Ora's Gold Read online

  I pick up the book and open it at random:

  ‘Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.’

  ― Lao Tzu

  That’s all I need! A reminder of how few people I have in my life to love or be loved by. Tears prick my eyes as I riffle through the musty clothes and do a bitter tally. Mother and sister—dead. Father—who cares? Aunt—missing. Jake—probably dead. Lucy—not speaking to me. Melissa—no idea.

  My hand closes on something cool and slithery. Astonished, and suddenly a whole lot lighter, I feel a slow smile come to my lips. Do I dare? Nah … Leggings with silver sequins? Way too disco. How come these have ended up with Dione?

  A memory flashes: Mum’s ‘Oooh!’ as she pulled the leggings from the rack. Holly and I roaring with delight at her crazy moves as she strutted around the shop. We were going to have a party in honour of the sequins.

  But she never wore them again.

  Right here and now, feeling more alone than ever, the memory of Mum’s wild side ignites something in me and I decide these leggings are going on an outing. I won’t know anyone other than Melissa and Tom, but I don’t care. I’m going crazy on my own. Besides, a bush doof is much more outrageous than sequinned leggings.

  I pull on my knee-high black boots over the shimmering pants and dig out my favourite black top. The fabric is soft and gently swings and slinks as I walk; good for dancing, I think, with a bubble of excitement.

  *

  There are tea lights in jam jars lining the long driveway as I make my way up to the house. I’ve been on edge the whole way; my wild need for release is battling anxious thoughts about what’ll happen if a SIF van sees Dione’s car. What if I’m putting Tom and his family in danger by coming here?

  The beat of the bass enters my body as soon as I get out of the car. A moment of doubt washes through me as I look down at my shiny legs, striding towards the music. But I don’t stop.

  An open-sided marquee stands at the back of the house, filled with tables, chairs and food. People are dancing already, while others stand and sit, talking merrily. I’m taking it all in when I find myself scooped up in a big beery hug.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Dione’s niece, Ora! How are ya darl?’ Tom asks with a lopsided smile and a bit of a slur. He looks behind me for Dione.

  ‘She’s not here. She’s been gone for weeks,’ I blurt, forgetting about the usual pleasantries. Everything goes still as he looks at me, taking this in.

  ‘I read something about a crackdown but I just thought it was free-media bullshit.’

  ‘Have the SIF been here?’ I ask, holding my breath.

  ‘God no! Little Tom is in the system like he was born into it. We made sure of that. They have no idea we employed Dione.’

  I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried that he doesn’t say anything about Jake. I can’t ask, not yet.

  We stand awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. Tom looks straight at me. ‘She’ll be all right, Ora. She’s a clever one, that Dione. Come on,’ he says, grabbing my hand. ‘Let’s get you a beer. It’s a winner, even if I say so myself.’

  Melissa appears and gives me a hug.

  ‘Hello, stranger.’ Maybe she isn’t mad at me?

  As Tom passes me a beer, she says, ‘I reckon Ora would prefer the punch over your home-brew.’

  Tom raises his eyebrows, puts the beer down and pours us each a long glass of something that looks more like pink toilet cleaner than anything drinkable.

  ‘But watch out,’ Melissa grabs my hands like we’re still friends, which makes me smile. ‘It’s got a kick in it too. Why haven’t you called me back?’

  ‘What? You’re the one who hasn’t called me back.’

  ‘Rubbish! I rang and texted loads, which was pretty nice considering you never bothered to reply.’

  I’m about to bark back something similar when I realise the SIF must have been meddling with my phone. Haven’t they got anything better to do? I look around, trying to decide if it’s safe to tell Melissa what’s been happening. I’ve already lost Lucy. I can’t lose another friend. There are too many people at this party, it’s overwhelming. I can’t think straight. But I’m going to pop if I don’t say something. So I start talking, unpacking the past few weeks—but only the bare minimum. My voice is strange and kind of removed. I know I’ll start blubbing if I’m not careful. I don’t mention Jake.

  I can’t.

  Shock, compassion and anger roll over Melissa’s face. Her eyes widen and her forehead crumples. She keeps saying she can’t believe it. I feel like I’m about to cry. Seeing it through her eyes makes things worse.

  I have to change the subject.

  ‘Hey I came here to have fun! Not talk about this stuff. How’s Little Tom?’

  ‘Oh, he’s great.’ I can see she’s worried, but she goes along with the subject change. ‘He’s talking more and more. Mum’s looking after him tonight, but you’ll see him in the morning.’

  I don’t tell her I’m not staying. I ask her about her clothing label. She’s been experimenting with transferring my designs onto fabric!

  ‘That’s great!’ Finally, something to be happy about.

  ‘That’s why I was trying to get hold of you. I needed your help’

  ‘I’m sorry, Melissa. Let’s get together next week. We won’t let those SIF bastards get between us!’ I’m about to ask her about Jake when some of her friends come over. She keeps trying to pull me into the conversation, but the small talk is doing my head in.

  I drift away and sit down near the speakers. Soon my whole chest is pumping with the music. The first sip of fruit punch makes me recoil—it’s way too strong—but the alcohol warms my veins and I can just taste the fruit flavours. After a few mouthfuls, I push the drink away.

  The dance floor is under the stars, as promised, just beyond the marquee. It’s in the shape of a huge square, flanked by giant gum trees towering above us on one side and a paddock fence on the other. The DJ has set up her console on the far side, opposite the marquee, enclosing the dancers comfortably. Behind the DJ, rolling paddocks stretch to the horizon. People are dancing freely, immersed in the music. There’s one couple locked in an embrace, and occasionally people connect, but mostly the dancers are following their bodies, eyes closed, arms undulating, legs moving.

  I stand up too quickly—I’m dizzy. If I watch any longer I know I won’t dance, so I step onto the dusty ground, feeling the beat rise up through the earth, letting my feet slide and turn, circling, spinning me around.

  I sense someone watching me from the middle of the marquee, but instead of looking, I sink into the glorious feel of my body loosening up. I have been watched for too many days. Besides, whoever it is, they’re looking at the leggings, not me.

  I hang forward from my hips, upside down, the top of my head just above the ground. My feet and legs gently step on the spot and my upper body sways. Holly showed me this trick years ago, to let the music in and ‘your thoughts fall out’. It’s true, there’s no room for thinking, and when I stand up the dance is in me, my mind a distant whisper.

  The sequinned leggings strut their stuff and I’m away, letting the movements take me. I don’t care if people think I’m dancing too hard or wildly. My body has taken over, shaking out the last few weeks of my life.

  It feels like the DJ’s playing songs just for me. Some of them I know, but a lot are new. She’s playing them in waves; starting with slow and flowing beats, blending each tune seamlessly. Building in crescendo, moving into rock with a jagged beat that makes me find my edges. Then she moves us into a frenzy, bringing out the wild side in every dancer on the floor. Just when it feels like I don’t have any energy left, she plays a few lyrical tracks that reach high above us, making my steps light and my arms stretch up to the stars. Then she rolls in the last part of the wave with music that has a stillness at its core, driving me to move from the centre of my breath.

  And we’re off ag
ain, on another wave. I can’t remember how many songs I’ve danced to but suddenly I get a stomach cramp. The pain makes me double over, but I can’t stop dancing; something makes me keep moving through it. I know if I stop, my thoughts will crash in. I put my hands on my thighs and lean forward slightly, rocking from side to side like a sumo wrestler, breathing into the heart of the pain in my belly, and feeling the excruciating wrench as something rips at my insides.

  Flashbacks come thick and fast: the interrogation centre, Jake in his wetsuit, Dione’s face, swimming and crying, dogs chasing me, birthing mothers, the SIF, the mountain, Dad, Holly, Mum, Dione again. I breathe harder and the pain shifts.

  I start to move and open up the front of my body as much as I can, opening my shoulders, leaning my head back so my throat arches up to the night sky. It feels like something is coming out of my stomach, just above my navel. I have the crazy thought that I am giving birth, here, on the dance floor. It feels so real. The pain is real and the breathing is real. The image of a dragon coming out of my belly soars into my mind. Suddenly I am the dragon, wings and claws finding their way out of my belly. I am moving as the dragon—breaking out and free.

  Once I’m out, the pain vanishes and I become the wildest whirling dervish. Turning and jumping at the same time, my great black wings lifting me high off the floor mid-turn. The power is phenomenal as I leap and stretch, twirl and shimmy. I am breathing fire from my throat and flying all around, weaving in and out of the other dancers.

  The chaotic music shifts into lyrical, bringing me out of my frenzy and into a glide. I am soaring now. My consciousness expands across the paddocks and up into the air. No SIF bastards can get me now!

  Gradually, gently we move into stillness. A Tibetan singing bowl chimes deeply over the speakers and a throat singer pulls me back into the world of the living. I stand in one spot, rocking and swaying, ever so slightly, feeling my heart pumping inside my chest and my ribs lifting, gasping for air.

  I don’t want to open my eyes. My mind is crashing in and I’m starting to freak out. What was that? What just happened? I am going mad. The music is already on another wave, flowing into the darkness of the night. I can’t move—my body feels so tired. I sense someone standing opposite me and open my eyes slowly.

  Jake?

  Here?

  ‘Hello, Ocean Woman,’ he smiles, taking my hand gently. I’ve barely caught my breath and here is in front of me? Back from the dead. Am I imagining him?

  He starts leading me to a table. I follow, dumbfounded, trying not to notice the curious stares drawn by my crazy performance. But I feel them anyway, eyes roving over me. Jake moves a chair out for me and guides me into it.

  ‘I’ll get you a drink,’ he says, and moves towards the bar.

  ‘Water … please,’ I croak, tasting the dry and bitter remnants of the fruit punch. What did they put in that drink?

  As Jake returns I see he’s limping. Gone is his easy grace. He still stands out, a head above the crowd, moving confidently, but there’s a definite falter. My stomach drops to my toes. Does he blame me? He sits in the chair beside me and plonks a bottle of water under my nose. It’s been in an icebox and is covered in condensation. I take great gulps, freezing my throat. When I put it back on the table I watch the trickles of water running down the outside of the bottle. I’ve wished for this moment so often, but now I don’t know what to say.

  We sit, trapped in an awkward pause that lasts for weeks. I still can’t look at him. Something about Jake makes me want to cry.

  ‘Shall we go somewhere else?’ he asks quietly.

  Yes. That’s what I need. I love you …

  Where the hell did that come from? Terror instantly replaces the thought. But one look down at Mum’s wild leggings makes me take his hand and start walking out to the paddocks beyond. I see a gum tree beckoning in the distance and gesture towards it. As we walk, I think I sense the dragon above us, flying silently.

  I feel a newfound strength; my feet and legs are sure and steady as we make our way to the tree. We slide our backs down the trunk and sit against it, shoulder to shoulder. I visualise the giant roots below, reaching out as far as the branches above. The night-filled countryside is the perfect backdrop for the thousands upon thousands of stars blazing in the sky.

  Eventually, I break the silence. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘About your legs.’

  ‘Legs? I only broke one.’ I take this in slowly. ‘The physio reckons it’ll be back to normal in a couple of months. If I keep swimming hard, the limp will be gone altogether.’

  Relief seeps and settles into furrows worn deep by worry.

  ‘Were you in the coma for long?’ I ask.

  He looks puzzled again. ‘I was never in a coma.’

  I stare at him, rage building. I speak very slowly. ‘They told me you were in a coma.’

  ‘They are bastards,’ he says, equally slowly. ‘They told me you’d done a runner to New South Wales.’ We fall silent, seething at their lies and our own gullibility.

  ‘Fuck!’ I shout, jumping up. My voice carries far into the paddocks. ‘Shit! Bastards!’ I don’t want to swallow this. I want to scream it out. All the nights of heartache and guilt, imagining Jake in a hospital bed, crippled or dead. When I finally sit down again he smiles. ‘They didn’t break us though, did they?’

  I snort and search the horizon, then look back at him.

  ‘But why haven’t you been at the beach?’ I can feel the anger wanting to hone in on him now.

  ‘I’ve only just got out of rehab.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I couldn’t get about for weeks. I had to use the hydro pool every day. I didn’t contact Tom or Melissa for ages, I was too worried it might lead to trouble. I went to the beach once, but it didn’t feel right, just sitting there. Anyway, I thought you’d gone. I had no way of finding you.’

  ‘I tried to find you!’ I take a breath and imagine the fury sliding off my back. I won’t let the SIF interfere in my life anymore. I will never be that stupid again.

  He smiles widely and leans back against the tree. ‘But here we are again, away from it all, surrounded by nature.’ His voice is deep and comical. ‘A tree above us, instead of a tent …’

  I see the humour but can still feel echoes of fury ricocheting inside me, despite my efforts.

  ‘So did they interrogate you?’ I ask.

  ‘They tried. But I just kept telling them that we’d gone camping together. I acted all indignant that they were even talking to me.’

  ‘That was clever.’

  ‘I’m a clever kind of guy,’ he jokes.

  I sit back against the tree, feeling easier. His arm comes around me and I lean into him, instantly remembering his warmth from so many weeks ago.

  What was that quote about strength and love and courage? His muscles and his breath feel good as I let him hold me. I smile into the darkness, giving him a squeeze, noticing his presence in my heart.

  ‘I’m thinking about my bed at home,’ I say, remembering how sweet it was to spend the whole night next to him.

  ‘Mmm?’ he answers.

  ‘And, erm … it might be more comfortable than a tent with baying hounds outside …’ I trail off, stunned at myself. Am I really propositioning this guy, who I hardly know? But I feel like I do know him.

  ‘Mmm?’ he says again, eyes shining, possibly enjoying my discomfort; clearly liking the invitation.

  I stand up brusquely, embarrassed. And then he’s up too, holding my shoulders and staring at me, into me. His hand moves to the back of my neck and we lean into each other. My hands go around him and our lips meet. He feels tender. Tongues touching, knees softening, searching each other out. My hands move over his back. I can feel the frenzy from the dance floor return. I want to inhale him, consume him.

  ‘Whoa,’ he says, coming up for air, and I burst out laughing, delighted and horrified by my passion. He laughs too, thankfully. We stand hugging
, giggling, swaying …

  ‘I think we should head home,’ I say thickly, finding some self-control. And before he can answer I take his hand and find my stride.

  18

  Alone

  We can’t find Melissa to say goodbye but we let Tom know we’re off. We walk down the driveway still holding hands, neither of us talking.

  Jake climbs into Dione’s passenger seat like he’s done it a thousand times before. I’m totally self-conscious about my driving. Here I am cruising through the dark with this beautiful guy sitting next to me, making me feel a hundred things at once.

  I’m glad I have the steering wheel to hold onto. He looks all nonchalant sitting there, like he’s out for a Sunday drive with his granny.

  Just as I’m thinking this and snatching a quick look, Jake breaks into his big wide grin.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m just remembering your dance,’ he says with a laugh. ‘You were pretty wild there for a minute.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Hey, you were great. You’ve got some moves!’ He laughs again. ‘It was the other dancers, they didn’t know what’d hit them.’ He’s chuckling now. ‘They just stopped and looked at you with their mouths open, like you were some kind of tornado!’

  I start laughing too, realising how funny it must have looked, a lunatic going off on the dance floor. Even if the lunatic was me. Right now I don’t care.

  ‘Were you channelling some kind of spirit or something?’ he asks. The laughter is still in his voice, but he’s staring at me hard.

  I keep my eyes on the road, glad of the distraction. Holly’s voice rings in my ears. ‘Just tell it how it is!’ she’d say when she saw me struggling for words.

  I take a breath in. ‘I was channelling something, I think.’ There’s a long silence, then I add, ‘But it wasn’t bad or anything.’

  He’s definitely going to know I’m mad now.

  ‘So what was it?’ This guy doesn’t give up.