One Dead Seagull (30 page)

My
left
knee
had
cracked
against
the
rock
face
but
it wasn
’
t
broken.
It
held
my
weight
and
I
hobbled
over
to where
Den
was.
He
struggled
to
his
feet
with
his
mouth
open
and
hands
on
his
hips.
He
hugged
me
around
the neck.

‘Sor
r
y
mate,’
he
said
right
into
my
ea
r
.

‘Nah.
I’m
sor
r
y
.’

It
wasn
’
t
until
we
were
walking
away
from the
wate
r
fall that
I
realised
I’d
su
r
vived
another
nea
r
-death
adventure. Sometimes
it
’
s
all
too
much.
Why
can
’
t
I
have
really
nice friends
like
Ga
r
y
Reardon
and
play
chess?
Nah,
stuff
that.

Ker
r
y
hel
d
m
y
han
d
mos
t
o
f
th
e
wa
y
back
.
B
y
th
e
tim
e
we
go
t
t
o
th
e
ca
r
,
w
e
wer
e
laughin
g
abou
t
th
e
whol
e
thing
.
I
aske
d
De
n
i
f
I
coul
d
borro
w
a
pai
r
o
f
hi
s
undies—
I
thought min
e
wer
e
full
.
Bar
r
y
tol
d
m
e
tha
t
I
wasn
’
t
allowe
d
i
n
the ca
r
bu
t
I
go
t
i
n
anywa
y
.

‘Hasn
’
t
been
much
of
a
holiday
for
you,
W
ayne,’
Ker
r
y
said,
and Gracie
glanced
over
her shoulder with her
eyebrows
raised.

‘
Y
eah,’
Den
said.

A tense
moment passed
then Gracie
asked,
‘What happened
the
other
night?’

I
prickled.
‘The
other
night?
Nothing
much.’

‘Bull.
Phillip,
Mandy
’
s
boyfriend,
beat
the
crap
out
of him
for
no
reason,’
Ker
r
y
said.

Den
gagged
and
shook
his
head
vigorousl
y
.

Ker
r
y
shrugged
and
kept
talking.
‘
W
ayne
went
down
to
comfort
Mandy
after
Phil
had
just
dumped
her
and
he must
have
reckoned
he
was
t
r
ying
to
hit
on
he
r
.
Beat
the crap
out
of
him.’

Den
shook
his
head.
‘It
wasn
’
t
Phil,’
he
said
and
stared
out
the
windo
w
.

That
didn
’
t
compute.
I
looked
at
the
back
of
his
neck.

‘It
was
Hendo.’

I
sat
there
for
a
full
minute
looking
at
his
neck.
It
wasn
’
t
Phil
that
tried
to
break
me
in
half
and
the
more
I
thought about
it,
the
more
it
made
sense.
Hendo
had
the
hots
for Mand
y
.
Never
said
a
word
about
it.
Ker
r
y
called
Hendo
a sleazebag
and
shivered.

Bar
r
y
ha
d
go
t
a
frigh
t
a
t
th
e
fall
s
an
d
whe
n
w
e
go
t
back t
o
th
e
campsite
,
h
e
couldn
’
t
stan
d
still
.
H
e
wante
d
t
o
pack u
p
an
d
g
o
home
.
Graci
e
joke
d
abou
t
i
t
an
d
trie
d
t
o
tal
k
him int
o
staying
.
H
e
packe
d
u
p
th
e
stov
e
afte
r
te
a
an
d
pushe
d
it int
o
th
e
bac
k
o
f
th
e
ca
r
the
n
li
t
th
e
gasligh
t
an
d
slumped
int
o
hi
s
chai
r
.
Burie
d
hi
s
hea
d
i
n
th
e
newspape
r
.

‘Do
you
want
to
walk?’
Kez
asked
me
quietl
y
.

I
nodded
and
felt
a
tingle
in
the
front of
my
shorts. Gracie
was
inside
the
tent
and
Kez
opened her
mouth
to yell
then
changed
her
mind
and
bent
close
to
her
dad.
She mumbled
that
we
were
going
to
the
beach.
He shrugged.

W
e
slipped
into
the
half
dark
and
Kez
held
my
hand. That
’
s
all
we
did—hold
hands
and
talk
quietly
so
we
didn
’
t
disturb
the
sound
of
the
waves.
That
felt
so
good.
Kez started
getting
cold
so
we
went
back
to
camp.

In the
morning—the
day
after
our trapeze
act
at
the
falls—Baz
got
up
early
whistling
a
Beatles’
song
and
said we
were
going
to
launch
the
boat.
It
took
twenty
minutes of
fo
r
ward
and
backward
to
get
the
trailer
on
the
boat ramp.
Bar
r
y
frantically
screwing
the
steering
wheel
left
and
right,
looking
in
the
mirror
then
over
his
shoulder and
still
managing
to
hump
up
onto
the
concrete
gutter before
finally
getting
the
boat
into the
wate
r
. I
fully expected
him
to
sizzle
when
he
crashed
in
after
it
and grabbed
the
rope
from
Gracie.
He
ordered
us
all
in,
then
pushed
and
tried
to
jump
in
himself.
He
seesawed
on
the
edge—feet
kicking in
the
wate
r
,
hands
grabbing
at
the bottom
of
the
boat—until
we’d
had
a
good
laugh,
then
sat up,
red-faced.
He
gave
Den
an
oar
and
stuffed
the
other one
in
my
hand,
telling
us
to
swap
seats
so
that
I
could
make
my
hand
work hard.
W
e
zigzagged
and
almost
cut
a
full circle
in
the
water
before
we
got
our
r
hythm,
with Bar
r
y
chanting
‘stroke,
stroke,
stroke’.
When
Den
and
I found our groove,
mate,
we
were
scooting
along.
Baz finally
had
a
smile
on
his
face.

‘Arghhh, me
hearties.
This
is
the
life.
Boating
on
the high
seas.’

Kez
rolled
her
eyes.
The
sea
wasn
’
t
exactly
high.
In
fact it mirrored like a
mirage
along
the
cove.
After a
few minutes
of rowing
I
realised
that
I’d
rather
be
in
the
water than
on
it.
I
started
to
sweat.

‘Ah.
Dad?’
Ker
r
y
said
looking
at
her
feet.

‘Don
’
t
call
me
Dad.
Call
me
Captain.’

‘Ah. Captain.
Is
there
supposed
to be
water
down here?’

It
was
ankle
deep
and
filling fast.
I
could
see
the
water jetting
in
through
a
gap
that
had
opened
up
in
the
freshly painted
timbe
r
.
Baz
stepped
through to
the
back
of
the
boat
almost
rolling
us
all
into
the
wate
r
.

‘Shit,’
he
mouthed.

‘Bar
r
y
,
wher
e
ar
e
th
e
lif
e
jackets?
’
Graci
e
asked.
Seemed
like
a sensible
question,
just
twenty
minutes
too late.

Bar
r
y
slapped
his
palm
on
his
temple.
‘In
the
back
of
the
ca
r
.’

‘I’m
getting
out
of
here,’
Den
said,
and
dragged
his
oar
in
before
diving
overboard.
Gracie
followed.

‘Man
overboard!
Man
the
life
rafts!’
Baz
cried.

‘Ah.
Captain,
this
is
the
life
raft,’
Ker
r
y
said
and
dived in after
her
mum.
They
started
swimming
towards
the beach.

‘It
’
s
a
mutiny!’

I
told
him
I’d
be
going
down
with
the
ship.
He
slapped me
on
the
back
and
called
me
bosun
then
grabbed
Den
’
s
oar
and
we
paddled
like
fu
r
y
towards
the
beach.
Such hard going and
it only got
worse.
The boat
bumped against
something.
Baz
looked
at
me
then
dived
over-board
and
stood
up—the
boat
had
hit
the
sand.

In time,
a
whole
crew
of
people
swam
out
from the shore:
Davo,
Steve
and
Che
r
yl.
And
Mand
y
.
I
couldn
’
t look
at
he
r
.
They
helped
us
empty
the
boat
and
drag
it
to the
shore
and
when
Baz
brought the
trailer down
they
helped
us
lift
it
straight
on.
Muscles.

Bar
r
y
shook
their hands
and thanked them in his stupid
pirate
voice.

Mandy
tugged
on the wet
sleeve
of my
shirt. ‘Hey