Gabriel's Bay

by Robertson, Catherine

  Aidan and Rory’s ball beat against the house like the ticks of a big clock, counting down until it was time to go home.

  Chapter 7

  Sam

  ‘Did you give her one?’

  Sam watched Brownie’s face, interested in his reaction to Tubs’s question. His mate was nodding, as if giving his reply serious consideration. Wasted effort. Anything more than ‘Give her one, yeah’ would go straight over Tubs’s head.

  ‘Give her one, yeah!’

  That was Deano. Their foursome’s ever-reliable stooge. He was the only one not sitting on the sand dunes, but was up on his feet, chucking stones at the gulls bobbing on the water. They didn’t even twitch a feather.

  ‘Tubs, mate,’ said Brownie. ‘There are multiple reasons why that would never happen, but let me start with one you might have a chance of understanding. It was mid-afternoon and there were three children in the house.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So little kids can only be left alone for so long before they want to know where you are. And, unlike you, I’m not done in twenty seconds.’

  ‘Woo!’ said Deano, acknowledging the burn.

  ‘And the main reason why congress with Ms Gillespie would never occur,’ said Brownie, ‘is that, to her, I’m a boy. I’m barely a decade older than her youngest. Sidney Gillespie is a grown woman with a healthy self-respect. If I came onto her, she’d laugh, pat me on the head and send me on my way.’

  ‘Are we still boys?’ said Sam. ‘We’re nineteen.’

  ‘We’re boys in most people’s eyes,’ said Brownie. ‘Most people here, that is. That’s the trouble when everyone’s known you since you were born, and are probably also familiar with the details of your conception.’

  Sam nudged a shell with his sneaker.

  ‘Time to leave then, eh?’

  ‘Aw, come on,’ said Tubs. ‘Whaddya want to go to Christchurch for? There’s nothing there. It all fell down.’

  ‘Well, duh,’ said Sam, ‘that’s why they need builders. No end of work still. Tradies are making serious money.’

  He poked Brownie in the arm.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ said his mate. ‘You know I can’t.’

  ‘Uncle Gene said you could get your dad assessed. Y’know, for a care home? They don’t just take old people.’

  ‘Mate, no. I mean, great that old Gene-o wants to help, but no. OK, yeah, Dad’s health is completely buggered, but his mind is fine. If I even casually brought up the idea of a home, he’d crawl into the bush and end it. I’m not exaggerating. Not one iota.’

  ‘My dad’s fit as he ever was.’

  If you listened hard, you could hear the wariness behind Tubs’s boast. Sam had seen Mr Hanrahan in a rage many times. Seen the after-effects, too. But Tubs admired his dad, looked up to him — had to, the man was almost as tall as Jacko Reid — and desperately wanted to be like him.

  ‘His hands are strong-as.’ Tubs crushed the empty beer can.

  ‘Dad grip,’ said Brownie. ‘It’s a recognised phenomenon.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘It’s a thing.’

  Sam thought about his own dad. Wyatt Kirby was a big, broad-chested man, with curly blond hair and beard like a Viking, but he’d never had a fight in his life.

  ‘Violence proves nothing,’ he said, ‘except that you have no self-control.’

  Having run out of stones, Deano tossed his empty beer can instead, which fell well short of the water. He jogged back to flop down on the dune next to Tubs.

  ‘You’re not going to leave that there, are you?’ said Brownie.

  ‘Leave what?’

  ‘Your can, man. Defiling my ancestral ground.’

  ‘Who says it’s yours?’

  ‘Generations of dead forebears.’ Brownie pointed at the sky. ‘They’re watching you right now, and they’re angry. Take care on your way home.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ said Deano, but he couldn’t help a quick glance upwards.

  Déjà vu, thought Sam. That was a thing, too, wasn’t it? But not real, just your mind tricking itself into believing it had seen something before.

  So what would you call what was he experiencing now? Looking at his three friends, he could see them at every age, right from when they all first got together at the Gabriel’s Bay Playcentre, aged three. He could see Tubs small and round, and then big and round, and briefly lean, when he got that summer job as a shearing hand. Now, round again, he worked at his dad’s car dealership in Hampton, washing cars, fetching lunch and coffee for the sales guys, talking for the past two years about training as a mechanic or a junior sales rep.

  Sam could see Deano, small and wiry always, not much taller than he had been when they’d started high school. Deano lived with Loretta, his fiancée, though no wedding date was ever mentioned. He did seasonal work on orchards and odd jobs up at Stonelands winery. Sam also strongly suspected that he dealt in weed. Loretta’s job in the bakery wouldn’t account for the big-screen all-bells-and-whistles TV that turned up in their place two months ago. He hoped Deano wasn’t being stupid. The weed market around here belonged to a local branch of a big gang, who also distributed P and E and bath salts and whatever the latest crap was that idiots wanted a buzz from.

  And Brownie, his best mate. The handsomest of all of them, though that wasn’t hard, with Tubs so round and Deano so scrawny and he, Sam, with his mad blond-brown Afro curls. Smartest, too — Brownie was top of the class; they teased him about it. Sam had always wanted to be a builder, so leaving school in year twelve didn’t bother him. But Brownie might have gone to university, if his mum hadn’t suddenly died.

  Millie Tahana had been a social worker, in charge of a whole team working with families and children at risk. ‘That woman is a rock,’ Sam’s mum, Talia, once said. ‘And I wouldn’t want to be between her and a hard place.’ Yep, Brownie’s mum was tough as — Sam had dreaded her catching him doing something wrong. She’d had no patience with excuses or justifications or blaming someone else. ‘Don’t complain, don’t explain,’ she used to say. ‘Step up and sort it out.’

  Millie had collapsed working late one night at the Hampton office. Heart failure, no warning. Nothing anyone could have done.

  Brownie was gutted, as you would be, but he’d mourned and come out the other side, quieter but still recognisably Brownie. But Brownie’s dad, Ed — it was like some kind of internal warrant of fitness had run out, like Millie had been propping up his immune system. Three weeks after her tangi, he got diagnosed with chronic obstructive lung disease, even though he didn’t smoke, and neither did Millie. Second-hand smoke, Doc Love had said, or dust and chemicals from Ed’s early days working in the paper mills. It could even be genetic, but that was rare. There was no cure.

  Ed went downhill fast. His breathing got worse and worse, and he got more and more tired. He had to quit his job, couldn’t play sport and, after a few months, couldn’t even walk to the clubrooms.

  Sam’s dad, Wyatt, said, ‘It’s like watching a bloody kauri tree with dieback. Slow death from the inside.’

  Doc Love came round every Monday morning with the oxygen machine, but it was Brownie who had to do everything else for his dad — help him dress, make his meals, make sure he was OK during the night.

  ‘Thank God for Barrett,’ Sam’s mum said, but his dad hadn’t been so sure.

  ‘Pretty bleak situation for the lad, don’t you think?’ he said. ‘Smart, handsome, with all his life in front of him, and now what? What’s his future look like? Doc Love says Ed could go on like this for years yet.’

  That’s why Brownie couldn’t go with Sam to Christchurch. Which meant this was the last full summer they’d spend together. Come January, this group of mates would be no more. Even if Sam came home next Christmas, it wouldn’t be the same. His old life would soon be nothing but a memory.

  Maybe that’s why he was getting these flashbacks? Seeing the four of them as they had been, mates through school. To be honest, he and Brownie had bugger all
in common now with the other two. Tubs and Deano still acted like they were fourteen, like time had stopped five years ago, giving them no reason to grow up.

  But when Sam looked at them now, all he could see was the four of them as kids, playing peewee rugby, building a fort in the bush, shooting BB guns, running wild and shouting with that loud, pure joy that makes every adult within five miles yell at you to shut up. Is that what happened when you became an adult? You forgot about joy? You forgot how to fizz with the simple pleasure of being alive?

  ‘You boys OK here?’

  Standing in the gap of the dunes, thumbs hooked in her belt. Constable Casey Marshall. All four of them stood up to face her.

  ‘Just enjoying a few beverages, officer,’ said Brownie. ‘We’ll be off soon.’

  ‘Who’s driving?’

  ‘I am,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve only had one.’

  ‘Good to hear. Where you headed?’

  ‘Aw, what’s this?’ Tubs protested. ‘Twenty questions?’

  ‘Twenty questions is a parlour game that rewards deductive reasoning,’ said Casey. ‘I think you mean — is this the third degree?’

  Tubs blushed. ‘Yeah, whatever.’

  Sam heard him mutter an extra word under his breath.

  ‘And that’s a violation of public order,’ said Casey. ‘Summary Offences Act 1981. Though in your defence, you can say that you didn’t intend for it to be overheard.’

  Tubs couldn’t look at her. Concentrated on digging the toe of one boot into the sand.

  ‘I’m dropping Tubs and Deano off at the clubrooms, and Brownie at home,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve got a family meal at Uncle Gene and Aunt Liz’s.’

  Casey laughed. ‘Sing Star for after-dinner entertainment?’

  Sam cringed, but there was no point avoiding the question. Everyone in town knew the Kirby-Collins clan had more than its fair share of double-X chromosomes. Sam had two younger sisters, and Uncle Gene and Auntie Liz had three daughters.

  ‘Adele song pack,’ said Sam.

  He knew his mates wouldn’t snigger out loud because of Casey. But he was definitely going to get shit later.

  ‘Could be worse,’ said Casey. ‘My niece has the soundtrack to Frozen on high rotation. Thank God for noise-cancelling headphones.’

  She snapped back into official mode. ‘Right. Time to head off. Twilight’s about to descend and you know what comes into force then.’

  ‘Vampires?’ said Deano.

  ‘Worse,’ said Casey. ‘The liquor ban.’

  She scanned the beach, spotted the empty can.

  ‘The litter laws, however, are in force twenty-four seven, so make sure you take that with you.’

  ‘How d’you know it’s ours?’ said Deano.

  ‘Deano.’

  Brownie pointed to the box at their feet, one dozen, same brand. Between the empties and the ones still in the box, even Deano could count only eleven cans.

  ‘Even if it weren’t, you’ll do your bit as good citizens,’ said Casey. ‘Won’t you?’

  Like they were little kids back in school, all four of them shuffled and muttered, ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Good answer. Have a safe evening, boys.’

  ‘Fucken bitch,’ said Tubs, when Casey was safely out of range. ‘Deserves a good seeing to.’

  ‘Deserves a good seeing to?’ said Brownie. ‘Jesus, Tubs. Do you actually think about what comes out your mouth?’

  ‘She was a fucken bitch to us!’

  ‘No, Tubs, she wasn’t. She simply called you out for being insulting and Deano for being a retard.’

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘She’s a lesbian,’ said Tubs. ‘Everyone knows that.’

  ‘Nah, actually, she’s dating a dude from Hampton who teaches mixed martial arts,’ said Sam. ‘Mum told me.’

  ‘Thinks she’s too good for Bay men, then?’

  ‘Jesus.’ Brownie snatched up the box, stuffed the empties back in. ‘It really is time to go. Fetch that can, Deano. And don’t argue. I’ve got a hotline to my ancestors, and I won’t hesitate to use it.’

  On the way back to the car, Deano said, ‘Are you OK about going to Christchurch, Sammo? Aren’t you worried about the skinheads?’

  ‘Skin heads? No, why?’

  ‘Because you’re — you know …’

  ‘Part nigger?’ said Brownie.

  ‘Yeah. Nah. Um …’

  ‘Deano, I’m, like, a quarter Samoan,’ said Sam. ‘You look browner than I do.’

  ‘I work outdoors!’

  In the back seat of the car (Sam’s dad’s ute, which is why he never trusted anyone else to drive), Tubs said, ‘So — this is kind of it, isn’t it?’

  ‘What? The end of all our youthful hopes and dreams?’ said Brownie.

  ‘Jeez, you’re full of shit sometimes,’ said Tubs. ‘Nah, the last time we’ll all hang out together over summer. Unless Sam boards his mobile up again and they fire him.’

  ‘Once. I left my phone behind a wall once!’

  ‘Well, fair dues,’ said Brownie. ‘You’d have to be as retarded as Deano to do it twice.’

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘We should do something,’ said Tubs. ‘Over summer. Make it one to remember.’

  Sam knew Brownie’s expression exactly mirrored his own.

  ‘Hello? Tubs? Is that you?’ said Brownie. ‘Or have you swapped bodies with Bryan Adams?’

  ‘So poetic!’ said Sam.

  ‘Fuck off,’ said Tubs. ‘I mean it. Let’s have a really shit-hot last summer.’

  ‘Doing what?’ said Deano.

  ‘Dunno. Have a few parties?’

  ‘That’s every summer,’ said Brownie.

  ‘Well, how about we go on a hunting trip?’ said Tubs. ‘We’ve always talked about hunting together. Dad’d lend us the gear.’

  Mr Hanrahan was a keen hunter. Went up the bush in a big four-wheel-drive with spotlights. Or paid a fortune to get choppered in with his rich mates. He’d been to Africa twice. Shot a lion. And an elephant. Had the framed photos to prove it.

  ‘Hunting what? Possums?’ said Brownie.

  ‘Deer, dickhead. Plenty of red deer in the hills.’

  ‘You won’t get stags with really big antlers till the roar,’ said Deano. ‘Not until March.’

  Brownie swivelled in the front seat to stare at him. ‘When did you become an expert?’

  ‘My dad used to hunt …’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Brownie, softly. ‘I remember now.’

  ‘Taught me how to shoot.’

  Sam remembered, too. Deano’s dad was a full-blown alkie now, but when they were kids, he’d been a pretty capable bushman. That’s why Deano had always been the best shot with a BB gun. Brownie and Sam hit the targets about even. Tubs was useless. No patience.

  ‘What do you think?’ Brownie said to Sam.

  If he were to be completely honest, Sam would rather spend the time with his family, even if that meant being surrounded by girls who never, ever stopped talking.

  But there was a symbolism in the idea that attracted him, and which seemed a way to relieve some of the guilt he felt more and more when around Tubs and Deano. He and Brownie were best mates, and they always would be. Sam knew that even if they were apart for months, once they met again, they’d pick up right where they left off, no strain, no effort. But Tubs and Deano — the gap between them and him and Brownie had opened years back and it would only keep widening. Eventually — or perhaps rapidly now that Sam was leaving — there’d be a separation that childhood bonds wouldn’t be strong enough to prevent. Separate lives, separate ambitions — if the word ‘ambition’ could be applied to Deano. Separate ideas about the world.

  One last summer. A full stop. A farewell. They’d part forever, but on good terms, and with good memories.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ said Sam.

  Chapter 8

  Kerry

  ‘Broken.’

  Oksana held up the vacuum-cleaner cord. It was frayed at the end where th
e plug should have been.

  ‘I tell you. Vacuum no good. Electrolux is good. Strong. You buy Electrolux.’

  ‘Oksana.’

  Kerry saw Meredith regulate her breathing. He’d had only two conversations with Oksana, and both had made his head spin.

  ‘You need to remove the plug by holding onto it and easing it gently but firmly from the wall socket,’ said Meredith. ‘You cannot remove it by tugging hard on the cord.’

  ‘Should not break. I tell you.’

  ‘It won’t break,’ persisted Meredith, ‘if you are more careful.’

  ‘I’ll take it in to the electricians this afternoon,’ said Kerry. ‘Should be a simple repair.’

  ‘Is bad vacuum,’ said Oksana. ‘You buy Electrolux.’

  ‘I will consider it,’ said Meredith. ‘Thank you.’

  Oksana lifted her coat from the kitchen chair where she always left it, despite Meredith’s requests for her to hang it in the coat cupboard. The coat was long and quilted and a tinselly purple-pink. Oksana was a big fan of the pink colour-wheel. Today, she had on a pair of pastel pink Ugg boots, a rose-patterned jumper over purple leggings, and was carrying a fuchsia tote bag with ‘Juicy’ stamped on it in big black letters. Kerry had no idea how old Oksana was — sixty? — but it was obvious that in her youth she’d been a beauty, all high cheekbones and huge brown eyes. Today, she was still a handsome woman, with arms more muscular than those he’d seen on body builders. Male body builders.

  ‘Next week, I do windows,’ she informed Meredith.

  ‘Shall I buy more glass cleaner for you?’

  ‘Pshhh!’ Oksana waved her hand as if dispelling bad air. ‘Vinegar! Newspaper! Other is waste of money.’

  ‘Very well. If you’re sure.’

  Oksana shoved her tote bag onto her arm and yanked open the back door.

  ‘Next week — windows.’

  ‘That sounded like a threat,’ said Kerry, as Oksana’s Peugeot revved down the drive.

  ‘The glass will gleam like diamonds,’ said Meredith. ‘But woe betide any loose panes.’

  ‘I can see now why dusting is included in my job description.’

  Meredith’s expression was severe.

  ‘She must never find out that it’s you and not me. I had the devil’s own job convincing her to hand back the dusting cloths. Manufactured some falsehood about insurance, for which I’m rather ashamed. But she had managed to lift the silver wire from my grandmother’s cloisonné vase, and snap the leg off a nineteenth-century French bronze tiger.’