The Waterfall

By Phil G Glenn

 

Carly Watts, thirty-eight, has been with Henry Rose for four years and wants desperately to be in love with him but despite all his goodness, his looks, his pure heartedness, and, as hard as she tries, she cannot be, until a friend of hers gives her an address of a clinic that may help her fall in love.

Not long after Carly meets Michael, a tall good-looking accountant who instantly falls in love with her. She cannot resist him and after only one meeting he becomes her lover.

Carly is racked with guilt and desperate to stay with Henry, and, although skeptical, goes to the clinic. It works beautifully. After only two visits she believes she has fallen in love with Henry again.

Henry sits in his home in misery. Just lately it has set in his heart that Carly is not in love with him, confirmed recently by her refusal to move in with him. Alone in his lounge-room one night he recalls the memory of an old relationship, Sally, and rings her spontaneously. It is the start of a new friendship. They both soon realize their original passion is still there and unaffected by the passage of time.

Carly is devastated to find out that, after all these years, finally loving Henry the way she wanted, he may no longer be in love with her. And, to make it worse, Michael has become obsessive toward her and she must do all she can to avoid him.

And Sally too must contemplate her future. Henry is the love of her life. She has told him that. But with Carly in the way, she can only dream.

Then tragedy strikes all four.

 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phil G Glenn
• Release date: Dec 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215436387

Phil G Glenn

Phil Glenn is the author of two published books and two children's picture books. He holds a Degree In English Literature and lives with his wife and one child in Adelaide Australia

Book preview

Prologue

The sand was cold on their feet. On each side of them two giant sandhills, three stories high at least. Each step brought an avalanche of sand, making them giggle at the absurdity of each other’s walking style, like clowns with big shoes. Behind them was a small shack, nothing fancy, mainly wooden with a wonky veranda, the front part of which was slowly being reclaimed by one of the sandhills. The place was flimsy looking but costly, mainly because of its absolute isolation, these days you paid for that.

Once through the valley of sand, the air exploded with gusts of wind. Busy rolls of seaweed dashed past them as if late for something. The course sand stung their ankles. But the wind died as they got closer to the water. The sandhills disappeared into the horizon in both directions. Mountains of them fledged with strange looking, salty creepers that completely covered some and patched others. The beach itself was as wide as a five-lane highway with not a dot of human colour anywhere.

The ocean looked somehow ominous without people. It was big, it was explosive, it was churning. It gave a slight fear to both of them. This was helicopter evac territory if anything happened. But it came with excitement too.

To their left the beach dropped slightly and gave way to an enormous pile of granite rocks, all standing to attention defiantly against the ocean although many had great bites out of them. Each was the size of an upright car. The woman climbed each one, higher, incrementally, sleekly until she found one approximately at the man’s head height. Behind her the waves crashed, spraying her with a sheath of mist. She beamed with delight, rotating in one spot with her arms outstretched.

In the meantime, the man had his phone and was photographing each moment. A huge set of waves rolled in, hitting the rocks with a dull thud. Large drops hit her this time. She became conscious of the coldness of her t-shirt that clung to her skin and she whipped it off and threw it down to the man who caught it with the thrill of a bride’s bouquet. There she stood in profile like some strange apparition, her red bikini slewed with the massive blue background.

When the sea calmed again, she began her descent. A few minutes later she was back on the sand and into his arms.

Go on Henry, your turn, she said. She sleeked into Henry’s arms. Henry felt his loins stir by the sheen of her skin, her coldness. But he made no move, that was her department.

No Carly, Henry replied. He leaned over her shoulders with his weight half on her until she slumped slightly. If I break my neck who’s going to carry me out? He slumped his dead weight on her even more. You? Hmmm?

She shrugged him off. Oh Henry.

They continued down the beach hand in hand, kicking shells, occasionally examining little dead creatures, mainly crabs and jellyfish and one carcass of a dead fish. Every now and again Henry pelted stones out to the ocean, almost mandatory, something he did as a kid at his local river.

Another half a kilometre they came to the intended purpose of their walk. It was a large pool protected by a bastion of shiny, grey rock, that arced from shoreline to shoreline. Beyond, the ocean breathed and swirled but the pool was still, its surface grey like oiled metal. Curved black rocks protruded randomly out of its surface dotted with bird droppings; the ones further out teaming with large gulls.

The two dipped their ankles into the water, both gasping. The day was hot, but the water was ice. Both had snorkelling equipment in their hands.

Hey Henry, have you forgotten? said the woman.

Henry, who was by now knee deep in the pool, swung round. Carly?

Carly stood their naked, her bikini beside her on the sand. She grinned like a mischievous child. Her body glistened with sweat; her breasts slightly dusted with sand. Her erect nipples were staring back at him, as if willing him to undress.

Remember what you said last night? Wouldn’t it be nice if we.....Remember? she said.

‘Yes, but that was a... ‘thing’, an ‘imagine if we...thing’, a ‘wouldn’t it be funny if we swam naked’ thing...not an actual thing."

Well, well, Henry, good, clean, shy Henry. Do I have to go home and tell your friends that you refused to be naked with me? Hmmmm? she said playfully.

Henry smiled and sighed, came out of the water and slowly unpeeled himself, looking back and forth up the beach as he did so. Alright but if I get bitten ‘you know where’ it will ruin the rest of the holiday.

Well then I’d better take advantage first. And she took each of his hands into hers and drew him in. Then suddenly she gave him a playful push and ran down the beach beyond the pool. Henry was soon in pursuit, his desire heightened by her buttocks pulsating and glimpses of her bouncing breasts.

When he caught up, he gathered her in tightly, instantly kissing her.

Oh, how he loved her, he would have taken a bullet for her, laid down his life for her, absolutely anything for her. His eyes brimmed with it.

They made love on the moist sand. Small waves lapped at their ankles, the sand avalanching beneath them and slowly easing them to the water.

The water rose. It circled and whirl-pooled into a frenzy beneath them, around them, until Carly cried out. Another wave. Another crash. Henry moved with its rhythm, its power. Foam lifted off them like butterflies and was whipped away with the sea breeze. A crash. An explosion. Carly’s fists gripped the sand with it, squeezing until the wet sand oozed out between her fingers. Wave after wave after wave.

And then the sea subsided.

Henry turned and lay on his back beside her. They watched white clouds, circling seagulls until their chests returned to their normal rhythm. Until their minds arrived with that uncomfortable silence where neither knew what to say.

Finally, Henry propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Carly.

I love you, Carly, he said.

Carly answered with a large sigh. Oh Henry, she replied.

1.

Henry Rose sat on his balcony and stared into the darkness of the river that flowed barely fifty meters from his back fence. There were shadows out there that moved and didn’t make sense. With each thought more darkness and as darkness always does with broken hearts, it encapsulated him in a constant hurt, the hurt that she had unleashed inside of him. Outside of him. Everywhere. He pictured himself jumping into the black river, sinking into its depths, down and down until landing with a gentle bump onto a huge pile of other broken-hearted souls.

Oh, how he hated her for changing his world. The lack of her crept into every niche of his life.

He stood abruptly, held his breath and paced back and forth. I’m not in love with her anymore, he said out loud. I’m not in...I’m not in...I’m not in -. He stopped with a futile sigh knowing it had beaten him again. He beat out the word love with a slow breath and sat down again.

At that moment, had there been a bucket of water next to him, he might have poured it over himself to try and snap out of this ‘love thing’ he was suffering so terribly from. 

But it was all like plugging a leaking pipe with tissue paper. It held for a while but inevitably came flooding back. Tonight, worse than ever.

During the day the pain held, sort of, like a wet band-aid but each night, alone, she came to his dreams. It was often the same; him looking down at her and she looking up, her eyes staring, brimming, a glistening newborn suckled at her breast, her hair wet with sweat. A hand reached down and brushed away her hair – but it’s not his hand...

And then he awakens, aching, his heart brimming with love and hate all over again.

Dam you Carly, he shouted into the darkness.

He looked down into his phone. She was there, gleaming back at him. For the twentieth time, his finger hovered over the delete button and for as many, his finger failed.

As did his heart.

He finished his beer and threw it over the balcony onto the grass below. Somehow the glass shattered. He couldn’t help but laugh. Well, ain’t that a metaphor.

The cold night air blew in and he hugged himself. The moon was full and to rid his mind of her he took up his telescope. The universe intrigued him. He circled his telescope and found the moon’s silvery surface; there was the Tycho crater, the Sea of Tranquillity and next to it the Sea of Serenity. It was certainly vivid tonight. He remembered showing its surface to Carly in those early days, watching her find the moon and then seeing those lovely lips of hers gasp with its beauty, her neck long and slender...he checked himself, willed his mind to wander elsewhere.

He let the telescope down, stood, stretched his back, went inside to re-fresh his beer and came back outside again and sat down.

And his mind went straight back to Carly. Carly Bloody Watts. Perfect in every way. My goddam Mary Poppins. He smiled to himself as he pictured her floating off beneath her umbrella, further and further away until she was a black speck on the horizon.

His thoughts drifted to their first meeting. It was in Carly’s hair salon. She had ordered a new front door from him and made the unusual request for it to be painted red. Henry was a carpenter and worked at home from his huge back shed or the ‘other woman’ as Carly called it for the hours he spent out there. Inside was his pride and joy, a Triumph TR4 roadster that his dad had bought at a wrecking yard twelve months before he died which, in his honour, Henry had rebuilt from the chassis up.

And I want the door heavy and built for a cottage, she’d said to him on the phone.

He remembered instantly liking the soft, sweet sound of her voice and wondered if her voice matched her looks.

When he went there next day to measure up, she wasn’t there. He arrived with the door again a week later and parked out front, the red paint gleaming in the sunshine on its trailer. Unbeknown to her, he’d put a rush on the door. There was something about her voice that drew him in and Tracey, who had given his name to Carly, gave him a brief background on her availability and a description; elbowing him in a childlike way that ‘he might be a match’.

Carly first spoke to him through a mirror; her back turned, blow-drying an elderly lady’s hair. Carly’s hair was blond and as thick as sheep’s wool that went down to the middle of her back with wisps of blue through it (something Renee her best friend had done on a dare he found out later). He could only see her eyes; they were blue and piercing and seemed to make him nervous and loose his thoughts. She was standing tiptoed which gathered up her black pants exposing her hips and long, slender legs. He followed his eyes down her body until he got to her ankles. And when he looked up, she was looking at him. Abruptly, the hair dryer turned off. The silence was startling.

You can install the door now, I’m open for another hour. It won’t take you long will it? She turned and faced him. Henry had not been a pursuer of woman, he’d dated a lot of course but most of those women he’d just sort of met along the way, but at that moment, standing in the salon in his overalls, he made up his mind that he would try and make this woman, in some way, part of his life.

She was looking at him coyly, slightly discomforted by his wandering eyes. He stood there blushing.

Your hair looks nice, he called out awkwardly to the seated lady. She was reading a magazine and didn’t look up nor reply. Carly gave a giggle at the absurdity of the comment and her manner melted.

Henry joined the group from that day on. Carly, Renee and Tracey, and Carly’s hairdresser friends, Tania and Jordan, who would eventually go on to work for her, made up the rest of the group. They became inseparable and started hanging out in pubs together and back at Carly’s house after. It was a month in before he kissed her, he’d waited and then waited some more, even when he knew she wanted to, and then, when he finally did, under an elm tree, on a rainy night after drinks in the Old London Tavern, he felt embarrassed that he’d waited so long. And after it was over, they giggled together in each other’s arms and drove around for enough time that Ollie – Henry’s housemate at the time - would be asleep so they could sneak back to Henry’s bedroom but when their lustfulness made them impatient and they could wait no longer, they ended up at the Red Door. It was a humid night in December, large drops of summer rain fell, and they made love on the hairdresser’s chair, beautifully, perfectly sweaty and entwined and as lustful as any two young lovers could be.

It was a night he relived constantly. Sometimes, when he was lathing wood or drilling or handling some other dangerous machinery, that night would drift into his head and he’d have to stop what he was doing and sit down for a time and let the thoughts and the excitement of it drift away before resuming again. It was fair to say that in a small salon, during a summer storm, one night in December, Henry Rose fell in love.

They were together four years and they’d been strong for most of that time. But along the way, at times, he’d cursed himself for falling in love with a girl like Carly. She was a determined free spirit and didn’t do anything she didn’t want to.

Then. That day. He asked her to move in with him. He had built the house with her in mind. It was a natural progression in their relationship it seemed to him and his house was big. But she had refused, and he wondered for many nights ahead whether the refusal was a reflection of how she felt about him.

I can’t leave Renee, she had said. And besides, I’m around all the time anyway. The conversation was closed, and he smiled at her and she kissed him on the forehead.

It’s not a reflection of how she feels about you, Tracey told him later in that big powerful voice of hers. She loves you. We all know that. Hey, you don’t think I’ve asked Renee to move in with me? A dozen times. Each time she says ‘no’. She likes things the way they are, that’s all. And Carly’s the same.

He simply nodded his head and picked himself up. ‘Tracey is right’, he said to himself, ‘Carly just needs more time, that’s all.’

But that night, alone, his thoughts turned again. Four years is not enough time? The next morning, after a restless sleep, he went to Carly and asked her again. A volley of verbal ‘to and fro’s’ started until they both got angry and then the conversation deteriorated toward the truth. With her chin down and her eyes to the floor, Carly said those words that shot a nail to his heart and turned him cold. I’m not in love with you, Henry.

He walked away.

That was eight weeks ago, and they’d not spoken since. It had been the longest eight weeks of his life. It was as if the world had slowed down. The rhythm of his life changed; their lunches together twice a week, Mondays and Fridays, the Friday and Saturday nights out of course, common friend catch ups and cafe breakfasts on Sunday mornings. It was all gone.

As he sat there on the balcony, staring out at the blackness, his thoughts jagged, a sudden dry smile came over his face. For some reason he thought of his first girlfriend Sally Maine. He had broken Sal’s heart. They had only been together for two and a half years and, near the end, Sal had practically begged him to move in with her. Sal’s parents were wealthy builders and owned a house with a lift in it and for Sal’s twenty fifth birthday they bought her a modern apartment that overlooked the harbour and you could lie in bed and open the sliding doors and hear the beat of the tide and children splashing and seagulls squawking. But he hadn’t loved her the way he knew he should have and, when he said ‘no’, it all came out. Now the memory of that was clashing and swirling as a comparison to his question to Carly.

He poured the rest of his beer over the balcony, went inside and ran a bath. Dust flew from his overalls as he un-pealed them forming a red crust on the wet floor. The water was hot, real hot, beyond what Carly could ever endure and when he had playfully pulled her in one day, still in her underwear, she wouldn’t stay. Your leather skin can take it but mine can’t, she screamed.

Sadness overwhelmed him as he submerged himself into the water.

It was quiet. He reached over and opened the bathroom door just to hear the sounds of the house; creaking, clock ticking, distant noises from beyond.

He wondered how Sal was. She was his only real girlfriend before Carly. He’d not heard from her for years. It saddened him to know that he’d hurt her, genuinely hurt her. That last night she sat on the edge of the bed like a doll without stuffing, every bit of fight out of her and there was nothing for him to do but walk out. She didn’t even let him kiss her on the forehead. Now, if he was honest to himself, his relationship with Carly seemed to have stagnated the same way and he was beginning to feel the full effects of what Sal must have felt that night.

In the last eight weeks without Carly, his doubts grew about her feelings. Was she ever in love with him at all? Maybe her feelings were similar to his for Sally; a sort of deep caring. He was tempted to ring Carly for clarification but smiled to himself knowing it was ludicrous to ask. Hi Carly, were you in love with me at the beginning but your feelings faded away or was it always some sort of deep friendship? FUCK YOU Carly. I loved you. He sighed. I love you now.

The hurt sat in his stomach like a bad meal. For some strange reason, he suddenly wanted to see Sal again. Not to resume anything but to talk to her about how she felt after it was over. How was it to pick up the pieces again and move forward?  She was a wonderful soul, caring and kind. He had been attracted to her from the start, just like Carly. She had very short, black hair, man short, cut around her ears, and a body to die for. To this day, Henry had no more lust for anyone else including Carly. And Sal was a twin for God’s sake. He’d heard along the grape vine a few years back that she’d married and divorced some rich lawyer. I wonder if she’s still single, he asked himself, a cheeky smile spread over his face. Maybe I should give her a call?

Then he thought of Carly again and his smile drained and then he submerged his head below the water.

2.

The pile under the quilt stretched and groaned. Its foot popped out from the side, wiggled its toes and popped back in like a small animal testing the safety of the morning air.

Rise and shine princess, said a tall, lanky woman who came striding into the room. She opened the curtains and the room exploded in daylight.

The body groaned beneath the quilt again and turned over.

I can’t do it. Leave me alone, Renee, the body said.

Renee ripped the quilt aside.

The woman beneath bolted upright and tried to grab the quilt but Renee was too quick and threw it across the room.

Carly, it’s two o’clock in the afternoon. 

Carly’s blond hair was a webbed mess; her neck was locked in a painful arc. She sat up, adjusting her thoughts to reality, squinting around the room. Her face was slightly freckled, eyes a vivid blue. You could not call her stunning but there was an outdoorsy type of raw beauty to her. Carly was the owner of the hairdressing Salon, which also dabbled in crystals and psychic readings every second Friday. Carly was a non-believer, but her customers loved it.

Oh God, look at you, you’re a mess again, said Renee, noticing Carly’s vertical lines of mascara squiggling down her cheeks. Carly’s breasts hung down although she still wore the dress from the night before and she’d only managed to take one shoe off. Her bra was nowhere to be seen.

Outside the day was cold and lazy sunlight had little effect. Tiny eddies of wind picked up dust and leaves and threw it into the faces of walkers as they hugged themselves, under-dressed by the deceiving blue sky. The sunlight shone into Carly’s face making her feel nauseous.

She