A Place Beyond The Horizon Ch. 01

[Aidan's marriage has been shattered by his wife's actions. Unable to cope with the thing she did, he boarded a plane and put as much distance between them as possible. Alone for the first time in years, he has to somehow start again.

The background to Aidan's story can be found in Oxygen Games by oneagainst, continued here with permission.]

---

THE GOD OF SECOND CHANCES

Aidan is dreaming, cuddled up with his wife together on the couch in their apartment in the dark. Rosa's hair tickles his cheek, her head shifting slightly against his shoulder. In the background, unwatched behind closed eyes, Aidan can hear the movie playing to itself. He has long since lost interest in it, as sleep claimed him. He is content to just sit, hovering now on the border between dreams and wakefulness, feeling the warmth of her next to him, her breath slow and steady in his ear.

His seat trembles beneath him, and Rosa stirs, but Aidan keeps his eyes closed, letting himself sink back down into sleep. The seat moves again, lurching, forcing him to surface with the first faint whispers of apprehension. Rosa is still asleep on his shoulder, but the couch lurches a third time, trembling beneath him. He tries to stir her, piecing together the situation as he rouses from sleep, but Rosa doesn't wake. The house shakes violently, giving him a moment of stomach-churning emptiness, and he realises that he needs to act.

He turns to his wife but whatever he does, she doesn't shift, slumbering on as the walls begin to creak and groan. He needs to pull her to safety, recalling things about seeking shelter under tables or in doorways, finding the structural strongpoints of the building. He tries to pick her up but she's too heavy, pressing him down in the couch as the apartment begins to fall to pieces around them. He calls out her name, hollering it into her slumbering face, but it's no use. He has to decide, right here, right now, whether he tries to rescue his wife, or he finds safety for himself. He's screaming at her now to wake up, panic setting in as the ceiling cracks like dried leaves, covering them in dust. The sound rumbles on and on like some titanic, unending thunderclap.

He's trapped. He can't leave her. He can't move her. He can't save her.

His eyes snap open, a jolt of adrenaline coursing through him, his vision swimming. Aidan focuses on the tiny screen in front of him, playing a car chase, relaying the music and the screech of tires to his ears via the headphones he wears. He blinks, disorientated, looking to his left to see a blonde head nestled against his shoulder, and beyond that, rows of people in seats. He looks to the right, out through a little oval window and down at a sprawling cityscape, a thread of silver branching through it like the spidery fingers of some giant hand, shining in the early morning sun. Clouds whip past the window and his seat lurches again before settling back down into stillness as they dip below the cloud-line into clear air.

He turns back to the girl's head, feeling the softness of her hair against his neck, watching the way her mouth shifts, answering someone in her dream. But she isn't Rosa, her name is Annalise, and suddenly a crashing sadness overwhelms him, as if it had just been yesterday that he had been sitting on his couch with his wife, sharing a moment with the woman he loved.

The movie freezes and a man's voice begins an announcement, interrupting his thoughts. They are coming in to land.

The blonde head lifts away from him as Annalise wakes up. She rubs her eyes, raking her fingers through her hair, rolling her shoulders. She crosses her tanned legs, revealed in denim shorts, and finally looks across to Aidan.

"Sorry. I must have dozed off."

Aidan smiles. "You went out like a light," he replies.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"About a movie and a half."

She frowns. "Sorry," she says again.

"No problem."

"Ah, worries," she corrects him with a little grin, "It's no worries. You're in Australia now."

Aidan laughs, but then the plane lurches as they pass through a cloud, and she clutches at his arm. He can feel her fingers digging in.

"Fuck," she hisses, "I hate flying."

Aidan covers her hand with his to reassure her. "Not long now. We're on final approach."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. The closer to the ground, the more there is to crash into."

She doesn't release her grip of his arm all the way down, spending the next few minutes in nervous silence until there is a jolt as the wheels make contact with the runway and the engines roar into life, reversing thrust to slow them down. Annalise slips her hand from under his and straightens up in her chair. The smile returns.

"We're here," Aidan says.

"Any landing you can walk away from," she replies, "Welcome to Sydney."

Annalise flashes him a brilliant smile and he finds himself looking into her eyes. The tension has been dispelled and now she's animated, talkative, beautiful.

"So, where are you planning on going first?" she asks.

"I haven't really thought. To be honest, this was all very last minute. I guess I just need to work out somewhere to stay first."

She nods. "Well, avoid Bondi. It's a shit pit. Full of pissed up backpackers, unless that's your scene."

Annalise smiles slyly.

"What?" Aidan replies.

"Just saying, you could probably cut a swathe through them. But God knows what you might pick up if you do," she laughs.

"So where?"

"Maybe try the Northern Beaches, maybe Manly. Same vibe, less hassle, fewer freaks. But then, I'm biased."

"How?"

Annalise grins conspiratorially, before replying, "I'm a North Shore princess, born and bred. We don't tend to mix with the rabble south of the Bridge."

With those words, she begins to gather her long blonde hair up into a ponytail, folding it back on itself into a little tufted bun before winding a hair tie around to keep it in place. She pops a make-up mirror out of her bag and begins to touch up her face.

"And how do I get there?" Aidan asks, captivated by the sight of her as she makes herself presentable.

"That's easy. Train to Circular Quay and then the Manly ferry straight down the harbour. You get to see all the sights. You'll love it."

---

They make their way through to the Arrivals hall, but Annalise peels off, flashing him a smile over her shoulder. Aidan watches her walk away into the arms of her boyfriend. He catches her up in a hug, lifting her off her feet and twirling her around. They kiss and then he sets her down again, grabbing her suitcase and wheeling Annalise away towards the doors.

Aidan finds himself standing there, an island in the flow of people emerging from the arrivals gate, each of them seeming to find someone waiting, everyone but him. For the first time since leaving his apartment, it's brought home to him: he's on his own, for the first time in years. The look of rapt attention in Annalise's face as her boyfriend swept her up twists something in his guts; Aidan stands, forgotten. Finally, he stumbles into motion, building up momentum with each step until he's striding away towards the train platform, as if he's fleeing the scene.

On a whim, he decides to take her advice, buying a ticket into the city and settling himself next to the window on the train, his suitcase braced between his knees as the train rocks back and forth. He's tired now, but it's more than just the flight. The blonde girl had been fun to talk to, the simple pleasure of a conversation, swapping stories, sharing terrible plane food, listening to her accent, watching her face. He screws his eyes closed, thinking about Rosa again, feeling the little gnawing feeling. He should tell her where he is. He should make contact. Aidan extracts his phone from his pocket, but stops. He stares at the screen, then eventually he slips the phone back into his pocket.

The train emerges into sunlight, and he watches the buildings go past. He counts the stops, and they eventually plunge back underground again as they reach the city centre. It feels like forever, but then they emerge into the light and the train slows. It comes to a halt and he disembarks, and suddenly he can see the water. Beyond, he sees the Harbour Bridge, the Opera House, and he's struck by just how far he's travelled, and what he's left behind him. Grimly, he makes his way down to street level to find the ferry terminal.

The Manly ferry is large, a double-ended monster in green and peach livery. He sits outside at the bow and as they pull out, he's treated to a view of the iconic bridge on one side and the Opera House on the other. He takes pictures, but he doesn't post them; he's not ready to reveal his location yet. The ferry accelerates, powering through the blue waters of the harbour, passing small islands and headlands dotted with waterfront mansions, and watercraft everywhere. It's mid-morning and there is a regatta on, a flotilla of yachts racing up the harbour alongside the indomitable ferry, their spinnakers unfurled and full-bellied in the brisk wind. He feels his spirits lift, and stands against the railing, feeling the wind at his back, smelling the salt, racing over the water to an unknown destination.

They pass behind the headlands that guard the entrance to the harbour, crashing through the swell, and Aidan looks out between the heads at the blue horizon, at the endless ocean, whitecaps dancing across the crests of the waves. There is an energy and motion to it that wakens something within him. He looks ahead, over the bow of the ship, to a low strip of land tucked in behind the landward side of North Head and a wharf backed by apartment blocks. For the first time in a long time, he doesn't know what the future will bring.

---

Aidan finds a seat upstairs in the pub, looking out across the pedestrian mall that cuts through the middle of Manly from the harbour wharf to the ocean beach. From his elevated vantage point he watches people carrying surfboards to the sea. He stares back down at his half-eaten chicken burger, his suitcase tucked under the table.

"Hey, are these taken?"

Aidan looks up. A man with a mess of curly brown hair and a lived-in t-shirt is indicating the chairs at the other end of the table. He's a few years younger than Aidan, in his mid-twenties, with sharp grey eyes and a tanned, square face. His companion is the same age, with close-cropped sandy hair and softer features. They're both staring at Aidan.

"No," Aidan replies, "Help yourself."

The man flashes him a smile. "Cheers."

"No worries," Aidan replies, smiling to himself.

They take their seats and begin to talk between themselves and Aidan's attention drifts back to the scene outside, the endless parade of people in beachwear enjoying the sun.

"Hey, how's the burger?"

Aidan looks back to the newcomer.

"It's, uh, it's good."

"Reckon I'll go that, then. What about you, Flint?"

His companion nods. "Same, all good. I'll get the beers."

Flint gets up first, followed by his friend, who turns to Aidan and says, "Can you keep an eye on our stuff while we order?"

He's indicating downwards and Aidan notices that, like him, they have bags with them. Aidan nods and the other man smiles.

"Good on ya."

Aidan watches them go, then turns back to his burger. The place is filling up, and he's conscious of the fact that he's the only one not drinking, and suddenly he thinks of his wife again. They had made a pact to keep off the alcohol while trying for a baby and he's just never gone back to drinking, as if he was somehow honouring their agreement still. But it's in the past, water under the bridge. It doesn't matter anymore.

"So, not as good?"

Aidan blinks, looking up. The boys are back, one holding a table number and the other carrying the beers.

"What?"

"The burger. You look like you're eating a shit sandwich."

Aidan looks at the burger, still in his hands, untouched.

"Uh, no. I...," he mumbles, "I just got off a flight. I'm just tired."

"Ah, fuck. In that case, here."

The man slides a beer over to him. Aidan stares at the glass.

"It's not spiked. I'm not trying to fuck ya. You look like you need one, is all. I'll get another."

He leaves before Aidan can say anything. His friend, Flint, sits down and positions the table number carefully on its shiny metal rod so it can be read easily from the bar.

"You don't have to have it," he says, apologetically, "Hardy'll drink it anyway. He's not bugging you, it's just the way he is. Feel free to tell him to fuck off."

"No, it's fine. Like I said, I think I'm just tired."

"Long flight?"

"Not much sleep. Can't sleep on planes."

"Yeah, those seats are shit. You get to recline about ten degrees and that's it."

Flint indicates the beer. "That might help."

Aidan picks up the glass and takes a sip. "Thanks," he says.

"No worries."

Hardy returns, carrying a fresh beer, and sits down. He raises his glass. "Cheers boys. Welcome to fucking Sydney. Welcome to the Big Smoke."

They all drink, and Aidan feels his mood lighten. They fall into conversation, and it feels good to be having a beer and talking. It feels familiar, in this new place. Flint asks him where he's staying, because they're looking for accommodation too, having just driven up the coast the same morning, and Aidan confesses he hasn't got that far yet. Hardy takes charge, unbidden, tapping away on his phone, looking up places to stay. As they talk, the beers keep coming and Aidan finds himself relaxing into it, his first session in a year and the alcohol's going to his head. He gets a round in and brings it back to the table and they dive back into conversation again. Hardy's scrolling through options on the phone while Flint's asking him where he's from.

Aidan hesitates, opting for an abridged version of his story, leaving out the details of why he took a one-way plane trip away from his wife. He doesn't mention babies, he doesn't mention the thing he can't forgive her for. His account is sanitised, just enough to paint the picture.

"Exes are a hassle," Flint agrees.

"Bullshit. How the fuck would you know?" Hardy intercedes, looking up from his phone.

"Melissa."

"Fuck that. She was like, what? Three months? You're practically still a virgin."

"Oh fuck you. When was the last time you had anyone for longer than fifteen fucking minutes?"

"Plenty."

"Like when? The only one who'll put up with your shit is me."

"If only you had tits."

"Oh, what the fuck? You're such a cunt."

Hardy is about to reply, but stops himself as a pretty waitress walks up carrying two plates. She looks from one to the other, but her eyes settle on Aidan.

"Number twenty-three," she announces with a trace of an Irish accent, "Two chicken burgers?"

"Here," Flint says, gesturing to himself and Hardy.

She sets the plates down then looks over to Aidan again. She smiles. "Are you done with that?"

Aidan looks down at his plate, the last remnants of his burger now cold.

"Yeah, thanks."

The waitress brushes past Hardy and leans over to collect the plate. "Sure?"

"I'm sure. It was delicious."

"I'll let the chef know."

She smiles again and turns. Hardy watches her leave, waiting until she's out of earshot.

"Aido, get in there, mate," he rumbles.

"What?"

"Oh, man, when Irish eyes are smiling."

Flint is grinning too. Aidan just shakes his head.

"No?" Hardy says, "Maybe one more, a bit of liquid courage? Fine. Anyway, take a look at this."

He spins his phone around to show them both.

"Look, how about this place? It's a backpackers but it's cheap as shit and it's just around the corner. We check in and then we come back, give you a chance for a proper crack without the luggage around. See when she gets off shift."

Aidan looks from one face to the other and then down at Hardy's phone. It might be the alcohol, or it might be Hardy's infectious energy, but Aidan feels like he's being pulled along in a current. After a year of meticulous planning, of staring down the barrel of the future, he is suddenly at the mercy of random chance. It might be the beer or it might be the tiredness clouding his judgement, but it feels good.

"Sound like a plan," he says at last.

---

They find the place easily enough. Hardy and Flint have a car, a big all-wheel-drive a few years past its best, and they find parking across the street from the backpackers. Aidan hauls his suitcase into the reception area, following Hardy.

Hardy chats to the woman behind reception, returning a few moments later to ask for cash.

"Two nights. Give me your dollars. Let's go."

Aidan hands the money over. Hardy was right: it's cheap. He doesn't hold much hope for the quality of the sleeping arrangements, but at least it's a roof over his head on his first night in-country. Hardy returns with three keys and hands one to each of them. They follow him down a corridor and up the stairs. They have the first door on the left, opening into a large room with three sets of bunk beds and a window looking out onto the street.

"Bottom," Flint calls.

"Sure," Hardy replies, "It's only the three of us. Everyone can have a bottom bunk, fuckwit."

"Bottom nearest the window then."

"Go for it. Whatever gets you to shut the fuck up."

Aidan chooses a bed and then turns to the boys. "I might just get a shower first. It's been a while."

"Oh, no worries Aido. You better be fresh if you're on the prowl," Hardy replies, "We'll see you back at the pub in a few minutes. I'll try and find out if she's got a boyfriend for ya."

They dump their bags on their bunks and then leave. Suddenly, the room is quiet. Aidan unzips his suitcase, pulls out a change of clothes and goes to find the shower.

Afterwards, he's looking at himself in the mirror on the back of the door. Despite himself, he's pulled out a good top. It's not too tight, but it shows off his well-built frame. His dark hair is tousled and he's clean-shaven again, after building up fuzz over the last few days. He adjusts his collar, but then stops.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asks the mirror.

His reflection just stares back at him with no answer. Aidan opens the door and steps out into the corridor, heads down the stairs and out onto the street. Without thinking, he turns in the direction of the pub, towards his new friends and an uncertain night ahead. As he walks down the road along the beach, he finds his attention drawn to the sea.

The wind is dropping now, but the waves are still swollen, pounding against the sand. There are a few brave souls on boards out the back of the surf, choosing their waves carefully. As he walks, Aidan watches one of them turn and start to paddle. The wave rears up massively behind him and suddenly he's on his feet, turning into the wave, riding the barrel as it closes in over his head. A riot of foam consumes him, but eventually the man pops back up, back on his board, turning to paddle back out for the next one, ready to go again despite the merciless tumult of his previous encounter.

Aidan reaches the pub, a sense of trepidation niggling his guts. He climbs the stairs and looks around. Hardy and Flint have secured a table out on the balcony in the sun. Hardy sees him and extends his arms wide, basking in the splendour of having snagged the perfect position, looking out over the pedestrian mall in the sunshine. Aidan walks outside.

"Mate, you took your time," Hardy says.

"Did I?"

"Yeah, but it was worth it. Looking good."

"Thanks."

"Bad news though. The Irish waitress is gone. She must have clocked off after lunch, so we're just strategizing."

Flint raises a beer, the amber liquid glowing in the sun. "We got you one, but it might be a bit warm by now," he says.