Night Beach (49 page)

Mum’s
just
said.
I
get
the
impression
he’s
vibed,
too,
so
he
must
know
what
happened.
I

like
it
that
he’s
glad.

They
don’t
ask
me
much
about
what’s
been
going
on
with
me.
And
that’s
good.
Because

just
for
a
little
while,
I
forget.

But
when
the
call’s
finished,
I
stay
standing
there,
my
forehead
pressed
to
the
glass.
Far

down
below,
I
can
see
the
lagoon
gleaming.
Trees,
streets,
roads,
cars,
telephone
wires,

lights,
houses;
all
of
it
ending
in
the
twin
deserts
of
sea
and
sky.
The
beautiful
blue

beyond.

The
world’s
out
there.
And
I’m
separate
to
it.
Trapped
somewhere
else.

And
it’s
then
I
become
aware
of
the
noise.
At
first,
it’s
so
faint
I
think
it’s
coming
from

outside.
But
as
I
listen,
it
swells,
growing
louder.

A
pealing
noise;
a
chime
sounding
on
and
on
and
on.

A
note
made
by
crystal
throats.

Behind
our
dining
table
is
a
glass-‐fronted
display
cabinet,
similar
to
the
Clarkes’.
It’s

where
Mum
and
Brian
keep
the
good
stuff
–
event
crockery,
better
cutlery
and
the

expensive
glassware.
The
Riedel
cabinet,
if
you
like.

It’s
the
glasses
that
are
making
the
noise,
now
so
loud
it’s
filling
my
head,
hurting
my

ears,
and
vibrating
through
my
teeth.
They’re
singing
me
a
warning.

Shipwreck
ahead.

When
Joey
woke
up,
she
noticed
that
the
trundle
bed
in
her
room
had
been
used.
And

Jackie
explained
to
her
that
I’d
spent
the
night.
It
turns
out
that
Joey
has
her
doubts

about
this,
though.

‘Tell
me
again,
Abbie.’

‘Well,’
I
say.
‘I
came
over
because
your
mum
and
dad
were
having
pizza,
and
when
I
got

here,
I
gobble-‐gobbled
it
all
up,
and
then
I
was
really
full
and
sleepy,
and
I
thought,
I

know,
I’ll
sleep
in
Joey’s
room,
which
was
a
big
mistake,
because
you
snore
very
loudly.’

I
break
off,
slumping
sideways
with
my
eyes
shut,
making
loud
snoring
noises.
Joey

laughs
at
this
bit,
which
is
what
she’s
done
every
time
–
this
being
her
fifth
run-‐down
of

events.
‘And
in
the
morning,
I
tried
to
wake
you
up
to
say
goodbye,
but
you
were

snoring
so
loudly
that
you
couldn’t
hear
me.’
I
end
with
more
snoring.

Joey
rewards
me
with
another
laugh.
We’re
lying
on
our
stomachs
in
the
middle
of
the

lounge
room,
mucking
around
with
playdough
on
a
mat.

Honey
had
already
been
banished
outside
by
the
time
I
arrived
–
she’s
got
a
kennel
in

the
backyard.
I
was
glad.
I
didn’t
want
to
be
reminded
of
the
black
dog.

I
think
Joey
must
finally
have
heard
enough,
but
then
she
says,
‘Abbie?
Again?’

I
groan.
‘Why?’

‘I
yike
it,’
she
scolds.

So
I
run
through
it
all
again,
careful
to
keep
the
wording
the
same
–
version
changes

only
invite
more
questions.

‘Again?’

‘
Nooo.
Maybe
later.
But
guess
what?’

‘What?’

‘Tonight,’
I
say,
rubbing
my
hands
together
and
pumping
my
voice
full
of
excitement.

‘I’m
going
to
sleep
in
there
with
you
again.
What
do
you
think
about
that?’

Joey
stares
at
me
blankly,
her
mouth
open.
She’s
listening,
I
realise,
and
I
start
to
grow

tense.
She
shakes
her
head.
‘No,
you’re
not.
Pinty
says.’

‘Yeah,
well,
Pinty
doesn’t
know
everything.
Here,
let’s
make
a
snowman.’

We
get
busy,
both
of
us
rolling
balls
in
different
colours.

I
sigh,
and
Joey
sighs,
too,
mimicking
me.
She’s
so
cute
with
those
blonde
curls.

‘Why
you
do
that,
Abbie?’
she
asks,
and
I
realise
I
must
be
sighing
a
lot.

‘Um.
.
.
because
I’ve
got
a
splinter,’
I
say,
which
in
Joey’s
triage
system
is
the
worst
thing

ever.

‘Where?’

‘You
can’t
see
it.
It’s
here.’
I
thump
my
chest.
‘Inside.’

‘Is
it
hurties?’

‘Only
if
things
get
too
quiet.
So
we’d
better
keep
talking.
Are
you
going
to
be
a
surfer
one

day,
Joey?’

‘Yeah.
I
surf
faster!’

I
smile.
‘Here,
put
your
ball
on
the
one
I’ve
made.
That
can
be
his
head.’

‘I’m
gonna
make
another
ball.
A
big
one.’

‘Cool.
It
can
be
his
bum.’

The
‘bum’
gets
a
cheap
laugh
out
of
Joey
because
it’s
low-‐grade
naughty.
While
she

starts
making
a
tie-‐dye
ball
out
of
green
and
yellow,
I
fashion
a
hat
for
the
snowman,

and
then
attach
arms,
eyes
and
a
nose.
Joey
plonks
the
whole
thing
on
the
ball
she’s

made
and,
amazingly,
nothing
falls
off.

‘He’s
beautiful,’
I
say.
‘Shame
we
can’t
keep
him.’

Joey
frowns.
‘How
come?’

‘Because
he’s
a
snowman.
He’s
going
to
melt.’

Joey
looks
at
the
empty
space
beside
her,
once
again
seeming
to
be
listening
intently.

‘Okay!
I’m
going
to
get
a
drink,’
I
say,
quickly
getting
to
my
feet.
‘Do
you
want
one?’

That
succeeds
in
pulling
Joey’s
attention
away
from
Pinty.

‘Want
a
croke,’
she
demands
–
Jackie
buys
Coke
especially
for
me,
which
has
got
Joey

bursting
to
try
it.

‘Sure,
sugar
and
caffeine,
that’s
going
to
happen.
Your
choices
are
water
or
water.’
I’m

already
moving
towards
the
kitchen
as
I
say
this,
because
one
thing
I’ve
learned
is
that

you
never,
ever
enter
negotiations
with
a
three-‐and-‐a-‐half-‐year
old.
It’s
like
negotiating

with
terrorists.

When
I
return,
I’m
relieved
to
see
that
Joey’s
back
to
work,
using
her
hands
to
roll
out
a

long
thin
strip
of
playdough.
I
don’t
think
Pinty
is
bad
–
he
can’t
be,
if
Joey
loves
him
that

much
–
but
still,
I’m
in
no
shape
to
hear
anything
more
out
of
him
tonight.

‘Here
you
go,’
I
say,
placing
Joey’s
water
bottle
on
the
floor
beside
her.
She
ignores
me,

caught
up
in
what
she’s
doing.

I’ve
got
Coke,
but
in
deference
to
Joey,
I’ve
at
least
attempted
to
hide
the
fact
by
drinking

it
out
of
a
mug.
Its
fizzing
seems
too
loud
in
the
silence.

Joey
grabs
the
tub
of
blue
playdough
and
pinches
off
a
small
amount,
which
she
rolls

between
her
two
palms,
making
a
ball.

‘What
are
you
up
to?
Another
snowman?
A
little
one?’
I
ask,
intrigued
by
her

concentration.

She
ignores
me,
putting
the
ball
aside,
and
starting
to
shape
the
long
piece.

274

‘Is
it
a
snake?’

Frowning
at
the
interruption,
she
glances
at
me.
‘No.’
She
curves
the
dough
and
then

kinks
it.
‘It’s
for
you.
From
Pinty.’

I
open
my
mouth
to
protest,
and
then
shut
it
again.
I
can’t
tell
her
to
stop.
And,
besides,

maybe
I
need
his
advice.
He
seems
to
know
more
about
what’s
going
on
than
anyone

else.

Joey
frowns,
concentrating
while
she
carefully
positions
the
little
ball
of
dough.
Then

she
looks
at
me.
‘Do
you
yike
it?’

I
nod.
Because
what
else
can
I
do?

Joey
leans
over,
studying
what
she’s
made
with
interest.

‘What
is
it,
Abbie?’

My
laugh
sounds
a
little
too
desperate
to
be
a
real
laugh.

‘It’s
a
question
mark.’

By
nine-‐thirty
I’m
not
even
pretending
to
watch
TV
anymore.

I’ve
turned
it
off
and
I’m
staring
at
the
blank
screen,
sitting
rigidly
on
the
lounge
with

my
legs
pressed
together,
gripping
the
candle
holder
in
both
hands
like
it’s
a
bunch
of

flowers.

I’ve
spent
the
last
two
hours
getting
more
and
more
uptight.

Even
my
breathing
feels
restricted
–
too
shallow;
I
have
to
keep
yawning.
And
the
longer

I
sit
there,
the
worse
the
feeling
gets.

Then
I
realise
what
it
is:
I’m
waiting.
Pinty
has
told
me
it’s
not
over.
I
just
don’t
know

what
happens
next.

My
mobile
starts
ringing
at
nine
forty-‐three.
I
dig
around
in
my
backpack,
hunting
for

the
thing
in
a
frenzy,
worried
I’m
not
going
to
find
it
in
time
to
take
the
call.
I’ve
got
a

feeling
that
this
is
my
one
chance
–
but
at
what,
I
couldn’t
tell
you.

Flustered,
I
answer
without
checking
the
screen.

‘Abbie,’
Kane
says.

I
feel
weak.
Have
to
sit
down.
Why
is
he
calling?
Is
it
to
talk
about
what
to
do,
or
has
he

already
done
something?

Killed
somebody?

‘Are
you
there?’
he
snaps.

‘Yes,
I’m
here.’
My
voice
sounds
choked.

‘What’s
wrong
with
you?’
Kane
asks.

‘I’m
scared
something’s
happened.’

‘Something
has
happened,’
he
says.
‘Everything’s
changed,
that’s
what’s
happened.’

‘What
do
you
mean?’

‘Toby’s
back.’

I
have
to
wait
another
half
an
hour
before
Jackie
and
David
get
home,
and
I
think
it’s
the

longest
thirty
minutes
I
have
ever
spent
in
my
life.
Jackie
is
not
easy
to
sidestep.
I
end
up

lying.

I
tell
her
that
a
friend
from
school
is
having
a
party,
and
I’d
forgotten
about
it.

She
studies
me,
her
eyes
uncomfortably
sharp
behind
her
glasses.
‘Right,’
she
says.

‘Well,
I
didn’t
forget.
She
forgot
to
invite
me,
but
then
someone
else
sent
me
a
text
about

it.’

‘Right,’
Jackie
says
again.
‘Good
old
someone
else.’

‘So
I’ll
just
crash
there
tonight.
At
the
party,
I
mean.

’Cause
I’d
be
back
pretty
late
and
I
wouldn’t
want
to
wake
you
guys
up.’