Falling Away (8 page)

My board lies camouflaged in the dune when I reach it. Dingo tracks pepper the sand, tracing a line from the dune to the sea. I pull on my wettie and grab my board, running to meet the ocean. It nips cheekily at my toes, the rolling roar a companion to the pounding in my ears. Fixing the leg-rope to my ankle I wade into grey.

Dark solidity looms from the sky. All grey and building, casting shadows over the sea. Warmth is sucked from the surface as the light grows dim, leaving me shivering. The ocean is a deep silvery-grey, cloudy like the sky, and without a clear view through the water I’m full of unease, bobbing like a turtle on the shadowy waves.

“Hey! Hey Sam!” The voice is distant and shallow, barely recognisable over the launch and slap of the sea. I turn at the sound.

Jack stands on the sand with a rod in his hand and the red bucket at his feet. I give him a wave, paddling hard for the next grey roller to carry me in. From somewhere amongst the messy slop a wave curls neatly, peeling to the right before closing in. I ride whitewash to the beach, relieved to have sand once more beneath my feet.

“I got your message,” he calls out. “Matt said it’s fine to drop your car off today.”

I push wet clumpy hair out of my face with an apprehensive smile, realising I closely resemble a drowned rat. “Oh, that’s great. Thanks, Jack.”

He looks at the sea. “Surf’s not great, is it?”

“Not at all. I really shouldn’t have bothered,” I say, attempting to fix my pathetic appearance.

He looks right at me, his gaze locking firmly onto mine. “So how are you?”

“Very pleased to have the day off.”

He laughs. “Too right, mate.” Pausing, he looks up at the sky which is undoubtedly lower than five minutes ago. “Hoping the weather clears up though. Don’t much fancy fishing in the rain.”

Fat raindrops spot from the sky, dotting the sand with mini moon-craters. I’ve always loved the smell of first rain, kind of fresh and earthy. Like you know it’s coming before it hits the ground.

“So can you drop your car off today?”

I give him a nod. “Yeah, I can actually. And sorry about yesterday. I was at work, and it was super busy.”

“No problem.” He thinks momentarily. “Hey, um, I was thinking ... if you need a lift back I could give you one. If you want? I’ve got Dad’s car.”

It dawns on me I hadn’t thought about getting back home. “Sure, that’d be awesome,” I say, wondering at the offer. “So, where do I drop it off?”

“Just in Karuah, mate. Tarean Rd. It’s in off the highway. Just tell me what time you plan to get there and I’ll meet you there.” He scrapes a hand through his hair and yawns widely. Casually, like he hasn’t been awake too long.

I shrug indecisively. “Well, the surf’s crap so there’s no point hanging around here,” I say, looking up at him. “So, ten-thirty?”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you over there. If you have any trouble, just give me a call.”

“Sure. Thanks, Jack.” I give him an appreciative smile, tucking my board under my arm to make my way to the car. The sudden heavy downpour makes no difference to my already dishevelled appearance. Rain-clouds scud so swiftly across the sky it’ll probably pass soon, anyhow.

***

Home is silent and empty and just how I like it. Scattered clothes litter my shambolic room and I step over them like a prancing pony to get to the ensuite. I run the shower, letting the scalding water course over my skin. I wash the salt from my hair and scrub my face till it’s raw, then wrap myself tightly in a towel from the rail.

Somehow I manage to find something half decent to wear. I drag on a pair of Lee Licks and an old black t-shirt and I’m good to go. Running my fingers through tangled wet hair I give a quick glance to my face in the mirror. It’ll just have to do.

***

The road to the highway is wet. When I steer through Death Bend I see four white crosses nailed tight to a tree. I glimpse at them every time. I can’t help it. A stark reminder of the impermanence of life. Sadness creeps eerily from that corner. It’s dark where the slope drops sharply into trees.

I turn left at the T-intersection junctioning the highway. Being mid-week the traffic’s fairly light. A duo of red Linfox trucks burn past, going faster than a hundred. They’re noisy and spit water from their wheels, spraying it over my windscreen. I flick the wipers to intermittent and sweep it away.

Fifteen minutes later the old bridge to Karuah takes me into the town. I find Tarean Rd and see a sign for
Matt’s Smash Repairs
in black and neon orange, with an arrow pointing south along the street. I’m early but Jack’s already leaning against a tree, James Dean-style, chatting to his mate. The guy just oozes blasé.

I pull into the driveway, feeling self-conscious. Not only did I cause the accident, but my smash-victim is standing right here, offering to escort me home. He turns when he hears the car pull in and shoots me a grin. I turn off the ignition and push out of the car.

“Sam, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Jack hesitates, glancing across at his friend. “This is Matt.”

“Hey Matt, how are you?”

“Lovely to meet you, Sam.” He shakes my hand warmly and holds his gaze in my eyes. And he’s not what I expected. I thought he’d be older, perhaps covered in tatts. But he seems so, well,
normal
.

“So let’s see the damage,” he says, running a hand along the rear of my car.

Jack watches him closely. “So what d’ya reckon?”

“Not too bad. Less than a thousand I’d say.” Lifting his sunglasses for a closer inspection, he drops lower to peer underneath.

One thousand dollars?
I gulp at the price, attempting to keep a straight face.
How am I going to come up with that kind of money?

Matt looks up from beneath the car. “How about I do it for five? Seeing as you’re a friend of Jack’s.” He winks, letting me know he’s in on a secret. I’d sure love to know what that secret is too.

“Gosh, thanks. I would
really
appreciate that. Thanks Matt,” I say, grateful for the discount. “So uh … Jack’s car. What will that cost? I want to pay for it, because ... well, the accident
was
my fault.”

Jack and Matt share a glance. “Don’t worry about it, Sam. Matt owes me a favour. Don’t you, buddy?” Jack says, raising his eyebrows at him.

Matt laughs. “Yeah mate, I’ll do yours for free.”

“Really? That’s so nice of you. Thanks.” I won’t argue with a gift horse, but it seems too good to be true.

“So, leave me the key and I’ll call you when it’s done,” Matt says, holding out an expectant hand.

I twist the key from the ring, placing it firmly in the palm of his calloused, grease-ridden hand.

“So, what’s your number?” he asks, pulling a notepad from the top pocket of his overalls. He scribbles it down, smearing dark fingerprints over the lily-white paper. “Well, it should be a couple of days, maybe a week.”

“Thanks, mate. We’ll keep in touch,” says Jack.

Matt nods an agreement, backing into the workshop. “No worries, mate.”

“Hey, do you want catch up for a beer and burger one night?” Jack calls.

“Well mate, seeing as you’re carless we’ll have to meet at the pub,” smirks Matt. “Technically carless,” he adds, watching us climb into Bobby’s four-wheel drive.

“Any excuse, eh? Sounds like a plan.” Jack gives him the thumbs up before driving away.

***

The drive from Karuah to Tea Gardens is awkward, at least for me. As usual, attempting to make small talk is like scraping fingernails down a blackboard.

“So,” I say after a while, going out on a limb. “There’s something I’ve noticed about you.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” He looks across, interested, then turns back to study the road.

I hesitate, glancing sideways. “Well, you don’t surf. I’ve never seen you on the break. Not even once.”

His face clouds over. And it’s deep cloud. Dark, like you don’t want to go there. “Nah, you’re right. I don’t surf,” he says, his eyes never leaving the road. We speed past fields and swampy wetlands where black swans once huddled in rushes. The emptiness is obvious.

“Why not? I mean, you fish, skipper boats ...”

“Just not my thing.”

“Which seems odd, you know. Seeing how you love the water.”

“It’s not that odd.” His voice is clipped, but I assume I’ve read too much into the tone.

I wonder if there’s a story, because it sure seems as if there is. His face loses warmth, turning grey in the gloomy day. The wipers swing evenly over the windscreen, the swish and clunk audible in the loud silence.

Jack exhales loudly. “My brother died a few years back. In the ocean.”

I sit here stunned. Because the revelation is
completely
left field. I
really
wasn’t expecting this. Or anything of the sort. “What?” I say stupidly. “God, Jack, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.” An image of Ben flashes through my mind, dark and painful. I would
never
recover.

“He drowned, surfing. Lost his board on the rocks, you know? It was way too rough for surfing that day, but the waves were awesome. He was chasing the thrill.”

I shudder. “God, your parents. And you, Jack. How awful.”

He nods grimly. “He was knocked out on the rocks. No-one saw. He just drowned. All alone, with his board smashed to pieces, caught in the rip channelling deep below the sea. And I should have been there, you know? To save him. If I’d been there I would’ve seen. He asked me to go. Wanted me to surf with him. But the waves were so huge. Too huge for me. So I left him there. Walked home with my board beneath my arm. And every single day I wish it was different. That I’d stayed. Because he’d still be here, Sam. And I have to live with that. Every single day. So no, it wasn’t an easy time. But we managed to get through it. Somehow.”

“Jack, you can’t blame yourself. It was an accident. A horrific, hideous accident.” I feel absolutely dreadful, wishing I’d never mentioned his lack of surfing. Frankly I’d like the floor of the car to open up and drop me onto the concrete road below. “I’m really sorry for pressing you about the surfing. I had no idea.”

He shrugs, a look of gloom overcoming him completely. “Yeah, it’s okay. No-one does. We don’t talk about it that much. I mean, we talk about
him
, just not so much about what happened. But there’s no need to apologise. I’m okay, you know? It’s been 3 years now.”

I wait a while. “So is that why you moved? From Sydney, I mean.”

“I guess so. Partly. Mum and Dad needed a change. I s’pose I did too. There were too many memories. I could’ve stayed. But we’re close, so I wanted to come with them. I thought they needed that. For now, at least. They already lost one son.”

Even though I’m mortified, part of me is pleased. Not that his brother died of course, just that we’re talking. About something so unbelievably significant. Vital in fact, to knowing who Jack is. That he trusts me enough to tell me. That he
wants
to tell me.

“What was his name?”

“Charlie. But his surfing mates called him Chief. As in, boss of the sea.” His face lights up at the memory. “He was three years older than me and I always wanted to be just like him. Ever since I was little I used to surf with him pretty much every day. Before school, after school. Any chance we got. But since he died ... not once. Haven’t been in.”

I pause, finding it difficult to believe. “Not at all? For three years? Not even a swim?”

“Nah, mate. Can’t face it. It just gives me the heebies. The ocean took my brother’s life. I haven’t forgiven it yet. So I prefer to sit and watch. I don’t mind the bay, or the river. Fishing’s cool, even in the ocean. Just no desire to get in.”

“Gee,” I say. “Do you think maybe one day...?”

He frowns. “Possibly. But for now it feels like I’d be betraying him. He loved it so much. So if he can’t do it anymore, I feel I shouldn’t either. I s’pose that doesn’t make much sense. It’s not rational really, is it? I do realise that.”

I wonder how he always seems happy. So together. His sunny smile and the warmth he emits. His dad, too. The resilience astounds me. Finding buoyancy in the depths of despair.

Fake Uluru bypasses us in a blur. I close my eyes to block the image of The Rock; an ugly orange blemish on the landscape, sweeping past us as we drive. The road curves right, and the turning lane for Tea Gardens rushes abruptly up at us. Jack flicks on the indicator and we cross traffic speeding south. Surprisingly, the rain has cleared. The clouds are lifting like blinds on a window, revealing the deepest blue beneath.

I want to know how he did it; how he survived the burning pain. A sharp pang twists in my gut. For him. For what he went through. What he still goes through. Even now. And I want to ask more, but it seems silence is necessary.

Ten minutes later Jack pulls into our driveway. I’m pleasantly surprised he knows where I live, but then this is a small town. Everyone knows where we live. He leaves the engine running; a sign he doesn’t want to linger. I consider inviting him in, but think better of it. I’ve already upset him. He probably wants to be gone.

I tentatively break the silence, smiling. “Well, thanks for the lift. I honestly don’t know how I would’ve got home otherwise.”

He looks across at me, different to before. Like I’m seeing the
real
Jack. The Jack who hides from the world. The one who condemns himself for his older brother’s death. “No worries. Let me know when your car’s ready. I don’t mind driving you back.” His eyes appear bottomless all of a sudden, something I hadn’t noticed until this very moment. Here with him in the car.

“So ... um, I’ll see you round. And thanks for the lift,” I say again stupidly.

In the cumbersome silence I’m desperate to escape. And why is he so relaxed in the face of my unease? I open the door and jump, towing my embarrassment right along with me.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Wednesday morning, Boatshed Café. I retrieve a missed call from my phone. Ben’s coming home again for the weekend. And he only left last Monday. I’m late for work, so settle on calling when I’m not in such a rush.