Night Beach (56 page)

‘We’ve
got
to
do
this.
It’s
not
just
me
that
wants
it.’

‘Do
what
exactly?’

He
raises
his
eyebrows.
‘Well,
I
think
we
already
–’

‘Nothing
happened,
Kane.
I’m
still
an
initial.
Not
a
name.
And
you
know
it,
too.
That’s

why
you’re
here.’

‘I
don’t
see
you
leaving.’

For
a
moment
we
just
stare
at
each
other.
His
eyes
are
glassy.

‘So
tell
me
how
it
works,’
I
say,
my
voice
strained.
‘We
do
it,
then
you
write
my
name

down
in
your
little
book
and
move
on?’

‘
Enough
about
the
name
shit.’
Kane
hisses
the
words
through
bared
teeth.
‘Look,
it’s
all

I
can
fucking
think
about
–’

‘Right
words.
Wrong
order.’

‘–
and
I
know
you’re
the
same.
So
what’s
your
problem?’

I
can’t
answer
him.
Too
much
hurt.

Kane
stops
short
when
he
sees
the
look
on
my
face.
Exhales.

He
hasn’t
given
up,
though.
When
he
speaks
again,
his
voice
is
low
and
urgent.
‘Come
on,

Abbie,
let
me.
I
promise
you’ll
enjoy
it.’

‘Why
talk
yourself
up?
Unless
you
think
I’m
in
no
position
to
judge.’
I
give
a
hollow

laugh.
‘Oh,
that’s
it,
isn’t
it?
You
think
I’m
a
virgin.’

Something
sparks
in
Kane’s
eyes,
and
I
get
a
small
feeling
of
satisfaction.
I’ve
surprised

him
and
nobody
ever
surprises
Kane.
It’s
part
of
his
problem.

Then
he
moves.
And
he’s
so
certain,
so
sure
of
himself.
I
think
I’ll
always
love
that
about

him.
It
distracts
me.
Because
just
like
that,
he’s
standing
too
close.

His
voice
is
low.
‘Abbie.’

‘No.’

‘Why
not?
Give
me
one
good
reason.’

‘
Because
you’re
a
mirage,
Kane.’

He
frowns
at
me,
amused.
‘What
does
that
mean?’

I’m
not
sure
myself.
Because
he’s
stroking
my
hair
now,
and
my
face
is
tucked
into
the

base
of
his
neck,
and
I’m
breathing
in
the
smell
of
deodorant,
and
the
tang
of
his
sweat,

and
the
thicker
smell
of
beer,
and
something
else
like
rain
or
gin,
which
is
only
faint,
but

I
think
it
might
be
his
essence
because
it’s
making
me
ache,
making
me
kiss
his
skin.
And

it
all
feels
real.

‘I
couldn’t
stop
thinking
about
you
tonight,
Abbie.
Out
with
the
guys,
and
I’m
going

tomorrow,
and
all
I
wanted
to
do
was
see
you.
I
don’t
even
know
what
I’m
doing
here.’

I
tense,
and
Kane
must
feel
it,
because
his
arms
tighten
around
me,
and
his
voice
is
a
low

growl
from
the
back
of
his
throat.
‘Don’t
do
that
to
me.’

He
waits
until
I
relax
again,
and
then
his
lips
brush
mine.

And
I
know
that
if
I
respond
it
will
be
the
start
of
it.
I’ll
get
everything
I’ve
been
wanting.

Almost.

And
I
want
to
take
it,
just
let
go
and
accept
this
as
enough,
but
something
in
me
won’t
be

quiet.

I
whisper
the
words
into
his
mouth:
‘What
about
what
you
did
to
me,
Kane?’

For
a
moment
we’re
frozen,
and
then
he
pulls
back
enough
to
see
my
face.

‘Why
did
you
act
like
nothing
happened?’
I
say
the
words
quickly,
trying
to
get
them
out

before
he
backs
away.
‘Just
tell
me
that
first.
That’s
all
I
want.
And
then
I’ll
be
okay.
Then

we
can
do
this.’

‘Nothing
did
happen.’
His
eyes
aren’t
glazed
now.
They
are
green
and
hard.

‘Yes
it
did
and
you
know
it.
You
remember.
You
know
what
I’m
talking
about.
It
was

real.’

He
drops
his
arms,
and
steps
away
from
me.
‘Yeah?
Then
where’s
your
proof?’

I
blink
at
him.

‘Where’s
your
proof,
Abbie?’
He
claps
his
hands
together,
his
voice
loud
and
angry.

‘Where’s
your
fucking
proof?’

I
point
at
my
painting.
But
my
hand
is
shaking.

‘That?’
The
look
on
Kane’s
face
is
so
ugly.
‘That’s
not
proof.
That’s
just
more
weird
shit.’

He
sees
the
way
I’m
staring
at
him,
my
hands
clamped
over
my
mouth,
and
he
gives
me

this
acidic
little
smile.
‘Guess
it’s
all
off
then.’

I
lower
my
hands,
hugging
myself,
and
my
throat
feels
so
tight
that
it
hurts
to
speak.

‘You
got
what
you
wanted.
I
hate
you
now.’

‘No.’
He
sniffs.
‘You
just
wish
you
did.’

But
it
must
be
what
he
wants.
Because
Kane
stops
waiting
then.
And
he
leaves.

Outside,
it’s
much
colder
than
I
thought
it
was
going
to
be.

There’s
a
westerly
blowing
and
the
moon
isn’t
up
yet,
so
the
night
sky
is
flat
and
black,

scratched
with
a
few
stars.
I
slam
the
front
door
closed,
wishing
I
had
a
warm
jacket
on.

But
there’s
no
time
to
get
one.
I’ve
got
to
find
him.
Stop
him
before
he
goes.
Because
I

am
so
churned
up
that
I
will
never
be
still
again
if
I
can’t
find
him.

And
when
I
find
him,
I
won’t
leave
him
alone
until
he
admits
he
remembers.
Until
he

gives
me
my
proof.
I’ll
slap
him
and
scream
at
him
and
tear
at
his
face
if
I
have
to.

But
Kane’s
gone.
He’s
really
gone.
I
can’t
see
him,
and
I
can’t
see
his
ute.
I
don’t
know
if

he
drove
here.
He’s
been
drinking,
so
maybe
he
walked.
If
he
did,
he
can’t
be
too
far,
and

that
gives
me
hope.
I
can
find
him.
Because
if
I
don’t,
I’m
going
to
go
mad.
I’ll
start

shouting
and
swearing
at
the
stars,
telling
them
I
need
something.
A
sign.
And
that
is

craziness
–
thinking
you
can
make
demands
of
the
night.

Better
to
make
demands
of
Kane.
I’ll
force
him
to
admit
it.

I
won’t
stop
until
he
does.

Even
if
he
drove
here,
I
can
still
find
him.
He’ll
be
at
Matty
Kenda’s,
or
he’ll
have
gone

back
to
wherever
it
is
that
they’re
all
drinking.
There’s
not
that
many
places
to
check.

I’ve
been
drinking,
too;
I
probably
shouldn’t
drive.
But
I
don’t
care.
I’ve
got
keys,
I’ve
got

a
car.
That’s
all
the
care
I
need.

But
what
if
I
can’t
find
him?
The
thought
scares
me.

Because
on
the
other
side
of
it,
there’s
a
black
hole.

I’ll
go
to
the
ocean.
I
think
this
and
the
relief
is
immediate.

I’ll
go
now.
Right
now.
Maybe
he’ll
be
there.
Maybe
he
won’t.

Maybe
I’ll
find
a
doorknob.

Maybe
there’ll
just
be
the
ocean.

And
that
will
be
enough.
That’s
home.
That’s
where
I
go.

But
I
only
make
it
halfway
across
the
courtyard.
Because
then
I
notice
the
faint
light

coming
from
around
the
side
of
the
house.

As
I
pad
down
the
steps,
the
security
light
comes
on
and
I
freeze,
catching
sight
of
my

wetsuit
bobbing
up
and
down
on
the
clothes
line.

I
thought
it
was
a
shadow,
or
a
ghost.
There
are
so
many
down
here.

The
light
I
could
see
is
coming
from
the
storeroom.
For
once
it
doesn’t
seem
to
be

flickering.

‘Kane?’
I
stop
in
the
doorway,
looking
around.

He’s
not
there,
of
course.
I
didn’t
really
expect
him
to
be.
I
know
Kane.
I
know
he
really

has
left.
Maybe
he
got
something
from
in
here
before
he
went
and
forgot
to
turn
the

light
off.

Maybe
not.

I
hesitate
in
the
doorway,
my
hand
on
the
switch.
But
I
don’t
move.

Because
I’ve
seen
the
locked
door.

I
walk
inside.
And
the
air
is
immediately
colder,
so
cold
I
start
shivering,
my
breath

making
fog,
my
skin
covered
in
goose
bumps.
The
cold
is
painful.
But
I
can’t
leave.
I
need

to
do
this.

The
door
looks
as
it
always
has:
white
and
closed.
I
study
it
from
the
top
of
the
steps,

and
my
hair
doesn’t
rise
up,
nor
do
I
feel
a
strange
warm
breeze
blowing
from

somewhere
else.

But
one
thing
is
different.
There
are
no
cobwebs.

When
I
see
that,
I
walk
down
the
steps,
and
I
run
my
fingers
over
the
doorframe,

noticing
something
else.

Faded
blue
stains.

‘Oh.’
The
word,
surprised
out
of
me,
seems
to
hang
in
the
air
like
a
question
mark.
And

before
I
push
against
the
door,
I
hesitate,
and
I
add,
‘Please.’

I
realise
then
what
else
I’ve
lost.
Because
I
never
used
to
need
proof.
I
had
art
and

dreams
and
déjà
vu.
That
was
all
I
needed
to
believe.
I
had
faith.
Now
that’s
gone,
too,

and
I’m
left
begging.

My
touch
is
so
soft,
yet
the
door
gives.
It
swings
inwards,
silently,
like
a
piece
of
silk

falling
away,
and
I
shift
to
the
side,
letting
the
light
in.

That’s
when
I
know.

And
I
laugh.
Laughter
bubbles
up
from
deep
inside
me,
making
my
whole
body
shake,

and
there
are
tears
mixed
in
with
it,
too.
And
when
it’s
finally
spent,
and
I’m
wiping
my

face,
I
feel
lighter.

Behind
the
door,
there
isn’t
really
a
room
as
such,
just
a
boarded-‐off
space
beneath
the

house’s
foundations.
Further
back,
there
are
tool
boxes
and
mechanical-‐looking
imple-‐

ments,
all
of
them
old
and
dusty.
Perhaps
they
belonged
to
the
old
lady,
or
maybe
they

belonged
to
someone
who
owned
the
house
before
her.

But
in
the
middle
of
the
space,
dumped
on
the
dirt
floor,
are
my
missing
relics.
The

jewellery
box,
the
coins,
the
sapphires,
the
watch,
the
thunderegg
–
all
of
them
heaped