Rain Season
Leanne Frahm

Garth Lorgan clutched the receiver to his ear, absorbed in the words of Lennie Bedlow's CEO, Jonathon. He stared sightlessly through the third-storey office window at the fading light of the city
'We want you to have this opportunity, Garth,' Jonathon vex. saying in his dry whispery voice, 'because Mr Bedlow believes that big companies can be too big, lose sight of the big picture, you understand?'
Garth nodded intently. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, I know exactly what you mean. You'll find we're the right size, compact but a real team just the size Mr Bedlow is looking for.'
'Yes.' There was a pause, Garth could almost hear Jonathon thinking. A clap of thunder sounded faintly in the distance.
'Yes. Friday then? We'll get together on the site first, with Mr Bedlow. To give you exactly the scenario, before we get down to the basics, eh?'
'Friday?'
'That's not a problem, is it?' A touch of ice travelled with the words.
'No, no.' Garth said. He made it sound confident. 'God no Friday's fine. The sooner we can get down to it, the sooner you'll find—Mr Bedlow will find—we're right for you.' He cursed the weak ending.
'Excellent,' said Jonathon with finality.
Garth gripped the receiver more tightly, as if to pull at 'Jonathone' sleeve, holding him. 'Just a minute,' he said. 'I should give you my mobile number, just in case ...'
'No need,' said Jonathon crisply. 'Friday, on site.'
'Certainly. Right. Well, goodbye — I'll look forward to seeing you Friday—' The line went dead.
Garth sat motionless, holding his breath. Then he relaxed, haling. He slammed his fist on the desk savagely. le- sus!' he 'said loudly.
This was it, the big chance. He'd known it would come, dammit! Years of running the agency on a shoe-string budget, advertising franchise boutiques in shopping centres for fat women who didn't think they were and championing shonky used car yards in the suburbs; reading the trade mags and envying Saatchi and Saatchi,
Clemenger, all th big names; pouring over other ads for what made them work, feverishly making contacts and networking in the right places. Just to have that one big chance ...
Bedlow's resorts.
'The room brightened, and he glanced up at the window next to his desk (carefully placed in the Feng Shui Dragon Position; he didn't know if it worked, but potential clients might be impressed, and impression was everything). The afternoon sun had disappeared and in the sudden exterior dimness the fluorescent lights glowed more strongly. He leaned forward to look out across the buildings and office blocks of Fortitude Valley, towards the highrises o fBrisbane.
Masses of black clouds we re piling up in the east, the ocean, scudding towards the city. He heard another peal of thunder, closer. An   afternoon storm, he noted abstractedly, his mind still with Lennie Bedlow and the big chance. He grinned and stood up abruptly, the chair rolling back on silent castors across the plush wine-coloured carpet. He'd tell the staff, get them to start thinking.
A sheet of rain dashed the window pane, vicious in its suddenness. Below him, Constance Street blurred in the early darkness, washed with streaks of primal colours as the running water caught the rainbow of neon signs. He opened the door.
'Listen up,' he said, striding out into the main office, and stopped. The office was empty. The screens were covered, the work stations bare.
Cara entered from the passageway that led to the toilets with her bag slung over her shoulder. 'Are you looking for Dee Dee and Mike, Mr Lorgan?' she said. She sauntered over to the reception desk and put some loose biros in the drawer. 'They've gone,' she said. 'It's after four-thirty–nearly.' She flicked a quick glance at him, twitching at the clinging skirt that barely covered the small mounds of her buttocks.
'Great,' said Garth, putting his hands on his hips. 'They knew that call was coming. They should have been here.'
'I'm sorry, Mr Lorgan. I didn't know–'
'All right, Cara. Where'd they go – the Dead Rat?'
She nodded.
'You finish up here. I'll chase them up and give them the good news. Excellent news, Cara.' He looked at her pretty, bored face with satisfaction. She went with the decor, with the jade green walls and the comfortless minimalist couch under the Dali prints. 'You're working at a prestigious agency now.'
She looked blank, uncertain of her response. 'That's nice, Mr Lorgan,' she said finally, fiddling with the strap of her bag. As she moved her arms her breasts became even more prominent under the silky fabric.
'Very nice,' he said. 'So nice we should celebrate. Why not come down to the Rat with us?'
She shook her head. 'I don't think so, Mr Lorgan. I would've, but with the rain ... The traffic's going to be awful. It's really heavy, isn't it?'
Garth turned. The rain was lashing down in a steady deluge, driving hard against the windows. He shrugged. 'It's undercover most of the way. But that's okay, go on home. And diary that I'll be out most of Friday. With Dee Dee.'
'All right, Mr Lorgan. Have a nice night.' Her skirt hem rose to Her panty-line as she turned to leave and she pulled absently at it as she closed the door behind her.
'I will,' Garth said to himself. 'I will.'
The gutters along Constance Street ran deep with stormwater as the slanting rain splattered the concrete footpath. Garth moved through the aafter-work throng, as close to the buildings as possible. Despite the rain, the air was hot and perspiration pooled in his armpits.
Te Dead Rat Hotel was crowded with the usual Friday night people, mostly from the offices along Fortitude Valley, a few tourists. He said hello a few times to faces he thought he knew, smiling. You always smiled in public, it went with success. He found Dee Dee and Mike planted on stools at the bar, flushed and laughing hard.
'Hi,' he said, pushing his way up to them. The noise was overwhelming.
'Yo, boss,' said Dee Dee, giggling.
'Garth,' Mike acknowledged.
'So,' Garth went on. 'Couldn't stay around to hear what Bedlow hid to say?'
Well--' said Mike.
Dee Dee's smile vanished. 'How did it go?' she muttered into her glass.
'I've got it,' he said triumphantly.
Got it?' said Mike. The graphic designer looked incredulous. 'Just about. As good as,' Garth said. Dee Dee snorted and turned back to the bar.
'Listen,' he said angrily, 'It's there for the taking. Bedlow really wants us, and it's up to us to take it. As soon as we come up with a good concept, it's ours. And once I've got Bedlow and his resorts, they'll be knocking the doors down for us. You–' he pointed to Dee Dee – start thinking this weekend. No, now. We'll be seeing Bedlow on site on Friday, and I want to be talking proposals to him straight away.'
'What about Alfonso's?' said Dee Dee.
'What about Alfonso's?' Garth said.
'Alfonso's. The delicatessen chain. We were meeting him on Friday to look at the launch of the new branch at –'
'Shit. We don't want to lose accounts, even a bloody delicatessen, not yet.' Garth thought for a moment. 'Okay. You call him and change it.'
Dee Dee rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Mike grinned nervously.
'Right!' Garth slapped his hand on the bar. 'This is the big one, folks. Let's celebrate. Glen Fiddich all round.'
'Er, who's buying?' asked Mike cautiously.
Garth grinned at their suddenly interested faces. A gust of wind drove a torrent of rain through the door. The crowd surged back to avoid it, laughing and squealing.
'I am, Chucky. I am,' he said, and his laughter sounded big and confident, the way he knew it should.
Garth's Saab (second-hand, but good) crawled through the downpour, hugging the gutter. He squinted through the streaming windshield at grey bitumen and greyer rain, barely able to separate the two in the enfeebled glare of the headlights. There was little traffic at this hour. He was grateful for his renovated colonial cottage at New Farm, which had cost a small fortune, but it was close, handy to the office when the weather was bad (he could jog to work if he really wanted to) or when he might be a little over the limit ... His grin was lop-sided.
Garth pulled up beside the high brick fence that screened the house, under a street-light illuminating the swarming arrows of rain. He opened the door and lurched up the path. He was soaked in seconds, shocked by the intensity of the drops on his skin and the eerie feeling of thin trickles running down his face from his flattened hair. There was a light in the living-room, shining through the mullioned windows. He blinked water from his eyes and hurried up the steps to the verandah.
Dry. He shook himself and water showered across the timber floor. As he unlocked the door a small white dog threw itself at him, yelping.
'Hi, Conan,' he said, picking up the prancing Lhasa Apso, and carried it through the foyer into the living-room, feeling its fur become draggled with the wetness of his clothes. He let it slip to the floor where it shook itself vigorously.
'You're soaking.' His wife, Lauren, sat curled up on the sofa by the trellised bar.
'It's raining,' he said.
'I know that.' She straightened her legs and sat up. 'You're dripping. On the rug. Everywhere.'
Garth looked down at the growing puddle around his feet. Conan sniffed at it, lapping tentatively. 'Sorry. I –'
'I suppose you've been at the bar again,' she said. The tiny lines around her mouth seemed more pronounced every time he looked at her. He nodded. 'Actually it was a celebration.'
His clothes were becoming uncomfortable, the material wet and stiff, chafing against his skin. He shoved the dog away with his loot. 'It looks like I've finally cracked the big time. Remember Bedlow? Remember his resorts?'
Lauren's gaze was expressionless, and that reminded him that he didn't quite have the account, not yet. He decided to be conciliatory. 'I'm sorry, I should have called you. You shouldn't have stayed up for me.'
'I didn't,' she said. 'I'm waiting for the girls.'
'They're still out? In this weather?' The night's drinks made it hard for his brain to focus. 'Where?'
Lauren looked away. 'At a rage, or rave, or whatever they call it this week. I don't know where.' Conan leapt on the sofa and snuggled into Lauren's side. She stroked the dog's silky dampness absently.
Garth was suddenly angry. 'My God, they're only fourteen,' he said loudly. 'What do you mean, letting them go to something like that, bat, with drink and drugs and god knows what else! You're letting them run wild!'
'Fifteen,' said Lauren.
'What?'
'Fifteen. The twins had a birthday two weeks ago. Didn't you notice?' She stood up, shaking Conan to the floor. 'Perhaps I could control Melisah and Emilyjane better if I had some help.' Her voice quivered. 'Like from their father. If you weren't so busy promoting yourself, chasing after people you think are important, celebrating.'
He felt hot, the blood thudding in his forehead. 'It is important I mean, they are important. This time it's the best chance yet, Bedlow wants me –' He stopped, suddenly conscious of Lauren's twisted smile and the rain drumming on the iron roof overhead.
'I'm going into the bedroom,' she said. 'For God's sake, dry yourself off.'
Leanne Frahm
car's roof. He looked around. The misted distortion of the windows made the huge expanse of levelled ground surrounding them shimmeringly unreal and depressing. All colour was washed from the scene, with the exception of random groups of brilliant orange earth-moving machinery, like herds of gargantuan grazing beasts, oblivious of the rain.
Dee Dee nudged him sharply. 'Is that the legendary Bedlow?' I le turned his head and saw a man in the doorway of the office block, gesturing at them.
don't know,' he muttered, feeling a spasm of excitement. He unbuckled the seat belt and opened the door. 'Come on.' Rain soaked them warmly. 'Shit,' said Dee-Dee.
Next Friday morning saw rain falling from the low, leaden sky as inexorably as it had been all week. The trip had been impossibly slow; culverts washed out, creeks flooded. Snarled traffic crept along the highways and stopped altogether for minutes on end.
'The bloody weather bureau can't even say when it'll end,' said Dee Dee.
Garth didn't reply. He drove hunched forward, staring intently-at the road, trying to distinguish the bitumen from the water-filled potholes. Dee Dee shrugged and turned her head away in silence.
When they turned onto the dirt road leading to the site, the low-slung Saab ground through the slush uneasily. Garth imagined the mud-encrusted paintwork and gritted his teeth. A high wire. mesh fence appeared from the blur of rain, separating scrubby bushland and vast areas of cleared land, all in shades of grey.
They drove through an open gate. 'Here already?' said Dee Dee brightly, and her sarcasm was as palpable as the humidity in the air around them. He ignored her.
The road led on to a concrete-block site office, where a Jeep Cherokee was parked. Garth pulled up beside it. 'That's what you need for this sort of thing,' Dee Dee said. He nodded, feeling a stab of envy. 'Right, we're here,' he said, distracting himself.
Garth and Dee Dee huddled under big black umbrellas on a small I knoll some distance from the concrete office, trying to catch what Jonathon ('I'm sorry, Mr Bedlow is unable to attend in this inclement weather.') was saying under the fusillade of drops on the taut fabric.
The scale model of the proposed resort, displayed on a large table in the office and explained by Jonathon, was magnificent. Garth's breath caught in his throat every time he thought of it. Inside the office block, Jonathon's dry voice was barely audible over he sweep of the rain as he lectured them on lists of necessary
brochures, videos, posters, advertisements – and issued t Item with a brief on Mr Bedlow's mandatories. Garth, nodding incessantly, passed them on to Dee Dee. Then Jonathon had requested, as Mr Bedlow would have suggested, that they walk through the area 'to absorb the atmosphere'. 'He's bloody joking,' Dee Dee mouthed worriedly as Jonathon went to a cupboard for the umbrellas. Garth frowned at her.
Now Garth's legs were aching from trudging through the Morass of furrowed mud, and he could see Dee Dee's face was grim she swayed, trying to stop her high heels sinking.
He gestured towards the far-off beach. 'From here to there will be the golf course. Eighteen holes, designed by Davis if we can get him. The scrub has already been cleared and we've bulldozed the mangroves and imported some plantings to find the best gray, this area, as you can see.'
He pointed to the ground. Tufts of bright green grass struggled. desperately upwards, but were drowning in the black mud oozing up around them. Garth saw his shoes were sinking into it too; Gucci's had been a mistake, already soaked and stained. He shuffled surreptitiously, leaving deep footprints that immediately filled with water.
'Right,' he said, making his voice sound congratulatory	1 capable both at once. 'I think we've probably seen enough, Jonathon. Perhaps we could go back now ...?'
Jonathon looked at him through spectacles misted with moisture. 'It is very important that you incorporate everything that Mr Bedlow has to say about this resort.'
Believe me, Jonathon,' said Garth. 'This is the most important thing in the world for me.' He forced a smile. 'I won't let Mr Bedlow down. Never. Nothing will stand between me and whatever Mr Bedlow wants. Now can we get out of the rain?'
Even the teeming continual rain and half-heard news reports of flooding as the river rose couldn't dampen Garth's spirits on Monday morning. The staff briefing for Bedlow's was scheduled at nine and he wanted to start on it immediately with Dee Dec and Mike, and maybe that freelance Zac, the illustrator-cum-copywriter , who was good, very good, if expensive. Later, when this was a success, he could put on a staff copywriter, the firm would grow ...
He left the house promptly, before the girls were up, with a brief goodbye to Lauren.
He'd expected chaos on the roads, but there was surprisingly little traffic, even on Brunswick Street. anne Street, though, was bumper to bumper with heavy haulage trucks, the rain beating savagely on their canvas loads and spraying the few pedestrians, but he was able to finally manoeuvre the Saab into the Chinatown parking lot, finding it only half-full. It's early yet, he thought.
He dived through the deluge for the cover of the footpath, unde rthe dripping facades of the buildings, and glanced around. There were no cars at all in Brunswick Street on this side of the mall, hut a flurry of activity and uniforms outside the railway in the next block caught his attention, and he noticed three
ambulances parked on the road. He wondered what had happened is he hurried on towards the office.
There was a rapid tapping of heels behind him, and his elbow was caugh. He swung around. Dee Dee's face was pale under her heavy make-up and locks of damp hair hung loosely across her scarf. My God,' she said. 'Isn't it awful?'
'What?' said Garth.
She gestured back towards the ambulances. 'All those kids,' she said.
I don't know what you're talking about,' he said impatiently. 'Come on.'
But they're dead!'
He looked more closely at the distant figures. They were carrying stretchers and raindrops pounded on the plastic bags they held, surrounding reminding him of the drenched canvas of the trucks. 'What happened?' he said.
Dee Dee's voice had lost some of its usual confidence. 'I've just come up from the trains – mine's one of the few left running.
Apparently a bunch of street kids were sheltering in a tunnel, and the river broke near it. There was a flood, they couldn't get out.' 
That's bad,' he said. 'Well, come on. We've got this meeting – Dee Dee stared at him. 'It's more than bad. The river's flooding all over, they've evacuated whole suburbs in places. Didn't you know?' 'No, I didn't notice. I've been busy,' he said pointedly. The nearby gutters were oveflowing, sending tiny waves racing over the footpath at their shoes.  Tendris of wire-grass growing from the tracks trailed across th econcrete,m swept by the current.  Gath looked more closely at them.  They seemed to be growing while he watched ...
He turned abrupty.  'Come on,' he said again to Dee Dee.
She srugged and followed him through the rain.

Cara and Mike were late.  'It's the rain,' said Dee Dee reasonably.  'It's getting hard to move around.' Garth tried to curb his impatience.  He Spent the time going through Bedlow's documents again with Dee Dee.
When Cara came in she was flushed and damp, her make-up streaking, and her wet dress clining to her body. 'Sorry,' she said breathlessly as Garth looked at her.  He was about to say something but Mike entered just then, swearing.
'Shit, Garth,' said Mike 'This is ridiculous. We can't keep coming in through this.  Do you know how many buss are running now?
Garth had never seen Mike angry. Dee Dee stepped in calmly 'Maybe we should close for a while, until things get back to normal,' she said. Cara nodded tentatively.
Garth turned on her, feeling the blood rush to his head. 'Close' muted. 'Close? With Bedlow ready for the drawing board? the biggest job of our lives in front of us? You have got to be joking, all of you.' He glared at each of them in turn. 'How easy do you think it is to find jobs in this industry right now?' There was a long silence.
All right, all right,' said Dee Dee. 'We're here now, we may as well do something.'
'Right.' He was calmer now, more composed. He flicked through folios on the desk and pulled out some pages. 'Here, Cara. Copy these so we've all got copies.'
She took them from him wordlessly.
'Now,' he said, addressing Dee Dee and Mike, 'I've spent a considerable amount of time on this over th eweekend, and you would have too, Dee Dee, seeing you've aklready heard some of the ideas Bedlow has.' She nodded. 'We'll go through these with you, Mike ... What? Cara was at his elbow, her hands full of paers.
'It's not working,' she said.
'What's not working?' Garth said  dirritably.
'The photocopier. Look.' She held out a photocpopied page.
'It's all blurry'
He grabbed it from her. 'Shit,' he said. 'the paper's wet.'
'It must be the dampness,' said Dee Dee. 'The humidity ...'
Garth strode to the cupboard wher ethe stationery was kept and pulled out a ream of paer. He ripped open the cover. 'Jesus, it's all like that. Christ--doesn't anything work aroun dhere?'
It's okay, said Dee Dee, takiong it from him. 'I'll get it dry, don't worry ...'
'Wll, bloody hurry up!' Garth walked over to the window and stared at the rain, his hand sin his  pockets. The street was empty. Only a crowd of seagulls moved through the downpour, scavening among masses of vegetation that seemed to be choking the gutters and spilling across the road and footpaths. He wondered with annoyance why the Council wasn't clearing it away.
Where's my shirt, the one with the navy stripe?' Garth called, rifling through the clothes hanging in his wardrobe. The light in the bedroom seemed dimmer than usual and the rain still drummed incessantly on the roof.
'You wore it the other day,' said Lauren shortly, bending to smooth sheets over the bed.
He turned to face her. 'Well, why isn't it washed?' he said.
'There've been electricity cuts — haven't you noticed?'
'Of course I've bloody noticed. The Mac keeps crashing, we're losing Bedlow's files all the time. We have to keep saving every few seconds. Don't talk to me about electricity cuts. Anyway, what's that got to do with my shirts?'
Lauren straightened and looked at him. 'The washing machine. the drier, the iron–they all need electricity, remember? I can only do so much when it's on, and no, I haven't been able to manage the shirt with navy stripes yet!' Her voice quivered.
'All right, all right.' He plucked another shirt from a hanger 'I just want to look good, in case Bedlow drops in. He could, any time ...'
'Bedlow, Bedlow, Bedlow. That's all I hear about. In the middle of a crisis like this!'
'Crisis?' Garth shrugged his shirt on and buttoned it. 'Oh, you mean the rain.'
'The rain? The rain?' Her voice rose. 'Yes, I mean the bloody rain.'
'There's no need to get hysterical,' he said with exasperation. He opened the door to see Melisah and Emilyjane coming out of the bathroom together, still in their pyjamas. The apricot walls looked gray in the gloom. Then the lights flickered and came back stronger, and he could see they were grey, a layer of mildew had settled on them He decided not to mention this to Lauren, not in her current mood.
'Breakfast ready?' he said.
'What there is of it,' Lauren muttered behind him.
'What do you mean?' he said.
'I mean most of the stores are shut.' Lauren followed him down the hallway. 'And the ones still open have bugger-all supplies.'
'Lauren!' he said, surprised. The girls giggled and sat down at the table in the dim dining room.
Garth pulled his chair out. 'Why aren't you two dressed for school yet?'
'The schools are closed,' said Lauren. 'That is, the ones that aren't completely under water. I told you it was a crisis.'
Garth shook his head and picked up a piece of bread with a smear of butter on it. He looked at it with distaste. 'I must be must be the only person in Brisbane still working,' he said.
Lauren looked at him. 'Probably,' she agreed
On the he way to the Saab through the grey curtain of rain, Garth noticed the garden was a mess. The lawn was destroyed, ragged clods of grass criss-crossed with small ravines and gullies that trickled water. Weeds had engulfed the roses, and the few native plants rantangled with large-leaved vines and grasses. He'd have to tell  Lauren to get that gardener chap in, to clean it up. What if Bedlow visited?
He got into the car and closed the umbrella, shaking it before closing the door. Through the fogged windscreen he could see dozens of potholes, the jagged edges of their coastlines scarring the bitumen. He winced at the thought of driving the Saab over them,and felt another surge of anger at the Council for allowing it to hapen. It was anger tinged with desperation. Why was all this happening now?
He put the Saab into first gear and inched his way forward, towards the Valley.
The phone rang. The voice beyond the rain was scratchy and distant, Cara's. 'I can't get in, Mr Lorgan,' she said. 'I just can't.'
Garth clenched his fist around the receiver, studying the wall in front of him, the one with the Dali prints on it. The electricity was working and the lights were on, highlighting the coating of mildew that painted a surrealistic mural that swept across the cornice to become a huge dark cloud across the ceiling, pressing down on him.
He put his hand over the receiver. 'Dee Dee,' he said. She looked up from her desk. She wore jeans and boots, and no make-up Her hair was pulled back in a careless pony-tail. He frowned.
'Dee Dee, get in touch with building maintenance and get a cleaner in. This place has just got to be cleaned up.' She shrugged, and looked back down at her work.
He cleared his throat and spoke into the phone. 'Cara, I need you in here. The work is piling up, particularly with the computer down most of the time. I've even got hold of a manual typewriter for you. He looked across at the clumsy black Remington sitting on Cara's desk, its bulky keys on their thin metal arms startlingly
anachronistic among the computers and screens. 'This job has to go through.'
But ...'
'I don't want to hear "but", Cara.' Dee Dee paused and looked up at him again. He turned his back on her. 'Walk, if you have to, swim, I don't care. Just get your arse in here quick-smart, or I'll make sure it's not just this industry you don't work in, but my fucking industry at all! Now!'
He slammed the receiver down, breathing hard.
'You're an idiot.' Dee Dee's voice was politely conversational 'What?' He swung round. She was tapping her pen on thumbnail.
'Nothing,' she said. Garth gaped at her, but her head was bent again, and he wondered if he'd misheard. The phone rang. I snatched at it.
'What?' he yelled.
There was silence for a moment. Then an uncertain 'Garth?' It was Mike.
'Yes, yes. It's me,' said Garth. 'What is it? Why aren't you 'I won't be in again, Garth. I'm finishing.'
'Finishing?' Garth stared at the screensaver on a monitor. Dull colours twisted hypnotically on it, mirroring the rolling rain-clouds beyond the window.
'That's right. I'm leaving.' Mike's tone was final, with just touch of fear.
'You can't,' said Garth flatly.
'Sorry. Goodbye.'
Garth put the receiver down carefully and pushed his hair bat from his sticky forehead. He looked around. Dee Dee's head was. bent even lower, and he wasn't sure from the motion of her shoulders ders if she was laughing or not.
'Okay,' he said, straightening his shoulders. 'We just work harder We don't let this slip away just because of the weather. Right?' 
'Sure, boss.' Dee Dee's voice was muffled.
Garth walked over to Mike's desktop, grimacing. He looked at thhe carpet. Its deep purple was almost black beneath layers of piled grit.
'Don't forget that cleaner,' he said.
He was still at Mike's work-station when Cara came in. He stared at she, was soaked, her hair plastered to her face in dull brown strands. Her bare legs and feet were muddy. Water trickled the length of her tight, bright green dress and mixed with the mud to settle on the floor around her in a viscous black pool, as if she was dissolving in front of them.
'Jesus, Cara!' Garth wrinkled his nose in distaste. 'For God's sake, you can't work like that! Clean yourself up.'
Her mottled face reddened and he realised she'd already been crying. Dee Dee got up from her desk and went to her. 'Come on,' she said. 'I'll help.' She took Cara's hand to lead her towards the bathroom.
As they turned away, Garth saw something bloated, black and shiny hanging from the back of her thigh, just below the hem of her perilously short skirt. It swayed as she moved.
He stared aghast. It was a leech.

The Saab ran out of fuel at the bottom of the last hill before the house. Sighing, Garth switched off the engine and got out. He locked the doors and set off through the rain.
A series of shouts and squeals mingled with hysterical barks ended from the back yard of the house as he drew closer. He trudged through the slush that had been the lawn to the gate that led to the back, wondering tiredly what new crisis Lauren had involved herself in. The wood of the gate felt soft and rotten, crumbling a little under his hand. He pushed it open and stopped.
Melisah and Emilyjane were running along the back fence, each with one of his golf clubs in her hand. They were wearing bikinis, and the rain dashed down on them, wetness shining their golden
highlighting the movement of their young muscles as they ran. A bedraggled Conan yapped at their heels excitedly.
Melisah paused. 'Mum,' she called, 'Call Conan. He's getting in the way!' She kicked at the dog which responded with a surprised yelp, and started off again, following Emilyjane.
Garth looked round and saw Lauren standing on the flagstones under the pergola at the back of the house, holding a large kitchen knife. 'What on earth is going on?' he said, striding towards her.
'Quiet!' she said, her eyes shining, watching the girls intently 'Yes, yes,' she called, 'it's circling the gum. Get it on the way up'
Garth swung round in time to see Melisah and Emilyjane stop and begin to pound into the eucalyptus with his clubs. 'Hey! Stop that!' he shouted, anger giving him the strength to run towards them. 'What do you think you're ...' He stopped, stupefied, his mouth hanging open.
The girls were resting on the clubs now, breathing hard studying the creature lying at their feet. Conan sniffed it, growling uncertainly. It was a goanna, a large one. Its striped hide was stippled with specks of bright blood that washed into a pink puddle around their feet.
Lauren splashed over to join them. Emilyjane and Melisali grinned at her, Melisah wiping her wet fringe back from her forehead. 'Well done,' said Lauren, smiling and putting her arm around Emilyjane. She gave the knife to Melisah who squatted down beside the carcass.
Garth was staring at his discarded golf-clubs lying in the mud and rage overtook his astonishment. 'What is going on?' he said  harshly. Lauren looked at him as if he had only just arrived. 'Dinner,' she said off-handedly.
'Whose dinner?' said Garth.
She smiled at him as if he was one of the twins. 'You probably wouldn't be aware of it, but a state of emergency's been declared.
There's no food, and they can't get any in. We have to look after ourselves now.'
Garth was incredulous. 'You mean you intend for us to eat that?'
Lauren nodded. 'We've got a bit of tinned stuff put away, but it makes sense to stretch it out with what we can catch.' She put her arm around Melisah, who was still wrestling with the bloodied goanna, and smiled. 'The girls are good at this.' Emiljane turned to her mother. 'Yes, but we have to do something about Conan. He's not a hunter, he just gets in the way.' Lauren nodded again. 'Inside now, and get dry.' The girls ran off
Is the house.
And get into something decent,' Garth called.
'Why?' said Lauren. 'I mean,' she went on as Garth frowned at her 'We can't wash clothes, and the twins are always wet. Bikinis make sense. Besides, nearly everyone else is gone.'
'We're not going anywhere,' said Garth quickly, 'Not with Bedlow's project ...'
Lauren studied him. 'No,' she agreed to his surprise. 'We don't want to leave yet, either.' She turned and followed the twins into the house.
Garth stood in the rain. Lauren seemed younger to him, more alive, like the twins. Conan sniffed at his foot and whined for attention. 'By the way,' he said to her retreating body, 'The Saab's out of fuel. None of the service stations are open. I'll have to walk to work.'
Constance Street was empty of cars and pedestrians. It was awash, and grass and reeds grew in lush abundance around it. Eucalyptus saplings were struggling through the bitumen and lantana bushes pushed up through the grates where the stormwater bubbled, trying to escape. Garth was as wet with perspiration as with rainwater as he struggled through the swamp.
The foyer of the building gave some protection from the rain, but not from the vegetation. Weeds and vines had found purchase in the carpet and brightly coloured patches of lichen defaced the walls. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling, sticking to him as he tried In brush past them. He wiped his face and undid the top button of his shirt as he climbed the stairs to his office. The monotonous sound of driving rain followed him.
Dee Dee was propped on a chair with a sketchbook on her lap and her feet on her desk, which was scattered with crayons and coloured pencils_ 'Hi,' she said briefly as he entered. The sensitive  fern-like leaves of a patch of weed curled in upon themselves as he wiped his feet near them.
'Christ,' he said. 'It's so hot in here.'
'Well,' said Dee Dee, looking up. 'No electricity, no air conditioning, and sealed windows. What do you expect?'
'Maybe you should get on to maintenance, get a generator on or something–'
'Get real,' she muttered, returning to her colouring-in.
Garth ignored her and shuffled to Mike's desk, where the last lay-outs were set out. A fringe of bluish mould sprouted from the top page, and he carefully wiped it off with a scrap of tissue. I stared at them for some time.
The phone rang and he picked it up, clearing his throat. 'Lorgan and Associates,' he said.
He stood listening to the voice at the other end. 'Cara,' he said finally, 'We've been through all this before. I don't care if you're finding it hard ..
Dee Dee was on her feet and grabbed the receiver from him before he could protest. She turned away from him. 'Hi, Cara,' said, 'It's Dee.' There was a pause while she listened, and he had time to wonder why she was wearing what looked like a scabbard, with a Bowie knife on her belt. 'No, don't worry about that. Really. It doesn't matter any more. It's time to go.'
Garth started forward and raised his hand in protest. She swung away from him. 'That's right, time to get out. I'm heading for Montville, up in the mountains. Want to come?' She waited for Cara's response, and then laughed. 'We'll walk! Course we can. Okay, I'll meet you there and we'll be off. Wear boots. Bye.'
Dee Dee put down the phone and brushed aside a glossy-leaver liana vine coiled around the cord.
'You mean that?' said Garth. 'You're leaving, both of you? Leaving me here – with this?' He gestured at the papers and documents strewn around the office.
'Uh huh,' said Dee Dee, picking up her bag from the desk, wiping a film of mould from it carelessly.
'Leaving me with all this work, in these god-awful conditions, in this goddamn heat – ' His voice rose, he could feel it becoming a on, And his ulcer spasmed.
'Heat? Hot, are you?' said Dee Dee. 'Well, I can fix that!'
She picked up her chair and hurled it through the window. There was a crash of breaking glass and the suddenly loud hiss of rain. It poured through the fragile shards that remained intact, drenching the furniture and carpet, and a warm breeze caught the papers, fanning them across the room.
Garth clutched at them wildly, his mouth open, as Dee Dee slammed the door behind her.
Somehing large made a slithering noise behind the photocopier.

The force of the rain sprayed moisture through the fabric of the umbrella. It didn't matter, Garth was damp all the time now, it seemed. The walk home through the dusk was a nightmare of wading through once-familiar territory that had somehow become swampland, disturbing strange birds and things that scuttled through waist-high grass as he went. His legs ached. The sight of the colonial cottage wavering through the dimness and rain brought a sigh of relief to his lips.
He was on the last step to the verandah when a large shaggy dog bounded out at him from the dark of the house. He stopped abruptly as it snarled, lowering its body into a crouch, its mouth open showing sharp fangs.
Lauren!' Garth called, his voice wavering. The dog made a throbbing sound in its throat and edged closer.
'Lauren! What is this? Are you alright?' The dog was gathering
to spring, he knew it was.
Lauren stepped onto the verandah and clapped her hands. 'Here Wolf'. The dog jumped up and ran to her side, panting. 'Good boy!' she said, burying her hand in the thick fur of its neck.
Garth dragged himself up the last step, feeling his legs quivering 'Where did that come from?' he gasped.
'The girls needed him,' Lauren said. 'He helps.'
'The electricity's totally gone,' he said.
'I know,' said Lauren.
Garth followed her and the dog into the house. The kitchen was lit with candles, and a makeshift fireplace had been built with bricks on the slate floor near the dishwasher. It made the room hot, and steam rose from the water trickling down the walls from leaks in the roof. Garth sat down, feeling fatigue drain him.
'Where are the girls?' he said dully.
'In the back yard, getting the meat ready.'
'Not goanna again,' he said.
Lauren shook her head. She was busy with a saw, cutting the legs off a stained mahogany chair that Garth was sure belonged to the Wallaces, next door. He'd seen it when they'd visited for dinner, a long time ago.
He looked round absently. 'Where's Conan?' he said. 'I don't think he'll like this new dog very much, will he?'
'I don't think it matters,' said Lauren.
Beneath the dreary pall of rain Fortitude Valley was deserted and unrecognisable. Colourful banners advertising the next festival were reduced to ragged tatters and the gaily-striped awnings were shredded. The facades of the buildings were disfigured by opportunistic and unidentifiable growths, and the Chinatown lions seemed
 smaller and misshapen, eroded by the constant rain. A small sea had risen in the Brunswick Street Mall, its waters scarred by the constant eruption of raindrops on the surface. Wavelets lapped into the reeds as he tramped through them, and he disturbed a flock of magpie geese gathered on the verges. Their grotesquely shaped heads jerked back and forth as he pushed past them.
He stopped at McWhirter's, where the automatic doors were open, jammed by waist-high masses of vegetation and debris. Inside, the ceiling was encrusted with growths of vibrant coloured funig. Closer to his building, the Dead Rat Hotel was much the same. there was no movement in the darkness beyond its front doors, and he remembered with a strange hunger the nights he had spent in there with Dee Dee and Mike. He hoped there were a few drinks left, to celebrate with when the work was  completed. It would be. He'd finish it by himself. Soon. He didn't need the others. None of them.
A dismal chorus of honking sounded, and he looked back. The geese had followed him. He hurried on up the stairs to his dark office. To continue.
Inthe flickering of the candlelight, the big dog's eyes were shining pinholes of infinity as it lay curled near the twins, watching him enter the kitchen. Melisah and Emilyjane were sitting on the floor, legs crossed, intent on the objects around them. They had discarded heir bikini tops. Garth pretended not to notice.
Lauren knelt by the fire, shredding a pile of newspapers, dressed only in a bra and panties. The flames crackled and hissed with the moisture in the furniture she was burning and he could feel sweat breaking out on his body. He sat down near the girls, trying to ignore the shifting of the dog. In the  wavering light he could see things they were working with – a broom handle, empty tin cans, his golf clubs, shears, wire, knives ... Their hair hung in dishevelled curls across their shadowed faces and their strong young hands were busy.
He cleared his throat. 'What are you doing?' he said. They looked at each other, then at their mother.
Lauren shook her hair back. 'Making spears,' she said matter-of-factly. Her face was flushed from the heat.
'Oh,' he said.
Garth sat at his desk, staring vacantly through the window of his office. Brisbane was a grey mirage through the rain, wavering and indistinct. There was no movement anywhere beyond the pelting water.
With an effort he pulled his gaze down to his desk. Te work was almost done.
Shuffling through some papers, he extracted one and reading by the dim light that filtered through the window.
The guinea grass in the front office rustled, and he stiffened 'Who's there?' he called hoarsely.
A small furry shape dashed across the doorway and vanished. An animal, maybe a bandicoot. He sank back in his chair, feeling his lips twitch nervously. Lucky for it the twins weren't here. He picked up his biro and began making notes.
The phone rang. He snatched at it.
'Who's there? I mean, Lorgan and Associates,' he said. 'Garth. How are you?' Jonathon's dusty voice was unmistakable. 
'Jonathon, it's good to hear from you,' Garth said, trying to make his voice sound warm.
'I wasn't sure that you'd be there,' Jonathon went on. 'Certainly wouldn't be anywhere else, not when there's work its be done,' Garth said heartily. 'I'm glad you rang, I've got great news. We've just about wrapped up the submission, and we're looking forward to showing it to Mr Bedlow just as soon as--' 
'That's very good,' Jonathon interrupted. 'But unfortunately there has been a change of plan.'
Garth's face went cold. 'Well, we can accommodate any Mr Bedlow's changes,' he said. 'We're nothing if not flexible. That's the beauty of a small business. Flexible.'
'You don't understand,' said Jonathon patiently. 'Mr Bedlow instructed me to tell you that the project is off'
'Off?' Garth was bewildered, the word making no sense.
'Yes. Owing to your continuing inclement weather, Mr Bedlow doesn't believe there is much future in an ecological resort at this particular location. Mr Bedlow is looking elsewhere.'
'But surely our work will be relevant, wherever it is,' said Garth desperately. He was surprised to feel hot tears stinging his eye-lids.
'Elsewhere is overseas,' said Jonathon. 'Thank you for your involvement and commitment. Goodbye.'
There was as a click on the line, then a hissing, as if all the rain in the world was falling through it.
The dog seemed not to have moved from its spot near the sink, where heat from the constant fire radiated warmly. It opened its jaws, tongue lolling, as Garth entered, staggering under the weight of a brimming cardboard box.
He put the box on the kitchen table and collapsed into a chair next to Lauren, who was grinding seeds in a bowl with a smooth rock. The reddish firelight jumped and flickered uncertainly, casting deep shadows that swayed back and forth across the walls. His clothes felt hot and heavy and he slowly undid his shirt buttons. Lauren  looked up from her work and nodded to him. Her skin was white and water-wrinkled, and strangely attractive.
Emilyjane and Melisah were together on the floor. Melisah's face was drawn into a frown of concentration as she sat drawing intricate designs across Emilyjane's cheeks and breasts with a marking pen, to match the ones on her own.
He looked away. There was a pyramid of tin cans arranged against the far wall that hadn't been there earlier, he was sure, and the girls' spears lay close by. The sharp tip of one was still shiny with blood.
Rain rattled inexorably on the roof.
'Here,' said Garth. He pushed the box of A3 envelopes containing, Bedlow's project across the table towards Lauren. She smiled at him, and rose to add them to the fire.