by Lisa Walker
I take the card and glance at his name. Dan Ferris. ‘I’ll do that, Dan.’ I sound guilty, even to myself.
At that moment, one of the policemen up at the pool calls down. ‘False alarm. It’s a fake.’
Dan looks up. ‘A fake arm?’
‘Yep. It’s plastic.’
Dan looks back at me. ‘Anything to add?’
I shake my head. Why would you throw a fake arm with Ajay’s tattoo on it into the shark pool? It makes no sense at all.
Dan hitches his pants and saunters back to the shark pool, his bottom pressing at the seams of his navy-blue pants.
Fingering his card, I glance over at Jacq. Her nose is pressed against the glass, watching the sharks’ never-resting circle of the tank.
I’d like to talk to Rosco about this. But going to be the first to call, I am not.
22
‘Faster, faster,’ yells Ajay. The sweat streams off me. He bellows commands—ardha chandrasana, garudasana, tadasana, utkatasana, uttanasana. Straighten your front leg, round your back, lift your pelvis, pull your stomach in. My body is clumsy and disobedient. His hand comes towards me, the tattoo of a man in lotus pose flashes before my eyes. He hits me and his arm detaches …
I wake with a start. Opening the windows, I peer out, my sweaty body drying in the light westerly wind. The rain has stopped. In the gaps between apartment buildings the sky has a washed clean look. My dream lingers like a bitter aftertaste.
Jacq is up, building a huge rocket out of the Lego I got her for her birthday. Nan’s present, a hair accessory set, full of hair bands, bows, feathers and jewels, was not as much of a success.
‘Look, you can make hair bands to match your clothes,’ Nan had said, but Jacq was yet to open the box. Personal grooming is not one of her priorities.
‘Can I have pancakes for breakfast?’ Jacq asks when she sees me. She seems to have recovered from the shock of seeing the shark spit out the arm.
‘Okay, but we’ll need to go down the shop for some eggs.’ I pick up my purse and Kevin jumps up, wagging his tail—ready for action.
He’s a funny dog, Kevin. Scarred for life by living with Nan, of course, he has gas problems, hypochondria, and a delusion he’s a chick magnet. Nan always says he has a lot in common with her ex-husband. I haven’t seen a lot of my grandfather since he ran off with his secretary when I was ten, so I wouldn’t know.
‘Heel, Kevin. Sit.’ I say as we wait to cross the road. Kevin is well trained. Nan got great pleasure out of taking him to obedience classes. It’s not a coincidence that Kevin is also my grandfather’s name.
I grab the Gold Coast Times from the newsagent as we go past and scan the front page.
Fake Arm Creates Mayhem, but Where is Guru?
I scan the story.
Mayhem reigned … bull shark disgorged … celebrity yoga guru, Ajay.
Bystander Kylie Jackson of Brisbane … ‘We were just about to go home,’ Ms Jackson said, ‘when some kid yelled out the shark was swimming funny … I saw the fingers. I screamed. It was total chaos … My son Derek threw up his ice-cream all over his … It’s supposed to be a family attraction. I won’t be coming back.’
The striking tattoo … Ajay, owner of the Bikini Beach Body Boot Camp Speed Yoga empire.
Last night, the police reported the arm was a fake. There are still concerns for Ajay, however, who cannot be located. His wife Rochelle has asked for help to find her husband.
I look away from the paper. Ajay is missing.
The newspaper rustles in my hands as the breeze freshens. Below the headline, the classic hotpants photo of Ajay overlaps that of a shark.
While clearly disappointed that the arm is a fake, the newspaper still can’t get enough of the story. It continues with a two-page spread in the middle. I learn Ajay started Beach Bikini Body Speed Yoga Boot Camp five years ago and the brand is now estimated to be worth $40 million—American.
There’s a small picture of Rochelle, a still from some forgotten horror movie. She’s wearing a strategically torn T-shirt and not much else.
They’ve even found a couple of minor celebrities to give gushing quotes.
Channel Nine weather girl Sally Sergeant says:
Ajay is a spiritual leader who re-drew the map of yoga. I myself was privileged to be among the huge crowd who saw him in action last week at the Sydney International Yoga Meet. Here at Channel Nine we will be holding our breaths and hoping he’s all right.
ABC financial analyst Darryl Polglase is:
… shocked to hear of this incident. Ajay’s yoga empire is worth millions. He is an astute businessman who hooked into the health obsession of the new millennium.
I scan the page. A small line at the bottom reads, Police are still seeking a Byron Bay yoga instructor, Luna Nakamura, who is believed to have relevant information. Luna. She’s disappeared.
I bite my lip. Disappearing is bad. It makes you look guilty. The question no one seems to be asking though is, what’s with the fake arm? Why would you throw an arm with Ajay’s tattoo on it into the shark pool? Why?
Jacq tugs on my sleeve. ‘Are we getting the eggs, Livvy?’
I fold the newspaper and we continue to the corner store. Taking advantage of my distracted state, Jacq runs around tossing junk food into the trolley. Pushing past the big cold cabinets at the end, I head back up the aisle towards the cash register.
Jacq grabs my arm. ‘There’s someone waving at us in the ice-cream.’ She waves at the ice-cream.
‘Nice try. I’m not buying ice-cream. You’ve already got,’ I glance at the trolley, ‘Tim Tams, chips and Coco Pops. Since when do we eat Coco Pops?’
‘No, really, Livvy. There’s someone in there.’ Jacq grabs the front of my trolley and pulls it around. ‘There, see, behind the ice-cream.’
I peer into the freezer cabinet. Behind the tubs of ice-cream a figure in a blue singlet and floaty pants is jumping up and down. It’s never occurred to me you can get in behind the ice-cream, but I suppose that’s how they restock it. Are they stuck in there?
I look around, but there’s no staff nearby. Striding to the cabinet, I open the door. An icy mist floats over me. Through the fog, a familiar face appears. I feel a strange sense of dislocation. Like I’m in Nancy Drew Murder on Ice. Or maybe Wuthering Heights. I can practically hear the dogs howling on the moors. ‘Luna?’
Luna’s long hair is covered in frost. She puts her finger to her lips and glances from side to side. ‘Here, take this.’ She pushes a tub of Extra Deluxe Rich Chocolate Ice-cream towards me.
Jacq’s eyes light up and she snatches it.
I take it from her. ‘We’ve got ice-cream at home.’ I try to put it back in the freezer.
Luna blocks me. ‘Take it,’ she hisses. She rubs her arms. Frost is forming on her eyebrows now. Without another word, she turns and vanishes through a door out the back of the freezer.
There is so much that is weird about this exchange, I don’t know which bit to tackle first. I push my trolley towards the door, my mind spinning. Was she waiting in the ice-cream for me? Is she stalking me? Or was she planning to give the ice-cream to the first person who came along? Had it really happened? I glance back at the cabinet—there’s no sign of anything untoward. The frozen food is as neat and tranquil as always.
‘She was nice.’ Jacq gazes at the ice-cream as we stand in the checkout.
I nod, bemused. She must have been there if Jacq saw her too. So Luna is on the run. But why hide out in an ice-cream cabinet? And why give me the ice-cream? Is there a message inside?
Pulling the lid off, I peer inside as we walk back home, expecting to find, ‘Help me—I didn’t do it’ scratched into it, but there is nothing.
‘Don’t be greedy. Wait ’til you get home,’ says Jacq.
Back home, I rip the article on Ajay out of the paper and stick it in the kitchen drawer before making Jacq a pancake with a scoop of ice-cream on top. Maybe the ice-cream isn’t the point. What is the point t
hen? I rub my temples, my brain hurting.
The afternoon moves slower than a theme park queue. Jacq goes to play with a new friend from holiday program, Nan goes out with Reggie and I am left alone. This gives me time to reflect on my situation, which isn’t a good thing. I could have been swanning around in South-East Asia with my friends, but instead I am unemployed on the Gold Coast. There must be something wrong with my decision-making process.
To distract myself, I put on my Spotify mix and, turning it up loud, dance around the room. ‘Greased Lightning’ comes on, which reminds me of my date with Brandon. It was weird, but kind of fun. Maybe I wouldn’t mind seeing him again.
The dancing makes me feel better. Outside, the sun is sinking towards the horizon. There are a few clouds around, but it looks like it could be a good sunset. I decide to go out for a walk.
23
I stride along the esplanade beside the beach, weaving my way between bus-loads of tourists with cameras ready for the sunset. When I reach Cavill Avenue, I turn around. The weather to the south looks ominous now. Dark clouds are building and a gust of wind whips up whitecaps in the sea.
Sure enough, not five minutes down the road it starts to rain. That’d be right. I could be snorkelling on a reef in Thailand, but no, I have chosen to be walking in Surfers Paradise in the rain. What is wrong with me?
I trudge on, the rain growing heavier, soaking my T-shirt and running down my face. The streets are suddenly empty; the tourists have retreated. A rumble of thunder fills the air. A car pulls up beside me and beeps. I ignore it, walking faster.
‘Olivia.’
I turn. Rosco waves at me out of the window. The sight of him produces a confusing mixture of emotions. I walk towards him and stand with my arms crossed next to the car, rain drumming on my head. ‘What do you want?’
His mouth twitches into a half-smile. ‘Want a lift?’
I hesitate, then lightning flashes over the sea and the rain intensifies. I abandon the moral high ground and climb in, slamming the door behind me.
The radio plays softly as we drive along. Rain beats against the windscreen, drowning out the music. We don’t talk. I’m happy with that. There are things we need to discuss, but they can wait.
Rosco glances over once, before looking back at the road. It seems the Mexican stand-off is still in force. Rosco and I used to fight a lot as kids. Afterwards, he was always the one to crack first, coming over to my place to see if I wanted to play again. I’m not about to start changing the rules now.
Eventually he pulls over outside Nan’s flat, turns off the car and swivels in his seat to face me. He pushes his hair out of his eyes. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t fill you in on the McSushi case, Olivia. I didn’t think you’d like it. I was right, wasn’t I?’
I nod. ‘It’s still not a good reason not to tell me.’
‘No, I’m sorry. It—it seemed easier. You know how you were asking me where I draw the line?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, I draw it somewhere different to you. It doesn’t mean I’ve gone to the dark side. I’m just trying to make a buck.’
The wipers flick back and forth across the windscreen. ‘How does identifying a group of activists to a company selling whale meat fit in?’
‘I’ve dropped the McSushi contract. They’ll go somewhere else, but our hands will be clean.’
I blink. ‘You’ve dropped the contract? Did you do that for me?’
‘I did it for me, alright? Now do you want to come back to work?’
I meet his gaze. ‘Maybe.’
‘Will you kick me in the shins again?’
‘Possibly. If I think it’s called for.’
‘You always did have a good kick on you.’
‘You’re the only person I’ve ever kicked.’
‘Should I be flattered?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Are we cool?’ he asks. His eyes meet mine and …
Whoa. Was that a spark? Heat spreads over my face. ‘We’re cool.’
Rosco’s cheeks are flushed too. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Abbey and Frannie went off to South-East Asia, huh?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You didn’t want to go?’
I bite my lip. ‘I wanted the job.’
He gives me a long look. ‘Why?’ he says at last.
My tongue seems to be tying itself in knots. ‘I’ve … I’ve always wanted to be a PI.’
‘Is it what you expected?’
‘No. I guess I thought I’d be like Nancy Drew, pursuing justice and all that. Sleuthing around, solving mysteries, making the bad guys pay. Stupid, right? How about you?’
‘I suppose I thought that too. Hardy Boys though, not Nancy Drew.’ Rosco looks out the window, then back at me. ‘You’re different to how you used to be.’
My heart thumps in my chest. ‘Different how?’
‘You’re still … exuberant. But … your fuse is shorter. You get angry more quickly.’
I look out the window. I don’t want to have this conversation.
‘Did something happen in Byron?’ Rosco’s voice is quiet. ‘When you went there with Abbey?’
I feel like the car is swaying. That’s the last thing I expected him to say. We stare at each other. My mouth is dry.
I close my eyes, listening to the thump of the rain.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
I shake my head. ‘No, that’s okay.’ I look out at the rain. ‘Yes. Something happened.’
‘You want to talk about it?’
I watch the rain pound on the footpath. I’ve never told anyone except Abbey, not even my parents—especially not my parents—but now … it seems that I want to tell Rosco. ‘I was …’ I pause. ‘I was …’
Rosco touches my hand.
‘I went out night surfing. I got the idea from you. Abbey wouldn’t come, she was afraid of sharks and … this guy …’ I gnaw my lip. ‘He attacked me. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Some people came up the beach and he took off. But still …’ I think of that night. The darkness. The fear. His weight on top of me. ‘When something like that happens, you realise … The world isn’t the way you thought it was. Something shifts.’
Rosco is holding my hand now. ‘I’m sorry that happened to you, Olivia. If I ever find that …’ his voice trails off. After a few moments, he lets go of my hand. It feels cold after the warmth of his touch. ‘You didn’t tell the police?’
I shake my head. ‘Abbey didn’t want her parents to know. They would have cracked down on her. On us. And there was no point. I never saw him.’
‘He shouldn’t have got away with that,’ says Rosco.
‘No. But I couldn’t …’
‘I know. I understand.’
I clench my fists. ‘The thing that makes me most angry is, it’s not like it’s even that uncommon. It happens all the time.’
‘Some people don’t deserve to exist.’
‘I suppose that’s part of the reason I wanted to do this.’
‘Be a PI?’
‘Yeah. I thought maybe, it’s stupid, but I thought maybe I could help.’
Rosco nods.
We’re silent for a while, looking out at the teeming rain.
‘That’s not stupid,’ he says at last.
‘It is. It’s stupid.’
‘No it’s not.’
‘Yes it is.’
‘No it’s not.’
We smile at each other weakly. Whenever one of us used to say, that’s stupid, the other always had to deny it.
‘Is that why you gave up surfing?’
‘Yeah. When I pulled my surfboard out it made me feel … It reminded me.’ My skin feels too thin, like my emotions are seeping out. I look down. ‘I’ve made a puddle on your seat.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Were you following me tonight?’
He looks embarrassed. ‘I’m not stalking you. I just thought it would be easier
if we talked face to face. I’m used to you now. I don’t want to have to break in another assistant.’
It’s warm in the car and, now the engine’s off, the windows have fogged up. As the rain drums on the roof, it’s like we’re in a private cocoon.
‘What about you?’ I ask. ‘Why’d you want to be a PI? Apart from the Hardy Boys, I mean.’
‘To make money?’
I laugh. ‘How’s that working out for you?’
‘Not so well. I do have another reason, but it’s stupid.’
‘It’s not stupid.’
‘Yes it is.’ He smiles. ‘My dad was a PI.’
‘Your dad?’ I’ve never heard Rosco mention his dad. Rosco’s mum was a single parent as far as I knew.
‘Yeah. It’s pretty mixed up. He was the PI Mum used for her divorce. She only told me when I turned sixteen. I thought the guy who ran out on Mum was my father.’
‘Wow. Have you met him?’
‘No. Maybe I will one day. I know who he is. He works in Sydney. So, when I learnt that, I felt like it was in the blood. I decided I had to give it a go.’
‘Do you still go night surfing?’
‘Yeah. I do. Every full moon. You should come with me some time.’
I feel like I’ve been here before, like we’re back sitting on the wall outside my house the week before I went to Byron.
Rosco’s eyes meet mine and there’s something different in them. It’s not the flash I felt before; it’s steadier than that.
I know what’s going to happen next and can’t deal with that. I need to get out of here. ‘I should go now. I’ll see you back in the office.’ I jump out of the car and run through the rain to Nan’s unit. From the doorway, I look back.
Rosco raises a hand before driving off.
The unit is quiet when I come in. Lightning flashes outside followed by the low rumble of thunder. My mind is turning over and over. I feel raw, exposed.
My stomach growls and I open the freezer. Pulling out the chocolate ice-cream Luna gave me, I dig in, spoon moving from ice-cream to lips in a feeding frenzy. Eating always helps. It doesn’t stop the memory coming back though.
I was on my way back, head in the clouds, when it happened … My spoon catches on something.