Afterward, he placed his cheek against her heart. She ran her hand up his neck, feeling the bristles on his chin, and then the soft hairless patch just under his lip. She pressed that smooth spot with the tip of her finger.
“Joelle, I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“All I ever want is to take care of you. No matter what. Forever.”
“I know.”
“I would do anything for you.”
She wriggled around and touched her lips lightly on his.
“No more talking.”
Chapter 4
Monday, August 21
Joelle
Vanishing Falls village
Loose straw blew like shredded tumbleweed up the empty main street. Outside the café, two police officers were speaking to a man who had uncovered hay bales piled on his truck. Joelle crossed the road so she wouldn’t have to go past the policemen. Seeing uniformed police officers always turned her legs watery and gave her a sudden urge to pee.
From the butchery steps she glanced back. The policemen were not looking in her direction. She went inside.
Her hands were shaking as she washed them, and they would shake for a while yet. There was nothing she could do about that. She scrubbed the back-room table and set up the mincing machine. When Joelle had first begun to make the mince, she had told Brian that the chunks of white beef fat were not going in. Fat made you fat; everyone knew that, even her stepfather used to say it. But Brian had taught her that fat was good for the mince and gave it the flavor. Their beef came from pastures at Cape Grim on the northwest coast. Huge winds blew off the Southern Ocean and coated the grass with salt and salt water. The farmers let the cattle graze for longer than was usual in other areas, letting them fatten up, giving time for the meat to absorb the flavor. Brian told their customers they would be able to taste the ocean in the meat.
She held her hands up. They were steady enough. It was dangerous to have shaky hands when you worked in a butchery. She shoved a hock of fat into the mincer and added a small side of beef. The mince that came out was bright and even, as it needed to be. When she had filled a large container, she put it in the front window. The sign said, “100% Grass-Fed Beef, $9.99/kg.”
The door swung open and Celia Lily entered. Everything about her was perfect, her green eyes and white-blond hair. Even her wrinkles seemed to be etched onto her face by a deft-fingered craftsman intent on hinting at the happiness that had caused this lovely creature to smile and laugh. You couldn’t help but grin when you saw her. She was so pretty.
“That’s a better price than the IGA,” she said.
“Cheap mince brings people into the shop.”
“Don’t tell me all your secrets. But that’s a great marketing ploy. Now, did you enjoy the school fair?”
“Yes. Well, parts of it.”
She wiped her palms on her apron. Blood rushed to her cheeks.
“I know what happened.” Celia rested her hand on the counter. Four rings. Joelle noted the different colors of the stones—red, yellow, blue, and green. “I’m so sorry. It’s unforgivable that they put you in that situation. I was really cross with Jack when he told me.”
Joelle began to say it didn’t matter but Celia continued.
“We’re really worried about Cliff. It’s so difficult. He’s addicted to methamphetamine. It’s that terrible drug that’s ruining so many lives.”
Joelle thought of something Nev had said one day when a noisy pack of motorbikes hammered down the main street. The men parked their huge machines outside the pub and acted like they didn’t notice everyone staring at their leather vests and muscular, tattoo-covered arms. “The bikers brought it here.”
“It’s a toxic drug,” Celia said. “Jack was trying to help Cliff when you saw them. He was intervening.”
“No, Jack was doing it too.” Joelle could see the pair of them in her mind: Jack held the pipe to his lips and white smoke came out of it. Cliff was flicking the lighter. A clear bag of something white sat on the toilet lid, which Cliff had quickly tried to hide. “I saw Jack with the glass pipe in his mouth.”
Celia frowned. Joelle realized she had made a mistake.
“You should be careful saying things like that.”
Joelle tried to think of the right thing to say. It was like looking for a certain stone in a muddy creek: the harder you looked, the murkier everything became.
“I wouldn’t like it if anyone heard you say that. People in this town talk too much.”
Joelle nodded. A truck holding sheep moved slowly up the main road. They could hear the lambs crying.
Celia winked. “Us girls have to stick together, don’t we?”
A sound like the ocean rushing remained in Joelle’s ears after Celia closed the butchery door behind her. Joelle held the cold counter tightly, worrying that if she let go, she would sink onto the floor. At the rear of the shop Brian flicked his knives on the sharpening stone. He was focused on his task.
Celia’s wink was the kind of falsely conspiratorial wink people gave to children. Joelle had seen that fake wink before, always on people who did not really like her.
* * *
Cliff
Vanishing Falls village
Behind the hotel and the hardware was an alley that smelled like pigeon shit. It was a good place to watch the butchery without being seen. He saw Celia go in and come out without buying anything. He considered following her and asking her what her business was in there. Fortunately, he saw the sense in not doing that.
When he was high, he had to remind himself to resist the urge to participate in actions that made him look dodgy, such as taking fifteen minutes to choose which brand of energy drink to buy from the IGA or giving the checkout lady a dissertation on how he had been spending the day. He had a mental checklist of things to remember: always wear sunglasses; don’t press your tongue to your teeth as it results in painful sores that take days to heal; don’t scratch; don’t adjust your watchband more than twice during an encounter; if a fascinating topic is raised, don’t pull out your phone and research it on Google excessively; and never, ever stop on the street and pick up what looks like a discarded meth bag—it won’t be, and doing so looks very suspicious in the eyes of the average passing pedestrian. All these things made a tweaker look tweakerish. For Cliff, the hardest challenge was to stop talking once he had begun.
A solution to this was calling his wife whenever he felt chatty. Today Kim was not in the mood to listen.
“Pull your head in. She’s not a police informer, you idiot.”
“You’re complacent, Kim, that’s your problem. Other women sort shit out for their husbands.”
“Good for them.”
“I’ve given her a warning.”
“What have you done?”
He had deliberately ripped only Joelle’s clothing off the clothesline. He had not touched the kids’ clothes or the butcher’s uniforms. However, it would not be smart to discuss these details on the telephone. “Let’s just say that I have sent her the message that someone is unhappy with her and that person knows where she lives.”
“The only message you’re sending is that you’re deranged.”
Her lack of respect angered him, and he ended the call.