by Sue Whiting
Oliver holds the boat steady while we climb on board. He takes Seth’s arm and almost flings him in. I move to the opposite side, determined to be independent. Be dignified, I tell myself. Act natural. Cool. In control. You can do it. As I hoist one leg up and over, I am grateful for my long, spidery legs. But as I launch my other leg in, the boat sways under my weight and I plop unceremoniously onto the splintery middle bench. So much for dignified.
Oliver doesn’t appear to notice though; he bounces into the boat and plonks down beside me. He reaches for the oars and slides them into the round metal rowlocks on each side. He seems so confident and comfortable in this old rower. An expert.
Seth stands up. “Can I row? Can I row?” he asks, seemingly unaware of the boat swaying.
“When we get the kayaks,” says Oliver. “Now sit down at the front, Batman. You can be our navigator. Lead the way.”
I grin; Oliver is so good with Seth. I go to move to the back seat, but Oliver reaches across me and places an oar in my hand. “Not so fast. You don’t think I’m going to do all the work, do you? You guys weigh a tonne.”
My face flushes. “Gee, thanks!” I sit back down and take the oar with both hands, pretending to be indignant.
“Have you rowed before, crazy eyes?” Oliver asks.
“Oh … ah … yeah,” I say and flinch and smile and redden all at once as I recall the day he first called me that. “But I’m not very good,” I add.
“We’ll have to fix that. Can’t live on the lake and not be a rower.” He says it with such certainty and enthusiasm, as if it is simply not possible to live by the lake and not be infected with his passion for the sport. He holds his oar to his chest, and winks at me through his scraggly fringe. “Ready?”
I nod, dip my oar in the water and drag it back.
“Hey, you feeling better?” Oliver stares ahead, not breaking his rhythm as he speaks.
I manage a “Yeah … much better. Thanks …” and try to smile. “I felt like a such an idiot,” I add.
“Nah, you were okay.” He snares me with one of his killer smiles.
“Holy cow,” says Seth after our first precarious strokes take us zigzagging away from the shore. “Can’t you guys row straight?”
Oliver bats his oar into the water and sprays Seth. “Watch it, Batman, or I’ll call my mate the Joker.”
“You’re the jokers – I thought you said you were fast.”
The two continue to spar, leaving me to concentrate on matching Oliver’s strokes, so that the boat doesn’t list in my direction constantly.
“Are you going to Tallowood High?” Oliver lobs the question in my direction.
“Yep.”
“What year?”
“Eleven.”
I curse myself for my mastery of the one-word conversation stopper, as Oliver focuses his attention on superhero talk with Seth. I am mostly relieved; with each stroke, we are moving closer to Lakeside and Bob/Robbie, and I am growing increasingly uneasy.
By the time we reach the shore, the sun is scorching my back through the flimsy cotton of my shirt, my head is pounding and I am nauseous and dizzy again.
Oliver bounds over the side of the boat and then reaches in and grabs Seth out. “Fly, Batman,” he says as he wheels him through the air to solid ground.
He wades back in and takes my hand to help me out. My legs and hands are shaking, and I hope that Oliver won’t notice. I drop my bag onto the shore, and my nauseousness increases. I feel as rotten as I did last night. I pull off my shirt, wade back into the water and dive under. When I break the surface, I see that Oliver and Seth have followed me in and the three of us loll about in the shallows. No one seems in a hurry to move.
“Maybe it’s too hot to take the kayaks out today,” says Oliver.
“Aw,” moans Seth, dog paddling over to him, his life jacket bobbing along the surface, making him resemble some new species of turtle. “You promised.”
I float on my back and look from the sky, cloudless and leached of colour, to the nest of buildings in among the trees. There is no sign of Bob or Annie, and I am relieved. But there is something about Lakeside that makes me unsettled. As unreasonable as it sounds, there is something sinister about it and I need to get away from here – and soon. I pull myself to my feet, and raise my eyebrows at Oliver.
“To the boatshed, Batman,” he says.
twenty-two
The lake is tranquil and the shade of the cliffs on this far side is welcome.
Oliver manoeuvres his and Seth’s two-man kayak to circle mine. “Crazy, eh?”
I nod, awed by the towering stand of rock, rippling scars of blue and rust streaming down it.
“Wanna go to The Circle or the creek that heads up into the gorge? Should be out of the sun and pretty cool up there,” says Oliver.
“Wherever is coolest.” I turn my kayak to fall in behind Oliver’s.
“To the gorge, Batman,” says Oliver.
“To the gorge!” repeats Seth. “Stroke. Stroke.”
Oliver and I join Seth’s chant. “Stroke, stroke.” And as we enter the gorge, our laughter bounces off the cliff walls and veers into the bush.
I tilt my head and take in the wildness of it all: the craggy steepness of the gully; the majestic stance of the rivergums, lording it over the tangle of scraggly trees and thorny blackberry bushes tumbling to the water’s edge. The depth of the isolation. We could be hundreds of kilometres from home, rather than merely a stone’s throw away.
We paddle around a small curve, Seth yelling at the top of his voice and almost wetting himself with excitement every time his words come bouncing back. Up ahead, the gully widens and a pebbly bank emerges on one side. We row into the shore and drag the kayaks up onto the pebbles.
“Mum packed some snacks,” says Oliver, pulling out a daypack. He looks inside, then grins. “Actually, I think it’s the stuff your mum and gran made for last night.”
I do my best to ignore the reference to the previous night – I don’t want anything about it slinking back into my mind.
We hunker under the shade of some boulders and devour the warm and sun-mushy chocolate muffins and the almost-melted melting moments. I savour the sweet bursts of flavour across my tongue and, exhausted from rowing, I flop onto my back.
Seth wiggles out of his life jacket and lies beside me, muffin smeared from ear to ear in a large chocolaty smile. I reach over to wipe it off, but he rolls away, leaps to his feet and heads off to climb the boulder behind us, Batman cape hanging from his knobbly shoulders.
At the top of the boulder he stands stock-still. “I am the Batman,” he says solemnly to the trees and sky.
“He’s sure into Batman,” says Oliver.
“Yeah,” I say, not wanting to go into it further, to reveal the sad reasons behind his fixation.
“You be careful up there,” I say, then lie back down and close my eyes. I sense Oliver lying beside me. It is thrilling.
“Haven’t been up here for ages,” he says.
“It’s great,” I say, keeping my eyes closed, the sun making oranges dance across the insides of my eyelids.
“Yeah. I used to come up here when I was little, about Seth’s age, I guess, collecting stuff with my pop, you know, for his collages. Used to love it.”
“It’s like some kind of paradise. It’s surreal.”
“Guess. The city’s okay for some things. But nothing beats this.”
“I miss Sydney – our old place and my friend, Loni.”
“Same. I miss Sydney too.”
“You?”
“We lived in Mosman until I was about seven. Then I boarded near there from Year Seven till a year or so ago.”
I turn on my side. “Really? I didn’t realise. How come you don’t board there now?”
“Economic downturn.” Oliver pulls a face. “Dad lost a lot of money. His real job is in finance – the olive grove and farm and stuff is more of a hobby. And he’s pretty crap at it, to be truthful. Pop c
ould have helped us out – he’s loaded, but he’s a bit of a tight-arse, so Mum had to start teaching music again and I came back to Tallowood High.”
“Ah, don’t say those words. They give me the creeps.”
A wickedness lights Oliver’s eyes. “What, crazy eyes? Tallowood High? Tallowood High?”
I giggle and punch him playfully on the arm.
“Tallowood High. Tallowood High,” he continues.
“I said don’t say that. It’s too scary.”
“What – you? A scaredy cat? Don’t worry; it’s not such a bad place.”
I grin at Oliver. “Still don’t want to think about it, thanks.”
Oliver turns onto his side also, props his head up with one hand and shakes his hair out of his eyes. He reaches out and strokes the back of his finger along the bridge of my nose. “You’ll have me,” he says.
I know instantly that we have just shared a moment – a moment where every possible good thing in the world has found me and is zinging through my body, and my heart surges.
But the feeling is short-lived.
Suddenly, the gorge echoes with the crack of a branch snapping and falling, a panicked scream, the scuttle of rocks skittering down an embankment, more yelling, the thump of a deep splash.
And then the most terrifying sound of all.
Silence.
twenty-three
For a moment or two I am disoriented, like I have woken abruptly and can’t quite work out where I am or even what day it is.
I become aware of Oliver: of him lying beside me, his body rigid, alert, straining to hear.
But there is nothing to hear, not even the sigh of a breeze. Nothing but a silence so loud that I scream to block it out.
Oliver leaps up and plunges into the creek. And then I am on my feet too, my heart thudding my ribs.
“Seth!” Oliver yells, bolting through the shallows towards the overhanging boulders. “Seth!”
I thrash through the water beside him. “Seth!” I scream. “Seth!” My cries ricochet off the gully. Bounce around me – mocking me. Why isn’t he answering? Where is he? “Seth!”
Oliver duck-dives. I copy, pushing my way down through the murky creek, the silty water stinging my eyes. I see Oliver up ahead, his strong legs kicking powerfully through waving tentacles of duckweed. I twist and turn, searching frantically for any sign of my brother, until, lungs burning, I push up to the surface to take a gulp of air.
He has to be here somewhere. He has to be all right.
This can’t be happening.
Not to Seth. Not to our family. Not again.
“Bayley! Here!” It’s Oliver, wading forcefully towards the bank, Seth caught up in his arms.
Relief then panic swamps me. I lurch after Oliver, but slow my pace as I near the bank where he kneels beside Seth.
Seth lies motionless.
I am seized with terror. I can’t move, can’t think. My heart pounds in my ears and every nerve ending in my body feels as if it is exploding.
My mind fills with Dad – sprawled out on the verandah, the rain assaulting his face, then mixing with the blood trickling from his mouth and washing his life away.
Oliver turns Seth onto his side. I know I should do something, but fear has rendered me useless. I sink onto the pebbles beside them.
“There’s a pulse,” Oliver says. And then suddenly Seth’s body convulses and he coughs and coughs. Water spews from his mouth and he starts to cry. It’s the sweetest sound I have ever heard.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” I grab him up and wrap my arms around him tight, my own tears dropping onto his face. “Thank God. Thank God you’re all right.” He vomits and spits and coughs and cries, until he pushes out of my boa constrictor embrace to sit beside me.
“Put him in the back of the two-man. You should both fit in there okay.” Oliver takes control and I am grateful.
Oliver bundles Seth and me into the back seat, tosses our belongings into the front. He hauls my kayak further up the bank, well away from the water.
“We’ll come back for it later,” he says as he pushes his kayak into the water and jumps in. He turns to face us. “Hold tight, Batman. We’ll get you to the doctor before you know it.” Then to me he says, “Keep him awake. Okay?”
I nod and slide Seth’s hair off his forehead and away from the nasty cut and egg-shaped lump protruding from between his eyes.
Please let him be okay. Please.
The trip down the creek and across the lake to Lakeside is both never-ending and over in a flash. Oliver grounds the boat, then leaps out, heaving it further up onto the shore. In an instant he is beside us, lifting Seth from my lap. Oliver’s forehead is wet with sweat and he is sucking in deep lungfuls of air. It is obvious he is exhausted.
I climb out and follow them. My legs are stiff from being crammed into the back of the kayak with Seth on my lap. I trudge up the grassy bank towards the nest of buildings. Once again, my stomach is turning over and I try to reject the odd sensation that seems to accompany me every time I set foot on this side of the lake.
“Mum! Dad!” Oliver shouts as we approach his house. The massive glass doors slide open. Annie and Bob rush out.
I struggle to make my legs work.
twenty-four
“What were you thinking?” Mum flies through the hospital sliding doors and almost launches herself at me. Her cheeks are tear-streaked, her eyes wild. “How could you let this happen, Bayley?”
I take a step back, lean out of the way of my mother’s fury. After spending forty minutes locked in the Mitchell’s four-wheel drive with the pale-faced Seth on my lap, Oliver sitting so close our thighs were touching and Bob/Robbie at the steering wheel, sneaking glances at me in the rear-view mirror, my mother’s ire is the last thing I need – or expect.
“How could you?” Mum continues. “How could you? He’s only six years old, for God’s sake. He was your responsibility …”
Gran places her hand on Mum’s shoulder. “Steady on, Kath. Go easy on the girl.”
“Go easy? When her brother almost drowned?” Mum jerks Gran’s hand away. “I depend on you, Bayley. I need you – need to be able to rely on you.”
“Don’t I know it,” is my reply and I am almost as shocked as Mum.
“Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady.” It is a line usually reserved for Amelia and it is clear that Mum is unhinged. “How dare y–”
“Where is he?” Gran interrupts.
“In the room opposite the nurses’ station.”
Gran takes Mum by the elbow and leads her away.
“Good one, sis,” Amelia mutters as she slumps off after them. I am uncertain if it is a compliment or a rebuke.
Across the room, Bob and Oliver sit on hard-backed chairs, their shock apparent. Annie twiddles her pink streaks and pretends to be engrossed in a “Minimise the Spread” poster.
Great. I don’t even want to think about explaining that little scene. I head in the opposite direction for the coffee machine. I need something to steady my nerves.
I pull some coins from my purse, slip them into the slot and make my selection. There is a clunking noise and then an “out of order” message flashes red on the digital display. I curse and kick at the machine, taking out my anger.
“You know you look like her, don’t you? Like Celina.”
The question catches me unawares. I swing round, a chill burrowing under my skin.
Bob is standing right behind me. His hand reaches out as if to touch my hair, and I find myself tingling.
He seems to realise what he is about to do, and whips his hand away.
I swallow; my mouth is dry.
“Celina O’Malley. How long has it been since I said that name out loud?”
“Thanks for driving us in,” I say in an attempt to divert the conversation.
It doesn’t work.
“We were together – Celina and me,” Bob continues, in that raspy, gravelly voice. “We were only kids, bu
t we loved each other. Deeply. I’m sorry I stared at you last night; you caught me by surprise.”
“Really? I didn’t notice.” I slide my hair behind my ears. I know I sound unconvincing.
Bob grins. “I’ve never been back, you know. All those years with only that stretch of lake separating me from the one place on Earth where I had been truly happy. Sometimes the pull was so strong, I’d swear Celina was standing there on that jetty calling me back to her. But I couldn’t go. I had to resist, had to be strong. Dad drummed that into me. Be strong, son. Put the past where it belongs – in the past.”
Bob sits on the vinyl chair beside the vending machine, rests his elbows on his knees and laces his fingers together.
“I didn’t want anyone to move back into the house. Ever. I wanted it to be left alone. I was so grateful when it was boarded up and the bush and scrub took it over. I fantasised that Celina was my Sleeping Beauty and she was not dead, just sleeping behind the blackberries and lantana.
“And then you arrive. And there you were, standing there in that red dress, staring at me with pure honesty shining out of those eyes. I never thought I’d be looking into those eyes again. Sorry … you must think I’m mad.”
I don’t know what to say.
Bob studies his hands. It is plain that he is trying to keep his emotions in check and my heart aches for him; his grief is palpable.
I recall my vision of him and Celina. How easy they were in each other’s company. I can see them now in the hammock, curled into each other. There’s no moon or stars, and they are encased in a velvety darkness. The scent of jasmine rides on the breeze. Robbie coils a length of Celina’s hair around his little finger. He leans in close, the stubble on his chin brushing her cheek. He whispers into her ear, “Together forever, sweet pea.”
“What? What did you say?” Bob’s brow is furrowed, deep ripples climbing up to his bald scalp.
Oh no! Did I say that out loud? I open my mouth to explain, but can only shake my head.
“Sweet pea. Together forever, sweet pea. I heard you. How could you know that?” Bob is working himself into a flap. “Bayley …”