Night Beach (23 page)

school
goes
back.
We’re
in
Perth
next
weekend,
but
the
game
after
that’s
at
home.
So
I’ll

be
around.’

Well,
even
when
Dad’s
around
he’s
never
exactly
present,
but
for
a
moment
I
soften,

because
living
with
Mum
makes
me
feel
so
freaking
lonely.

Michelle’s
talking
again.

‘Righto,’
Dad
tells
her.
‘Shell
said
she’ll
put
you
to
work,
helping
her
clean
out
those

boxes.’

‘The
stuff
from
my
room?’
My
voice
sounds
funny.

‘I
think
they’re
the
ones
she
means,’
Dad
says,
not
sounding
particularly
involved
in

Michelle’s
fixation
with
getting
rid
of
my
belongings.

I
hear
an
electronic
chime,
and
there
is
silence
from
his
end
as
he
checks
his
mobile.

Most
of
the
time,
it’s
glued
to
his
ear.
Coaches,
players,
team
management
and
admin

staff
ring
him
at
all
hours.

‘Dad,
you’ve
got
a
house.’

‘Just
a
sec,
Nally
.
.
.’

You
always
had
room
for
my
stuff
when
you
had
a
bloody
unit.
And
now
you’ve
got
a

house.
So
don’t
tell
me
there
isn’t
room.
We’ve
got
a
right
to
have
a
home
with
you,
too.

I
think
these
things,
but
I
can’t
say
them.
If
I
was
Anna,
I
probably
could,
but
instead
I

swallow
the
words
and
feel
them
burn
their
way
deep
down
inside
me.

The
night
they
told
me
Michelle
was
expecting,
I
took
a
photograph:
I
bet
it’s
going
to
be

a
boy.
Now,
I
don’t
think
it
even
matters.
The
outcome
will
be
the
same
either
way.

‘Listen,
do
you
want
to
have
a
quick
chat
to
Shell?
I’ve
just
got
to
make
a
call.’

‘Can’t.
My
battery’s
about
to
run
out.
I’ll
talk
to
you
later,’

I
say,
and
then
I
hang
up.

That’s
when
I
decide
I
don’t
want
to
be
in-‐between
anymore.
Because
Mum
and
Dad
are

busy
building
lives
–
big,
complex
lives
–
that
are
completely
unrelated
to
Anna
and
me,

and
all
about
Brian
and
Michelle.
In
normal
families,
unbroken
families,
the
mother
and

the
father
are
like
two
hands
cupped
together,
and
held
by
those
hands
are
the
children.

In
my
family,
the
hands
have
pulled
apart
and
the
children
have
been
dropped.
If
one

parent
isn’t
looking
after
you,
they
just
assume
the
other
one
is.
You
find
out
you
don’t

really
belong
anywhere.

Well,
I’m
done
with
being
one
of
those
children.
I
want
to
be
an
adult.
I
want
my
own

big,
complex
life;
one
where
I
don’t
need
them
either.

I’m
striding
out
like
some
mad
exerciser:
arms
locked
straight,
teeth
gritted
together,

the
flipper
I’m
carrying
bashing
against
my
leg.
And
then
I
stop
dead.
I
turn
and
face
the

ocean.

I
breathe
the
salty
air.
I
feel
myself
release.

Maybe
the
ocean
can
be
my
home.
It’s
a
weird
idea,
because
the
ocean
is
just
a
big
body

of
water,
bulging
towards
the
moon.

To
me,
though,
it’s
like
some
ancient
lumbering
beast
–
an
elephant
–
that
can’t
see,
but

has
other
senses,
and
isn’t
indifferent
to
me.
It
knows
I’m
there
on
some
level.
Because

why
else
do
I
feel
comforted?
Why
else
do
I
feel
safe?

It’s
when
I
start
walking
again
that
I
notice
the
tracks.

Every
inch
of
the
wet
sand
near
the
water’s
edge
is
patterned
by
the
markings
of
birds’

feet.
I’ve
never
seen
anything
like
it.
The
more
I
look,
the
more
I
can
almost
hear
their

frantic
scurrying.
There’s
something
panicked
in
those
marks.
How
many
birds
must

have
been
down
here
to
do
that?
I
mean,
there
are
birds
at
the
beach
all
the
time
–

seagulls,
gannets,
cormorants,
pelicans,
mutton
birds
–
but
I
have
never
seen
this
many

marks.

It’s
not
normal.

A
stronger
gust
of
wind
hits
me,
blowing
my
hair
forward
and
obscuring
my
vision.
I

push
it
back
from
my
face.
When
I
look
down
again,
I
see
the
marks
have
changed.

They’re
no
longer
bird
tracks.
Crouched
down,
I
study
them,
and
a
wave
of
goose
bumps

washes
over
my
skin.

Question
marks.
Hundreds
–
no,
thousands
of
them
–
scratched
into
the
sand.

How
did
all
those
marks
come
to
be
there?
Nobody
could
have
done
that
many.

And
just
above
the
water
line,
as
though
it’s
designed
to
be
eaten
by
a
rising
tide,

someone
has
written
Come
to
me!!!!

There
it
is
again,
a
little
further
up.

The
same
phrase
I
used
in
my
photograph
last
night,
when
I
was
aching
for
Kane
–
right

down
to
the
four
exclamation
marks.
Seeing
it
here
is
eerie.
But
also
wonderful.

So
I
say,
‘Okay.’

The
southerly
pauses
to
take
a
breath,
and
then
it
blasts
me
with
all
it’s
got.
At
the
same

time,
a
larger
wave
collects
itself
on
the
shore
break,
before
casting
nets
of
foam
all
the

way
up
the
beach,
wiping
away
the
writing.
And
carried
along
in
the
water
is,
of
all

things,
a
doorknob.

I
run
forward
to
grab
it
before
it
gets
sucked
back,
wetting
the
hems
of
my
jeans,
excited

to
be
receiving
a
gift.
The
ball,
neck
and
stem
are
all
turned
from
the
same
piece
of

wood,
and
it’s
painted
blue,
although
the
paint
is
chipped
at
the
base,
revealing
the

timber’s
grain.
There
is
a
thin
hole
drilled
through
the
base
up
into
the
stem
and,

weighing
it
in
my
hand,
I
have
the
sense
that
the
ball
is
actually
hollow.
I
shake
it
close

to
my
ear
and,
yes,
I
can
feel
something
shifting
inside,
hear
the
faintest
rustling.
But

how
could
it
have
been
fashioned
to
be
hollow
inside
like
that?
That’s
kind
of
amazing.

On
a
whim,
I
turn
it
so
the
base
is
pointing
downwards,
and
shake
it
again
softly.
The

finest
white
sand
starts
to
trickle
out.
Startled,
I
stop
moving,
but
the
sand
keeps

coming.
It
should
be
too
wet
to
run
like
that,
I
think,
but
I’m
not
really
bothered
by
the

realisation,
possibly
because
I
have
the
strongest
sense
of
déjà
vu.
Then
I
realise
what

I’m
reminded
of:
sand
trickling
through
an
hour
glass.
The
wind
strengthens,
whirling

around
me,
but
I
can’t
look
away
from
that
string
of
sand.
It’s
quickening,
streaming
out

in
a
wide
ribbon
–
far,
far
more
sand
than
should
fit
inside
that
doorknob.
The
lines
of

the
sand
ribbon
are
encircling
me,
and
as
I
realise
this,
they
tighten.

That’s
when
I
drop
the
doorknob.

The
sand
stings
my
cheeks,
my
hands,
my
feet.
I
duck
down,
covering
my
face,
my
eyes

and
mouth
squeezed
shut,
not
wanting
to
breathe
it
in.
And
the
crazy
thing
is,
the
sand

is
still
running
–
I
know,
because
I
can
hear
it.
The
wind
has
stopped
and
everything
is

dead
still.
I
hear
the
moment
when
the
sand
finishes.
I
swear
it.
I
hear
the
very
last
grain

trickle
out.

After
a
moment,
I
feel
the
softest
brushing
on
my
hands.

Peeking
through
my
fingers,
what
I
see
is
light.
I
take
my
hands
away
from
my
face,
and

stand
up,
and
I
can’t
understand
how
it
is
that
I’m
aware
of
the
rest
of
the
world,
but
I’m

not
really
in
it.
It’s
like
I’ve
been
tucked
into
a
crease.
Because
although
the
southerly
is

still
howling,
and
the
ocean
is
snarled
and
messy,
and
further
up
the
beach
are
my

friends
and
the
break
and
the
wall,
where
I
am
is
completely
still,
except
for
a
circling

cloud
of
luminous
sand.

I
don’t
want
it
to
end.
I
want
to
stay
there
forever.

Then
the
southerly
hits
me,
blasting
the
sand
away.
I’m
back
in
the
world,
my
pockets

filled
with
plastic
junk,
a
flipper
and
a
doorknob
lying
at
my
feet.

When
I
get
back
to
the
car
park,
I
feel
like
I’ve
been
gone
for
a
hundred
years.
The
Audi’s

tailgate
is
up,
and
Calvin
Harris
is
playing
on
the
stereo.
Hollywood
is
in
his
dressing

gown,
and
I
know
for
a
fact
that
he
goes
commando,
so
I
don’t
look
too
closely
as
he

bends
to
pick
up
his
wetsuit.
Max
is
busy
sliding
Hollywood’s
board
back
into
its
cover.

At
first
they
don’t
notice
me.
And
I
don’t
say
anything
to
get
their
attention.
I
can’t

speak.
I
can
hardly
think.
The
only
thing
going
through
my
mind
is
that
I’m
not
going
to

tell.
I
want
to
keep
what’s
just
happened
to
myself.
Besides,
I
couldn’t
explain
it
if
I
tried.

I
don’t
feel
happy.
I
don’t
feel
sad.
Or
frightened,
or
freaked.

I
feel
awed.

The
doorknob
is
tucked
into
the
waistband
of
my
jeans,
my
hoodie
pulled
down
to
hide

it.
I
throw
the
plastic
flipper
into
the
back
of
the
Audi,
and
then
start
emptying
my

pockets
of
the
plastic
junk
I
collected.

‘Hi
Abbie,’
Max
says,
swivelling
around,
obviously
surprised
to
see
me
there.
His
gaze

drops
to
the
objects
I
found.

‘Wow,
you
found
some
good
things.
Thanks
for
that.’

‘Oi,
where
have
you
been?’
Hollywood
says.
He
reaches
out
and
brushes
my
cheek.

‘What’ve
you
been
doing?
Rolling
around
on
the
beach?’

16

Shadows

At
the
Clarkes’
house
that
night,
I
wait
until
Jackie
and
David
are
gone,
and
then
I
clear