be packed full of fragile life. Maybe it was the endorphins kicking in from the run. As I hit the boardwalk leading through the mangrove swamp I caught sight of a small plane banking into the curdled rain clouds, its tilted wing catching the last of the day’s slanting sunlight. The voice in my head was drowned by the music and the harsh sound of my laboured breathing. I’d reached that stage of exhaustion when I was thinking about nothing; aware of the pain and exhilaration, conscious of the way the light hit the wing of the titling plane as it circled above, my thoughts freewheeling with it as I left the last of the light and dropped into the dense shadows of the manuka scrub, canopied over the mangroves. The walkway had been built on stilts to accommodate the stinky swamp below and the breathing tide. It vibrated and shuddered with each pounding footstep. A white-faced heron prodded optimistically around the mangrove roots. Coldplay’s melancholic ‘Fix You’ was filling my head as I neared the bridge at the Richmond Road park end of the walkway. A red jacket hung on the bridge pole. Someone must have come across it and hung it there for the owner to find. Under the bridge, the deserting tide had exposed a rusting supermarket trolley, drowning in the mud.
Someone grabbed at my shoulder. I hadn’t heard or sensed anyone. I tried to pull away but the shock of it made me twist awkwardly. I tripped and fell heavily onto the bridge pole. It knocked the air completely out of me and I went straight down onto my knees, dragging the red jacket with me. The thin sound of vocals reached me from the headphones, dangling in the blood, blooming warm and sticky around my kneecap. A menacing form loomed over me but all that mattered was getting air into my lungs. It was like they’d been squeezed tightly closed and held there, unable to re-inflate. Bright sparks drifted in front of my eyes. The pain in my solar plexus was excruciating. Anatomy was never my best subject but it felt like I’d ruptured one of those soft, red bloody organs I’d never quite got my head around the purpose of — spleen? Liver? Gall bladder? Whichever it was, I was about to find out if it was possible to survive a ruptured one. One little gasp in … and out. Better. Another one in … out. The sparkly stars were disappearing. My assailant was leaning over me, yelling. Justin. It was Justin. I made a desperate grab for my phone but he kicked it out of reach and it skidded along the planks of the bridge. Only now did I realise he’d been yelling at me the whole time, spit flying.
‘Fucking bitch! You had no fucking right to see her without my permission!’ The pain was receding enough for me to know I was in big trouble. Justin’s eyes were red, his skin mottled, his breathing almost as ragged as mine. ‘You think you can just do what you like? She’s my daughter, you hear me? My daughter. And you will stay the fuck away from her! You hear me?’
There wasn’t enough air in my lungs to say anything. The boardwalk was empty. The park at the far side of the bridge was in darkness. No park lights. Night had suddenly fallen. Where the hell was everyone?
‘Fucking bitch!’ he repeated, unnecessarily, I thought.
He’d run out of things to yell at me and I could see the heat in him was cooling. That made him all the more dangerous. Slowly, carefully, I repositioned my body against the railing. Blood dribbled down my shin, pooled in my sneaker.
‘Take it easy, Justin,’ I said and raised my hand in a peace-making gesture. It was a mistake.
‘Don’t fucking tell me what to do! I tell you what to do. And I tell you to stay the fuck away from my kids.’
‘Okay, okay, I get it.’ His teeth were bared in a strange animal expression. ‘I heard you,’ I said, using the bridge railing to pull myself to my feet. My knee stung like a bugger as the leg straightened. My sweat pants were ripped, my hands and jaw slimy with mud.
‘You don’t tell me anything, you hear me? You stay away from Sunny or else.’ He walked a couple of steps away from me, hands pumping.
Unexpectedly, anger flooded through me like a much-needed shot of whisky. ‘Is this