Night Beach (54 page)

Kane’s
shoulder.
His
arms
are
wrapped
around
me,
and
I
disturb
this
by
lifting
myself

onto
one
elbow,
looking
down
at
him.
His
bare
chest
is
moving
up
and
down.
I
can
feel

the
warmth
of
his
skin.

He’s
alive.
I’m
alive.
We’re
safe.
Somehow
we’ve
been
delivered
back
to
the
house.
And

now
we’re
lying
on
the
carpet
between
the
lounge
and
the
dining
table.
Lying
in

sunlight.

It
makes
me
laugh.

And
Kane,
who
has
been
snoring,
gives
a
start.

‘It’s
okay,’
I
tell
him,
and
the
noise
jerks
him
out
of
sleep.

He
focuses
on
me,
wide-‐eyed
and
alarmed.

‘It’s
all
right,’
I
tell
him,
laughing
again.
‘It’s
over.’

Kane
looks
around,
taking
everything
in.
Then
he
cranes
his
neck
to
look
down
the

length
of
our
bodies,
which
are
pressed
together,
legs
intertwined.

‘Whoa,’
he
says
in
this
gravelly
voice.
He
lifts
his
arm
over
my
head
gingerly,
and
then

sits
up,
rubbing
his
face
with
both
hands.
‘Crazy
night,
hey?’

His
mobile
starts
ringing
and
he
shifts,
patting
around
for
it
before
getting
up
and

pulling
it
out
of
the
back
pocket
of
his
jeans.
I
can’t
believe
it
still
works.

‘Are
you
seriously
going
to
take
that?’

‘Just
a
sec,’
Kane
says,
holding
up
a
hand.
He
hits
a
button
on
the
phone.
‘Yo.’

The
caller
is
male.
I
can
hear
the
voice,
but
not
the
words.

While
Kane
listens,
he’s
checking
out
my
bra.
Then
he
meets
my
eyes.
And
he
turns

away.

‘Yeah,
so
where
are
you?’
A
pause.
‘Oh
right.
Okay.’
He’s
obviously
surprised
by

whatever
the
answer
is.
‘Hang
on
then.
Just
give
us
a
minute.
Nah,
I
just
woke
up.’
He

clears
his
throat
vigorously.
‘Be
down
there
–
I
mean,
I’ll
be
out
in
a
sec.’

Kane
shoves
the
phone
back
into
his
pocket,
and
turns
to
face
me.
Reluctantly.
And
he

sees
the
look
on
my
face.
But
he
does
it
anyway.

‘Must
have
had
a
bit
to
drink
when
we
got
back
last
night.’

His
laugh
is
horrible
to
hear.
Too
high.
Too
false.
‘Pretty
awkward,
hey.
I
mean,
it’s
one

of
those
situations
–
we
both
know
that,
right?
Marilyn
and
Brian,
their
house.
You’re

the
daughter.
I’m
the
charity
case.
Let’s
keep
it,
um
–’
He
checks
his
belt.
His
fly.
‘Keep
it

to
ourselves,
hey?’

I
frown
at
him,
shaking
my
head.
‘Don’t
do
this
to
me,
Kane.
Please
don’t
do
this.
You

know.
You
were
there.
We
were
down
at
the
beach
and
–’

‘Yeah,
and
then
we
came
back
here.
Remember?
And,
ah
.
.
.
Yeah.’

I
blink.
Trying
to
remember
that.
He
sounds
so
sure.

Maybe
he’s
right.
Maybe
I
just
went
mad.
Made
it
all
up
in
my
head.

But
then
Kane
makes
a
mistake.
He
puts
a
hand
on
his
shoulder,
feeling
his
skin.

Checking.

I
gasp.
One
short,
shocked
breath.

‘I’d
better
go,’
Kane
says,
and
he’s
almost
falling
over
himself
in
his
rush
to
leave.
He

tries
the
door
at
the
top
of
the
stairwell,
twisting
the
handle
violently
before
accepting

that
it’s
locked.
And
by
the
time
he
gets
it
open,
he’s
in
too
much
of
a
hurry
to
close
it

behind
him,
absolutely
desperate
to
escape.

I
hear
the
rapid
thud
of
his
footsteps
as
he
makes
his
way
downstairs.

By
then,
I’m
shivering.
Because
I
might
be
lying
in
sunlight,
but
it’s
winter.
The
air
is

cold.
I
get
to
my
feet,
hugging
myself,
and
when
I
reach
the
top
of
the
stairwell,
I
can

hear
Kane
sliding
the
glass
door
open.

It’s
not
hard
to
hear
them.
Their
voices
are
loud
and
excited.

‘What
took
you
so
long?’
Matty
Kenda
wants
to
know.

‘Weren’t
coming
from
upstairs,
were
ya?
Dirty
dog.’

‘Nah,
nothin’
like
that.
Just
had
to
take
a
leak.’

‘Looks
like
you
didn’t
make
it,
mate.
Your
jeans
are
soaking.
Wet
your
pants?’

‘
Kaney,
mate!’
Marco’s
voice.
‘Your
legend
is
growing,
son.
Had
a
couple
of
calls

yesterday.
Toby’s
spreading
shit
around,
but
the
thing
is
–’

‘Screw
that,’
Kane
interrupts.
‘I’ve
been
thinking
about
it.
What
can
he
say?
It’s
three

against
one.
We
looked
for
him.
He
took
off.
It’s
not
our
fault
he
had
some
kind
of
friggin’

breakdown
or
something.
He
probably
set
the
whole
thing
up.
Trying
to
get
at
me
again.

You
know
what
he’s
like.’

‘He’s
a
drama
queen.
We
did
nothing
wrong,
so
fuck
him.’

Marco’s
voice
is
hearty.
‘Okay,
this
is
how
we’re
gonna
play
it.
We
just
tell
it
how
it
was.

Toby
up
and
disappeared
some
time
that
night,
and
we
couldn’t
find
him
the
next

morning.
Thought
he
was
playing
some
game.
So
we
told
the
boat
to
go
back
for
him
the

next
day,
because
all
of
us
were
sick
of
his
shit.’

There
is
this
absolute
conviction
in
Marco’s
voice.
None
of
them
want
to
remember.

They
are
determined
not
to
remember.

‘Anyway,
wanna
know
the
good
news?’
Marco
asks.

There’s
a
moment
of
silence,
broken
only
by
Matty
Kenda’s
maniacal
laugh.
‘We’ve
got

some
kind
of
bidding
war
going
for
those
photos,
Kaney.
All
this
shit
you
pulled
with

Greg
Hill
has
raised
the
interest
factor.’
He
changes
to
a
cowboy
drawl.
‘
Ya
broke
his

nose.
Ya
blew
up
his
rig.
Ya
killed
his
dawg.’

The
three
of
them
crack
up.

I
stop
listening
then,
closing
the
door
gently
and
locking
it.

In
the
bathroom,
I
start
the
shower,
and
as
I
take
off
my
wet
bra
and
jeans,
I
stare
at

myself
in
the
mirror.

I’ve
lost
the
candle
holder
too.

42

Dawn
after
the
wreck

There’s
a
painting
by
Joseph
turner
called
dawn
after
the
Wreck.
He’s
one
of
my

favourite
artists,
and
he
was
a
Romantic,
too,
awestruck
by
the
power
of
the
sea.
People

always
say
that
Turner
painted
light,
but
that’s
not
strictly
true.
What
he
painted
was

luminosity.
Anyway,
of
all
his
works,
this
one
now
haunts
me.

It’s
early
morning
on
the
seashore.
The
ocean
is
a
distant
threat,
tumultuous
in
blues

and
greens.
The
sky
is
a
haze
of
golden
colours,
and
there
are
a
few
red-‐tinged
clouds.

On
the
shore,
is
a
black
dog.
Forlorn,
abandoned,
skinny
and
cold.

Howling
up
at
the
sky,
mourning
the
loss
of
the
night.

On
the
morning
of
Kane’s
last
day,
I
print
off
a
colour
copy
of
Dawn
after
the
Wreck,
and

I
tiptoe
across
the
tiles
downstairs,
silent
in
socks,
and
slide
it
under
his
bedroom
door
–

on
the
one
night
he’s
slept
here
in
the
past
two
weeks,
he
suddenly
felt
the
need
to
sleep

with
his
door
closed.
I
bet
it’s
locked,
too.

Upstairs,
I
scribble
a
note
for
Mum.
We’ve
got
into
this
routine
where
we
have
breakfast

together.
She
goes
into
work
a
little
later
–
which
she
can
do
while
Brian’s
away.
And
I’m

up
pretty
early
these
days
because
I’ve
been
surfing
before
school.

It’s
easy
to
do
now
I
drive.

Mum
will
be
surprised
that
I
didn’t
wait
for
her,
especially
because
she’s
going
straight

to
Melbourne
after
work.

She’s
visiting
Brian
again
this
weekend.
I
was
supposed
to
go,
but
I
still
haven’t
finished

my
painting
for
Art,
and
it’s
due
on
Monday.

I
can’t
hang
around
this
morning,
though.
The
next
time
I’m
in
this
house
–
after
I’ve

surfed,
and
I’ve
been
to
school,
and
I’ve
surfed
again
–
he’ll
be
gone.
I
heard
him
tell

Mum
all
about
it
late
last
night,
when
he
came
upstairs
to
say
goodbye.
The
boys
have

got
a
big
one
lined
up.
We’ll
start
tomorrow
arvo,
and
I’ll
probably
crash
at
one
of
their

places
tomorrow
night.
Go
from
there
in
the
morning.
So
this
is
it,
hey?
Thanks
for

everything.

Out
the
front,
there’s
frost
on
the
grass,
and
the
sun
hasn’t
risen
yet.
My
breath
makes

steam
clouds
in
the
air.
As
I
load
my
board
into
the
back
of
the
Mirage,
I
glance
over
at

his
ute.

It’s
been
repaired
–
he
knows
he’ll
be
flush
with
cash
soon.

And
it’s
already
packed.
He
can’t
wait
to
go.

Because
it’s
so
early,
there
are
only
a
couple
of
cars
near
the
clubhouse.
I
park
near
the

playground,
and
when
I
get
out,
I
notice
Greg
Hill.
He’s
getting
out
of
a
Pajero
in
the

boardriders’
lane.
I
guess
that’s
his
new
ride
then.
It
was
always
going
to
be
a
four-‐

wheel
drive;
something
big,
with
a
bull
bar.
But
I
don’t
think
he’s
got
a
new
dog
yet.
He

goes
to
check
the
surf,
standing
on
the
Committee’s
bench.
The
plaster
is
off
his
nose.

The
sun
has
just
broken
through
the
horizon.

I
pull
on
my
wetsuit,
comb
the
wax
on
my
board,
lock
the
Mirage
and
tuck
the
key
into

my
leg-‐rope.
When
I
set
off,
Greg
Hill’s
standing
on
the
grass,
blocking
my
path.

‘How
are
we,
young
Abigail?’

‘Good
thanks,’
I
say,
and
I
walk
around
him
without
stopping.
Hollywood
would
rate

that.
Me
being
disrespectful.

I’ve
only
gone
about
five
more
steps,
though,
when
Greg
shouts:
‘
Oi!
’