Summer

by Michelle Zoetemeyer

  Maggie looked at Mike with sadness in her eyes, the sadness no longer for her and Peter, but for him. It was time to say goodbye.

  It was time to phone Peter.

  Chapter 62

  Saturday, 5 January 1980

  I hoped as I watched Chrissy pack up the Ouija board that Shortie was still with us because I still hadn’t got the chance to say all the things I wanted to say. I didn’t know how to talk to him without everyone thinking I’d gone bonkers, but I was determined to find a way. I looked around for Tom. Maybe he could come up with something.

  Trevor was sitting in the corner eating a packet of Samboy chips. Raelene was dragging a chair over to sit next to him. I could see Ed lying on top of his sleeping bag in the backroom, but I couldn’t see Tom anywhere. I stuck my head in and looked around the room. “Where’s Tom?”

  “He’s gone to the loo.”

  I leaned over and picked up the torch. “I think I’ll go too.”

  I zipped the flyscreen up behind me so the mozzies wouldn’t get in. Instead of walking up the back yard and into the house, I stepped through the gap in the fence and tiptoed over to the fallen tree. I brushed the tree trunk for creepy crawlies before sitting down and dangling my feet over the edge. I wasn’t sure if I had to speak out loud for Shortie to hear me, or if I could just think about the things I wanted to say. In the end I figured it would be best if I at least whispered.

  Feeling a bit foolish, I asked for some kind of proof that he was listening. “Shortie? If you can hear me, can you send me a sign or something so I’ll know?”

  A butterfly darted into the torchlight and fluttered back out before I could get a good look at it. I shone the torch around, trying to capture it again, but it was nowhere to be seen. How weird; I’d never seen a butterfly at night before.

  I waited a short time before repeating my original question. This time I spoke a bit louder in case he hadn’t heard me. I wasn’t even sure what kind of sign he would send me, but I figured whatever it was I would recognise it when it happened.

  After waiting for what seemed like ages, I gave up expecting something to happen and decided to just talk to him anyway. Maybe he could hear me but wasn’t able to let me know. Maybe he hadn’t learned how to do that spooky stuff yet. I wish I knew how all that hocus-pocus worked. Then I wouldn’t be sitting outside in the dark talking to myself and feeling like a moron. It was just like the time I had to get up in front of the whole school and recite a poem I wrote. I thought it was a dumb poem, but Miss Jennings said it was the best in the whole class and that it was a privilege to read it out at assembly. I couldn’t have disagreed more.

  When I finally got over my stage fright, I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Now that the time had come, I didn’t know what to say. It felt like I’d been waiting for ages to tell him that I was sorry, but everything I thought of to say just sounded dumb. I remembered how angry I was when I found out he was dead. I was angry with Mum and Dad for lying to me and at the Dumbrells for bashing him up. And, even though I didn’t want to admit it at the time, I know that I was especially angry with myself. After all, it was my fault he got bashed up in the first place.

  Thinking about it made me want to cry all over again. I missed him so much. I just wished I could turn the clock back and start over again. It’s not fair. Shortie never hurt anyone, well at least not anyone who didn’t deserve it. He might have been a bit naughty at times, but he certainly didn’t deserve to die. Besides, I knew heaps of people that were naughtier than Shortie and they were still alive. Take the Dumbrells for instance.

  “I’m sorry Shortie,” I whispered. “I know it was my fault you got bashed up. I should’ve dobbed on the Dumbrells when you told me to, but I didn’t.”

  The butterfly flew into the torchlight again. This time I caught a glimpse of its peppermint green wings before it darted off again. For a split second, the butterfly distracted me and I managed to forget about Shortie. I knew I’d seen one just like it before, but I couldn’t remember where.

  A noise near the back fence made me jump.

  “Jenny, is that you?”

  It was only Tom. I shone my torch at his feet to let him know where I was. He walked over and sat down next to me. “What are you doing out here?”

  Not quite ready to confess I’d been talking to a ghost, I told him a white lie. “Nothing. I just came out for some peace and quiet.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you think Shortie was really with us tonight?”

  Tom considered his answer carefully. “Not at first I didn’t, but then when I felt the pointer thing move when we asked him if his name was Darren, I changed my mind. I know Trevor reckons someone was pushing it, but it didn’t feel like it to me.”

  “It didn’t to me either, mostly, but I think someone was faking it with his middle name.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because that’s not how you spell it, it’s spelled L-A-C-H-L-A-N. The Ouija board spelled out the letters L-O-K-L.”

  Tom laughed. “It did too.”

  I was certain Tom wasn’t the one moving it, but I had my doubts about Chrissy and Ed. I’m pretty sure Trevor wasn’t doing it either because he spent too much time trying to convince us it wasn’t real. Moving the planchette would have had the opposite effect.

  “What about when he spelled fire. I was sure he was with us then.”

  Tom agreed. “Who else knew about that fire; no one.”

  “By the way, thanks for not letting on to the others you knew what fire meant.”

  “That’s OK. It’s none of their business anyway.”

  I felt the same way. At the time, I no longer cared if they believed Shortie's spirit was with us or not. I had all the proof I needed and I was happy to share it with just Tom.

  “I miss him you know,” Tom said. “It’s not the same without him.”

  That was the first time I’d ever heard Tom say anything like that. I knew he missed Shortie because he would sometimes get sad about him, but he’d never come right out and said it before.

  “Me too, I hope he comes back again. You know, gets reborn like Clare said he would.”

  “That’d be weird, don’t you think?”

  I agreed. It was hard to imagine having been alive before, but I suppose I must have been at some stage. I know Tom jokes about us having known each other in past lives, but I reckon he might be right. Of course I don’t have any proof or anything; it just feels right. I hope I get reborn again one day. And Tom, too, I hope he comes back also. There’s no way I would want to come back without him.

  I wonder if I’d remember anything from this life. I didn’t think so. People would remember stuff all the time if that was the case and I’d never heard of anyone doing that.

  Tom stood up and brushed the bottom of his shorts. “We should go back in.”

  I got up and followed him in. I was just about to squeeze through the fence into the back yard when the butterfly fluttered past again.

  “Did you see that?”

  Tom looked around. “See what?”

  “The butterfly, there,” the butterfly was perfectly framed in the centre of the torchlight, “see, it’s really big with green wings?”

  Tom shook his head and looked around more slowly. “Nah, I don’t see anything.”

  I couldn’t believe it; it was right there in front of us. I moved the torch in closer so Tom could get a better look, but the beautiful green butterfly was gone.

  “You must be seeing things,” Tom joked. “Too many ghost stories for one night.”

  “Shit, I forgot to say goodbye.” I kicked myself for not saying goodbye to Shortie while I was in the bush.

  “Huh, what’d you say?”

  “Oh nothing, I was just thinking out loud.”

  ***

  I’d just drifted off to sleep when Trevor started with the goodnights.

  “Goodnight John Boy.”

  “Night Jim-Bob,” Raele
ne answered in a gruff voice.

  Ed put on his best girly voice. “Goodnight Mary-Ellen.”

  I answered as Mary-Ellen. “Goodnight Elizabeth.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Just when I thought we’d go through the whole cast of the Waltons, everyone quietened down. We were still a bit edgy from the séance. Even though no one was prepared to stick their neck out and say it was fairdinkum, none of us were ready to dismiss it as bogus either. Except Trevor that is, he was trying to act cool about everything, but I think the séance spooked him out also.

  I’d just dozed off for the second time when I heard it. It sounded like something scurrying across the roof of the tent. Chrissy whimpered in the corner. “There’s something out there, I can hear it.”

  Ed and Trevor stirred on the other side of the tent.

  I nudged Tom awake beside me.

  He sat up with a start. “What?”

  “There’s something out there,” Chrissy repeated, “I heard it move.”

  “Where’s the torch?” Tom patted the floor with his hands.

  “It’s here somewhere,” Trevor said, “I took it to the toilet with me before.”

  “Here it is.” Ed turned on the torch and handed it to Tom.

  Tom scanned the room with the circle of light. Chrissy was sitting hunched in the corner with her knees tucked under her nightie. Raelene was still fast asleep, snoring beside her.

  Ed nodded toward Raelene. “She’s weird. Fancy being able to sleep through all this racket.”

  “I better go out and see what it is,” Tom volunteered bravely.

  Chrissy nearly jumped out of her skin at the idea. “Don’t go out there. What if it gets you?”

  Trevor laughed. “There’s no such thing as the boogie man, you know.”

  “Shut up, why don’t you?” she snapped.

  “Nothing’s going to get me,” Tom said, “I’ll just go and see what it is.”

  “I’ll come with you.” I was pleased with how confident I sounded. I’m not usually spooked out very easily, but after tonight, my nerves were a little on edge.

  “Thanks.”

  I followed Tom outside and left the door open for Trevor and Ed who said they’d join us. We walked around the outside of the tent, slowly swinging the torch up and down the sides of the tent. If I hadn’t heard the noise myself, I would have said Chrissy was imagining things because everything appeared normal outside.

  Trevor and Ed quietly walked around the backyard while Tom and I did one more lap of the tent.

  “Nothing out here,” Tom reassured Chrissy through the back window. “The coast is clear.”

  I whispered for Ed and Trevor to come back in and walked back inside. Tom shone his torch around the sunroom to make sure nothing had got inside.

  “There,” I pointed, “there’s the butterfly again.”

  “Where?”

  “Right there, don’t you see it?”

  “Nuh.”

  “Here, give me the torch, I’ll show you.” I snatched the torch from Tom and swung it around the room. Ed and Trevor came into the sunroom behind us.

  “Hey,” Trevor pointed, “who got that out?”

  Forgetting all about the butterfly, I shone the torch to where Trevor was pointing. The Ouija board was set up on the table just as it had been earlier.

  “I could’ve sworn I saw Chrissy pack that away.”

  “Me too,” confirmed Ed.

  “Hey Chrissy,” I called out a bit too loudly; “did you pack the Ouija board up?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Because it’s back out again.”

  I could hear her moan from where I stood.

  “Holy crap,” Trevor exclaimed, “this is weird.”

  I was speechless. I couldn’t believe the Ouija board was sitting there as though we’d never even packed it away.

  “All right, which one of you got it out again?” I asked.

  I could tell by the looks on their faces that none of them were lying.

  Trevor was still standing half inside the tent.

  “Hurry up with that zip, you’re letting the mozzies in,” Tom said, sounding remarkably calm under the circumstances.

  Trevor bent down to zip up the tent. As he did so, something crashed on top of him from the roof of the tent, and he screamed.

  Chapter 63

  Tuesday, 17 December 1968

  Maggie went into the post office to make the call. She waited impatiently for someone to answer, nervously tapping her nails against the counter. When no one picked up for the second time, she gave up and left. She would have to try again later at the Kildey’s place. Her shopping not quite finished, she decided that she was no longer in the mood for traipsing through shops and headed back towards her car.

  It was almost impossible not to think about Mike during the drive back to the cottage. By now, her excitement had given way to wonder, and she was asking herself how she could have behaved so brazenly with someone she hardly knew. She already knew the answer to her own question, even before she asked it. He made her feel good, plain and simple. Maggie knew that she had no intention of cheating on her husband, no matter how badly he might have behaved, but she was not going to pretend that it didn’t feel good to have someone show an interest in her the way Mike had.

  She tried to put things into perspective all the way home, but found that her mind was still racing from the experience. In the end, she gave up and tried to think of something else. She looked forward to browsing through her Tarot cards and book when she got home. It might be a good way to take her mind of things. It might even provide some insight into her situation with Peter. She still didn’t know what she was going to say to him when she finally got him on the phone. The moment of clarity she had experienced back at Toronto was beginning to fade and she began to question her feelings once more.

  Instead of stopping at the Kildey’s on her way home, she decided to keep going. She would come back later and call Peter; first she wanted to see what the Tarot cards had to say.

  As she pulled into the driveway, Maggie spotted what she correctly assumed to be Peter's new car parked out the front of the cottage. “Shit!” she swore, she wasn’t ready for him yet. She climbed out of her car and walked towards Peter's new Monaro. It sure was a nice car. It suited his personality well. Then, before she could stop the thought from entering her head, she mumbled, “Good for you; you deserve it.”

  The front door opened and Peter stepped onto the veranda. Maggie turned away from Peter’s shiny yellow car and met his gaze. She thought he looked terrible, despite the forced smile on his face. He looked like he had lost weight and she could see the lines of worry etched in his face as she got nearer. Maggie couldn’t recall him ever having looked so haggard. She felt sorry for him. Until then, she really hadn’t given Peter's feelings much consideration; she had been too busy worrying about her own problems. Now, seeing him for the first time, she realised how much he had suffered. She had naïvely assumed that, because he was the cause of their problems, she was somehow the only one hurting.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he said for want of something better to say.

  His face relaxed a little with Maggie’s reply. “Sure is, it looks great. I’m very happy for you Peter; I know how much you wanted this car.”

  Peter took a tentative step forward, but never left the veranda. The look of pure terror on his face was more than Maggie could stand. She went to him. As she reached the bottom step, Peter searched her face for clues. He must have seen something there, because he opened his arms just as Maggie stepped into his embrace. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry. I missed you so much. I was so scared, I thought I had lost you.”

  Maggie could tell by his voice that Peter was crying. She held him tighter and told him that everything was going to be okay. And she meant it. All the uncertainty of the past three days was gone. In its place Maggie felt a determination so fierce it took her breath away. She hadn’t known
what she would feel until she stepped into his arms, but the moment she did, she knew they would make it.

  After what felt like an eternity, Peter's breathing returned to normal and he found the courage to take a step back and look at Maggie. A thin line of tears trickled down her face, but he thought she looked happy. He gently wiped away her tears and took her by the hand. Together they walked inside.

  No sooner had they got through the door than Peter wrapped his arms around her again. “Oh Babe, I’ve missed you so much.” Maggie reached up on tip-toes and showered his face with kisses. “I missed you too,” she whispered.

  ***

  Peter stood up and stretched. They had been talking for hours and it was starting to take its toll. At first, the conversation had been stilted, neither of them wanting to break the precious threads of hope they had woven. But in time, their need to be truthful was greater, and the conversation acquired some of its usual tempo. They both knew that just like any wound, their relationship needed to time mend. More importantly, though, they were happy to take the time, starting from then.

  “Can I get you anything?” Peter asked.

  Maggie considered his offer for a moment. “Do we still have any weed?”

  Peter smiled at her question. It was a good sign when Maggie was asking for grass. Peter knew that Maggie was very particular about when she smoked a joint and she would only have one when she felt at peace with the world. She believed that when you were high, you were able to access thoughts and feelings that were otherwise unattainable, and that unless you were in a positive frame of mind, the effects could be overwhelming.

  “I’ll go check,” he offered, “I’m pretty sure we left some behind last time we were here.”

  After he’d gone, Maggie got up to stretch. It was a perfect summer’s evening. There was no moon as yet, and with no light to detract from their brightness, the stars spattered the sky like a dusting of diamonds. The only light came from a candle that burned on the coffee table. Maggie stepped outside and watched its flame flicker in the soft breeze. She suddenly felt very alive and fancied taking a long walk, or a hike through the bush.

  “Look what I found,” Peter held up a small tin.

  Maggie rejoined him on the veranda and waited patiently while he rolled a joint. When he had finished, he handed it to her. “There you go, you can do the honours.”