The Bay (23 page)

She paused, aware her words had struck a chord with everyone. Then she continued, ‘Is it to be a world just about the bottom line, about dollars and time? Or should it be about caring? Sometimes it takes an act of great courage, a wild, painful, brave sacrifice, to make us take notice. Erica wants us to care. And I'm going to start caring more. I've never done much with my life. Erica has shown me I can. Thank you, Erica.'

Matty took a step towards her mother as she moved back from beside the coffin, and they fell into each other's arms, and hugged and wept quietly.

The minister read the mood perfectly. It was no time for more words but rather music, and he picked up his guitar and strummed a peaceful, gentle melody that most of those on the beach had never heard before. It was one of Erica's recent compositions, inspired so her notes said by her dream of sailing over the horizon. Her music teacher had passed the notes and music on to him.

When he had finished he briefly told the story of the music then asked everyone to join him in prayer for the safe journey of Erica across the sea as she had always dreamed.

Bonnie and Matty were the last to add their letters to the pile of tributes that would travel with Erica. Frances had encouraged them to write as a way of settling their own hearts and resolving unfinished issues in order to let go.

My best and dearest friend
,

I was so mad at you for leaving us. You always did things differently, went your own way and talked your own talk. Sang your own songs. I will miss you. I learned a lot from you. I'm only just learning how much. I hope that I can learn to be as strong as you. This is hard. I'll keep you in my heart and you'll know everything that's happening to me. And when it gets too hard I'll go to our favourite place on the Cape and talk to you. I know you'll listen. Thank you for explaining how you felt in your letter.

We'll all take care of your mum. You will always be my best friend, dearer than a sister.

With all my love

Matty

My beautiful girl,

I wish with all my heart you were with me still. How many memories I treasure from the moment I first held you in my arms, you were everything to me. And always will be.

I wonder still at the wisdom that came to you at the end and how it gives me strength. It pains me I will never see you mature and blossom, hold your babies and share your life. I struggle to understand you saying it was never meant to be, and while I know I will have dark days, I'll look to the light and know you are there with me. I will do my best to uphold the promise I made to you and make each day a little better than the last. But without you in my life it will be hard. Sail safely, precious girl, you are always part of me.

Your loving Mother

Each mourner was handed a flower to bless and drop into the twilight sea.

Amber stood beside Bonnie as they dropped their flowers into the wash of waves running back from the beach.

‘I have been so angry at you,' said Bonnie calmly.

‘For saving you?'

‘Was I? Saved?'

‘You tell me.'

‘I wish you'd saved Erica. Not me.'

‘Erica chose, Bonnie. I don't believe she would have wanted to be here without her mother.'

‘I just want my girl with me.' Bonnie's voice dropped and the tears ran down her cheeks.

‘She is with you. She'll always be with you.'

‘How can you say that?' Bonnie sobbed.

Amber simply hugged her.

Bonnie took her hand and they stood staring out to sea. ‘It will get easier, won't it? We'll know why we're going through all this.'

‘I hope so, Bonnie. I hope so.'

They stood in silence looking at the last rays of the sun fading behind the peak of Mount Hazard. Amber sighed. ‘Kimberley is right. We've messed up. We have to fix things.'

Frances arranged for the coffin and the sail and all the tokens and flowers to be taken away. Later, when Bonnie chose, she would take Erica's ashes out to sea and scatter them on the ocean she loved.

It was cruisy weather; Bay perfect. Warm, fresh, sparkling with promise. A morning for a late lazy breakfast overlooking the beach, a swim, the newspapers and coffee at a favourite cafe. A day to dawdle past the garage sales of faded Indian bedspreads, recycled vintage hippy clothes, brass pots, incense holders, posters and books spread out on the grass along the streets leading into town.

Even more than usual, people lingered to talk in the street, or smile and nod at other locals. Visitors tried to blend in and pretend this was their life for the rest of the year too. For here the interaction, the inherent sociability of a community going about its business and its pleasure gave the town a vitality and cohesiveness that was lost to those from city suburbs overwhelmingly reliant on a car to make connections with others, or living in tower blocks of apartments that limited interaction to lifts and lobbies.

It was difficult to feel alone surrounded by the buzz of a close-knit community where wanderers were welcomed, everyone intent on enjoying what they regarded as a pocket of paradise. The locals acknowledged their good fortune, and even those with tenuous economic circumstances felt enriched just by being part of it. Visitors usually felt the same, if only for a few days. No one took for granted the beauty, the lifestyle, the company around them. Although when overzealous rangers and officialdom struck they were roundly attacked in council and the pages of
The Beacon Bugle
. But no one really believed they'd merely stumbled into The Bay. Being here seemed part of a master plan. Well, that was how most wanted to see it, while never admitting to affecting rose-coloured glasses.

Aviator glasses were more visible, such as those worn by the handsome man in the yellow convertible who parked in the main street and joined the meandering Saturday morning crowd. Slim, gym fit and tanned, hair that had been cut and styled very short, casual white silk-knit top, navy board shorts and sandals all added up to money and time spent to achieve a nonchalant image. He looked in his thirties, though Wesley had seen his fortieth birthday come and go. He stood out as a visitor to The Bay: too pressed, too perfect, too rich looking.

As he walked he studied the people in the street – the Rasta dreadlocks and knitted beanies; the shaved heads and robes of drummers squatting in the small park; the bands of multi -coloured people: green, orange and purple hair, glitter and elaborate tattoos and the traditional mendi patterns of henna-stained skin. Clothes ranged from beach gear to backpackers in souvenir T-shirts and bumbags, to locals in outfits reminiscent of the fifties to fancy dress. Overwhelmingly, swimwear, shorts or sarongs declared comfort and coolness as being the code. And that went for the weather and attitude, too. Cool, as in hip, had many layers of protocol, read by those who were in the same scene. The kids on skateboards and scooters, the surfies and the backpackers all had their own recognisable tribal dress, talk and tastes. A middle-aged man riding a unicycle whizzed past, ringing a bell, juggling a bar festooned with balloons, a squawking mechanical parrot atop his pith helmet. Outside the mini-mart a girl ‘statue' painted silver from her hair to her toenails and dressed as an angel stood utterly motion less. Passers-by dropped coins in the small bowl at the base of the pedestal on which she posed.

Wesley Harden observed all this as he took in the cafes, pavement tables, beer garden and shops, and the post office where knots of locals met and chatted. He doubled back through an arcade, past The Teepee where he'd just had his hair done, to the beachfront where the smart holiday units and boutique B & Bs overlooked the beach. With some pleasure he assessed the surf and the mid-morning scatter of bikinis, and checked his watch. It was still early, by midday there'd be more of a social hum fusing with the surf sounds. He decided that he'd eat somewhere expensive that night. He'd heard Vincent's was the best place in town. Now, though, he'd go for a swim. The Point was a favourite spot. Tiny Bay Beach was more exclusive, but too far out of the main action, he decided. He wasn't in a rush. He had enough cash to last for a week.

Billy stubbed out his cigarette, cursing his weakness in being unable to break the habit, and stuck his head into the Beach Hut where Kimberley was talking to Amber. ‘How you gals doing? Want a coffee?'

‘Aren't you busy?'

‘I have Matty minding the shop. She'll get me if a customer wanders in.'

Kimberley gave him a big smile, she was so grateful to him for giving Matty a paying job each Saturday morning. ‘I'd love a coffee. Amber is too busy packing up her goodies for all the tourists. Word is spreading.'

‘I assume the word you refer to is “Chaste”,' said Billy. ‘I can't understand anyone taking skin products called Chaste seriously.'

‘As in pure. Don't lose any sleep over it, darling. Whatever you think, they work and that's all that matters, right? Women's business language.' Kimberley dismissed his opinion with a wave of the hand, then added, ‘But don't let that stop you getting the coffee.'

Billy put the two coffees on the table in the sunny entrance to the arcade. ‘So how are things going? Has Matty said much about Erica? I haven't raised it; thought it best to wait a bit.'

‘Mac came round and they went for a walk and had a long talk. It seemed to help. She doesn't say much. The funeral helped her and the other girls at school. It's been a shock to them all. And there's a feeling of guilt, as well.'

‘How come?'

‘Erica was shunned a bit. She was always considered different by the other girls. And at their age there's so much pressure to conform, copy each other, do and like the same things.'

‘I know some of the women about town thought Erica was a bit of a feral one‚' said Billy. ‘I confess I was down on her in the beginning. There seemed to be a lot of resentment towards Bonnie, guess it kind of rubbed off on Erica.'

‘Yeah, it's not exactly common among the mums to be wealthy, good looking and living a wild, free, outrageous life.'

‘It's on their wish list, I'll bet.'

Kimberley ignored the remark. ‘It always struck me how protective Erica was of her mother. Almost like their roles were reversed, despite them both playing fast and loose.'

‘And how is Bonnie?'

‘She still has some of her family up with her. Apparently Erica's father has been understanding about her wishes. The grandparents wanted Erica buried in Melbourne.'

‘I saw her early this morning. It really upset me.'

Kimberley reacted in surprise. ‘You did? What did she say?'

‘She didn't see me. I went up to Brigalow to drop Paula off at friends – they're going to the Gold Coast for the day – and Bonnie was sitting in all the mess at the house.'

‘The old house? Where the fire was?'

Billy nodded. ‘She was sitting in the rubble on a box, just pouring ashes through her fingers. Crying.'

‘God, what did you do?'

‘I couldn't talk to her, Kim. I couldn't go there, it upset me so much. I had the feeling she'd been scavenging for something, anything, that belonged to Erica.' He rubbed his eyes. ‘When I think of my little girl, how would I cope? It was sheer grief. I guess it's starting to hit her. I had to turn away.'

They were both quiet for a moment or two, sipping their coffees in silence until Kimberley said softly, ‘I would have done the same. I can't cope with raw emotion like that. That's why I feel so glad Eddie and Tina went to Brisbane that awful night.'

‘Now that the funeral is over what will happen to Bonnie when her family go back? That will be hard.'

‘We'll have to help her. I'm not sure how.' Kimberley sighed. ‘One good thing is I managed to get hold of Matty's father in Delhi. Ashok said he'd come back as soon as he could. That will help Matty.'

‘And help you?'

‘We'll see. He's never around long enough to sort out my feelings. I try not to intrude on the time and space he and Matty need.'

Billy paused to think that through, then seemed to make up his mind. ‘Listen, Kim, what are you doing with your life? You're bright, Matty is well adjusted and has a lot of interests, you have Mac around to help out –'

‘You saying I should get a full-time job?'

‘Why not? There must be any number of things you could do. And I know you need the money.'

‘The single mum's pension doesn't go far, that's for sure. I've been cut back to two days a week at the glass factory, and Ashok never has money to send us.' Kimberley's face suddenly crumpled, shocking Billy. ‘The fact is there's bugger all I can do. Checkout chick, waitress, shop assistant . . . not much of a résumé.'

Billy realised he'd opened an old wound. ‘It's not like you to show self-pity, Kim. Look, let's talk realistically about the here and now.'

‘And?'

‘I think you should get your head into something other than Matty's school, your pals and life in The Bay.'

‘That's most people's lives here, Billy. And don't tell me about how time slips away.'

‘Life is what happens when you're making other plans, eh?'

‘What does your wife do with her time apart from looking after your little girl?' Kimberley shot back.

‘Hope is at kindy and Paula is doing a part-time uni course. Why don't you do a course in something?' he suggested.

‘Improve my mind? I never got past the HSC.' She tried to smile. ‘I read a lot. Amazing what you can learn from books. Wish we had a better library here. I did think of trying to learn to use a computer but there's always such a queue for the two in the library.'

‘Learning computer skills would be good. At least you'd be able to keep up with your daughter.'

Kimberley gave a shrug, sipped her coffee, and changed the subject. ‘What's new in your life, what gossip has passed through the salon this week?'