Tilly giggled. ‘Yup, the old list thing worked. Should’ve done it years ago. I cook – well with a bit of help – and he cleans. If he doesn’t clean, he doesn’t eat. It totally works.’
‘Sounds good. What’ll we cook tonight?’
‘How about pasta?’ Tilly hesitated. ‘Dad’ll be home soon and I wanted to ask you about a special dinner I’m making.’
‘Sure,’ Jamie slowed the trolley down. ‘What do you want to cook?’
‘Well,’ Tilly paused again, feeling shy. ‘I’ve already worked out the food. I wanted to know if you’d like to come. To Dad’s welcome home dinner.’
He glanced past her, taking in a quick wave check before turning the trolley towards the crossing. Jamie smiled his slightly crooked smile, his head cocked to one side in a manner that was now so familiar Tilly couldn’t help grinning back. You’d think she’d just offered him dinner in the best restaurant in town.
‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘
I’d like that. Thanks.’
A car horn hooted and they both jumped. Jamie pushed the trolley over the crossing towards the shops.
‘What do you mean, it’s empty?’ Tilly leaned towards the shop owner as though she hadn’t heard him properly.
‘Empty as in not full.’ The IT guy spoke with a touch of sarcasm which Tilly chose to ignore.
‘But it can’t be,’ she said, desperate. ‘I’ve got notes, photos, a diary. Heaps of stuff on there. I don’t get it.’
‘Did you check it was switched on?’ He drummed his fingers on the counter, not really interested, and Tilly felt tempted to reach across the counter and yank out a tuft of his annoying nose hair.
‘So there’s nothing you can do?’ Her voice sounded slightly pleading, and it even annoyed her.
‘There’s nothing I can do,’ he repeated, watching the door for other customers. ‘The computer’s fine. It’s just that there’s nothing on it.’
‘C’mon.’ Jamie pushed past her and lifted the computer back into the trolley, nudging Tilly in the ribs. ‘Let’s go. We’ll have to figure something else out.’
The curtains were closed. A rolled towel stopped up the gap under the old side door. Lava lamps were dotted across a wall of shelves Marlee and Tilly had made with bricks and old bits of wood. Globs of coloured light roamed leisurely across the old bedspread hiding the roller door, over her surf posters, and collected on the surf mags stacked neatly in the corner. Her mobile flashed with received messages but Marlee lay curled up facing the wall, throat tight with misery, arms around Blue Ted, her favourite white satin nightie wrapped around her legs.
No matter how many times she’d gone over those last ten minutes in the surf, the end result was still the same. Her insides ached like a bruise. Each day was a different colour as new emotions surfaced. She’d passed the brooding, tearful blacks and blues and moved on to the florid yellows and purples of rationalisation. She’d been so close to winning that board but no, she’d let Kyle distract her. How could she have been so naïve? The board was gone. That she accepted. But the fallout promised to be bigger than that. The question mark over sponsorship, her surfing and her future was still there. And then there was another ache, a bigger one she couldn’t quite place or interpret. It lurked inside her somewhere and that was what kept her curled up on the bed.
She hated Kyle Parker with his T-shirt fraying at the neck seam, his crossword puzzles, his knobbly knees and strong wide chest, his single-mindedness for winning at all costs, his tactics. It was clear that their friendship had been just that. A tactic. A way to get her off guard. Would she ever do that to win? Did you have to want it that badly? Marlee didn’t know, wasn’t sure she could throw a friendship for that.
She ignored the knocks on the door, the quiet scrape as the rolled-up towel was brushed back over the worn carpet, expecting to hear Tilly’s voice.
‘Hey, Marls,’ Kyle said softly. ‘It’s really going off. Come and check out the surf with me.’
His voice speared through her and Marlee screwed her eyes shut. Having Kyle in her room was the final humiliation.
She sat up abruptly. ‘Don’t call me Marls. Only my friends call me that. I don’t want to surf with you or even look at the surf with you. Not now. Not ever.’
Kyle added quietly, ‘I won’t be surfing for a while.’
Marlee looked at the thick bandage on his foot, biting guiltily on her bottom lip.
‘I’ve got something I want you to have.’ He disappeared, coming back inside with a gleaming new board. The colours of the lava lamps streamed down its blue deck, the light glinting as he propped it against the wall.
Marlee rolled back to the wall before Kyle could see the fat tears running down her cheeks, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘I can’t accept it. But thanks.’
He cleared his throat. ‘I want you to have it.’
Marlee ignored him.
Kyle raked his hand through his hair. ‘Marlee, don’t be so stubborn. I’ve got heaps of boards. I wasn’t in it for the board. I was in it for the competition.’
Marlee had thought she’d punched every shred of anger into her pillow over the last few days but she gave it another hard smack. She jumped up on the bed, her nightie falling in soft folds around her ankles. Kyle had never seen Marlee in anything bordering on feminine and his mouth dropped open. Marlee hesitated realising how silly she must look. If she could list the ten most embarrassing moments in her life, Kyle would feature in nearly all of them.
‘You knew how much I wanted that board. How could you?’ ‘I … didn’t think,’ he stammered. ‘I was there to win. I was always going to give you the board if I won.’
‘Give it to me anyway? What am I? A charity? Thanks for nothing. If you hadn’t cheated I might’ve won it fair and square. Did that ever occur to you?’
‘I didn’t cheat. If you think you can go onto the circuit and no-one will try and psyche you out, you’re stupid. You’ll do it yourself soon enough,’ he said defensively.
‘No, Kyle, you’re wrong. That’s the difference between you and me. I’ll win by surfing the best I can.’ Then she added feebly, ‘And close your mouth.’
‘Well, keep your self-righteous integrity all you want but get used to being curled up on your bed like a loser. Anyway, there was no way I was going to lose to a girl. I’d never hear the end of it.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Mind you, being mauled in public by a girl isn’t much better.’
An uneasy silence grew as they realised that the conversation had no place left to go. Kyle coughed and gave it one more try.
‘That last wave. I’ve never seen you surf like that. You tore it up.’
‘Well, being mad at you really helped.’ Marlee smiled in spite of herself. ‘I don’t get you, Kyle – on land you’re fun and nice but once you mix with water you get your beetroot head on. You become someone else. If I take that board then it’s like I approve of your behaviour. I can’t do that and I won’t. If you feel bad, that’s your problem.’ Marlee sat back down on the bed.
Kyle lifted the board, limping towards the door. He paused, looking back at Marlee. ‘As I see it, I’m not the only one who behaved badly. You’re a good hater, Marlee, I’ll give you that.’
As soon as the door shut, Marlee’s face crumpled. She rolled back on the bed, her face shoved into her pillow.
An oppressive heat, trapped on land by a massive cloud bank, rumbled into shore like a restless army. It bounced off pavements and car windows and, two minutes after leaving the surf, Tilly longed to be back in it. As the storm clouds built layer upon layer, the heat thickened like soup. Tilly moved slower and slower, worn out with the effort of breathing, her clothes limp and sweaty.
The clouds shifted uneasily, lightning flashing across their underbellies until, finally, the massive lip of black cloud split wide open. A few fat drops of rain splattered, sizzling on hot paths before turning into steam, followed by a frenzy of drops that hit the cooled earth so hard they bou
nced back up. The rain fell in thick sheets, blotting out the ocean, the drops hammering Tilly’s tin roof, blocking out any other sound. Rain leaked through pergolas, splashed into open doorways, swept through open windows, ran tiny rivers across lawns and filled the streets. As it eased, car tyres passed with a soft wet swish.
Tilly had settled onto the verandah sipping a cool drink and watching the storm when she spotted Pink racing across the road. She reached the steps panting, hair plastered to her head, clothes soaked.
‘Pink, are you crazy?’ Tilly raced inside for a dry towel. ‘What are you doing out in this weather? I thought you were grounded?’
Pink rubbed her hair, then hung the towel on a chair, leaning over the verandah, hand out to catch raindrops.
‘I love these tropical storms.’ She breathed deeply. ‘Smell that wet earth. It’s so good to be out. I’ve been going crazy stuck inside all week.’
Tilly stood next to her. ‘Are you ungrounded now?’
‘Mmm, not really, but my parents are out. They figured I’d never go out in this so they left me.’ She checked her watch. ‘I can’t stay long though. How’s Marlee?’
‘I haven’t seen her,’ Tilly said sadly. ‘I’ve been round there but her door’s locked. She won’t answer.’
‘What about Phil? How’s he doing?’
Tilly’s eyes lit up. ‘He’ll be home soon. The doctors can’t believe how well he’s recovered.’
‘That’s fantastic. Seems like he’s been in there forever.’ Pink drank the rain out of her hand then put it out for more.
‘Since 5 December. Nearly three weeks.’
Pink’s body became very still. ‘5 December? That date rings a bell for some reason.’
‘It was the last week of school, remember? The week we had our First Surf of the Season celebration.’
Pink tracked back through the last few weeks, a feeling of dread overwhelming her. ‘Are you sure?’ Her eyes were wide, anxious. ‘Are you absolutely certain it was 5 December?’
Tilly laughed. ‘Of course I’m sure. We do the same thing every year.’
‘No, the date Phil was hit by the car.’ She forced the words out, each one getting harder to say.
‘Positive,’ Tilly said emphatically. ‘I’ll never forget that night for as long as I live.’
Pink stepped back, seemed to stumble then caught herself, pulling her body upright, the stolen joy of getting out well and truly washed from her face. ‘Did they catch the person in the car?’ she asked.
Tilly shook her head, looking curiously at Pink. ‘No, not yet. Why?’
‘I have to go, Tilly.’ Pink began to cry. She edged towards the steps. ‘I have to go. There’s something I have to do.’
‘What’s wrong, Pink?’
The noise of the storm washed Tilly’s words away as Pink ran, not looking back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Marlee paced. Seven steps down, five across. Her little haven had become a cell. She marched the short distance from one wall to another, her eyes taking in the detail around her until they dropped to the set of bedside drawers she’d found on the tip last winter and painted yellow. She opened the third drawer. The white envelope looked grubby, as though it had travelled many more kilometres since Australia Post had left it in her letterbox. And it had. First her sweaty palms, then crunched into her school bag for weeks with half-eaten sandwiches and now finally to her drawers where the ash from the incense she burned had smeared across the address.
The ash couldn’t disguise the writing though. It was still her father’s. She snatched up the letter, upsetting the things around it so they skittered sideways and rolled onto her carpet. Marlee glared at the letter. Turned it over to the back. Read the return address once more. He lived in another state. Nowhere near them. Nowhere near enough to provide any help or support. What else did she need to know that he could possibly tell her? She dragged a chair over to her wardrobe and pulled down a red box Pink had given her one Christmas. Marlee shoved the letter inside with all the others, then went back to pacing.
She paced until she couldn’t stand it any longer. It was the longest she could ever remember being away from the water and sooner or later she’d have to face the world. She threw on some boardies and a shirt, then stepped into the garden, blinking in the bright sunlight. Her broken board lay against the shed and she nudged it with her foot. It’d be a while before she could surf again. Tears welled in her eyes, the thought filling her with despair. She’d always had her own board – even if it was an old log. She slung her bag over the handlebars of her bike, her résumé letters for sponsorship neatly tucked in the top.
She rode the long way to the newsagency, enjoying the soft breeze on her face, and parked her bike out the front, hoping she wouldn’t see Kyle or any of his friends. The new surf magazine was in and she raced to pick up a copy, flipping quickly through the spreads.
If Marlee hadn’t recognised the board shorts she’d never have known it was her. She peered at the shorts to confirm that they were hers and then peered closer, scrutinising the photos taken at the competition.
Her board was pinned sideways on the wave as though the ocean had sprouted a shelf and Marlee was tucked neatly on it. What was unfamiliar was her body. It was taut, rigid, full of grip and power, no relaxed arching back or gentle curves, but a coiled spring of energy about to explode. Her hand trailed behind her, water drops springing from her fingers, forming an arc of water over her head.
Marlee gasped. Did she really surf like that? She smiled proudly until she noticed the rage twisting her face. It was like a stranger had stepped into her skin. Is that how Kyle saw her the day of the contest? Is that what everyone saw? A deep shame and embarrassment ran through her. That wasn’t who she was.
Alongside the big photo a sequence of smaller shots showed her ripping up and down the wave and, at one point, hovering above it connected only by drops of water. Marlee read the caption: ‘Only one place for this girl to go – UP.’
She snapped the magazine shut, paid her money, shoved it up her T-shirt and walked out of the shop.
‘Look out, it’s Marlee the Mauler!’ Kyle’s friends were perched on a picnic table across the road, laughing and holding up their arms to protect themselves.
‘Don’t hurt me, Marlee, I’ll let you win …’
Kyle sat in the middle, his arms tightly folded as he stared doggedly at the surf, ignoring his friends, and her. Marlee tucked her head down, riding swiftly to the far end of the beach, crossing the road to the mall.
Christmas lights twinkled in the bright sunlight, an odd combination with the massive blue skies and summer heat but Marlee was in too much of a hurry to notice. She swerved around the tree to the letter box, checking the addresses in her neat, evenly spaced writing one last time.
‘Marlee!’
She quickly shoved the letters into the box, turning to see Tilly staggering towards her carrying huge bags full of photo frames.
‘Marlee, I’ve been trying to talk to you for days. Are you okay?’
‘Yep. I’m fine. Just doing some Christmas shopping. You?’ Her voice was colourless, her face closed off, defensive.
Tilly remembered that look from the first time they met. Marlee wet and shivering, her father’s fingers imprinted white where he’d squeezed her arm too tightly. Tilly put her bags down, wrapping her arms around Marlee who stood stiffly, unmoving.
‘Don’t shut me out, Marlee. I’m on your side. Did you get the Blood Book?’
Marlee nodded.
‘Did Kyle drop the board off?’
Marlee nodded again, her body softening a little.
Tilly was relieved. ‘Good. He was worried you wouldn’t accept it. He’s not good at showing it but he really cares for you.’ Tilly tried to say this with as much generosity as she could muster, ignoring the recurring pang of jealousy that Marlee would rather be with someone else than her. She was so preoccupied with her thoughts she nearly missed Marlee’s reply.
Tilly peered into her friend’s face, disbelieving. ‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s his, not mine.’
‘So? Can’t he give it to you if he wants? Marlee, sometimes you’re too proud for your own good.’ Tilly’s voice softened. ‘Take the board. He wants you to have it. You need it!’
Marlee’s face crumpled. She pushed her bike backwards and forwards over the same spot on the pavement.
‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘I know I’m my own worst enemy sometimes but I couldn’t use it without feeling – I don’t know – ashamed, disappointed. I didn’t win. I can live with that. It’s how I lost that I’m ashamed of. I’d think of it every time I used the board.’ Marlee pushed her bike forwards but this time she kept going and before Tilly could respond, she’d ridden to the end of the mall and disappeared.
‘Marlee!’
Marlee didn’t have to turn around to know it was Mitch. She pushed the pedals faster hoping to get away but he called again.
‘Marlee, wait up.’
She scraped her thongs across the sandy concrete to slow her bike. What was the point. She’d have to face him sooner or later. Might as well be now. She laid the bike on the grass and walked back to him.
‘Hi,’ she smiled. ‘Mitch, before you say anything, I want to apologise for my behaviour at the competition. I know I totally lost it. I’m sorry. Christie said I’d be fined.’
‘Well, you certainly got a few things off your chest.’ Mitch chuckled. ‘But you won’t be fined. Jasmine told me what she saw and I also had a chat to Kyle. You’re as bad as each other, you two, but unfortunately you’re the only one who’s going to have to wear the fallout. There’s far worse out there than Kyle Parker.’
Marlee felt relieved about the fine and turned to go but Mitch kept talking.
‘No, I wanted to say how impressed I was with your surfing. You’ve really improved this summer. Do you know about the juniors’ circuit? It starts early in the new year. The competition’s strong but you should think about going in it. The experience would be good for you.’
Surf School Page 14