The Days of In Between

by Peter Valentine Fenton

  Thwack.

  A boy on a surf mat collided with him, pushing him deeper under the wave, and striking him on his leg as he whooshed by.

  Now Toby was running out of breath. His chest tightened. Panic rose in him as he lunged again for the surface yet his outstretched hands only found the sand. He calmed himself as much as he could. He imagined his father’s voice: ‘Don’t panic Toby, it’s the worst thing you can do’.

  He opened his eyes; the initial sting from the salt water hit like an arrow as he fought to regain his sense of direction. He saw the sunlight above him, like he was looking through the skin of a giant jellyfish, and with his last remaining moments of breath, pushed up towards it.

  He stood up dazed and embarrassed, desperate for air, and soaking wet.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Tara asked.

  He tried to grin easily in response but Tara’s face squinched in a way that told him she already knew the answer.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said, regardless, in a tone that surprised him with its easy certainty.

  ‘Do you reckon you’re up for exploring the rocks?’ Tara asked.

  Toby hesitated for a moment. Something inside him felt strangely both happy and sad as he connected to this new friend. But he found himself replying with a surer, broader smile and a confident ‘Yeah!’ followed by a sudden peal of laughter that emphasised the joyous word.

  They made their way up out of the water, across the little inlet cut out of the sand like a tiny stream, its floor ribbed and firm under their bare feet.

  Climbing up onto the first rock, they stepped over and around the oddly shaped rock pools full of beautiful shells and the sideways-darting crabs. They made their way towards the cliff face and sat together, their backs against it, the rock warmed by the sun, and worn by the ocean’s timeless desire to shape and smooth the land.

  ‘Are you on holidays with your family?’ Tara asked.

  Toby looked right into Tara’s pale blue-green eyes and then out to sea. ‘I’m down here with my dad and his new wife ... my stepmum.’ The words felt wonky as he said them.

  Tara’s eyes widened with interest. ‘Oh! When did they get married?’ she asked.

  ‘A few months ago.’ His eyes traced the line that separated the ocean and the sky, settling on the ships that lay in the offing. He was aware of feeling awkward, and not wanting to change the mood, lifted his tone to sound a bit more excited about this recent turn of events.

  ‘She’s nice. It happened kind of fast, the wedding I mean, but they’re happy, I think.’

  Toby could feel Tara’s kind eyes on him; he knew she was listening and that her ears were kind too.

  ‘Where’s your mum?’ she asked, her voice soft in the warm air and sea spray.

  Toby cleared his throat and breathed slowly out of his nose. ‘Back at home.’ He caught himself, skipped a beat, but continued. ‘My old home, I mean ... with my brother and sister.’

  ‘Oh,’ Tara said, immediately realising that she had mistakenly prodded a wound. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay, I’m not sure what happened,’ Toby went on, explaining it as much to himself as to his new friend. ‘Dad had been acting a bit strange for a couple of years. I think it had something to do with when he was away, at the war.’ Toby struggled to describe it. ‘He used to be great but ... then he wasn’t. Some days he couldn’t get out of bed or wouldn’t talk, other times he would be sort of, really ... angry. Mum had had enough I think. Dad moved out ... and um ...’

  Glancing away from his new friend for a moment, he forced himselfon. ‘I felt sorry for him, being on his own ... so at the beginning of the year I went to stay with him.’ Toby felt his eyes narrow as he pondered his decision to live with his dad.

  Since the wedding, the move to the new house and his dad starting a new job, feeling left out was a now regular occurrence. ‘Not that I see him very much,’ he added, biting into his lower lip in an effort to swallow this sudden twinge of regret, and nodding to no one as he offered a small all’s-not-lost smile. ‘But I’m here! It’s just ... I guess I just miss my mum.’

  He looked back at Tara and noticed her jaw tighten. He felt a twitch in his eye as he realised that he had done a terrible job of disguising how he was feeling inside.

  He quickly added, ‘What about you?’

  She made a funny face briefly and quietly allowed the change of direction in their conversation to settle. She looked across the beach and shoreline, then lifted one side of her mouth in a scrunched, lopsided smile. ‘I live here. I’m a local! It’s pretty quiet most of the time. That’s why I love it when the holidays arrive ... all the people come to stay.’

  ‘People like me!’ Toby’s spirits lifted.

  Tara smiled back, ‘Yep, mmm hmm, people like you!’

  Her head tilted and she looked right into him. ‘Still, it’s sad for you that your family aren’t here together.’ Their young eyes sparkled with a touch of recognition, and the discovery of each other’s pasts.

  ‘No, not really. Not for Mum and Dad. I think they are happier now doing their own thing,’ he said with the smallest of shrugs. ‘I suppose it’s for the best.’

  ‘Aww,’ Tara said.

  Toby stopped her with a gentle, ‘Nah, really ... you know, I can’t remember the last time I saw them hug ... or anything like that ...’He trailed off, lost in his own flashcards of memory that he had yet to find the words for.

  She nodded and paused while she took a deep breath. ‘Yeah ... geez ... when Mum ...’

  Suddenly a loud shot cracked sharply in the distance. They both looked at each other, startled.

  Bang! Another shot.

  ‘It sounds like it’s coming from the wharf,’ Toby said.

  They crept along the cliff towards the direction of the shots, until the old wharf came into view, a huddle already forming at its end.

  ‘It must be the sharkies,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and look.’

  They headed quickly up the steps to the footpath. Behind them a throng of people on the beach were gathering. Toby and Tara quickly got caught up in a growing crowd as others from the town followed the gunshots as well, eager to see what the commotion was. Out beyond the breakers, the sharkies’ bait-boy in his faded red canoe was making his way there too.

  They reached the wharf just as a shark was being hoisted onto the aged wooden decking.

  Toby was astonished. It must have been more than four metres long and a metre wide. It was a pale shiny grey and quite magnificent. He felt hypnotised by its eyes, like large black discs that seemed to Toby to radiate a cold, terrifying fear.

  The only time Toby had seen a shark before was on his family’s small black and white television. One of his favourite shows was The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau. Cousteau was a skindiver and explorer who appeared to spend all his time in exotic tropical locations, filming underwater. Toby could hear Jacques’ French voice, full of wonder and admiration, as he described sharks as ‘nature’s perfect killing machines’.

  More people milled about on the wharf, as transfixed as Toby was himself. He was so focused on the shark, he was hardly aware of them gathering tightly around him.

  Toby made his way even closer to the creature.

  A small boy, no more than a toddler, crept in front of him, craning his head for a better view.

  Toby watched closely as the shark’s skin began to lose its brilliant gleam and dull, to look as rough as sandpaper. His hand now resting on the shoulders of the boy in front of him, they both leaned forward, breathing the moment in. The toddler let out a small incredulous laugh and turned slightly towards Toby. ‘Can I touch it?’ he asked, even though his hand was already nearly upon its back, an ‘ooh’ half formed in his mouth.

  Suddenly the shark’s head rose, its mouth wide, revealing its rows and rows of teeth. The crowd let out a shocked gasp as, just as suddenly, its jaw snapped wildly, barely missing the boy in front of Toby. The child shrank back, pushing into Toby’s legs in terror.

/>   Toby stumbled, backing into an older, long-haired boy. He tried to say sorry but the boy instinctively pushed him off him, so now Toby found himself floundering forward. He crashed into the back of the toddler, knocking him sideways.

  Things seemed to go in slow motion. The toddler teetered for a moment, turned around, his mouth open, his eyes sharp with a question towards someone behind Toby, then with his arms flailing either for balance or the sudden ability to fly, fell into the water.

  The sight of the underside of the young child’s sandals fixed in Toby’s mind. Behind him, a woman screamed and others moved to peer over the edge of the wharf. The boy behind Toby pushed past him, removing his singlet. Before anyone could stop him, he threw himself into the waves below. One of the sharkies, desperately removing his flannelette shirt and kicking off his thongs, dove, quite beautifully, into the water as well. All the movement seemed to stir the shark again and its head rose and thrashed violently.

  Toby was frozen with fear.

  Seemingly, from out of nowhere, a man stepped forward shouting ‘Get back!’ as he lifted a rifle into place.

  The shark thrashed again, against nothing. The man cocked the gun. ‘Move back, now!’ he shouted, louder and more forcefully this time.

  The shark’s head was now hanging over the end of the wharf and even though it must be dead or very close, Toby sensed it must know it had only one chance at freedom left.

  In the swirling chaos, a voice shouted ‘No!’

  The rifleman hesitated, seeming deeply torn as to what to do.

  Incredibly, the shark thrashed again, lifting itself up in the air and landing on its side. Just as swiftly it tipped itself over the edge of the wharf and with a great explosive splash disappeared in a dark flash of shadow, into the sea, right past the boy in the canoe, leaving it rocking dangerously from side to side.

  The rifleman stood tall, tracking the shark with his gun, with focused, small, but unsure movements. He stayed like that, his gun aimed at the ocean, long after it disappeared from sight.

  Everyone’s eyes were now trained on the water below, shifting and surging on the rocks in a frothy mass.

  Below the wharf, the older boy had the toddler in his arms. One of the sharkies was holding onto a rusted pipe attached to a pylon, his other arm outstretched towards the older boy.

  ‘Grab onto me!’ he shouted, his voice fighting to be heard above the sound of the crashing sea.

  Now, the sharkie had both boys onto the rocks and in safer territory. The toddler looked pale, with an odd colour to his cheeks. ‘You’re alright, darling,’ his mum was calling from the wharf. ‘Hold on tight. They’ll bring you up to me.’

  The small group made their way up the steel steps on the side of the wharf to the sound of cheers.

  Now the danger had passed, an explosion of talk and sounds of amazement erupted. Strangers grouped together and talked excitedly, exchanging their eyewitness reports.

  A lady in white slacks, colourful cotton top and a large sunhat looked exhilarated as she placed her camera back into its square vinyl shoulder bag. The toddler was being consoled by his mum. His tears glistened in the sunlight and her face was cloudy with concern as she wrapped a towel over his wet clothes and held him close.

  The shark fishermen in their grubby blue overalls had gathered in a noisy circle.

  The man with the rifle was furious. Toby saw Tara, his new berry-picking friend, by his side. The rifleman appeared to be shouting at her with a rage Toby had never seen before, stabbing his finger quickly, three times, as he did, to fortify his words. First pointing towards Toby, then to the place where the shark had been, and finally his finger trailed up at the sky.

  Toby understood now, watching this awful blend of words, puppetry and accusing looks, that he, Toby Rhone, was being blamed for all this.

  The sharkies stood with their arms crossed and stared directly at him. He felt so confused. His mind was racing in all directions trying to work out why he was being connected to what had just happened.

  He turned back to see Tara with her arms outstretched toward the rifleman, saying ‘No! No, Dad!’

  Her father’s head shook slowly and surely.

  Suddenly, the older boy stepped forward, his long hair wet and plastered to his head, his mouth in a teeth-baring twist, right in Toby’s face.

  ‘It smelled your blood, ya idiot ...’

  Toby’s head shook, now recognising both the snarl and the boy from the fish and chip shop, and his confusion grew.

  ‘What did you come here for?’ The boy motioned to Toby’s leg.

  Toby looked down. His left leg was stained red. The barely formed scab from the morning’s fall must have been re-opened during his collision with the boy on the surf mat, and the cut in his thigh was oozing droplets of blood, running down to his shin, which was crisscrossed with blackberry scratches.

  ‘I, I didn’t realise ...’ he stammered. He took stock of the awful situation as all eyes seemed to land on him at once.

  Before he had time to think, he found himself darting through the crowd and running from the wharf.

  Tara watched as Toby disappeared through the throng.

  ‘Hey!’ her dad yelled after him. ‘Hey, get back here!’

  Tara felt her anger rise and swung around to face her father. ‘Daaaad! What are you doing?’ She spoke furiously, surprising herself at her own uncharacteristic outburst. ‘It wasn’t his fault. It had nothing to do with him.’ She turned to follow Toby through the crowd, but was stopped by her father’s firm grip on her wrist.

  ‘Stupid kid!’ he shouted to Toby’s disappearing figure, then his eyes searched around him.

  He could see that all eyes were now focused back on him, and Tara.

  Turning his back on the crowd, his voice fell into a quiet, but nasty, sneer. ‘What would you know, Tara? You’ve either got your head in the clouds or the sand. Really? I mean, how could you possibly know anything about what just happened. What makes you the expert on sharks?’

  Tara glared back at him. She had never talked to her father like this, but her anger was now too much for her to control. ‘Geez, Dad, and what makes you the expert on me?’ Tara was shocked by her own words.

  ‘I understand, alright! Sometimes you’re as silly as that idiot boy.’

  The boy with long hair moved forward, almost menacingly, towards Tara. ‘Dad’s right, you know. Wandering off all the time, picking up with a stupid city kid. Bloody idiots all of them ... useless ice-cream lickers with all the latest toys every Christmas, roasting red in the sun ...’

  Tara glared back at her brother. ‘Why are you so angry with them, Josh? They’re just kids. Like us!’

  ‘You saw him put everyone in danger!’ her dad shouted.

  ‘No, he didn’t!’ Tara fired back.

  ‘What was he thinking, dripping blood everywhere? It smelled it a mile off. I don’t care if it was half dead. It’s their instinct. It nearly killed that little one there,’ he said, pointing at the toddler and his mum. ‘I should have pulled the trigger again when I had the chance.’

  Tara stood her ground, holding her dad’s icy look, her hands firmly on her hips. ‘It’s all that matters to you, isn’t it? Destroying them? Hunting them? I don’t believe it’s just for money. It’s like this is all you really care about. You don’t care about anything or anyone else!’

  Her dad was quick to respond.

  ‘Oh, trust me, Tara, you’ve got no idea. I do care!’

  ‘If it’s dinner time!’ Tara spat out sarcastically. ‘Then you care. Or if I go near the beach. Then you really pay attention.’

  Her father’s face was now glowing red, his voice strangled with anger.

  ‘It’s for your own good, Tara. I’m protecting you.’

  ‘From what?’ she demanded. ‘From doing what every other kid here does?’

  ‘I have my reasons.’

  ‘What reasons? You’ve never explained it. And you never cared so much about where I went w
hen Mum was ... when Mum ...’ She faltered, her own lack of breath extinguishing the words she wanted to say so much.

  ‘I have my reasons, and that’s all there is to it!’ Her father’s voice was a mixture of fury and pain.

  Tara’s fury rose to match her father’s. ‘Then tell me!’

  Her father’s shoulders slumped, but his voice was still seething, railing against his own words. ‘I don’t want to lose you, Tara. That’s the reason. I can’t lose you to a shark like I lost your mum.’

  Tara recoiled. ‘What?’ She stared at him, her mind scrambling. ‘What did you just say?’ she repeated, her voice a whisper.

  Her dad closed his eyes, tilting his head back towards the sky in regret.

  Tara’s face collapsed. ‘Mum had an accident. You all told me she’d had an accident.’

  Her dad, now deeply remorseful at his words, reached out, but the damage had been done. Tara backed away from his outstretched hand, then turned and ran.

  Her brother’s eyes followed her, his face frozen in a mix of anger and confusion, his feet rooted to the spot.

  Toby ran and ran until in no time at all he was through the rustling coloured ribbons and into the familiar safety of the annex. His eyes took a while to adjust to the lack of light. It took longer until his heart stopped its ferocious beating and his breathing returned to normal. His hands shook and suddenly he felt very alone.

  He tried the door to the van but already he knew it was locked and empty. Where are they? he wondered in silent anger.

  He lay down on the bunk bed and threw the bedsheet over himself, covering his eyes, piecing together this peculiar sequence of events: the frightened gasp as the crowd bent backwards away from the suddenly reeling shark; the look on the small boy’s face and the fear on his mother’s face as he fell.

  And the angry man with the rifle was Tara’s dad and the older boy was Tara’s brother!

  Soon the warm afternoon, and exhaustion, drew him into sleep.

  The sound of waves entered his mind, then sharp shafts of light reflecting off the ocean. Beside him was Tara and the washed-up body of the shark. The little boy approached it and prodded it with a stick. The shark convulsed, and from its mouth flew a small object.