Night Beach (48 page)

jostling
against
me,
one
hand
holding
my
board’s
rail,
and
it
gives
me
the
feeling
that
I’m

something
familiar
to
him,
something
comforting.

‘Did
you
see
it,
Abs?’
he
asks,
his
voice
scratchy
and
raw.

‘There.
There
–
Look!’

He
sits
up
on
his
board,
and
then
springs
to
his
feet,
craning
his
neck
to
see
over
the

swell
while
his
board
slowly
sinks
beneath
him.
He
falls
backwards
and
the
board

shoots
out
of
the
water.
He
swims
after
it.

‘Tell
me
you
saw
it,’
he
shouts
back
at
me.

I’m
thinking
of
sharks.
I
look
but
can’t
see
anything.
The
water
is
a
grey-‐green
colour,

and
there
are
whitecaps
further
out
where
it’s
not
so
protected.
I
start
paddling
quickly,

reaching
Kane.
I’m
disappointed,
I
realise.
I
wanted
him
to
acknowledge
what
happened

between
us
last
night.
But
he’s
in
no
state
for
that.

He’s
back
on
his
board
now,
his
gaze
sweeping
from
left
to
right
and
back
again.
I
am

shocked
by
the
changes
that
one
night
has
made
to
his
face.
He
looks
starved,
the
area

around
his
bloodshot
eyes
hollowed
out.
Haunted.

His
hand
clamps
on
my
shoulder
and
he’s
squeezing
it
hard
enough
to
hurt,
but
it’s
not
a

conscious
thing.
He
points.

‘There!
It
was
just
there.
You
saw
it,
right?’

I
stare
in
the
direction
he’s
pointing,
but
draw
a
complete
blank.
‘Saw
what?’

‘The
dog.
That
black
dog.
You
know,
that
mutt
of
–’
He
breaks
off,
swivelling
to
look

further
over.

‘Kane,
there’s
no
dog
out
here.
And
we’ve
got
to
paddle.

We’re
in
the
rip.’

Glancing
at
me,
as
though
for
reassurance,
he
lets
go
of
my
shoulder
and
starts
paddling.

‘Where’s
your
ute?’
I
ask,
struggling
to
keep
up
with
him.

‘Matty
Kenda’s.
I’m
going
to
crash
there
for
a
while.
In
case
I
–’
He
breaks
off,
and
when
I

look
at
him,
he’s
got
his
eyes
screwed
shut.
A
moment
later
he
opens
them
again,
giving

his
head
a
swift
shake.
‘I’m
gonna
stay
away
for
a
bit.
Just
till
I
get
this
shit
sorted
out.’

But
before
I
can
ask
him
what
he
means,
he’s
surged
ahead.

He
beats
me
back
to
the
line-‐up,
and
then,
like
he’s
spooked
at
having
to
sit
there
by

himself,
he
catches
a
left.
As
he
makes
his
way
back
out,
he’s
craning
his
neck
to
see,

scanning
his
surroundings.

His
paranoia
infects
me,
because
I
start
looking
again.
But
there’s
no
dog
out
there.
It’s

just
that
sort
of
day.
Snarling
and
messy,
when
the
odd
flap
of
water
lurches
up,
forming

a
dark
shape.
If
you’re
nervous
you
think
it’s
a
fin.

But
why
would
you
think
it
was
a
black
dog?
The
only
reason
I
can
come
up
with
is
a

guilty
conscience.

When
he’s
near
me
again,
I
say,
‘Kane,
what
happened
yesterday
afternoon?
What
were

you
doing
with
the
jerry
can?
Did
you
do
something
to
Greg
Hill?’

He
laughs
–
this
hideous,
twisted
little
laugh
–
but
his
eyes
are
distracted.
‘I
burned
it.
I

burned
his
Troopy.
I
don’t
know
if
it’s
me
or
the
thing,
but
I
get
so
mad.
I
get
so
angry.

And
then
I
just
do
stuff.
Like
when
I
punched
him
–
I
wanted
to
kill
him,
rip
his
head
off.

I
didn’t
know,
but.
I
didn’t
know.
It
wasn’t
my
fault.’

‘What
wasn’t
your
fault?’
I
ask,
trying
to
hold
his
scattered
attention.

‘I
went
to
his
place,
right?
Left
my
ute
down
the
road
so
he
wouldn’t
hear
it.
When
I

walked
up,
I
saw
him
go
past
one
of
the
windows,
and
the
TV
was
on,
so
I
knew
he
was

out
of
my
way.
But
there
was
this
–
when
I
got
closer
to
the
Troopy,
I
could
hear
this

thump-‐thump-‐thump,
but
I
didn’t
think
much
about
it.
I
poured
the
stuff
out
and
ran
the

last
of
it
in
a
line,
took
it
well
back.
But
then,
right
when
I
was
chucking
the
match
on
it,

right
when
I
let
go,
I
saw
the
chain
around
the
bullbar.’

There
is
a
pool
of
sick
forming
in
my
stomach.
‘Are
you
telling
me
that
–’

‘
Thump-‐thump-‐thump
–
it
was
her
tail,
hitting
underneath.
She
was
saying
hello.’
Kane

looks
directly
at
me
now,
as
though
I’m
his
judge
and
jury,
his
voice
strained.
‘There
was

nothin’
I
could
do,
Abbie.
Petrol
just
goes.
I’d
dropped
the
match.
But
she
was
under

there.
Worst
part
is,
I
could
hear
her
whining.
I
would
have
tried
to
get
her
out,
but
his

Troopy
–
it
wasn’t
a
diesel.
It
was
a
petrol
and
gas
conversion
job.
I
knew
it’d
blow
any

second.’

He
got
too
close
to
that
fire,
because
his
eyes
are
red
and
there
are
tears
running
down

his
cheeks.
‘I
heard
this
pop.
There
was
just
this.
.
.
this
pop.
Do
you
think
it
was
the

dog?’

My
hand
is
clamped
over
my
mouth
to
stop
the
sick
from
coming
up.
The
rip
is
pulling

me
backwards,
and
I
let
it.

Kane
turns
abruptly,
paddling
for
take-‐off
on
the
next
wave,
kicking
his
feet
so
they

make
a
rapid
chopping
noise.

He
catches
it
all
the
way
in.
And
I
see
him
sloughing
his
way
through
the
shallow
water,

looking
like
a
man
in
a
hurry.
A
man
trying
to
get
away
from
what
he’s
done.

A
man
like
all
of
these
men.
These
stupid,
destructive,
aggressive
men.

38

Rattling
wind

When
I
reach
home,
Kane’s
ute
isn’t
there.
And
that’s
lucky,
because
if
it
was,
I
think
I’d

call
the
police.
The
sun
is
out.

There
are
no
clouds
in
the
sky.
But
to
me
the
day
seems
ugly;
the
wind
too
dry
and
hot

for
winter.

I
lug
my
wet
tub
down
the
side
steps,
and
I
use
the
hose
outside
the
storeroom
to
wash

my
wetsuit
off.
Then
I
sling
it
over
the
clothes
line
and
peg
my
towel
out.
I
do
these

things
slowly
and
thoroughly,
forcing
myself
to
focus
completely
on
the
task
at
hand.

Because
the
moment
I
stop
directing
my
attention,
thoughts
of
that
poor
dog
fill
my

mind,
and
I
can’t
bear
it.
I
just
can’t
bear
it.

Her
soft,
black
velvet
ears,
and
her
liquid
brown
eyes
–
the
kind-‐ness
in
them,
the
old

wisdom.
The
way
she
would
get
the
wriggles
whenever
I
stopped
to
talk
to
her,
like
she

was
super-‐excited
but
apologetic
about
it,
too.
How
she
would
put
her
wet
nose
in
my

cupped
hand
and
do
the
quickest
little
licks.
Her
tail
wagging
as
he
dropped
the
match.

Her
roasting
flesh
and
burning
lungs;
the
pain
and
panic
she
would
have
felt.
That
poor,

poor
dog.

I
sit
on
the
cold
concrete
of
Kane’s
front
steps,
and
I
stare
at
the
spot
where
I
last
saw

her.
Greg
Hill
was
so
careless
with
that
dog.
And
Kane
was
more
careless
still.
I
think

that’s
why
it
was
me
she
showed
herself
to,
that
one
last
time.

Because
I
am
not
careless.
I
care
deeply
about
what
happened
to
her.

I
don’t
bother
unpacking
the
rest
of
my
things
from
my
car
–
I’ll
need
them
when
I
stay

over
at
the
Clarkes’
again.

But
I
do
take
out
my
toiletry
bag,
thinking
that
I
might
risk
a
shower.
I’m
not
worried

about
being
in
the
house
alone.
It’s
not
that
I
don’t
think
anything
will
happen.
It’s
more

that
I
don’t
care.
Too
tired.
And
too
sad.

As
I
draw
close
to
the
front
door,
I
notice
the
large
rock
on
the
doormat,
holding
down
a

note.
The
note’s
unsigned,
but
I
recognise
the
handwriting
straightaway.
I
think
he

probably
left
it
there
last
night.

Abbie,

I’ll
stay
somewhere
else.
Don’t
want
to
hurt
you.
No
matter
what
happens,
don’t
say

anything
to
anyone!!
Just
give
me
some
time
and
I’ll
get
it
worked
out.

I’m
not
sure
it
can
be
worked
out.
Kane’s
blowing
up
cars,
and
killing
dogs,
and
hardly

able
to
stop
himself
from
doing
me
real
harm.
And
I
think
Toby
A
is
lying
dead
on
the

sand
of
an
island
around
the
other
side
of
the
world.

But
I
won’t
say
anything.
At
least
not
yet.
Because
I
don’t
know
what
to
say,
and
who
to

say
it
to.
And,
despite
everything,
I
want
to
protect
Kane.

I
ring
my
mum
just
before
I
leave
for
babysitting,
standing
near
the
glass
doors
in
the

lounge
room,
staring
out
at
the
view.

‘We
were
going
to
ring
you,’
Mum
says
quickly.
‘But
I
knew
you
were
working
tonight,

so
I
thought
I
should
wait
until
you
got
home.
I
wasn’t
sure
what
time
you
were
leaving.’

‘Oh,
that’s
okay,
Mum.
I
said
I’d
ring
you.’

I
thought
once
she
was
away
from
me,
she’d
regret
the
whole
emotional
episode

between
us,
and
she’d
start
closing
herself
off.
Punish
me
for
it.

But
something
else
has
changed.
My
interpretation.

She’s
nervous.
She
tells
me
all
about
what
they’ve
been
doing,
and
she
keeps
saying,

‘We’ll
have
to
show
you
when
you
come
down
with
me
sometime’,
and
then
she
says,

‘Here,
I’ll
put
you
on
to
Brian.’
Brian
gets
on
the
phone
and
repeats
all
the
things
that