by Allie Little
Gemma laughs, propping herself with the paddle as she floats patiently. “Hurry up, Gracie. We have some catching up to do.”
Pushing off, I’m mindful of keeping upright in the sweeping current to the north. “Sure thing, honey. Lead the way.”
She gives me a cynical grin, following the others.
Halfway across the bay the tailwind picks up, proving to be a formidable friend. Before long we’ve traversed the stretch of water to the island, all the time keeping close to the spit.
Sam and Jack pull up on the sand before us, dragging their sea kayak toward the scrubby heath for safety. Gem and I arrive soon after, attempting to do the same.
“These things are heavy.” Jack offers his muscle, dragging both kayaks up the beach next to his.
“Thanks, Jack.” I giving him a smile, sweeping hair from my face, tucking wayward strands into my ponytail.
“Shall we find somewhere to eat? Who’s hungry?” asks Sam, slinging the backpack across her shoulder and heading north.
We follow and find a sheltered corner, Sam pulling a surprising array of food from the backpack, along with a brightly checked picnic rug. She shakes out the rug with a swift flourish and lies it on the sand.
“Organised much?” Gem jokes appreciatively. “This looks great, Sam.”
Sam smiles, tugging out deli meats, crackers and dips, along with a block of cheese and a cheese slice. “Shall we eat before we explore? I’d like to check out the lighthouse after lunch.”
I glance toward the top of the island. Sure enough, the large white lighthouse looms above us, the focal point of our trip across the bay. I’d kept my eyes on it the whole way over, relieved with every paddle stroke that it was expanding in size as we drew closer.
“Do you know anything of the history here?” Gem asks, peering up at the imposing structure. “Seems a quiet place for a lighthouse of that size.”
Sam answers straight away. “Yes, there were many shipwrecks here in the nineteenth century. The area was renowned for its dangerous waters further out from the point.”
We all peer up at its blinding whiteness, waiting to hear more.
Sam continues. “Even the sandspit has changed. It used to be one hundred and fifty metres wide, was covered in scrub and even had telegraph poles running along the length of it. But in 1891 an enormous storm swept through, taking most of the sandspit away with it.”
“Gee, that’s hard to imagine,” I say, looking at the narrowness of the sand adjoining the island to the mainland. “It must have been very different to how it looks now.”
Sam nods, bursting with information. “There was a lot of trade along here, funnily enough. Ships carrying timber and wool. The cedar trade took off in the eighteen-hundreds. The lighthouse was built around 1860 to combat the loss of ships and cargo.”
“And lives too, I’d imagine,” adds Jack, a haunted expression travelling across his face. He contemplates the sea momentarily. Sam pats his knee reassuringly, then grabs for his hand. “Yes, that too.”
Gem looks across at me, indicating her awareness of what’s going on between them.
Sam catches her glance. “It’s okay, Gem. Jack doesn’t mind talking about it now, do you Jack?”
“Nah, it’s cool.” He nods at Sam, giving permission for her to elaborate.
Sam gives him a tiny, concerned smile, then turns to face us. “Jack lost his brother Charlie in the sea about five years ago. He drowned, surfing in particularly rough seas in Sydney.”
“Gosh Jack, I’m so sorry. That must have been terrible for you,” I say, understanding first-hand the pain of losing family. I also knew no words could take away his pain, a pain you learned to live with as time went on.
He nods pensively, his face taking on a contemplative tone. “The first few years were the hardest. But then you learn to cope with it, I guess. It’s good to focus on other things. It helps deal with the pain.” Sam reaches for his hand and gives him a thoughtful, empathic smile.
“Must’ve been a really tough time,” Gem says. “It must be dreadful to lose a sibling, especially that way.” Gemma turns to me. “Or the way you lost your parents, Grace.”
Jack and Sam turn their surprised attention to me, faces full of concern, waiting for an explanation.
“My parents died in a car accident when I was fourteen, so I know what you went through, Jack. When the pain of losing someone kicks you in the gut, it’s hard to come back from that, especially when you’re a kid.”
“Yeah, I was only seventeen. Losing a brother who’s also your best mate – it was the worst.”
We give each other an allied look, suddenly kindred spirits, seeking to be understood.
“But let’s not get too bloody gloomy,” he says, reaching for a drink.
I shove a cracker into my mouth, hoping to change the subject. “Well, I’m keen to get up to that lighthouse. Who’s coming?” I ask, hopping to my feet.
***
An hour later the four of us traverse the track from the lighthouse down the scrubby path toward the beach. The views from the lighthouse were spectacular, the striking line of the horizon offsetting the rocky coastal shore. Deep channels where the swell of ocean raged toward the sandspit were clearly visible, exquisitely impassable by foot. We wandered amongst the ruins of the old keeper’s cottages, the stone remains ravaged by wind and rain over the past one hundred and fifty years.
“The sea looked so unpredictable from up there,” I say, jumping down a grassy slope to the sand. The sky closes in with dense, grey clouds slung low over the horizon.
Sam peers at the dramatic storm clouds, condensed above the sea. “I think we better make tracks. I don’t like the look of that sky.”
“Storm’s coming in from the south by the looks of it. The wind across the bay will be tough to paddle through.” Jack drags the kayaks to the water’s edge.
Beneath the dense sky, the surface is grey and feathered by cold, squally winds. The chill factor bites, shivering me to my core.
“See you back there, you two,” calls Sam over the wind, jumping into the kayak and pushing off. Jack jumps in after her and they cut through the swell in tight unison.
“Guess it’s just us, honey. We’ll make sure we stick together, don’t worry.” Gemma gives a comforting smile.
“How do you manage to read my mind, Gem?”
“Don’t stress Gracie, we’ll be fine. Just find your rhythm and we’ll be back on the mainland before you know it.” She pushes off with her paddle, coursing slowly through the water.
Blustery conditions make for hard work, the waves pitching me off course at unpredictable intervals. Sam and Jack are almost out of sight, and Gemma is ahead by a small distance, pushing through surging waves.
“How’re you doing?” Gemma calls, swivelling back, pushing hair forcefully away from her face in the wind.
“I’m okay,” I yell, feeling exactly the opposite. Beneath the kayak, the sea was acutely unsettling, and the wind now feverishly wild. Without warning, a rogue wave sweeps from the south, tilting the kayak and drenching me in seawater. I manage to right it, breathing out a colossal sigh of relief, wishing for the crackling fire in Riley’s lounge room and an enormous glass of smooth, red wine.
The mainland is barely visible through the icy spray. Paddling through troughs between each rising surge, another rogue wave swamps the kayak from the side. It lists unpleasantly, passing an uncomfortable tipping point.
“Gemma!” Icy water spikes painfully as I tumble in sideways, the kayak swamped and capsized, drifting toward the open mouth of the sea.
Surfacing, gasping for air, I scan desperately for Gem. “Gemma!” I scream, every ounce of energy now gone. “Gem!”
She’s oblivious to my watery predicament, but eventually spots me flailing about pathetically. With great effort, she turns the kayak to come back for me, battling the elements. “Hang on, Grace. I’ll tow you back to the island,” she puffs, reaching me. “Hold onto the kayak.”
<
br /> She hauls me back to Fingal Island, dumping me unceremoniously on the sandy shoreline. “Here, honey. Take my jacket.” She drapes it around my heaving shoulders, giving my back a quick rub to warm me up. “I’ll head across to the mainland and send a boat back. Just hang tight. We’ll be back before you know it.”
Teeth chattering and speechlessly cold, I nod. “I’m not going anywhere, Gem.” I shiver. “I’ll be fine, but isn’t it too dangerous for you to go back out there alone?”
“Don’t worry about me. It’s not too far across and I’ll raise the alarm. If the weather gets worse, find shelter in the lighthouse. I’ll let whoever comes back for you know where you’ll be.”
Gemma clasps me in a hug before jumping into the kayak, signals her final goodbye and lurches off into the hazardous conditions. She’s lost amongst dark, stormy mists and I’m left stranded on the island.
At night.
Dark and wet.
Hideously cold.
Horribly alone.
15
Riley
Preserving independence is never easy. Or upholding values you’re determined to represent. I’d kissed mum on the cheek as I’d left our family home; told her my plans. She’d argued a little, cried a few tears, then attempted to cajole me into changing my mind. She’d said that working with Dad was the best arrangement for family unity. That to support each other we needed to stick together like glue, to bolster what Dad had worked so tirelessly to achieve.
I’d shaken my head and firmly told her no. This wasn’t the strategy or direction I needed in my life. That working for Dad was a clear-cut blueprint for disaster. And I could tell it was coming. The hint of disaster was seeping through my bones.
Jilla sits behind her desk when I arrive, pushing through the office door with surprising determination. She looks up, her startled eyes following me.
“Dad in?” I ask flatly, heading for his door.
“Yes, Riley. I’ll let him know you’re …”
With no time to wait, I’m inside his office before she finishes the sentence.
“Riley.” Dad rounds the desk with a surprised smile, nearly sweeping me off my feet with the manly thump he pounds across my back.
“Dad.”
“You’re early.”
I shrug, his comment irrelevant. “Got something I need to discuss with you concerning the family business. I’m warning you though, you’re not going to like it.”
Dad stands taller, preparing for a contest. A battle of wills. He eyeballs me with the look of a man accustomed to winning, wrestling with anger. “Spit it out. I’ll have you scraping at my feet before this is over. I know what’s best for this company and for our family.”
“Really? How much have you siphoned from Mrs Bancroft’s account so far, Dad? One million? Two? Telling her you’ve only recovered a portion of her funds? It’s disgusting … not to mention downright illegal. Is that the best for our family? You disgust me. I’ll have no further part in it.”
Dad sighs, finding me tiresome. “We’ve been through this before. I told you these dealings are legit, Riley. I have no clue where you’re getting these hair-brained ideas from. I showed you the documents to prove it.”
I scoff and he flinches. “Yeah, I’ve seen the documents, but I don’t believe for one second they’re real. I know you’re clever, but one day you’ll be just that little bit too clever, and trip yourself up along the way. I sure as hell don’t want to be around when that happens. You can go down on your own.”
He widens his stance, both hands planted offensively on his hips. “I won’t go down, Riley. I’ve run this business for twenty-five years and no evidence of illegal entanglements has ever been brought against me. I need you by my side. We’re getting bigger, Riley. Seeing larger clients. You won’t regret the returns, I promise you.”
I shake my head. “You just don’t get it, do you? You’re not hearing me. I don’t need your returns. I don’t need your money. And that’s what I’m here to say. That once and for all, as of now, you’re on your own. I’ll have nothing more to do with any of it.”
He raises menacing eyes, stepping forward. “That as of now I’m on my own?” he mimics. “Really, Riley? No son of mine speaks to me with such blatant disrespect.” He points a finger, jabbing it roughly into my chest. “You will not dispute this. Yes, by all means have your restaurants on the side. Make yourself a little pocket-money along the way. But stand by me, son. That is your responsibility - to the company and to me.” He leans in closer and shoves me hard on the shoulder, raising an index finger to my nose. “To your family.”
I push back, shoving at him with both hands flat against his chest, the anger swelling at the physical provocation. “Fuck you, Dad. Don’t fucking touch me. I’ve told you - I’m not doing it.”
Wrath overcomes him, his fury igniting in rage. He blasts me back with an arm, moving in to grab me severely around the jaw, pressing his fingers into the skin of my cheeks. He lowers his voice to a growl. “Then as of right now, this very minute … you, Riley Atherton, are no son of mine. You, as of now, are on your own.”
“With pleasure.” I elbow his arm from my face, propelling him backwards. He rears forward, ramming his bodyweight toward me, heaving me hard against the back of the door. I extricate myself by shunting sideways, pushing him off.
“And as of now? Leave me the fuck alone.”
He laughs like a madman. “You’ll be back. When you’re broke and lonely, a failed restauranteur, you’ll come running. But don’t expect forgiveness, Riley. I never forgive. And I never forget. You don’t cross family.”
I back away, binding my hateful gaze with his, smashing the door against the doorjamb on my way out. Jilla’s speechless face, widened with alarm, tracks me as I pass.
Escaping outside, I suck in a few deep breaths, calming myself.
Done.
It’s finally done.
Faaark.
***
Pulling the car into York St fuming with white-hot rage, I catch the green traffic light right before it turns amber. The day has turned bleak toward the horizon, squally clouds rolling in, shafting rainstorms darkening the sky. I cross the harbour, taking the Harbour Bridge to Manly, pushing the car faster over the rise of the Cahill Expressway toward the sea.
Thirty minutes later, a wintery chill has settled over the beach. Entering through the rear door, Swimmer appears to be ticking over smoothly enough. Mia and Lucy are darting about, with Stan prancing around as if he owns the place. In the kitchen, curls of steam rise mythically around the chefs. It would appear I have absolutely nothing to be concerned about.
“Riley!” announces Stan, spotting me from the cashier’s counter. “Come to check on us, have you? About bloody time!”
“Looks as if things are all on track, Stan. Anything to report?”
He shakes his head, looking proudly about. “Nothing at all. Lucy and I have shared the load since Grace left. By the way, how’s she doing?”
“She’s doing well, Stan. She’ll stay away until this business blows over though, so you and Lucy must continue as you are. No sign of any stalkers in the alleyway?”
“None at all, boss. Neither of the girls have seen him and we’ve all been keeping a weather eye out. Perhaps he’s given up his creepy charade?”
“I very much doubt it. If you see anything at all, let me know immediately. I’m not taking any chances.”
Stan looks closely at my dishevelled appearance and stormy face. “You okay, boss? You look a little flustered. Need a drink?”
“Yeah, mate. That’s exactly what I need. Pour me a strong one.”
He heads to the bar and pours out a scotch, straight up no ice. He passes it over. “Something bothering you?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” I swirl the amber liquid twice around the glass before swigging it down. “Nothing a little distance won’t resolve.” I plant myself onto a bar stool.
Stanley shakes his head with disagreement. “
Distance won’t solve your problems, Riley. It simply increases the void between you and the solution.”
“So wise all of a sudden, Stanley?” I smirk. “In this case, the void remains. The further the expanse between me and my father, the better off I’ll be.”
Stan pours another scotch into a glass and slides it along the bar. “Sounds as if you need another one, boss. You’ve done something today that took courage by the sound of it.”
I shrug a beaten shoulder. “As a wise man once said, courage is not defined by those who fought and did not fall, but by those who fell, fought and rose again.”
“Sounds as if you’ve conquered a demon, Riley.”
I raise my drink to the light-fittings above. “I may have emerged victorious on this particular occasion Stan, but believe me, no demons were vanquished today.”
“You’re a good man, Riley. Whatever it was, I know you’ll have done the right thing.”
I cock my head to the side, considering the compliment. “I did the right thing today Stan, but at what cost? I may have lost my family.” Downing the second drink, I say, “Pour me another, Stan. It’s quelling the rage.”
Stanley decants more of the amber liquid from the bottle to the glass. The rain outside teems, a perfect complement to my already perfect day. It lashes at the windows, bucketing down with the ferocity of the gale force wind behind it.
“You talk of family, boss. Sometimes family don’t behave the way you think they should. They’re family after all. They say or do things on a whim, without care or regard for who they hurt. We’re under this strange illusion, Riley, that families are bonding. Binding. That family will carry us through. Sometimes boss, that just ain’t the case.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” I swallow back the remainder of the scotch, thundering the glass down onto the bar.
“But take a look around. There’ll be people in your life who may not be family, but who serve a more important purpose. Because they’ll be there for you when you need them the most. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying …”
“Yeah, yeah,” I interrupt. “You can’t choose family.”