Authors: Allie Little
“You guys be okay?” Jack asks.
Matt nods emphatically. “Yeah, mate. Catch up soon.”
“See you, Matt,” I say.
He kisses me on the cheek. “Enjoy your evening,” he says, exchanging a raised eyebrow glance with Jack.
Jack lifts an irritated brow. “Don’t worry. We will,” he says, like he finds him pesky and irksome, but it’s just their relationship. “So,” Jack says when he’s gone.
“So,” I reply.
We lock eyes and laugh. I can’t help but notice the way his t-shirt hangs on his shoulders, and how broad they are. I drag my eyes forcibly away.
“Want some food?” he asks, his gaze collecting mine.
I just nod, speechlessly mute, completely in awe of this impossible perfection sitting in front of me.
We order fish and chips which arrive packaged in a bulging cone of coloured newspaper. Jack tears at the paper.
“So did your mum settle down?” he asks, grabbing a handful of hot chips and shoving them in his mouth. “That was pretty funny this afternoon, you have to admit.”
I look at him with disbelief. “Are you kidding? That was
so
not funny. I got a lecture about consideration and respect, and then she forgot about it. Once she said what she needed to it was over and done with.”
He regards me closely. “And your dad’s a cop. What’s that like?”
I shrug, popping a chip into my mouth. “He’s actually fine. Which is surprising, huh?”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I would’ve thought it’d be the other way round.”
“He’s a mouse in comparison,” I say, smiling. In fact, since Matt left I’m finding it hard to wipe this silly smile off my face.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and notice a text from Ben.
Party on tonight at the Surf Club. Do you want to come?
“My brother,” I explain. “There’s a party tonight at the Surf Club.”
“Do you want to go?” he asks, looking right at me with those eyes.
I stifle a gulp. “I’m not sure. Do you want to go?” I ask stupidly.
“We could swing past and see what it’s like,” he suggests.
Self-deprecating doubt skulks in. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be alone with me after all. “I’m happy either way.” I say dishonestly, glancing away.
***
Jack pulls up at the Surf Club, the ute rattling audibly over loose gravel. I’m blissfully content in his car. In here I feel closer to him. The beach is dark, with waves rolling in luminescent foamy strips transversely to shore. Muffled music thumps through the night, and the sound of squealing girls radiates from the upstairs function room.
Jack looks at me. “Want to check it out?” he says eagerly. “Come on.” He shoves open the door and steps out, his feet crunching gravel like boots in the snow. He makes his way round to my side and pulls open the door.
“Okay,” I acquiesce.
“If it’s no good we’ll get some beers and sit on the sand.”
“Deal,” I say, hoping like hell for the party to be a dud.
The room is full of gaudy lights, and everyone inside looks just as gaudy. It must be an eighties party because they’re all wearing bright garish neon. A hand-painted sign hangs over the door:
Happy 18
th
Ryan!!
Must be Ryan O’Halloran from school. He’s part of the Boy’s Club, which must be why Ben’s here.
Ben spots us from the back of the room. He’s wearing bad eighties fashion and teased-up hair. He looks ridiculous but he’s having fun in a tawdry, showy way. He shimmies over in time to Psuedo Echo’s
Funky Town
, with a
what’s going on here?
expression on his face. “G’day, g’day,” he says, obviously under the influence.
I laugh at him. “You look silly.”
“No sillier than someone
not
dressed up at a dress-up party,” he replies, with an over-exaggerated wink. “How’re you goin’ Jack?” he asks.
“Not bad, mate. Hey, thanks,” he says as Ben offers him a beer.
“And ... none for you,” he teases, holding another one out of reach above his head.
“Ha ha, hand it over.” And he does.
“Where have you guys been?” he yells over the music.
“At the pub.”
“Soaking up alcohol with greasy fish and chips,” Jack adds, glancing around the room.
Ben pats his stomach in mock hunger. “There’s no food here. Wish I’d eaten before I came.”
The music’s bad, the crowd is garishly dressed, and I’d
really
like to leave. Jack discerns my discomfort and leans forward, closer to my ear. “So do you want to leave?”
I look at him. “Nothing would please me more.”
“Let’s get out of here then, if you’re not enjoying it.”
I haven’t given it a chance and don’t want to. I shift closer to Ben who’s bouncing in time to
Wake
Me Up Before You Go Go
.
“We’re gonna go,” I yell at the side of his head.
Ben looks down at me and grabs my shoulders. “You are
such
a loser.”
“I know, thanks Ben. Have fun.”
“Yeah, yeah. Steal my beer and leave.”
I laugh. “That was always the plan.”
Jack gives him a wave over the music because it’s easier than hollering. Ben salutes him drunkenly and eighties-dances back to his surfing mates by the bar.
Relief hits me the moment we step outside. The warm March evening still smells of summer, and stifled music drifts with the night’s ocean breeze.
“Too full on?” Jack asks at the lookout. He stands so close, the ocean a black, rolling mass. So many times I’ve stood here, checking the coiling surf. But this time with him, feels different.
“Just a bit.”
“So do you want to head back to mine, grab some beers and find a beach?”
I take a deep breath and nod, because the thought is immensely attractive.
***
Jack drives over the Singing Bridge with its orange lights blushing in the sky. Turning off the main street, he follows the road which curves with mangroves lining the shore. He pulls into the drive of an old weatherboard place, the verandas encasing it on all four sides. A dog barks, breaking the silence.
“Ssh, Rosie,” he whispers sharply from the window, and an old black Labrador trots back to her resting place near the steps.
Jack releases the door and leaves it ajar, taking the front steps in the darkness. On the porch he fumbles for the light, flicking it on with his thumb. Immediately the house is bathed in ruthless light. It’s right on the river, just like ours, but further around where pelicans perch on rough-hewn poles. Rosie doesn’t move, just lies curled up in a furry black ball.
The deafening buzz of cicadas hums the air. And they’re all I hear while I wait. After a few moments the light on the porch snaps off, and Jack slides back into the seat beside me.
He hands me a bottle. “Dad must’ve drunk the rest of the beer. But I found Baileys.”
I chuckle, looking across at him through the darkness. “Baileys is
much
better.”
He gives life to the engine and reverses onto the road. “So which beach is your preference? Bennett’s or Jimmy’s?”
The car is motionless, like him, awaiting an answer. The engine is a deep clattery idle, the sound pronounced with anticipation between us.
I grin excitedly. “Ah, no contest. Bennett’s for the breeze.” Even in a short festival dress, the humidity is like liquid lead in the air. I wipe at my forehead because it’s so balmy for March.
He eases the car slowly along beside the river. Rosie gives chase, giving up at the bend. High-tide boats sit loftily at jetty level, the water replete with possibility and dreams. At least that’s how it looks tonight.
***
The beach is empty with millions of stars layered densely through the sky. Some seem close enough to touch, while others fade off into infinity. Jack lies against the dune sipping Baileys and stargazing, pretty close to where I’m sitting. He wriggles casually into position, marking out a place in the sand. Orion is in the north, iridescent in the sky. And my world is so perfect my heart hums. Tonight I feel with absolute clarity that here is where I want to be.
Jack is pensive. He swigs straight from the bottle, looking straight up at the stars. “He’s out there somewhere, you know? Up there in the sky.”
I follow his gaze, wondering briefly about life after death. “Is that what you think?”
“Nope. It’s what I believe. Sometimes when I sit by the river, or here, I feel him. And it’s so real. Wherever there’s big sky. Usually at night, but often during the day too. It’s like he’s in the atmosphere, floating over the horizon. Just hovering, waiting for me.”
I shudder with goosebumps coursing across my skin, wanting to believe. “That must be comforting ... feeling he’s around.”
“Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? But I want it to be real. I
need
it to be real. I need to believe that he’s still here. With me. That part of him never really left.” His face changes, his eyes like the sea in the onyx night.
He passes the bottle across and I sip, resisting the temptation to guzzle it all in one go.
“And the dreams. They’re so vivid and real. But they’re always about mundane stuff, you know? Like we’re sitting on the deck, talking. Or surfing at Palmy. I thought by now they would’ve eased off, but they haven’t.”
I think about it from his perspective. “You get to see him, I suppose. In your dreams.”
“Yeah, and I was worried I’d forget him. That he’d become this vague distant memory. I was shit scared I’d forget what he looked like, sounded like, and all the happy, stupid stuff we did together. But that hasn’t happened.” He exhales loudly, looking at the sky.
I wipe sand from the bottle and pass it back less gritty.
He looks over obliquely and gives a half-smile. “You know what? I never talk about Charlie, except to my family. There’s something about you that makes me spill my guts.”
I smile and say the silliest thing. “Well it’s nice to know I can make you spill your guts.”
He puts the Baileys down, digging the base into the sand. His eyes go all deeply intense, looking across at me through the star-lit night. “Come here,” he says, holding out an arm.
With those words, jumpy nerves fire straight across my belly. And I know I want him. Want to be closer to him, here on the dune. I squirm closer feeling awkward, like I can’t look him in the eye because suddenly he’s too close. Too real. Too
intimate
. He snakes an arm around me, lying it lazily across my shoulders. I snuggle into him with a rising heart rate. He’s so warm in the breeze blowing lightly off the sea.
He squeezes my shoulder. “So you’ve always lived here? Been a mid-north coastal girl?”
I shift again. “Yeah. Boring, huh?”
“Are you kidding? Not at all.” He pauses. “So how old are you, anyway?”
“Eighteen. How about you?”
“Twenty.” He tilts his head to get a better view. “So you just did your HSC?”
“Yeah.”
“So do you know what you want to do?”
“You mean apart from surfing? What more could there be?” I joke.
He laughs. “Yeah, apart from that.”
“Well, I love to surf, and I love to run. If I could do both every day forever, that’s what I’d do.”
A chuckle rises from his throat. “Even as an old wrinkley? I’d love to see that. But it’s not realistic though, hey?”
“Not realistic enough, unfortunately. But mostly I just need time. To work it all out, you know?”
He thinks briefly, twisting my hair softly through his fingers. “So what was your best subject at school? What are you good at?”
Usually this line of questioning would induce me to teeter on a ledge. Balancing perilously, up really high. But for some reason, here with Jack under the wide blanket of stars, it’s just not. “Probably English. I can write.”
“So why don’t you? You could write about stuff you love. You know, be a sports writer or something?”
I realise I hadn’t considered anything of the sort. “I deferred Communications because I didn’t want to go this year. It just felt like too much pressure.”
“From your parents?”
“Mum mainly. Dad’s happy if we’re happy.”
He rubs a thumb over my shoulder. “Well, you need to work out what you love and what you’re good at, then combine the two of them. You can’t go wrong with that formula, I reckon.”
First sensible thing I’ve heard. I look up, meeting his eyes in the soft subtle light. Orion glows with a distant flicker, burning in the sky. My lungs contract in the shrinking space. Up this close it’s difficult to breathe, but I take a stab otherwise I’ll pass out on the sand. The interval bounces with tension and time draws out. Lengthens with anticipation so I’m time-warped and yearn-ful. Not just for him, but for the safety of bearings. Because up until now I’ve been idly adrift.
He takes my hand, threading large rough fingers through mine. Tilting his head our gazes lock, and suddenly I’m psychic. I am one hundred percent certain this is going to happen. This. With him. Deliriously trapped in motionless time. And when his lips reach for mine they taste of hot toffee. Syrupy sweet in liquid heat.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I wake with a smile, breathless. For a moment I think I’ve dreamt him, along with the starlit beach and brilliant sky. Did that
really
happen? Was I
actually
under the stars, enfolded so completely in Jack’s arms? I remember his breath and intrepid hands, so self-assured and forthright. His face right up close, and eyes that burrowed to my soul. The way he kissed me like I was beautiful. He almost made me believe.
I sigh happily and roll over, grabbing for my phone and flipping it open. No messages. But was I
really
expecting one?
So soon?
At about 9.30 I surface, padding barefoot through the house. Through glass doors to the deck I see the river. A big glassy mirror, all shiny and new. And Dad’s in the shade, favouring the newspaper over the view. He looks peaceful and quiet, like he’s enjoying the solitude. Somehow it seems a shame to encroach.