Grace Elizabeth Elkins

In The Shadow of Madeleine

I told her goodnight. I told her I love her. I told her to be safe.

I didn’t ask how she was getting home.

I didn’t ask if she would be alone.

I didn’t ask her not to go.

Alice lay on the edge of her bed staring blankly into her cupboard. The soft purr of James’ subtle snoring hummed in the background. As he reached across the bed and stroked her shoulder tenderly, Alice recoiled slightly. Hardly noticeable, it was just enough to make her discomfort known.

‘I’m here,’ he said, the sticky dampness of his skin pressing against hers as he wriggled closer. He nestled with affection into clusters of nerves, sending pins and needles down her arm. His arms were wrapped around her like they were supposed to be, an idyllic sketch of early morning comfort. Still, she found herself longing for him to let go.

‘You’re doing that thing,’ he said, tired words now laced with frustration and disapproval, ‘Stop it. It doesn’t help.’ Alice looked up at him with wide eyes. She saw the indentations up and down her forearms, as if she had been mauled by a manicurist. She swallowed. He was right. She sat upright and pressed her feet into the mottled carpet. She noted the worn patch under her heel, the prickle under her left big toe.

James had drifted back into a gentle slumber, but she could feel her fear rising. Watching him sleep, Alice wanted to want to be close to him.

But the room held so many exhalations. There was nothing left to breathe.

On nights like this, she was a little girl all over again. Small, defeated, insignificant. Too much for James, too much for even herself. His words of anger were quickly retracted, but she still felt it.

On the bathroom counter sat a small bottle of medicine and an abandoned glass of wine. She took two small tablets and finished the wine. With her shoulder blades pressed against the shower glass, she sunk to the floor. Her ass bones felt the hardness of the tiles. The cold squares, the texture of the grouting. She tried to curl herself smaller, to disappear into a ball so tight, so protected that suddenly everything, everyone else, would vanish. Water droplets struck her face, her chest, her knees. She wanted nothing more than to forget, to let that night wash away.

Under beams of morning sun, Alice drizzled icing onto a caramel coffee cake. For a moment, it felt odd to make the cake gluten-free when Maddie wasn’t even going to be there. Though it would have felt stranger to be bringing a cake that Maddie couldn’t eat if she were there. Alice counted out a pile of thirty candles, fumbling. She picked up the mint green cue cards on the edge of the kitchen bench and walked to the mirror.

‘Madeleine Jones…’ Alice rehearsed, eyes locked to her reflection, sharp and pale. Her black pleated skirt cut off awkwardly below the knee, her boots slightly scuffed. The mirror was dirty; she couldn’t remember when they had cleaned it last.

‘Maddie was kind and funny, in a way that was contagious. On the first day of Grade Three, the same day I first met her, Maddie decided she was smarter than Mrs McConnel and challenged her to a race of Times Tables. That was her, smarter and bolder than most. And she knew it. I had the privilege of knowing Maddie for nearly 15 of her 24 years...’

Although today was her idea, Alice was dreading it. In the years since Maddie’s death, everything had appeared to return to normal. But there were still days when it all became fresh again, the rawness of it pulling apart curated lives. Sometimes it was simply a hint of loss flavouring Alice’s day, but other times it grew. It grew into something so great that the rest of her world disappeared inside.

James leaned against the door frame, his eyes shaded with pity. When Alice moved to the city, she had hoped to find herself in a wholesome, self-actualising sense; instead, she found herself in bars and bedrooms across Melbourne. James was a turning point. He had eyes of crystal that told Alice the truth no matter how stoic he tried to be. They fell for each other quickly. He made her laugh; they kissed behind the gallery and drank scotch on empty beaches. He held her when she cried. Even now, in those brief spaces between anger, sex and laughter, she could feel the warmth of his presence holding space for her, catching her as she fell. But he couldn’t make this better.

‘It sounds great,’ said James.

‘Great?’

‘I mean, it’s clear that you really knew her.’

James placed his hands on her, pulling her slumping shoulders back.

‘I shouldn’t be the one to speak.’ She weaved away from his grasp.

‘Of course, you should. Her dad asked you to speak for a reason.’

‘But he doesn’t know!’

‘Doesn’t know what?’

The room began to fall into a haze as tears welled in Alice’s eyes. No matter how many months or years went by, the sharp pang of guilt made her cry.

‘It could have been different. This didn’t need to happen.’

When the reports of another young woman killed at the hands of a stranger filtered through the news, there were cries of outrage and pity. Then, people got on with their day. They had been out drinking and dancing the night before. Maddie was supposed to message someone when she got home. She didn’t. They all just assumed she forgot. It was not a big deal.

They all read the news. Expressed horror at the state of the world. But no one made the connection. No one worried. It wasn’t one of them.

Alice was at brunch when the phone rang. Chilli scrambled eggs, hash brown, and espresso. She thought it must be a wrong number. When she answered, she heard the voice of a father, Maddie’s father, anguished and hopeful. He was searching for an answer that meant she could be okay.

‘No, I haven't seen her since…’ she said, ‘I haven’t heard from her.’

The silence that followed radiated confusion, fear and loss. Guilt. A common dread. A few hours later, the identification was made, the name released, and Madeleine Jones was both gone and everywhere at the same time. Everything stopped at that moment. It was all broken.

Alice’s grief erupted in a whirlwind of needs; affection, attention, and retribution. She was no longer satisfied with anyone or anything. No place, no taxi, no street was safe enough for her friends. Yet she remained reckless with herself. Alice held so much anger. That bastard took her. But she knew, no matter what the papers said, that it wasn’t Maddie’s fault she was alone that night.

Alice stood on the kerb watching as the cars and bicycles, and people went by. James was on the edge of her peripheral vision, and she wondered if he could see it too. If he could feel it too.

‘Life will get better,’ she murmured, a little too loudly. A man in a tobacco infused parka looked over at her. Alice had now positioned herself as the weirdo at a St Kilda tram stop. James reached his hand for hers, and she looked at it, taken aback by the network of faint lines near the crevice of his thumb. When did James, his hand, his body, his person, become someone she no longer knew? She was surprised at how alone she felt when his hand, unheld, was returned to his pocket. As he stepped away, Alice wanted to reach back out and hold him, to apologise, to rewind that little moment and try again. But she didn’t. She watched him step away.

The July air was harsh. It pierced exposed skin, demolishing the barrier between her and the rest of the world. Alice took a deep, counted breath and stepped onto the tram. She worked her way to a seat, grasping for lime green poles just a little too far to reach. James was not far behind. His steadiness a stark contrast.

Alice rested her head on the slightly sticky tram window watching the world go by. James’ shoulder pressed against her. Traffic blurred into streams of colour and light, moving from one place to another. She tasted the possibility of disappearing into the sea of traffic, of joining a collection of unfinished stories, of becoming a memory. She wanted to keep moving. To ride the tram to Coburg and keep on going. Instead, she watched the birds of the city dance and bicker over scraps of food.

The tram pulled to a stop in front of the gallery. They used to come here together. Maddie studied art and was immersed in the world of hip young Melbourne artists who didn’t like being told what to do. Equipped with the unabashed confidence of a self-righteous six-year-old, Maddie was intoxicating. She was the sort of person that knew someone everywhere she went. Alice was a harsh juxtaposition. Nervous and sharp, Alice thought more than she spoke. She didn’t think anyone saw her, and when they did see her, she feared they saw all of her. She thought back to the day she had met James. It was here. It was with Maddie. There was that tightness in her chest again. Every moment that had mattered had been with Maddie. From first bike rides to firsts sips of alcohol in the paddock, significant moments just didn’t happen without her. Alice adjusted her posture and reminded herself that that wasn’t entirely true. Though, she had lost her witness. The happy days were the saddest, when people who were absent made a bigger impact than those actually there.

Closing her eyes, Alice let the gentle rocking on the tram tracks soothe her, like a baby in a swaddle but instead a grown woman in a puffer jacket, finding safety in the warmth of her garment.

The tram squeaked to a stop.

She would have turned thirty today.

Alice counted her breath and got off the tram.

James carried a bunch of mixed natives. Alice, a bottle of merlot and the caramel cake.

The park was once again filled with flowers. Flowers brought by friends, family and acquaintances of Maddie, half of whom would not have been at her birthday if she was alive. Emerald grasses kissed by sunlight and busy bike trails showed so much life in a place Alice thought of only as dark, dangerous, a place of endings. Stalking grounds for the worst people. But today, there was cheese, there was wine. There were stories of love and shared loss.

Subtly nervous, Alice hid it well. She made her way to the small wooden lectern at the front of the group. Any passer-by would assume it was a wedding, she thought, or just any old birthday. As she counted her breath, she felt her responsibility constricting around her chest. She knew that if she asked Maddie how she was getting home, if she had gone with her, or if she had cared enough not to miss her calls that night - this story would be different. This picnic would be at another park, or maybe at a bar, or a vineyard, or a house. The day would still be full of cheese, and wine, and flowers, but Maddie would be here too. The guest of honour at her birthday. The way it should be.

As the last person to tell Maddie to be safe, Alice, in her naivety, in her self-absorption, cost her friend her life.

‘Madeleine Jones,’ said Alice, sombre but confident. She looked at her notes and paused, hesitating a moment before looking up at the gathering, seeing all the people she let down that night when she let down her friend.

‘Maddie, I’m sorry. This, you not being here, this is my fault.’

She held the lectern ¾ hands wrapped around the edges of the soft pine wood. She felt a lump in her throat, and the words on the cards in front of her had begun to blur.

‘I saw you call. I didn’t miss it. I chose not to answer.’

Alice had expected gasps, but the crowd remained silent.

‘We were supposed to go together. You asked me to come too. I didn’t.’

The crowd looked up at her in discomfort and pity. They repositioned their feet on the grass; they took sips of wine from plastic cups. She scanned the group, finding Maddie’s father, formal and removed, seeking shade under a large oak tree.

‘I told you it would be fine. It wasn’t far, or that late. Then when you called, I saw it ring. I didn’t want to answer. I thought you must have been bored at the station or something. But you called me for help. I…I wasn’t there.’

She was stumbling over words trying to explain her guilt when she felt James’ arm steady her shivering body. He handed her the third of her cue cards, the one with the word ‘tribute’ highlighted in the corner.

‘Everyone here loved our Madeleine. No matter what happened, when I was sad, she told me to search for the light. So I ask you all to raise a toast to the light she brought us over her life.

Happy birthday Maddie.’

Later, Alice found James over by the charcuterie. No matter what was going on between them, there was always this force that would draw them together in a crowd. Love or habit, sometimes it was hard to tell.

‘When we have the wedding, can we please have bottomless prosciutto?’ He asked, a tongue of ham poking out of the corner of his mouth. She was amazed at how simple and optimistic his thinking was.

‘I guess so…’ she said, uninterested in the idea of weddings or cured meats.

‘You said sorry a lot up there,’ he said. ‘You know you didn’t actually do anything wrong?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded. She felt the dig of her nails into the flesh of her forearms. She blinked and readjusted her posture. She couldn’t do this, not here.

‘Your cue cards were right, though. No way Captain Positivity would have wanted us living in her shadow. If she could choose how she was remembered, it’d be discos every day.’

Long after the sun had set, Alice sipped red wine in the bath as James hovered, never more than a few metres from her side. When she started to cry again, he settled on the bath edge and rested his hand on the space between her shoulder blades. After enough time had passed and her breathing began to mellow, James took her hand in his.

‘I don’t know what I’m doing anymore; I’d do anything to make you smile.’ His voice was threadbare. She couldn’t remember hearing his sadness before.

‘So this is the thing you’ve been holding onto? That you think you could have been on the phone when it happened and called the cops or done something?’

Alice nodded.

‘Don’t let it eat you up anymore. You don’t need to be sorry. Fuck, Maddie wouldn’t want you to be sorry.’

‘I know. But I don’t think it’s going anywhere.’

James took the wineglass from her shaking hand and finished it in one large sip.

‘It’s been hard, you know, being in love with you one day, your ghost the next.’

‘I’m sor—’

‘No. Don’t apologise.’

‘But—’

‘Don’t.’

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. She knew no other words to say. He placed the glass on the tiled edge of the bath and disappeared for a moment, returning with the bottle. Still in his clothes, he climbed into the bathtub and fitted himself around her. His chest against the nobbles of her spine, his cheek resting on the shelf of her shoulder. Alice let out a small, almost laugh as she watched how the water darkened his chinos. He had a swig of wine and passed the bottle to Alice. She took a sip from the bottle, and a little bit of wine began to drool down her chin. She laughed.

James kissed her. She didn’t pull away.