I watch Ariel looking at the paddocks, remembering her past, I guess, good things and the bad. Man, I so much want to tell her I’m on her side, that Evan and me will see her through until it’s pretty much sorted.
Then we’re at good old Geelong, G-town, and on the bus on our way to the beach. I see Kaydie’s asleep, her rabbit headlocked under her arm.
‘Return to Camp Chaos!’ Evan shakes a fist at the window. ‘Look out, Linda! Here we come!’
Of course, Linda won’t be there, but the camp will be, locked up for winter. And as we go past the entrance – a triangle of bare logs over the driveway – I laugh, because even though it was a mental situation, it was kind of fun being an outlaw for a week.
‘She’s probably still having nightmares,’ Evan says. ‘Wonder what she’s doing now?’
‘Livin’ in Switzerland,’ I say. ‘Knittin’ jumpers for Appaloosas.’
The bus goes down a hill, round a corner, and pulls into the little Anglesea shopping centre. I feel like I’ve slipped back into a dream, but I wake up as soon as the salty breeze hits. Then all four of us are on our way over the road, chasing our shadows to the beach, the sun following us overhead as if it’s determined to keep a promise.
We stop on the top of the dunes, standing there like explorers, the wind flattening my shirt to my chest. The sea is close, noisy and wide, greeting us with rows of breaking waves and seagulls hovering like kites and calling like babies.
‘Well!’ Ariel laughs, her hair gone truly wild, her face open to the place like her spirit’s been cleared for take-off. ‘So stunning.’ She turns, grabs Kaydie’s hand and they skip down the steps. ‘Look at this, Kaydie. Look at this!’
Evan and I follow, toeing off our shoes as we hit the sand, knowing that much at least about the rules of the surf. The sounds of the waves are like something you’d hear on the first morning of the earth, the air is chilled and good.
Kaydie peels off her socks, finds a smooth spot, and goes to work making a sandcastle, using her hands like blades. The rest of us sit on our towels, snug in our jeans and hoodies, the smell of the sand cool and seaweedy.
‘We made it.’ Ariel looks out to sea, trying to frame what she sees with her hands. ‘Those colours. Like glass. Blue and green and white. It feels so clean here. You can see so far.’
It’s a big view. I think about staying here overnight in one of the houses on the hill, or even a tent. We could have a fire and watch the sea getting dark under a windy sky. The whole place feels alive, linked by the energy of ocean and land – no concrete, no steel, just the real thing.
‘It’s not Hawaii,’ I say. ‘But man, it’s pretty damn freakin’ good.’
It is good, although the only people on the beach are old, dressed for the Antarctic, walking even older dogs. One dude is surfing, cutting turns in mushy waves before sinking slowly into the white water. I watch him paddle out, looking like he’s found a sort of a freedom that us four don’t know anything about.
This exact spot, I reckon, is close to where Evan and me were last summer. It has to be within forty or fifty metres of where Evan’s fight was, but the memory of that has faded, overtaken by the sight of Ariel and Kaydie working on the sandcastle on the sunny, wintery beach.
‘You’re an expert, Kaydie,’ Ariel says, patting the side of the castle with stiff fingers. ‘You’re a sandcastle superstar.’
It’s as if Ariel knows that the worse things have been, the better she has to be now. She’s like Boydy stepping up to lead the way, doing the hardest things best and first – which reminds me of my mum at Uncle Andy’s funeral. Jude got up and told everyone about the mad things he did, crying and laughing at the same time, and I figured out that you can handle a lot of things – mostly by just trying.
I watch Ariel scooping up sand, thinking she deserves better than living in Tempy, working in Sky Point and hanging with Evan and me, two dudes who’ll probably only get as far as an old Commodore can take us – but she’s never said so. And that’s one reason why I love her.
No more quiet country bus stops for her. No more walking through the paddocks, riding horses, or even talking to her dog. Instead of having ten badges on her school jumper, she’s worrying about door locks, power bills and strangers lurking behind the back fence in the dark.
I check the waves, watching the dude twisting out of the white water to paddle away, chest up, like an energetic frog.
‘Ever get the feelin’ you’re a fish outta water,’ I say to Evan.
He laughs. I must’ve said something interesting, for once.
‘Yeah, we’re way off it.’ He adjusts his hat, which shelters a titanium brain. ‘Whatever. Can’t do everything. Not to say that we won’t. Not to say that we couldn’t.’
Yeah, that’s a point. I file his words away for future reference.
The surfer dude comes up the beach, freckle-faced, a short white board tucked up under his arm. He’s eyeing us sideways, knowing we’re not local, not quite right, and have to be watched. I get it we look kind of rough and ready – that we can’t hide the edge.
‘How’d ya go, mate?’ I’m like Bobby-boy asking someone fishing if they’ve caught anything. ‘Saw ya get hold of a couple.’
The kid stops, relaxes, turns like he has to look at the waves. He glances at Evan and Ariel, but decides to talk to me. Good thinkin’, dude!
‘Yeah. Swell’s not great.’ He wipes his face with the back of his hand. ‘You guys surf?’ Guesses we don’t, I bet, but says it anyway.
I look at the waves, blunt and fat, crashing down flat. All I can imagine is me splashing around like a shot duck.
‘Nah.’ I drop my hands, meaning I don’t have a clue. ‘Looks good, though. Kinda like flyin’. And you’ve gotta know the sea. How it works. It’s cool.’
The kid nods, red-headed, frozen-looking, his skin that pale type that isn’t really suited to salt water. At least I go brown. He hitches his board up, a quick-looking sharp-nosed thing, green leg-rope wound around three blue fins. It’s slick.
‘Yeah, but you learn that.’ He holds the board like a shield. I can see he loves it. Maybe it’s the best thing he’s got. ‘Grab an old one. Paddle out when it’s small. You look fit enough. It’s not that hard. Just practise.’
I laugh, appreciating the angle. Maybe one day. Who knows?
‘Yeah, I might. Take it easy.’
He grins, funny teeth, fenced in behind silver braces. ‘You too, bro. See ya, guys.’
Then he’s gone, up through the dunes, the waves coming in with no one to ride them, the sound making you think of your life. Or someone’s life, anyway. I look at Ariel, wondering if I’ll ever be good enough for her, really. Or if I’ll reach my use-by date and that’ll be that. Perhaps she’ll move on, away, up, or just plain elsewhere. She smiles, kneeling beside a sandcastle that looks like a volcano.
‘We should go for a walk.’
So we saddle up and go down to the shore, looking in rockpools that are the most brilliant things you could ever see. They’re so clear it’s like you’ve got brand-new eyes. There are seaweed forests, spooky octopus caves and rippled sand so smooth it reminds me of old music. Johnny James might call it the perfect environment, I guess, and somehow I find myself holding hands with Ariel, which might not seem much, but it is.
The weather turns grey and rainy, so we catch the bus back to Geelong, and wait half an hour for the train to Melbourne. It’s okay, though. We’re still laughing, we didn’t get wet and it’s not dark yet. Our carriage is nice and warm, full of people going to the footy to watch the Cats. Everybody but us wears blue and white and a couple of old ladies smile at Kaydie and her rabbit, while some bloke sings, ‘We are Gee-long, the greatest team of all!’
Which is hard to argue with, considering how well they’ve been going – but screw ’em anyhow, because we are the Dogs, and we’re comin’ at ya, maybe slowly, outta the west. I keep that to myself, though, and just enjoy the ride, sitting next to Ariel.
/> ‘Did you have somethin’ in mind to do after school?’ I ask her. ‘Like, before you came to Tempy and had to work.’
She looks out the window. A car is racing us on a side road that cuts through endless green paddocks like prairie without buffalo.
‘I was thinking about going to uni.’ She walks her fingers around on her jeans. ‘I like writing and stuff. History and art. Who knows? I might one day.’
‘We’ve got an English teacher who’d love you,’ I say, picturing Johnny James holding a book, outlining its good points, basically wasting his breath on us, but there you go. ‘You’d be a star. His only one.’
Ariel smiles like she’s imagining the situation. Or perhaps her old school, where I bet she nailed it.
‘I haven’t given up on it,’ she says. ‘Fully.’
‘That’s right.’ I look at the land, like a dream, lit up by the sun squeezing one last little burst of brightness out between the clouds. ‘Never give up.’
‘What about you, Ryan?’ She moves a fraction closer. ‘What do you want to do? If you could do anything.’
Anything? I let my head hit the headrest. Welterweight champion of the world. Captain of the mighty Bulldogs. SAS sniper. Formula One racing driver for Red Bull. Er, brickies’ labourer, more like it.
‘Oh, I dunno,’ I say. ‘Maybe a carpenter or a brickie. That’s about it. No idea, really.’
Ariel gets hold of my hand. It’s a fist at the moment and I didn’t even realise. She opens it up, gives my palm a gentle poke.
‘You’ll work it out.’
I might, but I get the feeling that it might work me out first, like it worked out Slate. It just seems there are a lot of places I won’t be going, and things I won’t be doing, because that’s what can happen in Tempy. You can get stopped in your tracks and it’s hard to get restarted. I mean, if Slate can’t break loose with all the power he’s got, then I don’t know how I will.
‘I’m waitin’ for a sign,’ I say, seeing the sun has gone, and the clouds have turned purple. ‘It’ll turn up. Sooner or later. One way or the other.’
‘It will.’ She gives me a smile. ‘I promise.’
We sit in silence, me thinking I’d like to ask Ariel about her mum, but I won’t. Families break up in all sorts of ways and sometimes the pieces are scattered too far and wide to ever be picked up. Or talked about. I see Kaydie is looking at Ariel, and only Ariel.
‘It’s time to feed the horses,’ she whispers, her blue eyes like windows on her own little world.
This stops Ariel in her tracks. Stops me, too, like a hit in the head with a piece of wood – and it’s not stars I’m seeing but things that have gone that are not coming back.
‘Oh, Kaydie.’ Ariel leans across, putting her hands on Kaydie’s knees. ‘Yes, it is. That’s right. But they’ll be fine. They’re okay in horse heaven. Maybe just sleeping. Somewhere they’re okay. They’re fine.’
Man, this is killing me. This is smashing me out of the park. This is grinding me into the dirt, take your pick. If I had the money, I’d buy the kid one of those spotty horses right now. But guess what? It’s not the thought that counts in this world, bro, it’s what you actually do. And I can’t do anything about this.
Ariel touches Kaydie’s forehead, as if she’s taking her temperature, and they look at each other without saying a word. I imagine the two of them walking through a paddock towards their horses, blue sky over green grass, everything like it once was. Ariel lowers her hand slowly and Kaydie goes back to looking out the window.
‘I really liked the beach, Ryan,’ Ariel says. ‘It was great.’
Slate comes with me when I take Deed out behind Sky Point. He’s wearing a New York Giants jacket; the boss of the Bonnyview pub gave the bouncers one each when he got back from America. With me, whenever I go to the footy, I just wear a white Bullies jumper, no sleeves, under my Levi’s jacket. Not flash, nothing over the top, but good enough to show where I come from and who I go for.
‘It’d be nice to be a dog sometimes.’ Slate watches Dee Dee run. ‘Nothin’ much to worry about. You look after her like a baby.’
I’m holding a new lead that Slate bought. It has a red leather handle and a heavy, heavy silver chain. Slate also hinted that it might make a good weapon in an emergency and I can see the potential.
‘Yeah, she’s got it good,’ I say. ‘Better than most people.’
I’ve always liked hanging with Slate; not only because he’s so big and people like him, but because he always listens to what I say.
‘Any trouble at the pub lately?’ I ask, wanting to hear tales from the midnight zone, I guess.
Slate mooches along, fists in pockets, avoiding puddles. He’s a pretty neat guy, when it comes down to it. Not the grunge type.
‘Always,’ he says. ‘People, mate. They’re hopeless. Specially when they drink. Or get stoned.’ He looks around as if he half expects to see some idiot rushing at us with a pool cue.
‘You should quit,’ I say. ‘Before you get hurt. Or kill someone.’
Slate’ll take stuff from me that he won’t take from anyone else. I guess it’s the big-brother factor; he gets it that I’m worried about him. He swings his boot at a lone white Jim Beam can, sending it rattling.
‘Trouble is,’ he says, ‘it gives me a bit of a buzz. Got a bit of the old showbiz feel about it. And sometimes you get to hit the right people.’
I understand that. Like, who doesn’t want to belt the hell out of some of the dopes you see? But in the end, even Sugar Ray Leonard got hurt in fights. There’s always someone out there who is bigger, meaner, faster, stronger, or they just get lucky. Or you get unlucky.
‘There’s a girl checking you out, mate,’ Slate says quietly. ‘Behind us.’
I turn, pretending to look for Deed, and see Eden Larkin in jeans and a black T-shirt. She’s coming along the grass bank, her arms bone-white in the cold. When she sees us, she looks away and moves off, head down, white hair standing out.
‘Kid from school,’ I say. ‘Younger. Her brother’s a bloody idiot, but she’s all right. Cops it, though.’
Slate nods, a guy who’s got more going for him than just good eyesight and benchpress numbers.
‘Give her a yell, mate.’
I do. Eden looks up and when I wave she lifts a hand, barely. Keeps walkin’, though.
‘Tough gig,’ Slate says, watching her. ‘For some kids. Where’s she goin’?’
She’s not heading home that way. And there’s no entry into Sky Point from this side.
‘I dunno.’ I watch her make her way between islands of wet black bushes. Trying to get out of sight is the feeling I get. Trying to give the impression she’s all right when maybe it’s all wrong. ‘She’s just goin’.’
Slate follows her with his eyes. ‘She’ll hit the fence eventually. That’ll stop her.’ He throws me a pack of chewing gum and tells me to keep it. Before he started bouncing, he never used to have chewy, but he does now, all the time. It’s an attitude thing, I guess. ‘Call Deed, mate. Better get goin’. I got work.’
We head for home, steel-grey clouds coming at us from the west. I turn once to see if I can spot Eden, but it’s like she’s fallen off a cliff. And now it starts to rain.
School goes on like a story with no end, the days only occasionally lit up by the odd random act of madness, like some year seven kid overdosing on vitamin C. Luckily, even Elmore Larkin has been keeping a low profile, like the Loch Ness monster – not forgotten but rarely sighted. Unfortunately, I can see him now, lurking on the basketball court, reading some bullshit English soccer mag – which presents me with a problem, because Eden is about ten metres away, alone in a cold corner, spending recess like a prisoner chained to a wall.
Evan is off at the dentist, so at least I can handle this in my own way. I walk over.
‘Hey, Eden.’ My heart’s hammering – I know Elmore’s got me covered like an armed border-guard of a lawless country. ‘What’s goin’ on?’
‘You don’t have to talk to me.’ Eden stays beside a set of concrete steps that acts as a windbreak.
I ignore this. ‘Might see you over the park one day.’ This’ll do for a start and maybe a finish to the conversation. ‘With the dog. She likes you.’ True statement. ‘You saw how big a baby she is.’
I see Elmore’s on the move, tucking the magazine in his back pocket, accelerating. Towards me. I hang. Ships on a collision course, bro. That’s us. And here he comes, face changing with every lengthening step.
‘Any fuckin’ problem?’ He shouts at me from twenty metres. ‘I said, any fuckin’ problem, idiot?’
I face him keeping my hands down, but I’m ready to go. The options I see are a side kick, or a quick step off the line to come back with the right, then just pile in, all guns blazing.
‘No problem with me.’
Elmore stops, but I can see he’s itching to get moving – straight through me.
‘It’s orright, Elmore,’ Eden says awkwardly, her hands in a tight pale knot. ‘Nothin’ you need to hear. No problem.’ She hesitates, separates her hands, moves one as if on a loose hinge. ‘Go away.’
Elmore jabs the air. I can see he wishes it was a fist aimed at my face.
‘Yer bother ’er, Lanyon, and I’ll put ya in ’ospital for six fuckin’ months.’ His eyes glimmer, he shakes his head like a mad bull. ‘Correction. Six fuckin’ years.’
‘I’m not botherin’ anyone,’ I give back. ‘As I said.’
‘You’re fuckin’ right yer not!’ He closes the distance between us to see if I’ll give ground. But I don’t, so he turns away, shaking his head, dragging the mag out of his back pocket, turning to wave it like a hammer. ‘Yer ’eard me! You take fuckin’ note!’
I have nothing to say. Confused is what I am, because the information Eden gave me makes hating that big stupid bastard harder than it used to be, although I’m still managing to dislike the prick quite intensely. Black and white? Not anymore. I flash Eden a grin.
‘Take it easy,’ I say. ‘One day at a time.’ That’s what Slate says, and now I’m saying it. ‘You’re doin’ all right.’
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