Bitterwood, 1931
Orah hurried along the road, glad of the bright moonlight. She noticed an old utility parked beyond the hedge, and ran towards it, her satchel banging against her side, her shoes sliding around her feet.
‘Pa?’ she called hopefully. ‘Pa, wait!’
The vehicle was empty, and the only reply was the swish of waves on the beach far below. She was trembling, out of breath. Stopping, she rested her hands on her knees and tried to breathe slowly. Her hair had escaped its ribbon and whipped her face in the wind, blinding her. She paused to retie it. That was when she saw – at least, thought she saw – the solitary figure on the seaward edge of the headland. She started running towards him. Her body felt stretched out of shape, as in a dream; her legs too long for her body, wobbling all over the place, her arms weak and trembly. She wanted to call out, but her breath was trapped in her throat.
She ran along the headland, hearing the boom of water on the rocks below. She staggered, almost tripped. Her head ached horribly. She had been so angry, so hurt. Edwin had lied, and Clarice had been part of the lie too. They had betrayed her, and she hated them, hated their woeful excuses.
Your father was in a terrible state, ill and destitute, barely able to care for himself, let alone provide for a daughter—
Orah didn’t care. Soon she would be living with her father, helping him find his pot of glorious gold. She was clever, hadn’t he said so? She could cook for him, look after him, make his bed and shine his shoes. Use the skills she had learned at Bitterwood to restore him to the pa he had once been, with his rosy face and scratchy beard and bear hugs.
‘Pa!’
He turned, seemed to freeze on the spot.
Orah ran the last few feet and flung herself into his arms. ‘Pa, why didn’t you wait? I was so worried. I thought—’ She stopped. Her father’s face was ragged. Orah became aware of the smell, a tart unpleasantness that made her eyes water. She took a step away, searching her father’s face, seeing – not the joy she’d hoped for, but alarm.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘How did you know I’d be up here?’ There was no warmth in his voice, no pleasure.
‘I just . . . found you.’
His face twisted. ‘You’re no different to your mother. You’d hound a man into an early grave, wouldn’t you? I only came here to see that you were all right, lass. That’s all. I’d not intended to take you back with me. The shanties are no place for a young woman. You’d be a hindrance, a liability.’
Pa seemed to wilt. ‘You’re nearly fifteen now, Orah. A pretty thing, too,’ he added in a softer voice. ‘A man would have to spend all his time fending off unwanted attention. You see how it is, girl? I can’t take you with me, I won’t.’ He seemed about to take a step towards her, but then staggered sideways.
That was when she saw the bottle. It was almost empty, just the dregs of a brownish liquid at the bottom. She looked back at her father. His pale hair was stark against the shadows of his face, and his whiskers were now as white as those of an old man.
‘Pa?’
‘You shouldn’t have come after me,’ he said harshly. His lips drew back from around his teeth, and he spun away from her. Orah feared he meant to fling himself from the cliff edge – but his arm swung out, and he hurled the bottle. Orah watched it arc over the waves and then drop, disappearing into the water without a splash.
Pa turned to face her. ‘Go back to the house.’ Then he said, more softly, ‘I can’t take you with me, Orah girl. It’s madness out there, a man can barely fend for himself, let alone take care of a lass. Go on with you now, get back to your people. Back to where you belong.’
Orah gritted her teeth. ‘They’re not my people. I belong with you, Pa. I’m not going back, I’m coming with you. I don’t care about the madness, as long as we’re together.’
He pushed past her and began to stalk back along the headland, the reek of drink and sour sweat gusting around him in the wind. Orah ran after him, grabbed onto his sleeve, not letting go when he tried to shake her off.
He yanked hard and tore free, shoving away from her. Panic rose up, pounding its fists against her ribs. She sobbed, tasting the salty breath of the sea, the fusty dampness of the sand somewhere below.
She ran at her father again and seized his arm. ‘I don’t want to stay here! Please take me with you. I don’t belong with them; they’re not my family. Pa, please, it’s what I want. Don’t make me stay, don’t leave me behind.’
Her father let out a sob – harsh and ragged, not even human, more like the cry of an animal – and the sound turned Orah’s heart to stone. She let out an answering cry of her own, a wordless plea snatched away all too quickly by the wind.
‘Please, Pa. Take me with you.’
She tried to embrace him, but he veered away with a shout. Too near the edge, but that didn’t stop her lunging again. She had to make him see reason, had to make him understand. The salt air stung her eyes, and she felt the ocean breeze lick its hungry tongue along her skin. Her legs shook beneath her, but she couldn’t give up; wouldn’t. Pa was escaping, more than a body length ahead of her now. She ran after him, barely noticing the loose stones beneath her feet, the slide of her shoes.
‘Pa, please—’
Thrusting out her arm, she launched herself at her father’s hunched shoulders and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Pa roared and swung around, his arm raised as if he meant to strike her.
It happened so quickly. One moment there was solid ground beneath her feet; the next, her foot met no resistance, sinking into nothingness, its momentum pulling her with it, plunging her downwards into the dark. The sea roared in triumph, its booming cry swallowing the scream that tore from her throat. The world split open, the starry sky spun, and the rocks below whirled up to greet her.