Five Parts Dead (18 page)

I hear Mel ask for the pepper without her speaking, reach out and put it in her palm without looking up.

Pip's onto us. ‘How did you do that? How did you know she wanted pepper just then?'

Dad looks up from his bowl and winks at Pip. ‘Aaah, that'd be the twin thing. When they were little they always knew how to outsmart us by working together.' Mum dabs a serviette at her eye.

I look at Mel and know what her answer will be. She grins and shrugs: ‘I don't know what you're talking about. The pepper must have been a fluke.'

We've never let on. That's one thing we've always been rock solid about. Our secret. Besides, we don't want to freak people out.

The moment of family solidarity seems like the right time to talk. I finish my mouthful, wondering how to begin. Mel nudges me.
Get on with it already. It'll be okay.

And so I loop back through my memories of the party and tell them all I remember about the night everything went black…

A yelping of tyres precedes the arrival of the Millennium Falcon. In the unlikely event that there are people in the suburb who haven't heard him coming, Travis brakes hard and tattoos the bitumen with the mother of all burnouts before ripping into the driveway. Rubber smoke drifts across the front lawn as he saunters to the verandah, a Year 12 girl under one arm and a six-pack dangling from the other.

Travis left school at the end of Year 11 to start an apprenticeship as a panel beater. The paint fumes have clearly gone to his head. Checking who he knows on the verandah, he pauses and chucks his keys towards a guy with a fluorescent display of acne. ‘Hey, Nico. Put these somewhere safe, mate. The Travster will not be driving home this evening.' Then, with a slap of his female companion's butt, Travis struts inside.

Nico is unimpressed. Travis is known to demand his keys after a few drinks. You don't want to be the one standing between him and his wheels, not under any circumstances.

Nico waves his arms about, feigning nonchalance. He tosses the keys at a kid called Huddo who has just been dropped off by his parents. Talk about bad timing. Huddo gapes at the glinting cluster in his grasp. ‘No way, man!' And then he lobs them at me.

They land with a clatter half a metre away, skidding across the decking. I consider ignoring them. Not an option. Maybe I could throw them to some other sucker. Nope, the only one left out here is me.

I reach over and snatch the keys. Glancing around for witnesses, I stretch across and drop them into a Blundstone boot by the doorstep. Done. If anyone asks, I'll do a Bart Simpson—deny everything.

I take a sip of my unwanted beer and act like nothing has happened.

‘That's when you came and sat with me,' I grimace at Pip. ‘That's the first bit you…didn't see.'

Pip's biting her lip, hating being back at the party. Mum has a hand over her mouth and jaw, as if she's battling to hold herself together. Dad's gripping his forehead, looking down at the sticky tabletop, studying its constellations of circular stains. Mel gives me another nudge.
Go on. I need…we need to know what happened. All of us. And you'll feel better for telling us.

I lift my glass and swish the water around, my gaze fixed on the swirling remains of an ice cube. ‘Okay…so Pip and I talked for a bit and then she went inside to get food…And Carlo burst through the front door.'

‘That's where you are! Bottle-shop run. You coming?'

‘Nah.' As I shake my head, Boris, Phan and Aaron cannon out of the house. Aaron wraps an arm around me and ruffles my hair because he knows it shits me.

‘I am so loving your work, Dan-My-Man,' he gleams. ‘Huddo tells me you are Keeper of the Keys. Too freakin' easy! Now all we need is to, errr, borrow the Falcon for a while.'

I raise my beer and swig it so I don't have to look him in the eyes. I mumble: ‘I don't have them. Huddo's full of shit.'

Aaron deflates and I hope to God that's going to be it, end of story. But no. I can almost see his synapses flexing as he reaches his joyous conclusion.

‘Huddo says you had them last…You say you don't have them. I say you…you must know where they are. Boris, assist me please.'

Boris swamps me in an embrace, lifting me while pinning my arms with his. Aaron slides up my shirt. He lands a forearm slap, crack, across my stomach. I've seen him do this, his famous Red-Gut, umpteen times before. Never so close up though.

I kick out with both legs. Boris wobbles backwards as Aaron swings again. Carlo and Phan cheer ‘Red Gut, Red Gut' as the third slap arrives. After the fourth, Boris drops me onto the decking, my stomach a sunburn pink.

‘In that boot,' I pant. ‘Over…there. Now take the fucking keys…and bugger off. I'm not…I'm not up for this…tonight. I have…plans.'

‘Plans, my arse!' That's Aaron. ‘Sitting at the back of a room perving on Sarah. That plan is officially cancelled. We have a flight to catch. Boris is Chewie, Golden boy Phan is C-3PO and Carlo, Carlo is the perfect R2-D2. You, my man, are Luke and this Captain Solo ain't taking no for an answer.'

Boris lets out his best wookiee yowl. Carlo scowls at the reference to his height. I turn to go back into the house, my stomach still hotter than a barbecue grill.

‘Sorry boys, no flight for me. I have to work the force on Sarah Hansen. You dickheads shouldn't be driving anyway.'

‘Negatory. That does not compute, Luke. We need beer and that is a mission for the entire team. Which means you. Get him, Chewie.'

And, for the second time that night, Boris wraps his hairy arms around my chest and lifts. I buck like a rodeo bull but can't break his hold. Phan grabs my legs, locking my knees together. They carry me across the front lawn to the Falcon. Carlo holds the door as they shove me inside. Then he and Phan leap in either side of me and lock the doors. Aaron guns the motor and the Falcon lurches away.

My voice fails. ‘So now you…know. Without me…No keys.' I'm sobbing now, my chest heaving like I'm breathing for all of us: Carlo, Aaron, Boris, Phan and me.

‘I…Imayaswellhavedriventhecarmyself…God…I wish…'

‘Oh, Dan.' Chairs scrape across the floor. Dad has an arm around me. Mum's head is on my shoulder. Mel is in tears. Pip reaches across to hold my hand as Dad speaks.

‘They…forced you, Dan. You told them not to drive. You told them you weren't going. What happened is
not
your fault.'

‘They're gone, Dad! Dead. Maybe if I'd resisted longer…they might have given up, got Travis to go, maybe they'd have walked. But no, I gave them the keys. It wouldn't…couldn't have happened without me…I…I hate myself for that…and I hate them.'

No one speaks. Dad's hand shakes as he grasps the water jug and refills my glass. The lighthouse blinks at the kitchen window.

I turn to Mel and Pip. ‘What if Bianca knows? What if someone saw me give them the keys? What if my fingerprints are on the keys? What if the cops say I'm the one, that I'm responsible for the whole thing? I don't want to go to jail. I don't want their families to hate me…any more than they already do.'

‘You said yourself there wasn't anyone else outside,' Mum sniffs. ‘We know the truth. That's all that matters.'

‘I've spoken to the police.' Dad's voice is husky. ‘There will be an inquest but you're unlikely to be called, because of your statement. If you are…well, you can tell the truth and we'll all back you up. I don't think Aaron's family will make trouble. They're suffering enough, knowing who was at the wheel.'

Pip wipes her eyes. ‘I'm sorry, Dan. Maybe if I'd been quicker…'

And Mel speaks, so everyone can hear: ‘I'm so, so sorry I dragged us to the party. We so shouldn't have gone. I wish…'

Q: MY VESSEL IS HEALTHY.
REQUEST PRATIQUE (PERMISSION TO ENTER PORT)

The car's packed and the cottage is locked up. Dad parks the Cruiser beside the cemetery fence and we all pile out. Mum passes me the stone I've worked on since dinner last night. I found it near the stable, a flattish piece of sandstone I could carve with a screwdriver.

Family fears, regrets, truths and dreams—last night we talked like we haven't for ages. And, as we did, the echoes in my head began to fade.

I rediscovered that Mel and I, well, we're not that different. She may be Mel the Magnificent but that doesn't mean I'm Dan the Dull, delivery boy for Death. I'm not cursed. Anything but. I'm a survivor.

I lean the stone against the graveyard fence. I've carved their names, Carlo, Boris and Aaron, and the date of the accident. I added an inscription, inspired by a phrase the lighthouse keepers sometimes used to sign off in the logbook:
Light burning brilliant
.

We position the stone next to Lily and Sam Junior's cross. Maybe they'll enjoy the company.

Pip plants the feathers she wore on New Year's Eve in the soil in front of the stone. Mel drops her iPod there, next to my battered Nintendo DS. Carlo always loved Mario Kart. I feel Dad's hand, heavy on my shoulder, and hear Mum call from the car. ‘Come on you lot, we've got a ferry to catch. And I'm anticipating some lengthy farewells there too.'

Mel says Hiroshi is going to fly to Melbourne when his tour group heads home. It'll be our turn to show him around. Good thing there's still plenty of summer left.

The Cruiser purrs towards Donington. I duck down in my seat so I can watch the lighthouse shrink in the rear-view mirror. Pip leans against me, her hand on my thigh. I'm thinking where I'd like my hands to go when Mel's elbow crashes into my ribs. Looks like she and I will need some ground rules if we're ever going to have any privacy again.

As we pull into town Mel's mobile throbs with incoming messages. Mine twitches just the once, with a text from Barney:
Hey Cat, have found work for when you get back. Need those $$$. B

I used to hate that nickname. It scared me that there might be a price for surviving, a responsibility I couldn't meet. Now I figure all I can do is live every single minute. I mean, cats don't keep score of how many lives they've lost. It's the life left to live that counts.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Five Parts Dead
had its origins in a family holiday at the Cape du Couedic lighthouse on Kangaroo Island, South Australia. After visiting the neighbouring Cape Borda light station, and the tiny cemetery at Harvey's Return, I decided to adapt and build upon true tales from both historic sites. That's how Cape Nicolas was ‘discovered'.

Many of the journal entries contained in this story are inspired by or borrowed from one of the Cape Borda logbooks. I'd like to thank staff at Flinders Chase National Park, and volunteers at the National Archives in Adelaide, who assisted with my research.

Special thanks are due to my team of test readers, namely Dad and Mum, Bev, Fleur, Fred, Helen, Joel, Kaitlyn, Kara, Lesley, Mrs Marj Mossop, Sharyn, Japan consultant Yoshi, paranormal advisor Fiona, and my co-researcher and bravest proofreader, Kristin.

I also truly appreciate the faith shown in this story by my agent, Pippa Masson at Curtis Brown, and Penny Hueston and the Text Publishing team.