Page 13 of The Vanishing Place
“What do we do now?” asked Tia.
Her little sister hopped up next to her and snuggled in.
“We wait for him to cry, then we give him more milk.”
They sat side by side, their feet dirty and their bodies bare, and watched as his chest filled and deflated. The kitchen bench flickered and shone in the firelight, and the floor around the firebox gleamed. At the opposite end of the room, a curtain hung on a wooden rod where Dad had built a sleeping nook for them, with a double bed on the bottom and a single on top. None of them used the top bunk though.
Effie and Tia curled up as the summer sky darkened and the heat from the fire slunk up the walls. A gnawing hunger twisted in Effie’s stomach, and she wrapped her arms around her middle. Tia did the same thing. But neither of them moved. Mum was the one who usually cooked, Dad and Effie sometimes too. But Mum’s cooking was the best, especially her bread. She’d bake it for hours in the heavy black pan, and the smell of bread would make Effie’s tongue sweat. On weekends they even got Vegemite. Hunters left it in the Thomas River Hut, and Dad would bring it back from his hunting trips. Effie pulled her knees up, squishing the twisted knot away with her thighs. The idea of food felt strange without Mum. The hut felt empty without her.
“I need to check on Mum,” said Effie eventually. “You watch the baby.”
Tia nodded.
Effie lit a candle and tiptoed over to her parents’ door, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards. Holding her breath, she stopped in front of it. Mum said it was polite to knock, in case her and Dad were busy. But Dad was gone. Deep in the bush gone, or washed down the river, proper gone. Effie touched the door with her fingertips. Mum would be fully rested soon. Before long, she’d be ready to get up—to feed the baby and make bread. Mum would know how to get Dad back too. Mum and Dad were two parts of one thing, Mum said, and parts couldn’t exist separately. Dad would come back for her.
“Mum…” Effie eased the door open and slipped inside. “I gave the baby milk.”
She walked over to the bed, not looking at the mess or the broken chair or the blood on the sheets.
“He’s sleeping now,” she said. “Tia’s watching him.”
Effie set the candle on the small bedside table next to the untouched cookie, and pulled back Mum’s blanket. Then, just like she did when there was a storm, she nestled in next to her. As their arms touched, skin brushing skin, Effie bit deep into her lips and scrunched her eyes closed, refusing to feel it. Never. Ever. If she didn’t feel it, then it wasn’t real. If she didn’t feel the cold, then it wasn’t there.
“We changed his nappy too.”
Effie adjusted her position so that they lay side by side with their heads level. She closed her eyes and added in the missing bits—the smell of her mum’s soap and the warmth of her breath. She ignored the stiffness of her body, the way her arms rooted to the bed like trees and how her fingers fixed in a tight curl. Then, gently, Mumreached for Effie’s hand, their fingers entwining, and whispered a story into the candlelit room.
After a while, Effie turned and peered at the door, listening for the sound of footsteps. “He’ll be back soon, Mum.”
She touched her mum’s arm. The cold—that wasn’t there—clothed her mum’s skin like one of her knitted shawls.
I know, darling.
Mum kissed her forehead and Effie snuggled in. But she didn’t cry. If she cried, if she felt anything at all, then her mum wouldn’t come back either.
Good night, sweetheart.
“Good night, Mum.”
2025
Effie sat inthe car outside her house—her own little piece of Skye—and gripped her phone. She hadn’t seen Lewis in seventeen years.
She pressed the phone to her chest, her body shaking from fatigue and the lack of a proper meal. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Lewis had a kid—a girl. Maybe they were planning on visiting Scotland. Lewis would be thirty-five now, a grown man just three years older than her. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. What if there wasn’t any of her Lewis left in him? Life changed people; it shaped them and turned them into something different. Effie barely recognized herself some days. What if she made the call, and the boy who’d saved her—whom she’d held in her heart for nearly two decades—had vanished?
A dog’s bark startled her and Effie opened her eyes, her pulse softening as she glanced out the window toward Loch Harport. A blanket of shadow hung in the sky, the clouds heavy and low, as the yellow glow of the rising sun emerged from the water. Lewis reckoned that sunrise was just God messing about—showing off. Not that either of them had believed in God, but there was something about throwing his name around that had made them feel powerful—just two scrawny kids at the end of the earth.
The dog barked again and Effie reached for the door handle. “I’m coming. I’m coming.”
She stepped out into the morning air, dressed in a selection of the mountain rescue’s spares, and walked over to her front fence. Keith had made her shower at the station and eat two Clif Bars, but the cold had taken something from her. It had hollowed her out, leaving a tiredness in her bones. She’d had to beg Keith to let her drive the seven miles home. He’d made her list all twelve Munros on the island, from lowest to highest, to prove she was lucid. It had taken her less than twenty seconds.
“Hey, boy.” Effie reached over the fence and rubbed the dog’s ears. “Sorry I’m a bit late.”
Rimu jumped up, his body shaking with excitement. He bounced beside the gate, panting and spinning until Effie opened it.
“I missed you too.” She knelt down and scratched his head, the thick Icelandic sheepdog fur falling out in her hands. “You really need a brush, buddy.”
Rimu circled her legs as she walked to the red door. Hers was the last house in the row, semi-detached with white walls and a fully enclosed garden. Effie had bought it seven years ago, for two main reasons—the village of Carbost had a total population of 164 people, and from her garden, she could see over Loch Harport and out toward the Cuillins.
