Moonlight Sonata

by Eileen Merriman

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ Molly says, as Tom’s voice rings out from the kitchen.

  ‘What, you used the last of the milk again?’

  ‘I’m making Aunt Molly a latte,’ Austin gripes back, but before Molly can tell Austin not to worry, Kiri says, ‘No, but that’s what’s so hard about being a parent, isn’t it?’ Kiri lowers her voice. ‘How do you know when your child’s just being grumpy and a normal teenager, or when they’re really in trouble? Lola seems to be taking it all in her stride, but I’m terrified if I don’t keep an eye on her, then she’ll end up in a coma, or suffering from terrible complications of her diabetes. I just can’t bear the thought of losing her.’

  ‘I think you’re doing just fine,’ Molly says. ‘Lola’s a pretty sensible girl.’ Apart from possibly having sex with my son. And here they’ve all been worrying about McKenzie turning into another pregnant teenage statistic, when it could have already happened right under their noses with Lola and Noah.

  God, she can hardly bear to continue this conversation. She needs to talk to Joe, and soon.

  ‘It’s the leading cause of kidney failure in this country, did you know that?’

  Molly focuses on her sister-in-law. ‘No, I’m not sure I did.’

  Or maybe she has heard that before, but she’s having trouble concentrating. Especially now that Noah has arrived in the lounge, yawning and scratching his belly. When did he start looking so much older? Is it possible he’s grown over the past week?

  ‘Your money or your life!’ Joe enters the room and aims the marrow at Noah. Tom runs in behind him, brandishing a telegraph cucumber.

  ‘You have the right to remain silent,’ Tom says. ‘Anything you say or do may be held against you in a court of—’

  ‘Coles-law!’ Joe bellows, and they start giggling, and elbowing each other.

  ‘What did Sully put in those eggs?’ Kiri asks, smiling at Molly.

  Noah grins. ‘Watch out, or I’ll pull the pin on this,’ he says, plucking an avocado out of the fruit bowl.

  ‘No food fights,’ Hazel calls out from the kitchen. ‘Or you’ll be on dishes for the rest of the week.’

  ‘Party-pooper,’ Joe says, lowering the marrow. Noah, still smiling, sits at the table and scans through yesterday’s paper.

  ‘What are you so smiley about?’ Tom swipes at the top of Noah’s head. ‘Get back together with your girlfriend?’

  Noah leans away. ‘I don’t need girls to make me happy, Prick.’

  ‘That’s because you’re a Bas-tard.’

  ‘Boys, would you please speak nicely to each other?’ Hazel says, scowling. ‘What are they teaching you in that fancy private school of yours?’

  ‘How to swear with an Aussie accent,’ Joe says, winking at Molly. She rolls her eyes.

  ‘Preeck,’ Tom taunts, and Noah picks up the marrow and chases him onto the balcony.

  Kiri shakes her head and stands up. ‘I think it’s time I had a shower.’

  Molly waits until her mother’s back is turned before she says, ‘I’m going to get some air,’ looking at Joe.

  ‘Don’t you want your coffee?’ Austin asks as she passes through the kitchen. Molly slows.

  ‘I’ll have it when I get back. I can heat it up in the microwave.’ She leaves Austin with his fingers in his ears, chanting la-la-la at her culinary faux pas.

  Joe, as she knew he would be, is only three steps behind her.

  ‘I need you to talk to Noah,’ Molly says, once they set foot on the sand. The air is shimmering already, the sea tinfoil-shiny.

  ‘About what?’ Joe wrinkles his nose at her. His freckles have darkened in the antipodean sun, so much harsher than the veiled Middle Eastern version.

  Molly links her little finger around his.

  Pinkie swear that you’ll never tell anyone.

  ‘Noah and his new love interest,’ she says. Pinkie swears can last thirty years.

  Some pinkie swears need to last forever.

  Joe brightens. ‘Oh, the two girls at once thing?’

  Molly stops in her tracks. ‘Two girls at once?’ From the way Joe is rubbing his forehead, she can see that he’s just realised he’s let something slip that perhaps he shouldn’t have. ‘Hang on, how come I’m the last to know about this?’

  ‘He was asking for advice.’

  ‘On how to hook up with his cousin?’

  ‘His what?’ Joe asks, and then they both say ‘Lola’, and his eyes widen.

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Shit.’

  ‘So Noah didn’t tell you who the other girl was?’

  ‘No. Christ. Well, that all makes — yeah, perfect sense.’

  ‘Perfect sense,’ Molly says, and she can see he’s going through the past few days in his head too — Noah and Lola leaving the bush walk early to watch the cricket (but is that all they did?); Noah and Lola heading out for night swims. Both Molly and Joe know exactly what a night swim can lead to.

  Day swims, too, Molly thinks, remembering New Year’s Day, a secluded cove, the damp cave walls rising above the perfect configuration of their bodies.

  ‘Kissing cousins.’ Joe clears his throat. ‘There are worse things in life.’

  Molly crosses her arms over her t-shirt. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea. Do you?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’ll be over soon enough, right?’

  ‘I saw her leaving his tent really late last night. God knows what they were up to.’

  ‘Oh. Shit.’

  ‘Is that all you can say?’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘He’s your son too,’ Molly flares. Why isn’t Joe getting more worked up about this?

  He laughs, but it’s a short, joyless, noise. ‘What, are you going to tell him?’

  ‘No.’ Molly grabs his wrist. ‘It would kill him. Are you listening to me?’

  Joe turns and grips her other wrist. ‘Sometimes,’ he says, the tip of his nose nearly touching hers, ‘I think it’s going to kill me. Are you listening to that?’

  ‘He loves you anyway,’ she says. ‘He talks to you much more than he’d ever talk to Richard.’

  Joe releases her. ‘That’s because Richard treats him like shit. He treats you like shit too. Not that it’s a new thing, mind you.’ He strides towards the rocks, his head down.

  Molly jogs to catch up to him. ‘This was meant to be a conversation about Noah and Lola, not us.’ When Joe doesn’t respond, she says, ‘I need you to tell him to stop whatever he’s doing with Lola before one of them gets hurt.’

  ‘Fine,’ Joe says. ‘I’ll talk to him. But I need to talk to you, too.’

  ‘What do you think we’ve been doing for the past few days?’

  Joe turns around. ‘You know what? I think you’re wrong. This is about us. Because everything we do comes back to this, you and me.’

  ‘Do you wish we’d never started?’ Tears spring to Molly’s eyes. ‘Do you want to stop?’

  ‘All I want,’ Joe says, his voice hoarse, ‘is you. But it’s obvious that’s never going to happen.’

  It slips out of her mouth before she has time to think about it. ‘That could change. Things could be … different.’

  Molly stares at the reflection in her twin’s irises — of her, of them, of what they started thirty years ago. The word different looms large between them, so bright she can barely see.

  ‘The only way things could be different,’ Joe says, ‘is if you leave him.’

  Molly sinks into the sand. ‘Please,’ she says, ‘just talk to Noah. And then we’ll talk about us. OK?’

  Chapter 25:

  NOAH

  When Noah and Joe stroll onto the beach late morning with their surfboards, the waves are curling into perfect tubes. Sooty clouds hang heavy over the bay, and the air is so thick Noah can almost feel it curdling in his lungs. The radio this morning said the storm would hit tonight. Noah can’t wait.

  I love storms.

  I love Lola.

  I love h
aving sex. He doesn’t understand why everyone isn’t just doing it all the time.

  ‘Yeah, baby, imagine what it’s going to be like tomorrow,’ Joe says, and they high-five before paddling out to sea. The churn and fizz of the water sets Noah’s nerves humming, as if they aren’t buzzing enough already.

  It’s almost enough to make him forget that there’s only one more night left with Lola.

  But he doesn’t want to think about that, so he loses himself in the moment, the waves, the heady rush into shore. For an instant, he dares to think this is all there is — him and Lola, hanging out with Joe, hot-tar summer days melting into one another.

  He can’t remember the last time he was this happy.

  After half an hour or so, Beckett and Lola come to join them. From the way Beckett is pacing up and down the beach, it’s obvious he wants to have a turn. Noah catches one last wave before relinquishing the board to him and goes to join Lola on the sand.

  Lola is sitting on a towel, rubbing sunblock onto her legs. Noah sits beside her, observing the trio of freckles on the curve of her ankle, an Orion’s Belt.

  ‘Need some help?’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,’ she says, her head bent. A sheen of sweat shimmers in her cleavage.

  ‘Not even your shoulders? I don’t want to be responsible for you getting burnt.’ And maybe, while Beckett and Joe aren’t looking, he could dip his finger into that spot between her breasts, right where his tongue was last night.

  Her eyes flick up to his. ‘OK, my shoulders.’

  ‘And your back?’ Noah smiles, and she smiles back, softly, softly. The inside of his chest has turned to treacle. He’s about to suggest they sneak off somewhere — there’s a cave around the corner that you can get to at low tide — when he hears Joe’s voice.

  ‘Want a turn, Lola?’ He plants the surfboard, tombstone-like, in the sand, his arms across the top.

  ‘Maybe soon.’ Lola’s head is bent again, her brow furrowed.

  Joe lays the surfboard flat. ‘Hey, Noah, I was going to do a run into town, pick up some glass for that cracked window in the garage. Want to come for a drive?’

  ‘Nah, I might stay here.’ Noah kicks his foot through the sand, watching the grains cascade past his skin.

  ‘Thing is, I’ve got a bit of a headache so I was hoping you could drive.’

  Noah looks up. There’s something a bit weird about the way Joe says that, but Noah’s not sure how exactly.

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Well, sure. When are you going?’

  ‘Now. We’ll be there and back by one, no problem. Are you sure you want the board Lola, or shall I take it back?’

  Lola squeezes another glob of sunblock onto her leg. ‘Think I’ll just go for a swim, actually. Thanks.’

  ‘Sweet,’ Joe says. Noah gets up, reluctantly, and scuffs after him. And the whole way back to the house, all he can think about is the ocean scent of Lola.

  Noah isn’t sure if Uncle Sully planned on him being behind the wheel of his Range Rover, but he’s enjoying the drive. Joe winds down the window like he always does, even though the car’s got climate control, and props his elbow up on the sill.

  ‘Drive much in Melbourne?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ Noah doesn’t want to think about Melbourne. He’s homesick for sultry skies, fush and chups, Sunday roasts.

  ‘What are your plans for next year?’ His uncle’s feet are on the dashboard. Barefoot, as usual, the tuatara tattoo on his ankle clearly visible.

  ‘I’ll head back to Wellington, go to university.’ At least, that’s what Noah imagined up until a couple of weeks ago, but now he’s not so sure. Maybe he should be heading to Auckland, where Lola is — if they’re still together by then.

  Noah doesn’t want to think about next year. He can hardly think about next week.

  ‘To study what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Noah tightens his grip on the steering wheel. ‘Life.’

  Joe smiles. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘What did you study, before you did journalism?’

  Joe takes his feet off the dashboard. ‘English literature. Philosophy.’

  ‘Philosophy?’

  ‘It was good for the soul.’ Joe turns the air con up. ‘The subject isn’t important. Most people don’t use their actual degree, unless you’re studying to be a doctor, or an engineer.’

  ‘I can’t even pass maths.’

  Joe huffs. ‘Maths, who cares? You can hire people to do that kind of stuff.’ He waves towards a sign on the side of the road that says Pukeko Hilltop Café 100m. ‘You want to stop for lunch?’

  ‘Lunch, sure,’ Noah says, realising he’s starving. He pulls into the driveway to his left, lined with punga trees and misshapen pottery figurines — pukeko, of course, along with kiwi, sheep and a puffer-fish fountain thing.

  ‘What are you having?’ Joe asks, once they have walked inside. There are fake pukeko everywhere, tin ones and stuffed ones and even decorated tea towels. Sia is playing over the speakers, and it smells like fresh coffee. Austin would love this place.

  ‘Fush and chups,’ Noah says. Joe waves him toward the seating area outside. The courtyard looks out over the valley, the ocean stretching out as far as the eye can see. Noah sits at a table closest to the view, holding his palm out for raindrops, but the clouds are holding their load. For now.

  ‘When did you get your tattoo?’ Noah asks when Joe sits next to him, plopping two glasses of water in front of them.

  ‘Ages ago, when I was in Bangkok.’ He rubs the tuatara’s tail. ‘Lucky I didn’t get HIV, come to think of it.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll get a tattoo.’ It’s not something Noah has thought of before, just something that’s come to him now.

  Joe sips on his water. ‘What of?’ Noah’s father would have said, over my dead body. He says that a lot.

  ‘Something to remind me of New Zealand. Maybe a koru.’

  ‘Or a pukeko?’

  ‘Nah, piss off.’

  ‘Just don’t tattoo a girl’s name on yourself,’ Joe says. ‘Because tattoos are forever, and girls … well, not always. Right?’

  ‘You can get them lasered off now. Tattoos, I mean.’ Noah waits for his uncle to smile again, but Joe is staring at his water glass, his finger tracing the rim. The weird feeling is back, worse than before. Something is up. Something …

  ‘Look,’ Joe says, ‘we know about you and Lola.’

  The treacle inside Noah’s chest turns to rock, so heavy he can hardly breathe.

  ‘W-what are you talking about?’ And who’s we?

  Joe squints at him. ‘Your mum saw Lola leaving your tent last night,’ he says. ‘Right or wrong?’

  Noah wants to say, Mum’s being paranoid. He wants to say, Lola and I were just talking. But what’s the point, when Joe is looking at him like that?

  ‘She’s the other girl, isn’t she?’

  Noah tugs on his ear. ‘Uh-huh.’ Shit.

  ‘Are you being … careful?’

  His face burning, Noah mumbles, ‘Well, yeah, we’re not stupid.’ And that’s it, his full confession in five words. Yes, Lola and I are together. Yes, we’re having sex.

  ‘Thank God for small mercies,’ Joe says, sitting back as the waitress plops their meals in front of them. Noah picks up a chip and ploughs it into his tomato sauce.

  ‘Does anyone else know?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Joe pours salt over his chips. ‘So … what’s going to happen once you go home?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Noah puts his chip down, looks into the trees. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He wants to dive back into his happy bubble, worry about this later. Fuck.

  ‘You know you can’t carry on like this,’ Joe says. ‘You and Lola.’

  Anger kindles inside Noah’s gut. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because she’s your cousin, and even if it’s technically legal,’ Joe holds his fingers up in mock quotes when he says ‘legal’, ‘it’s still relatively frowne
d upon in most societies.’

  ‘Fuck society.’

  ‘Yeah, well, quite apart from society, I don’t think Ants and Kiri will be too happy about this.’ Joe massages his head. Noah wonders if he’s really got a headache. If he didn’t before, it looks like Noah is giving him one now. ‘Jesus, bud, they could have you up for this, if they really wanted to.’

  ‘Have me up for what?’ For doing it with my cousin?

  Joe glances at the family jostling at the table behind before tilting towards him, his voice low. ‘Lola is fifteen. Do you get what I’m saying?’

  Noah stares at him. ‘She’s nearly sixteen.’ In five days, she’ll be sixteen, oh shit, what’s he implying? That he could be had up for statutory rape? Even if Lola told him she loved him while they were doing it, if she came back to do it again?

  ‘Like I said,’ Joe says, ‘she’s only fifteen.’

  Noah can’t even describe the feelings coursing through him right now, fear-anger-grief, and what does Joe want him to say anyway? What does he want him to do?

  ‘Are you going to tell Uncle Ants and Aunt Kiri?’ Noah asks, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans.

  Joe shakes his head. ‘No, but I need you to promise me that you’ll break this off. You know this isn’t going anywhere, right?’

  And now Noah’s head is pounding, frustration bursting out of every pore.

  ‘No,’ he says, standing up so fast his chair falls over, ‘no, I promised her. I promised.’

  He stumbles between the tables, through the café, up the punga-lined driveway with its stupid pottery animals, and out onto the road. His uncle doesn’t run after him. He doesn’t say, over my dead body. No, he doesn’t come after him at all.

  It takes Noah an hour to return to Tern Bay, an hour in which he alternately curses his mother (it’s all her fault, for snooping around when she should have been sleeping) and freaking out about what might happen if everyone else finds out. Especially his father, oh crap, there’s no telling what he might do. Take his phone off him? Stop his allowance? Send him to boarding school?

  The first person Noah sees when he enters the front yard is Uncle Ants, mowing the lawn. Ants waves, gives him a cheerful smile. After grimacing back, Noah carries on into the downstairs lounge. McKenzie is lying on the couch, watching some dancing reality show on TV.