Night Beach (45 page)

because
from
the
look
on
his
face,
I’m
sure
he’s
about
to
kick
the
crap
out
of
me.

He’s
dressed
in
jeans
and
the
black
jumper
he
wore
to
dinner
with
Brian
and
Mum
on

Sunday
night,
with
the
collar
zipped
up,
and
he’s
holding
a
jerry
can
in
his
left
hand,
and

I
can’t
get
any
air.
The
need
to
breathe
overrides
everything
else
and
I
squeeze
my
eyes

shut.

When
I
open
them
again,
he’s
leaning
over
me,
his
right
hand
outstretched,
and
I
catch

the
stink
of
petrol.

‘Get
up.’
When
I
don’t
move
–
I
can’t
move
–
he
grabs
my
hand
and
pulls
me
to
my
feet.

‘Stay
here.’

The
air
is
too
thin.
I
straighten,
putting
my
hands
on
my
head,
trying
to
satisfy
my

screaming
lungs.
Kane’s
gone
into
the
storeroom.
I
hear
the
scrape
of
the
jerry
can
on

the
concrete
floor.
That
jerry
can
is
the
one
we
use
to
fill
our
mower,
I
realise.
Maybe

Kane’s
ute
ran
out
of
fuel.
I
don’t
know,
and
I’m
not
waiting
around
to
work
it
out.
I’m

starting
for
the
steps
again.

I
hear
the
flap
of
Kane’s
thongs
on
the
concrete
behind
me,
and
a
moment
later
he
grabs

my
arm,
jerking
me
to
a
stop.

‘I
said
stay
here!’
he
barks.

I
suck
back
air,
about
to
scream,
but
before
I
can
make
a
sound
he’s
clamped
a
hand

over
my
nose
and
mouth,
and
he
uses
his
body
to
push
me
back
against
the
wall,
his

other
hand
tightening
on
my
wrist.

Panicking,
I
try
to
pull
Kane’s
hand
away,
unable
to
scream,
unable
to
breathe.
He’s

leaning
right
into
me,
hissing
into
my
face,
his
teeth
bared.

‘
Don’t
you
scream.
Don’t
you
do
it.
You
do
it
and
I’ll
break
your
fuckin’
neck.’

Then
he
pushes
my
head
back
so
it
hits
the
brick
wall
with
a
clunk.
I’m
stunned,
shocked

by
the
pain,
and
for
a
moment
I
can
only
see
static.
I
stop
struggling,
blinking
to
see,
and

he’s
still,
too,
we’re
locked
in
position,
and
I
can’t
breathe,
I
can’t
breathe,
I’m
going
to

die.

Slowly,
warily,
he
lets
go
of
my
wrist,
and
then
my
mouth,
planting
a
hand
either
side
of

me,
and
I
suck
in
one
breath
after
another.
I
see
the
blurring
in
his
movement,
I
know

the
shadow
is
there.
Kane’s
not
the
unreachable
stranger
he
was
on
the
rocks,
but
he’s

amped
with
aggression,
his
eyes
wild
and
wide,
and
it
makes
me
think
that
at
any

second
he
could
lose
it
and
take
things
further.

I
can
smell
his
sweat.
I
can
smell
petrol.
I
can
smell
fire.

‘What
were
you
doing
in
my
place?’
he
asks.

‘I
wasn’t
–’

‘Don’t
lie
to
me!’

I
flinch
away
from
him,
and
this
seems
to
enrage
him
even
more,
because
he
grabs
my

face,
digging
his
fingers
into
my
cheeks,
and
makes
me
look
at
him.

‘What
were
you
doing
in
there?
Trying
to
find
something
over
me?
Is
that
it?
’Cause
I

know
you’ve
got
that
mobile.
The
bin’s
still
full,
nobody
put
the
rubbish
out,
but
it
sure

as
shit
isn’t
in
there.
What’d
you
take
this
time?’

‘I
wasn’t
–
I
didn’t
–
I
was
leaving
you
a
note
and
the
door
was
open.
I
think
there’s

someone
in
there
now.
That’s
why
I
was
running
away.’

Kane
lets
go
of
my
face,
staring
at
me
a
second
longer
as
if
warning
me
not
to
do

anything
stupid,
and
then
he
turns
his
head
in
the
direction
of
his
place.

‘Greg
Hill’s
dog
is
here.
I
saw
her
just
now.
I
think
he’s
in
there.’

Kane’s
face
goes
slack
with
shock.
‘No.
Nuh-‐uh.
That’s
impossible.’

‘No,
it
was
her.
I
know
his
dog.
He’s
here
somewhere.’

‘
God,
Abbie.’
The
anguish
in
Kane’s
voice
–
as
though
it’s
me
doing
bad
things
to
him.

‘Greg
Hill’s
not
here.
He’s
at
home.
I
know
it
for
a
fact.’
Then
he
leans
his
head
back,

shutting
his
eyes,
and
I
watch
his
chest
rise
and
fall.
I
let
my
gaze
slide
past
him,
trying

to
detect
the
shadow.
It’s
gone.

Kane
makes
a
noise
like
a
cough
or
a
sob.
He
looks
down
at
me,
seeming
to
take
in
the

situation
for
the
first
time.
Distressed
by
it.

‘Are
you
okay?’
I
ask.
I
think
I’m
crying.

‘No,
I
am
not
okay.
This
isn’t
okay.
I’m
sorry.
Sorry
if
I
–
I
don’t
even
know
what
I’m
–’
He

breaks
off,
coughing.

And
then
he
rests
his
forehead
against
mine,
like
he’s
suddenly
exhausted.
We
stay
like

that
for
a
long
time,
until
the
air
between
us
changes.

Then
Kane
pulls
back
to
look
at
me,
taking
my
face
in
his
hands,
running
his
thumbs

over
the
skin
under
my
eyes.
He
groans,
pressing
his
face
to
mine,
rising
up
on
his

tiptoes
so
he’s
over
me,
and
then
his
whole
body
seems
to
buckle
and
warp.

He’s
kissing
me,
quick
desperate
kisses,
like
I’m
something
he
needs
to
live;
and
I’m

kissing
him
back,
crazy
with
the
ache
I
feel
for
him,
trying
to
kiss
him
better,
trying
to
fix

him.
I’m
touching
his
face,
feeling
the
roughness
of
his
beard,
the
wet
of
his
tears,
feeling

the
tremors
passing
through
his
body,
hearing
his
ragged
breathing.

And
each
kiss
is
a
failure.
A
failed
attempt
to
escape
from
all
that’s
happening.
And
I

only
know
this
when
he
slows,
drawing
it
out,
letting
me
taste
regret,
letting
things

linger.

He
pulls
away,
and
I’m
saying,
‘Don’t,
don’t,
don’t’,
trying
to
bring
him
back,
kissing
his

face.
But
I’ve
lost
him.

‘You
gotta
keep
away
from
me,
Abbie.’

‘But
I
might
be
able
to
help.
I’ve
seen
it.
I
know
what
–’

‘No!’
He
holds
me
away
from
him.
‘You
stay
out
of
it.
Because
I’m
going
mad
here,
and
I

don’t
know
what
I’ll
do.
Just
let
me
work
on
it,
okay?
Just
give
me
a
bit
of
time.
Can
you

do
that?’

‘Kane,
I
know
it’s
not
your
fault.
I
know
you
didn’t
do
anything
to
Toby
–’

‘
Don’t
bring
that
up!’
He
pushes
me
away,
stepping
backwards
to
put
more
distance

between
us.
‘You
shouldn’t
have
ever
told
me
that
you
knew
about
that.
You
don’t
know

what
I’ll
do.’
He
points
towards
the
front.
‘You’ve
got
to
go.
Go!’

I
hesitate
at
the
top
of
the
steps,
turning
back
to
look
at
him
again,
and
he’s
standing

with
his
back
to
me,
his
hands
on
his
hips,
and
he’s
stretching
his
neck
out.
When
I
see

that,
I
turn
and
run.
I
run
for
my
car
as
fast
as
I
can.

36

Welcome

The
first
thing
I
do
when
I
get
to
McDonald’s
is
go
into
the
bathroom.
I
ignore
the
girl

who’s
standing
in
front
of
the
mirror,
applying
lip
gloss
and
fluffing
up
her
hair,
relieved

that
she’s
not
someone
I
know.
I
reach
the
end
washbasin,
put
my
purse
and
mobile

down
on
the
bench,
and
get
some
paper
towel,
which
I
fold
into
a
square
and
wet
under

the
tap,
wanting
to
wipe
my
face
over,
fix
myself
up,
because
I’ve
been
crying.
But
before

I
do,
I
look
into
the
mirror,
wishing
I
could
stay
like
I
am.
My
eyes
are
too
big,
glassy
and

staring,
and
my
cheeks
look
windburnt,
rubbed
by
his
beard.
I
don’t
know
if
I’m

beautiful
–
the
things
I
think
are
beautiful
are
often
way
different
to
the
things
other

people
associate
with
that
word
–
but
I
am
luminous.
And
in
wiping
away
that,
I’m
going

to
wipe
away
him.

Back
outside,
I
line
up
at
the
counter
behind
a
bunch
of
other
people
and
everything

seems
so
plastic
and
ordinary
it
messes
with
my
head.
While
the
counter
girl
asks
me

questions,
she
keeps
looking
past
me
at
the
people
coming
through
the
door,
and
I

wonder
if
I’m
there
at
all.
I
order
a
Quarter
Pounder
meal,
and
when
I
sit
down
at
a
table

in
the
far
corner
of
the
dining
area,
there’s
something
soothing
about
stuffing
the
fries

into
my
mouth,
even
though
I
can’t
taste
them.
I
force
myself
to
eat
everything.
I
finish

my
Coke.
And
only
then
do
I
ring
Mum’s
mobile.

I’m
going
to
lie.
I’m
going
to
tell
her
everything’s
fine.
But
what’s
lucky
is
that
I
don’t
end

up
having
to
do
it
to
her
in
person.
The
call
goes
straight
to
message.
I
say
my
battery
is

running
low,
so
not
to
worry
about
ringing
back,
and
that
I’m
on
my
way
to
Hollywood’s

to
watch
movies.
I
say
I’ll
ring
her
again
tomorrow.

Anna
isn’t
on
another
call.
She
picks
up
almost
straightaway,
and
she
has
to
shout
her

hello
because
there’s
loud
music
playing,
wherever
she
is.

‘Are
you
at
a
party?’

‘What?
No
–
Hang
on.’
I
hear
her
shouting
at
someone
else,
asking
them
to
turn
it
down.

When
she
comes
back
on
the
line,
she
says,
‘That’s
better.
What’s
going
on?’

‘Um,
so
I
was
thinking,
Mum’s
down
visiting
Brian
and
I’m
home
by
myself,
and
I’m

really
bored,
and
I’ve
just
got
this
new
car
–
as
you
know
–
so
why
don’t
I
drive
down

and
see
you
tonight?’
My
bright
voice
is
as
artificial
as
the
lighting.