The Banksia Bay Beach Shack

by Sandie Docker

  The girl laced her fingers with Gigi’s.

  They crouched down behind a bush and watched on.

  A few minutes later, Sergeant Broadbent led Costas out of his house, hands cuffed behind his back.

  Gigi gasped and stood up, but Yvonne pulled her back down.

  At the front door, Mr Tinellis put on his coat and hat and followed Costas and the Sergeant out. Mrs Tinellis slumped against the doorframe and howled.

  Tears fell down Gigi’s face as Yvonne put her arms around her.

  Laura woke on the sofa in the living room of the holiday house and ignored the message from Maher asking her to call back. If it was important, he’d ring again. Right now she had to figure out how to talk to Heath about why she was really in Banksia Bay.

  She hauled herself off the soft cushions and stretched, trying to release the tension in her shoulders and back. It must have been around five in the morning when she’d finally given in to exhaustion. She paced the living room floor, all her notes and photocopied articles spread out on the coffee table. All night she’d been poring over them, getting it straight in her head: what she knew, what she still had to discover; organising her thoughts so that when Heath asked questions about what she’d been doing here the whole time – and he would undoubtedly have questions when she revealed the truth – she could answer him. Honestly.

  For the last few weeks she’d been justifying her decision to keep the secret of why she was really here – that it was the only way to uncover the truth. But she was wrong. Selfish. Finding out about Lillian’s past wasn’t just about her, as she’d told herself it was. She might not yet know what had happened all those years ago, but the secrets her grandmother had obviously kept, the missing pages of The Bugle, the clues she’d found in Virginia’s possession, all meant that whatever it was, it was significant. And that meant it was about everyone. It affected everyone. Virginia, Yvonne, Heath. There were real people involved. Real feelings now.

  Very real feelings.

  And those people deserved to know the truth of why she was really here.

  She thought about going to Virginia first. After all, despite the holes in the story, Laura knew in her gut that this was where the truth would be found. But after last night, she had to speak to Heath. He would probably hate her, and the thought of that pained her more than she thought it would. Really, they’d only flirted a little, kissed a bit – a lot. But less than twenty-four hours ago. It wasn’t as if they had a real relationship.

  Except it felt real. And the pain of losing him felt real too.

  Yes. She had to talk to him. Today. Instead of meeting him for a surf, she’d take him for a walk along the beach and confess. Then she’d face Virginia and hopefully get the answers she’d come here for – with a clear conscience.

  She pulled on her running tights and tank top and slipped on her trainers. A long jog around the hills was exactly what she needed.

  Standing on the top of the hill looking over Banksia Bay sleeping beneath her, Laura drew in deep breaths. There were no cars on the main street yet, a sprinkling of lights were blinking on where early risers were starting their day, and the waking sun bathed the entire town in a soft golden glow. The roof of the bakery was speckled where the rust was eating away the corrugated ridges of iron. The lilly pilly hedge in the beer garden of the pub rippled in the morning breeze.

  In three short weeks she had grown accustomed to the gentle ebb and flow of this small town. She would miss it when she left. Just one more week till she was due to head home. Assuming, of course, they didn’t run her out of town once her deception was revealed.

  Laura stretched her legs and turned her back on the view, running further, harder, than usual. She ran until her chest hurt, and kept on running.

  As she rounded the next crest she stopped with a jolt. Before her was the old cheese factory. She turned around, looking back at where she’d come from. It didn’t feel like she’d run so far.

  Scanning the now familiar coast, she realised the cheese factory wasn’t as far out of town as she’d thought. Running in a relatively straight line was a much quicker way to get there than the winding country road she had taken with Heath.

  She stepped through the gap in the stone walls and walked around the space, imagining Heath’s vision, still so very clear in her mind. She had no idea whether his dream was possible, but it was a nice dream.

  Lowering herself onto the broken cart, legs over the edge, she let out a long breath. ‘If these walls could talk,’ Mrs Duncan used to say. Laura wondered what these old walls would whisper to her.

  The tattered old blanket she sat on was gnawed around the edges, mice perhaps, and covered with decades of dust. Actually, sitting here didn’t seem like such a good idea after all.

  She pushed herself off and slipped, falling to the ground with a thud. She lay in the dirt for a moment, mentally checking that she hadn’t hurt anything vital. No. Just her pride. Thankfully no one was here to witness her clumsiness.

  As she pushed up on her arms she caught a glimpse of something under the cart. Oh God, a mouse.

  She screamed and jumped up, stamping her feet to scare the dirty critter away. Bending down, she checked to see if it had gone. But it was still there. She picked up a splinter of wood and threw it at the creature. It still didn’t move. Gross – was it dead?

  With a longer piece of wood she poked it. To her surprise it was hard rather than squishy. She hooked the piece of wood behind the mouse and dragged it out. As it came into the light, she realised it wasn’t a mouse at all.

  Well, actually it was. But not the kind that ate cheese and gnawed on old blankets and scared her witless. It was a knick-knack. A figurine. Covered in dust and dirt.

  She brushed away the grime as best she could with the bottom edge of her tank top. Intricately carved out of some sort of wood, the mouse was delicate, with a tiny little turned-up mouth that, for some reason, made Laura feel sad. How long had he been lying under there, abandoned? Was it a child’s favoured toy lost one day in a game of hide-and-seek?

  Laura decided to keep it, clean it up. Maybe Aiden would like it, though he was probably too old for that sort of thing. Or she could give it to one of Maher’s grandkids when she got home. Perhaps she would keep it, a reminder of her time in the Bay.

  Tucking it into the pocket of her tights, she headed back to the holiday house.

  Laura splashed her face with cold water. Confronting Heath wasn’t going to be easy. But she had to do it.

  She sat down and the mouse she’d forgotten all about stuck into her leg. She got up and wet a flannel and, with tiny concentric circles, wiped the mouse clean. There was a gloss to it where the polish hadn’t been worn away by time, and the wood was covered in irregular oval holes, giving it a texture she found fascinating.

  She set the clean mouse in the middle of the table. If she could polish it up, even it out, it would look quite sweet. Maybe Heath would know what it was made from, what she could polish it with.

  Heath.

  Facing him would be hard.

  A hot shower now, then she’d tidy her notes and wait till the time came to confess her sins.

  An urgent knock on the door startled her.

  ‘Laura? Are you home?’

  Her heart beat faster at the sound of Heath’s voice. She hurried to the door and opened it, Heath standing there with a big grin on his face.

  ‘Hey. I’m glad you’ve dropped by. There’s actually something I want to talk to you about.’ She steeled herself.

  ‘Okay, but first, I have the best news.’

  ‘What?’

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her, spinning her around. ‘I went to the bank this morning.’ He put her down. ‘They’ve pre-approved my loan to buy the cheese factory.’ He picked her up again and hugged her tightly.

  ‘That’s brilliant.’ She kissed him on the cheek and he turned his head, catching her lips.

  It was a long, slow kiss, full of w
ant. She knew she should pull away, but she couldn’t.

  He lowered her to the verandah.

  ‘Tell me all about it.’ She smiled.

  Heath launched into an animated story about the dealings with the bank, how he’d been talking to the owners of the property, that a contract of sale was being drawn up, how long it would take, especially to get the money.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s finally going to happen.’ He paused for breath.

  ‘I can. You are a force, Heath Gilbert. An inspiration. I can’t wait to see what you do with the place.’

  ‘Do you want to see? I have the plans here.’ He grabbed the blueprints he’d leaned against the wall.

  ‘Of course I want to see. Come in.’ She stepped aside and he slipped past her, turning around to look at her as she followed him inside.

  ‘You know, this is partly because of you.’ He walked backwards into the living room, his eyes not leaving hers.

  ‘Me? How?’

  ‘Well, after our visit there together, you were so encouraging. It gave me the last little push I needed to move forward. The architect has been working on these for a while. Yesterday I finalised them with her. I love Charlotte to death, but she hasn’t exactly been supportive of this crazy idea of mine. I wasn’t sure I could do it. If I should do it. Until you said you believed in the dream.’

  ‘Maybe Charlotte just doesn’t want to see you risk your money. Any small business is a gamble.’

  He turned around to lay the plans out on the coffee table.

  Shit. Her notes.

  ‘It isn’t that,’ he said. ‘She’s worried about . . . What’s this?’ He looked at Laura and then back to her notes.

  ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  He dropped his plans on the floor beside the sofa, knelt down and sifted through the pages on the coffee table.

  ‘Heath, let me explain.’

  He turned over articles, read through her notes. ‘This is about Gran.’ He stood up. ‘It’s all about Gran. And Yvonne. And not about holidaying in Banksia Bay at all.’ He stared at her, confusion and anger flashing in his eyes. ‘You’re not a travel writer, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who’s Lillian?’

  ‘My grandmother.’ She let out a long breath, relieved to finally be telling him the truth.

  ‘You’ve been lying to me? To all of us?’

  Laura’s throat tightened. ‘I didn’t mean to. I was looking for something and I thought I might have better luck finding it if I . . .’

  ‘Deceived us?’ He stepped away from the evidence of her lies. ‘How could you do this? To me? To us? We trusted you. We welcomed you.’

  ‘Heath, just let me explain.’ She clasped her hands in front of her chest.

  He shook his head. ‘Except Charlotte. She said when you first got here that something didn’t add up.’ He turned back to the files. ‘There’s so much here about Gran. What are you up to? If you’re here to hurt her, then you’re in serious trouble.’ His voice was low.

  ‘No. That’s not what this is. I just wanted to find out what happened in the sixties. Between her and my grandmother.’ She stepped forward and grabbed his arm. ‘There’s no malice. I swear.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you just come straight out and ask?’

  ‘My gut was telling me it was something significant. I wasn’t sure that if I asked, anyone would tell me. You said yourself small towns could rewrite their history.’ All her excuses, so certain in her mind, seemed so feeble now as she said them out loud.

  Heath yanked his arm free of her hold and paced the floor.

  She rocked back and forth. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Finally coming clean was meant to be liberating. She wasn’t doing it right. She had to make him see, convince him she meant no harm. ‘I think I was right, Heath. I think everyone’s hiding something. Something big. If you look here –’ she ran towards the coffee table and picked up her copied pages of The Bugle, waving them in front of her – ‘you’ll see . . .’

  ‘I’m not interested in hearing any of this. I can’t believe you lied to me.’ The sadness in his eyes bored right into her heart. ‘This was all an act, wasn’t it? To get close to my family. You used me.’

  ‘No, Heath. No, that’s not true.’ She dropped the pages and stepped towards him. He backed away and she wrapped her arms around herself.

  ‘None of this was real.’ He waved his hands between them.

  Tears fell down Laura’s cheeks. ‘It was real. It is. What’s happened between us . . . I’ve never felt anything so real in my life.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to believe you. After you’ve lied to me this whole time. Damn it, Laura.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t . . .’ His voice was low, laboured. ‘I’m not in a position to waste . . . damn it.’ With heavy steps he walked towards the door.

  ‘Don’t go, Heath. Please.’ She moved towards him, reaching out her hand, almost touching his back, but she faltered. ‘I . . . I know I’ve done the wrong thing. But if you just hear me out . . .’

  He bowed his head, his back to her. ‘Stop.’ His raspy word filled the space between them and his shoulders fell. He opened the door and trudged down the path, not once looking back.

  Laura doubled over, sank to the verandah and watched him leave through salty tears. She’d known he’d be upset, but she wasn’t expecting the air of defeat that had come over him. And she wasn’t expecting her heart to shatter as he left. But it did.

  Into a million painful pieces.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out, hoping, expecting it to be Heath.

  But it was Maher.

  She sent him to voicemail, unable to face anything other than her own feelings crumbling inside her.

  Virginia sat at her dining table, Heath opposite her, silent, brooding. He’d stormed up the stairs of the shack fifteen minutes ago, but had said nothing. Virginia waited, rather impatiently.

  But she knew her grandson well. He had never been very good at hiding his feelings, and when he was this agitated the best thing to do was let him spill his troubles when he was ready. If she asked him what was wrong, he’d bluster about a bit but say nothing. If she fussed about all worried, he’d brush her aside and say everything was fine.

  She held her teacup in her hands, not daring to take a sip in case the movement made him startle and head off, revealing nothing.

  So she waited.

  Heath stared at the small dining table, breathing heavily. He looked up. There was pain in his eyes. Confusion, too.

  He drew in a deep breath and his words came forth, low and slow. ‘Laura isn’t who she said she is. She’s not writing a travel piece about the Bay at all.’

  Virginia said nothing and had to concentrate on keeping her hands from shaking.

  ‘She has all these files. About the past.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘About you. Why does she have files on you?’

  With forced calmness Virginia spoke. ‘I don’t know.’ Rubbish. She might not know for sure, but she had a pretty good idea. ‘Did you ask her?’

  ‘Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t remember.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘She said something about you and her grandmother and the past. I think.’

  So maybe she hadn’t uncovered the truth yet. If she had, and had said something to Heath, he most certainly would have remembered. You don’t forget something like that. Ever.

  Maybe there was still time to fix this. To throw Laura off the scent. To protect herself, her family, Yvonne.

  ‘Gran?’ He stood up, rising to his full height. ‘Did you know her grandmother? What aren’t you telling me?’

  Virginia rose slowly and stepped towards him. ‘Love. Sit back down.’

  ‘No. What’s going on? I really like this woman, Gran. Really. And now I find out she’s lying to me, and somehow you’re involved.’

  Involved? Involved didn’t even begin to cover it.

  ‘Gran?’

  ‘I don’t know. I�
�ll have to speak to her myself.’

  Heath sat back down, then jumped up again. ‘Hang on. You don’t seem very surprised by this – that she’s not here to do what she said she was doing, that she has a file on you. In fact, you don’t seem surprised at all.’ He furrowed his brow even deeper.

  ‘Heath, I’m not sure what to tell you.’

  He stepped back. ‘How about the truth? It seems to be in short supply at the moment.’

  Virginia turned away. She couldn’t tell him. She just couldn’t.

  Walking to the door, Heath paused, his voice barely above a whisper.

  ‘One thing you promised me, Gran, was that we’d always be honest with each other. That day in the hospital. Remember? No matter what. Right or wrong, happy or sad. Life or death. You promised.’

  He walked out of the loft above the shack and Virginia pushed her hands into her knees to stop herself from collapsing. Breathe, old girl.

  She righted herself and grabbed the photo of her and Lily from her shoebox and slipped it into the pocket of her overalls. She had to know how much damage had been done, how much had been discovered. And she had to know now.

  With the weight of her past heavy around her heart, she walked out of the shack.

  August 1963

  Costas spent three nights locked up in the tiny police cell in Ocean Heights. Yvonne’s dad, Mr Beaumont, brought reports home every day, making sure he visited with the Tinellises during the ordeal, and Gigi made sure she stopped by every afternoon for the news. Yvonne didn’t say much, even when it was just the two of them. Gigi couldn’t blame her. Most days she didn’t feel much like talking either.

  At school, Todd sported an ugly black eye and told everyone he had been minding his own business when he was set upon by Costas, who was crazy with rage, he didn’t know why.

  Gigi tried to set the record the straight, but every time she opened her mouth, Todd shut her down. On the second afternoon he bailed her up outside the schoolhouse, forcing her against the wall, his arm barring her escape.

  He looked at the ground then back at her. ‘Why did you force me into this?’

  ‘What? How is this my fault?’