The Sound (15 page)

Brodie stares at me in bewilderment.

‘This face,’ I tell her, ‘should only be used for those times that you need to show someone that you find their behaviour immature, pointless and totally pathetic. It’s
the equivalent of saying
Is that the best you’ve got?
and, believe me, it works
every
time. My friend Megan pulls this one out of the bag daily and no one messes with
her.’

Brodie continues to look confused. I get down on one knee and look her in the eye. ‘The one thing I’ve learnt is that if you show a bully that you care and are scared by them, they
just keep going.’

Brodie just stares but I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. I pull the Megan face again and after a few seconds Brodie tries to copy it. We keep practising until she has it pretty perfect.

‘Cool,’ I say, smiling at her. ‘Even Megan would be impressed.’

Brodie grins at this high praise.

‘OK, one more thing,’ I say to her, pulling my computer across the bed. ‘When you pull this face you have to sing this song in your head. It’s like your
soundtrack.’

‘What’s a soundtrack?’

‘It’s like a theme song.’ I am already opening my computer and sorting through my music to find the right one. ‘I find that hearing songs in my head at certain moments in
my life helps me get into the right frame of mind.’

‘Is it like when Shrek sings to Princess Fiona?’

‘Yeah, exactly like that. Music can make you happy or sad, or make you feel like no one can mess with you – that you’re invincible. This is your soundtrack,’ I say,
hitting play on a track by Pink (making sure it’s the non-explicit version). Brodie doesn’t need her vocabulary expanded upon by me – she has Noelle Reed for that.

Brodie listens and by the chorus she’s even singing along.

‘This song will make me invisible?’ she asks, smiling toothily up at me.

‘Um no, not invisible,
invincible
. . . as in – unbeatable.’

She looks a little disappointed but then shrugs and seems to brighten up.

‘You ready for camp?’ I ask.

She nods and grins at me.

On the way out to the car I pop my head into the garage and see my bike is back, propped up in the exact same place it was before. I have to admit I’m surprised to see that Jesse’s
brought it back already and yes, a little disappointed too because I missed seeing him, though I fight that part. As I turn away, something catches my eye. I step closer, noticing that
there’s a piece of paper stuck through the brake cables. I unfold it.

I read it several times. The wind drops out of my sails and for a minute or so I feel like a boat drifting on the Sound without a current. I wanted to stay mad at him. This undoes the mad which
paradoxically makes me madder. Finally I fold the note and stuff it in my back pocket and head out to the car.

After dropping the kids off at camp and day care I run to the store (AKA the shop) and pick up a few things for Carrie and then I drive to the Harbour Club where Jeremy has
arranged to meet me. As I turn into the driveway I duck down in my seat and pray that Jesse isn’t passing by. The irony of meeting Jeremy here for brunch has not escaped me after my little
speech of Oscar-worthy outrage to Jesse last night.

I try to banish all thoughts of Jesse from my mind as I walk through the door. I’m met immediately by the Maitre D’ of the condescending look who is holding her trusty clipboard
against her chest like a battle shield. She stares pointedly at my Converse as though I’m wearing dog turds on my bare feet. I shrug at her, refusing to be patronised. Just then a hand comes
around my waist. I jolt around. It’s Jeremy. He kisses me on the cheek, nods at the clipboard girl and leads us towards a table on the veranda.

Jeremy pulls out my chair and then pushes it in. He pours me a glass of water and I take the time to watch him, my attention falling straightaway to his lips. I remember our kiss and wonder if
he’s thinking about it too because when he looks up at me, he gives me this half-embarrassed, half-roguish smile that makes my insides turn a bit jelly.

‘What have you been up to?’ I ask, heat rising up my chest like a rash.

‘Oh, you know, studying,’ he says, glancing at the menu. ‘What about you?’

‘Oh, you know, nannying,’ I answer.

He looks up. ‘How’s that going?’

‘I’m teaching Brodie how to do a Megan face.’

He laughs. ‘What’s a Megan face?’

I demonstrate.

‘Wow. Remind me to never be on the receiving end of
that
. I’m not sure my masculinity could survive.’

‘Oh, you know, it’s only reserved for very special people.’

‘Like blind jerk ex-boyfriends?’ he asks.

I nod and have to hide behind the menu. It’s true to say that I haven’t thought about Will once in the last three days.

Jeremy leans sideways, his gaze falling on my bare legs stretched out under the table. ‘Still delicious,’ he says, straightening up.

We order brunch, which I’m calculating will cost me about one and a half week’s wages, but the sun is lying in strips across the wooden floor and bathing my bare legs and clouds are
skitting across the sky and Jeremy is smiling at me and my thighs are still delicious and the world feels good so I don’t care about the cost of a bowl of muesli, a croissant and a
cappuccino.

‘Hey, dude!’

I glance up. It’s Parker. He’s wearing blue shorts and a white open-neck polo shirt with deck shoes. He nods at me.

‘Yo, what’s good?’ Jeremy asks.

‘Going sailing with my old man,’ Parker says, flinging his arm out towards the phalanx of sails in the distance.

‘Cool,’ Jeremy answers.

‘You should come. You too, Ren.’

‘Not today, bro,’ Jeremy answers and he gives me a sly smile like he has other ideas for what we are going to be doing today that do not involve boats or water and suddenly I’m
sitting up straighter and wishing brunch was over.

‘Next weekend, then?’ Parker says and I don’t miss the wink he gives Jeremy. He turns to me. ‘You should come sailing with us, Ren. Jeremy’s a pro.’

‘That would be fun,’ I say, though instantly Brodie’s warning about people dying all the time out on the Sound pops into my head. The only boats I’ve ever been on are a
cross-channel ferry, the boat that brought me to the island, and a rowing boat on the Serpentine. I have visions of wearing a bright orange life jacket and hurling over the side while Jeremy
battles the perfect storm. I try to re-picture it with me in a bikini lying on the deck of a P. Diddy style super-yacht with Jeremy at the wheel. Infinitely better. Until Eliza appears in stiletto
heels, wearing a bikini held together with rhinestones and a prayer, and ruins it.

‘Awesome,’ Parker says, then turns to Jeremy. ‘You coming to the fourth of July party at the Reeds’?’

‘Yeah,’ Jeremy says.

I do a calculation in my head. Fourth of July is Sunday. Of course I had forgotten that this is a big day in the American calendar. Apparently gaining independence from Great Britain was such a
big deal for them that even two hundred and fifty odd years later they still feel the need to celebrate it with ostentatious displays of firepower, beer and a general attitude of superiority.

‘Ren,’ Parker says, grinning, ‘we won’t hold it against you that you’re British, I promise – though my father might tie you to one of the fireworks and blast
you in the direction of home!’

‘How ’bout if I emphasise my quarter Scottish roots when I meet him?’

‘That could work. We’re all fans of
Braveheart
.’

‘Yeah, Mel Gibson. Thank God he didn’t sacrifice any historical accuracy in his quest for movie-goers’ dollars.’

Parker pulls a shocked and scandalised face. ‘You mean Braveheart didn’t wear blue face paint?’

‘No,’ I say, shaking my head, ‘I’m pretty sure the blue face paint is the only authentic detail in the film.’

He laughs. ‘Cool, see you guys there then. I want to see you kick Tyler’s ass in the competition, Jeremy.’

‘Bet on it,’ Jeremy answers, smiling smugly.

Parker runs off.

‘What competition?’ I ask, turning to him.

Jeremy smiles and shakes his head. He seems embarrassed. ‘Every year Tyler and I have a competition. This year it’s Call of Duty. We play one computer game over the summer and see
who can win.’ He pauses and his expression becomes very serious. ‘A lot rests on it.’

‘Like what?’ I ask. ‘World peace?’

‘Almost as crucial,’ he deadpans. ‘Our reputations.’

‘Who won last year?’ I ask.

He grimaces.

Ahhh.

‘So this year you’re determined to beat him,’ I say.

‘Technically, Tyler only won because the game was interrupted halfway through,’ Jeremy says.

‘Because he was in a coma in the hospital?’

Jeremy nods. ‘Yes. And it would have been bad form to claim a rematch. Given the circumstances I did the gentlemanly thing and ceded to him.’

‘But this year there’s no such excuse so you can take back the crown and reclaim your manliness with it?’

A smile tugs at the edge of his mouth. ‘Exactly.’

‘Is there some sort of prize? Other than the restoration of your reputation and your manliness?’

There’s a glimmer in his eyes. He hesitates and then he leans forwards across the table. ‘The knowledge that I’ve impressed a beautiful girl,’ he says, his eyes fixed on
my mouth.

Just then the waiter arrives with our food. ‘It takes a bit more than beating Tyler at Call of Duty to impress me, by the way,’ I say, arranging my napkin on my lap.

Jeremy narrows his eyes at me, still smiling. ‘I like a challenge,’ he says.

‘Well,’ I reply, ‘even though I don’t like to condone an activity that encourages mindless killing and gratuitous violence, I still hope you win. I wouldn’t want
you to lose your reputation, after all. It’s a bitch when that happens.’

‘Technically,’ Jeremy says, buttering his toast, ‘I might win if Jesse Miller incapacitates the opposition again while I’m in the lead. There’s always a chance of
that. Though I’d rather win fair and square this year.’

I almost choke on my muesli. ‘Incapacitates the what?
What
did you just say?’ I lay my spoon down. ‘Do you mean Tyler? Why would Jesse want to beat Tyler up again?
Didn’t he try that already?’

‘Yeah.’ Jeremy hesitates. ‘But that’s one fight that’s not finished.’

‘Why?’

Jeremy shrugs. ‘How’s your writing going?’ he asks.

‘Good. I’m writing a piece on the art of the non sequitur,’ I answer.

He frowns and then smiles. ‘I’m not changing the subject, I just don’t want our brunch ruined by talking about Jesse Miller when there are much nicer things to talk about. Like
you. And me. And
Braveheart
. And us.’

He said
us
. And when he said it, he kind of did this pause thing, and studied me to see what my reaction would be. I bite back the smile. Maybe I wasn’t so hasty telling Jesse
that I had a boyfriend after all. I think we are definitely inching towards that territory, as Megan would say.

After I pick the kids up from camp I take them to the beach closest to town, because Mike and Carrie have work to finish up and want silence in the house. I slather myself and
them in sunscreen, stick hats on them and Braiden falls instantly asleep in this little tent thing so Brodie and I decide to build a sandcastle replica of Sleeping Beauty’s castle from Disney
World. This is not as easy as it might seem.

‘I don’t think it looks much like Sleeping Beauty’s castle,’ Brodie says, looking at the mound of sand mournfully.

‘Wait here,’ I say, jumping to my feet with the bucket. I head to the sea, about twenty metres away, to fill it up, as though having wet sand will provide the answer to our building
dilemma, and am just reaching down to fill it when I look up and see Parker further down the beach. He’s wearing board shorts and is standing between two girls, both of whom look familiar,
and then I realise that one of them is the girl that I saw talking to Jesse outside the bookshop the other day, and the other is Paige’s sister. I’m guessing they’re about
fourteen.

I stand up, throwing a glance at Brodie and Braiden to check they’re still OK. When I look back at Parker I see a familiar figure striding down the beach towards him. It’s Paige. And
she looks furious. She parks herself in front of him and starts shouting, but between the sound of the waves and a game of volleyball going on behind me, I can’t hear what she’s
saying.

Parker grins at Paige and then shakes his head and jogs off up the beach. Paige stands there, staring back along the beach after Parker, before she turns her head suddenly and sees me standing
there gawping.

She says something to her sister and the other girl, then walks straight towards me and I straighten up and try to look like I wasn’t just spying on her.

‘Hey,’ she says.

‘Hi,’ I answer. She’s wearing a black swimsuit with a sarong tied around the waist and has a cap on covering her hair and shielding her eyes and face.

‘Who are you here with?’ she asks me.

I point at Brodie and Braiden.

‘What was that about?’ I ask, jerking my chin in the direction Parker just ran off.

‘You saw?’ Paige asks me.

‘Um, kind of.’

‘Parker’s a jerk,’ she says.

I don’t say anything.

‘They’re all jerks,’ she says, shooting me a sideways glance.

I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘Don’t let them suck you in, Ren,’ she warns.

I’m about to ask for more details on their exact jerk crimes when Brodie appears at my side and takes my hand. ‘Ren,’ she says, ‘come on. The castle is
crumbling.’

Sunday morning is the fourth of July. In case I had forgotten, at eight a.m. Brodie jumps on my head to remind me.

‘We beated the British.’

‘Yep. I heard that. It happened two hundred and fifty years ago and you still can’t let it go and move on. What is that about?’

‘Oh, Ren . . . is Brodie giving you a history lesson?’ It’s Mike, poking his head around the door.