by Clarke, Lucy
Travelling through Western Australia she’d felt like no more than a shadow at Finn’s side, or a silent presence lying awake in their tent at night. He’d spent hours helping her trawl Internet sites searching for snippets of information about her father or giving her the space she needed to think – as if he knew what she needed before she knew herself. ‘I’ve been crap to travel with, haven’t I?’
‘If you hadn’t jumped, I’d have pushed you.’
She began to laugh, but suddenly there were tears running down her cheeks. ‘Oh, God,’ she said, turning away embarrassed.
‘Mia?’
She wiped the back of her hand across her face, saying, ‘I’m fine.’ But the adrenalin rush had released something and the tears wouldn’t stop.
‘You know I’d never have pushed you. I’d have cut your lines instead – no witnesses that way.’
She was half laughing, half crying now. ‘Sorry. Ignore me. My head’s a mess.’
‘You’ve had a lot going on.’
She shrugged.
‘Come on, talk to me.’
She looked towards the sky, blinking to stem the tears. Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides. ‘It’s so fucked up. Everything about it is fucked up.’
‘Are we talking about Harley?’
She nodded, then pulled the sleeves of the jumpsuit over her hands. ‘The whole reason I went to Maui was to find out what Mick’s like. Understand who he is.’ She paused. ‘Maybe even see if I’m like him.’
‘But instead you found out that he’s not your dad. Harley is.’
She nodded again. ‘Mum lied to us our whole lives. She didn’t even tell us the truth when she knew she was dying. And I just keep thinking, Why?’ She sniffed, dried her eyes with her sleeve. ‘Maybe she didn’t want us to know she’d had an affair, or that Katie and I are half-sisters. Or maybe,’ she said, slower now, ‘it was because she didn’t want me to know that Harley was my dad.’
He waited.
‘When Mick was describing him, I remember thinking, It’s like he’s describing me. It was surreal. There were so many similarities between us.’
Finn was listening intently, his head tilted towards her.
‘But he hanged himself.’ She swallowed. ‘My dad hanged himself when he was my age.’
Another light aircraft took off in a cloud of red dust.
‘Mia?’
Her voice was small, the anger dissipated. ‘I’m so scared I’m like him.’
Finn stepped closer, forcing her to meet his eye. ‘I’m going to tell you this once, so I want you to remember it.’
She held his gaze.
‘You are not Harley. Or your mum. Or Katie. You, Mia Greene, are you.’
‘But I’m not sure I know who that is.’
He slung his arm around her shoulder, smiling. ‘I do.’
*
They returned to the hostel only to shower and change, and then left for the tavern. Finn struck out across the sand dunes, Mia following. ‘It’s a steak night for me,’ he said, picturing a thick slab of meat with a blue-cheese sauce.
‘I’m going cheeseburger with extra bacon.’
‘Don’t try and intimidate me.’
As the dunes ascended, Mia ran ahead, calling, ‘Last one to the top buys the drinks!’
He bolted after her, sending thick sweeps of sand cascading behind him. He managed to hook his hand into the back pocket of her shorts and yank her back. She laughed, swatting at his arm, and finally broke free, taking the last few strides to the top.
As Finn drew level with her, he saw that the beach below was awash with people. Music blared from speakers planted on the back of a pickup truck, in front of which a crowd danced with their hands thrown in the air. A roaring beach fire glowed orange and people sat cross-legged in the sand playing bongos and didgeridoos. The air smelt of woodsmoke and marijuana.
‘Want to take a look?’ he asked.
They bounded down the dunes together, his trainers filling with sand. At the bottom they threaded through a throng of people standing around a smoking barbeque. An old Bedford van was parked on the tideline, its full beam illuminating a handful of men bodysurfing the white-water rumbling into shore. They wandered deeper into the crowd, Mia rocking her hips to the rhythm of the music.
They paused by a flare-lit circle where a girl, painted silver, was spinning a hoop around her waist. She gracefully raised one arm and the hoop seemed to coil up, reaching the tips of her fingers. With a flick of her wrist she sent the hoop to the ground and skipped through it, then continued to twirl it round her waist like an orbit.
‘She’s incredible,’ Mia said.
‘This is porn for hippies,’ Finn replied.
She laughed and linked her arm through his. Instantly, the heat from her grip surged through his body and his heart rate increased. ‘Mia,’ he said, leading her away from the densest section of crowd. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’ From the outset of this trip he’d wanted to tell her how he felt, but the right opportunity hadn’t arisen. Since their talk this afternoon she’d seemed buoyant, light hearted again, and he sensed it was time.
‘What is it?’ she said, nudging him.
He took a deep breath. ‘Do you remember when we were 16, we went to that Thaw gig at the Guildhall? You crowd surfed.’
Her eyes brightened. ‘That was an amazing night! Whatever happened to that band?’
‘When you came back through the crowd, you kissed me.’
‘Did I?’
She stopped. He felt her arm slip free of his.
His heart was pounding. Had she anticipated what was coming? Had it been that obvious all along? He waited, his heart in his mouth.
When she said nothing, he glanced at her. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, and he followed the direction of her gaze. It was fixed on the man moving towards them. He was barefoot, wearing shorts and a dark T-shirt through which Finn could see the square set of his shoulders. The man stopped in front of them. ‘Mia?’
She pressed a hand to her chest. ‘Noah? My God! What are you doing here?’
‘A big swell’s moving in. A group of us are heading south for it.’
‘I can’t believe it’s you,’ she said, a smile spreading over her face.
‘You’re staying here?’
‘We’ve been at the hostel for a few nights.’
Finn, having not been introduced, stretched out his hand. ‘I’m Finn.’ It was the first time Noah’s gaze left Mia. They shook hands and Finn felt the powerful but easy grip of Noah’s fingers. ‘So how do you know each other?’
‘We met in Maui,’ Mia said, looking at her feet.
Maui? She had never mentioned him. Finn felt the excited apprehension of only moments ago ebb away and be replaced by a different kind of anxiety.
‘You travelling north or south?’ Noah asked him.
‘South. We came down from Broome.’
‘Hot up there. It’ll get cooler as you drop.’
‘You’re from Australia?’ Finn asked, noting the accent.
‘South coast. Near Melbourne.’
‘Right.’
When no one said anything more, Finn suggested, ‘I guess we should be heading on to the tavern. Maybe see you later, Noah.’
‘Do you mind if I catch you up?’ Mia said suddenly.
What could he say? That he did mind? That the way her face lit up when she looked at Noah made him feel as though he’d been punched in the gut? He thought of the conversation he and Mia should be having, the one in which he would tell her that she was the most incredible woman he’d ever met; the one that would end with a kiss. ‘Sure. I’ll order your cheeseburger. Extra bacon, right?’
‘Right.’
He watched as she and Noah moved off together, maintaining a couple of inches between them. Two bare-chested men burst from the crowd, hooting and spraying up sand with their feet. Instinctively, Noah put his arm around Mia, drawing her away from their path, exactly as Finn would
have done – only then Noah’s arm remained there.
*
Mia had not allowed her thoughts to wander too near the memory of the night they’d met, when she’d experienced an opening of something deep in her chest. But now, feeling Noah’s arm around her waist, she allowed herself to remember: the gaze that held hers, the brush of his lips along her collarbone, the taste of salt on his skin.
Leaving the party in their wake, they moved wordlessly along the beach, listening to the fading base line of music. Moonlight illuminated the wind-ridged sand and she imagined that if she glanced over her shoulder, their two sets of footprints would be marked out like a pathway.
‘I suppose you’ll be wanting your jumper back?’ she said with a small smile. She remembered how it had brushed the tops of her thighs as she’d padded back to the Pineapple Hostel at dawn, the scent of smoke and salt lingering in the fibres of the fabric. She had worn it only once since, on a cool night in Geraldton when she couldn’t sleep. She’d slipped from her tent and sat on the ground wrapped in the faded jumper, her thumbs hooked through the small tears in the sleeve.
‘Keep it. It looked better on you.’
Ahead on the dunes she noticed the red glow of a cigarette and made out the faint silhouette of a man – a partygoer, perhaps, who’d strayed too far from the herd. Apart from him, the beach was deserted and the emptiness was alluring. ‘How long will you be staying on the west coast?’ she asked.
‘A few weeks. A low pressure’s riding in to Margaret River.’
‘The wine region?’
‘Yes. It’s unusual for swell to hit at this time of year, so we want to see what’s going to happen.’
‘Finn and I are heading that way.’
‘Are you?’ he said, and she found herself hoping he was pleased.
As they continued along the beach she caught sight of something glimmering in the sand. She bent down and collected a shell from the tideline. It was oval shaped, the size of her hand, and the outside felt rough and calloused. Angling it towards the moonlight she saw that the inner layer was an iridescent bed of mother-of-pearl. She ran her finger across it and felt the whorls beneath her fingertip. ‘What would’ve lived in this?’
‘Abalone – it’s a type of sea snail. Muttonfish, we call them. Tough as a rag to eat. A delicacy in Asia, though.’
‘Really?’
‘It’s been overfished, like anything with a price tag. Abalone divers can make a fortune on a good day.’
‘The shell is beautiful.’
‘You’re lucky to find one that size here.’
She glanced up and saw that the guy who’d been standing on the dunes was moving towards the shoreline and into their path. His dark clothing blended into the night and he stopped at the water’s edge and turned to face them. The steady hold of his gaze made her uneasy. He drew a joint to his mouth and inhaled deeply, the heady smell of marijuana drifting downwind.
‘Beautiful night, isn’t it?’ he said.
They stopped.
‘Going anywhere nice?’
‘Just walking,’ Noah answered, and she could hear the tension in his voice. ‘I thought you’d still be at the party.’
‘Wasn’t in the party spirit.’
The man stepped towards Mia, close enough for her to smell the smoke on his breath. His face was unshaven and his clothes looked dishevelled. ‘And who are you?’
Her fingers tightened around the shell at her side. ‘Mia.’
‘Where are you from, Mia?’
‘England.’
‘How very nice.’ He scratched at his upper arm suddenly, as if bothered by a mosquito. ‘As Noah’s forgotten his manners, I better introduce myself. I’m Jez, his brother.’
Brother?
He put the joint to his lips and extended his hand. His fingers felt bony and callused.
She searched for a similarity she must have missed. His hair was thinning, small blond tufts sprouting from his head, and his mouth was narrower than Noah’s, but there was something shared in the prominence of their brows.
‘So you’re a friend of Noah’s?’
She hesitated, unsure. ‘Yes.’
‘What brings you to Australia?’
‘I’m just travelling.’
‘You smoke, Mia? Fancy getting stoned?’
‘She doesn’t,’ Noah cut in. ‘We’ve got to get going. See you later,’ he said, moving off.
They walked in silence. Mia turned the shell through her fingers, waiting for Noah to say something. When several minutes passed without a word, she asked, ‘So that’s the brother you’re travelling with?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s older than you?’
‘By three years.’
‘Same gap between me and Katie. What’s he like?’
‘He smokes too much weed.’
She glanced at Noah sideways. There was something troubled in his expression. She was going to ask more, when he said, ‘I’ll walk you back to the tavern now.’
She didn’t want their night to end like this. In Maui, she had left Noah beside the cooling embers of the beach fire, not talking of phone numbers or email addresses, because that had never been her way. It was only when she had woken the following day and drew his jumper to her face that she had found herself wanting to know more about him. There had been other men, other one-night stands, but with Noah it had felt different. When he looked at her, it was as if he saw exactly who she was. She had taken to jogging along the beach in the hope of seeing him. But she hadn’t. And then she and Finn had flown on.
Now she realized that she didn’t want to let him go again.
She stopped walking.
He turned to face her and she felt her heart beginning to race. ‘That night in Maui,’ she began. ‘I felt like … there was a connection between us, or something.’
He lowered his gaze. ‘Mia—’
A cool feeling crept over her skin, as if he was about to say something she didn’t want to hear. Before he had a chance, she stepped forward and kissed him.
‘No,’ he whispered against her lips. ‘You don’t want this.’
But as her fingertips met his skin, every cell in her body was telling her that she did.
13
KATIE
Western Australia, June
Ed drove with his elbow resting on the sill, his forearm turning a reddish brown in the afternoon sun. Katie watched the vineyards of Margaret River flashing by in rich strips of green, an earthy breeze filling the car and stirring her hair.
‘There is a winery,’ he was saying, reaching for a booklet by the gearstick, ‘that runs a vine-to-bottle tour. It’s in here somewhere.’ He handed her the booklet. ‘Seeing as we drink so much of the stuff, it might be interesting to understand how it’s produced. What do you think? There’s wine tasting at the end,’ he added hopefully. ‘Shall I book?’
What Katie thought was that a winery tour was not the purpose of visiting Margaret River: Mia was. But what Katie said was, ‘Yes, do.’ Only three days of Ed’s visit remained and she was determined that they’d enjoy them.
‘I’ve been thinking about the wines for the wedding. The sommelier from Highdown Manor suggested a Pinot Grigio for the white. Californian, I think. I ordered a bottle while you were away and, I have to say, it was better than I expected. No hangover either.’
‘Perfect,’ she said, glancing at the roadside where a dead kangaroo was slumped with an engorged stomach; a swarm of flies buzzed around its lifeless black eyes.
‘I meant to tell you, Jess said the bridesmaid’s dress arrived. No alterations needed. She offered to look for shoes if you think you’ll run out of time.’
‘She was meant to be one of two bridesmaids.’
Ed glanced at her. She hadn’t realized she’d made the remark aloud.
‘You do still want to go ahead with the wedding?’
Her thoughts were stalled by the sudden shift in conversational gear. ‘Of course.’
&nbs
p; ‘But?’
She rolled the wine booklet into a tube and then smoothed it flat again. ‘It’s just hard imagining Mia not there.’ She had pictured them getting ready together, Mia teasing her for the meticulous schedule with allocated time slots for breakfast, manicures, hairstyling and make-up. Old tensions would have been put aside for the day and they’d have drunk champagne in glass flutes, raising a toast to their mother. Mia would have helped her step into her wedding dress and told her it was beautiful, and then cursed the thirty ivory buttons she had to do up by hand.
‘I know it is, darling. I’ve given a great deal of thought as to whether we should postpone the wedding. If we did postpone it – say for a year – what difference does it make? Mia still wouldn’t be there. I came to the conclusion that we should go ahead as planned because it gives us both something positive to focus on. Life has to move on, doesn’t it? Our wedding can be the first stage of that.’
That was the whole problem: she wasn’t ready for her life to move on. Not without Mia in it.
Ed swung the car into a petrol station. ‘I’ll fill up.’ He cut the engine, then leant over and kissed her on the cheek, the conversation closed.
Without the air conditioning, heat engulfed the car. She tugged down her dress; the lining was clinging uncomfortably around her middle. She was eager to reach their hotel and drench herself beneath a cold, powerful shower. Car journeys always left her restless and sticky, something about leather seats against the backs of her thighs or the sugar-rich car snacks that coated her teeth. She wound down the windows and breathed in the deep petrol fumes.
A rusted pickup pulled in on the other side of the pump, music blaring from rolled-down windows. Surfboards were slung in the back and in the passenger seat a girl of about Mia’s age sat with her feet propped on the dash. Her toenails were painted electric blue. A man stepped out in scuffed flip-flops, his heels cracked and dirty. He flicked open the fuel cap and clunked the nozzle in. As she watched, she wondered if he was anything like Noah, the enigma in Mia’s journal who her entries were weaved around.
Katie felt intrusive reading some of the intimate descriptions of their romance, yet was also glued to the pages as she discovered her sister’s growing feelings. She’d read that the day after Mia had been reunited with Noah, she had climbed into the passenger seat of his van, which smelt of neoprene and warmed surf wax, and they’d bounced along unsealed roads, dust flying in their wake, till they reached an empty beach. They swam out to a tiny island where they stripped off their swimsuits and lay drying on the sun-baked rocks. Noah talked to her about spear fishing and a shoal of Spanish mackerel that had coiled above his head like a silver whirlwind, far too beautiful to spear. She talked about travelling and the ocean, and of books by Hemingway that had given her a thirst for both.
