Ghosts by the river

Leila is recovering, from a miscarriage and surgery, on an isolated property in regional NSW when a series of unsettling events plant seeds of doubt in her mind. Can she honestly trust herself or her relationship with the most significant person in her life?

- WORDS by JESSICA MANSOUR-NAHRA

On Monday, with James at work, Rusty buffs until

I let him outside so he can roll around in the grass, scratching the spots he can’t reach himself, and snoozing in the gentle sun.

But by Tuesday, his patience has run out, and he bops me with his nose every hour. He is desperate for another walk.

James said there’s a pretty part of the Fish River flowing through the eastern section of the property that he wants to show me, but I’m sure Rusty can find it. The thought of a natural body of water to lower myself into, to numb the aches and cramps, is appealing. I miss the beach.

At midday, the sun reaches its warmest point, and I say to Rusty, “Walk?” and he sneezes and prances to the front door. Outside, I say, “River?” and he stares at me unblinking. I try: “Swim? Do you wanna go for a swim?” He turns east and trots ahead.

After 15 minutes, we reach the river. It runs further than I can see, a serpentine stream banked by sandy clay, disappearing into thick trees. The water is clear, and I see shimmering rocks, mottled plants and sticks beneath the surface. The sound is gentle as the water laps against and plops over the rocks.

To reach the bank, there is an incline peppered with stones and quartz. I hesitate while Rusty bounds ahead, as sure-footed as a mountain goat, but I don’t want to be left behind, so I look for natural steps and pick my way down tentatively, walking sideways for better balance. Loose rocks dislodge under my feet and tumble down, dust rising. The grip on my gumboots is average at best, but I persevere, sweating from effort, and eventually reach the river’s gritty bank.

The water gurgles, and some of the larger rocks direct it into little pools that reflect the sky. The opposite bank is lined with reedy grass and enormous she-oaks that dapple the space with shade. Black cockatoos fly from tree to tree, squawking and eating seeds from the branches.