Night Beach (47 page)

Then
he
snapped:
Go
put
it
away
in
your
room.
I
don’t
want
to
talk
about
it
in
front
of

your
father.

So
of
course
I
asked
Dad
about
it
later
that
night.

Dad
snorted,
his
teeth
showing
beneath
his
moustache.
It
was
probably
from
that

American
woman
he
had
a
fling
with.
He
met
her
in
Singapore
or
somewhere.
Mum
found

her
picture
in
his
wallet
once
and
all
hell
broke
loose.
Robbie,
Mark
and
I
stayed
out
in
the

backyard
until
about
eleven
o’clock
at
night,
waiting
for
the
shouting
to
stop.

Kind
of
a
shocking
thing
to
find
out
about
your
grandad.

But
after
he
died,
I
realised
the
importance
of
what
he’d
given
me.
Something
that
was

truly
precious
to
him.
One
of
the
relics
from
his
life.

And
what
really
struck
me
was
that
the
woman
still
meant
so
much
to
Grandad
after
all

of
those
years.
She
burned
in
his
memory
in
a
way
that
she
never
would
have
if
he’d
left

his
wife
and
sons
for
her.
It
got
me
thinking
about
how
sometimes
it’s
the
people
we

don’t
get
to
have
who
stay
with
us
the
most.

37

Black
dog
swell

I
fold
my
sheets
and
blankets,
leaving
them
in
a
neat
pile
on
the
trundle
bed.
Then
I

tiptoe
out
of
Joey’s
room,
dropping
my
bag
at
the
front
door,
before
heading
to
the

kitchen,
where
I
can
hear
David
and
Jackie
having
breakfast.

‘Morning,’
I
say,
sticking
my
head
around
the
door,
and
then
easing
myself
into
the

room.
My
voice
sounds
hoarse,
my
eyes
are
grainy.
I
only
slept
for
a
couple
of
hours.

David
raises
a
hand,
giving
me
a
smile,
and
then
returns
his
attention
to
his
paper
–
The

Beaches
Daily.
David’s
balding
and
overweight,
and
he
has
a
nice
round
speaking
voice,

which
you
don’t
hear
often
because
Jackie
seems
to
be
the
designated
mouthpiece
for

the
two
of
them.

‘You’re
up
early,’
Jackie
says
from
her
position
at
the
bench
where
she’s
buttering
toast.

‘Now,
are
you
having
cereal,
toast,
or
both?’

‘Oh,
I
won’t,
thanks.
I
can
get
something
at
home.
I
just
wanted
to
say
thank
you
for

having
me.’

Jackie
waves
an
impatient
hand,
more
concerned
about
me
not
eating.
‘Are
you
sure?’

‘Yeah,
I’m
cool.’
I
hesitate.
‘Um,
David?
Is
there
anything
in
there
about
a
fire
last
night?’

David
glances
at
me,
blinking
while
he
processes
the
question.
‘A
fire,’
he
murmurs,

flicking
through
pages
–
backwards,
because
he’s
started
with
the
Sports
section.

‘No.’
Jackie’s
voice
is
suspicious.
‘There’s
nothing
in
there
about
a
fire.
Why?’

She
actually
makes
me
grin,
because
I
know
what
she’s
thinking.

‘It’s
all
right,
Jackie.
If
me
burning
the
house
down
was
the
reason
I
stayed
here
last

night,
you
would
have
smelled
the
smoke
on
my
clothes.’

‘Point
taken,’
she
says,
holding
up
her
hand.

‘I
saw
a
fire
engine
going
through
the
Heights,
that’s
all.
Before
I
came
here.
I
just

wondered
if
it
was
anything
major.’

I
clear
my
throat,
pushing
thoughts
of
Kane
to
the
back
of
my
mind.
‘Anyway,
I’d
better

head
off.’

‘Before
you
do,
I
wanted
to
say
something
to
you
about
tonight,’
Jackie
says.
‘Feel
free
to

stay
again,
if
you
like.
You
said
your
mum’s
away
all
weekend,
isn’t
she?
And
you’re

going
to
be
here
anyway
to
sit
for
us.
You
don’t
have
to
decide
now.
Just
see
how
you

feel
at
the
time,
all
right?
Our
house
is
your
house,
and
all
that
jazz.’

I
nod.
‘Okay.
Thanks.
I
mean,
really.
You’re
never
going
to
know
–’

‘Yeah,
yeah.’

I
smile.

Jackie
walks
me
to
the
door.
Outside,
the
morning
seems
bleary,
without
the
clarity
that

winter
mornings
normally
have.

‘Doesn’t
even
feel
like
winter,’
Jackie
says.
‘They
said
in
the
paper
that
today’s
going
to

be
seven
degrees
above
normal.’

Kane’s
ute
is
gone.
I
pull
over
on
the
empty
stretch
of
grass
in
front
of
our
place,
leaving

the
engine
running.
On
a
whim,
I
dig
my
mobile
out
of
the
glove
box
and
I
call
his

number
–
I
memorised
it
the
day
he
moved
in,
when
Mum
wrote
it
on
a
piece
of
paper

that
she
stuck
to
the
front
of
the
fridge.

The
call
goes
straight
to
message.
After
a
second’s
hesitation,
I
say,
‘Um,
Kane,
it’s
Abbie.

I
just
wanted
to
make
sure
you’re
okay.
When
you
can
–
I
mean,
when
you’re
feeling
all

right
–
just
give
me
a
call.’
I
recite
my
number
for
him,
even
though
it’ll
be
in
his
call

bank,
and
I
hang
up.

Drive
away
,
I
tell
myself.
Let’s
go
.
And
then:
Don’t
call
back.
Do
not
call
again.

I
ring
his
number
again.
Once
more
it
goes
to
message.

This
time,
I
say,
‘Kane?
Look,
it’s
me
again.
I
don’t
know
where
you
are,
or
how
you’re

feeling,
but
.
.
.’
I
exhale,
heavily.
‘You
have
to
call
me,
Kane.
Please.
I’m
so
worried
about

you.
Just
tell
me
what
happened
over
there.
We
can
work
out
what
to
do.’

With
a
sigh,
I
cut
the
call.
Then
I
turn
the
car
around,
and
drive
down
to
the
break
via

Back
Ridge
Road.
I
need
to
know
how
bad
the
rest
of
it
is.
I
need
to
know
what
Kane
was

doing
with
that
jerry
can.

I
check
the
other
car
parks
first,
but
I
can’t
see
Kane’s
ute
anywhere.
Nor
is
it
in
the

clubhouse
car
park
when
I
finally
pull
up
there.
But
I
decide
I
should
still
check
the

break
for
him,
and
I’m
also
looking
around
for
someone
to
talk
to,
someone
like
Vince

who’ll
be
up
on
the
gossip.
But
the
only
guy
checking
the
surf
isn’t
someone
I
know.
He’s

standing
on
the
grass
near
the
Committee’s
bench,
which
is
empty.

Sunlight
glitters
off
the
shattered
glass
on
the
bitumen.

The
northerly
is
back,
and
it’s
stronger,
with
occasional
blasting
gusts
that
make
me

close
my
eyes.
I
stop
near
the
pine
rail,
one
hand
shielding
my
eyes
as
I
look
out
over
the

scrub
at
the
conditions.

It
takes
me
a
while
to
process
what
I’m
seeing.
The
swell
is
still
feeding
in
from
the

southeast,
and
it’s
around
two
foot.

There’s
a
small
pack
of
surfers
out
there,
maybe
ten
or
fifteen
of
them,
and
all
of
them

are
paddling
to
hold
position.

But
they’re
working
their
way
towards
me.

Which
means
the
rip
is
running
the
wrong
way.
And
that’s
why
the
surf
is
a
snarling

mess.
The
wind
would
be
smoothing
things
out
–
this
place
works
in
a
northerly
–
if
the

rip
wasn’t
cutting
straight
across
the
line-‐up;
a
current
of
water
pulling
towards
the

point.
When
the
incoming
swell
hits
the
rip,
it
smashes
down.
People
are
either
riding

closeouts,
or,
worse,
taking
a
trip
over
the
falls
and
getting
sandblasted.

And
then
I
see
Kane
out
there.
At
first,
all
I
feel
is
relief,
but
then
comes
the
anxiety
of

trying
to
work
out
what
state
of
mind
he’s
in.

He’s
the
best
surfer
there
by
a
million
miles,
which
means
he’s
pumping
across
the
face

by
the
time
ordinary
mortals
are
making
it
to
their
feet.
He’s
so
fast
he
manages
to
top-‐

turn
on
a
couple,
slashing
vertically
up
the
face.
But
there’s
something
frantic,
manic,

about
his
surfing.
I
never
took
my
gear
out
of
the
car
after
yesterday’s
surf,
so
I
can
join

him
out
there.

I
know
I
will,
even
though
I’m
not
sure
I
should.

‘Weird
set-‐up,
eh?’

It’s
the
other
guy
who’s
spoken.
He’s
still
over
by
the
bench.

‘Very
weird,’
I
tell
him.

He
crosses
his
arms,
shaking
his
head.
‘Never
seen
it
working
like
that
before.’

‘Me
either.’

‘It’s
global
warming.
Aaaargh!’
He
rattles
his
palms
and
laughs
in
a
way
that
suggests
he

doesn’t
think
much
of
that
theory.

I
don’t
have
any
theories.
All
I’ve
got
is
a
feeling.
What
I’m
seeing
is
completely
against

the
natural
order
of
things.
Clocks
speeding
up.
Mutton
birds
losing
their
way.
The
rip

reversing.

A
northerly
wind.
Things
are
seriously
out
of
whack.

Down
on
the
shore,
I
hesitate
at
the
water’s
edge,
wondering
if
I
should
just
walk
away.

But
then
Kane
turns
around,
seeming
to
stare
in
my
direction.
A
moment
later,
he

waves.

It’s
a
bit
hard
to
know
where
to
paddle
out
in
view
of
the
new
set-‐up.
I
decide
to
go

straight
in,
directly
in
line
with
the
clubhouse.
I
wade
through
the
white
water,
slide

onto
my
board,
and
I
don’t
even
have
to
duckdive
because
I’m
in
the
rip
straightaway,

riding
a
series
of
bumps
like
a
mogul
course.

Out
the
back,
I
start
paddling
across
immediately,
trying
to
get
clear
of
the
rip,
because

the
current
is
flowing
much
stronger
than
I
first
thought.
I
look
behind
me.
Kane’s
not

far
away,
and
I
let
myself
drift
a
little.
The
next
moment
he’s
there
beside
me,
all
his

attention
focused
on
something
further
out.

Startled
by
the
tension
on
his
face,
I
look
that
way
too,
but
I
can’t
see
anything.
He’s