by Paul Collins
Macca had seemed surprised that Lily would need permission to spend a night camping out at Bell Sears Beach with her boyfriend. He was seventeen, on his Ps, and had never asked permission in living memory. He'd been nice about it, though. He hadn't sneered.
‘How about we ask your brother to come too, babe? Would that keep your dad from worrying?'
‘Maybe. Then Kier can ask Dad and …'
Lily got off the wall and wandered away. Her life was over, her credibility sunk. She wanted to go in there and fight for her own rights, but she knew what would happen. She'd spit the dummy, and next thing, she'd be grounded.
The door clicked open. ‘Jeez, do you owe me, Lil!'
‘Well?'
Kier smirked. ‘You get to tag along with Macca and me, but I gotta stick to you like Blu-tac, and seal you into your own tent.' He beetled his brow at her, in a fair imitation of Dad. ‘You owe me, Lil, big time.'
Lily ducked her head. Now for the next stage in her campaign … ‘You don't really want to fish, do you?' she suggested. ‘You could always go to Stacie's instead …'
Kier beetled at her again. ‘Take my advice, Lil. Quit while you're ahead.'
Two days later, Lily shared the back seat of Macca's old Ford with tents, sleeping bags, a hamper, fishing rods and bait. Kier shared the front seat with Macca. Lily glared at the back of Kier's neck, and sent him a furious text.
Maccas my bfriend. U sit bak.
She heard Kier's snort over the engine noise. Macca turned up the CD, and a twingy twangy country diva blasted Lily halfway out the window.
Bummer! Nothing went according to plan. Not to her plan, anyway.
Lily fixed her gaze on Kier's neck again. Remember our bargain, bro. Soon as we get there you go for a long walk, she seethed silently.
The Ford laboured as Macca dragged her off the main stretch and turned down Barton Road. By the time they hit Bell Sears Road, forty-five minutes and a lot of smashed tree limbs later, it sounded like emphysema.
Lily clung to the seatbelt as the Ford wallowed through potholes deep enough to lose a sheep in. She gave Kier death daggers – everyone knew the backseat passenger got all the bruises. She was about to elbow his head, accidentally-on-purpose, when the Ford lurched into the sunlight, hit the skids and sashayed sideways into a patch of shingle.
The engine sputtered and died, and Macca half turned to flash Lily his lazy grin. ‘You okay back there, babe?'
‘Shiny!' Lily felt her own mouth turning up in an answering grin. What was it with boys and cars? At least the diva had died with the engine, so she could get some silence while the guys pitched the tents. Macca wrenched the sticky door open, patting her bum as she stood up. She gave him a wedgie in return.
Kier nodded for her to pull the sleeping bags out, but Lily had better things to do.
There was no sand at Bell Sears Beach, just a rattle of shingle and gravel, long scarves of kelp and the famous Fisherman's Rocks and blowhole. Everything was scoured clean, pristine and deserted. The Ford squatted there like an intruder.
Lily sniffed the damp wind and headed for the rocky shelf of the Fisherman's Rocks. It had looked flat from the car, but now she saw it was seamed with long cracks coloured white with salt. She ventured out on the slick surface until her toes jutted over the edge of the shelf.
Below them the waves sucked and wheezed, lapping and splashing up a fine mist of spray. A hollow booming sound from her right must be the blowhole, which Macca said was just a few metres offshore.
Lily bent to dabble her hand, and tasted salt on her lips. The waves nipped playfully at her fingers, and then surged to swallow her hand to the wrist. The surface swam and heaved.
‘Watch it, Lil.' Her brother jerked her backwards from the brink.
‘Yeah, yeah.' Lily freed herself. ‘Don't you feel like going off for a walk, bro?'
‘Later,' said Kier. He turned to pick up the fishing rod he had apparently dropped as he came up behind her. ‘It'd be just too much if you fell in there,' he said.
‘Macca would rescue me,' said Lily, grinning at the thought.
‘What's that goopy face for?' demanded Kier. ‘Stick the sleeping bags in the tents. Make yourself useful.'
‘Later.' Lily sat down, hugging her knees, savouring the smell, the salt-scrubbed rock and the lack of human noise. She didn't even want to use her iPod.
She smiled up as Macca came along with his rod, giving her a quick rub on the head as he passed. She loved that he would rather go fishing than try to scam beers at the pub, or sleaze around in the mall. That affectionate rub on the head messed up her hair, but it beat being groped in the first five minutes.
I really like him, thought Lily, surprised. If Kier hadn't been there, spearing her with his slitty little brotherly eyes, she'd have jumped up and hugged Macca on the spot.
The boys sorted the fishing gear and cast out, but nothing exciting happened; not even a bite. Kier and Macca were off in some fishermen's dream, and Lily kept her mouth shut.
At about four o'clock a mean little wind sprang up, making the water slap against the rocks as the tide rolled in. A wave leapt up and over the lip of the rocks, advancing and retreating in a skirt of foam.
White horses, thought Lily, but she didn't say so. ‘My turn,' she suggested instead. ‘You did invite me to fish, Mac. Kier's just the supercargo.'
Kier sighed, and stretched across to pass her his rod without bothering to wind it in. ‘You do keep on, Lil.'
‘I do not! I never said a word.'
‘Okay, okay, but for God's sake don't do anything stu –' His voice cut off with a kind of gurgle as his foot slipped on the wet rocks.
Lily watched, bug-eyed, as her brother windmilled his arms and fell heavily on his bum. His feet shot up and she stifled a giggle. Now who looked stupid?
Kier jumped up as if the rock had burned him, but Lily could tell from the sudden whiteness around his mouth that he had hurt himself. She wiped the grin off her face and said, ‘Did you bruise your tailbone?'
Kier had his teeth clenched.
‘Rub it,' recommended Lily. ‘Macca won't tell anyone, will you, babe? And I won't.'
‘Tell anyone what?' Macca looked up from his rod. ‘Falling on your arse is nothing, mate. I do it just about every time I come here. Just try to fall away from the water. If you go in there …' He jabbed his thumb towards the sea and whistled.
‘Yeah, right,' muttered Kier. He gave Lily daggers and hobbled up towards the tents. His cut-offs had a dark patch as if he'd wet himself.
Macca put his arm round Lily. ‘Hang on to that rod, babe. It's me stepfather Wozza's, and he'll string me up if you lose it.'
Lily bounced the top of the rod, and felt it jerk in her hand. ‘I think it's snagged on a rock or something,' she said. ‘Kier dragged it across when he gave it to me.'
Macca said something under his breath – Lily had never heard him swear – and propped his own rod while he reached for hers. In that instant, as they fumbled the exchange, several things happened at once.
The sea heaved.
Lily saw Macca's rod toss suddenly, and slide towards the lip of rock. An incoming wave leapt and splashed over her feet, making her dance backwards, and Macca grabbed at his own rod, than apparently changed his mind and lunged for his stepfather's, instead.
Lily would have screamed if she'd had time, but she slipped in the ankle-deep water, staggered, and pitched forward, jarring her hands and banging her chin on the lip of rock. Pain shot through her from different points of her body, and a fresh wave slopped into her face, making her choke.
She backed up, wheezing and trying to get the water out of her eyes. She'd laugh it off in a minute, but just for now it was all too painful.
‘Lil? Lil!' Kier pounded over the shelf and dragged her upright.
‘Don't fuss,' she gasped, but Kier's hands were locked in her jacket, digging into her muscles.
‘What?' she snapped, blinking as more salt water stung her eyes.
>
‘Lil – Macca's gone!'
She stared, blinking automatically. ‘Gone? No he –' She looked about.
There was Macca's fishing bag, sliding greasily across the rocks on the heels of another wave. One of the rods was tossing in the swell, lolling in the water like kelp, but the other one was gone. And so was Macca.
Kier shook her again. ‘Lil! I think he's gone over the edge. Christ, you were right here. Didn't you see?'
Lily's mouth felt stiff, and she pushed Kier away and scrubbed at her eyes. ‘I got a face full of water. Oh, come on. He can't have gone in.'
Kier peered blankly into the heaving water, which suddenly spat a wave as high as his waist. ‘Christ!' His voice cracked. ‘Lil – he's gone.'
‘No.' All Lily felt was chilled disbelief. ‘He must have ducked up to the car for something.'
‘I just came from there.'
‘Or maybe he's hiding …' Lily knew she was babbling, but this just couldn't be happening. One moment she'd been brushing hands with Macca as he tried to free the rod, and the next everything had vanished under a wave.
She stared at Kier, appalled. Inside she was beginning to scream. ‘We've got to do something,' she croaked.
Kier nodded, jerking his head like a marionette. He held out his hand and Lily took it. Together, they moved as close to the lip as they could, and stared down into the swell. Lily willed Macca to surface like a merman, blow his sweep of hair out of his eyes, and grin up at her.
‘The rod's still there,' she said between stiff lips. ‘It was c-caught. He was t-trying to f-f-' The word slid into an anguished howl.
Later, she wondered why neither of them hadn't immediately run for help. Of course, there was no one there, but surely they could have called someone on her cell phone, or taken the car? She concluded that they hadn't thought of it because they'd known, subconsciously, that it was no good.
How long did Macca have? Three minutes? Four? Lily's mind struggled with the seconds-to-braindeath ratio.
‘We need to s-spread out,' she said. ‘In case he swam ashore along that way.' She waved vaguely to the left.
‘If he could swim, he'd have come out where he went in,' said Kier. ‘He must have been swept under … or hit his head.'
Another large wave rolled in, lifting the rod towards the shelf. Lily grabbed it, and drew it in, hurting her fingers on the taut line. The unreal feeling was still hanging over her. Here is the rod, said her mind disjointedly. It has stayed to float where it fell. But that is because it was snagged in the first place …
A sudden boom made her jump, and a spout of water leapt skywards. It was the blowhole … some freakish mini cave in the rocks just a short way offshore. The water was eddying in a strange way, uncertain about its direction.
‘Did you hear that?' she said abruptly.
‘I can't hear anything!' Kier's face was ghastly, drawn and wet with tears.
Lily replayed the sound inside her mind. Boom – splooooshhhh – titititititit as the blowhole spat itself at rock and water. And in between, there had been the slightest cry. It might have been a distant gull, but there were no gulls about …
‘It was Macca.' She said it flatly. ‘He's yelling for help.'
‘No, you're –' Kier broke off as Lily flung up her hands.
‘Listen!' she spat.
This time, she knew Kier heard the cry as well. They glanced at one another, drew breath and yelled ‘Macca!' at the top of their lungs.
The answer could have come from anywhere, but at last Lily accepted what her mind was telling her. Somehow, Macca was in, or behind, the blowhole.
‘The tide's still coming in,' she said. ‘We have to get to him now!'
Kier nodded sickly. ‘I'll try to get round there …'
‘It needs us both. We can use this. And the tent ropes.' Lily thrust the fishing rod at her brother, grabbed the knife from Macca's bag and slithered over the rock and up the shingle to the tents. Ruthlessly, she sawed through the nylon loops and dragged out as much rope as she could. Macca's tent had plain hemp rope, so she hacked that loose, too.
Kier had already stripped the reel, and he helped her knot the rope and fasten it through the sturdy rings of the fibreglass rod.
‘It'll have to be me that goes in,' she gabbled. ‘No, listen! You can drag me back, but I'm not strong enough to fish you out.'
Their earlier conversation replayed through her head. ‘It'd be just too much if you fell in there,' Kier had said, and she'd answered, ‘Macca would rescue me.'
She forced the trailing end of the rope through her belt, and knotted it, then sat on the ledge. Immediately a wave hit her in the chest, half-blinding her.
I can't do this, she thought, but she launched herself away, kicking hard against the rock shelf, and praying there were no jagged spikes to rip her apart.
Lily was a good swimmer, but the turbulent water around Fisherman's Rocks did not obey the same rules as the stuff in the Olympic pool. It bulged and reversed, tossing and sucking. Lily swallowed salt water, and fought to keep her nose above the surface. Any idea of striking out towards the blowhole was smashed, but she struggled and kicked and thrashed, catching her knee a painful blow on a submerged rock.
Her hands went down instinctively, and she gripped the rock and used it as an anchor while she got her legs under her and half crawled over the hidden surface. She had never felt so numb with terror before, but somehow she kept working her way around, pounded by the blowhole's water, until she was able to see behind it.
Macca was wedged in a crack, gasping air into his lungs whenever the swell allowed. Incredibly, he was clinging to the missing rod.
‘Let it go!' shrieked Lily, but he just stared at her and shook his head.
Lily tried to show him the rope, but he didn't seem to understand. In the end, she dragged herself over to him, locked her arm into the crack to which he clung, and struggled to pull the knot free.
‘No!' yelled Macca. ‘Take –' He thrust the rod at her, then swept his arm out and around the boiling blowhole. ‘I'll swim!' he screamed.
Lily clutched the rod in disbelief. He couldn't mean he wanted her to rescue that instead of him?
But he did.
In her terror, Lily forgot the tug she was supposed to use to let Kier know when to pull, and now a huge jerk dragged her free of the rock. She moaned as her head dipped under, then she choked, thrashed to the surface and went down again. As she fought her way up, she saw Macca had vanished from the rocks. Incredibly, he was swimming out to sea. Lily sank again, clawed up, and found herself being dragged through the water like a tangled water skier.
Kier, shaking like a very old man, lay flat on the rock shelf, winding the rope until he could grab the rod and haul Lily in like a waterlogged canoe.
He pulled, rolled and shoved her along until she grounded, gasped a few words and then threw up.
Lily lay there, crying, shaking and hurting all over. Her padded jacket had saved her from the worst abrasions, but she was half-convinced she had drowned after all. And Macca had either drowned or swum to Hawaii.
A hand closed over her shoulder. ‘You okay, babe?'
‘No, I'm bloody well not!' shrieked Lily.
Macca was blue with cold, and pouring water, but he managed a smile between chattering teeth. ‘Y-you g-got Wozza's rod okay!' he exulted. ‘N-now n-no one n-needs to kn-now!'
Lily stared at him blankly and then, in quiet hysteria, she began to laugh.
On Sunday night, Macca dropped Lily and Kier home. Lily's hair was stringy with salt, and she had a sore chin and scraped hands, but she managed a smile for Dad.
‘Kieran, you're limping,' said Dad, sharp-eyed.
‘Yeah, I fell over on my bum,' said Kier.
‘You were right, Dad. You want to watch those rocks.'
‘Hm,' said Dad. ‘I see you didn't catch any fish.'
‘Kier caught one,' said Lily, ‘but it wasn't the kind you eat … unless you're a cannibal.'
; ‘Eh?' said Dad.
‘Nothing,' said Lily, smiling. ‘I'm going to have a shower …'
The rear of our station wagon skidded to a halt less than a metre from a vast pit of junk. Dust swirled and gulls flapped past the passenger-side window, squawking insanely.
‘You nearly ran over them,' I protested. ‘Real mature, Dave.'
My nineteen-year-old brother laughed.
Outside, the air was much worse than the dull, burger smell inside the car. I hated going to the dump. Especially with my brother.
The council dump was a vast wasteland. In the middle, new rubbish accumulated in a huge pit until dug under by a pair of roving tractors.
Dave saw me staring at the mess, looking unhappy. ‘Come on, slacker. Let's get this done.'
He opened the tailgate and inspected the pile of cardboard boxes and plastic bags Dad and Mum had filled with junk from the attic. I was set to go into Year 10 next year, so Dad reckoned it was time for a clean-up.
Dave dragged out a Gladbag bulging with old curtains, swung it around his head and let it sail across the pit. It plunged into a tangle of rusty wire. Next he took hold of a cardboard box full of magazines. The box hit with a resounding crash, right on top of a mostly intact window frame. Glass shattered and gulls flapped into the air, complaining like my younger sister, Sam, after I'd pinched her M&Ms. On the back of a smallish two-tonne truck parked next to us a young bloke in grey overalls stopped tossing big calico bags into the tip in order to cheer.
‘Let's see you top that shot!' Dave jabbed me in the ribs.
I grabbed a bag at random and heaved at it. The knot came apart. The bag was stuffed with toys.
‘Hey, these are mine!'
Dave glanced into the bag. ‘It's junk.' He thumped my shoulder. ‘Don't look at it, just toss it!'
I'd already spotted a flattened toy pig made out of fuzzy pink material, with a cute plastic face and tiny sad beads for eyes. ‘Hey, it's Errol!' I said. ‘When I was a little kid he was my best friend.'
Dave snatched him from me and flung him into the bag. ‘Come on, or we'll never finish.'