Shallow Crossing is the story of Stephanie Hamill, an ordinary woman who has to find a way to put her broken life back together. It’s a story about loss, identity and friendship. It’s a story for any woman who has ever found herself drowning in the demands of reality and for those who know that the most important person to save is yourself.
Here’s an excerpt:
The wine gurgled into the glass.
Michael took a sip, nodded. “Thanks, mate.” The waiter filled both their glasses and moved off to the next table.
“Cheers.”
Stephanie raised her glass and clinked it against his. The chardonnay was cool and mellow, how she wished she was feeling. By the window a couple barely out of their teens gazed into each other’s eyes, talked quietly and smiled. A red rose encased in a plastic cylinder sat on the table between them. That’s sweet, Stephanie thought, young love.
“So, this is good,” Michael said, trying to make it sound believable. “Out together, just the two of us.” His voice was light, airy. He was wearing the blue checked shirt she had given him last Christmas. He’d never worn it before; it suited him, brought out the colour in his eyes, complemented the olive in his skin.
“Hmm, it is,” she said, “strange without the kids though.” She couldn’t remember the last time they’d been out to dinner on their own. His shoulders dropped ever so slightly when she said it, and straight away she wished she hadn’t. Just play the game, she told herself, it won’t hurt will it?
“They’ll be fine, Steph. Caroline and Leo love having them, they’ll have a ball.” He waited a second or two before he added, “Besides, it’s good for us to have some time alone. We didn’t get out for your birthday.”
“I suppose so. I just don’t like imposing on friends, especially on the weekend.” And I certainly don’t want to have to return the favour, she thought. “I’m sure they’ve got better things to do. It’s different with family but now that …” She stopped short, the words knotting her throat. She looked down at the fork she was fiddling with then swallowed a mouthful of wine.
He finished the sentence for her. “I know.” His voice was soft and she looked up at him. “But good friends don’t mind helping out. Really.”
Good friends of yours, she thought, not mine. Leo had worked with Michael until he went out on his own and they were still drinking buddies. The kids were around the same age and Rachel and Matt always had fun with them, so who was she to rock the boat?
The waiter appeared with their entrees. Stephanie watched the prawns sizzling in the bowl in front of her, waved away the smell of garlic that wafted across the table.
“No bedtime kisses for you tonight.” Michael grinned at her and she knew exactly what he was thinking. He winked and added, “Then again …”
She feigned a smile but otherwise ignored his suggestion. At least the topic of conversation had changed. “Might let them cool down a bit.” She sipped at her drink.
Michael bit into an octopus tentacle and Stephanie tried to think of something to say. Maybe something about Matthew’s soccer game this morning? Or how his work was going? But she was too late.
“Steph, I know it’s been hard on you these last few months, I do. But…” He placed his knife and fork on the table as carefully as he was choosing his words, scrunched his napkin into a ball beneath his fingers.
“But what?” She knew her voice was sharp, cold, but didn’t care. The wine was doing its job.
“I just think it’d do you good to get out more, take your mind off things. Maybe you could join the gym or get a bit more involved up at the school. I don’t know, anything.” He was struggling, unsure what to say next but then so was she.
Join a gym so I can look like your friend Caroline, she thought. Caroline just wasn’t Stephanie’s type, they were completely different. Caroline, with strings of gold hanging from her neck, the permanent solarium tan, the manicured nails, the gym-firm thighs. They were worlds apart, and they both knew it. She stabbed at a prawn, chewed on it deliberately.
“Look, I know how hard it must be.”
“No, actually you don’t.” It sounded more like an accusation than a statement, even though she’d tried to keep the tone light.
“Ok, so I don’t.” He sat back in his chair, shook his head, “But I can imagine. No, I can see. You obviously don’t want to talk to me about it, but maybe you could talk to Caroline, or give Lou a call or maybe even …” he stopped, leant in towards her as if he was about to confide a secret, “maybe see a counsellor.”
He rubbed at an invisible itch in the centre of his forehead. The bubbles had evaporated from his voice and his body looked as if air was slowly leaking from it. This was hard for him, she could see, but it wasn’t any easier for her. She could feel herself shrinking back into her shell, the shell that had first formed all those years ago when her father had died, the shell that had grown tougher and thicker over the lonely years of her childhood. He’d pierced a hole in it for a while, Michael had, helped the soft underbelly of Stephanie’s self ooze its way out. And it had felt good for a while to let it. But somewhere along the line it started seeping away, that core of her, until there was almost nothing left. She wasn’t sure why or when, but she’d sealed up that crack and gotten on with things.
“You never know, it might help to talk to someone, someone who deals with this sort of thing.”
She got in faster this time. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, referring to the counsellor but meaning more than that. Her eyes were on the candle flickering quietly in the centre of the table.
“I’m sorry, but I think there is. Like, what the hell do you do all day in that house? Cleaning, the usual, but what else? Do you watch TV? Read? Twiddle your thumbs? I wouldn’t know, because you never bloody well tell me anything.” His voice was getting louder. Stephanie’s stomach somersaulted. She could tell he was on a roll. He’d had a few beers before they left home and the wine was topping him up.
“Michael,” she hissed, trying to quieten him. “People are staring.”
“I don’t care. I want you to answer the question. Mum said she’s been ringing you but nobody answers and then when I ask where you’ve been you say nowhere. She’s worried about you for Christ’s sake, and so am I.”
The young woman at the table by the window glanced away when Stephanie looked over at her but Michael clearly wasn’t concerned about being overheard. The whole idea of coming out to dinner was to relax, not to argue, and now he’d brought his mother into it. They’d never openly discussed it but he must have known that Stephanie barely tolerated her. It was a good thing she lived so far away. She’d be the last person you’d confide in.
“Was the Counsellor your mother’s idea?” she whispered back at him
“She suggested it, yes, and I agree.” It was a declaration, an ultimatum that demanded a response. There was no getting out of it. Stephanie swigged back the last few mouthfuls of her wine, swished her answer around in her head before spitting it out.
“Well you don’t have to worry, and neither does your mother. I’m fine. Really. But you’re probably right, I should get out more, maybe I will join a gym, I’ll talk to Caroline.” It was the best way to get him off her back, at least for the time being. Or so she thought.
He took a breath, as if he was about to dive under a breaking wave. “I’ve been thinking about something else, too.” His voice had calmed but he had more to say. “Maybe now would be a good time to sell up and head up north. Market’s good. We might make a quick sale and be up there by Christmas. Kids could start at school in the New Year.”
A dribble of wax spilt down the side of the candle in the centre of the table. The flame was smoking a little. Stephanie stared at it, watched the orange centre of it expand and wink, like a single eye watching her, waiting for her to look away, to break the spell. She heard his words humming away somewhere behind the flickering of the light.
“There’s nothing to keep us here. Maybe a fresh start would do you good, do all of us good.”
He droned on and on in the background, about the climate, house prices, the kids and how much they’d love it. And all the while he talked the flame grew higher and higher. Stephanie couldn’t take her eyes off it; she felt the heat of it burning into her skin, tried blinking against it but it was no use, the more she tried the stronger it burnt until she knew that she had to do something before it engulfed her completely, burnt her into oblivion until she was a pile of ashes and dust.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
She had to do something, say something.
Now.
There was no way out.
When she said it, the word crackled into the air and hovered there.
“No”.
She lifted her eyes and looked directly into Michael’s, saw the fire blazing now in them, tear shaped drops of red seared against his pupils. Her answer was a challenge and they both knew it. What had been simmering away between them exploded.
He slammed his fist down onto the table in front of him. Everything wobbled and spun. “Jesus, Stephanie, is that it? No, just like that? No?” She watched the embers fade and begin to die as she shrank away from him.
The waiter flapped beside them. “Is everything alright, Sir?”
“Great, everything’s just great.” Michael composed himself long enough for their plates to be collected.
“Everything’s wonderful,” he said, more to himself than to her. “But I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.” He pushed out his chair, pulled out his wallet and threw two fifty dollar notes on the table, stood and walked out the door without once looking back at her. The girl by the window tried to smile at Stephanie, as if to say everything was ok but it clearly wasn’t so she looked away again.
Stephanie could feel every part of her body shaking. From the inside out, like the shell had been shredded off her and everything beneath it was lying there open and raw.
What should I do? What should I do?
She blew out the candle. Smoke rose from the dead, blackened wick into a thin cloud before her eyes. She watched it curl into tendrils and corkscrew up until it disappeared and there was nothing left but the question, still waiting to be answered.
What should I do?
And a voice answered. A voice that came from somewhere deep down inside. A quiet, insistent voice she couldn’t mistake.
Save yourself, it said, save yourself.
