Moonlight Sonata

by Eileen Merriman

  ‘They’re over there,’ McKenzie splutters, pointing towards the rock. Emitting a low growl, Beckett snatches his clothes off the rock and disappears again.

  ‘My turn now,’ Tom says, once they’ve stopped laughing. ‘McKenzie … Dare, Truth or Promise?’

  ‘Promise,’ McKenzie says, poking a stick into the fire.

  Lola huffs through her nose. ‘Promises are stupid.’

  ‘It’s part of the game right?’ McKenzie holds the stick up and waves it in the air until the flame is extinguished.

  ‘OK,’ Tom says. ‘I want you to promise me that you won’t get drunk enough to spew tonight.’

  ‘I promise.’ McKenzie opens another can of beer. She’s such a liar.

  Beckett flops down beside her. ‘Too easy. Do I get to do my one now?’

  ‘Go for it,’ Tom says.

  ‘OK. I choose Austin.’ Beckett tilts his head back.

  ‘That was predictable,’ Austin calls out.

  ‘No shit, Sherlock. Dare, Truth or Promise?’

  ‘Dare.’

  ‘All right. I dare you to tell us whether you’re gay,’ Beckett says immediately. There’s silence from above. Jesus, what’s Beckett up to? Sure, Austin probably is gay, but does Beckett have to be such a prick about it?

  ‘Play fair, dude,’ Noah says, after what feels like half an hour, but is probably only half a minute.

  Beckett says, ‘What? Is that question against the rules or something?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ McKenzie says uncertainly.

  ‘I can neither confirm nor deny, and that’s my honest answer. And that was the truth, not a dare.’ Austin thuds into the sand. ‘I’m going home now.’

  ‘But it’s still an hour and a half until midnight,’ McKenzie calls after him.

  ‘That was mean,’ Lola says, her voice tight.

  ‘Maybe we should stop playing,’ Noah says. He’s sick of this stupid game. He’s sick of McKenzie and Beckett. How come Uncle Sully is such a good guy but his kids are so fricking annoying?

  The tip of McKenzie’s tongue flicks out and darts, lizard-like, over her lips. ‘No way, I haven’t had my turn yet. I pick Lola.’

  ‘Dare,’ Lola says. ‘And you’d better make it a dare,’ she adds, glaring at Beckett.

  ‘OK,’ McKenzie says, and there’s an odd tone in her voice that Noah doesn’t like one bit. ‘I dare you to kiss Noah.’

  ‘What?’ Lola sits bolt upright.

  ‘We’re not playing Spin the Bottle,’ Noah says, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘Are we?’ What does McKenzie know? Did she see them kissing before? Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

  ‘It’s a dare, isn’t it?’ McKenzie nudges Tom. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think we should veto that one, since they’re cousins and all,’ Tom says.

  ‘Huh,’ McKenzie says. ‘Guess I must have been seeing things today, then.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Noah says, watching Tom frown.

  McKenzie twirls a strand of hair. ‘I saw you two when you were coming home from the beach today. That was you guys, wasn’t it? Or was I imagining it?’

  Noah’s heart is going so fast it feels as though it’s going to crack his ribs. What could McKenzie have seen? He’d held Lola’s hand, he remembers that, but did he kiss her? He’s pretty sure he didn’t, not until they got into the garage. Jesus, what if McKenzie sneaked after them and saw what they were up to in there?

  Lola’s breasts in my hands, my lips on her throat, oh shit oh shit.

  Noah is starting to wish he hadn’t drunk so much beer. He needs to think. He needs not to be playing this fucking game.

  ‘Lola’s blood sugar was low,’ he says. ‘I was helping her home. Is that a crime?’

  He stands up, slapping the sand off the back of his shorts. ‘Lola’s right, this game sucks. I’m going for a swim, if anyone else wants to join me.’

  ‘I’m in,’ Tom says. ‘Lola?’

  ‘I’ll come,’ Lola says, standing up too.

  McKenzie yawns. ‘I’ll stay and mind the fire.’

  ‘Don’t set fire to anything,’ Noah says, resisting the urge to kick sand at McKenzie.

  Are you the fire?

  No, Lola, you are.

  Careful, they need to be more careful.

  He can’t wait until they’re alone.

  Chapter 18:

  MOLLY 1993

  Molly was running late. She was running late because her flatmate had announced her crisis five minutes before Molly was due to leave for the airport. She couldn’t leave Megan like that, not when she looked as though she were about to slit her wrists. She’d compromised by bringing Megan with her, swollen eyes and all.

  ‘I can’t believe he’s been sleeping with both of us for the past three months,’ Megan raged as they waited at the roundabout. ‘That bitch.’

  ‘That arsehole,’ Molly said for about the twentieth time. ‘Hope he gets struck down by a knob-eating disease.’

  ‘A really smelly one,’ Megan spat out, and they both cracked up, until Megan started crying again. Stopping at the next roundabout, Molly looked up at the plane wobbling over the fence to their right.

  ‘Must be a southerly,’ she said. The planes only went over the fence when landing into a southerly wind. She felt like a true Wellingtonian, knowing that.

  Megan sucked in a breath. ‘What if he’s given me some disease?’

  ‘You’d be unlucky,’ Molly said. ‘But get yourself tested anyway. Who knows where she’s been?’

  Megan moaned, rifling through her canvas bag. ‘I need to get drunk.’

  ‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘Details, details. Do you think your brother would want to go to the pub?’

  ‘I suspect he’ll want a shower first.’ Molly accelerated towards the airport, hoping there were no cops around. Richard would have a cow if she got another speeding ticket.

  Megan slashed pink gloss over her lips. ‘How long has it been since you saw each other?’

  ‘Two years.’ Molly had been starting to think Joe was never going to come home until his surprise phone call two days ago, the one on which she’d had to accept the charges. I’m landing in Wellington at 9.45 on Saturday morning, can you pick me up?

  As if Molly would say no, even if she was meant to be tutoring a struggling Biochemistry student, and even though she could have done with the money. A week with her twin before he headed up north, how could she refuse?

  Molly parked the car, badly, and they hurried inside. Stopping to look at the arrivals board, Molly saw that Joe’s plane had arrived early, half an hour ago. Shit.

  ‘Damn it,’ she said, her chest squeezing at the thought that she’d missed Joe coming off the plane.

  ‘Watch out,’ Megan said, pulling her aside when a bearded man with dirty jeans nearly collided with them.

  Molly glanced at him, and he glanced at her and said, ‘Jesus.’

  A catch in her throat, Molly said, ‘Yes, that’s exactly who you look like.’

  Joe laughed and flung his arms around her, holding her tight. He smelt of days-old sweat and airplane soap. Molly wanted to tell him how much she’d missed him, but Megan was right there, and she didn’t want to cry.

  ‘Thought you’d forgotten,’ Joe said, finally letting her go, and holding out his hand to Megan. ‘Hi, I’m Joe, the better half.’

  ‘Megan,’ her flatmate said.

  Molly said, ‘Of course I didn’t forget,’ and Joe, his eyes still on Megan, nudged Molly as if to say, I was only joking, Lolly, don’t be so sensitive.

  Joe, stop winding your sister/brother/cousin up, their mother always used to say.

  ‘Man, I could do with a drink,’ Joe said, tucking in his shirt.

  ‘Oh, thank God for you,’ Megan said, beaming. Joe had a knack for getting on with everyone.

  Three hours and several beers later, they arrived back at Molly and Megan’s flat. Colourless clouds draped
over the hills, swirling drizzle through the September-cool air.

  ‘Forgot how cold Wellington was,’ Joe said, pulling his denim jacket over his t-shirt.

  ‘Well, you’re hardly dressed for the weather,’ Molly said, weaving slightly up the path. She’d only had three beers, but her brain felt like cotton wool. When she looked towards the front porch, she spotted Richard sitting on the front doorstep. ‘Oh. I forgot you were coming around.’

  ‘You did say one o’clock, didn’t you?’ Richard held up his wrist to show her his watch. ‘Or did you mean one thirty-three?’

  ‘Yeah, I — sorry.’ Molly touched Joe’s elbow. ‘This is my brother, Joe.’

  ‘No kidding. Hi.’ Richard stood up. ‘Plane arrive late, did it?’

  ‘Nah, pit stop at the pub,’ Joe said, lounging against the side of the house. ‘D’you need help with that lock there, Megan?’

  ‘Fucked if I can find the right key,’ Megan said, before falling against the wall. Joe grinned and plucked the key-ring out of her grip.

  ‘The pub?’ Richard peered into the street. ‘Where’s my car?’

  Molly waved, vaguely. ‘I left it in a parking building. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘With love,’ Joe said, flinging the front door open. Megan followed him inside, giggling.

  Richard gave Molly a steely look. ‘I’ll go and fetch the car, shall I?’

  Molly walked into her room to find Joe lying on her bed, battered sneakers and all.

  ‘You have no idea what it’s like to be horizontal after thirty-six hours travelling,’ he said. ‘Positively orgasmic, in case you want to know.’

  ‘No, but thanks anyway.’ Molly sat beside him and yanked at one of his laces. ‘Perhaps you could remove your manky shoes.’

  ‘I will.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Soon.’

  ‘Hopeless,’ she muttered, watching her twin drop asleep. After wrestling off his shoes, Molly ferried them through to the laundry, along with his pack. Must be lots of washing in there. She unclipped the straps and began removing the contents — faded underwear, a pair of shorts, a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, an even holier pair of socks, a toothbrush with bristles that went sideways, a nearly empty tube of toothpaste, three condoms, and a grey t-shirt that might have been white, once upon a time.

  Nestled at the bottom of the pack was a black, hardback notebook stuffed with various scraps of paper and a couple of photos. Molly didn’t want to invade her twin’s privacy by reading his journal, but she was curious about the photos, so she slipped them out. One was dog-eared and creased, the other barely blemished.

  The dog-eared photo was of an eighteen-year-old Molly standing on the sand at Tern Bay in denim shorts and a bikini top, sun-bleached hair hanging loose around her shoulders. The girl in the newer photo looked very tall and slender, with full lips and shiny black hair to her waist. Turning the photo over, Molly saw that someone, presumably the girl, had scrawled a message across the back: So you don’t forget to come back. Carpe diem, L x.

  ‘Huh,’ Molly said.

  ‘Where’s your brother?’ Megan leaned in the doorway, holding a steaming mug of tea.

  ‘Asleep. Are you OK?’

  ‘I could do with another drink,’ Megan said and sloped off again. Molly looked back at the photo. Just a fling, or something more serious? Joe had never mentioned a girlfriend, despite the weekly postcards.

  She slipped the photo back into the pack, resolving to ask Joe about ‘L’ later. So maybe he had a girlfriend, so what? It would be good for him. And what was good for Joe could only be good for Molly.

  If Joe wasn’t happy, then she wouldn’t be happy either.

  Molly was frying bacon when Joe sauntered into the kitchen three hours later, his wet hair sticking up in spikes.

  ‘Ooh là là, bœuf bourguignon.’ He kissed Molly on the forehead. ‘My favourite.’

  ‘I know.’ Molly blinked back at him. ‘Wow, you look …’

  ‘Clean? Or are you referring to this?’ Joe stroked his now-hairless chin.

  ‘Both.’ She tipped the bacon into a casserole dish and began spooning chuck steak out of the red-wine marinade and into the frypan.

  Joe squeezed the back of her neck, peered into the bottle of cooking wine. ‘You don’t like beards, I take it?’

  ‘Who does, apart from middle-aged bikers?’

  ‘Ooh, harsh.’ He took a swig of wine and wrinkled his nose. ‘Julia Child wouldn’t cook with this.’

  Molly snatched the bottle off him. ‘Julia Child isn’t a student. And when did you become such a connoisseur?’

  ‘They drink wine like water in Italy.’ Joe began strolling around the kitchen, picking up various items and setting them down again.

  ‘Is that where L is from?’

  ‘L?’ Joe turned, his eyes widening.

  ‘I did your washing,’ Molly said. ‘You’re welcome, by the way. And I saw the signed photo from a luscious beauty.’

  ‘Oh, the Luscious Lucia,’ Joe said.

  ‘She’s very pretty.’

  Joe shrugged. ‘She was.’

  ‘Was?’ Molly turned the chunks of beef with tongs. Damn it, she should have dried them with a paper towel so they didn’t stew. Cutting corners never worked.

  ‘Well, it’s not as if we’ll ever see each other again.’ Joe opened the fridge. ‘Looks like I need to take a trip to the liquor store.’

  ‘That wasn’t the tone of her note,’ Molly said. Why couldn’t she let it go?

  Joe slammed the door shut. ‘I guess we weren’t on the same wavelength.’

  ‘Pity,’ Molly said, looking up.

  ‘Well,’ he said, his voice soft, ‘I guess I’m the type of guy who’s always going to leave. Right?’

  Molly heard a car pulling into the driveway; Richard back at last. She wondered where he’d been all afternoon. Hopefully he was in a better mood than when he’d left.

  ‘Perhaps a couple of bottles of red,’ she said. ‘Do you mind?’

  Joe pursed his lips, as if he were going to say something else, but what came out was, ‘For you, anything.’

  By the time dinner was ready, they had consumed most of the wine. Joe got the fire going in the lounge, and they ate with their plates balanced on their laps.

  ‘So,’ Richard said, ‘Molly said you’re applying for journalism school.’

  ‘Yeah, thought I’d give it a go.’ Joe pushed a round of French bread through gravy. He was wearing a string of sepia-coloured beads around his wrist; dangling around his neck was a rectangular piece of metal inscribed with foreign characters. A week didn’t seem long enough for Molly to ask her twin to tell her about all the things he’d experienced without her.

  ‘In Auckland?’ Megan speared a piece of beef.

  ‘Thought I’d apply here, too,’ Joe said. ‘It’d be nice to be back in Wellie. Is there any more wine in that bottle, Lolly?’ Once Molly had passed him the bottle, Joe reached over to top up Richard’s glass before upending the rest into his own glass. ‘Tell me about your work, Richard. Genetics of cancer, right?’

  ‘Yeah, myeloma.’ Richard lifted the glass to his lips. ‘This is good, what is it?’

  ‘Chianti,’ Joe said. ‘Cheap but not nasty. So tell me about this my-oma.’

  ‘Myeloma,’ Richard said, smiling, and Molly felt a lightening in her chest. Obviously her fears that Joe and Richard might not get along were unfounded. ‘It’s a cancer of cells arising from the bone marrow, average survival three to five years even with treatment.’

  ‘Nasty.’ Joe turned to Megan. ‘How about you, are you at uni as well?’

  Megan shook her head. ‘No, I’m earning real money. I could tell you what I do, but it’s exceptionally boring.’

  ‘Real money?’ Richard furrowed his brow at her. ‘As opposed to what?’

  ‘She’s just stirring,’ Molly said, standing up and taking Joe’s plate.

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t worr
y, I’ll do the dishes.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ Megan said, springing to her feet.

  ‘How much do I owe you for the car park?’ Molly asked, once Joe and Megan had gone into the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Richard kissed her on the lips. ‘Coming back to my place tonight?’

  ‘Well, I would if Joe weren’t here.’

  ‘I’ll bring you back first thing. He could sleep in your bed instead of on the couch.’

  Molly scratched the side of her nose. ‘I guess …’

  Richard drew away. ‘OK, I get the message.’

  ‘He’s only here for a week. Where were you this afternoon, anyway?’

  ‘Jeff dropped around, and we got to talking. Didn’t think you’d mind, since you had company already.’ Richard stood up and crossed to the window. ‘Did I tell you Will’s moving out?’

  ‘No — where’s he going?’ Molly plucked Richard’s glass off the floor and had a surreptitious sip of wine, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl.

  ‘Back to Christchurch. So, I was thinking, maybe it’s time you moved in with me. What do you think?’

  Molly bit her lip. ‘What about Megan?’

  ‘What about Megan?’ Richard turned around. ‘She’s a big girl, she’ll find another flatmate.’ He frowned at her. ‘Or is that your way of saying no?’

  ‘No, it’s—’ She walked over to him and threw her arms around his neck. ‘Maybe when Megan’s not suicidal.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound very suicidal to me,’ Richard said, as laughter pealed out from the kitchen.

  ‘She’ll get over it.’ Molly kissed him. ‘I’d love to move in with you.’

  ‘I do love you, Molly,’ he whispered, which was one of the few times Richard had told her that. And surely, surely that meant she’d done the right thing.

  By eleven pm, the drizzle had blown away, and a lone star was pricking through the gaps between the clouds.

  Richard kissed Molly by the front gate. ‘Catch you tomorrow. What are you planning to do with Joe?’

  ‘No plans yet. I’ll call you in the morning, OK?’ Molly spun away, her head tilted back to see if she could spot any more stars on the way back to the house. Inside, Joe was splitting a deck of cards and folding them into each other.