Five Parts Dead

by Tim Pegler

  My voice fails. ‘So now you…know. Without me…No keys.’ I’m sobbing now, my chest heaving like I’m breathing for all of us: Carlo, Aaron, Boris, Phan and me.

  ‘I…Imayaswellhavedriventhecarmyself…God…I wish…’

  ‘Oh, Dan.’ Chairs scrape across the floor. Dad has an arm around me. Mum’s head is on my shoulder. Mel is in tears. Pip reaches across to hold my hand as Dad speaks.

  ‘They…forced you, Dan. You told them not to drive. You told them you weren’t going. What happened is not your fault.’

  ‘They’re gone, Dad! Dead. Maybe if I’d resisted longer…they might have given up, got Travis to go, maybe they’d have walked. But no, I gave them the keys. It wouldn’t…couldn’t have happened without me…I…I hate myself for that…and I hate them.’

  No one speaks. Dad’s hand shakes as he grasps the water jug and refills my glass. The lighthouse blinks at the kitchen window.

  I turn to Mel and Pip. ‘What if Bianca knows? What if someone saw me give them the keys? What if my fingerprints are on the keys? What if the cops say I’m the one, that I’m responsible for the whole thing? I don’t want to go to jail. I don’t want their families to hate me…any more than they already do.’

  ‘You said yourself there wasn’t anyone else outside,’ Mum sniffs. ‘We know the truth. That’s all that matters.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the police.’ Dad’s voice is husky. ‘There will be an inquest but you’re unlikely to be called, because of your statement. If you are…well, you can tell the truth and we’ll all back you up. I don’t think Aaron’s family will make trouble. They’re suffering enough, knowing who was at the wheel.’

  Pip wipes her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Dan. Maybe if I’d been quicker…’

  And Mel speaks, so everyone can hear: ‘I’m so, so sorry I dragged us to the party. We so shouldn’t have gone. I wish…’

  Q: MY VESSEL IS HEALTHY.

  REQUEST PRATIQUE (PERMISSION TO ENTER PORT)

  The car’s packed and the cottage is locked up. Dad parks the Cruiser beside the cemetery fence and we all pile out. Mum passes me the stone I’ve worked on since dinner last night. I found it near the stable, a flattish piece of sandstone I could carve with a screwdriver.

  Family fears, regrets, truths and dreams—last night we talked like we haven’t for ages. And, as we did, the echoes in my head began to fade.

  I rediscovered that Mel and I, well, we’re not that different. She may be Mel the Magnificent but that doesn’t mean I’m Dan the Dull, delivery boy for Death. I’m not cursed. Anything but. I’m a survivor.

  I lean the stone against the graveyard fence. I’ve carved their names, Carlo, Boris and Aaron, and the date of the accident. I added an inscription, inspired by a phrase the lighthouse keepers sometimes used to sign off in the logbook: Light burning brilliant.

  We position the stone next to Lily and Sam Junior’s cross. Maybe they’ll enjoy the company.

  Pip plants the feathers she wore on New Year’s Eve in the soil in front of the stone. Mel drops her iPod there, next to my battered Nintendo DS. Carlo always loved Mario Kart. I feel Dad’s hand, heavy on my shoulder, and hear Mum call from the car. ‘Come on you lot, we’ve got a ferry to catch. And I’m anticipating some lengthy farewells there too.’

  Mel says Hiroshi is going to fly to Melbourne when his tour group heads home. It’ll be our turn to show him around. Good thing there’s still plenty of summer left.

  The Cruiser purrs towards Donington. I duck down in my seat so I can watch the lighthouse shrink in the rear-view mirror. Pip leans against me, her hand on my thigh. I’m thinking where I’d like my hands to go when Mel’s elbow crashes into my ribs. Looks like she and I will need some ground rules if we’re ever going to have any privacy again.

  As we pull into town Mel’s mobile throbs with incoming messages. Mine twitches just the once, with a text from Barney: Hey Cat, have found work for when you get back. Need those $$$. B

  I used to hate that nickname. It scared me that there might be a price for surviving, a responsibility I couldn’t meet. Now I figure all I can do is live every single minute. I mean, cats don’t keep score of how many lives they’ve lost. It’s the life left to live that counts.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Five Parts Dead had its origins in a family holiday at the Cape du Couedic lighthouse on Kangaroo Island, South Australia. After visiting the neighbouring Cape Borda light station, and the tiny cemetery at Harvey’s Return, I decided to adapt and build upon true tales from both historic sites. That’s how Cape Nicolas was ‘discovered’.

  Many of the journal entries contained in this story are inspired by or borrowed from one of the Cape Borda logbooks. I’d like to thank staff at Flinders Chase National Park, and volunteers at the National Archives in Adelaide, who assisted with my research.

  Special thanks are due to my team of test readers, namely Dad and Mum, Bev, Fleur, Fred, Helen, Joel, Kaitlyn, Kara, Lesley, Mrs Marj Mossop, Sharyn, Japan consultant Yoshi, paranormal advisor Fiona, and my co-researcher and bravest proofreader, Kristin.

  I also truly appreciate the faith shown in this story by my agent, Pippa Masson at Curtis Brown, and Penny Hueston and the Text Publishing team.