An Endless Summer

by C. J. Duggan

  “You’re serious?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  We stepped up onto the verandah again, closing the distance towards the garbage bags.

  “Well, call it a momentary lapse of sanity but …” He looked up. “There is a gaping hole in your balcony. He’s going to find out.”

  “I know, but …” I sighed. “I’ll figure something out.”

  I went to take the bag from Sean’s grasp but he refused to let it go, so we stood there joined by our mutual grasps of the black garbage bag.

  The last thing I needed was to get a lecture from him about how stupid that sounded. I was just about to shut this whole conversation down before he started laughing at me … but then he didn’t. He just stood there, staring, no smile, no expression at all other than a questioning frown and a firm, unrelenting grasp on his side of the bag. He didn’t have to voice the words that he no doubt thought – that I was out of my mind and pathetic for keeping secrets from my parents like a kid scared of getting caught after breaking a window with a cricket ball.

  “Well, good luck with that,” Sean said. He let go of the bag. “See you around, Amy Henderson.”

  That infamous crooked quirk to his lips was back before he tore his eyes away, hopped off the verandah and headed towards his white twin cab Toyota. My heart sank a little; was I actually disappointed that he hadn’t challenged me, questioned me, or insisted he help offload the rubbish for me?

  I watched as he climbed into his work rig that sported his name and mobile number on the side in blue print, advertising his business: ‘Sean Murphy This N That Building’.

  He put on some sunnies, fired up his ute and worked to turn the steering wheel in a cool, confident, one-handed turn. He backed it up, pulled into gear, flashed a winning smile and sounded the horn in a series of honks before he blazed a circled cloud of dust and flew down Coronary Hill.

  As the dust cloud settled, I suddenly felt exhausted and alone, just me and the dilapidated Onslow. I accidently stepped on a garbage bag.

  “Crap!” Correction. Just me and a pile of garbage. Oh joy.

  Chapter Eight

  By ten o’clock at night I was showered again and in my PJs.

  Dad’s apartment still smelled like the remnants of cigarette smoke, after thirty-plus years of chain smoking. The walls were even stained, that passive yellowing smoke colour. I had scrubbed and rubbed, washed and polished, and yet the apartment still didn’t feel right. I had attacked the kitchenette with some hospital grade disinfectant, but I had yet to clean out the fridge.

  I had only opened it for a nanosecond and closed it so quickly I could barely believe that such a short glimpse could have evoked such terror in me. The amount of rotting food and sludge that had pooled at the bottom of the fridge was truly repulsive and, after the day I’d had, I wasn’t ready to tackle that just yet.

  I unclipped the sheets and doona cover I’d hung out earlier from the line at the back of the beer garden and basked in the sweet lavender fragrance that emitted from them. Finally, something clean and fresh. I couldn’t wait to collapse in a heap into them. I had downed a packet of nuts and another Coke that had seen me over the line, but I was so busy that I didn’t overly notice my exhaustion until I hit the wall. I didn’t think my brain could function much longer without food; I would get some supplies tomorrow.

  I shuffled my bunny slippers up the stairs, my arms full of linen, when I paused on the landing. I stared wearily towards the apartment door, then turned to the opposite hallway. I flicked on the hall light, lighting the long narrow hall, and made my way to the fourth door on the right. Inside, I switched the light on and found a double bed with a navy, plaid bedspread and a poster of Jimi Hendrix on the wall. I smiled. The fourth room on the right had always been my cousin, Chris’s, room when he came to help out in the holidays. He was the oldest of all my cousins, seven years older than me and best mates with Sean. The room hadn’t changed a lot; aside from being bare. It just lacked his clothes and crap strung all over the place. I flicked the light off, shifting the pile as my tired arms began to feel weighed down with the load. At the end of the hall, last door on the right, I opened the door and revealed a room with a desk, another double bed stripped of blankets, and a washstand jammed in the corner. The room was more barren and unlived in than Chris’s, but it would always be Adam’s room, Chris’s younger brother. I’d loved having them around for the summer, although I would never admit that, but come summer again I looked forward to my cousins being back to stay and help out at the Onslow. Each summer, I had been instantly transformed from being an only child to having two older brothers. As I looked at the abandoned room, my heart swelled at all the memories of growing up here. The times we would play murder in the dark and go hide in one of the many guest rooms, or how they’d take me out on the lake waterskiing, something I had always been happy to do until that night before I was sent away. I swallowed down the memory as I clicked off the light.

  I hadn’t been back in the lake since that night. I hadn’t exactly had the chance to, either, seeing as though I had been frog-marched off to the city after the whole sneaking-out, binge-drinking, almost-drowning debacle.

  Yeah, that would do it every time. Even looking out onto Lake Onslow from a distance, a certain chill and apprehension swept over me that I hadn’t been able to shake in all this time.

  It had been three years.

  I made my way straight across the hall, readjusting my bundle of washing on my hip so that I could open the door. As I flipped the light on, I was instantly calmed.

  My room.

  One thing had to be said about Dad’s lack of decorating skills – my room had pretty much been left as it was. It was like a giant time capsule of my childhood, and, better yet, it didn’t smell like smoke. A Party of Five poster on the wall, a white dressing table with my rainbow-coloured nail polishes ,and feather boa draped over the mirror. Purple was my favourite colour and a common theme throughout my room. It was only highlighted by the stark white of my wrought iron bed. My room lay directly across from Adam’s and I remembered how in the middle of the night we had often snuck out of our rooms and lain in the hall, framing our faces with torches and trying to outdo each other with ghost stories. It had been so creepy, but so fun. I stepped inside and dumped my linens onto the bed. This was where I would sleep; this to me was home!

  ***

  I peeled one eye open as I was awakened from a deep sleep.

  What the hell was that noise?

  The sound of distant yells and clanking drove me from my bed. Stumbling for the curtain, I pulled it to one side and was instantly blinded by sunlight.

  Ugh, what time was it? I cringed away from the offending beams and let the fabric fall back into place.

  I pressed the light on my Baby-G watch: six-forty-five a.m., holding it up to my face as I struggled to wake up.

  Oh, hell no!

  I grabbed for my bunny slippers and flung the door open. As I stomped down the hall, the noise became louder and my fury spiked.

  “Some people are fracking unbelievable!”

  Winding my way downstairs into the foyer of the restaurant, I was now wide awake and mad as hell. Who the hell was here at six-forty-five a.m.? Was this Matt’s idea of a joke? Or inconsiderate neighbours? Okay, so I was in a lone hotel on a hill with my closest neighbours being a five-kilometre trek away, but still. It could have been.

  I shrugged off the thought; regardless. There was a hell of a racket coming from my doorstep and I was pissed. After yesterday’s nightmarish introduction to the Onslow of today, I had been exhausted and planned to sleep the summer away. Well, if not that, I certainly hadn’t planned on being woken up at six-forty-five a.m. But it seemed someone had other ideas.

  I unbolted the front door in the main bar and threw it open. I charged out to give whoever it was a piece of my mind, when I nearly collided with a pole.

  A pole?

  “Watch it! We haven’t taped it off yet!”


  A hand grabbed my elbow, yanking me aside and out of the path of another pole. I stumbled, but the vice-like grip held me upwards and refused to let go.

  “Nice slippers!”

  It was Sean. He was holding my arm, smiling down at my fire-engine red, fluffy bunny slippers, complete with floppy ears and googly eyes.

  I wrenched my arm from his grip.

  “What are you doing here?” I snapped.

  I needn’t have asked the question; after I had gotten over my confusion I knew exactly what I had run into.

  “I’m baking a cake, what does it look like?”

  My eyes narrowed. “Scaffolding?” I spun around. “Who said you could put scaffolding up?” My heart spiked in a sudden panic that maybe Sean had rung Dad last night after all.

  “Hey, Amy!” Stan skipped up the steps towards Sean. “Was this what you were looking for?”

  “Yeah, thanks mate.” Sean took the brackety-looking thing from Stan’s gloved hand and studied it.

  Stan stood beside me, folded his arms and admired their handiwork.

  “Don’t worry, Amy, this will be fixed in no time. We’ll tape it off and put up hazard signs.” Stan flashed a boyish grin. “Good as new.”

  Stan had always been the most jovial of the Onslow Boys, and the one I had seen the most of over the years. He and Chris would often come and stay at our town house on a weekend for the odd footy match or concert. With his floppy, auburn-brown hair, his bright blue eyes and fair skin, he exuded a shy, friendly quality that was always sweet and appealing. The total opposite to Sean Murphy.

  “Sean, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  I offered Stan a small, apologetic smile as I headed inside. As I dodged the pole they’d erected and opened the door, I didn’t miss the deep sigh from behind me. I could only imagine the eye roll Sean had no doubt thrown Stan as he reluctantly followed me. I waited in the alcove that led into the poolroom. Arms folded, I tried to look lethal; I caught my reflection in a glass pane and gasped. It seemed I’d bypassed lethal and had landed on ridiculous. My bedhead, bird’s-nest hair stood up in a frizzy crest, my deep purple singlet top, and matching purple and mint green striped PJ bottoms accentuating the bunny slippers. I tried to frantically run my fingers through my hair and had to stop as I heard Sean’s heavy work boots thumping towards me. I pushed aside my fringe, and crossed my arms back into place.

  Pfft, what did I care what I looked like? It was only Sean.

  Sean, who was now leaning into the alcove, his body mirroring mine. He wore a navy blue Bonds singlet that exposed the taut curves of his tanned biceps, and navy shorts with boots and socks that my eyes flicked to with a bemused smile.

  “I bet you get a nasty sock tan.”

  Sean looked down at his boots and then back up at me. He then leaned over and pulled down his sock and revealed, sure enough, a paler strip of skin.

  “Holy crap!” I said and shielded my eyes. “I’ve been blinded.”

  “They’re not that white, smart-arse,” Sean said defensively. He looked down with a frown and studied his ankles.

  “Hey, it’s okay, I understand. Occupational hazard.”

  Sean’s eyes narrowed. “Is this why you had to pull me aside? To check out my tan lines?”

  My smile slipped away from my face as I remembered why I had called him in.

  “No!”

  “Are you sure? Because I can show you some other tan lines if you want …” Sean moved to slowly peel his singlet up over his chiselled stomach.

  This time, I was momentarily blinded, but in an ‘Oh my God!’ kind of way.

  After I had stared open-mouthed and let my eyes trail over the wall of flesh, my mind worked to form a coherent sentence before he completely took his top off.

  “No! No, it’s all right, I don’t need to see.”

  Didn’t I?

  Sean shrugged and let his top fall back into place with a smug smile. Oh, he thought he was so clever making all the girls speechless just by the flex of a muscle.

  Well, not this girl.

  I had been momentarily intrigued, but that was it.

  I plastered my best ‘I’m so bored right now’ expression on my face as we stared one another down. Sean’s eyes were lit with a silent knowing that made me want to lash out and take that smug look off his face.

  “I can’t pay you for this,” I said, in all seriousness.

  “That’s all right, that preview was a freebie.” He winked.

  My arms flew by my sides and I exhaled in anger as I stomped my foot.

  “God damn it, Sean, can’t you be serious for one fra—”

  Don’t say fracking, don’t say fracking. “For just one minute?”

  Sean’s brow curved. “Did you just stomp your foot?”

  I fought the urge to do it again; it was a knee-jerk reaction after every frustrating, smart-arse retaliation.

  It took every ounce of my strength to control the anger that threatened to consume me. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

  “What I meant was, I can’t pay for you to fix the balcony, Sean,” I said. “Not right now; I have to get my head around so many things and at the moment I don’t want Dad knowing about it. I was going to tape it off and put signs up. No one walks up there anyway and you said the rest was secure, it was just that one beam, so I think it can wait a bit … right?”

  “What are you trying to get your head around?”

  “What?”

  Was he actually asking a serious question? Sean looked stern; his smile had gone

  “What’s there to get your head around?” he asked again.

  I scoffed. “Look at this place! It’s disgusting; do you honestly think that a gaping hole in the verandah roof is going to drive people away? No! They’re already away. One look at this place from a distance does that, let alone stepping inside.” I stopped talking, knowing I had already said too much. It was one thing to voice what I knew to be true; I didn’t want to talk about the embarrassing state of the Onslow with anyone else, though.

  I wanted to sweep it under the carpet, stop everyone talking about ‘the Hendersons’.

  You know the mother ran away from Onslow and the father went mad and chased her. Now the spoilt, nasty daughter is back for the summer.

  Oh, I could just imagine what they were all saying, and it bothered me – really bothered me. I wanted to show them, show them all. But I had to do it my way, and that meant on a tight budget and didn’t involve a builder and scaffolding.

  Sean didn’t say anything for the longest time. I thought maybe for once I had rendered him speechless but then, just as I thought I would glory in the possibility, he broke the silence.

  “Who said I was charging?”

  I stilled. “What do you mean?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not charging you for repairing the balcony.”

  I must have looked dumbfounded and I could see he was now pleased with himself for rendering me speechless.

  Once what he had said had registered in my brain, I wasn’t thankful. I was angry. “Thanks, but I don’t want your charity.”

  Sean’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Charity?”

  “Look,” I said. “I appreciate it, but I am not having a pity party.”

  “Is that what you think this is?” Sean said incredulously.

  “Isn’t it? Look, Sean, I don’t–”

  “Just hang on a second …” he interrupted.

  “End of discussion,” I said. “Sean, I’m not—”

  “LET ME FINISH!” He raised his voice.

  “NO!”

  “AMY …”

  “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, SEAN, STOP TRYING TO RESCUE ME.” I screamed.

  Chapter Nine

  This time, I did render him speechless.

  I could feel the anger as it pulsed through him, and radiated outward from his eyes as they burned into mine. All of a sudden I felt really small, so I broke from his gaze.

  “Amy?” His voice was lower,
gentle.

  “Please, Sean, I don’t need your help.”

  “I’m not trying to be the knight in shining armour, here.”

  I scoffed, still refusing to look at him.

  “I’m not asking for repayment, Amy, because your dad has been good to me over the years. Hell, I practically spent my early twenties in this place. I’ll fix it, it will be done and no one has to know.”

  “I’ll know.”

  Sean sighed heavily. “Bloody proud, pig-headed Henderson, just like your old man.”

  “Well, I would sooner be that than a self-centred egomaniac who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

  Sean laughed. “I saved you from breaking your neck yesterday, I’m offering to fix your balcony today for free and I’m self-centred?”

  “Well, chuck in MacLean’s Beach and you have your heroic trifecta.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. The last thing I wanted to ever remember was that night. The one where Sean had pulled me limp and lifeless out of the water. It had been a constant source of embarrassment for me. Everyone knew about it and, what was worse, it was exactly the reason I had been sent away. It wasn’t that I was angry at Sean; it wasn’t his fault. I mean, he saved my life, but I didn’t want him to be my constant saviour. I needed to save myself sometimes.

  If anything, Dad owed Sean big time, he had said so himself, and apart from the odd free beer, I’m pretty sure Dad had never been in any position to pay him back. So the last thing I needed was for a debt of gratitude to pile up against Sean any more than it already had; it wasn’t fair and I wouldn’t do it. He had done enough.

  Sean had stilled, the memory of MacLean’s Beach that night dawning on him.

  “Christ! That was the last time I saw you? All those years ago?”

  I had done it now, me and my big mouth.

  “Yeah, well, that was ages ago.” I could feel my cheeks burning.

  Sean shook his head at the memory. “You scared the hell out of me that night.”

  This was exactly what I didn’t want – a trip down memory lane.

  “That’s settled then, so you will just take it down, right? The scaffolding?”