Zelda moved some of her things up from the boat and stayed with Dana and Cassie, feeling like someone who had gone mad and run behind enemy lines. She phoned Drew and Lizzie to tell them where she was, knowing she sounded cruel and desperate; unable to explain why it was that she wanted to be with strangers instead of friends. She agreed to phone them once a day, but refused to see them, to talk face to face. She had planned to phone Sharn as well, but changed her mind when she could think of nothing she wanted to say. The only person she saw, besides Cassie and Dana, was Ellis the cop. She sat by the pond with him while he spoke in circles, trying to avoid saying James’s name, but wanting her to know that she should not have set fire to the hut. She had committed serious offences, he explained. She was just lucky that it was up to him to decide whether to take matters further. He was prepared to turn a blind eye, for everyone’s sake. After all, he understood how she felt, especially with the sea dragon thing. What he didn’t understand was why she was here and not down at Badger Head with Lizzie and Drew. But that was her business.
By mistake, she spoke to Rye. She was expecting the bank manager and picked up the phone.
‘Zelda,’ he said. ‘You’re still there!’ As if it mattered to him. ‘I am sorry—about James.’
‘Who told you?’ Zelda asked bluntly.
There was an odd tone in Rye’s voice as he replied. ‘I got a call from the Council, saying that you … burned down the hut.’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Zelda, her voice thin with fury. ‘I didn’t want—’
‘I understand,’ Rye cut in. ‘They’re all—we were all—sur-prised, that’s all. Zelda, I really am sorry about James.’
‘You could have said something,’ Zelda burst out, in spite of herself.
‘I know. I should have.’
‘You knew you were going to get us kicked out!’
‘It wouldn’t have been for a long time, I thought,’ answered Rye. ‘When I made the recommendation I didn’t realise your lease was so old. And of course no-one thought the other clause would be—I mean that your father would …’ His voice trailed off. He sounded close. He could have been down at the phones by the pub, with mosquitoes biting his feet, and the smell of fish and chips lingering greasy on the torn directories. ‘Look, Zelda, Dana said you’re planning to go to India.’
‘I am going. We’re already organising it.’
‘Oh, good.’ He seemed relieved. ‘You’ve found someone to go with then.’
‘No.’
‘I told Dana you can’t go by yourself. It’s not like a trip to Melbourne.’
‘Thank you,’ said Zelda coldly. ‘But it’s really not your business.’
‘Just listen to me will you?’
‘No,’ said Zelda in a small voice. Damn you. ‘No!’ she shouted. ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ She meant to hang up the phone, but found herself clutching it in grim silence.
‘Zelda? Are you there?’ The voice was kind and worried.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I’m going. To India.’
She placed the receiver carefully down—then picked it up again, but he was gone.
A week after James’s death Dana found a bunch of carnations standing in a bucket of water by the front door. Taped to the handle was an envelope with Zelda’s name written carefully across the front. Dana carried the flowers and letter round to the verandah, where Zelda and Cassie were eating breakfast.
‘It’s for you,’ Dana said, holding out the letter.
Zelda half rose as she recognised the handwriting. ‘Drew …’ A warm feeling stirred inside her. She wanted, suddenly, to jump up and run away, down the steep hillside and on across the plain towards the bay. Where Drew would be finishing his morning’s dive. Probably still sorting out the boat, hosing his wetsuits. She longed for the touch of his lips on her face, his strong hands on her shoulders.
Tearing open the envelope, she spread out a single page of notepaper and began to read. Dear Zelda, I hope this letter finds you well.
The tone was stiff and formal, as if the need to put words into writing had forced an even greater distance between them. Zelda’s eyes leapt ahead, skating over the words, grasping the contents.
Drew wrote that he had thought very carefully before sending her this letter. He understood that she wanted to go in search of her mother. But he couldn’t see why there was such a rush. It didn’t seem right, with James so recently gone. He was asking her not to go. She should wait until they’d had time to think. He would even consider going with her, if it was arranged properly. But—and she must see this—it wasn’t right for her to go off alone. James wouldn’t have wanted it. Lizzie was unhappy about it, too. It wasn’t like her to act in this way. It just didn’t make sense.
Zelda, he wrote, his pen pressing firmly into the paper. I’m asking you not to go. I love you, you know that. Drew
Zelda stared out over the garden. Neither Cassie nor Dana spoke. Silence grew around them, broken only by the sound of two small birds squabbling in the eaves.
Finally Zelda stood up and went inside. She picked up the phone in the hallway and dialled the number of the travel agent in Melbourne.
‘This is Zelda Madison,’ she said when her call was answered. ‘My friend Cassie spoke to you a few days ago …’
‘That’s right, I remember,’ a man said. ‘She booked your flight to India. What can I do for you?’
‘I want to go earlier. As soon as possible.’ Zelda’s voice surprised her. It sounded so firm and sure.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ There was a pause while the travel agent tapped computer keys. ‘There’s a seat available 15 April. That’s this Friday.’
‘I’ll take it. Thank you.’ Simple as that.
Zelda smiled into the phone with a sudden sense of relief. Now nothing could stand in her way; the journey was already begun.
‘All rightie,’ the travel agent continued. ‘You’ve got everything else in order, then? Passports, vaccinations? If you were here, we’d get you to pop in.’
‘It’s okay, we’ve got it all arranged.’
Cassie had taken charge. She knew how to get everything rushed through. Darling, she’d begin.You wouldn’t believe the trouble we’re in here. I do hope you can help …
‘It’ll be bloody warm in Delhi. Better pack your sunnies!’ the travel agent added. ‘I was there once, I nearly died of thirst. What’s wrong with good old Queensland?’
There was a short pause.
‘I’m going to meet my mother,’ said Zelda. She savoured the words, feeling a small knot of mixed pain and joy tightening in her throat.
‘Ah,’ said the man. ‘That’s different then. Well, it’s been a pleasure, Zelda. Have a great trip.’ He laughed. ‘And say hello to your mum.’
Zelda replaced the phone, and stood in the hallway, alone.
Mum. Mother. Ellen.
She repeated the names, as if they would grow into something real. A face, a voice, a person. It was like the magazine advertisement that the girls at school used to look at together: a picture of a handbag lying open with its contents scattered. You were meant to try to imagine the owner by piecing together the things she carried around. Old theatre tickets, good luck charms, lipsticks, business cards, photos, tampons, condoms—whatever. Sharn used to list the things that would be found in her bag; the one she would have if she was rich, famous, far away. Zelda had a different dream. She found a mother’s bag, and found herself inside. The smiling face of a precious daughter on a worn old photo with soft, ragged edges. And spread out around it were all the things that she needed to see to know who her mother had been. Only now, Zelda thought, with a surge of joy and fear, everything was changed. Now she would find the real mother. The living face behind the scattered clues.