Five Parts Dead (9 page)

‘Something like that. It's just being practical! If you can't change a situation, why risk making it worse?'

Pip eyeballs me and says nothing for a few seconds. I lean back onto the stairs, uncomfortable in the heat of her glare. When I glance back, she's still staring my way. Then she opens fire.

‘Is that why you lied about the accident, Dan? To the police and to your family and everyone else? Because it was easier to leave things alone than say what really happened?'

Perspiration erupts all over me. My throat tightens and I retch, fighting for breath. I stand, the tower swaying around me, grab at my crutches and wobble away.

J: ON FIRE. KEEP CLEAR

I skip lunch and bunker down in my room. To my relief, Mel and Hiroshi return mid-afternoon with a minibus of sunburnt Japanese surfies. They've been to check out a reef break and are now planning a pre–New Year's Eve party, a sort of backpacker training run, two nights before the real deal. Bonfire, booze, the works.

Mel, Pip and I grab swags and sleeping bags and leave a note, in case Mum and Dad come back early, telling them we're camping overnight at the farm-stay with Hiroshi and his crew.

I thought about not going, doing anything I could to avoid Pip.

How did she know? Shit, how much does she know?

I ignore her in the bus and squeeze into an aisle seat beside a snoozy, spiky-haired tourist. He jacks an eyelid open wide enough to acknowledge me then slumps back to sleep.

Up ahead the road cuts a groove through thick scrub. The further we travel from the Cape, the taller the trees are. Within twenty minutes, we're in dense forest. The bus lurches as the driver brakes to avoid a monster goanna.

I'm getting dozy myself when the engine note changes. We slow and turn left onto a sandy driveway leading to the host farm where the backpackers are staying. We pass a farmhouse and shearing shed before descending into a natural amphitheatre bordered by a snickering creek. A pair of old-fashioned long-drop outhouses lean towards each other under the wings of a couple of ancient blue gums. A cluster of tents encircles a campfire and a United Nations of tourists greet Hiroshi like a tribal chief returning from a hunting expedition. When I see the slabs stacked under the back seat of the bus, I understand why.

The surfers tumble out. I wait on board, shunting the slabs towards the door and a posse of campers eager to unload the bullion.

Cardboard rips and cans hiss open immediately.

I'm stretching, preparing to clamber from the bus, when Mel swoops back inside.

‘You all right?'

‘Yeah. Why?'

‘You kept to yourself this arvo. I wouldn't have got you to come if I thought you weren't…feeling up to it.'

‘Nah, I'm okay. Just tired. Sick of dragging this cast around. But thanks…for organising this. It's good to get away from the cottage.'

‘Don't thank me; thank Rosh. He's the one with the wheels—thank God!'

She bounces out of the bus.

Hiroshi sidles over next, a beer in his hand for me. It feels like he and Mel have a welfare watch on me today. I don't want to think about why that might be.

‘No thanks, Rosh. Hey, ummm, beer is big in Japan, right? As in popular?'

‘Yes. Is something we have in common. Beer is favourite drink in Japan, too.'

‘So how come you use the English word for beer?'

Rosh repeats the word slowly as he constructs his answer. ‘Bii-ru. Biii-roo. I think beer comes to Japan very long time ago…maybe from the Dutch. We use your word to say it but write it very Japanese way—with characters for wheat and sake. Bii-ru.'

I smile at him, knowing I should try harder to get to know the guy. If he and Mel…I mean, maybe we will be friends but making new mates doesn't feel…right, not yet.

Dinner is a barbecue. It crosses my mind that there's nothing for Pip to eat, when I spot a lonely side table with bedraggled salads and a tub of maggoty-looking rice. Bummer. Tough life being a vego.

Most of the backpackers are Japanese but there are Germans, Dutch and Canadians too. Hiroshi seems at ease with everyone, even though he must be younger than many of them. I marvel at how relaxed he is, a natural leader. He's comfortable in this chilled-out crowd and loving every minute of his life that doesn't involve a suit, tie and Tokyo subways. I'd be stressed to the max trying to get everyone to have a good time.

I find myself adopted by a Japanese dude and his girlfriend who seem to think I hurt my leg in a surfing accident. I mime ‘shark attack' to see how that goes down as an explanation. The pair of them turn so pale the zinc cream on their noses is camouflaged. From their gesturing, I think they're about to take vows of surfing abstinence, when Hiroshi swings by, merrily translates and tells Toshi and Chika that I'm joking. There's a moment's lull before they howl with laughter and bury me in a group hug.

I'm still untangling myself when someone cranks up a stereo so loud that even sign language is impossible.

My senses start doing circle work.

Laughter, clinking bottles, doof-doof dancebeats. Beer, barbecue grease, portaloo pong. Light somersaulting as the fire darts and dances through a smoky veil. Sounds, smells, sights all swirl into a sickening, suffocating memory…

Back in Travis's pimped-up Falcon, fishtailing away from the party—Aaron at the wheel of his brother's car. The guys, hooting with hilarity, bound for the bottle shop. Beery affection. The smell of stale takeaway food containers. And Carlo, who must have swum fifty laps through aftershave.

I'm there, hoping they won't notice as I pull my seatbelt tighter, wincing and closing my eyes as the Falcon shimmies through traffic, only slowing briefly when they spot five glammed-up girls waving from a P-plated Camry.

For a moment, the laughter seduces me. I'm grinning like a sideshow clown, high on theme park adrenaline. We're road warriors, rebels, risk-takers. Unstoppable.

An elderly pedestrian leaves her shopping buggy on the road, scuttling to the kerb as we drift past. She drills a stare into me, eyes wide, clutching at her chest.

And suddenly I'm sinking, sweating, hoping Aaron has the sense to ease off.

He spins the wheels at every set of lights. I'm gritting my teeth, thankful he's stopping at all. Then he powers onto Brighton Road, cutting off five cars and flooring it away from them. Seated in the middle of the back seat, I can see the traffic ahead and panic. The others don't care. I'm the only non-believer in a church full of happy-clappies. Their eyes glint with the spirit within, and I want out. Now. Please.

But I say nothing. The guys, whooping out their windows. Phan, mooning a taxi loaded with tuxed-up debutantes. The Falcon, slashing towards a cement mixer, collision surely imminent. My breath, rapid and shallow. Can't. Do. This. Gotta say something. Do something.

I raise my voice—‘Hey Aaron.' I can barely hear myself.

The others are cheering Phan. The cement mixer, so close I can read the fine print on its crusty rear bumper. My voice, shrill with panic: ‘Aaron. Take it easy, man! We're too close…'

Aaron ignores me. Swigging from his stubby, he swings the car around the truck, where I can see that four lanes become three beside a tram stop.

I'm stretching forward. Reaching for the handbrake.

Too late.

We hit the concrete wedge guarding the tram stop. The infamous Millennium Falcon actually flies. It soars towards a car coming the other way, bouncing across its bonnet. Tilts. Spears into a power pole with a crunch like an aluminium can.

The laughter, testosterone tyre music, bull-roaring engine, whistling traffic, neon kaleidoscope blur…

Stop.

A moment of nothing.

The Falcon sighs, dies. Its fluids spill away. Drip, drip, drip. The tick, tick, tick of hot metal. Footsteps outside. Unfamiliar voices. Frantic voices.

Carlo starts to scream…

A hand on my shoulder. I almost vacate my skin, whip away like a startled bat.

‘Dan? Are you all right? Dan?'

Stars and party lights pulse, blurring land and sky.

‘Dan?'

I know that voice…

It's Pip. Just Pip. Not some wraith coming to claim me, snatch me away and unite me with my mates. It's Pip with her dreads tied back, her face pale.

‘Dan, you're shaking! What is it? What's going on?'

Pip squats beside me on the bank of the creek. How did I get here? Funny the things you notice when your head's in orbit: she's barefoot, there are little mirrors sewn into her skirt, she sparkles like the night sky.

‘Dan! Do you want me to get Mel? What's the matter?'

I sink back into myself.

‘I…umm, it got a bit too much. The music. The beer. It…reminded me of that night. The accident. I'm…not sure how I got down here, to be honest.'

‘I saw you walk away from the fire. I thought I'd check out if you were okay.'

‘Ta. Yeah…It was…shit. Like living through the whole thing again.'

‘Dan…I'm sorry about before. I was…I should mind my own business. You've got your reasons for…'

My mind struggles to hold steady. Thoughts dart like dragonflies.

‘Pip, why do you reckon you and Mel are mates? I mean, she's…Mel. She's fun and all…you both are.'

‘Dan! Did you take something? More pills?'

‘Nope. Just…go with me on this, okay?'

‘What is your problem?' She sounds indignant. ‘Can't I be friends with both of you?'

‘No…I mean, sure. Be friends with anyone you like. It's just that, I dunno, sometimes it's like, you don't have a lot in common.'

She gives me that look I'm getting to know so well, the one where she tilts her head like a cockatoo and locks her eyes on me, one eyebrow arched.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, Mel's where the action is. She's like the epicentre of whatever's going on. And she has all these friends that hang around, sort of like they just want to surf in on whatever good waves happen around her.'

‘And? What's that got to do with me?'

‘Well, you're not like…like those girls. You're brave and smart and you don't worry about what everyone else is doing. You, I dunno, find your own waves.'

Her face softens. Reaching down, she brushes the grass flat with one hand and sits, smoothing her skirt across her knees.

‘I'll take that as a compliment…I think. I mean, it might look like I just do my own thing but it's not that simple, you know. Before Dad got sick there were times when I hated school. I didn't have many friends, never got invited to parties and stuff, always got picked last at sport...'

I smile to urge her on, pleased she's talking about herself and the focus is off me.

‘In Year 7 camp,' her voice is low, ‘I was put in a bunkroom with five of those girls. When we arrived they were going through their bags and comparing the clothes they'd brought for the camp disco. It hadn't even crossed my mind to bring anything other than trakky dacks and T-shirts, let alone make-up. And one of them, Taylah, looks at me and says, and I realise now she was talking to the rest of them, not me, “That is so uncool.” They ignored me for the rest of camp. Treated me like I had a disease. It totally wrecked camp and made me miserable for ages. I really hated Taylah back then.'

I grimace, surprised that Pip could ever have been vulnerable to those air-heads. She always seems so self-assured to me.

‘Then you guys shifted to school in Year 8. I became friends with Mel…and Taylah and her crew accepted, slowly, that I wasn't going to just fade away.'

I shake my head.

‘But when Dad was sick I stopped caring about them. I figured that whatever they thought about me was so… irrelevant, compared to what was happening to him. As for Mel, she doesn't care whether I'm a dag or not.'

‘You're not a dag.'

‘I am. I know it. But Mel and I have heaps in common. Sure, she can be a bit of a Queen Bee, and…hell will freeze over before I do a triathlon, but we work brilliantly together in the debating team. It's like we both know how the other will tackle a problem. You know, we build on each other's strengths. She's gutsy, too.'

I groan. Pip raises her eyebrows in warning, silencing me. I hang my head as she continues.

‘Mel might move with a crowd but she's not afraid to stand up to them. Believe me, she's had to be tough, what with the stuff Bianca's been saying…about the accident.'

‘What? What's Bianca saying?'

‘She…she's been saying you're as much to blame for the accident as Aaron.'

My heart starts pounding.

‘How? Why's she…blaming me?'

I need the answer as much as I dread it.

‘I dunno. Because she misses her brother? Because Aaron's gone and you're not, I guess. She's come out with some real crap lately. That's why Mel told her to pull her head in. Your sister really…cares about you, you know?'