Thirteen Pearls (18 page)

Dear Tash,
Hate to break the news, but it's too late for you and me anyway, we've missed our window and crossed over into irretrievable friendship. You're stuck with Sven. And one of the guys working on the island and I . . . well I'll leave that up to your imagination (and I can already tell you you're imagining too much). Unlike your Swedish dude, he is not in a hurry.
Luv (not in that way either),

Edie

Dear Edie,
Is everything all right up there? I know it's a delicate situation for you, but you have to tell me if something is going on that shouldn't be. The first priority is the boy. Mum sends her love (she's very excited at the moment – has uncovered a fascinating detail about critical modifications made to the spinning Jenny in 1793). I'm sorry to say that the
Ulysses
' stand collapsed overnight and the boat has split in half and is completely beyond repair. Joke. Your boat is fine. It misses you – I hear it creaking your name in the night. But Redmond's treatment of the boy is not a joke. I expect you to report any misconduct. It's a legal matter.
Love,

Dad

PS We have tried to call but can't get through. Please call us.

That would be because Aran had dropped the phone into a lather of soapsuds. I decided not to reply to Dad's email.

Outside the bakery, Leon and Aran were kicking a soccer ball that hadn't accompanied us from Thirteen Pearls.

‘How did it go?' Leon asked.

‘Good. Just catching up on some emails.'

‘Pass the baton then.'

I looked at him blankly.

‘Got to do my emails,' he explained.

‘Oh, of course. I guess I can take Aran to the library while we wait.'

The library was air-conditioned bliss. I sank into a chair and patted the stack of picture books Aran had painstakingly selected from the children's section: every single book had an elephant on the cover. (Even one with only a minuscule background elephant and the main character clearly a warthog.)

Aran was uncharacteristically attentive while I read him each story. By the time we got to the Babar book I was on automatic pilot, reading mechanically while I was thinking about Tash and the Swedish guy and how she must have felt afterwards and . . . Aran burst into tears.

I shook myself out of my daydream. ‘What's wrong?'

Aran pointed to the book through a haze of tears. I read the page again. Oh no, I'd just told him a story about Babar's mother being killed and Babar the baby elephant being left as an orphan to wander the jungle! I snapped shut the book and dragged a sobbing Aran out of the library.

‘It was a silly book,' I said, once we were slouching outside on a wooden bench, sapped by the steaming heat. ‘It was made-up. Only a story. I'm sure Babar's mother only got lost in the jungle for a while and then she came back to find him.'

My heart wrenched at his expression. Aran was only four years old, but his eyes were so clouded, he looked like he 'd been in the world for a long time; a long unhappy time. Why had there been no phone calls from Lowanna? No letters either. I shuddered at the thought of Red's reaction when I'd mentioned it.

‘Why don't we take your elephant down to the beach and give him a wash?' I suggested. Aran nodded and trotted beside me to the rubbish- and rock-studded strip of grimy sand I'd euphemistically called a beach.

The elephant looked grubbier after emerging from the water, with its wet fur pathetically plastered down. Aran clutched the dripping sticky-up trunk while we hunted for small shells and sea glass. I had a grand idea of making mosaic stepping stones in our little garden. All it would take was a few bags of cement and plastic pot plant trays. There was sand and grit enough around the island and we could decorate the surfaces with our stash of shells and sea glass. We were so absorbed in collecting our treasures and flinging each find into my bag that I barely registered when a shadow fell over me.

I looked up. Leon blocked the sun. All I could see was a fierce outline, his tousled mane a brilliant gold halo around his shadowed face.

I became suddenly conscious of my mud-spattered arms and legs. ‘All done?'

He nodded and I thought there was something strangely wooden about the way he did so, but at that moment, Aran squealed. He 'd spotted a big crab and was racing into the sea after it. I pelted down the beach and into the sea, scooping him up just before the water reached his chest.

I returned to Leon with the kid tucked under my arm, his skinny limbs flailing in protest. ‘Should we go to IBIS now?'

Leon started as if to go to the shop, then spun around. There was a new light in his eyes. They smouldered with something dangerous.

I took a step back.

‘When the cat's away the mice should play.' He pointed across the channel to the Prince of Wales Island. ‘I know the perfect place to swim.'

I glanced up at the sun, calculating the time. I didn't want to be a spoilsport, but we still had to shop and I wanted to get back to Thirteen Pearls to keep working on my project to finish before Christmas. ‘Will it take long?'

‘Nah. And it's worth it. You wait.'

Leon steered the boat right in to the shore. I clambered out and dragged it further up the sand. We tied it to a palm and then followed a sandy track that led past a strip of houses into the bush.

We walked along a flat grassy plain with a creek running alongside us. Aran dragged behind sullenly for a while, then sat on the track and refused to move.

Unfazed, Leon scooped the boy up, sat him on his shoulders like a little prince, and continued to walk.

The track twisted up a rocky hill. Periodically I stopped to flick gravel out of my sandals before hastening after Leon, who seemed to glide up the steep slope despite Aran's added extra weight. I panted beneath the blazing sun, thankful for my battered straw hat and worried that the back of Aran's neck would get burned. Trickling water was the sweetest music as we climbed the last flight of rough stone steps.

Tucked high up the hillside was a pristine waterhole, tantalisingly green, that spilled over a ledge as a waterfall to the swampland below.

Leon set Aran down on the rocky ledge before rolling his shoulders and turning his neck from side to side. Aran raced to the edge.

‘Aran, wait!' I yelled. I stripped off to my swimmers (after my first trip into T.I., I was prepared). The icy water melted my sweat away and I revelled in feeling cold for the first time since arriving in the Torres Strait. I reached for Aran from the ledge then piggybacked him around the waterhole.

Leon dive-bombed in with a spectacular splash that sent shockwaves of water slapping against my mouth. He swam to the far edge where he rested, arms folded against the ledge so that water lapped around him to spill over the lip.

‘This is beautiful!'

Leon nodded, but didn't smile. And that's when I realised what had been bothering me from the moment he'd met up with me and Aran on the beach. He hadn't smiled once this afternoon, and since I'd known him he'd seemed to have a lazy grin permanently etched on his face.

Leon turned and dived deep before emerging on the other side. He obviously wanted some space, so I played with Aran until I noticed his lips were bluish and his teeth were chattering. I settled him on a sunny ledge then wallowed in the deep water hungry for a few more seconds of delicious coolness.

There was a sharp tug at my feet. I screamed.

Leon torpedoed up, shooting to the surface beside me.

‘Very funny.'

Treading water, he said, ‘Thought I was a monster from the deep, didn't you?'

‘No.' No way was I going to tell him that there had been one completely irrational moment when I'd wondered if it was possible for a crocodile to climb halfway up a mountain.

Finally he smiled, but there was no mirth in it. ‘People tell lots of ghost stories around here. There's one about a beautiful girl with long dark hair.'

I tried to keep my face neutral as I moved my arms through the water to stay afloat, deeply aware that my own hair was swirling around us, snaking out and almost touching Leon.

‘She is walking ahead of a guy at night and he thinks he 's on a winning ticket. Only when he gets closer, and they're finally alone, she turns and she 's a hideous monster.'

I stared at him. ‘Did you get some bad news?'

‘Kristiana wants to break up. She doesn't want to do the long-distance thing.'

‘But aren't you going over there?'

‘Not anymore. She reckons she's met some guy at her uni.'

‘You poor thing. You must feel terrible.'

‘Yeah, well, it wasn't like I was that serious or anything.'

I attempted to give him a watery hug. He pulled away with a bitter smile. ‘Doesn't know what she 's missing out on, right?'

‘Right,' I said. ‘She must be totally nuts.' Speaking of nuts, I suddenly realised that I'd been ignoring Aran and glanced back over my shoulder.

No Aran.

I turned a full circle in the water. Still no Aran. ‘Aran!' No answer.

Everything went cold inside me. The dark green water that, moments ago, had seemed so blissful and rejuvenating seemed now to have a sharp glimmer, as if disguising deep menace. Where was he? Oh no – where was he!

I swam so fast to the edge that the pool became a churning slap of wavelets. ‘Leon! I can't see him. I can't see Aran.'

Leon sprang into action, leaping from the water and clinging to the cliff. He skirted around it while I bolted for the ledge above the waterfall and peered over.

‘I didn't see him go in! We would have heard a splash – wouldn't we?'