Free Steeplechase by Krissy Kneen Page A

mine. I breathe in a great gulp of him and it hits me deep in my gut where I can feel the desire begin. I know I am wet again. Sex on the couch, sex in the bed. He pressed a finger up inside me in the last languid moments before sleep and sighed, pleased to know that if we had the energy I would be ready to join him one more time.
    I wriggled down onto his finger, surprised by the little groan that escaped from my lips. ‘You should go home,’ I told him as he began to move first one finger then two inside me.
    â€˜Un huh,’ he said, and then, ‘there you go,’ as he did that thing with his thumb and the contractions started deep inside, curling me back, my head stretched up and around like a new leaf opening to the sun.
    It is the smell of him that works its chemical magic on me. I press my face into the furred skin and breathe it. The joy of his warmth and his smell and his big solid body. I suck it all greedily into my memory. I should not have let him sleep over. Maybe I will never let him sleep over again. I let myself soak up all the pure, immediate pleasure. Every good moment must end. This is one thing I have learned in life, chasing after the retreating back of my sister, racing away from me and heading off to some place else.

The Arrival
    â€˜He’s here.’
    Emily sits with her face pressed to the glass. It is raining. Outside the sun is setting, stripping the pale golden glow from the tops of the trees. She holds one hand up to the glass door and her fingers are red as if she has plunged her hand into someone’s chest and torn their heart out. I know it is just paint but there has been something up with her all day. In home-school she was sullen and silent, replying to Oma’s philosophical question of the day with barely a shrug. Even at the ritual of feeding Flame, she peered out at the heavy skies instead of checking her steps, so that she tripped over a hidden stone and swore under her breath.
    I have been watching her for an hour, glancing up from the novel I am reading to see her frozen, her nose pressed to the glass, red fingers splayed. She looks like a wild cat tensed for the kill. When she speaks I bite my lip, afraid she might pounce on me if I so much as breathe.
    I watch her ease back from the window and nod, satisfied. Her hand leaves a smudged print, ghost-fingers. She seems to shrink back into herself as all the pent-up anticipation drains out of her. Emily sinks back onto her heels and whispers.
    â€˜Raphael’s here.’
    I don’t know who Raphael is. There is only Emily, Oma, Mother and me. That accounts for all the people in our universe.
    Oma is in the kitchen, clattering. Mother sits staring at the blank face of the television. I watch as she turns her head slowly, stares out beyond the greasy prints of my sister’s hands, and all the hairs on my neck tug up to attention as a wave of unease trickles cold down my back.
    â€˜Stop it,’ I whisper to Emily. ‘You’re scaring me.’
    She turns, looking slightly startled as if she had forgotten I was here at all. She stands and walks towards me and I try to hold very still but it is impossible not to flinch when she leaps towards me with her bloody fingers hooked like claws.
    â€˜Boo!’ she says, then turns and slouches out of the lounge room.
    Our mother is still staring out of the window. I clamber up to stand beside her. Outside the darkness is filling in the shadows. There is a rustling and a thumping somewhere out among the trees where, despite the rain, a kangaroo is darting in and out of the dense scrap of bush. Wallabies and paddymelons are making their way across the train tracks and out to the stretches of clear-felled land. Possums uncurl from their damp tree-top beds. Outside the world is waking while inside we are readying ourselves for sleep.
    I peer out into the darkness. I know there is no one out there and yet every rustling branch seems like it might have