Falling Away (6 page)

“See you at work, eh?” he calls as I leave.

But I don’t answer. And I definitely don’t look back.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I fold my arms tight across my body and my handbag jars rhythmically against my leg when I walk, fast through the lights and the crowds that blind me. I don’t hear the sounds of the night nor feel its heat, just the shiver that racks through me, over and over, until I am no longer warm-blooded. I am cold to my core.

When I reach the wharf the diesel engine of the ferry churns, frothing the water and barrelling it deep. I board in a daze and sit at the back, tucked in a corner where the wind won’t find me. I have Riley’s face in my head; his rambling voice and the way he whispered my name with gravel lodged deep in his throat. His hands. His body. My conflicted desire. From the middle of the bay the lights look like blanketed stars, scattered across the shoreline. But they’re blurry and don’t sparkle as sharply as before. Perhaps the world is fading, shimmering away till there’s nothing left. Just me in a void on a boat in the bay.

“You okay, Sam?” Bobby asks from the wheel. I jolt at the sound of his voice. “You don’t look right tonight.”

“I’m fine,” I say without thinking, sliding my gaze back to the black nothingness around me. “But thanks, Bobby.”

Bobby shrugs and turns back to the water, steering us home through the dark empty night.

The streets of Tea Gardens are deserted when we reach them. The pub is closed and coloured lights hang noiselessly above the road, intermittently flickering as they waver in the wind. I step off the ferry and pick a route; the fastest. There’s no-one around so I move quickly.

“Hey, Sam! Do you need a lift home?” Bobby calls from the bow. “It’s late.”

“I’ll be right thanks,” I say, my feet on familiar territory.

“Okay then, if you’re sure.”

I give him a tight wave and hear him closing the windows, sliding the glass until it clunks loudly into place. For some reason I want to run, but I steel myself and continue marching along the river, the black ripples rolling over moonlit sand and the oyster-covered rocks on the shore.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I drag my board from the roof of my old Excel in the parking lot overlooking the sea. The beach is waking with the dawn and sunlight glitters the surface in a glowing pool of light. Dew smothers the grass at the lookout, and beer bottles litter the ground in murky browns and green. Only a few cars are scattered through the parking lot so the break won’t be crowded. Not yet, anyhow. I feel hungover and queasy, even though I didn’t drink
that
much last night. Before it all went so horribly wrong.
Ugh
. I push the thought away, but not before my wrenching gut knots at the bitter memory of him.

The high-tide line marks the sand in a sinuous wave, curving and pushing toward the dune. I sit here motionless in the sand, wondering if I should have let him. Wondering why I didn’t. And I’m not sure I know.

My wettie is pulled only to my waist. With my face bathed in sunshine I need to feel waves course coldly over my skin. I want to wash away the memories. Of him. The memories that cause me to cringe when I breathe them in, soaking every part of me with burning intensity.

I scrape my hair back roughly into a ponytail and rub my hands wearily over my face. Pulling my wettie up I zip it, tight across my skin. Holding me in. Keeping me from falling away, because the thought of never resurfacing is pleasant.

“Hey, why didn’t you wake me?” Ben says, throwing his board onto the sand beside mine. “Solo surfing this morning, huh?” he asks,
way
too cheery.

I breathe out and look around. “That was the plan. I guess that idea’s just flown out the window.”

He laughs. “Yeah, bad luck Sis. I’m only here another few days so you’re stuck with me.”

“Great,” I mutter grumpily.

Ben studies me in the glare of the early sun. I hold my hands above my eyes like a visor to shield me from the dazzle and his brotherly scrutiny.

“Had a big night?”

I nod. “I guess.”

“So, what did you do?” he persists, rubbing sunblock over his face and down his arms.

Without answering I grab my board and head to the water, leaving him abandoned on the beach. Throwing myself on I paddle out, squinting into sharply fractured light. The exhilaration when I catch a curling three footer raises me above the quagmire of the night before. I cut across the face, riding until it levels out to whitewash close to shore. But it doesn’t last, and as soon as it ends I feel crappy, embarrassed and stupid, like a naive, lost little girl. Awash in a nightmare that’s not going to end. Not for a while at least, anyway.

Ben props right alongside me on the line-up, shoring himself up for the next big wave. But the surf flattens out and we’re adrift on liquid hills. He pushes himself upright, balancing in the water on his board.

He ruffles the water from his dark hair. “So what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” I say, my interest in the horizon suddenly piquing.

He pauses a moment. “Sam, from personal experience, I now realise that when a girl says nothing, they don’t actually
mean
nothing. There’s always
something
.”

I glare at him. “Yeah? Well in this case Ben, it’s nothing.”

“Yeah? Well I don’t believe you,” he answers childishly, just like he used to when we were kids, fighting over some silly toy, or who’d go first in a game.

“Just leave it, Ben. It actually
is
nothing, so you may as well forget about psycho-analysing me.”

“
O-kay
,” he says, hurt. “Jeez Sam, I just wanted to help.”

An uncomfortable silence hangs between us. One that we don’t often experience. And I hate it, because it’s Ben.

“Sorry,” I say, but he’s already paddling. Out past the farthest line of waves pushing glassily to the shore.

Suddenly I don’t want to be here anymore, here in the glare and the green glassy waves. I want to be home, cocooned in my room where the world won’t touch me. I paddle belly-down to the sandbar, stumble across the bridging sand and wade out with my board tucked under my arm. I shove my stuff messily into my bag and head uphill over the dune beside the surf shed. I’m dripping with seawater but it’s a good time to go.

The car park is filling quickly. I tie my board on the racks and fumble my key in the door. It’s stiff and needs attention but I manage to open it, slide into the seat and kick over the engine. Dizzying emotion coils through my chest, rising like a surging swell in the sea. The car feels hot and stifling so I switch the air-con to freezing and reverse swiftly into the parking lot.

Suddenly there’s a jolt that splinters silence, throwing me and my belongings around the interior. It grates at the air like metal tearing metal, and the sound of shattering glass sends shivers up my spine. When the fine tinkling eventually stops, my heart rate’s so high it’s thudding through my throat. In the rear vision mirror I see the bonnet of an old Hilux ute rammed unceremoniously up my rear.

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I hang my head in my hands and feel the weight of it.
Can it get any worse?

Three sharp knocks hit the window beside my ear. When I lift my head my heart sinks deeper, sliding through the chassis beneath my shaking feet. Jack’s standing by the car, gesturing way too calmly for me to get out. He doesn’t look too happy, but at least he doesn’t look livid.
Can it get any worse? Well, yes. Yes, it can.

I wind down the window. “Shit, Jack. I am
so
sorry.”

“You all right?” he asks.

I shrug in silence because I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to look at his sun-washed face and the light in his straw-coloured hair. I don’t want to look into those sea-green eyes because I’m scared I’ll never manage to pull my eyes away again. Even after this.

He glances over the rear of my car. “It’s not that bad. Just a bump really. Move your car forward.”

I roll the car into the parking spot, turn off the ignition and open the door. The world turns in slow motion, prolonging my pain. Grinding rather than spinning. Slowing to a halting, grating stop.

I drag myself out, not really wanting to see the damage. “I didn’t even see you. I didn’t even look. Shit Jack, your car.”

The front of his car is pretty badly dinged, but mine is worse. The metal’s all buckled, like a shrinkie curled up in an oven. The tail-lights and brake-lights are completely shattered, and the boot’s pushed up like it’s hugging the window. This is going to cost a fortune, and frankly I’d like to die. Right now I’d like the ground to open in a huge chasm and just swallow me whole. Cover me in earth and leave me. It’d be kinder than this.

“Um, I’ll pay to get it fixed,” I offer, nervously avoiding his gaze.

He looks right at me, running a hand through his scruffy blond hair. “No need. I’ve got a panel-beating mate who can do it cheap. Yours is worse. Maybe he could fix yours while he’s doing mine.”

“I have insurance,” I add, hoping it’ll make a difference.

He shakes his head. “Nah, mate. Don’t worry about it. The excess’d be more than the job.”

“I’m so sorry, Jack. I
really
am.”

“Stop apologising. These things happen, mate. It’s no big deal.”

Oh god, get me out of here. Let me shrivel up and die. Anything ...

“So what’s your phone number?”

“Pardon?”

“Your phone number? So I can let you know about my mate. I’ll see when he can do your car if you like? His name’s Matt.”

He rifles through his glovebox and finds a pen, then etches my mobile number on a scrappy Bi-Lo receipt he uncovers on the floor in front of the passenger seat. I’m doing pretty well to remember my phone number with my brain so addled from collision-shock.

He swings himself into the front seat and parks his ute next to mine. His fishing rod’s in the tray with a bucket and tackle box. He grabs for them, lifting the rod up and over the side with the bucket in the same hand.

“You sure you’re okay, Sam? You seem a little dazed.” Despite everything he’s smiling, which almost makes it worse.

I shake myself from my stupor. “Yep. Fine, thanks.”
No need for any further concern. I will happily get into my car and drive home now, adding this to the long list of my ever- increasing tales of woe.

He tilts his head as if to get a better view. “Okay, well if you’re sure. I’ll see you later then. I’ll call you, about the car.”

I raise my eyes that have glued themselves to the ground, willing it to crack into a chasm. As I nod an acknowledgement, he saunters off toward the beach.

The road from Bennett’s Beach to Tea Gardens passes in a blur. I don’t even remember crossing the Singing Bridge, let alone turning toward the river. Tears begin to well in my eyes, but I can’t give in to the salty surge. I won’t. Because if I do they’ll never stop, running like a high-tide river to the sea.

CHAPTER NINE

“Hello, love,” Dad says volubly. “Come and have a scone.”

I power a smile from my otherwise solemn face. “Ah, no thanks Dad. I’m not really hungry.”

“Since when do you refuse one of my scones?” Mum sings from the table. “Are you eating properly?”

“I’m fine, Mum. Really.”

She peeks behind me, as if searching for someone. “So where’s Ben? I thought he was with you at the beach?” Accusation fills her tone. She wants him right here, in plain sight. Because he leaves on Monday.

“He was. I mean, is. He’s still down there.”

“Everything okay?” Dad asks, furrowing his brow. “You seem a little ... I don’t know ... serious.”

I shrug a shoulder. “I backed into Jack Foster’s ute when I left the beach.”

Predictably, Mum glowers. “What? How on earth did you do that, Sam? Didn’t you look where you were going?” The air around her is layered with shrill negativity. I hear the ticking of her mind through the momentary silence. Confirming everything she
thinks
she already knows. Everything she believes - about me.

I stare hard in her direction. “Well, obviously not, Mum. He’s going to help get my car fixed though.”

“As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters,” says Dad, softening the blows so I fall softly, mellifluously into feathers. “I’m going fishing later, Sammy. Why don’t you come? I’ve got the day off. It’d be just like old times.”

I smile at him because he always does this. Attempts to shift the dark aura sitting like a cloud above my head. “Yeah, why not,” I say, forcing out unfelt chirpiness.

***

Dusk falls over Bennett’s so the dune’s silhouetted against a twilight sky. We reach the back car park and it’s devoid of human life, which is just the way I like it. The sea falls messily, pretty with pink stretching low across the horizon. It’s hard to stay gloomy in the presence of such beauty.

“You shouldn’t take her comments to heart, you know,” Dad says. “You just can’t take them seriously.”

We trudge across rippled sand on the ridge of the dune. With each step the fine sand squeaks in protest at our footprints traversing the pristine hill. I think about what he’s said, and I do take them to heart. Her criticisms strike at me, time and time again. Perhaps there’s no malice, but a lifetime of disapproval drives roots into your soul. And those roots leave scars twisting outwards from within.

“You’d think I’d be used to them by now,” I say off-handedly.

Dad seems sad fleetingly. “If you need a hand with the car, you only have to ask.”

“Thanks, Dad. But Jack said he’d ask his friend to do it. So I’ll wait and see what happens there.”

He nods. “Okay. But just remember the offer’s there.”

I glance across the dune, giving him an appreciative smile. “So how come you’ve got the day off? I don’t remember the last time you weren’t at work.”

He looks over, giving a forced smile. The smile that gets me worried. The one where I know his workload’s too much. With only two cops on duty at any given time, including Dad, it’s relentless work. “Yes, I just felt I needed it. Extra staff are coming in for a while, so work should ease up for a bit.”