The Sound (16 page)

I sit up, rubbing sleep out of my eyes, and clutch the duvet closer to my chest. I’m wearing a camisole top which leaves little to the imagination.

Carrie appears behind Mike holding Braiden on her hip. They’re both dressed already (not matching today). ‘We’re heading into town soon to catch all the celebrations,’
she says. ‘Are you coming with us?’

‘Well of course,’ I say, ‘I mean, I couldn’t miss this celebration of American independence from your cruel and indifferent overlords, could I?’

‘Or the watermelon-eating contest,’ Carrie adds, smiling brightly.

‘The what?’

‘You’ll see.’

‘And you can get your face painted,’ Brodie bursts in, ‘can’t she, Mom?’

‘Yes, Ren can get the English flag painted on her cheeks.’

I arch an eyebrow at Mike and he grins back at me.

What the Tripps failed to mention is that we’re cycling into town. Apparently something about there being no parking on Main Street due to the celebrations, which sounds like a lame excuse
to me. Mike has a little wagon attached to the back of his bike into which both children are tightly strapped. Unfortunately there is no space for an extra big child in this wagon trailer so I have
to man up and cycle into town after them. Even pulling both children behind him in a trailer the size of my mum’s car, Mike powers ahead, leaving me to bring up the rear, trying to work out
the gear thing. Still. One day I’m going to get it.

By midday the little town is heaving. A stage has been set up halfway down Main Street and a man dressed in a funny outfit is reading out a list of the day’s upcoming events. There’s
an ancient fire truck giving some kind of demonstration and stalls lining the pavements selling food, and all sorts of red, white and blue paraphernalia.

Brodie gets her wish and her face is painted so she looks like a sparkly, pink butterfly. I refrain from getting painted up like a football hooligan. Mike stops in front of the next stall where
a trestle table is bowing under the weight of several dozen pies. A pie-eating competition is occurring. I have never witnessed one of these in real life. I thought they were made up for movies.
But no, behind the table there are six chairs and, as I scan the pie-eating participants having their hands tied behind their backs, I spot Parker and Matt. They are occupying the two seats
furthest from me.

I shake my head in astonishment and then eye the pies lined up in front of them. Quite a crowd has gathered now and people are taking pictures. I debate the wisdom of standing too close. Surely
someone is going to hurl.

Brodie is pointing out the pies and counting them. ‘Six pies each!’ she squeals. ‘Six!’

Parker sees me and smiles. He can’t wave as his hands are tied behind his back. I remember what Paige said yesterday about him being a jerk, but then maybe she’s just mad at him
because they had a bad break-up. Sophie did mention that they used to date. And I remember too how funny he was at the Harbour Club teasing me about
Braveheart
. Matt shouts out hello. Are
they jerks? They’ve only been nice so far to me. So I smile and wave at them both.

A man holding a watch blows his whistle and all six participants (all male it must be stated) slam-dunk their faces into their pies and start eating. Or not so much eating as snarfing and
grunting.

I’m watching with something approaching awe and brushing on disgust when I feel someone touch me lightly on the arm. I turn around and see Sophie and Eliza. Eliza’s nose is wrinkled
in disgust as she watches Parker and Matt – though now I’m starting to wonder whether that’s just her natural expression.

‘Ren!’ Sophie says, hugging me. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Good,’ I say.

‘Awesome. Matt was trying to convince me to take part.’ She nods at the pie eaters. ‘As if,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘I swear there must be like a million
calories in those pies.’ She takes out her iPhone and starts filming as Matt nosedives into his second pie.

The people around us start counting down the seconds left as the pie eaters begin to slacken their pace, pausing between pies to gasp for breath. Matt and Parker are purple-faced, mashed fruit
and juices dripping from their noses and smeared across their cheeks.

‘Where’s Jeremy?’ I whisper to Sophie, not wanting Eliza to hear. I didn’t hear from him yesterday but he did post a cartoon of
Braveheart
on my Facebook
wall.

Eliza has supersonic hearing however. She turns to me. ‘He’s studying,’ she says.

‘He’ll be at the Reeds’ later for their party,’ Sophie adds, seeing the disappointment that I desperately try to hide. ‘You’re coming right? It’s going
to be epic.’

I don’t miss the venomous look that Eliza shoots her way.

‘Yeah, maybe,’ I answer, as the man blows his whistle and places a paper crown on Parker’s head.

‘Ren, come on!’ It’s Brodie. She has had her fill of pie too and is now tugging me away onto the next exciting activity.

‘I have to go,’ I say to the girls. I wave at the boys who are bent double, heaving with laughter as pie dribbles down their chins.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask Brodie.

‘To the races!’ she answers.

For a moment I think she is talking about horse racing – possibly a recreation of the Paul Revere horseback ride – but she soon sets me straight. ‘There’s a three-legged
race and an egg one and I am really good with the spoon.’

From this garbled description I deduce that there is a kiddie sports day going on. Brodie seems to know where we are going so I follow her, keeping an eye out for Mike and Carrie who we seem to
have temporarily misplaced. We pass a stall with lots of bikes parked around it. I slow my pace without even realising so the man behind slams into me. There’s a sign over the stand and it
says MILLER’S then, beneath it, written in pen and decorated with swirls and little cartoon characters (including Spider-man), is another sign that says:

And then I see him. Jesse. He’s crouched down talking to a little boy who is standing proudly beside his bicycle. Jesse is admiring the bike and the two are locked in conversation. An
older man stands behind a table laden with paints and stickers and a cash tin.

‘Hello there, missy, you have a bicycle you’d like to get decorated?’ he asks Brodie.

Brodie looks up at me with a grin that splits her face in two – the same one she uses when she’s asking for a double scoop of ice cream.

‘You need to ask your mum,’ I say, shrugging and wondering where Carrie and Mike have got to.

Jesse looks up sharply when he hears me. I see him out of the corner of my eye.

‘Ren,’ he says and he stands.

‘Hey,’ I say, the word catching in my throat.

‘You two know each other?’ the older man says, looking between us.

‘Yep,’ Jesse says. His hand rests on the little boy’s shoulder.

‘Ren, can we decorate my bike trailer?’ Brodie asks. ‘I want butterflies and fairies and maybe a dragon too. What do you think? Can we? Can we?’

I glance at Jesse. He’s smiling in amusement. ‘I think that could be possible,’ he says.

‘Well, sure that would be possible,’ the older man says and I do a double take. He looks really familiar and then I see it. He looks like Jesse. The same warm brown eyes and thick
dark hair. He must be Mr Miller – Jesse’s father. ‘Where’s your bike?’ he asks Brodie.

‘It’s parked around the corner,’ I say, pointing vaguely. ‘But I think we have races to get to, don’t we?’ I remind Brodie. ‘I thought you had a date
with a spoon.’

Her mouth falls open and then she grabs my hand. ‘Oh, yes. Oh no, quick, let’s go!’

‘We’ll come back later,’ I say to the man as I’m dragged away from the stall.

‘Sure,’ he calls after us.

I glance back over my shoulder. Jesse is down on his knees again talking to the little boy who is now pointing at the handlebars. He looks up and holds my gaze, unsmiling. I turn away. I’m
not sure whether I should have said something about his note, or about the other night, and now it feels like it might be too late.

At the beach we catch up with Carrie and Mike, who look relieved to see us. ‘We wondered where you’d got to,’ Carrie says.

‘I want to have my bike decorated with fairies,’ Brodie announces but then she sees that the egg and spoon race is about to start and scurries off. Carrie chases after her waving a
wooden soup ladle above her head (seems like cheating to me).

‘So, you having fun?’ Mike asks, as he bounces Braiden in his arms.

‘Yeah,’ I say, my mind back on Jesse.

‘Tonight should be great,’ he says.

I look at him questioningly.

‘Fireworks,’ he says. ‘The Reeds’ party. The one thing that can be said about the Reeds is that they always put on a great show.’

I nod. Tonight is definitely something I’m looking forward to.

Carrie and Mike decide to take the kids back home straight after lunch because they’ve had too much sugar and as Mike puts it, while wrestling the candyfloss stick from
Brodie’s sticky grip, ‘They’re about to go into a diabetic coma but not before completely wigging out.’

I’m glad they’re taking parental responsibility for that one. I help them get Brodie back to the bikes. She’s complaining the whole way that she wants to go and build
sandcastles and have another ice cream but as soon as we get close to the bikes she stops complaining and starts yelling and squealing instead. She springs free from my hold and races towards the
trailer and I’m thinking to myself that Mike called it correctly on the wigging out when I stop in my tracks. The whole left side of the trailer is painted with a dragon. Above its green and
fire-haloed head dances an army of fairies.

Carrie and Mike are staring too. ‘What the—’ Mike starts.

‘It was that boy. The one who was staring at Ren! He did it!’ Brodie jumps around and around. ‘Oh, look at the fairies, they’re so sparkly and the dragon is so scary,
ooooh,’ she squeals and points, her face a picture of excitement.

‘What boy?’ Mike asks, turning to me.

‘Um. They were doing bike decorating – to raise money for something,’ I murmur; the whole time I can’t take my eyes off the bike trailer. He did that. Jesse did it.
I’m feeling a mixture of emotions over this. Mostly they end in ‘awww’.

Mike assesses the trailer. ‘That’s pretty darn good.’

‘Oh it’s wonderful,’ Carrie says, parking Braiden into it. ‘We must go and give them some money.’ She gets out her wallet. ‘Ren, could you be a sweetheart and
give them this?’ She hands me a twenty dollar bill.

‘Sure,’ I say, taking it.

I walk slowly back through the densely packed street towards Jesse’s stall. When I get there I see Parker standing talking to Jesse’s dad. I come up behind him. I’m not
eavesdropping but I’m not
not
eavesdropping either, if you know what I mean.

‘Where is he?’

‘He’s not here,’ Jesse’s dad answers calmly. He’s not an overly tall man and his hunched posture spells tiredness.

‘Well, tell him that we’re looking for him,’ Parker says. His tone seems friendly but judging from Mr Miller’s wincing expression and the way he sighs I’m assuming
that Parker is not looking for Jesse in order to invite him to the party tonight.

‘Son, move along,’ Jesse’s dad says. ‘Jesse’s not here and you’d be best off not coming around causing any more trouble.’

‘We’re not causing any trouble, sir, we just want to clear up a few things with him.’

Mr Miller glances up and sees me then and a warm smile splits his face. He turns away from Parker. ‘Yes, young lady, what can I do for you?’ he asks, seeming relieved for the
interruption.

Parker looks over his shoulder, clocks me and looks surprised.

‘Hey, Ren,’ he says, frowning.

‘Hi,’ I say, my eyes flicking back to Mr Miller.

‘I just wanted to give you this,’ I say, handing over the twenty dollar bill.

‘What’s this for?’ Mr Miller asks.

‘Oh, um, for the decorating.’ I can feel Parker staring at me and I don’t want to say Jesse’s name but then I just think, what the hell. ‘Jesse painted
Brodie’s trailer. Tell him she loved it and thanks.’

Parker has his eyebrows raised when I look back at him.

‘You getting your bike decorated too?’ I ask.

He frowns at me. ‘What?’

‘Is that why you’re here? To get your bike decorated? They do a really great job. Fairies, dragons, you name it.’

Parker gives me a strange look as though I’m talking a foreign language and then shakes his head at me. ‘No,’ he says, then he turns on his heel and lifts his chin at me.
‘I gotta go. See you later.’

He strolls off into the crowd and I watch him go. Did Tyler tell him to come and deliver the message? What do they want with Jesse? Do they just want to talk to him or is Tyler planning to get
his own back on Jesse? My gut is telling me the answer. I decide I’ll ask Jeremy when I see him and try to find something out. I turn around to say bye to Mr Miller.

‘You have a good day now,’ he says. He’s smiling but I can see the stress etched around his eyes. ‘I’ll tell Jesse you said hi.’

I open my mouth to tell him that I didn’t say any such thing, but he’s giving me this look that seems so hopeful and kind, that I just nod and walk off.

I spend the next hour sitting by the waterfront, drinking an iced coffee and reading my book about dance culture, but truthfully I don’t manage to read more than a few pages because my
mind is distracted by the conversation between Mr Miller and Parker. After another half-hour I decide to give up trying to read and go home, so I wander over to where my bike is chained up at the
far end of a bike rack down a quiet side street.

I strap my bag to the back, unlock the bike and am pulling it free when I notice that the chain has fallen off and is dragging along the road. I kick the stand down and stare. It feels a little
like my physics GCSE exam when I was asked to answer a question about gravity and acceleration. I am drawing a blank. And there isn’t even a multiple choice. I think on it for a moment. I
have no idea whatsoever what the chain thing does or how to fix it. With a sigh I lock the bike up and walk back to Miller’s stall.