The Minnow (21 page)

Everyone is being very supportive. Nana and Jonathan keep telling me they're as happy as Larry to mind the Minnow every day (although Jonah and I think they would probably fall in a heap and it would be left up to Hazel). Anyway, I've decided that while she's so little I'll take her to school, at least while I'm still feeding her. They've set up one of the offices as a mini-nursery.

Oscar reappears. He spits something into my hand.

‘Don't discard your past,' he says. ‘Learn to live with it.'

I look at the little gold sinker. It's almost weightless under the water.

‘I've missed you, Oscar,' I say.

‘You don't have to keep it with you,' he says, sensing my apprehension. ‘You could keep it in the carp tank. I'm sure Mrs Blanket wouldn't mind.'

‘Hang on a second,' I say. I swim over to the steps, climb up onto the pier and walk over to the tackle box. I drop the sinker into one of the compartments. It'll be safe there until I decide what to do.

A small splash interrupts my thoughts. Oscar is a long way out. ‘Wait for me,' I shout. And I take a running dive off the side of the pier and swim as fast as I can to catch up.

This May will mark the second anniversary of the Mother's Day flood. In honour of the people who were never found, there is going to be a ceremony at the town hall. In a rather surprising turn of events (that's how the local newspaper reported it) it has been suggested that small crosses be erected in the courthouse grounds. The courthouse was chosen because of its well-maintained garden. It also has a fountain which the council has promised to renovate. Jonah and I were sent a letter informing us of the proposal. Everyone who lost someone was sent the same letter.

‘What if I don't want this?' I ask. Jonah is sitting opposite me. We have hardly spoken since the letters arrived.

‘At this stage they're just tendering it for consideration,' he answers, sounding remarkably like his grandfather. ‘I guess they'll wait and see what kind of feedback they get before they decide whether or not to go ahead.'

‘What do you think?'

‘I don't know,' he says. He taps the letter with his index finger. ‘I think it's great they're fixing the fountain.'

God, he can be annoying. ‘But what do you think about the crosses?' I ask, pulling him back to the point.

‘Not sure,' he says.

There's no choice but to play along. So I shake my head, lift the letter, have another read. Sigh.

Neither of us speaks for at least five minutes.

‘Okay,' he says, breaking the silence, ‘I think it's awful.'

‘Me, too.'

‘We'll be expected to act as though everything is back to normal.'

‘That's never going to happen.'

‘And I can't bear the thought of Mum and Dad being reduced to a couple of crosses,' says Jonah.

‘Ditto,' I say, even though my reasons are different.

I'm slowly getting used to horrible Caleb, although my gut still tells me he's nothing but trouble and that one day he'll break Jonah's heart. The Minnow likes him, but that's only because he shows her his funny side. And he bought her the cutest pair of booties. The Minnow has a mountain of booties thanks to Nana, but Caleb bought her a matching pair and she's quite taken with them.

Jonah and Jonathan and the Minnow and I are at the Mavis Ornstein Home for the Elderly. Jonah wanted to bring Caleb, but I put my foot down. Everyone's in the common room, having tea. I've snuck out for a moment to chat with Papa.

‘Do you think I should give it to the Minnow?' I ask.

We're sitting outside in the garden. Papa's avoiding Betsy Groot.

‘I think that little sinker was always meant for her,' he answers.

‘Wow,' I say, a bit taken aback. ‘Why didn't you say something earlier?' There's a hint of annoyance in my voice. I hope Papa doesn't notice.

‘I never knew you had a problem with it,' he says, matter-of-factly.

‘Well I did.'

I let that sink in. Papa says nothing.

‘I have to deal with my past,' I continue, trying not to sound rehearsed, ‘and Bill will always be a part of it.'

‘Biologically speaking,' replies Papa, ‘Bill's smack-bang in the present.'

‘Well, that's one way of putting it.'

This is classic Papa and me.

‘So the sinker is appropriate, then,' I say. It's a statement, but it comes out sounding like a question.

‘You know it is, Tom.'

Nana finally bought me a camera. It takes movies and stills. I'm driving Jonah mad as the Minnow is almost twelve weeks old and, apart from a few cute happy snaps that Hazel took, none of her early stuff is on film.

‘Hey, Miss Camera Happy,' Jonah calls to me from the kitchen.

‘Hang on a sec,' I say to the Minnow. I walk to the doorway.

‘Uh huh?' I answer. Jonah immediately adopts his on-camera persona—part Jonah, part cooking-show host. It is hilarious, and he doesn't realise he's doing it.

‘We should take the Minnow to the tree house.'

We've been meaning to go for ages. ‘Seriously, Jonah, you're the best. But it's just the three of us, right? We're not taking horrible Caleb?'

‘Tom, you promised to stop calling him horrible Caleb in front of the Minnow.'

‘Sorry,' I say. I turn away to hide my smile.

The Minnow laughs. Rumbly has climbed into the cot and is licking her feet. ‘Hang on, Jonah,' I say. ‘You have to see this.'

Jonah and I stand at the doorway together. I have the camera running.

‘I bet the Minnow thinks we're her parents,' says Jonah, putting his arm around my waist.

‘For sure,' I say. I turn the camera on us and lean my head on Jonah's shoulder.

The Minnow and I are eating lunch in front of James Wo's mural. Jonah is going to join us after his meeting with the maths teacher. It's a school day and kids keep stopping to say hi—to the Minnow, not to me. She loves it.

I think Mum is here, too. Right now the Minnow is making little hand movements as though she is holding onto someone's fingers. Watching her makes me realise just how hard it must have been for Nana all these years. She must have heard me talking to Papa a million times, but she has never said a thing, never asked me anything. I can't imagine such restraint.

Jonah arrives and plonks himself down next to me. ‘Starving,' he says, and opens his lunch box. The Minnow lets out a little noise.

‘Hi, baby,' says Jonah. He leans across to her pram and gives her a smile. She smiles back.

‘You finished already,' Jonah says to me when he realises he is eating alone.

‘Uh huh,' I say. Jonah is in the top maths class. I can barely add up.

‘I had better feed the Minnow before the bell,' I say. Jonah doesn't answer. He is like an animal when he is hungry. For the next ten minutes, Jonah and the Minnow eat their lunch while I stare at James Wo's mural.

It is after midnight, and Annabel and I are walking to the inlet in time for the moonrise. The night is clear and perfectly still. I have never been swimming this late. As we walk along the pier, I notice Annabel isn't carrying any snorkelling gear. When we reach the end, she turns to face me and steps in closer, placing her hands briefly around my waist. I notice a stream of bubbles rising from her shoulders. Definitely blue. I want to say something, but the moment passes.

‘It's time,' she says.

She holds out her hand. I give her mine. She smiles. My world fills. ‘I won't let you go,' she says, and without another word she pulls me over the side.

The water is beautiful, clear, warm. ‘Follow me,' says Annabel, and we dive deep into the inlet. I'm almost out of breath when she turns and points above my head. At first I think she is instructing me to swim to the surface, until she pulls, hard, on my arm. Again she points, more enthusiastically this time.

It's the full moon, orange and low on the horizon, but high enough to escape the trees on the eastern side of the inlet. It's wobbling on the current, huge and magnificent. But my lungs are screaming. I push away and race to the surface.

When finally I spot Annabel, she has made it to the far side—probably in a single breath—and she is waving at me. I can't help but be amazed.

The Minnow is still betting she's a mermaid.

Oscar says she's just a good swimmer with great lung capacity.

There are only two people who call me Holly: Martha who is really Will, and Mrs Haversham who is a bitch.

‘Holly!'

‘Holly Thomas!'

Mrs Haversham. I think I'll ignore her for a while longer.

The Minnow kept me awake most of last night. I'm not sure what was upsetting her, but by the time my alarm went off for school, it was me who was upset. Now I'm so tired, I don't see the point. I should have stayed home. Instead, I have my head on the desk and my mind out to sea.

I don't know how he did it, but Papa found Dad, and the three of us are deep-sea fishing off the
Coast of Mary
; the most beautiful fishing boat I've ever seen.

‘It's a launch,' corrects Papa.

The
Coast of Mary
is a gleaming white
launch
with an aqua trim that runs in little stripes along the deck. At the moment she is rocking slightly, and if I look over the side I can see that she is also painted aqua below the water line. She's built for deep-sea fishing, which is quite different from the type of fishing I'm used to. For one thing, they don't catch the fish to eat, instead it's all about the hunt. That, and the size of the catch.

Everything on the launch is purpose-built. Some of the rods are fitted into the frame of the boat, with winches for hauling in the fighters. There are two large white chairs at the stern, with rod holders and foot supports and drink holders and neck rests. Totally over the top, if you ask me, but Dad and Papa are lapping it up: lines cast, a cold stubbie each and an esky full of reserves at their feet.

There is a lookout above deck—which is also the helm. I'm up there now. You can see for miles, and I haven't even tried the binoculars. I turn one-eighty degrees at the sound of Papa's voice. Papa is telling Dad something and the two of them peel off a laugh at the punch line. I turn back to the view. The breeze is light, there is not a cloud in the sky and, no matter which direction I look, there is nothing but ocean.

The Minnow is below deck, sleeping like a baby. I went to check on her earlier, but Dad caught my eye and shook his head. When I hesitated he winked. I think he knows that Mum is down there with her. Well, at least I'm getting to spend time with Dad.

‘Lunch will be in twenty minutes,' says a voice.

‘Fantastic,' says Papa.

I continue to stare at the view. In a word, it is mesmerising. I want to write that down as today's word, but I'm not sure where I put my notebook. It's here somewhere. I had it earlier; I was writing words that were similar but different, like launch and lunch. Now that lunch has been mentioned, I realise I'm quite hungry. I wonder if Mum will join us.

Someone is shaking my arm. I can hear the sound of a crowd, laughing. It makes no sense.

‘Holly,' says Dad. I can't believe he has called me Holly. I'm about to reprimand him, but he has disappeared.

‘She won't answer to Holly, Miss,' says a male voice belonging to the boy from across the aisle. Crap. I have fallen asleep at my desk. Not for the first time.

‘Sorry,' I say, eyes still closed.

‘Follow me,' says Mrs Haversham's voice.

Double crap.

Jonathan got rid of the rental and has bought a brand-new baby car seat. This one is cream (to match the Bentley's interior). I secure the Minnow.

The weather has changed. Rain clouds have blown up from the west—a bad omen. Jonathan waits for me to get settled. It takes ages. First I can't find my biology notes, then, once they're found, I realise I've lost my timetable. I empty everything out onto the seat. It's a mess. I need a system. Maybe a new schoolbag would help; one that has more pockets and compartments. Eventually I find the timetable tucked into my notebook. Then I take a deep breath and put everything back in some kind of order. Mess does my head in these days. I have to be especially orderly with my school stuff. I think it's a coping mechanism.

At last, I'm buckled in. Ready.

‘You right to go?' asks Jonathan.

‘Yep,' I answer, even though my readiness is obvious. ‘Sorry.'

Jonathan drives me to and from school, most days. Jonah rides his bike. The Minnow and I used to catch the bus. It's any easy walk with the pram, and the bus stop is only fifteen minutes away. But then Jonathan started turning up, and then it became a habit. At first he used the drive as an excuse to get me alone to talk about Bill. He wants to take my case to the police. He says it is abuse, pure and simple. I'm not sure. I think he is right, but I don't think I want to dredge it all up. Everyone at school would find out. The thought of it makes me sick.

I'm exhausted. Luckily Jonathan isn't talking. Even the Minnow is quiet. Occasionally she makes a sucking noise.

‘I have asked your grandmother to marry me,' says Jonathan, suddenly. I open my eyes to look at him, but he is staring at the road ahead.

I'm not surprised. It seems so natural, like it was always going to happen.

‘What did she say?'

‘She said she would talk it over with you.'

Nana's roundabout way of getting Papa's approval.

‘Well, you know how I feel about you, Jonathan.'

‘Thank you, Tom. It means a lot.'

The Minnow claps her hands. I turn to look at her.

Papa is sitting in the backseat, staring out the window.