Inbetween Days (24 page)

Roly glared at me. ‘And you, you stand for everything we said we'd never be,' Roly said. ‘You're the enemy. J's one of the good ones and you're recruiting for the other side.'

‘What the hell?' I looked at Jeremiah. ‘Are you going to say anything?'

He shrugged helplessly. ‘He has a point. I don't mean about recruiting for the other side—not that—but a lot happened to him at school. The only difference between him and me is that I don't think about it anymore.'

‘That's because you have a future,' Roly said, shaking his head. ‘I'm seventeen and I haul bricks three days a week for a sadistic bastard who flicks lit cigarettes at my butt-cleavage every time I bend over. And I bend over a lot. School sucked, so I ain't going back there. And if I don't go back it's pretty hard to go forward, isn't it?' He pulled out another beer and chugged it back. ‘And it's people like your
girlfriend
here who made school suck.'

I flushed and fired back. ‘That is all kinds of screwed up, Roly. What did I ever do to you?'

‘You didn't do anything, unless you count looking the other way, which I take very, very personally.'

‘I didn't…'

‘Let me refresh your memory.'

‘I know what you're going to say,' I yelled. ‘Yeah, so maybe I should have sat next to you on the bus or in class or whatever. So what if I
had
said something when you were being picked on? Do you think that would have changed anything? Or would there just be more of us?'

‘You're not an us. You're a them.'

‘I was never a
them
.' I stabbed my finger towards the road. ‘You just lump me in with people like that because it's easier for you to hate everybody. What do you think—I left school because everything was so fantastic for me? Don't you get it? I wanted to be
them
. And you can deny it all you want, but you wanted to be them, too. That makes us an
us
.'

Roly made a hissing sound and slapped his leg.

‘She has a point,' Jeremiah said. ‘And
us
and
them
are weird words when you say them too many times.'

‘Oh, shut up!' Roly and I said together.

I picked up a stick and whipped viciously at the weeds. ‘Anyway, you'll be glad to know things aren't working out quite the way I planned either, Roly.' As I said it, I realised Jeremiah would think I was talking about him instead of my spectacularly unimpressive life so far.

Roly glanced at Jeremiah. ‘What about you, J?'

Jeremiah scowled. ‘I'm happier right now than I've ever been,' he said, sliding a glance at me.

‘Right.' Roly picked up the last two empty bottles and skimmed them like stones across the asphalt.

Jeremiah came up behind me and slid his arms around my waist. He'd never touched me like that in front of Roly before. I turned around and put my head on his chest, feeling sorry for myself, sorry for the way my brain worked, sorry for everything I couldn't change.

‘Are you done?' I asked Roly when he was finished breaking things. ‘Because I'm feeling a bit fragile right now and I think I want to go home.'

Roly turned around. ‘One more thing,' he said. He caught Jeremiah's eye. ‘One more thing…' He stopped again. Then he wiped his palms on his jeans and reluctantly stuck out a hand. ‘I'm blaming you for all of it. I'm sorry.'

I shook it once and let go. ‘Yeah. Me, too.'

At least one thing was clearer to me after that night: Jeremiah was the odd one out. He was the only one of us who'd moved on.

Roly and I were stuck with our compasses still spinning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The next day was almost hot enough to blister. Perfect for swimming. I called Jeremiah and asked him to drive us to Moseley's Dam. I had to get out of the house, and the dam was the only body of water within forty kilometres that didn't heat up to air temperature. In my possessed bedroom, moisture was trickling down the walls and the window had swollen shut. I had another motive: I hoped that revisiting the scene of my summer bliss might banish my ghosts. It felt as if I was half in love, with only half my heart to give. Jeremiah was easy, he was safe, he was there. I loved too easily, Trudy had said, but it wasn't easy at all.

We pulled into the car park. Jeremiah reversed into a bay and we put our towels and esky under the wooden shelter. The dam was as still as a glass table, opaque all over, as if it had been stirred with a spoon. The water-level had dropped by about half a metre—I'd never seen it that low before.

Jeremiah eyed the dam suspiciously. ‘I've never been swimming here,' he confessed.

‘How is that possible?' I shook my head. ‘It's a route of passage, isn't it?'

‘Rite,' he said. ‘Let's just say I took the route less travelled and stayed in the shallow end of the Burt Public Pool while my mother held on to the back of my jocks.'

‘You can't swim?'

‘Not even almost. I paddle pretty well. I excel at floundering.' He wandered down to the edge and stood on the bank, staring out across the water. ‘I suspect this dam is seething with
Naegleria fowleri
.'

‘Is that some kind of fish?' I stripped down to my bikini.

‘It's a single-celled amoeba. If it gets up your nose, you're toast.' He bent down and ran his fingers through the water. ‘The temperature might not suit proliferation, though.'

I threw up my hands in frustration. ‘Why did you agree to come, then?'

‘I liked the idea of seeing you half-naked outside of my sheets,' he said without turning around. His ears turned red.

I was half-naked right then, but he didn't seem to notice. I took a long run-up and bombed off the end of the wooden jetty, staying under for as long as I could. When I surfaced, Jeremiah had his shirt off.

‘Were you going to jump in after me?' I teased.

‘I hadn't made up my mind yet. That would have meant two of us needed saving.' He sat at the end of the jetty, swinging his legs. He was annoyed with me. ‘You should at least hold your nose when you go under.'

‘Come in. I can touch here, look.' I put my arms above my head and dunked, but I was wrong. It was far deeper than I thought. My hands went under as my toes just brushed the silty bottom. I came up. Already, my legs were tingling from the cold.

Jeremiah wouldn't look at me.

‘Are we having fun yet?' I snapped, and immediately felt guilty. ‘Just walk in and cool off at least.'

Reluctantly, he waded out up to his knees. I stayed just beyond reach to entice him further. ‘You want this? Come and get me.'

‘I'm not a fan of venturing blindly where I can't see the bottom,' he said.

‘It's only mud and a few yabbies.'

‘You're missing my point.' He grimaced.

‘As far as I can tell you didn't make one,' I said. But I knew he was talking about us. And he knew I knew.

He stopped where he was. ‘Aren't you afraid of anything?'

I turned on my back and floated. ‘Are you kidding?' The sound of my own voice reverberated inside my head. I could almost pretend he couldn't hear me. I closed my eyes. ‘I'm afraid of everything.'

I must have drifted nearer to the bank; Jeremiah would not have voluntarily stepped out where the floor dropped away. He reeled me in by my left ankle and suspended my body, his palms under my shoulders and my upper thighs. I opened my eyes. He was looking me over. With the flat of his hand, he followed the path his gaze was taking, skimming my skin, raising more goosebumps. He kissed the tip of my nose, took his hand away and returned to his careful scrutiny. It was unnerving, intense and somehow…physical. Waiting for touch.

Jeremiah's lips moved around the words:
I love you
.

There it was, the feeling I had been waiting for. Or was it? I stared up at the sky with my ears still underwater, willing the desire to take over my mind the way it had taken over the rest of me. And it didn't. My mind stayed clear and detached. Trudy might believe her theory about a guy not being able to choose between the thought in his head and the one in his pants, but I wanted to tell her she was wrong. It wasn't that simple. It worked both ways. To be desired was as powerful as desiring, but it wasn't the same thing—it didn't have the same reach. I couldn't bear to hurt Jeremiah, and so I chose to lie.

‘I didn't hear you,' I said, raising my head. My feet drifted down and found the bottom.

Jeremiah lied, too. ‘I said your skin smells.' He sniffed his fingers. ‘It's oily.'

‘Gee. Thanks. What do I smell like this time? Eau de duck shit?' I swam away from him. ‘Way to kill the moment, J,' I said.

Regret passed over his face. He wrinkled his nose. ‘No. It smells like…kerosene. Or oil of some description.' He scooped a handful of water and it dribbled through his fingers in strings.

I turned and noticed the spreading slick on the surface, marbled with rainbows, like the last time but more definite. It swirled around us like a living thing.

Jeremiah bolted out of the water and towelled himself dry.

I pulled myself up onto the jetty and stood, rubbing my arms and legs. The water beaded and ran off. The oil stayed. ‘The water level is way down,' I said through chattering teeth. ‘It's like somebody's pulled the plug out.'

‘It's spring fed. It's normal to fluctuate, particularly in summer.' He wrapped my towel around my shoulders. ‘Hey, what is
that
?' Jeremiah said, pointing. ‘Can you see it?'

The sun had gone behind a cloud. I stared at the oil slick, tracing its origin to the widest thicket of reeds. Where once the reeds were dense and green, they were now brown and bent over, leaving a visible crop circle in the centre where nothing grew. A pale bubble-shaped shadow seemed to hover just below the surface. The sun reappeared and the shadow was lost in ripples and reflections.

‘Jack…'

I handed Jeremiah my towel and dived back in. The unknown presence in the water was somehow less frightening than whatever he might have been about to say.

‘Wait!' Jeremiah paced the bank. ‘What the hell are you doing?'

I swam towards the field of reeds. As I got closer I put my feet down and inched carefully through the clustered roots underneath. Here, the waterline was still up to my neck. The reeds were tiny swords, slicing into my skin. When I reached the inner circle, I couldn't go any further. My body hit something smooth and unmoving. I knew instantly what it was.

Jeremiah had worked his way around the outer edge, through the scrub. He stood on the nearest bank, peering over the reeds, about twenty metres away.

‘It's a car!' I called.

‘Come
on
, Jack.'

My toes and the front of my thighs were starting to go numb. I parted the slick with my fingers and ducked under. When I came back up, my eyes were stinging. The smell here was pungent, the slick thicker. The oil had been starving the plants and the marron of oxygen—was that why the marron had taken their chances on land?

I reached below the surface and mapped the shape of the car with my fingers.
Roof. Windows. Doors. Boot.
I worked my way around to the bonnet and my hand closed over something hard, slimy and square. I pressed my feet into the bumper and rocked the car, hanging on to the object.

Jeremiah was yelling. ‘Get out of there! Don't make me come in after you!'

‘It's okay!' I yelled back. ‘I just want to see…' But I had stirred up so much mud and oil it looked like I was floating in a bowl of soup. I couldn't see anything.

I rocked harder. A pocket of air, just like the one Luke and I had seen, bubbled up and burst, and the slippery thing in my hands came free. I juggled it madly but it shot from my fingers, flew into the air and landed in the soup.
Plonk.
I tried to find it on the bottom but I couldn't feel my feet. It didn't matter—I'd seen enough.

I gave up and paddled back to the jetty. Jeremiah hauled me out like a greased pig, his fingers sliding on my skin.

‘You need a shower,' he said. ‘And some bandaids. Your legs are bleeding.' He wrapped my towel, and his, around me.

‘It's nothing,' I said.

‘I'll take you home.'

I unclenched my jaw. My teeth chattered uncontrollably and I bit my tongue.

You're asking the wrong questions
, Mads had said.

Now I knew exactly where to start.

I need, you need, we all need to talk.

As Jeremiah drove, I hunched in the seat, chewing my fingernails. I thought that if I spoke my rage would sputter out, and I wanted to hold it close.

We pulled up in front of the house—not only was there nobody home, but I couldn't find my keys, and the scent of my own skin was making me feel ill. As Jeremiah cheerfully pointed out, the odours I'd left behind in Meredith's car (Tutti Frutti, Chinese buffet food and now rank dam water and engine oil) were blending and leaching from the upholstery like proof of poltergeist activity.

It was the weirdest thing, showering while Meredith Jolley sat in her kitchen. When I came out draped in her towels, she handed me a loose pinafore dress with a ghastly floral print and some clean knickers. They were too small and the elastic bit into my waist.

As I finger-brushed my hair in her bathroom mirror, Meredith came up behind me and took my wrist in a pincer-hold. She seemed bewildered that she couldn't close the gap between her fingers. Then she opened a drawer and pawed through a tangle of jewellery. She held a pair of pearl drop-earrings up to my earlobes and shook her head. She picked up a chunky marquisite watch, undid the clasp and fastened it around my wrist.

‘Yes. It suits you,' she said. ‘You must keep it.'

‘No,' I started to say, but she pushed my arm away.

‘Please. I want you to have it.' Her eyes were glassy.