The Banksia Bay Beach Shack

by Sandie Docker

  ‘No hurry.’ He stood beside her and waited.

  As she gathered her fortitude Heath pulled out his phone and sent a text.

  ‘Calling for reinforcements?’ She looked up at him. ‘Or are you calling the local paper for a story about the useless tourist who had to be rescued from the mountain top?’

  Heath’s eyes crinkled around the edges.

  ‘Okay. Hill, not mountain. But a journalist will embellish the details to make it more dramatic.’

  ‘Just as well I didn’t text a journalist, then. What were you doing up here anyway, off the path like that? More of that special falling-over yoga you like?’

  ‘That you never saw happen, remember.’ Laura hit him in the arm. ‘I was running and got lost.’ She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Time to get moving. ‘What were you doing up there?’

  She didn’t particularly care what he’d been doing, but she figured if she kept him talking, she’d distract herself from the descent they’d started on.

  ‘I sometimes go up there to sit and watch the water. You know, away from the bustle of town.’

  ‘Bustle?’

  ‘Well, our version of bustle. It’s such a peaceful spot. The waves were pretty pathetic this morning, so I wasn’t in the water long.’

  ‘I thought you surfer dudes hung ten any chance you got.’

  ‘“Surfer dude”? “Hang ten”?’

  Heath was polite enough not to laugh, though Laura could feel his amusement as she clung on to him and they slowly limped along the steep track.

  ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to offend,’ Laura said through gritted teeth.

  ‘You didn’t. But I am thinking the sooner I get you out on the water and teach you some basics, the better.’

  Laura stopped. ‘Um. You have witnessed firsthand twice now my complete lack of physical coordination. I can fall over on dry steady land perfectly well without any help. Trying to balance on a surfboard? In moving water? I’m thinking that’s not a very good idea.’

  ‘Nah. You’ll be right. It’s easier than it looks. Especially if you have a good teacher.’

  ‘And you’re a good teacher?’

  Heath shrugged, but didn’t answer. Silence fell between them and Laura felt the pain in her knee getting worse. She had to distract herself, keep him talking.

  ‘How many people have you taught?’

  He couldn’t give a number. He’d been teaching every summer since he was eighteen. Twelve years now. He loved teaching the kids, the joy on their faces was priceless, but his favourite students were the reluctant ones who think they’re too old, or unfit, or uncoordinated. Teaching them to love surfing was his greatest joy.

  ‘People like me?’

  ‘I never said you were old.’ There was a glint in his eye. ‘Or unfit.’

  Laura hit him in the shoulder with the hand that wasn’t hanging on to him with a death grip.

  As they reached the edge of town and the smooth flat roads, the pain in Laura’s leg eased slightly, but she didn’t let go of Heath’s arm. While the pain wasn’t so bad, the wobbly feeling after the exertion of climbing back down to civilisation was a lot worse.

  ‘Dr Lapsley doesn’t open till ten, but I’ll get you to the shack and we can look at patching you up good enough there.’

  ‘The shack?’

  ‘It’s close and it’ll be open.’

  That might be so. But Laura didn’t recall seeing anything there that would be useful in ‘patching her up’.

  Limping through town they fell into silence. Laura didn’t mind the quiet so much now. She just counted steps in her head and made a little game out of it. One step, two steps, Laura takes a breath. Three steps, four steps, she lets it out again. Okay. Maybe the pain was worse than she’d realised.

  They finally reached the beach and she hesitated as they took their first step onto the soft sand and she felt her leg give way. Heath stopped beside her.

  ‘Do you need a hand with this bit?’

  ‘No.’ She couldn’t let him pick her up and carry her. She’d rather cope with excruciating pain than that kind of abject humiliation.

  He looked into her eyes and his gaze softened. ‘What about just an arm around the waist? So I can take a bit more of the weight?’

  Hmm. A compromise. She could cope with that.

  She let him slip his arm around her, trying to ignore the tingle it sent up her spine.

  It wasn’t far to the shack, thankfully, and he helped her into one of the chairs that was basking in the morning sun on the deck.

  ‘That’s odd.’ He frowned. ‘Gran should have opened by now.’

  He stood up and was about to leave when Charlotte arrived, carrying a bag. Aiden ran from her side and into Heath’s arms.

  ‘Hey, buddy.’ He kissed Aiden on the forehead. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said to Charlotte. ‘Here’s the patient.’ He tapped Laura on the arm. ‘I’m just going to go check on Gran.’

  He left with Aiden on his hip and Laura sat there looking at Charlotte, who was eyeing her with . . . well, the only word Laura could come up with was ‘suspicion’.

  ‘I was out running through the bush and tripped.’ Her words came out fast, which did nothing to soften Charlotte’s expression. ‘Heath found me and got me back here. Really. I’m okay. You don’t need to . . .’

  Charlotte knelt beside her and unwrapped Heath’s blood-stained T-shirt with such a gentle touch that Laura didn’t even notice it was gone until she looked down.

  ‘Hmm. That’s going to need a stitch or two.’ Charlotte opened her bag and Laura realised it was a first aid kit. Charlotte took out some sort of solution to clean the wound. Antiseptic? Alcohol? Anaesthetic? Laura had no idea.

  ‘Oh. What time does the surgery open? Or the hospital?’

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘It’s not worth making the journey to Ocean Heights to the hospital for something like this. Dr Lapsley opens at ten, but he’s one hundred and thirty years old and doesn’t have the steadiest of hands anymore. I’ll do it here.’

  ‘What?’ Laura tried to stand up, but Charlotte’s hand on her good leg held her in place. ‘I, um, I’m happy to wait to see the doctor.’ She wriggled in the seat.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ Charlotte looked her in the eye.

  Laura nodded.

  ‘You can wait to see Dr Lapsley, but he’ll only call me in to do the stitching anyway. I’m the local nurse.’ She held Laura’s stare.

  ‘Oh. Maybe you could have led with that.’ Whatever Charlotte’s problem with her was, Laura had done nothing wrong and she wasn’t going to be intimidated.

  ‘Okay. Fair enough.’ Charlotte dropped her gaze. When she looked up again, the hostility had faded away and in its place was the comforting look of a seasoned medical professional. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. If you’d rather wait for the doctor, I understand. If you’d like me to stitch you up now, then I’d be happy to do that for you.’

  Laura really didn’t want to wait, so she took in a deep breath and gave Charlotte the go-ahead.

  Charlotte worked quickly and efficiently. Laura had never had stitches before, but she was pretty confident the job was rather excellently done. As Charlotte finished up – dressing the stitches, giving instructions on how to care for them which Laura was only half listening to, telling her to get to Dr Lapsley at some point today to get a script for antibiotics just in case – Heath returned with Aiden.

  He pulled Charlotte aside and whispered in urgent tones. Laura couldn’t help but try to listen in.

  All she could make out was ‘unwell’, ‘never seen her like that’, ‘but I have work’. Whatever the problem was, the looks of concern on both Heath’s and Charlotte’s faces were intense. They stopped talking and just looked at each other.

  ‘Is, um, is there something I can help with?’ Laura piped up.

  ‘No. This is a family matter.’ Charlotte waved her hand in dismissal.

  Aiden came and sat next to Laura. ‘Does it hurt?’ He
pointed his finger so close to Laura’s leg she was worried he was going to poke her.

  ‘A little. Your mummy was very gentle, though. She’s an excellent nurse.’

  Aiden’s pride was written all over his face. ‘Gran isn’t feeling well. Mummy has to work today, so she can’t open the shack.’

  Heath swooped in and picked Aiden up. ‘And I’ve got an appointment in Ocean Heights that I can’t miss. We’d just leave the place closed, but Yvonne’s bringing a bus group by later today.’

  Charlotte shot Heath a look. ‘Seriously? We do not need to discuss family business in front of a stranger. Yvonne can open the shack when she brings the group by.’

  Laura watched the two intently. Heath’s shoulders were relaxed, his face calm, a picture of serenity. Charlotte was clearly agitated, and Laura suspected there was more to it than just the fact they were having this spat in front of her.

  ‘Yvonne doesn’t know how to use Gran’s fancy new coffee machine.’ Heath looked at Laura.

  She cleared her throat. Perhaps this was her way in, a chance to build some trust. She had no idea who in this town had the answers she was looking for, but she had to start somewhere.

  ‘I know how to use it.’

  Charlotte turned to face her, anger in her eyes. ‘What?’

  ‘The coffee machine. I know how to use it.’

  They had a similar one at work and she virtually lived off strong coffee when working on a difficult story. She and the coffee machine had become very good friends over the years.

  Charlotte took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Laura. But we can’t exactly leave Gran’s business in the hands of a stranger.’

  Heath stepped forward. ‘What if she came only when Yvonne was here? Yvonne could open up, be in charge, and Laura could just make the coffees.’

  Charlotte looked at Heath and then back to Laura. It was a simple solution. A logical one. Laura looked her in the eye, almost daring her to find a good retort.

  ‘You’ll be in too much pain.’ She put her hands on her hips.

  ‘Not once I get some painkillers. Besides, I owe you for treating me just now.’ She rubbed her leg just above her knee.

  ‘Sounds like it’s settled to me.’ Heath looked right at Laura and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

  Charlotte’s hands stayed on her hips, and unless she was blind she would have seen the red flush that came over Laura. Oh dear. Laura didn’t need to find herself in the middle of that. She averted her eyes and made preparations to get up.

  Heath came to her side and helped her.

  Good God, man, that is not helping. No wonder Charlotte was prickly towards her. She thought Laura was trying to steal her husband.

  Charlotte sighed. ‘Okay. As long as Yvonne’s here. Come on, Aiden. We have to get you to school.’

  She grabbed her son’s hand and turned to go. Heath bounced two steps towards her, whispered something in her ear to which she just grunted in answer, and he kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘I’ll help you home and get you those painkillers,’ he said, coming back to Laura.

  ‘No, really. I’m fine.’ She walked forward and winced.

  ‘Really. You’re not.’

  ‘Okay. But I don’t want to get you into more trouble.’

  ‘What makes you think I’m in trouble?’

  Laura paused and tilted her head.

  ‘Okay. But I’m always in trouble with Charlotte.’ He laughed.

  Well, each to their own, Laura supposed. Though she did wonder if that was any kind of way to live a marriage. Not that she’d know.

  Heath helped Laura settle onto the couch in the holiday house, set up her laptop for her, and popped out, returning shortly afterwards with medicine to help her with the pain. ‘When I get back from my appointment this afternoon, I’ll take you to the doctor and we can sort out those antibiotics.’

  Laura tried to protest that he’d already helped her so much, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘I guess this means I have a good excuse not to take you up on the surfing lessons,’ she called after him as he headed out the door, relieved she’d found something he couldn’t counter.

  ‘Only for a week.’ He winked and walked out the door.

  Her cheeks burned again. Seriously? Stop it. It must have been some sort of delayed shock from the fall, or the stitches, making her all woozy like this.

  Get a grip, girl. You have a job to do.

  Adjusting the pillow under her knee – keep it elevated, Charlotte had said – she took a big gulp of water to help the painkillers down. In the grand scheme of things her injury was relatively minor, but boy, it still hurt.

  The alarm on Laura’s phone chimed and she opened her eyes. The laptop was lying on the sofa, her notebook on the floor. She must have fallen asleep. As she moved to get up her knee was stiff, but she had to get to the shack to help Yvonne.

  She hobbled over to her handbag and pulled out Lillian’s pendant. Hanging the chain she’d placed it on around her neck, she felt the weight of unanswered questions pressing on her.

  ‘Tell me, Nan, why am I here?’ she asked into the void. ‘What am I going to discover?’

  She pushed the pendant inside her simple white shirt and did up the top button so no one could see the necklace.

  It would take a few minutes to get to the shack, so she made her way down the steps and headed towards the beach. Her knee was hurting a little, and a rather angry-looking bruise was already forming. But the painkillers were doing a good job and she could put enough weight on it to make walking, or at least limping, a possibility.

  There was no one at the shack when she finally got there and she was a little relieved. A few moments to rest before anyone arrived would not be unwelcome.

  She sat in a chair on the deck and looked out to the ocean. There was no one else around, just a long stretch of deserted beach and waves crashing into the shore. They were bigger than yesterday. And louder, the sound pounding in her ears.

  As she watched the waves, her tumbling thoughts stopped and she sat, mesmerised.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there before a gaggle of noise behind her broke her trance. She turned around and saw Yvonne leading a group of eight elderly tourists towards the shack.

  Standing with most of her weight on her good leg, Laura waved in greeting.

  Showtime.

  ‘Heath rang and told me you’d be helping out today,’ Yvonne shouted across the sand. ‘Let’s open up then, shall we?’ she said, more quietly as she got closer.

  The group she’d brought with her were like a flock of scavenging birds, going through every shelf in the shack, turning over trinkets, rearranging books in an effort to find something that struck their fancy, chattering without end. From behind the coffee machine Laura looked on, not quite believing what she saw, as they piled knick-knacks and novels into bags they’d brought with them.

  ‘Did you get that?’ Yvonne asked.

  ‘Sorry. No.’ Laura picked up a pen and a scrap piece of paper.

  Yvonne repeated the order she’d taken on the bus – two lattes, one skim cappuccino, four teas, a hot chocolate and eight slices of carrot cake – and Laura got to work.

  As Yvonne rang up the till one customer at a time, Laura prepared the drinks and cake and started ferrying them out to the tables on the deck. She hoped everyone was too busy bustling about in their frantic little shopping spree to notice the three mugs of mistakes she’d had to throw down the drain.

  Light, happy voices floated on the air as the group drank and ate and showed off their purchases. Laura set about cleaning up the insane mess making eight cuppas had somehow made. Well, she could rule out becoming a barista if her journalism career ever got boring.

  ‘Thank you.’ Yvonne patted her on the arm after tallying up the takings. ‘This crew come twice a year and it’s a huge day for Virginia.’ She tapped the bag she’d put the money into as she put it in the tiny safe under the bench. ‘It means a lo
t that you’d help out.’

  ‘Any time,’ Laura said, feeling just a little guilty that her motives weren’t entirely pure.

  Yvonne rounded up the group with shouts of ‘Next stop, home’, and they picked up their bulging bags and drained the last sips of coffee from their mugs.

  As Laura cleared the tables, Yvonne grabbed her arm. ‘Do you mind locking up? We have to get back on the road, and there’s still the washing-up to do.’ Her eyes were wide with pleading.

  ‘Of course.’

  It didn’t take long to clean and put away the mugs and saucers, and when she was finished, Laura hobbled around the shack, rearranging the shelves where Yvonne’s horde had left great big gaps among the chaos. They had, in particular, made a rather large dent in the piles of books.

  Laura restacked the ones that had fallen down, fighting her urge to alphabetise the titles as she went. That crew of vultures may be some of Virginia’s best customers but they hadn’t exactly been respectful of her property.

  Behind a pile of how-to manuals, two thin books were jammed between the shelf and the red wall of the shack. Laura wiggled them free and wondered where she should put them, given the lack of order. Did the tattered old illustrated copy of Pinocchio go with Car Racing in the Twenties, or next to the raunchy novel with a half-naked man splashed across the cover?

  The second book was covered with dust and Laura sneezed three times as she brushed it clean. How long had it been stuck there?

  She lowered herself into the old armchair, realising as she sank into its soft comfort just how much her knee was hurting now. She considered the book in her hand, but it wasn’t a published work at all. It was a scrapbook of sorts. The pages were yellowed and, as Laura turned them, she could feel how brittle they were. Ever so slowly she looked through history.

  There were newspaper clippings from the late fifties and early sixties – an eclectic mix of stories and snippets from the Vietnam War and the death of Marilyn Monroe to the winning catch at the 1958 Ocean Heights Fishing Classic. Interspersed with the clippings were a movie stub from the picture palace in Ocean Heights, and faded black-and-white photos of wildflowers and waves and surfers. The next two pages were stuck together. Laura tried to separate them, but they started to tear, so she stopped. Maybe she shouldn’t be looking through this. But then, rule number nine did say you never know where you might find an answer, so Laura always looked hard at everything.