The Byron Journals

by Daniel Ducrou

  Heidi wanted vodka. Andrew tried to talk her out of it, but she yelled at him until he agreed to get her some. It was early evening as they pulled out of the drive-thru bottle shop and Heidi cracked the bottle of Smirnoff.

  ‘I can’t believe the only thing you could think to ask the nurse was—how long until we can have sex again,’ she said. ‘Do you realise what an arsehole you sounded like?’

  ‘How am I supposed to know what to ask? You only told me about the…warts…this morning. I had to get a check-up too, you know.’

  ‘And?’

  He paused. ‘Nothing. Well, no evidence.’

  ‘How fucking typical.’

  ‘He said we should start using condoms.’

  ‘I hate condoms,’ she muttered.

  He shook his head. ‘Obviously.’

  She glared at him. ‘Arsehole.’ She drank straight from the bottle and started singing along with the radio, deliberately out of key.

  Andrew looked at the sky. The clouds had disappeared without any sign of rain. No release. The drive seemed to take forever and the landscape was gouged and ugly—tunnels bored through hillsides and fences stapled across the land. The sugar-cane stood loaded in the fields, rigid with energy, waiting to combust.

  Halfway back, Heidi lowered the volume on the radio and turned to him, tears in her eyes. ‘Don’t be angry with me, Andy.’

  ‘I’m not.’ He kept his eyes on the road ahead.

  ‘You wouldn’t say if you were, anyway.’

  ‘Yes, I would.’

  ‘You think I’m dirty, don’t you?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I think at all.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ She leaned forward to adjust the radio dial and winced. ‘Jesus! I just want to forget this ever happened.’

  He stalled for a moment too long, sensing how charged their words had become. ‘Okay. Let’s just forget it ever happened.’ He placed his hand on her back and massaged the tense muscles around her shoulder blades, but she slapped his hand away.

  ‘Yeah, great,’ she said. ‘Fucking great.’

  They drove without talking for the next twenty minutes and he felt a surge of relief when they reached the turn-off to Byron and he saw the lighthouse, that distant white beacon on the cape. Heidi had drunk a quarter of the bottle by the time they pulled to a stop, and she was starting to slur her words. He prayed that Jade and Tim were home, but when he walked through the front door and called out, there was silence.

  He made cheese on toast and convinced Heidi to eat some. But after two bites, she stood up and limped into her bedroom.

  Andrew pushed his chair back and followed. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Dropping a pill,’ she said.

  ‘You’re still drunk, Heidi. And mixing it with the anaesthetic, it’s not a good idea.’

  ‘You don’t think anything I do is a good idea.’

  ‘You have plenty of good ideas—but this isn’t one of them. The nurse said no sex for a month or more—and if you take Ecstasy you’ll want to have sex.’

  ‘Jesus, Andy, I’ve had my insides lasered, I can barely walk—do you really think I want sex?’

  ‘I don’t know, Heidi. I don’t know what you want.’

  ‘I want you to look after me and make me feel special. I want you to love me.’

  ‘I do love you.’

  ‘If you love me, then you’ll do what I want you to.’

  ‘No, if I love you, I’ll do what’s right for you.’

  ‘You don’t know what’s right for me!’

  ‘I don’t think taking Ecstasy is right for you right now.’

  She opened her bedside drawer, picked a small green pill out of a plastic bag and swallowed it before he had time to stop her.

  He stared, furious. ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Because I hate feeling like this.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like this! Guilty and dirty and horrible.’

  He nodded, frowning, and held out his hand. ‘Fine.’

  She took out a second pill and passed it to him, and he swallowed it without water, letting the metallic bitterness settle in his mouth.

  She put on an old funk album by The Meters, and they sat on her bed to wait for the drugs to kick in. They talked about the upcoming trip—about recording in Sydney, the song for her mum, the new drum kit she was planning to buy with the dope money when they returned to Byron. Andrew played with her hands, tracing the faint life-lines on her palms, and avoided any further talk about warts or the clinic on the Gold Coast.

  They were about to shoot through the stratosphere, and he knew how risky it would be to mention anything that would set them off-course.

  seventeen

  Andrew and Heidi woke foggy-headed the following morning and made a pot of coffee for breakfast. Heidi called in sick for work and sat down to roll a joint.

  ‘Maybe we could take some liquid acid to round off the morning?’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Surprise flickered through her eyes. ‘Who told you about that? Tim?’

  He shook his head and watched the coffee plunger sink beneath his hand.

  ‘Jade?’ she asked.

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘Bitch,’ she muttered, scowling as she continued with her joint.

  ‘Can you really make much money selling it?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Who are you selling it to?’

  ‘Do I have to explain every part of my life to you now?’

  ‘No, but—’

  She picked up her joint and shoved her chair back. ‘So stop asking dumb questions.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  She slammed the bedroom door, flicked the lock and turned on The Ramones, full volume. Andrew knocked and waited, but she didn’t open. He practised keyboard for ten minutes or so, tried knocking again, practised some drum patterns Tim had shown him, then knocked again. Eventually, he grew hungry and walked to town to buy a pie.

  He bought Heidi a salad roll and left it on the kitchen table when he arrived back. The door was still locked and the music just as loud. As he bit into his pie, the music cut out amid a series of violent crashes. This time, instead of knocking, he shouldered the door with all his weight. The lock broke and the door swung open. The room was a disaster. She’d swept everything off her dressing table onto the floor and smashed the stereo against the wall. He spotted the bottle of vodka they’d bought on the Gold Coast, almost empty on the floor.

  She looked at him, unclenched her teeth and drew her hair back off her face. ‘What?’

  He stepped forward. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Of course I’m okay. I’m fine!’

  They looked at each other. Andrew’s hands hung loose at his side. ‘I bought you a salad roll.’

  ‘Oh! A salad roll will fix everything, won’t it?’

  He gestured towards the kitchen. ‘It’s on the table if you want it.’

  She stood there, arms crossed. He turned and walked out. And, to his surprise, she followed. He picked up the salad roll and held it out to her, but she didn’t look at it. He placed it back on the table, picked up his pie and headed outside. She followed and the screen door slapped closed behind her.

  ‘It’s so easy just to walk away, isn’t it, Andy?’

  ‘I came outside so I wouldn’t annoy you.’

  ‘It doesn’t solve the problem, though, does it?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I want you to stop tiptoeing around me. I want you to stop walking on fucking egg shells. I want you to give me something real, something that I can be angry at.’

  ‘Maybe I could buy you a punching bag?’

  She slapped him. ‘You arsehole! Do you realise how shit my luck is?’

  He hesitated. ‘Yes.’

  ‘No, you don’t. You don’t know anything. Look at you, eating your pie in the sun la-di-dah like everything’s fi
ne and fucking dandy. You haven’t suffered anything;

  I’m the one who’s suffered.’

  ‘So you want me to suffer?’

  ‘Yes! I want you to suffer.’

  ‘Well, I’m suffering right now with you carrying on like a freaking maniac.’

  ‘That’s not suffering! Going to a clinic and having your insides lasered is suffering. Having to go through this with someone as oblivious as you is suffering. Being made to feel dirty and guilty by someone who supposedly loves you is suffering.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said, his voice louder than he meant it to be. ‘I don’t know how to help you. You don’t want to talk about anything.’

  ‘That’s it, Andy! It’s all my fault, isn’t it?’ She slapped the pie out of his hands and it splattered across the verandah. ‘Hit me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I want you to hit me,’ she said, biting off each word.

  ‘You’re joking.’

  She shook her head. ‘Do it.’

  ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘Stop telling me I’m crazy and hit me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hit me! Slap me across the face!’

  ‘No, I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘Just do it! Fucking hit me!’

  He stood to get away from her and she slapped him across the side of his head. He made for the back door, but she tackled him from behind and started slap-ping him around the face. They fell onto the deck in a tangle. He struggled to roll her over, but she bucked and screamed. Finally, he got on top and pinned her arms with his knees.

  ‘Calm down, Heidi! Just calm down!’

  She struggled until her body sagged, then she started sobbing. He felt like an idiot, sitting on top of her like that. He kissed her cheeks and tried to stroke her face, but she drew away and refused to look at him.

  ‘Please hit me,’ she mumbled. ‘Please, Andy.’

  He sighed and stood up, helped her to her feet and led her to the bedroom. He opened the top drawer, found her sleeping tablets and brought her a glass of water from the kitchen.

  She took the pills and lay down on her bed. ‘There’s something wrong with me.’

  ‘No, there’s not,’ he replied. ‘You’re having a bad time, and I want to help. I just don’t know how.’ He pushed her hair away from her face and sat with her, holding her hand and listening to her breathing until she fell asleep.

  It was dark by the time she woke. Andrew had cleaned her room and wiped the pie from the verandah.

  As soon as she’d showered, they walked to the supermarket to buy food for dinner. Heidi acted as if nothing had happened and he played along.

  eighteen

  ‘We’re loaded.’ Tim stepped down from the bus and turned to Andrew. ‘Where’s Heidi?’

  ‘Inside,’ he replied. ‘Still on the phone to Jade.’

  ‘Heidi!’ Tim shouted into the house. ‘We’re leaving!’ He looked down, dropped his hands onto his hips and kicked a clump of grass at his feet until it came loose.

  A hot north wind raked the trees in the front yard and Andrew felt his shirt beginning to stick. He took a seat on the edge of the verandah beside Ananda, who’d arrived earlier that day to maintain the hydro set-up while they were gone.

  Ananda was puffing on a joint. ‘You okay, Kashala?’ ‘Fine.’ Tim walked to the corner of the garden, turned on the tap and waited for the water to cool before raising the hose above his head.

  ‘Smoke some weed, son.’ Ananda held out the joint. ‘You need to chill out.’

  Tim ignored him, shook his head beneath the stream of water. The front door opened and Heidi stood there, her expression blank, the phone pressed to her chest.

  ‘Jade’s not coming.’

  ‘No shit,’ Tim said and turned off the tap.

  ‘She said you gave her an ultimatum.’

  ‘A what?’

  Heidi rolled her eyes. ‘She said you’re making her choose.’

  ‘Yep. And she’s made her choice.’ Tim walked towards the bus. ‘Let’s go.’

  Ananda waved from the verandah, the joint smoking between his fingers and his curly hair blowing. They turned right at the police station, crossed the train tracks and hooked the roundabout onto Jonson Street. ‘There’s still time,’ Heidi called as they passed Byron High. ‘We could go back and pick her up.’

  Tim didn’t answer; he turned up The Doors in time for the chorus and sang along, as loud as he could, Let it roll, baby, roll!

  The wind gushed through the windows and time passed in songs and albums. The Doors. The White Stripes. Erykah Badu. Heidi wasn’t talking, so Andrew moved onto the mattress up the back and took in the scenery. Cane fields passed on either side. A sugar refinery, fishermen on the banks of the river and Queenslanders on stilts. Road signs marked the distances to towns Andrew had never heard of: Wood-burn, Grafton, Woolgoolga. He’d never been to the places they drove through and he assumed Heidi and Tim hadn’t either. Somehow, all this unseen territory seemed to cleanse them of their pasts and offer new possibilities.

  Four and a half hours south, they turned inland and motored through the sloping hinterland to a small hippy town Ananda had recommended: Bellingen. They parked the bus in a back street under an enormous Moreton Bay fig tree and checked into the hostel, a two-storey villa nestled on the hillside and overlooking the river. As soon as they were given their room, Tim lay on his bunk bed and placed the pillow over his face.

  ‘Ah!’ he moaned, his voice muffled. ‘Jade is such a bitch!’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Heidi sounded only vaguely sympathetic.

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  Andrew was about to speak, but Heidi drew him aside and shook her head.

  ‘C’mon,’ she said. ‘Let’s cool off in the river.’ She raised her voice to Tim, ‘We’ll be down at the river if you need us.’

  Outside, the buzz of cicadas had intensified with the afternoon heat. Andrew paused halfway across the car park and let go of Heidi’s hand. ‘Just a sec.’ He made his way over to an old, vintage Mercedes, checked to see if anyone was watching, then bent the badge forward and whacked it hard with the base of his palm.

  ‘See?’ he said, and passed her the weighty, metal badge. ‘I can be romantic.’

  She slipped it into the pocket of her dress, smiled and took his hand. As they descended the steep bitumen path, Andrew looked to the far river bank and saw thousands of flying-foxes hanging limp in the fig trees like heavy, black fruit. A bad omen, he thought. They walked through a shady park at the bottom of the hill and ducked through a wire fence into a paddock. Recent rain had left the land lush and green but eroded gashes in the hillside exposed the volcanic soil beneath, ochrous and bloody red. At the far corner of the paddock, an old chestnut horse with a white blaze cropped grass and watched them pass, swishing its tail at the flies. Andrew could smell manure; he hated the smell of manure.

  Heidi undressed and waded into the river. Andrew did the same and she nuzzled up to him. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. After kissing for a few minutes, Andrew began playing with her breasts, then slid his hand along the inside of her thigh. She pulled his hand away and they kept kissing. He took her hand and placed it on his cock, but she refused to touch him there.

  ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘I’m dying!’

  She looked around. There were kids playing a long way downstream near a bridge.

  ‘Is that all you think about?’ she asked.

  He paused, the water lapped between them. ‘Yes.’

  She didn’t laugh. They edged closer to the bank and kissed again. Without sex, he thought, kissing could be a pretty pointless activity. He started to laugh and she pulled away, annoyed.

  ‘What?’

  He sighed, exasperated. ‘Can you just touch it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I can’t have pleasure, so why should you get any?’

  She tried to kiss him,
but this time he pulled back. ‘Please?’

  She climbed up the bank, the water streaking off her, and grabbed her towel. ‘You’re such a selfish prick.’

  ‘Heidi—’

  Her breasts jiggled as she stepped into her knickers and dragged them up her thighs. She still looked hot, he thought. Even when she was angry. Especially when she was angry. She slipped into her dress, picked up her sandals and stormed off. Andrew watched her disappear across the paddock, her towel slung over one shoulder and the buttons at the back of her dress undone. He tried playing with himself, but it was no good without her—and he started to feel like a creep, alone in the river. He waited for the stiffness to go before climbing out and drying himself.

  Back at the hostel, Andrew found Heidi seated at one of the outdoor tables with Tim.

  ‘Heidi—I’m sorry,’ he said and placed his hand on her shoulder.

  But she pushed his hand away, stood without looking at him and walked inside. Tim slouched forward on the table. He looked up, his eyes glassy. ‘Heidi reckons I should call Jade.’

  Andrew slumped down opposite him. ‘Why don’t you?’

  ‘I told her she had to choose between me and her work—and not to call me until she’d decided.’

  ‘And you haven’t heard from her?’

  ‘She’s too stubborn.’ He shook his head. ‘But…’

  Andrew waited. ‘But what?’

  ‘It sucks but…I still love her, man.’

  ‘So call her, then! Don’t be an idiot.’

  ‘But if I call her, she’s won. She’ll think she can do anything she wants and get away with it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Andrew replied. ‘But if you don’t call her, you’ll lose her.’

  They played their first show on the main street near the pub. It was a balmy evening and people they’d met at the hostel rallied other guests to come down and check it out. Andrew, Heidi and Tim did their usual tricks. Dynamic section changes where they brought the music down to a heartbeat, built it back up and kicked it in for the chorus. Jousting dance-moves with people in the audience. And their usual finale: a threesome on Heidi’s drums—each of them beating the shit out of her half-sized kit. In between, Tim made speeches to inspire people to open their wallets. Applause rippled around them between the songs and money fell into the collection box. After all the tension around Jade pulling out of the trip, it was a relief to play a good first show.