Globetrotter Ingrid gets a fabulous fresh start when her job takes her to Melbourne, Australia. Here she meets wise and sweet Oliver, who makes her forget she doesn't have a heart.
This successful stability prompts Ingrid to accept an invitation to...
Content warning: this chapter contains references to childhood abuse and sexual assault - reader discretion is advised.
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August, 1999
A mighty storm had angered the river and now it barrelled with a vengeance through the valley. Ingrid could hear it roar from across the hill. It sounded like a siren's song to her ears, summoning her. The water must have been so cold. A real treat, in this August heat.
She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Droplets trickled from her hairline, down her spine and staining the front of her spaghetti-strap top. The sun burned her exposed shoulders.
Cold water was just what she needed.
The goats were too busy grazing their favourite weed – the kind that made their milk bitter – to notice her slipping away up the hill and down the other side. The growl of the river intensified as she approached. A cool breeze rose from the water rushing past. It sprayed Ingrid, searing her hot skin. She wanted it to swallow her whole.
Ingrid gripped fistfuls of grass and wildflowers to secure her climb down the hill, too steep to properly stand upright on. Lured by the river nymph promising redemption and refreshment, the little girl let go and tumbled into the water. She sat up spitting and coughing.
The water tasted sweet, despite the mud. It tasted sweet and made Ingrid feel free. She stared down at herself. At this strange flesh that had betrayed her. At this body that harboured so much shame.
Because it was shameful. It was a sin letting Filip touch her as they hid in the corn barn. It was a sin that her grandfather's hand went under her clothes whenever her granny wasn't around.
The worst sin of all, though, was that she liked it.
Or she had liked it, until it began to hurt. Then she cried and wished her grandad dead. Which had only worsened the shame and the sin.
Ingrid gulped. The river grew louder, angrier. Her bare soles shuffled on the slippery stones underfoot. She crawled up on all fours and let the river flow over her arms and through her fingers. To wash away the filth and rejuvenate her skin.
"Ingrid!"
She stood up.
"Ingrid, where are you?"
Filip's voice carried over the hill and she almost wanted to shout back. Almost wanted, and couldn't. The river's roar floated ominously through the canopy thicket ahead. Shrubs and slim trees had grown on the sides of the valley further upstream, reducing visibility around a bend.
"Ingrid!" Filip found his way to the top of the hill and saw her. "Ingrid, what are you doing?"
He made to climb towards her, only he chanced a quick glance sideways, towards the noise hurtling downstream.
