Moonlight Sonata

by Eileen Merriman

  ‘Looking for Lola?’ McKenzie asks when he wanders past the girls’ bedroom, which is empty.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘I’m going to the bathroom, if you must know.’ Noah shuts the door, hard, and manages to pee even though he’s so thirsty his brain feels as though it’s shrunk to raisin proportions. Someone has put the Christmas fairy on top of the cistern. If he weren’t in such a bad mood he’d think it hilarious, but right now he feels like flushing the fucking fairy down the loo. Instead, he flings it into the shower, then glugs what seems a litre of water straight from the tap.

  ‘The others are playing table tennis,’ McKenzie says when Noah emerges a couple of minutes later.

  ‘OK.’ Noah runs his hand across his mouth and heads outside.

  ‘Any time,’ McKenzie calls after him. The next person he sees is Aunt Kiri, hanging washing on the line.

  ‘That was a quick trip,’ she says. He’s not sure what to say to that, but she doesn’t look like she wants to stab him in the balls for defiling her daughter, so he gives her a vague smile and continues into the garage. Tom and Beckett are battling it out, running around the table like pros, while Lola and Austin cheer them on from their beanbags.

  ‘Hey Bas-tard,’ Tom says, diving for a sneaky corner shot.

  ‘Hey,’ Noah says, noting how Lola’s eyes pass over him in the way they have since they started doing what they shouldn’t be doing — as though she’s worried that looking at him for too long will give their secret away.

  If only she knew their secret has already leaked. He needs to talk to her alone, right now. While Noah is trying to work out how to whisper in her ear without looking really fucking obvious, Lola plucks out her phone and starts tapping on the screen.

  ‘Hey, don’t you want a turn?’ Beckett calls after him when he turns to leave. Noah doesn’t bother answering, just raises his arm and keeps going.

  He walks down the side of the house, past Uncle Ants, who is leaning on the lawnmower talking to Uncle Sully, and down the road. Once out of view of his uncles, he takes his phone out of his pocket and fires off a text to Lola.

  Need to talk to you ASAP. Meet me by the rocks at the end of the beach in 10?

  Her reply comes within seconds: OK.

  Lola doesn’t come in ten minutes, or even twenty. No, she finally arrives a whole half-hour later, by which stage Noah is nearly ready to go and haul her out of the garage.

  ‘What took you so long?’ He jumps off the rock he’s been perching on. Lola halts a couple of feet away, combing her fingers through the ends of her hair.

  ‘I had to check my sugar level,’ she says. ‘And then Mum gave me another lecture about not eating properly.’ She shrugs. ‘What’s wrong?’

  He crosses his arms, uncrosses them again. ‘Joe just let loose at me.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About us.’

  Lola’s mouth curves into an O. ‘What? How does he know? Did you tell him?’

  ‘No, do you think I’m stupid?’ I am stupid, I am, for starting this whole business. The fire, Lola, you’re the fire. ‘Mum saw you leaving my tent last night.’

  Lola’s face has gone blank, but she’s clenching her fists so firmly the skin has turned white.

  ‘Are we in big trouble?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Noah tries to think back to what Joe said. ‘Joe says we need to stop. Maybe they won’t tell anyone if we—’

  ‘Uncle Joe,’ Lola says, the oddest tone in her voice now. ‘Is that what he said? That we need to stop?’ She’s breathing really fast, and her eyes are darting over his shoulder.

  Noah turns, but there’s no one there.

  Lola says, ‘I saw something too.’

  When he looks back at her, he sees she’s trembling all over. Noah moves towards her, to say don’t worry, we can lie and say it’s over when it’s not, but Lola’s voice stops him.

  ‘I saw something,’ she repeats, and his heart pounds.

  ‘What did you see?’ Noah asks, and when she doesn’t answer straight away, ‘What did you see, Lola? What?’

  So she tells him.

  Chapter 26:

  MOLLY

  A storm is coming. Charcoal clouds are pushing in from the north and gathering on the horizon. Molly and her mother are sitting on the front balcony, Molly with a book, her mother with a crossword. Molly’s legs are sticking to the chair, but it’s even warmer inside, and at least it doesn’t smell of over-ripe bananas and sweaty feet out here.

  ‘Monstrous sea creature, third letter v,’ her mother says. ‘Nine letters.’

  ‘Leviathan,’ Molly says, still stuck on the page she’s been trying to read for the past twenty minutes.

  ‘Lev-i-a-than,’ Hazel says, her pen scratching at the newspaper. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ve never seen one,’ Molly murmurs, checking her phone for the umpteenth time. The last text she’d had from Joe had said: Chat didn’t go so well. Noah took off, hopefully heading your way. Off to town now.

  Aren’t you going to look for him? Molly had texted back. Joe, frustratingly, hasn’t replied. Either he’s out of range, or he’s choosing to ignore it.

  Her mother tuts. ‘Pretentiously imposing — organised. Why do you think they’ve written “anag” in brackets after it?’

  ‘I guess that means anagram.’

  ‘An anagram of what?’ Hazel glares at Molly through the bottom of her glasses.

  Molly reaches for the crossword. ‘Of organised,’ she said, rearranging letters with her pen. ‘Orange, no, grand … grandiose? Yes, that fits.’

  Her mother smiles. ‘Perhaps you should finish that.’

  ‘I hate crosswords.’ Molly passes the folded section of newspaper back and looks down to the garden. ‘Noah was going to do those,’ she calls out to her brother, who is wheeling the lawnmower around the side of the house.

  Ants takes his cap off and wipes his brow. ‘Ah, I don’t mind. Where’d he and Joe go anyway?’

  ‘Into town to get a new pane of glass,’ their mother says. ‘Do you think you could trim that hedge while you’re at it, Anthony?’

  ‘Mmm, sure,’ Ants says, his mouth quirking at Molly once their mother is seated again. Give her an inch, she’ll take a mile.

  ‘Noah can trim the hedge,’ Molly says, before turning into the house. Maybe her son will be less inclined to get himself into trouble if he has less free time.

  And oh hell, she is such a hypocrite. But what kind of life is this to wish on anyone, always sneaking around behind everyone else’s backs?

  Things could be different.

  Molly retreats to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. What if she does leave Richard in a year’s time, once Noah has gone away to university? What’s the worst that can happen?

  What’s the best that can happen?

  An island sanctuary. Long days, endless evenings. Forbidden fruit.

  Molly lies back against the pillows, letting the daydream run for a couple of minutes before her mind drifts into more familiar territory.

  Con-san-guin-it-y (13). A union between persons biologically related as second cousins or closer.

  Con-san-guin-it-y (13). A fancy word for inbreeding.

  First cousins, Molly knows, share one-eighth of their genes.

  But what if they are genetically more alike than first cousins? Molly blinks at the ceiling. What if one of those cousins is the product of a brother and sister, who share half of their genes? It’s making her head spin, trying to work that one out.

  It’s immaterial, anyway. They have too much genetic material in common, by any calculation. She and Joe have been lucky with Noah, but luck can only take them so far.

  Quite apart from anything else, Noah and Lola are only seventeen and fifteen years old. The romance may just run its course; die out on its own. But … what if it doesn’t?

  Promise you’ll never tell anyone. Pinkie swear, on your grave.

  Some pinkie swears need
to last forever.

  When Molly wanders into the backyard half an hour later, she hears Kiri’s and Lola’s voices rising in volume.

  ‘So I took less insulin. The doctor said …’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think you should be dieting like this. Then you wouldn’t need to adjust your insulin dose at all.’ Kiri is standing on the bottom balcony step, Lola on the lawn.

  ‘I’m not on a diet, how many times do I have to tell you that?’ Lola glances up at Molly. Molly smiles, but Lola turns away.

  ‘I’m going to the beach,’ Lola says.

  ‘By yourself?’ Kiri looks up at Molly with a children, who’d have them expression.

  ‘I’m just going for a walk. By myself.’ Lola has disappeared around the corner before Molly can even draw her next breath.

  Kiri makes an exasperated noise. ‘See? What did I tell you? Moody.’

  If only you knew the half of it. Molly sits on the top step, listening to the tick-tock of the table-tennis ball from inside the garage, the chatter of the teenagers. She can’t hear Noah’s voice amongst them.

  ‘Have you seen Noah?’ Molly asks.

  Kiri pushes her glasses up her nose. ‘About half an hour ago. He came and went, didn’t say much.’

  ‘Didn’t say where he was going?’

  ‘Maybe he’s at the beach?’ Kiri suggests, picking up the washing basket. ‘Not many other places to go around here, are there?’

  Yes, where else indeed? Perhaps Lola has gone to meet him there. Molly hurries down the steps and towards the street.

  ‘Molly.’ The edifice of Sully looms in front of her, his forehead beading. ‘Thought we might head out for an adults’ dinner tonight, leave the kids to fend for themselves. What do you think?’

  ‘Um … sure,’ Molly says, although it’s the last thing she feels like. ‘Is Mum coming?’

  ‘We’re shouting her,’ he says, which almost sounds like ‘shooting her’. Molly can’t help the smile that springs to her lips.

  ‘Sure,’ she says.

  ‘Great,’ Sully says. ‘I’ll see what Joe says when he gets back.’

  ‘He won’t say no,’ Molly says, resuming her walk. The air is finally cooling, damp, electric. She glances up at the darkening sky.

  Nothing like a good storm.

  At the beach, a pair of black-suited surfers are tackling the waves, which have become heaving slabs that Molly would hesitate to swim in. She shields her eyes with her hand, squinting, but there’s no one else in the water. She passes a mother building a sandcastle with two young children, a man walking a drooling Saint Bernard. About halfway down the beach, she spots a pair of figures near the rocks, but she can’t make out their features.

  She’s pretty sure it’s Noah and Lola, though. Has to be. Unlike the early hours of this morning, they’re not touching each other. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she’d think they were having an argument. Maybe it’s their exaggerated movements, or the way Noah is pacing as he always does when he gets agitated.

  Molly slows. Perhaps she should leave them alone, let her son and niece finish their argument. What’s the point of her diving in, anyway? Noah’s home and safe. Surely they both know they’ve been sprung by now. Maybe that’s all she and Joe needed to do, let Noah and Lola work out the rest for themselves.

  But something draws her on, draws her in. She hears Noah’s voice first.

  ‘Lying.’

  ‘Why would I …’ Lola’s hands are thrown up in the air, her dark hair swirling in the wind. Lola turns, and Noah strides after her, his gait jerky. Molly picks up the pace, her breath quickening.

  You shouldn’t be listening to their argument.

  I’m his mother. I’m trying to help him.

  Molly’s nearly at the pohutukawa tree now, almost close enough to lurk behind one of its twisted branches. The teenagers move away, towards the side of the cliff. They haven’t seen her yet, haven’t even heard her coming.

  ‘If this is some kind of fucked-up way of getting revenge at me because of Aimee …’

  ‘This has nothing to do with Aimee.’ Is Lola crying? She is crying, flinging her words into the wind. ‘I know what I saw. I’m just telling you the truth.’

  ‘Well, maybe you should keep things like that to yourself,’ Noah yells back. Molly steps out from behind the tree. Lola’s back is to Molly. Noah is standing with his back to the cliff, his fists clenched.

  He looks up, registers Molly and moves towards her. She takes a quick breath.

  ‘It’s not true,’ he says, his voice hoarse. ‘Is it?’

  ‘Is what true?’ Molly asks, confused now — is Noah referring to what she saw outside his tent last night? Are Noah and Lola trying to swear her to silence?

  Lola whirls around, her hand over her mouth. It’s the first time Lola has looked Molly in the eye in days, and now Molly’s truly mystified, because her niece has the strangest look on her face, almost as if she’s — what? Scared? Disgusted?

  ‘Why don’t you tell her what you told me, Lola?’ Noah asks, his voice almost spiteful. ‘Why don’t you?’

  Lola lowers her gaze. ‘I s-saw you and Uncle Joe. In the cave,’ she says, in halting, staccato speech. ‘On New Year’s Day. I saw what you were d-doing.’

  Molly has stopped breathing. She has stopped breathing and doesn’t know when she will be able to inhale again. But when she looks at her son, when she sees his split-open-wide expression, she knows exactly what Lola saw. She knows exactly what Lola has just told him.

  Oh no, oh no, not that. No, no, no.

  ‘It’s not true, is it?’ Noah’s voice is pleading. Molly needs to protect him. She needs to lie, for him.

  ‘We were swimming,’ Molly says, her lips numb. Noah looks at Lola, triumphant.

  Lola shakes her head, slowly, slowly.

  ‘That’s not what I saw,’ she says, before turning and hurrying away, her head lowered.

  Noah’s voice is shaking. ‘I didn’t know she was like that. I didn’t know she was such a liar.’

  Molly tries to step forward to Noah. She wants to repeat what he needs to be true, to set the lie in stone. But she doesn’t know what to do with her eyes, her hands, the spiralling feeling in her chest.

  Everything we do comes back to this.

  Noah, his voice faltering, says, ‘It is a lie, isn’t it?’

  And she can see him turning it over in his head now, all the times his mother has been alone with her twin brother; the times she’s travelled overseas to visit Joe, unaccompanied; the times Noah has come upon them in an almost-situation (in bed together, Noah five years old and Richard away on conference: Uncle Joe was cuddling me because I bumped my head). The years are dominoes, falling away in front of them both.

  Molly says, ‘We never meant to hurt you. Or anyone else. We never—’

  Noah’s pupils are huge, black holes.

  ‘That’s not,’ his face is drawn tight, ‘that can’t be—’ He’s shaking his head, backing away. Molly tries to move towards him. Noah darts away and clambers, spider-like, over the rocks and around the corner.

  Her sight blurred, her body trembling, Molly takes her phone out of her pocket and calls Joe. As soon as he says hi, she starts to talk, to tell him she needs him right now, before realising it’s his voice mail.

  Hi, it’s Joe. Leave a message.

  Molly leaves a message. Then she sits in the sand and watches the wind whip the waves into roaring, white-foam leviathans, racing each other into shore.

  Chapter 27:

  NOAH

  The tide is out. The tide is out, and the wind is up, and Noah’s knees are bleeding from where he’s scraped them on the rocks.

  Seems a lifetime ago when he first scraped them up, when he and Lola were sitting on the rock shelf after losing the kayak. The wind is so strong it’s sucking the breath out of his lungs. Wild waves are bashing against the cliff, but when he rounds the corner, the entrance to the cave is still accessible. The tide will turn, soon e
nough, and the water will rush in. But until then … until then …

  He scuttles into the cave, and he’s looking at the shell fragments scattered like bones on the floor, at the black-black walls rising around him.

  I saw your mum and Uncle Joe in the cave. They were naked, and they were doing it.

  They used to play house, Noah and Tom, Lola and McKenzie. Sometimes they did things they shouldn’t have.

  Doing what?

  It. You know.

  One time they’d even taken their clothes off, and looked at the bits that made them boys and girls, and it had felt like the biggest secret in the world.

  No, Lola, I don’t know.

  Tom said, the grown-ups must never find out, swear on your mother’s grave.

  Sex — they were having sex!

  McKenzie said, you have to pinkie swear because that’s the biggest swear of all. And Lola said, no, fuck is the biggest swear of all and they had all laughed.

  You’re a liar liar liar.

  They laughed and laughed and laughed.

  Noah is sitting in the sand, the wet seeping into his shorts, his knees drawn up to his chest. He feels he’s been scooped inside out, his flesh exposed for the seagulls to pick at.

  All those times Joe stayed over when his father was working late, or away. Noah would be in bed, and his mother and Joe would think he was asleep, but he’d hear their voices through the wall that divided his room from his parents’ bedroom. Voices, or giggling, and once, a moan that made him think his mother had hurt herself.

  We never meant to hurt you. Or anyone else.

  He had run into the room to see what was wrong, and found Joe and his mum in bed, play-fighting. That’s what they’d told him.

  We were play-fighting, and your mum bumped her head on the end of the bed. Then Joe had laughed and started singing, It’s raining, it’s pouring, your mummy was snoring. She bumped her head on the end of the bed, and she couldn’t wake up in the morning.