Kevin reached over and clasped his fingers tightly around my shoulder in a grip that could have broken my bones with one more ounce of pressure. ‘Sunny, come on, we’re leaving.’ He guided me away from the bus.
‘Wait!’ said Karen, coming after us. ‘You can’t go. Why was the shirt hidden in your house, Kevin? You haven’t answered that question. Sunny says it was hidden in the laundry. For God’s sake, Shelley!’
‘Come on,’ said Kevin, grabbing my suitcase and trying to push me through the crowd.
Shelley, still holding the shirt, put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder as we went past. ‘I don’t need to tell you not to leave town, do I?’ she said.
Kevin sighed and shook his head. ‘Whatever you say, Shelley.’
I glanced back to try to catch Matt’s eye. He stood by the bus, his hands hanging by his sides. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed, shaking his head.
It was only at that moment that I realised the heavens had opened and fat drops of rain were bouncing off the bitumen, forming cool rivulets that swirled and snaked into the dusty gutters. The wet season had finally arrived.
Kevin was mute with anger. He leant toward the windscreen, trying to see the road, because even with the wipers flicking furiously on the fastest setting the glass was a blur of water after each swipe. The drive back to Kingfisher Farm was a crawling eternity of hammering rain and ticking wipers. When we stopped in front of the house, he turned to me.
‘Why did you do that, Sunny?’
The rain drummed on the roof of the Toyota and I could imagine the dirt and grass being trampled and subdued by the weight of the droplets. I didn’t know how to answer him.
‘I’m going in,’ I said, yanking my backpack from the seat and opening the door. I stepped out and cold raindrops stung my skin.
‘Get back here! We need to talk,’ Kevin yelled over the downpour.
‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ I slammed the door and trudged toward the house, not bothering to rescue my suitcase from the back of the ute.
To say I didn’t sleep that night is an understatement. I think there may have been moments of unconsciousness, but they were troubled, spiralling, and nightmare-ridden. Insomnia lay next to me, twirling my hair in his finger, laughing in my ear.
A few hours from morning, in the midst of Three O’clock Horrors territory, I sat up in bed. I half-expected Mum to appear before me, that chastising look in her eyes, but even she, in my darkest hour, had abandoned me.
I pushed Merv and the cat off my legs and turned on my light. The rain continued to pound on the roof. This was the wet season with explosive vengeance. It could rain like this for days, filling the rivers and turning the cane fields into lakes, drowning cattle and isolating farmhouses. Serious rain. Maybe I’d finally get my moat around the house. But that idea no longer seemed romantic, especially with me being trapped in the castle keep.
I tiptoed out of my room and turned down the hall to the front door. Surely Mum would be out there in her chair, watching the rain. She always loved to do that. I opened the door and stepped out. The light from my bedroom window spilled onto the veranda.
I could just make out Mum’s chair at the other end.
She wasn’t there.
I walked the length of the veranda, avoiding the leaks that dripped onto the boards, and sat in her chair. Everything felt damp. ‘I’m back. You should be happy,’ I murmured, my voice lost in the sound of tumbling water on corrugated iron. A seam of anger laced though me. I needed to pack that bag again. I needed to go and see Matt. Make some plans. This wasn’t over yet.
By morning the rain had not relented and fell steady and hard. No horizon was visible, the sky a dome of grey. The animals slept, cosy in the dry and warmth of the house. I stayed in my room for as long as I could bear, waiting for the rain to ease, but by ten there was no sign of that happening. I went to the kitchen and sat staring out the back door at the giant brown pools of water that had become the yard. Mervie followed me, lying under the table near my feet.
‘Jeez, Merv, stop stalking me.’ I was annoyed with him, trailing on my heels. It wasn’t his fault; I knew that, but his presence reminded me that I wasn’t supposed to be there. We’d said our goodbyes.
Kevin had brought the cows in under the shed and was digging trenches nearby. He wore a long yellow raincoat and hood and was hunched over the shovel, trying to direct the water away from the buildings. When he’d finished he went into his cave once more, closing the corrugated iron door behind him.
That was my cue to go and see Matt.
My bike struggled across the yard, getting bogged in the ankle-deep pools of muddy water, but once I was on the harder ground of the driveway I managed to get it going. Mum’s old blue raincoat and hood did little to keep out the rain; it ran down the front of my neck and under the plastic, chilling me. By the time I got to the Harrison farm I was pretty much soaked. Matt’s yard was a small lake much like ours; I waded through it and parked my bike under the house. His van wasn’t there and I thought I might have wasted my journey, but I climbed the stairs anyway and called out through the open kitchen door.
‘Matt?’ I peeled off my raincoat and left it on the landing. ‘Hello?’ I walked through the house to his bedroom. The door was closed so I knocked gently.
‘Hang on.’ A few moments later the door opened. Matt stood
