Night Beach (30 page)

was
reading
about
them
for
my
project
and
I
found
a
quote
by
Henry
David
Thoreau
–
‘I

wanted
to
live
deep
and
suck
out
all
the
marrow
of
life’.
.
.
It
made
me
cry.

Urgency
is
so
beautiful.

The
streetlights
have
come
on
in
the
car
park,
and
there
aren’t
many
cars
left.
The
song

‘Howl’
is
playing
on
the
radio,
and
I’m
at
the
back
of
my
car,
towelling
myself
off,
when
a

guy
on
a
pushbike
snakes
his
way
across
the
bitumen
towards
me.

He’s
riding
one-‐handed,
taking
swigs
from
a
bottle
wrapped
in
a
brown
paper
bag.

He
stops
near
the
rubbish
bins
just
back
from
the
Committee’s
bench,
and
props
himself

up
by
putting
one
foot
on
the
pine
rail,
staring
out
at
the
ocean.
He’s
wearing
a
faded

pair
of
jeans
and
a
denim
jacket,
and
I
don’t
think
he’s
got
anything
on
underneath
the

jacket,
even
though
it’s
freezing.

I’m
wary
and
watch
him
without
being
obvious
about
it.

He
drains
the
bottle
and
chucks
it
in
the
bin,
where
it
lands
with
a
hollow
clang.

I
wrap
my
towel
around
my
waist
and
glance
back
over
to
check
what
the
guy’s
up
to.

He’s
watching
me.

The
wind
blows
his
scraggly
shoulder-‐length
hair
back
from
his
face.
It’s
Matty
Kenda.

‘What
was
it
like?’
he
slurs.

‘Um,
pretty
shitty.’
I
sit
down
on
the
back
of
my
car
and
start
pulling
on
my
jeans,
my

mind
whirling.
Matty
Kenda
went
on
the
trip
with
Kane.
And
Matty
Kenda
does
not
look

to
be
in
a
good
way.

‘You’re
Kaney’s
girlie,
aren’t
ya?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You
live
at
Kaney’s
place.’

‘Um,
yeah,’
I
say,
smiling
–
I
can’t
help
imagining
the
look
that
would
be
on
Brian’s
face
if

he
heard
that
description.

But
the
smile
fades
as
Matty
gets
off
his
bike,
letting
it
crash
to
the
ground,
and
walks

towards
me.

‘How’s
Kaney
doing?’
he
asks,
with
a
harshness
in
his
voice.
He’s
still
got
the
beard
he

had
in
Kane’s
night
photos
and
his
brown
eyes
are
bloodshot.
‘How
come
I
haven’t
seen

him?’

‘I
don’t
know.
He
was
asleep
when
I
left
to
come
down
here.
Jet-‐lagged.’
I
stand
up,

wiggling
while
I
hurriedly
work
my
jeans
up
my
thighs
under
the
towel.
‘Did
you
have
a

good
trip?’

Matty
stares
at
me
with
bleary
eyes,
swaying
a
little.
‘The
trip
was
a
nightmare,
mate.’

‘Oh.
That’s
too
bad,’
I
say,
stupidly.
I
zip
and
button
my
jeans,
then
pull
my
towel
off
and

chuck
it
in
my
wet
tub.

Matty
rubs
a
hand
across
his
beard,
and
his
voice
changes,
becoming
cagey.
‘Has
he
said

anything?’

Behind
him,
I
see
the
guy
who
was
surfing
the
Right
with
me
reach
the
shower,
and
I

relax
a
little.
‘About
the
trip?’

‘Yeah.
What’s
he
said?’
Matty
steps
closer,
and
I
sit
down
on
the
boot
of
my
car
to
make

some
space
between
us.
I
can
smell
the
sour
mash
of
alcohol
and
nicotine
oozing
out
of

his
skin,
the
type
of
stink
people
have
when
they’ve
been
hitting
it
hard
for
days.
He’s

much
drunker
than
I
originally
thought,
and
I
don’t
know
if
it’s
aggression
or

desperation
on
his
face.

‘Um,
not
much,’
I
say.

‘Did
Kane
tell
ya
what
happened
in
that
smoke?
Did
he
tell
you
what
we
gave
it?’

‘No.’

Matty
gives
a
high-‐pitched
laugh.
‘Well,
I’m
not
tellin’,
Kaney’s
girlie.
It’s
a
secret.
What

happens
on
the
island,
stays
on
the
island.’

He
appears
to
think
about
this.
Then
he
grins.
‘For
me,
anyway.
You
know
why,
Kaney’s

girlie?’

I
shake
my
head.

‘’Cause
the
smoke
thing
can
only
ride
one
of
us
at
a
time.
That’s
the
rules.’
I
think
Matty

might
have
gone
a
little
bit
mad,
or
that
he’s
high
as
well
as
drunk,
because
his
eyes
are

wild,
his
words
sounding
thick
like
his
tongue
is
too
big
for
his
mouth.

‘I
don’t
even
know
how
I
know
the
rules,
Kaney’s
girlie.
But
I
know
’em.
And
if
Marco

and
me
are
gettin’
better,
it’s
’cause
the
smoke
thing
is
riding
Kaney.
It’s
still
got
its

claws
in
him.’

I
swallow
hard.
‘Matty,
you
have
to
tell
me
what
happened
on
that
island.’

But
Matty’s
closed
his
eyes.
He
takes
a
couple
of
backward
steps,
looking
unsteady
on

his
feet,
like
he
might
be
about
to
throw
up.

‘Wait.’
I
start
after
him.

Opening
his
eyes,
Matty
blocks
me
with
his
palm,
and
tot-‐ters
towards
his
bike.

‘Don’t
go.
I
need
to.
.
.
Oh
shit!
’

I
jump
backwards,
startled
by
something
brushing
against
my
leg.
It’s
a
dog.
A
black
dog.

She
cringes,
but
when
she
sees
me
looking
at
her,
she
sidles
closer,
her
tail
wagging.

Because
she
knows
me.

‘You’re
right,
girl.’
I
give
her
the
back
of
my
hand
to
smell
and
she
licks
it
profusely
and

apologetically.
‘What
are
you
doing
–’

‘
Oi!
You!
’

I
look
up
to
see
Greg
Hill
striding
across
the
bitumen
towards
us.
His
four-‐wheel
drive
is

in
the
middle
of
the
car
park,
its
motor
running
and
its
driver’s-‐side
door
open.
His

headlights
aren’t
on,
which
is
maybe
why
I
didn’t
notice
him
pulling
in.

The
plaster
on
his
nose
glows
neon-‐white
against
his
heavily
tanned
skin.
He
is
a
big

bull
of
a
man,
and
he
looks
furious.

I
am
shitting
myself.

But
Greg
marches
straight
past,
not
seeming
to
notice
me
at
all.
Matty
watches
Greg’s

approach,
swaying
slightly,
holding
his
bike.

‘You
tell
your
boyfriend,’
Greg
hisses,
wrenching
the
bike
away
from
Matty
and
hurling

it
at
the
pine
railing.
It
lands
with
a
tinny
crash.
‘You
–
tell
–
that
–
little
–
Gold
Coast
–

shit,’
he
says,
each
word
punctuated
with
a
finger
jabbed
into
Matty’s
bare
chest,
‘that

he’d
better
clean
up
that
wall.’
Then
he
pushes
Matty
backwards
so
hard
that
he
skids
as

he
hits
the
bitumen.

Matty
curls
up
on
the
ground,
and
Greg
stands
over
him,
his
fine
blond
hair
strangely

babyish
compared
to
the
rest
of
him.
‘Got
it?
Or
should
I
send
the
message
home?’

He
draws
his
leg
back,
as
though
he’s
about
to
kick
Matty,
and
I
scream,
‘
Don’t!
’

Greg
freezes.
He
looks
at
me,
then
back
to
Matty,
as
though
weighing
it
up.
Then
he

walks
away.
As
he
passes
me,
he
spits,
and
it
froths
on
the
bitumen
just
to
the
left
of

where
I’m
standing.
I
don’t
move,
my
arms
hanging
loosely
by
my
sides,
my
mouth

open.
His
dog
is
quivering
behind
me.

Greg
whistles
for
her
when
he
reaches
his
four-‐wheel
drive.
One
short,
sharp,
piercing

blast.
And
I
jump.

22

To
sea,
sea,
sea

‘Abbieeeee!’
Joey
yells,
when
Jackie
opens
the
front
door.

She
launches
herself
at
my
leg,
wrapping
her
arms
around
it
and
squeezing
hard.

‘Hello,
nudie
cootie
girl,’
I
say,
smiling.
She’s
dripping
wet,
and
has
left
a
trail
of

footprints
along
the
hallway.

Jackie
rolls
her
eyes.
‘As
I
was
saying,
don’t
you
dare
get
out
of
that
bath.’
She
closes
the

door.
‘I
used
to
wonder
why
parents
couldn’t
control
their
kids.
I
used
to
know

everything,
everything
about
being
a
parent,
until
I
became
one.’

‘Don’t
worry.
I
judge
you
all
the
time.’

She
snorts.
Then
frowns.
‘Are
you
all
right,
sweets?
You
look
a
bit.
.
.
peaky.’

‘What’s
that
mean?’
I
bend
down
to
hug
Joey.
I
feel
off-‐balance,
jumpy.
Matty
Kenda’s

dancing
in
my
mind
like
a
crazy
scarecrow,
his
jacket
flapping
in
the
wind.
‘You
better

get
back
in
the
bath,
missy.’
I
glance
up
at
Jackie.
‘I’ll
finish.
You
should
get
ready.’

She’s
not
so
easily
diverted.
‘Is
everything
okay?’

‘Yeah,
I’m
just
.
.
.’
I
watch
Joey
jump
her
way
back
to
the
bathroom,
unable
to
meet

Jackie’s
scrutiny
head-‐on.
‘There’s
a
lot
going
on
this
year.’

‘Feeling
the
pressure
of
the
HSC?
You’ll
be
okay.
You’re
a
smart
girl.
Have
you
managed

to
do
anything
on
your
Arts
thing?’

‘Living
and
breathing
it.’

Jackie’s
face
brightens.
‘Well,
that’s
good,’
she
says,
encouragingly.

‘Where’s
David?
Isn’t
this
your
big
date
night?’

Jackie
gives
a
start,
looking
at
her
watch.
‘He
went
to
pick
up
a
filing
cabinet
we
bought

on
eBay.
He’s
dropping
it
off
at
the
office
and
then
meeting
me
there.
I’d
better
hurry.’

She
disappears
into
their
bedroom
and
I
hear
the
sliding
of
coathangers.

Joey’s
sitting
in
the
bath,
surrounded
by
a
flotilla
of
plastic
objects,
using
a
boat
to
fill
a

bucket
with
water.
‘Come
in,
Abbie,’
she
urges.

She
always
makes
me
smile.

‘No,
I’m
good.
I’ll
just
wash
you.’
I
kneel
down
and
start
soaping
her
back.
‘What
have

you
been
up
to
today,
anyway?’

‘Well,’
she
says.
‘Today
I
flew
up
in
the
sky
and
I
saw
all
the
dead
people.’

The
smile
drops
off
my
face.
‘Is
this
a
Pinty
thing?’

‘No.’

‘Because
I
don’t
know
if
I
can
deal
with
any
Pinty
stuff
tonight.’

‘Pinty’s
asleep.’