That same evening, Aida was awake when it happened.
Maybe, if she had fallen straight to sleep after waving at Elsie through the window, she might have slept through it. But she had gone to bed unsettled by the picture of her neighbour’s face through the window, made uneasy by that small connection after weeks of hiding. When Elsie had waved back, she had looked astonished at her own hand, as though it had caught her unawares. Poor woman, Aida had thought, unsure if she meant her neighbour or herself.
When she heard the loud metallic crunch, Aida sat straight upright in bed.
Flinging back the covers, she rolled out of bed and hurried down the hall. In the living room she peered out the window but saw nothing; the street was dark and quiet. She grabbed her thick dressing gown from the couch, stepped outside and silently descended the front steps. Gravel was cool and sharp beneath her bare feet. She listened, but heard nothing more. A waning moon peeked over the treetops, throwing shadows and pale light amongst the gardens and houses. Aida took another step up the drive, craning her head towards the street.
A soft breeze came up and she smelled it: the faint, acrid scent of petrol.
Aida went back up the steps, pushed her feet into her rubber boots, and hurried back down the drive, pressing her hand up against her belly.
And then Elsie was beside her, footsteps matching hers. Aida faltered and considered turning back, but Elsie gasped.
‘Oh, my stars,’ she said. ‘That’s Thomas’s car.’
At the end of the street, the car’s nose was crumpled against an ancient red gum. The tree’s trunk, thick as a wheat silo, stood like a dark giant cradling Thomas’s car, the rear of which rose up at an angle on the road’s weedy shoulder. As they hurried towards the car, the driver’s door popped open with a groan.
‘Thomas!’ Elsie cried, but the driver didn’t emerge from the car.
Aida halted, backed up two steps.
Elsie grabbed her arm. ‘Help me,’ she said.
They both looked at the car again as the driver’s arms appeared, then legs. The figure unfolded from the vehicle and took a few unsteady steps.
‘Thomas!’ Elsie was dragging Aida now and Aida ran to keep up. ‘Are you okay, my love?’
He swayed in the weeds, looking at them with a confused expression. Turning to the car, he scratched his head.
Elsie made towards the car, but this time Aida stopped her. They were on the other side of the road, a dozen yards from the car and the tree. ‘There’s leaking fuel, we shouldn’t get too close,’ she said. ‘Tell him to get away from the car . . . tell him to come to us.’
‘What? No.’ Elsie tugged at her again. ‘We have to see if he’s okay.’
‘Thomas,’ Aida called out, holding firm to Elsie’s arm. ‘Get away from the car. Come over here.’
Thomas shook his head and shuffled to the front of the car, as if to inspect the damage. ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ he called back, holding up his hand. ‘A small ding. It will buff out, I’m sure.’ He tentatively tugged at the car’s bonnet, where it was folded under itself.
A man appeared, panting, with a suit jacket thrown over striped pyjamas. Aida noticed lights had come on, front doors were opening down the street. A few more men were striding towards the scene.
‘Careful, ladies,’ the man in pyjamas said. ‘Perhaps you should stand back.’
‘Oh, hello, Mr Pellarin,’ Elsie said, her voice high and quavering. ‘Perhaps you could help us. My husband seems disinclined to move away from the leaking petrol.’
The man hurried towards the car and he and Elsie’s husband bent to inspect where it was concertinaed against the tree. Another man promptly joined them.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Elsie said, ‘now they’re all in danger. Thomas, come here and let me check if you’re hurt.’
Aida hesitated. A small crowd was gathering and the petrol smell grew stronger. Beside her, Elsie stepped from foot to foot. They could hear the men discussing the option of putting the car into reverse and seeing if they couldn’t back it onto the road.
Aida took a deep breath and told herself that straight after this she could slip away. Back into the quiet blanket of night. She put her thumb and forefinger between her lips and whistled. A short, sharp shriek that pierced the night. The men jumped and hurried away from the car, scrambling up the shoulder of the road.
A siren wailed in the distance. Aida wanted to move but found herself rooted to the spot. Elsie’s husband, Thomas, was now only a few feet away and he was staring straight at Aida. Blood oozed from one of his eyebrows. Despite the darkness Aida fought the overwhelming urge to look down, to make sure she was covered.
Elsie flew to him. ‘Are you hurt? What on earth happened?’
Thomas put an arm around his wife, but his gaze remained on Aida.
He said, ‘You must be the neighbour.’