by AA Bell
She nearly dropped it in surprise, but the branch was the only remnant of her childhood home, and although it still smelled of churned dirt and grime from the tread of a bulldozer, she held it to her cheek and closed her eyes, trying to restore her most beloved tree in her mind.
Caressing the corroded trail of thumbtacks — palm-sized Braille serving as her earliest lessons in reading with her hands, and each line special, since her mother had arranged them with love — she read four words from the broken branch.
To see a world …
She didn’t need the rest of the limb to remember the full quatrain: To see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour.
Yet the ethereal heaven of her childhood home had been trampled, and all that was left in the world now were these first cold hard words on a splintered remnant.
‘If it makes you feel any better, conservationists have forced a halt to the development and it’s likely to be held up in court for years, now.’
‘Makes no difference.’ She sighed, feeling so empty inside that she could think of no words to fill the void.
‘I found it in the garden,’ he said. ‘Mum must have shunted it off the patio some time after you dropped it.’
‘I dropped it when Kitching shot you.’ She flung it away, stung by the memory. Too late. She was there with Ben again on the patio. He’d handed the branch to her then too, so tenderly, and yet so angry and frustrated at himself at the time for being unable to save more of her home for her — and she’d been so grateful that he’d cared enough to try. Then her tears refracted golden light, permitting her to glimpse Kitching in the garden taking aim, and blinded momentarily by the piercing pain, she’d dropped the branch to push Ben aside. Instead he’d pulled her into his arms, and as the warmth of his breath drew closer to her cheek, she’d closed her eyes. His lips brushed against hers again in her memories. Lightly at first, almost fearful that he might break her, but then so passionately and so deeply that she’d begun to melt into him. Then she’d heard that shot — little more than a puh, like a fist hitting a pillow — and felt the jolt of his body as the bullet struck his back and knocked more than the wind from him. No amount of her strength could prevent his body from falling away from her.
‘Don’t!’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘It hurts too much to remember.’
His hand found her shoulder and he shook her gently, reassuringly. ‘Embrace the pain, then let it go. The difference in how you feel is a measure of how far you’ve come.’ His hand lingered long enough to make her ache for him, making her feel weak and helpless all over again.
‘Not far enough.’ She buried the branch in the sand.
‘You have to treasure your past, Mira. Or at least accept it, before you can fully appreciate where you are, and where you’re going. In fact, I think you should start Brailling your own tree right here in the dunes. Brailling? Is that a word? Make a fresh start, anyway, with all the thoughts that you’ve found the most liberating.’
‘Liberating?’ She laughed. ‘I’m sitting here in a beach towel. That’s liberating all by itself, compared to a straitjacket. Besides, I’m leaving the past in the past, remember?’
‘Oh? And is this how you plan to dress from now on?’ He brushed loose grains of sand from her cheek as if amused.
‘Well, I can’t wear that sundress I came home in. It reeked of Serenity so I shredded it. Now it’s either this, or the clothes your mother gave me — and they all stink of mothballs.’ She listened over her shoulder to check if Mel might be sneaking up on them, but then remembered Mel had left for work after drowning her sorrows in the surf. Since then, Mira had enjoyed the past three hours alone — just her, the towel and the bag of sunglasses that Ben had purchased at the hospital canteen. Not that she could judge specific dates on a beach anyway, but the darkest pair seemed to assist her focus on light that was more than ten days old, since she could see Ben’s brown-violet ghost out there catching the breakers, with his faithful old Rottweiler, Killer, perched in front of him on his board — the dog that his mother had cared for during the six years Ben had spent in gaol — and that thought made her realise that Mel must have been as fond of the dog as Ben had been. Now the faithful old pet was dead because of her; shot by Colonel Kitching when he’d come after her.
‘Your mother hates me,’ Mira said flatly. ‘Not that I can blame her.’
‘Woah, no she doesn’t! What gives you that idea?’
‘She must resent me for everything that’s happened to you: losing your job and your health and your dog, and well … everything. She must think I’m progressively trashing everything.’
‘Ho-no, she’s not like that. And don’t ever say that about you and me. You’re not trashing anything. Ma just needs her space and privacy, same as everybody.’
Mira frowned, unconvinced.
‘She’s quite grateful, actually, that you didn’t come out here to unwind until after she was getting ready for work. She told me as much, while she was whipping up dinner for us — a mild chicken curry that’s in the fridge until we’re ready.’
‘She shouldn’t be cooking for me. She should be moving in with her boyfriend. I don’t need a housekeeper, Ben. Or a stalker who gets their kicks out of eavesdropping.’
‘That’s a little harsh. She only wants to help.’
‘I don’t need her help. It’s counterproductive.’
‘Oh, that’s not entirely true, Mira. Think about your deepest need.’
The sand squeaked as he made himself more comfortable beside her, but she kept her attention on the waves, watching happier times — just a man and his dog and the sea. Then she saw his mother, jogging down the ghostly beach with her board to join them.
‘I don’t need a mother, Ben. I have one; she’s flying with angels now and just as well, I suppose. The world doesn’t need anyone else with my blood and DNA.’
‘That’s not what I mean. Family is much more than blood and DNA. It’s a set of structural relationships that can support you through your darkest hours. It’s give and take, and love and hate, and …’
‘Fighting over soap and toothpaste.’
He laughed. ‘Sometimes, sure — and the TV remote, and who gets to take out the garbage. It’s about togetherness, Mira, through good times and bad, and never needing to feel alone, no matter how much trouble you’re in.’
She thought about that for a long moment, but since she’d grown so used to fighting the world alone, she could only imagine one kind of relationship with Ben’s mother. ‘You need her as support while you’re working with me. And that’s okay. I’ll try to keep my distance from her.’
‘I do need her,’ he conceded. ‘And I think she needs me. We’ve been going through a rough patch for six years, but little by little, out there on the waves, we’ve been mending our ways — at dawn and dusk usually, as one of us is coming home and the other leaving.’
Glancing east again, she could see that much was true; there he was, with the sea and his family.
‘Have you ever surfed?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘Not unless you count learning to swim on a kick-board — which I never did get the hang of. I had like, maybe, three lessons in kindergarten.’
‘Then I’ll take you out tomorrow. It’s life-changing, Mira. You don’t need to see a wave to ride it. You can feel it, like mother nature breathing; it’s timeless and wild and total freedom.’
‘Yes, and when I drown, your mother will celebrate — or scold you for letting me drown with her surfboard.’
‘You can use mine. Or better yet, come to The Point with me now and we’ll get a long, stable board for beginners. They sell surf fashion too, and I need to check my post box and pay some bills anyway, but we could also visit the newsagent — test each of those sunglasses against dates on the newspapers and maybe buy you a box of thumbtacks to decorate your own tree.’
She laughed. ‘So I can buy a surfboa
rd and thumbtacks to make you happy, but not a four-wheel drive to save my teeth from chattering on your roads?’
‘Start small,’ he argued with a playful dig to her ribs. ‘You need to exhibit interests in a range of sports and hobbies for the review panel — and trust me, you will enjoy surfing.’
Mira shook her head, remembering the bloated look of her father’s face when he’d hung himself upside down from a tree and drowned in a barrel of liquid fertiliser. ‘I can’t swim, Ben. That’s another reason I hate ghostly bridges.’
‘You don’t need to swim. You’ll have a surfboard and me.’
‘Well, I can’t go out in public now anyway.’ She pointed to the sand a short distance away, where she’d finished shredding and burning the sundress and shoes that she’d been wearing that morning — the last of her ties to Serenity. ‘This towel is now my best dress at least until tomorrow when the hand-me-downs from your mum have time to air.’
‘Wear them anyway and who cares if you smell like mothballs?’ He rose and tugged her to her feet. ‘Go change while I fit up my car with roof racks. I’m sure there’s some beach clogs at the back door that should fit you too.’
As the main road to Point Lookout grew noticeably hillier, Mira saw a ghostly turnoff to Dead Man’s Beach. Much more attractive than it sounded. More densely populated too, with shoulders of posh beach homes all jostling around stubby cliffs for the best view.
‘Want to see it?’ Ben asked as they breezed along with the windows down. ‘It’s only a short crescent, but it’s wild for surf. World renowned.’
‘No, I’m good. But if that’s where your French friend from the ferry lives, I don’t mind wave-watching while you visit her.’
‘Gabion?’ He sounded surprised. ‘She’s probably still at work — and for the record, she doesn’t work on the ferry. She’s a national park ranger.’
‘On the mainland?’
‘No, here on Straddie. She manages the camping grounds and eco-classes around the mangroves on neighbouring islands, but it looked like she was escorting a handful of senators today. Every year, there’s always some who want the insider’s guide to the best spots for the fishing competition.’
‘Helping them cheat, you mean?’
‘Hardly! If I know Gabby, she’ll rub her hands with eucalypt leaves before handing out their rods. Then they couldn’t catch the smallest from a bucket of big game fish.’
He rounded a curve and braked to a halt between a line of shops and a small park, which also featured a cluster of large trees and an ugly toilet block, ironically commanding the best views of the coast. ‘You might want to close your eyes a sec, Mira. I’m making a U-turn.’
She was in the middle of the most placid traffic she’d ever heard anywhere. No horns sounded. No brakes squealed, and from the rumbling delivery truck behind them, she heard a ‘G’day, mate!’ from the driver which echoed back at him from a male pedestrian nearby on the footpath — all invisible from Mira’s perspective, but swapping between her yester-fortnight shades and another pair didn’t change the scene terribly.
This particular blind bend, it seemed, was popular for U-turns, and everywhere she looked, she could see people who behaved as if they were on permanent holiday. Families eating at cafés, joggers on pathways up to the lookout and couples on blankets in the park overlooking the beach.
‘As far as cities go, I think I like this place.’
‘Cities? Mira, it’s barely two streets. The rest is housing — and if those are the glasses that help you see ten days ago, you’re looking at peak time, during school holidays.’
She smiled and looked around again. ‘So I like it even more now.’ Ten days ago, his chosen space had already been occupied by a real-estate agent’s Landcruiser, so as Ben parked Mira glided into the passenger seat that was stacked ceiling high in the back with for sale signs. Much taller than Ben’s car. She had to stretch up and lean forward to avoid the odd sense of being smothered by seat padding.
Hearing Ben’s door open, she scrambled out too, with a bag full of sunglasses, locked the door, and hurried to the kerb, trying not to trip over her own feet. Mel’s clogs seemed about three sizes too big but she didn’t regret destroying the pair of flat shoes from Serenity. She bumped into the invisible shape of a rubbish bin which must have been installed recently, and nearly fell over.
‘Want your cane?’ Ben asked. ‘I saw the makeshift one you left by the front door and packed it while I was fitting my roof racks — or there’s still the one in my trunk with the GPS — but the surf shop sells hiking sticks if you don’t want to stand out so much?’
Mira frowned. ‘I choose D. None of the above.’
‘There’s no shame in being blind. It’s who you are. And those clogs look so awkward and dangerous.’
‘Just lead the way and don’t stop unexpectedly.’
He sighed and took her hand, relieving her of the bag of sunglasses. ‘First stop is the surf shop.’
‘You don’t have to walk so slowly for my sake, Ben. The footpath can’t have moved too much in the last fortnight.’
Rounding the next corner on foot, hand in hand with him and enjoying the relaxed pace anyway, she noticed that the shop also sold beach fashion, just as he’d promised.
‘What colour would you like?’ asked the male shop attendant.
Mira laughed. ‘I don’t care, really.’
‘You should,’ he replied. ‘Colour shouts to the community, you know?’
‘What Chuck means,’ Ben explained, ‘is we watch out for each other out there. So the colour of your board isn’t just a statement of personality. It goes with style, size and brand to let everyone know how much room you need on the waves.’
‘Can also help or hinder lifesavers,’ Chuck said. ‘You know, for spotting you offshore, if you’re caught in a rip.’
‘So she’ll take that fluorescent pink one with the white tip, thanks, Chuck. Oh, and with an ankle strap and your best board wax.’
‘Travel bag?’
‘Yeah, red, mate, to match the one I bought last month to suit the Camaro.’
‘Sure, hang ten. It’s out back.’
‘Benny?’ called a French accent from the doorway. ‘Twice in one day? Tis Fate for us, oui?’
‘Gabion? Are you on a break?’
‘Supposed to be, my love. But my VIPs are around the corner, sucking down wine and cheese. Not much fun spending my own time with them. I can’t drink until I’ve ditched them at the end of the week.’
‘Sorry to hear that. I’d ask you to join us but we’re already on the run to get everything done before close of business.’
Mira shifted her feet, hoping he didn’t ask her to join them for drinks or something anyway.
‘Business with your new mystery lady? The whole island is talking, wondering her name?’
‘Well, I suppose we can’t have that, can we?’ Ben adopted a formal tone briefly to introduce Mira first, then Gabion Biche.
‘Forgive me for being a little forward,’ Gabby said. ‘How blind are we?’
‘She can’t see you at all,’ Ben replied. ‘Just shadows occasionally.’
‘And this?’ Gabby said, raising her voice.
‘She’s blind, not deaf,’ Ben replied. ‘Try moving your hand so the light from the door is behind it. Sometimes that helps.’
‘Like this?’
Mira felt a whoosh of air rush close past her face. She flinched, but didn’t know the right way to respond in public. At Serenity, she could have simply scratched Gabion’s face and spent the night in a straitjacket.
‘Sorry, nothing, and it’s getting late. I really should get back to shopping.’
‘Oh, but we’re both girls, aren’t we? No harm in shopping together, while you’re here.’
Mira shrugged, trying not to scowl — not too much.
‘There! I knew it!’ Gabby hugged Mira roughly and led her swiftly away from Ben towards a clothes rack. ‘Obviously, poor Benny has no flair or u
nderstanding of such things,’ she said, loud enough for him to overhear her. ‘For a boy who frets so much over details, it’s funny he has no talent for seeing the big picture. So, please allow me to assist you with a little browsing.’
‘I really don’t need any help,’ Mira said as politely as she could manage.
‘Oh, but forgive me for saying, you do.’ Then Gabby’s voice dropped to a low whisper, while also losing most of her accent. ‘His ma did that to you, I’ll bet. Grey pleats and plaid? Yikes, and those shoes! Honey, you’d look better barefoot in a garbage bag.’
‘Smell better, too,’ Mira said.
Gabby giggled, causing Mira to giggle too. She couldn’t help herself.
‘Ah, see, Benny?’ Gabby called, wearing her thicker accent again. ‘We’re already having fun without you. Why don’t you finish whatever business you have and try to pry us apart when we’ve emptied the shelves of their prettiest bargains?’
‘Sorry, Gabby. I can’t leave her alone with you.’
‘You don’t trust me, after all these years?’
‘With my life, Gab, but not with hers. Straddie has no audible warnings at traffic crossings. No tactile lines on any paths. You could be called away to your VIPs at any moment — and there are over two thousand half-drunk fishermen pouring into town for the competition.’
‘Oh, stop fussing. I would never leave any friend of yours alone in the wilderness. So let’s not squabble, Benny. It’s Mira’s decision in any case. Is it not, Mira?’
Silence followed, and she realised they must both be looking at her.
‘Yes, but … I don’t feel comfortable with strangers.’ The uppermost question in her mind was also bursting to be asked, and she couldn’t wait another ten days to find out for herself. ‘Can you describe yourself for me first?’
‘Oui, naturally. I’m a little shorter than you, and brunette with brown eyes. But really, what does the appearance of a shell matter, when every oyster hides its pearl inside?’
‘Hear, hear,’ Ben agreed.
‘I can hardly argue with that.’ Mira confessed, wondering if she’d just discovered Ben’s idea of beautiful. Judging from the admiration she’d just heard in his voice, she strongly suspected it. ‘Okay, shop with me, Gabby. I confess I am a little intrigued now by your opinions.’