I am alone.
That was the gut-wrenching realisation Marnie had as the alarm on her phone punctured the early morning silence. She had never been alone. The rain had eased, now just a trickle on the windows. The branches on the eucalyptus outside swayed and bent in the wind.
There should be shouting by now. There should be shrieks of "Andy ate all the toast" and "I can't find my school bag."
But the old farmhouse was silent. It wasn't supposed to be silent. It was supposed to be filled with the noisy chaos of their family as they prepared for the day ahead.
Pete should be perched at the breakfast bar draining his favourite yellow coffee cup and lacing up his boots. Felix and Andy should be fighting over the remote control, leaving a trail of Coco-Pops in their wake as they raced around the kitchen table and through the living room.
I am alone.
Marnie pushed the covers off with her feet.
In the bathroom she avoided the mirror, contemplated having a shower and then decided against it when she remembered that it was up to her to feed the cows now, that soon she would be knee deep in an odorous combination of manure and mud.
Instead, she picked up the puddle of yesterday's clothes from the floor and put them on.
In the kitchen she flicked on the kettle, put on some music to fill the silence.
Out the window, the driveway stretched long and straight. Lined with trees, it was what drew her to the property when the estate agent had first driven them out of town.
Even before the boys were born Marnie could picture small children riding bikes down the dusty track, waiting at the gate for the school bus, lunchboxes in hand.
Now she stared down the driveway and waited for them to return.
They were supposed to be back yesterday, Pete's ute loaded with swags and an empty esky, the boys bragging about all the yabbies that they had caught in the dam.
I am alone.
The kettle whistled, pulling Marnie away from the window. She winced as the scalding water splashed onto her fingers. The kettle shook in her hand as she placed it on the bench, then turned to the sink to run cold water over her red, stinging fingers.
Pete had laughed as he had strung the hammock along the veranda where the grapevine wound around the posts, telling her to enjoy a few days of peace.
On Friday afternoon she had waved to them from the hammock, book in hand, laughing as Andy and Felix pulled faces out the window, a golden glow in the sky as the day wound down.
The rain had begun two hours later. Light at first, then deafening and relentless on the old tin roof. Marnie had curled up in bed, turned up the volume on a cheesy romantic comedy, and indulged in a piece of caramel slice. She had glanced at the clock on the bedside table, realising that Pete should have called by now. He always called when they had finished setting up, so she could say goodnight to the boys. She picked up her phone and clicked on Pete's name. She was not surprised when the call went to voicemail - Pete was well known for not answering his phone. "Hey, you've called Pete. I'm probably out feeding cows, wrestling snakes, or fixing a tractor. Or I just can't be bothered answering your call. Leave me a message!" Marnie smiled at the voicemail message. Still, a flicker of worry had danced across her mind as she pictured the boys in a leaky swag. She pushed it aside though, certain that they would be having the time of their lives, raining or not.
I am alone.
When the ringing of the phone woke her just before midnight, Marnie had fumbled about in the dark, reaching it just as it had stopped. The screen showed a missed call from an unknown number and she had dismissed it as either a telemarketer or a wrong number. She stood at the window watching the rain. Two years ago, they had spent months praying to every deity they knew of for rain like this. Now, this year, it felt as though the rain would never stop.
Slipping back into bed, she tossed and turned before eventually drifting back into a fitful, dream littered slumber.
When the banging on the door came a few hours later, it seemed at first as though it were part of her dreams. When she opened it, coming face to face with the young officer, it felt as though he were just a character. But as he began to speak, the dream became a nightmare and Marnie just wanted to wake up, just wanted it to be over.
I am alone.
Her fingers have stopped stinging now. Marnie shuts off the tap, the pipes in the old farmhouse shuddering to a stop - something she had been asking Pete to take a look at. She takes her coffee to the kitchen table.
She moves about her morning almost the same as any other, but it's different. She is different. She will never be the same again. Who is she without them?
Is she still Pete's wife?
Is she still Felix and Andy's mum?
Or is she now "the widow" or a grieving mother?
Will they be talking about her in town? Will her neighbours feel sadness, or will they keep their distance for fear that tragedy is contagious?
Outside, the farm begins to awaken.
The cows are clearly ready to be fed, and the list of jobs is endless.
She cannot sit here at this table waiting for them.
She cannot sit here at this table tracing the spot where Felix had written is name in permanent marker two years before.
She cannot sit here at this table waiting for someone to save her.
I am alone.
