Night Beach (24 page)

all
the
stuff
off
the
lounge
room
floor.
That
song
‘Bang
Bang
Bang’
is
playing
on
the

radio,
and
I
turn
the
volume
up
high.

Joey
knows
the
drill,
so
she’s
jumping
already.
And
I
start
jumping,
too,
shouting
out
the

words
to
the
song.
Joey
joins
in,
but
she
doesn’t
really
know
what
she’s
singing,
she’s

just
mimicking
me,
shouting
louder
and
louder,
which
makes
me
laugh.
We
jump
on
the

lounges,
and
then
we
jump
off
them
onto
the
floor.
And
then
we
jump
around
the
whole

room.

Things
get
way
out
of
hand.
I’d
hate
it
if
Jackie
and
David
came
home
early
for
some

reason.

I
couldn’t
feel
more
alive.

Right
in
the
middle
of
the
song,
when
we’re
really
going
nuts
and
Honey’s
barking
and

every
time
I
get
near
the
display
cabinet
I
can
hear
the
whining
of
over-‐excited
crystal

and
whole
fleets
of
ships
are
wrecking
themselves
all
over
the
world,
Joey
stops
dead

and
points
at
the
wall
in
front
of
her.

‘Abbie!
Abbie,
yook!’

‘Yookity,
yook!’
I
shout,
not
taking
any
notice.
I
keep
dancing
for
a
while
before
I
realise

that
she’s
still
not
moving.
Then
I
grab
the
remote
and
turn
the
stereo
down.
‘What’s

wrong?’

‘Who
is
it?’

‘Hey?’

‘Who
is
it?’
She
jabs
a
finger
at
the
wall
again.
‘Who’s
that,
Abbie?’

I’m
perplexed,
but
then
I
finally
get
it.
‘It’s
your
shadow.’
I
kneel
beside
her.
‘Haven’t
you

noticed
it
before?’

Joey’s
frowning
at
the
wall.
Then
she
says,
‘Go
away.’
She
flings
her
hand
at
her
shadow,

which
of
course
moves,
too,
making
her
squeal
and
look
at
me
for
reassurance.

‘No,
it’s
okay,
Joey.
Look,
I’ve
got
one,
too.
We’ve
all
got
them.’

Joey
takes
her
time
weighing
it
up,
staring
at
my
shadow,
at
her
shadow,
and
at
the

blank
wall
beside
her
shadow.

‘How
come
Pinty
doesn’t
get
one?’
she
asks.

‘Um,
that’s
because.
.
.
Yeah,
I
don’t
know.
Life
isn’t
fair.’

‘Aw,
don’t
cry,
Pinty.
Don’t
cry,’
she
says,
obviously
distressed.
She’s
addressing
the

floorboards,
so
Pinty
must
be
sitting,
or
something.
I’d
ask,
but
as
far
as
I’m
concerned,

the
less
heard
from
Pinty
the
better.

It
takes
Joey
a
while
to
calm
Pinty
down,
but
eventually
he
–
She?
It?
–
comes
around.

Then
I
get
the
torch
that
lives
on
top
of
the
fridge,
and
I
show
Joey
how
to
make
hand

shadow
puppets
–
although
I
can
only
do
a
bird
and
a
bunny.

She’s
more
interested
in
making
her
shadow
move,
though.

She
steps
sideways,
hops
and
waves
her
arms
around.
Then
she
goes
up
really
close
to

the
wall
and
kisses
it.

‘We’re
friends
now,’
she
tells
me.

I
blink
at
her.
‘That’s
awesome.’

I
put
my
hands
on
the
wall
so
I’m
palm
to
palm
with
my
own
shadow
and
I
follow
her

lead
and
kiss
it.

‘Hey,
I’ve
got
something
to
show
you,’
I
tell
her.
I
go
out
to
my
backpack,
which
I’ve
left

dumped
in
the
hallway,
and
I
dig
around
until
I
find
the
doorknob.
I
take
it
back
into
the

lounge
room
to
show
her.
‘What
do
you
think
of
this?
I
found
it
on
the
beach
today.’

She
gives
it
a
cursory
glance,
and
then
asks
if
we
can
cut
her
shadow
off
with
a
pair
of

scissors.
So
it
can
go
to
the
beach.

‘You
can’t
get
rid
of
it
like
that.
It
goes
to
the
beach
when
you
go
to
the
beach.’

‘Hmph,’
says
Joey.
And
then
she
says,
‘Pinty’s
been
cut
off.’

It
takes
a
moment
for
the
words
to
register
with
me.
When
they
do,
the
skin
on
my
arms

begins
to
tighten.
And
the
air
around
me
seems
colder.

I
say,
‘What
do
you
mean?
Is
Pinty
like
a
shadow?’

Joey
doesn’t
answer,
seemingly
engaged
in
a
silent
debate
with
Pinty.

I’m
thinking
of
Kane,
sitting
at
the
dinner
table.
Of
the
shadow
I
saw.
‘Joey?
Is
Pinty
a

shadow?
Tell
me.’

When
she
eventually
turns
to
me,
she
puts
her
finger
to
her
lips,
and
says,
‘
Shh.’

Seriously,
three-‐and-‐a-‐half-‐year-‐olds
are
creepy.
I
exhale,
looking
down
at
the

doorknob,
noticing
how
it
fits
perfectly
in
my
palm.
For
a
second
I
imagine
it
vibrates

slightly,
humming
with
some
kind
of
energy.

Joey
picks
up
the
torch
and
starts
clicking
it
on
and
off.

‘No,
she’s
not,’
she
says
to
the
space
next
to
her.
‘She’s
not!
That’s
stupid.
She
has
to
stay

here
with
me
until
my
mum
and
my
dad
come
home.’

Don’t
ask,
I
tell
myself.

‘Yook,
it’s
not,’
she
says,
and
she
points
at
the
head
of
my
shadow.
‘It’s
not.’

I
can’t
help
it.
‘Not
what?’

‘Your
hair.
It’s
not
up.’

‘Why
would
it
be
up?’

Joey
clamps
her
lips
together,
staring
straight
ahead.
After
a
moment,
she
starts
fiddling

with
the
torch
again.

‘That’s
how
you
had
it
in
your
drawing,
too,
didn’t
you?
Pinty
said
to
draw
it
so
it
was

up.
But
why?’

‘I
told
you.’

‘No,
you
didn’t,’
I
say,
sounding
equally
quarrelsome.
‘You
said
it
was
so
I’d
know
where

I
was
going.
But
you
never
said
where
that
was.’

I
wait,
but
she
says
nothing.

‘Joey?
What
did
Pinty
say?’

Click-‐click.
Click-‐click.

‘Where
am
I
going?’

Click.

‘Okay
then,
how
about
you,
Pinty?
Can
you
hear
me,
Pinty?
Where
am
I
going?
Can
you

tell
me,
Pinty?’

Joey
stops
playing
with
the
torch
and
gives
me
this
look,
like
she’s
the
one
in
charge,
not

me.
‘The
other
place.
Pinty
said
you’re
going
to
the
other
place.’

17

A
little
night
music

On
the
way
home,
the
only
thing
more
erratic
than
my
driving
are
my
thoughts.
I
keep

feeling
like
there’s
someone
sitting
behind
me,
even
though
I
checked
both
the
back
seat

and
the
back
of
the
car
before
I
got
in
it.
Each
time
I
look
in
the
rear-‐view
mirror,
the
car

wobbles
all
over
the
road.
The
southerly
is
gusting
now,
buffeting
the
car,
and
the
trees

picked
out
in
my
headlights
bend
and
sway
in
a
silent
dance.

There’s
panic
simmering
in
the
pit
of
my
stomach.
Because
I
don’t
know
what
Joey

meant
–
You’re
going
to
the
other
place.

I
can’t
make
sense
of
anything.
Kane’s
shadow.
The
dogs.
Come
to
me!!!!
A
sandstorm
of

light
from
the
doorknob.
All
I
know
is:
I’m
scared.

I
switch
the
radio
on
and
turn
it
up
loud,
hoping
to
blast
myself
back
to
a
feeling
of

safety.
But
the
song
playing
is
‘Teenage
Wristband’
by
the
Twilight
Singers,
the
sort
of

music
that
could
carry
you
off
somewhere.

I
turn
the
radio
off,
lean
forward
and
peer
through
the
windscreen.
And
I
wonder
why

the
car
sounds
so
unhappy.
It’s
because
I’m
asking
it
to
climb
a
steep
incline
in
fourth

gear,
I
realise,
and
shove
the
clutch
in.
And
then
my
mind
goes
blank.

I
can’t
think
whether
to
change
to
third,
or
second,
or
first;
nor
can
I
remember
the

configuration
of
movements
that
would
get
the
gearstick
to
any
of
those
places.

The
car
starts
rolling
backwards.

Swearing,
I
stomp
on
the
brake,
and
now
I’ve
got
the
adrenaline
shakes.

I
turn
in
my
seat,
checking
the
road
behind
me,
relieved
to
see
that
there
are
no
cars

coming.
God,
I
wish
Brian
was
with
me
now,
so
I
could
ask
him,
in
a
very
loud
voice,
to

explain
exactly
how
driving
a
manual
is
making
me
a
better
driver.

I
clear
my
throat
and
take
a
deep
breath,
pushing
the
gear
stick
up
to
neutral,
wriggling

it
from
side
to
side
to
double-‐check.
Okay,
so
we’ll
be
needing
first
gear.
A
hill
start
–

isn’t
that
what
they
call
this
situation?
I
shove
the
gearstick
over
to
the
far
left
and
–
up

or
down?
I
don’t
know.
I
think
about
putting
the
interior
light
on
and
looking,
but
then
I

decide
to
just
take
a
punt.
Heads
or
tails?
Let’s
go
with
up.

I
make
it
home,
but
by
the
time
I
pull
in
out
the
front,
I’m
exhausted.
I
have
to
fight
to

push
my
door
open
against
the
wind,
before
grabbing
my
backpack
from
the
passenger

seat,
getting
out
and
letting
it
slam
shut.
Then
I
have
to
fight
my
own
hair,
which
is

swirling
around
my
face.
Half-‐blinded
by
the
security
lights,
I
walk
around
the
back
of

Kane’s
ute,
feeling
the
familiar
little
throb
of
pain
I
get
whenever
I
see
it.

In
the
carport,
I
slip
carefully
between
Brian’s
Beamer
and
Mum’s
Saab,
knowing
there’ll

be
hell
to
pay
if
my
backpack
scratches
either.

‘
Psst.’

I
stop
dead.
Heart
pounding.
‘Who’s
there?’

The
noise
came
from
the
far
side
of
the
Beamer.
Because
it’s
a
SUV,
I
can’t
see
over
the

top
of
it,
so
I
have
to
peer
through
its
back
windows.
Something
moves
in
the
murk
and
I

completely
freak.

There’s
a
hollow
clunking
noise
–
the
lid
on
the
wheelie
bin
closing.

‘Is
that
you,
Kane?’

‘Yeah.’

I
hear
the
flap
of
his
thongs
as
he
makes
his
way
around
the
Beamer.
He
stops
to
wait