten, Nell. I was only messing around.’
‘No, you were good,’ I hear Dad say. ‘You won a competition.’
Van rolls his eyes and turns away. A moment later, he places his hand on Dad’s shoulder and continues to chat as though they were never interrupted.
Sam returns to me with a shrug and a grin, totally unfazed.
But I feel snubbed.
That night, Dad and I end up back at the bar while Van works. Once more, Sam declined to join us and I’m a little relieved. I’m not proud admitting it, but I’m glad she’s not coming with us to Adelaide and Port Lincoln. I don’t feel at all relaxed in her company.
I still feel stung about earlier, so when Dad starts making noises about going to bed, I force myself to leave, too. Van seems surprised as I make my excuses and hop down from the stool.
‘I haven’t got hold of Nick yet,’ I tell him.
‘What do you think about this, then?’ Van asks Dad, and although he nods at me affably, I detect an edge to his tone.
‘Oh, Nick’s okay,’ Dad replies glibly. ‘He makes her smile and that’s all a father can ask. Anyway, innocent until proven guilty!’ he jokes, nudging me.
‘Tomorrow I’ll take you guys to Kata Tjuta,’ Van says, moving on. ‘I think it’s even nicer there than Uluru.’
We’ve seen it from the car – it’s a large group of domed rock foundations, the highest of which is nearly 200 metres taller than Uluru.
‘Do you reckon you’ll be up for a bit of a hike?’ he asks Dad.
‘Absolutely. But I’ll also be happy sitting in the shade for a bit if you two want to go on.’
‘I’ll bring a backpack with plenty of water,’ Van promises.
The next morning, I wake up bright and early, keen to get going. My mood deflates when I see that Van has brought Sam with him.
I’m annoyed at myself. She is his girlfriend, the voice inside my head berates me. She’s currently an important part of his life and I need to make an effort to get to know her. I resolve to spend the day stuck to her side.
At the end of a long, tiring hike, Sam gives Dad and me a hug. Van is working tonight at the hotel bar and tomorrow morning we all fly to Adelaide, so for Sam and us, this is goodbye.
‘It was so good to meet Van’s other family,’ she gushes. ‘Maybe one day we’ll make it over to England. I hear it’s stunning where you live.’
‘That would be great,’ I say with a smile that’s as warm as I can make it.
Van seems more subdued at work that night. When Dad goes to the bathroom, he asks me if I’m up for another drive later.
I’ve been trying to ignore my craving to be alone with him, but now it’s all-encompassing. I respond with a nod.
Once more, we head out to the middle of nowhere and climb up onto the roof of his jeep. We lie there in silence for a while, with only the stars as our witnesses.
‘Have you ever told anyone about us?’ Van asks.
‘No!’ Nervous jitters instantly start up inside my stomach. ‘Have you?’
‘Dave guessed. After last time.’
‘Did he?! What did he say?’
‘Not much. I didn’t go into detail.’
‘Have you told Sam?’
‘Christ, no.’
My mind races as we fall silent.
‘When are you planning on going back to London?’ he asks eventually.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘I’m not ready to leave Dad, yet.’
‘Well, don’t delay too long.’
I frown into the darkness. ‘Why do you say that?’ He’s made me feel defensive again. ‘I like it at The Boatman.’ I know that’s what his problem is. ‘You work at a bar…’
‘Yeah. But I had higher expectations for you. You had plans. Hopes. Dreams.’
‘What about you? What about your hopes and dreams?’
‘I don’t have any.’
‘Bullshit!’ I sit up, frustrated.
He sits up, too. ‘Nell, I quit school when I was fifteen. This is my life. I’m not exactly going to be a high achiever. But you… Why don’t you write any more?’ he demands to know.
‘What don’t you paint?’ I snap back, raising my voice.
‘You didn’t go to university to do a degree in waitressing,’ he says angrily.
‘Well, you didn’t go to university to do a degree in being an arsehole, but you still are!’
‘There. There you are,’ he states. ‘I thought I’d lost you today under all of the fucking pleasantries.’
‘Piss off, Van, I was trying to be nice to your girlfriend,’ I spit, getting up to make my way down the ladder. ‘Take me back to the hotel!’ I climb into the jeep and slam the door. Van joins me a minute later.
We drive in silence, both of us at simmering point. He pulls into the car park and cuts the ignition, but if I thought I was due an apology, I’m in for a blow.
‘You’re wasting your life,’ he states.
‘I’m not wasting my life!’ I scoff. ‘I’m happy. I’m having fun.’
‘With Nick? Nick, Nell? Seriously?’ Van stabs the interior lights on with his finger and glares at me. ‘What the fuck? “I wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole…” Your words!’
He must’ve overheard me saying that to Joel years ago!
And he’s not done. ‘That guy would screw anything on two legs. Why don’t you have some fucking respect for yourself?’
The sound reverberates around the vehicle. I don’t even know I’ve slapped him until a sharp sting registers on my palm.
I stare at him in shock. He’s even more astonished than me, a red welt mark springing to life on his cheek.
‘I’m so sorry!’ Tears of horror spring up into my eyes.
‘It’s all right,’ he mutters, averting his gaze. ‘I deserved it.’
I cup my hands over my mouth, reeling. I’ve never hit anyone in my life.
‘Fuck!’ he erupts, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. His eyes are wide with misery as he stares out of the front windscreen.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper again.
He shakes his head. ‘No, I’m sorry. Nell, please just get out of the car.’ His voice sounds strained. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
The plane to Adelaide is full so we don’t end up sitting together. Dad is on the other side of the aisle and Van is asleep in the seat behind me. When he met us at the hotel to catch the airport transfer bus, he looked horrendous. His eyes were red and puffy, his skin looked clammy and pasty and he stank of stale booze.
‘Had a few too many drinks at the staff bar last night,’ he mumbled to Dad.
He and I have barely looked at each other. I’m glad I’m not sitting next to him.
I peer out of the window. The sun is low in the sky and it’s reflected in the ocean, a ball of golden light rippling in the waves. The tidal water swirls around sandbanks and resembles clouds, and sunlight glints off the windows of the houses in the town far, far below, making me think of stars.
Sensing movement behind me, I glance down the side of my seat and come eye to eye with fireworks, exploding in a night sky.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Van asks. He’s leant in close, so he doesn’t have to raise his voice.
I point out the scene below. ‘It looks like the sky is on the ground.’
Seconds pass before I turn to look at him again.
‘Sam is pregnant,’ he tells me in a monotone.
Everything inside me withers.
His eyes fill with tears. ‘I’ve ask
My heart crumples and folds in on itself, again and again, until it’s a tiny, tough, origami heart. Once fragile, now it feels as hard as a stone and is impossible to shred.
Just like that, the book of my life slams shut on another chapter.
And a new one begins.
Thirty
‘Are you looking forward to doing some gardening with Grandad?’ I smile at Luke in the rear-view mirror as we pull up on the drive.
‘Yes.’ He nods, seriously, as he unclicks his seatbelt.
Too cute…
‘Dad?’ I call, entering the cottage via the hall. Luke diligently plonks himself down on the tiled floor and proceeds to yank off his navy-blue Crocs. ‘Dad?’ I call again. He’s not in the kitchen or living room and he wasn’t in the annexe when we walked past, either – I peeked through the window.
‘Maybe he’s already in the garden,’ I murmur, more to myself than my son. I know he’s here somewhere because his car is on the drive, but it’s odd that he didn’t appear when he heard us pull up.
I have a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach as I slip my feet back into my flip-flops. ‘Go play with your Lego, darling. Mummy will be back in a minute.’
I hurry out onto the patio, but as I head around the corner of the cottage towards the flowerbeds I see him, down on the bench, overlooking the water. His body is mostly obscured by the hydrangea bush that’s bursting with purple flowers.
‘There you are!’ I call.
He doesn’t respond.
Is he asleep?
My heart begins to pound as I hurry down the steep hill, my feet slipping and sliding beneath me in my haste to get to him. He’s crumpled over, his face grey and his eyes closed.
‘No, no, no… Dad!’ I cry, my hands on his arms.
He murmurs, stirring.
‘Oh, thank God! Dad!’ I exclaim. ‘Are you all right? Were you asleep?’
His eyes flutter open and he mumbles something.
‘Dad?’
‘Better call ambulance,’ he repeats.
Fear takes hold of my heart and crushes it to a pulp.