The Banksia Bay Beach Shack

by Sandie Docker

  She waited.

  A door thudded shut, the old pipes that ran beneath the home hammered.

  The bathroom. Laura was in the bathroom. This was her chance.

  Slowly she stood up, careful not to make a sound. She dared to look inside. The paper Laura had thrown had landed on the sideboard. It was covered in thick black question marks, large enough for her to see.

  Another thud of a door.

  Virginia stepped back into the shadows and hurried out of sight as quickly as her old bones would let her.

  What did those question marks mean, she wondered as she raced back home. Simple doodles of a curious mind? No. Those dark inky scrawlings were the marks of frustration.

  Laura had some questions she clearly wanted answers to. Questions about her? Virginia’s stomach tightened.

  She climbed the spiral stairs of the shack and entered her flat. Without turning on a light, she found the whisky bottle and took a long swig. And another before crawling into bed.

  The only light penetrating her darkened world came from the bright moon sending cruel silver shards through the window that looked out to the ocean.

  The ghosts would return tonight.

  She knew that without doubt.

  January 1962

  Gigi waited outside the holiday house for Lily to come out. Dressed in her trusty overalls, she was ready to go hiking in the hills that surrounded Banksia Bay. It was their tradition on the second-last day of summer to take a picnic and sit among the wildflowers.

  And Gigi waited.

  She never wore a watch, instinctively knowing by the height of the sun in the sky, or by the rumble of her tummy, approximately what time of day it was. Dad always said it was the generations of fishermen’s blood that ran through her veins. Mum always said it was because if she didn’t eat every hour she’d implode.

  Gigi preferred the romanticism of her father’s explanation. And she knew Lily was late.

  Just as she was about to give up, Lily emerged from the house, dressed in what was, for her, a ‘roughing it’ outfit, but what to Gigi seemed a bit too fancy for what they were going to do. Still, she knew by now not to question it.

  ‘Sorry. I tossed and turned all night, and then I slept in. Mother thought I was sick. She nearly didn’t let me come.’

  Gigi took her friend’s hand and led her down the path before Mrs Woodhouse changed her mind and stopped them.

  They hiked until Lily started to complain – which was never as far as Gigi could walk on her own – and then they laid Gigi’s picnic blanket in a clearing. They could see the beach from here, though it wasn’t the breathtaking view from Gigi’s favourite spot in the hills. She’d never been able to get Lily to hike that far.

  They ate their chicken sandwiches and scones and Lily let out a most out-of-character burp as she sipped the lemonade.

  ‘You’d better not let Richard see you drink like that.’ Gigi snorted.

  Lily looked around as if she were expecting him to turn up right behind them – the mere mention of his name summoning him somehow.

  ‘Oh, Gigi. Isn’t he dreamy?’

  Gigi tilted her head. He was certainly handsome and seemed nice enough. Shaking his hand hadn’t sent a shiver up her spine the way touching Costas’ had, though.

  ‘When we met him the other day . . .’ She didn’t quite know how to ask Lily if she got all tingly. That seemed like something you should probably keep to yourself.

  ‘Oh, I thought my knees were going to crumble and you were going to have to carry me home.’

  Gigi conjured the image in her head and tried to imagine Mrs Woodhouse’s expression as she lugged a semiconscious Lily through the gate. She giggled and Lily’s face fell.

  ‘Oh, no. I wasn’t laughing at you, Lily. Just the thought of me trying to carry you home.’

  Lily hugged her. ‘These summers with you have been the best, Gigi.’

  ‘Do you want to make this one even better?’

  ‘Oh no, Miss Virginia Gilbert.’ She put her hand on her hip. ‘Every year you try to talk me into it and every year I say no.’

  ‘Please, Lily?’ Gigi got on one knee and clasped her hands in front of her chest. ‘You said you’d do it one day. And I declare that day to be today.’

  Lily stood and put her hands on her hips, which looked quite ridiculous in her pretty little shift dress. ‘You can’t make me.’

  ‘And I never would.’ Gigi grinned. ‘But I can try to persuade you. Do you think Richard would like a girl with a bit of daring?’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘You could tell him all about it when you see him next.’

  Lily shot Gigi a look but Gigi maintained her pleading expression. This time she was going to wear Lily down. ‘I reckon he’d be impressed.’ She put as much singsong into her voice as she could.

  Seconds ticked by. Minutes?

  ‘Oh, all right then.’ Lily gave in. ‘We can stop by home and I’ll get my swimming costume.’

  Gigi jumped up and twirled around.

  Standing on the small jetty that jutted into the south end of the bay, Lily stepped forward and back, looking over the edge and then up to the sky. It wasn’t that high up. Gigi had done it heaps of times. She knew Lily would be nervous, though. That’s why she’d brought the old life-ring from the shack. Not that Lily would need it. But maybe it would make her feel better about jumping into the sea below.

  Gigi took Lily’s hand. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

  Lily was shaking. ‘No. I want to.’

  ‘What if I go in first, and take this?’ She held up the life-ring. ‘And then you can jump and I’ll be there to help you.’

  Lily nodded.

  ‘You count me in.’ Gigi smiled at her friend.

  ‘One, two . . .’

  With a big splash Gigi entered the cool water below. She let it take her down, just for a second, before bursting through the surface. Normally she would stay under longer, but she didn’t want to frighten Lily.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she called up to her friend.

  Lily peered over the jetty. ‘Okay. Just give me a minute.’

  Gigi lay back in the water waiting, not wanting to force Lily. The sun was warm on her face and she skulled the water with small movements of her hands so she didn’t drift away on the tide. The world was quiet with her ears below the surface as she bobbed up and down with the gentle undulation of the sea.

  She closed her eyes and allowed the weightless freedom to wash over her, taking in deep salty breaths. When she was younger she’d wanted to be a mermaid, to live like this in the ocean her whole life. Losing such childhood fancies to growing up made moments like this so special.

  A large swell lifted her up and as her head rose above the water’s surface she could hear giggling.

  She dropped her legs and sat higher in the water. There on the jetty was Lily, talking, giggling, twirling her hair, with Richard standing beside her.

  ‘Are you coming in?’ Gigi shouted, and they turned towards her.

  ‘Hi!’ Richard waved. ‘I was out walking and saw Lily up here. I thought I’d see what was happening. This looks like fun.’

  He stripped off his shirt and took off his shoes. Standing there in just his shorts, his pale torso muscled, he looked over the jetty.

  ‘What do you say?’ He turned to Lily.

  She took his hand and Gigi felt a stabbing pain in her heart.

  As Richard leapt off the jetty, Lily let go. He shouted with delight as he entered the water and when he came back up for air he beamed at Gigi.

  ‘That was fun. You’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that.’ He winked.

  On the jetty, Lily looked down, hands on her hips.

  ‘Did you forget something?’ Gigi whispered to Richard, pointing towards Lily.

  ‘Oh, damn. We’d better go up.’

  They climbed the wooden ladder back onto the jetty and Richard stepped in close to a less-than-impressed-looking Lily.

>   ‘Do you want to go back to shore?’ he asked.

  ‘You two are having fun. I don’t want to ruin it.’ She pouted.

  ‘It’s okay if you want me to stop.’ He took her hand in his.

  ‘No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.’ Her pout gave way to a sweet smile. ‘Really.’

  Gigi wasn’t sure what was happening. Clearly Lily didn’t want Richard jumping in the water without her. Why didn’t she just say so? If he didn’t like it, tough.

  Richard, though, didn’t hesitate.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ He guided Lily to the edge of the jetty. ‘And Gigi and I can have a few more jumps and then we can all head into town for a milkshake?’ He touched her cheek gently. ‘Maybe I can impress you with some fancy tricks.’

  Lily raised an eyebrow. ‘They’d better be good.’

  ‘All right, then. Gigi, let’s see what you’ve got. Can you do this?’

  He flung himself off the jetty and did a somersault midair before splashing into the sea.

  Gigi rubbed her hands together and shot him a look that said, Oh, just you watch. At least she hoped that’s what her expression conveyed. She jumped and did a somersault, finishing with a salute before going under the water.

  Three more times she and Richard jumped, each time him daring her to do a trick – jumping off backwards, backwards with a somersault, a double somersault. She didn’t quite land the last one and hit the surface with a painful thud that knocked the air out of her lungs.

  But she wasn’t going to let it show and she climbed back up, ready for the next dare. She looked at Lily, who moments ago had appeared merely bored. Now she looked angry with Gigi.

  Message received. ‘I think I might be done for the day.’ Gigi wrapped her towel around her shoulders.

  ‘Let’s go get those milkshakes, then.’ Richard helped Lily to stand and put his shirt back on.

  Lily shot Gigi a look.

  ‘Oh, um, I have some chores to do at the shack,’ Gigi said. ‘Dad’s heading out this evening and could do with my help getting the boat ready.’ She may not have had much experience in this area of boys and hearts and feelings, but she was pretty sure Lily wanted some time alone with Richard.

  As she watched the two of them walk down the jetty, Lily turned around and mouthed ‘thank you’ over her shoulder.

  The feeling of knowing she’d made her best friend happy didn’t quite push aside the sense of loneliness that enveloped her. And worse. She was actually hungry after flinging herself into the ocean that many times. She really could have done with a milkshake.

  Oh well. She walked barefoot along the old jetty, expertly avoiding the cedar planks with thick rusting nails poking out.

  On her way home she stopped by the bakery rather than the milk bar – no point rubbing salt in – and bought an iced bun. Well, she promised Mrs Andrews that she’d come back and pay for it later. There was no room in a swimsuit for a purse. Mrs Andrews’ iced buns were sticky and sweet with their pink icing, and so soft Gigi could never resist one. She owed that woman quite a bit of money by now. For the buns she knew about and the ones Gigi snuck when she wasn’t looking.

  She might be on her own for the rest of the day – Mum would be at the caravan park, Dad had actually headed out on last night’s tide – but she could still look forward to tomorrow and spending the last day of summer with Lily. It was always deliciously bittersweet, saying goodbye for another year, drinking in the day with a swim in the sea and chips on the jetty and a bonfire at night.

  And then she’d start the countdown to next summer.

  Gigi wiped the icing from her lips and licked the dripping stickiness from her fingers as she finished the bun. She passed the old Parsons place – she’d have to call it something else now – and saw Costas in the garden with his mother. Gigi wasn’t sure what they were building, but there were wooden planks and wire and long stakes. Mrs Andrews had a vegie garden in her front yard, but this was much bigger than that.

  She waved to Costas as she walked by and he waved back, only to receive a clip over the ear from his mother. She must really want whatever it was to be built fast.

  Gigi turned back to look at Costas, bent over the wooden planks, his mother waving a finger in his direction. He looked up briefly and smiled and Gigi grinned.

  All the way home.

  Laura had googled late into the night until her eyes were strained by the bright light of her laptop and she rose early to continue the search. It was easy enough to find the photographer of the early pictures of the town from Banksia Bay Bush Tracks – turns out Mr Taylor was a prolific photojournalist in the twenties and thirties, though they might not have called it that back then, and his archives of work were all over the internet. He had lived in nearby Ocean Heights but had long since passed away. So that probably wasn’t going to help her solve the mystery of Lillian.

  Rule number nine, never discount a lead. She jotted this information down, just in case.

  Mr I Holland was proving harder to track down. She couldn’t find a reference to a photographer of that name with any connection to Banksia Bay. At least not in cyberspace. Laura would have to resort to some old-fashioned sleuthing. At the library, perhaps. Did Banksia Bay have a library? Laura made a note to check. Actually, a local library could be very useful. Archived newspapers, town meetings, death records – it was surprising how much you could find out from death notices. Yes. Her next priority would be to investigate the nearest library.

  She stretched her arms behind her back, and rolled her neck round three times. The sun was rising and her stomach was groaning. A quick jog, some breakfast, and then she’d get back to it.

  There was no one in town. Laura supposed it was too early, though there was a light on in The Saddler. She ran through the empty streets and then ventured further afield into the hills that hugged the edge of Banksia Bay. There were a lot of paths crisscrossing the green slopes covered in spindly yellow flowers. Some of the paths were marked with little brass plaques on short wooden stakes – ‘Wanderers Way’, ‘Banksia Bash’, ‘Lookout Trail’ – and were clearly used often. She even recognised a few of the names from the photo book. Some of the paths were barely worn, and were perhaps not even tracks.

  She ran up the hill where the banksias thinned out, turning her mind to what she’d learned and what was still left unanswered. Normally when she was chasing down a story, she carried within her a confidence that she would succeed. This was different.

  Was she going to find the answers she was looking for here in Banksia Bay? Were there actually any answers to be found? Was she on some sort of wild goose chase that, in the end, would mean nothing?

  She took a left turn.

  This was not like her. Usually running stopped her tumbling thoughts. She sucked in a few deep breaths, slowing her stride as she did.

  Hmm. Where had the track disappeared to? She found herself in a clearing of grass that swayed in the breeze but saw no evidence of which way she’d come through the trees. That was just what she needed. To get lost. And no one would know where to search for her. No one would think to search for her, probably.

  She looked about. From the top of the hill she could see Banksia Bay below, its broad main street cutting a gash through the landscape. Behind the strip of shops were a few rambling streets where blocks of houses nestled in under the banksia-clad hills. She could see the jetty stretching into the ocean and the empty caravan park on the town’s edge. Okay. So she wasn’t totally lost. Though she didn’t fancy having to navigate her way back to civilization down that rugged drop. She took a step back away from the edge and tripped over something in the grass. She tried to stop herself from falling backwards, her arms flailing about in a vain attempt to keep herself upright, but all she managed to do was throw herself forward instead and she hit the dirt hard, her knee scraping on a rock as she went down.

  ‘Damn it.’ She cursed under breath and held her leg. She’d torn a great big hole in her mauve running tights a
nd a huge gash in her knee that was bleeding profusely.

  ‘That was rather spectacular.’ A deep voice, a mocking voice, came from behind.

  She twisted to see Heath striding towards her, and she shot him a look that she hoped conveyed her lack of appreciation for the humour he saw in the situation.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  As he circled around her he saw her leg and bent down beside her. ‘Well, you did a good job of that.’

  Without asking, he grabbed her drink bottle and poured water over the wound. She winced.

  ‘Sorry. We’ve got to clean it up a bit to see how bad it is.’

  He washed it again and she held her wince in that time.

  As the blood thinned out with water, sending pink floods down her shin, she dared to look more closely. It was a big gash, wide and deep.

  Heath took off his T-shirt and soaked it with what was left in the water bottle. ‘Don’t want this to stick.’ He wrapped his T-shirt around her knee. ‘Can you stand?’

  He held out his hand and she looked at it there in the air before realising that she might need some help, just to steady herself, as she stood on legs that felt just a little wobbly. As he helped pull her to standing, pain shot up her leg and she buckled over.

  Heath caught her. ‘I’ve got you. Take it slowly.’

  Laura drew in a deep breath and tried to put her weight on her leg again. She leaned on Heath quite heavily, but could manage it. Just.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Now let’s try walking. That’s it. Slowly. Use me to take the weight.’

  Laura took a few steps around. It hurt. Like hell. But she could just about bear the pain. The alternative was to have him carry her down the hill and she certainly wasn’t about to let herself become a hopeless damsel in distress in the arms of a bare-chested hero.

  ‘I can manage.’ She winced.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Come on, Laura. Hold it together. It’s just a grazed knee.

  They hobbled back to the path she thought she’d been following before getting herself lost, to where it took a turn down the hill.

  ‘Just give me a minute.’ She stopped and took in some desperate breaths. How was she going to negotiate the way down? Even with Heath’s help?