The Islands (40 page)

Come late afternoon, however, she couldn't settle to anything and threw on her swimsuit under a cotton shift and drove to Waikiki. PJ was sitting on the sand talking to Damien who waved to her as she came towards them.

‘Ha, she can't keep away now,' laughed Damien. ‘You'd better make a board for her, PJ.'

‘I don't think so! What've you been up to, Damien?' said Catherine.

‘Doing a few events, trying out PJ's new boards when we can find waves. Rocky Point, Little Sunset, V-Land. I'm heading to Maui for a few days, hear there's some mean tubes happening. So I'll see how his boards handle it over there. I want to take one of PJ's boards to Tahiti.'

‘Do you ride your boards in competitions, PJ?' asked Catherine.

‘I've surfed all over the world and while I'm not the best surfer, I surf for myself. These boys, they surf to win, but sometimes I ride in competitions too,' said PJ.

‘There's starting to be money in surfing,' said Damien. ‘Big-time pro money. Get the crowds in, pump up the boys. It'll be great.'

‘There're too many pumped-up egos out there now,' said PJ. He looked at Catherine. ‘To me surfing is an art, a way of life. Not something to be wrapped up and marketed like soap powder.'

‘Ah, keep your hair on, PJ. You're sounding like an old bloke,' said Damien cheerfully. ‘I'm off. See you in a week or so, brah, Catherine.'

‘Why does he call you brah?'

‘Braddah. He's my surfing brother. I thought you knew Hawaiian. Let's catch a few waves, shall we?' PJ pointed to a board. ‘Take that one. I brought it along in case you showed up.' He smiled at Catherine and she smiled back, excited by the idea of tackling the waves again.

It was almost dark as they dried off and PJ put the boards in his car.

‘Hot food is needed. You used a lot of energy out there.'

‘Yes, falling off a lot,' sighed Catherine.

‘C'mon, that's what learning is all about. It takes a while to read the waves. And the south end of Waikiki at Queens is bigger than you've been in. You did great. Really great.' He squeezed her hand. ‘Let's pick up some food. What do you feel like?'

‘I've been eating a bit of takeaway lately, being on my own. What say I organise something?' suggested Catherine.

‘Don't know that we have much in the way of kitchen stuff. Keep it simple. Brown rice and salad.'

‘That's certainly simple.'

‘Once I went on a macrobiotic brown rice diet for a year. So did the local poi dog,' he said.

‘By choice?'

‘The dog, no. Me, yes. But you make whatever you like. I'm mellow about food these days.'

‘I've been thinking about food at home. I miss Mum's shepherd's pie. I'll find something.'

PJ reached for his wallet but Catherine shook her head. ‘My treat. You won't let me pay for lessons.'

‘OK. I'll get some wine. See you back at my place.'

She decided against cooking anything elaborate, so brought back a variety of salads, rice dishes and Japanese soup as PJ was so clearly into healthy food. He'd made space on the table and poured the wine while music was playing.

‘That's a nice song, what's that?' asked Catherine.

‘“Moonlight Lady”, written by a friend of mine on Kauai, Carlos Andrade. It's about the beautiful strong women working in the taro fields.'

‘I'm loving Hawaiian music. Like the music that they played at Aunty Lani's. Not the hotel hula stuff.' She put the bowls of food on the table.

‘It's influenced by reggae, blues, jazz and old Hawaiian traditions, which the locals are starting to wake up to again. Ever heard Gabby Pahinui?'

Catherine shook her head, thinking of the touristy Hawaiian music that Bradley liked.

‘Hey, kid. What've you been listening to?' PJ got up to change the record.

They talked and talked, PJ told her his views about many things – music, surfing, food, lifestyle. He listened intently as Catherine talked about
Heatherbrae
, her horse, the difference in the landscape between home and the Islands and how she felt about both. They finished the bottle of wine, cleaned up, moved into the living room and sank into the old sofa.

Catherine glanced around at the clutter of record albums and books. There were two surfboards against a wall and surfing and music posters. ‘How long are you going to be here, PJ? Is this shaping business a permanent thing?'

‘Nothing's permanent in my life. Or in this world.'

‘That's sad.'

‘Why? It means there are always opportunities for change, for growth, for learning. Enjoyment.' He reached out an arm and drew her close to him. ‘Nothing stays the same forever.' He lifted her face and lowered his mouth to hers.

Catherine shivered and drew back. ‘No! Please, PJ. I can't.'

He slowly withdrew his arm. ‘Whatever you say.'

They stared at each other. Catherine's mouth trembled.

‘It's not right. Not fair to Bradley. It's my fault.'

‘It's no-one's fault,' said PJ easily. ‘Things happen that you can't help.'

‘I want to keep seeing you. I want to be friends. I like surfing with you,' said Catherine, a slight desperation in her voice.

‘You want to keep surfing?'

‘Of course! Can we be surfing buddies?'

He squeezed her shoulder. ‘For sure.' He got up and went to change the music again.

‘I'd better go,' said Catherine.

‘Come by any time. I'm your friend, Catherine.'

‘Thanks, PJ.' He was being so nice, so calm, it was almost upsetting. ‘Thanks for everything.' She stood staring at him, unsure what to say or do.

PJ walked to the door and gazed outside. ‘New moon. Be nice in the morning. You up for a surf?'

Catherine felt her body relax. ‘Yeah. Absolutely. I'll see you at Waikiki.'

‘I'll bring your board. G'night, Catherine.'

He turned back inside and Catherine got in the car feeling more settled than she had in ages. Surfing buddies. It sounded good.

12

C
ATHERINE WAS HARDLY IN
the apartment. She still met Kiann'e every morning for their swim, had a coffee with Lester and then filled her day with errands, photo shoots and a little writing before racing to meet PJ two or three afternoons a week for their sunset surf. Often they had dinner together with Damien and other surfers, either at the house or in Waikiki.

She listened to the boys' stories and anecdotes about surfing and understood their obsession more and more. Sometimes she and PJ were alone and she enjoyed his thoughtful and intriguing views on the world. His stories of the escapades, tragedies and triumphs of the surfing fraternity sounded to her more daring, mad, funny and wilder than any book or movie. What a cast of characters! They were all non-conformist in their choice of lifestyle and ranged from the hippie health fanatics to psychedelic drug-fuelled ego maniacs, from loners to the gregarious. But when it came to riding the waves, whether rivals or not, they were indistinguishable, all as one in loving the challenge and the thrill.

She was looking forward to the championships at Pipeline and Sunset later in the year. PJ told her she'd start to appreciate individual styles and how the different personalities would come to the fore. The Aussies had also asked her to be their official photographer and she hoped to do a photo spread for the paper that would be different from the usual coverage.

During the day Catherine and PJ went their own way. Catherine didn't ask what PJ was doing or what plans he had for the next day. He was not a planner and didn't like being committed to times or pre-arranged events except when they surfed together. How different he seemed from Bradley who liked to organise every minute of each day.

One evening as she returned to her apartment at the Base, a young military policeman walking past gave her a broad smile and nodded.

‘Had a nice surf, Mrs Connor?'

‘Very nice. Thank you.' She went inside resenting once again the small goldfish bowl in which she lived.

She opened all the doors and windows of the apartment and collected the mail. Seeing Bradley's handwriting, she decided to make a cup of tea before opening his letters. Most of the time he had chatty news or an amusing anecdote, but inevitably there'd be a checklist of things to do. Why couldn't he just trust her to run things as she saw fit and not have him double checking all the time? She wished he'd just let her be herself, do what she thought best.

Before she could open his letter, the phone rang. There was that brief pause on the line and she knew it was an overseas call. Bradley? Or home?

‘Hello?'

‘Cath, it's me! Hi!'

‘Mollie! How fantastic to hear your voice. Is everything okay?'

‘Yeah, yeah. Of course. Sorry I haven't called. Been busy.'

‘I've missed hearing from you. What's happening?'

‘Same old, same old. You pregnant or anything?'

‘Of course not. What're you up to? How's Jason?'

‘Good. Except he's going to London on business and won't take me with him. He's going to be away for two weeks and I've saved some money so I thought I'd come and see you! Is Bradley still away?'

‘Yes. Couple more weeks, I guess.'

‘Good. I'll stay with you and we can have fun. Is that all right?'

‘Mollie . . . wonderful. I can't wait to see you! Now tell me all the news.'

They chatted quickly, conscious of the cost of the overseas phone call and Mollie's visit was quickly arranged. Catherine was excited by the idea of showing Mollie around and introducing her to all her friends, especially PJ – her surfing buddy. She knew Mollie would be impressed with the good-looking happy-go-lucky surfer and she hoped she would be equally impressed when she found out that her best friend could now surf. Fleetingly she realised she was glad that Bradley wouldn't be around because, without meaning to, he put a dampener on things. It would be much more fun to have Mollie all to herself. And of course, she planned to take her to the Wives' Club. In her heart Catherine wanted Mollie's feedback, some reassurance that she was justified in feeling as she did about the crushingly boring and oppressive group.

The letters from Bradley had little to say, his day- to-day news was limited, so the letters were short and filled with reminders of things for Catherine to do now and when he returned. There were bits of news of his family, things his crew mates did, which were primarily concerned with following sporting events and suggestions for a vacation on his next long leave. She wrote back hurriedly with the exciting news of Mollie's coming visit.

The next afternoon Catherine tried to explain to PJ how close she was to Mollie.

‘Don't you have a really close friend, someone you've known for ages or you grew up with? Someone you just click with? That's almost like family?' she asked him.

He shook his head. ‘No. Don't need them.'

‘What about your surfing mates?'

‘That's all they are. People I see in the water. I recognise the outline of someone's head, I know how they surf. I don't need to know anything else about them.' He smiled. ‘It's okay, Catherine. I can pal around with the guys if I want to. I just don't really need people.'

Catherine paused, unsure how to react to this statement. ‘Well, I'm so excited that my friend is coming. Mollie is such fun. You'll like her.'

‘I'm going to meet Miss Mollie?'

‘Of course, I want her to meet you when we go surfing.'

‘So I'm your pet surfing instructor? Or your surfing buddy? One of the beach boys?' he teased her.

‘And my good friend.'

‘Am I giving her lessons too?'

‘No, but thanks anyway.'

Catherine was a little frustrated that PJ didn't really understand how important Mollie's visit was to her and she picked up her board and ran down to the water, paddling furiously out to the line of breakers. She sat on her board staring back at Waikiki, the line of hotels, the palm trees, the tourists on the sand and, looming over all, Diamond Head.

A surfer paddled past and nodded to her, obviously surprised to see a girl surfing. Suddenly her annoyance melted and she turned to watch the waves as he was doing. Although this surfer was a stranger, the two shared a kinship and the knowledge that the sea, the waves, the sky were part of a bigger picture in which they were small, small dots. She focused her attention on what she was doing and went for the next wave.

By the time she paddled back in to the beach, PJ had gone home. The afternoon tradewinds lifted her hair and refreshed her. She loved the softness of the Hawaiian breeze, it calmed and warmed her. She walked back to PJ's and found him in the front yard wearing a face mask, pushing the grinder along the board to sand it down. She hosed off her board, washed the salt from her skin, the sand from her feet and turned off the water tap. PJ stopped what he was doing.