Evan tilts his head towards me, the corner of his mouth quirked. ‘Who’s your favourite band?’ he says.
I laugh. ‘That’s way too hard.’ My words come out too fast, too loud.
He shifts closer to me on the seat. ‘Okay. Top five.’
I take a deep breath. ‘All time or right now?’
‘Right now.’
I have no idea, my brain has emptied of all information. I picture the playlist I’m listening to and rattle off any names I can remember. ‘Um . . . Jeff Buckley, PJ Harvey, Death Cab, umm Christie Front Drive, this is still freaking hard.’
Evan jerks me towards him, eyes wide. ‘You know Christie Front Drive?’
I nod. ‘Ah, yeah.’
‘I just,’ he shakes his head, mouth open, ‘I don’t know what to do with that information. I . . . um, wow.’
I smile wide, my cheeks burning and my insides buzzing. I listened to them for the first time the other day, and only because I liked the name. Evan continues to gaze at me and I duck my head, clearing my throat, not sure where that look was going.
‘So,’ I turn the tables back on him, ‘why did you move here?’
Evan’s smile drops, he lets go of my hand and gives the ocean a hard look. It takes him a minute to answer and I wish I hadn’t brought it up. I’ve completely killed our connection.
Then he shrugs. ‘Mum said it was Dad’s turn.’
‘To live with you?’
He huffs and shakes his head. ‘To handle me.’
‘Oh,’ I say quietly. ‘Did you get in trouble?’
He rubs his neck. ‘Not on purpose, not that time. So,’ he looks back at me, ‘tell me about this swimming stuff.’
I pull my knees to my chest. ‘What do you wanna know?’
‘Anything.’
‘Um. I’m a backstroker. Short stuff: fifty and a hundred metres. I got to compete in New Zealand last year. Did all right. I loved being around so many people who were as nuts about swimming as me.’
‘So, why’d you stop?’
‘I haven’t stopped.’
‘Just having a break?’
If I start to explain, to tell him half of the story then he’ll want to know the whole thing. He’ll want to know about Cam—and I haven’t had to tell anyone. Everyone just knows. I haven’t had to form the words in my own mouth.
And I don’t want to see it on Evan’s face: the pity. I don’t want him to treat me differently.
So I nod, a nod I wish was true.
‘Yeah. Just having a break.’
When I get home, Auntie Deb is sitting on the couch doing the crossword. I breathe out.
‘Hey, hon,’ she says.
‘Hey.’ I plonk down in the cane armchair. She’s got two pedestal fans whirring, plus the ceiling fan, and the combination is just right.
‘School all right?’
‘Uh-huh. How was Newcastle?’
‘All right,’ she says. ‘There’s Solo in the fridge if you want some.’
‘Thanks.’ I peel myself from my seat and go get a glass. Deb enjoys filling the house with junk food . . . not that Mum’s noticed.
‘I was thinkin’ Caesar salad for tea.’
‘Sounds good. Need any help?’
She looks up from the paper. ‘Ah yeah, that’d be great.’ I pour my drink and watch it bubble and fizz. ‘Everything go okay while I was gone?’
‘Yeah, fine.’ I scratch at a mozzie bite on my arm marking out an angry, red patch on my skin. ‘I told Dad about swimming.’
‘Oh.’ Pause. ‘How’d that go?’
‘He wants to talk to Phil and get me back on track.’
She comes over and leans on the breakfast bar.
‘Is that what you want?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Right. It’s a big commitment to make if you’re not sure.’
I rub at the feather drawn on my palm, smudging it more, then wishing I’d never touched it.
She touches my hand. Her fingers are tinged yellow from too many cigarettes. ‘I told him I quit and he didn’t even want to hear why, he just assumed it was a mistake or something.’ My voice cracks. ‘He doesn’t care. All he cares about is work.’
I pull my hand back from hers and trace the wet ring on the bench from my glass.
‘I know he can seem harsh,’ she says, ‘but keeping things in order is his way of coping.’
I nod because I understand that . . . I want that, only my order’s all screwed up.
‘How about you come ocean swimming with us. It could help to smooth things over and it might help to get you back in the pool . . . if you want to.’ The way she says it makes it sound easy, simple. Achievable. And I’m amazed she’s still being nice to me after how I’ve treated her. We’re not the easiest family to live with. If I was her there’s no way I’d drop my life to be here.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ I say and finish my drink.
12
The house is empty when I wake up. I turn up the fans and open the windows, bringing in a breeze and the incessant rev of a lawn mower.
I sit at the breakfast bar with my mug of tea.
My weeks have something they’ve never had before: time. I’m flush with it. I grab my laptop and go over my study timetable, then Google movies and TV and all the stuff I haven’t seen.
The lawn mower sputters on in the background—must be next door. I walk over to the front window and stop short.
What the hell? Ryan? Ryan is bloody mowing our lawn. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and looks up at the house. He sees me and gives a wave. I’m only wearing my tiny pyjama shorts and T-shirt. I hightail it back to my room to find some pants.
‘What on Earth are you doing here?’ I ask, coming out onto the front deck. I hand Ryan some ice water, which he skulls in a very manly fashion. I sip my now lukewarm tea and pretend not to notice.
‘Cheers.’
‘I repeat: what are you doing here?’
He shrugs and wipes his face with his T-shirt. ‘I asked your dad if I could do anything and last time I was here I had to wade through the grass. So.’ He grins and I find myself searching for signs of wear on him. Is he sleeping? Eating? Is he coping? ‘Thought you’d be out or something.’ His smile doesn’t last long and without it I can see the purple marks of sleep deprivation around his eyes.
‘What with my avid social life?’ I joke but neither of us finds it funny. ‘Thought you’d have a better way to spend a Saturday.’
He shrugs.
‘Are you all ready for that exhibition?’
‘Yeah,’ he fidgets with the empty glass and I take it from him, ‘just finishing up my last piece. Do you think you’re gonna come? Think your folks might?’
‘Not sure about the parents, but I’m definitely keen.’
‘I can give you a ride down if you like.’
My mind surges with thoughts of all that time spent alone with him and my cheeks heat up. ‘Yeah. That’d be great.’
‘Simmo and Casey are coming too.’
‘Oh.’ I sip my tea. ‘How’s Simmo going?’ I say, when I really want to ask how Ryan’s going.
He sighs. ‘Okay. He gets stoned more than he should.’ ‘And you?’
Ryan doesn’t answer. I look past him at the freshly shorn grass. Mowing the lawn was always Cam’s job—though he’d tend to blow it off.
Sadness pools in my throat and I try to push it away before it shows on my face. I focus on Ryan’s shoulder. The neckline of his T-shirt is tattered, like somebody took to it with a hole punch. Why doesn’t he throw it out?
‘What was he like?’ I ask. ‘When you guys were all away.’
Ryan sits on the steps with a heavy sigh. ‘He was edgy. Like, if he wasn’t in the water. The guys all wanted to go to parties and hook up but Cam wouldn’t get out of the surf. When he was on land he was pissy as hell.’
Ryan gives an unsure laugh and rubs the back of his head. ‘Simmo was sick of him. Said Cam was bringing the trip down. Th
ey had a massive blue, but they ended up being okay.’
I put my tea on the deck and sit next to him.
‘He shouldn’t have gone out that night. It was too rough. There’d been this storm the night before and the ocean was still messy.’ Ryan says.
‘But Cam wanted to,’ I say, almost to myself. Did he think of the risk? Or maybe the danger is what drew him so that he . . . ‘Do you think he did it on purpose?’
Ryan puts his arm around me and I press my face into his threadbare shirt.
I don’t want to let go. I hug him tight and breathe in his smell of chopped grass and sweat. I run my hand down his back and let my fingers drag at the hem of his shirt. He needs to know I’m not Cam’s little sister anymore. Ryan straightens. I don’t want him to pull back. Please don’t pull back. He doesn’t move. I touch his skin.
He grabs my hands and I press my forehead into his. ‘We can’t,’ he says.
‘Just, let me.’
He breathes out hard through his nose.
‘Please,’ I say and it hurts. That please hurts so bad.
He pushes me back and keeps a hold of my shoulders.
‘I’m not his sister anymore,’ I say and regret it as soon as I do.
‘Yes you are,’ he says.
Ryan lets go of my shoulders and I hug my knees to my chest. ‘Are we okay?’ he asks.
I suck my lips in and nod. ‘The grass looks good.’ Ryan gets up. ‘I should go,’ he says.
I nod again but don’t look at him—because I can’t look at him. He touches the top of my head and trudges down the stairs.
I stare hard at the street long after he’s left. My stomach knots together and everything in me weighs a tonne. Why did Cam go out? Why did he risk it? Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing—or maybe he did.
Stolen
I took your shirt
The one you loved
I took it off your back and never gave it back
You asked me where it was
I lied
I smiled
I said I didn’t know
You didn’t want me to have it
But I took it anyway
You took enough from me
13
When I sleep it’s never for long.
I lie motionless under the covers, eyes squeezed shut, as the familiar nightmare replays in my mind. I’m in a swimming race. One lap to go. Almost touching the wall, then everything shifts. I’m in the middle of the ocean. The night is thick. A full yellow moon hangs above me but gives off no light. I make tiny ripples with my hands in the still water. Fear prickles my scalp and I know what’s about to happen. I’m pulled under. I can still see the moon. I’m so close to the surface but I can’t break free. I’ll die, I think, I’ll die an inch from breathing. I fight. Kicking out with my legs and thrashing my arms. The grip around my ankle tightens. It’s him. I know it. It’s always him, always Cam. Fingers digging into my skin, pulling me down to join him in the darkness.
And a part of me wants to go.
I throw off my covers and rake my hands through my sweaty hair. It’s okay, I tell myself, you’re safe but it doesn’t work—it never works.
The light from Cam’s phone washes my room in a strange blue hue. I turn it face down. Stolen. I know which shirt it means. His favourite, the Dinosaur Jr one with the print of the girl smoking a cigarette. I should check to see if it’s really gone.
Jesus, Cam. I stare at my ceiling, past the fairy lights fading in and out, and I miss him again. I miss his sarcastic laugh and the way he’d eat too loud just to piss me off. My throat aches and I close my eyes against the sting of tears. My muscles tense and my hands ball into fists. I want to yell at something—at God or the universe or whatever it was that ripped my brother from existence.
I sit on the edge of my bed and fish around in the darkness for my thongs.
Sliding open the glass door, I step out onto the deck. The night air is crisp. It’s late. After midnight maybe. I duck back inside and throw my hoodie on over my pyjamas.
I creep over to the back stairs and edge my way down, careful to avoid the sensor light.
It’s pitch black under the house and I struggle to make out my hand in front of my face. I take a deep breath and walk forward, waving my arms in front of me in case of spiderwebs. Dead leaves rustle behind me as something ducks for cover. Lizard, possum, snake. I walk faster.
My heart speeds up as I jog down our driveway and into the street. I breathe the cool night air through my nose, feeling more awake than I have in a while. I’ve never snuck out before. I wonder if Cam got this rush.
If I walk straight ahead, I’ll hit the beach in less than a hundred metres. Too soon. Instead I head uphill, towards the bluff, keeping a row of houses between me and the ocean.
I haven’t been back to the beach since the memorial but I can hear it. Every night I hear it. The waves crashing and sucking back to crash again. Some people buy relaxation CDs of the ocean, of its calming rhythm, and I guess that used to make sense to me. But not anymore. Now I lie awake each night to its taunting push and pull. Its death song. Throwing nightmares upon me when I close my eyes. ‘We took your brother push; we have him now suck.’
I shake my head. A possum snickers from the gum tree above me. I concentrate on the sound of my thongs slapping against the road. Slap–slap–slap–crunch.
I stop.
Crunch. What was that? Crunch. Too heavy and precise for an animal. Someone else could be out walking. Going for a midnight stroll. I should look—there’s no one there—I should look. Crunch. This was a dumb idea. Whatever it is isn’t coming closer. It’s nothing, no one, it must be a possum. I slow my breathing, count to three, count to five, and turn around.
Nothing but front yards and the empty road.
A dog barks. My shoulders relax and I breathe out. Only a dog.
I keep walking; the dog keeps barking. I pick up the pace until the dog is a faint sound in the distance. The wind picks up as I near the top of the hill. I dig my hands into my pockets, thankful I brought my hoodie.
I step off the road into the bluff car park and walk down to the beach path, which winds around a corner before turning into steps leading to the water. I walk until I’m out of sight of the car park, nothing but scrub and sand now.
Trees rustle behind me, leaves crunch, footsteps—definite footsteps—coming down the path. I press myself into the thicket of bushes next to me. My hoodie is snagged and branches scrape up my side. I try to duck but my foot gets tangled and I fall.
The footsteps speed up.
I make one last effort to push further in but I’m stuck.
‘Lucy?’ Evan breathes out hard. ‘What the . . . what are you doing?’ He leans into the bushes and helps me out. ‘You all right?’
I pick twigs from my hair and examine the scratches on my side. ‘Were you following me?’
‘Uh, no. That’s my house’—he gestures back towards the road—‘saw you from the balcony.’
‘Oh.’
‘So what’s going on?’
‘Nothin.’ I rub my arms with my hands and shift from foot to foot. God, I’m an idiot. That nightmare freaked me out. Evan gives me a quizzical look.
I sigh and fold my arms, realising I’m in my pyjamas and without a bra. I cross my arms tighter. I should tell him something but I can’t get my thoughts straight. Everything whirrs in my head.
Evan moves towards me. ‘I’m okay, really,’ I say, voice cracking. ‘Just, um,’ I touch his arm then jerk my hand back, ‘you should go.’ Though a small part of me wants him to stay, I just need to be alone.
‘Right.’ He frowns but steps aside so I can pass.
I march down the remaining steps, the heaviness stretching into my limbs, and onto the beach. My feet sink into the sand and the offshore wind whips it up my legs. The air is filled with salty ocean spray. Even after I leave I’ll still smell like the sea. I’ll still feel it on my skin.
The ocean roar
s in my ears and I stalk towards it, balling my hands into fists, nails cutting into my palms, and I scream.
I don’t know where Evan is but somewhere behind me he lets out a loud whoop which turns into a howl of his own.
We yell against the sea and rage against the waves. I gather all the wrong and the sad living in my stomach and push it into the air. No words. Just anger. I scream until I’m empty and then I scream until I’m filled up again. It surges and swells then disappears, leaving a reckless hum in my bones. I want to dance around a fire.
When I look around I spot Evan, a few metres away. He says something but his words get lost on the wind. I watch him cross the sand between us, feeling like I have too many limbs and nowhere to put them.
He buries his hands in his pockets and looks at me sideways. I open my mouth then close it. Then he smiles and my breath comes a little easier.
‘Feel better?’ he asks.
I wonder what he had to yell at the sky about and if he’d tell me if I asked. I shrug and study the stars above his head. ‘Maybe.’
I keep expecting him to walk away. But he’s still here, even when I told him to go. My eyes flick back to his face, the curve of his mouth, and my breaths quicken for a whole other reason. What would he do if I just leaned in and kissed him?
He reaches out for my hand and traces his thumb over mine. I want this. I want to erase everything I feel about the water. About Cam. And replace it with how I feel right now here with Evan. Would it be that easy? Could I push all of it away or will it always be there? Will I live the rest my life with grief wrapped around my throat?
He glances back at the beach, then turns to me and smiles.
‘What?’
He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t expect you.’
‘To scream in the night?’ I laugh at my words.
‘Oddly enough, I think that made sense. No. Moving here.’ He shrugs. ‘I didn’t expect you.’
My eyes drop to his mouth and I bite my lip. There’s a step between us and he takes it. His hands push through my hair and I’m tilting my face up and he’s leaning towards me. And he’s kissing me.
Soft and perfect, then deeper, with more wanting. His arms wrap around me and my fingers drag along his back.
Pieces of Sky Page 10