Night Beach (17 page)

the
room
changing
from
warm
to
cool
already.

Brian
looks
at
Mum.
Mum
looks
at
Brian.
And
I
want
to
say,
What?
What?
What
have
I

done
wrong?
Because
this
is
so
not
fair.
If
I
ask
them
to
do
anything,
I
have
to
give
them

heaps
of
notice,
and
I
have
to
get
the
details
straight,
and
it
has
to
be
formal.
So
how
can

they
get
shitty
at
me
because
I
can’t
drop
everything
and
go
to
Melbourne
with
them?

At
any
other
time
they’d
tell
me
that
work
is
a
serious
responsibility.

‘Well,
that’s
that,
then,’
Mum
says,
carefully
pushing
her
red
hair
back
over
one

shoulder.

‘I
can
go
another
weekend,
though,’
I
say.

Brian
nods
encouragingly.
‘That’s
not
a
bad
idea,’
he
says,
looking
at
Mum.

Something
is
definitely
up
with
her.

‘We’ll
see,’
she
says.

I
feel
like
crying.
That
wouldn’t
go
down
well,
though,
so
I
keep
a
lid
on
it.

‘Sorry.
But
thanks
anyway.’
I
start
moving
towards
the
door.

‘We
also
picked
up
the
Mirage
this
morning,’
Mum
says.

I
swivel
around,
feeling
hopeful,
because
if
they’ve
got
my
car
back,
that
must
mean
she

cares,
right?
‘On
a
Sunday?’

‘We
told
them
to
leave
the
keys
locked
inside.
We
used
the
spare.’
Mum’s
voice
is
still

cool.

‘Oh.
What
was
wrong
with
it?’

‘The
alternator
needed
replacing,’
Brian
says.

I
have
no
idea
what
he’s
talking
about,
but
I
give
him
a
grateful
smile
because
his
voice

is
kind.

‘When
we
gave
you
the
car,
we
didn’t
get
around
to
discussing
the
rules,’
Mum
says.

‘Well,
we
didn’t
have
time
because
it
had
broken
down
already,’
Brian
says,
trying
to

lighten
things
up.

‘We
think
it’s
reasonable
that
you
pay
for
your
own
petrol,’

Mum
continues,
as
though
he
hasn’t
spoken.

‘Yep.
Sure.
I
was
–’

‘We’ll
pay
for
tyres
and
servicing.’

‘That’s
great.
Thank
you
so
much.
This
is
–’

Mum
holds
up
a
hand,
glancing
at
Brian
as
though
warning
him
to
keep
out
of
it,
and
I

understand
why
a
moment
later
when
she
says,
‘And
I
will
contact
your
father,
because

I
believe
it
only
fair
that
he
make
some
kind
of
contribution.’

Wham.
Didn’t
see
that
coming.
I
should
have,
though.
It
always
comes
down
to
this
–
the

scoreboard
between
her
and
my
father.
My
father.
My
fault.
Nothing
to
do
with
her,
not

the
man
she
married
and
must
have
slept
with
at
least
twice
to
have
two
kids
with
him.

Jackie
told
me
once
that
she
felt
having
a
child
meant
more
than
marriage.
She
and

David
would
be
irrevocably
bound
because
they’d
made
Joey.
That’s
not
the
way
it

works
in
my
family
–
my
families.
Anna
and
I
are
the
only
evidence
left
of
a
mistake.

Since
their
split,
the
only
times
Mum
and
Dad
have
ever
contacted
each
other
about
us

have
been
to
do
with
money.

To
my
knowledge,
they’ve
never
discussed
what
I’m
studying,
what
my
friends
are
like,

whether
I’m
drinking
when
I
go
out,
if
I’m
going
out
too
much,
what’s
a
reasonable
time

to
expect
me
home
–
none
of
the
things
that
parents
talk
about.

It’s
always
about
the
money.

And
the
problem
with
that
is:
if
the
people
who
love
you
are
always
weighing
up
what

you
cost,
then
you’re
never
really
sure
who’s
got
your
back.
Anna
says
that’s
why

anything
to
do
with
money
makes
me
anxious.
Why
I’m
so
bad
with
it.

Mum
looks
resolved
now.
‘My
solution
is
that
your
father
pay
for
insurance
and

registration
costs.’

I
swallow,
feeling
my
face
flush.
I
know
things
are
pretty
tight
for
Dad.
Things
are

always
tight
for
Dad.
She
knows
that,
too.
Then
I
wonder
if
that’s
the
whole
point.
Yes,

we’d
all
like
to
be
chasing
our
dreams,
Graham.
But
sometimes
your
choice
of

employment
is
about
more
than
just
you.

‘We’ve
taken
care
of
insurance
in
the
short
term.
But
it’ll
have
to
be
renewed
in
a
month

when
the
car’s
registration
is
up,’
Mum
says.

‘Which
was
partly
why
we
got
such
a
good
deal
on
the
vehicle,’
Brian
explains,
sounding

uncomfortable.
When
Mum
calms
down,
he’ll
probably
tell
her
that
she
should
go
a
little

easier
on
me,
and
then
she’ll
get
defensive
and
shitty
at
him.
He
should
say
it
now.
Bring

it
out
into
the
open.
But
he
never
does.

‘I’ll
email
your
father
when
I’m
back
from
Melbourne.’

There
is
silence.

‘Okay,’
I
say.
I
wait,
hoping
she’ll
say
something
softer.

But
from
the
look
in
her
blue
eyes
you’d
think
she’d
never
met
me
before.
You
wouldn’t

know
we
were
related.

She’s
skinny
and
so
pale
you
can
see
her
veins.
I’m
all
Dad,
flushed
with
health.

Sometimes
I
wonder
if
that’s
the
problem:
I
remind
her
of
him.

13

The
first
theft

Back
in
my
room,
I
listen
to
Anna’s
voice
telling
me
she’s
not
available
right
now
and

hang
up.
Then
I
ring
back,
just
in
case.
This
time,
I
leave
a
message.

‘Yeah,
so
it’s
me,’
I
say.
‘Anxiety
Girl
checking
in
for
duty.
I
really
wanted
to
speak
to

Angry
Girl,
but
you’re
obviously
off
being
angry
somewhere,
so
.
.
.’

We
established
our
superhero
guises
a
while
ago,
because
sometimes,
when
it
comes
to

family,
you’ve
just
got
to
laugh.

It’s
not
funny
now,
though.
It’s
too
true.
There’s
a
wind
whistling
through
the
cavity
in

me
and
I’m
so
worried
I
feel
sick.

Angry
Girl
has
no
cavity.
She
has
teeth.

I
realise
I’m
standing
there,
holding
the
mobile
to
my
ear,
and
I
don’t
know
how
long
the

pause
has
been.
‘So
I’ll
talk
to
you
later,’
I
tell
my
sister’s
message
bank,
and
cut
the
call,

throwing
the
phone
onto
my
unmade
bed.

I
stay
standing,
arms
hanging
limply
by
my
sides,
not
quite
sure
what
to
do
with
myself.

Mum’s
thrown
me
completely
off-‐balance.
I
would
take
a
photograph,
but
there
are

already
too
many
of
me
feeling
like
this:
I’ve
done
something
wrong,
so
now
she
won’t

love
me.
Instead,
I
spend
some
time
staring
at
the
girl
in
the
mirror.
She
looks
like
she

wants
to
apologise
for
the
air
she’s
breathing.
I’d
like
to
kick
her.

Come
on,
Anna.
Ring
me
back.
I’m
going
mad
here.

It’s
Mum,
it’s
Kane,
it’s
me.
The
house
keeps
turning
into
a
ship,
there
were
dogs
waiting

outside
last
night,
and
there’s
a
shadow
leaking
out
of
Kane.
I
need
you
to
tell
me
what
it

means.

Helow
Abbee.
My
skin
crawls.
Maybe
Kane
knows
that
I
went
through
his
things,
and

that
was
his
way
of
warning
me
off.
But
it
didn’t
even
look
like
his
writing.
And
why

write
it
at
the
back
of
the
book,
with
no
guarantee
that
I’d
even
find
it?

Maybe
one
of
the
guys
on
the
trip
wrote
all
that,
when
drunk,
or
drugged
up,
or

something.
That
would
explain
the
weird
handwriting,
and
the
fact
that
none
of
it
made

sense.

Anyway,
strictly
speaking,
it’s
not
my
name.
Just
a
similar
combination
of
letters.
It

probably
wouldn’t
have
even
seemed
significant
except
–
I
stand
still,
feeling
through

the
soles
of
my
feet.

Then
my
mobile
starts
up
–
‘Overture’,
Patrick
Wolf.
And
I
feel
more
grounded
already,

even
just
climbing
across
the
bed
to
reach
it.

‘You
are
never
going
to
know
how
glad
I
am
that
you
rang
back,’
I
say.

There
is
a
moment
of
surprised
silence.
And
then
a
male
voice
asks,
‘Abbie?’

‘Oh.
Sorry.
I
mean,
yes.’

‘It’s
Max.
How
are
you?’

‘I’m
good
thanks,
Max.
How
are
you?’
Max
is
the
most
polite
guy
I
have
ever
met.
For

some
reason,
when
I’m
talking
to
him,
I
also
become
excessively
polite
–
like
when
you

mimic
someone’s
accent
without
meaning
to.
Possibly
he
thinks
I’m
taking
the
piss,
but

manners
stop
him
from
making
something
of
it.

‘Is
this
a
bad
time?’
It
sounds
like
he’s
driving.

‘No,
you’re
right.’

‘I
just
wanted
to
let
you
know
we’re
heading
down
for
a
surf.
Do
you
want
to
come?
If

you
need
a
lift,
I
can
pick
you
up.’
The
background
sound
of
the
motor
cuts
out
abruptly.

A
moment
later,
I
hear
Max’s
car
door
open
and
then
close.

It’s
unusual
for
Max
to
be
doing
the
organising.
Normally
Hollywood
would
text
me.
I’m

thinking
about
last
night.

Wondering
if
Hollywood’s
still
in
that
mean
mood.

‘Is
Hollywood
all
right
with
me
coming?’

‘Sure.
Why
wouldn’t
he
be?
He
asked
me
to
give
you
a
call.’

‘Did
he
tell
you
what
was
wrong
with
him
last
night?’

‘Um,
well,
I
don’t
.
.
.’

Max
sounds
so
uncomfortable
that
I
feel
bad.
No,
I
feel
rude.
‘Sorry,
Max.
I
know
it’s

nothing
to
do
with
you.’

I
wonder
how
much
Max
knows.
I’m
starting
to
think
he’s
got
the
whole
bag,
which
is

completely
contrary
to
the
cup
of
secrets.
I
don’t
know
why
I
ever
trusted
Hollywood.

‘I’d
like
you
to
come,’
Max
says.

God,
he’s
lovely.
I
take
a
deep
breath.
Feel
quieter
inside.