She turned the next page and found herself looking at a school photo. It was a small group of twenty-one kids ranging in age from five to late teens. The little blackboard in front of the group read, ‘Banksia Bay Central School, whole school, 1962.’
The students’ heads were held high and they all wore smiles, except the boy with dark skin in the second-back row, standing just off to the side.
Under the photo someone had handwritten all the names in very neat script. Laura read through them and stopped when she got to Costas Tinellis, not just because the name stood out among the Jacks and Todds and Michaels that surrounded him, but also because the name was circled in pink pencil.
She counted the names and then the faces in the photo. Costas was the boy standing just a bit away from the others, his skin dark, his face sad.
Running her finger along the names, she kept reading until she got to ‘me’. Again she counted and stopped on ‘me’ – a face that was now familiar to her, a face she had looked at so many times standing next to Lillian on the beach. The girl had the same mischievous eyes and unruly hair.
‘Hello, Gigi,’ Laura whispered.
Stuck onto the next page was a collage of cut-up photos. Most were either too blurry or the figures too tiny to make anything out other than basic shapes, a building in the background, or the beach. She brought the scrapbook closer to her face to try to see some detail.
‘Can I help you with anything?’
A croaky voice from behind startled Laura and she dropped the scrapbook, fumbling it with both hands to stop it from falling to the floor. In what she was sure was hardly a graceful move, she managed to catch the scrapbook, spin around and put one hand on the armchair for support, looking ever so casually back at Virginia.
‘Oh. Hi. Are you feeling better?’
‘Much. Thank you. What have you got there?’ Virginia pointed to the scrapbook in Laura’s hand.
‘I was tidying up after Yvonne’s bus load came through. Man, do they know how to decimate shelves. Anyway, I was restacking all the books they’d knocked over and found this stuck behind the shelf. And –’ she turned and pulled out the Pinocchio book – ‘this too. They were stuck together.’
Virginia stepped forward, ignoring Pinocchio, and took the scrapbook in both hands. She let out a long breath. ‘I haven’t seen this in . . .’ She looked up to Laura and her expression turned hard. ‘Thank you for tidying up. And for helping today.’
‘That’s okay. It was kind of fun.’
‘Would you like to help out tomorrow, too? If I have a turn like this, it can take me a few days to recover.’
Laura stared at Virginia, who was holding the scrapbook so tightly her knuckles were turning white. She wasn’t sure what the old lady’s true motive was, but she was absolutely sure she’d stumbled on something – rule number three, trust your instincts – and she couldn’t say no.
‘Of course. I’d be happy to help out, if I can.’
‘Great. Swing by at nine, then. If that suits you.’
Laura agreed.
‘Virginia Gilbert, what are you doing out of bed?’ Charlotte’s shrill voice cut through the shack.
As Charlotte felt her forehead, Virginia pushed her away, insisting she was fine.
‘Thank you.’ Charlotte turned to Laura, her face softening slightly. ‘We really do appreciate you helping us out today. Yvonne said they all loved your coffee and she couldn’t have done it without you.’
Laura wondered how Charlotte had had a chance to get a report from Yvonne already, but she supposed one would have called the other straight away. That was how small towns worked, wasn’t it? The ‘bush telegraph’, they called it. She’d done a story on it early in her career. More effective than any postal service or spy organisation in the world.
Surely that would make finding out information on Lily and Gigi easier. Perhaps . . .
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Laura,’ Virginia said and waved as she headed up the spiral staircase. ‘You’ll lock up, Charlotte, won’t you?’
‘Tomorrow?’ Charlotte looked at Laura, her eyes wide.
‘Virginia asked if I could help out again. I’m not doing anything else, so I figured I may as well.’
Charlotte huffed. And then actually puffed.
‘Laura.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’m going to be frank with you. One of my things, my special talents, is reading people. I sense you’re hiding something. And every time I turn around, there you are with my family. With Heath, with Gran. I don’t like it when people mess with my family.’
Laura looked Charlotte in the eye. ‘I assure you, I am not here to harm your family.’ She thought about adding more – reiterating that she was just here to write a travel piece. But if Charlotte was a good reader of people, she’d see through that. If Laura stuck to the simple truth, and it was the truth that she had no intention of hurting anyone, maybe Charlotte would believe her.
‘Okay, then.’ Charlotte seemed to accept her word. ‘I’d better go up and check on the old duck.’
‘Something tells me Virginia isn’t going to take too kindly to that.’ Laura smiled and Charlotte let out a little snort.
I can read people too, thought Laura as she left the shack. And she just knew Virginia was an important piece of the puzzle. The way she held on to that scrapbook. What if . . . No, that couldn’t be. But maybe . . .
Laura picked up her pace, cursing the fact she couldn’t jog with her injured knee. Damn. She wouldn’t be able to go for her usual morning run for a few days either. She hobbled as quickly as she could back to the house and pulled out her laptop as she flung herself onto the sofa.
Google to the rescue again – nicknames for Virginia.
Gin.
Ginny.
Geena.
Vivi.
And there it was.
Gigi.
‘Yes!’ she shouted. Virginia Gilbert of the shack was Gigi of the photo.
‘You did what?’ Yvonne’s voice rang through her kitchen, much louder than Virginia was expecting.
‘I asked Miss Laura to help me today,’ Virginia repeated.
‘No. The other bit. You spied on her the other night?’
‘Close your mouth, Yvonne. I think we can both agree now that her being here is no coincidence. The way she was studying this . . .’ She handed the scrapbook to her friend. ‘I think it might be safer if you hang on to this while she’s here.’
Yvonne stroked the cover. ‘Maybe. Or maybe she was just fascinated because it’s really old. But if she’s here to . . . well, you know . . . then why do you want her in the shack? Shouldn’t you be keeping your distance?’
Virginia took her old friend by the shoulders. ‘You know what they say. Keep your friends close —’
‘— and your enemies closer. I’d hardly call her an enemy, though.’
Beautiful, sweet Yvonne. She never wanted to see the bad in anyone, even after everything she’d witnessed, everything she’d been through in her life.
‘Maybe not. The truth is that we don’t know.’ Virginia eased into the dining chair, in front of the tea and toast Yvonne had made her for breakfast.
Yvonne sat beside her and Virginia took her hands, their contrast stark. Yvonne’s so tanned from decades in the surf, so strong still. Unlike hers, so weak and frail. Wrinkled hands. Pale hands.
Haunted hands.
‘Virginia?’
Virginia forced her fear aside. ‘It will be all right, Yvonne. Whatever she’s here for. It will be all right. We’ve carried this with us for so long now.’ She reached out and stroked Yvonne’s hair. ‘And it was a burden you should never have had to carry.’
Yvonne squeezed her hand. ‘It’s never been a burden. A secret held in love never is.’
Virginia hugged her tightly. She didn’t deserve a friend like Yvonne.
Pulling herself together she broke away and nibbled on the toast and marmalade.
‘I’d better figure out what I’m going to ge
t that girl to do though, or she’ll know something’s up.’
‘How’s Charlotte going to react to her helping in the shack? You know what she can be like.’
Oh yes, Virginia knew all too well. A tyrant when it came to looking out for her family; ‘overbearing’ wasn’t too harsh a word.
‘She’s already had her say about that. But when I pointed out that if Laura’s helping me, she won’t be bothering Heath, well, that shut her up pretty quickly.’
Everyone knew that after Aiden and Virginia, the only person Charlotte was more protective of was Heath.
‘Touché. Family, huh?’ A hint of sadness rang through Yvonne’s voice and she drank her tea.
Virginia smiled at her friend. She’d never come out and asked, but she’d always wondered if events sixty years ago had had anything to do with Yvonne staying single all this time.
Possibly. Probably.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence and afterwards Virginia made her way through the streets just as the world was about to wake. As she turned onto the beach, a figure cast in shadow walked towards her. Laura was early. Virginia didn’t know why she was in Banksia Bay, but she would find out.
She did know that the past reached into the future and manipulated it, twisted it, changed it. You could bury it deep. Hide it away.
But it was always there.
Always.
February 1962
The first day of the school year started out as dreary as always. Gigi had patched up her uniform from the previous year and it would serve for another few months yet. She trudged into the playground, looking at all the familiar faces, bussed in from all the tiny towns around Banksia Bay. She knew all twenty-odd kids from year one to sixth form. The handful of kindy kids, identifiable by the huddle they stood in, were dressed in pristine uniforms. She would know them by name by the end of the day.
There were no new kids in her form. No new girls. That wasn’t going to do much to improve the ratio. There used to be three girls in Gigi’s form, but one by one they’d left school as their parents decided it wasn’t as important as running after the men on the dairy farms that surrounded the area. Gigi was thankful her parents wanted her to finish school. Not that school was great. Or exciting. Or fun. But it was better than the alternative. She’d tried to convince her dad to take her out on the boat with him, but he wouldn’t have it. ‘It’s no life, Gigi. I want better for you.’
She lined up with the all the other students as the bell rang, signalling the start of the day. They filed into the large classroom and Miss Smith, back for her sixth year at Banksia Bay Central School, greeted each of them.
The kindies took the front few seats that were empty. Gigi sat in the chair in the far left corner, the same seat she’d sat in for the last few years. Behind her was Todd, in front of her was Sam, two seats over, Darren. The same old faces. Beside her the empty chair that Rosemary used to sit in, before her parents called her back to the farm.
Miss Smith started her lesson and Gigi gazed out the window, answering correctly every time she was called on. The hours ticked by.
Just before recess was due, Miss Smith let the whole group out early. ‘Sam, can you stay back a moment, please?’
It wasn’t unusual for Sam to stay in during break time. He often did extension work then.
Gigi went out into the playground and sat under the twisted gum tree by the fence to eat her banana. In the middle of the playground the boys played marbles, and the few younger girls pulled out their elastics. Gigi took out her pen and paper and started writing Lily a letter.
‘How is Sydney? I miss you already. Next summer . . .’
The bell rang and all the students lined up again. As they entered the classroom, Sam hung back. He was always the first in. Gigi looked over her shoulder. What was going on?
Miss Smith settled everyone down, and still Sam didn’t take his place. Five minutes into the lesson – Shakespeare for the older kids like Gigi, The Wind in the Willows for the younger ones – Sam came back inside.
With Costas walking behind him.
Gigi stared at them as they walked to the front of the room.
‘Eyes forward, class.’ Miss Smith’s call for attention wasn’t necessary. Everyone’s eyes were already fixed on the newcomer. ‘We have a new student. This is Costas Tinellis.’
Quiet giggles reverberated around the room.
‘Costas and his family are new to the area. I hope you will all make him feel welcome. Sam will be able to show you the ropes.’
The only spare seat was beside Gigi and Sam showed Costas to his place.
Gigi could hear whispers and everyone was staring at the new boy. They didn’t often get new kids at the school, so it wasn’t altogether unusual that Costas’ arrival would create interest.
Miss Smith banged the yard-long ruler on the chalkboard, silencing everyone, and went back to teaching.
Costas sat tall and proud, eyes on the teacher. Everyone else’s eyes were on him.
At lunchtime, Gigi sat in her customary spot under her tree, eating her cheese sandwich.
The form five and six boys gathered near the water tank and spoke in hushed tones. When Costas emerged from the classroom, they turned their backs to him. He approached Sam, his supposed helper, and Sam pretended not to see or hear him.
For the briefest of moments, Costas’ shoulders dipped, but he righted himself quickly and looked around the playground for a place to sit down. As he headed towards the seesaw that no one really used anymore, the pack of boys turned as one.
Todd, the youngest in the group, was urged to the head of the pack by the others and caught up with Costas first. Ever so deftly, in a movement Gigi nearly didn’t see, he put his right foot out and Costas went crashing into the dirt, his lunch spilling out onto the ground.
‘Sorry.’ Todd smirked. ‘Let me help you up.’ He reached out his hand.
No. Gigi stood up. She’d seen Todd use this trick before. But before she could get to the other side of the playground, Costas had taken Todd’s hand.
He nearly made it to standing before Todd loosened his grip, sending Costas backside first into the dust.
‘Stay in the dirt where you belong, you dirty wog,’ Todd growled.
The pack of boys moved away, stomping Costas’ lunch into the ground. They knew not to push things too far, though. If they actually hurt Costas, Miss Smith would know and she’d have to intervene.
Gigi walked up to Costas as he hauled himself to standing, brushing the dirt off his shirt and trousers.
‘Are you okay?’ Gigi asked.
‘Yes. Thank you.’ Costas’ eyes remained downcast.
‘They’re just trying to let you know who’s on top. Thugs, the lot of them.’
Costas smiled, and Gigi’s breath caught in her throat. ‘I think we both know there’s more to it than that. But thank you.’ He looked Gigi in the eye, and she had no response. She simply handed him the half of her cheese sandwich she hadn’t eaten yet.
The bell rang, and everyone lined up as if nothing had happened. Gigi wanted to pull Miss Smith aside, dob on terrible Todd and his awful gang. But she knew that would only make things worse.
When she was in first form, Todd and his cretins had put a worm in her sandwich. After she’d dobbed on them, they spent two weeks putting all sorts of things in her schoolbag – a handful of dead cockroaches, a rotting dog bone, a decapitated rat. Miss Smith had known about all of it, but had done nothing. The son of the local sergeant, Todd Broadbent could get away with just about anything.
Gigi had learned rather quickly that one had to stand up for oneself.
So she went into the classroom, took her seat, and said nothing.
‘Costas? Did anything happen at lunchtime?’ Miss Smith asked him when she saw the state of his uniform.
‘No, ma’am.’ He cast his eyes down. ‘I fell over one of the benches.’
Miss Smith raised an eyebrow, but took it no further.
/> Gigi let out a slow breath of relief.
In the afternoon heat Gigi walked home, avoiding the main street. Todd and his gang would be at the milk bar and she really didn’t feel like having to deal with them. On their own, none of them were too bad, she supposed. It was when they got together that they seemed to forget how to be . . . human.
‘Wait up,’ Costas called from behind her as she turned the corner into his street.
‘Hi,’ she said, as he fell into step beside her.
‘Thank you for today, Virginia.’
‘I didn’t do anything.’ She kicked the footpath. ‘I wish I’d stood up to them.’
Costas stopped and Gigi turned to face him. ‘Discretion is the better part of valour,’ he said.
‘Shakespeare?’ Gigi asked.
‘Yes. And you did plenty. You showed me kindness. Which is more than most people do.’
‘I take it this isn’t the first encounter you’ve had with idiots like Todd?’
He cocked his head to the side. ‘I may have lived in this country most of my life, but I’m still an outsider.’
‘Well, that’s stupid. The outsider bit.’
He shrugged.
‘You can sit with me tomorrow at lunch, if you like. Safety in numbers.’ She looked into his dark eyes and forgot, just for a moment, her own name.
‘Thank you. But that will just make you a target, too.’
Gigi laughed.
‘What?’
‘I learned a few years back how to deal with that pack of animals. When your dad owns a fishing boat, there’s all manner of ways to exact revenge.’ She smirked. ‘They don’t come near me anymore.’ Not since she’d filled Sam’s schoolbag with fish guts and hooked Darren’s trousers to his seat with a rusty old lure one day at the milk bar so that when he got up they tore. Right in front of everyone. Granted, that was a few years ago, right after the decapitated rat incident, when Gigi still had the advantage of height over them. Before they started to grow and fill out and change from boys to young men. But now, other than some harmless insults every few months to remind her of her place in the food chain, they pretty much left her alone.
The Banksia Bay Beach Shack Page 9