The Busker: A gripping psychological thriller

by M. J. Patrick

  But the sand was hot, and she was barefooted.

  She had to run.

  With a skip, Sally sprung into the sand, starting a desperate sprint across the beach towards the ocean. To everyone else relaxing at the beach, she must’ve really looked like a tourist, her arms flapping all the way to the shoreline. The sand seared her skin, and she exhaled short pangs of pain.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

  She’d been to a beach once, back home, with her Dad. But that beach had been completely different, the sky had been overcast, and the ocean was like a murky pond. No waves. Flat. They’d had to wear jackets because of the chill. The beach back home had nothing in common with the beaches of this country.

  Her Dad had been to this beach when he was last here, at Sally’s age. He’d talked to her about it often, though he never mentioned how hot the sand was. Thanks for that, Dad, Sally thought.

  The sand became damper the closer Sally got to the ocean. She’d crossed the line where the tide had stretched over the sand in the night, leaving it cool. Finally, she could finish her sprinting and end her swearing.

  The wet sand no longer burned her feet, and she could relax. Coming to a stop, Sally placed her hands on her hips and admired the beach. Forget about the sights of the city, this was what she’d come all the way around the world for. She readjusted her bikini. Before leaving home she’d made the effort of packing her swimwear right at the top of her suitcase in preparation for this moment. Priorities.

  That afternoon, the harbour and the city had reminded her too much of home. The traffic, tourists and pollution were the same no matter where in the world she was. But, with the salt air and the clear sky above the beach, she felt a welcome relief. It was refreshing. Different.

  Behind her, the beachside suburb hummed with activity. Gone were the high rise buildings of the city centre, instead, small shops and apartments littered the coast. It was the school holidays. On the beach, families gathered together, and tourists flocked to the water. Did anyone ever work in this country?

  In the distance, she could see the bus stop her and Ashley had gotten off at when they’d come in from the harbour when Ashley had stormed off to the hostel after the incident with the smoking woman. They hadn’t spoken about it since.

  The endless crashing of the waves against the shore ringing in her ear, Sally gazed towards the ocean. Even the waves were different in this country. These were strong. Tall. Violent.

  The water beckoned, and Sally rushed in, pushing through the shallows. Her legs struggled through the water like weights were tying them down. Under the water’s surface, the sand dropped off into the darkness of the deep. No more wading now, she had to swim.

  What was below her? She didn’t want to find out. The ocean deep terrified her, the unknown.

  She heard the roaring before she saw it. A wave. Approaching. It loomed above her, an oncoming wall of water. Inhaling fast, Sally filled her lungs with air and dived under the wave headfirst.

  The sudden coldness of the water hit her face. She shuddered. The sting of icy water shot through every part of her body, from her fingers to her toes.

  Her hair, loose in the water, waved over her face like the tentacles of a jellyfish.

  It felt like she’d been jolted awake.

  The weight of the wave pummelled over her, and the breath she was holding shot out of her. Tiny air bubbles streamed from her mouth and nose, rising to the surface.

  It was good she’d dived, otherwise the strength of the wave would’ve knocked her right on her back. She needed to breathe. She let the wave pass by over her head, then she pulled herself through the surface of the water and into the sunshine, gasping for air.

  Sally turned towards the shore, hoping to spot Ashley in the crowd.

  Bam. She was kicked back underwater. A surprise wave had smashed her from behind. She spun under the surface. Saltwater flooded her mouth and spluttered up her nose, clogging it. She gasped, the force of the wave winded her.

  At that moment, knocked by the wave, she remembered a documentary she’d seen on TV years ago. The title had been to do with the world’s deadliest oceans or something similar. In his address to camera, the presenter had been clear. Don’t try to resist the ocean, you will drown. In the water now she followed the presenter’s instructions. She let herself be taken by the wave, carried along by it, the power of it. She didn’t fight it. The documentary was true, it was useless losing all her strength.

  Her body eventually stopped turning, but her head continued to spin. She spotted the sun streaming through the water and swam towards it.

  Sally popped out of the water, coughing. Her nose stung, and so she pinched it. The salt from the water left a bitter taste in her mouth. She gagged.

  ‘You alright?’ A nearby swimmer cried out, and Sally whirled in his direction. He was a teenage boy with bleached hair and a broad local accent, tanned from years in the sun, no older than sixteen.

  ‘Yeah,’ Sally replied, offering a weak thumbs-up. She had to kick her legs fast to stay afloat. ‘I’m okay,’

  The boy smiled, seeing she was dazed, but alright. ‘I saw what happened. You took a pretty strong tumble there.’

  Sally nodded. ‘I did.’

  ‘You look pretty out of it,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve just landed here today, and it’s my first time in the water,’ she explained, and she smiled back at him. ‘I’ve never handled a sea like this.’

  He laughed. ‘The waves can be pretty tough, hey.’

  ‘Yeah, much more than I thought.’

  ‘Be careful,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks. I will.’

  ‘Look out, there’s another one,’ he said, pointing behind her. ‘You gotta always be ready and facing forward. Always look for the next one, there’s always another.’ With an effortless dive, he disappeared under the water, leaving Sally floating alone in the ocean.

  He was right. As soon as he was gone under, another wave came crashing down over Sally. White foam spat out in the air viciously from the crest of the wave.

  But this time, thanks to the boy, she was ready. There wasn’t enough time to feel fear. In a roar, the wave collapsed over her. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sally dived again.

  Instead of being caught in the wave's tumble like last time, Sally let the force of it sweep by over her head. She could see nothing in the water except white, the foam of the wave. But at least she wasn’t tumbling in the water again.

  She splashed through the surface. This time she didn’t need to gasp for air. She checked to see if there were any imminent waves. There wasn’t, and she sighed in relief. The constant waves were becoming relentless.

  She saw the tanned boy, he was further out in the ocean than she was. His head bobbled rhythmically in the water. He hadn’t noticed her. He was relaxed, and Sally envied his confidence in the ocean. He swam like it was completely natural for him, it was like he was dancing, the simple way he glided in the ocean.

  She could make out Ashley’s figure at the shoreline. She was standing on the wet sand with the tide lapping at her toes. Sally was surprised she’d made it past the hot sand. She spotted the sandals on her friend’s feet. Ashley must’ve detoured to a shop to buy a pair. Ah, so that’s how she’d made it across the sand. That’s why she’d been late. She’d been smarter than Sally.

  Just before, after they’d checked in and were in the hostel room, Ashley had attempted to fix her phone. She’d tried restarting it, but that didn’t work. The cracked screen remained blank. Nothing worked, it was hopeless.

  ‘I have everything backed up at the computer back home,’ Ashley had said to Sally as she placed her broken phone on the bedside table. ‘I would’ve just lost the photos of the flight. It’s not a big deal.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Sally replied. ‘I promise you that I’ll get you a new phone by tomorrow night. It was my fault that it got smashed.’ Ashley hugged her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  When Ashl
ey had gone to the bathroom, Sally secretly checked her bank account. It wasn’t good. No money for a new phone. But she knew, in the eyes of her friend, that she’d made a promise she could not break. Ashley wouldn’t forget. Or forgive.

  Through her strokes, Sally observed Ashley waiting impatiently for her. It was peak time at the beach. Around Ashley, scores of families made themselves at home. To Ashley’s right, a rabble of children assembled a sandcastle that looked ready to topple over. And to her left, two daughters were buying their Dad in the sand, his bald head shining in the sun. From behind her sunglasses and with her arms folded, Ashley watched Sally swimming in and out of the waves towards her.

  The beach pavilion loomed up directly behind Ashley. The pavilion was heritage-listed, according to Google. When they were checking into their room, in the hostel’s foyer, Sally had spotted a bookshelf with a variety of guide books on the shelves. She made a mental note to check it out after she got back from the swim. One of the guide books probably contained useful ideas on what to do next on the holiday, especially now she’d seen the city.

  Catching one last wave towards the shore, she was finally within shouting distance of Ashley.

  She raised a hand and waved to her friend. ‘You’re not coming in?’

  Ashley pouted. A firm no.

  ‘You will love it if you came in,’ Sally shouted.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Ashley replied.

  ‘You’ll love it.’

  ‘I’m sure I would, but I’m perfectly happy right here,’ Ashley said.

  ‘Come on,’ Sally whined with a laugh. With her palm, she hit the surface of the water to create a splash. ‘It’s great.’

  ‘It’s less wet out here,’ Ashley said nodding at the rest of the beach. ‘And there’s fewer sharks.’

  ‘Did you buy sandals?’ Sally asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Go on, take them off and come in here.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘No, Sally.’

  ‘Pretty please?’ Sally asked, still shouting. Ashley nervously glanced around at the other people on the beach, embarrassed they were having such a loud conversation across the water. But Sally didn’t mind. It was too much fun teasing her friend.

  ‘I’m not going to.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘When are you coming out?’ Ashley asked. ‘I want to go back to the hostel.’

  ‘Soon,’ Sally said, pulling herself back under before another wave crashed down on her. The local boy was right. There was always another wave.

  She crawled further and further down into the ocean, carried forward by the currents. A memory awoke in her, an impression of the past. She threaded her arms through the water and remembered.

  Her memory. She was standing on the shoulders of a giant. Her Dad. His wide hands were holding hers, balancing her little body as she climbed up his back. Her tiny feet found an anchor in his back muscles. His fingers tightened around hers. Standing on his shoulders, the ground was a million miles below her. On him, she was so tall. She was amazed. She remembered the touch of his thin hair and the shape of his skull. She found it impossible that this was how he saw the world every day. She saw through his eyes. He was so strong, so powerful.

  She could smell her Dad again, the aftershave he never changed. The smell of home. The afternoons spent together. The times when he’d helped her with her homework, how they’d finish the night watching history documentaries together, when he kissed the top of her head as they sat on the sofa watching TV.

  When she’d last felt safe.

  Sally rose up from the water with another gasp for air. The memory of her Dad began to fade. She dived down and swam towards the shore, and the smell of her Dad’s aftershave began to fade away into the ocean. She tried to clutch on to the memory, keep it lingering in her mind. She wanted to remember it forever.

  She swam further down. She didn’t stop until she reached the sandy floor. This must be the deepest body of water she’d ever been in. Her hand reached out to the ocean floor and scooped up a handful of sand. The grains sifted through her fingers, drifting apart in the water until all the sand had gone and her hand was empty. Like her memories, she couldn’t keep it.

  What had the grief counsellor told her, in their sole session together? Count your breathing when you were stressed, when the world closed in.

  Maybe it might work. She could try it. Sally held her breath and counted upwards.

  Twenty-eight.

  Twenty-nine.

  Thirty.

  She kept swimming and counting until her feet touched sand. She pushed herself out of the water through the foam. She was back on the beach. The memory was gone.

  ‘You look frozen,’ Ashley said. Sally’s wet hair clung to her skin. The sunshine burned on her pale body.

  The noise of the beach enveloped Sally as she left the water. Children playing. Screams and laughter. Parents gossiping under the shade of their beach umbrellas.

  ‘Yeah, I am,’ she said. It was an unexpected struggle to speak. Uncontrolled, Sally’s teeth chattered from the cold.

  ‘Here, take this.’ Ashley passed her a towel. It was one they’d taken from the hostel. Ashley had sneaked in and stolen it from a cleaner’s cupboard. Sally had objected but was thankful now she had something warm to wrap herself in.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How was the water?’ Ashley asked.

  ‘Rough,’ Sally replied, still shaking from the cold.

  The sun had bronzed all the locals around her, like the boy in the ocean. Sally was sure to have a tan by the end of this trip.

  Blanketing her head with the towel, she dried her hair. She couldn’t see anything through it. Outside the towel, she heard Ashley yawning. ‘I’m so tired, Sally. Jet lag is kicking in,’ Ashley said.

  ‘Me too.’

  Ashley lifted the towel from Sally’s face. Ashley was smiling. ‘Should we go back?’ she asked.

  ‘For a nap?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Sally said.

  The hostel was not far from the beach. Sally’s eyes were heavy. Her pace lagged further and further behind Ashley’s as she grew more and more tired. It was a short walk uphill from the beach. Memories of the day drifted by in a thickening fog. The Busker. The ice cream. The woman on the bus. The ocean. She pined for bed.

  She used the beach showers to wash the sand off her feet. The shower’s water was warmer than the ocean. She turned the tap off and stared out over the beach. She stared at the endless white sand, following it from one side of the beach to the other. To her right, the beach ended at the base of a tall cliff. Sally spotted people on top, walking and taking photos.

  ‘There must be a good view up there,’ Sally remarked to Ashley, pointing up at the cliff. ‘I’d like to see it.’

  ‘I’m so tired, Sally.’

  ‘Not now, of course. At night, maybe.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Yeah, it’ll be nice up there,’ Sally said. ‘I’d like that, stand up there and see the view at night.’

  9

  Once, at a house party, a random guy asked Sally and Ashley if they were a couple. He wasn’t doing it to be inquiring. He was being rude, to intimidate them, to be intrusive. He’d wanted to get a laugh from the other party-goers. They both said no, but then, in front of him and everyone else at the party, they kissed each other. A deep, long kiss to shut him up. And it’d worked. It was the only time they’d done something like that. No one understood their close friendship. There were always rumours running around university about it being something more, something romantic or deviant. Sally worried about them, but Ashley didn’t pay the rumours any attention.

  Ashley was the one who was the first to do anything between the two of them. She was the first to kiss a boy, the first to have a boyfriend, the first to have sex, the first to try a cigarette. But the one thing Ashley didn’t do before Sally was to get drunk. Sally had bested her to that
when she was fifteen. She’d stolen a bottle of vodka from her Dad’s bedroom and drank it, alone, in the local park. Her Dad rarely drank, it was probably one of her Mum’s old bottles. She fancied knowing how alcohol tasted. It was the one thing Sally could lord over Ashley, an accomplishment better than anything Ashley had done.

  Ashley, against her parents’ wishes, got a tattoo when she was seventeen, a small dove along her ribcage. Sally suspected that Ashley got the tattoo to beat Sally to it, and not out of any wish to actually have one. She shouldn’t have bothered because Sally never wanted a tattoo. Ashley regretted it almost as soon as the ink was dry, but she’d never pay to have laser surgery to remove it. Scars make us beautiful, she told Sally once. But Sally knew Ashley had read that quote on Facebook, a mutual friend had posted it the night before.

  ‘Hang on, Ashley,’ Sally said. They were in the hostel foyer, fresh from the beach. Sally was leaning over the bookshelf by the lifts to the rooms. ‘I want to check these out.’

  Sally ran her fingers along with the guide books on the shelf, on the hunt. She found one, a bright blue spine among the other battered second-hand books. She flicked it open and browsed, flipping quickly through the pages, searching.

  The hostel they were staying at was unabashedly geared for young backpackers. On the notice board in the foyer hung posters advertising pub crawls and free guided tours. Graffiti littered the walls blaring out meaningless slogans ripped out from discount self-help books. A few streets back from the beach, the hostel was a place full of accents from all over the world.

  Sally found the page she was looking for in the guide book. It listed the various transportation options available out of the city. Buses, trains and planes. She traced her finger down the page, reading through the different sections. All the different means of escape excited her.

  ‘Do we have to do this now?’ Ashley asked, standing by the lift doors. She covered a yawn with her hand. ‘I’m so tired.’

  ‘Just one moment, the lift hasn’t arrived yet,’ Sally replied.

  Behind Ashley, the doors of the lift pinged open.