Names for Nothingness Read Online Free Page A

hershoulders, and she knew that if she had the strength, she, too, would have done the same. Walked. As far and as fast as she could go. ‘See,’ she muttered to herself, ‘there I go.’ Through the long grass by the side of the river, up the path to the main house and then along the track to the main road, and in her mind she is standing there, one arm held out, hitching her way out of there, flagging down the first ride to come her way. Gone.
    â€˜She is a beautiful girl,’ Liam would sometimes tell her in those first few months after his arrival, when they would talk, just the two of them, by the river.
    He was not the first to comment on Caitlin’s beauty; her pale oval face, the dark liquid of her eyes, and the stillness of her expression were remarkable. Even Sharn would sometimes stop and just look at her, overwhelmed by her existence. But she is not mine, that’s what she kept telling herself. She is someone else’s child. It is all just a terrible mistake, a wrong turn, the real me is still out there somewhere, striding down the side of the highway, alone.
    In the gardens, up in the house, by the side of the river, Caitlin looked for Liam, following him wherever he was. And Sharn, too, did the same. Listening for the coolness of his voice, turning to see the softness of his gaze, watching him staring into the distance at each of Simeon’s workshops, not really there, just looking out for them.
    His touch was gentle as he helped her shift the furniture so she could sweep. His knock on the door was hesitant as the darkness descended. He didn’t want to wake Caitlin, he didn’t want to bother her, but did she want to walk?
    â€˜Not really,’ she would say, ‘too tired.’
    His skin was smooth as she watched him take off his clothes and jump from the boulders into the cool depths of the swimming hole. His hair gleamed, sleek as an otter’s, as he swam towards her. ‘Come in,’ he would say.
    But she would stand up and tell him that she had to go, work to do, because she didn’t want to wreck this. She was scared. She could see herself, miles away, wanting to come back now, but too scared to take those first steps.
    â€˜Sex was my thing,’ she once told Liam. ‘You know, some girls are bright, some are good at sport; I was good at fucking.’
    She remembers those words now, and she finds it hard to recall the bravado she had once had, bravado tinged with fear at falling in love.
    â€˜Well, you took your time with me,’ he had grinned.
    And she had.
    As she waits outside work now, looking for Lou who has promised to bring the key, she wishes, once again, that she had not become so hard. She is worn down. That is how she feels, and it does not seem ever to lift.
    At night-time, sometimes, or during the day when it is quiet, she lists what she would like, the few things that she tries to believe have the capacity to make everything okay. It is, she knows, an attempt to contain the anxious sadness that seeps like vapour through her being, defining her worries into a simple inventory of items that are lacking, no more, no less.
    This morning she is particularly ill at ease, unable to find any distraction in finalising her list, unable even to add up the figures.
    New shoes: $50
    A stereo (second-hand would be fine): $350
    Air conditioning in the car: $1500
    Saucepans: $100
    A couch: $700
    She glances down the street, and forgets the total again. She can’t even remember what it is she thinks she wants.
    â€˜Why?’ Liam asks her every time she brings home something new, and she used to attempt to answer him, to explain that they only had two plates left without chips or cracks, that their knives were all blackened from the days when they used to spot hash together after they moved back to the city, that the blankets are worn through, that it depresses her, all of it.
    Liam, on the other hand, has always had next to no interest