Night Beach (44 page)

Hollywood’s
a
boy.
He’s
just
a
boy.
Like
I’m
just
a
girl.

We’re
on
the
same
level,
and
that’s
partly
why
I
trusted
him.

He’s
safe.

He’s
not
Kane,
in
other
words.
Kane’s
never
been
safe.

Ultimately,
he’s
never
been
within
reach.
That’s
the
key
to
why
I’m
so
caught
up
on
him

–
I
know
that.
I’m
obsessed.

And
what
feeds
an
obsession
is
not
getting
what
you
want.

But
my
real
problem
is,
I
like
being
obsessed.
It
leaves
me
hollowed
out
and
hungry,

makes
everything
more
intense.
It’s
painful,
yes.
And
frustrating.
But
it
sure
as
hell

makes
me
feel
alive.

Kane.
Always
Kane.

‘It’s
a
conceptual
thing,’
Hollywood
says
suddenly,
breaking
the
silence.
‘I’m
going
to
call

it,
“No
respect”.
Or
maybe
“The
Wank
Wall”.
I’m
not
sure
yet.’

‘So
you’re
just
going
to
hand
the
board
in?’

‘Nuh.
That’s
only
half
of
it.
I’m
going
to
put
it
in
the
cage
and
take
a
photo.
Write
a
whole

lot
of
shit
in
my
process
diary
to
go
with
it.’
Hollywood
places
his
marker
down
and
digs

around
in
his
pocket.
Then
he
lays
something
on
the
bench.
A
padlock.
‘Might
leave
it

locked
in
there.
Just
for
kicks.’

I
nod,
looking
at
him.
‘It’s
good.
It’s
really
smart.’

He
forgets
himself
then,
because
he
glances
at
me
for
a
moment.
And
there’s
no
light
in

his
brown
eyes
at
all;
they’re
like
two
holes
punched
in
his
face.
I
feel
awful.

‘I’m
sorry.
I’ll
go,’
I
tell
him.

Hollywood
says
nothing,
but
Max
rises
to
his
feet
again.

‘Abbie.’

‘It’s
okay.
I’ve
got
some
stuff
to
do
anyway.’

I
duck
under
the
roller
door
and
start
walking
back
towards
the
house,
and
my
throat

feels
so
tight
it
hurts.

‘Abbie!’

I
turn
around,
not
really
surprised
to
see
Hollywood
striding
across
the
grass
towards

me
with
a
fierce
look
on
his
face.

He
reaches
me
and
doesn’t
pause,
putting
his
arms
around
me
and
hugging
me.
I
hug

him
back
just
as
tightly.

He
says,
‘You
know
what
shits
me?
Kane
probably
doesn’t
even
know
you.’

Then
he
lets
go.

35

Ultramarine

When
I
return
home,
it’s
midafternoon,
and
I’m
relieved
to
see
Kane’s
ute
isn’t
out
the

front.
I
get
out
of
the
car,
shut
my
door,
and
stand
there
for
a
second,
looking
at
the

house,
telling
myself
that
I’m
not
staying
long,
so
this
isn’t
a
big
risk.
I’ve
got
no
idea

where
I’m
going
after
this,
but
whatever
happens,
I’m
going
to
need
things
for
tonight,

and
I
want
to
leave
a
message
for
Kane.

That’s
when
I
realise
the
wind
has
shifted.
It’s
coming
from
the
north,
which
is

completely
out
of
character
for
this
time
of
year.
The
northerly
is
a
summer
wind,
but

for
some
reason
it’s
here
now,
dry
and
warm
and
displeased
at
being
dragged
back

early.
It
puts
me
even
more
on
edge.

Inside
the
house,
I
lock
the
front
door
behind
me,
and
then
listen
intently,
knowing

there
are
other
ways
Kane
could
get
home
if
he
wanted
to
lie
in
wait
for
me.
It’s
hard
to

hear
anything
above
the
purposeful
ticking
of
the
clock
in
the
lounge
room.
After
a

moment’s
hesitation,
I
close
the
door
at
the
top
of
the
stairwell
and
I
lock
that,
too.

He
could
already
be
upstairs,
waiting,
but
I
don’t
think
he
is.
It’s
a
kind
of
instinct.
At

first
I
attribute
it
to
myself
–
maybe
I’d
be
able
to
sense
him,
or
smell
him,
or
something.

But
then
I
realise
I’m
taking
my
cues
from
the
house.
It
sounds
preoccupied;
the
timbers

in
its
frame
creaking
and
popping
as
they
expand
with
the
warmer
weather.
It
doesn’t

sound
like
it’s
waiting
for
something
to
happen.

The
first
thing
I
check
in
my
room
is
the
chandelier.
It’s
stationary.
Good.
And
I’m

careful
not
to
look
in
the
mirror
while
I
quickly
pack
a
bag
with
some
clothes
and

toiletries.

I
dump
the
bag
in
the
foyer,
along
with
my
pillow,
and
then
cross
the
lounge-‐room
floor

again.
I
need
a
couple
of
blankets
from
the
linen
cupboard.
The
clock’s
ticking
seems

faster
as
I
rush
past,
like
it’s
telling
me
to
hurry.
In
the
kitchen,
I
fill
a
bottle
with
water.

Then
I
detour
into
Brian’s
study,
where
I
grab
a
notepad
and
scribble
a
message
for

Kane.
I
fix
some
sticky
tape
around
its
edges
and
leave
it
resting
on
top
of
the
bag.

Almost
done.

Mum
was
leaving
work
at
lunchtime
to
make
her
flight,
and
I
want
to
check
the
phone

just
in
case
she’s
left
a
message.
She
has,
but
I
can
hardly
hear
it
over
the
noise
from
the

clock
–
I
can’t
believe
I’ve
never
noticed
how
annoying
it
is
before;
if
I
had
nothing

better
to
do,
I’d
pull
the
battery
out
of
the
damn
thing.

She
tells
me
she’ll
ring
me
later.
She’s
just
about
to
get
on
the
plane.
My
conversation

with
her
from
the
morning
seems
like
a
million
years
ago.
But
the
fact
she’s
rung
so

soon
is
hopeful.
It
must
mean
she’s
thinking
of
me.

I’m
about
to
leave,
when
I
remember
that
I
also
want
to
get
rid
of
the
doorknob,
and
I

head
back
into
my
room
and
pick
it
off
my
bedside
table.
Okay,
time
to
get
out
of
this

house.

As
I
return
to
the
lounge
room,
I
notice
the
ticking
again.

It
is
faster.
And
as
soon
as
I
realise
this,
it
seems
to
speed
up
even
more.
I
turn
to
look
at

the
clock
and
the
seconds
start
running
together,
making
a
rattling
noise.
The
minute

and
hour
hands
are
whirling
around
the
face.

That’s
when
I
start
running.

Outside,
I’m
shocked
to
see
it’s
nearly
dark.
I
was
only
inside
for
what
felt
like
ten

minutes,
but
there’s
been
some
trick,
some
magic,
because
the
sun
has
set
while
I
was

gone.
The
day
has
finished
and
night
is
coming,
and
while
the
world
waits,
the
sky
is

that
perfect
ultramarine
blue
that
you
only
get
in
winter.

I
feel
shaken
by
having
time
stolen
away
from
me.
But
Kane’s
ute
isn’t
there,
so
that’s

the
main
thing.
And
at
least
I’m
out
of
that
house.
Maybe
I’m
not
thinking
clearly,
but
I

decide
there’s
still
enough
time
before
it
gets
dark
to
leave
the
message
for
him.
I’ll
hear

the
ute
if
he’s
coming.
Throwing
my
things
into
the
back
of
the
car,
I
slam
the
tailgate,

and
sprint
towards
the
steps
at
the
side
of
the
house,
holding
the
note
by
its
edges
to

stop
the
tape
sticking
to
itself.

The
storeroom
light
is
on.
When
I
see
that,
I
stop
dead,
the
skin
at
the
back
of
my
neck

tightening.
But
a
light
comes
on
in
the
Larsens’
kitchen
next
door,
and
that
gives
me

confidence
–
if
you
can
relate
confidence
to
the
knowledge
that
there
is
someone

around
to
hear
you
scream.

The
security
light
flares
into
life.
Hurry.
There
are
no
lights
on
in
Kane’s
place,
but
when

I
reach
his
steps,
I
see
that
the
glass
sliding
door
is
open.
And
I
die.
He
shut
that
door

when
he
left.
I
heard
him
slam
it.
So
either
he’s
been
home
and
gone
out
again,

forgetting
to
close
it
behind
him,
or
he’s
in
there
now.

While
I
hesitate,
listening,
the
security
light
turns
itself
off,
and
the
space
between
the

two
houses
is
dark
except
for
the
flickering
light
spilling
out
of
the
storeroom,
and
the

light
from
the
Larsens’
kitchen.

But
the
ute’s
not
out
front,
and
I
can’t
hear
anything
from
inside.
And
I’m
so
close,
I
can’t

turn
around
and
go
without
doing
this.
So
I
climb
the
stairs,
and
smooth
my
note
onto

the
glass
with
shaking
hands.
It’s
ironic
really
–
that
note.
The
kind
of
note
a
girl
should

leave
the
guy
she
likes:

Kane,

I
have
to
talk
to
you.
Call
me.
Please.

Abbie

I’ve
left
my
mobile
number,
too,
in
big
block
numbers.

Mum
gave
Kane
all
of
our
numbers
when
he
first
moved
in,
but
somehow
I
don’t
think

he
would
have
kept
mine
handy.

Satisfied
the
note
will
stay
there,
I
whirl
around
to
leave,
and
then
freeze.
There’s
a
third

option.
One
that
hadn’t
occurred
to
me.

It’s
possible
someone
else
is
here.

Because
standing
on
the
concrete
at
the
bottom
of
the
steps
is
the
black
dog.
When
she

sees
me
looking
at
her,
her
whole
body
wriggles
with
pleasure.
Then
she
skitters
away

as
I
rush
down
the
steps,
almost
falling
in
my
hurry
to
leave.

The
security
light
comes
on
again,
blinding
me
as
I
run.
Blinking,
trying
to
clear
my

vision,
I
sprint
past
the
storeroom
and
pound
my
way
up
the
first
few
steps
–

And
crash
into
someone
else.

I
start
to
yell,
but
I’m
shoved
backwards,
and
I
sail
through
the
air,
landing
flat-‐backed

on
the
concrete.
Then
I’m
struggling
to
breathe,
badly
winded,
but
at
the
same
time,
I’m

whimpering,
looking
up
at
Kane.
And
I’m
trying
to
shield
my
body
with
my
arms,