One Dead Seagull (21 page)

W
e
did
the
lizard
thing
in
the
sun
for
a
while.
Kez
had brought
down
a
bag
of
chips
and
when
she
opened
them
a
squadron
of
seagulls
dropped
out
of
the
sky
and
began
cawing
and
strutting
at
each
other
hoping
to
be
in
front
if any
food
escaped.

‘Oooh. It
’
s a
W
ayne
bird,’
she
said
pointing to a limping
seagull
that
burst
into
flight
at the
movement.
It only
had
one
foot.
The
other
leg
ended
in
a
lump
at
the
ankle.

‘I
know how you
feel
brother
.
.
.
I
mean
sister
.
.
.
whateve
r
.
I
know
how
you
feel,’
I
said
and
waved
at
the bird.

Looking
at
campsite
167b,
you
could
tell
that
the
Humes had
done
this
sort
of
thing
before.
Their
big
brown
and
gold
family
tent
looked
like
it
was
brand
new
but
I
knew
bette
r
.
Den
and
I
had
camped in
it
a
few
times
in
their
backyard.
Once,
Jesus
came in
and
peed
in
the
corner
and it
stunk
like
the
mower
shed
at
the
back
of
our
flat.
The Humes
kept
their tent
clean.
A
neat-looking
square
of flowe
r
y
red
carpet
became
the
floor
for
an
outside
eating and
cooking
area,
with
a
large
square
of
canvas
for
the roof
held
in
place
by
a
cobweb
of
poles
and
guy
ropes. The
place
could
have
been
up
for
months
but
I’d
seen
the
grass
underneath
it
only
a
few
hours
before.

Gracie
and
Baz
made
a
wicked
meal
for
us
all.
Pinching each
other
’
s
bums
and
pressing
their
bodies
together
in between
cutting onions and
capsicum.
The pasta
was divine,
even
though
the
meat
wasn
’
t
really
meat
(I
didn
’
t find
out
until
after
I’d
finished).
Better
than
a
kangaroo pie.

After
tea
Baz
and
Gracie
sat
and
read
under
a
gas
lamp that
they
probably
didn
’
t
need.
I
guess
that
quiet
hiss
and whistle
was
all
part
of
the
camping
adventure.
W
e
had
to
do the dishes—Ker
r
y
washing,
Den
and
I
d
r
ying
and
flicking
each
other
with
the
tea
towels.
Then
Kez
scrambled
off
up
a
track
that
led
to
the
top
of
an
enormous
dune.
The
sand
sucked
at
my
feet.

‘Come
on.
Sunclipse!
Sunclipse!’
Ker
r
y
shouted
back
to Den
and
I.
Her
mousy
brown
locks
were
shining
gold
in
the
last
light
of
the
sun.

‘What
’
s
a
sunclipse?’

‘Oh,
tell
you
when
we
get
to
the
top,’
Den
puffed
as
he
stopped
to
light
a
PJ
12,
checking
over
his
shoulde
r
.
He offered
me
a
drag.
It
didn
’
t
make
the
hill
climb
any
easie
r
.

W
e
flopped
into
the
sand
at
the
crest
as
the
sun
’
s
huge pe
r
fect
circle
was
broken
by
the
distant
ocean
horizon. The
water
was
ablaze
with
reflected
light.
I
couldn
’
t
look at
it
for
long
but
when
I
lay
on
my
back
and
closed
my
eyes
the
burning
sun
was
right
there
behind
my
eyelids
in
all its
flaming
glo
r
y
.

‘Sweet
sunclipse,’
Ker
r
y
whispered. I
looked
at
Den.

‘
W
ell,
Dad
says
that
the
sun
doesn
’
t
rise
and
set.
It
’
s
the earth
that
moves,
rotating
and
orbiting.
It
eclipses
the
sun
as
it
spins off
in
the
afternoon
and
in
the
morning
it
’
s
not a
sunrise,
it
’
s
sunsight.’

‘Sunsight
and
sunclipse,’
I
said.
I
guess
it
made
sense, though
I
doubt
if
I’d
ever
use
the
terms
again.
The
sun has
been
rising
and
setting
for
a
heck
of
a
long
time.

I
pressed
my
stump
into
the
cool
sand
beside
me,
kind of
an
eerie
feeling
but
not
unpleasant.
I
lay
there
for
a
full five
minutes
watching
the
feathe
r
y
clouds
whisper
along.

‘Gone,’
Ker
r
y
sighed
and
got
up.
She
started
running down
the
track
and
I
sat
up
to
watch
her
go.
Before
she
vanished
around a
clump of tea
trees
she
was loping gracefully
as
though
she
was
in
slow
motion.

‘Hey—campfire,’
Den
said.
I
sat
up
reluctantly
and
in
the
afterglow
of
the
sun
saw
a
thin
line
of
smoke
rising from
a
dune.
‘Let
’
s
check
it
out.’

He
started
walking
down
the
sandy
slope
towards
where
the
sun
had
set.
I
stood
up
and
stumbled
along
behind him
until
my
feet
and
legs
woke
up.

The
dune
got
us
to
where
we
could
hear
voices
and music
wafting
over
the
shrubs.
I
could
smell
the
sweet smoke
of
a
driftwood
fire
but
a
solid
wall
of
tangled
tea trees
stood
between
the
campfire
and
us.
Dennis
found some
sort
of animal
’
s
tunnel through the
bushes
and waved
me
ove
r
.
W
e
could
crawl
through
it
but
it
was
a
tight
squeeze.
Den
bobbed
his
head and
scuffled down
the tunnel
like
a
wombat
on
a
mission.
I
followed, spiking my stump
painfully
on
the
first
step. I
tucked
it
up
against my belly
and
hurried after
Den
like
a
three-legged
poodle. God,
he
could
move.
I
was
stuffed
by
the
time
I
caught
up with
him
where
the
tea
trees
stopped
and
another
dune began.
He
hushed
me
with
a
finger
as
I
got
close
to
him
and
pointed into the
sandy
valley
belo
w
.
Four
people
stood
around
a
bright fire.
T
wo
were wearing
Wind-cheaters,
another
was
wearing
a
brightly
coloured
parka and
the
fourth
looked
ridiculously
overdressed
in
a
grey knee-length
trench coat.
I
was hot in my
shorts
and
T
-shirt,
but
then
I’d
just
crawled
the
length
of
a
swimming pool
under bushes
so
I
guess
that
’
s
acceptable.
At
the camping
area
there
were
big
‘No
Fires’
signs.
Maybe
they couldn
’
t
read
English.

‘It
’
s bloody
Hendo,’ Den
said
and
shot
to
his
feet.
I almost
had kittens.
One
minute
we’re
commandos
in
the bushes,
the next
he
is
walking
down
the dune,
cool
as
you like.
The
music
stopped.

‘Hendo!’

I
couldn
’
t recognise
him
but
the
bloke
in
the
trench coat
looked
up.
I
sheepishly
followed
Den
out
of
the
scrub and arrived in time for the
introductions. I thought Hendo
must
have
already
been
stoned
because
he
introduced
us
all
like
we
were
at
mothers’
club
or
something. Steve
was
there—the
one
with
the
eyebrow
rings—and
his mate
Phil
who
I’d
met
before
but
I
didn
’
t
know
where. The
bloke
in
the
parka
was
Davo,
a
Mars
Cove
local
who used
to
live
in
Fairleigh.
He
couldn
’
t get
the
stereo
to work
properl
y
.
It
would
play
a
savage
blast
of
sound
and
as soon
as
he
took
his
hand
off
it,
it
would
stop.
He
was mumbling, swearing
and cursing, his shoulde
r
-length snow-white
hair
made
his
face
look
like
a
beetroot,
but
he
persevered.

Stev
e
recognise
d
m
e
fro
m
th
e
part
y
a
t
Rebecca
Hanson
’
s
place
and
he
started
chatting
with
me
and
head-butting
the
ai
r
.
I
asked
him
how
things
were
with
Che
r
yl.

‘
Y
eah.
Good,
man.
Good.
She
’
s
sort of
why
we’re
here.
Y
ou
know
Mand
y
,
Che
r
yl
’
s
mate,
hey?
Y
eah,
well
they
came down
with
Mandy
’
s
mum
and
stepdad,
he
y
.
And
we’re
just waiting
for
them. Going to
have
a
bit
of
a
rage
here,
right.
Y
ou’re
welcome
to
hang
around,
man,
if
you
want.
Got plenty
of
beer
and
weed
and
stuff.’

Mandy
’
s
here?
My
gut
flip-flopped
then
I
realised
where I’d seen
Phil. I
didn
’
t
recognise
him out of school uniform.
It
’
s amazing
how
clothes
can
make
someone look completely
different. Last
time
I
saw him he
was hanging
all
over
Mandy
at
the
Plaza.
He
seemed
like
a
nice
enough
bloke,
even
with
his
head stuck
in
the
blue and
white
Esk
y
.
He
stood
up
and
offered
me
a
bee
r
.
He must
have
been
six
and
a
half
feet
tall.
I
took
the
beer
and
thanked
him.
He
smelled
like
L
ynx
‘Aztec’—a
man
after
my
own
cool
style.

‘
Y
ou’re
W
ayne,
yeah?’
he
said,
pointing at
my
stump.

‘
Y
eah,
Mandy
told
me
about
you.
Pretty
horrible
accident. What
happened?’

‘Oh,
I
cut
myself
while
I
was
shaving,’
I
said.
He
thought
about
it
for
a
minute
then
rolled
his
head
back
and
let
out a
silly
high-pitched
laugh
that
made
me
step
back.

Phil
insisted
I
tell
him
the real
sto
r
y
. His
bloodshot
eyes would
wander
from
me
to
the
fire
to
the
beach
then
back to
me
and
he’d
sa
y
,
‘Oh,
sor
r
y
.
What
was
that?
I
missed that
bit.’
I
gave
up
after
the
fifth
t
r
y
and
finished
my
bee
r
.

Hendo
and
Den
were huddled
inside
the
open
front
of Hendo
’
s
trench
coat
t
r
ying
to
light
the
same
skull
bong we’d
shared
at
Rebecca
’
s
part
y
.
The
wind
had
picked
up, but
it
was
warm
and
sweet
with
smoke
and
sea.
I
called
Hend
o
a
thief—
I
wa
s
sur
e
th
e
bon
g
belonge
d
to
Carlson—h
e
shushe
d
m
e
throug
h
hi
s
finge
r
and
chuckled.
More
contraband.