Free Starlight Peninsula by Charlotte Grimshaw

light. The door of the flat standing open, a footprint on the doormat, something spilled and trampled back over the threshold …
    She helped carry the little girl to the car. The dog climbed into the front passenger seat, where he sat staring solemnly ahead.
    Carina said, ‘You want me to lend you Silvio? He’s an excellent guard dog.’
    ‘No thanks. He’s sweet but he stinks.’
     
    Eloise went from room to room, locking doors and windows, which made her uneasy. She drew down the sitting room blinds, but once she’d shut out the view she felt as if she were trapped in a large, silent white box. She listened to her own breathing, the loud clink of her glass on the coffee table. How could she keep watch if the blinds were lowered? She pulled them up and faced the black windows.
    Out there, beyond the glass, the night had a glossy sheen.
    At the computer, finishing off the wine and roaming through cyberspace, she searched aimlessly, not knowing what it was she wanted.
    What is the question? What is the thing I look for and can’t find?
    She tipped back her glass, but the wine wasn’t doing its job. She peered at the bottle. What was this toy drink? Some lite or diet brand brought over by Carina? Sober, alert to every sound, she drank, and felt no warmth.
    Only something tipping her sideways, out into the night.
     
    The possum sent out its eerie cry as it crashed around in the undergrowth, making the flax spears clatter. Smoky air mixed with the stench off the estuarine flats, and the stream banks were alive with clicks and splashes, the plop of a rat hitting the water, the running of the tide in the channel.
    She hesitated at the edge of the dark. The keys were in her pocket. She’d pulled the back door closed, but not deadlocked it, and in her hurry she’d come out with no jacket, her shirt half-unbuttoned. She crossed the path, entered Nick’s garden and saw him standing in his lighted front room.
    Eloise buttoned her shirt by feel in the dark. Combed her hair with her fingers. It was like being in the wings, about to step onto a lit stage to deliver lines that seemed unreal, unconvincing, and painfully important. Changed my mind. Brandy after all. Why not.
    Nick was leaning on the glass ranch slider, his arms folded. He changed position, looked up at the ceiling, lifted his elbow and rolled his arm around in its socket. He gestured with his hand, looking into the room. It looked, oddly, as if he were speaking to someone.
    Eloise stepped back into the shadows. Beyond the flax the moon had risen, and the estuary glittered. A cricket cheeped in the long grass.
    Was she, after all, despite the fake wine, very drunk indeed? When she closed her eyes, the light off the water superimposed itself on her lids. Tiny sparks exploded and scattered outwards and she registered the suggestion or rumour of one of her migraine attacks.
    The night and the dark were entering her mind. When she blinked, emerald sparks flew out of her eyes and up into the black sky, mingling with the stars. The warning of migraine made her feel as if she were some tiny creature, hunched down under a vast, threatening sky. She wanted to be touched, held.
    But there was a man in the room with Nick.
    He was wearing black. He was tall, with a hawkish face and thickblack hair. She saw his long wrists and bony fingers, the jacket sleeve riding up as he leaned against the glass. The back of his hand. She stared, light flowed around him as if his fingers were on fire. He was talking. Nick listened to the man, shook his head and made a quelling gesture, palm down. His manner was different, he was at ease; he looked handsome, alien and tough.
    The visitor was so unexpected, she couldn’t think what to do next. Her eyes throbbed, a stab of pain. She saw a waterfall of light at the edge of her vision and a trickle of nausea made her mouth dry. In the grass the cricket relentlessly sang. She blundered back across the lawn and up the path. She would go to bed,