The sun burns hot on my head and the edges of my vision tinge white.
‘Then why’d you come over the other day?’
‘To help out Norah. I am really sorry for everything that happened.’ She moves forward to touch me but I cross my arms and step back. ‘And I’m sorry we stopped being friends.’
I laugh, I can’t help it.
Tara’s eyes widen.
‘Why would we still be friends? How could we after what you did to him?’
‘What I . . . what did I do?’
‘Um, how about cheating on him?’
She sinks against the brick wall. ‘Is that what he told you?’
I shrug. Ryan told me, same deal. ‘Kind of.’
‘I didn’t . . .’ She closes her eyes. ‘It was him.’
22
Three knocks on my door and Auntie Deb sticks her head in. I sit on my bed, clutching a pillow, and stare at the wall.
‘Hey, hon,’ Deb says. ‘I’m about to get going.’ I look up at her, she comes and sits on my bed—the mattress groans. ‘You okay? You’ve been a bit out of it since yesterday.’
I’ve lost my anchor, I think. I’m just floating.
Tara was my only suspect and now the phone is gone and I miss it. The texts. The slivers of someone else, someone who missed him. Someone like me.
Of course Tara could be lying. It could be her. But the way she looked when she said what Cam did. Not just heartbroken but empty.
But it doesn’t make sense. Why would Ryan lie? Why say Tara cheated? I don’t get it.
Auntie Deb furrows her brow and looks at me with wide eyes.
‘You’re going now?’ I say, digging my chin into the pillow. She’s leaving, going back, going home. She has another life, her life, one that doesn’t involve looking after people who should be able to take care of themselves.
‘Soon,’ she says. ‘Your mum’s cooking dinner. It’s starting to smell good out there.’
My stomach flutters at this—Mum is slowly coming back to herself. But I’m scared Deb will go and it will all fall apart. ‘What about the race?’
‘I’ll be back for that. There’s just stuff going on at home and my leave’s almost up. So I gotta get back.’
‘Do you think she’s okay? Do you think we’re okay?’
‘You’re fine.’ She touches my arm. ‘I’m only an hour and a bit away.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘right.’ It’s still so much further than down the hall.
‘Okay, well I’d better finish packing.’ She waits a moment before she stands.
I want to tell her not to go but I never made her feel like I wanted her to stay so I guess it’s not up to me.
‘You’ll be fine,’ she says again, pausing at the doorway.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘for being a bitch to you before. I was just mad—mad that you had to be here, that Cam wasn’t here, that I couldn’t look after everyone myself.’
She sits back down and hugs me. ‘That’s why I was here,’ she says, ‘because you shouldn’t have to look after anyone.’
I listen to Deb’s loud goodbyes to my parents and the sound of her car droning down the driveway. The buffer she created in the house dissolves. It’s just me and my parents.
I check my phone, hoping for a text from Evan. He should be home by now. I try ringing him again and when it cuts straight to voicemail I hang up.
Mum seems almost singsongy when I come out of my room. Flitting about in the kitchen; serving out the tuna bake I’ve missed so bad. I stand at the breakfast bar and watch her. Stacking plates, scooping cauliflower rice.
‘Hey, baby,’ Mum says, squeezing my shoulders. There’s music playing—Mum’s music. All blues and roots and old jazz stuff. I give her a weak smile. Behind her a line of ants marches above the kitchen sink—rain must be coming.
I sit down at the table. Dad plonks down next to me. There’s no relief in his face.
Mum sits down, her smile still uneasy on her face. All I can think is, I’m not okay. If Mum’s getting better, does that mean I should be too?
‘Well, dig in before it gets cold.’
I move the tuna around my plate, unable to meet anybody’s eye.
‘How’s it going at the store, Jim?’ Mum asks.
‘All right.’ He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘How’s school going, Lucy?’
‘Fine,’ I lie.
‘So,’ Mum clears her throat, ‘I’m going to keep seeing Leanne, try to make it every week.’ Leanne’s the counsellor.
‘That’s great,’ I say.
Mum lets out a breath and her shoulders relax. ‘I think you two should go see her.’ Next to me Dad splutters on his mouthful. Mum stares at her plate. ‘It’s been so good just having someone to talk to. Someone neutral.’
My heart thuds hard. I can’t talk to anyone. Don’t make me talk to anyone. ‘I don’t need to talk to anyone,’ Dad snaps. ‘I’ve got enough going on at work without having to add that to the list. You know we’re screwed, right, if this Bunnings goes through?’
I glare at him. As much as I don’t want to go either I still hate the way he talks to her.
‘Just a thought,’ Mum says, chasing a pea with her fork. Dad pushes his plate away and I tighten my grip on my knife.
After dinner I help Mum wash up. She doesn’t talk as she passes me the plates to dry. I stack them in the cupboard one by one, letting them make an irritating clink. Mum lets the water out, her earlier brightness draining with it.
‘I think it’s good you’re talking to someone,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry about Dad.’ She gives me a heavy smile and walks off to the bathroom.
The house is dark apart from the pale kitchen light and the glow of the television. Dad is on the couch watching some sitcom, filling the silent house with canned laughter.
I lean on the breakfast bar and watch the light from the television cast his face in strange colours. ‘You shouldn’t talk like that,’ I say. ‘To mum.’
He doesn’t respond.
‘She’s not weak cos she’s getting help. Just like Cam wasn’t a loser because he didn’t have his whole life mapped out like you wanted him to.’
Dad mutes the TV and turns around.
I fold my arms. ‘Deb said Mum has a history of depression. Why didn’t you tell us?’
Dad stands, watching me like I might do something crazy. ‘She hasn’t been down since you guys were little. We didn’t need to talk about it.’ His words are careful.
‘But you saw Cam, right? You saw him go from not sleeping to not getting out of bed, the way he’d get fixated on stuff and fly off the handle. He wasn’t okay.’
‘He was just going through a phase, he was going to come out of it.’ Dad plants his hands on his hips, trying to look controlled, but he’s breathing hard.
‘Going surfing at night, in a big swell, that’s not a phase, Dad.’ I swallow. ‘That’s suicide.’
Dad’s mouth goes slack and a gasp comes from the hallway—Mum. She stares at me, shaking her head, her eyes welling up. My stomach knots up.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say to her. Mum opens her mouth but nothing comes out. Tears slide down her face and she retreats down the hall.
‘Go to your room,’ Dad says, punctuating each word.
‘Fine,’ I snap back and touch Mum’s door on the way to mine. Seconds later the front door slams.
Yeah, Deb, we’re fine.
23
I get off the bus and walk down the hill towards home. My bag weighs a tonne and everything in me drags. The argument with my parents has been repeating in my mind all day. I finally said something but it didn’t accomplish anything. The thick air around me cracks with a breeze and I glance up at the grey clouds rolling in over the water. I lost his phone. How? I never lose anything. I think about that damn letter book Steffi and I had. Maybe they’re in the same place. The wind picks up, carrying the fresh scent of rain. Nostalgia settles on me, making my stomach pinch and my throat ache.
I don’t know what I’m longing for but I’m swollen with it nonetheless.
Evan didn’t come back last night, and he wasn’t at school today. I have an outbox full of unsent messages asking where he is, telling him about the fight with my parents.
The house is a mess. Dirt tracked all over the floor, kitchen cupboards thrown open and the freezer door ajar and beeping. As I move to close the freezer I notice it’s completely empty. Nothing but ice-cubes and a lone bag of peas. Where’d all that food go? What about the curries Alix’s mum made us?
‘Lucy!’ Dad walks in from the hall. ‘Where the hell is all the food?’
My heart speeds up. I stare at his dirt-caked boots.
‘I don’t know. Maybe you ate it all.’
Dad folds his arms and glares at me.
‘You could cook, something you know.’ I push past him into the lounge room. ‘Where’s Mum?’
‘In bed. Where she’s been all day.’
‘I don’t believe you. Mum?’ I march down the hall and open Mum’s door. ‘Mum?’ I whisper. She’s curled up in bed. A tiny bump under so many covers. I step back and rub my arms. Outside the thunder cracks. My stomach hardens.
This is because of me. Because of what I said.
I walk into the kitchen and stare at the back of Dad’s head as he peers into the pantry.
‘I can do that,’ I say. ‘I’ll cook.’
His shoulders stiffen. ‘We’ll get fish and chips.’
‘Just say it,’ I mutter.
‘What?’
‘It’s my fault.’ The feeling is a hard ball in my chest. ‘That’s what you think. Because of what I said last night.’
He looks at me.
‘Say it,’ I snap.
‘Lucy, I—’
‘It’s your fault too, you stopped talking to us. You avoided us!’
‘Lucy!’ His voice whips through me and my insides jump.
‘What?’ I force myself to meet his hard stare. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. ‘Forget it.’ I storm out and let the front door slam shut behind me.
The wind comes in gusts, whipping my hair and blowing up my skirt. In between, humidity sticks to my skin as if the air is fighting the cool change. I jog up the hill, holding my skirt down with one hand and my hair with the other. I can’t go back home. I can’t be there.
I stop outside Evan’s house. No sign of his car. I take my phone out of my pocket: no signal. I march past his house and continue on towards the bluff.
Ryan’s place is on the other side.
Simmo answers the door. He leans against the tattered screen and stares at me with red-rimmed eyes. The air settles cold around me and my skin prickles with goosebumps.
‘Storm’s comin’, Tiny Taylor. You best get inside.’ He moves aside and I push past him. ‘He’s out the back,’ Simmo says.
I walk down the cramped hallway. The house smells like boys, paint and pot. Simmo leads me through the lounge room and dirty kitchen and into the back room. Ryan’s room. It’s more like a garage. Half of it overtaken with surfboards, spray cans and large calico sheets spread out on the floor painted with red, black and blue pelicans; the other half is Ryan’s bed, couch and TV.
Ryan lies on his stomach on the sagging brown couch, watching some surf movie with the sound off. Behind me Simmo clears his throat and Ryan holds a bong in the air without looking up. As Simmo takes it he mutters something I can’t make out, raising his eyebrows at me as he leaves. The large room seems to shrink. I wrap my arms around myself and hover in the doorway. Ryan rolls onto his side and looks at me.
I swallow. ‘Um, hey.’
He sits up. ‘You’ve never come over before.’
‘Is it okay?’
He rubs his face with his arm. ‘Totally fine. Are you gonna sit down? You’re freaking me out.’
‘How high are you?’
‘Small to medium.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’m fine, I swear.’
I sit on the couch and we watch the TV. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I thought I wanted to tell him about the fight with my parents. If he thought Cam could’ve been depressed or am I just remembering everything wrong. I focus on the surfing posters hanging above Ryan’s bed.
‘Do you remember that time we camped at Treachery?’ I say. ‘And the beach was overrun with bluebottles so we couldn’t swim?’
‘Yeah, that sucked.’
‘Cam found that cave and we pretended we were shipwrecked.’
Ryan smiles. ‘And we tried to nick all that food from your olds.’
‘Dad’s chocolate bullets.’
‘God, Cam got caned for that.’
I look at Ryan. ‘That was me. I took them and Cam took the blame.’ I remember being so scared about getting in trouble and Cam just ’fessed up like it was nothing.
‘I talked to Tara,’ I say. Ryan doesn’t respond. ‘Why’d you lie to me? You told me she cheated on Cam. She says it was the other way round.’
He rubs his eyes. ‘Did she say that?’ He sighs. ‘Cam asked me to.’
‘God.’ I close my eyes. ‘She was my friend and I’ve treated her like crap.’ My voice cracks. ‘Why did he lie?’
‘Guess he didn’t want you to know.’
I laugh through my nose. ‘Obviously.’
‘There was just some stuff . . .’ Ryan starts then says, ‘I think he didn’t want to let you down.’
I open my mouth to list all the crazy stuff he did to me, the stuff he did let me see.
Ryan mumbles something.
‘What?’
‘Do you blame me?’ he says.
‘For what?’
His gaze flicks to me, eyes red.
‘For Cam? No.’
He digs his fingers into the couch. ‘I blame me. I should’ve been out there with him. I should’ve stopped him.’ He breathes out. ‘Why wasn’t I with him?’
My eyes well up and I choke out a sob. ‘Ryan . . .’
His breath is ragged. ‘Sorry,’ he sniffs, driving his fingers into his temples. I grab his hand and squeeze it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says again and looks at me. ‘I play that night on a continual loop.’
I wrap my arms around him, Ryan buries his face in my neck and holds me tight. When he lets me go he stays close and looks at me for a long time. I study him back. His blue eyes, rimmed red and bright from crying. His hair curls around his face, hair I’m sure is only ever washed by the ocean. A heat forms in the centre of me.
Ryan runs his thumb over my cheek, brushing away an errant tear. I lean into his hand. He twists his fingers through my hair and presses his forehead lightly to mine, the warmth of his breath sends tingles through my skin.
‘Thanks for coming over,’ he says and his lips brush mine.
For a second I can’t move, can’t actually process what is happening. Then he presses harder, parting my lips with his tongue.
I kiss him back and he pulls me close. He tastes like salt and pot and everything I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. His hands are everywhere. My breath catches when he touches my bra and I kiss him harder.
Ryan lays me back on the couch. I pull his shirt over his head and run my fingers down his chest. Ryan groans. His hands are up my skirt. A thought splinters in my mind: If I don’t stop him, will we have sex? Evan smiles in my mind, all cheeky and playful—sex, sex, sex, sex.
Evan.
Oh my God. Oh shit. I push Ryan back. ‘Stop,’ I whisper. Then more clearly. ‘Stop. Stop. Stop.’
‘Sorry.’ He holds himself above me. He looks worried, like maybe he hurt me. ‘Are you all right?’
I wriggle out from under him and fall to the floor.
‘Lucy?’
I sit up and try to button my shirt but my hands won’t work. What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?
‘Lucy?’
I stand. ‘I need to go. I gotta . . .’ I can’t look at him. Evan’ll never forgive me. I screwed up, I screwed up so bad. I hold my
shirt together and run out of the house.
I walk down the hill, forcing my numb hands to button my shirt, and try to keep the tears down.
‘Lucy?’
I turn around and almost laugh. Evan’s there, standing outside his house. I marched straight past him.
He walks towards me and I step back.
‘Hey, you all right?’
I open my mouth and all that comes out is, ‘Where have you been?’
‘Sorry, I tried calling you but it wouldn’t connect. Neal flew us all up to Brisbane at the last second. Only got back to Sydney a few hours ago.’
‘Okay,’ I say.
He closes the distance and takes my hand. I stare down at the now-familiar link. ‘I really missed you,’ he says. ‘Come here, I got something for you.’ He leads me to his car.
‘Evan,’ I say, as he rifles around on the back seat. ‘I need to tell you something.’
‘What’s that?’ He emerges with a flat brown paper bag.
‘You didn’t really have to,’ I say, looking at it. ‘I don’t need anything.’
‘Come on,’ he says, handing it to me.
I slide out the object. It’s a record. The Shiver and the Shake split with The Always Circuit.
‘It’s a good one,’ he says.
I run my thumb over the cardboard edge, my throat dry and aching. ‘I don’t even have a record player.’ A tear sneaks down my face and I brush it away.
‘Hey.’ He puts his arm around me and I breathe him in. ‘We’ll get you set up. What’s wrong?’
‘Something happened.’
‘What? Tell me what’s going on.’ His voice is so kind and it makes me hate myself.
‘I was right,’ I tell him. ‘We shouldn’t be together.’
He lets me go and steps back. ‘What?’
I talk through the ache in my throat. ‘You need to break up with me. I’m a mess. You deserve someone better.’
He opens his mouth then shakes his head. ‘Don’t tell me what I deserve or what I should do.’ He locks eyes with me. ‘If you want to break up with me then do it.’
‘I don’t. I’m sorry.’
‘Then fuck.’ He throws his arms up. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’
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