Please Don't Leave Me Here by Tania Chandler Page A

inside, and slams the screen door behind her.
    ***
    A drunk woman upends a white plastic table as she falls over in the beer garden at The Old Pub. A bowl-full of cigarette butts scatters across the ground.
    Brigitte and Ryan try the bar instead. A big plastic fish hangs on the wall above bottles mirrored on dusty shelves. Happy hour 5–7 is scrawled in yellow chalk on a blackboard. Young Shannon greets Ryan like an old friend. ‘Where’s your mate?’
    â€˜Sam?’
    â€˜Yeah, the copper.’
    â€˜How’d you know that?’
    â€˜Always can tell, mate.’
    â€˜Had to go home this morning. Those murders in Melbourne.’
    â€˜Dreadful business.’ Shannon shakes his head and clicks his tongue. ‘This ya missus?’
    â€˜No, my sister, Brigitte.’
    Shannon kisses her hand, then goes back to talking to old Jim about his ancestors who own castles in Ireland. One of them was the first aviator to circumnavigate the world, according to Shannon. Jim tells them he’s lived here for forty years, fishing. He buys them beers, and gives the kids coins to play with the machine-gun video game in the corner.
    When Shannon’s and Jim’s conversation turns to boar hunting, Brigitte and Ryan rack up a game of pool.
    â€˜Anything happen the other night?’ Ryan pockets one of the smalls on the break. She feels her cheeks redden.
    â€˜After the twins’ birthday?’
    She looks at him with wide eyes, innocently — she has no idea what he’s talking about.
    â€˜Watch yourself, Brigi.’
    She nods, and chalks her cue. He leans across the table to take another shot.
    â€˜Only allowed one shot on the break,’ she says.
    â€˜Bullshit.’
    Brigitte takes her shot, and the ball just misses the pocket. ‘Do you know what Rosie was talking about last night?’
    â€˜No. She totally lost it, didn’t she?’ Ryan pots three balls in a row. ‘She’s jealous of you.’
    She sips her beer and laughs. ‘Why on earth would Rosie be jealous of me?’
    â€˜Because you’re cute and funny, and everybody loves you.’
    â€˜Rosie doesn’t.’ She flukes two balls in one shot.
    â€˜No, but I reckon Aidan does.’
    She miscues, and pots one of Ryan’s balls. ‘Stop it, Ryan.’
    â€˜And those local blokes do. Not one of them hasn’t had his eye on you since we walked in.’
    â€˜Don’t be stupid.’ She looks over her shoulder. Shannon waves and points at the drink he’s bought for her. Ryan shrugs — Told you so .
    â€˜Rosie thinks I spend more time with you than I do with her.’
    â€˜You do.’
    He cleans up the table, and pots the black.
    The ferry is at the landing when they leave the pub. Ryan throws Finn up onto his shoulders and takes Georgia’s hand. Brigitte drags Phoebe along as they hurry across the road.
    Finn’s sneakers slap on the steel floor of the pedestrian shelter as Ryan, out of breath, lifts him down.
    â€˜Look — water lights.’ Phoebe sticks her head between the bottom rails and points at the shimmer of red, blue, and silver: the café’s neon sign reflecting on the inky water. ‘Pretty.’
    â€˜Maybe I could move down here, buy a boat.’ Ryan leans against the top rail and inhales a deep breath of salty air.
    â€˜You’re drunk.’
    â€˜Am not. You are. I could be a fisherman, grow a beard …’ He strokes his smooth chin.
    â€˜And what would Rosie do?’
    â€˜Dunno. Be a fish wife.’ He hiccups.
    They laugh, and Ryan sings ‘Don’t Pay the Ferryman’.
    â€˜What the hell are you singing?’ Brigitte grips the rail so tightly that her knuckles whiten. The ferry groans and starts to chug across the strait.
    â€˜Don’t you remember that song? What was the guy’s name who sang it? Christopher somebody? Chris—’
    â€˜Oh my God, where’s