Grace's unhappiness didn't have a name. It was a shapeless, faceless thing. And yet, it was a feeling that had lain inside her, dormant or otherwise, for her entire life. It was never far away, even in the better times. She berated herself for giving it houseroom. She had it lucky, had it easy, compared to many. She had a job she was good at, that paid enough. She felt her colleagues liked her. She was fairly healthy, and more attractive to men than she would ever admit to herself. And yet…and yet. Something was missing. Something kept jarring as she went about her life.
She came down here to the river for…for what? For solitude? Probably not. There always seemed to be someone here. Walking their dog, ambling along with a loved one, catching Frisbees. For the fresh air? Hardly. She ran alongside the river every morning, and didn't really need to come down here again each evening. Perhaps it was just the sheer beauty of it. The lazy slide of the water as it eased its way towards the city. The gentle whisper of the trees that hung over the surface, languidly reaching for its coolness with blossomed fingers. The winking of the lights as dusk fell.
But it wasn't that. She had a view of the river from her apartment. It had been the reason that she'd chosen it. She could sit out on her balcony, with a glass of wine, and watch the world slip through the purple gears of sunset, on its way to another velvety night. She came down to the river, she realised, because she felt a compulsion to do so. It was more than just a pleasant interlude in the day. She felt a small but perceptible drive to be here. As if, in some unforeseen way, it would one day cause something significant in her life.
Today was no different to a hundred before it. The tropical weather made the days merge, a seamless transition from one part of the year to the next. The commuter boat down the river from downtown, wind snatching at her auburn hair as the suburbs zoomed by. The schlep uphill to the corner shop, where the shy Italian boy behind the counter would smile sheepishly as he served her. Mmmm but he was delicious, but way too young for her. The languid stroll to her house, and the fruitless check of the mailbox. Bills, junk mail, and never anything else. Say hi to Max, and listen for his squawked reply. Turn down the talk-station radio she left on to keep him company. And after a cool shower, collect her latest paperback and cross the road to the riverside park. Dinner always waited until her ritual was complete.
Dusk was approaching. Insects spiralled in the fizzing streetlights, diving away from the beaks of the lorikeets, which gorged themselves in preparation for night. An elderly man in a straw boater was shuffling his way towards the steps that led up to the rest of the suburb. Children were being called away from their park games for supper, a hundred mobile phones exclaiming the news from their pockets. She was travelling in the other direction, across the road to her favourite park bench. It sat at one end of the long, thin stretch of green that was trained along the foreshore. From it, when she looked up from the pages, she could see the park and everyone in it, as well as the river.
The air felt warm around her bare shoulders, almost stroking them as she sat down. She couldn't remember the last time she felt cold, couldn't recall what that felt like. She'd moved here to do just that. Forget about her last city, her last relationship. She'd done what she'd always done at the end of a love affair. She'd left town. Blessed with a job she could do just about anywhere in the country, it had been physically easy to move.
She knew it was just running away. She knew that wherever she ran to, she'd be there. And the problems and issues she pushed down to the recesses of her mind would lie dormant, but not dead. She knew she'd solved nothing. That knowledge scared her. She was an intelligent woman, almost too smart for her own good. To resist the endless replaying of arguments, bitter words, and recriminations, she'd shut down some of that intelligence. Because the rational part of her would reason that this couldn't go on. That something would have to give. This constant cycle just couldn't go on. Something was bound to break. That something would be a part of her, and it might never recover.
Her understanding of this just added to her fragility. The small child on thin ice knows no fear, because it knows no better. The parent watching the child takes on the anguish, because it understands. It knows the situation, the possibilities, and the consequences. Grace knew too much about herself to be anything other than fiercely protective of her heart.
The paperback was moderately interesting, but not compelling. Every few minutes she'd look up, take in the scene, and return to the paragraph before the one she'd just finished.
The yelping of a dog attracted her attention. It was straining at a leash pulled by a middle-aged woman, resplendent in tight, pink latex pants. She was being half-dragged by the dog along the pavement. Grace tutted at her inability to control the dog. She shouldn't have it, if it was going to dominate her like that. She could picture the woman's house – stuff everywhere, dog jumping on and off the furniture at will, barking all hours and driving the neighbours mad. She'd checked before she rented the apartment that the building had a strict no-animals rule. And that parrots didn't count, of course. She wouldn't go anywhere without Max.
The dog had dragged the woman about thirty yards down the street by now. She was shouting at it, in a way that would clearly have no effect at all. Grace thought of the way kids ran amok in supermarkets, getting the same kind of tired, yappy shout from their parents. It was all too late, she thought. That dog knew it could do what it liked, and nothing the woman squealed was going to make the slightest difference.
Her eye was drawn to a man running towards the dog. He was clearly at the end of his run, and was tired. She knew enough about running to see the signs. His head was starting to loll slightly, his arms were falling towards his sides, and his knee pick-up wasn't good enough. Damn, she should have been an athletics coach, she thought. He had about one hundred yards left in him, she mused. She couldn't recall seeing him here before.
She watched as he began a slow arc, to veer away from the dog by running on the grass. At that moment, the dog wrenched free from the woman's flimsy hold of the leash. Grace could recognise at once that he was terrified of the dog. She knew the signs. His hands went up to his chest, and he slowed to a halt as the dog ran towards him. The dog saw his lack of confidence, and reared up at the man claws-first. Grace saw the man's ankle turn as he fell. The dog bounced around the prostrate man triumphantly, as the woman waddled towards the scene, wailing hysterically and unhelpfully. After several attempts, she managed to grab hold of the dog by its' collar, and dragged it away, the dog raising dust as it dug in its claws.
Grace waited for the man to get up. He didn't. She realised she was holding her breath. She got up and began walking towards him. She expected him to shout abuse after the stupid woman and her crappy dog, but he didn't. In fact, he didn't move at all. She began to trot, sensing some kind of urgency even though she could barely see his face in the gathering gloom. The arc of the streetlight didn't extend this far. He was lying on his back in the borrowed light from the street and the hotel on the opposite side of the river. Just the way he hadn't moved had raised her concern.
As she reached him she got a better view. He was about her age, tallish and slim, with mussed-up brown hair. His legs were firm and muscular, and sheened with sweat. He was clutching at his ankle, and pressing the bone with his fingers in a medically ignorant kind of way. Her shadow crossed him as she crouched down to help.
Later, she couldn't recall how long they'd stared at each other, when their eyes met for the first time. It was achingly, horrifyingly, wonderfully long. At first, she'd looked because it was like looking into a mirror. Not physically, but somehow he seemed so familiar to her. Something about his face, his features, the way his face portrayed his emotions, she felt the immediate closeness of a kindred spirit. She could have no way of explaining it better. Nor of explaining why she felt that way. It was just an instant connection, of a kind she'd neither experienced nor anticipated. It should have had her confused, flustered, scared. But it didn't.
"I'm a nurse. Just lie still a second, I'll check your ankle."
He nodded, but looked at her instead of his ankle. The glint of the hotel's light on her glasses hid her eyes from him, but he looked just the same. The shape of her face intrigued him. The way that her mouth fell open slightly fascinated him. The ankle hurt, but not much. Almost without realising, he glanced quickly at her ring finger.
