Night Beach (46 page)

‘Abbie,
it’s
a
four-‐hour
drive.’

I
laugh.
‘Yeah,
I
know.
But
that
doesn’t
matter.
Seize
the
day,
right?’

‘Seize
the
day?
Who
says
that?’
she
says,
parodying
me.

But
she
must
have
picked
up
something
in
my
tone
because
then
her
voice
changes.
‘Are

you
all
right?’

‘Yeah.
I
just
thought
it
would
be
fun,
that’s
all.
What?
Don’t
you
want
to
see
me?’

‘I’m
on
my
way
down
to
the
snow.’

‘Again?’

‘Yeah,
I’m
with
Becs
and
Tamika.’
In
the
background,
I
hear
female
voices
shouting
out.

My
brain
is
numb.
I
can’t
believe
she’s
not
where
I
need
her
to
be,
and
I
really
can’t

believe
she’s
suddenly
into
skiing
–
she
was
never
that
interested
the
couple
of
times
we

went
with
Mum
and
Brian.
‘Oh
my
God.
You
did
pull
the
ski
instructor.’

There’s
a
silence.

‘Snowboarding,’
Anna
says,
as
though
this
is
a
crucial
distinction.
‘He’s
a
snowboarding

instructor.’

‘Same
diff,’
I
snap.
‘He’ll
be
snow-‐blind
in
the
end.’

I
hear
the
other
girls
making
more
comments
and,
a
second
later,
Anna
laughing,
telling

them
to
shut
up.

I
don’t
know
why,
but
that
pisses
me
off
–
her
having
her
own
life
like
that.

‘Wow.
What
a
great
family
you
turned
out
to
be,’
I
say.

‘Sorry?
What
did
you
–’

I
cut
the
call,
turning
my
mobile
off
so
she
can’t
ring
me
back.
Then
I
bury
my
face
in
my

hands.
This
place
is
open
twenty-‐four
hours.
So
provided
I
don’t
mind
losing
all
feeling

in
my
butt
and
legs
from
the
plastic
seat,
and
I
enjoy
having
drunks
throw
pickles
at
me,

I
can
stay
here.
Or
else,
I
can
drive
around
in
my
car.

How
did
things
get
like
this?
I
don’t
have
anybody
to
call.

My
mum’s
in
Melbourne,
my
dad’s
in
Brisbane,
my
grandad’s
dead,
my
sister’s
going
to

get
laid,
my
best
friend
Petey
is
in
Darwin,
putting
her
boyfriend
first,
and
Max
and

Hollywood
aren’t
an
option
–
I
can’t
go
back
to
them,
not
now.
I’ve
burned
all
my
other

friends
from
school,
and
even
if
I
hadn’t,
I
couldn’t
bear
to
see
them
while
feeling
like

this.
And
outside
of
all
that,
there
is
no
one
else.
It’s
not
like
my
interests
are
social.
All
I

do
is
surf
and
paint.

On
the
way
here,
coming
down
Front
Ridge
Road,
I
passed
a
fire
engine
speeding
up
the

hill,
sirens
blaring.
When
I
saw
it,
I
felt
worried,
and
I
tried
not
to
think
about
where
it

might
be
going.

I’m
desperate
to
go
somewhere
safe,
to
be
with
somebody
who’s
safe,
but
I’ve
got

nothing.

Then
I
remember
that
in
addition
to
surfing
and
painting,
I
also
have
a
job.
I
turn
my

mobile
back
on,
ignore
the
missed
call
from
Anna,
and
dial
the
Clarkes’
number.

Jackie
opens
the
door
with
a
smile
on
her
face,
midway
through
saying
something
to

David,
who
must
be
in
the
lounge
room
watching
the
television.
She’s
in
a
tracksuit
and

slippers,
holding
a
slice
of
half-‐eaten
pizza
with
her
free
hand,
and
I
can
feel
the
warmth

of
the
house
coming
through
the
doorway.

‘Thanks
for
letting
me
come
over.
I’m
so
sorry
I’m
interrupting
your
night,’
I
say,
and
I’m

tearing
up
–
with
relief,
I
think.
‘I
feel
so
dumb,
but
that
house
is
scary
when
you’re

there
by
yourself,
and
I
didn’t
know
–’

‘Shh,’
she
says,
putting
her
finger
to
her
lips.

‘
Oh
sorry.
Is
Joey
asleep?’
I
whisper.

‘Yes,
Joey
is
asleep,’
she
says
in
her
normal
voice.
‘But
I’m
saying
shush
because
you

don’t
have
to
explain
anything,
you
silly
girl.
You’re
welcome
here
any
time.
You
should

know
that.’

She
steps
back,
opening
the
door
wider.
‘Come
on,
bring
your
bag
in.
You’re
rooming

with
Joey.
On
the
trundle
bed.

Hopefully
she
won’t
grind
her
teeth
too
much.’
She
keeps
talking
as
she
closes
the
door

behind
me.
‘You
think
we
weren’t
happy
that
we
could
be
here
for
you?
You
think
I

wouldn’t
want
someone
to
do
this
for
my
own
daughter,
if
ever
she
needed
it?
We

ordered
pizza
for
you.
Pizza.
There
goes
our
dieting
attempt
for
this
week.
David
will

never
forgive
you.
He’s
already
eaten
half
of
one
–
luckily
we
got
two.
Ah,
we’re
such

pigs.’

She
stops
talking
abruptly
and
puts
her
arms
around
me,
holding
the
pizza
slice
away

from
my
hair,
and
she
gives
me
what
is
possibly
the
best
hug
I
have
ever
received.

I
hear
her
take
a
breath.

‘I
don’t
know
what’s
going
on,
and
you
don’t
have
to
tell
me.
Just
come
in
and
make

yourself
at
home,
Abbie.’

Joey
moves
around
a
lot
when
she’s
asleep.
I’ve
opened
the
curtains
to
let
the
faint
light

of
the
streetlight
into
the
room
so
I
can
study
her.
Jackie
and
David
are
still
watching

television,
but
the
noise
is
muted
by
the
lounge-‐room
door.
I
sat
through
half
of
the

Friday-‐night
movie
with
them,
just
to
be
social,
but
then
I
excused
myself.
I
couldn’t

wait
to
be
alone.
Now,
I’m
sitting
cross-‐legged
on
the
trundle
bed,
watching
Joey.
Sleep

is
so
strange.
The
fact
that
we
have
to
sleep.
The
fact
that
we
are
helpless
while
it

happens.
The
fact
that
we
can’t
hold
on
to
our
dreams
after
we’ve
had
them.
It
really
is
a

mystery.

What
I
want
to
know
is:
where
does
Pinty
go
when
Joey’s
asleep?

Oh
my
heart
is
hurting.
I
roll
onto
my
stomach,
hugging
my
pillow,
and
I
squeeze
it

tighter
when
I
remember
Kane
kissing
me.

And
then
there
are
the
other,
more
worrying
things
to
think
about.
When
I
ran
to
my

car,
his
smashed-‐up
ute
was
parked
on
the
grass
next
to
it.
Where
did
he
go
before
he

returned
home?

Because
he
came
back
carrying
a
jerry
can,
and
he
said
he’d
just
seen
Greg
Hill,
and
that

is
not
a
good
combination.
I
wonder
at
what
point
this
thing
between
them
will
stop.

And
then
I
worry
that
Kane
might
have
done
something
tonight
to
make
it
stop.

Greg
Hill
lives
at
the
back
of
the
Heights,
on
a
side
road
you
take
just
after
the
flower

farm.
That
whole
area
has
got
a
weird
feel;
small
farms
mixed
in
with
private
houses,

hidden
by
bush
and
set
right
back
from
the
road,
their
grounds
guarded
by
high
fences

and
dogs
–
cult
headquarters
and
meth
labs.
The
talk
is
that
they’re
going
to
open
the

area
up
to
developers
any
day
now.

If
Greg
was
home,
what
was
his
dog
doing
at
our
place?

But
the
more
I
think
about
the
dog,
the
more
I’m
starting
to
doubt
I
saw
her.
She
was

shadowy,
indistinct.
Maybe
my
own
fears
conjured
up
an
apparition.

I
wish,
I
wish,
I
wish
that
I
was
with
Kane
right
now.
I
want
that
so
much
my
mouth
is

watering.

Reaching
over,
I
pat
around
until
I
find
my
grandad’s
wooden
candle
holder
on
the
floor,

and
set
it
down
on
the
bed
in
front
of
me.
I
brought
it
in
from
the
car
with
me
–
I’ve

decided
to
keep
it
with
me
all
the
time
at
night,
because
I’m
paranoid
that
if
I
don’t,
it’ll

go
missing.
Now
would
be
the
perfect
time
to
light
the
candle,
but
I
don’t
have
anything

to
light
it
with.

Besides,
it’s
probably
not
my
best
idea.
I
might
burn
the
Clarkes’

place
down
by
falling
asleep
or
something.
That’s
the
silly
thing
about
a
candle
holder

made
from
wood
–
wood’s
flammable.

Grandad
gave
me
the
candle
holder
for
my
fifteenth
birthday.
It
was
a
default
present,

meaning
he’d
forgotten
it
was
my
birthday.
I
didn’t
mind
that,
though
–
birthdays
were

never
a
big
thing
with
him.
Dad
invited
him
over
for
tea,
and
when
I
wandered
out
on
to

the
balcony
to
say
hi,
he
and
Dad
were
having
a
beer
and
sharing
a
plate
of
smoked

oysters
on
Jatz
crackers
–
this
father-‐son
ritual
they
had.
Grandad
said,
Happy
birthday,

love,
and
I
gave
him
a
kiss
on
the
cheek,
catching
his
grandad
smell
–
slightly
sour
milk,

tea,
rubbing
alcohol.

I
pulled
up
a
chair
next
to
him,
putting
my
feet
on
the
railing.

Dad
went
inside
to
check
the
roast,
and
Grandad
said,
Now,
I
have
something
for
you,
and

there
was
a
caginess
to
his
voice
that
got
my
attention.
He
rummaged
around
in
his
bag,

presenting
me
with
the
candle
holder.
I
was
expecting
a
longwinded
and
embellished

story
about
where
it
came
from,
but
I
didn’t
get
one.

All
he
said
was,
It
belonged
to
someone
I
met
once.

Who?

That
doesn’t
matter.
What
matters
is
that
I’m
giving
it
to
you.

And
if
you
ever
need
me,
light
it
and
the
glow
will
be
my
love.

Those
words
were
completely
out
of
character
for
him
–
although,
thinking
about
it,
he

had
tendencies,
quoting
Byron
poems,
for
example.
He
didn’t
say
the
words
so
much
as

recite
them,
which
made
me
suspect
it
was
something
the
original
giver
had
said
to
him.