Inside the church, classical music resumed.
They returned to their seats for the second half of the concert. Ronnie sat with her jeans touching Nev’s in the wooden pew. The theremin joined the string quartet. It made sounds like a giant flute, then like a human voice, making an open-throatedoooo, woop, woop, oooo.
Like a Sarus Crane on the banks of Lake Tinaroo at dusk.
In the truck on the drive home, Nev said, apropos of nothing, “Your mum calls you Ripper.”
“Rip. Ripper. Jack the Ripper. My initials.”
Nev’s gaze remained fixed on the road. Ronnie knew her friend couldn’t open up yet—maybe never would. Part of her must be tempted, or she wouldn’t look like this.
“It’s good,” Ronnie said, like reassuring a wild animal. She had to be so careful with this one. “I liked the concert.” They rode in companionable silence.
Nev drove back to Stone House. Ronnie watched her pour herself a drink and swallow a pill before feeding the dogs.
“Want to have a fire down by the creek?” Nev asked.
“Good idea.”
They walked downhill with head lamps, carrying bedding, eaten alive by mozzies.
The screen house loomed over them in the dark. If they finished fixing the roof, she could sleep there. While she was gone, a scrub fowl had made a large nest in the clearing out of leaves and a few sticks. A circle two meters across and half a meter high. Nothing was in it. Maybe it had been there before, but she hadn’t noticed it.
Beside the campfire, Nev finished her beer, cracked another one. “After University my line of work wasn’t conducive to long-term relationships.”
Ronnie melted into her camping chair.
“I travelled between assignments. Work had me moving around countries in Asia and Africa, never staying in one place longer than two months. I had relationships with women who were in the closet, for one reason or another, which ended. None of those relationships were great. The ADF, Aussie Defense Force, overturned their gay ban in ninety-two, but people were reluctant to come out for career reasons, and because so much of the work was overseas in places where it would have beendangerous to show PDA. The Americans started ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ in ninety-three.”
“How many lovers have you had?”
“No comment.”
“When was the last time?”
“Oh, a fair while ago.”
This did not surprise her. Nev seemed like someone who hadn’t been touched in twenty years. “How do you feel about BDSM?”
“Rough stuff? Not my cup of tea, but if it’s someone else’s that’s fine. Why? You like getting spanked?”
Ronnie chuckled. “Shut up.” She sipped her beer and slouched in her camping chair, slapping a mosquito on her arm. People assumed she liked to be in control because of the way she looked. Usually, she didn’t bother to correct them. This was why.
“You don’t like the word ‘spank.’”
“No. I don’t. It’s an instant turn-off.” It sounded silly.
“Good to know,” Nev said.
Ronnie sipped her beer.
“Do you feel different?”
She shook her head, then realized that wasn’t true.
“You have changed, you know,” Nev said.
“How?” She tried to remember how she had felt before, couldn’t.
