Silver Bay (19 page)

He shrugged a bit. ‘That’s really tough,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

Suddenly I really wanted to cry. No one has ever said that to me. No one has ever thought about what it was like for me to lose my sister, or said that it might have been horrible for me. No one asks me if I miss her, or whether any of it feels like it was my fault. It’s like, because I’m young, my feelings don’t matter. I’ve heard them, they say, ‘The young bounce back. She’ll heal.’ They say, ‘Thank goodness she can’t remember too much.’ And, ‘It’s the worst thing you can imagine, to lose a child.’ But they never say, ‘Poor Hannah, losing her favourite person in the whole world.’ They never say, ‘Okay, Hannah. Let’s talk about Letty. Let’s talk about all the things you miss about her, and all the things that make you sad.’ But I didn’t feel I could say that to him: it’s locked too deep inside, somewhere I’ve learnt it’s best to keep hidden. So when the tears came I pretended I was upset about the school trip and I told him about Katie Taylor teasing me, and about the money and how I was the only person in my whole class who couldn’t go. And before long it had worked so well that I’d managed not to think about Letty, just about the school trip and how awful it would be when everyone went off to New Zealand without me and that made me cry.

Mike handed me his handkerchief and pretended to be interested in something outside while I pulled myself together. He sat quietly until I had stopped sniffing and then he leant forward, looked me straight in the eye, and said, ‘Okay, Hannah McCullen. I’m going to make you a business proposition.’

Mike Dormer asked me to take photographs around the bay. He went to the shop and bought three disposable cameras and said he would pay me a dollar for every good shot I could take. He said that when he went home his friends would want to know what he’d been up to and he wasn’t much of a photographer so I should take pictures of all round the bay so that he could show them where he’d been and all the nicest spots. Then he asked me to write him a list of all the things that were good about my school, and about Silver Bay, and all the things that would improve it. ‘Like the fact that our bus broke down and we haven’t got a new one? Or that our library is still in mobile buildings?’

‘Exactly like that,’ he said, handing me a pad of paper. ‘Not who you like at school, or that stupid girl who teased you, but a project. A bit of proper research.’

He said he would pay me a good salary, depending on how well I did. ‘But I want a really professional job,’ he said. ‘Not some fobbed-off piece of nonsense. Do you think you’re up to it?’

I nodded, because I was excited at the idea of earning some money. Mike said if I worked hard enough there was no reason whatsoever why I shouldn’t be able to afford to go to New Zealand with my friends.

‘But how long are you staying?’ I asked him. I was trying to work out how much time I had to earn the money and whether, if I showed Mum I had enough, she’d feel she couldn’t say no. And he said his departure date was one of life’s imponderables, and I almost asked him what that meant but I didn’t want him to think I was stupid, so I just nodded again, like I do when Yoshi starts talking about stuff I don’t understand.

Then I showed Auntie K the pictures we had doctored of her and the shark and she raised her eyes and said God in Heaven was never going to let her forget it.

The weird thing about that night was that I felt happy. If I’d gone straight to my room, like I’d planned, I know I would have been sad all night, but we had a good time, almost like it was a party.

The guests had gone out for the night, so I didn’t have to look at those freckly boys with their stupid stares every time I walked past the lounge. Lance had had a win on the horses – he called them gee-gees – and bought everyone pizza in a great big stack of boxes. He told Auntie Kathleen that for once she should put her feet up, and Mike might be her guest but he was part of the ruddy furniture now so she didn’t have to worry about him. And Mike had this little smile like he didn’t want anyone to see but he was pleased to be part of the furniture, and then he let me eat all the salami off the top of his pizza because it’s my favourite.

Richard and Tom from the other
Moby
came to join us and said they’d seen a pod of five whales out by Break Nose Island that afternoon, and they’d had an American tourist who had been so happy to see them that he’d given them a fifty-dollar tip each. And then Mr Gaines stopped by with some wine that Auntie Kathleen said was far too good for the likes of us, but she opened both bottles anyway, and they started on about the Old Days, which is what they talk about a lot when they’re together.

Greg wasn’t there. The others said he hadn’t been out on his boat for four days. Auntie K said breaking up with someone could do that to you, and that some people found it harder than others. I asked her where he was, and she said probably at the bottom of a bottle somewhere. The first time she ever said that to me I thought it was really funny because there was no bottle big enough in the whole of Australia to fit a grown man in, especially Greg, who is quite tall.

It was a cold evening, but all the burners were lit and we were squashed up on the bench, apart from Lance and Yoshi who were together on the big chair, and Auntie Kathleen and Mr Gaines who were on two wicker chairs with cushions, because Auntie Kathleen said at their age they deserved a little comfort. Mum was sitting on the other side of me and when I finished my drink I told her about Mike’s business proposition and her face did that thing it does when she’s about to stop me doing something and my pizza went all dry in my mouth.

‘Paying her money? You’re paying her to take photographs?’

Mike took a sip of his wine. ‘You think I should give her money for nothing?’

‘You’re as bad as Greg,’ she said, not in a good way.

‘I’m nothing like Greg. And you know it.’

‘Don’t use her, Mike,’ she whispered, as if I couldn’t hear. ‘Don’t use her to try to get close to me, because it won’t work.’

But Mike didn’t look bothered. ‘I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it because Hannah is an exceptionally nice kid and I need some jobs done. If I hadn’t asked her, I’d only have had to ask someone else and, frankly, I’d rather work with Hannah.’

He bit off a great big piece of his pizza and when he spoke again his mouth was full. I tried not to think about being an exceptionally nice kid. I thought I might be getting a bit of a crush on Mike.

‘Anyway,’ he said, as he chewed, ‘you’re very presumptuous. Who says I want to get close to you?’

There was a short silence as Mum looked at him quite sharply. Then I saw her mouth quiver, like she didn’t really want to smile but couldn’t help it, and I relaxed because if she was going to stop me earning the money she would have said so there and then.

She kept staring at her fingers, like she was thinking about something. ‘What are these photographs for?’ she said.

Mike licked his fingers. ‘I can’t tell you that. Commercial privilege. Hannah, not a word,’ he said. But he was smiling too.

‘She’s a good photographer,’ she said.

‘She should be. She’s charging me way above the market rate.’

‘How much are you paying her?’

‘That’s privileged information too.’ He winked at me. ‘If you’re saying you’d like to undercut your own daughter, I’d be happy to hear what you can offer.’

I didn’t understand what they were talking about, but they seemed happy so I stopped worrying. I was trying to work out if I could steal some of Mike’s beer without Mum noticing.

‘So how long
are
you staying?’ she asked.

Just as he was about to answer we saw headlights appear along the coast road. We were quiet as they drew closer, trying to see who it was – Greg’s truck has fog lights on the front, so we knew it wasn’t him. ‘It’ll be the bookies,’ said Mr Gaines, leaning towards Lance, ‘come to tell you your last horse has just finished its race.’ And Lance, whose mouth was full, raised his beer bottle to him, like a salute.

But it was a taxi. As it pulled up at the bottom, Auntie Kathleen got out from behind the table, muttering that there was no rest for the wicked. ‘I’ve got no food left,’ she said. ‘I hope they don’t want feeding.’

‘Well?’ said Mum, turning to Mike. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

I was waiting too, because I wanted to know. But Auntie Kathleen, who was walking back up the drive with someone’s suitcase, distracted me. Behind her was a girl, quite young with very straight blonde hair and a soft pink cardigan wrapped round her shoulders. She was wearing high-heeled shoes with sequins, like she was going to a party, and as she walked the lights from the hotel made them sparkle. Auntie K came up to him, eyebrows raised, and dropped the suitcase in front of him. ‘Someone to see you,’ she said.

‘Dad gave me the time off,’ the girl said. I felt Mike stand up beside me. I heard the sharp intake of his breath. ‘I’ve come to give you a hand. I thought we could have our honeymoon early.’

Eleven

Mike

It was weird. You think of all the ways you’re meant to greet your lover after a long separation – the slow-mo running together, the endless kisses, the desperate holding and touching. It’s like there’s an accepted protocol for big reunions, a kind of emotional outpouring, an affirmation of what you mean to each other. And all I felt when I saw Vanessa was this weird sensation I used to get when I was a kid, like when you’re at a friend’s house and your mum comes to get you before you’re ready.

I felt guilty for the absence of what I knew she’d expected – what I might have expected of myself – and she picked up on it straight away. Like I said, she’s not stupid, my girlfriend.

‘I thought you’d be glad,’ she said, as we lay next to each other later that night. That was the other weird thing: we weren’t touching.

‘I am glad,’ I said. ‘It’s just been difficult here . . . I’ve been so locked into work that I’ve deliberately not thought about anything to do with home.’

‘Evidently,’ she said drily.

I closed my eyes in the dark. ‘I’ve never been great with surprises. You know that. I was bound to disappoint you.’

Her silence told me she agreed with me on that point at least.

In truth it had probably been the most awkward twenty minutes of our entire relationship. She had stood there in front of the whalechasers, dressed like something from a fashion magazine, gazing from one person to another as she grasped the magnitude of her mistake, her carefully prepared smile fading. Kathleen had gone inside to fetch her a drink. Beside me, Hannah had taken advantage of the diversion to swig surreptitiously from someone’s beer bottle. Mr Gaines had made a show of offering her his chair, brushing the cushion ostentatiously as if she were even more of an exoticism than she was. And all the time, Lance had joked about me being a dark horse, going on about it so long that I had seen Vanessa’s confidence waver, and watched her start calculating how small a presence in my life she had been while I was in Australia.

And Liza had sat on my other side. Her face had been a Japanese mask, her eyes coolly registering this unforeseen element. I had wanted to take her aside, to explain, but it had been impossible. After about ten minutes, and a cool but cordial introduction, she shook hands with Vanessa and announced that everyone should excuse her but she and Hannah had to go in as Hannah had get ready for school the next day.

I felt her presence at the other end of that corridor like something radioactive.

So, several hours later, I felt vaguely resentful, and guilty for it. It was strange having Vanessa in that room: it had become so completely mine that she was a reminder from another life. I had become used to its spare aesthetic, and found the freedom to live without the usual accoutrements of home actually liberating. Having Vanessa there, with her matching suitcases, her endless shoes, the rows of unguents and ointments – her very presence – changed the balance of things. It reminded me of my life in London. It made me wonder whether I had been as happy there as I’d believed.

I felt mean even thinking it. I turned on to my side, and put my hand on Vanessa’s stomach, which was covered with something silky. ‘Look,’ I said, trying to reassure her, ‘it’s just been a bit odd, with them not knowing about the plans. I guess you being here makes it a little more complicated.’

‘You seem to have got yourself quite . . . involved,’ she said.

I lay very still, trying to gauge what she meant.

Then she spoke again: ‘I suppose it’s such a small place that it’s impossible not to. Get to know the people, I mean.’

‘It’s not . . .’ I faltered ‘. . . your average executive hotel.’

‘I gathered that.’

‘It’s very much a family-run thing.’

‘They seem nice.’

‘They are. It’s very different from what I’m used to – what we’re used to.’ I was glad she couldn’t see my face.

‘You looked . . . at home.’ She shifted beside me, making the bed creak. ‘It felt really weird walking up to you in the middle of all those people, with your jeans and your fisherman’s jacket or whatever it is. I felt like a real outsider. Even with you.’

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, so that her back was towards me. In the dark I could just see her outline and that her hair was messed up because she had been lying down, which made me feel oddly tender towards her. I didn’t often see Vanessa with messy hair.

‘It’s been so odd without you,’ she said.

I lay back against the pillows. ‘I wouldn’t have come out here if your dad hadn’t had his accident.’

‘It’s only been three and a half weeks, but it felt like years.’ I saw her head tilt. ‘I thought you’d ring more often.’

‘It’s night here when it’s day there – you know that.’

‘You could have rung me any time.’ Her perfume was potent. Until now the room had smelt of salt air.

‘It’s business, Ness. You know what it’s like. You know what I’m like.’

She turned away. ‘I do. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just felt a bit . . .’

‘It’s the jet-lag,’ I said, a bit shaken by her uncharacteristic wobble. Vanessa was sure of everything. It was one of the things I liked most about her. ‘I felt odd for days after I arrived.’ The idea that I could shake her was worse. I’ve never felt responsible for Vanessa’s happiness – I didn’t like the idea that I might be more responsible for it than I’d known.