The Bay (6 page)

‘Yes it is,' protested the woman running the stall, whom Holly assumed must be Lynn.

‘There's been a misunderstanding. We bought the house and everything in it. The estate agent had no right to let you have these things.' Holly appealed to Andrew who had caught up with her. ‘Look, it's everything from the house. Where's the rest of it, the furniture?' she demanded.

The potential buyers edged away as the woman called to the man in the chair. ‘Stolle, get over here . . . we got a small problem.'

He unfolded his lanky body with a nonchalant air. ‘What's up?'

Holly nudged Andrew who didn't waste time with preliminaries. ‘You're selling property that doesn't belong to you. We purchased Richmond House and paid for the contents – we can produce an itemised inventory which includes all this,' he lied easily.

‘We really want our things back, to keep all the original pieces in the old house,' added Holly, trying to balance Andrew's aggressiveness.

‘So buy them,' Stolle said. ‘Everything is for sale.'

‘Would you rather we called the police to settle this?' asked Andrew.

‘Be a big hassle for you, man. How you going to call them? No mobiles work out here, the boys are up dealing with a grader in a flooded creek anyway. And we have a bit of paper too, telling us we can clear the house.'

Andrew glanced at Holly. He knew she was ready to pay for the lot.

‘Is there a problem?' The woman at the next stall came over to them.

Holly did a double take when she saw the older woman dressed all in purple, even down to purple ribbons threaded through her dyed red braids. But she had a friendly face.

‘Couldn't help hearing. So you've bought old Richmond House . . . great home. Going to live in it?'

‘Keep your nose out, Mac,' said Lynn without rancour.

Mac was unoffended and continued, ‘Sounds to me like you both believe you have a case here. What's the bottom line?' She looked at Holly. ‘You want the gear, Stolle and Lynn want a donation, to save all the hassle, right?' The woman eased herself into a position between the two couples and all eyes were on her as she gently took control.

‘Yeah, make us an offer for a job lot.'

‘But that's not fair, or right,' protested Holly.

‘What were you going to do with the money you cleared today, Stolle?' asked Mac.

He shrugged. ‘Have a good feed, and give Eddie a hand.'

‘Plus pay the market fee,' added Lynn.

‘Fifteen bucks. Now, let's ask this good lady and gentleman – by the way I'm Tilly MacDonald but everyone calls me Mac, and you are?'

‘Holly. Holly Jamieson. My husband Andrew.'

‘G'day. Lynn and Stolle.' She waved a hand at the two stallholders. ‘Now, let's ask you what you wanted from today?'

‘We came here to get our stuff back.'

‘How long you been living in The Bay?'

‘We just arrived, but I don't see what that has to do –'

‘Ah, newcomers, rush, rush. As you are new arrivals, you'll need to get to know the area, the ins and outs of the place, where to find people, things you'll need. Maybe someone to give you a hand . . .'

Holly and Andrew didn't answer. They'd had this discussion in the car on the way to the markets, wondering how they'd find appropriate workers, for a start.

The purple lady continued, ‘I would say it would be a small price to pay to have Lynn and Stolle – old, old hands in The Bay – become your mentors, so to speak. Stolle can fix anything, knows where to find anything and Lynn, she knows everyone and gives great massages. Now wouldn't their expertise be of value to you?'

‘I'm not about to do business with people who flog stolen property,' snapped Andrew.

‘Not stolen, given, in their minds,' said Mac. ‘And I can vouch for them. Very handy people to know. They'll save you months of mistakes, paying through the nose for the wrong stuff and the wrong people.'

‘And what do you do, Mac? Who are you?' asked Holly turning to look at her stall, which seemed rather empty except for a few blue bottles, some oils, soaps and candleburners and a pile of coloured cards.

‘Like most people here, I do a bit of everything. I'm best known for reading the cards. Tarot,' she added as Holly and Andrew looked blank.

‘Oh, great!' Andrew threw back his head, laughing. ‘What a reference.'

‘Take it or leave it, your loss,' said Stolle.

‘I wouldn't mind helping you guys out down at the old house. Bit of a mess, isn't it?' said Lynn. She gave Holly a big smile and Holly found herself smiling back. Her instinct – long dormant – told her this wildly dressed woman was a friend. She knew Andrew wouldn't understand why she was suddenly prepared to trust her gut feelings, but she plunged in anyway. ‘Andrew, let's do it. Trade off . . . buy the stuff and we get the services of Stolle and Lynn.' She turned to Lynn with a smile. ‘We can work something out, can't we?'

‘Of course.'

‘Holly, you're not taking this crystal ball gazer, whatever she calls herself . . . Mac, her word as a reference for these people?'

Mac didn't look the least insulted. ‘Tell you what, Mrs Holly. Come and sit down and let me do your cards, then you can decide if I'm genuine enough for you.'

‘Ooh, I don't think I want my cards read. I don't want to know if there's any . . . bad news.'

‘It's nothing like that. Sometimes one's life follows a pattern. Knowing when you are falling into bad habits, or making an incautious decision might help you re-adjust your thinking. Understanding what has happened in your past can help with the present.' She paused, then added, ‘Arriving at a new place can be a sensible time to clear your mind and know what to focus on, what not to waste energy on –'

‘Holly . . .' Andrew sounded concerned.

‘No, Andrew. I'm going to do it. You work out the deal with Stolle and Lynn. Mac, how much do I owe you for this . . . reading?'

‘You decide. See if you feel I am helpful.' She took Holly's hand and led her to a chair opposite her table.

‘I'm going to get a coffee. I'll be back,' said Andrew to Stolle. ‘Don't sell anything of ours.'

‘No worries, mate.' Stolle settled back into the chair.

Holding his coffee – in a china cup which he'd promised to return to the stall which only used crockery or recyclable cups – Andrew wandered along a row of stalls, pausing to rummage through old tools and second-hand books.

‘Looking for anything in particular?' asked the man running the stall.

‘No, unless you have any books on architecture. I collect them.'

‘Got an interesting one on Gaudi's work.'

Andrew flicked through the glossy hardback. ‘How much?'

‘Let's see, it's a good quality coffee-table book, old edition, in good nick, sell for sixty bucks in Sydney. How about ten?'

‘Done,' said Andrew, pleased at his buy.

The man put the book in a bag, pocketed Andrew's ten-dollar bill and smiled. ‘Nice to know it's going to someone who appreciates it.'

Andrew glanced at the other boxes of books, noticing that many of them were related to alternative lifestyles, from herbal medicine and natural therapies, to an incredible selection of spiritual texts, overwhelmingly on Eastern religions.

The bookseller was dressed in what Andrew assessed as ‘normal' clothes: jeans and a plain open-necked shirt. ‘You into this scene?' he asked, then added quickly in explanation, ‘I mean into this therapy and spiritual business.'

‘Up here everyone is at some stage. Helping others or trying to save ourselves.' The bookseller gave Andrew a gentle smile. There was no hint of cynicism or fanaticism in his manner. ‘This is a place people come to change their lives.'

Andrew nodded awkwardly, picked up his coffee and moved away.

In front of him a man had set up a tripod and was video-taping several buskers. One was a handsome tall Caribbean man singing a calypso as he tapped out a rhythm on the sliced-off top of a silver forty-four gallon drum. He was wearing red boxing boots, yellow satin shorts and a full-sleeved frilled shirt. The calypso song he was singing in his rich baritone voice seemed to be slinging off at the local council over some issue. Beside him a pretty teenager was mimicking a calypso rumba dancer. Her mother, an attractive woman, clapped her hands in time, singing out, ‘Yo, Matty.' The small crowd laughed and applauded as the song came to an end, some throwing coins into the steel drum with a clatter.

The man filming turned around with a grin and said, ‘Now what I need is to film that when he sings it in the next council meeting!'

‘Are you chronicling the local colour?' asked Andrew.

‘In a way. I make documentaries,' he said, taking the camera off its tripod.

‘What sort of documentary are you making here?'

‘There's a bit of a stoush on over a whole lot of issues. This song is about a big supermarket chain trying to stop the markets.'

‘Doesn't like the competition from the cash economy, eh?'

‘That and a whole range of issues – the region around The Bay is getting to crisis point. We need a vision for the future.'

‘I've heard that before –' They were interrupted as the teenage girl came dancing up to the cameraman.

‘Hi, am I going to be on the news tonight?'

‘Sorry, sweets, this is for a little TV thing, don't know where it will end up.'

She looked crestfallen but the man with the camera reached into his back pocket. ‘Listen, if you want to come and have a look at it sometime, get your mum to ring me up. I'm Eddie. I live out at Spring Hill.'

‘We're in The Bay, I'll ask her. I'm Matty and my mum is Kimberley. See ya then.'

‘Cheers, kid.' He picked up the camera and tucked his tripod under his arm. ‘I'd better see if there's anything else around,' he said to Andrew. ‘Interview one of the organic growers maybe. Enjoy your visit.'

‘I look like a tourist?'

‘It's the vibes, man. You just don't look at home,' Eddie said and smiled.

‘It's not my home. You're right. Good luck with your film.'

‘Thanks.' He wandered off but his comments about the area being at a turning point stuck with Andrew as he began to walk back towards Stolle and Lynn's stall.

After speaking to them Andrew looked across to Mac's area. She was sitting across from a man at her table, dealing oversize coloured cards. Holly was nowhere to be seen, and Andrew wanted to go home. He headed for the car hoping she was waiting for him.

Holly was doing the circuit of the stalls in a daze. All she could see were the medieval cards falling in slow motion onto the table. She was trying to remember everything that Mac had said. So many strange associations, so many things rang true – things she hadn't fully acknowledged herself. She wished she'd taped it all . . . Mac spoke so quickly, so much information, so much to take in. She tried to distil the points that had made the biggest impact: that she was led here as an inevitability; she was following a path, Mac said, that was leading backwards. There would be some severance, some loss, possibly financial, but she would gain in other ways. New people would give her what she'd been lacking in her life. And when she asked Mac what that meant, the older woman had merely replied, ‘Look at your life.'

As Mac had read the cards, she seemed to become a different person, one in a trance, as if she were drawing these things from somewhere else.

What else was there . . . Oh yes, the hangman. That card had frightened Holly. But Mac had been calm. ‘Yes, there are factors working against you, but the noose need not strangle. It is up to you not to keep waiting as you have been.'

‘Waiting? For what?'

‘That is for you to discover. This card also represents sacrifice. You have sacrificed yourself to others. It is time for you to take control.'

‘I've never been one to take control, that's Andrew's role.'

Mac had lifted her eyes from the cards and asked, ‘Why?'

Holly had no answer. She tried to dismiss this. All she was doing was trying to establish a business for herself. For her family. To prove to them she was capable of doing something this ambitious.

It seemed Mac had read her thoughts. She tapped a card. ‘The Fool, the destiny card. This journey, the fact you are in this place is for a reason. There is unfinished business and only you can help. You have taken on a bigger task than you think. Continue to follow your instincts . . . that is what they're for. To guide you, not your husband.'

Holly glanced around and saw their car across the grass with Andrew standing by it, shading his eyes, searching the crowd for her. She headed towards him, pushing down feelings of guilt, knowing she couldn't tell him anything of what had transpired, knowing he wouldn't understand. And for the moment, nor did she. But strangely, she felt a small sense of triumph. There was a reason she was here. Eventually it would become clear.

K
IMBERLEY BOUGHT A LIME GELATO FROM THE
I
CEE STAND
across from the Big Pub and trailed back to the row of beach shops with sarongs, Indian shirts and skirts festooned around their doorways. She leaned against a cocos palm and waited for Matty.

Kimberley was tall, her tightly curled brown hair tumbled below her shoulders. She rarely wore make-up, favouring a sporty outdoors look. While she dressed casually she would have liked to own a few smart clothes similar to those she saw on city visitors strolling round The Bay, but money was tight. She had a deserted wife's pension and a little in the joint bank account which her husband had left when he went to chase dreams in India.

Occasionally he sent them money earned from casual teaching jobs he picked up, but mostly he mailed his wife and daughter embroidered tops and cushions from Rajasthan or miniature pictures painted on silk and canvas, or small brass ornaments. Matty loved them and Kimberley didn't have the heart to tell him you could buy the same things at the Indian import shops in The Bay. Kimberley hated being dependent on the part-time job she had at the glass studio packing hand-blown glass creations to be shipped to stores around Australia and overseas. She'd watched the artisans at work over the searing fire deftly blowing and twirling the glass pipes to produce the distinctive, wildly coloured vases and ornaments that were a trademark of the local crafts people.

She wished she had developed a skill when she was younger instead of being a rebel who drifted around on the dole or in low paid jobs. When she met Colin, a schoolteacher, they lived together, and when Kimberley became pregnant they bowed to parental pressure from both families and got married. The pregnancy and marriage coincided with Colin discovering New Age philosophies. He became fanatical about yoga and meditation, began exploring Eastern religions and took the family to live on a rural commune.

His obsession with Buddhism led him to adopt the Indian name Ashok, and one day he simply packed his bag and went to India, promising to come back soon, when he had completed his studies, whatever they might be. They were still waiting.

When he did make fleeting visits, Kimberley knew she'd never settle for any other man. Infuriatingly, despite his absence she loved him. Had she found someone else she was sure he'd let her go, wanting her to be happy. Sadly, he was the only man who made her feel fulfilled – when he was around.

She now lived in a rented house in The Bay and concentrated on giving all the support she could to her daughter. Above all else she wanted Matty to avoid the mistakes she had made, mainly as a result of conflict with her parents. In an odd way Kimberley felt that Ashok was still a part of the family, even though they had seen little of him since he moved to India. Matty adored her father, but as she grew older she was becoming aware of the difficulties he had inflicted on her mother. She lived in hope that one day they would all be together again. Life in The Bay was so relaxed, the weather so beautiful, that it was easy to lose focus and just drift along, day after day, year after year. However, Kimberley increasingly pondered just where her life was going.

When her teenage daughter appeared Kimberley gave a shout. ‘Here, Matty . . . any luck?' Matty had been searching for the ‘right' pink bikini for weeks now.

She shook her head and looked morose. ‘Can we go up the coast, Mum? There's nothing in this dump.'

‘Now, Matts, we've looked in at least a dozen shops. People come here to buy swimsuits because it's a holiday town. You're just being too hard to please. It's impossible to believe that you can't find a nice bikini.'

‘I am not being hard to please. And you know it has to match my shirt and sarong. I did see one . . . but it was nearly two hundred dollars –'

‘Forget that!'

‘I know, I know,' Matty sighed wearily. There was never anything left over in their budget for even the smallest luxury.

Kimberley was determined not to make a scene over her daughter's petulance. She knew Matty was not alone, it seemed part of the early teens syndrome. She thought back to her fourteenth year. Yes, she'd been interested in boys and clothes. But she and her girlfriends and their mums had sewn their own clothes and made do with daggy swimsuits. They didn't want to draw attention to their newly developing bodies in a two-piece. But she wasn't going to drag up what Matty called ‘boring ancient history'.

‘So what's next on our Saturday list?'

‘The record shop, I want to listen to the new CDs. What are you going to do while I'm there?'

Kimberley smiled. ‘I'll go and play at the beach. Bit of role reversal, huh? Or maybe I'll see if Billy can give my hair a quick trim.'

‘I'll meet you at the Caffe Latte then?'

‘Okay. I'll treat you to a Ginger Nektar.' Kimberley headed to the hair salon.

The Teepee had been created by ex-Melbourne hairdresser Billy Bowditch, known in The Bay as Billy Blue Bear.

About eighteen months ago he'd arrived in his ‘Toorak clobber' of navy Armani pants, white silk shirt, his sleek pepper and salt hair trimmed close to his head and a silver moustache. He knew The Bay well from many holidays over the years and decided to quit Melbourne and resettle there after hearing so many of his clients lamenting how hard it was to get a decent haircut whenever they visited Beacon Bay. He saw the opportunity to set up as a sophisticated stylist, convinced his wife Paula to sell their slender holding in Melbourne, and they headed north chasing their dream.

Billy opened his shop in a smart new arcade. Initially, though, he was rejected by the locals as too posh, too Melbourne. When the holiday season dwindled, the salon was empty. He had a younger wife and a five-year-old daughter and he began to question what he was doing in this ‘backwater'. When the rainy season hit, Paula became hysterical at being trapped indoors with a small bored child and closets sprouting green mould on clothes, shoes and bags.

With time on his hands Billy began to indulge his interest in Native American history. So when a Sioux Indian elder came to The Bay to run a series of sweat lodges, Billy signed up and before it was over found himself on a vision quest. After it he'd changed his whole approach to life.

The elegant salon became The Teepee, redolent of the inside of a tribal tent – weavings and totems on the walls, traditional emblems painted on the floor, sepia photographs of Indian elders and framed sayings of Little Big Chief. Billy shaved his moustache and let his hair grow. Blue jeans and simple plaid or Hawaiian print shirts became his uniform, and he began collecting silver and turquoise jewellery and wore a particularly ornate buckle on his belt. While he didn't elaborate on his experiences, it became known that he'd gone through a rebirthing and had been given his totem name of Blue Bear. A discreet logo of an entwined BBB appeared on the door of the renamed salon. Arrangements of feathers, dried twigs and smudge sticks replaced the angular glass vase with its spiky heliconia bloom. Subdued hypnotic, rhythmic music with drumming and chanting replaced the movie soundtracks and jazz CDs. The locals wandered in and stayed as clients. Tourists thought it all very quaint. But Billy survived because he was a good hairdresser.

Kimberley pushed the tribal rug to one side and stuck her head into the salon. She was pleased to find him alone, hunched over the form guide, the radio tuned to the Brisbane races.

‘You going home to tell Paula it was another wild Saturday in the salon?' she asked with a grin.

‘Hey, Kim, come in. Everyone's watching the dragon boat races across the bay. Want a coffee? I was looking for an excuse to duck out for a fag.'

‘I thought you'd given them away. You were on a health kick two weeks ago.'

‘I feel great. Been on the aloe vera juice. No more ciggies, just these.' He picked up a packet of slim cheroots.

‘You're impossible. I'll have a cappuccino with you. I was thinking I'd get you to knock off the straggly ends.' She lifted her hair and showed him.

‘Yeah, could do with it. Where's Matilda?'

‘In the record shop, she's exhausted every store along the coast for a bikini.' Then seeing Billy's raised eyebrow she added, ‘Wait till your little princess is fourteen. Obsessed with her body, how she looks, what to wear, what people think of her . . . I'm being very patient.'

They sat down at a table outside the coffee shop in the arcade so Billy could watch his doorway. He'd left the answer machine on.

‘Why don't you bring the portable here? You might miss an appointment,' said Kimberley.

‘Can't stress out about missing a colour job or whatever. Money isn't where it's at, Kim,' he said.

She eyed his Volvo in The Teepee parking space. ‘Easy enough to say when you're comfortable. I have to watch every cent. Matty is costing me a bundle, now she even wants to have her legs waxed!'

‘Introduce her to Lady Schick.'

‘Oh, they had some beauty consultant come to the school and she put the horrors of razors to them. One of Matty's friends shaved her top lip and that sent them into a frenzy. Still, I'd rather this than drugs.'

Billy lit up his cheroot. ‘Your daughter is friends with Erica Bitternden, isn't she?'

‘They're in the same class, hang out in the same group. I met her mother, Bonnie, at a New Year's Eve party. She seemed to want to keep to herself. I guess Matty does see quite a lot of her daughter, why?'

Billy turned and glanced down the arcade to the Beach Hut, a small shop filled with swimwear, beach accessories, sunglasses, hats and sandals, run by Bonnie. He lowered his voice. ‘Trouble brewing, I predict. I've seen it too often . . . I know the symptoms. I went through it a bit myself,' he said. ‘She's not there a lot of the time, sometimes a pal turns up and opens the shop for her, but I've seen her at the Big Pub more than a little merry.'

‘Paula doesn't mind you hanging out at the pub?'

‘I shut shop at four if there's no one coming in. Pick up my winnings from the TAB, have a few ales and head home in time to walk the dog on the beach with Hope. I don't wipe myself out. I've seen young Erica come looking for her mother after school. It's not the drinking, it's the kid Bonnie's hanging out with.'

‘Kid?'

‘Young lover boy, early twenties. Nothing wrong with that,' Billy was quick to add, ‘but the guy is a loser. A junkie. And have you noticed how Bonnie has changed?'

‘Can't say I have. Never seen her at school meetings and I don't spend time in this arcade like you do. Anyway, it's her business.'

‘Sure, sure it is. But if my daughter was hanging out at her place I'd be worried. No one at home, mother and boyfriend on dope and whatever else. Bonnie can't handle it. She came up here from Melbourne a few months after me, a straight up and down smart suburban divorcee. Gets bored, buys a business and being lonely she's a target for the likes of lover boy.'

‘Umm. So how has she changed? You notice these female things.' Kimberley studied Billy, his rough good looks, heavy shoulders, a nice smile. Never pick him as a hairdresser in a million years. Men liked him too. He had as many male clients as women. Billy was blokey without being butch. Loved the horses, beer and fishing. Idolised his daughter, Hope. He was the sort of man women loved to gossip with and quietly share their feelings. He was known to his men clients as ‘The Bear', and they found him a sensitive and comforting ear to bend about their problems. They respected the fact that he'd changed his way of life and was open enough to embrace an old culture that helped him in the present. Wasn't their thing, but if it worked for him, fine.

Kimberley wondered how much Billy really knew about Bonnie and her little shop down the arcade. She felt slightly guilty she didn't know the mothers of Matty's friends very well.

‘Bonnie talks to me,' Billy continued. ‘She confides a bit. But just look at the way she dresses now. She was always very smart casual, then casual gave way to hippy and then sloppy. The blonde bob has been let go. Now it's mad curls, she covers the grey with henna . . . the natural look, she calls it. Looks like she's wearing a bloody bird's nest. She's trying to be one of the young guns.'

‘That's a hairdresser talking. But thanks for the tip, I'll check it out if there's a sleepover at Erica's planned.'

Their coffees arrived and Billy took a sip before asking, ‘And what news of your old man?'

Kimberley paused as she thought about Ashok. ‘Probably still has dreadlocks, wearing sandals and a
dhoti
and
omming
in some Indian ashram.'

‘Is he into dope and stuff?'

Kimberley looked at Billy's earnest face. He could ask those sorts of personal questions without offending.

‘Nah, smoked joints when we first got together. He always seemed spaced out but he's just one of those quiet, vague kinda guys. That was when he was called Colin, before becoming a Buddhist.'