One Would Think the Deep

by Claire Zorn

  ‘Do you like music?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. I like music.’

  ‘What music do you like?’

  ‘Smashing Pumpkins. Radiohead. Jeff Buckley.’

  ‘Same.’

  Neither of them spoke. He watched her breathing, beads of water trickling down her neck, pooling in the hollows of her clavicle.

  ‘Is this you making conversation?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  She laughed.

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

  20

  Sam couldn’t even feel the bruising on his face and the ache in his skull had vanished. The world was dripping with technicolour, a glowing, sun-flared filter that made everything meaningful and sweet. It was stronger than any high he’d ever felt. An intoxicating swirl throughout his body that made him feel capable of anything.

  He kissed her and she kissed him back, her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist. Her lips were soft, salty and sweet and he breathed her breath and it was like the rest of the universe dissolved. Her skin was cool against his and her wet hair stupidly erotic.

  When they came up for breath and untangled, that luminous expression returned to her face.

  ‘Not so much a talking man? I think I understand now.’

  It was the first time anyone had ever called him a man. It did strange things to him. He kissed her again. After a bit she pulled away.

  ‘I still like talking,’ she said.

  He reached to touch her face and she stepped back. ‘I’m going home for a cold shower.’

  ‘Can I come?’

  ‘No. See you.’ He watched as she walked away, anchoring the towel around her waist. She looked back at him once to see him staring after her and gave him a grin.

  ‘Wait.’ He jogged after her. ‘We live on the same street.’

  ‘Do we? What number are you?’

  ‘I’m further up than you.’

  They walked together. He was aware that he probably stank, but maybe it just added to the whole manly thing he apparently had going on now.

  Up the hill, when they turned onto their street, she stopped. ‘This is me.’

  He looked up at the house, built up to look over the water, timber and glass and random angles. An architectural oddity in the area, usually reserved for weekenders from Sydney.

  ‘What’s your phone number?’ he asked

  ‘Do you have some paper?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come inside and I’ll write it down for you.’

  ‘It’s okay, tell me and I’ll remember it.’

  She told him and he recited it over and over.

  ‘See you.’

  She unlatched the gate and disappeared behind the tall timber fence.

  Lorraine was out on the porch before he hit the front steps.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Her face was grey and drawn, eyes bruised with fatigue. It occurred to him that she might have waited up for him.

  ‘Oh, you know, just the beach.’

  ‘No, I don’t know. What happened to your face? Were you in another fight? ’Cause, God help me, if you were.’

  ‘Nah. Shane beat me up because he doesn’t like the music I listen to.’

  She folded her arms and assessed him. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yeah. Bit rich from someone who loves John Farnham.’

  She fought a smile and held up one finger. ‘One more strike and you’re out, mate. You got it?’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘You look happy with yourself. What you been up to? Wait. I don’t want to know.’ She turned and went into the house. ‘Just use a condom, yeah? I don’t want to be Great-Aunty Lorraine just yet.’

  Sam ducked past her and retreated to his room.

  At dusk he got up and had a shower. He went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. He dialled Gretchen’s number and stretched the phone cord so it reached all the way back to his room. He hoped it would be Gretchen who answered, but it was a woman. He took a deep breath.

  ‘Hi, can I speak to Gretchen, please?’

  ‘Sure. Who shall I say is calling?’

  ‘Sam.’

  ‘Okay, Sam, just a minute.’ There was a muffled sound and then Gretchen’s voice.

  ‘Hi?’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi,’ she laughed.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just reading. Listening to music. Mainly listening to music.’ Her words tumbled out. ‘I find it hard to read at the same time. Sometimes I can do it. If I know the music really well, then I don’t get distracted as much. Can you listen to music while you read?’

  ‘Depends on the music. What are you listening to?’

  ‘Tori Amos. Under the Pink.’

  ‘Cool. I like her.’

  ‘You’ve heard of Tori Amos?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve heard of most things. Not Portishead though, so apparently I don’t know anything at all.’

  ‘Ohhhh, you don’t. Don’t get me started. Tori makes me want to learn the piano and dye my hair red.’

  ‘You have nice hair.’

  ‘I have crazy-person hair. It’s like a clown wig.’

  ‘No, I like it.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘The same really, listening to music.’

  ‘What did you think of last night? I mean the bit when the band played, not the bit when you got punched in the head.’

  ‘Honestly, I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t tell you a single song they played. I was too, um, distracted.’ He felt his heart thump when he said it.

  ‘Same. So, do you have your own room there?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘How do you sort of have a room?’

  ‘It’s kind of a … I don’t know. It’s weird.’

  ‘Are you whispering?’

  ‘Yeah. I don’t really have a bedroom door.’

  ‘Because you only sort of have a room?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Silence. They both rushed to say something at the same time.

  ‘You go,’ said Sam.

  ‘Oh. I was just going to ask what you usually do … besides go to gigs you don’t listen to and get in fights with your family members.’

  ‘Ha. Dunno, just hang out. I’ve applied for a bunch of jobs, but nothing’s come through yet. Sometimes I skate with Jono. Sometimes I try and surf. I’m not very good at it.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. It’s amazing I don’t drown.’

  She laughed. ‘Hey, I have to go. Dinner.’

  ‘Sure. Same. See you.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Sam went out to the kitchen to hang up the phone. Lorraine was asleep on the couch. He stuck his head in Minty’s room, but there was no sign of him. Sam opened the fridge. It was empty except for cans of rum and cola. He took his mum’s keycard from where it was hidden in his room and put it in his pocket.

  He wasn’t sure if her account was still open or if Lorraine had closed it. He put the card in, punched in the PIN and watched the screen. When the machine asked him how much he wanted to withdraw he felt relief flush through him. He opted for five hundred, the maximum, and was folding the notes into his pocket when the familiar whir of wheels sounded on the road behind him. Jono stepped off the board and flicked it up with the toe of his sneaker.

  ‘How’s it goin’, Sam?’

  ‘Good. You?’

  ‘Okay. You alright, like, after last night? Sorry, I’m not really the guy you want in that sort of … situation.’

  ‘Nah. It’s cool.’

  ‘Cool. What are you doing?’

  ‘Lorraine isn’t that reliable with meals. Gotta get something to eat.’

  ‘Come to mine,’ Jono flicked his forehead to the side, motioning up the hill. ‘Mum’s doin’ lasagne.’ He held up a plastic shopping bag. ‘Forgot the mince.’

  ‘Nah, it’s okay.’

  ‘Dude, you should come. There’s heaps of us, another one’s no differ
ent.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah. Mum loves you. Says you’ve got nice manners. C’mon.’

  Jono’s dining room was full of light and noise and movement. His brothers sat along two old church pews either side of a long table. Although not many of them were actually sitting. From what Sam could tell, there were two sets of twins, which explained why Sam didn’t know who he had met and who he hadn’t. Throughout the meal there was always at least one argument going on somewhere around the table while a picture of a haloed Jesus with a glowing exterior heart gazed down upon the squabble and laughter. Jono’s youngest brother was only about four and he kept on looking back at Sam as if he was playing ‘one of these things is not like the others’. Jono’s mum smiled beatifically at Sam and offered him food like he was a street urchin in one of his mum’s Dickens novels. After dinner she served them little bowls of vanilla ice-cream with sprinkles on top. Sam felt the vague outline of a sensation he hadn’t experienced for what seemed like years: happiness. It didn’t even flit away as soon as he noticed it.

  When Sam was approaching Lorraine’s he saw Nana standing on the grass. If Lorraine knew Nana was there she didn’t do her the courtesy of leaving on the porch light. Sam could only make out her face by the dull kitchen light seeping through the venetians.

  ‘Allo love,’ said Nana. ‘Hope you’ve got a good excuse, she’s got a bee in her bonnet.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You always out this late?’

  Sam shrugged. He wanted to make a wisecrack at her, something to do with her having no right to ask questions about his behaviour. He didn’t.

  ‘’Cause I know Rachel and I know how she gets when she’s in a tizz about something.’

  ‘Lorraine.’

  ‘Beg yours?’

  ‘You know Lorraine. Mum’s dead.’

  ‘Lorraine. You know what I mean.’

  ‘She know you’re here?’

  ‘Yes, love. She knows.’

  ‘So I’m the consolation prize?’ Sam asked. ‘Like, you stuffed it with your own kids so you’re left with me?’

  ‘No. She’s not a kid. She doesn’t need me.’

  ‘And I do now? Like, as opposed to seven years ago? Two-and-a-half months ago?’

  She regarded him for a moment and didn’t answer the question. ‘Will I see you tomorrow afternoon?’

  ‘What’s tomorrow afternoon?’

  ‘Going out for a swim with Michael.’

  He laughed before he could catch it.

  ‘You think it’s funny, do you, mister? Watch out or I’ll wear me bikini.’

  She was back with those words. The flickering, sharp laughing woman who raised his mother and made scones.

  ‘We’ll go blind.’

  ‘Mind your manners, young man.’ She was smiling his mother’s smile and he felt the gut-lurching pull toward her.

  ‘What is it with this family and water?’ he asked.

  ‘Buggered if I know, love. I just like being out there. There’s nothing like it. You know, in the thirty-four years I was with your grandfather he never once walked on a beach or swam in the sea? I thought I would dry up completely.’

  ‘Lucky he’s gone, hey?’

  ‘Love, I didn’t mean … Will you come out with us tomorrow? Going to swim point to point. Michael thinks he can beat me, but I doubt it.’

  ‘No. I’ve got something on.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘How do you know it’s a girl?’

  ‘Written all over your face, love. Well, goodnight then. Hooroo.’

  ‘Night, Nana.’

  Sam closed the door behind him only to face Lorraine nursing a can of rum and cola on the couch.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ she asked.

  ‘Out. At a friend’s.’

  ‘Look buddy, let’s get it straight. I was willin’ to cut you some slack ’cause you’ve lost Rachel and I know it looks all loose and free and easy with Michael and Shane and me, very alternative or whatever, but I always know where they are. Minty as least. You can’t just disappear until eleven at night and not tell me where you are. Pick up the bloody phone, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘I don’t know the number.’

  ‘What?!’ her voice grew high and screechy. ‘How can you be livin’ here for nearly three months and not know the bloody phone number?’

  ‘I mean, I got it written down somewhere. I just, you know, didn’t have it on me.’

  ‘43 67 98. Repeat it.’

  He did.

  ‘Again … Again … Again. Jeezus in heaven.’ She looked up at the ceiling. ‘If she knew! She’d kill me if you were out and I didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘You know Nana’s out there?’

  ‘Yes. She’s me bloody stalker, she is. What a happy little picture we are.’ She slogged back the rest of the can and got to her feet. ‘I’m gonna go to bed. Call me next time.’ Lorraine paused when she got to the bedroom doorway. ‘And for your information, that’s the only one I’ve had tonight. Smoked a butt-load of fags, but only had one drink. Just in case she was telling you I need AA.’

  ‘Sure. Yep.’

  ‘I thought you’d taken off. Call next time.’

  ‘Yep. Sorry.’

  21

  Sam always went surfing with Minty and Ruby on Sunday morning. It was his favourite time to go, Shane was never there because he was always hungover from the night before. Sam got up and found Minty out on the front lawn waxing his board and whistling. A little further down the road, Maddie Clark was walking away in tiny shorts and Minty’s T-shirt, pulling her bleached hair into a ponytail.

  ‘Sammy!’ Every time he saw Sam he still had that look of pleased surprise, like overnight he had forgotten Sam lived at his house. ‘How’s it goin’, brah?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Good? You’re never good, man, you’re always alright.’

  ‘I’m good.’

  Minty’s grin grew wider, a Cheshire glare of white teeth against a golden face.

  ‘Have a good night? I had a good night.’

  Sam took his board from where it was leaning against the wall and they started up the road toward the beach.

  ‘You look good, brah, not as white. Not as weedy either.’

  It was true, he felt different. He felt strong.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘It’s working for you.’

  Up on the headland they passed Gretchen’s house and Sam looked up to the balcony. She was there, one ankle up on the balcony rail, stretching in her running shorts and faded ‘Zero’ T-shirt. Minty followed Sam’s gaze.

  ‘Bugger me. Never seen that before.’

  ‘Never seen her before, Mint.’

  ‘Whatever, brah. Damn.’

  She looked down, saw them and smiled.

  ‘Hey, Sam.’

  ‘Hey. You been for a run?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How far?’

  She screwed up her face in thought. ‘Fourteen ks.’

  ‘Shit.’

  She shrugged. ‘I like it.’

  ‘I can tell.’

  Minty was looking at him with his eyebrows raised.

  ‘Mint, this is Gretchen. I know her—’

  Minty leaned on his board, reaching an arm up to the nose and accentuating every muscle in his torso. He fixed Gretchen in his stare and unleashed the smile. ‘How’s it goin’?’

  ‘Good thanks.’

  ‘How come I’ve never seen you before?’

  ‘You’ve seen me before.’

  ‘Nah. I’d remember you.’

  ‘I don’t usually hang out in a bikini, so probably not.’ Sam could tell she was proud of her dig at Minty. He hoped Gretchen picked up on the vibe that he thought his cousin was ridiculous.

  ‘I’ll see you,’ Sam said. ‘You home later? Like, lunch?’

  ‘Yep. Should be.’

  ‘I’ll come by.

  They walked away, Mint
y turning so he was watching her and walking backwards.

  ‘Put it away, man.’

  He laughed. ‘That her? Shit. Let me know when you’re finished.’

  It was the first time he had ever felt anything other than affection for his cousin.

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘What? I mean she’s hot.’

  ‘Well, don’t say it like that.’

  ‘Whoa. Okaaaay. Touchy, ay? I get it. Whatever I said, I’m sorry, brah.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Ruby was already in the water when they got to the drop-off. The swell was what Sam would call big and Minty would call small. The waves were consistent and regular enough for Sam to catch a few and even have time to attempt to stand up. Minty and everyone else called this a pop-up, but every time Sam tried to use surfer language the words felt clumsy and false in his mouth, like he was only reinforcing his outsider status. That said, he was getting better at reading the water, understanding where the rips were and that they were a surfer’s friend, used to get out to the line-up as efficiently as possible. He was also better at timing his take-off with a wave and predicting the regularity of the sets. It was something Minty did innately, as naturally as walking or breathing. After three hours in the water he, Minty and Ruby climbed the slope back up to the headland and sat on the bluff overlooking the water.

  ‘You’re doing good, brah,’ said Minty.

  ‘Yeah. Right.’

  ‘No, serious, serious. I see you, brah. You just got to balance yourself more even on the rails. Feel the water under you, brah. Move with it.’

  ‘I don’t know how to do that.’

  Minty laughed but didn’t offer any insight.

  ‘You’re full of shit, Mint,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Maybe, Rube, but we’ll see who goes all the way.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll go all the way Mint, just not with you.’

  ‘Both of you, shut up. Seriously,’ said Sam.

  ‘You seen Sammy’s girlfriend?’

  ‘And don’t go anywhere near Gretchen.’

  ‘Ha. Sure thing.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘Whoa. Who’s Gretchen?’ asked Ruby. ‘Gretchen Luke? That rich girl? She’s in my English class.’

  Sam bit his lip and tried to concentrate on not blushing, as if it was possible to stop it.