One Dead Seagull (23 page)

‘Come
on.
I
heard
you
c
r
ying,’
she
whispered
right
in my
ea
r
.
‘Let
’
s
go
walk
down
the
beach.’

‘Oka
y
.’

It
was
darker than
death
outside
the lights
of
the camping
ground.
Not
a
sta
r
,
just
heavy
clouds
to
hold
in
the
heat
of the
da
y
.
A
sweet,
wet
breeze
rolled
in
off
the
ocean
and Ker
r
y
and
I
walked
without
saying
a
word
for
a
long
time,
away
from that
dune
and
the
blood
in
the
sand.
Ker
r
y must
have
been
able
to
see
in the
dark.
And
read
my
mind. I
slowed
down a
couple of times
and started
freaking
out—it
was
just
so
dark.
So
absolutely
black
that I
couldn
’
t see
the
difference
if
my
eyes
were
opened
or closed.
She
took
my
hand
and
we
walked
like
that
till
we
couldn
’
t walk
any further; huge
rough
granite
rocks marked
the
end
of
the
beach.
Kez
clambered
up
on
top
of
one
and
I
lay
against
its
scratchy
side
feeling
the
warmth
of
the
day
still
radiating
from
the
rock.
After
a
while,
I could
see
the
difference
between
the
sky
and
the
water
from the corner of my
eye.
Later still, a
star
glinted through
the
clouds.
And
anothe
r
.

‘Did
you
guys
get
lost?
Mum
was
getting
a
bit
edgy
when it
got
to
eleven
o’clock
and
you
weren
’
t
back.
She
was probably
still
awake.
I
was.’

‘Nah.
Not
reall
y
,’
I
said,
having
to
cough-start
my
voice
box.

‘What
happened?’

I
listened
to
the
waves.
I
listened
to
them
rolling
quietly in
then
slamming into
the
rocks
and
I
told
her
what
had
happened.
T
old
her
the
whole
bit—except
what
Mandy had
called
me.
At
first,
I
gagged
on
that and
then it slipped
out
of
the
sto
r
y
altogethe
r
.
Phil
and
Mandy
had
a
barne
y
.
I
went
down
to
the
beach
to
comfort
Mandy
and Phil
beat
the
shit
out
of
me.
End
of
sto
r
y
.

‘
Y
ou
should
have
told
the
police.
Why
didn
’
t you
tell
the
police?’

‘Oh,
no
harm
done
reall
y
,
just
a
bloody
nose
and
that. Eve
r
ything
is
oka
y
.’

‘Bull.
What
happens
next
time
you
see
him?’

‘Nothing.
It
’
s
all
ove
r
.
I
just
won
’
t
go
near
Mand
y
.’

‘
Y
eah.
Why
would
you
want
to
go
near
her
anyway?
Shallow
bitch.’

‘She
’
s
not
that
bad
.
.
.
just
hangs
out
with
losers.’

‘Do
you
like
he
r
,
W
ayne?
Y
ou
do!
Y
ou
think
she
’
s
hot, don
’
t
you?
Whoo.’

‘Shut
your
hole.
What
if
I
do?
What
’
s
she
ever
done
to
you
anyway?’

‘Ha!
Do
you
want
the
whole
list
or
the
abbreviated
one? Let
me
see
..
.
At
Beck
’
s
party
she
made
me
a
drink
with
someone
’
s
piss
in
it.
Thought
it
was
such
a
joke.
At
school, she
’
s constantly
trashing
Carly
’
s locke
r
.
She
peeled
the backs
off
a
whole
pack
of
Carly
’
s
panty-liners
and
stuck
them all over
her books
and
doo
r
. She
spits
on that beautiful
big
labrador
that
hangs
around
at
school.
Feral bitch.’

‘
Y
eah,
Hendo
does
that
too.
Poor
old
Spitball.
Disgusting.’

‘
W
ayne.
She
’
s
no
hone
y
.
Admittedly
she
looks
like
she
should
be
on
the
cover
of
Dolly
magazine
or
something but
she
’
s
off.’

‘
Y
eah,
oka
y
.
That
’
s
just
your
sto
r
y
though.’

‘Oh
I
could
go
on
.
.
.’

‘Nah.
Not
necessa
r
y
,’
I
said,
and
she
laughed.

She
couldn
’
t
see
my
face
and,
in
the
darkness,
my
heart cracked
open.
I
couldn
’
t
stop
it.
I
got
tight
in
the
chest
and
then
the
words
just
fell
out.
‘She
called
me
a
fucking cripple.
And
you
know
what?
I
think
she
’
s
right.’

I
doubled
over
and
held
my
head
in
my
hand.
I
d
r
y-retched
and
spat
on
the
sand.
It
covered
most
of
my
sobs,
but
she
slid
down
the
rock
and
put
her
arm
over
my
back. I
could
hear
myself
wailing
but
it
didn
’
t sound
like
me.
Sounded
more
like that dog
that
got
hit by
a
car
on Garrison
Street. It
lay
on
its
side
and
kicked
and
span
in
a
circle
screaming
and
howling
until a
policeman
shot
it
with
his
pistol.
Where
’
s
a
policeman
when
you
need
one?

I
hugged
Ker
r
y
so
hard
I
heard
her
back
crack,
sobbed on
her
neck
until
I
couldn
’
t
stand
up
any
more.
With
my
bum
on
the
sand
and
my
back
against
the
hard
rock,
I cried
until there
was
nothing
left,
just
aching
ribs
and those
silly
little sniffly
sobs
that
you
can
’
t
control.
Ker
r
y
kneeled
beside
me
stroking
my
brow
and
shushing
me.

‘
W
ayne.
Y
ou’re
not
a
cripple.
I
think you
can
still
get wherever
you
want
to
go.
And
if
Mandy
doesn
’
t
like
you— take
it
as
a
compliment.
I
know
a
dozen
babes
that
would gladly
give
up
their
left
hand
to
hang
out
with
you.
Me included.
Y
ou’re
beautiful,
W
ayne.
Eve
r
ything
about
you,
the
way
you
walk,
move.
Eve
r
ything.’

I
took
her
hand,
squeezed
it
and
let
it
go.
‘A
dozen
babes?’

‘
Y
eah,
well
maybe
half
a
dozen.’

I
laughed
and
a
bubble
of
snot
burst
in
my
nose
and sprayed
the
sand
near
my
knee.

‘
W
ould
you
believe
three?
One
for
definite
certain
and two
“oh
yeah”s.’

That
sounded
more
likel
y
.
She
helped
me
to
my
feet
and
I
wiped
my
face
with
my
T
-shirt, snotted
my
nose
and wiped
again.
W
e
hugged,
but
this
time
I
was
there
and aware
of
eve
r
ything.
W
arm
and
soft
and
pe
r
fect.
I
kissed
her
forehead.
She
kissed
my
arm,
and
we
started
the
slow walk
home
as
the
horizon
began
to
glo
w
.
It
was
going
to
be
another
hot
one.
A
flock
of
giant
red
and
blue
budgerigars—Ker
r
y
called
them rosellas—were
squawking
and chattering
above
the
tent
at
167b.
It
felt
like
morning
and we
should
have
been
getting
an
early
breakfast
as
Ker
r
y and
I
stepped
between
the
sleeping bodies
and
crawled into
our
own
beds.
Den
looked
as
though
he’d
been
shot
in his
sleep with
his
arms
and
legs
hanging
out
eve
r
ywhere.

‘Quick, ring an
ambulance!’
Ker
r
y
whispered
as she punched
her
pillow
into
shape.

I
burst
from sleep
in the late morning,
puffing and shaking
from
violent
dreams
that
I
couldn
’
t
remembe
r
.
I
peeled
my
sleeping
bag
off
and
darted
out
the
doo
r
.
It wasn
’
t
much
cooler
outside
but
the
air
was
moving;
and that was the only thing—the Humes
had vanished.
I
freaked.
All
of
the
heat
and
dark
dreams
and
the
Humes not
being
there
rolled
into
one
panic
that
sent
me
darting
back
inside
the tent for some
clothes.
I
dressed
at
a
million miles
per
hour
and
as
I
shot
through
the
door
of the
tent
again
I
saw a
note
pinned to it—in such
an obvious
spot
that
you’d
have
to
be
an
idiot
to
miss
it.
Or
freaked.

Good morning,
W
ayne.
Or
is
it
afternoon?
Hope you
had
a
good
snooze.
Mum
has
made
lunch
for us
all
and
we’ve
walked
around
to
Chestnut
Ba
y
.
It’s not
fa
r
.
F
ollow
the
signs
from
the
main
ramp
on
Mars
Cove
to
the
end
of
the
beach
and
up
over
the
point.
Just
bring
your
towel.

Love
K
erry
and
the
humorous
Humes

I
flicked
the
note
into
the
tent
and
jogged
to
the
beach.
I had
forgotten
my
towel
so
I
jogged
back
and
grabbed
an orange
while
I
was
there.
I
walked
to
the
beach
a
second time,
with
my
eyes
scrunched
shut
to
cut
down
the
glare
and my ears
ringing with the chorus
of a
thousand
cicadas.
I
peeled
my
orange
and
pitched
each
little
bit
of skin
under
a
tea
tree
on
the
side
of
the
track;
no
one
would
find
it
there.
The
signs
were
easy
to
find—the
first one
on
the
beach
said
‘Chestnut
Bay
2.7
km
1.5
hr’
and
pointed
down
the beach
to
the granite
boulder
that
Ker
r
y
and
I
had
been
sitting
on
last
night;
I’m sure
it
was
the same
one.
Right
up
in
the
soft
sand
near
the
end
of
the beach
was
the
second
sign:
‘Chestnut
Bay
1.9
km
1
hr’. The
walking
track
rose
from
the
beach
sharply
and
it wasn
’
t
until
I
looked
back
that
I
noticed
how
many
people there
were
down
there.
Hundreds
of
little specks and coloured
umbrellas
dotted
the
shoreline
and
the
shallows. A
bit
further out,
a
few
black-suited
su
r
fers
sat
on
their boards
waiting
for
the
big
waves,
and
the
sharks.